#F-5E

[usafphantom2]

Let’s take a moment to appreciate the “bad guys

@Tomcatjunkie via X

[terengineer]

https://youtu.be/Obi4b5BbHVg

New chick the link video!

@terengineer

[keyboard-smash-heh]

Objectively wrong advice @dungeonmastersguide, Bob II is my personal hero

[cumberworld44]

Kelpi encounter I homebrewed in for Wild Beyond the Witchlight. Good campaign but not enough combat me thinks.

[fieldsofview]

The Orphan Story - Baby Steps into Storytelling

I had a realization today because three of my interests (Spider-Man, D&D, and Writing/Storytelling) got their wires crossed - bear with me because this is probably going to be a long-winded post.

Something that's really prevalent in the Spider-Man fandom is the trope of "Dead May Parker" in fic. Usually, it starts with Peter's aunt and primary guardian, May Parker, being killed off-screen to set up the fic, often with just a small blurb about it like it wouldn't completely shatter Peter's world, but ya know.

It can be done in any number of ways (car crashes, cancer, and being caught in a supervillain's crossfire are all pretty typical for this).

There are a myriad of common storylines that build from this choice. IronDad, Homeless!Peter, and Foster!Peter are all really prevalent. Sometimes it's so that characters that people ship with Peter will be pushed together out of a need for Peter to live someplace new and/or needing someone to lean on. (I could go on, but you get the idea).

I could spend a lot of time talking about each of these storylines and the ways they can be done well or poorly, and the greater implications for the fandom as a whole, but that's not what this post is about so I will leave that here.

Peter Parker as a character, despite his many iterations among the various Spider-Man comics and adaptations, has always been a character with tragedy engrained in his story (Richard & Mary Parker, Ben Parker, Gwen Stacy, Harry Osborn, the clones, his marriage, etc., etc., etc.). It's not necessarily out of the norm for more tragedy to occur, and having his only living family and primary guardian for most of his life die would definitely be on par with the rest of his life.

However, I don't think that the instances of the "Dead May Parker" trope in fic are because of this. At least, not when you dig.

I think people do it because it's easy.

I'm not saying that writing grief is easy, but that's part of the problem. Most of the stories using this trope don't bother to show the grief. Her death is just a device used to further other relationships.

Generally speaking, it's easier to write stories with fewer characters. Balancing a large cast with varying points of view, backstories, voices, motivations, etc., is always going to be more complicated. For a writer who's starting out, or perhaps someone who just doesn't want to make things harder on themselves for their hobby-writing, it's easier to do what you can to shrink the relevant cast. And for something like Spider-Man, there are more side characters relevant to his life than I think any person could possibly count - especially when you look across all the versions/adaptations that exist.

(That's part of why I love this fandom, despite its flaws. There are SO MANY stories to be told and so much room to pick apart what's there and transform it into something new. Fandom is transformative in nature, after all, and comics like Spider-Man are a buffet to choose from.)

I also think that it's easier to put a character like Peter Parker (especially if you're writing him as a high schooler as so many adaptations seem to permanently keep him as) into convoluted situations if he doesn't have a primary guardian to keep an eye on him. Especially one who's loving and caring and is actively parenting him. (I would argue that this is the perfect time to write him as an adult with his own autonomy and whatnot, but you know, that's not what the movie makers seem to want so... I digress.)

And lastly, I think someone being young and completely orphaned with no caretaker to look after them is also a sort of trauma that is easy to understand. I'm not saying it's a trauma that's easy to live with, but as an outsider looking in, it's easy to say "Oh, well yeah, of course, that person is struggling. Look at the hand they've been dealt."

A character - just like people - with more complex reasons for 'Why They Are The Way They Are" TM, can be harder to empathize with, especially if those reasons are not something the reader is familiar with. And it's most certainly harder to write, with all the layers, intricacies, imperfections, and generally weird ways that the human experience works. (In the same vein, it's why people with certain traumas, triggers, mental health issues, etc., are often dismissed or harassed, but that's a whole other can of worms that I'm not going to dive into atm.)

"But FOV," you might be wondering, "How does all of this relate to Dungeons & Dragons?"

Well, y'all ever heard of the Orphaned Rogue Trope?

In the greater online D&D community, there are a lot of common tropes and character builds that people are familiar with. They're common enough that you get a lot of memes shared around about them and a lot of people building characters that both lean into the tropes and/or subvert them. (The horny bard, the dumb barbarian, the warlock with daddy issues, etc.)

One of these is the 'Orphaned Rogue'.

(Please keep in mind that I'm referencing 5e specifically. I've played many editions - don't quote the old magic to me, Witch - but 5e is the most common edition to ever be played and has brought a massive influx of people to this game in the last decade, so that's what I'm talking about here.)

A lot of people start out with a Rogue as their first character, I would argue disproportionally so. There are a few reasons for this. 1) Rogues typically (I'm not going to argue over subclasses here, don't come for me) don't have any magic, and magic-using characters are typically more complicated to learn to play than non-mages. 2) For players who aren't as familiar with high fantasy, a thieving, backstabbing character is usually still one that people can recognize. (Similarly, I think this is part of why a lot of people also start by playing Rangers). 3) Especially at low levels, Rogues don't have a whole lot of character abilities. They're really really good at the few things they do, but that's about it, so it's extra easy to step into as a beginner.

So where does the orphan part come in? Well, a lot of beginners to D&D are also beginners to storytelling in general (with exceptions, you'll always have the people who side-stepped over from LARPing, theatre, writing, etc.). This means that they're new to the idea of creating a character that has no reliance on their own personal history. Their character can be literally anyone, and they will be able to interact with the story in whatever way they want to.

Creating a character is one of the most overwhelming things for a new D&D player. It's a boundary to entry that I've seen turns a lot of people away from the game. It's work that has to be done before you even get to roll your first die. It requires math, decision-making, and creativity in a way that not everyone is prepared for right off the bat.

(Yes, I know I might seem to be exaggerating here, but please remember that we live on the hellsite for creatives. This is not the norm for a lot of people. I once invited a co-worker into a game who was an avid non-fiction reader and had never done any theatre, not even drama class. She had genuinely never put herself into a fictional character's shoes since she was last playing Let's Pretend as a small child at recess. It was a hard learning curve for her, but she grew to love the game a lot and now is an avid LARPer as well.)

Your character has to have somewhere that they came from. They are a person, through and through, and should therefore have lived experiences that shape their point of view, their actions, and the way that they interact with other people.

It's not easy to think of an entire history for a person all at once, all while you're just trying to wrap your head around the math and learn the rules required to play this damn game that your friends have been bugging you about for who knows how long.

And so - orphan. No existing family means no extra characters to have to build personalities for or shared experiences between your PC and them that you have to write.

It's easier. It's removing a barrier to entry to the game.

(This is probably also why amnesiac characters are also really common first-time PCs, now that I think about it.)

So what's my point in all of this?

To be honest, I'm not entirely sure.

I think it's really easy for anyone who has been a storyteller of any kind for a while to see the annoying, problematic, or sometimes downright concerning ways these tropes manifest. There are connotations for the stories that use these 'easy' orphan tropes, and these can and should be talked about. As I said above, I could talk about the "Dead May Parker" trope and the problematic themes that regularly exist in these stories until I'm blue in the face.

But, at the same time, I think we should also take these things with a grain of salt. New storytellers of any kind are going to make mistakes. They're going to write imperfect things. Humans never pop into existence with a fully formed skill. These things need to be learned through practice and exposure, and these choices most often aren't made with malicious intent.

Long ago, when I was a wayward young teenager, my first major foray into fanfiction was through an A:TLA fic that I put on ff.net. (No, I will not link it here. No, it was not under any USN I use anymore. Don't ask.) But, looking back, even though I was so immensely proud of that story, it also had a lot of things in it that I wouldn't write today. Things that my gut reaction would be to judge and raise an eyebrow at, if I read them now. But I also learned a lot while writing it, and there was a lot of heart in that story, too. I was just writing from a naivete that made me think I had the know-how to tackle themes that I was too young to fully understand.

In many ways, I am still proud of that fic, not because of the story itself, but because of the effort I put into it and the things it taught me about storytelling and writing as a learned craft.

I think my point is this: everyone has to start somewhere.

Sometimes people need to start off with those easier stories so that they can learn enough and build enough confidence to tackle the bigger ones.

So, do I think we shouldn't critique something when it does have harmful implications? No, we absolutely should. Critique and open discussion are how individuals and communities learn to grow. (No, I am not advocating for you to leave criticism on random people's fics. I mean critique of tropes in general. It's never cool to leave negative comments on people's fic.) Open discussion is good and healthy, and it's part of what makes fan spaces and communities flourish and bond.

But I do think that those critiques can be done from a perspective of learning. I often see people so far split down the middle that it alienates people from each other.

In fan spaces where the content shared is inherently made as an act of love, freely given and freely received, it's easy for people to say that no criticism is ever acceptable. "It's free content, just enjoy it and move on!" & "You're taking it too seriously!" are often phrases I've seen spouted about both these communities. And they are true things to an extent. It is fictional and freely made content. There is a point where it can be taken too seriously. The other side will often say things like, "Enjoying ___ media makes you a ___ supporter!" & "Anyone who writes ___ is a terrible person!" I would argue that these also have some truth to them, but they are also taken too far.

(If you like a fictional trope that has problematic or harmful indications, it's a good idea to unpack why you like that trope. What draws you to it? What enjoyment do you get out of it? A lot of times, the answers to this are not actually harmful, but they can be, and it's always good to self-reflect.)

Fictional stories are a way for us to feel aspects of the human experience that we cannot experience for ourselves. It's also a way for us to find catharsis when a character does experience something similar to our own lives. It's a way to broaden our views and feel our way through the wide range of human emotions. It is not meant to reflect life perfectly, and yet it is often done best when there are still echoes of reality embedded in its soul. (I digress, again.)

Communities - even online ones - thrive when the people in them are doing their best to be open to each other's perspectives.

Nuance is never easy in online spaces. When the person on the other side of a post is an anonymous little picture with no connection to your life, it's easy to take one small piece and blow it up to be your whole picture. They become that one post, that one hot take, or that one fic in your mind. But that's not people.

People are always learning, growing, maturing. Every skill takes time. Everyone has to start at their first step - even if it's the orphan story.

So keep talking about those tropes. Keep discussing the harmful trends that crop up across fandoms. Keep breaking down the root of the problem and sharing ways to build better ones.

But if you see someone in their 'orphan story' phase, understand that they are new and learning. They might need a push in the right direction or a friend to guide them for the better.

[valentin10]

Tournoi des 6 Nations (F) 2025 2025, Tournoi, 5e journée : Angleterre (F) - France (F) en direct

https://www.lequipe.fr/Rugby/match-direct/tournoi-des-6-nations-f/2025/angleterre-f-france-fem-live/39503

[slagzz]

Now when you wildshape you just use your own hitpoints, Jeremy Crawford when I catch you 👊👊👊👊👊

[aenramsden]

The following is not my idea; it was the original brainchild of a friend of mine named Omicron, with help from various others including EarthScorpion, TenfoldShields, @havocfett and ShintheNinja:

So, you know what I want to do one day? Run (or play in) a D&D campaign in which the Big Bad Super Dragon that is fuckoff ancient and unfathomably powerful and whose actions have shaped history and bent the course of nations and had repercussions on the whole culture and society in the region where it's set; the Bonus Special Boss for some endgame optional quest after you defeat the direct BBEG and win the campaign...

... is a white dragon.

To explain this for people not deep into 5e monster lore; D&D dragons are sapient beings, and known for their instincts and tendencies, and whenever you meet an big evil dragon that's really old it's usually this ancient creature of terrible intellect Smaug-ing it up all over the place.

Except white dragons are fucking stupid. Like, they're still capable of speech and thought! They're just… feral, hungry morons. And you almost never see them portrayed as ancient wyrms for that reason; they lack majesty. Critical Role did it, yes, but even then, Vorugal is explicitly the most bestial member of the Chroma Conclave, and the others are the more intelligent planners and long-term threats. An ancient white as a nation-defining endboss, though; not a thug for a smarter master but as the strongest and biggest threat around is just not the sort of thing you tend to see.

Adventurers: "Oh wise Therunax the Munificent, gold dragon of Law and Good, what can you tell us adventurers of the evil dragons which rule this land?" Therunax the Munificent, 500-year old Gold Dragon: "Good adventurers, know this: this land is torn apart by the evil of Tiamat's spawn. The eastern marches are the dwelling of Furinar the Plague-Bringer, black dragoness whose hoard is a thousand sicknesses contained in the body of her tributes. The southern volcanic mountains are the roosting of Angrar the Wrathful, the fiery red dragon, who brings magmatic fury on all who do not worship him. And the northern peaks are home to Face-Biter Mike, the oldest and most powerful of all, of whom I dread to speak." Adventurers: "F-Face-Biter Mike???" Therunax: "Oh yes, verily indeed; two thousand years has Mike lived, and his eyes have seen the rise and fall of five empires, and a hundred and score champions have sought to slay him; and each and every one he bit their fucking face off."

Like... I want to see a campaign where Face-Biter Mike is genuinely the most powerful dragon in the region, if not the entire world. Where sometimes he descends on a city to grab himself some meatsicles and causes a localised ice age by the beat of his vast wings and the frigid wastes of his mighty breath and by the chill his mere presence brings to everything for miles around him, and everyone just has to deal with that for the next decade. An entire era of civilization comes to an end, an empire falls, tens of thousands starve in the winter, all because Mike wanted a snack. Where his hoard is an unfathomably vast mass of jewels and artefacts and precious stones frozen in an unmelting glacier, except he is a nouveau riche idiot with fuckall appraising skill, so half of his hoard is coloured glass or worthless knicknacks, and he doesn't give a shit.

"Your Draconic Majesty, this crown is… It's pyrite." "Yeah, well, it's brighter than this dusty old thing made out of real gold, it's my new best treasure. Throw the other one away." "…throw the Burnished Tiara of Bahamut, forged in the First Age of Man, your majesty???" "See? I can't even remember its fucking name." "But my lord-" "DO YOU WANT TO BE A MEATSICLE" "…I will fetch a trash bag, your majesty."

But at the same time, he's not stupid, he's just simple, and in some ways that makes him more dangerous than the usual kinds of scheming Big Bad you see in these things, while simultaneously justifying why Orcus remains on his throne (because he's lazy). Face-Biter Mike doesn't make convoluted plans or run labyrinthine schemes; he just has a talent for violence and a pragmatic, straightforward approach to turning any kind of problem he struggles with into a problem that can be resolved with violence. Face-Biter Mike has one talent and it's horrifying physical power, so his approach to any complicated problem is "how do I turn this into a situation where I can fly down and bite this dude's face off?" with absolutely no regard for the collateral damage or consequences of doing so, because those are also things he can turn into face-bitable problems.

"My lord, the dread necromancer Nikodemion is using his undead dragons to attempt a conquest of the eastern kingdom; his agents are everywhere, his plans are centuries in the making, what can we do against such a mastermind?" "I'm gonna fly over the capital and eat the eastern king." "M-my lord???" "The kingdom will collapse without leadership, Nikodemion will win his war, he'll take the capital and crown himself king." "And that helps us… how?" "Once he does I'll fly over to the capital and eat him." "…" "This is why you advisors all suck. You're all about convoluted plans when the only thing I need to win is know where my enemy is so I can fly down there and eat him. Stop overthinking things."

And, like, yeah, it's a simplistic plan, but when you're several hundred tons of nigh invincible magical death, you don't need brilliant strategy; the smartest way to win a war is, in this case, the simplest. He's not even all that clever at figuring out the consequences of face-biting, he's just memorised the common consequences of doing so.

(If you want to go all in on Mike being the major mover and shaker in the region; Nikodemion only even has a pet zombie dragon because Mike killed the last dragon to show up and contest his turf but wasn't going to eat a whole dragon by himself. Nikodemion got to stick around and amass that much power because Mike ate the Hero of the Realm while he was adventuring because he figured the Hero would come and try to slay him at some point. Nikodemion got started because Mike ate half the leadership of the Academy of High Magic who typically keep evil wizards and necromancers in check. And then eventually this product of Mike's casual, careless actions becomes a big enough problem to bother Mike personally, at which point Mike eats him too.)

He doesn't even really fail upwards, either! He is regularly reduced to nothing but the glacier he stores his hoard in, but he's Face-Biter Mike so nobody wants to commit to actually ending him forever lest they get their faces bitten the fuck off. And his hoard's in a huge-ass magical glacier so nobody can get to it without running into the Invading Russia problem; it's hard to wage war when everything is frozen over and you're both starving and freezing to death. Once he's been beaten back to his central lair and has lost all his holdings… I mean, he's still a problem, but he's a far away problem. So he loses his assets and spends a decade in a cave brooding it up while no one dares risk trying to actually kill him, and then a generation or two later he flies down to a kobold colony and gets himself some minions, or a dragon-worshipping mage comes to offer his service against a pittance from his hoard, or a particularly stupid cult starts thinking they can get in good with him and leech off his power, and then he's (hah) snowballing again.

He's also got a very… well, the kind of weird Charisma that Grineer bosses do. Like Sargas Ruk, who's a malformed idiot, but oddly charismatic. As he's a dragon, that makes him a natural sorcerer and thus Charisma is all he needs. He's pretty relaxed when he isn't in a face-biting mood, and he's kind of infectiously optimistic, because his life has taught him that he will succeed as long as he perseveres. So he just believes it.

And sometimes that's really refreshing to work for, as an evil minion of darkness! It's like, you're coming to your Evil Dragon Lord with terrible news; you've worked for evil overlords before, you know how it goes. You fall to your knees weeping and tell him that you've failed to seize the incredibly powerful magical artifact, you think your life is forfeit. And he's just like "Eh, it's okay, these things are all over the place. Better luck next time. You remember the guy who took it, right?" and you go "Y-yes, oh great lord!" and he's like "Sweet tell me his name later and I'll grab it" and then eats a frozen adventurer he kept around as a snack.

His followers tend to quickly realise that if they fail him, bringing some temple's silver or a sack of brightly coloured beads or a couple of dead cows means he's super forgiving because at least he's got something out of the day. "Oh boy, cows? It's been forever since I had those, ever since the Orc Steppe Nomads took over it's all about goats and onions. Today is a good day." He's a master of delegation by dragon standards, in that he just tells you "Just go get it done, I don't care how" rather than micromanaging you and constantly appearing as an image in smoke or taking over your campfire.

The key part of Face-Biter Mike as a threat to players (because he exists in the context of a D&D campaign) works well in that you can rely on several known quantities:

He will not pull sneaky shit that you don't see coming

He will not make convoluted plans that you must work to unravel

He will consistently attempt to come down and wreck you personally if he finds the opportunity and you are a threat to him

You cannot fight him head-on (at least not until the last leg of the campaign, and ideally as an optional boss rather than mandatory)

So as long as you are good at staying under the radar, thwarting his minions (whom he gives broad orders to with almost zero oversight) and not putting yourself in face-biting range, you can deal with him. If you succeed, it won't be the first time Mike has lost his assets and had to go brood in his glacier for a decade or two before rebuilding. It happens; he can deal with it. And that's a win for you within the context of a single campaign, so take the win.

And if you're not going to use him as an enemy, he works pretty well as a quest-giver, too! The costs for failure are obvious and straightforward, and "do whatever, just get me mine" means that players have a lot of freedom in accomplishing their goals. As far as evil overlords go he is actually one of the least dangerous to work for; his pride is relatively subdued by draconic standards, his goals are simple and typically achievable, and he is easily pleased.

(There's also a good chance he is the forefather of any draconic sorcerer in your party, because Face Biter Mike is a deadbeat dad.)

[ellatamara]

Celestial 2 | Lilac Coral Fungus

The third one I drew, and I already lost track of making these simple.

Oh, and I gave it stats for D&D 5e:

B E N O T A F R A I D, or as my friends like to say,

don't worry about it

[nocternalrandomness]

Tigers in the Meiringen fog

[usafphantom2]

What’s the most beautiful aircraft ever?

@MAC_VSOG via X

[wheatiewintry]

@hamtv12 @terri-theslime13

WILL WOOD IS MAKING A GAME?,??

[vixensdungeon]

D&D 5e houserule rankings:

Replace the combat system with the combat system from I.C.E.'s Arms Law & Claw Law (1984)

Replace the magic system with the magic system from I.C.E.'s Spell Law (1984)

Replace the rules for character creation and character advancement as well as noncombat skill use with the rules from I.C.E.'s Character Law (1984)

Replace the monster and magic item rules with rules from I.C.E.'s Creatures and Treasures (1985)

You might just want to play a different game at this point. Like Pathfinder. Rank: F

[usaac-official]

F-5Es of the 34th Photo Reconnaissance Squadron in formation, 14 August 1944

[pixel7777]

Batstarion's New Groove: Ch. 1/10

This art was commissioned from the incredible @vetochkarowan, the single best illustrator of Batstarion in all his fictional forms ever. Check out her Modern Bat series (pinned to her page) and consider supporting her Patreon, as I do!

Work Summary: There's a time and a place to turn into a floofy white bat. This is not it.

One minute, Astarion is a suave, unflappable vampire spawn. The next, he's small, white, fluffy, and squeaking indignantly from Zelara's cleavage. While Gale scrambles to solve the magical mystery and floof-obsessed Zelara insists on calling him Batstarion, Astarion has bigger concerns—like how to chair a political summit when he can’t hold a quill. A throuple romantic comedy with spells gone sideways, bureaucracy under siege, and just a little bloodletting.

This story can be enjoyed alone (betas confirm!) but is technically a sequel to Threefold Returns (Tumblr/AO3). See the notes below the break for more info.

Canon compliance: Mostly plausible as post-canon fanfic, with some magical realism non-strict 5e magic rules.

Work Content Tags: Post-Canon, Polyamory, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, POV Multiple, Threesome - F/M/M, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Humor, Bloodweave+Tav, PIV sex, Oral Sex, Rimming, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Batstarion, Floofy snuggles ~32K words.

Read this chapter below the break or the full work (already completed) on AO3!

Chapters will be posted nightly on Tumblr - head to AO3 if you're impatient to finish!

Notes:

This fic happens after Threefold Returns (Tumblr/AO3) but can be enjoyed without reading Threefold first. A few points to keep in mind:

Astarion, Gale, and Zelara (Tav in the story) are in an established Throuple relationship

They live in Gale's Tower in Waterdeep, which is sentient and has a particular affection for Astarion.

The Tower connects to the Underdark, where Zelara's semi-sentient Workbench is forced to reside, since Tower dislikes being exploded.

Zelara is a Dhampir Drow Alchemist.

Astarion released the spawn at the Ascension ritual, and he and Zelara have spent time since then in the Underdark helping them survive.

I had amazing beta-reader for this fic from the Bloodweave Brainrot Discord server: domestic_cryptid and @gewhanaa. Thank both so much for your inputs!

Chapter 1 - Gale

Gale lifted his glass of wine, watching the sunset play across the rooftop garden Tower had crafted for their gathering. The space was remarkably pleasant – cushioned seating arranged in a semicircle, all self-warming despite the cool evening breeze, with potted herbs and flowering plants creating a lush atmosphere. A table laden with an assortment of foods and drinks stood within easy reach of everyone.

"To the eve of a new dawn," he toasted, smiling at his companions assembled around them.

Lae'zel scoffed but raised her goblet nonetheless. "The metaphor is unnecessary. But I acknowledge the significance of tomorrow's proceedings."

Shadowheart rolled her eyes. "Always the poet, aren't you, Gale?"

Gale's attention drifted to Astarion, who sat between him and Zelara. The vampire was uncharacteristically quiet, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the sun was making its final descent. There was something in his expression – a tightness around his mouth, a certain distance in his eyes – that struck Gale as unusual.

Insecurity, perhaps? The thought seemed strange associated with Astarion, who typically projected nothing but confidence, but tomorrow was no small matter. Leading the committee that would oversee the distribution of Aureum Vitae would effectively change the future for thousands of vampire spawn. Cazador's former slaves would finally have the opportunity to walk in daylight, to rejoin society proper.

"You know," Gale said quietly, leaning toward Astarion, "I believe you're more prepared for tomorrow than you realize." 

Astarion turned to look at him, one eyebrow arched. 

"The spawn respect you," Gale continued. "You've lived their experience, understood their suffering in ways none of us could. That authenticity will carry more weight than any rehearsed speech."

Zel reached over and squeezed Astarion's hand. "What our wizard's trying to say is you've got this."

Astarion's expression shifted, but not toward relief as Gale had expected. If anything, the furrow between his brows deepened.

"We've rehearsed the opening statements," Gale assured him. "The research is solid, the logistics are sound. The committee simply needs direction, and you're uniquely positioned to provide it." 

He placed a hand on Astarion's shoulder, feeling the tension beneath his palm. "Two years ago, I wouldn't have believed we'd be here – planning the integration of vampire spawn into daylight society. It's rather remarkable, isn't it?"

Astarion shifted in his seat. "Yes, quite remarkable," he murmured, rolling his shoulders again.

Gale watched him curiously. Something about the way Astarion kept adjusting his posture seemed off. Perhaps his shirt was bothering him? The vampire was notoriously particular about his clothing – the fabric might be causing some discomfort. Gale made a mental note to ask him about it later.

"I have concerns about quality control," Lae'zel interjected, pulling Gale's attention away from Astarion's fidgeting. "Your potion requires precise measurement. One mistake and we will have burning vampires in the streets."

"The dosage is quite stable," Gale assured her, grateful for her practical concerns. "We've refined the formula substantially. Any variance within five percent will still provide adequate protection."

Shadowheart cleared her throat. "It's not just about the physical safety. What of the reception these spawn will face? People have feared vampires for centuries. A potion won't erase that prejudice."

"Fair point," Gale conceded. "Integration will require more than technical solutions."

Minsc's booming voice cut through the conversation. "Boo says that all creatures deserve a chance at redemption! Even those with pointy teeth!"

Jaheira seemed less convinced. "Many of these spawn had been Cazador’s captives for generations. They have few trade skills, no understanding of surface customs. How will they support themselves? Without structure, desperate people make desperate choices."

"We've considered educational programs," Gale explained, warming to the topic. "Apprenticeships with sympathetic guilds. Blackstaff has already pledged support for – "

A sharp, abrupt movement caught Gale's eye. Astarion had adjusted his position again, almost flinching.

" – for transitional housing," Gale continued, trying not to lose his train of thought. "With proper discourse between community leaders, I believe we can create pathways for meaningful integration."

Through all this, Astarion remained notably silent. His fingers drummed against his knee, and occasionally he would rotate his shoulders as if trying to stretch out some discomfort. The behavior was so uncharacteristic that Gale found himself glancing over repeatedly, only half–listening as Jaheira and Shadowheart debated the ethics of blood supply chains.

"These challenges are significant," Gale admitted, "but not insurmountable. With careful planning and our combined resources, I believe we can address each concern methodically."

Astarion shifted again, more dramatically this time, then immediately stilled when he noticed Gale watching. His smile was tight, forced.

How strange, Gale thought. For someone who had fought so hard for this moment, Astarion seemed almost... reluctant now that it had arrived.

Gale watched as Zel interrupted the increasingly spirited debate about resource allocation with a wave of her hand.

"Honestly, you're all worrying about stuff Astarion's already thought of," she said, leaning back with the casual confidence she always displayed. "Calm down and pass the booze. Astarion's been working on this for months."

Gale nodded, appreciating her show of support. Astarion had indeed been meticulous in his planning, though his current demeanor suggested otherwise. The vampire's shoulders twitched again, more violently this time, and Gale was about to ask if he was feeling well when – 

His wine glass nearly slipped from his hand as Astarion abruptly ceased to exist.

In his place, there was a puff of mist, followed by a rush of displaced air. Astarion vanished. In his place, plummeting from chest-height toward the ground, was a small bundle of white fur.

Gale froze. Absolute stillness fell over the gathering.

Zel's reflexes proved faster than anyone else's. She lunged forward, hands cupped, and caught the creature before it hit the ground.

"What in the nine hells–" Shadowheart began.

Gale set his glass down carefully and leaned forward, peering into Zel's cupped hands. Gale gaped. The fur bundle turned out to be a small, white bat, with a distinctive curl atop its head that looked remarkably like Astarion's signature swoop of bangs. Its tiny nose and feet were pink, and when it blinked up at them, Gale recognized unmistakable ruby-red eyes.

"Astarion? Fascinating," he murmured, his mind already racing with possibilities. "I wasn't aware vampire spawn could transform like true vampires. This suggests a significant evolution in his powers." 

He mentally catalogued everything he knew about vampire physiology. Typically, only true vampires possessed the ability to transform into bats or mist. Astarion had deliberately chosen not to become a full vampire, yet here was evidence that he had somehow acquired new abilities.

"The implications are remarkable," Gale continued, reaching out a tentative finger toward the bat. "Perhaps Cazador's death has allowed for a gradual transference of power?"

But Zel wasn't listening to his theorizing. Her expression had transformed completely, her eyes wide with delight.

"Look at him!" she gasped, gently cradling the tiny bat. "He's so... fluffy!"

Gale watched, somewhat bewildered, as Zel's face softened into an expression he rarely saw on her. Her fingers carefully stroked the bat's tiny head, and she cooed in a voice utterly unlike her usual practical tone.

"You're just a little ball of floof, aren't you?" she said, her voice pitched higher than normal. "Look at your tiny ears!"

The bat stared up at Gale with those ruby eyes, and then it opened its tiny mouth and began squeaking frantically. The sound was high-pitched and rapid, almost as if it were trying to communicate something urgent.

"What's happening to him?" Jaheira leaned forward, her brow furrowed with concern.

Karlach crossed her arms. "Uh, he sounds kind of… freaked out. Did he do this on purpose?"

Gale pondered this question. It was indeed puzzling. Astarion had given no indication he possessed such abilities before today. More importantly, if this was intentional, why would he choose this moment, on the eve of such an important event, to demonstrate this skill?

"Astarion," Gale addressed the tiny creature, attempting to maintain a calm, rational tone despite the absurdity of the situation, "perhaps you could change back and explain what's happening?"

He reached toward the bat, but before his fingers could make contact, Zel yanked her hands away, pulling Astarion out of reach.

"No!" she exclaimed with unexpected ferocity. "He's mine! I'm going to love him and squeeze him and pet him and hug him and feed him and call him Batstarion!"

Gale blinked in astonishment. He'd adventured with Zelara, had been romantically involved with her for years now, and yet he'd never seen this particular expression on her face – a mixture of fierce protectiveness and childlike delight. It was as if the sight of Astarion in this tiny, vulnerable form had activated some deeply buried maternal instinct.

"Zel," he said carefully, "I understand he's quite... charming in this state, but we need to determine if he can transform back. Tomorrow's meeting–"

The tiny bat flailed in Zelara’s hands, flapping its wings furiously and screeching with all the righteous indignation of a prince whose royal decree had been ignored.

“Oh my gods, you’re so cute when you’re mad!” Zel gushed.

The bat screamed louder.

Lae'zel stood up abruptly. "This form is inappropriate for tomorrow's proceedings," she declared. "We cannot have the leader of the committee present as a rodent."

"Bats aren't rodents," Gale corrected automatically. "They're of the order Chiroptera, which–"

The Githyanki shot him a withering look, and he decided taxonomy lessons could wait for another time.

"This is clearly the work of our enemies," Lae'zel said, her yellow eyes narrowing as she surveyed the rooftop with suspicion. "A curse inflicted by those who oppose the liberation of the spawn. They seek to undermine tomorrow's proceedings by removing its leader."

"A fascinating theory," Gale replied, unable to keep the excitement from his voice, "but I believe we're witnessing something far more remarkable – an arcane anomaly that suggests evolving vampiric physiology! Perhaps killing Cazador has allowed Astarion to inherit certain dormant abilities. The timing is odd, this developing two years later but–"

The bat squeaked furiously at this, tiny wings flapping in what Gale interpreted as disagreement.

"Or it is a sign that he has overexerted himself," Jaheira interjected, her voice calm but concerned. "There are records of druids losing control of Wild Shape under duress. While Astarion is no druid, the principle may be similar. Stress can manifest in unexpected physiological responses, particularly in beings with magical natures."

Halsin blushed.

Shadowheart leaned forward, studying the small creature with narrowed eyes. "Perhaps this is an undiscovered side effect of the Aureum Vitae? The potion allows vampires to withstand sunlight, but we've only been testing it for a short time. It stands to reason that a formula powerful enough to protect against a vampire's greatest weakness might have other effects – perhaps heightening other vampiric powers, like transformation abilities."

Gale found himself nodding. "That's a reasonable hypothesis. The potion works by temporarily altering the fundamental magical essence of vampiric physiology. It's not inconceivable that such alterations could trigger latent abilities."

"He looked all itchy before it happened," Karlach pointed out, scratching her own arm absently. "Are you all using a new soap? Because I got the weirdest rash this one time when Wyll brought back this fancy Calimshan soap. Turned me bright purple for three days."

The bat in Zel's hands stopped squeaking and stared at Karlach with what Gale swore was pure exasperation.

"While I appreciate everyone's theories," Gale said, stroking his beard thoughtfully, "what matters most is determining if Astarion can transform back. The committee meeting is scheduled for tomorrow morning, and his presence – in his humanoid form – is rather crucial."

Zel clutched the bat closer to her chest. "But look at his tiny little nose! And the way his ear twitches when he's annoyed!"

Gale sighed. Getting Zel to focus on the problem rather than Astarion's admittedly adorable appearance was going to be challenging. He leaned in, examining the bat more closely.

"Can you understand us, Astarion?" he asked.

The bat nodded vigorously, its ruby eyes bright with intelligence.

"Can you transform back at will?"

The bat flailed violently, squeaking at Gale with a level of distress that could mean anything from “obviously not, you idiot” to “I refuse to dignify that question.”

Gale watched as Zelara nuzzled Batstarion against her cheek, her eyes closed in pure delight. For a moment – so brief he might have imagined it – Astarion seemed to lean into the affection, his tiny bat body relaxing against her lavender skin.

Then, as if catching himself in this moment of vulnerability, Batstarion swatted at her with one leathery wing, his ruby eyes narrowing in what could only be described as vampiric indignation.

"Please," Gale said, spreading his hands in a gesture of desperate appeal. He looked back and forth between his lovers – one transformed into a fluffy white bat, the other seemingly content to keep him that way indefinitely. "This isn't getting us anywhere."

Zel merely giggled as Batstarion continued his ineffectual protest. Gale's shoulders slumped, and he fixed them both with a pleading gaze. Was he truly the only one taking this situation seriously? They had responsibilities, obligations – and Astarion was currently incapable of doing anything more threatening than squeaking angrily.

"We need to focus," he implored, though his voice betrayed his growing certainty that neither of his companions was listening to reason.

Halsin, who had been observing the situation with quiet interest, rose from his seat. "Perhaps I can help," he offered. "I can speak with him if I cast–"

He began the familiar gestures of the Speak with Animals spell, his fingers weaving through the air in practiced motions.

Gale watched with academic fascination as Halsin completed the spell, his hands glowing briefly with druidic energy. The transformation was subtle but immediate – the bat's squeaks should now be comprehensible speech to the druid. Halsin leaned in close, his expression gentle as he addressed the tiny creature.

"Astarion, can you explain what happened? Was this transformation voluntary?" Halsin asked. 

The bat opened its mouth, but instead of answering, it closed its mouth again and went completely still. Its tiny body froze, wings pulled tight to its sides, ruby eyes narrowed in thought. Gale frowned, leaning closer to examine this new development. Had something gone wrong with the spell? The bat's chest still rose and fell with rapid breaths, so it wasn't unconscious, merely... unresponsive. Gale glanced at Halsin, whose confusion mirrored his own, then at the others who had fallen into an uneasy silence. Shadowheart raised a skeptical eyebrow, Lae'zel's hand drifted toward her weapon as if expecting treachery, and Karlach simply scratched her head in bewilderment. Even Zel's delighted cooing ceased as she studied the suddenly petrified Batstarion with the first hint of concern crossing her features.

Then the bat – Astarion? Batstarion? – suddenly launched itself from Zel's hands with surprising force. Its wings beat frantically as it first fell and then gained altitude, circling once above the gathered party before darting away toward the city.

"No! Batstarion, come back!" Zel cried, springing to her feet and reaching futilely toward the retreating form.

Shadowheart knocked over her wine glass in the commotion, Minsc bellowed something about tiny winged justice, and Boo scurried under a cushion. Jaheira was already on her feet, attempting to track the bat's trajectory, while Lae'zel muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a Githyanki curse.

Gale stood in the midst of the chaos, knowing with absolute certainty that tomorrow's committee meeting was now the least of their concerns.

[stoneoferech]

The Patrouille Suisse is an aerobatic team of the Swiss Air Force. The team flies six Northrop F-5E Tiger II fighter jets.