#Light spoilers for act I

[haru-sen]

Through the Gates of Horn and Oak

Caught the BG3 Brain Rot AND a deep love of the tieflings, hithero referred to as "my cabbages!" No, seriously, I've been screaming about them like the guy from ATLA.

Anyway, WIP preview, playing with some Tav X Zevlor, which will eventually be some Zevlor X Halsin, and maybe some poly dynamics. Look, I just want to poke sad old men with a stick and then feed them cheese.

This preview has light spoilers for early Act I side quests. I have not beat the game, I'm still in Act 3, so please be mindful of spoilers. This is spicy but not explicit.

“How do you do it?” you grumbled, perched on a crate and resting your forehead on the cool stone table, your eyes closing as you reviewed your day. “From harpies, to bugbear assassins, to evil druid-controlled child-tormenting serpents, how do you keep these people alive? I mean, honestly, Zevlor, I’ve only been at it for like a day, and I’m exhausted.”

Zevlor, the tiefling-wrangler in question, gave a dry humorless laugh. “You assumed it was easy?”

“No,” you muttered. “I’m just gobsmacked by the sheer variety of ways they get into trouble. You have my deepest respect and my most heartfelt sympathies.” You stayed facedown while you spoke, which might have detracted from the authenticity of the delivery, but alas.

About a meter away, Tilses snorted. “Have you met Mol yet?”

“Have I met Mol?” you laughed, and it might have been a sob. “Have I met the future legendary patron of the Thieves Guild, you mean? Have I met a force of chaos constrained in a tiny tief package? Have I counted my purse half a dozen times today? Where do I even start?”

Zevlor groaned, clearly not interested in delving into that subject.

Tilses laughed. “You should have seen the time she-”

“Tilses, it’s getting late: you don’t have to stay,” Zevlor said.

“But-”

“Tilses, it’s getting late: you’re dismissed.”

You didn’t need to use your illithid powers to read the subtext in the room. Small talk aside, Tilses didn’t want to leave Zevlor alone with an outsider. Zevlor, however, didn’t seem worried. It could be that he thought you were trustworthy, but it was more likely that he knew that it didn’t matter if she was here. If you decided to turn on him, her presence wouldn’t make a bit of difference.

You could picture his expression easily, that no-nonsense frown, accentuated by the severity of his hellfire eyes and sharp ridged bones. He wasn’t exactly scary, but he had a quiet dignified gravitas that you and Tilses lacked; the kind of man was used to being in charge. Still, Tilses wouldn’t argue, not with you here.

“Understood, sir.”

Military discipline was a hard habit to shake, or so you heard. You smiled as you as her steps faded in the distance and the stone door grinding open and shut. And then there were two.

“I don’t blame you for Mol,” you said. “Obviously, the circumstances are shaping that one, and it would take more resources than you, me, or the entire Grove has to alter her trajectory.”

Zevlor sighed. “...I don’t think I’m capable of discussing Mol’s future right now.” There came a soft grunt and you didn’t have to open your eyes to know that the tiefling was sitting on the table across from you, just a few handspans away. If you lifted your head, he would probably move away, so you stayed there, the slight dissonance of his aura making your ears ring. You didn’t mind though. Things that might have bothered you a week ago couldn’t really match up to a godsdamned mindflayer tadpole swimming through your brain.

Some tieflings possessed a discomforting presence, akin to knowing you were being stalked by an apex predator, or that feeling of something alien crawling across your skin, or that screaming gut instinct that warned you when truly dark magics were abound. It was an involuntary inheritance, a side effect of being part devil, or at least having their human bloodlines tainted by a Hellish pact. But you knew better than most that biology didn’t override character.

Zevlor was a striking model of an Asmodeus tiefling: deep red skin, sharp features, and a pair of thick black horns twisting out of his skull. From what you heard, that strain got well and truly screwed over by their progenitor devil lord’s plotting.

“Would you like something to drink?” A cork popped and there was the clink of metal cups sitting on the table.

“Is it poison?” you asked. “Because I’ve got some lovely wyvern poison of my own. No need to dip into your personal stores.”

“That would be a poor repayment for all the help you’ve given,” Zevlor said, his tone mild.

You didn’t think he was offended. Hard to say. He was difficult to read, unless you decided to use your illithid powers, but then- People didn’t like it when you did that. You didn’t always like it when you did that.

He poured the drinks, and you slowly raised your head, lured out by your own dry mouth.

Zevlor was standing now, he gestured to the uncorked bottle, which sat beside the cups in front of you, all of it available for your inspection.

“Ashaba Dusk?” you asked, sniffing the common wine.

“It’s not so bad,” he said.

It figured that he liked red wines. You wondered if he smoked a pipe too. “You seem like the type to prefer a Gulthmeran Reserve.” It was a dryer red, complex with stronger mineral taste. Something suited for the palate of a stoic older man.

Zevlor’s lips twitched. “Is that so?”

“Am I wrong?”

“I wouldn’t say “no” to a bottle. But finding one out here might prove difficult,” he said as you chose your cup, pretty certain that none of it was poisoned. After all, they still needed your help dealing with the goblins, defanging Kagha, and rescuing the Archdruid. Logic made rationalization easy, even though you had no logical reason to be here alone with this man.

The wine wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good either. You drank it though. Today had been long, and you weren't going to turn your nose up at his hospitality.

The two of you finished your cups and sat in an almost comfortable silence. Your shoulders lowered incrementally and you basked in his calm company. You were on your second round of refills before he spoke again. “Was there something you wished to discuss?” he asked, fixing that burning stare on you.

Your stomach flip-flopped, but you just raised your cup and took a drink, buying yourself a few seconds to compose your words. “Just enjoying the ambiance.”

His brow furrowed, and he looked around the cave, clearly trying to figure out what you were referring to. The air in the chamber was cool, there were a couple shelves lined with books, and the candlelight was warm and golden. There were no fleshpits, no bloodstains, and nothing was trying to kill you. Best of all, you could not hear Shadowheart and Lae’zel bickering. To be fair, Lae’zel sniped at everyone, but Shadowheart got so damn shrill about it.

“Look, my...friends are nice and all, but sometimes they’re a bit much,” you said. “I’m taking a break from being mediator.”

“Ah,” he said. He rested his chin in his hand, thoughtfully. “I can lend you the chamber. Would you like some privacy?”

You winced. “No, no, I’m enjoying the company too.”

“I see,” he said, brow furrowing momentarily. He refilled your cup, sitting on the edge of the table farthest from you.

You studied the map of Elturel on the desk, while sipping your unpoisoned wine. And then a thought occurred to you much too late. “Oh gods, I’m intruding, aren’t I?” you groaned. “Look, don’t feel obligated. I’ve found a ton of great hiding spots in the Grove. I can take a dip in the sacred pool. There are some very private corners in the library. Hell, I can even go camp out with Mol.”

“...Don’t do that,” Zevlor grimaced.

“You’re right. She absolutely doesn’t need access to wyvern poison. I’ll go sit with Dammon. Aside from the hammering and the smithing, he’s pretty quiet.”

You’re not intruding,” Zevlor said, forcefully. “My hosting skills are simply rusty. I...welcome the chance to practice.”

“Oh,” you said, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. It wasn’t a believable reason in the least, but it did seem that he wasn’t trying to shoo you out. At least, you felt more confident that you were not unwelcome.

Zevlor studied your face. “How do you find Dammon’s company?”

“He’s a good kid and so cheerful in the face of everything that’s happened. I’m impressed by his attitude and his skills,” you said. “He’s helping me keep my tiefling in good shape.” Karlach was a certified badass, but she still needed extra special care. Gods, now that you thought about it, tieflings were like exotic fish, it was a real struggle to keep them alive.

Zevlor nodded. “We’re lucky to have him.” He set the empty bottle down and looked over his shoulder at the worn down storage crates, clearly considering the state of his supplies. He was a lean man, and while the kids were small, it was clear that the adults weren’t letting them go hungry. He likely didn’t have a lot to spare.

“Oh! I’ve got a bottle of Ithbank in my pack – the good kind.” You quickly dug into your bag and pulled it out. You were considering trying to bribe Asterion with it, but honestly, he would probably just turn his nose up at the unimpressive offer. You rummaged around your supply pack and found some cheese wedges, ham, a loaf of sourdough bread, and the treasure you scored while exploring. Looking around furtively, you pulled a small ripe sunmelon out and winked. “I know everyone is eating apples, but I’m sick of things trying to poison me-”

“You’ve mentioned poison very frequently today. How often does this happen to you?” Zevlor asked, looking concerned.

“Well, just this week-” You tried to think back. “The bandits, the goblins, some traps, the swamp apples, Nettie-”

“The healer?” Zevlor sounded alarmed.

“Yeah, because of the whole parasite infection thing,” you muttered, the wine loosening your tongue. Only a select few knew that you were carrying mindflayer tadpoles, and he was one of them since you had to explain to him why you were able to just walk into the Absolute camp without raising the alarm. “Look, the point is, I’m put off apples for awhile.” You pulled out a clean food knife – not a dagger, people applied all sorts of deadly coatings to their weapons – and eyed the cheese.

Zevlor rose and brought over clean plates and more cutlery. There was an economy to his motions, a careful precision to everything, no wasted movement. No tells either. This man tried to keep his cards very close to his chest.

It was very different from the first time you met, when he was shouting orders and coming down from the post-battle fury and the loss of one of his charges. Rage uncoiled all those carefully suppressed feelings and destroyed self control: you understood that feeling all too well. The contrast was interesting, you liked watching him.

You made a nice little plate cubes of cheese and ham, slices of bread, and cut your half of the melon into long wedges. Zevlor made a neat sandwich and chopped his melon into bite-sized chunks. This time you poured the Ithbank while Zevlor watched.

He took a sip. “This is nice. Thank you,” he said quietly.

“It really is,” you smiled, biting into the melon and getting some down your chin. The flavor was honey sweet, the flesh luscious and crisp under your teeth. You happily licked your fingers, slurping down the juice. Fuck, these were so much better than apples, and absolutely worth fighting a bunch of bandits for.

When you looked up, Zevlor was staring down at the table.

“I’m being messy, aren't I?” you muttered, wiping your mouth off. The heady combination of too much wine, sweet melon, and the company was making you sloppy. “Sorry.”

“No, no, you’re fine,” Zevlor coughed and poured himself some more wine, averting his eyes. He carefully bit into his melon cubes. His tongue flicked out and he licked his lips, closing his eyes. “That is delicious,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, his tail swishing behind him.

Satisfied that he was enjoying his fruit, you devoured your slices too quickly, eating them down to the rind. When you looked up, Zevlor was only half finished, clearly taking his time and really savoring the experience.

“These are better than apples,” he said, glancing down at your empty plate. He speared a chunk of melon and extended his fork. “I don’t know if I can finish all this though.”

A damned lie if you ever heard one, and between Wyll and Asterion, you heard a lot of creative truths. You took a swig of wine and met that burning gaze, your breath catching. “I’ll take a bite,” you said. “But you clearly aren’t eating enough. You really should take better care of yourself, Zevlor.”

You leaned forward, delicately took the melon between your teeth, and pulled it off the tines. You gave the utensil a light parting bite, never looking away from Zevlor’s face.

He swallowed audibly, but his hand did not shake and he did not draw back. He just watched you with narrowed eyes, his jaw clenched, those sharp nails digging into his palms, his tail snapping from side to side. That tension was familiar. You remembered a similar strained look back when he got into a confrontation with that asshole mercenary. Maybe you were pushing him too far.

“Have I offended you?” you asked a little sheepishly. You did just take his food from him while insinuating that he was bad at taking care of himself.

“No,” he said gruffly, his voice an octave lower. “But are you going to claim that you don’t know what you’re doing?”

You smiled, lowering your eyes in amusement. “I’m just enjoying the ambiance.”

Zevlor gave a low exhalation, those orange eyes burning intently as he regarded you. “The situation is difficult enough,” he said, his voice harsh. “Hells, teasing an old man is cruel.”

You blinked. “I’ve seen you fight, Zevlor. I’d hardly call you old.” You met his gaze. “And teasing is only cruel if one doesn’t intend to follow through.” You stood, the wine giving you a cocksure recklessness that you would not possess sober. You leaned over the table, nearly nose to nose with him, baring your teeth in a grin. “I’ll deal with Kagha tomorrow. We’ll figure out the goblins after that. And then, if you’re still interested, let’s do something about it.”

Zevlor stiffened, his eyes widening, his lips parting in shock.

You took a swig of the Ithbank, and slammed it down next to him, lifting one of those calloused hands to your lips. You brushed your mouth against the inside of his wrist and then caught his index finger between your teeth. You sucked it down to the knuckle, tasting the blended salt and sulfur of his skin and the sweet stickiness of the melon. The heat of the digit made you want more than this, but you had to be careful with those sharp nails.

Zevlor’s nostrils flared, those brimstone eyes burning as he gritted his teeth, your name a hoarse curse in his mouth.

“And if you’re not interested,” you said, lowering his hand gently. “That’s fine too. It’s entirely up to you. We can just blame the wine.”

And with that, you turned on your heel and left, before you did something really stupid. It didn’t matter though, the fire was already in your veins and the taste of him lingered on your tongue.

Fic posted on AO3 now.

[existentialterror]

Fellas, if your story has...

Way too many narrators

Self-aware weird formatting

A metanarrative

Courier font

Meaningful colored text

The story existing as a piece of media within the story itself

A fucked up house

An unreliable narrator

Just way too much about the romantic lives of people who suck

That's not your story, that's

[shaylogic]

In the attic sequence when Edwin is helping Charles through his gradual death, Charles coughs hard at the table. Edwin asks if he's alright. He quickly says "Yeah I'm fine, answer my question! When did you go to school here?"

Even when Charles was very literally dying, he was still pushing the "don't worry about me haha" and then he DIED.

[mugwot]

someone

[platoapproved]

armand + preparing to tell louis about his past

[roridomyces]

Triptych

[franzis-frantic-thoughts]

Castiel confessed gay love and went to super hell. Aziraphale didn’t confess gay love and went to super heaven. Super homophobes stay winning.

[markantonys]

i'll be interested to see if this holds true for WOT s3 since the s1 finale had so many extenuating circumstances and can't really be included in the comparison, but based off of the s2 finale, i believe that season finales tend to bear the brunt of "It's Different From The Books!" ire because they are the culmination of all the smaller changes made throughout the season.

this turned into a bigger analysis post than i expected lmao par for the course with my blog! read on for exploration of how the 2x08 conclusion of each season-long arc is the the most emotionally satisfying conclusion and/or the most thematically appropriate conclusion possible based on the show's particular version of the story, plus a bonus tangent on the nature of adaptation.

for a finale episode, the writers' prime concern 100% has to be "wrapping up all the season's arcs in a way that feels satisfying with everything that's happened in the first 7 episodes, using the book version of the finale event as the framework" rather than "recreating the book version of the finale event exactly as it is with all the same scenes and themes". the nature of storytelling inherently means that every single person who tells the same story will focus on different themes (just think of how many versions of the hades & persephone story there are), and a good adaptation knows that being internally consistent with its own Emphasized Themes is more important than copying-and-pasting scenes from the source material without making any changes to account for the specific way this adaptation is telling the story.

(but a lot of people can't even get past this first point because they don't understand that this is how adaptations - how storytelling in general - work. like, person B literally cannot tell the exact same story that person A told without putting their own spin on it. it's not possible! unless they're simply reading out the exact words that person A wrote, which can't be done when putting 14 massive books into maximum 64 hours of tv. so many readers like to meet this point with "but why does the books' version of the story need to be changed at all?" which is just a non-starter because a) medium differences require a ton of changes, and b) even if no changes were *required*, they would happen anyway because that is human nature when it comes to storytelling. when it comes to story-listening too! ask a hundred different book fans what WOT is about and you'll get a hundred different answers. rafe & co can't possibly make an adaptation that captures every single reader's idea of What WOT Is About, and nobody in the world could ever re-tell the story of WOT in the exact same way that RJ told it, not even the most die-hard book fan; all rafe & co can do is focus on making sure the show honors the core of the books' story while also telling a good story in its own right, independent of the source material.)

i was a classics major, okay? it gets to me! anyway, corralling myself back on topic.

for 2x08, it's very telling just how far Minority Reader Opinion deviates from the general audience opinion. general audiences fucking LOVED this episode (it's the highest-rated on imdb out of the entire show, currently at a 9.0; most episodes are in the 7-8 range), but a bunch of readers call it disappointing and one of the worst episodes of the show. if it was actually a poor quality episode of television, the general audience ratings would reflect that too (as they do for 1x08, currently at a 6.4 (i personally think 1x08 gets way more hate than is deserved and i thoroughly enjoy that episode, but i accept that's just me)), but they don't.

so what does that mean? to me, it means that 2x08 is objectively a very good episode of television which general audiences found satisfying, but which some readers disliked because it prioritized the emotional & thematic needs of its own version of the story over the exact nature of the falme events in the source material. which is exactly what a good adaptation should do! if you forget the books and just look at the show (which the vast majority of viewers are doing), then every resolution that happens in 2x08 is the most satisfying resolution possible and/or the only resolution that was thematically permitted for that particular season storyline.

egwene: her season arc was about learning to stand on her own two feet and not cling onto her mentor figures or compare herself unfavorably to others. thus, her freeing herself from the a'dam is the most satisfying possible conclusion to her season arc. nynaeve and elayne freeing her in the books is nice, but in the show version, thematically, it would've undercut egwene's Overcoming Impostor Syndrome arc to go "yeah actually it's true that she's not good enough on her own and when it comes down to it she does always need nynaeve to help her out". that version worked in TGH where she didn't have an Overcming Impostor Syndrome arc, but it wouldn't have worked in the show where she did. (but, yes, egwene learning in 2x08 that she doesn't have to rely on others is a double-edged sword, which nicely sets up her later-series struggles with trying to shoulder too much herself and not letting even her friends or partner help her.)

rand: his season arc was about learning to lean on others and not isolate himself or try to protect his friends by withholding his burdens from them. thus, him failing to defeat ishamael until all his friends come to lend aid in various ways is the most satisfying possible conclusion to his season arc. rand defeating ishy singlehandedly in the books is nice, but in the show version, thematically, it would've undercut his Learning That Strength Is In Numbers arc to go "yeah actually it's true that rand is capable of winning his biggest battles all by himself and thus it's no problem for him to push his friends away". given the themes that s2 emphasized for rand, the only appropriate finale outcomes were either success with his friends' help or total failure on his own, and they chose the former. (that being said, rand pushing his friends away is a continuous issue for him throughout the series, so i doubt he's perfectly learned his lesson after 2x08; we shall see!)

interesting to note that rand and egwene have inverse arcs in a way (foils!) and that some elements of their book falme climaxes were swapped, and that the way the show has done it subverts the expected gender roles. typically, men are expected to be Lone Wolves and women to be Team Players, and the WOT books absolutely play into these stereotypes throughout the series (sometimes intentionally as social commentary, sometimes unconsciously as an accepted truth of the world), but 2x08 and s2 more broadly did the opposite with our yin-and-yang co-protagonists. it's egwene who has the arc about learning to be a Lone Wolf and rand who has the arc about learning to be a Team Player. and imo these subconscious gender role expectations are a part of why some readers (esp reddit) got SO heated about "how come egwene can succeed by herself but rand can't", because it feels Wrong to them and Not How Things Are Supposed To Work (they've never questioned why rand can succeed by himself but egwene needs her friends' help in TGH, or all the other times in the books when men succeed by themselves and women succeed by relying on each other). but it's a totally apples-to-oranges comparison because egwene and rand had totally different season arcs and focal themes (but many paralleling & foiling moments within that), and so they each get a conclusion tailor-made to their individual stories.

mat: his season arc was about realizing he's a good, worthy person, finding the inner strength to overcome his worst impulses and temptations, and coming through for his friends after leaving them at the waygate. thus, him getting his Big Damn Hero moment with the horn of valere, getting validation that he is literally a hero, and overall spending the episode doing all he can to support his friends is the most satisfying possible conclusion to his season arc. (but stabbing his bff just as he was flying on a confidence high and trying to save the day was a downer note to end on, so we've complicated his relationship with heroism and set up some more internal issues for him to wrestle with next season.)

perrin: his season arc was about learning to acknowledge his inner wolf but also coming to regard it with fear and to believe that wolf & human sides can't coexist and he must Choose One (.......suddenly being struck by the bisexuality metaphor of it all. nice!) thus, him giving into violence to murder a human to avenge a wolf is.....well, it's pretty upsetting for him and serves to reinforce his growing belief that his two sides can't coexist, but thematically, it's fascinating and sets him up for some really great internal (and external) conflicts in s3. he's just gotten what he thinks is pretty strong evidence to corroborate ishy's claim that embracing his wolf side means embracing the shadow, so he's set up for a season 3 of deep-diving into his relationship with violence and his inner wolf. it's also a neat parallel with 1x08: there perrin's avoidance of violence allowed fain to escape, whereas here his embracing of violence has traumatized him (again), so our poor guy is really feeling conflicted in the pacificism-or-violence question because both sides seem wrong to him right now. huh, i guess perrin's full-series arc is about finding a middle ground rather than one extreme (pacifism/tuatha'an/human) or the other (violence/aiel/wolf). i feel like i've just had an epiphany lmao this is why i love the show! it tells the same story as the books, but tells it in a different way that makes me think about it differently and gain new insights!

nynaeve: her season arc was about learning that she, on her own, as she is today, is not enough to protect her loved ones. this is a tough pill for both her and the audience to swallow! but it's needed for her character, and we see it in the books too. nynaeve has an incredible amount of power, but she's terrified of having that much power and wants to pretend it doesn't exist. she's resistant to change, she's used to being in charge, and she's very "my way or the highway". these are all things she needs to grow out of (or moderate, at least) in order to be able to step up and do her part for tarmon gai'don. she has to learn how to embrace her power instead of being afraid of it or being too stubborn to let other people guide her and teach her, so s2 shows her what happens if she doesn't, first hypothetically in the accepted test (everyone she loves dies because she's blocked and refused channeling training) and then for real in falme (she couldn't help elayne fully or rand at all because of her block). so her 2x08 conclusion being Total Failure is not emotionally satisfying, no, but it's thematically exactly what she needed and will goad her into facing her block head-on next season. thematically, like rand, nynaeve only had 2 options for falme: break her block and succeed, or retain her block and fail, and it was too soon for the former (we gotta let her cook a while longer, plus the story will become too easy if nynaeve, or rand, reaches supernova capability too soon), so it had to be the latter. if the show had gone with a third option of her succeeding without breaking her block, then that would've taught her and the audience that it's fine to leave the block in place and she doesn't need to challenge herself to grow as a person, because when it TRULY matters she can always get around the block.

other characters get appropriate resolutions too! moiraine and lan get to work together to succeed after being at odds and failing on their own all season (rand foils!). elayne gets validation that she is an essential and trusted part of the friend group after feeling like somewhat of an outsider earlier in the season. ishamael getting vanquished and lanfear betraying him only to be betrayed by him in turn is exactly where their mutual mistrust was leading them (and it shows us why it's so important that Team Light be able to work as a team rather than as self-interested individual operators; the contrast between ishy & lanfear looking at the seals together while plotting to betray each other vs. rand standing on the tower with all his friends behind him makes me cry your honor. imagine hating that ishy's defeat was a team effort, could not be me!)

(it's also worth noting that the characters who had the least individual success/victory in 2x08 (nynaeve, rand, perrin) are the ones who will have the biggest individual storylines in s3 (tanchico & moggy, waste arc, two rivers arc), whereas the characters who had the most individual success/victory (egwene, mat, moiraine, lan) are the ones who will be taking a bit more of a backseat (of course they all have their own stuff to do, but none of them is *the* lead character of their TSR/s3 traveling group). this is intentional!)

so there you have it. 2x08 is adored by the general audience, and it's because of this: it gives us some damn satisfying conclusions to all the season arcs (and some exciting and visually stunning battle sequences to boot), and all the viewers who AREN'T beleaguered by "But The Books!", which is most of them, recognize that for the good storytelling it is. i for one will always care far more about the show telling a good story within itself than the show being identical to the books, and rafe & co will too, as they should.

the only downside to the episode is that, yes, it is quite cramped for time because there are a lot of arcs to wrap up. this should be less of an issue in future seasons when the season finale isn't "every single major storyline converges in the same place at once". for example, judging by the "goldeneyes" episode title it seems s3 might split it up so that perrin's conclusion in the two rivers is in 3x07 while other conclusions in other locations are in 3x08, giving each more breathing room. whereas 2x08 had no choice but to stuff everything in that episode into that specific episode because it's not like perrin could just do his falme stuff an episode early and take a nap while everyone else was doing THEIR falme stuff in the next episode, nor could the full falme sequence have been split into 2 episodes since that would have disrupted the flow of the story. the only solution would be for 2x08 to be extra long, which is nice to imagine, but we all know that streaming shows almost never deviate from their set episode lengths and so there isn't much point sighing about "this episode should have been 90 minutes long!" because that just is not on the table, never has been, and never will be. the first step to being able to jive with an adaptation is making peace with the limits of its particular medium!

plus, the only things i might deem "missing" from 2x08 are non-essential (ingtar darkfriend reveal - that is NOT important fight me, it's only important in the books as our first example of a morally-gray shadow-aligned person but the show has already been doing that in spades) or will likely be included in 3x01 (the gang spending some time together to breathe and process and catch up). at the end of the day, the show is always going to need to be paced very very tightly with not as much breathing room as those of us accustomed to entire books dedicated to reacting to the previous book might expect. and 2x08 did manage to pack in a LOT of character work amidst all the action and did a good mix of resolving s2 arcs while leaving some unresolved to carry into s3 and introducing some new arcs/issues/conflicts, all within 70 minutes, which i find pretty impressive. in conclusion, 2x08 my fucking beloved <3

[yardsards]

the thing about labru vs kabumisu is that both of them have the same core appeal to me, specifically from kabru's side of things: kabru being someone who is constantly agonizing about social rules and putting on the right mask, and meeting this Weird Fucking Guy who does not (cannot) care about all those things, and so kabru slowly allows himself to be more genuine. they're both such good relationships (whether you view them romantically or platonically), why must there be so much hostility between enjoyers of these ships?

[coern-art-very-cool-and-nice]

the end is so, so close, you can almost taste its sweetness on your tongue

[haru-sen]

Through the Gates of Horn and Bone

Each of them needs something different, but under the surface it's really the same thing. It is so difficult to carry on alone.

Tav/Zevlor with Halsin eventually joining.

Spoilers for early Act I, foreshadowing for events within Act II. This is an expansion of the previous sample. There will be more. Because what are word counts? I'll probably toss this on AO3 soon.

Tav is AFAB, not going deep into description, however given differences in anatomy, she's likely not going to perfectly fit some of the more atypical features (dragonborn, githyanki, etc). I also know elves don’t sleep properly, but honestly, I’m not trying too hard to adhere to that. The point of making it “reader POV” is so others can indulge in some immersion, and to my knowledge, most of my readers don’t have scales, tails, or horns (a real injustice, I know).

My furthest along Tav is a half-drow warlock in Act III, so that influence may leak in. No, I have not done my Dark Urge playthrough yet. This Tav is sneaky and pragmatic, her talents leaning toward persuasion and deception, so not a great paladin candidate, but she mostly makes choices for the good-aligned outcomes.

“How do you do it?” you grumbled, perched on a crate and resting your forehead on the cool stone table, your eyes closing as you reviewed your day. “From harpies, to bugbear assassins, to evil druid-controlled child-tormenting serpents, how do you keep these people alive? I mean, honestly, Zevlor, I’ve only been at it for like a day, and I’m exhausted.”

Zevlor, the tiefling-wrangler in question, gave a dry humorless laugh. “You assumed it was easy?”

“No,” you muttered. “I’m just gobsmacked by the sheer variety of ways they get into trouble. You have my deepest respect and my most heartfelt sympathies.” You stayed facedown while you spoke, which might have detracted from the authenticity of the delivery, but alas.

About a meter away, Tilses snorted. “Have you met Mol yet?”

“Have I met Mol?” you laughed, and it might have been a sob. “Have I met the future legendary patron of the Thieves Guild, you mean? Have I met a force of chaos constrained in a tiny tief package? Have I counted my purse half a dozen times today? Where do I even start?”

Zevlor groaned, clearly not interested in delving into that subject.

Tilses laughed. “You should have seen the time she-”

“Tilses, it’s getting late: you don’t have to stay,” Zevlor said.

“But-”

“Tilses, it’s getting late: you’re dismissed.”

You didn’t need to use your illithid powers to read the subtext in the room. Small talk aside, Tilses didn’t want to leave Zevlor alone with an outsider. Zevlor, however, didn’t seem worried. It could be that he thought you were trustworthy, but it was more likely that he knew that it didn’t matter if she was here. If you decided to turn on him, her presence wouldn’t make a bit of difference.

You could picture his expression easily, that no-nonsense frown, accentuated by the severity of his hellfire eyes and sharp ridged bones. He wasn’t exactly scary, but he had a quiet dignified gravitas that you and Tilses lacked; the kind of man was used to being in charge. Still, Tilses wouldn’t argue, not with you here.

“Understood, sir.”

Military discipline was a hard habit to shake, or so you heard. You smiled as you as her steps faded in the distance and the stone door grinding open and shut. And then there were two.

“I don’t blame you for Mol,” you said. “Obviously, the circumstances are shaping that one, and it would take more resources than you, me, or the entire Grove has to alter her trajectory.”

Zevlor sighed. “...I don’t think I’m capable of discussing Mol’s future right now.” There came a soft grunt and you didn’t have to open your eyes to know that the tiefling was sitting on the table across from you, just a few handspans away. If you lifted your head, he would probably move away, so you stayed there, the slight dissonance of his aura making your ears ring. You didn’t mind though. Things that might have bothered you a week ago couldn’t really match up to a godsdamned mindflayer tadpole swimming through your brain.

Some tieflings possessed a discomforting presence, akin to knowing you were being stalked by an apex predator, or that feeling of something alien crawling across your skin, or that screaming gut instinct that warned you when truly dark magics were abound. It was an involuntary inheritance, a side effect of being part devil, or at least having their human bloodlines tainted by a Hellish pact. But you knew better than most that biology didn’t override character.

Zevlor was a striking model of an Asmodeus tiefling: deep red skin, sharp features, and a pair of thick black horns twisting out of his skull. From what you heard, that strain got well and truly screwed over by their progenitor devil lord’s plotting.

“Would you like something to drink?” A cork popped and there was the clink of metal cups sitting on the table.

“Is it poison?” you asked. “Because I’ve got some lovely wyvern poison of my own. No need to dip into your personal stores.”

“That would be a poor repayment for all the help you’ve given,” Zevlor said, his tone mild.

You didn’t think he was offended. Hard to say. He was difficult to read, unless you decided to use your illithid powers, but then- People didn’t like it when you did that. You didn’t always like it when you did that.

He poured the drinks, and you slowly raised your head, lured out by your own dry mouth.

Zevlor was standing now, he gestured to the uncorked bottle, which sat beside the cups in front of you, all of it available for your inspection.

“Ashaba Dusk?” you asked, sniffing the common wine.

“It’s not so bad,” he said.

It figured that he liked red wines. You wondered if he smoked a pipe too. “You seem like the type to prefer a Gulthmeran Reserve.” It was a dryer red, complex with stronger mineral taste. Something suited for the palate of a stoic older man.

Zevlor’s lips twitched. “Is that so?”

“Am I wrong?”

“I wouldn’t say “no” to a bottle. But finding one out here might prove difficult,” he said as you chose your cup, pretty certain that none of it was poisoned. After all, they still needed your help dealing with the goblins, defanging Kagha, and rescuing the Archdruid. Logic made rationalization easy, even though you had no logical reason to be here alone with this man.

The wine wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good either. You drank it though. Today had been long, and you weren't going to turn your nose up at his hospitality.

The two of you finished your cups and sat in an almost comfortable silence. Your shoulders lowered incrementally and you basked in his calm company. You were on your second round of refills before he spoke again. “Was there something you wished to discuss?” he asked, fixing that burning stare on you.

Your stomach flip-flopped, but you just raised your cup and took a drink, buying yourself a few seconds to compose your words. “Just enjoying the ambiance.”

His brow furrowed, and he looked around the cave, clearly trying to figure out what you were referring to. The air in the chamber was cool, there were a couple shelves lined with books, and the candlelight was warm and golden. There were no fleshpits, no bloodstains, and nothing was trying to kill you. Best of all, you could not hear Shadowheart and Lae’zel bickering. To be fair, Lae’zel sniped at everyone, but Shadowheart got so damn shrill about it.

“Look, my...friends are nice and all, but sometimes they’re a bit much,” you said. “I’m taking a break from being mediator.”

“Ah,” he said. He rested his chin in his hand, thoughtfully. “I can lend you the chamber. Would you like some privacy?”

You winced. “No, no, I’m enjoying the company too.”

“I see,” he said, brow furrowing momentarily. He refilled your cup, sitting on the edge of the table farthest from you.

You studied the map of Elturel on the desk, while sipping your unpoisoned wine. And then a thought occurred to you much too late. “Oh gods, I’m intruding, aren’t I?” you groaned. “Look, don’t feel obligated. I’ve found a ton of great hiding spots in the Grove. I can take a dip in the sacred pool. There are some very private corners in the library. Hell, I can even go camp out with Mol.”

“...Don’t do that,” Zevlor grimaced.

“You’re right. She absolutely doesn’t need access to wyvern poison. I’ll go sit with Dammon. Aside from the hammering and the smithing, he’s pretty quiet.”

You’re not intruding,” Zevlor said, forcefully. “My hosting skills are simply rusty. I...welcome the chance to practice.”

“Oh,” you said, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. It wasn’t a believable reason in the least, but it did seem that he wasn’t trying to shoo you out. At least, you felt more confident that you were not unwelcome.

Zevlor studied your face. “How do you find Dammon’s company?”

“He’s a good kid and so cheerful in the face of everything that’s happened. I’m impressed by his attitude and his skills,” you said. “He’s helping me keep my tiefling in good shape.” Karlach was a certified badass, but she still needed extra special care. Gods, now that you thought about it, tieflings were like exotic fish, it was a real struggle to keep them alive.

Zevlor nodded. “We’re lucky to have him.” He set the empty bottle down and looked over his shoulder at the worn down storage crates, clearly considering the state of his supplies. He was a lean man, and while the kids were small, it was clear that the adults weren’t letting them go hungry. He likely didn’t have a lot to spare.

“Oh! I’ve got a bottle of Ithbank in my pack – the good kind.” You quickly dug into your bag and pulled it out. You were considering trying to bribe Asterion with it, but honestly, he would probably just turn his nose up at the unimpressive offer. You rummaged around your supply pack and found some cheese wedges, ham, a loaf of sourdough bread, and the treasure you scored while exploring. Looking around furtively, you pulled a small ripe sunmelon out and winked. “I know everyone is eating apples, but I’m sick of things trying to poison me-”

“You’ve mentioned poison very frequently today. How often does this happen to you?” Zevlor asked, looking concerned.

“Well, just this week-” You tried to think back. “The bandits, the goblins, some traps, the swamp apples, Nettie-”

“The healer?” Zevlor sounded alarmed.

“Yeah, because of the whole parasite infection thing,” you muttered, the wine loosening your tongue. Only a select few knew that you were carrying mindflayer tadpoles, and he was one of them since you had to explain to him why you were able to just walk into the Absolute camp without raising the alarm. “Look, the point is, I’m put off apples for awhile.” You pulled out a clean food knife – not a dagger, people applied all sorts of deadly coatings to their weapons – and eyed the cheese.

Zevlor rose and brought over clean plates and more cutlery. There was an economy to his motions, a careful precision to everything, no wasted movement. No tells either. This man tried to keep his cards very close to his chest.

It was very different from the first time you met, when he was shouting orders and coming down from the post-battle fury and the loss of one of his charges. Rage uncoiled all those carefully suppressed feelings and destroyed self control: you understood that feeling all too well. The contrast was interesting, you liked watching him.

You made a nice little plate cubes of cheese and ham, slices of bread, and cut your half of the melon into long wedges. Zevlor made a neat sandwich and chopped his melon into bite-sized chunks. This time you poured the Ithbank while Zevlor watched.

He took a sip. “This is nice. Thank you,” he said quietly.

“It really is,” you smiled, biting into the melon and getting some down your chin. The flavor was honey sweet, the flesh luscious and crisp under your teeth. You happily licked your fingers, slurping down the juice. Fuck, these were so much better than apples, and absolutely worth fighting a bunch of bandits for.

When you looked up, Zevlor was staring down at the table.

“I’m being messy, aren't I?” you muttered, wiping your mouth off. The heady combination of too much wine, sweet melon, and the company was making you sloppy. “Sorry.”

“No, no, you’re fine,” Zevlor coughed and poured himself some more wine, averting his eyes. He carefully bit into his melon cubes. His tongue flicked out and he licked his lips, closing his eyes. “That is delicious,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, his tail swishing behind him.

Satisfied that he was enjoying his fruit, you devoured your slices too quickly, eating them down to the rind. When you looked up, Zevlor was only half finished, clearly taking his time and really savoring the experience.

“These are better than apples,” he said, glancing down at your empty plate. He speared a chunk of melon and extended his fork. “I don’t know if I can finish all this though.”

A damned lie if you ever heard one, and between Wyll and Asterion, you heard a lot of creative truths. You took a swig of wine and met that burning gaze, your breath catching. “I’ll take a bite,” you said. “But you clearly aren’t eating enough. You really should take better care of yourself, Zevlor.”

You leaned forward, delicately took the melon between your teeth, and pulled it off the tines. You gave the utensil a light parting bite, never looking away from Zevlor’s face.

He swallowed audibly, but his hand did not shake and he did not draw back. He just watched you with narrowed eyes, his jaw clenched, those sharp nails digging into his palms, his tail snapping from side to side. That tension was familiar. You remembered a similar strained look back when he got into a confrontation with that asshole mercenary. Maybe you were pushing him too far.

“Have I offended you?” you asked a little sheepishly. You did just take his food from him while insinuating that he was bad at taking care of himself.

“No,” he said gruffly, his voice an octave lower. “But are you going to claim that you don’t know what you’re doing?”

You smiled, lowering your eyes in amusement. “I’m just enjoying the ambiance.”

Zevlor gave a low exhalation, those orange eyes burning intently as he regarded you. “The situation is difficult enough,” he said, his voice harsh. “Hells, teasing an old man like this is cruel.”

You blinked. “I’ve seen you fight, Zevlor. I’d hardly call you old.” You met his gaze. “And teasing is only cruel if one doesn’t intend to follow through.” You stood, the wine giving you a cocksure recklessness that you would not possess sober. You leaned over the table, nearly nose to nose with him, baring your teeth in a grin. “I’ll deal with Kagha tomorrow. We’ll figure out the goblins after that. And then, if you’re still interested, let’s do something about it.”

Zevlor stiffened, his eyes widening, his lips parting in shock.

You took a swig of the Ithbank, and slammed it down next to him, lifting one of those calloused hands to your lips. You brushed your mouth against the inside of his wrist and then caught his index finger between your teeth. You sucked it down to the knuckle, tasting the blended salt and sulfur of his skin and the sweet stickiness of the melon. The heat of the digit made you want more than this, but you had to be careful with those sharp nails.

Zevlor’s nostrils flared, those brimstone eyes burning as he gritted his teeth, your name a hoarse curse in his mouth.

“And if you’re not interested,” you said, lowering his hand gently. “That’s fine too. It’s entirely up to you. We can just blame the wine.”

And with that, you turned on your heel and left, before you did something really stupid. It didn’t matter though, the fire was already in your veins and the taste of him lingered on your tongue.

##

You dreamt of that stone table, of pinning the man down and riding him till he was hoarse and begging. You dreamt of him bending you over it, pounding you with the force of all that suppressed frustration. Fuck, if you’d been more patient, gone slower, you probably could have gotten further with him. Getting on your knees for him sounded fun, and hells, you didn’t doubt he could give great head. Instead you pushed him too fast and who knew how he’d react when he saw you next? Probably politely, like nothing happened, and Tilses would never leave the two of you alone again.

Ugh.

“Eat garbage, foul bloods!” A little boy snarled, taking on a monstrous tone with the slur.

You froze, and turned to look at the children playing in the Hollow.

“I try not to judge anyone’s blood as foul...until I’ve had a taste of it!” Arabella briefly struck a heroic pose before tackling Meli into the dirt and walloping him in the side of the head.

“Ah! No fair!” Meli shrieked, losing the villainous voice. “You’re not supposed to really hit me!”

“I’m doing it like you’re supposed to!” Arabella scowled. “Tav, that’s how you did it, right?”

You blinked. “What? Also, don’t call people that, Meli. It’s...very rude.”

“People call us that all the time,” Meli said, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Yeah, and I punched the last guy who-” you said, putting two and two together. “Wait, where did you hear about this?”

“Everyone knows about how you beat up that loudmouth,” Arabella said brightly. “Do you really taste people’s blood to check if it’s foul?”

“...That’s not what I said,” you muttered, catching a glimpse of a certain white-haired high elf darting off.

“Oh.” Arabella looked disappointed. “What did you say?”

“Why would you taste it?” you asked shaking your head. “You can tell just by lookin-” You stopped yourself when you saw how the kids were hanging on to your every word.

“So you can just cut people open and tell?” Meli asked eagerly.

“Do you need a lot of blood to check?” Arabella asked.

You looked around helplessly, spotting Locke and Komira standing off to the side covering their mouths. By the crinkling of their eyes and their hunched positions, you definitely knew they were laughing at you.

“A little help-” you called out of the corner of your mouth.

“I heard that you actually have to smell it,” Locke called over and Komira snorted, slapping his arm. “Ow!”

“Look, the only truly foul blood I can think of off the top of my head is from the shambling undead-” And mindflayers. You flinched internally. “That blood smells really bad, because it’s gone rotten. But you don’t actually need to cut them open to know that. You can tell from a good distance.”

“Oh, like when you leave meat out too long,” Meli said, wrinkling his nose. “Yuck.”

“Exactly. Doesn’t apply anywhere else,” you said.

“I still think saying “tasting it” sounds better,” Arabella said, clapping Meli on the back. “This time you can be the hero, and I guess I’ll be the merc.”

You glanced over at Arabella’s parents. “Seriously?”

“It makes them happy,” Locke said, giving you a shit-eating grin. “They need good rolemodels.”

“They have Zevlor,” you muttered.

“You certainly did more than Zevlor,” Komira said with narrowed eyes. She was still clearly furious that Zevlor had not been quick enough to intervene over Arabella.

“Zevlor was in the fight too, it was that mercenary who decided to be an asshole,” you said, thinking back to that encounter.

The mercenary -Aradin, that was his name- got in your face, spitting, still high on blood and fury from the fight at the gate.

And it was Zevlor who came to your defense, full of his own outrage and adrenaline. It was a surprise, not the vehemence of his response, but that hint of honest gratitude. It was maybe the first time someone, a total stranger no less, came to your defense since this entire infection mess started.

You talked them down, telling them to stop and think. A reminder to yourself as much as anyone else.

And then Aradin had to get in that last word, throwing in some nasty comment about foulbloods and cowardice.

Zevlor gritted his teeth, but did not seem surprised by the slur.

You were not so sanguine. You decked the asshole in the side of the head, laying him out flat. “I try not to judge anyone’s blood as foul...until I’ve had a close look at it,” you had said to a stunned Zevlor. Which was now being exaggerated into something else.

“That’s not what I said,” you repeated.

“I’ll talk to them about their language. Let them enjoy this.” Komira said quietly. “It’s safer than playing poison the druid.” She stared at you with those sharp orange eyes, and you knew that Kagha’s transgression was not forgiven nor forgotten.

“I like the line; it’s got style,” Locke said, and all you could do was roll your eyes at him.

##

You made it a little farther down the Hollow past Arron before Asterion reappeared. “Darling, have you seen this?” He waved a little piece of parchment in your face, looking very smug.

You blinked and reached for it, half expecting him to make it vanish. But he let you take it, the throbbing ache in your neck reminding you exactly why he was being so cooperative. You glanced over the parchment, a private note addressed to Kagha with some interesting implications. You would probably be better off not asking where he got it. Your brows went up and you glanced at the very smug elf in front of you. He did so enjoy drama. “Oh my, someone’s being naughty.”

He gave you a mean little smile. “Always, but some of us are just better at it, or at least more stylish.” His lip curled in disdain.

“Of course,” you nodded, and then winced slightly at the motion.

“Are you sure you want to go back to the swamp?” he asked a little too coyly.

“No,” you shuddered. “But we have to run down that lead on a cure,” you said. “Obviously, we can’t trust Ethel, but it might be worth it to hear her out.”

Asterion’s smile flattened. “You’re right,” he murmured, looking away, like he had momentarily forgotten about the tadpole infection. “We could take her Kagha, maybe one of those quieter tiefling children. No one’s going to notice one missing.”

You sighed. “Sure, but do you really think Ethel’s going to bargain straight with us? Nah, if we want anything better than a devil’s deal, we’ll need to really bring the pain. Creatures like that don’t respect honest bargains.” You were already nudging the group away from Raphael’s offer, but to be honest, you were still holding that one in your back pocket, a last resort if all else failed.

But you were not going to hand a literal child over to a hag and someone absolutely would notice a tiefling child missing, but quibbling with Asterion over details like “morality” and “atrocities” would just end with him sulking. Best to direct him down another route.

“You’re just fond of those horrid little demonspawn,” he muttered.

“What, you don’t like Arabella and Mol? They’re hilarious.”

Asterion gave an exaggerated eyeroll when you named his favorite tieflings. “I suppose someone would miss those two. What about that pickpocket or the whiny one we saved from the harpies?”

“Let’s get ready for the swamps,” you said, clapping him on the back. “I feel like if anyone deserves to be sacrificed to a monster, it’s Kagha.”

Reluctantly, Asterion let you push him along. “I suppose…”

##

You sat on the shore of the sacred pool, grimacing as Gale created water to flush out your wounds and Shadowheart hit you with what remained of her nearly spent magic. You sipped a healing potion, staring at the water and gritting your teeth while they cleaned off your back.

“You know, when a bear swipes at you, you’re supposed to dodge,” Gale said in a stage whisper. “The pointy end is dangerous.”

“So, that’s what I was doing wrong,” you said, shaking your head. One of those damn Shadow Druids wild shaped and tried to unstitch your spine. It was an experience you’d rather not repeat. “Next time, I’ll know.”

Gale laughed.

“The slash wounds are closing nicely,” Shadowheart said and then paused. “But...you have not been at your best today.”

You nodded. The trip to the swamp could be summed up as a “bog slog.” Ethel’s lair was a nightmare farm, and the sheer amount of poisons- Ugh. You threw back another healing potion.

“You do know that feeding the undead sacrifices your own vitality,” she said, not hiding her disapproval.

“I do now,” you groaned. Your performance today was abysmal: your attacks lacked potency, your wounds didn’t heal right, you were sluggish and foggy-brained. Conversely, Asterion was lively, with improved reflexes, and in very good spirits. “Sorry, we need everyone in fighting shape and that involves catering to certain dietary needs. If there are other volunteers-”

“I can prepare a spell that will mitigate the effects,” Shadowheart said hurriedly. “Just come see me after you’ve...donated. We can avoid this in the future.”

“Ah. Thanks, that’s really thoughtful of you,” you said, grinning up at her, not having to feign your gratitude. “It’s such a relief that you anticipated this. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“It’s not such a considerable feat. You don’t have to- everyone needs to be in fighting shape after all,” she stuttered, cheeks turning pink as she practically fled up the hill.

Gale gave a soft chuckle. “She’s really not used to heartfelt appreciation.”

“No, it doesn’t look like it.” You nodded and downed the rest of the potion, then rolled your shoulder, wincing. You weren’t leaking any more, but the area was still very sore. “And thanks for being a calm, moral presence.” When you rejected Ethel’s “cure,” you weren’t so sure that Asterion and Lae’zel would agree. When you actively thwarted the hag, Asterion got pretty upset. He had a point about it not being your fight, about you constantly meddling in things that weren’t helping get a cure…

It wasn’t just about being a do-gooder. You didn’t think Ethel was about to let your party walk out without making some kind of deal, or that she would leave loose ends. Best to clean that up while you could. You didn’t exactly want to explain that right now. It might be wiser to let Asterion think you were some kind of cow-eyed bleeding heart. It let him believe that he could charm you into complacence.

You rubbed your temples. But protests aside, he still showed up to the Shadow Druid fight. You would have to check in with him later, but you still needed to update Zevlor on the cancellation of the Rite of Thorns.

“Does it...hurt?” Gale asked and from his speculative tone, you knew he wasn’t talking about your most recent battle wounds.

“Yeah,” you said, as you stood and fixed your shirt. “It’s sore afterward too, but it’s not terrible. There’s a little high at the end, or maybe I’m just used to rapid blood loss.” You shrugged. “But I think he’s getting better at it.”

“Ah, so let him practice on you for a few more nights. Understood,” Gale laughed. “But would it bother you if I tried it...for research?”

“Not at all,” you said, raising a brow. “Research, huh?”

Gale’s cheeks flushed. “Well, if we’re all in such imminent peril, there’s no harm in enjoying what time we have left, now is there?”

“I’ll take that over in-fighting any day,” you said.

“Oh, are you going to mediate more disputes with your body?” Gale chuckled.

You rubbed the back of your neck. “I think I did that already today. Badly though.”

Gale sucked in a breath, looking you over sympathetically. “Agreed. There certainly are more pleasurable ways to run interference.” He paused. “Do you need me to take a turn with Asterion? He seemed...displeased earlier.” Gale watched you with clear concern, like maybe he was worried that Asterion would bite your throat out in a fit of pique. Or maybe he just wanted to experience the pointy end this time, Gale seemed to be the adventurous sort.

“If you want to work out an arrangement with him, that’s between you two,” you said, not ungraciously. “But I’ll continue to volunteer as needed. Just because we disagree on policy doesn’t mean he should starve.” And because it let you monitor his control and feeding schedule. You didn’t blindly trust the vampire spawn.

You trudged up the hill and did not jump when Asterion materialized from a shadow, his haughty face drawn up in prim displeasure.

“Ugh, you still smell like swamp,” he said, giving you a disdainful once over. “Gale, can’t you wizard something up for her? She’s a mess,” he said, shaking his head. And then suddenly, he shoved a bag into your hands. “Go get cleaned up, you can’t walk around like that. There might be something salvageable from the Shadow Druids’ loot. I doubt it, but it can’t be worse than your current outfit, so you might as well look.” With that, he gave a huff and stalked off.

You glanced into the worn backpack, finding clean clothes, soap, a healing potion, a bottle of Amnian Dessert Wine, and some food.

“That’s strange,” Gale said, looking over your shoulder. “I didn’t realize Shadow Druids carried soap, let alone spicy shrimp soup and berry tarts.” He gave you a very smug grin. “You know, that looks remarkably like the food Arron made earlier-”

“Shush,” you said, giving him a wry smile, because you noticed that too.

“Was he eavesdropping the entire time?” Gale mouthed.

You shrugged and that was a mistake.

“Is he eavesdropping now?” Gale mouthed.

You nodded, just to see him look around wildly, trying to spot Asterion’s alleged hiding place.

##

Feeling a little better after another wash, a potion, and a change of clothes, you recalled a particularly troubling fact from Ethel’s lair. There were a lot, but this one stuck with you: she didn’t want Mayrina, she wanted her child. And here in the Grove, there were a lot of unattended tiefling children. Grimacing, you went down to see Mol, Lae’zel and Asterion trailing behind.

The little mastermind sat atop a crate eating an apple, her eye gleaming when she saw you.

“Stopped’em, did you?” She gave you a smug look.

“Matthis?” you asked, wondering which kid tipped her off.

“Mirkon,” she said. “He gets around here better than you’d think.”

You nodded. Gale thought the kid might have the knack for magic. “No kids have gone missing here, have they?”

Mol narrowed her eye, straightening up. “No, why?”

You exhaled in relief. “Ethel’s a hag. She eats kids and she went through a lot of trouble to try to get one. She shouldn’t come back here, but I thought I’d warn you, just in case.”

Mol’s brow furrowed. “We stayed away from her. Mirkon really didn’t like her, and he’s got a sense about these things. I just thought she was fake and irritating.” She hunched over, looking troubled.

You nodded. “I’m going to warn Zevlor to keep clear of the swamp. There was some powerful magic on it, and the apples from there are all poisoned. The Teahouse was also under enchantment. It turned out to be a pretty nasty place.”

“What did you see in her lair?” Arabella asked eagerly, emerging from the shadows with Silfy.

You bit your tongue, pretty sure that the details would give the kids nightmares.

“Gruesome displays,” Lae’zel spat, having no such restraint. “She would lure the weak and impressionable in and transform them into fiendish spectacles. We cut her and her mind-warped minions down!”

“Like what?” Meli peeked out, awe in his voice.

“Oh, terrible things?” Asterion cackled. “We went into her gallery, and there was a woman standing there...we went to speak to her, but she was holding her own head!”

The kids screamed in delight. Egged on, Asterion and Lae’zel began to describe the battles and victims in graphic detail.

“Her workshop was a true horror to behold, poisons and potions abound, bones and body parts stored in blood-soaked bowls-”

“Chkkt, that was nothing. She controlled her victims through cursed masks-”

“How did you beat them?” Sylfie whispered, peering out from behind her own hands.

You stared for a moment, knowing you should stop them. But the hag was a real danger, and these children needed to know. Maybe you should have brought Gale or Wyll instead, but Lae’zel and Asterion seemed to be having fun, Lae’zel recounting the battles and traps, Asterion embellishing the horrors of the lair.

Mol rested her chin on her fist, looking very troubled.

“I can stop them. Probably,” you said, glancing at Lae’zel and Asterion.

Mol shook her head. “Things are even more dangerous than I thought.” She gritted her teeth.

“I’m sorry,” you said, realizing that you were putting more worries on this child. Because it didn’t matter if she was a genius mastermind, she was still just a kid, carrying far too much for her little frame. And worse, you didn’t have a good solution, because there were not enough adults to properly care for these orphans. Zevlor and the other tieflings like Asharak and Ikaron were doing their best, but they were clearly struggling just to survive. It was not fair in the least, but it was better to give Mol what you could and hope that it made some difference.

Quietly, you reached into your pack and put down a sack of potatoes and sausages you’d salvaged. You also donated all your unpoisoned apples, glad for an excuse to get rid of them. It was better to do this discreetly; Lae’zel and Asterion got so huffy when you were nice to other people. “Keep it between us, but I found some extra stuff while exploring. Make sure it gets distributed, not sold, got it?” You gave her a pointed look.

Perking up, Mol peered into the sacks and gave you a toothy grin. “You’re too soft.”

“You’re welcome,” you told her.

She looked at you for a moment. “You know, there’s another entrance to Zevlor’s room.”

You raised a brow. Wait a minute, did that mean-

“You should be more careful. I’ll tell the others to stay out when you’re in there, but we’re not the only ones who know about it.” She smirked at you. “You know, if you want to be our Mom, Dammon is a better earner.”

“I should go,” you choked out, leaving Asterion and Lae’zel to their enthralled audience.

##

After taking a moment to compose yourself, you went to Zevlor’s quarters. You were barely inside when he met you.

“I’m told the druids stopped their damn chanting. What happened?”

Well, he was talking to you. But Tilses was here. It was anyone’s guess what he truly thought about your last meeting.

“Kagha’s agreed to stop the ritual. She said the they’ll grant you safe harbor till you depart.” You glanced at Tilses, trying to sense any hostility or wariness.

She was grinning ear-to-ear though, clearly pleased by the news. Hell, Zevlor didn’t seem the type to tell Tilses what transpired in private. Your tadpole twitched encouragingly, nudging you to check. You flinched and ignored it.

“-left over from my soldiering days,” Zevlor said, and you realized you missed what he was saying as he pressed something into your hands. It was a pair of metal gauntlets.

“Sir?” Tilses said, uncertainty clear in her voice, like she couldn’t believe what he was handing you.

“It’s a sparse thanks for what you’ve done for us,” he said, ignoring her.

“Is this a sign that the gloves are coming off?” you asked, eyes drifting down to his hands.

Zevlor inhaled sharply.

Tilses frowned at you.

“I...well,” Zevlor cleared his throat. “I wasn’t wearing gloves,” he muttered quietly, looking down.

You were very aware of that. But you bit your lip.

“You’re bleeding,” Tilses said.

You reached up to touch your mouth, unconvinced that you bit down that hard, when you saw more blood trickling down your right arm.

“Godsdamnit, still?” You rolled your eyes, realizing the cuts reopened at some point.

“Sit down,” Zevlor snapped, gesturing to the stone table. He snatched bandages off the shelf, rolled up your sleeve, and gave a low hiss when he saw the wound. “Now how exactly did you convince Kagha to abort the ritual? Is she alive?” he asked, already applying pressure.

“Yes, and it’s a long story,” you muttered.

He frowned as he began to examine the wound. “Didn’t your cleric tend to you?”

“She did. It’s been...busy. She took care of the bigger wounds first. But we’re all kind of done for the day. By the way, Ethel’s a hag who murders people in really creative ways and likes eating children, so if you see her back here-”

Zevlor stiffened. “What?”

“Yeah,” you muttered. “It was a long day. Umm, I got food. I’m feeling a little faint, so I need to eat-”

“Of course.” Zevlor lifted your pack onto the table.

Tilses narrowed her eyes at you, and then looked between you and Zevlor. It wasn’t a hostile expression, more inquisitive.

You bit your lip, shrugged, and looked off to the side sheepishly.

She stood up a little straighter. “Sir, I just remembered that Asharak needed my help on the training grounds,” she said.

“Oh?” Zevlor looked up, blinking. “I see, dismissed.” He waved her off, tying off the bandage around your upper arm. “These look like bear claw marks.”

You glanced at Zevlor in surprise.

“I wasn’t aware that Kagha could wild shape into bear form,” he said grimly.

“I think she’s a wolf,” you said. “How’d you know it was a bear?”

“You notice these things after a while,” he said sternly. “Now stop avoiding the subject and tell me what happened.”

There was a spritely laugh as the stone doors ground open and you looked up to see Tilses smirking before she briskly walked off.

“In a minute,” you said, not quite whining as you got the soup and tarts out along with the dessert wine. “You can have some too, just-” You tilted your head back exhaling slowly. “I’m so tired.”

Zevlor pursed his lips. “That is the risk of feeding vampire spawn.”

You glanced at him. “I suppose that fact is also just one of those things you notice after awhile?”

He frowned at you. “You already knew.”

“Of course, someone has to feed him,” you said. “He’s limited to volunteers. If he breaks that rule, we’ll know and we’ll deal with the problem.”

Zevlor gave you a curt nod. It was a show of faith that he didn’t argue.

You sighed and tried to uncork the wine, but Zevlor grabbed it first.

“Just keep that arm still,” he said gruffly. “I’ll take care of this.” He poured the wine and scooped the stew into a smaller bowl for you. “What happened?”

“The rite was a Shadow Druid plot to isolate the Grove,” you said. “Kagha realized she’d been led astray and course-corrected in the end. But we still had to fight them. Hence the bear attack. And before that it was the swamps: there was so much poison. Explosions too. It’s really a terrible place. Do not recommend.” You sighed and downed the sweet wine. It perked you up a little. The berry tarts put more life into you. The soup was just what you needed though, savory, spicy, and filling. It went surprisingly well with the wine. Of course, if Asterion paired them, maybe it wasn’t such a surprise.

Making a face, Zevlor tasted the wine.

You nudged a tart toward him. “Too sweet?”

“It’s fine on occasion,” he said. He hesitantly served himself some soup. He drank it down, clearly not worried about it being too hot. He sat beside you, not too close, but still close enough to touch. “Thank you for the food.”

“Asterion got it as a peace offering. It’s probably not poisoned,” you mused.

Zevlor gave an exasperated sigh. “I wouldn’t be so certain.”

You shrugged. “Well, too late to worry about it now.”

Zevlor glanced down at his bowl.

“Kidding, I think. I have some antidotes in my bag if you’re worried.” It would be ironic if those were poisoned, but some part of your barely upright intellect knew not to bring that up.

You ate slowly, while Zevlor refilled your cup.

While you ate, you studied the gauntlets in your lap, the Hellrider’s Pride. You blinked. You knew something of the Hellriders, they were the famous cavalry unit of Elturel: a highly-esteemed city guard, easily matching any army, and named for the legendary exploit of riding to Avernus to rescue one of their own.

Oh hells.

You looked up at Zevlor, a man who clearly once held a military command, who had no horse, no unit, just a band of refugee tieflings – most of them obviously civilians, and you thought you understood what happened.

“I guess their loyalty really was only legendary,” you said, staring at the gloves.

Beside you Zevlor stiffened, like you’d slapped him.

“Casting one of their own out. And given what happened to tieflings in Elturel, am I inferring incorrectly that you being a tiefling had something to do with it?” you scowled, and slammed back your wine.

“It...wasn’t that simple,” Zevlor said, his voice barely above a whisper. He quietly poured himself more wine, and sipped it slowly, like the sweetness would overshadow the bitter memories.

Memories that you just dragged to the surface with your well-intentioned, but careless remark. “I just put my foot in it, didn’t I?”

Zevlor mustered a wry smile, but kept his gaze straight ahead. “I just didn’t expect you to be aware of those details. That was my mistake. It’s fine. I think a healer would get better use out of the gloves. As often as you get hurt, you need them more.”

You gave him a sidelong look, wanting to protest, but realized that you should just let him change the subject. “In my defense-”

“Judging by your injuries, your “defense” clearly didn’t work that well back then, why do you think it would now?” he said dryly.

“You get mouthy after a couple glasses, don’t you?” You laughed as he refilled both your cups.

“Not usually, no,” he said, staring down at his feet, his tone suddenly melancholy. “I suppose I don’t often indulge with company.”

You realized then that Zevlor maintained a professional distance between himself and the civilians. It was a lonely position to be in. You understood why, but in his place, you would have at least hired Mol’s intelligence network. “Can’t get too sloppy when you’re holding everyone else together. Though I guess I can’t complain too much. My companions are warming up to each other, or at least starting to embrace the spirit of cooperation. It’s a step in the right direction, unless they’re coming together to plot against me…” You furrowed your brow. “Oh, that would be bad.”

Zevlor chuckled. “I doubt that’s the case. Karlach and the Blade of Frontiers have been by to...check on things. The wizard from Waterdeep keeps volunteering to help Okta with meals. And your...rogue keeps turning up looking displeased with everyone. I’m afraid I don’t entirely understand the dynamics.”

“Same,” you said, holding your cup out for a refill.

“It’s empty,” he said. “But I procured another bottle of Ithbank.” He brought out another glass bottle, opened it, then topped you off. “Perhaps they’re concerned about the size of the workload.”

“For sure,” you nodded, staring ahead at the door. “We’re checking every avenue for a cure, or at least more information about our condition. If our...benefactor can be trusted, we have some time before ceramosis sets in. That’s still a lot of pressure. I’m afraid if we stay idle too long, people will start to despair and morale will plummet, or worse, we’ll fracture and start fighting amongst ourselves. Most of us didn’t know each other before this happened, and we come from very different backgrounds. Building some sense of trust and fostering camaraderie early on is crucial.”

And more importantly, if any of you turned into mindflayers while surrounded by innocent civilians, the casualties would be catastrophic. Until you had more reassurances, it was better to keep your distance. Except...you weren’t doing that. Your stomach recoiled a little at your own hypocrisy.

Zevlor grimaced. “You make some very tactical points. But their concerns seemed more personal. I’ll speak plainly: are you courting any of them?”

You turned to look at him, genuinely startled by that question.

He briefly met your gaze, his cup held tightly in one hand, and then he averted his eyes.

“Truthfully, I’m not sure,” you said. “We all share an...awareness of each other. Despite learning some mental shielding, things still slip out. Everyone is under a lot of stress, and I think we’re all taking comfort where we can. I might be the only one who hasn’t bedded someone back at camp yet, but that’ll probably change at some point. Will any of us pursue relationships? Hard to say. I’ve made no promises to anyone. I can’t. Not in good conscience.”

You thought Shadowheart and Lae’zel might have sorted some of their tension last night. Or something was killing rabbits very loudly in that cave next to camp. Karlach had her unfortunate condition, but you saw her looking sheepish while Shadowheart treated Gale’s hands for burns today and decided not to question it too closely. Two days ago, you stumbled across Gale and Wyll skinny-dipping in the sacred pool. And of course there was skittish scheming Asterion, who was very open about his interest, culinary or sexual, in the rest of the party, yourself included. You didn’t think anyone made a pass at Withers yet, but you didn’t need to know either. That was one mystery he was welcome to keep to himself.

Zevlor stared straight ahead. “I...see.”

“I’m trying to hold off. I’d like things to be more stable before I dive in. Harder to manage the group when I’m too entangled,” you said, with a nod. “I’m not Asterion, I don’t use seduction to control people.”

“Don’t you?” he murmured, sounding a little resentful.

“No, I just convince people that our best interests are aligned. Some people are just bad at seeing the big picture and need the help,” you chuckled into your cup. “Our interests already align, Zevlor. I’m not here because I’m trying to sway your policies. I’m here because I like your company.” You paused, considering his question. “Is there someone else I should be aware of?” You hadn’t seen anyone, and the tiefling kids seemed pretty convinced that Zevlor was a confirmed bachelor. The fact you even asked seemed hilarious to them.

He exhaled slowly. “No, not exactly. Nothing’s happened.” His voice trembled a little. “And that liaison would not be constrained by monogamy if it were to start.”

Your lips quirked up and you lowered your voice conspiratorially. “Who?”

He shook his head. “I’d...rather not speak of it right now.”

You really wanted a glimpse of who actually sparked Zevlor’s interest. But you were not in a good position to pry. Maybe you could ask Mol to discreetly do some...investigating. The tadpole pulsed, eager to be of service. You shook your head. No. Bad! No stripping away allies’ autonomy to sate your personal curiosity! But you could still ask someone else to look into it… That was still a morally gray zone, right? Or maybe you were just rationalizing your bad behavior. Not a great sign.

You resisted the urge to gulp down your wine in discomfort. You sipped it instead. “I was too forward yesterday. My apologies. But I meant what I said, we’re already allied against the Absolute. So I’ll uh back off now. You’re going to have to be the one to tell me if the personal stuff goes any further.” You silently promised not to suck any more of his fingers without permission. That restriction should probably extend to the rest of him too…

Zevlor flinched, resting his face in one hand. “Can we come back to this later?” he asked in a strained voice.

“We don’t have to revisit it at all if you’re not comf-”

“Please!” he yelped, real panic in those orange eyes. “Just give me a moment-” he said frantically.

You rubbed the back of your neck, unsure of how to interpret this. Your cup was empty, so you refilled it. Wine would make you feel less awkward, but it also increased your chances of doing something dumb.

You rifled through your pack, looking for something to distract from the tension. Oh, you had the rough sketches and plans Karlach and Wyll made of the goblin camp, along with Lae’zel’s tallies of troop numbers. Wyll and Karlach proposed two very different strategies for handling the numbers, Wyll’s was sneakier, while Karlach’s was more suited for someone who couldn’t pass freely within the Absolute’s ranks.

You laid the sheets out on the table for Zevlor to see. “So the main leaders of the camp are Priestess Gut – goblin cleric; Dror Ragzlin – hobgoblin barbarian, and Minthara seems to be the biggest threat. She’s a drow paladin.”

“A paladin?” Zevlor’s head snapped up. “You’re sure?” “I’d assume an Oath of Vengeance one,” you said, with a shrug. “I mean, Absolute-shenanigans aside, she seems to be the stereotypical embodiment of a Lolth-Sworn drow.” You winced. “You know, it makes sense that there are just plain evil paladins. The rules are so rigid that sticking to them will eventually cause harm. Couldn’t do it myself. I suppose I’m too flexible about methods. Alignments aside, seems on par with a devil’s deal, honestly. Warlock pacts are a lot more negotiable, unless your warlock pact is with a devil...” You shook your head, thinking of poor Wyll.

“The leaders are spread out, so if we’re careful we can keep each encounter contained and prevent them from overwhelming us with reinforcements. As for the forces outside, they have an open dining area.” You wrinkled your nose, recalling the big chunks of roast dwarf on a spit. “I’m going to poison their communal grog. That’s not a joke. I’ve been poisoned so many times this week, it’s only fair that I get to do it to my enemies en masse. Turnabout and all that.” You chuckled. “Probably won’t finish everyone, but it should make their numbers more manageable.”

Zevlor stared very hard at the floor, shoulders drawn up tight, fists clenched. The mention of Minthara really shook him.

“Umm, do you know her?” you asked hesitantly.

“No,” he shook his head once, still not looking at you.

“...Like if it’s personal I won’t pry. I can bring back a trophy or something. Like in a not-creepy way- You know what, there’s no way to frame that as “not creepy.” It’s absolutely creepy. But who am I to judge? If you want proof of death, I can retrieve something.” You slapped your palm against your chest for emphasis. Who said you couldn’t be chivalrous?

“Will you be all right going up against a paladin?” he asked hesitantly.

“Pffft, yeah,” you laughed, rolling your eyes. “They’re tough, but they’re not invincible. They’re just borrowing a god’s power, with way too many strings attached, and we’ve all seen how reliable the gods are these days.”

Zevlor winced at your casual blasphemy. That might have been insensitive. His group experienced an overwhelming dose of religious-based persecution. They probably had complicated feelings on the infernal and the divine.

“But it’s not like I’m planning on just standing around and letting her smite me,” you said, taking a more conciliatory tone. “Look, I didn’t share this to worry you. Worst case scenario, you have an idea of what you’re up against. But the plan is decent, we’ve already gotten in and out once with no problems. My friends are very competent. Plus, the goblins are keeping prisoners, so hopefully we’ll find the Archdruid alive and intact. I already had eyes on that idiot bard, so we’ll try to spring him before the chaos starts.”

Zevlor nodded.

You thought about what else you knew. “There are Zhentarim traders there too. I know the Zhent by reputation, but I don’t know if they’ll bring complications.”

“They’re unlikely to join in the battle, but...they wouldn’t be on your side if they did,” Zevlor said, clearing his throat.

“Shadowheart reported a lone priest of Loviatar, but doubts he’ll be a problem.”

Zevlor frowned. “She’s a cleric.”

“Yeah, so she’d know, right?” You shrugged. “Look, the affairs of the gods are all distant and mysterious. If I thought about what they could do, if they wanted to be involved, I’d probably be terrified. But I’ve gone this long without attracting any divine attention so why should that change? Anyway, it’s much easier to be flippant.” Wait, did mindflayers have a god? Oooh. That could be unpleasant. You refilled your wine glass, your head a little swimmy. “So, no trophy then?”

“No, thank you,” Zevlor said firmly, a pained look on his face. “That’s...unnecessary.”

Your cup was empty, and any more wine would encourage you toward bad behavior. So you reluctantly set it aside. “All right, well, if that’s all, I should probably head back.” Your stomach sank a little, recalling that Zevlor did not want to talk about more personal matters. You would not pressure him. You would leave amiably, and you would behave like a civilized adult. A lack of a clear answer was, in its own way, also a very clear answer.

Standing up left you light-headed. You reached for your backpack, but a warm hand caught your wrist, gripping tightly.

“Wait.” Zevlor lifted his head, teeth clenched, brows furrowed. He drew in a shaky breath, light flaring in those hellfire eyes. His chin jutted up, teeth sinking into that full bottom lip. He watched you with a desperation that bordered on anger.

Your stomach dropped and you tensed, unsure of what he needed to add. A rebuke? You cocked your head to the side.

He swallowed roughly and loosened his hold on your wrist, but he did not let go. “You move far too fast for this old man to keep up with.”

“Obviously not,” you said, glancing down at his hand on your arm, but you made no move to shake him off. “Anyway, age has nothing to do with it. You were probably always this deliberate.”

“You’re far too brash to be so insightful,” he murmured, turning your wrist over and lifting your palm to his mouth. He kissed the inside of your hand gently and heat pulsed from his lips through your veins, and down your core. Your blood roared as your thumb dragged along the ridge of his cheek. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes.

“Are you sure about this?” you asked softly.

“Surer than I’ve been about anything in a long time,” he said, watching you through slitted eyes. “I just needed a moment to compose myself. It’s been a...very long time.”

You nodded sympathetically. “If you need more time-”

“Time is something we have in short supply.” Zevlor gave a rough laugh, glancing up at you. “You’re going to face them tomorrow.”

“Yes, and then I’ll come back,” you said with firm conviction.

Zevlor’s eyes widened, and he studied your face. “You really mean it.”

“Well, yes? It’s not like there’s another inhabited town in the area,” you said, your tone playful. But you understood exactly what he meant. How many times did he send someone off, with a strained “come back safely” never to see them again? You exhaled slowly, trying to think of the right way to reassure him. “I’ve walked their halls. I’ve seen their forces. We can take them, especially with ambush tactics. It will be tricky, but we can do it.”

“You keep offering me hope, when I thought there was none left to be had,” he said, in a whisper that bordered on reverent.

You stroked his face. “It’s hard to walk this road alone.” Zevlor shepherded his people from Avernus-stricken Elturel to here. And he still had farther to go. It could not have been an easy journey. You could empathize.

“It’s not just that. You saved our children. Then you handled Kagha. And now you go to face the forces of the Absolute. Do you want to wait to complete this till after then?”

“Not really,” you said, eyes bright. “Your distinguished older gentleman attitude is charming and all, but honestly, I want to do filthy things to you right here on this table, right now-”

Zevlor growled and pulled you down onto his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist, his mouth covering yours. He tasted like smoke and wine, and you straddled him, knees planted on either side of his hips.

You squealed as he sunk his teeth into your neck, covering Asterion’s bite without breaking skin. He laved at your throat, growling softly as he sucked marks on your skin, making you squirm. He was still in full armor, a solid wall to cling to. You ran your fingers along his horns, grateful that they curved backward.

“May I?”

“Yes,” he hissed.

Permission was all you needed. You yanked his head backward, and bit down on the side of his neck, grinning as he cursed. Before he had a chance to retaliate, you shoved him supine, grinding down against his hips.

He panted, arching under you, flames burning in those orange eyes.

“Need to get you out of this armor-”

You felt it then, someone’s eyes, someone’s tadpole flickering overhead. Snarling, you glanced up at the second level, belatedly remembering Mol’s warning. You couldn't see exactly who lurked there in the shadows, but you glimpsed their distinct outline so you had a damn good idea.

Get out! The psionic order had bite, illithid power reverberating in your skull and they stumbled.

You glared upward, while Zevlor pushed his hair out of his face, followed your line of sight, raised one hand and pointed his finger.

There was a flash of fire and a familiar yelp as he struck the voyeur with a hellish rebuke, his reflexes combat-ready. Rapid footsteps echoed for a few seconds and then silence as you felt the presence fade.

“One of yours?” he asked, watching you with hooded eyes.

“Yeah. Sorry,” you muttered, embarrassed and started to climb off of him.

Zevlor rested one hand on your hip, gently stroking it, encouraging you to stay. “I thought so. I can usually recognize the kids.” He exhaled slowly, giving you a rueful smile. “Sorry, perhaps I overreacted.”

“No, they had it coming,” you scowled. You didn’t necessarily mind an audience, but that was under certain circumstances. Having someone sneak around to watch a private moment was a nasty violation. You fumed silently.

Zevlor took your clenched fist and gently opened it, lightly stroking the inside of your palm. Something rubbed against your calf, and you looked down to see his tail coiling around your leg.

Your neck and shoulders ached, the tension in your back now painful. You were half tempted to go back to camp and really ream the culprit out, but you rather liked your current seat. You studied the man stretched out underneath you, his chestnut hair mussed, his gaze hungry as he watched you.

You leaned over him, pressing a soft kiss to his throat and he groaned.

“We can move. There’s more privacy in that alcove.” He gestured off to the side where you knew he bedded down.

You hummed softly, running your fingers along his jawline and the sharp planes of his face. “I still want you on this table, just like this, eventually.” You leaned over and nibbled on the tip of one ear, just to feel him jolt under you. “Gonna fuck you till you cry,” you murmured.

Zevlor’s eyes widened, and then he sat up, pressing a needy kiss to your shoulder. “You have a filthy mouth,” he breathed.

“You have no idea.” You glanced upward, and then slid off Zevlor. He stood on shaky legs, and then guided you over to a bedroll positioned behind large leaning stones. It was a private spot. There was an open book lying next to it and some gear on the crates. He gave you an embarrassed look.

“I know you’ll need an early start tomorrow, so we can’t do everything.” He swallowed. “Can we focus on you tonight?” He reached out, cupping your jaw. “You’re coming back. You can do whatever you want with me then. So let me do this for you, please.”

“All right.” You sank down onto the bedroll. It smelled faintly of sulfur and smoke, but was clean.

Dropping to his knees, Zevlor unfastened your pants, his hands steady, though he was breathing hard.

“Do you like it when I grab your horns?” you asked, kicking off your pants.

“Yes,” he breathed sharply. He paused, looking at his talons. “Do you mind if I put on gloves? I’ll file my nails later.”

You swallowed. “Whatever you feel comfortable with.”

He pulled out a pair of thin leather gloves and bit down on the cuff, pulling one on. He licked his fingers, tongue swirling around them as he watched you with hooded eyes. Crawling between your legs, he lifted one knee over his shoulder and pulled your underwear off. Inhaling deeply, his tongue flicked along the edge of your lower lips.

You leaned back, sighing as he gave little kitten licks. It took you a moment to realize what he wanted.

“If you keep teasing me, Zevlor, I’m going to get mad,” you purred, grabbing his horns.

“It’s only fair, considering what you’ve been doing to me,” he rasped, but lowered his head, that hot tongue sliding inside you.

Groaning, you ground against his face, his nose pressed to your clit as he tongued you. You keened softly, raising your hips, trying to get him to go faster. “Zevlor, come on-”

He chuckled, his breath hot against your core. And then his leather covered fingers parted your folds, stretching you pleasantly for him. The worn leather was supple and already slick.

“Fuck,” you exhaled, head dropping back.

His tongue circled your clit, his fingers pumping faster in and out of you.

You gripped his horns tightly, the keratin unnaturally warm in your palms. Grinning, you wrapped your legs around his neck, lightly squeezing his head between your thighs. “Tap if it’s too much,” you said.

He gave a muffled moan, fingers pounding faster in and out of your pussy. Teeth grazed your lips, sharp little pricks that made you squirm. You squeezed tighter, digging your heels into his back and his fingers sped up, the blade of his tongue applying more pressure to your clit. He liked this, you realized. He’d probably like it if you just sat on his face. Though honestly, you wanted him flat on his back, panting and writhing underneath you. Or bent over that table, taking a strap while you pulled his tail and made him beg. You wanted to fuck him hoarse and sobbing. But you also wanted him to pin you to that table and fuck the spite out of you while calling you his “good girl,” just for a little while. You wanted to coax that tense furious Zevlor out, the man who was one step from losing control. He wouldn’t hurt you, you knew that much, but there was a fiery Hellrider buried in this reserved man, and you wanted to see him in action.

The pressure continued to build. Zevlor seemed tireless, his tongue and hands moving in tandem. His fingers curled inside you, hitting the sweet spot.

“That’s it,” he purred, his voice low and rough. “Loosen your grip. I want to spread you wider.” You released the leg lock, breath catching as he pushed another finger inside you the delicious stretch making you arch.

You fisted the bed roll, a ragged moan escaping your throat. “Zevlor, I need, just a little more,” you gasped. He gave a low chuckle, and then something smoothly stroked the rim of your ass, a teasing warmth that set your nerves alight.

Your eyes flew open, you realized it was the tip of his tail. Fuck, it was a prehensile one then. If he used that while he was inside you- You threw one arm over your face, arching as you came. Spasms wracked your body, clamping down on Zevlor’s fingers. It had been too damn long since someone else got you off. Your legs shook, but he kept going, those burning eyes fixed on you while he sucked on your clit, his fingers still working in and out of your dripping cunt.

“Zev-” you whimpered. The fine edge of pleasure honed into something harsher and you shuddered.

His smile sharpened as your voice cracked. Looking immensely satisfied with himself, he lifted his head, his mouth gleaming with your slickness, Casually, he wiped his face with his gloved fingers and still maintaining eye contact, he licked each finger clean.

Your heartbeat started to slow, and you basked in the afterglow for a few minutes, before sitting up to kiss him.

Zevlor gave a contented sigh as you tasted yourself on his lips.

One hand rubbed your back, pressing you closer to him.

“Give me a moment, and then I can-”

“It’s not necessary,” he murmured. “Between druids and hags, you’ve had a long day. You need to rest up for tomorrow.”

“But I want to make you mewl,” you said with a yawn, unable to deny that you were fading fast. “I’m going to. Just so you know. Going to ruin you later. Ugh. I don’t want to get up-”

“Rest. I’ll rouse you before it gets too late,” he said, stroking your hair.

Yawning, you gratefully curled up in the bed roll, and closed your eyes.

##

It was a short rest, less than an hour, but you awoke feeling refreshed. Zevlor sat on the ground beside you, reading that book, his fingers gently kneading your scalp. He gave you a warm lazy smile, looking more relaxed than you expected, considering you hadn’t finished him.

“When you get back,” he murmured, reading your concern. “We can take some time then.”

It surprised you how optimistic he seemed. Not that you doubted yourself, but it was unexpected to see how the normally somber Zevlor was so affected. That spark of happiness was something to be protected. It put steel in your spine. It made you more resolved not to let him down.

He helped you tidy your clothes and hair, his touches lingering. There was a cozy comfort in his gentleness, something you’d forgotten you craved. To your surprise, he pulled a small bottle out of his pack.

“Is that-?” You started to laugh.

“A poison resistance elixir, yes,” he said, giving you a serious look. “If your pattern of luck holds, you’ll probably need one.”

“I’ll drink it when I wake up tomorrow,” you laughed. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

He gave you a shy smile.

“Going to go deal with my idiot friend now. Any suggested punishments, or do I just emotionally scar them for life?”

He yawned. “I trust however you wish to handle it. Honestly, I just would prefer not to see a repeat of the behavior.”

“Oh, there won’t be,” you said darkly, giving him a peck on the cheek before you left for camp.

##

You packed the gauntlets away, knowing that you could offer them to Shadowheart, but maybe you didn’t want to just yet. Tomorrow.

You arrived back at camp to find things calm. Sure, Wyll was drinking a little more than usual, but given his new form, you understood why. You checked on Scratch, and thanked Gale for saving you some dinner. Asterion was watching you, obviously waiting for clarification about whether you were going to let him feed. But you had someone else to deal with first.

While you made your evening rounds, you purposefully watched a slightly singed Karlach squirm, avoiding eye contact with you. You didn’t think Zevlor’s spell had done much damage to her. When everyone else was sorted you made your way over to Karlach, and she laughed awkwardly at your expression.

“Huh, I didn’t expect him to get me that good,” she just came out and said, digging the toe of one boot into the dirt. “Old man’s got reflexes.”

“He’s not the one you should be worried about,” you scowled.

“C’mon, soldier.” She flashed you a weak smile. “I didn’t mean to peep. I was coming down to ask Zevlor something and then you two started going hot and heavy. You know I’m no good at the sneaking around stuff.” She shifted awkwardly from side to side, a restrained version of her usual dance steps.

“Uh-huh,” you said, arms crossed, fixing her with a flat stare.

Karlach winced, drawing her broad shoulders up. “Oh don’t look at me like that,” she whined.

You just tilted your head back and watched her hop back and forth. You could do this longer than she could.

“All right! All right!” she shouted. “Asterion dared me! He said I couldn’t do it without getting caught and I honestly thought I could! He bet me a berry tart!”

“That’s a lie!” Asterion shouted from across the camp, with just enough “authentic” outrage to convince you that it was, in fact, not a lie.

“I thought you two were just talking about boring shit! I didn’t realize you were mounting up for private Hellriding lessons!” she shouted, loud enough for the entire camp to hear.

And then it went eerily silent, confirming that yes, the entire camp did hear.

You rested your face in your hands, rubbing your temples.

“Uh...sorry,” Karlach said, in a much lower indoor voice.

“Uh-huh,” you said, reminding yourself that everyone probably already knew, the tadpoles leaked things all the time. But still, that was different from having your business shouted into open sky. Shaking your head, you went to ask Gale if he was really interested in feeding the resident pain in the neck.

[invidiatechdemo]

did you forget?

that your sister is a human being?

that she's capable of being mad? mad at You, even?

[grechsblog]

Thinking again about the game and its end fight and do you guys think bigfrin could be classified as a black hole or as a supernova

[dailyloopdeloop]

DAY 27: familiar

[normal-thoughts-official]

listen. yes it's pretty frustrating but i think it's so funny how they had aerin be an official LI, made his route fuck so hard even previous haters wanted to fuck him, and then had him dip in the same chapter that he had sex with MC for the first time. and then he's just been gone like it never happened for 9 chapters and counting. like i know ill get death threats for this but i genuinely think this was one of choices' funniest moves. what was going through their minds. 10/10 no notes

[ratsbanes]

Chuuya is human not just because of the end of Stormbringer. It's not because of some scar he has that proves he was human all along. Chuuya is human because everything he says, does, and thinks is so human like that he automatically is human.