#also orin is fucking terrifying oh my god

[blackjackkent]

Hm - ok, out of curiosity, I triggered a second long rest to see if something about the shapeshifters would proc once Wyll's business with Mizora was out of the way, and... well...

"Kainyank! Your deception ends now! I shall cleave the truth from you like flesh from a dhour!"

Oh boy.

"Help me!" the girl squeals in terror, looking up at Hector as he approaches. "She's gone mad!"

OK so. A couple things.

First of all - I speculated in my last post, off the cuff, that Yenna and/or her cat was in fact the shapeshifter interloper. It's entirely possible (even likely, I dare say) that Lae'zel is being rash here, but if she is not, I reserve the right to call myself a freaking genius at the end of this scene.

Second, it's tragically out of character for Hector to say, but this fourth dialogue option is absolutely what's going on in his head:

However - this is Hector, so his primary priority is immediately trying to defuse the situation, ideally before Lae'zel puts a blade in a potentially innocent child's neck.

"What in the hells is going on here?"

"This is not the whelp who's been following us," Lae'zel snaps. "I saw her. She slipped into camp in the form of a woman and shifted into this... abomination. She tried to silence me and hide her deception!"

"I didn't do anything!" the girl cries out with very credible terror, struggling to release herself from Lae'zel's iron grip.

Fairly interesting, this - I literally just, this afternoon, finished writing a fic (coming soon!) about how Hector and Lae'zel have bonded a lot more recently (mostly about their similarly unhealthy coping mechanisms for dealing with all the Strong Emotions in their lives right now, but still). So Hector's instinct is very much to believe Lae'zel.

Certainly, if this is Lae'zel, he doesn't believe she would be lying to him about this. She's made no secret of finding Yenna annoying, but she would not lie about it like this. Not to him.

It might not be Yenna. But it might just as easily not be Lae'zel.

Gods, he hates this. He hates that after he has grown so much in learning to trust those he travels with, that trust is being torn from under him by something outside their control. He hates that Orin's very existence is enough to upset the order of things, that she need not even act in order to cause them to start to tear themselves apart from within.

Moonmaiden, grant me wisdom... please...

"Do you have any proof?" he asks carefully.

"Is my word not enough?" Lae'zel snarls.

With a quick, sharp motion, she pulls a dagger from her belt, lifts it to Yenna's neck.

"Say your farewells, ne'voocrim!"

Hector puts out a hand sharply before she can strike, his eyes fixed on hers. [PERSUASION] "There's something we're not seeing here!" he snaps out.

Look at me, Lae'zel - if you truly are the woman I have come to know, who has come to trust me... you will stay your blade until I can speak.

(A/N: 25 DC, almost impossible even with Voice of the Circle AND Favorable Beginnings, but crit success on an inspiration re-roll, holy shiiiiit.)

Lae'zel's face twists at the interruption; abruptly she shoves the girl aside and takes a step towards Hector. Her eyes narrow and her lips curl in a sudden mad smirk - and Hector feels a chill roll through his whole body.

"Perhaps if I remove your eyes," she sneers, "you'll see things as they are."

Hector takes a rapid step back, his hands lifting, ready to strike. This is not Lae'zel - that much is suddenly obvious, and his neck prickles with fear. How long? How long has she been here lurking among them? Where has Lae'zel been taken? What has Orin done to her?

As if in answer, the false githyanki's head twists in a spasmodic jerking movement that is, by now, all too familiar.

The sense of utter violation is surprising. He feels his whole body go tense, a muscle working in his jaw. To be surprised by Orin in the city is one thing, but to have her here in their camp, their place of safety and respite and refuge - to have her take the form of one of his closest allies, and threaten to murder an innocent child in front of him...

His expression remains utterly still, showing no sign of the turmoil in his mind, but his fists clench at his sides.

There's soft footsteps behind him. The others have started to wake at the commotion, to realize what is happening. He can hear the slide of metal on metal as blades are drawn, the sound of hoarse, nervous breath. But no one strikes; perhaps all of them are as overwhelmed as he feels at this invasion of their home.

That unsettling smile has not moved from Orin's lips throughout her transformation. "Look at it," she murmurs, her eyes tracing over Hector from head to foot with disdainful amusement. "Crawling and sniffing and rooting around in the filth. Is it my Netherstone you seek, little piggy?"

She reaches out a hand, draws her fingertips tauntingly along his jaw. Her skin is ice-cold, like the touch of a corpse. He doesn't move, resists the urge to flinch. "Hush... hush..." she croons, her eyes alight with madness. "Orin will take care of you. And your little pet."

At Hector's side he sees the flash of a blade. Karlach has moved next to him, and her sword is up, the point aimed directly at Orin's throat.*

Hector's voice is tight and hoarse, trying not to show the depth of his fear in this moment. "What have you done with Lae'zel?"

Orin draws back with a soft, maniacal giggle. "Nothing!" she says brightly. "No, not a thing! Still gasping and gagging on the foul airs of Bhaal's temple." She smiles slowly, full of gleeful malice. "I will not slice. Her kind die too easily."

She begins to stroll casually between their bedrolls, seemingly unconcerned by the weapons drawn in her direction, or the anger in her audience's eyes. "The Murder Lord demands a better offering. Something new... sticky sweet and delicious." She pauses, turns to meet Hector's gaze again, pokes a finger towards his chest.

"He wants *you.*"

"Fuck that," Karlach mutters at his side.

Hector shakes his head slightly. His skin is crawling at the nearness of the shapeshifter, at what she is describing, and his adrenaline is starting to pump with urgency - the need to find Lae'zel, to get away from this creature, to escape whatever the God of Murder has in mind for them all. But they need information before they can hope to retaliate...

"The Murder Lord wants me?" He is surprised to hear how steady his voice sounds all of a sudden. "Why?"

"Ketheric's killer..." she murmurs. There's a strange sort of eager hunger in her tone now at the mention of the violence Hector has wrought in the past. "Turned the corpse-lover to carrion when you took his stone. But he was a dull kill. No blood to spill, no guts to rip - a desiccated husk, all dust and hollow." Her breath catches with an eager whine, those pale blank eyes widening. "You must be sharpened before you set your edge against my skin."

Hector shudders. "Enough of these riddles," he snaps. "Speak plainly."

Orin tilts her head. "You'd prefer my whispers in the tyrant's tongue?" she says.

Another sudden twist, a flash of red - and Gortash stands before him instead.

"You've heard Gortash's whispers. I see how your skull swarms with his promises..." The words are Orin's, but now uttered in Gortash's low, sardonic growl. "He whinges and wails over the Crown of Karsus, wanting to command it without me... Oh, how I long to slit his poxy smile from ear to ear. But I can't touch him. He bound my blade when we first conspired."

"Gortash didn't want me at first. Didn't trust me. Got me to wag my tongue, swear an oath never to hang him from the hooks, drip-drain him into Father's open jaws... You must kill the tyrant, take the Netherstone from his corpse, and bring it to my temple. There we slice and shred each other. The survivor claims the stones. What's left of the other is Bhaal's."

It is incredibly unsettling to hear Orin's insane ramblings coming from Gortash's throat. Hector listens in silence, watches as the creature shifts again, back to Orin's pale skin and eyes.

"Agree, and I will bring my assassins to heel. They watch you always, longing to spray the crimson from your veins. Refuse me, and you'll learn what happens to those who defy Bhaal's doctrine. So will your friend."

Narrator: Orin demands a fight to the death. The prize for the victor - the Netherstones, and the chance to control the crown alone. Accept, and you must kill Gortash. Refuse, and your companion's life may be forfeit. As might your own - Orin's assassins will hunt you like prey for slaughter.

Hector's mind whirls, wheels turning rapidly as he tries to parse the situation and the best way out of it.

The worst thing about this situation is that agreeing to Orin's demands feels like the right answer.

He was already going to kill Gortash; that has been a given for quite some time. Even were he not one of the Chosen, Hector would help Karlach destroy him regardless; as it is, he cannot be allowed to live. And Orin is, by far, the scarier of the two remaining leaders of the Dead Three's plot. Allying with her long enough to keep her shapeshifting assassins off of him and his friends is more than a little appealing.

Then, of course, there is Lae'zel. He intends to rescue her regardless of the agreement here; she cannot be allowed to languish in a Bhaalist prison. Not after how important she has become to him, to the whole group. She is one of their family now. But to agree to Orin's demands for now would perhaps help to ensure her safety long enough for him to find her.

Normally at this point in his thought process, he would consider that he abhors the thought of lying, of placing his word of bond on a deal that he means to betray. But the extraordinary thing about what Orin is offering is that her endgame is only the final showdown between them that was coming anyway; he does not want control of the Netherstones, but he was never going to let her live. She expects his betrayal, it is even written into the deal - what she offers is only a brief cessation of hostilities long enough for it to come to blows between them in another place.

She is, in short, offering him a deal for what he was going to do anyway - kill Gortash, and then kill her. The only variable is Lae'zel's safety, which is better ensured by playing the game Orin's way, at least for now.

"So be it," he says harshly. "I will kill Gortash. Lae'zel lives. Then we fight for the final Netherstone."

Her eyes widen with insane joy. "The promise of slaughter! Of pain and humiliation and the sound of blood drip-dropping into the gutter. Do not underestimate his Steel Watch. Seek their cradle in the Lower City and skewer their skull meat. Make them rust and blood. Then you can gore the lordling again and again and again--"

She squirms with excitement, her voice rising in pitch to an eager squeal, those pale eyes fixed on Hector's face. "But listen. Listen close, Bone-killer... Step in my domain while the tyrant still sucks air, and I will carve your failure into your pretty plaything's skull. Bring me his stone and I will set the bait free. Only then can you and I make exquisite butchery. The victor will set the world to slaughter."

She twists the ring on her finger, disappearing into a burst of red light with her last words hanging in the chill night air. "This is Bhaal's offer. He will not make another."

-----

"Holy shit. Fuck. Soldier, what the fuck was that?" Karlach's sword falls to her side and her other hand grabs Hector's arm urgently. "We're not seriously going along with this?"

"Why not?" Hector says bitterly. "All she has asked us to do is kill Gortash and then come to fight her. I don't believe we ever had another plan anyway."

"And Lae'zel? You believe she'll just let her go?" Shadowheart asks, her eyebrows knitted with concern. Even now, she bears no particular love for their githyanki comrade - but she has come far enough at Hector's side that she doesn't want Lae'zel lost either. "She's a trickster - a creature of shadow beyond any that ever served Shar. Who is to say she will keep her promise?"

"I believe she'll keep her safe until I come to face her," Hector says wearily. "Because she knows we would not leave Lae'zel behind. Alive, she's bait. Dead, she's useless."

Jaheira smiles, without humor. "I believe you are correct," she agrees quietly. "So it seems we have only one path forward."

Hector nods. "And the first step is killing Gortash - ideally with as little delay as possible."

Karlach's lips curl in a savage smile and her hand tightens on Hector's arm. "Well - you won't hear any argument from me."

-----

* Artistic license, obviously. I just liked the mental image. XD

[defira85]

For the WIP list thing, whatcha got going on for No. 6, the Women’s Wrongs Zine? :)

OH GOD okay well. I have two plans that I'm looking at for when contributions open tomorrow (which I have to hurry up and finish ahhhhhhhh) because I thought Orin would be the OBVIOUS one to work with for a submission, and I've got two brief drafts set up for her, one related to tadpoling Durge and relishing in Daddy Bhaal's approval, and one related to tasty tasty cat stew, I'll have to decide what to go with

But I ALSO have strong feelings about Mystra, which I stumbled into backwards while I was pondering thoughts about Kass ascending to godhood/toppling Bhaal and taking his place, and what exactly a human has to sacrifice in order to be some manner of infinite. And ESPECIALLY Midnight!Mystra, who has undergone the horror of full obliteration twice now through her memories of Mystryl and Mystra#2, and has the completely alien Mystryl inside of her who was never a mortal, and is as old as existence itself, like... how do you maintain your sense of self when your duty is older than the stars and trying to consume you? It has to be fucking terrifying. And Mystra is one of the few gods who knows what it is to not just be dead, but to be completely destroyed. All trace of her existence obliterated. Wouldn't that be terrifying? Wouldn't the cosmic horror of your place in the universe just be excruciating?

And then you try and control yourself and try and hold onto the pieces of your humanity that are slipping away, and you have this nice boy wizard who constantly ignores you saying no to him (I love Gale SO MUCH but I can't ignore that he LITERALLY HAS A LINE IN GAME saying that he wanted to "push past Mystra's boundaries" like boy? Did your mother not teach you about consent?) and then he fucks up and comes running to you holding a sentient piece of your first death, something ravenously hungry that wants to lunge for you and make you experience full non-existence for the third time, and he says "this was a gift for you, I know you said no, but I wanted it more" and she's??? not supposed to get mad???? Not supposed to be hurt and frightened by that??

Anyway I guess I'll see what they accept (IF they accept anything from me) but I'm outing myself as a Mystra Is a Complicated Woman and I Love Her stan. I know she hurt Gale and like. Telling him to kill himself is definitely Goddess Mystra taking precedent over Midnight Mystra because all of reality collapsing > the sword coast being overrun in her mind and we don't really GET that expressed in game. I also don't adhere to popular fanon that Gale was a child when she got her claws in him, because I go with FR canon which is she was partially resurrected in 1479 by Elminster and then fully resurrected at the end of the Second Sundering so AT MOST Gale has only known her in person since his early 20s. Which does not at all negate the potential for grooming/some kind of fucked up relationship that has definitely got severely negative consequences for him. And!! Second Mystra (Midnight's predecessor) did a whole bunch of real fucked up things with her Chosen so it's really not terribly outlandish to believe Midnight might have inherited some of those traits but-

I'm gonna stop babbling and leave it for the zine lmfao. Anyway. That's my two terrible queens and my dream for my applications!

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Fic Idea: Geralt being very self conscious about literally all of the inhuman traits he has (he probably has even more than most Witchers because of the extra trials) and trying to hide them entirely or just make them less obvious when Jaskier starts traveling with him, probably angsting whenever Jaskier notices, and some nice h/c from Jaskier ( + feral bard ready to stab all the humans who made Geralt feel like that and/or horny bard with a broken brain bc “oh no hes getting hotter”)

so I did this from Geralt’s pov bc honestly I was just feeling the angst today? Its the first day of classes and a bitch was overwhelmed so here. we. go.

also I couldn't get that face out of my head from the betrothal episode where he’s watching the chaos before the fight breaks out and he looks like a confused puppy?! y’all know the one? god its so cute.

Waringins: none

__________

Geralt had always managed to stay far away from the average human. They always cringed and drew back at his slightly off appearance, until Jaskier started following him. 

It started with his teeth. On the rare occasion he gave in and smiled at the bard’s jokes he noticed Jaskier staring at his teeth. They weren't fangs per se, but he had pronounced canines before the trials, now they were rather obvious. 

Jaskier made to say something, paused, then changed the subject. Geralt ran his tongue over his teeth and feigned attention for the next few minutes of the bard's story. He spent the night trying to decide if Jaskier was scared or disgusted by him.

When Jaskier insisted on brushing twigs out of Geralt’s hair after a contract rather early on Geralt felt a panic he wasn't sure what to do with. He’d already accepted that he needed the bard, though whether for personal or professional reasons he hadn’t made up his mind, and he didn't want him running when he realized Geralt was more wolf than expected. His hair was coarse and unruly, another side effect of the trials, but Jaskier hummed in content as he ran his fingers through it. 

“It’s softer than it looks.” he murmured.

Geralt only grunted, surprised but still not entirely at ease. 

Months down the line they were having to haggle over the fee an alderman owed and Geralt growled. Not a human growl, no. He was tired and covered in blood and, frankly, really fucking angry and he’d let an animalistic growl leap out of his chest. He could smell the fear in the air and made sure to avoid Jaskier’s eyes. He couldn’t bear to see the disgust reflected at him. They got 100 orins above asking price though. 

When they reunited after the winter Geralt was far more careful. Less smiling, kept his hair neat so Jaskier wasn’t inclined to fix it, even made sure to rest better so he didn’t slip up again. 

Of course his plans went to shit after a week. He’d taken quite the beating from a bruxa before killing it and Jaskier had insisted he lay down while the bard skinned and cooked their dinner. 

While it roasted Jaskier laid down next to Geralt, brushing the hair out of a cut to begin with, but when Geralt leaned into the gentle touch he ran his hands through his hair. Half asleep, Geralt thought maybe this was a bad idea, he'd managed to keep up his civilized human act for a few days now, but it just felt so nice. Jaskier continued his gentle strokes for a few minutes, nudging Geralt closer to sleep despite the hunger eating at his stomach. When the bard finally pulled away to check their dinner Geralt gave a high pitched whine, not unlike a puppy.

Jaskier froze, "Did you…"

Geralt cleared his throat, gingerly sitting up to lean against a log and grumbling, "No." 

"Yes, you… Geralt that was cute." Jaskier was squatting next to him, fussing with his bandaged arm to busy his hands.

Geralt was too tired to control his facial expressions, completely baffled by his words he turned to him, "I'm an animal and you think it's cute?" 

Jaskier sighed, abandoning the bandages and resting his elbows on his knees, giving Geralt an exasperated look, "You are not an animal. I, for one, am quite drawn to your differences."

"You mean the fangs and fur for hair?" Geralt didn't believe him for a second and he made it clear with his tone. 

"Your teeth don't scare me in the slightest." He heaved a sigh as he stood to take the rabbit off the fire, "In fact I think they suit you well." 

"Suit me?" 

"Yes. Adds to the total attractiveness you have going on." Jaskier handed a rabbit leg to Geralt as if their conversation was completely normal, as if Geralt's heart wasn't about to beat out of his chest. 

He realized he was staring, probably oogling up at the bard but he was too lost to care, "And the growling like a dog…?" 

"Mm!-" Jaskier spoke around a mouthful, waving his free hand as if conducting an orchestra, "-That was rather hot." 

"What!?" The panic in Geralt's chest was slowly disapating until Jaskier's words transformed it into something else entirely.

"Oh please! Don't act so surprised," Jaskier was snickering now, looking down at Geralt with an amused bewilderment, "You've fallen into many a bed since we first met, how do you not know?" 

Geralt picked at the hare, more self conscious than ever, "I just… most of them think it will be a story for the tavern, the, uh, 'thrill of the other'. A challenge."

"Yeah. Idiot. I too would be telling everyone about bedding the hot witcher who saved the townsfolk." Jaskier rolled his eyes as he sat on the ground next to Geralt, "Not to be untoward-"

"You always are." Geralt teased.

"-It's more fun- what I'm trying to say is, I find all of you appealing. Your little wolfy bits and habits and the quintessential humanness of you as well. You are not an animal, Geralt, and you don't deserve the way scared little weasels treat you." 

Geralt was silent for a moment, chewing at some gristle stuck in his teeth as an excuse to think. 

Jaskier lowered his voice, a hint of nerves on his tongue, "I know you're realigning how you view yourself up in there but I did just do a little confessing and it would be nice if you said something. Anything." 

Geralt tilted his head, looking at the bard from under a furrowed brow, "You're attracted… to me?" 

Jaskier nodded, now the one to look away, "When you say it so plainly…" 

"Hmm." The panic from before was entirely replaced by a terrifying warmth spreading through Geralt's chest. This idiot of a human who had seen him at his worst wanted him for him. In 80 years the closest he'd come to this kind of feeling was the bond with his horses. 

He couldn't put words to it, not in a million years, so instead he shuffled closer to the bard and rested his head on his shoulder. Jaskier placed a hand on his knee and he let out a deep rumbly sigh of content. 

They finished their meal in silence, more than enough words passed between them for the night.