#astarion up in the rafters

[scatmaan]

i will say storming moonrise towers with just 4 lunatics is hilarious

[devilfic]

I bought baldur’s gate 3 as an early birthday present and I’ve never played a game quite like this before (sans persona 5) but it’s rewiring my brain. the sheer autonomy I’m allowed to have means that I don’t have to face a boss and his eight goblin minions bare-assed with only spells and a dream. I can fill dror ragzlin’s throne room with gunpowder barrels and set it off like an atomic bomb. I’m allowed to do that. and it works

[newvegascowboy]

Disappearing back into my dnd hole

[durzarya]

Still in Act 1 of Baldur's Gate 3 because I officially live there and I've had my first guardian dream.

Or I somehow managed to not use my ilithid powers until the goblin camp because I've wanted to save the baby goblins (did not manage to do it rip One and Three you will be missed).

And good lord my guardian is sus as fic.

Guardian is like: Use your powers for the good of people!

Me: I have been using my powers for good I don't know where you've been???

[beaft]

the other day in BG3 i used karlach's superior strength to jump her up to a rafter and collect some loot, which would've been fine, except i'd forgotten to turn off group mode so astarion somehow followed her up there and got stuck. we left without him. i didn't even notice he was gone for a full half hour. was just like "wow it's real quiet around here all of a sudden." like leaving a baby at a service station

[dhampling]

little love girl!dadstarion, <1k

He doesn’t consider himself a clingy parent.  He just endeavours to spend every waking moment he can with her. - dadstarion watches dhampling sleep for a lil bit and has some thoughts about life. floof. wc: 724

Astarion watches her as he sits, legs tucked up under him; with a chalice on the endstool to his side. 

Despite his current book being one he’s looked forward to indulging for a while, he can’t lose himself in the pages quite yet. His eyes skim and reskim now familiar paragraphs while flitting to the small child asleep on the lounger. 

The room is full of impossibly green tangling plants, and glows shades of orange in the late candlelight; incense blooming from the clay holder on the sill. A small trinket dish full of corvid gatherings. The boarded shutters, the curtains parted at either side; the painted mural in place of the window. Lanterns of coloured glass spilling forest greens and oranges soft.

Elven-pointed ears twitching, the occasional small shuffle. Each and every sleepy inhale and exhale from her tiny little body feels like a victory.

He doesn’t consider himself a clingy parent. 

He just endeavours to spend every waking moment he can with her, hence her resting here now; in the den room, instead of her own well-loved bedroom. A wayward spider on the ceiling had turned into an evening of storytelling - a journal filled with tales of Grizzle the Arachnid in her spiky young hand. 

She’s swaddled in a big patchwork throw he’d made early into his freedom following the fall of the Absolute, just as the idea of tailoring had come to mind. The stitching is a little skewed in places but the untrained eye would glide right over it, he’s sure.

He could carry her up the iron wrought spiral staircase and tuck her in - and likely will soon - but being able to sit and just observe feels like an indulgence. A rare treat. 

A small part of him - he would never admit - was hopeful before her birth that she’d be his little nightling, although any lingering wants were blinded by unbridled joy at her ability to bask in the sun. He’d never expected the gaping hole in his undead heart at being unable to pick her up from a day of schooling, though. 

He trances through it every time, or he fears he’d disintegrate trying it on big occasions. Her first day, missed. Many more to come. 

He frowns. 

He does stay awake to do her hair each morning before she heads off, though. Before she’d even reached her first birthday he’d sequestered away a book on Faerûnian Braids from the Night Market; her ringlets barely presenting then now flourishing atop her dozy head.

You. She looks like you.

Astarion’s heart pangs. 

He misses you terribly. Dramatically. Wants to creep up the stairs in the style of Nosferatu and bite you in your sleep, fondly; doze the night away with his incisors reverently just beside your neck. His paramour. His well-bitten darling. 

Sometimes, he reads the gaudy vampiric fiction novels slighted from the market and hidden away in one of the rafters when clients leave the shop earlier than expected. He thinks one day he’ll play into the notion - the skulker, the grand gestures, the one who stole his heart - then realises his life is wholly a mirror of the pages.

Gah. He’s a cliche. A horrid cliche. He shakes his head yet can’t find it within him to do anything but smile.

Nothing about this feels horrid. 

It feels normal. Real. Home is home and it is the safest place in the world.

The dhampling stirs, stretching among the throw and rolling her tiny wrists. A small yawn tumbles from little lips.

“Darling?’

Astarion shuffles his leg from under him and turns his book, resting it on the lounger. Moves to kneel beside her.

‘Sweet thing. Come along, now.”

Her eyes open slowly. She looks at him with reverence. Her father. The balm of rest settles as a haze in this cosy room and nothing has ever felt so good.

Father. Him. Awful, nasty, terrible him. She could’ve been one of them, roaming the underdark in eternal childhood in another lifetime. He decides he won’t allow the thought to pass.

“Can you carry me?” She whispers, lifting her arms above her head.

“If I don’t; I fear we’ll be traipsing those stairs all evening, little love.” He speaks softly and gently lifts her sleepy self onto his hip.

She doesn’t understand his quips yet. She will, one day.

[enigmatist17]

When Gale of Waterdeep returns to his home, he's arrived with a pale companion with red eyes.

Red eyes that study, taking in a city he's never seen while daring wandering eyes to look at the wizard. Most people are happy to see their wayward wizard has returned home, eager for tales of his adventure and defeat of a great evil. Gale is only too happy to do as such, a tavern that seemed to hold far too many people than it should have been able to filling when news of his return spreads through town. There are questioning eyes for the man who all but sits on Gale's lap, long nails drawing mindless shapes along Gale's neck as he starts from the beginning, his wine glass ever so slowly draining until Gale stops for the evening. Gale, not usually one to follow the whims of another, stops his tale right before their battle with Ketheric Thorm (much to the taverns dismay), bidding a good night before trailing after the pale man and into the night.

It doesn't take long for Waterdeep's residents to see the pale man for what he is, watching the figure prowl the (admittedly slightly safer) streets of Waterdeep at night. He's clearly learning what the city has to offer, all glittering smiles and firm rejections when he's invited into homes, those red eyes sometimes the only glimpse one would catch down a dark alleyway. Sometimes, Gale is with him, the two sitting in a park chatting away into the night, a campfire appearing from nowhere to further remind them of their fellow companions. The pale man looked softer in that light, gaze soft as he listened to Gale ramble on about something, or laugh at an unexpected joke.

His name is Astarion, the information circled around the townsfolk who are more eager for the gossip than they're letting on. Astarion turns out to be much the gossiper himself, the older ladies of Waterdeep willing to get up a little earlier to catch up with the pale man before he has to vanish to the rising sun, Gale often teases Astarion when he learns of his new pastime.

It's not long before news spreads of the man beyond Waterdeep, and those who knew little of Baldur's Gate figured Astarion was something to hunt. Gale is aghast at the idea of hunters coming to his city to go after the vampire, but Astarion merely giggles and silences the angered stutters with a deep kiss. It's a challenge, something that gets his (figurative) blood racing, poor hunters who thought they knew better vanishing with a cut-off scream if they were lucky. Others were left to run for their lives, the vampire chasing and tormenting the poor fellows until daylight bathed the city, wondering if the chase would resume the next night.

Usually not, but Astarion wasn't complaining.

Gale would just insist on no bloodstained clothes littering the floor after said nights.

The college Gale begins to teach at is more than happy to accommodate the man, Astarion hiding up in the rafters and listening to Gale terrify his students due to reputation or coursework in amusement. In turn, Gale uses him as the occasional "volunteer", students trying not to laugh if the pale man seemingly appearing from nowhere would float in the air at times, ruby eyes all but shooting daggers as Gale lectures without a care in the world.

No one can remember the depressed Gale from what felt like so long ago, a man so desperate to please a goddess that had held him from childhood. He had been changed into someone who smiled with genuine happiness, leaning into the lithe arms that were always draped around Gale, as if claiming the man for his own from wandering eyes. Reddened eyes always behind his shoulder became an accepted part of Gale's life now, taking on a subtle shine whenever Gale laughs at something Astarion says, and sometimes people wonder if they were ever apart.

No, no particularly.

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Good Boys

Astarion x Y/N - drabble - 516 WC

Request from @lumar014ad - thank you!

Warnings: none - this is pure fluff

Masterlist

---------------

Astarion set down the new ball you asked him to get Scratch while he was in the city. He left his tent, going to search for you as the sun went down. Lately you liked to watch the moon come out from the broken tower near camp. Astarion walked up the stairs softly, coming to the third floor he finally saw you. Your back was laying against the owlbear, Scratch laid under one arm, Grub under the other, Us laid by your feet. Astarion chuckled, alerting you of his presence. 

“Hi,” you said, turning your head and smiling at him. 

“Hello darling,” Astarion said, sitting next to you while gently petting Scratch.

“I can’t believe you keep that demented thing.” Astarion said while pointing at Us.

You playfully smacked his arm, “Us is a delight, how dare you.” 

Astarion laughed as he watched the stars start to shine, the moon enveloping the night. “You’re radiant, you know.” he gently pushed away the hair falling in front of your eyes.

“That’s just the moon Star.” you whispered his nickname sleepily as you took hold of his hand.

“Not just your body darling… look at how life and love blossoms with you near. Animals have a sense about them, they can detect good and evil. I think you have to be an angel the way they love you.” Astarion said, looking at you fondly. 

“I love them, they know were a family. My group of good boys.” Astarion’s heart jumped when you motioned between you, the pets, and him. He was your family.

The pocket on the front of your jacket shuffled a bit, drawing Astarion’s attention away momentarily. You closed your eyes, knowing you were caught in this moment. “What is that?” Astarion asked, pulling faintly at the pocket to view inside.

You moved Astarion’s hand aside, pulling out your new friend. In your hand laid a small bat, flitting about slightly before nuzzling its head into your hand. You smiled at the creature. “I think he’s waiting for a friend.” you said.

“Looks like you’re his new friend.” Astarion laughed. 

Just then, the bat took off. Meeting another bat in the rafters of the tower. They twirled and swooped around one another hypnotically.

“What possesses them to do such a thing?” Astarion asked as he watched them closely.

You smiled, running a finger over his cheekbone then his jaw. “Protection.” Astarion turned to look at you, “Ensuring those they love are safe.” you kissed his cheek. You hooked your pinky with his while leaning your forehead on his. “We’re safe. This family is safe.” You knew Astarion worried and doubted himself often. You wanted him to know just how truly you felt about him. He’s your everything. 

Astarion kissed your lips, “I love you.” he said, barely pulling away.

“I love you.” you said back, kissing him softly over and over again. Astarion settled himself next to you, watching the still night.

“Did you get Scratch a new ball?” you asked, gingerly petting the sleeping dog's head.

Astarion chuckled a bit, “Of course.”

Thanks for reading! Send a request or leave a comment and I might just write it! Ilysm <3

[bg-brainrot]

Hugs for a Vampire (Astarion x GN!Reader) - Chapter 3: After the House of Healing

Chapter 3: After the House of Healing

Each chapter can be read as a standalone hug.

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Rogue!Tav)

Genre: Fluffy, Filling in Canon

Rating: Teen

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Act 2, Canon-typical violence, cw: House of Healing, cw: Astarion's past

WC: 1.4k words, 3/18 chapters

Summary: Tav has realized their feelings (covered in Failed a Dex Save and Fell for You) and Astarion has caught them. We're looking at a cautious little half hug, where Tav knows more about him, but isn't quite sure how to comfort him yet.

Ao3 | [Hug2][Hug4] | Hugs for a Vampire Masterlist

You stand in the center of the large auditorium, dumbfounded. What in the hells just happened?

Mere moments ago, a mad surgeon was waving various sharp implements at you, his students slowly surrounding you. Now, they all lay dead, by their own hands, their bodies a gruesome mess. Your entire team stands there, frozen, as if not sure how else to proceed.

“So,” Karlach breaks the silence. “That was certainly…”

“Yup,” you say, still stunned.

“Are we positive they were Shar worshipers?” Shadowheart hazards.

You turn back to look at her, “I’m afraid so.” 

Her skin shines paler than usual in the Moon Lantern’s glow. “Well.”

As you’ve gotten into the habit of doing, you turn to your vampiric lover for his take. He’s always only too willing to provide, but this time around Astarion stays uncharacteristically quiet. He seems deep in thought, staring at the bodies littered around you all. “Astarion?” you probe.

“Hm?” he lifts his head to yours, eyes narrow and cold. Your heart drops in your chest at such a reaction, but you let nothing show. You will fully admit to yourself that you feel real, genuine affection for this prickly man, but you refuse to waste energy on the idea that he may never feel the same toward you. Besides, his eyes are staring through you at this moment.

“Are you alright?” you ask, trying not to sound as worried as you feel.

“Yes,” he says, almost mechanically. “I’m fine.”

You decide not to push, leaving him to his ruminations. Having learned more of his history, you’ve resolved to make sure he has his moments to think, to be himself– or at the very least, relearn to be himself.

In an attempt to give Astarion his space, you gather Karlach and Shadowheart. “Alright, let’s focus. Split up and search through these bodies for any valuables, try to avoid the blood and guts. While you’re at it, look for any clues about Art’s visit here.”

Both women nod, looking at Astarion out of the corner of their eyes, but knowing better than to say anything. You all disperse in the big room, lighting torches as you go to repel the Shadow Curse.

At first, you had ignored the state of the building, focusing on getting in, dealing with Malus Thorm. Now that you’re actively looking, this place is grisly. The floor is sticky with blood, the walls covered with overgrown plants– even the surgeon’s tools are old and rusted. What kind of monster lived here, worked here, and ultimately died here? you wonder.

Your team is absorbed in searching for a while, finding various odd tinctures, far too many weapons for a House of “Healing”, and even a lute that must be Art’s. However, in all of your finding, you’ve lost track of Astarion.

“Go get him, soldier,” Karlach says, concern plain on her face. “As much as he could use a big ol’ group hug, I think you’d be the only welcome one.”

You scoff. “He cares about you both just as much.” They exchange a skeptical look. “He’s just not great at showing it?”

“Let’s go with that,” Shadowheart says. “Either way, please do hurry. This house is deeply unpleasant.”

You head off in search of your missing vampire, following the trail of light required in this dreary place. Before too long, you find yourself up in the rafters, in an attic of some kind. The trees here have reclaimed a chunk of the building, and the metallic smell of dried blood doesn’t quite reach here.

You hear him before you see him, a litany of annoyed curses and thumps of books falling to the ground. Walking through the area, you see Astarion in a corner of the room, fastidiously searching a shelf.

“Astarion?” you say, approaching carefully. 

He gives a slight jump, head clearly somewhere else entirely. His body visibly relaxes at the sight of you, but the scowl never leaves his face. “Oh, it’s you, my dear.” You try not to let this bother you– again, you know it’s not because of you. Despite your efforts, your face must fall because he’s immediately walking toward you, glare softening. “Is something the matter?”

“No, no,” you quickly try to recover. You’re here to support him, not the other way around. “I was just worried about you.”

The scowl returns and he stops moving toward you. “Did I not already say I’m fine?”

“You did,” you say, walking forward tentatively to finish closing the space between you. “But I wanted to double-check. Also, I’m afraid your beautiful face might stay in that glower forever. You would be inconsolable then.”

Despite his sullen demeanor, he gives you a wry smile at that. “You’re right, I can’t let these evil bastards have the satisfaction.”

Nodding, you step directly in front of him. “So will you tell me what’s wrong?”

“There’s nothing wrong,” he begins, eyes turning to look at the floor, away from you. “I just didn’t like that ‘doctor’.”

“Mmm, yes. He was quite unpleasant,” you frown, recalling the revulsion Malus inspired in you only a short while ago.

“He was more than unpleasant.” Astarion bristles at the word. “He was just like Cazador– utterly insane,” he spits, his hackles raised defensively on instinct, hyper-aware of an enemy that’s no longer there.

Your heart aches with the sudden realization that this madman, this situation, those poor women, are recalling memories of Astarion’s own personal hell with Cazador. “We made sure he can’t hurt anyone else now. He got exactly what he deserved,” you say vehemently, as if practicing for when you may be able to give a certain vampire lord his comeuppance.

Astarion seems shocked out of his own anger at the venom in your voice. “Yes,” he starts, looking at you now. “You’re… you’re right. Thank you for dealing with him so brilliantly.”

“If I knew that creep bothered you this much, I almost regret letting him off that easily.” You place a hand over his arm and gaze back into his eyes, trying to muster as much ferocity as you can in your next words, “I won’t let the next one off easily. At all.”

Eyes locked, you can see the exact moment that Astarion’s gaze softens, his large, red eyes swimming with an emotion you haven’t been able to name quite yet. All of the defensive tension leaves his body and he hangs his head, resting his forehead heavily on your shoulder. “I know you won’t,” he whispers, almost too quiet to hear.

At first, you’re not sure what to do, with this shock of white curls in your face, his body slumped in front of you. But Karlach’s words chime in your head, ‘he could use a big ol’ group hug.’ Positive he wouldn’t appreciate that, you settle for what makes sense in the moment. Using the arm he’s not currently using as a perch, you wrap it around his shoulders, squeezing ever so gently.

He freezes at the gesture, but doesn’t remove himself from your shoulder. Instead you hear a soft sigh, and feel his hand come to rest on your elbow, as if bracing himself. 

You’re not sure how long you both stand here, just leaning on each other in a decrepit attic, but your companions come calling before you can completely lose track of time.

“Oi!” you hear Karlach’s booming voice yelling up. “Are you two decent up there?”

Astarion lifts his head up, his expression now calm and looking more like his regular self. He smirks at you before answering down the hall, “I’m never decent, darling, but I can be even less decent if you’d like!”

You’re relieved to see him stand up straight again, his eyes crinkle with that familiar mirth of having said something naughty. “Please don’t,” you say, shaking your head and heading back toward your companions. “I’d like to get out of here first.”

He raises a teasing eyebrow at you before following. “First, you say. Planning on being indecent together later?”

You laugh at his over-the-top flirting and look back at him. “Like I said, let’s get out of here first.”

The two of you head down to meet your companions, and, while they certainly notice, neither of them say anything to the mused curls on Astarion’s head.

[bananastarion]

In my current game, Astarion is an arcane trickster and can summon familiars. So yes, we now have a team cat that accompanies us on our adventures at all times. I pretend it's just Astarion's pet cat. He'll be up in the rafters sniping goblins with his trusty kitty by his side, tail swishing and staring at him intently. I highly recommend doing this on your own playthroughs, as it's extremely cute when the cat tries to sound aggressive at the start of a battle, even though it's virtually useless. But on the rare occasion it manages to deliver the final blow to a powerful enemy, it's immensely rewarding and hilarious. My dream is for it to be the one to end the Elder Brain. (in my last playthrough, that privilege went to Astarion). It also came in handy when stealing the idol of Silvanus without getting caught.

For whatever reason, at camp the cat strays from Astarion and likes to sit beside Karlach and stare up at her. I can only assume it's because cats are attracted to warmth (and kind people).

I need to come up with a name for the kitty, but I'm still thinking of one.

[cam-the-orange-cat]

I got BG3 back when it was still in beta and have gone through so many Tavs but never finished the game even once. Never have even made it into Act 2. I just get so anxious about decisions and if I'm "playing right." So a couple weeks ago, I start playing but as one of the companions: Lae'zel. She has one goal of which she reminds me of constantly: "I loathe waiting, I crave blood." All my choice anxiety has lifted. I'm just a lanky gith'yanki kid running around and committing war crimes. And my companions are shockingly supportive. Maybe they're cutting me extra slack because they put the youngest of all of them in charge of the group lol

The only time I got a disapproval (from all three of my party members at the time, btw: Astarion, Gale, and Kharlak) was when I booed Volo off the goblin stage. I stand by my booing. He deserved it.

I also haven't reloaded a save once until last night, when I nearly TPK'd us while sneaking around the goblin camp. Gale kept missing his spell attacks, Lae'zel went down first, Kharlak was surrounded by goblins like she was a kpop idol and they were her stans. But ASTARION. Oh man, I've figured out how to play rogue y'all, and I'm unstoppable. Astarion was up in the rafters like Batman just firing off sneak attacks left and right. Beautiful damage output, 10/10.

Had to reload, but will do it again.

[msviolacea]

There's a lot of "oh, Baldur's Gate, isn't that game all about sex?" out there - I've seen it on the internet and heard it in conversation - which is fair, that's what the mainstream articles have been about, and let's not lie, most of us around here are all about the sexytimes with pretty people. (Me included, 100000%. And my "romance doesn't make an experience less interesting or serious" rant will be saved for another day.) But anyway ... it's Monday, and I'm avoiding work, so I figured I'd list as many things as I can think of right now that make the game amazing that have nothing to do with actually having sex with someone.

GINORMOUS areas to explore.

There are lore books literally everywhere. If you like reading random bits of in-universe texts, you'll be spoiled.

Have you ever played D&D and wished certain spells had more utility - like Grease, or Sleep, or Create/Destroy Water? You're in luck here! Anything that can either create a ground effect or temporarily distract/take enemies out is OP!

Animated, voiced cut scenes with nearly every single NPC you run across.

At the same time, most of them are not required. Some will give you interesting side quests, extra approval/disapproval from your companions, or interesting information that will give you more options in a future quest, but you don't have to spend hours talking to people unless that's your jam.

In character creation, you don't pick male/female as a gender. You pick from four body types (two small, two large, two with breasts/more slender, two more broad/slightly larger), three sets of pronouns (he/she/they), and several different sets of genitals - mix and match all three categories to your hearts' content. I'm sure there are other things they could have done, but it's the most inclusive character creator I've seen in a major game for sure.

The turn-based combat is a blessing for anyone who struggles with real time combat. Take your time, consider your options, look at things from all angles, sort through your spells and attacks to find the right one.

Or you can remember you picked up that barrel of smoke powder three rooms back, climb up into the rafters of the room, and chuck it into the fire pit in the middle of the room for maximum effect. I cannot overstate how fucking satisfying that is.

Big fucking tiefling horns. Of a variety of shapes!

Your female companions are the tanks/hearty warriors. Your male companions are all delicate fucking flowers, at least until you get Druid Daddy who can turn into a bear.

While optimizing your 4-person party to bring the usual configuration - one tank, one healer, a couple of DPS - is useful, it isn't always necessary. There are some fights where bringing four ranged options is a great idea, as long as you give them some survivability spells or plenty of potions. Sometimes bringing four people who can just barrel their way into a pile of ogres is satisfying. Mix it up!

Okay every companion thus far (I'm still only through act 1 yet, listen I have two games and my partner didn't feel well enough to continue the game where we're the farthest this weekend so I spent my time catching my solo game up) is absolute gold, no duds in the bunch, and the next few bullets will be one awesome thing about each one of them that has nothing to do with romance.

Astarion with the Thief subclass at level 3 literally cannot fail most lockpicking or trap disarming checks unless he rolls a nat 1. He is invisible when stealthed. He can one-shot most low level goblins with sneak attack arrows from range. He is a very bitchy fancy-lad Super Rogue.

Wyll is the Goodest Boy - the speed with which he goes from "I am oathbound to kill you demon!" to "well shit you're just a tiefling guess I'll deliberately fuck up my very dangerous warlock oath for you" is wonderful. He's noble and impetuous and wants to be more than a rich boy and gives nearly everyone the benefit of the doubt. I would die for him.

Karlach does the ADHD idle dance of "I could not stand still if you paid me all the gold in Baldur's Gate" and has the best puppy dog eyes. Also the story tie-in to her rage mechanics is really great and excellent storytelling.

Lae'zel is nigh unkillable if you give her the right stuff. Speccing her as Battlemaster is amazing for controlling the most powerful combatants on the field. Trip Attack has saved my ass so many times, you have no idea.

On paper, Gale should be absolutely insufferable. But somehow the writing and voice acting managed to hit just the right notes of humor and good nature and wizard geek. I'm very impressed.

Shadowheart is a very interesting combination of amoral/self-involved but also compassionate and I find myself fascinated by it. She clearly contains multitudes, and thus far the story is doing a good job of doling out pieces of her at a satisfying pace.

And speaking of interesting moral dichotomies, I absolutely adore that Halsin is both the good influence authority figure and also utterly ruthless when things run afoul of his strongly held belief system. Also thicc, broad-shouldered elf supremacy.

The tieflings you meet in Emerald Grove are directly tied to the D&D adventure "Descent Into Avernus" - as is Wyll! (And I'm sure it has a lot of context for Karlach's story as well, I haven't finished reading it yet.) I'm sure there's more when you get to the actual city of Baldur's Gate, but I'm not there yet. It's just fun to have that as an option to read for backstory about some of the game's characters and situations if you want. It's not required reading, though - cough, Bioware/Dragon Age, cough - everything that happens with them is perfectly understandable without any additional context!

The "Balanced" combat difficulty is a really good mix of fights that take a LOT of strategy and ones that can be easily cheesed.

Have you ever wanted to shove someone off a cliff even though you have like 8 strength? Listen, a 30% chance is STILL A CHANCE, and you have limited bonus action choices. TAKE YOUR SHOT.

... feel free to add your own. I'm still pretty early in the game and can't wait to get to more.

(edited for some slightly better phrasing about the character creation gender options, hopefully)

[jellymellydraws]

Masterlist ~ <<Previous Chapter ~ Next Chapter >>

Astarion x Dark Urge Chapter 15 Rating: E Tags: Angst, Fluff, hurt/comfort, slow burn, two guarded people fall in love so hard it makes them stupid

Chapter Summary:

Astarion begs Rose to gossip about Gale's super secret but very obvious condition. She learns that the resident sassy elf might be starting some rumors about her promiscuity. Withers makes his services available, for a fee. With all their scouting and prep done, the whole camp marches towards the Selune Temple.

Whether it was foolishness, desperation, and a deliberate step towards openness: Gale revealed there was something going on with him. Eyes were on her as she departed from the wizard’s tent. The questions were clear on their faces, but she wasn’t going to be the one providing answers. They had to know that much, by now.

Rather than entertain their curiosities, she continued towards the command tent. Aside from distributing the magical items, she still had to prepare her own pack for their visit to the Selune Temple. Anything could happen once they arrived, and she was going to be prepared.

Goblins could be wielding more powerful weapons, or have new mastery of magic. Drow soldiers could be hiding within the shadows. Spiders as large as the arachnid matriarch could be lurking in the rafters. All of this was a possibility. Not to mention: surprises.

Detestable surprises.

Of course, hoping to do this prep in peace was as reasonable as hoping a fish could breathe air. She didn’t need to look up at the shadow which stalked over to her. She already knew who’d be ballsy enough to ask. Only one very nosy and gossip hungry elf: Astarion.

“We all saw that— you can’t honestly believe that you can pretend none of us saw that!”

“I can, and I will,” Rose couldn’t help the small smirk which snuck across her face.

Astarion didn’t understand the concept of ‘minding his own business.’ That was a cute little trick he pulled that morning— toying with his tone to imply he was being coy, stating he heard nothing but sounding like he did. His words spoke true, his tone tricked. 

Clever man. Too bad he sucked at committing to the act when very valuable information came to light. In this case, bright purple lights emanating from their wizard. But oh, his desperation to know what was going on was the sweet confirmation she was waiting for. He had absolutely no clue what happened between her and Gale that morning.

The elf wasn’t going to leave it alone. Not until he knew what the hells he saw. Even if that meant stalking after their leader while she meticulously prepared her pack for the rest of the day. She tried to feign her next steps a few times, looking one direction but turning towards another. He kept up with the fancy footwork, and somehow managed to keep up with her speed.

”Right outside his tent,” the elf continued, “what was that— he hugged the damned things and—“ he crouched next to Rose as she sifted through their potions crate. His voice suddenly hushed, “can he make our stuff more powerful?”

”Wouldn’t that be something?” She sassily answered, stowing a small healing potion in her pack and tying it closed.

“Do you know how useful that would be?”

“I do.” She stood up, turning towards the rest of the camp.

”You still aren’t going to spill, are you?”

”I’m not.”

She playfully bumped her good shoulder into his as she walked by him. He groaned with defeat.

But he continued to follow.

Alright, fine, she’ll give a little. What was a little fun before heading into uncertainty? 

Rose turned on her heel, arms crossed in front of her chest as she faced him. “How about a trade?”

Astarion’s brows raised, before a tempted smirk crossed his features, “A trade? For?”

“Information,” she offered, stepping closer to him as her words softened, “Gale said you have quite the imagination, I’m still intrigued: what exactly did you say to him this morning?”

“Oh, my dear,” his finger hooked beneath her chin, gently tilting her face towards him, hovering closer, “I just asked him if you left him satisfied with…” he pulled away with a devilish smirk, “whatever it was you two did in that tent.”

“Gods above,” she stared incredulously, “you asked him if he fucked me in there?!” 

He burst into laughter. She dragged her hand down her face, only briefly stopping to pinch the bridge of her nose. Her cheeks darkened and she could hear her blood rushing into her ears. This only made him laugh more boisterously. Wasn’t she supposed to be the one having fun, here? 

Mission: failed. Miserably. No— not miserably. 

Laughably.  

“You think I’d be so tactless as to ask outright?” He gasped, remembering to act scandalized once he regained control of his amusement, “Well, maybe I’d ask you, but Gale?! He’s much too, erm,” he circled his hand in the wizard’s direction, searching, but finding nothing but a frustrated tut, “he’s Gale. ” 

She knew she should’ve changed assignments. Of course she should’ve! She knew better— she knew Astarion better!

“But,” the elf continued, much to her delight, “if you weren’t having a quick one in there, what was all the sneaking for?”

”He entrusted me with a private, personal, matter,” she stated with finality, despite his pout. She rolled her eyes playfully towards him, “he’ll divulge the details when he’s ready. Or I’ll do it when I find it necessary for the camp to know.”

“I thought we had a trade,” he continued to poke his lips out, dramatizing his pouting.

”We did, and I kept my end of the bargain. We talked about something private, and I won’t share the specifics. That’s it.” She smirked at him, triumphantly. “Don’t sulk, I’d do the same for you.”

“Hm, I suppose you would ,” his tone shifted. Less playful. “Seems you owe it to me, afterall.”

”What is this about?” Her eyes narrowed warningly. Sounded like their fun was over. 

“Heeding your advice,” Astarion answered plainly, pretending to examine his nail beds, “something about favors?”

“Don’t underestimate the power of a favor owed,” the words felt like an echo as she recited them. 

“Yes, that was it,” he shifted his gaze towards her, lifting a brow at her cautionary expression, “at least you can remember some things.” He hissed his emphasis, not-so-subtly slicing with his words. 

“And what is it that I owe you for?” Her tone dropped out of its playful lilt in response. “Remind me.”

“Oh nothing much,” he began counting on his fingers, “just for keeping quiet about your quirky little bursts of murder. Or perhaps for being so discreet about your memory problems, especially considering how easily Lae’zel reaches for her blade. Oh, and you know, Shadowheart asked me about your scars— I kept that to myself too, in case you were concerned. Quite a debt you’re accumulating, it seems.”

Her eyes widened with disbelief. A speech given several nights ago, a mantra that came to her in the moment that she gave no thought towards. It meant more to him than she intended. He was keeping score in a game she had no intention of playing.

And yet, she had a finger on a piece, in need of completing her next move.

“The favors thing doesn’t apply to the camp,” she clarified.

“Sure it doesn’t!” He scoffed, throwing a hand up flippantly, “you just gave Gale whatever he asked for?”

”Yes!”

”Must not have been so important then, if he doesn’t need to pay you back.”

Her blood simmered as he glanced at her from behind his nose. Through her fury, she saw a slight smirk tugging at the edge of his lips. 

No. No, he would not trick her into whatever the hells he wanted. Whatever outburst he hoped to pull from her, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

”I’m not falling for this,” she finally managed after taking a controlled breath, “I’m not going to tell you what he wanted. I’m not going to tell you what that magical light show was about. I’m not going to tell you anything.”

”And why’s that?” His red eyes burned towards her. The creases of a scowl began to form.

“Because I take care of my team,” she articulated slowly, “no favors required. If you need anything Astarion, I’ve got you; just ask and I’ll see what I can do.”

He stared at her, brows furrowed. Examining her face for traces of a lie, of deceit, of trickery. “Just ask ? Just like that?”

She nodded, “just like that. Exactly like how we got you that violin. If it’s that hard to believe that I’m a woman of my word, that’s your problem. Not mine.”

Waves of expressions washed over his face like phases of the moon. Everything from doubt to relief to disbelief flashed over him. Watching him closely, she was just realizing how weary he looked. Bags had begun forming under his eyes, which in turn made her see how pallor his face was. In short, he looked like hells.

Her eyes couldn’t help but soften. She released another heavy sigh, running a hand through her violet locks as she pushed back her frustration.

“Astarion,” she met his gaze, sincerely, “if you need the score to be settled, we’ll go over who owes whom later. I have to focus on our mission right now.” 

He said nothing as she left towards the edge of camp to finalize prep for the afternoon.

The living corpse marked an open scroll with a quill that never needed to be dipped in ink. No one knew where he found such a thing. He muttered in a voice that forever carried from the beyond, faintly echoing at the end of his words.

“Withers,” Rose announced herself as she approached. He didn’t move his eyes from his task. Frustrating as it was, she became accustomed to it. At least, in some capacity, she knew he was listening. “We’ll be departing soon, can you handle watching over the camp?”

“I shall be here in thy camp, for whenever thou hast need of my services.” A practiced response. 

If his voice didn't hint at his age, his manner of speech could make it obvious. She was sure it was in the range of twenty years to twenty centuries. 

“Services like....watching over the camp?” She pressed, somewhat sarcastically.

But, to be fair...would he actually do that? Someone was ALWAYS back at camp to keep watch, never just Withers. For the most part, he might as well not be there. He haunted the outermost edge of their camp, hardly said a word, and hardly made a sound. If no one else saw him, she’d be convinced it was her mind playing tricks.

There was still time for that. Best not to get too sarcastic, unless she wants to accidentally curse herself further.

Finally, he paused his scribbling. His next line of thought needed his full attention and effort, it seemed.

“A mending of threads between life and death.” He lowered the scroll, eyeing her dully, “that is what I can offer.”

Her brow raised, intrigued, “go on.”

“For a pittance of coin: should thou or any of why compatriots perish, I will cleave soul to body once more.”

Both brows raised. “How much?”

“200 pieces of gold.”

Her eyes would've popped out of her head, had they not been firmly tethered to her skull. Suddenly the price of Astarion's violin felt like copper pieces by comparison. Gods, they haven't even been to a proper storefront! Where in the hell's would they get that amount to do coin?!

This was a joke, right?

It had to be?

This was Withers they were talking about-- where the hell would he even spend that money?!

...this was Withers she was talking to. No, this wasn't a joke.

No, he probably wouldn't answer where the money would go.

“Huh, well...that’s,” she adjusted her stance, trying to make light of the price. “That’s a pittance of an assassin’s contract.”

“I know.”

She shifted her weight again, chewing her lip as she stared at the living corpse. She took a quick glance around, making sure the coast was clear before lowering her voice, “do you know anything about me; my bloodlust?”

“Yes.”

“Keep talking,” she demanded.

“For a pittance of coin--”

“How much?”

“--should thou or any of thy compatriots perish--”

“You already said that--”

“I will cleave body and--”

“Withers.”

Uninterrupted by her attempts to disrupt him, unphased by her frustration, he continued. As she rubbed her temples, a dull thudding started to come on as he completed his speech.

“Are you going to charge me,” she quickly interjected, before he could start another rehearsed line, “if I ask you to watch over the camp?”

“No.”

“Okay,” she sighed with relief. “One last thing, then: if the owlbear shows up, give it some food.” She pulled a small parcel from her pack, passing it along to the animated undead being. 

Wrapped carefully in a piece of torn cloth, were pieces of meat that had been dried overnight while traveling. Some of the last pieces of meat that she had for herself, but untouched. Withers held the package with an open palm, as if he collected payment from her. He said nothing. 

“Well then. That's that.” Rose turned on her heel, ending the interaction on her own terms (seeing as the skeleton wasn’t going to). From her pouch, she removed her journal and a piece of charcoal, opening to a fresh page towards the back, “I guess we’ll…” she muttered as she scribbled words to the page, “start a revival fund…”

The entirety of the camp marched their way through the destroyed village. With their reputation of being True Souls, the guards were eager to ask Rose if she needed anything.

An escort. They needed an escort.

Utilizing one of the goblins, they were able to walk by the guard post with ease. The power of their status continued to intrigue Rose.  A thrill ran through her veins with every passing acknowledgement. ‘Yes True Soul,’ ‘right this way, True Soul,’ ‘the temple is just up ahead, True Soul.’

Very few people would question their reasons for being there, none dared to ask. She could get used to this.

Once they were beyond the guard post, their escort was dismissed and free to return to their position by the village.

”Here we go,” Shadowheart sighed, “walking right into a goblin camp. Most would think we’re insane.”

”Aren’t we?” Astarion hummed with a smirk.

”Speak for yourself.”

Rose couldn’t help but shake her head at the banter behind her. They approached the wooden bridge, leading to a stone entrance that was dirtied over time. Statues of similar form to those in the village guarded each side, both in various states of destruction. The bridge was decorated with spike traps, and whatever railing existed had been torn from their posts.

From the looks of it, the goblins were prepared to destroy this bridge, if they needed to. Her eyes scanned along the top of the wall, looking for signs of guards and other goblins who they needed to be wary of. No one watched atop the walls, despite the bits of activity she saw beyond the doorway. 

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Rose asked Alfira, who stood beside her clutching the lute in her hands. The bard hadn’t said a word as they got closer, and most of the color drained from her face now that they were mere steps away from the heart of the nest.

“I have to be, right?” She tried to chuckle, weakly. 

As they approached the bridge, their footsteps began to feel heavier. Rose’s heart thundered in her chest, the hairs on her arms began to raise. Reflexively, she grabbed Alfira’s arm, stopping immediately.

“What’s wrong?” The tiefling asked, looking around with caution.

“Hear my Voice,” a feminine voice spoke calmly, steadily. “Obey my command.”

“Shit!” Rose fell to her knees, head aching to the point of her vision blurring.

“Is it the tadpoles again?!” Alfira’s voice started to sound distant.

The others behind her were all brought to the ground, straining to get up or even move.

Then everything went dark.

“These are my Chosen,” the voice continued, echoing around her. “They speak for me.”

A soft light forced her vision to focus on three figures before her. Her chest tightened. Fists clenched. Blood boiled. The longer she stared, the louder her head pounded.

An old hardy elf stood at the front of their formation, looking down at her with an unfeeling expression. Yet, she couldn’t help but feel he was annoyed by her. Disgusted. He wore heavy armor, carrying himself like a commander would. But the voice she heard in her head was feminine, it did not fit this man. His chest piece was illuminated by a colored gem.

Behind the elf was a human man wearing a draped coat adorned in gilded thread. He did not look as old as the elf, but his face was aged by a lifetime of troubles. She saw it in the creases of his brow, the tiredness in his eyes. Old enough to be tired, but young enough to have fire. His smile was easy, sleazy, but oh so charming in a dangerous way. Arrogance oozed from his stance as he looked at her with a cocked brow. Intrigue. Curiosity. Another pang in her chest, joined by a sickly turning in her stomach at the sight of him. She wanted to scream. She couldn’t. Embedded in his shimmering gauntlet was another gem, much like the elf’s, which softly illuminated his features as it glowed.

Opposite of the human was another elven woman-- elven-like, more precisely. Pale was the only descriptor appropriate for her. Pale hair, pale skin, pale eyes. Pale like the corpse she deserved to be . Rose clenched her jaw. The desire to drown this woman in her own blood grew. How beautiful she would be, a blank canvas covered in red. The woman’s grin appeared to grow, burning down onto Rose. Taunting her. She was frozen in her stance, licking the curve of a red blade, which glowed with another gem centered in its hilt. Rose reached towards the blade, but the weight of darkness forced her hand to the ground.

The voice continued.

“Aid them, and you will be worthy to stand beside them. In my presence.”

It was tempting. Delicious. 

Power.

Authority.

Next Chapter >>

[bhaalsdeepbat]

A little durgestarion drabble just to get me writing while i think through some stuff for the fic i'm working on. just getting a feel for some body language stuff. SWF and may not actually be part of mercy's canon. i just wanted to write without a plan lol

Astarion's thumb was surprisingly calloused.

The thick, hard skin layering the pad of his thumb protectively was a rough contrast to the soft tips of fingers. Hands that had just helped the sorcerer slaughter their way through Moonrise, and then through the Mindflayer Colony beneath Moonrise's looming towers, cupped the sorcerer's cheeks gently. His left thumb traced along the scar carved into the sorcerer's right cheek. He followed the curve of it under their eye and around the arc of the deep scar following the curve of their face, then down their otherwise pretty cheek.

The two were soaking up one another's presence in the safety of Astarion's tent. Motes of dim light twinkled across the tent's ceiling like stars, Mercy's magic filling the air with the scent of a storm that would never come. Astarion was stretched out on his bed, back lounging against a pile of pillows Mercy had put together since they had taken residence alongside him in the space. The sorcerer had crawled over him to give him a peck on the cheek when he stopped them by reaching out to hold their face in his hands. They were frozen in place, bed dipping were their weight pressed into their palms, as he held their gaze.

Mercy leaned into the touch, their eyes narrowing into a contented look as a soft purr rumbled in the back of their throat. The tip of their tail twitched with the same peaceful joy that filled their expression. It was a moment of quiet, their mind silenced, pleased by the amount of blood spilled. A playful smirk tugged at the corner of Astarion's lips, though the intensity of his gaze betrayed the seriousness of whatever thought was on his mind as he stared at them.

With another flick of their tail, the sorcerer's brows furrowed. Mercy shook their head, pulling away from Astarion's hold. His hands were hesitant to release them, but he dropped his arms to rest across his torso. He watched the sorcerer closely, like he was afraid to take his eyes off them.

Mercy let out a soft little huff, tail falling limp against the bed. "Don't look at me like that," they grumbled, averting their gaze.

"Look at you like what, darling?" Astarion's sly smile was plastered across his face with practiced ease. "Like you did something stupid back at Moonrise? Correct me if I'm wrong, but you did do something stupid."

Mercy scowled at him, though they couldn't exactly argue that he was wrong. They had done something absolutely stupid at Moonrise, but they had also made damn sure not to repeat the mistake after Z'rell's goading led to a lucky shot that took the sorcerer down. It was temporary, lasting all but the time needed for their companions to descend on the cultists surrounding Mercy's crumpled form.

All Astarion could do was notch another arrow and send it flying as he raced across the rafters, too far to be of any use beyond covering Shadowheart and Lae'zel as they raced to his paramour's aide.

Mercy grimaced, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as they averted their gaze. They clicked their tongue against the back of their teeth dismissively. "I don't need a lecture from you. Shadowheart and Lae'zel had that covered."

"Good. Because I wasn't going to lecture you. You're not a child." Astarion's nose wrinkled in disgust as the word left his lips. He watched Mercy with clear disapproval writ in the furrow of his brow. The corner of his lips turned down into a displeased frown. "Yet, you nearly got yourself killed because you're impulsive like one."

Mercy's tail flicked like a viper's, frustration bubbling over into the whip of the appendage as they lifted their gaze to meet Astarion's. "I thought this wasn't a lecture."

"It's not." Astarion snaked his arms around the sorcerer's torso, pulling them down flush against him. He held them tightly, burying his face into the top of their head and inhaling deeply. "Then we met that vile woman. All I could imagine is your anger making you do something impulsive again."

Mercy's entire body tensed for a moment. The spikes along the sides of their tail bristled for a moment, but shrunk back down to their smaller size the sorcerer forced themself to relax into his embrace. They could feel the unnatural rise of his chest as their scent filled the empty cavity where his dead heart lay still.

"You were worried." It was a question, but it came out a breathy, surprised statement as they watched him. It wasn't like they hadn't been injured before, and it was certainly not the worst during their travels so far, but it was the first time they had taken a since his confession.

It was the first time he had nearly lost the sorcerer since making it clear his feelings for them were real.

Mercy rolled their eyes, a heavy sigh shrinking them down as the air left their lungs, making them feel small in Astarion's embrace. He gave them a gentle squeeze, their only acknowledgement that he heard them.

Astarion reclined back against the pillows once more, his gaze coming to settle on Mercy's when their head tilted back so they could peer at him. The sorcerer's eyes squinted, watching him warily for a moment, then slid their hands down to press against the mattress again. They slid themself up then took his calloused hand and pressed it against their heart, palm flat where it beat against their ridged chest.

"We've both done stupid shit," they reminded him with a pointed look that had him shrinking beneath their gaze, "but we made it. All I can promise is that I will not make that mistake twice." Mercy's eyes softened as they watched Astarion. His own concern seemed to seep out of his tensed muscles, allowing him to relax against the sorcerer's hoard of pillows.

Astarion glanced at their throat where dark crimson dots and angry red skin marked where he had supped their ichor, at Mercy's insistence. The taste of their blood still on his lips, their very essence was now touching across every sense he had. Astarion let out an exasperated sigh, though his hand lingered for a moment longer before he tugged Mercy down to nestle in the crook of his arm.

"Good. It was a waste of perfectly good blood." He licked his lips hungrily as he hummed a displeased little noise.

Mercy propped their head against his chest, mindful of the horns curling above their crown. "Perhaps, but you can't say you didn't enjoy watching that one guy choke on his own blood. You become such an excellent shot when you think I need help," they teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"Oh, yes. That was absolutely delightful." Astarion snickered, his dangerous smile widening to flash sharp teeth. "I didn't think you needed help. You needed help. Don't be obtuse." He lifted his hand opposite of the one cradling Mercy and pressed his pointer to their forehead, giving it a gentle poke.

Mercy's nose wrinkled. "I know," they sighed as they batted the hand away.

"You should probably get some rest. I doubt Karlach will carry you if you're too tired to walk tomorrow." Astarion snorted and lowered his arm to rest across his chest. He extended his fingers out to the sorcerer. Mercy slid one of their hands over to take his, fingers curling to link with Astarion's.

Mercy rolled their eyes at him, though the sorcerer snickered. "Yeah, yeah." They waved their free hand dismissively. The movement caused the lights above to suddenly disappear, dark shadows devouring everything but the glow of Mercy's mismatched eyes.

Mercy stole one final kiss, a gentle peck to the corner of Astarion's lips, before they settled against him. Eyes drifting shut, they felt both his arms wrap around them, holding their form tightly against him. He'd hold them through the night, until the moment their Urges would strike.

[havealotonmymind]

Fears

Summary: Drunk after another fresh victory, the party discusses their silliest fears with one another. When Astarion chooses to abstain, Leviathala (OC) grows ever curious as to why.

Rating: T

Category: Astarion/Original Female Character(s), Astarion/Tav, Astarion & Gale & Karlach & Lae'zel & Shadowheart & Tav & Wyll (Friendship)

Additional Tags:

Party Banter, Alcohol, Developing Friendships, Astarion Being Astarion, Developing Relationship, Blood Drinking, Sexual Tension, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Feelings Realization, Asexuality Spectrum, Named Tav, Tiefling Tav, Fighter Tav

Also available on AO3!

This was partially inspired by that moment in Act 3 when you try to send Astarion up to the circus stage and he gets upset. I just thought it was funny and it led me to wonder what other silly things the main companions might be scared of. Or at least intensely dislike.

Then it devolved (or evolved depending on how you look at it) into Astarion/Lev shenanigans lol. I think of this as a prelude to the first night they spent in the woods ;)

“Needles,” Gale said after taking a long swig of wine. “I don’t like needles. They make me feel, er…well, squeamish gives the impression of a worm. Uncomfortable, I suppose.”

Wyll couldn’t help but laugh. “You’ve faced down an entire goblin army with all manner of blades pointed at you. I’m surprised you’d shy away from the mere prick of a needle.”

Settling by the campfire after dinner had become their party’s unspoken tradition for the past tenday or so. Those first few distant nights had been tough. After all, how could anyone find pleasure in leisure with a mindflayer tadpole swimming around their brain?

When it was clear that they wouldn’t transform into monsters right away, however, that nervous energy died down, instead replaced by the kind of camaraderie brought on by good spirits and fine stories. Tonight, after many cups of wine and ale passed around, their group dared each other to reveal the silliest fears they had.

Gale frowned. “All right, well, what’s your silliest fear then? I’m sure everyone along the Sword Coast would want to know what could possibly terrify the famed Blade of Frontiers.”

“I’m sure there are some people who would like to know. Enemies, mostly, though I suppose I can make an exception for close friends.” Wyll poured himself another glass of ale. “I was raised to always be vigilant. A Duke’s son is susceptible to plenty of kidnapping and assassination attempts, after all. I became quite good at spotting would-be attackers hidden in crowds or up in rafters. Adroit as some of them thought they were, one good arrow to the chest stopped them cold.”

“I hesitate to ask, but how many such attempts have you or your father endured? It sounds awful,” Leviathala piped up. Her navy blue tail swished lazily back and forth in the dirt behind her.

“I’ve dealt with a fair handful before I became the Blade. I imagine my father faced even more so, given his travels. He used to tell me stories about roaming gangs of petty bandits he felled while on the Risen Road.”

“He may have embellished those a tad,” Shadowheart said. “Just to make sure he didn’t scare you.”

“Perhaps,” Wyll relented. “But it wasn’t the stories of bandits or monsters that scared me. As a child, I knew that there were always things I couldn’t control. Sometimes, whenever my father went off on some diplomatic trip, I worried that his caravan might overturn and tumble down a steep cliff or a bad storm would tip his ships. Bandits and monsters I believed wholeheartedly he could best, but a spot of bad luck? How could you fight against fate?”

“That’s hardly silly,” Karlach pointed out, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “I think every kid worries about their parents to some degree. Surely you’ve something a little sillier than that.”

He shrugged. “Sorry, that’s the best I have as far as silly fears go.”

“Man, your definition of silly needs some work,” Karlach said. “How are we supposed to laugh at that?”

“I thought the point of telling you all this was not to laugh.”

“I meant on the inside. I can stick to a promise no matter how drunk I get.”

“Well, what silly thing are you afraid of, then?” Wyll asked with an amused smile. Despite his heroic mien, he did have a bit of a mischievous streak to him.

Karlach rolled her shoulders and assumed a faux boxing stance. “Right, rough and tumble kid from the Lower City. You’d think I’d be pretty fearless, right? I thought so, too. Thought there was nothing I couldn’t beat down. Petty bullies, underbelly criminals, hell, even monsters.”

“You are much the same now,” Lae’zel pointed out.

“Yeah, but back then, I was afraid of something pretty silly in hindsight.” Her bravado dimmed just a tad. “I guess it’s kinda like Wyll’s fear, in a way. I was scared of thunderstorms. The really big ones with winds that felt like they could rip the roof right off your house. Thought they would just up and whisk me away from home.”

A far-off look passed over her face. Who knew that would come true in one way or another for her? Leviathala passed her the bottle of red wine they’d all been sharing for the past half hour without a word.

Karlach took a few long sips. “I stopped being scared of that a long time ago, though. I mean, thunder’s just all noise, right? No offense to the weather, but it’s gonna have to try a little harder to take me away from all this now. I really like all of you, you know?”

��Chk!” Lae’zel turned her nose up at the campfire. “I knew the beings on this Plane were weak, but I did not expect them to be this soft-hearted. I expect none of you would last more than a day in crèche K'liir.”

Shadowheart rolled her eyes. “Oh, and are you going to say you fear nothing?”

“A githyanki who would give in to fear is not worthy of serving Vlaakith.”

“What about when you were a child?” Gale asked before the two could break into another petty fight. “Surely even then, you must have had some irrational fear of the dark or monsters.”

At least Lae’zel seemed to ponder the question this time. “Githyanki do not tolerate any expressions of weakness. Like any young gith in-training, I wanted to prove myself above fear. But there was one creature on this Plane that I feared beyond all reason. Its body is pure muscle, strong enough to crush its prey if you were unlucky enough to find yourself in its grasp. Even a drop of its venom is said to paralyze you so you could do nothing but watch yourself be eaten. And yet, for all its prowess, it deigns to slither unassumingly along the ground.” She scowled as though the description alone was enough to make her sick. “For a creature to crawl so low and to strike so quickly…it disgusts me to this day.”

“Wait, so what were you scared of? Worms?” Karlach asked.

Leviathala snorted. “Snakes, I believe.”

“Funny, considering you look like one,” Shadowheart sniped.

Lae’zel’s eyes flashed with rage. “I suppose you are lucky I choose not to strike you down, then.”

“Do you expect me to thank you for staying your hand, gith?”

“I expect istik to be worms beneath my boot. And my time here has only proven me right.”

“Hang on, we all haven’t shared yet. You might find something worthy of fearing among us yet,” Wyll piped up from over his cup of ale. Ever the mediator. He nodded at Shadowheart. “And you, Shadowheart? Any silly fears we ought to know about?”

Her face fell. “I can’t remember.”

When everyone started to groan, she added, “It’s true! Perhaps there was something long ago I feared that’s just out of reach. Maybe if I faced it again, I would no longer be afraid of it.”

Leviathala threw her a look. Fearing wolves might not be deemed entirely silly, but it was something to tell the group at least. Especially when they were still camping out in the wilds.

Still, Shadowheart had divulged that information to her in confidence. No need to push the matter if she didn’t trust it to the others quite yet.

“Astarion, are you planning on joining us?” Gale called out over his shoulder. No manner of coaxing had successfully drawn him to their fire. Not yet, at least. It was still a courtesy they extended to him regardless.

Once everyone glanced back at his tent, Astarion’s mouth curled into a sneer. “And wantonly reveal my weaknesses just like that? No, thank you.”

“All right, killjoy.” Karlach passed the bottle back to Leviathala. “Go on then, Lev. What about you?”

Leviathala slung the bottle to her lips. “All your fears have been rather sensible so far,” she said. “But you might laugh at mine.”

“Aw, come on, we swore not to at the start of all this, didn’t we?”

“That we did, but Wyll still laughed at my discomfort with needles,” Gale said.

Wyll looked affronted. “I wasn’t prepared for it. But I do apologize. It wasn’t fair of me.”

Gale smiled and he bowed his head. “Apology accepted. I appreciate your candor, your grace.”

“All right, no need for grand titles,” Wyll grumbled, brushing him off. He gestured at Leviathala to continue. “Go on. Before anyone else starts calling me Lord or some other ridiculous thing.”

“As you wish, my Lord.” Leviathala made a show of bowing theatrically low and the others snickered.

“Walked into that one…” He knocked back the rest of his ale in a few gulps.

“Leviathala.” Her name rolled slowly over her tongue. “Named after a deadly creature known as the leviathan.”

“A rather fitting name for one as vicious as yourself.” From anyone but Lae’zel, it would have sounded like a sarcastic jab.

Lev tried not to preen at the compliment. “I must have been, oh, four or five when I asked my parents what my name meant. They handed me some monster guide or other. I don’t remember. All I do remember is trying to find the creature I was named after. When I saw it was a many-tentacled sea beast as big as the Gate itself, I think I started crying. I couldn’t help but imagine the leviathan learning of me somehow and hunting me down for stealing its name. I refused to go near any banks of water for weeks. Even now, getting on boats makes me queasy.”

A sharp burst of laughter behind her almost made her jump. Leviathala turned, stunned to find Astarion doubled over with a genuine smile on his face.

“Being afraid of your namesake is such delicious irony,” he said. “I imagine your parents must have been devastated when they found out.”

Karlach frowned at him. “Hey, we all promised not to laugh! Don’t be rude.”

“I promised no such thing. And besides, you can’t fault me for finding that funny.”

“Her parents are gonna be sad to hear that, y’know.”

“No, no, they found it as funny as Astarion did,” Lev said as she waved them off. “Which is why I rarely ever tell people unless you manage to get me drunk.”

Karlach glanced between him and Leviathala for a moment then gave an unsubtle grin. “Hey, Astarion, I have a question for you.”

“If it’s some roundabout way of asking me what ridiculous thing I fear, I’ll have to abstain.”

“Nah, nah, nothing like that.” She gestured at Lev. “You’ve been feeding on Lev’s blood for the past…I don’t know how long before I got here. If you drank her blood now, would you get drunk, too?”

Both Shadowheart and Gale, absolutely blasted off their minds on wine, failed to hide their laughter.

“That’s…a rather interesting question, actually. I suppose we’ll have to see tonight, won’t we?” Astarion flashed them all a toothy smile that showed off his fangs.

“Karlach, I’m not letting him drink my blood right now,” Lev said.

“Aw, come on! I wanna know!” She tipped violently as she made another grab for the bottle Lev still hoarded.

Leviathala kept it out of reach with a smile. “I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink.”

Karlach managed to right herself again. “No, ‘m fine! ‘s all fine. Just a bit…dizzy.”

A quick glance around revealed pretty much everyone was veering on positively drunk. It was harder to tell with Lae’zel’s stoic stance, but even from this distance, Lev could see the flush in her cheeks.

She pushed the cork back over the bottle of wine. “All right, that’s enough for one night. We still have more adventuring to do tomorrow. I’d rather we all not venture forth with hangovers.”

“Aw, come on!” Karlach whined. “I could do with a nightcap.”

“Drink some water, Karlach. I mean it.”

Karlach threw her hands in the air but headed off to her tent regardless. “Gods, okay, mum.”

“Don’t make me ground you, young lady,” Lev teased.

Their little group dispersed off to their own tents, some wobbling more than others. Leviathala’s gaze roamed over their camp, finally settling on Astarion’s tent. He still stood off to the side, eyes locked on yet another novel she picked up from the goblin camp. She recognized the cover: a faded copy of Journey of the Jungle with an equally dusty book ribbon.

Leviathala tried not to smile. Her tent was filling up with tiny stacks of books she’d taken from all the places they’d been. That particular copy of Journey of the Jungle had been at the top of her Finished pile. She had meant to put those all away in the Traveler’s Chest or sell them once she had the chance. Glad to see this book got at least one more use before then.

She drifted to him, trying not to trip over her own feet on the way there.

“I’m not apologizing, you know,” he said without even looking up.

She frowned. “For what?”

“Laughing at you.”

At this, she couldn’t help but scoff. “I’m not that fragile. Laugh away. I’ll find out what your silliest fear is yet. Mark my words.”

“Is that why you’re here?” The question was brusque, but not altogether unwelcoming of her presence. 

“I’m not prying it out of you, if that’s what you’re wondering. Where’s the fun in that?”

“Then go bother someone else. You’re in my light.” His eyes flickered up to her. “Unless you want me to test out what Karlach asked.”

“I am a bit curious, I won’t lie,” she said. “But I’ll try to drink a lot more water before I sleep tonight. Hopefully flush the alcohol out a bit.”

“My dear, you act as though I’m a lightweight. I can handle myself, don’t you worry.”

Leviathala hid a laugh behind her hand. “I won’t forget when you came back to camp drunk from bear blood. I don’t think the bear was indulging in spirits that night.”

He allowed himself the barest smile in return. “I’ve never had the blood of a creature that large before. It was quite the experience. Though, not as heady a tonic as your delicious blood, darling.”

“Spare me the flattery. I’m not sober enough to appreciate it.”

Astarion’s smile grew just a little wider. “Oh? I seem to recall you telling me to curb the compliments. Who knew you were hiding how you truly felt?”

“It’s not as if you mean most of them, anyway.” This was not a jab, but rather spoken as fact. As blue as the sky and as dark as the night, Astarion was a liar through and through. “But you make me laugh and that’s enough. I think anything concerning my blood is the only honest compliment you’ve given me.”

He smirked. “Hard to lie about the very source of life sustaining me.”

“Surely the animals you feed on are more filling. My blood can’t be more than a sip in comparison to the gallons at your disposal.”

“Are you telling me to stop drinking your blood?” Astarion asked, pouting. “I have grown rather fond of the taste, you know.”

“And how does it taste to you?” Leviathala leaned in just a little closer than she normally would. “I am morbidly curious. Is it sweet? Tart? Do different blood types have different tastes, I wonder?”

He laughed again, a high, breathy sound that made her feel warm. “Gods, you are a chatty drunk.”

“Is that bad?”

That stubbornly still-sober part that navigated her inhibitions and insecurities tutted at her. Yes, of course that’s bad. Stay quiet. Stay vigilant.

The alcohol dulled that nagging voice, and for once, she saw fit to ignore it.

Astarion shut the book and tossed it inside his tent. “Not necessarily. You’re a rather fun person when you aren’t snapping at me or being sickeningly helpful.”

“I consider this nightly ritual of ours a good deed in its own way. What’s a pint of blood when it lets you down our enemies in a single strike?” she said breezily.

“Careful, darling. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost think that was a compliment.”

Lev smiled despite herself. “Then I had better sober up fast. I wouldn’t want the alcohol to reflect on your performance tomorrow.”

“Oh please. The miniscule amount of alcohol seeped into your blood isn’t going to have any effect on me whatsoever.”

“Care to test that theory?”

After nights of sleeping through his late-night feeding, Lev hadn’t noticed any lingering pain or marks left behind. Just a general wooziness that went away as soon as she cast Lesser Restoration on herself. Surely he’d figured out some gentler bloodletting method that wouldn’t hurt as much as that first night.

“What, now?” he asked incredulously. “You wouldn’t rather wait until you were asleep first?”

She plopped onto the plush stool right by his mirror. “If I fell asleep now, I wouldn’t get to see how the alcohol affects you, if at all. Besides, I’m drunk. I don’t know if I’d feel your bite.”

“Really? Been bitten enough to tell the difference?” he teased.

“I trust you not to hurt me.”

At this, Astarion faltered. A bold claim indeed.

Leviathala tilted her head, baring her neck expectantly. “Well, go on then.”

This was neither dare nor command. It was simply one last thing to check off her list for the day, as routine as changing into sleeping clothes or putting seed oil on her spire-like horns before bed.

“Very well. Since you’re so insistent about it, how could I say no?”

His hands fell heavily on her shoulders to secure her in place. He was a lot stronger than she thought. Lev dipped her head, suddenly shy despite her earlier openness.

“You need to look up, darling,” he said with a faint smile like he could guess at her thoughts. “I can’t get a good bite in with your chin tucked like that.”

Leviathala took a deep breath and offered her neck to him once more. She fixed her gaze on the campfire, watching as the flames darted this way and that. A shoddy distraction. She could still spot Astarion closing in out of the corner of her eye.

His breath was like a chilly night breeze, welcome in the humidity of the oncoming summer nights. She squeezed her eyes shut the moment that he bit down. The alcohol did little to dull the numbing pain coursing through her. It wasn’t unpleasant, but that didn’t stop her from wincing anyway.

Her nails dug into the wood of the stool, more a reflex than any expression of pain, but she didn’t stop him. For all his playful lies and half-truths, she knew she could trust his restraint.

His slim fingers slid up the back of her neck to tangle in the soft wisps of her hair. Oddly enough, it almost felt…nice. Gentle. Gods, she must have been drunker than she thought.

Leviathala grunted in surprise when he wrapped an arm around her back, tugging her forth. The motion made her arch into him and she tried not to squirm. He hadn’t done this the very first night he bit her. There was a new hunger here.

Her breath caught when his lips trailed after a stray drop of blood. Feather-light and barely there, an unwitting kiss to her collarbone to collect it at last. As Astarion traced his way back slowly, so enticingly slow, up her neck once more, Leviathala had to bite back a gasp. Every nerve was alight, her chest tight, breath quickening to compensate.

And just like that, he broke away with a satisfied sigh. The warmth of it, made only so by her blood, was an odd contrast to his cold, firm hands still set on her trembling shoulders.

His eyes shone brighter, almost glowing even in the dim firelight. “Mm…It does taste different. Sweeter. Although I don’t suppose you’d indulge in spirits every night just to satisfy me.”

Her mind was still a riot of lingering sensations. She could think of nothing witty to say. Or indeed, anything at all after that.

Instead, she dug her nails deeper into the stool, trying to reaffirm that this was real and she was as solid as anything else around her. To say that hadn’t thrilled her would be a lie, but it also overwhelmed her more than she was prepared for.

Leviathala fixated on a dark mark on his pale skin. There, that errant drop along the edge of his lips. The traitorous stray that caused this havoc in her mind.

She swallowed hard and said, “You’ve got some on your mouth still.”

The slow flick of his tongue along his lips gave her pause. This close, it was easy to study every detail of his pretty face. The thick lashes, dark eyes half-lidded and burning into her, sharp, clean jaw…

Leviathala’s eyes fell to his soft, bloody lips. Her blood. She would only have to tilt her head up just so and…

“Gone?” Astarion asked, sounding breathless. Ravenous. He wanted more.

Was that why he hadn’t moved away yet?

Gods, he was making it so hard to think.

“N-No, it’s…Here, I’ll get it.” Leviathala reached out to absently swipe at the corner of his mouth with her sleeve. She had to scrub the reminder from existence.

Quicker than she could react, he had a firm grip on her wrist. “Don’t touch me.”

A hint of rage and something else flashed in his eyes. Fear, she realized.

So many things clicked into place in that instant. His casual cruelties, why he always opted out of any group activities at camp…

Touch was a very loaded sense. Most times, Leviathala thought she might crave it. For someone to hug her when she was lonely or to physically reach out as a show of support. Whenever anyone did, however, some deep, primordial part of her recoiled. It was so strange to crave something so commonplace and yet loathe its very presence.

She was trying her hardest to get over it. She would hug her friends, her family. Even then, that stiffness never left her. Somewhere inside her, she feared she would never overcome that.

And now she saw that same revulsion echoed in Astarion. Funny how such a kinship could finally put her unquiet mind at ease.

Her hand went limp immediately. “I’m sorry. I’m—”

“Not thinking. Yes, I know. Clearly.” He let her go with a disgusted sigh.

Lev opened her mouth to apologize again then faltered. It would only anger him more, she was sure. 

“You don’t feel anything, then?” she asked instead.

His gaze turned sharp. “What?”

“My blood. The alcohol. Nothing?”

At this, he visibly relaxed. “O-Oh, right. No. Nothing.”

“Shame. It would’ve been funny to see you tipsy again.” Lev leaned back with a sigh. Parts of her felt like they were floating away. Maybe it wasn’t such a good decision to drink herself silly and let a vampire drain her on the very same night.

“And while it is very entertaining to see you tipsy, I was almost finished reading that dreadful novel,” he said as he stooped down to retrieve it. “So do take care to pass out somewhere else for the night.”

Leviathala made a big show of rolling her eyes. “Fine, I’ll get out of your hair. You’re welcome for the blood, by the way.”

“Oh, um…thank you,” he said haltingly. “I do mean that, you know.”

“I do know.” The rest of the tension in her shoulders crumbled away at last. Those rare moments he showed humility were endearing.

As she began to head off to her tent, a sudden thought occurred to her. Perhaps it was stupid to worry over a simple misunderstanding, but it was better to be clear than let any discomfort linger.

“I won’t touch you without your permission again.”

She said it aloud without turning to look back at him. His silence needled into her spine, twisting as painfully as any dagger would. She clasped her hands behind her back to give an air of casual indifference. Her tail swinging nervously to and fro still gave it all away.

“Funny, I seem to recall you being cursed to put your hands on everything.”

A cracked note of amusement forced itself through. His own strained attempt at brushing the matter over.

She smirked. “I’m being serious. Don’t tease me.”

“If only you weren’t so fun to tease.”

Leviathala chuckled as she absently rubbed the sore spot on her neck. There wasn’t a speck of blood when she drew it back. Impressive. Maybe vampires had coagulant in their saliva. Or Astarion was just very careful.

It dawned on her that perhaps he had already worked out the cleanest way to feed from her these past few nights. Another part of her wondered how gently his lips might stray over her entire body should she allow it.

She shook her head. Best not to pick at that loose thread yet.

“Clowns.”

Leviathala glanced over her shoulder at him. “I’m sorry?”

He kept his eyes fixed pointedly away. “My silliest fear. I’ve never been very fond of…clowns.”

Even as out of it as she was, she could tell this had taken a great deal of internal debate to admit. It was a surprise he’d even tell her at all.

The growing silence made him shift on his feet. “Don’t tell the others.”

“I won’t. I promise.” The answer was immediate. Instinctive. Astarion’s trust was a fragile thing. She would not tarnish it by spilling a fragment of a secret, no matter how silly it was. She spread her arms out wide. “Although it’s very possible I’ll simply forget it in the morning. Who knows?”

Astarion smiled. “Oh, I count on it. Why else would I admit my darkest secrets to a drunkard?”

“Come now, I don’t drink very often. This is a fluke.”

“What a shame. I rather like this more open side of you. You’re very cheeky without it being grating.”

A warm swell of pride filled her whole being. “I’ll try to be more open when I’m sober then.”

He snorted. “Sure. I’ll look forward to that.”

“Good night, Astarion.”

“Do try not to dream of krakens tonight.”

“Ha ha,” she said sarcastically. “I’ll trust you won’t dream of circuses, then.”

“It’s far too late for that. I’m already traveling with one.”

“Says the main clown.”

Their laughter mingled in the air between them. It helped to bridge the gap like an outstretched hand. A silent offer of true companionship laid hidden in his sharp-toothed grin.

Lev clasped her hands behind her back, her tail swishing happily behind her. “Good night.”

“Good night, darling.”

She shuffled back with a dopey smile stretched across her face before turning away again.

If she was more sober, she might have dodged the warm thoughts swirling around her mind. As it was, indulging in them now didn’t seem so bad.

There was no denying that Astarion was handsome. Beautiful, a bolder part of her insisted. He made her laugh. He paid attention to what she said, remembered small details she mentioned only in passing. And the way he stared at her…

Well, it was enough for any tipsy heart to hope. To feel safe enough to fall for him.

It was the alcohol and blood loss talking, she was sure. All this would disappear in the morning. Leviathala fell against her bedroll with a content sigh and drifted off almost immediately.

It was a horrifying thing to open her eyes and realize that every single floaty, drunken thought still rang true in the morning. The moment she met Astarion’s eyes across the campfire, he smiled knowingly, letting his gaze linger just a little longer than normal.

Did he know? Had he known all along?

Leviathala averted her gaze, face burning and absolutely mortified.

Shit.

[vagabondfandoms]

Falls On Me

Day 5- Goblin Camp: Morning

Rating: Teen/Mature 

Previous Chapters: Chapter One , Chapter Two , Chapter Three , Chapter Four , Chapter Five , Chapter Six , Chapter Seven ½ , Chapter Seven 2/2 , Chapter Eight ,

Characters: Gale Dekarios, F!Tav: Copper, Karlach Wyll Ravengard, Astarion, Lae'zel, Halsin and Shadowheart. Dror Ragzlin and unnamed goblins.

Tags/Warning: Gale POV, Mentions of Chronic Pain, Canon Typical Violence, Death, Descriptions of Having a Seizure, Gale x Female Tav. Approx: 2400 words

The fight with Dror Ragzlin is almost over. Gale tries to help his teammates with the last goblin commander. But finds himself in a dangerous situation with his orb. Is Gale going to blow up? And what about the reactions from his companions?

---

An Eldritch blast gets hurled at Gale's head and he barely makes it around the pillar before the bolt of energy smashes into it, causing small chunks of stone to fly all around him.

Astarion and Wyll are still positioned in the rafters and the young man shoots down his own Eldritch Blast at the warlock goblin, knocking the monster out before Astarion shoots a finishing arrow into the downed creature.

Gale yells out a quick thanks before taking off again. He ended up separated from the main fighting force when he, Halsin, and Lae'zel were pushed back by a large group of goblins. Halsin and Lae'zel are finishing off the last few goblins with Astarion and Wyll as support so Gale decides to help Copper and Karlach. 

The two women were facing down the last goblin commander, Dror Ragzlin, with Shadowheart assisting. The battle must be intense since Gale can feel the magical aura the hobgoblin is omitting from the other side of the hall.

Gale jumps over some dead bodies and feels the heavy weight of his orb in his chest. He must be overdoing it again but they are so close to victory!

Gale skids to a stop at the top of the stairs and looks down. Copper and Karlach were attacking Dror Ragzlin together and the hobgoblin commander is having a hard time defending against the continuous Ki strikes and swings from the battleax. 

Enraged, the hobgoblin berserker gives out a loud bellow. He swings, barely missing Copper before his warhammer strikes down with such force it shakes the foundation of the temple. 

The attack causes Karlach to become unbalanced but Copper keeps her footing and quickly dashes behind the battle commander, slipping her arms underneath his armpits and locking her hands behind his neck. This immobilizes his arms but the monk is still straining to hold him in place.

“Karlach! Get him!!” Copper yells out, struggling against his thrashing so she digs in her heels, grounding herself for more support. 

Karlach, still dazed from the enormous strike, shakes it off and rushes forward. The fiery tiefling aims for the largest target she can find and drives her axe deep into Dror Ragzlin’s chest, right into his heart. 

The Absolutist lets out a loud groan and it takes a couple of seconds for this body to go limp in Copper’s arms. Then Karlach rips out her axe and a large amount of blood, bone, and gore accompany the motion, splatting the floor before the other woman releases her grip, letting the body fall dead to the ground.

Exhilaration fills Gale’s body at the sight of the last goblin commander defeated and he finds himself starting to move down the stairs to congratulate his companions on their victory when Shadowheart gives out a warning shout. 

Arrows come whizzing down from the rafters striking Copper and Karlach while the last group of goblins comes charging at the two battlewary women. Gale catches a glimpse of Lae’zel and the others rushing towards them but they are too far away to do anything. Shadowheart sends out a Sacred Flame, lighting up the attacker hiding in the rafters but she soon gets overrun by the opponents on the ground.

The girls are outnumbered and need help now! Gale reacts quickly, reaching out his hand and gathering the Weave into his palm. He calls on Mystra and yells out the incantation for his strongest fire spell, “ARDЕ̄!” 

He feels the force leaving his body but he can’t just unleash the destruction or his companions will get caught up in the blast. Gale needs to control the fire and he uses all his skills to manipulate the flame. His hands ache from the strain his quick hand movements make in the air but he can't let up now! He has to burn all the enemies surrounding Copper, Karlach, and Shadowheart. 

The heat is intense and it reminds Gale of his archmage days. He watches as the last group of goblin attackers turn to ash and he smiles when the girls look up unscathed by his flames. 

Then his orb attacks.

A great pain rips through his body, making his limbs shudder and shake. Gale tries to grip his chest to soothe the hungry beast inside but it decides to attack again and Gale loses his balance from the pain.

“I am going to explode?” Gale thinks as he crashes headfirst down the stairs and starts seizing in a heap on the floor.

Gale barely registers his companions surrounding him. Copper reaches him first and starts cushioning him with her body so he stops banging his head on the cobblestone. 

Shadowheart looks helplessly on, shaking her head when Wyll asks her to do something. But she's unable to do anything. The cleric is all out of spells for the day, like the majority of the team, and none can heal like her.

Foam starts flowing out of his lips, mixing with the tears running down his cheeks. Between the haze, Gale just wants to tell them to run away before the explosion happens yet he feels helpless in the wake of this seizure.

“He needs a powerful magic item!” Copper yells into the chaos. “Like last time! Remember?!”

“The hag staff is back in camp! There's no way we can get it to him in time.” Wyll shouts back, pacing back and forth. Fighting the urge to run for the item even though their campsite is far away next to the deserted Jergal Temple.

Karlach is on the verge of tears and even Astarion and Lae'zel look downtrodden.

“He needs a powerful relic?” Halsin steps up, crouching down and applying a small minuscule healing spell to Gale's brow. The wizard stops seizing. Now he just feels wiped out with a ticking time bomb in his chest.

“Leave, please leave me!”  Gale wants to cry out but he's mute. His vocal cords felt like they were ripped apart by the pain of the orb.

“Yes! He needs to absorb the magic inside it.” Copper answers, her voice staying steady under the pressure, her grip firm not leaving Gale.

“Here, let me have him, Copper.” The druid commands. “I’ll take him to the grove. We have an Idol of Silvanus there, brimming with magical energy. That should do the trick!” 

Halsin lifts Gale into his strong arms as Copper hovers close by. “The Druid’s Grove is not far.”  The elf eyes Copper's heavily bleeding shoulder and frowns since she hasn’t even removed the arrow yet. “You can all get healed there. Nettie can patch you guys up quick.”

“Then, let's get going!” Karlach says impatiently, hiccupping a little and rubbing snot away from her nose. Karlach also has two arrow wounds but all her concerns were about her wizard friend.

“I’m coming too,” Wyll adds but Copper puts a stop to it.

“No Wyll, you guys stay here! None of you are badly injured.” Copper says hastily. “The temple is open now. Find any stragglers and neutralize them before they can escape and report back to Moonrise Towers.” 

She jogs after Halsin and Karlach who took off running with Gale. But before the monk is completely out of earshot she yells back. “Also, look for any good loot and secure it for us! We’ll need it for the future.” 

A loud and enthusiastic “Yippee” answers this request. As Astarion already started pulling loot from the dead goblin commander and rummaging through the corpses around him.

---

Day 5- Druid Grove: Afternoon

Tick, tick, tick…

Gale becomes slowly aware of his surroundings with each passing tick. He feels the solid weight of his pocket watch, next to his hip so that means he didn't explode into hundreds of little pieces. 

“That's good.” Gale thinks. “But where the hell am I?”  

He opens his eyes and he doesn't even have to wait for them to adjust, because the room he was in was already dim. His neck was stiff so turning his head took some effort but in the faint light, he saw the fiery glow radiating off Karlach. She’s lounging in a bed next to him, gouging herself on some bread, cheese, and grapes. It's a strange sight. “Karlach should have meat in her hands not food you can find on a charcuterie board.” Gale wearily thinks.

The tiefling notices Gale’s movements and starts shouting around her food.

“Mmmhummph…Kaaaaper….oook! Gaaale!!” Karlach coughs from inhaling her food before taking a large swig of water, forcing it down and clearing her airway. “Copper! Gale’s awake.”

Gale sees Copper’s head poking around Karlach’s body, bread to her mouth-midbite. She drops her food and rushes over to his side. “Hey, I wasn’t expecting you up already!” Copper exclaims, happiness shining in her eyes. 

But Gale doesn’t feel happy to be alive, all he feels is guilt. He could have killed her…he could have killed all his companions if his orb exploded. 

Gale wants to say he was sorry and confess his wrongdoings but Karlach jumps up and starts enthusiastically explaining everything that has happened since he fell unconscious. The fiery tiefling babbles on and on about the trip to the Grove. How the poisoned arrows lodged in her arms were throbbing-making her woozy while she ran, and that Halsin had to turn into a bear to carry her. That Copper not affected by the poison, carried Gale. Once they got to the grove, Halsin had to argue with the druids to let Gale absorb the Idol of Silvanus. 

With each passing second the wizard grows more distressed but Karlach is so excited that her friend is not dead that she doesn’t notice Gale’s growing discomfort.

“...and then, Halsin turns into a bear AGAIN and gets up in that bitch, Kagha’s face!” Karlach laughs as her hands animate the story. 

“Hey, are you alright Gale?” Copper cuts in, looking concerned as she takes a seat on the edge of his bed and places a gentle hand on his forehead. Her touch and the kindness behind it once again shatter Gale’s heart and his defenses almost come crumbling down.  

“Don’t be so nice to me.” Gale thinks as he struggles to not nuzzle into the warm hand on his face. 

“I almost killed you.” He chokes out, swallowing down some tears that threaten to fall.

“Whoa, there!” Karlach laughs awkwardly at the unexpected emotion from the usually steady wizard. “Buddy, you didn’t even touch us with your flames! That blast was sooooo cool so don’t be upset!”

“It's not that!” Gale says aghast, “I almost exploded, erupted, blown up into a thousand teeny tiny little pieces…Anyway! It doesn’t matter what word I use. I almost killed all of you because of the orb in my chest!”

“Gale, what do you mean?” Copper asks, her voice steady but stern. “You didn’t simply collapse because you were low on magic?”

“Yes and no,” Gale confesses. “I did collapse and start seizing because I was low on magic for my orb to feed on. But I failed to tell you and the team earlier… that if my orb fully destabilizes I will erupt. I don’t know the exact magnitude of the eruption, but I theorize, the blast radius could level a city the size of Waterdeep.”

Gale grits his teeth. “There I said it…at least to two of my teammates. Now it won’t take long for everybody else to know and for me to be cast out to wander alone until I explode! Or turn into a mind flayer, which might make me explode anyway!!”

Copper is hiding her shock well, but Gale can feel her tense up on the bed beside him. Karlach however, lets out a loud “Holy Shit” and starts pacing the room. 

“I thought we were growing closer, Gale. You should’ve told me as sooner…” Copper’s quiet disappointment stings more than Karlach’s frantic worried energy. 

“I’m sorry. I know I should have said something sooner but I… this all must feel like a betrayal to you.” Gale says drearily, wincing at the words he has to say next. “Say the word, and we’ll part ways.”

“What?” Copper looks up in surprise. “I meant you should have told me about the rest of your condition sooner. If I had known I was pushing you to the point of collapse, I would’ve had you stay back from the Dror Ragzlin fight.” 

“What?” Gale sputters out, sitting up quickly. He was not expecting those words and felt his pride as an ex-archmage wounded. “You weren’t pushing me. I wanted to fight. I can fight, I swear!”

“If that’s true. Then you have to tell me when you feel unstable!” Copper says sternly, pointing a finger into his chest and pushing him back down. “We’re a team and we need to tell each other when we aren’t feeling well! There’s no shame in hanging back to recoup. I don’t need one of my teammates collapsing or exploding.” 

Copper pauses to breathe and gives Gale a heated stare. “We have a long road ahead of us and we need all of us to get through this together!”

Gale blinks back a flood of emotions. He wasn’t expecting this kind of reaction. Even Karlach stopped her pacing to listen to Copper’s stirring words. 

“Plus…I care too much about you Gale, to abandon you now.” Copper murmurs, looking away from the man, embarrassed. Which was fine with the man in question because he might just explode from happiness, relief, and embarrassment all rolled up into a giant messy ball of emotions centered in his chest.

“Yeah, I care too. Maybe not in the way Copper does.” Karlach awkwardly chuckles before adding. “But we’ll talk to the others and explain the situation. We’ll keep feeding your magical items and you’ll keep protecting our backlines! I’ll make sure no bad guys get anywhere near our squishy wizard!” 

She beats her chest over her infernal engine, like she was making an oath and Copper just smirks and nods her head in agreement. 

Gale just lays there stunned. He can’t believe his luck. Out of all the millions of people in Faerûn, how did he encounter two of the most caring and giving people on this strange journey?

He lets out a choked sigh, his emotions threatening to come out. “That is - a great relief. Oh, a great relief indeed. Thank you for standing by my side when I haven't given you anything in return.”

“Don't put yourself down, man!” Karlach huffs out in annoyance. She goes back to her bed to finish eating while Copper gets up to grab something from hers. “You're very handy to have around, plus you're wicked smart!” Karlach adds, mid munch.

“And you're kind too.” Copper says, sitting back down next to the wizard, a plate of food in her hand. “There's not enough kind people in this world.”

She gives Gale a smile and offers to feed him from her plate. He just smiles back and grabs some cheese, a Waterdhavian blend.

“Good, my favorite.” Gale thinks as he gives it a bite.