#being from elturel is suffering

[the-magpie-collective]

Let's talk about how Ulder Ravengard was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad year when he finally runs into Wyll, for the first time in seven years, and his son is now definitely maybe sort of a devil?

Look, D&D cannon is absolutely wild and inconsistent but I need ya'll to know approximately how many horrible things befell Ulder Ravengard in the few months right before the events of Baldur's Gate 3.

Ulder Ravengard goes to Elturel. This is fairly normal. He often had to travel as a Duke for diplomatic reasons to nearby cities. Sure, the Vanthampurs' had their fingers pulling the strings this time to ensure he went, but that is also, unfortunately, normal. And it's not like anyone else can go in his place. Who would he send? Portyr whose only use is as a windsock? Stelmane who is suffering from the long term effects of a "stroke"? Vanthampur?

(Portyr, Stelmane, and Vanthampur being the other four dukes at the time)

So he goes and it's supposed to just be another diplomatic trip to a neighboring city. Except exactly nothing goes to plan. The Vanthampurs have made an alliance with devils and a deal with the leaders of Elturel to orchestrate the fall of the entire city into Avernus. Ulder Ravengard is there with several of the Flaming Fist when the entire city is plunged into hell. And no, Avernus is not some sort of cushy vacation spot. There's a reason why Karlach would rather die than go back. There's a reason why it is called hell.

It's not hard to imagine he watches many of the Flaming Fist get slaughtered. People he's worked with for years, maybe even decades. People he called friends. Not hard to think that he watches innocents suffer as they are preyed upon by devils and demons, children slaughtered in the streets all while he is helpless to stop it from happening. It's not out of the question to think this is possibly one of the worst times in his life. Oh, Ulder Ravengard has been through numerous disasters before. He's watched countless friends die. But when has he ever been so helpless as the time he was caught in an entire city of relative innocents as it is dragged down to the hells?

It gets worse.

You see, Ulder Ravengard is put into a catatonic state by the Demon Lord Baphomet using the the Helm of Torm's sight. The Helm of Torm's sight is a holy item that allows the user to commune with Torm (god of Duty, Loyalty, etc). In a last ditch effort to save the city of Elturel, Ulder Ravengard attempted to get to the Helm in the hopes that it could be used to fight back. Instead he gets to watch as his hope is perverted and used against him. He gets to see himself fall helpless and under control of the demon while his men are slaughtered in the attack.

We don't know how Ulder Ravengard escapes this situation (*cough* play Descent into Avernus *cough*) but somehow he does. After weeks of fighting in the hells (maybe even months?) and narrowly escaping with his life and mind intact Ulder Ravengard is hurrying back to Baldur's Gate as quickly as he can. He knows the city is in danger, whether the Vanthampurs' succeeded at seizing power or not. And on the way home he gets ambushed by fucking goblins and drow working together. He gets to see as some of the few survivors who made it through their time in Avernus with him, get killed. He gets to see his close friend and advisor Counselor Florrick get trapped in a burning building.

Then he's kept imprisoned, and likely harassed, in the dungeons of Moonrise towers. All he hears is 'the Absolute' this and 'the Absolute' that. Then what does he know but apparently the mastermind behind this whole thing is fucking Gortash, the slimy counselor he has spent the past while doing his best to ignore because even if he didn't like him and thought most of his ideas were bad he couldn't actually do anything to get rid of him. And then Orin—a fucking Bhaalspawn—uses him for a chair while Ketheric Thorm goes on a whiny oh-woe-is-me rant and Gortash sticks a tadpole in his eye all while mocking him.

He then gets to spend the next while under control of the Absolute. We don't know how unpleasant this is, but we do know that when the Absolute controls someone directly their brain starts bleeding so severely they collapse and die after less than a minute :) and when he's finally freed from the Absolute he has chronic migraines so yeah not fucking pleasant :)))))

And then his son rescues him. Yay. His son who he strove to teach right from wrong all those years. His son to whom he imparted the four pillars: strategy, courage, justice, insight. His son, who, despite everything he has ever taught him chose to throw all of his promise away to a devil. And he doesn't know why and maybe he hopes that there was a good reason behind it all, but he does know that he lost any chance he had to ever be able to fully trust his son again because he doesn't know the terms of the pact and he can't know the full terms of the pact but he does know that his son is now under the control of a devil.

And please just take a moment to think about how terrifying that would be. This isn't something that an 'I'm sorry' can fix. Wyll says it himself: it would be easier to drink the Chionthar down, drop by drop, than to break a devil's pact. The chances of Wyll ever being freed from his pact are slim to none and the damage he could do in the mean time is immeasurable. Ulder Ravengard has the weight of an entire city's well being on his shoulders. I am not saying he made the right choice, but there is a reason why Wyll says it was the only choice he could make. He told Wyll to go. Maybe out of shame, maybe out of fear, maybe out of the hope that his son would do less damage far away than if he were to stay. We don't know why. Maybe he regretted it, maybe he never looked back.

But he's been having one of the worst fucking years of his life and most of it is due either directly to devils or to people conspiring with devils. His mind has been scraped raw by the Absolute. He's injured and if you broke Wyll's pact he was just attacked by another devil and exploding spiders. If you didn't break Wyll's pact, he just saw evidence that Wyll is still in leagues with a devil, after all Mizora states very clearly that she always fulfills her promises as she saves him.

Oh and if you didn't kill Karlach, Wyll is a devil now (*techinically he is still human, just with some devilish features and will be regonized as infernal in origin by the spell Detect Good and Evil, but Ulder Ravengard doesn't have the insight to game mechanics that we have and may or may not be aware that Wyll turning into a devil is a lot less probable than him just being made to look like one.)

So maybe, it's just a little understandable that instead of greeting Wyll with joy or gratitude at being saved the first thing he thinks, the only thing he can think of is: what fresh hell is he in for now?

(And maybe ya'll can be a little more understanding of Wyll choosing to forgive his father too. I don't think it's out of character for Wyll. I don't think he's ignoring everything wrong with what his father did. I don't think Wyll is a bad person for choosing to forgive his father or that anger would have been the right choice for him. It's far, far more complicated than that.)

[jamesdeniscouldnever]

Yay! I'm absolutely enthralled by this series, so the inspiration just keeps flowing. Same as the rolan fic Zevlor's hurt/comfort won. I love him. These two made me realize I love teiflings. Gonna scream. This takes place if you failed to save him in act two but its a little AU in the sense that you save him before Orin can...ya know.

The Guardian's Guardian

Summary: Caught in Orin's sordid little web, Zevlor finds himself on the receiving end of some less than pleasant treatment. Hes sure he deserves it for being an oathbreaker and abandoning his fellow tieflings. So why, amongst the pain and torture he endures , does he find his mind seeking comfort that he doesn't deserve in the memory of a friend?

Zevlor couldn't begin to find the words to explain his terror. He was certain he'd simply be turned into an absolute cultist after Ketharic had taken him, nothing special and no one of note. But no. Instead, when Thorm had been killed and the injured Tav had been making their way out of the belly of the beast, they had missed him. At least, he liked to think they missed him. Surely they wouldn't have left him there if they'd known...would they?

He'd been at peace with the idea of dying there, but all that had shattered when a terrifying woman with pale skin that swirled in strange patterns had appeared. She'd smiled so cruelty when she saw him. She had said only one word.

"Perfect." And that was all it took. She'd opened the pod, grabbed him, and in a swirl of ash, they were someplace else. Someplace dark and damp and reeking of blood.

That was almost a week ago. How he'd survived so long he wasn't sure, he'd been on the receiving end of numerous beatings, tortures, and even a flaying since then. He winces to himself as the memory of his own raw nearly-skinned flesh on his left leg causes it to flare in pain once more. Certainly, some God must be keeping him alive for their amusment. Or for his own punishment.

If he'd just fought the absolute harder, he wouldn't be in this mess. His people would be safe. Tav may have had more help in slaying Ketharic.

Tav.

He closes his eyes, feeling the cold stone of the cell floor against his back, and allows himself to think of them. He doesn't deserve the comfort their memory brings. He doesn't deserve to fantasize about them bursting through the door and rescuing him. He doesn't deserve to be worried about them. Certainly they were okay. Far far away from this cultish temple to a filthy God. Far away from him.

That thought brings him more comfort than he was expecting. The idea that they were somewhere safe beyond Orin's reach makes him exhale a breath of quiet relief. A relief he had no right to feel. They weren't his.

He'd been in love with them, no doubt, since the Grove. Their kindness, their leadership, the diffusion of tension among the refugees, and their willingness to help. Help teiflings, no less. A notable trait since the fall of Elturel.

If anyone had been around, he'd have scolded himself for the small smile he allows to creep onto his lips as he thinks of them, their smile, their eyes. It's enough to make him ignore the pain the action brings by reopening the scab on his split lip.

He feels his eyes growing heavy, the tension of pain outweighed by his outright exhaustion. He's almost able to slip into a much needed sleep. Almost.

But the comfort is cut short by the sounds of shouting somewhere above him. It must be loud to traverse the stone of his prison. Perhaps someone had displeased Orin. Perhaps she was making another sacrifice to her awful parentage. Maybe Zevlor would be next.

He doesn't open his eyes. Let them come take him. Let his suffering be over. Let his punishment finally be complete.

But even as the screams and yells die down, they do not come. Even as the whole of the caverns fall silent, they do not come. No, what comes is a frantic voice and the sound of several pairs of boots scraping against the dirt and stones. He is certain now - he has, in fact, died. Died and, through some measure of mercy from the same gods who ignored him, been allowed to see them again.

"Zevlor, please! Where are you? Please, Gods, tell me we weren't too late!" The panic in their voice is enough to rouse him. There shouldn't be such pain after death, such a heartbreaking cry. Unless this is his personal Hell. No, this is not real. He won't play their games anymore. He doesn't respond.

"Zevlor! Gods dammit all! Please! Please answer me!" Tav's voice cries again, closer now. The sounds of clanging doors and cells being ripped open follows them. He sighs in content. Even with such pain laden in it, their voice is like a symphony to him now. A soothing balm to caress his soul. He only wishes it was singing one of the lullabies they'd taught the children or telling one of their stories. But this would do.

The world begins to fade around him, finally letting him go. From deep within his swimming hearing, he hears a cell being yanked open. A desperate cry that sounds as if someone is in pain. A word repeated over and over. He strains as much as he cans to listen-

"-vlor! Zevlor. Please, Zev, please!" A desperate cry. He feels hands on his chest, his neck, then moving to his face. He flinches despite himself, and he hears what sounds like a sob. He tries to open his eyes. Tries to tell the visage of his beloved Tav not to cry, that it will all be over soon, but he can't control his tongue nor his eyes. It's as if they're both turned to rock inside his skull.

The last thing he hears before darkness pulls him down is a fractured sentence.

"Karlah- arry him plea- ave to get out of here!"

After that is dark. He's not sure for how long. He's not sure if he was conscious during it all or not. All he's aware of now is warmth that the cells of the cult of Bhaal had been devoid of.

A crackling sound. A fire. He tries to move his hands, move any part of himself. He's able to feel the twitch of his tail and something soft pressing against his fingertips. A bedroll?

No. A bed. A real bed. The soft dip of mattress under him tells him this. Where in the 9 hells is he?

He struggles his eyes open, the light that meets them a little garish compared to the dark of his previous surroundings. However, they adjust after a moment, and he blinks several times. He's in a room, lavishly decorated, warm, large. He turns his hand and sees several beds, all just as large and soft as his own lining the walls. Curtains hang from the doorway, having been pulled down, presumably for his privacy. He hears voices speaking soft beyong them.

He tries to speak but finds his throat hoarse and painful. He tries to sit up instead but groans out loud in pain as he moves his left leg. Right. Basically skinned alive. But looking down, he notices it's been bandaged, the scent of yarrow and other medicinal herbs wafting from around him.

His yelp seems to have been heard as footsteps rapidly approach the curtains, and a pair of hands yank them apart, a face appearing between them. Tav.

Their eyes are wide, set in both fear and relief, their bottom lip quivers slightly before they swallow and quickly close the space between the curtains and his bed. They don't hesitate to drop to their knees beside him, taking one of his clawed hands in theirs.

"Zev! Oh gods, have mercy, you're awake! You're awake. You're safe. I'm here." Their voice seems to flit through the stages of grief, then relief, then gentle happiness. He doesn't reply, just stares at them with wide eyes of his own.

They simply hold his hand tight and keep repeating the same words to him. As if they're an incantation that will heal his battered body. "I'm here. I'm here. I'm here."

His eyes flit to the curtains, and he sees faces peaking through. Tav's companions. They watch with varying degrees of pity, joy, amusement, or disgust. His looks back to Tav and tries to speak, but only a croak replies. Tav's eyes widen, and they're reaching for the pitcher of water beside the bed before he can even grasp at their hand as it leaves his. They pour a glass and hold it to his lips for him, their other hand cradling the back of his neck as they urge him to drink. He does, and before he even realizes it, he's drained the glass. They pour him another, but he only sips at this one before he finally speaks.

"It's you. You came for me...why? Why would you do that? Why would you put yourself and your friends in danger for me? You could've been hurt! You could have been killed!" Its not until Tav places their hands on his cheeks and hums soothingly that he realizes his voice had been growing in volume. One hand remains on his cheek, and the other moves to stroke through his hair, passing across the bases of his horns. He can't keep himself from sighing and curling in on himself at their touch. Tears blur his vision, and he let's them fall. He's so relieved. Not for himself but for them.

"Zevlor, of course I came for you. I would never have left anyone to Orin's torture, but least of all you. I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you." They hushed. His tears continued, and wrecked sobs finally burst forth from his throat.

"But why!? I don't deserve your kindness, your sacrifice, and care! I-I gave in to the absolute! I left my people to die! I broke my oaths, I left innocent children helpess, and now I put you all in danger. I'm a murderer." Zevlor wails. He deserved to die there. He shouldn't be here, he should be a body laying in the pits of Avernus left to-

"Zevlor!" Their voice cuts through again. They're gently pulling his hands away from his arms, where scratches and traces blood are now forming. He'd been hurting himself and hadn't even realized it. "Stop. Zev, your people are safe. I got them out of moonrise, and I returned them to their families. There were a few losses but...I did what I could. Arabella's parents... but that doesn't matter. It isn't your fault. The absolutes hold on people is almost unbreakable, but you did it. You broke it. You aren't a murderer. You're a victim. Please don't hurt yourself over this, I can't bear to see it. I love you too much for it."

Their words are so earnest and spoken with such certainty that he almost misses the end part. His gaze whips up to meet theirs, and he almost cries anew at the look in their eyes. He buries his face in their chest and breakdown down once more. They hold him close and gently rock back and forth with the. They rub his back and stroke his hair and whisper words of encouragement and kindness to him. He takes a deep breath and pulls back from them. He pulls his head back and whimpers.

"I love you. I've loved you since that day in the Grove that you saved Arabella from Kagha. Since you showed Geux how to defend himself or kept Lia and her brothers together. I must have annoyed the others with how much I talked about you after we left there. But I couldn't help myself. You're perfect. You're goodness incarnate. I love you. I need you." His voice sounds foreign to himself. Desperate and teary and full of fear. But that's just the effect Tav has on him. He can be weak in front of them. He can be vulnerable.

Lips press against his before he can even look up again. He let's his eyes slip shut, and he sighs into it, allowing himself to melt into the safety of them. There's no heat behind it. No heavy breaths or searching hands. Just chaste, gentle and caring love. Safety.

They pull away before he's ready but place another kiss against his forehead. They sit on the bed beside him and pull his head against their chest. They whisper sweet nothings to him, promises of care and safety.

"I'm here, you're safe. All is well, everything is going to be okay. I'll protect you. I'll keep you safe." They hum into his hair.

He feels something stir within himself, and he makes a decision then and there. He may have broken his oaths, but he's making a new one to himself. Tav, the guardian of the world, the bringer of peace and safety. He's going to protect them with his life. He'll be there for any fight, any pain, any troubles. For the rest of their lives. He will be there. A gaurdian's gaurdian. And this oath, he will not break. No matter what.

[wakacreations]

Letters From Rolan (Anthology)

Meddling Miscreant... Letter Properly Sent.

Word Count: 345

Summary:

The letter Rolan first sent to his would be hero at the grove.

Dear The Meddling Miscreant,

You've kept taking glances in my general direction since you've first entered the grove. I've kept trying to call you out on your behavior but somehow you've disappeared just as I met your gaze. Today you’ve overheard our private family discussion.  Who gave you the right to interfere with my family’s well being! We suffered too much to just sit idly here and wait to be attacked by a horde of goblins.

We lost too much to just wait to be rescued again! We have done enough of that in Elturel. We have served our time in the Hells. We do not need to wait for some hero to save us. I can look out for my own. I have done so before and I fully intend to do it again.

Cal and Lia already played the heroes enough already. Who would be left to save them? When all this is said and done I’ll be the one who once again has to patch them up. Once the great evil is conquered the hero leaves the victims to fend for themselves and they live happily ever after. That is how all these fairytale hero stories go but isn’t that what you expect out of helping the grove?

That magically everything would go right as planned? With every unnecessary venture there is unnecessary risk and I am well and good tired of it. How are we expected to float when we can barely tread water?

Those two have their full trust in you that the goblins will be heroically vanquished but nevertheless you’ll have my much needed support. There is always a need for a capable powerful ally such as I, as expected out of Lorroakan’s apprentice. If you fully intend to play the role of bumbling hero you better see it through to the end. 

If you want my attention, be out with it. If you would like a private word, say so. You've went around introducing yourself to everyone in the grove but we've yet to share a proper introduction. I am not some lowly urchin and or monster to be avoided.

-Rolan (The Apprentice of Master Lorroakan)

[scandistar]

Whipped together some portraits of my Tav’s family. I’m quite happy with how they turned out, but my favorite part was probably coming up with their designs. I love drawing families, especially siblings, because of the challenge of making them distinct from each other, but still similar enough that you can tell they’re related.

Anyhow! I’ll give you a ”short” introduction.

The Morensis family

Charrelin. Neurodivergent ranger/druid with a keen eye for nature and biology. Studied with a elderly druid for four years as a child, but had to return home when her family lost their farm. She had worked with mercenaries for two years, but her entire team was slaughtered by vengeful thieves that would snatch her and keep her chained in a basement for more than a tenday. She was freed when harpers had happened upon her during their raid of the bandit hideout. She suffered a punctured lung during her captivity, but despite being healed, she developed a chronic cough.

Neira. Charrelin’s little sister who struggles with body image issues because of her infernal features. She compensates by making herself more physically and socially appealing. Has scars on her horn from trying to saw it off in her childhood. Is a talented musician and works at her mother’s shop most days.

Tyra. She’s the oldest sibling and takes that role seriously. She joined her father when he moved to Elturel to find work to support his family. She stayed with him for the next 14 years while he worked as a carpenter. The both of them lived with an old friend of her father, under the condition that they pull their own weight. She did so effortlessly. She also started working as a butcher to add to their earnings. After Elturel had fallen, she had become one of the tiefling refugees traversing the perils on the road to get to Baldur’s gate.

Sedja. Mother of four and a farm girl since birth. She inherited her father’s yard after his passing and would raise a family there with a man from Elturel. She has a deep understanding of agriculture and after she lost her farm, she’d go on to establish a flowershop in the lower city of Baldur’s gate.

Orendal. Father and husband. Moved to Baldur’s gate when he fell for Sedja and joined her efforts of maintaining a farm and a family. He worked hard, was well liked by those not opposed to his existence, and took good care of his family. Until another farm brought competition, slimming down their profits. He would injure himself after an accident and was forced to give up their property. After he recovered, he was quick to depart for Elturel to find a new job, joined by his eldest daughter. After Charrelin’s abrupt dissappearance, he’d become a drunken mess out of worry for his family. It got worse over the years, until he stumbled and fell off a roof and injured himself again. Old as he was getting, he couldn’t return to work after his recovery. When Elturel fell, so did he, into Avernus.

Magnus. He’s the youngest of the four siblings. He was only seven when his father had left for Elturel. He grew into a silent young man, one to keep to the background while his sisters ate the attention. He did what he was told and never objected much. In his later teens, he had started working for fishermen to make some coin of his own. It was going well, aside from that one night he had been ordered by the captain to hoist a body off the boat. As usual, he did what he was told and never spoke of it to anyone.

There is so much more I’d like to say about them all, but for now I’ll just leave a little appetizer.

[yeetmeoutthewindowdaddy]

A deep dive into Zevlor's devotion (Part 2.5) Zevlor's paladin oath:

(Had to make this section separate because (Part 2) got too long)

(Part 3) Zevlor's actions during Act 1, an analysis of a man who is barely holding on.

A deep dive into Zevlor's devotion series (master list)

______________________________________________________________

Zevlor's Paladin Oath:

(AN: From here down anything highlighted in green is 100% canon and not me speculating.)

Being a Tiefling, especially one who's infernal heritage is very prominent in his features, would have made becoming a Hellrider (pardon the pun) hell. Zevlor would have had to work harder than his fellow recruits. His record had to have to be flawless and his behavior impeccable, he would have been held to standards that were even more stringent than the already strict ones Hellriders were held to.

Even if he wasn't a deeply pious man (which he definitely is), how better than to prove your devotion than by becoming a paladin? Swearing an oath upon a God is not a matter to be taken lightly in a world where the gods regularly interact with mortals. He received his God's blessing, which he wouldn't have if he was being deceitful in his vows.

I think Torm was his deity of choice.

"The deity of paladins and the god of duty, loyalty, righteousness, obedience and, after the Spellplague, law. By the late 15th century DR, Torm was the war god of courage and self-sacrifice... And the state official religion/ God of Elturel."

The Spellplague (LINK) is a can of worms I'm not opening. Suffice to say Mystra died again, along with some other Gods again, and chaos ensued again.

I used to think Helm fit him the best, but some Godly shenanigans, called the Time of Troubles, made him fall out of favor as a God thanks to Mystra being on her bullshit again, amongst the people of Faerûn. Not exactly a god a person who already suffers from prejudice, and who is desperately trying to prove themselves as trustworthy, would be chomping at the bit to become a paladin to. Also Helm was dead up until like ~6 years before the start of BG3.

The Time of Troubles (LINK) is another can of worms I don't have time to get into. TL;DR: Every god (except Helm because he was needed to guard the gates to the heavens) had to walk the earth in their moral forms. Gods died, gods were resurrected, and gods ascended. Clerics and paladins lost access to their powers, and using the Weave (Because Helm destroyed Mystra) became dangerously unpredictable.

Yes, I know Zevlor has the Hellrider's Pride that gives you Helms blessing. But it is hard to imagine that Zevlor would choose a hated, dead god as his patron deity. Elturel still seems to have like Helm well enough, but Zevlor is strategic-- and would recognize that becoming a paladin of the city's preferred deity would garner him more favorable opinions than being a paladin of Helm would.

To make things even more complicated, Helm and Torm were buddies. Their clergy, however, were not friendly with each other.

"The only god who could have been considered a full ally of the Watcher (Helm) was Torm, the god of paladins. Strongly held ideological differences caused a great rivalry verging on hatred between the clergy of the two gods, but the deities themselves remained close."

With Helm and Torm being friendly and fairly similar to each other, (they're so similar that I can't understand why their clergies had beef with each other) Zevlor would have seen Torm as a good alternative for Helm.

Although, it wouldn't surprise me if he was stubborn enough to swear to Helm anyways. From what I can tell Helm worshippers are more hardcore and uncompromising in their beliefs than Torm worshippers, and this fits nicely with my "Zealot Zevlor" headcanon. (Also, the thought of Zevlor failing his people just as his god failed his is tragically delicious.) This post [alt] by @davi-doo adds critical information about Helm in Elturel, and makes a very strong case for Zevlor being his paladin. And this post [alt] by @nightmarist and @haru-sen covers the Companion, the Creed Resolute, and paladins and their oaths.

Seeing that paladins weren't common in the Hellriders, and that he'd need to go to extreme lengths to prove himself-- I'm going to go ahead and assume that Zevlor joined the Knights of the Companion division of the Hellriders.

It is possible, based on the lack of tieflings being under 'membership' in the Order of the Companion on the wiki, to conclude that whether explicitly or implicitly tieflings (and other races) weren't welcome in that particular branch. Regardless if Zevlor was in the Order or not, he certainly devoted himself to Elturel with a fervor akin to theirs.

That's it for part 2.5, here's a link to (Part 3) Zevlor's actions during Act 1, an analysis of a man who is barely holding on.

Links to the other parts:

A deep dive into Zevlor's devotion series (master list)

[rolanpilled]

Analyzing Lorroakan’s letter to Rolan, line-by-line

“You are most fortunate, Rolan.” <- making rolan feel like he’s special for being chosen

“Few catch my interest, but your letters demonstrate potential.” <- knows rolan holds him in high regard, so gives him something resembling a compliment to strengthen the connection between them, bordering on praise but not quite. asking him to prove his devotion to his own growth

“I am willing to give you a chance. However, a warning - you must be willing to do whatever is necessary.” <- setting up the stage for rolan to blame himself for not being strong enough if he’s unable to fulfill increasingly high expectations. emphasis on ‘necessary’ to really make him feel like hardships are essential trials

“Power is not cheap. And I’ll not suffer weakness in my own student.” <- doesn’t even care whether rolan accepts his offer of apprenticeship or not, makes the decision for him. probably an intentional way of establishing a certain lvl of control over him from the start. refers to imperfection as ‘weakness’. signs just his name, no “sincerely” or “signed” or anything formal at all. it’s a calculated wording on his part

-

some other questions i had about rolan, who seems to be mid- to late- twenties but still considered an apprentice wizard? late starts in life aren’t uncommon in faerun, i’d imagine, but it still makes me wonder wtf he was doing for 30-odd years instead of studying magic

- did he need to give up his dreams to support his family? it’s lightly implied that he could use magic as a child, but that’s a long time between 12-30 ish. perhaps he was too tired from working shitty jobs to study magic, or he didn’t have enough money or opportunities (as a tiefling) to do so?

- did he fail out, give up, lose his passion or his hope that he’d actually become a great wizard?

- something drove him to write those letters to lorroakan. he wrote multiple. was lorroakan the only one he wrote to? were there others he was rejected from, making him feel desperate for this one thing?

- did rolan, cal, and lia get kicked out of elturel (with the other refugees), or did they leave willingly? did they leave willingly AFTER witnessing increasing violence and hostility towards tieflings?

- why is he wearing a sorcerer’s robe????? he had a wizard robe in EA… and he is labelled as a “prodigy” i’m assuming unironically, so perhaps he’s a sorcerer who thinks he’s a wizard? (he’s clearly labelled in game as a wizard, though, so perhaps it was for visual reasons - clothing that better matches his personality)

[unreadpoppy]

down by the river - Chapter 13

Raphael x Warlock!Tav

Read on AO3

chapter 12

Chapter summary:

In which Wyll and Tav have a heart to heart and another part of Tav and Raphael's past is revealed.

Tav was sitting on the pier, her feet dangling above the water. It was late at night, and there were no fishermen to bother her as she looked at her reflection. 

The face she wore was not the one she was born with. It was thanks to fiendish magic that every hundred years or so, she was able to change. A new appearance, a new name, a new identity. Before Tav, there had been Dahlia, the half-drow and Solana, the high elf. But before all of them, there was the human girl whose only wish was to spread her music around the world. 

As Tav looked in the water, for a moment, she saw that girl. The one filled with hope and love, and whose name she hadn’t spoken in centuries. Sometimes, she feared she’d forgotten, but deep down, Tav knew she couldn’t. 

“Magda.” She said quietly to herself. The name her mother had whispered into the world when she was born. The name her friends had called her. The name burned into Raphael’s contracts and the name she hadn’t heard in over four centuries. “Magda.” She spoke again. It felt both foreign and familiar on her tongue, like an old tune one could barely remember the lyrics. 

She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, Tav noticed she was not alone. 

“You can be really hard to track down, you know.” Wyll said, sitting next to her. When she turned to look at him, he frowned. “Why are you crying?” 

Tav touched her cheek, only now realizing how wet they were. “I hadn’t even noticed.” Wiping them, she took a deep breath and then said, looking at him “I was a fool, Wyll, and you were right.” 

“About what?” He asked, confused. 

“Everything.” Tav looked ahead “I thought I could trust him and he had been scheming behind my back this whole time. You told me to be careful and I didn’t listen, now look at the mess I’ve made.” 

“Tav, what are you talking about?” There was concern in his voice. 

“Raphael.” She said, coldly. “He lied to me, lied about everything.” 

And then, Tav told him all that transpired. Told him Gale and the Crown, about Sharess Caress and Raphael’s deal, and how he had planned for this all to happen, and how she signed the contract, but she did not stop there.

Tav told Wyll everything, from her early days to being kidnapped and how Raphael saved her, and her servitude to him and the various lives she had lived. Wyll stayed silent, paying attention to every word she said, as Tav poured all of her thoughts out. It was only after she was done that he asked “Maybe there could be a way for us to break your contract? There’s always a loophole” 

“Not in this one.” She shook her head. “Much like you, I cannot raise a hand against my patron without suffering consequences.”

“Do you know what they are?”

Tav sighed. “When I gave my soul to him, it was as if the clock stopped working for me. Even as I change faces, I do not age. Were I to hurt Raphael and break our contract, the clock would begin working again, making up for all lost time.” She took a deep breath. “And seeing as I was born human, I would die in an instant and my bones would become ash like this” Tav snapped her fingers.

“There must be some way-”

“Even if there was…I do not plan on breaking this contract.” Tav shook her head. “I told you, I’m a fool. I let this devil hurt me and I still can’t bring myself to defy him.” 

The two warlocks stayed in silence for a moment. 

And then, Wyll said “I don’t blame you.” Looking at her, he continued. “You may think yourself foolish, but I think you were just doing your best to survive, and there is nothing foolish in that.” He looked at her. “Did I ever tell you how Mizora became my patron?”

“No.” 

“Very well.” It was Wyll’s turn to take a deep breath. “I was 17 years old and my father had left for Elturel, to settle a dispute. In my sleep, I heard a voice telling me to go to Dusthawk Hill alone. When I arrived, I saw dragon cultists trying to summon Tiamat. I was desperate and with no chance of stopping them” He sighed. “That’s when Mizora approached me, offering me the power to destroy the cult and save the city in exchange for my soul. I agreed in a heartbeat.” 

Tav looked at him, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it in support. Wyll then continued. 

“We wiped the cultists, and I lost my eye in battle. When my father came back, however, all signs of it were gone, and all he could see was a smirking devil behind his son.” Tav wiped a stray tear that fell from his good eye. “The contract forbade me from telling him the truth and so, I was cast out from the very city I sold my soul to save. That day, I became the Blade of Frontiers.” 

“You were just a boy.” She whispered and he nodded. “You didn’t deserve that. Do you regret it?” She asked, sincerely.

Wyll took a deep breath, straightening his back. “No. Never. I would sell my soul thrice over if it means keeping my city - and the world - safe.” He paused, “If it means keeping my father safe.” 

Tav nodded. When they arrived in the city, Mizora gave Wyll a choice: Renew their contract and save his father, or break it and risk letting Ulder die. And Wyll chose his father over his soul. 

She couldn’t help but think how selfish she had been. Wyll sold his soul to save his home, while she had sold hers for what? A new chance at life. She had done her master’s dirty work just to keep her mortality intact. Up until the tadpole, Tav had not even thought of using her powers to do good, only serving herself and Raphael. 

Maybe the two were not so unlike.

She shook her head. That was not the time for that. Instead, she placed a hand over Wyll’s. “We’ll save him. I promise.” 

“I know.” He stood up. “But for that to happen, we need to be well rested” He offered a hand to help. “Come, the others have been wondering where you’ve been.” 

“Are they not mad at me?” She grabbed his hand. 

“Oh, they are.” They both chuckled, as Tav stood up. “But when have you ever cared about their opinions of you?”

Tav smirked, and in a surprise gesture, hugged Wyll. It had been quick and awkward, but he smiled nonetheless and nodded. Then, the two headed off to the Elfsong Tavern. 

…

A hundred years before. 

Tav had arrived in the House of Hope late, after killing another target for Raphael. She swiped the blood from her blade, as she heard the sound of someone playing the piano. 

It had been a recent addition to Raphael’s home, one that came at Tav’s insistence. If he planned for her to keep using her musical talents in her missions, she argued, he might as well provide the means for her to learn new instruments. It took a long back and forth, but eventually, the devil relented, with the condition that Tav play for him. 

Now, following the noise, she found him sitting by the instrument, looking at a piece of paper placed where the sheet of music would be, a pair of small glasses on the tip of his nose. Occasionally, Raphael would murmur something, play a few keys and then scribble something on the paper. She saw him repeat that process three times before intervening. 

“You need to change the rhyme.” She said, making her way towards him. 

He didn’t look at her as he said “I was wondering when would you finally decide to say something.”  Of course he had known when she arrived. He fixed his glasses on his face before turning to her. “I see that you were successful.” 

Tav nodded. “Yes.” With her chin, she pointed towards the paper. “What is that?” 

“Curious as ever.” Raphael said, handing her the paper. “It is a contract I am crafting, in song format. I need to get the wording down correctly before making it happen.” 

As she looked over it, she asked “Why a song?” 

“Because paper can be torn and burn, words have little to no value in most instances but a song?” He chuckled “a song lingers. And for this debtor, I want this song to stick.” 

Tav sat down near him, looking at the paper. As she crossed words and wrote news ones, she asked “And who’s the unlucky one this time.” 

Raphael scowled. “Yurgir.” 

“The orthon?” He nodded “Why are you making a deal with him?” 

“That, my dear, is none of your concern.” Raphael looked over what she had written, as she finally placed it back where it was. “Now, show me what you’ve done.” 

She swallowed, feeling his burning eyes on her as she slowly played the a few tunes that she believed would match the song. 

‘Spill all the blood sworn to the night. Silence all prayers; smother each rite

Wander Shar's halls; hungry to slay; Leave no Justiciar alive to obey.

Leave none to hear it, then be set free; This song is your oath, swear, swear it to me.’ 

The two stayed silent for a moment. Tav gulped, afraid at the silence, until Raphael began slow clapping. “Well done.” She nodded, sighing in relief as he folded the paper and placed it inside his vest. “This will work brilliantly.” 

“I’m glad.” She began to stand up but Raphael stopped her. She raised a brow, confused. 

“I want to know if you made any progress on that other song. The one about the river.” 

“Oh…” Truth be told, Tav hadn’t thought about that song in ages. “I have been stuck, actually.” 

“What do you mean?” Raphael inched closer. “Having trouble?” She could feel his breath near her neck and she took a deep breath.  

“I, well…” She turned to look at him as he stared at her, intensely. “I haven’t found the right inspiration yet.” 

“Oh? And what had driven you to write the song to begin with?” 

Raphael was close, too close, she thought. The heat of his fiendish body emanated next to her, and as one of his wings circled around her, she suddenly felt trapped. 

With a deep breath, she answered. “It used to be about this boy in my village.” She turned to look at him. “One whom I liked, before…everything.” 

“So it is a love song.” 

She shrugged “One might say so.”

A moment of silence passed between the two before Raphael spoke again. “Are you in love with anyone, Tav?” 

“No.” She replied harshly. “Why the sudden interest?” 

“Curiosity, you could say.” Raphael shrugged. “You are my warlock, afterall. I should know all the ins and outs of your life.” 

She raised a brow “Including matters of the heart?” 

“Especially matters of the heart.” The look he gave her made Tav shiver. “Tell me: have you ever been kissed?” 

Tav could feel her heart beating faster with this line of questioning. She frowned while answering. “Once, a long time ago.” She gulped. “But not much since then.” 

She felt the tip of his tail begin coiling around one of her legs as he invaded her personal space. 

“Indulge me in this final question.” He said, voice low. “Would you like to be kissed?” 

Tav felt the blood rush to her head, as she blinked at him. Had he really just said that? Was this a dream? Should she trust this was truly Raphael and not Haarlep playing tricks? 

Regardless, and despite her best judgment, she said “Yes.” 

Like a predator waiting to jump at its prey, Raphael took his time, slowly inching his face closer, before grabbing her cheeks between his thumb and index finger and kissing her. 

At first, his lips on hers felt like fire, his tongue, poison. But, as the kiss deepened, it tasted like a sweet, addictive honey that Tav wanted more of. 

But just when she began to truly enjoy the moment, it was done. Raphael was no longer touching her as he stood up. Fixing his doublet, he said “I believe that is enough inspiration.” 

He began to make his way towards the door, as Tav’s fingers touched her lips, wondering if that had truly happened. 

Before he left, Raphael said “I want the song done by the next tenday.”

[blackjackkent]

It's interesting - I did get to pick Rakha's name during character creation and her name is on the save file, but the game doesn't actually seem to care? In the dialogue logs, combat logs, combat overlay, and Rakha's own opportunities to introduce herself, it still says The Dark Urge.

I'm not sure if the intention here is that Rakha ONLY knows the name The Dark Urge and her file being named Rakha is only for my own benefit, or if the game is bugging out, or what.

Anyway. Had another quick chat with Zevlor. He informed Rakha that the settlement they've arrived at is a druid grove - not belonging to the tieflings as Rakha assumed - and that the tieflings themselves are about to be kicked out; the druids blame them for the recent spate of goblin attacks.

The tieflings are refugees from a place called Elturel which recently suffered something called the Descent. Rakha, of course, has no memory of what that could possibly mean - and does take the time to ask, as she never misses the chance to add to her limited store of knowledge about the world.

The story is brief and brutal. A city dragged to the Hells due to the bargaining of a corrupt official with devils. Its tiefling population shunned after their safe return to the material plane. A desperate flight through the wilderness.

Rakha listens impassively and does not overmuch feel that this is her problem. She has her own business and her own threats to attend to, her own story of being pulled into chaos without her will or understanding. The fate of the tieflings only concerns her insofar as the one named Zorru is here somewhere and she must learn what he has to say before he is gone.

(They will go out on the road, murmurs the beast gleefully in her head. They will go out on the road and they will die and there will be corpses upon corpses, all laid out in blood...)

Zevlor does, however, tell her that there is a healer here who might be of use. That's a lead worth following up on, if Lae'zel's plans regarding the creche don't work out.

[theycallmeratt]

Hero

Most of the books in the Ravengard library were for show, but on a low shelf behind the door a dozen books with flaking spines and well written pages were tucked safely out of sight from any visiting dignitaries or generals.

Wyll's favorite books.

Read more on AO3 or under the cut

There was the story of the girl off to save her brother from the fae with her frying pan. The girl who went to defeat the dragon queen and instead befriended her. The boy whose apprenticeship made him see red. The abandoned son who uncovered a plot against the gods. A team blessed (cursed?) by a changeling to fight an invading force.

All of them young, all of them brave.

The first time Wyll saw death, he lay awake and tried to forget about it, like the apprentice tried to forget what he had learned. But no, just as in the book, growing up meant seeing reality, experiencing it. When his sword was heavy, he thought of the burden his favorite characters held. How each of the shapeshifters suffered and adapted and what kind of warrior he wanted to be. Glib? Determined? Bloodthirsty?

When father tasked him to shadow the Fists, he thought of who they were arresting. Like the dragon queen, each target might be subdued with communication and compassion instead of threats and violence. He made mistakes—he even got stabbed by a Bhaalist!—but he also pointed out that the "non-compliant" halfling was signing, not casting. That the dwarf raving outside of Elfsong only wore a nightgown and didn't have a bolt in his crossbow. Wyll even sat on the walls listening to an elf ready to leap into the sea, sat until tomorrow looked like the less cruel option.

Well on his way to being his own hero, he thought.

~*~

A voice whispered to him in the night, warning him of death, destruction—worse than the fire in Rivington, or the Bhaalist massacre in the sewer, or the cult that walled themselves in a sewer tunnel. More bodies than he could imagine. More pain. Dragon's fire and tyranny.

"You heard a… voice," a Fist commander repeated his words back.

"Yes!" Wyll said, nervously pacing. The longer he spent trying to convince them, the closer to disaster they all were. "While he's in Elturel, father left me in charge—"

"Of administrative tasks! He did not give you the authority to mobilize the entire Fist force in the middle of the night! Not to pull patrols and leave the city defenseless because a youth had a bad dream!"

"With all due respect," said another commander. "Wyll, you've seen the warning system we have in place. A dragon cannot—will not—surprise us. We would have heard reports."

"This is your report!" Wyll said. "I'm giving it to you!"

"I…" the second commander sighed. "I can send one patrol to the outskirts."

"That's not enough."

"Even that's a waste!" shouted the first commander.

"Stranger things have happened," said the second. "One patrol, and an extra on the walls, in case we do have a dragon sighting."

Wyll hadn't stormed out. Father insisted that storming was something only the overly temperamental did. He did let the door close hard behind him, and he did stomp a little coming off a curb.

"Hurry," said the voice.

"Where?" he snapped. Grand, he was speaking to it, now. Out loud.

"You only had to ask," the voice laughed. It told him where to go.

Wyll broke into a run.

~*~

Nine people, well armed, stood in an empty warehouse. Their chants echoed off the walls and in the middle of the circle the twisting shape of a dragon writhed its way to reality.

"The warning system wouldn't have caught it!" Wyll said, standing on his tiptoes to see through the window. "Oh, no. I should've told the others where I was going! I need backup. I can't do this alone."

"There's no time," said the voice, but this time it was outside of his head.

Or, should he say, she was outside of his head. A beautiful human woman, crowned in coins, leaned against the wall next to him. Her clothes were fine but cut so he could see nearly to her navel, and from her waist to the strange stockings around her ankles. No shoes. The sight of clean human toes on the dirty, rough ground sent a wave of unease through his stomach. He stepped back.

"My eyes are up here. Your demise is in there," she smiled.

"Who—what—" he shook his head. Not important. "How do I stop them?"

"What is a life worth?"

"I'm not here for riddles! Please, time is running out."

"Exactly. Nine cultists. Nine lives for the whole city. A fair trade, don't you think?"

"Certainly," he said, desperate for her to get to her point. The dragon floated closer to the ground, gravity pulling at it as it solidified.

"Then ten is, too."

"I have to kill myself?" A noble sacrifice. One worthy of his books.

"Oh nothing so wasteful. A man like you—" she said man like his father's friends talked about their stud hounds. Wyll took another step back. "—is destined for great things. Like saving the city. All it takes is a patron, like myself. I will give you a weapon to stop this. You pledge yourself to my service."

Wyll blinked, and in the span of that blink she was no longer a human but a—

"Devil," he whispered, taking another step back.

"Exactly! So you know I'm good for it."

"Why me?"

"Because I need a hero. They're summoning a dragon god. Baldur's Gate is more useful to me as a city than a pile of char."

A hero. A plot by gods. Danger called, a hard solution was offered and a hero arose to take the burden. Just like in his books.

She continued, "Now, there are rules. A bit of quid-pro-quo, certain ad hoc abilities. All of this in-camera—"

The dragon took a breath and Wyll heard it, heard the great sucking sound like a massive bellow, caught the smell of smoke from their torches, and he was back in the heat of the fire, back in the burn wards, back helpless. The city would burn and father would return home and ask him why he hadn't done everything he could do.

"Yes, right, whatever it takes," he said, stepping towards her. "But—father is not to know about this."

"About what?"

"This! The cult and you approaching me and…"

"Very well. Are you certain?"

"My lady, please. They're nearly done with the ritual!"

"Very well. Read over this and sign." He skimmed the first paragraph—

"I'll summarize for you–"

the aforementioned does hereby and

tiiiiiiiiiaaaa

"—oul and service for—"

aaaaaaaattttttttttiaaaaaa

third parties, with the exception of certain outstandaaaaaaaaaameeee"—basically we—"as mentioned "—lend you out to—"AHHHHHHHH—

Too much! It was all too much fighting for his focus. He skipped to the signatures.

The words glowed as he finished, rising over him in a wave of orange script, wrapping around and burning into his skin, disappearing without a mark. And then, deep in his bones, in every muscle, from the arches of his feet to his heart to his tongue, he felt it.

Power.

~*~

Father looked over the empty warehouse, then back to Wyll, and like everyone else, he didn't believe him. Where had they all gone? Where were the bodies? The half summoned dragon he killed? The proof of his heroism? His missing eye, yes, but no one seemed to care.

"But it's true," Wyll said.

His father sighed. "You cannot use Fist resources like that."

"I'll prove it. I'll—"

He couldn't say the devil's name. He didn't even know it, but he found himself unable to say anything about the cultists, his breath turning to hot fire that seared the words out of his lungs. But he could summon up that power, as pleasantly painful as a slap over an itch, and shoot it against the wall.

Horror spread across his father's face, an expression Wyll had never seen. Like seeing those human toes in the alley, like seeing the dragon crawling out of nothing, it shook Wyll to his core.

"What did you—" Father's face twisted in anger. The man who'd never raised his voice snarled at Wyll, snapped at him like an owlbear chasing away a hunter. "A fiend. You sold yourself to a fiend? And for what?"

Hot, heavy arms draped over his shoulder and the devil purred, "A strapping young man like this? What do you think? What do you think he asked for?"

Father recoiled, one hand going to his weapon.

"Tell him the truth," Wyll hissed. "I cannot. You must."

"Oh, my sweet," she whispered, so close to his ear her breath made it damp, her consonants so sharp they cut. "Father must never know. About the cult. About you approaching me."

"Leave," father said. "I'll… I'll make something up. To save your face. But leave, Wyll."

"Father, I—"

He spat, "You've made your bed. Lay in it."

~*~

When Wyll pointed out how unfair it was that she owned him forever, even after death, she simply smirked and said, "Caveat emptor, boy. I gave you the contract. I let you read it over. You knew exactly what we were trading. Ten lives and a soul."

He made his way down the road, blisters eventually turning his stomps into ginger steps. He slept under a tree in the rain. Not with the noble grace of a hero, laid beneath a canopy of leaves. No, in the curled up, sniffling ball of a fool. A more apt description.

The roads he picked were random. Stubble grew, dirt packed under his nails and a single twig worked its way so deep into one of his twists that he decided to adopt it. Wyll, the Bedraggled.

"Don't be so dramatic," sighed the devil. "You look like you went for a walk in the gardens. I'll clean you up."

"Don't touch me," he grumbled.

"You're not nearly as cute when you're pouting. How about this?" She cupped a hand to her ear. "Screams, yes, lovely. Sobs. Begging—ooh, no, nevermind. Didn't work." She pointed. "It's coming from that direction."

He burst into a clearing right as a goblin jumped from a roof onto the shoulders of a woman and slammed fists against her head. She stumbled, curling over the cat she carried, and Wyll blasted the creature off of her. He drew his sword and threw himself into the fray. The goblins didn't stand a chance. As they retreated, the devil's hand crept over his shoulder, took his chin and forced him to look to his right.

A fleeing goblin had a boy thrown over its shoulder.

Wyll sprinted after.

His feet screamed as he leapt over fallen logs and through brambles, dodging roots and vines. His lungs burned. His heart burned. He tore into the goblins camp, his everything on fire, magic already ripping out of his mind, his blood, his bones, phantom heat scratching over him like the tip of a quill, writing his contact deeper.

"Close your eyes!" he called to the boy.

The boy did.

All his frustration, at the devil, at the Fists who didn't listen, at his father, his own father, who left him alone and then banished him, bubbled up. Wyll didn't defeat the goblins, no. He slaughtered them. He made sure they would never darken these woods. He sent a message. Look at me, father. I am a warrior. I am a terror. Without you, I am stronger.

The devil clapped a sarcastic applause as he panted in the middle of the carnage. Again she took his gore-covered chin and turned him to stare into the frightened eyes of the boy.

What Wyll saw reflected there sickened him.

For a long time there was silence.

Then—

"You're alive!" a man shouted, then the boy was in his arms, the man weeping and pressing kisses into the top of his head. A moment later a woman collided with them, her arms also going around the boy, squeezing so tight Wyll nearly thought he was going to have to rescue the lad again.

"He saved me," mumbled the boy, pointing at Wyll, then the woman had her arms around Wyll's neck, weeping her thanks, yanking off her cloak to wash his face.

"You're a good man," the man said, holding Wyll up with one arm while he examined him for injuries. "Who are you?"

Wyll blinked. Who was he?

Not Wyll Ravengard, not that he wanted to be that person anymore. Not a Fist trainee. No, he was a fool who sold himself to a demon, whose every good deed was forever tainted by evil.

But did that matter? After all, even a girl, armed only with a pan, beat a fae queen. Perhaps cursed as he was, armed with the power of the hells, he too could defeat evil.

He squared his shoulders. "Wyll. The Goblin's Menace. A hero."

He could work on the nickname.

[necrophcge]

"Considering that you're disguising yourself to a degree for the purpose of blending in between humans, I think it's fair to say that you're a spy-der."

@yellowfingcr // those bold or foolish few that dare speak to us.

To anyone else among the dozens milling about Wyrm's Crossing, he would easily be mistaken as yet another disheveled refugee from Elturel in a place already filled to the bursting point with them. Garbed in dirtied clothes with an even dirtier face, with sunken red eyes that avoid even the slightest of glances thrown in his direction and horns so brittle looking a stiff breeze could break them off his forehead, the tiefling looks for all the world a beggar of spare coppers as he sits in the dirt of the road no more than a stone's toss from her.

Only keen-eyed Heysel notices the momentary breaking of this facade, her jibe a thrown pebble breaking the water's surface of his illusion. A flashing of hideous jaws and tap-tapping mandibles, accompanied with the momentary glance of his pitch black eyes and a muted hiss like that of steam escaping a too-hot kettle... before the illusion returns within the blinking of an eye, and the disheveled beggar tiefling is once more sitting beside her, gaze turned back towards the main thoroughfare.

He Who Meddles doesn't twitch per se, but the audible clack of obscured mandibles is no doubt proof that she's gotten enough of a reaction from him to amuse herself with. Not for the first time, he privately ponders the worthiness of attempting to murder her before yet again shelving it for another day, another time when she isn't expecting it, for the same reasons as he always had.

It would displease the Tav greatly to use another scroll of revivification. It would be hard-fought, too pyrrhic for his liking even if victory is assured. She is anticipating an attack, always anticipating it, always aware and awake and bow-strung for the possibility of violence in a way that he finds... almost, almost companionable.

So once again he tucks away the desire to murder and maim into its dedicated little cranny of his mind, and instead He Who Meddles keeps his many eyes fixated pointedly on the crowds and not on her too wide smile. When he does finally reply, it's with a tone one might use to discuss the day's weather or the local town gossip. "Are you aware than within the Abyss, upon descending past the bottommost layers and being subjected to the horrors throughout them, the substances that define your frail-flesh and mind-senses will begin to leak from your eyes and ears? It begins as a trickle, then a stream as every notion and detail of your fragile being is reduced to a slurry of spent existence for the creatures of the murk below to feed upon."

When he does look at her, finally, the illusion of the tiefling's face makes a point of blinking slowly at her. "I have heard it's an excruciating experience for mortals. First hand, as it were. Yet that torment only pales in comparison to the suffering your attempts at humor inflict upon others."

[fernsplaysthings]

Bestowing the greatest honour on my favourite and most beloved minor NPC, Rolan Baldursgate3; an agonising slow burn, mutual pining, 'enemies' to lovers romance arc.

I've thought a little too much about this girl. There's a lot under the read more. I wasn't expecting to write quite so much but that's how it goes sometimes.

Rhen || Tiefling || Druid

Rhen's a rural/urban Druid more than anything. The wilderness is nice but her specialities lie where 'man' meets nature.

Within that her domain is fertility. Bountiful crop harvests where the land allows, heathly livestock births, protecting areas where creatures are raising young and guiding the local farmers around them.

Her preferred wildshape is a hardy breed of wild cow.

From Elturel, she lived in a humble home in the city but spent much of her time roaming the farmlands to lend a welcome hand.

Suffered immensely during the descent into Avernus, seperated from familiar nature, but found her experience and skills put to hard use as a fighter, healer, midwife, and herbalist.

When exiled from Elturel along with the other Tieflings she finds herself in a position of responsibility alongside other similarly experienced figures. Spends much of her time protecting the refugees, carrying children on her wildshaped back, hunting, pathfinding, healing, cooking...

The early travel from Elturel is where she bonds most with the other Tiefling refugees, and where she first meets Lia, Cal and of course Rolan...with whom she butts heads viciously.

Rhen's defining characteristic is deep, ingrained stubborness. Right or wrong, she will find her hill and she won't just die on it but take everything else down with her. Which, combined with Rolan's mouthiness, percieved 'better-than-you' attitude, and percieved 'fuck your problems I'm out' behaviour, she loathes him. She'd have let him go die on the road if Zevlor hadn't been there to regularly divert her attention and give her a good talking to.

Similarly, Rolan would've sooner let her wear herself into dust trying to keep the refugees safe than try and help with something so futile. Her bossiness and percieved 'holier-than-thou' attitude would easily spark his temper and if it weren't for his siblings he'd be continuing their frequent and unnescessary arguements even to his own detriment.

When they're under less stress in The Grove things become more peaceful. Rhen doesn't really fit in with the local Druids, not that they let her try, so she spends time with the Tieflings, helping keep the camp in order despite being asked repeatedly to rest for the long journey ahead.

Somehow she and Rolan manage to have some nice enough moments together where she learns of his apprenticeship, sees how much he cares for his siblings (and how much that affects him) and comes to appreciate his intelligence even if she's of the firm belief that he's an overconfident prick. She kind of likes that though.

Equally in the calm moments she shows her relaxed side, telling bawdy jokes quietly when everyone is being serious, playing with the children, dancing whenever there's the hint of music. Rolan gets to see a wise Tiefling teaching the children what plants heal and harm, learns himself that she has (when given the chance) the ability to see things about people and compliment them with aching sincerity.

Enemies to rivals. Two incredibly stubborn and prideful people who can't admit that maybe the other is OK. Tolerable. They butt heads after leaving The Grove again but it's not as aggressive. They're actually kind of enjoying it, the competition, a really stupid drive to be better. Respect more than anything.

Obviously Rolan genuinely fucking hates every instance of Rhen protecting his people and himself though, same as he does for a good-ish Tav.

The people close to these two idiots are silently begging that they work out that everyone can see the gods damned tension and if they could just have sex already it'd make everyone's lives easier.

They do not. Alongside the others, Rhen is captured during the ambush and taken to Moonrise.

Knowing how much Lia and Cal mean to Rolan, and Danis to Bex, she does everything in her power to keep them safe and out of the line of fire of the Moonrise guards. All of her determination, stubborness and Lia's fire, gets her through...but she's thoroughly ruined by the time they reach Last Light via prison break.

During this Rolan is drunk, very drunk, rescued by our main Tav (who is probably Elysia here) and, between missing and worrying for his siblings' safe return, trying to squash down the fear that he might not see Rhen again either.

He does though. He sees her, and she barely glances his way before shutting him out cold. He's got his siblings in one piece, Bex has her man, and she's given her all, killed herself to do it...which is what Rolan had wanted way back when. She's bitter that he was right. It's stupid but she's exhausted.

She has a camp out by the water near Last Light where she secludes herself. Rolan's still drinking, and does so until Lia and Cal tell him about Moonrise, bully him with 'just go talk to her, we're not stupid, don't be a fucking coward'.

He does. They yell at each other for long enough, with enough barbs and cutting words and sincerity, she slaps him at least once, he grabs her wrists and tugs her back every time she tries to storm away, eventually the frustration makes him snap so he grabs her wrists again, shoves her up against the rock face and kisses her, tails tangled and knotted together, angry marks left on her neck.

They don't say a single word before untangling, Rolan making a quick escape leaving a wildly fucking confused Druid who would've liked that to continued but also what the everloving fuck.

The same poor people close to them know something happened but all it did was make the fucking tension worse.

Rivals to stupid crushes that they're pretending aren't super obvious to everyone including each other. They don't talk about the kiss. They really want to but pride and stubborness.

And then Rolan isn't around. He's studying under Lorroakan and Rhen barely gets to see him. He doesn't let her visit. He won't meet up with her. She gets kinda mad about it until she sees him in Sorcerous Sundries covered in bruises. He swears it's fine, it's just the way it is. It's worth it. She's fucking furious but she tames it. She says she'll be there when he's working, just company, just to be near him. She'll support him but Gods help her if she has a chance to hurt the bastard that did this.

He spends a lot of time focused on studies, in deep concentration. She heals his wounds, brings him food, tea, books he's requested. It's not for her, he doesn't need to have time for her. After all devotion and stubborness are very similar.

I...wasn't expecting to write all that. I'm sure it's a mess because I'm tired and it's 2:30am. I'm sure I'll change a load about this as I spend more time with it (getting more into character etc etc.) and wind it up, but for now...it's out of my brain.

[wylstarion]

In my Dammon headcanon he's the oldest son of one of the most renowned artificers in Elturel. He spent his whole life watching his mother work the forges, fascinated with how she crafted such beautiful weaponry and armor for the hellriders that protected Elturgard. He was tinkering with hammers and blacksmith tongs basically as soon as he could walk. His mother taught him everything he knows, and it was her knowledge and influence alone that allowed his life to be spared when their city fell into the hells.

Dammon and his mother watched as his father was murdered by fiends, and his four younger siblings conscripted to fight in the blood war. Only his mother and him were spared warfare, conscripted instead into working in the forges because of their knowledge of weaponry. His mother was considered more valuable for her knowledge of infernal machinery, and she was taken to help design new war machines for Zariel's efforts.

He suffered torment at the hands of his infernal captors. Working in infernal forges was brutal. Dammon knew little rest in the time he spent there, he was fed only enough to keep him working, and though he was surrounded by other conscripted workers, they were forbidden to speak to one another. In Avernus, Dammon was tortured, overworked, and isolated.

When Elturel rose again, his mother risked her own life to see his freedom. She knew that she herself was too valuable to Zariel for her to ever allow her escape, but she found a way for Dammon to return, despite all odds. Dammon felt like a monster when he left her behind. The memories of his family haunt him, he feels responsible for their deaths. He feels responsible for his mother still being trapped in Avernus. (he's got MAJOR survivors guilt).

Only days after the city was restored, Dammon was exiled by his own people. He felt anger, shame, betrayal. He had suffered so much already, now being forced to abandon the only home he had ever known. He was to leave his whole life behind, his whole family behind. He could only take what he could carry, and he felt bitter that he would never see his mother's forge again, the very one he had trained with since he was a child. He felt angry that out of everyone he loved, he was the one who survived. He was angry at himself for being unable to do more to help them. He felt alone, weak, and betrayed. He had lost every person he loved, powerless against the forces who took them from him.

[mythrae]

Divya | Zariel Tiefling

(Dih-vee-yah)

Class: Monk

Background: Acolyte

Pre-Game:

Divya was living in a monastery devoted to Ilmater in the Holy City of Elturel. Ever since she was a little girl, she was taught to adopt simple, selfless and meaningful actions towards everything she does, as well as help all who suffered. She found comfort in the Church, and wanted to devote her life to helping others through her service. She became a monk when she turned sixteen and spent many years in the monastery.

When the city of Elturel fell to Avernus, everything changed for her. Being a tiefling, she was exiled from the city, as well as the monastery. She was lucky to swiftly make her way to Baldur's Gate, but she wouldn't be there for long, being swept up in the Nautiloud before she even stepped into the city.

Divya had never seen herself as a fighter. Quite the opposite, in fact: she loathed the concept of combat. Until she was banished from Elturel and the Church of Ilmater, she only ever wanted conflict to resolve without violence. But as she was thrown out into the wilds of Faerûn, she finally realizes that peace was never an option.

She hopes to make her way to Baldur’s Gate to rejoin the Church of Ilmater and resume her life as a monk, but it seems that her plan may find some hitches along the way.

Fun Facts™️:

Divya is an Indian name derived from the Sanskrit word दिव्य (divyá), meaning "divine brilliance"

Her personality type is ENFP-A.

She is a Way of the Four Elements Monk, allowing her to cast spell-like moves against her foes.

Her vitiligo developed when she was in her teen years, leading to a lot of bullying from those living in Elturel. Those in the monastery with her never teased her for her condition.

Her eyes are red, but they do not have the Hellfire glow that tieflings are well known for.

In-game she is starting to cozy up with Wyll but I wish she could romance my boy Dammon

[shrimpgoddess]

BG3 canon if i was in charge :) [mega BG3 spoilers ahead]

there is currently no official canon of BG3 until we see further expansions or Wizards of the Coast does something with it for DnD. however, as previous BG games have become at least kinda canon to Forgotten Realms, i think we can assume the following backdrop/meta is true:

the rise of the Cult of the Absolute has been happening for the last few years

there is a huge schism in githyanki culture between Vlaakith and its people

Buldur's Gate has suffered a ton of damage from the first Nautiloid attack, the subsequent attacks from the army of the Absolute, and the battle against the Netherbrain

the 2017 DnD module Baldur's Gate: Descent to Avernus is a sort of prologue to BG3 where the players are from BG but end up in the first layer of hell to find redemption for themselves, figure out why the holy city of Elturel got sucked to Avernus, and maybe prevent the same happening to the city of Baldur's Gate. while all DnD modules have many endings depending on your table, BG3 chose that the canon ending to the module is that the city was returned to Faerun by adventurers. Zevlor in the grove basically just explains all of this.

my assumptions/guesses for what is the canon game for the BG franchise and DnD lore:

the Dark Urge is the main character bc they're a Bhaalspawn, which is almost directly connected to previous BG games.

saving the grove, saving the harpers to fight moonrise,

"a heroic adventurer" and their companions saved Baldur's Gate and defeated the Absolute (good ending canon)

Lae'zel saving Orpheus and going back to the Astral Plane to war against the queen. could be a cool DnD adventure in the future

Karlach dying is the canon ending imo :/

Astarion ascends bc he likes the sun

Wyll begrudgingly maintains his pact and becomes the Blade of Avernus to save his daddy and Mizora stays being a hot bitch

Shadowheart goes Selune-mode

Gale is pretty much up to imagination but i think he's got too much ambition to just sit around so he goes back to Waterdeep to see if he can defuse his nuke there and also become a giga wizard with a giga beard for us to encounter in the next game

Halsin stays in the Shadowlands to fix it or whatever

Jaheira and Minsc just stay boolin in Baldur's Gate because they have for three games now

Minthara gets knocked out in the goblin camp, captured by Absolute forces, you rescue her in the Moonrise towers and she joins you bc she realizes she's been brainwashed into the Absolute cult

Raphael dies and Hope gets saved

Lorroakan gets confronted by the Nightsong (assuming Selune Shadowheart is canon), gets his ass beat, but had a failsafe and didnt actually die so he can be in the next game

Scratch and the Owlbear stay short kings (canon)

[danco110]

“GET ME DOWN FROM HERE!” shrieked the barbarian, as he crouched down and clung to the leg of the stoic druid beside him.

“Oh, quit being so melodramatic,” chided the druid, as they brushed the dust from their hair. “At least we’re out of Avernus, now. Left all those fiends below in the dust…ack, literally.”

As the druid haggardly coughed up a lungful of dust, a rogue passed a dagger back and forth between her hands.

“I’m just sad we had to leave behind all that treasure.”

“You could always return.”

In unison, the party cringed at the voice behind them, and slowly turned around to glimpse a fiery archdevil, flying overhead as she brandished the flail in place of her left hand.

“Zariel,” spat the rogue. “What a surprise.”

“You stole…Elturel from me,” growled the fallen angel. “Only natural that I reclaim what is mine. Along with all of you, for daring to invade Avernus. Speaking of which…”

Zariel waved her intact hand. The stone towers holding the party aloft rumbled once more, then sank back into the hole in the ground. The comforting sights and sounds of the city were again replaced with the fire and brimstone of Avernus.

“Now, where were we?”

“We were getting out of here!”

The druid stamped their staff against the stone. Once more, the towers began to move, but this time Zariel responded more quickly, with her own magic again forcing them down.

“Stop that!”

“No!” chimed the rogue, as she added her own meager magic to the druid’s.

While the towers continued to rise and fall, the suffering barbarian stumbled towards Zariel, weapon in hand.

“M’gonna be sick…HEY! I’m right here! Fight me!”

Zariel gave the man a dismissive shrug. “I’m…rather amused by these antics, at present. The wanton violence can wait until later.”

The barbarian’s eyes were wide as saucers as he turned back towards his teammates. “What the hell did you do to her?” he bellowed in confusion.

The two spellcasters merely shared a laugh, as they continued trying to force the towers upward.

[It’s like one of those rides at the amusement park, where it’s just the tower going up and down.]

[natorika]

verse outlines (expanded on later)

canon: follows general canon from a1 to last canon appearance. the only notable retcons to canon i make are that phoenix is not an indestructible machine of a man who can survive things like being hit by cars and eating glass without suffering some amounts of lingering physical trauma; walks with assistance of cane when pain is flaring after vehicle accident. most threads will be placed here with nebulous space to allow for universe merges unless requested otherwise.

mvc: i mean. mvc is pretty self explanatory. this is another easy way to write w marvel chars if preferred.

alternate universes:

marvel: phoenix is a mutant criminal defense lawyer who frequently fights on behalf of and for mutant civil and humanitarian rights. his status as a mutant is largely unknown to others as he keeps it to himself. works frequently with matt murdock and jennifer walters, however; mutant cases tend to be redirected from them to phoenix as he has a positive reputation for pulling mutants out of the muck almost every time. his current standing record is 22 wins, 2 dismissals/"ties", 2 losses. his mutant abilities include foresight, inhuman empathy, and lie detection. he also has physical mutations--there is a band of red feathers running up his back and spine that fan out broadly over his shoulders and run down his hand, where his fingers tighten like talons. he keeps his nails trimmed short and generally wears gloves to conceal. unbeknownst to him, he is a viable host for the phoenix cosmic force, as in it would operate relatively smoothly in him and wouldnt blow him up or make him crazy. however, as phoenix is not a fighter in the slightest, it makes no difference and he is completely unaware of this fact.

resident evil: renowned criminal defense lawyer who frequently bails out individuals framed by umbrella, though has been known to defend individuals scapegoated by "good" militia outlets like the bsaa and terrasave.

dnd / bg3: half high elf half human, probably a bard or bard-rogue dual spec, i havent decided yet, famed magistrate who primarily operates on the west coast of faerun, probably does work in candlekeep, baldurs gate, and elturel. formerly employed under mia fey whom is murdered early into his career, but regularly speaks through her siblings via necromantic and spiritual magic. (maya is probably like.. an elven necromancer). generally known as phoenix in this universe, though does possess the surname of wright through his human father. originally born in kara-tur. has an office in baldurs gate called the "wright anything agency", handles both private detective work and criminal defense.