#both clerics her party had are dead now???

[marinecanary]

What if ms. four dogs in a trench coat just really hates clerics for no reason

[mccoyquialisms]

my fantasy high red-string-conspiracy-theory-board-of-the-main-mystery lore tracker (a long ass post) (because I love both mysteries AND organization of inconsequential information):

rough chronology of events:

In ages past there is a wedding attended in the Chaos Mountains by Sol and Galicaea of their sister the Witch Goddess to an unnamed giantkin god. This god is a summer god, sibling of the giant winter goddess Ruvina

Over centuries, the unnamed god's domain changes from the sun and summer to fire

This unnamed god is killed and their name was wiped from history. The other gods remember who this being is, but due to obliviati mori, cannot reference them directly to mortals. Red shatter stars appear around this time

850 years before present day, the Witch Goddess's name is erased by her followers (encouraged by followers of Galicaea) and she is transformed into the Nightmare King. Before she does she performs the 4 trans-substantiations to resist being "unmade". Her familiar Kalina becomes a plague and begins to spread through the mortal populace. These events likely happen after the death of her spouse, as there is no reference to a spouse when the Witch Goddess was previously mentioned

Roughly 4-6 years before modern day, the pit fiend Bakur attempts to resurrect his god, whose name was lost "so they could not be worshiped." The return of this god is felt to be a significant threat to the world. Lydia Barkrock and her adventuring party stop him by sealing Bakur in a red gem in Lydia's chest, where she keeps him imprisoned with her rage

The Ratgrinders, then called the High 5 Heroes, meet in freshman year and consist of Kipperlilly, Oisin, Mary Anne, Ruben, Ivy and Lucy.

They xp level up by killing rats, twig gremlins and other small magical creatures in the woods behind Aguefort

The events of freshman year happen and Kalvaxus is released. During prom, Ragh spots Jace Stardiamond talking to Arianwen. He is later "barbarian healed" by Porter and after this can see Kalina. Kalina finds Ragh later and threatens Lydia if he talks about what he's seen

Sophomore year spring break happens and the Nightmare King is transformed into the goddess now named Cassandra

At some point Lucy began to return to the woods after party sessions to revive the rats they killed. She did this long enough and with enough regularity that the rats remember her name/face well and think of her fondly

Paperwork is submitted for Lucy to change her god from Ruvina to a god whose name cannot be read, just before her disappearance. A few days later a second request is submitted to withdraw this change. Neither form was ever seen by Lucy's teacher Yolanda Badgood

Lucy was killed near Lake Shimmerstone by multiple assailants with both weapon and magical damage towards the end of sophomore year, in the period of weeks after grades were complete, but before summer break. The area has multiple uprooted trees, some of which were used to hide her body. Unholy rites were performed over her body to force her soul to the beyond, so she cannot be revived.

Lucy is reported as dead but her body was never found. She was described as "not alive in this material plane" via divination

Because of the timing of her death, her party was not moved to pass/fail as all grades for that year had already been submitted

Night Yorb and the long dark summer happens

Buddy Dawn, a cleric of Sol, is specifically requested by the Ratgrinders to be their new cleric for junior year

Also over the long dark summer, the Loam farmers are accused of embezzlement and the Frostyfair festival is moved from there to the Thistlesprings tree at the recommendation of Lola Embers. Sklonda Gukgak is assigned as the Loam couple's public defender

Kipperlilly finds or is found by the rogue teacher and has passed the whole of junior year

Junior year begins. On her first day, Kipperlilly questions Jawbone on where YES! was created

Kipperlily announces she is running for student body president and her primary platform is for uniform equity under the rules without "favoritism"

In the mall of the Synod, the event that kicks off the battle is Cassandra becomes angry hearing Kristen isn't coming to help find followers. She says "This isn't fair!" as a razor-sharp flickering star of red light emerges from her chest. 24-point, red shatter stars infect nearby wizards and turns them into rage-filled, violent, giant versions of themselves. The people taken over by the shatter stars are instructed by an unknown voice to attack Cassandra

Cassandra is able to be calmed by a high persuasion and when she does, she expels multiple shatter stars. She seems to recognize them and says "I thought you were dead.”

Before Kalina is taken over by the shatter stars, she looks to Riz and says "Ragh Barkrock". She then slits Cassandra's throat, triggering a new round of rage in Cassandra

Cassandra suffers multiple attacks and begins to transform into a giant, red raging version of herself and attempts to kill the party. Before she's successful, the gang are swept away in a time loop back to Spyre. The Bad Kids see the Synod is destroyed, and Kristen finds she has shards of Cassandra in her pocket

Kristen attempts to commune with Cassandra and hears a voice say "She is at my side once more." The voice then mocks Kristen with YES!'s body and then tells Kristen it is coming for her, and it will break her irrevocably.

Ivy sees Fig disguised as Lucy at the party at Seacastor Manor, and has an inscrutable reaction to it, but did not seem surprised

The cloud rider engine in Fabian's basement is broken and a piece is found missing

Kipperlily does the food truck event with the subliminal OK messaging on the packaging

Ruben Hopclap performs at FrostFaire when he is attacked by Principal Grix. Grix is eventually killed by Fabian. The Bad Kids determine Ruben was doing some kind of ritual with a song about anger above an arcano-tech array in a 24 point star pattern, successfully releasing a large amount of some type of magical energy.

Simultaneously, Yolanda Badgood is killed at Lake Shimmerstone by immense concussive force damage, and afterwards her body is expertly hidden. She is subjected to the same unholy last rites that Lucy was.

The Bad Kids find Lucy and Yolanda's bodies, and Kristen releases their souls, who travel to the beyond on a "trail of moonlight"

Sklonda's clients are found murdered

Mazey reveals that the Vice Principal (i.e. Jace) does not become the Principal, and it would be the student body president who becomes the new principal of Aguefort

additional info we can reasonably infer or that don't fit neatly in the timeline:

Buddy's grandparents, and likely Buddy himself, have a vested interest in his grandfather becoming the cleric teacher. He went to Aguefort and is familiar with the school. Presumably he wants this to be able to preach about Sol and spread his influence

At some point before her death, Yolanda told Jace about her concerns regarding Lucy's deity-transfer paperwork

Cassandra is not dead, but is "beyond reach"

Lucy and Yolanda were noted to be in "realms beyond", which Brennan specifically noted they were taken from and "whatever was happening there"

The Ratgrinders are gunning for the bad kids and seem to be orchestrating situations to try to get them to take drugs

Porter's philosophical discussion with Fig regarding the concept of protection and how that is often inextricably tied with rage, that one can act as a fuel for the other

Porter is a paladin of the ancestors, and at some point was mentioned to be a goliath, though this seems to be debated in canon. If true, it's possible he's a descendant of giants

Kristen bring's up Sol's wrath and Buddy does not refute this, agreeing Sol's wrath is a well known aspect of him and he has been quite angry because of the dark summer/night yorb situation

As above so below. What the gods do affect their mortal followers, but conversely, what the mortals who follow them do also affect the gods

A god can only come back from death in a place a god had been born or created, meaning Bakur's decision to try to revive his fallen god in the Red Waste was what doomed it to failure

Bakur's documents are written in the language of giants, and his deity is said to be from the same region as Ruvina. Combining this with Adaine’s research, and the “mitochondrial magic print”, Bakur’s god is Cassandra’s former spouse

The cloud rider piece was likely stolen by the Ratgrinders as Kipperlily asked Aelwyn to research schematics of the device

Kipperlily seems to be keeping information from some of the other Ratgrinders, telling Aelwyn she needs to "protect Oisin" from their shady deals

Kipperlily's mother works for the city treasury and her father is in real estate. Neither are super wealthy, but Kipperlilly has been paying Aelwyn large amounts of money to obtain arcane components. Given the timing of this with the disappearance of a large sum of money from the Frostyfair accounts, the timing of the murder of the people who were blamed for it, and that the new chosen location happens to be the home of one of the Ratgrinders rivals, the Ratgrinders involvement is thought to be likely

Cassandra's whispered clue of "spies, tongue, curse"

Places outside Spyre, like the Synod, are easier for dead gods to reach

For whatever the Ratgrinders have planned, a student being the principal of Aguefort is essential for it. A lot of people have had to be conveniently absent or dead for this circumstance to occur.

This is all not even touching Aguefort's whole journey through time and possible time quangle issue and whatever the fuck Fig's Bad Luck Thing is. I'm not convinced that these are related to the god stuff and are likely their own separate issues. also, I am tired lmao. If you want to hear my rambling theories, I'll be making a separate post.

[chaoticbardlady99]

Nobody's Fool (Astarion x GN! Reader) Part 1

Synopsis: You approach Astarion at the Tiefling party and get rejected. Everyone else and Astarion knows he made a mistake, but you certainly don't.

Author Note: I LOVE Shadowheart- okay. Love her, but she is also my favorite hot girl rival in my fiction. No idea why. I just also love the idea of her being best friends with a Selunite by the end of her journey (or ship her hardcore with an Oathbreaker Paladin)

CW: Sad boi rejection hours, mentions of sex, mentions of Dead Dove.

Based off of a post by @golden-baby

(I also listened to Avril Lavigne’s Nobody’s Fool while writing this and it’s very good if you haven’t heard it)

(IDK Who this gif belongs too, but it is not mine)

You have always been the first person to throw yourself into a situation and help others- it was what had drawn you to being a Cleric of Selune in the first place. 

 You miss being a young cleric studying the life domain under the stars and the bright moon. You miss not feeling so terrified. 

 All this tadpole has brought you is anxiety and fear, you have a feeling it will be okay. You are here for a reason and you trust that Selune needs you to trust her. 

 Meeting Shadowheart had certainly confirmed that- she obviously was plummeting down the wrong path, but she has also flipped this thinking on you a few times. Only, you cannot understand following a Goddess as cruel as Shar. She has obviously brought serious damage to Shadowheart’s life and you are determined to support her- whether she gets away from Shar’s doctrine now or fifty years from now, you will be here to help her when the time comes.

 In spite of your differences, you actually go to the same spot and pray together- farther away from each other, but the sentiment is still there. Occasionally you drink together after a particularly weird or bad day. You find you both can talk about your religious beliefs and you are open to hers which in turn has begun to show her how to be open to your religious doctrine. It’s nice to have someone to talk about the bigger powers at play- even if that person opposes your Goddess so viciously. You don’t really care- you know followers of Shar are hurt people hurting people. They need love just as much as the next person. 

 Lae’zel has been a tougher nut to crack, but you have provided sympathy where you can and support her. You promised her that you would all head to the mountains and search for the Creché. If the cure is there- she will get it. That has made Lae’zel feel better a few times.

 Karlach just wants a good life and to talk about the joys of Life, Gale wants someone to talk to about magic and help finding magic items, and Wyll just wants to feel accepted and like he is still the mighty Blade of Frontiers.

 Then there is Astarion.

 You have been head over heels for the man since he knocked you to the ground and questioned you. You could probably stare at him forever if it wasn’t so Gods damn creepy. 

 You practically bend over backwards to help him- far more than you do for others, anyhow. He seems to like you and you have definitely thought about asking him to go on a date with you at some point. 

 But then you think about how not romantic having a tadpole in your head is and nix the idea. 

  You listen to him whenever he speaks to you, any books you find usually end up going to him. Gale is still pretty upset about the Necromancy of Thay. 

 Any new short swords, daggers, arrows, bows, crossbows, armor, potions, etc- you name it, you probably already gave it to him. You often think you may be far too obvious with your affections, but it’s the only thing you know kind of appeases him.

 Every decision you make he despises and makes a point of mocking you for. Karlach is often telling him to knock it off, but that usually just makes it worse so you just laugh it off even though it hurts. You just remind yourself that he lived as a slave for the last 200 years and you are the first to admit that your Goddess failed to save him. You don’t know why, but it is what it is. Maybe one day he will see that not all people are his ruthless master. 

You also let him drink from you every three or so days. If he is injured in battle- you are first to offer him another drink. 

 Astarion calls you, “Darling '' from time to time and you thought that might be something, but you also heard him call Karlach and Shadowheart that too. 

 You feel so conflicted when you go to bed- he seeks out Shadowheart and never you at bedtime. He spends all night talking to her about Gods only knows what. You are certain some of it is mocking you, but you try to remain optimistic. He wouldn’t do that- you have been nothing but kind to him. What could he even say?

 Tonight is the first night that he is by himself and not talking to Shadowheart. You can do it- just go up and ask him if he would like to take a walk with you. No big deal. 

 “Hi Astarion,” you say softly, “are you having fun?”

“No- no thanks to you, by the way.”

 Your smile falters slightly, but you rebound. 

“I’m sorry- I wasn’t trying to ruin your night.”

 Astarion rolls his eyes and flashes a smile that makes your breath catch. 

 “I suppose it couldn’t be helped, Darling,” he says with a dismissive wave, “you and all your do gooder nonsense was bound to get us here eventually.”

 You smile brightly- happy with the positive step forward. 

“How rude of me- I forgot to ask- how can I help you this evening?” 

  This is the big moment- you can do it! 

“I was-“ you clear your throat, take a deep breath and avoid his eyes, “I was wondering if you would want to go on a walk with me on the beach later?” 

 Astarion blinks a few times and you think you see the hint of a smile- it makes you feel slightly optimistic. 

 Until it turns into a snort and a laugh he can’t hold back.

“You are so naive,” your heart drops, “whatever gave you the impression that I would want to ‘go on a walk’ with you?” 

 You frown, a lump in your throat is beginning to form and you feel so embarrassed that you wouldn’t even know where to begin to explain yourself.

“I- you’re right. I’m sorry.”

“I am glad we could clear that up.”

“Me too,” you say with a forced smile, “good night.”

“You don’t have to-“

 You walk away- all the horror and heartbreak simply being far far too much to bear. How could you be so positively stupid? 

 Your mother always chastised you for this kind of thing- you give and give and give, hoping it will make people love you, but it never works. They will take everything from you and then some because they can. 

 You sit on an alcove overlooking the camp- far enough away that you hopefully won’t be spotted by anyone. You wish you hadn’t- you just barely catch a glimpse of Astarion dragging the all alluring and elusive Shadowheart away into the forest. 

 You are diminished to tears- your heart feels like it has splinters all over it and your stomach feels like it may twist before collapsing in on itself. 

 You are about to give up and leave, but the sound of approaching footsteps catches your attention. 

“It’s just me,” Wyll says with his hands up, a friendly smile on his face, “you seemed like you may need a friend.”

 You laugh and wipe your tears away, “and here I thought I was hiding it so well.”

 “You do, my friend,” Wyll says before putting a hand on your shoulder, “what troubles you?” 

 “You are going to think I’m stupid.”

 Wyll laughs lightheartedly, “I have seen and done my fair share of ‘stupid’.” 

 You inhale deeply and tell Wyll your story- from start to finish. You are a crying mess by the end of it- so much so that Wyll actually maneuvered you and began cradling you in his arms. 

 His heartbeat helps steady you- the connection to nature and the ground is helpful. It makes it all feel a bit better- you suppose.

 You eventually sit back down next to Wyll- your face is blotchy and red, tear stained and puffy. 

“I have noticed that you give Astarion all of you,” Wyll says with a frown, “spirit, body, heart, and mind.

“Maybe it is time to stop- set some boundaries for yourself. I am sorry that you did not get the answer you wanted, but at least now you know and that is a blessing. You can now look for someone who truly wants you and gives equally as much as they take.” 

 You nod. You had hoped to hear more of a, “he will come around” message, but you know this is the better, healthier message. You despise it, but it’s true.

 You and Wyll spend time talking about other things. You tell him how you hope to open your own clinic one day and help people who cannot afford it. Wyll tells you about the Sword Coast, his failings, and his own trauma. 

 He teaches you different constellations, the different flora in the area, and what the fishing season was like when the town was functioning and Wakeen’s rest was up and running. It sounds like it was a beautiful place to live before all of this nonsense erupted.

 It’s fun and Wyll makes you feel seen and appreciated. He still isn’t Astarion, but you know it will take some time before you can look at someone else and that’s okay.

 Wyll walks you back to camp and you don’t bother to look over at Astarion’s tent nor do you go that way like you usually would. You noticed he was back and so was Shadowheart. Both of their clothes were ruffled- it’s been at least two hours so you can only imagine.

  “Good night, Tav,” Wyll kisses you on the back of the hand before engulfing you in a large hug that you gladly accept, “sleep well- tomorrow will be better.”

 You go to your bedroll and begin to open your healing magics book when a knock on your tent post gets your attention. Maybe it’s Wyll. He did say he enjoyed talking to you, maybe he wants to spend the night? That doesn’t seem overly realistic though- he is a perfect gentleman.

“Come in,” you say, still not looking up, “what’s up?” 

“I was hoping I may be able to get a small snack?”

 Oh. It’s Astarion.

 You just fed him earlier today before the party. Usually you would say yes, but Wyll is right- you can’t keep giving him everything and leaving nothing for yourself. 

“I- I am really sorry,” he frowns and his ears even droop, “I am just really tired and I don’t-“

“No worries, Tav.” He says with a forced smile on his face, “have a good evening.”

  You are shaking after he leaves the tent. You cannot believe you just did that. You set a whole boundary. 

 No he did not call you by a pet name nor did he flirt with you. Yes he frowned and it made your heart hurt, but you need to start putting yourself first. 

  You still cry yourself to sleep and you wake up early enough to wash your face with cold water- any evidence of your heartbreak is completely gone. 

     ***********************************************

 You have managed to really avoid Astarion for the last four, almost five days. You let him feed because you don’t want him to starve to death, but you found out that casting “calm” on yourself beforehand keeps your adrenaline from kicking up so you no longer react to him.

 You cry afterwards, obviously, but he doesn’t need to know that. He is right- he never did anything to make you believe he liked you and it was very naive of you to assume he did. However, you do commend yourself for your courage to try and you even walked away with your dignity. 

 At the end of the day, you are proud of yourself and you love yourself more than anything. You will continue your mission and continue to help people because you enjoy helping people. Right now, this group of weirdos needs you and you need you so that you all make it out of this nonsense alive.

 That is more than enough to keep someone busy.

 First there was a Hag to fight, then you unfortunately had to kill a monster hunter (you didn’t talk to Astarion about it afterwards, that is Shadowheart’s job), and fought a bunch of spiders off- which also brought up the Necromancy of Thay argument again. That was exhausting. 

 Astarion opened the door on a Bugbear and Ogre bumping uglies, you also had to really put your foot down so that he wouldn’t send a dark Gnome flying. He was quite frustrated with you, but he understood your reasoning enough to not do it. 

 Then there were the Gnolls and Astarion had opened the chest which caused the Zhentarim guild to attack and try to make you all explode. Thankfully you were able to save that weird artist, but no one from the guild survived. 10/10 supplies though. 

 There are things to be done and places to see. Exploring the Underdark first made the most sense. It upset Lae’zel, but she said she trusts your judgment which warms your heart. 

 It is certainly not a quick or easy journey to get to the entrance inside the abandoned temple of your Goddess. You can hear Shadowheart saying snarky things- Astarion snorts here and there, but doesn’t actually chime in for once. 

 At least you get some relief from that for a day. You wrap your hand around your Moondrop pendant and you already feel the love of Selune flow through you. You kept the statue as well and you keep it next to you- last night you actually slept with it in your hand. 

 You had grown up exceptionally poor and your parents died from some disease in the mines where you were all imprisoned. The mine was eventually raided by Selune clerics and paladins- you immediately knew that is what you wanted to be. Selune had saved you right before you were being shipped to another location and you lived with her clergy ever since.

 You were grateful you had a potion of flying as well as the support of the others to keep the moonstone. Even Astarion expressed his approval when Shadowheart became upset. You waited until it killed the Minotaur, of course. The splash of blood that hit the group wasn’t necessarily welcome, but oh well.

  And at least you don’t have a ridiculous name.

 You snicker to yourself as you walk- earning an odd look from Gale who is covered in Minotaur blood. You urge him to keep talking about whatever book he finished last night and he gladly dives back into the subject. 

 Finding a decent spot to camp was actually pretty easy. The camp is beautiful and your tent is set up next to Karlach’s. She convinces you to make a massive tent fort and Fort Tavlach is born. 

 You pass a bottle of wine back and forth as you talk. Karlach is letting you hug Clive as you talk about the tiefling party and the aftermath of everything.

“Is that why those two are sitting next to each other so miserably?” 

You cock your head to the side, “what do you mean?”

“What I mean is they look miserable and haven’t stopped fighting for the last three days,” Karlach states with a raised eyebrow, “have you really not been paying attention?”

 You shake your head. Karlach gapes at you, chugging a bit of the wine before passing it back.

“Well- I have been waiting to tell you all day, but Shadowheart finally told me what they were fighting about.”

 “Oh, Karlach, I really should-“

“Two nights ago, they tried to be intimate again and he said your name during the act itself.”

 You simultaneously choke on and spit out your wine- some of it comes out of your nose. You can’t stop coughing and Karlach is dying laughing- she is crying she is laughing so hard. You are crossing your arms and uncrossing them in front of your face- a look of bewilderment as you process what just happened.

“mE!?”

 This just makes Karlach laugh even harder, she goes running straight for behind a rock- screaming that she is going to pee herself.

 The entire camp is looking over in curiosity and you just wave awkwardly. You catch Astarion’s gaze from the corner of your eye and he looks sad- maybe even a little angry.

 He storms off to his tent and Shadowheart rolls her eyes, glaring at you before going off to her own tent. 

 Karlach eventually comes back and you both continue your drunken gossip.

“That- that can’t possibly be true,” you say, “I asked him on a date and he told me I was naive to think he would ever want to be with me that way.”

“What!?” Karlach looks like she may light the entire camp on fire, “why didn’t you say something! We could have-“

“No,” you chastise, “he is right. It was naive of me to assume- my hurt is no one else’s fault. I also chose to give him everything I had. 

“He doesn’t owe me, I wanted to do those things,” you affirm, Karlach is smiling softly, “I still adore him, of course, but this is for the best, you know? Wyll says it means I can set my sights elsewhere now that I know Astarion isn’t into me.” 

“That is very big of you, Soldier, look at you in your big kid pants.”

You roll your eyes and give her a playful shove.

“He has been hurt and used enough for a dozen lifetimes- I don’t want to contribute to that hurt.” 

“You are a good person, Soldier,” Karlach hands you the bottle of wine, “you know- Halsin would be an amazing lover. I am sure of it.”

 “You think?”

“Oh ho- let me tell you what I think, Soldier-“

 Karlach goes into her wild theories and you try so hard to listen intently, but your drunken mind is stuck on Astarion and wondering if he is okay.

[zwolfgames]

Idk, but I think bg3 reader would try to leave the group, if they know about their yandere personalities, lol. Please, your bg3 works are so good. I expect the new one

(So, not a continuation of the last drabble. This is hypothetical for now. Also it deleted my answer the first time :( so this is try two, it may seem a bit rushed. And I got a bit off track, woops.)

Warnings: mentions of yandere stuff I suppose.

Y/N in this au (aka teen tav) really isn't stupid, sure they grew up in a village with just their mother and pulled random spells out of their ass like a true sorcerer, but they're not stupid.

The party started with variable reactions to a minor in the group. Act 1 doesn't showcase a lot of Yan tendencies due to everything still going kind of fine and everyone getting to know each other.

The yandere part really starts in act 2 when they enter the Shadow cursed lands. Unlike the normal region of act 1 are the Shadowlands riddled with danger.

The party quickly gets their wake-up call after things like Kar'niss (who gets his little momemt) and the other bosses and dangers. Katherine Thorm, being a threat, also doesn't help ease the party's feelings.

The group would go from silly to way more protective in act 2. But Y/N can't do anything about that yet. The shadows would eat them alive, or someone else could get them. Better left with unease rather than dead, right?

I've purposefully mentioned Y/N's mother in the drabbles to show the main goal of the reader, which is to return to their mother. This goal is being held back by a party of people who no longer seem intent to part ways with you once this is over.

Sure, Y/N wanted their cool adventure with heroes like Wyll Ravenguard, but staying with them permanently? Haha... no.

So after the wake-up call of act 2, Y/N would take their chances at escape in Baldur Gate. The thing is, though, Y/N isn't from Baldurs Gate. They don't know the alleys like the back of their hand in the same manner that Astarion does. They didn't grow up playing in the secret passageways like Karlach...

This is a dangerous game you're playing. The more you wiggle, the tighter their hold. It's just how it goes with people who have faced enough to lose it.

They handle you in different ways, of course.

Wyll, Gale, and Halsin strike me as the type to have wanted to protect this poor kid from the start, so their resolve just strengthens to unnecessary levels. You wouldn't mind just being carried to bed by a bear man, would you? He knows some good elvish lullabies.

Lae'zel is her own separate category, she's a githyanki, they have very diffrent ways then most folk on faerun. I'm basing her motherly ability on the prologue where she raises the gith egg. She may not be affectionate, but she does not want you out of sight. Expect training.

Karlach and Astarion surprisingly go together here. They don't seem like the parental type. More of an aunt/uncle. Would try and stay your friend. Guiltripping from Karlach that she may or not be aware of herself, and straight up manipulation from Astarion. They both had a bad past. You can stay, right? As a little gift from the gods?

Shadowheart didn't like you from the start, not a fan of kids. Her yandere strikes a lot later. First, she had only been worried about your health as a cleric. After her arc at the end of the shadow cursed lands (freeing Dame Aylin etc) she gets a bit of that parental feeling nonsense too. Though I'd say she shows it the least. You'd be tricked easily into thinking she's the only normal one in the party.

Minthara, I'm unsure if I can find a good way to let her join, but she'd be similar to Lae'zel, just crueler and definitely bot secretive about her want for your stay. If you ask her directly, she'd just plain out and say that if she catches you, you're getting bound.

Jaheira, natural mom, she's got kids, protected the kids. Don't expect her to be sweet, but you're definitely not going out of sight.

Minsc joins in Act 3, so really, he doesn't have the time to get to know you, he's funny, you're funny. Friends. Not that the rest appreciates the time you spent with him. They're scared you're gonna make up a talking animal next.

All in all, Y/N would try and escape. It just isn't very likely to succeed. If you get far... well, there are other beings out there still after you, you know?

Just forget your mom. Aren't they better family now? Your mom didn't teach you spells, did she? Or swordplay? Maybe how to make balms?

Cmon, they're the best option. Stay.

Just an answer lol, hope i didn't make anyone too OOC with just this. Xd.

[sky-scribbles]

It is such a Sam Riegel thing to do, keeping his friends and the entire fandom waiting on his new character for so long. I personally think this is iconic. And while we wait, I had a Think about what kind of character I'd like to see introduced:

(Disclaimer that this is based less on what I think Sam would be likely to create, or what I think he specifically would do well; it's entirely based on what I think would be fun, or would add something to the party. If anyone has more thoughts based on Sam as a player specifically, please do add them!)

A reilora, or any Ruidian. I talked about this a bit already, but now the Hells are going to be off Ruidus for a chunk of time, this would be such a great way to bring in new Ruidus lore in a way that would feel personal to the players and characters. It would give both the characters and fandom even more reason to care about the fate of the Ruidians. There could be some exploration of what it could be like for the Ruidians if they do get to come to Exandria. And Matt has definitely had time to brew up the stats for reilora PCs by now.

A character with a positive, healthy relationship with an Exandrian god. Now that FCG is dead, the rest of Bell's Hells are aggressively neutral toward the gods, or negative toward them; the other cleric PC we had, Deanna, loathed her god. Team Issylra encountered some of the worst aspects of Exandrian faith on their vacation from hell. I'm not saying any of those attitudes are bad or unjustified! But this campaign has been an examination of the gods' impact on Exandria, and by the coincidence of what characters everyone has rolled up, we've largely only seen one side of it. Even FCG was very new to their faith and the other characters... didn't always take it all that seriously. It would be fascinating to have a character thrown into the mix at this stage who's more akin to Caduceus or Pike, in that their faith is a positive, integral part of their life. It could be an interesting shake-up to the conversations the Hells have had so far.

A paladin. Just... any paladin. It's the only class that has never been used for a main campaign character's base class, with Vax and Fjord multiclassing into it later in their arcs. I want to see a paladin who's always been a paladin! Paladins are fun! And from a mechanical standpoint, FCG's loss leaves a space open for a general healer/tank/support character, all of which paladins can cover.

An Aeorian who's been freed from their bubble. Look, I love Aeor. I want the Aeor lore. And seeing an Aeorian, someone who has lost everyone and everything they knew at the hands of the gods, but also as a direct result of what happened last time someone tried to kill the gods... would be interesting. (Also make them have known Bolo)

Again, would any of these be Sam's vibe? I have no idea, and I trust that whatever he does will be amazing! But if he rocks up with a reilora paladin, at least I'll know that I have the gift of prophecy.

[kimberbohwrites]

Dusk & Honey: Chapter Two <Previous Chapter Word Count: 3,578 Rated: Overall fic rating is Explicit, this chapter is SFW READ ON AO3 (or continued below) Please don't forget to kudos/comment/like/reblog <3 >Halsin x Tav art by @ DARKURGETRASH on tumblr<

Summary: The story of my OC Tav, Luna and her experience during the timeline of the game, not modifying canon so much as adding more to the Halsin-romance path. Featuring: world-building, action, well-researched drow lore, hurt/comfort, slowburn Halsin romancing, and eventual smut. PLEASE MIND THE TAGS, we'll be exploring trauma in several areas including touching on some of the darker canon trauma faced by Halsin. Tags/Warnings: Eventual Smut, Enemies to Lovers, mildly they are gonna fight, Halsin Romance Route, Named Tav, Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Drow Culture , Half-Drow Tav, Anti-Drow Racism, Anti-Tiefling Racism, Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Baldur's Gate 3, Cleric Tav, Implied/Referenced S*xual Assault, (meaning the eventual discussion of Halsin's time in the underdark), Pining

Both Halsin and Zevlor had insisted upon a celebration of their successful efforts to save both the Grove and the Tiefling Refugees trapped within. The Druid had refused to discuss the next steps until they’d taken a night off for rest. It was unexpected, being asked to linger for longer at the Druid Grove. But Halsin seemed to be full of unexpected things. Luna thought it strange that he should so greatly stand in contrast to his fellow Druids, he was the only one of them to even show up at the humble party within their camp that night.

Everything must have a balance and Halsin balances his fellow Druids, she mused to herself over a glass of wine that had more taste of vinegar than of vineyard.

Still — it was a reprieve and the most normal thing she’d experienced in the short tendays that had transpired since she’d awoken on the Nautiloid.

The night wasn’t all celebration however, young Wyll lurked over by the water out of the sight of all. His brow was newly adorned with a set of horns and several other infernal traits had come along with them. A punishment from his hell-bitch of a patron, Mizora. After doing her best to comfort her friend, she’d thought it best to leave him to his brooding.

She had visited several of her other companions this evening and had to politely decline several invitations of various after-party activities. As tempting as the thought of letting go for a night and enjoying the touch of another was, she still felt raw from the day before. More honestly, she didn’t want to provide an opportunity for them to ask prying questions about her loss of control with Minthara.

It had caused her to sleep worse than usual the night before, replaying that incident in her mind over and over. She’d hurt her friends and without her healing powers, Halsin might be dead. The guilt she felt took a warm but equally uncomfortable turn when she thought of the Archdruid. Though she’d never admit it, thinking of him kept her awake as well. Not just her shame, but thoughts of his soft eyes set on the rugged canvas of his handsome face.

She shook the memory away, lest she be distracted in front of the real thing just across the camp. In the morning they’d be leaving and Halsin would of course want to stay with his grove, it was a relief that she wouldn’t have to worry about the confusing feelings caused by the Druid, much longer.

 At current she was finding it hard to ignore the nagging feeling that his eyes were boring holes into her back when it was turned, as she chatted with her companions and the tieflings. But each time she’d turned back in his direction, he seemed to be interestedly talking to Zevlor or looking off at the woods.

When she finally approached him it was later in the evening and the drinks had made her bold. Her mind screamed at her to deal with the Druid now before he became a distraction. It was already too much, she’d found herself thinking about his smile for some reason.

And the way he’d looked up at her from the ground as if she were something special, something worth loving, worth cherishing.

“Are you having a good night so far?”

“Ah! My hero! It is a pleasant night for company. Are the evening’s festivities to your liking?”

The guilt rose in her, combining with the warmth of the wine — she immediately felt uncomfortable in her own skin. Just be brave, flirt with him and bat your eyes. It always works, he’ll be interested and then he’ll be gone. They never stay.

“Yeah, it’s great, I was wondering if perhaps, you wanted to share a drink?”

His eyes held hers closely but revealed nothing but their general kindness.

“In truth, I rarely imbibe. The stuff goes right to my head. Before you know it, I’d be breaking into song or declaring love to the first person I laid eyes on.”

At his joke, she smiled her pretty, practiced smile. Not too much teeth, not too eager.

“I fail to see the problem. But, perhaps, there are other ways we could get to know each other?”

“I’m sure there are. You strike me as extremely… resourceful. But there are many grateful people here who want to spend time with you. I must not keep you all to myself. As enjoyable as that may be.”

For a moment her eyes widened in surprise. She wasn’t used to be turned down and he had seemed so interested before.

“I see, well, um…Okay, thanks”

Luna panicked; she wasn’t smooth enough to talk her way out of this situation.

“Go on, enjoy yourself. Seek out some wine before it runs dry — there are a lot of thirsty people around here.”

Halsin added, seeming kind even despite the awkward moment Luna was having. She smiled at him, biting her plush bottom lip nervously as she gazed up into his eyes. The moment stretched on as their eyes lingered on one another. Glancing down at his lips she found he was smirking slightly, revealing a flash of teeth. Maybe it was her imagination, but she could have sworn she saw a hint of point to his canine as if some part of the bear was always present. She’d already looked at his mouth for too long, she couldn’t look again.

Luna nodded at him, regaining her cool demeanor from the Halsin’s rejection at last. She could have sworn she’d seen a hint of pain in his eyes as she vanished behind her facade of easy charm and effortless kindness. It may have been wrapped in a flirty tone, but his rejection was clear and she wanted to get away from him immediately. 

“Thanks, maybe I’ll do just that.”

Spinning on her heel quickly to leave, Luna doesn’t even bother to check if Halsin is done talking to her. She just needs to get away from the humiliation of this interaction. She spots Zevlor lurking not far off in the darkness on the edge of camp as she purposefully walks away from the Druid.

Her heart wrenched at the sight of the Paladin, he looked so… tired. While Luna was very likely older than the tiefling, he seemed to be considered on the older side amongst his race. He seemed burdened with the struggles of time and tragedy, she empathized for the man.

Most of her life on the surface had been in hiding. She served her Goddess by helping others escape Lolth’s wrath. As a result, thanks to the influence and wealth of the Drow, ransoms were offered on the surface and the Underdark for her head. She’d lived in hiding for a long time while working in service of her Lady.

She hadn’t realized how insular it had made her until she’d met Zevlor and the other refugees. Luna couldn’t even remember meeting a tiefling in her travels before. But already she understood that their people seemed to be subject to the ire and cruelty by the humans.

There weren’t many half-drow wandering around Faerun that she was aware of, in fact she’d never met any beside herself. A quick look in the mirror would reveal a very Drow looking woman, the only evidence of her human side is her size — too tall for the small, lithe frames that Drow women were known for. It made her both unknown and exotic to most people she encountered. More often than not, people chose to fear her before she’d even opened her mouth.

Yet, Zevlor and his people seemed even more reviled by those around them. It didn’t make sense to her. The Drow were a cruel people thanks to thousands of years of Lolth’s tyrannical reign over Menzoberranzan. While in her heart she hoped for a better future for her people, she wasn’t sure they were still capable of good even without the Spider-Queen’s influence. But the Tieflings? What crimes were they guilty of? What cruel goddess did they worship unquestioningly?

In short — she understood why people feared her at least a little, the evil deeds of the Drow were legendary. But what had the Tieflings ever done? Hating the unknown was not a uniquely human trait however, as ugly as their hate could be. While the relations between elves and the other races had improved in most areas over the years, their judgement was still sharp and brutal. That thought brought Minthara’s last words to the front of her mind once more, “Usually, someone would do you the kindness of putting an abomination like you out of your misery as a babe, how uncared for you were that they couldn’t have spared you the shame.”

She shook the thought away and gave the Tiefling a little wave as she passed by. His tail swished behind him. Luna couldn’t help but smile and wink at him before continuing on, wondering if that swish meant anything.

When she turned briefly and spotted the little flush on his already red cheeks — she had her answer. Still, her failure to control the situation with Halsin had her feeling down and she wanted to return to the peace of her tent. Cowardly though it may be, she was willing to risk being humiliated twice in one evening.

With a last goodbye to their guests she retreated to her bedroll. Eyelids heavy from wine and her heart even heavier from so much trouble already. Sleep wouldn’t find her easy this evening, of that much she was aware. She could only hope that the wine could soften the thoughts in her head enough for her to slip off to sleep alone in her bedroll.

—*—*——*—*—

The morning after the party, the tieflings seemed to be long gone by the time she’d risen. It was surprising as she tended to wake with the sun each day, but Zevlor was a disciplined leader. Searching her mind, she recalled him talking about an early start for his people toward their destination of Baldur’s Gate. Head only a little muddled from wine, she said an extra prayer that morning to the Dark Dancer for their safe passage to the city. Her Goddess provided refuge to the downtrodden who escaped Lolth and Luna believe that grace must extend to the tieflings searching for freedom of their own.

With a sigh she set about her day. Somehow, she’d been selected as the leader of her own group before she’d even sensed it. It wasn’t something that came to her naturally— leadership, but always seemed to be thrust upon her. Even when she had joined the other followers of Eilistraee to serve her in the goals of freeing people from Lolth’s tyranny — she had risen through the ranks quickly.

If only she could make herself smaller somehow. There were countless nights she lay awake in bed and hoped to disappear, to be invisible. But from her too-tall figure to not being able to keep her mouth shut, she drew attention on herself. It was only her trying to be helpful, to belong, that she would open her mouth with a suggestion or offer care to someone. But each time it drew focus on her she’d rather have gone without. She didn’t deserve the spotlight.

There was no denying that the group was certainly in need of leadership to even stand a fighting chance. They were infected by mindflayer tadpoles and even in the Underdark that was well-known as a death sentence.

Mindflayers weren’t unheard of in the Underdark, some noble Drow houses kept them in their courts, although their presence and usage was neither admitted nor considered acceptable by the public. But there were few advantages a Drow Matron would not take in to strengthen her house and her position. She found herself almost wishing Halsin could stay with their group to provide the sort of leadership and guidance they so desperately needed.

—*—*——*—*—

When they departed their campsite a few hours later, Luna could have kicked herself for wishing for the Druid’s guidance. She’d gotten it — in spades. Halsin followed up the rear of their group quietly as their newest member and Luna was still glowering over their fight about the next steps.

He’d been so rude when she expressed her frustration about not having more answers. Snapping at her before continuing on about the terrible blight of the Shadow Curse.

“I won’t be held accountable just because you’re naive enough to expect easy answers.”

“How dare you?! I’m just trying to help these people!” She had snapped back. She had felt Shadowheart’s hand on her shoulder and heard Karlach’s soothing coo. The Druid had insisted on continuing and Luna had forced herself to bite her tongue. Control yourself, the moon controls the tides as I control me. She had chanted in her head as Halsin went on, forcing her outrage behind the finely polished mask of constant calm once more. It wasn’t until he had brought up the Underdark that she had even bothered to open her mouth once again.

“We found the entrance to the Underdark in the temple after you left to set the grove to rights and I’m not sure it’s such a good idea. I have no idea where that leads. It could be the death of all of us.”

“The Shadow Curse is a fate WORSE than death, Luna! I do not relish the thought of venturing into the Underdark but I would not suggest such a course of action if I thought there were a safer way.”

His tone had at least been kinder than when he’d accused her of being naive but still firm. She hadn’t been able to tell if it was the thought of the Shadow Curse or if it was just her that got that made him this frustrated. Then, when he’d offered to join their camp to offer counsel and support as they ventured to Moonrise, it had taken each of her companions to convince her to agree to the Druid’s company.

She glanced back at him as they made their way toward the goblin camps to examine the entrance to the Underdark. It was strange, she thought, she’d expected him to look sadder as they left the Grove behind. Instead she found him looking ahead with a firm resolve on his face. When he caught her staring, he cocked an eyebrow at her and she flipped around quickly again. Animatedly, engrossing herself in listening to Wyll and Astarion rib each other back and forth. She wasn’t brave enough to turn back to see if he was still looking.

Just ignore him Luna, you don’t need everyone to like you. She told herself.

As they approached the goblin camp, the familiar touch of anxiety settled in her anew at the thought of being within the temple ruins again. It had only been a day or so since her loss of control, the incident still weighed heavily on her. She didn’t realize how heavy the burden was until they were once again under the roof of the ruined temple.

Something evil lurked forever within the walls, maybe it was simply her own regret that now haunted the place. Whatever it was, it seemed to compound with the weight in her chest she felt over the increasing and very real likelihood she’d be spending time in the Underdark once more.

It’s not that she hadn’t been back. She had returned since her escape but only in short trips and always staying clear of Menzoberranzan. The Drow have a long memory, longer for those who have wronged them. Thirty years was thirty seconds in the grand scheme of Drow revenge and plots. Her trips to the Underdark had always been as a guide for fellow followers of Eilistraee. Those who would go deeper within the cavernous lands to rescue others who were looking to escape the cruelty of the Drow.

The feeling of being watched snapped her from her thoughts. She was trying not to look as uncomfortable as she felt, but it didn’t help that she could feel the Druid’s eyes on her again, like he knew what she was feeling. How could he possibly understand? They never understand. I don’t need his pity. She can feel the spike of anger within her. Her blood thrums in her ears and she barely hears her campmates as they approach the Selunite puzzle that leads to the Underdark. She allows her mind to be present once more just in time to hear their rogue’s cutting humor.

“Looks like a long fall, The Blade had better be careful,” Astarion hissed as Wyll while lunging forward and giving him a slight push toward the ladder and the fatal plunge. Luna shoots them both a stern look. She doesn’t miss the way Wyll flushes a little at the vampire’s teasing.

“I quite agree with Luna, I think this whole Selunite Underdark plan is bad news,” Shadowheart says to Halsin as she clutches at the wound on her hand. No doubt the Dark Lady is punishing Shadowheart for being in her sister’s temple.

“It’s Luna’s decision, she picks the route we take and I will follow,” Wyll added nobly.

“May I speak with you for a moment, alone?” Halsin asked her with a harried look. After a long moment, taking time to enjoying the way he seems to sweat over her answer, she nods. He gestures for her to follow, leading her a few halls over until they come across a quiet alcove amidst the ruined temple.

 When he rounds on her, she is distracted immediately by how small she feels in his presence. She’s always been tall, standing a head and shoulders above most of the people around her. The fact that the elf still stands several inches above her in stature rings through her mind, both pleasure and panic answer. Her heart races at his proximity.

Stop, she hisses to the traitor muscle in her chest. He very clearly doesn’t like you like that. Stop it. The sting of his rejection from the night before is still fresh in her memory.

“Whatever reason you have to fear the Underdark, it cannot be worse that the blight of the Shadow Curse,” He finally says.

Waves of emotion wash over her at his words. He doesn’t know anything about me. How could he possibly understand? What does this Druid even know of fear? She feels untethered by the sentence, pinpricks of panic blossom across her skin. With a deep breath she centers herself in the light of her Goddess, the only mooring she can tether herself to in a sea of emotion. She will not lose control again so soon.

Halsin studies her face, clearly watching the emotional struggle play itself out on her features with concern. Too long has passed since he spoke, and she knows she needs to answer him.

“Have you ever even been to the Underdark, Druid?” She almost spits the last word.

His eyes avert her gaze immediately. In a flash she swears she can see his calm demeanor falter for just a moment.

“I have.”

He offers no more and she knows immediately this is not something to pry into. There is a faint hint of sadness in his eyes when he meets her gaze once more. Her traitorous heart lurches again and she can only pray to her Goddess that the dusky blue of her skin hadn’t given way to a deeper blush on her cheeks.

Swallowing the feeling she gives him a tight nod.

“Fine.”

He sighs and she can’t help but silently celebrate having him so frustrated. It’s petty but she can only hope she’s causing him half the stress he’s already caused her.

Her mind tells her to walk away, that the conversation is over. But she doesn’t and neither does he, they just linger. Time slows as they gaze silently into one another’s eyes. He looks at her with what looks like hunger, but she knows it must be a trick of the dim light in their private spot. After his flat rejection she cannot bring herself to hope for anything more and besides, it seemed she was destined to spend her time fighting with him instead. She wills herself to look away, breathing slowly like it might make her heart stop racing. When she glances down, she sees his fists clenched tightly with coiled energy.

Halsin relaxes immediately when she notices and his entire demeanor shifts. For just a moment it felt like he contained a predator within, and she was just prey in his eyes. But then he’s himself once more. The moment passed and the familiar easy smile is in place again as he backs away.

“Oakfather be praised, you’re making the right decision Luna.”

She nods and gives him a tight smile, clearing her throat anxiously and quickly walking away.

Stupid! Why would you be alone with him? Never again. That was such a bad idea. She berates herself internally as she hastens to join her companions. As she grabs her pack with a flurry of busied activity, pointedly ignoring their looks, she finds herself looking forward to the Underdark. At least there it was clear cut and simple— live or die.

It had to be better than her increasingly confusing and awkward interactions with the Druid.

Taglist: @dutifullylazybread @scandistar @ladyofcrowsandcoffee @beaneburrito @tsabhira05 @cchickki @purpleasters-inseptember @reverieblondie @barbwillbrb @stuffforthestash @crowwolf @halsinningiswinning

(just comment if you want on/off taglist)

[sevilemar]

I got such an amazing gift from a fellow player in DnD today, I am still glowing with happiness and excitement.

I made the conscious choice at the start of the campaign to play a very young, very naive religious fanatic in a world designed to only contain shades of grey (Shulassakar in Eberron). Suffice it to say, I did not intend for her to live very long.

What I did not know before our first session was that a fellow player decided to play a very liberal, very hedonistic blood cleric Dhampir named Corvin, whose morality is firmly on the darker side of grey. We clashed from the beginning, and I had already attacked him once, but was stopped by other members of the party. I also saw him help and heal others, and we had each other's back in a few fights. For someone like Selise, who was born into an eternal, holy war to keep one of the Overlords from taking over the world, that means a lot.

I was just accepting that maybe, just maybe, 'good' might include other things than I was taught, when we went to the desert to find an old battlefield that became a manifestation zone for war and strife. Because Corvin hadn't fed for several days on the journey, he went into a blood frenzy, killing and feeding on a swarm of blood bugs.

Long story short, after he found himself again, I challenged him and we ended up fighting each other, becoming more and more locked in and angry until it truly was to the death.

As a player, I was hesitant at first. I had never taken such a big swing before, and it felt wrong to attack another player. Thomas and me had talked about it once it was clear our characters may be headed that way, and our GM and the other players had OKed PvP as well, so all was fine on the consent front.

And still I needed the dice to make the final decision, and I was quite shocked when they decided it was time to fight. But now I was commited, and so I went for it with a heavy heart. I love my Selise, and I really did not want to kill another player's character. It was a long fight with lots of dice rolls for me, since the third PC tried to stop us. Well, mostly me.

Halfway through, Corvin asked Selise if he will ever be safe in her presence, and I had to actually think about it. I talked myself through it out loud, and came to the shocking conclusion that no, he would not be. And after that, when we both knew this was to the end, I lost my doubts, and it became so much fun. I still did not want to kill Corvin, but I was OK if Selise died, and I knew it was OK if Corvin did.

In the end, Corvin had one hit point left, Selise had 4, and it was the third player's turn. She decided to use up all her inspiration to get the two NPCs around us to grapple me. I got out of her grasp, I got out of one of the Elf's grasp, but the third one pinned me down in a pool of blood. And then it was Corvin's turn. He casts Toll the Dead, my dice rolls, and it is only a 10. Selise is dead.

And then this motherfucking blood cleric, this awesome player and very kind friend, uses all his inspiration to cast a ritual and make me into a Dhampir like himself.

Fuck me, I did not see that coming.

It is such a beautiful, beautiful gift to a fellow player, a way to take the big swing, see it through to the end, and still keep a beloved character, and give her such an interesting new twist.

And Thomas told me after the game that it was his plan all along if we ever got here, and our GM knew about it, too. That means he thought about this, thought about a way to both let me be true to Selise, and let me keep her as well, and it is such a kind and generous thing to do that I'm still crying about it now.

And now it is my choice where we go from here. There are so many cool possibilities, because as Shulassakar, Selise is basically a mix between Aasimar and Yuan-Ti, descended from the Couatl: god-like beings with wings and a snake's body, and what does that mean for her now?

But that is a thought for another day. Today, I will go to sleep with a stupid smile on my face, firm in my conviction that telling stories together is good for the soul. Good night, gentlefolk, or god day, and may the story gods look upon you favorably always!

[pursuitseternal]

“Tempting:” nsfw update to “Our Blood is Thicker:” ETL Astarion x Tav (OC)

Astarion x Fem OC | E | 5.2 K Astarbation and longing

Summary: Bloody from their battle, Cordehlia tales her party across the river, to wash away their scent and to wash away the stains of her violence. And while she wishes to bathe, Astarion has other ideas. Other, more tempting, ideas.

CW: Astarbation, romantic voyeurism, caught with his hand down his pants literally, lost memories recovered, shared night watch with feelings, trauma dumping (mutual), hurt comfort, ear stroking, How To Pet Your Angsty Vampire ™️

Previous Chapter | AO 3 | Astarion Masterlist

Chapter 3: Tempting…

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

“Who knew you were so bloodthirsty?” Astarion purred as the party paused to catch their breath and clean their weapons.

There was no more threat. And it felt good for him to be free, to be spattered from the fruits of his labor. Well her labor too. He looked at her glorious form. Her pale skin was blood spattered and sticky. Her chest heaved under that light armor, but she knelt by the monster hunter’s body, praying for his speedy passage from this life. However misguided it may have been.

Cordehlia gazed at her hands, red and tacky as she tried to wipe them in the dead grass. “It isn’t a thirst for blood. When you’ve battled as many armies as I have… when you have made it to victory by the sheer force of your will, you learn to try to find some sort of…”

“Pleasure?” Astarion guessed.

“Healing?” Gale offered at the same time.

The she-elf’s lips quirked at their replies. “Both I suppose.” She avoided the wizard’s eyes. He looked so… concerned, worried.

“I’m sure your battle-wisdom saw the Gur’s death as the only solution,” Gale whispered, bending down to crouch near her, wiping his own bloodied hands on the grass, even if he had seen little blood against the Gur. “I worry though, if your… attachment to the vampire can influence your choices.”

She gave a smirk. “Of course he’s an influence,” she chided, a bit defiantly. “But as are you all. I haven’t stained my hands for centuries with the blood of Orcs, Humans, Sorcerers, and Aliens to ignore the lesson of never abandoning one of your own. And besides, Astarion is not a monster…” she spat the last words. As if the allegation were aimed at her… perhaps it was. Perhaps her pride bore the wounds from long ago, from giving so much to someone who… she shuddered to think of it more.

“It is reassuring to hear of such fierce loyalty,” Gale grinned. “I’d like to think you would do that same for me… for all of us.”

“Of course,” she nodded, a hint of gravity to her tone. “Now, perhaps we get away from the stink of bloodshed and make camp, I’m sure I’m not the only one starving and needing to bathe.”

“There is a narrow river nearby,” Shadowheart joined in. “Good for both washing and losing the stink of blood.”

“Good work,” Cordehlia smiled. “Lead the way then.”

The cleric smiled, heading deeper into the trees.

They moved quickly, pausing only once they heard the soft rushing of water. It was easy to cross, shallow and narrow and clear in the faint sun. But Cordehlia couldn’t help but notice Astarion’s hesitation before planting his feet in the running water.

Hesitation that melted to joy the instant he stepped in. He was… elated. Giddy. Speeding in his stride to join at Cordehlia’s side.

“You seem happy,” she smiled.

“Another gift of the parasite, it would seem,” he crowed. “It doesn't burn like hellfire. I haven’t stepped into a river since… well,” he looked at her from the corner of his crimson eyes, flashing his fangs down at her. “You know.”

“More than you probably do,” she gave him a sad smile. “You loved the water.”

He fell silent, nothing but the sounds of the water’s gurgle and the splashes they made trudging to the opposite bank. The forest was dense, thick, leafy bushes, wide-trunked oaks, so lush and fertile and green.

It made Cordehlia long for home.

It made the longing in her heart for her past all that more painful.

Numbness crept around her, making her skin itch with her victim’s blood. Making her soul crawl with shame at … the monster she had become. Her cheeks burned, every word the wizard had whispered at her… he knew. He saw it in her soul, and Astarion only drew that creature out to play all the more.

The reflection of the same temperamental, vicious, thirsty beast that clawed beneath her skin. For the good of her kind, she had fought. For protection, freedom, for a land of their own again where they could dwell in the light and dance beneath the stars.

It had been… selfless, she had thought, becoming a fighter, a commander, skilled with the blade and graced with the wisdom of her years.

But as she watched Astarion lingering with his boots in the rushing waters of the river, a wide smile on his face as he watched the foaming bubbles swirl at his feet… her heart tore in her chest. Aching.

Being a vampire didn’t make him a monster.

Not any more than being blinded by rash judgments made her.

He hadn't chosen his fate. But she… she did. To escape the pain and grief and loss.

And as she looked at her blood spattered hands, her stomach soured. “Don’t you have anything better to do, Astarion?” She snipped at him.

His giddiness irritated her. Infuriated her. And he rounded with that coy, insufferable smirk. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he purred back loudly, “what, too many clothes on for a romp in the river for you? I’d be happy to shed a few layers if you wish to join me…”

He plodded up the bank, stopping short. He threw of that heavy doublet, letting it land gods knew where.

Hells, his shirt was soaked. Sweat or river water, it didn’t matter. It was sheer, clinging to the rises of his chest, every definition of his hard stomach….

But she was not in the mood. “Go be helpful, you rake. I need to bathe,” she snapped, pointing in the direction of the others, where the sounds of chatter and clattered chests and unpacking echoed.

“Alone?” he crooned, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

“Yes,” she bit, roughly unclasping the buckles of her armor from her chest to toss away as well. “Gods, yes alone.”

“If that is what you wish,” he purred, eyes sweeping over her own bloodstained chemise. That crimson gaze paused where she felt it stickiest, where it hugged her hips and clung to her breasts. “But since we are alone, it seems… Perhaps you might allow me a bite?”

“What?”

“Just a little, it was so taxing, that fight. You know he wanted me dead… it is a miracle I’m still standing, you know….” Oh how his voice dripped with the honey of manipulation. That sweet edge of guilt softening his ask. “A little of your blood goes a long way for me, you know. And as a spawn,” his teeth flashed, that leering smirk that made her hot in places she wished it wouldn’t, “I’m always, always hungry.”

She hissed a breath, exasperated. “Be quick,” she shushed.

He was quick. Quick to hold her to him with a single arm around her back, hand pressing just above the rise of her ass. The other cradled her chin, turning her perfectly, so softly with a caress of his fingers before he sliced those razored fangs into her neck.

She shook, breath catching and not in just pain. It was still so wonderful, her body stretched and pressed against his. Missing the way it had always felt against her flesh. Hard where she was soft. Tall where she was shorter. Lithe where she was sturdy.

And before she had wished for its ending, he pulled away, licking his lips of her blood. “Just as delicious. I doubt I will ever tire of tasting you, my darling Cordehlia.”

“Leave,” she hissed, wiping her hand over the red wetness that trickled down her neck. “Please,” she added as a single tweak of hurt twisted his brow. As if he really had meant what he said. As if she spurned something that was true. “I feel disgusting. The sooner I wash, the sooner I’ll feel more inclined to a… delightful disposition, I’m sure.”

“You look far from disgusting,” he smiled softly, his eyes losing that lurid sharpness. “Blood spattered… heart racing with the thrill of the hunt… a hint of excitement to have me near, I would even guess. It made you taste all the more wonderful.”

“Please leave…” she sighed. Tired. Her hands fumbling with the rest of the pieces of her armor.

“As you wish, my darling,” he nodded, the tones of a perfect gentleman in his voice, as he turned to head up the bank. Pausing only to grab his coat from the ground before heading into the thick forest.

But there was more than mere reluctance that seemed to compel him to stay.

It was her.

And now, with her blood in his belly, coursing with its fire and flavor and passion in his veins. He throbbed.

In a way he didn’t remember experiencing.

He stopped behind the foliage. Frozen by the sounds of splashing in the river.

And that throbbing grew worse. Lower… prominent. Hard.

Just like last night. The only other time he felt this. That blessing of consuming living blood for once. Her blood rushing right through his muscles, hardening his cock with need. He had been determined to ignore it last night in the dark, his belly too hungry for thoughts of sex or self pleasure. Only thoughts for more blood to fill him.

But now, he wasn’t so distracted. Not from the sweet splashing of water as she swam so close.

Those sounds were… tempting. She was tempting.

For once, he wasn’t hard because he had to be. Wasn’t compelled to seduce or flirt for any reason other than he wanted something.

Someone.

He stopped, crouching into the greenery, slipping soundlessless to the edge of the water. It was so easy. So tempting.

Why not indulge… why not let himself find pleasure for once for himself. Not for his master.

The river was so close, the ripples lapping the shore even at this distance from their source.

From where she rose from its surface. Her skin so pale, hair darkened and wet. One knee into the earth, he crouched with all his stealth and felt his cock pulsing. As if her blood was calling back to its mistress.

By the hells… he had never wanted anything more.

It would be so easy still, just a few laces holding him in where he was so well concealed.

Fuck it, he decided. Fuck it, if he couldn’t fuck her.

And she was so enticing. And frustrating. So stubborn and soft and defensive of him and accusatory of him. All of it. It made his teeth set on edge, made his muscles long to push her against the nearest tree again. To put a blade to her throat or sheath his cock between her legs, he didn’t know which drive was stronger.

But it didn’t matter right now. He could finally do something for himself.

And what was the harm… he would bring her under his charms soon enough. It was what he did best.

Gods… he twitched the second his fingers gripped around his own cock. A spasm of pleasure rippling right to his groin. It would take long, he chuckled to himself as he slowly stroked up and down. Palming the seeping seed from its head, he spread it around a bit. This would be rough, but he couldn’t remember the last time he sought his own pleasure.

This was long overdue.

That’s it… he groaned, watching her slowly rise from the river, watching the water droplets trickling over her pert breasts, running like a stream between them as she stood. He grit his teeth and beat faster. Jealous of the water.

She rinsed her hair, fluffing it to catch in the beams of sun. If she wasn’t a nymph… a goddess of the waters herself the way she moved just as fluidly, as elegantly. He closed his eyes, pressing that image into his mind forever.

Her creamy skin and fiery hair… the thrill of having watched her for so long… of finally seeing more of what laid beneath the cursed swatches of fabrics and yards of gowns that clung to her curves. She was so close, he could hear her breathe… if he strained his hearing. Hoping he was far enough away that the water splashes would hide the dry rubbing of his cock in his fist… He would promise a million lifetimes just to make her his. His for a million lifetimes…

He was close, that tug of climax digging at his groin as he watched her bathing.

Until he heard the sound of boots too close.

Astarion gasped, his cum spilling into the dirt, his cock pulsing and twitching as more seed dripped and shot before him. So good… so very good. He couldn’t remember when he last felt so… happy. Sated.

And then, he gasped again as the cool kiss of a blade caught along his jaw.

“What’s this… a rogue caught sneaking?” Cordehlia hummed in amusement, drawing around from behind where he crept in the undergrowth.

Astarion laughed, low, quiet and tired. “Don’t tell me you’re not flattered, darling…” He glanced to how his cock still stood proudly in front of him. Long and pale and achingly hard in his hand. “…tell me you’re not impressed.”

“Impressed to find my rogue caught literally with his hand down his pants?” She scoffed, “please.”

He looked her up and down as he began shoving it back inside the band of his breeches. That dirty tunic of hers was haphazard, hastily thrown on. And nothing else, he noted with a pang in his groin again. Her mouth may be turned down at the corners, but he watched her pulse in her neck race, observed how her eyes dilated as she looked him over as well. “My my, Cordehlia,” he purred, standing from the ground, arching a single brow, his voice twisting in mischief as well as his mouth. “You’ve seen this before haven’t you?”

She smiled. The minx smiled, casting her eyes away as she resheathed her blade. “A lady doesn’t speak of such things, Astarion.”

“Ah, but you are no lady…” his smirk flashed to show his teeth, “least ways not for me, isn’t that right?”

“You know,” she chimed, clearly changing the subject. “You’re not as creative as you might think.” She just kept smiling like a fool. Swallowing a laugh. Like this was terribly funny. “I suppose you don’t remember,” she giggled. “But this isn’t the first time you have been caught with your weapon out watching me down by a river….”

Those images… she had looked so young… and he… he felt the same. When he had heard the sound of boots in the grass behind him… “Something strangely similar, no coincidence if it happened twice,” he crooned. Her smile faded as she looked into his eyes. “But… wasn’t it your father that caught me last time? I see you’re just carrying on your family legacy.” He smirked as he stood to square his body, daring a step to close the distance between them. “Unless there was something else you were just too tempted not to see…”

He leaned in, creeping in on her, close enough to glance down the collar of that wet chemise. “So, my sweet, what happens next?” He murmured, tempted to wrap his arms around her, to pull her flush against him where she could feel how she still made him hard. And he wasn’t so sure if it was only because of her blood in his body.

“Next?” she hummed, crossing her arms over those pert breasts. “For us?”

“You read my mind…”

“Oh, that’s simple,” she crooned, arching back slightly to look right up into his face. Her lips pouted, her eyes batting those long lashes at his smirking, arrogant, conceited grin. “We go to camp and finish helping, and then you are taking first watch since you haven’t lifted a finger helping in the slightest.”

“B-but...” he sputtered, a whine in his voice as she turned and began to walk away. “I do need rest too,” he fairly whimpered.

“I understand,” she threw a grin over her shoulder, finally breaking back from the forest onto the path. “Which is why I will rest first and come relieve you tonight.”

That’s when she reached the rest of her discarded clothing and armor. Astarion held his breath, watching as she bent over to pick it up from the ground.

“Sweet hells,” he sighed. That hem of her shirt sliding up the backs of her thighs, barely covering the swell of her ass, teasing around what laid between her legs. He forced himself to look away. Not for her sake. For his. One second longer, and he was sure something would be staining the insides of his trousers with cum.

And all he could do was keep his eyes on the grass and listen to her soft giggle as they kept moving.

—————-

Night was quiet, even if the evening had been eventful. Another member of the party appeared out of nowhere. A human warlock come for one of her own, but with her charm and her persuasion and her insight, Cordelia managed to convince the newcomer, Wyll, not to return to his mistress with Karlach’s head in hand.

And now, the Blade of Frontiers had joined the company. One more mouth to feed, Gale had grumbled, lightheartedly, but still a little grieved.

Of course, Astarion had been quick to point out that he didn’t count, of course. A joke that sent everyone giggling nervously, no one more than Cordehlia who avoided the heated look he flashed at her through the mirth. But aside from that near little slip up, he had not made any mention of their agreement. Instead he made a big show of heading out to hunt before his turn at first watch.

By a little after nightfall, as the rest of the party began milling towards their beds, he returned. And not empty handed. With a smile, he handed a pair of rabbits to Gale, some whispered something of a joke that made the wizard laugh quietly.

An unfamiliar sight. An unusual exchange.

And then he sauntered over before where she sat on her bedroll by the fire. “You look so deliciously surprised. You know, I can do something thoughtful from time to time.”

“I knew that,” she taunted in reply. “I just didn’t know if you did.”

He giggled. High pitched and bubbly.

At once, the sound filled her heart with joy. And pain. “I’ll relieve you soon,” she cleared her throat, sliding her legs into the warmth of her bed. “Don’t get yourself… or us… into any trouble.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He withdrew a single step before he paused again. “You know, you don’t have to sleep out here, if you do not wish it.”

She said nothing, turning her back towards him as she rolled onto her side.

“I have a perfectly good tent, comfortable, luxurious even in comparison, you would be more than welcome to occupy.”

Still nothing from her.

“After all, if we are sharing watches, it would only make sense to share more than just a duty. It’s not like I would be there with you while you slept...”

“Good night, Astarion,” she replied. Conversation ended.

He sighed. Continuing on his way back towards that aforementioned tent. And soon, Cordehlia fell into that less-than-restful sleep.

She woke to darkness, a night thick and starless. The fire still crackled, but it seemed faint. Weak.

Soft.

Stretching out her aching legs, her sore back, she slipped from her bed. Finding him at the edge of camp, perched comfortably on the pillows that he had set in the entryway of his tent. His mouth turned softly as she drew before him. A smile as she approached. “Cordehlia,” he whispered her name.

“You better rest,” came her terse reply.

“When there are so many other wonderfully tempting things to do in the dark, my sweet?” he purred, patting the cushion beside him. Beckoning her to sit.

Cordehlia bit her lip. Gods, after sleeping on the earth, if a pillow under her ass didn’t make her body cry and make her mouth water. Carefully, slowly, she sat. Giving enough space between them.

“Nice to see you do indulge yourself from time to time,” he whispered, sliding his body to view her. Simultaneously closing that distance between them just a bit. “I doubt I shall rest for an hour at least,” he drew closer as he spoke. His breath cold on her neck. “Any suggestions for how to pass the time?”

She twisted to face him.

Oh, mistake.

She thought herself ready for something like this, but… the way his hair shimmered in the distant firelight, the way those full lips of his parted and tweaked in the gentlest of smiles…. The way he was so very, very close.

She wasn’t at all stealed over in body, heart, or soul for such a feat as this. She closed her eyes, shutting them firmly as he gave her that soft, low giggle.

Not helping.

“Talk,” she cleared her throat, “ahem. We could talk. Or you could ask me questions of what was from … before.”

Her eyes opened to see him withdrawn. Those hard lines returning to his face, his shoulders stiff and squared as he gazed into the dark behind her.

“I suppose it would help you to know more… given that I’ve already had one monster hunter sent on my trail. I’m sure my old master will be relentless…” then he fixed the intensity of his eyes into hers.

Fear.

Loathing.

Panic.

“Cazador won't stop until he has me back.”

She froze. Careful not to fidget. And yet, he trembled. Eyes wide and voice pressed with rage.

“Of course he would send the Gur after me… that was why I… died. The case that would launch me into power and fame and rise to popularity. Banishing them from the city, making them keep their kind beyond all the walls of Baldur’s Gate, as far as my jurisdiction would allow. That night, I was attacked. Beaten. Left to die in the streets.”

It was Cordehlia that now shivered. The chill of death seemed to steal over her heart as she listened. It was… worse than she had ever imagined. The facts of his death, those she had found all those centuries ago. But this…

“That’s when… he found me. Cazador Szarr… he offered me eternal life, to keep me from bleeding out in the sewer of the street. Little did I know just how long eternity would be as his spawn.”

He fell silent. Chest heaving, throat choking as he tried to swallow. Then he began to shake.

“Shh, Astarion,” she instantly reached for him. As she had a thousand times in their lives.

But he hissed, flinching. “Don’t,” he panted. “Don’t touch me.” His voice little more than a hiss. “Not now… not right now…”

“It’s alright,” she poured her low, soothing voice over him instead. “I’m here,” that made him look up at last. “You’re here…”

His eyes were wide. Wet. Gods, what had they done to him.

“Shhh…” she cajoled again. “If you let me, there was always one thing I could do to help you when… you would feel like this.”

My love. Her heart wanted to add.

He still shook, but he managed a nod. “Gently,” he pleaded.

“There was never another way between us before, Astarion,” she whispered. Slowly she raised her hand, letting her fingers, lighter than air, trace their touch behind his ear. The soft pads of her fingers rubbed over that pointed edge of his ear, softly held between her thumb and finger.

Instantly he stilled. His shaking ceased. His shivers dissipated. Her touch was warm, calming and tender as she caressed his ear.

Slowly.

Lovingly.

His mouth hung open but no words came out. They just couldn’t.

“I can’t even recall how many times you would be worked into a frenzy… by your parents… by my parents… by your overwhelming need to be praised…” she continued quietly, her voice ringing with remembrance. Those soft memories that she had buried deep inside her, finally sliding out as she whispered them for his ears alone. “I tried it once, when you were…” she swallowed, the edge of pain now in her throat as he watched the same contorting her beauty, “when you were resting your head in my lap…”

His eyes flickered, that same sultry fire returning behind their crimson color.

Holding her breath, he did what she most feared… lowering those thick, unruly curls over her thighs.

That same weight pressed into her lap, that same comforting heaviness his body always gave her. Her hands continued to play around his ear, twirling and stroking into his hair.

The night breeze around them… the faint flicker of firelight… if it weren’t for the chill of undeath on his skin, the lack of pulse in his neck as he laid on her legs… she could close her eyes, savoring the balm of him. As if no time had passed. As if they both hadn’t bloodied their hands and dived into the darkness.

He rolled onto his back, eyes closed, breath steady. And her hands couldn’t help but to share the same soothing attentions to both sides of his devastatingly handsome face.

“I…” he started before swallowing. “We…” he tried again, almost pushing back against the way her hands caressed into his hair. But the spell was broken, having worked its charms. He sat up, those eyes narrowed again, peering at her with that pretense of rakish flirtation. “You’re full of surprises aren’t you?”

Her mouth twitched. As if she had a million flirtatious things to reply. But instead she just patted him on his cheek and smiled slightly. “You really should be getting some rest, our kind does still need some sort of …”

He caught her hand in his, his fingers gripping her firmly, keeping her body close to his. Crimson eyes scanned over her, heavy-lidded and lustful. “Resting at night is still such a novelty. Creatures of the dark aren’t used to… resting after sunset.”

Cordehlia smiled, carefully trying to slip from his grasp. But he held tight. She hummed, a nervous smile on her mouth. “Then indulge me and try it. I need you strong come dawn. Druids and Tieflings will abound, and I’ll need a rogue who is sharp in his mind and strong in body.”

His smirk widened, predatory and bright as she held her breath to see those fangs so close. “If you wanted me truly strong you would offer me more than just rest,” he rasped, gaze flickering where her pulse raged in her veins.

She swallowed, “More blood? What was earlier then?”

“Oh that? That was just a little treat… from my little treat,” he leaned closer, his breath so close she could feel it inhaling the skin of her neck.

“You are insufferable.”

His body went rigid, every muscle taught as he barely brushed against her arm, her shoulder. “Well, since I can’t be inside you, darling, the least we can do is for you to be inside me….”

Gods, her belly dropped to her knees, every nerve inside her catching fire and melting, pooling her desire to gather between her thighs.

“I don’t think I’m quite recovered from earlier,” she managed to reply. Only to feel a small, cool bottle shoved into the hand he still held. “What’s this?”

“You know your potions, She-elf,” he chuckled as she looking at the faintly glowing ruby liquid. “Nicked a potion of healing off the Gur’s body.” His brow arched, adding just that little darker edge of wickedness to his leer. “Can’t say I won’t take care of my treat…”

She opened it, instantly swallowing it down. Instantly feeling that hazy ache in her head clearing from his continued feeding.

Only to have him pull her flush against his chest, to have him place a gentle kiss on the bend in her neck before slicing into it with his fangs.

She groaned, subtle, letting her body arch against his, letting his hands cradle the back of her head, fingers knitted into her hair. Her eyes fluttered shut, her mind swept away by the feeling of his lips on her skin, the press of his body against her breasts, and then there was that new sensation. The dripping, pulsing of her blood as he swallowed her down, the way she could feel how her essence fed him. Strengthened him. Sated him. Pleased him.

She groaned again, this time she just couldn’t hold back the sound of how much she enjoyed this. It was… lewd. Pleasured. And instantly, he broke from her veins to smirk at her. Just for that moment, before he returned his mouth to her skin.

This time, he lapped at her with his tongue, tracing wet swirls with his spit through her blood.

She began going limp, but not from blood loss, he realized, from ecstacy. From pleasure. Her body couldn’t hide behind her barbs or anger or deflective questions.

She wanted this. She wanted him.

And gods, as her blood filled him, he felt alive, aroused by its strength, its potency. How it filled his aching stomach, soothing his hunger. How it hardened him in the groin again, making every little shiver and shift of her body as it brushed his lap all the more agonizing and tempting.

He gripped into her shoulders, pushing her away. Lest he take too much. Of her blood. Or her body.

And he didn’t want that.

“Thank you, Cordehlia,” he spoke, steady, even tones. “I enjoyed that immensely, and by the sounds of it… you did too.”

She said nothing, just gazing at him with those large, bright silver eyes. He could get lost in their brilliance. Warm and inviting. Like he had stared into them for a hundred years already. Maybe he had. “I… I think I will rest now,” he stood and began to draw inside the flaps of his tents, ignoring the way she trembled as he left. Ignoring the way his breeches were far too tight with how hard she made him.

“I trust you are no longer hungry,” she bid after him. He paused in the middle of the little gap in the doorway.

“Oh, don’t underestimate yourself. My hunger for you will only deepen,” he smirked down, a slight bow to his head, where she still lounged on his cushions. “Good night.”

For as much as he didn’t want to leave her alone, he didn’t want to go too far. And it was just too tempting… with the nearness of her body, the scent of her skin… like spring rain and meadow flowers, like all that was golden and shimmering and good in the woods.

He laid down in the dark of his tent, praying that at least those pillows would smell like her before dawn.

[meanderingpenguin]

It feels like in Campaign 3 they've done Guests very differently than the other two? In the other campaigns they did tight smaller personal arcs for the guest that could be finished in 1-3 episodes and then the guest quickly left. If they were called back later it was specifically to help the Main Party's storyline in some way with a quick life update of what's been going on off screen.

Every guest this season has had a minimum of five episodes, longer than Bertrand Bell himself. They've built a real or at least complex connection with most of the party, and then left with their plotline pretty much demanding they return to get closure at some point. With the exception of the dead one of course.

Dorian is a full member of Bells Hells and the Crown Keepers. He still has multiple plot crumbs with his Parents, his Title and responsibilities, his Brother, and of course reuniting with Orym and Fearne (and the rest of the party) at some point.

Yu made a time limited contract with the party. Then the Hells failed their part of the agreement when Ira stole the Crown from them and for extra oomph they snuck into Yu's court, blew shit up there, and were explicitly seen by Yu's boss as they escaped. Yu has the plotline crumbs of still being aligned with the people the Hells are fighting, still maybe having a contract to hunt down Fearne's parents and Fearne, and also the potential that they are being punished for failing in the first place.

Deni$e is going to catch up with the Crown Keepers at some point and give Dariax a piece of her mind. Whether we get more Crown Keeper's specials with her or we just get the updates some other way, her storyline isn't finished yet.

F.R.I.D.A. is basically a member of the Bells Hells now. They're going on a sidequest for the party's needs and have promised to help them in their fight. They still have connections to the looming Devexian plotline as well. Very important person to F.C.G. and the idea they'd never see each other again is unacceptable.

Deanna is also like Dorian and F.R.I.D.A. in that she's basically a member of the party now. She has a strong emotional bond with the four she traveled with. (And her potential conversations with the other three would be very interesting if she had the time to dig deeper.) She's doing what she can to help the Hells stop Ludinus. Out of all the clerics this campaign her relationship with her deity seems the most complicated and interesting? She still has the plotlines of however her sidequest turns out, whether or not she and the Dawnfather will come to an understanding or if she'll be punished further, and of course her connection with Chetney and Fearne will always be fun to explore more of.

Pri$m. Bonded with Orym, Laudna, and Ashton. Orym is her bestie now. Ashton seems to have set her on a new rebellious path in life. She also wants to take Laudna to the Shadowfel soon. Alongside Deanna and F.R.I.D.A she is now doing quests to help the Hells. Biggest of all, with Keyleth and Planerider Ryn both out of commission, Prism is the person closest to the party who knows teleport if the staff breaks or isn't powered up. The table always calls on their teleportation buddies when possible.

It's a different approach to guest party members? I feel like we're either at or nearing the second half of the campaign soon. So I'm curious how, when, and in what order we'll start to see these plotlines and connections tied up.

[iaus]

okay. i'm going to start with a little background before i get into the wild ass session my party just had.

the premise of this campaign (which i am mostly writing on my own) is based on the game darkest dungeon. all you really need to know about that is that you play as the heir of a cursed estate. you receive a letter from your ancestor asking you to cleanse the estate for the good of your family's legacy. however, as you delve into the estate and its surrounding land you learn more about its origin AND your ancestor who tasked you with this.

this is the hamlet the party is currently at

now. we get to my homebrew aspects. i'm going to copy/paste the premise i gave my players as a guideline for creating their characters:

In 1817, a strange phenomenon began to start in all major cities of Faerûn. As the Church of Light began to surge in violence and boldness, most adventurers found themselves called away from adventuring life and were implored to take to participating in mercenary armies to oppose the Church. Adventuring jobs came to a halt and were replaced with enlistment pleas and propaganda from both the Church and those who opposed them. However, next to these were posts calling for adventurers—promising fame, fortune, a new life, and even protection from the horrible realities of the war. All adventurers were welcome: New, old, veteran, retired… no matter how many times the advertisements were ripped down more appeared. These calls persisted throughout the wars, they could not be stifled no matter how bloody and vicious the Light Crusade became. Due to the nature of the crusade, none can say how many answered the call of these advertisements. But many saw them as an ill omen. Something only the most desperate or greedy would answer. Even now, in the year 1882, you have found one of these missives—new, freshly stamped, and signed so recently the ink still seems wet. Lord de Vaux is still seeking adventurers of all skill sets and experience to help them clear their treasure-filled estate. Coin, housing, and community available to any adventurer who is will claim it. Fame, fortune, and a new life await any brave enough to show this missive to the conductor at the nearest train station. From there, you will find yourself where you need to be.

i'm not going to summarize the ENTIRE campaign as i've run it so far but so far my party (who i will give blurbs about shortly) have accomplished the following:

stopped a necromancer from ascending and merging his soul with his dead lover to help an extremist cult of light worshipers.

rescued children from being sacrificed to help open a gateway to something called the nameless god... while accidentally completing the ritual the cultists were trying to complete. (this part of the journey was taken from an adventure book i bought based off of dark dice, the only part that i have not personally written and EXTREMELY FUN i would love to run it again).

kidnapped/rescued/recruited a child cultist named cal umbar who was trying to complete aforementioned ritual.

entered the haunted estate to rescue their kidnapped benefactor lord kolyah de vaux from her imprisonment within the estate. she has now joined their party. she does not have her memories.

currently, the party is dealing with a band of brigands who have taken over the hamlet in their absence. (this is where my clusterfuck summary will pick up.)

now. just to give you an idea of the party itself we have:

alula a tiefling cleric/warlock who was recently reunited with their estranged child, cal. she has been doing her best to try and bridge the distance between herself and cal to varying degrees of success.

clementine a dhampir wizard who has ended up in an unfortunate love triangle that she really doesn't want to be in. she recently found and adopted a baby gold wyrmling and often ends up speaking with ghosts.

remaria a human druid/warlock who entered in a pact with a beautiful hag named satine during the party's time in the weald. they now have a third stone eye embedded in their forehead and a bag of seeds their patron tells them to plant in varying locations for unknown reasons.

these are all played by the friends i'm running the session for i adore them. they're all in saw traps.

party NPC wise we have:

kolyah de vaux the reborn estate heir who is now a barbarian. she lost all of her magic and memories after being trapped by the estate. according to rumors she cannot die.

cal umbar a 15 yr old tiefling cultist sorcerer who looks exactly like alula. the combination of their upbringing and other factors make them a little unnerving to others. the party learned this session that cal does not appear to sleep but to trance which is weird because they're not an elf!

chiara noi a satyr cleric who came to the estate to make maps. her tragic backstory is that she has a rival map-maker that she can never seem to outmatch. early on in the campaign one of our old party members did a history check..... they remembered chiara's rival's work.... not chiara's. chiara was cal's primary caretaker while the party was trapped in the estate (time dilation weirdness) and joined the current occupying brigands so she would be able to care for cal easier. she just got kidnapped by the brigands after being caught lying.

other notable NPCs:

lord de vaux (kolyah does get two): the heir to the estate and the one who sent out the missives requesting adventurers. lord de vaux is generally my most hated npc. she is rich, throws money at her problems, and seems to have some responsibility for her brother's death and arguably caused the necromancer issue. she and the party had a very tense relationship.

satine: the witch of the weald who has a pact with remaria. no one is quite sure of her intentions. she seems to have taken a liking to remaria and has a tendency to be a little cruel to them. (she made remaria hallucinate that she was being attacked by the forest the last time remaria went to seek satine out for help.) she seems extremely powerful and resentful of kolyah and the entire estate/hamlet.

now. there's some base information. there's stuff i definitely missed. but i'm gonna write a session summary in another post. but. welcome. to my cluterfuck of a saw trap campaign.

[verosvault]

🚨SPOILERS FOR FANTASY HIGH JUNIOR YEAR EPISODE 7🚨

Dimension20 "Fantasy High Junior Year"

Episode 7 "Stress Tested"

Timestamp: 00:48:29

Video Length: 5min.

Kristen talks to Yolanda about her Academics, Cassandra, and the Mysterious Voice she heard (‣Pt. 1 | Pt. 2)

Ally: "I think especially since Copperlilly made it really public that I don't have a god, I might do... I don't know which this would count for, like, goddess work. So, not really like Cleric."

Brennan: "You're not focusing on your classes, but actually doing the proselytizing."

Ally: "Like, can I try to check in with Cassandra? Can I say her name and see if she's responsive anywhere?"

Brennan: "Yeah, I think- Actually as this chapter is starting, 'cause you can't cast spells, it's unclear if you would even be able to complete your Cleric classes. I think you grab some office hours with Yolanda, the Cleric teacher."

Ally: "Oh cool."

Brennan: "Yolanda looks at you and says,"

Yolanda: "Ms. Applebees, it's come to my attention that you may have experienced the second deicide of your tenure."

Kristen: *holds up 3 fingers*

Yolanda: "Third?"

Kristen: "There are a couple iterations on the Yes."

Yolanda: "Oh, right. Yes, question mark. There was an addendum to the- yeah-"

Kristen: "I saw it dead. It slid out of a hole."

The awesome caption team: (Lou chuckling)

Yolanda: "Kristen, um-"

Kristen: "Does that mean anything to you?"

Yolanda: "Well, it's not good. It slid out of a hole? How? Based on what? What was the context?"

Kristen: *tells Yolanda the whole story*

Brennan: "She becomes very interested in the voice that spoke to you. She's like,"

Yolanda: "Did you recognize the voice that was speaking to you? Was it, like, mocking you or something like that?"

Kristen: "Like, 'This is the god you deserve.'"

Yolanda: "The god you deserve. That's very interesting."

Kristen: "Why is that interesting?"

Yolanda: "Well there's something that had a personal, something that had a connection to you that was strong enough or powerful enough that it wanted mock you."

Kristen: "Do you think it was Cassandra? I think maybe she was really angry with the way that I treated her."

Yolanda: "Could well be. Kristen, if I'm going to make allowances for you to continue on in your Cleric classes without the ability to actually, meaningfully cast spells, where do you feel, if anything, a connection to the divine right now? Do you feel any connection to Cassandra still?"

Kristen: "Yeah, I think that was the ideal... I think embracing mystery and unknown is still... I mean the moon stuff is also pretty interesting, but I do think Cassandra made more sense to me."

Ally: Can I- Okay, you mentioned something. So I think Lydia Barkrock mentioned this or something. There was some sort of like god of the... What was her Cleric studying? Yeah, sorry, I made a note."

Emily: "I think they're asking what the Cleric in that party, what god the Cleric in that party."

Brennan: "Oh!"

Ally: "It was something like mystery and darkness. It was something really interesting."

Brennan: "Oh, Osmir. A god of magic. Osmir."

Ally: "Yes, Yes! Magic and secrets."

Brennan: "Magic and secrets."

Ally: "Yeah. Is there a way for me to do like a History check on that? Like in our library or with the teacher or...?"

Brennan: "Yeah. Yolanda looks at you and says,"

Yolanda: "I think the academic path that probably makes the most sense to save you from the academic probation you are in right now would be one of the two following. And honestly, perhaps a combination of both. Because you can't participate in practical classes, I'm gonna need a lot of extra theological work from you, the academic side of being a Cleric; religious treatises, research, all of that. If you wanna look up Osmir, if you wanna see anything about that, that you can, I think that's a very wise and prudent idea. And you should focus on that this semester. On a practical level, if you haven't regained your spells by the end of the fall semester, I'm gonna have to fail you no matter how many essays you turn in. So what I would say is if Cassandra is truly gone, something quite strange has happened. Because as long as you still believe in her, she should not be fully gone. Is there any part of her sort of remaining?"

Kristen: "Is there a way that you can-"

Brennan: "You remember those shards of twilight energy."

Ally: "Oh, yeah, yeah! I show her."

Brennan: "She[Yolanda] casts a Divination spell on them."

Yolanda: "Theological essays. I'm gonna ask for them biweekly, every two weeks."

Kristen: "Okay."

Yolanda: "And I think you need to perform a miracle."

Kristen: "Hm?"

Yolanda: "I think you need to perform a miracle. Clerics at their best represent an aspect of the divine truth and their work is to manifest that truth in the day-to-day lives of people who can benefit from the magic imparted by the gods. What is a miracle that doubt can make? What is a phenomenon that mystery can work upon the world? Cassandra's not here to work through you. So in all likelihood she needs you to work on her behalf."

[fulgurbugs]

OT 1 & 2 headcanons? Doesn't have to be about the main parties, whatever goes.

ok ok here we go, gonna use yours as the OT2 HC ask bestie

gonna throw up here an OT2 spoilers warning cuz of endgame stuff

First some throné ones because i have throné on the brain.

first off i think after her story is over she never wears a necklace like basically ever again. she does love dressing up, feeling cute, but no matter how well a necklace would go with her outfit she won’t add one. it’s just part of her newfound freedom that she can choose never to have anything around her neck like that ever again. all other jewelry tho… she’s got a lot of options to pick from for earrings, bracelets, and rings etc (that she’s most certainly not paid for)

also, i feel like Hikari and Throné, after everything with vide coming to the conclusion that they are actually distantly related to each other, have some kind of exchange where it’s like. “ok wait so im your like great great how many greats aunt or something” uhhh like a couple times removed or whatever. and at first its like weird to think about but they both have such like. idk. throne found out that her family was actually huge and extensive, and all of them were killing each other. her biological father is a monster. she was born to be a monster herself. her relationship with the concept of “family” is extremely strange; the man she considered closest to her actual father was a horribly abusive person but despite all that she was the closest thing he had, and he was her half-brother. Hikari’s family has a curse upon it directly related to being descended from D’arquest, and it’s been nothing but pain for him as well, causing him to lose control of himself, constantly worried he’ll hurt the people he cares about. his brother was a monster in a whole different way, and his dad, while appointing him rightful successor, spent most of his life as a warmonger as well. His mother is dead. his brother and father are dead. he’s lost ritsu, who at one point was like a brother to him. his own relationship with the idea of his family is not… good, in any case. i think they come to find some sort of solace in each other in that, after realizing they’re actually related. they’ve already come to travel with each other and trust each other… i like to think they decide they should just hand wave all the technicalities of how distantly they’re related and how weird the family tree would look and just go with a catch all “we’re cousins” or something.

Castti, while getting her memories back about what happened immediately prior to the events of the game, still struggles with remembering most of her life. it’s not something she really fully recovers from. she never remembers the faces of her parents, or if she had any siblings, her childhood, things like that. sometimes when she gets a flash of something, a glimmer of a skill she had no idea she was well-practiced in, or a remembered fact she can’t recall where she read it, she still finds herself troubled. she basically has to re-invent herself. still, she gets by with a quiet determination to always do right, with the knowledge that she at the very least, knows who she is now, in the present.

ok sillay ones….

Post game partitio starts picking up the guitar. i like to think once he gets good enough he records a song with agnea for the gramophone :P. also, temenos used to play the piano, but he’s out of practice (that one cleric in flamechurch is much better and actually wants to play it much more). he could pick it up again tho with a little practice

oh also ochette is a chronic unpeeled fruit mucher. she’ll just straight up bite into an orange and be like. “i see why some people don’t like the crust but i don’t mind it.” castti and osvald tails gets trolled face

[wheretheharekissesthefox]

Hear my pleas

This one’s different from my usual fics and set in an alternative universe where all the worst-case scenario outcomes had happened (set post BG3):

Astarion has ascended, his vampire spawn lover Tav, a Bhaalspawn, is dead, Gale reached godhood, Shadowheart was killed by her Sharran kin, Karlach's beheaded for the sword of Tyr, Wyll and Halsin are dead along with the tieflings and the grove, Lae'zel and Minthara had been killed in the last battle against the Netherbrain.

Astarion's lonely and tired. He has no one. Thus, in his desperation, he builds an altar for the God of Ambition and prays to him despite not expecting an answer. – His prayers are heard though.

Astarion x Gale

(Trigger warning (18+): graphic description of sex, smut, angst, anilingus, anal sex, nonconsensual blood drinking, blood, biting, cum-eating, choking, dom/sub power dynamic, derogatory language, dubious consent, fellatio, face-fucking, violence, vomiting, spanking, sprinkle of praise kink, these men have trauma, character study, emotional rollercoaster, happy ending (I wouldn't stand it otherwise), unnamed Tav, they/them pronounce for Tav, original character, OC, post-canon)

Notes:

I finally forced myself to play the Dark Urge and to choose all the worst options 'for fun'. It wasn't fun. It hurt. Badly. Now, you all gonna suffer with me for a bit.

Also, just so that it's said: I do NOT support romanticising and/or defending violent behaviours, especially when it comes to sex!

In this fic, Astarion and Gale both know that what's happening is wrong.

The Netherbrain was defeated, but at what cost?

The Emerald Grove was dead and with it dozens of tieflings and druids, as well as Halsin the Archdruid and Wyll, the Blade of Frontiers. They had exchanged Zariel's attack dog, Karlach, for a sword blessed by Tyr – which hadn't been worth it at all. Shadowheart had been killed by her Sharran kin because of a betrayal the cleric couldn't even remember. Lae'zel and Minthara had been killed in the last battle against the Netherbrain, both of them fighting 'till the end. Gale had become the God of Ambition, now dwelling in the Outer Planes. Astarion had finished Cazador's Infernal ritual and had ascended to an all-powerful vampire lord. He had turned his lover Tav, a Bhaalspawn, into his first and only vampire spawn, granting them one single drop of his own blood to make them his spouse.

Everything had been perfect until Withers had gathered the three remaining members of the heroic group for a night of celebration. There, Tav had lost themself completely, giving themself over to Bhaal instead of Astarion, and attacked their lover, Gale, and Withers. The God of Ambition had killed them, incinerated them to a heap of ash, and the vampire lord had wept for the loss of his first true love.

Seven years had passed since then, but Astarion still couldn't find any joy in his immortal life. With his mad love dead, Astarion was alone again and once more at the brink of forgetting how to love. The Szarr palace had never felt like home and it still didn't, but Astarion had nowhere else to go. He hated the place, hated the servants who only bent to all his wishes because they hoped to be turned into spawns and gifted with immortality. He hated to host parties for the nobles, politicians, and other people in power because it forced him to put his mask back on and slip into a character that wasn't fully true to himself. He hated to be pleasant company and to show interest in people and things he didn't care about the slightest to secure his place in the city. He hated his life, his existence, and the worst of it all; he had to face it all by himself. Once again, Astarion was alone to survive the hells of eternity.

It was a breezy spring morning and Astarion decided to go for a stroll through the bustling city. His mindless wandering led him to the tabernacle near Basilisk Gate. He entered it, not knowing why he did so exactly, and came face to face with the statue of the God of Ambition. With a blank mind, Astarion stared at it, taking it all in. The long hair, the knowing eyes, the warm smile, the flowy robes. Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep, the God of Ambition. No deity had ever answered Astarion's prayers in the two hundred years of torture under Cazador. No deity had ever deemed the high elf turned vampire spawn worthy of their attention or their help. Astarion despised them for it. Would Gale answer to his prayers, he suddenly wondered. Would the God of Ambition, his former tadpole-infected companion, listen to his pleas?

"Start praying or get out," one of the clerics told him angrily - and Astarion laughed maniacally.

The huge marble statue dominated the room, chiselled by the most talented artist of Baldur's Gate. On its round base, purple candles, sweet buns, a couple of books, and a silver chalice with high-quality red wine were placed. Only one last thing was missing.

At the reunion party, Astarion had noticed how much Tara had detested Gale all of a sudden, hissing at him whenever he'd gotten too close to her. Gale had seemed utterly crushed about it. Thus, Astarion had planned to summon a tressym for Gale to lure the God of Ambition to him – or so he told himself.

The vampire lord checked his ritual again. The runes and the circle were right, the candles placed around it, the incantation was in his hand and its pronunciation perfected over the last two months. The potion that allowed him to understand tressym speak had already settled in his stomach. Astarion remembered what Gale had told Tav when he'd showed them how to access the Weave (no, Astarion hadn't been eavesdropping. He'd just been nearby accidentally). He hoped his plan worked.

Astarion lit the candles, tried his best to connect to the Weave, and uttered the spell. The runes started glowing and a breeze wafted through the room.

Please work, the vampire pleaded and repeated the ancient words that sounded foreign even to his old elven ears. Suddenly, a ball of fur popped into existence, dropping right into Astarion's arms.

"Oof, apologies. I'm usually much more graceful," spoke the tressym with a feminine, warm, young-sounding voice.

The vampire laughed and hugged the creature tightly. He'd done it. It had worked! The tressym let out a sound of distress and he finally gave her space to breathe again.

"Apologies, I'm just very excited. I wasn't sure if the ritual would work. I'm not too well-versed in higher magic, you see. My name's Astarion, by the way, and who have I the pleasure to meet?"

The tressym looked up at him and the vampire was met with the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. The long, fluffy coat was snow-white and her nose adorably pastel pink. She was stunningly beautiful.

"I'm Kalina. Nice to meet you Astarion. Why did you summon me? Forgive my question, but I'm still young and was never called upon before."

"Oh... well, you see, I –" Astarion paused, suddenly embarrassed and unsure how to phrase his request. The tressym awaited his answer patiently. He sighed deeply. "Look, there are two reasons why I summoned you. Firstly, I'm a vampire lord and I have no desire to create any spawns. I'm alone in this palace and have no one to share it with and I crave intelligent conversations. Secondly, I have - had a friend who was a talented wizard. He lived with a tressym that he adored, but then, he ascended to godhood and his tressym started to hate him for it. Gale seemed sad about it and I.... well, we both are lonely, I suppose. I'll try to call for him, pray to him to meet me once again, and I thought he might be persuade if... you know, if I had someone like you by my side to sweeten the deal a bit."

Astarion hated how he stumbled over his words like a bumbling amateur, but Kalina didn't seem to mind.

"I understand," she snickered amused. "You need me to wrap him around your little finger. To lure your lover back."

"He's not my –"

"Mhm." The tressym smirked as much as a cat can smirked and hopped onto the stone floor. "How about you offer me a nice meal, hm? I'm your guest after all."

At that, Astarion snorted an amused laugh, but guided Kalina towards the staff's kitchen in which he'd already stored a bunch of tressym-friendly food. Just in case.

Kalina decided to stay for a while and help him with his plan to get Gale down to the mortal realms. She turned out to be excellent company and Astarion started to understand why Gale had loved his 'dear old' Tara so much.

Finally, it was time. Astarion kneeled in front of Gale's statue, folded his hands, and closed his eyes reverently.

"Uhm, hello Gale, God of Ambition. It's me, your old friend Astarion. You're probably wondering why I'm praying to you. Funny story actually... If you could spare a moment, I'd like to talk to you after all these years. I'm... well... I'd like to see you again. – Please."

Astarion huffed, irritated about laying his heart bare. He hated it. He opened his eyes and stood up. His prayers were neither heard nor answered, and if they were heard, they were masterfully ignored. Bloody typical. Astarion couldn't prevent an angry snarl forming on his face. With another huff he turned around, stomping towards the door.

"Hello Astarion."

The addressed froze dead in his step, then, he whirled around with a gasp, eyes wide in disbelief. Behind him stood the God of Ambition. His skin shimmering silvery blue, wrapped in a dark purple toga. His eyes glowing with white light. He looked exactly as Astarion remembered him, not having aged a single day.

"Gale," the latter croaked out. He wanted to rush across the room and hug the other man, but his pride stopped him from doing so. Astarion didn't want to seem desperate, weak, and pathetic. Thankfully, Gale acted instead, embracing the vampire warmly. The latter was barely able to keep from sobbing.

"You came," he whispered. "You answered my prayer."

"Of course." The God of Ambition smiled. "It's an honour to be remembered by an old friend who went through the same horrors as I did."

"There's no one else left," Astarion spoke, close to tears. "We're the last ones standing."

Gale sighed, looking sad.

"I'm aware," he nodded. Then he turned around to look at the altar Astarion had made for him. "Impressive. And put up in your home... that's – I'm speechless, really."

Astarion snorted, replying: "I don't think it's possible for you to ever be speechless."

Gale chuckled at that and tasted some of the wine that served as an offering.

"Mmh, what a lovely vintage. Velvety, with a hint of blackberries. Wonderful choice."

The vampire preened. To him, all drinks tasted like vinegar and all foods like ash, thus, he was happy he'd picked the right wine.

"I got something else for you. Well, not something you can own, but... Kalina?"

"Yes?" purred the tressym, slinking through the door.

"Oh!"

Gale's eyes went wide in delight and surprise, a huge smile spreading over his face. Kalina looked at him.

"Ah, the God of Ambition has heard your pleas, I see," she spoke, the amusement audible in her voice. She moved closer to him. "Gale, wasn't it?"

"A tressym," the addressed breathed, ignoring the creature's question. "Oh, and what a beautiful specimen."

He bent down to sweep Kalina off the floor, cradling her close to his chest. She purred happily and rubbed her head against his shoulder.

"Your friend's delightful," said the tressym. "He knows exactly how to scratch my chin just right. You could learn something from him."

Astarion laughed.

"You cheeky thing!"

"Huh?" Gale looked at him confused and seemed flustered. Only now, the vampire realised that the other man thought he'd addressed him. Frowning, he asked: "I used a potion to understand Kalina. I thought you're well-versed in tressym speak."

"Uhm, no," muttered Gale, lowering his gaze. "I enchanted Tara's collar to give her the ability to be understood by everyone. I don't speak tressym."

"Oh..." Astarion was dumbstruck. He hadn't known and had just assumed. "Well, she says she likes you and you have talented hands, darling."

He winked suggestively at the last sentence and swore he could see Gale blush despite his silvery skin. The latter cleared his throat and asked: "Why did you call for me, Astarion?"

"Am I not allowed to wish to speak to an old friend?"

"Of course you are. It's just... unusual. I didn't expect you to call for me. We got along fine, but you never seemed that fond of me. If I remember correctly, you called me annoying at every occasion."

"Tsk, tsk, Astarion," tut-tutted Kalina and the addressed started fidgeting.

"I just -" Words were lost on him. It was so difficult to say the truth. Gale looked at him. Those intelligent eyes boring themselves into Astarion's ruby-red ones and straight down into his soul.

"You're lonely," the God of Ambition stated matter-of-factly.

"So are you," Astarion snapped back, angry that Gale saw right through his façade. "Don't tell me there are parties up there in the Astral Planes? Or did you reunite with your beloved Mystra? Fucking her again, now, that you're finally deemed her equal?"

Gale narrowed his eyes, the air around him suddenly crackled with purple magic. Kalina hissed in surprise and a flare of fear, jumping out of his arms and fleeing the room.

"You're just trying to rile me up because you're mad I struck a nerve," the God of Ambition spoke calmly. Of course, he was right and gods, did Astarion despise it. The latter bristle, putting up his defences.

"Why?" growled the vampire.

"Why what?"

"Why did you answer my prayers?"

"Because it's my duty."

"Ha! Fuck off!" Astarion cackled uglily. "There's not a single god that answers their devotees' prayers! Don't be ridiculous, Gale."

The addressed frowned, his mouth a thin line, visibly miffed.

"Would you prefer it if I say that I came because you deserve to be heard?" he asked then.

Astarion glared at him, his ruby-red eyes full of fiery rage. Baring his fangs, he roared: "Don't you dare! Don't you dare pitying me!"

"I'm not."

"Of course, you are! You always thought you're above me, above everyone else, because you were Mystra's Chosen! You were always haughty, but now that you've reached godhood, you're so much worse! You scolded me for being power-hungry and for ascending, but you did the exact same thing, Gale Dekarios!"

The addressed inhaled sharply, the air around him crackled again. The electricity of the magic made Astarion's hair stand on end.

"Vampire ascension changes a person," Gale replied. "It kills all your feelings. Your soul. You're not yourself anymore, Astarion."

"You know nothing about me!" roared the vampire lord. "I'm no longer a pathetic, scared spawn. I'm finally strong enough to force anyone to their knees and ensure my safety. I no longer have to run and hide."

"But at what cost? Your siblings and seven thousand innocent victims are dead. And so is Tav."

"Don't speak their name! You have no right! They were mine and you kill them!"

"They were a Bhaalspawn, Astarion. They attacked us at the reunion party. I had to save us."

Astarion screamed. His bat wings split the skin and shirt on his back and unfurled to their full glory. Usually, he had himself under control, but apparently not today.

"They were mine! They were my perfect vampire spawn spouse. Mine, forever!" Astarion heaved a breath he technically didn't need to breathe. He felt dizzy and nauseous all of a sudden. With another scream, he collapsed onto the floor. "They were my mad love."

"Astarion..." Gale moved closer, kneeled down beside him and pulled him into an embrace. The vampire sobbed, not remembering when he'd started to cry.

"I'm sorry," whispered the God of Ambition and kissed Astarion's temple.

The latter went very still under him. They had never really touched each other before today and the quick, mindless kiss was definitely unexpected. Something bitter and ugly coiled in Astarion's stomach at the gentle affection he received. He wanted to hurt Gale, to punish him for what he'd done to him and to his beloved spawn.

"I should kill you," Astarion growled viciously. "I should make you pay for what you’ve done."

"Then do it."

The words made the vampire's thoughts come to a screeching halt and he stared up at Gale.

"What?" he whispered.

"Punish me, Astarion."

"No, that was just –"

"Do it. Make me pay for killing Tav. For berating you for your choices. For not being able to save the grove from Tav's bloodlust. For not being able to save Shadowheart, Lae'zel, and Minthara. If you believe I deserve it, then, punish me for failing you and everyone else."

Gale's words stoke the fire of hatred in Astarion again. He felt violent and the wish to hurt the other man grew with every second. The vampire gave in to his urges and grabbed a handful of Gale's hair, yanking his head back painfully, gleeful to see the other man wince.

"You'll regret your words soon enough," sneered Astarion. "You'll wish you haven't left your cosy little spot in the Divine Planes."

He saw Gale swallow thickly, eyes big and nervous, and felt a sick kind of satisfaction. Astarion tugged on the other man's hair again, ordering: "Stay where you are. Don't you dare move."

The vampire stood up and retracted his wings, sneering down at Gale.

"You're exactly where you belong; on your knees. Soon, you'll beg for mercy. – Now, take your clothes off."

The addressed squirmed, but snapped his fingers and his clothes disappeared. Grinning, Astarion traced the branding of the Netherese Orb on Gale's chest with his fingers. The dangerous fracture of ancient Weave was still stuck there, emitting a subtle purple light under the vampire's pale fingers. Now though, with Karsus' Crown and Gale's godhood status, the Orb was permanently stabilised and had become a part of Gale, just like the rest of the ancient magic.

Astarion dug his fingers deep into the silvery blue skin, feeling its warmth and the chest hair. Gale grimaced and hissed at the pain. The vampire revelled in it.

"Look at you," he mocked. "At my feet. What would the other gods say if they knew, eh?"

"I don't care," answered Gale, and strangely enough Astarion believed him.

Suddenly, the vampire smacked him across the cheek with an open palm. The God of Ambition gasped, looking up at him. Shock and surprise written all over his face. Astarion laughed and hit his other side. The sound of skin hitting skin echoed loudly through the room.

"That's not enough," Astarion voiced his sick thoughts. "You need real punishment."

With that, he took a step back to open his belt and free it from his trousers. Gale's eyes widen in realisation. Astarion sneered. He was ill in the head and he knew it. Still, he ordered: "Get up, hold onto the base of your statue, and bend over."

The addressed trembled slightly when he obeyed and hid his face behind his hair as he lowered his head between his shoulders. Astarion stalked closer, sliding his fingers along the leather belt.

"Good," he praised and Gale shuddered slightly.

Interesting... The vampire cracked the belt over Gale's right butt cheek with force, revelling in the sharp cry of pain he coaxed out of the other man.

"Yes. Sing for me, pet."

Another hit, another cry. Astarion grinned, lost in a mixture of rage, arousal, and sick fantasies. Drunk on power. He landed another two blows on each butt cheek before he stopped. Gale was panting elaborately now, arms and legs shaking slightly. Astarion leant forwards and licked up a rivulet of black blood that welled from where Gale's skin had broken. The vampire made a face at the taste. It didn't reek of bile anymore like it had before, but there was something sharp and acrid about Gale's blood.

"You still taste disgusting."

At that, the God of Ambition chuckled lightly.

"Apologies. My body contains even more Netherese magic than before, thus, I'm sure it –"

Gale's reply ended in a yell when Astarion racked his sharp fingernails down his back, leaving bloody trails behind.

"You're still talking too much," the vampire said coldly. "I guess it needs more drastic measures to shut you up."

Astarion pushed Gale back down on his knees again and forced his jaw open with one hand, pressing his thumb into his mouth to pry it open. With the other hand, he freed his dick from his trousers skilfully. Gale's eyes widened in fear, but Astarion couldn't hear his pulse quickening. Actually, he couldn't hear a heartbeat at all.

Right. Gale's a god now. Immortal like me, the vampire realised, slightly bitter about it.

"What? Never sucked a cock before?" he taunted, releasing his grip on Gale's jaw to let him speak.

"Mystra liked to change her form sometimes. Thus, I know how to –"

"Don't speak that bitch's name ever again!" spat Astarion, riled up. "That bitch doesn't deserve to be worshipped nor anything else! Least your attention. She's the reason for your folly."

Surprised, the God of Ambition looked up at him. Oh, how Astarion wished the other's eyes were still as brown and expressive as they’d been before his ascension to godhood.

"I – Apologies. I didn't know it would upset you so much, but you've asked if I had any exp-"

"Shut up and suck me off, pet," Astarion interrupted him harshly, grabbed Gale's jaw again, and shoved his member into the other man's mouth and down his throat. The latter made a choking noise.

"Don't be dramatic. You don't need to breathe anymore," Astarion taunted and the addressed glared up at him. An ugly grin split the vampire's face. "How does it feel, God of Ambition? On your knees and used like a toy by a mere vampire lord. Where are your godly powers now?"

At that, Gale slightly bit down on Astarion's cock as a warning. The latter gripped the god's hair tighter, hissing: "Don't you dare."

To Astarion's surprise, Gale obeyed and his jaw went slack again, letting himself be face-fucked by the vampire who moaned blissfully. Astarion's eyes rolled back in his head as he pushed as deep as he could and spilled down Gale's throat.

"That's it, darling," he groaned. "Take it."

And the God of Ambition moaned as he swallowed the vampire lord's cold seeds. Astarion bit his lip to hold back a whimper. It felt so good. So loving.

He'd tried to find joy in sex again ever since Tav had been killed, but nothing and no one excited him anymore. Everything felt fake and wrong. Either because Astarion forced himself to enjoy it, or because whoever joined him in bed only did so because they were terrified of him or wanted something from him.

It didn't feel fake or wrong now. The only thing that felt wrong was forcing Gale to go along with what he wanted, but Astarion didn't particularly care about that right now. He still panted as he stared at the ceiling of the Szarr palace. The place that once had been his prison, had become his unwelcoming, cold home. Astarion hated it. He blinked slowly before looking down at Gale. A genuine soft smile appeared on the vampire's beautiful face.

"So good for me," he praised and couldn't keep himself from gently running his fingers through Gale's hair. "You can release me now."

That he did. Gasping for air and coughing, Gale looked positively wrecked and Astarion felt smug and almost satisfied, but when the God of Ambition initiated to stand up, the vampire spoke sharply: "I'm not done with you, pet."

The addressed froze.

"Astarion, I think that's quite enough. You had your revenge."

"I decide when it's enough! As I said, I'm not done with you, God of Ambition!"

In a sudden outburst of anger, Astarion backhanded him across the face, sending Gale onto the floor again. Sneering, Astarion placed a foot on the other man's chest and pushed him backwards onto the cold marble floor.

"You took everything from me," growled the vampire lord.

At that, Gale bristled.

"That's not true! You did this to yourself, Astarion! I warned you. I warned you that the ritual would change you and it had. It took away all of your humanity."

"Humanity?!" roared Astarion and cackled. "I'm an elf! I never had any humanity in me in the first place!"

"You know what I mean! Look how cold you're acting now. No more empathy. No more feelings. No more heart. No more love."

Snarling, Astarion bent over Gale, bringing their faces so close together that they felt each other's breaths on their skins when they spoke.

"My heart stopped beating over two hundred years ago when I was turned into a spawn. My heart's long dead – and so is yours now."

Astarion grabbed the other man's thighs and pushed them upwards, purring: "You better use that grease spell on your rear or I'll take you dry."

Gale's shocked, almost terrified, expression wasn't as satisfying as the vampire lord had hoped for.

"Astarion... please..."

"Any time now, Gale!" the addressed snarled, baring his fangs.

The God of Ambition looked hurt now, and even though he was trembling in fear, he muttered the spell.

"What an obedient pet," praised Astarion and pushed all the way into him until he bottomed out.

Gale screamed hoarsely, tears running down his face as he dug his nails into the vampire's shoulders. The latter set a violent pace, revelling in the other man's cries, and started to choke him just for fun. Gale wheezed, gasping for air. He obviously didn't need to breathe anymore, but his brain apparently hadn't gotten the memo yet.

"Astarion... please..." the God of Ambition begged, gulping in ragged breaths and the addressed squeezed his neck just a little tighter for a second to taunt him before releasing him. Gale's eyes rolled for a second as he gulped in lungful’s of air in a panic.

"We're not so different, you and I," sneered Astarion. "We both ascended, became something far more powerful than others could ever dream of. We're both immortals and can inflict terror in anyone. You're as power-hungry and greedy as me, Gale."

"If I... if I could turn back time," the addressed sobbed. "I'd stop you from ascending and I'd return the crown to Mystra. We both lost our humanity, our hearts, and ourselves. We sought power to prove ourselves, but we lost everything dear to us in the process. Now, there's only loneliness for us."

"Shut up!" yelled Astarion and buried his fangs in Gale's neck. His blood was vile and insulting, but also held power, so much power. Pure magic. The vampire wondered briefly if he'd become even more powerful if he'd drain the other man dry, or if the Netherese magic would kill him instead. He didn't care either way.

Gale choked on a sob, but continued talking.

"I'm sorry I failed to save us. I'm sorry I couldn't save you from yourself. I regret it. Forgive me... please."

His body went limp under Astarion, his hands losing their grip on the vampire's shoulders. Almost panicked, the latter, stopped drinking from him to stare at the other man instead. Astarion grabbed Gale's face with both hands, slightly shaking him.

"Don't die! You're a God, you can't die! Don't you dare leave me alone!"

Groaning, the God of Ambition opened his eyes.

" 'm not dying. Just... tired... can't...."

Suddenly, Astarion felt vile and it finally hit him what he'd done. He let go of Gale as if the touch had burned him and slipped his softening dick out of him. The vampire scooted back on his bare arse, horrified of his actions, before bending sideways and retching onto the floor. Gale's black blood was a stark contrast to the white-grey marble floor.

"Ugh..." Astarion groaned miserably and dry-heaved again. "I'm - I'm a monster. Just - just like - Cazador."

His eyes flitted back to Gale who winced as he sat up. All the fight had left the vampire and he trembled now.

"Why?" His eyes spilled over, an ugly sob escaping his throat. "Why did you let me hurt you like this? You're a god, you could have easily overpowered me."

"Because -" Gale wheezed. "Because it seemed like you needed it. You're lonely, sad, and hurt. Let me help you. Let me ease your suffering."

"Gods, you're the worst," Astarion cried and, before he could get cold feet, he crawled back to kiss the God of Ambition. He didn't expect the thrum of magic that zapped through him like lightning, even though he should have. Gale was glowing with old Netherese magic after all. It wasn't unpleasant though, thus, Astarion didn't pull away. Gale moaned – loudly, desperately, wantonly, needy – and deepened their kiss as he wrapped his arms around the vampire's neck. The Orb in his chest started to pulse with purple light, illuminating the cold marbled room. Astonished, Astarion gently stroke the mark with his fingers, hissing at the crackling magic there.

“It - it glows?”

“When - when I’m excited, yes,” Gale panted, slightly bashfully. Then, he added: "I'm - I am too."

"You're what, darling?"

"I'm lonely, sad, and hurt too. I no longer want to be alone. I miss having company I can trust."

"Yes," sobbed Astarion, desperately clinging to Gale's shoulders. "I miss it too. Please, Gale, please don't leave me. Don't go back to the Astral Planes."

"I'm not sure if I'm allowed to stay in the mortal realm, but I want to."

"You're a god. Can't gods do whatever they please?"

Gale sighed, answering: "Not always. It's complicated. But I stay as long as I can and if I must go, I'll come back as soon and for as long as I'm allowed. – If that's what you want."

Astarion nodded hastily.

"Yes, yes, I want that. Please, Gale."

"Yes," answered the God of Ambition simply and the vampire lord kept weeping.

3 months later

Astarion awoke from his reverie to the chirping of sparrows and screeching of seagulls. He stretched lazily under the white sheets, sleepily gazing at the sun-dappled room in Gale's tower in Waterdeep. Next to him, his lover stirred and Astarion turned to look at him. Gale looked ethereal as always. Like Astarion, he didn't need to sleep anymore, but he loved the sentiment of it.

"Good morning, darling."

Smiling softly, the ascended vampire lord stroke the God of Ambition's cheek, marvelling at his soft, long mane and silvery-blue, warm skin yet again.

"Good morning, dear," said Gale, voice husky from sleep.

Astarion leaned over to kiss him gently and Gale hummed happily. The vampire rolled on top of him easily, deepening their kiss while stroking his lover's hair out of his face. For a while they simply kissed, entangling their tongues, while rubbing against each other. When it wasn't enough anymore, Astarion asked: "Darling... may I?"

And Gale nodded, easily parting his legs around the vampire after the latter had pushed away the blankets.

"So gorgeous," praised Astarion before engulfing his lover's erection with his mouth.

Gale sighed blissfully, running his fingers through the vampire's white curls while closing his eyes. The latter stretched out his hand and, with a flick of Gale's wrist, a bottle of oil flew over to him. Astarion caught it easily, pouring some of the oil directly onto his lover's perineum and coating his fingers with it. Then, he started to carefully prepare Gale. Fingers pumping in and out of his hole while sucking him off. The God of Ambition panted and moaned beautifully as the Orb in his chest started pulsating with purple light. It was music to Astarion's ears.

"I'm ready," Gale panted and the vampire looked up at him, mirth sparkling in his ruby-red eyes.

"I don't deem you ready yet, darling," he retorted, basically bent his lover in half, and dove his tongue into him.

Gale almost yelled, clawing the sheets as he let out a string of moans.

"Astarion... Astarion..."

He repeated the name like a prayer and the vampire revelled in it. Gale's fingers tightened in the sheets, his hips spasming.

"Astarion!" he warned, sobbing.

The Orb in his chest started to glow brighter and brighter. The vampire knew his lover was close, thus, he kept going. Gale climaxed with a hoarse shout, spilling his seeds over his own belly and torso, and the light of the Orb exploded, making the god's entire body glow purple, almost as bright as the sun. When the light diminished, Astarion finally let go of Gale, placing one last kiss on his hole. Then, he bent forward and licked up his lover's still warm spent. When he was done, he wiggled his tongue into Gale's mouth to let him taste himself. The latter moaned and kissed back eagerly. Finally, the vampire entered his lover, slowly and carefully.

"You're so beautiful," he praised, gazing at the man beneath him through half-lidded eyes.

The God of Ambition blushed, intertwining their fingers.

"So are you," he whispered.

They kissed again, deeply but tenderly, as they made love (yes, love. They weren't fucking). Gale moaned blissfully and Astarion let out a harsh breath every time he bottomed out and his eyes threatened to roll back in his head. The vampire licked his lover's sweaty neck before biting down gently and drinking his vile but oh-so addictive blood.

"I love you," mewled Gale, throwing his head back on the pillow, and, with a loud moan, Astarion reached his high, spilling into his lover. Even through his closed eyelids, he could see how Gale emanated purple light once more. The vampire collapsed onto the God of Ambition, removed his fangs and licked the wounds until they stopped bleeding. With a deep sigh, he placed his head on Gale's shoulder.

"I love you too," he whispered.

He's content when the other man wrapped an arm around him and held him close. They dwelled like this for a while, recharging.

"I want to stay like this forever," revealed Astarion, slightly bashful.

Gale smiled, tenderly stroking the scars on his lover's back.

"Well, technically, we can," he answered teasingly and the vampire snickered.

"Yoo-hoo, Astarion, Gale!" lilted Kalina as she scuttled through the doorway and jumped up onto the bed. "Good morning, lovebirds. May I remind you that I am neither a god nor a vampire and need real substance to survive. It's already elven o'clock!"

The men chuckled amused and Astarion replied: "Of course, Kalina. We're very sorry that we forgot the time. I'll feed you right away."

With a happy purr, the tressym hopped off the bed and rushed towards the door.

"Ah, one more thing." She turned around to look at the pair with her pretty blue eyes. "I've spoken to Mrs. Dekarios and Tara and they've both agreed to visit you tomorrow."

"Really?"

Gale smiled broadly and happily. These were the moments Astarion missed his lover's human form. He'd always had such beautiful, expressive, warm, brown eyes. Now, they were simply two pools of bright, white light.

Kalina nodded.

"They're compliant on the condition that you'll meet up regularly and behave decently. No ascended, godlike behaviour and such."

"That can be arranged," Gale replied, smiling fondly.

Astarion simply nodded.

"Wonderful," the tressym purred. "And now that that's settled, I'd like my very plentiful brunch, if you'd be so kind."

Barking an amused laugh, Astarion swung out of bed, put on one of Gale's robes, and followed Kalina to the kitchen. The God of Ambition got up too, walking to the window in his birthday suit, and watched how the wheels of time and life spun.

'Fate spins along as it should' Withers had said, and he'd been right.

With a deep sigh, Gale gazed at the sea.

If I could turn back time, I would, and I'd change so many things, he thought woefully. But it's impossible and we must live with our decisions.

He smiled when Astarion wrapped his arms around his middle from behind, kissed his shoulder, and muttered: "Come back to bed, darling. I want to ride you until the sun goes down."

Even though our fates seemed dark, we've found the few specks of light in the darkness, the God of Ambition thought as he was led back to bed by his ascended vampiric lover.

Over the past three months, they'd realised that they both were still capable to feel and to love. Their true selves still existed, underneath all the power and ascension. The men clung to them more consciously now, not willing to let go of their humanity, hearts, and souls. It was a wonderful revelation.

Astarion and Gale would live forever, but they'd also love each other forever.

[canarydraws]

Darkness Falls

Recently Lucéena got a bit of a rejuvenation in the form of dying. Yea I know how that sounds, let me explain. Looong story under the cut

After some adventures, the party had been given a week’s worth of free time to do a bit of shopping and get some much needed rest. So we all split up. We all had errands we wanted to run, including Lucéena. At first she’d gone shopping you know, nothing exciting. But then she decided to go back to the Shadowfell portal we’d discovered earlier in the campaign, and after a bit more deliberation, she decided to jump through alone. Not the smartest move on her end lmao.

Quick little recap, the last time the party had been in the Shadowfell was when we’d been hired to steal two magical simulacrum (that weirdly looked like our warlock of the party) from the Queen of Shadows, accidentally drove her insane in the process, and left with guards on our tails. We’d also learned the realm was suffering from a curse that was turning it’s inhabitants into stone and Lucéena had also met her biological dad in the castle. While her feelings on him are… mixed at best she was still concerned enough about his well being that she wanted to check in on him. Time doesn’t run at the same rate between realms. Every hour in the Shadowfell is roughly 4 in the material plane and the party kind of had their hands full with other things. We haven’t had the chance to return since we made that huge mess and time in the Shadowfell was juuuust starting to reach a point where Lucéena was concerned with what was happening. She though this bit of down time would be the perfect opportunity to go in, send a messenger to him and leave without going to the most dangerous parts of the Shadowfell or endangering/inconveniencing her friends.

Unfortunately… she hadn’t predicted the Shadowfell queen to be waiting on the other end with warriors by her side. After a brief exchange of words combat started and it became painfully obvious Lucéena was outnumbered and outclassed. She was chased up the tower this side of the portal was housed within and after fucking up her attempt to hide, the queen found her and used command to make her fall out of the highest window, straight to her death.

Cutting back to the material plane, the others had realized Lucéena was missing and after sending spells not going through and asking for guidance from a powerful wizard friend, they eventual did figure out where she’d gone.

Once through the portal they saw signs of a struggle but no one was around. They eventually climbed all the way up the tower and then looked out the same window Lucéena had fallen out of and saw her laying there, dead. They quickly ran to her, but by now it was long past due for a typical revivification to work. And then just as they were beginning to discuss next steps, the queen showed up and she started puppetting her body into fighting them D:

While this was happening the dm and I had an aside and to help the part out we’d agreed that I’d come back as my last campaign’s character: my stupid beloved cleric/ranger, Zachriel. I’m not sure how helpful it was, but it was fun interacting with everyone as the dumb guy they got to play with before! After the queen was defeated I even had the weird opportunity to try and resurrect my own character with raise dead! Only it didn’t work.

There was a presence blocking the magic. One that was celestial in nature. That was all Zachriel was able to tell about it and Eclipse, our main cleric, was all out of spells. At this point, our warlock Fenix pulled himself aside, and reached out to his patron. He ask them to heal her, to “put her back” and he would pay any price. His patron heard him. Upon that request, Fenix cast true resurrection on Lucéena and disappeared in a flash of white-hot light…

…and Lucéena opens her eyes. Both of them. As part of true resurrection, the target of the spell receives outstanding rejuvenation. Any missing limbs/organs are restored and any disease present at the time of their death is cured. So upon the spell being cast Lucéena’s scarring was healed and her damaged eye was replaced with an orange-pupiled one, just like Fenix’s.

Fenix’s spell not only brought back Lucéena. All of the people that had been turned to stone were bright back as well! We could hear people down the halls, confused, wanting to know what was going on. And for the first ever time in the Shadowfell we could hear a full city of people outside.

[i-was-bored-so-this-happened]

Greensleeves Chapter Seven: The Horror And The Wild

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Warnings: Brief description of dead animal at the very end Wordcount: 4.1k

The party adjust to their newest member and set out on their journey to the goblin camp. They're interrupted by an old business partner of Xaph's

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Gale and Xaph return to their companions without further discussion. He shares what they have learnt from the goblin prisoner, about this Absolute. A god none of them have heard of. Xaph peers at the map and plots possible routes with Wyll and Shadowheart. Two black circles are on the parchment now: the goblin camp, and where Zorru had encountered the githyanki. One is much further west than the other. The goblin camp must be their priority. The githyanki can wait a few days. The tieflings can’t.

“Your kind prove compliant, Xaph. A useful trait.” Lae’zel tells Xaph as the group collect themselves and begin to move. The tone of her voice almost makes it sound like she’s trying to compliment rather than insult.

“I warned you, didn’t I?” Shadowheart butts in, “You ought to reconsider keeping her around, before she causes real trouble.”

“Let’s not start a fight,” Wyll reasons, “Not here.” He’s right. She shouldn’t start a fight within the group, not after accepting Lae’zel and bickering with Shadowheart. Besides, to bring violence inside the grove would certainly have them tossed out by the druids, and they might take that as an opportunity to evict the refugees too.

“We’re not compliant. We’re survivors. These people are running for their lives.” Xaph informs Lae’zell, refusing to break her stride and let the githyanki goad her into an argument. That’s far too easily done with Shadowheart already.

“Cockroaches are survivors. Yet I do not congratulate them.” Lae’zel points out. Xaph’s tail twitches, but she still doesn’t stop. Astarion and Gale note the movement, and the latter mumbles,

“Steady. Remember she’s acting out of fear, like the rest of us.” He’s right too. She can’t pick a fight with every being they come across who has something against tieflings, but it’s always somehow worse being the butt of the joke in front of a group of people who aren’t.

“The teeth-ling was clear. If there are githyanki west of here, that must be our objective. Purification cannot wait.”

“We are tieflings. With an f.”

“I am unfamiliar with the - well, I shall not say culture. Custom, perhaps.” Lae’zel says, eyes rolling behind Xaph’s back. The tail twitches again, more violently this time, but Xaph’s jaw is set.

“Nor am I familiar with yours.” Is all she says.

It is decided through vote that Xaph is least likely to get them lost. As a ranger, she has a better grip on maps and traversing rough ground than the elf who looks like he hasn’t seen the sun in a century and the self-proclaimed wizard of Waterdeep, and Shadowheart and Lae’zel both carry the prickly presence of lone wolves who are distinctly uncomfortable in a pack. Wyll is well-suited to keeping everyone on task, which Xaph thinks will work well to curb her habit of going off the beaten trail in pursuit of interesting tracks. When Shadowheart points out the impracticality of her armour for hiking, Lae’zel makes that noise between her teeth again, tchk. In loose formation, Wyll puts himself between the cleric and the githyanki. A fight between them seems inevitable, but hopefully the Blade of Frontiers can keep it verbal for the time being. It scratches a pleasant itch in Xaph’s brain, that from above they must look like an arrow. She, Astarion and Gale form the triangle of the point and Lae’zel, Wyll and Shadowheart the shaft.

She revels in being outside again. The sun is warm, but pleasantly so, and the wind moves enough to keep cool air circulating around them and prevent overexertion. The air carries only the occasional waft from the nautiloid, and is otherwise deliciously clear. No longer drowning in the stink of burning flesh, blood, and acrid smoke, she can dissect every delicate note of the grasses around her and the flowers they hold. When they pause so Wyll can shake a stone out of his boot, Xaph takes the opportunity to retie her hair so it’s all gathered up and she can feel the breeze on the back of her neck. Even the unevenness of the ground beneath her feet is a delight. It’s been a while since she’s travelled with others, and it takes her a while to correct her speed so Gale doesn’t lag behind, so Lae’zel doesn’t snap about them going too slow, so Wyll stops fretting about them burning through energy. Eventually, they settle into a rhythm and keep to it until the sun reaches its peak and several members of the party start flagging. Even those used to roughing it are struggling, weakened by the tadpole. They should endeavour to sweat no more than necessary to retain fluids.

Now several miles away from the grove, they’ve reached a bridge. Deciding to make a brief stop before crossing it, they find a good clump of trees that cast enough of a shadow to hold them all. Xaph slides down the trunk of a tree, lets her head fall back onto the bark, and reaches out blindly for her bow to unstring it and give it a break. Food, provided by Okta, is doled out and eaten in near silence. Lae’zel stays standing. Pacing, actually, questioning if there’s any real need to stop. No one answers her, too tired. Once they’ve eaten, Wyll and Shadowheart split from the group to investigate voices they can hear not far away. Gale tells the remainder of the group his Yawning Portal story with suitable dramatics, and Xaph resists the urge to correct his grip when he mimes holding a crossbow. Lae’zel shows no such restraint, but to look at Gale her words are no more than irritating flies, and his blasé attitude makes Astarion chuckle. It’s a neat little pocket where, for a moment, Xaph thinks this group might work. At least for the next few days. As long as none of them turns. Or dies. Or kills another member of the party. Alright, it’s a little complicated.

Wyll and Shadowheart bring disturbing news back to the shelter of the trees. A man has died nearby, leaving his siblings under the impression that the Wyll and Shadowheart were True Souls, beings chosen by this new god the Absolute as vessels of her word. Their brother had died after foolishly following an owlbear mother back to her nest, and after convincing the siblings not to avenge him they had run off into the woods. A tadpole had squeezed out of the dead man’s eye not long after. With more than mild concern at the third mention of this new god now coupled with a mind flayer worm, they end their break early and continue to move.

Their redoubled efforts do not last long. They don’t even get to cross the bridge. Halfway across, Xaph skids to a stop as bright red and gold sparks swirl in a vortex in front of her. She groans audibly as the sparks convalesce into the form of a man. He looks human, even if his skin carries a reddish undertone. Middle-aged. Not particularly remarkable.

“Don’t.” Xaph warns at the sound of multiple weapons being readied. She herself hikes her bow up her shoulder and waits.

“Xa-pha-ni-a,” he stretches each syllable far longer than necessary, until they’re transparent, “Well met, muzz.” Xaph’s companions have heard her use this word on the tiefling children when she wants their attention, when she demands their respect. He knows her name, this swirl of sparks that stinks of sulphur. Astarion can taste cherries in the air, unable to overwhelm the smell of the hells. Shadowheart can feel her hair prickling at the back of her neck at the untoward curl of his lip. Gale can judge the track of his eyes from Xaph’s boots to her hair before he appraises her friends. Wyll and Lae’zel know devils when they see them. Xaph closes her eyes as she breathes in through her nose and opens them as she heaves a world-weary sigh,

“Raphael,” worse, she knows him, this must-be-infernal, and she does not show him the respect he has ordered, “What. The everloving fuck are you doing here?”

“Mind your manners, little mephit. Speaking of, what manner of place is this that I find you in? The path to redemption?” his voice rumbles ever so slightly deeper than it should, “Or the road to damnation?” he leans forwards, into Xaph, and she leans back to maintain distance, “Hard to say, for your journey is just beginning. What would suit the occasion? The words to a lullaby, perhaps?” there’s whispering behind Xaph but she doesn’t listen closely enough to make out what her companions are saying. Raphael always did like delivering his riddles in song form, “The mouse smiled brightly: it outfoxed the cat! Then,” he drags a hand through the air, “Down came the claws, and that, love, was that. They know how to write them in Cormyr, don’t they?”

Lots of lullabies and faiytales come from the Cormyr area. Wine, too. He’s been listening. Watching. The air around Xaph and Raphael shifts as something red-hot teases the bones of her spine. Gale shuffles his feet, uneasy at the mention of Cormyr, under the same suspicions as Xaph. This devil had heard their late-night conversation. Her tears.

“What’s brought you down here with all us worms, Raphael? Hardly your scene.”

“Quite right,” his eyes rove over the party again, “Too many pests, and decidedly too middle-of-nowhere for my tastes. Come.” Raphael offers Xaph his hand and, to Wyll’s dismay, she takes it. The entire group is engulfed in the same red-gold sparks that had brought the devil to them, sparks that turn to flames that flare white without burning and are snuffed out in an instant.

***

They are no longer on the bridge. They stand in a grand dining room. Dining room, because there’s a behemoth of a table in the centre, round and positively overflowing with food. Every good cooking smell in the world comes from this table. There are huge roaring fireplaces, huge black statues, huge everything. They are ants here. 

“You’ve redecorated,” Xaph notes. “New portrait,” she flicks a hand towards a towering painting that hangs on the wall above the fireplace behind where Raphael now stands. Ten-foot tall canvas, easily, the frame itself adding another two feet around the perimeter. Xaph turns her back on the devil while her companions are still trying to process what had happened. It’s an illusion, Gale can tell that much, but such a strong one of the like he hasn’t seen in…well, in a while. Wyll’s eye darts nervously along the walls, looking desperately for the windows, for assurance they aren’t actually in the hells. “Liked the old one better.” She tosses the words over her shoulder as an aside to the devil. The devil. A devil is talking to them. A devil knows the tiefling. Maybe she isn’t as soft as Shadowheart had thought.

“The House of Hope,” the showmanship is for the benefit of the party rather than Xaph, who is nonchalant, surveying the table, “Where the tired come to rest, and the famished come to feed. Lavishly,” He chews on that word for longer than necessary, making it more than it is, “Go on. Partake. Enjoy your supper.” Xaph picks up a loaf of bread. Tears it in half. Squeezes the halves into dough balls in her hands. Holds them up to her nose. Licks them. Listens to them.  She tosses another loaf of bread at Astarion and he catches it without a second thought. His eyes are everywhere, there’s just so much to take in, but he has enough wherewithal to catch it. 

“The food’s safe. Take what you can carry,” her words are light, but when she looks at her companions her eyes are dark and deadly serious. Her voice pushes into their skulls, Trust me. Please. Let me handle this. Astarion and Lae’zel begin to fill their packs as advised. Gale’s eyes are stuck on Xaph. He hadn’t considered that she too might have her own secrets. Wyll fidgets, entirely unable to stay still. His eye keeps going to the door, but it snaps back to Raphael as flames roar around him. A devil indeed. It’s confirmed, made official. He is showing them his true form. His skin fully red, his bone structure sharpened. Winged. Horned. A genuine product of the Hells, and one with power too.

“What’s better than a devil you don’t know?” Raphael asks the room at large.

“A devil you do.” Xaph replies.

“You’re stepping on my lines, love.”

“Maybe you need a new script.” Wyll is in utter shock. As are several other members of the party. Xaph is treating this fiend as though he’s just another human, another elf, another githyanki even. Her surety worries Gale, but it fascinates Shadowheart. “What do you want?”

“Some respect would be a suitable start. On your knees, mephit. I am not known for my patience.”

“Or for your sta-” This, apparently, is too far. Stale air rushes over the party as Raphael’s wings open. He almost seems to grow taller. It’s not clear if Xaph kneels of her own volition or if she’s forced. The stillness of her tail indicates the latter. An apology flies from her lips, then, “Don’t hurt them. Your business is with me.” Her voice has taken on a strained tone. Pained.

“That heart of yours bleeds as much as ever, then. No matter. You won’t have use of it for much longer.”

“I’ve been lower than this. Why now?” A dozen questions burn in the minds of her companions but not one of them dares to move. The extra height Raphael had gained recedes, and he steps forward so as to more effectively look down on the tiefling. Her hands are behind her back, as though bound.

“Don’t play hard to get, not when you’re in so deep over your tadpoled head. One skull, two tenants, and no solution in sight. I could fix it all,” the devil snaps his fingers and a flame leaps up between them, “like that.”

“He spits lies. The only way to cleanse-” Wyll clamps a hand over Lae’zel’s mouth before she gets them all wiped off the mortal plane. She bites him, but doesn’t say anything else once he lets her go. 

“And you know I’ll never agree to your terms.” She sounds as though she’s running out of breath.

“Oh, never say never, love. But very well,” with a wave of his hand, Xaph is released. The ranger falls onto her hands, whipped out from behind her back to break her fall, and she coughs like a cat trying to bring up a hairball, “Try to cure yourselves. Shop around. Beg, borrow, steal. Exhaust every possibility until none are left. And when hope has been whittled down to the very marrow of despair, that is when you’ll come knocking on my door.” He laughs, and they can feel it rumble in the floor beneath their feet.

“I’ll rip out your tongue first.” Xaph tells him, still out of breath.

“Ah, yes. The tongue. Yet another piece of pleasurable anatomy you’ll soon have to do without. All those pretty little symptoms - sundering skin, dissolving guts - they haven’t started to manifest yet, have they? You’re a paragon of luck, muzz. But luck always runs out eventually. I’ll be there when it does.”

With a thud that rattles their knees, the party are thrown back to earth. They’re standing in the same fashion they had been in the House of Hope, still arranged around a table that isn’t there anymore. Xaph is on the ground, crumpled, still trying to clear her throat. Wyll reaches her first, on his knees in front of her and lifting her head to see her eyes.

“What in all the hells was that?” Shadowheart’s next, and her voice is sharp and accusatory, but she deliberately stands so that she’s not in the way of the light Wyll needs to look Xaph over.

“Raphael,” Xaph’s words rasp, but she sounds less congested, “Mephistopheles’ heir and a fustilarian shitfire,” the words she shouts into the dirt path devolve into Infernal.

“More importantly, darling, how in the hells do you know him?” Astarion asks, though he keeps his distance. He and Lae’zel, packs bulging with food that has proven not to be illusory, stay a few feet away from the rest of the party as Shadowheart takes Xaph’s pack and Wyll and Gale slot their shoulders under her arms to get her to her feet.

“You don’t have a deal with him, do you?” Wyll asks. The group begins to move across the bridge they’d almost forgotten was there, all of them wanting to put as much distance between themselves and Raphael as possible.

“No, gods, no,” Xaph assures him, having to stop to cough again and her face pinches in a wince, “He came to me about ten years ago, when I was as close to starving as I ever will be. He preys on the hopeless, offers them a way out in exchange for their soul. Gets quite offended if you refuse.” That can’t be it, Gale thinks, the story’s too short, but she doesn’t say anything more.

“You shouldn’t have provoked him.”

“It’s the quickest way to get him out of your hair,” Xaph tells him, “If you’re a mark, that is. Looks like I’m still a prospective client.”

“Just when I think I’ve got a grasp on our dilemma, a bloody devil turns up.” Shadowheart exclaims, throwing her hands in the air.

“Cambion.” Wyll and Xaph correct her together.

“He claims he can help. How true can that be?” Shadowheart asks, addressing Xaph specifically.

“Honestly, I don’t know.”

“He flaunts his paltry wings as if he wants to impress us,” Lae’zel sneers, “You saw the red dragons slaying his infernal kin above Hell’s fires, did you not?” These questions are for the group at large, though they turn out to be rhetorical, “Next to a dragon, a devil’s a gnat. When I am kith’rak, I will take my Queen Vlaakith his head as a trophy.”

“Kith’rak?” Gale repeats, his pronunciation very close to Lae’zel’s.

“Githyanki knights. The riders that chased the nautiloid. They are the commissars and enforcers of my Queen Vlaakith’s will.”

“Forget the kith’rak,” Astarion cuts in, his pronunciation not as clear as Gale’s, “There’s a devil after us. Cambion!” he corrects himself before Xaph and Wyll can, “This just gets better and better. Shop around he said. He seems sure we won’t find anything.”

“That’s his angle, to grind hope down to bone meal.” Xaph tells him.

“Maybe, but all that take your time, I’ll wait nonsense. He’s playing with us. He reminds me of someone I used to know. Someone that liked to play with people. Creatures like them don’t play games unless they know they can win.”

“We’re not his playthings, Astarion,” Wyll says, “We won’t be.”

“Besides, he can’t have a cure. Only the zaith’isk can remove the tadpole.” Lae’zel reminds them. She and Astarion descend into debate. Xaph turns her head to look at Gale, who’s hardly said anything. This close to him, still propped up by him and Wyll, she can see spidery lines of black that crawl out from the neck of his robes up to his eye. Curious.

“Rather flattering, to be invited to dine with a devil.” He says quietly when he sees Xaph is waiting for him to speak.

“For you, maybe. He’s got no patience for me anymore.”

“What did he do?”

“Nothing I can’t handle. He knows how far he can push.” She doesn’t want to go into it, how hands of hot air had pushed her to the floor and held her wrists, her tail. How motes of fire had burned beneath her skin. She’ll be left with the feeling of bugs creeping over her body for hours, until Raphael forgets or lets her go. Shadowheart presses a cooling, healing hand between her shoulder blades and she regains some strength in her legs, “But for the rest of you? That was roses and champagne.”

“He wants something from us. Badly…” Gale gets lost in his own thoughts and Xaph has to laugh at him.

“He wants our souls, Gale.” Wyll says.

“Let me play advocatus diaboli,” he borrows Wyll’s own phrase from the day before, “If there’s one quality all the denizens of the hells share, it’s ambition. A quality they share with many humans, come to think of it. He wants Xaph’s soul, yes, but why drag the rest of us tiddlers in with the catch of the day? Fact one,” he starts to count with the fingers of his free hand, “There’s something very strange and very powerful about our tadpoles. Fact two, a cambion offers to take it away. The infernal aren’t known to aid mortals out of simple kindness,” Wyll hums in agreement, encouraging Gale, “Whatever Raphael wants, we must be the key to getting it. Along with our tadpoles…”

***

They know they’re making proper progress when Shadowheart recognises a specific tree. A short detour brings them back to the place where she, Astarion, Gale and Xaph had made camp that first night. There’s a good few hours of light left, but Xaph is still wincing at odd intervals and they’re still weak from their time aboard the nautiloid, so Lae’zel’s protests are largely ignored when they decide to camp here again. Gale manages to talk her down, reminding her that no warrior can be at their best without rest, and that seems to calm her somewhat. The party, though larger than before, is as subdued as they had been that first night. The combination of hard travel and Raphael has tired them. Xaph fillets fish Lae’zel and Shadowheart had engaged in competition to spear from the nearby stream, and Gale peels potatoes Okta had given them. A look passes between the ranger and the wizard and they know they will not be able to have their discussion tonight. They have more than enough food to use foraging as an excuse between the tiefling’s donations and Raphael’s buffet. Astarion had suggested that the devil’s food might be poisoned, but Xaph had quickly quelled these concerns by shoving handfuls of the stuff in her mouth.

“Xaph?” Wyll’s voice rings out between the rocks. He’d gone exploring, and has apparently found something of interest. Xaph cleans the smell of fish off her hands and moves towards the sound of his voice, tailed by Astarion.

Wyll has found a boar. Full grown, stone dead. Xaph squats and runs a hand over the bristles of its stomach.

“The pig’s dead, my friends. Staring at it won’t bring it back.” Astarion tells them.

“I can’t figure out how it died,” Wyll says, ignoring Astarion and crouching beside Xaph, “He’s fairly young. Strong.”

“Must be five or six years old,” Xaph slides a hand under one of its front legs, “Not warm, but he’s still a little stiff. Can’t have been killed more than a day or so ago.”

“Can you eat it? Because otherwise, I don’t understand what the problem is.” Astarion says flippantly. Xaph reaches for the boar’s snout to see the length of its tusks, and that’s when she notices the puncture wounds. Small holes punched into the beast’s neck, less than a finger’s length apart. It’s the only wound on the boar’s body, as far as she can see. She twists to Astarion and holds out a hand,

“Knife?” he obliges, passing her a dagger, but he does ask,

“Shouldn’t you lug it back to camp before you start hacking away?”

“I want to see something.” Xaph tells him. She sets the point of the dagger in one of the puncture wounds and cuts.

“And? Is it dead enough for you?”

“It’s been completely drained of blood.” Xaph states, and this effectively shuts Astarion up. Wyll probes the incision Xaph has made, investigating further. He looks at her, the question in his eye forming on his lips in a whisper,

“A vampire?” he asks. Xaph nods. “So close to where you’d slept? Are we safe here?”

“We’ll be fine with the night watch, but we should keep a specific eye out.”

“So you can kill it, I suppose.” Astarion muses. Xaph stands and turns to him, and he recognises the look in her eye. Determined.

“No.”

“No?”

“They must be starving, to drain a boar of this size and still not be strong enough to dispose of it,” she glances at Wyll to confirm he feels the same and finds no resistance from him, so she locks eyes with Astarion again. His red eyes glow in the night, as her green ones do. They’re beginning to take on that nocturnal sheen as the sun sets. He’s watching her. Waiting. “And hunger makes beasts of us all.”

[film-score-simp]

OKAY FOOLS HOW YALL DOING IM BACK AFTER BEING DEAD FOR LIKE MONTHS-

See, I had a Thought which the Merlin fandom might be interested in. Especially the fanfic writers.

I was browsing Pinterest, as you do, and stumbled across a few tumblr posts instead of actually looking on the site… again, as you do.

And I came to a fun idea.

So y’know how with some pieces of fantasy media they go ‘oh with the amount of stupidity here this is totally a D&D game’?

Well… that, but Merlin.

Like we already have scenes that would totally fit the bill of a D&D game. The whole scene with old Merlin and the knights with the stepping stool onto the horse is just so unbelievably D&D, and I can imagine the scene with the “..reading poetry.” as just real bad persuasion/deception rolls from both Merlin AND Arthur.

Just imagine the chaos.

Here are my personal headcanons for their classes, but feel free to debate about it:

Merlin: Sorcerer. This man is too much of an idiot to be a wizard (though he DOES get hurt enough to be one), and I reckon being a wild magic sorcerer would totally fit the bill. He’s powerful, but hijinks must ensue- thus, the wild magic. Or perhaps not. People might assume it’s wild magic and turns out it’s just Merlin thinking he’s funny.

Arthur: Bard. Immediately. He’s got paladin energy as in like the ‘Chosen One’ and also he’s a knight, but he’s so stupid and also charismatic that he just gives bard to me. Like he’s so stupid and charismatic with literally everything, that Merlin ended up liking him. Like this man is a himbo that dresses brightly.

Morgana: Absolutely a warlock. She would have so much fun with eldritch blast, and being weird and spooky totally fits her vibe later in the series. She would probably be the one to sometimes have the braincell in the party and use her magic responsibly… but also eldritch blast. You gotta use eldritch blast-

Mordred: I don’t think he has chill enough vibes for the druid stereotype, but he definitely could be a druid. Giving funky nature powers to this kid would really be a hilarious idea. Like imagine Mordred with wild shape. I also think he has the possibility of being the Dionysus kind of druid… y’know, the greek god who turned people into dolphins just because? Yeah, him.

Gwaine: Barbarian. Or fighter. He may be a knight, sure, but with the amount of bar brawls he gets into? Absolutely. The fool definitely would fist fight someone in a dark alleyway at 2AM, it’s just what he’s like. He likes to hit people and drink alcohol- it just fits his whole MO.

Percival: Also a barbarian. His entire thing is strength, and the ‘little man’ comment just screams of a man with high intimidation. He may be a gentle giant and not going for the whole stereotype of angry rage beast, but this guy can totally scare without it.

Lancelot: Lancelot is a paladin. He’s the very epitome of ‘Good Boy.’ This guy is such a Righteous knight and just a generally cool person that I think that a god straight up WOULD get in contact to have him fight for the forces of good. I love this man so much. I also love paladins. Perfect combo.

Elyan: Elyan’s a cleric. He’s caring and loyal, as well as not bullying Merlin regularly. He’s also pretty cunning so possibly rogue there as well? I’d be more inclined to lean towards cleric the most though, cause he’s one of the most chill knights and also balances out the chaos of Gwaine and Percival as a duo… they’re nuts-

Leon: Also a paladin. Less of a ‘pure and true soul’ guy like Lancelot, but more of a ‘stands for what’s right and upholds the law’ kind of paladin. Like he’s totally a follower of chivalry with all the traditional ways of doing things- always respectful and polite but just kinda a little at arms length.

Guinevere: Stereotypical druid. Totally a tree-hugger and loves plants. Also she gets to be a Disney princess now and talk to animals in forests. Living out her best life in the forest with her whole cottagecore aesthetic. Even with her becoming queen, she’s totally still a druid. Albeit a royal one now.

Gaius: Oh he’s so gonna be an artificer. But specifically an alchemist artificer. He can make healing potions and mix weird medicines together, sure, but jesus christ the old man gets into just as many shenanigans as the main group. I mean, the whole possession fiasco with the goblin is enough proof for that-

(And before anyone tells me a character’s missing, it’s been a while since I watched the series, I’m trying my best hhhh-)