#halsin was the Only reason i got through the fight at all

[ruairy]

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[static-sulker]

I might maybe possibly be thinking of a modern fantasy apartment AU with the main crew. All of them being stupid ass magical roommates without tadpoles...Just letting them be happy.

Also my Tav is in there because...yeah. His name is Silk and he is such a silly guy ridden with the 'tism. Drow Warlock who sees the good in everything... Such a...A yeah...

Little notes i've been conjuring about this...

Gale and Wyll made a chore chart in the kitchen, with little magnets for each person. Astarion regularly will switch his magnet in the middle of the night just so he doesn't have to do the fucking dishes and EVERYBODY knows besides Gale and Wyll. Wyll is on the fence about it, but Gale wholeheartedly believes when Astarion lies through his teeth about never having done it.

Karlach and Halsin go on grocery runs in the mornings. Karlach goes for the running part, while Halsin comes along for the run as well as to stop Karlach from buying the most horrendous shit. The one time she went alone very early in the houses lifespan, Karlach bought like 3 bags of go-gurt, about 50 dollars worth of cheap booze, and a big piece of raw steak to cook. She burnt said steak. But she's trying now, at least.

The team will take turns every now and then to get Astarion blood from themselves as it gives Astarion a lot more energy then normal settling blood. BUT they do have "blood bags" that they set up in the kitchen fridge whenever they know nobody with the right blood is gonna be available to give him blood if he needs it. They TOTALLY get it by legal means and it TOTALLY doesn't melt Astarions heart that they try so hard to help him.

Silk finds a stray dog in the alleys of their building one day when they went out to work (they do freelance art with their magic for like startups, it's fun). After casting "speak with animals" they find out this dog, Scratch, is waiting for his owner to return. His owner was killed out by some gnoll gang downtown. When they come back from work later in the evening, they find Scratch again, still waiting. Long story short, Silk adopts scratch in their very strict "no pets" rule of an apartment. And don't get me STARTED on the owlbear cub. Lae'zel and Halsin were out, originally to get some spare lightbulbs and tools for the apartment and find the little critter getting chase by some goblins in some backalley parking lot. Lae'zel plans to ignore the thing, but Halsin assists the cub. Once done, they plan to leave, before the cub begins to follow them home. Halsin names the cub "Vauva" and Lae'zel soon becomes SO attached.

They have presentation nights, where everybody makes slideshows about literally anything. Last week, Gale made one about the conflicts of archmages and the idea of apprentices. Karlach then made a tier list on the worst monsters ever documented, Lae'zel helped with that one. Shadowheart made this whole discussion over her favorite and least favorite teas (she fuckin' hates green tea for like no reason). Wyll made one on Baldurs Gate history. Astarion made a smash or pass list of all of the political leaders in Baldurs Gate. Silk made a presentation on the weirdest underdark myths and rumors they have heard on their time above ground. Halsin presented (well more like persuaded) on getting a new herb for their kitchens row of herbs and spices set on the windowsill. They have too many and he got like 5 minutes of stand time before Karlach kicked him off.

Lae'zel hate-cleans when shes mad at somebody in the apartment. Basically, she cleans every room in the entire fucking apartment BESIDES any of said "victims" parts of the house. One time, she got into a fight with Shadowheart and threw all of the dirty laundry she had so carefully put into the laundry room back into her room just all over the fucking place. If shes calm though, the house is normally fairly clean under her and Wyll's watch. It's one of the only things they agree on.

Because every bg3 piece of content I make loops back to bloodweave, I think they would have a little reading time together. Like whenever everybody is settling down for the night and they are up for it, they take this lovely window seat couch/bed thing in Gales room and just take out a good bottle of wine and a book for each of them and just read until late. They originally did this separately, but when the two find themselves both in the living room at 2 in the morning reading, they decide in silent agreement to make it routine. They sometimes read in silence, other times just talking absently about anything. Shadowheart finds out first by coming in to Gales room late one night to return a book he lent to her to find the two both passed out, tucked away in the window, books still in hand before they accidentally passed out. Shadowheart then teases them with photos the morning after.

Karlach and Lae'zel both do these really intense shadowboxing exercises in Karlachs room whenever the two have freetime and enough energy to go through with it. It's a heated bitter rivalry in the eyes of the githyanki, but Karlach just loves a little workout with her friend! Lae'zel does enjoy the workouts, as she doesn't get many options to really let off ALL of her steam, even if she works at a gym as a personal trainer. She is constantly told shes a bit TOO rough with the clients so she has to "tone it down". So it's nice.

Astarion and Shadowheart have girls nights. Like they paint each others nails and watch like twilight together (ironically they get so heated at how wrong they get it. "Just another human writer writing about shit she doesn't get" is used a lot in their rewatches). They also talk about like...their feelings. But it's very sparse and done so by a copious amount of wine (wine with a heavy amount of blood on the side for Astarion). Both of them never got to have moments like this in their childhoods, of just pure calmness and domestic childhood enjoyment, so they make due with what they can.

BY THE HELLS I JUST REALIZED I WROTE THIS MUCH. DAMN OKAY.

[rawrsatthetree]

I think the best way to tackle a Modern AU for BG3 isn’t to make it a slice of life but to some how combine the elements of a collage drama, organized crime, a dooms day cult, and an alien invasion all into one coherent plot.

I do not know how to do this but I do have some ideas. All the characters have no reason to associate with each other until they’re all abducted by aliens, wormed, and released back into the wild like a bird that just got tagged. Everyone kind of writes it off as either a bad trip or a dream until the cross paths and the worm does the connection thing. Eventually bringing them all together with a few people investigating the invasion to get to the bottom of what’s happening.

Wyll is a pre law student mostly against his will to appease his dad. He wants to help people but doesn’t necessarily want to be a cop like his father the chief of police. He half asses his classes because he doesn’t have much passion for them, blowing them off to volunteer in clubs and community outreach programs. I think Mizora should be either a professor, Dean of students, or academic advisor. In exchange for favors she alters his grades pushes him through the system. Little does he know she’s also idk involved with a crime organization and her favors go from small and perverted to slowly becoming more dangerous and criminal. He’s young and she has a lot of power over his future and could even expose him as a fraud and an accomplice to his father so he feel helpless to defy her.

Astarion is a law school drop out but that’s old news. You’ll find him prowling the local bar and club scene looking for potential clients. After a string of bad luck and poor life choices he’s a prostitute and drug dealer for a local gangster in the Black Hand gang only known as The Vampire (I know I’m so creative). Cazador’s deal is still the pretty much the same local rich public figure is secretly a very cruel and evil man who uses fear and addiction to control his underlings.

Karlach worked as muscle for the leader of the Black Hand gang before she was forcibly sold and enlisted as a mercenary over seas. After a ten years fighting in foreign years she’s back and ready to get her revenge on the whole Black Hand cult unfortunately she has to do it quickly because (ok idk I tried doing some research and couldn’t find any condition caused by an injury that can suddenly become fatal idk maybe cancer from a bullet or shrapnel)

Gale isn’t a professor but like a doctorate student on a tenure track, but bordering on the mad science kind of research. He’s in an abusive relationship with his over seeing faculty Mystra. Ultimately a lab accident during his research leads to the orb.

I think Lae’zel should still be an alien. She was abducted on another planet and escaped while the earthlings were being tadpoled. Now she’s stranded and tadpoled on a strange planet.

Halsin is a university professor and a local environmental activist. He’s been investigating strange occurrences and is onto the alien invasion thing.

I’m honestly not sure about Shadowheart. She should definitely be college age. But I’m not sure how to approach the shar thing.

Not sure about Minthara either except maybe military turned death cult member.

Jaheira and Minsc are cops investigating the alien invasion I’m so sorry not like real world cops but like fun fictional cops that only exist in movies. Boo is their police dog. OMG wait no they’re Park Rangers!!

Other stuff

The dead three chosen are instead three gang leaders. Except Bhaal cult also doubles as a murder cult still on top of being a criminal organization.

The alien invasion is still the mind flayer grand design.

I don’t think the dead three are controlling the mind flayers this time. Instead they’re using the strange alien invasion occurrences as grounds to start a dooms day cult or maybe they are idk

[autistichalsin]

So @dorky-malorky left a really good reply on this post I made earlier, and it was so good I had to reply- BUT my reply got way too long, so I'm making a new post. I'm going to quote their reply, and then add my own under.

So true, besties. As someone who was bullied pretty mercilessly all through grade school and right up until graduation, I see a lot of that same mask in Halsin. He puts up with so much and it's not because he's a sage wise old druid, it's because he has unresolved trauma!!! Man basically says Thaniel was his only friend growing up and that's why he became a druid. Imagine making a friend as a little kid and then finding out that no one else knows of him or can even see him. To all those people Thaniel may as well have been an imaginary playmate to a sad lonely boy. Then he grows up and loses pretty much everyone he cares about. He's cut off from Thaniel, he's cut off from his peers, and he puts so much of the blame on himself for that. Then he's thrust into a position of leadership where he, again, struggles to make connections. Sure some people at the grove are like 'sure wish Halsin was here' but then they all just go along with Khaga and the Rite of Thorns anyways instead of doing anything about it and they basically write him off as lost. In my view, Halsin has just been swallowing grief and disappointment his whole life and has been putting on the brave face because that's what people expect from him. Don't make waves, just keep on keeping on. Even with Tav and the tadpole crew he will keep swallowing that same shit beyond what a normal person would put up with because Halsin just wants to belong. He will take scraps if that's all he can get, and be thankful for it, when what he deserves is to be at the table with everyone else. And the heartbreaking thing is just how deeply he cares despite everything he's gone through. He could be bitter and angry like Astarion, but instead he suppresses and buries the hurt way down deep, and just keeps going, holding onto a hope that the future will be a better place. :(

And here is my response:

ALL OF THIS. There is a REASON so much of the fandom has independently come to the conclusion that Halsin is both autistic and a victim of bullying- realize it or not, the writers just put too many tell-tale behaviors in.

Your part about taking scraps just hits the nail on the head. He takes whatever the player gives, and he is still so damn nice- if he loses all of his approval towards the player (which is quite a feat since rescuing Thaniel and breaking the curse gets you 40-50 depending on choices made) he may be snippy in his greetings and in his point-n-click lines which are currently bugged, but he still never actually... really does anything about it.

And that he's able to still care after all of this- even setting aside headcanons, this is still a man who had few to no friends growing up, has been othered for his size and treated like his feelings don't matter, has lost everyone he loved, was made a sex slave for three years to one of the cruelest groups out there, with said slavery including seeing the bodies of other elves like him made into decorations, was forced to fight a huge battle and then faced a curse that killed so many friends of his that it would "take [him] a day and a night to recite the names of all the friends [he] lost" AND he had to kill the reanimated corpse of the previous Archdruid, a man he speaks admiringly of every time he mentions him, leaving him with survivor's guilt and pretty obvious PTSD, AND it took away his best/possibly only friend from childhood, he was forced into a leadership role he never wanted and in fact was actively miserable in, stressed to the point that he started thinking fondly of his past as a sex slave (with the implication being he romanticized it because he wanted not to have to be responsible for such hard decisions anymore) and with not a single soul to confide in who might tell him these thoughts weren't healthy, he spent years begging for help breaking the curse but even the Emerald Enclave was basically like "yeah you're on your own buddy", he fell into what was strongly implied to be alcoholism and had to swear it off entirely, his attempt to jump at the first chance he saw in 100 years to break the curse resulted in him being held captive again and tortured- by goblins, which got him mocked later- while his Grove was infiltrated, psyoped (seriously, too many people don't seem to know that Ketheric orchestrated the Shadow Druids infiltrating the Grove because he knew what a threat they/Halsin would be and wanted it neutralized) and turned against him by Kagha, requiring him to send in a new Archdruid while he left to try to solve the mindflayer crisis- and almost immediately discovering she was a better leader than he EVER was, which I'm sure left him with a feeling of not just inadequacy as he alluded to in his scenes, but also with a feeling he'd wasted all those 100 years trying to lead if he could have just handed it off to someone better all along, then after he finally breaks the curse that has been plaguing his homeland for 100 years he goes into the city, is promptly gut-punched with how much people, especially children, are suffering there, tries everything short of screaming to get people's attention that this is NOT OKAY and is promptly brushed off and dismissed at every turn, then finally goes to fight a Nether Brain to save the world, which he admits he had little faith he would survive- but he put on a brave face for the player (especially if romanced). And that's literally just the main canon path, not including things that can be done to him in darker branches, like his Grove being slaughtered and his attempt to avenge them all failing, or the Rite of Thorns succeeding and him losing his home forever, or him getting kidnapped by Orin, or, once that new update goes into place, him having casual sex with his friend/love interest (depending on the circumstances) and some prostitutes, opening up about his time as a sex slave, and then being promptly threatened to be sold back into slavery by the person he trusted. No, this stuff is literally just the main, good canon path.

I know people tend to say Halsin clearly worked through his traumas in a healthy way offscreen (this line gets used most with his time as a sex slave) but the lack of support system Halsin has, his inability to center his own needs, even to himself, for a single minute, his desperation to be validated for just a single moment, his idolization of the player if they break the curse even if they subsequently treat him badly, his emotions being so turbulent that he alludes to being unable to control his wildshape on two different occasions with both specifically being linked to turbulent emotions (one being intense arousal and excitement, the other being anger and fear when escaping the goblin camp at the player's side), all of which is incredibly unusual for any Druid let alone an Archdruid hailed as one of the most powerful around... none of this really?? points to that being true???

He doesn't act like he is a wise, zen old Druid, he acts like he's trying to be a wise, zen old Druid, and there is a huge difference.

[pursuitseternal]

“Stripping,” a nsfw, hurt/comfort, and vengeance update to “Our Blood is Thicker:”

Astarion x Cordehlia (named Tav) | E | 6.3K

Summary: The fight for vengeance for her father comes at last to Ketheric, so long as Astarion is there to keep on hand on her, to keep her from getting lost in the bloodlust of the Bone Picker. Cordehlia needs healing… her burdens of her past too great to bear alone. That’s why her love is there, to strip away her old griefs, and all that covers her.

CW: Bloodlust, angst, revenge, hurt/comfort, allusions to battle-canon gore, Act 2 Spoilers, real sex, tadpole stripping (symbolic), very soft Dom!Astarion

Previous ch | Ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 13: Stripping…

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

Moonrise Towers. A curse nearly broken. The Moonmaiden Aylin freed, and the source of that monster's immortality unchained. Only one thing remained to their moving forward.

Ketheric had to die.

They had come close, so close. The rest of his bone-chilled undead fighters were dust at their feet. But then… there was that oozing orifice now in the top of the Moonrise Towers, the illithid stink rising from its bowels. A hole where Ketheric had vanished like the coward he was, threat on top of threat, into the putrid heart of the Absolute.

Cordehlia ran right for it, blade at the ready, pursuing after Ketheric alone. A battle cry tore through the air as she sprinted. Blood spattered. Breathless.

Hellsbent on revenge.

Two sets of feet ran for her… one shifting into a bear just to make sure he got there before she did anything rash. The Druid panted as he raised up on his massive hind feet. Cordehlia slammed into a wall of fur, two lean vampiric arms not far behind to catch her against Halsin’s big bear belly.

“Stop, stop, darling,” Astarion repeated over and over. But the She-elf thrashed even as her weapons were pinned to her sides. Even as she snapped her teeth and hissed in rage at them both.

Her eyes were pure black, dilated so wide with bloodlust. Her need to kill, to avenge.

To repay the debt she had carried for a century, the weight of her Father’s lost soul.

“Let me go, damn you both,” she snarled. Her voice was deep, scratched with all her battle screams.

“Not until you see sense, my love,” Astarion tried to cajole, tried to hold her armored body against his own even as she shook, the rush of her need to kill shooting down every muscle of her body. The bear grunted, a warning, and Astarion held her fast to turn them, to keep the splatter of mud from covering their already filthy bodies as the Druid shifted back.

“Your father wouldn’t want you to fall headlong into danger,” Halsin instantly interjected the moment he could. And for once, Astarion was a tinge glad the ancient elf could help. Especially as he felt her body slowly begin to still at the sound of reason. “You need to regroup, think of your strategy before you dive into the belly of the enemy. That place reeks of Illithids and pulses with the power of the Absolute,” Halsin’s deep voice rumbled, slow and soothing tones that rippled with persuasion and wisdom.

“Ketheric must die,” Cordelia thrashed again, back to her lover’s chest, elbows trying to free herself and making her vampire grunt and hiss in the process. “To break the curse, to end the Absolute, to avenge all that has been taken from me… all that made me this… weapon. I need…” her voice grew feral, threatening in a way that made every one of her companions quake in their boot, “to crush him… I need his blood.”

“Gods,” Astarion tried to gently stroke her face, “now which one of us sounds vampiric, darling?” He whispered, catching the edge of her long and pointed ear in his fingers. Something behind her eyes softened, something that turned that black back to singing silver, slowly, stroke by stroke of his fingers.

Until she stilled completely, limp in his arms, smiling gently as she looked into his face at last.

“There now, little Raven,” he whispered only for her ear as he caressed it.

“You’ll have your justice, little one,” Halsin drew closer. And Astarion fought hard not to bristle at the way his green eyes smiled at his love. “But we need to regroup, gather our forces before we dive into that Mindflayer colony to end Ketheric once and for all.”

“Fine,” Cordehlia stood on her own two feet, finally steady, calm enough that Astarion was pretty sure she wouldn’t launch down that stinking hole alone. “I hear wisdom in your words, my Father’s own sort.” She squared her shoulders, hands quickly resheathing her weapons with a metallic hiss. “We rest a few moments, then we cut him off… cut him down.”

The whole party gave a sigh of relief, finding places here and there to sit, to wipe the blood from their eyes and sharpen their weapons a moment.

Halsin left them to do the same, beginning his work of healing whatever little wounds they had sustained. And Astairon finally felt the peace of being with her alone, for that moment. Even with her back towards him, her eyes fixed on their next move of attack, he couldn’t leave her. “My love,” he bid her softly. “Come and sit a moment with me, won’t you?”

“No,” she replied, fixed forward still. “I won’t rest until his blood is shed and my Father is avenged.”

“Don’t be stupid, Cordehlia,” he tutted his tongue, moving to put himself in her line of sight. Those eyes at first scowled at him… the same way she once did when they first… stumbled upon one another again. There was loathing, hatred. Bloodlust even. It sliced through him, pain cutting right to his slow-beating, undead heart. “What’s wrong, my love?” he frowned, folding his arms across his own armored chest.

“What’s wrong?” she scoffed, vitriol in her voice and hate in her eyes. “I am so close to avenging my Father… so close to fighting my way back to who I once was before I lost my only family to Ketheric, so close to reclaiming what I was when you first loved me…. I am so close to cleaning my hands from all the blood I shed as the Bone Picker, so close to clearing my body of the damned mantle of my former self. My dark self.”

A warm voice cleared its throat at a distance beside them. “Well, that is most encouraging, I must interject…”

Astarion had to force his lips to stay shut, to keep himself from snarling and letting his fangs do the talking. “I don't think Cordehlia invited you to join our very private conversation… Gale… and I know I didn’t extend an invitation…”

“Well,” the Wizard shifted as Cordehlia turned to look into his own face. Her eyes still hardened, her mouth still turned in a scowl, “a fresh start… a new beginning, once this is all through, it’s what you deserve, Cordehlia.”

Astarion bristled. “Forgive me, but maybe what she deserves is to know that what she was has made her what she is… perfect and stronger and fiercer. Capable of bringing down the Absolute, capable of so much more than that.” He could hear it in his own voice, that edge of a hiss, that rasp of threat he hoped made Gale quake and shut his mouth. “Unlike those of us who tried to win the love of a goddess of magic to be cursed with some magical blight… Some of us have a sordid past that has made us embrace the monster we are and use it to our… advantage.”

Cordehlia turned, her love, her fierce defender… she felt something inside her ease as he braced his whole frame, ready to attack at her side. He never saw her as a monster, never condemned her for the blood that stained her past and dripped from her hands. He couldn’t chastise her without naming the same fault in himself. Not that he saw it as fault. Only suffering and torture and loss.

For what fault was there in him? Made to be tortured, made to seduce and use his body for his master’s delight…

And she… she had been formed like adamantine… stronger than a blade, more deadly than any spell. She would end this enemy… Ketheric, the Absolute…

Crodehila took a steadying breath, drawing closer to place one gauntleted hand on Astarion’s arm. “It is the darkest forces, the most devastating pressure that forms the sharpest weapons. And you can’t escape that darkness, that pressure or else… you become brittle ....”

She watched her words take hold, sinking into his chest, his heart, the source of his blight. Gale’s eyes fluttered closed to hear her speak. “None of us need to shatter, not even you, no matter what self-sacrifice has been demanded of you by your former lover. Embrace who you are, what you have learned in the dark, and we will make it out of this.”

Astarion smiled so softly down at her—his unshakable warrior. Every head nodding in approval.

Cordehlia took a trembling inhale, almost watching her reflection in her mind, covered in that fearsome armor of Lady Corvus, smiling back at her. Brighter. Part of her. But not in control. “We can walk from this side by side, once this is all through. And we will all be made that much sharper for it.”

Even that made Gale smile, spurned as he was, jealous or determined… it didn’t seem to burn so bright inside him anymore. “You’re right,” he shook his head, “damned wisdom of the elves… I can’t argue with that.”

The vampire sucked his teeth, a little cock of his head rife with sarcasm. “If only you’d listen with that same rapt attention to me, sometime,” Astarion sneered even as he laughed.

“Not sure you count as an elf…” Gale tossed back, “or wise…”

Karlach snorted with laughter, breaking what could have been tense silence. Chuckles, giggles filled the air, until even Cordehlia’s bubbly, medical laugh peeled beside him. And that made his own lips smile.

Besides, there would be plenty of time to shame Gale as the butt of many a joke soon. Once Ketheric was dead.

That event came with such relief. Came with lots of blood and vengeance and gore. But in the end, Cordehlia stood over Ketheric’s headless corpse, the blood of his undead body caking her boots.

Her blade hung at her side, having struck the death blow at last. Its tip dragged noisily on the ground behind her as she stepped away. The scraping echoing in the massive cavern. Her voice was hoarse as she tried to speak, sore from screaming at him as she had hacked his body, howling the name of her Father, unburdening all the things she had carried on her shoulders from her grief.

Her eyes were wet, wide, and sad as she looked at her bedraggled friends. Her love. “Let's move from here,” she scratched out. “We have more things to do.”

Cordehlia straggled, barely sliding one foot in front of the other. Her eyes looked hazy… distant.

Faint. Her vision swam… a weight off her heart, she could almost feel the Shadow Curse lifting from the lands, almost see her Father’s smooth, smiling face one more time. But there was so much more to do… more enemies to defeat, the chosen of Bhaal and Bane… an army of the Absolute to vanquish, not to mention a Netherbrain to somehow destroy.

It was too much for even her adamantine-hardened soul.

Her knees buckled, but before her body smacked into blood-covered stone, Astarion caught her. Somehow, that lean, vampiric, roguish body lifted her in his arms and over his shoulder, armor and all. Somehow, she could smell his scent of citrus and hers through the tang of blood and gore. Somehow, she could hear his soothing hush inside her mind as she drifted unconscious for a moment.

She had barely moved, still breathing, as she laid in his mess of blankets inside his tent. Halsin bent his hulking body over Cordehlia, and Astarion could only watch as the healing magic glowed around her unarmored body. He kept his lithe fingers in his love’s hair, brushing out snarls, stroking up and down her ears tenderly and slowly. Just to let her know he was there.

“There now,” Halsin grunted as he sat back on his haunches. “She should awaken herself. A bit lighter in the heart I wouldn’t be surprised, after finally finishing what she thought her Father started.”

Astarion couldn’t fight the instinct to have his hackles raised when the Druid spoke about her and her past. But all the same, he forced that well-practiced friendly smile. “Thank you, Druid,” he said. “I’ll take it from here, get her cleaned.”

“Using your tongue or do you prefer the dish and rag?”

“That’s rather impertinent,” Astarion let his fangs show this time.

“I’m only joking,” Halsin chortled, deep and low in his chest as he reached for the basin of water and a rag to bring within reach. “No one is trying to take her from you, you know. You’ve rekindled a bond so strong, so thick, I doubt it will sever even in death.”

The vampire felt his nostrils flare.

“Well, a second one in your case,” Halsin quickly added, that warm smile turning his scarred face.

“There is not much that can outlast even death itself,” he took the bowl from the Druid’s massive hands, busying himself with washing her face clean first. “Not unless you are undead… immortal.”

“I’m… forgive me, I believe I touched a delicate nerve.”

Astarion kept his hands busy; it always helped him think, rest, and concentrate. “Attachments are of little consequence to those who are not in them, Druid.”

“Attachment? You mean love, surely?”

Raising his head with a snap, he leveled his gaze at the massive, crouching Elf. “I do,” he snipped. “There is nothing I would not do to keep her now. After all the mistakes I have made, all the suffering I was forced to put others through.” He paused to wipe some more of the dried blood from her beautiful face. “She might be the one thing I have done right in my life, undead or before… as long as I don’t fuck it up again.”

“If you do… love her… then it is only natural to trust your instincts. You will protect her better than anyone or anything.”

For once, Astarion looked up at the Druid and didn’t feel jealousy or hatred or even annoyance. He was… grateful. “Thank you… Halsin,” he replied, wringing out the rag to get fresh water once more.

“I’d say ‘shout if you need anything,’ but I suspect once she wakes you will be shouting for other reasons, ones you won’t want… disturbed,” he chuckled in that deep bellied way of his before he left the tent.

Astarion couldn’t help the smile on his face, wiping the last steaks of grime from her chin before he placed a soft kiss on those lips. And as her eyes did flutter open, her breath deepening the moment their lips met, he did feel that thickening in his groin. “Welcome back, my love,” he whispered, savoring the way her lips gave a small smile.

Just for him.

She stirred, her shift and leathers shuffling as she moved stiffly. Looking at her hands cleaned, her armor removed, she even touched a hand to her slightly damp cheek. Washed skin under her touch. Cordehlia slowly sat, eyes that were so dilated with bloodlust not hours ago now shined with unshed tears, her pink lips trembling as she pulled her arms around Astarion’s neck. Hanging there for a moment, he breathed her in, listening to the symphony of her heartbeat in her veins as it increased in speed. That thickening and heat in his body only surged the more to have her so close, relieved at last once she pulled his body hard to cover her own.

She was more than reward… she was the one thing he had done right in all his tormented existence.

Tonight, like every night, was bliss now, his own personal reward each day and night to be at her side. Sometimes Astarion felt the bitterest of pangs when he started to think about being denied such pleasure and love and acceptance century after century. But those grumblings in his heart were always soon swept away by Cordehlia. The one who took him just as he was. Resentment was warmed by her adoration, distracted by her warmth and wet, wherever it was. Memories of torment and torture and knives and whips and flaying punishment grew dimmer, her beauty obscuring the flashes he would get of his blood pooling at his feet, her scent covering the phantom stink of the kennels.

It was her warmth that brought him back from the dead, and he was sure there was no grave now that could keep him away from her.

What was lost was found, and for gods sake, nothing would take it away. Now that he found something he finally deserved. Not that he believed it…

Not as he gazed up into her blushing face as she rode him furiously, her hands clenching into his. Not as he had to tighten every tendon in his arms to steady her since she wasn’t watching anymore. He laughed at her carelessness, too lost to the feeling of him inside her and the waves of pleasure he called to race down her spine.

“Fuck,” she let the uncouth curse slip from her rosy lips. Something inside his mind stirred, that old tickle inside him from before, from how freely she would let the word fly as a youth, as frowned upon as it was for her status.

“Such noble lips letting out such vulgar words, darling,” he growled, his breath thin as she pushed him closer with every slap of her body on his cock and thighs.

“Oh, you like… all the vulgar things my lips do with you…” Her words turned to cries, stilted and low, only half-stifled to keep their voices from giving too much away. Cordehlia shuddered, squeezing him as her orgasm swelled. He eased her softly as she collapsed against his chest, her forehead in that sweet dip between his muscles, the top of her red head tucking neatly under his nose.

His hand strayed to the back of her neck, softly and slowly rolling her over on the ground. Cradling her beneath him instead. His body cried out for more. Always more of her. But not before he inhaled that scent, the perfume of her sweat and life itself, verdant grass and blooming flowers. That scent triggered an instant sharp return of what they once had been.

What he wanted to find again more than life itself.

It wasn’t much longer, not as he chased that past feeling of being with her in their youth. Not as he pummeled into her channel, her legs splayed in the air over his shoulders, until there was no sound but the wet slap of flesh and their groans as they burst into their climaxes as one.

Astarion stilled, pulling from her wet to lay on their sides and wrap his arms so tightly around her. “My sweet…” his voice rumbled into the damp and errant strands of her hair where it clung to her sweating forehead.

Her warm and blushing face nestled perfectly into the dip beneath his chin. The bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed and caught his breath was so loud against her ear. “Almost ready for more?” she hummed, tracing her fingers slowly over his skin, brushing over the drying damp on his stomach.

“You… insatiable… minx…” he laughed as he kissed her head again. “I know I am an eternally young, handsome, well-fed, impossibly strong vampire… but even I have limits to my near-infinite well of endurance, my love.”

She flashed him those silver pools of her eyes, glinting with mischief. And then her lips pouted. “After all we endured today… you would make me take care of myself?”

His brows shot to his hairline, mouth twisting in a devilish smirk at her game. “And which one of us is acting the spoiled little elfling now?” he taunted, hand straying to ass to give that supple cheek a little slap. “Tch, naughty.”

“Going to chastise me… punish me for being so spoiled and demanding?” she purred, a slight tilt to her head in defiance, a wriggle of her rear as a silent plea for more.

Astarion lifted his head to slink one of his arms behind it. “Perhaps later… once I’ve regained some of my vigor after you’ve made every one of my limbs ache and since you’ve already taken… so much of my seed between your thighs, pet.” He pretended to close his eyes, watching through the lowered curtain of his long lashes as she pouted and crawled over his body until she pressed herself flush against his side.

“I’ll give you five minutes…” she whispered right into his ear. “Enough time for me to tend to my own needs, I suppose…”

Wet… slick little sounds laid under her voice. Her fingers touched herself, stroking in the thick mix of their cum so loudly, so obscenely squelching.

He turned his head with a dramatic sigh, opening that hungry crimson gaze only halfway so he could watch. “You really are a demanding commander aren’t you? So bossy… so dominating… I would have undoubtedly been constantly aroused by you if I had been one of your men.”

Her perfect white teeth bit at her bottom lip, fingers still teasing slowly between her legs. “If you were under my command, you would know better than to defy your commander,” she smirked, eyes shut tight as her hips began to ride her touch.

“If I was under your command, I’m pretty sure we would both be dismissed for fucking each other every night, darling…”

Her belly swirled at that, at the mere mention of how much they indulged now, how she chase her blood lust away with more lust for him, at how very much she craved their connection, rekindling what once was and discovering what would come next. Side by side. “You wouldn’t have made it one day without coming in your leathers at the sight of me in my armor, and you know it,” she taunted, a dark desirous smirk in his lips.

“Likewise, my sweet…” exhausted, he did let his hand stray a single finger down her side, stroking up and down over her curves with barely the tickle of a feather in his dexterous touch. “There is little you do that doesn’t make me unspeakably aroused, my love, my darling, my betrothed,” he grinned as her eyes fluttered open at that last loving title.

“Gods, I’ve waited ages to hear you say that again. Lived different lifetimes, dulled blades and threw my armor into the sea just to hear it again,” she whispered. Her voice tinged with that mix of sadness and longing. Her hand stilling as she slowed touching herself.

“What was it like, your fearsome mantle of the Lady Corvus, Bone Picker?” He watched her body tense, withdrawing into memories, and for a moment he wished he had just bit his tongue. Perhaps it was too soon after the blinding bloodlust today. Perhaps it was the exact right time. He waited, nervously.

Until she gave a wistful smile. “Black and hard and sharp. Little feathers etched into the metal of my breastplate and gauntlets. Pointed spikes darted from the shoulders, like talons ready to tear the flesh of my foes. My blood-red cape would billow in the winds that carried the ash of my decimated enemies. My helm was small, enough to let my hair hang wild and free, a crown of spikes encircling my head… spikes of iron I once replaced with whitened bone, plucked from the battlefield myself.”

Astarion exhaled deeply, sensing her mix of longing and grief. “Sounds fearsome,” he whispered. His fingers traced lazy circles up her back. “Show me,” he ordered. A curious tilt to her head, and he just sucked his teeth. “Use the tadpole, darling. And don’t you stop touching your sweet little body. In fact…” His mouth brushed against her lips, her eyes fluttering shut, “those fingers can only touch where I tell you… where I will show you…”

“I thought you were too tired…” she pouted, whining right into his mouth. And he silenced her with a bite of his teeth on her lower lip.

“You’ll be doing all the hard work, darling. Come on,” he purred, “it’ll be fun.”

Oh, there it was, that taunting, “I dare you” tone that hadn’t left his voice since his youth.

She could feel his mind sticking a finger into her own, just that little wiggle for her to open wide.

Air smelled of smoke, trees burned to stumps, rocks slick with blood. Astarion looked down from this high point at the field that sprawled below his feet… bones and blood already the feast of carrion birds. But behind him on this rise, she waited nearer to the trees, the ones that still stood, that still carried some blood spattered living leaves yet.

Warm wind swept her scarlet cape, fluttering it to the side, and her arm cradled that spiked helmet in its crook.

Her face, gaunt and pale and blood spattered. More than he had even seen at her side now. A wraith of vengeance, a weapon herself, sharp and deadly.

But it was her eyes that locked into his. Even in this hellish dreamscape. They sparkled like the starlight, growing wetter and brighter as he crossed beside her. “This was me, my love, the monster… the terror… the fighter.”

From the distance, he heard that same chilling deep voice they had all silenced for good today. Ketheric’s taunt, his final words, still embedded deeply in his lover’s mind it seemed: “You think to scare me… the fabled Bone Picker… the warrior of her people. She is but a puny, pale vestige of what her own father wanted her to be. Why do you think you can finish what the great General Aquilae could not?”

Cordehlia’s voice had rung back harder than steel: “Because I’m so much more than what any Father could ever dream up for their child. As if you know anything about that… traitor… deceiver….” She raised her blade for a final swing. “Failure!”

The voices were swallowed by the sickening sound of blade and bone.

And Cordehlia could only stand there before Astarion, arms just beginning to reach for her lover. To beg him to come closer.

“Darling…” he whispered, brushing the knotted strands of her hair from her cheek and shoulder. “You don’t have to fight anymore, your father is avenged at last. Nor do you need to fight to forget me. I’m right here.”

Her breath caught in her throat, cheek rubbing tenderly into the cup of his palm. “It was more than fighting to avenge my father. It was also about you… not to merely forget you… I fought to… punish you… to make you pay for leaving me, to destroy the memory of what we were. What we could never be again.”

Her voice was a hammer that struck his chest woven with her heavy guilt. Astarion winced, facing down that void of their separation, his sins staring back in that darkness. And he sighed, “It was probably far less than I deserved, my love.”

“No,” she shook her head, armor rattling from the quick little shakes as she trembled. “No, you didn’t know, you couldn’t remember. Enslaved and compelled. Forced to obey and forget. Who you were to me was stripped from you… but I… stripped myself from my soul on purpose.”

Her hand flung that bone-horned helmet far away, its clattering the only sound around them. She watched it tumble over the rock and blood.

“Well,” Astarion’s voice was pressed, careful, “we may have both suffered, drowning in our own versions of darkness…” He paused, turning her face up towards his, waiting until those sad, silver eyes finally looked at him. “But now, neither of us is alone. And our darkness will not determine our fate, darling.”

Warm and wet, he could feel her tears on her skin, sliding down her cheek.

He could feel it on his real palm, all visions aside.

“Kiss me,” she sighed, angling closer to his mouth, eyes shut tight against the sights of battle around her.

“Yes, my lady…” he gave his sweet submission, a little tender breath from her lips as they brushed softly. “But let me take you somewhere else… let me… strip away the pain that comes from this time... this armor.”

“Please, Astarion,” she groaned. Her hands suddenly clung into the back of his shirt. The metallic scent of blood dissipated into fresh grass, the sounds of fire crackling becoming the trickle of a forest stream. She knew where she was before even glancing through her lashes.

One more lingering, slow working of her mouth on his, and she pulled away with a contented sigh. Elven trees and moss and moonlight.

The perfect remembrance of their home. Of their little spot of nowhere. Far away, and long ago.

“No more battlefield to torment you from your past. No more fighting alone. Now,” he held her by her jaw, raising her face into his, “now, we fight together.”

Her throat bobbed under his hold, another tear forming and flowing from the corner of her eye. Her hand raised to brush the tear away. “You don’t know what it means to me for you to…”

“Shhh,” he quieted her with a kiss, trapping her hand in his. A spike of mischief in his voice and a hint of command in his touch. “I thought we agreed, darling, you would only touch yourself where I say…”

Oh… she shivered. That grief suddenly ignited inside her core to something hotter and fiercer. No more longing or anger… only them. And their needs.

“I stripped away your battlefield…” he eased his grip, sliding back a single pace. “Now… allow me to relieve you of such armor, my lady, my love.” His hands skated down the exposed skin of her neck, lighter than breath. “Whatever this armor meant to you then, remember, everything is new again. You… me… we aren’t what we were.” His fingers slipped the buckles from her armor at her shoulders, barely touching her body. “We are better.”

Black metal fell harshly behind her, deadened by the moss at their feet.

Slow little strokes across that crook at the base of her throat, and he could feel her body melting under his touch in her mind. Her hands held fast against his back, edging him closer, longing to press her body firmly against him.

But he tutted his tongue. “Don’t touch me,” he taunted, shaking her hands away. “And remember, you’re the one meant to do the hard work, darling.”

He gripped her true hand from her belly, sliding it over her warm flesh to where his fingers danced over her skin in her mind.

“Let my hands be yours… and only do as I do, not one little pat or stroke more.” He growled as he caught her lips. “I’ll know if you disobey, pet.”

She arched under his fingers that traced under her neckline. Her neck craned into his touch. “You want some reward for being obedient, my love, won’t you? Still touching yourself like I asked?”

Her body shivered against him in his arms, just enough for him to feel it. But from his words or her own touch, he didn’t know.

Preferably both.

“Yes,” she moaned, drawing closer for more of his touch on his skin.

“Good girl,” he praised, feeling her shiver as another one... two pieces of jagged metal fell at their feet. “So fierce, so daunting…” he purred into her ear, tugging harder and faster through the latches of her breastplate.

“I became a lot of things to lose myself in my pain and anger…”

“Tch, you were always those things, my lovely Cordehlia. You still are, even stripped of this mantle…” He flung the metal from her upper body to the ground, letting it clatter obscenely loudly. And then, his fingers locked firmly around both her breasts, a low deep breath from his nose as he smirked down at her. “And don’t I just love you all the more for it.”

She raised on her toes for a kiss, but his hands were faster, holding her down by her shoulder, a chiding tut on his tongue. “Naughty,” he hissed and taunted. “You only touch where I show you. My hands are your hands, my pet. Nothing more, nothing less…”

She looked at him with those big, wet, silver pleading eyes. “But…”

“An excellent suggestion,” he smirked, giving his head a little nod, so pleased with himself. His hands ran down her back, caressing through the soft linen of her shirt, finally coming to rest along her rear. “Your perfect, rounded butt is still too covered.”

His hands traced around the crests of her hips, gripping into the buckle at her belly and yanking it open. There was so much to her, metal and layers, but he also couldn’t help but notice how with each little piece of her armor, her hardened shell of Lady Corvus that he pulled from her flesh, she looked younger. Happier.

Freer. Healed.

Her skin glowed, her lips smiled as she bit them sensually and slowly under his touch… her touch on her real body.

Whatever it was he was stripping her of, it was more than memory and metal. He searched her eyes for more, tried wriggling deeper into her mind for more, but she didn’t let him. She was too overwhelmed with the feeling of shedding that weight, of his hands on her skin, cold and dexterous.

Familiar.

He could feel her craving, how she was lost to the past, desiring nothing more than the future that once was. He knelt at her feet, pulling off the last metal braces from her shins. He pressed against the smooth leather that enshrouded her skin. He wanted nothing more than to tear it with his teeth. So he did. He nipped into her thigh, the salt of her breeches coated in sweat made him salivate. The little buck of her body to push closer into his mouth shook him out of his mind. He needed her. Need to have her see him, here and now, alive and loved in his arms.

Real flesh, he slid his real fingers where she caressed up her thighs. Where he had just been nipping in his dreams. A quick shuffle down her body, and he pierced the flesh of her bent leg, the tender skin of her thigh giving so easily. His mouth filled with pools of her blood. She cried, arching under him, unsure if she was dreaming or awake. Those silver eyes flew open, the tingle of their tadpoles releasing its hold.

Astarion only gave her a quick bloodied smirk before returning to have more of his fill. Her hand wove into his curls, as she always did. As she always had done.

But the way her pulse throbbed from that lower artery between his lips, she thrummed with life.

One last broad brush of his tongue over those wounds, as he crawled that chiseled body over hers again. “You are mine, Cordehlia, my raven, my love. And no armor will ever protect you better than I will.”

“Yours,” she sighed. “I feel lighter, empty of that weight.”

“Wouldn’t want you empty for long, darling. Need me to fill you with something instead of grief and anger?”

She buried her face beneath her arm for a moment, hiding that radiant smile, a moment just for her. A moment where she finally savored that weightlessness, that floating feeling he had given her as he stripped her from those memories. From the bile that had poisoned her all those many years ago. Of what she thought she knew from that time… from what she thought she… had known of him. And for a man who had starved, survived torture and assault and whoring himself out, now this man sucked the venom from her heart.

With a rogue’s dexterous touch, he had peeled off the painful layers that had built because of him, stripping her with his own two, living hands. He drew his fingers up her panting belly, his exhale deep as he stayed his hand to grip and knead her breast. Those eyes, fierce, possessive, drank in her every reaction. “Need something, Cordehlia?”

It was a simple question, but that purr in his voice, that heavy-lidded gaze that flitted over her neck, her lips, her breasts, it all spoke more than the simple words that he whispered.

“I need…” she whined, sliding her body to buck against him. Wanting nothing more than to be crushed and confined and caged by his body. “I need…” she panted. No words came to her tongue. So she thrust it into his mouth as it barely hovered over her own.

You. The rest of her words filled his thoughts. Even without the tadpole.

His hand cradling her neck, Astarion gave her everything, trying to fill that void he had seen, that agony he had witnessed with his own two eyes. The pain he wanted to carry for her, instead of her. He knew what it was to struggle under the weight of darkness and loss. He carried so many of his own burdens, but he would gladly take hers on too, if it meant she was lighter.

If it meant she was happy.

If it meant she was loved as she should have always been.

Gods, he groaned as he filled her again. It didn’t matter how many times they had done just that tonight… this week… it was never enough. He had centuries to make up for. His arms held on to her for dear life, wrapping around her shoulders, bracing his legs to keep her thighs wide. His to keep. His to protect.

Her body bent and pressed to mold to his throbbed with the feeling of him, of how he covered her every inch. With every thrust inside her, that chilling gnaw of her bloodied past receded, a flood that ebbed away. And all that was left was fertile ground for new things to grow.

[trappedinafantasy37]

Let me tell you about my first time meeting Minthara and locking myself into the grove raid

I was having a chat with someone in the comments of my fanfic where I had told them I locked myself into the grove raid on my first run. They got really curious as to how I managed that. But, my response got a bit too long, so I figured I’d kinda do a bit of a writeup and reminisce about my first time playing Baldurs Gate 3 all the way back on Christmas Day and how I raided the grove with Minthara.

And oooo boi, where do I begin! Just a massive string of first time player who doesn’t know how to look, how to listen, or how to read. To start, never found Wyll in the grove (and when I eventually did he was big mad). I have no idea how I missed him. For some reason, my dumb ass also didn’t explore north of Blighted Village. So, I never found Karlach (and when I eventually did she was big mad). I went down to the swamp and Ethel just humiliated me, so I decided to go back until I was level 5 cause she was level 5. I never found Wood Woad so I never learned of the Shadow Druid stuff. I also never found the Underdark or Grymforge until exploring the goblin camp AFTER the raid so the only thing left for me to do was the grove.

Kagha wouldn’t talk to me cause she wanted me to go to Zevlor. I don’t know how I did it, but Zevlor wanted me to kill Kagha and just refused to talk to me when I said I wasn’t gonna kill Kagha. I also never found Mol so never got the quest to steal the idol.

So, all that was left was the goblin camp. Went downstairs to find the bear in the cage, I kinda figured it was Halsin. But, I think I picked the wrong dialogue options with the goblin kids and pissed off the bear. Long story short, bear got dead. All that was left was talking with Minthara and man she scared the absolute fucking shit outta me! When she told me to tell her where the grove was, I was literally too scared to tell her no and gave her the location. Don’t know bout you, but powerful and scary women can convince me to do just about anything! I felt awful, but it felt like it was the only way to progress the grove conflict.

Then I started the raid and saw that I still had the option to turn against her. I was so excited and thought “Yay! I can still save them AND I’ll have an army of tiefling and druids.” WRONG! I had 3 tieflings and only 1 was actually worth a damn and the druids slept through their big day. Minthara swept the floor with my ass, again, and again, and again. I tried that fight for 3 hours and Minthara won the fight every time. Mind you, I was severely under leveled and was doing the raid at level 3.

I may have found Withers, but didn’t know about respecing so Shadowheart was still in her default class of Trickery Domain (WHICH IS GARBAGE), Astarion who was an Arcane Trickster (WHICH IS GARBAGE), and Bae’zel who carried our asses as best as she could. And then there was me, a Rogue Assassin who loses her biggest advantage after round 1.

In typical drow fashion, she quite literally beat me into submission and I just said, “fuck it, I’mma join her.” Easiest fight in the game, didn’t break a sweat. When I talked to her in the inner sanctum, I genuinely felt nauseous to my stomach, but I decided I wasn’t gonna reload and was live with my choices, even if they’re stupid. I told Minthara that what we did was murder and we deserve to hang for it. Then she said “Look at me” and I was hooked. She has had me in her clutches ever since.

I did the goblin party and her and I went to the chapel. I figured I was gonna get a fade to black kinda sex scene. WRONG! It has got to be the most graphic and explicit sex scene I’ve seen in a game second to Cyberpunk. I was literally in shock the whole time. And then, afterwards, I cuddled with her and she wanted to talk about my feelings and I'm all "O.o, you're supposed to be evil?" The game may have been painting her as an evil character, but that moment showed that there was so much depth to her than just being an evil character. A moment most players will never see cause most don't raid the grove. I truly wasn’t expecting to see her again in Moonrise. And when I did, I knew I had to get her outta there no matter what.

Looking back on it now, it’s interesting for me to see how many things had to go wrong in order for me to end up raiding the grove. If I had found Karlach first, it wouldn’t have happened. If I found the Underdark/Grymforge first and leveled up a bit, wouldn’t have happened. If I freed Halsin, I probably would have killed the goblin leaders (including Minthara cause I did not know about the knock out method on my first play through) and the raid wouldn’t have happened. Hell, if I had thought to lower the difficulty to Explorer it wouldn’t have happened! But I didn’t get that big brain idea until the fight with Nere, well after the grove raid.

Minthara left such a massive impression on me because I did raid the grove. It really does make me think of her line “I would have just been another casualty in your crusade against the Absolute and no one would remember me.” If I did things right, that’s exactly who she would have been and probably would have been dead in most of my playthroughs. But, instead, I fucked everything up and she most certainly wasn’t a casualty and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget her. When meeting her in the goblin camp, never could I have imagined relating so much to a character. Out of all the companions, I relate to Minthara the most and Karlach comes a close second.

I don’t always raid the grove, but I will never kill her under any circumstance. Her and Shadowheart are the only two companions who have survived every playthough I’ve done and will survive every future runs cause I just cannot play this game without them. And it’s all because I was a chronic dumbass and raided the grove.

[amandacanwrite]

Violet Thread of Fate || Part Nine : A Vigil

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Part Seven || Part Eight || Join Taglist

POV || 3rd Person -- Gale Dekarios

Scenario|| Elinna Inklynn is an orphan with an uncanny ability to mess up even the simplest of spells. It’s not her fault; she hasn’t ever had access to a proper teacher. But she has had access to books, and she’s read about a certain gentleman wizard in Waterdeep that may just be willing to help her.

She books passage on a ship from the Moonshae Islands and sails to Waterdeep, only to be rejected by Gale Dekarios. He doesn’t take on apprentices.

But their paths become inextricably intertwined when an enormous Nautiloid targets the City of Splendors.

Word Count || 4,400 words

Warnings || Mentions of blood and fighting. Allusions to non-consensual biting by a vampire.

A/N || I just love writing Gale being working and protective. That's it, that's the tweet.

Taglist || @verba-writing @softvampirewhump @horizonstride @thoughts-of-bear 

@mymybirdie

@tiedyedghoulette @drabblesandimagines @madwomansapologist @hijirikaww @tryingtowritestuff24

@laserlope @auroraesmeraldarose @puckprimrose @dont-try-pesticide @cherifrog

@circusofthelastdays  @nourangul @crucibelle @fan-aaa-tic

Gale focused on the quiet, shallow breaths going in and out of Elinna’s lungs as he carried her through the caverns. He tried his best not to think too hard; not to over analyze the quality of each breath, how much time passed between each exhale and the following inhale, or the concerning blue quality to her faintly parted lips. 

It helped him, he thought, to focus on the fact that she was still alive, however dire her state was. And it also helped him refrain from incinerating the vampire spawn that drained her of the blood she needed to flush the toxin out of her system. 

The four of them were quiet as they walked, listening for where the rush of water became louder and trying to make it whatever underground stream would lead them to freedom and, hopefully, a cure for the little ingenue in his arms. 

Blessedly, it wasn’t long before they found the way out, though it required wading through waist deep water. Cold water. 

“Why don’t you let me take her?” Halsin offered Gale. “Best to keep her from getting too wet; hypothermia is not an ailment we should add to the litany she’s already got.”

Gale hesitated, loath to let her go after being separated from her once. But he handed her over, knowing he was right. 

Halsin cradled her like she weighed nothing at all and sloshed into the water, heading for where the moonlight streamed in at the far end of the cavern. 

Lingering nearby was Astarion, looking unburdened as ever. 

It made Gale want to shake him. 

“Why Elinna?’ Gale said, his tone tight. “Why hurt her and then coerce her into playing tour guide for you? Why couldn’t you just have asked for help from us like a normal person?”

Astarion looked a little surprised that Gale was speaking to him, his eyes widening for a moment before they narrowed again. His expression was oddly serious. 

“As if there is ever a reason for wanton cruelty,” Astarion said. “I learned a long time ago to stop asking questions with no answers. Maybe you should do the same.”

Astarion stepped into the stream and followed after Halsin. 

Briar came up from behind Gale and looked up at him. Gale was still looking at Astarion as he walked away and he found himself suddenly so very tired; so exhausted by everything that had happened. 

“Halsin is one of the most gifted healers you could meet, Gale,” Briar said. “Now that we’re out, I’m sure Elinna will be alright.”

Gale nodded and heaved out a breath before wading into the stream. “Thank you, Briar,” he said. 

They walked for a long while after exiting the caverns, finally setting up a small camp in a meadow. Briar took Astarion with them to look for the herbs and barks that Halsin required for the healing poultice as Halsin kept an eye on Elinna’s state and Gale took to setting up tents for everyone. 

As Gale worked on starting up a fire, he heard the faint tinkle of the bells on Elinna’s overcoat. Gale’s head whipped to look in her direction, thinking for a moment that she was rousing on her own accorf. His heart leapt but immediately dropped when he saw what had caused the sound. 

Halsin was stripping the outer layer of her armor off! 

“Wh-what?! Are you DOING?!” Gale sputtered. 

Halsin’s scared brow quirked. “I can’t very well work on her wounds while she’s fully clothed.”

“You can’t just disrobe her in the middle of camp!”

“I’ll need the light to work on her, and I’ll need to see if she has any other wounds that need treatment,” Halsin said. “Believe me, it’s not in an effort to ogle her. I’m merely trying to heal her. Being unclothed isn’t anything to be ashamed of. Certainly it’s nothing any of us haven’t seen.”

“I–I– just take her into the tent,” Gale stammered. “I’ll conjure light for your work, just don’t disrobe her out here in front of everyone, please.”

Halsin chuckled. “I understand wanting to keep the finer details of your lover to yourself.”

Gale almost choked. “She is not. My lover.”

Halsin’s brows shot up with surprise. “She isn’t?” he asked. “Forgive me. Your protective nature in regards to her–the way you went after her abductor–I just assumed.”

Gale’s face heated and he smeared his hand down it. “Just. Take her to the tent. Please.”

Halsin gave a private little smile before scooping Elinna up in his arms once again and taking her to the tent Gale had set up for himself and Elinna to share. He couldn’t decide if he preferred Halsin disrobing Elinna on his own, or if he preferred to be there. As the sound of bells came from within the tent, he still wasn’t certain. He sat down near the fire and dropped his head into his hands with a groan. 

Some time later, Briar returned with a burlap bag on their shoulder, Astarion close behind. The bag was brimming with various plant life foraged from the meadow beyond. 

“Where are they?” Briar asked. 

Gale pointed to the tent and Briar nodded. Leaving Astarion and Gale alone once more. Astarion sat by the fire, leaning back on their palms and crossing their legs. 

An awkward silence yawned between them, and then, seemingly out of nowhere, Astarion spoke. 

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry,” he said. “I know that what I did wasn’t considered very…eh…polite. But I truly never intended on delivering the girl to death’s doorstep. It was all just…bad luck.”

Bad luck–as if the elf hadn’t kidnapped her and forced Elinna into the very position that  led to this situation they were in. Gale inhaled slowly, rubbing his fingers across his brow, trying to cool his temper. Trying to be civil, though he didn’t want to be. 

“I can’t accept an apology on Elinna’s behalf,” Gale said. “I appreciate that you helped us get out of there in a timely manner so that she could be seen to. But I’m not terribly interested in being your friend.”

“Understandable,” Astarion said. “No one ever is.”

The vampire let out a guffaw at his self-deprecating joke before exhaling slowly. He looked toward the tent where the druids were treating Elinna and sobered. “I do hope she’s alright, wizard.”

“Now that is something we can agree on,” Gale said. 

“Who is she to you exactly?” Astarion asked. 

“A young lady who sought me out as a teacher a couple of days ago. I’d rejected her proposition and was ready to have that be the end of it, but the Nautiloid showed itself in waterdeep and stole us away…I presume you know what followed,” he said. 

“Intimately,” Astarion said with a cringe. “If you rejected her…why were you still traveling with her?”

Gale exhaled as he realized he didn’t really have a good answer to that question. Sure, they’d helped one another after being abducted by the mindflayers, but neither of them had any obligation to each other. He’d been telling himself that it was a matter of convenience, but the last day and a half had been anything but convenient. 

The truth was, in the few days he’d had the girl with him, he had rather come to enjoy her company; perhaps even relate to her insatiable curiosity. 

“She’s a kind young lady,” Gale finally said. “It felt wrong to leave someone so innocent and guileless to handle the wilds on her own.”

A half truth, Gale realized. And one he hoped Astarion wouldn’t challenge him on. 

Astarion snickered. “Well, she’s not that innocent,” he said. “You should have heard the sounds she made when I fed on her.”

Gale glared at the vampire spawn and he lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m just saying. It’s not every day that someone enjoys having their neck feasted on.”

“Stop talking,” Gale said flatly. 

“Jealous that you didn’t get to hear it for yourself?” Astarion teased. 

“You are making it very hard for me to avoid bloodying your nose,” Gale said. 

Astarion didn’t back down, seeming to relish Gale’s discomfort the same way he would have enjoyed a glass of warm blood. “Ah, the way she opened up like flower petals for me. The way she just melted like butter in my hands once she surrendered to it. The little moans she sighed out~”

He didn’t want to think about Elinna melting, or opening up or moaning. He didn’t want to picture the little catches of her breath at feeling a wicked pleasure in something she shouldn’t. She didn’t want to think about the ways her body might tighten in just the right places if he–

Gods he was thinking about it, wasn’t he?

“I wonder what she would have let me do to her,” Astarion said with wicked delight. ��If I had let her stay conscious just a little longer.”

Gale couldn’t take it anymore. He balled one fist in the vampire’s doublet and used his other fist to land a blow right on his stately nose. There was a bit of a crunch and then the flow of dark, burgundy blood. Like blood that had been sitting in a vial for too long. Blood that didn’t belong to him. 

The sight of it, the realization that it was likely Elinna’s blood that spurted from his nose, was enough to set him in a rage. A scuffle ensued where Gale got himself poised above the blood sucking bastard and landed two more blows to his obnoxiously pretty face. 

Astarion laughed as his teeth stained red with more of that borrowed blood.

“There you go, Wizard,” Astarion said. “Get it out of your system.”

Gale put both of his hands in his shirt and thrashed him against the ground. “Don’t patronize me you arrogant little–”

“Gale!” Briar called from the tent where Elinna was being treated. 

Gale came to an abrupt stop, head whipping to where Briar stood in the open flap of the tent, backlit by the cantrip Gale had used to illuminate their work. Briar grinned. 

“She’s stable, if you want to come see her,” they said. 

“And her modesty is protected,” Halsin called from within the tent. 

Briar looked over their shoulder with a questioning glance and Halsin chuckled. 

Gale ignored it as he got up off of Astarion and hurried for the tent, eager to see Elinna healthy again, with some of the rosy flush back in her face. “Coming,” he said. 

Briar stepped out of the tent as Gale went in, clearing room in the small space. Halsin seemed to take up so much of the space as he sat with his glowing hands held over Elinna’s body, covered by a warm looking hide of what seemed to be a bear or perhaps a dire wolf. 

She was still unconscious, but some of the color had returned to her face, her lips a pale pink instead of a ghoulish blue. And her chest was rising and falling with slow, full breaths. 

“When will she wake up?” Gale asked. 

“The antitoxin worked well, but it will likely take a day or two for her body to recover the blood she lost. She may wake up briefly here or there, but the body does most of its natural healing while sleeping, so encourage her to sleep if she does wake up.” Halsin said. “We’d do well to get her to an inn; get her out of the elements and somewhere with warm, hearty food. Let us rest tonight and we can carry her to a nearby town tomorrow.”

Gale nodded and heaved out a sigh, his eyes burning with tears he refused to allow. 

“Halsin, thank you. Thank you both for everything that you did. I’m in your debt.”

“Think nothing of it,” Halsin said. “At my age, with all that I’ve seen. It’s just a relief that something went the way I hoped it would. Now, let me leave you to your charge. Briar and I will retire to our tent and we’ll see you come morning.”

Gale nodded and Halsin wasted no time in seeing himself out. Elves rarely needed to sleep, but after the long day, he was sure Halsin was looking forward to some much deserved slumber. 

As the flap to the tent closed and Gale was left with Elinna, he found himself not wanting to sleep. He worried that doing so would undo whatever luck they’d struck in getting her back from the brink of death. He decided he would keep an eye on her instead, perhaps read a good book while he waited for the coming morning. Try to find something interesting to share with her when she woke up. 

But shortly after he plucked a book from his pile of things and started flipping through it as he listened to the calm breaths flowing in and out of Elinna’s lungs, the wizard found his eyelids began to droop. 

And before very long at all, he too found rest. Sitting next to Elinna, his head propped on a folded hand, his book discarded in his lap. 

As if he held quiet vigil over her as he slept.

[unreadpoppy]

Halsin, Minthara and Datamines

I've talked about this before but I decided to make a more "formal" post about it, so that I don't have to keep repeting myself. Also, this is a situation that lowkey makes me a bit stressed and it has been plaguing my mind for quite long now, so I'll use this as an excuse to talk about it.

Context: There's datamined stuff that people found of a potential ultimatum scene. In it, Halsin confronts the player for saving Minthara in the party, because of what she almost did to the grove, and basically says it's either her or me (hence the use of the word ultimatum) and then the player would have to choose to either keep Minthara or Halsin.

Now, Larian, as far as I know, has made no move to actually implement this in game but apparently, lines have been voiced.

So... my opinion on this (and let me make this VERY clear: this whole post is solely my opinion ok, feel free to disagree with me, I'm not the owner of the truth): I would hate if this got added in game.

First, because I love both Minthara and Halsin, and I was so happy when Minthara was finally recruitable in a good run, because I personally, don't find evil runs as appealing, so it was nice to have her while still enjoying what I was doing. And Minthara is such a fun character and I loved every second I got to spend with her.

Second, I don't think it's a choice/scene that makes sense. Why implent the option to recruit Minthara on a good run and then make the player choose between her or Halsin? Because, if you can't have both, why go through all the pains of doing a good run, and just stick to an evil one if you want Minty? Like, it goes back to what it was previously, making the option to have her in a good run pointless.

Third, this scene, TO ME, feels incredible out of character for Halsin. Look, I'm not saying that the two of them need to be best friends, but it feels weird that the one guy who believes that time heals, that people and circumstances can change, a guy who believes in freedom and all that, would give an ultimatum because Minthara, under mind control of the Absolute, wanted to end the Grove. If Halsin knew that Minthara didn't do those things willingly, that she didn't have a choice and is not proud of the hold that the Absolute had on her, I doubt he wouldn't offer her the same grace of possible change and healing as he does others.

I'm ok if this scene was something like the confrontation between Lae'zel and Shadowheart. The two have a fight, due to different beliefs, and Tav 'picks' a side to end the conflict, but ultimatly, both stay and eventually, get over their animosity towards the other.

But, in my opinion, forcing the player to have to let go of a companion that they fought hard to get, it's just so absolutely shitty and feels like a betrayal to what their characters are. And sincerely, it would make me feel very negative towards Halsin, if he wasn't willing to listen to what Minthara had to say and was forcing the player to choose.

With all of that out of the way, I want to address data mines over all. To make a long story short, I'm not a fan of datamined content. I think it's stuff we (players) were not even supposed to know, and when datamined stuff gets discovered, it's spread around the fandom like canon when it's not. Sure, there is a possibility that this stuff might get implemented but it is not a guarantee, and it should not be treated as canon. What is canon is what is IN the game, what we can see, hear, find, interact, not datamined material.

Also, please people, if you're talking about datamined material, MAKE IT KNOWN SOMEWHERE IN YOUR POST. More than once was I left very confused by people talking about character interactions that weren't in game, only for later to discover it was datamine.

Finally, to end on the Minthara-Halsin situation. I think these two have a lot of potential together. I've been told by a friend that a reason this would be implemented would be because of the 'issue' of these two characters sharing a tent, which I hope it's not the 'reason', bc that's such a non issue, and the two of them having to share a place is exactly the type of potential for like, interactions and dialogues;

Just stop trying to pit two bad bitches against each other and let Minthara and Halsin be together.

[pengychan]

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 27

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: E Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** Don't you hate it when talk about Feelings has to wait because you've got an archdevil to take down. ***

In the many centuries that followed the Fall of Netheril, the Blood War raged on as it had for time immemorial. In that time as Steward of Avernus, Raphael witnessed all manners of events across the Hells and many other Planes. 

Most were mundane, some unusual, some extraordinary; very few, however, compared to witnessing a mortal coming within a hair’s breadth of godhood, the blinking out of existence of all magic, the destruction of an empire in a matter of moments - all made possible by an artifact of immense power and potential, now collecting dust in the Eighth layer of the Hells.

All in all, until a couple of decades into his seventeenth century of life, Raphael could quite safely say he had yet to witness anything that came close to that. Until he witnessed a blindfolded Solar with a glowing sword in hand, charging into Avernus atop a golden mastodon, leading a mounted charge of thousands of Hellriders against demonic hordes. 

That, he had to admit, did fit the definition of an extraordinary event… and it was as much a folly as Karsus’ bid for godhood had been. There was a reason why Celestials had long stopped waging war against the demons of the Abyss: those of them who were sent to do so had been changed beyond recognition, taking on characteristics of their enemies to better vanquish them.

In the end they became something altogether different, ever caught in-between demon and celestial: the first devils. Sworn enemies of demons and yet reviled by what had once been their own kin and by the gods - the very some who had sent them forth to be their scourge and their shield, the only bastion against the hordes of the Abyss. 

So many eons had passed that history had turned to legend, and a little known one at that. But it was the truth. Raphael would know; Lord Mephistopheles had been one of those first devils, after all. He had never willingly spoken of that distant past to him or anyone as far as he was aware, but Raphael had made it his mission - one of several - to learn all he could about his sire, so he could spot any gaps in his armor.

While he did learn much, he had not found any such gaps. None large enough to let a figurative dagger slip past, at least. But Raphael had also learned to be patient, and he had time in abundance.

“Apparently, they intend to chase the demons into the Abyss, and slaughter them all,” Lord Bel had muttered, unaware of his thoughts. He had been watching the charge through a telescope atop the Bronze Citadel. On top of the outer rings of its defensive walls, much of the garrison was watching the events unfold too. “What does my steward make of it?”

“I think it’s the epitome of idiocy,” Raphael had replied, gaining himself a chuckle. 

“And my steward is correct.”

“I have been known to be.”

“Don’t get complacent, boy,” Lord Bel had replied, as though Raphael wasn’t quite past the age to be considered one even by hellish standards. He’d lowered the telescope before speaking again. “It is idiocy. She will fail. Her mortal friends will die and she’s likely to suffer a worse fate yet. But as long as she’s fighting demons, she can be a useful idiot.”

“A strategic alliance?”

“If she’s so inclined, which I doubt. Celestials are usually too righteous to do the clever thing. More likely than not, she will refuse the alliance and make some lofty oath to take up her sword against us should we intervene - with the unspoken implication she will do so either way once all demons are dead by her holy hand, of course.”

Raphael scoffed. Demons were close enough to infinite in numbers, and anyone with half a brain knew that defeating them for good was impossible. They could be held back, never destroyed; they were as eternal as the chaos they had spawned from. 

“Does she truly believe her quaint cavalry can succeed where all of our forces could not?” 

“Don’t underestimate a celestial’s arrogance. Still, the remote possibility exists that this one may see reason.” Bel pulled away from the telescope, and turned back to look at him. “It would be foolish of me not to make an attempt. As soon as this battle is done and they make camp, you shall go as my envoy. Do try to return in one piece.”

He did go, and the meeting was short as it was unpleasant, with the solar doing most of the talking. As Bel had predicted there was the refusal of any cooperation, the promise to destroy their forces should they approach, the silent threat that they would be next once the demonic hordes were crushed. He’d returned to Bel in one piece, at least, and the Lord of the First had laughed when he heard his report. 

“She thinks she can destroy demons and then us in one fell swoop? Well then, let her try. Let us see how many demons they can slaughter for us before they’re felled.”

It was many; hundreds, thousands, perhaps tens of thousands and more. Zariel fought furiously, if recklessly, and she fought well. So did her host, which lasted longer than Raphael had thought it possibly could - but they were mortals, and they fell far more easily than a celestial would; more easily than a fiend, too. More and more fell, their numbers dwindled, and the demons kept coming - wave after wave, horde after horde, shattering spears and shields, disemboweling horses and riders alike. Battles turned to indiscriminate butchery and no legion of devils intervened one way or the other. Their offer for help had, after all, been quite rudely rebuffed and Zariel, sworn sword of the Morninglord Lathander and herald of dawn. 

She had made plain that she was their enemy, and few things are quite as convenient as two enemies making one another bleed. So the troops of Avernus retreated, took advantage of the rare lull to reorganize their numbers, repair weapons, and prepare for the fighting that was inevitably going to resume once the Ride failed. 

Because it did fail. When a group of terrified Hellriders finally broke away over the course of a particularly bloody battle, Raphael knew it would seal their fate. They fled back to the portal they’d opened up from the Material Plane, went through it… and such was their terror the demons may follow, they closed it behind them, leaving the rest trapped.

Of those who remained some broke, turned on one another, tried to seek escape where no escape existed. They died, almost every one of them, until a small gang was left, closing ranks alongside a wounded mastodon and a solar who still held her head high, still attempting a last stand. It was brave, and it was futile. Raphael was there to see Netheril fall; he bore witness to the fall of Zariel, too. 

But unlike Karsus, Zariel did not stay down for long. She was alive when a delegation of bone devils sent by Asmodeus himself came to retrieve her from beneath the pile of corpses, to take her all the way to Nessus. They came quickly, a little too quickly for Raphael not to suspect the Lord Below had been expecting precisely that outcome before making a move.

Raphael assumed she would be tortured, or made into a trophy; he was dreadfully correct, but not in the way he’d thought he would be. When Asmodeus announced Zariel - now an archdevil, corrupted by the Hells down to her bones - was to be the new ruler of Avernus, leading their forces against the demons of the Abyss, saying it was an unexpected development would have been a severe understatement. It surprised and angered many, but none dared voice that anger - especially not Bel, who publicly accepted the decision without protest even as he schemed, from the beginning, to regain his lost throne. 

Losing the position of Steward of Avernus did not bother Raphael nearly as much. All things considered, it was perhaps a blessing in disguise - too many centuries in one position can make anyone complacent, dull the edge of ambition. But he’d prepared for that chance: over the centuries he’d set aside enough souls to his name, enough warlocks and connections. 

He could not retain the title of duke, but he was allowed to remain in Avernus, in a dwelling he may create for himself, as long as he paid a quota of souls each year. Simple enough, truly.

As Zariel rose to power Raphael, servant of none at last, was ready to strive out on his own.

***

The first time Karlach had seen Zariel, there was a moment when she’d almost been relieved.

Surely, none of that was truly happening. She had not been grabbed and thrown through a portal to the Hells; she had not heard Gortash say she would make the perfect specimen for a prototype, whatever that meant. She had not been dragged inside a flying fortress of iron and basalt high above Avernus, sulfur threatening to choke her at every breath. 

None of it was truly happening, she’d reasoned, because she was having a nightmare. She had to be dreaming. The creature standing before her with a burning halo over her head, ashen skin and burning eyes, could only be a figment of her imagination. She had a few precious moments to take solace in that.

Then the pain started - her chest sliced open and ribs spread apart with an iron instrument, something torn out and then replaced by what felt like molten lead - and she knew that if this was a nightmare, it was one she would never again wake from. Until she did wake up ten years later, under the sun amidst the remains of a nautiloid, swearing to herself that she was never, ever going to set foot in Avernus. 

Things hadn’t precisely gone according to plan, because she actually set both feet back in Avernus in the end, just so that she wouldn’t… well, die. But she would have never gone back alone, of that she was certain. She would have never been able to survive half a year there, never been able to find out that there was a chance to replace her engine with one that could function outside the Hells. In choosing to come with her, Wyll had saved her life.

And he still thought I’d let him get himself grab the sword and get fucked over again for my sake. As if. As fucking if. 

She could hear the sword in question humming faintly at Halsin’s back. Actually, the hum kept growing less and less faint the higher up they went. Reacting to Zariel, Lulu had whispered when Karlach asked about it.

“We’re close, I can tell - I feel her, too!” 

“Shouldn’t she be able to feel you and the sword approaching, too?” Wyll asked, causing Lulu to frown. At least, it looked like a frown. Discerning the expressions of a hollyphant really wasn’t easy. 

“... Yes, she should feel my presence too, shouldn’t she? And she hasn’t come to meet us.”

“What were you expecting, miserable little thing? A hug?” Mizora muttered, but she looked thoughtful as they made their way further up, among turrets at the slit windows and other infernal machinery. One good thing about the earlier fight was that they met no one the rest of the way; clearly, whoever was supposed to occupy the few highest floors had responded to Flo’s call to come and fight them. 

Still holding the chain they had attached to Lulu for show, Halsin had frowned. “She has not called upon any forces to stop us, either.”

Mizora hummed. “She may very well wish to keep that pleasure for herself.”

“No, she wouldn’t hurt me. And you know that. You had to kill me because she wouldn’t, even if she kept coming to see me every day,” Lulu had replied, and it seemed Mizora had nothing to retort to that. She only scoffed, and Lulu spoke again. “She will listen to me. I know it.”

“... I am sure you still mean a great deal to her,” Wyll said, not unkindly. “But in the event she does not take up the sword--”

“You’re not picking it up. If we have to fight her, we do it without that thing. No one’s getting changed beyond recognition on my watch,” Karlach cut him off the same moment Lulu huffed, shaking her head.

“There will be no such event. I know her, I’ve known her forever. And it’s only been… less than a century and a half since the Ride. That’s not long!”

Wyll chuckled. “It sounds like a long time to me, but I am certain Halsin would say otherwise,” he said, and Halsin smiled. 

“That’s a very kind way to call me old.”

“Oh, come now. You’re barely a middle aged elf.”

Lulu fluttered closer to Karlach, who was still frowning. “I know you don’t understand - I know she hurt you - but please-- she is still there. She must be.”

It’s all the hope she has to cling to. If she’s beyond saving, what will Lulu even do with herself?

It was a sad thought, and Karlach forced herself to chase it away. No, she couldn’t think that way. She had to hope that the hollyphant was right; that enough of the old Zariel was still there within the monster. Honestly, that was one fight she’d happily do without. In the end, she sighed. 

“If the Zariel you knew is still there, we’ll do our best to bring her back out.”

“Yes! And she’ll apologize!”

Low bar to step over, that, but well. They were in the Hells, and it would still be one step up Gortash. I’m sorry you felt wronged, the bitch had said. The absolute bitch, pun fully intended.

“She had better,” Karlach said, making an effort to smile. Up and up they went, until they finally were at the very top of the Fortress, before the metal trapdoor leading to the roof. From there, Zariel would survey their surroundings while the Fortress’ engines got their soul refill from the Styx. 

She’s right there, right beyond this door. And there is no way in all the Hells that she does not know Lulu and her sword are here.

Karlach swallowed, stared at the door a moment, and turned to Wyll. “Just in case something goes wrong, I just… I wanted to… er…” she cleared her throat. “I mean--”

He smiled, and reached up to cup her cheek. “This is not the day we die,” he promised, and brushed a thumb over her cheekbone before he stood on his toes to kiss her. Karlach kissed him back - oh it was so, so nice - and almost wanted to cry when he pulled back. Almost, because he was smiling again and he had that look on his face, the one he got when he made a promise he’d do anything to keep. “This kiss wasn’t our last.”

A sigh. “Delightful, truly. I believe you just rotted half of my teeth,” Mizora muttered, and vanished the chains on Karlach and Lulu with a single gesture. “Well then. I believe I shall let you go forth.”

Halsin glanced over. “Are you not coming?”

She did not reply right away. First, she looked at the closed trapdoor with an expression Karlach couldn’t quite place, but which seemed infinitely bitter. “If you do succeed in redeeming her, I don’t relish the thought of finding myself face to face with her.”

“And if it comes to a fight?” Wyll asked. Mizora sighed, the way a parent does when faced with a particularly slow child asking a particularly dumb question.

“In that case, I’d have all the more reason to make myself scarce.”

“It won’t come to that,” Lulu declared, and bodily slammed into the door before any of them could add a single word, throwing it open and flying outside. “Zarie--”

There was a burst of flames, and she barely managed to duck beneath it. Lulu let out a yelp, wings beating furiously after dodging the attack. “Hey! That wasn’t nice! It’s me!”

That wasn’t nice, she said. Oh gods, they were so screwed. With a groan, Karlach climbed out, a hand ready to fly to her greataxe, which had been silvered for the occasion. She heard, faintly, the sword's humming growing stronger as Halsin followed her and Wyll outside… to be met with no more attacks. The roof was empty but for one being.

At the apex of her fortress, cutting a fearsome figure against the red sky of Avernus and with her only remaining hand still lifted, Zariel stood alone, looking at them all with flaming eyes.

***

Raphael’s face was still wet when the notes of the Song of Rest rang out. 

It was a small respite, far less than the long rest he clearly needed - and Haarlep, truth be told; Durge wouldn’t have said no either - but it was all they could afford now. They sighed at the relief the spell did provide, and tilted their head towards Raphael. They had to rein in a frankly ridiculous impulse to reach out and wipe his face dry, brush back his hair. 

Later, perhaps. We have precious little time. The others may yet need us.

“Thank you,” they said instead. There was much more they wished to say, but that too would have to wait. “I am sorry the circumstances don’t allow for the kind of rest you need.”

“I’ll rest when I’m dead.” Raphael’s voice came out hoarse, and he cleared his throat before speaking again. “Which will be very soon, I suspect,” he added, in the same tone one may use to make observations about possible rainfall later in the evening. Durge had to admit he was doing an admirable job at pretending he had not been sobbing his heart out against their chest until minutes earlier, in a breakdown that had been… nearly a couple of millennia in the making, from what they’d gathered. 

“Oh, thank you kindly. We really needed a little bit of doom and gloom, to balance out the insufferable cheery surroundings,” Astarion huffed, gesturing to the wasteland all around and the towering fortress above them. All seemed business as usual; the others may not have gotten to Zariel yet, which meant they may very well be still on time to help. 

A couple of steps away, having taken on the glamor of a bone devil, Haarlep sighed. “It would be inconvenient,” they lamented, in the raspy voice that left the skeletal jaw. “And after we took such pains to keep you alive.”

Raphael scoffed, putting the lyre on his back. “Regardless of convenience, that is the most likely outcome if we attempt to walk through the fortress’ front door.”

“Oh, not if I walk you in as prisoners while wearing this form.” Haarlep bared the bone devil’s fangs, causing Raphael to pause and turn slowly to look at the glamor. “See, I had a plan and everything, before I spotted you fighting for your life and had to make a detour. I figured that if I took the form of one of the fortress’ guards, no one would question me going in.”

“And when did you get--”

“About an hour ago. Poor thing was so pent-up, he couldn’t resist. Gave up his body soooo readily, it was almost a shame to push him in the Styx.” A sigh. “Ah, well. Couldn’t let him show up while I was using his form, could I now? It may have been a little embarrassing, one of us would have had to change. Or he’d have killed me on sight. Anyway, I never went into the Fortress, clearly. I checked on Raphael’s sending stone, and saw it was suddenly outside, so I rushed to the spot and not a moment too soon.”

Raphael stared for several moments, looking all the world like he had a million questions he’d rather pull out teeth than ask. In the end, he only asked one. “Dare I ask what you were planning to do once inside? Fight Zariel?”

“I mean, I’d rather not. But I could have cheered from the sidelines, or snatched you if things went wrong and tried to make a run for it. Or I could have distracted her. I’m good at that.”

“I doubt she'd be particularly vulnerable to your idea of distraction.”

“I mean, with the crossbow.”

“I doubt she’d be particularly vulnerable to your crossbow, either.”

“Well, that’s why it was Plan C. But surely, right now what matters is getting in the fortress, and then we can… well, we’ll burn that bridge when we get to it, no?”

“Cross it. You cross a bridge when you get to it,” Astarion corrected them. “But that slip aside, I say we go for it. It’s the kind of plan I could have come up with myself, really.”

“It’s hardly even a plan,” Raphael pointed out, gaining himself a toothsome grin. 

“Precisely,” he said, and that was that.

***

“So, you have come to cut me down. It took you more time than I was expecting. You’ve longed to do it for a very long time. I can always tell when someone thirsts for blood.”

Zariel’s voice was raspy as Karlach remembered it, as though fire had scorched her throat once and the burns never healed. She sounded calm, but that could change at the drop of a hat; Karlach had seen it happen more times than she could count, a quiet façade burning away like flash paper to leave behind seething fury, bottomless hatred, a thirst for blood and war nothing ever seemed to quench.

And if that happened there would be no turning back, no getting her to calm and listen. So she ground her teeth and forced herself not to say that yes, actually, she’d dreamed of sticking a blade where the sun didn’t shine more times than she could count and part of her still really fucking wanted to go ahead and try to do just that. She might have, if she’d been alone. But she was not - Wyll was there, and Halsin too. They had risked too much already, for her sake. 

As though the bitch had just read her thoughts, Zariel’s eyes shifted from her to Wyll. Her lips curled in a humorless smile. “The warlock who’s been aiding you. I see, now. I can sense Mizora’s mark all over you. It was her to betray me, then. She’ll pay the price for this, once I’m done with you.”

“We’re not here to cut you down! We’re here to help you!” Lulu called out, immediately fluttering between them and Zariel. It was almost painful to listen, all that hope in her voice. “We have brought--”

“Silence.” The flail secured to the wrist missing a hand was raised and brought down to the floor. It cracked the stone, but she made no move to attack. Not yet, at least - she’d just given a warning. It wasn’t like her to give warnings of any kind, but Karlach found she was not overly surprised. One thing was clear: Zariel, archdevil of Avernus, was unwilling to harm Lulu.

If not for her, she’d have attacked on sight, or called for a legion or two to back her up, or both. And now she wants her out of the way so she can do just that. 

“Whatever foolish notion you have of saving me, you are wrong.” She took a step forward, the blood red feathers of her wings glistening as they shifted. Karlach reached for her weapon and so did Wyll, and they took a step back - but Zariel ignored them entirely. Her gaze was fixed on Lulu, and on her only. “I let you leave once, you stubborn creature, and you keep returning time and time again, seeking what is no more. Can’t you see there is no use?”

“No! I’ll come back again if I have to! You kept coming back, too!” Lulu dared flutter closer, that desperate hope still in her voice. “When I was locked up in the dungeons, you came to see me almost every day. And you got so mad, but you kept coming. And you never struck me even if you screamed, even if this was all my fault.”

That struck a chord. Zariel paused mid-stride, and the look on his face turned to something much closer to confusion. “Your…?”

“I am sorry I couldn’t get to you on time-- the battle was so fierce, I couldn’t find you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you fell. Please, let me--”

A scathing laugh, the confusion burning away in the brightness of the flaming halo. Zariel lifted a hand in the air. A black warhammer, the very same one she’d ripped from the grasp of a demon lord, appeared in her grip in a faint cloud of mist. It was called Matalotok, but Karlach had heard it referred to as the Maul of Brutal Endings. Not very reassuring, that.

“I did not fall, Lulu. I rose, so that I may shoulder a burden none in Celestia was ever willing to take on. Asmodeus and his angels were right from the beginning. You cannot stave off the bottomless hunger of the demons of the Abyss with virtue .”

Karlach scoffed. “Oh, so we’re supposed to thank you now?” she spat, and Zariel’s flaming glare turned to her for only a moment before Lulu spoke again, high and desperate. 

“This isn’t about that anymore, Zariel! You know it! This isn’t you, this--”

“I told you, didn’t I?” Zariel cut her off, and bared her teeth in something that could have been a smile, or a snarl, or both. The halo of fire around her head seemed to burn hotter. “When demons die, they cry out my name in terror. This is who I am.”

“How many times have you told yourself that, so that you could believe it?” Halsin’s voice rang out before Lulu could retort, and it caused Zariel to stop in her tracks. Halsin had stepped forward, and in his hands was the Sword. Even in a scabbard, it hummed and shook as though alive. “I know what it is, to dedicate one’s life to a mission. I know what it is to lose oneself to the pursuit. But if you were indeed lost, you’d have struck already. Us, and her. ”

Zariel stared, and the corners of her mouth curled in a sneer of disdain… even as something in her gaze faltered, as the flames of her halo burned somewhat less brightly. Then the moment was over, and she bared her teeth again.

“Fools. I shall take that sword from your cold dead hands, the last remnants of my shame, and shatter it to pieces. You should have wielded it when you could. ”

There was no time to think of a response, much less to utter it. The next thing Karlach heard was a scream that seemed to shake the sky itself, Wyll’s shouted warning, Lulu’s own cry of dismay. Then Zariel charged in a wave of flames, warhammer and flail lifted.

End of diplomacy. Oh well. We tried, Karlach thought, and let out a cry of her own before she lifted her blade to meet the attack, the engine in her chest roaring with her.

***

“Hah! See, I told you it was going to--”

“Haarlep!”

“Hush!”

“Gods above, shut up !”

Now that was rather rude, Haarlep wanted to point out, but they did not, mostly because they might have a point. Dropping the ruse of marching prisoners inside the fortress as a bone devil - enforcers of Baator’s laws, and arguably the most feared devils by anybody below a pit fiend -  was probably not a good idea while still within sight of guards. So they bit their tongue, quickly regretting it because oh those teeth were sharp, and kept going.

There were a few glances their way, but the chains the dragonborn had pulled out from their bag of holding were pretty convincing, as well as a really interesting item to just carry around. That, and the general fear of bone devils kept anybody from coming to take too close a look, which was good news.

Haarlep’s glamors were good enough to fool other devils, certainly… but this was probably not the moment to test that assumption. So they shot a few glares around, waving the tail and stinger, and proceeded undisturbed deeper into the fortress. 

“Prisoners for Zariel,” they snapped once or twice, when someone dared ask, and that was it. They kept going - up and up and up, until the elevator ran its course and they were left with only a few more levels to go up on foot. They only stopped a few moments when they came across a room full of corpses; Haarlep could only assume that was where Raphael had been when the bearer of his ring had been found and he was forcibly ejected from the fortress.

“We’re close to the top,” Raphael spoke, nudging a corpse with his boot. “Surely, if Zariel is up there, the others would have reached her by now. And yet, nothing seems to have happ--”

A scream rang out suddenly, somewhere above and yet everywhere, shaking the walls, the floor, the ceiling. It caused them all to still, and exchange a glance. 

“Remind me to make a sarcastic remark about your timing after we’re done,” Astarion said, and Raphael only sighed before they rushed up the last flights of stairs, not wasting their time or breath on more words.

***

Karlach was honestly holding her own, fending off most blows and even working in a few good hits of her own, until a lash of the flail took out her right arm at the elbow. 

Not that she realized what had happened right away: at first there was only the sound of her weapon hitting the ground, along with a thud she didn’t quite place; then there was Wyll’s scream, and the realization that she was falling back. Then her back hit the ground, and there was pain. 

Laughter, too - Zariel’s laughter, above her own scream. “You should have known better,” she snarled, and lifted Matalotok above her head, ready to end her or at least come pretty damn close to it. She never got the chance, because suddenly Wyll was there in a burst of swirling mist, between her and Zariel, and pressed a hand against the archdevil’s before crying out. 

“Dolor!”

At such close range and without warning, the blasts did exactly what they had to do - throw Zariel back. She did not fall, a powerful beat of her wings saw to that, but she was pushed back enough that Wyll could turn and cry out. “Halsin! Help her!”

Ah, right. She was missing an arm and bleeding out, which was really not ideal.

“Wyll--” Karlach tried to call out, but he was off, head to head with the archdevil of Avernus. He had no hope of defeating her on his own, and he knew that. He wasn't trying to down her: he was trying to hold her back, away from her. 

No, no, no, no, no. Not him.

Karlach groaned and tried to sit up, despair overriding any and all pain. She felt for her weapon with the remaining hand, and just as she grasped the handle there was a touch on her back, helping her sit up. She heard Halsin speak, not far from her ear. 

“Don’t move. I think I can help,” he said, and Karlach groaned. 

“No, no. Wyll, he-- wait-- the sword…?”

“Lulu has it.”

Out of the corner of her mind Karlach could see her, hovering a short distance away. She was holding tightly onto the sword, trembling, and staring at the unfolding battle with wide eyes. The very picture of a broken heart; Karlach would have felt sorry, had she not been distracted by the sight of Halsin holding up her own severed arm. She had seen some nasty shit, but looking at it still made her puke a little in her own mouth. 

“The fuck…?”

“Hold still. I never tried this before,” Halsin replied, and held the arm to the bleeding stump, murmuring some incantation Karlach did not grasp. She sure as fuck saw the effects, though: under her stunned gaze the shards of bone in the stump shifted, set themselves straight again - and then there was tissue growing, stretching, knitting itself back together. Within moments her arm was hers again, with only a tingling sensation in the nerve endings that had already faded by the time she stood and picked her greataxe up. She laughed, incredulous. 

“Well, that was horrifying, but really damn useful. Could you always do it?”

“I learned recently. Traveling with you never fails to broaden my horizons,” he replied, and Karlach took a mental note of paying for his drinks at the next occasion before she turned back to the most pressing matter - Zariel. Wyll fought viciously and he fought well, but against an archdevil… well, he was going to need a little extra help. 

Good thing she was there with a big fuckoff axe, ready to provide that help. 

“Hey, handsome! Need a hand?”

“What-- how--?”

“Halsin’s got new tricks!”

Wyll had a deep cut on his forehead, turning his entire face in a bloody mask, and his right horn had broken clean in half, but he still smiled. “Oh, thank the gods.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but it would have to wait. First, they had an archdevil to deal with. 

And they did just that, the two of them and Halsin, in a blur of magic and fire and blows. Karlach wasn’t sure how long it lasted, but soon enough she was locking blades and eyes with Zariel. The engine in her chest roared, and so did she. 

“Take a good look at me while you’ve still got eyes! You’re going to pay for what you did to me!”

Her fury was met with a sneer. “I made you stronger, and instrumental in a war upon which the safety of all Planes rests. You ought to be thanking me. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You  never made a willing sacrifice.”

Were you in my place, would you risk it all to save others?

The memory of Zariel as she had been once, seeking to protect rather than destroy, caused Karlach to grind her teeth. “Didn’t have to, did I? You made that fucking choice from me! Took my heart! Made me a weapon! YOU HAD NO RIGHT!”

Zariel sneered, again. It was really starting to piss her off.

I could stem the tide of chaos and save many lives, the memory of her had said.

“I had every right to do what was needed. Would you rather have the demons of the abyss run amok across Planes?” the archdevil she was now snarled instead. “Would you rather--”

“Oh, fuck off!” Karlach pulled back, ducked under a vicious swing of the flail, and caught the falling hammer with her greataxe. The metal vibrated on impact, but it held up, courtesy of the improvements in Bel’s forge. “What of the innocents you were supposed to protect? What of them? The ones this bullshit was supposed to be all about!”

Yeenoghu slaughtered those I swore to protect.

The sneer of Zariel’s face froze, and for a moment she looked stunned, as though she had no idea how either of them had come to be there. Karlach sneered, and took advantage of the lapse to push back with all her might before ducking out of the way. 

Wyll’s blast caught Zariel in the chest, causing her to stagger back; she unfolded her wings and took flight, only to cry out in surprise and pain when Halsin’s lighting spell hit the mark, and she fell back to the ground, snarling. 

“You--!” 

The already boiling air of Avernus seemed to waver, shimmer, and it was the only warning they got before a wave of fire burst forth from Zariel with a cry of blackest fury. It burned hot, but fuck it - Karlach already had an infernal engine in her chest. She knew hot. She could withstand it. So she charged through it, not caring if it scorched her, and swung her greataxe in a wide enough arc to cut, deep, into Zariel’s shoulder.

There was a crack, and a scream; the flail attached to her wrist hung limply alongside her entire arm. Zariel was barely able to hold up the warhammer to block Karlach’s next blow and there they were again, locked in combat, their faces so close Karlach could see each flicker of flames in those eyes. They saw her, and hated.

“I was a fucking kid! I was dragged here and forced to fight! Was I not supposed to be protected from this bullshit?”

“You? A bodyguard idling her life away! I gave you a greater purpose! What is one life compared to--”

“And Elturel! The entire fucking city!” Karlach screamed, straining to push her back. The engine roared, blood rushed in her ears. “Were they not innocent? The very people the Hellriders were sworn to protect, too! The ones who followed you! The ones who died for you! Don’t give me bullshit about greater good! This isn’t about protecting anyone!”

“Enough!”

“No! You’ll listen to my every fucking word if I had to cram them down your throat!” Karlach disengaged, ducked under the blow. She heard Wyll crying out some incantation, felt the air shimmer around her - some sort of protection spell - one moment before Halsin summoned a wall of thorns right where Zariel stood.

Thorny vines reached up to grasp her and she cried out in fury. She incinerated them, of course, but they held on just long enough for Karlach to strike. The silvered blade cut through the air, and then through the wrist where the flail was attached. The bloody flail fell onto the ground, and Zariel screamed.

But not loud enough to cover Karlach’s own scream. 

“They died because they followed you, and you failed, and you tried to take Elturel! Yael died hoping you could be saved, and you tried to take her fucking city to the Hells!”

“I SAID ENOUGH!”

The warhammer fell, and this time Karlach was not fast enough to entirely avoid the blow. She was able to roll with it and avoid getting her every rib shattered, but it still hurt like a bitch and sent her tumbling across the ground. Zariel may have been on her the next instant, if not for the barrage of magic from Wyll and Halsin keeping her at bay. Karlach groaned, and forced herself to stand with a grunt. 

Out of the corner of her eye she could see that Lulu was still motionless, as though paralyzed, holding onto the sword with all limbs and her trunk. But all her attention, again, was for Zariel. So she met her gaze again, and sneered right back as one of Halsin’s healing spells hit, allowing her to breathe more easily, the pain in her ribs abating. 

“You can take your bullshit about a greater purpose and shove it up your ass. You don’t give a damn about protecting the Planes anymore. You only want the excuse to keep slaughtering demons because you like it, and it’s all you’ve go--!”

There was another shriek and the hammer fell, cracking the floor, causing the entire fortress to shake and all of them to fall back. Fury and hatred was a tangible thing now, coming off Zariel in waves, the most burning hatred and deepest despair. Pain, too, cutting through the very soul, almost unbearable - but just almost. Karlach could bear pain. She’d borne plenty already. 

So she stood, downed a potion, and back into the fray she went.

***

“I take it that diplomacy did not achieve the desired results.”

Raphael’s voice was barely audible beneath Zariel’s agonized shriek, and beneath the crack of thunder as Durge immediately stepped in, striking her before she could so much as try to deliver a blow to Halsin. Astarion was right behind them, bow drawn and some sort of shimmering arrow ready to let loose.

Raphael almost followed - if he had to get himself killed, he may as well do it properly - when Haarlep lay a hand on his shoulder and spoke. “Huh. What’s wrong with her?”

“Wh--” Raphael turned, and there she was - the hollyphant, silent at last. Well, not entirely silent: she was muttering ‘no, no, no’ repeatedly to herself, hovering in mid-air and clutching the sword they had gone through such pains to obtain, a distant cast to those beady little eyes. All in all, she was a wretched sight. A shattered mind; Raphael had seen plenty of those, many shattered by his own hand. He was always rather good at that, as many of the broken souls wandering across the House of Hope would have confirmed, if they could. 

He supposed he may as well try his hand at the opposite, if he did still have a powerful enough restoration spell left in his arsenal. As Zariel landed a devastating blow on Halsin’s summoned Myrmidon, Raphael took a few steps towards the madness-stricken hollyphant. 

He lifted his hands, and she did not react when they glowed, nor to his words. “Te curo.”

The light flared up a moment, engulfing the hollyphant. It faded quickly, and before it did she was already gasping, recoiling as though awakened from a deep sleep. 

“I-- what--” She looked around, eyes wide. There was another cry of fury and she turned - they all turned - to see that Zariel was unable to move, her legs having seemingly turned to stone. Ravengard’s doing, no doubt; he was staggering back just as Zariel beat her wings to try free herself, only for Astarion to put an acid arrow through one, and for Karlach to bring down her blade on the other. 

Zariel screamed again, and lifted the handless arm, began crying out words - a summoning , for her legions to come aid her. That would certainly mean their end, and Raphael didn’t pause to think: he stepped forward, and cast another spell. 

“Silentium!”

To Zariel’s fury and Raphael’s relief, it took effect before she could complete the summoning. She let out another cry of anger, or at least so the silent twisting of her features suggested. On the other hand, Durge turned back and grinned at him, all fangs. 

Good one, they mouthed, and lifted Mourning Frost. A sorcerer’s subtle spell required some more power but oh, wasn’t it useful to cast with no need of words. Above Zariel there was the spark of lighting, so bright it almost turned the red sky white, and then--

“NO! PLEASE! DON’T!”

Everything happened too quickly for Raphael to react, let alone to try doing something. The hollyphant darted forward, still clutching the Sword, and came between Zariel and the descending bolt of lighting at the last moment. Raphael saw Durge snatch back their hands, but it was too late.

The spell was cast, and lightning struck.

***

Everything happened in the blink of an eye, and in utter, eerie silence. Lighting came down, and Lulu rose to meet it; it went precisely as one may expect, when one takes the full force of a powerful spell. It threw Lulu back, and she fell some distance away; the sword clattered by her, skidded a few more paces before coming to a stop. It still glowed.

Lulu, on the other hand, remained motionless. 

Shit, Karlach said, or tried to. She went to the hollyphant without thinking, out of the sphere of silence Raphael had cast, and crouched by the stricken celestial. Why did you do it, she almost asked, but she did not. She knew exactly why she’d done it.

“Hey! Say something!” she called out instead, reaching to shake her. Lulu let out a groan and shuddered, but didn’t lift her head. Karlach was reaching for a potion of healing when a bone devil she could only assume was Haarlep, if anything for the fact they stood next to Raphael without trying to kill him, spoke.

“Huh. You may want to look behind you.”

Karlach did just that, and for a moment she could only stare, her mind blank of all thought. Zariel had broken free of the spell that had turned her legs to stone, but the battle had not resumed. Under her companions’ stunned gazes, she was walking slowly, almost tentatively, towards Lulu. One of her wings had been almost hacked off, and she left bloody footprints in her wake, but she did walk. Her eyes were fixed on the hollyphant, the fire in them faint in a way Karlach had never seen. The flaming halo, too, seemed to be petering out. 

“Fool,” Zariel rasped, and stepped closer, her face a mask of agony. Karlach backed off quickly, ready to attack if need be, but the archdevil of Avernus did not so much glance her way. She made it to Lulu, and fell to her knees. "You utter fool. What have you done?”

“I promised Yael-- I promised, ” Lulu gasped out. She tried to move, but her head fell back again, and she could only look at Karlach, at the sword a few feet away. “Please…”

Zariel lifted her gaze to look at the sword, still glowing within the scabbard, and Karlach put her greataxe away to pick it up, in a daze. She was vaguely aware of the fact her companions were approaching, ready to fight again if need be; for a moment, all that existed in the world was herself, her tormentor, and the sword that may put an end to the archdevil Zariel with no need to risk lives, no need to risk more of her life.

Then Karlach looked up, staring Zariel in the eye - it seemed so wrong, that lost look on those features - before she stepped closer, and held up the sword. 

It’s not just any sword, it’s sentient, Lulu had told them, and she had not been joking. The Sword of Zariel glowed brighter and slid out of the scabbard, lifting itself into the air before her old wielder. Celestial runes seemed to draw themselves into thin air around it, and the vibrations almost sounded like a song. 

Beyond the glow of the sword, Zariel was shedding tears like molten lava. Her only hand reached for Lulu, hovered a few inches from her golden fur, but she hesitated to even touch her. At last, she looked up at the sword, then at Karlach. “This,” she rasped, “is your chance to cut me down.”

For a moment, Karlach’s fingers twitched; for a moment, she almost did reach for her weapon. But then she saw it again, Gortash’s corpse in his silk robes, laying on a marble floor and somehow still smirking at her, even in death. 

He's dead, and he's no fucking sorrier than he was before. What was the point?

A rhetorical question, that. If she could go back, he’d kill him another dozen times. She’d help Astarion kill Cazador another two dozen times, too. But now that Zariel knelt before her willingly, she balked. Of fucking course.

Maybe she was tired. Maybe she wanted to find out if she’d really get an apology for all the bullshit she had to go through. Maybe it was both. Whatever it was, she pulled her hand away from her weapon. 

“... No. Fuck this. I didn’t claw my way out of the Hells to hand you a coward’s way out. So take that thing, and deal with what you’ve done. It’s all I’ve been doing for the past ten years.”

For a few moments, there was only silence and Karlach could almost believe someone had cast another silencing spell. Then, slowly, Zariel stood. Karlach found herself taking a step back, holding her breath, as Zariel's fingers brushed the hilt of the sword. There was a sound like sizzling flesh, and Zariel let out a pained gasp, but that pain seemed to break all hesitation at last. Her only had closed on the hilt and held on, tight, even as it seared her flesh. 

When she spoke again, her voice was a cry of pain, and sorrow, and yet something that was much like hope. “I, Zariel, supplicate myself before the holy light of justice. If it should accept me, I vow to take up this blade once more in its service.”

For a moment, nothing happened, her words echoing in the silence. 

Well, Karlach thought, that was a whole bunch of noth--

And then there was light. It cascaded from the skies, the same light they had encountered in the Citadel. Karlach stepped back, ready to call out for Astarion and Haarlep to get back, but there was no need: the light only fell on Zariel, and on Lulu - bright, so bright, Karlach had to close her eyes against it. Then the glare faded and she opened her eyes again, blinking. 

For a moment, all she saw was a wall of golden fur. “You’re back! You’re back! Oh, I knew it!”

It was odd, really, listening to Lulu’s voice coming from the immense golden mastodon standing before her. And hovering in the air on gold-feathered wings, her eyes covered by a blindfold, was the Solar she had seen in the stained glass at the Citadel. She remained in mid-aid for a few moments before slowly descending to the ground before her. 

She looked at Karlach for a moment - could she see, with the blindfold? - before she bowed her head and sank on one knee.  “Karlach,” she spoke, her voice a melody so unlike the rasping voice she knew. “You have my thanks, herald of dawn.”

Karlach opened her mouth to speak. She closed it. Opened it again. She heard voices, faintly, felt Wyll’s touch on her arm. In the end, she spoke with a voice that didn’t feel like her own, either. 

“I'm the herald of nothing. Just say you’re sorry.”

Zariel lifted her face, and again she seemed to be looking at her despite the blindfold. Her skin was flawless, unmarred by fire, the way Karlach’s own would never be again. Such a stupid detail to get fixated on, but she couldn’t help it. Those beautiful features twisted in sorrow.

“I am sorrier than words can ever express, for a wrong I know words alone cannot atone,” she spoke, and that was it. Karlach closed her eyes, leaned back against Wyll, and for a time she just cried and cried and cried. She wasn’t even sure if crying helped, to be honest. 

But the several pairs of arms around her sure as hell did.

*** One archdevil down, one more to go. ***

[Back to Chapter 26]

[Back to Start]

[rim-draws]

Fearûnian Writing Challenge

Day 5 | SFW

First time seeing their love interest fight

(Not really)

(Since Halsin never start fighting til Act 3 except when we first met him, this is just more camp life featuring bear-Halsin shooing the gnolls near camp area)

Tav waddles over towards Halsin, having just returned from the grove to retrieve the man’s smoking pipe.

Astarion grabs the back of their armour and yanks.

Only it was Astarion who was yanked to the ground.

“Stop! Stop walking!” He huffs and puffs.

Tav finally ceases. They needed a few moments before noticing the poor elf. “What?”

“Don’t you ‘what’ me! Help me up!”

Tav does as they often do.

Astarion huffs a few complaints under his breath as he dusts himself off. He then leans onto Tav, a hand on their shoulder as if it didn’t happen.

“I know that look of yours. You had the same look when we first met.” His voice does that thing where it goes slightly sultry, eyes darken every so little. “You’ve changed your target.”

“Cruel to call it a target.”

Astarion's attitude towards Tav has been… flippant to say the least. When they first met, it took Astarion no time at all to outright hate Tav. It didn’t improve when they saved the grove from the goblin raid, to the point that he outright laughed after he, himself, brought up the idea of having sex with them. Things got a bit better after the Ethel and monster hunter incident. Then increasing as they make it through the Underdark before going back to the upper road to do some unfinished business.

Now, one could say they’re… unlikely friends.

“I don’t judge. We’re like minded people, you and I. And Halsin is a great choice. If we could get him to finally move that big mass of muscles and be useful, all the better for everyone involved.” Astarion waves his hands around, almost smacking against Tav’s face a few times.

“If you’re implying I’m trying to bed him so he’d follow us, you’re–” Tav pauses.

Is Astarion actually wrong, though?

What is the reason Tav is doing all this for? Coming up to Halsin to ask to spend the night, going all the way back to the grove to fetch his smoking pipe, constantly checking up on him at all although he had proved no help after giving them the lead for Moonrise.

Halsin is the Archdruid, Tav is… just some half-elf at best and a criminal at worst.

To try so hard for Halsin, simply because they… like him? That’s… pathetic.

“ –right. Yeah… W– We don’t have a druid with us, especially those who know a lot more than we do. Maybe a few more hip swings and he won’t be able to leave our camp anymore.” Tav traces the texture of the old pipe, focusing on that instead of the sinking feeling in their stomach.

“No need to try that hard. Just take off your shirt. He practically drools every time anyway.” Astarion pushes them forward. “Go get them, tiger.”

Tav fakes a smile. They’ve been growing increasingly good at that. They moved towards Halsin again, less enthusiastic now.

Gods, they really are in over their head. Now their head hurts and it’s hard to tell whether it is the tadpole or because they’ve been… having thoughts!!!

“You’re leaking with anxiety. I can practically smell it from here.” Lae’zel grinds her teeth as well as, well, all their weapons. “What seems to be the problem? You’re never this pathetic.”

It’s like she’s their inner voice, spoken aloud the thoughts they’re desperately running away from.

“I’m just thinking.”

“And it is causing that much grief? Perhaps you should do it less.”

Tav could feel their blood bubbling with rage but this is not the time, Tav. They still have a pipe to deliver.

“If it’s about Halsin, the quicker you can get the druid to carry his weight, the better. He has wasted our time and is wasting our resources.” She takes out one of the many swords Tav brought back, examines it then throws it to them. “Sell this. It’s useless.”

Tav catches easily. “He’s only tagging along for a while.”

“You are very obvious with your intentions. But we are on a deadline. This better be worth it or we will be dead for it.” Lae’zel practically hisses. “Get whatever carnal sins you wish from him then tell him to leave!”

Tav casts their eyes downwards. She’s clearly sharpening Halsin’s whittling tools as they speak. “It’s alright, I know you have a soft spot for animals. He’s practically one anyway.”

“I do not.” She said plainly. Scratch sits on her cushion, tail wagging. “Leave, this conversation is over.”

Tav resists the urge to snap and just turns away.

This is simple. They just need to deliver the pipe. And maybe tell Halsin perhaps his presence is causing a bit of unrest in camp seeing as he’s just kind of… around. Or maybe they won’t tell him at all.

Tav tries to put some energy into their steps again. But not too much to be so obvious that apparently they smell like it. And maybe with a bit of intent so it looks like they’re trying to get something out of him and not just deluded into wanting his attention. Yes. Sounds— great.

A long roar echoed through the woods behind Halsin’s usual spot. Tav stands, shifting from one foot to another awaiting for his return. Within the shadows of the forest, a large bear swings his claws. The pack of gnolls facing him cackles and hisses before quickly retreating. Tav sighs dreamily, catching the disapproving look of Lae’zel and the approving thumb up of Astarion and sucks it back in.

The bear gathers his wooden logs with his mouth and returns to the centre of camp. “Ah, my friend.” Halsin’s voice is muffled through the logs. “Did you come by for the daily petting?”

Tav was about to say no. They were, truly. But the temptations are too big. They rub his bear cheeks and his bear chin, scratching his bear head before stepping a bit back for Halsin to wild shape back.

“Your fur is very soft today too.” The greatest conversationalist - Tav.

“Thank you. I hope you don’t feel discouraged by my enthusiasm.”

“No, no. It’s better for me that you like it.” Tav scratches the back of their head. “Oh!” They fumble, almost dropping the pipe. “In the library. I found. Nettie said it’s yours.” Their voice almost crack. Almost. Just barely held it together.

“Oh, my smoking pipe.” He chuckled. Tav places it in his hand. They ignore the way his palm is twice the size of theirs. “It’s a bad habit of mine. Long hours of work always fill the library with smoke.”

Tav purses their lips. Halsin’s laugh is very nice to the ears too. Maybe it’s better to hold off on telling him to go away for another day…

“My apologies, it’s not something to brag about. I talk of myself too much.” Halsin seems suddenly flustered.

“No, no. I… I enjoy listening to you and learning more about you. Do indulge me.” Tav tried to say.

“I appreciate that. But I need to focus on the Shadow curse Lands.” Tav deflates slightly. Halsin’s eyes grows half lidded, “We’ll… have plenty of time after that.”

Tav perks up at that.

[whathebeep]

So I read the fic about the companions reaction to a tiefling Tav coming back to camp after being captured by Orin and it was amazing. I was wondering if you write for Zevlor. If so could you write his reaction. I really wish you could invite him to join your camp after finding him. Please and Thank you 🙏

I can absolutely do that!!! Continuation of Tiefling Tav being de-horned by Orin and Zevlor's reaction 👀

Zevlor thought he had seen it all- been through it all. He had survived Elturel, he had survived the goblin attacks, he had survived the shadowlands and being captured under moonrise towers. Finally reaching the city and being in Tav's camp- it was welcoming. He would fight by your side but also hold back and help take care of and maintain camp when need be- but when Tav returned without their horns...it broke his heart. He had seen similar things happen to other tieflings for many reasons. More often than not it was to break them, to steal their pride and alienate then from their own people. He felt anger, he felt hatred- he wanted nothing more than to find the person who had done this to you and return the favor. He felt angry, protective even- from all you had done to save others, he was almost always proud of Tav- almost like they were his own child. And it truly broke him to see this happen to you.

Yet, ever the leader, Zevlor leaves to be on his own for that day- to process his emotions and not get in the way while the others healed you.

He would have prayed to the vigilant one, to Helm- he in part blamed himself for not protecting those who saved him, time and time again. He remembers the solid right hook you delivered to Aradin. He remembers how you saved not only the tieflings, but also the drove, and the druid Halsin to boot. Tav even saved his people, something he wasn't strong enough to do- and went even further, saving him from becoming a mind flayer. And now you paid the price. Zevlor sheds tears, and in his prayers to Helm, he swears to protect the group to his final breath.

When he returns it's just in time for Jaheira and the others to start coming up with a plan. He offers great insight, and between him and Jaheira they come up with a great plan for keeping watch. Zevlor without a doubt puts his energy towards being on guard all night. He prays to Helm for your protection, and when he has a few hours to himself, be goes into town and gets you an amulet of Helm- more specifically, he gets one custom made by Dammon- it takes a few days but eventually he's given a silver amulet, with the open blue eye of helm, and horns to signify the tieflings Tav had saved time and time again. He got it properly blessed and brought it back to camp.

By the time he gave it to Tav, it had been almost a week since the attack. Tav had been healing well, but was still taking it slow because they had a broken bone in one of their ankles. When he gave it to you, putting it around your neck, he would apologize, but then thank you- thank you for all you had done for the tieflings, for your friends, for the city- for him. He would commend your bravery and name you an honorary Hellrider. In a way he's remorseful he hadn't done so sooner- it shouldn't of taken losing your horns to be recognized in this way. Tav is more than grateful for this, and gives Zevlor a hug.

For the first few days Tav had certainly worn their hair differently, or even wearing hoods and hats, trying to cover their missing horns- but after that, they were feeling a little more confident, and at least began wearing their hair as they had before, the remaining stumps of their horns proudly on display.

[aladaylessecondblog]

4:59:12 (raphael/tav pt 3)

Tw: Noncon, Raphael taking what he wants from Tav

Note: Cald is not a druid, he just has the Corvid Token.

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

Cald flew over the swamp, and felt himself free.

He loved flying, the view it afforded him, the ability to see through different eyes, to move without fear of hurting someone with a spark, to think ALONE--but above all he craved the freedom it offered him. Up here he was not under his mother's fearful eye, some delicate thing to be guarded and kept away from the danger of the world. Danger! What was danger to being in PRISON all the time? As much as he loved her, he had an itch under his skin, the urge to roam, to see more than this one small corner of the world.

And his mother had promised it to him. At his last birthday she had told a great story, a story he believed on the spot. She had never lied right to his face. Maybe not said things, but she'd said that was because she was afraid he wouldn't believe her.

She spoke of the mindflayers, the squid-faced ones. The little things called tadpoles, that were meant to turn people into them. How it hadn't worked with her, and the friends she made while trying to figure out how to remove them. The people she'd met along the way, the people she hadn't met in this time yet. Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Gale...there were many names his mother spoke, but two that she had spent a lot of time on. Astarion and Halsin.

He knew they were different even before she said she loved them before. She smiled when she talked of them, described the stark-white of Astarion's hair, his love of finery, his "cheeky" smile, and fangs. Because he was a vampire, of course, so he had fangs. A lot of bad things had happened to him, so he had been very, very nice to her in hopes she would help him. After a long time he trusted her.

Halsin--he was a druid like her, a "bear of a man" and more comfortable in his wildshape than with other people. Easy to laugh, slow to anger, but when he WAS angry he was a force of nature. Mother had said that Halsin had loved her first. Said that she reminded him who he was...and that didn't make sense, but then she'd also said that sometimes love didn't make any sense.

These people would not know her when she saw them again. Maybe things wouldn't work out the way they did before.

She spoke so much of good, and very little of evil. When she got to the explanation of the mindflayer thing and what she had found out, she had also given him an explanation that he was still thinking about (which was another reason he'd flown up here.) That his father was not necessarily a good person, but neither was he entirely evil. He had clawed his way up from nothing to become someone important, and he'd done a lot of bad things...but she had loved him anyway. A man, she said, could be a good husband and father while still doing bad things to other people.

Most people were good, some people were bad, but very, very few people were outright evil. Devils, for example.

Only one specific name had she ever used to speak of someone who actually WAS evil. Truly, unsalvageably evil.

That lord who had stayed the night that time, and whom they had seen a few times since. Raphael, his name was.

That man, she said, was evil.

Cald knew it must be true because his mother was afraid of Raphael and she was never afraid of anyone.

The thought passed, however, when his stomach started rumbling. And seeing some particularly chunky tadpoles squirming in the waters below, he decided to dive and have dinner early.

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

Raphael had come again, and he must have told Haarlep to misuse her, because she was fighting back the feeling of being touched as he spoke.

"Are you alone?"

"I am," Tav replied tightly. "And unless there are visitors, it will be so for at least a few hours."

"Oh, I would not dream of imposing so long upon so vital a member of the community." Raphael smirked, and gestured vaguely. "A lady of mercy and charity, whose doors and arms are open to any who cross her threshold."

She waited, unsure how to respond to that.

"Perhaps I should also wonder if that same openness includes your legs."

A particularly strong touch had Tav shutting her eyes and biting her tongue for a moment. But after that pause she answered, "No. Never. You are the only one."

"How touching. It seems you do have some idea of fidelity after all."

"That's not what this is."

Raphael huffed. "If thinking of yourself as a whore helps you sleep at night, then far be it from me to disabuse you of the notion. I'm honestly surprised you would take that view. Given your taste in men, surely..."

Tav gripped her knees under the table, and squeezed hard. The stroking had intensified and she barely held it together.

"No."

"But you like danger, don't you? Answer."

Tav stiffened at the command, and automatically obeyed with, "Yes, but you're TOO dangerous."

He laughed. She would have glared, had she not been afraid to do it.

Of what? she wondered to herself, There were no clauses saying he could ADD time. But...you still have a lot of time to go...and things could be much worse than he's already made them.

Deep breath. Deep, shaky breath. She was nearly there, nearly ready to climax--and then, suddenly the touching had stopped, leaving her absolutely aching. And gods how she hated that. The only saving grace was knowing that this was earning her time off the debt...even if only a quarter of what it actually was. It was SOMETHING.

She didn't meet Raphael's eyes, but she studied his face--watching, looking for any hint of what to expect from this visit. The last seven had been extremely quick...not even five minutes on her knees apiece and he would be walking away again. A mercy, really...though to her private shame she had tried to prolong each of them, to eke a few more seconds out of the debt. Because if she did it with the speed he preferred, he would only be there for three minutes and she was sure she'd never get the debt paid off in time just doing THAT.

"Will it be--the usual, then?" Tav asked quietly.

"No, no, nothing so quick. I know you hunger for more than to be on your knees."

"I was married to the Chosen of Bane, I made a life on my knees," she replied. "One learns quickly, in that sort of situation."

Another smirk, and a slight inclination of the head.

"You learned to like it, then. Little Enver always was keen to show his feeble attempts at dominance."

Better than yours, for certain.

She was earning no time this way, but putting off the inevitable--for it seemed certain he wanted more than for her to be on her knees today--was appealing in its own way. She had a chance to--

A slightly groan she couldn't stifle. It felt as though Haarlep was making liberal use of their fingers, and what large fingers they were--

"Uncomfortable, my dear?"

"Not at all," she replied, as the feeling of thrusting soon followed, "I--simply--"

She gulped slightly. Again, that keen edge and again, a denial. If it were anyone else, anyone she'd consented to, even...it would be a wonderful, blazing, lusty sort of pleasure. But with Raphael it was only humiliating.

"You know damned well what's going on," she finally broke, "I doubt Haarlep makes a move without your say so."

"First of all, we both know that's a lie. I never gave permission for anyone other than myself to be...touched. Yet you went right into my house and took what wasn't yours."

"I didn't take anything," Tav replied. She took in a sharp breath as the feeling of something thicker pressed inside her. "Haarlep seemed eager to have someone that wasn't you in his--their--bed."

The thrusting was slow, but deep, and she was breathing hard. Damn those talented hands! A brush like a touch of her clit had her shutting her eyes and trembling. Close. So close, she could practically taste it.

Your body is not your own, not anymore, she thought. Message received. Loud and clear.

"Haarlep wanted a new body in the repertoire, they'd have promised quite a bit in exchange." There was a pause. "Perhaps we should try something new."

"What?" Tav asked.

"I am feeling...generous, and I have it on good authority that you enjoy...let me see, how would those of your circle say it..." Raphael sat back in his chair and brought a curled finger to his lips in a look of false consideration. "...being hunted."

First you have me against Haarlep, and now this...are you trying to do EVERYTHING I did with--

Suddenly, it made sense. It might not be the case, but she still could not forget what he'd done with Haarlep. Making him wear Gortash's face. Then having her serve both of them at once.

He's trying to do everything I did with someone else. Why?

He wanted her to be thinking of him, when or even if she lay with them again.

A sharp intake of air. The feeling of hands over her breasts, squeezing.

Raphael's smirk was devilish now. "But we couldn't have you running outside, now can we? It would not do to have you caught and watched by some curious passersby. I don't imagine you'd enjoy that."

She remained silent.

"Or considering your proclivities with the bear...what was his name again?"

"I would rather not hear it from your lips."

"Answer."

"Halsin," she said, as yet another orgasm was teased and denied. "That--was--his name."

"Is, my dear Tav. One should think you would be looking forward to taking that brute into your arms and bed again. Or..."

He took a sip of the teacup before him, and flicked a more deviously satisfied look in her direction.

"Is there some reason you haven't been thinking of it? Or of the vampire for that matter...but I presume Halsin is closer to your heart. Perhaps you would like him to remember you? I could do that for you...for a price, of course."

"I will work out my original time. And--I count nothing as certain until I have it before me," Tav replied with a slight edge in her voice and a heavy breath. No. She would not add time to this--this DEBT. He would likely ask even more

"And I am very much before you," Raphael replied. "Get up, go through that fireplace of yours. And run."

There would be no escaping him, but she knew that by now. She gave consideration to killing him...but then she thought of what she'd nearly done with Mizora. She'd learned after letting the woman go that had she made the mistake of killing her, Wyll would have been sent straight to the hells.

And she didn't recall any such clauses in her own contract, but she wasn't going to take any chances.

I will not leave Cald alone for the vipers to poison and the vultures to feast upon.

No.

She stood, hating more than ever that predatory grin on Raphael's face, and walked slowly towards the fireplace.

"Move quickly, Tav," he said behind her, "When I said I would hunt you, I meant it."

Suddenly behind her there was a sound of shifting, a smell of sulphur--Tav glanced over her shoulder to see not the well-kept snob of a man she had been dealing with the past weeks, but the cambion form she had fought.

Wings, horns, and a peal of evil laughter

And she ran.

Through the fireplace, through the twist of warrens she had made into hospitals and storage, through what had once been a living door. It blurred together--the sudden icy chill of the waterfall that she heard steaming when Raphael passed through it. The spots where there had been traps. Her lungs were burning as she made the quick descent down the vines and barely managed not to fall.

"Run, little drow!" The infernal laughter echoed through the cavernous room, "Run!"

But there was no farther to go. She reached the spot where Mayrina's cage had been, and felt her knees weaken beneath her. Left, she chose to go left, only barely avoiding the swooping dive and grab of Raphael's outstretched hands.

"The mouse smiled brightly, it outfoxed the cat!" He recited and turned, just as she did, and smirked as their eyes met. He moved up, then swooped down, one final thing to say, "Then down came the claw--"

Tav could outrun him no longer. Raphael struck her from the side and they went rolling, tumbling, against the back wall. She raised her head, her arms, struggling, but couldn't manage any of it. One of Raphael's hands stayed on her shoulders, and the other trailed downward, to lift the hem of her dress.

"And that, love, was that."

She did not resist. The run had failed as she knew it would, her tormentor's hunt successful, and now there was only for him to claim his reward. The spoils of war. The prize of the hunt.

(She hoped the hunt had taken additional time off her debt, but somehow doubted it was so.)

"Normally, I would prefer not to behave like a beast," he said, giving a growl when he discovered the lack of underwear beneath her gown, "But I was feeling generous..."

He brought her hips up. His larger fingers stroked over her dampness, and there was a chuckle a moment later.

"Ah, yes, Haarlep has prepared you well. Good...good, you shall need it."

Tav took a shaky breath and tried to relax beneath his touch. She heard the shuffling of fabric and clung as best she could to the ground beneath her.

You can endure this. You can endure this. It will be over quickly--!

The first thrust took her breath away--and despite the larger size of his cock in this form, he still managed to sink himself into her in one smooth stroke. She muttered an oath at the stretch and the burn, and cursed internally at the sudden surge of pleasure. So much denial from Haarlep's eager work had left her body hungering for more.

"Oh..." A hand at her throat, a grasping caress, "I thought you felt good before, but now..."

There was a pull back and then a deep thrust that forced a choked groan from her lips.

"Now," he whispered in her ear, "Be very good and show me how much you enjoy this...and maybe...maybe, I will allow you to finally finish."

"Of--course." Tav squirmed and shut her eyes. "Do--as you--like."

"Oh, my dear, dear Tav...I shall."

His hips began to move against hers. Slowly at first, as if to draw out the sweet torment of edging Haarlep had put her through. But then, perhaps, too eager to satisfy himself, he began to thrust more quickly, commanding her with each movement not to stifle herself, to voice her pleasure, to use his name--

"Please, no--" Tav begged uselessly, but a second later her voice obeyed, calling out in passion, "Raphael!"

She could shut her eyes to the shame, bury her face in the dirt, but her voice was given no such luxury to hide. It screamed out that word he so craved to hear from her lips.

"Yes, my dear," she heard him say overhead, as his wings formed a dark dome over the two of them, "Yes, you see, don't you?"

She didn't answer.

"You can run, you can hide, you can think of your loves all you like, but--" Here she yelped as he hauled her up and off his cock. His mouth moved down, bit down hard, hard enough to draw blood, and she screamed in genuine agony. "--but remember this...remember it well."

She was brought back to be speared on his cock again, filled and spread her, and kept thrusting.

"You--"

A clawed hand moved up to her face.

"--belong--"

The other snaked down, bringing up the front of her gown. As his hips moved rapidly against her own, the second hand moved down between her legs and stroked over her swollen clit.

Tav broke. The touch was too much, far too much, and she shattered in his arms as unwelcome ecstasy rushed through her body and left her a shuddering mess soaking his cock with her release.

"How noble is the vanquished prey, when to surrender she comes," came the soft whisper. The thrusts began to slow, drawing out the aftershocks of her pleasure as long as possible.

She didn't answer.

"Beg," she heard Raphael say in a tight voice, "I want you to beg."

"For--for what?"

"For me," he growled eagerly, letting her feel another thrust and hear the groan of pleasure from his lips, "Now obey. Beg your lord for his seed. Beg to be filled with his pleasure."

Tav fought mentally, but her voice broke away and did as he asked automatically.

"Please, my lord--" Her voice cracked as he gave a too-deep thrust in her already overstimulated cunt, "Please."

No. NO.

"Please, give--me--your seed!"

A dark, devious chuckle just slightly overhead. A stroke between her legs, and at her chin.

"If you insist."

Raphael pushed Tav back down, raised her hips, gave another few thrusts--

There was a strangled groan. His body seized behind her, inside her, and she felt the pulse and the heat of his infernal spend as he spilled it.

"Four hours," he said breathlessly, stroking her hips, "Twenty minutes...and five seconds."

There was a pause, and finally, he withdrew from her. By the time Tav turned around, he was wearing that infuriating well-bred face again.

"Such a sweet prey you are," Raphael said as she stood and corrected her gown.

He kissed her hand, watching her eyes--her fearful eyes--for a few moments longer.

Then without warning, he was gone.

[carterashofficial]

I fucked up my second BG3 play through epically.

For starters, I didn’t leave the kids’ secret hideout until Mol had finished her countdown.

Apparently this means she tells the tiefling guards that you’ve been threatening children. Only way out is to Lie (roll a 20), Prison, or Attack. I’m playing a Fighter who has a -1 Charisma. And my Tav is bloodless b/c she’s been Astarian’s personal Capri-Sun so that’s another -1. Im not passing any charisma checks anytime soon. I tried to escape from prison and uh. Did not want to fight everyone. (Is there a way to just serve your sentence?)

If you’re creative with your navigating you can avoid it all (like the elevator through the Druid grove) and not even run into the guards.

Which is what I did. Just avoid them all and it’s peachy. Save Halsin, Tieflings wanna have a party at your camp.

Here’s the problem. One of the guards spawns at your camp. It’s either Attack or Charisma Check (that I am gonna fail, b/c again, I’m a bloody juice box)

So I have to fight every tiefling, and Halsin, and Sheart (idk why?). Wyll kept getting pissed when tieflings died but my dude, they were attacking you too. Gale and Rohan the Wizard Apprentice had a Magic Missile Duel. Karlach one-shot everyone she touched. Lazael got killed by Halsin in Bear Mode. Twice. Astarian was having the time of his life.

5 rounds of the bloodiest mosh pit known to man, and everyone is dead. So dead.

The whole reason I’m going to have to backtrack 6 hours worth of gameplay is that during the epic fight, Scratch was scared due a Thunder spell and I felt bad.

Also, I didn’t want to kill the Tieflings. I’m going to have to go back to a previous save and just. Ignore Mol. For Scratch. I don’t want the dog scared.

[bhaalbaaby]

The Stillness Bends // Chapter 1

Title: Know Yourself and The Enemy (1854 words) Pairing: Shadowheart/Fem!Tav Warnings: Emetophobia, Flirtations, Flashbacks A/N: be gentle and thank you for my beta @bunnidarling 🥺 Taglist: @spacebarbarianweird @tragedybunny @astarionsbeloved @razrogue @celestialomlette @rentheannihilator @rinmoon7

Read on AO3!

Penelope grimaces as they trudge through the mud, thudding and yelling not too far ahead of them. She's never met any goblin before all of this. Odd little creatures. Her first victims. She tries not to think about them too much. 

Her daggers have seen so much blood, there's no bloodlust, only grief. She hides it with a smile, not wanting to seem weak in front of her companions. Penelope is not a killer. Her daggers at home were only for threatening. Is she a seasoned killer now or a hero? What would her friends back in Baldur's Gate think? They wouldn't believe her. Hells, she barely believes any of this herself, the experience living in her bones.

She already feels inexperienced with combat and survival when she speaks to any of her companions. 

She stops in front of the bridge, the smell of piss, alcohol, and blood thick in the smoky air. Wyll can barely contain himself as he grimaces. "We should cut them down quickly and efficiently. The longer we stay, the more issues we may find." He's so confident. He should be the leader. 

Penelope turns to the rest of them. Shadowheart nods, "I must agree. Goblins aren't known for hospitality." "Wicked little creatures," Astarion adds. 

"Let's see what they know first. Volo mentioned something about the Absolute, and Nettie said Halsin came here searching about these tadpoles." Penelope reasons, trying to see if they can avoid more bloodshed. 

Astarion rolls his eyes. "I suppose we can snoop around. Find out more about these monsters in our heads." She flashes him a grateful smile. "I wonder what power they possess." Astarion continues with a glint in his red eyes.

Her smile fades. She doesn't want to find out. 

Getting past the Goblins at the gate is an easy feat. She feigns grief as she lies. "We were sent here by True Soul Edowin. Absolute rest his soul." His siblings were the first humans her blades claimed. 

"Another True Soul? The Drow will want to speak to you then." He then remarks on Penelope's body, making her shudder. Before, she would only think about ending any of those who crossed her. Now she can. No one but herself can stop her from fighting.

She can hardly blame the goblin for saying anything. She's ill-fitted for fighting, her armor bits and pieces from her dancer attire, repurposed for battle with Astarion's help. Her dark pink bralette is reinforced with some scale mail they got from Arron. Against Shadowheart and Wyll's suggestions, her midriff is still exposed because it didn't look right covered up. Her skirts remain the same, makeshift boots under them to protect her legs from any damage and the elements. She could always lie and say she's a dancer ready to entertain the leaders if need be. Her long fuchsia hair is rolled up in a bun resting on her neck, with flyaways, and small curtain bangs framing her delicate face.

The urge fades as they walk past the wooden gates. She would kill him later. Would she enjoy it? Possibly... She doesn't know. 

As the group approaches the Goblin camp, the tadpole wiggles as if awoken by something. She glances at Shadowheart, jaw tight as they continue. Wyll rubs his temple gently, trying not to cause any attention. Astarion’s expression is no less unnerving, his brow low. Penelope continues walking. At least it's not just her, she thinks to herself as they start to cross the bridge. 

The pain is piercing and gradual, forcing her on her knees. She hears the others struggle as well before silence and darkness cloaks her. Her heart races, pressure building in her head. Is this the end? The woman's voice draws her in, the tadpole stilling as if listening as well. Purple light emits in front of her, three black figures sprouting from them. Their features are hidden by the smoke and darkness, but that man, his manner, that smile. She's seen it before. Maybe in her dreams. Her concentration wanes as the voice booms. "Help My Chosen search for the Prism and you shall be worthy to be in my presence."Heat emanates from behind her as the artifact leaves Shadowheart's pack. The voice grows fainter as the artifact dwindles in the air, the power pulsating stronger than ever as it floats back to Shadowheart. 

Penelope sits back on her knees, left catching her breath as the pressure lifts. Making sense of what just happened would be as inexplicable as everything else. Shadowheart stares at the prism in awe. "What in the Hells is that exactly?" Penelope asks, her eyes darting between the artifact and Shadowheart's face. 

"I don't know. It saved our lives," Shadowheart says, shaking her head. Packing away the prism, her dangerous green eyes meet Penelope's. "I will keep it protected. I must do so. All I know is that it's important to get it back to Baldur's Gate, at any cost." 

"What's in Baldur's Gate?" Penelope asks, stepping closer. She can feel Shadowheart's hesitancy as she steps back. "I suppose I must tell you as we're traveling together..." She straightens, her shoulders squared. "I serve Shar. My cloister is in Baldur's Gate." 

Shar. Penelope knows little of the Goddess. She also knows the cloister exists, just not where. She lost a client to Lady Shar's practice in the past; the man barely remembered his name except that he came to Sharess' Caress sometimes. She pitied him and all of Shar’s followers. The same sorrow fills her now as she listens to Shadowheart. And such a pity. Shadowheart is such a pretty woman. The Lady of Loss isn't keen on her followers feeling any pleasure and Penelope has fleeting plans for the Cleric.

Wyll shakes his head as concern lines his face. "A Shar worshiper? Not my usual quarry, nor my usual ally." 

Penelope sighs, rubbing her head, at least the tadpole is silent. "Thank you for sharing, Shadowheart. At least we know something about whatever that is." She gestures to her pack as Shadowheart rolls her eyes. "This is out of pure necessity. Pure desperation, in fact."

"I'm sure... Keep it safe. Whatever it is, 'The Absolute' is searching for it." Penelope replies, suddenly tired. "Let's go meet these leaders." 

The stench grows stronger as they walk through drunk Goblins, Bugbears, and Orges. Penelope holds her breath as they reach the doors of the defiled Temple. 

"I don't think I can do this." Penelope whimpers, her uvula feeling thick in the back of her throat.

"What do you mean you can't do this?" Astarion asks, his tone annoyed. 

She turns to him, pale. "This smell doesn't bother you?" She asks in a hissed whisper, her stomach lurching. He rolls his eyes as Wyll steps closer, "We can come back later. I'm sure they'll drink themselves to death." She hopes he's right as they head to camp.

Penelope sits by the water at camp. Maybe a bath would clear her mind and calm her stomach. As she starts to undress, she hears footsteps in the sandy grovel. 

She keeps her top on as she turns to see Shadowheart. "I don't mean to intrude." She says, surprisingly shy. Her eyes avoid Penelope's direction. "I'm decent enough, luv," Penelope says with a light laugh as she walks over to Shadowheart. 

"I made you this. It's for nausea relief. Should help when we go through their stronghold." The bottle is murky brown and smells medicinal. 

"Thank you, Shadowheart."

The Cleric nods, still looking away. She's cute when she's playing coy, Penelope thinks as she steps closer, tilting Shadowheart's head towards her. "Are you alright? You seem a little distracted?" Penelope asks, her thumb brushing Shadowheart's cheek. The blacks of her eyes help the bright magenta pop more in the growing darkness, the heart pupils more prominent. 

"I-I'm fine." She doesn't pull away from Penelope's grasp.

 "Did you want to join me for my bath?" Penelope asks as innocently as she can. 

Shadowheart's breathing quickens, her eyes widening slightly before she laughs, stepping away. "No, we shouldn't. Um. Thank you for not being angry with me." She adds as well, keeping her head lowered. 

The urge to kiss her is overwhelming, but Penelope behaves herself. "What are you talking about?" She asks, tilting her head to the side. 

"For being a Shar worshiper." 

Penelope rolls her eyes. "None of that matters while we have The Absolute and Ceremorphosis to worry about." She tries her best to mimic Gale as she says the mind flayer transformation's official name, happy to see Shadowheart try to suppress her smile. 

"I guess you're right. I should leave you to your bath." 

"The offer to stay is still on the table," Penelope replies, playing with the ties of her dress. 

Shadowheart's cheeks tinge pink as she shakes her head. "Maybe another time." 

It's not a no. Penelope smiles softly as she turns around, "I'll be here when you change your mind." The dress loosens around her waist as she discards it, stepping into the water. She glances over her shoulder to see the half-elf gone.

Her bath is quiet in contrast to her mind, which thrashes with anxiety as she glides her fingers over her arms. Maybe they can do something else before returning to the goblins. She feels cowardly not wanting to venture further into the keep. They're not ready. She's not ready. She can barely strike without feeling remorse. She knows a few spells, but she feels so weak compared to Gale and Wyll. She is leading them to their doom. Sinking into the water, she ignores the feeling of mud under her toes as she wishes she could run away. 

Flashbacks are ice daggers in her chest as she remembers the forest enclosing her and her mother. "Keep going," her mother instructed as they ran. The thudding of horses echoed behind them: highwaymen. She squeezed her mother's hand as they sprinted. 

Penelope looks up at the sky and the stars above. The memory tries to resurface, the men shouting at them. “ Hellspawn !” They were so close to the city. Her mother stopped when they lost them, reaching into her pocket and handing the young Penelope the letter from her aunt and her mother's locket. 

"Nel, go to the city. If we get separated, find your aunt." 

Penelope sniffled, "I don't wanna go without you." 

Her mother wiped the stray tear. "My beautiful girl, I'll always be with you." 

She splashes her face with water, feeling a lump in her throat. Her mother is now a distant memory, and yet she can recall the scent of rosewater and thyme from their garden in Elturel. Her mother wouldn't want her to give up. 

She steels herself with that memory. She won’t break down in front of the others. She walks out of the water as the warm sunset covers the camp. She ignores how scratchy the old towel is as she picks it up. Tomorrow is another day. Hopefully, Shadowheart's medicine works. As another day passes with the tadpole in their brains, the more paranoid Penelope becomes.

[thedragonagelesbian]

3, 17, & 27 for cyrus pleeeeease!

<333333

3: Race and subclass?

Race: Wood elf

Subclass: It's Complicated

I actually have a full level 20 D&D character sheet for Cyrus that I made back when he was still just a Dragon Age OC. So, when porting him over to Baldur's Gate 3, I decided to keep as much of that build as possible, making Cyrus a base paladin (because being a knight is his Whole Thing) with a barbarian multiclass (because he has a lot of repressed anger and ruthlessness that become more and more evident the more and more the world wears away at his sunshine kindness, and paladin-barbarian is just a very sexy build).

His original subclasses were Oath of Devotion (again, textbook fairytale knight, this is The quintessential stereotypical paladin oath) and Path of Ancestral Guardians (one of the more support-oriented barbarian subclasses and plays with the idea of Kirkwall itself as his guardian spirits).

On the paladin side of things, I just kept him as an Oath of Devotion pally in BG3, although he did end up breaking his oath during Act 2, switching him over to the oathbreaker subclass.

However, BG3 doesn't have the Ancestral Guardians subclass, and the flavor is very specific to the DA2 version, so I decided early on that when he took his third level of barbarian, he'd be Wild Heart instead-- angling for 'bear heart' specifically because it grants immunity to almost all damage while raging, and being unkillable is an important part of Cyrus' whole deal.

And also.

I wanted him to have fire resistance (however conditional) for smooching Karlach.

And as I also had Karlach specced as a Wild Heart barbarian, it occurred to me that Cyrus' multiclassing into her class could be like. a Thing for their relationship. I wrote a little bit about it in my fic for them-- Karlach being the one to train Cyrus in how to be a barbarian, helping him find his rage & be okay with experiencing negative emotions instead of repressing them, giving him his wild heart piercings after the Ketheric boss fight...

(also in this first playthrough, Cyrus ended up romancing Halsin too, which makes the bear's heart thing that much more significant)

But the thing is. I love Cyrus and I love shipping Cyrus, and I knew very early on that I would want to play through the game again to romance at least Astarion and Wyll with him. But. I love narrative-mechanics overlap too much to repeat his paladin-barbarian build for the other runs, because that's His And Karlach's Thing, and he needs a different thing for Astarion and Wyll.

SO.

I have two other BG3 timelines for Cyrus with two other builds.

The first starts off with the same base class of paladin with Oath of Devotion as the subclass. However, after Astarion kills him while feeding from him the first time, Cyrus Comes Back Wrong and spontaneously develops an innate connection to the Shadowfell for uh... reasons that are truly beyond the scope of this already ridiculously long answer. So, in that timeline, Cyrus is an Oath of Devotion Paladin (he will still break his oath at least once when freeing the other vampire spawn, but I imagine this version of Cyrus will want to retake his oath?) with a (modded) Shadow Sorcerer multiclass.

The second involves moving Cyrus' entire timeline around so he's older, more experienced, and more jaded by the time that he gets tadpoled. He swore an oath of devotion to a tyrant who abused him and then he swore an oath of vengeance against them and their reign, and neither made him happy or let him live his life on his own terms as more than just a Title and a set of obligations.

So, this version of Cyrus lost all of his levels of paladin during the couple of decades of self-imposed exile that precede the game. In addition to some stat shuffling around, his base class switched to Ranger for the 'was living all on his own as a hermit in the woods' vibes, and also to keep him as a martial/melee character because that feels the most correct for him.

I only just got this version of Cyrus to level 3-- I specced him into the Hunter subclass originally, but I think I'm going to switch to Gloomstalker instead. There's just something thematically interesting to me about Oathbreaker-Shadow Sorc-Gloomstalker, a lot of Cyrus' character is propelled by the literal, physical internalizations and manifestations of all the bad shit that happens to him, and struggling to make peace with that and even turn those changes to his advantage.

(Also gloomstalker in BG3 gets misty step as an autoprep and I can never turn down a short-range teleport)

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer?

Paladin/Barbarian Cyrus: unequivocal yes! Cyrus loves nothing more than to feel useful and of service, and adventuring is the best way he knows how to be helpful.

Paladin/Sorcerer Cyrus: he says yes, but he's been in a state of perpetual existential crisis for the entirety of the game made worse by the fact that he tells himself he needs to swallow all of it down so as not to get in the way of the adventure & helping others

Ranger Cyrus: no lol he really thought he had left this life behind, and he is Too Old For This (spiritually). I think he's really thrown for a loop the first time he sits down to trance, comes to having spontaneously manifested some goodberries in his lap, and realizes he can do magic again for the first time in a couple of decades. He'll do the adventure, and he won't even complain that much, and I think as the game progresses, he'll find more to like about it, but at the moment he's quietly being a real sourpuss about the whole thing.

27: What was their life like before the events of BG3?

Kind of alluded to this in the subclass answers, but in the main timeline (which covers both pally/barb and pally/sorc), Cyrus was having a splendid time as a dashing young adventurer.

Ranger Cyrus was living by himself in a small cottage in some corner of Sword Coast wilderness, cut off from the rest of the world by choice. He was able to fend for and provide for himself just fine but was also much lonelier than he would have admitted to himself. Being around people again is a huge change-- and try as he may to keep some distance between himself and his companions, he just can't resist Wyll's smile.

[barbwillbrb]

Waiting on my car to get fixed, so here is more info-dumping about my tavs Rackal and Clairice, along with the slight AU I’m working with:

- The monastery got destroyed. They had the artifact to prevent it from going boom in their inventory. Clairice saw the shiny and yoinked it. Cue prolonged eye contact.

- Rolan joins the crew in Act 2 post Last Light Inn to find the Nightsong, having been convinced no one good is associated in its acquisition and there has to be something fucking wrong with Lorroakan if that’s the case.

- Per my silly Rolan headcanon post, he learns he’s a sorcerer. Specifically a Wild Magic one—it just turns out when you are exceptionally good at suppressing your emotions/dealing with panic attacks on the regular, you can be pretty good at controlling your surges. Who knew!

- That is until the resident know-it-all-wizard, meaning very well, decides to dump that info on him without much precedence. Rolan can only take so many life-altering changes in a week, and sets off a metaphorical bomb in camp that may have burned down two tents (causing Minthara to switch up her hairstyle in the aftermath), turned Scratch blue, and polymorphed Rackal into a sheep.

- The Ketheric Thorm/Myrkul fight poses a moral conflict for Rackal, as he very much understands why Ketheric succumbed to Shar and isn’t sure whether or not he would do the same if the opportunity had presented itself at the wrong time. He is propositioned with the opportunity to bring Meirin back and switch sides, but ultimately chooses not to. I have not decided yet if Ketheric lives in my AU, so that’s still up in the air.

- Clairice’s major turning point is Last Light Inn. During the bulk of Act 1, she isn’t really grasping the scope of the trouble they’re in (although tbh it’s just a coping strategy she’s barely aware of; think blind, “it is what is is and we can’t change it!” type optimism/recklessness). Deep down, I think she really believes that they’ll find some cure in time and that the tadpole thing is really a lot smaller in scope (like okay, there are people popping up with these things according to Halsin/Nettie, but it surely can’t be that many, right? Maybe it just seems like a lot because the Grove is so isolated [don’t ask her what a reasonable number of tadpole infections is]? This has got to be just some weird shit, right?). But then suddenly they’re in the Underdark and all these Twat Souls are here apparently kidnapping genius gnomes who can build bombs, and now there are fucking Gods getting involved?! And then they’re crossing into the Shadow-Cursed Lands and see all the dead tieflings and nothing is okay oh dear god no what was the fucking POINT why do this hero nonsense?! I think what actually makes her kinda snap out of it/get her head back on is 1) Raphael and Mol (something about a devil going after a desperate kid in the middle of a battle torn refuge camp just puts everything into perspective and switches her from “eh, he’s just kinda silly” to “i needed him dead yesterday”) and 2) the assault on the Inn. From there on, she goes from “we are so so fucked” to “GET FUCKED.”

- Without a singular doubt, Clairice hates Raphael. I think they have a pretty interesting dynamic from Act 1-LLI, and even after she sets herself against him she knows to play the long game. Getting into the House of Hope is less about the hammer for her and more about getting Mol’s contract/causing as many problems as possible.

- Clairice and Minthara get together halfway through Act 3, sometime shortly after Clairice’s rescue from Orin.

- Rackal and Rolan also get together in Act 3, and to everyone’s fucking horror they’re worse than Clairice and any of her liaisons.

- Rackal goes to Avernus with Wyll and Karlach, with the trio returning a year later when her heart’s fixed. He keeps in contact with both Rolan and Clairice through sending stones, and returns to Rolan when he’s back.

- Clairice meanwhile is off helping Minthara deal with her bullshit down in Menzoberranzan. She’s causing chaos and having tons of fun.