#may shadowhearts blessings be upon you

[random-introverted-blog]

My bestie @ethelspetals here serving us Shadowheart simps but her pockets overflowin

Linky link to her YouTube channel of Shadowheart content for those who want to bask in our goddess Shadowheart, are writing Shadowheart stuff and would like the resources, or all of the above

[hana-no-seiiki]

ARDENT EXALTATION, ETERNAL DAMNATION

⟣┄─ ˑ 𝐈. ✧ yandere worshipper! x secret god! reader (ft. yan! god oc)

inspired by my bootiful @sagesskies n baldur’s gate shar/shadowheart

synopsis: if there was one main rule under your creed, it was for your name and titles thereof to never be spoken. but for this worshipper, it’s all that leaves his lips.

tw/cw: yandere & religious themes. yun sadist hours writing. reader calls oc their child but it’s not incest yall ples. character deaths.

TO WORSHIP YOU WAS THE GREATEST HONOR ONE COULD RECEIVE. An honor never to be shared nor declared. Selfishness and secrecy were the traits you valued in your followers. You simply felt that flaunting your presence to be superfluous, if not arrogant — thoughtless. A flaw you often saw in other gods that you wished not to have in yourself.

But of course, you were not perfect. No matter how much you may wished to be, even gods had their failures and oversights.

Once such oversight was Ynaël. The Prodigy, Priest of the Night, and your favorite.

He was immaculate. A perfect example of what it meant to worship you. He dedicated his voice, body, and soul only to you. No one knew his name but yourself. No one else knew he even existed. Those that did were sundered from existence, or lived in the afterlife.

You had only the highest of expectations for your child. He had an outstanding beginning. Unprecedented in your long, well hidden line of followers. You called for his name often. Assisted him in the ways you could as a deity in his adventures. Even allowing him to lay with you underneath the stars as mortals and your more carnal siblings did with their creations.

But as mortal beings and gods alike were, when faced with such high praise, it was inevitable for hubris to fester and slowly creep up on him.

He overstepped.

Sharing his devout adoration to his companions. Showering you with praise as he fought. Spreading your transcendent name throughout the very soil he stepped upon, and the crevices of bodies he’d desecrate.

What more was that he was proud of his accomplishments. You deserved to be known. To be remembered and immortalized. To share the spotlight your fellow celestial beings had. Was it not only right that you praise him even more?

But then, he could feel your presence slowly dimming in its luminance.

You never had a temple built to your name, so he could only ponder at night when everyone else had gone off to sleep or have fun underneath the sheets to wonder why you’ve seemingly left him. Was he too harsh? You were known for valuing mercy and forgiveness, the ability to show compassion even to the most tainted beings. Besides, you would never just leave him behind.

Frustrated with your lack of response to his calls, he sets upon a goal to build you a place for worship. One that was overdue in its establishment, in his opinion.

It took many, many agonizing years without a single word from you, but it was finally complete.

He takes a moment to gaze at the statue of your magnificent form he place behind the altar, soon to be covered with sacrifices and blessings. Anything you’d ask for, just as long as you bless him once more with yourself.

But instead, he is greeted by another presence.

A presence very similar to yours. Yet much, much more powerful.

Their voice almost tore Ynaël’s ears wide open in its magnitude.

“You killed them, you — a worthless scum of a mortal.”

Killed whom? Throughout his years working on your temple he had taken no life. He wanted everything to be completed as soon as possible. He had no time for any sorts of conquests.

“Meet your maker.”

©️ hana.no.seiiki - yun | 2024

— to be continued

[yangcherie]

i am obsessed with your writing. really. i would love to read your view on a shadowheart trying to win your heart when she realizes that the other companions also want you. be as fluff or smut as you want! (and of course you don't need to write anything you don't want, really, no pressure) 💕🩷

one step ahead

pairing: shadowheart, background cast x gender-neutral!tav (reader.)

content warnings: alcoholic consumption, lightest bit of suggestive. reverse comfort. religious trauma (shar.), pre-selune shart.

author’s note: i don’t quite know. this is the first time i wrote wothout being high so ahm. this might suck. Uh. so sorry, dear... begging the nines for this to flop. praying hands emoji.

Before discovering:

You’re a darling thing – considerate, easy to like.

Shadowheart vies for your heart, confident she’s the only one. The party is big and Farûn even bigger, surely, they will not take this one thing away from her? She doesn’t take it seriously at first, the way they touch you, look at you, speak of you. No, she ignores it, continues to court you with soft flowers and fold and prayers of blessings upon you. You’re a priority to her, first and foremost. The only thing she has besides Shar’s teachings.

You like her. The way she feels about you is nothing if not refreshing, rid of lust. So you laugh with her, thank her so prettily for her gifts. She’s confident.

After discovering:

It comes to her late at night. She is not the only one who gives you flowers and gold and prayers, it seems. What meager she has to offer the others are extravagant with. She begrudgingly stumbles upon the possibility that you might’ve served more as a distraction than a lover, you’ve been challenging her faith and focus.

Have you swayed her? The same way you have seemingly swayed the other ones in the party?

If there’s one thing Shadowheart has discovered about herself, it’s that she does not like to share. But you are not hers. And is then she begins to descend into thoughts she does not like, about how it would feel to stake a claim over you.

You become more of a trial to overcome, something to have a crisis over.

Shadowheart purses her lips, sulking by the fire. She’s alone, thankfully – but the night is not peaceful for her, as it may be for the others slumbering around. The wind bites at her legs and something akin to heartbreak and envy chews at her heart as she stares at your tent. An abandoned, emptied bottle of putrid wine lay on its side near her.

It should be alarming, how quickly she’s taken to a different sort of nightly activity; chasing away her thoughts of you with wine and whisky instead of praying. She’s half-convinced you’re a hidden disciple of Lady Shar, with the way you invoke loss so easily in her. You must be a test of faith – one she is losing.

If she is bound to lose, she will not go down without tooth and nail. She’s opted for trying to sweep you off your feet, bouquets of orchids, opening her heart to you. Unfortunately, for every endeavor, you’ve tugged an endearing smile at. You’ve sung her praises on how darling of a friend she was – and she had been laughed at, patted on the back with sympathy by those in the party.

She wonders if you’ve even paid mind to how her advances have faltered. How she had herself distanced from you.

Shadowheart huffs, petty. Your heart has been something hotly-contested amongst the camp – for fuck’s sake, amongst everyone you cross, from drows and tieflings to cambions and lords alike. She knows it, she sees how those in the party - especially that damned vampire, drink in your bodice. The lilted curve of your smile. The bob of your throat. She sees how they could just maim one another for a chance at you, and she cannot blame them for their hunger – but it does not soothe her misery.

The idiots make it a competition of sorts; how far they could skirt around their affections without being caught — but Astarion seems to be winning. It is no secret to everyone, of the trysts you share with the vampire. It haunts her; how in the absence of light, he leans over you, pins you to the ground and sinks his teeth into the soft, welcoming flesh of your florid neck. He licks and savors the sanguine off of your skin whilst you whimper in pain beneath him.

During those nights, she cannot help but stay up, even long after the vampire has sauntered off, leaving you bloodless, limping. She strains her ears to listen to you breathe stiltedly. What she wouldn’t give for the chance to eat you up, whisper pretty things to you even as you push against her and whimper.

(During those nights, it is where she cannot help but truly resonate with Lady Shar’s teachings. Embittered, speared with loss with the fact you have plenty of beds to warm, hearts to hold – but none are hers.)

In the morning, she alone fusses and casts a light heal over you, brushing over your wounded neck, ignoring how Astarion will make an innuedo of your taste to irritate his fellow, seething companions. She will ignore how you flush.

Shadowheart is not blind – even the most foolish of fools could see she is not the only one to vie for your heart. She kicks around in the dirt, disgruntled, raking a hand through her otherwise pristine hair. You are a ridiculous conundrum, an enigma that puts her faith, her control at a losing trial — a groan is forced out of her. She would kill to have anything else on her mind but you, you, you, you, who has swarmed and consumed much of her waking thoughts.

Damn you. Damn you for all you are. You must be a cambion amongst the likes of Haarlep with the way you’ve ensnared her.

Before the cleric can run off with gritted teeth, however, a weight is settled on her shoulder from behind. Mortification is quick to take over her, a chill like winter in Icewind Dale, or worse, High Ice, crawling on her spine.

“Hey, you.” Your voice softly greets her. You do not wait for her answer, she figures when you decide to sit down on the log and huddle up to her as a comforting anchor, unaware to the flushed grimace on her face.

It is a brief thought that passes; what if the Nightsong Lady was watching her right at this moment? How will she ever explain this in her prayers? Should she beg that the Lady spare you? She gapes like a dehydrated fish on land when you burrow yourself further to her side and meet eyes with her.

You do not know you look how ambrosian you are at this moment. You are warm. You are soft and you are alone. Right in front of her, nestling into her, even – unknowing that she is on the prepice of some circle of hell, one riddled with indecision. Should she swoop you off your feet, profess her affections to you and press her mouth to yours until you’re stupid enough to let her bed you for the night?

Or should she gather you in her jaws and bite voraciously hard enough that you will turn limp? Spare you from what is her maw? The pit of her want she could condemn you to?

(But hers must be more merciful than the rest’s, surely? Would you prefer it to be her that destroys you?)

She is now convinced, you are the greatest trial of forbearance and endurance Shar has thrown her way.

“Shadowheart?” You murmur worriedly, a few seconds later to her silence, the fire casting a sultry, welcoming flush over you. She watches as you reach a hand up to your own face; undoubtedly thinking, why is she staring at you like you’ve burnt down the entirety of Faerûn? Shadowheart swallows, jittery; she cannot bear to tear herself away from your embrace.

“Why... why have you come here? To me?” It is all she manages to wrench out of her dry throat. Her waist trembles when you wrap an arm around it. She wishes to ask more; what are we? What am i to you? What do you want from me? Why are you doing this to me—?

“You looked lonely, was all.” You yawned, something ladened with slumber. She could not fathom the thought that this, whatever you were doing, could be casual to you. Was it an everyday occurence for you to ensconcing with whoever you deemed warm enough? “You could do with some company.”

Company? Does she deserve it? You could be with Karlach or Halsin, right now. Their arms were built to sweep you right off your feet. Or Astarion, surely? Was her company so special to you, you had refused your nightly tryst with him?

No, the rational part of her hisses. You’re thinking too highly of yourself; and what it says is true. She’s nothing more than some elf, one who cannot even string herself together.

It’s an uncomfortable silence – though it seems onesided, with how you flutter and cosy up to her despite how stiff she is. Somewhere in between, she feels a frown on your face pressed to her shoulder. She swallows, a prayer of repentance and a lash against her back is what she deserves. She’s a fool. There is no other but herself to fault if she was to fail the trial you pose.

“Shadowheart,” you mutter, more fiercely, another question on your mouth. She reveres the image of you, with your brows are wrinkled with worry for her. “Are you okay?”

But if the punishment is inevitable, she might as well just enjoy the buildup, right?

The cleric shakes her head, the witty response she has wilting when the instantaneous tightening of your arms around her fills her with the most innocent surge of need she’s ever felt – and her body wraps its arms around you before her mind has a say on it.

“Y-You torment me, you know?” She says, breathy, unnerved. The way you look at her and search her eyes for anything that could give her away has her breathless, and she can’t quit decide if that’s a good thing. It feels dirty, almost as if you’re looking for sin in her. She has plenty to go around.

“Why?” You ask, pushing on.

“You confuse me.” Shadowheart shakes her head, allowing the warmth of your palm to slide on her face. She graces it with her own. Shar cannot be watching, damn her. “So much.”

She continues, clutching onto your fingers, “I cannot be with you, I cannot – but gods,” she chokes, lips quivering once. “you make it so hard to stay away.”

You flush at it, what she means. Shadowheart follows. She wonders if you can hear it, the thrum of her heart, a testament of her sin, her unforgivable wrongdoings. She wonders if you know she’s starting to look at you as more of a salvation then a trial. You feel like it.

“Where is this coming from?” You ask, so gently, so reassured. You even tuck her hair behind her ears and it makes her flush with delight. “What makes you so sure you cannot be with me, hm?”

“Why me?” It clicks to you why she had asked that earlier. You frown, smoothing your thumb over the apple of her supple cheek. Her voice trembles. “You could have anyone you wanted, you know. Soldiers, or dukes. But you, you act like this towards me; and I’m just me.”

She does not say how afraid she feels that she could taint you with sin.

“And I like you for you.” You interject; and the butterflies in her stomach seem to triple, despite her eyes burning with exhaustion. “You are more than enough for me. You are wonderful to me.”

“You’re fine, we’re fine. I want to be with you.”

(She wonders if you mean for the rest of your life or this night only.)

Your words ring in her mind. She wonders if you want her to the same extent she does with you. But whatever — she’ll deal with it in the morning, the talk, the regret, the prayers, her reward and consequences. For now, she will let you soothe down the mess she’s made of her hair and hold her, entangle yourself to her as if to share warmth in place of the dying fire.

She could be enough for you, she could take care to not damage you with what she is. And she’s sure that she deserves this, snugly rocking in your arms, even for a night or two. And maybe you deserve a pretty flower again.

If she cannot have you, she can at the very least make sure you have her.

[scarredwithcruelintentions]

chapter 3: a desperate revelation

Find the masterlist here!

CW: Astarion talks about his abuse.

W/C: 2,795

A/N: My dog had heart surgery last week... please send all the good vibes for her recovery!

After the arduous fight with the Hag, Astarion wanted nothing more than to crawl into his bedroll. Shadowheart had mended the worst of their wounds with a healing prayer, and your quiet songs of rest had bolstered their energy for the trek back to camp. Once out of the bog, the fading rays of the sun’s light were visible once more.

He paused a moment to marvel at the way they painted the sky in various hues of pinks and oranges, a sight he had long since given up hope of ever seeing again. He tried to convince himself that any day spent in the sun was a day worth having, no matter how fleeting a retreat it might be. 

A plaintive sigh escaped him at the prospect of returning to the shadows after being blessed by the warmth of the light.

“Copper for your thoughts?” you intoned from behind him, startling him out of his quiet reverie.

“For nearly two centuries, I’ve known nothing but darkness and pain. To stand in the sun, after so much tragedy and despair, is nothing short of a miracle,” he whispered, afraid that if he spoke any louder, it would shatter the beautiful illusion he’d come to know and he’d instead find himself a psychotic wreck, locked in a mausoleum somewhere at Cazador’s behest again.

He tracked your approach in his peripheral vision, mentally preparing himself to broach the topic of his past, of his Master’s cruelty. You stopped at his side and gazed out into the encroaching darkness with him, listening along as the song of birds gave way to the chirp of crickets. The stars began their winking, and the ambiance of rural night crept over them in a subdued melody.

“Without darkness, there would be no light,” you said quietly. 

He peered over at you, watching as the moon started its trek across the indigo sky just above your head. You glanced at him, and your eyes met his for a moment. He did not expect the sorrow that he found in their depths. He opened his mouth, but no sound left his lips, the icy fingers of fear choking him. He closed his eyes and steadied himself, preparing to spill his darkest secrets upon reopening them.

“Come, friend,” your hushed voice met his ears. “We are not far from camp. We may speak there.”

With that, the moment was broken. Astarion opened his eyes to see your retreating form, and silently thanked whatever gods still were for the extra time to gather his strength. ______________________________________________________________

Astarion sat alone in his tent, lost in his thoughts. He could hear the chatter and laughter of his companions just beyond its thin walls, but he didn’t even have the heart to observe from afar tonight. He waited in trepidation for you to come find him, drumming his fingers absentmindedly on the closed cover of the book in his lap. Even reading had proven to be an unhelpful distraction.

“Astarion?” 

He recognized the lilt of your soft voice and cleared his throat.

“In here, darling,” he called, unwilling to move, lest his legs were to carry him far from this conversation, far from camp in cowardice.

You parted the flaps of his tent with a small smile, a question in your eyes. He waved at the space in front of him, a silent go ahead to enter and sit. You nodded imperceptibly and sat down, crossing your legs and setting your lyre in your lap.

Astarion raised a brow at the instrument.

“Do you ever go anywhere without that?” he asked, curiosity coloring his voice.

“Never,” you grinned. “It’s the source of my connection to the Weave.”

He scoffed, “A lyre?”

“Well, not the lyre specifically,” you blushed, “but the music it creates. Any instrument will do, but this is my instrument of choice.”

“I see,” he said, though he really didn’t.

“Would you like me to give you an example?” you asked kindly.

“Please, be my guest.”

He watched as your delicate fingers plucked a soft melody on the instrument, caressing the tune from them with practiced ease and fondness. The mellifluous sound of your voice began its harmony, and a sense of peace like he had never known washed over him. He was enchanted by your performance, finding it a strangely intimate experience with no one else to accompany the two of you.

All too soon, the final chord resonated in the cavern of his chest with a quiet hum.

Astarion opened his eyes - not remembering having closed them - and gazed at you. The warm feeling from earlier had returned at the start of the song, and had slowly spread its way through his limbs with each progression until he felt light and fuzzy, an unusual and somewhat dizzying sensation. A slight flush had spread across your cheeks and into the bodice of your nightclothes as he regarded you with a soft expression.

“That was lovely,” he murmured, loath to break the tranquil quiet of the moment.

“A Song of Calm for my tense, toothsome friend,” you smiled, voice lowered to match his own.

“Ah! Well that explains the sudden silence in my mind.” 

He cracked a wry smile and delighted in your answering giggle. Stillness enveloped the tent once more, and your expression morphed into one of concerned sincerity.

Here we go.

“Are you ready to talk?”

“I don’t want to say a damned thing,” he bit out, rage and fear laced in his voice. You recoiled at his tone, and it took conscious effort for him to soften it. “But that won’t do anyone any good.”

You remained silent, waiting patiently for him to continue. He heaved a great, mournful sigh, and began.

“Cazador Szarr is a vampire lord in Baldur’s Gate. The patriarch of his coven and a monster obsessed with power. Not political power or military power - I mean power over people,” he said with carefully construed apathy, “The power to control them completely. He turned me nearly two hundred years ago. I became his spawn and he became my tormentor.”

His eyes had fallen to the space separating him from you, avoiding the questions he knew he was sure to find in yours.

“How were you turned?” you asked in a whisper. “Did he attack you?”

Astarion sighed again.

“Not him, no. A gang of thugs, the Gur,” he sneered, “attacked me, angry about a ruling that I’d handed down as a magistrate.”

“I see. Is that why you were on edge with the hunter today?”

“Indeed. They’d beaten me to death’s door when Cazador appeared. He chased them off and offered to save me. To give me eternal life. Given that my choices were ‘eternal life’ or ‘bleed to death on the street’, I took him up on the offer.” 

He repressed a violent shudder at the memory and ploughed ahead, “It was only afterward that I realized just how long ‘eternity’ could be.”

“I take it he was rather lacking as a master,” you intoned gravely.

“He had me go out into Baldur’s Gate and fetch him the most beautiful souls I could find by whatever means necessary. It was a fun little ritual of his - I’d bring them back and he’d ask me if I wanted to dine with him. And if I said yes, he’d serve me a dead, putrid rat.”

He could still taste it even now, the fetid blood of overripe rodent corpses. He wanted to gag and retch at the thought.

“Of course, if I said no, he’d have me flayed. Hard to say which was worse,” he shrugged matter-of-factly.

“Astarion, that’s terrible. I’m so bloody sorry,” you sniffled.

He looked up at the sound to see the glistening tracks of tears running down your face in the glow of the oil lamp, more yet unshed making your eyes glassy. He didn’t know what he expected your reaction to be, but it certainly wasn’t this.

“Thank you, but this isn’t about the sympathy,” he continued uncomfortably, “it’s about knowing what we might be up against. The Gur hunter won’t be the only one looking for me, what with his favorite plaything being misplaced.”

“Plaything?” you nearly choked.

“Yes, he always did say that my screams sounded sweetest,” he intoned bitterly.

He did not raise his eyes at the sound of your sharp gasp, fearful of what your face would betray.

“Vampire spawn are less than slaves - we’re puppets. All he need do is speak and our bodies obey. The things I’ve done, seen… felt. Well, there are some things better left unsaid,” he finished, voice hollow.

He looked up again to find tears streaming freely down your cheeks, eyes puffy and nose running with your sorrow, the whimpers and sniffles of your sobs echoing in the silence. He was unsure of how to console you, so he simply looked away, giving you time to gather yourself.

“Fuck, m’sorry,” you garbled, and he looked back to see you dashing tears from your eyes. “How insensitive of me. You don’t need my tears to make this wretched retelling any worse.”

“It’s quite alright, dear. It isn’t called a sob story for nothing, after all,” he chuckled, trying for levity to lift the stifling gloom of the atmosphere. His attempt wrested a watery giggle from you, so he considered it a success.

Once your sniffling had died down, a comfortable silence settled over the tent. He had gone back to staring at the empty space of his bedroll between you and him, and a new plan slowly began to unfurl in his mind. You seemed to like him well enough, but was well enough going to keep him safe in the dire straits ahead?

He was broken from his musing by the gentle strings of your lyre, a different melody this time but with a similar effect. The dulcet tones of your harmony flooded him with that strange, tingly warmth again, and he made up his mind in that moment. You were an unalienable ally with your charisma and quiet authority, and he needed to do whatever necessary to stay in your good graces.

Resolute in his decision, he listened intently to your music, laying back on his hands and closing his eyes to bask in the beauty of it. Your songs transitioned smoothly from one into the next, and he soon found himself drifting into his nightly meditation with unprecedented ease. He didn’t even register when the music had stopped, only noticing when your hushed voice temporarily disrupted the blissfully quiet calm of his mind.

“Goodnight, Astarion.” ______________________________________________________________

He rose early the next morning and was pleased to find you already awake. You were breaking your fast with some sludgy gruel the wizard was stirring while Wyll regaled you with animated tales of his heroics. He rolled his eyes at the warlock’s prideful display, but noticed you listening intently, gasping and asking questions at all the perfect intervals. The warlock regarded you with a smile far too fond for his liking, and he found himself calling out to you before he was even sure of what he was going to say.

“Darling, a moment, if you please?”

You gave Wyll a sheepish grin and excused yourself, setting the bowl of lumpy porridge on your stool and sauntering over to him. Astarion snickered to himself at the way the warlock’s face twisted.

“Good morning, Astarion,” you said brightly, smile more radiant than the morning sun.

“Good morning, my sweet. How did you sleep?” he asked, laying the charm on thick.

“Alright, I s’pose. You?”

“Vampires don’t sleep, dear, though I’ll say that last night was the closest I’ve come to it in two centuries,” he replied, trying for his most disarming smile.

“I’m glad to hear it,” you responded softly. “If you’d like to dine with me tonight, I’d be happy to lend my neck.”

Astarion could swear he felt his undead heart give a flutter of a beat before going dormant again.

“Why, there’s nothing I’d love more darling! But, are you sure you’re feeling up to it so soon after the first time?” he asked, his portrayal of concern surprisingly effortless.

He watched as you pulled a pendant out of your decolletage, holding it up so that it glinted in the light. He could feel the faint thrum of the Weave surrounding it.

“I went hunting through my things last night when I remembered I had this. It’s an amulet of restoration. Shadowheart confirmed for me that it will counteract the effects of blood loss,” you beamed.

“My, my. Eager little thing, aren’t you?”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, as you noticeably retreated into yourself.

“I only wanted to help,” you mumbled, eyes downcast.

In a desperate attempt to salvage the conversation, Astarion shifted the subject back to the amulet.

“And wherever did you find such a pretty bauble?”

Your answering grimace and accompanying flush was an unexpected reaction.

Oh, this must be good.

“I nicked it from the druid grove,” you said sheepishly.

“Aren’t you full of surprises, my dear,” he responded with a hearty laugh.

“Shut it, Rogue,” you grumbled at him good-naturedly.

“Never! And in answer to your earlier question, I would be more than delighted to dine with you.” He bowed dramatically, earning him a few bright peals of laughter.

“Your tent, or mine?” he purred. He made a show of watching the way your flush deepened and crept its way down into the plunging neckline of your nightclothes.

“Erm, I’d assume you’d be most comfortable in your tent,” you responded, wringing your hands with eyes downcast once more.

Well, that won’t do.

He reached forward slowly so as not to spook you and tucked a finger under your chin, gently raising your face so he could catch your eyes.

“I can make myself comfortable anywhere for you, dear,” he breathed, watching closely as your lips parted in a silent gasp and pupils dilated infinitesimally wider.

Just as he was about to celebrate this small victory, your eyes cinched shut and a pained expression flitted across your face. He dropped his hand instantly, taken aback by the dramatic shift in your reaction.

“S’not you,” you gritted out, confusing him further. You opened your eyes and took a steadying breath.

“Just a bad memory,” you clarified, standing tall in a display of faux confidence.

It was a tactic he knew all too well, and he could see right through it to the rigid way you held yourself. He felt his face fall with a doleful kind of understanding.

She, too, has endured much torment.

“Ah yes, those I am quite familiar with. We all have skeletons in the closet. An unfortunate side effect of living…” he paused, “and unliving, I suppose.”

You chuckled, easing up again.

“I’m taking Lae’zel, Wyll and Gale with me today to look for the missing druid. We’ll let you know what we find,” you changed the subject, meeting his gaze.

He felt a pang of disappointment with the chill of fear quick on its heels and fought to keep his face neutral, but was ultimately unsuccessful. You caught a glimpse of something, however fleeting, in his eyes that turned your countenance steely.

“He won’t have you, Astarion. You don’t need to go back to him,” you said, suddenly vehement in your determination. It only increased his panic.

“You don’t know Cazador,” he relented in a whisper, “He could have spies anywhere. I could be gone long before you make it back. If he finds me, I will have no choice but to return.”

“He won’t find you. You’re safe with me,” you murmured back, reaching out to take his hands. It was an odd sensation, being held, made odder still by your initiation of the contact.

“Then take me with you,” he begged, just shy of desperate.

He could feel your thumbs sweeping over the backs of his hands, no doubt a placating gesture to ease the burn of your next words.

“Not today. You need to rest after yesterday’s events.”

“How rich, coming from you,” he snapped, withdrawing his hands from your grasp abruptly.

He caught the hurt that flashed across your delicate features before you managed to school your expression, straightening your spine and squaring your shoulders.

He sighed in defeat, “I suppose I will see you tonight, then.”

“Tonight,” you nodded and turned to leave.

You took a few steps away from him and paused, turning halfway back toward him.

“And I mean it, Astarion. You are safe with me. I will watch your back, so long as you watch mine.”

With nothing but your parting words for reassurance, Astarion returned to his tent, succumbing to the biting cold of dread’s barbed claws.

[larsisfrommars]

The Light Won't Die (Part 3)

Halsin x Tav

Rating: E for Everyone

Chapter: 3/??? (<- Prev Chapter • Next Chapter)

Word Count: 1401

Genre: Adventure, Hurt/Comfort

Content: Halsin x Tav, Male!Tav, Fighter!Tav, more grappling with PTSD, someone let Shadowheart have too much wine, hc Karlach is Tav's 2nd in command, cliffhanger

"The group was ready to move on, save for one Druid. He knelt, staring intently into the empty eye sockets of the tragic traveler. As if searching for something, recognition. As if he could reconstruct a familiar face from the contours of the humanoid skull."

———————✨🌿✨———————

“Stay close to me! Keep your torches lit!” Tav commanded, the party obliged as their crew band of eight tread carefully through the beginnings of Shadow Cursed Lands.

They were every bit as grim and grueling as the Druid had warned. Still they were well warded against the gnawing darkness. Between two strategically placed Daylight spells cast upon weapons courtesy of Halsin and Shadowheart, and The Blood of Lathander which bolstered their torches. Even when Wizards with bad knees straggled behind or overeager Barbarians bounded ahead.

Still, it did not eliminate the possibility of attack. With Moonrise Towers looming gloomily in the distance as a constant reminder. Though perhaps it did leave room for some curiosity.

“Something over there.” Tav muttered signaling the rest of the group to follow.

It was the scraps of a campsite, a very old one at that. A failed solitary venture into this accursed place. The skeleton was completely bare of flesh, any weapons or armor it had carried long since picked over or shredded, despite the unsettling lack of living animals in the area. Still, perhaps there was something worth scrounging for by way of torches or provisions, maybe even some magic if they were lucky.

And so they were, to a degree, they made short work of sifting through old rotten rations and scraps of cloth to pocket a modicum of coin, tools, even a few potion ingredients. Not that’d there’d be a place to sell such things for a while yet.

The group was ready to move on, save for one Druid. He knelt, staring intently into the empty eye sockets of the tragic traveller. As if searching for something, recognition. As if he could reconstruct a familiar face from the contours of the humanoid skull.

“You alright Halsin? I’d say let’s Speak With the Dead if you’re curious but uh, I hear it doesn’t work well on skeletons.” Tav called back from a pile of freshly emptied crates.

“This is true.” Halsin replied absently “Perhaps we shouldn’t dawdle. I suspect there may be Blights about, if memory serves.”

The great elf stood up, pocketing the small tattered book that laid beside the remains. Ready to move forward, Tav noticed but said nothing. Halsin had asked for no share of the pickings, the Druid was entitled to a bit of light reading. Maybe he would glean something from the text they could not.

It was not too much longer before a weariness worsened by the curse bade them make camp. Torches around every tent, and a fire at its heart. Tav hoped it would be enough, it seemed every edge of the camp had something shadowy skittering just beyond his line of sight. It was unnerving, he prayed it was just the stress of the day.

They ate and drank well; wine, bread, sausages, fruit, and so on. However, normal fireside chatter was dampened by the warning their first encounter with a shadow curse victim bore. Save for that of one particular party member.

“I know it’s rather, intense” Shadowheart continued, after perhaps a little too much wine. “but you cannot deny there is a certain beauty to the depth of silence here, the weight of the shadows. The Mistress of The Night has total control here. She has blessed me with the ability to walk safely through it, to ease you all safely through it. The Lady of Sorrows will guide us towards the answers we seek, I’m sure. She rewards all who appreciate her dark embrace.”

“Well, at least someone’s chipper.” Karlach muttered in a mixture of amusement and exasperation, finishing off the last of evening’s rationed bottles.

Most of the group chose to humor or to ignore her, politely listening or getting distracted among their own conversations. Tav strove to be the former, hoping for some nugget of truth or doubt in her recitation of words that did not seem like her own. Yet he found himself capable of neither. For he wasn’t the only one who could neither sit and listen to her impromptu sermon, nor bring himself to make conversation.

Was Halsin… scowling? The Archdruid had been withdrawn, brooding even, ever since they’d left that body behind. Flipping through the pages of that book he’d found on the day’s hike toward Moonrise. Perhaps he should say something about it to him.

Perhaps it was too late.

“If it is all the same to you. I think I have heard enough of the virtues of Lady Shar for one evening. Good night.” Halsin growled sharply.

Though he had not raised his voice nor spoken to the Cleric directly. The rest of the party was shocked into silence. Even Shadowheart had snapped out of her wine-addled religious reverie. Her expression soured into an ineffable wall of inner turmoil. The Druid had given no inkling of his distress to anyone save for Tav… until now.

“You alright bear man?” Karlach asked gently.

Halsin’s expression flickered with the faintest hint of regret before hardening into frustration. Unable to form a reply, he gave a heavy sigh, and meandered away to his own tent.

Tav couldn’t bring himself to leave well enough alone. He shot Shadowheart an exasperated glance, and Karlach an apologetic one for leaving her alone with the tension. Still, finding himself uncaring as to whether either were received as his feet willed him towards Halsin’s tent for the second evening in a row.

This time he’d knock, given what happened last time he approached the Druid’s tent unannounced, especially now that they were in this wretched place.

“Halsin? Can I come in?”

No answer, better if he’d leave then.

“Please.”

Halsin’s voice betrayed a mountain of emotions so grand Tav could not possibly name them all.

So once more Tav’s reflexes won the day as he near instantly slipped inside. In Halsin’s lap was the tattered journal he had found. It was open to what seemed its final passage, damp droplets smearing its last writings somewhat.

“His name was Saryn.” Halsin rumbled, his voice thick with grief, as it had been in the Mountain Pass.

Everything snapped into place, the book, the body, the concern over Blight presence, the outburst by the campfire. It was all so painfully obvious in hindsight. That sorry sight of a corpse was one of the Halsin’s own. He felt stupid for not seeing it sooner.

“I pleaded him not to come to this cursed place, not alone. I warned him of its danger and still he left. He was barely an initiate at the Grove… I could have stopped him. I had it in my power.” Halsin let out a ragged sigh, opening his clasped paw to reveal a tattered emblem of Silvanus. All that remained of the fallen’s long since decayed armor.

Tav wanted so badly to touch him, to be of some warmth or comfort in this terrible place. A place that brought this man more pain than any magic could neither inflict nor heal. He’d draw it out of him with his bare hands like poison from a wound if he could. But he feared any attempt would break the spell of Halsin’s confidence in him in this fragile moment.

“It takes an old fool to make as many mistakes as I have. Too many times now have I been made to abandon those in most need of me… but no longer.” Halsin’s fist tightened around the emblem once more, broad shoulders trembling with barely bridled emotion.

Halsin opened his eyes now, agitated, gold skittering across hazel-grey. Not quite ready to look upon his abiding and quietly watchful companion. Who had since come to kneel beside him.

He let out a deep, slow breath, back straightening. His rigidity from the past few nights having melted away into something much more familiar to Tav from the Archdruid, confidence.

They’re eyes finally met, a warmth there where once there’d been a wall of painful memories.

“But I have allies now.” He concluded, “Greater than any I had before. A pocket of light against the darkness, and a welcome one. I fear I could not survive without it.”

The first genuine smile Tav had seen bloom across the wood elf’s face since they’d approached this awful place felt enough to banish any lingering affects the Shadow Curse could or would ever befall Tav again. He reached to take Halsin’s hands in his own.

“Shit!”

Fun Fact!: The inciting incident is not only the inspiration for this entire fic but it's something you can actually find in Act 2 and I just thought of how mortifying it would be if Halsin could've been with you when you find it!

[makesometime]

prompt for Diina and Astarion: what was their (eventual) wedding like?

Ah, I’m so happy you asked this! Because it gave me an excuse to think about it in more certain terms than *shrug* I guess it happens. Thank you <3

This happens far far after the events of the game, which may explain why some of the squad are absent.

(G-rated, Astarion/Named Female Drow Tav, past Karlach/Tav (brief mention), ~1k, small weddings and friendship)

#

“I could do it.”

Diina looks up from her mug of cider, frowning at her friend. “Hmm?”

Shadowheart smiles, walking over to the table at which she and Astarion are sitting, putting a glass down with a lack of poise that suggests it’s not the first their wonderful cleric has imbibed.

“I could marry you, since you’re tying yourselves up in knots trying to solve an impossible riddle of the faithless.” She says. “I can do that.”

Astarion shoots her a look, the first hopeful one he’s worn for many hours. It’s been a long-standing sticking point of theirs. The selection of a place to make their bond formal was complicated enough given their general lack of allegiance to any of the gods. Adding to that Astarion’s lingering distaste for their inaction over his imprisonment paired with Diina’s recent familiarity with some of the worst of the deities, and they were feeling rather stumped by the whole affair.

“That is, if you can bear to have my lady bless your union.”

Astarion gives a fond little smile. “The moon has been my safe haven since we had our little friends removed from our heads. It seems fitting enough, given that we also know her daughter rather well.”

“Who are you going to invite?” Shadowheart asks, with all the lack of tact and fervent mischief that they know her for. “I imagine you could keep the guest list to what… two hundred of your closest friends?”

Diina groans, just about stopping herself from thumping her head against the table. “No, please. Don’t curse us with that.”

“Please don’t tell anyone, darling,” Astarion asks, the closest to wheedling she’s ever seen him. “Small is the operative word here. Private. Personal. I think you of all people understand the importance of secrets.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” She sighs, moodily swirling her wine as if she’s been denied the most wonderful of gifts. “As you wish.”

Diina chuckles, reaching across to hold Astarion’s hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Rather more settled now, love.” He admits. “Everything else should be a walk in the park, don’t you think?”

It is not precisely a curse. But it would be an overstatement to say that things go smoothly in the run-up to their nuptials. Minsc and Jaheira are out of town from almost the moment they settle on a date, and with a relatively short turnaround, it reduces their already small invite list by two.

Halsin writes a letter from the Grove announcing his plans for an extended sojourn in the once shadow-touched lands, only to immediately retract his plans once Diina lets him know the reason for her hurried arrival at the gates of the Grove the very next day.

With Aylin and Isobel delighted to attend, and Joi almost guaranteed (though she insists on a formal invite), they have all of their surviving friends save for Lae’zel, who is almost impossible to contact at the best of times.

They choose to hold the ceremony outside, high on the outcropping overlooking the city that Diina had stood upon, once another time, to breathe it all in. It’s strange to take the walk up there with her friends, skirting past the rebuilt site that used to be their camp. 

There were so many of them, once upon a time.

Now there’s the quiet chatter of old friends, Joi’s laughter as she skips along next to her wife, Astarion’s quiet jibes back to Halsin making her remember the good old days. Above them, they can hear the beating of Aylin’s wings and Isobel’s soft laughter as they fly through the night under the light of her mother’s moon.

She misses Karlach so much it aches, the realisation that she never got to have something like this with her first love sitting heavy in her heart in the week running up to this moment. The lack of her singing, her laughter, her frantic footwork as she played with Scratch… the absence sits heavier today, despite her bright mood.

Astarion must sense her wavering spirits because he walks a little closer and gently takes her hand. He knows well enough that she wouldn’t want a fuss made, but there’s no doubting his understanding of the thoughts that swirl through her head as they step into the next stage of their life together.

Diina watches Shadowheart swan past them as they approach the cliff edge, her hair glowing in the moonlight just as brightly as Diina and Astarion’s. And, while the group hasn’t really practised anything, everyone falls into a natural arc around them as they take their slightly awkward place in front of her. 

Diina suddenly feels a little uncomfortable being the centre of attention after so long in relative anonymity, not quite sure where to look or how to stand when doing something as momentous as getting married…

Then, Astarion ducks his head to catch her eye, holding out his hand with a small smile. 

The world melts away. Diina can’t take her eyes off of his, linking their fingers and stepping a little closer to feel the familiar sensation of his closeness. 

She hears most of what Shadowheart intones, the sweet unevenness of her speech betraying her own nerves. But Diina can’t honestly say she takes in much of the meaning, beyond the obvious. 

Love. Love. By the gods, she adores this man.

Aylin cheers loudest when they kiss, Diina’s arms winding tight around Astarion’s neck and not wanting him to step away until she lets him. A bold move, perhaps, to challenge a vampire to a battle of breath. But when she pulls back with an airy gasp, his eyes shine with barely-repressed glee.

The rings on their fingers glow brightly in the moonlight, a strangely cool heat radiating against her skin. Astarion smirks, bringing hers to his lips and pressing another kiss there.

“Wife.” He says, no little possession in that simple word.

Diina chuckles, turning her hand and cupping his cheek. “Husband. After all this time.”

Astarion nods. “And forever more, pet.” 

[spacenut334]

Shadowheart's Capture

Summary: Captured by Minthara in the temple of Selune, Shadowheart must please Minthara and Rugan until help arrives

Pairing: Shadowheart x Rugan x Minthara

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI, Dub Con

POV: 3rd Person

Words: 5400

Notes: Inspired by this artwork by Poar Art

Read On AO3

“Run!” Tav was shouting as they rounded the corner. Tav had a frantic look in their eyes and the party stirred from their hiding places at the sound. 

Goblins began spilling around the corner behind tav, four, ten, fifteen, Shadowheart lost count but there were easily thirty in the group. 

“Ruuun!!” Everyone prepared their weapons, and reached for their packs frantically, preparing for an escape. 

Laezel quickly notched and loosed an arrow. A whiz, plunk, and scream let her know it had found its mark in the leading goblin. But there weren’t enough arrows or enough time to stop them all. 

Shadowheart said a brief prayer and channeled her energy towards the now nearest goblin to Tav. Its eyes widened as its skin sizzled then burst into flame. “May Shar bless and keep you!” 

Gale had quickly flipped through his spellbook, found what he was looking for, and after some terse muttering and hand waving, a series of magic missiles erupted from his fingertips, shooting towards Tav, then flowing around them like water. Each missile found its mark center mass in six different goblins. They were bowled over, but quickly replaced by more. 

Tav was almost to them, but the goblins continued to gain ground. There was no way they were going to make it out of this camp and into the wilderness like this.

Everyone’s packs were on now and they ran through the winding passageways to the exit of the temple. A light pain in her hand made Shadowheart wince, but it was the least of her worries. She had nearly forgotten her weapon in the rush, but quickly grabbed the bladed mace and fell in behind Tav, Laezel, and Gale. 

They had decided to only bring a small scouting party to avoid attention, but Shadowheart was missing the huge flaming barbarian and her warlock companion right now. They ran slower than her and would provide one more chance at escape. 

The goblins had bows and throwing weapons but were showing remarkable restraint in not using them. Likely their orders were to capture alive if possible. It seemed they were anxious for any information leading to the grove. 

The exit doors were still open and they came closer and closer to freedom. If they could get out and shut the doors, Gale would be able to magically lock it and buy them the time they needed to get scarce. 

Gale was first out, then Laezel, and Shadowheart close behind. Tav’s foot caught on a rock they went careening into the ground just short of the door. Shadowheart’s first instinct was to leave them behind, but the device had chosen Tav, and she couldn’t allow it to fall into the hands of the goblins. 

A rock whizzed by her head as she ran back to Tav to help them up. There was no time, the goblins were too close. She grabbed Tav by the neckline and belt-loops and tossed them through the opening. She slammed the heavy metal door and shouted at Gale to lock it, before turning to face the coming mob. 

Tav screamed at Gale to stop and re-open the door, but Shadowheart could already see the faint magic lines and the clicking of the ancient locking mechanisms by unseen hands. 

“You’d better come back for me!” There was a muffled yell from the other side, but she couldn’t tell what they said. 

When she turned around the goblins were upon her. A crude wooden club bounced off her plate armor, she replied with her mace. There was a satisfying crunch where metal met bone. No time to savor it though, another wooden club hit her shield. She crouched to absorb the blow and swept at the legs. Breaking ankles and tearing tendons. 

The smell of burning hair hit her nostrils as a familiar burnt goblin rushed at her with a dagger. Clearly their restraint only extended so far. In a quick upswing, mace met groin and goblin met ground. 

The goblins hesitated, clearly expecting less of a fight from the slight pale half-elf. Shar didn’t raise a weakling, and they would pay in blood for their underestimation.

The tunnel provided a perfect chokepoint, as perfect as one cleric versus dozens of goblins can be. Four goblins gathered in a semicircle a few steps away. A slightly larger goblin with a gashed scar across its milky eye motioned to the group and in a guttural voice said: “aw’right ye gobbos! Let’s do this all at once! She can’t take us all!”

The hollow sound of a horn blew, there was a brief moment of silence and then they rushed at her. Her mace met one head-on, spraying black blood on its friends, but the others had closed the distance. 

She felt a club meet her thigh and dropped down, putting the weight on her other leg and holding her shield high to protect her head. Blows rained down on her shield, numbing her arm and distracting her from the scarred goblin’s carefully aimed blow at her sternum. Her vision blacked out briefly as she gasped for air, dropping her arms to recover. 

Two pairs of small but muscled arms grabbed her shield, two more her mace. She struggled but could hold them off no longer. The shield and mace were tossed aside as goblins moved in to subdue her. 

Wrong move. As one reached out to take her by the shoulder, she lurched in and met its soft pointed nose with her hard forehead, resulting in squeals blood flow. 

“Careful now! She’s still dangerous and the drow wants her INTACT!” 

The scorched goblin was standing up again, holding the shattered remains of his manhood in one hand and his knife in the other. 

“Tell that to my shattered knob!” He screeched. 

Shadowheart whispered one last prayer to Shar and the goblin went from a toasty brown to charred black. A scream caught in his throat, and face twisted in shock at the final moments of his life. 

She could feel she was drained now, and would not be able to pull that off again, at least not until she had time to meditate and recover. “Seems like your friend needs to cool off.” She uttered dryly. 

Apparently the humor was lost on the scarred goblin, she saw a mailed fist come for her temple and then blackness. 

As Shadowheart came to she felt rough rope bindings tying her wrists behind her back. Leather collar was being put around her neck and a rope weaved through. 

“Did the gods’ favorite little princess have a nice nap?” The scarred goblin sneered, and then yanked her to her knees with the rope. “Get up! The boss will want to see you”

Shadowheart stood and followed the goblin down the crowded hallway. Keeping her eye out for any opportunity to affect an escape. None presented itself though. 

The hallway spilled into a large open room with vaulted ceilings and Selunite iconography everywhere. There was dirt smeared on every statue and artwork from goblin head-height down. At least the goblins have some taste, she thought. She felt fear starting to work its way into her throat and she pushed it down. They needed her, and a high value prisoner with information would be treated with respect as long as she cooperated. 

Most of the group split off and watched some obscene branding ritual happening in the center of the hall, but a decent sized detachment of guards stayed with her to continue the journey. She felt a yank at her throat, she had slowed down to view the ceremony, but the goblins were still moving. 

Shadowheart saw a beaten and bloody man being pulled down from a metal torture device, they passed by a room with a pale man gently self-flagellating with a leather lash. Tight knots were at each end of the lash, and there was a lifetime of fresh wounds and old scarring. She recognized some images belonging to Loviatar, The Maiden of Pain. 

They passed by a skinny man in a cage getting slapped around by a very entertained female goblin, and then a series of tunnels leading to a library. Shadowheart spotted a thin yet regal female drow leaning over a pile of maps and documents and a goblin was whispering in her ear. 

“Apparently his body gave out before his mind.” She said in a low husky tone. “Brave, but foolish.” The Drow turned to shadowheart. “Is this the one?” 

“Aye mistress, she put up quite a fight. A few of our best are down because of her and her friends.” The scarred goblin said in an as deferent of a tone as he could muster. This drow terrified him. 

“Saying ‘some of the best goblins’ is like saying some of the smartest dung beatles, nothing of value was lost and I’m sure your kind are already replacing them.” Her tone was mocking, but there was a surface of icy death running beneath it. 

“Yes mistress.”

“Get out of my sight, I can handle this from here.” She motioned for the group to leave, after a brief moment of hesitation they did. 

“I am Minthara of House Baenre, I doubt that means anything to you, but just know I am exceedingly important and hold your life in my hand. And you are?..” The icy undercurrents were still there and Shadowheart chose her words with great care. 

“Shadowheart, just Shadowheart, I would shake your hand but…” She made a motion towards her tied wrists. 

“Ahh! An unfortunate but necessary arrangement for now. Now tell me just Shadowheart what brings you to us on this wretchedly sunny day?” 

Shadowheart shifted her weight from one leg to the other, testing the strength of her bindings before saying, “I haven’t the foggiest, I must have taken a wrong turn-”

A slap stung her cheek and she saw stars. “Do. Not. Waste. My. Time. Elf, tell me what you know about a druid grove, or a small hexagonal device, and mark me, I know when someone is lying.” 

Shadowheart hesitated, why should she care about some druids or tieflings? but a deep pang of guilt built in her throat when she thought of giving them up. I may lose the artifact if they find Tav in the grove, she thought. There was more to it than that, but Shadowheart didn’t have time to dig into the feeling. 

“I haven’t the foggiest.” She put on her most dismissive tone, and tried to look hurt that she’d be asked such a question. 

Minthara’s eyes narrowed. “I see you’ve chosen the hard way.” A smile curled at the edge of her lips. “Know this, just Shadowheart, I will take my time, I will enjoy this. You will know awesome pleasure, and extreme pain, but in the end, you WILL tell me what you know.”

Shadowheart could tell that Minthara believed every single word she said, a flutter of fear tickled her stomach again, Tav is already planning a rescue, I just need to hold out a little while longer.

Minthara Led Shadowheart by the neck back to the cleric of Loviatar. “Abdirak!” The cleric looked up, “I have a new toy! I may need you to keep her alive, she knows something and I don’t want a repeat of last time. I’m bringing the Zhentarim trader with me.

A tall human clad in leathers, and a yellow and green tunic stepped out from the shadows. His hair was pulled back tightly and fastened with a small leather band. He looked young but signs of stress and battle marked his features. He had piercing blue eyes, almost too kind to be with this group. 

“Rugan, at your service.” He reached out a hand to the one Minthara called Abdirak. The cleric sneered at the hand. “Ahh, Rugan at your service” This time he reached towards Shadowheart, but removed his hand awkwardly, noticing the bindings. 

“I’m Shadowheart, and I will be the last person you see before you die, if you lay a single hand on me.” 

Rugan’s eyes narrowed and hardened. “Don’t think because you’re a beautiful woman that I have qualms about this task.” 

Her heart skipped a beat, maybe this one isn’t too kind after all. 

Minthara pulled Shadowheart at the neck to the room with the torture device. She saw Shadowheart eyeing it, “Oh don’t worry, we’re not ready for that quite yet.” 

“Let’s get rid of this worthless armor.” Minthara motioned again to Rugan. 

This was the armor gifted to her from her dark mother, Shadowheart swore under her breath a few threats if the armor was misplaced. 

Rugan approached, Shadowheart feigned helplessness, when he was within arms reach, she aimed a fast kick right between the legs. Like a flash he caught the foot and lept to the side chuckling. “I expected as much.” 

He slipped behind her and one by one various clasps, knots, and buttons keeping her hefty armor on were undone, un-knotted, and unbuttoned. With a resonant clang her breastplate fell to the floor. 

When the first layer of armor was off he went to Minthara and whispered in her ear. She smiled and shouted. “Skrag! Bring some of your boys over, we need a hand!” 

The scarred goblin, Skrag, came around the corner with eight companions.

“Strip her!” 

For the first time since being captured Shadowheart felt the reality of the situation slowly sink in. Tav wasn’t coming, she was in the middle of enemy territory, and there was no escape. 

The goblins licked their lips and approached. She was wrestled to the ground as rough clawed hands pinned her arms and legs. She struggled against the arms but there were too many. One boot was torn off, then the other. 

A flurry of hands grabbed her mail and pulled it over her head. Shadowheart was now only in her torn camp clothes, skin tight leather trousers and a leather shirt with a plunging neckline she was beginning to regret more and more. 

The hands stopped. 

Minthara looked down at her. “I told you to strip her did I not?” 

A look of lust and delight filled the circle of goblin faces. “Yes, Mistress.” 

“Strip ALL of her!”

Shadowheart strained, “You filthy wretches!” 

They didn’t remove so much as tear apart her shirt. Two sets of hands on either side tore the shirt from the neckline to the waist, pulling away and revealing the milky white skin and her tender swollen breasts. A deep purple bruise was left where Skrag had knocked her over.

Claws dug into the legs of her trousers and the goblins yanked down, exposing a bounty of thigh and calf. Shadowheart held her knees together to prevent the trousers from proceeding further, but green hands grabbed her knees and thighs, pulling them apart and allowing the trousers to be pulled off. 

Shadowheart felt her last bits of dignity torn away as one of the goblins ripped off her smallclothes. 

She was completely naked, the goblins pulled apart her legs to show off the soft pink lips beneath. She felt herself lifted and more hands spreading her ass and the snickering and sneering as goblin, human, and drow viewed her most intimate spaces.  She felt hands pawing at her breasts, saw tented trousers and more hands working their way across her rump. She felt fingers moving towards her cunt and tried to roll away- 

“That’s ENOUGH!” Minthara’s voice cut through the lustful growls. The goblins looked almost pained, from Minthara, to Shadowheart’s exposed body, and back. But their will to live was stronger than their desire to fuck, and they quickly backed away as Minthara went to grab her wrists. 

“Goblins, such blunt instruments, but I use what the absolute provides. Why waste a fine wine on a common rabble?” With one hand Minthara held Shadowheart’s wrists behind her back, and with the other she slowly traced her breasts in concentric circles to the nipples before leading her hand down towards the space between her legs. Minthara circled her entrance, as Rugan watched. 

Shadowheart stifled a moan, and tensed as she grew wet. 

Minthara quickly removed her hand, bringing her fingers to her lips. Shadowheart felt herself being led by her wrists.

“We have all the time in the world, and I want to savor you. Or you could tell me what I want to know, and you can leave now with your dignity… mostly intact.” 

Shadowheart held her head high “Do your worst! I am the chosen one of Shar! Scum like you are unworthy of even looking at me!” 

“Defiant even now?” Minthara chuckled. “Well we will do much more than look.” Minthara and Rugan were both looking now. Shadowheart was unable to cover herself. 

I can’t show weakness, they can’t think they’re winning. She stood tall and proud. She would escape, she would return, and she would slaughter everyone here who had wronged her. 

Minthara produced more of the silk rope. She bound Shadowheart’s with a silken harness, looping and curving, over her shoulders, around her breasts, arms, stomach, and looping twice on her inner thighs, on either side of her cunt, leaving the impression of wearing clothes that covered none of the pieces they were supposed to.

Minthara threw a loop of rope over a hook above. “I’m not an unreasonable woman, I believe in the carrot and the stick. We shall begin with the carrot, and if you still prove to be unreasonable, then I will have to get.. Unreasonable” Minthara’s eyes cast over the metal torture device, and fiery bowl filled with red hot weapons. 

A small cloaked goblin rapidly approached Minthara, and she bent over to hear the message. 

“I must leave for now, but don’t get too comfortable.” She spun around and quickly walked back towards her quarters with the goblin trailing behind her. 

Rugan smiled and settled into a nearby chair, “I guess we wait.” 

Rugan stared at Shadowheart, naked, helpless, her soft supple breasts bound tightly by the rope. Shadowheart saw the length in his pants grow. “Don’t look at me!” Her face and chest flushed, but Rugan had already stood up and began to pull down his trousers. 

Rugan had his cock in his hand and was slowly stroking it while circling Shadowheart. She strained to keep him in view but he made his way behind her, and  she could feel his eyes on ass and her spread hole. She felt herself growing wet from the attention. 

Tav would never have looked at her the way Rugan was. She was a purely sexual object to Rugan, and the thought of that excited her to slickness.

Rugan was in front of her again,  Cock at eye level and twitching. Shadowheart’s curiosity got the best of her and she leaned out towards him. He met her mouth halfway and slowly swirled his head against her soft lips. 

She could bite it off, but Rugan saw the desire in her eyes and knew that wasn’t going to happen. He leaned down and rubbed himself against her erect nipples, pulling her breasts together with both hands and sliding his length between them. 

Shadowheart let a long bead of saliva drip down from her tongue to help lubricate the process and her insides hummed at the thought of being used by this man. Rugan brought himself back to her mouth, and she opened. He slid his length against her lips and tongue and she brought him in.

Rugan gripped Shadowheart’s hair and began gently thrusting, Shadowheart gagged initially but then slowed her breathing through her nose and accepted his length. She was a receptacle for pleasure. Rugan’s breathing grew ragged and his knees began to buck. 

He let out a sharp groan and Shadowheart felt a spew of hot salty seed covering her lips and tongue. She opened her mouth wide, catching as much as she could. She looked Rugan in the eyes and swallowed. She suckled on his tip, gathering the last bits of seed before he shuddered and dismounted. She felt, helplessly, as his hot liquid dripped down her chin and onto her chest. 

Rugan pulled up his trousers and returned to the chair. Leaving Shadowheart gasping. He pulled his cloak over his head and leaned back, feigning sleep, but Shadowheart could see the glimmer of eyes from underneath and knew she was still being watched. 

Shadowheart pouted silently, as her cunt pulsed with unsated desire.

Shadowheart felt the minutes pass to hours. The sun was gone, and broken beams of moonlight came in through the shattered rafters of the temple. She felt moonlight pass across her naked skin, and her hand began to sting again. 

Even Seluna has come to mock me, she thought bitterly. A cool breeze passed over her and goose pimples formed across chest, back, and legs. The heat of a nearby fire pushed back the cold though. There were jagged and sharp instruments amongst the coals, waiting to singe flesh and break bone. Shadowheart prayed that Tav would return before things got that bad. 

The sharp echo of approaching footsteps on stone brought Shadowheart to attention from her stupor. From the confident gait she could tell it was Minthara even before she had rounded the corner. 

“You should be pleased to know we’ve found your friends.” Minthara waited for a response that Shadowheart refused to give before carrying on. “One of our scouts spotted their fire and I dispatched a company to eliminate them. After all, why would I need them if I have you.” Minthara’s words were laced with venom, but her eyes were unabashedly exploring Shadowheart while she spoke. 

Shadowheart felt her face flush and hoped Minthara interpreted that as anger. She remained silent. 

“What’s the use of continuing to hold out? No one is coming, and the only one who can show you mercy… is me.” After more silence Minthara sighed, “Very well, let’s begin.” 

Abdirak emerged from the shadows with his leather flail in hand. “Mistress may I?” Minthara nodded and he approached cautiously. “We’re not so different, you and I, after all the Maiden of Pain and Mother of Shadows are kin.” 

Shadowheart felt as Abdirak slowly reached and dragged the leather lashes across her skin. She tensed where every knot met skin. She felt as he moved each individual lash across her breasts, tensing on her nipple and then passing over, they grew erect and sensitive at the pale human’s deft touch. Shadowheart felt herself flush again and Abdirak noticed. An amused look passed over his face as he continued. 

The cool leather moved down her abdomen and she tensed, body rippling in the moonlight. He lowered it further, past her curls, passing from thigh to thigh and rolling over her exposed lips with each pass. Shadowheart felt herself trying to move in, trying to feel more, the urge to fill her emptiness grew. 

Abdirak kept teasing, moving back to her chest and then down again. Shadoweart felt the blood rushing to her face and to her clit, and shivered from an equal mix of cold and anticipation. She felt herself leaking and running down one leg. Minthara and Rugan saw, and seemed  to grow anxious, or maybe aroused. They weren’t immune to desire themselves. 

Abdirak flipped the whip over and brought the hard handle down to Shadoweart’s knees. Slowly bringing it up and meeting at the apex. He moved the leather handle around her folds, and Shadowheart ground against it. She needed this, despite Minthara and Rugan being in the room, maybe because they were here. 

Minthara had moved her hand inside the breast of her plunging neckline shirt as she watched Abdirak preparing Shadowheart. Such a body blessed to a non-drow. What a shame. 

Shadowheart continued to grind on the leather handle, trying to introduce her bud to the gentle vibrations of the whip, but Abdirak knew that’s what she wanted and deftly moved to avoid the one spot she wanted touched most. 

She shook with frustration letting out a small whine, “Please?” Abdirak chuckled but continued to deny her. 

“Step aside” Minthara motioned Abdirak away, he pouted like a puppy having its toy taken away but conceded and stepped back, whip in hand. 

“Rugan, hold her for me” The rogue stepped behind Shadowheart, lifting by the thighs and spreading her legs to the awaiting Drow. “good boy.” Shadowheart felt Rugan’s hard bulge jutting into her back, and wished it could fill the growing pulsating emptiness inside her. 

Minthara drew some loose strands of silver hair behind her ears as she knelt down to offer a prayer to Shadowheart’s quivering folds. 

Shadowheart drew in a sharp breath as warm tongue met aching lips. Minthara was slow but deliberate and quickly moved to Shadowheart’s dripping clit. Shadowheart couldn’t hold it back, “Fuck!” She moaned as the drow drew her in, sucking, and swirling her tongue. 

Shadowheart felt the pressure inside her building like a pot about to blow over, “Stop, if you don’t stop I’ll-” The drow sucked harder and Shadowheart burst. Her body was wracked with spasms of pleasure and the drow refused to stop, Shadowheart was dripping down her chin. The waves continued and Shadowheart let out a scream. “FUUUUUUCK!!!” The goblins in the center of the building stopped to stare at the scene unfolding. 

With a few last weak spasms, Shadowheart went limp, the drow stood and pulled her into a kiss, “Taste yourself, pathetic human.” Minthara grabbed the Shadowheart’s hair tightly and forced her mouth open, going in for a fierce kiss. Shadowheart tasted the sweet musk of her pleasure on the drow’s lips. Lightly spasming once more. 

“What do you think, Rugan, would you like a turn?” Shadowheart felt him twitching against her, he was an uncontrolled fire on the inside, but outside he just said: 

“If you wish, mistress.” 

“I do.” 

Shadowheart hung like a ragdoll from the rope as Rugan let her down and started unlacing his leather jerkin. Minthara moved in and  led Shadowheart to a table where she was roughly pushed down by Minthara. 

Rugan had flung aside his leathers now and pulled his tunic over his head. He had broad tightly muscled shoulders. A faint scar ran across his abdomen, and he had light curly hair running from his chest and trailing to his tented trousers. Shadowheart bit her lip in anticipation.

Rugan looped his thumbs in his trousers and pulled them down. He was already hard at the sight of her, and the friction of Minthara’s actions. Shadowheart traced his length with her eyes, beckoning him to come closer. 

“Gods you are beautiful.” He nearly moaned.

“I know.” was her only reply. 

Rugan slowly pulled on his cock while he looked from Shadowheart’s eyes, to her heaving ample breasts, to her dripping  cunt. He stepped forward, wrapping one arm around Shadowheart’s back, and the other he reached around to grab a healthy handful of rump. Rugan pulled Shadowheart to his waist and she felt his hardness throbbing against her. 

She ached to be felt, to be seen, to be filled, Rugan could do all of this at once, and she wanted him. Rugan rocked back and forth, coating himself in her juices and using his hand to swirl the head of his cock against her folds. Shadowheart gently moaned, and felt her face flush again. 

Rugan held his member and worked himself slowly inside. Shadowheart gasped, and scooched in to meet him. He throbbed inside her and held for what felt like an eternity before thrusting. Stars twinkled in Shadowheart’s vision and she moaned again, desperate for him. 

Rugan had both hands on her ass now, gripping so hard she thought it may draw blood, and ramming into her again and again. Shadowheart arched her back, grinding her pelvis against him. Rugan’s breathing grew ragged as he kept up the pace. 

Shadowheart’s attention had been so focused on Rugan that she didn’t see Minthara had stripped down. Her lavender cheeks were flushed and her small breasts rose and fell heavily. She had her legs spread gently and was feeling herself as she watched Rugan entering Shadowheart. 

Shadowheart welcomed the attention, and gave Minthara a look that said, come hither. Minthara approached, one hand still on herself as she walked. Rugan kept his tempo, but was flushed from the effort of holding back. Minthara reached in and caught Shadowheart’s mouth in hers. They breathed eachothers ragged breath. 

Shadowheart felt the heat from Minthara’s lips, and the previously unfelt desperation to have and be had. Minthara tapped Rugan motioning to switch places, and Rugan complied. Minthara moved in and mounted her thigh, cunt spread and already soaking wet. Shadowheart felt her knee and thigh slicken as Minthara rode her, then Soft fingers plunged into her darkness, and they both grew closer to Climax. 

Rugan came to the side of the table. He cock was slick with Shadowheart, and it was twitching from uncompleted pleasure. As he stood next to her, Shadowheart shifted positions and caught him in her mouth. Rugan groaned in pleasure, it was met by a groan of Shadowheart’s as the drow introduced a new finger and a deeper push. 

Shadowheart brushed her tongue against him, sucking and drawing Rugan’s length further in. He wanted to thrust but she toyed with him. Pulling back to prevent it. She still had a little control of the situation after all. Shadowheart swirled her tongue right at the base, and felt the small bundle of nerves contract and his member engorge even more. She tasted drops of his salty pleasure, but held him on the edge until she had hers. 

Minthara’s pace lost its pattern, as she began to spasm to completion. Shadowheart was close behind. Her walls closed in around Mintharas fingers and she arched her back more. Minthara’s vibrations became her vibrations. 

Minthara slid off, one hand still on herself, and Rugan took the opportunity to go back between Shadowheart’s thighs. Rugan’s desperate cock entering her sent renewed vibrations of pleasure through her body, he thrust desperately for only a few strokes. 

Shadowheart felt as Rugan exploded inside her, his hot sticky seed filling her and moans of “You’re beautiful.” On his lips. She felt him leaking out of her and onto the table below. 

She panted back: “I Know.”

Minthara hooked Shadowheart’s leash over a hook in the ceiling and left her there, limp. Rugan’s seed slowly drained from her dripping wet cunt. 

While she bathed in the afterglow, another goblin had approached Rugan, something about a delivery. Rugan made his excuses, but quickly redressed himself. He gave Shadoweart’s bare body one last longing look and then hurried away.

Minthara walked over to the now much more subdued Shadowheart. “First a taste of pleasure, then a taste of pain. I have you here as long as I need-”

There was a commotion coming from further in the temple and unmistakable roar of an enraged animal. A bloodied goblin came sprinting in and shouted. “It’s the adventurers, they escaped our patrol and freed Halsin.” 

Shadowheart saw Minthara go pale, and without a word sprinted, still naked out of the temple in the opposite direction of the approaching clatter. 

Tav had come back, and the whole crew was there this time. There was a chorus of screams, grunts, cracking bones, and cries for mercy, they were always cut short by a roar and then crunch. 

A heat and smell of sulfur grew stronger before Karlach poked her head in the room. 

“What the everflaming fuck happened here?!” She gripped the rope above Shadowheart’s head and it fell to pieces from her raging fire. Shadowheart had to quickly step back to avoid being scorched. 

She quickly gathered her scattered belongings while the flaming giant stood guard by the door

Shadowheart was dressed and hurried out the door to find Tav and company finishing off the last screaming goblin. A huge bear stood beside them and then shrank slowly into the form of a large elven man. 

She ran up to give Tav a hug and gently mouthed, “Thank you.” Tav nodded, and the group began scrounging for whatever loot they could carry back to the grove.  Karlach didn’t say the state she had found Shadowheart in and neither did Shadowheart.. Karlach because she thought Shadowheart was traumatized, but Shadowheart stayed silent because thinking of what had happened in that cell sent chills of pleasure down her spine, best not make Tav jealous. She still thought of Rugan and Minthara inside her and thought to herself I will repay this indignity and more quietly with a fuck they’ll never forget.

[tieflingtareon]

My love, are you the devil? (Oh, call me a devil)

Chapter 12 | Words: 4k

Summary: Astarion found himself often surprised by his heroic companion. He had one goal. To become the favoured companion of the group, to earn the Tieflings loyalty, to make Tar'eons strength his own. Yet Tar'eon isn't like the usual target of his manipulations. Despite his naivety, he does not seem gullible. There is something very wrong with their 'leader' to begin with. Astarion isn't sure if he wants to control it or eradicate the threat it posed. But can he really do either when Tar'eon himself seems so...unwaveringly kind?

That devil is getting into his head, while others get into Tar'eons. He doesn't appreciate not having the upperhand after years of being at the disadvantage. He will find a way to make him see.

He is the one he should be listening to. Astarion would make it so, no matter the means.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50668558/chapters/127995079

Eventful. That was a great description for their lives right now.

After speaking with Jaheira, and then Isobel to receive her blessing, something Shadowheart did not seem pleased about, a feathered freak had come through to kidnap her, but ever the noble heart who couldn't allow the Harpers to perish to the shadow curse, Tar'eon took him on, one on one, while the rest of them slayed the winged minions.

It had been quite eventful, for the first night in the inn. Astarion thought he'd find himself in the company of Tar'eon after all of it, but when the tiefling found out Mol had been taken, he'd abandoned his side to comfort the distraught children, even if some of them were trying to act tough, trying to make a plan to get her back.

Tar'eon vowed he'd return her to them, and when Mirkon would not leave his arms, he resigned himself to putting the children to bed himself, much too big for the tiny beds, but it seemed to make the kids feel much safer to pile on top of him like pups with their mother. Astarion would admit, it was a sweet sight to come upon when he went to look for the man in the morning.

He may say he lacked perfect control over his tail, but it still managed to wrap around the children he couldn't hold in his arms, eyes closed and seemingly fast asleep.

Once Tar'eon finally came out to join the others for breakfast, Astarion noticed his tired gaze despite him drawing out a map of the Shadow Lands he'd borrowed from Jaheira. He hadn't slept much, and Astarion could tell. How much of the night did he spend worrying over Mol's kidnapping?

Tar'eon had gotten wind of a certain Sleeping Beauty over breakfast, and while Halsin insisted they figure out what was wrong with him, Tar'eon was stubborn in going straight to Moonrise and getting the tieflings back. Karlach and Wyll backed him up with no arguement, of course, and so, Halsin was stuck behind with the resting man, to be dealt with later.

"You didn't sleep well." Astarion noted as he dressed in his armour in their shared room that funnily enough, they had not shared the night before. Tar'eon sighed.

"He visited again. That butler of mine." Tar'eon sounded bitter as he struggled to lace his gauntlets. Astarion brushed his hand away with a huff and laced it tight for him, if only to end his nervous fidgeting.

"Well? What did he say?"

"He wants me to kill Isobel."

"The only one holding the Shadow Curse at bay? I may not like the Harpers, but I am not a fan of the idea, personally. For our own sake." Astarion grimaced. Killing her would just bring the curse right to them, and he knew Tar'eon wouldn't dare do that to the Harpers, or to the refugees staying there. Did this butler think the man daft?

"I just...don't understand his motives. Killing Isobel would be the death of us all."

"Perhaps all he wants is death." Astarion mused, fixing the collar of his armour. "Forget it. Can't kill the cleric if we aren't here, now can we? We have a mission to get to."

"You're right. I need to focus on getting Mol, Lia and Cal back. All of them." Tar'eons expression hardened with resolve and Astarion shook his head, grabbing the cloak off his bed. He offered it back to the man, seeing as it was his. Tar'eon took it and Astarion turned his back to grab a couple daggers, stashing them along his body, but keeping his favourite at his hip.

He stood straighter when he felt the heavy blanket of the cloak rest upon his shoulders, Tar'eons nimble fingers tying a sturdy knot to keep it there, looking as his work over Astarion's shoulder.

"It...it was a gift from him. The butler. I hate wearing it. It just - it just reminds me of what I did to Alfira. But it'll keep you safe. For every kill, you gain the power of invisibility, if only for a short period." Tar'eon smoothed his hands over the fabric, The Deathstalker's Mantle, a gift he had tried to refuse. It would have it's uses, he was sure, but he couldn't wear it himself. Couldn't bring himself to.

On Astarion though, objectively, it was quite fetching.

The vampire looked at him, seeming hesitant to accept the gift before he gave a smile, giving it a little swoosh as he stood before a mirror. He couldn't see himself, but the cloak - the cloak was gorgeous. Definitely expensive, and tailored precisely to Tar'eons measurements, if he had to guess.

To think, Tar'eon had a butler, an expensive cloak...Hells, maybe he was a prince, a murderous one at that, and just didn't know it? Astarion had always dreamed of a prince saving him from all his troubles, hadn't he? The irony of stumbling upon a possible one only after he was snatched from Cazador's grasp by another entity...

"Well, as they say. One man's trash, is another man's treasure." Astarion smirked and stepped forward, smoothing his hand over the others chest as he hummed. "I quite like all these gifts you keep giving me. However can I repay you?"

"By having my back, as I have yours." Tar'eon took his hand off his chest, holding it and chasing the chill from his fingers before he dipped his head and pressed a gentle kiss to his pale skin. The tiefling smiled at him, eyes fond as always.

Astarion was too focused on making sure his hand in his didn't shake, or god forbidden, grip back so tight he might break it.

****

"Have I ever told you how much I love your tongue?" Astarion picked up the Moon Lantern with a devilish smile, the bright light illuminating his features. A little pixie banged around inside, pleading to be set free. Tar'eon frowned, looking guilty, but Astarion shook his head.

"We're not letting you out."

"I"LL GUT YOU LIKE A-" Astarion gestured to the pixie for Tar'eon to see.

"Never trust a pixie, or any fey, my dear." He chuckled and kept a tight grip on the lantern as they travelled through the Shadow Lands. It only made sense, considering he only needed one hand for his enchanted dagger, though if needs be, he was happy to toss it to another and pull out his bow.

Seeing as he held the lantern, he led the way, but after a few hours of walking in what he was starting to believe was a circle...Well, they were honestly a bit lost. No, it wasn't his fault for refusing the map twice.

"If I have to follow him for another hour, I'll kill him." Wyll groaned, obviously sick of walking to nowhere.

"Astar, please. Just let me lead."

"You cannot fight and hold the lantern, darling, trust me, we're making head way -" And by the grace of whatever was holy, it seemed they had. Up ahead, he saw buildings, and he smirked. Not a castle, but something. "See?"

"It doesn't look like Moonrise."

"And how do you know what Moonrise looks like, hm?" Astarion challenged.

"It's a castle. This is not a castle, Astar."

"It's a town though, which means the castle is close. Trust me." Astarion waved his concerns off and continued on. Unsurprisingly, they were ambushed by shadow creatures.

It wasn't a hard feat to slash them down, not with Wyll and Lae'zel on the team, as much as he wished for Shadowheart's healing. Unfortunately, she'd woken up with a bloody limp. He should have expected it, after all those little glances, all those secret smiles. Their darling who burned hotter than Avernus and the Shar princess were down bad. With Karlach no longer a workplace injury in the flesh, she must have jumped at the chance.

He did wonder how a limp played into it, but who was he to expose such secrets? Though, they were barely a secret.

"Gods, I miss the sun." Astarion muttered. This place was so gloomy, and cold. He did peak a castle in the distance though, and smirked. See? He had been on the right track! "Tar'eon-"

Before he could inform him, the tiefling took off, curse be damned, and Astarion swore, running after the stupid man, Wyll and Lae'zel behind him.

"Arabella!" He barely kept their leader in the glow on their safety net, but once he saw what, or in this case who, he was running towards, he found himself rolling his eyes. It was always children. He had no self preservation when he saw a child in need. It was that young tiefling girl they'd saved from Kagha's viper.

"Hey! I know you. You're -" Astarion moved for his dagger when two shadow-y creatures burst from the ground, looming over Tar'eon and the girl. He readied himself to strike, but it seemed the child was one step ahead.

"Twist'em up!" With a pale green glow, the tiefling child managed to bind the shadows in place with her vines, looking exhausted from that feat alone.

"It's you - our little idol thief from the druids grove!" There was no doubt about it. Astarion would admit, he was growing a touch fond of the little band of thieves. He'd make an excellent mentor, he'd like to think. He could teach them more than a thing or two about being a rogue.

The tiefling child slumped her shoulders, and Astarion wondered if he'd said the wrong thing, but no, the child was looking at Tar'eon.

"Sorry. Knocks the wind right out of me." Arabella apologised. Wyll stepped forward with a smile.

"You did that with no incantation. That's an impressive feat. That kind of sorcery only comes from deep within." Of course the warlock had an opinion on her magic. Arabella seemed to stand straighter after the praise.

"That druid idol I took? It changed me. I can do all sorts of stuff now, not just the vines." Arabella looked to Tar'eon like she was searching for his praise next. "I think real hard and say some loud words and then it happens. Mostly." Tar'eon rested a hand on her head and ruffled between her horns, crouching down.

"What are you doing out here, Arabella? It's not safe." The girl withdrew into herself, suddenly as scared and frightened as she should be.

"I was looking. For mum and pops. When Zevlor - when he -" Her chin gave a little wobble but she stopped it quickly, as if refusing to cry over the matter. "Well. There was an ambush. Mum yelled 'run!'...So we ran. I could hear 'em running behind me. 'Til I couldn't."

Tar'eons eyes softened, filled with mourning for the girl as they both drew the same conclusion. They were both likely dead.

"Still can't find 'em - but I bet you can. You'll help me, I just know it!" Tar'eon gave a tight smile and nodded.

"I'll find your parents, Arabella. You can count on me." The relief was palpable from the young girl.

"Thanks, mister. I knew you'd help me again." Of course he would. He was a bleeding heart. "The vines won't last forever." Arabella looked towards the shadow creatures with apprehension. "I don't - I don't s'pose I can stay with you? Just 'til you find mum and pops, I won't be any trouble, I swear it!"

Astarion looked at Tar'eon apprehensively. A child? In their camp? That sounded like a dreadful idea. Though, Scratch could always use some more love, he supposed.

Tar'eon smiled.

"My friends are currently at the Last Light Inn. Cerys and the other children are there too. I'm afraid Mol was kidnapped during an attack, but I'm on my way to bring her back, along with the other tieflings." Tar'eon took the girls hand and squeezed. "I'll help you there with a little bit of ancient magic, alright? Speak to the others of my party when you arrive. Though, do not mind Withers. He's a bit scary to look at, but he's harmless, despite his lurking." Tar'eon smiled and took her other hand. He closed his eyes.

"I'm find your parents, Arabella. I'm going to make sure you all make it to Baldur's Gate this time."

"Thank you - Bring mum and pops back there. I'll be waiting." In a flash of purple, the young girl disappeared, likely landing herself outside the Inn as Tar'eon promised.

"Always the bleeding heart, darling." Astarion chuckled.

"He did the right thing. Who knows - maybe if we find Arabella's parents, they'll have a lead towards where the tieflings are being held in Moonrise." Wyll interjected and Astarion rolled his eyes.

"They'll either be dead, or in a prison cell. These Absolute cultists aren't exactly creative, or merciful. He saw the drow woman, and Nere."

"I'd like to hold onto hope that they're still alive regardless, thank you." Wyll frowned, annoyed by Astarion's blase tone.

"Of course you do. You're obsessed with fairy tales, and not the cold, hard truths of this world." Astarion bit out, glaring at the other man.

"Fairy tales can teach us a lot about how hard the world is, but in the end, hope will always prevail." Wyll crossed his arms, matching his gaze. Every thing about him screamed nobility, even in drabs, and Astarion wanted to tear into him. He wanted to sink his nails into his insecurities, his righteous nature, and claw them away until the man was raw and hopeless, just like he was.

"Hope drives men to madness more often than it does to happiness, devil man."

The muscle in Wyll's cheek twitched, looking ready to draw his blade on the vampire, but Tar'eon stood between them, a hand on either ones chest.

"Stop it. You've lived vastly different lives, with separate, incomprehensible struggles. You may believe the world to be bleak, Astarion, but Wyll does not. You may have given up on the notion of hope, but the rest of us haven't. All I ask is that you let it go."

Astarion could feel the back of his neck burning from the scolding, even if Tar'eon tone was more netural than fierce. He huffed and with a whip of his cloak, continued forward. He heard Tar'eon sigh, the others footsteps following him, if only because he held the lantern.

"Thank you. For sticking up for me." Wyll said in a soft voice to Tar'eon, but he could still hear it.

"Don't thank me. I'm just not ready to give up hope yet. It's...all I- we have left."

****

"Well, we've got our solution to my little problem. I say we go ahead." Astarion smirked as he made towards the entrance, but Tar'eon held him back by the elbow. He turned to the man and quirked a brow. "Yes?"

"We have to find Arabella's parents first, Astar. And free the tieflings, remember? Get Mol back."

"They aren't going to be more dead if we take a detour, darling." Astarion waved a hand and narrowed his eyes. "This is a deal that doesn't involve servitude. I'm going to take my chances before he decides to up the stakes."

"And if they're not? We don't know what's inside there, but I doubt it's leaving any time soon. Komira and her husband, Mol, the other tieflings - they can't wait."

"I thought this was important to you. Am I remembering it wrong, dear?" The pet name held no affection.

"Don't use that against me. I promised you we'd find a way to translate your scars. I meant it. But lives are at stake, and this can wait."

"You know I'm not patient."

"Learn some patience then. This will be a good lesson." Tar'eon wasn't giving in, and Astarion gritted his teeth, baring his fangs with a growl and shoving the lantern into the other mans hands.

"Fine. But if they're dead, like I predict they are, you owe me."

"Astarion..."

"Go on. We have corpses to find." Astarion said bitterly and stalked down the hill, forcing Tar'eon to follow. The tiefling sighed, looking weary as Wyll placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't take it to heart. He's a prickly creature. You're right to put urgency to this mission. They're your people, and they're relying on you. The best decisions aren't always the easiest."

"He doesn't believe in heroes. I know he doesn't. He's selfish because he see no point in being selfless. He doesn't gain anything from it. No one was ever selfless was his sake. I know he hates it when I tell him no." Tar'eon knew Astarion had flaws. That didn't stop his heart from aching.

He loved him. Deeply. In such a short time span, he'd managed to launch himself into the deep end of this pool of affection he felt for the other man, but he didn't know how to love him without receiving his fangs half of the time. He knew why Astarion was this way. He was afraid, they all were, but his fear was volatile.

He cursed Cazador for breaking down the man who held his heart in pale hands, ready to be devoured between sharp, pointed teeth.

"We can't always get what we want. He'll learn that with time."

"He's never had what he wants, Wyll. He hates when I tell him no, because that's all he's ever heard." Tar'eons brows drew together, pinched into a painful expression as he departed from Wyll's side, head bowed. Wyll stayed a few paces behind, unsure what to say to that. Lae'zels arm brushed his and he looked at her, the githyanki staring ahead at the pair.

"Tar'eon is a warrior, while Astarion is simply a survivor; they bear their burdens differently." She made a sound of irritation, as if she were planning to spit on the ground to get a foul taste out of her mouth. "I do not know what draws them together, but it is...palpable."

"And why're you telling me this?" Wyll quirked a brow, voice low as not to be heard, much like her near whisper.

"Because you follow after our leader like a dog. You are a warrior, like he is. Yet you hold yourself back. That is your failing. You idealise stories, fiction, and expect things to simply fit into place, like words on parchment." Lae'zel's cat like eyes turned onto him, intensely yellow in the darkness of the shadow lands.

"You must take action. Like a warrior." She stood straighter, somehow. Her posture was always perfect, much like his. Instinctive to stand tall. "Before he is tied down by the vampire."

"Astarion and Tar'eon - it won't last." Wyll was sure of that. "Astarion doesn't seem the type for...long term. Tar'eon seems the type to only want that."

"And yet, Tar'eon can convince the nightstalker to do many things that are out of the ordinary for him."

"What do you suggestion then? You seem to be well versed in this after all." Wyll quirked a brow, crossing his arms.

"Woo him." Lae'zel's eyes shone, her slitted pupils widening like she had spotted something she quite liked, gaze intense on the warlock. "Show him you are the better match. In my culture, the Githyanki do so by intimate combat."

"I'm afraid to ask what makes it intimate." Wyll frowned, looking away from her. For a githyanki, she was a beauty, but her ruthless attitude until now had made it hard to converse with her, not to mention her unsettling amount of eye contact. It was quite intimidating. As the journey continued though, he found she had opened up, if only a little, without her knowledge.

"I'd show you, if you weren't after another." Lae'zel hummed. "If things fall through, do feel free to ask for my company. Your scent is...not unpleasant."

Wyll blinked and watched her break stride, staying beside Tar'eon now in silence. He frowned as he picked at the collar of his robe, giving it a small sniff. While he had bathed the night prior, his armour hadn't had the chance to be washed in quite some time. He watched the githyanki and the tiefling, the large man offering her half his apple after breaking it in half.

Had he...been propositioned while being given relationship advice at the same time?

****

"I can't believe you convinced him to just kill himself." Astarion couldn't help the surge of giddiness thinking back to it. He knew he liked Tar'eon for a reason.

"I was avoiding a fight, and the man was insane." Tar'eon shrugged. "They say everyone is their own worst enemy." He picked up the lute and frowned. He doubted it belonged to the man. He'd find use of it. He slung it onto his back and placed his flute in his bag. It wasn't the only instrument he knew how to play, but it was his preferred instrument. It made a sweet sound, in his opinion.

"Well then...lets ransack the place." Astarion smirked as he went about looting anything he could. He wasn't particularly happy about this little side quest they were doing, but he was refusing to let Tar'eon get under his skin. He could act civil. The better person. Let Tar'eon come and grovel to him first.

They traversed through the building, searching for anything good, and stumbled upon what looked to be an infirmary. Wyll's face grew grim as he looked upon the bodies lying in the bed.

"It's Arabella's parents..."

"Fuck." Tar'eon came closer to look, shining the lantern upon them. Wyll was right. Komira and Locke laid together in the bed, well past reviving. His heart broke for little Arabella.

Tar'eon would have to tell her...she'd been so hopeful that he'd be able to help her. He felt like he had failed her, even if it was obvious that her parents had been dead for a while, a couple days at least. How long had Arabella been out there, looking for her parents?

"I told you." Astarion said, arms crossed, shaking his head. He sounded disappointed despite being right. "I told you this mission was pointless."

Tar'eon whipped around and grabbed the collar of his cloak, his tail whipping wildly in his anger.

"Don't. Just- don't."

"Oh please, even that child knew, deep down. She got her hopes up - she got your hopes up. I told you, it's pointless. If you think someone is dead? They likely are." Astarion had given many people over to Cazador, and while he didn't see their demise, he knew. When people were captured by monsters, they didn't simply come back. There was no point in hoping they'll escape their fate, whether you helped them or not. Sometimes death was better than what they'd live through if they were to live.

Tar'eons eyes held nothing but anger, with hurt bleeding into them as he let Astarion go, stepping back.

"Go back to the Inn then. If you don't want to help me, then you can go." Astarion opened his mouth in shock. He'd never been banished from the party before. He was always beside him, throughout the whole journey.

"You- you can't banish me." He laughed, breathless. "You need me."

"Not right now, I don't." Tar'eon gaze steeled. "Go, Astarion. Maybe a bit of time alone will make you realise how much of an asshole you are sometimes."

"I-..." Astarion scoffed. "I've never tried to hide that part of myself from you. It's your own fault if your poor heart is broken over the hard truths of this world." He stepped back and put on a expression that Tar'eon hadn't seen since the first day they met. Cool and calm; superior. Unfeeling.

"I'll see you tonight. Do tell me all the gory details when you find the bodies of those tieflings, unless they are by some miracle, alive." In a flash, he forced his connection to the sigil to bring him back to the Inn, opening his eyes to firelight and the scent of grass, rather then damp, darkness.

Astarion scowled and stormed off to his room, ignoring Shadowheart and Karlach's sounds of surprise at his return as he bounded up the stairs and slammed the door hard enough to rattle through the wall, dust falling into his hair. He snarled and ran a hand through it, running the perfect picture he tried to maintain painstakingly ever morning.

Good riddance. For once, maybe he could relax and read a book instead of being blasted and slashed at. He laid back on his bed, not caring about his armour as he tugged off his boots. He reached for the book sticking out of Tar'eons spare pack and opened it to the first page.

A Beginners Guide To The Infernal Language.

He glowered but read on. It might do him some good to learn more about the language scrawled on his back, if he was to convince Raphael to explain.

He never should have expected help. How foolish. He would help himself, like he always had.

The only person you could trust in this world was yourself.

[dragonsfell]

“I may have had… briefly, mind you… stirrings.” @ wyll

A moment of doubt had begun to pass his mind when Tony's hand had dug into the dead spider and pulled some flesh; that maybe his own doubts about being a leader, about being the chief decision maker of more than just himself may have been wrong given the current man they were following. That thought only furthered when h had licked the spider by some compulsion.

It was only while they sitting outside of one of the trial rooms, letting Shadowheart embark alone through these tests (something she had insisted upon) and had left them to sit, twiddle their thumbs that Wyll has to say something more. SO ABOUT THAT SPIDER ⸻

I may have had... briefly mind you... stirrings.

That is not what Wyll had been expecting for Tony to lean over and whisper. So there absolutely had been a blush to Tony's cheeks, which had merely been a jest to defuse the tension that Wyll had felt standing by. There had to be something in air, perhaps spores, around this Sharran temple that had led to such peculiar behavior.

Dare he ask what kind of stirrings, or perhaps that best be knowledge men only kept to themselves. ❝ Right, right. Stirrings. ❞ Shadowheart was taking her sweet time with this test; maybe they should go in and check on her. Anything to get out of this conversation. ❝ Erm, did it... uh.. awaken anything that you might need to have your bedroll on the other side of camp or.... ❞

Gods, he really does not want to know anything about the spider incident but now he was asking. ❝ We can stay right here, and uh, there's nothing around that corner over there. No one'll say anything to Shadowheart or judge. ❞ He absolutely was trying hardest not to. She wouldn't know and she was blessed for that. Wyll would pray to Shar himself to move that knowledge.

[blackjackkent]

Brief but interesting little conversation with Halsin, who has been happily chilling in our camp this whole time and now has his own little bedroom tent area set up.

"The shadow curse is upon us. As foul as I remember it - perhaps even worse. But with the Oak Father's blessing, we may soon see it banished from these lands."

"We're in the midst of the shadow curse now. Is there any more you can tell me about how to lift it?"

"This land is more than just soil and rock, root and leaf..." Halsin says gravely. "It is a living being, in the form of a young fey boy, with the forest itself in his eyes. His name is Thaniel - I've met him, in my meditations. But since the curse was unleashed, I have not felt his presence. He is its prisoner, I fear. And as long as he remains so, his domain will lie in darkness. But if we can find him, we can break the curse. If you learn anything of the Shadowfell, or of a boy with the forest in his eyes, find me at once."

Interesting. Yet another task to undertake, but this one feels worthwhile if they can manage it. "What should I look for exactly?" Hector asks.

"I can't be exact, unfortunately," says Halsin. "Time and the shadow curse won't have been kind to any traces that would have been left behind. A living witness is unlikely, I'll admit. But perhaps there'll be an *unliving* witness, or some lingering echo of what we seek. Don't worry - if you find something, you will know it."

So that gives us something new to look out for. Given that this is all apparently a curse of Shar, Hector would be very glad to be able to undo it if he can. (Though he wonders how Shadowheart will feel about that.)

[belladonicbloodsucker]

update i’ve kind of derailed the main plot to explore the underdark. got into a ton of fights learned abt shar worship (raktum is suicidal so naturally they think it’s cool, shadowheart now greets us with “may darkness protect you” and “shars blessings be upon you”)

mushroom kingdom was a bit creepy but i loved the mushroom ppls designs. went and killed the duergar for them, maybe raktum was conflicted about it but felt compelled to follow those orders (🫣), anyway all concerns were wiped away when they happened upon grymforge and realized they’re *assholes too*. raktum said they didn’t like slavery and laezel disapproved 🧍

also i TPK’s so many times… and this is WITH PLBG😓 i kinda wanna uninstall it just to force myself to get better at this game

[caressofsharess]

* closed starter | @weaveshadows ( shadowheart )

of all of the people to liberate the nightsong, a sharran being among their ranks is certainly the very last thing the demigod expected. after centuries of enslavement by the lady of darkness, every ounce of her own once unbreakable will siphoned and replaced only by pain, a thing once curiously pleasurable quickly became her nightmare. her prison. no more pleasure, no more bliss, only darkness and agony. after her escape, shar sent armies of sharran cultists throughout faerûn to hunt her down, forcing the demigod to abandon the realms she adored so very much. she retaliated by growing her own army, her own cult— orders of werecats throughout faerûn would gather in packs, hunt and kill any sharran cultists on sight in sharress’ name during each and every full moon.

but as sharess looks upon this particular sharran by the name of shadowheart, her golden cat eyes are flooded with nothing but admiration. this one was to be a dark justiciar, the desire for that title, that respect given by their chosen deity, sharess can feel without even touching the elf that this meant more to them than anything else and yet— they quite literally threw the opportunity away, and for a direct descendant of selûne. why, shadowheart is more deserving of this blessing than anyone here.

` you must be the sharran who made a most great sacrifice, and not the sacrifice one would have expected a sharran to make, ` her voice is gentle, as warm as the expression upon her face. her hair falls in dark waves, down to the small of her back, and her body is wrapped in expensive, sheer, lavender fabrics, like a loose robe, one shoulder exposed as flowing pieces of cloth rest nestled within the crook of her arms. arms that are soon outstretched, welcoming and familiar, as she approaches the cleric. hands covered in golden rings gently cup shadowheart’s face within her soft palms, standing a few inches taller than the mortal. she looks deeply into their eyes, her own feline pupils dilating slightly as she allows her soothing influence to be cast out from her fingertips, washing over shadowheart’s essence like a wave of pure bliss, ` you will be the first sharran i bless, rather than kill — and whatever desires you possess, i will do everything in my power to make them so, ` and with that, sharess places a tender kiss against the mortal’s lips — a blessing, a thank you. she pulls back just as smoothly as she moved in, offering a loving smile, ` you may call me sharess, child. i will be here to aid in whatever is to come, and i owe you my undying gratitude. dame aylin means many worlds to me. `

[tieflingtareon]

My love, are you the devil? (Oh, call me a devil)

Chapter 11 | Words: 4k

Summary: Astarion found himself often surprised by his heroic companion. He had one goal. To become the favoured companion of the group, to earn the Tieflings loyalty, to make Tar'eons strength his own. Yet Tar'eon isn't like the usual target of his manipulations. Despite his naivety, he does not seem gullible. There is something very wrong with their 'leader' to begin with. Astarion isn't sure if he wants to control it or eradicate the threat it posed. But can he really do either when Tar'eon himself seems so...unwaveringly kind?

That devil is getting into his head, while others get into Tar'eons. He doesn't appreciate not having the upperhand after years of being at the disadvantage. He will find a way to make him see.

He is the one he should be listening to. Astarion would make it so, no matter the means.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50668558/chapters/127995079

"It feels like we're being watched - hunted, even - but there's nothing out there, only more darkness." Astarion shuddered, sticking close to Tar'eon, seeing as he held the torch for the both of them, the other needing both hands for his weapon. Astarion kept his dagger close. "I much prefer it when I'm the one prowling in the shadows, about to strike."

"The longer you go on, the more it feels like a threat." Wyll drawled from behind, holding a torch up for Lae'zel. They had assumed any light source may better their chances in the shadows, Moon Lantern or not, but with a limited supply they had to walk in pairs, Halsin holding a torch and looking around at their surroundings with Karlach and Shadowheart on either side of him. Though, Shadowheart was drifting back to Karlach's side instead, looking near wondrous.

The Shadow Curse didn't affect her. She had insisted it was a blessing, but Astarion wasn't one to believe in such things. He just wanted out of the damn place, maybe find a nice spot to camp where he could drop off the dead weight tomorrow while they explored.

"It could be." Astarion smirked as he looked back at Wyll, baring his fangs with delight. Wyll didn't look impressed.

"Knock it off, you two. Getting a bit chilly here, Astar." Astarion chuckled.

"Sorry, dear. I can't help it. Teasing a devil is a once in a lifetime experience."

"Do not make me use my blade-"

"Astarion, you know exactly what you're doing. Behave, or I'll make you walk with Halsin so he can go on and on about the Oak Father to you."

"Oh, you're such a spoilsport." Astarion pouted but held his tongue as they walked. They didn't have to go far before they stumbled upon a group of Harpers. And as per usual, Tar'eon had to save the day, and put their hinds on the line. On a good note, it did get them to an Inn of all places. And towards the very devil he'd been thinking of as of recent.

"Your move, Mol."

"You trapped me. I didn't even want to take this one."

"Calimshan rules, dear. The first piece touched is the first piece moved."

"That's garbage! No matter where the knight goes, I'm gonna lose it." The poor girl sounded beyond frustrated at the prospect of losing.

"Then make the sacrifice useful. Guard your Mystra, or come for my Cyric."

"What's going on here?" Karlach sounded annoyed, glaring at Raphael. Like she could sniff the devil out, even in human form.

"Look who made it!" Mol actually seemed excited to see the large tiefling who gave her a smile. If it weren't for the child, Jahira might not have let them in. "For once, I saved your butt out there, didn't I? We're square now, chief."

As promised, she was giving Tar'eon her very best smile.

"Say, do you play lanceboard by any chance? It's my first time playing." Astarion almost laughed. Of course Raphael decided to play with a child who didn't know the rules. The devil had a motive, no doubt trying to teach the tiefling child some kind of lesson he'd later use to his advantage. The typical manipulative devil. At least Astarion knew his games, unlike the child.

"I'm afraid I haven't, but..." Tar'eon looked over the board with a small frown, getting just a touch too close and knocking the board Mol's way with a small, "Oops. Apologises. It's hard to remember my size sometimes."

Astarion had to bite his lip to hold back a smirk. After being with the man three weeks, he could pick out a lie, and he wasn't even trying to hide that one. While Raphael was casting them a disgruntled look, Mol took the chance to use the magic of her gifted gloves, switching pieces around and grinned as she took Raphael's piece on the board.

"How's that for Calimshan rules?" Mol looked rather proud of herself, and even Astarion found himself respecting the kids little act. She absolutely knew how to play the game, yet she acted dumb because she wanted to win. She used Raphael's superiority against him, and that, that he could respect.

"Brava!" Raphael was gracious in his loss. "Lovely work. I see I was right to make you the offer I did." Tar'eon looked at the devil, his eyes narrowed, and Astarion knew if Mol wasn't present, he'd likely give into the dark urge to skin the man. "You will consider it, won't you?"

Mol's smile finally dropped, looking unsure before she got up from her seat and walked away. Tar'eon scowled at Raphael.

"What a lovely specimen she is. A blushing apple, begging to be plucked." Disgust roiled in Astarion's stomach at the description.

"Please let me smack this creep." Karlach gritted out, the heat of her anger visible on her skin.

"She cheated, of course, but that's half her charm."

"And what's the other kind?" Tar'eon asked, his voice low, almost a growl. He was doing well to put a lid on his temper, even if his tail was whipping wildly behind him, almost hitting Astarion.

"My favourite kind; ambition." Raphael smirked. "But don't you worry about Mol. It goes without saying she still has the unconditional freedom to choose the only option she has left."

Tar'eon looked ready to bare his canines and rip into the man, ever the mother bear when it came to those tiefling children, but Raphael turned his gaze to him.

"Now, let's talk about you. I sense there's something you want to ask me." Astarion glanced at Tar'eon who was still glaring daggers into the devil, the barb at the end of his tail making a scratch in the wood behind him.

"I do." Astarion couldn't contain himself. If this man had the answers, he wanted them. Now. Patience was not his virtue. He had few of those. "I have a...proposal for you."

"Astar." Astarion ignored him.

"A proposal? If you're hoping to taste my blood, little vampling, think again. I burn hotter than Wyvern whiskey."

"This is serious business, devil." Astarion snapped. "And I much prefer a different spice, at this point in time. Apologises to disappoint your expectations, but you're not my type." He huffed and straightened, feeling Tar'eons presence coming to stand at his back, arms crossing. Like he was trying to intimidate the devil himself. Ridiculous. Though, he had once told Mizora to her face that he'd take her head, so it shouldn't surprise him.

"Oh, I doubt that." Raphael stared intently at the tiefling who's cold glare could have frozen all of the Hells.

"Quit it," Astarion hissed, glaring at Tar'eon who huffed, not moving, but relaxing his stance. "My old -" He paused, not wanting to give the man too much information. The less he knew, the better.

"Well, a long time ago, someone carved runes into my back. They are fragments of a contract. I'd like to know what the full contract says." The devil gave it a long hum, no doubt trying to scheme his way into binding Astarion to him. Powerful men seemed to love to break him down. There had to be a reason for it, but he didn't like to think about it.

"Scars? What scars?" Karlach frowned as she spoke up, looking concerned.

"You haven't told them? And you've kept your clothes on this whole time?" Raphael chuckled. "How unlike you."

Astarion's boiled with rage at the slight.

"Though, I doubt that to be true, with your...guard dog." Raphael mused. "Why not let the others see? Don't be shy." With a wave of his hands, Astarion felt rather bare, looking down with a curse.

"Gods damn it." He grumbled, almost knocking Tar'eons hands aside in his frustration when the tiefling took off his cloak - a cloak he never remembered him buying, if he was honest - and wrapped it around him, like he had any modesty to begin with.

"Shit...That looks painful." Karlach winced.

"It was." Astarion gritted his teeth. "Give me my clothes back, devil."

"Ah, ah -"

"I don't think he even knows." Tar'eon said, no doubt just trying to get under his skin.

"Really?" Well, it seemed to work. "It's something very important to your master." Astarion bristled, holding the cloak closed to feel a little less vulnerable. How had he known that? "But is it a love letter, a warning, or a deed of ownership? I could give you all the gory details. But of course, you'll have to do something for me first. Let me think about it and get back to you."

He baulked at the devils audacity. But, he supposed he was a devil.

"You'll 'get back' to me? This is important, devil!" He huffed and worked his jaw. "When?"

"Don't worry - I'm motivated to help you. Scars often tell such wonderful stories. I think yours might be truly exquisite. I'll see you soon."

"My clothes-" He was gone in a puff of ash and Astarion huffed, humiliated and pissed, scowling at the place the devil had been.

"Those carvings...they must have been excruciating." Wyll spoke up, voice full of sympathy. Pity. Astarion glared at him.

"Cazador worked on it from dusk until dawn, all with an ancient blade he called," He gave a laugh, finding it ridiculous even thinking about it. "His 'needle'." But the laughter fell short under the sad stares. He hated this. Hated when people pitied him so openly. Viewing him as something weak, something broken.

"Cutting and tearing, starting over if I screamed or winced too much." He looked away, unable to control the emotion in his voice, despite his efforts. "It was...a rough night. But what's done is done, so how about we stop talking about it and get on with things?"

He wanted the topic off himself.

"Although, I should...probably get dressed first." He allowed a short laugh, like it was almost hilarious and not embarrassing.

"We're bunking up in the rooms, to save cash. Your stuff will be with mine." Tar'eon said softly, a gentle hand on his back. "I'll show you."

Astarion was half tempted to slap his hand away, but the warmth was actually quite reassuring. He was getting used to it. A dangerous thought.

He couldn't remember the last time he slept on a proper bed, not since before the kidnapping and tadpole. He moaned like he was making love to his own personal incubus when he laid down on the mattress, not caring to cover him when the cloak fell open.

"Gods. I miss having a real bed."

"You don't even sleep, Astarion."

"Shush, I'm imprinting this moment into my memory for when we're back to our bedrolls." He dreaded that time ahead. He rolled over onto his front and hugged the pillow close, burying his face in it. "I could sleep, if I really tried, but I'm not a fan, honestly."

"Nightmares?"

"It's a common affliction amongst our party, I'm afraid."

"Indeed." Tar'eon hummed, sitting on the edge of the bed and gently reaching his hand out to smooth down his back. Even through the cloak, Astarion could feel the heat of his palms, like a hot stone massage. He melted further in the bed.

"I don't think we should trust him. Raphael."

"Gods, don't say his name, he might take that as an invitation." Astarion groaned. "I'm sorry, love, but I'd trust a devil over a vampire any day."

"I wouldn't trust either."

"Well, we don't always get a choice in who to trust when we have no other options." He clicked his tongue and Tar'eon sigh, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his neck, tucking his nose in the space to breath in his scent. Like rosemary and citrus, with a hint of...wine, maybe? Tar'eon wasn't much of a drinker, to be fair.

"I know...I just don't want you to get hurt."

"Cazador will hurt me worse than any devil could, I assure you." Astarion muttered bitterly, allowing the man to blanket him in his heat. He never used to be aware of the chill of his own skin, but know, he found himself noticing it daily. Lounging in the sun to try and chase it away. "If I know what this contract is about, perhaps I can break it. Or use it to my benefit."

Tar'eon held the vampire for a long moment, unsure what to say. He knew why Astarion needed to know. He feared Cazador could still find him, could use the contract against him. Tar'eon wasn't sure if he could even help him, as much as he wanted to. Who would be able to know the full contract, if not a devil who makes them?

He saw what happened to Wyll. The aftermath of Karlach's own autonomy ripped away from her because of devils. Astarion had faced enough pain in his life. He didn't want him to waste the rest of his eternity beneath the heel of a devil after escaping his old master.

"I should get dressed. The others will be expecting us." He didn't sound like he wanted to face them yet though. Tar'eon kissed his shoulder.

"They can wait a little longer."

Astarion didn't put up a fight. Instead, he laid there a while longer, greedily soaking up the warmth he'd been deprived of for two hundred years.

****

Karlach had tried to talk to Mol, but it didn't go well. The kid was stubborn, even when Tar'eon got on her level and told her, "I know I told you to protect them, but you don't need to sell your soul to a devil to do that. I'm here, and I can help you all get to Baldur's Gate from here."

"Well, you won't always be here." Mol scowled. "You weren't there when they attacked us. When they stole Lia and Cal away...This deal has nothing to do with you anyway. I'll choose what to do with the devil, and my life. It's my choice, not yours or Raphael's." She stormed off with that and Tar'eon sighed, hanging his head.

"The hardest thing about seeing kids make the same mistake as you is knowing you can't stop them." Karlach looked on after Mol sadly.

"The girl will pull her head out of the ground eventually and see he's no good. She's smarter than the lot of us." Astarion drawled, and everyone looked at him. "What?"

"I think that's the first time you've ever said something nice about someone we're helping, let alone a child." Wyll mused.

"Fine, she's a brat, are we done with the spectacle of my niceness? I'm practising." Astarion tutted and Karlach grinned.

"I knew you had it in you. You're soft, under all that frowning, those lines."

"Lines? Gods, why do you people always want to talk about my wrinkles?" Astarion squawked, rolling his eyes as he took his leave to get a drink, waving the lot of them off when they tried to follow. The group shared a round of amused looks before dispersing to do their own thing.

Halsin and Wyll had taken to the lanceboard this time, chatting amicably while Lae'zel spoke with a girl with a bow curtly, Shadowheart and Karlach making their way outside to explore.

Tar'eon watched them all disperse and smiled as he joined Astarion at the bar, eyes fond as the the vampire made faces at different labels.

"I miss Baldur's Gate already." He sighed and looked at the tiefling. "Plonk. Nothing vintage." He showed off the bottle in his hands and Tar'eon glanced at it. It looked fancy, from his limited knowledge.

"The bottle must be deceiving me, because it looks old."

"Hardly! It's twenty years old at best."

"This would have been bottled when I was - Hells, a teen? That sounds old enough."

"Darling, I'm over two hundred years old. Rephrase before I take your tongue." Astarion narrowed his eyes and Tar'eon chuckled, stepping forward to place the bottle back, mirthful eyes on the vampire as his other hand rested on his waist.

"Apologises, ph myirz. I know nothing of wine. Why don't you explain the ageing process to me, hm?" Astarion narrowed his eyes at the tiefling before seeming to soften, approving of his topic change.

"I should be scared of how well you know me." Astarion hummed, not willing to admit how much it did scare him, deep down. He slipped out of reach and nicked another bottle, reading the label with an approving sound. "Oh! Now this, this I can stomach. Come, drink with me, love."

Astarion beckoned him as he stole two chalices from a shelf, popping the top of the wine and giving it a sniff. He closed his eyes, relishing in the scent of a good, full bodied red. The taste may have changed since his transformation, but it was still his favourite type of wine. If they expected him to give it up just because he had a proper meal now, they were dead wrong. While Tar'eon was delicious, he liked variety, even in the non-blood form.

Tar'eon eyed the chalice.

"I'm not much of a drinker...I'm not sure it'd be a good idea, honestly."

"Shush now. Have some fun. I don't just share with anybody." Astarion chuckled, playing coy as he offered the cup to him. "Take it, darling."

"So persistent." Tar'eon tutted softly but smiled as he took it, leaning against the counter as he took a sip. It was strong, an intense flavour, and he wasn't sure he really liked it, but he'd admit it was better than the wine Astarion had let him drink at the tiefling party.

"Only a little. One needs to be a little...demanding, to get what they want sometimes."

"And what is it that you want, Astarion?"

"To know what that pretty little phrase was that you used before. What was it again? My-ezr?"

"Myirz." He corrected, a devilish hiss behind the pronunciation, and with a chuckle, he took another sip. He could feel it going to his head much faster than it should. The older it was, the better the taste, but perhaps higher the potency too. He supposed he could consider Astarion to be like a fine wine as well then.

"What language is that? Infernal?"

"I only know two. Common tongue, and Infernal."

"Your tongue is anything but common, darling." Astarion purred, tipping his head back as he finished his chalice, licking the red stain from his lips before he poured himself another cup. "What does it mean then?"

"I'm afraid it cannot be translated." Tar'eon lied. It had been a slip of the tongue, one he hadn't even noticed until Astarion brought it up.

"Bullshit. You just don't want to tell me." Astarion laughed, not seeming to take it to heart. "Fine. Keep your secrets, bard. But I would like that book once your done with it. Even if just to learn all the naughty words."

"I could teach you them myself, to save you the time." Tar'eon offered, only half-joking. The idea of Astarion speaking in his native tongue...it was definitely appealing.

"Oh? Shall I teach you all the dirty words in elvish then?"

"Can you?" Astarion sighed, looking sombre.

"Unfortunately not. I'm afraid over the course of two centuries, only speaking common tongue...It's hard to remember much of anything. The format is quite different. I was raised in the city, where most speak common anyway. The only person who spoke elvish with me was my mother, I imagine. Well, and Cazador, but it was a rarity for him to speak elvish unless other elves visited - he rarely had visitors while I was around. They'd be too distracted to conduct business." The last sentence was laced with bitterness despite the smile on his lips. "I would just go fetch them dinner instead."

"I'm sorry."

"Gods, don't be. I can't stand your pity. I remember the basics of elvish, but not nearly as much as I probably should. I'm afraid I'm not much help when it comes to returning the favour. In this instance at least."

"I'm not pitying you. Truly, I'm not. If anything, I'm angry for you."

"Angry for me?"

"Being under the thumb of a man like Cazador. I'm sure I don't even know the half of it, but from what I do know...He's a massive prick I'd like to stake and put on a spike."

"Oh, don't we both." Astarion mused, sipping his wine and shifting closer, pressing his front to Tar'eons side. The tiefling raised his arm and wrapped it around the other, his nose in his curls. Astarion looked tired, and despite being so unsure where they were at, what they were to each other, he wanted to comfort him. Today had been rough, he could tell, having to tell the others of his past too.

"Astarion...about us-" The doors opened with a crash and Tar'eon nearly dropped his chalice, hand dropping to his sheath to grab the handle of his blade.

"Guys! Guys, I found Dammon! He gave me another upgrade! Look!" Karlach swooped Shadowheart up in a hug and squeezed the cleric tight. She was touching her so freely - Hells, had the upgrade really worked?

Astarion laughed, raising his glass to her from behind the bar.

"Congratulations! Now you may indulge in all the finest things you'd missed out on, my fiery companion. I'm sure you have plenty of pent up energy you'd like to unleash." He winked.

Karlach looked a little embarrassed, placing the cleric down and scratching the back of her neck.

"Well...perhaps. With the right person."

"Karlach! You no longer burn? It's a miracle!" Wyll seemed delighted on her behalf, coming forward with his arms open. The tiefling practically crashed into him, her desire to hold all her friends finally a thing she could do. "Oh, quite the grip. Please remember I am merely human, despite my horns." Wyll gave a laugh, a little strained.

"Right! Sorry." Karlach grinned as she made her way towards them, only pausing when Shadowheart caught her arm and whispered something in her ear. Karlach lit up.

"Astarion!" She pointed at the vampire who quirked a brow.

"That would be I."

"You promised me a hug, so bring it in."

"Oh Gods no." Astarion recoiled as she made quick work around the bar, and like a bull with a target, she rushed at him. The vampire scrambled to haul himself over the bar, still holding his chalice of wine, barely split, as he pointed a finger at the woman.

"I promised nothing! Do not let that Shar worshipper feed you lies!"

Tar'eon laughed as he was targeted next for a tight hug since he was the closest, squeezing Karlach back in turn, his chest warm. Astarion sighed and rolled his eyes, going for a sip of wine before it was plucked from his fingers by Wyll. He made to protest, to tell him to get his own, when he felt hands pull his arms back, holding him tight in a restrictive lock.

"You- Lae'zel?!"

"It's you or me." She said lowly, eyes narrowed at Karlach like she was a beast and Astarion gasped.

"And here I thought we were friends, Lae'zel."

"You fear me. I smell it on you."

"Well, okay then. A little rude, if you ask me, sniffing it out like that." Astarion was so distracted by the githyanki that he didn't notice Karlach's approach until he was released, toned arms wrapping around him and picking him off his feet. "Hells! Put me down!"

"I'm so glad we're friends, you prickly little vamp."

"I will bite you!"

"Still wouldn't suggest that." Karlach laughed and placed him down, the vampire smoothing out his outfit like a cat cleaning itself after being manhandled by an overtly loving owner.

"Gods. I can't even enjoy a spot of wine in peace with you lot." He turned back to get his chalice back from Wyll, but it had been put into Lae'zel's hands, the githyanki giving a sniff before drinking it down. She frowned.

"This is awful. Weak too."

"I prefer ale myself." Wyll agreed.

"You people have no taste!" Astarion cried and huffed back over to Tar'eon who looked nothing short of amused. "You traitor. Letting them manhandle me like that."

"We both know if you really wanted them to leave you alone, you'd make it so." Astarion scoffed.

"You don't know me." He turned his head away from the man, stealing the bottle of wine while he was at it, talking a deep drink from the lip. He shivered when hot air caressed his pointed ear, swallowing the wine down.

"I know you so well it scares you, ph myirz." He could hear the smirk in his voice and kept his mouth shut, taking another drink and licking his stained lips.

Maybe he did. And yes, maybe it did scare him. A lot. But nobody but himself had to know that.