#rune plays bg3

[runeberry]

Starting my 4th? BG3 run while I put off actually finishing the game in any of my runs and

Honestly? Not a bad Phaedra for vanilla, since I haven't gotten around to modding yet. They're a Life Cleric of Ilmater this time around, because that felt more thematically appropriate for them in Faerun.

Also just pretend they have wings. I want them to release an aasimar player race but I just have to imagine it for now until I mod things. (And then run them again.)

[cursedcola]

Yo whoever wrote this line - OH WHEN I CATCH YOU MAN WHEN I CATCH YOU I SWEAR

Dude slides into my dms and leaves me a whole ass piano after saying that. Like i just picture his rich ass penning a letter in his gold mansion and thinking about what to send. Then he looks at his piano and is like “yeah that seems like a perfectly normal gift for a farmer who graciously gives me a singular tomato every day”. Mr has a solid gold swan in his foyer

Im legit dead

[nightmarist]

Interesting little thing, Sorn and Nym Orlith's names can both be found in the "male" section of drow names from Dragon Magazine (Sorn meaning enchanted or spell, Nym meaning skeleton or skull, and possibly Orly-th meaning Guild of Challenges).

Sorn says they fled because male drow are treated like dogs. At first I figured it meant his sister went with him for a genuine care of her brother and twin (and perhaps still is the case) but I wonder if Nym is trans and transitioned after leaving the Underdark but kept her name.

[olgipolgi]

Burning Embers 🧡💛

[fkitwebhaal]

(Tumblr version) FIC: I WILL FACE THE GODS AND WALK BACKWARDS INTO AVERNUS 1/10

Fandom: BG3

Ship: there’s dark urge/Astarion in here but it’s not the focus and very much in the background.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: General game warnings, this chapter nothing of note

AO3

Summary:

When her fellow amnesiac tells Shadowheart that they “hate all the Gods equally” she’s sure they must be lying.

By the time she finds them lecturing Gale about the Goddess of magic, it has become abundantly clear they they were not joking.

Or: the Dark Urge is the biggest God hater in Faerun.

This chapter: Shadowheart comes clean, the Dark Urge explains their stance on Gods and this is the weirdest form of heresy Shadowheart has ever heard.

Notes: This fic is one part comedy, one part crack played straight, one part team character study about how faith works when you can have a literal convo with god. I have a good part of it written already but decided to divide it into chapters rather than drop what will likely turn out to be a 10k+ beast on you. I've put it down as 10 chapters so far, but that might change (I’m aiming for a character from each companion POV + Dark Urge)

The title, of course, comes from the famous Drill tweet.

Fic under the cut:

Shadowheart expected a variety of responses when she finally came clean about her faith.

Mother Superior had warned her about what happened to followers of Shar who failed to follow their dark lady’s example of duplicity. Imprisonment or jail was the most likely outcome, should one be within the Gate’s limits. Outside of it provided no greater protections: Shadowheart had heard stories of followers run out of towns when their faith was discovered, she’d memorized stories of those killed for daring to utter the name of her dark lady. Those tales were frightening, but none of them stuck with her as much as the one Nocturne had told her of the Sharans who had the misfortune of being discovered by Selunites. Nocturne had overheard it from a high priestess. It was about a Sharran who’d been bound to a rock underneath the full moon and left to be torn apart by wolves, the Selunites gleeful at their screams.

She didn’t think her companions would kill her or cast her out, they needed her too much. But she was prepared for them to give her distance. If they did, it was probably for the best: the loss of company would be a reminder of her commitment to Shar. All things had to end.

(It didn’t matter that Gale complimented her on her spells, it didn’t matter how Karlach shared with her fun bawdy romance tales by the campfire, it didn’t matter that Wyll helped her up when she fell on the ground due to the pain in her hand. Loss was inevitable. She had to remember that outside the cloister’s walls).

The first person she told about her Goddess was their sorcerer, an amnesiac human who had started calling themselves Rune. She’d wondered at first if they were a fellow Sharran given the state of their memory, but it soon became clear otherwise. She liked them, despite their odd muttering about blood and one sleepwalking bard murder. They were the reason she’d managed to escape her pod on the ship, after all.

Realizing the secret would come out sooner or later, she told them of her Goddess, knowing the rest of the camp would soon find out either by overhearing or gossip. Rune stood through her explanation with crossed arms, listening to her intently. When she was done, she took a deep breath, and made sure to stand tall. She was not ashamed of her Lady. Rune could say whatever they wanted, and that wouldn’t change.

“No. I don’t care who your God is,” Rune said, after a pause. They seemed to realize she was waiting on them to respond to her query. Shadowheart wasn’t convinced. She was about to question that when they spoke next. “I hate all the Gods equally.”

Shadowheart rolled her eyes. The sorcerer did have a fondness for odd jokes, but this wasn’t the best time. “Jesting, really?” She supposed it could be worse: better they crack a joke than run her out of camp. It wasn’t an ideal response, it would be nice if Rune also saw the merit in worshiping the Dark Lady, but she knew that was going to be unlikely. For now, she’d take what she could get. Not wanting to discuss her secrets further, she waited, expecting Rune to change the topic. Instead, they stared at her, blinking once.

“I’m serious.”

They looked serious. Well, they always looked rather serious unless they were reading something that annoyed them, but this level of seriousness seemed intentional.

“You-“

“I don’t like Gods,” Rune said, waving their hand. Like this was a normal thing to say in a conversation. “Any of them. So it really doesn’t matter who your goddess is, I wouldn’t like them anyway.”

This was perhaps the weirdest heresy Shadowheart had ever heard. Most people got up in arms about the Shar part; she hadn’t heard of anyone being upset because of the deity aspect. She knew there were people who didn’t put much stock in the Gods (Wyll, for example), but outright proclaiming a dislike of all of them? That was new.

“I’ll try not to bother you about it,” Rune continued, possibly mistaking her confusion for taking offense. She would be taking offense, Shadowheart thought, if she wasn’t so thrown off. “It’s your own business. But if you ask for my opinion or try to proselytize, I’m not going to lie to you either. I don’t want to lie to friends.”

Shadowheart’s line of thought cut off at their last statement. “We’re friends?” She didn’t have many of those, outside Nocturne. At least, not any she could remember.

Rune fidgeted a little, shifting their weight from one foot to the other, but they kept Shadowheart’s gaze. It was odd to see them so visibly nervous, given they’d stormed a goblin’s camp recently.

“I think so? I don’t know if I’ve had one before,” they said, before rubbing at their arm. “Unless you don’t want to be..”

“No!” Shadowheart hated how quickly she spoke up and cleared her throat. “I mean…friends sounds alright.”

Rune nodded once. “Good.” With that, they were off, their considerable people skills absent for the moment, and Shadowheart watched them go with a mix of wonder and amusement. Friends? With a Sharran? Nocturne would never believe her.

(Would she even tell Nocturne in the end? Would she make it back to the Gate to do so? And if she did, should she? Loss was inevitable, and here she was, making attachments. It was a poor showing for a Sharran).

She pushed the thought aside. It didn’t matter. In the meantime, she could enjoy the company and wait to see how truthful Rune was about the “disliking” Gods things. It was probably just a lie to placate her. She’d seen the human lie to the cultists just a few hours prior, after all. A lie made far more sense than Rune disliking every God.

It would be much later that Shadowheart would realize that Rune was being absolutely serious.

[its-raining-cats]

So far in BG3 I have two save files and two Tavs, Elio and Lilac. Elio is between acts 1 and 2 (just got done at the créche and monastery,) and Lilac is very early act 1, i haven’t even gotten to the grove with her. Elio is a tiefling draconic bloodline sorcerer, and is a nice and competent young man who rolls decently and helps people where he can. Lilac is a drow bard who once rolled so shittily that I had to reload my save file because I accidentally killed Gale.

[boxylic]

i spend 80% of my time in the game just doing this

[certifieddilfenjoyer]

Astral Prism, Orpheus & Raphael Theory

So you know how most people in Baldur's Gate 3 fandom make the Raphael joke?

I'm here to tell you that it's extremely hurtful, because his character has a lot more depth than some of you are willing to see.

Behold, my Baldur's Gate 3 theory:

Right before we enter Act 3, we are jumped by githyanki who want to retrieve our Astral Prism. We are summoned to the Dream Visitor - The Emperor, to help him in the fight.

We find out then that our supposed ally is an illithid but there is one more guy, The Gith, the Orpheus, The Prince of the Comet.

You can ask the Emperor what the heck is a githyanki doing there and he will tell you the brief story about the War of The Comet*.

He is going to mention, that he is bound by INFERNAL chains. Hold on? How come?

After we are done with the Royal Guard, we can go to the upper left side from Orpheus's prison and find an ancient Githyanki disc. It will tell us, that Vlaakith had some infernal business conducted with a devil with wry charm. Of course Raphael isn't the only devil capable of being charming, but it feels natural for it to be him when he is already a very important character in game.

Baldur's Gate 3 Wiki says that it is indeed Vlaakith and Raphael.

OK, but why would they exchange the Astral Prism and is it Vlaakith getting it or Raphael receiving the relic?

He is giving it to Vlaakith. But how would he be in possession of such an artifact?

My theory: He is the one who had it created for that trade. (Commissioned from someone else)

Explanation:

If you look at Hope's and Orpheus's prison, you will notice a striking resemblance at the crystals that can be only shattered by the Orphic Hammer. A Hammer, that Raphael is in possession of! How convenient!

(Even Hope's and Orpheus' eyes are glowing in the same way when they are enslaved.**)

The runes and the design of both Astral Prism and Orpheus' shackles are also strikingly similar. It does not look like anything of Githyanki creation, it screams infernal.

But that still doesn't really add up, does it? Who would possibly create such a powerful object which plays such a major role in the plot?

Here, we have to familiarise ourselves with the wonderful post by Bearhugsandshrugs

Em explains above who the people visiting House of Hope are***.

One of them is a crazy, extremely knowledgeable wizard who specialises in creating copies of himself which prevents him from dying in battle.

When we kill Raphael, we kill him in HoH, in his own domain. He should be gone, for good! But yet, upon interacting with the Orb of Infernal Envisioning, we see that he is soon to be devoured by his father. Hells do not split into separate planes - so either Mephisto snatched his soul somehow (which seems impossible because his body is still there and devil's souls are their bodies) or Raphael respawned and his father took one of his clones or something like that. (He's just so cool I had to put it in here, but let me return to my theory now)

Another name on the list points out to Raphael's interest in different planes (even the ones which don't seem to be reachable) but also, magical puzzle boxes capable of holding items inside. As you can see, the name on the list is under the uninvited visitors section, which most likely means that they either fuel his soul pillars or have been turned into a soul coin. So it didn't have to be that particular person helping Raphael with the creation of the Astral Prism, but it points out to his interest in that topic.

Now, when would that even happen?

Karsus Folly took place in -339 DR, BG3 takes place in 1492 DR, around 2000 years later.

The enslavement of Orpheus - so also the Vlaakith trade - happened at around -4000 DR.

It is not impossible that Raphael was already around and scheming at that time. Why? Because Mephistopheles gifted Haarlep to Raphael most likely when Raphael was about to get the Crown before his father snatched it. Comparing their visual age, it seems that Raphael was already a young adult cambion at around the War of The Comet age.

Another thing is the fact that, Kith'rak Voss, the badass Githyanki Red Dragon rider, the sword of Vlaakith, found out about Raphael and contacted him and told us to get our ass inside Sharess Caress. Raphael doesn't mention him having an 'office' there, it's Voss who does it. Only upon entering the place, we can interact with Korrilla who's like, hey girl go upstairs Raphael rented a room hoping you'd drop by. HE KNOWS WE SPOKE TO VOSS, he has to! And also, Voss was around when Orpheus got enslaved! According to Wiki he was inside the Astral Plane when that happened. And Raphael has absolutely 0 interest in trading with Voss, yet the githyanki managed to reach him somehow. In my opinion, when he finally realised the lies of Vlaakith, he was looking for a specific devil, for Raphael, because he might remember him from back then.

(* Justice to my poor Githyanki, the most based and cool race in BG3. Imagine how painful it has to be to realize over centuries of time that you helped the self-proclaimed queen establish her tyranny over your own people because you've been brainwashed to believe that Orpheus is a traitor and Vlaakith the rightful heir of the throne)

(** The eyes, the chains, the crystals. The top of the Orphic Hammer is literally partially built from that same gem/crystal and on top of that, if you use Examine on it, it clearly states that it has been built in Infernal forges.)

(*** headcanon warning: The Amulet of Vigor that is present in the Archive is actually proven to have some... Other invigorating capabilities ☠️☠️☠️ and the old, ancient, crazy wizard has the boudoir privileges. Coincidence? ☠️☠️)

Anyways, to sum up:

• Githyanki disc shows us a deal between Vlaakith and Raphael where the devil gives her the Astral Prism.

• Raphael orders creation of the Orphic Hammer (the name itself, come on, it's such a mockery just like House of Hope) to make sure that he has the means to free him if it will benefit him in any way.

• In exchange for the Hammer, he receives some kind of knowledge of ascension to godhood. (Lae'Zel tells us during the game that ascension is the githyanki's greatest honour but it turns out it is nothing else but ensuring that Vlaakith remains alive and a god, because she just consumes the life force of her greatest warriors)

• Hope's and Orpheus's chains are strikingly similar and the part of the Orphic Hammer is built from the same gem/crystal that seems to be enslaving both of them.

So yea, my humble request is that you start fully appreciating the incredible writing of the game, instead of just focusing on the shallow 'haha bottom' jokes. I could make another post about that itself, but it's pointless. I hope you enjoyed!

[runeberry]

I haven't even finished a run, and I'm considering re-running Scylla bc there's just so much she missed out on in my very first run and so much thematically I want her to work through

And also I didn't know anything about the romances going in and waffled around too much

[verai-marcel]

Your Hearth Is My Home (BG3 Fanfic, Astarion x Female Reader, Part 1 of 27)

Summary: Not every adventurer wields a weapon. You, a hearth witch living near the banks of River Chionthar, are witness to a craft falling from the sky, and wondering if anyone needed assistance, ran down to find survivors. That was your first mistake. Going along with the survivors on their crazy adventure? That was your second mistake. Will you survive your next mistake of letting a hungry vampire bite you?

Author’s Notes: Full disclosure: at this point, I’ve only played through act 2 without romancing Astarion. So why the fuck am I writing some wholesome Astarion x F!Reader? Because I’m dumb and got spoiled on Youtube, and now I can’t stop thinking about the poor guy. Also this is heavily influenced by a couple of wholesome manga (“Life in Another World as a Housekeeping Mage” and “The Forsaken Saintess and her Foodie Roadtrip in Another World”), but I won’t be writing an isekai. You (reader) are from Faerun like everyone else. I’m just here to have some wholesome feels and hurt/comfort. Let’s go go go.

Tags: wholesome, cozy camp time, Astarion x F!Reader, slow burn, good alignment, BG3 Spoilers

Chapter Word Count: 1,843

Ao3 Link here, Darling.

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

Act I, Chapter 1 - The Beginning

You are a hearth witch, living on the banks of the River Chionthar, making potions and herbal remedies for the small villages nearby. For the past three years, you’d been happier than you’d ever been in your life. You loved helping people, but you made sure not to reveal your real name, nor why you always wore long sleeves and gloves, even in the middle of summer.

But the nearby villages had been emptying as of late. News of the goblin camp that recently appeared nearby had first scared off the traveling merchants, and then the locals. You realized that you too should leave, otherwise you’d either have no more customers or goblins on your doorstep. You only had a dagger and a few spells that did little in ways of actual damage, so defending yourself against a horde of enemies was out of the question. So you began to pack up, figuring out what you could bring with you, and what needed to be repurchased once you reached your new home, wherever that might be. 

On a warm sunny day, you decided that this would be your last day here. Your pack was filled, your cottage cleaned out. Tomorrow morning, you would take off to the east, following the river to the next closest town. For now, you decided to grab a few more ingredients for the road, and so, you were out by the river bank, gathering fresh herbs and mushrooms. 

A booming sound followed a strong gust of wind that whipped around you, twigs and grass flying everywhere. Then you saw a ship crash nearby, the land and water being torn asunder, debris flung in all directions. After the chaos died down a bit, you went to go check for survivors. You couldn’t, in good conscience, walk away if someone might need help.

That was a poor decision on your part.

The first survivor you found was a young, dark-haired woman, passed out on the shore. She seemed standoffish, but after helping her up and giving her a drink from your waterskin, you convinced her that the best thing to do was to get out of the area and rest at your cottage while she regained her bearings. 

A little while later, the two of you came upon the strange sight of a single arm, sticking out of a glowing purple rune. You and the young woman, Shadowheart, pulled the poor man out. He introduced himself as Gale, and also joined your party.

As the three of you continued back to your cottage, you came across another stranger. Skin as pale as marble and hair to match. Had some scars on his neck. Perhaps he got them on the ship? He seemed harmless enough. Another escapee of the craft that fell from the sky.

That is, until he tricked you into looking for something in the bushes.

If only he hadn’t touched your exposed neck with his bare hand. Then you wouldn’t have felt the fear, underlined by a desperation you knew all too well. 

The leash is cut.

It made you empathize. And that was one rule that had been burned into your mind at a young age. 

Do not empathize with the enemy.

Fortunately, Gale and Shadowheart talked him down from stabbing you. The man even apologized to you, though it seemed more for show than for sincerity. 

Astarion was his name. He introduced himself with aplomb and decorum, and your hackles raised at the sight. A noble.

After a bit more conversation, they agreed that their shared affliction was enough of a reason to travel together and find a cure.

Swallowing down your general prejudice against nobles, you ignored him and made small talk with the others as you led them back to your cottage. 

***

Your cottage had only one room, enough space for your bed, some storage for herbs and tools, and a work table for your alchemy. Most of your things were packed, but you pulled out enough to take care of your guests. 

The yard to the side of the building was set up as a small campground for travelers to rest. You had figured out a couple years ago that for a small fee, traveling merchants would gladly rest on your land where it was safe, while you made them fresh, nourishing meals and cast spells on their bedrolls to make them feel warm and comfortable. You even managed to get a small tub built in the back to provide a warm bath for an extra fee.

It had been a lucrative idea, one that made you enough money to be quite comfortable out here in the sticks.

You may only know a few cantrips, but you had manipulated them beyond what most people did. Your mending cantrip could fix whole swaths of cloth, your prestidigitation cantrip could keep bedrolls warm all night, or baths hot for hours. It was why you had several repeat customers, traveling merchants who would alter their routes to come to your place to rest. 

You told them of the surrounding area and cooked a meal for them, a simple stew with seasonal vegetables and herbs.

The noble said he wasn’t hungry. You supposed your poor peasant food wasn’t to his taste.

He can suit himself.

While the others were eating, you set up the campground. While you were quietly casting the comfort cantrip on each bedroll, you sensed someone watching you.

“Yes?” you asked, biting the inside of your mouth to keep from being snippy.

Astarion stepped closer to you. He remained standing, looking down on your kneeling form. “What an interesting way to use prestidigitation.”

You shrugged. You had nothing to say to a noble. You finished your spell and started to shuffle over to the next bedroll, but he remained standing in your way.

“Do you mind?”

“Not at all, darling.” He didn’t budge.

You let out a short huff and crawled around him. One bedroll left. Ignoring the man, you began the cantrip.

By the time you finished, you looked up to see all three of them watching you.

“What?” you asked, a little disturbed by the attention.

“I hadn’t thought to use that cantrip like this before,” Gale said as he knelt down to touch the bedroll. “How long does it last?”

“All night,” you responded, feeling a little proud of yourself.

Shadowheart was already crawling into the bedroll. “This feels amazing.” She buried herself into the cloth. “It feels like I’m sleeping on a warm cloud.”

Gale shrugged and followed suit. “Gods, you’re right.” He sat up and looked at you. “I don’t know how you manipulated that spell, but it’s absolutely brilliant.”

You felt a zing of joy. Your little custom cantrip impressed a wizard!

The noble watched you for a few more moments before he too, crawled into a bedroll. His eyes widened slightly. “Oh. My, this is rather comfortable.”

You jutted out your chin, but refrained from being too catty about it. Instead, you switched to being polite. 

“Sweet dreams,” you said to everyone, and went about cleaning up around camp. By the time you were done, the three of them were fast asleep.

***

The motley crew thanked you and took off in the morning to explore the area, seemingly never to return.

You looked around at your unpacked things, and decided that it wouldn’t hurt to start off tomorrow morning instead.

Your plans were sidetracked once more, however, when the group returned that evening with a fourth member, grouchy and prickly as a threatened porcupine. After a couple of bowls of your herbal soup, she became a little bit less prickly. Lae'zel was her name, and she punctuated her Common speech with her Githyanki tongue. You found it a bit endearing, the way one finds a stray animal that always hisses at you endearing. 

You cast a warming spell on their bed rolls once more, burned incense to keep the insects away, and made sure they were all comfortable in your little camp area outside of your cottage before going to bed.

The next morning, you got up early to make breakfast for them before they left to explore the ruins that they had found the day before. As you checked your rabbit traps, you noticed one of them was tripped, but the rabbit within was a mere husk, as if it had been dehydrated. 

Curious. 

You reset your trap and returned to camp.

“What’s that?” Shadowheart asked when she saw the husk of a corpse in your hand.

“A dried up rabbit.”

“That doesn’t sound appetizing,” Lae’zel remarked. 

You shrugged. “I can at least sell the pelt later. Sorry, you’ll have to make do with another vegetable stew tonight.” You furrowed your eyebrows. “That is, if you’re coming back here.”

The four adventurers looked at each other.

“I think we’ve taken advantage of your hospitality long enough,” Gale said. We’ll start heading west from here.”

*** 

The group had finally left, and you had finished packing. You had been delayed by their arrival, but no longer. They truly seemed gone now, with the sun setting and no sign of their return. Tomorrow for sure. Tomorrow, early in the morning, you would set off—

You heard your name being called. Off in the distance, you could see Gale, waving sheepishly at you, followed by the others. 

You sighed. Biting back your annoyance, you smiled and waved back. A customer was a customer. At least this group was entertaining, and quite generous with their gold. And this time, they brought you back some boar meat.

There was one new face, a man with a stone eye. He introduced himself as the Blade of the Frontiers, Wyll. He seemed nice, charismatic even. Someone who had the manners of a noble but the heart of a commoner.

They set up camp once more in your yard, and you unpacked just enough of your supplies to make them a meal. 

"You look like you're ready to go on a journey," Gale commented as you all sat around the campfire, eating a boar roast with herbed potatoes.

"I'm moving. Many people have moved away because of the increase in goblins in the area, and a lot of my business has dried up. And having goblins this close doesn't make me feel all too safe."

“Any plans on where?”

You shrugged. “Not really. I was just going to travel until I found a place to settle.”

"Well, why don't you come with us?" 

Everyone looked at Gale in shock, but then they all looked at you. 

"You do make camp much more comfortable," Shadowheart finally said. 

“And one of us would be standing guard at camp as well, so you would be safe,” Wyll added.

You saw no reason to decline. You liked most of them, save for one snotty noble. A constant flow of income would be nice, for once. You negotiated a decent wage and agreed to head out with them at first light.

That, dear hearth witch, was your second poor decision.

--------

Chapter End Notes:

Yeah, I basically made up a “hearth witch” class as a combo of druid, wizard, and cleric, but hey, welcome to Dungeons & Dragons, where homebrew classes happen all the time. Hope you enjoyed the fic! I'm actively working on the next chapter!

Update 4/4/24: All chapters are here!

Act I - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

Act II - Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | 

Act III - Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 (18+) | Part 28 (END)

[goodluckdetective]

FIC: FIVE HOURS (Tumblr Edition)

Ship: Durge/Astarion but this is a fic about Astarion

Fandom: BG3

Warnings: Astarion backstory is referenced in passing

Rating: PG-13

AO3

Summary: 

Being controlled by one’s dark urge is hard, but watching someone you care for lose themselves might be harder. Or Astarion and five hours spent watching over someone he can no longer recognize. (How do you keep hating yourself as a monster when you've started to fall for one?)

Notes:

Hello, I took one look at vampire man and Durge and went “ah yes, the drama of falling in love with someone who sees themselves as a monster.” This fic does have a custom dark urge/durge because I don’t think it hits as hard otherwise, but it’s very much a fic about Astarion. Rune in this piece is me holding up a mirror and going “if you’re gonna to see the humanity in this person, then why do you refuse to do it for yourself” while Astarion hisses like a cat. Sorry bud, get perceived. All you need to know about Rune is that they’re a NB human wild magic sorcerer (they/them) A big thanks to @dykezambo and Rose for being my beta readers. I salute you.

Fic is below the cut

HOUR ONE:

Astarion thinks it might still be some sort of sick prank until Rune Tavernus’ eyes roll up into the back of their head and they collapse to the ground in a heap.

A prank would make more sense than this, Astarion thinks, as he scrambles onto his feet and towards the unconscious sorcerer. Rune wasn’t much of a prankster, but they did have some wit and a streak of dark humor to match. What the point would be of a prank like this was beyond Astarion, but in his head he can manufacture a bizarre scenario where Rune thinks it would be funny to give Astarion a taste of his own medicine with a sinister wake-up call. And yes, the whole explanation of “killing the one they cared most for” didn't fit the prank theory, Rune wouldn’t play with his feelings so brazenly, but when one's occasional bedmate starts rambling about being forced to kill you, a cruel trick tends to be a kinder explanation. 

And then Rune passed out and that idea had gone out the metaphorical window.

“Shit,” Astarion says, pressing his palm to their forehead. Rune runs warm to Astarion, almost everyone does, but they feel clammy to the touch. Their short white hair is almost damp with sweat and sticks to their forehead. He shakes them, once, then twice, calling their name with increasing volume, but they don’t stir. That in itself is alarming; Rune is not a deep sleeper. In fact, they’re known for sleeping poorly, waking up from unremembered dreams with a choked-off scream. Every morning they chug whatever caffeinated beverage Halsin brews as soon as it’s cool enough not to burn their tongue. 

Rune doesn’t rouse even after a minute of shaking. Astarion considers waking Shadowheart, but the whole business with Alfira gives him enough pause to instead first go for the rope in his pack. Rune had been back to normal by morning when she was slain; if this is similar, then Astarion would just have to wait until dawn for a full explanation. With a great deal of effort on his part, he drags Rune to an open bedroll closest to the fire and binds their arms together as well as their legs, feeling somewhat like out of body. 

(He tries hard to not think of a pig prepared for slaughter. He tries harder to not think about how Cazador might have tied up the people he brought home the very same way.) 

“You know, this was not the situation I was envisioning when the idea of you and rope came to mind,” he says, because making a flirty joke is familiar and Gods knows he needs something familiar right now. This is a situation he can handle better as Astarion the rake, who lets nothing get too close, who brushes off mortal peril with a quick comment and a fake grin. When he’s sure the ropes are tight, he walks over to his bedroll, and grabs a blanket to sit on, a light scroll, a book, and after some hesitation, his daggers. 

(He’s not going to need them, he isn’t. Rune gave him these daggers and told him to “keep them as sharp as your fangs” should he choose to use them.)

(He desperately hopes he’s not going to need them).

Once his supplies are grabbed and organized, he places the blanket on the ground and sits on it. He casts light on a nearby wilted plant, and sits back. He looks at the sorcerer he has bedded in a gambit for security and thinks about how said gambit turned on its head when he found he actually rather liked the person who offered to cast him minor illusion to see his own reflection and provided their blood in a land of shadows because “you shouldn’t starve.”

“I will admit this isn’t how I wanted to spend my evening, but I suppose I’ll survive.” He reaches for his book and opens it, even though he doubts he’s going to be able to focus enough to read a word. “Hopefully, this is all a false alarm, and I can simply catch up on this chapter. Do you think the Count will actually manage to make any progress in his grand plan, or is he going to keep dithering about Waterdeep for another thirty pages?”

(The book was also a gift from Rune, though it was not the first one the sorcerer gave him. A day after reaching the Blighted Village, Astarion had sneaked back from his midnight meal to find the human grumbling over a slightly burnt text near the fire. Hoping to distract them from the fact he was awake in the first place, Astarion had inquired about the books’ contents, only to find himself the audience for a tirade about overly complicated murder plots. Apparently, Rune had strong opinions on the accuracy of snakes climbing ropes. From that point on, Astarion had found himself part of the world’s strangest murder mystery book club, where the pair both tried to guess how the murder took place and then endlessly complained about how overcomplicated it was when stabbing them in an alley would work just fine). 

Rune does not reply. Astarion doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not. Instead of debating it further, he instead tries to turn his attention to the text in front of him, and hopes that Rune is wrong and the only thing that will occur this night is Astarion getting some reading in and Rune waking up with some neck pain.

HOUR TWO: 

Rune wakes up around ten minutes after the first hour mark. 

That isn’t quite correct. Something wakes up around the ten minute mark. It is not Rune.

Astarion knows it before they even open their mouth. From the moment they wake up, they struggle against their own bindings, jerking much like a wounded animal caught in a trap. When their eyes open, there are none of the emotions he’s used to seeing in their expression, instead an empty raw look that reminds Astarion of a starving hound. Before he can say a word, they snarl at him.

“I see my rope is sadly going to good use,” Astarion says, putting the book aside and getting on his knees in case he needs to stand and get away. He doubts it, those knots should hold and Rune doesn’t seem to be capable of casting spells at the moment, but it's best to be cautious. 

“I will rip out your tongue and swallow it whole,” Rune says in a voice that does not sound like Rune at all. It’s a whole octave lower, and there’s a throaty edge to it, like the human has inhaled smoke.

“I know I tease quite a bit, but ripping out my tongue is rather excessive, don’t you think?” The banter doesn’t land, it’s almost like Rune can’t even hear him. Astarion wonders if they will even remember this in the morning. 

He hopes not. He can remember watching his body follow Cazador’s every order as he tried desperately to claw back control. It is a fate he would not wish on any of his companions. 

It occurs to him that this could be like a possession. It would make the most sense, and the impulse to wake up Shadowheart returns. Rune hisses and snaps forward, trying to bite one of his hands and Astarion steps back. He can see drool and blood from their now broken lip fall onto the bedroll. 

( He can see himself in a coffin, snapping at the rat Cazador is holding out for him with a wicked smile .)

No, he won’t wake her. Not yet at least, not unless morning comes without a respite. Instead he shakes his head, tries to keep his voice light. 

“Ah, ah, ah, we ask before we bite.”

Rune snaps at him again, struggling at the bindings and Astarion can smell the blood from broken skin on their wrists and lip. His own mouth waters and he ignores it.

If there is one thing he learned in Cazador’s halls, it was how to be hungry. 

HOUR THREE:

After an hour, the thing that has taken Rune’s face stops threatening to murder him and starts growling instead. Despite it being off-putting, Astarion is thankful for the respite, as all the comments about ways to display his internal organs were getting old. 

“You’re cute, you know.,” he says, too tired to think through what he’s saying. “In another life we might have been friends.”

It’s an odd thought that comes to mind, the concept of him meeting whatever this is back when he was under Cazador’s boot. What would he make of someone like this, who growled murderous insults and clawed at the ground as if the dirt could draw blood? Interesting perhaps? Maybe pitiful? An asset against Cazador?

(He knows what he would have done. He would have dragged them back to the manor and not had a second thought as soon as Cazador had them in his clutches. He would have gone back to the rooms and thought nothing more of a human with white hair, a lanky build and a soft smile. He would have continued on and not known that should he have met that same human during the day, they would ask him about the embroidery on his sleeves and tease him that magistrates were actually in contact with the hells. He would not even know the human’s name when the sun rose to a world they no longer occupied).

(He cannot think about this. He refuses). 

He feels like he’s going to be sick. 

“On second thought,” he says, looking away from Rune. The shadow lands around them seem darker at night. He finds himself desperate for the sun. “It’s probably for the best that we didn't meet at all.”

The thing that is not Rune growls again, with more energy this time. 

“Growl all you want but it won’t stop the dawn. This will be over soon.”

HOUR FOUR:

Whatever is controlling Rune goes back to insults eventually, though their voice frayed from all the growling. Astarion ignores most of them, until one in particular captures his attention.

“I will wed you with a delicate veil of blood blooming over your white curls.”

Astarion stares at Rune, or whatever is possessing them, with a rather shocked expression. It says something about his life, or undeath, he supposes, that the word “wed” is the one that caught him off guard in that sentence, not the rest of it. Marriage is not a concept he has thought about in relationship to himself for at least a century. When he was younger it had its allure, Astarion was serious when he said Wyll was the type of man he dreamed of marrying when he was thirteen, but now? He’s a spawn, for Gods sake. Creatures like him either die or become vampire lords: there are no other endings. 

He does not say any of this out loud. Instead he goes for a quip. 

“Marriage? Darling, I think you’re getting ahead of yourself, we’re not even-“

He cuts off. They’re not even what? More than bedmates? That’s not right: he hasn’t bedded Rune since they entered the shadowlands and Rune has made no complaint about it at all. Not even friends? That didn’t seem right either. He’s not sure how to label how he feels about this human, but when one offers to draw your scars in the dirt so you can see them and you actually let them, you were probably at least friends.  Exclusive? No, that also doesn’t fit. Astarion hasn’t bothered to lie with anyone else in camp and Rune hasn’t either, even when Astarion made it clear he didn’t mind. And it wasn’t like Rune didn’t have options to pick from: Lae’Zel’s proposal had been quite direct and Astarion had bit the inside of his cheek to not laugh as their usually composed sorcerer flushed peach pink. Gale had made an attempt as well, though Rune didn’t tell him about that one until afterwards. 

“I’ve spoiled you too much for even the lover of a Goddess. How flattering!” They were in Rune’s tent at the time, a mage light cast upon a blue crystal Rune kept around for decor. It was one of the few pieces of decoration they kept around consistently, as the human tended to switch things out, trying to figure out what they liked and what they didn’t from the ruins of their memory. Rune had returned from a talk with Gale with a moderate flush and after a glass of terrible wine and some cajoling, Astarion had gotten the whole story out of them.

Rune tilted their head and shook it slightly. Their hair was rumpled from a day of casting electricity magic, and Astarion resisted the urge to curl his fingers into one of the white cowlicks. Something about the lack of polish Astarion found endearing.  

“No, no, not that,” they said. “It’s just, well for one, I don’t like him like that. And even if I did, well-” Rune took a sip of their wine, finishing off the glass. “His last relationship wasn’t good for him-”

“Darling, you cannot kill the Goddess of magic,” Astarion said, noticing a hard glint in their eyes. It wasn’t like Astarion was on board with the idea as a concept, the Goddess sounded dreadful, but he rather liked existing and fighting Gods was a speedy way to die. He didn’t mind Rune’s more violent tendencies, but he’d rather they not get themselves smited. 

“Anyway-” Rune continued, ignoring him. “He’s a sweet man but, well.” They placed the glass on a wooden stump Rune used as a side table and tangled their fingers together. It was something they did when they were being thoughtful. “Gale seems to admire me too much for his own good. I’d ruin him.” 

That was not the answer Astarion was expecting. He sat up on his own bedroll, a feeling of apprehension coming over him.

“And what, you think I’m-” Already ruined? That stung more than Astarion cared to admit, even if it wasn’t surprising. He didn’t finish his sentence. He couldn’t. Saying it out loud made it seem too concrete, too physical, too noticeable. 

"What! No!” Rune’s eyes grew large and they shook their head violently. They tore their left hand from their right to gesture with and for a moment, Astarion feared for the fate of the wine glass on the table should they accidentally knock it off. With their right hand, they reached out and grabbed Astarion’s hand tightly, while their left reached out for his jaw, pausing a moment so he could turn away should the touch be unwanted. Astarion didn’t protest, and Rune’s hand touched his chin briefly to tilt his head up so he’d meet their eyes. “No, absolutely not. Shit, I could have phrased that better. Gods, no, Astarion, I didn’t mean it that way.”

"And in what way could you mean it?” The sneer in Astarion’s voice wasn’t intentional, but it was better than sounding hurt. 

Rune bit their lower lip, which was something Astarion often found adorable when he was in a better mood. They looked away from him, took a steadying breath, then looked back. “I’d ruin Gale because he’s a hopeless romantic. He’s sweet, but he has a nasty habit of hubris; if faced with an unstoppable problem, he’d burn himself alive to fix it. I’m not saying you’re not smart, or romantic-“

“Or beautiful, don’t forget beautiful.”

Rune chuckled, some tension leaving their shoulders. “That too, as well as quite vain.” Astarion pouted at the addendum but let the sorcerer finish. “I’m saying you’re smart enough to run away.” 

Astarion considered that for a moment. It was certainly better than what he’d originally thought, but he wasn’t quite sure if it was a compliment. What was that supposed to mean? “Are you calling me a coward now?”

Rune smiled, a little sad, and rubbed their thumb across the back of his hand. It was unfamiliar but nice. “No, no, more realistic .” They leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, something they’d previously only done after sex. “I just know you’ll be safe, that’s all. That you wouldn’t hurt yourself for a hopeless cause.” 

Rune jerks again in their sleep, snapping Astarion out of the memory. Thinks of resignation in the sorcerer's eyes that night, how something about it ached. How familiar the sentiment felt.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Astarion says as the sorcerer spits out another cruel insult.

He’s shocked to find that he means it. 

HOUR FIVE

Astarion has spent much of life afraid, but he has never been so frightened when the dawn is an hour away and Rune has not stopped twitching.

He thought he was done with this, the idea of caring for others. After the year in the darkness, he’d swore to never care about anyone again except himself because caring was a luxury and he couldn’t even afford to buy new clothes. The tadpole has given him more freedom than he’s had in centuries but as long as Cazador was alive, caring was supposed to be off the table. 

And yet. And yet. 

Astarion intended for Rune to be a means to an end. Someone to wind around his finger like an armor against the world. But Astarion does not find himself panicking when his armor is dented or bruised. Astarion does not spend more time with his armor than necessary so it will not be lonely. Astarion does not worry that should his armor learn it was initially a means to an end of keeping him safe, it will never trust him again.

(This metaphor is rubbish, this Astarion knows. Watching someone you care for deeply scrape their wrists raw makes one less adept in turns of phrases).

For the first time all night, Rune whimpers, a small soft noise that would have frozen Astarion’s heart if it was still beating. Rune doesn’t whimper (well, not unless it was in the fun sort of way). They’re  reluctant to show weakness or accept the comfort they so freely give to others. For them to sound like this-

Astarion reaches forward and when the human doesn't try to bite him, he pushes their white hair back and out of their eyes. They were drenched in sweat, and still clammy. Before he can pull away, they lean into his hand with a sigh, seeking comfort from frozen hands, and Astarion feels his throat tighten.

“This thing can’t have you,” he says, running his thumb against their forehead wrinkles and a faded scar just over their right eyebrow. They are so covered in scars, and each day they risk gaining even more. “It won’t win.”

Rune doesn’t respond to his statement, instead breathing softly. They must have finally worn themselves out to fall asleep. Astarion considers pulling his hand back, he probably should given the threat were they to wake up again, but he finds himself reluctant to do so, instead continuing to gently stroke the sorcerer’s brow with his thumb. 

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” He whisperes. The birds were starting to chirp now, singing their song in anticipation of the sunrise. “Come back to yourself, and I’ll consider telling you. I think that’s a fair bargain.”

DAYBREAK:

Day comes and Rune returns with it. 

They don’t open their eyes right away, tense and still. Astarion can see them rub their hands together and they stiffen further when the sorcerer’s thumb runs across some dried blood on their palm. He doesn’t understand why until the corner of their eyes tighten and they suck in a short breath, a whisper of a sob on the precipice. 

Rune told the entire camp that when Alfira died, they’d woken up in the morning with their hands covered in blood. For them to wake up and find the same sensation present-

“It’s your own blood, darling,” Astarion says, reaching forward to place his hand on their shoulder. Their eyes open wide, and they take him in with a look that Astarion feels like he might be able to name if he lived a kinder existence. “You rubbed your wrists raw enough to bleed, I’m afraid.”

“Astarion,” they said, lips parting, some tension melting from their frame. “You’re alright.” Then, they flinch, pain crossing their features. “Ow, my neck.”

Astarion almost wants to cry at the complaint. “You might have strained it trying to bite me. Do you remember that?”

Given the sudden look of horror on Rune’s expression, they do now. 

Rune explains what they can after Astarion unties them. Most of it are things Astarion already knows; Alfira, the urges, the loss of sleep. The insight about Isobel and the butler is a new one, and he thinks back to the cape in his tent that Rune had shoved onto him like they couldn’t get rid of it fast enough. At the time, Astarion thought the gift was an attempt to curry his favor. He’s not sure how to view the gift with this new context.

“I was wondering why you didn’t want to spend much time enjoying Harper's hospitality,” Astarion muses. He watches as Rune rubs their wrists with their palms, trying to massage out the aches. They will need to see a healer for certain; Astarion knows they’ve been dabbling in the bardic arts but not enough to heal injuries. 

“I thought I couldn’t risk it,” Rune says, moving to pick up the rope. Astarion watches as they cast mending and then pull at each end. When the rope holds firm, they hand it back to Astarion. “I thought the less time I spent around there, the less likely I might slip up.”

“If you’d shared that earlier, I would have grumbled less about the horrors of the great outdoors.”

Rune shoots him an apologetic frown. “I thought telling Isobel would be enough. I never thought-“ They close their eyes briefly and sigh. “I should have considered it a possibility. I’m sorry.” When they open their eyes again, Astarion does not miss how they take a step away from him. They look towards the other tents, avoiding his gaze.

“I should tell the others.”

Astarion reaches forward and grabs their wrist. They pull back for a moment and Astarion loosens his grip to make it clear that’s an option, if they want it. But after a second passes and they don’t pull away, he pulls their hand up to inspect the rope burns and cuts. Their wrists are going to bruise a sickening greenish-yellow. 

“You don’t have to tell them if you don’t want.” Astarion says, dropping their wrist. He forces a smile, makes sure his fangs are visible. “I can keep a secret.”

Rune’s hand reaches forward and up, like they are going to touch Astarions face, then stops, dropping arruptly. Astarion finds himself disappointed by the lack of contact. How strange. 

“I know you can,” they said. “But they deserve to know that there’s a danger. I can’t hide a monster from everyone.” And with that they head off towards Lae’Zel’s tent, to start gathering everyone for an unpleasant announcement.

It takes Astarion a moment to realize the “monster” they’re talking about is Rune themselves. 

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

Rune tells everyone about the night once everyone is up, gathering everyone around the remains of the fire. For someone who might not have slept more than an hour last night, they’re relatively composed as they tell the story, though they don’t look anyone in the eye as is their usual habit. As the tale begins to wind down, Astarion is reluctant to look at their companions either. 

It occurs to Astarion halfway through Rune’s tale something that he should have realized much earlier: he might be content to camp with a sleeping murderer, but other people might object. In fact, most people might protest to such a situation, and he can feel himself grow colder as he realizes a grave mistake.

When Rune woke him last night, Astarion saw someone who needed their help. He’d held off from grabbing anyone else for the sake of Rune’s privacy. But he never considered they might see something else: a monster needing to be exorcized. 

He steps closer to Rune and is very glad they are wearing their gear.  Astarion doesn’t think most of the camp will attack Rune, it would be foolhardy given the prism’s like of their resident sorcerer, but fear makes people foolish and he is not betting Rune’s life. The sorcerer doesn’t appear to be paying much attention to their crowd at all, a rarity for them, speaking of an urge to maim and kill as they stare down at their raw wrists. When they bring their story to a close, their voice is a whisper from overuse.

“And that’s it,” they say, rubbing a thumb over a red mark on their left hand. “I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret, you know that, I just-it escalated so fast. I thought-no I hoped, Alfira was a one off and when I realized otherwise, well-“ A half hearted shrug. “I’m sorry for not saying anything earlier but that’s all I know.” They look up, exhausted. “I can’t promise it won’t happen again. I’m terrified it will happen again.”

Rune is looking at Astarion when he says the last part. Astarion knows what they’re trying to say, besides the obvious. The statement is one part apology and one part resignation. Permission for him to run away as fast as possible and not look back.

He should run away, that’s the thing. Or at least consider it. Astarion has spent two centuries desperately wishing for the power to just run away, and now that he has it, he should be taking it as far away from this ruinous sorcerer as possible.

He doesn’t want to. It’s ridiculous, and ludicrous and absurd, but he doesn’t want to. Not because this group offers him the closest thing he has to protection against Cazador, not because the prism might not work if he runs too far, but because the person who is now the greatest threat to his person was also the one who offered him blood when he was starving, who stole him gently used clothes because he had none, who treated him not with pity or condemnation but as a person. 

Astarion has so little he could call his own. But whatever relationship lies between him and Rune mocking poorly painted portraits and trying to solve mystery novels three chapters in was his. He will not throw it away so easily. 

Karlach speaks first. “So, how are we doing this then? I’m thinking about shifts so no one gets too tired?”

“What?” Rune sounds entirely lost and Astarion finds he doesn’t follow either. He watches as Karlach counts everyone in camp off on her fingers.

“Well, there are seven of us total, so we could probably each pick a different day and then rotate who has two shifts each tenday.”

“Do you think one of us would be suitable alone, or should we do pairs,” Lae’Zel adds, looking equally contemplative. A smile starts to spread across Astarion’s face as he realizes what they’re discussing. “Though if Astarion could hand it by himself, pairs might be a wasteful use of manpower.”

“Hey-“ Astarion says but before he can speak further, Wyll chimes in. 

“I can take tonight: I rested earlier last night anyway.”

“Are you guys offering to watch me sleep?” Rune says, staring at everyone with their mouth slightly open. It would be cute if they weren’t so incredulous. 

“Ew, that makes it sound creepy,” Karlach says. “We’re watching you in case you get all stabby again.”

“Do they even know how to properly wield a blade?” Lae’Zel eyes Rune’s arms and raises an eyebrow. “They couldn’t even open a door two days ago.”

For the first time since they’ve woken, Rune sounds something other than exhausted. “That door was solid stone-“

“Rune can wield a blade just fine,” Astarion purrs, trying to hide the relief that this is the result of this conversation. Everyone groans, Rune included.

They hash out the specifics of the rotation after that. No one mentions when Rune rubs at their eyes and takes a shuddering breath, nor do they point out how they cling to Karlach when she pulls them into a hug. Shadowheart offers to take a look at her religious texts to see if this malady might be divine in nature, while Gale offers in turn to message Tara and inquire about some texts he has back in Waterdeep. By the time Astarion and Rune are left alone, there is a full schedule set for watching the sorcerer for fits, with Astarion free to steal any extra should he wish to monopolize their time for himself without watching eyes. Rune looks an odd mix of fond and overwhelmed.

Astarion’s heart twists at that. Was that how he looked, when Rune offered him blood upon being rudely awoken? Was that how Astarion looked the next morning when everyone else learned of his affliction and no one began sharpening a stick?

Gratitude should not hurt so much. 

“I know you said it’s worth the peril but I did mean it, you know. When I said you could run. I won’t take it personally.” Rune says after a moment. They’re looking him in the eye, a sharp contrast to earlier when they were speaking about their urges. 

“You did mention it, yes. You know, you told me it wasn’t an insult but I find myself rather insulted. Do you truly expect me to cut and run?”

Rune’s chin tilts up, their face stoic, but Astarion can hear the hint of a tremble in their voice. “You should.”

Astarion thinks to last night. How Rune had woken him up and in a shaky voice told him that his life was in danger solely due to the sorcerer’s care. A care Rune apparently doesn’t expect to be returned in light of this recent revelation.

Astarion will have to remedy that. Come clean about his whole botched scheme really, which he’s frankly dreading, but some tasks are worth doing despite the mess. Now isn’t the best time but soon. He’s hoping he’ll find the right words soon enough, words that are actually his instead of automatic cloying phrases used over two centuries of hell. To stop feeling like he needs to put on an act.

“I’ve been doing quite a few things I shouldn’t do recently; walking in the sun, leaving the city, snacking on nearby sorcerers,” He turns to Rune and quirks one eyebrow. “I might as well keep at it with such excellent results.”

Rune blushes and chuckles. Their hand is right there, should Astarion wish to take it, but it doesn’t feel right, not until he tells them the entire truth at least. Hopefully it will still be there once the dust has settled.

It might be nice, he thinks, to lace his fingers between theirs and know that he’s doing so solely because he wants to. 

[themaskstayson]

Just want to share info on Faith in Elden Ring and Baldur's Gate 3 cause there's a few parallels.

Race: Numen is technically the race I picked in character creation, descendants of denizens of another world; long-lived but seldom born.

Faith would not inform the group of being a Numen since they have no understanding of the Land Between but i think it's safe to say Faith would just say they're human since there are so many non-human beings in Elden Ring. But they will talk about being a tarnished and Grace more often than not since Lae'zel, Shadowheart, and Gale have not so great experiences with their goddesses; Faith could relate on some level on how the gods punish to the extreme and how they suffer and either push through to gain the favor of the gods or overcome the need to gain the gods favor.

Which I'll bring up Faith's eyes. Faith isn't blind. They aren't like the potentional Finger Maidens you meet like Irina, and by extension Hyatta, who have weak eye sight. I took the idea of losing Grace a bit too seriously and how the Tarnished loses the gold in their eyes because of it. I also really dig the blank eye design...

Gender: Agender

Faith see themself more as a weapon than a human and doesn't care for gender roles at all. In Elden Ring gear isn't really pushed to fem or masc presenting like how it is in BG3. Faith's body type is feminine in BG3 cause of limitations.

Age: Young

Since the Rune of Death is sealed, the Faith and others cannot die, and I'm assuming cannot age. Faith stopped aging in their early to mid 20s because that's usually when soldiers are recruited. Depending on the events, of Marika ascending to godhood and when the tarnished tries to become Elden Lord, Faith would probably be closer to Halsin's age or even older.

Sexuality: *Shrug*

Faith is probably somewhere on the ace spectrum? Sex doesn't interest them, but they will do it if "prompted." They don't need to be romantically involved to do it but they also wouldn't just so it to anyone either. So, sadly, drow twins are a no go.

Romantically, they would be polyamorous. Especially around the BG3 cast. Being alone in their journey in the Land Between to suddenly having a group to support them, they might skew the idea of romantic relationships and platonic ones. Which doesnt help when all the cast wants to fuck you if youre friendly to them. Which would have to be another post of how they view the companions' advances for sex and romance.

Class: Confessor/Paladin

The Confessors are tarnished that turned from the Golden Order and then confessed for their sins and then made into spies to hunt down other tarnished that strayed. They have high faith starting stats and use a sword and shield.

I'm not gonna learn how to mod and port over this armor or weapons to BG3 but Faith would be wearing this throughout their Faerûn adventure.

They look so good so Faith would use those lol

It only made sense to be a Paladin, despite being a spy and can easily pick rogue also. Especially with the dark urge option about your class: The oath you awoke with is some faded instinct. Felt extra fitting as to Faith serves the Golden Order to persevere Queen Marika but along the way breaks their oath once they learn more through their travels. Would restoring the Golden Order be right? Would following the Three Fingers and burn everything into a frenzy to hope that something better be born anew be better? Is restoring death a better path?

Apparently playing as a paladin Durge you can talk to the Oathbreaker and he will state that he indeed knows you and you have broken your oath before.

And with Faith's lack of faith in the Golden Order would be breaking their oath with the idea of turning from it.

Lastly why they're in Faerûn:

Faith mentions to Astarion that they were fighting the Elden Beast and died during the fight and instead of going back to the last Grace Site they touched, they ended up being removed completely from their plane of existence.

I don't have it set in stone but I am playing with the idea that the Greater Will, or another Outer God, intervened since it is possible that it is an Outer God and probably has the power to do so. Faith isn't sure what is the best outcome for the Land Between and seeing that the tarnished the Greater Will chose might cause greater harm than good, it removed Faith completely.

[legacyshenanigans]

I wanna punch myself in the face for being so fuckin stupid 🤣 Started another BG3 playthrough, and my brain just completely switched off and I was running on autopilot in the opening Nautiloid bit (which is often the case when I restart games ive played a million times) And I went through to that room where the corpse that's carrying the rune to free Shadowheart was in, and the corpse didn't have the rune, and then my brain jumpstarted again and I was like "Wtf? Where's the fuckin rune to free her?!"

Then I realised I'd decided to do a Shadowheart playthrough..And that I WAS Shadowheart. 🤣

[fkitwebhaal]

I play BG3 on a steam deck but for ref, here’s a Rune:

I’d add more scars if I could but the character creator said no.

[sucksinlosers]

Hey do you remember that BG3!Beauty and the Beast brainfart I had

Yanno, this one

I need y'all to know I'm not a writer but I

Well @shinylayatha made me do it

SUCH WIP VERY WOW i don't honestly even know what I'm doing asdfghjkl this is literally only Tav arriving at the tower and I don't even know of they're gonna stay Tav forever or if they're becoming an OC but yeah

Sorcerer Tav, AFAB. My stupid rambles under the cut

So… this was it.

Tav pulled gently on the straps of her backpack, clinging to them for some form of support as a hint of doubt began to creep in. She wasn’t exactly sure what she expected the Wizard’s tower to look like, but she had thought it would look… structurally sound, at the very least. That didn’t feel like entirely too much of an ask. Looking up at it now, however - bricks and mortar crumbling, walls looking like the thick layer of winding ivy was the only thing keeping it together, dust coating every visible window - the sorcerer had her doubts.

Maybe this was a bad idea. The townsfolk had warned her, after all. The Wizard of Waterdeep was unpleasant and arrogant, entirely too engrossed in his own work to even entertain the thought of taking on an apprentice… and that was before he had disappeared from the public eye entirely a few years prior. Gods only knew what the isolation had done to him since. Gods only knew if he was even still alive. Not that the populace seemed to miss him, mind, but being the home of a renowned archmage did come with benefits for the city of Waterdeep.

Long story short: while the people of the city weren’t itching to be rid of him forever, nobody certainly could be bothered to go and check in on him, either. Not until she came along, anyway.

Tav’s grip on her backpack straps tightened. No pressure, then. No pressure at all.

As she ascended the stairs toward the heavy, weathered double doors, the sorcerer couldn’t shake the feeling she was being watched. The light of the setting sun played on the glass in the arched windows; from the corners of her eyes, it felt almost eerie, like irises dilating and contracting behind half-closed lids. A shiver slithered down Tav’s spine, and an unsettling tingle began to settle in the base of her skull.

Magic.

She couldn’t quite tell what kind or its purpose, but it was there. Nearly imperceptible, like someone had gone through quite the effort to conceal it. The townsfolk probably weren’t aware it existed, probably writing it off as a sense of dread or unease upon straying too close, but Tav could tell. The tingle in the base of her skull, the faintest whiff of rose petals in the air, the tang of something bitter and metallic on her tongue. The Weave had been pulled taut over the tower’s walls, layer upon layer of intricate enchantments, and now that she knew it was there, Tav spied the ever so faintly glowing runes and sigils on the arches and support columns as she passed them.

The door knocker, wrought iron and dark, felt heavy in her hands, as if the years of disuse were settling on it like actual added weight.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

The heavy noise rang hollow in the space behind the door, and Tav held her breath as she waited. The seconds seemed to stretch on for an eternity, and not much of anything happened. Just the sounds of the wind rustling through the Waterdavian street behind her and her own breaths that she forced herself to take slow and steady, to calm her rapidly fraying nerves. Maybe they hadn’t heard. The tower was large and imposing, after all, and perhaps the knocks just didn’t carry up all that far.

Maybe the Wizard really was dead. Although, would the enchantment on the tower still hold if he was? Perhaps it wasn’t so much the Wizard keeping the enchantment intact as it was-

At this point, Tav had begun to shift her weight nervously from one foot to the other, eyes darting around to look at everything but the imposing door in front of her. This was silly. She was silly. This had all been a harebrained scheme to begin with; once again, she’d gotten invested in her own delusions, and now she was here, standing in front of an abandoned magical tower and making an ass out of herself. The townsfolk had warned her, too!

A sigh of resignation spilled past the sorcerer’s lips as she quickly, awkwardly, combed a hand through her hair. Gods damn it, she really should have known better…

She was down only one step, back down the staircase toward the street, when she heard it. For such a large, heavy door, honestly, she had expected it to make more of a noise as it opened. An eyebrow raised, both in surprise and then quickly suspicion, Tav slowly turned to indeed find one of the double doors opened, just a crack. “Oh,” she murmured, for nobody's benefit but her own. “That’s… not foreboding at all.”

[imagineitdearies]

Hi Imogen,

Long time lurker, first time poster. I wanted to let you know how much I've been enjoying Perfect Slaughter. I think you do such an inspiring justice to with the sheer horror of abuse, comfort of connection, characterization and extension of the source material in your writing. I've never read a fanfic quite like what you have done and you deserve so much kudos for it!!

Since you have mentioned you're a D&D nerd (same!), I'm curious about your answers to 2 questions about mechanics:

1) Have you thought about the tool or material that could be used to create the inevitable back scars 😞 ? I've noticed in your writing how much you have highlighted how flawless the spawn are once they've fully healed. All I can think of is something relating to a silvered weapon or something made out of infernal iron. I also know you probably can't fully answer this without it being spoiler-y.

2) This is more a game question, but I've had a few back and forths with my "forever DM" partner on this. Does Cazador actually die in BG3? For all my experience playing, I have admittedly never fought a vamp lord on table top. But from what I understand, there are few ways to actually kill them (I know of breaking their resting place or trapping their mist form). If Astarion comes in with a knife during a vamp's healing phase, would that kill them for good? I feel like I'm missing something here.

Anyway thank you! Apologies if you already got this ask (I'm new to using Tumblr). I'm looking forward to Ch. 23!

-MafWaff

Hi MafWaff 🥰 Always glad to meet a fellow d&d nerd!

Haha I did get your previous ask and was actually sitting down to tackle my ask inbox after a crazy week (just moved to a different state), so you have impeccable timing! Thank you so so much for your kind words, I'm endlessly ecstatic to hear that the story is being enjoyed. To answer your questions:

Yes I have thought about this! In canon, Astarion says Cazador used 'his needle' to carve the runes. I indeed have my own fancanon as to how exactly Cazador got them to be permanent and it will come up in Perfect Slaughter!

From what I understand, what Astarion does in canon without any other explanation wouldn't, in fact, kill Cazador for good by dnd law 😂 but bg3 definitely plays hard and fast with the rules when it wants to, so we're left to justify why the vampire lord doesn't just mist form back into his coffin again! Breaking/destroying their resting place, trapping their mist form for two hours, or reducing them to 0 HP while they're in sunlight or running water--ie rivers/lakes/ocean, not a bucket, of course--so they can't go into mist form at all are all viable methods for dnd. If you stake them in their resting place, they're instead incapacitated/paralyzed for a millennia until the stake rots entirely away (or some idiot un-stakes them). Others are welcome to chime in if I've missed something!

Sometimes the gaps and discrepancies between dnd lore and bg3 can be a bit frustrating (and spark some tiresome debates online, lol) but these ones have honestly been fun for me to figure out! Sort of like a puzzle I get to shape the missing pieces into 😊

Anyways, I'm excited for you guys to see what I came up with in future chapters!