#that he might not have selune’s blessing

[teecupangel]

I keep thinking about Desmond, our fave isekai protag, getting dropped into baldur’s gate 3. Only, per one of my favorite isekai tropes, as a no-name NPC. As one of the Sharess’s Caress escorts? As one of Astarion’s spawn?? Basically him just being Tired Of This Shit and trying to avoid the plot but of course that’s not going to work lol. I haven’t even decided if he would be a romantic interest for the MC or a companion or anyone, or what his class would be. But ugh his isekai potential too strong.

His isekai potential is too strong.

If we want Desmond tired of everything and just want to avoid the plot, I personally would put him somewhere safe-ish? Desmond is the type of person who wouldn’t turn a blind eye to atrocities if it smacked him on the forehead so the best way to ensure that he stays away from whatever plot is happening is by making him an NPC in a more or less stable area where he would feel like other more knowledgeable and experienced with all these ‘dungeons and dragons’ (they have magic, holy shit) got this. That would point us to someone in Baldur’s Gate before Act 3. This way, Desmond would have his peace and quiet until the party starts doing their thing and Desmond stop being able to turn a blind eye on everything and he’s ‘forced’ to assist this party of… well… interesting people

As for his class, well, you can go for the class I’m going for with my playthrough of BG3 as Desmond. I made him multiclass Rogue (Thief) and Ranger (Gloomstalker), with a little bit of Bard (College of Swords), specifically:

Rogue Lv 4 – Thief (because Thief’s skills are more all rounders than Assassin’s)

Ranger Lv 5 – Gloomstalker (more stealth options, Dread Ambusher is our Assassin skill lite and lv5 has extra attack XD)

Bard Lv 3 – College of Sword, more on the side of Desmond being good in being seen as ‘non threatening’ but his spell list is more on the side of support than actual damage.

If you want to keep him in one class only, making him a Thief (Assassin) would make the most sense with the hidden blade being more or less his one shot kill weapon, although in terms of gameplay that’s kinda like making him a “best in first round only” kind of deal. The multiclass above is the ‘compromise’ I made to have Desmond be more or less in line with his setup in Assassin’s Creed.

Of course, if you want to have fun and make Desmond suffer (affectionately), you can make him a Warlock with a pact with an unknown Great Old One. This would add a layer of mystery to who had ‘helped’ Desmond be pushed into Faerun and we can hint that the Great Old One is:

Isn’t actually a Great Old One but one of the gods but Desmond’s otherworldly-ness and his lack of ‘worshipping’ stopped him from being a Paladin or a Cleric and pushed him into Warlock territory

Is one of the Isus from his world that had escaped into Faerun (or somewhere close by) but, since that Isu is a deity from their world, the Isu is counted as one of the Great Old Ones (which sounds a lot like “Those Who Came Before”)

Desmond’s patron isn’t one entity but a legion, using some kind of system to support or affectionately bully him at times if and only if the legion reaches a majority vote. Desmond technically has multiple access to ‘Wish’ but it’s more of him asking help from the legion and hoping many of them would give him what he wants. … and, yes, I am basing the legion on the whole “Desmond’s patron is us” idea I have XD

Even if Desmond isn’t a magic class, I think he’d have a few scrolls with him, mostly support spells like Invisibility, Fly and even Enhance Leap (also Speak with Dead and Speak with Animal) with a few attack spells that he uses as distraction most of the time

Sidebar: I’m not sure if you mean Astarion’s spawn as in we’re setting this after BG3 with Astarion having ascended and making Desmond his spawn or if you meant Desmond is a fellow Cazador spawn, either way, we’ll have to find a way for Desmond to escape his sire’s thrall if that’s the case. The easiest would be Desmond getting a tadpole in his brain like Astarion but that does mean that… well… if his sire was Astarion, this will lead to Desmond wanting to kill Astarion because he sees being put in his thrall as something horrible as it makes him lose control over himself even if Astarion was to be… ‘kind’ to him. If it was Cazador though, then that means Desmond will want to kill Cazador (and maybe Astarion and the party helped him during the whole… Cazador ‘sidequest’) and that would be his reason for being unable to keep himself from the plot.

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Astarion Very Happy Ending, Part 2

Hey y'all, so I did a part two of this because I love happy, insanely, fluffy romantic endings. So I'm going hard here. There will be one more part!

Also, don't judge my Gale x Shadowheart bs here 💀💀 Long story short, first playthrough that was abanadoned, I picked her orgin and did get sweeped up by the mage man. It has not left my brain since.

Also, this has a time skip! A pretty long one too (10 years)

~

Astarion had been having… thoughts lately. Ideas that he couldn’t quite shake. Nothing bad, no. There really wasn’t much to complain about in his life, not anymore. Not when he could walk in the sun freely, unburdened by parasites and his own vampiric nature. The two of you were free to explore the world with no shackles, not including your religious zealotry. And ironically enough, his own. 

Astarion would never have guessed that he’d ever become a Selune convert. Well… even now convert may have been to strong of a word. Yes, he was immensely appreciative for the whole sun immunity blessing and he did have a newfound respect for the work of her worshippers. But Astarion wasn’t exactly looking for a deity, or anyone, to be subservient to. Not again. No, he’d much rather watch his love do the dirty work for his savior than fully commit himself. Besides, just because he wasn’t devoted to Selune didn’t mean he wasn’t devoted to you. Which might as well have been the same thing. 

Astarion loved you, adored you really, but gods could you be nonsensical at times. He was so happy the two of you had met because someone had to keep this idiotic fanatic alive. Someone to remind you that no darling, not everyone is redeemable. Please put the goblin down.

But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy being your protector. It was the least that he could do considering everything you’d done for him. And he just… liked having a valid excuse to accompany you everywhere. Astarion had never imagined himself to be such a clingy lover, but here he was. The two of you had been attached at the hip for nearly a decade now, with no end in sight. You had built a life together, had friends together, adventures and celebrations that filled his days with endless excitement and amusements.

That is one thing Astarion had to give Selune and her worshippers, they didn’t exactly lead boring lives. Though he supposed half of that had to with just how involved the opposition was. The two of you had slaughtered enough acolytes of Shar over the years for him to know just how covert they really could be. But it wasn’t just bloodsport that made things interesting, though it certainly did help. The exploring for ancient artifacts definitely helped to fill the time, as well as the constant search to find a cure for the rest of his unholy symptoms. 

As great as being in the sun was, Astarion wasn’t quite satisfied with that being the end. It was almost certainly impossible to find a full on cure to being a vampire spawn but… that wasn’t stopping either of you from looking for it. It was morbid, but Astarion wanted his life to have an ending. A natural one like what he hoped for you, not one where he was doomed to immortality and bloodlust until the end of time. 

Thank the gods that he had managed to fall in love with an elf. It at least gave him centuries instead of decades to figure out a solution to an eternal problem. Which brought him back to his current problem. Because the two of you had many, many years ahead. And as far as Astarion was aware you both planned on spending them with each other. Which implied… certain things.

Astarion had never been someone to fantasize about marriage. He had no reason to, not when he had been too busy barely surviving. Even when things became serious between the two of you it hadn’t been on his mind. He was much more concerned with keeping you at all instead of keeping you forever. 

But that had changed recently. Maybe it was because he had seen you officiate countless weddings over the years; young couples always clamoring at a chance to get a newlywed Selune blessing. Or maybe it was how others took note of the lack of a ring on his finger, taking it as an opportunity for unwanted flirtation. But either way, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Obsessing about it really, as he was want to do when it came to you.

He just… didn’t exactly know how to broach the subject. What was the reason? A silly little ceremony and a ring had no bearing on the depth of your relationship. He knew that. The two of you were bound to each other by choice, a love that felt as though it got stronger every day. But… it would be nice to have you in such a way. For the world to be aware of the seriousness of what you had together, shown simply through a pair of rings. And the thought of calling you his wife was quite enticing. 

He wasn’t quite sure why he was so hesitant to bring it up to you. Well… there was the slight delusional thought in his head that reminding you of forever could possible wake you up into realizing just how much better you could do than him. It wasn’t true, he was aware. But gods, your relationship had lasted a damn decade. When was he going to start feeling secure about all of this? 

It didn’t help when Gale of all people beat him to the punch. He and Shadowheart had developed quite the bond since your tadpole days. And your excitement over the announcement was adorable. Adorable enough for him to wonder just how you would react to it happening to you.

But he shoved his worries to the back of his mind, too busy being dragged all the way to Waterdeep for the week-long nuptials. You were highly involved in the wedding, which wasn’t exactly a shock. Shadowheart had stayed your best, most appreciated friend throughout the years, the two of you eternally tied through your shared goddess alone. You wrote to each other constantly and this was far from the first time you had dragged him across the realm for a visit. 

But this was probably the best time. He had to give the people of Waterdeep this, they knew how to celebrate. He wasn’t one to complain over a week filled of music, dance, and drink. The ceremony had been nice as well. Heart-warming even to watch Shadowheart walk down the aisle, smiling in a way she never could when she was devoted to Shar. With Gale sniveling at the other end and you officiating of course. 

The jealousy had been an unexpected touch. He couldn’t help but wonder what you would look like in her place. Dressed in white and silver, walking towards him with eternity in mind. 

It certainly wasn’t helping his dilemma, he could tell you that much. He was still thinking about it when they made it to the reception. It was impossible to bury thoughts of marriage when you were at a wedding. Would you want a large celebration like this? Or something more small and intimate? Hells, the two of you and a cleric in the middle of the woods would suffice to him. 

“To think, Astarion Ancunín at my wedding in the sunlight,” Gale laughed as he plopped down in the seat next to him, effectively putting an end to his internal fretting, “Who would have ever imagined?”

“Certainly not me,” Astarion scoffed with the slightest hint of a smile, “But I suppose things change.”

“I suppose they do,” Gale agreed, his eyes scanning the dancefloor for his new bride. There she was, dancing and giggling with you in the middle of ballroom,  “I just never expected it to be for the better.”

“It is a wonder that we’re all still alive,” Astarion agreed, smiling to himself when Shadowheart dipped you as you laughed hysterically, nearly falling over herself in the process, “Let alone being able to find love. Who would have thought the worshiper of the goddess of the dark would end up here.”

“Turns out she was hiding quite the personality behind the Shar mask,” Gale laughed, “Though I suppose we have Tav to thank for that. It was a real fight on who would have her as their best woman. A fight we both obviously lost. Though officiating seemed a good compromise.”

“She certainly has the experience,” Astarion sighed, “But I have a feeling this one will be her favorite. She’s happy for you two. We both are.”

“I’m happy for you too you know,” Gale added with a small smile, “I always thought the two of you would work out. I even made a killing in the pool we had going on for it.”

Astarion stared at him, brow raised, “You had a pool?”

“Oh absolutely,” Gale confirmed, completely shameless as he listed out the rules, “It got quite competitive after awhile. First, it was all about if you’d ever realize your feelings for her. Then when you went and did that we were betting on how long you’d both last before you left. And then when that didn’t happen, well. Let’s just say I got a few platinums richer.”

Astarion rolled his eyes at the news, barely even surprised, “I feel as though I’ve earned a cut of that.”

“Unfortunately it’s now our honeymoon fund. But I’ll owe you one.”

That was another aspect of this whole debacle that Astarion hadn’t even thought about. But gods, did it sound nice. Whole weeks dedicated strictly to the two of you. No religious duties or adventures to worry about, just… them. 

The joy of the thought must have shown on his face, because the next thing he knew Gale was looking him up and down, a small smirk on his lips, “What’cha thinking about over there?”

“That this wine is mediocre at best,” Astarion lied, avoid Gale’s eyes, “Tell me you at least got a good deal on it?”

But Gale wasn’t taking the bait. He was still watching him like a hawk. That was the problem with getting closer to people, and having, gods friends. 

You had to deal with the discomfort of being read like a book, “Does our little Astarion want to be wed?”

Astarion flinched at the accuracy, taking the time to shoot him a glare as he avoided the question, “I am nearly three centuries older than you.”

“Perhaps, but we both know two of them don’t count,” Gale said, barely missing a beat, “So tell me, do you already have a ring picked out?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I can help you pick one you know, there are many fantastic jewelers in Waterdeep. I believe she has the same ring size as Shadowheart, we can bring her along.”

Astarion rolled his eyes, ignoring the small blush creeping up his neck, “I want you to know that if this wasn’t your wedding day I would have slapped you by now. Consider my reluctance as your wedding present.”

“How generous of you,” Gale chuckled. But then he started to speak quieter, his voice taking on a more gentle and serious tone, “She would say yes you know. You’ve had her wrapped around your finger since the day you held that dagger to her throat.”

That was an exaggeration, but Astarion would be lying if he said the mention didn’t make him preen the slightest bit, “You forget that I did have competition.”

“Oh, barely,” Gale laughed, “You don’t get to reminisce of what could have been when you won. Gods, no one had any chance against you. And trust me, we tried.”

Astarion blinked at him, more than a little surprised, “You did?”

“Of course we did. We all did. What do you think Shadow and I bonded over? But the pining stopped eventually. Then it became…something more. Something deeper. She’s… a magnificent woman, my little shadow. Who has gone through too much…” Gale trailed off, his eyes still following his bride as he softly smiled,  “Suffice to say, neither of us are pining anymore. And I’m sure Shadow would love nothing more than to help plan her dearest friend’s nuptials.”

“Who ever said that you two would be involved?” Astarion scoffed, just to be an ass, “For all you know we’ll elope in Neverwinter.”

But Astarion’s grip backfired, if the smile on Gale’s face meant anything, “So that means you are going to propose?”

Oh for fucks sake. Astarion glared at him for the accuracy, at a loss for words. Besides it… it was true. Of course he was going to ask, where else would this fanatic line of thinking end? He just hadn’t expected Gale of all people to be the one to force him to admit it. 

“I-yes,” Astarion sighed, finally giving in, “Are you happy now? Yes, I’m going to.”

“Extremely,” Gale grinned, “Because you just won me another three hundred gold.”

[succubusdaydream]

By The Grace of The Moon || Astarion x Werewolf!Selunite!Reader || PT5

A/N: I’ve explained in an update (see here) but I’ll say again to those who didn’t see. This story was originally going to be one or two parts so I’ve been pulling a lot of this out of my ass. But, with encouragement, I’ve tried my best to write some of the underdark but have skipped the creche. I’ve also tried my best to write in Wyll, Karlach and Lae’zel but since I totally forgot about them, I’ve struggled for days to write them in. Because of this, I have ultimately decided to leave them out of this series. I love them and have even become a Wyll girly (have a fic idea that i've started) but I just can’t get them in properly. I’ve drained my writing trying to get them in, but nothing is fitting. I'm so sorry for that and I’m so sorry for the wait but FINALLY here is part 5 <3

Warnings: typical BG3 violence | made up lore about Lycans and Selune | kind of filler/fast paced

Masterlist || Word Count:4065

PT1 || PT2 || PT3 || PT4

---

The bright sun once again woke you up. Its rays pierced your closed eyes as you struggled to open them. For a second, you couldn’t remember what you were doing the night before. But then you remembered. You could still feel the touch of your mate’s cold hands as you sat up to look around for him. And you didn’t have to look far. He stood in front of you, arms stretched as he embraced the sun’s warmth for all it had to offer. On his back was a large scar. Carved into his porcelain flesh.

                His scent lingered in the air as you drank in his beautiful body. “Not staying for a cuddle?” Your confidence had skyrocketed overnight. No longer as shy around the one who you were bound too.

                “You sleep light.” He turned his head, looking at you from his peripheral. “I thought you’d be exhausted after last night.” His voice was light, and his arms lowered as he turned to look at you.

                “I could always go again.” You were quick to pull your knees up and hug them to you. The confidence was quickly gone as he turned to your still naked body.

                He smirked. “Tempting. But this might not be the time or place.” He reaches down and grabs something from the forest floor. Your shirt. He held it out to you. “Now, shall we go on? I want to go before anyone else thanks me for saving their tails.” You stood and completely dressed, finding your pants not too far from where he grabbed your shirt. “Oh. And don’t feel the need to brag to the other about our little tryst. Given the noise you made last night, I’m sure they already know.” With that, your walk back to camp was silent and your face once again a dark shade of ruby.

---

                No one had said much when you arrived back at camp. Gale was once again cooking, though this time it was a smaller pot, and Shadowheart was ushering out the rest of the hung-over Tieflings that had crashed in your camp. So after eating and gathering your things, you approached Halsin, who had made earlier promises to explain the next step in removing your tadpole.

                “I trust you enjoyed your evening. After all your efforts, it was well deserved. And it may be some time before you’re awarded another such night.” He told you about the cursed lands that surrounded the towers and two ways to get to it. An overpass through the mountains or a path through the underdark. Either way, your group would be faced with plenty of monsters and conflicts.

                So over the next few days, the four of you accidentally blew up an old temple of Lathander and then turned right back around to descend into the underdark through the now empty goblin camp. You had been trampled by a Bulette, been recruited by large fungi sovereign to kill nearby Duergar and then blessed by said fungi sovereign after fulfilling their request. The next thing they asked for was the head of a Drow, Nere. In their ‘camp’ you had helped a poisoned deepgnome and traveled across a large, dark lake to find and free her people. A large forge, the Lost Adamantine Forge, greeted your party when you docked, as well as some more angry duergar.

They too had a request for you. Help free your ‘fellow true soul’. The True Soul being the same one that the Sovereign had requested the head of. Nere. So with a bomb you picked up a while ago, you cleared the rocks he had caused to fall and easily defeated him and the rest of the Duergar that were around. It was an exhausting couple of days but after many sidetracks of requests, you and the others had finally made it out of the Underdark and into the Shadow Cursed Lands.

---

                The door creaked open and the light from your torch barley lit the way in front of you. It felt cold as you stepped out from Sharran building, a shiver running through your spin. Everything about this place set your senses to eleven and your grip on the torch tightened.

                “Halsin wasn’t lying. This place really is….” You couldn’t even find the words as you walked deeper into the shadows. You made sure to go slow and stick close to the others. If you had the confidence, you’d make sure to hold Astarion close to ensure his ultimate safety.

                As you walked deeper, Shadowheart’s whispers echoed through the whispering dark. “I can feel the shadow’s power here… but they don’t seem to be harming me. The Dark Lady shields me. I can feel her.”

                You quickly stop and turn towards her. You had of course already concluded that she was a worshipper of Shar. Her distaste for your Selune worship and the attempt to rebuild an altar of hers in the Goblin Camp had given it away. And her words of ‘the lady of sorrows guide us.’

                “Did you say something, Shadowheart?”

                “The Shadow Curse… it doesn’t seem to affect me like others. Not as badly, at least.” She stepped forward, a smile on her face. “Do you know what this means? I must be blessed. Lady Shar is protecting me where others are left to her wrath. She loves me. She must do.”

                In a spit of your own disgust towards her goddess, your words seemed harsher than you wished for them to. “Your mistress rewards you with survival against her own corrupt power? That’s not love, Shadowheart.” You too felt protected from the curse. You could still feel it, but it wasn’t overwhelming. Just as if the shadows were itching to get to you. Your own blessing from Selune protecting you. You hoped it protected your mate as well.

                Her brows furrowed and you immediately felt awful. You were never one to judge other’s beliefs, but Shadowheart’s adoration of your goddess’ enemy irked you more than you wished. “The darkness is the truth, Selunite. In the end, there with only be endless black. And those that Lady Shar has embraced.”

                Yous sighed and tried to wave it off. “I apologies, Shadowheart. I truly did not mean to offend you or your goddess. It seems my own blessing has secured me from these lands as well. Please, continue.” You nodded and her face softened. It was the harshest you had ever been to someone else and didn’t want to lose a close friend to something as petty as this.

                She nodded back before speaking once more. “Lady Shar wouldn’t bless me like this for no reason. There must be something she wants of me.” And with an agreement to try your best to help, your group continued through the lands.

---

                It didn’t take long to face the creatures in the dark. Not far from where you emerged, you had run into a group of people. One was quickly taken by the curse and attacked with more shadows. It took a little effort but after defeating them, you followed the group back to where they hid. Last Light Inn. Protected from the curse by a beautiful white dome. When you passed through the barrier, it felt warm. Familiar. Selunite magic.

                You didn’t get far before your feet were anchored into the ground with vines. A druid, Jaheira, had stopped you in your tracks and held a mindflayer parasite to you. She spouted about how ‘you shouldn’t have come here true-soul’ before you could even try and defend yourself. Luckily, you didn’t really have to since a small voice rang out from behind her.

                “Stop! What are you doing?! They’re the one that saved us!” A young Tiefling sprinted up beside Jaheira, panting and waving her arms around.

                “This is the one that saved the Emerald Grove?”

                “Yep! Saved one of my friends from a mean snake to.” And with that, Jaheira released you with an apology and a request to join her for a drink. She had spoken about how her and her harpers were also after Ketheric Thorm who was hidden in Moonrise Towers. She had fought him before, ultimately failing due to his immortality. She had also tried to lace the wine she wanted to share with you, questioning you about the tadpoles in your head.

                After deeming you and your group trustful, she pointed you upstairs. There was a cleric that had cast the barrier around the in, keeping it and its residents safe from the lesser affects of the shadow curse. And with a nod and a promise to scout out the towers, you all made your way upstairs. You recognized many of the Tieflings from the Grove but there seemed to be less, and Zevlor was nowhere to be found.

                 Reaching the double doors of a room, you lightly knock and when you hear no response, you peek inside. There was no one in sight but your ears picked up sound coming from the door on the other side of the room. Your soft footsteps creaked the floorboards along with the door you opened. On the other side was a white-haired woman in silver robes. You watched in awe as she summoned a magic orb and let it fly to the barrier, adding to the shield. The magic felt familiar, Selunite no doubt, and you felt warm.

                The women coughed and turned, slightly jumping. “Oh, pardon me. I didn’t realize I had an audience. Let me guess, you’re the true soul who’s going to save us all?” She walked past you and into the room, stopping in the middle. “Did Jaheira’s sent you to beg a protection spell of her favorite cleric?” She barely gave you a chance to speak before raising her arms, her body glowing as she sent a beam of light towards your group. The magic that flowed through you felt nice and almost like home.

                From her point of view, the symbol of Isobel’s goddess flashed on your skin and small ears of light appeared above your head before disappearing. “Ahh. A hunter of the night, I see. I’m sure our Lady has already blessed you with some protection, but now your group is alright as well. It will only keep you safe from the lesser effects of the curse, you’ll need to find a much stronger solution of you wish to make it to Moonrise. “

                Behind you, Shadowheart growled. “Selunite magic. Dark Lady forgive me.” The wound on her hand flashed and she winced. She continued to glare at Isobel, crossing her arms.

                “Good nose. Like a nasty little terrier.” Isobel retorted.

                Before Shadowheart could fire back, you stepped in front of her. “Thank you, very much. But, what did you mean hunter of the night? Are you talking about…” You trailed off, still nervous to reveal your nature even if she might already know.

                “Your Lycanthropy? I can sense it in you, and it was revealed when I blessed you. Lycans blessed by Selune are her ‘Hunters of The Night.’ They served has protecters, much like familiars. It seems she’s blessed you with full control of your abilities.” She held her hand up, an illusion of Selune appearing in her palm with a few wolves around her, standing protectively with her symbol on their snout just like yours.

                “Lycans are much different than werewolves. Werewolves can’t control their shift and are led by anger. They are no longer human, too lost in their animal side to return. Lycans though, are blessed to keep their humanity. Selune protects them and allows them to shift between shapes. I suppose you’re like a druid, in a way.”

                You nodded in awe. You and your parents still hadn’t discovered a lot about your blessing, your village too small to hold any information. “I see. Thank you. We should probably take our leave though, much to do.” You chuckled and stepped back, awkwardly pointed to the door.

                “Wait. Please be careful. Ketheric is a frightening man. But you have something that he doesn’t: allies worth having. While you’re busy in the towers, I’ll be sure to…” She stopped, turning to look up and around. “Did you hear that? Somethings wrong.”

                Everything suddenly went to the hells. A corrupted and winged Flaming Fist, Marcus, had crashed into the room. He was ranting about the absolute and used his own tadpole to connect to yours. He thought you were on his side and demanded your help to capture Isobel for Ketheric Throm. When he realized you wouldn’t be of help, he let out a roar and winged ghoul descended onto the Inn.

                Magic and arrows were flying, and you tried your best to protect Isobel from the man. In the chaos though, a yell of pain caught your attention. Behind you, a ghoul slipped through and swiped for Astarion, slicing his porcelain skin, and knocking him to the ground, paralyzed. Your vision went red, and you let out a roar of your own, growling and sprinting towards the monster.

                You weren’t exactly sure want happened. You swiped your hand at the monster, and it let out a screech, trying to swipe back but you shoved into it. Your hand bones cracked, and it felt like they were extending as claw took the place of your fingernails. You continues to slice at the monster, it’s blood coating your arms and body. When you realized it was dead, you were breathing hard and had already set your sights on your old target.

                The True-Soul finally died after a long battle, as well as the rest of his winged ghouls. Blood scented the air and stained the wooden floors. Your breaths were still hard, and your heart was pounding in your ears. Your vision was blurry, and you could make out Isobel’s shape walking towards you.

                She placed her hand on your shoulder, calling your name and pulling you aside. “Are you alright? You lost it there. I-I’ve never seen someone so angry.” You looked down at your hands, blood staining your soft skin and armor, and looked back at Astarion. He had gotten back up in the fight and was now being looked over by Shadowheart.

                “I saw him go down and I… I just lost it, I guess. I’ve never felt so angry.” A look a realization came across her face and you avoided her gaze. If you yourself had thought that having a vampire mate was a curse from your goddess, you weren’t sure what a cleric of hers would think.

                “I see.” She didn’t say much and before she could, Jaheira had busted into the room.

                “Isobel! Are you alright?” Isobel nodded. “Marcus has been with us from the start- they’ve been tracking us this whole time. This wasn’t a random attack. You were the target, Isobel. They know how important you are.” Jaheira paused and turned to you. “But they don’t know about you. Ketheric will strike again. We need you to strike first. Discover the source of his invulnerability. Make him mortal, so that we may make him bleed. Good luck.”

                With a determined nod, your group set out. You met a group of Harpers at the Inn’s bridge. They had a plan to steal a source of protection from the curse in an ambush of Absolute cultists that should be making they way to the towers. After gathering extra supplies and making sure everyone was good to go, your group set out with the harpers.

                The Harpers were correct in their ambush. A Drider led a group of cultists with a Moon Lantern, its aura shielding them from the cursed. The fight that insinuated wasn’t too difficult. The goblins went down fast and the Drider soon after. You were luckily able to keep all the Harpers safe, everyone only receiving some cuts and bruises. The moon lantern you looted from the Drider held a fairy and her muffled voice cried out for help. In return, she blessed your party, keeping you safe from even the darkest part of the curse. So after bidding farewell to the Harpers, you all made your way to moonrise towers.

---

                The trail to the Towers was long and your party had run into many shadow-cursed enemies, but after hours, you had crossed the bridge into the towers. The guards at the entry questioned you, but it wasn’t too hard to trick them. The walls of the towers stood high above you. The stone walls and darkness made the place feel cold and you grimaced as you walked through it. The smell that lingered in the air was rancid and it made your hair stand up.

                It seems you weren’t the only one who could smell it as Astarion grimaced behind you, holding the back of his hand to his nose. The closest scent in the air was coming from a door to your left, and as your curiosity got the best of you, you made your way towards it. On the other side, a drow woman stood in front of a table, bottles and vials of blood scattered around its surface.

                Her attention turned to you as the door creaked open and she made her introduction. “Araj Oblodra. Trader in blood and the sanguineous arts. It’s a pleasure to stand before a true soul. And your pale companion.” The way her eyes raked over Astarion’s form made your own twitch and your fists curl. “I’d like to offer my services, if you’re willing?” She offered a potion in exchange for some of your blood, and since it was only a bit, you held your hand out. It didn’t take her long at all to brew you a strong potion, gladly giving it to you.

                “Before you go, tough, there might be one more thing we could discuss?” Her eyes once again drifted to Astarion. “Your friend. He’s a vampire, no? Or at least a spawn?” Her tone made your blood boil and the look in her eye made you want to rip out her throat. How dare she look at your mate that way? Use that tone to him?

                “Oh don’t worry,” Astarion began, “We’re all friends under the Absolute. I won’t bite.”

                She smirked and let out a soft chuckle. “Oh, I prefer if you did.” She turned to you with a raised brow. “I assume he belongs to you?”

                Your eyes widened and you stood agog. “Excuse me? He doesn’t belong to anyone.” You growled out and your nails began to dig into your palm.

                She let out a scoff. “Oh, I’m sure he believes that. Do you have a name, Spawn?”

                Astarion took a step back, “Astarion, b-but hold on-“

                Araj immediately cut him off, a smile on her face. “Good. Now, Astarion, I’ve always dreamed of being bitten by a vampire. Ever since I was a young girl.” Your ears started ringing and your body grew hot. The voices around you became muffled as she attempted to push herself onto him. It was only when she raised her voice at you that you snapped. “Ugh! Can’t you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?!”

                Your eyes glowed a pale yellow and your hand wrapped around your throat, claws sprouting from your fingernails and digging into her skin. You shoved her body against her desk with a loud growl. “How DARE you speak to him like that? Do you not know the meaning of the word ‘no’?!” You companion behind you stepped back as fur peaked from beneath your armor.  Beneath you, Araj struggled and attempted to speak. You leaned down, bringing your growing fangs to her ear. “If you so as much glance or even think about my mate,” you tightened your grip, “I’ll tear your gods damned throat out. Do you understand?”

                She frantically nodded, and with one last shove, she fell to the ground, holding her throat and coughing. You took a deep breath and glanced down at your hands, watching as your claws retreated into your bones. Whatever has been happening to you recently, it was starting to scare you. You shuddered and shook your head, turning back to your group who was all looking at you concerned and with slight fear.

                You cleared your throat and pushed past them. “L-Let’s go find somewhere to camp, I’m exhausted and this place reeks.”

---

                The fire roared in front of you as you hugged your knees close to your chest. Your friends had kept their distance from you ever since making camp and you figured they were still nervous after your outburst earlier. You had been sitting alone for a while when soft footsteps reached your ears, and the scent of your mate met your nose.

                Turning your head, he sent a small wave to you. “Do you have a moment. I think we need to talk.” Your heart clenched and you stood, following him back to his tent. He turned to you, a look of nervousness in his eyes. “I uum, I want to thank you.” His voice was soft, keeping in mind the others in their own tents.

                You raised a brow. “For what?”

                “For what you said, when I was in front of that vile drow. I spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back for my master. What I wanted, how I felt about what I was doing, it never mattered. You could have asked me to do the same- to throw myself at her, what I wanted be damned.” His voice raised and he threw his arms out, but quickly brought them back in, his eyes softening. “But you didn’t. And I’m grateful.”

                You smiled. “Astarion, I would never make you do something you don’t want to do. And I’ll hurt anyone who tries to force you to.” You clenched your fists again, the thought of that drow heating up your blood again.             

                “It’s a novel concept, I admit. And a little intimidating.” He looked down and sighed. “Look. I had a plan. A nice, simple plan- seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so that you’d never turn on me.” He let out a chuckle, and in your chest your heart pounded. So he didn’t feel the pull. He had been using you this whole time? “It was easy, instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in.”

                You took a small step back, holding your hand over your heart. “Astarion, I…I…” You couldn’t even speak; no words came to your mind as he continued talking.

                “All you had to do… was fall for it.” He let out another sigh. “And all I had to do, was not fall for you. And that is where my nice, simple plan… falls apart.” His eyes bore into yours, and you could see no deceit. He truly meant it. “You… you’re incredible. But you deserve something real. I want us to be something real.” He stepped forward, grasping your hand in between his own.

                Your heart pounded in your ears and sparks shot through your skin beneath his. Minutes passed, and without your response, he stepped back and sighed. It snapped you out of your gaze and you reached back out to him, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around his waist softly. It stunned him for a second, but he slowly lowered his arms around you in return.

                His scent was all you could smell as you nuzzled into his chest with a smile. “I want us to be something real too. More than anything.” You stepped back, moving to hold his hands in yours.

                He let out a breath. “You… you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” A smile broke out on his face, and he leaned forward. “Honestly, I have no idea what we’re doing. Or what comes next.” The grip on your hands tightened. “But I know that this… this is nice.” His smile was soft, and he brought up one of your hands, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles. “I- I do have one question though. I couldn’t help but overhear what you told that drow.”

                Your brow raised and you tilted your head. You hoped it didn’t show on your face, but you were worried.

                “What did you mean, when you said, ‘my mate?’” Your blood ran cold, and all you heard was the pounding on your heartbeat.

---

Masterlist

PT1 || PT2 || PT3 || PT4

Taglist: @saturns-angel || @bdudette || @simon-e-mallory || @caskyywrites || @emo-with-headphones || @ophelias-flowerss || @sarawithasword || @stonedstargazer666 ||

[blackjackkent]

Alllllll righty, it's been a WHOLE WEEK since I was able to do any writing about Rakha's ongoing Terrible Time In The Shadow-Cursed Lands, and I have been missing my poor fucked-up girl.

How're you holding up, Rakha?

Yeah, that sounds about right.

Quick recap (for my own benefit as much as anyone else's) - Rakha has reached Moonrise and it's been kind of a clusterfuck. We did save Minthara (and surprisingly enough, Rakha actually seems to like her, much to Lae'zel's chagrin), but everything else has been sort of awful.

Wulbren, who Rakha rescued on Barcus's behalf, has turned out to be a complete toolbag,

The beast wants Rakha to destroy Isobel, and being denied that, rose up in Rakha's brain and murdered a cat in cold blood for no reason,

and most importantly:

Everyone in Moonrise Towers seems to know her, including Ketheric himself, who mocked her as a "mad dog."

Disciple Z'rell seems even less pleased to see her, and there's a strange tension to their interactions that Rakha doesn't understand.

The only one who seems pleased at the reunion is the terrifying illithid meat in the walls.

On the bright side, she can get Wyll smooches now. ^_^

We did a quick check-in at Last Light, but Rakha wants to get on the road again as soon as possible. She can almost smell Isobel's presence, and she knows that if they stay too long, it's likely she will lose control again. Her current plan is to follow the orders from Z'rell to go find Balthazar, and in so doing, find the Nightsong relic that is providing Ketheric's immortality.

But she doesn't know where that is, so that means an aimless wander through the darkness of the Shadow-Cursed Lands; she hates walking around in that corrupted magic, but it's still better than salivating over the murder of Isobel, the one person keeping it at bay.

(Translation: I want her to catch the other sidequests in this area, so we're not going straight to the Sharran mausoleum.)

One of the nice things about the party system in BG3 is that not only can I say that Rakha sent Wyll up to make a report to Isobel in her place, rather than face her directly, but I can actually do it:

"You did well to help those people escape Ketheric. Every soul saved is a blessing, and you're raining them upon us."

"I saw Ketheric at Moonrise Towers. He was presiding over a trial."

"Almost laughable, that he sees himself fit to judge anyone. Did you learn anything about how we might defeat him?"

"I think I know the source of his invulnerability - a relic called the Nightsong."

"That's incredible news. I won't ask for specifics as to how you uncovered that... but I'm grateful you've done whatever it takes. I can't believe there's an end in sight... thank you."

In Rakha's particular worldstate, this definitely reads like someone has informed Isobel of Rakha's tendency towards wanton violence and she is making a point of looking the other way. XD

Also "end in sight" feels like it's putting it a bit strongly at this stage of the game - but Wyll doesn't object. Far be it from him to take away anyone's hope in this place.

He also has the chance to ask her a few questions about herself, her history, and the shadow curse, and she basically evades and lies aggressively through her teeth through the whole conversation. Obviously, I know this but Wyll doesn't - but on some level, I think he probably picks up on some of the clues that she's not being entirely truthful. After all, he has a long history himself of evading questions about exactly what happened with Mizora and his pact.

"Moon and shadow, light and dark," Isobel says, when he asks her about the curse and about Shar and Selune's conflict. "Divine sisters ever at war. And this place has become one more battlefield. Sometimes life forces us to choose sides. Luckily... sometimes the choice is obvious."

Yes. Wyll can understand that.

[maegalkarven]

I'm thinking about Isobel who came back from the dead a hundred years later, who came back to the lands cursed and her father fallen into madness.

Who eminates a barely indistinguishable whiff of rot and Myrkul's power. Who was touched by the forces so repulsing she wishes she has never come back.

And who still has Moonmaiden's favor and her blessing.

Like by all means Selûne had every right to punish Isobel for her father's sins, esp considering what Isobel is, undeniably, the cause of Ketheric turning into the villain he became. Or rather, her death is.

Instead Selûne grants her enough power to battle the curse and create a small safe harbor amidst darkness. More power than the most have, as priest of Selune!Tav might comment.

Instead Selûne favors her, loves her.

Isobel is the indirect reason Aylin is enslaved and the lands are dying under the curse, and Selûne never turns her back on her.

Idk it just makes me emotional

[soupandsorcery]

Whumptober Day 4: "Are you in there?"

It's quiet in their camp, a rare peaceful night. The air is still thick with the ever present oppressive gloom of the shadow curse, and even the flickering light of their fire can't do much to dispel it. No one wants to venture too far outside the warm glow of orange and gold, even with the blessings of a pixie and Selune both keeping away the worst of the curse.

Etienne is the sole exception this night. Instead of gathering with his friends around the fire, he sits apart, perched on a rock, overlooking the worst of the ravaged land beneath him. Dimly, he's aware of Karlach's booming laugh, Gale's gentle cadence, Lae'zel scolding Scratch for making off with the last of her dinner. Usually, the bustle that comes with being a part of something--being a part of this--is enough to chase away the confusing ache of emptiness inside Etienne, but tonight is different.

Tonight it's not even close to enough.

Maybe it's the shadow curse, getting its hooks in him, making the dread that sits like a knot beneath his breastbone even more apparent than it usually is. Or maybe it's everything else. Everything finally catching up to him.

He feels cold, but he doesn't move to go back to the fire. Instead, he runs his fingers along the polished wood of his violin, tracing now familiar whorls in the grain. On instinct, he plucks out a melody, and even though the pizzicato gives it a jaunty sound, there's no denying the tune is decidedly sad.

"Well, isn't this positively maudlin?"

Etienne turns, watching Astarion as he picks his way gracefully up the rock to sit down next to him.

"My apologies," Etienne murmurs back. "I tried to keep the moping over here where it wouldn't disturb anyone. There's just a lot on my mind."

Astarion studies his face, clever crimson eyes not missing anything. And Etienne doesn't try to hide. What would be the point?

"Like what?" Astarion finally asks, when he's looked his fill.

"Oh, you know. The fact that I'm sick with worrying that I might kill the only people I can remember ever caring about me in the middle of the night. Nothing major." It's an attempt at levity, one that falls flat with each wooden syllable Etienne forces out.

"Ah, that. I figured that was what you were over here stewing about. Which is why I came over."

"Brave of you."

Astarion rolls his eyes. "I came over to tell you to give it a rest. Fretting about it won't make it any better. We're all keeping our eyes on you, and you're just going to have to trust us."

Trust. It's a curious thing. Etienne can't remember trusting anyone before this. Considering they can't remember anything before this at all. Their first go at it was Lae'zel, on the Nautiloid, and it's worked out for the better so far.

But still.

"Would you trust others to guide you through something like this?" he asks, glancing side long at his companion. "And protect themselves at the same time?"

"That's neither here nor there because this isn't about me."

"Convenient, that."

Fangs flash in the gloom as Astarion gives a toothy smile. "Isn't it just? But enough about your worrisome little problem. Tell me something else." His eyes drop to the violin in Etienne's lap, the fingers that slide restlessly over the strings. "Tell me about music."

Something leaps in Etienne's chest, and for once, it feels light. It feels almost...joyful. He knows there's something there. Something about playing an instrument or humming a tune that seems to center him, but he doesn't know where it came from. He can't remember.

He says as much to Astarion, keeping his voice low, like this is a secret shared between them. "When I woke up in that pod on the nautiloid, this violin was all I had with me, other than the clothes on my back. I don't remember ever learning songs, or learning to play, but I can. It feels natural. It feels right."

"You are rather good at it. And I don't say that lightly. Most bards I've come across are hacks looking to charm you out of your coin purse or your pants at best and completely tone deaf at worst. But you have a way with music."

It's high praise from Astarion, and it's sincere, which might be the most surprising thing. Even now, when there are no secrets between them, no more need for the game of seduction and protection that they started with, it's still easier to fall into over the top flirting and banter that began this...whatever it is.

Can it be a relationship when one party might slip up and murder the other in the middle of the night?

Etienne closes his eyes and drags in a deep breath. He tries to clear his head, but he hears the grating tones of his thrice damned butler in his mind, remembers the way his fingers had itched to close around Astarion's throat. The way he'd longed to paint that pretty pale skin and perfect white hair all red red red.

"Etienne." Cool fingers touch his face, and his eyes snap open. Astarion is very close now--close enough to kiss, close enough to kill. "Are you in there?"

"I don't know. I don't know why you're doing this," Etienne says, more than a little desperately. "I don't know why you won't... You told me once that if I transformed you'd kill me. We had a whole conversation about all the ways you could do it. How is this any different?"

"It is different," Astarion returns firmly. "Turning into a mindflayer would snuff you out. You would just be another one of them, another part of their disgusting little collective. It would mean you were lost completely and better off dead. I would expect you to do the same for me if I started to turn, or if Cazador managed to take control of me again. But I haven't lost you to this. And I don't mean to."

The knot of dread grows, a sickening cancer spreading unchecked, just like the Urges, threatening to drag Etienne under and drown him and everyone else in a sea of blood. "How do you know?" he whispers.

"Because you're still making music. And as long as you are, I know you aren't lost yet."

Such a simple thing to say, but it means everything.

Whatever Etienne was before, whatever the Urges are trying to make him into--he still has this. His violin, his songs. Songs he doesn't know how he knows, but feel engraved in his heart all the same.

When he takes his next breath, it's easier, doesn't feel like shards of glass in his lungs. Astarion is still touching him, sliding fingers into his hair, grazing the roots of Etienne's horns.

"If you keep this up, I'm going to start thinking you like me," Etienne murmurs, a smile finally gracing the bow of his lips.

Astarion laughs. "Not to worry, I'll be back to mocking you as is proper soon enough. I can't have you getting an ego and thinking you deserve preferential treatment or anything." Those elegant fingers scratch lightly at Etienne's scalp, and he sighs, letting himself fully relax for the first time in what feels like days.

"Thank you," he says, so softly it's almost inaudible. This doesn't come easily for either of them, this open honestly, these soft feelings, but it feels important.

It feels like Etienne might beat this, if only he remembers that he's not alone.

[stagnantmako]

i'm gonna hammer out a baldur's gate verse p soon because the brainrot is taking effect again.

i dunno if i want to go with bhaalspawn nero or not. it's really tempting, but having the brothers be blessed by shar & selune is really tempting.

like weiss dies protecting nero and shar sinks her claws into him and he ends up a dark justiciar in exchange for his brother being revived, but as a fallen and severely fucked up aasimar? chefs kiss.

starting bits

class: arcane trickster / necromancer race: tiefling age: 23 family: weiss (half-brother, aasimar) background: outlander history: nero and his older brother were raised in the wilds of faerun by barbarian bandits. said bandits killed their mother, who had been en route to abandon them anyway. the brothers can't rightfully say whether it ruined or bettered their lives as they had no idea where their mother intended to take them.

their childhood was not soft or easy. the bandits were of the survival of the fittest variety and they were more prisoners than children. the boys immense talent for magic showed itself early, and they were always threatened with the idea that they could be sold for a profit if they proved too troublesome.

but they always had each other. they would always have each other. they got through the worst of it by holding fast to the books that the bandits opted to burn, reading tales of adventure and magic and might.

eventually, they gained enough strength to kill the men who raised them and struck out for the city, intending to create a more honest life for themselves as mercenaries or adventurers - though in reality, they wanted more of a challenge. at present they are part of a rising group of adventurers, known for their brutality and efficiency.

it's all on the rise for them. but, unfortunately for the brothers, they're doomed by fate.

weiss is a child blessed by selune. nero a child blessed by shar.

[nightmarist]

im scREAMING abouit all my choices in bg3 so far. gods above.

BIG spoilers ahead esp about githyanki, the Artifact, thorm, selune, shar, astarion's scars, shadowheart, the nightsong, and tieflings (not necessarily connected nor in that order).

okokokok

i went into the shadows through the underdark, but lae'zel threatened to leave my party if i didnt go find the creche. some of the tieflings were kidnapped, a selunite cleric, Isobel, was able to bless Last Light Inn with her magic. A former Flaming Fist turned cultist with stitched wings came to kidnap Isobel under General Throm's orders, but specifically needed her alive. They realllly emphasized that, he even yelled at the bat demons attacking her to keep her alive.

I managed to keep all the tieflings alive and kill Marcus, but I admit i was very tempted to kill Isobel to ruin his plan; however I felt like if she died, the spell protecting the Inn would vanish with her. So, best option was just to protect everyone and kill Marcus.

Went poking around the Thorm tombs, and found his journals revealing he has a missing daughter: Isobel Thorm. No one seems to have anything to say about that, but it might be bc Tav and co. don't realize Isobel Thorm is the same Isobel from Last Light.

we went through the trials of Shar in the Sharran temple to help Shadowheart become a Justiciar, but Lae'Zel threatened to leave if we stray too far from finding a creche so I left. All the trials are finished but the final location isnt so shes not a Justiciar yet.

We found Raphael and I helped Astarion kill a creature to get Raphael to tell him about the infernal markings on his back. It was a bitch of a fight, btw, one of the hardest I had yet, granted it was probably a fight better with heavy artillery, not a cleric, rogue, and warlock with One damage-tank Lae'Zel. Astarion was the only one alive at the end, and I had One revive scroll. Brought back Shadowheart to cast her spells and heal everyone.

When I first saw the scars on Astarion's back and he said they were a poem, I immediately called bullshit. I mean, not that I thin khe knew, but that they were clearly in a sigil formation. Someone on reddit attempted to translate them which was neat. That thread has mostly people assuming its apact between Astarion and Cazador, but I was wondering: how many spawn does Cazador have? The fragment "translated" sounds like it's in the middle of a sentence. Turns out, yes, Astarion has "sibling" spawn. The full texts are probably spread across their bodies.

It turns out it is in fact a pact with Mephistopheles, but one to give Cazador human properties while maintaining vampire abilities (sunlight walking was the main one). more or less. i REALLY want to help astarion steal it from cazador. Even astarion said he does feel somewhat bad for his "siblings" as Cazador's puppets but if they die it'd spare all of Baldur's Gate their scourge.

We went to try and find missing tieflings, but Zel once again threatened to leave if we dont find the creche. So i went to the mountain pass and found the creche.

I let Zel use the Zaith'isk first since shes been wanting to all this time and I didn't feel it was right to "take" that from her even if we're all apparently going to use it. But it almost killed her and it exploded. We killed some of the Giths to escape and I was forced to either reveal the prism thing or fight the whole creche. I revealed it against the Guardian's wishes, and Vlaakith herself appeared. She wasn't happy that I asked her a question instead of bowing down to her, but she revealed the prism is an Astral Prism and that the Guardian is inside of it. She wanted me to go in and kill him. I said I would but I was reluctant, hoping I didn't actually have to, and lo and behold I had a conversation with him instead.

Apparently Vlaakith is not a real goddess and instead wants to take the prism's power, because otherwise the ghaik will overthrow her.

When we left the prism it was revealed Vlaakith had intended to kill us regardless if we killed the prism guardian or not. We fought ourselves out of that, but I didn't want to fight a bunch of other Githyanki, so I fled through an interesting secret passageway.

It was heavily guarded with traps, but we came to the Blood of Lathander, which was a mace with crystalized blood as a jewel. I stole it and only had 4 turns to leave or the temple would be destroyed. So we barely made it.

At night in camp, Voss came by and offered to help us overthrow Vlaakith and keep the prism safe. He also revealed that the Zaith'isk was never intended to cure the parasite, and that Ascension isnt real. The Zaith'isk steals memories and kills the occupant, Ascension is Vlaakith's way of stealing the lives of Githyanki to ascend to real godhood.

Lae'zel's entire world is basically turned upside down.

As angry as she was, she turned it around, at least, that Vlaakith would name her a betrayer, her loyal child of Gith, and that it isn't Zel who betrayed Vlaakith but Vlaakith who betrayed Lae'zel. I'm glad she has that outlook, but I can't imagine how devastated she would have been.

ive been fucking around exploring the map before i commit to either heading into Shar's temple and into the Shadowfell, or continue to Moonrise Towers.

Met Balthazar, a necromancer(?) on Thorm's side who has been resurrecting undead. He asked us, as we're pretending to be Absolutists, to find Thorm's artifact.

I flitted back and forth between either Moonrise or Shadowfell. if I go to Moonrise will that cut off Shadowfell? But what if I can steal the artifact from Thorm and use it at Moonrise, and save the Tieflings?

Eventually I decided to take Shadowheart, Zel, and Astarion into the Shadowfell.

Shadowheart prayed the entire way there, Balthazar led us into the depths. We had the opportunity to attack him but I wanted to see where he was going with it first.

We came to a magically shackled Aasimar, who turned out to be the Nightsong "artifact" ; her immortality was being siphoned by Balthazar to keep Thorm alive.

We killed Balthazar after about two tries.

Shadowheart took up Shar's pear, ready to kill the Nightsong as is her apparent purpose, but the Narratorpointed out our bond is very strong, she could potentially be swayed. I sowed some doubt in her, but failed a check (it needed 30, so unless I rolled a nat20, which I didn't, I would fail to convince her).

However, Nightsong took her doubts I sowed and used it, telling her there's more about her past she needed to know, about wolves in the forest. Selune blessed Shadowheart, but she's so quiet now. It's almost unsettling. Shadowheart was taken captive, momentarily, by Shar, and tortured, but was blinked back to the party, exiled from Shar.

It's so fucking sad, man, I'm actually tearing up for her. Now I have two apostates on my team who have been nigh torn asunder from their supposed Goddesses. Even the Narrator said if Shadowheart admits who blesses her now, she might break. If you ask her to go to camp, she'll say she's unfit for company and just leave without argument. Its so jarring. I need to give her a hug.

[revyved]

@enrhysmion said: No matter where their journeys lead them, the moon's devoted followers are all united in their hearts. Rhys hasn't met many clerics of Selune despite spending so many years traveling with his instructor, and he must confess that Isobel intrigues and inspires him. She embodies hope in a way that he could never imagine being able to; her brightness cuts through the deepest darkness. She keeps everyone alive and protects the integrity of their souls. It's a blessing—no, a miracle—that her personal adventure brought her here in the midst of all this madness.

He determines that it's the ideal time to approach her now that the others are unwinding from the attack on the Last Light Inn. Rhys has often pondered the reason for the moon goddess' unwavering confidence in him. He is a deceiver; he is a shadow that hides the radiant light, yet Selune favors him and bestows upon him powers that are not rightfully his. He considers whether the goddess might be planning something special for him. Perhaps she believes he will assist Isobel. Even though he has a lot of questions racing through his mind, he decides to ignore them. He can't put extra strain on Isobel's shoulders when he doesn't even know her. It is up to him to maintain and resolve his dilemma.

"I wish I could be of assistance. Sadly, I lack such powers, and I worry that my light is too weak to drive away the shadows. I apologize sincerely, Lady Isobel. I demonstrate that I am a poor ally and a terrible devotee of our Lady." He leans on the balcony rail, his mouth curled into a sorrowful smile. His healing skills are almost useless in this scenario, despite his usual confidence in them. Since practically everyone has already passed away, who can he pretend to save? Shadows long for souls, not bodies. He doubts his ability to deal with them.

she’s earned a moment to rest, she thinks. a quiet few minutes to settle her nerves after marcus’ abrupt appearance. even now her heart dances in an uncomfortably chaotic rhythm, not quite steady, not quite right. she still feels the earth once caked in her chest obstructing the motion. isobel should have known this would happen. such an attack was inevitable, yet she let her guard down nonetheless. foolish. if not for the new arrivals, she’d likely find herself tossed at ketheric’s muddied boots.

pale, moonlit-stricken eyes look up the moment rhys shares the balcony with her. the cold yet stale air keeps her senses sharp, still on edge after hearing the reason for marcus’ approach. ketheric wants her back — partially to doom the innocent lives here, and the other reason too distressing to think on in present time. it’s surprising to hear rhys apologize for such a thing. his words bring her from her thoughts, quietly coughing into her fist before smiling.

“ a poor ally ? while i understand your fears - such a place oft draws them out - i must also assure you of your importance in all of this. the shadows here are no ordinary magic … as you’ve readily learned. the darkness is permeated into the very land, yet i wouldn’t have offered my guidance if i figured you a lost cause. there is far more for you to achieve here than you think. “

her smile warms akin to a starry night. “ our lady of silver has a path for you, one she knows you have the means to walk. she shares our dreams and our hopes, our sadness and fear. you may discover more about yourself when tested so… “ she speaks from her own experience. dying and descending into empty darkness, nothingness, until violently woken. “ i don’t think it’s a mere coincidence to meet a fellow devotee. it would bring me joy hearing more about you. i do insist though — you have nothing to apologize for. “

[superhaught]

Wanted to share some things that I did before finishing my recent playthrough because I had fun doing/thinking about these things:

(All took place in the last five days or so before morphic pool onwards)

- Walker devoted himself to Selune at the Stormshore Tabernacle

- he and shadowheart got tattoos! He got night orchids on his back and chest that extend upwards into the white vines along his jaw and chin. Shadowheart got night orchids on her hand to hide the incurable wound.

- kept track of time using journal, Walker’s birthday happened while they were in the city. I spent that day walking around the city with Shadowheart, went to the park and pretended to have a picnic date with her, shopped at lots of places, visited all Tiefling friends, had an extravagant meal that night, and didn’t do any quests. I also imagine that Walker and Shadowheart had some fun together on the Elfsong roof that night

- donated most of my money to the Tieflings in various ways (bought a supply sack from Lakrissa and gave her a big tip of 1000 gold, left a pouch next to Alfira containing gold for her school, a diamond and pretty dyes, donated 2000 gp or something like that to Dammon, left a backpack containing gold, potions and food with Bex and Danis)

- pretended to gift Yenna a kitten once she was back at camp and sad about Grub :(

- additionally, idc that the epilogue makes no mention of her, Yenna is my adoptive daughter, and so is Arabella even though she’s off learning magic. Their home is in the cottage with me and Shadowheart and the animals.

- speaking of animals, one of the 8 cats we have is Myshka (couldn’t give Myshka to Bonecloak because her husband was still alive) but it’s okay because Myshka is my son

Also now that I’ve finished this run I really can’t wait to start my epilogue home game with my partner where Walker and Shadowheart join Karlach, Wyll and my partners’ Tav, Annalise, in Avernus after the party (leaving the animals and children in the safe care of Arnell and Emmeline, Selune bless them)

We will improve Karlach’s engine, we will fucking kill Mizora, we will fucking Kill Zariel (or redeem her possibly?), then we will visit Gale in Waterdeep and take a peek in the Yawning Portal to find Walker’s missing dad, then we will join Lae’zel (partner of Annalise) to fucking kill Vlaakith and then (hopefully we’re level 20 by then idk… probably I don’t fuck with XP leveling in my house) we might just go to the Shadowfell and fucking kill Shar? Idk if I’m allowed but if we’re gonna kill Vlaakith then why not, ya know?

[frogbearwhatever]

Owlbear with a Sore Head

The following is a short story I wrote about Thar Bludtusk, the half-orc cleric I’m going to be using in a new campaign. It starts with him in Phandalin, so this is a story about him on his way there and why he’s headed for the town. I hope you enjoy.

            *       *       *      *       *

The horse whinnied nervously, hooves stamping the earth, and the man only kept it from bolting by holding the reins with white knuckles as the half-orc stepped forward, stretching his thick, muscular arms. 

Thar Bludtusk wasn’t especially large by the standards of the human-orc hybrids, but still towered over the man.

Muscles flexed and coiled beneath his dull, swampy green skin, and he hoisted the cart up with one hand, the other manoeuvring the wheel into position.

The man’s daughter rushed forward to fasten the bolts and the cart was roadworthy once again.

“Good as new!” Thar proclaimed cheerfully.

“Thank you so much.” She said, looking up at him and smiling. She’d never met a half-orc before and they definitely weren’t as scary or ugly as she’d been led to believe from papa’s stories. 

Definitely less ugly.

“No trouble, miss.” Thar smiled, aware that his sharp, prominent tusks might make this expression less reassuring than intended. 

The girl didn’t seem to be bothered and returned the smile.

“Well, um, thanks for your help.”

Her father thrust the reins at her.

“Hitch Trig up, that’s a good lass.”

He rummaged in his pockets and produced a copper piece.

“Ain’t got much I can give you as thanks, sorry.”

“It’s alright, friend. A good deed is its own reward.” Thar shrugged. “Though might I trouble you by asking for directions?”

“Where you headed?”

 “Phandalin.”

“Aye, you’re on the right road. Keep on to the next town, Posea, and take the left road as you leave. About three days from Phandalin, as the crow flies.”

“Thank you.” Thar gathered his pack and mace. “May the Moonmaiden watch over you and keep you safe.”

He nodded at the girl, who smiled and blushed slightly and set off.

Despite the monastic robes he wore there was no hiding the half-orc’s muscular form and she had been rather enjoying the view.

Thar’s dark robes were ill fitting. They were the best the abbey had been able to find though, and at least they fit around his shoulders and torso, having previously belonged to Brother Augustus, a human follower of the moon goddess Selune who was infamous for his inability to walk past a buffet table. Some of the brothers joked that Augustus was on a holy mission to become as spherical as the moon herself.

The problem was that Augustus was considerably shorter than Thar and as a result the robes stopped just beneath the younger cleric’s knees. 

Thar travelled light, and his pack wasn’t a burden as he walked along, singing a child’s hymn to himself in a voice full of enthusiasm if not tune.

“Silver maiden of the night,

Guide us true, guide us right.

Light our way with kindness,

Wisdom, grace, love, grant to us”

He was an unlikely servant of Selune, having inherited the warlike appearance of his mother. The tusks and muscles seemed ill suited for a man of faith, but Thar’s faith was as strong as anyone’s and he believed that his strength had been a gift to aid the weak.

       *        *       *       *        *

Posea was a one horse town, and that horse was only there because he’d been tied up outside The Tiger’s Eye inn.

Thar strode in and bought an ale with a bowl of stew and seated himself in the corner. His robes, and thee pendant of the eyes encircled by stars reassured the innkeep that the hulking figure wouldn’t be starting any trouble, though the mace suggested Thar might be able to stop it.

The other patrons either ignored him or gave small nods.

“Blessing of the Moonmaiden be with you, Brother.” A half-elf offered.

“And with you, sister.”

Seated he enjoyed the ale and endured the stew, deciding not to probe the vague title of “Meat Stew”.

As he ate, Thar retrieved the letter from his pack, and read it again. The writing was well known to him, although the sender remained a mystery. These letters had been arriving for much of his life, often with gifts from a generous, but secretive, benefactor.

Dear Thar,

I trust this letter finds you well and that you are enjoying your new life as a travelling Brother in the service of the Moonmaiden.

As you know, I have long taken an interest in your life and offered assistance where possible. While I was always happy to do this without any obligation on your behalf, I must confess that this situation has changed and for the first time, Thar, I must ask something of you.

I need your assistance and thus request you join me in Phandalin as soon as possible so that I might explain these unusual circumstances.

A pity, as I have rather enjoyed this cloak-and-dagger routine. We have met before, of course, but now my role in your life and the reasons for it must be revealed.

See you in Phandalin, I remain, as ever,

A Friend.

While the tone was friendly, even jovial, Thar had been unable to shake a sense of unease since receiving the letter. What could he help with? And whatever it was, could he refuse given all that he owed this sponsor. After devoting himself to his faith and a good life, he dreaded being asked to perform some less noble actions.

Also, the mystery had intensified, as now he tried to remember people he had met who might be the benefactor.

Any further thoughts would have to wait as a youth ran into the inn, frantic with fear.

“Owlbear!” He panted. “There’s a crazed owlbear on the Phandalin road.”

Across the barroom a young knight in gleaming plate stood.

“At last, a fresh test, this savage creature will taste my steel in the name of Lady Orlaith!”

And with that, the lad rushed out.

Thar sighed, regretting his vows that obligated him to assist the injured and sick, even when those injuries befell bloodthirsty young knights who liked to kill animals.

          *       *       *       *        *

It was not going to plan for the knight.

He’d managed to bloody the owlbear with a few slashes, but this had enraged the beast and now the knight, and his squire were hiding behind a tree.

Thar watched for a moment, hoping that the owlbear would flee into the woods, but then saw that the words of the young lad were true, the hulking brown creature seemed crazed and its beak opened to release angry shrieking cries.

Summoning all his perceptive skills, Thar realised that behind the left ear of the owlbear was a small lance buried in the flesh.

The pain from that injury was no doubt affecting its mood and Thar wondered if there might be a way to solve this problem with the minimal amount of bloodshed.

Thar drew his mace and darted forward, stopping to pick up the knight’s dropped sword, which he hurled into the undergrowth.

“Sir knight!” He called out. “I’ll distract the creature and you fetch your sword.”

“Thank you!” The knight and his relieved squire vanished into the woods and Thar slowly approached the agonised creature, with raised palms and began talking softly.

“Easy there, big fellow. That’s a good owlbear.” He said as he neared. “Moonmaiden, please don’t let this be the embarrassing fate of your devoted follower and soothe this creature in its pains.”

The prayer seemed to work, and as he approached the owlbear became calmer.

Still with hands raised, Thar circled the beast until he was at its side, its eyes still fixed on him.

“Okay, forgive me, friend, this may hurt.”

His green hands enveloped the lance, which he guessed was of gnomish design, and he yanked it free.

The owlbear roared with pained fury and rose, but then hesitated, realising that as the sharp pain faded the original discomfort had gone.

Thar hastily chanted a healing prayer under his breath, causing his hands to glow silver for a moment, the same glow emanating from the bleeding wound upon the owlbear, who now seemed much more relaxed.

It gently nudged Thar and then crashed into the woods, vanishing surprisingly quickly for an animal of its size.

     *       *        *        *        *

A moment later the knight returned, red in the face, but with his sword.

“Where’s the beast?”

“Oh, gone. I-” Thar began to explain.

“Gone?! You let it escape!”

“Well, yes, as I-”

“You dunderheaded oaf! You let a vicious beast flee?!”

“Hey, now, friend, if I could-” Thar said, doing his best to remain calm.

“You are no friend of mine, greenskin! I should have known better than to trust a half-orr!” The knight raged. “You probably worried you might be related to it! For I suppose if your whore of a mother opened her legs for an orc she may have lain with anything. Treacherous halfbreed, I should-”

What the knight should do would remain a mystery as at that point Thar hit him.

Hard.

The knight staggered back a few feet and then, with a noise like a kitchen accident, clattered to the ground.

The squire gaped but seemed unwilling to defend his stricken master.

“I’m sorry.” Thar said, trying to regain control. “My temper has long been a flaw of mine, and sometimes I succumb to it. Tell your master I’m sorry, but that he shouldn’t insult people’s mothers and the owlbear, having been placated, is unlikely to attack unprovoked again.”

The squire just nodded dumbly.

“Blessings of the Moonmaiden upon you.” Tharr said and walked off, continuing on his way to Phandalin.

[cloudbatcave]

Illumination

Heskel’s shoulders relaxed as she stepped through the temple doors and smelled the familiar hot chocolate and felt the warmth of all the bustling visitors and staff. She got out of the flow of traffic and settled in a pew, the worn wood in some ways more comfortable than her bed at Trollskull, and prayed briefly.

The sun was just going down, the pink and purple of dusk stretching across the sky above waterdeep, with a waxing gibbous moon above.

Selune, I know you hear me anywhere your light touches, but I’ve come to our house to tell you how grateful I am. You helped me in my hour of need, and I will repay you by repaying your people.

She paused, then added:

I hope you don’t mind our tavern name. I just really didn’t want it to be Hell’s Kitchen.

As she breathed deeply and looked up, she saw a familiar deep gray face peering back at her from behind tinted glasses and broke into a slightly fanged smile.

“Myrafay. Hello.”

“Hi, Heskel.” Said the drow cleric in her airy, gentle voice, putting a narrow-fingered hand on the tiefling woman’s shoulder as she sat next to her.

When first seeing the woman, Heskel had been slightly intimidated by her - the spiderlike palps around her mouth had unsettled her slightly. But she knew that was an unfair judgment to make, and it had been clear within the first ten minutes of talking to Myrafay that she was as good and kind of a devotee of Selune as anyone could hope to be. She was so at peace, so calm. Heskel wondered how she did it.

The tiefling hugged her fellow worshipper briefly and then let go, asking about how the temple had been in the last few days.

Myrafay told her how Adrian and his family had come by again, that the guild of carpenters was being called in to fix some of the oldest sections of the temple, and that they’d gotten some new books on astronomy in lately. The last was said with a wink and a warning to not wear the covers off too quickly.

Heskel protested that books were there to be used, and her dad would want her to stay sharp on her studies - what would he say if he found out she’d been slacking?

“Have you actually written to your fathers lately, girlie?” retorted Myrafay, amused, playing with the ends of her long white braid that shone orange under the setting sun pouring in through the windows. “Seems you’d best, if you’re planning on staying here any longer.”

Heskel bit her lip, flushing slightly as she realized no, they hadn’t explained what they were doing. Sometimes even she forgot they weren’t going back next week, or next month...but no, they had to stay. Squibb wanted the tavern to succeed so badly, and Dosime wanted it too, even Bee...and she had Adrian’s lessons, and her obligation to the Emerald Conclave.

Everything had happened so fast since they’d rescued Floon. Even before that, with the troll and the strixes...she still startled if she saw anything flapping out of the corner of her eye, before realizing it was usually just a pigeon.

“You’re right.” She agreed, fiddling with part of her deep blue robes. They really had to write to their fathers...even if they couldn’t tell them the whole truth.

Even if she couldn’t tell them the truth.

It might not be lying, not really - what reason would they ever have to suspect her of murder? And she was sure it wouldn’t bother Squibb. It should bother him more.

But he probably slept far better than she did every night. 

“Plus, I hear that tavern of yours is coming along well - I hope you give discounts for us fellow devouts!”

Myrafay winked at her and Heskel couldn’t help laughing a little, assuring her she would indeed offer a reduced rate for members of the faith, but then sobered, tapping the floor with her staff anxiously. 

“So you think it’s all right for us to do this? To bring in money this way? I know my vow, I don’t intend on keeping much for personal gain, just to keep it running, and I know the name might be disrespectful, I’m sor - “

The older woman held up a long-fingered hand to stop her.

“Is it wrong to serve good food and drink? No, you silly girl. As long as your doors are open for those most in need as well. Naming it for Selune...I think she would be honored as long as you run it with kindness and good service.”

The tiefling flushed from the compliment, tinging her blue cheeks purple, and she nodded rapidly as her tail wiggled back and forth.

She bit her lip, trying to figure out how to bring up what had happened on the island without seeming vain. 

“Speaking of that, I recently gained a moon soul thanks to our lady’s generosity.” The monk said shyly, looking at the floor. It still felt unreal to feel magical light crackling in her palm, a tiny portion of her goddess’s power granted to her. She felt a gentle, cool power as she did her yoga and meditations now, waiting to be called on if she needed it. 

The cleric patted her on the shoulder, and Heskel looked up to see her grinning.

“Good job, girlie! I knew you had it in you! Your need must’ve been great, and you're better attuned to her now! Keep at it!”

She flushed to the tips of her pointed ears and tried to give her thanks in as dignified a way as she could while something darker preyed on her mind between giddy relief and gratitude.  

Could this blessing be proof Selune had forgiven her for the kenku she had killed? Or rather, had decided that to do enough good to atone, Heskel needed more power? Perhaps she would lose it if she murdered again. Maybe this was her last chance to keep her soul from eternal corruption. She would have to be more careful, wiser, better prepared.

There was always a better way. She just had to find it. 

“Yes...we had to put a poor boy’s soul to rest, and despite how he summoned a demon in life, I believe he doesn’t deserve to suffer. I prayed for him, and for his family.”

The drow’s eyes widened behind her glasses and she whistled.

“That’s not something most gods will look kindly on, no matter his reasons. Was anyone hurt?”

She winced, and Myrafay clicked her tongue.

“Maybe they’ll have mercy on him for his youth. But I can pray with you. Never hurts.”

Both women made the signs of the crescent, gibbous, full, and half moons, and spoke quietly together after Heskel had told her fellow worshipper the child’s name.

O Selune, our heavenly mother, please forgive Herbert his transgressions, and guide his last vestiges into your merciful light, so that he may find peace in death.

After a moment of silence, the tiefling exhaled, and hugged the drow again.

“Thank you, Myrafay.”

“Any time.”

The white-robed cleric left to attend to other duties, and Heskel did as well, wandering back out into her goddess’s night.

[lyricaspromise]

Getting Shit Done

Written on 17th of Chauntayen, 1496

After we finished in the palace, we headed back out of the castle.  Finding ourselves in the same courtyard, with all the spoilers of our ill-gotten gains from inside.  Taking a short rest to recover what energies we needed, we realized this would be a good spot to honor the Jester's final request.  We buried him there, in the courtyard of the palace he had served, the palace in which he had died.  Lenna did a quick dedication of some sort, and we were able to set up a gravestone for him as well.  Now that we're done, we should report back to Marsque.  Of course, some of us are interested in tracking down those ghouls and dealing with them, while others only wish to continue on.  Enough of us are interested in finding them we decided to go ahead and focus on that and see if there's anything else we can get from the city as well.

Following our previous path back, we got detoured because of a building that had collapsed.  Our detour meant that we found an old market and were able to get ahold of another forty-two gold pieces, as well as a large, rusted iron key. There was a small rune etched into one end, though none of us could tell what it meant.  As we continued on, a terrible, haunting scream echoed out across the area.  I don't know why, but I went to flee.  Charra reacted quickly enough to grab my ankle and prevent me from flying off, and eventually I calmed enough to drop to the ground beside her.  She and I were able to tell it was otherworldly in nature, likely originating from the ethereal plane.  We continued on, Ai scouting ahead and Balasar watching our rear.

Eventually, we found a large, three story building.  It had a balcony on the second floor, and inside the second floor was a red light, flickering like a lantern.  Ai skuttled up to the third floor, while Ikki and I flew high enough to see through into the second floor.  Ikki ended up sending her familiar through and let me know what she saw.  From that, I sent a Message to both Charra and Ai.  Taras took a look inside, seeing only the ruins of an old brothel.  Ikki was about to use Minor Illusion to show us what she'd seen, a trio of banshee.  Knowing what we were about to encounter, Taras cast Deafness on Charra while Ai was able to make the rest of us earplugs.  Before that happened, Ai was able to tell us they have a number of elemental resistances, and immunity to others.  Lenna also Blessed Charra, Ikki, Balasar, and Myself.  Once that was done, Ikki dropped Silence into the room even as Charra charged in.

Combat Link Here

After we finished the banshee off, we took a chance to look around.  The red light was a Lantern of Revealing, and we were able to also get four vials of ectoplasm.  There was a large, innate bureau in one corner that matched the key.  I took the time to check for traps first and was able to dismantle it to gain one vial of the poison Courtesan's Pride.  We found an ornate corset in the bureau as well, which I was able to Identify as the Night Lady's Corset

Courtesan's Pride: a creature subjected to this poison must have the constitution to shrug this off immediately, or they become poisoned for three hours.  Their charisma and intelligence are affected for the duration, and they become very susceptible to suggestion.

Night Lady's Corset: magical leather armor, and when it is left uncovered creatures who would find the wearer attractive are more susceptible to advances.  They also are at a disadvantage to realize they are being charmed.

We eventually made it back to the rats and spoke with Agent 52 once again.  They fetched Marsque, to whom we reported our events in the palace.  He inquired about the pure iron, which we admitted to finding three bars of.  We offered them one, as well as most of the hardwood we'd gotten from the bedframe. We also offered to see what materials we might be able to bring down from the surface.

The Green Ears also each receives a ring from Marsque. While the ones the Night Shift were given will emit pheromones that will get them help, ours won't.  It will at least let the other rats know we are allies, not enemies.  We also got two more twisted rat tails, and a map.  The map will lead us to the Undersea.  Between that, and being able to use the water hole and a code phrase? It'll take us a half a day's walk to reach the Undersea.  Knowing that we would need a boat to traverse the Undersea and wanting to give Charra a chance to make the chainmail bag of holding she'd been planning, we decided to surface.

After speaking with Ox, we had over fifteen hundred gold pieces from selling the stuff from our raid on the palace.  Between that, and the gold that we'd found, we walked away with over 230 in gold apiece.  I have, never had this much money in the past.  Holy shit.  Requisition form wise, we each received five bronze and three silver forms.  The party as a whole also was given two electrum forms. We agreed we wanted to spend enough time for Charra to craft, and Balasar to enchant, a chainmail bag of holding. We came up on the 14th and spend the 15-17th crafting.  We head back down tomorrow morning.  I have a few new spells I can't wait to show off.  I also got a few new things from Ox.  With my silver forms, I got a set of magical tinker's tools, a third level Arcane Battery, and some Artificer's Goggles.  They can cast Detect Magic for an hour a day, which will save me some effort, and can make crafting easier.  For my bronze, I picked up a Candle of the Depths, five rumors, the Ox special, two scrolls of Find Familiar, and I'm still trying to figure out the last.  I'll decide on that before we head down in the morning.

Our first evening in the guild, we decided to enjoy some of the various alcohol that the party had found over our time in the guild.  But, something happened during our drinking.  I got hammered early on, and eventually, a drunk Charra turned to me and asked me on a date.  I can't really remember what I told her back, other than I accepted.  I can't believe I did that!  I, fuck. I'm definitely falling for her. But I'm still scared.

After spending the day working on our individual projects, we both cleaned up and headed out for our date.  Holy shit, a date.  I've never been on one before.  With, her, we went out, but it was never obviously as a date.  Shortly before we left, Balasar came running up.  They'd decided to cash in most of their forms for some gold.  Between that, the gold they'd gotten from what we'd sold, and Lenna, they were only two hundred short of being able to outright afford Plate.  Charra and I offered to cover whatever selling off their splint mail.  Because of how busy they were in the forge, they asked if we could handle making the purchase, which we were happy to do.  We also had other items we needed as a party.  Mostly adventuring supplies.  A pair of ten-foot poles and ten-foot ladders if we need them.  Ten more pitons, some grappling hooks.  Two sledgehammers and four shovels as well.  And, one other thing as well.  Took a bit to find someone who would sell it to me, but then also took longer to talk the price down.  Anyways, we were able to get those, and also the plate for Balasar.  The splint we sold for base price, so between that and what Lenna offered we technically had enough.  I added in 30 of my own gold so that Balasar wasn't left with nothing. We went out for dinner after bringing everything back, which was good.  And then we went dancing!  I am, not a dancer in the least.  We mostly just swayed together and tripped over each other's feet.  It was so great though.  Getting the plate for Balasar made me think of something we could do for Taras as a "We're sorry for being idiots" gift.  The second party form could be used to get them some plate as well.

Anyways, between crafting, seeing the Eclipse of Selune with the party, and a second date with Charra today, we had a good time above ground.  Charra surprised me for our second date.  She'd gotten a pair of flying boots from Ox with one of her forms, so we went flying together.  I'd managed to finish the flute that day, so we ended up sitting down and I played for her. The rest of the party agreed on my idea of using the form to get Taras plate armor.  So, we'll present that to him before we head down.

[blackjackkent]

"Ah. The interloper..." The man's voice is a harsh basso growl; he looks up slowly from whatever strange experiments he is conducting on the bloodsoaked table in front of him. He's heavyset and imposing, with pale blue skin - not human, Hector suspects, but maybe tiefling judging by the glow of his eyes? His skin is scored with deep marks of some indeterminate sigil on both his face and chest, spattering the blue with red smears of blood.

He surveys Hector appraisingly, gaze sweeping him from head to foot. "And in one piece as well. Not an entirely unpromising specimen, for one naturally-born." He blinks thoughtfully, his head tilting to one side as if scenting something unexpected on the wind. "Though it's not all natural, is it? A touch of the divine... most curious, for a True Soul..."

Hector stiffens warily. Naturally born? It's already clear that this man, whoever he is, has dabbled in necromancy - even if it weren't obvious from the reconstituted soldiers they encountered outside, it would be obvious now from the group of servant ghouls pacing this chamber and the hulking, skull-faced behemoth standing in the corner.

But is he implying that he himself is undead?

And the crack about Selune's blessing on them, the moniker of "True Soul"...this man knows far more about them than they do about him, and that makes Hector tremendously uncomfortable. But they are not being outright attacked, and that's something at this point.

"Naturally-born?" he says carefully. "That's a strange thing to hold against someone."

"Not so," the man says smoothly with a dismissive shrug. "Womb births are such *imprecise* things... There's always room for improvement when it comes to the flesh. My creations..." He gestures at the enormous creature standing at his back. "...are more than a sum of their parts."

Hector's gaze follows the gesture, taking in the shambling skeletons walking the room. "Your creations?" he says. "Mindless undead minions, from what I've seen." He can't help a slight grimace of distaste.

The man smiles broadly, his glowing eyes shining with something that might be exuberance - or madness. "They are mere sketches compared to my masterwork!" he barks. "That would leave you in awe, should you be fortunate enough to bear witness."

That I sincerely doubt, Hector thinks sardonically. "Who *are* you?" he demands, feeling suddenly extremely tired. Around every corner in this horrible wasteland, some new madman...

The stranger's expression hardens abruptly. "You are a True Soul," he snaps. "There is no excuse for you to not recognize your betters."

Hector feels an unpleasant squirm behind his eye and winces. Of course - this is the first test, then. He knew he would be forced into this deception upon arrival at Moonrise, but he did not expect it here. I am a True Soul, he reminds himself firmly. At least as far as this fellow is concerned.

"But never mind," the man goes on airily. "Your potential may outweigh your ignorance. I am Balthazar - Chief Advisor to General Thorm, and entrusted with a mission of utmost importance. Do you know what is at stake here?"

He fixes Hector with a piercing gaze, and Hector feels a chill run through his marrow. Based on what Jaheira said, Thorm is the leader of the Absolutists, which means this Balthazar is their second-in-command. They have wandered into an extremely dangerous situation without realizing it.

Balthazar... he's heard that name before.

[MONK][HISTORY] You're sure you've read of a notable Balthazar before... But where?

Narrator: You remember an ancient scroll rescued from an Amkethran monastery. It spoke of Balthazar, the monastic order's leader. Specifically, it recorded his death.

"Balthazar," Hector says, warming a little to the discussion as it shifts back into his own area of knowledge. "I heard of a monk by that name once. He died a long time ago."

"Oh, him?" Balthazar scoffs. "Yes, I decided to take his name for myself - after taking his rib bones. Suits me better, I think." His expression hardens. "But enough idle chatter. Keep to the matter at hand. You do know what's at stake here, yes?"

(A/N: Eyyy, BG2 reference! Shoutout to @rhysintherain for making this connection before I did; I totally forgot the character in BG2 was named Balthazar. :D Seems as if, at least for the moment, we're meant to believe this is not him, though.)

This is a delicate moment; to reveal his ignorance might be to shatter open the whole fragile deception, but they need information desperately. "Enlighten me," Hector says, doing his best impression of an unconcerned, even bored listener.

"There is a relic here," Balthazar intones, his voice taking on a religious, fanatical edge. "One which General Thorm desires. No - *needs.* I will retrieve it for him."

He leans forward over the stone slab in front of him; a sharp scent of blood cuts the air as he nears Hector's face. "And you will help me. Ignorant you may be, but you've shown some prowess in scouting and combat by making it this far."

Narrator: This necromancer has Ketheric's trust. Helping him could be just what you need to gain access to the man himself.

All of Hector's self-discipline is required to keep him from wrinkling his nose in disgust - both at the smell and the task ahead of him. "So you need my help," he says evenly. "What would I have to do?"

"I do not *need* you, or your help," the necromancer snaps disdainfully. "But you are here in spite of that, so I may as well make use of you." He gestures past Hector towards the hallway from which he came. "The relic is close, but the way is barred and Shar's dead are...uncooperative." He scowls. "Clear the path for me - by blade, cunning, or whatever it takes. I will remain here until you have succeeded - or fallen."

"I'd trust this gasbag about as far as I can throw him - which isn't far," Shadowheart mutters sardonically. "But perhaps better to play along, for now."

For once, Hector and Shadowheart's views on the situation are precisely aligned.

"What exactly will you be doing while I'm out risking myself?" Hector asks, still attempting to maintain an air of casual disinterest.

Balthazar smirks. "My creations need tending to - not that it's any of your concern." He gestures down at the table, which is spread with an array of blood-soaked bones.

"This one's broken," he says with some relish. "He once tormented me as a youth, lifetimes ago. Now he serves me - forever. No rest for you, Mikan...not until I am satisfied."

Hector is starting to feel faintly ill. "I'll see what I can do," he mutters hoarsely, and begins to back out of the room.

Balthazar smiles coldly. "Do not fail me...or you can share Mikan's fate..."

[blackjackkent]

Lae'zel and Voss re-uniting after the conversation with Raphael is the most enthusiastic I have seen either of them be about anything.

"Voss, friend to the Comet."

"Lae'zel of K'liir. Warrior of warriors."

In a way it's not surprising, since both of them are way out in the weeds of rebellion against Vlaakith, and so a friendly face in that fight is no doubt good to see. Hector still isn't really sure what to think of Voss, though. He approves of Lae'zel turning against Vlaakith but thinks in some ways Voss is just encouraging Lae'zel to trade one blind loyalty for another, and there may be parts of his agenda he has not revealed.

On the other hand - Voss seems far more beaten down and less in control of the situation than the last time they saw him. He looks towards Hector with urgent desperation in his eyes.

"Tell me you took the devil's deal. Tell me you will free Gith's heir."

"No," Hector answers calmly, just as he answered Lae'zel before. "I will find another way to liberate Orpheus."

Voss narrows his eyes skeptically. "I did not come this far for you to turn your back on the First Mother's son," he says. There is a note of threat in his voice.

"Gith'ka tavkim krash'ht," Lae'zel responds. "You put your trust in me, Voss. I plan to honor it."

Voss frowns. "Yes. And it seems I have no choice but to trust. There is but one Prism, and you are its key." He squints at Hector, appraising him for a long moment. Hector gets the distinct sense that, were it up to Voss, Hector would have no place at all in this plan and he would work with Lae'zel directly. But, as he says, he does not have that choice.

"Find a way to retrieve the Hammer and free Orpheus," the kith'rak goes on. "I will assemble his remaining honor guard and plan our next actions. Together, we will yet free the True Heir of Gith's blessed Empire. He will free us from Vlaakith and lead our kith'raki against the ghaik."

Not for the first time, Hector wonders if Selune is watching his actions, and what she thinks of a monk of her order getting involved in the succession struggles of the gith religion. And, as usual, his only comfort is the hope that she knows what is at stake, and that he acts always for the good, as best he can see it in the gnarled and messy path ahead of him.

"Istik," Voss finishes curtly, "I will wait in the underground. Seek me when you have the Hammer in hand."

He clearly considers the conversation finished and starts to turn away, but Hector puts out a hand to interrupt him. "Orpheus sensed the tadpole before, and his guard attacked," he points out. "Won't he attack if we free him?"

(A/N: Finally we get to ask directly about this.)

Voss turns and looks at him intently for a long moment. "The Prince of the Comet aches for githyanki liberation more than he abhors ghaik. He might seethe when you free him. He might gnash his teeth and slander your name. But he will see reason, I promise you."

It's poor assurance, really. Orpheus has been caught within the Astral Prism for centuries; what can Voss possibly know of the state of his mind? But it is the best Hector can hope for.

Gods, this is dangerous ground we are treading.

"Any idea where Raphael might keep the Orphic Hammer?" he asks.

Voss's jaw works thoughtfully. "A devil of Raphael's statue does not simply make camp on the shores of the Styx. He will have made a sanctuary for himself. A lavish one, too, one that caters to his many vices."

"The House of Hope," Lae'zel confirms. "We must find a way in."

Voss smiles coldly. "The House of Hope, you say? I couldn't ask for a name more fitting." He looks at Hector for another long moment, then turns and walks away. "Every house has an entrance, istik. Even those in the Hells. You must find it."

Hector watches the kith'rak's back as he disappears into the crowded room below. That, he thinks wearily, was the least useful thing you could possibly have said. Thank you for that.

[blackjackkent]

Ooh, Aylin has more to say!

"There you are. I have awaited your arrival with great anticipation. Come closer."

Step closer.

"Feel my voice rattle your bones as I proclaim our victory!" She raises her hands towards the sky, and he does indeed feel it resonate through his whole body as she speaks, crying out into the heavens.

"Moonmaiden! Selune! Hear me! Ketheric Thorm, traitor, apostle of Myrkul, is dead at last! My mate most high, darling Isobel, is safe and well. Safe and well and returned to my embrace!"

She drops her eyes to Hector, the intensity of her mother's moonlight radiating out of her gaze. "Blessings upon the slayer of the wicked one!"

He is starting, very slowly, to grow used to speaking with her, to the strange balance she strikes between god and mortal. To the fact that her mother is Selune herself, and that nevertheless she treats Hector as an equal, someone to be respected and fought alongside. But it still, on some level, punches him in the gut anew every time.

"I couldn't have done it without you," he murmurs humbly, his eyes dropping to the ground in front of her.

"We are a powerful party indeed," she says, with a sort of otherworldly approximation of cheeriness. "Faerun trembles at our touch! My darling Isobel says we will stay allied at your side. I am pleased to hear it."

He nods vigorously. The Guardian said he must find allies, and he could certainly do a lot worse than Aylin and Isobel.

"There's... still a great deal about you I don't know," he says cautiously.

"Pray, ask, and I will tell," she says, and waits expectantly, her eyebrows slightly raised.

Might as well address the elephant in the room. "Are you really Selune's daughter?" he asks.

"Do I not radiate with my mother's brightness? Her glory?" Aylin says with overwhelming gravitas. "There can be no doubt. I am of her silvered flesh, her celestial womb."

Hector blinks rapidly. I'll take that as a yes.

"Would...your mother be willing to aid us in the fight against the Dead Three?" he asks, and his voice cracks only slightly at the enormity of the request.

"Why, she already has. She has brought her sword to your side! Dame Aylin! So mighty are her wonders, her great wisdom. Together, we will set this fair land free of tyranny and murder."

Hector raises an eyebrow very briefly at that. It seems less a gift from Selune to have Aylin, and more random chance - but who is he to dispute the assertion?

"How did you come to be trapped in the Shadowfell?" he asks instead.

Her jaw works and she looks away from him, staring into the middle distance with a baleful gaze. "Hm. Ketheric Thorm. Father of my one and only love. Enslaver of Dame Aylin. Ketheric Thorm never did trust me, even when he worshipped the Moonmaiden. He was threatened by my love for Isobel. By her love for me."

Her expression twists with sudden pain, and she looks towards Isobel, standing nearby, as if to reassure herself of the other woman's presence. "When she died - curse the day, the hour! - we each of us mourned bitterly. But Ketheric's pain could be touched by no aid, no boundary. He turned to wretched Shar, the Lady of Loss, for relief. And she whispered into his ear, poisoning his mind."

Rage begins to overtake any other expression as she looks back on her imprisonment. "He and his loathsome advisor Balthazar lured me into the Shadowfell, claimed they'd found someone in need of my aid. There they trapped me in their infernal cage. I was killed, murdered, made dead, over and over by Justiciars of every make and kind! I was reborn, for it is my nature. And Ketheric fed upon my immortality all the while!"

Her voice has lifted to a shout, drawing the attention of all those standing around the camp. And she raises a fist into the air, crashes the other against the chest of her armor, and her voice rings out over them all.

"But lo! The brute is dead! And we, we live!"