#thread: necromancy of thay

[theautumnpicker]

@mystraguideme

It's his, by any rights. They'd taken an awfully long detour to find the book in the first place, and then it had been Astarion himself who had been sent to collect it, to carefully sever the connection between the pressure plate and the statues around it. Yet for all his effort— not to mention his very polite request— it was Gale who was rewarded with the treasure. And for what? It's undoubtedly just another bauble to him, the ravenous, power-mad fool.

Not that Astarion can really fault his ambition.

Of course, he showed no outward sign of his irritation. That wouldn't win him any points with their leader. Besides, he still had options. He meant to wait until they were at camp and swipe the thing while the others were eating. He even pitched his tent next to Gale's that night, watching the wizard closely as he set up all his worldly goods. Yet Gale seemed to keep the book with him, as if it were a bit of light reading he wanted to settle down with on a full belly.

So, giving up on his first plan, Asterion joined the group at supper after all, smiling and joking to disguise his poor appetite for the sort of food they have to offer. He went to bed directly afterwards, but he can't sleep, whether or not he wants to. Thoughts of the book invade his mind, almost calling out to him with the power it has to offer him. There has to be something in the pages of that tome that he can use against Cazador, or even just use for himself. Something to make his condition permanent, beyond the grace of these damned tadpoles that everyone else seems in such a rush to remove. He imagines returning home to his old master, telling him what he'd discovered and promising to share the secret— for surely even Cazador would envy his power now— only to watch him burn and writhe in the sun.

That does it. He is getting that damned book.

Astarion sits up and raises the flap of his tent, peering out and seeing to his satisfaction that all the others are asleep, or at the very least in their little beds, oblivious to all the world. He half crawls outside, keeping low to the ground in a prowl, as he steals over to Gale's tent and listens outside, ceasing to breathe as he listens for the sounds of the wizard's own breathing inside. He feels hungry suddenly, but whether he hungers for the knowledge close at hand or for the blood he can smell under Gale's skin as he stalks his quarry is hard to say.

The hunger makes him impatient. Astarion doesn't wait until he can hear that breathing slow, until he's sure Gale is fast asleep. Instead, he enters quickly and quietly, not even looking at the wizard at first as he scans the entirety of his surroundings in rapid search for his heart's desire. Even if the book remains on Gale's person now, Astarion fully intends to take it for his own.

[danse--macabre]

tirastarion role reversal au GO ! ( astarion as a high elf necromancer, and tira as a vampire tiefling under cazador order ). how would their dynamic go?

you know I suggested this without even thinking about it much and it actually led to a really interesting creative exercise!

here are.... well, six or seven ideas for how that whole dynamic goes:

astarion is somewhere under a century old. he's the youngest son of a rich merchant from a far-off place, by whom astarion is regarded as a bit of a wastrel with a proclivity for skirt-chasing, not helped by the tendency to impulsively run off and 'disappear' to start up some elaborate (& increasingly ludicrous) scheme (becoming a magistrate, investing in luxury tailors, opening a brothel)... which inevitably fails, involves him begging his parents for money, and then returning home months later penniless. astarion's latest grand plan? becoming a wizard. the dream got cut short when he ended up being enthralled by an undead warlock for several years. anyway, several dead people later, it turns out he's not a half-bad wizard, it's just ... rather than a flashy illusionist he had envisioned himself as, his forté is actually... necromancy. turns out summoning skeletons comes quite naturally to him (turns out when you're collecting cadavars for a body-swapping warlock, you pick up a lot of practical experience). anyway, following a daring escape attempt, he's finally free... and not sure what to do with himself, anymore.

tirazel is about fifty years old. the youngest and most disobedient spawn of cazador szarr, she was formerly a beloved debutante and darling daughter of one of baldur's gate's most prominent and wealthy crime families, until her father - janus di fiore - crossed the vampire lord in a decision that left half the di fiores dead and tirazel stolen and turned as 'punishment'. wilful and clever, tirazel yearns to get the slightest thread of cazador's schemes that she can unravel - which, through careful sleuthing, she's realised involves devil pacts much like her late father used to make (tirazel can read infernal, which helps). she's hoping she can find a way to out-bargain him and send him straight to hell.

astarion tries to pretend she's beneath him and largely is just catty with her at the beginning. this is because he's deflecting from the fact that he's a half-rate wizard who's only really decent at one school - the school he was forced to learn to escape something actually pretty traumatising - and bickers with her about very stupid things up until they both are at each other's throats. when tirazel reveals she's a vampire, he tries to pretend that she's just another cruel, undead creature.

enter: ownership of the necromancy of thay. they bicker fiercely over it. tirazel claims this knowledge has always been denied to her; she's always wanted to become a wizard, but that opportunity was stolen from her. astarion actually is fairly easy to convince to let it go to tirazel - because he's actually at a loss as to how to deal with his own mess or what to do with the book, because she's a pretty face (sucker!), and because... he feels for her situation. he's not beyond sympathy in this universe. so fine, he lets her. on the condition that she share some of the research.

thus, tirazel constantly tries to consult him with excerpts from the necromancy of thay. she'll get him to translate bits, explain spells, this, that, the other. she'll also flirt shamelessly as she does it (something she literally did not bother with until she suddenly needs his expertise). tirazel's plan is to make a counter-ritual to cazador's, using astarion's expertise, while letting astarion in on as little as the plan as possible. she is going to use him and then dump him. she even bats her eyelashes and asks him oh would be so kind to let her take a sample of blood? oh would you mind if i bit you every night? please~<3 (he absolutely goes bloodless for her every night and tries to hide it and pretends it didn't happen).

astarion begins to learn more about her, begins to enjoy her company (she's funny, she's sharp, she's clever), begins to understand where she's coming from, catches sincere feelings first and confesses in.... a manner far sweeter she ever expected from him, she thought he was just taken by the pretty face, but no. he's not. and she's internally in a tumult because... no, she can't fall for the mark (she is 100% falling for the mark). but i think it's messier than canon. she tries to convince herself this is all a ploy, lies to herself about the fact that she's telling the truth when she says 'I care for you too'.

bonus: she hides the truth about the rite of ascension, she adapts her counter-ritual to essentially 'dethrone' cazador in his final hour and let her ascend. she doesn't tell astarion. she simply laughs about the idea of cazador's 'deluded little ritual -as if mephistopholes would grant him that!' and deflects when it's mentioned. when she lays out the counter-ritual astarion realises exactly what she's doing. she doesn't need his help anymore. all he needs to do is be useful, stand back, and watch. astarion can intervene or not - it doesn't actually need his help (she's provided it), and has a choice if he intervenes between persuading her or attacking her. an insight check will reveal actually that she's DEEPLY torn about doing this and convincing herself it's fine. convincing herself she needs to follow the plan. convincing herself that she doesn't have anything resembling feelings for this pathetic half-talented man who showed her some kindness despite himself.

basically, tirazel is a really nasty femme fatale here trying to convince herself she has to be evil. astarion is at a crossroads, has some freedom in his life for once, uses it to be good and ends up with a vampire trying to be his apprentice, almost trapping him in the same situation he was before. ascended!tirazel involves astarion becoming a thrall again; spawn!tirazel involves the two of them travelling the world together.

[rodimissliveblogs]

finally went and changed my blog theme so that threads I'd reblogged many times weren't reduced to 3 letters per line (I did this mainly to facilitate the "Astarion & Necromancy of Thay" thread) and since this theme has the option to display your header image. I have tossed up an incredibly temporary, not-properly-sized header image. also commemorating Astarion & the Necromancy of Thay.

[multimoth]

@aethergate sent ; bodyswap Gale and astarion my ass is NOT finding the emojis !!!

One might assume they would have learned from the entire debacle involving the Necromancy of Thay not to prod around at clearly-cursed books but, no, evidently even lived experience isn't a good enough teacher when it comes to men like Gale and Astarion. If asked in the future, Gale would be quick to place the blame solely on the vampire's head; in truth, it's the combined effort of Astarion's deft fingers and Gale's talent for incantations that finally springs the cover of the dusty old tome they'd found wide open.

It's accompanied by what Gale can only describe as an explosion, a blast of pure arcane energy so forceful it sends him flying back a couple of meters, or at least it appears that way, but, frankly, it's a little hard to tell because he finds himself in the bizarre position of noting that, quite abruptly, his entire perspective has simply become wrong somehow.

More than wrong. There is no constant thrum of energy pulsing within his chest, no threads of Weave pulling at his fingers. The aching hunger, the need he can't properly articulate - that's still there, but different, too. Every now and then his vision swarms; the tadpole is still there, because of course it is. But his fingers are lithe and pale, paler even than they already were, and Gale spent months holed up in a tower alone rather recently. But all of that is secondary to the fact that his own body is sprawled out across the clearing from him and he can most certainly tell from feeling alone that he does not have an arcane double conjured right now.

What in all the hells.

"What did you do?" Gods, even his voice is wrong, and it trembles as shaky hands scrabble at his chest, searching desperately for something he just innately knows isn't in him anymore as he sits up more fully, eyes narrowed at the imposter lying across from him. "What did you do to me?"

[fenharelsregret]

not to necro this thread roughly translating astarion’s scarring (which by the way is some remarkable sleuthing) but i’ve hit a fair amount of lines in astarion’s voice bank that have me 🤔🤔🤔

that thread gives the rough translation of:

This soul swears no oath by fire

Nor words does he speak

In the realm of death

if you give astarion the necromancy of thay, something he seems deeply interested in, he (and anyone you give this to) learns Speak With Dead.

now, the files i’ve come across all have astarion using Speak With Dead...but none of the corpses will speak to him.

‘It may be able to speak, but it will say nothing to me’ is the latest in three or four that i’ve found and has me pinning this as a trend and not just a one-off with various iterations.

to slap on my early access theorycrafting hat: why would cazador bar astarion (and perhaps all his slaves) from using Speak With Dead? is it Speak With Dead across the board, or is there another layer of context for why so many corpses just refuse to talk to him? is this nothing at all and just a weird coincidence with the ‘nor words does he speak in the realm of death’?

[bestworstcase]

I loved the conversation between Catalina and Sitheach! It got me wondering about options for transitioning in your world. How does that work?

(Also how do you pronounce Sitheach’s name? I’m SURE I’m saying it wrong in my head)

ˌsiθeˈæχ if you’re an IPA person. see-thay-ACH. the th is unvoiced (like in “breath”), the a is as in “cat,” and the ch is articulated in the throat so think like a phlegmy and guttural “ack!” 

it’s also the saporian word for ligament akjsdkjfl

so i definitely think there are efforts being made in certain places (ingvarr, azoth, minkar, antares, and aberdinon are kind of the hotspots for this in my head) to develop secular methods of transition that are not magic-based so essentially alchemical hrt and (esp in antares, which is a huge melting pot of cultures so i think of it as having really robust and knowledgeable medicine in general) surgeries, with the benefit being you’re not beholden to a god for your transition - which appeals both to people who aren’t religious or don’t want to mess around with magic at all and to people who are devoted to gods whose magic doesn’t lend itself well to transition and who for whatever reason don’t want to branch out to another god just for the sake of transitioning. 

but then like - the way gods work here is they have a domain, which is specific and unique to them, and then they have a sphere of influence connected to that domain which can be a lot more general / varied / overlapping with other gods. which is to say that “change” in some form belongs to the spheres of a lot of different gods and any time that happens you can finagle a transition out of that god’s magic if you’re imaginative enough and determined enough. and the more strongly that god is associated with change, the more central that is to their sphere, the easier it is to use their magic that way.

so! zhan tiri, for example. her domain is hunger but her sphere is enormous because, like i said in the last post, she has a tendency of going “neat! mine now” whenever something catches her interest which - ksjdfjks to quote the blurb from the world anvil i’m putting together: 

Zhan Tiri is notorious for her eclecticism. Her basic nature is to hunger, but her sphere has expanded throughout the eons in answer to her insatiable appetite. She claims dominion over the sea, storms, soil, and the sky. She is heavily associated with cyclical change, particularly with the seasons and the cycle of life, death, and rebirth; also, with beginnings, endings, liminality, doorways, thresholds, and moments or places of transition; also, with choice, freedom, wildness, and hedonism. Rot and decay are her purview, but so are recovery and renewal. Humanity itself is sometimes considered to be part of her sphere, as is the concept, pursuit, and practice of choimghē.

part of the reason she is so heavily associated with change / cycles / transformation is she herself has undergone some very extreme changes in nature; she started off as essentially a mindless cosmic parasite that crawled out of the void and created the current cosmos by accident, became hunger/a monstrous primordial god, caught ennui from humans, ate a tree and became the cosmic bridge between the profane and sublime realms and now has feelings vjkskldf. and then of course her manifestations and the way she presents herself are so varied and changeable too. so she’s like - KNOWN for this, and the rites sitheach references in 13 (the crēdathámanē) is kind of, if someone had only ever heard of one method of magical transition it would be that one.

but then like. turul’s domain is insight but he has associations with cycles and transformation generally (you know... phases of the moon...), and huma’s is hope but she also has associations with cyclical change and especially the cycle of rot/renewal (seasons!) so a lot of their cults have set rituals for transitioning as well. (*cough* trans brotherhood rights *cough*). 

or char malách’s domain is wonder, but he’s so strongly associated with artistry, craftsmanship, creativity that his magic is actually incorporated into the crēdathámanē rites along with zhan tiri’s and could also fairly easily be used this way by itself, although i don’t think there’s a specific like, standard ritual because for him this would be such an individual process, like sculpting or painting but in this case the canvas is you.

and then! ferr’s domain is order and she’s associated heavily with fate and destiny as well as like, constructive things (like metallurgy, alchemy, architecture, anything where you’re taking raw materials and turning them into something more organized), and havot’s domain is wildness  and she’s very heavily associated with free will and choice (and similar to char malách, creativity and self-expression as well) and both of them are often worshipped in combination and their magic tends to be very complementary - and i think they’re somewhat unique in this regard in that the transition magic associated with them is probably a pretty even blend vs all from one god or a crēdathámanē situation where you thread in a bit of magic from the local creativity god (char malách in the west, havot in the central plains) to refine the process.

etc. so there’s a lot of options and with magic there’s not really hard boundaries - you’re limited by the sphere of whatever patron you’re drawing magic from, of course, and whatever rules they impose on you in exchange for use of their magic, but within those bounds it’s all about will and want and if you can plausibly imagine a way to accomplish something - anything! - through the pathway of your patron’s sphere, then. you can.

(like - unrelated to transition - but in moonless air 8, sitheach’s whole little spiel when they’re talking lance through what they’re doing is essentially ‘i have figured out a way to apply necromancy to living people because TECHNICALLY some of your CELLS are dead’ and it works sjklfdlk. and cathay was kind of like squint ‘don’t do that again i don’t like it’ so now it’s Not Allowed lmao. but that’s kind of how things work in general - the really truly powerful sorcerers are the ones who can think outside the box and pull things off on a technicality.)

[nyxshadowhawk]

Nyx’s Complete List of Goth Names

Abaddon: From Greek, means "destruction" or "demon of the pit."

Acheron: The River of Woe in the Greek underworld.

Achlys: Greek primordial goddess of poison, misery, and sadness, personification of the death-mist.

Adonis: Means "lord" (as in Adonai). In Greek mythology, the most beautiful youth in the world, loved by both Persephone and Aphrodite. Died tragically.

Adrian/Adrienne: English, from Latin; means "from Hadria" (the Adriatic Sea). I've heard sources saying it means "dark one," but I haven't been able to confirm this. It's still a really cool, kind of gothy name. (Also the real name of Alucard from Castlevania.)

Ahriman: The Zoroastrian devil/evil god.

Akeldama: Means "field of blood," a place in Jerusalem associated with Judas.

Alastor: Greek, means "avenging spirit."

Alcmene: (Female) Means "might of the moon," Heracles' mother in mythology.

Alecto: One of the Erinyes (Furies), the goddesses of vengeance. Means "unceasing."

Altair: The brightest star in the constellation Aquila (the Eagle), from Arabic, meaning "the bird."

Amaranth: (Female) Greek; a mythical purple flower that never fades, a symbol of immortality.

Amethyst: A dark purple crystal, associated with wine and preventing drunkenness.

Andromeda: Greek, means "thinks like a man," the name of a princess in mythology, a constellation, and a galaxy.

Anubis: Jackal-headed Egyptian god of death and embalming.

Arcana: From Latin "hidden, secret" (literally "to shut in a chest"), refers to secrets or mysteries. Also refers to the groups of cards in a tarot deck (the major and minor arcana).

Arianrhod: Means "silver wheel," Welsh goddess of the moon, stars, and the flow of time.

Artemis/Diana: Greco-Roman goddess of the hunt, the moon, and virginity

Asmodeus: Means "wrath-demon," a Goetic demon appearing in a number of texts, representing luxury, sensuality, and lust. (Also Asmodai)

Asphodel: A white flower planted on graves, said to grow in the Greek underworld, and therefore heavily connected with death.

Astaroth: (Unisex) A demon in the Ars Goetia (from the Lesser Key of Solomon), described as a male demon and a Duke of Hell, but the name likely comes from the Phoenician goddess Astarte (or Ashtoreth), who is a version of Ishtar (Babylonian) and Inanna (Sumerian).

Astor: A French and German name from Occitan, meaning "goshawk." A goshawk is a bird of prey. I've read on naming sites that this name was originally a derogatory term for young men with hawk-like, predatory characteristics, but I haven't found anything to confirm this. This is the name of my alter-ego and one of the main protagonists of Shadowbook.

Astra/Astrid/Asteria: From Greek, "star." In Greek mythology, Asteria was a Titaness of astrology and prophecy, the mother of Hecate. An aster is also a star-shaped flower.

Atropos: The last of the Moirai (Fates), who cuts the thread at the end of life.

Autumn: The darkening part of the year, when everything is dying, and Halloween happens.

Azrael: The name of the Angel of Death, means "whom god helps." (Also Asriel)

Azazel: A Watcher's name, means "scapegoat." Taught humanity the arts of weaponry and cosmetics. Commonly associated with demons and evil.

Baphomet: A goat-headed, winged deity associated with Satanism; obscure etymology.

Bastet: Egyptian goddess of cats.

Belial: A Hebrew name meaning "worthless," a name of the devil or a demon.

Belladonna: Also called "deadly nightshade," an extremely poisonous plant that causes hallucinations and death.

Bellona: Roman goddess of war

Bezaliel: Means "shadow of God" or "damaged," a Watcher's name.

Blodeuwedd: Pronounced "bluh-DIE-weth," means "flower-face." A Welsh goddess who was turned into an owl.

Bram/Brom: Technically short for Abraham ("father of a multitude"), the author of Dracula, Abraham "Bram" Stoker.

Bran: Welsh, "raven." The name of Bran the Blessed, a giant and king of Britain in Welsh mythology.

Branwen: (Female) Welsh, means "white raven" or "fair raven."

Breksta: Lithuanian goddess of night, dreams, and twilight.

Caligo: Latin word for “mist,” “gloom,” and “darkness.” (Calignes is the plural, which could also work) (feminine)

Calypso: Greek, "she who conceals." The nymph who kept Odysseus imprisoned on her island.

Carmilla: A lesbian vampire from the gothic novel of the same name, predating Dracula. The name seems to have been invented by the author.

Cassius: Roman, "empty, hollow."

Ceridwen: Welsh enchantress or goddess who stirs the cauldron of poetic inspiration.

Cernunnos: Celtic forest god depicted as having a stag's antlers.

Chiroptera: Literally means "hand wing," the order of bats in taxonomy.

Circe: Means "circle." In Greek mythology, a sorceress who turned Odysseus' men into pigs (and later helped them).

Cora: From the Greek name Kore, meaning "maiden." A name for Persephone. (Also, Coraline.)

Cornix: A princess transformed into a crow by Athena in Ovid's Metamorphosis.

Corvus/Corax: Corvus corax is the scientific name of the common raven.

Crimson: Dark, rich red, the color of wine or blood. One of the Gothiest colors that isn't black. It's very easy for this to sound banal or cringey, especially if it's a character's given name, so use with caution. Scarlet works, too, if you want something easier to use as a given name.

Damian: From Greek, means "to tame," tends to be associated with demons or vampires, a bit cliche at this point.

Dantalion: A Goetic demon, the name is particularly cool.

Desdemona: A tragic character in Othello, comes from Greek and means "ill-fated." Can be shortened to "Mona."

Desmodus: The genus of common vampire bats. (D. rotundus)

Devana: Slavic version of Artemis/Diana, goddess of the hunt.

Dorian: The corrupt, depraved, nearly immortal and astonishingly beautiful protagonist from The Picture of Dorian Gray. (Turns out Oscar Wilde invented the name; it did not exist before the book was written.)

Dracul: Romanian, "devil" or "dragon." What really needs to be said?

Ebony: A very dark wood.

Echo: In Greek mythology, a nymph who was cursed so she would only repeat the names of others; died while pining after Narcissus.

Edgar: Anglo-Saxon, "rich spear." The name of the one and only Edgar Allen Poe (also, my cat).

Eidolon: A type of spirit or ghost in Greek liteature. Also a genus of bats.

Eirlys: Welsh, "snowflake."

Elatha: An Irish god, described as the "beautiful Miltonic prince of darkness with golden hair." Not sure what the source for that is, but cool!

Elvira: Spanish, means "foreign true," a stereotypical Goth name (and the name of the Mistress of the Dark!). Actually, I first ran across the name in reference to a vengeful ghost called Elvira Blood in New England folk legend. Spooky!

Empusa: A kind of Greek female demon (similar to Lamia) that served Hecate.

Endora: Comes from the Witch of Endor, a Biblical sorceress.

Endymion: In Greek mythology, a handsome shepherd whom Selene fell in love with. Zeus granted him eternal sleep so he would never age. Means "to dive, to enter."

Erebus: Greek primordial god and personification of darkness.

Esmeralda: Spanish name meaning "emerald." (Also, the heroine in The Hunchback of Notre Dame.)

Ethelinda: Anglo-Saxon, means "little serpent."

Euryale: Greek, means "far-roming," the middle Gorgon sister.

Eurynomos: Greek chthonic spirit of corpses.

Eventide: It could work as a name.

Fenrir: A wolf demon in Norse mythology, the son of Loki.

Finvarra: Irish, King of the Fairies (and sometimes King of the Dead), a benevolent entity that ensures a good harvest and abundance.

Gabriel: The angel. Means "warrior of god." Gabrielle also works (and is the name of Lestat's mother).

Gehenna: A Hebrew name for Tartarus or Hell.

Golgotha: From Hebrew, "skull," the place where Jesus was crucified.

Grimm: The surname of two German brothers who recorded a classic collection of oral folklore and fairy tales, many of which are very... well, grim.

Habundia: A Celtic name for the queen of witches and night creatures, possibly another name for Nicnevan. Etymology uncertain.

Hades: The Lord of the Underworld in Greek mythology (also the name of the Underworld itself).

Hawthorn: A type of shrub steeped in folklore, associated with fairies and with Beltane (1st May).

Hecate: Greek goddess of witchcraft, magic, the occult, the moon, necromancy, the Underworld, and the crossroads. Means "worker from far off."

Hellebore: A type of evergreen flower, some species of which are poisonous. Believed to summon demons, also believed to cure madness.

Hemlock: A plant used to poison people.

Herne: "the Hunter," a ghost that haunts Windsor Forest (sometimes identified with The Horned God).

Hesperos/ia: The evening star.

Hypnos: The Greek god of sleep.

Iblis: Satan in Islamic lore.

Idris: Welsh, "ardent (passionate, fiery) lord."

Igor: Russian, "bow-warrior." Became famous as the name of Frankenstein's hunchbacked assistant, even though he doesn't exist in the book and his name in the original Universal film was Fritz.

Ingram: Swedish name meaning "Ing's raven."

Iolanthe: Greek, means "violet flower." (eye-oh-LAHN-thay)

Iseult/Isolde/Isolt: A tragic lover in Arthurian legend.

Jasmine: A type of flower, in this case referring to Cestrum nocturnum, or night-blooming jasmine.

Kali: Hindu goddess of destruction, name means "the black one."

Kasdaye: Means "hidden power," the name of a Watcher (another name for Tamiel). (Unisex)

Kiara/n: Gaelic, means "little black one."

Kimaris: A Goetic demon. (Male)

Kokabiel: Means "angel of the stars," a Watcher.

Lacrimae: Latin word for tears.

Lamia: A female demon in Greek folklore who devours children. The name of the witch in the film version of Stardust.

Lenore: A variant of Eleanor (also a good name), means "foreign," the lost love of the protagonist of "The Raven," also has her own poem.

Leshii: A Russian god of hunting, similar to Veles

Lethe: River of Forgetfulness in the Greek Underworld.

Leviathan: From Hebrew, "twisted in folds," a Biblical sea monster. Sometimes associated with Midgard's Serpent.

Libitina: A Roman goddess of corpses, funerals, and the dead.

Ligeia: Greek, the name of a Siren, also the subject of a Poe story of the same name.

Lilah: Comes from the Arabic Leila, meaning "night."

Lilith: Means "of the night" or "screech owl." In Hebrew mythology, Adam's first wife and the Queen of Demons. She refused to submit to Adam, so she left Eden and began screwing around with demons. Often considered a succubus or vampire, or a champion of feminism. A lilim is also a succubus or incubus.

Loki: Trickster god in Norse mythology with ambiguous morals.

Lorelei: German, means "murmuring rock," the name of a German Siren.

Lucius/Lucifer/Lucien: All mean "light" or "light-bringer," a name associated with Satan.

Lucy: From Dracula, also could be a shortening/feminization of Lucifer. (Still means "light.")

Luna: The Roman personification of the moon.

Lycoris: A Greek word that means "twilight," the name of an Asian red flower, associated with death and the underworld (much like Asphodel).

Maeve: Comes from Gaelic, means "the intoxicating one." Associated with the Fairy Queen Mab.

Makaria: Greek goddess of blessed death, a daughter of Hades and Persephone.

Mania: Etruscan/Roman goddess of the undead, ghosts, and underworld spirits, goddess of madness. Also a modern medical term referring to a specific mental illness.

Mara: A name steeped in darkness, referring to a nightmare spirit (nightmare), a (benevolent) goddess of death in Latvian mythology, a (male) demon in Buddhist mythology, and a Sanskrit word meaning "death."

Medea: In Greek mythology, the sorceress who helped Jason, but then went on a murderous rampage when he left her. Considered to be a priestess (or, rarely, daughter) of Hecate.

Megaera: One of the Erinyes (Furies), the goddesses of vengeance. Means "grudge."

Melanie: Greek, "black" or "dark."

Melantha: Greek, "dark flower."

Melinda/Mindy: English, "black serpent."

Melinoe: Greek goddess of ghosts, nightmares, and madness, a daughter of Hades and Persephone.

Mephistopheles: The name of the devil in the Faust legend, could be from Hebrew and mean "disperser of lies," or from Greek and mean "does not love the light."

Merle: (Unisex) from French, "blackbird."

Mina: From Dracula. Short for Wilhelmina, a German name meaning "will-helmet."

Morana/Marzanna: Slavic goddess of winter and death.

Morgan/Morgana: From Welsh, means "sea-circle," the name of Morgan le Fay, a sorceress in Arthurian Legend (who may be good or evil, depending on your interpretation).

Morpheus: The Greek god of dreams, the main protagonist of Neil Gaiman's Sandman comics. (Also, The Matrix.)

Morrigan: An Irish goddess of death, battle, and ravens, name means "great queen."

Morwenna: A Welsh name meaning "maiden." ("Morwanneg" is the name of the witch in Stardust.)

Nepenthe: A magical drug from the Odyssey that cures sorrow and causes forgetfulness.

Nephthys: Means "lady of the temple," the Egyptian goddess of the dead, mate of Seth and mother of Anubis.

Nergal: Mesopotamian god of death, war, and destruction.

Nicnevan: Queen of the Fairies in Scottish folklore. She is the Scottish version of Hecate.

Nightshade: A family of plants including tomatoes, potatoes, and eggplants, but also the notorious deadly nightshade.

Nisha/nt: A Hindi name meaning "night."

Nocturne: Self-explanatory. Refers to a night prayer, a musical composition evoking night, or a night scene in art.

Nyctala/Nyctea: Two obsolete genera of owls. Nyctala is the genus of Boreal owls before it was changed to Aegolius, and Nyctea was the genus of Snowy owls before it was changed to Bubo. Both probably mean or are related to "night."

Nyctalus: A genus of bats.

Nyctimene: A princess from Ovid's Metamorphoses who was so ashamed at having been molested by her father, she refused to show her face in daylight. Out of pity, Minerva (Athena) turned her into an owl. Also a genus of bats.

Nyx: A Greek primordial goddess and personification of the Night. (also Nox)

Oberon: From French, means "elf-ruler," the name of the Fairy King in A Midsummer Night's Dream (Referred to in one scene as the "king of shadows").

Obsidian: A shiny black volcanic stone.

Onyx: A type of banded stone, most famously black. (The word comes from the Greek for "fingernail.")

Ophelia: A tragic character in Hamlet, which probably comes from Greek and means "help."

Orcus: A Latin word for Hell, and a Roman god who punished the dead (possibly an epithet of Hades/Pluto).

Orion: A hunter in Greek mythology, and the famous constellation.

Orlok: The name of the ugly-looking vampire from Nosferatu.

Orpheus: Greek name, possibly comes from the word orphe, "darkness." The name of a demigod with an impossibly beautiful singing voice who attempted to rescue his love from the underworld, failed, and then died tragically.

Pan: Greek goat-horned god of nature, herds, and lust, induces "panic."

Pandora: Name means "all-gifted." In Greek mythology, the name of the first woman, who opened a box that unleashed evil upon the world.

Pandemonium: The capital city of Hell in Paradise Lost, name literally means "all demons."

Persephone: Greek Queen of the Underworld, wife of Hades, and goddess of springtime. You probably know her story. Her name might mean "thrasher of grain" (which would make sense for an agricultural goddess), but could also mean "slayer."

Phaenon: Means "shining" in Greek, refers to the planet Saturn (which has long been associated with darkness in mythology, being the furthest planet from the sun that is observable with the naked eye).

Pluto: Hades' Roman name, also the ninth planet, or what was the ninth planet.

Ransley: An English name meaning "raven's meadow."

Raven: This is by far the most cliche Goth name there is (I originally created this list to provide alternatives to the name “Raven”), but it’s classic, it’s simple, it’s unisex, and it’s undeniably Goth. 

Ravenna: Self-explanatory, also an Italian city.

Renwick: Scottish surname meaning "raven settlement."

Sable: A word referring to the color black.

Salome: From Hebrew shalom, "peace." The daughter of Herod and Herodias, unnamed in the Bible, who requested the head of John the Baptist and danced the Dance of the Seven Veils.

Samael: Means "venom of God," a vicious angel of death, the mate of Lilith. He is not technically a fallen angel, but a servant of God who does the dirty work.

Sekhmet: Egyptian goddess of war and destruction, with the head of a lioness. Her name means "power" or "might." Her epithets included "Mistress of Dread," "Lady of Slaughter," and "She Who Mauls." Ra had to stop her from killing people by getting her drunk on beer that was dyed to look like blood.

Selene: Greek personification of the moon. (Includes "Selena" and variants.")

Senka: Basque name meaning "shadow."

Seren: (Unisex) Welsh name meaning "star."

Seth: A name of Set or Sutekh, the Egyptian god of evil, chaos, and storms. He killed his brother Osiris and cut his body into pieces, and then was defeated by Horus. His head is that of an animal that looks kind of like an aardvark but is not an actual existing creature (at least not anymore). He was associated with the color red and the desert. His name possibly means "one who dazzles."

Shadow: Self-explanatory.

Silas: From Greek, means "from the forest." In The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman, it's the name of a [spoiler]vampire.

Silver: The color of the moon, and it looks nice with black.

Sinistra: Technically, it's Latin for "left," but it obviously has "sinister" connotations.

Skiá: Greek word for "shadow" or "shade."

Skotos: Ancient Greek word for "darkness," especially the darkness of death or the netherworld, or obscurity.

Skuld: The last of the Norns (Fates), representing death. Means "debt."

Sombra: The Spanish word for "shadow."

Somnus: Roman name for Hypnos, sleep.

Spyridon: Greek name referring to wicker baskets, which implies wealth. Could also be connected to the Latin spiritus, which means breath or spirit. Usually shortened to Spyro.

Stella: The Latin word for "star."

Stheno: Greek, means "forceful." The eldest of the Gorgon sisters.

Styx: The River of Hate in the Greek Underworld, the most famous of its rivers. The souls of the dead are ferried across it by Charon, and the gods (foolishly, if you ask me, seeing as they always regret it) swear on the Styx to make unbreakable oaths. The word "Stygian" means "of the River Styx" and refers to something very dark or abyssal.

Summanus: Roman god of nocturnal thunder.

Sylvia​​​​​​/Sylvana: Latin, "from the forest."

Tanith: Phoenician, "serpent lady."

Tartarus: The deepest hell-pit of the Greek Underworld, where evildoers are punished.

Tempest: A wild storm, from the Latin for "time."

Thanatos: The Greek personification of Death.

Tiamat: Babylonian primordial dragon goddess.

Tisiphone: One of the Erinyes (Furies), the goddesses of vengeance. Means "murder-retribution."

Tristan: Welsh, "riot, tumult." (Although it sounds like the Latin tristis, which means "sad.") The name of Isolt's lover in Arthurian Legend, and the name of the protagonist in Stardust.

Valerian: Roman, means "strength" or "valiant," also the name of an herb.

Vega: (Unisex) Latin from Arabic, means "falling" or "swooping," a star in the constellation Lyra. It is one of the brightest stars in the entire sky.

Veles: Slavic horned god of cattle, forests, magic, and the underworld.

Veliona: Slavic goddess of death

Velvet: A fabric that most goths love to wear.

Vervain: An herb (verbena), meaning "sacred bough," considered a magical or holy herb in multiple cultures.

Vesperus: (or just Vesper), a Roman name meaning "evening." (Vespera for a girl)

Vespertilio: A genus of bats.

Victor: The first of the trio of gothy male "V" names, means "conqueror," as in "victory." Frankenstein's first name. (Victoria also works for a girl.)

Vincent: The second of the trio of gothy male "V" names, also meaning "conquering," from Latin.

Vivian: The Lady of the Lake in Arthurian legend. From French, means "lively."  (Another name for the Lady is Nimue, which is Welsh and may be related to the Greek word for "memory." She sealed Merlin in a tree.)

Vlad: The third of the trio of gothy male "V" names, the name of Vlad Tepes or "Vlad the Impaler," the real-life Romanian prince who inspired Count Dracula. It's Slavic and means "ruler."

Willow: A beautiful and mournful-looking tree.

Winter: The dark, cold season. Unisex!

Yvaine: Scottish, means "evening star," the name of the star in Stardust.

Zagreus: The name of a chthonic Greek god who was potentially a son of Hades and Persephone or Zeus and Persephone, considered in Orphic lore to be Dionysus before he was dismembered and reincarnated.

Zillah: Hebrew name meaning "shadow."

[theautumnpicker]

Relief, as Gale refrains from asking any questions. Warmth. Comfort. Those constants remain. The way Gale's gentle laugh reverberates through his own body. Astarion has never felt so contented, not even in his most vicious glee.

"No, my darling, you don't snore at all. Just talk." He's teasing, of course, but it's true. Not that it's ever bothered him. Astarion waits until Gale is well and truly asleep before he disentangles himself from his arms, though he is still resting against his body, in order to focus his thoughts.

This time he slips easily into reverie, and though he is pulled at some point into one of those unwilling dreams brought on by the tadpole, it isn't Cazador he dreams of. When he wakes, it's with the feeling of such warmth, and his own steady heartbeat, that for half a second— much as he did the first time he felt the sun's soft rays caress his face— Astarion wonders if he isn't alive, after all.

Gale is still lying against him, a testament that last night was not part of his strange dreams. The both of them, more-or-less alive together. The both of them much stronger than they were when they began this journey.

Instead of pulling away to begin his day, as he usually would, Astarion allows himself a languid moment of lying beside his human lover (if they could properly be called lovers), tracing his fingertips over that brow, that nose, his cheek, his eyelids, his lips.

His intent is not to wake, only to commit to memory. So when the wizard begins to stir, he does feel a little guilty, and apologises with a soft kiss, a feather-light press of the lips even gentler than the one he'd given him the night before. "Don't mind me, my darling. Did you sleep well?"

Gripped fingers soften, gentle to stroke swirling patterns as if in those very movements he was discovering what it was to touch another. At once his eyes find rest, closing.

He subdues a small laugh within his chest so as not to rock Astarion too vigorous. A difficult task, this is the most joyous he has felt in years. The reassurance topples him, in that same strange way standing in the waves of the sea controls the body. How they were so aligned in thought, in physicality, and dare he say soul.

"More than you've ever had..." He echoes. Not in question, simply to reflect on what it may mean. They were all complicated creatures, and much to his own surprise he did not feel imbued to delve into more heavy conversations. "More than I've had, too."

He manages to grasp from behind himself a blanket, settling it over their bodies. It wasn't big, Gale remaining mostly uncovered for the preference of keeping Astarion comfortable, covered and close. "Ah yes, prepare to be amazed." Yawning, as his breathing begins to slow. He'd give him anything.

"I don't believe I'm known to snore loudly, but do take care not to smother me if I become a bother at any point. Wake me if you need it." Those final words dripping with sleepy assurance. He was there if the dreams became uneasy.

[theautumnpicker]

It's as satisfying as it was the first time, still, sinking his teeth into a thinking creature and tasting all the complexities of its blood. It's more nourishing, certainly, than the rats and other vermin that Cazador allowed him to eat, but the difference is more than that. Something else, too: there is a change in perspective that comes from taking it this way. Astarion understands for just a moment, when the goblin writhes in his arms, why Cazador called them cattle.

The thought makes him ashamed the moment it crosses his mind. He pushes it away and leaves the goblin lying in the dirt and rain as he returns back to camp. Thankfully, the shame dissipates quickly; the almost giddy, full-body happiness remains, happiness he'd never experienced until this week.

That happiness carries him back to camp, to the smouldering coals that are what remains of the campfire in the rain. Something here has changed; his own tent glows from within, a soft light. Is that— surely not! But when Astarion ducks inside, it is indeed Gale who sits like a child with a blanket wrapped around him on the ground, the book lying unopened before him.

"Well, hello." Isn't that adorable? It takes Astarion a moment to truly take in the scene. His face lights up with amusement immediately, knowing that the wizard must have been overcome with his eagerness, but there is actually something unexpectedly, deeply sweet about the situation. Not only does Gale feel comfortable enough with him for this, but he could have, of course, started reading at any point. Instead he is actually waiting. Astarion is not entirely sure what to make of that. "Don't you look cozy?" he says, instead of something more genuine.

"Give me just a moment, and I'll join you." He quickly unlaces his own boots and removes his damp socks. Astarion is more careful with his shirt; the others don't know about his scars yet, and he would rather keep it that way. So he grabs his towel first and almost covers himself, with what he imagines must seem like unexpected modesty, before he removes his shirt, dries himself as quickly as he can, and puts on a new, rather more drab looking shirt that he'd purchased from the druids.

At last he sits down beside Gale, hair still wet but the rest of him dry enough, their shoulders practically touching in the dim light of the tent. Astarion places a hand on the cover and feels a thrill of delight, mixed with the smallest portion of trepidation. Oddly, it's almost comforting to know that if he does die an agonizing death, mind invaded by the tome's magical défenses, at least someone will know what happened. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as they say." He takes a steadying breath. "Shall we?"

Sleep well. Those words may as well have been a curse.

He typically slept wonderfully in the rain, the gentle patter a sure-fire way to lull him into a blissful sleep. But Astarion’s starved curiosity, his unwelcome slinking into his tent... Gale tossed and turned, time passed in slow, dragging minutes but he could not fall asleep. Not when secrets of such arcane interest were begging him to open his mind and hoard.

Gale dispelled the invisibility of the Tome, and putting on a second pair of socks for good measure he jammed his feet into his boots. Arms full and with cloak over head he sprints the short distance to Astarion’s empty tent. Knocking (out of principal), then entering immediately. 

He makes himself comfortable. Boots off and sat cross-legged, his blanket wrapped around his shoulders, a notebook and quill at the ready. He conjures another small light so that he should be no darkened surprise when Astarion returns.

Of most importance, where the pure heart of his interest lay: The tome sits upon the ground before him, skull-eyes scouring his soul.

The waiting is both timeless yet endless. His movements in repetitive, eager cycles. The tilt of his head to gaze at the book from another angle, tracing his fingers over the seams in absolute temptation to break and turn that mighty cover. What secrets were bound here.

[theautumnpicker]

It's not exactly clear to Astarion whether Gale means that's all he wants this evening, or in general. Not least because of his sudden coyness on the subject. But he has enough self-awareness to know that it would be gauche to demand an unambiguous answer.

It doesn't matter so much, either. One evening of bliss is certainly worth having, whatever may come afterwards. Gale is lying in his bedroll, now, unabashedly making invitations— and then a hand has found his thigh, and this is a dance he knows all too well, except it isn't, and at once he is a little overwhelmed.

He plays it off with a quiet laugh, answering Gale's invitation by joining him in the bedroll, nestling close until he can feel that all-encompassing heat again. His hands, no longer cold, acting on borrowed warmth, slip underneath Gale's purple bed shirt and find his back. Skilled, effortless fingers caress his spine, wanting to make him shiver with enjoyment.

"It's ... It's not what I'm used to," he admits. "Just lying next to one another." But he desperately wants it. "You'll have to tell me if I do something wrong, of course. Let no one say I don't put your enjoyment first." There is a hint of that flirtatious tone, again, to hide the truth of what he means; that his own enjoyment has never come into it. His tone changes before his next phrase. Softer, less practiced, more open. "But I think I might like this."

He inches himself closer, pressing his nose to Gale's neck. "Even if I do wish I could taste you," he sighs softly, his cool breath washing over the skin of Gale's throat.

It is uttered so sincere that he is destined to dissolve into the very sweetness he calls him. Gale moves, shifting from his aching knees to sit next to Astarion. Pressing his body near, as if to ask forgiveness for the moment he had pulled himself away to adjust. Leaning upon his arm he searches for Astarion's face. It is easy to confess and speak so freely by the cover of darkness.

"You are breathtaking." He affirms, that romantic flair rolling from his lovestruck tongue. "Elminster may have brought less than ideal news, but his appearance couldn't have come at a better time. What you said about me in the Arcane Tower was spot on. I wasn't doing well, the orb was consuming me too quickly. It didn't feel fair to, 'have you', as you so put it, and then run away the next night to explode on a mountainside."

Gale clears his throat, tipping his head back as he becomes lost in the vision, lifting his hand to paint the scene. "I would have preferred to first bring you flowers, to take you on a walk along the cobblestone roads of Waterdeep. Wander the market, visit the great library, read poems together and laugh, lost deep in the shelves of Anthologies that haven't been touched for a century. I would have liked to kiss you first there. But, as you say, the pressure of one's mortality and Ex asking one to kill oneself does certainly expedite the process."

"But don't mistake the hastening as something that is born of last chances. In effect, nothing changed." He quickly clarifies. "The moment just seemed right, and I rather say you leaned in first! Though had you not I might have asked on my next breath."

He catches himself rambling and recedes, leaning back into his own space. "I am beginning to realize that may have been a tactic to subtly advise that I am coming on too strong. Forgive me, please. I should be slower, I am just, rather out of practice."

[theautumnpicker]

It's a profound relief when Gale finally says what he's thinking, that he doesn't want to die. This, Astarion can work with. Not the obstinate, foolish blindness from earlier— but perhaps it was his own obstinacy that had drawn that out from the wizard.

It draws a faint smile from his lips when Gale tells him that he respects his opinion. That's certainly a change. But, of course, he is the only one of them capable of speaking any sense.

"Of course we can," he says, sounding much more like himself. Not so desperate, a little flippant, as if he's not afraid the ground before him will crumble under his feet. "Thanks to all the tadpoles whose power I've consumed, I'm stronger than I ever have been. And you..." He smiles, leaning in closer. "You're not so bad yourself, my dear."

He lifts his head and raises his hand as if gesturing to an option. "Frankly, I don't believe Mystra and Elminster do see it as the only option. Just the one most convenient to their ends. And that tells me all I need to know."

After a moment, he moves his body forward, onto his knees to match Gale's own pose, as he lays a hand on his arm, drawing him closer. "I much prefer you in one, handsome piece. So fine, consider it if you have to. And then after that, consider whether you'd rather die for someone who doesn't care for you, or ... live with someone who does." His carefully constructed voice falters at the end of his sentence, and it comes across less as a firm conviction or demand and more as a sheepish, tired admission.

Gale did not seek respite from anyone that evening. He traversed as far as he could while taking heed of a Halsin's warning. Not to stray too far for threat of the shadow curse.

Multitudinous are his thoughts, words from conflicting voices. To sacrifice himself, to not. Gale didn't want to die, but if he was existence's final hope- He didn't continue the thought.

He could never take back that look of betrayal that he brought upon Astarion's face. To knowingly break the trust of one so vulnerable. He chose his words, he would have to live by them.

The night is bleak. When he returns to camp lonely the only one awake to greet him is Withers, he can feel those dead eyes rake across his back as his feet carry him past his tent, a few steps more to Astarion's. He could find his way there by scent alone, not relying on any distant moon to guide him.

Gale strides back and forth before the entrance, so much then like the dog he said he was. He sits, bringing his knuckle to tap upon the thickened fabric just as he had so many times before.

"Astarion?" A quiet request and no demand, something for him to answer if he so decided. "If you're still awake I hope we could speak."

[theautumnpicker]

When Gale sits, Astarion shifts alongside him so that he's also resting more comfortably, their bodies pressed together. He can feel the heat practically radiating off of him, a delicious feeling that stirs the ever-present hunger in Astarion.

He leans closer, wrapping his arms around Gale, resting his head lightly on his shoulder. Within striking distance of that delectable neck, that forbidden, spoiled fruit.

He's listening, of course. The vision of wandering around Waterdeep and being wooed is very sweet, if hard to imagine in the face of all that they've been through.

"That's not what I'm saying, my dear." One of his hands finds Gale's cheek again, smoothing over it and then slowly lowering to rest on the side of his neck. It actually sounds like the opposite of what he said: Gale wants this now because he might live, not because he might die. Because he can imagine a future for them. It's a little intimidating to contemplate.

"We've done most of that, haven't we? Reading ancient poems and laughing together. Picking flowers." He smiles. "All that's left is to walk the cobbles at Waterdeep." Astarion's hand lowers still more to find Gale's, to lace their fingers together.

"Is that really all you want? To hold hands and laugh and embrace one another?" Behind his sly words there is a choked, nameless emotion. He can't quite bring himself to believe it. "Don't you want to ... explore all of one another's talents?"

It is uttered so sincere that he is destined to dissolve into the very sweetness he calls him. Gale moves, shifting from his aching knees to sit next to Astarion. Pressing his body near, as if to ask forgiveness for the moment he had pulled himself away to adjust. Leaning upon his arm he searches for Astarion's face. It is easy to confess and speak so freely by the cover of darkness.

"You are breathtaking." He affirms, that romantic flair rolling from his lovestruck tongue. "Elminster may have brought less than ideal news, but his appearance couldn't have come at a better time. What you said about me in the Arcane Tower was spot on. I wasn't doing well, the orb was consuming me too quickly. It didn't feel fair to, 'have you', as you so put it, and then run away the next night to explode on a mountainside."

Gale clears his throat, tipping his head back as he becomes lost in the vision, lifting his hand to paint the scene. "I would have preferred to first bring you flowers, to take you on a walk along the cobblestone roads of Waterdeep. Wander the market, visit the great library, read poems together and laugh, lost deep in the shelves of Anthologies that haven't been touched for a century. I would have liked to kiss you first there. But, as you say, the pressure of one's mortality and Ex asking one to kill oneself does certainly expedite the process."

"But don't mistake the hastening as something that is born of last chances. In effect, nothing changed." He quickly clarifies. "The moment just seemed right, and I rather say you leaned in first! Though had you not I might have asked on my next breath."

He catches himself rambling and recedes, leaning back into his own space. "I am beginning to realize that may have been a tactic to subtly advise that I am coming on too strong. Forgive me, please. I should be slower, I am just, rather out of practice."

[theautumnpicker]

At first, Astarion is just relieved, ready to sink back, to make a joke and call it an evening. But Gale is taking his hand then, and moving it to his cheek, and Astarion gives him what he clearly wants, which is a caress, his fingers sweeping over that cheek, smoothing them through the coarse hairs of his beard.

And there is more, still. Tender words, a kiss to his cool fingers. He's no stranger to manufactured sweetness, he can say everyone's favorite three words with as much devotion as any actor. But this is something else entirely, something that feels somehow smaller and more fragile.

"On the contrary, my dear, brilliant wizard, I've never heard anything more selfless," he says. The hand that Gale isn't holding comes to rest on Gale's side as Astarion closes the last few inches between them and presses his cool lips to Gale's warm ones. He kisses him with the utmost sweetness, placing his palm back on Gale's cheek to help guide him in the dark, and allows the moment to linger for several seconds, without pulling away and without attempting to deepen it.

It feels realer than any other kiss he's had in two centuries.

Gale did not seek respite from anyone that evening. He traversed as far as he could while taking heed of a Halsin's warning. Not to stray too far for threat of the shadow curse.

Multitudinous are his thoughts, words from conflicting voices. To sacrifice himself, to not. Gale didn't want to die, but if he was existence's final hope- He didn't continue the thought.

He could never take back that look of betrayal that he brought upon Astarion's face. To knowingly break the trust of one so vulnerable. He chose his words, he would have to live by them.

The night is bleak. When he returns to camp lonely the only one awake to greet him is Withers, he can feel those dead eyes rake across his back as his feet carry him past his tent, a few steps more to Astarion's. He could find his way there by scent alone, not relying on any distant moon to guide him.

Gale strides back and forth before the entrance, so much then like the dog he said he was. He sits, bringing his knuckle to tap upon the thickened fabric just as he had so many times before.

"Astarion?" A quiet request and no demand, something for him to answer if he so decided. "If you're still awake I hope we could speak."

[theautumnpicker]

It will not come, neither sleep nor reverie. Astarion lays still with his eyes closed for some time. He is just at the point of thinking of taking a sleeping draught when his sensitive ears pick up the sound of footfalls outside his tent.

It must be Gale. He sits up, surprised by the resounding twinge of pain in his chest. But he has time enough, just, to collect his thoughts before he hears the soft fabric knock, and then the sound of his voice.

"I'm awake," he answers immediately. "Come inside." And already, his voice that was silent before is bursting with things to say. Softer, quieter things. As soon as Gale is inside with him, Astarion starts, not bothering to wait to hear him out first.

"I know the rest of you are convinced we have to destroy the Absolute," he says, with the faintest sigh in his voice. It's a lot to take on faith that he won't be forgotten about, afterwards. There are still other things he wants to do. But he's been entirely too selfish in the face of Gale's plight already, and to no good effect.

"Fine." He leans forward, one hand on his own knee and the other resting in a fist over his chest. "We can destroy it, if we have to. But you don't have to die for that to happen. And ..." There is an internal struggle on his face for the briefest moment, and the next words come out explosively, his fisted hand reaching out between them and opening up to emphasize his point. "By the gods, I don't want you to. And it's not fair for you to say it's to save me." There is a sneer in his voice. No one ever saved him, and certainly not in this way. "To do this horrid thing in my name. It makes me sick to my stomach to think about. If you decide to do it anyway... Fine."

He scoffs in a way that makes it obvious that it's not at all fine. "But if you are taking me into account at all ... Hells, take me into account on the side against blowing yourself up." At last, he falls silent, his spill of words ended, and he stares openly at Gale, the small space between them feeling suddenly so far.

Gale did not seek respite from anyone that evening. He traversed as far as he could while taking heed of a Halsin's warning. Not to stray too far for threat of the shadow curse.

Multitudinous are his thoughts, words from conflicting voices. To sacrifice himself, to not. Gale didn't want to die, but if he was existence's final hope- He didn't continue the thought.

He could never take back that look of betrayal that he brought upon Astarion's face. To knowingly break the trust of one so vulnerable. He chose his words, he would have to live by them.

The night is bleak. When he returns to camp lonely the only one awake to greet him is Withers, he can feel those dead eyes rake across his back as his feet carry him past his tent, a few steps more to Astarion's. He could find his way there by scent alone, not relying on any distant moon to guide him.

Gale strides back and forth before the entrance, so much then like the dog he said he was. He sits, bringing his knuckle to tap upon the thickened fabric just as he had so many times before.

"Astarion?" A quiet request and no demand, something for him to answer if he so decided. "If you're still awake I hope we could speak."

[theautumnpicker]

It feels bitter in his mouth, this self-righteous act that Gale is putting on. It also feels deeply personal, the idea that death is preferable to transformation, to life, if that life is not lived according to the principles of some self-interested overlord. Astarion feels a snarl at hand, but he reins it in, and his anger comes out cold and bitter instead of hot and furious.

"And the rest of us be damned, I suppose." By the rest of us he means only himself, of course. Astarion is the only one with a vested interest in keeping the Absolute alive. "If you want to die like a dog—"

His breath catches suddenly in his throat, preventing him from finishing his sentence, as there is a a burst of pain in his chest and in his head— there is a flash of connection between their tadpoles, a red hot flash of some nameless, furious feeling transmitted from his part to Gale's, before he severs the link.

"I want to live, whoever despises me for it," he says, instead of what he'd initially thought he would. "If you don't, I have nothing to say to you."

He doesn't want to hear Gale's response, his mind pre-emptively shut tight, as he turns to go. He feels caught in a wave, suddenly, and he's afraid that if he lingers it will break the wrong way.

For the better the topic is dropped . It's too complex to explain for no reason other than his sudden feelings raise the stakes significantly. Were they true or born of self serving desperation? If this was it, could he stomach it alone? Unfortunately that fate was decided the moment he opened that accursed tome.

He cannot feel such care for someone and then, in the very same breath, seek reciprocation. Not while he understood how far gone he was. At least if it's no longer brought up he can exist the last of his time in limbo, a chronic state of what if.

He is of two minds, one that desires the joy of love for the time he has left, one that does not feel worthy.

"I am seriously starting to think that Tara and you are in cahoots." A smile as he turns towards the elevator, resting his ringed hand upon the lever. "I swear I've heard that verbatim from her mouth."

"Heartbreak is a long and winding journey. Would I have rather not been manipulated into a relationship with a self serving goddess? Absolutely. Was the incredible celestial sex worth all the suffering?" He thinks about it, genuinely lost in thought as he weighs the pros and cons.

"Absolutely not." A bolsterous laugh. "But good luck convincing a young, stupid Gale that. Without knowing the emotional baggage it sounds pretty damn cool."

He beckons Astarion with a lighthearted wave of his hand. "Let's see what magical treasures await up there, in getting peckish."

[theautumnpicker]

The words coming out of Gale's mouth are so ridiculous Astarion half suspects the old wizard has somehow charmed him into saying it. No, he knows that he hasn't; he rather wishes it were the case, instead of Gale himself saying this.

"Don't be such an idiot. It will be utterly purposeless," he says, his words sharp rather than honeyed. "Let's not forget, my dear, sweet wizard, he could have cast that charm at any moment if he wished it. Instead, you've suffered all this time. A year or more. Why?" His arm rises, suspended, in the theatrical pose of a professor waiting for a student. But he drops his arm down before Gale can volunteer an answer.

His jaw sets. "Because they didn't care enough to help you. And now, what's changed? It's not the orb in your chest, I can tell you that much. It's not even the appearance of the Absolute. It's that we now have a real chance at controlling its power for ourselves."

His red eyes seem darker, pupils expanded. "She wants you to destroy the Absolute, and yourself, because she's afraid of how much more powerful you might become if you don't." He raises a hand as he speaks, and then closes it in mid-air as if around some sort of prize. "That, my dear, is all there is to it."

For the better the topic is dropped . It's too complex to explain for no reason other than his sudden feelings raise the stakes significantly. Were they true or born of self serving desperation? If this was it, could he stomach it alone? Unfortunately that fate was decided the moment he opened that accursed tome.

He cannot feel such care for someone and then, in the very same breath, seek reciprocation. Not while he understood how far gone he was. At least if it's no longer brought up he can exist the last of his time in limbo, a chronic state of what if.

He is of two minds, one that desires the joy of love for the time he has left, one that does not feel worthy.

"I am seriously starting to think that Tara and you are in cahoots." A smile as he turns towards the elevator, resting his ringed hand upon the lever. "I swear I've heard that verbatim from her mouth."

"Heartbreak is a long and winding journey. Would I have rather not been manipulated into a relationship with a self serving goddess? Absolutely. Was the incredible celestial sex worth all the suffering?" He thinks about it, genuinely lost in thought as he weighs the pros and cons.

"Absolutely not." A bolsterous laugh. "But good luck convincing a young, stupid Gale that. Without knowing the emotional baggage it sounds pretty damn cool."

He beckons Astarion with a lighthearted wave of his hand. "Let's see what magical treasures await up there, in getting peckish."