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amica-aenigmata-naboo · 2 months

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Aeterna Amantes

Astarion x Y/N - Chapter 3 - 1.7K WC

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3 (you are here!)

chapter 4 NSFW 18+

chapter 5

Masterlist

Warnings: mention of sex, blood drinking, Astarion being smitten but in denial, Karlach being lovely

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Astarion watched you sleep for ages, your chest rose and fell with the soft golden glow of your heart rising and falling with it. You were an anomaly to him. Quite the opposite - innocent, sweet. He felt so conflicted thinking of you. He wanted you in the purest way; to nurture you and care for you. But his primal brian told him to manipulate you, use you as an advantage for himself. Every time he looked at you he couldn’t decide. You had been nothing but kind to him, it was all you knew.

“You think a lot.” you whispered up to him.

He hadn’t noticed you wake, “Oh? What makes you say that?” he smirked down at you. Your head still rested on his chest, making his undead heart swell.

“Your face is scrunched up.” you said, poking his forehead.

Astarion chuckled, sitting up slightly. You followed his actions. He pointed to the corner, “There are plenty of books for you to read through today, Gale even threw some in there for you.”

You ogled the stack of books, there were easily ten there. “Where will you go?” you asked as you picked the first book up, letting your fingers trail over the dusty cover.

“Moonrise Towers, if we’re fortunate.” he said as he started to put his armor on.

You gazed at him, never having seen another person’s body before. It was different from yours.

“Like what you see?” he teased.

You tilted your head at his remark. You did like what you saw, you just didn’t quite understand why.

He saw the curiosity swimming in your eyes, squinting his own before the realization hit him. “Have you never seen another body before?” he asked.

You shook your head, your cheeks heating up slightly. Your general lack of knowledge around everything embarrassed you, especially things everyone else seemed to know so blatantly. You walked closer to him, gazing over the vast expanse of his strong pale chest. You raised your hand, going to touch him before stopping yourself. You remembered how he reacted the first time you touched him without asking, “May I?” you asked in a hushed whisper.

His eyes watched you cautiously but he gave you a small nod. You felt over his chest, tracing his sharp collarbones, feeling his ribs and the muscles that lay overtop of them. You felt him shiver when your fingers hit the ridges of his scars that barely wrapped around the side of his waist. You felt his stomach and noticed the silent breath he took in when your fingers trailed over tuft of white hair leading from his belly button into his pants.

You looked at him, “Bad?” you asked, your hand still lingering on the hem of his pants.

“No…” he whispered, his eyes hazy while watching your every move. He never wanted you to stop touching him, even if these were just innocent little touches. All that mattered was that they came from you.

“Are you different from me?” you asked, looking between his body and yours.

“In some ways.” he mumbled, trying to relish in your gentle ambiance.

He watched as you put his hand to your chest and yours to his. “Same. We are the same here.” you said. He felt the warmth radiating from your glowing heart.

“Astarion, come one we gotta - oh… sorry…” said Karlach as she barged into his tent breaking the tension between the two of you. Astarion pulled away quickly, slipping on the rest of his armor while you stood still, unsure if you had done something to be embarrassed of.

Astarion followed Karlach’s lead out of his tent, “Stay safe in here and read. I’ll be back later, you can tell me everything new you’ve learned.” he smiled at you quickly before disappearing into the Underdark.

You sighed before picking up one of the many books and started reading.

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“Soooooo…..” Karlach said with a teasing tone as she and Astarion walked behind the others.

“So what?” he grumbled, not even sparing her a glance.

“Come on, you know what.” she said, sounding giddy.

“Haven’t the faintest.” he said monotonically.

“Oh I think you do… fangs likes the drow.” she chidded.

He rolled his eyes at her, not bothering with a retort.

“And you don’t even deny it!” she cackled.

“Please, I’m a glorified babysitter. That’s all.” he waved her off dismissively.

“Really? That’s not what it looked like this morning.” she grinned at him.

“Neither of us have heartbeats, that's all they discovered this morning,” he said.

“I bet. And I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if Gale or Wyll were to take an interest in them?” she asked.

A faint trace of jealousy crossed over his face as he shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.

Karlach chuckled at the very obvious fondness Astarion had for you. He was stubborn and knew he wouldn’t admit it but she saw it as early as the basement. You were drawn to each other. Fate was funny like that, always unexpected but always falling in line.

Astarion walked ahead, aching to get away from Karlach’s prying questions and accusations. Primarily because they were true and he hated having anyone other than himself be right. Especially about this.

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You fell asleep after the fifth book. It gave you much to think on, primarily because it was an anatomy book. Humans and elves are different but not very much. So now you knew what rested beneath Astarion’s pants. You also knew how reproduction worked. The whole explanation of the process seemed rather odd to you. Very… clinical. You couldn’t help but feel like the process of creating life was supposed to be more… emotional. It all overwhelmed you after reading the previous books on The Hells, Baldur’s Gate history, The Many Gods, and The Practice of Arcane Magic. The more you read the more your brain felt like it was devouring intellect and by the gods was it an insatiable beast.

Astarion entered the tent to find you asleep, surrounded by different books. He laughed at the sight. You reminded him a lot of himself. He changed, cleaning himself only slightly as today had thankfully not been a very battle heavy one. He brought a plate of dinner to the tent for you, some sort of beef stew from what he could tell.

You rose at the noise of him returning, “Hello.” you smiled at him.

“Hello beastie. Learn lots today?” he asked motioning to the scattered books before handing you the stew. He settled next to you, imbibing in his typical bottle of wine.

You happily took the bowl from him, forgetting to eat throughout the day. Something you’ll have to make a mental note of - eat, regularly. “Yes! All of it was interesting… some of it was perplexing. I don’t quite understand the feelings one book described.”

“What feelings?” he asked.

“What does sex feel like?” you asked, trying to understand the book that wouldn’t seem to leave your mind.

Astarion choked on his wine, he coughed a few times trying to regulate himself, “Where did you read about sex?” he asked.

You handed him the book. Of course it was one of Gale’s, he thought with a roll of his eyes.

“Didn’t the book explain what it felt like?” he asked, trying to avoid the topic.

“It did but…” you sighed before you continued, “I don’t think it was right. I feel like the combining of two people in body would feel… emotional. Not just physical.”

Astarion’s eyes widened at your explanation, perceptive little thing you were. “It… can be.” he confessed.

“What does it feel like then?” you asked while you continued to eat.

“With the right person it can be… euphoric.” he said, trying to find the right word. He wasn’t exactly the one to answer questions on how good, healthy sex was supposed to feel. All the sex he could remember was harsh, loathsome.

You smiled softly, “That sounds lovely.” you said, understanding the science of it all but also the beauty of the emotional aspect. “How do you know if they’re the right person?”

“You just do.” he said as he laid down.

You hummed at his answer. “When do you eat?” you asked.

“Truth be told, I haven’t eaten in a few days. The Underdark is lacking in options.” he sighed. Even the thought of blood was enough to send him reeling.

“Do you want to eat? I don’t mind.” you smiled at him as you finished the last of your stew before leaning your neck towards him.

He sat up, “Are you sure?” he said cautiously.

You nodded eagerly at him, wanting to help. You laid back on the bedroll, beckoning him closer. Astarion kneeled next to you before leaning down. You could feel his cold breaths on your neck, giving you a slight shiver.

“This might hurt…” he said before kissing your neck and sinking his fangs in. You winced a bit but it wasn’t awful. He had never tasted something so rich. Decadent and sweet. Your crimson poured into his mouth, it rolled over his tongue in waves and he cherished each little molecule of it. His hand held your waist while the other cradled your head. He straddled you to get a better angle at your neck. Your whole body felt warm, particularly between your legs. When Astarion ripped himself away from you he lapped up the rest of the blood that dropped from the puncture holes he left behind. The feeling of his tongue on you was strange but you craved it the longer it went on. He kissed over your neck a few times as an apology for the pain he caused you. It wasn’t pain you felt however, it was something else. Something carnal. You let out an involuntary but needy whine as he kissed over your neck. You both pulled away looking at each other.

“Sleep?” you asked quietly. You felt embarrassed. Was that the feeling he was describing earlier? Did you want him in the way the book described?

“Yes, of course.” Astarion said with a breathy laugh. He settled next to you, holding you close like the night before.

Little did you know, as you drifted off to sleep, the fantasies he was playing in his mind of the two of you were positively sinful.

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Naboo's Note:

Hello! This has taken me literally all night to write but I am so sleep deprived I'm not shocked. I got called in for another overnight despite having worked 3 in a row with very little sleep - I hate being on call. But I do like this! Your guys' comments/reblogs/likes keep me super motivated so I hope I hear from you all soon! XOXOXOXOXOXO

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xalygatorx · 3 months

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Unbound | Chapter 18, "Bard Dance" (End of Act 1)

Áine Ts'sambra—a wayward half-drow bard with a painful past—has her world upended when she's snatched up by a Nautiloid ship and furnished with a tadpole to the brain. In her journey to remove the infestation before it can turn her and her newfound companions illithid, she not only finds that their solution has more layers to parse through than she can count, but that a particular vampire in her party does as well.

Unbound is an ongoing generally SFW medium-burn romance based in the world of Baldur's Gate 3 between Astarion and a female OC. Any NSFW content will be marked in the Warnings section. Contains angst, fluff, explorations of trauma, spice, graphic fantasy violence, and a guaranteed happy ending.

For anything additional on what to expect (and not expect), check the preface post.

Summary: Before bringing Nere’s head to Spaw and leaving the Underdark, Áine, Astarion, and the party take an evening just to have a bit of fun. Astarion actively tries to be romantic. The private gesture gets blown into a party of sorts by the couple’s heavily imbibed friend group. Astarion and Áine end up having an even more private moment together. The group readies themselves the next morning to continue their journey down the path to Moonrise Towers.

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC

Warnings: 18+/NSFW (cunnilingus); fluff of the romantic and platonic varieties; alcohol; angst; bit o’ smut as a treat; blood-drinking if you squint; end of Act 1, hiatus to follow; this is extra cute to make up for the trauma of the last chapter and many of the ones to follow lmao; lightly proofread

Word Count: 8.5k

Listening to: Six Days at the Bottom of the Ocean - Explosions in the Sky, Bard Dance (from the BG3 soundtrack), I Want to Live (from the BG3 soundtrack)

Shadowheart’s shriek reverberated off the jagged cave walls around them. Its echo flung far beyond its origin.

“Áine, it’s freezing!” the cleric griped, waist-deep and shuddering in the dark water just off their campsite’s shore. Their commandeered boat bobbed at the dock nearby and a conjured netting laced with golden light roped off an area for them, stopping where the water became a bit too deep for an impromptu swimming lesson.

“Correct, so hurry up!” Áine cackled through chattering teeth, looking positively mad as she chafed her arm with one hand and held out her other. She’d plunged in completely straight away to try and acclimate to the water faster, but she wasn’t sure yet if that’d been her best bet. “Just like I showed you, you’ll be okay.”

“Why couldn’t we have done this when we were topside?” Shadowheart growled as she lowered herself further into the water, shuddering visibly as she mimicked the motions Áine had shown her and started to wade out to the waiting bard.

“Because at our only notable opportunity, you decided you’d rather try making out with me,” Áine remarked, dodging an armful of water that her friend flung at her for her cheek. “Hey, look at you! Only one arm left paddling and you didn’t sink!”

“Is that meant to be funny?” Shadowheart asked, her voice strained as she worked to keep her head above the water.

“Yes and no,” Áine said, smiling as she scooped Shadowheart up under her arms when the cleric managed to swim her way out to her. “I mean it when I say you’re getting the hang of this, you adjusted really well when you moved your arm to splash me.”

Shadowheart let Áine swim both of them back to the shore, her arms and legs wrapped around her friend like a toddler on her hip. She was gratified by the praise, but too cold to relish it. “You’re not going to make me do it again, are you?” she asked.

“No, we’re both goners if we stay out here any longer,” Áine said, shivering as she walked them back up the shoreline. “But I did want you to at least know the basics. Just in case.”

“I think I’m already a goner,” Shadowheart complained, her teeth chattering as she buried her face against Áine’s shoulder, desperate for warmth and only finding the bard’s wet shirt.

“I’ll save you!” Áine cried, sprinting back to the campfire while she and Shadowheart rattled out giggles between their violent shudders.

Gale was in his usual spot stooped over the cooking pot when the girls came tearing back up from the beach. “Mystra’s left nostril,” he swore with a chuckle as he braced for potential impact and any scattered showers that rained off them in passing.

Áine dodged past Gale, plopped Shadowheart down near Wyll, and seated herself next to Astarion, who gave her half-drowned form a horrified look. “You went in with all your clothes on?!”

“Look, it wasn’t our best plan, alright?” Áine griped back, getting as close to the fire as she could without setting herself ablaze.

Her heart warmed when she spotted Wyll snagging a blanket and draping it over Shadowheart’s vibrating shoulders from the corner of her eye. She’d seen them occasionally making eyes at each other over the past few days on their journey back to the circle and then to collect the enslaved gnomes and Nere’s head at the Grymforge. Being the romantic that Wyll was, he’d perfectly picked up on every opportunity she granted him to make a bit of a blush rise to Shadowheart’s face.

Meanwhile, her own lover—keeper of her soul, love of her life, et cetera—was cringing away from her dripping clothes and hair with something close to disdain. Áine gave him a withering look as Shadowheart thanked Wyll for his show of chivalrous care nearby. “See that? That’s the correct response,” she needled Astarion, mostly teasing him.

His eyes flickered past her to Wyll and Shadowheart. Astarion scoffed when he returned his eyes to her. “It’s not my fault you chose to give yourself hypothermia, darling,” he teased her back, his lips curling in a half-sneer.

Áine sniffed and glared, and Astarion only just had time to clock the calculation that flashed through her eyes before she pivoted and tackled him back into the dirt. Although she was attacking him, Astarion still managed to make sure she landed on top of him and didn’t hurt herself. He knew she was sturdier than he treated her, but he was protective of her to a fault and he’d not yet fully shaken the scare that had been their near-death at the spectator’s teeth and tentacles mere days ago at that point.

When she raised herself off him, her eyes dropped to the wet spot she’d left on his shirt, which had been her original goal for retaliation. What she hadn’t expected was for the moisture to soak from her shirt to his in an exact imprint of her breasts and stomach. Her features pulled tight as she fought off laughter, especially when Astarion looked down at himself and saw why she was suddenly so amused.

“Are you quite pleased with yourself?” Astarion scolded her, causing her to finally break apart into her hardly restrained fit of laughter. He tickled her sides until she fell off him, rolling to loom over her on the ground as he continued to playfully berate her for getting him all wet too.

Behind him, their friends’ eyes softened at the sight of them teasing each other and at how absent Astarion’s mask had been of late. Even just around them, he was finally starting to become more transparent in his opinions and feelings, little did he know. With a fond smirk, Gale loosed a rush of air from his palm that swept the clinging moisture from Shadowheart’s, Astarion’s, and Áine’s clothes. “Soup’s on!” he announced.

The news of supper brought their remaining companions to the fire and Astarion allowed Áine up after dropping a kiss to the tip of her nose. They reclaimed their seats beside the crackling blaze, assuming their newly practiced dinnertime juxtaposition while the broth and bread were parsed out.

There was next to nothing to hunt in the Underdark for Astarion and they expected it to be a similar situation when they passed into the shadow-cursed lands past the lift in the Grymforge. Because of that, Áine had been assisting their resident vampire more and more with his thirst and had even coaxed him out to “dine” with the larger group in recent evenings.

While Áine sat facing the fire, Astarion sat beside her but faced away from the flames, gratefully accepting her wrist when she offered it to him. There were times that he still preferred to make this trade snuggled up with her in his—their—tent, but there was also something strangely affirming about being able to join everyone for their dinnertime. He still occasionally felt anxious about it, but turning away for a bit of privacy helped. They all knew of his condition, but he was still wary of glancing up from his feeding and finding a horrified expression staring back at him.

Astarion licked her wound closed when he was done, gently squeezing her hand while he still held it in his. Áine extracted her hand just to gently press it against his cheek, drawing him sideways to tenderly kiss his hair. With Astarion taken care of, Áine began to assuage her own hunger with the soup and bread that Halsin had set down for her while she was tending to their vampire.

Astarion felt his new store of blood rush into his cheeks at the gesture, suddenly glad yet again that he wasn’t facing their companions. It felt so natural that, weeks back, he may have feared its ease. Now though he simply relished it. In a similar vein, he wouldn’t admit it, but there was more than a simple affirmation that came from feeling included here—fleetingly, he dared to wonder if this was what family had felt like once.

A sweeping, alien melody wove through the air above them, the faint shimmer of spores glittering when the embers caught them just so. “The gnomes must have made it back to the circle,” Áine inferred, smiling a little at the resonant expressions of joy and victory interspersed between the flowing melodies. “Spaw must’ve been told that Nere’s no more.”

“It’s strange how much can be understood from…well, could we even call it a language really?” Wyll wondered aloud, studying the clusters of spores as he bit into his bread.

“Music is its own language,” Áine insisted, mesmerized by the sounds. She felt Astarion turn back around beside her to face the fire again. “Some songs are just easier for us to understand.”

“It’s odd,” Shadowheart mused, snaring Áine’s gaze meaningfully. With the intensity of her stare, Áine half-expected the cleric to bring up something more dire, but she simply continued to speak on their surroundings. “Despite the allure of its dark beauty, I’d never ventured into the Underdark before. But it’s truly beautiful in so many unexpected ways.”

“I’ve been down here a handful of times, but never at length,” Áine admitted, faltering when she felt a prod at her tadpole. Unsure how exactly she knew, it felt, somehow, like it had come from Shadowheart’s.

Bewildered, Áine opened her mind and heard the cleric’s voice speak within her head. “Keep talking,” she instructed. “Just trust me.”

Áine cleared her throat and added almost mindlessly, “And mostly for supplies or to skim off the Zhentarim’s stashes. I really had no idea how far it expanded though and, as you’ve said, how lovely it can look.”

Gale thankfully picked up the conversation and allowed Áine to wonder at what Shadowheart was doing, sitting in her head like this between their parasites. She didn’t have long to wonder as a vision bloomed in her mind’s eye. Shadowheart’s vantage point became hers and through it, she saw…

Áine’s heart threatened to break under the heft of the emotions that flooded it.

Shadowheart kept her eyes trained on Áine and Astarion and, through her eyes, Áine saw herself glancing between Gale and Shadowheart while Astarion just looked at her.

His crimson eyes rounded with a gentle openness that had become more and more prominent in their time together, a far cry from the narrow, choreographed sneers he used to default to, which were different than his actual sneers (which, to be fair, she did still see a fair bit of). A faint, lingering ghost of a smile touched his perfectly bowed lips as he just watched her in what she could only define as fascination. She’d seen him look at her like that before, much more briefly, but it was something else to see them through someone else’s eyes when his guard was fully down.

“I told you,” Shadowheart informed her smugly.

Áine felt herself blush and then saw herself blush through the cleric’s shared gaze. “Thank you for that,” she told Shadowheart. “I’ll stop my spying though.”

“Understood,” Shadowheart replied and Áine heard the echo of a soft internalized chuckle in her head before the cleric fully withdrew and her mind was her own again.

She glanced over to Astarion, catching him in his doe-eyed stare and smiling toward him. He seemed unsure of how he felt about being caught, but his expression only incrementally changed as he traced the flush of her cheeks with his vibrant eyes. “You’re blushing,” he pointed out, a faint smirk curling the corner of his mouth.

Áine smiled, gently cupping his cheek. “And you’re lovely.” Astarion’s face warmed under her hand and she laughed. “Shall I point out that you’re blushing now too, or—?”

“Hush,” he chided her, glancing away to hide the flush of his face against one of his large, dextrous hands. Astarion chanced a glance back at her when she didn’t look away, finding her watching him with a mix of amusement and, if he was bold enough to presume it, love. His chest warmed over and he sighed, turning to meet her stare. “You, my dear, will be the second death of me.”

Áine’s smile turned a touch guilty. “Sorry.”

A soft puff of an exhalation exited Astarion’s nose, the barest beginning of a chuckle. “Don’t be.”

At some point in the night, someone broke into the wine stashes. A drink with the evening meal wasn’t unusual in the group, at least for the majority of their party, but there was a different sort of tension in the air that night. A tension of celebrating well-earned victories, of their looming progression into a new leg of their journey and likely the most dangerous yet, and the acknowledgment that, as ever, nothing was promised.

Karlach’s boisterous laugh ricocheted off the dark cavern walls, a bottle of ithbank clutched in her hand just long enough to take another swig and set it back down before her heat began to melt the glass. Áine laughed softly in turn, her head pleasantly swimmy while she let the cross-talk of several quiet camp conversations swirl around her like the most comfortable background noise. This was her new family and it truly felt like a family. Her only hope was that this sense would last through their journey into the cursed expanse of her birthplace, but she tried not to think about it. If she did, she’d spoil this taste of peace, herself.

Áine tilted her head back as Astarion approached, giving her a humored look after evaluating the half-empty bottle of mermaid whiskey near her hip. She gave him a playful gasp and mused aloud, “Look, the stars are out again!”

Astarion rolled his eyes and bent down to scoop her to her feet, eying her as she swayed a bit. “Are you stable?” he asked, holding back a laugh.

“Physically or mentally?” she asked, forcing a serious expression on her features that only half-succeeded. “Or emotionally?” Before he could answer, she gave a little flip of her hands. “No matter what you pick, the answer is ‘probably’?”

Astarion snorted. “Good enough for me,” he remarked, taking her hand. “Come.”

“Where are we going?” she asked, gently playing with his fingers while they walked. He led her down to the lakeshore, the prints she’d left earlier from running back to the fire with Shadowheart still faintly depressed in the wet sand.

Away from the light pollution of the fire, the Underdark’s makeshift sky blossomed with sprinkled light and color. The bioluminescent spores had swirled so voluminously from the circle just up the hill that they’d drifted down to their campsite, their gentle sweeping songs still lacing the air with palpable sensations of triumph. The spores in all their glowing glory patched a living starscape above them, the myconids’ singing in perfect syncopation with the flux of the motes that carried them.

Áine sighed, her heart clenching. “It’s so beautiful,” she said, still toying with Astarion’s fingers as they took in the view together. The black water lapped placidly against the sand nearby while the laughter and merriment of their friends still met their ears, just sweetly dampened by the rocky ledge separating the couple from them now.

“It is striking,” Astarion agreed, his eyes tracing past the dancing motes to the rocky ceiling above. “But it’s no replacement for real stars. For the moon. The sunlight.”

Áine glanced up at him. “What was it like?” she asked, holding his gaze when he looked down at her. “To feel the sun again for the first time in over 200 years and not burn?”

Astarion’s gaze unfocused as he remembered. “Terrifying. And then…exhilarating.” He sighed, his grip around her hand tightening with his impassioned tone. “The first instinct was to flee. Then the realization came that it would’ve been too late by that point—if I were going to burn, I would be burning. And then of course I wondered if I had died. Again. And then I just felt warm.”

Áine’s heart fluttered at the memory he painted, at how she imagined his cool skin would have felt being kissed by the sun again after so long. That flutter became a sting as it occurred to her that his previous sources of warmth in his new life would have all come at a cost—his only warm blood from rancid rats half-dead with disease, his only comfort from the tattered brown blanket he still had with him to this day or against a body he hadn’t chosen for himself.

She’d not known for the majority of her lifetime to crave sunlight and the underelf blood in her had shied from it, but ever since she’d escaped her old life, it had been a daily blessing to feel its rays. She’d been ungrateful, all things considered. Privileged. She’d never considered before meeting him how lucky she was to simply be allowed to exist in the daytime.

“You must miss it,” she suggested with open sympathy.

“I do,” he said. “This place is filled with color and its own sort of light, but it’s not quite the same. I’d just gotten the daylit world above us back, had just remembered for the first time in so, so long how much color there is in the world, and it’s gone again. For a while at least.”

“I used to be skeptical of your interest in keeping the parasite,” Áine said, which was no revelation to either of them. Her skepticism had never been hidden in their conversations. “I still am, but only because I worry about you. But I understand why you’d want to hold onto what it gives you.”

Astarion nodded. “It has protected me from the sun, from rushing water, from Cazador’s clutches, from everything the way nothing else ever has,” he agreed. The line of his mouth formed a more bitter curve. “The way no one else ever tried.”

Áine turned to face him, slipping her other hand into his as well. “I wish someone had. I would do…anything to be able to have helped you.”

Her conviction clawed at him. “You hardly existed for the majority of it, darling,” he reminded her.

“I know,” she said, her shoulders giving a helpless lift. “But I can’t help but feel let down on your behalf. The strong have a duty to protect those in need.”

“I thought it was ‘to protect the weak’?” he countered.

“It’s too much of a generalization,” she said, frowning. “There is no weakness in needing help. The strongest people are born from positions of weakness.”

“Perhaps that’s why they’re left to rot,” Astarion mused. “The ‘strong’ of society has never been made up of true advocates. They retain their position for themselves. This is the way the world turns.”

The bard sighed. “You aren’t wrong. I know you’re not wrong because I’ve seen it firsthand, too. But I wish you were. I hope someday the world changes enough that you are.”

Astarion scoffed, but it was softened by a faint smile. Despite the fractured state of his lover’s rose-colored glasses, she still managed to look through the pink-tinted shards when she gazed upon a world he saw as forsaken. He shouldn’t have been so discouraging of it, he supposed. She may not have given him the time of day had she not maintained so much quiet hope in other people. Still, when he watched her extend that goodwill to others that he wasn’t so sure would return it, it made him uneasy.

Disliking the somber air that had fallen over their heads, especially considering why he’d guided her out there in the first place, Astarion freed one of Áine’s hands, using the other to swing her into a little spin. The tipsy bard stumbled a little over the sudden movement but righted herself easily enough and regarded him with curiosity when he drew her close and placed his hand against her waist.

“Look, I don’t profess to be any sort of twinkle-toes like our Wyll,” he said as he guided her through some slowed-down dance steps. “However what sort of former society elite would I be if I didn’t at least know my way around a simple waltz?”

Áine grinned, looping her free arm around his shoulders and happily leaning into his lead. “I had no idea,” she said, her cheeks flushed a decadent red.

“Nor I, to be honest,” Astarion admitted as he spun her again, smiling as she gracefully followed his hand and returned to him in one fluid motion. “Not until I specifically tried to evoke the muscle memory.”

“What inspired that?” she asked.

Astarion shrugged and simply replied, “You told me you enjoy dancing,” as if it were all the reason he needed. Maybe it was.

Áine’s heart melted and it translated to her expression. It stirred that familiar warmth in Astarion’s chest, but he didn’t shy away from it. He just continued to lead her through their dance on the lakeshore, twirling her this way and that and humoring her by letting her spin him on occasion, too. She hummed them a soft melody to dance to and they swore the myconids’ melodies around them shifted to follow her song, their disembodied singing taking a slower, romantic tone.

And leave it to their drunk friends to, as Astarion at least first thought, ruin it.

“Well, isn’t this adorable,” Shadowheart mused as she and the others filed around the corner, clearly having a little spy on the couple until they’d been spotted by the vampire. “Volo, why don’t you give them some music?” She hiccuped partway through her question.

“If it wasn’t abundantly clear from my, er, performance at that goblin hovel, I am no bard,” Volo insisted to the heavily imbibed cleric. “However, that’s never stopped me before.” From the self-proclaimed expert-on-everything’s extended hand rose a transparent blue replica of that same hand, the apparition then parting into two while a similarly ghostly violin settled in its hold.

“Room for an ensemble?” Gale wondered as he, with admittedly more finesse, also conjured a pair of mage hands, his positioning a flute between their magical fingers.

“Can’t let us have one moment, can you?” Astarion groused as Áine giggled and the phantasmic floating appendages with their instruments began to sync into a rendition of the classic “Bard Dance” song.

Instead of shying from Astarion’s theatrical upset, the conjured ensemble and their beloved party swept into the heart of the song. Karlach shuffled her feet, kicking up small clouds of sand as she danced on her own, at least until Wyll stepped in line with her and followed her often idly improvised steps after a bit of quick study. With a fond look from the sidelines, Halsin stood with Lae’zel and clapped in time with the melody. Even the githyanki beside him seemed to relax enough to enjoy the admittedly absurd scene before her. Scratch and the owlbear cub ran circles around Karlach’s dancing feet and Wyll left the tiefling with her new partners to snag Shadowheart and tug her away from her perch for a dance.

“Wyll!” the cleric cried, laughing as she half-struggled to twist away from the sudden spotlight. Astarion was gearing up to mock her when he felt similarly swept up in a more upbeat dance.

“This is not what I had in mind,” Astarion groused with less fervor down at his little bard, who was now leading him into step with the new tempo and with the silliest grin plastered across her whiskey-flushed face. “Unhand me!” he haughtily demanded, but the joking demand crumbled with a laugh.

As the myconids’ songs intertwined with their merriments and laughter, harmonizing with the conjured melody with renewed felicity, the two resident ancients stood watch, observing the beings on the beach that, compared to them, were all infants in this corporeal plane. It was a rare moment of unbridled happiness and fun before them, made only more rare to the knight and the aged god who both knew to some degree what was to come.

“They shall remember this,” Withers murmured to the ghostly knight nearby. “Thine fates have formed nigh impossible junctures, a tangled web extending ever further into darkness.”

“Aye,” the knight rumbled, his arms crossed before him with his palms stacked atop the hilt of his blade. Incandescent eyes watched the smiles that blossomed from each strange being down on the sand, watching the half-drow bard prancing her vampire partner around in time to the bouncy music. She threw her head back and laughed at something he said and he smiled down at her as if she were the very sun he missed so much—positively enraptured and basking in her warmth. “Isn’t it all the more prudent then that they have this? The darkness will wait.”

Withers gave a grumble of acknowledgment. “And wait, it shall.”

No one noticed the line that was crossed that turned the energetic, musically drunken “night” in the Underdark into a messy, sleepy drunken “night.” It was a line that was always crossed in these sorts of scenarios, but sometimes there was at least one person able to pinpoint which goblet was the “one goblet too many.”

Perhaps Astarion, the only sober individual left down on the lakeshore by that point, may have been able to had he not gotten wrapped up in Áine’s charms and opted not to leave for the remainder of the night. Carefully sidestepping over a prone and passed-out Karlach and then past Wyll, who’d dozed off slumped against a rock, Áine was having to keep a hand pressed to her mouth to stifle her giggles at the state of their friends.

Astarion relieved her of that duty when they made it back up the short path to camp, capturing her lips and kissing her through her tipsy laughter, smirking as he felt her become far more interested in kissing him back than paying attention to where she was going. After the second time she stumbled over her own feet, Astarion scooped her off of them to carry her the rest of the way to their tent. Her legs wrapping around his waist to hold on drew a quiet growl from the base of his throat.

As his kisses grew hungrier, his tongue parted her plush lips and explored her yielding mouth in tender, languid strokes. He felt heat lance through him at the muffled sound and sensation of her moan, but he was wary of that heat, too. As he ducked through their tent door and took them both down to the floor, seated while keeping her straddling his lap, Astarion tried to put his feelings into context, finding it more difficult when Áine was giggly and encouraging and strewn across his thighs.

Bleeding Hells, he wanted to fuck her but was wary of what they’d discussed. The sensation he felt at times of “going through the motions” would often come partway through when he couldn’t find it in himself to, as he saw it, ruin the mood by stopping. He’d withdraw within himself, present but not, until it was over. He wouldn’t jeopardize the high of euphoria he was feeling just from kissing her by being thoughtless about this.

Unhelpfully, Áine smirked into their kiss and purposely cut her lower lip against one of his fangs, raising herself up and pressing herself against him as she tilted his head back and kissed him hard enough for those small beads of blood to trickle into his mouth. Astarion growled again, equal parts feral in lust and exasperated by trying to be the adult in the room. In retaliation, he clapped a hand against her ass just hard enough to startle her. The muffled yelp that passed from her lips past his made him chuckle.

One step at a time, he decided, sucking the cut on her lip until it was bruised and then sealing it with a purposeful flick of his tongue.

Astarion gripped Áine’s hips and shifted her off his lap and onto her bedroll, snorting softly at the pout she gave him. “None of that, darling,” he rasped.

Áine smiled cheekily and nodded. “No, no, I get it. Sorry, I just—Astarion!”

“Hm, yes?” he murmured, already half-done with untying her shirt laces, nimble fingers flying down the fabric collar.

“What are you doing?” Áine asked, suddenly breathless. She looked up at him with a mix of curiosity, concern, and arousal. He could smell that she was already wet for him, that familiar, decadent perfume always doing the most dangerously delicious things to his mind. One step at a time, he repeated fervently, his hands fisting a little harder than necessary in Áine’s shirt as he freed her from it.

“Is this okay?” Astarion asked, practiced hands tracing down to the ties of her pants next.

“Well, yes, but—” She gave a surprised grunt when he managed to untie her trousers and pull them off her in a few small, simple movements. “But what about you? Are you okay?”

Astarion, still fully clothed and intending to stay that way, traced her form with his eyes, pupils blown out with his craving and shadowing the crimson hue of his gaze. He leaned forward, crawling just a little closer to her as he murmured, “I’m very okay with this, my love.”

For just a second, Áine wondered if he’d just forgotten to take off his clothes. She only had a second to wonder before he smirked down at her, wrapped his large hands around her calves, and tugged her forward so she fell onto her back into the pillows.

Suddenly self-aware at how exposed she was in this new vulnerable position, Áine knocked her knees together, her face burning up. Astarion gave her a chiding glance, his fingertips tracing up her shins to those offending knees, tracing the caps. “I, um…,” Áine stammered, not sure what to say. Whatever this was was certainly new to her and desire fanned the growing flames in her belly, but she still worried. “Are you… You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, you know.”

Astarion’s smirk grew wider and his restless fingertips pried her knees apart. “I know, darling,” he husked, bowing lower as he slipped her legs over his shoulders. “Anything else?”

His last question had sent his cool breath fanning across her core and it shot a shiver up her spine. “Um,” she murmured, her voice trembling as she sent an embarrassed glance to the tent ceiling, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. Finally, she let out a nervous giggle and surrendered. “I-I guess not—oh!”

He’d wasted no time the moment she handed him her remaining control. He was on her like a man starving, his hands digging into her hips to hold her in place as he devoured her. Astarion had never been more present during an act of carnal intimacy, learning his way along her glistening folds by chasing every whimper and moan that he helped ease from her lips.

Astarion had pulled her closer to him, adjusting the angle of her hips as he swirled his tongue against her swollen clit, when he heard her clap a hand over her mouth to stifle her building moans. He made a disgruntled sound against her, pulling his mouth off her bud with a purposefully lewd suck to tease her as he reached up for her wrist. “Ah-ah, darling,” he tutted up at her, brushing the bridge of his nose over her mound and eliciting a small spasm that rocked through her legs. Astarion smirked, pleased at the effect he had on her. “I want to hear you.”

“But our friends,” she whined, casting a furtive glance toward the tent door. “What if—”

“Our friends know enough to excuse some noise every so often,” he chuckled, laving a slow line up her slit and flicking his eyes up toward her face. He felt blessed to meet her eyes as he did and more blessed to see how flustered watching him go down on her made her. “The ones who aren’t blacked out for the eve will be reassured that I take good care of you, won’t they?”

Áine could feel her pulse hammering in her neck, truly speechless for perhaps the first time in her entire life. Gods above, he was going to ruin her like he’d accused her of ruining him. She was already practically shaking. If she didn’t try to stifle the moans he was pulling out of her, she’d wake the entire Underdark! Just the thought was enough to make her panic a little. “But I—”

“Won’t they?” he repeated in a firmer tone that still came out almost like a purr.

“I—,” Áine started, slowly letting her head fall back into place against the pillows. “Um…yes?”

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured, rewarding her with another swirl of his tongue against her clit. He felt her thighs tighten against his head the slightest bit and chuckled softly. “That do something for you, darling?”

“Apparently?!” she squeaked, learning more about herself tonight than she was learning about him.

Astarion couldn’t help the laugh that trickled past his lips, moving the hand he still had snared in his to cover one of her breasts. “Busy those hands somewhere other than your mouth, sweetheart,” he mumbled before returning his focus between her legs.

Áine looked down at where he’d left her to cup her own breast, at first thinking it a little unorthodox but trusting his lead. She’d played with herself a little in the past, but given her minimal interest in sex before catching feelings for him, it hadn’t done much for her at the time. She might’ve laughed at herself for the doubtful look she cast down at her own chest if she weren’t so self-conscious. Experimentally, Áine rolled the hardened peak of her nipple between her fingertips, her throat convulsing when the sensation was elevated by the havoc Astarion was wreaking below her with little more than his lips and silver tongue.

She’d no sooner thought that than he sank one long finger inside her and she reflexively moved to stifle her sounds again. Her hands stilled as he grumbled at her again and she exhaled a shuddering breath as she followed his instructions and melded her palms against her aching breasts, feeling silly until any coherent thought she could’ve reserved for self-depreciation became impossible.

Astarion surprised her by moaning against her sensitive juncture, seeming to be enjoying this as much as she was as he continued to lick at her clit while he pumped his finger steadily into her heat. Áine had devolved into a writhing, mewling mess at his ministrations, her back arching as he added a second finger to plunge into her warmth.

He kissed near her bud, careful not to overstimulate her. “You take me so well, my sweet,” he murmured praise against her core, adjusting his fingers to curl upward and stroke along that magical spot at the front of her inner walls.

Áine’s hips bucked of their own accord when he stroked inside her, a wild gasp tearing from her throat that became a loud, wanton moan she couldn’t hold back if she wanted to. Astarion groaned, feeling his cock twitch, already straining against his pants. “There she is,” he purred, guiding her to her peak. “Sing for me, little bard.”

“Oh, gods, Astarion,” she whined, her hands wandering from her chest to thread through his curls as he returned his mouth to her clit. The combined sensation of his mouth on her and his fingers in her was overwhelming and she was sure she’d never swept toward coming undone so intensely before. “I… I think I—”

“Go on, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Come for me, love.”

Those little words snapped her final threads and she shattered with a cry, gasping his name as she gradually came down, doing everything she could not to grip his pretty curls as she tensed and unraveled from the inside. Astarion eased her through her orgasm, slowing his touches until he leaned his head away, watching the slow withdrawal of his fingers from her clenching cunt, wet with her pleasure.

A genuinely rakish smirk crossed his lips as he pressed the pad of his thumb against her inflamed clit, murmuring understanding as she whimpered and knowing she must be terribly sensitive after all this. He eased his hand away after the applied pressure succeeded in sending a quick succession of aftershocks through her core, tearing a couple more delicious mewls from her. Astarion raised his two glistening fingers to his lips and slowly sucked them clean of her arousal, giving her a smug smile as he wiped his mouth.

Áine was finding it difficult to form any sort of cohesive thought pattern, but she at least had the wherewithal to form some words around her panting. Her eyes followed Astarion as he shifted her quaking legs off his shoulders and crawled up beside her to lie down. “Thank you?” she expressed with the faint air of a question, not sure if that was an appropriate response to what just happened. Astarion smiled at her affectionately and chuckled, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “But what about you?”

The extremely self-satisfied vampire propped his head up on his hand to peer at her. “What about me?” he countered, having a feeling that he knew what she was going to say.

“Can I… Can’t I do anything for you?” she asked, subconsciously rubbing her legs together as the echoes of his touch continued to ghost along the vee of her thighs. A touch of anxiety feathered in her foggy thoughts, worried suddenly that this was unfair to him even though he’d initiated it.

“Not a thing, not just yet. You can let that perfect body unwind and get some sleep,” he murmured against her temple, pulling her in to curl against his side and tugging the blankets up over her exposed flesh. He kissed her, lingering at her hairline and tenderly stroking her back until he felt her start to relax. “Thank you for trusting me, darling,” Astarion added in that same low timbre, not sure if she was still awake to hear it and not minding in either case.

Áine stirred a few solid hours’ worth of sleep after they’d retired to their tent, her dark eyes opening slowly and taking in her surroundings. Her gaze flickered upward to Astarion’s face, noting that he was still in some stage of reverie, both of his arms wrapped snugly around her. It took her a moment to remember why she’d awakened without her clothes, but as soon as she did, her face warmed over and a faint smile tugged at her lips.

And then there was that inkling of guilt being quietly resurrected. The scales felt tipped last night, at least in the way she’d come to understand intimate relations must be balanced. She knew beyond a doubt that he’d done what he’d done for her because he’d wanted to and he’d explicitly said that he didn’t want her to reciprocate just yet, but it still felt wrong to her. Maybe the way she’d learned about sex up until this point was skewed, too.

It was necessary, she realized, to be honest with herself. Last night just being about her while her male partner didn’t necessarily get off made her feel like she hadn’t done her due diligence as a woman. It was archaic and foolish and she knew precisely where it came from—watching the way her parents interacted, all the accumulative guilt trips she’d received in previous “romantic” dynamics if you could call them that. It’d taken her a while to settle down from their activities not because she wasn’t satisfied, but because she felt like she’d slacked off. Her desire for him, to please him and make him feel good, came from a place of loving him, but there was that lurking anxiety that came from darker times.

Áine was pulled from her unsettled thoughts when she felt the pad of Astarion’s thumb smooth across the furrow in her brow. She met his now-open eyes and he smiled down at her. “Well, hello, beautiful,” he murmured as he pressed a kiss to her forehead and tightened his arms to draw her in closer.

The knot in her chest eased a little just from the timbre of his voice. It slunk through her walls and curled up in her bone marrow, assuring her she was known. “I believe that’s meant to be my line,” she noted, running a hand gently through his silver curls. She gently stroked up the elven line of his ear and he shivered, giving her a pointed look. Áine just offered him a playfully smug smile. “How was your rest?”

“It was quiet,” Astarion murmured, tracing aimless patterns on her back. “Preferrable really to what it can be.” Áine had never envied the reverie state that replaced sleep for her full-blooded brethren. The nightmares she’d experienced in her first couple of years of freedom had been more than enough. Meditating through her actual memories or more vivid renditions of the things she suffered in sleep just sounded like pure hell. “Yours?”

“The same,” she said, giving her legs a little stretch before entangling them with his again. The moment stretched like she had, long and comfortably, until Áine’s insecurities crept up on her again. She wasn’t going to bring any of it up, but she could tell that he knew something was amiss when their eyes met again and she didn’t want to leave him to draw his own conclusions. “Was last night okay?” she finally asked.

“Whatever do you mean, my love?” he asked, adjusting to his side to face her and shifting her head from his shoulder to the crook of his arm.

“A couple of things, I guess,” she said, holding eye contact with him when she wanted to duck away. “The first is that I want to check on you. I know we checked in at the time and things felt right in the moment, but do you still feel good about it?”

Astarion’s eyes softened and he cupped her cheek to pull her in for a tender kiss. “Thank you,” he murmured against her lips before they parted. “I feel fine. And I feel good that I feel fine.”

Áine’s smile blossomed anew. “I’m glad. No regrets?”

“Of course not,” Astarion mumbled, almost aghast. “Let’s clear one thing completely, darling, I’ve never regretted a single thing we’ve done. Not one. I’ve just had…reactions, I suppose, at times that I haven’t felt were fair and that had nothing to do with us.” He slanted a brow at her. “Can you trust me on that?”

“Absolutely,” she said, no time lapsed for a second thought.

“Good,” he said, smoothing her hair back from her face. “Now, what else?”

Áine’s eyes fluttered closed as he ran his fingers through her hair, briefly losing her train of thought. It may have been better if that particular train of thought had stayed derailed, but she knew she needed to work on this personal insecurity she hadn’t even realized she had. She sighed and confessed, “I feel…guilty, I suppose, that last night was all about me.”

Astarion scoffed, looking confused when she opened her eyes again to peer at him. “Why would that be, my love?” he asked, experimentally stroking the line of her ear to see if it had the same effect on her that it had on him. She gave a little hum of contentment but she didn’t seem to be as sensitive there as he was.

Áine sighed again and it was a shorter, more frustrated sound. “I’m not sure I know how to put it into words in a way that doesn’t sound foolish,” she admitted.

“Just try,” Astarion suggested.

“When did our roles reverse for these sorts of conversations?” Áine wondered, leaning in to brush her nose against his.

She kept it to herself to avoid inadvertently embarrassing him, but she was immensely proud of how he was helping her navigate this. As much as he still defaulted to certain patterns while they were traveling or conversing with other people, it was clear he was actively trying to meet her in the middle when it came to handling things between them and she appreciated it more than she could properly express.

Astarion smirked. “Just now. Don’t count on it for too terribly long though, darling. I’m the hot mess of our pairing and I’m not keen to give that up yet. Far more fun, you see.”

Áine laughed, relenting when he just looked at her expectantly. “Fine,” she murmured, toying with the collar of his shirt and studying the laces as she blurted out, “I think in my limited experience with, well, having sex with men, there’s been an expectation that the man’s pleasure is more important than anything else. So I felt and still kind of feel guilty that you took care of me so diligently and I didn’t do anything for you.” She stuttered a little, quickly adding, “Even though I know you didn’t want me to and that’s completely fine! It’s just the, uh…principle, I guess. Gods, that made no sense…”

“No, it did,” Astarion murmured, wearing a thoughtful expression when she dared to meet his eyes again. He playfully pinched one of her flushed cheeks before musing, “Troubled thoughts when it comes to carnal pleasure… I believe that’s meant to be my line.”

“I’m serious, Astarion,” Áine laughed, although she did appreciate the joke.

“I know you are, sweet girl,” he mumbled into her hair as he pulled her into his chest. She wrapped her arm around his back, forgetting to not rest her hand against his covered scars. He realized he didn’t mind so much anymore. “You needn’t feel guilty for that. But I do think I understand your meaning. For whatever it’s worth, I don’t see our coupling as just a means to a climax. I think I used to think of sex in that sense, long ago, before it became painful territory, but not with you.”

Áine’s eyes were getting watery and she was just glad his face was buried in her hair and he couldn’t see. She tried to ignore the realization that even if he couldn’t see her getting teary-eyed, he could probably still smell the saline. It was hard to obscure much from his senses. “I’ll try my best to remember that,” she murmured. “Thank you for spelling it out for me. This isn’t an affirmation I expected to need.”

Astarion nodded, inhaling her scent deep into his lungs. “If it helps, my dear, I had a grand time,” he murmured, chuckling when he felt her face heat up against his cold cheek. She grumbled something barely discernable about him giggling at her expense, causing him to draw back with a dramatic gasp, which was when he finally saw that her eyes had gone glossy. “Believe it or not, love, for once I’m not exaggerating,” he insisted, unable to resist flashing her a cheeky smirk. His tone dropped to a purr as he nuzzled into her throat again and whispered, “I love all the little sounds you make for me. That the only word you can piece together as you fall apart is my name…”

“Okay, okay,” Áine stammered, beet-red. As she tried to roll away and get up, her vampire just snared her by her waist and pulled her back against him. “Astarion!”

“Just like that, darling girl,” he teased her in a sultry murmur, his tongue darting out to trace the curve of her ear. He was only further encouraged when it pulled a shiver from her smaller frame.

“You’re the worst,” Áine laughed, covering her reddened face with her hands.

“Not the worst at that, apparently,” he continued to rib her, just wriggling with her when she tried to free herself. She only ended up getting more tangled in him.

“No, you’re arguably one of the best at that and the worst part is you know it!” Áine whined. She couldn’t help but laugh when she felt his lips curve into a grin against her nape.

After he’d sobered from his teasing, Astarion traced a line up the back of her neck with the tip of his nose, kissing her hair again. “I enjoyed myself as much, if not more than I would have if we’d done more,” he informed her. “While it was difficult not to jump right in and hope for the best, I felt completely present during all of it. I’m just not quite out of the ‘motions’ with myself yet. What we did was perfect.”

Áine nodded, tilting her head to look over her shoulder at him. “I’m glad that we both enjoyed ourselves,” she murmured. “And I’m glad that you respected your boundaries. And I suppose all I can add is, well, the moment I can do something for you—”

He chuckled and kissed the rest of her statement off her lips. “I promise you will be the first to know.”

After finally making peace with rising and continuing on their way and jostling their more hungover companions from their slumbers—some of whom had eventually found their way back to their tents and some of whom had accidentally camped out on the beach—the tents were packed and the supplies secured for their short jaunt back to the circle and then for the last leg of their passage through the Underdark.

Despite knowing why they were swinging back through Spaw’s territory, Áine still picked up her rucksack as usual, flinging it open in search of her mint pouch only to shriek and drop it back to the ground.

Clutching one hand to her forehead that was somewhere between a facepalm and a way to brace herself, Áine groaned aloud at her staring friends, “Gods above, everyone, get ready to go. I need this nasty drow head out of my bag!”

Next chapter: Chapter 19, "Last Light"

End of Act 1!

Taking a hiatus to continue outlining and drafting into Act 2. Thank you for reading and for all the kind comments and feedback! x

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makesometime · 7 months

Note

A little dialogue happens if you pass the insight check on Astarion (to see if he means the flattery or not) and I just love the idea of Tav knowing that Astarion is lying out of his ass and still flirts back, thinking it's just his thing.

(I have been avoiding a lot of Astarion’s scenes because I didn’t progress the romance past the first scene on my first playthrough so I’ve kept this more free-form. It's also... not entirely happy, but I hope you enjoy it regardless!)

(G/T rated - gn!Tav, flirting, references to sex but nothing too lascivious)

Walking through the wilderness with Astarion at their back makes them feel safer than by rights they should. With every new thing they see they look forward to getting back to camp, to hear his witticisms and return to their bedroll with his voice echoing through their mind.

Tonight is no different.

He’s filled their thoughts with such pretty words, lately, plying them with clever images and temptation. He looks at them like he knows quite how much it’s affecting them, and gods they don’t know how they feel about that.

When they make their way to stand in front of him once everyone else has gone to sleep, Astarion favours them with one of those precise looks.

“Good evening.” He says, dipping forward into a slight bow, his arms spread out in welcome. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Nothing more than other nights,” Tav says, crossing their arms. “You usually make it worth my while.”

He laughs, snatching up a bottle of wine from beside the mirror. When he turns back, they think they spot a flicker of something else in his expression, something he is a moment too slow to hide.

“I’ve been dreaming of you.” He says. “Do you know how devastating your presence is for my concentration?”

“Ah, that would make my heartbeat quicken if it weren’t for one simple fact - you don’t sleep.” They say, taking the bottle when he rolls his eyes and holds it out. They take a deep swig and offer it back, his quick hands snatching it up and taking his own slow drink.

His eyes never drift from theirs.

“And to think, this is the closest our lips have come to touching in a tenday.” He sighs, uses his tongue to catch up a stray droplet in a move so lascivious they wonder who such a move might have worked on in the past. “One day, perhaps, you might steal away with me again.”

“There’s nothing stopping you asking.” They murmur. “If you’re so keen to spend that much time with me. I certainly wouldn’t object.”

He doesn’t speak, for a moment. Long enough that they almost start to worry. It’s just fun, isn’t it? Their first time together was one of the only times they’d felt like themself since the Nautiloid, and he’d seemingly had just as lovely a time.

What if… no. They’re overthinking again. This is all just a game, a fun little diversion. Astarion likes to flirt and so do they.

“Perhaps when we’re free of the Underdark, darling.” He simpers. “There’s nothing quite like the open sky above our lovemaking, the feel of the moon shining down. Here is rather… cramped.”

It feels like a dismissal, but he’s wrapped it up in a metaphorical bow so pretty that they smile and nod.

“Truly, it would be a shame to miss out on seeing you in all your glory.”

Whatever hesitation, whatever concern, fades away behind a sweet little smile. Astarion coos, offering them the wine once more.

“Take it, darling. Retreat to your little tent and dream about how good I’ll make you feel when we next have the chance.”

They wrap their fingers around the neck of the bottle before he can entirely remove his, the coolness of his skin still a little unsettling beneath their own. With a smirk, he draws his hand away slowly, caressing the back of their fingers with a quick little flourish.

“Only if you’ll dream of me too.”

“Oh darling, you are forgetful.” Astarion chuckles, his red eyes flashing fiercely. “I don’t sleep.”

#astarion #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #ask fic

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coreene · 5 months

Text

Sussur Tree

Here is a little smutty piece of Astarion and Tav (named Lorelei here) doing it in front of the Sussur tree. Nothing crazy just your usual p in v sex.

Read under the cut.

The glow of the Underdark was beautiful on its right but the tree. The effect it had was unmatched by everything. It was somehow blending in and standing out all so perfectly, like the whole Underdark was shaped around this one tree, like it was the sun of this dark lands. It was the most beautiful sight I saw in my life, I thought until I noticed Astarion standing in the tree’s light, looking at me with curious eyes.

"Lore?"

"Hmm?" I said mesmerised by the sight of him, half illuminated with the glow from the tree.

He chuckled. "Are you alright?" He came closer wrapping his hands around my waist. "You look a little lost."

"Sorry, I was just – this tree..." I looked back at his ruby eyes. "It's so beautiful."

"It's nothing compared to you." He whispered in my ear.

I chuckled. "Now, I know – that's a line."

"How dare you? This comes from my heart." He feigned hurt but smiled as he bent over for a kiss.

It was soft and wonderful. My hands travelled up to his hair as I raised on my toes. I felt a fire taking over me as our kiss quickly turned into something deeper. I forgot where we were, what we were doing. All I wanted was him, his hands, his lips… It didn't take him long to find my ass over the leather armour. I could feel his need growing with mine.

"Heyo, love birds! We're here to find a gnome - not each other's tonsils!" Karlach yelled a little further down from us.

“We’re coming.” I yelled as I pulled back, earning a whine from Astarion.

“I don’t care about a stupid gnome.” He yelled back to them.

“Come on.” I said turning around and pulling him with me. He was not happy about it but he obliged.

***

We turned back to visit the colony and head for the camp. This was enough for today. Astarion slowed down as we were passing the tree and made me stop with him. I looked at him with curious eyes but all I could see was a wicked grin. Karlach and Shadowheart turned to look at us with raised eyebrows.

“Go ahead – we’ll see you at the campsite.” Astarion told them.

“We will?”

“I thought we could have a little fun before we got back to the camp.” He spoke in his dangerous tone.

“Oh, you mean –“ I trailed off seeing the smirk in his face. Suddenly it was too hot to be here. “Yeah, don’t wait up!” I turned and yelled to them. Shadowheart rolled her eyes while Karlach was giggling but they left without further protesting.

“I couldn’t help but notice how much you liked it here – before we were so rudely interrupted.” He said as he wrapped his hands around me, pulling me closer to him. "Why not imprint it in our memory?" He whispered to my ear, his lips lavishing my jaw and then my neck, slowly making me forget my own name.

"Oh," moans were escaping my lips on their own free will already as I felt his hands on my backside.

I pulled back to look around us when I found some of my sanity. I knew it was safe - we had cleared the area and never saw another soul hanging about. It was a rather open place but that was part of the fun.

I found his lips again - he was waiting patiently for me to decide and I had made my decision. I wanted him now.

He wasted no time finding the laces that bound my leather together. I found the belt on his coat opened it along with the clasps that held it together.

He pulled on the leather to take it off of me. I pulled back giving him space to take every piece off of me until all I had was my tunic. His lips were on me again as his hands snaked their way under my tunic finding the clasps of my brassiere.

I found the buttons of his undercoat and pushed both of it off his shoulders, letting it fall to our feet. "Wait," he whispered as he pulled back. I was looking at him, confused. He picked up the coat and laid it on the ground. "That will be more comfortable to lay on." He said turning his attention back to peeling the clothes off me as his hands got to work with the laces of my breaches. It joined the other clothes on the ground soon along with my underwear. I pulled back getting rid of the tunic and the brassiere standing bare before him.

I reached on my toes wrapping my arms around his neck, kissing him. I pulled back slowly letting my hands hold onto his arms, pulling him down with me as I laid on the coat. He moaned as he rolled his hips into me, letting me feel how hard he was under his trousers. He worked his laces with one hand while he supported himself with the other. Once that was done, I helped him get rid of it. Finally, there were no more pesky clothes standing between our bodies.

He put his arms under my shoulders, keeping me in a lock as he settled between my legs, burning me with his gaze. "Beautiful," he whispered, one hand coming up to caress my cheek.

I looked at him in the illumination of the Sussur Tree as I leaned into his hand. I was wrong before. He was the most breathtaking sight I had ever seen, all my life. I blinked a few times to get rid of the burning sensation in my eyes as he stroked my dishevelled hair. I held his hand and brought it to my lips for a kiss. I saw something so soft move past behind his eyes, followed by a curious emotion I couldn’t put my finger on.

He captured my lips soon after as his hand slowly made its way down my side. It reached to my legs, squeezing past the side of my ass. His mouth travelled downwards, kissing and licking, sometimes nipping ever so gently. He gathered my legs on his as he continued to lavish his kisses on my thighs. He sucked the skin, leaving love bites ever so close to my sex.

"Astarion," I spoke his name like a prayer between my moans. I wanted him to bite me – he knew as he grazed my skin so lightly with his fangs. A brilliant laugh escaped him when I whined as he stopped to kiss the skin.

“So needy for my teeth, aren’t you, darling?”

“You’re such a tease,” I groaned feeling so very hot.

“All this time you were just waiting for a vampire to prowl upon you in the dead of the night to get off.” He spoke as he continued to tease my skin.

“Mean,” I pouted and another laugh escaped him. I smiled a moment later as I was having fun but I needed to correct something. I raised my hands to him.

“What is it, darling?” He spoke as he came up, folding my legs but allowing my arms to cover him, leaving kisses to my lips and my neck.

“Not a vampire, you.”

That seemed to have done something primal to him as a deep groan escaped him. He claimed my lips with force as he settled himself at my entrance. I was dripping wet for him. Still, he gathered some arousal to coat his dick before he pushed himself inside in one thrust. Everything was a perfect blur after that. He was fucking me with reckless abandon, a side of him I have yet to see. His strokes were short, leaving me with a perfect pressure on my clit inside and out with each pounding. Never pulling far away enough for me to feel the loss of his skin.

Everything else around us was lost. It was only the sounds of my moans and his grunts – and the slick sound of our flesh meeting in a wonderfully sloppy way. His lips were travelling all around my neck, nipples and lips as best he could without breaking his unforgiven thrusts. I was so close to my end. I could feel my walls clenching around him, my legs shaking – whimpers of pleasure escaping my lips when he wasn’t covering them.

“Let go,” he whispered to my ear. It was all I needed as I came crushing around his dick. He let go at the same time as me, groans escaping his lips. He thrusted only few more times, emptying himself, letting my tightening walls squeeze him dry. It felt like it took forever for both of us to finally breathe from the impossible of our highs.

He dropped his head panting as he let go of my legs, letting them touch the ground. I could feel him get soft still inside me – a part of me just never wanting to leave this position, lose him, ever. I reached up for his lips, giving a quick kiss. He deepened the kiss before he broke it to let his body slide down and slid out of me, earning a whine from me at the loss of the feeling.

He let himself fall onto the side of me, my hands still wrapped around him. His head was aligned with my breasts as he nuzzled himself there. One of my hands went up to his hair, stroking it ever so lazily. I was leaving soft kisses to his head as my other hand moved to leave feather light touches over his back, shoulders - parts I could reach.

I could feel my breathing getting slower, I could easily fall asleep there. It wouldn't have been the safest of things to do – it probably wouldn't be more dangerous than fucking in this place. I almost laughed at thinking about what we had done.

"What is it?" He asked raising his head.

"What?" I was confused.

"A moment ago, your heartbeat was so slow – I was sure you were falling asleep. Now I can hear it pounding from here."

"You were listening to my heartbeat?" I asked raising a brow.

If he could flush, I knew he would have just now. "Don't change the subject." He raised asking for a kiss which I happily obliged to.

"I was just contemplating how crazy it is what we had just done. Fucking in this place of all Faerûn." I said not wanting to tease him more.

He chuckled. "Of all my years in this plane, this is a first for me."

"We should probably make way for the camp. It's getting late. They might worry."

"I guess – still it was nice to have some uninterrupted fun." He said as he left a kiss to my lips and pushed himself up.

"That was the best part." I said without thinking much on it. He held a hand out for me to help me up.

"Darling, I'm hurt –" he pouted. "I certainly thought the best part was when you were a whimpering mess under me." He whispered in his most seductive voice.

It shot blood up to my cheeks and arousal back down to my body once again. "Stop – or we're never leaving this place."

"How would that be a bad thing?" He said giving me a quick kiss before he started to put his clothes back on.

"I'm sure they'll miss us back in camp." I spoke putting my clothes on as I found them.

"They would fall apart without you – that's for certain."

Once I was done, I got his coat from the ground, gave it a shake – like that would clean it – and helped him put it on. He looked at me with curious eyes as I clasped it together.

"What?" I said looking up, wrapping my hands around him.

"Nothing – let's go." He handed me my weapons and pulled me away.

from chapter 13 of Lorelei's Journal

#Sharing pieces of the chapters till I catch up with the series is going to be my solution to the little corner I pushed myself into #Astarion x Tav #Astarion x Female Tav #Astarion #BG3 Astarion #Astarion Ancunin #Baldur's Gate 3 Astarion #Bg3 #Bg3 Spoilers #Astarion Fanfic #Astarion Fic

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ficbrish · 5 months

Text

A Ten Year

Rating: Explicit 18+ only!

[AO3 Link]

[Kinktober 2023 prompt thanks to @absurdthirst! October 26th - Tentacles, Angels/Demons]

[[TW/CW: Blood, tentacles, choking, magic drugs, alcohol]]

Summary: Vistri and Gale figure out a magical way to temporarily shift into mind flayers, and Astarion and Vistri take it for a test run.

Takes place during post-canon (10 years after). There are SPOILERS FOR THE ENDGAME OF BG3 directly under the line!

[Click here for my other Kinktober one-shots]

Gale blushed when they asked him for help.

Vistri wore her hands on her hips and that devilish smirk of hers, “You are this era’s grand master of illusion magic, are you not?”

It was the tenth anniversary of their Netherbrain victory, and Vistri and Astarion had something special in mind for the group’s festivities.

“And you’d do this…” Gale asked carefully, “At our little party?”

Vistri giggled and slapped him playfully on the arm, “No, silly! A party favor for everyone to take home. Something cheeky for after.”

Gale looked to Astarion for help, but that only made things worse.

Astarion sucked his teeth, “We’re not selfish, darling. We propose you make enough for all of us to have a bit of fun.”

Why did Gale ever suggest they visit him in Waterdeep? It was always something with those two.

“Can’t you just shapeshift?” he grunted.

They both had their hands on their hips now and were frowning at him.

“There’s no artistry in that,” Vistri complained, “Besides, it’s not a matter of appearance we’re after. Well, not just appearance.”

“We have a…” Astarion gave an expanse hand gesture, “Fuller experience in mind.

“A task easily managed by a sorcerer with an ancient draconian lineage such as myself,” Vistri taunted, “But I figured a wizard like you would be into the magical intrigue of it all. Think of it like a fun puzzle!”

“A wizard puzzle,” Astarion added, and then they exchanged one of those insufferable shared looks.

“You’re laughing at me,” Gale said.

“We’re not laughing, darling,” Vistri said in that voice she used to make devils willingly run back to the hells, “We’re humbly asking for your assistance.”

Despite himself, Gale was flattered. It was quite an interesting puzzle after all. What if, for just a night, they were able to become mind flayers?

There were three key aspects to this particular puzzle: First, taking on the physicality of a mind flayer. Nothing real, just a mimic (which mainly involved shapeshifting, as Gale previously suggested). Astarion and Vistri possessed the necessary arcane talents, but this treat wasn’t meant for just them alone, and the others were going to need a bit of help. Astarion suggested shapeshifting scrolls, but that wouldn’t be specific enough. So, Gale and Vistri wrote up their own scrolls with a unique spell tailored to their specific purpose.

Setting was the next, but no less important, aspect. Turns out Astarion and Vistri’s idea of a full experience was a full, immersive, and detailed experience. Their vision required an illusion that would seemingly turn a room into the Astral Plane. Gale jumped at the opportunity to show off his expertise. Of course, they could always draw up another unique scroll, but there was always a risk of counteractivity. Besides, another scroll wouldn’t earn him bragging rights among his colleagues at the college. Luckily, Vistri always made sure to restock Gale’s supply of mushrooms from the Underdark whenever she and Astarion popped by. They could distill some of those into an elixir to induce a highly controlled hallucination.

It was the last aspect that was most intimidating.

“Just how do we capture the mind of a, well, mind flayer?” Gale mused.

Vistri’s brows were woven together in deep thought, “Hmmm?”

“Mystra’s tits! Were you even listening?”

She’d heard his voice, but her imagination was running wild with what could occur if they managed to pull this off. Shivers ran through her spine like a tremor as she thought of Astarion wrapping a tentacle around her neck, long fingers with pointed, ebony nails trailing along her inner thigh…

“Vistri!”

“What?”

“You weren’t listening to me again,” Gale fussed, “You’re off somewhere else. Let’s just break for the day. I have many other tasks that require my attention.”

“Gale!” she whined, “Come on, Gale!”

He frowned; a thick book tucked angrily under his arm. Vistri had to resist the urge to laugh. Gale was always so… Gale.

“Maybe tell your boyfriend to ‘come on’ you. Clear your head so we can get work done on our…”

“Sex magic?”

“I absolutely refuse to call it that.”

“Oh, look at you! You’re in a mood.”

“I am!” he said as he stormed off.

Fussing felt so nostalgic. Come to think of it, this was sort of like their own personal love language. Still, they spent so much time apart these days, the distance made Vistri feel guilty. As if she’d taken a lovely piece of cake only to smash it into the ground.

“Hello, darling,” Astarion greeted delightedly as she entered their rooms.

Together they made ten years fly by, yet Vistri felt like she was beholding his face for the first time, only just now becoming acquainted with his voice. She still felt like that when they reunited after being apart for any amount of time. Even just within the space of half a day.

Vistri pouted, “I think he hates me.”

Astarion affectionately pretended to be fed up with her, “What’d you do this time?”

“I… teased him a little.”

“Oh, come now! If he was ever going to hate you over that, we wouldn’t ever be invited to stay.”

Vistri laughed, and its ugliness made her the most precious thing. Astarion had no choice but to wrap his arms around her and feel her convulse against his chest.

His eyes were soft, “And I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

Vistri closed hers to soak up the heat and sincerity in his tone. It was sweeter than a song.

Their tongues did the rest of the talking. Then they found each other’s skin underneath their fine clothes. Passing breath back and forth until they eventually sunk to the floor and melted into each other.

Afterwards, they gazed in amazement while their chests wracked like stormy waves. Vistri wiped a drop of sweat off Astarion’s brow that threatened to fall into his eye.

“Let’s take a bath,” she purred.

When they all met for dinner later Gale was no longer peeved, but he had a look of madness about him.

“I’m feeling inspired,” he announced, raising his glass, “To us! And the pursuit of…”

“Debauchery,” Astarion offered.

Vistri smirked.

They clinked and sipped. Gale excitedly took over the conversation with theories on mimicking the psychic link of a mind flayer. Another elixir was obviously out of the question. One would just cancel out the other. And they’d already ruled out the use of more than one scroll.

“—but what if it’s something we wear?!” he exclaimed, the punchline to his lecture.

“Well, I like it,” Astarion said in a high, breathy tone. Then tilted his head and lowered his voice for dramatic effect, “Question is: What should we enchant?”

Undergarments would be the most fun, but those would probably end up discarded, breaking the effect. Any sort of necklace or diadem was a bad idea for the same reason. So, they went with the most basic answer, a ring.

“Boring, but sort of perfect,” Vistri said, “In theme with our little get together—It reminds me of that ring Omeluum gave us, the Ring of Mind-shielding, but—”

“Ring of Mind-flayer,” Gale joked.

Vistri chuckled, “Exactly. I think it could be nostalgic. Don’t you agree, love?”

Astarion swallowed a gulp of… well, somebody’s blood, and set down his goblet to take hold of her reaching fingers.

He nodded, “The rings themselves make splendid gifts.”

“Party favors!”

“Yes, dear,” Astarion patted her hand, “Party favors.”

Gale chewed thoughtfully and hummed, getting ready to say something.

“Do you think everyone will be ready to turn into mind flayers? Even though we wouldn’t be actually turning into one—I mean, we worked so hard not to after all. Now we’re making it into a game.”

“A sex game,” Astarion clarified, just because Gale’s reaction was always priceless.

“With your brilliant ring idea, anyone can skip the mind flayer bits and still have a blast” Vistri said, “But that’s the draw of it for me, personally. I like to face my fears in the bedroom.

“Really puts the whole vampire companion into perspective,” Gale muttered into his wine.

“I think it has the potential to be quite healing, frankly,” Vistri went on, “You know: Take control of the thing we used to not be in control of.”

“And fuck it,” Astarion added.

“But not… At the party. Right?”

“No, Gale!” Vistri scoffed, “Do you tend to host orgies at your other family reunions?”

“Fair enough,” he chuckled, “But you both better remember that. I’ll have no illithids at the party proper! Not when it’s my turn to host.”

The first tenday was a disaster of failed attempts. Their unique shapeshifting spell was easier said than managed. The rings ended up being the simplest part. After all, it was just a stack of enchantments: Warding to connect the pair, mind reading, and a mix of charm and psionics for the transfer of sensation and feeling. Those only took time because they had to be bonded pairs. The elixir proved to be just as tricky as the scrolls, but after Gale remembered to enchant the mushrooms, they had something viable.

Just in time, they pulled it off. The only thing left to do before the party was to give the whole experience a test run.

v---v v---v v---v v---v v---v

Astarion giggled and tossed his curls, “Ah-hah! I finally have a part to play. You don’t know how droll it’s been. Sitting around while you and Gale figure out the secrets of naughty magic.”

“Oh no! Have I been neglecting you?”

“You have!” he pouted.

“Rest assured, my beloved. What we’re about to experience… Trust me, it’ll be worth it.”

“Uh, oh. You’ve got that smile on your face.”

“What smile?”

“The one that says you’re about to eat me right up.”

“Lick the bones clean,” Vistri said between kisses.

“Promises, promises.”

“Speaking of promises: It’s all safe! We’ve already tried out each component individually, and you and I are just checking to see if the full experience lives up to our expectations. Which, obviously, Gale and I couldn’t test ourselves.”

“It would’ve made for an interesting plot twist if you did,” he teased.

Vistri raised one of her brows. She wanted to quip back, but her heart was beating too fast. The fantasy was so delicious, and now the actual moment was here. Whenever she walked or shifted her legs, she could feel the wetness between them, but her nerves were also frothing into worry.

“Are you sure you want this?” her eyes were so wide.

Astarion squeezed her hand and chuckled guiltily, “My love, I’ve been aching for this moment for days! The transformation is a little scary, mind you. But the very thought of surrounding you, with more arms than I can currently manage, is more enticing than any fear.”

“We can dispel the effect at any time! Drink another elixir, take off the rings—”

He stopped her with a gentle peck, “You’re rambling again, darling. We’ve gone over that many times. Try not to worry and just have fun.”

She nodded.

“It doesn’t hurt, does it?”

She shook her head, “Just like any other shapeshifting spell.”

“Nothing we haven’t done before.”

He winked and she blushed.

Vistri wasn’t aware she was feeling a little shy until she spoke, “Why don’t we start with the elixir?”

“Take me to the stars,” he consented.

The little bottle was enough for them to share. Vistri had two little glasses already lined up, but when she went to pour them, he pulled her closer, flush against his chest.

Astarion’s kiss knocked all thoughts from her head, leaving only sense. Her nerves transformed and ignited into a blaze, his tongue guiding her to the ache of the ravenous. Vistri couldn’t breathe, only gasp. Astarion punctuated it with his teeth, biting and tugging her lip. She groaned deeply in response.

Vistri couldn’t stand on her own when he wrested lips from hers. She held onto Astarion to steady herself, grasping the front of his tunic.

He took the little bottle out of her hand, “Be a dear and open your mouth wide for me.”

She did as commanded, tilting her head back a bit as he pulled out the topper. Slowly, he poured some of it onto her tongue.

“Don’t swallow.”

Vistri held it in her mouth.

“Good girl. Now give it to me.”

Astarion relieved Vistri of her burden, drinking the elixir from her lips. Then he tossed back the rest of the bottle and fed it to her in return.

The effect wasn’t immediate, but trickled in. Gale’s tower slipped away and became the Astral Plane. Furniture grew into rocks; and walls, cliffs. The ceiling was no longer a ceiling, but an impossible sea of comets and stars.

Astarion chuckled with delight, “You know. This is exactly how I remember it.”

They relished in the illusion together for a while. Vistri proudly pointed out all her contributions, and vented about everything she thought the elixir’s effect lacked.

“I really wanted to capture the smell of it, but we just… I thought maybe an ointment would do, but Gale almost lost all the hairs in his nose when we tested it. Do you remember how the place smelled?”

He thought for a moment, “Like burnt sulfur and strawberries.”

Vistri laughed, “Strawberry?”

Astarion shrugged, “That’s the way I always thought of it.”

“Something burning, magical, and a little sweet,” she agreed.

Her fingers lightly brushed along his arms while they sat and watched the comets dance. Under the stars, the gentle and ordinary became an aphrodisiac. Her touch was a habit; her fingertips always languidly stroked Astarion’s arms when they talked together like this. She was doing the very same now, paying no mind to her gesture or the way it made his skin feral.

Astarion took her hand and dragged it downward for Vistri to bear witness to the effect she was having on him. She stopped her breath, her body screaming for his.

“What do you say, dear? Time for the rings?”

In keeping with how they took the elixir, Astarion slipped a ring on Vistri’s finger, and she did the same for him. More than their minds, their entire consciousness became known to each other. Thoughts, feelings, and sensations were completely shared.

The arousal that roared like a bonfire under their casual intimacy was no longer a secret. Astarion could feel the throbbing tightness in her core, and her blood rush. The wet heat waiting for him beneath her clothes was as real between his own legs as the pounding of his stiffened member. These rings were already better than anything they’d tried since the tadpoles.

“A real mind flayer would be able to control what they exude to their thralls,” Vistri explained, not acknowledging his discovery, “But Gale and I figured a two-way transparency would be more fun.”

“I can feel both of our hearts beat,” he stated contentedly.

“And I know exactly what you’d like to do about it.”

Astarion’s thoughts were in her head, taking off her clothes. He could feel her excitement stir into a “yes” she didn’t even have time to speak. In the space of a second, Astarion made a proposition, Vistri accepted, he checked if she was sure, and she begged him to do it. Their lips didn’t move, their eyes barely shifted expressions. Understanding was intrinsic; experiencing each other’s experiences, like they were living in the other’s skin.

How about we never take these off? | You’d like that. Wouldn’t you? | Gods I would Gods I would Gods I would.

Piece by piece, they undressed each other. A tunic for a tunic etc., never removing their own items. Beholding each other, unwrapping like gifts, and bearing explicit witness to the beholding.

Like a god Like a god Like a god. | You are perfect. | Taste me. | Eat me up. | Like a god Like a good Like a god.

“One. Final. Bit,” Astarion was on his knees, punctuating his words with kisses trailing up her thigh.

He felt Vistri’s impulse to moan before he heard it bubble up from the depths of her. He pulled down the soaking strips of cloth that were her undergarments with just a finger. They came off so easily, as if eager to escape her legs.

His tongue met her other lips, just a tease he could himself savor. Vistri smelled the way her blood called to Astarion through her skin, feel the roaring tremble inside his heart as he banished his predatory impulses far away where they couldn’t harm her.

He looked up at her, lips shining with her slick, “Please let me have a taste.”

Devour you. | Devour me, | Consume you. | Consume me. | Never stop Never stop Never stop.

More than knowing what Vistri wanted, Astarion had his own desires for what to feel through her senses. A deep wave of security and bliss shivered through her whenever he wrapped his hands around her neck or teased his fangs against her throat. An ecstasy, so beloved it would have moved Sune herself to tears, beamed though Vistri when he started to rut, her knees tucked under his shoulders. The sanctuary Astarion found in her body was now a temple made for him. It sang his praises.

“We still… Mmmph! Uh!—Scrolls,” she struggled to say.

“If you let me die now, darling,” Astarion purred, “I’ll live longer for you later.”

He always knew when to hold back because their edges were the same, but now he had direct confirmation. He took them both as close as possible, then paused for Vistri to writhe and groan and plead. Then he’d start again, but slower, never taking them to the edge, but strolling nearby, until they both felt they were going mad.

Vistri offered her throat and Astarion took it. Selflessness and greed coexisted at the point of his fangs. She could taste her dragon blood on his tongue; cold, spicy, and a little bit sweet. The life flowing into him radiated through her as it slipped away. She could feel his senses heighten and become louder than her own.

His breath was thick with her blood when he leaned close and whispered into her ear, “Strawberries.”

Their laughter started and stopped as Astarion moved faster, groans overtaking their lips.

The illusory stars above were just like the ones that blossomed behind their eyes, their bodies wracking with pleasure. Astarion sank his teeth back into her as they rode it out. Vistri’s blood in the throes of her pleasure was the best thing to ever meet his tongue. It brought him to life.

“Wow!” Vistri exclaimed, making Astarion laugh again as he licked her neck clean.

“Gods, you’re perfect,” he murmured against her skin.

She was too preoccupied by catching her breath to return to compliment.

He frowned, “Why are you always the one out of breath when I do all the work?”

“Astarion!”

“It’s all right, dear. I quite like it when you pant like that,” he said heatedly, “Makes your tits jiggle.”

She pushed him off her with a big smile on her face.

“I love you too,” she smirked, calling out what lurked behind his tease.

“Oh, there’s no denying that,” he wriggled his fingers, “Not with these.”

Vistri stifled her laugh, “You were right. The rings alone make a good gift.”

Astarion clicked his tongue, “Party favors, dear. Are we forgetting?”

“You’ll have to bear with me, darling. A moment ago, I couldn’t even recall my own name.”

With that little comment, he was ready for the scrolls. After a quick Lesser Restoration cast for Vistri, of course.

“Before we go ahead, answer me this: How exactly does a mind flayer cum?”

“It doesn’t. Not technically. It feels pleasure, don’t get me wrong. There’s erogenous zones all over, and I’ll show you them all,” she narrowed her eyes suggestively, exactly in the way she’d picked up from him, “But there’s no biological climax in the way we understand it. How do I put this? There’s nothing for it to arrive at. Any sort of big, explosive, ecstasy it feels comes from its thralls.”

Astarion raised a brow, “All the more reason for us to take turns then.”

Are you sure you’d like to go first? | Yes!

“You worry too much, love.”

I can feel your nerves. | Pay them no mind.

Vistri let Astarion into her memories; her and Gale trying the scrolls themselves. The transformation from the scroll was nowhere near the real thing. Astarion’s body wouldn’t twist into a horror. He would only be drenched in a shower of sparkles that magically gave him another form. And tickled a bit.

“I know. I know.”

“I’m ready,” he assured her. This whole thing was his idea in the first place, after all.

Her heart wasn’t in her hesitations. It was beating so fast, begging him to get on with it.

“Tut, tut! Don’t be impatient now, dear. You’ll tempt me to draw this out,” he said winking with rakish affection.

Vistri’s entire being was rushing with thrills that exploded and died like a series of fireworks in her veins. Astarion couldn’t resist her like that. He had to have one more kiss with his own lips, one more pet with his own hands. He pushed a finger between her thighs.

“Oh, you’re a gorgeous little slut, aren’t you?” he moaned, “I just fucked you, greedy thing. Already soaking and trembling for me so soon after.”

Vistri clung to his shoulders and moved her hips pleadingly. A sweet hint of soreness was overpowered by the way his finger felt inside her. She tried to push it deeper, but he pulled it away.

“Blasted tease!” she cried out.

He chuckled, “I’m not done with you yet, dear.”

Astarion held out his hand, and Vistri fetched the scroll. His fingertips were practically salivating as they grasped it. Their minds crowded with fantasies of how to fuck and get fucked, creating a to-do list long enough to keep them occupied for days.

The longing to become his nightmares, and dissolve Vistri into senses alone with it, made Astarion’s voice tremble as he recited the incantation. It worked all the same. A shower of sparkles, that really did tickle a bit, engulfed his form and made him a mind flayer. Not a proper one, but as much of a mimic as magic would allow.

Astarion looked down at his swirling tentacles and felt the top of his pulsing head with thin, billowing arms. It was a little jarring, but that just made their blood run faster.

Oh, this is weird. I like it! And you’ve got such a delightful, perverted look on your face.

Vistri relished the way his voice boomed in her head. It shook her mind, like he was too big to take. Her need made her dizzy, all mixed up with his.

Look at you! Thanking the gods, whom you have no faith in, at the very sight of me. I say! This is fantastic.

He was already a lot taller than Vistri, but now he towered. Astarion was a frightening thing to behold in this form, and Vistri’s reflexive fear only stoked her hunger.

Interesting.

“What?”

Still not casting shadows.

“You’ll have to help me remember to tell Gale. He’ll want to take note of that.”

Vistri, I’m a mind flayer if you haven’t noticed. Can we tentacle now and talk about Gale later?

She smirked and came to him. Her delicious strut trying so hard to cover up her discomposure, but Astarion could hear the snarling in her core. It snapped with teeth that wanted to devour and be devoured.

Vistri reached out with hesitant fingers, letting them fall into his tentacles. They had a hard flexibility to them and felt oiled rather than wet. There were four, and she wanted them all around and inside her.

Astarion’s arousal was palpable and thick in the air, pressing in on her, choking her.

Touch me more.

This time her hands met him with surety. She stroked along his tentacles like running fingers through long hair. It made him purr. Almost like her hand on his cock, but not quite. It was more similar to dry humping in the dark, clothing a barrier between them that their heat seeped through—that dulled sort of rubbing.

Vistri put her mouth on them, licking him up and down. Their feet left the ground, levitating together above the floor. One of his appendages gently brushed her shoulder as another teased along her throat. She tossed her head back, surrendering to his touch.

How depraved do you want me?

Her hands crawled up his tentacles, tugging as they climbed, until they were eye to eye.

“Fuck me until nothing is left.”

Your wish is my command, love. Although I do have to leave a little something of you. It’s my turn next, after all. And I expect to get as good as I give.

She felt him on her chest, gliding downward. Then another snake around her waist. And yet another caress the top of her thigh. The fourth stayed where it was around her neck.

His query and her permission were communicated in a blink. Astarion brought his monstrous hands to the back of her thighs, grinding her against him out of habit. That also made him purr.

Ah, the promised tour.

Vistri’s voice was breathy and distracted, “There’s another erogenous zone between a mind flayer’s legs, even though they’re all…” She paused as the one on her thigh just barely brushed along her swelling middle, “Ten-tentacles.”

No, dear. I only have four.

The tip of the tentacle between her thighs was coating itself in her arousal. Vistri’s breath skipped, and she called out his name to ground herself.

I do love how you whimper.

He added pressure around her neck, feeling her pulse pound in his own ears. He could add plenty more, but Vistri hadn’t earned that yet. She begged him to get inside her, so he squeezed her ass and snaked another between her cheeks to poke around from the other side.

She was delighted, “You bastard.”

I know.

He wasn’t going to give her what she wanted just yet, the torture was too delicious.

When Astarion had enough of levitating and petting and teasing, he put Vistri prone on her back. Two tentacles toyed with her tits, squeezing and sucking them. She writhed under him, moaning and pleading for more.

Eager. Eager.

The other two wrapped around her legs and pried them apart. Tenderly, Astarion dragged a long, black nail along her inner thigh. Its sharp point gliding over such sensitive skin.

Hold still, lest I cut you. I cannot savor your blood in this form.

The throbbing between her legs was the clearest thing to him in the whole world. It was a prayer, and he was the god meant to answer. If Astarion knew life was going to be like this, he would have endured better those 200 years.

She reached upwards, inviting one of the tentacles on her chest to wrap around her wrists. Tightening himself around them felt like a marriage. Vistri gasped as Astarion pinned her wrists above her head and moved his nail to her completely exposed stomach. The threat saturated her senses and made her body tremble with vulnerability.

He took the opportunity to tease her folds. The feeling was so loud, it screamed inside his head. Unable to tell if the relief was for her or himself, Astarion finally eased his appendage inside.

Vistri’s cries echoed, reminding them this wasn’t really the Astral Plane, but a stone tower.

Don’t stop. | If he hears, he hears. If he hears he hears. If he hears he hears. | Don’t stop.

They didn’t stop. Not until her pleasure peaked too many times to keep track of. Vistri kept begging for more, and this effect lasted for as long as they wanted. It wasn’t until he added more of himself, and kept adding more; until his monstrous, huge hands clawed at her back as all four appendages writhed around and in and out of her, creating a cacophony of bliss the two of them got to share; that Astarion undid the spell, leaving her spent and sore.

“My turn!” he announced excitedly from his own lips.

Vistri pounced on him with kisses of gratitude.

“How was that for you?” she asked.

“Let’s just say you’re going to love it.”

There was a glazed look in his eyes, like Astarion was more arousal than self. Vistri smirked and kissed him with gentle tongue.

“I promise to give as good as I got.”

“You better.”

He didn’t know it was possible for him to be harder than he already was until he saw Vistri in that terrible form. There were so many new ways to be ravished.

Astarion pulled her to him, showing her where he wanted to be touched, wrapped, squeezed. He levitated with her in rapture. A tentacle teased his shaft while another wrapped around his thigh and flicked the tip of his head.

“Have mercy,” he whimpered.

But that’s not really what you want. Is it?

“No. I want—Gods above… I want to be taken. See myself spill over you. All of you.”

I want to do things to you that will make us both blush for days.

He chuckled, “Haven’t we already?”

When he pushed her to the ground and straddled her, Vistri snaked a tentacle up to his neck. She wrapped another around his waist, holding him in place. The other two snaked around his ass and thighs, prying them wider apart and squeezing. Astarion moaned.

His cock dripped and one of the appendages around his thigh rubbed it to wet him. His curls tumbled as he threw back his head. Slowly, the tentacle snaked around his throbbing bone.

You mentioned you wanted to watch yourself spill over me, dear.

His hands embraced the tentacles wrapped around his neck and waist, stroking them softly and begging through their minds. Her fourth appendage stroked the skin behind his balls and teased his hole.

You writhed inside me so well, my love. Would you like me to return the favor?

The desperate way he shouted “yes” turned Vistri’s purr into a low rumble. Enveloping Astarion in a warm mind’s embrace, she flooded him with memories of loving kisses as her tentacle entered him and found that special spot. His grip around her other tentacles was so tight, the thrumming pleasure almost turned to pain.

His ecstasy wasn’t shy. It cried out and eventually broke free of him. Vistri watched him lick the mess from her tentacles before dispelling the effect. Then off came the rings, and they fell panting into each other’s arms.

Astarion kissed her, happy to behold her usual form, “You are a gorgeous and wonderful thing!”

“I’d say that works pretty well,” Vistri remarked.

Astarion laughed, “You��re sure we want to give these out instead of hoard them all to ourselves?”

She melted into giggles, “Don’t be greedy. I know how to make plenty more.”

They ended up taking another elixir just to find where the bed was, a little something invigorating to restore them after such rigorous activity. When their room came back, they jumped into bed and sank blissfully into it together. Even though they experienced everything through each other via the rings, they still talked for hours about it under clean, silk sheets.

“I’m glad that we won, but maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if we lost,” he joked.

Her laugh echoed on the stone.

A few days later, everyone was finally gathered together in Gale’s tower. The others were uneasy when they found out Vistri and Astarion had been staying for a while before. They didn’t trust those mischievous grins on their faces.

“We have some party favors for everyone to take home,” Vistri announced.

“And we think you’re all going to have a lot of fun,” Astarion smirked.

[Click here for my other Kinktober one-shots]

#vistarion #kinktober 2023 #absurdthirst kinktober list #promt fill #vistri #astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #full fic #tav x astarion #astarion x tav #ten year fic #BrishFics #smut #fluff #lemon #bg3 spoilers

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anabsolutefreak · 18 hours

Text

Chapter 23: Resurfacing

This is a canon adjacent full campaign based story involving my original TAV character, the full BG3 crew and, of course, our favorite undead high elf. I created this story to help me get through an exceptionally difficult time in my life and so, you might notice Tav's story is a little more atypical than some. Be advised that the story I have created has some mature themes including violence, kink, mental health and self harm. I will be placing warnings on each individual chapter when any of these themes are included so please be aware. I hope you enjoy. Summary: The morning after their crazy, mushroom and alcohol induced fun. Astarion struggles with his insecurities and worries about telling Embrae the truth. The gang moves on to the shadow cursed lands. Mature Content: Not really-- some nudity and mentions of sex.

Embrae opened her eyes to darkness. It was nearly impossible for her to tell whether or not it was actually morning in the Underdark. For all she knew, they might have been completely switched around by now. She blinked a couple of times, allowing her dark vision to catch up. Where was she? The inside of Astarion’s tent came into view. Oh, right. Her cheeks filled with heat, remembering the mushroom and wine-fueled chaos that was last night. The tent's other occupant shifted against her and wrapped a cool arm over her waist. “Good morning,” he purred. “And how are you feeling?”

She smiled. “Happy,” she replied honestly. “But also bloody thirsty,” she said as she swallowed. Her throat was as dry as ash.

“Oh well, we can’t have that can we?” The weight of his arm disappeared as he snaked out of the tent silently, still completely nude. He returned only a moment later with a glass bottle filled with drinking water. She took it and sat up and pressed the bottle to her lips. The water might have been ambrosia as far as she was concerned, she was so desperately thirsty. She drank too quickly and coughed, water spilling over her chin. Astarion laughed and patted her gently on the back.

She finished half the bottle and set it down, leaning back against her lover. He stroked her shoulder gently with long fingers.

“What about you?” she asked him. “How are you feeling?”

“Hmm? Oh, quite well.” He kissed her head. “Whatever was floating around in your blood last night was certainly potent. I— don’t think I’ve ever felt anything quite like that.”

“Me either,” she smiled. “We’re lucky Gale didn’t kill us though… speaking of, how is everyone out there? Do you think we’ll be able to get them up and moving today?”

He shot her a wicked grin and grabbed her hand. “Come see for yourself, darling.” She pulled her to the front of her tent and gestured towards the flap. She moved it aside cautiously. Her mouth fell open in sheer shock. Just outside Astarion’s tent, Shadowheart lay naked over Lae’zel covered in bruises. The gythyanki had one arm thrown out beside her and the other wrapped possessively over the cleric. She too seemed to have sustained several dark marks on her neck. Halsin was lying next to his tent still completely naked as well, and surrounded by about a dozen freshly carved ducks, one of which he held against his broad chest. Karlach and Wyll were asleep beside one another, pinkies touching only and Gale, the man responsible for the whole debacle was half set up against a large stone, muttering in his sleep.

She retreated into the Elf’s tent chortling. ��Holy hell,” she said.

“Indeed,” agreed Astarion. “I must say, I’m quite glad Shadowheart and Lae’zel finally erm, ‘came’, to something besides blows.

“Ha! And it looks like they might have drawn more blood during than you ever have,” she teased him.

“Hmm,” he agreed snatching up her wrist and kissing it. “Perhaps I should step up my game,” he quipped, nipping the thin skin.

She yelped and giggled. “Hey!” she scolded and gently shoved him onto the pile of blankets. “I’ll bite you back if you don’t ask first, you know.”

He looked seductively up at her.“Is that a promise?”

She gave him a very unladylike snort and collapsed onto him, resting her head on his chest. “You really are quite something, you know.”

He chuckled and began stroking her back.“If you are referring to my prowess in bed, dear, I assure you I do already know.”

She laughed at his arrogance. “I wasn’t, actually. But that’s true too.”

His hands continued to stroke and knead at the long muscles in her back. When he spoke again, his voice was less self-assured. “What were you talking about then, if not sex, I mean?”

She lifted her head and stared at him. His deep ruby eyes held hers, searching.

“Astarion,” she said, feeling suddenly uneasy. “You do know that’s not all you are to me, don’t you?” Surely she had made it obvious. He had to know how hopelessly she had fallen for him, that she might burn the world for him if he but asked her… It frightened her how deeply she was in this.

He turned his face away, saying nothing. She placed a gentle hand on his face and he turned it slowly back. His eyes were still turned down, no longer willing to meet hers. She felt her heart break a little.“Oh you silly elf,” she sighed, pressing her lips to his forehead.

***

“You do know that’s not all you are to me, don’t you?”

He felt his throat constrict and found he couldn’t reply. What could he say, after all? He believed he’d hidden well from her, that she’d never see the weakness, the fear in whatever was left of his soul. And yet, there she was, tugging at the edges of it, seeing more of him than he’d intended again. He turned away from her, desperate to be free from those beautiful, probing, hazel eyes. He felt her hand on his face, gentle but insistent as she turned him back towards her. He looked at her collarbones, unwilling to meet those too-perceptive eyes again.

She let a slightly exasperated sigh but her voice was gentle when she said, “Oh you silly elf.” She pressed her lips to his forehead and he closed his eyes, willing the sudden moisture that had accumulated in them back. There was so much he needed to tell her, he realized with a pang of guilt if he really wanted what they had to be… something. But he wasn’t ready yet. Gods, he wasn’t ready for the conversation that may well ruin everything. But here she was, tugging at the darkness inside him, asking to be let in. And he just couldn’t let her in, not yet.

“Embrae?” He almost choked her name. His voice sounded weak and unsure and he hated it.

“Yes?”

“I— don’t think I’m ready to have this conversation yet, pet,” he admitted. “If, that’s alright?”Please can she just let it rest for now?

She kissed him again on the forehead and pulled away slightly. He glanced up at her anxiously, expecting to see anger or disappointment perhaps but was surprised to see she was smiling gently at him. “Then we won’t,” she said firmly. She sniffed and rubbed a palm against her eye, as though she were wiping away a tear. Gods, had he made her cry? He sighed with relief and shame. She really was far too nice to him.

“I think I hear the others out there stirring,” she said with a short laugh and rolled off of him. He sat up and watched her silently as she searched his tent for her clothes. She groaned. “Gods, Astarion you’ve completely wrecked both of these.” She held up the ripped underwear and the shift which was now missing almost all of its buttons.

He chuckled and reached over to his bag. He pulled out an extra shirt he kept in case his other camp clothes were being washed. Unlike the other men in the camp, he preferred never to be without a shirt around anyone but her. He handed the off-white fabric to her. “I doubt there’s any hope they won’t know what we’ve been up to given the obscene level of noise you made,” he said trying and failing to sound rakish and carefree once again, “but at least you’ll have something on, which is more than can be said of at least three of our companions.”

She took the shirt and slipped it over her head with a smile. His undead heart felt like it skipped a beat seeing her in it. “It’s going to be an awkward kind of morning,” she agreed with him, rolling the too-long sleeves down to free her hands. “Let’s hope no one up and throws themselves into the shadow curse out of sheer embarrassment.”

***

Breakfast was indeed an awkward affair… for most of them. Lae’zel and Shadowheart sat eating on near opposite sides of the camp, refusing to look at one another while Gale couldn’t seem to stop apologizing.

“You have my sincerest of apologies, Embrae. I swear, I thought those mushrooms were safe. They looked just like the ones the hobgoblin showed to me and— well— evidently they were not. I promise it will not happen again. I—”

Astarion, who was sitting nearby reading, cut off the Wizard’s frantic outpouring in a sharp tone. “Do you think perhaps you can make it up to us by ceasing your incessant yapping for a while? Some of us are trying to read.”

The wizard looked at Embrae and said more quietly. “I really am sorry.”

“Don’t worry Gale,” she said. “It could have been a lot worse, mind you, but we’re all alive and well… although, I think Withers got quite the eye full last night. She glanced over at the skeleton who looked more dour than usual as Scratch and the Owlbear Cub rolled around in the dirt beside him. “Just, avoid mushrooms from now on, huh?”

Unlike the other erstwhile lovers, Karlach and Wyll seemed closer than ever, shooting furtive glances and grinning at one another as they cleaned up their dishes and began to prepare to move camp. It was almost disgustingly cute, she thought. Halsin, it seemed, was the least affected but given that the Druid had no issue whatsoever with nudity and likely had some experience with psychedelics, she wasn’t surprised.

She passed by Withers on the way to clean her bowl in the water. “Though hast now a bosom companion,” he observed in his querulous voice. She stopped and stared at him, her face turning beet red. He continued, “Take care you art not distracted on thy quest, seeking comforts of thy quest.” The last thing she wanted was to be called out by Withers. Ew, it was like having a grandfather comment on your sex life. “I um, well—” she stuttered. He held up a decimated hand and said. “Recall in time, all becomes dust and bone.”

“Right…” She said awkwardly and then hurried away to the water.

***

Finally, after a few tense hours of preparation, Embrae and her companions stood in front of the metal lift. Embrae’s heart pounded in her throat. This was it. This was the elevator the Duergar had indicated would take them into the Shadowlands, one step closer to Moonrise Towers… a step closer to a cure. She pulled the golden lever and the metal doors slid open with a screech. They all piled into the elevator and the same door screeched closed, leaving them all piled like sardines in the dark. A different anxiety gripped her then, a familiar one that had nothing to do with what awaited them. Ugh, she thought closing her eyes as the gears beneath them began to grin and the elevator began to ascend. Damned claustrophobia. She tried to focus on her breathing as her heart hammered in her ears, then felt cool fingers slip between her own. She opened her eyes and looked up. Astarion was staring straight ahead, his own face rigid and tense. He gave her fingers a squeeze and she returned it gratefully, feeling the panic abate somewhat.

Finally, after several long, agonizing minutes, the elevator ground to a halt, and the doors began to open once again.

Embrae stood in silence for a moment as the others slid out of the lift, similar expressions of unease on their faces. She looked out on the most oppressive darkness she had ever seen.

#astarion fanfic #original female character #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 tav #slow burn #astarion smut #baldurs gate smut #astarion angst

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weavewilled · 6 months

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@cavaris inquired: [ warmth ] sender pulling receiver into their arms to share body heat - some dragon!sorcerer heat for gale! / caring prompts

GALE IS SIMULTANEOUSLY TOUCH-STARVED AND RESERVED; his reservations are complicated, as he’s been —— isolated. Self-imposed isolation, to be sure, but necessary isolation, and his social skills have —— eroded in his time away. And, beyond that, so much of who he was, so much of his attention, his time, his affection —— it was all wrapped up in a goddess who had no real presence in the material planes.

The chill of the Underdark has been gnawing at him, crawling into his skin, making it hard to get warm. The corruption in his chest, too, draws in his reserves —— more quickly, more greedily, enough to concern. He doesn’t want to think about it, at least not until he has to —— which, of course, means it plagues him endlessly. Already, it hungers again, and he just fed it within the last couple days. He worries, truly, that he won’t leave this place.

He’s surprised, then, as she pulls him in. He resists a little at first — a startled jerk, pulling away just slightly. But there’s a rapid few thoughts that cascade through his mind, and it’s with an almost guilty acquiescence that he eases into it. It feels nice, for more reasons than he can possibly describe — the warmth, the simple contact. The mortal connection ——

He swallows. " Do I look that miserable? " He gives a little awkward grin, holding up his hands and wiggling fingers. " They’re cold enough I believe I could ice spells without magic. " He heaves a sigh, blowing into them and pulling them into his sleeves. " I had never heard much about the Underdark being so cold. It makes sense, logically, the —— " And he looks up to the beautiful, florescent flora giving impossible depth overhead, " —— lack of sun, the deep underground. But I had never thought of it. When we’re moving it’s not so bad. "

#cavaris #( he talks too much when he's nervous i stg )#;; & a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness. ( main v. )

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coldshrugs · 4 years

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starving

a bg3 fic in which two incredibly noncommittal people struggle to accept a shift in relationship dynamic, and a direct follow-up to this.

astarion/oc

“You didn’t do it,” Ulysse whispered, fingers combing through recently-mussed curls. Astarion lay on her chest, a novel experience but not an unwelcome one. What he lacked in warmth, he made up for in familiarity.

He squeezed her, placed a quick kiss on her chest. “I’m not hungry.”

A lie. They’d been in camp all day and he hadn’t hunted the night before.

Ulysse skimmed gentle fingers across the raised scars on his back, a story she can’t read, and one Astarion still won’t tell. He didn’t flinch this time. In fact, he sighed under the touch, let a little more of his weight settle onto her. Did he mean to, she wondered?

“Are you sure? It’s back to the Underdark tomorrow; the menu is less than ideal.”

He raised his head, a self-satisfied squint crinkling his features. “My dear, you must be feeling positively neglected. It’s like you want me to bite you.” Cold fingers trailed across her chest, ghosted across the thin skin of her neck.

“What I want is to know why you’re not eating when offered. And, while we’re on the subject, why are you acting so strange tonight?”

“Strange how?”

Ulysse gestured vaguely to their entwined position, the picture of intimacy. “This. Laying together after sex. ...I can’t say I’m not enjoying it, but I can’t recall you ever doing more than rolling over with a word of praise and a kiss before you’re out of my tent and into yours.”

He sat up and Ulysse followed. Asking him not to leave would be desperate, but the words were ready to spill as she reached for his arm.

Astarion spoke first. “I- I suppose I might be, well ...I was under the impression that you wouldn’t hate it if I stayed. For awhile. But now that the behavior’s been noted as strange-”

“Of course I don’t mind.” The grip on his arm eased and her hand fell dangerously close to his on the bedroll. “Now, why did you refuse to drink from me?”

For this, he couldn’t face her. The edges of his face, however, were haloed in the light of a lone candle and his struggle with how much truth to share was not lost.

“If I hurt you-” He stopped, thought it over, restarted. “If you don’t-” The words were tangled inside him.

But at that moment, the air between them shifted, pulsing and reaching until their minds were linked and words were replaced with shape and meaning.

Hunger akin to famine, but not for blood; affection; fear. If this means something, and I hurt you, that would be a mistake.

Astarion turned back in horror. “Did you do that on purpose?”

“No! After Gale’s lecture, I wouldn’t use the tadpole on any of you.”

Weighted silence filled the tent, spreading between them like miles of still water, calm and deep and too dangerous to cross. Unable to let it die in the cradle, Ulysse leaned to rest her head against his shoulder. He shivered but stayed put.

“You need me to trust you. And I do.” She turned his face to hers. “You won’t hurt me because you, shockingly, care about me. And I-” she kissed him, a gentle lingering thing that left Astarion’s eyes squeezed shut- “shockingly, care about you.”

Finally, he looked at her again, his gaze soft and not quite confident, but absent the embarrassment of before. This was the closest to bare Ulysse had seen him. “If you’re sure.”

“Eat.”

Smiling against her lips, Astarion pushed Ulysse back on the bedroll. His kiss moved to the corner of her mouth, her jaw, then her neck. He hesitated, icy breath making her skin prickle, before reaching to lace their fingers together. If this means something…

Teeth broke skin and Ulysse’s nails dug into his shoulders until the initial sting subsided. Past the delicate tug of his lips, the sharp ache of the bite, she could feel herself coursing through Astarion. Could he feel it too, the way her blood pulsed through him like his veins were extensions of her own? The flow was a tiny trickle - his restraint holding steady - and still Ulysse had to catch her breath.

She exhaled, the edges of her vision just starting to sparkle and spin. Astarion took a few more sips before withdrawing his teeth. He lapped at the remaining blood, switching to slow, languid kisses until the flow stopped completely.

“You’re still alive, I trust?”

A stifled giggle in the dimly lit tent. “Yes, I survived. Did that ease the hunger?”

Famished, not for blood.

Ulysse wrapped her arms around him before he could run, stroked his eyebrow, traced fingers up the blade of his ear. Astarion nuzzled into the touch, settling back onto his previous place over her heart.

“It’s a start.”

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #azia writes #astarion #ulysse/astarion #i am WEAK #i know this is gonna be 'we're just hooking up- UH OH FEELINGS' and i'm just gonna get ahead of that and write about it in advance #i love the fwb to meaningful relationship trope #they are still never gonna hold hands in public #neither one of them is ready for that and may never be ready in the next five centuries so

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loganscanons · 3 years

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At the mouth of a cave tucked between the rocks of a tropical mountain, a traveler with bronzed skin and bright eyes squints up at the midday sun. They close their eyes, basking in the sticky warmth for a few more seconds, before they turn and step heedlessly into the cave. If they’ve heard the stories about the jungle, about the mysterious werecreatures that prowl around at night, about cracks in the earth where creatures from the Underdark slip through, they pay the stories no mind. Adjusting their pack, they wander farther into the cave, their slit pupils adjusting to the darkness. They pass carelessly over wisps of spiderwebs, their boots plucking the webs like strings.

The vibration of their steps ricochets over a maze of sticky spiderwebs. Deep within the cave, below the earth where no natural light touches, a drider stills, focusing on the movement in her webs. A thin smile passes over her purple-hued lips, and she scuttles across the expertly crafted webs toward one of the many entrances of her vast cavern, deftly avoiding stalactites and stalagmites. A handful of bats shriek in protest as she passes them, disturbing their rest, but she ignores them. She pauses, tracking the traveler that’s entered her lair. Their steps are more careful now, avoiding the sticky webs as much as they can, but they continue to press forward.

The drider meets the traveler where any remnants of natural light are swallowed by the unforgiving darkness of the Underdark. She titters to herself, her fangs sharp beneath her smile, and the traveler’s eyes land on her. They seem unbothered by the dark, able to find the drider in the inky blackness without having to strain their eyes. They return the drider’s grin.

“Shriq!” they say. “It’s been a while.”

Shriq, the drider, clings to her web and leans toward the traveler. “You’ve brought me what I want?” she asks, her voice raspy and hissing.

The traveler laughs and pulls off their pack. “Always straight to the point with you.”

Shriq holds her hands together, her milky eyes watching the traveler eagerly as they reach into their pack. She’s waited months for this, alone in the dark, wondering when Kay would return.

“Here you go,” Kay says, pulling out a large and carefully wrapped bundle. “The finest dyes a pirate can get.”

Shriq gently unwraps the bundle. Inside are materials to make her own dye, things that are hard to come by in the Underdark. She lets out a delighted hiss.

“Thank you, Kay,” she chitters, rewrapping them bundle. Deftly, she weaves a small pack from her silk, in which she places the dye materials. Strapping the newly made bag to her back, she again turns her attention to the traveler.

“Would you like to stay for lunch? I’m sure you’re hungry after your journey,” she says.

“Sure,” Kay shrugs. “As long as we’re not eating anything humanoid.”

Shriq laughs, though it sounds more like a series of hissing. “So picky,” she says. With inhuman strength, she lifts the traveler onto the back of her abdomen, then scuttles once more into the depths of her cave.

#my writing #saventhia #shriq the drider #kay the gorgon #cw spiders

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elisende · 3 years

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Songs in the Night (5/?)

Characters: Halsin/OMC Rating: T Words: 1620

Summary: Halsin's past finally catches up with him when the party stumbles across a ruined settlement on the Ebon Lake. He dwelt in himself like a rook in an unroofed tower -Seamus Heaney

Most of all, he missed the sun’s warmth. There was no substitute for it, or for the sweet plainsong of the birds, the wind’s touch. The air below was stale, redolent of fungal colonies and rotting bodies. Nature had found its way even here but not without its own struggle against the void, the unending dark.

It changed you. Halsin knew that, thought he’d accepted it, even moved past it. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to speak of it to Langoth, despite all they’d endured.

It had been days since they’d arrived in the Underdark; after their return from the fugue plane they’d managed to survive hook horrors, duergar, and an encounter with a bulette.

“Everything down here wants to kill us,” Astarion grumbled. “It’s all getting rather repetitive.”

“So not much of a change from the surface! Although, I’ll allow--somewhat less cheerful. At least the goblins had a sense of humor. A terrible sense of humor but it’s more than one can say for duergar.” Gale was in remarkably good spirits despite the near-disemboweling he’d suffered that morning in their fight against the hook horrors. The party wore the mantle of cheerfulness in turns, lifting each other up when it was needed, sharing the warmth of one another’s souls like prisoners sharing meagre scraps of bread.

“Have you ever heard a goblin joke, mate? Not funny.” Wyll said. He was walking point beside Halsin, his eye scanning the darkness ahead for threats as he spoke.

“But at least they make--”

“For instance. Why did the kobold cross the road?”

Gale sighed, nearly extinguishing the flame that danced on the tip of his staff. “I can’t even begin to guess. Enlighten us, Wyll.”

“He didn’t. A goblin hit him over the head and roasted him alive on a spit while his family watched.”

Langoth wrinkled his nose. Halsin was certain he’d heard a version of this ‘joke’ with a gnome in the place of the kobold. Goblins were known for their originality even less than their sense of humor.

Gale was silent for a long while. “Alright, I take your point. In some cases, no sense of humor is better.”

“What is that?” Langoth said, pushing ahead of Wyll and Halsin to look over the edge of a deep precipice. Halsin crouched beside him, squinting into the gloom. It was the Ebon Lake; he remembered it well.

“Moonrise Towers is on the other side of the lake,” he said in a low voice. The Underdark and its deadly monsters forced the habit of whispering onto you.

“How do we get there?” Langoth asked.

Halsin pointed to the outline of a jetty. “Perhaps fortune will be on our side, for once.”

“Wouldn’t that be refreshing,” Astarion muttered.

Langoth smiled faintly. “Let’s go, then.”

“Wait,” Halsin said. He’d caught sight of a ruined settlement along the edge of the shore. It had been a prosperous mine, when last he was here. Gnomish; they had aided him--meanly, it had to be said--but they’d aided him, nonetheless. A wave of nausea accompanied the memory of his escape. The burning chains, the dark, the despair. He shut his eyes a moment.

“Are you alright?” Langoth said, taking his arm in his steady, strong hand.

Halsin opened his eyes, the memory already fading. “I’m fine,” he said. “Look, there was once a settlement of some kind here. We should be cautious.”

They picked along the edges of the settlement but the gnomes who might have recognized him were gone--dead, or enslaved.

“Let’s not linger,” Halsin said. He could feel Astarion’s gaze but didn’t engage him. He didn’t want to confirm any of the vampire spawn’s suspicions.

Langoth pointed ahead to the jetty. “It’s a vessel of some kind.”

“Keep to cover,” he said. “We can’t yet guess if they’re friend or foe.”

They listened to him, thank the gods, hugging the low, ramshackle buildings around the jetty to get a closer look. A clammy sweat had broken out on his palms and forehead as memories threatened to overwhelm him again. He shouldn’t have come back.

“Are those drow?” Astarion said, his voice barely a whisper.

They were hunters and wore the weeping red eye of House Canavar; at the sight of that evil sigil, Halsin froze. Langoth’s voice seemed very distant as he said, “Do you think they’re hostile?”

“We should turn back,” Halsin said, his throat nearly closing around the words. “I know that mark.”

Astarion raised an eyebrow, watching him closely, even avidly as he asked, “How, exactly? I can’t imagine they venture to the surface often.”

“It does not matter how,” he growled. “They are no friends to us, believe me.”

“Certainly don’t look friendly,” Wyll said. The hunters paced the pitched planks of the skiff. Slavers, looking for prey. Like them.

Langoth’s piercing gaze was nearly unbearable. Finally, he said, “Very well. We’ll follow the shore west and look for another way.”

Halsin released the breath he’d been holding. “Thank you,” he whispered. Langoth touched his gauntlet, a question in his eyes. Later, he would tell him everything. After they were out of this godsforsaken place.

They retraced their steps, one by one, Halsin at the rear. Just as he was nearly around the corner of the last building, a piece of broken glass crunched under his foot. He paused midstride. The drow slavers stopped too, listening.

He didn’t dare to breathe; his position was exposed, they had only to descend onto the jetty to see him. His heart pounded as the smaller hunter strode down the edge of the skiff.

The slaver leapt onto the jetty with a thud that shook the timbers and Halsin dove back behind the building.

“Ehi! Stop!”

Too slow. The hunter drew his bow as Halsin scrambled to his feet, reaching for his club in the same motion.

Langoth appeared at his side, bow already nocked. “Don’t move,” he commanded the hunter, his voice unwavering as his arrow.

Astarion, Gale, and Wyll emerged from the shadows behind them, weapons drawn. He could weep with gratitude. He wasn’t alone, this time. Halsin drew his club.

“Golzar,” the hunter shouted to his partner. He simultaneously lowered his bow. The other drow jumped down from the skiff, his hands raised.

“We wish no quarrel with you,” the larger hunter, this Golzar, said. His skin was the violent purple of a gentian’s flower and seemed to glow in the gloom. “And you wish no quarrel with our master.”

“And who is your mistress?” Langoth said, his arrow still aimed at the hunter’s heart.

Golzar bared his teeth; they were filed to points and his wide smile was like a gleaming white saw. “Perhaps you misheard me, boy. I serve a lord. His name is Valas and his house is the most illustrious House Canavar. And he shall make bread from the dust of your bones.”

“Typical,” Astarion muttered, though despite his bravado the vampire spawn blanched.

“He will do nothing of the kind,” Langoth said. His fingers tightened on the bowstring. “We’re not easy prey, as you may have gathered.”

“Aren’t you?”

A company of drow appeared from the shadows, weapons drawn, all wearing the same sigil. Canavar. His blood chilled, even as Langoth muttered an oath under his breath. They were outnumbered, badly.

“I recognize this one,” said a huntress who had emerged from behind the burnt husk of a mill. She walked over to Halsin, her daggers trained on him. "I recognize him very well." Her face was puckered by a terrible silver scar that traversed the length of her face, chin to brow, hitching up her lips in an ugly sneer. He would not soon forget her face, though he’d never learned her name. “The master will be pleased to see you,” she said, leaning so close that Halsin could smell the spiced meat on her breath. He shuddered.

“Begone,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “We’ll have no dealings with your master.”

“Oh, but I think you will,” the huntress said. She strolled over to stand beside Golzar, wrapping him in a casual embrace and whispering into his ear.

Langoth glanced at him again, questioning. Halsin couldn’t hold his gaze. He had to protect him from this--from his own past, which seemed determined to force itself into the present.

“You will come with us,” Golzar said. “As our esteemed guests.”

Astarion snorted. “One’s hair curls to imagine what drow hospitality entails.”

“Take me,” Halsin said, stepping forward and throwing his club to the ground in front of him. It landed with a hollow clatter that rose a small cloud of grey dust at his feet. “I’m the one your master wants.”

The drow called Golzar smiled as though he were indulging a naughty child. “Oh, no, Master Druid. That would be most unbecoming. Lord Valas will want to host all of your companions.”

Finally, he met Langoth’s eye. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, though Langoth still couldn’t know for what. He would learn all too soon.

Langoth took his hand. “We’ll face this together, too.”

Halsin shut his eyes. “There’s so much I wish I had--”

“Onto the skiff, now, grandfather. You’ll want to arrive in time for dinner--you must remember the generosity of Lord Valas’s table well.”

The other companions looked at him but he remained silent. Fury was building in him, born from an old hatred and wounds he’d wanted to believe had been healed over, like bark over the exposed pith of a tree. But something foul had flourished there, waiting.

The scarred drow watched him and smiled. When they passed to board the skiff, she stopped him and gripped his arm. Once more, she leaned close. “It’s good to have you back, Master Halsin.”

#halsin #bg3 halsin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfic #fanfiction #halsin/omc

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thesilkenlair · 4 years

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(Casey Here!)

As much D&D as I play, you'd imagine I would eventually get around to illustrating some of their most iconic monsters! Which is to say, the ones that I personally find the most iconic. Which is to say, the ones I memorized when I was reading my dad's monster manual at age nine. Purple worm - Sandworms never go out of style. I've seen a lot of rad designs for this bugger over the editions, but I favor the slightly less reptilian older takes for this particular critter. It's kinda basic, but sometimes that's what you want. It's like a shark or a crocodile: Just flat out unchanged across the ages. Hook horror - I've heard it rumored that Gygax used a small Gigan figure to represent this monster. I can't verify that, but it definitely sounds right. Hook horrors are one of the very first things you meet when you play around in the caves, and they kind of remind me of the Father Deep monsters of the Hork Bajir homeworld that way. Mind flayer - Mind flayers! Basically, take all of your Dracula conventions and dip them in a fresh coat of Lovecraft. There's that old "decadent aristocratic upper caste system who literally eats the poor, but still somehow comes across as less evil than the actual real life 1%" setup that will never stop being relevant. Though personally, I see mind flayers as the first alternative for folks who want to play that monster-who-feels-the-urge-to-eat-their-friends-but-refuses-to-do-it shtick but don't want to deal with vampire baggage. You know, the furry option! ... Slimy? Rubbery? Do we have a word for anthro-cephalopods? I'm only a casual furry. Gelatinous cube - I'm not apologizing for giving this one a slot. Froghemoth - So, back when I participated in my very first long-term campaign, I played a druid. You've met Talia before. Naturally, I was chomping at the bit for the day I finally got to turn her into a froghemoth, and celebrated the day my wish was finally granted and she was allowed to chug human-supremacist-cultists like popcorn. Yeah, okay, the froghemoth is one of the classic vore-monsters. But it's a charming design in its own right. Kind of a freaky Hanna Barbara critter, like you'd see Space Ghost fighting. No matter how many artists draw it, they can never shake that inherent goofiness that third edition tried so hard to purge. I would probably cram them somewhere onto Fronterra if I was sure they were public domain. As is, I'm 99% certain that this is what Visser Three turned into when he ate Elfangor. Tarrasque - D&D's original kaiju! Kind of just takes the name and nothing else when it comes to its mythological origins, but I don't mind. The Tarrasque is that endgame "let's test the players" final boss monster... Or at least it's supposed to be. My DM reskinned it for our final Pathfinder session, and one of the PCs still nearly killed it in a single turn. Also, he let Talia turn into one, so maybe Pathfinder is just bullshit? Regardless, the Tarrasque has one of those simple, iconic designs. I've heard rumors it was based on the concept art for Fallout's deathclaws, and like the Gigan-figure, I can't verify this in any way. With its reptilian features, twin horns, spiny carapace and grabby fingies, it has an undeniable lizardlike quality that I can't help but find charming. Kinda feels like a more refined version of Zilla? Though for an insatiable eating machine, I notice a lot of artists give it very little belly to work with. Come on, this guy eats entire cities! Give him somewhere to put it! Rust monster - An icon of icons, the rust monster! Drawing its origin from a bizarre Chinese "dinosaur" toy, later designs have made it more insectoid in appearance, but never feeling QUITE like anything Earthly. It's the four limbs. Between the four limbs and the tail, it's hard to tell if it's an arthropod mimicking a vertebrate or the other way around. I'm pretty sure this is part of what inspired my ossaderm creatures for Fronterra. Also, Ryla can turn into one in our campaign. I have no shortage of havoc to wreak when the opportunity comes. Behir - Dragons in D&D are kind of... extra. Godlike beings, paragons of whatever personality trait they represent. Whenever there's something uber powerful in D&D, it gets compared to dragons. It makes them kind of unapproachable. Behirs provide all the essentials of a dragon - Serpentine body, scaly skin, horns, sapience, breath weapon, taste for human flesh - wrapped up in a smaller, weirder, IMO cooler package. You know, your Lambton Worms. A lot easier to port in and out of adventures, a lot less of an event when they show up, but still a formidable force in their own right. I like the behir. The behir knows how to taunt me just the right amount. Bulette - Another Chinese "dinosaur" figure monster, the bulette is actually another one I associate with Talia. Whenever we faced a problem that didn't have a glaringly and immediately obvious solution, she would turn into a bulette, whether it was for beating up robots, digging through obstacles, trampling smurfs, navigating labyrinths, distracting slashers with cute dog tricks... it was kind of her signature form. But shenanigans aside, the bulette is just an excellent monster. While the "land shark" shtick may be common, there's a lot more going on with the bulette's design. It's rumored to be a mad wizard's creation, as he combined a snapping turtle with an armadillo and mixed in a helping of demon blood to taste. Personally, I always considered that to be a neat little rumor to flesh out the world, but never assumed it to be true. The bulette just feels too naturalistic for that. Like some kind of protomammal or crocodylomorph, or weird triassic monstrosity. Magic and demons and dragons and so on DO affect the ecosystem. I always figured the bulette was just something that evolved to compete in this new biosphere. Owlbear - This one, on the other hand, I fully believe the "mad wizard was bored" explanation. Another chinasaur critter, the owlbear is frequently made fun of. What makes it scarier than a regular bear? It can't fly, so why have owl parts at all? Why trade fangs for a beak in what is at best a latural move? Well, first of all, fuck you, owls are creepy motherfuckers, and that alone is enough to justify it. But secondly, that's part of its charm. Besides some improved vision, the owl DOESN'T make it more dangerous. What makes the owlbear dangerous is that it's an insane, Frankensteinian monstrosity roaming uncontrolled through the wilderness! It doesn't need weaponry, its sheer temperament is enough to make it a worthy opponent. Sure, the practical threat might not be hugely above that of a bear, but storytelling isn't about numbers. Any asshole can go outside and get eaten by a bear. The owlbear is part of this world. The owlbear is a reminder of what magic can do. Someone somewhere actually made this thing, for whatever reason, and now the world is irrevocably changed because of it. Owlbears go beyond practicality. They bring the lore! Also, bears don't have very good eyesight, so the big owl eyes probably make them better hunters. Flumph - Is that a Japanese-style martian? Do we just have aliens in D&D? Dear lord, I love them! Okay, the flumph has got a sizable hatedom. And that hatedom can eat my ass, because the flumph is precious and perfect just the way it is! Flumphs are designed as a sort of sidekick-type creature. They're not very good fighters, but they bring knowledge and lore to the table. Whether they're aliens from some far off star, seeking your aid to prevent catastrophe, or psionic natives of the Underdark eager to bask in your positivity and hopefully stick it to the tyrants they're forced to share real estate with. My group generally treats them as straight up aliens, benevolent but strange. Course, we're all pretty strange, so we get along just fine. Otyugh - Okay so, the aberration creature type implies that this is something from another world that doesn't belong. And yet otyughs, which are aberrations, are an essential part of this world's ecosystem? Okay, I can buy the idea that an alien organism adapted to our world and is now a key part of it. Fronterra's got a TON of that. It just feels like after a point, the otyugh would be considered a beast? Otyughs are great. Every ecosystem needs a decomposer, and every fantasy story needs at least one dive into the sewers. Otyughs provide both, and are intelligent enough to keep the plot moving if it hits a snag. There's always going to be garbage, refuse, carrion, decay, things that need to be broken down and processed. Carrion crawler - The carrion crawler is pretty similar to the otyugh in that it's technically not considered a beast, and therefor must have its origins elsewhere, but feels so integrated into the ecosystem that it just feels like it belongs. They usually can't talk, so they're not just reskinned otyughs, but I still consider them pretty essential. Otyughs find a singular spot where waste is dumped and shovel it down at their leisure, while carrion crawlers skulk through the tunnels, actively seeking their food. The crawler got one of the most radical redesigns on the transition from second to third edition, but I can't really choose a single favorite. The oldschool tentacle-faced cutworm looks like it could be a real animal, while the googly-eyed Halloween decoration feels like it could be from another world, merely having set up shop here. Could there name apply to two wholly different creatures? If so, then I'm not sure which one mine would be considered. I kinda mashed them together into something that doesn't quite feel like either. But I like it for what it is. Maybe I'll sneak it onto Fronterra. Aboleth - Tentacled, telepathic sea creatures who turn humans into slimy minions, who remember everything their race has ever seen, and who are always plotting something behind the scenes. Yeah, the aboleths really crank up the Lovecraft elements. Actually, between the mind flayers, the flumphs and the aboleths, even the most oldschool D&D covered quite a few essential Lovecraftian bases. The flayers are your corrupt yet still recognizable humanoids who can be considered truly evil, the flumphs are benevolent-yet-bizarre guardians who know more than you, and the aboleths are the truly unknowable, sinister intellects. The fact that they can barely function on land honestly only adds to that, IMO. They're inherently difficult for a party to reach, and they offer some nice underwater adventure seeds. Not enough adventures go underwater. There's this perception that the ocean is bad for storytelling because so many writers lack the creativity to make it work. I wanna run an underwater adventure now. Beholder - Icon of icons! THE D&D monster! The beholder! Paranoid, jumpy, always five steps ahead and twenty steps perpendicular! Beholds are fun in just about every way. Between their wacky, diverse designs, their elaborate lairs, their eccentric personalities, their bizarre powers, you're never gonna run out of fun with beholders. Remorhaz - It's always been a thing that bothered me with environment-based monsters. Why does the ice monster who lives in the cold use ice as a weapon? Aren't most of the things it encounters going to be resistant to the cold? Sure, a cone of cold will still kill a polar bear, but a lot of the monsters in the tundra are outright immune to cold. A while dragon's not going to get much use out of its breath weapon fighting frost worms and frost giants. That's one reason the remorhaz sticks out to be. We have an icy tundra beast whose insides are a scorching furnace, which it can intensify and weaponize as it sees fit. Which also conveniently explains why its design - a sort of cobra-esque centipede - invokes warm-weather creatures, despite its icy environment. It's a nice subversion of the usual tropes, plus it's just a memorable, cool looking critter to begin with. On a smaller note, the remorhaz feels like a good loophole for Ryla's "no cold weather morphs" rule. Turning into something elementally affiliated with ice is no good, but a non-magical monster that survives the cold by superheating its insides? That seems perfectly viable to me!

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thetradeway · 3 years

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Session 48 14 Aug 2021: "Dhidth hwe huin?"

I’m late today. Ginger balls. Never admit you were wrong, and never apologise! Has anyone heard from Mina? She may or may not join us. Billy Corgan on a rollercoaster!

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Matthew, wondering: “Does Billy Corgan have alopecia, or is that a choice?”

Duncan: “I don’t know, I’m not his mum.”

Matthew opens a 4% by volume Potion of Healing, and we get started. Everyone makes saving throws except Tarragon for their hangovers after the Midsummer festivities. Ahleqs is delicate but not too rough; he has however just discovered that he is no longer immune to alcohol. (He isn’t quite puking up pixies, so he’ll take it.) Gideon is bright as a button, as is Kessler, and Melaina. Ardvack complained that the sherry wasn’t up to snuff, so he didn’t drink much.

Gutpunch is snoring and emitting smells when the boys wake in their room. Tarragon returns as the sun rises. She returns to her chambers to find everyone else asleep; she joins them, and Mina joins us. The gnome bunked in with us is not emitting smells. There’s a bang on our door - it’s one of the Avowed, a runner.

“Your presence is requested in one of the Necessariums.” He’ll return for us in a few minutes.

Same thing happens for the boys; Ahleqs tries to wake Gutpunch, with no success. Ahleqs, blearily: “Necessari- what? What is this Hogwarts bullshit?”

Is Darkspire in with them? Yes. The Avowed asks if he behaved; yes, Ahleqs thinks so. Charity overhears this conversation, and butts in. He opens the door wide and tells Ahleqs to go back to bed; he does so. Charity peers at the Avowed’s face, the one who showed us to our rooms.

“Yes? What? Yes? I’m here. Everything’s fine, nothing occurred.” Assured that no crimes have been committed, the Avowed retreats.

Ahleqs asks Charity why there would be ‘incidents’. He says he has no idea.

We use our ten minutes to head to the Hearth for breakfast. Ahleqs has water. And a small pot of coffee. and one egg, and one bit of toast with some salt. “Is there any tabasco?”

Ardvack explains about the Necessariums. They are tall towers with lots of books; we can’t access them ourselves but the Avowed will get us anything we want. Kessler wants some books about tinkering and artificing.

The vegetarian menu is vast, and very good.

The runner returns as we are stuffing more food in our pockets to take with us.

Ahleqs is delighted to see Mr Pickles in the Necessarium; he’s talking to a green dragonborn. Ahleqs doesn’t want to interrupt so he hops from foot to foot until the Al Miraj spots him. He is bidden to go over so Mr Pickles can take a look at him.

Mr Pickles says Ahleqs looks a little green around the gills; did he not hear about the revels last night, Ahleqs asks? Mr. Pickles was in the library having discussions. Should he order some tea? Yes, Ahleqs will have a small bucket of tea. Mr Pickles summons an Avowed.

Mr Pickles says there are wards on this place to cut noise and prevent eavesdropping from outside; he has some news for us if we will gather around.

An Avowed brings Kessler the books she asked for. (Carl wants some books too; The Very Hungry Caterpillar, A Tiger Came to Tea, The Borrowers, that sort of thing.)

MP introduces us to Bookwyrm, the First Reader of Candlekeep - the dragonborn he was talking to. He is in charge of maintaining the collection and acquiring newbooks. We want access to books about the Shadow Weave?

The knowledge in there is dangerous, those books have been locked away. They don’t usually let people access them, but since Mr. Pickles is involved, he might be able to help - if we can do something for him in return.

Ardvack has a question; is this endeavour going to cut into our ten-day? No, since we will be out of the Candlekeep to do it. Bookwyrm can’t give us details until we agree to help, but Mr. Pickles believes it’s well within the limits of our skills to accomplish what he needs.

Tarragon agrees immediately, but mostly because Ardvack looks dubious. Ahleqs, assured by Mr. Pickles’s confidence that we can do whatever it is we’re being asked, also agrees.

Some time ago, Bookwyrm tells us, the keep was visited by a drow scholar who told them the location of a book the Keep have been seeking. Are we familiar with the caves below the Keep? No, but we’ve seen a picture.

They are beneath the catacombs, in the bedrock. They lead all the way to the Underdark. The book was supposed to be there. Someone went in search of it; a more than capable wizard, Olius Visk, but they were expecting him back a full ten-day ago and he has not been heard from. He is a young man, it is very out of character for him to miss the Midsummer Festival.

What was the title of the book he was after? Bookwyrm doesn’t know. When the wizard applied to go after it, he didn’t mention which one it was.

Where is the drow? He left, as you can only spend a tenday here. He did not book in another visit.

We just need to rescue the wizard, not necessarily complete his mission, Bookwyrm says. If we do locate the book then we could bring that too. It’s not the Underdark proper, it’s not that far down - it and the wizard will be in the Upper Dark.

The First Reader gives us a book about the Underdark. Tarragon gets excited about the fungus that could be down there, and the potions she could make with them.

Will we need any further resources? Healing potions, at the very least.

When we are ready we’ll be teleported to the caves. We can get past the myconids that way, the ones that moved in and live off the mushrooms they grow on the refuse from the keep; they keep the drow and duergar away.

He gives us an orb to follow; Ardvack suggests giving Gideon the ring the activate the thing. While following Olius’ tracks, it will glow brightly to show us we are going the right way. Gideon blusters about the ring; “A fine piece of brass work! That will fit on my finger nicely.”

How many potions will we need? Tarragon, immediately: “All of them.”

They can spare a GHP and two RHPs - each. Oooo! They will give us twenty days’ of rations as well.

Can Carl come? We need Carl, probably more than Ardvack. Ardvack consults his book of manners, then laughs; “Ahahah, very droll.”

We decide to leave Popcorn in the stables while we go; he doesn’t like dark and scary places.

Tarragon is excited to be going into danger again; Ahleqs less so.

Ardvack, resignedly: “To almost certain death?”

Tarragon, far too excited: “To almost certain death!”

Ahleqs does a very shaky sigh.

A runner approaches with our Healing Potions, and we spend ten minutes farting about with our inventories.

Ardvack, bored, pulls a book from his pocket and begins to read; Ahleqs wants to know what it is.

Matthew, OOC: “What languages do you speak?”

Duncan: “Common, Elvish, Infernal and Light Crossbow.”

Are we all ready? Various themes on ‘yeah’, some more excited than others. Ahleqs casts Mage Armour.

Carl is brought from the Hearth (holding a book called ‘Ye Olde Very Hungry Caterpillar’), and we are teleported.

It takes a moment for our eyes to adjust when we arrive in the dark, wet caves. We head deeper underground, and of course someone (Mina) starts singing Jamiroquai. Well, someone had to.

Tarragon looks out for mushrooms for use in her recipes. There are lots, of various sizes. Some have bits that look like they’ve been cut off; as if someone has been eating or harvesting them.

Tarragon takes a bit of mushroom and eats it; it’s tasty. Ahleqs will watch her for about 45 minutes before he eats any himself. Ardvack stands as far as physically possible from all of the fungus.

Joe waits for his computer before telling us what has befallen Ardvack, who has gone ahead; Tarragon starts cackling. (She doesn't do subtly devastating insults, she does this.)

Matthew rolls a d4; he gets a 3. Does 16 hit him? “I think the 8 might do it.” The 16 does hit as he backs away from one mushroom into a violet fungus, for 8 Necrotic damage.

We roll initiative!

Melaina kills the fungus, but we don’t feel as though we’re alone. Tarragon holds a Thorn Whip in case she sees something within 30 feet of her that she doesn’t like, and warns Ardvack that this includes him.

We hear something shuffling towards us. Ahleqs is trying to hide when it attacks him twice for ten necrotic damage, and Tarragon gets it with her Thorn Whip. Ahleqs does Burning Hands at it.

Joe, laughing: “Really? You’re going to make a mushroom do a Dex save??”

He misses the one he was aiming at but hits the one he didn’t know was there, so… a win?

More turn up; Gideon does an Acid Splash, complete with quavery wizard voice as he announces it.

Ahleqs and Ardvack are closest and get a horrible, acrid stench as the acid burns the violet fungi.

A fungus aims at Ahleqs but only manages to sort of caress his face with its tentacles, leaving a slimy residue; he sicks up all the water he drank.

Kessler gets one with her crossbow. “Remove your grubby bits from the Ahleqs!”

Tarragon, yelling “Danger and excitement!”, takes out her quarterstaff and runs at one; she hits, and is pleased when it doesn’t die just yet.

Does Ardvack want to chomp on a tentacle with someone else, do a sort of lady and the tramp manoeuvre?

Duncan, disgusted: “No tentacle sucking, this is not that kind of show!”

Mina, disconcertingly matter-of-fact about it: “Some people would pay good money for that.”

Ardvack chooses to hit the thing with his shillgjakjsgaklghjkghhhjbblhh instead. It crumbles into bits, but is also ‘a little bit on fire’.

Ahleqs spots some little orbs somewhere ahead up the path. He thinks they are probably magic, but has no idea what they are or what they do.

Carl does a ‘friendly yet violent pat’ on one of the violet fungi and does 5 splatting damage. It wraps its tentacles around him - and then lets go, shuddering. Carl goes in for a bonus action grapple-slash-fatal-hug. The fungus loses the grapple. “High point in Carl’s life.”

Sophie, OOC: “Are you going to give it a noogie?”

Ahleqs takes aim at the grappled fungus. Matthew, OOC, singing: “Now that’s fuckin’ teamwork!”

“If I move away they’ll get a tickle of opportunity won’t they?” Ahleqs stays where he is. “I do not consent to this.”

Gideon gets one with Magic Missile.

Joe: “How de do dis?”

Sophie, OOC: “With gusto!”

Carl maintains his grip on the fungus.

Melaina is feeling arrogant so she goes Sharpshooter. “Urgh, five, that’s not going to work is it?” But to her amazement, it does. 29 damage; a little bit overkill. It explodes into truffle oil, which showers Ardvack but completely avoids Tarragon.

Tarragon offers Carl her old quarterstaff, since he doesn’t have a weapon. He rolls an INT check to try and reply to thank her, but gets a 0. He accepts the staff with a nod of thanks; she smiles at him.

We have killed all the Violet Fungi! We have solved Joe’s Underdark puzzle, yay!

Yeah, nah.

The drift globe leads us around the next corner. Tarragon and Carl chase it, and see three little huts made of fungus and dried grass. Two look abandoned, but the third has light inside. The orbs Ahleqs saw seem to be drifting around it. Ahleqs rolls 19 Arcana; the orbs are warding or protection magic.

We decide to approach, because the inhabitants might know something about the missing wizard.

Kessler, approaching: “Helloooooo? Avon calling?” Tarragon casts Guidance on her as she goes by.

A bell sounds; Kessler recognises the Alarm spell. She calls out to say she doesn’t mean any harm. “Ignore the mech armour, and the idiots with me…”

Duncan OOC: “I want to know what happens if we find the ‘How not to be a goblin’ book and Kessler turns out to be a six foot five valkyrie warrior. Ardvack’s not going to know where to put himself, is he?”

An Unknown Woman appears from the hut:

“What on earth are you doing down here?”

Kessler explains about the wizard and the book. Are we from the Keep?

Yeah…

So is she, it turns out. Will we be going back? Yes, unless we’re killed horribly.

Do we have a way to get back in past the myconids and such? (uh oh.) She says she was a speaker for the keep and was looking for some books, and got lost down here and got stuck.

Kessler rolls Insight with Guidance - 13. She seems convinced. We can pick her up on the way back? That would be amazing, she says. She’s smiling especially at Ardvack.

She has some warding magic up here if we want to rest? Ardvack tenses up. He makes an Insight check as well. He rolls a 9, but uses his Inspiration to re-roll - a 12. He feels a kind of kinship with her, as though her magic might have a similar source. He eases a little bit, and ventures a half smile, even though she’s wearing a 'very low-born outfit'.

Ahleqs, scandalised: “She can’t even afford a middle bit on her top!”

We don’t need a rest, do we? Ahleqs got hit a bit. Melaina doesn’t trust her, and doesn’t want to stop.

Tarragon asks the woman’s name. It’s Ava.

We could take a short rest, roll some hit dice? Have a sandwich? Get to know the locals?

Melaina: “Alright, but I’m not going to sleep.”

Ava points out the orbs. Anything on this side of them is safe.

This seems a bit too good to be true. Does Ahleqs get a sense of magic, other than the protective field? A nine; “She seems legit.”

She was looking for a book that the Keep wouldn’t exactly approve of when she got stuck here. She’s been living off the mushrooms. She was fleeing undead when she was chased into the myconid hives? A ghost or wraith or something.

She brings us some tea, apologising that it’s not quite as fresh as she would like. Something is definitely fucky; Tarragon takes watch, on Ava as much as for other dangers. Tarragon rolls 24 Perception, so she can see the colonies of ants coming to get us.

She sees that no-one’s quite at ease. Suddenly Ava’s skin sloughs off, peeling in big chunks, and a blood hag reveals herself.

Me, horrified: “Blood hag?? JOE!” Tarragon Thorn Whips her.

A writhing mass of hair bursts from the hag, and reaches out toward Ahleqs. She reaches out with her claws to Ardvack and Kessler, and hits both. 23 slashing to Ardvack - and 35 slashing to Kessler.

We roll initiative!

Melaina gets in amongst the mushrooms and tries to hide. “And now I’m going to shoot her in the face. Shit. No I’m not, with a ten.” She cowers behind her mushroom.

Gideon Thunderwaves her and hits, and retreats.

Tarragon casts Greater Shillsdghksdfkhsdg, and crit-misses. The quarterstaff bounces off and hits her in the face - she takes half the weapon’s damage and has Disadvantage on her next attack.

Carl hits her with his new quarterstaff and hits!

Ahleqs casts Mage Armour on Ardvack and Carl, using Sorcery Points to twin the spell.

Kessler bonus action slams her Greater Healing Potion. She uses her Thunder Gauntlets and forces Disadvantage on attacks not against her.

The Blood Hag uses something called Call the Blood, to do a Blood Choke Curse on Ardvack - his mouth fills with blood, preventing speech and verbal spell casting components for one minute. She uses her bonus action to Misty Step to Melaina and do another blood drinking hair, and a claw attack on her.

Ardvack’s turn; he riffles through his spells but they all have a verbal component. Matthew OOC, cross: “I needed that to be effective.”

Joe, pleased: “She’s charming, isn’t she? I thought you’d like her. But at least all the blood vessels in your mouth and throat have burst and you’ll keep having to spit blood for the next minute, so that’s something.”

Ardvack clubs her instead, and hits. He somehow manages to do 0 damage.

Duncan, OOC: “If you say ‘good girl’ or something while you attack, you could do some psychic damage…?”

Matthew: “If only I could speak!”

Melaina gets sneak attack plus Sharpshooter with her rapier - 31 points of damage. All of us, fanning ourselves: “… Damn.”

Gideon will cast Scorching Ray - all three bolts hit, for 21 damage total. The blood hag is pissed off, now, we are told. Gideon bravely retreats.

Tarragon misses again, and begrudgingly heals Ardvack. “Come on, it’s not that bad. Get up.”

Carl was going to use his Raging Cadaver ability, but Tarragon is now in the square he was going to rage to. He can probably navigate through the mushrooms. He does that, and then a slam attack. He does a zombie grab as well. He rolls 17 to her 14, so she’s grappled!

Ahleqs casts Shatter right in the huddle of Carl, Charity, Tarragon and the blood hag. But he would hit Carl, so he doesn’t. He does Eldritch Blast with Tides of Chaos and hits both times for 7 total Force damage.

55: His hair falls out again. “Oh… this again. Okay. I mean I was growing that, but whatever.”

Kessler wants to know if the mushrooms are difficult terrain; she can push through them. “I haven’t finished with you yet!” 16 with the Thunder Gauntlets hits for 12 Thunder damage, then 19 to hit for 11 more. The hag has Disadvantage on attacks versus anyone but Kessler.

Carl is surprised when the hag Misty Steps out of his grip. “He is very perplexed.”

Does 26 hit Ardvack? Er… Yes. He takes 24 piercing damage, and is grappled; her hair worms dig into his flesh and start to suck his blood. He makes a Dex save - or he would, but he might be dead…? No, he’s at 1HP. His lucky hit point.

Matthew is fighting his computer. “Dex save… Any minute now… It’s coming… I’ve pressed the button… It’s asked me if I want to make it public… seven.”

Joe has devastating news for him. The hag has reached out and torn his face off.

…

Holy Fuck.

What the fuck???

“I wanted the pretty elf, but this will have to do!”

The hag makes good her escape as Ardvack goes down. Tarragon uses a free action to vomit.

Ardvack has an ability that brings him back with 8HP. “Dhidth hwe huin?”

Melaina shoots the hag in the back but misses; Gideon does a Scorching Ray.

There’s discussion about the face and the fact that it has Ardvack’s memories and personality; Mina, OOC: “Give it a few minutes, she’ll bring it back.”

Duncan, as the hag: “‘Can you take this back, it’s kinda bumming me out’.”

Tarragon does Cure Wounds at the highest slot available to her; Ardvack’s face is now a mass of scar tissue. She uses her bonus action to throw up again.

This is worse than when Wee Jock got Disintegrated. This is worse than the time we were all zombies, and we started off dead.

Joe, put out: “You’re so ungrateful. It took me ages to find this monster.”

Carl can reach the nasty lady. He can Dash, but he can’t do anything when he gets there. He holds out his hand for Ardvack’s face. She ignores him.

Ahleqs: “Okay… Okay… I cast Fireball. Oooh, it’s big!” He casts it at level 4, and places it so he’ll get the hag, but not Carl. The hag must make a Dex save. She gets a 22.

Duncan, OOC: “Well… Yes, she does and she doesn’t.” She takes half the damage, and is really pissed off.

Kessler: “Oi! Come back with that!” She pulls out her crossbow and shoots. First shot is a miss, and so is the second - a crit fail. Booh. Off target: You deal half damage for 1d4+1 rounds (3). She tries to intimidate the hag, who is unimpressed.

“Let me leave, or I’ll cast Cloudkill.” The bitch uses Invisibility.

Ardvack’s turn; he is now un-stunned, and remembers the sensation of having no face. He’s also still spitting blood. He takes out the mirror that Amelia gave him, and looks in it to see the horrible-ness that is his face, still drooling blood. He puts the mirror away. He gives Tarragon a pat of thanks on the shoulder as he turns away so no-one can see him and crawls toward the hut, “Because this is where I live now.” Even Tarragon feels a little sorry for him.

Before we go, Ardvack is crawling into one of the huts, yes? Yes. "I do not wish to take tea with guests." The most complete hut is the hag’s one; he sees some stones on the floor as if she’s been scrying. Next to them is a pebble with a purple ring on it.

He makes an Arcana check on it to make sure it’s not a bum-stealing stone. 21; he knows the mark as the symbol of Shar. He may remember Shar from such activities as fighting a giant scorpion and an assassin, or raising an army of scarecrows to harass a halfling village.

We decide to leave it on that cliffhanger...

#dnd #thetradeway #campaign diary #Youtube

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littleblackgoldfish · 3 years

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Sunfall Ch. 3

Previous Part

Chapter 3

Soli stared at the point of metal pointed at him. Over and over he drew a line between the vicious tip and his heart as it beat, thundering in his ears, against his ribs so violently he was surprised he couldn't see them bending.

Around him he heard voices mixing with the shing! of drawing blades and the whistle of spears swinging through the air.

There was an eternity that stretched itself through him between heartbeats. His feet were frozen to the broken paving stones and his thoughts wrapped around the point of an arrow like the flickering light of fire and lamp glinting off its blade. If he'd had anything to drink in the last… however many hours, he might have wet himself.

After a moment Soli slowly came back to himself.

In the seconds — had it been seconds, and not minutes or hours? — between all the initial shouting and now, not a single one of the people in the group had taken more than a step back in movement. Shock and fear washed in equal measures across their faces as they stared back at the line of rangers drawn tight as their bowstrings behind the wall of overturned tables and doors. All of them stood still and silent, waiting.

Until finally the shorter of the two boys of the group gathered his courage and called out to the rangers, "We're just- " he stopped, uncertain. What were they just; kids? Scared? Looking for answers?

"We're unarmed..."

He held out his hands, palms, palms up, nodding for the others to do the same. Put a spear or bow in Soli's hands and he would have been more of a threat to himself than any one of those rangers. And he didn't think any of the others would have been much more of a danger to the soldiers before them.

But, the rangers disagreed obviously. They wouldn't be pointing arrows at them otherwise. He still couldn't quite manage to tear his eyes from the closest arrow, not even to see who was holding it. When he tried the glinting point dragged them back.

He couldn't help wondering what it would feel like. To be shot with an arrow. Would it hurt? Would he feel it at all? Or would it be like in the stories where the Captain's friends didn't even notice they'd been hit until it seemed like they were safe again.

Kids never died inthe Captain Thellere stories. Not kids like Soli. Frontier villages kids, without names or personalities beyond hero worship, sure. And it was always tragedy.

But this wasn't a story and Soli knew he could die. Just like his mom. And dad. Probably his sisters and- no, he swallowed that though and tried to force his gaze up the shaft of the arrow.

Slowly, agonizingly, his eyes followed the arrowhead back thin shaft up past the fletching — black feathers, shining in the flickering light — to the hand holding the string of the bow — sun kissed, a shade or two darker than the girl in the sundress — and then up to the face behind the hand. He was surprised at how young the ranger looked, they probably weren't even as old as Ostra, and how naked the fear he saw in their eyes was. A twitch of the fingers and it would go flying. Soli watched the ranger's hand, white at the knuckle, grib the bow

And… a second later he watched it drop away, tracing an arc away from his heart and towards the ground. Soli watched as the ranger's face slackened, tiny crinkles around their eyes moothing out, and the lump of their throat bob slightly. Distantly he heard a voice grow clear.

" —about that. It- we're all a little on edge," a new ranger was saying, a fringe of auburn hair just peeking out from beneath the bottom of her helmet,"Especially with them out there still- doing, Lythra knows what."

Them? Did she- was she talking about the people in the black armor, Soli wondered.

While the other rangers had relaxed and started drifting back to whatever posts they had occupied before, they're eyes kept drifting in her direction before flickering away. She didn't seem to notice. Or at least was deliberately making an effort not to 'notice' if she had.

The taller boy in the group, the one with the glasses, frowned. His own thoughts running along the same lines

"Are you talking about those people in the black ships?"

For a second her expression and gaze sharpened, falling heavily on him before sweeping across the rest of the group. But only for a second, then she forcibly relaxed herself again and simply nodded.

After that Soli wouldn't have had the courage to ask anymore questions, or even open his mouth again. Of course he hadn't been to muster more than a hum or grunt in response to anything said to him in hours anyways, so maybe his own instincts weren't exactly a good measure. Whatever the truth, the other boy had seemingly no compunction.

"Do you know who they are?"

With a brittle grin that did not reach her eyes at all the ranger said, "Bad guys. But, don't worry about them, you'll be safe inside with the Company of Seven Claws standing guards," then, her gaze turning to the men and women beside her and her voice rising to reach out to all of those not, "Isn't that right!?"

As one, the rangers' voices rose to match hers. Soli noticed a flash of metal at her collar, a little silver leaf on its side.

"Catch 'em seven times! Bleed 'em seven times! We know what we're for!"

"Go on," she said to them as she smiled again and made the sign of Cieliel (Eldest Daughter, Patron of Glory), fist over her heart with the thumb out, and thrust her head to the side in the direction of the camp.

With that they were allowed in behind the barricade, a couple of rangers had been busy clearing a way in while they talked, and through the ranger's section into the camp beyond. Some of the group relaxed immediately on getting behind the wooden palisade, others took until they reached the rest of the camp. All except Soli. Being around so many people didn't make him feel safe, it did the opposite. His skin itched, like something crawled beneath its surface.

What could those rangers do if those big black ships came? Throw spears and shoot arrows at it? He doubted they would even scratch it. Maybe some of the Rangers knew a spell or two. But was it something powerful enough to break through the black metal of their shells and burn out whatever was inside?

He didn't think so. But… they would be so confident without reason, right? Two thousand years of keeping the Homelands safe from monsters and division and schismatics, helping to end the strife with the Temples, pacifying the Underdark, they knew what they were doing. Rangers had seen worse than this. Whatever or whoever those people were couldn't possibly win against the Rangers. Not once they got their feet under them and could fight back.

They just couldn't.

Leaving behind the rangers the group finally saw the camp proper; set in what had been an open air market place, what would have been full of crowds and stalls and the shouts of people buying and elling was still full of crowds, but of a different sort. Ragged, exhausted people in torn, bloodstained, and dirt caked clothes. They sat by flickering campfires overwhich nondescript stews bubbled. They walked, listlessly and without direction, between tents for all shapes and sizes and colors. Children, old men, young women, families, lonely beggars, the injured and the healthy, the camp was full of people of all sorts. It was impossible to glimpse the edges of the camp from within, all there was was the endless sea of faces and tents.

Moving single file the group crawled slowly deeper and deeper into the press of bodies. No one met their eyes or so much as acknowledged them. Though there was a constant noise it was not from interaction, it was just the sounds of people breathing all together (and talking in low, slow voices) to those they already knew. Sometimes through the ebb and flow of the crowd and the uneven terrain of the tents a gap would open up for a second through which Soli could see a glimpse of the market's edge and when it did he saw open doors leading into the adjoining buildings and within more people pressed, if anything, closer together.

Soli followed the group because what else was he going to do. Go off on his own and get lost? Whoever these people were, they were safe.

Part of him wanted his sisters (and, he added, his brother. Though the latter was so young he hardly counted) but even thinking about them brought him close to thinking about what had happened to him. That he was not ready to do.

When they finally stop, some minutes later, Soli finds they've reached a clearing of sorts in the crowd of tents and people. It wasn't the edge of the camp itself, that was still off a distance guarded by yet more rangers in another isolated camp like the one they'd come through. At least ahead and to the right. To the left and ahead were mostly buildings, low single story ones that would have been either warehouses or rented shops. There were figures walking along their roots carrying bows and spears. Off to the right hand of this section a series of taller warehouses took up much of the space and behind that was the park which had been entirely taken over by tents (and presumably more rangers guarding the flank). Another smaller camp of strangely dressed rangers had formed around the entrance of the warehouses.

Some scattered tents had built up along the edges of the clearing and there were people wandering around, some of them carrying baskets full of...stuff. Food and wood and cloth and all sorts of other things Soli couldn;'t make out. The group was brought up short by the sight. For several long seconds they just stood there dumbly staring out at the space in front of them, not saying anything.

"I guess we can set up here," said the girl who'd first helped Soli.

No one argued. But no one made any move to do anything either. None of them knew what to do. They looked around, searching for some sign or clue.

There'd been no instruction of guidance from anyone the entire time they'd walked through the camp. None of the wandering rangers or residents had so much as looked at them, much less taken the time to greet them and walk them through what they were supposed to do now.

That didn't look to be changing either.

Finally after another long few moments the boy with the piercings and the long black hair sighed and said, "Miriel, Kieran, you should go see if you can find a tent or something for us."

He pointed to Soli's rescuer and the other boy, who both nodded and after a moment of uncertain and helpless glancing around picked directions and started walking. She headed for the edge of the camp, where the entrances to the buildings were and he went back into the mess of tents behind them.

"Uh, I- I'll look for some food or something," said the other blond with all the piercings. Pierced boy or, as Soil had started thinking of him, 'leader,' nodded.

Which only left Soli himself, leader, and two of the other girls.

"We'll look for the best place to set up."

Leader said it like it made sense, like it was the logical thing to do.

One spot seemed as good as any other in the market to Soli. They'd get wet all the same if it rained and when Kiestre rose in a few hours (or maybe it would be Caithr, though he shudder to imagine the darkness lasting so long) there was little hope of staying out fo the sun. Only one spot would provide shade for more than a few minutes and that was already occupied by that small camp of strangely dressed rangers.

But the other girls were already nodding along with him and Soli didn't actually have a better idea of what to do and so he simply followed along as they wandered around.

All the markets Soli had been to were those covered ones, the ones that sometimes had two or three stories, with lots of water features and spaced out courtyards where you could sit down. This was nothing like those. Away from the crowd and up close he could see more clearly that it had been built like a big, long plaza butting up against warehouses and storefronts on three sides (except for connections to the street) and a strip of park on the last. Soli saw what might have been fountains, though small ones, scattered about. Empty. Dry.

There were also occasional stone posts sticking up, forming rough rectangles. About half his height, they had small holes in their center. The few overhangs that stuck out from the empty storefronts had already been snatched up by other groups. Not that they would give much cover anyways, even standing directly under them Soli didn't think they would stop anyone from getting wet in the rain.

He even caught a few glimpses inside the buildings bordering the market-plaza as they made their circuit around it and it didn't seem any better inside to Soli. Except that they would be dry if it rained. But then they'd also be crammed in with all the sad, lifeless people sitting inside. Also it stunk.

Just passing by Soli could smell it.

They passed close to the rangers for a little while and Soli eagerly took that opportunity to spy on them. He was less circumspect than he imagined. Though, it was not as if anyone else in the refugee camp had disguised their curiosity any better over the hours it had come to exist, so the rangers guarding it did not react or even particularly note Soli's examinations. Unlike the other rangers scattered around the rest of the camp, most of those within this one went about without any armor. Dressed in robes of bright turquoise or soft navy-blue or vibrant purple run through with long swooping, whirling, twisting, designs in glittering thread woven along the arms and backs there seemed to only be a few of them. Or maybe, many of them only occasionally coming out in small groups.

He only caught glimpses of them with their heads bent together whispering over little chalkboards or muttering to themselves as they paced, with their hoods up obscuring their heads and faces. Mostly they remained inside their tents or hidden within the warehouse. Appearing briefly before disappearing again.

At first he'd just assumed they were rangers because… well what else would they be? Now that he was looking at them more closely though he did see the same bits of leather armor peeking out from beneath their robes and one or two even had the same little metal leaves at their collars that the ranger lady out front had had. Soli assumed that had something to do with being in charge.

Clearly they were mages. Pretty important too from the way they were being guarded, and maybe even secret; like the Children of the Thorns that Captain Thellere worked with sometimes.They must be working on some sort of spell or ritual to bring down the black shell ships, or maybe enchanting weapons and armor for the other rangers.

While Soli contemplated the secrets of magic going on behind cloth and walls, Kieran and Miriel came back, having met up again after splitting up at first, with their arms full of bundles of fabric and rope. They'd just found the 'best' spot, as decided by Leader, a little ways down from the magic ranger camp along the southern facing wall of the warehouse structure. While the guards had given them some looks as they'd wandered by, they didn't stirr from their posts even after the other two returned and they started setting up. Or at least as much setting up as they could do.

Mostly it was clearing away what dirt and trash had accumulated in the area.

"It was just sitting in a big pile," frowned Miriel as she dropped her load on the ground in front of them. Kieran nodded and set down his own burden on top of hers.

"Some guards standin' over it all, glaring at everyone who came near. Don't think they were rangers."

Soli stared at the collection of fabric, some sort of thick stiff looking stuff the same dark green as the leaves and needles of the trees in the forest around grandfather's estate. He'd hated the place for the first few days.

Grandfather didn't have any good books, just ones about history and war; but not the fun sort where heroes stabbed monsters. And they'd been all alone except for his family (minus his younger brother at the time, who was still a couple years away) and the staff who were just as old as his grandfather and twice as boring because they didn't even have his grandfather's hunting stories to tell him. Not that those were much better, he always focused on the most boring parts of everything. Soli and his sisters had to invent all sorts of games to keep from dying of boredom.

One of them had involve- Soli cut that thought off behind a steel vault door and then threw it into the dark Beyond.

Everyone stared at the collection of fabric and rope laying on the ground.

"So," the other girl, who'd stayed with Soli and Leader, started, "How do we, uh, put it together?"

A beat.

"I- I don't know," admitted the dark haired boy.

He glanced back at the mass of tents back the way they'd come, looking maybe for some hint. After a moment he shrugged to himself and turned back.

"Let's uh, spread it out first."

So they did that.

Which left them with a large square of thick, scratchy dark green fabric and three coils of rope to stare at.

Thankfully in the midst of their staring at the collection of materials the last girl returned with three canteens slung over one shoulder and a cauldron stuffed with a small basket half-full of potatoes and wilting vegetables. She ignored the spread out cloth and set her spoils down by the wall.

Shaking out her arms she looked at the rest of the group, "This is all I could carry by myself but there's more; sausages and flour and wood for fires, so if we go..."

That was when she noticed them staring at the disassembled tent laid out on the ground and her voice trailed off for a moment. She looked between the other five of her friends and asked, "Is that supposed to be a tent?"

"Parts of it, yeah. We're trying to figure out how to set it up," said Leader.

"Oh."

He sighed and frowned at the uncooperative pile fo stuff for a few seconds longer before turning back to the others.

"Look why don't you — " he looked to the blond girl with the shaved sides of her head " — take Miriel and Duna and Ava go back and grab more stuff while we," he gestured between himself and the other boy, Kieran, and Soli, "Figure out… this."

All four girls exchanged a look that Soli had no idea how to interpret for a second and a hot little flush rose in Leader's cheeks for a moment, but they didn't object. Seconds later they were heading back in the direct the shaved-head girl had gone.

Truthfully Soli would have liked to go to get the food, but… even thinking about opening his mouth made his throat tighten down to a thin straw that made it painful to breathe for a second.So he let them go without comment.

What followed was several minutes of fruitless attempts to tie the ropes to some small wooden beams jutting out of the warehouse wall involving Soli climbing up on Kieran's shoulders and looping it through the convenient slats in said beams. Fruitless not because they didn't produce something that might, generously, have been called a tent, but because it would never fit all of them. Also because it would definitely collapse at the slightest breeze.

As they stepped back to admire the frustrating results of their work, Soli once again down solidly on his own two feet, a voice interrupted any coming disappointment.

"You need poles."

They turned and saw an older woman in a plain white robe that seemed at least a size or two too large for her with a frizzy mane of soot stained pale-blond hair pulled back into a long tail behind her thin swoopingly pointed ears by five battered bronze rings. Something about her didn't fit with the rest of the camp. Not her dress which felt about right for the rest of the camp, though the robe was recognizably white it was far from clean; patches of dirt and grass stains littered the hem while streaks of dried blood trailed up the arms. And though she had fewer bruises than many of the people, she had still clearly been through something in the previous hours and had the bumps to prove it. No, there was a sort of weight to her.

Everything seemed quieter around her. Like the air was weighted. She felt old. Not old like his grandfather, always complaining about how people were doing things 'these days' or wishing for how things had been when he was young. But more like… like the forest around his grandfather's estate, as if she had seen things.

"What?" asked Kieran dumbly.

"Poles. Wooden ones, to go into the sides of the canvas," she pointed at the sagging vee of fabric hanging desultory from the sloppily hung rope, "See where it loops at the edges? In those. Didn't you wonder why they were made like that?"

Soli hadn't. He'd been distracted by trying to slap together rope and fabric to make a tent. But now he did.

And so did the other two.

"Oh," breathed the dark haired boy with the piercings.

He stood stockstill for a moment staring at the 'tent' in front of them and then started laughing. Crouching low he buried his head in his hands.

"Daughters char my— we're such idiots."

"Nnn," the woman shook her head, "You're city boys."

To that the boy snorted and countered, "Everyone else figured it out," He flung his hand out towards the rest of the camp. Kieran frowned and shook his head as he came to stand beside his friend.

"Everyone else got here when there was light."

"Maybe," he said, then to the woman, "Where do we get these poles?"

She raised one of her finely sculpted eyebrows at him, "Same place you claimed the canvas and the rope."

"Right, figures. We'll wait for the others to get back and you and me— " he nodded to Kieran " —can go and get them," then he looked at the woman again, "Thanks for your help. Some of our friends are getting food, if you want to join us for a meal?"

Glancing over her shoulder at the camp the woman hesitated for a moment. She probably had things she needed to get back to doing. Or maybe just a family somewhere back in there, people she needed to get back to.

Soli swallowed against the lump in his throat and blinked back the sting in his eyes. Something itched against his chest. Again the vault and the tumble into the dark Beyond.

"Not that- you don't have to. We totally understand— "

She turned quickly back around, her hair swinging at the sudden movement.

"No, no. I- everything that- I was just," she cut herself off and mustered a weak smile, "I would love to join you all. My name is Au'Liestra, but you can call me Lise."

"Right, I'm Dax- I mean, Anad'du'raxiel, that— " he pointed to the other boy, who gave a shy wave " —is Kieran and the kid is, um… actually we don't know his name."

The dark haired boy, Dax, frowned at Soli. Not angrily, or like he was upset, but as if he was seeing something familiar for the first time in a long while and not quite recognizing it. Soli opened his mouth.

Maybe to give his name or just to say hi. Nothing came out. Still the words died in his throat as if bore down on them like a hungry dog after a meal. He sighed and smiled tightly at the woman.

Dax opened his own mouth, his brow scrunching hard over his frown, but he could not find the right words and so he sighed and shrugged, looking at Soli contemplatively.

"We have to call you something, can't just go running around saying 'boy' over and over, now that it's safe to talk," he paused, "Safer. How about Delyn?"

It wasn't his name. But it wasn't a bad one either, so he shrugged.

What did it matter what they called him anyways. They might as well call him 'Boy' or 'Kid.' But apparently it mattered to Dax, because he was shaking his head even before Soli had responded.

"Nah. Haldin? Ferion?"

He discarded each name as quickly as he chose them.

"Adun?" offered Kieran, then, "Etholas? Logir?"

None seemed to satisfy, as Dax and Kieran both shook their heads in unison. They began to go back and forth in turn, paying more attention to each other's reactions than to Soli's, with the taller boy going first.

"How about Lindon… or, Estir? You know, from tun-Bar Thalaharn's play; the one about the orphans?"

Lise watched their exchange with her brow raised in amusement as she moved to stand beside Soli himself, though not so close that he got nervous. Just close enough that it felt like they were almost standing together watching the two play off one another.

"Bit morose don't you think?"

Kieran shrugged, "Morose feels a bit right, with… you know things," he flung his hand into the air and swung it wide

"Legomir, maybe," but then Dax looked at Soli and shook his head yet again, "No. Feels like it should be shorter. Quicker. Snappy."

"What has to be snappy?" Miriel asked as she and the other three girls strode over.

Arms laden with even more baskets full of food and wood for the fire. Two of them, the blond that wasn't Miriel and the dark haired girl with the jacket, looked at the slowly collapsing disaster of a 'tent' with concern but kept quiet for the moment. Soli saw mushrooms and onions and jerky and sausage in the baskets. His mouth immediately started watering.

"Name for the kid... and don't worry about that," he gestured to the 'tent,' "We need poles apparently."

"Oh. Meni."

Dax blinked and Miriel thrust her chin at Soli.

"For his name."

There was a beat and then all five of them looked to Soli, eyebrows raised. He shrugged. Again, it wasn't his name, but it would work as well as anything else.

With that the other blond girl stepped forward and fixed Lise with a steely gaze, "And, you are?"

Kieran jumped in, "Right, everyone this is Lise. She's joining us for dinner."

Bouncing up from where she'd been settling down her pair of baskets, the red haired girl in the sundressed bounded over to Lise and thrust out her hand, "Hi, Lise! I'm Duna." While behind her the other three looked between Lise and Kieran and Dax, raising their eyebrows in unison.

The taller boy simply shrugged and answered their questioning looks with one of his own. Dax colored faintly. After a long moment the two girls finally relented, sighing and turning to Lise, who had been ignoring the exchange and greeting Duna, with strained expressions.

"Avu'llya."

That was the girl with the jacket, her arms crossed self-consciously for a moment before she forcibly relaxed them to her side.

Miriel stuck out her hand, "Miriel. A pleasure."

"Caria," said the last girl, the blond with the shaved head and the impressive number of earrings, and following her friend's lead held out her own hand. Stiffly though.

After that Kieran and Avu'llya went off together to get the aforementioned poles for the tent while the rest of them went about setting up the fire. Or at least tried to.

None of them knew how to start a fire.

It took only a few minutes of Dunal and Miriel fumbling around blindly with the wood for Liseto to snort loudly and step in, "Here," she held out a hand for the firestarter in the former's own.

Kneeling down beside the red haired girl, the older woman simply waited out Duna's subsequent pout. Relenting after only a few moments. Lise took the loop of metal at the same time as she reached over her lap and into the small metal box beside her to pull out a piece of sooty, black something. It was almost cloth-like.

"Unless you know a spell, start with some kindling. Kits like this come with char cloth, but dry grasses and twigs and all that will work if you out in the wilds," again reaching over her audience Lise dug around in the basket and pulled out some straw and sticks from the bottom.

Arranging it into a small mound, she continued, "It'll just take longer— "

Soli had just thought that was like padding. A thought shared by the others given their startled looks.

" —then you take a bit of char cloth," she tore off a piece, laying it next to the mound, before reaching back into the small tin and pulling out a little black rock, "And use your flint and steel to light it."

With the metal loop held close to the mound she raised the rock over and brought it down quickly, striking them together. A tiny shower of sparks showered down over the grass and cloth. Most of the group, Soli included, squawked in surprise.

"Sometimes," Lise said, striking the metal again, "It can take," again, more sparks, "A few tries-"

Finally a few landed directly on the char cloth and caught, burning slowly out in a glowing irregular ring, turning the black of the cloth gray-white slowly. It went out after a moment. Duna's shoulder sagged.

But Lise leant down and blew gently on the patches of ashy gray and they flared momentarily into orange-white brightness. Carefully pushing the char cloth into the grass and sticks, Lise kept on blowing and soon enough there were tiny little curls of white-gray smoke curling out from the mound. After a few seconds actual wisps of flame poked through the debris. Lise prodded at the blackening bits of kindling, revealing unburnt portions underneath to the growing flames, before she started laying some of the larger sticks from the bottom of the basket overtop. All the while continuing to blow occasionally, causing the flames to flicker and jump, until it had grown into an actual (small) fire.

"There you go. Fire."

Everyone stared at it for several long seconds, taking in the licking flames and the warm glow.

"And when do we- when should we add the logs?" asked Dax.

Lise added a few more sticks on top and shrugged, "Once you're sure the smaller stuff is burning good and well. Just be sure not to smother the fire."

Lise and Duna continued to build up the fire. Meanwhile the rest of them started preparing food under Miriel's watchful eyes, tearing up vegetables and throwing it into the pot with some of the water from the canteens. A little bit later Kieran and Avu'llya came back with the poles and Lise started helping them figure out how to set up the tent. Soli helped.

They worked slowly; watching the pot boil and joining in the brief, occasional spot of conversations that sprang up. Mostly involving asking Lise questions about innocuous subjects; What the tent fabric was called (canvas), if the fire was burning alright, did she think the soup/stew needed more salt or maybe more meat or potatoes?

Nothing that invited deeper conversation. Or that ranged too close to acknowledging that Lystra had set hours ago and Kiestre still had not risen or that the rangers looked scared and that no one was sure they would live to see tomorrow. It was stilted, but it filled the silence.

Soli found the soup bland when it was done. He ate it ravenously of course. But as he scooped out the chunks of meat and potatoes, and slurped down the broth he found himself longing for home all the harder. The warmth of his fathers arms and his mothers smile. Ostra's quiet musings on whatever she was learning and Euma's grumbling about not being allowed to go to whatever party was going on next weekend or Idith's exciting chattering about her friends. Even Timik's nonsense babbling. He missed it all.

He swallowed down those thoughts and shoved them behind another vault in his head. But he didn't send it tumbling over in the metaphorical dark Beyond. He didn't know what happened next. If the black shell people—

Suddenly the air was split by a wailing roar that shook their half assembled tents and wrenched everyone's attention into the sky. Which remained black and silent as it had been for hours.

A second went by. Two. Then a third.

There was a funny whistle in the air.

From across the camp Soli heard shouts and cries go up, and felt more than heard a huge surge of people moving all at once through the dense press of tents. Lise was on her feet, staring back into the crowd of tents intently. So were the others.

Something bright shot out of the darkness, a tiny little ember, and fell to land in the midst of the camp. Half a second later there was a loud whump and the spot where the ember had landed exploded into a roiling ball of fire and scattered burning scraps of canvas and wood and… other things in all directions. Dirt and smoke filled the air. And a rush of hot stinking wind rolled over them. Soli blinked up at the group from where he'd fallen.

More people were screaming and running. Pushing their way past and through and over tents and people as the crowd pushed in every direction simultaneously. Many of them heading straight for the back of the camp (and thus them).

But a second later, after another loud whump had lit up the rear of the camp in a burning cloud of dirt and debris, the part of the crowd heading their way broke up into a dozen smaller waves. Figures danced in the cloud; rangers cried out in agony as flames licked at them. But Soli hardly had time to take in the horror as another explosion lit up the camp behind him and sent the crowd into even further panic as they tried desperately to get into the surrounding buildings.

"Run!" yelled Lise and Miriel and Duna all at once, though none of them said where to run too.

Not that it mattered, in an instant their group was caught up in the pell mell of the crowd, their fire trampled underfoot, pot overturned, and the remnants of their meal dashed to the ground with a clang. Soli managed to stay close to someone familiar for a few seconds. But the crowd was too dense and chaotic, the press of people too panicked, and he was carried quickly away.

He thought he glimpsed either Miriel or Caria through a break in the crowd but it closed almost as soon as it appeared. It was as he was casting around desperately for any sign of a familiar face that Soli saw them, the people in the black shells, dropping down from the rooftops (hadn't there been rangers up there? Where were they?) all around the camp, wielding spears with gleaming points or swords with sweeping serrated edges. People screamed, angry, pained cries and he smelled a hot tangy something in the wind.

Then Lise was beside him, pulling on his arm, shouting, "This way!"

Towards the warehouse, towards the camp of strange magicky Rangers. Through the crowd he saw some of them shove their way out from behind their guards and the tents of their camp, hands full of fire and lightning and the cold light of death.

With a crackle and a flash something hot and wet peppered his back. He almost turned back but Lise kept pulling and Soli's legs pumped, keeping pace with her.

Something whipped past his head with a whistle and Lise grunted, her steps faltering for a second, but she pushed him on.

Now the strange Ranger's guards were pulling down their tents and the other doors of the warehouse opening, letting out more rangers with spells on their hands and lips to toss at the black shell people, who were still dropping over the lips of the buildings. And beyond the rangers, inside the warehouse, Soli saw… he didn't really know what; a dark empty space littered with empty arches of metal. Like doorways. Except they weren't empty but filled with glass- no water.

Not, not water.

A field. A forest. A river.

Clear blue skies, wispy clouds drifting along lazily and songbirds flitting through the air. Rangers in heavy armor — like out of the stories of the Integration, when elf fought elf to bring the light of the Daughters to all the Summerlands — yelled at them from the warehouse entrances, waving their hands even as they hefted fearsome spears and nocked arrows to enormous bows.

"Go! Go! For the gates!"

Lise shoved him ahead of her, past the line of mages. Soli stumbled but caught himself and got his feet under him. He picked one of the doorways, one that looked calm and friendly and safe (sunlight peeked through the trees of a forest of pale trees, their bark; black dappled on white) and pumped his legs as hard as he could for it. Soli glanced to his left, out of one door of the warehouse, he saw a trio of rangers locked in combat with twice that of the people in black shells. Blood running down their sides.

The ground shook and a whole wall of the warehouse ripped open in a shower of shattered stone and splintered wood. He looked over his shoulder and saw Lise standing beside the mages at the front, surrounded by the glow of a clear, dry spring day.

" —andra! Set your eyes to me! Heed my prayers! Make of me— "

And then she was swallowed up by a void of pure black, darker even than the sky outside, that grew and grew and grew until it had eaten the whole front of the warehouse and left nothing but itself.

Soli was just opening his mouth to shout… something, when he felt a cool pressure engulf his arm and a tugging drag him backwards. Then he was falling back, back, back, but instead of meeting hard dirt he just kept falling into nothingness and the world shrank down into first a pinprick of light and sound and then into nothingness.

Next Part (Coming Soon)

#fic #story #mine #Sunfall #Chapter 3 #apocalypse #fantasy #original fiction #original story #original characters #Soli #comments and critique are greatly appreciated #long post #6.6k #running becomes something of a 'running' theme #heh

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