#☼*・ﾟ Verse — ↳ baldur’s gate 3

[feuerwizard]

starter for @sanguisarcana | caleb & astarion

Despite the simmering frustration brewing within Caleb towards his fellow companions on this particular evening, he still found it in himself to agree to conjure the tower for those who desired it. In truth, it may have been more for his own sake than anyone else's, as he preferred the spaciousness and privacy of his tower over the cramped and dingy campgrounds or a small, spare room in a tavern in Baldur's Gate.

The wizard’s usually level-headed demeanor replaced by a recent air of stress, his mind consumed by the ticking time clock represented by the tadpoles in their heads. And to add to the pressure, he was once again faced with seeing Astrid and Eadwulf again. And as time progressed, Caleb's frustration reached a boiling point as most of their group dismissed the idea of taking on Cazador as a priority.

He craved solitude, just a few blessed hours to collect his thoughts and regain some semblance of sanity. The weight of recent events was bearing down on him, threatening to crush his already fragile mental state. After a while, with his head properly back upon his shoulders, it was time to pay a visit to the one person with more of a right to be frustrated than him—Astarion.

A quick stride brought him down the hall to Astarion's room, its dark wooden door only a few steps away. He paused for a moment before knocking softly, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he waited for a response.

[feuerwizard]

Caleb huffs a soft laugh at Paerin's words, nuzzling into the crook of the paladin's neck. "I think I have some idea," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin just below Paerin's ear. "It has been a while for me as well." And gods, but it feels good to be touched like this again. To be wanted, desired, even cherished. For now, he is content to simply bask in the warmth of their shared body heat, the comforting weight of Paerin's arm draped across his waist.

Outside, the wind howls, driving snow against the walls of their small tent. But inside, they are cocooned in a bubble of warmth and contentment, the rest of the world falling away until there is only this. Caleb knows they will have to face reality again come morning—the long road ahead, the dangers that await them. But for now, he allows himself this small moment of peace. Of happiness.

"We should get some rest," the human says after a long moment, words slightly slurred with approaching sleep. "Morning will come far too soon." But he makes no move to disentangle himself from Paerin's embrace, instead burrowing closer with a soft sigh. Caleb presses one last kiss to the corner of the paladin's mouth before letting his eyes drift closed, a small smile playing at his lips. "Gute Nacht, Paerin."

“ We all got our shit, ” he sighs. “ I don’t think y’can get out of this lift without some of it. ” It’s a heavy thought, that — and one that he doesn’t like to linger on in a lot of ways. There’s a lot of weight in his own past, and there’s no shortage of it that haunts him still — and he’s bad about talking about it, because he’s also bad at shoving it aside and not thinking about it until it creeps up on him and makes itself known. “ If there’s one thing I ever learned, ‘s that nothin’ worth a shit ever comes easy, anyhow. ”

The kiss is welcome, warm, and he returns it with a sense of something tense easing, relaxing, allowing himself to breathe. He takes in a deep breath of his own and lets it go slow, relaxing back against the bedrolls and the mess of blankets and warm bodies. It’s nice — it feels nice, warm, welcome. More so than he’s felt in awhile, and certainly in recent months. “ An’ I’m not askin’ for easy, anyhow. Honesty, aye. Me to you, too. An’ just —— “ He hesitates, because it feels —— vulnerable to say so, but he continues: “ I don’t know. Me for me an’ you for you, y’know? ”

And he runs a hand up Caleb’s back, over his shoulders, over the back of his neck — and he presses a kiss to his temple, trying a little warm smile. “ Nothin’ t’thank me for. ” And then, fingers still playing lightly between his shoulders and a little smile curling, adds a little wryly: “ An’ just so you know: I really needed that. Y’got no idea. ”

[feuerwizard]

for @windwithinmyveins || cont.

Caleb watched Ceres carefully, his expression unreadable as she spoke. He knew there was more to her than met the eye, more depths hidden beneath a charismatic facade. It had been over a decade since Caleb had last attended any sort of party, and the influx of strangers into their campsite made him feel a bit uneasy. He could sense the buzzing chatter and laughter of the crowd, the clinking of glasses and the wafting aroma of alcohol. Despite his discomfort, he couldn't resist indulging in a few glasses of shitty wine to ease the tension in the air. As the crackling of the fire filled the brief silence between them, Caleb's tone shifted, carrying a note of conviction. “Nein, it’s okay. I want the tadpoles gone as much as you do.”

The human man despised the tadpole, a small but persistent creature that kept him tethered to the group whether he wanted it or not. The thought of his mind being an open book to his fellow members filled him with discomfort and set him on edge. The others were always quick to point out his sour mood, as if they relished in poking at his defenses. Perhaps they were all burdened by the weight of their circumstances, haunted by secrets and uncertainties that threatened to consume them whole. He took a swig from his wine, the liquid burning down his throat.

His mind shifted back to the book, the reason he had initiated this conversation in the first place. He couldn't shake off the dangerous aura that surrounded it, but Caleb was unable to suppress the overwhelming envy he felt towards Ceres’ possession of such potentially powerful arcane knowledge. But Ceres was kind, kinder than the most of the assholes at this camp. For now, Caleb pushed his curiosity aside to show some semblance of decency in return. “You’re doing a good job, being the face of this. I don’t think we would have made it this far without you.”

[feuerwizard]

@oathwilled asked: ❛Get off me! No! No! Wait - wait, I'm sorry -❜ // late night panic attack;; open

The adrenaline-fueled rush of being caught in a fight is nothing new for Caleb and Paerin, despite their best efforts to avoid trouble these days. But this time, an ambush had put them in a precarious position with no easy way out. Despite their individual expertise and Paerin’s quick reflexes, being outnumbered was never favorable. Two against several more was daunting even for the most skilled.

Caleb grimaces in pain, his body already ravaged by injuries and his mind racing to find a way to protect himself (primarily so Paerin could focus on himself and not aiding him.) But before he could even begin to polymorph into a larger creature, his plans are thwarted by an unexpected wrench. One of opposing team’s mages, a tall man with cruel, glinting eyes, stepped forward and locked gazes with Paerin. The man's lips curled into a smile as he raised a hand wreathed in sickly green flames. The human watches as Paerin suddenly cries out and clutches his head, his sword clattering to the ground.

"Fuck," a string of curses in common burst from the wizard's lips, changing course to dash towards an incapacitated Paerin instead. With seemingly no other choice, Caleb grabs Paerin by the arm (with his sword) and utters the incantation for his last remaining teleportation spell. In a flash of blinding amber light, the two vanish immediately, leaving their enemies cursing in frustration behind them. They materialize in a sheltered glade some leagues distant, truthfully, Caleb has no idea where they are. But he quickly turns to his boyfriend who thrashes him away as the spell’s effects begin to fade.

Get off me! No! No! Wait - wait, I'm sorry - And despite knowing that Paerin is not a threat, Caleb instincts kick in and he takes a step back with hands raised, the front of his clothing stained crimson with blood.

[feuerwizard]

@infernaliscor asked: "for the first time in a really long time, i feel hopeful." // critical role sentence starters;; open

Karlach's words tumble from her lips and hang in the air like a weighty promise. He stands there in silence, his thoughts swirling with the careful warning Dammon had given them about her engine. It hums and purrs beneath her skin, a hidden force with fiery power and potential danger. This is a temporary fix. Temporary. He couldn't help but feel a sense of unease, unsure of how to respond. If only he could get his hands on Dammon’s research, perhaps he could find a way to understand the mechanism inside her however unlikely—this wizard is no expert in engineering and an arcane solution has yet to present itself.

Frumpkin, currently in the form of a tiny owl rather than his usual cat form, perches delicately on the tiefling's shoulder. His sharp talons gently grip the fabric of her clothing as he looks around with bright eyes. With each step, there is a soft pitter-patter of clawed feet against her shoulder, like a comforting massage. “Does it feel better? Your engine?” Caleb asks, blue eyes shifting from Frumpkin to Karlach’s.

[feuerwizard]

Caleb's eyes follow her as she rises, noting the fluid grace of her movements. He remains seated, his posture still somewhat guarded, his fingers absently tracing the worn edges of his spellbook. The firelight outside his tent casts flickering shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp angles and the weary lines etched there by years of study and hardship.

"I… appreciate the offer," he says, his voice low and measured. "And I understand the value of being prepared for any situation. Even a wizard should know how to throw a punch, ja?" A faint expression of amusement tugs at the corner of his mouth, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

He pauses, considering his words carefully. "As for your silence, I understand it more than you might assume. I am not... what you would call a 'people person' either." His gaze drops to the ground, memories of past interactions, past failures, flitting through his mind. "Sometimes it’s easier to observe, to learn, before engaging. Especially when you feel… out of place."

"All the more reason to do it. If you are going to be seen as an easy target in hand to hand, why would you not strive to prove the assumer wrong?" She takes her hand back and sits back a little, keeping his gaze as he further interrogates her assertion.

The question of intent comes up. Her nose wrinkles slightly as she thinks it through, trying to imagine a situation in which the wielder's intentions would change how much the thing they're doing works. Hammers and nails. "Study itself has little bearing on output. I have heard of people who knew things inside out without the ability to actually... use them. Expertise only in the theoretical."

She pops up to her feet and turns mostly away from him, looking over her shoulder to give him a small, but heartfelt smile. "If you are willing to learn from me, I will do my best to learn from you. I... apologize for my silence until now. I do not like to thrust myself into conversations I won't fit in."

[sungiftedbard]

VERSE ;; The Sun's Gift (Baldur's Gate 3 - Main Verse!)

☼ 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐝𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐬 ☼

𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙾:

Born and raised in the upper city of Baldur’s Gate, she is part of the noble elven family, House of Willowlight. She is the product of an unhappy arranged marriage between her parents.

Her father, Thalien, works as a magistrate. Despite being a Sun Elf, he tends to be cold, strict and harsh with his daughter. Her mother, Faelyn, is a powerful sorceress and a Moon Elf. When Synnove was a young elfling, Faelyn—unhappy with her marriage— ended up sneaking away in the middle of the night, leaving her family behind. She doesn’t make it far outside the walls of Baldur’s Gate, instead ending up found murdered.

In the years being raised by her father and grieving the loss of her mother, she does everything she can to get affection or praise from her abusive and neglectful father— something to show she has worth besides just being his heir he wants to marry off and get rid of. So Synnove takes up the deed of learning all she can and becoming a “Jack of All Trades”, whether it be trying her hand at magic, writing, music, or learning how to fight and heal. Along the way, she finds her desire to become a Bard. However, nothing she seems to do will ever please her father or make him regard her with care. After her father has declared he has found some Noble lord for his daughter to marry, Synnove decides to try to follow where her mother didn’t succeed and trying to find her greater purpose in life outside the walls of Baldur’s Gate, running away the day of her arranged marriage and breaking free from the chains of her old life.

Synnove manages to make it outside the wall, visiting taverns and inns and singing her songs in return for room and board, but along the way she ends up getting kidnapped by Mind Flayers and infected with one of their tadpoles. A stroke of fortune lets her escape her captors, but the tadpole in her head will still turn her into a mind flayer… unless she can find a way to remove it. And this is where Synnove’s story of adventure begins, running into other companions also infected with tadpoles, creating a story in the making that will be told in Faerûn for years to come.

More in depth about Synnove, including personal quest, can be found: HERE

𝚂𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶: Baldur's Gate 3 universe and plot (and DnD Forgotten Realms.) PLEASE NOTE --- This is her main/default verse unless otherwise specified.

𝙴𝚇𝚃𝚁𝙰: Pretty flexible for how things go. Feel free to message me if you wanna talk it out.

[feuerwizard]

@wildskissed asked: "i trust your heart. it’s in a good place." // critical role sentence starters;; open

Gale gazes up at her with warm brown eyes, meeting her soft purple gaze. He lets out a heavy sigh, the weight of his emotions evident in the way his shoulders slump and his chest rises and falls heavily. “Is it?” The wizard would like to believe his intentions are pure and that he always acts with good reason, but the conversation they had on that boat ride through the heavens last night gives him a moment of hesitation… hesitation in himself. “I want so badly to be the man you think I am. Not some… jumped up wizard drunk on the promises of power or godhood.”

He falls silent for a moment, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he takes Eve's hands into his own. With a gentle grip, he intertwines their fingers, feeling the warmth and softness of her skin against his. “I am sorry,” he says finally, their hands remain clasped together, “I promise I will do what needs to be done, and return the Crown to Mystra when this is finished. So long as we survive it, of course.”

[feuerwizard]

@rubistella asked: "[ blanket ] sender draping a blanket over receiver's shoulders & "Just let me take care of you for a bit." // caring prompts;; open

The wizard swayed unsteadily in his seat, auburn hair falling into unfocused blue eyes as he reached for the tankard in front of him. He took another deep swig of the honeyed ale, savoring the sweet warmth spreading through his chest.

Lost in a haze of drink and magical theorems, Caleb did not notice the lithe figure approach until he felt the gentle weight of a blanket being draped over his shoulders. Long, elegant fingers brushed against his neck, their touch cool and soothing.

Caleb instinctively leaned into the contact, his head lolling back to rest against the vampire's shoulder. "Mmm, danke," he murmured, the words slightly slurred. "I was just reading the most fascinating passage on transmutation… did you know that with the right arcane equations, you can alter the very essence of matter itself?"

He reached for the hefty tome sitting on the bar, flipping it open to a random page filled with complex glyphs and flowing script. Fingers traced reverently over the lines of ink as he continued to ramble excitedly.

[feuerwizard]

“Oh, come now, it was merely a joke.” The wizard rolls his eyes to himself, a cunning smile playing on his lips. "You are aware of what a joke is, yes?" Teasing is useless, Astarion knows precisely how to push his buttons and elicit a response from him. It is a game to his witty husband, one he relishes in and never quite tires of… a clever dance of wit and banter, each trying to outsmart the other.

And there is little winning with Astarion.

Gale's gaze never strays from his vampiric companion as he gracefully crosses the room towards the armchair with an air of dangerous confidence. Every movement deliberate and mesmerizing, perfect posture and appearance meant to tempt and seduce. Ah, second nature to him. The soft, warm-tinted flicker of candlelight washes over porcelain skin, emphasizing the sharp angles of his features.

The sound of his swallow echoes a soft but audible gulp. “Well, one must be specific… but you make a compelling argument, dear. I have changed my mind.”

He closes the distance between them in a swift stride. Leaning down, Gale presses a kiss to Astarion's forehead, lips brushing the coolness of his skin before moving down to capture his mouth in a kiss. The kiss is brief, but it leaves a lingering sensation he can still feel even as Gale drops to his knees before him, hands rested firmly on either side of Astarion's thighs. “It seems hardly fair I somehow still end up the one on his knees after today. I suspect you will tell me I have brought this on myself.”

Not a hint of amusement coloured his lips so much as flatline disapproval. And it was as the magic hand drew near that Astarion swatted it off with enough force to deal damage, dispelling the damn thing.

"Funny." Matter of fact. "But if you are going to start casting spells, I might as well help myself to a seat and watch." Astarion tightened his hold around Gale's cheeks in retaliation, digging tiny crescents into that stubble before letting go of him dismissively. "You do enjoy being observed, dont you, darling?"

Walking back towards the armchair, the vampire sat down and eased himself against its backrest with legs spread and the laces of his trousers only half-undone.

"Unless, of course, you've changed your mind." With a sweeping motion, Astarion gestured towards his own trousers, left unfinished. "In which case you can start with your teeth, since mouth apparently leaves plenty open for interpretation."

Two options, two different paths to go about it.

Both were now marked as a playful bout of punishment.

[feuerwizard]

starter for @oathwilled

Caleb is exhausted.

Bruised and battered and achingly tired. Not that his companions are faring any better than him, considering the circumstances. These cursed lands are unbearably bleak for all of them, even Caleb. This day in particular has been a blur of encounters with Absolute Cultists or shadow creatures, one after the other. This small band remaining would have been an easy match, if not for the fact that he and Paerin are scouting alone and already drained from previous battles.

Fighting continues and continues and continues—they are both ready to end this. The wizard’s hands tremble as he reaches for his component pouch, fingers fumbling for a pinch of bat guano and sulfur. Standing behind the paladin, lips moving, mumbling the incantation as he focuses the remaining energy he has left. A bead of sweat trickles down his brow, mingling with the grime and dirt that cakes his skin. Air crackling with arcane energy as the fireball takes shape, a searing orb of flames that illuminates and hurls towards the last of the cultists.

The fireball explodes in a blinding flash, engulfing the enemy in a maelstrom of fire and smoke. Their enemies scream as the flames consume them, clothing igniting and flesh blistering in the intense heat. But as the smoke clears and the charred bodies of cultists lie smoldering on the ground, Caleb's mind is assaulted by a flood of memories. The acrid scent of burning flesh, the agonized screams, the searing heat—it all comes rushing back, a vivid and horrifying reminder. Panic seeps in and Caleb's knees buckle as he collapses to the ground.

[feuerwizard]

@lunarrepel | cont.

Caleb watched Shadowheart's reaction carefully, blue eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her face. He could not help but feel that there was more to the story than she was letting on. The way she had initially tried to hide the artifact and then stumbled over her explanation made him suspect that she might not be entirely truthful about its origins or significance.

"If it is nothing, would you be terribly opposed to my taking a look?" he asked, his voice calm but persistent. "I admit I am horribly curious." And how could one not be? When Shadowheart carries such an item around with such caution.

[feuerwizard]

@windwithinmyveins asked: "19: sender sits in receivers lap" // 100 nonverbal prompts;; open

The sun had set over Baldur's Gate, casting a warm orange glow across the city. Caleb, exhausted from a day full of tasks and adventure, longed for nothing more than to retire to a cozy seat with a good book. The familiar weight of his spellbook hung on his hip as he made his way through the bustling streets toward their camp. Despite his weariness, the wizard luckily had enough energy left to conjure his tower for his companions this evening.

Once the tower was cast and the rest of his companions retired to their respective rooms (or elsewhere,) the human made himself comfortable upon the plush couch in the salon. With a flick of his wrist, he opened the book he had selected and began flipping through its delicate pages. Frumpkin, curled up by his side, occasionally nudging his hand for attention. As he lost himself in the words on the page, he suddenly felt a gentle weight in his lap, and looked up to find Ceres smiling at him.

A deep blush crept up his cheeks, causing them to glow a bright shade of crimson. He hastily set the book aside, his hands trembling slightly as he tried to regain his composure. With a small cough, he broke the awkward silence that had settled between them. “Hallo… have you come to read with me?”

[exandriaborn]

Dorian chuckles softly at Maverick's self-deprecating humor, the sound from the bard warm and rich in the night air. "Oh, I'm sure you're not that bad," he says, his eyes twinkling with something of genuine amusement. "But if you are, perhaps we should keep you away from any passing gnoll packs. Wouldn't want them to think we're mocking them."

He strums a few more chords, the melody shifting to something a bit more melancholic. "As for why it's shocking…" The air genasi pauses, considering his words very, very carefully. He hates talking about himself, about his home. "Let's just say that back home, I wasn't exactly… valued for my opinions. Or much of anything else, really." His voice carries a hint of bitterness, quickly masked by a forced lightness. "But that's all in the past now." And now he’s here.

"But my mother taught me the basics, yes. But most of what I know, I picked up on my own. Traveling, listening, learning. It was my way of… I don't know, finding my own path, I guess." Something that made him different from his older brother, Cyrus couldn’t play any instruments or sing or recite a poem. Dorian's gaze drifts back to the lake, watching the moonlight dance on the water's surface.

Mav keeps his gaze steady on the bard, brows still arched with amused interest. "Why is that?" He asks, unable to help himself. Though the naturally curious sort, Maverick has learned over time that sometimes it's best to keep his questions to himself, to not prod or pry less it gets him closer to his next mark, his next bounty -- but they've been traveling for some time together, yes? And Dorian doesn't seem particularly perturbed by him. In fact, he'd wager to say the opposite, so what's the harm in trying?

"I see." He nods, eyes flickering from lithe fingers plucking at the mandolin to the water genasi's face, lingering for a long moment before returning. "So, talent runs in the family." The goblet's brought to his lips once more, finishing off the last drops of wine before it's placed down beside him. Maverick isn't much of a drinker normally -- after witnessing his father's demise down a bottle, his indulgence in the stuff is fewer and father between, but that night it felt like a rather well-deserved treat.

"She sounds lovely. She taught you everything you know, then?" He asks, head tilted slightly. "Oh, Gods, no. I'm sure people would pay me to keep it that way, too." A laugh bubbles from his lips. "My mother had a lovely singing voice, though I -- for the life of me, I can't completely remember what she sounded like." The woman had died over a decade ago, and it strikes him how much he's been able to forget during that time. "All that to say, I surely did not inherit any of that skill from her. I sound a lot like a dying gnoll. when I try."

[feuerwizard]

@fortune-feather asked: "Look, I'm okay! I've pulled all nighters before." // lack of sleep starters;; open

“Ja, I am not sure that is quite as reassuring as you think it is.” Caleb let out a deep, weary sigh as he rummaged through the pages of the book. The weight of exhaustion pulled at his eyelids, but he persevered, driven by his insatiable thirst for knowledge. Despite the constant dangers they faced on a daily basis, he could not resist delving into the treasure trove of books they had brought back to their campsite. He knew it was a risky move, pushing themselves to stay awake for another all-nighter, but the allure of new information and stories was too great for him to resist.

As he turned each page, he could feel his mind beaming with excitement and his thoughts racing with new ideas. The faint light from the lantern flickered across the pages, casting intricate shadows that seemed to dance and come alive in the dim campsite. “When have you stayed up all night before?”

[feuerwizard]

@oathwilled asked: "brave. dead. it’s semantics, really." // critical role starters;; closed (carried over from my previous blog)

Bright  blue  orbs  flicker  up  from  the  depths  of  a  battered  bag,  scouring  for  any  useful  items  amidst  the  wreckage  they’ve  wrought—the  remnants  of  chaotic  and  rather  close  battle,  not  typically  Caleb’s  preferred  method  of  conflict.  He  has  never  been  the  brave  type.  “Ja?  For  once  I  agree  with  you.”

If  they  continue  to  run  headfirst  into  any  dangerous  situation,  they  may  not  be  quite  so  lucky  next  time  in  managing  to  fight  their  way  out.  Caleb  is  becoming  increasingly  concerned  they  have  somehow fallen  in  with  a  pack  of  complete  lunatics  incapable  of  keeping  a  low  profile.  “Exercising  a  little  bit  of  caution  goes  a  long  way.  I’m  sure  you  know.”