#Gale is her dream guardian <3 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

secretlywritingstories · 1 year ago

Text

This thing won't have you, it won't win | BG3 Astarion one shot

Summary: You had tried to kill Astarion because he was the one you cared for the most. Now you'd vowed not to sleep to keep him safe. It doesn't take long for him to notice and confront you.

Tags: During canon Act 3, resisting the urge, late night conversation, show of trust

Warnings: Past suicidal idealisation and talk of dying/being killed

Word count: 4.8k

Read on AO3 or below

It should feel like victory to have made it this far. A mere walk away from getting into Baldur’s Gate. Part of you hadn’t sure if you were ever going to make it here, but now it was within your grasp. You might even have been there already, if you hadn’t insisted that you should approach the gate with fresh eyes and set up camp in Rivington for tonight.

Most of your companions had very good reasons to want to be in the city as soon as possible. Shadowheart wanted to search for her parents, Wyll wanted to rescue his father, Karlach wanted to confront Gortash, Lae’zel wanted to meet with Voss, Gale wanted to find answers in Sorcerous Sundries and Astarion wanted to confront Cazador. You’d promised to assist all of them with their missions, even if you weren’t sure why they trusted you.

Especially now that they’d seen the destructive dark urge brimming under your skin. Though, they did all seem to move past it too quickly. So very full of trust when you were just as dangerous as the monsters you all had been hunting. It had only been a couple of days since you tried to murder Astarion in his sleep, and they all sleep soundly or trance comfortably next to you again.

They were so trusting. It would be so easy to take advantage.

Granted, a lot had happened since then. Taking down Ketheric Thorm was no easy feat, nor was the battle inside of the prism that revealed that your supposed dream guardian was none other than a mindflayer. It’s just monsters everywhere you turned these days. After today, you could add Orin to that list.

A shapeshifter with the ability to imitate any of you. She could be any of your companions right now, feigning sleep and plotting her move. That should be the reason you were staying awake restlessly, but wasn’t. You were fairly confident that you could sniff out an imposter if needs must.

It was something she said that added to your sleeplessness. When you found her impersonating that Flaming Fist. In the moment, you tried not to let the words burrow under your skin but now they did. She called you her sibling.

Even though she could shapeshift, you doubted she meant that she was a fellow tiefling. No, her words spoke of something much more sinister. A deeper bond. One likely made of servitude. And you knew which of the Dead Three that she served.

Bhaal. The lord of murder.

And a killing urge had been burning in your chest ever since you woke up on that nautiloid. It’s been the only thing that you’d felt yourself tethered to. The urges compelling you to take lives and delight in the gore. It’s the most real thing about you, and it felt like it was the only thing you would find whenever you tried to look into your past.

It was what that stupid self-acclaimed butler, Sceleritas Fel, kept telling you about yourself too. As if this used to be something you did with pleasure. You were good at it. What did that say about you?

“Darling?”

The way you twisted around, weapon raised and poised to strike could just be a testament to all of the trauma and fighting you’ve had to undergo these past weeks. It would surely be enough to make anyone skittish and paranoid.

But you felt how your body moves with practiced ease, and it took all of your focus to adjust your swing to avoid contact when you spotted Astarion’s red eyes. Granted, he could probably survive a slash of your dagger, but you didn’t trust yourself not to keep going if you started spilling his blood.

“You got a death wish?” you snarled.

Your grip on the dagger was so tight that it almost hurt. Just like it would hurt to plunge it into Astarion’s heart. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would make such a beautiful mess. Blood everywhere. Oddly, he’d probably appreciate the view too.

“I did,” Astarion said and despite how you just tried to attack him, he found a spot next to you. He ducked into you tent to share your bed roll. “Before.”

The word was loaded and it made your jaw flex. You had a feeling that you still didn’t know the true extent of Astarion’s torment at Cazador’s hands but you’d got more than enough to paint a vivid picture. It made sense that he wanted to die before.

200 years was a very long time. It’s the kind of time that you couldn’t even grasp. You didn’t think you’ve been alive for that long, but even if you had, you wouldn’t know. Sometimes, it really did feel like your brain was only a few weeks old. Everything before it was black.

No, not black.

Red.

Bathed in it.

You were just as bad as the damn ox with his inner visions of carnage.

A touch on the back of your hand pulled your attention back to Astarion. His touch was so gentle that you barely felt it. You weren’t sure how he could touch you like that when you almost took his life just days ago.

When you would have made quick work of him just like you did poor Alfira. Alfira who just wanted to join the party, see the world and play her lute. The same lute that still sat in the camp chest, bloodied edge untouched.

You’d blacked out for that. No recollection at all but the blood on your hands and the sick delight twirling around in your chest was more than enough to confirm you were the culprit. It should have been the first warning. The others should have kicked you out of the camp.

Even if you now knew it would have turned you into a mindflayer without the prism’s protection. Though, it had flown to you before, and the Emperor seemed rather attached to you. So maybe you’d have killed all of the others if you’d wandered off and it had decided to follow you.

“Maybe you should kill me,” you found yourself saying to Astarion and withdrawing the hand under his touch.

You didn’t deserve gentleness. Not when you might have laid waste to whole cites, bathed in the blood of children and done it all with a sick grin on your face. It felt like something you would have done.

Well, not you now, but you then. And you were not sure if there is all that much of a difference. Fighting was becoming more difficult with each passing day.

“Way too late for that,” Astarion said, drawing his hand back to himself. “If you wanted to die at my hand, then you should have let me drain you that first night.”

Right. Back then, he could have killed you. You had presented yourself to him and let him sink his teeth into your neck. Part of it felt wrong, like you shouldn’t be handing him such an obvious chance to hurt you.

But he’d stopped when you’d asked. And every time since that, he’d just taken enough to recover his strength, not even disturbing you in your sleep.

“Can’t turn back time,” you muttered.

If you could, you’d go further back. Figure out what had happened to you. You had more pieces now, and you knew you’d landed in a pod in the mindflayer colony and been experimented on. A sneaking suspicion told you that maybe Orin had been involved in landing you in there with the way she acted around you.

But if you had truly been her sibling and delighted in killing like your urges told you, wouldn’t you have been on the same side? Why would she have turned on you?

Astarion let out a soft huff. “I would not want to,” he said and reached for you again. This time, it wasn’t just fingers gracing the back of your hand. No, he grabbed your hand and pulled it into his lap. Held on tight enough that you couldn’t just slip it away easily.

You could get it free. His fingers probably broke rather delicately. Snap, snap, snap.

No. You liked his hands. You didn’t want them destroyed. You pinched your eyes together and willed the thoughts away. It was something you were getting better at, at the very least. You were starting to have practice.

But it had been something different when it came to the full slaughter. You hadn’t been able to anticipate what happened with Alfira. You had just barely managed to warn Astarion that he was about to be next.

And when you’d come to all tired up and angry, it had felt like you were in some sort of primate, feral state. But it had still felt like you. Just unleashed. Like it was always going to be brimming underneath the surface. It had been caught just in time, but you might not be as lucky next time.

“I’m going to hurt you,” you said to Astarion and felt how it cracked something open in your heart.

You’d told Sceleritas Fel that you hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to Astarion about how you cared for him yet. It was the truth, but it was probably better if he didn’t know the true extent of it.

You were so selfish for even getting involved with him when your past was blank but stained. When you had to worry about tadpoles in your brains and the elder brain being controlled by lunatics. Two now, instead of three but still. There should be no time for romance or attachment at all.

It didn’t seem to matter, because you couldn’t deny that you cared deeply for Astarion. In fact, you cared for every single one of your companions and all of them were in danger because you couldn’t control this part of you.

“I’ve got thick skin. You know, you’ve seen my scars,” Astarion said, voice almost dancing over the words, even as he pulled forth his own trauma for you. “Is this why you haven’t been sleeping?”

You snapped your head sideways to face him. “What?”

He was right of course, but you’d mostly been sneaky with you lack of sleep. You still let keeping watch rotate and you lied down in your tent, pretending to sleep. It was taking its toll, but it wasn’t anything that a few healing potions couldn’t fix. It was a good thing that you were far more precise with your arrows than your spells. Those hadn’t been recharged in a while.

“Halsin noticed,” Astarion said, just a touch too casual. “You’ve got to remember that I’m not the only elf in the camp anymore. Him and Jaheira aren’t as willing to look the other way.”

“Concerned?” you asked, propping a knee up in front of you, leaning on it and tilting your head to the side. You tried to pull your hand back over to yourself, but Astarion kept hold of it. Not hard, just enough that it couldn’t slip away from him without you putting more force behind it.

You didn’t.

“Always, that big hunk of an elf. He has quite the soft spot for you. Going on about how he had high expectations and you exceeded even those,” Astarion said, and he was too tense about it.

Jealous maybe?

He hadn’t seemed to care back in the groove when several of the other companions started to veer for your attention. He hadn’t brought it up until that dance with Wyll where he’d asked you to choose between them. You’d chosen Astarion without blinking.

It had been easy.

All of the other companions had their beauty, charms and even dark demons, but Astarion was the only one who seemed to get you. He accepted you, even when you weren’t always put together right. He’d proved that even more when he’d comforted you after you’d tried to kill him.

You wondered if this was a wound for him and Halsin was a tool that you could press into it. Drive a wedge between you and Astarion. If you broke up, then he might no longer be the one you cared for the most. He could be safe from your sharp claws wanting to dig in and draw blood.

Though, if you did that, maybe it would just be someone else next time. Your care for Astarion was extraordinary but you truly cared for everyone in camp. Even the kid you’d allowed to stay here on a whim. Yena. A damn bleeding heart you were, even if it was not the kind of blood that you desired to spill.

It was the second time you’d brought a child into camp. Arabella had made it away okay but it was not sure that Yena would. Perhaps that was why Astarion had wanted to turn her away.

He would never admit it, but you were discovering a soft side to him. Just like now, with how he was holding your hand, thumb gently stroking over the back of it. A little quiet moment for just the two of you. You’d been spiralling and he’d come to find you. Sit with you, so the night didn’t seem so daunting.

You should be driving Astarion away but your heart couldn’t take prying into his insecurities. It felt too cruel. You might be bloodthirsty and have urges but you didn’t want to be cruel.

At least not the you who didn’t remember what you’d been like before.

“Do you think I’m a worshipper of Bhaal?” you asked him, gnawing on your lip.

“Because of what that maniac shapeshifter said?” Astarion asked.

“Orin,” you corrected, even though you knew he must know her name. He liked to play aloof and like he wasn’t paying attention but he always did.

“No,” Astarion said.

“What? it’s the most sensible explanation,” you argued.

“Well, remember what you asked, love. You asked if you’re a worshipper. Present tense. You’re not.”

“Semantics.”

“No, I do not think so. You don’t know your past but you do know what you’ve been acting like in these weeks.”

He was trying to be sweet but maybe he had fallen for whatever charade you’d been putting on. Yes, you’d tried to be honest with your companions about what was going on with you, but you knew they couldn’t truly grasp the extent of it. Just how brutal it got inside of your head.

“Just because I don’t remember doesn’t mean that it’s not true. And I doubt you just leave Bhaal behind. Look how complicated it got with Shar for Shadowheart,” you pointed out.

“And look how she’s now. New hairdo and everything!” Astarion said with a high-pitch giggle.

He was clearly trying to lighten the mood, but you wouldn’t let him. This was too dangerous.

“She was a Selûnite first,” you reminded him. “Taken against her will when she was just a child. Brainwashed into worship.”

Astarion clicked his tongue and gave your hand a squeeze.

“And who’s to say that you weren’t?”

You didn’t mean to laugh but it jumped out of you. You almost admired his optimism and faith in you. You didn’t think that he’d be the kind to look on the brighter side of things, yet here he was. Maybe he really was changing.

“Because I like it,” you admitted in a tiny voice. “I revel in it. I crave it. The urge is all-consuming sometimes. And it’s…”

Your throat felt tight. Not like you were about to cry but like you were about to scream. Scream out all of the frustration and fear sitting so tightly in your chest.

“Tell me,” he requested so gently.

How could you deny him?

“It’s not this thing,” you said recalling his words from that night. They had burned into your brain so much and you’d clung to them like they were a lifeline, even if it felt like it was made of twine.

This thing won’t have you.

It won’t win.

But it would. Because as much as you wanted to trust it and believe him, it didn’t feel like a thing. Something external. It would have been so much easier if you could cheat yourself into believing that. This was something done to you. A thing making you do horrible thing. A forced worship. A butler guiding your murderous hand. Any of the options was better than what felt like the truth if you dared look close enough.

That it was just you. Not a thing in you, but part of you. Intricately woven into your very fabric in a way that it could never be separated. It would win because the only way to kill it would be to kill yourself.

“It’s me,” you whispered.

Astarion let go of you hand and you thought that maybe he was finally recoiling in fear and disgust when he understood that all the death and destruction lived in your bones. But then he came close again. Much closer than before. Kneeling. Right in front of you and reaching up to gently cradle your face.

A thumb swiped across your cheek.

It felt wet.

Tears.

You were crying. No, what? You weren’t even sure you could do that. You hadn’t so far since you’d woken up. You had been ready to chalk it up to the fact that you were mindless and traumatised, or maybe just incapable of it. Like you could either be a murderous lunatic or a cry-baby but not both.

Clearly, you had been wrong.

You hoped it wasn’t the only thing you were wrong about. But you shouldn’t cling to that hope. You should be protecting Astarion and create distance between the two of you. So, you wouldn’t have the urge to drive a stake through his heart again. You weren’t sure what you’d do if you went to sleep and woke up with his blood on your hands.

Maybe it would make you snap into your old self. Bloodthirst ruling above all when you’d taken the life of the person you cared for the most.

Astarion’s eyes were so expressive and he looked like he wanted to say words of comfort but he was holding back. You appreciate that. You didn’t want platitudes right now, because you felt just vicious enough to twist them and spit them back in his face.

But you let him hold your face and look at you, even if it hurt to be seen like this.

“You know what I thought when I first saw you?” you asked, closing your eyes so you wouldn’t have to look at him as you shared this confession.

“What a handsome elf,” he said, a wry twist to his words.

You huffed out the tiniest laugh.

“Not too far off,” you said and swallowed. Licked your lips, exhaled. “What a perfect pretty corpse he’d make.”

You were echoing a thought that had resurfaced that night you’d felt driven to kill him. A fantasy that you couldn’t shake from your brain. You didn’t feel like you wanted him dead. In fact, you wanted to protect him but your thoughts told you a different thing.

Astarion didn’t let go of your face, but he let out a soft hum. Considering. You didn’t dare open your eyes to see the expression on his face.

“Stay here,” he said, gently letting go of you, “and keep your eyes closed.”

You had been proclaimed the leader by every single companion, even if you had never fought for the position. You didn’t have to listen to anyone. They had to listen to you. But still, you sat with your eyes closed and waited just like Astarion had asked.

The night air was crisp and almost comforting. Tomorrow, you’d reach Baldur’s Gate and you could find an inn. You’d leave your camping days behind you. You had a feeling that you’d miss it.

Astarion came back and it felt as if he was making more noise than he needed as to not startle you again. He could move deadly silent if he wanted, as he’d proved against your enemies many times. They never knew what hit them when he came out from the shadows.

“Hands,” Astarion asked and you weren’t sure what he was asking for but you lifted both your hands, palms up.

He took hold of them and he pressed a handle of a weapon into your waiting hands. Not one of your own, they all had handles smoothened from use. No, this texture was rough, like uncut wood.

Astarion hadn’t said that you could open your eyes but they snapped open all the same, and you opened them just in time to see him kneeling in front of you again. Only this time, there was a stake between you and your hands on the handle of it, while he guided the sharp tip to the centre of his chest.

When you realised, you tried to thrash away and toss it aside. It would kill him if you drove that through and you weren’t in control of your impulses. What in the hells was he thinking? He had said he didn’t want to die anymore but then he handed you the very thing that could kill him.

“Astarion,” you said, in warning, when he grabbed your elbow with one hand and curled your hands back around the stake firmly with his other.

“This is what you should have done when you found out that I was a vampire spawn,” he said, and you’d never quite heard his voice sound so quiet. His usual melodic tones stripped away, it seemed to bare and vulnerable. “It is what most people would have done if they’d woken up to a vampire trying to feed on them.”

You couldn’t exactly disagree with that, but honestly the thought hadn’t crossed your mind. A part of you had been almost thankful, because it meant someone else in camp was hiding a dark secret. That you weren’t the only one driven by your urges.

You’d uncovered more of your companions’ secrets now, but Astarion had been the first. A glimmer of hope that you weren’t quite so alone. Of course, you hadn’t killed him. You understood what it was like having bloodthirst driving you.

“I didn’t want to kill you,” you said, and the words sounded strange in your mouth. You meant them but it still felt unnatural.

Astarion’s expression softened into a smile and he looked like he knew something that you didn’t. But instead of flaunting that, he was trying to make a point. You weren’t sure that you liked where this was going but you were still bound and breathless to watch. Poised with a weapon to end him with just one good thrust.

“And a stake to the heart is what would have happened the morning after too, if you hadn’t stuck your neck out for me figuratively as well as literally. Our companions would have killed me.”

“They wouldn’t have,” you argued because you knew the good hearts of your companions.

Even back then, when everything had been new and confusing and you were just figuring each other out. They wouldn’t have killed him, would they? You didn’t want to think them capable of killing Astarion, but all of you had blood on your hands by now.

Sure, it was mostly blood of cultists hellbent on causing war and destruction or monsters trying to take your lives, but it was still lives lost. And with each fight, you fed into that urge to kill just a bit more. It wasn’t enough to fully satisfy it clearly, but it was a slight release all the same.

But you didn’t want to drive this stake through Astarion. You wanted to let go of it and pull him into your arms. Hold him instead. Close enough that some of your hellish warmth could seep into his cold skin.

“You are dangerous,” Astarion said, looking into your eyes with purpose. “But so am I. So is everyone in this camp. Trained killers the lot of us. Complicated pasts. You’re not special.”

His voice tilted up, gaining a humorous lilt and it made you laugh. It sounded kind of choked up and wet. His red eyes had never looked as soft as they did while gazing into yours.

“You are,” you whispered, almost inaudible but he’d hear it. “Special.”

“You can try to kill me anytime,” Astarion said. “I don’t think you’ll go through with it.”

What a novel and lovely idea. As if your love for him could keep him safe when it was exactly the thing condemning him to your murderous attentions.

Your love for him.

It was love, wasn’t it? You didn’t have anything to compare to, but it felt like that, even out here in the wilderness, tadpoled brains and an ever-present ticking clock. However unlikely, it felt real.

“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” you told him and hoped that he could see the sincerity in your eyes. Make him understand the threat he was standing opposite.

“You don’t either,” he said, lip twisting up to a smirk and you guessed that he had a point with that.

He moved the hand from your elbow and instead laid both of his hands on top of yours. He let himself press just a bit more into the stake, enough that it was catching on his sleepshirt. A flimsy fabric. It would do nothing to stop the stake from driving through it. Smooth like butter. It would sail right home, poison his heart and stop it a second time.

Stop it for good.

“You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“And yet, I’ve never felt so alive,” he said and leaned just a tiny bit closer. “You are not your past, even if you don’t remember it. So, the urges are a part of you. Big deal. You still get a choice who you want to be right now. Just like I do. Let’s keep making choices together. This is what freedom is about, isn’t it?”

It felt like a stake was driven through your heart, knocking all of the air from your lungs with one fell swoop. He was paraphrasing something you’d said to him. That he’d be responsible for his own choices now that he was out from under Cazador’s thumb.

For good and for bad.

He was right. It wasn’t so different from you. You were still the one making the choices. You were allowed to cast the die on your present and your future, just not your past.

The nagging grating voice in the back of your head still told you that you could drive the stake in and kill Astarion but you shut it right up, like you had done dozens of times already. You just had to keep resisting that part of yourself. You could do that.

“Let go,” you told Astarion and he pulled his hands from yours.

He looked at you, chest open and inviting for malice, but you tossed the stake aside and instead grabbed hold of his face. You cradled it like he’d cradled yours, holding it like he was the most precious thing in all of Faerûn. He might just be.

“It’s not going to be easy,” you said, leaning your face closer to his.

You wanted to spill every warning you could think of but you knew that he already knew a lot of it. He’d seen you in action, tied up and snarling like a feral beast. You at your most dangerous and at your most vulnerable. And he’d taken care of you.

He’d chosen to take care of you when he had ever right to kill you.

You had to choose to take care of him, even if your urges screamed to kill him.

“Kiss me.”

Astarion’s smile turned soft and he reached behind your back until he could pull you right up against him into his lap. His hands stayed behind your back, holding onto you gently, as your tail whipped back and forth in anticipation.

“You’ve got this, and I’ve got you,” he whispered as he leaned in to press your lips together.

Those were other words echoed from that night when you almost made the worst mistake of your life. You hadn’t really heard him then. Too hung up on how he didn’t understand that the urges controlled you so deeply, so intricately, but now you were finally ready to hear him.

“And I’ve got you,” you whispered back, as you broke the kiss just for a moment.

When you kissed him again, you felt how his lips tilted up into a smile.

#bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #astarion x dark urge #astarion x reader #my stories

120 notes · View notes

irradiatedsnakes · 1 year ago

Note

i need to know more about pennybun i have fallen deeply in love

PENNY MY BEST FRIEND PENNY!!!!

(by @/skypiea)

penny is my first tav and i love her. she's a white dragonborn circle of the spores druid. i finished her first playthrough a couple weeks back, and i've started on a second playthrough with her! slightly edited, and now that i understand more about the game and the story i'm refining her character and story. i missed a lot of stuff on that first playthrough!

pennybun's name comes from the mushroom, by the way. i'd decided on that before i knew that there was a mushroom-themed druid circle in this game, i was GOING to choose moon, but, like. it's perfect. penny buns aka porcini aka king bolete aka Boletus edulis are an edible mushroom that symbioses with the roots of pine trees. they're part of my research and they're quite adorable

she's from a circle of druids located in the shelterwood- a dense forest near baldur's gate. she grew up in the city proper- or at least, on the edges of it- before moving out to the woods to pursue life as a druid.

she's solidly good-aligned- as my first playthrough, her story is kind of the best-case-scenario for everything, savescumming the hell out of some fights (good god the last light fight with marcus). everybody gets their good ending, everybody gets saved, that kind of deal.

she had a generally good relationship with everyone in the party, but gale, wyll, and karlach are her best mates for sure. i missed out on romancing karlach the first go around, but we're doing it on penny's second save file. it's happening.

she's also quite close with shadowheart, especially after the events of act ii. her relationship with lae'zel is more tense.. but i'm still working on figuring out that exact trajectory- missing a lot of lae'zel's storyline was one of the biggest mistakes i made in the first go-around. she and astarion never get close, but there's not any malice there, either.

she's good friends with jaheira, the two get along like a house on fire, and she looks up to jaheira a lot. she didn't have a lot of time to get to know minsc and boo, but they were plenty friendly in the short time they crossed paths. halsin, i need to work on, i also kind of fucked up his stuff first go-around by neglecting to fix the shadowlands. to be updated when i reach act ii in Penny The Sequel.

overall, penny's a big ol goody-two-shoes. she wants to help as many people as she possibly can, and feels a massive weight on her shoulders because of it, having been thrust into this leadership role by apparent pure chance.

while i'm still working it out, the central theme of pennybun's story is trust, and who she puts it in. an early decision i made before knowing anything about the story was that penny trusts the Mysterious Dream Guardian completely and totally, which made for some EXTREMELY fun character moments later on- utilizing the tadpoles (her and gale both), becoming partial illithid, and eventually in act 3 losing her trust in and culminating with her turning on the emperor, plus her own ceremorphosis to wield the netherstones against the netherbrain.

gear-wise, she uses the default druid armor for most of the game, switching to the armor of the sporekeeper in act 3. she assembles the mourning frost in the underdark in act 1 and it remains her favored weapon for the rest of the game. she also wears the key of the ancients, and just before the start of the finale gains the nymph cloak.

other assorted Penny Facts:

she keeps a detailed log of every camp dinner the group has. good food is very important

she has a soft spot for parasites. part of why she was receptive to the idea of utilizing the tadpoles, and also part of why she lets astarion take a bite from time to time.

she got her eye poked out by volo

she has a -1 int modifier

she's a lot keener on necromancy than you might expect a druid to be. she views necromancy and the undead (for the most part) as a natural part of the cycle of life- after all, everything will eventually return to the dirt to be eaten by the fungi and the other decomposers, no matter how prolonged it is.

it is imperative that all her friends (karlach excluded for reason of cool hair) wear fun hats. ive posted about The Hat Tax before but everyone in the party gets a funny hat. it's so important.

she's my best friend and i love her

#egg-on-a-legg #bg3 #art #pennybun #tav #bg3 tav

100 notes · View notes

eeldritchblast · 1 year ago

Text

Baldur’s Gate 3 Fandom Survey Results

IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER: Please keep in mind that the respondents of the survey make up just a very, very small fraction of the entire player-base of the game. As such, much of these results will not add up with official statistics collected by Larian Studios, and should not be treated with equal weight. This survey was just conducted for entertainment purposes and to look at the small corner of fandom mostly found on Tumblr!

PART 1: CHARACTER CREATION

RACE

In Early Access, most respondents chose to play as a Tiefling, with Half-Elf and Drow close behind. In Full Release, the most selected race to play as was Half-Elf, with Tiefling close behind. The number of Drow players dropped from 24% to 18%, though still accounting for the third-most picked race.

The least-picked race to play as for both Early Access and Full Release was Githyanki, contributing to just 3% in Early Access and down to 1% in Full Release.

GENDER & PRONOUNS

In both Early Access and Full Release, most respondents picked a feminine body type for their protagonist, with She/Her pronouns. However, the percentage of masculine body types chosen and both He/Him and They/Them pronouns used increased in the Full Release version of the game.

CLASS

The two most common classes to play as in Full Release (tied) were Sorcerer and Bard. The two least-chosen classes (tied) were Monk and Barbarian.

The most common class per race were as follows:

Dragonborn: Sorcerer & Paladin

Drow: Bard

Dwarf: Warlock

Elf: Druid

Githyanki: Sorcerer & Paladin

Gnome: Druid

Half-Elf: Bard

Halfing: Bard & Wizard

Half-Orc: Bard, Paladin & Wizard

Human: Druid, Paladin & Sorcerer

Tiefling: Sorcerer

BACKGROUND

In Early Access, the most selected background for the protagonist was Noble. In Full Release, discounting The Haunted One background—which is exclusive to playing as The Dark Urge—the most selected background was Sage.

THE DARK URGE

Speaking of The Dark Urge, 24% of respondents to the Full Release survey did so with a Dark Urge character in mind.

Most Dark Urge respondents chose a Half-Elf to play as, with Tiefling and then Drow as the second and third most popular options.

The split between masculine and feminine bodies for Dark Urge respondents was 50/50.

The most common class for Dark Urge respondents was sorcerer—which is the default class for the origin—with Bard and Paladin as the second and third most popular options.

THE GUARDIAN

The most selected race for The Guardian was Tiefling, with Elf and Drow as second and third. In Early Access, 22% of respondents made a Dream Lover (the EA equivalent of The Guardian) the same race as their protagonist. This is about the same as Full Release (21%).

The split between masculine and feminine bodies for The Guardian was about 50/50. 53% of protagonists with feminine bodies also had a Guardian with a feminine body. 60% of protagonists with masculine bodies also had a Guardian with a masculine body.

PART 2: PARTY MEMBERS

RECRUITMENT

Here are the recruitment percentages of all the party members from respondents:

Shadowheart: 99%

Astarion: 100%

Gale: 97%

Lae’zel: 99%

Wyll: 98%

Karlach: 96%

Halsin: 92%

Minthara: 8%

Jaheira: 88%

Minsc: 79%

Astarion is the only character that every single respondent recruited in the playthrough they had in mind when filling out the survey.

ROMANCE

Here are the percentages of (primary) love interests chosen by respondents:

Shadowheart: 9%

Astarion: 50%

Gale: 17.5%

Lae’zel: 2%

Wyll: 6%

Karlach: 12%

Halsin: 4%

Minthara: 0.5%

(Special shout-out to the one single person who romanced Minthara. Live your evil, evil dreams.)

WHAT HAPPENED TO…

Shadowheart:

94% of respondents had Shadowheart reject Shar

4% of respondents had Shadowheart embrace Shar

2% of respondents had Shadowheart die

Astarion:

88% of respondents had Astarion remain a spawn

11% of respondents had Astarion ascend

1% of respondents had Astarion die

Gale:

78% of respondents had Gale give up on the Crown of Karsus

18% of respondents had Gale pursue godhood with the Crown of Karsus

2% of respondents had Gale die

2% of respondents did not recruit Gale

Lae’zel:

48% of respondents had Lae’zel leave to save her people herself, with Orpheus dead

38% of respondents had Lae’zel follow Orpheus alive to save her people

11% of respondents had Lea’zel remain with the player

2% of respondents had Lae’zel die

0.5% of respondents did not recruit Lae’zel

Wyll:

81% of respondents had Wyll become the Blade of Avernus

17% of respondents had Wyll become the next Duke

1% of respondents had Wyll die

1% of respondents did not recruit Wyll

Karlach:

66.5% of respondents had Karlach go back to Avernus with Wyll and/or the protagonist

16.5% of respondents had Karlach become a mind flayer

14% of respondents had Karlach die

3% of respondents did not recruit Karlach

PART 3: WORLD DECISIONS

Overall, the vast majority of respondents picked morally good choices.

97% of respondents protected the grove from goblins

43% of respondents agreed to work with the Zhentarim

77% of respondents lied to Voss to avoid killing the Gith patrol

95% of respondents did not give their eye to Auntie Ethel

82% of respondents saved Mayrina from Auntie Ethel

89% of respondents investigated Crèche Y’llek

92% of respondents saved the Last Light Inn

74% of respondents rescued Rolan from the shadows

90% of respondents reversed the Shadow Curse

87% of respondents rescued the prisoners of Moonrise Towers

93% of respondents rescued the prisoners of the Iron Throne

92% of respondents destroyed the Steel Watch Foundry

93% of respondents sided with Dame Aylin and killed Lorroakan

29% of respondents had sex with the Emperor

89% of respondents killed Raphael

54% of respondents freed Orpheus and he became a mind flayer

6% of respondents had their player become a mind flayer

94% of respondents destroyed the Elder Brain

PART 4: FINAL THOUGHTS

42.5% of respondents rated the game a 10/10, with other ratings being at least above 6, all except for 2. That being said, in the optional comment section, among much praise there was also some some critique, including:

Wishing there was more time with certain characters, Wyll being the most highlighted

Feeling like Act 3 was rushed

Wishing there was more body diversity in the CC

Thanks to everyone who responded to the survey!

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #survey #survey results

79 notes · View notes

xalygatorx · 11 months ago

Text

Unbound | Chapter 9, "Bear With Me"

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: The party splits up to investigate the goblin camp and Áine seeks a blessing from Loviatar. Halsin is rescued and they aid him in taking out Minthara before she can launch her attack on the Grove in exchange for answers regarding their next steps with the parasite. Astarion overindulges on a bear and experiences a vampire’s version of drunkenness. Áine answers Astarion’s questions regarding his reflection. Astarion makes a discovery in the nighttime about Áine’s singing performance rule when an unexpected visitor arrives.

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC

Warnings: Suggestive content & dialogue; angst; Astarion has a flashback; lightly proofread

Word Count: 10.3k

Listening to: I Will Love You (Even If It Kills Me) - Too Far Moon

Days passed without further romantic consequence between Astarion and Áine, but not for lack of interest.

Their party’s situation as a whole had taken several turns for the weird ever since encroaching on the goblin camp they’d sworn to clear out, including but not limited to hearing the Absolute’s voice in their skulls for the first time, an odd and violent reaction to that from the artefact Shadowheart had carried since the Nautiloid, and a not-so-odd but still violent reaction from Lae’zel upon seeing the gith markings across its polyhedric surface. That confrontation had been taken back to camp that night and Áine had needed to intervene after waking with Shadowheart’s dagger pressed against Lae’zel’s throat in her bedroll, firmly rolling back any progress the two had made in learning to coexist in the party.

And that only accounted for the last 12 eventful hours.

And, of course, before that, there was the very normal circumstance of their entire party having the same dream about the same golden paladin urging them to embrace their illithid brainworms.

The appearance of the dream visitor had jarred Áine more than she cared to admit. At first, she’d thought she was having a nightmare when she saw the drow woman standing before her, but it became clear that this being held a bit more substance than an ordinary dream. And then to hear that everyone else had experienced the same dream, the party as a whole had developed mixed reactions to the figure, some curious and intrigued by its message and others (like Áine) staunchly wary. She didn’t like the invasive nature of the so-called “guardian” and the way its voice pushed into her mind even on occasion in her waking hours now and she didn’t like the faint fissure it was creating within her party.

Most of her companions were aligned with her feelings on the stranger in the astral plane and their promises and ambiguous motives, but she saw glimmers in both Astarion’s and Gale’s eyes during her conversations with them that told her they were much less opposed to the figure’s interference than she was. They were understandably curious and perhaps it was Áine’s reaction to seeing another of her kind again in such an uninvited way but each time the paladin pushed her to go one way, her core instincts all rallied for her to go the opposite.

All the while, Astarion’s inclination to find ways to keep the tadpole firmly in his mind and instead just find a way to manipulate it himself continued to solidify. The dream figure was a welcome distraction and a curious source of promise. Normally when his reveries reached deep enough to make him dream, those dreams swiftly became nightmares of his old life. This was perhaps the first time in as long as he could remember that he’d simply dreamt and not awakened straight into a panic attack or a feral rage only quelled by hunting until he tired.

While the half of his plan revolving around the tadpole seemed to be in good forward motion, the other half revolving around Áine was in a mixed state of push and pull.

The push happened naturally—the proverbial door that existed between their mutual attraction had been ajar for some time now and the night they’d gotten unexpectedly close had flung it wide open. And it had just kind of sat there ever since.

Not that they didn’t have plenty of things that had been keeping them busy but it had also given Astarion time to try withdrawing emotionally—thus, the pull.

The next time he approached her with any intimate intent, he would do so fully in check. He fed himself as many excuses as needed to cope with the way his tattered brain had romanticized her, talked himself down off any ledge that bore view to a precipice that may sink him in unwelcome sentiment, and shut down any inklings that sat in the dustiest corners of his mind just waiting with predatory anticipation to remove him from his own seat of power again.

Lie after lie after lie if needed, he would drink them all down. He didn’t care about her, he needed her. He didn’t need her emotionally, he needed her strength and protection. He didn’t need to love her, she needed to love him, and if his estimation after years of practice were worth a damn, she was halfway there.

And the most important lie of all—that their first kiss had been fully planned, a clever ploy, and had not under any circumstances been a flight of passion on his part. Passion had died in him long ago. He had simply seen an opportunity, a moment, and seized it.

Hells, I can barely even stand to like her, he worked to convince himself in the present moment, even as his gaze adhered to her removing her armor padding and then her tunic. Sure, he’d learned new nuances about her character in the days since their kiss and they’d been a mixed bag of amusing and endearing, but he could’ve said that about anyone in their troop. Even Gale.

Were it possible to choke on a lying thought, he may have choked on that one.

Learning about Áine had begun to boil down into the smaller details as he’d had a general idea of who she was after the first leg of their travels.

She was both quick to joy and exasperation in equal measure and if she was quick to anger, she hid it better than the former two. She was shy about singing but open about what she didn’t know, and comfortable manipulating her instruments however she felt most confident while not batting an eye when she hit a sour note in front of an audience. She was a powerhouse in wit on the battlefield until her team lost the advantage and her friends were endangered, which then sent her hurtling toward the frontlines to absorb the enemy’s aggression, shifting attention away from her injured allies. She’d historically shown quick thinking when she knew they wouldn’t survive further violence on the road and met interpersonal conflict with a patience Astarion couldn’t begin to understand.

Those were the more overarching themes in Áine’s character, but they were starting to be further parsable to the vampire’s unadmitted growing obsession with her. For example, in the last few days, he’d seen that her saintlike patience had its limits and they mostly surfaced when she was disrespected. He’d seen hints of this within their group, including in the small spat they’d had outside the Grove, but if she ever got to a point of becoming snippy, she often apologized directly after.

This had proved to not be a universal truth for those who crossed her, as he’d seen when she’d responded to a goblin’s demeaning comments and demands to smear their “war paint colors” on her face by slamming the entire handful of the worg shit the goblin referred to in his nasty little face instead. It had, of course, resulted in a fray that Áine had enthusiastically leapt into, but while Astarion was usually averse to causing unnecessary squabbles that wouldn’t result in anything but extra effort and bruises for him, he respected the hell out of her response to the confrontation. Not to mention that it was an amusing thing to witness.

Speaking of unexpected things Áine did that he was content to bear witness to, Astarion hungrily watched as Áine handed off her discarded armor and tunic top to Shadowheart and stepped toward the alcove indicated by the odd priest in the goblin camp, the stone bricks already slick with blood from his performed penance. As the priest Abdirak paused to select his implement of choice, Astarion let his eyes travel languidly over the soft, perfect curve of her spine, his gaze only briefly touching her shoulder. He noticed that the starburst-shaped scars that he’d seen on her front also made appearances on her back as well, giving the impression that she’d been shot with something. Her past discomfort after overworking the muscles there suddenly began to make a little more sense.

“This had better be worth it,” Astarion heard Áine murmur under her breath as she braced herself against the bloodied wall.

Behind him, past the mouth of the narrow room, he could hear the rowdy, keening squeals of drunk celebrating goblins. The group had split up to investigate the defiled Selunite temple in hopes that their combined efforts would unearth the Archdruid Halsin and pinpoint the leaders before things had a chance to get messy. Lae’zel had headed off with Gale and Karlach to do a careful patrol around the main activities—Astarion admittedly felt a bit of pity for Gale and the likely babysitting he’d have to do with those two to keep them from stirring the pot with one of the guards or some such, but the wizard hadn’t seemed bothered at all by the split results—and Wyll was lingering by the exit back into the main hall, where he’d retreated as soon as Áine had met Shadowheart’s challenge to take some penance for a potential blessing by beginning to disrobe.

“The pain you suffer will cleanse you,” Abdirak told Áine with a little too much eagerness for Astarion’s liking and the vampire noticed the way the “holy man”s eyes roved over her lilac skin. “Do not fight it.”

“So scream?” Áine asked to confirm just as Abdirak brought the tendrils of a cat-of-nine-tails down hard across her back. “Fucking Hells!”

Astarion snorted as Áine swore through gritted teeth, just imagining the pummeling she’d unleash on this pallid human priest were she not allowing this pain. She’d so matter-of-factly asked if she had to scream to get what was promised of this interaction, he almost wondered if she could’ve stayed entirely silent had he indicated she should. This was a performance game, however, and he seemed to realize that at the same time Áine, herself, did.

“Louder, child,” Abdirak commanded, adjusting his grip on the whip. “Let Loviatar hear you!”

In a murmur just toward him, Shadowheart remarked, “Would you have joined up with her if you’d known she’d be indulging in this sort of thing, Astarion?”

He almost wondered if she only asked him that so he’d know that she knew something was going on. If only to give her more than she bargained for, Astarion responded in an equally low voice, “I mean, I had my hopes.”

The look of disgust that crossed the cleric’s face was a more than sufficient reward for his response.

They were interrupted when a hard crack and Áine’s scream pierced the alcove, the acoustics carrying it up into the rafters like a church bell’s toll. It was obvious to everyone in attendance that she was acting, or at least exaggerating her reaction, or at least that’s what he thought until Wyll was starting to barge past him and Shadowheart.

Shadowheart caught Wyll’s arm and patted his bicep once he stopped. “She’s fine. Just getting a blessing off a priest of Loviatar.”

“What sort of blessing is worth that?” Wyll asked, horrified.

“It’s not so bad as you think,” Astarion said with a smirk. “Knowing personally what the nobility of Baldur’s Gate get up to, I’m a little surprised you’ve not explored your tastes a bit further, Wyll.”

Wyll’s face flushed scarlet and he excused himself back to the entryway, Astarion chuckling in his wake. Ever since it had come up that he was the son of the very duke who had been rumored kidnapped by cultists just a day prior, Astarion had taken advantage of ample opportunities to razz the Blade of Frontiers.

The familiar bouquet of Áine’s blood met his nose just as another hit landed on the bard’s back and she performatively wailed in response.

Abdirak was trembling with elated energy and something that bordered on desire, shouting, “Your voice sounds so sweet, dear one. Keep going!”

“Sing for me, boy! Of all my children, your screams have always sounded sweetest.”

Astarion’s throat tightened as the intrusive voice forced its way through the tender folds of his memory. His teeth clenched so tightly amongst their own grooves that his jaw began to grow sore. His vision seemed to narrow as he focused only on metering his reaction to the unwelcome memory and stomaching it before it showed on his face. He was fully present still in that narrow room, save for his eyes which were thousands of miles away.

Áine had felt the whip cut her about three strikes in, which was approximately when it had occurred to her that doing this right before what may be one of the biggest brawls they’d faced yet may not have been the best plan. Even with the blessing’s benefits, if she’d played her part correctly, her back was still prematurely battered and she’d have to waste a health potion on it to not create a liability for her group.

“Sweet child,” Abdirak breathed, cluing her in that she’d bore the full brunt and could straighten up from the alcove. “You bore the pain like a true believer. I am proud to have served you this penance.”

“It was certainly an…interesting experience,” Áine said, crossing her arms over her bare chest as she turned around to face him. She spotted Shadowheart and Astarion precisely where she’d left them. Shadowheart looked mildly amused while Astarion… Well, where she’d expected either a joke or one of his canned sultry smirks, he looked entirely distant. She wondered if he was alright.

“Loviatar herself found your performance…inspiring,” Abdirak said, drawing Áine’s attention back to him for the moment. “She has deemed you worthy of her blessing.”

Thank the gods, Áine sighed inwardly. Or thank Loviatar specifically. I may have served this man a penance of his own if I’d been denied something after that.

There was an edge of amusement in the feeling that swept over her from the red glow that Abdirak cast over her and she could feel a woman’s presence in the aura, similar to how she’d experienced the Weave with Gale. Áine had a feeling that perhaps Loviatar had heard or sensed her thoughts at that moment and found her musings entertaining.

When the light settled, Abdirak added, “And on a personal note…thank you. That was positively divine.”

Áine was glad he didn’t expect a response to that because she had no idea what to say. When the priest turned his back on her, her polite smile fell and she felt her face contort with dismay. Gods, he’d gotten off on that, she just knew it.

She approached her companions, taking her tunic from Shadowheart’s hands and turning it around to align it with her arms. “Well?” Shadowheart prompted her. “Do you feel cleansed? Better yet, strengthened?”

Áine shrugged as she slid one of the sleeves over her arm. “To be decided. He did…something. And not just for effect, I felt something settle over me,” Áine said, “but that was probably a foolish thing to do in retrospect. We may have to fight our way out of here, after all, and I just started the work on behalf of those little creeps out there.”

“Would you like me to heal you?” Shadowheart offered.

Áine hastily shook her head as she gingerly tugged her other sleeve on, already wincing in preparation to put the garment back over herself. “No, no, this was my bright idea even with your cajoling,” Áine smirked. “I’d much rather you save your energy until we know what we’re dealing with. But thank you.”

“I can’t imagine it will be anything aside from the sheer number of them rather than their might,” Shadowheart remarked. “Are you quite sure?”

The bard nodded, pausing in putting her tunic on so she could dig a health potion from her bag, hoping that would take the edge off. “It’s really not so bad. I’ll drink something to level it out and after that, I’ll—Astarion, what are you doing?”

While she’d been speaking to Shadowheart, she’d felt him step around her, but now she felt his cool hands adjusting her hair off her shoulders and into a manageable clump at her nape. “Hold this and hold still,” he mumbled instead of answering her question.

Bewildered and admittedly still a little dazed from her beating, Áine obeyed and reached back with the hand not holding her bag to clasp her hair in place. She parted her lips to ask again what he was up to when she felt his hands drop to her hips, rooting her in place as he dropped down to one knee behind her. What in the world is he—

Her eyes went round and her lips pursed shut as she felt what could’ve only been his tongue running a slow line over one of the bloody welts on her back. Áine felt her face flush deep and hot, the healing potion that she’d just barely found purchase on with her fingertips clattering back into the belly of her bag. Shock kept her stock-still through the first touch because surely she had to be imagining this, he had to have grabbed a cloth or something and her uncharacteristically perverse brain was twisting the situation. It had to be the tadpole skewing the nature of her thoughts.

Áine tensed as she felt another tender lave across her cuts. No, he was definitely licking her wounds and seemed to be purposefully taking his time to tease her. She swallowed and it was louder than intended, which made him chuckle. She felt the soft vibration of the sound against her skin and liquid heat shot from her chest down to her core with an intensity that startled her.

The bard’s gaze drifted to Shadowheart and if Áine could’ve blushed deeper she would’ve. The cleric was watching her face with a dastardly level of smugness, her teeth holding her lower lip to keep herself from laughing at her friend’s mixture of bliss and distress. To Astarion, she said, “Couldn’t pass up the opportunity for a cheeky snack, vampire?”

Astarion gave a quiet, dismissive grumble before leaning away from Áine’s back, satisfied with his work as his gaze traced the still-present but no longer bleeding welts. “A welcome side-effect of being uncharacteristically helpful, dear,” Astarion said, standing up straight again. To Áine, he said, “Go on with the potion now. The cuts are clotted and starting to heal, so it will be more productive.”

Oh right, Áine realized in a daze, his actions making more sense with that reasoning in place. The welts had gone numb under the slick of his saliva and Áine felt sheepish for her first thought not being that he could handle any minor open wound just like he had the past couple of times he’d drank from her. Clearing her throat, Áine retrieved the potion bottle she’d dropped back into her bag and uncapped it, downing it in one careful swig. Lo and behold, he was right. She could feel it working immediately.

Still very much amused, Shadowheart offered Áine’s armor back to its owner. “A convenient excuse for enjoying our fearless leader like a melty icepop,” she commented. From the other side of the room, Wyll was heard half-choking at catching her words and making sense of them.

Face still burning, Áine gave her a chiding look and reached for her armor, only to be intercepted by Astarion, who reached around Áine’s smaller body and lifted the padding away from the cleric’s hands. “As if I’d need an excuse,” he smirked, as rakish in his tone as his expression as he levelly met Shadowheart’s scolding gaze.

Shadowheart snorted softly and left them to it, going to join Wyll by the hall. Áine pulled her tunic fully on and straightened it at her waist, stealing extra seconds before she turned around in hopes that maybe her color would fade a little. With no luck, Áine swallowed and faced the vampire behind her. She was unable to hide her shyness from her expression, which made her even more embarrassed. Meanwhile, the way that she looked up through her snowy lashes to meet his eyes was doing something dangerous and unwarranted to Astarion’s dead heart.

Still shaken from his earlier vision, but steadied somehow by having an excuse to be close to her, Astarion’s crimson gaze drank her in for a moment, his smirk lingering softly at the edges of his mouth. Áine was having a tough time looking at him and his pretty lips without remembering how they’d just brushed over her back, how they’d felt so desperately crashing against hers just the other night. He’d been so composed immediately after that tiny moment they’d shared and ever since. She almost wondered if she’d gotten a small peek into something forbidden in that span of a kiss, a truth of him that she yearned to untangle and meet again.

“You poor sweet thing,” he murmured as he placed her armor back over her, derailing her thoughts. “Are you in love with me yet?”

“Hush,” Áine muttered back, eliciting a chuckle from him.

“That wasn’t a ‘no’,” he observed, speaking again before Áine could argue with him. “I will admit I didn’t foresee this sort of thing being intriguing to you.”

“The penance?” Áine asked. When he nodded, she said, “It’s not…in that way. But it felt like a small price to pay for an extra bit of help.”

Astarion acknowledged her response with a soft hum as he adjusted her armor, his fingers nimbly taking the ties and beginning to lace her back up. Her eyes dropped to the cuff of his doublet and she noticed new traces of immaculate embroidery overlaying the old frayed gold threads. Seeing that he’d found a use for the thread she’d found him made her smile, but it also made her remember yet again what had followed and caused new color to touch her cheeks.

When his eyes flickered back up to meet hers, Áine noticed that he focused on her cheek and her hand instinctively rose to investigate despite knowing he was probably just watching her face change colors. When she drew her fingertips away from her cheek, they came away with a faint smear of blood. “I think I hit the wall the first time,” she mumbled, instinctively starting to lower her hand and wipe the blood off on her pants. “I didn’t realize how hard he was going to—”

The vampire snared her wrist before she could wipe her hand off, his other hand gently taking her chin and angling her head so he could better inspect the small scrape. She was deliciously pliant in his hands. “May I?” he asked, meeting her eyes again.

Áine’s face felt hot again. “Um, sure,” she said without really thinking. What in the Hells is happening to me? she wondered, the gray areas of her heart blooming with colors by the day in this man’s shadow.

Astarion held her gaze as he leaned in, his cool breath fanning against her cheek before his lips closed over the cut. Áine expected him to linger but for the sake of getting his fix of blood from her last little wound, perhaps using it for a taste in the same way he’d capitalized on the cut she’d had on her shoulder before. And he did linger, but far more in the way of a kiss pressed to a lover’s cheek. He lingered like he wanted to taste more than the blood he thirsted for. Like he wanted to taste her.

And, by the Hells, he did want to.

For all his performance art around the path to seduction, for all his adopted rakish tendencies that had become fallback defenses across the span of centuries, for all the motions he’d gone through with countless bodies in back alleys and inn rooms in perfect and practiced execution, Astarion couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted any of it. It all felt tainted. He felt tainted. Even now, his own tenderness reeked of a ploy and it was difficult to understand his own motivations, to sift through the murk and find the root of why he kept gravitating to her.

These touches, these flirtations were things he would do to trick someone in his sordid past, to lure them back for his master. And he wanted to do them with her, but it all still felt fake, it still felt wrong. Especially with her. Down deep, past his plans and fear and engrained habits, he felt pure shame. The duality of wanting her at arm’s length and also wanting her so close he forgot the contours of his own body was as maddening as it was frightening.

Áine’s eyes drifted back up to Astarion’s when he finally leaned away from her cheek, the numbing sensation along her cut fading after a few seconds but leaving behind the memory of his lips in its wake. She smiled, her expression timid but tender. Astarion felt her warmth melt against the coldness inside him. He was truly the villain his old master had molded him to be, to be willing to cast his tainted shadows against the light of the woman standing before him.

Old motions took over as he smiled his rakish smile and raised the hand he still held by the wrist to his mouth. He didn’t take his eyes off her or the violet rose hues that heated her face and her delicious neck as he closed his cool lips around her bloodied fingers and sucked the red cleanly off. “Ready to go?” he asked, his voice a soft, rich timbre.

Áine laughed, and Astarion felt proud that she sounded just the slightest bit breathless. “I don’t know, am I?” she wondered. “I can confidently say I’ve never been more doused in another person’s spit in all my life.”

Astarion smirked and he didn’t have to draw on old practices for its sensual edge to shine through. “Give me time, my love,” he purred and Áine wasn’t sure that her body wouldn’t combust from the heat that flooded her veins.

“Right,” Áine mumbled, pressing her hands against his chest as she wriggled out of his grasp. “Not here, please.”

Astarion laughed at how quickly flustered she became under his ministrations but released her and followed her back to rejoin the others. Wyll gave him a scolding look the moment he arrived and Astarion wondered if he’d earned the sour expression from what he was sure the duke’s son perceived as scandalous advances in general or if he’d earned them specifically because he directed them at Áine. Instead of parsing any of it, Astarion simply winked at Wyll and caused the Blade to give up and turn his back on him.

Gale, Karlach, and Lae’zel rejoined them then and the hard look shared between Shadowheart and the githyanki warrior was palpable and felt by the group at large. Gale cleared his throat and leaned in close to Áine to murmur, “Gut has been taken care of. We have time, but likely not as much as we could hope.”

Áine’s brows rose and she took in the edge of Lae’zel’s longsword tinged with goblin blood. “Well done,” she said. “Although I didn’t know we would start so soon.”

“We got an opportunity once she realized we had tadpoles, too,” Karlach explained. “It was just us and her in her chamber. Figured there wasn’t going to be a better opportunity.”

“For sure,” Áine agreed, nodding to herself. “Okay. We work faster then. The boy from Aradin’s crew said Halsin had taken a bear form. Let’s use what time we have before someone finds Gut to find Halsin and then dispatch the other two leaders after. Yes?”

“Yes,” came the murmur of agreement. As Áine began to lead the way down the stone hallway, Gale said, “Say, Áine… You didn’t happen to scream a little while ago, did you? You look fine, obviously, but we could’ve sworn we heard you.”

Áine laughed a little, winding her hair into a messy bun at her nape with a leather cord while they walked. “Yeah, I ended up getting a pain goddess’s blessing the old-fashioned way,” she said. “But I had to play it up to earn it.”

“I told you it was rehearsed,” Lae’zel said to Gale.

“Was it that obvious?” Áine asked, sounding a bit disappointed.

Lae’zel shook her head. “Not quite. But a true warrior rarely screams from the onslaught of pain. Rather the thrill and anticipation of the battle that brings it.”

Never had someone so thoroughly expressed admiration toward another person while personally decimating the rest of their party, who all were now thinking back to their most recent battles and recounting each time they reacted to pain with a shout.

Áine, oblivious to the slight on their allies, smiled at Lae’zel appreciatively.

It didn’t take long to find the cave bear in question whom they could only hope was the Archdruid in his wild form. Between roars of upset from the ursine creature and the high-pitched cackling of goblin children and their warden, the group landed themselves near some worg cages, where it appeared that the piercing laughter was the result of pitching rocks toward the caged bear. Áine’s expression crumpled. Even if it weren’t Halsin and was truly a bear, she felt awful seeing it captured and tortured.

Leave it to me to end my journey by freeing a bear only to have it maul me once it’s done with the goblins, she thought, but there was a decision in her step as she approached the offending group.

The worg pens fell into chaos as the goblins took offense to their meddling and the cave bear careened against its cage door, unhinging it and crushing one of the guards in the process. With her back on the mend thanks to her hoarded health potion supply and the graciousness of her vampire companion, Áine fell into the heat of the battle with gusto, all confidence and exhilaration in a swirl of glittering scimitar blades.

Support was light for fights like these—Lae’zel and Karlach fell into the frontline with ease and enthusiasm, taking on the biggest adversaries while Wyll, Astarion, and Áine played support and Gale helped Shadowheart save some of her energy by mitigating any injuries taken by their team.

The entirety of the fight could’ve been summarized by a singular goblin guard who charged into the fight with a warcry on his lips and a bottle of grease in his hand, slammed the bottle to the ground as soon as he reached Áine, Lae’zel, and Karlach, and was subsequently the only one to slip and fall. The three stared down at him until Karlach and Áine simultaneously fell apart with laughter and Lae’zel gave an annoyed “chk” at the goblin’s interruption.

As the body count of the pint-sized heretics littering the floor rose to a satisfying degree, Áine switched her swords for the lute slung across her back, practiced fingers plucking a tune from the strings while her companions finished off the remaining flock. As mockery on a goblin seemed too easy in her mind at the moment, she let notes of symphonic inspiration flow from her instrument, humming softly along.

Across the room, Astarion was similarly assured of their victory but not quite so assured of their leader’s decision to free the wild animal from the cage. He supposed he could have an early meal if the bear proved to not be a druid in wild form after all, but it all felt a little unnecessary. Especially given his lack of inclination to rid himself of the tadpole just yet. He watched Áine’s hands move gracefully over the strings, the purposeful twangs echoing with ease in the stone chamber. She moved in a sort of dance with the music she crafted and he watched as she painted an arc of blood on the tiles with the toe of her boot, her body bowed over the lute and becoming its extension.

Mesmerized, he nearly missed the guard by the mouth of the hall, its crossbow raised and aimed at their unsuspecting bard. It was possible she could’ve dodged or suffered only a minor injury, but they’d never find out as Astarion loosed an arrow directly into the goblin’s throat. With a loud, wet gurgle, it collapsed to the floor, but not without catching Áine’s attention. She turned to look toward the sound, her fingers never faltering, and then followed the trajectory of the arrow until she met his eyes. It wasn’t the first time he’d flanked her from afar, but she did notice with extra appreciation at that moment how well he’d found and taken on his role in their growing group and how watchful he seemed to be with her at times.

The small smile she sent his way held such a sunny disposition that, were it not for the tadpole, he daresaid he may have burned.

The last goblin fell with a grunt to the acid-splashed, greased, bloodied stonework floor, and only then did the party turn to the cave bear, the moment of truth arriving for their gamble. In a flourish of golden light and swirling leaves, the cave bear became a towering wood elf adorned with a druid’s armor, clawmark scars across his brow, and kind attentive eyes.

Eyes that, to Astarion’s disdain, latched directly onto Áine.

“Praise Sylvanus for your arrival,” the druid declared. “Apologies for the bloodshed. The Oak Father encourages reverence for life in all its forms, but goblins seem to be a particular breed that may stand outside that rule.” He inclined his head, crossing his arm over his chest in a sign of respect. “Thank you for freeing me. Although I’m uncertain if your intuition led you to a hunch that it was no ordinary cave bear you were helping or you’re mad enough to free a wild animal from its cage, consequences be damned.”

“A ‘hunch’ is a good word for it,” Áine admitted, adjusting her lute back across her shoulders. “We’d heard that you may have taken the form of a bear, so it was an educated guess.”

“A true friend of nature then,” he chuckled. “You were searching for me specifically, then?”

“You are the Archdruid Halsin, aren’t you?” Áine asked. “The one versed in the strange illithid tadpole anomaly affecting the region?”

Halsin’s brow creased. “The very same. What interest have you in the tadpoles?”

“Each more than we’d like,” Áine said, glancing at her companions. Astarion was inclined to disagree but kept it to himself. “We’re escapees from a Nautiloid, each with our own little…stowaways, I suppose. We’ve been told that you’re our best hope of removing them.” A disgruntled sound came from Lae’zel behind her. “Okay, one of our best hopes.”

“May I?” Halsin asked, beckoning Áine closer. She stepped away from the group and her eyes followed his hand as he raised it toward her face, the same golden light from earlier filling the air around them. He closed his eyes and she could feel him probing at her aura, at her mind and the creature inside it. The light faded and his expression turned horrified as he opened his eyes to regard her again. “Oak Father preserve you, child, you are indeed infected.”

Áine felt her chest tighten a little. In the midst of all their squabbles and adventuring, sometimes it was possible to forget the real factor in their decision to band together. Hearing the words again aloud renewed her unease tenfold. “Can you help?” she asked.

“I cannot, I’m afraid,” Halsin said. It was evident in his tone that he wished it weren’t the case. “However, I may have a lead for you to learn more about these parasites and maybe, through that, relieve yourselves of them. My first priority, however, is to the Grove. There is a drow here who intends to attack the Grove and its people and I must eliminate the threat to my people before I in good conscience leave this place.” He nodded toward the refuse scattered around them. “You have proven yourselves more than capable in battle. Help me take down the goblin leaders here and I will help guide you to what I believe to be the source of truth for your infection.”

Áine’s lips pursed. “It feels a bit unfair to hold such vital information like a carrot on a string.”

Halsin’s eyes softened on the half-elf. “I know, and I am sorry for it. But I’m in great need of your help. The Grove as well. They will not survive such an onslaught as she has planned for them.”

“We were originally en route to this place to clear it anyway for Zevlor,” Gale pointed out in a lowered voice to Áine. Addressing Halsin now, he said, “We did find one of Aradin’s lads alive on a rack near the entrance. He was going back to the Grove to warn them last we saw him.”

“And the goblin priestess, Gut, has already been dispatched,” Lae’zel reminded them all, leaning against her longsword with the tip of its blade balanced perfectly against the stone.

“You work quickly,” Halsin observed with admiration. “Then that leaves only the hobgoblin and the drow. Hardly a small feat, but much more doable than I first anticipated. Knowing that the boy will be able to warn the Grove as well is a comfort.”

Áine nodded, seemingly to herself. “Alright, we’ll do it,” she said. Astarion’s lip curled in disapproval behind her and his frustration only intensified as she added, “with your help. We’ll make short work of them in our combined efforts.”

Halsin smiled. “Then you have my thanks and my claws.”

They made their way out of the worg pens and into the adjacent chamber where the drow in question and a handful of goblins awaiting her command pored over battle plans, a floating scrying eye tracing their movements. Another brawl broke out with the strike of a thunder-imbued arrow to the eye’s indigo sclera, the entity dissolving in a puff of like-colored vapor.

Off-guard, the drow went down with a few lethal hits to her vital organs, Áine advancing closer to finish the job while her companions took out the goblins. She drew her scimitars as the woman raised her head and met Áine’s eyes, recognition dawning on both their faces. Minthara’s eyes narrowed on Áine, incredulity warring with hate. “You—,” she began, but Áine didn’t give her a chance to finish, running her through with a cross of her blades.

Áine’s jaw worked as she looked down at Minthara’s dying expression. She drew in a metered breath and pulled her swords from her cousin’s body, glancing back at her companions to see if anyone had been near enough to notice what she’d said. Satisfied that her first exchange in decades with Minthara had been private, Áine began to root through her pockets, a muted form of panic stirring inside her at being near one of her kin again after all this time. She felt nothing at killing the other woman, just as Minthara would’ve felt nothing at killing her. Perhaps Minthara may have even relished it, but Áine didn’t share the sentiment. However, seeing a familiar face had shaken her.

She’d parsed through Minthara’s belongings and the documents on her desk when Astarion strolled up to peruse what Áine had left on the ground, holding up a spider leather outfit that befitted a more leisurely setting than a battlefield, the vest hitting well below the navel and flaring into well-tailored shoulders resembling bat wings. “Surely you’re not passing this up, my dear,” he commented, running the pad of his thumb over the seam. “You’d look positively ravishing.”

Áine looked up from the battleplans she was scouring, her stomach twisting when she set eyes on the spider leather attire that only ever befitted a drow. Even brushing her fingertips against the hide had sent a nervous twitch through her hands. “Thank you, but I’m alright,” she said. “Perhaps Lae’zel or Shadowheart will want it.”

Astarion wasn’t shocked by her response, but he was intrigued. Perhaps it was a case of just not liking the style of the outfit, but he wondered as well if it had to do with its drow make. They’d not talked about it, but he’d gotten the sense both from the flash of memory he’d seen via their tadpole connection and from the way her demeanor changed when topics broached her past that she wasn’t fond of where she came from. Why, he hadn’t a clue, but he knew better than to press. “Suit yourself, darling,” he said with ease, setting it back where he’d found it.

Áine smiled softly to herself as she looked back down at the papers, drawing a deep breath to steady her heavy heart. She only looked up again when approached, finding Halsin standing before her back in his human form. “Never had a doubt in my mind for our success,” he said, his voice warm and deep. “I must make my way back to the Grove now that the threat is mitigated. Come find me there and we will see what can be done to address your troubles.”

The bard frowned. “You can’t just tell me where we should go now?”

“I understand what it must seem like from a stranger,” Halsin said, raising a pleading, placating hand. “On Sylvanus, Himself, I swear to you I will answer any and all questions that I can once I ensure the safety of the Grove. I’ve been absent due to my own folly long enough without appointing another.”

Áine nodded slowly, remembering their short time there. “Kagha may need additional address,” she commented offhand as she turned the parchment on the desk. “If she hasn’t already sealed off the Grove completely.”

“Sealed off the—,” Halsin began to ask, stopping himself and giving his head a curt shake. “Then it seems my return is evermore urgent. I will see you back at the Grove, I trust, then?”

“You will,” Áine said, looking back up to meet his eyes. Halsin smiled, clearly relieved, and she added, “In your rounds, would you tell Zevlor the threat to his people has been neutralized? I’d like for them to be able to start their preparations ahead of our arrival.”

“You have my word it will be my first conversation upon returning,” Halsin said. “Thank you again. I will see you soon.”

Áine listened to him leave, running her hands over her face with frustration. Astarion watched her reaction, pleased at least that she didn’t seem taken by the tall, hunky druid, despite being a bit over-friendly earlier. Perhaps it was more of the “camaraderie” she’d referenced with Shadowheart. Regardless, he didn’t like it. To Áine, he said, “Seemed a bit of a farce to give us an extra leg of our journey just for some answers.”

“Answers he promised following taking out Min—the drow leader,” she said, barely stumbling in her speech but still doing so enough for Astarion to notice.

Astarion stowed the dagger he was inspecting, eying Áine as he crossed leisurely toward her post at the drow’s desk. “You knew her name?”

Áine debated with herself for a moment, her gaze flickering up to check the locations of the others, before she murmured, “I knew her. Sort of.”

His brows rose. “How?”

Clearly uncomfortable, Áine straightened from her hunch over the battleplans and rested her hands on her hips. “I think she worked out to be my second or third cousin in the weird scheme of family trees,” she sighed. “I only met her a few times, usually under unpleasant circumstances.”

“Unpleasant family interactions,” Astarion mused, stopping to stand in front of her. “I can relate to that.”

Áine smiled ruefully. “We both deserved far better than we got regarding our ‘caretakers’.”

“You’ve no idea, dearest,” he murmured, meeting her eyes again and reading the pain there. “Or perhaps you do. Just perhaps in a shorter time.”

“I was born into mine,” she admitted, leaning back to sit against the edge of the desk. “You?”

Astarion shook his head. “Reborn into mine, I suppose. Although it’s never felt like much of a life, this immortal coil,” he mumbled, not sure why he was being so honest with her.

Her brow creased as she ventured to ask, “Was it all…like what I saw?” She wanted to know him, but she was afraid to accidentally press where he wasn’t ready and scare him back into his mask.

Áine saw his jawline tense before he answered, his gaze sliding up to the top of her head so he didn’t have to look her in the eyes as he said, “200 years of it.”

Of all the things the bard expected, she hadn’t expected that. Her heart compacted, crushed in her chest as she looked at him with a new perspective, in some ways seeing him for the first time. She didn’t realize that her eyes had started to well with sympathetic tears until he met her gaze again and looked alarmed. “Now now, don’t do that,” he scolded her. “I didn’t answer your question for the sake of pity.”

“Sorry,” Áine said, blinking hard as she looked up at the crumbling ceiling to try and contain the moisture that had risen to her eyes. Now worrying about her reaction, she didn’t see the way he looked at her, the way he was reacting to seeing someone feel for him for the first time. He should’ve been pleased, should’ve milked it for the sake of his so-called plan because it clearly was working in his favor. “For this,” she added, gesturing vaguely at herself, “and that it happened to you at all.”

“What could you have to be sorry for?” he asked.

“For the fact that it happened,” she said, her eyes tinged pink at the corners but the floodgates successfully shut. “On behalf of everyone who failed to help you.”

“One must try in order to fail,” he spat bitterly. “Complacency and indifference from all parties involved. There was a time I prayed to any god whose name I knew that might listen and not one of them made any attempt. The mind flayers were the ones who sprung me, who gave me some of my own life back.” Astarion ground his teeth, running one of his hands roughly through his curls.

Áine watched him, nodding a little. She knew something of that divine silence. “The gods seem to be best at maintaining the quiet when our prayers are loudest,” she observed. She offered a halfhearted smile and leaned away from the desk. “I imagine I would have died in the attempt, but I wouldn’t mind a shot at going back in time to try springing you a bit earlier.”

“You would have died in the attempt,” he confirmed, snorting a bit at the mere whim. “However, I appreciate the sentiment. Even though I would wager that it would have still left me with most of my enslavement…?”

“Are you trying to find a sneaky way to ask my age?” Áine accused him, content to move back to lighter topics.

Astarion smirked. “All a clever plan, you see,” he remarked. “Walk the path of a roundabout conversation only to pounce when you least expect it.”

“You do have a habit of the pouncing bit, I’ve noticed,” she laughed, glancing over her shoulder to check on the others. When she saw them gathering up by the archway back to the main hall, Áine nodded for him to follow her and rejoin the group.

“You’ve yet to see the half of it, my dear,” he murmured, leaning in close to her ear. His breath against her cheek caused a delicious shiver to work its way up her spine and she ducked away with a laugh that made Astarion smirk and also feel inclined to chase her. “Indulge me though.”

“Fine,” Áine said. “I’m 55. And, in truth, I only skirted my own personal hell about ten years ago by now, so I wouldn’t have spared you much time at all from your two centuries.”

Astarion filed those notes away to his timeline for her, bewildered by his compulsion to know her. “I would have taken what I could get,” he said, “but you would have failed. A true vampire is nothing to trifle with.”

“What about you?” she asked as they crossed the bridge spanning the chasm between halves of the room. “200 and how many years old?”

Astarion smirked. “Are you trying to find a blatantly obvious way to ask my age?” he asked, mimicking her earlier tone.

“I am,” she declared. “It’s only fair.”

“Very well,” Astarion sighed. “239 in total.”

Her brow crumpled. “You were only 39?” That was unbearably young by elvish standards. He nodded and she swore quietly. “What an awful bastard.”

“He technically saved me, you know,” Astarion mumbled. “I didn’t realize the strings that came attached to the ‘gift’, but I would be long dead in the city streets if not for it.” His eyes traveled to the group as they neared the doorway, the ruins past the stone arch littered with battle-ready goblins who had finally found the body of their beloved Absolutist priestess in her room. “A story for another time though perhaps.”

Later that night, after fighting their way through the entire camp and effectively becoming doused in goblin blood and projectile grease, the group set up camp and took turns cleaning themselves off at the riverside.

Generally pleased to rinse herself of the muck and the situation overall, Áine returned as one of the last back to camp, winding her wet hair into a braid over her shoulder on her way to her tent.

Her path was interrupted by a wayward vampire, who looked positively moony past anything she’d ever seen on his face.

“There you are! My friend!” Astarion exclaimed, his gestures broad and sweeping to a point that Áine was wary of being clonked by one.

“Are you drunk?” she asked, trying to make sense of his behavior.

“I have drunk! Not alcohol, of course, but a bear,” he said. “He took a little of my blood. I took all of his.”

Áine smirked as she knelt to pack her bathing implements away. When she stood and faced him again, she returned to working on the plait in her hair and asked, “It wasn’t Halsin, was it?”

Astarion laughed and it was a quick and almost boisterous sound. Gods, he was out of it. “And if it was?” he scoffed, gesturing flippantly. “One less ingrate to stand there and devour you with their eyes.”

Her brows rose. Amused, she asked, “Jealous again? I’ve told you before, it’s hardly more than camaraderie.”

He snorted dismissively. “My sweet, I know ‘camaraderie’ when I see it. You were right about your dynamic with Shadowheart, I admit I misunderstood it, but trust me to know when another man is looking at something he wants to sink his teeth into.”

Áine just laughed. “I think you’re the only one game to sink your teeth into me,” she remarked as she tied off her braid.

“I’m far from the only one,” he argued. His expression returned to something more relaxed as he flashed her a fangy smile. “But I am the best candidate.”

It crossed her mind that perhaps Astarion had targeted a bear because of whatever looks he thought Halsin was giving her earlier on. It was a startling and oddly sexy consideration. Mostly because, thankfully, the bear he’d picked wasn’t the Archdruid they’d gone to so much trouble to rescue. “It definitely wasn’t the druid though?” she asked, only half-kidding.

“It was not,” Astarion grumbled, waving her off. “It was a bear. A big bear. And a marked improvement from the rats and flies that Cazador fed me.”

Astarion truly seemed to be in a mood to volunteer information, Áine noticed, her lips pursing slightly at the mention of his old master’s name. “Sounds horrid. And hardly enough to live on.”

“Just enough to keep me alive, for lack of a better word,” Astarion remarked. “No more, no less. Still, that is firmly in the past. I’ll never have to grovel for him again.”

Áine nodded, running her fingers along her braid as she said, “It’s true. You can be better than he ever was.”

“Exactly!” Astarion said. “I can be better than him. Stronger. More powerful. More…” He gauged Áine’s expression and snorted. “...Oh, you meant…be kinder. Pet bunnies, that sort of thing.”

“You needn’t be a saint, but I’m not sure getting power-hungry will get you what you need,” she mused.

“I have no objection to being ‘nice’,” Astarion said. “Once I have the power to bend others to my will. You can’t look at the world and tell me that I’m wrong. The power-hungry run Faerûn.”

“You’re not wrong, but in a better world, the powerful would have a duty to protect those with less standing,” Áine said. “And a better world does sound nice.”

“We’ve already discussed how absent the ‘powerful’ were in my imprisonment,” he gritted. “The mind flayers are the only ones I have to thank for my freedom. They gave me a gift—the strength to take back my own life. I’m embracing this power… And you should, too.”

Áine gave him a skeptical look, even understanding somewhat where he was coming from. “You’ll embrace being a mind flayer then? Once the tadpoles decide to pop?” she asked with doubt evident in her voice.

“Who knows what we may find when we locate the source?” he suggested. “Perhaps there’s a way to keep them dormant. Who could say? Simply consider it.”

“Fine,” Áine said, in part just to get him off her back about the tadpoles. Every so often she saw this villainous side of him and she supposed it came from a place of being afraid to return to his imprisonment. That, she could fully understand. She just didn’t see eye-to-eye with him on where his mind found solutions to that fear.

Her eyes fell on a silver handle sticking out of the pocket of his trousers, the ornate design of the metal a touch familiar. “Is that a mirror?” Áine asked.

Astarion looked a little startled, following her gaze and sighing. “The tadpole hasn’t muted all my vampiric aspects. I already knew that, but I occasionally find myself hoping that its influence will flux and grant me more indulgences,” he admitted.

She frowned. “Do you miss it? Seeing your own face?”

“Petty vanity?” he supplied, giving her a dismal look. “Of course I miss it.” Áine smiled at his choice of words, her smile saddening as he continued to admit in his blood-drunk stupor, “I haven’t even seen this face since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red.”

“What color were they before?” she wondered.

She regretted her question as soon as he was at a loss for an answer. “I…don’t remember,” he said. “My face is just a dark shape in my past. Another thing taken from me.” Astarion looked at Áine, his brows furrowing as he saw the speculative look in her eyes. “...What?”

“I’ll be your mirror,” she said simply. “What do you want to know?”

He was touched. It was an embarrassing sensation to experience, but experience it he did, and with her specifically time and time again. Astarion’s expression was open, almost vulnerable, as he said, “I want to know what the world sees when it looks at me. What you see.”

Áine smiled and tilted her head. He felt naked under her gaze, and not in the sort of way that had come to feel normalized regardless of his feelings and desires. This felt new, disturbingly intimate if intimacy could take any form other than the carnal variety, which he doubted.

“Well,” she said, “the first place my eyes go are your eyes. They’re piercing. And would have always been, I imagine, red or otherwise.”

Astarion fought down a smile, forming it instead into a smirk. “Oh? Go on.”

Áine chuckled, her eyes tracing over his jawline, the sweep of his elven ears. By following her gaze, he could almost put a form back to the faceless shadow in his mind’s eye whenever he tried to picture his own appearance. His own identity. “Then I notice the sweet way your hair curls against your ears,” she said.

“Do we truly need to wax poetic?” he huffed. “Just tell me I’m beautiful and get it over with.” She didn’t compliment with boilerplate material and based on that it was clear she was truly looking when she saw him. He felt like a schoolboy squirming under her gaze.

“And that, er, interesting mole on your cheek draws the eye,” she suddenly said, laughing at him when he cast her a horrified look. “Kidding.”

“Very funny,” he griped, waving her off as he turned around to walk back to his tent.

“Hey, Astarion?”

He gave an exaggerated sigh and turned to look at her over his shoulder. “What?”

Astarion found Áine looking unexpectedly doting when he took her in, her expression warm as she nodded and said, “You are beautiful.”

“I know, darling,” Astarion huffed, making Áine laugh as he proceeded back to his tent and succeeding in obscuring the reaction he had to those words falling from her perfect lips. Like she’d meant them. He’d been called beautiful by thousands of mouths, some well-meaning and some not kind in the slightest. His shell was all he was truly worth. Yet something stirred when Áine said it. It was obvious from their every interaction that she wasn’t immune to his charms but, although he refused to admit it, he wasn’t immune to hers either.

She stayed up that night again to sing for them, once again demanding that everyone go settle into bed before she started. Her tone always felt similar to a mother shooing away her children with the promise of returning with a bedtime story which, to be fair, was part of her joke.

Astarion lay in his tent, still quietly flustered from his interaction with her earlier. His inebriated state had passed and now he was simply fatigued as one might be after a large meal. He listened hard to the silence across the camp until the soft sounds of her lute began to punctuate the air, her voice swirling up to meet them in due time with the lyrics to a ballad. His eyelids fluttered shut as he let her voice wash over him, his stomach simultaneously turning at the sensation of his walls lowering, even for a moment in solitude.

She was perhaps halfway through her song when a rustle in some nearby brush disturbed Astarion’s reverie. His eyes opened and he remained still, listening. He heard the light tap of something’s paws outside in the dirt. Astarion sat up and shifted toward his tent door, parting the fabric to peer out as his body coiled, ready to lunge if needed.

Outside, he saw the owlbear cub they’d first spotted running around the goblin camp, chased around by a couple of the little drunks celebrating on the steps of the ruined temple. It was making its way toward Áine at the fireside, still singing and not noticing the creature.

Astarion was preparing to leap from the shadows of his tent and intervene when Áine sensed the creature behind her and turned around to look. And when she did, Astarion saw that her face was streaked with tears set aglow by the campfire’s light.

“Oh,” she said when she saw the owlbear cub, her fingers stilling on her strings. “Hello.”

The cub stopped, shuffling its paws and giving a meek little hoot. Astarion had frozen on seeing the state of Áine’s eyes, relaxing only slightly when he gathered that the cub wasn’t hunting for prey. At least not yet.

Satisfied with the cub’s timid nature, Astarion’s eyes moved back to the bard’s face, bewildered at the sight of her—he could see the wet trails spanning from the rims of her reddened eyes to the base of her neck, but her voice hadn’t shaken once. Was this normal for her? Was this why she wouldn’t sing in front of anyone? But why was it happening at all?

As he traced back through their earlier conversation, wondering idly if he’d said something that may have upset her, he watched her lean down toward a bowl of meat scraps they’d set aside for Scratch during dinner, pluck up a leftover strip, and toss it to the cub, who gobbled it up the moment it landed with an appreciative grumble.

Something startled it then and the cub scampered away back into the shadows. Áine turned to watch it go, pensive as she wiped her cheek against her shoulder, her tears absorbing into the fabric of her shirt.

In her mind’s eye, she saw a different owlbear cub of decades past, fleeing into the brambles of its nest behind its mother, who ferociously bore down on Áine and several of her fellow trainees, weapons raised to slay the “monster” and prove themselves “ready” to serve.

Áine got lost in the memory for a moment, brought about by the creature and by seeing Minthara again today. She paused to listen to the silent night air surrounding her before she rose to her feet and held her lute by the neck as she made her way to her tent, unaware of the wakeful crimson eyes that traced her every step.

Next chapter: Chapter 10, "What You Want" (NSFW)

30 notes · View notes

jynxeddraca · 3 months ago

Text

My Thoughts on The Emperor's Dream Visitor/Guardian Appearance

I honestly think that until Act 3 of the game, Team Tadpole honestly think they each have their own guardian. I also do not think that The Emperor is picking a specific person to mimic for each companion, but instead an amalgamation of different people they have trusted in the past because he wouldn't trust they would suddenly recognize the face he was wearing. I think they would see as follows:

Astarion: A blend of his mother, the 'darling man' Astarion mentions after almost getting kidnapped by his siblings, and some of his kinder victims

Shadowheart: Either a female drow or a tiefling with features from both Nocturne and Mother Superior.

Lae'zel: Definitely a githyanki, probably with features of Vlaakith and some of the kith'raks she knows and her visitor instead wears githyanki armor and carries a silver sword.

Karlach: Combination of Fytz (the friend in Act 3) and other friends she knew back in Baldur's Gate.

Wyll: Combination of heroes from books he has read or other folk heroes he has worked with.

Gale: Definitely strong influence from Mystra (both from memories and statues because they do not look alike), maybe a bit of his mother, the rest assorted professors from Blackstaff Academy.

For Tav Moonridge Specifically: He knows Tav is most comfortable with other tieflings due to all her childhood trauma of how non-tieflings treated her and those she cared about so he does choose to go with a tiefling form as well. As for appearance, his image is a blend of Tav's father (Iados), Caemorn (a former FWB sort of lover), and Serena (best friend but also ex-girlfriend) and then tweaked the coloring. It lends to a sense to Tav that she knows his face but for the life of her she cannot place how she knows him. He also causes her mind to detect a floral smell similar to the perfume to what her grandmother wore that she does not recognize - but finds soothing.

Interactions With Tav:

He refuses to give her his name, so she eventually calls him 'Stoic' because 'Dream Visitor/Guardian/Person' felt weird to her.

"Stoic" doesn't emote with his tail often or well. Tav doesn't immediately pick up on it because she's focused on a variety of other things, but she does eventually feel that something is 'off' about his body language.

#BG3 #Baldur's Gate 3 #head canons #The Emperor #Dream Visitor #Dream Guardian #Spoilers #major spoilers #I'll add on to interactions with Tav later #But I had thoughts in the shower #and I had to write them down

7 notes · View notes

baldursgatethoughts · 1 year ago

Text

Theory: Why all the origin characters have the pasts they have

The Origin characters and potential party members in this game are generally amazing and so well crafted. One thing that make them stand out from characters of other games is how their narratives are so intrinsically linked to the main story, and that in itself is not only good world building but most likely part of the story itself.

Heavy spoilers for the entire game coming up >>

Do not read unless you have played through the entire game from start to finish and want to know even more than one playthrough would reveal:

All of the original tadpoled characters share a type of background; they've all been manipulated, indoctrinated, groomed and abused.

This is a very likely reason for them specifically being chosen my the Guardian aka the Emperor, since he can read all of their minds and knows their thoughts, feelings and weaknesses.

In the intro scene you can see the Emperor* putting the tadpoles in our eyes on the nautiloid. He is making all the origin characters into "beautiful weapons" (as he says to Shadowheart) to combat the elder brain as part of a plan to regain his freedom, something you can hear the story of in Balduran's song itself:

When three, though dead, assailed his port (the three start their plan) transformed (he is a mindflayer) he fell their thrall, succumbed (he was mind controlled) as threat from nether years arose to conquer all (the absolute came) Now hope is gone, or so it seems, but game's not over yet New cards are drawn, new hands are played, newcomers place a bet A knave, a wizard, devil, gith, the odds are cast anew (the tadpoled ones) And Baldur's fate now turns upon the whims of fortune's few

The Emperor thinks these characters would be especially easy to control and manipulate, as they never been independent and free, at least not for a long time.

Astarion - by Cazador

Gale - by Mystra

Shadowheart - by Shar (through de Vir)

Karlach - Gortash and Zariel

Wyll - Mizora and Zariel

Lae'zel - by Vlaakith

The Dark Urge - by daddy Bhaal

Except for this bringing an additional layer of epic proportions to a game where divine forces are battling for the destiny of souls and power (Bhaal, Myrkul, Bane, Jergal, Selune, Shar, Mystra, Raphael/Zariel, Vlaakith, Orpheus, the Elder Brain to mention the most involved ones, Lliovathar, Magblubiet, Cyric and Silvanus among others also being in the game) which adds so much lore lore, understanding and impact to the main story, this also makes for very interesting character arcs.

You can through the game bring all of the origin characters further into the manipulative machinations of their evil patrons or you can free them from their past abusive cycles.

Astarion - free from his master or make him the new evil master

Gale - have him succumb to the magic power hunger or make him see that there are other values in life than magic power

Shadowheart - make her into the weapon Shar has been forming wants or let her reclaim her lost Selunite past

Karlach - let her give up and die from the results of her abuse or embolden her to fight back to those who have wronged her

Wyll - let him be manipulated or free him to create his own fate

Lae'zel - let her keep being manipulated by a false god that will eat her or let her believe another fate of the githyanki race is possible

The Dark Urge - embrace murder in the name of your controlling dad or free yourself from your ungodly father

There are many more nuances to those quest lines of course and other options like killing everyone, betraying them and so on, but these are some of the main dichotomies when it comes to playing out the relationship between the tadpoled origin characters and their abusive gods and masters.

BALDUR'S GATE 3 - NO GODS NO MASTERS Or obedience, abuse, murder and power? ;)

You decide!

* aka Balduran, who navigates the prism heist nautiloid for Gortash, an idea the elder brain puts in his head in a dream as part of its grand design to become free again, after giving them the idea to steal the crown of Karsus and control it in the first place, and mr Balduran Guardian Emperor doesn't realize he is being used as a pawn in the elder brain's grand game. Boi this game is so full of twists and turns and lore!

#baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate iii #larian #baldurs gate #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #spoilers #fan theory

25 notes · View notes

kirwond · 1 year ago

Text

Fate Spins Along As It Should

A playlist for Baldur's Gate 3, following characters and events for the game.

Notes from the game, cover art from BG3 concept art.

Listen at Spotify.

Even more playlists here.

Tracklist and notes below the cut.

Help I'm Alive - Metric

Narrator: As you wake, the tadpole squirms in your skull.

Army Of Me - Bjork

Lae'zel: Who am I? Your only chance of survival. Now move. You are wasting time.

The Wolf - PHILDEL

Shadowheart: Most people fear the dark, like children, because in darkness they see their fears reflected. But Shar teaches us to step beyond fear. Beyond loss. In darkness we do not hide - we act.

Icarus - Bastille

Gale: "What if," I thought, "What if after all this time, I could return this lost part of herself to the goddess?" You know me. My gestures can never be grand enough.

The Devil Is A Gentleman - Merci Raines

Astarion: On my honour, the only thing on my mind is depraved, carnal lust.

Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This) - Emily Browning

Dream Guardian: There is great potential in you. It comes from that parasite. Your instinct is to resist the power it gives, but you must accept it, nurture it. I will keep it from consuming you. But for the sake of both of us, you must learn to wield it.

I Am The Fire - Halestorm

Karlach: Avernus was never my home. It was my prison. I'm free now. AND I'M NEVER. GOING. BACK.

Woke Up A Rebel - Reuben and The Dark

Wyll: Gods damn her straight back to the Hells. Just look at me. I did what was right. And Mizora made me pay for it.

The Curse - Agnes Obel

Halsin: There is a terrible curse surrounding Moonrise Towers, a shadow curse that drains away all light and life. That place is where the cultists send their captives, to be infected. Innocents go in, True Souls come out.

Don't Fear The Reaper - Blue Oyster Cult

Gale: The truth is, I was living on borrowed time already. Consuming those items would only have kept the orb sated for so long. If anything, I feel more at peace than I have in months. At least I know my death will have purpose. It won't be a distant bang in the footnotes of history.

Queer - Garbage

Astarion: He had me go out into Baldur's Gate to fetch him the most beautiful souls I could find. It was a fun little ritual of his - I'd bring them back and he'd ask if I wanted to dine with him. And if I said yes, he'd serve me a dead, putrid rat. Of course if I said no, he'd have me flayed. Hard to say which was worse.

Wrong Side Of Heaven - Five Finger Death Punch

Lae'zel: Vlaakith! I have wielded your fury as a blade, roared your wrath as a dragon! You promised ascension, yet I crawl among my own people, low as an asp's belly. I followed your path. What good, this heart of stone, for it to be shattered?

Bad Moon Rising - Satin Puppets/Nxghtshade

Jaheira: I have every reason to be cautious. I've traced people like you, people with parasites in their brains, all the way here from Baldur's Gate. We tracked them to this ancient village only to be faced with a man we killed and buried over a century ago.

Goodbye - Ramsey

Karlach: Listen. You heard Dammon. There is no solution. It's Hell or bust. I choose bust.

Wicked Game - Boyce Avenue

Astarion: Look. I had a plan. A nice, simple plan. Seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you'd never turn on me. It was easy - instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do was not fall for you. Which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart.

Losing My Religion - BELLSAINT

Shadowheart: I... I can't believe I just did that. Lady Shar will disown me.

Battlefield - SVRCINA

Dame Aylin: Our Lady of Silver. Hear me! She Who Guides, the Moonmaiden Selune, mother of the so-called Nightsong. THE NIGHTSONG IS NO MORE!

O Death - Bobby Bass/Lauren Paley/Colm R. McGuiness

Ketheric Thorm: Join the army of the dead, True Soul. Witness Lord Myrkul's glory!

In The Wind - Lord Huron

Halsin: Oliver is helping Thaniel to recover. They both lie dormant, like trees awaiting spring. I would like to return here someday - see Thaniel and Oliver again, in my meditations, or perhaps in person, if the Oak Father wills it. I hope he does.

Flesh And Bone - Black Math

Wyll: He returned to an unsuspecting city and a wayward son with a smirking devil at his side. I tried to tell him the truth, but my mouth couldn't form the words. I led him to the battlefield, but Mizora had swept it clean. I showed him my stone eye, but he only turned away. After, he said only one word. "Go."

Nothing Is As It Seems - Hidden Citizens/Ruelle

The Emperor: Before you do anything, I am your ally.

Red Right Hand - Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds

Duke Ravenguard: Enver Gortash. The Council appoints you Archduke of Baldur's Gate.

I Will Not Bow - Breaking Benjamin

Lae'zel: Forsake one protocol and forsake Vlaakith. Forsate Vlaakith, and be the blood and meat which sates her dragons. If Voss speaks true, if ascension is a lie, if tadpole purification is a fairy tale, then I have not sinned against Vlaakith. She has sinned against me.

Broken Mirror - Trees of Eternity

Astarion: Back at the ritual, all I could see was the power on offer and the safety it promised. I was so blinded by it. Just as Cazador was. You saved me from myself and let me walk a new path where I can be free. Truly, honestly free.

Three - Sleeping At Last

Gale: I've work ahead of me before I'll feel myself truly redeemed of the damage I caused. But I intend to try.

Mind Games - Sickick

The Emperor: I studied you. Your motivations, your actions, your desires. I deduced the best way to align your goals with my own. I anticipated the challenge, and I anticipated your resistance. What I didn't anticipate was how much I would enjoy your company. Your mind.

Hamsters - King Missile

Minsc: I have no idea what any of that was about. But we shall simply - GAH! Boo, why do you gnaw at my soft parts? I am trying to... *urgent squeaking* Once again? In smaller words? *SQUEAK!* I see.

Soldier - Fleurie

Jaheira: You twine your life around the people you love. And when they are gone, you grow around their absence instead. Which is my sage way of saying I am in no danger of forgetting how my husband died. But I choose to remember how he lived.

I Come With Knives - IAMX

Orin: Did it think it could protect? Did it think it could save? Only the blades can offer salvation.

Never Look Away - Vienna Teng

Shadowheart: She's as much a part of who I am as Jenevelle. I can't just forget her, that's not what I do anymore. Besides, Shadowheart still suits me - even better than before, perhaps. You can't cast a shadow without some light.

Heroes - Mans Zelmerlow

Wyll: When I left the city, my father saw only a boy carrying the stench of the Hells. Now, he sees the man I made of myself.

Raphael's Final Act - Boris Slavov

Raphael: It is said that hope is a fine breakfast, but a poor supper. Well, the shadows grow long, and the hour is late. It's suppertime.

King Nothing - Metallica

Gortash: I'm not here for games. Hand me the stones, or face the black hand of Lord Bane.

Legends Never Die - Against The Current

Karlach: I'm dying. My heart feels like a live grenade - gonna blow any minute. If this is the end for me, let me be the motherfucker who saved the world.

Seven Devils - Florence + The Machine

Narrator: You feel it - a sudden shift. The brain is weakening, its grasp of self slipping. This is your chance.

First Light - Hozier

Astarion: I can't say what the future holds for us, but I know we'll be facing it together. And we're going to have a lot of fun.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x tav #lae'zel #shadowheart #gale #karlach #wyll #halsin #jaheira #minsc and boo #tentacle shenanigans #fanmix #playlist

16 notes · View notes

darlinghowl · 3 months ago

Text

evolution of my second tav who eventually wound up being val’ghast’s brother: taz’myril, romancer of karlach and wyll

started out as a potential love interest dream guardian for val’ghast (bc of the dream guardian being ‘your hearts desire’ or whatever in EA) but the idea never stuck and i liked the design but not the concept. but i knew i wanted an important figure in her life

then i decided no actually. i think i would prefer her have a brother given her background. so i created him as her twin but he didn’t feel Right. then i put down the game for several several several months

and then when i went to make him again this time i fleshed out more of a backstory for him. so here’s his final form (he’s a dream guardian here bc i made him her dream guardian and her his. i’m ignoring the advances of the emperor and the whole like. ‘desire’ element of it in terms of attraction for the idea that what her heart actually desires most is to find her brother who she lost on the day she was abducted by the mind flayers):

and here’s my princess :3

they’re both half-drow and multiclassed with bard. i had this idea that they’re kind of like whatever the faerun equivalent of a punk duo is, which makes it all the funnier that val’ghast is romancing gale of all people

#bg3 #just me talking abt my ocs

3 notes · View notes

nemo-of-house-hamartia · 5 months ago

Text

omg ok, now that I am done with Act 2 again, I need to take a break.

Same point as my previous playthrough, as well.

I think that Act 2 is so emotional and filled with stuff to do that the idea of starting Act 3 right away is just DAUNTING.

But because I cannot stay away from the game for so long (and because I felt a bit nostalgic tbh), I just went back to the Tav Character Creator and made Mathias, Antoine and Dorothea.

BEHOLD.

LOOK AT THEM. MY DARLING BRAINCHILDREN, FOREVER TOGETHER IN EVERY SINGLE UNIVERSE THEY WERE EVER TO EXPLORE.

My dearest Mathias De Beumont, a Mephistopheles Tiefling, ever virtuous, a Paladin devoted to Selûne and hailing from old town Elturel, and my darling Dorothea Morgenstern, Half-High Elf Cleric of Laethander and a member of the "Seekers of the Dawn", who consacrated her life to protect her homeland, Neverwinter, but has quite the knack to find herself in trouble more often than not.

I like to imagine that they met on the way to Myth Drannor, with Dorothea tasked with a mission to search for artifacts that belonged to Lathander to bring back to Neverwinter and Mathias looking for means to reinstitue the defunct Order of the Guardians of Light. And then, together, they enbarked in a journey to bring a sacred relic back to Neverwinter and OF COURSE, they would fall for one another on the journey back home.

(blame me listening to this version of "For The Dancing and the Dreaming", dear Gods, this song is so Mottie coded it's not even funny)

youtube

GAH, NOW I NEED A VERSION OF THE GAME WHERE I CAN HAVE MY TWO BRAINCHILDREN FALL IN LOVE ALL OVER AGAIN. FML.

Honestly, Mathias and Gale would get along so well. SO WELL.

And Dorothea would just adore Karlach, and engage in as many bitching duels with Shadowheart as possible.

#Nemo babbles #BG3 #BG3 TAV #Dorothea Morgenstern #Mathias De Beaumont #do not mind me #I am just babbling about my darling brainchildren #also I couldn't pass the chance to reconnect Mathias' apperance to his Gargoyle one #gods it has been AGES since I drew him like that

4 notes · View notes

spainkitty · 1 year ago

Note

I'm so embarrassed! I thought I had replied to your last ask and I didn't😳 I'm sorry!🙈

I hope you're feeling better. I remember recommending you cloud gaming for BG3 so I wonder if you gave that ago and if you did, if it works for you👀

I'm deep in BG3 brainrot🙈😅 I'm in my 4th pt right now lol. I have a stand-by pt of my monk tav in act 3 cause the kiss animation with Astarion with a tav with body type 1 (the smollest one lol) is broken since patch 4. And yes, I'm becoming the kind of person who romances Astarion with every single tav I make😂

I'm curious to see your tavs so please show me whenever you can👀

Here are mine in chronological order of my pts:

Iriel - seldarine drow sorcerer

(the 2nd pt I did was Astarion's origin so no tav)

Ceres - half-elf monk (on stand-by until Larian fixes the kiss animation with Astarion in act 3 lol)

Nephalem - high-elf necromancer (current pt)

And yes, they're all head over heels in love with Astarion🙈😍

I really hope you've got the chance to play BG3 further! If you have, please tell me about your tav(s) and what you think if the game so far👀

I... can't even remember what I sent you, but I gather it was about BG3 LOL I'm feeling much better. I haven't tried your cloud idea yet. I wanted to finish my Adaar run and I replayed DAO instead. Mainly because my friend said during our little Christmas break (we have 4ish days off for it and we're coworkers) he's getting it on his Xbox and I'm gonna go play it with him! Which means when the spiders come I can hide 🤣🤣 I DID make three "Tavs" before I gave up (and I'll be remaking one for the Xbox marathon).

All your Tavs (pts?? pcs??) look SO cool! I wasn't super pleased with how limited the faces were, but you did a great job making each unique. Silly Larian, fix the bug so Ceres can have a kiss! KISS KISS KISS! Oh, also, how is it playing a monk?? I had a tabaxi (cat person) monk in a campaign and she was so fun to rp, does it work out well in bg3?? I think Iriel's design in my favorite, though. I looove that half-buzz cut. Nephalem looks very suave and cool, too 😎

As for my girls, I'll show the few pics I got.

This is Karik, my Moon Circle Wildshaping half-elf Druid! And her dream guardian. I made her look like my current campaign's Tepin Pallis Cuautl Lozano, another Moon Circle Druid Wildshaper 🤭🤭🤭 I wanna romance Lae'zel, but I never met Wyll or Karlach, so... we'll see.

Then, there's Andry Cousland, my og Warden, Warrior-Archer human. I just wanted to see what she'd look like in BG3. Not bad🤔

Lastly, the one I'm going to remake for the Xbox and I'm super excited for it! I'm probably going to romance Gale, maybe... Anyway, meet:

Agnes, half-elf drow, Trickster Cleric of Tymora

(you can see where the computer started losing itself and her hair looks weird and pixel-y, but still cute 💖)

#sillylit #sillyliterature #kitty babbles #about bg3 #i cant wait to play Agnes 😭#long post #oh damn can you tell i like freckles theyre so cute😭😭😭

5 notes · View notes

synergysilhouette · 6 months ago

Text

My "Baldur's Gate 3" MC

Just thought I'd start doing MCs after I posted mine about my Hogwarts Legacy MC--though here there are certain details that depend on the route my character is on.

Name: Caspian Sunrest

Age: Mid 20s to early 30s

Gender/Sexual Identity: Bisexual-biromantic (male-leaning) cisgender male

Race: Human

Class: Sorcerer (Draconic Bloodline)

Face: Head 2; No lines

Body: Body type 4's build with body type 2's height--plus he's much more caked up--and NO body hair

Voice: Voice 1 (I think that's the one; I can't recall who plays that voice)

Skintone: Cool Tone 12

Hair: Black neutral (partial eclipse hairstyle), no highlights

Eyes: Teal

Alignment/Personality: Lawful Neutral or Neutral Good (Haven't really decided). Usually just knocks out his enemies, but major opponents he does kill, even if he is mixed about it.

(Note: Probably lawful neutral or true neutral in route 3.)

Default Outfit: Potent Robe variant, albeit with tighter sleeves (seen here) and an emerald color; also wears Dragonborn underwear

Dream Guardian: Drow

Route-related Details

Route 1

Background: Noble; raised in the upper echelons of society with four older siblings, he has never lacked for anything, though despite his education, he's lived a sheltered life and can be quite naive. Caspian is averse to killing, often trying to knock opponents out, but will kill when the need calls for it. He often tries the diplomatic approach and sympathizes with others, but thankfully he has an instinct for detecting danger that levels out his naivete.

Love interest: Wyll (human; assume this is in the pre-patch world where we can kill Karlach, resurrect her, and Wyll still gets rewarded. He also wears the Infernal Robe as his default look). Caspian views Wyll as his fairy tale prince, and their shared time dancing, talking, and romantic outings only strengthen his dreams.

Epilogue: Doing the "Blade of Frontiers" route, it's noted that Wyll takes his love's feelings into account and says that someday he would become Grand Duke, but for now the duo are protecting the coast. Along with Lily (taking her from Wyll's GD route), the couple have two more children named Arcturus and Narcissa (biological; not sure how I'd explain it, whether magic or mpreg, but take your pic).

(Note: any route where Caspian doesn't romance Wyll means Wyll is romanced by Karlach. Personal headcanon.)

Route 2

Background: Acolyte, raised as a follower of Bahamut and Lathander, he is a gentle soul that tries to knock out his enemies, but when he cannot, he strives to defeat them as quickly as possible so as to not prolong their suffering.

Love interest: Gale (human; Caspian talked him out of becoming a god, though he makes sure Gale feels like one every day; also wears a purple version of the airy wizard robes from BFOE and he's got no body hair out of personal preference, though the ebard can stay). Caspian's father discourages his romance with Gale when it is made clear that he is currently out of Mystra's favor and does not want to anger a goddess when it's clear that Gale has great ambition, but Caspian falls very quickly for him and seeks to mollify him without Gale ascending to godhood.

Epilogue: Having convinced Gale not to blow himself up, to be humble and return the crown to Mystra, Caspian married him and moved to Waterdeep together with Tara. While Gale becomes a professor at Blackstaff, Caspian continues his duties as an acolyte, renewing himself with divine spirit. While he convinced Gale not to go the route of godhood, Caspian makes sure to make him feel like one every day. There's only one little obstacle in their relationship: while Gale never saw himself as father material, Caspian always wanted a family.

(Note: if they did have a biological family that wasn't the result of magic or mpreg, Caspian would ask Aylin or Isobel to be the surrogate. How they respond is up to the imagination.)

Route 3 (Note: kinda thinking of remaking this because I love the "innocent cinnamon roll falls in love with the mature seducer" trope)

Background: Noble; raised essentially as a mean's to an end, his parents had a love for him that was improperly shown. As he grew to be intelligent, and handsome, he was raised to use such attirbutes for political advantage. However, despite the rather cruel lessons he was taught (a result of "unorthodox" parenting, as he called it), he still had compassion for others, but wasn't a bleeding heart. He knew to smile and make one feel welcome, for it was better to have more enemies and less friends.

Love interest: Astarion (wears the death mage variant from the BFOE); seen as the "good version" of the vampire, Caspian had an elegance and wit akin to the vampire, but wasn't quite as pessimistic. Unbeknownst to either of them, Astarion originally was tasked with seducing Caspian and bringing him to Cazador, but circumstances prevented the transaction from happening. When finally forming a team, Astarion initiates a physical relationship, but is surprised how quickly Caspian's walls came down. He finds that Caspian, despite his own share of trauma, hasn't lost his light, and Astarion becomes rather protective of him as a result, wanting him to have the happiness that Astarion had taken from him. However, this didn't always come out the best way, with Astarion bemoaning Caspian's sympathetic moments and frustrated when Caspian seduces others (recalling his own past), but while they fight, they've always come back together, especially in the end. When Astarion tells Caspian that he loves him, their relationship becomes the most stable it had ever been. (And just to note: I'm going the monogamous route here, so let's imagine Astarion is easily jealous and possessive.)

Epilogue: Having convinced him not to go through with the rite, Caspian and Astarion lead the spawn to the Underdark where they spend their time. Caspian proposed to Astarion, who pretended to need convincing, until happily accepting and they married in the dark at Baldur's Gate so their friends wouldn't have to go through the hassle of traveling to the Underdark. Of course, Caspian's dreams of starting a family may be a bit too early for his newly-freed vampire husband.

Route 4

Background: Entertainer; an orphan after his parents were murdered, Caspian lived his life making music, performing at circuses, and trying to use his dragon ancestry as a means to get himself a job. Many rumors have circulated that he has some siren ancestry due to how mesmerizing his voice is, and it's been noted that in times of great stress, blues scales barely appear over his face. (Note: wears the Songstress Shar outfit when performing after obtaining it.)

Love interest: Halsin (usually wears Armor of the Sporekeeper, Unwanted Masterwork Scalemail, or Yuan-Ti Scale Mail). Caspian is immediately drawn to Halsin's protectiveness and wisdom, and is surprised to find out he had was not averse to romantic and sexual attraction. They often stayed up each night talking about life and beguiling each other with stories about themselves of stories that they'd read. Sometimes Halsin would tell him stories until he fell asleep, or Caspian would play a song to help Halsin sleep.

Epilogue: The two don't go their separate ways and Caspian joins Halsin in rebuilding the shadow-cursed lands. Caspian adores having so many children to look after, as well as using his skills to entertain them (and Halsin). He treats Thaniel like the brother he always wanted, and often pulls Halsin aside to tell him that he couldn't be happier.

As usual with my posts, I may edit this later! Especially my name. Lemme know if you have any questions.

Update: started playing as a drow, so I may add him to this. Just know he stole Karlach's outfit, but it looks newer, with a sleek black look rather than being faded or dirty.

#baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #tav #bg3 #bg3 tav #wyll #wyll ravengard #halsin #astarion #gale #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios

3 notes · View notes

absurdist-void · 6 months ago

Text

One of the inconsistencies about BG3 that bothers me is that blowing up the brain with Gale in Act 2 is a game over where all the tadpoled people get turned into mind flayers, but if you blow up the brain in Act 3, it fixes everything.

I’m still scratching my head when it comes to how everyone got their tadpoles and how they all ended up in the nautiloid. Did the Emperor or the Sharran strike team get the artifact first? Did the Emperor pick Shadowheart up when she got the artifact and then decided to enter it? Did he put the artifact in her pod and then enter it to hide himself? All we know is that Viconia sent a team to get the artifact and somehow Shadowheart held the artifact while she was infected. At the same time, Gortash/the brain sent teams of mind flayers out to find the artifact. Somehow, the Emperor’s team found it first, the brain let the Emperor free from its control, and he went into the artifact to hide thinking that Orpheus’ power released him.

I feel like the rewrite of Daisy to the dream guardian/Emperor really messed up the continuity of the beginning of the game.

#bg3

4 notes · View notes

i-was-bored-so-this-happened · 9 months ago

Text

Greensleeves Chapter Eleven: Burning Pile

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Wordcount: 5k Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence

The party infiltrate and investigate the goblin camp in search of the druid Halsin

Read on AO3 Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It transpires that everyone has had the same dream. Every one of them. The apparitions had differed - two tieflings, a drow, a gith, an orc. Uncharacteristically, Gale won’t tell them what his looked like. They all said the same thing, the visitor guardian chraith. In a circle around their doused fire, they share the message brought to them all. Protection. In exchange for allowing the worm to take. That’s the interpretation most of them have arrived at, Lae’zel spitting and swearing. She’s never heard of these side-effects of ceremorphosis, and Gale’s limited but precise research hadn’t found anything on this either.

“What sort of power could it give us?” Astarion keeps asking, seemingly unafraid of the githyanki’s fury at the proposition.

“And at what cost?” Xaph asks. The dog they’d encountered the other day has found his way to their camp and has wedged himself between the ranger and the cleric and the former is slowly stroking him to keep him calm, working warm water through his fur to rid it of blood. He’s envied for his lack of last night’s dream.

“I’ll be the first to admit that the tadpole has already weakened us,” Wyll says, “We started from the nautiloid as though from scratch,” the dog’s ears perk at the sound of his name, “No matter how powerful or accomplished any of us were before.”

“These gifts could be a way to regain some of that power,” Gale posits, “But it’s not something to be taken lightly.”

“It is not something to be taken at all. Not considered, or thought about or can,” Lae’zel’s nose twitches as she tries to place the word, “con-tam…”

“Contemplated.” Wyll supplies.

“Yes. Contemplated.” Lae’zel nods her gratitude. None of them have ever heard her say the words thank you but they recognise this movement as appreciation now. Eyes turn to Shadowheart. She hasn’t said anything. She holds her strange artefact in her hands, turning it over and over. No new runes present themselves. She finds no previously unnoticed hinge. It just sits there.

“Whatever that toy of yours is, I’m glad it's on our side.” Astarion says.

“Will you tell us what it is now?” Xaph asks, a far gentler bite than the vampire’s.

“I don’t know…not exactly. All I know is that it’s important I get it back to Baldur’s Gate. At any cost.

“Why Baldur’s Gate?”

“There’s a Sharran cloister there. My home.” Shadowheart sighs. Her eyes scan the group, then return to the artefact. She has deemed them worthy of information. For now. “A group of us were sent to retrieve the artefact. Now I’m the only one left. I can’t afford to fail. I also can’t tell you more than that. This mission required utmost secrecy. We were all submitted to having our memories suppressed so that we wouldn’t betray Shar’s confidence. If I reach my contact in the city, I will have my memories restored. Until then, I have to guard the artefact with my life” she scans again, waiting for someone to respond, “You have the truth. For what it’s worth.”

“You know, Shar and Mystra don’t exactly-”

“Thank you,” Xaph cuts across Gale’s words and leans to the side to bump Shadowheart’s shoulder with her own, “For trusting us.” It’s another part in the puzzle of Shadowheart. She doesn’t tell them about herself just because she worships Shar, but because she literally can’t remember. Xaph can live with that, even if some of their allies can’t.

For it only being noon, the goblins are deep in their cups. Gale’s trying to restrain his reaction to the smell of the place, but those with more sensitive noses are far less fortunate. The place stinks of various bodily fluids and roasting flesh. Not that of a chicken, or a pig, or even a rothe.

“Dwarf.” Xaph’s not sure who says it, but no one argues with the assessment. The party hang back for several long moments, expecting…some sort of reaction to their appearance, but there’s none. The goblins are too drunk, or trusting that since they passed the gate they’re supposed to be here. A trader approaches them with the promise of exquisite goods picked from the rubble of their last raid. Wyll convinces him to give up a little more information and comes away from the interaction with the knowledge that a nearby settlement has gone up in flames and a pair of gloves he hands to Xaph. Archer’s gloves.

“He saw you had one of their quivers,” Wyll tells her, gesturing at the cone of arrows that sits by her hip. She’d taken off a goblin body she’d found that first day off the nautiloid, “Offered me a discount. In the name of the Absolute.” He grimaces at the sound of the god’s name, but he knows an advantage when he sees one. Xaph takes the gloves and slide them on. There’s one for each of her hands, which isn’t always the case. The shooting glove encases her three middle fingers, leaving her thumb and pinky uncovered, and the other covers her index and thumb but cut off before her fingertips. They’re a little loose when she pulls them on, but then magic tugs them snug. Magic. She’ll have to ask Gale about it later. When she looks up to thank Wyll she finds their group is split. Wyll and Lae’zel stand either side of her, but Astarion has drifted over to the other side of the courtyard and the other two have followed him.

“What-”

“Don’t look at him,” Lae’zel orders, “He has a plan.”

“Okay.” Xaph nods, turning on her heels. A flash of blue passes her eyeline, but she fixes on something past the bard trying to come up with rhymes against goblin jeers. She hears Wyll tell them that it’s Volo, the bard that had been staying at the druid grove. Lae’zel says something in reply, Xaph’s not listening. She approaches the goblin her gaze is fixed on. A ball of feathers is at her side. An owlbear cub. Frightened. Trembling.

“Well now…you look like a tough ‘un,” the goblin announces, giving Xaph an appraising look, “But have you got smarts? Skills? Guts?”

“I can handle myself just fine.” Xaph replies. The owlbear coos, and Xaph’s suspicions are proved right. He recognises her smell. This is the cub of the mother they’d met in the Selunite cave.

“You’re gonna need all that and more. This ain’t your standard dungeon-delve, right? This…” she holds her arms out with the energy of a circus ringmaster, “Is chicken-chasing.”

“Chicken-chasing.” Xaph repeats, her mouth downturned. Caution, Xaphania, a voice not unlike her grandfather’s impresses on her, caution.

“Only the greatest game since eggs sprouted legs, mate. You’ve gotta chase the chicken round the course and through the posts, but that ain’t all. Gotta do it quick, unarmed, and alone. Any of your mates step in, you lose. Time runs out, you lose. You cheat, you lose,” she looks Xaph up and down again, “Better contenders than you have been bested by the bird.”

“That’s not a chicken. Or any kind of bird. That’s an owlbear.”

“Got feathers, ain’t it? Or are you chicken?” the goblin leers.

“Xaph?” Wyll’s at her shoulder, he’s seen the nervous swish of her tail. He’s further confused when she passes him her unstrung bow and both of her quivers.

“So you do fancy yourself. Care to pin that down with some coin?”

“What are you-” the owlbear squeaks, “Oh. Right.” Xaph drops some coin into the waiting goblin’s hand.

“We’ve got the coin, we’ve got the challenger, and now we need a crowd.”

***

“What was that?” Shadowheart asks. Xaph still isn’t sure. She had chased the owlbear cub to get close to it, to give it her scent, and then she’d turned back to the goblin. She’d felt…powerful. Undeniably powerful. Authoritative. When she’d told the goblin to hand the cub over the goblin had stuttered and stammered and curtsied with panicked gasps of a True Soul! True Soul, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Anything you want. It had been a rush. A disgusting rush, that left her dizzy and the tadpole turning in rapid circles, but a rush all the same.

“I don’t know.” She rubs at her brow bone, at the twisting pain there. The cub had bounded away with happy shrieks and Xaph holds hope that he’ll either find a good cave or their camp.

“These tadpoles…we can use them to…influence others?” Astarion asks, sliding cold fingers down Xaph’s arm. Several voices warn him against considering the idea, and Xaph shakes him off before his fingers can slip into her pocket. He has a habit of pocketing his allies' less valuable possessions. Just to borrow them, of course. Like the vial of wyvern poison Nettie had forced upon her. The vial of poison he’d tipped into the bathtub of homemade booze the goblins had been drinking from all day. Gale and Shadowheart had gotten them into the decrepit temple before any of them could be accused of poisoning the entire camp. They’d had a peaceful week, but over the last day, things have been unravelling. They have to catch the loose threads before their mission falls apart entirely.

The smell is worse inside, in containment, though Astarion comments almost wistfully on the chaos of it all. The inner sanctum of the temple has a three-stories-high ceiling and though the walls are crumbling and sections of the floor are replaced by wooden planks and rope ladders take the place of stairs, statues of Selune with her blocky fringe and soft arms that Shadowheart only looks at for a reason to frown dot the remnants of the walls. A disconcerting display of bones, tusks and skin forms what can only be described as a pulpit in the centre of the room. An unusually large elk skull is fixed at the top of the structure, the antlers reaching out at least five feet across. The smell of burning flesh still lingers here. It’s fresher. Charred. Goblins are loosely gathered around the perimeter, their attention entirely focused on another goblin that stands by a brazier full of crackling coals. Feathers fan out from her pauldrons and a bony headdress arcs over her head. Booyahg? She holds no staff, no arcane focus. A goblin kneels in front of her and she pulls a thin metal rod with a flat shape on the end out of the brazier. A brand. But then, she puts it back. The poor person who had been about to accept the burn looks up at her, confused, priestess, they say, but her eye is elsewhere.

“Now here’s someone special,” oh hells, she’s looking at them, beckoning them forward. She holds a hand up to Xaph as she approaches, “The Absolute has touched you, hasn’t She?” she’s taking out the brand again and the other goblins are complaining that hellspawn and grub-gith will be getting the Absolute’s blessing before them, “Priestess Gut needs to touch you too. Hold out your arm so I can mark your flesh.” Her tone crawls unpleasantly under Xaph’s skin, and she makes no move to get closer to the goblin priestess.

“I’m not letting you burn me for life on a whim.” Xaph says firmly, keeping her arms folded tight to her chest. Scratch plants his backside between Xaph’s feet. The priestess tilts her head to the side,

“Maybe you don’t need it. After all, you’re special ain’t you? Like me.” Like me? She’s a True Soul, which means-

Not slinking into a shared connection initiated by Astarion, not the gentle overlaying of Gale’s train of thought on her own, not even Shadowheart’s quick spikes of confusion when their worms yearn for communication. With forceful probing, Priestess Gut pries Xaph’s thoughts open and pushes images onto her. A vision of the goblin herself standing in front of a man. His face is obscured, his whole being in shadow, but Xaph knows him. He is one of the Absolute’s Chosen, shown to the party only the day before. Xaph manages to wrangle the tadpole and pushes it quite literally to the back of her mind, severing the connection between her and the goblin.

“Don’t wanna get intimate,” the word would make Xaph shiver in disgust if she wasn’t holding herself oh-so-still, “in front of the novices? Fair enough. Got some weird shadows in your ‘ead though. Maybe I can help with that. Us True Souls got to look out for one another.”

“And can you get rid of the shadows?” She asks hesitatingly. For such an incurable infection, treatments have been crawling out of the woodwork left and right.

“With the Absolute’s will, I can fix anything,” the priestess looks around the room, “Let’s deal with this in my chapel. It’s private. Don’t want this lot interfering with True Soul business.”

“Of course.” Xaph nods, trying to look gracious. This is a ringleader, someone chosen by a Chosen. She must hold valuable information for the other goblins to flock to her as though she’s a prophet of Maglubiyet. From the way she talks, it’s as if she has a direct line to the Absolute. The party’s conversation with her and her announcing that they are True Souls, gives them free rein to walk around the temple. When asked questions, the goblins answer without hesitation. Some of them bow, which pleases half of the party but makes the other half deeply uncomfortable.

“Shadowheart, Astarion, take the dog and find somewhere we can hunker down when we need a rest,” Wyll proposes, “We should find out where they’re keeping the druid. And the bard. And…if they have any other prisoners.”

The group splits in two, Shadowheart and Astarion peeling off to the left and the other four going to the right. Xaph, Lae’zel, Wyll and Gale are almost immediately sidetracked and split further. Wyll and Gale baulk at screams coming from the end of the corridor and instead gravitate towards the sound of Volo’s voice. Xaph and Lae’zel find a crude torture chamber in the direction of the screaming, complete with a rack. A young man is shackled to the rack, his limbs stretched almost-but-not-quite to popping point. Two goblins are prodding at him. One is winding up with a thick club, preparing to smash his kneecaps, and the other is turning various pieces of bent metal in a fire.

“Humans are so…soft. So fragile.” Lae’zel says.

“Their bodies, maybe, but on the whole they’re strong-minded.” Xaph tells her. The tiefling and the githyanki are mirroring each other with their arms folded and their feet spaced shoulder-width apart. The goblin with the club pauses just before his club can connect with the prisoner’s knee and turns to his new-found audience.

“‘Ere to see your friend, are you? Come an’ join ‘im, if you like.”

“Say we’ll take over,” Lae’zel mutters, “His work is sloppy, he’ll kill the prisoner too quickly,” Xaph clears her throat, “What? Quick torture is not effective torture.” When Xaph looks at the goblin, she feels that strange rush again. Cool and calm up the nape of her neck, greeted by excited corkscrew movements of the tadpole. She’s in control. She is a so-called True Soul. He will listen to her.

“Leave. Both of you.” It’s an order. They comply with vague complaints about drow. Xaph ignores the irritated noise Lae’zel makes when she moves forward and cranks the lever of the rack in the opposite direction so the man’s arms and legs bend again.

“Please. Please let me out-” his words are hardly intelligible.

“Shhh,” Xaph clucks before turning to Lae’zel and asking for a lockpick. The githyanki hands her one without comment and Xaph starts to work on the locks holding his limbs in place, “It’s okay. What’s your name?”

“L-Liam.”

“You came from the grove, with Aradin?” Xaph asks. Liam nods, his head hitting the rack, “With Halsin? Where’s Halsin?”

“I…I don’t know. He changed into a bear, but I lost sight of him.” Liam tells her. When his wrists are free he’s unable to stop himself from falling forwards, and Xaph catches his weight over her shoulder and gets Lae’zel to free his feet. Xaph sits the man down by the rack and presses a red bottle into his hands. A health potion.

“Drink this,” rummaging further in her bag, she collects more potions and some food and ties it all together in a pouch to give him, “Did they break anything? Can you run?”

“I…I think so. I think I can run.”

“You need to go. Find somewhere safe to hide outside before they realise you’re gone.”

“I need to get to the grove. I need to warn them.”

“Warn them?”

“The drow…she’s putting together a raid. They’re gonna raze the place.” He lets Xaph lift his arms to put a tunic on him, but her hands are shaking. The tieflings. Refugees. Children. The druids too, she supposes. They have no backbone but that’s no reason to condemn them to death. If the goblins find the grove they’re done for, fish in a barrel, and if the druids force the tieflings out…

“You didn’t tell them?” Xaph asks, having to swallow. Her throat is dry.

“No.” He answers. Xaph cups his face in her hands, watching the health potion lighten his bruises.

“Thank you. Now go. We’ll find Halsin and stop the drow. Go.” She helps Liam up, and he makes for the wall that has fallen in and left a tight tunnel that must lead outside. Xaph stays crouched for a moment, letting herself breathe. Everything keeps getting worse.

“Come on, istik. We must keep moving.” Lae’zel says, her voice as harsh as ever. It’s what Xaph needs to bring her back to her feet.

“Not a word about my soft heart.” She says to Lae’zel as they leave the room. Lae’zel says nothing until they find Wyll and Gale again. They trade information. Volo has been released, an invisibility potion aiding his escape after Gale had convinced his goblin owner to let him take the bard for a walk. They must move quickly. But where is the druid?

***

The worg pens, someone says. If he’s in wildshape, the worg pens. They’ll want to dehumanise him. Put him in a cage. They don’t ask for directions, lest they bring attention to themselves poking their noses where they don’t belong. The worgs are kept in a particularly dilapidated part of the temple. The floor of the hallway has collapsed, and the boards aren’t as tightly lashed together as any of them would like. What did a temple to the Moonmaiden use a prison for? There’s an altar to her between the cells. Sure enough, a litter of worgs the same age as Klaw are in one cell. A giant bear in the other. Goblins are butchering a pig for the worgs on one side of the room. A third goblin has herded two children toward the bear’s cell. The children are throwing rocks at the animal, crowing with delight when it makes pained noises.

“Get me out of here.” The words mingle with the howl, half lost to animal nature. When the little boy lifts his hand again, Xaph seizes his wrist and holds until he drops the rock.

“Let him go.” Xaph says, but that rush of power doesn’t race up her neck again and her words don’t carry the weight they did with the torturer, with the chicken-chaser.

“It’s stayin’ right here,” the adult goblin tells her, “The beast came in here with those robbers. Killed Dink. An’ Mince, too. Boss is thinkin’ of serving it up to the worgs. But first, Three,” she addresses one of the children, the one Xaph hasn’t got a hold of, “More stones. Make it nice and bloody.” The other child wrestles out of Xaph’s grip only to be grabbed by Lae’zel and lifted off the ground. A growl builds in the back of Xaph’s throat, low enough for the bear to hear and the goblins to recognise as a threat, we’re here for the grove.

“Stop it. Let him go.” Xaph says again, her words firm. Wyll draws his rapier.

“I’d advise you listen.” Gale warns. There’s a small crackle behind Xaph that signals either flame or electricity. All three of the goblins jump when the full weight of the bear’s body slams against the door of the cell. At a second hit, pieces of stone fall from the wall and a hinge pops out. Xaph is tugged back by her quiver. Lae’zel drops the squirming child. The adult goblin doesn’t dodge quickly enough. The thick iron gate falls and they can hear her bones being crushed into dust. Shouts are raised from up the steps, and Xaph wouldn’t be surprised if the guards outside the door had heard the noise. The child Lae’zel had dropped zips away and out of reach before she can blink, but the other one is frozen to the spot staring up at the bear. The bear is rearing back on his hind legs, paw raised and ready to knock the child to the ground. The force of the hit would be enough to kill her. Xaph slips out of Wyll’s grasp, pushes herself into the child’s place and roars. Her teeth snap together so hard she may well have broken one of them. In that moment, she’s an animal too. She takes the blow of bear claws on her forearm and doesn’t even wobble. The goblin child scrambles to her feet and takes off after her friend. Lae’zel swears, knowing they’re going to fetch the guards, and sprints towards the door herself. Xaph is in a staring competition with the bear, her chest heaving with huffs and puffs that must somehow be conversational in a way neither the wizard or the warlock can understand.

“Hey!” Wyll sends a bolt of red energy towards a goblin who is hobbling as fast as he can towards the worg pen, clearly intending to let them loose. He misses, curses, and hops up the steps for higher ground.

“Ohh, no you don’t.” Gale almost laughs at the ease with which the Weave curls around his fingers, sealing the gate shut, claustrem. The goblin can yank the lever all he likes. It’s not moving. Another incantation is shouted above his own, as Lae’zel yells a warcry. A fresh handful of goblins have tripped into the room, alarmed by the children, just as a human-sized spider materialises in the middle of the floor. It makes a strange shrieking rattling noise, the hairs on all of its legs standing on end, and sticky web cements Gale’s feet to the ground.

The bear is on the move, lumbering up the steps to join Lae’zel and leaving Wyll with the other two goblins. When Gale glances sideways he sees Xaph is stuck in the web as well, the spider quickly advancing upon them.

“Ignis!” Twin bolts of flame rocket towards the spider and its shriek takes on a frankly fearful tone as it retracts its now-burning legs and when Gale looks at Xaph again he can see her teeth in a - if she would pardon the expression - devilish grin that he can feel mirrored on his own face. Gods, it’s good to feel useful.

“Cover!” Xaph calls to him, twisting to reach her pack.

“Covered.” Gale confirms, sending a second fire bolt at the spider’s underbelly that makes it scuttle further away. Wyll has dispatched one goblin, the other has slipped his net, and he joins Lae’zel and the bear at the stairs. The second goblin, injured but still running is unseen as he heads for the wizard.

“Gale, back!” Xaph’s yell is panicked and Gale leans back as several darts of weaponised Weave wind their way up the steps and towards the spider. An axe whirls past him, hardly a foot away from his nose, turning blade over handle until it buries itself in the goblin’s chest.

“Xaph-”

“Thank me later. Wyll, headcount!”

“Three!” the Blade of Frontiers shouts back. The bear growls. “Two!” Xaph works her way out of the webbing now the spider has fallen and then seizes Gale by the elbows to pull him out too.

“You know, you’re very good at helping me out of, ahem, sticky situations.”

“Ha.” Xaph says, deadpan, but her eyes are bright. As the closer of the pair to the dead goblin, Gale leans over to pull the axe out of his chest while carefully averting his eyes from the blood. He holds the weapon out to his friend with a mock bow,

“My lady, I bow to your endless kindness.”

“Dear sir, you’re hilarious.” She takes the axe back without even rolling her eyes, but her gaze slides past him and her jaw drops. Gale turns, prepared for more goblins, but finds the giant bear dissolving into leaves which then take the shape of the biggest elf he’s ever seen.

***

They have found the druid Halsin. For a brief moment, it feels like the odds are finally in their favour.

“Something is different,” his hand is still raised, passing over Xaph’s face and - with permission - her horns, creepers of druid magic latching onto her wherever his fingers touch. Wyll has submitted to the same treatment from the druid’s other hand, but no healing comes, “You are aware of the monster inside you, yet you do not bow to the Absolute like the True Souls do.”

“Perhaps the worm’s vat was poisoned,” Wyll suggests, “Perhaps we’re uncommonly fit, or maybe the tadpoles are on holiday. We could conjecture all day, but the real question is whether or not you can get them out.”

“I’ve been studying these parasites for a while now, ever since I discovered these so-called True Souls are infected with them,” Halsin lowers his hands and Gale’s heart sinks with them, “Someone is using very powerful magic to modify these tadpoles. They are using them to exert control over the infected. I am sorry to say that I cannot undo that magic, which means I cannot cure you. But, that doesn’t mean I can’t help. I didn’t find what I came here for - a way to remove the tadpoles - but I found the next best thing. I found out where they came from.” He tells them what he knows of the tadpole’s origin. Moonrise Towers, midway between Elturel and Baldur’s Gate, seems to be where the Absolute worshippers are coming from. Innocents go in, True Souls come out. He offers the party his help, but on the condition that they help him destroy the threat to the druid grove, “I foolishly left them vulnerable to this rabble”

“You left them vulnerable to more than this,” Xaph tells him, “My people took shelter there, desperate. Yours intend on cleansing the rot they see tieflings to be, regardless of the threat of goblin raid.”

“What has happened?” Concern creases the druid’s forehead, pulling at the scars over his eye

“Kagha was hells-bent on killing a child for stealing an idol of Silvanus,” the others let Xaph take the reins on this, “She has invoked the Rite of Thorns and I’m no druid but I know that that is a drastic measure to take to be rid of a few dozen refugees.”

“The Rite of Thorns?” Halsin repeats and yes, there’s shock in his voice, “I would never-”

“She’s happy to let them all die so the druids can keep hiding. Nettie told us you would stop her. Please.” It’s the closest her companions have seen her to begging. She’s not even angry now. She just wants help. Halsin reaches out again and she lets him put his hand on her shoulder.

“I will stop her. But I can only do it if you help me further. I’ve no right to ask more of you after my people have treated yours so poorly, but I cannot allow these butchers to threaten my grove. The natural order must be protected. And that includes the tieflings, I assure you.” He lifts his hand off Xaph’s shoulder, sensing he’s close to crossing a line, and she steps back to be part of her group again.

“I will help you. If my companions agree.”

“Of course we’ll help.” Wyll says, and Gale echoes the sentiment. Lae’zel says nothing.

“My thanks. If you prevail, I will owe you the debt of a lifetime. Rare is the beast that survives decapitation. Help me eliminate the drow Minthara, the hobgoblin Dror Ragzlin and that perversion of a priestess, Gut. They are the ones holding these parasites together. Remove them and nature will cure itself.”

“We will destroy them,” Lae’zel promises, showing her approval of the decision, “We have already singled out the heretic Gut. She too has tried to convince us she holds a cure.”

“She’s willing to speak to me in her chapel. That could be our chance to eliminate her.” Xaph says. Halsin nods to show he’s listening while he smooths healing magic into his arms.

“Then we go to her chapel.” Lae’zel decides, but Xaph shakes her head.

“I think I should go alone,” She says, putting up her hands when the others protest, “It was me she spoke to, and she clearly covets her power. She won’t want to share it. Besides, I’m sure I can manage one goblin.”

“I can’t say I like the idea of leaving you alone with the priestess, but I understand why you think it’s the best course of action.” Gale tells her, and his approval solidifies Xaph’s confidence, further bolstered when Wyll agrees. “The moment they see you free, they’ll attack, won’t they?” Xaph asks the druid. Halsin nods.

“We should find Shadowheart and Astarion,” Gale says, “If we can at least get him to our hiding place, it will be safer than in here,” the worgs still prowl back and forth behind their gate, “Though exactly how to conceal you…” Gale ponders a few possibilities aloud, but then Wyll nudges him.

“Druid.” He says simply. Druidic magic wreathes Halsin’s body as he shrinks down to the shape of a rat and scrambles up the warlock’s leg to sit on his shoulder.

“Oh. Right. Of course.”

#rae's writing #greensleeves #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #bg3 oc #rae's ocs #xaph [tav]#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #shadowheart #lae'zel #astarion #astarion ancunin #wyll ravengard #halsin

3 notes · View notes