#Gandrel is alive in the actual save

[transkingcobra]

[leighsartworks216]

I Come With Knives Pt5

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Am I happy with this chapter? I think so??? I think I was trying to get it to go somewhere it didn't want to go before but I'm happy with how it ends now. I don't know if the words I'm saying make sense I'm so tired lmao

This chapter was inspired by A Lover's Folly (the chapter Fear of Losing It, specifically) by @tripleyeeet! Please go give it a read it's so fucking good

Warnings: angst, blood, murder, canon-typical violence, swearing, hints to a panic attack, Macbeth reference

Word Count: 2,103

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

I Come With Knives Masterlist

AO3

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“A mystical and dangerous people, we travel the land, never settling in one place. We steal your chickens, curse your crops, seduce your daughters - your friend here has heard it all, I’m sure.” You look at Astarion from the corner of your eye. Despite his cool, confident demeanor, you can see how tense he is. He’s staring at the man before you like a steak on a silver platter. “I wish I had half the power settled folk think my people possess. Alas, I am a simple wanderer. A simple wanderer and monster hunter. But I’m no witchdoctor or cut-throat.”

“So what monster are you hunting?”

Astarion pipes in, a devious smirk playing on his lips. You’re shocked the self-proclaimed monster hunter does not take notice of his fangs or the punctures on his neck. Though, Astarion’s are far less prominent than yours - you feel fortunate to have a high collar. “Something terrifying, no doubt. Dragon? Cyclops?” He paused, a teasing lilt in his voice as he adds, “Kobold?”

Gandrel chuckles. “Nothing so dramatic. Actually, this quarry is a bit unusual. My people got word of a missing person, stolen in the night by a vampire. It’s unlikely they’re still alive, but with any luck we’ll find the kidnapper.”

You swallow, but the hunter doesn’t seem to notice. Astarion can hear the spike in your heart rate. “That’s not much to go on.”

“You’re right about that. We do know the victim’s name, though there’s not much work can be done with that save wander around shouting for them.” He tells you the name, and your heart drops. You make a good effort not to show it. Your face is still neutral as before, your body stiffly in position, but with a glance Astarion can see the way your eyes are distant. They flicker over Gandrel’s face, assessing the threat he possesses. You’re trying to work up a plan, an escape route, anything - but fear clouds your thoughts. Astarion can smell the anxiety wafting off you, even through the hunter’s stench.

This shouldn’t be as big of a problem as your mind makes it to be. You could lie, tell him you weren’t stolen, tell him you ran away. Perhaps he would take money for his silence. But what if he chose to take you back anyway? What if she is providing a much higher reward than anything you can offer? You can’t go back. You can’t.

Astarion clears his throat and steps forward. “And if you find them? Where will you be taking them, exactly?”

“With any luck? I’d be taking them back to Berdusk.”

Berdusk. Being able to place a name to the city of your tormentor somehow made it worse. You knew where she resided now - you could simply take a detour from Baldur’s Gate and kill her. But, that would mean going back. Walking within reach of her clutches. You could almost feel her hot breath against your neck. Her nails digging into your skin. You can’t go back to that.

“Are you alright?” Your mind is forced back into your body when the Gur directs his question at you. You search your mind for an excuse, but fall hopelessly short.

Astarion steps in where you falter. “Ah, yes, you remember then, darling?” He speaks, then, to the Gur. “I believe we heard that name along our travels. A mere whisper on the wind.”

The hunter lights up. “Really? Any information you have would be invaluable to my mission.”

He taps his chin, frowning in fake thought. “It’s a bit foggy - we must have crossed paths weeks ago by now. If only I could remember…” He looks at the Gur from the corner of his eye, smirking. “Perhaps I can be enticed to recall just where they went.”

The man sighs. He reaches for his coin purse. Your heart leaps into your throat. He’s reaching for a weapon. He knows who you are. He’s going to kill you. He knows what Astarion is. He’s going to kill you both.

When your mind catches up, the man is on the ground. You kneel over him. Two hands hold your dagger within his eye, hilt-deep. The other stares blankly up at you, mouth gaped around a silent scream. Droplets of blood marr your face, mere specks of warmth and wet.

“Shit.”

Astarion grabs your shoulder, but your mind is still consumed by fear and paranoia. You whirl around, bloody blade bared at the vampire. Your grip is all wrong - you’re terrified. He steps back, hands raised. Your eyes flicker across his face over and over again, but you don’t see him. In his place is a stranger. Someone ready to steal you, haul you back to Berdusk, back to your master.

“As much as I love the offer, now isn’t the time,” he quips. He kneels down slowly, getting to eye-level. His whole face is dark. The reference to sex is completely masked by his seriousness. “You’re safe. You’re not going back - not if I can help it.”

Your hands shake. Drops of blood fall off the knife, landing in the dirt without a sound. His blood. This man’s blood.

Gods, what have you done?

You drop the knife like it burns you to hold it. It clatters to the ground with a dull thud. You didn’t notice before the blood staining your fingers, but you do now. It’s all you can notice. Well, that, and the body beside you.

“I-I killed him,” you stammer out, barely a whisper. Astarion says nothing. He realizes the irony in your guilt just as much as you. “I didn’t even think- I didn’t… Gods.”

Your thoughts are consumed by the red stains. You have to get them off. You have to rid yourself of this ever-growing weight in your stomach. But you don’t have much to wipe it off on. Your clothes? Then you’d have to wash the blood out. (Though, little flecks stick to your collar and sleeves already.) The ground? Rub dirt all over until somehow it removes the red? You couldn’t even entertain the thought. But you needed to get it off.

You frantically wipe the blood away with your hands, only serving to spread it further into your skin. But it’s all you can think to do. You have to get it off. You must. If you don’t… If… Would something bad happen? You’re not sure. It feels like yes, something terrible would occur the longer it sat on your flesh. But what? Why won’t it fucking come off?

You don’t even realize you’re speaking. Half-formed desperate, choked pleas to get rid of the blood. Prayers to higher powers to forgive you - even when you’d never prayed for such a thing before. Insults spewed toward yourself, damning you for being so fucking weak.

So you killed a man, so what? You’d killed hundreds to get you where you kneel. What made him any different?

I killed him in self-defense.

You’ve killed loads of men and creatures alike for the same reason.

He didn’t recognize me.

You don’t know that, do you?

All he had was a name. Not even a description of who he searched for. He wouldn’t recognize me.

And why dwell on that? If he’d recognized you, surely he’d drag you back? Tie you up, gag you, drop you on her doorstep. She’d recognize you.

And she’d punish me. Punish them. And then she’d see my scars. What then?

Then she’d gut you. Slowly. Keeping you alive for as long as possible so she can moan to your screams, so she can lick her fingers clean of your adrenaline-rich blood. She’d even do it in front of her spawn. And they’d love it.

I hurt them.

You fucked up and they paid for it. They’d laugh as you beg for mercy. They’d even join in if they could.

But he didn’t need to die. Astarion, he- He could have led him away. I would have been safe.

And when he realized Astarion sent him on a wild goose chase? He’d turn right back around. And by that point his suspicions would fall to you - the leader. He’d know.

He’d know you’re the monster he hunts.

Hands roughly grab your own, snapping you out of your restless trance. Your skin is not only red from blood, but from how much you rubbed and scratched. Small lines beaded with your own blood where your nails broke the skin. It stung. And finally feeling that pain grounded you further.

“Calm down, for gods’ sakes,” Astarion cursed. He hurriedly pressed a white handkerchief into your hand. It was soft and cool to the touch. Gold embroidery danced around the edges, quickly becoming stained and ruined. “You’re going to rip your skin off.”

You felt everything so vividly. You almost wished you were numb to it again. “I’m sorry,” you croaked. “I don’t know what happened, I just… I thought of her. Of what she’d do to me, and I couldn’t think of another way out.”

He sighed, annoyed but all too understanding. “I was going to send him off North. By the time he realized he’s been had, we would already be in Baldur’s Gate.”

“I’m sorry.”

He smirked wickedly, mischief twinkling in his eye, despite the tinge of concern underlying it all. “You’ve simply provided a more permanent solution to our problem.” He glanced over, but you closed your eyes. You didn’t want to look again. “No point worrying about it now.”

“He could have helped,” you chastise. The intensity was only directed toward yourself. “If we paid him or explained or- or something, he could have gone back and said I was dead. Then- then she might have stopped looking for me.”

“And if he didn’t?”

You couldn’t let yourself spiral through that argument again. You just shook your head, opening your eyes to watch as he wiped away the blood. Most of it stayed, requiring water to wash it off - a realization that frightened you. What if the blood never came off?

“I know it may seem hard to believe,” he began. His voice was strained, like he was forcing himself to believe in it too, “but you’re not alone in this fight. If she finds you - Do you hear me? If. - we can protect you. And if she takes you away, we know where to find you now.”

“Berdusk.” He hummed, pleased you understood his meaning.

“Karlach would go on a rampage before she ever lays a finger on you.”

You chuckled weakly at the thought. You could almost picture your companion barging down the front door of the manor, everybody else behind her, as she tears through the place to find you. It’s… comforting.

A shiver runs through your body as the adrenaline finally fades from your system. You sighed. And just when most of your guilt has left, another weight finds itself in your throat - a heavy lump of fear. “I’m afraid to go to Baldur’s Gate,” you admit quietly. He pauses to look up at you, red eyes scanning your face. “Berdusk is so close by.”

“If it’s any consolation, Cazador is in Baldur’s Gate.” You hum; he’s told you this before.

“And you’re walking back into arms reach.” You look up from your hands. “Doesn’t that terrify you?”

He huffs a humorless laugh. “Do I hide my fear that well?” he teased. “Of course I’m terrified. I have no idea how well these tadpoles block his influence. For all I know, the moment I step foot in the Gate, he’ll have full control over me again.

“But if there’s even the slightest chance I could kill him, I’m going to take it. I can’t go back to that life. Not after this.”

Not after experiencing freedom for the first time in too long.

Astarion curls your fingers around the handkerchief so you’ll hold it. He picks up your bloody dagger and cleans the blade on the dead Gur’s clothes. You can’t watch, but you can see the sneer on his face as he does so. He reaches forward and tucks it away in your sheath. It feels heavier at your hip somehow.

He holds you by your arms as you stand, continuing to hold your hands in front of you. It feels wrong to let them hand so casually by your side, and just the thought of using them makes you feel worse. He turns you away from the body, directing you back toward camp.

You can still feel the Gur’s blood in your skin, even after you spend two whole hours washing your hands.

---

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[spacemonkeysalsa]

"it's so weird that Astarion's racism isn't confronted in any meaningful way"

I genuinely can't tell what's bait and I don't think I am the problem, everyone else is. But I am not going to engage with people on twitter about this game any more, because it's usually just bait.

But it also could be someone who never played act three or only played act three one way, because Astarion's racism against the Gur is addressed as a bit if an arc within the story. Only as subtext and only if you don't ascend him, and keep Gandrel and Ulma alive. But it's something. There's also the interesting mechanical change of him going from disapproving of saving gnomes in act one, to approving of saving gnomes twice in act three.

And, yeah, that's subtle.

But it's a piece of the game.

It's subtle compared to what can happen with Lae'zel, or Shadowheart, if you make certain choices. But it's more than what you get for Wyll and Karlach.

I was actually really disappointed that Flo never showed up in act three, and that Karlach's attitude towards cambions (many of whom probably had about as much a choice in their involvement with Zariel as she did) just gets dropped. Same with Wyll and his animosity towards the goblins, like why didn't we meet a goblin hanging out in Baldur's Gate, who's a huge fan of the Blade of Frontiers? Why didn't we meet any fans of the Blade? Why wasn't stop the presses about Wyll, or why couldn't the story we publish be Blade of Frontiers fanfiction?

And Gale is human and from Waterdeep, which in FR means he's the equivalent of like a wealthy white one percenter.

Like I do think the game could have done more with fantasy racism. There were opportunities not taken. But Astarion's storyline at least addressed it and called it racism. Which I kinda think might be the reason that some people treat him as "the racist" in the group, because the writers used the word, so it's harder to miss.

[clazberryk]

Sometimes the Unknown is Safer: Footprints on my heart.

Well here it is guys as promised, THE TIEFLING PARTY, the winning vote on the poll.

I hope you do like it and let me know if you did in the comments.

Footprints on my Heart.

Astarion watched as Taveleigha dodged and weaved throughout the party goers, stopping at every single member in the group, he watched as she clapped at Rolan’s light display and conversed with the Tiefling wizard and his siblings declining an alcoholic drink. He watched as she laughed at something Karlach had said, and at whatever Wyll had said, resting her hand on Wyll’s shoulder as she doubled over in bellyful guffaws. Taveleigha never laughed like that with him, it was snide comments and sideway smirks and glances. He happily went tit for tat with the Elf sorcerer but with a shock he realised he had never actually made her full out laugh.

Astarion marvelled at how quickly the one horned Tiefling and the Blade of Frontiers became quick friends, especially considering that only weeks ago Wyll had asked their group for help hunting Karlach. Honestly, he did wonder how the Blade of Frontiers could not acknowledge that Karlach was a Tiefling, and a kind souled one at that. Even he a cynical Vampire Spawn had to admit that Karlach’s ever boisterous and positive outlook on life was infectious, even if he would never say it to her himself. Maybe once this was all over, he and Taveleigha could travel to the areas in Faerun that apparently the Blade of Frontiers had been to, ensuring the hero had just killed devils and not accidentally mistaken Tieflings for slaughter.  Wait a minute? Him and Taveleigha? What was that thought? When did he see himself thinking towards the future or past everything that was going on right now?

Astarion could not deny it, in the past several weeks he had never felt more alive, truer to himself instead of what he had done in the past two hundred years. Taveleigha had shown him kindness, he felt that constant weight in his stomach is not as heavy as before, lightened by the regular feedings from Taveleigha but also by her showing that there was kindness in the world. Yes, her altruism was frustrating sometimes having to save anyone and everyone they met, but she had also been cold, and calculating a side to her that he marvelled to see more. The way that she talked and swindled the Gur into a trap before allowing him to stop the wretched man in the eye and supporting him when Gandrel fought back. Not even once thinking of handing him over so he could become Cazador’s slave again, just twisting and weaving words that even took him by surprise. He did question and worry for a second, but he had no need to. Taveleigha had never made him do something he did not want to do. Even if she was doing it unintentionally on her part, not knowing his history. Even when she got the adventuring group in fights and situations, he still revelled in spilling blood and backing up their de facto leader. Taveleigha was a natural born leader, a little rough around the edges, not a true hero type maybe a grey area, but he had to admit he was growing to like the amnesiac elf. He found often seeking out her company in camp, staying closer to her in the fights. He found when they were travelling or fighting, he was looking for her first after the blood, guts and dust settled.

Taveleigha was now talking to Gale, they were probably hypothesising the benefits of innate magic and study learnt magic. He did not really care about the magic, but he did find he was appreciating how Taveleigha when using her spells was aware of where her companions where, ensuring she did not hit any of them with her Area of effect spells, she did some amazing damage with her spells unlike Gale she did not accidentally hit some of them with those spells. He would hate to be on a receiving end of a witch bolt again, or even a magic missile. Astarion sipped on the horrible vinegar wine, and watched as Taveleigha walked towards Halsin, the new resident of the camp, and Astarion perked up, the two were closer to where he stood at his tent, and he could hear a little over the music Alfira was playing and the general chitter chatter from everyone else in the camp.

“Go on, enjoy yourself you’ve earned this” Halsin smiled, and that smiled made Astarion grimace, he could imagine what Halsin was thinking, he could not even deny that Halsin could see. Taveleigha was a lovely looking Elf, smaller than most, seeing the two standing opposite each other Astarion had to laugh at the size difference it was remarkable. Halsin the Wood Elf Druid, larger than most Elves, and Taveleigha the mixed blood elf sorcerer smaller and soft than most elves, curvier, her hair tumbling down her back, in rivulets of red, he could Imagine her multicoloured eyes expressing mirth, and happiness, shining that bit brighter tonight because of the party and the fact the Tieflings were safe. She would be oblivious to Halsin’s wants and desires. Taveleigha was not one to shy away but she also did not see what everyone else saw when they looked at her. This was one of the first reasons why he chose her to bit, unintentionally at first but realising, that maybe there would not be a sexual or carnal connection the two of them. However, he found that when he did drink from her in the middle of her trances, her body still reacted to him, as his body reacted to her, both unintentionally, and maybe even subconsciously. 

Taveleigha started heading over towards Astarion, declining the drink that Halsin had offered her, she smiled a polite smile, not one to upset anyone. Astarion watched as she swayed over to him and wondered what the declining of drinks was? Come to think of it he had never seen her drink anything alcoholic always preferring the teas, he often found her making first thing in the morning or tisanes throughout the day and water, but never anything alcoholic. He knew it was not an age situation, from the little he could gather with Taveleigha she was about his age, maybe a few years younger give or take half a century, but still he had truly never seen her with an alcoholic beverage. Astarion leaned forward as Taveleigha got closer to he

“So big day tomorrow, the travel to Moonrise Towers” he said as a way of greeting, the two of them never really said hello just started a conversation, continuing from where the last one left, it filled him with excitement, and made him feel a little less lonely. He liked how they could execute a conversation even if there was several hours in between each converse.

“Yep, big day, of travelling, and getting lost and wondering where the hell we are” Taveleigha sighed, Astarion knew he head was already going over scenarios and the possibilities of members of their party getting hurt. He could not lie it did seem daunting and that everyone was against them. The Gur, The Goblins, the three leaders, hell even the Githyanki seemed against them, however still he could not find his way to worry about them. Maybe Taveleigha could take a night off from worrying of if, what’s and maybes. Astarion saw her eyes flitter to the floor, a habit he noticed she did when she was thinking or when her thoughts were heading into a downward fashion. This could not do, he did not want this for her, he wanted her to enjoy herself. Maybe he could help with that. Help her, help him. All part of the plan. You keep telling yourself that. That insipid voice was back, always questions his motives.

“You know, I never pictured myself as a hero” Astarion smirked, waving the wine bottle in his hand about “never thought that I’d be the one they toast to save so many lives.” He took a sip of the vinegar wine “And now that I am here” He had her attention, she looked at him, eyebrow cocked, head titled, a slight smirk on her face “I hate it. This is awful” He grimaced, he was not sure if he was talking about the wine or the party itself.

“Aw come one, it cannot be that bad” She smiled up at him, twisting her hands together “Think of all those goblins you got to kill” She smirked, he could see her eyes shining again, she was enjoying this fencing match, spit for spat, intellect versus intellect, he couldn’t not deny he was enjoying it as well.

“True that was fun” He smirked, gods it was so easy to converse with her. It gave him a sense of tranquillity, of relief. He found he was wanting to converse with her, and he was maybe a little apprehensive about what could happen tonight, but it was not for the same reasons as before. It was because he was worrying what it would do to their future relationship. Could he keep this up if he wanted a true friendship with her? He was growing to like the full package of Taveleigha, and he found he was wanting to hear what she was going to say. A sense of nervousness, but he pushed it down. Afterall he was the king of deflection.

“Still, I would’ve liked more for my trouble than a pat on the head and vinegar for wine” Astarion knew that his vampiric tastebuds made him taste food and wine differently, but even he could tell this was cheap wine. He however was taken by surprise when Taveleigha grabbed the bottle from his hands and took a sip of it, swallowing, he watched as her neck muscles contracted pushing the wine down her oesophagus, he was mesmerised for a second, as well as taken aback, in the weeks they had been travelling together he had never once seen Taveleigha take an alcoholic drink, or even be so bold. She was always tentative, when sharing personal space, she liked her own personal space was not much of a toucher, or a hugger. Only touching people, she was comfortable with, and even then, it was a hand on the shoulder, still an arm’s length away from people.

Astarion had started noticing little quirks of the elf, like when she was caught unawares, she would flinch ever so slightly, or when someone was behind her, she would turn her body a certain way, to ensure she could see if an attack were coming. How she would twitch if he moved to quickly, or if he raised his arms too high above his head. They were all idiosyncrasies he knew all too well. Her mind might not know what had happened to her, but her body certainly remembered, and it was protecting her. He had made a conscious effort to not be so elaborate in his movements with her, he knew he had flare when he was speaking, knew he was quite animated but with her he was conscious of her reactions.

“See what I mean?” She handed the bottle back to him, grimacing slightly “Awful” She nodded, but kept quiet, that arched eyebrow in place again, that smirk in place, this encouraged him to move onto his next part of the plan “All I want is a little fun. Is that too much to ask?”

“Are you not having fun?” Taveleigha stepped back slightly, taken aback by his pouting. He did not answer and took another long drawl of the drink again, which she had to admit was a bit too sharp for her liking. She liked wine, she drank wine when she was in Baldur’s Gate, but it was exceedingly rare for her to drink often. Never sharing her bottle with anyone else, until now. She had to admit there was a little bit of satisfaction when she saw the look of surprise on Astarion’s face when she took his bottle, satisfied that she could still surprise people, and she was not as predictable as what Astarion often reminded her that she was. “What is your idea of a little fun?” She pressed again, genuinely intrigued by his answer, and a little upset he was not having as much fun as everyone else clearly was at this party.

“By the hells!” he leant forward something he often did when he was saying something to her, when he was slightly irritated “Sex, my dear. A night of passion” He smirked; he knew he had her now. He lowered his voice, knowing that her body would react to the lower timbre, and he did not miss the slight reaction her body made, and the speed up of her heartbeat. Her heartbeat always gave her away, and the minuscule micro movements her body made, when he knew he had made the right assumption, but her face never gave her away, apart from her eyes, were they darker? He stepped closer to her invading her personal space, but still a few inches between their bodies, she did not step back so he continued “Let us wait until things quieten down. Once the others are asleep, we will find each other” He smiled his roguish smile, the rakish rogue mask slipped easily on, or was it a mask with her? He lifted his hand, eyes trained on her reactions, watching as her eyes trailed the hand and he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering slightly on the sensitive skin at the back of her ear, he felt her almost imperceivable shudder. She titled her head down, eyes trained on the floor again, he could practically hear the cogs turning in that little head of hers.

“Wh…what?” She seemed flustered and confused.

“I know a little clearing just away, away, we can indulge in some carnal lust.”

“I know what sex is” She smirked, and looked up at him, he looked down at her, her expressive eyes pulling him in, he could read them so easily. She was unsure, she was questioning, and she was confused. “What do I not understand is why me?” She whispered, she seemed so lost, she was fidgeting again, something she did when she was unsure or when the attention was on her. Honestly, he found it adorable. Their fearless leader was so very unsure of herself, it was almost laughable.

“Why not you?” He stepped back then, taking in her flustered body, the way she shivered against his fingers, and smirked. She closed her eyes for a minute and nodded ever so slightly.

“Okay” The whisper danced on the wind and the music of the camp and Astarion smiled, not a smirk, not a lopsided smile, a full-blown smile, teeth, fangs, and all.

“Later then” he leaned down and grandly planted a kiss to her knuckles causing Taveleigha to chuckle, and squeeze his fingers slightly, before stepping away and heading towards Shadowheart.

Taveleigha watched as the party goer’s wound down after a full evening of drinking and debauchery, Karlach was snoring loudly outside of her tent, Shadowheart had passed out near the campfire, and Wyll was off somewhere, Taveleigha was unsure where. Astarion had left moments ago, heading into the forest, an extra sway in his hips, she was sure. Taveleigha chuckled to herself as she turned towards her tent, even though she had said yes to Astarion earlier was she was still so unsure of herself. What did he see in her? He was so beautiful, so funny, so clever, traumatised, and broken for sure, that was given. He hid his pain under a façade, a mask, something she understood all too well. The weight of that mask, that everyone had to protect their true selves from the cruelty of the world. She understood cruelty, and bared witness to it for the last hundred and fifty years. She understood the pain and hardship, and yet Astarion still hid. In the brief moments where he let his true self be, in the small bursts of laughter and honesty, the vulnerability in allowing her to be his first warm blooded drink, the trust he had in her, weighed down in her heart. Added to the pressure of this motley crew of adventurers that if she were being truly honest, she would not give a time of day to most of them. She knew he was starved but not just of blood or nutrients, he was starved of connection. True connection. No friends, no life just surviving. A mirror of herself.

Taveleigha laughed a bitter, humourless bark, because was she not just as starved? Starved of connection, of physical connection, of a sense of home. Where was her home? Who was her family? She was all too aware of how mixed her blood was, of how tainted. High elves liked to remind her with every interaction. When was the last time she had been touched. Skin to skin? Had it ever happened in her life? Poor lost little elf. So desperate for anything you would go to someone of whom you are not worthy. The vampire spawn that the world has beseeched, and yet you cannot get enough. Tainted blood indeed.

The voice was back, it was always there, rearing its ugly head at the most opportune time for the beast. She did not know the voice but there was a reverberation of familiarity in the voice that echoed her deepest fears in the void that was her mind. He kept her memories under lock and key and yet used them to torment and taunt her. She was a slave to the voice, as it was her truest companion. Her only friend, as twisted as the relationship was with this voice.

The logical in Taveleigha knew it was her mind, her own mind voicing those words, twisting them against herself, she understood the fear and hatred she had of herself, but she also understood that her own body had its own memories. The shivers, the flinches, that even Astarion himself had noticed, and adjusted his mannerisms for her comfort. Surely that was something? Surely it meant he cared to a degree. Maybe not to the extent she did. She knew how stupid it would be, but she had fallen fast for the Pale Elf, she knew the minute he killed Gandrel she had truly fallen for him. She would allow him to fight for his freedom, and she would be by his side, in whatever capacity he asked for. Allowing him to fly free once the chains had been shattered from his master. What was a few months of pain when he could live an eternity of freedom? She would shoulder this pain, harbour it around her and not tell anyone. This was her own burden, one she had to shoulder alone as always. Always alone. Poor lost little elf girl.

Astarion heard and smelt her before he saw Taveleigha, her blood singing her musical song, just for him, taunting him, tempting him, and acknowledging his connection to her. In the many years of his undead life, through small snippets of freedom when his mind was free of Cazador and his body was his own he researched vampires, drinking from thinking warmbloods, everything Cazador forbade him to do, his reading, his sewing all little rebellions against his chains.

He learnt of regular bloodletting between warmbloods and vampires, even a spawn like himself, a connection was made, had been made between the two of them, even he could not deny weeks of drinking from Taveleigha, and he had become intimately aware of her body, her blood, her heart, her Lifesong, he was addicted, and he was not letting go anytime soon. When he drank from Taveleigha he did not only get sustenance he knew Taveleigha on a level nobody else could truly understand, he saw glimmers of her past, faint wisps of unfocused memories fighting to reach the surface, but her mind had protected her, he tasted magic, her emotions, knew when she was happy, annoyed, angry and aroused. There was a possessiveness in him that he had not felt before, a want to put himself in front of the danger between him and Taveleigha without regard of his own life. There was also an ember in him, a heat radiating that he craved, a wish, a want, a need, a craving that only she could satisfy that was not sustenance, it was lust, that, he was sure. Lust at the very least. He also found that he liked their friendship however unorthodox.

It was this ember which stopped him from doing what he did to every other mark, every other conquest, he moved out from behind the tree, marvelling at how the moonlight bounced and reflected off her strands of hair, how her heart rate picked up speed when she laid eyes on him. He was dressed just in his camp trousers, bare chested and bare foot, but he said nothing, he waited. Holding his breath unsure on how to proceed but knew he wanted to proceed, of which he was most sure. Taveleigha was not the only one that wanted this, it almost made him shy, made him feel like a virginal boy about to embark on his first sexual encounter. He watched as she took another step towards him, and another and another, until finally she was stood in front of him, looking up at him, her eyes searching his, a silent question. His answer was to gently brush the stray strands from her cheek to behind her pointed ear, giving the tip a gentle squeeze, she closed her eyes and leaned her cheek into his hand.

“Are you sure?” She whispered, there seemed to be a hush to the area, a gentle silence that even she did not want to break or ruin with her voice, they were within a bubble. Terrified that if she rose her voice another octave it would burst the bubble, the tension she could feel between the two of them.

“Yes” he whispered back his lips a ghost on her skin, as he brushed them against her lips, she reached up for his shoulder, on her tiptoes pressing her lips harder into his and he complied, brushing his tongue against her lower lip begging for entrance, she answered and his tongue followed, they stood there for a while tasting, feeling each other until Astarion’s hands trailed her shoulders, her ribs, her hips and finally circled her thighs and lifted her up against him, she giggled, which caused him to smile back, he turned and pressed her against the tree, his strength his weight at her hips, holding her in place.  She ran her hands through his hair, letting her nails scrape hi scalp, and he shuddered, there was a tilt and before she knew it they were on the floor, hands grasping at clothing and whatever they could, he kissed her again, she felt the incessant bulge in his trousers at the apex of her thighs and she pressed harder, rolling her hips into the bulge causing Astarion to gasp and moan into her mouth. She smiled. She had not received a reaction like that before, from what she could remember.

Taveleigha looked into his eyes when he pulled back to place kisses down her throat her shoulder, collarbone, her skin felt like it was on fire, she could feel her magic reacting and it was glorious, her mind was quiet, for the first time in forever long.

“As…As…Astarion” She groaned when he did something particular with his tongue, and he moved back to look at her a smug grin on his face, she smiled back, at some point she had lost her camp top, and her trouser ties had been loosened, she could feel her nipples stroking across her skin and the friction was glorious, she closed her eyes and moaned, bearing her neck for him, which he gently bit down and took his fill of her. Blood song and body.

The sorcerer and the vampire gasped and panted basking in the moonshine and after glow of there activities, a sheen of sweat on their skin, both sated in many ways. Astarion moved away from Taveleigha who fell boneless against the dew riddled grass, barely conscious from feeding Astarion and their evening activities, her mind was finally quiet no thinking of the future, or of her lost past, or her insecurities and inadequacies. She was finally quiet. She did not even acknowledge Astarion moving away, trusting that he would not leave her defenceless. She quickly fell into a peaceful slumber.

Astarion did not turn back around until he heard Taveleigha’s heart rate slow to an even staccato letting him know that she had fallen asleep. He had enjoyed their dalliance, he enjoyed it more than any of his other lovers, his marks, what he did not enjoy was trying to make sense of those feelings. Over the past several weeks he found he was softening to the sorcerer, and it had taken him by surprise, it was overwhelming to him, and he did not know what to do with this information. The act himself was easy he could slip into the role easily, but to actually find himself enjoying and reacting emotionally was surprising, and the afterwards, the intimacy the ants on his skin returned. The conflicting emotions of what he has starting to try and feel and understand, and the revulsion he felt for himself was too encompassing. He was surprised in the act his mind had not separated from his body, he was aware for every gasp, every groan, even sigh. Every finger trail, he closed his eyes just remembering was enough for his body to react. Well, that is certainly new. However, you know you are no good for her, you are not worthy of her. Cazador’s voice again taunting him informing him of his deepest fears and truths. He could not let her know. He had to figure out these emotions himself, learn these emotions again before he even said anything to Taveleigha.

Astarion looked over Taveleigha, she was curled up on her left side, her right leg thrown over her left, guarding her womanhood, her arms curled up against her chest tucked under her chin, her face for once slack and peaceful, no longer grimaced in pain or worry like every night he came to her tent to feed, after being given express permission from the little mage. She shivered from the cool night air, and Astarion gently laid the blanket he had taken acquired for their night, neither of them making it to the picnic area he had laid out for them, when he decided to go with what felt right instead of the practiced and true that had worked for him for the past two hundred years. He had made that split decision when he heard her heartbeat, it was time for authenticity. It was time to no longer be a slave to his master but to fight.

Oh, and Fight he would!

@roguishcat @shewhowas39 @snumlik @asweetlovesong @trashpandasaga @batttygirl @kkbennett338 @kelseyxoxily-blog @nyx-knox @nymphtml @olivesmom7 @ladyofcrowsandcoffee

[thessalian]

Astrid vs The Hag

Trekking through the swamp

Astrid: Huh. There's a teahouse up there.

Astarion: Darling, that's a hovel.

Astrid: You remember Baldur's Gate. I've played in worse. Oh, wait. Who's that up there?

Astarion: Oh. That would be a Gur. Filthy animals.

Gandrel: Eh, I've been called worse. Out here hunting a vampire spawn named Astarion.

Astarion: *noticeably nervous*

Astrid: Did you get a description of this 'Astarion'?

Astarion: *winces*

Gandrel: No, unfortunately. That's why I'm up here to do a deal with the local hag.

Astrid: You're ... willing to pay a blood price to a swamp hag to kill one vampire spawn?

Gandrel: Well, to bring him back alive, actually. Them's the orders. He's wanted down in Baldur's Gate.

Astrid: Well ... good luck. If you're dealing with a hag, you're going to need it. Have a good one!

Astarion: ...once again I am in the position of having to thank you...

Astrid: Just remember, this means that you don't get to glare disapprovingly at me if the hag offers power to spare her life. Because her dying means she's not alive to help Dude Up There hunt you. We've established he doesn't have a description, so we'll know you're safe for awhile until whoever hired him gets smart enough to actually provide a description of you.

Astarion: ...oh fine.

Some while later, in the 'tea room'

Astrid: I mean ... some of this is useful, but I don't think I want to take any of this food back to camp...

Gale: Look ... I know we're about to go in there and ... you know, fight a hag and all, but ... I'm not in very good shape right now and--

Astrid: *hands him Gloves of Sparkling*

Gale: Thank you. You're ... going to ask how this happened and I'm not going to be able to tell you and it will be, as you put it, "A Thing", but--

Astrid: We're about to chase a swamp hag into her own lair, Gale. As long as you don't want my missle-snagging mitts, we're fine.

Gale: ...no promises, I'm afraid.

Astrid: ...Nuts. Never mind. Time to save a damsel in distress.

Several traps, brainwashed thugs, and novel ways to fuck someone over in a bargain later

Hag: *Vicious Mockery resonance* THOU PASTY POX-PITTED PULTROON!

Astarion: Points for alliteration, but compared to the blonde up there, that's amateur hour. *SHANK*

Astrid: Actually, I've got something better in mind for her.

Astarion: Oh, this should be interesting...

Astrid: *Dissonant Whispers hiss* Contract. Lawyers.

Hag: *failed save* NO NO NO NO NO NO NO! Look, you, half-elf!

Astrid: Sorry; little busy killing you.

Hag: No, you're too much a cinnamon roll. I meant the other half-elf.

Shadowheart: Excuse you?

Hag: Look, just leave, and let me have the girl, and I'll grant you power! You know you want it!

Shadowheart: Can't say I don't. Still. *Sacred Flame*

Astrid: *NOW the Vicious Mockery resonance* LOSING YOUR TOUCH, THERE, OUR LADY OF LOOPHOLES THE SIZE OF A DRAGON?!? OR DID YOU LOSE YOUR WITS AS WELL AS THIS FIGHT?

Hag: *straight-up dies*

Astarion: I am not allowed to glare at her for wanting to kill the hag instead of bargaining. But ... why did you not go for it?

Shadowheart: Two very pragmatic reasons. One - I have no wish to be insulted to death by the Mistress of Mockery over there. Two - the hag's worst nightmare was the very concept of contract lawyers. I feel like I would have had the worst end of that from both of them if I'd agreed.

Astarion: Mm. Fair. However, she did seem to have an idea about our tadpole passengers...

Gale: You ... did see how she interpreted people's wishes before, yes?

Marlina: You assholes!

Astrid: ...Um ... you were ... in a burning cage...

Marlina: She was going to bring back my husband in exchange for my baby, and my baby would have had everything and I'd have had my husband back! I HATE YOU!

Gale: Madam ... your brothers died following you here and however precipitate they were in refusing our help, they're still smarter than you. As in ... the actual corpses are smarter than you. The hag would never have given you exactly what you wanted--

Astarion: She was making you eat a spoiled treacle tart, madam. That can't have been good for--

Astrid: Um ... I was digging around in the back room and I found ... this wand ... with your husband's name on it?

Marlina: ...All is forgiven! Come on! Let's bring him back!

Gale: This ... I mean, all right, but ... we know this is going to end badly. Yes?

Astrid: Probably, but I don't think talking to her is going to help at all. Some people need to see for themselves.

Awhile later, back at camp

Astrid: Why are you looking at an image of Mystra like--

Gale: ...Reverence of magic itself. Yes. That. ...Channel the Weave with me?

Astrid: Sure. Hopefully it'll take my mind off Marlina dragging her husband's necromancy-reanimated corpse to Baldur's Gate...

That entire scene: *is just too adorable to really mock*

Romance option for this playthrough: *officially decided*

[clazberryk]

Teaser Tuesday!!!!

So the tallied votes are in and as we know it is the Tiefling party. The Pole can be found here

Here is a taster of the chapter. I am hopiing to release it on friday, jsut some last minute proofreding and edits. As we all know its a neverending cycle, there is always something that could change or be a little better. We are our worst critic and never fully satisfied ;)

it is still titleless, so thats thing,. Any suggestions I would appreciate it, but also i am thinking as i work as well.

Taster Tuesday:

Astarion watched as Taveleigha dodged and weaved throughout the party goers, stopping at every single member in the group, he watched as she clapped at Rolan’s light display and conversed with the Tiefling wizard and his siblings declining an alcoholic drink. He watched as she laughed at something Karlach had said, and at whatever Wyll had said, resting her hand on Wyll’s shoulder as she doubled over in bellyful guffaws. Taveleigha never laughed like that with him, it was snide comments and sideway smirks and glances. He happily went tit for tat with the Elf sorcerer but with a shock he realised he had never actually made her full out laugh.

Astarion marvelled at how quickly the one horned Tiefling and the Blade of Frontiers became quick friends, especially considering that only weeks ago Wyll had asked their group for help hunting Karlach. Honestly, he did wonder how the supposed Blade of Frontiers could not acknowledge that Karlach was a Tiefling, and a kind souled one at that. Even he a cynical Vampire Spawn had to admit that Karlach’s ever boisterous and positive outlook on life was infectious, even if he would never say it to her himself. Maybe once this was all over, he and Taveleigha could travel to the areas in Faerun that apparently the Blade of Frontiers had been to; ensuring he had just killed devils and not accidentally mistaken Tieflings for slaughter.  Wait a minute? Him and Taveleigha? What was that thought? When did he see himself thinking towards the future or passed everything that was going on right now?

Astarion could not deny it, in the past several weeks he had never felt more alive, truer to himself instead of what he had done in the past two hundred years. Taveleigha had shown him kindness, he felt that constant weight in his stomach was not as heavy as before, lightened by the regular feedings from Taveleigha but also by her showing that there was kindness in the world. Yes, her altruism was frustrating sometimes having to save anyone and everyone they met, but she had also been cold, and calculating a side to her that he marvelled to see more. The way that she talked and swindled the Gur into a trap before allowing him to stop the wretched man in the eye and supporting him when Gandrel fought back. Not even once thinking of handing him over so he could become Cazador’s slave again, just twisting and weaving words that even took him by surprise. He did question and worry for a second, but he had no need to. Taveleigha had never made him do something he did not want to do. Even if she was doing it unintentionally on her part, not knowing his history. Even when she got the adventuring group in fights and situations, he still revelled in spilling blood and backing up their de facto leader. Taveleigha was a natural born leader, a little rough around the edges, not a true hero type maybe a grey area, but he had to admit he was growing to like the amnesiac elf. He often found himself seeking out her company in camp, staying closer to her in the fights. He found when they were travelling or fighting, he was looking for her first after the blood, guts and dust settled.

Taveleigha was now talking to Gale, they were probably hypothesising the benefits of innate magic and study learnt magic. He did not really care about the magic, but he did find he was appreciating how Taveleigha when using her spells was aware of where her companions were, ensuring she did not hit any of them with her area of effect spells, she did some amazing damage with her spells but unlike Gale she did not accidentally hit some of them with them, ensuring her party was safe when she wrecked havoc with conjured fire, lightning and anything else she wcould twist and manipualte the weave into her doing. He’d hate to be on a receiving end of a witch bolt again, or even a magic missile. Astarion sipped on the horrible vinegar wine, and watched as Taveleigha walked towards Halsin, the new resident of the camp, and Astarion perked up, the two were closer to where he stood at his tent and he could hear a little over the music Alfira was playing and the general chitter chatter from everyone else in the camp.

“Go on, enjoy yourself you’ve earned this” Halsin smiled, and that smiled made Astarion grimace, he could imagine what Halsin was thinking, he could not even deny that Halsin had taste. Taveleigha was a lovely looking Elf, smaller than most, seeing the two standing opposite each other Astarion had to laugh at the size difference it was remarkable. Halsin the Wood Elf Druid, larger than most Elves, and Taveleigha the mixed blood elf sorcerer smaller and soft than most elves, curvier, her hair tumbling down her back, in rivulets of red, he could imagine her multicoloured eyes expressing mirth, and happiness, shining that bit brighter tonight because of the party and the fact the Tieflings were safe. She would be oblivious to Halsin’s wants and desires. Taveleigha was not one to shy away but she also did not see what everyone else saw when they looked at her. This was one of the first reasons why he chose her to bite, unintentionally at first but realising, that maybe there would not be a sexual or carnal connection between the two of theM. How very wrong he was. He found that when he did drink from her in the middle of her trances, her body still reacted to him, as his body reacted to her, both unintentionally, or maybe even subconsciously.  

No pressure tags: @shewhowas39 @roguishcat @hell-alka @asweetlovesong @trashpandasaga @olivesmom7