#I believe by the paladins of Tyr

[durgesupremacy]

I don't know about y'all but *I* think Durge loves gnolls because they too are a manifestation of slaughter, are driven by hunger, and are meant to dedicate their entire existence to their god-creator

[shadowsofrose]

Zariel's sent goon after goon to hunt me down, but believe me when I tell you I'm not going. The latest yappy little dogs she's sicced on me are nearby. A group of dopes posing as Paladins of Tyr. Want to help me take 'em down?

BALDUR'S GATE 3 (2020) dev. Larian Studios

[nysscientia]

today I am thinking about how wonderful it is that Wyll Ravengard is unquestionably Good but he also has flawed judgment

like, there are several little moments throughout the game where you can earn his approval by doing things that have consequences he would NOT want

(minor Act I spoilers) he approves when you defend Auntie Ethel from Mayrina's brothers, even though evidence is starting to stack up that she's not what she appears to be. and if you do, it starts a fight with them—with innocents who are just trying to help their sister.

OR (slightly bigger Act I spoilers) he approves if you take revenge on Kagha over Arabella's death, even if you haven't uncovered the Shadow Druid plot. and challenging her openly like that, without first calling into question her authority, causes violence to break out in the Grove—hurting many of the tieflings he's trying to protect.

this is not at all to suggest that he has "bad" judgment, because I don't think he does. it takes precious little for him to realize that Karlach isn't the monster he expected, even with lots of voices telling him that she is (Mizora, the 'Paladins of Tyr') and a perfectly reasonable justification for dismissing her own self-advocacy (devils lie). I actually think he's very discerning in a lot of situations—like his insights into Raphael and Mol. or an even more direct example (Act III spoilers): the hero's tests with Ansur, where he can just tell you the answer to all but the lanceboard puzzle. he knows what he's about! he's been making these calls on his own, in the frontiers, for seven years!

so part of why I love those moments of imperfect judgment is because I think they're an incredible window into his interiority. they come up in moments where his sense of justice has been activated—where he feels a need to protect; to face down a threat. he's a little more hasty, a lot more willing to gamble, when he feels like the safety and wellbeing of someone innocent is on the line.

and I have no reason to believe this is on Wyll's mind in those moments, but it's certainly on mine: how would his life have been different, if 7 years ago there had been someone around willing to make a foolish mistake for the chance to protect someone who might be innocent?

because when Wyll looked at Ulder, no cultists or battlefield in his wake, wrapped up in a devil and offering no explanations—

Ulder used exacting judgment to protect his city, and banish an infernal threat. he made a call that Wyll himself considers utterly reasonable.

but what if he had done something a little stupid, and gambled on his son?

... so. this post is a love letter to Wyll being the hero that he himself needed, and all the complicated ways that both hinders and helps him

[senualothbrok]

Oath of Devotion

Summary: When you accompany Karlach to Avernus after the defeat of the Netherbrain, you assume it is the end of your romance with Gale. But you have a lot to learn about the meaning of devotion.

An exploration of the power of love and friendship, featuring Professor Gale, Paladin Tav, Karlach and Wyll.

Word count: 6.6k

AO3 link

Disclaimers: Non-18+. Mild hurt/comfort.

A/N: This fic is dedicated to @dekariosclan, who wanted a story about a Tav who romances Gale but goes with Karlach to Avernus. I hope this hits the spot for you!

The dialogue in the scene at Withers' party is canon but for a few additions- you can watch it here.

Thank you again to @inglorionamy-ammy, beta reader extraordinaire.

She barrels into you when you hold it out. It is a ratty, one-eyed thing, as bruised and battered as you look on this winding road through death and destruction. But Karlach’s face lights up like you are offering her a gold-plated battleaxe, not an abandoned rag of a teddy bear.

“Mate!” she screeches, and you lurch at the tackling force of her embrace. “You shouldn't have!”

You cackle, because every time it is the same. As the heap of discarded and deformed teddies in her tent grows, each one anointed with a name and cherished place next to the inimitable Clive, so too does Karlach’s excitement. When you found her the first couple in a deserted shack - whimsically named Sasha and Roberto - you assumed that the novelty would soon wear off. But as usual, Karlach's enthusiasm knows no bounds.

“He's so cute!” She shrieks as she draws back from you, squishing the mangled thing against her cheek. “He looks like a Gary. Yeah. That's right. Gary. That's what we'll call him.”

She beams as she assigns Gary a sacred place within the mound of teddies in the corner of her tent. Peering inside, you chuckle at the chaos of weapons, armour and trinkets littered around her. She pats Gary proudly on the head as she returns to you. 

“Never gets old.” You mirror her grin. 

“You’re the best.” 

She gives you a quick squeeze. You ignore the way her skin sears yours in her elation - nothing that a simple healing spell cannot fix - and clasp her shoulder with a laugh. When she gestures towards the blanket laid out on the grass and the bottle of wine beside it, you nod keenly, bounding over to lay side by side, staring up at the stars. 

You have always been a traveller, journeying from place to place to follow whatever orders you received from the Justiciars of Tyr. Camping out under the bright expanse of the night sky is as familiar to you as breathing. The road has always been your home. 

It is not that you hated returning to the Halls of Justice, your headquarters in Waterdeep, where you spent most of your formative years. But over time, it has worn on you, the rigid, tight-lipped Tyrran priests, the narrow-eyed magistrates, knights and lords who were as joyless as they were harsh. It was not that you did not love Tyr, that you did not believe in truth and justice and law and order. It was not that you did not wish to defend and protect. You just could not see why you had to be so miserable while doing it.

You have never been the sombre, stick-up-the-arse sort, the type to inspire hushed envy. You have always had your feet firmly on the ground, quick to laugh, slow to put on airs and graces. You are straightforward, run of the mill. With you, what you see is what you get.

You are ordinary. Unremarkable.

So you have known, from the start, that you would never rise up the ranks. You know you will never be a Justiciar of Tyr. And though that harrowed you when you were young and wide eyed - so determined to bring honour and glory to your parents as they toiled away on their meagre farmstead - you find it amusing now. With the stench of the House of Hope still clinging to your pores, you and Karlach guffaw at Raphael’s ridiculous singing as you felled him, the crash of Yurgir falling to the floor like a drunken toddler as she delivered the killing blow. Though the threat of doom looms around every corner, the fate of Faerun hanging over you like a noose, joy burns within you with a ferocity that you have never felt before. You have never felt more alive, or less alone.

But when Karlach tells you, in a conspiratorial, slightly bashful tone, about how tenderly Wyll removed a stray leaf from her hair earlier, she suddenly halts. Her face contorts as she sucks in a sharp breath. Her hand flies to her chest. You jerk up, stiff with worry. 

“It’s alright.” She grits her teeth. “It’ll pass. It’s alright.”

Scorching tendrils pulse out from her chest, serrated cuts threatening to rip her apart. You grimace, your fingers sizzling as they rest on her arm. She curls into herself, braced against the onslaught. You feel frenzied, helpless. All you can do is wait. 

“Karlach,” you plead after a pause. “We need to get you to–”

“Don’t,” she chokes. “Don’t even say it.”

Her fire is hurting now. You cannot help but flinch back. “It’s getting worse. I can’t just watch you-”

“Tav.” Her eyes are dark wells, flickering with flame. You realise that she is crying from the pain. “Don’t ask me. I won’t go back. I’m never going back.”

You shake your head. It is an argument you have had with her before. You do not wish to see the glee in your friend’s eyes shatter into rage, to hear her breathless from anguish rather than laughter. You do not wish to tell her what she does not want to hear. But you cannot bear it. You cannot allow her to suffer when there is a solution within her grasp.

“Ten years,” she spits out. “Ten years in that fucking place, with nothing and no one to call my own.” A fine mist rises from her heart as tears trickle down her skin. “I would rather die than be alone again.”

You notice that the flare of her chest is dimming, her breaths levelling as her features soften. But her resolve remains, as unyielding as her goodness, her loyalty, her zeal for life. You would not change her, not for all the fame and glory in the realms.

In that moment, you want to promise her. You want to tell her that she would not be returning to Avernus alone. But your mind is flooded by indigo streaks across a blue-green sky, the sandalwood scent of a brown sea, the spell of stubble on your skin. And you cannot speak.

So you take her hand, and you do not let go, even when your skin begins to blister.

*****

“How in the hells did you get everyone to clear off for the night?”

You are still adjusting to the stillness of your room at the Elfsong Tavern. After the whirlwind of panting cries and thrown off armour, the lurching groans of the bed beneath you, the calm feels almost unnatural. 

Your head rises and falls on Gale’s chest as he laughs. You feel it as a low rumble through you, your arm draped over the muscled grooves of his abdomen. The damp down on his skin tickles your cheek as your fingers weave upwards through his tangled locks. You are drunk on the taste and scent of him, heady and bittersweet.  It is a crackling bonfire on the coldest of nights, a bottomless ache that rubs you raw. You cannot get enough of him. You do not know how you will survive a separation.

“I confess, I did have some help from Karlach and Wyll.” He chuckles. “The three of us can be very persuasive. As can a generous budget for evening entertainment.”

“Wow. I’m impressed.” 

You flick your tongue playfully over his nipple. He tenses, moans, tightens his grip on the cheek of your ass. All at once, you are ravenous. 

“I live to impress you.”  

The kiss starts as it always does, tender with longing, a gentle caress. And then you are all hunger and need, wanting and grasping and seeking, drinking from each other with a thirst that cannot be slaked. Drowning in the sea of him.

It scares you. The all-consuming demand of it, the fierceness of the passion that swallows you whole. The way the yearning blazes through every part of you, breaking down the barriers you have fortified between your mind, body and soul. How completely you want him, as though he is the answer to your every question. A feeling like no other, for a man like no other. 

You have always been wary of reckless abandon. It was a lesson you learned early on in your travels. Love was a recipe for disaster when you could not guarantee you would be alive from one week to the next, or predict the movements of your missions. Love was a privilege you could not afford. Temporary delights sated the cravings of your flesh. You told yourself that was enough.

And then you met him.

“I’ve never felt this way before.”

You are not sure why you say it. Perhaps it is your body speaking, wrapped up in him, caught in a drowsy lull, fleetingly sated. He has expressed his love for you countless times, but you have not yet used the word. You are not sure what love means, beyond the orb and Mystra and the Crown of Karsus, beyond the Netherbrain and the threat of the end of the world. You see no half measures, no deceit or reserve in him. When he speaks of love, he means it.

But who is to say his love is not formed from desperation? That it is not just gratitude at unexpected companionship, a compulsion to seize every moment for fear that it might be his last? If you defeat the danger that threw you together, how can you be sure his love will endure? That you will not return to your vastly separate lives, as though it were all just a passing reprieve?

He smiles, glowing with the sheen of sweat, soft and hard and magnificent. 

“Nor have I. And I never will again.”

His sincerity still surprises you. The openness of his gaze, like a clear horizon. You could lose yourself in the promise of his love. But you steel yourself. You remember who you are, the life you have led. He jumps on your hesitation. 

“Do you doubt me?”

You try to sound wry, teasing.  

“We’ve both been around awhile, Gale. You’ve had lovers before Mystra. You know your way around a bedroom.”

He tilts his head. “I can't tell if that's a compliment or a caveat.” His brow flickers, the beginnings of a frown. “Is that a cause for doubt, or…?”

“No. Yes. Well.” You look away, and when you meet his eyes again, you see that he is not fooled. Sometimes, it is unnerving to be known. To be seen. “What I’m saying is… you could have anyone you want. You did before, and you can again.”

You cannot bring yourself to mention the future. To ask, even implicitly, what will happen if you save the world and survive. If this is to be a pleasurable distraction, a momentary delight, then you would not want to ruin it. Yet somehow, the uncertainty is a thorn in your heart. It hurts to acknowledge it.

His eyes widen, as though he is stricken, almost offended. 

“And I want you. Only you.”

He cups your cheek. There is an urgency there. Under the intensity of his gaze, you feel vaguely embarrassed. You had not planned to show him this. Your doubt. Your vulnerability.

But it does not deter him. Inexplicably, you know it never would. 

“I love you, Tav.” His voice trembles with conviction. “I've never met anyone like you. You're…extraordinary. Extraordinarily beautiful. Extraordinarily strong. Extraordinarily kind, and wise.”

He pauses briefly, and the curl of his upper lip sends a roiling through your core. 

“Extraordinary in your…unique talents.”

Your eyelids flutter as his fingers whisper over your hip, settling just beneath your navel. The catch in his breath mirrors your own.

“I’ve spent a lifetime waiting for you, and I'd wait a thousand more.” 

He says the words like they are easy. Like they are not oaths, solemn and harrowing - a sacrifice only made for the greatest reward. You struggle against them, and you are not sure why. You want to trust him, but you do not know how.

Because you have always suspected that love was never meant for the likes of you. The love Gale speaks of is the stuff of songs and sagas, fairytales of noble maidens, not gruffly scarred farmer's daughters who have made no mark on the world. And you know, with every fibre of your being, that Gale deserves immeasurably more than your mediocre offering.

Fear and hope flit across Gale’s features as he gazes at you, waiting. You know he wants you to reply. He needs you to tell him you feel the same. To declare that you love him with the same consuming constancy. That you are his, just as he is yours.

But you cannot speak. His turmoil pierces you, and you feel helpless, frenzied. So you crush yourself against him, and you answer with a kiss.

*****

You are grumbling at the rip in your breeches, your punishment for swinging at a rabid imp just a second too late. The sky is darkening like a blood clot. Karlach is jabbing at the caves in the distance where you will make camp, launching into ancient strategies and hoarded secrets. With her engine stabilised here, she is broader, defter, more self-assured. In spite of the smothering decay of Avernus, she radiates with life.

But you are exhausted. The stink of sulphur scours you, and you wonder if you will ever feel clean again. You long for the relief of lush greens and blinding blues, the caress of silk and softness. You miss the cool brush of the wind and sea. And beneath the murk and mire, a chasm has opened inside you that you struggle to ignore.

You are nodding and grunting as Karlach spitballs, and then you see it. A mangled lump by your feet. A soiled leather cover, clinging to shreds of charred vellum. You surge forward to pick it up.

“I reckon we'll be safe there tonight, but–”

Karlach stops, glancing over. “What?”

You sweep away the crust of dust and blood from its scorched surface. Nearby, a half-buried skeleton gapes in rotted robes. 

“A spell book. Useless now.”

Karlach stares at you. You can feel the weight of her appraisal as the memories assail you - dancing fingers and lavender lightning, intricate crow's feet adorning smiling eyes. Rumbling incantations, tingling on your skin.

You stuff the tattered tome into your pack and walk on.

***

You are flicking through the remains of the torched tome. In the glow of the dying campfire, you can just about make out the haphazard scrawl of its dead owner. You are disappointed by the sharp, messy strokes, so harsh and ugly compared to the elegant cursive you know so well. The sparse pages, devoid of elaborate diagrams and rambling annotations. Their emptiness winds you. Grief follows like a wave, and you fight against the shaking of your hands.

“Come on then, soldier. Out with it.”

You start at Karlach's voice. The force of her presence jars you back from the brink. When you look up, her eyes are firm and gentle at the same time.

“Out with what?” you blurt.

She huffs, picking at the carcass of the abyssal chicken you shared for supper. 

“Whatever’s got your goat.” 

Instinctively, you wave her away. But you gasp as she lurches forward, grabbing you by the shoulders. When you break free, she holds your gaze.

“You know there's nothing I wouldn't do for you, right?”

You are stunned by her unexpected seriousness. She waits, expectant, stubborn. You sigh. 

“Of course I do.”

Her brows steeple. “Then talk to me. Because if I have to go one more day seeing you this fucking miserable, my heart might actually break.”

You raise an eyebrow, your last defence. “We came here to stop that from happening.”

“Exactly!” She throws her hands up. “So ‘fess up.”

You shift awkwardly. You suddenly realise how difficult it is to speak about your feelings, even to Karlach. Not simple feelings like lust or anger, amusement or delight. Not the stuff of throwaway comments, wry banter or gushing anecdotes. Those things come as easily to you as your friendship.

No. What you cannot admit is the gaping hole inside you. How it felt to be cocooned in his embrace. The miracle of joining your soul to his, as though you had always been complete. The boundless warmth of him nestled inside you, flowing around you, melting into you. The ebb and flow of home.

You remember the anguished panic on his face, shadowed in the setting sun. The realisation in his searching eyes as you knelt beside Karlach on the docks, paralysed by choice. The tight line of his soft lips as you looked at him one last time, haunted by the ghost of that final, unclaimed kiss, of everything spoken and unspoken.

If you speak of these things, they will swallow you whole. And you are not sure you can endure that, even after all the battles you have survived.

“You can talk about him, you know,” she says, as though she can read your mind. As though you never needed a tadpole to understand each other.

“Who?” A knee jerk answer.

Karlach rolls her eyes. “Who do you think? Do you know another magic man with big doe eyes who can ride you into the astral plane?”

You grimace. On a drunken ramble back in Baldur’s Gate, you had described in detail to Karlach all the places and ways Gale had taken you. You will never live it down. 

“Admit it. You miss Gale. That's what's eating at you.”

Part of you wants to shrug her off, tell her to drop it. But you know the doggedness of Karlach’s loyalty, constant as the sun. She jostles you, a motion meant to reassure. Her nails rap loudly against her chest, a clattering echo around the darkness of the cave.

“When we've fixed this baby, we'll go home. I'll find Wyll, and you'll find Gale. It'll all work out. You'll see.”

She sounds so certain. Once again, you marvel at her stalwart optimism, unwavering through the most unimaginable cruelties. You feel almost ashamed to burst her bubble.

“Karlach, Gale and I aren't…” 

You gesture uselessly. Your chest heaves. 

“It's not like you and Wyll,” you manage. “You guys are practically married. You know he's waiting for you in Baldur’s Gate. He knows you'll go back to him when all this is done.”

“And?” She frowns. “How's that different?”

You look down at the spell book in your lap. A sliver of vellum dissolves into black dust on your fingers.

“I left, Karlach.” You sound defeated. Small.  

You watch as Karlach’s features tighten in thought, then widen in realisation. Sorrow twists on her face.

“Soldier,” she whispers. “I never asked for–”

You straighten immediately. “You didn't have to. I wanted to." Your voice swells as you clasp her arm. "You're my best mate, Karlach. My sister. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you.”

For a moment, you think she might cry. Then she clutches you against her so tightly you can barely breathe. She does not smell of sandalwood and soap, but oil and sweat. And though her warmth is that of a blazing furnace and not the summer sea, you rest in it for a while. 

“He loves you, Tav." Her words are muffled by her embrace. "More than anything.”

“Maybe he did," you concede. "Maybe he was lonely, and horny, and scared. But I left. He’s probably given the Crown back to Mystra by now. She's probably taken him back.”

Karlach pulls back roughly. “You’re joking. You think Gale would go back to Mystra, after everything? After you?”

You shrug. “Well, if not Mystra, he could have his pick. Plenty for him to choose from.”

“I can't tell if you're being serious. Are you serious?”

She stares at you, incredulous. You draw in a shaky breath.

“It would never have lasted, Karlach."

You offer it as an explanation, but she seems more baffled than before.

“What in the hells are you talking about?”

An image of Gale comes to you unbidden. Poised and ready, all broad shoulders and billowing robes, threads of silver shining amidst the brown waves that frame his chiselled face. He flashes you that smouldering look, halfway between a smile and a smirk, as his lithe fingers whip up a storm in the distance.  

You toss the spell book on the ground.

"A man like Gale... a woman like me." Your jaw clenches. "What happened between us was a fluke. A blip for him. I probably did him a favour by leaving. No loose ends to tie up. Now he can move on. Greener pastures, and all that.”

Karlach stiffens and scoffs. “Now I know you can't be serious. Because my mate Tav isn't a total idiot who's completely lost the plot.”

You are taken aback by her uncharacteristic scorn. You are about to shoot back a reflexive retort when she halts. 

“Oh.” She blows out a long breath. “I get it.”

You twitch. “What now?” 

“It’s your blind spot." She nods smugly, as though she has cracked a puzzle. "Like how you drop your guard sometimes when you dodge.”

You do not follow. It does not escape Karlach's notice, the mounting frustration squirming beneath your skin.

“You can't see what's fucking obvious.” Her words are harsh, but her tone is placating. Patient. She sighs, heavy with affection. 

“Tav.”

There is tenderness in the way she leans forward, looking you straight in the eye. You cannot help but soften. To be mad at Karlach would be like fighting without your sword. You just cannot do it.

“This is a bloke who talked my ear off about how your armour brought out the green of your eyes.” She chuckles. “He just wouldn't shut up about you. How brave you are, how kind, how awesome you are. How the sun shines out of your arse. We used to leave him with Minsc just so we could have a break.”

She chortles, then notices your surprise. In mock defence, she raises her palms to you. 

“Look, I love Gale. You know I love Gale. And I adore you. But I really don't want to hear about your muscles bulging in the heat of battle. Or anywhere else.”

When you burst into laughter, Karlach beams.  

“Even Wyll couldn't take Gale's lectures. I think he even fell asleep once.” 

She bobs her head, lowering her voice into a husky baritone, her pointed finger wiggling in the air. 

“Do you have a minute? Because I need to tell you about how loyal and smart and caring Tav is. No, I must insist on telling you all about it. Now. Pish posh.”

You cackle, but you cannot stifle the ache that tears through you. What you would not give to have him here with you now, and not an absurd imitation.

“Gods, that man would not let up about you," Karlach groans. "Shadowheart almost threw up when Gale started talking about your musk. He almost melted Astarion’s brain, too, when he said your scars were ugly." 

You wish you had been there for these interchanges. You had no idea of them, beyond curiosity at Gale's unexpected affinity with Minsc. Now, the idea of Gale singing your praises and defending your honour makes you want to weep.

"A couple times, I even saw Lae'zel chuckle at the way Gale looked at you." She guffaws. "Lae'zel! Chuckling! She didn't even go off on one about istiks being pathetic. That's the power of love, right there.”

You are staring at your trembling hands. A whirlwind of hunger, hurt and hope is gathering inside you. You do not know what to do with it. 

Karlach is silent for a while. When she speaks again, her voice is solemn as a promise.

“He loves you, Tav. That kind of love doesn't just go away.”

'I’ve spent a lifetime waiting for you,' he had said, 'and I'd wait a thousand more.' You wrestle with the weight of his words, the weight of hers. You shake your head.

“I never told him, Karlach. I never got to say….”

The tears choke you. All at once, you cannot think, cannot speak. She takes your hand, and she does not let it go.  

“We'll fix me up, and then you can tell him. You can tell him everything.” 

**** 

“So you came back.”

His gaze darts away from you, his hands clasping and unclasping. He looks as nervous as you feel, stooping awkwardly to greet you like a half-stranger. But in the haze of candlelight, buoyed by the heavenly breeze of meat and mead and flowers, he glows. He is just as you remember him, a vision in purple and gold. Your every longing and memory made flesh.

“You look well.” He shuffles, a halting smile quivering on his lips. “A little singed around the edges, but well.”

You have never before felt self-conscious in his presence. But standing before him now, so close you could reach out and touch him, you are ashamed. You are embarrassed by your dented armour, your torn and dusty boots. Having just narrowly survived a group of cambions sent by Zariel, there had not been time for you and Karlach to primp and preen - not that the two of you ever wasted energy on that. You could not have leapt faster through the portal back to Faerun to answer Withers’ summons.

Appearances never mattered to Gale. He always saw through to the heart of a person, finding beauty in the alignment of a soul. It is one of the things you love most about him. But tonight, as the strange stiffness between you expands, you find yourself fretting over the bunching of your braids, your unpainted eyes, the fresh scars on your arms.

“So do you, Gale.”

Your voice is strained. Every muscle in your body yearns to spring forward, to talk to him with touch. But he stands apart, worlds away. Perhaps he is beyond your reach, after everything that has passed between you.

At the corner of your eye, Karlach throws her arms around Wyll’s neck with a squeal. You turn to watch as she lifts him up, twirling him around to a chorus of hoots and whistles. You grin and clap as they collapse into each other. You hear Gale chuckling behind you, that most soothing of sounds. 

When you turn back, there is a moment when you simply gaze at him. You notice the empty canvas of his chest, laid bare by the tantalising dip of his richly embroidered doublet. Freedom, plain and pure, radiates from the unmarred plane of his bronze-kissed skin.

You think of all the times you traced the mark of the orb with your fingers, your lips, your tongue, pressing your love into his wounds, covering them with the balm of your desire. Is it recognition that glimmers in his eyes as they meet yours? Yearning? 

He clears his throat. Perhaps not.

“I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Not sure where to begin.”

For months, you have imagined what you would say to him. All the doubts you would lay down, all the things you would confess. In the silence of your loneliest nights, you prayed and pleaded with Tyr for a second chance, promising, with a resolve as strong as your Oath of Devotion, that you would not waste it.

But now that he is here, words fail you. What you want, in this instant, is to listen. To hear the resonant song of his voice, the lilting passion of it. To soak in the gentle earth of his eyes, the gossamer lines of delight and wisdom that dance on his face. To bask in the miracle of him.

“Why don't you start at the beginning?” you ask.

He tilts his head. Then his jaw clenches, as though he is bracing himself.

“I promise I've not been moping around waiting for your return.” 

It jolts you, the hint of bitterness. You have hurt him, and maybe there can be no second chances after that. Perhaps you cannot make amends for who you truly are. 

But then his voice drops. His brow arches ever so slightly. There is the ghost of that sideways smile that has always driven you wild.

“Though of course I longed for it.”

It takes you a moment to register it. He longed for your return. Waited. Slowly, mercifully, he begins to tell you about his life at Blackstaff Academy. You savour the familiar enthusiasm that snowballs as he speaks, the lively flurry of his hands, a secret language in itself. When you learn that he is a Professor of Illusory Magic, hear him extol the manifold wonders of imagination and lament the ineptitude of his apprentices with wry affection, you grin so widely that your cheeks ache. 

You have always believed in Gale - his stout heart, girded with goodness, his keen mind, honed as the sharpest blade. It has always been your greatest hope for him - to see him content with the man he is, no longer shackled to a mirage of the man he should be. If this is the end of the road, if a stilted goodbye is all that lies between you now, it would be a torment. An agony you will carry with you for the rest of your days. But there is no doubt in your mind. You would suffer any pain for his peace. His happiness. 

It is like you are old friends when he asks about your time in Avernus. You tell him about the endless hoards of hunters trailing after you,  the running count of kills that Karlach insists on keeping (she is currently leading by three). He shares your disgust with what passes as food in the hells, your excitement about the blueprints you found. When you tell him about Zariel’s forge, where you and Karlach are heading to fix her heart, you can almost hear the gears turning in his mind as he furrows his brow. You explain that Karlach is making inroads with one of Zariel’s guards, an old acquaintance of hers who thrives on chaos. Now, it is just a matter of biding your time before you make a move. 

You are struck, again and again, by how much you have missed Gale’s laugh. The brightness of his discerning eyes. The plump arc of his lips curving into a grin. Lost pieces of yourself, restored for a fleeting night.

“I almost feel sorry for the devils in your path.” He smirks. “I mean, I don’t, of course. I’m sure they deserve it.” 

He leans forward. As the wind weaves through his hair, you catch the notes of leather, scrolls, and sandalwood. Home. You breathe deeply, storing up his scent. You do not ever want to forget it. 

“I've told my students plenty of tales about our escapades. You're something of a hero to them, you know?” 

Something reverberates inside you. Dimly, you recall the weariness in your parents’ eyes when you returned to their farm on your thirtieth birthday. “Not a Justiciar, no. Still just an ordinary Paladin.” When, a few steps down the dirt track on the day of your departure, you turned back to wave goodbye, they had already scurried back into the house. Relieved to see the back of you, to be done with yet another disappointment in the ceaseless toil of their lives.

But Gale looks at you with pride, a kind of awe. A hero, he says. Extraordinary, he once called you.

“I'll be delighted to introduce you to them when you return. That is, if you wish to return to Faerun. Or to me.”

There is a fullness in his gaze now. The brown flame that flares is unmistakable. It is a swollen, throbbing desire that roils through you, a desperate mirror of your want.

He waits. For all this time, he has waited. Standing together where it all began, surrounded by the symphony of those you cherish most, you see him so clearly. The depths of his devotion. The boundlessness of his love. His need and hunger, wrestling against his fear.

There is so much you want to tell him, so much of your soul you wish to lay bare. It is not too late, you realise. If you open yourself to him, he will embrace you, as though there is no past, no future. Only the endless horizon of the astral sea.  

“I want nothing more, Gale,” you whisper.

He heaves, a burst of relief, disbelief, elation. His whole body seems to vibrate, beaming with the bliss of a burden lifted, a mystery finally solved. The glorious end to a grueling journey, a terminus for which he has fought tooth and nail, trusting, against all odds, in a home where you would both come to rest. And when he steps forward, reaching out to you, you drift towards him like a star falling back to earth.

But then it seizes you. You stop in your tracks, bowled over by a compulsion to protect. An urge to throw yourself before him like a shield. This man, who has sacrificed and suffered for you. This marvel of a man, who deserves nothing less than the full measure of you. You cannot take away the victory he has won, against all odds, over the demons of his history. You cannot jeopardise the peace he has laboured so hard for. You could never forgive yourself.

You force yourself back.

“Zariel knows we're coming.” Your voice breaks. “She has an army guarding the forge.”

Gale’s features freeze in shock, the anticipation of pain. Your withdrawal is a blow. To hurt him so soon after hope - it is unbearable. But you must protect him. You cannot take the risk.

"We might not make it in. Or out. I don't want you to…I can't let you…”

He searches your face. You push out the words - a guttering plea, woefully inadequate.

“I might not make it back, Gale.”

There is a twisting in his face, a faltering as he considers you. Then his eyes widen, blazing with sudden understanding. He huffs, a gentle half-laugh, brimming with affection. It throws you, and when he speaks, his tenderness reminds you of all those nights when you lay beside him, wanting for nothing.

“Your caution is warranted. But believe me, I know enough about divination to promise you that our future is one worth looking forward to.”

You stare at him. Divination? Has he sought out your future, while he yearned for your return? Can it be that he has seen it, the two of you living as one, the answer to every prayer you feared to offer up to Tyr? Your breath hitches. 

“A crackling hearth. Two cosy armchairs beside it. A bottle of wine to be poured. And your battleworn boots, discarded at long last by the door. That is the life we have waiting for us. Believe in it, and it will come.”

You can almost see it. The fine veins of his forearm flickering as he turns a page. His moist lips tingling on your fingers as they trail through his beard. Beads of sweat like pearls, settling into the nook of his clavicle, shadowed in the firelight.

Desire takes you like a flood. You can no longer resist the tide of his resolve, the smouldering embrace of his certainty. All of your questions, all of your doubts, dissolve like mist as he strides towards you. 

His closeness is a spell. You are enthralled by the whisper of his hair against your temple, the caress of wine on his breath. The bold curve of his nose ghosts over yours, luring you closer. All at once, you are dizzy, falling into him. He draws back, teasing and playful, and when he laughs, you grab hold of him and crush your lips on his.

And then, all you can feel and smell and taste is him.

*****

He is stooped over his desk at the front of the lecture hall. Framed by intricate oak walls and animated portraits of Blackstaff legends, the fervent undulations of his cursive on the chalk board behind him, his beauty takes your breath away. His hair is longer now, lighter, adorned with gleaming clusters of white-grey. He is leaner, sharper at the edges, but somehow more solid. More true.

Squinting into a mass of scrolls, he is in a world of his own, muttering and gesturing to himself, a mixture of irritation, confusion, determination. Even from the back of the room, you can make out the wrinkle of his thinking line, that most endearing of expressions. You chuckle.

He barely glances up at the sound. He calls out with a practised weariness, a sternness that you have never heard before but instantly relish.

“If you're here for the lecture on the nature and use of simulacrums, you are disgracefully, appallingly late–”

He jerks his head, his gaze finally lifting towards you. When his eyes meet yours, he lets out a gasp that lurches through his shaking frame. And then he is sprinting, leaping through the rows of chairs, hurtling into you like a flaming comet.

Your bodies weave together, clutching, seeking, finding. His hot tears, his juddering breaths, the frenetic beating of his heart, echoing and melting into yours.

“You're back.” He cups your face, pressing his forehead to yours. “You came back.”

You lean into his touch, ravenous for more. All this time, believing you could not love him, doubting he could feel the same - now, all you want is to fill yourself with him. The musk of soap and bookdust, the taste of coffee and salt, the heat of his thrumming muscles flush against yours. You are dissolving into a flurry of kisses, each one more eager than the last, sealing your promise against his tear-streaked skin. You do not hold back. You will never hold back again.

“I love you, Gale,” you pant. “I've loved you since the day we met. I’ve spent a lifetime waiting for you, and I'd wait a thousand more.”

The awe and wonder in his eyes reflects your own. He is quivering, letting out tiny sighs of jubilation. As his fingers dance up your chest, your neck, the knots of your braids, you tremble under his touch, grinning at the certainty that you will never again go without it. 

“Where's Karlach?” he murmurs into your hair, as you run your nose over the stubble on his jawline, savouring the rough and smooth of him.

“She's headed for Baldur’s Gate to find Wyll. She’s promised to visit us as soon as they can.” You draw back. “That is, if you want me to stay here, with you.” 

He huffs, amused, incredulous. His fingers find yours. Time stands still as he raises your hand to his lips. When he plants a kiss along the scarred ridge of your knuckles, it has the passion and devotion of an oath.

“I want you to marry me,” he breathes.

You look at him for a long time. You will never tire of the sight. Yours is a love that will last a lifetime, a love greater than any legend or saga, stronger than any fairytale. This man, this miracle, forever yours, just as you are forever his. You have no doubts about it now.

Joy burns within you, a fire in your soul that will never fade.

You laugh, and you answer with a kiss. 

*********

Liked this fic? Check out my other work.

[gortashs-skidmark]

Tieflings DnD - variations for the fanfic writers and artists!! -

There’s a lot about tieflings on the internet. THESE ARE CANON, except for one thought i put in.

If you’re gonna do BG3 fanfics about Tieflings, please please please consider adding some spice with origin lore and CANON facts about their race :) it would be SO fun!

Pls I need more zevlor fanfic too.

PLS READ: I don’t believe in censorship or ignoring the subject of people who are oppressed, but be mindful of how you write and use oppression of dnd races on your tav pls.

- Orange; Canon Historical Events, Abilities, Bodily Facts, and Bloodlines. It means i think you should look into it.

Pink: I think it's cute. Red; Warning, Comment Purple; Headcanon (only one of them)

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- Tieflings are prone to bad luck, because of the Curse of Aasimar.

- Planar Proverb “don’t ever make a bet with a Tiefling” hey I already made one with Lakrissa.

- They’re arcanally gifted, most of them. Zariel Tieflings are much better melee fighters.

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- Tielfling Blood; is tainted from the hells so they could have human parents. Be descendants of demon, devils, evil deities, night hags, and succubus!

- i know y’all love aphrodisiac fanfics, succubus spittle is exactly what you need dawg. Someone make me a fanfic including succubus heritage.

- along with that, Tieflings are unable to breed with anyone except humans or other Tieflings. Literally. They can be Tiefling or human.

- Usually there is some tell to if they’re Zariel, Asmodeus, Mephistopheles by birth mark, or traits like cat eyes, or night hags bloodlines have red eyes without pupils or scelaras

EDIT: I thought the flaming pupils were cat-like slit eyes in the game, but Karlach does indeed have regular slits!

- Tieflings can be male, female, or without gender. It is a canon fact. A win for my gender struggling homies.

- They can have green, blue, purple, pink, yellow, red skin tones. With dark hair colors only like black, purple, dark red and blue. I don’t care for this, genes be gene-ing so have any color you want.

Mephestopheles is recorded as to having blue skin, pale blue whites and red eyes, soot black scales, with large wings in the 2nd Manual. BUT in a 3e version he is described having red skin, bat wings, being 9ft, with white eyes, and slick black hair. Both of these are present in Mephestophic Bloodlines in BG3. Raphael is the son, though cambion, is red.

Asmodeus rules the Nine Hells. Mephestopheles being his archduke, only rules the 8th layer. Asmodeus has a humanoid, and a scale-fiend version of himself. He's red, slim, 13ft tall, horned, vibrant red eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard. He is Lawful-Evil.

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The Blood War (where Karlach escaped) is described as a "philosophical war" and which kind of evil would rule. Asmodeus plays a part but didn't start it, it's rooted in ancient Hell conflicts. Asmodeus claimed it was a senselessly bloody conflict from a militia standpoint. He really hates it, he's not a fan of it. INFERNAL POLITICS ARE FUCKING COMPLICATED. look into it :)

Zevlor was a Hellrider or Rider of Elturel! a Cavalry unit for Elturel during the 14th and 15th century. They ride horseback, and use spears and bows. They're well reguarded!! Zevlor should have more pride in himself for his service, being a refugee isn't his fault, or The Descent.

In the late 1400's striving for Paladin Knighthood in the Order of Companion was a rank of Hell rider. Before and after the year 1494, you could be a Paladin and join freely.

The Order of Companions was an Elturel, of Western Heartland, theocratic realm of Paladin Knighthood. It's just a region of Paladins that are highly reguarded. They typically worship Tyr, Torm, Helm, and Aumanator.

They kept order in the high capital of Elturel, preserving local civilization from outer destruction. They're super Lawful Good.

Typically an Oath of Devotion or an Oath of the Crown.

"For a City Guard, they outmatched the armies of the Whole Realm" - Forgotten Wiki Realms

They guard general land, they aren't really police, and can escort as far as Waterdeep if privileged to. It is a job they hold for life. I FUYCKING LOVE HELLRIDERS.

Shortly after Elturel’s descent into Avernus, the Tieflings were blamed for the fall, and expelled from the city entirely. Zevlor and any tiefling hellrider’s title has been stripped from them. Any hellrider’s were arrested at The Gate. And the reputation of tieflings sunk even lower.

Badlurian’s are Elturian’s rivals but Duke Ravenguard was tricked into coming to Elturel for politics and ended up helping and sending in troops to help fight. He’s extra important! I might find Wyll, all though lovely, useless, his father is very brave and noble and amazing for what he does.

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- Tieflings can have feathers! Although rare. They can have fur, scales, or be bald like humans. They can be any variation of sorts!

- A more common portrayal of tieflings, is having solid colored eyes, whites and irises the same color. They can be black, red, silver, gold, or white.

- Tieflings are technically minorities and don’t live in the highest neighborhoods. It gives them an even worse reputation.

- Most of the Tieflings with famous status, also give bad reps. Climbing their way to the top in corruption.

- When Tieflings get nervous, experience anxiety, or are upset. They’re known to wrap their tails around their leg!! Super telling.

- They can use their tail like a monkey, very dexterous about it. It’s about 5-6ft long.

- Their ages, weight, height. All similar to humans. Idk how logical that is with 5 extra feet of meat behind them. Sometimes they can live longer, to about 120-150 years old.

- Tieflings can look just like humans. Though they can have their hellish features, those with strong hellish features are often killed at birth out of disgust.

- They can also have legs of a goat, tail akin to a horse or a lizard.

- Tieflings can be really good at thieving, hiding, and deceit.

- their diet consists of meat, marrow, gristle, fat, and bones. They’re highly carnivorous. They even eat roasted insects.

- Many worship Besheba, the goddess of bad luck, finding similarities in them and their goddess.

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- Tieflings are as sensitive as humans, same hearing. They usually have dark vision. And their body temperatures can be colder or warmer than humans depending on their type of tainted blood. --Mephistopheles blood lines are from the frozen layer of hell, maybe their blood is colder.

- They don’t purr, sorry girlies. They’re closer to humans than Tabaxis or Driders.

- Tieflings don’t regrow horns unless they’re still young, though they do tend to file them down.

- They have a natural unsettling aura about them. Even if their heritage is unknown to others, it makes people uncomfortable. They also can smell of sulphur.

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- There are so many Tieflings bloodlines. I love the Babau Tieflings bc they’re already known as uncanny creatures-- Babau Tieflings are gaunt and skinny, darker skin, and a small horn coming from the back of their head.

- Marilith Tieflings are known to be seductive- more than they already are, and have dark hair. They have snake-like half-bodies and have grey tongues.

- Succubus Tieflings! They’re like the ones you see in bg3, often have a small set of wings.

- Tieflings can have so many fucking variations it makes me dizzy.

- Tieflings can have bat-like wing shaped ears, that perk up and shit. I know yall think about ear movements. <zevlor has this>

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Edit: Ya'll loved this :) I can do another on Tiefling politics if ya'll want. Or more bloodlines and fun facts if you want.

I have built another list of Canon facts about Driders and Kar'niss Headcanons if you monster fuckers are interested!!

Currently in the works; He Who Was Headcanons and Shadar'Kai canon facts and events.

[alpaca-clouds]

Fixing Karlach's Companion Quest

Let me ramble a little bit, after this post venting about the 3rd Act and especially how underused Karlach is was shared quite a lot. Because believe me people, I have thoughts in regards to how one could do her companion quest.

As I said: Out of the origin companions Karlach by far has the most lackluster companion quest. In fact her companion quest has less content than the quests for Halsin and Jaheira. Because basically Karlach's companion quest has only those steps:

Find the "Paladins of Tyr" and defeat them

Go find Infernal Iron for Dammon in the grove.

Give another Infernal Iron to Dammon at the Last Light in.

Defeat Gortash (which you have to do either way, no matter whether Karlach is on your team).

Which is not a whole lot.

The only decision Karlach will have in her entire questline is always "Does she want to die or rather go back to Avernus with Wyll?" And both are most certainly bad endings for her. And while Baldur's Gate (the city) is filled with those Steel Watch soldiers, that have a working infernal engine, the player does not get a chance to somehow try and follow up on it.

So... Let me talk on how I would write her quest.

Act 1

For the most part I do think Act 1 for her is alright as it is. I would maybe bring in some more tension into the story of some folks from Avernus coming for her. That does not need to happen in Act 1, but it should be hinted at. Because when we meet her, we learn that she had been haunted for days by folks from Avernus, but then... we never see anything of that outside of the paladins and the stuff with Mizora and Wyll. And that is kinda a let down.

Just hint at some infernal creatures being seen or something. Make her a bit more anxious about it. Something like that.

Act 2

The big issue is that Karlach has basically no content at all in Act 2 right now. Like, at all. You meet Dammon early on, bring him an infernal iron that you probably already have on hand. If you romance her you can get the first sex scene with her afterwards. And yes, if you actually go around talking to all the NPCs you will find one, who has a message from Flo, a demon who was a kind of "friend" to Karlach in the hells. Which is where we get introduced to the thing that feels like it should go somewhere - but never goes: The soul coins. While we can already collect those in Act 1, this is where Karlach actually explains what the Soul Coins are. And it is pretty clear that this at some point was the set up for a corruption arc... Only that this arc never happens.

Something I would do to play from this is, that sometime during Act 2 you will encounter some devil (maybe they'll actually come to camp) that will actually challenge you on Karlach. And during the fight she would through some way or another actually use a coin (just make somehow sure she has one) and there are gonna be consequences from that.

You can talk to her about it, she probably would just act as if it was nothing. Something like that. Just build that one up.

Act 3

See, I kinda think I know why the soul coin thing goes nowhere. Because for the Soul Coins to be used you need to have Karlach on your team - and generally speaking the game does not force you to have certain characters on your team. Sure, for some events on the companion quests you get highly encouraged to take the companion in question along, but... You are not forced to do so. And for Karlach to get corrupted she would kinda need to use the Soul Coins - and implementing that would have been a bit harder? However, here is what I would do:

Once you get into the city, you will sooner or later find Dammon. Karlach will ask about him, you take her to meet him. He will tell you, that he has no idea how to fix the engine. But the player will get the ability to note that ineed the Steel Watch are running on Infernal Engines, and hence understanding them might help. Hence, this will actually also give you another reason to go to the Forge, which can then double as Karlach's "Dungeon". You will try to find some stuff here - and from there you could go different parts.

Either you really frame the entire Karlach conflict around the soul coins, or you frame it around her want for revenge. I think storywise the soul coins would work a lot better - however they would also need a lot more change in the game.

Because a Soul Coin plot would probably build around her using the Soul Coins again and again and through it losing control. Basically a addiction metaphor. And for that you would either need to talk her out of it or the engine could actually fail earlier than the finale. If you really want to be a bit evil... let her die earlier on. I mean, the game lets characters leave/die earlier, so it is fine to let that happen, right?

The revenge plot is easier to do. You go to the Forge, deal with the Gondians one way or another, you bring those plans to Dammon and he realizes he needs something (a MacGuffin, a specific bit of information, whatever) to actually fix the engine. And this is something that Gortash has.

I wrote about this before: I generally think that even in another origin playthrough or a Tav playthrough the game would be better if you could actually get Gortash to give up rather than fighting him. For one, the fight against Gortash is boring, but also it would improve the story a lot more to get to see both him and Orin with a bit more nuance.

In this case the story would go like that: You go to Gortash. Given this is past the Forge storyline there is a good chance you destroyed his Steel Watch. He is pissed. Well, works good, because so is Karlach. Of course he does not want to help you - and Karlach wants to kill him. Still, you need his help to save Karlach. So you need to convince the two of them in one way or another.

I think this is especially poiniant because one of Karlach's biggest wants is actually a regretful Gortash. And sure, she will not realistically get that anytime soon. But give it a chance?

Well, either would work: A story about the Soul Coins - or one about the entire revenge plot. In my fics I went with the second one, because only a few plot points needed to happen differently for that. But if you were to remake parts of the game, I think both would be nice solution. (For my alternate Gortash confrontation: Hurt Begets Hurt.)

[quescon]

Rare BG3 char x OC F/F fic recs

Sooo, @mikuchan made this post on gender stats in bg3 fandom (Which is very cool, not very surprising and you should check it out)

Along with other info in the post, there's a page that lists number of x oc fics for every character who has any. So, I looked through the tags, picked 5 medium-short fics and I present them to you.

Venomous - Kagha/Tav, M, warning for character death (but neither of the women), check this out if your enjoy evil Tavs and ambitious women.

Lilith investigates Kagha with the intent of finding knowledge to use against her. Yet the more she learns, the more intrigued she becomes, until she settles upon her own method of dealing with the druid.

"Love? Hah. Never heard of it." - Derryth Bonecloak/Tav, T, FLUFF, check this out if you think that Derryth deserves good things and wanted to play an eladrin in bg3

Derryth wasn't quite sure what to expect when leaving her presumed-dead husband in the Underdark. Adopting a dubiously named cat? Sure, maybe. But finding love again? That one was a stretch.

Gale's Mom Has Got It Going On - Morena Dekarios/Tav, M, humour, Gale POV, check this out if you want a giggle and believe that Morena is a milf, actually. (A lot of this is Gale going mad over other guys in camp flirting with his mom)

Gale has his hands full trying to keep his two comrades from hitting on his mother. Unfortunately, Astarion and Wyll are relentless. He ends up leaving her in the care of the one person at camp he thinks will keep her safe: Octavia, the Paladin of Tyr. Surely, the honorable paladin only has the purest of intentions with her, right? ...Right?

Of Spots and Scales - Quil Grootslang/Dark Urge, T, modern AU, quite fluffy for a durge-being-durge story. Check this out if you just excitedly thought "There's Quil fic??"

Quil knows she is an optimist. She also knows a lot of people find her annoying, or say other words about her. Bright and cheery. Sweet and naive. Diabetes-inducing. Very loud. The last one is totally fair because throatsinging is hard to do quietly, ignoring the fact that doing so ruins the whole point of it. There are some people that appreciate Quil for who she is though. But then, there is Rae. The silver dragonborn knows that, rationally, their whole thing would not make sense. However, Quil knows for a fact that emotions are not constrained by petty rationality. She has tried her best to express that in written song lyrics, though her efforts are not yet bearing full fruit. She just needs to survive until they do.

The Flood's Guiding Hand - Allandra Grey/OC (not really Tav), E, smut, SM, check this out if you like a bit of worldbuilding with your smut and you like dwarves.

Sanna is a would-be priestess of Umberlee and a runaway dwarf who has no love for her people's traditions. She is initiated into the Flood Tide's inner circle, but before the rite is complete she must undergo a very particular ritual. Written for Femslash February 2024 for the prompt "Rain."

[sailorgundam308]

Got pretty annoyed yesterday while discussing the game with a friend (don’t worry, we’re still friends lol). But truly, I got annoyed at, once more, seeing how there are wrong assumptions weaved into the community discourse - things based out of someone’s ass, apparently, that got traction and now are repeated by players as if it’s true. But, of course, if anyone stops 2 seconds to actually pay attention to the game, these ideas prove to be just wrong.

This friend, for example, was mentioning how Astarion and Karlach NEVER agree or disagree together in anything. That’s a lie. I’ve (me myself, so I KNOW firsthand) been screen shooting every time there’s an agreement between them and when there isn’t. There are much more agreements than disagreements between Astarion and Karlach. They do come across as having different alignments, but they think alike MUCH more than ‘the internet’ (or even some devs?!) tend to believe. They might justify their rationale in different ways but they do agree together and disagree together way more than they disagree with each other. So that is something I personally can attest to.

Then I heard the argument that Karlach and Astarion don’t get unique scenes between each other: again, untrue. The tiefling party scene with Karlach, for starters, is the only unique romance scene for Astarion. The only person who has back and forth with Karlach after the paladins of Tyr are defeated is Astarion. They have (out of the top of my head, at least 4 unique short banters while both are in the party - again, more than Karl with any other companion.

Then the wrong assumption Astarion can’t go to Avernus : he can and he goes, both as ascended and spawn if you’re playing origin Karl. Ascended if you’re playing him.

A lot stems, again, from simplistic and shallow interpretations of both these characters’ story arcs and personalities. Others come from prejudice, from passing judgement on their appearance instead of their “content”.

Moreover, though, there will never be as much this x that content if it’s involving Karlach (and worse for Wyll) SIMPLY BECAUSE there is LESS than A THIRD the amount of content for Karlach in ANYTHING.

For some reason writers/devs took a long while to decide to put the work into Karlach and when they did they clearly made a bet that blew in their faces - that she’d be a lesser origin character and that’d turn out alright. But she’s the second most popular character and because people like her, they are paying attention to her story - and the massive lack of work and resources dedicated to her arc. Imagine if she had received the attention in detail and the game time / in game content, say, shadowheart received? Instead of a temple Shar, we went to Avernus? In place of Shar, ZARIEL made a personal appearance? We could’ve gotten a young Karlach flashback cinematic, an extra dungeon in act 3, then a personal quest closure with Gortash instead of SH’s parents, so we’d know what the fuck happened. As someone who can’t give two shits about SH, that would’ve been incredible to play. Half of that would still have been a blast. But we get nowhere near. And I’m only bringing Karlach to attention here as an example - if you look at Wyll (who was the front page origin boy since the conception of the game), the disparity is even more shocking.

I’ve read on a writer’s twitter a while back (can’t remember who exactly so you’ll have to excuse me), that they were the writers for Durge, and for a time they got to write some stuff for Astarion for a bit, due to some task delegation changes and whatnot, and they explicitly said they “managed to put in things specific to their “main” character (durge) in Astarion’s writing” - or something in those lines. Honestly… what the fuck? Not sure if that was the intention, but to me it sounded like someone with their own precious OC, which they are obviously attached to, pushing content in to benefit their “main”. In a game where there are several “mains” and many with glaringly less content than others. Again, in my interpretation of what I read that day, this information came across as the most unprofessional shit I’ve seen - if you are tasked to write someone else’s character, you should act as that character’s writer - not a fanfic writer trying to push a personal headcanon or narrative because it pleases YOU, in detriment of other characters. It was wild at the time and I just kinda… walked away and pretended I didn’t read it. It was just shocking and not the attitude I expected from a serious professional.

Whether that’s the whole truth or not I can’t say, but what I can say is that this left me with a weird taste in my mouth and perhaps that’s why until today I couldn’t finish a single run with Durge despite trying several. There are other issues with Durge for me personally in term of the actual writing of the sentences and the way they were worded that just seems impossible to take seriously. (But I’m trying to get over it still, as I want to experience this part of the game too, so I won’t give any sort of personal final veredict).

Also, the idea that Durge was supposed to be the main character… that’s a new assumption for me and my friend also brought it up. That sounded very sus and I went to read more about it and, of course, that’s also wrong. In previous BG games, we always played a Bhaalspawn. It would make perfect sense we played one again - but the butler shit, the amnesia, the gore erotic fantasies, that wouldn’t fly for the average BG3 player - and wasn’t supposed to. When they decided to split tav to leave the “absolutely neutral protagonist” they parted with the bhaalspawn narrative that was a very big part of the previous games, so I assume they didn’t want to just toss it, but put it to another “dark tav” or whatever shit that means. And then they doubled down with the evil and edge lord of kitschy horror narrative. It’s FINE. But isn’t supposed to be the main character.

TLDR: instead of taking random assumptions about bg3 as yours, pay attention to the game itself. And think critically about it a bit. All the origins are presented AS equals but they’re nothing but. And Larian should be (yes, troubleshooting tech issues but also) trying to even out the absurd gaps they allowed to happen in integrating the narrative of, especially, Karlach and Wyll into the game. Make more and decent content for them, fix the plot holes, rewrite the shit that doesn’t make sense for them FIRST.

Tbh, I wouldn’t be complaining if Larian had owned it to their content and presented us with Karlach and Wyll as sort of Halsin or Minthara type of companion - non origin, lesser tier of companion. Then the production choices they made would be at the very least justified. And I won’t EVEN start on the fact that these two, Karl and Wyll, are the two PoC origins… the black guy and the southeast Asian woman. Because, oh, boy, things start to look VERY bad when you put THAT into this equation… 👀

[wellthebardsdead]

*some emerald grove devil au with a spicy mama??*

———

Falûne: *gliding along just above the group, lazily doing loops and twirling in the updraft beside the risen road* Those gnolls must’ve been the ones that attacked the Tieflings the day they came to the grove, they tore right through those people- hm? *looks ahead seeing blood and charred earth leading towards the river*

Gale: At least we found Lihalas lute. I’m sure Alfira will be happy to see it safe, at least she can hold the memory of her teacher within the music she plays.

Astarion: that or remind her of her gruesome slaughter- where’d our friend go?

Wyll: *looks up to see Falûne’s tail disappear over the trees* … *runs off after him and freezes in shock seeing him approaching Karlach* LÛ GET BACK!

Falûne: *looks back at him* She’s hurt! *steps forward* hey it’s alright, I’m a friend, are you okay? *backs up as the tiefling stands tall and flames billow off of her*

Karlach: Me? *grins* never better! *eyes up his wings and devil like characteristics* A shame for you then devil! *readies her axe*

Wyll: DONT YOU DARE LAY A HAND ON HIM FIEND!! *grabs Falûne and yanks him back to safety*

Karlach: well I’ll be damned, the blade of frontiers cavorting with devils.

Wyll: He’s a devil only by blood, but his heart is pure. Unlike you. *draws his blade* Your end is- ARGHHH!

Karlach: *recoils as her tadpole connects to his and Lûnes, her eyes seeing through the blue devils and finding only kindness and love, nature all around him and the blessing of a unicorn* wh-what was that?!

Falûne: *seeing the hells up close for the first time through her eyes. The horror, the suffering, the bloodshed and the roaring heat of hellfire… and feeling an odd sense of comfort from all of it* I- *focuses harder and sees a faceless figure, then karlach herself being dragged through to the hell’s themselves, sold into eternal servitude against her will* it was, the tadpole- you… You’re not a devil… you’re a tiefling! You were sold to Zariel!

Karlach: Well fuck me, you, you’re really a kind devil then… there’s a first for everything it seems.

Wyll: No! You can’t believe a word she says she’s lying to you!

Falûne: I know a lie when I hear it, Wyll… you should know how hard it is to lie to a devil… she’s telling the truth.

Wyll: No! She served Zariel! She-

Falûne: Against her will, *walks in between them and gently places his hand on his blade, lowering it* listen to reason now… please…

Wyll: Shit… Shit!! *sighs* you’re right… I’ve been mislead then… you really are no devil.

Karlach: whew… thank the gods, I was worried I’d have to take your head off.

Wyll: hm, you would have died in the attempt.

Falûne: someone set you on Karlachs tail, and I’d like to know who.

Karlach: aye, me as well, go on then wyll. You’re among friends.

Wyll: in a few days time you’ll find out, and no doubt I will pay my penance then.

Falûne: penance?… should I be worried?

Wyll: you’re not in any danger. From what I’ve witnessed, you’re a far more powerful devil than her anyway.

Karlach: another devil? How many have you been dealing with??

Falûne: well there’s me, my uncle and now this mysterious third but- *recoils a little as the flames suddenly grow hotter and Karlach grones holding her chest* Sh-shit you’re still hurt! Let me-

Karlach: no no, that’s all healed- ughhh my engines what’s aching.

Falûne: engine?…

Karlach: my engine. *smacks her chest* zariel stole my heart and replaced it with this contraption… now she’s sent her yappy little attack dogs after me to get it back it seems. So called paladins of tyr, they cornered me outside the tollhouse.

Falûne: hm, let’s send them back to her with a warning then.

Karlach: Fuck yes!

*30 minutes later*

Falûne: *holding Anders by his throat* please work- Karlach, come here.

Karlach: *engine boiling over with rage as she stalks closer, axe ready to kill* Tell Zariel I said h- *blinks as Falûne’s hand reaches into her chest, his skin feeling cool like ice, claws gently smoothing over the blistering infernal metal as he grasps hold of it* huh?? What are you?

Falûne: Sending the warning. *lets go of Anders throat and plunges his other fist into his rib cage, grabbing hold of his heart and with a small spark of fiendish magic, switching it with the engine* EVERYONE BACK UP! *grabs karlach and pushes her back as Anders suddenly begins to blister and boil from the inside out, clawing at his skin and screaming in agony as the engine cooks him alive before exploding all across the room in a smouldering pile of entrails*

Karlach: *staring at it in shock, the engine nestled amongst it* you- *gasps as the engine and pile of flesh crumbles into ash, no doubt respawning in hell back at zariels feet where the deal was made* you just?… *feels her chest, a heartbeat soft and gentle thrumming away* I have, a heart again?…

Falûne: you do… h-heh I can’t believe I actually did it! I-

Karlach: *pulls him into a hug and holds him tight* th-thank you. Thank you so much I- *sniffles as she starts to cry* I’m going to live!

Falûne: yeah… *smiles and hugs her back* …You really need a bath you stink of hellfire.

*that evening*

Mizora: Karlach meets the criteria by having no heart.

Falûne: Karlach has a heart though, look.

Mizora: what no she- *shuts up seeing no vents left on her skin, no flaming glow, no flames, nothing* what?…

“Which means your contract with Wyll is now Null and Void and my contract will now take its place.”

Mizora: *face dropping in a moment of panic as she spins around to see Raphael sauntering over* A-Ah, l-lord Raphael, I had no clue you were involved with my little pet, surely we can resolve this amicably.

Raphael: we might, if my nephew wishes so. *looks over at lûne*

Falûne: *shakes his head*

Raphael: *nods and snaps his fingers suddenly binding Mizora in infernal chains* Karlach, you may have the honours.

Karlach: *grabs her axe* Fuck yes!! *runs at Mizora*

Raphael: *summons wylls new contract* just sign and you’ll have everything you need from me.

Wyll: the only requirement is keeping lûne safe?

Raphael: believe it or not I do actually care about my nephews wellbeing. The contract is just a security to be certain he’s in safe hands.

Wyll: huh, what happens if I fail?

Raphael: do you want to find out?

Wyll: nope. *signs it quickly and jumps as a rapier of infernal metal appears in his belt*

Raphael: wonderful. Now then- *suddenly plucks out wylls eye and seemingly crushes it in his palm before reshaping it with runes to communicate with him directly* I’ll be keeping an eye on things through you now. Do not disappoint me Mr Ravenguard. *tosses it at his face making it land perfectly back in his eye socket*

Wyll: ah-

[chaaistheanswer]

Noah Sigmund Béliveau Aubembert

Age: 27

Race: Half Elf [High Elf / Human]

Background: Noble

Class: Sorcerer / Paladin [Oath of Vengeance]

MBTI: INFP 5w4

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Hogwarts House: Gryffindor

Major Arcana: The Star

Deadly Sin: Pride

Heavenly Virtue: Kindness

Family:

Earl Mydas Elric Dubois Aubembert [Step-father]

Countess Alondra Beatriz Katrina Aubembert [Mother]

Paragon Heiran Faldreth [High Elf Father] ✝

Hebe Anais Aubembert [Younger Half Sister]

Rhea Noelle Aubembert [Younger Half Sister]

Camille Apolline Fontaine [Aunt]

Mikhail Dumas Fontaine [Uncle-in-law]

Solomon Fulbert Aubembert [Uncle]

Tonne Vosone Aubembert [Aunt-in-law]

Saville Angeline Aubembert [Cousin]

Lenard Thane Aubembert [Cousin]

Noah was born into a well-to-do human family in Baldur's Gate- House Aubembert is a noble house full of talented sorcerers serving as earls and countesses; keeping the peace and dispensing justice within the city. This particular family is well-known for being proud members of the social elite as pure-blooded humans. However, a scandal befell upon the family when the current head of the house disrupted generations of blood purity after introducing her only half-elven son as her successor. The countess had taken a high elf as her paramour, which then led to the birth of Noah. The countess had to fight to be able to marry her lover but her family abhorred the idea of letting her go off to marry a commoner. Before she could do anything rash like eloping with the man, her lover had unfortunately been murdered. Noah believes this to be a political scheme to get his mother to finally give up on her commoner lover while the rest of the family insists was an accident.

Years later, his mother married his stepfather and they gave birth to two of his half-sisters. Life before his mother's marriage was a struggle because he was often scrutinised for inheriting the title of the countess' heir despite being her illegitimate son. His stepfather was no better as he would often bad mouth him for the exact same reason. During those few years, he trained and swore fealty to the Church of Tyr where he vowed an Oath of Vengeance to right the wrongs and uphold justice.

I'm drawing fanart and I'm almost 200 hrs into my game. I haven't finished which is why I haven't had time to finish my fanart,,,

[chic-beyond-the-wall-oc-acct]

👑💍💢 for Poppy?

👑 So then it comes to parental figures in Poppy's life, Withers of course is the most like a father to her, thought Bhaal was always in the back of her mind and Sceleritas Fel is always just kinda-- there... Being himself... In terms of other celestials Tyr and Lathander stand out as the two most likely to see any real good in her and the idea of little Poppy being a little cup bearer is funny/adorable to me so that's what I'm going with. I also think Lathander named her. Just because. But Poppy is a fallen aasimar and a paladin of Bhall so... whatever hope or faith they had in her was broken at some point.

💍 She actually doesn't have any past lovers in a sense that she caught feelings for anyone. We know from a couple of Sceleritas' lines The Durge got up to some very questionable acts before they lost their memories so...yeah... But at the moment she's pining after Minthara. Had a close call with Gale in the underdark but flaked because her rapidly growing conscience made her feel guilty about cheating even though she's...not in a relationship...

💢 Gosh she can't stand the Oathbreaker Knight. He just stands there watching and reminding her of her "failure" She believes she never broke her oath. She freed a goblin from a cell and somehow that is what broke her oath of revenge??? Not promising to free the goblin, not picking the lock but opening the door. Her argument? "How would you know freeing the goblin wouldn't help me get revenge?" Which in my opinion is a very fair argument

[incorrectsmashbrosquotes]

Tav Origins

So, I'm curious. What origins have ya'll made up for your Tav's in BG3? Cause if you're anything like me you constructed elaborate fucking backstories for those bitches.

I'd really like to know 'em! Reblog this post with yours!

And, as a show of good faith, here's mine.

First off, my Tav's name is Invi. He's a Tiefling Paladin, Oath of the Ancients, and how he came to be a member of that order is a bit of a story!

So, Invi was once an urchin living on the streets of Baldur's Gate. His family had been displaced by a greedy slumlord and his parents had died of the plague, leaving Invi all alone. Invi turned to thieving to avoid starving, but by all accounts he wasn't very good at it, escaping by luck more than skill.

But one day, Invi's luck ran out. He pickpocketed what looked like a wealthy man and was caught by the watch, who dragged him back tot he man for judgement. Turns out the man in question was a Paladin of Tyr, Sworn to the Oath of the Ancients.

Desperate, Invi lied, saying the man had given him the money. The guards didn't believe him, but when they asked, the Paladin looked at Invi for a good long while and said: "Of course! But, my young friend, you left so quickly! Did you forget I gave you this as well?"

And the Paladin gave him the Golden Ring on his finger, carved with the symbol of his order. The Paladin, named Cirion, bid the gards leave, and walked Invi to a safer place. There, Cirion said, "Now you be careful now boy. And if you're ever in need, let that ring guide you. And it may do far more than that."

Invi went on his way. He used the money, but he never dared part with the ring. He puzzled and puzzled over Cirion's words. Eventually it became too much for Invi, and he sought Cirion again, seeking answers for his strange behavior.

Invi tracked down the Temple of Tyr and showed the ring to the Paladin guarding it he was let in with a smile. Unfortunately, Cirion was away, but the Paladins were more than happy to allow him to stay.

So, Invi stayed, waiting for Cirion to return. But as the days turned to weeks, the Paladins offered him things other than food and board. They offered to show him sword work. How to sew and cook and other things. Before long, Inni felt at home there, terrified it would end when Cirion returned.

And return Cirion did. His cloak dusty from the road, his sword well-used from hunting demons, Invi was brought before him, and Invi asked his question.

"Why did you give me this ring?"

"You were a child in need, I believed you needed it more than me."

"I could not sell it. And it... it brought me here."

"Just as it brought me here, all those years ago."

And so Invi became Cirion's apprentice. He trained and grew and learned. He laughed freely. He brought aid to his fellow urchins, the ones he'd grown up with, providing them aid and succor and pulling them out of the streets when he could. The order was more than happy to provide. Gold, after all, is useless when hoarded like a dragon.

And on the day Invi took his Oaths and became a Paladin in full, he embraced the now old and worn Cirion and called him father, and never had either man felt more love and pride than they did in that moment.

And, years later, a Mind Flayer Tadpole in his brain and the gaze of a False God upon him, Invi is in The Grove, trying desperately to save the refugees there. When, in the midst of it, he's robbed by a pack of young tieflings.

Invi catches them, of course, he still remembers the old tricks. Some are annoyed, others are unrepentant, but the girl, Silfy, crying in shame and fear, that he sees something... familiar in.

Invi smiles, consoles her, and presses a familiar ring into her hand.

[bara-izu]

BALDUR'S GATE RAMBLES/ Tav Lore / ACT 2 SPOILERS

Spoilers below, you have been warned

I'm so happy with this loadout for Halion, not only does it look pretty but he also has 3 conditions which are related to Lathander, the Morninglord, perfect for my sunshine boy!

Granted the third is a little silly, but with him wearing it around the monastery was a nice little extra detail.

A bit of backstory lore for my boy, his two main deities are Tyr and Lathander. While he's not devoutly religious, he does want to manifest being a metaphorical ray of light/hope for those around him, similarly to the Morninglord.

Before the whole ilithid thing, Halion dreamed of joining the ranks of the Order of the Aster (Paladin's sponsored by Lathander). However more recently he feels being a solo protector, trusting his own judgement and experiences, fits him better then thwarting those deemed 'unfit' by a higher power.

So you can best believe i was vibrating when i saw the next area-

I'm going to miss his everburn sword but, now he can walk around with a giant glowy mace and exact divine justice on evil lmao

[theaviskullguy]

D&D Obey me- Lucifer, Mammon, + The Twins!

@trash-opposum here you go. seperate post so people can find it but here!

Disclaimer, if i do the rest, im going to avoid making EVERYONE a tiefling or aasimar, those are just for who i think are exceptionally appropriate/is how im playing them as my current dnd character is just Belphegor. If yall want me to make the others (Asmo, Levi, Satan, maybe Diavlo but who knows) let me know!

so let's GOOOOOOOO

Lucifer

Aasimar, the kind from Mordenkainen so no special extra type

Noble background, mainly cause i cant think of anything else

As for class, we have four potential options

Two varieties of Paladin, cleric, or warlock

First paladin variety- Oathbreaker

In this case he was probably originally Devotion before the revolution, and whoops! Oath Broken!

It'd either be a point of pride for him ("I fought for what I believe is right, and there is no shame in that") or he'd hide it from everyone

Second paladin- order of the Crown! obviously because of Diavlo. fellas is it gay to swear undying devotion to your future ki- *gets shot*

Cleric, then Order Domain. clerics are sworn to gods and not demons but shush his patron might still be Diavlo. in an actual D&D setting i can see him instead swearing to like Tyr or something.

he wont be healing. clerics are tanky he's out here ordering people to drop their weapons and then fucking murdering them

Warlock, gotta be fiend patron. im not sure if its possible to be your own patron but itd be funny as shit. worse case its fiend patron with some flavor homebrew as i call it to literally just be a fiend in his own right climbing the infernal ladder as he levels up

i promise the others wont be as long

Mammon

Earth Genasi as those are descended from the Dao, which are the greediest genie. Also, they just look rich with gem-like stuff growing in cracks on their skin you just know Mammon's one of them

Charlatan background. he is scamming people left and right and it works

Rogue, thief subclass. Honestly any subclass other than Arcane Trickster (hes not smart enough) or Scout (hes not equipped for the "outside of civilization" shit)

Unlike for Lucifer, the others have Backstory! Woo!

Mammon is the son of a Dao and a human. His human parent helped him escape from the Elemental Plane of Earth, but then he was left on his own

So. He quickly learned how to con people. At first it was for survival, and then greed.

He found Lucifer while running one of these cons. In particular, his "con" was a vanishing act. He claimed he could become "one with the earth" when really he was curling up on the ground and casting Pass Without Trace. Lucifer saw through this illusion and threatened to out Mammon as a conman, unless he joined him as his ally. So, he did.

Lucifer keeps him in check, but that's not to say Mammon isn't fully on the straight and narrow

Beelzebub

Tiefling!!! variant tiefling favored to have fly wings.

Outlander background, ill explain why in a sec

Barbarian. Need I say More?

actually i will- Totem animal, spirit of the bear. Since bear gets resistance to all damage (other than psychic) while raging and i feel that works with Beel more than anything

now for his backstory! he isnt canon in the campaign im playing belphie in but his backstory has the same catalyst. When he was five years old, the kingdom he lived in was caught in a rebellion against a tyrant. In which, Beel saw his older sister get killed by a royal guard. Belphie was going to be killed- but was protected by a tiefling in a knight's armor (my previous character who was killed. rip avi)

Beel, in his five-year-old mind, just ran. He took off without a second thought- a decision he now regrets deeply.

He ran into the surrounding woodlands. And gets an Atalanta-style backstory. For those who dont know, Atalanta was a princess who was abandoned in the woods and raised by bears

So Beel is raised by bears. Which is way better than being raised by wolves

They teach him how to hunt, gather, and its all well and cute. He sometimes entered the rebuilding kingdom to trade in leftover meat for clothes and weapons- and, to try and find Belphie. No luck.

Eventually, Beel grows to be a powerful warrior. Hangry, sure, but his rage hold the rage of freaking bears. so keep him fed. please.

Anyways Lucifer and the gang (everyone minus belphie) encounter Beel in the woods, watching the cubs. Beel agrees to adventure with them. He says goodbye to bear mom and promises to visit- hopefully, with his twin, next time.

Belphegor

hehe its ME

Zariel Tiefling but i dont give a shit about the infernal legacy its just There. tail is a cow's tail he basically just looks like his demon form

Hermit background. again ill explain in a sec

Druid, circle of stars! to people about to scream "i just checked the wikidot why he no circle of dreams??" because that doesnt have to do with dreams and sleep as i wished it did. its the obligatory faewild subclass. i hate the faewild subclasses (other than the bard one that ones fun)

Currently n the campaign im in we're level 5, so his two wildshapes are wolf, and a bull. But he also has his three starry forms due to being circle of stars.

now. backstory! strap in this is Long

he's saved by my previous dnd character- Avi- and is taken in by him and his husband when the rebellion was over.

Except. due to seeing his sister die and not seeing his twin after that, Belphie assumed the worse and thought that Beel also died and he was the last one of his family

He fell into a pretty deep depression and had no motivation to do anything besides sleep, cry, and eat very tiny portions of meals.

eventually his adoptive dads start telling him stories. and. surprisingly. they seem to help! Belphie is still a shrinking violet but he eats more and can cook and do basic chores!

And Then Avi Goes Missing

His husband- Skull- asks the now 11 year old Belphie if he wants to come along to find him. Belphie declines, saying he needs to get in control of his life and some big quest is probably just gonna leave him with more trauma

Skull lets him stay home, and gives him one of his feathers. So if Belphie ever needs a hand, he can call Skull over and. well. have one of his dads at least

For five years, Belphie took to studying druidcraft, and the stars. He also enchanted his favorite pillow to float and be able to carry him. So he had a little more comfort when going out to buy groceries. He'd make detailed star maps to sell in return

When the sun rose on his 16th birthday, he left a note at home saying he felt ready to tackle his own destiny, and left.

He had a brush with Lucifer, but not Beel. so close, buddy.

Anyways he arrives at The Hunters Guild, finds his parents again, and takes residence in the observatory, where he studies his stars and druid magic again. But also, sleep and dreams.

and. yeah thats where we leave off! god that was long im sorry

[blackjackkent]

All right, we're gonna do a proper scouring of the initial wilderness map before we move on to the mountain pass or Underdark to make sure we've got everything Rakha might be interested in (of the top of my head, we still have the Paladins of Tyr, the Zhentarim, and Ethel to deal with, but let me know if you think I missed anything significant :D I think I might have missed the window for calling Kagha out on her Shadow Druid association because Halsin's already back at the grove, but we will see what happens if I bring that evidence much later once we've been to the swamp ).

First though, we're going to wrap things up at the grove and do the party. Because reasons.

Zevlor is waiting near the gates of the grove when they arrive, and Wyll speaks to him first:

"Zevlor."

"By Dhelt's virtue, the Blade of Frontiers? What's happened, Wyll?"

Coming directly on the heels of our conversation with Florrick, I have to imagine Wyll is getting a little tired of being greeted like this.

"I paid the price of angering the wrong devil," he says quietly.

"Believe me - I understand better than most."

Narrator: A moment passes as Zevlor contemplates Wyll's words. He then turns his attentions to you.

Zevlor is such a good dude. He tries to offer Rakha money for helping to get rid of the goblins; Rakha, as usual, has very little interest in gold and tells him to keep it, which seems to touch him a lot.

And she accepts his suggestion that they should come for a celebration at the campsite tonight. A party is yet another thing Rakha has no memory of having direct experience with; I think on some level she is curious, as much as anything else, to see what it entails.

But she's worried, too. Because the last time one of the refugees came to their camp... it was Alfira, and she ended up dead. Perhaps she can ask the others to keep a guard on her, when it comes time to sleep...

[viladlind]

be honest: does it not make you uncomfortable knowing how easy it would be for that assassin of yours to take your life, if someone paid him enough? do you truly think someone like that is capable of love?

be honest ...

fiyero's eyes narrow with ire. an easy way to aggravate her, to go after the people she loves, to question whether or not she should love them in the first place. tail flicking behind her, irritated, she waves a dismissive hand, as if to chase the accusation away.

   ' i surround myself with plenty of lethal personalities. it's arrogant to assume that i have the benefit of picking and choosing who receives my affections. or that i'm free of blame myself. '

   her heart does what it wants, but even further than that, faerûn simply isn't the kind of place you can live in without partaking in the violence of it all. every single night at camp, she slept next to people she's barely known more than a few days, weeks, months. when she first met karlach, she took the barbarian at her word and killed those paladins of tyr without a second thought.

   and she doesn't regret it. she rarely ever does.

   ' i may be kind, but i'm certainly not without guilt. ' her ears flatten against her temples, the next words low, threatening. ' and i may be pretty, but i'm not an innocent maiden in need of protection. '

   flippant, she averts her gaze. it bothers her, that this is an idea manifesting in the first place. that it could be something zevran may be thinking. ' zevran's expertise is attractive. and i know— i'm not confident, i do not believe, i know that he would never accept an assignment to kill me, no matter how much coin was offered. '

he loves me, she could say, because she knows that, too. but it really isn't anybody's business, is it? she thinks of zevran's softness that's offered to her when they're alone, the displays of affection when they're around others. she has never, not once, gotten the impression that he's ashamed of her or the love he has for her.

   ' his skills as an assassin aren't detrimental. they are why i feel as safe with him as i do. i love all of him, in his entirety. '