#I mean... a sharran. a vampire spawn. a devil. and two time bombs

[invinciblerodent]

Oh, this Guardian introduction scene is a lot more impactful and confusing if they look like someone your character has very strong ties to, but never wants to see again, than if it's a random hot buff tiefling lady.

So... for this run I made them look like Herric, Iona's "ex"-husband. (I mean, technically they're still married, kind of. I suppose if you mutually try to kill one another with fire and an axe respectively, and then flee into the wilderness not knowing if he's dead or alive but at the same time not even caring and just starting to use your maiden name without a secodn thought, that oughta count as something of a divorce.)

This person, he wears the scar she gave him that last time, that shining burn that stretches and twists across his face... the last image that she ever saw of him as she fled into the woods. That fury, and pain, and murderous intent had etched itself into her memory, to the point that on the rare occasions she is forced to recall his face, this is what she sees: bubbled, gnarled flesh, either raw and gleaming as if it had been polished, or healed over with new skin to take its place, as it would be by now, and a once-handsome face, now distorted in contempt.

This person... they're his spitting image, but they are a stranger nonetheless. She had known Herric practically her whole life, lived with him, shared his bed for over half of it, and their voice, their movements... they're all wrong. They (he?) wear Herric's face, but they seem to have none of his ignorance, his temper, his virulent hatred of all that is magical, arcane... indeed, they chuckle at her immediate hostility, offer her kindness, don't look at her with disgust, desire, or dread, and they command great magics that leave her equal parts awed and terrified.

She doesn't trust a single word out of this creature's mouth. She doesn't want, or doesn't want to need his help. She doesn't want to think about his words, or how he may or may not be the reason she's not a monster yet.

... And talking to Astarion in the morning about these things, it also leaves her with mixed feelings. Sure, to be called an "utter drip" who "hates good news" and to be asked if she has some sort of condition forcing her to "spoil his fun" does make it all feel a bit less daunting and more ridiculous, it kind of clears her head, and his theatrical bristling that makes him seem almost like he's a big, wet bird puffing his feathers makes it difficult not to smile, but... she can't tell him why exactly this has her so shaken. They're not at that level yet, if they're ever going to be.

At this point, they're not exactly "please console me and let me feel safe when my past unearths itself from its grave like some sort of grotesque zombie and comes back to haunt me" type of a thing, they're more of a "let's fuck in the woods and tell each other heavily abbreviated stories about ourselves that more or less omit all the parts that would paint us in less favorable lights" thing.

Honestly, she kind of hates that in this fragile state, she finds herself wanting not only his touch, or a cordial conversation, but his comfort, too.

(In due time, that.)