#Ketheric is a fighter

[bhaalschosenone]

Ketheric: What are those scratches on your arms and chest, Gortash?

Gortash: Oh, Durge tests their nails on me to see if they're sharp enough

Ketheric:

Gortash: I have some on my back too

Ketheric:

Gortash: Because we FUCK :3

[veliseraptor]

i call this one "fight went pretty good.jpg"

[lordliing]

if you don't think Ketheric is the scariest and best of the Chosen how does it feel to be wrong

[thehydromancer]

All joking aside, I accidentally inverted the badass-atmosphere-to-difficulty-ratio. Against Ketheric, Tav disarmed his second phase making him hilariously nonthreatening. Earned the achievement.

Against Orin, Tav dropped her in the first round. Earned the achievement.

I walked into the Gortash fight super cocky and 1st move of the fight he 1-shotted my whole party throwing a single consumable. I did not earn the achievement.

was discussing the boss fights with my friend and thus this meme was born

[lanafofana]

Colossus

Day #7! I spent the majority of the weekend writhing in unimaginable pain so it doesn't count as late. Those are the rules I've just made up! Pairing: Halsin/Tav(f) Summary: He's just so...big Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI Warnings/Tags: Porn, Smut, Cunnilingus, Size kink, Hand job, blow job, foreskin play, inappropriate use of colossus elixir, shotgunning No beta we die like Yonas (RIP Yonas) And the AO3 link, with love Special note: Hysterically this is colossal compared to the others I've posted for HalsinTav week. Additional note: I'll eventually post the one i started writing for Day4 (?). I took the prompt "wildshape misuse" in a completely different direction and it's taking me longer to write because it's more angst than romance. Probably no romance at all but we'll see. Enjoy!

Halsin was a big guy. Like a really big guy. 

Until she met Halsin, Tav had not been aware that people even came in sizes that large. It did not help that he was as thickly muscled as he was tall. No part of him was too skinny or unproportionate which always sent her dirty mind tumbling straight into the gutter wondering just how proportionate he was where she couldn't see. 

All of this was just harmless thinking on her part, she knew how to mind her manners and keep her hands to herself after all. He was a great ally and becoming an even greater friend so, despite the turn of her lustful thought from time to time, she’d never overtly act in any way to make him uncomfortable.

That didn’t stop her from laying in her tent late at night, calloused fingers strumming her sex, brain full of how’d she’d whimper and shake trying to take his thick cock. What if he was too big? The thought drove her wild, picturing him tensed up beneath her while she used her hands, her tongue, to bring him to release. Pussy drenched, skin flushed, breathing thready; the thought of how he’d stretch her near to breaking always pushed her over the precipice of her climax, choking back her moans while she writhed with her desperation. 

All of this was fine, probably a healthy outlet all things considered, and a welcome distraction from the horrors of their day to day adventuring. She was completely content with keeping her own company and it seemed unlikely her fortune in that regard would change any time soon. 

So if his larger than average hands brushing hers when she handed him a plate of dinner set her stomach fluttering. Or when he towered over her just slightly too close and she felt dizzy with fantasies about that large frame fucking her to the feywild and back, well, nobody needed to know it but her and her hands late at night in her bedroll. 

Things might have continued in this fashion till the conclusion of their little adventure but for one critical incident. 

The fight with Ketheric had been awful in more ways than one but when the avatar of Myrkul threatened to completely devastate them Tav had pulled out all the stops. Her focus had narrowed down to each fighter, her desperation providing her with all manner of tricks up her sleeve to, if not turn the tide of the fight, at least tread water till Aylin could finish smiting him to death. Or undeath. 

When she had spun on her heel and thrown the elixir to Halsin she hadn’t really been thinking too much beyond the immediate threat and how to keep her companions alive. Hadn’t been thinking about what the “after” of their fight would leave her with. So when the fight was over and that line of thinking evaporated she was chagrined and thrilled to realize what she was left with was a druid of colossal size and embarrassingly damp panties. 

Halsin had been huge before but now the sight of him was enough to break her brain a little bit. 

His hand could completely engulf her head and the thought alone was enough to have her lashes fluttering, her breath whooshing out of her in a pained sigh. And when she imagined his enormous cock, well, it was best she didn’t think too hard about that till she was safely ensconced in her tent that was for certain. 

Her companions may have joked from time to time about climbing Mount Halsin but actually seeing him so…engorged, had even the wittiest among them speechless, tongues dry behind their teeth. He was very good natured about it of course, the man didn’t seem to let anything phase him. He excused himself after they decided to camp for the night, the tenor of his voice deeper than usual and each step as he left camp was like a gentle tremor that climbed up her legs and tapped insistently at her clit. 

When her companions scattered to their own bedrolls for some much needed rest and he still hadn’t returned, Tav's mind began to worry. It wasn’t like anything out in the wilderness would be a challenge for him to deal with in his current state but still the worry gnawed at her. Isolation could be just as dangerous to one’s mental wellbeing as an enemy was to the physical form after all.

With this thought in mind she shoved her lust to the side and went to find him. It didn’t take her long. Halsin was down by the water’s edge, sitting on the sand and gazing out at where Tav was surprised to see stars twinkling down from a nearly cloudless sky.  

When he turns to see her a kind smile breaks across his face and Tav’s worry dissipates in its warmth. 

“It’s late,” she says chidingly when she’s close. She climbs a large rock to put them on more even ground, sitting on the edge of the damp stone closest to him and letting her legs dangle over the water. 

Halsin hums in agreement. “I find myself overwhelmed,” he says softly. “Overwhelmed and grateful for this chance to see these lands begin to heal. For once I think my rest will not be found in my meditations but here, watching the fruits our labors unfold.” 

Gods, even the way he spoke had a sexy appeal that left her heart hammering in her chest. “Right,” she says skeptically, “I guess. You could just say you’re too excited to sleep. Or trance or whatever.” 

Halsin laughs and shrugs. “I suppose I could.” When she meets his eyes there’s something in them she doesn’t recognize immediately but it warms her clear down to her toes. “You have a gift for seeing to the heart of things. A trait you share with Karlach I feel. One could learn a lot from seeing the world as you do.” 

Tav feels herself blush though she’s not sure why. She coughs. “Ah, right, well. Thanks. Myself, I quite like to smoke a little flower to help me relax if I can’t sleep. Something I’m sure you’re acquainted with.” 

“Indeed,” he agrees. “The stresses of leadership can take their toll and as Archdruid I became well acquainted with medicinal herbs to soothe the mind when rest was beyond my reach.” He gives a thoughtful hum. “Pity I left my pipe behind.” 

“Oh I don’t know,” says Tav slyly pulling out a familiar pipe from the small pouch at her hip. 

Halsin laughs, a booming thing that vibrates low in Tav’s belly. “How did you–?”

She fans a hand out and wiggles her fingers with a grin. “Sticky fingers I’m afraid.” She digs in her pouch a little more until she pulls out a little snuff box the size of her thumb and a match. “I snagged it after talking with Lettie, I honestly didn’t have a whole lot of faith you were still alive.” 

With the skill of someone who is well acquainted with the action she packs and lights the pipe, sucking at the stem till she feels the familiar curl of smoke burn in her throat. She turns to offer it to him but realizes his predicament in the same breath he declines with a rueful smile.  

“Too small for these fingers,” he tells her. If he notices how her dark eyes seem to zero in on his hands for a beat too long he is gracious enough not to shame her for it. 

Tav, as is her nature, puts zero thought into the consequences before she offers the easiest solution that pops in her tadpole’d brain. “Come here then. Let me show you how it’s done in the Gate.” 

Halsin stares at her but she beckons him closer impatiently until he complies. 

“Come on, scaredy cat.” She sucks at the pipe for a long moment before she pulls his face close and puts her lips close to his, tapping at his bottom lip till he opens his mouth and she breathes the smoke between his lips. When he sucks it in her lips graze his, only lightly, like the brush of a feather. 

She lingers then, checking his expression and the moment seems to slow down and draw out as if they’re locked in a slowing spell. This close she gets her first real look at the peculiar shade of his eyes and what was once a harmless way to share a little smoke between friends turns into something heavier, charged. 

Leaning back she sucks at the pipe again, a shorter puff to give herself something to do before she opens her fat mouth and says something insane. Halsin breathes out the smoke slowly, turning his gaze from watching her to instead watch the curl of smoke twist and dissipate in the evening air. 

“Inventive,” he says, voice a tad rougher than he normally speaks. 

Humming in assent she smiles, enjoying the pleasant buzz that hums along her frayed nerves, soothing the disjointed clamor of her thoughts. “I wasn’t sure about you,” she confesses after a beat. He looks at her with interest. “The other druids in the grove were so…” she trails off, weighing her words. She settles on frankness. “Rude. Possessive of their time, their grove. Willing to follow Khaga rather than risk speaking up against each other. Even after you came back I tried talking to them but besides the few that were relieved most were more than glad to see the back of me and ballsy enough to say it to my face.” 

Halsin frowns but lets her continue. 

“I was worried you were going to turn out to be the same. Sure, you accepted the tieflings and all but, still, I wondered when your patience was going to snap. We’re not exactly the most cohesive group on our best days. You surprised me though. You take everything as it comes and never lose sight of what you want while sticking to your scruples. It’s admirable.” 

Maybe it’s the way the moonlight shines in his eyes or maybe it’s the flower working its magic, untangling her tongue but she pushes on, a light flush suffusing her cheeks. 

“You’ve become something of a hero to me. Someone I can aspire to be like, especially now. With the bloody cult and all. Gods and curses and monsters. You’re someone I can look at and be reminded that, even against these absurd, impossible odds, I don’t have to lose sight of myself. You look at me and it’s like you really see me. See the me that I want to see in myself. I, uh, I’ve never had that before.” She breaks off with a rueful chuckle. “Sorry, I just had to say it. It’s just…I’m really glad you’re here is all.” She rubs the back of her neck and looks away from his stare. 

A finger as large as her wrist brushes her chin and her gaze snaps back to his in surprise. 

“I feel the same.” He swallows and Tav tracks the movement before meeting his eyes again, feeling something like anticipation welling up within her. “About you. Before you came to the grove I had all but lost sight of who I was. Being Archdruid consumed me so entirely I had…cast off who I was. It didn’t seem to matter, not when so many things needed doing, people needed the skills and diplomacy of the First Druid, not me. It’s been a long time, longer than I like to think about, since I had a…friend. Someone I could just enjoy the company of without the distance of my station playing some role.”

“Sounds lonely.” 

“Yes. It was. You pay me a high compliment, calling me a pillar to look to but it is you, my friend, who has been my guiding light. You showed me that ‘Halsin’ still has value, beyond the title and everything else. It means a great deal to me, what you’ve given me. You mean a great deal to me.” 

Tav shrugs a shoulder, lopsided smile bashful in the face of such open praise. “Flattery will get you everywhere.” It’s a crude attempt at brushing off the heavy feeling that has settled over the moment but Halsin’s eyes crinkle at the corners, charmed. Producing another match she gestured with the now-cold pipe, “Another hit?” 

Halsin’s chest expands as he takes in a slow breath, as if conflicted and thinking too hard about it. Tav, who has perhaps never thought too hard about anything in her entire life, ‘tsk’s’ with a teasing smile and lights the pipe, sucking on the lip of the stem. Holding the smoke in she gives him a challenging look, smirking when he draws closer. 

Emboldened by the lingering intimacy from their conversation and her own burgeoning tangle of feelings and lust, Tav grasps his chin with both hands and plants her lips against the seam of his firmly, releasing the air and smoke from her lungs into his mouth when he sucks in a surprised gasp. She lingers there, eyes shut and consumed with the warmth of his lips against hers before reluctantly pulling away. 

His eyes are shut tight and she feels a twinge of guilt for the way he holds himself so still and tense. “Was that alright?” She asks quietly, wondering which would destroy her first, the rejection or the disappointment. 

But the druid surprises her. “Yes,” he utters, eyes opening at last. “I am only disappointed my current form is not well suited for returning the gesture.” 

Tav has a sudden vision of being suffocated by those lips. A warm wet tongue the size of her face gliding over her body and she shivers with want. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and his eyes flick to her mouth to watch it closely. “I wouldn’t say that.” 

A muscle in Halsin’s jaw twitches as he clenches his teeth together, the pupils of his eyes swelling and she breathes out slowly, suddenly acutely aware of their proximity. 

“You’re not shy about what you want,” he breathes with a smile. “I like that.” 

Tav’s expression turns wry. “You say that now,” she mutters. 

Before Halsin can think of how to respond to a loaded statement like that she leaps off the boulder she’d been sitting on and approaches him. She doesn’t hide the way she stares at his body. The way her eyes trail along his massive legs while she steps between them. The way they linger on his hands, the expanse of his chest, and trail scorchingly up his neck to his face. 

“The pipe is nice but I know of even better ways to relax.” 

Halsin’s chuckle rumbles in the night air. “An intriguing if unwise notion.” 

Tav’s expression turns coy, her smile sly. “Is it so unwise to embrace the unexpected opportunities we’re afforded? I’m just ‘seizing the moment’.” The look he cuts her at parroting words he once spoke to her sizzles along her skin. 

“I had hoped to take the time to broach the subject of my affections for you before we–”

“Oh, we’re past broached, Halsin.” 

“I could crush you.”

“You won’t,” she says dismissively and then, “I’d very much like to touch you. If you’ll allow me.” 

His stomach clenches with equal parts anticipation and uneasiness. He nods. 

She trails a hand along his thigh. It’s so small but burns through the leather of his trousers and he shifts, releasing a sigh. It takes her less time than he’s expecting to reach the apex of his thighs and when she runs her palms down the straining seam of his pants where his cock lies trapped and swollen he breathes in sharply. 

She checks his expression and must see the reservation in them because she stops, removing her hands. “Do you want me to stop?” 

“I don’t think y–”

“Yes or no, druid. I won’t be offended.” She cants her head to the side in thought. “Disappointed maybe.” 

The muscle in his jaw jumps again and when he swallows the bob of his throat sends a thrill up her spine. She’s definitely playing with fire but she’s never been particularly good at denying herself when she has her mind set on something. And burying her face in the slit of cock is very much on the forefront of her brain. 

“No,” he says finally. 

Tav grins. “We can stop anytime you wish.” Tugging on the laces of his breeches she pulls the leather away and she comes face to eye with the largest dick she could have ever imagined. To call him proportionate would be doing him a disservice, he was clearly very well endowed, colossus elixir notwithstanding.  

Using her hands to ease him from his breeches completely she feels her cunt give a needy throb at the weight of it. Holding it with both hands the girth is wider than the fattest part of her thigh and she runs her hands from the base to the tip experimentally. His foreskin is impossibly soft and loose enough she adds more pressure to her grip and salivates as it glides down easily revealing the flushed head of his glans. 

He shifts, his breathing turning heavy when she lowers her face and licks at the slit. She probes and suckles, moving across the smooth skin eagerly while she caresses and strokes the shaft. When precum beads at the tip she licks it away and hums appreciatively at the salty taste. His musk is overwhelming, intoxicating. 

Sucking his loose foreskin into her mouth, twisting her tongue against it, running her hands over every exposed inch of him she smiles against his erection when he groans, gasping and needy. It resonates in the air and she flexes her thighs together to ease the wet need that beats between her legs. 

He allows her to indulge herself for only so long before, trembling with immense effort, he asks her to stop. Immediately removing herself she backs up a step but gives him a searching look.“Are you certain?” 

Running a hand down his face Halsin works at controlling his erratic breathing. “I am. My control is…not what it should be. In my current state, I cannot promise to be able to contain myself. I will not risk your safety, no matter how your touch ignites me.” 

Wiping a slick streak of precum from her chin and licking it from her finger she almost misses the way his eyes flash gold while he tracks the movement. “Another time then,” she says with an easy smile. “Whenever you’re ready.” She turns, as if to leave, but Halsin can smell her arousal. The scent of it makes his mouth water. 

“Wait. Do not suppose I am an inconsiderate lover. I would taste you tonight, beneath the light of the waning moon.” 

Tav cannot help the gasp this pulls from her, nor the throb of desire that starts at her cunt and spreads like branching roots through her body, lighting every nerve on fire. “I would like that.” Her voice thrums with want. “Very much.” 

“Then come here to me,” he beckons. 

She steps closer and nearly swoons as the palm of his hand scoops her up. He is gentle as he brings her close and with his other hand he gently thumbs open the clasp of her robe. Underneath she is bare and the cool night air prickles at her skin, pebbling the dusky mauve of her nipples into stiff peaks. 

“Perfect,” he murmurs and the intensity of his gaze sends the blood rushing to the surface of her skin in a hot wave. 

He holds her to his face, running his nose from the thatch of dark hair between her legs to her chest. When he slots his mouth over her bosom, the warm wet mass of his tongue flicking and curling against each breast she moans, letting her head fall back. She holds his face and presses further against his exploring touch with wanton abandon. 

When his tongue retreats she whines, her legs falling open desperately. He smiles through the blazing hunger and takes his time mouthing her soft flesh with careful attentiveness. Halsin’s tongue swipes down one leg to her feet and she feels her mind go brittle at the edges when he sucks the entire foot into his mouth. Engulfing her foot he continues to sup and the suction of it has her writhing and eager in his hand. Treating her other leg to the same treatment is too much and her hand dives between her legs to sooth the apex of her desire. 

Halsin’s eyes, black as the night sky behind him flash gold and for a second his teeth look sharper, his expression wild. He plucks her hands away and this time when she widens her legs her cunt is met with probing wet warmth of his tongue and she cries out, shrill and breathy. 

Possessing an infinite amount of patience he laps at the damp lips between her legs at a slow, rhythmic pace driving her feral. The heels of her feet find purchase on his forearm and at the next swipe of his tongue she thrusts her hips to meet it, groaning when it presses against her clit with an insane amount of pressure. 

Her breathing comes in gasps and pants, her eyes half lidded with need. “Please,” she babbles, nearly sobbing. “Please, H-Halsin, m-more, please!��� 

Holding her against his mouth firmly he swirls his tongue between the lips of pussy and she keens, roughly palming her own breasts and arching her back. It’s too much, it’s not enough. Her orgasm flickers in and out of her reach. With the rough flat of his tongue he licks and gently suckles and her body shakes. 

“Gods!”

Pressing the tip of his tongue to her cunt he rolls the muscle there in a continuous undulation that has her gripping at her own hair, her back bowed. 

The taste of her arousal, the scent of her musk, the salt of her body pulls an appreciative groan from his throat. The vibration shivers across her clit and she reaches her climax with a lust drunk wail that cracks through the night air. 

Removing his mouth from her body she lies limp, flushed dark and muscles trembling.

“Fuck,” she whimpers, voice rasping. “That was,” she struggles to return her breathing to something approaching normal. “That was incredible.” The look she gives him is awed, sated. “You are incredible.” 

Halsin grins. She thought he might set her down but instead he brings her to his chest and she leans into the heat of his body gratefully. Exhaustion tugs at her but she’d rather bask in the bliss, snuggled into him. She nuzzles at his neck, reaching up a hand to run the flat of her palm against the edge of his tattoo that curls around his throat.     

“Sleep,” he murmurs, the sound of his voice as lulling as the steady beat of his heart against her ear.

“I don’t want to miss this,” she complains, turning her face into his bare skin and pressing a kiss there. 

He chuckles, warm and rich. “We have plenty of time. Rest.” 

So she does.

That's All Folks!

[mintharabaenrelore]

Paladin VS Cleric

To clear up any confusion, I'm not comparing the two DnD classes, but rather discussing them in relation to Minthara. I want to explore why she is a paladin rather than a cleric (@trappedinafantasy37 made a brilliant post on that!) and the nature of her Oath.

Also, thank you all for 101 followers. I'm overjoyed to see people are enjoying my posts, and I adore the fun comments, the questions, the helpful advice, all of it. Lolth kyorl dos!

Why is Minthara a paladin, not a cleric?

Of course, there are two practical reasons for this. One, Minthara does not worship a god after Lolth and the Absolute. On the DnD wiki, the Godless Cleric subclass states, "As a Godless Cleric, your power was not bestowed upon you by a deity, but rather you siphon it from a divine source. [...] Regardless, you bypass the affinity of a deity yet tap into divine power."

Furthermore, the Dungeon Master's Guide says, "In rules terms, clerics choose domains, not deities, so your world can associate domains with deities in any way you choose." So would Minthara, as a cleric, have to worship a god? Not necessarily, but there is not a Godless subclass in BG3.

And two, Shadowheart is a cleric. Since you meet her first and by Act 2 many players are accustomed to her, to avoid the predicament of having not one but two clerics in the party, Minthara would end up sitting around camp in many people's playthroughs if she were a cleric, too.

Lore-wise, it seems as if Minthara should be a cleric. She canonically attended Arach-Tinilith, as she mentions her Ceremony of Graduation as well as having seen "the black academies of Tier-Breche." Only males could Melee-Magthere and Sorcere; exceptions such as Noori Baenre did exist, but Minthara's comments about her religion, her profession, and her worldviews are- in my opinion- solid proof that her school was Arach-Tinilith.

A priestess or cleric is the default profession for all noble female drow, particularly a Baenre, as many Baenre females go on to become High Priestesses.

My theory is that she was a cleric originally and became a paladin later on in her life. She was trained by her House as "a soldier in Lolth's service", not to mention she led the expedition to Moonrise Towers; she spent time raiding and pillaging the surface; she performed interrogations; she punished "heretics" and anyone who defied Lolth. Minthara, in Menzoberranzan, was powerful, not just due to her heritage but- I believe- due to her unique role. Her mother believed she was "special" since birth, and considering Minthara's draa velve fighting style, she likely had some considerable combat skills since youth; the paladin class combines the religious fervor of the cleric with the impressive battle prowess of a fighter. It must have seemed like the obvious choice. (It makes even more sense if her mother is Zel'Tharra Baenre.)

I also think she, quite literally, began as a cleric, as her Magic: The Gathering card portrays her as one, and when you first meet her, she fights with maces- the classic clerical weapons.

What is the nature of Minthara's oath, and why isn't it broken?

"I took up my oath long ago, when I swore bloody vengeance against any who defied Lolth. Now, I myself have sinned against the Spider Queen." This statement from Minthara reinforces my theory that she became a cleric/priestess of Lolth and took up her Oath soon after.

As we all know, Minthara's oath is the Oath of Vengeance.

Minthara's focus, and the point of her Oath, is to punish her enemies. The identity of her enemies has changed with her- first, Lolth's enemies, when she was loyal to the Spider Queen; now, the Absolute, particularly Orin the Red and Ketheric Thorm, for obvious reasons.

Now, let's discuss how her Oath remains unbroken, as I have seen many people questioning that. The tenets, according to the Player's Handbook, are as follows:

"Fight the Greater Evil. Faced with a choice of fighting my sworn foes or combating a lesser evil, I choose the greater evil.

No Mercy for the Wicked. Ordinary foes might win my mercy, but my sworn enemies do not.

By Any Means Necessary. My qualms can't get in the way of exterminating my foes.

Restitution. If my foes wreak ruin on the world, it is because I failed to stop them. I must help those harmed by their misdeeds."

It is possible to break Minthara's oath in the game, by doing something that will break the PC's. But if you are not playing as her, she won't do those things of her own accord.

Minthara advises you to do things that may break an Oath of Vengeance- such as accepting Gortash's proposal or letting Astarion become the Vampire Ascendant. But does she do those things herself? No.

Take a closer look at those tenets- Minthara has not broken any of them, not exactly.

When she worshipped Lolth: She fought what she believed to be the greater evil, namely heretics. She showed no mercy to her sworn enemies (Lolth's enemies) and did not let her qualms interfere. She did not allow such dangerous beliefs to 'harm' her people or her goddess.

And now, after the Absolute: She fights the Absolute- the greater evil than just about anything else. She does not show mercy to her enemies; although she does feel "sympathy" for Ketheric Thorm, she counteracts that by wishing pain upon him soon after and ultimately celebrating his death. No matter how much she may dislike a companion or the PC, or disapprove of the PC's actions, she continues on. (This is significant, as people sometimes wonder why she tolerates unnecessary actions of kindness or what she interprets as foolish choices. She has to.) And Minthara does follow the tenet of Restitution by helping the party in their quest.

I believe everything she did under the Absolute's control is irrelevant to her oath, as she couldn't help her actions, and genuinely believed she was acting justly in her god's name.

Minthara herself is unsure whether her oath will hold after the cult is defeated when you ask her about it, but she doesn't mention it having broken at the epilogue party.

If Minthara's Oath is broken, she says, "My Oath is broken. I still hold to the tenets of vengeance, but I am no longer bound by any word of vow." She seems happier when it is broken.

So, what did she do in her society?

As I said, Minthara held considerable power in Menzoberranzan. Raiding and pillaging the surface, performing interrogations, functioning as a "soldier" in Lolth's service. She also states "I have hosted gatherings of House Matrons and High Priestesses who wanted nothing more than to murder each other before the night was done. I have negotiated the handover of hostages and smiled politely while sensing a dagger at my back," so she clearly also has some experience with diplomacy.

Aside from such things, she spent time reading "history books", and Emma Gregory suggests that she was something of a loner. Perhaps she felt isolated, despite Lolth's favor and the power at her fingertips.

One final note- Elaine Cunningham's "Daughter of the Drow" mentions how Liriel feels "affection" for Lolth, in a way, when sourcing her magic from the goddess. With the strength of Minthara's beliefs and her oath, it's plausible to suggest Minthara felt similarly, perhaps more so- and that is part of why she was so crushed when her goddess abandoned her to her fate in the Moonrise Towers prison.

[pursuitseternal]

“Stripping,” a nsfw, hurt/comfort, and vengeance update to “Our Blood is Thicker:”

Astarion x Cordehlia (named Tav) | E | 6.3K

Summary: The fight for vengeance for her father comes at last to Ketheric, so long as Astarion is there to keep on hand on her, to keep her from getting lost in the bloodlust of the Bone Picker. Cordehlia needs healing… her burdens of her past too great to bear alone. That’s why her love is there, to strip away her old griefs, and all that covers her.

CW: Bloodlust, angst, revenge, hurt/comfort, allusions to battle-canon gore, Act 2 Spoilers, real sex, tadpole stripping (symbolic), very soft Dom!Astarion

Previous ch | Ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 13: Stripping…

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

Moonrise Towers. A curse nearly broken. The Moonmaiden Aylin freed, and the source of that monster's immortality unchained. Only one thing remained to their moving forward.

Ketheric had to die.

They had come close, so close. The rest of his bone-chilled undead fighters were dust at their feet. But then… there was that oozing orifice now in the top of the Moonrise Towers, the illithid stink rising from its bowels. A hole where Ketheric had vanished like the coward he was, threat on top of threat, into the putrid heart of the Absolute.

Cordehlia ran right for it, blade at the ready, pursuing after Ketheric alone. A battle cry tore through the air as she sprinted. Blood spattered. Breathless.

Hellsbent on revenge.

Two sets of feet ran for her… one shifting into a bear just to make sure he got there before she did anything rash. The Druid panted as he raised up on his massive hind feet. Cordehlia slammed into a wall of fur, two lean vampiric arms not far behind to catch her against Halsin’s big bear belly.

“Stop, stop, darling,” Astarion repeated over and over. But the She-elf thrashed even as her weapons were pinned to her sides. Even as she snapped her teeth and hissed in rage at them both.

Her eyes were pure black, dilated so wide with bloodlust. Her need to kill, to avenge.

To repay the debt she had carried for a century, the weight of her Father’s lost soul.

“Let me go, damn you both,” she snarled. Her voice was deep, scratched with all her battle screams.

“Not until you see sense, my love,” Astarion tried to cajole, tried to hold her armored body against his own even as she shook, the rush of her need to kill shooting down every muscle of her body. The bear grunted, a warning, and Astarion held her fast to turn them, to keep the splatter of mud from covering their already filthy bodies as the Druid shifted back.

“Your father wouldn’t want you to fall headlong into danger,” Halsin instantly interjected the moment he could. And for once, Astarion was a tinge glad the ancient elf could help. Especially as he felt her body slowly begin to still at the sound of reason. “You need to regroup, think of your strategy before you dive into the belly of the enemy. That place reeks of Illithids and pulses with the power of the Absolute,” Halsin’s deep voice rumbled, slow and soothing tones that rippled with persuasion and wisdom.

“Ketheric must die,” Cordelia thrashed again, back to her lover’s chest, elbows trying to free herself and making her vampire grunt and hiss in the process. “To break the curse, to end the Absolute, to avenge all that has been taken from me… all that made me this… weapon. I need…” her voice grew feral, threatening in a way that made every one of her companions quake in their boot, “to crush him… I need his blood.”

“Gods,” Astarion tried to gently stroke her face, “now which one of us sounds vampiric, darling?” He whispered, catching the edge of her long and pointed ear in his fingers. Something behind her eyes softened, something that turned that black back to singing silver, slowly, stroke by stroke of his fingers.

Until she stilled completely, limp in his arms, smiling gently as she looked into his face at last.

“There now, little Raven,” he whispered only for her ear as he caressed it.

“You’ll have your justice, little one,” Halsin drew closer. And Astarion fought hard not to bristle at the way his green eyes smiled at his love. “But we need to regroup, gather our forces before we dive into that Mindflayer colony to end Ketheric once and for all.”

“Fine,” Cordehlia stood on her own two feet, finally steady, calm enough that Astarion was pretty sure she wouldn’t launch down that stinking hole alone. “I hear wisdom in your words, my Father’s own sort.” She squared her shoulders, hands quickly resheathing her weapons with a metallic hiss. “We rest a few moments, then we cut him off… cut him down.”

The whole party gave a sigh of relief, finding places here and there to sit, to wipe the blood from their eyes and sharpen their weapons a moment.

Halsin left them to do the same, beginning his work of healing whatever little wounds they had sustained. And Astairon finally felt the peace of being with her alone, for that moment. Even with her back towards him, her eyes fixed on their next move of attack, he couldn’t leave her. “My love,” he bid her softly. “Come and sit a moment with me, won’t you?”

“No,” she replied, fixed forward still. “I won’t rest until his blood is shed and my Father is avenged.”

“Don’t be stupid, Cordehlia,” he tutted his tongue, moving to put himself in her line of sight. Those eyes at first scowled at him… the same way she once did when they first… stumbled upon one another again. There was loathing, hatred. Bloodlust even. It sliced through him, pain cutting right to his slow-beating, undead heart. “What’s wrong, my love?” he frowned, folding his arms across his own armored chest.

“What’s wrong?” she scoffed, vitriol in her voice and hate in her eyes. “I am so close to avenging my Father… so close to fighting my way back to who I once was before I lost my only family to Ketheric, so close to reclaiming what I was when you first loved me…. I am so close to cleaning my hands from all the blood I shed as the Bone Picker, so close to clearing my body of the damned mantle of my former self. My dark self.”

A warm voice cleared its throat at a distance beside them. “Well, that is most encouraging, I must interject…”

Astarion had to force his lips to stay shut, to keep himself from snarling and letting his fangs do the talking. “I don't think Cordehlia invited you to join our very private conversation… Gale… and I know I didn’t extend an invitation…”

“Well,” the Wizard shifted as Cordehlia turned to look into his own face. Her eyes still hardened, her mouth still turned in a scowl, “a fresh start… a new beginning, once this is all through, it’s what you deserve, Cordehlia.”

Astarion bristled. “Forgive me, but maybe what she deserves is to know that what she was has made her what she is… perfect and stronger and fiercer. Capable of bringing down the Absolute, capable of so much more than that.” He could hear it in his own voice, that edge of a hiss, that rasp of threat he hoped made Gale quake and shut his mouth. “Unlike those of us who tried to win the love of a goddess of magic to be cursed with some magical blight… Some of us have a sordid past that has made us embrace the monster we are and use it to our… advantage.”

Cordehlia turned, her love, her fierce defender… she felt something inside her ease as he braced his whole frame, ready to attack at her side. He never saw her as a monster, never condemned her for the blood that stained her past and dripped from her hands. He couldn’t chastise her without naming the same fault in himself. Not that he saw it as fault. Only suffering and torture and loss.

For what fault was there in him? Made to be tortured, made to seduce and use his body for his master’s delight…

And she… she had been formed like adamantine… stronger than a blade, more deadly than any spell. She would end this enemy… Ketheric, the Absolute…

Crodehila took a steadying breath, drawing closer to place one gauntleted hand on Astarion’s arm. “It is the darkest forces, the most devastating pressure that forms the sharpest weapons. And you can’t escape that darkness, that pressure or else… you become brittle ....”

She watched her words take hold, sinking into his chest, his heart, the source of his blight. Gale’s eyes fluttered closed to hear her speak. “None of us need to shatter, not even you, no matter what self-sacrifice has been demanded of you by your former lover. Embrace who you are, what you have learned in the dark, and we will make it out of this.”

Astarion smiled so softly down at her—his unshakable warrior. Every head nodding in approval.

Cordehlia took a trembling inhale, almost watching her reflection in her mind, covered in that fearsome armor of Lady Corvus, smiling back at her. Brighter. Part of her. But not in control. “We can walk from this side by side, once this is all through. And we will all be made that much sharper for it.”

Even that made Gale smile, spurned as he was, jealous or determined… it didn’t seem to burn so bright inside him anymore. “You’re right,” he shook his head, “damned wisdom of the elves… I can’t argue with that.”

The vampire sucked his teeth, a little cock of his head rife with sarcasm. “If only you’d listen with that same rapt attention to me, sometime,” Astarion sneered even as he laughed.

“Not sure you count as an elf…” Gale tossed back, “or wise…”

Karlach snorted with laughter, breaking what could have been tense silence. Chuckles, giggles filled the air, until even Cordehlia’s bubbly, medical laugh peeled beside him. And that made his own lips smile.

Besides, there would be plenty of time to shame Gale as the butt of many a joke soon. Once Ketheric was dead.

That event came with such relief. Came with lots of blood and vengeance and gore. But in the end, Cordehlia stood over Ketheric’s headless corpse, the blood of his undead body caking her boots.

Her blade hung at her side, having struck the death blow at last. Its tip dragged noisily on the ground behind her as she stepped away. The scraping echoing in the massive cavern. Her voice was hoarse as she tried to speak, sore from screaming at him as she had hacked his body, howling the name of her Father, unburdening all the things she had carried on her shoulders from her grief.

Her eyes were wet, wide, and sad as she looked at her bedraggled friends. Her love. “Let's move from here,” she scratched out. “We have more things to do.”

Cordehlia straggled, barely sliding one foot in front of the other. Her eyes looked hazy… distant.

Faint. Her vision swam… a weight off her heart, she could almost feel the Shadow Curse lifting from the lands, almost see her Father’s smooth, smiling face one more time. But there was so much more to do… more enemies to defeat, the chosen of Bhaal and Bane… an army of the Absolute to vanquish, not to mention a Netherbrain to somehow destroy.

It was too much for even her adamantine-hardened soul.

Her knees buckled, but before her body smacked into blood-covered stone, Astarion caught her. Somehow, that lean, vampiric, roguish body lifted her in his arms and over his shoulder, armor and all. Somehow, she could smell his scent of citrus and hers through the tang of blood and gore. Somehow, she could hear his soothing hush inside her mind as she drifted unconscious for a moment.

She had barely moved, still breathing, as she laid in his mess of blankets inside his tent. Halsin bent his hulking body over Cordehlia, and Astarion could only watch as the healing magic glowed around her unarmored body. He kept his lithe fingers in his love’s hair, brushing out snarls, stroking up and down her ears tenderly and slowly. Just to let her know he was there.

“There now,” Halsin grunted as he sat back on his haunches. “She should awaken herself. A bit lighter in the heart I wouldn’t be surprised, after finally finishing what she thought her Father started.”

Astarion couldn’t fight the instinct to have his hackles raised when the Druid spoke about her and her past. But all the same, he forced that well-practiced friendly smile. “Thank you, Druid,” he said. “I’ll take it from here, get her cleaned.”

“Using your tongue or do you prefer the dish and rag?”

“That’s rather impertinent,” Astarion let his fangs show this time.

“I’m only joking,” Halsin chortled, deep and low in his chest as he reached for the basin of water and a rag to bring within reach. “No one is trying to take her from you, you know. You’ve rekindled a bond so strong, so thick, I doubt it will sever even in death.”

The vampire felt his nostrils flare.

“Well, a second one in your case,” Halsin quickly added, that warm smile turning his scarred face.

“There is not much that can outlast even death itself,” he took the bowl from the Druid’s massive hands, busying himself with washing her face clean first. “Not unless you are undead… immortal.”

“I’m… forgive me, I believe I touched a delicate nerve.”

Astarion kept his hands busy; it always helped him think, rest, and concentrate. “Attachments are of little consequence to those who are not in them, Druid.”

“Attachment? You mean love, surely?”

Raising his head with a snap, he leveled his gaze at the massive, crouching Elf. “I do,” he snipped. “There is nothing I would not do to keep her now. After all the mistakes I have made, all the suffering I was forced to put others through.” He paused to wipe some more of the dried blood from her beautiful face. “She might be the one thing I have done right in my life, undead or before… as long as I don’t fuck it up again.”

“If you do… love her… then it is only natural to trust your instincts. You will protect her better than anyone or anything.”

For once, Astarion looked up at the Druid and didn’t feel jealousy or hatred or even annoyance. He was… grateful. “Thank you… Halsin,” he replied, wringing out the rag to get fresh water once more.

“I’d say ‘shout if you need anything,’ but I suspect once she wakes you will be shouting for other reasons, ones you won’t want… disturbed,” he chuckled in that deep bellied way of his before he left the tent.

Astarion couldn’t help the smile on his face, wiping the last steaks of grime from her chin before he placed a soft kiss on those lips. And as her eyes did flutter open, her breath deepening the moment their lips met, he did feel that thickening in his groin. “Welcome back, my love,” he whispered, savoring the way her lips gave a small smile.

Just for him.

She stirred, her shift and leathers shuffling as she moved stiffly. Looking at her hands cleaned, her armor removed, she even touched a hand to her slightly damp cheek. Washed skin under her touch. Cordehlia slowly sat, eyes that were so dilated with bloodlust not hours ago now shined with unshed tears, her pink lips trembling as she pulled her arms around Astarion’s neck. Hanging there for a moment, he breathed her in, listening to the symphony of her heartbeat in her veins as it increased in speed. That thickening and heat in his body only surged the more to have her so close, relieved at last once she pulled his body hard to cover her own.

She was more than reward… she was the one thing he had done right in all his tormented existence.

Tonight, like every night, was bliss now, his own personal reward each day and night to be at her side. Sometimes Astarion felt the bitterest of pangs when he started to think about being denied such pleasure and love and acceptance century after century. But those grumblings in his heart were always soon swept away by Cordehlia. The one who took him just as he was. Resentment was warmed by her adoration, distracted by her warmth and wet, wherever it was. Memories of torment and torture and knives and whips and flaying punishment grew dimmer, her beauty obscuring the flashes he would get of his blood pooling at his feet, her scent covering the phantom stink of the kennels.

It was her warmth that brought him back from the dead, and he was sure there was no grave now that could keep him away from her.

What was lost was found, and for gods sake, nothing would take it away. Now that he found something he finally deserved. Not that he believed it…

Not as he gazed up into her blushing face as she rode him furiously, her hands clenching into his. Not as he had to tighten every tendon in his arms to steady her since she wasn’t watching anymore. He laughed at her carelessness, too lost to the feeling of him inside her and the waves of pleasure he called to race down her spine.

“Fuck,” she let the uncouth curse slip from her rosy lips. Something inside his mind stirred, that old tickle inside him from before, from how freely she would let the word fly as a youth, as frowned upon as it was for her status.

“Such noble lips letting out such vulgar words, darling,” he growled, his breath thin as she pushed him closer with every slap of her body on his cock and thighs.

“Oh, you like… all the vulgar things my lips do with you…” Her words turned to cries, stilted and low, only half-stifled to keep their voices from giving too much away. Cordehlia shuddered, squeezing him as her orgasm swelled. He eased her softly as she collapsed against his chest, her forehead in that sweet dip between his muscles, the top of her red head tucking neatly under his nose.

His hand strayed to the back of her neck, softly and slowly rolling her over on the ground. Cradling her beneath him instead. His body cried out for more. Always more of her. But not before he inhaled that scent, the perfume of her sweat and life itself, verdant grass and blooming flowers. That scent triggered an instant sharp return of what they once had been.

What he wanted to find again more than life itself.

It wasn’t much longer, not as he chased that past feeling of being with her in their youth. Not as he pummeled into her channel, her legs splayed in the air over his shoulders, until there was no sound but the wet slap of flesh and their groans as they burst into their climaxes as one.

Astarion stilled, pulling from her wet to lay on their sides and wrap his arms so tightly around her. “My sweet…” his voice rumbled into the damp and errant strands of her hair where it clung to her sweating forehead.

Her warm and blushing face nestled perfectly into the dip beneath his chin. The bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed and caught his breath was so loud against her ear. “Almost ready for more?” she hummed, tracing her fingers slowly over his skin, brushing over the drying damp on his stomach.

“You… insatiable… minx…” he laughed as he kissed her head again. “I know I am an eternally young, handsome, well-fed, impossibly strong vampire… but even I have limits to my near-infinite well of endurance, my love.”

She flashed him those silver pools of her eyes, glinting with mischief. And then her lips pouted. “After all we endured today… you would make me take care of myself?”

His brows shot to his hairline, mouth twisting in a devilish smirk at her game. “And which one of us is acting the spoiled little elfling now?” he taunted, hand straying to ass to give that supple cheek a little slap. “Tch, naughty.”

“Going to chastise me… punish me for being so spoiled and demanding?” she purred, a slight tilt to her head in defiance, a wriggle of her rear as a silent plea for more.

Astarion lifted his head to slink one of his arms behind it. “Perhaps later… once I’ve regained some of my vigor after you’ve made every one of my limbs ache and since you’ve already taken… so much of my seed between your thighs, pet.” He pretended to close his eyes, watching through the lowered curtain of his long lashes as she pouted and crawled over his body until she pressed herself flush against his side.

“I’ll give you five minutes…” she whispered right into his ear. “Enough time for me to tend to my own needs, I suppose…”

Wet… slick little sounds laid under her voice. Her fingers touched herself, stroking in the thick mix of their cum so loudly, so obscenely squelching.

He turned his head with a dramatic sigh, opening that hungry crimson gaze only halfway so he could watch. “You really are a demanding commander aren’t you? So bossy… so dominating… I would have undoubtedly been constantly aroused by you if I had been one of your men.”

Her perfect white teeth bit at her bottom lip, fingers still teasing slowly between her legs. “If you were under my command, you would know better than to defy your commander,” she smirked, eyes shut tight as her hips began to ride her touch.

“If I was under your command, I’m pretty sure we would both be dismissed for fucking each other every night, darling…”

Her belly swirled at that, at the mere mention of how much they indulged now, how she chase her blood lust away with more lust for him, at how very much she craved their connection, rekindling what once was and discovering what would come next. Side by side. “You wouldn’t have made it one day without coming in your leathers at the sight of me in my armor, and you know it,” she taunted, a dark desirous smirk in his lips.

“Likewise, my sweet…” exhausted, he did let his hand stray a single finger down her side, stroking up and down over her curves with barely the tickle of a feather in his dexterous touch. “There is little you do that doesn’t make me unspeakably aroused, my love, my darling, my betrothed,” he grinned as her eyes fluttered open at that last loving title.

“Gods, I’ve waited ages to hear you say that again. Lived different lifetimes, dulled blades and threw my armor into the sea just to hear it again,” she whispered. Her voice tinged with that mix of sadness and longing. Her hand stilling as she slowed touching herself.

“What was it like, your fearsome mantle of the Lady Corvus, Bone Picker?” He watched her body tense, withdrawing into memories, and for a moment he wished he had just bit his tongue. Perhaps it was too soon after the blinding bloodlust today. Perhaps it was the exact right time. He waited, nervously.

Until she gave a wistful smile. “Black and hard and sharp. Little feathers etched into the metal of my breastplate and gauntlets. Pointed spikes darted from the shoulders, like talons ready to tear the flesh of my foes. My blood-red cape would billow in the winds that carried the ash of my decimated enemies. My helm was small, enough to let my hair hang wild and free, a crown of spikes encircling my head… spikes of iron I once replaced with whitened bone, plucked from the battlefield myself.”

Astarion exhaled deeply, sensing her mix of longing and grief. “Sounds fearsome,” he whispered. His fingers traced lazy circles up her back. “Show me,” he ordered. A curious tilt to her head, and he just sucked his teeth. “Use the tadpole, darling. And don’t you stop touching your sweet little body. In fact…” His mouth brushed against her lips, her eyes fluttering shut, “those fingers can only touch where I tell you… where I will show you…”

“I thought you were too tired…” she pouted, whining right into his mouth. And he silenced her with a bite of his teeth on her lower lip.

“You’ll be doing all the hard work, darling. Come on,” he purred, “it’ll be fun.”

Oh, there it was, that taunting, “I dare you” tone that hadn’t left his voice since his youth.

She could feel his mind sticking a finger into her own, just that little wiggle for her to open wide.

Air smelled of smoke, trees burned to stumps, rocks slick with blood. Astarion looked down from this high point at the field that sprawled below his feet… bones and blood already the feast of carrion birds. But behind him on this rise, she waited nearer to the trees, the ones that still stood, that still carried some blood spattered living leaves yet.

Warm wind swept her scarlet cape, fluttering it to the side, and her arm cradled that spiked helmet in its crook.

Her face, gaunt and pale and blood spattered. More than he had even seen at her side now. A wraith of vengeance, a weapon herself, sharp and deadly.

But it was her eyes that locked into his. Even in this hellish dreamscape. They sparkled like the starlight, growing wetter and brighter as he crossed beside her. “This was me, my love, the monster… the terror… the fighter.”

From the distance, he heard that same chilling deep voice they had all silenced for good today. Ketheric’s taunt, his final words, still embedded deeply in his lover’s mind it seemed: “You think to scare me… the fabled Bone Picker… the warrior of her people. She is but a puny, pale vestige of what her own father wanted her to be. Why do you think you can finish what the great General Aquilae could not?”

Cordehlia’s voice had rung back harder than steel: “Because I’m so much more than what any Father could ever dream up for their child. As if you know anything about that… traitor… deceiver….” She raised her blade for a final swing. “Failure!”

The voices were swallowed by the sickening sound of blade and bone.

And Cordehlia could only stand there before Astarion, arms just beginning to reach for her lover. To beg him to come closer.

“Darling…” he whispered, brushing the knotted strands of her hair from her cheek and shoulder. “You don’t have to fight anymore, your father is avenged at last. Nor do you need to fight to forget me. I’m right here.”

Her breath caught in her throat, cheek rubbing tenderly into the cup of his palm. “It was more than fighting to avenge my father. It was also about you… not to merely forget you… I fought to… punish you… to make you pay for leaving me, to destroy the memory of what we were. What we could never be again.”

Her voice was a hammer that struck his chest woven with her heavy guilt. Astarion winced, facing down that void of their separation, his sins staring back in that darkness. And he sighed, “It was probably far less than I deserved, my love.”

“No,” she shook her head, armor rattling from the quick little shakes as she trembled. “No, you didn’t know, you couldn’t remember. Enslaved and compelled. Forced to obey and forget. Who you were to me was stripped from you… but I… stripped myself from my soul on purpose.”

Her hand flung that bone-horned helmet far away, its clattering the only sound around them. She watched it tumble over the rock and blood.

“Well,” Astarion’s voice was pressed, careful, “we may have both suffered, drowning in our own versions of darkness…” He paused, turning her face up towards his, waiting until those sad, silver eyes finally looked at him. “But now, neither of us is alone. And our darkness will not determine our fate, darling.”

Warm and wet, he could feel her tears on her skin, sliding down her cheek.

He could feel it on his real palm, all visions aside.

“Kiss me,” she sighed, angling closer to his mouth, eyes shut tight against the sights of battle around her.

“Yes, my lady…” he gave his sweet submission, a little tender breath from her lips as they brushed softly. “But let me take you somewhere else… let me… strip away the pain that comes from this time... this armor.”

“Please, Astarion,” she groaned. Her hands suddenly clung into the back of his shirt. The metallic scent of blood dissipated into fresh grass, the sounds of fire crackling becoming the trickle of a forest stream. She knew where she was before even glancing through her lashes.

One more lingering, slow working of her mouth on his, and she pulled away with a contented sigh. Elven trees and moss and moonlight.

The perfect remembrance of their home. Of their little spot of nowhere. Far away, and long ago.

“No more battlefield to torment you from your past. No more fighting alone. Now,” he held her by her jaw, raising her face into his, “now, we fight together.”

Her throat bobbed under his hold, another tear forming and flowing from the corner of her eye. Her hand raised to brush the tear away. “You don’t know what it means to me for you to…”

“Shhh,” he quieted her with a kiss, trapping her hand in his. A spike of mischief in his voice and a hint of command in his touch. “I thought we agreed, darling, you would only touch yourself where I say…”

Oh… she shivered. That grief suddenly ignited inside her core to something hotter and fiercer. No more longing or anger… only them. And their needs.

“I stripped away your battlefield…” he eased his grip, sliding back a single pace. “Now… allow me to relieve you of such armor, my lady, my love.” His hands skated down the exposed skin of her neck, lighter than breath. “Whatever this armor meant to you then, remember, everything is new again. You… me… we aren’t what we were.” His fingers slipped the buckles from her armor at her shoulders, barely touching her body. “We are better.”

Black metal fell harshly behind her, deadened by the moss at their feet.

Slow little strokes across that crook at the base of her throat, and he could feel her body melting under his touch in her mind. Her hands held fast against his back, edging him closer, longing to press her body firmly against him.

But he tutted his tongue. “Don’t touch me,” he taunted, shaking her hands away. “And remember, you’re the one meant to do the hard work, darling.”

He gripped her true hand from her belly, sliding it over her warm flesh to where his fingers danced over her skin in her mind.

“Let my hands be yours… and only do as I do, not one little pat or stroke more.” He growled as he caught her lips. “I’ll know if you disobey, pet.”

She arched under his fingers that traced under her neckline. Her neck craned into his touch. “You want some reward for being obedient, my love, won’t you? Still touching yourself like I asked?”

Her body shivered against him in his arms, just enough for him to feel it. But from his words or her own touch, he didn’t know.

Preferably both.

“Yes,” she moaned, drawing closer for more of his touch on his skin.

“Good girl,” he praised, feeling her shiver as another one... two pieces of jagged metal fell at their feet. “So fierce, so daunting…” he purred into her ear, tugging harder and faster through the latches of her breastplate.

“I became a lot of things to lose myself in my pain and anger…”

“Tch, you were always those things, my lovely Cordehlia. You still are, even stripped of this mantle…” He flung the metal from her upper body to the ground, letting it clatter obscenely loudly. And then, his fingers locked firmly around both her breasts, a low deep breath from his nose as he smirked down at her. “And don’t I just love you all the more for it.”

She raised on her toes for a kiss, but his hands were faster, holding her down by her shoulder, a chiding tut on his tongue. “Naughty,” he hissed and taunted. “You only touch where I show you. My hands are your hands, my pet. Nothing more, nothing less…”

She looked at him with those big, wet, silver pleading eyes. “But…”

“An excellent suggestion,” he smirked, giving his head a little nod, so pleased with himself. His hands ran down her back, caressing through the soft linen of her shirt, finally coming to rest along her rear. “Your perfect, rounded butt is still too covered.”

His hands traced around the crests of her hips, gripping into the buckle at her belly and yanking it open. There was so much to her, metal and layers, but he also couldn’t help but notice how with each little piece of her armor, her hardened shell of Lady Corvus that he pulled from her flesh, she looked younger. Happier.

Freer. Healed.

Her skin glowed, her lips smiled as she bit them sensually and slowly under his touch… her touch on her real body.

Whatever it was he was stripping her of, it was more than memory and metal. He searched her eyes for more, tried wriggling deeper into her mind for more, but she didn’t let him. She was too overwhelmed with the feeling of shedding that weight, of his hands on her skin, cold and dexterous.

Familiar.

He could feel her craving, how she was lost to the past, desiring nothing more than the future that once was. He knelt at her feet, pulling off the last metal braces from her shins. He pressed against the smooth leather that enshrouded her skin. He wanted nothing more than to tear it with his teeth. So he did. He nipped into her thigh, the salt of her breeches coated in sweat made him salivate. The little buck of her body to push closer into his mouth shook him out of his mind. He needed her. Need to have her see him, here and now, alive and loved in his arms.

Real flesh, he slid his real fingers where she caressed up her thighs. Where he had just been nipping in his dreams. A quick shuffle down her body, and he pierced the flesh of her bent leg, the tender skin of her thigh giving so easily. His mouth filled with pools of her blood. She cried, arching under him, unsure if she was dreaming or awake. Those silver eyes flew open, the tingle of their tadpoles releasing its hold.

Astarion only gave her a quick bloodied smirk before returning to have more of his fill. Her hand wove into his curls, as she always did. As she always had done.

But the way her pulse throbbed from that lower artery between his lips, she thrummed with life.

One last broad brush of his tongue over those wounds, as he crawled that chiseled body over hers again. “You are mine, Cordehlia, my raven, my love. And no armor will ever protect you better than I will.”

“Yours,” she sighed. “I feel lighter, empty of that weight.”

“Wouldn’t want you empty for long, darling. Need me to fill you with something instead of grief and anger?”

She buried her face beneath her arm for a moment, hiding that radiant smile, a moment just for her. A moment where she finally savored that weightlessness, that floating feeling he had given her as he stripped her from those memories. From the bile that had poisoned her all those many years ago. Of what she thought she knew from that time… from what she thought she… had known of him. And for a man who had starved, survived torture and assault and whoring himself out, now this man sucked the venom from her heart.

With a rogue’s dexterous touch, he had peeled off the painful layers that had built because of him, stripping her with his own two, living hands. He drew his fingers up her panting belly, his exhale deep as he stayed his hand to grip and knead her breast. Those eyes, fierce, possessive, drank in her every reaction. “Need something, Cordehlia?”

It was a simple question, but that purr in his voice, that heavy-lidded gaze that flitted over her neck, her lips, her breasts, it all spoke more than the simple words that he whispered.

“I need…” she whined, sliding her body to buck against him. Wanting nothing more than to be crushed and confined and caged by his body. “I need…” she panted. No words came to her tongue. So she thrust it into his mouth as it barely hovered over her own.

You. The rest of her words filled his thoughts. Even without the tadpole.

His hand cradling her neck, Astarion gave her everything, trying to fill that void he had seen, that agony he had witnessed with his own two eyes. The pain he wanted to carry for her, instead of her. He knew what it was to struggle under the weight of darkness and loss. He carried so many of his own burdens, but he would gladly take hers on too, if it meant she was lighter.

If it meant she was happy.

If it meant she was loved as she should have always been.

Gods, he groaned as he filled her again. It didn’t matter how many times they had done just that tonight… this week… it was never enough. He had centuries to make up for. His arms held on to her for dear life, wrapping around her shoulders, bracing his legs to keep her thighs wide. His to keep. His to protect.

Her body bent and pressed to mold to his throbbed with the feeling of him, of how he covered her every inch. With every thrust inside her, that chilling gnaw of her bloodied past receded, a flood that ebbed away. And all that was left was fertile ground for new things to grow.

[kawareo]

what were some of your fav scenes/fights in bg3?

also completely unrelated, but what were Strike’s pre-tadpole stats?

oh boy okay stats first, then the ramble under cut ^-^

I said before that his stats as Durge would be pretty op, and I do know that they are, but I think the fact that he devolves so much before the events of the game evens him out lol - he was also multi-classing into a Fighter. I was trying to think of him more of in a 'what if he was the miniboss instead of Orin' way, rather than as if he were a playable character

After tadpoling, his stats have nearly halved, except Charisma which is still pretty high (like 17 at the start, i think)

I really like the Nere fight for some reason, especially if I made a deal with the duegar and also am trying to keep the gnomes alive!

And the entire part in the Ilithid colony, i love parts where you can clean out a place room by room, and then the big fights, once I figure out the strategies for them (for example, the Moonrise towers, creche, or protecting the grove, love when I learn how to beat them). Also in my evil Durge run every fight is fun because I have Lae'zen, Minthara, Shadowheart's spirit guardians and my sorcerer who can deal two level five spells per round if needed, so we kind of just power through every fight lol

All of the romance/sex scenes are lovely and I could stare at them forever, personal favorite is the Halsin one. The dance scene with Wyll is super cute. The entire tiefling party slaps absolute ass I love that section. Haarlep scene, too! Genuinely scary! That thing scares the shit out of me but their scene is so fun to watch.

Some of my all time favorite scenes are also Ketheric's introduction, Gortash and Orin talking (orin's va fucking killed it there with the "yes so no sir rip and cut your throat sir", i can quote that entire scene from memory), Minsc' introduction! Dame Aylin and Isobel kiss! The coronation scene! Anything where Auntie Ethel shows up! Rolan!

Lmao it might be shorter if I just tell you things that I dislike tbh, the list is shorter; i love Lae'zel but after act 2 I kind of really don't care about her storyline? I dont know why but the political coup and the githyanki drama just isn't that interesting to me. I couldn't care less about Orpheous, either. Genuinely fuck that Lorroakan fight I hate it form the bottom of my heart. Haven't found the dragon yet and I'm scared in advance because I heard some scary shit. I haven't had to fight any of the Thorm family yet because I always charisma my way through them but in my new run I'll try them, the fights look like a bitch though. It's mostly the gityanki stuff (besides Lae'zel herself) that i don't care that much for , almost everything else I can find interest for

[pupkinpumpkin]

I feel like Choose Your Fighter by Ava Max and The Consequence of Imagination is Fear by Junie&TheHutFriends are both great songs for BG3 animatics

Like, I feel like Choose Your Fighter would be a great song for the Character Creator section of the game and a fantastic MAP. I mean, there's so many different races and classes, you literally get to choose your fighter. Anytime I hear it I just imagine a giant collaboration between artists drawing their own Tavs and all these different scenes where every Tav handles a scene from the game differently. One runs headfirst into a fight while the other charms the enemies. Just a fun animatic that shows the charm of the game through all the different directions you can go and the different people you can be

And The Consequence of Imagination is Fear is a great song to cover the whole game, with lyrics that match Durge pretty well

"I hear from the witches" (the hag)

"fear sounds of the dead" (Ketheric Thorm or just any old undead enemy)

"the source of the itches lives under my bed" (show a Durge or Tav sleeping, then pan down underground to the Bhaal Temple and the Dead Three)

"Thе antidote we look so hard to find

To purge yourself of fear, relax your mind (parasite)

But heaven only knows

Where my mind leads, the feeling grows (the Urge or the growing parasite)

It knows the consequence of imagination's fear"

You can even add Astarion in there pretty easy

"I met a man downtown the other day with ruby eyes that took my life away."

Idk, I can't animate, and I haven't watched too many animatics, so maybe these already exist, but any time I hear these songs, Bg3 just plays in my head

[mumms-the-word]

A Faerûnian Masterlist

I write mostly SFW fluff, angst, and adventure fic. Below you'll find plenty of cute moments, witty banters, angsty arguments, action scenes, and the occasional slightly NSFW hint that fades to black. Most of my writing can be found under the tag my fic.

Contents:

⭐️Popular One Shots⭐️

✨Tav/Durge Masterlists✨

🔮Gale Fic Masterlist🔮

🔍Deep Dives Links🔎

📚Masterlists for Multi-Chapter Fics📚

Click here to read all my works on AO3

Enjoy!

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⭐️Popular One-Shots⭐️

The top three things that have been Doing the Notes the most

Choosing to Live - Gale x You/Reader in which Gale struggles with the complicated emotional fallout of not obeying Mystra's command to self-destruct in Moonrise Towers (AO3 link) Ascension, Return - Gale x You/Reader where you're witness to Gale's ascension to godhood before he leaves to give the Crown of Karsus to Mystra...and you're a little scared he won't come back. (AO3) A Final Death - Gale x gn!Tav where Gale has ascended and has returned to his chronically ill lover in order to ascend them, only to realize that they have died while he was exploring godhood. He departs for the Fugue Plane to find their soul and offer them divinity once more. (AO3)

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✨Tav/Durge Fic Masterlists✨

🎻 meridan “dani” zavrai ✶ mephistopheles tiefling ✶ college of lore bard ✶ entertainer ✶ chaotic good ✶ romanced gale ✶ fic master list ✶ ao3 ✶ tags: dani, meridan zavrai

🏹 ardynn harrow ✶ half wood elf ✶ beastmaster ranger ✶ outlander ✶ neutral good ✶ romanced halsin ✶ fic masterlist ✶ ao3 ✶ tags: ardynn, ardynn harrow

⚔️ freyr ✶ human ✶ eldritch knight fighter ✶ the haunted one ✶ chaotic evil > true neutral ✶ romanced minthara ✶ fic masterlist ✶ ao3 ✶ tags: freyr

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🔮Gale Fics Masterlist🔮

Masterlist of the various Gale x You/Reader or Gale x gn!Tav oneshots that I wrote whenever the urge struck me (ao3 link to the series)

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🔍Deep Dives🔎

Long posts that sparked my hyperfixation and had me red-string-theory connecting lore dots until I landed on a narrative that made sense in my head

tags to other metas: bg3 meta, bg3 lore, bg3 discourse, deep dive

Gale and Mystra (and Mystra, and Mystra...) - Meta post that dives into Forgotten Realms lore to discuss Mystra's multiple lives/deaths, how Gale fits into the timeline, when Mystra visited Gale, etc Shadow Curse Events series - Meta posts that dive into Ketheric's descent into Sharran zealotry, his war against the Harpers and Druids, and the first 40 days of the shadow curse. Illithid Souls series - Meta posts that dive into the D&D lore about illithids and souls before turning to look at how the game uses/changes that lore by examining Tab/Durge, Orpheus, Karlach, and Gale after they become mind flayers. When was Gale Chosen? - Another timeline combing Faerûn lore with Gale's timeline, along with a poll where a couple hundred people voted on Gale's age when he was Chosen. (not a deep dive, but could be helpful)

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📚Ongoing Multichapter Fics📚

A Macabre Masquerade Masterlist

Plot: One year after defeating the Netherbrain and saving the city, Dani and Gale receive a mysterious invitation to a masquerade ball. The invitation specifically invites them to participate as the Heroes of Baldur's Gate. However, when they get there, they soon realize they aren't the only Heroes of Baldur's Gate that got invited.

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In Fathoms Below Masterlist

Plot: The island city of Nautera disappeared over 4500 years ago, if it ever existed at all. Now not a single, legitimate record of Nautera exists, save for one. The Nauterran Account. Long thought lost, it has recently been retrieved from the depths of Candlekeep’s archives and placed into the capable hands of one Gale Dekarios. With the Nauterran Account in hand and an eclectic team of Baldurians and other allies mounting an official expedition, Gale journeys to find the ruins of Nautera…but hopes to find so much more.

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[bootydukedraws]

Another NPC sketch commission, this time with painted shading. This guy's called Kether, and he's a rabbitfolk trouvere or harengon bard-fighter multiclass if you wanna use official dungeons and dragons vocab

Kether's the kind of guy who chose his job based on how easy it'd be to piss off local lords, but still finds time in his week to play in his grandma's bridge games.

If you want a character portrait like this, maybe for an npc in a tabletop game of your own, feel free to dm me and we can work out a price based on what you'd like!

[sorryseraphim]

needed release

I'm just a girl, I need Enver Gortash to eat up my dark Urge, Helene after they asked everybody out of the office.

Read below:

(Also in AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55459897)

"If you just had, the slightest idea how to listen, and not just hear, we wouldn't be dealing with this concern right now!"

No one moved. No one even dared look at Helene's gaze as she looked over plans derailed by an inconvenience made by both her and Enver's people. It was one simple task: deliver a letter to Moonrise for Ketheric Thorm regarding their plan to snatch the Grand Duke, Ulder Ravengard.

Their plans were almost compromised, the stupidity of the persons tasked to deliver manifested during the journey to the gloomy fields of the Shadow Cursed Lands. They almost revealed themselves to a few passing fighters in green and brown. If it weren't for Helene's intuition that misfortune would strike and order a few more people to trail those who are tasked to go ahead, they'd experience unimaginable setbacks.

"You will not lay a finger on them," Enver grumbled, sitting opposite her by the table. He was trying to keep his composure in check, but he was also stressed. Rubbing his left temple as he listened to her outburst, her words getting louder and shrilly as she went on.

"I am a sorcerer, Gortash. I don't need to use my bare hands!"

"Everybody, out!" He finally shouted, his patience wavered, standing up from his seat.

Several nervous glances occurred around the room as Enver's order sank in. When nobody moved, Helene let out another roar.

"Whoever is still in this room after a minute would lose their head!"

In a flash, everyone shuffled out of the small dwelling they were gathered in. Enver walked up to her with long strides, his voice hushed with a hint of anger.

"Are you out of your mind?! Displaying your outburst like some kind of an ungrateful child?"

"Would you rather just have me kill them immediately, without question, without a word?" She fired back, fingers flexing on her side, a clear indication that her anger was at full throttle.

He hissed softly to his side before looking back at her with dark eyes. He rested his hands on her shoulders as he tried to push her down the table, towering over her. "Sit down on the table and relax. Let's talk."

"Let me think, Enver," Helene said, her hand on her right cheek, pinching herself hard enough to leave a reddish mark.

"I said sit down," he insisted, pushing her by the edge of the long table on which various reports and letters were sprawled out. His tone was striking, commanding in a sense that he would not take no for an answer.

She swatted his hand away, shushing him. "What the fuck are you doing? I said let me think!"

"Relax, Helene. I'll take care of it. Let me take care of you," Enver's tone suddenly switched into a whisper. He held her chin in one hand while the other traveled to her size, squeezing her curves gently. It immediately escalated to harsh grabs as it traveled down the dip between her legs, making Helene gasp in response, which Enver had immediately captured using his mouth.

Their lips meet violently, hungry for each other's warmth despite the pressing challenge they have yet to deal with. Just as Helene was deep in the kiss, his hand found its way in from the slits of her skirt, snaking its way between her legs. Enver let out a groan, voice hitching and amused at how wet she already was.

"Let me taste you, Helene... Gods, I want every bit of you for myself," Enver murmured in her mouth before he broke away, pulling a chair in front of her and sitting down. Without missing a beat, he slowly lifted the hem of her dress from her ankles, caressing her legs and kissing her bare knees up to her thighs. His lips touched her skin slowly and full of tenderness as he kept an eye on any signs of aggression she might pose in return for the gesture.

Her body began to melt in his touch, succumbing to the gentleness of his lips. Her nostrils stop flaring, yet her face is still red from anger. Slowly, her breathing shallowed, face softening as she looked down on him as he leisurely trailed his tongue up her thighs towards her tenderness.

She could feel his breath, heavy and feverish, against her skin as he neared her entrance. As if on cue, Helene lifted her entire skirt up to her waist as he started to part her legs, wide enough to push his face in and pleasure her.

He raised her leg up his shoulders to reveal her cunt, which was starting to get soaked as Enver rubbed her legs, his palms rough against her own soft body, the feeling of his hands making her shiver.

"Make it quick..." She breathed heavily, biting her lip as his lips brushed against her folds, her body tingling for the pleasure to come.

"I'll take care of everything; let me just take care of you right now,"

When his tongue made contact with her cunt, it was as if her burden was washed away. The weight of the world lifted from her shoulders as Enver devoured her, savoring every bit she gave him, her soft moans and sighs of bliss.

He pushed the tip of his tongue deeper between her folds, greedily tasting her wetness, as he grabbed her tightly by the waist. He could feel her softly squirming, legs trembling as he increased his pace. Enver could hear the slight hitching on her voice and her attempts to repress her moans as it started to get louder, enough for the whole room to hear.

Helene watched as he lifted his head for a bit, resting a hand on top of her womb as his thumb rubbed her clit, looking up at her as he lapped her entrance. It took everything in her not to whine desperately as another gush of her need rushed out. Helene let out a soft groan as she watched him look up, grinning from between her legs, half of his face drenched in her wetness.

She gripped the edge of the table hard when he went down again, this time desperate and with urgency. "Gods above... Enver, you're driving me mad..."

"Are you close?" He whispered between the act, sucking and lapping her juices as he picked up the pace.

She looked down at him, nodding quickly as she suddenly gripped his hair, tugging it desperately as she neared orgasm.

"Anything for you, my dearest," Enver whispered finally as he began rubbing her clit with haste as his tongue traveled the entire length of her folds.

She could feel it coming, about to burst and wash her body with ecstasy when they heard a knock on the door, followed by a soft rustling of the door knob.

In an instant, Enver stood up, hands off her body as Helene followed and straightened her stance, making sure her skirt was not bundled up her waist.

He took a few steps away from her, turning around momentarily to wipe his face off Helene's wetness as she shouted towards the door. "I did not ask anyone to come back yet!"

"But Priestess, we received word just now. Lady Orin has delivered urgent news."

"For fuck's sake..." She whispered, sighing, "Come in, and let us hear it,"

As their subordinates started to pour in, Enver noticed how her hands twitched on her side, making him smirk. She was subtlety displaying her frustration, an itch to murder someone who dared interrupt them just before she was about to reach orgasm.

He moved around the room, back to where she stood, and whispered, pointing out her fidgety hands to murder, to keep her cool and let patience take over as they discussed news brought by her blood kin.

"I am well," She hushed in return, "But whoever that is that interrupted us would lose their tongue in the morning. I'll take care of it."

[phoebus-cluster]

I'm Oathbreaker Tav I'm Fighter Lae'zel And we're the BONK SISTERS Featuring some of the most satisfying bonks: balthazar, cazador, and lorroakan

had this idea in my head and had to get it out. once these two learned extra attacks, tav got the 'aura of hate' buff, and i picked up corpsegrinder and ketheric's warhammer, it was OVER for these bitches. bonking all our opps into sloppy joe meat. and that's when astarion wasn't OHKO sneak attacking/gale doling out fireballs like es NADA. (made myself the tiniest bit sad drawing my little astarion. poor baby) on a more serious note, playing this game has revived a long dead desire to make art. it sucks because i've backslid so hard, and feel like i'm learning how to draw a ton of stuff all over again. but, overall i'm so happy i'm drawing at all, and with great fervor. thanks to bg3/larian for putting a fire in my heart, as well as one under my ass. and y'know what? one in my loins too for all these hot, lovable, pan/bi characters.

[gales-scary-dog-privilege]

The Cycle of Revenge: A Gale x Tav Angst Oneshot

TW: Mentions of SA, Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death (Gale's orb detonation), and Mentions of Mass Murder.

Full thing under the cut.

It starts at the end. The netherbrain's brain stem.

Damon was used to feeling fear. After all, what was courage without being afraid? Ever since the Half-Elf was sixteen and lost everything, save his twin sister and his childhood friend, he'd always been in a state of fear. Fear that he'd lose it all a second time, and he should have been able to stop it. Fear that he wouldn't be there to stop it. Fear that he wouldn't be strong enough to stop it.

So no, Damon Aloidonys was no stranger to fear, but maybe if he had been able to keep that fear contained a little better, maybe if he had been a little quicker, maybe... just maybe, Gale would still be with him. But instead, Gale had seen it, and sacrificed himself for them all.

To Gale it was an act of love. He would sacrifice himself to save his beloved at any cost. He could not bear to see Damon in such a state. He'd told the wizard about how he believed his remaining family thought he was dead. Gale knew he loved his family so very much; and he dared not take that man away from them, the ones who had known him all his life.

Gale knew that a netherbrain would be a close call if they fought it as they were; and he knew that Damon was a Tempuran, follower of the lord of battles. He would not back down from this without a fight, and the odds were not in their favor. He wouldn't let the Eldritch Knight and Paladin of Tempus risk his life like he had done so many times before.

So, Gale Dekarios decided he would instead. He detonated the orb.

Damon, of course, tried to stop him. He wasn't quick enough. Gale transported the rest of the party away, to a safe distance. In the Fighter's mind, he was back in Summerhaven, his now destroyed home. Back to that day when his father told him to run with his sister as far as he could. He was sixteen and willing to fight, but his father told him no. He was now forty-five, able to fight, not just willing, and he still felt just as helpless.

After everything, Damon truly and utterly felt helpless.

To Damon, despite the battle clearly won, it felt like he truly lost for the first time in ages. He fought so hard for this. Defeated the goblins so the refugees could pass, Defeated Ketheric and the aspect of Myrkul to save the land from the Shadow Curse, Defeated Gortash and Orin to save the city from murder and tyranny, and now...

And now, Damon Aloidonys had lost everything. Again.

He knew in his heart that he couldn't handle another loss this big. Damon had given Gale his heart. He was his heart. And when he died in that final battle, so did Damon.

For six months, Damon had found himself fishing up the Crown of Karsus. It was the thing that was supposed to be given back to Mystra to be destroyed. To truly save Gale from the orb. Now it was nothing more than a memory, but the only memory still left of him.

At first, Damon only retrieved the pieces so that he could keep it out of evil hands; after all, it was what led Karsus to his death, and the same for Gale. There was no way he'd allow another to do so without a fight. That, at least, Damon could still do.

But some gods decided they weren't going to leave him alone.

At first, Shar tormented him; the loss he felt gnawed at his psyche like a rabid animal. The lady of loss probably felt vindication in it—he'd caused her to lose her best project, after all. Plagued him with nightmares, it felt like... But that was just a petty goddess, and Damon knew all she wanted was his suffering. Damon had suffered a lot, and if Shar thought she could make it worse, she was wrong.

It didn't stop his grieving, of course. He'd never had the time to really process all he'd lost before. He had been in a constant state of survival his entire life and he figured the shadows of his past would just come right back and he'd do the same song and dance—distracting himself from the pain by continuing on a different turmoil.

But no, no this was different.

He saw no signs of what had kept him for ten years away from the last bit of family he had. He'd showed his ugly face countless times in Baldur's Gate, and yet... Nothing. For a while he felt that anxiety creep up his spine, wondering where he was, what he was doing; but after the first month of silence, finding the pieces of the crown? He realized the bastard must have left him alone. In his wallowing, his filth. Maybe he saw just how broken he'd become, and saw no reason to maintain it anymore.

That was when Garagos tempted him.

Damon knew of the Reaver—he was the true enemy of his god, Tempus and was taught the legend well—and of course at the beginning Damon denied him quite readily. The former god of war just wanted blood, and the Paladin of Tempus did not revel in bloodshed. He fought to protect people, not harm them, and he cared deeply still for the lives of the innocent.

Garagos still planted a seed. The Master of All Weapons knew a sharp blade when he saw it, and while he had a short fuse, he saw an opportunity in Damon—one that if he waited for the grief and resentment against the Lady of Mysteries to truly grow, then he could best his enemy.

In truth, The Reaver was right. Damon's temper had always been his greatest flaw in a fight. His greatest counterweight to it was his devotion to protecting those he loved, and without that reminder... well, it was easy to hate the Mother of Magic.

Of course, the Eldritch Knight combated the rage. Damon was still devoted to his goddess, the Red Knight, and her teachings. He knew that his rage would not help him, especially if he were to fight those who would get the crown for their own gain. But his most recent and strongest reason to fight was gone, and with each reminder of why he was protecting the pieces of the crown, the pain tore into what was left of his very being.

His mother had warned him once, that to wear his heart on his sleeve would make him vulnerable. He knew she was right, and readied himself for those dangers—he became resilient, immovable. He could withstand anything that came to him as long as his heart still had a beat.

But each time he remembered Gale. Each time he reminded himself of why the Crown needed to stay out of evil hands, his heart ached. In the back of his mind, he wondered... what was the point anymore?

When he got the invitation from Withers, he debated on going or not. He knew he was a mess, and Damon didn't want the companions he had grown close to see him like this—frail, broken— but when he read that Tara would be there, well... far be it for him to deny seeing Gale's dearest friend.

The party was... fine. Damon was delighted and relieved to see the others doing well. He put on a facade, hoping it would keep them from asking questions about how he's been—but the facade was weak, and almost everyone saw through it. The mask he wore to hide his hollow husk fell immediately, however, when he saw the image of Gale.

At first he thought he was seeing things—surely, Gale was dead—but when Tara approached him, telling him that he left this last bit of magic for Damon, everything he'd felt, all the pain he'd bottled up, came crashing down when the magic faded, his last words ingrained in his mind. The realization that Gale was truly gone broke his facade entirely, so much so that even his companions couldn't comfort him.

What was the point anymore? Gale was gone. Why was he hiding away if there was no hope for him? What hope could possibly survive in him after knowing his heart was dead?

There was no point. All that was left was rage.

The anger he felt against Mystra was overwhelming. Damon had kept his rage in check for his entire life, fearing hurting those who didn't deserve it, didn't deserve his unnatural strength aimed against them. But now? Now he can't help but find comfort in it. After months of feeling nothing, forcing himself not to feel the strong emotion to preserve his former self, he thought—why should he? His anger was just as much a part of him as anything else. In fact, it was all that was left of him.

Why should he ignore it anymore?

As Damon left the party, his anger was tested. Kevin decided now was finally the time he'd show his face to him. The asshole who manipulated him, took advantage of him, controlled him. The asshole who threatened his family in order to keep him in check was here, and all the pent up rage exploded into a shower of blood and gore.

After everything Kevin Alistair put him through, all the pain, the charm spells, the coercion. He had the audacity to show his face to him now, of all times, at his lowest. He tried to convince him that he was worthless, that Gale just couldn't wait to blow himself up to get away from him, but Damon knew better. Gale didn't blow himself up to get away from him, in his mind he did so because a goddess had made the wizard feel expendable. He blew himself up because he felt the world would be better without him.

They were both wrong.

Damon didn't waste a breath. He stabbed him multiple times. He remembered the pain Astarion felt when he stabbed Cazador, a similarly evil and vile creature as Kevin. He wondered if what he felt was the same. In the end, while the vile fae-pacted warlock lay dying, Damon whispered in his ear a final parting word.

"I'm not holding back anymore."

Damon felt the same feeling of loss just the same as the last time he'd broken his oath. When he had broken his oath the first time, he bared the pain of losing it, feeling it in its entirety, knowing he'd lost a vital part of his very being. This time, however, he felt nothing. There was no emptiness to feel as he already was.

When the oathbreaker knight appeared for the second time, he curiously asked why. This time, Damon only replied, "I'm breaking my oath on purpose."

This of course puzzled the oathbreaker knight. The last time he'd broken his oath he'd given a different answer, a far more regretful tone—one of duty rather than purpose. Now? Now it was firm, calculated—with purpose. He truly wanted this.

His first act as an oathbreaker was raising Kevin. His first undead servant. The first of many, of course, but Damon found meaning in this one. A truly fitting end for a bastard such as him, but a purpose in his motivations—Damon was doing this to be rid of people like Kevin, rid of corrupt gods such as Mystra. While he may have broken his oath, he vowed a new one—that no worshiper of the Lady of Mysteries should bare her abuse, and no worshiper who put their faith in her shall spread her vile word.

Damon Aloidonys knew he could not kill a god as a mortal—that much still rang true in his mind. But the Crown... It could give it to him. He could become a god. The trouble was figuring it out. He wasn't smart like Gale. He knew Gale could do it, but Damon... Damon was an idiot in everything but war. He'd need to figure it out first, grow stronger.

Growing stronger he could do.

He started small—places that revered Mystra but weren't truly devoted to her. Still with his old self somewhat in tact, he started by convincing them that Mystra was not the goddess she said she was. For a spell, it worked. He gathered followers, converted those of wavering faith to follow him instead, help him ascend. They fought monsters and creatures to convince them that he was worth the trouble—worth forsaking the Mother of Magic so that he could enact the vengeance he so craved.

Damon Aloidonys was convincing, although deep down he knew this was wrong.

Garagos combated it handily—reminding the fallen Paladin of his motivation, the reason he was doing this in the first place, taking advantage of Damon's grief— this angered his former gods. He was an Aloidonys, the most devoted family in the business of war, and Damon was the best of them—the strongest of wills, the strongest of conviction—and for their enemy to take advantage of him, the one who would be a chosen of Tempus? Outrageous.

However, there was still one who could convince him to return—Damon's twin sister, Angelina Aloidonys. Much like all Aloidonys', she too had the drive her twin brother had, just more spell oriented—a sorcerer and cleric of Selune. She was the reason Damon had taken his oath in the first place, so maybe, if the stars aligned, he could be redeemed before it was too late. Little did the Red Knight know, however, that this would be a long and difficult process.

Lina and Caleb had been searching for Damon for ten years—ever since his disappearance after Kevin split them apart. The rat bastard may have told them he was dead, but Lina always knew—a twin sense, she called it. Her idiot brother would never die from just anything, he was too strong—too strategic. He caught the attention of the Red Lady herself, there was no way he was dead.

It as what led her to Baldur's Gate—talk of a large event had happened months ago. Some cult rose to power and several heroes saved the gates. There were few casualties, one that had a name on headlines, but the thing that caught her attention was the one who led the charge. No one had his name, those who knew him in the fight refused to give it, but a half-elf with tattoos on his face and heterochromia that matched her own—she knew it was him. It was Damon, her brother.

She asked around, looking for clues, Caleb uninterested due to the long amount of time they'd spent searching before. Lina was certain there would be a lead, she could feel it like an arcane surge—a call like Damon wanted to be found, maybe even Selune guiding her to where she needed to be.

At first it took a while, no one really knew much about the man who led the charge against the netherbrain—at least not passerbys. Most of the rumors led to a wolf of a man terrorizing churches and the like, but the bartender of the Elfsong mentioned he was a rather charming guy—used to be a regular for years and rolled up recently talking about solving murders. She asked him who else knew of him, or who fought with him in the battle. His answer was less than ideal, but mentioned a name—Jaheira. A Harper who lived in Baldur's Gate.

When they knocked on her door, the Harper was suspicious of them. "Isn't it strange you come here asking for me of all people? An old woman?" she asked, crossing her arms. "I'd guess you were trying to indoctrinate me into a cult—well too bad, I just recently dismantled one and I don't feel like getting back into it."

"I hear you knew the man who lead the fight against the netherbrain recently," Lina responded quickly.

Catching her attention, the old half-elf raised a brow. "And what of it?" She asked, curious as to why she cared.

"His name was Damon Aloidonys, right?"

"Lina...!" Caleb hissed. The dark haired and scraggly half-elf rogue had always been annoyed with how blunt the twins always were. No tact, just directly to the point.

Unfortunately for the sneak, the sorcerer would be proven right. Jaheira, surprised they knew his full name, agreed that she knew him, but it had been months since she or anyone else had seen him. She offers to help, realizing that this was the fabled twin sister Damon had always talked about, but warned that even if they find him, he would still be grieving.

Lina was startled by this. If he was still grieving, then something big must have happened during the fight. Maybe losing a close ally or maybe more than just one. When she asked, however, Jaheira refused to elaborate, saying that the only person who was at liberty to talk about it was Damon himself. It was then that Lina began to worry, a knot forming in her gut.

Something told her that Jaheira's warning meant something bigger than just seeing her brother as an empty husk.

Regardless they set off to find him. Without many leads besides where Jaheira knew he was staying before, they started there, hoping to find clues as to where he'd gone. It took them a while—Damon, while not the smartest in many ways, knew how to cover his tracks well. Caleb was surprised since he'd always known him to be way more up front about it. Lina, however, worried far more. If he'd gotten this good at hiding, then something must have happened to him to cause it, and she didn't like what that entailed.

Eventually they stumbled across a map—one hidden away in a hole in the floor. It revealed several locations, some crossed off, others with fresh ink. Damon had been there recently; meaning he could come back again.

Caleb suggested they stake it out—wait for him to return. Jaheira argued against it, saying if he is to return then he has more time to do whatever he was planning. Unbeknownst to Lina and Caleb, Jaheira noticed something missing—the Crown of Karsus. They couldn't have known he had it, but with it missing, it meant something far more concerning could be at foot, and so she suggested to go to these towns marked on the map. Caleb argued that there were no guarantees that he'd still be at any of these, that it could be too late, but Lina suggests to go to one of the more recent ones—the ones where the marks are fresh.

Eventually they head out as fast as they can to the one that was freshest. Unfortunately, it seemed that they were slightly delayed, noticing a panic in town, away from a church. The rumor of a wolf of a man rang in Lina's head—she feared that this was it, and that Damon might be caught up in it. As they rushed to the nearest church, Jaheira noticed it was a temple of Mystra, and she stopped them both.

"Are the two of you absolutely sure you want to confront this man?" Jaheira warned, holding their arms firmly as the panic continued.

"If he's tangled up in this mess, then yes!" Lina snapped, ripping her arm from the old half-elf.

"I fear he may not just be tangled up in it, cub," She warned again.

Lina ignored her warnings. No matter if she was right or not, that was her twin brother. Whatever was happening, Lina was going to be there this time.

As they approach the church, there are undead patrolling the grounds. They pay them no mind, the three of them apparently off their list of targets. When they enter, its apparent that a bloodshed had happened—slaughtered clergy of Mystra sprawled about the floor. Lina's eyes wander wildly around looking, for her brother, but she stops when she sees a figure in front of a statue of the Lady of Mysteries.

A man who wore hellish armor, a helm, and wielding two longswords.

At first Caleb doesn't believe it—no way was this Damon, the heroic and selfless half-elf who defended people like this—innocent people, clerics of all things—he'd sworn an oath of devotion, to protect people, not harm them.

But Lina knew better than that. She wished it wasn't true, but knew that it must be him. She called out his name, hoping he wasn't the one under the helm.

But no, she was right. She's always right.

The figure took off his helm, his hair slicked back with a case of helmet hair. It was long, reaching to his shoulders at this point. His hair was similar to hers, his ears coveted with those familiar piercings. It was him. It was Damon Aloidonys, her lost twin brother.

When he turned his head it was all confirmed. His icy blue eye turned towards them all. His face was just as cold, full of hate and suffering. Jaheira was right that he was grieving, and Angelina had no idea how far he'd been pushed to the edge.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," Damon said, calmly to them. "It's a shame—you shouldn't have come here."

She couldn't believe what she was seeing. That was his voice, that was him. But it wasn't him. This wasn't him.

"Why have you done this?" Lina asked, unable to hide the horror in her voice. "What happened to you? Was it Kevin?"

Jaheira was confused by the name—Damon had never mentioned a Kevin and most of the time he'd confided in her things that he wouldn't even confide in Gale.

"No," Damon replied simply. "Kevin is dead."

They stared at him in horror. His tone wasn't regretful, nor did it sound like he cared that he'd taken a life, no matter how vile. No, that was the voice of a man who killed him on a whim, not out of necessity.

"You know, I was tormented and controlled by that bastard for ten years—I endured it for you two," He gestured towards Caleb and Lina respectfully, turning his body around to face them all. "So I could protect you—so he didn't kill you for my mistakes." He let out a deep breath, his anger no longer yielding as he spoke of the warlock, Kevin. "But then I met Gale." His voice grew softer, a melancholic tone that hinted to Lina that her brother cared for this man. That was the man he was grieving.

Jaheira knew this well. She had seen how close they were at Last Light—how they looked at each other as they plotted against Ketheric Thorm, how his posture and expression brightened when he saw the wizard. It reminded her of how she was with Khalid, and how devastated she was when he died. This however, was far worse than what she felt—or, at least, something else was at play.

Damon continued his speech. "I pulled him out of a rock—got stuck after I crashed a nautiloid and it was a whole thing—we were infected with an illithid parasite. We all were—Shads, Astarion, Laezel, Wyll, Karlach... and Gale." Lina and Caleb could hear the pain in his voice as he spoke his name. The suffering he couldn't quite contain on his face. "He called himself Gale of Waterdeep; later I would know him as Gale Dekarios—I liked him more over the title of a chosen of Mystra."

He hissed out the name like an angry cat, the venom in his voice stung in their ears as Damon swung himself around, a roar from his mouth and a stomp of his foot caused the ground to rumble, rupturing the statue of the goddess of magic. It crumbled to the ground, her head smashing to pieces as he let out a seething breath.

"I fell in love with Gale Dekarios," Damon said, gripping the handles of his swords tightly. "He was funny, and silly, and taught me magic." He let out a soft chuckle, still seeping with sadness. "But he, too, made his mistakes—Gale's Folly, he called it—a netherese orb embedded itself into his chest, one that required magic items to quell its hunger so it wouldn't explode on us. I was convinced we could find a way to rid him of it—and in a way, we did."

"How?" Caleb asked this time.

"Oh, we're getting to that," Damon assured, his head turning back towards them. They could see a glint in his eyes—one that they'd only ever saw when he was about to speak of something he hated. "You see—at some point, before reaching out newest destination to get those tadpoles removed from our heads, a very famous and... dare I say it, annoying, wizard appeared—you may know of him, actually." He looked to Lina, pointing his sword at his sister.

"Who was it?" She asked cautiously.

Damon smiled. "Elminster Aumar," He chuckled. "You know, I thought he'd be far more imposing, but he stole all our cheese and brought the shittiest news I could ever here coming from a messenger of a goddess."

"And what did the fabled cheese-stealing wizard say, cub?" Jaheira asked, a twinge of worry in her voice as she spoke to the once gold-hearted hero.

"Mystra," He took a breath, the anger beginning to leak from the corners of his mouth. "Said Gale must use the orb to destroy the heart of the absolute—I convinced him not to do it when we reached Ketheric—you know as much Jaheira, you were there!" He gestures to the Harper casually, his expression losing all emotion. "He chose me that night, you know. He chose me." When he spoke the words, he was firm, banging the handle of his sword against his chest, the blade pointing downward.

"He chose me." Pain and anger combined as he spoke those last three words, his eyes welling with tears as he remembered that moment—the moment that brought them to the end.

It was clear now just how much Gale Dekarios meant to Damon. After his heartbreak with Kevin—a man who had love bombed him so hard that he got himself into a mess that lasted ten years away from them—he truly loved this wizard.

"I did so much to combat that vile bitch," Damon snapped. "He felt like the world would be better without him in it, and I told him otherwise—she wanted him to explode so he could be redeemed in her eyes—I convinced him not to do it and yet..."

"In the end, he exploded anyway," Jaheira finished for him. She could see the pain in his eyes as he spoke. She felt pity, empathy for him.

"What kind of god would ask such a thing?" Damon roared. "To—to command you to kill yourself just for redemption?"

"So you're killing her clergy?" Lina asked in disbelief.

"Precisely," Damon confirmed. His answer was readily given, so simply and decisive. "I am ridding her of her worship—very astute, dear sister."

Lina didn't know what to make of it. Her brother was... was kind, empathetic—he took an oath to protect people so that what happened to Summerhaven wouldn't happen to anyone else. He wasn't vengeful—not like this.

Something was clearly wrong—some other piece was at play.

"Are—" Lina stopped herself before she could continue. The fear in her voice could only slip out once she spoke, so she composed herself—took a deep breath. "—are you sure Kevin's not...making you do this?"

Damon sighed, loudly, stowing his blades. "Come on, now, Lina—I killed the bastard myself—he couldn't control me anymore if he tried," He muttered, an annoyed look on his face as he addressed his sister. When he saw the disbelief continue on her expression, he let out another sigh. "I can show you if you'd like?" He suggested.

Without a word he snapped his fingers, the undead husk of the man who had taken her brother away from her wobbled into the building. Lina and Caleb looked at it, horrified, turning back to Damon as if they couldn't believe their eyes. He'd really turned the rat bastard into a zombified servant.

"Damon what—" She couldn't find the words, covering her mouth. Sure, she hated Kevin for how he treated her brother, but to turn him into an undead...? That just wasn't him.

"You know, he's my favorite toy—considering how long he treated me like one," Damon said with a smile, grabbing the undead creature's jaw harshly with a snarl on his face.

"Damon—this isn't you," Lina protested, furrowing her brows.

There was silence for a moment, Damon staring at his sister with cold eyes—empty eyes. He let go of the zombie, turning his full attention to the three before him.

"It isn't," Damon agreed. "Because the Damon you knew is dead." His face was filled with rage. "He died when Gale exploded to destroy the netherbrain." They could still hear his pain—his suffering as he spoke it aloud.

"Damon, you are going down the same path as Ketheric," Jaheira warned, a hand on one of her scimitars. "You know where that ends."

"I know," Damon answered, looking to Jaheira. "And I understand now—oblivion will not save me, nor can I live without him."

"Where's the Crown, Damon?" Jaheira demanded, drawing her swords.

"Oh, you mean the Crown of Karsus?" Damon taunted, his hands now resting on the hilts of his two longswords.

"You swore you would keep it out of the hands of those who would abuse it," Jaheira snapped.

"I did," Damon admitted. "And I will."

"Then where is it?"

"It's none of your concern, Harper," Damon spat, drawing his twin blades swiftly.

"You're plotting something, aren't you?" Caleb accused, unable to hide his fear.

"If you try to intervene, I will make good use of your bodies after I kill you," Damon threatened.

The three were familiar with this tactic. He had gotten very good at intimidating his enemies. It often stopped fights from happening, sometimes so much that they groveled in fear. This time it did not feel like a tactic to make them leave, it felt like a promise.

While what was left of Damon Aloidonys and his flock of Undead went to leave, Caleb tried to get them both to run. Instead, all they could do was stand there as he left, staring down the Harper before completely leaving the town.

Lina, however, was still convinced her brother was in there somewhere. She just had to find it.

[ilikedetectives]

*Baldur's Gate 3 Act 2 spoilers*

Me when I heard Ketheric needed to build an army, but turned the best fighters and assassins that House Baenre had to offer into thralls and food, instead of converting them all using the tadpoles and letting Minthara lead.

[blackjackkent]

OK, into the basement of Danthelon's Dancing Axe.

Rakha is mildly curious to meet the Harpers of Baldur's Gate; the ones at Last Light seemed, by and large, like sturdy fighters, and she expects these to be no different. She's also acutely aware that Jaheira is deeply stressed out on her account, and that going to see the Harpers seems to have brightened her mood a little, which seems important.

It is, however, a rather unprepossessing group that they find in the Dancing Axe's basement, fronted by an extremely young and nervous-looking half-elf with dark hair who approaches as soon as he sees them enter.

"High Harper!" he says nervously, stopping in front of Jaheira and inclining his head. "May Selune's Tears shine on this meeting!"

Jaheira goes still. The brief moment of open good humor vanishes from her face instantly; her eyes narrow and do a rapid flick-flick around the room, taking in the four other Harpers watching them, the two levels of the room, the open loading-dock balcony that opens onto a cliffside beyond.

"...A very formal greeting, Geraldus," she says neutrally, one eyebrow lifting very slightly. "You are well?"

Rakha registers the change in her bearing and is immediately on guard herself. One of her hands slips behind her, settling on the straps holding her quarterstaves to her back.

"Y- yes, High Harper," Geraldus stammers anxiously. "Standing beneath Selune's Tears." He leans extra emphasis on the words this time.

"The lad's a little nervous, Jaheira," one of the other Harpers - an older halfling woman - says smoothly, sidling up next to Geraldus and smiling blandly up at Jaheira. "We heard of your great victory against Ketheric."

Jaheira doesn't relax at this reassurance - and neither does Rakha. Her initial confusion fades rapidly to disquieting certainty as facts start clicking into place.

Narrator: [INSIGHT] Geraldus isn't nervous. He's terrified. And he's using 'Selune's Tears' as some sort of code.

Jaheira seems to have come to the same conclusion. She settles onto the balls of her feet, her hands hooked behind her. Rakha hears the subtle click as she releases the clasp holding her scimitars in place.

"I understand, Geraldus," she says - and there is a gentle note in her voice despite the sudden rigidity of her bearing. "Take a moment."

She turns her head to look at the halfling and raises an eyebrow pensively.

"And you, Harper..." she says. "There is something familiar about you." She tilts her head slowly to one side, then glances at Rakha with a sudden cheerful smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

"Doesn't she remind you of our old friend Marcus?"

Behind Rakha's back, the Weave begins to swirl in tight loops around one of her fists.

Narrator: Jaheira's meaning is clear. Marcus was a traitor, laying a trap. The same, it seems, is happening here.

The beast purrs hungrily in Rakha's head; it's been awake at a low rumble ever since her conversation with Gortash and is becoming desperate for the next burst of chaos. Traitors. Kill them. Kill. Kill. Killkillkillkillkillkill.

Perhaps, were she fully in control of herself, she might make the same decision - that if these are traitors to Jaheira, they must be dealt with summarily. There is, after all, purpose in killing a traitor... But she would be lying if she said it was such clear thoughts driving her now.

Strike while Jaheira has them distracted.

Her fist rockets forward, carrying with it a burst of thunderous energy that sends two of the Harpers flying out of the open dock wall into the air beyond.

(A/N: I took way too long getting these screenshots but I kind of love them. XD )

The whole battle takes less than a minute. As soon as Rakha starts moving, the others swing into action behind her; perhaps they were expecting something like this from the moment Jaheira dropped the hint. Lae'zel's sword cleaves sharply through another of the Harpers; Jaheira thornwhips the remaining one down from the upper level, at which point Wyll and Minthara make short work of him.

And Rakha's blood runs cold to see the corpses they leave behind.

"More of Orin's doppelgangers," she mutters, feeling a prickle of fear run up and down her spine that all but blots out any satisfaction she got from the kills. "How many has she brought to Bhaal's side, I wonder..."