#Peoples of Faerun challenge

[randoimago]

For bg3, could I request platonic Wyll, Astarion, Gale, and Lae'zel finding a Tav that's quietly breaking down from all the pressure of having to save and comfort people all the time. Like they want to help people, but it's becoming too much for them.

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Character(s): Astarion, Gale, Lae'zel, Wyll

Note(s): They all need therapy after this, but idk if therapy exists in D&D so give them spa days and alcohol instead

Astarion

As someone that voices his complaints easily once he's become close enough to let you in on his secrets, he also knows when the feelings are being buried away. While he doesn't want to tell you what to do, he does pull you aside when you're back at camp to exchange supplies.

Saving people and being a hero has never been something for him, mostly because he never had someone to save him. Until you came around, that is. And he thanks you for that, but you need to stop putting so much on your shoulders. You want to save people? Well you won't be able to do that if you collapse.

You've been a good friend to him, so let him do the same to you. Take a fucking break. Break into that newspaper building and change the article to something ridiculous. Do something for yourself. Astarion is more than happy to introduce you to some of his more fun morally grey activities just to get everything off of your mind. He has dealt with the aftermath of being burnt out and wasting away because bottling your emotions becomes too much, he won't see the same happening to you.

Gale

Notices you looking tired and suggests a break. He'll always be happy to lend and ear and offer some words of wisdom. Mostly, let yourself rest. You're already doing a lot and you should find a nice book and lay down in your tent for a bit to destress.

While Gale is trying to have his morals in the right place, he also knows not everyone can or deserves to be saved. It's valiant of you to try and offer help to anyone you can, but he can see the toll it's taking on you mentally, emotionally, and physically. Honestly, Faerun is a big place, let some other adventurers lend their help, you deserve some wine.

It's a shame that Magnificent Mansion or Tiny Hut aren't spells you can get in game, but Gale would happily cast Magnificent Mansion for you to just have an impromptu spa day. It's what you deserve for being his greatest friend and for all that you do for others.

Lae'zel

She knows being a leader is hard and there are many challenges you must step up to. People will constantly seek your help and look to you for advice. She has seen it by many of her githyanki superiors and thought nothing of it. And then she finds you cracking.

Tells you that as a leader, you can't show your cracks or you'll be seen as vulnerable to enemy attacks. While at camp, rest as much as you need. She'll keep watch while you let out whatever emotions that you need to.

Will also remind you, that you're her leader. You don't lead all the people you come across on the road, you owe them nothing. Technically, you owe Lae'zel nothing as well, you have the freedom to choose what to do, morals be damned.

Wyll

He notices the cracks and he fully understands. Hell, he sold his soul to a devil because he was failing. You're allowed to break down. You're allowed to rest.

While Wyll, likes the idea of helping anyone in need, even he knows that it can be too much. A lot has happened to all of you in a very short span of time, he understands needing to rest.

He considers you a good friend and ally and if you'd allow him, he'd be glad to take the lead and let you rest. He can at least listen to those you come across and offer them comfort if you're too drained to do so.

Taglist:

@reo-the-leo @unhelpfulnpc

[octarinecat]

A challenge

Author notes: 1845 words, NSFW, Raphael x female Tav, TW: a lot of alcohol, foul language, minor violence, choking, mention of noncon

“You know what I noticed? That I've never seen you drunk. How is that possible?” Tav wondered aloud and turned on her side, looking at him expectantly.

Raphael finished reading a paragraph in the book and looked at her with amusement.

“That's impossible, little mouse. I'm immune to the effects of alcohol.”

“You have too much mass. Maybe you just drink too little of it to find that it works on you?” She continued to pursue the subject.

Raphael rolled his eyes and went back to reading his book. One of his hands dived under the bedclothes and he began stroking the skin on her thigh. Tav mused for a moment, but returned to the topic that was weighing particularly heavily on her mind this evening.

“I wonder how you would behave under the influence of alcohol. Would you be more aggressive? Or more mellow? Hmm…” She sighed loudly, but jumped up on the bed, as at that moment the cambion pinched her.

“Curiosity killed the cat!” He laughed in a low voice and closed the book. He then corrected himself on the bed and looked at her. “I don't mean to demean my person, who do you think I am? I would prefer your grey cells to focus on other subjects. Perhaps on my anatomy, or my fluency in several languages? Choose wisely, my dear.”

“Leave my grey cells alone. Ah so yes, lets make it a challenge. Prove to me that alcohol doesn't work on you.” She said in a confident voice, emphasising the word “challenge”.

“Challenge?” He laughed. “And what reward awaits me for proving to you how wrong you are? I'm concerned that the mere satisfaction of winning won't be enough for me." Raphael replied, and his eyes travelled downwards, where they stopped at her breasts with a dreamy look.

Tav clouded over, doing business with him had never been easy. “What more do you want?” She asked and bit her teeth.

Cambion leaned in and batted his long eyelashes, at the same time glaring at her with his eyes. In his mind, he carefully considered what he had just had to say.

“I want you to stay for more than a single evening.” He said, and his eyebrows raised in anticipation of her answer.

“For a weekend, for example?”

“One week is the absolute minimum.” He shrugged.

“Why do you need me for that long?” She asked expectantly, scanning his face with determination for the deeper meaning of his words.

“For entertainment.” He answered briefly and showed her almost all his teeth in a smile.

. . . . . . . . . .

Few days later they met up again in the front door of Elfsong Tavern, in the late evening.

“Ah, that famous den that has hosted so many heroes of Faerun.” He sighed and opened the door for her, allowing her to enter first.

They were struck by the heat of the great hall filled with people. The smell of roast meats and various types of alcohol filled their nostrils. She noticed how he wrinkled his nose in distaste. Raphael grabbed her hand and led her through the main hall up to a room with a stage further away. There were several musicians on the stage, playing cheerful music. They sat down at some smaller table.

“What do you fancy tonight, my dear?” He asked, discreetly observing his surroundings.

“Me? After all, you were the one who was supposed to drink today, weren't you? I don't plan to drink.” She was surprised, as she had not foreseen this option in her plan. She nervously looked around the stage, searching for a point of interest. “I'll have water, maybe something else later. Listen, someone has to be sober to get you home.”

Raphael laughed with amusement. “I'll bring something right away, don't move from here.”

After a long moment he returned bringing alcohol. Analysing the size of the glasses, Tav concluded that it might be whisky.

“Whisky? Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, devil's blood whiskey. What else do you think you could drink? Beer is for the commoners, isn't it?"

Of course, he didn't bring her anything to drink except whiskey.

There was a little commotion on stage and the music became much livelier. A beautiful elf began to sing and tempt the people in the hall with their voice.

Tav looked at Raphael, who started sipping whiskey from his glass. His gaze moved lazily around the room. She knew that gaze, she had seen it more than once before. He was looking for the clients.

“Hey. You're not at work.” She returned her attention to him and reached for her glass.

“I'm not right now. But who knows, maybe I will be soon? Look at all these naive people, they're asking for a hell of a contract. I shiver at the thought of succeeding in tormenting an innocent soul today."

“Please, Raphael. You'd better focus on drinking. On relaxing. Charming me with conversation. Remember, that challenge of ours still?”

One glass of whisky was emptied. It wasn't much, yet Raphael was giving signs of a change in his mood. He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and began to talk about an artefact that had recently caught his eye.

“...And do you know what happened next, my dear? At first I ignored this information, but when I met with another client I realised that…” Tav listened with interest to his story. His voice had a soothing effect on her. And perhaps it was the whisky. To be sure - she sipped it very slowly so that she could observe the changes in the cambion's behaviour.

A second glass. More buttons revealed his torso, drenched gently with sweat. It was terribly hot in the tavern, and people-as if there were more of them. She was also uncomfortably heated; she untied the straps of her shirt, which was not ignored by him.

“It's pretty hot in here, isn't it?” He stated with a sassy smile and scooted over to her, putting his arm around her shoulders and, as unobtrusively as possible, brushing the lobe of her ears with his lips.

“To you, that's for sure. Oh, is the alcohol going to your head?” She laughed and took the last sip from her glass.

More glasses of alcohol were served and Raphael became more and more inebriated.

“...And I made him eat those eyeballs. Fucking animals. He thought he'd fool me, me?!” He finished with a loud bass laugh and took a long sip from his glass. His eyes occasionally scanned the room, Tav was convinced he was preying on someone.

The night was still young, the cambion was seemingly starting to get drunk, yet not quite. Tav went off to the bathroom for a moment, which did not go without a little dizziness, and when she returned she saw that Raphael was speaking in a raised and angry voice to a man, waving his hands in front of his eyes. She quickly walked over to him and instinctively grabbed his arm.

“Come on, leave the man. Why make a quarrel over nothing." She said and pulled him towards the table. Meanwhile, more glasses filled to the brim with alcohol appeared on the table.

She hadn't had time to sit down on the bench when he grabbed her by the hips and planted her on his lap.

“And then came the CLAW!” He murmured quietly then unexpectedly raised his voice on the last word.

“Oh hells! Raphael!!!” She shouted in surprise and a couple of people in the room burst into laughter. Tav blushed and glared at him. He answered her with a wide and dreamy smile. “Are you all right, my dearest? Did the little mouse get scared?” He cooed.

“So that I don't scare you! Don't do that again.” She scolded him and tried to sit down next to him, but was unable to move his arms tightly clasped around her waist.

“I shall.” He whispered, then slipped one hand under her skirt.

She quickly took his hand away, and his tongue untangled.

“You are so beautiful, I want you here and now. Spread your legs. You are mine and mine alone!” He said to her and began to bite into her collarbone without a hint of shame, additionally gripping her buttocks tightly, which would surely be visible on her body the next day as well.

“That's enough of that. That's enough already! Raphael stop right now!” She reacted by almost shouting. It wasn't her words that stopped him, however, but a physiological need. He pushed her onto the bench from his lap and left towards the toilet without a word.

As soon as he was out of her sight she poured the alcohol from the remaining two glasses into the pot of a plant standing nearby.

Raphael returned after a long minute, shaky and with his shirt unbuttoned all over.

“We're going home now!” She declared as soon as he looked at her. His gaze was frantic, completely different from the stoic calm he exuded on a daily basis.

“Let us go then, my beloved.” He replied briefly after which, without further ado, he grabbed her in half and carried her out of the inn through the back door.

“Fuck, Raphael! I'll rip your legs out of your ass as soon as you sober up!!!” She screamed and kicked the air as he put her against the wall and pressed her against it with his body. There was no one around them, only the faint rays of the moon illuminated their bodies.

“I just don't believe it!!!” She squirmed against the wall, trying to push him away. “You're disgustingly drunk!” She lamented further.

“Don't reject my love...!” He said and leaned in, his lips inches from her mouth. His hand went around her neck squeezing tighter and tighter, taking away her precious air supply. But at the last second something changed. He stopped.

Tav held her breath.

“I win.” He whispered in a coarse, exaggerated whisper and a big smile crept onto his face. His eyes glittered with self-satisfaction. So too did the set of fangs he revealed in his smile. Tav, on the other hand, was close to passing out, and in her mind she was already putting together a plan of self-defence.

“Wh-what?” She answered on one exhale.

“I won. I'm not the least bit hazed by alcohol. And you've convinced yourself that you don't want to see me like this at all. A valuable lesson for you, I suppose?” The cambion replied and released her from his embrace, placing her gently on the ground.

Tav punched him in the stomach until he folded in half and grunted. Raphael grabbed her wrists tightly to prevent more violence on her part.

“Have you been pretending all this time?” She shouted in anger.

“Of course I was. I was surprised you didn't notice. Who would have expected the devil to be a deceitful and deceptive creature?” He said with a confident smile. “Be ready, I expect you to turn up tomorrow and hand over my reward.”

[dreamingofthewild]

After that post, I got thinking about Bloodweave again. Specifically the way Gale loves and how he would be just as a good fit for Astarion as Karlach, Wyll, or Halsin.

Gale's devotion to his loved one is absolute. He's a kind-hearted soul— the very reason he could summon Tara. He's willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good. In an origin run, he proclaims, "...one wizard for the whole of Faerun seems like a fair trade to me."

Gale may not be your typical storybook prince or hero, but his hopeless romanticism shines through a belief in altruism and selflessness. This is a man who says things like "you put the stars to shame" and "with you, I forget my goddess." His devotion transcends physicality, even embracing a romanced, illithid-infected Tav. No mere 'gosh' escapes him when facing the reality of Durge's Bhaalspawn heritage.

Gale approves of helping people, and two of his mini-romance scenes are after you have saved someone. He can only be manipulated into joining you in an evil playthrough because of the orb in his chest. He is a good man, a good man who cried because he accidentally burnt a neighbours rose bush when he was 8.

His love is rooted in personality, not appearances. Gale values commitment, believing sex is an act of profound connection between body and soul. He's the antithesis of the shallow encounters Astarion's was forced to endure. Gale's steadfastness would have made him an unlikely victim for Astarion's seductions. A fact that annoys me in a Gale origin run, as you should be able to say that you can't have sex like you can in a Karlach origin run.

Astarion would find Gale's authenticity refreshing. He doesn't need to put on an act in front of Gale. In fact, Gale prefers the truth. Gale, ever kind, would even offer to help kill Cazador without asking for anything in return. That's simply who he is.

Astarion needs someone selfless, patient, and understanding – qualities Gale possesses in abundance. A romanced Astarion, in turn, deeply cares for his partner once his masked as slipped, and he realises that he is in love (albeit I haven't played his romance out yet).

He repeatedly encourages Gale to think independently ("Where is Gale's will?") and challenges his self-sacrificial tendencies.

Their bond grows over books and shared interests. Contrary to belief, a romanced Astarion would not want Gale to ascend to Godhood. A romanced Astarion would selfishly want Gale to himself.

I'm convinced Gale offers a fulfilling romance for any companion.

Gale and Wyll are not too different. If one is a good fit for Astarion, then so is the other. And if Astarion is a good fit for one, then he is a good fit for the other.

Saying that Gale is too easily corruptible or morally ambiguous to be "good enough" for Astarion is really doing an injustice to Gale. Gale is kind-hearted and morally sound enough to encourage Astarion to be a better person. Gale is neutral good, just like Wyll is. Gale's actions always have good intentions behind them.

Also, I'm not saying people have to like Bloodweave, but I just understand that there are often deeper reasons people like the ship.

[littlejuicebox]

I just want to stay in that lavender haze.

Pairing: Astarion x Original Female Character/Ranger AKA AstarionxWren Rating/Warnings: PG maybe 13?/ Act 1 Spoilers / Nudity / Sexual Tension / Gore / Angst / Anxiety / Cursing / Lae'zel being kind of a butthole Chapter number: Nine Word count: 3.9K Masterlist: Click here. Song inspiration: "Lavender Haze" - Taylor Swift Notes: I know only a few people read this series religiously but thank you! Wren and Astarion are my little lovely goobers and I'm glad at least one person loves them as much as I do. And I know my other work gets more attention, but this is my favorite storyline and I plan to continue writing it. That being said, if you do actually enjoy their story… I truly appreciate the comments on this fic and that’s what inspires me to keep writing them even though they don’t get as much traffic.

-----

After terminating the last few goblins, everyone recollected themselves outside of the dilapidated temple. A few healing potions were drunk, a couple of incantations were murmured and then the group turned to Wren with an expectant look, waiting for her next directive.

The half-elf woman never actually wanted to be a leader. But more than once, she’d had the damned role thrust upon her. It was becoming annoyingly, and unfortunately, apparent that this time would be no different. What was it about her that made everyone trust her judgement; why did they let her make the calls? Hadn’t Shadowheart been doing a fine job… couldn’t she just… keep doing it?

The tired little bird sighed, running her bloodied, callused hands through a mess of gut-splattered brunette hair as she looked towards the sky, quickly gauging the time. It was early evening by now. The last few rays of sunlight were glimmering upon the horizon as that soft blend of rose and orange began to melt into a deeper, star-speckled blue. The merry band of misfits had to accomplish two things at once by nightfall… so unfortunately, they would have to split up.

Wren rubbed at the jagged lightning bolt burns sneaking out from underneath her bracers; it hurt like hells. Her eyes glossed over the group as she took a deep, exhausted breath, and then muttered, “Well... I’m sure Halsin needs to get to Emerald Grove as soon as possible. Some of us should go with him and the others should swing by the bog to pack up camp and bring it all back to the Grove. We'll have to head out from there once we've all had some time to recover. Astarion and I will go with Halsin, the rest of you can pack up camp and then meet up with us.”

Lae’zel made it clear she disapproved of this call with a hissed, “Tchk! Why do we have to do all the grunt work, while you and your favorite vampire princess get the easier route.”

Astarion almost leapt forward to snap at insufferable woman, quite displeased with being called a princess. Before he could, Wren’s mouth hardened into a thin line at the challenge, and she quickly stepped closer to the Githyanki, tone dropped into an irritated hiss.

“You’ve been given more people than we have, Lae’zel. The Grove needed Halsin back yesterday, and Astarion is skilled at both downing and evading enemies… whatever we may happen to need along the way. The Archdruid can surely handle himself. As for the rest of you… Well, sorry to be the one to say it and to burst your little bubbles, but none of you aren’t quite as versatile as the two of us, and you all need one another to cover your weak spots. It isn't favoritism, it's pragmatism.

And as for me? I had my brain invaded and nearly fell to my death today… so no, I’m not interested in packing up camp and playing inventory manager right now. If that’s such a problem for you, Lae'zel, and you’re questioning my judgement, then leave my shit there for all I care. I have all I need in my pack... Or should I remind you, I'm not the one that insists on hauling a stone wheel all around Faerun when a simple whetstone would suffice?"

Wren and Lae'zel were roughly the same height; she stood nose to nose with the fighter, her two-toned eyes boring into angry reptilian ones. Gods, Wren was growing so tired of this. If no one else wanted to be the one to make the calls, then why was there always someone questioning her judgement?

“Oi, no worries, mate! I’ll take care of yours and Fangs’ stuff.” Karlach cut in, stepping between the two women, quick to try and ease the group tension. “Go on and we’ll meet you — the Grove has to be in an absolute state by now, what with Kagha and all her antics.”

Lae'zel spat at the ground and then spun away from Wren, and the two groups went their separate ways in silence.

-----

The short journey to Emerald Grove was a mostly quiet one. Astarion felt too mentally worn from all the revelations of the day to play the loquacious, flirtatious rake. Wren, on the other hand, felt absolutely shredded around the edges of both her psyche and her body.

The Druid and the ranger had a brief conversation about her father, but it soon became clear it wasn’t a subject Wren wanted to discuss for too long. She would trail off or become distracted during the conversation, her mind entirely elsewhere. Halsin graciously took the hint and let silence fall among the trio, chalking everything up to the exhaustion of such a tedious and gore filled day.

At the gates of Emerald Grove, many of the tieflings and a few of the druids welcomed the Archdruid with a chorus of ecstatic cheers. All three beings were ushered in with a smattering of hugs, thanks, and congratulations, which Wren numbly accepted and Astarion willingly played into. Halsin soon interrupted the small welcoming party and rushed to interrupt the ritual of thorns, unleashing a scary and very bear-like chastisement to all the participants. His thundering voice drew the attention of everyone in the grove, and Wren took the opportunity to quickly peel away from the scene.

Astarion’s eyes followed Wren as she headed towards where they’d rescued that Tiefling kid from the Harpies weeks ago. This was his chance; the other campmates weren’t around to stick their noses into his business. The vampire thought for a moment that he might try and use his body to lure information from her like a Harpy used their voice to lure tiefling children… and he quickly made his peace with that possibility. Whatever the method, the rogue had to act now, without the risk of outside interruptions. He had to pry some information out of Wren tonight.

The pale elf quickly trailed down the remaining stone steps while the other druids had their heads bowed, listening to Halsin's booming lecture. Silent steps led him around the curved pathway, down to the water bank. He thought he’d see Wren rinsing her hands and face, ridding them of filth or taking a small moment of silence to stargaze or smoke from that pilfered pipe. He truly didn’t expect to see a panicked little bird, tearing wildly her own armor, trying to rip it off. He stared dumbly at the wide-eyed and panting ranger, watching as she appeared to be in the middle of a battle with… well, herself.

Wren’s eyes snapped to Astarion, where he was frozen mid step, scarlet eyes assessing her hysterical movements. Suddenly, she called out in something between a strangled scream and a sob, shaking hands now pulling desperately at her chest plate, “Take it off! Take it off! Please!”

She fell to her knees, half in the sand, half in the water. Her hands ripped at the leather straps of her armor as she heaved. She sounded as if the weight of her armor were crushing her; she sounded as if she couldn't breathe.

Of course, she could breathe… she was speaking, after all. Astarion didn’t know what else to do but answer her pleading voice. So he moved forward, deft hands quickly unsnapping buckles and ripping leather pauldrons from the ranger’s shoulders. She gasped in relief, and without a word, nimble fingers moved down to snap off her chest plate and then quickly loosened the laces of her bracers.

His brow furrowed as he watched Wren’s face, still caked in goblin guts, with thin rivulets of tears streaming from her two-toned eyes. She clumsily slid her bracers off and threw them down into the sand. Wren was still heaving as she sank down into the earth and then suddenly, she was sobbing, her entire body shaking with the force of her cries.

Gods. This absolutely hadn’t been the plan; Astarion was, once again, totally out of his depth here. How did he keep getting caught in these ridiculous situations with her? None of this ever ran on any script he'd ever prepared for himself.

The rogue ran a stressed hand through his hair before he took a deep breath and kneeled beside her, placing his cold hands on either of her shoulders. “Darling, listen to me! Shut up, right now. Stop this instant or else the entire grove is going to be here staring at you in a few minutes and unless I’m horribly mistaken, you don’t want that. Wren, come on, that's enough!”

The ranger wasn’t listening; to be fair, Astarion couldn’t be sure she heard him in her current state. She was still crying -- well, wailing, really -- and the look in her eyes seemed a million miles away. He recognized that look, that feeling. It made his gut churn. The vampire began to panic; she needed to quiet down before this all became an even bigger spectacle, or worse, someone accused him of causing her pain.

“Darling! Wren! For gods sakes—“ The rogue snapped his eyes shut and plunged forward in a last-ditch effort. He smashed his always-cold lips into her always-warm ones, swallowing her insufferable cries, digging so tightly into her shoulders as if he were hoping to pull her out of her own mind with brute force.

They stayed frozen like this for several beats; time almost felt like it ground to a halt. Astarion could hear the half-elf woman’s heart thudding erratically in her chest and then, miraculously, slow itself to a steadier thrum. The vampire opened his eyes and pulled away to see the little bird staring dumbly at him, her perpetually berry-stained lips swollen from the crushing force of his mouth on hers. Wren blinked rapidly, but remained silent, before carefully lifting her hand out of the water and brushing it against her own lips.

“Apologies, darling, but I didn’t know what else to do. Now let’s get cleaned up and then we can chat about whatever is going on in that pretty but absolutely twisted head of yours.” Astarion murmured, quite ruffled, but still lifting himself to his feet and then holding out a hand to help the little bird up, as well.

The half-elf woman had apparently fallen selectively mute, but she nodded her head and followed the vampire as he dragged her back toward the grove circle.

He was still mad at her. Furious, really. He didn’t have all the words to explain why, but he felt she’d somehow been misleading or hiding things from him all along. But then again, hadn’t he been doing the same in so many ways? If he weren't outright lying, which he definitely had more than once, then wasn't he also concealing aspects of himself… just like she had? But somehow, despite the clear hypocrisy Astarion was aware of and chose to ignore, it still felt like a betrayal to him. And yet, even though she absolutely infuriated him… the way she looked in her panic plucked at his heartstrings and compelled him, beyond his better judgement, to comfort her.

Gods this was supposed to be easy. A nice, simple plan. But it grew increasingly complicated by the minute.

-----

Halsin kindly allowed Astarion and Wren access to his bedchamber. The bear of a man often preferred to bathe in the natural water source on the edge of the Grove, but he conveniently kept a tub for soaking within his personal chambers, more for his own rare moments of enjoyment.

“Thank the gods that the druid isn’t totally removed from society.” Astarion mumbled, after Halsin helped to fill the massive wooden tub with heated water and then politely saw himself out. He was about to have a lengthy conversation with Kagha… surely, they would hear the results later.

Wren hadn't uttered a single word, but she watched as the vampire moved around her, plucking jars from the shelf by the tub and sniffing them. Finally, he settled on one, and poured some of the milky contents into the tub, causing the water inside to turn a clouded haze of pale purple. Then, he spun to the little bird and clapped his hands in his signature, impatient chop-chop. “Well, come on then, darling. In you go."

Wren sat blinking at him, unmoving. Astarion scoffed and rolled his eyes, briskly moving toward the archer. “Little bird, surely you aren’t going to turn down the first real bath you’ve had in weeks and the only one you’ll get for who knows how long. Now enough of this. Arms up.”

The half-elf sighed and followed Astarion's order with heavy limbs. The vampire stripped her of everything besides her underwear and then tugged her with a bit of force, over to the tub. The rogue couldn’t help but admire the sinewy ripples of her back, and the freckles along her collarbone as he watched Wren remove her smallclothes and sink into the opaque tub of water.

The little bird closed her eyes and sighed as the comforting smell of lavender began to swirl around her. Wren allowed herself the smallest moment of bliss as she inhaled the relaxing tendrils of scented steam, but then she felt Astarion’s leg slipping into the bath with her and snapped her eyes open to stare at the silver-haired elf.

The man cocked an eyebrow as he assessed Wren’s wide, shocked eyes from where he faced her, now sunk chest deep in water, sitting on the opposite side of the tub. He huffed and leaned back in the bath as his long arms crossed resolutely.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re suddenly a prude now, little bird. This bath is more than big enough for the two of us, thanks to the behemoth it belongs to, and we’ve already seen one another completely nude and in the throes of ecstasy. So, if you think I’m going to pass up the only luxurious bath I might get in weeks, just because you’re naked and in a sour mood, you’re dead wrong.”

Wren chuckled; Astarion smirked in response at the first sign of her potentially improving mood. And then the ranger gave a good-natured eye roll before she shifted over just enough to make a bit of room for the rogue’s legs. But still, she didn’t speak.

The vampire occupied himself with dunking a sponge in water and wiping the grime off his own body. After that, he grabbed a small wooden cup off the bath tray and rinsed his hair; pale hands moved to scrub more of that milky liquid through his blood-flecked silver strands. Astarion closed his eyes and carefully rinsed again, inhaling the floral aroma and ensuring he felt no more suds remaining in his precious curled locks.

When the rogue’s lids fluttered open, the little bird had already moved to scrubbing her own body with a sponge. With his eyes closed, Astarion didn't see that she'd been staring at him, admiring his little smile and the way his hair looked weighed down by the water.

Wren flicked her gaze toward the vampire and sighed; her mouth opened as if she were about to speak, but then she sighed and shut it again. A few more minutes of silence passed, in which both beings simply welcomed the heat as it eased the soreness of overtired muscles.

Eventually, the ranger broke the silence, her voice still raw and scratchy from the earlier episode at the shoreline. The pale elf's eyes were closed as he lounged in the tub, but quickly snapped open when his pointed ears picked up her quiet, shaking voice.

“There are many pathways to and from the Underdark throughout Faerun. Kol was out with his friends, exploring one of those pathways. Unfortunately, they’d picked one that led to a cavern full of Phase Spiders… not unlike the one we encountered down that well.

We were out hunting when we heard their screams and went to investigate. By the time we downed the spiders, Kol was the only one alive… but barely.”

Astarion passed the cup to Wren as she spoke, and a few more seconds of silence passed as she rinsed and scrubbed her own hair with the lavender-scented solution. The elf watched from hooded, relaxed eyes as the water ran down the woman’s neck, languidly flowing down to that little spot at the crook where two faint pinpricks blended into a smattering of freckles, before finally trickling to where her breasts hid under the clouded tub of water.

“My father and the other elders wanted to leave Kol there to die… simply let nature take its course. But a few of the younger generation, including myself, begged them for mercy and they relented. Kol spent a week with us before he was well enough to go on his way and return to the Underdark. But he didn’t want to go. Life isn’t exactly great for male Drows in Menzoberranzan, especially not a second son, despite the Baenre name. So, he left a coded note in the cavern in case any of his other friends hoping to escape came looking for him... and then he was one of us.

Father considered Kol dead weight… he was softer, an artist… he would often draw me pictures of squirrels or other creatures. He was about average with a blade and terrible with a bow… but he was talented in other ways and surprisingly kind. I’d never met a man with a gentle, soft-hearted nature quite like him. And he pulled a softness out of myself that I’d shoved down and all but forgotten when my aunt brought me to my dad.

My father never wanted to be a parent, he remained unwed and unattached for that very reason, but I was an unexpected consequence of his actions and well… suffice to say I didn’t always have the most tender upbringing. Neither did Kol, but he honored his own nature despite that.

Anyway, my dad wanted me to marry Zahara, my first love… or one of the other warriors. His priority was to guarantee my safety and status within the clan. Either Zahara or I were going to be the next elder when one of the clan members passed… so it was the most pragmatic decision. But I was uninterested; so was she… we’d had our fun, but the romantic love just never stuck between us.

Against my father’s wishes, I snuck away with Kol... more than once. We sometimes journeyed down into the Underdark, and he showed me around very briefly. I suppose you've never been, but it’s beautiful down there, truly. We would never venture close to the city; he didn’t want to risk being caught… turning from Lolth is unthinkable and unacceptable in their culture. But I know he missed the beauty of the Underdark… he drew it all the time.

Father eventually relented and gave his blessing for Kol and me to be married. He knew I would leave and marry Kol on my own, settle down in some small hamlet or within a city, if it ever came down to it. So, we were married one beautiful autumn day, and we spent five years as husband and wife until his own kin found him.

They tracked us for days, waiting for the right opportunity. Kol was ambushed; they found him alone by the river near where we’d made camp. He was drawing, practically defenseless apart from a small dagger. I had been hunting not far away with the youngling group I’d been placed in charge of. I ran to the screams, but he was already gone when I got to him... Minthara was among them, she escaped… but one of her siblings and a two of her cousins were less lucky, in the end.”

Wren blinked away tears that were just beginning to form in her eyes as her voice cracked. She inhaled a shuttering breath through wobbling lips. Astarion watched the little lip scar that he was absolutely obsessed with as it trembled and fought back the urge to move forward and envelop it in a kiss.

The little bird dunked her lithe hands under the water and brought them back up to her face, wiping at the final specks of blood still stuck to her forehead and cheeks. She missed the spot near her eye, and Astarion leaned himself forward, lifting his hand to gently rub at the stubborn stain with his thumb. His eyebrows furrowed as he struggled to process all the information. And then, he stuck his foot in his mouth.

“So… when you said you downed two of house Baenre… it turns out you didn’t actually mean your own husband.” He murmured, his hand lingering a beat too long on her cheek.

“No! What?!” Wren snapped, her own eyebrows crinkling together as she pushed Astarion's hand away from her face.

Astarion rolled his eyes and huffed, leaning back again on his side of the tub. Part of him wanted to back off, but the more insolent and hurt part decided to double down. “Look, you've been quite mysterious about all this, and one can’t help but assume things, trying to make sense of it all. You’re hard to read!”

“Have you ever considered I’m not here like a book to be read?” The little bird snapped, suddenly lifting herself out of the bath. Streams of water trickled from her dark hair down her naked, freckled body. Astarion averted his gaze, suddenly quite aware he'd made another misstep and unwilling to piss Wren off further with his wandering eyes.

She climbed from the tub and snatched a towel from the shelf, wrapping it around herself before crouching and rustling through her bag. Then Wren quickly pulled her chemise from the sack and threw it over her head. When she turned and looked at Astarion, the expression on her face was a heartbreaking mixture of disappointment and sadness. She heaved a heavy, burdened sigh as she slipped her camp shoes on and shoved everything into her bag before grabbing it by one tattered strap.

“Astarion…” His name on her lips simultaneously sounded like a song and a slap, “If you’d ever bothered to actually ask me about myself… I would’ve told you the truth. I would’ve told you anything you wanted to know… if you’d just asked. I felt it, that night you pried into my mind, after the first time we kissed, you know. Why do you think you saw primarily nature scenes? That Wood Elf you kept seeing? It was a nightmare… not a memory.”

And then she walked out of the room, leaving Astarion alone and staring up at the ceiling. The vampire ran his hand through his hair and then groaned, dunking himself under the water’s lavender-scented, hazy surface. He closed his eyes, effectively cutting his senses off to the outside world. For a while, Astarion considered staying like this forever… he didn’t need to breathe, after all. Perhaps he could just hide in the tub, senses numb, all alone. Nobody would miss him or come looking for him here… that much was certain.

But soon the bath water started to grow cold, his fingers began to prune, and the rogue’s discomfort forced him to break through to the surface — and to reality — once again. He stood and shook his head, spraying scented droplets around the room before gathering his own towel and wrapping it around his waist. Astarion sighed and sat down on a bench, pinching his nose bridge as he wondered what in the hells he should do now. His body was clean, but his mind still felt riddled with debris.

Perhaps it hadn’t been Wren weaving a messy web around him… perhaps he’d been the one doing it to himself all along.

[kon4ka]

Challenge: Drawing D&D classes - Topic 11 - Monk 1

🧨 Monk of the Way of the Open Palm 🧨

Race: Tiefling Faerun Alignment: Chaotic good Background: Homeless child.

📕 Backstory: I don’t remember how or why, but I ended up on the street and lived for a long time begging. She had people who called themselves her relatives, but they were not blood relatives. When she grew up a little, she joined one of the city gangs (in the other could not survive). For a long time she was a give-and-take girl, and then she ran away, unable to bear the crimes she had witnessed more than once. The gang sent a couple of executioners after her, but she turned out to be more dexterous. She fled to a temple located between two mountains and tried to become their novice before the executioners overtook her.

She didn't know much about temples, in her eyes it was a place where you were allowed to stay if you were willing to contribute and you had nowhere to go. However, the executioners overtook her during the test to become a novice and tried to kill her, but the monks stood up for her. The tiefling did not understand how and why, she was a stranger to them, The very concept of gratuitous assistance was not clear to the girl. She was accepted into the polsushnitsa and the temple became her family. She was already very strong physically, although exhausted when she arrived, but otherwise her mentor had to teach her trivial things, such as using instruments, writing and counting, and also that not everything in the world is done for one's own benefit . The tiefling practiced with diligent fanaticism and became quite proficient in hand-to-hand combat. These skills were useful to her, since the temple was often attacked, during one of which it was destroyed to the ground. The girl was able to escape and save many thanks to her strong body and increased resistance to fire. Since their home no longer existed, the bulk of the novices settled in a village nearby, and many students and monks went to wander around the world in search of a place for a new home.

✒ Character: Big child, used to solving problems head-on and not thinking too much about the fate of the world, lives for today. She tries to help those who need help, but deep down she is still afraid that for all the kindness that they showed her, they will someday demand payment. Particularly concerned with tieflings who are persecuted due to prejudice against their race.

🌀 Skills: Okay, no, he fights great, he still writes very clumsily. Maintains balance well in almost any situation. He does not like weapons and is not very good at using them.

✨ Features: Constantly loses or breaks weapons if they fall into her hands.

RU

🧨 Монах пути Открытой Ладони 🧨

Раса: Тифлинг Фаэруна Мировоззрение: Хаотично доброе Предыстория: Беспризорник.

📕 Предыстория: Не помнит как и из-за чего, но оказалась на улице и долго жила побираясь. У неё были люди, называвшие себя её родней, но они не были кровными родственниками. Когда она чуть подросла, вступила в одну из банд города (по-другому было не выжить). Долгое время была девочкой-подай-принеси, а потом она сбежала, не в силах выносить преступ��ения, которым не единожды была свидетелем. Банда послала за ней пару палачей, но она оказалась ловчее. Она сбежала в храм, находящийся меж двух гор, и попыталась стать их послушницей до того, как палачи настигнут её. Она мало что знала о храмах, в её глазах это было место, где тебе позволяют оставаться если ты готов приносить пользу, и тебе некуда идти. Однако палачи настигли её во время испытания для становления послушником и попытались убить, но за неё заступились монахи. Тифлинг не понимала как и почему, она же им чужая, сам концепт безвозмездной помощи был девочке не понятен. Её приняли в полсушницы и храм стал её семъей. Она уже была очень сильна физически, хоть и истощена на момент прихода, но в остальном её наставнику пришлось учить её банальным вещам, таким как использованию приборов, письму и счёту, а так же, что не всё в мире делается для собственной выгоды. Тифлинг практиковалась с усердным фанатизмом и стала весьма хороша в рукопашном бою. Эти навыки ей пригодились, поскольку храм часто подвергался нападениям, во время одного из которых его разрушили до основания. Девушка смогла спастись и спасти многих, благодаря сильному телу и повышенной устойчивости к огню. Поскольку их дома больше не существовало, основная часть послушников обосновались в деревеньке неподалёку, а многие ученики и монахи отправились странствовать по свету в поисках места для нового дома.

✒ Характер: Большой ребёнок, привыкла решать проблемы в лоб и не слишком задумываться над судьбами мира, живет сегодняшним днём. Старается помогать тому, кому нужна помощь, но в глубине души всё ещё боится что за всю доброту, что ей оказали, когда-нибудь потребуют плату. Особо заботится о тифлингах, подверженных гонениям из-за предрассудков по поводу их расы.

🌀 Навыки: Хорошо, нет, отлично дерется, всё ещё очень коряво пишет. Хорошо сохраняет равновесие почти в любой ситуации. Оружие не любит и не очень хорошо им владеет.

✨ Особенности: Постоянно теряет или ломает оружие если оно попадёт ей в руки.

[fenharel]

top 5

challenge: make a poll with five of your all time favorite characters, and then tag five people to do the same. See which character is everyone's favorite.

tagged by @stephschoices & @leviiackrman, thank you!!

tagging: @rkyloren, @luttara, @shadowglens, @calebwidgast , @risingsh0t , @faerune , @arlathans , @thefathersbride , @queennymeria , @elluvians , & you!

[lynnlovesthestars]

Can I ask for an Astarion x Tav prompt, where Tav isn't originally from Faerun, and has a Southern style accent she tries to suppress and keep secret because she knows people will tease her about it or take her less seriously, but it still slips out occasionally some times. She'll accidentally use a contraction like "y'all'd've" or use slang and call ingredients or side dishes "fixins" and her accent gets thicker the more tired or worked up she is.

Hii, i was about to start writing this request, but i realized that since english is not my first language it was coming up a poor job and honestly you don't deserve me butchering your accent ahah, im sorry as much as i can picture it in my head, i would make a shitshow:(

now if you don't mind any of my followers to pick up the prompt, i know plenty would challenge themselves in writing this.. as i said, ofc w your permission first!

(like i live in the us rn but im italian, and besides yall and some small things, i barely understand southern accent, i cant phatom writing it cause i dont even know where id have to start)

[tavyliasin]

10 First lines challenge

Rules: Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able to and see if there are any patterns!

Tagged by the ever wonderful @redroomroaving

I'll tag in...ahh this is hard I always forget people's usernames so I'm just searching the @'s here... @sweetmage @thylyre @laserlope @ineadhyn @hydropyro and anyone else who would like to - also if you would like to be tagged in for future writing tag games please let me know directly too and I'll make a proper list for a change! Anyway I'm going to take mine only from published works, not WIPs, and will put them all below the cut. I doubt the lines will be spicy, but the fics almost certainly will be~

Piercing storm-grey eyes regarded you quietly, assessing your distress in mere moments. From: Abdirak - Toothache Comfort (Collection of short "x Reader" pieces)

For a rare change of pace, it seemed like the sun was shining on the streets of Baldur’s Gate. From: ATG 16 - Bonded? Thrice (Astarion/Halsin/Tav threeway chapter of the longfic)

By the time they got back to camp, Gale was struggling not to double over. From: Weaving the Blood Moon (Bloodweave entry in my Red Moons of Faerun menstruation fic series)

Sleep did not come easily to Haarlep. From: The Nightmare, The Dream, and The Spaces Between (A chapter in the Raphael/Haarlep prequel longfic series, The Scent Of Cinnamon)

Several tendays passed by in a blur. From: The Dress, The Duck, and The Cambion's Patience (Another chapter of that longfic)

Lord Enver Gortash hissed a long sigh of frustration from between clenched teeth, leaning back on the edge of his desk the moment the last of the day’s guests left. From: Bloodlust and Bhaalists (The DurgeTash entry into the Red Moons of Faerun series)

Durge. That’s what she called him. From: Two Heads Are Better Than None (A Durge/Tav one shot, written for a prompt request)

Raphael walked down the corridors of the House of Hope, inspecting all the recent renovations. From: The House Of Hooooooooohno (A cursed little one shot which pairs Raphael with the House of Hope itself...?!)

“I don’t know about this,” Gale protested, even as he kept pace with the men either side of him, the three walking with arms linked at the elbow like old comrades. From: Between a Blade and a Sharp Place (A Gale/Astarion/Wyll threeway one shot)

The moon hung precisely half full in the sky as Abdirak smiled - Selune may not have been his goddess but like clockwork her light always heralded this particular devotion to the Maiden. From: Hymns of the Red Moon (The first in the Red Moon series, in which Abdirak spends a night of worship alone)

Analysis

This is a tough one. Ideally I would've like to take the first paragraph as a few of those are exceptionally short, especially compared to my averagely very long sentence.

The Longfic Chapters (ATG, Scent of Cinnamon) are lines that have an air of continuation to them, illustrating the change of time or mood within the character or setting with a short opener. The following lines in all 3 cases are far longer - it's like giving just a quick bite first then reeling in a much longer line. It's also not doing a lot of scene setting or action, as I tend to write chapters as scenarios so they have a building pace to them. Red Moon Series each open on a clear depiction of the focus character and how they're experiencing the moment. Abdirak is seeing the signs and finding the beauty in them as the torment of his body begins, whereas both Gale and Gortash are steeped in their frustration and agony from the beginning, desperate to end the day and just not have to deal with things any more. The other one shots almost all start immediately with a name, opening on our POV character and identifying them quickly, following with either a simple action, thought, or dialogue. The character comfort short assumes you know exactly who owns those eyes and aims to pull you in to the moment without the name, to set the scene swiftly for a much shorter piece. Overall I think it's hard to really narrow down any techniques I use for openers - I vary things depending on the piece, but only very rarely do I open on dialogue or dynamic action. Whilst I love those things as tropes and as a great way to start a story, I tend to prefer to walk through the door rather than taking a running start - which is likely partially why all my works end up running longer than I expected because my natural instinct is a building pace. I enjoy taking the time to build the tension, slowly pull on that elastic until you think it can't possibly stretch any further then- SNAP let it all go as the payoff reaches a sprinting pace, preferably with that time at the end to let things cool back down rather than sprinting into a dead end wall. I'm quite tempted to do this again with last lines but not today, far too tired for that! Again if you want to tag in and do this one, use me as your tag in! Or let me know and I can actively tag you in to this one or the next~

[themadlu]

Dutiful As Death

(Read on AO3)

Prelude

Astarion x OC

Astarion knows people. He knows them better than he ever wished to, their vileness and viciousness the jailers of his eternal prison. So, when something even crueller than his captors frees him of his shackles, he knows he'll do anything, cut down anyone, not to be restrained once again. Including the unnerving little human playing judge and jury who seems set on guiding him to a second death.

The story follows my oc, human "monk" Zélie, Astarion and the rest of their allies as they fight for their lives and Faerun, and as they're torn between what is fair and what is right.

First long-form story I have ever written, so apologies if it's a mess! Thank you @spacebarbarianweird for all the encouragement and help!

Tagging @amywritesthings in case you're interested.

TW: past rape/non-con, descriptions of abuse, panic attacks, some gore here and there, horror elements.

This is the first chapter of a story that entered the annals of history across Faerun. Some say it travelled even to the furthest corners of the Astral Plane, told by wary Githianky warriors on the eve of battle. Some call it a fairy tale, some call it a fact; most agree it makes for a wonderful legend to pass on to the next generation.

But like all stories, before they become such, this was simply someone's life. Someone trying to do their best. Maybe it teaches us we can all become legends, in the end.

***

Astarion (Baldur's Gate, 1492)

Dirt turned to mud in Astarion’s mouth as he ground bits of gravel between his sharp teeth trying not to scream. The hands touching him were familiar and alien at the same time. They all muddled together after the first thousand lovers. 

Two centuries of playing prostitute had sharpened his street smarts well enough that he had mastered the art of understanding people. It was hardly a challenge when they were all so predictable, so eager to get lost in him, but that night, he had the unfortunate idea of choosing an inebriated Fist as his target. 

A guard, a protector of the city. Surely he would simply want to release the weight of his duties with a quick, lighthearted romp. 

Astarion should have known better; he should have known that those sworn to aid and protect were the worst of them all, that their uniform was a ruse for fools who hoped for a kind hand to save them, an excuse for lawful violence. 

The Fist had taken him, grinding and groping, from the tavern to a poorly-lit back alley where two of his colleagues were waiting. Astarion could smell their piss-reeking sweat before he flirtingly walked into the narrow street and he had realised what awaited him. Their leering eyes spoke for themselves. 

It would be fine. Yes, he had miscalculated the difficulty of his target, but he was a consummate professional after all. Alas, his mistake was costing him his purple doublet – not his, his master’s – as three pairs of rough hands ripped it off him, tearing apart Astarion’s careful stitching. It fell to the ground with a soft thud. Pity, he’d have to repair the seams again before his carelessness was noticed. 

That matters little, he reminded himself. He needed to bring back these three animals that very night. The master was growing greedier lately, demanding more victims and more effort from his spawns. Astarion’s gut clenched at the thought of the kennels; he had just undergone re-education there for over a tenday. If he came back empty-handed—

No, he settled, he needed these men. They would follow him to the palace; the performance he was putting on all but guaranteed—

The pale elf was reminded of his current situation when his still-clothed knees scraped on the dirty road and the thick fingers around his neck lifted his head from the dirt, squeezing so harshly he would have surely fainted had he been mortal. 

Something, fleshy and familiar, pressed on his lips, parting them. Something similar speared into him from behind. 

Always so fucking eager. 

He arched his back, earning a whistle of approval. 

There was a time, so far back he scarcely remembered it, when Astarion had been one of those fools, searching for targets that may hear his plea, believe him, save him. Nobody listened. Not that he could ever do much prattling, since his mouth was otherwise occupied with what appendages or objects his clients deemed most pleasurable. 

Even if he had managed to voice his…predicament…the only freedom offered to him would have been a stake through the heart. 

Monster. 

He must die.

Pathetic boy.

So pathetic that death, too, scorned him.

If he could, he would have screamed at the injustice. He let out a practised moan instead. 

The moonlight was so bright that the gravel shone brilliantly, an earthly constellation. 

“You likin’ it, elf?”

Focus. 

The speaker’s vice-like grip on his hips interrupted Astarion’s musings again, pain blooming at the rough movements. Slurs whispered in his ear. 

Nothing he hadn’t heard before. 

Nothing he didn’t already know. 

He wished he could slit their throats instead of laying there, pliant. 

The pain faded quickly; Astarion may have been a slave, but he was unparalleled in fleeing the confines of his own body. He was now seeing it from above, someplace where no one could touch him. Even when surrounded. 

The first Fist, the one from the tavern, was groping his narrow hips, another was enjoying his face, and a third was pleasuring himself against a wall.  

He wanted them all to die. 

“You make such a pretty whore, boy,” the man pounding into him smiled widely. Astarion’s purple doublet lay crumpled on the ground. 

Idiot, Astarion thought with some pride. Would you still believe yourself so clever, if you knew you were fucking a corpse?

“You take us so, so well. You were made for this,” the second guard agreed as he stood up, finally done with Astarion’s mouth. 

The one at his back was close, too. Their friend moved closer to his prone body.

Just a little more, a little death each, the temptation of another round somewhere more private, and they were sure to follow him like all the wicked sods he bedded. 

Grunts filled the air. 

So close now—

Something warm trickled down his marred back. 

Blinding pain in his right temple. 

His consciousness must have slipped because suddenly Astarion noticed his body was not pinned down anymore. The right side of his face ferociously throbbed as he got up on his elbows. Little pebbles decorated the alabaster skin of his left cheek. He spat out some more from his sore mouth; tiny shooting stars under the moon. 

A few bronze coppers fell from his back as he moved to stand up.

Shit. 

Astarion stumbled forward to pick up his doublet, loose buttons fighting with jittery fingers. 

He lost his targets. 

He’d be punished. 

He lost his targets. 

Only 10 coppers?

He lost—

As he tied his breeches, Astarion rushed down the alley, turning left, then right. 

If he hurried, he could make it to the Dragon’s Flask tavern, pick up a lone customer, even a beggar warming up by the entrance, and bring them back to the palace before dawn.

The moon gently continued its inexorable path down the sky, ignoring the spawn’s plea.

When Astarion reached the main road, the glowing satellite hung directly in front of him, bathing his miserable existence in silver light. 

Astarion cared little for it, pointless pretty thing.

He didn’t have the luxury to bask in its purple halo, he had to—

Purple? 

The celestial oddity barely registered in his mind before the halo turned larger, darker, sizzling with static energy. A portal.

What in the hells?

Astarion’s lungs were useless remnants of his mortal body, but he was suffocating all the same. 

Everything in him screamed to run. 

Get away. 

But the targets—

Run.

He turned his back to the portal, to the tavern, then stopped. 

His master would be furious if he returned empty-handed.

The greatest fear won and Astarion spun around, wading towards the Dragon’s Flask through the late-night drunkards dawdling in the streets. 

He could already see the entrance to the establishment when the air shifted with a slithering hiss and something, long and fleshy, crashed so close to him that he felt its slime on his cheek. 

The thing – the tentacle – coiled around a poor sod who was merrily making his way out of the tavern. Astarion watched, paralysed, as the man disappeared in front of his eyes. 

More tentacles escaped from the portal, followed by a vessel the spawn had never seen before in his unlife. 

Screams pierced the air. People ran, trampled over each other, then vanished. 

Astarion leaned against the tavern’s wall, his claws scratching at the bricks in terror. There would be no other opportunity to find a target that night. He could see Godey smiling bonily at his shaking form stretched wide on the rack. 

He knew what awaited him back at the palace. 

Nothing could be worse than that. 

Nothing—

A tentacle shot towards him, toothy appendage on full display. 

Odd.

Astarion didn’t move. 

He accepted the monster’s embrace, welcoming him with soothing nothingness. 

His injuries stopped hurting. 

***

Zélie (2024, Pyrenees)

All was wrong. Incredibly so. 

Anyone entering the sweat-filled space could feel with dreadful certainty that something was amiss, despite everything being exactly where it was supposed to be. Zélie was sure of that because she had just checked every belt, rope and shin pad neatly stored on their wall-mounted metal hooks in the equipment room. Still, she fidgeted on her feet with unease, something she hadn’t done since she was a little child. 

Odd. 

Zélie inhaled deeply and padded across the tatami towards the alcove in the shomen, the wall of honour, taking in the familiar details. Five generations of de la Croix women with bits and pieces of her—pretty features when split across their respective owners, not so much when crowded on a single face—stared sternly at the dojo, evaluating, judging. Zélie bowed in respect before heading to the changing rooms. 

She noticed that the junior students had actually tidied up properly after class this time; maybe that was the source of the uncanniness. 

Her sleep patterns had also been less than ideal lately, and she promised herself to move tomorrow’s alarm to 5 rather than 4 am. She’d have to train a bit later in the evening—the Olympics were a few months away, after all—but she would manage. Papa was back home from his travels, so he could take over dinner and spend time with Percy. Her little brother had been a wreck of excitement when she’d told him their father had completed his latest job. The young woman smiled subtly as she took off her white gi. 

They always got along so well, those two, talkative, eager and friendly. Perhaps Papa could convince Percy to take his training a little more seriously instead of sulking at Grandmama every time he was told to practise on weekends. Zélie remembered how exhausting it had been to adapt to de la Croix’s strict training regime, but she was also sure there was nothing a sound mind and a strong body couldn’t do. Even those family members averted to martial arts eventually became champions in their respective fields outside of the dojo.

If something is humanly achievable, it’s attainable by all.

It was a mantra Zélie had heard throughout her childhood and still lived by, a comfort in trying times and a challenge in quiet days. Percy just needed a little push—he was barely a teenager after all. 

Zélie stared at her reflection in the mirror, her sallow skin glinting a sickly yellow in the artificial lights. She wasn’t overly interested in physical beauty, not hers nor anyone else’s, but that didn’t stop her from recognising it when she saw it. It also didn’t prevent her from noticing how her face did not, in fact, fit into any definition of beauty, not one she heard of anyway. Quite the opposite. 

No matter, she reminded herself, pulling her unruly curls free from the claustrophobic boxer braids she forced them into daily. 

Zélie had realised by now that there was a definite threshold after which looks shrivelled in the shadows of whatever achievement people deemed impressive. She found it quite hilarious when her gnarly nose shifted from being a school joke to a genetically imbued sign of authority. 

What a fickle thing opinions were. 

“Sis! What’s taking you so long?” 

Percy’s voice came muffled through the changing room’s door. He was always readier to leave the dojo than to enter it. 

“We need to head home! There’s a biblical storm brewing out here, and I promised Luc we would do homework together after dinner.”

He may have been a vocal complainer at times, but Zélie was glad her brother’s sense of responsibility hadn’t completely drowned in a storm of teenage hormones. She hoped it would make what she was about to tell him easier to accept. 

“Coming.” 

“Can I start the car?!” 

Barely thirteen and already daydreaming of a driving licence. If she hadn’t personally overseen Percy’s training for the past decade, she wouldn’t believe he was the same wrinkly infant her parents cradled home from the hospital.  

“Yes, yes. But don’t go on the main road and get yourself in trouble when Dad just got back.”

The chilly mountain wind slammed into her as soon as she stepped out the door, almost knocking the dojo’s keys out of her hand. Perc was not exaggerating, the blackened sky did loom in rumbling threat above them, the clouds so dark that the mountaintops were barely visible.

Odd. 

Spring weather was often unpredictable at that altitude, but Zélie couldn’t recall ever being caught in what looked like a summer storm in the middle of April. 

The winds picked up as the car sped along the twisting road; lonely rain droplets from the angry sky hit the windscreen with increasing frequency. 

Their insistent and unexpected pitter-patter unnerved Zélie, but there was not much she could do besides trying to reach home without a landslide dragging them to the valley below.

Good thing it’s only a short drive. 

She could already see the house’s stone rooftop past the trees. 

“Percy,” she started. Now it was as good a time as any to break the news to her brother. “I need to talk to you about the Nationals. Grandmama and I have chosen who will be part of the team next autumn.” 

“Oh? Is Luc going to qualify? I hope he is, we trained together for months, it’s only fair—”

Zélie parked in front of the main gate before turning to fully face her brother. Her hiibaba would comment on how her great-granddaughter’s direct behaviour would have earned her a strong reprimand in Japan. She’d jokingly comment that the younger woman was too westernised to be a record-breaking judoka, but Zélie believed that making conversation without paying attention to the other person was ill-mannered. To do so when communicating bad news was cowardly. 

“Luc is in,” she said, hands firmly in her lap. Percy’s face lit up with a joy Zélie knew would be short-lived. “You are not.”

Percy’s face morphed into a mask of confusion. “I…what? What do you mean I did not?” 

“I mean what I said, little brother,” no point in softening the blow, it would only make things worse. Better to get through with it and think about the next steps. “Grandmama and I have observed all students’ training performance, sparring and physical condition; you didn’t meet the set benchmarks in sparring. You know you need to meet all three to qualify as a team member.”

Confusion fell into sadness. “But I…I’ve trained harder than anyone else! I’ve been practically living in the dojo when I’m not at school! I followed your teachings, I applied your suggestions, how can I be kicked out?!” 

Zélie sighed. If he couldn’t see his mistakes, he was not ready for the nationals. “You do not take the fight seriously enough, Percy. You are extremely talented, but you look afraid on the mat, of what I don’t know, so you hold yourself back—”

“What’s the point of risking injury? It’s just a sport! I don’t want to hurt someone for practice. If I must give it my all, it will be in an actual competition, you know I will, Zel!”

 “It doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t be the same. If you don’t do it in practice, you won’t be ready for a high-profile fight. For any real fight. Training or not, nothing less than your best is required. And I know,” she raised a hand to stop Percy from interrupting, “I know that was your best. That is another reason we felt you would not benefit from this, it’s just not in your character—”

“In my character? Are you telling me I wouldn’t make a good judoka, wouldn’t make the family proud, because of my character?”

“Attitude matters, Perc. You could have the best technique in the world, but without the right spirit, it will be worth very little—Percy!”

 Her brother slammed the passenger’s door so hard that the car shook. He started running towards the woods so fast he was only a blurry figure in the storm by the time Zélie undid her seatbelt and got out of the car. 

“Perceval Masao de la Croix! Where are you going in this weather, are you insane? Come back here!” Something soft thudded against the back of her her thighs, and she spun around to be greeted by a fidgety grey corgi mix. The dog barked loudly in the direction Percy left and shifted his short legs as he wanted to sprint after the boy. 

“Leo, thank God someone with some sense. Let’s go!” They both rushed towards the woods. 

Zélie didn’t know if she was more disappointed or angry at Percy’s immature reaction, and just after she had – mentally – complimented him for his levelheadedness. 

Oh, he’s as dramatic as grandpapa. 

She chased after him, but the dark clouds were hovering closer now and the wind and rain were stronger than before, causing her to slip in the muddy soil. 

Marvellous. Of all days he has to overreact, he picks the apocalypse.

The now-soaked woman entered the tree line only to find no sign of her brother. 

She pushed forward. 

The trails she was so familiar with – the ones she walked with Percy since he was a toddler – were rapidly becoming swollen rivers of brown water. 

This isn’t good. 

“Percy! Get back here, are you mad?!” Her plea was met with the rumble of thunder. The storm was close now, so close that daylight was snuffed out, burying the forest in thick darkness. 

“Oh!” Zélie jolted to her left when something hit her on the shoulder before falling to the ground. A bird. A bird that should have been flying near the mountain’s peak. 

A sibilant sound ahead warned her early enough that she managed to avoid a second bird. Then a third, and fourth, until she was forced to crawl on hands and knees to avoid being struck by the panicked animals. They were scattered, blindly zigzagging away from the unnatural weather. Zélie shivered, both from the cold and because of everything in her body telling her to follow those birds and run. 

Very few things were more reliable than animals. 

Still, she continued moving, almost climbing, so steep the path had become. Her fingers clawing at the earth, at the trees, were the only anchor she had to keep a semblance of direction. The darkness pressed on her on every side. 

“Percy!” 

When she stopped feeling the bark of pines under her hands, Zélie realised she had reached the upper glade. She remembered there was an empty hut used as an animal shelter close by. Percy knew it, too; there was a chance he was taking refuge there. If only she could reach it—

A near-deafening crack rippled through the air. Then blinding light, red light, set the sky ablaze as something – something monstrous – emerged through the horizon. 

Good grief. 

Zélie barely had time to shield her eyes from the unexpected brightness when a wiry, slimy tentacle grazed her cheek, and then she was in an unknown room, in an odd-looking capsule. 

A humanoid figure floated towards her with something squirming in its hand. Tentacles sprouted from its face. 

The woman was not gifted with a wild imagination, so the only logical explanation for what she was witnessing was head trauma. 

Right. I slipped and hit a rock. 

It was her last coherent thought before a wriggly lump of flesh slithered past her eye and into her brain. 

[shadykazama]

Matchup exchange~

For BG3, MHA, and JJK with @rav--en / @frostfall-matches !

The results are in! And I match you with-

BG3 Astarion~

❤ [Astarion largely embodies what you like in people] He quite literally has some bite to him! Teasing and banter are second nature to our resident vampire, and no one is safe from his rather catty attitude. At every point in your journey, the two of you would be laughing and poking fun; you're at each other's necks- not so figuratively in his case. He's quickly impressed by your risk taking and eggs it on; he hasn't had this much fun in centuries! The two of you would be a chaotic force of nature, taking Faerun by storm.

❤ [You’re both independent.] He has independence for the first time in hundreds of years and is gripping it tight, even though he doesn't quite know what it means anymore; your fiercely independent attitude is just the push he needs to embrace his new life, free from Cazador. Though it may seem at first like he's dependent on you, flirting and seducing you just to secure his own safety, Astarion ultimately makes all of his own decisions. He's struggling with how to regain his independence while also being entirely dependent on the astral prism to keep him alive- but you're a good example. You show him through your actions how easy it is to impose your own will. Watching him grow and express his boundaries is a feat; he changed because of you, but not for you.

❤ [You guys bring out the best in one another… and the worst.] The two of you are playful at best and absolute menaces at worst. The fact of the matter is, you're both chaos junkies, and would endorse each other's bad behavior. Astarion would adore you for this! But I'm sure the rest of Faerun would have their grievances… A bard and a rogue are tough to beat though. Astarion wants those boots the merchant is selling? You're already doing the most to distract them with your extravagant words and music while he robs them blind~ I quiver to think what the two of you would do to someone who annoys you.

❤ [You make him feel safe.] Astarion has a fake persona that he puts on to protect himself. He's flirty and sultry and has a strong noble laugh, he's desirable- but it's all fake. He simply makes himself what others want to ensure they won't dispose of him. This would certainly annoy you at first, to some degree, but after the first time you see the real him, it'd become a challenge to keep bringing that part out. You, more than anyone, see his real laugh, his real smile. You see how his face crinkles and how he throws his head back when you tell a bad joke. He calls you a clown, but it has no malice behind it. He hasn't felt this safe in gods know how long.

❤ [He would take you on artsy dates.] Once you're free of the tadpole, the two of you are restricted only by the sun (assuming you don't ascend him). One of the first things he does is get a portrait done of the two of you. You're sat cozily, your space lit by candles or the luminous flora of the underdark. You would have your favorite coffee and laugh and chat all whilst an artist carefully immortalizes you on a canvas. He wouldn't mind, of course, if you painted him either. He hasn't seen his reflection for so long that he doesn't even remember what his eyes used to look like. There certainly is something profoundly intimate about seeing yourself through someone else's eyes... Besides that, he would like to read to you as well, on those days when you just don't feel like getting up. Elves don't sleep, but your presence and the soft melody of his words would lull the two of you into a tranquil state.

❤ [Astarion is not your knight in shining armor!] He knows full well how capable you are of handling yourself and will simply enjoy the show should you ever land in trouble. He may join in, if only for the chance to slice some necks and have some fun, but he's never under the impression that he's doing you a favor. For centuries he prayed someone would come to his aid, and no one did; he knows what it means to be tough enough to handle things without help, and likely harbors a similar distaste for unprovoked assistance. This doesn't mean he'll never have your back; he'll be very vocal if he's ever truly worried about something being sketchy!

MHA Hawks/Keigo Takami~

For this particular matchup, I envisioned you as a vigilante! I for one, know the hero system in MHA is very flawed and I see you doing your own thing as a more chaotic/good rogue hero.

💛 [This cat and mouse game never gets old.] You're independent, free as a bird- ironically enough, and Keigo is trapped under the thumb of the hero commission. He knows that hero society is broken and he strives to make it better despite his limitations. Perhaps that's why he never turned you in. It's not like he couldn't, but there was something about you that elicited envy in him. You were everything he wanted to be, making changes, true to yourself, free. So would ensue the long game of cat and mouse… He would find you every now and then, and the two of you would throw flirty banter back and forth until he had to inevitably leave. It would take awhile, but he'd eventually tell you the reason he never captured you. “But keep it a secret, yeah? The image of a caged bird isn't good for a hero like me.”

💛 [Your hearts are mirrored.] You and Keigo have the same love languages with physical touch and gift giving. He's constantly thinking, and you're constantly in the back of his mind. It Isn't uncommon for him to show up with something pretty or your favorite snack that he just happened to pass by. He would absolutely melt if you gave him something homemade! The effort and thought you'd have to put into something like that is proof enough that he's special to you, and he'd cherish that thought- and whatever you gave him~

💛 [He can't go crazy, but expect spontaneity.] Before you're properly together, he would be limited to when or how he could see you. Regardless of how much he liked you, there was simply no way for him to stay in contact without exposing you to the hero commission, which is the last thing he wanted. So, he got creative… Thanks to his superbly observant personality, he's able to figure out how you're locating villains/baddies; he uses this information to trick you into meeting him somewhere. Albeit, not the most honest way of getting what he wants, but he's sure he'll get brownie points for the spontaneity. He wouldn't want to hinder your work though, so after that, the two of you make up a different but still secret way of meeting.

💛 [There's nothing quite like flying.] Let him take you to the sky. Is it cliche? Sure, but it's the most free he ever feels. It's all worth it to see you smile in wonder or scream when he pretends to drop you… He wants you to feel safe with him though, so he won't do that too often. ;) This can be a common occurrence- he'd like it if it was, but he'd understand if you just don't like it. Heights aren't for everyone! But, if you do like it, he'll make sure to remember to lend you his goggles so the wind doesn't get in your eyes. He could easily buy you your own, but come on, you look so cute with his on why would he? <3

💛 [Too quick for his own good.] You don't need a hero, and he chronically kind of just does what he wants. His quickness would cause some annoyance on your end, since he doesn't wait for you to ask for help to step in. A majority of the time it's not because he thinks you need help, he just goes too fast while he's working. He didn't get where he is at his age by waiting for anyone else. It would be easy to see it as him looking down on you, thinking you're not good enough to do it on your own- but catch him once and give him a piece of your mind! As much as I'd like to say he'd think twice after that, and immediately respect your words- that's simply not Keigo. “Get it done faster and I wouldn't have to help you, how 'bout that?” Unfortunately, Keigo doesn't care if it annoys you, and has a very roundabout way of pushing you to do better. It's all for your benefit though, since he does end up seeing improvement in your work- if for no other reason than to shove it in his face that you don't need his help…

💛 [He's not clingy.] Your space and independence is important to you, and it's important to him too, especially once he's free of the hero commission. His dream was always to make a world where heroes could sit back and be lazy, but unfortunately it's just not that day yet. You'll have ample time to yourself, Keigo is a busy man! Trust, as often as he bothers you, he's giving you twice as much space just because of how busy he is.

💛 [Don't threaten him with a good time.] Dates with keigo would be intimate. As often as he's in the public eye, when he gets the chance, all he'll want is to be alone with you. The tops of buildings are easy enough for him to get to- or your house. Order in food, make some with him, sit and watch TV or show him your favorite games. He would adore any moment of silence, away from scrutiny of expectations and just enjoy your company. The best days for him are sleeping in, the two of you wrapped in his wings as he avoids the world. He'll make you breakfast, cuddle you, distract you- anything to stay longer in the safe haven that is your home.

💛 [Hold him close.] “Keigo. Call me Keigo.” You're one of the first people he tells and his heart just about drops out of his chest when the words leave his mouth. It's dangerous for anyone to know, but it's all he wanted… for you to say his name. He doesn't make a big deal out of it, laughing it off as he usually does with things like that, but just hearing you call him by his name makes it all worth the risk. After the final fight with All for One, it's you he finds at his side in the hospital and he gives you the biggest grin he can muster at the time. He'll tease you as he recovers, ask if you cried for him- acting hurt if you say no, and smug if you say yes. There's no winning with him, but truly, he's more free now than he's ever been.

JJK Satoru Gojo~

💙 [‘The bane of my existence and the object of all my desires.’] Oh boy. What a duo you two would make. More than anyone, Satoru is impossible to banter with- or more so it's impossible to get under his skin. You could, and I'd expect would, still tease and berate him, but expect it to be a challenge to get a real reaction out of him. You'd be his favorite person to mess with as well, simply for how fiery you are, and Satoru can be a real menace... He, just like you, loves reactions. In fact, besides the overarching challenge the two of you have with one another, you basically have the same sense of humor. He was robbed of his childhood, and finds it difficult to find people who can keep up with his enthusiasm and energy- so your attitude is just perfect. Someone his age that he can be silly and relaxed with!

💙 [Opposite polarities always attract.] Satoru is definitely the extrovert that runs around adopting introverts, and you were no different. Considering you're his favorite person, expect to be dragged along to just about everything he does- or at the very least be told about everything he does. If your social battery just can't handle it, he'll settle for bringing you back souvenirs in the form of little gifts or snacks from wherever he goes… though he'd much rather you just come along. He's not stupid though, he knows just how to press your buttons so that you don't blow up in an introverted rage.

💙 [Your independence is safe and secure.] Satoru is clingy, for sure, and perhaps too enthusiastic to drag you around for his own good- but you're not in any danger of him doing everything for you. As a Jujutsu sorcerer, you'll have tough jobs every now and then, and though Satoru could easily handle them for you, he lets you do it. He's a teacher after all! He's used to letting his students handle curses on their own, he'd have no trouble giving the same opportunities to you. Forewarning, if you get your ass kicked, he'll never let you live it down. <3

💙 [Rich man's privilege.] Dates will be the most over the top unnecessarily expensive things ever. He wants to experience the world; he has dreams and hopes of his own- he just has someone to share that with now. Art exhibits, thrilling theme parks, exquisite restaurants, risky adrenaline chasing, the works!! He wants to show it all to you. You want to travel? Say the word, he's got tickets and a hotel booked already. He's looking at tourist spots and picking out restaurants. He's fortunate enough to be able to give you anything you could ever want, and all he'd ask in return is to just share it with him.

💙 [Satoru Gojo is kind of an ass.] In the most respectful way possible, this guy is an unhinged childish piece of work. He knows you're bad with directions and will not correct you if you're going the wrong way just so he can waste more time being around you. He laughs at you when you trip, but will always help patch you up. He teases you with his height and his infinity technique to annoy you. More than anything, he does all of this because he refuses to be anyone else but Satoru Gojo. He won't pretend he doesn't have a mean and dumb sense of humor just to make you happy- he's just impressed you stayed with him anyways.

💙 [Screw those old geezers!] You and Satoru have more in common than either of you first thought; both of you don't like being told what to do, and go against the elder sorcerers’ demands. If you ever landed yourself in trouble because of this attitude, you can bet your bottom dollar that Satoru will be there to back you up. He does it to help of course, but if you ever ask he'll just say he did it to spite those old geezers. He abuses the fact that he's too important and powerful to really oppose. The council has started to avoid you because they know Satoru is always lurking around the corner, waiting for an opportunity to undermine them.

That's it! I hope you liked your matches! I considered Shadowheart and Minthara as potential choices for your BG3 match but decided against it. Shadowheart would match you bar for bar in sass, independence, and banter- but she wouldn't appreciate your risky streak and tends to disapprove of needless chaos. Minthara, the queen of banter imo, just seems too uptight for you!

Also, not sure if it's obvious but I definitely struggled the most with Astarion's. It's mostly because you can romance him in game so a lot of the things I could put were rather obvious. 😅

[thunderwavesolveseverything]

Romance anyone but Astarion challenge....

So I've done 3 playthroughs, and each time I fallen into the trap of making the same character and romancing Astarion 😶🙃

It's just so difficult not to. I love Phayelynn (my Tav) so much. She's the character I play in my actual DND campaign. And in my defense, the first playthrough I was so excited the game had finally come out that I missed a crap ton of stuff in Act One & Two, so it made sense to do another playthrough with her to make up for it. Then I did her again because I had decided to get mods and I needed to see her in all her new pretty outfits also, I wanted to use the mod that allows you to recruit both Halsin and Minthara sooooooo like.....

I love Phay with all my heart and as close to me as she is.... I really wanna try a new playthrough with new choices and a new class.

BUT

I know me, and I know even if I made a new character, I'm just going to be Astarion's juice box again.

Soooooooooo I made up a challenge for myself and I guess anyone else who faces the same struggle as I do 😂🤣

Keeping specific companions in mind, I made 5 new Tav's STRICTLY not to romance Astarion and the challenge is to see if I actually pull through and finish the playthrough with which companion I had intended them to end up with.

WISH ME LUCK!!!!

(pictures below because omg I'm actually already in love with them all. they're all so pretty. I'm slowly coming up with their backstories- also Karlach's feature girlfriend literally leaves me CACKLING)

Gale's Tav

Elowyn, Ranger, Wood-Elf (favorite enemy: Mage Breaker, because we live for the drama- a wizard killed her family and destroyed her village??? backstory, is a wip)

Wyll's Tav

Renona, Druid, and Wood-Elf (uses her wild shape to change into cute animals, sneak into people's homes, and rob them. Not the kind of girl Ulder would want Wyll bringing home. She's a hot mess and gremlin besties with Astarion and Karlach. She's also like Viking vibes)

Shadowheart's Tav

Rhea, Cleric of Selune, Human (I really haven't fleshed her out, she's a noble- kinda want to give her Starfire vibes. I just really want to do enemies to lovers lol)

Lae'zel's Tav

Talice, Pladdin- Oath of the Ancients, Zariel Tiefling (I want her to have been besties with Karlach as a kid and when she got sold to Zariel she goes craaazzzy- but then years later she realizes she rather be a beacon for hope and save little girls from ending up like her long lost friend Karlach. Also, like huge Gamora/Angela from Guardians of the Galaxy vibes for her and Lae'zel)

AND LASTLY----- WHO I THINK IS MY FAVORITE JUST FROM HOW UNSERIOUS THIS CHARACTER WAS WHILE MAKING HER......

Karlach's Tav

Xaci Digglefiggle, Monk, Forest Gnome (First off- Digglefiggle---I'm crying 😂😂😂I used fantasy name genrator cause I've never made a gnome before and I fell in love. Xaci's family was caught in a forest fire and she was the only survivor- found by a group of Lathander monks, she was raised in their ways. Wanting to explore, she starts traveling around Faerun. Due to her secluded upbringings, she's unaware of how most treat gnomes, but she's still a little ray of sunshine and wants to prove that gnomes are just as tough as anyone else.)

[coolseabird]

BG3 Tav Backstory Bash by Kelandrin

This is a challenge to help people flesh out their Tav’s backstory by exploring their past. It is organized into four sections with seven prompts. You can treat this as a monthly challenge or a general project. You can write headcanons, fics, or share art based on the prompts! You can interpret the prompts however you want. If you want to share use the tag #bg3backstorybash

I was tagged by @grenanigans <3

I tag @upturninginkpots and @quantum-dragon No pressure at all though!

I actually finally made a Tav with a backstory recently so this is good timing. Forgive me for getting any Githyanki lore wrong. I'm very new to the Forgotten Realms.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is Ga'rak (though who knows what his actual name is)

Yes I just stole his name from Garak. XD I initially took to calling him this half-jokingly since he reminded me of the DS9 character and it sorta just stuck. (Tbh though he is almost more similar to Odo)

Age: 45-50 years old

Gender: Male

Childhood: Born into a typical Githyanki creche, his childhood was far from typical. Early on, he was singled out for his psionic potential, leading to his separation from the other Githyanki children so he never had any friends his age. His training emphasized not just physical combat but also the mental manipulation of others. High-ranking Githyanki, part of a coalition of commanders open to unconventional strategies, decided to use him as a spy to learn about Faerunian society in an effort to learn their weaknesses.

Teenager/Pre-Game: During his teenage years, he embraced the role of an Arcane Trickster and Lore Bard, atypical classes for a Githyanki. He was dispatched to the Sword Coast under the guise of a socialite, With the aid of spells like Disguise Self (to not appear Githyanki), etiquette lessons from a human teacher his Creche had kidnapped, and a generous flow of gold from Githyanki raids, he seamlessly infiltrated the upper echelons of Neverwinter's society. (I imagine his cover persona was a lot like Jay Gatsby) He's never been in love and I don't know if he will ever fall in love in the future to be honest. (At least none of the romance options in this game really make sense to me for him. Maybe Minthara? But eh.)

Here is his half-elf disguise. He used it to trick the Tieflings holding Lae'zel captive. His name when he used this form as a spy was Garret or something like that XD.

His primary objective was espionage, identifying weaknesses for a future invasion and subtly undermining the government. As he immersed himself in the local culture, he encountered lifestyles that were very different from his oppressive upbringing. This exposure "corrupted him" and made him realize over the decades how unhappy he was in this role thrust upon him and how he didn't at all believe in the mission. He is also very cynical about the Githyanki government and doubts that Vlaakith is actually a god worth worshipping but he is too complacent to do anything about it. He is jaded and has resigned himself to this life. After all, revealing his doubts would only get him killed and he had no other paths available to him. That is, until he was tadpoled...

Meeting Shadowheart

Adulthood:

The tadpole's effect caused his Disguise Self spell to be inactive when initially meeting the others, preventing him from concealing his species from this group. As he thought his mission being revealed could endanger him, even to other Githyanki, he concocted a half-truth, telling his companions he was in Faerun as a Githyanki scout, masking his true goals. (Lae'zel doubts his story due to his rustiness and unfamiliarity with Githyanki culture and customs)

Freeing Gale

Having been isolated from other Githyanki for most of his life with his only contacts being his Githyanki handlers, he feels doubly estranged from both his own culture and the broader society of Faerun. (I was very inspired by stories of undercover agents having trouble re-integrating back into their home countries.)

He views others primarily as sources of information. While his main goal is to get rid of the tadpole, he also sees this time as an opportunity to gather more "sources." The tadpole gang becomes his targets, valued only as potential assets (particularly Wyll), yet he ultimately regards them as expendable.

Making Conversation

Even though he can come off as affable and charming, his true personality is almost frighteningly calm and detached, traits that initially put him at odds with Astarion and Karlach, who he views as a loose cannons.

Since he is Gith he is skilled with a blade but he prefers not to get blood on his hands. He is a huge germaphobe. (This makes the tadpole even worse for him. Not to mention camping in the woods every night.)

I think he'll likely get along well with Wyll and the Emperor. He can relate to the Emperor's longing for freedom and level headedness, he also appreciates Wyll's impeccable manners and potential high value as a tool. He and Shadowheart would have a mutual respect despite his being a Githyanki, he and Minthara would be cordial, and he and Gale would enjoy discussing illusion magic together. I also think he has a bit of a soft spot for my friend @upturninginkpots's Tav and will eventually come to see her as something of a little sister, he'll give her advice on questioning her own beliefs.

Here he is with @upturninginkpots's Tav, I'll allow her to introduce her. :)

Lae'zel's aggressive demeanor initially repels him, not least because of his own complicated relationship with Githyanki culture, and due to what he perceives as her "bull in a china shop" personality. She initially thinks he is a puny example of a Githyanki and she finds his cynical attitude to be blasphemous. He sees her as naive and foolish. They may eventually start to realize they have more in common than they think though and he will hopefully become something of a mentor to her in the future.

Githyanki Reunion

Upon discovering more about Vlaakith's plans, I think he will fully commit to defection. I think at this point he would also tell the other companions his true mission. (I know I can't actually do this in the game but it will happen in my head haha) The challenging thing is whether he is willing to put aside his complacency to help free other Githyanki from her grip, potentially betraying the Emperor and risking his own life in the process. Another consideration is whether a certain headstrong Githyanki warrior will start to question her beliefs and defect as well.

Thank you for reading and thanks for the tag @grenanigans ! If anyone sees this post and you end up making your own Tav post please tag me! I'd love to see it. :)

[brain-rot-central]

I had a thought the other day. Really wish I could draw because I'd love to fucking draw this:

(Ascended Astarion coming to find my Tav [Liriel] a few months/years later because she initially refused his offer to turn her into a spawn.

Now that the rush of newfound power and awe has subsided, he needs to have her back. Basically Liriel lives in an apartment above a shop in Baldur's Gate and leaves her balcony window open one night. Astarion has of course had eyes on her this entire time; his new hoard of spawn and thralls have had specific orders to watch her from the shadows but never touch, giving him periodic updates on how she's doing.)

A small white bat flies through her window and perches atop the back of a chair, across from her bed. Liriel looks up from the book she's reading, tilting her head to the side as she contemplates the white fur of the bat. She doesn't recall ever seeing a bat with white fur, until it clicks. "...Astarion?" she questions.

The bat opens its wings as if to take flight, summoning a puff of white smoke. Astarion comes into view as the haze begins to clear. "It's rather dangerous for a young woman to leave her window open at this time of night," he says as he begins walking toward her bed, helping himself to a seat on its edge.

(Basically they go back and forth until Liriel inevitably agrees to become a vampire, though on a few conditions.)

"You need only ask, my love, and it shall be yours," he coos into her neck.

(She's straddling his lap on the edge of the bed at this point.)

Her hands are in his hair as she speaks into his ear. "I will bear your live-born children. Two, to be exact." Her hands travel down to hold each side of Astarion's face, gently directing it upward so he could meet her gaze. "Then, and only then, Astarion, will I submit to your request. However..." She watches as his eyes travel down to her mouth, and she feels the expanding of his chest as he takes a deep breath.

"Look at me, Astarion," she demands. His eyes travel back to her own as one of her thumbs gently strokes his cheek. "You will make me a vampire. I will be no spawn, no creation of yours. I will be my own being." His eyes narrow into slits as his nostrils flare. "Surely you of all individuals could understand why, hmm?"

"You'd like me to sire your children, though you ask to become my competition? How exactly is that a fair deal for me?" Astarion's hands move from her hips up to her waist, one hand traveling further up the middle of her back.

"They won't only be my children, Astarion. They're ours. Our creations. Our legacy." The pad of her thumb swipes gently across his bottom lip. Liriel gave a soft chuckle. "I would never challenge your rule. You'd govern all of Faerun as their 'Forever Master and Lord Astarion Ancunin,' and I their 'gentle Lady Liriel.' The people will love you, bow willingly to you, and I will stand proudly at your side as they offer their necks, and their lives, to your whim."

Liriel felt a small rumble escape Astarion's chest. She watched his eyes fall closed as he hummed in approval at her words. "That does sound quite delectable, my treasure."

When Astarion opens his eyes, Liriel sees the lustful stare she'd come to know years ago. Hurried couplings in the forests of Faerun, rough and messy. Unpracticed rutting out of pure desperation, not knowing what tomorrow would bring. It had ended in a confession of emotion by Astarion, allowing for more fonder matters of the heart to take root. For a small moment, Liriel sees the love that was ever-present in his soft gaze. Only ever directed at her. She recalls words he'd spoken to her as she was wrapped in his arms, "I'm doing this for you, too, you know. For us."

Astarion's lips find hers, and a hand comes up from her side to cover her own on his cheek. He gently peels Liriel's hand from his cheek, turning his face to place kisses into her palm. "If that is what you're proposing, my love, then I believe I can be persuaded."

(Liriel ends up birthing twins, a boy they name Nathaniel and a girl they name Anastasia. Astarion assigns Liriel a personal guard during her pregnancy named Gideon; Liriel inevitably asks Gideon to become Anastasia's protector after birth. He basically acts as a second father figure when Astarion is away conquering new lands.

I really love the idea of Astarion and Liriel having kids ahhhhhhh I really wish I could draw!! Maybe I'll write some more about them.)

[socialmediasocrates]

one of the more funny things that i've seen in bg3 fic, i think because there's a fair number of people playing the game for whom this is their intro to dnd, is the general assumption that astarion wouldn't be able to sire a child

ok genuine question, but how would that happen? is he not undead? because from what i unerstand it can oly happen if the mother is turned while she is csrrying the child.

so while i can't exactly answer why it works, one of the available origins for the dhampir as introduced in Van Richten's Guide to Ravenloft is the most straightforward way a dhampir would exist: one of their parents is a vampire. since this is in canon faerun and it looks like candlekeep is canon, i am operating on the assumption that the new ravenloft lore is also canon (would be cool to maybe go to a domain of dread in a future expansion or DLC; a run-in with azalin rex would certainly be challenging for even a party above level 12 and strahd could absolutely be tweaked that way in barovia; it'd be cool to see the grand conjunction come back into the lore but i digress)

now in fairness, there is also precedent in older editions of DND for some intelligent undead being able to reproduce; my best guess is that the difference lies in if the undead in question was resurrected from the grave directly and started at baseline dead or if they were somehow transformed and therefore started from baseline alive (eg vampires, liches, etc) but this is purely conjecture

so, yeah, no, you could definitely have a kid with astarion, the kid in question would be a dhampir which you can read more about at this link if you're interested

thanks for the question!

[trevisos]

OC meme!

tagged by @aliasknives!! thank you love :3

tagging @menzoberranzans @elminsters @tadpole-apocalypse @undead-potatoes and anyone else who wants to do it :3c

B A S I C S

Full name: xarrai. just xarrai lol. they’ve never once used their last name and so that gave me an excuse to never make one up for them :)

Gender: sure. whatever. (transfem flavor)

Sexuality: bi/pan/who cares

Pronouns: any

O T H E R

Family: they don’t remember if they ever met their father or not, and while their mother and at least two half siblings live in neverwinter, they don’t speak at all

Birthplace: the outer city, somewhere between wyrm’s crossing and the basilisk gate

Job: bard, courtesan, information broker, pickpocket, con artist, professional drunkard, etc etc etc. post-game, they add adventurer and (reluctantly) bard college instructor. (jury is still out on if the xarrastarion harper ending is canon in which case they add harper to the list even more reluctantly LOL)

Phobias: loss of autonomy, The Church Of Bane As A Whole lol

Guilty pleasures: if you asked, xarrai would tell you they’re a true hedonist and would never feel guilty for any pleasure. but if you dig deep enough into the trunk they had stashed at the elfsong you will find a collection of some of the worst romance novels in faerun buried under fancy dresses and thigh high boots that they would VEHEMENTLY deny is theirs. they don’t Like these books but they are obsessed with them the way people hate watch reality television LMAO

Hobbies: reading, leather working, writing (mostly music or poetry), stick n poke tattoos, drunkenly making out with strangers at the blushing mermaid, petty theft. obvs they sing and play their lyre but that’s part of their day job so i’m not sure if it counts under hobbies? lmao

M O R A L S

Alignment: chaotic neutral, leaning a littleeee chaotic good by the end of act 3. a little.

Sins: most of them if we’re being fully honest. lmao

Virtues: self-control, vigilance, freedom (is that a virtue? whatever.)

T H I S O R T H A T

Introvert / Extrovert

Organized / Disorganized

Close-minded / Open-minded

Calm / Anxious / Restless

Disagreeable / Agreeable / In between

Cautious / Reckless / In between

Patient / Impatient / In between

Outspoken / Reserved / In between

Leader / Follower / Flexible

Empathetic / Unempathetic / In between

Optimist / Pessimist / Realist

Traditional / Modern / In between

Hard-working / Lazy

this section was such a challenge for xar they r very much an Everything All At Once guy lol. take these answers with a grain of salt ig

R E L A T I O N S H I P S

OTP: astarion, unfortunately for everyone involved

Acceptable Ships: gale (but it never really works out for them,) technically they romance halsin in game as well but it’s not really romantic. tbh u could make an argument for them with most of the companions and it wouldn’t be That outlandish

OT3: i mean like astarion/xarrai/halsin is vaguely canon but they’re never Serious with halsin, though perhaps they get a little more romantically involved with him post-game? realistically i think xar just keeps a rotating cast of other partners coming in and out of their life until the end of time and i rly dont see astarion ever having an issue with it. they would get bored without hearts to break tbh. its enrichment.

Brotp: karlachhhh forever and ever. after she dies, they’re probably closest with gale (sorry gale lol)

Notp: it’s not technically a notp but i am obsessed with how badly xarrai wants jaheira and how she turns them down every time. ur never gonna get that milf honey but u can keep trying

[aladaylessecondblog]

4:20:05 (Raphael x Tav, pt. 4)

Tw: Noncon, blood drinking

If, Tav thought, I can survive losing three loves, I can survive this. This is nothing.

She healed the bite mark on her neck in front of a mirror, and stared at the scar that formed beneath her fingers once she was done. It was on her darker skin, thankfully--easier to hide than if it had been on the paler part just on her shoulder. No one would think anything of it.

Let the devil leave his mark, it won't matter. It's just another scar.

She had plenty of those already, what was one more?

------------------------------

The next twenty minutes of time with him were spent on her knees. Five times he turned up, saying not a word the entire time. Tav found she preferred it this way, honestly. No quips, no remarks, no attempts to probe for weaknesses. Only a few minutes of tongue work that would lead to her swallowing down his seed and his vanishing before she could get back off her knees.

(If only, she thought, every other pain could be banished in the same way. Swallowed and forgotten.)

These visits were actually bearable; it was the OTHERS that stung her most.

Tav had just seen off a lone Gur traveler (how unusual, she'd thought briefly) and was finishing hanging up some washed clothes to dry when she heard the familiar step and voice behind her.

"Such a pity, to see the Lady fall so far."

"As I've said before," she replied, not stopping her work, "I can adapt to almost anything."

"There are no circumstances to which a man may not become accustomed," Raphael started.

"Particularly if he sees that they are accepted by those about him," Tav finished.

"Ah, so you ARE well-read! Brava, my dear, brava indeed."

She took a deep breath, and grabbed the empty basket to carry back inside. A hand at her elbow stopped her.

Deep breath. Pretend nothing is wrong. Pretend this is all normal.

"What an immense mass of evil must result from allowing men to assume the right of anticipating what may happen," was then whispered in her ear.

Then a dark chuckle sounded off.

"It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness," Tav added.

She was turned and pressed against the nearest tree; a moment later Raphael's lips were on her neck.

"What do you want?" Tav asked suddenly, "You could have just as easily spilled everything and...taken...everything from me."

"Oh, now what would that accomplish?" There was a smirk, and a slight nip. "My little mouse, you would obliterate anyone he sent after you. We BOTH know he would never range this far out himself. And as I recall, you're in possession of a Daylight spell...it wouldn't end well for those poor defenseless spawn, now would it?"

"Why would you care about some vampire spawn?"

"Because, oh apple of my eye," he whispered in her ear, as his hips pressed close against hers, "When you break, I want to be there to see it."

She gulped slightly. A second later Raphael's lips curved into a grin against her jaw.

Anything I say he will take as a challenge, she thought, and chose instead to stay silent.

"Perhaps the pieces will be of use once they have fallen," he went on.

"To be killed, I imagine."

"How you wound me, Tav, to think I have such a lackluster imagination," Raphael tutted at her, "Imagine it. Your flesh, my supper; your blood, my wine; your soul, my plaything."

"That's just saying you mean to destroy me with extra steps."

And then, of all things, Raphael knelt.

"Pain, I can take. Spilling my blood doesn't mean anything anymore," Tav went on, as he lifted her skirts, then prompted her wordlessly to hold them up. "Men are alive who were dead. The gods they prayed to don't even remember. Nothing--"

"Nothing is real anymore," he finished the sentence for her, in exactly the words she was planning to use. "Everything is the same, save four people among all Faerun, the hells, and the Outer Realms. One person unknown, Cazador..."

There was a brief chuckle as he reached up to slide her underwear down with both hands. She stepped out of them, and shivered when he kissed his way up her inner thigh.

Why is he doing this? He is NEVER the one on his knees.

"...then you, and me...we are all that remember what came before. A clean slate for us all."

Tav looked straight ahead. He wanted her to ask who the fourth person was, and she refused to take the bait, already knowing what would result. He'd probably offer to tell her if she added more time to her debt, and she would do anything to avoid that.

"So quiet, my pet." A kiss at one of her thighs. "Does the idea not please you? Shall you not rejoice that some of what you lost can be yours again?"

"No," Tav replied, eyes half-glazed over as she stared into the distance. "Because I won't be getting any of it back."

There was a dark series of chuckles against her skin. A moment later, he moved one of her legs over his shoulder, and pressed forward. His tongue swept over her clit and pleasure leaped in her gut. She shut her eyes and let out a soft moan for him, knowing he'd demand it if she didn't.

The stiff bark of the tree pressed to the back of her head began to sting. She tried to imagine something else--anything else, but all that came to mind was Halsin, and the way he'd eaten her out that first time. Against a tree, like Raphael was doing now.

She opened her eyes again, and moved one hand to the back of his head. There was a brief smirk at the touch.

He must've been practicing with Haarlep.

His tongue circled and pressed and flicked in more practiced a way than she'd ever expected of him. It was a struggle not to show too much enjoyment--she hated it, hated every little touch and press of his tongue. But her body responded to it anyway; pleasure thrummed through her veins with every movement. Pleasure she couldn't choose not to feel.

I hate you. I HATE you.

Had he been any other man...

Deep breath as his tongue moved lower, and then back up again. His free hand moved up her thigh and turned, pressing one finger and then two inside her.

"Oh--"

Tav gasped, and found herself clenching at Raphael's hair as his hand started to move. She wanted to imagine someone else, anyone else, but there was nothing for it. She couldn't--she was determined she would imagine no one else, that she wouldn't let herself range that far. Better not to remember them that way. Better not to remember anything good they'd done.

It would make this easier.

"I do so love hearing your voice call out for me," came his arrogant tone, when he pulled back for a moment, "I shall have to remember to do this more often, now I know you like it so much."

"Bull--shit--" Tav groaned, "You, on your knees? You don't do that for anyone."

"But I've done it for you," Raphael purred, "You should be pleased. No one else has had that particular honor."

She didn't have a chance to say more. His head moved down again, his tongue teasing and caressing at the swollen bud even as his fingers thrust inside her. Ecstasy was rising, rising fast, so quickly she could do nothing but let the little moans fall with every move--

--and then, suddenly, it stopped. Tav let go of his hair, breathing hard, not wanting to meet his eyes as her leg moved down and he came back up.

She could already in her mind see the smirk on his face, the glint in his eyes.

"Did you really think I would let you finish any way other than on my cock?" he growled softly in her ear.

"How..." Tav was breathing hard as she replied, "...how stupid do you think I am? I know you better than that."

It seemed to be the right answer. Raphael chuckled darkly, and turned her face towards his. A second later his lips were on hers, his tongue pressing forward to ensure she tasted herself. At least now, now, she could close her eyes, lose herself for just a moment.

When he pulled back, she blinked--and his cambion form greeted her the moment her eyes were open.

She knew what he wanted before he even asked it, and looked down to unbutton his trousers, freeing his cock and stroking at it for a few moments before looking back up again.

"You're enjoying this too much," she said quietly.

"That sounds like defiance."

"It's not," Tav replied mutely, "Besides, if you wanted me quiet you'd say so."

A moment later he reached down, bringing her up, legs spread and her knees at his sides.

She kept her dress out of the way, took a deep breath--and gasped anyway when he thrust inside her. No matter the preparation he'd given her, the fact was his cock was bigger in this form, and it spread her almost painfully.

"It could have have been like this, little mouse," Raphael groaned, as his hips pistoned roughly against her own, "Endless pleasure, you yielding only to me..."

"You...wouldn't...have kept your...oh...your word." Tav struggled to speak at the speed he was moving against her. "You're a devil, devils lie."

"I WAS being honest with you, even when you weren't being honest with yourself." His mouth moved to her neck, and he teased her skin with his teeth. "You were simply too much of a fool to see it."

He was silent only for another few seconds.

"Do you hope for it again, my dear? The chance to do what you refused to before? Is that why you say you won't pursue your last loves? Answer."

"No," Tav replied automatically. She moaned at a deep thrust, and raised her hands to his shoulders. "That's not why I--said that."

"Then why?" there was another groan. "Tell me--why you said it. And be honest."

"I don't plan to pursue them," she gasped, "Because...because I would rather not have them at all, than have them and lose them again."

She was almost glad of the orgasm that tore through her then, that had ecstasy race through her veins in lusty heat, that raised her voice in one final moan and left her clenching down on Raphael in more than one way. It let her shut her eyes to everything, for a precious few seconds.

"Oh," Raphael's voice husked against her neck, "My poor, poor Tav...so much you've suffered. If only you would trust me, you would see..."

He moved slowly against her, not overwhelming her with the sensation, but still filling her nonetheless. She would have enjoyed it, were he anyone else. From the sound of his breathing, it wouldn't take him much longer.

"S-see what?"

Tav gave a slight yelp when she felt his sharper cambion teeth sink into her skin, and quailed (from what, she wondered, she'd had her blood drunk before!) as his tongue swept over the blood that resulted.

It was just a slight trickle, but he drank every drop, thrusting softly, until finally he buried himself as deeply as possible--and with his body shuddering, spilled himself empty inside her. His mouth came up, breathing hard, to press a coppery kiss to her lips.

Only when the last aftershocks of his pleasure were gone did Raphael reply.

"That if you want someone who will not be lost to an assassin's blade, you need look no farther than the man before you."

Another kiss.

I hate you.

Finally, he withdrew, giving a brief glance downward before letting the skirts of her dress fall back down. He let her stand on her own two feet. After he commanded her to fix him as well--as she was tucking him back into his trousers and rebuttoning them, he spoke again.

"Three hours. Forty-four minutes, and thirty-seven seconds."

A sweet nothing in her ear, it sounded like.

"I thought you wanted me broken, but...that makes it sound like..."

"You're of no use to me truly broken, my pet. I only want you more...amenable."

"What--what use am--what do you want?" She looked back at him.

"What I wanted last time, Tav." His forehead pressed gently against hers, "The Crown of Karsus."

Raphael's lips were brushing against hers--

--and then, suddenly, he was gone.

Tav sank down, buried her face in her hands, and began to sob.