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nottragic-stilltoothsome · 1 year ago

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Everything I found in Szarr's palace, for all your fanfiction-writting needs. I haven't found any other post like this one, so i hope i m not copying anyone. Posting it here, because editing the official wiki feels intimidating. Feel welcome to add anything I missed.

Astarion's siblings (the other spawn):

Petras - one of the two you meet in the Flophouse.

Dalyria - the other one from the two you meet in the flophouse. Her diary can be found in the "guest room". Before Cazador turned her, she was a doctor, a "Physician General to the Parliament of Baldur's Gate". She thinks vampirism is a disease and plans on curing herself of it by drinking blood of someone young and healthy - other spawn's daughter, Victoria.

Leon Onufrio - before Cazador turned him, Leon was a sorcerer. He is the one whose daughter's (Victoria's) body is found, cursed, in the room where with the Kozakuran dictionary.

Leon put a protective counter-curse on her, to discourage other spawns from attacking her. Despite his efforts, Dalyria bit her, hoping it'd cure her vampirism. Needless to say, it didn't and Victoria died @easterlingwanderer found out that if you use "speak with the dead" on the body, it turns out that it was a random urchin and Leon did get Victoria out of the city on time. After removing the curse inflicting you with necrotic demage, you can loot a letter of her body from her father instructing Victoria to read said dictionary, so she can freely move around the castle.

In the favoured spawn room, you can learn that Leon was the one usualy occupying it (along with his daughter). His diary reveals that he put extra effort to be Cazador's best hunter, so he can keep Victoria away from others and that he came up with a plan with Figaro to disguise and sneak Victoria out of the palace.

He also notes that he doesnt like the way Violet looks at Victoria and Cazador's wicked smile, when Leon asked him what his master was planning to do with his daughter.

Violet - you can find her Diary in the Dormitory of Spawn. She notes that she put garlic in Yousen bed as a prank.

Aurelia - a tiefling

Yousen - @neophytepagan noticed he is a gnome

Other:

The chamberlain of Cazador was Antwun Dufay. In his diary, which can be found under his bed in his room after a successful passive perception check, it says that he had a lover Lurianna (a werewolf, who can be found dead by walking through fake north wall of chamberlain's office, or through another fake wall in Chamberlain's private room). He knew about Cazador's Black Mass enough to fake his death in order to avoid the threat of taking Astarion's place. Unfortunately for him, it seems he confused the actual death potion and fake death potion, and really died. His lover drank the other potion, which melted her guts. The actual fake-death elixir can be found in his desk, which puts the player in 10-turn coma. He ordered the elixir from Bonecloaks', where he also ordered most of the things the palace needed to function (like bloodstain remover, candles and food for "guests").

Godey - Cazador's right hand. Astarion says that while Cazador was the master of the palace, the kennels (the room where the spawn d be tortured, when they did something Cazador didnt approve of) was the domain of Godey. Godey tortured the spawn when Cazador didnt feel like it. Cazador trusted Godey with the key to the sealed ballroom for the duration of the ritual.

Through the palace, fanatic-servants cleaning the palace: Syrin - human, Greenfern - wood half-elf, Vilhelm - human, Varderola - also human. All of them are servants, who Astarion said are devoted to Cazador and came to the palace of their own will, beggining Cazador to turn them into vampires. Vilhelm is most noteable, as you can talk to him and he asks Astarion why isn't he downstairs, that he is late and the ballroom is already locked. If pressed, he informs that Godey has a key and that the Cazador is going to punish Astarion for missing the ritual (and from his expression, he seems to quite like the thought).

Chamberlain Dufay wrote a blooddonnors ledger, instructing the Spawn to favourite the lower class as prey, as too many missing patriars may drow too much attention.

The language Cazador uses is Kozakuran, from a distant land of Kara-Tur. Astarion notes that they were strictly forbidden from learning it. From Cazador's Journal you can learn that Astarion was not an unreliable narrator when he said Cazador liked torturing him the most: Cazador paid the most attention to him in the journal.

In the favoured spawn room, there is a ledger with the list of spawns who have been favoured (its only Leon and one time Violet).

Amanita Szarr - on her 13th birthsday, invited by her Uncle Cazador. She was invited to the ballroom. She became a vampire, but was not happy about it. She rejected her family name Szarr and named herself Lady Incognita. She claims she stays in the attic and writes stories. One of the books written by her can be found on Cazador's desk.

Mrel Alkam - vampire mastress from Athkatla that Cazador wrote a letter to.

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #spawn #astarion's siblings #cazador szarr #cazador #fanfiction #godey #astarion x tav #resources #astarion ancunin #lore #chamberlain dufay

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pursuitseternal · 3 months ago

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“I wanted to hear you whimper…” ✨Update to “Bites in the Night”✨

Act 1 Astarion x f!Reader | E | 3K

Summary: After fighting your way out of the Githyanki Crèche, your vampire has a raging�� ego. And you need to check it, to remind him his place… and to hear him whimper.

CW: Subby Astarion, Whimper alert, mild bondage, inappropriate use of grasping vines, begging, brat taming, face sitting, anal fingering, oral sex

Ao3 link | series on ao3 | Masterlist

“Well…” he purrs, that aspirate ‘h’ somewhere in the middle of the word making you bristle with irritation. “I thought they’d never leave…” Astarion grins, spattered in Githyanki blood as he casually licks his blade clean.

He’s the image of cool and collected… as if you all didn’t just fight your way out of the entire Crèche in the Rosymorn Monastery. As if Gale didn’t almost die three times and as if you didn’t get your favorite weapons disarmed from your hands twice. “Leave?” you snap at him. “They’re dead!”

Astarion sheathes his blade and starts to suck the blood clean from under his fingernails. “Seems hardly a difference worth fighting over, darling. Same result.”

“No, it’s a result of your big… fat… mouth,” you snip the words, closing the distance to poke him in the leather armored chest with every word. “And you defaced their painting of Vlakith! You’re lucky your undead guts aren’t being used for training targets.”

Astarion just gives that same conceited, shit-eating grin. “My guts are perfectly fine. Theirs are spread on the ground… and, since you seem in a feisty mood…” he leans in close to purr in your ear, “perhaps you’d like your guts rearranged, dear?”

“Ugh!” you gag in disgust at the suggestion. “You arsehole. You should be apologizing for that smart mouth of yours.”

“Darling, I rarely apologize, and I never do when I’m in the right. Thanks to me, we can leave this mausoleum.” He comments with a flick of his wrist, ignoring your enraged glare and heading for camp.

That’s when something snaps inside you. The other companions are already well up the trail from the Monastery. And, by now, when you and Astarion disappear, they know better than to come looking… and Shadowheart usually has her hands already glowing with Lesser Restoration. A nice treat for after feeling the blood loss on your end of your trysts.

But not this time.

“You’re a proper bastard, aren’t you?” you hiss at him, heart racing with the need to fight.

But he just flashes you that cool, collective seductive smile. “Such a mean spirit, you wouldn’t want me to have to teach you some manners… would you?” His lean frame crowds you, one arm reaching to cage you in against the tree behind you. “I’m feeling rather good right now… all that Githyanki blood has given me quite the raging… affliction. I could use your help…” his eyes flash dangerously seductive as he grabs your wrist and guides your hand to his clothed erection.

Tearing your hand away, you cuss at him. “Fucking arrogant Elf,” you hiss, grabbing him by the top of his flushed and pointed ear. “You’re going to learn manners, not me!”

Astarion crumples between your pinching fingers. Knees buckling, voice cracking, eyes tearing… you’d think you had kicked him in the balls with how pathetically he’s reacting now. “Ow, ow, ow,” he whines as you drag him off the path into the sunny woods of the Mountain Path.

You have to reach high to grab it, that pink tip of his ear, but the ache in your shoulder is worth it for how he instantly cows to you. He’s sputtering curses and calling you names, but it’s hard to take them seriously as his voice breaks with shrill whines.

Like a boy in puberty, every word cracks in his voice.

“Cheeky little… argh!” He squeals as you squeeze harder, making his feet stumble. Just in time. You find what you’re looking for.

Grasping vines, a nice little patch.

“You, my vampire, have been insufferable long enough today. Apologize,” you command.

He scoffs, trying to reach for your punishing fingers on his most tender of spots. “I won’t apologize for killing our enemies in battle. They had it coming, those Gith…”

“Hmmm, guess what, my dear,” you cup his bloodied cheek with your free hand, bringing him in for a kiss. His lips tremble against yours, his ear is still nabbed tightly in your grip, after all. You whisper in delicate and threatening tones against his mouth. “Now you’ve got your own thing coming as a result.”

He gasps, cool breath on your face as you guide him to the ground by his ear. “Hands above your head, and if you’re a good boy, I’ll even let you come.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he snarls, trying to jerk his ear free as he lies in the grass and dirt, but the pain only makes him hiss and relent as you hold fast.

“Oh I dare, Astarion. I dare because you’re being an obnoxious, unbearable… louse!”

“I think you mean leech,” he tries to giggle, a snap of his fangs beneath you. “I have more in common with leeches.”

Your withering glare gives him just enough pause, those hard lines of his eyes softening, gaze widening as he realizes you aren’t joking.

“Hands above your head, leech,” you give your icy command.

Those elegant hands move in obedience, slender, skilled digits twitching slightly as they extend across the forest floor until…

…with a creaking groan, the grasping vines do their job, locking his wrists and upper arms neatly in place.

“Wretched hells, you have to be joking,” he growls, fighting against the vines as anger flares in those crimson eyes. “You have got to be joking, darling.”

“Serious as death itself,” you smirk down at him. “Now all you can use is your smart mouth, and until you apologize, I’m going to give it something to do.

You pull off your leather armor and underthings slowly. A smile turns your lips as you watch Astarion try to slip his hand from the vines unsuccessfully. A sweat is dotting his brow, eyes roam your exposed skin and follow your hand to where your fingers slide themselves to bury into your own cunt.

His fangs catch in the patches of sunlight through the canopy. Pupils blown wide, he watches your hand, his pink tongue wetting his lips at the sight. It doesn’t take any effort to perceive the prodding, twitching erection in his leathers. “Are you going to apologize for being a proper twat?”

“As I demonstrated today with our Gith friends, I’m not one to back down from a fight… darling….”

Oh, that smug grin on his face, that tongue teasing the corner of his mouth… you want to smack it from his handsome face, you want to… to…

You step over him. Feet framing his chest, you lower yourself to your knees, fingers parting your folds to show his hungry eyes your swollen little clit. “If you insist on being a cunt, you can taste mine…”

He smirks wider, purring and stretching beneath you. Proud of himself. “Oh darling, I…”

The groan that comes from your mouth as you cover him with your folds is so loud, birds startle from the trees. You grind, slow rolls that push his prominent, aquiline nose right against your aching clit. Finally, that tongue that has caused you nothing but trouble today is put to good use as it thrusts in and circles around your channel. His laughter tickles up your spine from your sex, and you can almost feel his self-satisfaction as you positively drench his face.

But this is supposed to be retribution. A lesson to tame his brat behavior. So you grab a fist of his perfect, blood-streaked silver hair and yank. “Mmmph,” he whines loudly into your folds. Desperation and pain. It’s high pitched, pitiful. And you shake him a bit, your breathing ragged from being driven so close to your release already.

“This isn’t for you, Astarion, it’s for me,” you snap, watching the twinkle of mischief flash in those crimson depths. “You’ve been naughty… intolerable. And now you’re going to pay for it.”

“Oh I quake in my boots,” he thrusts his hips up behind you into the air, miming what pleasures await. “I’m all a-quiver with fear,” he sniggers.

You fist your hand tighter in his hair until he hisses and whines that you’ll ruin it. “Just remember, it’s a good thing you don’t need to breathe.”

Those eyes widen at your implied threat as you sit firmly on his mouth and nose and chin. His skin already slick with your arousal, he works his head and tongue inside your folds for far longer than any mortal would survive. You grind slowly, careful not to let in too much air, savoring all the friction he can give you.

And he… he knows his duty. All fangs and tongue and lips as you roll your clit on his nose. Your walls flutter around his tongue, your pulse thumping in your ears now, no longer from rage but from hot, desperate arousal. “I’m close,” you gasp, and you know he hears you as his pointed ears twitch. “Make me come, and I just might let you, too.” You give a low, threatening laugh, “eventually that is.”

That’s when you feel it on your clit, his face sliding in your folds as he catches your bud in his front, blunted teeth and nips.

You groan, voice breaking in a scream as you come around nothing. Holding yourself up with your fist in his hair, you can’t just let yourself pitch forward or you’ll end up in the vines too. So you shake in your bliss, braced against his face and scalp as your tremors wrack through you.

Raising up, you move to kneel beside him, pulling out a rag from your bag of holding to wipe his face off.

“You just can’t keep your hands off me, even after you’ve come. Isn’t that right, darling?” He gives you that arrogant asshole of a smirk, and you mirror it. Slowly, you pop open the fastening of that blue and burgundy leather armor until his cream undershirt lies damp against his skin. You can feel his belly clenching under your feather light touch, watching it rise and fall with ragged breaths.

As your hand brushes gingerly over the rock hard bulge in his leathers, he hisses, a low giggle of a laugh in his throat. “I’ve made you feel good, haven’t I? I think I deserve a treat,” he sasses you, another roll of his hips to push his erection against your palm.

But you’re not done, and you give his cock a punishing squeeze through his leathers. “Hush,” you snap. You reach into your bag again, pulling out an eagle feather and a bottle of oil. “Now, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll open your mouth to do one of two things: apologize….” You lean forward to place a gentle kiss on his lips, “or beg.”

He laughs, catching you off guard as he bites your lips until you taste blood. “You know by now, I never beg,” he growls, pride dripping from his words.

“First time for everything,” you hiss, pulling your mouth out of his reach and licking your blood from your lips. Reaching for the feather, you tickle it over the sharp, mouthwatering line of his jaw. “We’ll start with something soft, I think…” Just that downy tip traces the lines of his chest, the chiseled muscles underneath flex and constrict as his belly clenches.

“Fuck,” he gasps, his breathing light and rapid. You hear his hands straining against the vines, their growth creaking as he fights for freedom. “Mmhm,” you hear him whine, that feather tracing the line of his waistband as his cock remains twitching.

Untouched.

His eyes are blown, pupils wide and dark as his body undulates under your teasing touch.

“I think I heard you speak, but not to apologize or beg…” you taunt, leaning over him, setting aside the feather in favor of a single finger. Your isolated touch trails the same pattern, those ridges of his abdominals are a map you know by heart now. “So you’ll have to suffer having me touch you like this ‘til you ask nicely…”

Your finger wanders to his hips, just brushing the outline of his cock. He bucks into nothingness, into open air… his breathing rough, his belly rapidly rising and clenching repeatedly. “Eugh,” he whines, your finger tracing that prominent ridge at the base of his cock head.

“Ready to apologize or beg?” you lean down to whisper in his ear, but by the way his fang bites his bottom lip, you can see he’s still clinging too tightly to that insufferable pride.

“Neither,” he says bravely, but the sensation of your hand reaching into his leathers makes an open-mouth whine rip from his mouth. You force your hand into that waistband. It’s snug, especially with how hard he’s gotten. And all you have room to do is squeeze, pulsing your fist around his shaft. You can feel the slow thump of his undead heart in his dick, so hard and so aroused as he is. “Hells… fuck… damn you…” he whines something new with every squeeze you give him.

“Just say ‘sorry,’ or ‘please,’ and all this can go much faster,” you taunt, a singsong in your voice as you release him to unlace his pants. He just gives a pathetic sigh as his cock is freed. You know it aches. All that blood from the Gith, all your teasing has made him flushed and hard and leaking precum profusely. His crimson eyes stare at your lips as you lick them, his whole world narrowed to their wet promise of release and the aching tingle in his cock. It takes a second to shimmy his leathers to the tops of his boots and to uncork the bottle of oil.

A generous amount on your hands and you smile at him. “Come on, you rascal. After all the trouble you caused, don’t you feel the least bit sorry?”

His fangs bite his lower lip tighter again, the sharp lines of his face set, determined to prevail.

Your mouth quirks to one side, hand wandering a single oily finger up his taut thigh, then between those pert ass cheeks of his.

His voice cracks in a whimper, fangs piercing into his own skin as you tease one, single finger around the tight ring of his hole. He tries so hard to snarl, to buck his hips as if he has any control. His cock just juts into the air, twitching and leaking, as you tease inside that ring of muscle just a little more… and more. The oil helps to slide your finger in, just the one digit you thrust in and out. He voices his rapid breathing, quick fire noises that sound so pathetic from his throat, you’re almost tempted to give in and bring him the sweet release you both crave.

“By the hells,” he opens his mouth, whining like a child, “you’re going to really make me pay for just being myself, aren’t you?”

“And just who do you think you are?” You snigger, all those feelings of sympathy evaporate, and suddenly you have two fingers knuckle deep in his ass. Jamming them in slowly, you crook over and over until you find that spot inside him that makes him shudder and writhe. “Ha… huh…” he’s huffing with each stroke you make inside him. “P….p….”

“Is that a ‘p-p-please’ that’s starting to finally form on your irritating tongue?” you chide him, pressing your lips on the spasming plane of his belly even as your fingers fuck him. “And don’t fool yourself, I’m making you pay not because you’re insufferable… or mischievous… or down right maliciously cruel…”

Your fingers continue their torture in his tight walls. Another kiss on his stomach, a flick of your tongue below his navel and more along those deep v cut grooves over his hips, and you hear the most divine noises from his lips. “Just so we’re clear, I’m doing this to show you your place… to remind you, you need to be a member of my party… and just because I want to hear you whimper.” You lower your mouth, his eyes almost black with lust as they stare at you. He watches you lick your lips slowly only to just breathe warm, damp air on his cock. He grunts, fangs and teeth grit as it jerks widely from the promise of contact. “Beg for me, dear…”

You can hear his little swallowed growls in time with your fingers that are still thrusting inside him.

“Beg for me to let you come…”

His breathing comes in rapid succession, hissing between his clenching teeth. Until… finally… he opens them for a single word. “Please…”

But you just laugh, low and rough in your throat. “Louder, you proud, arrogant bastard.”

“Hells, just…. Fuck me… please!” He finally breaks, voice high and breathless as he bucks his hips into the air closer to your face. A desperate attempt at contact. Any contact.

You stick out your tongue, a teasing lick up the underside of his shaft to clean the mess of precum that’s positively dripping in streams. His cock twitches away from your tongue, a mind of its own. And you laugh, letting your lips and throat vibrate as you slowly suckle him down. Your fingers prod just right, and those warm, tight muscles inside him pulse and tighten… until his cum fills your mouth. He erupts with the most pathetic sounds yet… all rapid whines that crack his voice box until he can only grunt in time with his cock spasms. He fills you; the taste is familiar, but his seed is strangely warm on your tongue. Perhaps it’s from positively gorging himself today. Maybe that’s one thing that you could enjoy because of his arrogance. You smile as you swallow, savoring the look on his sweaty face. You pull your oiled fingers free, cleaning you both with a rag.

“Still feeling like a brat?” You taunt him, as you wipe his softening cock.

“I’m hardly ever a brat, darling…”

You scoff, throwing the rag on his face. “Maybe I should leave you like this until the vines decide they’re tired of your attitude too.”

“Gods, no, please,” he adds quickly. And you just smile down at him, naked and triumphant as you say two more words…

“Good boy.”

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