#Static plays BG3

[ruby-static]

HAHA GET HUGGED, IDIOT. GET ABSOLUTELY LOVED AND CHERISHED.

[bitessback]

so sorry I've been so m.i.a, work has been squeezing me like a wet rag. I promise I rlly wanna do stuff here.

[famewolf]

I knew I was getting sick when I started not having the energy to play video games

[lowtideandhightea]

no offense to them but. me when galemancers are sad abt getting the bad ending 🤡🤡🤡

[invinciblerodent]

I feel between the three of them Petyr would be called “baby girl”

He’d deny liking it. Then Halsin says it lovingly and his face melts bc he actually does like it.

Oooh, I feel like that might be an acquired taste for him, lol- I have only ever had him say "babe" before (like the douchebag he is), but I definitely could see the occasional "baby" going over fairly well with him! (I mean lbr, Halsin can make most things work. He has one of those voices.)

... that does remind me though!!! earlier today I actually fell down a "medieval endearments" rabbithole while trying to find things one might call their lover in a medieval fantasy setting without it sounding too deeply anachronistic (I generally tend to go up to like 1600-ish at the latest), and I'm happy to report that, among the more normal ones (Honey, Dove, Angel, Darling, etc.) the list I found ALSO includes some gems!

like Pigsney. And Mopsy, and Honeysop, and Flittermouse, and Butting.

So. If someone needed something new and truly funky fresh to call their lover, those are some options, lol.

[timbrrwolfe]

I haven't done any writing in an age but one of the things that's been stirring my creative juices lately has been developing characters in games I've been playing. Specifically Cyberpunk 2077 and Baldur's Gate 3.

2077 because the actual role play aspects within the game are pretty limited so if I want my characters to have any depth it has to spring forth from my brain, and BG3 because I can make SO many characters that it just gets me thinking. A lot.

That said, I have specifically limited myself from both making new characters or playing with friends in BG3 until I finish my first playthrough in full. Because if I don't I /will/ have 20 characters with like 5 hours of play time. I know what I'm about. But still, I do be putting together both builds and backstories for new characters when they come to mind. And that's also true of 2077. BG3 is simply better because you can actually play them differently outside of just how you do combat.

And for both of them I want to actually write stuff down to share with peeps but I haven't actually sat down to do it yet (and I don't love how rampantly "AI" is sucking up data for its purposes)(if it was /proper/ AI and not just repackaged machine learning glorified autocorrect it'd be a different conversation. Alas).

But probably wariness towards "AI" is not a good excuse not to create and share. Probably I need to start making time to actually write stuff down and even post it.

[clockworksir]

Okay, I DID take my sweet time with this update. This is not an abandoned project, I was busy playing BG3. Can you blame me :D Anyway. "Heart full of static", pages 44 - 56 are on AO3 now, awful as ever.

The next bit of the story should come sooner, but who knows? Until then, have a wonderful New Years celebration, everybody! ✨

[fiddlehead-soup]

It won't happen, but I still like to daydream about a BG prequel where you get to actually play as Balduran.

The kneejerk reaction might be that the mystery surrounding Balduran and his journeys is what makes him a legend, the very fact that he is more than just an elf that lived once. That a game solidfying facts about him would ruin him. Some feel this way even with the little we're given with BG3.

But something consistent through all the games' depictions of Balduran is...inconsistency.

Thus! A "choose your own adventure", choice-heavy RPG starring Balduran would actually be so very fitting! With vastly differents endings to get from the same journey, it would still maintain a sense of uncertainty as to what truly happened to Balduran. That, and I'm thinking the game could end on a mindfuck of turning out just to be an illustrated retelling of the events...and it's not even certain whether or not it was fiction or nonfiction.

Why would I want this? Because I love Balduran and the way he's such a meta stand-in for RPG protagonists in general! It just makes him so neat! Even if someone's Balduran is vastly different from another's, it's that that makes him so interesting.

Ex: Character creator in the beginning of the game. The player still gets to choose hairstyle, color, eyes, etc. with just a few things like facial structure being static.

I'd also love to see the partnership (perhaps romance) play out with Ansur, canon to every timeline. 🥹

And! Pirate-themed!!! The aesthetic would be so cool and lots of fun pirately mechanics. With today's graphics, sailing the seas on the Wandering Eye would be so gorgeous.

Imagine standing on the deck and looking out at the sunset reflected in the ripping waves of water, or the rush of land flashing by your eyes as you ride the back of Ansur in the high skies...

I could go on and on! I want a Balduran game!!!

[grandmother-goblin]

Personal update!

I’m still hella busy with work and home life, but I’m reasonably certain things will mellow out sometime next week.

My depression symptoms have gotten…. Bad? Nothing I can’t deal with, I’m totally fine, I just can’t get out of “work” mode. Work is the only thing that interests me right now, and all of my hobbies just seem “meh.” I’ve definitely been closing myself off socially, which isn’t good. But when I do try to socialize, I just kind of suck at it right now 😂 Like I feel like I have nothing to talk about, or any feedback to give when I listen to others, because my brain is just “work” and “daughter” with static in between.

I’ll probably start a new BG3 playthrough when then next patch drops (if I can bring myself to play video games because even that is difficult right now lol). Then I also plan to work on fics, and I’ll probably do something for Dragon Age when that comes out!

Anyways, just wanted to say I’m alive and I’ll hopefully be posting again soon!

[causticcontemplation]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤️ (Yes, even if you don't have five fics)

Thank you Opti and @amorficzna for sending me this game! Since I only have 3, I'm gonna spread the love and use the last 2 to recommend other people's fics! (Not doing moot's fics tho as I'm sure they'll be tagged in this)

How to Lose a Girl in a Tenday

I think I put this one first, cause it was my favorite idea I had that I've written so far. I love bg3 fics that veer away from being a straight canon play-by-play. This fic starts the story of my oc, Fink, meeting the tadfools and joining their party. This first chapter is very silly.

2. Sip Happens

Karlach, my beloved. Sam Béart said in an interview (I think?) that if Karlach made it through the events of bg3, she would open a pub. I couldn't get that thought out of my head, so I started writing this modern au to give bbg her dream. Of course, I had to include Fink in this. I love writing their dynamic in this setting. Also a very silly (for now) fic.

3. Am I Meant to be Alone

THIS ONE IS NOT SILLY. Someone (I think @siyurikspakvariisis?) gave me brainworms from an ask pairing Karlach and Nocturne. The angst in my brain took over and this crackship one-shot was born. I adore Nocturne as a character, and exploring what might happen if she leaves the cloister/Shar's embrace is just so juicy. My take on that, in this fic, is very angsty. All hurt, no comfort.

4. So long as it has meaning by ohHOLYmoves

I so desperately wish the Selunite x Shadowheart romance in game had more meat to it. This fic is an exceptional take on that ship. I want to say so much more about it, but I don't want to spoil anything. There's just something about a big beefy paladin showing Shadowheart kindness and patience that makes my brain go brrrr (and, of course, it's femslash).

5. Something in the Static by Greenisher

If you couldn't tell from my first two, I love humor in fics. This one in particular? *chef's kiss* The author has incredible comedic timing, and is able to weave jokes that have me cackling into a compelling and dramatic story while covering the events of bg3. It is a femslash tav x Shadowheart fic with an extremely well developed and interesting oc.

[ruby-static]

I finally get to play BG3 after a while, and the first thing I do is spin this fucker around for a solid minute.

I take this game very seriously.

[bardic-inspo]

Midnight Chimes

Chapter Two: Moths to Flame

Pairing: Astarion x Cursed! Tav

✨Next Chapter ✨Full Chapter List ✨BG3 Fic Masterlist

Series Summary:

It’s easier for Astarion to believe Naomi tastes so sweet because she was his first. Easier to ignore the fact that every undead in vague proximity yearns for the same blood that’s sated him night after night. Easier to pretend her music is arcane as any other bard’s, and not divine enough to wake corpses from the dirt. Easier to pretend Naomi is simply a bard, and not something more akin to a siren. One that's slowly realized she's not just another sailor, after all. Easier to bury the fact that he's already stupidly in love with her. Like she wouldn't just raise that out of the ground, too. A curse rears its head. A devil comes calling. Astarion fights for his freedom from Cazador. He and the rest of their merry little band fight to save Tav from the doom she feels she's fated for.

Chapter Preview:

“Have I left you speechless?” Astarion laughs like the sound of tinkling chimes. “No need to be shy, darling. It’s stunning. Truly.” “I thought you quite loathed me,” she says coolly. No matter how sweet he sounds, there’s still a sharpness to his stare that warns of claws. Maybe that’s why she hasn't moved an inch since she’s seen him.

Chapter CW: Minor/Supporting character death.

✨ Click here if you prefer to read on AO3 ✨

“If I knew you’d be playing the role of dead weight, I would’ve left you for dead on the side of that road!”

If Astarion saved even half his venom for the gnolls tearing down this road, maybe they wouldn’t be in such dire straits.

Nevermind that Naomi and Shadowheart would’ve told Astarion to beat it before he could take another slice with that knife of his. The party’s Most Valuable Cleric isn’t exactly leaping to Naomi’s defense at the moment. As it is, none of them have much of a defense left at all.

Snapping jaws clamp to Shadowheart’s shield and drag, shunting it sideways. Magic flares, bright and scalding, from the half-elf’s hands. A screech shreds the air, the acrid stench of singed fur burning in Naomi’s nose. But the gnolls’ incessant cackling doesn’t falter.

Shadowheart stumbles backward with wet, slapping steps. “A little help, here!” She grunts through gritted teeth.

Karlach heeds her plea, flames leaping to life across her flesh. She swings her axe in a wide arc, but the gnolls jerk backwards and the blade only breezes over air. Their foes slink into a circle around her and Shadowheart, spitting.

Sweat beads across Naomi’s brow. She clutches the silver symbol chained around her neck -- an elven dancer, poised with a sword. Come on. Come on!

Silver flame snaps at the heels of a slavering gnoll. But it snuffs soon after it sparks. Harmless as a sneeze. Slitted eyes lock to hers. Maddening laughter mingles with a low, guttural growl.

“That’s it?!” Astarion’s exasperation hits a new octave. “That’s your contribution?!”

Naomi’s chest heaves. She drops back into cover behind the overturned cart, shoulder brushing Astarion’s bristling one. An arrow hisses past her ear. The ground sizzles where it splatters on impact, bare inches from her feet. Something snaps free beneath her ribs, like a breaking bowstring.

Nevermind all of this cleric shit, actually.

“Fuck it!” She snarls.

“Oh now, you’re throwing in the towel?” Astarion seethes. He nocks another arrow and shifts to shoot. “I was sure you’d set fire to it al--”

For a sparse, sacred second, Astarion’s livid glare gives way to eyes blown wide as moons. They track the quivering mote of magic hanging a breath from his nose as it steers an arrow safely past instead of through him. Even after the flute leaves Naomi’s lips, the hum sticks on her skin like static. His jaw drops slack, anger melted to awe. What started as a shout ends in a whisper only she can hear.

“--ready.”

Noise rushes in again. Karlach rushes the opening and arcs down with her axe. The gnoll cleaves. The weapon wrenches back with a sickening crunch. Blood splatters the dirt in webby strings.

Naomi pivots, forgoing cover and for the flute pressed close. Magic shivers across her lips, like the gentle caress of a lover. She shudders. The tremor builds, barreling down her neck, raising hairs in its wake, running through her ribs, to her feet, until the ground itself is shaking. A storm of claws rains from overhead as the gnolls lunge towards her. Thunder pulses from where she stands, sudden as a snap of fingers.

The gnolls fall, backs slapping sand. Heat lashes near Naomi’s cheek. Karlach swings again and makes a mess of them. The road’s a river of red, vined in viscera.

It’s over. But it isn’t quiet. A chorus of breath that can’t be caught aches in Naomi’s ears. Her heartbeat’s a rampant drum, pounding next to a melody that plays faintly in her mind. She can’t quite grasp the tune. But it lingers all the same, like a bruise she doesn’t remember earning.

She’s earned someone’s ire, apparently. Astarion’s glare comes to life once more with murderous vengeance. “You’re a fucking bard?! This whole time, you-- I fucking knew it!”

By the time they trudge back to camp -- beaten, bloody, but still breathing in spite of it all-- Astarion’s changed his tune.

“Well, well,” he tuts with a devilish gleam in his eye, “someone’s been holding out on us.”

Naomi trains her attention to the task at hand -- dinner. The meat starts to sizzle on its skewer. Not so different from those scarlet eyes searing into the back of her head. But other stares join Astarion’s, morphing into shadows cast long from the firelight. She doesn’t need to turn her cheek to know they’re waiting. All of them, at this point.

One of them isn’t so content to continue doing so.

“So, it seems that while you’re an absolutely abysmal cleric, you’re not a bad bard. I’d say I underestimated you,” Astarion muses dryly, “but given the evidence, I don’t know what other conclusion I could’ve drawn. Whatever else you are, you’re quite a good liar. Aren’t you?”

She spares him a sideways glance to find his arms crossed. Astarion doesn’t wait, he demands. An answer, attention, satisfaction. The rest of their crew beg the same, but they have the decency to do so in blessed silence.

It’s a virtue that eludes her, even as she tries to seek its sanctuary. Naomi rubs her throbbing temples. Still, the ringing in her ears doesn’t stifle. It prickles in the depths of her memory, in a melody both foreign and familiar. Gods, how does it go again?

Astarion clears his throat, expectant.

Naomi sighs tightly. “And I suppose that wounds you, you open, bleeding book.”

His cover hasn’t opened an inch in the weeks since their second meeting. Third, technically, if you count his apparent sighting of her on the nautiloid. But she’s seen enough to be sure it is a cover.

After all, she first saw ‘mister boring magistrate’ fishing in the Flophouse. As far as she could tell from her brief residency there, Fraygo’s housed foreigners, passersby, and people who wanted to rob them. If Astarion’s from the Gate as he says, it leaves little wonder as to what category he’d fall in.

“Ha!” His laughter comes pitchy. “On the contrary, I’m thoroughly entertained. I suppose that’s what a bard’s good for.”

Naomi’s jaw shifts, but before she can parry his backhanded commentary, a gentler voice enters the fray.

“We’ve all got our stories, our secrets, and our reasons for them,” Wyll interjects. “You don’t owe us every one of yours. But we do deserve to know where your loyalties lie.”

Naomi winces. The fire’s spitting, but it somehow stings far less than the warlock with the heart of gold wondering where her heart is at.

Astarion scoffs, hands shifting to his hips. “More importantly, I need to know you’re not holding back when you’re supposed to be watching my back!”

“Why were you?” Shadowheart’s voice cuts in, cool as steel. “Holding back?”

Naomi’s eyes flit to Shadowheart’s scar, so similar to the one Naomi has across her own nose. Her fingers twitch. She buries the urge to reach up to her own face to trace the shape of the scrape. Why were you holding back?

It didn’t end well the last time she played, she could say. Or at least, the last time she sang. She could say, ‘superstition’. But either way, she’d have to say so much more.

“It’s been a while since I played,” she settles on instead. “I grew up in an Eilistraeean temple, in an opening to the Underdark. Before all of this, I hadn’t ventured very far out onto the surface. I was only just starting to. This little adventure has been…strange in so many senses.”

Wyll’s expression softens. “You thought your goddess would protect you.”

Sure. Close enough. Naomi takes the cue, smiles sadly, and nods. Astarion spoils the moment with some strangled sound between a laugh and a snort. Like a dying horse.

A hand cuffs her shoulder. Naomi stiffens for a second before easing again. Gale kneels down beside her, plucking the skewer from between her fingers. An act of mercy, it turns out. She blinks, now noticing the blackened meat that’s been right in front of her and in the flames for far too long.

Oh. Naomi’s lips twitch ruefully. Crispy.

“A bard’s magic is arcane,” Gale says, taking a knife to carve off the worst of the char. “But we’ve all seen you wield divine power. Your goddess must still favor you.”

“Hardly,” Astarion mutters, faint with dwindling interest. He’s drifted halfway back to his tent, though his ears stay perked.

Gale arches a brow. “A great deal, I’d wager. Most deities are not so content to play ‘second fiddle’, so to speak. If a god gifts you powers, they usually expect you’ll use them effectively.”

“I swear I really am better with a fiddle,” Naomi says, sheepish.

“You’d be better at banging pots and pans than with sacred flame,” Shadowheart laughs without malice. “You’re not bad at healing, though.”

“Ouch,” Naomi pans. “I think I might need some.”

The wizard needs a more intellectual peace of mind, it seems. Their banter only deepens Gale’s worry lines.

“Eilistraee is the Dark Dancer,” Naomi tells him. “She’s a goddess of freedom, and music, and, well, dancing. She’d never punish me for this.”

She wouldn’t. Naomi swallows hard. Would she?

“If anything,” she says, shrugging her shoulders back, “she’s probably as relieved as the lot of you look.”

Gale nods, saying nothing, but thinking loud enough for Naomi to hear him without the help of the tadpole. He’s caught on something, like a gear that won’t budge. She teeths her cheek, pondering what has him hung up, when fresh heat prickles her skin.

Her eyes dart to the campfire, but Gale has it neatly tamed. It’s Karlach that’s crackling. The tiefling saunters up behind them.

“So, new you,” Karlach says, eyes alight with mischief, “what other tricks have you got up your sleeve?”

Before she can entertain an answer, Gale gives her one.

“I’m formally usurping you from dinner duties,” he says warmly. “My first command with my newfound authority is for you to regale us with song while I rescue our sustenance.”

Naomi offers an easy smile. “Your wish is my command, oh benevolent one.”

Naomi frees the flute from the fastenings at her belt, lifts the hollowed bone to her lips, and lets her breath flow. Music flows with it, playful and springy. It floods their little clearing in the woods, hushing the sounds of scurrying creatures.

Is this how it goes? No.

It’s not the melody haunting her head, but for a few moments’ time, she doesn’t feel so trapped in there. Vaguely, she feels her comrades watching her again as she plays, but as the music carries through the camp, it carries her mind away from them. Carries her away from tadpoles and gnolls and concerns of certain doom. They’re all fading sparks, drifting into nightfall. To dust, they all return.

Until her wandering, distant gaze meets a vermillion one, and it pins her back to the present. Astarion peers at her over a page he's no longer pretending to read. He’s got that look again, the one he wore when she cast cutting words and cast away the arrow intent on his demise. Such round eyes, softened in surprise. But they narrow, knife-like, a second later, as soon as he sees he’s been seen.

A sly smile curls over Astarion’s lips as her song bends with the smoke from the cookfire. It’s a small victory, maybe, but she’s not sure if it's his or hers.

The song dwindles. Naomi spies another set of glittering eyes that send her stomach plummeting. Lae’zel doesn’t just stare. She’s stabbing Naomi, surely, in some spiritual sense if not a literal one. Must not be keen on bards.

Naomi sets the flute away again. Karlach clears her throat pointedly.

“Erm, don’t take this the wrong way -- not that that wasn’t very lovely! It was! I was just wondering, do you have anymore, you know, fighting tricks?”

Naomi shrugs. “I can cast ‘stab’ as a cantrip.”

“You--”

The bugbear snarls through his teeth.

“--ruined--”

He grips the morningstar like a vice, taking swing to Astarion’s head. Still, snickers spill in a fountain from the elf’s lips. He can’t stem his tide of laughter. Not since they burst into the barn and found the bugbear and the ogre fucking over a haystack.

The flute fucks the bugbear, instead. The morningstar glances, harmless, over and above Astarion’s carefully coiffed curls.

“--my--”

Splinters burst from the board the bugbear breaks instead of the Gale he intended to. The flute screws him again.

“--rutting!”

And again. He’s left panting, winded, and dearly wanting.

“Oh that’s what that was supposed to be?” Naomi huffs. “Sounded like you stubbed a toe.” Her eyes drop to his bare member, still bared for all to see. “It looks like a stubby toe.”

That hit landed. She can see it in the crazed gleam that bulges in his eyes. The morningstar thumps, forgotten, at his furred feet. The bugbear lunges. The flute flies from her fingertips and crunches to ruin between his jaws. He spits out the pieces like loose teeth.

Naomi lets out a deflated groan. “See, this is why I didn’t pack the fucking fiddle.”

“Not so tricksy now!” He laughs darkly, lips parted in a too-wide grin.

Her back smacks boards. Hot, rancid breath clouds her cheek as the bugbear looms, boxing her in. Only for a moment. Naomi spies a tell-tale shimmer behind the bugbear’s back.

“Oh no,” she says with a smirk. “Now I’m much worse.”

Astarion’s knife sinks in. Blood sprays in a warm, wet rain across her neck. The bugbear’s face twists with the blade.

Her lips pucker, and a high, wavering whistle whisks her away. Mist shrouds her shoes as she fades. Naomi emerges again above the fray, poised on the junction of beams crossing beneath the pitched roof. A low woosh chases after her. Astarion unfurls from the fog on the beam’s other end, the soles of his boots glowing briefly blue.

He sets his sights on their larger quarry. Karlach’s kept the ogre at bay, but the beast bears down, relentless with fists and fury. Gale gives them a wide berth, working glittering fractals out of the air with a flourish and a biting incantation. Frost fans from his outstretched palms. His spell paints an ice slick beneath the ogre’s fumbling feet. Down she goes. Naomi braces against the aftershock. Debris patters her shoulders as the whole barn rattles.

Karlach tumbles down, too. The tiefling buckles, hissing as she grips the gash in her arm. Naomi’s whistle keens sweeter. When Karlach draws her hand away again, the wound’s drawn closed.

An arrow flits past her cheek. Naomi turns to see Astarion easing from his stance as the ogre breathes her last. Her one-time lover’s still stubbornly holding onto his, though.

A gargled cry echoes from down below. Naomi watches the wounded bugbear crawling among the scattered straw. Pitiful.

“Hey!” She calls. “Up here!”

His neck cranes, wild eyes burning at the sight of her overhead. Naomi’s tongue lies heavy in her mouth. The words are stones. She casts them with a pair of fingers. Middle ones, raised in turn.

“Up. Yours.”

Green light floods his skull, seeping from his eyes sockets, gushing from his lips. He shudders. And then he wilts, limp and lifeless.

He’s hardly mourned. Astarion’s breathy laughter spurts out of him, unbidden.

“That actually killed him?” He beams, but his eyes are dark and his voice scrapes low. “Oh, you’re an absolute menace.”

The praise rings in her ear. Like temple chimes. Or warning bells. Or, something else. A song, maybe. She can’t pin it down.

Sea spray slaps the cliffside near the coast, but it doesn’t drown the peeling cry of a lute plucked to misery. A shrill chorus comes with it. Naomi grimaces.

“Is that meant to be music?” Lae’zel’s face wrinkles in disgust.

“I didn’t think you knew the meaning,” Naomi mutters, picking her way up the slope.

“Likewise,” Lae’zel grumbles.

“It’s quite agonizing, isn’t it?” Astarion groans.

The culprit comes into view as they crest the hill. She’s a tiefling woman with violet skin and flowing hair decked in motley. A pretty picture of what a bard should be, if she wasn’t wilted over her own instrument.

“It’s-- it’s just stuck,” Naomi sighs, shaking her head.

The tiefling shoots a wary glance her way. “You’re right. But how did you know?”

“Besides the fact that poor lute is crying out for mercy?”

“Ugh. I know I’m butchering it with this stupid song,” the tiefling mutters, burying her head in her hands.

“It’s not stupid. It’s just…stuck,” Naomi says again. Like the sudden lump in Naomi’s throat that thickens, and doesn’t budge. She coughs to clear it, but the pressure remains. “Let’s start with the lyrics.”

But it doesn’t stop there. By sundown, Alfira’s pitched a tent in their camp and taken refuge by the fire. Her music’s mournful, but hopeful. Happy in the sad way of something good that’s happened before. But now, it’s done with.

Gale balks as Naomi reaches to stir the stew. She’s shooed off unceremoniously. Forever banned from dinner duty, it seems.

She paces, purposeless. Fluteless. Fidgeting. Cursed with idle hands. At least a devil’s workshop might put them to use. Sounds productive. This dwelling certainly isn’t.

What use is it, thinking about the Doom again? The tadpole is already in her brain. Doesn’t mean it has to be so incessantly on it.

And of course, their only hope, Halsin the druid, had to find himself in the middle of a goblin fortress. Something, someday should be easy. If it isn’t any of this. Tomorrow, they’ll attempt extraction. Which means tonight, there’s no use being sick about it.

But her ears are still ringing. Someone hands her stew. She sips it halfheartedly, and sets the rest away to cool indefinitely.

“Won’t you share a song of yours?” Alfira says some time later, with a pitying sort of smile.

Naomi sits on the stumps with her, heaving a weighty sigh. “Who’s to say I have any? You said yourself, you haven’t heard of me.”

“You helped me find the words for my music well enough. You’ve got something stuck, too. Don’t you?”

Naomi frowns. Yes, something stuck something awful. A little worm, wreaking havoc in her head. Among other things. Or, maybe the obvious thing is the only thing. Side effects of side-stepping ceremorphosis for too long.

Alfira shifts her lute in her lap. “How about I play, and you sing it if you know it?”

The first chord thrums. Naomi feels it stir beneath her sternum. Feels the shrill ache leave her ears at last. This isn’t what’s stuck. But, maybe it’s part of it. Her eyes slide shut, as if to sleep.

Naomi knows it. She knows the first note catches in her throat before it comes free, but she frees it anyway. She feels the butterfly fear flutter in her gut, and sings, still.

“Bare feet along the coast

Sand swallows the steps we’ve tread before

But you’ve made your mark

Like the silver tide that sunders the shore

Breaking waves and carving cliffs

Yielding to the sweeping sea

In the salt and in the stone

You’ve made your mark on me…”

It’s been a long time, she thinks, as the final verse closes, and silence comes again. It’s been a long time since she sang.

It’s about time. It was all a long time ago. It hasn’t happened since. It doesn’t have to happen again.

And it felt good. She lets out a long breath that drifts like a ghost. Gods, it felt good. She peels her nose to the simmering stars, shoulder blades sinking back and down.

Naomi blinks. She didn’t realize how much time slipped from her, sitting here, as the embers withered down to smoke plumes. She’s the only one that remains to keep the crickets company. Soft snores and sounds of slumber flit across the camp. Naomi stands, stiffness prickling in her legs.

“Quite the view. Isn’t it?”

Not alone, after all. She pivots, pulse kicking only to tumble right back down again.

“Astarion! You’re--”

Lounging. Just a few feet away. He lies with his arms propping his back, head tilted towards the sky, just as hers was. Basking. Moonlight melts in his curls and leaves a sheen on his cheeks. He looks made of marble; sharp edges lining supple muscle and smooth skin.

“I didn’t know you were there,” she finishes lamely.

“My apologies for startling you,” he says, not seeming sorry at all. “You seemed lost in thought. I found myself in much the same state. Reflecting on what tomorrow might bring when we find this druid.” His expression shifts, smirk fading with his brow bending in. “Will he know how to bring the tadpole under control? Will this little adventure of ours be over?”

“Honestly? I…” Naomi trails off, toying with the notion. Honesty hasn’t been her strong suit. So far. She takes a stab at it, anyway. “I doubt there’s a simple solution to something that’s so fucked to begin with.”

Astarion cocks his head. “You’re not one for faith, are you? I suppose that makes us kindred spirits. Perhaps that’s the real reason why you couldn’t keep with the cleric routine.”

The barb doesn’t feel like one, said so gently.

“You have a lovely voice, you know,” he says, soft as silk. “I hope this isn’t the only chance I’ll get to hear it.”

It might be. Naomi swallows, but her throat’s grown dry as a desert.

“Have I left you speechless?” He laughs like the sound of tinkling chimes. “No need to be shy, darling. It’s stunning. Truly.”

“I thought you quite loathed me,” she says coolly.

No matter how sweet he sounds, there’s still a sharpness to his stare that warns of claws. Maybe that’s why she hasn't moved an inch since she’s seen him.

“Not quite,” he says with a shake of his head. “I quite like what little of ‘you’ I’ve gotten to see. Better than whatever you were pretending to be. I’d like to see more of the real you, however tomorrow unfolds.”

So that’s what he means. He doesn’t want this to be an end. Naomi tilts her head. Why?

He stands in a lithe motion, fluid as a brushstroke. “And you’d like to see more of what the surface has to offer, I’m sure. I promise it’s not all illithids and imminent doom. There’s beauty here, if you know where to find it.” He drifts a step closer. And then another. “Art. Poetry. Music.”

Every word is crooned in a low timbre with a rasp at the edge. They sound like songs, the way he says them. Brimming with depths unknown and promises just below the surface. Same as his eyes, alight with an agenda she can’t quite clock.

Same as that night at the Flophouse, where she couldn’t shake his stare. What would’ve happened if something else hadn’t almost happened? What would he have done, if she came as close as they are now?

She should know better, now. He’s nearer than he’s ever been, aside from the times they’ve brushed by each other during their brushes with danger. And he’s pretty to listen to. A red flag all on its own. She should know that, at least.

“Alfira had it right, didn’t she?” Astarion says with a lift at the corner of his mouth. “You were stuck. And now you’re…” He closes his fingers to his palms and opens them again, casting them down to his sides. “...free as a bird.”

“And it suits you,” he says, wetting his lips. His gaze dips down and lingers for a moment before it fixes hers again. “This little transformation of yours.”

Noise rips to life in her ears. Naomi’s palms fly to her temples and press. But it doesn’t drown out. Bile burns the back of her throat. She spies a blur, shifting past Astarion’s shoulder.

“What is that?” She pants. “Alfira?”

Her pulse sprints. Panic pours adrenaline in her veins. Alfira’s tent is torn. Ribbons of it billow in the breeze. The stench of rot rolls with it. Naomi recoils. Not again. No.

There’s a shape, in the dark. Wet, like a puddle. Crumpled. Breaking, under gnashing teeth.

And another figure, hunched over the first. Pale. Spindly. Bony.

Astarion doesn’t budge. His brow wrinkles, annoyance cracking his facade. “I don’t hear--”

But the dead do. The creature’s head rolls upright with a sickening snap. The brush comes alive in sudden cacophonous clatter.

Astarion moves when she makes him. Naomi shoves his shoulders with as much force as she can muster. “Astarion -- look out!”

“Well,” Astarion says, with a hint of a smile and reproach in equal measure. “Looks like someone’s finally decided to rejoin the living.”

Naomi finds him with one knee propped, an arm draped over it, and his other leg dangling over the low stonework on the side of the bridge. A creek babbles beneath their feet. His knife glints by the barest light of the slivered moon, flipping once more before he stows it.

“I slept?” She asks, though she knows the answer.

“Like the dead,” he replies, with a smile that’s grown. It doesn’t match the flicker of worry that darts through his eyes, rabbit-quick, and then gone. Quick as Naomi’s heartbeat, still hammering. “Did you dream?”

“Mhm,” Naomi hums, forlorn. “Spiders again.” She saunters over to sit upon the stone beside him, swinging both legs over the side of the wall and letting them hang.

“Hm. Considering our daily dose of the macabre, perhaps that means it was a pleasant one, compared to what it could’ve been.”

The fire snaps behind them, festering in its final death throes. When she glances back at it, over her shoulder, there’s no flames to be seen. Only a flurry of sparks, bursting to fleeting life on a wayward breeze. The campsite’s quiet as the grave without another soul stirring.

In darkest night, she and Astarion can see better than most others in their camp. It used to irk him, getting voluntold for this shift of watch. He prefers to see the sunrise. But then, he decided, all on his own, he’d rather see the stars with her. So, he’d abandoned Gale’s educational company for finer sorts. His words, not hers.

There isn’t much to see, though. Even the moon’s turned her cheek, showing only a glimpse of it. Naomi scans the cliffs, surveying either end of their chokepoint on the road cutting through them. Not many places to run, should they find themselves surrounded. But there’s not many threats they wouldn’t see coming from up here.

Baldur’s Gate is still three sleeps away. Though, Naomi will take the trance for them, instead. If she has any say in it. She hadn’t meant to sleep at all, let alone into the start of her watch.

“I promise no more corpses came calling,” Astarions says with a searching gaze. “No more curses, and no more hungry shadows.”

Naomi’s attention follows the slope of own arm, to her palm, splayed, on the stone. No more spell stains on her skin, either. For now. Still, her gaze lingers, until a paler hand comes to lie over hers.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” He murmurs.

Naomi swallows, but finds herself suddenly parched. For water. For words.

“Oh, don’t hurt yourself, dear,” he sighs, but it’s soft. “I think I can hear it well enough without the worm. You don’t think expunging a centuries-old darkness did the trick.”

Naomi dares a glance upwards. He speaks reassurance in the language of skepticism. But she catches a glimpse of anxiety again, passing like a phantom on his face before fading.

“You don’t think saving a cleric of Selune, rescuing the actual divine daughter of Selune, or wrenching Shadowheart from Shar’s grip exorcized any of your own demons.” He clicks his tongue. “Even though you killed a lot of already dead people.”

Astarion leans in, stoking familiar, feather-light anticipation in her gut. He stops as they come nearly nose-to-nose. Farther than her lips would like, but near enough to read her mind. “You need to be sure.”

“If I can be,” she says, weaker than she means to.

Gooseflesh wakes on her skin, brought to life by Astarion raising only a finger. His nail drags, just sharp enough to be sweet, up the column of her throat, sending a shiver down Naomi’s spine. His index presses beneath her chin, and lifts.

“Then sing for me.”

He didn’t ask for a frail whisper, but it’s all she has left to offer. “What do you want to hear?”

Just one finger, one little motion. And she’d offer him anything. He knows it. He has to know it.

“One of your songs,” he says at once. “The one you sang at Last Light.”

He knows exactly what he wants. Naomi’s chin still rests on his fingertip, but barely so, on a barely-there touch. Only her feet hang loose, but the whole of her feels weightless.

“I sang a lot of songs at Last Light,” she says, clearing the husk in her throat.

A pout wrinkles his perfection. “You know the one.”

A wry smile steals across her face. He knows it, too. Even though she hasn’t sung it since. His finger leaves her chin with a flick as the first note leaves her lips.

“When she laid her gaze on me

What I knew of warmth melted

Into honey-covered and sticky-sweet

Incessant, yearning, burning heat…”

And when she laid her gaze on me

I felt myself undone

For whatever I had been before

Was gone to dust forevermore…”

She sings it in elvish, the way she wrote it. She sings about a girl’s first time in the sun. About a silly little drow who confused freckles for death pox. It starts sweet. Hopeful. And then it aches with a swell.

Astarion draws his dagger, and draws watchful eyes over their surroundings.

“But when I stumbled back to shadowed halls

And gazed upon a looking glass

I found not love, but scalding sin

Written on my very skin…”

Whatever I had been before

Whatever I might have lived to be

Was gone to dust forevermore

The sunlight scorched the life from me...”

I drew my fists and damned her name

But still I bore my grief and shame

That I had traded night for light

That I must forsake her to save my life…”

The song ends where it started: hopeful. Like the way Astarion glances at her now. Wide-eyed, like he’s been wind-blown by wonder, wearing her favorite smile. The points of his fangs poke out from his lips by the barest bit.

He stows his dagger in its sheath again. But the pinprick of nerves stays sharp, needling beneath Naomi’s ribs.

“When dawn broke the dark didn’t waver

Nor did my heartbeat slow

I watched the sun rise from safety in shadows

And dared, again, to dance in the glow…”

And still, I lived, and still, I breathed

And still I bore the scars

But no others knew them by that pain

They said my freckles looked like stars…”

She laid her gaze on me again

And I was never the same

I laid to rest what I had been before

And when I end, I’ll be dust, evermore

But the great between is my domain.”

“Hm,” Astarion hums, fingers still rapping the rhythm on the stone. “Perhaps you were right, my dear. I daresay there’s an undead presence nearby that’s simply insurmountable. I don’t think we should trifle with that level of dark power. Best to cater to his whims.” His eyes flash, brimming with mischief, and the lightest nip of hunger. “Keep him sated, so to speak.”

“Don’t I already?” Naomi shoots him a sideways glance, but her wary eyes are quick to return to the darkened edge of her sightline.

“Mm. You are…”

Stuck in his throat, it seems. Seems a fair revenge, for how he’s made everything beneath her ribs feel like mush with just a look. Made her sing with one wag of a finger. Made her dare to sing again, at all.

“...too adorable,” he huffs with an accompanying eyeroll. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, darling. Look around,” he says with a wave of his arms. “It’s only me.”

It is. Just the two of them. But it hurts to look at him, just now. Like staring straight at the sun. She can feel the warmth he doesn’t speak, hear the part he doesn’t say. And you know I’d never hurt you. I love you.

Or, she wants to. Hear it. Maybe more than he wants to say it.

Naomi wavers where she sits. “It took a few hours, with A-Alfira--”

“We’re on watch. We’ve got the time, an arsenal of weapons, and alarm spells. And a cleric. A real one, with Selune on our side instead of Shar. Oh, and dare I forget,” he leans a whisper to her ear, the sound as sheer as a negligee, “a very limber bard. You must’ve heard of her.”

Briefly, his hand cups her cheek, kissing sweet, tingling coolness over the warmth flushed there. Naomi arches a brow, but it’s too late. It’s already over, and he already knows he’s found a new trick. And, it’s at least sort of working to quell the disquiet gnawing at her insides.

“I know you don’t believe it yet,” he says, his smile giving way to seriousness. “But I do. You’ve survived so much else. Why not this, too?”

Naomi gives the slightest shake of her head. “Because there is never a simple solution to something that is so fucked to begin with.”

“Well,” he says, chipper regardless, “then it’s a good thing there was absolutely nothing simple about lifting the shadow curse and shooing off all of those other pesky undead. There’s only room for one in the tent.”

He’s right. No more undead show up before the sun does. But still, some haunted song begs remembrance in the back of Naomi’s brain.

A/N: The fic settles into a more linear progression (less time hoppy) going forward from this chapter. Hope you enjoyed, would love to hear if you did! <3 <3

Divider credit for before and immediately after story text to @firefly-graphics. Divider credit for scene breaks and banner below to @saradika-graphics.

[famewolf]

oh the hubris of not immediately washing the blanket I brought to our campsite ...

woke up to BUG BITES. and now spending the day washing and cleaning all our bedding since I threw the blanket on top of our bed last night

[vikintor]

hello, I just wanted to say your githyanki map sounds so interesting and cool! I'm currently obsessed with DnD and BG3, and I would love to contribute to this project!

The problem is I'm personally not familiar with making a sprite for a character, so how do I translate a BG3 character into a 500x by 500 pixel image? Is it ok if there's gameplay in the background?

I also am a bit lost to as the specifics. What kind of character do you want? What would fit with the story best? I have so meany character ideas it would really help if I knew the answer to these questions.

How much information do you want about an OC? Do you want different lines recorded depending on approval level? Do you want me to set up a quest, or a native, you've planes out?

Sorry, tend to ask way to many questions.

Hello, thank you, this makes me very happy.

"The problem is I'm personally not familiar with making a sprite for a character, so how do I translate a BG3 character into a 500x by 500 pixel image? Is it ok if there's gameplay in the background?"

Thanks for asking, I made a short guide on how I ported my character sprites (at the end of this post), unfortunately, that's the boring part of the process. I thought about cutting the backgrounds myself but I don't know yet how many githyes I will have to port (as I'm working on the project in my free time)

"I also am a bit lost to as the specifics. What kind of character do you want? What would fit with the story best? I have so meany character ideas it would really help if I knew the answer to these questions."

For now, I'm looking to add Githyanki/Githzerai Tav characters as NPCs like guest appearances (I do have plans to add a few characters from other races, but I already have the context on why they'll appear on a Githyanki Stronghold). Those special NPC's are static characters (like in daggerfall) the player can talk to. The scope of the game is very small, so they're kinda of a cardboard cutout with a dialogue tree.

The game is simple, just exploring the stronghold and talking to NPC's. In the beginning, these NPCs would be the Githyanki main characters I've played as on my BG3 "Githyanki-only party" playthroughs. But then I saw how much effort the Githyanki enjoyers put into their characters, so I thought that would be cool to open the possibility of adding Githyanki main characters played/created by other players, so the game could work as a museum when each NPC can celebrate part of this effort.

The context storywise on why there are so many Githyanki/Githzerai in the same spot in the game and why I'm mostly adding Gith Tavs is because the stronghold works as a sanctuary where Githyanki rebels and Gith refugees can hide, a place that has heavy ties with Sha'sal khou; a group of Githyanki that seeks to unify the gith races and assassinate the Queen. This is also the context of why the Githyanki and Githzerai tolerate each other in this place, as in typical circumstances they would kill each other.

"How much information do you want about an OC? Do you want different lines recorded depending on approval level? Do you want me to set up a quest, or a native, you've planes out?"

For now, I'm only using the 5 sprites and the answers the OC should give from the main post. Those answers will be what the OC will say when the player character asks them the questions from the post.

Because the scope still small I'm not adding quests besides some simple objectives related to why the main character woke on a Githyanki stronghold, and who saved her.

Recorded voice lines is not mandatory, nor highly recommended, as most of the NPCs won't have voice lines, just text. But if people want to send recorded voices, I recommend just the "greetings" message for now, which will be played when the player speaks to the NPC for the first time. But I can only use audio in OGG format, otherwise I run the risk of overloading the project.

oh, and the smol guide on how I got the sprites:

If it appear in low-res, I have it on my drive: https://drive.google.com/file/d/19dhUMKEi4RUXwB1u5iidECm81ueMYilY/view?usp=sharing

I'm also preparing my own submission for later, to work as an example:

[chaosteddybear]

Sasli

Information gathered and finalized

Playlist

Age: 35

Height: 5'2"

Pronouns: she

Sexuality: pan

Relationship style: anarchist, plays it by ear per person

(picrew)

Species: tiefling

Relationships:

BG3: Raphael (ssh)

Star signs: aries sun, pisces moon, sagittarius rising

Alignment: Chaotic Good. Freedom baybeeee. She will fight to defend it for herself or others she cares about (which is most people). Even to her own detriment, esp for someone her heart beats for, even if she's their target in the process.

Soul Coin: Vibrant light blue, kind of like a powder blue, shimmery, covered in charcoal. You'll feel static when you touch it.

Short Backstory:

She was raised by her tiefling dad among wood elves. Not a very safe place for someone with strong emotions. She feels much safer and at home leaning into her milder qualities - cuteness, for example.

Having not learned how to accept her more devilish parts, she has historically focused on trying hard not to let them shine so as not to stand out in a negative way - a feeling she still embodies as she gravitates towards people who have those characteristics so she can feel more comfortable herself.

Her mother was a cambion - a daughter of Glasya - uninterested in her and unimpressed by her life. Her tiefling (Levistus) father raised her but recently died, so she has no more ties to home and doesn't plan to return.

Goals: Now, she is on a path to learn about fiends. She knows all the information she gets from those she asks is biased but she prefers it that way anyway, so as to also get to know people themselves, hoping to make friends. Much more fun getting to know people while learning than studying books.

Fear: She is most afraid of hurting others. She sees herself as greedy and selfish and tries not to be impulsive, and treats others like they're made of glass. So when she gets comfortable and starts not doing that, she will reflect and regret if there's any sign she made a misstep

Food: Sasli loooooooooves frivolous food, hates eating for any reason other than enjoyment. Favorite dish is a plate full of whipped cream.

Misc Q&A answers, collected:

- Loves being referred to using embarrassing or humiliating yet affectionate pet names but won't tell you this.

- Sasli loves making connections with those that make her gut flutter. People that help her feel comfortable being who she is. She has many different types of relationships with different people she finds love within herself for in different ways.

- She is a serial hustler. Odd jobs. She moves around a lot so like in our world she'd probably be a doordasher, handyman, and probably one or two other things rolling in and out depending what's paying.

- Sasli thinks the blood war is silly, can't demons and devils just get along? Ugh!

- She actually loves having her boundaries tested especially if it's deliberate by the other person in an attempt to learn how to interact with her, which she would feel honored by. She would feel so safe and happy if she tries to set one and the other person actually accepts it. Swoon, Sasli!

- Conversely, Sasli is hyper afraid of crossing others' boundaries. Being so open, she has a history of misjudging what is ok versus not.

Unfortunately her fear of crossing others' boundaries sometimes makes her seem cold towards people she ought to get along very well with, in fear of hurting them. She is particularly comfortable and attracted to those who handle their boundaries very well and keep her in check because it helps her know she isn't a bull in a giftshop like she was in that forest.

She is a huge sub but will service top when asked, like a good sub hehe. But she's so insecure about doing it when not warranted that even if it seems obvious that it's wanted, she won't engage unless specifically asked (or she knows them well enough which would take a while).

- Her dice would be simple, brown, wooden. At one point she painted them with deep red paint, tracing the lines of the creases and the numbers delicately. With her tongue sticking out for focus of course. But that's faded now.

- There is a string of frustrated people who thought she was sending them mixed signals because she flirted with them then stopped when she felt it wasn't reciprocated and she ought to stop, so she did, and they thought she was a tease.

- Sasli is insecure about her existence. She always feels like she's intruding. She notices every little slight, imagines some, and convinces herself everybody just wants her gone. Mix and Turgi know this well and go out of their way to share how happy they are she's with them often.

- With respect to lying, Sasli would be most likely to lie about her past or any negative emotions, in an attempt to protect the other person. Usually she just tries to be vague and brush over it but sometimes little lies feel needed. She hates being pitied because it makes her untrusting of people's kindness.

If you want to intimately learn about her, she'd need to feel like you wouldn't be led to be falsely nice to her anyway, wouldn't be negatively affected yourself by sad stories yourself, or at least wouldn't let it affect how you treat her (comforting in the moment would be fine but even that would make her feel a little guilty). She'd need to know that you actually want to know and care.

- She has a collection of rocks. Some of them might be valuable but she has no idea which, she just likes to look at and touch them.

Some rocks have stories where she remembers where she got them or who gave them to her, and she loves thinking about them and remembering where they came from.

Turgi will often sit with her and help her set her intentions and pick rocks to match them, which she will then carry in her pocket and use as inspiration to live intentionally. Maybe someday she will get them put in jewelry...

She doesn't really own much else of note. While she enjoys nice or interesting fabrics that feel good against her skin, she is happy to say hello and goodbye to things and enjoy them while they're there.

-To drink, she likes rum most - spiced rum, ideally. And in a mixed drink she would love it spicy but not diluted. Without alcohol, she likes cold teas, unsweetened.

- Love Languages: loves to receive info dumping but only after she cares about you or if it's about something she's interested in, and it'll take her even longer to do it to you but if she does she finds it very intimate. Sasli is also a huge fan of Deep Pressure (crush her soul back into her body) and Penguin Pebbling (expand her rock collection) and she would love to do the same back :3

She also will require words of affirmation if she's going to be comfortable around you, and gives them liberally, but they're more of a necessity than a love language because they don't affect her love but rather her comfort.

Sasli lives for physical touch. She gets such a rush from touch with a stranger, especially if it's held and they don't back away from her. Just the small intimacy gives her warmth.

- If she raided my closet she would grab my finest lingerie. But she would keep those for only her favorite partners prob, the ones who really deserve it! She'd prioritize my flowy dresses with very low cut necklines 😌 the ones I'd never wear to work of course. And she'd twirl in them, a lot.

- Sasli thinks jealousy is a necessary evil, it's not great but it's definitely natural and acceptable. She finds it endearing when someone trusts her enough to show their jealousy, and she would love to comfort them if they matter to her and try to help them through it. She has a high tolerance for jealousy in others and will accept it being handled badly but she'd prefer to help.

She definitely loves turning jealousy into a kink.

As far as her own jealousy, when she feels it she notices right away and acknowledges it as a sign of something not being right. She will think and reflect on what's out of place so she can either address it or choose not to address it (in cases where she can't address it she will try to seek Turgi for some help accepting it or changing her situation).

If she's feeling a void...she will fill it.

[dont-give-money-to-jkrowling]

i think it's very interesting to observe the way video games are adapting to trans bodies because as more games (like baldur's gate 3) allow you to have breasts, hips, a dick, etc... regardless of gender, or have trans traits like top surgery scars (like the sims) i find myself wondering what my ideal version of trans bodies in games could be.

and i think one big part of the answer for me is that most character creators treat whatever trans body you'll make as a unchanging, "finished" body. you can have top surgery scars but not get top surgery on a character with breasts. your character can be transfem but her body will remain static instead of gradually changing like it does on hrt.*

and i'd just love to play a game where i get to change my pc's body as i go, as my own understanding of them changes, as they are changed by their stories. i'd love for that to be built in the story rather than something i have to do through cheat code or the likes. i'd love for npcs to comment on the changes like how sims can comment on you getting married or promoted. i love being trans! i'd love if it could be part of my pc's story rather than just part of their appearance!!!

*i am aware this isn't restricted to trans related cosmetics; games like bg3 allow you to have tattoos but don't have a tattoo artist npc to get more (as far as i've seen).