#and also wyll was right behind us THE WHOLE TIME

[hhh-hemogoblin]

Warmth

Summary: There are several bedrolls but Astarion makes his way to yours. Not for the reasons you'd expect, though. Set at the start of act 2, only a few days after entering the Shadow-Cursed Lands and its lethal climate.

Pairing: Astarion x gn!Reader

Rating: T, no warnings

Word count: 1.4k

Tags: fluff, comfort, pre-relationship, developing feelings, more than friends (?), banter, wholesome, sfw

A/n: So uhh, my hand slipped?? For the purpose of this short and sweet brabble, elves sort of sleep. Yes, Astarion is a diva but what's new?? Any constructive feedback is welcome :)

All was quiet at camp tonight. You'd had dinner. So had Karlach, Wyll, Lae'Zel, Shadowheart and Halsin. Gale had had his fill, courtesy of an old amulet that you knew you'd have no use for. Even Astarion had been fed.

The hunger was sated, at least to some extent, and after a long day of walking, climbing and crouching, you had all agreed to call it a night. Not because you didn't have any ideas for entertainment, but rather because the sheer exhaustion had rendered everyone absolutely useless.

The flames of the campfire were slowly dying, leaving only glowing embers that emitted a last bit of warmth in the cool night. While some retreated to their tents, others had spread their bedrolls out around the campfire, to try to warm themselves up enough to sleep for the night. You had also decided to remain by the fire, hoping to be able to fall asleep despite the crisp breeze.

You snuggled into your bedroll and got comfortable. It barely took any time for you to fall asleep, with Shadowheart's soft and regular snoring breathing soothing you like a lullaby. Your rest was cut short by a sudden chill in your bones. You woke up, freezing, shivering. As you opened your eyes, you saw that the embers had finally died down completely and turned to cold ashes. Everyone around you seemed to be sleeping deeply, a regenerative rest they had well deserved.

Your eyes still felt heavy from awaking so suddenly, your head was drowsy... All you wanted to do was to fall asleep again. Just a few more hours, just to have enough energy on the next day...

But the cold was seeping through the fabric: your nose and ears, your feet, your lower back... Everything felt cold.

Ever since entering the Shadow-cursed Lands, the cold was always hanging in the air: an unnatural feeling gnawing at your bones, clinging to your skin.

You tried to curl up into a ball, to keep all the warmth in one place and avoid the freezing feeling from spreading further. You weren't sure it was working. You tied your shawl closer around your head. You turned, multiple times. You tried to keep your eyes shut, to pretend to sleep. But the cold only grew stronger.

All of a sudden, you felt a hand on your mouth, preventing you from screaming. Even in your shock, you couldn't even gasp. You couldn't see who it was, as they were crouching behind your back. But you knew. Only one person could move so quietly.

His hand, which was usually even cooler than the night air, was almost as warm as your skin. With his other hand, he pulled your shoulder and made you roll on your back. His piercing gaze was anything but calm.

"Shhhh. Don't be scared, it's me. Can I take my hand off? You're not gonna scream now, right? No need to alert the whole camp..."

You simply nodded. Your heart was still racing, but you knew you were safe, it was just Astarion. It might've been racing for other reasons now.

He slowly removed his hand, still scowling.

"Is everything alright?" You asked him. There must've been a reason for this behaviour.

"Can't sleep? Yeah, me neither..."

"Well, I've noticed. I can't sleep either, darling. And you know why? Because you've been tossing and turning and shifting all this time!" he whisper-shouted.

"Do you know how incredibly loud sheets can be, when someone is rolling over in their bed every thirty seconds?!", he added.

Even if you were wide awake now, his obviously rhetorical question didn't earn an answer from you. You just looked at him, dumbfounded.

"Hang on... Are you seriously blaming me for trying to sleep??", you asked him, your tone full of reproach.

"I'm blaming you for making noise and disturbing my slumber!" he retorted.

"Well, Astarion, I'm sorry your ears are so sensitive! As you can see, no one else is awake at this ungodly hour, complaining about how much noise I allegedly make while trying to sleep!!" This time, you were whisper-shouting, eyeing the other companions, who seemed to hear none of what was happening at your bedroll.

Astarion looked around, still brooding. It was true, everyone was sleeping, still. He decided they didn't deserve to be robbed of the rest they so cruelly needed. He sat down next to you.

You sat up, resting on your elbows and looked up to him. He seemed to have regained some composure, he looked... Lost in thoughts, perhaps?

"Look... I'm sorry." You started, once again not knowing what you were apologising for, a recurring theme with him.

A fresh gust of wind made your skin crawl as you tried to cover yourself some more.

"I can't sleep because I'm fucking freezing!"

"Oh, and here I thought you were fighting demons in your head alone again", he answered plainly.

His tone made you feel guilty. You thought that perhaps, he hadn't been able to sleep for other reasons, prior to you waking up.

"Were you?", you asked tentatively.

"No, I wasn't. And if I had been, I wouldn't have talked about it with you! I would've talked with... Uhm... With..." He stopped. Then chuckled to himself.

He was lying again, there was no one. Or so he thought...

"Well, if anything comes up, you can talk to me next time. But maybe not necessarily in the middle of the night. If it can be avoided..." You tried, with a shy smile.

He looked back to you, his eyes less hopeless now, his smile almost earnest.

"So... You're cold right? I know what that's like... Move over, make some space!" He whispered, in a commanding tone.

"What??"

"Well, let me in!" He added, opening the side of your bedroll.

"We won't be suffering from the cold as much if we share our heat", he explained very factually. Gale was starting to rub off on him, you feared.

As you still didn't really react, he added "Don't be coy now, it's not like we haven't been this close before..." The cold from the open blanket, or perhaps his sly grin, made you shiver. And you complied, making space for him under the sheets.

"You'll be able to sleep because you'll be less cold, and I'll finally be able to sleep because your restlessness won't bother me anymore."

"Right. Much better, isn't it?"

He would never have admitted out loud but he was grateful for the warmth. Other than being cold, the nights were lonely and unrelentless lately.

"Good night now, I hope you fall asleep quickly, for both of our sakes!"

You smiled. Astarion was practically insulting you to your face, but you simply smiled. Despite his harsh words, he was still sharing a bedroll with you, after all...

"Good night, Astarion. May some rest help that awful temper of yours", you retorted with a chuckle.

You heard him scoff in the back of your neck but didn't pay it much thought. His body was now sheltering yours and you already felt much more at peace. Perhaps the warmth came from the faint body heat he radiated, perhaps it came from within you: in spite of everything he was and said, you did like having him around...

Quiet as a corpse, Astarion was probably drifting off, or so you hoped. In a last effort to get more comfortable in the tight bedroll, he slinked his arm around you, pulling you slightly closer to him. And so you fell asleep in his arms, rather quickly too.

You woke up as the sun was just starting to rise on the horizon. You opened your eyes and saw that none of your companions had awoken yet.

You looked down towards your hand and saw that Astarion's fingers were laced with yours. You hadn't noticed at all during the night but it instantly made you feel more comfortable. Still, you felt the need to get up.

"Are you awake?" you asked, knowing that he probably was. "I'm going to go eat something now."

"Or you could stay..." He answered in the faintest whisper. He still hadn't let go of your hand. There, as the Morninglord graced the world with his radiance again, you decided that you could, indeed, stay just a little longer, for both of your sakes, and enjoy the comfort of this quiet morning together.

Awesome dividers by @cafekitsune

[the-magpie-collective]

Let's talk about how Ulder Ravengard was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad year when he finally runs into Wyll, for the first time in seven years, and his son is now definitely maybe sort of a devil?

Look, D&D cannon is absolutely wild and inconsistent but I need ya'll to know approximately how many horrible things befell Ulder Ravengard in the few months right before the events of Baldur's Gate 3.

Ulder Ravengard goes to Elturel. This is fairly normal. He often had to travel as a Duke for diplomatic reasons to nearby cities. Sure, the Vanthampurs' had their fingers pulling the strings this time to ensure he went, but that is also, unfortunately, normal. And it's not like anyone else can go in his place. Who would he send? Portyr whose only use is as a windsock? Stelmane who is suffering from the long term effects of a "stroke"? Vanthampur?

(Portyr, Stelmane, and Vanthampur being the other four dukes at the time)

So he goes and it's supposed to just be another diplomatic trip to a neighboring city. Except exactly nothing goes to plan. The Vanthampurs have made an alliance with devils and a deal with the leaders of Elturel to orchestrate the fall of the entire city into Avernus. Ulder Ravengard is there with several of the Flaming Fist when the entire city is plunged into hell. And no, Avernus is not some sort of cushy vacation spot. There's a reason why Karlach would rather die than go back. There's a reason why it is called hell.

It's not hard to imagine he watches many of the Flaming Fist get slaughtered. People he's worked with for years, maybe even decades. People he called friends. Not hard to think that he watches innocents suffer as they are preyed upon by devils and demons, children slaughtered in the streets all while he is helpless to stop it from happening. It's not out of the question to think this is possibly one of the worst times in his life. Oh, Ulder Ravengard has been through numerous disasters before. He's watched countless friends die. But when has he ever been so helpless as the time he was caught in an entire city of relative innocents as it is dragged down to the hells?

It gets worse.

You see, Ulder Ravengard is put into a catatonic state by the Demon Lord Baphomet using the the Helm of Torm's sight. The Helm of Torm's sight is a holy item that allows the user to commune with Torm (god of Duty, Loyalty, etc). In a last ditch effort to save the city of Elturel, Ulder Ravengard attempted to get to the Helm in the hopes that it could be used to fight back. Instead he gets to watch as his hope is perverted and used against him. He gets to see himself fall helpless and under control of the demon while his men are slaughtered in the attack.

We don't know how Ulder Ravengard escapes this situation (*cough* play Descent into Avernus *cough*) but somehow he does. After weeks of fighting in the hells (maybe even months?) and narrowly escaping with his life and mind intact Ulder Ravengard is hurrying back to Baldur's Gate as quickly as he can. He knows the city is in danger, whether the Vanthampurs' succeeded at seizing power or not. And on the way home he gets ambushed by fucking goblins and drow working together. He gets to see as some of the few survivors who made it through their time in Avernus with him, get killed. He gets to see his close friend and advisor Counselor Florrick get trapped in a burning building.

Then he's kept imprisoned, and likely harassed, in the dungeons of Moonrise towers. All he hears is 'the Absolute' this and 'the Absolute' that. Then what does he know but apparently the mastermind behind this whole thing is fucking Gortash, the slimy counselor he has spent the past while doing his best to ignore because even if he didn't like him and thought most of his ideas were bad he couldn't actually do anything to get rid of him. And then Orin—a fucking Bhaalspawn—uses him for a chair while Ketheric Thorm goes on a whiny oh-woe-is-me rant and Gortash sticks a tadpole in his eye all while mocking him.

He then gets to spend the next while under control of the Absolute. We don't know how unpleasant this is, but we do know that when the Absolute controls someone directly their brain starts bleeding so severely they collapse and die after less than a minute :) and when he's finally freed from the Absolute he has chronic migraines so yeah not fucking pleasant :)))))

And then his son rescues him. Yay. His son who he strove to teach right from wrong all those years. His son to whom he imparted the four pillars: strategy, courage, justice, insight. His son, who, despite everything he has ever taught him chose to throw all of his promise away to a devil. And he doesn't know why and maybe he hopes that there was a good reason behind it all, but he does know that he lost any chance he had to ever be able to fully trust his son again because he doesn't know the terms of the pact and he can't know the full terms of the pact but he does know that his son is now under the control of a devil.

And please just take a moment to think about how terrifying that would be. This isn't something that an 'I'm sorry' can fix. Wyll says it himself: it would be easier to drink the Chionthar down, drop by drop, than to break a devil's pact. The chances of Wyll ever being freed from his pact are slim to none and the damage he could do in the mean time is immeasurable. Ulder Ravengard has the weight of an entire city's well being on his shoulders. I am not saying he made the right choice, but there is a reason why Wyll says it was the only choice he could make. He told Wyll to go. Maybe out of shame, maybe out of fear, maybe out of the hope that his son would do less damage far away than if he were to stay. We don't know why. Maybe he regretted it, maybe he never looked back.

But he's been having one of the worst fucking years of his life and most of it is due either directly to devils or to people conspiring with devils. His mind has been scraped raw by the Absolute. He's injured and if you broke Wyll's pact he was just attacked by another devil and exploding spiders. If you didn't break Wyll's pact, he just saw evidence that Wyll is still in leagues with a devil, after all Mizora states very clearly that she always fulfills her promises as she saves him.

Oh and if you didn't kill Karlach, Wyll is a devil now (*techinically he is still human, just with some devilish features and will be regonized as infernal in origin by the spell Detect Good and Evil, but Ulder Ravengard doesn't have the insight to game mechanics that we have and may or may not be aware that Wyll turning into a devil is a lot less probable than him just being made to look like one.)

So maybe, it's just a little understandable that instead of greeting Wyll with joy or gratitude at being saved the first thing he thinks, the only thing he can think of is: what fresh hell is he in for now?

(And maybe ya'll can be a little more understanding of Wyll choosing to forgive his father too. I don't think it's out of character for Wyll. I don't think he's ignoring everything wrong with what his father did. I don't think Wyll is a bad person for choosing to forgive his father or that anger would have been the right choice for him. It's far, far more complicated than that.)

[baldurs-gape]

Silence

There was a lot Cazador had done over two hudred years. A lot he had taken away, beaten out of or simply tainted to the point that Astarion no longer took pleasure in something. But the one thing he never could fully extinguish was Astarion's tendency to be vocal about anything and everything, usually in the form of complaining.

The tadpole and the sudden freedom was difficult to trust so Astarion kept to safe habits. He didn't miss the appreciative looks his newfound companions sent his way. As little as he was worth, Astarion knew that his value lay in his looks. Cazador had been kind enough to teach him that, had made sure he was well-built, always looked appealing to as many as possible. The price for failing was high enough that Astarion also put a lot of care into learning how to look his best.

"We're not seriously having onion, cheese and the red swill you call wine again, are we?" Astarion sighed as the group settled around the campfire.

"Don't like it, don't eat it." Lae'zel shrugged and glared at him. "Good luck foraging in the forest in the dark for something better."

Seizing the permission, Astarion sneered back as he stood up. "Fine. I'm sure I can do better." He did. Drained a whole boar and spent half the night on his back, so full that his stomach actually hurt as it stretched around so much blood.

It was the start of something. Insidious and slow in a way Cazador never had the patience for, not when it came to Astarion. The phrase "shut up, Astarion" became a daily motto to the point the others were beginning to chuckle about it. He'd heard it plenty enough before, Cazador often told him to quit his whinging. The other spawn were also prone to ignoring him. But that had been a different situation. Despite living through it for so long, Astarion knew, deep down, that it wasn't right. Cazador was just one man, one tyrant who controlled Astarion like a puppet, while the other spawn were all bitter, scared and trying to survive. To be told to shut up by them was like being stung by a wasp and being surprised about it. With his newfound allies though? Astarion had no such excuses to hide behind.

"All I'm saying is that we could go back to camp for a nice rest," he grumbled.

"Shut up and keep moving." There was a growl to Wyll's voice as he marched on at a relentless pace. It was all very well that he could continue but Astarion was tired, hungry and not in the mood to play pretend being a hero. Alas, outnumbered as he was because the others didn't slow down either, Astarion had to keep walking or risk being left behind. As it was, he didn't dare leave the safety of the group, fear of Cazador finding him was still too high.

The longer he spent at camp, the more chances he had to feed, especially as the others stopped paying him so much attention.

"Freedom suits you," Shadowheart called as he washed his shirt. "Made you softer."

Glancing down, Astarion had to think very quickly to hide his true feelings. "Darling, are you calling me fat?"

It was true though, there was a bit of give to his stomach, no longer flat and the muscles clrealy visible under his skin. Cazador would have called him fat for that, undesirable and worthless. Maybe the rest of the group were less interested in him because he wasn't appealing anymore and Astarion grit his teeth in resolve so hard that he almost missed Shadowheart's reply.

"Oh do be quiet. You know what I mean."

He didn't though. Or rather, he did but wished he didn't. That night Astarion didn't go out to hunt. He went hungry the next day. And the next.

By the time his true nature came to light, Astarion was back to his usual self. It was probably what had saved him. As Cazador used to say, it would have been such a shame to rid the world of such beauty, even if it couldn't keep quiet. Part of Astarion hated that Cazador was right, people really were less likely to murder the beautiful.

In the Underdark Shadowheart had turned to him with a lewd smile. "This place suits you. Perhaps it's part of being a creature of the night. It's always night here."

And it was desolate as fuck, devoid of any living creature. So was the Shadowcursed Lands. Astarion was hungry. So very hungry.

"I just want a small nibble," he sighed. "Not even enough for anyone to notice."

"We all need to be on top form, soldier," Karlach muttered. "And it's not like any of us are feeling satiated by any sense of the word. You're not that special."

No, of course Astarion wasn't special. They were all hungry, tired and scared. It was nothing out of the ordinary compared to the last two hunderd years.

Coated in grotesque slime wasn't Astarion's idea of a pleasant time. He wipes ineffectively at his face and flicked what he could to the ground.

"Ruined my shirt. Ruined my hair."

"And you're ruining what little I have left of good will," Gale spat angrily. "Can't you just be quiet for once. I get it, you're a special little vampire who lived in a castle and now has to slum it with the rest of us. But Mystra have mercy, you're making the rest of us feel even worse."

"At least I'm making you feel something. Better than being a forgotten, burnt out waste of talent." Hurt had Astarion lashing out. He hadn't even been talking to Gale, just muttering to himself about his own misfortune. But Gale made a very good point. If he wasn't having a positive impact on the group then he risked being left behind. The more he saw of the world, the more Astarion knew for sure that he wouldn't last long out there on his own. Cazador's spies were everywhere and it was just a matter of time before he was dragged back and punished. It was better to stay quiet and appease his protectors than risk such a thing.

Lifting the curse meant Halsin joined them in their camp. Even stranger, he offered himself up as a meal for Astarion. Hunger outweighed the worry of cost. Astarion knew what he had to offer and acted accordingly. After only a few sips he licked the wound clean and shut before kneeling back.

"You can take more," Halsin offered with heavy lidded eyes. "Don't go hungry."

"I've taken all I need." The lie rolled off Astarion's lips as he patted his flat stomach. Under his shirt his muscles were outlined once again, exactly as they should be. "You've done me a great favour, I haven't had anything as delicious as you in a long time, if ever. How could I ever repay you?"

Halsin smiled up at him. This was it, this was where Astarion traded his body for survival again. Despite knowing this was the outcome when he accepted Halsin's blood, he still dreaded it.

"I was hoping to hear more about your adventures."

The absurdness of the request had a laugh burst from Astarion before he could cover it with something more airy and appealing. "Darling, if you want bedtime stories then Wyll's your man. My talents involve my mouth but a lot less talking."

Still smiling, Halsin shook his head. "Maybe another night then, when you're more comfortable to share some memories."

Such words lingered on Astarion's mind. He hadn't ever been wanted for conversational company. Usually as long as he had one hole stuffed, him companion(s) didn't want anything coherent out of him. Still, it made him hope which Astarion hated so much. But if Halsin was interested then maybe he could try it. Settling by the fire as everyone ate, Astarion listened, waited for his opportunity.

"That ended my attempts at learning to keep the shape of a rat," Gale finished his story and the whole group laughed. "Tara was mortified and I couldn't get the whiskers to retract for a week!"

"Rats were one of the constants in Cazador's castle, no matter how hard he tried to eradicate them." It was a smooth transition, at least Astarion thought so.

"Urgh, spare us the woe and misery," Karlach groaned. "Can't we have just one night where we don't talk about the shit things in life? Let us have a bit of fun!"

Looking around the fire, Astarion saw various nods and heard murmurs of agreement. He knew when he was beaten and Cazador had taught him well. Averting his eyes, he slouched a little, nonchalant yet deferential. "My apologies, I didn't realise my stories about training rats to do circus tricks would be so depressing." Standing up, he gave the group a hollow smile. "Please, enjoy your evening of careless fun away from reality."

As he walked away he heard mutters of "didn't have to take it so personally" and "what a little bitch". The rest of the words he tuned out, not needing to etch into his brain yet more derogatory comments to harmonise with Cazador's words. Walking past his tent, Astarion made his way away from camp, into the dark wilderness. Plopping down on a mound at the edge of a small clearing, he closed his eyes. This was fine. He had changed to suit Cazador's tastes, he could do it again. Not overnight, he needed to learn exactly what was needed of him.

The fact a bear lumbered up next to him should have been a shock. Instead, Astarion stared at it and wondered what he'd taste like to a bear. However, rather than attack, the bear shifted and Halsin stood there.

"Apologies if I startled you, it's easier to find people in the dark as a bear."

"Nothing to apologise for, I should have been paying more attention. Did you need something."

Settling at the base of the mound, Halsin gazed up at the stars. "I was intrigued by rats and circus tricks."

A bitter laugh trickled out of Astarion. "Darling, I did no such thing." Leaning forward, he teased as if imparting some great secret. "Karlach was right, I was going to say how rats all tasted different based on what they'd last eaten. And how Gale likely still tasted just as vile in rat form as in human form. That orb of his certainly sours his appeal."

He didn't expect Halsin to laugh brightly. "I would have loved to have seen his face at hearing that. Do you think Karlach would taste like a fiery pepper?"

Something like delight briefly flitted over Astarion's face as Halsin so easily picked up the thread.

"Well, you're earthy and rich. I think she would certainly have a kick but more like a prank candy. Shadowheart would be a fine aged brandy that has started to turn so it just ever so slightly bitter."

"Lae'zel would taste like pickles!" Halsin blurted out with a wide smile. "And Wyll would be water." It had Astarion actually grinning even as Halsin continued, "My apologies, I do not have the poetic skills you harbour. Leather shoes or wooden clogs are about as creative as I can get with descriptors."

"And yet you're all the more compelling for your upfront honesty. Like a cool breeze on a hot summer night, refreshing yet also mysterious."

The way Halsin flushed was a delight. Without thinking too much, Astarion gave up his perch in favour of scooching down to sit next to Halsin. Their shoulders bumped together and Astarion stayed quiet. He could learn what Halsin wanted him to be. But something told him that all Halsin wanted him to be was himself. A terrifying prospect yet Astarion found himself looking forward to finding out who he really was.

[imperfection-in-one-human]

The odd one.

Tav x Everyone

Warnings: depressions ; self harming behaviour ; bad english ; bad written lol ; im not good at writing endings ngl ; self doubts ; thoughts about suicide and even mentions ; descriptions of wounds ; teeny tiny bit of fluff ; drama ; angst ; idk poly relationship?

Note: hello everyone who thinks this is gonna be good lol. Its just a little drabble i really wanted to write but thats like my first fic/drabble ever so please be kind :') still i hope you enjoy that small thingy. Also i used they/them as tavs pronouns and theres no specific description to their look. Also there might be typos etc. English is not my native language!

If someone has to describe tav than they would probably take the word "odd". Odd because they were so clumsy that it was nothing new when they tripped over their own feet or stumble right into a trap, indicators where most started to think that they're absolutely not capable of fighting or at least not being good at it. Most would think that they're just gonna stumble into sword, or spells, and call it a day. But, much to everyones suprises, it wasnt like that. Tav was rather good at slaying things, beheading goblins or punch someone so hard that they're loosing foot - they were even good at taking hits until their nose run bloody and their lips were chapped, even bruised. The description of "odd' was perfect for them and still, it seems that there were even more things about them that made them so weird. Not only had they a habit of not treating their wounds probably, no, they also tried to downplay them and saying that they are not as bad as you think it is. Even when shadowheart tried to heal a claffing wound on their arm they just tried to get away from her healing spell - something about "dont waste it in me shadowheart, keep it until someone really needs it. Wyll got wounded too". It was weird but no one really questioned it, they shoved it onto the fact that tav was indeed a very selfless person. Always trying to do something good or even trying to give most of their being to people so that they didnt have to suffer - may it be a healing potion, a weapon or even the safe space behind a wall. Tav would always give up things like that, taking hits for every companion they got ans smile at them afterwards with reassuring words because "it doesnt hurt that much! Dont you worry!"

It was only time later when they found out the truth and its all because of that artist. Someone who they thought they're never gonna see ever again but here he was with a ghost in front of him and said ghost was just so mad at him that everyone was ready again to fight but instead they got to hear the whole story and when the ghost said why she was dead tavs eyes got dull for a second.

A second where it felt as if the ocean crashed right onto them, waves of unspoken sadness and a hidden longing no one wanted a admit, tidal waves who threaten to consume every last single bit of them, swallowing them whole and keeping them right into their embrace. It was as if someone spoke the right words for a curse to be lifted, a lingering curse everyone knew that it existed but no one wanted to admit. It was only then where everyone kind of knew why tav did things the way they did, why they never quite let their wounds heal or reopening them again in a battle. Why they never quite cared enough about themself to even try to heal anything about them. Why they never really took onto the pretty words everyone said to them in and out of camp, why they shied away from any ounce of love even though every single one loved them with such a burning passion that it would burn them and they would happily accept it. They would love to crumble under that heat and still they never really got it, of course they exchanged small little affecrionate gestures like hugs, cuddles or kisses on the cheek but it never seemed to go further than that. They knew that their tav was in shatters and pieces, still they tried to but them back together.. it just seemed that they never quite made it. As if it they were million miles away even though tav was right infront of them. Still that didnt stopped any of them to express their love for their leader, there was still hope that one day they would get into that broken little heart. Maybe they just needed time? Maybe love wouldnt heal them completely?

Maybe everything came into a full picture right here and then even though it was just a small second. After that incident everyone went back to camp where the inevitable came - all of them wanted to know what was going on but no one really dared to ask. It was such a delicate topic, they were scared that their beloved leader would built up even more walls, what they didnt know was the fact how much tavs heart ached - how much they yearned for the love they could have and even the relationship what was right infront of them. The only thing holding them back was fear. Fear that every single of them would see them as they see themself. That they would leave them with their heart in their hands and crush it like fallen leaves from a tree. They were so love and touched starved sometimes it felt like they were going crazy! They wanted all of this to be real and still there was a small voice in their heads telling them that they deserved none of this, that they are not important enough that someone would even care when they were gone. Just died in a battle or got swept away from the absolute. That all of them just love them because they were travelling together and as soon as the journey ends they going seperate ways. Astarion would live the life he wanted, karlach would get her own small home again, laezel fullfilling her wish of ascending, wyll roaming the coast, gale going back to tara and his tower, shadowheart living with her parents and halsin going back into the shadowlands so he can be with his old and beloved friend. That sounded real. That sounded like it would happen and not their little dream of living with them until death itselfs collects them. Still.. they dreamed about that little fantasy everyday, selfishly wanting that and nothing more. Just living in peace with every person they love.. then why does their heart hurt so much as soon as they're showing love for them? Is it too good to be true? Were they scared? Probably everything of the above.

So they really needed to talk to them all of them. And they're gonna do that, letting all of them into that broken heart of theirs and allowing themself to be happy?

... maybe if they let a little bit of sunshine into their pierced heart they may allow themself to dream a little longer with the. To accept the love they wanted to give. Maybe it wasnt such a bad wish after all?

[cactusnymph]

for the touches ask game, how about "3. hugging while twirling around"? for anyone!

Fuck, she's on fire.

Not literally this time, but emotionally. She can touch people again. She can go around and shove people and clap her hand on their backs and kiss and hug and fuck and punch people in the face in a friendly bar brawl without making their face look like a medium raw beef steak.

Fuck. Yes.

She feels the intense need to kiss Dammon square on the mouth but she hugs him instead and hoists him up and holds him way longer than might be appropriate but he chuckles and hugs her back and it's the fucking best feeling in the world.

Gods, it's so good to be alive.

"This is the best day. This is. The best. Day!", she exclaims, over and over again and beams. She can pick flowers. She could scritch a dog behind its ears right now! Holy shit!

The possibilities are endless and Karlach feels happiness bubble inside her like thick lava, ready to burst out of the ground. She's a literal volcano of happiness. Fuck yeah.

Karlach hugs everyone. She hugs Gale and Tav and Shadowheart, then she hugs Dammon again, then she rolls around in some grass just for good measure. It doesn't leave a burning trail of ash and embers behind and Karlach is so fucking stoked she almost starts crying.

"Oh my gods, I need to find someone to spoon tonight. I'd spoon the fucking Elderbrain to be totally honest with you. I am so ready to cuddle. Holy shit!"

"Please don't spoon the Elderbrain", Gale says weakly and Tav laughs so hard that they choke on their own spit and Shadowheart has to use a spell to make them stop heaving. Karlach loves them all so much. She loves her friends and the whole world and Dammon and this grass tickling her skin and the feeling of the wind in her face.

It wouldn't even matter if she died tomorrow because she's so fucking happy to be in this very moment. It would all have been worth it just for this.

Karlach whistles and sings the entire time they walk back to camp, from time to time grabbing Tav's or Shadowheart's hands to hold and swing between them like a happy child.

First thing she'll do back at camp is find Scratch and pat him for half an hour. At least that's what Karlach thinks until they arrive and the first thing she sees is Astarion and Wyll standing next to each other as Astarion works to fix a rip on Wyll's shirt.

The heart in her chest that's not really a heart roars with affection and she loves Scratch, she loves him so much, but she also loves these men and now she can touch them.

Fuck.

Karlach doesn't think twice, she barrels forward, jumping over the campfire with ease past Lae'zel who's reading a weird metal disc with a furrowed brow and then she's there, startling both of them.

"What in the—", Astarion starts and drops his needle but he can't finish his question because Karlach already picked them both up. Gods, they're both so skinny. She smushes them together and laughs and maybe she also cries a little as she turns around with both of them in her arms, their feet dangling off the ground.

Astarion protests and struggles against her grip like a grumpy cat while Wyll laughs with her.

"It worked!", he exclaims, his voice as excited as Karlach feels.

"It worked", she cries and hugs them tighter, turning two more times before setting them back down and taking a step back. Gods, it's hard to let them go. Fuck she wants to hug them again immediately.

"Well", Astarion says and pretends to dust off his shirt, his face purposefully nonchalant but his cheeks all flushed, "I see your little outing was successful, darling."

"Fuck yes it was. I will spoon you so hard tonight", she says and pumps her fist in the air. Astarion blinks while Wyll chuckles.

"Spoon?", he echoes. Karlach grins so hard that her cheeks hurt.

"Yeah. Spooning. Cuddling. Holding tenderly. Whatever you wanna call it", she says and nods before twirling around by herself again. "I can hug people again!"

"Ugh. Fine, I guess", Astarion says, doing his best to sound as if he's doing Karlach a huge favor. Wyll shakes his head but he's still smiling.

"That means you won't get cold tonight, my pointy-eared friend", Wyll says. Astarion narrows his eyes at Wyll.

"I am dead. I don't get cold", he proclaims and stalks off, leaving Wyll's shirt unfinished. Karlach beams at him as Wyll hugs her again.

"I am so happy for you", he whispers and she holds him tight.

"Me too, Wyll. Me too."

feel free to send me more of these <3

[20skai]

Steady Love

Wyll x Tav OC (Nemeia)

Summary: After returning from Avernus, Wyll and Nemeia throw a party in their new home. But Wyll wants to spend time with his wife while the party is still in full swing.

Tags: smut, fluff, teasing, voyeur kink (?), voice kink, dirty talk, PIV

Word count: 2410

A/N: I want to thank @razrogue for planting the seed to write this fic and @mooshywrites for setting the stage in a headcanon they made. As well as @foreverxdauntless for always being wonderful and beta reading my trash fics 😂🥰

MDNI

The party was in full swing and Wyll had just finished regaling Astarion and Minsc about his adventures in Avernus with Karlach. He was pretty proud of how they finally found the forge Zariel tried to hide away to keep Karlach from coming back to Faerûn. Though it had only been eight months since their last party after defeating the Netherbrain another was needed after he, Karlach and Nemeia came back from Avernus for good. Being with friends in his and Nemeia’s home just outside the Gate made this reunion even better. Everyone was happy to be with one another again and even Lae’zel, though still an Astral projection, couldn’t hide her happiness being amongst friends again.

Wyll may have also been a bit tipsy, telling the story which earned him a small shake of the head Nemeia gave as she walked away and left him and Karlach to it. Though she did still give a smile and a peck to his cheek which in turn caused him to flush a tad.

Wanting to find his love his eyes roved across their home and he finally spotted her. She was on the upstairs overlook smiling happily as she observed everyone and their merriment. Nemeia was wearing a simple dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. The soft lighting inside emphasized on the contours of her face and the purple highlights of her hair, she looked devastatingly beautiful to Wyll. It made his heart clench in that good way that always happened when he was around her.

But there was an ache developing, just a bit south. He was glad there was no one around to see his want for his wife, because otherwise he’d have an embarrassing situation he would have to explain to his friends.

He walked upstairs and swaggered over to her and she turned, beaming at him. The way her smile lights up her whole face makes him weak in the knees and his heart race faster. This celebration was exactly what she needed after all the stresses of Avernus and the both of them helping the people of the Coast. And with his father calling on him to help with city affairs there hasn’t been an abundance time for them to spend with one another. Though to his father’s credit he doesn’t call on him often but makes sure to get him home at an appropriate time to see Nemeia.

“Hello, beloved,” she said. “You and Karlach having fun telling our stories in Avernus?”

“Of course.” He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, and she leaned back against him with a happy sigh and her tail twisting around his thigh. “We three made a great team and accomplished much while there, it needed to be shared.”

“That’s good to hear, beloved. You’ll have to forgive my current state. From cooking dinner for us all and running to the baker for his tiny cakes I had to change into a simpler dress. I’m most likely going to have to bathe after everyone leaves for the night.”

“Mhm . . .” he hummed, and she shivered. Wyll knew how much she loved his voice when he was so close and especially during the throes of passion. He hummed again and nibbled her ear right after. Nemeia pressed herself back against him, pausing for a moment when she felt him harden in his trousers.

“What salacious thoughts are going through your head, beloved?”

“You, in the bath, bare and wet for me.” He spoke softly directly into the cup of her ear, and goosebumps broke out all over her body. Her nipples were just visible beneath her dress, and he ached to touch them and take them in his mouth as he’d done time and time before, however there were too many potential observers downstairs. But Wyll notices while they all may be drinking, they are oblivious to the way Nemeia was grinding herself against his hardened length and making him groan. He kept his lips next to her ear, and his breaths and groans traveled down her spine like a bolt of lightning and her knees nearly buckled.

Gods, how did he do that, she wondered. Nemeia was so aroused now just from his voice that she was ready to drag him into their bedroom and let him do whatever he wanted to her, but Wyll had other plans. He guided her hands to the railing and pinned them there. His body felt so warm and solid at her back.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me, love?” he murmured, his lips grazing her neck. “You smell so sweet tonight.”

“I’m sure you’re just being kind, love.” she replied jokingly, but her voice was breathy with barely contained lust. He nipped at her throat and she let out an almost audible gasp.

“You’re so soft and warm and lovely. And you make the sweetest moans for me.” He strokes her arms, sliding up to her shoulders and back down to her wrists. He then licks a slow line up her neck and swirls his tongue around her ear. Nemeia closed her eyes and bit her lip reveling in the attention being heaped on her. Her skin felt feverish and she was trembling slightly, and Wyll wanted to see how far he could take this dance without rousing the suspicions any of their friends.

“Wyll, please, let’s go to our bedroom” she pleaded. His hands slide around her and he pushes his hips against her ass. He was fully erect now, and that thick hardness of his ridged length pressed against her and sent shivering waves of need everywhere he touched.

“Not quite yet, love. I want to try something that’s been on my mind for a while.” His fingertips trailed down her sides to her hips, and she had to muffle a moan. “Would you let me try it, love?

Nemeia nods her head in desperation.

“Thank you, love. Now say my name.”

“Wyll, please.”

“I love the way my name sounds on your lips. No one could ever say it like you do.” He slid his hand up her body, grazing slowly over her breast, making her gasp. He knew how much she had to be controlling her face so as not to give herself away and he almost feels bad for putting her through this with everyone downstairs celebrating. But he needed to see this through, he was so aroused seeing his wife trying to keep composure even though they both know she’s lost in pleasure. “What are you feeling, love? Are you getting wet for me?”

“Y-Yes.” She turns her face into his neck to conceal the soft moan that escapes her lips.

“Can you feel how much I want you?”

“Yes.”

He puts a hand over her stomach, feeling the ridges on her body and making his way farther down, placing his hand just below her navel; he could just barely feel the muscles there fluttering in anticipation. He knew how that felt when he was inside her, the way she’d squeeze him and hold him when he did something right.

“Turn around and put your arms around me. Mhm, just like that, love.” His hands wander up and down her back, stroking her hair and neck, caressing her arms, and she feels heat and electricity crackling along her skin making her feel alive. She rubs her cheek against his chest and pleads, “Please, keep talking.”

“Close your eyes and think back to this morning. Can you remember?” She nodded, and her arms tightened around his neck, her body also tightening in arousal. “I woke up before you and I couldn’t help but caress every single inch of you. You looked so sweet and innocent in your sleep. I kissed down your body and you woke up to me between your legs and with them over my shoulders.”

Nemeia takes in a shuddering breath and starts to kiss his neck, her hips tight against his length just beneath in trousers. “Yes, gods, keep going.”

“I love the sounds you make when I tease you, so I took my time, made you beg me to taste you. And I did, you sang so beautifully to me.” Wyll was almost painfully stiff under his trousers. He ached to be inside her, but he is too invested in this to stop now.

“You’re always so responsive and sensitive when you’re drunk on pleasure, and you wanted me so terribly. Gods, do you remember what you said? You had your hands on my horns and said you wanted me to fuck you with my tongue, such a naughty thing for my sweet wife to say. Fuck, you don’t know what that does to me.”

Wyll takes her hand and drags it down his body and on his desire, pushing her palm against him, and her knees almost give out. She’s thankful that she’d been leaning against the railing otherwise she would have collapsed. The way she was breathing, Wyll knew she was close to her peak. “Do you feel me, love? Just thinking about tasting the sweetness of you makes me so stiff, Nemeia.”

“Please, Wyll, please. I need you,” she moaned, bucking her hips to drive the point home. He gives a moan of his own in response.

“How attached are you to this dress, love?” She gives him a curious, then a bewildered look.

“Wait, right here?” She was a little worried, but her breath was shallow and she looked like she didn’t need much convincing from him.

“Yes, my love, right here. Hold very, very still for me.” He rips a small hole through the crotch of her dress with a letter opener that was thankfully on a table beside them.

Luckily they didn’t light many candles on the top floor so the balcony was dimmed in a bit of shadow. “Don’t tell me the thought doesn’t excite you, love. Now, spread your legs a bit wider for me, but not too much. We don’t want the others to notice.” Nemeia turned around to see if anyone was looking, but no one seemed to be paying any attention. “I’ll keep my eye on them, love, don’t worry.” He unlaced his trousers with one hand and, with one more glance below, took his throbbing and ridged length out and slid it between her thighs.

The friction of the dresses fabric gave way to warm, pliable flesh as Wyll pushed through the opening he’d made in her dress. He was delighted in knowing his sweet wife had forgone wearing underwear tonight. He leaned down to kiss her and when she allowed his tongue into her mouth, he entered her, bottoming out in one thrust. She let out a strangled moan and he cupped the back of her head, hand tangled in her locs. He fastens his mouth over hers to swallow the sounds of pleasure she was making. She felt so amazing, so tight, warm and ready for him, that he almost finished right then. He takes a few deep steadying breaths to control himself not wanting this to end too soon.

“Look there, love,” he whispered. “Look at our friends. They’re none the wiser about what we’re doing, how I’m so deep within you right now.” Nemeia gasps, and her breath fans across his face. Her warm channel flutters and clenches around him in need. “Mmm, dammit, squeeze me again. Mhm, just like that. You always feel so good, love. You were made just for me.” Heat coils up in his belly and it rolls throughout his body. He grips the railing and leaves bites and kisses to her neck to hide the look of unadulterated pleasure on his face. Being with each other this long Wyll secretly suspected Nemeia knew just how to bring him over the edge, how to use her body to make him addicted to her just as she is addicted to him.

Not being able to move was beginning to be torturous, the restraint needed too much, and he began to rock his hips as much as he dared. The slow and shallow thrusts were just what she needed, though. Nemeia was already extremely sensitive and swollen with desire, and every thrust and grind he made had him rubbing against her clit. She clenched around him every time he pulled out, as if she didn’t want him parted from her for even a second and was bringing him deeper into her. Giving her a long, languid kiss he buried his face in her shoulder again feeling he was close to the precipice. Nemeia could almost feel her friends down below and imagined all of their gazes on her. Witnessing her being used by her husband and that thought was enough to send her over the edge losing her rhythm undulating her hips as she came and clamped down on his member.

He felt her peak and she had to bite down on his shoulder to stifle the desperate whines and moans that wanted to spill from her lips. The overwhelming pleasure was too much for him as his head was filled with nothing but Nemeia and how her walls clamp and flutter around him as he gives a handful of rough and sloppy thrusts before flying over the edge and flooding her with his hot, sticky seed, gasping as he emptied into her.

After catching his breath Wyll pulls himself from her cum filled channel but still holds her as to not break the magic of their afterglow. After a few minutes they put themselves back together as well as they can and Nemeia wraps her arms around him and kisses him lazily. Wyll grazes his tongue onto the seam of her lips and explores her mouth when she opens up to him, gripping her back with both hands. They finally part and look at each other lovingly with small giggles passing between them at their antics.

“Go and get changed, love. We’ll mingle for a bit more but everyone is leaving within the hour. I’m not done with you yet tonight.” Nemeia nods her head and begins to walk away to their bedroom but not without a playful slap to her ass Wyll gives before she’s out of reach. Going back downstairs Wyll begins chatting with Gale about his students as no one suspects the intimate display that happened just above their heads.

[monsterlimbs]

Always thinking about how my durge Mordriel (or durges with high intimidation rolls in general) somehow attract Astarion. Like he is ALL OVER durges. And Mordriel and Astarion's romance is so wildly unlikely and funny to me.

Like Mordriel, a hulking half-elf with solid black claws, spooky eyes, and no memories, only the urge to kill, somehow got Astarion to fall in love w him. Mordriel, the man who's muttering "all is ash and meat" under his breath, who can't get away from his chronic pain and takes it out on others, who threatens people by saying "Do you have children? Yes? I see. Do you want your children to continue having parents? Or do you want them orphaned? You don't want them as orphans, do you? Then, do as I say." and constantly using his illithid authority, who's covered in explainable scars and tattoos, who is literally murder incarnate, who has killed THOUSANDS and has no remorse except for like a couple of his kills, who can't take a joke, who doesn't even acknowledge or understand flirting and actually gets annoyed at flirting until act 3, who has nearly killed all of his party members at least once including Astarion (who actually, has nearly been killed the most amount of times out of everyone), who thinks "Gods, I can smell our last kill on you. I love it." and "Will you hunt someone with me today?" and "Your teeth are so sharp. You could crush someone's windpipe with ease." is FLIRTING and GOOD flirting at that, etc etc.... That man. That man somehow caught Astarion's eye, PAST MANIPULATION. Past "oh gods gotta buddy buddy with the monster in our group because he's been designated leader and now he has the power to exile me, kill me, or worse, send me to Cazador". Past all that. HE LIKES HIM. He actually likes him. Worse, he loves him. Loves the murder incarnate. Feels SAFE with the murder incarnate. Do you see the irony in that? The first person he's felt safe with probably in 200 hundred years, is a man who's been seconds away from killing him, multiple times and hated his guts for a good amount of time. But now, that man is protecting him, projecting all of that murderous energy onto others, others who have wronged Astarion. And somehow that's romantic to Astarion. Which, in a way, sure, being protected by a horrible monster who's all sweet and lovey dovey towards you is romantic. But also what the fuck.

And even funnier to me, is that Mordriel and Astarion... out of all the people in the camp, is one of the most unlikely pairings for Mordriel. Mordriel, if he hadn't slept with Astarion first, would've ended up with Gale or Lae'zel likely. Lae'zel had the "you've been looking at me differently" option so she was feeling it too, and Gale was like "well Astarion has a certain charm about him. So does a tiger when it purrs" so he did too, and Mordriel was all over those two and really enjoyed their company. Even Wyll, he actually admires Wyll quite a bit, and it actually wildly hurts his feelings when Wyll begins to think of him as a monster. Astarion is like his... third to last choice, behind Karlach and then Shadowheart. Karlach is "his sister's Tiefling", so off limits. And then he and Shadowheart are just kind of neutral until act 2, then they're best friends and she's like a sister to him.

And the only reason Astarion and Mordriel ever slept together and showed Astarion the "plan was working", was because Astarion was just... persistent. And in Mordriel's mind, the more persistent someone is on something, the more nice it is, right? In Astarion's mind, Mordriel's all over him. But Mordriel is like. kinda curious about sex? Kinda? And that's it. The plan is not working.

Also, Astarion is just about the opposite of Mordriel's type at first. The first time Mordriel even begins to tolerate Astarion, is during the bite scene funnily enough. He nearly kills Astarion in that moment, but his "must get the whole story first" type view urges him to press on first. And then their minds link, and Mordriel gets to see the first bit of Astarion's vulnerability, which Mordriel actually sees as a strength (because, in his eyes, surviving 200 years on rats is impressive. He partially pities Astarion for the moment, but it's replaced with almost... admiration. He's impressed, and willingly lets Astarion bite him, and even waited until the very last second to persuade him to stop. Even said "I trust him. He won't hurt us" the next morning, although that was said with a silent threat of "Because if he does hurt us, I think he knows he'll be dead by my hands easily", but still. He starts standing up for Astarion and his affliction because he now has some respect for the "weak, flirty, annoying thief" he once hated). And then they bond over their shared hatred for Cazador. Cazador angers the urges because he has power, so even without Astarion being around, he likely would harbor a good deal of disdain for Cazador. Astarion takes Mordriel being like "we WILL kill him." as the plan working. Again, it is not. Mordriel's merely added another powerful being to his kill list.

The way that Astarion caught Mordriel's eye, is in the moments that Astarion was not preforming and being flirty, but instead being like "Can we kill that guy over there?", or being demanding and such, or when he's giving Mordriel his "doe eyes". The performative mask Astarion has created is..., well, annoying to Mordriel. But when Astarion gets sassy, silly, soft-eyed, or bloodlust-y, THAT is endearing to Mordriel. And so, it is insane these two ended up together. Everything Astarion does to attract, annoys Mordriel. And it is a wonder Mordriel HASN'T killed Astarion because of that. So, for these two to end up together is just. insane. I guess the shared interest for other people's torture really makes you fall in love.

Also GOD did this get so much longer than I meant.

[imperator-titus]

Ghost from the Past [Part 11]

Sorry for the long wait! (Is it long? Well, I've certainly updated quicker...) I had to focus on the end of my grad classes (and now have more... woo...) I also had to start really thinking about the next steps for the story.

I thought this bit was gonna have smut. Probably the next part will have a lot of spice.

A lot of my struggles came from modifying Gale's canon monogamous outlook without totally disregarding it and Astarion's character growth after the Yurgir fight. Clearly it has to be a little different since Eletha already confronted him about what he wants from her. Astarion in this part gets kind of a "+1 Emotional Intelligence."

I'm really enjoying this story, and I hope some of you are too! Please feel free to hit me up about it! I've been really enjoying some comments over on Ao3. Much love!

(Prev)[Part 10] (Next)[Part 12] [Master Post]

[For those unsure, yes, this is a made-up line the OP did, and honestly, it was perfect! Gale, you are about to be the star of the show.]

In the morning, Eletha was ready to go before anyone got up. She’d even started breakfast.

“You’re up bright and early,” Wyll remarked, one of the first to greet her.

“Early, at least,” Karlach said with a little laugh, indicating the permanent darkness that surrounded them. 

“I already have a plan of action for the next few days. We’ve wasted enough time waiting around for me to put my head on straight.” Eletha relinquished control of the cookware to Gale, who practically snatched the fork out of her hand.

“Are you sure you’re… okay?” Shadowheart asked hesitantly.

“Oh. No. No, I wouldn’t say I’m okay.” Seeing the looks they all gave her, Eletha chuckled. “I was never okay. Just… distracted. I can’t do anything about the whole… But I can do something about the problems that face us now.”

“Well said,” Gale said before turning back to their breakfast.

“Besides, I always feel better with a bloody blade in my hand.”

“I could not agree more.” Lae’zel’s eyes blazed with passion.

Before they headed out, Astarion approached Eletha.

“I know you said that I should stay behind with Gale and I normally wouldn't mind languishing around camp while you trudge waist-deep through curses and undead sludge, but-” 

Astarion stopped mid-speech as Eletha stopped digging through her bag and started rotating around, hand outstretched to the sky. Seemingly, she wasn't listening.

“Relapsing into madness again so quickly?”

“It's a sun glass. Can't be combusting in the middle of a fight,” she explained, tilting the piece of glass until she caught a glimmer of light. As she tucked it into her hip pouch she asked, “What did you want to tell me?”

“I wanted to come along. That's all. Wyll said it was fine if I took his place,” Astarion answered, throwing his words away as if it was no big deal.

“Okay.”

Astarion pouted a little. “You're not going to ask?”

“No.” Eletha stopped what she was doing and looked at him from the corner of her eye. He huffed and started walking away. She rolled her eyes and called after him, exasperated, “Why do you want to come so bad?”

“To look after you, of course,” he answered, practically sparkling. 

“Oh. You want praise.” He smacked her hand away when she tried to pat his cheek. She smiled. “Thank you. It's sweet of you to care.”

“I don't care and I'm not sweet. I have a personal interest in keeping you alive and not insane.”

“I get it. You're a magnificent bastard. So sorry, for implying you would be so weak as to look out for someone because you care.”

“That's right. I suppose all that brain damage hasn't made you stupid yet. Now that that’s settled.” Astarion turned and hesitated.

He ever so slightly wiggled his ass in her direction.

Eletha smirked. “Right. Best head out.”

As she passed him, she brought back her hand and smacked his backside so hard that he yelped and jumped a little.

“What is wrong with you, woman?!” he screeched, holding a hand to his stinging cheek.

“A lot.”

----

“This seem important to y’all?” Eletha asked, holding up the lute she just pulled off this weird doctor character.

“Are we gonna talk about how, in the past 4 hours, you've convinced someone to explode and another to let himself be brutally stabbed to death?” Karlach asked hesitantly, watching the mad nurses go back to their routines as if nothing happened.

“I dunno, I liked how that other one was full of gold,” Astarion remarked with a satisfied little smile.

“Why would he have a lute?” Eletha asked herself, ignoring Karlach’s question, looking over the instrument. She found some initialing carved into the neck. “That Art Cullagh guy seemed like the musical sort.”

“Well, he was insane. And he did seem to enjoy it…” Shadowheart said, regarding the gore with disgust.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Eletha said as she started to walk towards the back of the decrepit hospital.

“Because of the whole…” Karlach hesitantly made circles over her abdomen with a sympathetic pained face. Eletha’s eyebrows lowered in confusion.

“What? No. No, that probably happened in, like, the dirt, right? A pile of leaves?”

“You don't know?” Karlach asked, confused herself.

“Kinda blocked that bit out, yeah.” Eletha went through the doctor’s things, searching for anything interesting. Or valuable.

“I don't envy you. I've heard it ruins your vagina,” Shadowheart remarked flippantly as she cleaned her nails.

“That can't be true,” Karlach breathed in disbelief, her voice stressed.

“Oh, yeah, you can tear your arsehole like paper,” Eletha answered, tearing a piece of paper she found for effect.

“No! Don't tell me that!” Karlach cried in distress, closing her eyes and putting her hands over her ears.

“Is that why you're so shy? Worried it’ll be a disappointment for anyone but an ogre?” Astarion teased, indicating Eletha’s crotch with a cunty little wave of a finger. Eletha chuckled, smacking his hand like he was a child in need of a lesson.

“Not sure if I'm flattered or disgusted that you're thinking about my vagina.” Astarion’s lips curled into a mischievous smirk.

“I'm not the only one. Should I break the news to Gale that it's more like the Underdark than a cozy little cave?”

“Yeah, I got some glowing mushrooms in there and everything. Brightens the place up,” Eletha told him cheerily, mimicking decorating a home.

“Do you think a wizard can localize an enlarge spell?” Astarion asked after a comic hum.

“Aww, it's okay, I'm sure Gale’s more into technique than equipment.” Eletha patted his shoulder mockingly, a look of false sympathy in her eyes. Astarion laughed a little bark of a laugh.

“He'd be good for you. He could lend you a magic hand from the other side of his tower, no men involved,” he retorted cattily.

“He does know how to make a good steak.” 

“Oh darling, you wound me.” Astarion dramatically swooned and Eletha had to stop him from tripping over himself.

“That's what you’ll be saying when he's done with you.”

“Gods you two are weird,” Karlach breathed,shaking her head as she watched them.

Eletha let Karlach and Shadowheart take the lead as they walked through the crypt and the Sharran temple beyond.

“You look like you want to say something,” Eletha remarked, not turning her head to regard Astarion trailing beside her.

“Well…”

“You look nervous about it too.” She squints, eyeing him suspiciously. “Don't tell me you're actually thinking about my holes right now.”

“Maybe,” he retorted haughtily, bobbing his head in a mocking manner. After a defeated huff, he went on, “I feel like I should apologize. I never considered the possibility that I ruined you for all other men physically, not just emotionally.”

Eletha rolled her eyes so hard they threatened to get stuck that way. “Corellon save me.”

Astarion clicked his tongue, annoyed at her reaction. “Would it make you feel better if I said I have selfish reasons too? I've been thinking about that night after the goblin camp for quite a while.”

Eletha smirked and snorted, giving him a suggestive lift of her eyebrows. “Parched, are you?”

“Practically dying.”

“Gale not living up to his divine endorsement?”

“He is a good kisser…” Astarion clicked his tongue at her again. “Don't change the subject.”

Eletha wondered how she got in this conversation and how she was going to get out.

“No one has exactly complained, but that's not exactly a long list of possibilities and they probably had enough sense to not say anything.” She shrugged. “It used to just be uncomfortable, but as you know, I have quite the pain tolerance now.”

He emitted a soft “aww” and gave her sad eyes. She didn’t totally believe them, especially when his tone was a little too humorous. “You poor thing.” 

“Oh, look, a distraction!” she called out, pointing at a displacer beast skulking about.

Astarion sighed as he slipped his bow off his shoulder. “You’re no fun…”

----

“Did it go well?” Gale asked expectantly, following Eletha as she made for her tent.

“Bunch of cursed weirdos defeated, a clue to finding Thaniel, and a devil’s deal completed? Yes, a useful day,” she answered, laying down her weapons and stripping down to the clothes under her armor. 

“That is good to hear, but I was referring to, well, you.” He followed as she went towards where they'd set up a more “private” spot to bathe. It was nothing more than a bucket of cold water but it was better than nothing.

“You don't have to worry about me, Gale.”

“Perhaps, but I do.” He blushed and turned away as she started undressing, just like that night she showed them her curse. “If you desire, I can discuss this with you another time.”

“I’m not bothered. Are you bothered?”

“I… assumed you would be a bit more reserved, given… certain details.” Gale cleared his throat. “Anyway. You’ve been through a lot lately. I felt it prudent to check in.”

“Do I seem okay?”

“You seem like you’re burying your feelings. I should know, I’ve been doing that for a long time,” he said with a little self-deprecating chuckle.

Eletha touched his cheek and smiled softly. “You’re sweet, Bhin.”

“I was hoping for valiant or at least charming-” He stopped with a stammer as she got on her toes to place a kiss on his cheek. Her body brushed against his and a small gasp escaped his lips in surprise. “I… ahem… I will leave you to your ablutions.”

She watched him retreat with a coy little smirk on face before continuing with her “bath.” After washing the blood and dust out of her hair and off her face, she called out, “I know you’re there.”

“And you let me watch anyway?” Astarion asked as he stepped out of his hiding place.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“Mm, yes, but not that little display with Gale.”

“Jealous?”

“A little. Your approach is much more subtle than mine, and I think it might be more effective.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The way your soft touch caught him off-guard. His heart leapt, thinking your lips would meet in a kiss. Your naked body just so happens to brush against him? I’m sure he’s in his tent thinking about it right now. He’s asking himself, how can I convince her to see me as more than just a fool, worthy of more than just her sweet sympathies?” 

As he spoke, Astarion divested himself of his own armor and the clothes underneath it. It wasn’t the first time they’d washed the blood and road off in each other’s company. It was almost… comforting, that they could just be naked with no sexual context. 

However, knowing Astarion, he’d probably encourage it. 

“You’ve got quite the imagination.” 

“It’s true, though, isn’t it?” he suggested with a smirk, taking the sponge out of her hand. She merely gave him a quizzical squint. He regarded the object as if it was very interesting. “You know, you make fun of me, for not having plans. But I had a plan, once.

“You were right. I did want to make you desire me, protect me. Our previous relationship made that complicated, obviously. So I prodded the others, as a backup. Lae’zel and Shadowheart were too guarded, too difficult. Wyll, the gallant monster hunter, spent a long time debating if I was worthy of living. Karlach, well, we couldn’t touch her. And she’s so… sweet, when she’s not terrifying. She likes you enough that she’d take your lead.

“That left me with Gale. Handsome, powerful, doomed Gale. A tough nut to crack, until you get under the social awkwardness, emotional miscues, and over-inflated self-importance.”

“Well, you have a lot of experience with that,” Eletha remarked, unmoving as Astarion very carefully rinsed the sponge and wet it again with fresh water.

“The secret, as you have probably guessed, is how utterly desperate he is to be touched.” 

Astarion squeezed out the water from the sponge, watching as it dripped onto Eletha’s shoulder and ran down her chest, sometimes catching on a scar and running in another direction. 

A gasp escaped from her throat. 

“He hid behind that orb, but really, he was so desperate that it made him sick.

“I feel awful. He was supposed to be a sacrificial pawn and I feel awful. Those books… How he quivers under my touch…” 

Astarion began wiping away blood and sweat from her neck and shoulders. Eletha wasn’t quite sure why she allowed him to. It felt… nice.

“Today you went after that orthon like he wasn’t three times your size, like it didn’t matter how hard he hit you. You did it for me, just like I hoped, but feared you wouldn’t.”

His hand traveled down her chest, cleaning the shallow valley between her breasts. “Did you have a plan for this conversation or…?”

He stopped following his hand with his eyes and gazed deeply into hers. 

“When was the last time someone took care of you, my love?”

Eletha flushed and as she looked away, she took hold of his wrist and pushed it towards him. “Don't be ridiculous.”

“What's ridiculous about it? Gale wants us both. I want you both. And you want us. Why not a cheeky little three-sided thing?”

“You presume a lot.”

“My sweet, don't play so aloof. I've read your diaries.” With his other hand, he trailed his middle finger along one collarbone and then down her sternum. “You deny this part of yourself because you feel it's undeserved. Haven't you suffered enough?”

Eletha hesitantly let go of his wrist.

“Let me take care of you. Show you how much I appreciate you?” he purred, his hand taking hold of her waist, his lips approaching hers, their hips nearly touching. 

Sensing the proximity of the body that once so perfectly interlocked with hers, the long-forgotten part of her body awoke with a heat that was searing in comparison to the chill surrounding them. 

Eletha began to tremble. 

For a moment, Astarion’s eyes appeared golden as they gazed deeply into hers. 

“Please?”

Eletha opened her mouth to speak, but another voice was heard.

“Could you two move this somewhere else? I need to wash my hair,” Shadowheart complained, huffing and undoubtedly crossing her arms over her chest.

“Aww, Fringe, Lethi was going to finally get some…” Karlach complained quietly, although she could still be heard in the near-silence.

Eletha snatched the sponge out of Astarion’s hand and made a mad dash attempt at scrubbing the most important parts of her clean. When he stood there staring at her, she started cleaning him too, starting with his face so he couldn't argue. “Just a minute!”

Astarion glared at Shadowheart as he sauntered out behind a flustered Eletha. Karlach appeared apologetic.

From his position at the campfire, Gale appeared to be watching Eletha go into her tent, a worried look on his face. Then he saw Astarion, practically glowing in his underwear under what little light there was, and his expression changed to a glower.

“It's not what you think,” Astarion said as he passed him.

“Sure…” Gale grumbled, turning his attention back to the food he spent all day preparing.

----

Night fell, sort of, and Astarion stood in front of Gale’s tent.

“Can I speak with you?” he asked, trying to avoid any sarcasm and only using a little sass.

“I suppose,” Gale answered after a moment of silent consideration.

He was clearly upset, pouting as he flicked through a tome.

Astarion put his hands on his hips. “Look. We didn't do anything.”

“So you say.”

“Don't be like that. You were considering it too.”

“That is prepos-”

“You're not fooling me.” Astarion snatched the book away. Holding it more gingerly, he said deliberately, “I’m… sorry.”

“What are you doing right now?” Gale asked suspiciously.

“When I didn't know if Eletha was going to gut me or not, I… had a plan. You would fall in love with me and I would, well… have a powerful wizard in my corner. All I had to do was not fall for you. And I failed.”

Gale shook his head. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

“Because you’re blind.” Astarion sighed, the flow of his speech interrupted. “I see you with her. You can’t be jealous. Of course, it’s still not clear to me if you’re mad that I am flirting or that she is being flirted with. But what does it matter? We all like each other.”

“I thought this was an apology, not a call to a ménage à trois.”

“It is! Or, it's supposed to be. You know I'm not good at this.” Astarion offered the book back, only to move it out of reach at the last second. “Live a little, Gale. Expand your mind.”

Gale sighed wearily. “You've given me a lot to think about.”

Astarion’s lips curled in a self-satisfied little smile. “Hopefully something fun?”

Gale snatched his book back. Astarion huffed, although playfully, and left.

After a while, Gale left his tent and softly made his way towards Eletha’s.

“Are you awake?” he whispered, not wishing to disturb her.

“Come in,” she answered, making space for him in the small tent.

He could tell that she’d been drinking, but not as much as before, so that was good, right? Still, he felt the need to give her an out from the conversation. “We can discuss this some other time, if that would be more suitable.”

“I have the feeling you’re going to ask me something that will be easier to answer in my current state.” Eletha gestured for him to go on. “This is casual intoxication, not running away from my feelings intoxication.”

Gale would have to take her word for it. “Did anything happen between you? Today, I mean.”

“Are you asking because you’re concerned for me, or for personal interests?” She took a sip of her drink. 

“Can it not be both?” Eletha hummed. He had a fair point.

“He was coming onto me. Genuinely, this time, which was surprising.”

Gale swallowed around a lump in his throat. “Were you going to accept?” 

“I didn’t really have the time to fully consider it.” Eletha offered him her drink and, after a moment’s hesitation, he took it. “I was going to tell him off. Then he said something that made me reconsider.”

“He can be quite convincing,” Gale agreed sourly before taking a sip of her drink. It was just wine, not that hard stuff that seemed to magically appear in her hands.

“Well, he was right, which, if Astarion is right, you’ve kinda fucked up, yeah?” She grinned at him and he laughed, because she was right. 

“He was right. I’ve been running away from happiness ever since he left. Felt I didn’t deserve it. When I’d try again, I’d just get hurt, and I’d punish myself more. Sometimes it was just the wrong person, it doesn’t work. But sometimes… maybe it could have worked? If I didn’t get this knot in my stomach that says I’m worthless?

“I’ve tried being friends. I can do friendship. And I feel bad, that maybe I’m getting your hopes up, and not because I like teasing you, but because I hate myself. I’m punishing myself, by getting attached and ruining everything.

“So I considered it. I wanted to say no, because it would hurt you, because I didn’t deserve it. But… I wanted to say yes, so it would hurt you and you’d hate me and that was its own punishment. And just a little bit… I was happy with him, once upon a time. Maybe I could be happy again.”

Gale listened intently. Eletha had a habit of rambling, but she chose her words and tone carefully. With practice, he could untangle them to find the naked truth underneath. This time, it was… familiar.

“Do you think you could be happy again?” he asked her sincerely, meeting her two-toned gaze with his big brown eyes, so open and sad.

“After all we’ve been through?” She laughed a little and his heart sank. Then she smiled. “Yeah. I do.”

“Then I wish you the best of luck.”

Gale held out her wine bottle, intending it as a symbol of releasing her from the burden of worrying about his feelings. Eletha took the bottle, but with her other hand, took hold of his. 

“You deserve to be happy too.” Her words were so sweet. She was being so sincere and he just… had a hard time believing it was true. “If you want him, just tell him. And if he has to choose… I’m sure he’ll choose you.”

“I am not as sure as you. He loves you. You have-” Gale cut himself off before he could say something that might make her spiral again. Eletha appeared to understand what he was going to say, but she still seemed pleasant and level-headed. “Why would he choose me?”

“Because I’m old and boring. You’re young and exciting.” A mischievous smirk tugged at her lips. “And I’ll make him. He owes me for the rest of my life.”

Gale shook his head. “There is a wrinkle in your plan. You’d be alone.”

“My sweetling, I’ve been alone a long time. You have your whole life ahead of you” Gale opened his mouth to protest and the sharp dark gaze that instantly flashed in her eyes made him shut it again without her losing a beat “and my beloved Astarion is getting to start over. I can be alone a little longer. If you two are happy, then I will be happy.

“Besides. It’s not like we have done anything even close to what you two were doing. We haven’t even shared a kiss.”

Gale stared at their clasped hands. He thought about what Astarion said earlier.

“Would you like to?” he asked, squeezing her hand reflexively in his nervousness.

“I think that… I am just drunk enough to say yes, but not so drunk that I’ll be cursing myself in the morning.”

Eletha got to her knees and leaned forward, holding his face gently as she kept their other hands together. 

Gale let out a breath of excitement. 

Their eyes closed and their lips touched. 

The first kiss was hesitant, testing the unknown topography, finding the way to fit just right. A pleasurable heat rose to the surface of Eletha’s skin as she deepened the next kiss.

Gale’s heart fluttered while his stomach did flips. This felt so different from his interludes with Astarion. 

Those felt like a natural progression of a lanceboard game. They would have some heartfelt conversation that turned into an exchange of witty barbs and the only places to go from there were fighting or “fighting.”

That didn’t mean either was unpleasurable.

Actually. It was too pleasurable.

Eletha leaned back to catch her breath and make sure he was alright.

Luckily, this meant that she only got vomit on her chest and lap, not her face.

She was stunned as Gale pleaded for her forgiveness. “I’m so sorry, I don’t- I don’t understand-”

This time he managed to turn his head.

Rubbing his back soothingly, Eletha chuckled. “It’s okay. I know the feeling.”

If anyone noticed, they were kind enough to not talk about it the next morning. Eletha managed to clean herself up enough to help Gale back to his tent. There, she sat for a while, making sure he would recover.

“Words cannot express how foolish I feel,” Gale said weakly as she placed a cold damp towel on his forehead.

“It’s not the first time a wizard’s puked on me,” she answered, soothingly stroking his hair a few times before sitting back. It probably wouldn’t help to touch him too much right now.

“You must have a lot of interesting stories…”

“I promise to leave this one out of the ballad they’ll inevitably write about us.”

“It was enjoyable. Until the last bit.”

“I enjoyed it too,” Eletha said sweetly, a small smile on her lips.

A few minutes passed in silence. She was about to get up, assuming he’d fallen asleep, when Gale asked, “What was the first time?”

“So I was at this party in Suzail…”

[blackjackkent]

The bloodspattered key that we got off the Illasera display under the Ilmater temple doesn't have any indicator on it of what it goes to, so Rakha's only option is to try it on every lock in the Flophouse, I suppose.

She does take a quick look at the house rules in a book on a table in the lobby:

And the tenant logs on the counter:

None of these names ring any bells to her. There's also this in a book behind the counter, though, which is interesting:

"Extensive top floor extension?" Wyll says, reading over Rakha's shoulder. "Didn't notice that from the outside."

"For twenty gold, you would think they'd have done a better job," Jaheira murmurs dryly.

Upstairs, a stocky fellow in worker's clothes accosts her as they're trying to look around:

"What d'you reckon, lass?" he says, with the cheery conversational tone of someone who doesn't have anything better to do. "You trust these Steel Watcher thingymajigs?"

"Sure, why not?" Rakha says distractedly, already focusing on scanning the room for possible uses for the key in her pocket.

"Aye, do you now?" the man says impatiently. "Don't trust the whole thing, meself. S'all right while we can get work repairing 'em. But what happens when they build something else to do that? It's no good, I tell you."

Rakha, who did not ask to be part of this conversation, finds the beast in her head idly considering whether the man's body would fit into the nearby wardrobe if it were chopped into pieces.

She's distracted from pursuing this line of thought, however, by another set of voices from the other side of the dormitory area:

The master? Rakha thinks curiously. There are a number of troubling potential meanings for this - the Absolute? Bhaal? Bane? Gortash?

[STEALTH] Listen in.

Rakha is, in the general run of things, not particularly subtle - but these people are not paying much attention to their surroundings.

"The master said we have enough. The Black Mass is about to begin," the woman says.

"It's not for the master," the man says with a gleeful sneer. "It's for me. I want a beating heart there, ready for me when the Mass is complete and we're finally granted our freedom." He turns his head, enough that Rakha can see his eyes are glowing pale red. "After two hundred years of rats, I think we deserve a real drink."

Rats. Rakha remembers her foray into Astarion's mind the night he drank her blood - and the image in his memories of his teeth sinking into the belly of a squirming rat, draining it dry.

These are vampire spawn.

"There's no time," the woman says. "We are expected back at the palace."

"Relax." The man laughs. "The Black Mass won't start until master drags Astarion from whatever hole he's hiding in. We have time to find one more person."

(A/N: Had to pause here and look back to see what exactly Rakha knows about Astarion's history, because she managed to avoid learning anything about his scars. At this point - she knows Astarion was a slave to Cazador and that Cazador sent hunters after him, but not really much beyond that.)

All of Rakha's suspicions are confirmed. These are, indeed, more of Cazador's spawn, out on the hunt for victims in the way that Astarion has described from his past. Some of what they're saying doesn't make sense, though. Freedom?

As usual, Rakha is nothing if not direct. "What's a Black Mass?" she asks matter-of-factly from behind them, making both spawn jump.

A broad smile slides easily onto the man's face at once as he turns to face her. "Hello, beautiful," he purrs, winking at her. "I didn't see you there."

Wyll and Lae'zel both bristle at once at Rakha's sides. Rakha, for her part, doesn't move, though she feels a shudder of disgust as the vampire's eyes rake over her.

Wretch. Kill him, murmurs the beast urge in her skull. Show him how it feels to bleed...

"We were just discussing a... celebration being held in the palace of Cazador Szarr," the woman says smoothly. She, unlike her companion, seems uninterested in Rakha as anything more than a distraction; her smile has a pasted-on quality.

"You should come!" the man echoes eagerly. Rakha can see the subtle curve of his elongated incisor teeth. "It'll be the talk of Baldur's Gate."

Rakha stares at him, deeply puzzled by this conversational gambit. She still doesn't know what a Black Mass is, but the general implication is obvious. They are luring victims. "I don't normally accept invitations from strangers," she says coldly.

The man's smile widens. "Thank goodness we're such good friends, then!" he says brightly.

The woman rolls her eyes. "This is not the time, Petras," she snaps.

Petras gives an exaggerated sigh and lifts his hands in surrender. "Yes, dear sister, I know we have places to be. We'll leave once our good friends here have departed." Again that smile that shows every one of his teeth. "I look forward to seeing you at the palace, though," he tells Rakha. "It'll be a once-in-a-lifetime experience, I promise."

Rakha's mind is racing. The beast is growling, awake and angry after the strain of the past few days and all the people around her that she has held back from striking. And the clear and unmarred part of her brain, though weak in comparison, is also angry.

These are Astarion's brethren, eagerly seeking new targets for consumption and torment. They, it seems, are willing servants to whatever Cazador is plotting at the moment - something that he needs Astarion for. They are dangerous; they are monsters.

Wyll hunts monsters. This is a killing with purpose. It must be. It would protect their victims; it would protect Astarion.

Before she can fully process the thought, her knife is out in her hand, lashing forward, and she has a brief glimpse of a flash of alarm across Petras's face...

And then her blade passes through empty air.

Jaheira laughs under her breath, not unkindly. "A sight I have seen all too many times," she murmurs. "I could have told you it would do no good."

Wyll smiles slightly and reaches out to put a hand on Rakha's arm. "One of the nastier tricks vampires have up their sleeve," he says. "But I can't say I don't agree with the sentiment, anyway."

[rim-draws]

Faerûnian Writing Challenge

Day 6 | SFW

Teaching each other how to do something

Tav strums the strings. Everyone immediately groans.

“When will you just give up? You do realise you and that are never going to work out?” Astarion motions at the instrument and Tav.

“I like how Alfira made it work.” Tav strums again. Another audible groan from the whole camp. “I will make it work, somehow!” They had the same mentality about themself and Astarion at one point. It didn’t work out.

Shadowheart groans on her side of the camp. “Where is Halsin when you need him? They always listen to him!”

Halsin was a few metres away from camp gathering berries and selecting wood for his new whittling project.

The gang are on their own with this one.

“Tav, I don’t think instruments are something you can just… ‘make work’.” Wyll, finally revived, spoke as soft as he could, potentially to not offend Tav - potentially again.

His soul was trapped somewhere within death and living for about a week. On the verge of coming down to Hell but also not yet their time to be allowed to leave. Only to become, on technicality, a citizen of Hell right after being revived.

Life is cruel. Or perhaps he’s just stuck with lunatics.

Tav strums again. Even the little owlbear covers its small ears, hiding behind Scratch to escape the noise. “I made this operation work, I can make this instrument, or any instrument, work!” They can’t and they won’t. They just don’t know it yet and have the audacity to try.

Wyll pinches his forehead. Is it the horns, the tadpole or the horrid music that is making his head hurt so badly??

“Ok, Gale, you’re a good teacher. Maybe assist our friend here before the spider lyre is reduced to ashes.” Wyll quickly shoots Gale a pointed look who shoots back an equally pointed one.

A beat of silence.

“You don’t know how to play an instrument, Gale?” Karlach asked offhandedly.

Gale turns to her, then to Tav. Another beat of silence.

Astarion immediately bolts up. “You don’t know. You seriously don’t know. Oh finally, we found something the wizard can’t tell stories about.”

“Hold on, hold on. I never said I know nothing!” Gale quickly jutted over, yanking the lyre of Tav’s hands. “I watched many plays in my years, it’s nothing out of the ordinary…” His hands hovers above the strings, sweat is beginning to form.

Tav’s eyes trail up slightly. His fingers are shaking. His arm is trembling. He has his tongue out and he’s seconds away from biting it clean off out of stress. His hair is sticking to his forehead.

He strums.

It’s chicken scratch against a board.

A collective groan, hands covering ears.

Tav yanks it back, finally understanding the reason why everyone has been throwing rocks at them all morning.

“That was… certainly an attempt!” Karlach smiles, a lot more lopsided than how it usually is.

“No need to sugarcoat it. That was trash. Absolutely horrible.” Astarion rubs his ears as if that would help him forget the collective horrible sounds Tav and Gale had forced him to endure.

“He does magic, he’s smart and he can cook. At least with this, we can confirm Gale is still human.” Shadowheart teases, playing with the fire with her stick.

Gale perks up a little.

“He is as human as they come. Frail, egotistical and knows not of his limits.” Lae’zel hisses. “You are lucky you are still of use. Do not indulge this buffoon further,” She’s clearly talking about Tav with the way her hands move, “You have nothing but knowledge while they have none. You’ll only make them worse.”

Gale deflates again. “It’s not often our friend here seeks out means of hobby other than stealing, lying and looting. It’s healthy to have a lighthearted skill, for once.” Gale tried to defend. Tav strums. His defense is crumbling.

“Well, maybe this is not the right hobby. Perhaps a different one would be healthier for all of us.”

Tav strums again. It’s proving Lae’zel’s point.

Wyll charges forward, “Maybe if you’re looking for a hobby, I could… teach you a dance or two? I did take a few classes back in my youth.”

“No. I don’t like dancing.” Tav strums again. Another collective groan.

“How about some magic? I can show you the basics! Show you the power and the embrace of Mystra once you enter the Weave—”

“I’m not interested. You know I’m not good enough to figure that stuff out.” Another strum. Groans.

“Gods, someone make it stop or there will be blood on this night!” Astarion stands. His voice softens as he leans onto the lyre, putting on his seductive charms. “How about you drop this lyre and I’ll show you something much more interesting later tonight?”

“Too late on that. And I know too much about you to wanna fuck.” Tav strums again.

Astarion physically recoils. “Are you doing this out of spite??”

“Okay, how about we put down the lyre and I’ll show you, um… some of the teachings of my Goddess I serve? Maybe show you a cantrip or two?” Shadowheart has never sounded so defeated.

She knows she has no chance even before she started but she just needed to at least try. Tav strums again, as if to rub it in her face. “I have speak with animals. That’s all the cantrip I need.”

Lae’zel pulls out her sword, large and long. The type of sword only her and one other camper can use. “Cease your strummings or I will cut it into pieces!”

Unfortunately for her, the other person happened to be Tav. “You won’t dare! I will fight you to the death for it!”

“This will not be like the fight between Shadowheart and I! We will settle this with no mercy!!”

Karlach jumps in between them. “Woah woah, hey! Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, alright?” She places her hand on Tav’s shoulder. It burns. “Say, I don’t really have anything to teach you but maybe you’re… going too quickly. All skills need time and careful practice, right? Can’t expect things to just go your way immediately! Reminds me of the time when I was still serving under Zariel. Was still young at the time. I had been trailing the tail of this particular demon,”

Tav slowly lowers their sword along with the lyre. They latch onto Karlach’s words and stories of her misadventures.

Everyone shared a look.

“At first I thought I had it but it slipped right under my finger! So I had to re-adjust. Learn about the species, the weaknesses, the strengths and once I cornered it… BAM. Easy as pie!”

Gale jumps in. “Oh yes, reminds me of the time back when I first started studying magic. It must sound crazy now but I wasn’t good at it the first time I started. My first spell was fire bolt. Simple and easy. Yet at one point I couldn’t figure, for the life of me, how the fire element worked. I poured over it days and nights trying to get that in my head otherwise the spell just won’t manifest! And finally, I figured it out! But, shamefully, I didn’t put enough hours on aiming!”

Just as one finishes, another jumps in. Wyll tells tales of his youth, days spent as the son of the duke, standing in his shadows, struggling to find a place to stand on his own. Lae’zel speaks of her time spent at camp, slowly figuring out the life and habits of Faerûnians, how different it is to her people, how lively and seemingly strange yet… interesting they can be. Shadowheart expresses her slow and steady learning curve of taking on more than just a cleric, learning spells from both Wyll and Gale, wanting to pull her weight. It then circles back once more to Karlach. Then continues as the campfire crackles nearby.

Tav didn’t learn how to play an instrument that day, or any day soon. But the time spent with their new found friends, family?, taught them more valuable lessons than stubbornly working at an instrument they can’t play ever could.

[pengychan]

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 19

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: M Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** It's all fun and games until you realize you're REALLY about to lose your one (1) bargaining chip to the merry band of adventurers that absolutely curb-stomped you before. ***

When he saw the Lake of Blood at the horizon, Raphael knew time was running out. 

Soon enough, they’d reach the scab which covered the Bleeding Citadel; soon enough they’d force find their way in, and reach the Sword of Zariel. And soon enough, his esteemed traveling companions would have no reason to keep him around - or, indeed, alive.

Haarlep had been unable to say much of what he was expected to do after Zariel was defeated - if they could indeed pull it off. But they had made one thing plain: he’d have to reclaim the other half of his soul himself. He stood no chance of success on his own; the mortals’ help would be vital. If they refused to help, all would be over even if they let him live.

Of course he’d known from the start he was taking a risky gamble, with all odds stacked against him. But on that day, weak and bound in a cell at Last Light Inn, he’d seen no other way out. Any attempt at convincing them to make him whole again first and then learn the location of the Sword had been rejected outright, for a very obvious reason: they would not trust him not to turn on them the instant he had his entire soul and powers back.

“You’re the ones who turned on me,” Raphael had seethed. “My offer was nothing if not fair, and in writing! If anyone should mistrust--”

“If we did not trust you then, with all the paperwork, ” Durge had replied, “imagine now that you have reason to bear a grudge against us, and all that you can give is your word.”

In the end, something had to give - and the simple truth was that he’d been far more desperate than they were. They could yet find another way to kill Zariel, if they’d successfully ended the Netherbrain; Raphael, on the other hand, knew he may never get another chance to even try getting his soul back.

So he’d taken the one chance he had, betting everything on the rather shaky hope that he could, somehow, sway them into wishing to help him by the time they got to their goal.  It did seem like he’d succeeded-- We’ll get the rest of you back. And your mother, if she’s still there. It’s a promise. -- but soon enough he’d know for a fact if his gamble had paid off, and he didn’t feel so sure.

If nothing else, Bel’s war horn would get him the support of a few erinyes if they did turn on him. It may give him time to make an escape, at the very lea--

“Raphael?” Durge’s voice snapped him from his thoughts, and he turned to see they were looking over, frowning. “Is everything all right?”

“I-- yes, of course.”

“You were scowling.”

“... Just mulling over a few things, is all,” Raphael replied, glancing ahead. The others were walking a few paces ahead, Ravengard and the tiefling at the front and the two elves right behind them. Haarlep had taken the form of a cornugon, and was currently flying above them, to warn them of potential dangers ahead of time. So far, they hadn’t reported anything. 

“Concerning things, by the look on your face,” Durge commented. Raphael bit his tongue.

‘I was wondering whether I should expect to feel the cold blade of betrayal in my back again’ would have been the truthful answer, but not one he could give. So, he deflected. “I was posed a question to which I have no certain answer, and that does vex me.”

“A question?”

“... Astarion is wondering how long you’re going to live,” Raphael replied, voice low enough not to be heard by the vampire spawn in question - who was, it seemed, once again engaged in exchanging barbs with Ravengard, which they both insisted amounted to friendly banter. 

“Ah,” Durge said, and was quiet for a moment before sighing. They didn’t sound surprised. “Yes, I know it’s been on his mind. We haven’t spoken of it, but… well. He has been on his own so long already.” Another pause before they spoke again, with a slight hesitation. “And what did you tell him?”

“The truth - I do not know. You are a unique case, made from the flesh of a god and filled with his blood. That may make you close enough to being immortal, or at the very least give you a very long life.”

“Even if I defied that god? He reclaimed his blood, when he killed me.”

“That is part of the reason I am uncertain of the answer. Then again, losing your status as Bhaal’s Chosen did not change the very thing you are made of - your flesh is still his flesh. Unlike even me, you have no mortal heritage,” he admitted. The words left an unpleasant aftertaste on his tongue, but he could bear it. At the very least, he now could leverage that unanswered question to give them an incentive to keep their word. 

“When With-- Jergal brought me back from my first death, I told him I should at least remember my victims. He said we could go over the records together, if I wished to, once I died,” Durge said, looking ahead at Astarion, a distant cast to their gaze. “I doubt he would have said as much if I was not meant to die someday.”

Raphael let out a hum. “I suppose not. But I do think there is a distinct possibility you’ll live well beyond the few decades usually afforded to dragonborns with no spark of divinity in them,” he pointed out, and he did mean it. He paused a moment before speaking again, as though the idea had just then occurred to him. “If you’d trade possibility for certainty, I will have the power to ensure that is the case - once I’m whole again.”

Durge raised an eyebrow, and gave a rumbling, brief laugh. “No offense, but I’d prefer not to bind myself to contract or--”

“There would be no contract, nothing owed. Call it a gesture of goodwill.”

“There is no need. I have one life which I fought tooth and nail to make my own. I’ll strive to live it well, so as to have no regrets when it comes to an end.”

Raphael had heard all of it before, of course. Eternal life was not all that alluring to some mortals, who rather chose to be all noble and spew nonsense about living well rather than long. Many feared immortality altogether, the idea of living on as everybody around them died. Raphael always found it idiotic. Now it was getting on his nerves: it gave him no leverage .

“And what of Astarion?” he asked. He knew he struck a nerve when Durge sighed. 

“I do hope we’ll have enough time together for him to be ready to move on once I’m gone.”

“Ah, fair enough. I supposed that if it turns out to be too much, he could always step into the sun to join you,” Raphael snapped. Durge turned to look at him, and for a moment someone who was not the savior of Baldur’s Gate flashed on those features, in those blood red eyes. For a moment he saw it again, the bhaalspawn whose fury was a terrible thing indeed. 

“Do not,” they ground out, and Raphael had to fight the instinct to take a step back. 

“I-- do apologize. That was uncalled for.”

Those red eyes stayed fixed on him. The features did not soften. “Yes. It was.”

Angering them was not a wise move, and Raphael bit his tongue for letting impatience get the best of him. As the end of that journey loomed closer, so did the weight on his chest reminding him at all times that his fate hung in the balance. 

So he swallowed, and tried another angle. “... I was raised in the Material Plane by mortals until I was thirteen. I knew I’d outlive them since the moment I could understand what I was, of course. Before being taken to the Hells, I thought it may be my fate after all if my sire did not claim me. An immortal among mortals, forever. It seemed a lonely prospect.” 

The Hells were no less lonely, crowded as they were, but that was beside the point. A long breath, and Durge nodded, the anger gone. 

“It won’t have to be so for Astarion, l hope. He may find someone else, immortal as he is.”

“Or he may precede you in death by annoying the wrong person one too many times.”

This time, Durge laughed. “Hah! Yes, that’s also a possibility,” they admitted. 

The tension was gone, and Raphael breathed a little more easily. Not too easily, though, not with the Lake of Blood growing closer by the hour. If offers of immortality would not do, he’d have to fall back on something else - and fostering that sense of kinship he knew the bhaalspawn felt towards him was his next best chance. 

He’d been doing it since the start, after all, and one could argue he’d even had a bit too much success. He had not expected nor wanted it to be mutual, but it was there and it was all that mattered. Once they had the Sword, it may very well be the one thing that would save his life. 

“... I answered your question the best I could,” he finally spoke after a few minutes of silence. “So answer mine - why did you defy Bhaal? You were his only pure spawn, far above any he sired on mortals. Bhaal is not known for being a forgiving god, yet he was willing to take you back as his Chosen. It’s more grace than Mephistopheles was ever willing to show me.”

“After I was forced to fight my sister.” A sigh. “I wish it did not have to come to that.”

Raphael almost laughed at the notion. He had more siblings than he cared to remember, many of them long dead and yet more having been sired long after he left Mephistar. He’d had a contentious relationship with most of those he’d actually met … yet the worst of them paled compared to Orin the Red. “The lovely sister who cracked open your skull, stuck a dagger in your brain, and put a tadpole in it for good measure? ”

Durge didn’t smile, their mouth set in a grim line. “She was twisted by Bhaal and Sarevok, and no worse than I used to be. She tried to end me because it was how it was always meant to be, in the end - slaughter among kin was encouraged, in Bhaal’s temple. But without knowing it, she set me free. All I have now, all this freedom, I owe it to her actions. And there was nothing I could do to give her the same choice.” They glanced over. “... You have siblings, I suppose?”

“Half-siblings, I’ve had many. A few did try to kill me. Familial ties are not precisely encouraged in the Hells. None lived as long as I did, however. Most of the youngest ones, I know little of.”

“All cambions?”

“Obviously.”

“I heard Mephistopheles has a consort.”

“A long-standing union that yielded no offspring. Few devils in their position would consider procreating with another devil. There is a saying about such children - tenuous allies at best, active enemies or useful pawns for foes at worst.” Raphael paused for a moment and scowled, the next words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. “... Half-fiends are not all that more loyal, if you ask me, but there is no expectation we may grow powerful enough to be a serious threat to our sires.”

“Doesn’t Asmodeus have a full fiend as a daughter? The ruler of Malbolge?”

This time, Raphael laughed. “Hah! Glasya is quite the handful even for her sire - and Asmodeus is Asmodeus, whereas Mephistopheles merely wishes he was. Look at Belial, and you’ll know how well that usually goes. His daughter now rules in his stead; everyone knows it even if they claim to be joint rulers.”

“... I thought Fierna was his consort?”

“She is also his consort.”

“Ah.” Durge stared at them a moment, and finally grimaced. “I’m starting to see some disquieting similarities between the Hells and the cult of Bhaal indeed,” they muttered, causing Raphael to chuckle. 

“Yes, so do I. Devils don’t have the concept of family mortals do. The vast majority  of full-blooded devils are not born from parents in the first place. Incubi do make an exception. They breed true with each other, and often enough compared to others, but that certainly doesn’t make a family unit. Two cambions would produce cambion offspring, but few ever do.”

Durge nodded. “I heard most tiefling bloodlines start with a cambion seeking out a mortal mate.”

“You’ve heard correctly, but I can assure you none of them started with yours truly. I have no inclination to father offspring of any sort.” Raphael made a face at the notion before he realized that the conversation had been quite sidetracked. He cleared his throat, and attempted to steer it back in the direction he’d been going for. “You did not answer my question. Why deny Bhaal, knowing it would mean death?”

They didn’t reply right away. They were silent for a few moments, letting their gaze wander across the desolate landscape of Avernus. “... I remember seeing Bhaal’s domain in my dreams,” they said in the end. “It was different from this - no fire, for one, cold instead of heat - but there was blood, the red sky. A red sun. It’s surreal to think there was a time I wanted nothing more but to go there. By the time Bhaal offered me his blessing once more, I had changed too much to ever be his Chosen. The things I’d done horrified me; I never wanted to be consumed by the Urge again. He was attempting to stake his claim on me, while all I wanted was a life free of him. If I couldn’t have that, then I’d gladly forfeit that life entirely.”

“Some would call it a weak excuse to reject near-godly power, and a place back at his temple,” Raphael muttered. “Mephistopheles acknowledged my existence, but it was as far as he ever went. There was a time when I’d have given anything for him to…” he trailed off, but Durge knew precisely what he meant - of course they did. Who else could?

“Choose you?” Durge asked, quietly. 

He burned me in hellfire within an inch of my life, tried to destroy me as Bhaal tried to destroy you, and still I yearned to hear him call me son. Even now, I fear I may yet balk if he only speaks the word, Raphael thought. But he didn’t say those words. Even now, he couldn’t say it aloud.

“Yes,” was all he said in the end. “It’s hard to believe, is it not? That I was young and foolish enough to  wish for nothing more than a place at his side.”

Durge nodded, a grim look on their face, and placed a hand on Raphael’s shoulder. “Be glad he gave you no such place. To be chosen by fathers such as ours is to be owned. We both can do better.”

For a moment Raphael almost reached to touch that hand; perhaps he would have, if not for the sudden interruption - Haarlep, landing abruptly just ahead of them to warn of a large horde of demons they’d spotted, headed their way. Bleak as the news was, it was almost a welcome distraction.

Right up to the moment things began to go wrong.

***

As an incubus Haarlep was, by definition, a lover rather than a fighter. 

They were a great lover, of course, and it had always served them well. They could count the amount of times they’d had to fight on the fingers of one hand, and none of those fights had been anything more than a scuffle. 

That was to say that, once they got their first taste of having to fight off a demonic horde, it took them approximately a minute and a half to decide that they would really rather just stay a lover. As far as they were concerned, summoning a few imps was all that should be expected of him - so they’d done that, and left them to help while they sort of blinked in and out of the Ethereal Plane to escape any direct hits. 

Frankly, the mortals who’d defeated an Elder Brain with an all-powerful crown on top of it were probably going to be just fine without their help. 

It worked really well, right up to the moment they blinked back in Avernus to see Raphael on the ground, struggling to stand and fumbling to grab the horn at his belt while a balor stood over him with a roar, raising both sword and whip to strike. At a glance, Haarlep knew three things: that none of the others was close enough to help, that Raphael wouldn’t be able to blow that horn on time, and that they were about to very much regret what they’d do next.

With all that well in mind, they launched themself at the balor and put their claws to use. 

The demon let out a roar and reared back, turning its attention away from Raphael, as predicted. Just as predictably, it took little effort to throw Haarlep off - and they had no time to react before the flaming whip came down against their side. Fire did little enough damage, but the whip’s force easily split skin, cracking ribs. A slash of the sword opened up their other side, and that was much worse. 

Something that was probably supposed to stay inside spilled on the ground alongside the blood, and Haarlep found they barely had enough voice to cry out. They fell back, grimacing, just as the sound finally rang out - Lord Bel’s horn, calling for aid. 

Later, they’d be told that the erinyes had made short work of the demons who were still standing. They didn’t get to enjoy the scene; they saw very little indeed other than the burning sky above and, suddenly, Raphael’s face above him. He had a cut on his forehead dripping blood down his face, and his eyes were wide.

“You imbecile, what did you think you were doing?” he snapped, stunned and furious and something else Haarlep couldn’t quite place. They tried to speak - how about thank you? - but all that left their mouth was a gargle. Muttering an extremely impolite curse that somehow involved Asmodeus’ private regions, Raphael pressed a hand against Haarlep’s worst wound and muttered a healing spell. 

It helped, but it was not enough; they could see it in Raphael’s expression before he ground his teeth and turned to scream. It was only then that Haarlep knew what it was that they’d tasted in the air, that third thing that was neither fury nor surprise - it was the sharp, spiced tang of fear. “Halsin! Halsin! Help me!”

Ah, the handsome druid. His face coming into their field vision was about as welcome as his healing skills. “We really should stop meeting like this,” Haarlep muttered with a sigh of relief while the healing spells took effect, only for the elf to chuckle and help them sit up against Raphael, the cut on their side now closing. 

“There. A night’s rest and you’ll be good as new.”

Around them the battle was over; corpses littered the ground, with no casualties on their side. As most of the erinyes took their leave, some flying off and others teleporting back to Bel’s Forge, their commander lingered - Oreasha. She looked down at Raphael, who was still crouched with an arm around Haarlep’s shoulders. He met her gaze, but did not stand.

“Raphael. My master speaks highly of you. It was my honor to bring you aid,” she said, and raised an eyebrow at Haarlep. “You are in dire need of it, if you’re desperate enough to bring your toy to batt--”

The bolt of a hand crossbow grazed at her shoulder, causing her to trail off with a hiss. She turned, unsheathing her sword, only for the vampire spawn to point the other hand crossbow at her face, ready to shoot. Around him, the others seemed ready to jump to his defense if need be. 

“Go on,” he said, baring his fangs in a smile that was no smile at all. Haarlep had no idea what that was about but they could feel it, coming off him in waves - anger. “Say it again. See how it ends.”

Oreasha scoffed. “You will take that out of my face and beg forgiveness on your knees, mortal, or forfeit your--”

“I thank you for your aid,” Raphael spoke up, causing her to glance back. “And I’ll ensure Bel knows you have performed your duties splendidly. But I shall not accept insults or threats against my allies.”

The erinyes’ features twisted a moment, but she did not protest. Her sword went back in the sheath. “... Very well. I do apologize if offense was taken. I do suggest you take cover and regain strength, as you won’t be able to summon us until tomorrow.”

“Duly noted,” Raphael muttered, and let out a long breath when she left. There was a moment of silence before he glared at Haarlep. “That was the epitome of idiocy,” he snapped, helping them back on their feet, passing their arm over his shoulders. “Trying to claw at a balor! Surely even your head cannot be that empty.”

So, no thank you was forthcoming. As usual. “You were on the ground, what was I to do? Start writing a sympathy card for your mother?” Haarlep muttered, leaning heavily on him. Their side was still really hurting. “I told her I’d keep you safe.”

“I was not about to die.”

“Looked like it to me.”

“It was merely taking a calculated risk.”

“I don’t need to remind you how your last calculated risk went, do I?”

“I don’t have to take lip from you.”

“Of course not. Why only take lip when you can have the entire mouth?”

“Ugh-- enough of your nonsense. We should find shelter.”

Haarlep let out a hum, and turned to glance at the vampire spawn. He was no longer looking at them; he was speaking with the dragonborn, quietly, before being pulled into an embrace. He didn’t so much glance in their direction for the time it took to find a place to shelter in against the side of a cliff, and Haarlep didn’t get a chance to ask until later, once they were mostly settled and Raphael was setting up the tent.  

“What was it about, if you don’t mind me asking?” Haarlep asked, taking another swig from the healing potion the warlock had placed in their hand. “It seemed to rile you up quite a bit, but I took no offense. I am clearly no fighter--”

“Calling you a toy goes a fair bit beyond calling you a poor fighter, don’t you think?” the vampire cut them off, causing Haarlep to blink. 

“It was not the kindest way to put it, perhaps, but as you can imagine kindness is not the rule in the Nine Hells. I am an incubus. It’s not that great a difference,” they pointed out. 

The elf’s features twisted in a scowl. “You’re no toy but gods, you are an idiot.”

“Now that was uncalled fo--” Haarlep began, only for him to groan and stand abruptly, walking off without another word. They blinked, and held back a sigh before finishing the potion. Ah, mortals - so unnecessarily complicated, asking unnecessary questions. It reminded them of Dalah, asking them if they’d had a name before Haarlep. Like it mattered at all, when Haarlep was as good a name as any.

“The tent is up. If you’re inclined to join me,” Raphael spoke, snapping Haarlep from their thoughts. They turned to see him looking to the side, a frown on his face, and chuckled. 

“Ah, little duke, I don’t think I’d be up to get much done toni--”

“I am aware,” Raphael cut him off, still not looking over. “That’s not what I asked.”

Well well well. Wasn’t today just full of surprises. “Are you still angry at me?”

“I am absolutely livid. Now come to rest.”

“Is that an order? Bold of you to think I’ll obey. You don’t own me anymore,” Haarlep pointed out, just for the pleasure of seeing Raphael scowl, but they did stand and slip in the tent. It wasn’t too bad in it, small as it was. They got rid of clothing, force of habit, and settled in on their side. Raphael settled as well on the other end, as far from them as he could get. 

Haarlep pouted. “Are you so angry you won’t even touch me, my little brat?’

A snort. “You're in no condition to perform tonight.”

“That's not what I asked,” Haarlep pointed out. The only response they got at first was silence, and then shifting as Raphael sidled close, pressing his face against their throat. 

Taking on his form and resting a wing over him like a blanket came without thought - that, too, was force of habit. Haarlep settled with a sigh, waiting to hear Raphael ask for the usual lie. 

He did not, breathing quietly against their skin without a word. As Haarlep allowed themself to fall asleep, the slight stab of something a lot like disappointment was easy enough to ignore.

For now.

***

The High Cantor was not someone who often graced the vaults with her presence.

She’d arrived at the entrance just as the supervisors were letting them in for another tedious day of cleaning rooms which couldn’t possibly be any cleaner, just in case the Lord of the Eighth decided to descend in the vaults himself unannounced. Lady Antilia hadn’t so much glanced towards any of the debtors: she’d just handed something to the chief supervisor, a piece of parchment covered in Infernal writing, a seal at the bottom of it, beneath a signature written in an imperious scrawl. 

“As you can see, everything is in order. Lord Mephistopheles has authorized me to take the music scrolls retrieved in Kintyre, so that I may study them.”

“Of course, High Cantor,” the chief supervisor replied, bowing his head. Few half-fiends were held in as high regard in Mephistar as Lady Antilia; being hand-picked by Lord Mephistopheles to sing his praises was worth more than pure fiendish blood, it seemed. “One of us shall escort you--”

“No need. Simply tell me where they are.”

“Lady Antilia, the new guardian--”

“I am aware of the new guardian. I am also aware that he’s to keep thieves out. Do I look like a thief to you?”

“Of course not! We worry it may not be able to tell--”

“There is magic to the seal. As long as I have the authorization on my person, he will know.”

“If only for our peace of mind--”

“Your peace of mind is your concern, not my own,” Lady Antilia cut him off, her voice a sudden gust of icy wind. “Direct me to the room where the scrolls are on display, and return to your duties.”

“... Of course, my lady. You.” The supervisor turned to Dalah. “That’s your room to clean. Show the High Cantor the way.”

Dalah did not reply, because she was not expected to: she kept her gaze low, and nodded. Once the door to the vault was opened - a long process that required deactivating several warding spells - she headed for the room followed by the High Cantor, hoping to see her out as quickly as possible. Israfel was never too obvious when he sought her out, but seek her out he did, and Dalah didn’t want anyone to notice--

“You were one of Duchess Baalphegor’s attendants, were you not? Look at me.”

Lady Antilia did not raise her voice in any way, but she may as well have shouted for the pit it opened in Dalah’s stomach. It was never a good thing to be noticed by a devil, let alone now, when she had something to-- keep safe -- hide for the first time in so many centuries. She stopped in her tracks, and nodded in silence, gaze still low. She knew full well she was admitting to two things: to having been one of Baalphegor’s attendants, and to having borne offspring for Mephistopheles.

It was a well known fact that Baalphegor picked her personal attendants among them.

“I said look at me,” Lady Antilia spoke again, a little harsher. “I will not be repeating myself.”

Dalah swallowed, and forced herself to look up. She had caught glimpses of the High Cantor before, but she was certain she had never done anything to attract her attention. So either she’d caught wind of whatever it was that Baalphegor was planning, or…

There was a sigh, and her expression shifted - not in anger or accusation, but recognition. It was easy to tell why: Dalah had felt that sense of recognition herself, when she beheld her son’s human face for the first time in the dungeons. The resemblance was glaringly obvious even through the blood and grime, even with the scold’s bridle fastened to his head.

“Whoever chose to put you to work in the vault with him has a questionable sense of humor,” Lady Antilia muttered. Dalah bit the inside of her cheek and lowered her gaze. She did not pretend not to know what she meant, and the High Cantor did not press the matter either. “... Do show me where the scrolls are,” she ordered in the end, and that was all. 

The scrolls were on display in a large case of ice, and Lady Antilia did not open it right away. She just read through them first; even as she began her work, only daring cast quick glances, Dalah could tell she was not truly focusing on them. The scrolls were the reason why she’d been allowed in the vaults, but obviously not the reason why she had come there. 

That came lumbering into the room within minutes, preceded by the crackling of flames and the skittering of claws on ice. Dalah held her breath and looked up to see Israfel had stilled on the doorway, all three eyes fixed on the High Cantor. Who, on the other hand, had immediately turned her back to the scrolls to look at the newcomer. 

She stared a few moments before she smiled, faintly, and spoke in the guttural yet oddly melodic language of the Hells. It was not meant for mortal souls, and Dalah had no idea what she had said… but Israfel did. He let out a strangled, mournful noise before he stepped forward, head tilted on one side. The High Cantor said something else, her voice quieter, and stepped closer to him, heedless of Dalah’s presence.

When Dalah had watched Mephistopheles approach Israfel, she’d been terrified he’d harm him. Israfel, too, had been scared… but not now. He let out more clicking noises, echoing through his skulls, before hunching lower to let Lady Antilia’s outstretched hand rest on the side of the central skull, where an eye had been burned off long ago. 

She brushed her thumb over half-melted bone in what was almost a caress and he leaned into the touch with another low, woeful noise. But it sounded different now - something like a plea. And suddenly, a hand still cupping his face, the High Cantor began to sing. 

There were no words to it, in Infernal or otherwise, but her voice alone was enough to fill the vaults, to make Dalah forget all her fear, every thought that weighed on her mind. She’d loved music, once, when it was anything other than means to sing Mephistopheles’ praises; while she had little talent for it, she’d enjoyed playing the lyre nonetheless. With time and practice she’d even gained some skill. Yet nothing she’d ever played could compare to this, to the utter perfection of the High Cantor’s voice, to the slow and haunting tune it weaved in the cold air of the vaults.

Israfel’s eyes slipped shut, his flames burned lower, and for a few minutes he looked peaceful in a way Dalah had never known this form of his could be. He could not voice his agony, but she knew - she’d been told - that each moment of existence in that form was torment. For the first time she saw that torment taken away. It was a mercy, but to what end? Mercy did not belong to the Hells, not without something to be gained from it. And yet…

You know he’s my son. What is he to you?, Dalah wanted to ask. But she did not dare, could never dare, and she said nothing. 

She looked on, listening, grateful for that brief moment of respite.

***

Used as she was to blood-curdling screams, Karlach still found them to be the absolute worst way to awaken.

Her body had responded before her mind did, which was maybe not ideal but it had saved her skin a few times. Before she even knew where the screams were coming from she was up, greataxe in hand, looking around for threats and finding… precisely none. She blinked, finally realizing that what she’d heard were not war cries. 

They were screams of sheer, utter terror. And they were coming from the tent Raphael had set up to sleep - or whatever else, she’d rather not know - alongside Haarlep.

“No - no, no, no, no, no!”

“Come now, my little-- ow! Raphael, it’s-- stop that - you idiot, it’s me! Haarl--”

“LET GO OF ME!”

“Not until you calm down, I won’t. Come now, don’t make me tie you up again...”

At that point, they were all up and… sort of staring at the tent, not really knowing if they should try to get in. “Haarlep,” Durge called out, taking a step forward, almost close enough to reach out and open the tent flap if they chose to. “What happened? Is he well?”

There was a strangled noise, but it sounded muffled now. Haarlep let out an audible sigh before calling out. "All is good, dear. Our Raphael here had another of his vivid dreams, I think. Happens quite a lot, but usually-- ah, there you are. Feeling silly, aren’t we? I think the polite thing would be apologizing, my little brat. You always make such a show of being polite…”

Wyll cleared his throat, sheathing his rapier. “No apology needed, it was almost time we headed off either way. Maybe we could…uh…”

“I’ll prepare some breakfast,” Halsin spoke up, quickly, and turned to Astarion. “Would you be so kind as to help me?”

Astarion sighed, putting both daggers back at his belt. “Since you’re asking so nicely.”

That left only her, Wyll and Durge sort of standing around the tent, not knowing exactly what to do. After a few minutes during which they could only hear a few unintelligible murmurs coming from inside, the tent opened and Haarlep stepped out, still wearing Raphael’s form and entirely naked because of fucking course they would be. They stretched and shook out their wings to uncrumple them before looking up and finally noticing the three of them standing there. 

“Ah, I hadn’t realized you were still here. You’re all so awfully quiet,” they sing-sang, and changed form into that of a nondescript harvest devil. Still naked, but at least not Raphael. “You need not worry, he’s perfectly fine. He just had a very unpleasant dream - not the first time.”

Karlach raised an eyebrow. “What could be so bad that it left a cambion screaming?”

“Not technically a cambion right now, is he? But either way, I do not know. He told me to leave him be and he’s not in a talkative mood. So, where’s the elf? The big o-- ah, never mind, I see him. I’ll go see if he needs help,” Haarlep declared, and walked past. Karlach made a face. 

“They could at least put some pants on.”

“I don’t know, I can tell you Halsin is not the greatest fan of pants.”

“Durge, that’s not helping my headache,” Karlach groaned. Wyll chuckled, and tilted his head. 

“Would a kiss make it better?” he asked, smiling. 

Karlach grinned back. “Make what better?”

“Your headache.”

“What headache?” she asked, because sure enough it had fucked right off the second Wyll had smiled. Still, she very happily took the kiss before they were off to make sure the incubus didn’t bother Halsin too much while their breakfast was on the line.

***

“Raphael. Are you well?”

Durge’s voice sounded close, as though they were speaking from right outside the tent, crouched by the entrance but not coming in. Still wiping the cold sweat off himself with a damp cloth, Raphael pressed his lips together. Part of him - all of him, really, all of the wretched half of nothing he was reduced to - wanted to scream to be left in peace, but he couldn’t do that. Not now. Not when he couldn’t go a moment without thinking how his life entirely depended on their goodwill.

“I am fairly certain I did not come across as someone who is well,” he muttered in the end. 

“Is it something you wish to speak of?”

Oh, of course. It was about you, and how you ran me through with the Sword of Zariel the second you had it. Yet somehow it didn’t kill me, because next thing I knew I was in chains before my father’s throne. But it wasn’t him sitting on it - just my own frozen corpse with the sword through my mouth. Yes, let us speak of it. It will make for such lovely conversation. 

“No,” Raphael snapped, closing his eyes and trying to chase away the memory. One thing he could appreciate about being human, at least, was how quickly memories of his dreams dulled and faded. For his entire life, dreams would remain vivid in his memory days, weeks, even years later; now, the more minutes passed, the more details slipped away like sand through his fingers. It was a relief. “I do not wish to speak of it.”

“All right.” A pause, and the sound of someone sitting on the ground next to the entrance. Still, they did not lift the flap. “You have been on edge these past couple of days. We’re getting closer to the Sword of Zariel, aren’t we?”

Something clenched in Raphael’s stomach, as though something had grasped his guts and squeezed. “I-- of course we’re closer today than we were--”

“I know you’re concerned we’re going to turn on you. Karlach brought it up. That, and you’ve been particularly unsubtle. That offer of immortality, the comment on how your father’s vaults may just contain some artifact to help Astarion walk in the sun… and for the record, that jest about buying Wyll’s soul back from Mizora? It didn’t sound like a jest at all.”

Looking back later on - much later on - Raphael would be somewhat amused by how amateurish that had been of him, scrambling to secure some kind of life insurance in the face of mounting panic. In that moment, it only felt like that something grasping his guts had squeezed harder. He ground his teeth. 

“Can you blame me,” he spat, “given how you landed me in this predicament to begin with?”

“... No. Can you blame us for not believing you would stop at conquering the Nine Hells if we gave you the Crown?”

Raphael inhaled, opened his mouth, but words didn’t leave him right away. Finally, after a long pause, he exhaled. His fingers clenched on the shirt he had yet to put back on. “I wouldn’t have,” he admitted, very quietly. 

“Of course not. You’re a devil. Ambition is in your nature. I know better than most how difficult it is, to fight one’s nature - even when life gives you every reason to. And you had none.” A pause, then, “I understand our past dealings mean you cannot quite trust in our goodwill. But we’ve talked about it and there is something we need of you, once you’re whole again.”

“And what would that be?”

“Korrilla Hearthflame. Would you be able to return her soul to the House of Hope?”

Raphael frowned. Of all things he was expecting to hear, that was not it. “What use do you have for her soul?”

“We have no use for anyone’s soul. But it would make Hope very happy to have her back.”

Ah, of course. Hope and her impossible, indomitable, brainless loyalty and love and hope he could never break nor take for himself. This could only be about her. 

“... Korrilla’s soul was bound to me. There is an entire process, for the rare cases when a devil dies or is demoted before laying claim on a soul they own, and it’s not a quick one. I know Hope is probably imagining a pit of flames, but odds are that her sister’s soul is currently stuck in a processing facility. Or still in the Shelves of Despond, with how quickly that goes.”

“But once you’re whole again, could you lay claim on it?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then do it. Lay your claim, pull her out of wherever she is, and send her to her sister.”

Raphael snorted. “You seem under the impression Korrilla would be glad to be sent to her. I have to politely disagree.”

“Not your problem, that. Hope only wants a chance. If it doesn’t work out-- then it doesn’t.”

A sigh. Part of him wanted to raise the issue of the House of Hope and its rightful ownership, but he knew better than to rock the boat now. So he put the shirt on, and opened the tent flap to lean outside, to look Durge in the eye. “Is that really all you want of me in exchange for helping me take the other half of my soul back? Korrilla’s soul returned to the House of Hope?”

Durge snorted. “I’ve already promised to help you and I will, whether or not you believe me. But if it gives you peace of mind, then yes. This is something we all want for Hope’s sake, and it is something you can only do for us once you’re whole again. Half an immortal soul for one mortal soul. Does it seem like a fair exchange?” they asked, and Raphael had to laugh. 

“Obviously not,” he said. “This is not in your favor. Half my soul is still worth far more than a mere mortal’s.”

“Even with the Sword of Zariel on top of it?”

“Mph. Still not even close, but an acceptable enough bargain. If you’re willing to take a loss.”

“No issues with that.”

“You’d make a poor devil.”

“Of course I would. I couldn’t even cut it as the Chosen of Bhaal.” A chuckle and they stood, holding down a hand. “So, do we have a deal?”

And really, what choice did Raphael have? It was no absolute guarantee, but it was something at least - as good an insurance as he was going to get. So he nodded, and reached up to take that hand, letting Durge help him out of the tent and up. 

“I suppose we do.”

“Very well. Now that it’s sorted, I think Halsin was trying to make--”

“Breakfast!” Karlach called out. They turned to see her waving something that looked a lot like a roasted hellsboar leg.

Durge smiled. “Ah, speak of the-- huh. Did Haarlep even chew that sausage?”

“Knowing them as I do, they didn’t. They don’t have a gag reflex. You understand.”

“I didn’t think they’d need to eat--”

“They don’t.”

“So, they’re showing off?”

“As always.” Raphael sighed, then narrowed his eyes. “...Why is Astarion picking up a sausage now? I thought he only drank--”

“Oh, he’s not going to swallow it. But it looks like Haarlep started a competition.”

“Ah.” A pause, and he tilted his head. “... Well. Remarkable,” he conceded. “But I don’t think I’ll be having that sausage now.”

“I suggest you stick to the eggs today,” Durge laughed, and patted his back before heading off, leaving Raphael alone to turn and stare, in silence, at the horizon - where the Bleeding Citadel and the Sword of Zariel awaited, less than a day’s walk away.

***

[Back to Chapter 18]

[On to Chapter 20]

[Back to Start]

[moonleet]

in my era of thinking abt. all the companions banding together to take care of miya bc as their unintentional leader, he genuinely cares for them all and has shown it several times. so when this little elf falls ill, he is just doted on (bc he regresses. ofc he does.)

astarion, as his caregiver and also as someone whos incapable of getting sick, is very very involved. miya protests - nobody wants to get snot on their nice clothes, after all - but astarion just grits his teeth and pulls through bc he is genuinely concerned for his baby and wants them to be ok. its been so long since hes ever been sick, so he fusses over medicine and making sure miya is warm and hydration and all that stuff, bc what if he misses something and his little darling isn't as comfortable as they could be??

astarion also stays up with him in the dead of the night, soothing him through aches and pains and cooing over miya, petting his forehead to banish the headaches and patting his back when the little baby eventually does break down and cry bc he just feels so bad, both physically and for leaning on everyone. but astarion is there, just as exhausted but wanting to show up for his little darling more than anything

shadowheart is shockingly involved, even though she tends to stay hands off from miyas regression - always making sure he never loses track of his stuffed friend from behind the scenes, being right there with a handkerchief every time he gets too snotty, and squeezing his hand when he cries from just feeling plain bad. they're best friends, after all - and best friends take care of each other.

gale and halsin soothe what they can using magic - but when astarion gets all touched out or needs a break or has to go do something, halsin is right there to hold the weepy little baby and rock him as gale does tiny little magic tricks to distract him and keep miya giggling. wyll tells stories until his voice is hoarse because they just enrapture miya and make him forget he feels bad in the first place. karlach's right there with him, acting out the silly stories and keeping the energy up when the whole camp is a bit exhausted. when miya starts to feel a little bit better, lae'zel takes him through small meditations and exercises to get him moving again and in tip top shape..

and when miya gets better (and is subsequently big) hes a bit too embarrassed to thank anyone directly, but if his companions all find a special little treat they've mentioned stashed in their packs, well... withers certainly isn't gonna tattle

[piratemousey]

Bg3 Act 3 Spoilers: The Pale Elf

"Boo fears no evil! Wearwolves?! Bah!” Tav moved her hands above the smoke of the campfire as she told the story. In the smoke, she wove illusions to create images for the others to illustrate her story. “Bats! Ha! Boo laughs at your creatures of the night." Tav conjured a likeness of Boo is smoke.

"Squeaky-squeak" Boo said. His little body bouncing on the pillow on the chair which they set by the fire for him. Minsc sat on the ground beside the miniature giant space hamster.

"That's right, Boo." Astarion fist clenched as if the dagger were still in his hand. "We bled the evil from the hole I made in his throat."

“Squeak!” Boo’s eyes grew big. Tav knew that look, the murder hamster had fallen for the vampire spawn, just like the rest of them.

The companions sat under the stars, their campfire on the stone of the dock keeping the chill out of the air. The owl-bear cub was resting at Jaheira's feet. Scratch sat next to Wyll, who scratched behind his ear. Us, Bucket, and a memphit who Gale hadn't unsummoned yet were already nestled in the cubbies Tav had put together for her menagerie of pets.

"Tav has forgotten how Minsc misty stepped-in to save Astarion from those bats." Minsc added.

“I haven’t gotten that far in the story yet, Minsc.” Tav said. The smoky vision of Boo had dissipated. Tav was losing control of the crowd. "Did I mention how we almost left Shadowheart in an attic because of some tricky switches. It was funny."

“Hilarious,” Shadowheart chimed in, rolling her eyes toward Tav.

"I could have helped,” Gale said to himself but loud enough for everyone to hear. "I have many spells and scrolls that can accomplish any task."

“Don’t forget that lightning you cast the other day,” Karlach said. “I wasn’t there but we heard Tav say “Burn me with your lightning, Baby,” later that night."

“Karlach,” In front of Tav, the smoke turned into a representation of her sword slashing through the air. "That's not a direct quote." Tav waved the smoke illusion away. She turned to Gale. “Gale, you know Shadowheart can turn undead away from us. And she has spirit guardians."

“I'm also a fair singer if anyone cares,” Shadowheart said.

Astarion rose. As he crossed in front of Boo the hamster climbed on his shoulder.

“Where are you going Astarion?” Tav asked.

“You take my Boo?” Minsc said. He struggled to his feet.

“I just remembered that one of Cazador's informants lives nearby. A little birdy who got me thrown in the kennels on more than one occasion.” Astarion explained. He fed Boo a slice of carrot. The hamster tried to fit the whole thing in his mouth.

“I’ll come with you,” Karlach said. She got to her feet, grabbing up her hammer. The fire in her chest glowing bright.

“Me too,” Minsc said. “I go with Boo, of course. We’ll kill your evil doer and then you can return my hamster, yes?”

“I'm only borrowing him,” Asterion said, annoyed at being questioned. “And I’m not taking the loudest people in the camp on a stealth mission.”

“Ah, come on,” Karlach said. “I’ll keep back. I’ll leave my bone necklace at home.”

“Bone necklace!” Astarion said, his voice reaching a higher pitch. “Why the hells are you sneaking with a bone necklace? Do you buffoons understand the concept of being quiet? No, me and the hamster are going. Shadowheart can come, she appreciates the skill at least.”

“Coming, darling,” Shadowheart was already cloaking herself in shadows.

“But Boo!” Minsc pleaded.

“Fine,” Astarion said, he cut his hand through the air. “No necklaces, no bombs, and the two of you stay a street away at all times.” He pointed his finger like a dagger at Minsc and Karlach.

“Deal, I’ll get on the other roof then,” Karlach said, putting her hammer on her shoulder. She took off a necklace of bone which clattered as it hit the ground next to Clive. “I’ll be back, Wyll. Keep that bed cool for me.”

“No trouble, my beautiful firebrand.” Wyll said. He stayed propped up on the log next to the fire, a wine in hand.

Tav sat down next to Gale, setting her head in her hands.

“You worry over them too much,” Halsin said.

“Yes,” Jaheira agreed. “She scraps at them like a momma cat. They’re all grown. Even as young as Shadowheart is, she has faced much.”

Gale handed Tav a glass of wine, coated in frost the way she liked it. “I’m sorry I gave you trouble, my love. I know you would bring me on missions if you could.”

“I don’t know why,” Tav said. “Sometimes I can’t physically leave the camp with more than three people.”

“It is a very odd thing,” Wyll said. “But, did you notice, Tav?” Wyll said. “Astarion didn’t go off alone into the city streets tonight. He took a shadow-priest, two maniacs with great weapons, and the most violent hamster I’ve ever met. He’ll be back safe in hours. You gave them that.”

“You gave us all that,” Haslin confirmed.

“Your heart was in the right place, and you worry, I understand.” Jaheira said, getting to her feet. She left her empty mug of beer on her chair. “You’ll learn in time when to let that worry take pieces of your heart, and when to let fate do as it will. And let others do as they will.”

“Thank you, Jaheira,” Tav said. She watched the Harper make her way to her tent down near the water. Halsin nodded to Tav, Wyll, and Gale before following after. The two druids having found companionship among the uncomfortable stone wilds of the city.

“I supposed I wouldn’t be worried if it weren’t for Lae’zel being taken,” Tav said. “I’m trying to get things in place so that when we make our move for her, we win. I can’t stop worrying about her.”

“You're not alone in your fears,” Wyll said. “Or in your choices. We will get Lae’zel back.”

“I think you should continue with your story,” Gale said. He brushed his hand against Tav’s cheek. “Or tell us another one. You were so excited to tell a story with the smoke.”

Tav shrugged.

“Perhaps I can tell a tale,” Wyll said, a smile on his lips. “You’ll have to create the imagery for me though, if you don’t mind.”

“Okay, Blade, let’s hear a story about your adventures,” Tav jumped up, conjuring some excitement. She recast the initial incantation and began swirling the smoke. She knew Wyll and Gale were humoring her on some level. She didn’t doubt they loved her stories and songs, but they also were good friends, helping her distract from all the hardship around them. “Does this one involve a miniature giant space hamster?” Tav asked. She again conjured the likeness of Boo.

“No, hamster,” Wyll said, sitting up straighter. “A lot of fire beetles though, those things are tricky when they explode.”

Tav drew a fiery beetle in the smoke.

“That’s it,” Wyll laughed, gesturing at the image.

“Splendid,” Gale said, offering applause.

Tav smiled back at her companions, ready as Wyll began his story.

Deep in the maze of sewers beneath Baldur’s Gate, in the rat infested, blood-stained temple to Bhaal, Lae’zel sat chained to the floor. She’d lost track of how much time had passed. Time became moment of consciousness and breaks from the torture.

Her skin was still slick with sweat from the last round of torture. The acolyte of the god of murder had gone hard on Lae’zel. Desperate to see the Githyanki cry, scream, or react in any way.

As the heavy wooden door to the chamber shut, Lae’zel finally released a deep breath. She’d been controlling her breathing for hours, a gith technique for enduring torture. Her chains clinked as she stretched out on the cold stone floor, the only relief for her burning skin.

Near Lae’zel a brazier burned hot, smoke rising from the coals where Orin kept her torture devices. Lae’zel watched the smoke. Her mind returned to her companions at camp. She wondered what they were doing, what foolishness they’d gotten up to. Lae’zel was always the first to answer an attack in kind, and she wondered why they hadn’t stormed the cellar to save her. She would have done the same for any of them.

As Lae’zel’s yellow eyes grew heavy, she almost saw images in the smoke. Conjurations of better times. Sitting around the camp while Gale read from his books, Wyll relating military history from his darling Fae’run, Shadowheart humming her angsty ballads.

Then there was Tav, their appointed leader.

Lae’zel held Tav responsible most of all for letting her languish. However, as Lae’zel’s exhausted mind saw a fleeting image of a hamster in the smoke, she remembered that Tav understood how to play the long-game. Tav was playing a varied and grand game of chess with nearly insurmountable odds. Lae’zel was only one piece on the board. Her time would come.

[loquaciousquark]

Y'all, MALUS THORM. JIMINY CHRISTMAS.

It's been a long, long, long time since I got squeebed out by eye stuff, but him poking himself right through the ocular into his brain legit made me grimace. Gross, Larian. Fun gross, but gross. Not even Volo's eye thing was that bad.

In other news, I'm well into Act 2! I've fully explored the eastern half of the map and am working my way through the western side north-down, since Moonrise seems to be at the bottom left of the map. I've really, REALLY been enjoying this game--the combat, dialogue, characters, and plot progression are something I've been missing since probably DA2 days, and aside from a few early missed camp conversations, I feel confident I'm seeing as much of the game as I can, which is what I wanted. (Some people from Early Access had been posting saying that if you long-rested, you could seriously affect the outcome of the druid grove/goblin camp stuff, so I was avoiding resting as much as possible. How tragic!) This is exactly the kind of map structure I wanted from Inquisition and Andromeda; please don't lock parts of an "open world" map behind a level cap. Just make it linear and big and scale the enemies and make the higher-level stuff behind doors or later in the game. Don't give me a sandstorm I can't enter with no clear game context clues that this is a "COME BACK LATER" portion of the map, especially if you're determined to put quest markers within it.

The plot of this game still has me guessing! I'm so intrigued by this dream visitor who seems to want only the best for me but encourages use of the worms. I've only consumed one, but I've had it strengthened regardless by a few in-game choices (the illithid in the Underdark was a big one--the sound I made when he floated onscreen!). Lae'zel is currently undergoing a crisis of faith, and I strongly suspect Shadowheart's not far behind. Astarion is determined to make a deal with Raphael which I think is dumb, but Wyll, Karlach, and Gale all seem to be in great shape aside from their individual ticking time bombs inside them. I want to be able to add this His Majesty cat to the camp party and it's KILLING me I can't.

Romance: Astarion, no I don't know why, no I don't really think he's that similar to Fenris aside from the superficial background, yes I know the master and scar stuff and trust me that's not the source of the pull. I think I'm more interested in the thread (which I assume will come to fruition) of teaching the sneering peacock how to be sincere. The slavery stuff is incidental. Stop LOOKING AT ME.

I did somewhere trip a Karlach romance flag and finally had to let her down after her second piece of infernal iron, which SUCKED. God, I ain't felt so bad in a video game since...I don't know. Virmire, maybe?

I'll post screenshots shortly, but I'm playing a rogue (irony) named Tavish Gale (double-irony, sorry Gale), and I've REALLY been enjoying sneak attack and poisons and lockpicking. I hardly ever play rogues in games like these, but here we are! She has the criminal background, but also has red hair and freckles turned all the way up, so in terms of the Astarion romance structure in my head I'm playing with some contrasts between someone who has spent their whole life trying to hide in the shadows vs. someone who's spent two hundred years trying to crawl out of them.

[mz-elysium]

why wyll....

i finished bg3 with wyll and idk if i've ever been SO MAD about any story's writing choices. i legit feel robbed of what we could've had.

i've never felt such a feral need to write fanfic to fix... an entire character.

spoilers and rant under cut

idk if people were whining THAT MUCH about Wyll in early access. I just know he was rarely used bc as the "Blade of Frontiers" w/o Pact of the Blade, he really suffered in combat.

But, hey, he's now... quite good. My hero of Act 2 fights (sorc!Tav, Wyll, Shadowheart, Astarion). Gave him two levels of Paladin and he hits like a truck.

But they ~rewrote~ his story.

They broke him. This was a PERFECTLY good warlock and they ruined him. He was a fraud, a liar, a reckless proud cheat who wanted to be beloved by the smallfolk and sung about by the bards -- and not beat by goblins at level 1, but he was a useless fighter so he made a pact with a devil. Like the others, he was complicated. Flawed. In need of fixing a deep-rooted problem that the tadpoles could've taken advantage of.

But now, he's unfinished. His story feels so empty in Act 3. I managed to free him from the pact AND save his father, but their reunion is so flat and lackluster. I was totally expecting to find that an overbearing father was at the heart of Wyll's need to be praised/admired/loved, but there's just total forgiveness.... after 7yrs of exiling your teenage son for fucking a devil. Their dialogue trees also kept looping and his father addressed Tav as "my son" more than once.

Throughout the game, Wyll also said (in the same convo) that he "always wanted to get out of the pact", "never regretted it", and had "a hero's heart". He encouraged me regularly to follow my heart, that we don't need tadpoles or other powers to Do The Right Thing. Bruh. You're a warlock. What moral high-ground do you have? Either Mizora has never fucked you over by having you kill innocents/do minor evil (obviously not true), or she has, in which case you're a desperate liar but I can't call you out on it.

They made Wyll flawless, mature, always right, and honourably heroic. He never loses his cool. He holds nothing against his father. He's never lost a major defeat to hold grudges against. I would've loved EA Wyll to have a chance to become this stoic, calm, centered paladin. But Wyll, now, doesn't feel like he's earned it.

They made Gale less manipulative/sketchy before launch, which is fine. But completely erasing Wyll's growth by dropping him at the finish line is so unsatisfying.

I can totally see EA Wyll's development: from a lying adventurer crutching on his powers and needing the praise and reputation as a folk hero, to leaving the pact behind and growing up to save his father at the cost of his legend; becoming Grand Duke to do "common boring heroics" that make a difference.

But it just... doesn't exist. I have no idea why full-release Wyll wouldn't become his father's heir. He doesn't seem to need his identity as The Blade of Frontiers as much as EA Wyll did. He's older, mature, and less violent.

It felt the whole time like I was adventuring with someone whose arc had already finished. Shadowheart and Astarion changed dramatically; their comments, greetings, convos. Wyll was so static and painfully dull.

Also, making him half-devil looks super wonky. His horns are too wide and don't really suit him, let alone how he clips. He has no arc, coming to terms with them. You can't uncurse him.

I was most excited for Wyll in full release and I just feel like I played 92hrs waiting for him to turn on. A waste of a companion slot, when I could've taken Lae'zel this whole time and actually had a character with depth and development.

[mumms-the-word]

Drowning

Day 24 of the BG3 Fic February Challenge

The Iron Throne is one of my favorite encounters in the entire game. And it also happens to be one of my personal biggest nightmares.

I'm sure this place stresses out all of my Tavs/Durges (except for Freyr, who never goes there) but it is particularly stressful for Ardynn, who has a very real fear of the sea in general, let alone being fathoms below the surface in an exploding steel prison. So, er...enjoy?

Check out my masterlist of BG3 fics!

---

24. Tav/Durge faces their worst fear

---

Ardynn’s eyes widened with horror as she saw the first of the explosions around the Iron Throne detonate in a flurry of magical flame and bubbles. A wave of force slammed into the submersible, rocking it beneath her. She had to scramble to stay on her feet.

“No!” she screamed. “Gortash, stop!”

But Gortash’s image on the blue screen was already gone, his last words taunting her.

When the corpses start to wash up on the shore, remember—you could have prevented all this.

“Gods damn him,” Karlach growled. “We have to save them. Whoever we can. We’re gonna save them right?” She looked to Ardynn, but Ardynn was frozen. “Right?”

“Of course we are,” Wyll said. “And my father. We can’t just leave him down there!”

But Ardynn couldn’t move. She could only stare in horror as more explosions went off.

Most of the roof for the structure below was thick glass, allowing her to see inside as pipes began to burst, releasing thick jets of steam into the corridors. Whole sections of the metal floor cracked under the pressure. Water gushed up from below, rapidly spilling over the hallway floors and slowly starting to fill them. The glass in one section began to crack, stress lines fracturing outward like a spiderweb. It held, but only barely. Any second now it would break and water would rush in as an unstoppable torrent, drowning everyone inside.

It was her worst nightmare. Being trapped below the sea with no way to escape. Trapped in some horrible metal construct, far from sunlight, with little air to breathe. Drowning. Sucking in water instead of air and choking on it, banging her fists against a metal door that would never, ever give, forced to wait for the inevitable, for her death, her lungs screaming for relief, for air, and finding only water and more water, and banging, clawing, pounding desperately on the doors trying to be free—

She felt a heavy hand on her shoulder and jolted at the touch. It was only then that she realized she was breathing in short, shallow breaths, nearly hyperventilating, her head swimming. She turned to find Halsin at her side, his face full of concern and urgency.

“Ardynn,” he said. “Breathe deeply. Remember.”

She gave a shaky nod, remembering how he had taught her to breathe through her anger and pain just a few nights prior. But there was no time. There were hostages down there—Duke Ravengard might even be down there—and they would all die in the minutes it would take for her to catch her breath again.

“Just tell us what to do,” Karlach said. “You don’t have to go down with us.”

“No,” Ardynn said. “No, we all need to go. We need every—every chance we can get.”

She put her hand over Halsin’s on her shoulder, desperately trying to soak in some of his steadiness. He tightened his grip, not even flinching when she in turn dug her nails into the skin that was exposed by his bracers. She didn’t need to look at his face to see that he remained full of concern for her, but there wasn’t time. There wasn’t time. The seconds were ticking by quickly.

“The plan,” she said, even as she trembled, her body resisting every breath inside that blasted submersible. “We go down the ladder. We split up. Save as many people as you can. But give yourself time to make it back.”

It would be difficult for all of them to force themselves to leave anyone behind. Karlach and Wyll, the heroes. Ardynn and Halsin, the caretakers. All of them wanted to save everyone down there. She knew that. 

But gods, she couldn’t—she couldn’t be the last one down there, trapped forever under a pile of steel and rubble a thousand meters below the sea. It didn’t matter that Withers could bring her back. She would never heal from the experience of dying that way. So if she had to leave someone behind...

She hated the idea, but she tried to resolve herself to it. The plan was set. Ardynn sucked in a deep breath and shrugged Halsin’s hand off, heading down the ladder ahead of everyone else.

Silvanus, if you’re listening, she desperately prayed, let me see the sun again. I can die any other way but this, so please, please let me make it back to the surface alive.

———

Every second felt simultaneously like an eternity and a flash as they charged through the metal hallways. Ardynn didn’t know half of what was happening in other parts of the prison, but she heard the sounds of spells, of Karlach’s war cries, of Halsin’s deep voice shouting and directing ex-hostages. She couldn’t focus on them. She was too busy trying to survive.

Not against the sahuagins. Not really. They were viscous and dangerous, but they fell to her arrows just like anything else. No, she was fighting to survive in her own body.

As her boots filled with water and her skin stung from blasts of burning steam, she fought to wrest open levers to prison cells, her strength halved by her fear. She barely heard the words of the Gondians as they stammered their thanks, running past her toward the ladder that lad up into the submersible. The only sounds she could make sense of were the droning alarms of the Iron Throne security system, the rush of water, and the roar of blood in her head. 

Every breath felt precious and dangerous. Her lungs fought against her, seeking more air even as her brain tricked her into thinking shorter breaths were wiser. She felt woozy, but she forced her mind to focus, the sharpen the world around her. Her fingers and toes seemed to tingle and grow numb, but perhaps she was imagining it. She had no time, no time to stop and think about anything her body was doing. She simply forced herself to dash forward, reaching for the next lever, the next arrow, fighting and running on instinct alone.

Ardynn! All hostages free on this side! Heading back now!

She heard Karlach’s voice in her head, connected by the tadpoles. Wyll’s voice soon interjected too.

I’ve freed my father—gods damn Mizora—Omeluum has taken him back to the submersible. Let’s go! 

What about Halsin? Ardynn asked them both, but there was only silence. 

Neither of them knew.

Without a tadpole, Halsin was unable to connect to them telepathically. A newfound fear gripped Ardynn’s chest as she shot another arrow through a sahuagin’s scaly throat. Had he fallen? Was he trapped? Oh gods, oh gods—

She turned and ran back up the metal hallway. There were no more cells to open where she was and half of the Gondians were already ahead of her. She reached the middle room where the ladder stood and cupped her hands around her mouth.

“Halsin!” she shouted, her voice rasping with the force of her shout. “Can you hear me?”

The only response was the droning alarm and the rushing sound of water pouring endlessly into the hallways. She stumbled out of the way of the ladder, turning this way and that, unsure of which corridor to look down. 

She tried desperately to connect to Omeluum, seeking out his mind blindly. Omeluum! Is Halsin with you?

The druid? He is not with us in the submersible. I am with Duke Ulder Ravengard and his son.

The floor beneath her began to rumble with the force of explosions down other hallways, in other locations of the prison. Above her, the glass cracked and shuddered, droplets of water seeping through and raining down around her. Any second now this place would implode in on itself, crushing everyone inside.

“Halsin!” she screamed again, despair clawing at her throat.

“Soldier!” Karlach ran up one of the hallways, a couple of Gondians at her heels. “Come on, come on, let’s go!”

Ardynn let her brush past, stepping around the Gondians to peer down the corridor Karlach had just left. No sign of Halsin. At the far end, a sahuagin clawed through a hole in the floor, its scales glistening in the flashing red lights. Ardynn notched a lightning arrow and aimed for a bit of exposed wiring near the doors. 

Please, Silvanus, please don’t let him be down that corridor!

She let the arrow fly. Lightning skittered across the metal and the doors swung shut, the wheel turning, the bolts sliding home. Locked for good.

“Halsin, where are you?” she shouted again, backing up until her back was against the ladder. There was no one else down any of the open corridors. No Gondians, no companions, only torrents of water, jets of steam, and burning oil.

“I’m here!”

She whirled. There! A shadow in the steam that filled one of the corridors. Halsin emerged carrying an unconscious man over his shoulders, a gnome woman just a few steps behind. Ardynn’s knees nearly buckled with relief to see him.

“Up the ladder, quickly!” She moved out of the way, gesturing for them to hurry up.

“You first,” Halsin said, his voice strained but firm. She opened her mouth to argue, only for a guttural roar behind Halsin to draw her attention. She notched another arrow, gesturing to the ladder with her head.

“I’ll handle the sahuagin. Get up there, now!” She let the arrow fly, shooting past Halsin toward the creature beyond, but the sahuagin dodged with a lithe spin, disappearing briefly into the steam.

Halsin grit his teeth, looking ready to argue, but the gnome woman ignored them both, already halfway up the ladder. Halsin flicked his eyes between Ardynn, the steam filled corridor, and the ladder. After only a second’s hesitation, he adjusted his hold on the unconscious man and began his ascent. Ardynn readied another arrow, her eyes focused on the steam. Just another second, just enough time for Halsin to be a few steps up—

An explosion rocked the floor beneath her, buckling the metal. She cried out as she stumbled, only barely catching herself on the ladder.

“Ardynn!”

Halsin’s voice was far above her now. She cursed and swung onto the ladder steps, taking them two rungs at a time. By the time she had reached the upper room, Halsin was already in the submersible.

“Come on, soldier!”

“Ardynn, quickly! You’re nearly there!”

The voices of her companions spurred her on as she clambered onto the metal grate floor of the upper floor, scrambling on hands and feet to reach the final ladder as the entire world around her shook. The Iron Throne was buckling, cracking, shattering around her, and she was so close—

The glass overhead fractured. Sprays of water showered down over her, pipes rattling, metal screeching, distant rumbles of the building crumpling and exploding growing closer and closer. The metal was slick under her hands and feet as she struggled to stand, to make it to the last ladder leading up into the submersible. She would die here. She would die here. She could scarcely breathe as her hands finally found purchase on the ladder rungs and she hauled herself upward, the crackling of the glass growing louder as she climbed closer toward it. She flinched as a pane cracked, a piece of glass flying toward her, but she kept climbing. 

Halsin was there, kneeling at the opening of the submersible, stretching down an arm toward her. She choked down a sob as she finally made it within reach of his hand, reaching up to grab it. His grip on her water-soaked gloved hand was fierce, almost painful, as he hauled her upward. She heard the glass finally shatter, water rushing in with a roar, as Halsin pulled her through the hatch with all his strength.

They fell back together, her half-crawling and Halsin half-dragging her away from the hatch as Karlach kicked it closed. She held herself up, barely, on hands and knees, coughing and gasping, choking on water and relief and sobs until she thought she would be sick. Halsin knelt at her side, his body shielding her from the others in the submersible as she fought not to collapse. Her vision darkened and brightened in turns and her arms shook beneath her. Every breath was like ice in her lungs, cold relief and piercing pain.

She felt Halsin press his forehead to her temple, his hand on her back, as he whispered to her, “You are safe, now, my heart. Do you hear me? Focus on me. Breathe deeply.”

She clutched blindly at his arm, leaning into him as he curved his body around her, shielding her as she sucked in desperate gulps of air. Her mind could make sense of the fact that she was alive and safe but her body reacted with all the pent up panic and fear and terror that had fueled her every step and action down in the Iron Throne. She was a trembling, gasping mess in Halsin’s arms, but gods—she was alive. She was alive. They were all alive.

“You were amazing, my heart.” 

She had enough energy to laugh weakly at that. She wanted to cry. She wanted to sob in long, loud, wailing sobs that wracked her whole body, but she didn’t have the energy for it. Amazing? She was stupid. She shouldn’t have lingered so long. She could have died. He could have died.

But on this side of the danger, even with the submersible rocking and tilting under the force of the explosions below as the dwarf fought to navigate them free of the blasts, she could feel nothing but blessed relief as her panic slowly subsided. She’d never be so happy to be in a metal construct like the submersible again.

She knew she needed to pull herself together. The submersible wasn’t exactly a private space. All of the Gondians they’d saved were there. Omeluum was there. More importantly, Duke Ravengard was there. And she was shivering in Halsin’s arms like a terrified child, rather than standing as a leader. 

Just a few more seconds, she promised herself, turning her face to press her forehead into Halsin’s chest. She forced herself to breathe deeply on counts of five, as Halsin had taught her, ignoring her surroundings and focusing her world until it consisted only of him and her. She felt his hands rubbing gently but firmly against her back and arms as she leaned into his solid body. Just a few more deep breaths…a few more...a few more...

There. 

She wasn’t back to normal, and she suspected when she had time again to think and process she might just collapse in a flood of tears all over again. But for now, she could breathe and her heart had slowed a little. She tilted her head up to look at Halsin.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He cradled her face in his hand, studying her quickly with a healer’s gaze before his expression softened. “You did well, Ardynn. My heart.” 

He looked like he wanted to say more, but he pressed his lips together and instead offered her his hand. Together they stood, Halsin having to help her more than she wished, her legs still weak beneath her. But finally, she was able to stand and face the others, just as the submersible steadied into a smooth journey back toward the surface.

Thank you, Oak Father, she prayed silently. But, please, by all the powers of nature, please let this be the last time I ever have to endure that again.