#astarion making a wisdom save by the skin of his teeth

[theautumnpicker]

Astarion follows Gale's gaze into the mirror and views from there the flush on his cheeks, his wide-eyed stare. He softens, circling his arms around Gale's body as he leans back against him. Don't tempt me, says Gale, and in the next moment he is putting a hand in his hair and guiding his head back down to his throat.

"Gods," he breathes against his skin, "now that is dangerous." He nibbles on Gale's neck, his fangs pressing the surface of the skin but not puncturing it. "You make it very hard to practice self-restraint, pickle." One of his hands rises from its resting place on Gale's stomach to reach his throat instead, tilting his jaw back, resting possessively on his neck.

Heroically, Astarion lifts his head and kisses him on the cheek instead. "Tomorrow is too important, my treat. Any other time and I'd indulge you. I promise. But you really mustn't urge me to keep going; it can be difficult enough to stop without your making it harder." He releases his neck, his finger remaining to trace his jugular as he presses kisses to his shoulder. "It's dreadful having to say no to you. Poor, dear thing, I want to give you everything you ask for."

The sweetness of that reassurance ghosts upon his neck, a forewarning to the lips that press there. His breath hitches in his throat, turning him to stone, some pathetic fool who looked a gorgon in the eye. But of his own eyes, wide and unblinking, they stare at the mirror, into nothingness what should be his lover's reflection.

"Truly so." He exhales. It is too late to hide the redness which scolds his cheeks, the shiver that twinges each flexing muscle in his back. "Don't tempt me dearest. I'm not at my wisest this very moment." He draws the cloth upon his wounded neck, careful not to break the dried blood.

Broad shouldered he leans into Astarion, watching his indulgence. Generous, in love, a desire to be wanted. His bicep flexes as he reaches behind himself, sifting fingers through curly silver hair. "If you could stomach another bite of your indulgent treat, I think I've got a touch more to spare."

Eyes shut, he tips his head, lining up his lover's lips.

[brokenbowstring-cobbledcoffin]

cradled in the arms of death&undeath

my take on zirse meeting astarion.

---

as an undying warlock, you gain a feature called Among the Dead. It offers several perks, but most notably the following:

"...If an undead targets you directly with an attack or spell, that creature must make a WIS saving throw. On failure, they must choose a new target or waste the attack or spell. On success or if you target the creature with an attack or spell, the creature is immune to this effect for 24 hours."

i will never not make astarion fail his wisdom save against an undying warlock it's just too funny and makes the stories too interesting.

---

Footsteps approached, and Astarion recognized the faces. Especially the person with short, dark curly hair and pale brown skin, leading the pack. He stood a little straighter, and tried to look interested in the boar down the ravine.

“You there! I’ve got one of those brain-things cornered. You can kill it, can’t you? Like you killed the others?”

“Oh, easily!” The leader’s hand fell to her rapier, and she stepped up, chest puffed, like a bloody hero, “Stand back.”

She stepped up into the bushes, quietly, rapier drawn ready for a fight. Astarion stepped behind her, hand on his own blade.

Astarion paused. His hand was at his hip, but… there was no point in drawing it. He took a staggering step back. Head tilted, he studied the person before him again. She… looked human, enough. Looked living enough.

But she was decidedly undead.

She flinched, as the boar he’d been focusing on sprinted from the underbrush. She looked around wildly, before turning to look back at Astarion.

“Wha– Where’s the thing?” She asked. No fangs to notice, though. She wasn’t one of Cazador’s, at the very least.

“I– um– my apologies. The– Those things must have been messing with my head. I could have sworn I saw one.”

“That’s a terrible lie,” Her dark-haired companion snarled beside her– a half-elf with a darkness in her eyes.

“Now, now, Shadowheart. We’ve all been through the hells and back– oh, Gods, literally.”

“You–” Astarion took a moment to gather himself, did the half-elf not know? Could she not feel the necrotic aura around her? There was a holy symbol on her chest, and in her hair– he didn’t recognize it, but he knew a cleric when he saw one. Could she not– “–You were on the ship.”

“Oh, yeah, we were. You, too? I didn’t see you.” Astarion felt his jaw set. She’d walked right past him. And yet, she was so distractingly earnest.

“I saw you. Strutting about.”

“Hahah, yeah, more like sprintin’ about. Terrible time, really. I– I’m glad you made it out. I didn’t want to leave anyone to die.”

He felt his eye almost twitch into a snarl. He could pull his blade out now, but what good will it do? She was bloodless.

And then, like a stab of ice to the brain, he saw things that weren’t his memories. A temple in the woods, old headstones, and a giant, towering, skeletal thing, half-buried under moss and rubble. And then a long, winding road, and a ship– the ship, overhead. Darkness. The worm. He staggered back and clutched his head.

“What– What was that?!” He yelled; this time his hand did fall to his blade.

“Jergal’s teeth, it happened again. They put a worm in your brain, too? Were those your memories?”

Panic cut through him, but then he remembered who he was talking to. “I don’t know. But I definitely saw some of yours.”

“Shadowheart, did you see that?” She turned to her clerical companion.

“No, I didn’t see anything. But I felt it. Your minds touched.”

“Is that what it does, then? Gives us worm-to-worm communication?”

“Apparently,” The curly-haired undead sighed, dark eyes turning from her companion– Shadowheart, what a bloody name– to Astarion again, “As well as… well, turn us into mindflayers.”

“Turn us into–?!” Astarion blinked, grimaced. And then he laughed, dark and bitter, “Of course it will turn me into a monster, what else did I expect.”

“It’s alright, hasn’t happened yet. We’re looking for a healer, you wanna travel with us?”

Astarion had to doubletake. So did Shadowheart.

“You’re taking him with us?!” She hissed.

“What?” The leader looked indignant.

“He tried to kill you with your back turned!”

“What?” No indignance there, just confusion. She looked back to Astarion. He looked uneasily between the two.

“He was reaching for his dagger, you oaf!”

“He was?” She looked between them again, “But he didn’t draw it on me.”

“Does that–”

“I-I thought,” Astarion started, “You might need some help with the– the monster.”

This had the leader beaming, “That’s what I thought!”

Oh, Gods– she was dumber than she looked.

Shadowheart’s eyes practically bulged from their sockets in anger. “And you believe him?”

“Why shouldn’t I? He’s been nothing but forthright with us?”

Astarion tried not to look downright surprised.

Shadowheart’s eye twitched. “Do you normally put such blind faith in strangers?”

The leader gave a cockeyed, warm grin, “I mean, I’d like to.”

“How about we not be strangers, then? My name’s Astarion. I was in Baldur’s Gate when the ship snatched me.”

“Name’s Zirse. I come from Loudwater, just North of Loudwater, actually. I was traveling to Baldur’s Gate myself. Well– was, until… yeah. It’s a pleasure, Astarion. I look forward to traveling with you.”

Astarion was suddenly quite certain this was a trap.

“Yes,” He hummed, “A pleasure, indeed.”

[howyouducan]

So anyway I'll screenshot Umbril next character creation, before my game crashes due to data mismatch again (can't wait for that hotfix).

He is an outlander Szarkai (albino) Drow who was sent upstairs with a lady Szarkai to be a sleeper spy agent when he was young (12-ish) but things went awry. An incident caused him to become separated from the Alleged Mother spy and also gave him a connection to Limbo (and maybe... something/someone else?), turning him into a Sorcerer. He then lived in the woods until he was poked by a Mindflayer Nautiloid tentacle (he is now 19-ish?).

He has typical Szarkai mutations, like baldness, and if I could, he would be customized with lowkey jagged pointed teeth and gnarled clawed hands. I also used the makeup option to give him faded, medium-blue bags under his eyes. He also has a red-colored tattoo around his eyes; it kind of looks like tendrils in-game, but I like to think that in reality it would actually resemble spider legs a little bit. His eyes are a lighter shade of pink, to contrast Astarion's dark red ones. His skin is also ice-white, instead of just pale Caucasian, to match the DnD Wiki's picture example of a Szarkai.

He's chaotic neutral, and has lower Charisma and Intelligence / higher Dexterity and Wisdom than he should have, due to his lifestyle and slightly unstable state of mind. As for his decisions, he's going to make a lot of poor choices, but not evil ones. For example, he will save the refugees, BUT he's going to encourage the mindflayer parasite, and make the deal with Auntie Ethel. Also he's gonna make himself a plate of food when the devil comes knocking. You know, the fun stuff. His cantrips and spells are centered around useful survival magic, like jumping and charm, and his attacks are always elemental-based. (I really wanted to get that Fog one, but Thunderwave is just more useful...)

He used to be Lolth-Sworn, but I felt that it just didn't make sense for him to be that anymore, considering he's lived on the surface for quite a while, and he's not the pinnacle of obedience (typical Lolth followers tend to be neutral evil, due to their servitude of a chaotic evil goddess. You can't serve anything to that extent without losing your chaotic status, or so the wiki claims). So now he's Seldarine instead. In reality, he doesn't care about gods much.