#beregosts

[lordsrot]

He had been not but a lingering figure in the absence of light. Letting the shadows shallow his form whole. Silently he had watched the far smaller woman sneak about the makeshift camp he had put together. A handful of supplies had fallen captive to her sticky figures. It's only when she reaches for something of greater value, wrapped tight in a dark cloth, does he shatter his silence.

"You may one day lose the hands you thieve so confidently with." He speaks from the darkness, yet does not relive himself. "By those swift enough to catch you, or the souvenir which you pocket."

@beregosts

[dreadgrace-a]

❛ i’ve had a clever thought. if your mind is absent of one, you should perhaps follow mine. ❜ | @beregosts

❛ And? Will you share this thought of yours, or must I stand here guessing until our bones are dust? ❜ if Arlis seeks to wound, she'd be better off seeking a target her daggers will not shatter against. Neither the blade nor the hand wielding it know the taste of their own blood.

Finding an open section of wall to lean against, Lark yawns, making no effort of hiding her continuing boredom. ❛ I've no interest in trading barbs. Orin's hunters have marked you, not me. ❜ The full weight of her attention settles upon Arlis, a mantle of darkness made no less heavy by the noon sun. ❛ Whether you accept my help in finding her or not won't change my fate. ❜

[n1ghtwarden]

minthara knows the bonds of war - she knows the bonds of blood more so; a web that binds; chokes. necessary, forged in fire - tested by time and battle after battle. those, of course, were far stronger than any family bonds - kin turn against kin as easily as water flows, as a spider weaves. the night warden knows not what the assortment of souls before has gone through to reach this blighted land alive; only that their own bonds have been forged in the same heat as her own had. friendship; rare and true, and a retort forms on her lips, faltering at the defensiveness - the steel in arlis' words, in her look. the night warden knows that expression, and had worn it often enough in her raiding days - no word or hand would ever be raised against her own men. and for once, minthara falls silent - watching, listening to arlis speak, and an uncomfortable sensation gnaws at her as the other continues - settling within her like a weight. the expression of a martyr looking at a blade - the tortured awaiting execution. it burns in her, expression hardening as storm clouds gather, darkening her as she brews.

" i do not need your pity. " she spits, agitated; expression pinching with irritation. the night warden does not enjoy the way arlis looks upon her now; as though she is wounded, bleeding out into the salted earth of the shadow cursed lands. a part of her knows that she is; a map of scars across her body that will never heal - the lone survivor, and she did not even possess the strength to claw and fight her way from the colony. " continue to look at me with it -" red eyes narrow, her jaw set as she takes in the other woman - the way she reaches for her; and minthara stiffens, teeth bared in warning, lips curling into a snarl. " - and i will pluck your eyes out from your skull. unlike your bard, i do not have spares to give you. " the night warden remembers how arlis had looked at her before; eyes narrowed, suspicious - she had preferred the fear. that, she knew as intimately as the dance of battle. this is a weakness; an insult, her eyes burning with a cold fury. what she does not notice is the way her vision blurs and burns - a shaky breath leaving her as she blinks; once, twice -- lips twisting into a thin, hard line as she looks away; then back again.

arlis has been lucky - all things considered. luck, being relative - tadpole aside, absolute aside. she had always been protected from the call of the absolute; had never lost herself to its crushing will. more than that: she had not lost any of the others here, weak as the night warden knows them to be; shackled by fears and petty desires. they all have that same will to live - the same, perhaps, can be said of her. how is it that they have survived, and her own had not? minthara baenre, lost daughter of menzoberranzan, knows that the blame lies solely with her. she will believe this until the day she is cold in the ground.

another step back; grateful for the distance she creates, and minthara's chest heaves with a slow, deliberate breath. brave, foolish girl - the same as she. her jaw clicks, slides; the noise of her teeth grinding loud within her skull. " you will have to gain the strength to do so, should you seek to be useful in our campaign. " ours. the word tastes strange within her mouth; unable to quite speak it aloud. " and if you cannot gain it, you will take it. if we are to survive this, there must be not a moment of doubt or fear; or ketheric will find it and strike us down before we even manage to wield a blade against him. "

@beregosts ha ha hi.

𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃𝐋𝐘, 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐘, she feels a sudden defensiveness stir within her at mention of the others. arlis isn't certain when, or really even how, but they are more than just the odd assortment of acquaintances cobbled together amidst horror now. they are her friends, undeniably, and there is a frightening swell of care behind her ribs when she thinks, speaks, of each of them. minthara is allowed her skepticism, but is matched with a coolness of tone that reveals her protectiveness. ❛ they are far more than you give them credit for and they are far stronger than i suspect you could imagine. ❜ of course, how could the drow before her know the sharp arc of lae'zel's steel or the way the very air seems to crack and shift around gale's hands, how could she measure the enormity of karlach's spirit or comprehend the strength of wyll's without having seen it herself? for that, arlis' next words do not bear the same ice. ❛ give it time & you'll see. ❜

something changes in minthara's face then, seems to ripple through every inch of lean form. delicate features harden, reveal more than arlis suspects the drow desires to share. it startles her. it feels like looking upon something she isn't meant to see, hasn't been given permission to witness, and for a brief moment her gaze drops as minthara composes herself, rebuilds and repairs her defenses. ❛ i'm sorry, minthara, ❜ a hand briefly, momentarily extends to comfort, but retreats before she continues gently, ❛ i didn't know. ❜

the sickly sweet rot has faded from her tongue now, the grave dust cleared from her lungs, but even now the memories of moonrise and the drowning death within set her heart to beat faster. ❛ i'd have torn those towers apart with my own hands, had i the strength, ❜ her jaw works silently, ❛ some places have been witness to too much to be saved. it should be erased, made to be forgotten.❜

[y-rhywbeth2]

Durge: 'I've killed so many people. You should end me here and now.' Astarion: 'Oh please, how many lives have you taken? Dozens? I must have brought Cazador a thousand souls.'

Hang on let's attempt some maths...

Durge defaults to dragonborn, meaning 15 is literal physical maturity (as opposed to 15 being socially 'of age,' as with humans). They were active as a Bhaalist 15 years ago, so they're canonically at least 30 - probably older.

Assuming the calculator/dyscalculia isn't leading me astray:

365 days a year, with a murder at least once every tenday: 36.5 murders a year, at least 547.5 kills over 15 years, up to 1,095 kills if Bhaal has been making them do it for the whole 30 years.

Bhaalspawn with the Urge have to kill need to kill at least once every 13 days: '...an NPC that would not normally have the attitude of hostile towards the Bhaalspawn. This NPC must have an intelligence of 3 or more.' They've had the Urge before puberty, so that's apparently like 842 murders or more over the course of their life.

Bhaalist doctrine actually calls for a life taken every day it's just that only one in ten has to be human/oid. Durge being Durge, murder is more likely, which makes it like 5,475 murders over 15 years.

All of this, of course, assuming Durge was limiting themselves to only one kill per day. Not including sprees and group killings.

I don't know, I think Durge can probably match your score, Astarion. Also they were vivisecting people, and while they had as much say in murder as you did in handing people to Cazador they also did it with their own hands and slid into personal monstrosity, so I think they beat you in sadism. Of course if we include all the people you ruined or sentenced to death in your magistrate years we can probably nudge the scales a smidgeon in your favour...

But then, looking at some of the numbers, it seems like it could be possible for Astarion to have been accomplice to more murders than Durge has committed depending on the factors. Unlikely though.

Edit: Actually it's possible that Astarion brought Cazador more than 1000 victims, since Cazador has to feed every night, not to mention the 'parties' and sending the spawn out to find 'guests,' and he probably ended up with surplus... Well, they've both got a high body count and I'm getting tired. Let's call it a tie that Durge technically wins due to being hands-on.

[beregosts]

need to put together a properly thought out post about it tomorrow, but if arlis stays in the city after the main game's events have wrapped up she's actually fairly miserable. after the initial surprise of suddenly having everything that she's never had (power, stability, at least some shred of wealth), she realizes it comes at the cost of her needing to pretend to someone she just isn't. she isn't a hero (at least, in the way people want heroes to be), she isn't even a baldurian, and needing to constantly compose herself to reflect the city's virtues and expectations exhausts her.

while she hardly misses the horrors(tm), arlis misses her friends and the proximity of them. she's now surrounded by people she doesn't know who have been playing a game she's unfamiliar with for a long time. she has influence but no idea how to wield it properly.

she's tired and lonely and sooner than later makes the decision to fade back into obscurity.

[livetoariel]

I pulled my hand up with the ring on it and looked deeply into his eyes. “Is this going to replace the other physical marks that prove I’m yours?”

He pressed his cold nose and lips against my throat and growled “Not a chance.” He bit down hard enough to draw blood, but didn’t start drinking. “I’m going to continue making sure there’s no question, no matter the angle.”

I like to think that sometimes Astarion is just a feral weirdo.

2k of unedited drabble under the cut. 18+ only this is not ok for kids.

We stopped in Berdusk after leaving Beregost without looking back. It took some time to get there, travelling at night and I don’t think we said much to each other while we travelled. I had pulled myself into my own mind and could feel myself brooding about everything that happened in the three days we were in my old hometown. 

One day while we were camping, waiting for the sun to go down, Astarion looked up from the book he had buried himself in. I could feel him watching me. He took a breath like he was going to speak, then paused. 

I scowled at him, “What?” I ground out.

“Nothing, darling,” he said, shaking his head and going back to his book.

I sighed and laid down to try to get at least a little sleep.

We made it to a little tavern in Berdusk a few hours after full dark. The harried looking bartender shoved a key into my hand and barked the door number at me before moving around me to shout at the (drunk?) halfling that was climbing across one of the card tables. 

Astarion turned to the card tables, with a wicked glint in his eye. “Darling?” he said to me, hopefully, looking back.

I took a handful of coin out of my pouch and rolled my eyes, “Give me your bag, I’ll go upstairs with it.”

He pressed a quick kiss to my forehead, handed his pack over and sauntered over to the tables.

The room was comfortable, it had a fireplace, a small table with two chairs, a plush looking couch and a bed that was going to be big enough for the both of us. 

I placed our things gently on the table and started unbuckling my armour. I stripped off my travel worn clothes, and left just an over-large shirt and underwear on. I spied a canteen of water and small basin in the corner. I took some time to wipe my face and hands, brush out my hair, and decided I should also take time to clean some of the travel dust out of my armour. 

I cleaned methodically, falling into a nice rhythm, completely losing track of time. 

I nearly jumped out of my skin when the door banged open and Astarion strode in with purpose. 

I placed the piece of armour I had in my hand on the floor beside me as Astarion approached, leaning over me. He sat himself down, straddled over my hips and pulled my face in for a kiss. I closed my eyes and leaned into him, wrapping my right hand around his shoulders. I had been so in my own head since Beregost. With everything that had happened, between Tuille, Tomal, and my mother, I feel like I’d been neglecting Astarion’s needs. 

I pulled back from him to apologize, but he seemed to know that’s what I was going to do. He immediately hushed me. He grabbed my left hand and pulled it up to his lips. “I know you think you need to worry about me, but this is about you.” He kissed my knuckles softly and turned my hand over. He kissed down my palm, onto the inside of my wrist. He pulled away slowly and tapped at my wrist, “this is for later. I want to show you what I won.” he said, smiling slyly. 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out something in his closed fist. I looked up at his face quizzically. He smirked at me, grabbing my left hand again. He flipped it so it was palm down in his hand. I looked back down at my hand and there was a beautiful gold ring with a rough cut pink gem set in the middle of it. 

I looked back up at him and opened my mouth. No words came out. 

“Do you like it?” he asked, with an edge to his voice I hadn’t heard for months. 

I nodded. It was perfect for me. There was no way he won it tonight, but I didn’t want to say that to him.

I still wasn’t ready to express myself with words, but I leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on his lips. I pulled away and dug into the hidden pocket I had crudely sewn to the inside of my shirt. 

I pulled out the plain gold band I had been carrying around with me since we left my mother’s house. 

“I wasn’t sure when I should give this to you,” I said, rolling the ring around in my hand. “It was my father’s. I didn’t think my mother really deserved to keep it. Will you accept it now?” my eyes flicked to his for half a breath. It wasn’t really Astarion’s style, but it meant a lot to me to have this ring back.

He wrapped both his hands around mine. “Carquyn, I would love to wear this ring for you.”

I placed it on his finger, kissing his hand once I did. 

“Now,” he started, leaning back a little, “I am positively starving, my love. Would you mind?” He pulled my wrist back up to his teeth and kissed over my pulse point there. 

“Of course,” I answered. The piercing, split second pain came as soon as the words were out of my mouth. I could feel him swallowing methodically, slowly, like he was savouring every drop. I sighed contentedly. I watched as his hips started grinding slowly into me, small moans starting to slip out of his lips as he drank leisurely. 

I used my free hand to start unbuckling his armour and undoing his various laces.

He pulled off my wrist before I even started feeling the tell tale tingling of needing to stop.

He licked his lips and leaned in close to my ear. “I’m not done with you yet,” he practically purred in my ear. 

He slid off my lap to stand in front of me. He finished doffing his armour and dumped it onto the floor beside the couch. He also stripped off his plain shirt and breeches. He reached down and gestured for me to stand up with him. 

I pulled the shirt I had on over my head, dumped it on the floor with his clothing and pressed myself against his chest.

I pulled my hand up with the ring on it and looked deeply into his eyes. “Is this going to replace the other physical marks that prove I’m yours?”

He pressed his cold nose and lips against my throat and growled “Not a chance.” He bit down hard enough to draw blood, but didn’t start drinking. “I’m going to continue making sure there’s no question, no matter the angle.” He palmed my chest and bit into it with a bit of force. He pulled away and watched the blood trickle down toward my ribs. 

He licked his lips and pulled me back against him and kissed me. He tasted of my blood and the familiar sweetness he seemed to always carry with him. I melted into his arms, letting myself truly relax for the first time since before Beregost, it felt like. 

Astarion pulled away for a second. “I need more,” he said breathily. 

I moved my hair off my neck and tilted my head slightly. He bit down hungrily and started taking generous pulls of blood, somewhat sloppily. I felt some blood trickle out the sides of his mouth and drip onto my skin. He was too busy grinding his hips against me to notice. 

“Astarion,” I breathed. He let go and looked at me, with a frenzied look in his eyes. 

“I’m going to ravish you, darling.” he smirked, his blood-streaked chin really selling his words. 

He flipped me around so I was facing away from him. He bit down hard on my shoulder in more of a possessive manner than he would if he was drinking from that spot. He snaked his hands around my waist and dipped his into the underwear that was separating his skin from mine. He held me still with hands and fangs while he ground himself against me. 

My heart was hammering and my breath was catching with every move he made. It had been long enough I felt like a spring that was coiled and ready to explode. 

He unlatched his fangs from me long enough to push my underwear down for me to step out of. His followed suit.

“Kneel.” he growled, pushing me to my knees. He kneeled down behind me, pressing himself close to my back. He gathered my hair off the back of my neck into his hand, and bit down on the nape and side of my neck in quick succession, leaving marks and drops of blood that I really hoped he would clean up later. Every single bite had an underlying feeling of possession and need that was making itself evident as he continued to rut his hips against me. He was hard and leaking, obviously ready to press himself into me. 

I glanced at him over my shoulder, his eyes strained into slits as he licked a few drops of blood from my back. “Astarion,” I whispered again, “can you please stop toying with me and fuck me?”

He let out a feral sounding growl, pushed my upper body down, holding my hair and wrists in his right hand and let his left roam over my body. He pressed his hard dick into me, meeting no resistance. He started rocking against me slowly, pushing my shoulders and head down even further into the rug. He picked up his pace and bit down on my shoulder again, rutting into me in time with the swallows of blood he was taking. 

I could feel myself coming unravelled at this side of Astarion. He hadn’t felt this out of control for a very long time. 

He let go of his fanged hold on my shoulder and bit a few more times across my back. My whole mind went blank at the feeling of his fangs piercing my skin. I could feel the blood dripping off his mouth and chin onto my back and shoulders. There were even a few stray drops that landed on my face. I could taste some blood at the corner of my mouth. 

He straightened up behind me, pulling me with him, my wrists and hair still firmly in his grip. He held them tight under my chin so my back was flush against his chest.

His free hand gripped my hip as he continued to rock himself into me. The new angle had me gasping, already unravelling against Astarion’s chest. 

The hand that was on my hip moved to my abdomen, pressing me impossibly further into his almost frantic, feral movements. 

I gasped and let out a keening moan. The noise seemed to spur him on, he groaned into my ear and let out a breathy “Yes yes, like that, Quyn, give me more.” The hand on my abdomen moved lower and he started gently rubbing the pads of his fingers over my clit. I let out another breathy sigh, ready to let him take me to the end. I pressed the back of my head against his shoulder and whispered his name almost silently. I knew he would hear the desperation in my voice. 

He let out a low moan, letting his hips snap hard into me. He grabbed my chin and pressed his lips into my ear. “Come,” he growled, putting the perfect amount of pressure on my clit and throat, hitting all the right spots inside and out. I felt the coil in my abdomen spring free and let my eyes roll back in my head, allowing all the pleasure wash over my body until there was nothing left to feel except the man behind me. 

I had barely come back to my senses before I was being pushed back down on the rug. Astarion sunk his fangs into me one more time, holding me still under him as he chased his own release into me. He groaned while he sloppily moved his hips, sliding in and out of me. The groan morphed into a whimper and I felt apologetic kisses on my back and small aftershock movements of his hips as he came back down from wherever he went. 

He kissed my back and shoulders and few more times before letting go of my arms and hair to pull out. 

I hated the loss of the feeling of his body against mine but definitely needed to sit up. I turned to face him, finally seeing the mess he made of himself. 

He smiled sheepishly. “I think I got a little carried away.”

I just reached over and smudged some blood across his lips. I’m sure I didn’t look much better.

[that-hawke-woman]

Finished my TAV verse for Ana! Hooray! I'll add to to my pages in a bitski, but here it is for now.

Can't decide if I want to write a whole other one for a companion version or not...

Name: Ana Thea Hawke

Alternate Name(s)/Title: The Hawk’s Eye, Hawke, Tea

Race, Class, Subclass: Human, Ranger, Drakewarden (Water), Bard

Preferred Weapons: Longbow, shortbow, daggers, bombs, musical instruments, chairs, very long sticks

Hometown: Secomber, then Beregost, then Baldur’s Gate.

Faction: Harpers, Tadpoled Adventurers

Abducted from: Baldur’s Gate, she was on guard duty outside of Jaheira’s house. 

How are they recruited?: Can be found right away in the beach area, up near the Overgrown Ruins. She is lying in wait, trying not to be spotted by the bandits that are holed up there. If she is not recruited then, there will be another opportunity at the Last Light Inn, and then a third (final) at Jaheira’s home in Baldur’s Gate - That is, unless she dies in the altercations at the ruins or during Isobel’s abduction. The actual recruitment goes along the fairly normal Tav-ish path. Tadpoles interact and, depending on what Act during which you speak to her for the first time, she will comment that she was “getting pretty sure [she] was the only one ‘round here that hasn’t gone all culty… or tentacle-y.”

Describe their campsite: An off-white tent with several colorful tapestries draped over it, and a large blue cushion on the ground. There are many sketches and paintings of the Sword Coast and scenes from her adventures thus far pinned haphazardly on the walls. There’s a lute and a viol, though they don’t look to get much use. Most of the time, Ana can be found sitting on the cushion, sketching, or at the range doing some target practice. She will also interact with Scratch and the Owlbear cub.

Things they Generally Approve of: Sparing (and/or guiding) children, pears, dancing, music, restrained merriment, tactful honesty

Things they Generally Disapprove of: Separating families, killing animals unnecessarily, Oskar Fevras, wanton murder

How do they feel about the tadpoles?: “Use the tadpole’s… abilities? Are you mad?”

Small side mission: It seems that someone is trying to get in touch with Ana, from Waterdeep? However, her sending stone seems to be malfunctioning. Use magic to repair the stone, but if it is broken, she will be very disappointed and you will not be rewarded. Should the repair be successful, Ana will be able to speak with her younger sister, who will remind Ana about a secret cache that they hid outside of the Gate on their travels.

Friends in the party: Wyll, Karlach, Shadowheart

Romanceable?: Yes. Encourage her art, music, and get her to leave the Harpers. That last one is exclusive to the romance. She won’t talk to Jaheira about quitting unless she and the PC are, essentially, eloping. There’s nothing left for her in the Upper City, and she hated it up there anyway. Her failstates still apply, even after romancing her. She can, and will, leave the party and you, Harpers or no.

Companion quest: Ana receives word from her mother that her brother, a Flaming Fist, has gone missing with his whole contingent. Through some sleuthing, they find that Carver’s Lieutenant was asking too many questions and she and all of her subordinates have been carted off to take part in a new “training regimen”. Turns out, that means they’re due to be tadpole’d.

Option 1: Save the squadron from being infected. Victory conditions require either Carver or the Lieutenant to survive, though both can. Option 2: Sacrifice the squadron, either by allowing them to be infected by the mind flayers, or killing them.

Outcomes from the quest:

Option 1: The Lieutenant’s Squadron, including Carver (should he specifically survive) are available as summons for the final battle. Option 2: Ana will explode with grief and immediately leave the party, though she will not become actively hostile. If she is not romanced, there will be tears; if she is, cold anger. She will then either go back to Jaheira’s house or vanish entirely (having returned to her home in the Upper City).

Not a Companion Quest: This quest can be triggered with or without Ana in the party.

If Ana is still on the team by this point, she will remark that she thinks that she saw a woman who looked a lot like her mother, Leandra, just go down a nearby alley. However, when the alley is examined, no one is there. Suspicious (mostly because Ana is fairly sure her mother would never be caught dead in the Lower City at this point in her life), Ana suggests asking the Harpers. It just so happens that there have been several reports of a woman matching Leandra’s description appearing and disappearing under mysterious circumstances. What with all of the abductions and murders happening for other reasons, it’s hard to say whether there’s anything else going on, but for a woman to be able to vanish in a town with as many eyes as Baldur’s Gate? Very strange. Unfortunately, it turns out that a very specific rash of disappearances was at the heart of this case, and it all ends in the sewers, as these tales often do. They find the shambling undead creature, wandering about with Leandra’s face, speaking old words with her voice. Beside herself, Ana tears the lair apart, looking for answers, only to have the perpetrator himself appear. After listening to some (not all) of his diatribe and “explanations” you have the option of ending him yourself, or hearing him out. If you let him talk too long, however, Ana will shoot him. If Ana is not in the party, it is possible to hear rumors about these events in the tavern, or from the newsies. Everything else proceeds largely the same, except you do not get the revelations of who the constituent women were, nor are you subjected to the same rendition of the murderer’s manifesto, as he doesn’t have quite as invested an audience. You are also able to let him live, so long as she is not with you.

Can they leave the party?: Yes. Ana will leave the party if her personal quest is failed. Is it possible to encounter her again, but she will not rejoin you. You can also complete the quest about her mother’s murder without her, but you cannot get the whole truth without her present.

Is it possible for them to die?: Yes. Ana does not have any plot armor.

[nyda-the-tav]

RULES: post 5 songs associated with your OC, followed by 3 outfits they would wear

Thank you for the tag, @avani-telvanni ❤️ Took me a while to get this together so here we gooo!

Here's Raina

... the high elf Arcane Trickster daughter of Coran (he doesn't know she exists) and a courtesan in Beregost!

She starts off with a long ponytail, chops it to try to avoid recognition in the Gate (and she's rockin a face scar now), and magically regrows her hair again! Tahdah!

Now for the 5 songs!

Aaaand the outfits!

Camp casual chic ✨

Formal event (easy guess who picked this out lol)

Aaand all armoured up with no one to kill

This was fun. Tagging @faundlydreaming @randomfanner @kelandrin @memyselfandnobodyfromnowhere @chewchewman to give it a go~ No pressure though ❤️

[aevallare]

WIP WORD SEARCH: "SLUG"

would you believe that i actually do have one

I hope you’re keeping well. I caught something in Beregost; Zsilka says it’s a mild case of mindfire. I can’t imagine what a serious case of mindfire feels like. She says it makes you stupid, but I’m already stupid. I haven’t felt much different except for having all the energy of a slug.

[mr-leach]

Dorian's player is running a Candlekeep Mysteries one shot for our D&D group that takes place 10 years after our Curse of Strahd campaign (assuming everyone gets to live etc etc) so of COURSE I had to draw a re-imagining of Sy in his 50's; living his best life after strong-arming his pariah-hood into submission and becoming a reliable cornerstone of the community in his hometown of Beregost. Turns out when you defeat a Dread Lord and have psionic powers potent enough to make Vlaakith sweat, people pretty much have to start treating you with respect. But really, Sy just needed to get his foot in the door so enough folks could come around on him. He's quite well loved by the local youth, especially students of Dorian's school, and is called "Nana" by kids and young adults alike.

Fun little extra tidbit under the cut:

The symbol carved into his living prosthetic is Corellon's symbol, which he carves onto himself every so often kinda sorta as a joke (the carvings disappear after 2-3 days, which is also when twigs, leaves, and fresh bark will start growing on his arm, which he has to maintain and carve/sand down). He's only got a sliver of elven blood in him, and he doesn't earnestly worship any gods to begin with, but sometime in his youth he started swearing on members of the Seldarine to freak out/piss off the more zealous followers of Lathander who used to get on his case about not being a follower himself, and it became a habit. Truthfully, he does have some feeling of reverence, but not necessarily to the Seldarine. Moreso he feels a genuine reverence towards the feywilds, seeing as it's his connection to the fey that gave him access to his latent psionic ability.

[kelandrin]

This is Haseley. He’s a Gloom Stalker Ranger/College of Swords Bard. He hails from Beregost, but he hasn’t been there in about 20 years, instead hunting and trading across the Faerûnian Heartlands.

He can be a bit dour, but a good mug of ale and a warm fire to sit at, and he’ll regale you with a story or a song if the mood strikes him.

I think he would get along with Xyrra! She is pretty laid back but they have similar lifestyles. She is a lythari (tldr; a werewolf elf) and has been traveling for several years now. She is a big fan of hunting and being on the open road and under the stars. She doesn’t demand a lot from the people around her and would be more than happy to just relax by the campfire and listen to what he has to share.

[bitterflames]

list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern (tagged by @sunriseverse on main, tyty! 💛)

...i've only got 9 posted fics so we're gonna have to make do lol. talk about inspiration to get off my arse and finish some of my wips >.>

1. how to deflower your martial brother (wo jia dashixiong naozi you keng, dongfang wuqiong/gong changsheng) Gong Changsheng had noticed this when he was younger, the way Dongfang Wuqiong would sometimes press a hand to his chest as though in pain, the recurring cough he’d shrug off as a minor seasonal affliction. 2. what's in a name? (mysterious lotus casebook, di feisheng & fang duobing) He didn’t mean to keep it, but something about the helpless little bundle of cream-coloured fur had stirred his heart. 3. no takebacks (mysterious lotus casebook, fang duobing/li lianhua) Li Lianhua is teasing him about his supposed upcoming marriage to the princess again, in that way he does sometimes that’s more of a defensive mechanism than anything. 4. to gravity and the unknown (elder scrolls online, verandis ravenwatch/prince naemon) It’s cold. 5. you and me and a bottle of wine (baldur's gate 1, player character/xan) Beregost is a welcome sight after weeks of trudging up and down the Sword Coast at the mercy of the elements, the wildlife both mundane and monstrous, and the seemingly endless roving gangs of bandits. 6. hold me tight and fear me not (baldur's gate 2, player character/xan) The dark elves are not much for merrymaking, Ceru thinks as she sips at her second tankard of black mead; in all her travels, she’s never seen a tavern so quiet. 7. snow and repetitions of snow (elder scrolls online, mannimarco/vanus galerion) Vanus Galerion sank into his bathtub wearily, the troubles of the day weighing heavily upon him. 8. a light that does not flicker (elder scrolls iv: oblivion, hero of kvatch/martin septim)

Nevos could only watch, mute and uncomprehending, as Martin was enveloped in a blaze of light so bright it hurt his eyes to watch.

9. into the abyss (elder scrolls iv: oblivion, hero of kvatch/martin septim) Blue, all around him is blue, a placid calm sky that stretches on in all directions as far as he can see. taking "first line" as the first full sentence, which... lol. if there's any consistency in these it's that i am very inconsistent! past tense, present tense, rambling run-on sentences or just "it's cold"? no pattern no rhyme no reason baby!!!

tagging! @shararan @strandedchesspiece uhh i think i've seen this one around a bit, i'm not sure who else has done it! any writer friends who are interested pls feel free to do the thing and @ me about it 💛

[murdershaped]

Bhaal's insatiable appetite was something Orin was ALL TOO FAMILIAR WITH. After all, was it NOT THEM who handpicked that which he gorged on ??? Was it not Orin who shoveled gore and bone into the bottomless pit which was his belly ??? So many mangled and twisted all for the Dreadlord, every tenday it was REQUIRED, but Orin took such pleasure in overachieving for Father. But she could always FEEL HIS NEED FOR MORE, his unending hunger. It burned within her, as well. Every stroke of the blade, every breaking of a bone did SO LITTLE to ease that burning pang for more and more violence. " What Bhaal savors of my carcass when all of the crimson has been drained is for him to determine, all that concerns is what I offer whilst I live for his RAVENOUS APPETITE. "

Sometimes Orin DID wonder if Bhaal would pause to consider all it sacrificed for him. If it was to just be digested and forgotten as a mere welp chosen as a sacrifice in the street. Such things did not matter, Orin could almost hear what their mind mangled blood-kin would say in response. And that would HAVE TO BE WHAT SHE THOUGHT, too. It was enough to serve, to fill his altar while it could. It was enough because she was his Chosen. Of course they would be remembered, ORIN WAS THE ONE WHO WOULD BRING THIS CITY TO ITS KNEES. All who resided here would be felled in Bhaal's name because of Orin's actions. Of course she would be remembered, be savored. Even though it did not matter.

Orin tsk'd in disappointment as the blade fell to her side. Skin had been primed for the blade, read to feel the STING OF THE CUT and allow blood to pour forth. She wasn't ready, not perfect enough to fight, not perfect enough to die to. It was for the best that Orin's viscera remained intact now, they reminded themselves. Those stones would not command themselves. Her own desires did not matter, only TRIUMPHING IN BHAAL'S NAME DID.

" It was not MY CHOICE to tangle my sinews with the lordling, " she sneered, eyes distant with thoughts disparaging her fetid sibling who forced it in this CONTRIVED ALLIANCE. It was because of them Orin now had to scramble like a maddog to sever it from the others. " It will be YOUR BLADE which cuts, which saws them apart. And you will bring me that stone, or your pretty pet will be mince meat. I will HACK AND HACK until I see bone, I will make them agonize in your failure. How its death would weigh in your insides, always caught within the spooled intestines. Never free of your failure. "

𝐎𝐇, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆. she has never been afforded the luxury of a being a lamb. she may look the part, large eyes and soft mouth that hint at docility, but there have always been sharp teeth behind her lips even if she is loathe to bite. that much had been afforded to her as a birthright and, distantly, grimly, she wonders what else had been blessed upon the chosen before her. did they chose to be chosen, orin? was there ever a moment of true decision, knowing determination, or had it simply all been forced upon them? (is the sickly, eager curve of orin's smile what would've awaited her had she not run fast enough that night? would their laughs echo in unison, gutted and made feral in dark temples and before altars?)

❛ he's hungry, your lord, ❜ her fingers twitch against the instinct to push the curve of her dagger further into pale skin. so much blood already has stained her hands, what difference could orin the red make? blood is blood, her blade would not revere it for its host. her gaze flicks to orin's, finds not an ounce of fear. if anything, eagerness. it turns her stomach and her hand retreats to her side. ❛ so hungry i doubt that he'll even care to savor you on his tongue before swallowing when the time comes. if all of the city won't sate him, i don't see why your devotion will taste any different in his maw. ❜

she understands it better now, that cold light burning in minthara's eyes.

orin's next words, however, have her falter, though relief follows. so bhaal's chosen does not know of shared history, of that decade of loathing made all the more virulent by distance. it feels significant, however minor, to understand that orin does not know everything. ❛ is that what you're asking, why you've decided to haunt our steps? ❜ her fingers do not loosen their grip despite the arch of a dark brow. ❛ are there fractures in whatever tenuous little alliance you've forged, orin, that you'd send me after gortash? ❜

[y-rhywbeth2]

Next stage in the 'who has a bigger body count' competition Astarion started yesterday, while praying I can use a calculator correctly:

Bhaal VS Cazador: Deaths in Baldur's Gate over the last 15 years.

I counted about 22 active Bhaalists (including Orin, Sarevok and Durge), who, having to murder once every ten days, have about 12,045 kills between them. However, as briefly mentioned in game, most of them do not reside in Baldur's Gate and also Bhaal's clergy are usually a little nomadic, so this wouldn't have been too highly focused on the Gate.

They do need to kill a living thing every day, so that's also another 108,405 dead things which may or may not be human/oid.

As for the vampires, assuming they don't have a massive herd of blood dolls:

While vampires do need to feed a little less as they age, it's still not that much lower.

A typical Fledgling vampire must drink 12 hit points worth of blood in every 24-hour period. The source of this blood is immaterial; it can come from living victims, fresh corpses, animals, or even sealed “caches" of chilled blood. - Van Richten's Guide to Vampires

The typical person, people with adventuring classes being rarer, has 4 hit points. Or less. Sometimes you're lucky and 5e upgrades them to 1d8 with an average of 4. Add in older editions and level drain and normal people do not survive being fed on by vampires.

Judging by talking to Astarion, Cazador does drain his prey dry more often than not.

So on average Cazador has needed 3 kills a day, and over the past 15 years that's 3 kills every one of 5,475 days. Which is apparently 16,425 dead bodies. (7000 is small change to vampires and Archdevils alike, apparently. I keep coming back to this, but Mephistopheles' deal is extremely and suspiciously cheap.) Each spawn has needed about 12 rats each: 65,700 rats dead each, 459,900 rats altogether. I assume they feed the corpses to the ghouls.

Cazador forbidding his spawn human blood actually makes perfect sense. Aurelia and Astarion have been with him for most of that 200 years. Cazador has murdered at least the equivalent of 73,000 people, if those two also feed properly it's now 219,000 people. Petras and I assume Violet, are about 100: 109,500 kills each (or more). 438,000 people. Yousen is 60 (65,700), Dalyria less than 50 due to being a Peer (54,750); Leon's less than 12 (13,140). Altogether this 'family' would have killed aprox. 571,590 people over the last two centuries.

The Western Heartlands' city and town populations, circa 14th century, were:

Baldur's Gate: 42,103 Elturel: 22,671 Evereska: 21,051 Berdusk: 20,242 Iriaebor: 16,193 Scornubel: 14,574 High Edge: 9,716 Asbravn: 5,668 Hluthvar: 5,668 Beregost: 2,915 Secomber: 1,417 Daggerford: 891 Corm Orp: 810

Census indicates the Western Heartlands' total permanent population was 163,919, of which Cazador would have consumed the equivalent of 44.53%. I can only assume that he either fasts a lot or mixes in some animal blood (which would not have made him fun to be around for the spawn), or we're drawing off of VtM logistics and he has control of blood banks and a herd of living people he keeps alive plus just feeding off of his spawn to top him up between murders (which does explain the human staff).

I'm not counting the amounts of rats and mice consumed, but honestly I think there's money to be made hiring your spawn out as a pest control service. Assuming they don't drive themselves out of business.

There is absolutely no way the 7000 spawn in the cells should be anything but feral howling messes who are scrabbling for rats and bugs and cannibalising each other, assuming they haven't just shrivelled into the state of torpor from lack of blood to fuel the magic keeping their bodies animate. There is no feasible way to keep them fed. I don't even think there are enough rodents in the city to feed them...

Meanwhile Bhaalists have been active for 130 years since the end of the Bhaalspawn crisis, and have killed around 4,745 people each in that time. Luckily, they've been quite low in number, mostly nomadic, and only recently had a revival (which is still low population) so that probably not too many.

Verdict: DnD maths is poorly thought out and the vampires win the murder competition by goddamn miles. While Bhaal wins overall, due to having 1300+ years of murders to his name, Cazador's recent activity is higher, and Astarion has been accomplice to the number of murders that Durge only dreams of. Durge is still winning in the sadism and first degree murder count though.

[adndmonsteraday]

The ankheg (pronounced: /ˈæŋkɛg/ ÆNK-eg about this audio file listen; also: anhkheg) was an insectoid creature that burrowed underground and hunted from below.

Ankhegs were covered in a strong chitin armor.

Ankhegs could see in pitch darkness, as well as detect vibrations in the earth, from up to 60 feet (18 meters) away. The "attack" acid was part of the digestive system for the creature, so it couldn't digest food for six hours after a discharge.

The ankheg was an ambush predator that waited around 5–10 feet underground for prey to wander into position. The attack was quick, as the prey was crushed and ground in its mandibles and assaulted with acidic digestive enzymes. If a foe proved too difficult, the ankheg could also squirt acid to take it down. If several ankhegs were attacking a group, the ankhegs would try to attack different targets. If prey was attacked by more then one ankheg, the ankhegs would just play tug-of-war with the unfortunate prey.

Lava ankheg A sub-species of ankheg that were adapted to burrowing through volcanic soil.

Ecology A typical area could have a lone ankheg, a pair, or a cluster of ankhegs.

Diet Gaining nutrients from the ground, the ankheg also had to hunt fresh meat to sustain itself. It could also eat decaying meat.

Life cycle Ankhegs mated in autumn, when the fertilized female would kill the male to lay 6–12 eggs inside him. Usually, a high number of eggs survived and hatched within two to ten days and started to feed.

An ankheg broodling did not hunt and remained hidden, while its mother brought it sustenance. After a year, the young were able to fend for themselves.

Around the second year, the young ankheg shed its chitin before winter. It takes a little less than ten days to complete the process and grow a new shell. During this time, the youngling was slower and more vulnerable. To defend itself, it secreted a fluid that smelled like rotten fruit. This defense could backfire, as some would seek out the smell.

Habitats Living in warm climates, the ankheg dwelt in partially collapsed burrows usually around 40 feet underground. The ankheg hunted in forests or grasslands where prey would wander into its traps. If an area became too barren, the ankheg moved on to other, more lucrative areas. Ankheg tunnels were sometimes filled with the remains of victims, eggs, or chitin. Their tunnels would sometimes be around 60​ to ​150 feet (18​ to ​46 meters) long and 5 feet (1.5 meters) feet high. Hollow tunnel ends were used for lair purposes, such as sleeping or hibernation.

Relationships They were known to compete with giant ants for territory. If they were killed or driven away from their nest, the broodlings left behind would be made to serve the giant ant colony.

Usages

Ankheg chitin Ankhegs could prove to be useful for a farmer. Provided it stayed alive, its tunnels could bring in water and its excrement contained enriching minerals. Ankheg burrows also aerated the nearby land which could improve crop yields by as much as 15%, providing the ankheg population was managed.

An ankheg shell harvested from a slain ankheg weighed roughly 100 pounds (45 kilograms). Armorers like Taerom Fuiruim in Beregost could forge a type of chitin armor from the shells, referred to as Ankheg plate mail. It took three days to make. The armor was very nearly as effective as full plate mail, but weighed considerably less and could be worn by warriors who usually couldn't wear such heavy armor. Taerom claimed to sell ankheg armor to rich nobles for 20,000 gold pieces. However, if one provided the shell, he would charge just 4000 gold pieces for a set of completed armor.

Source: https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Savras

[zenpookie]

The Chains that Bind Us

Chapter 3

Tav bit her thumb. She surveyed the items in her pack, hoping that it would last her the 20 day trek down to Athkala. They'd have to stop at an inn and then again to restock at Beregost. She was deep in thought when her the room door slammed open.

"Tav." Jaheira nudged a young blonde girl into the room.

"Hells, Jaheira. Have you ever heard of knocking?"

"You left the door ajar." Jaheira explained, unapologetically. "You remember my daughter? Fig will be joining you to Athkala."

"It is not exactly a holiday, Jaheira."

"Exactly. That's why you're taking her. She needs some field experience. She's a good fighter. You need good fighters." She pointed a finger at Tav. "I know why you asked me to come, but I am too old to be going on adventures with you, and quite frankly I need some peace and quiet around the house."

Tav stared at Jaheira blankly, knowing better than to argue. "All right, Jaheira."

Jaheira smiled, triumphantly. She turned to Fig. "You would do well to listen to her. Don't disappoint me." She prodded a finger at Fig's chest.

Fig rolled her eyes. "Mum...."

"No objections." Jaheira wagged a finger at her daughter.

"You do know Astarion is coming."

"And Minsc... But, yes. It worries me somewhat that the vampire lord will be on this journey. I know you and Minsch will watch out for her. Plus, Astarion and I have come to an understanding. He doesn't toe too far out of line, and I don't bombard his palace with flaming arrows. He knows better than to harm my kin." Jaheira winked.

Tav smiled. Good old Jaheira. "Did you bring your supplies, Fig?"

Fig sheepishy looked up at Tav. "Yes."

"You can leave them in my room. We leave at first light tomorrow. You and Minsc can meet me here?"

Fig nodded, excitedly, "Yes, aunt Tav. They're just downstairs, I'll go get them." She fled out the room.

"She's grown." Tav said quietly. "I haven't seen her since she was hitting that dummy as a child."

"She still hits that dummy. All day. All night." Jaheira sighed, showing the lines of her age across her face. "You know I would come with you, cub. Even just to keep Fig out of trouble--"

"You don't have to explain to me, Jaheira." Tav placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'll watch over her, and I'll make sure Astarion behaves."

"I knew I could count on you, cub." She pulled Tav into a tight embrace. "It is so good to see you. When you disappeared, I was worried."

"I know. I'm sorry I never wrote."

Jaheira shook her head. "You're just picking up bad habits from an old woman."

A stomping noise came running up the stairs. Fig returned with her pack, panting. Jaheira and Fig said their goodbyes to Tav. Tav watched from her window as the pair meandered down the street toward their home. Fig skipped and cartwheeled as Jaheira gestured wildly in an attempt to control her energetic teenager from running into other people. As they turned the corner, now out of sight, Tav watched the sun set over the rooftops of Baldur's Gate.

Tomorrow. She thought. She sank into a lounging chair and saw the last bit of light slip away from the city. She watched as the flicker of candles began to shine in the windows. She stared at the old Szarr palace in the distance. She was lost in thought. Gale. Astarion. The Crown of Karsus. She was determined not to let it happen again. Never again. Her eye lids grew heavy as her body sank further into her chair.

Tomorrow is a new day.