#beshaba tiefling

[csealia]

I haven’t posted in 84 years but here, please accept my dnd character and current obsession. Her name is Wisteria🪻

[vault-of-lore]

Baldur's Gate 3 Phrases

Religious Phrases

Watching gods. x

Bane

Black Hand be thanked. x

Bloody fool, may the Black Hand take you. x

By The Black Hand, I told you to leave that alone. x

Beshaba

Beshaba's black bones. x

Helm

Helm's hanging orbs. x

Mystra

By Mystra's eyelids. x

Waukeen

Coinmaiden guard your coffers. x

The Coinmaiden watches you. x

Waukeen be with me. x

Phrases

By the Nine Hells. x

Damn thing's sealed tighter than a Duke's pursestrings. x

Little serpent, long shadow. x

My horns for a normal day. x

She toys with us like a tressym with a pigeon. x

[reptile-garden]

Guess who got to hyper focused on finishing their oc (D&D based off of a Beshaba spawned tieflings) and forgot to eat lunch. Look at my baby tho. Look how precious they are.

This gal. 😂

I’m gonna go crash now, but hey! I finished Raines design for the most part… I still wanna see if I can add in wings at some point (AU anyone?) so they can do the thing. Said thing below. I find it hilarious.

[nyuula-art]

NPCs from my little evil campaign about a group that worships Beshaba🦌 it’s so fun doing things other than the usual good deeds

[forgeofthenine]

How would the Tieflings react to an Aasimar partner? How would they initially react to learning that before they're together? How would they feeI about the whole 'forces of evil seek to destroy them' thing? And how would they react if their partner just kinda drop something like "Oh yeah, my deity/celestial guide thinks you're pretty great". Also, I can't get the idea of wing hugs out of my mind (if they're a Protector Aasimar).

(We can't play as an Aasimar in game, and I'm grumpy about it. They're 100% my fave race.)

While I understand why larian didn't make aasimars a playable race I'm still very disappointed because they are far and away one of my absolute favourite races and I've played them in DND in the past. This set of headcanons ended up being way more 'story focused' than I initially expected so I might go back in and do a set of more casual ones later on, but I hope everyone enjoys them! <3

The bachelors dating an Aasimar headcanons

Dammon

Dammon hardly knew you were an Aasimar to start with, only that you were unique

With pale, milky eyes that contained no pupils you were quite the sight, and often assumed blind

This is what the blacksmith thought when he offered to help you make your way across a river

Anyone can imagine how stunned he was when you gleefully thanked him before complimenting his own eyes, comparing them to a golden halo

He soon found himself lucky enough to run into you during his travels with the refugees, always vying for your attention when you appeared in camp

You often won card games played with the others, and sung drunken songs for the children later in the night, and Dammon admired your joy in such dark times

Before long, the two of you were romantically involved and living quite happily in Baldurs Gate

You'd been there with Dammon through thick and thin, entering the city and helping him set up his own forge

The whole time he always called you his good luck charm, leading to an endearing blush and chuckle from you

That is, until a follower of Beshaba darkened your door and held a knife to your throat

It was only after that you decided to tell Dammon a long held secret, that you were descended from Lady Luck herself, Tymora

The gleeful and sometimes impetuous goddess had birthed a daughter to one of her human lovers, an Aasimar who went on to have her own family

For many generations your own family claimed descendance from Tymoras daughter, despite appearing to be normal humans

You provided proof with your birth, bearing blank eyes still blessed with sight and the luck of Tymora herself

You weren't strong like other great protector Aasimar, and you had no real contact with your now reclusive ancestor, but you tried to spread joy where you went and aimed to live a good life

Dammon, for what it's worth, took the news well and was glad to find no more secrets between the two of you

Incidentally, he also kept a much better eye on you, now he knew there was a minor target on your back

You can bet he brags about having his very own 'Lady luck' much to your amusement

Zevlor

Since the first moment he saw you Zevlor knew he was in love

Him, a young hellrider recruit, standing in front of a radiant Aasimar with the most beautiful wings he's ever laid eyes on

You were the very image of divine protection, a grandchild of the god he's devoted his life to serving, the grandchild of Helm

You spent much of your time with the hellriders, supervising their training and often joining in

Though no one seemed to realise you had eyes for one tiefling in particular, including that same tiefling

You'd often find reasons to be around Zevlor, insisting on helping him maintain weapons or offering help as a sparring partner

Even when Zevlor was a young man, years before Elturels descent, he still thought himself unworthy of your attention despite how often you gave it to him

What could a descendant of a god want with a simple hellspawn like him?

It was entirely up to you to knock some sense into him

Something you happily did one evening, pinning him during a sparring match and questioning his feelings

It was soon after he was officially courting you, much to the amusement and jealousy of others in the ranks

Everyone could see how proud Zevlor was, absolutely radiant whenever in your presence

He never worried himself too much either with worries of you being attacked, fully believing in both your own strength and the protection of your grandfather

It was a protection he often relied on once the tieflings needed to flee their home

Zevlor spent nights wrapped up in your arms and wings when you could convince him to come to bed

He carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, even when you insisted on taking some of his worries for yourself

It was only once the two of you made it to Baldurs gate, battered and scarred, that the two of you can truly relax

Calling upon your grandfather's grace for the last time to create a safe home for you and your lover

Something Zevlor is eternally greatful for, finally able to ask for your hand in marriage like he's been dreaming of for years

Rolan

Rolan had originally assumed you to be a tiefling when he first saw you in Elturel

Silver skin wasn't a particularly uncommon colour, though few tieflings in the city possessed it

It was only upon closer inspection that he realised you weren't a tiefling, you were a wholly different variety of planetouched

From first meeting you found yourself fond of Rolan and his siblings, Cal and Lia mercilessly teasing Rolan after stumbling across the two of you chatting in a bookstore

Despite your free roaming nature that often kept you travelling, staying near the wizard in training was too good an opportunity to miss and you soon settled nearby

Afternoons were spent with you watching his magic practices, teaching Cal to cook, and joking around with Lia

That is, until Elturel fell

Soon yours and Rolans easy comfort was in turmoil and your days were spent trying to protect the three tieflings you'd grown to love

Rolan himself was near as protective of you as he was of his siblings, hardly letting you out of his sight even once you'd made it onto the road as refugees

He never quite understood how you could be so happy under such awful conditions, hoping this 'adventure' of yours would be over quickly

You were sure to know it too, with him loudly complaining until you'd placate the wizard with kind words and by taking his hand in yours

Through the whole journey you were his biggest cheerleader and support, even as he lashed out after his siblings abduction

It was after that incident Rolan realised how important you were to him, seeing him at his meanest and ugliest but still sticking around

Soon after his dreams drifted from becoming an accomplished and revered wizard to starting a life with you in Baldurs Gate

That dream was near shattered, however, when he was taken into Lorroakans tutelage and found himself beaten and separated from his family

You had been fuming every time you saw him, fruitlessly trying to convince him to leave with you

His saving grace was when you and Dame Aylin came to ruin Lorroakan, your true power as an assimar becoming apparent as you stretch your wings and call upon your mother's favour

The corrupt wizard didn't stand a chance against the children of Selune and Avandra after scorning them so

Soon enough Rolan was back in your arms, and after so much turmoil he can't help but finally admit his feelings for you

What the wizard didn't expect was for you to laugh before kissing him, telling him that you'd known for months

His pout after that is legendary, but Rolan couldn't be happier than when you have your wings securely wrapped around him

[wynsomeart]

My newest character for the witchlight campaign :) He's a beshaba tiefling (yes cliche tiefling bard I promise I gave him my own twist) and a part of a circus troupe lovingly called the Asylum Rejects (none of us are taking this very seriously)

[y-rhywbeth2]

Lore: Tieflings

Link to Disclaimer and other lore babblings

Featuring: The two types of tiefling (Orin belongs to one of them, actually) The other races' equivalents to tieflings Various ancestors of tieflings The 2e tiefling trait chart that I miss with all my soul My inability to be 100% neutral about certain 4e changes Tiefling Homelands, such as they are

---

Tieflings belong to a category known as the Planetouched; mortals descended from beings native to the outer planes. TIeflings are descended from the evil-aligned Lower Planes and at this point can be split into the newer Asmodeus tieflings and the original "generic" tieflings. (Other races have produced fiendish planetouched. Tanarukk are orcs of fiendish descent; Elven-demon hybrids called the fey'ri, or daemonfey; Dwarven descendants of the offspring of devils are maeluth; and wisplings are halflings of demonic descent.)

The original, generic tieflings are humans with a fiend or an evil deity from one of the Lower Planes in their family tree.

They appear as regular humans, usually with only one or two odd traits giving away their ancestry. Black feathers growing from their shoulders, glowing red eyes, a tail, making plants decay in their presence... wings...

The bloodline begins with the half-mortal child of a fiend or deity (a cambion, or a bhaalspawn, for example). They go on to have offspring with mortals and the child is a tiefling. The tiefling grandchild's line may continue to dilute with human blood until it seemingly disappears...

...until suddenly, possibly hundreds of years later, a family's new baby is born with six fingers or a tail or something and the village is talking about drowning the "devil" in the village stream. With a lack of understanding of what's happening, and a lot of fear, the family themselves usually reject their own child. There are only a few places in the Realms where a planetouched birth isn't considered an aberration (I'll talk about them towards the end).

The outlook for tieflings is... not good.

"Occasionally a tiefling is born to someone indifferent to its appearance, determined to redeem it, willing to exploit it, or evil enough not to care about its nature, and these tieflings are most likely to survive to adulthood." - Races of Faerûn

Even if their physical traits are not obvious, tieflings become aware from an early age that they are different, as the essence of the Lower Planes in their blood tries to compel them and they often have "strange needs, desires or urges." They can ignore these urges to be any alignment they so chose. Unfortunately, as the world around them hates them, they tend to grow up to be bitter and mistrustful; they're not terribly inclined to help people they expect to run them off in an angry mob. Some of them embrace their impulses, seeing as they're just going to be seen as monsters anyway.

Their ancestry can be from various categories:

Deities: Beshaba, goddess of misfortune is one of the more known ancestors of tieflings. Her descendants are marked by white hair and deer antlers growing from their heads. Mask, god of thieves is another ancestor; Maskarian tieflings cast no reflections. Bhaal's tieflings show no outward signs, but have inclinations towards violence and an obsession with death.

Baatezu; Devils, the Lawful Evil fiends of the Nine Hells. Erinyes (fallen angels with black wings), gelugons (ice insects) and pit fiends (giant scaly red monsters with horns) are the most common ancestors. They enjoy strict hierarchies, complicated plots, rules and contracts with lots of smallprint.

Tanar'ri: Demons, the Chaotic Evil fiends of the Infinite Layers of the Abyss ("If there's anything you don't like, you'll find it here."). The most common demonic ancestors are Mariliths (giant sexy snake warrior ladies with six arms and swords) and Succubi (who were strictly demons, until 5e decided the devils needed a soul-stealing sex monster even though they already had those and they were the exact same thing as a succubus (Brachina)). Where devils enjoy playing with contracts and mind games and the slow descent into corruption, demons are pure hunger/lust and chaos and usually go for the fast track to corruption. Orgies and mindless over-the-top violence, both at the same time, if possible. ["Devils and demons hate each other" is the biggest understatement the universe knows, and the two have been at war since basically the dawn of time. It's called the Blood War and it will never end. They are instinctually driven to destroy each other, and this is also built into their tiefling descendants.]

Other: Fiends who fall into no other category. There is actually a third category - Yugoloths, the Neutral Evil fiends, but they don't seem to make tieflings that I've seen. Night Hags are a common enough ancestor, and tieflings descended from them often have blue/violet skin, likened to the colour of bruises. Rakshasa are another one; cat eyes and occasionally fur turning up on them.

3.5e gave them a set of traits they all shared: higher reflexes; a boost to their intelligence stat (for some reason?); the ability to see in total darkness; to create areas of pitch black supernatural darkness; they were less affected by the cold and electric shocks, and their flesh and skin was slightly fire retardant. Sometimes they had an affinity for certain animals, or had wings.

Back in 2e, Tieflings were all unique and could manifest some of any number of random traits. Behold! The chart!

And then, amongst the various shit that went down as the setting was burned down around us all in 4e, Asmodeus - Archdevil of the Ninth Hell, Ruler of the Nine Hells - killed the god Azuth and elevated himself to godhood. He "defeated" the Tanar'ri in the (eternal!) Blood War and celebrated by having a circle of warlocks known as "the Toril Thirteen" to create a new strain of tieflings descended from him to remind the world to fear him. This would be fine, except he did this by ruining overwriting all the pre-existing tieflings so that they would now all be descended from him and ALL have their varied, often subtle, appearances be changed to be red skinned people with goat horns and tails regardless of if that made any FUCKIGN sense. How do you overwrite a Night Hag or Mask or.the goddamn Mulhorandi pantheon The hells and Asmodeus have zero - ZERO, connection! He has no claim-.

*ahem*

Asmodeus exerts no control over "his" tieflings, however, they are simply marked by his power. People do not like them any better than the originals, but less of them are getting killed at birth now due to being born into families of other tieflings.

The ancestry of these tieflings does not dilute over time. The child of an Asmodeus tiefling is another tiefling.

By 15th century DR (5e) the Blood War is back on and the original tieflings have begun to re-emerge in Toril, but the majority are still the Asmodeus type.

-

The generic tieflings are rare enough that the majority can go their entire lives without meeting another of their kind. Asmodeus' tieflings are uncommon, but prone to being found in small groups.

Tieflings are "persecuted and feared in most of Faerûn." (Though the gods don't give a damn, and are happy enough to manifest to them in dreams in tiefling form to the delight of the religiously inclined)

There are, however, places where they are more common.

Back before it blew up (4e!) Thay had an unusually high tiefling population. "Thayan tieflings [were] usually the grandchildren of powerful wizards, birthed as part of some power scheme, and usually [spent] their lives as slaves or pawns to both sides of the family." Obviously, these tieflings became Asmodeus tieflings due to the ritual. Afterwards the lich Szass Tam decided to turn everybody undead. Some living people returned to Thay, once it was habitable again post-Spellplague (despite still being full of liches and vampires), so there may be some Thayan tieflings remaining. TIefling descendants of the refugees of Thay can also be found in the surrounding countries. Aglarond, mostly, since Rashamen has a decidedly negative history with Thay. Mulhorand is another land with a tiefling population. Mulhorand is Ancient Egypt. Not like fantasy-equivalent to Ancient Egypt, like they're actually the descendants of Ancient Egyptians who ended up in Toril (side effect of ancient wizards kidnapping people from other worlds to enslave). Mulhorandi planetouched are the descendants of the local gods, who once ruled the country themselves when it was first founded, and the mixture of aasmiar, genasi and tieflings is significant enough to make up 2% of the total population. In the case of tieflings, that usually means their grandfather/ancestor is Set, Anhur or Sobek. Historically the priesthoods of Mulhorand enjoyed bickering, which would've been annoying as the descendant of their god/their god's enemy, but the pantheon has told them to knock it off nowadays.

Mulhorandi tieflings have their own naming conventions, taking surnames based on their ancestor; Zia or Sia preceding the god's name. Ziasobek or Sianhur, for example. In the North, Neverwinter was once host to a cult dedicated to Asmodeus (the Ashmadai) that lead to a rise in tieflings, and since that offers an opportunity to blend in with their own kind the city attracted more tiefling immigrants, and as such has a fair sized population now.

I'm also taking a third option: immigrants from the outer planes would be unusual, but tieflings are out there and some of them may decide to move to Faerûn for some reason.

Sigil is a city at the centre of the universe built into the inside of a giant ring at the top of an infinite spire that has no beginning or end. It's also the nexus point of the universe, is covered in portals and its markets have goods from everywhere in known existence. It's population also comes from everywhere in existence, so tieflings are not such an oddity. Culturally it's rather like a fantasy parody of corrupt cockney Victorianesque(?) London, if the entirety of D&D moved there.

Tieflings can also be found living in the Lower Planes themselves, usually as canon fodder in the Blood Wars.

[spikeinthepunch]

a while ago i wrote a post all about my dnd character Asphodel, but i actually removed it along with some descriptions on some art because i had paranoia one of my party members might find my blog due to them making a tumblr and knowing my username on instagram which is the same lol...

but for complex personal reasons i wont be playing Asphodel with a the part of that party that would find this blog, and so i wanted to write a new post going over her especially because the campaign she was in had to stop and be cancelled so lore pertaining her present plot line is no longer relelvant (but she remains the same overall)

so here i go, long post incoming. i will go from the start to the end of her backstory, then the "present" of the campaign (which again, has ended and was incomplete).

Asphodel Atbay (he/she) is a lawful evil tiefling cleric/rogue who worships the evil goddess of misfortune, Beshaba. She has white skin, buzzed white hair, and blue eyes. There is a scar on her left thight shaped like a stag's head with antlers.

Her family generations ago fled Demos to the new world, and in doing so they prayed to the goddess Beshaba in wishes to avoid all kinds of misfortune in their new life. However, they became tied to her with no way to leave as they feared what they may do if they became disloyal to her. So, they adapted to her follower's lifestyle in order to please her... which mean a life of evil. Deception, manipulation, selfish greed. In time they embraced this and it is all they now know.

Asphodel was born to Arrakas Atbay (father) and Nenarai Atbay (mother). A noble family in Paradise Rocks (this location could change when revived for a rebooted campaign) who had worked their way up through manipulative tactics and money. Asphodel was shaped into who she was-- her father being quite detached and stone faced in every regard, unless it was a short smile of approval to Asphodel completing her "work" she was to carry out. Whatever he asked for she did with pleasure, always wishing to do what the family wanted as she sought their approval. Being the face of the family, it was never hard for him to match his demeanor to fit a kind public perception, but these positive emotion were for show and Asphodel would never see him show those feeling in a genuine way. He is selfish, greedy, and narcissistic. Her mother on the other hand was just as bad but in an entirely different manner-- incredibly cold and hard to please, Nenarai was a highly intimidating and skilled assassin of the family. Her combat training for her child never regarded safety, throwing Asphodel a weapon and not flinching any moment she cut her flesh when Asphodel failed at a swing or a dodge.

The work Asphodel often found herself in was dealing with all kinds of shading deals and noble clients. Making sure to keep up appearances and a good face, all in order to get close enough to use these people for their own advantage. By no means did this not include things like murder-- the family was very familiar with doing this. It was always quiet, an accident, something easy to excuse and never connect to themselves. It may seem like hard work, but Asphodel never blinked an eye. Her family and goddess mattered most.

Eventually their noble family befriended the mayoral family of Paradise Rocks when moving their for the first time. The Freyas. Making under the unofficial, untracked business with them gave a quick establishment of loyalty as the Mayor felt positive in the ways the Atbays could support them and the city. Their goal was to make sure their relationship stayed strong enough that trust would never falter, and so Asphodel was undoubtedly involved in making friends with the family.

But getting close to the family led to the worst. He got to know the daughter of the family, Anael Freya. A young half elf woman. But this young lady showed obvious disdain for politics that her family did. She didnt trust the Atbays and she didn't plan to care about Asphodel either. But Asphodel knew what to do, she knew how to put on an act... so she did. She played it in just the right way for Anael to enjoy her company and feel a friendship worthy of holding. But in time, Asphodel genuinely gained feelings of love.

It was a terrifying moment to realize this, that she'd fallen so hard when it was her job to not at all. The fate of this family would not be good, she knew this. But her family's approval and the wrath of her goddess sat heavy on her shoulders. And she soon had to face the conflict head on, with no way out without horrible consequences. His father tasked him with the deed of killing the Freyas. They were to kill them silently and take place as Mayor of the city. Her father knew Asphodel's closeness, and undoubtedly put her in charge of this murder purely for that reason.

At a dinner in the evening, Asphodel took a classic route of poisoning their food. Except for Anael. Asphodel walked her to her bedroom, stiff as she walked and silent. Using every muscle to stop her hands from shaking. When they sat at her bedside and Asphodel leaned down to kiss her, she took one thin needle, dipped in a vial of poison moments before. Pricking it deep into the viens of her neck as she held her head. There was a brief moment of shock before everything was still.

Asphodel does the job. Her horrible conflict of emotions hits in a flash of praying to her goddess for her faith and loyalty. Is she still loved by Beshaba just regretting the murder at all? Was that enough to waver the bond they had? She'd never express an ounce of guilt to her father or mother either, she knew she did the right thing for them. It was for all of them.

To the start of the real campaign. again, this campaign was cut short and incomplete. this isnt a real "canon" as i will play her in a reboot. There is no concluded plot about what has occurred here, with many questions left unanswered.

Asphodel is given a new job, to work for an elf noble named Madame Shadowfury. In this world, elves are at war with every other race as they attempt to take over all lands. But the Atbays strive for greed and power, and make work with the elves during this way for political advantage from all sides. This first "job" was to join a group signing up to work on a ship, with a quest that was a tad unknown until getting there. However, in order to secure her place with no connection, Shadowfury tasked Asphodel with killing a tiefling who was to go on that ship for her already-- he wasn't fufilling his work and was a whistleblower. Asphodel kills him brutally with her aze in the alleyway and proceeds to replace him the next day.

However, it should be said that Asphodel doesn't know what she is doing for Shadowfury. She is given her task from her father, and she has gone to do it, no questions asked.

The large six player party finds out that their job is to join this crew in order to find the last crew that went missing. they get to it-- Asphodel gets to know some of these people and intends to use them in whatever way she can. Especially the two who know Shadowfury in some form. Whilst on the ship, Asphodel receives a mental message (the spell) from her father, telling her to keep an eye on the teenager on the ship who owes Shadowfury a debt. He also asks her briefly about how she is after having killed Anael as he "knows you liked that girl". this is the first time he brings up anything about the murder, after 7 months since it happened.

I will pass by the details of *everything* that happened as it didn't focus on Asphodel, but the short of it is, is that he got to know everyone more and built many thoughts on how to deal with them. Some, he even felt were problems enough to potentially kill them. One of his connections- a player character named Storvus- he decided to take his interests in her with intent to manipulate. Theres no way she's genuinely fall in love, and when Storvus came to show interest she took the opportunity to use him as a person to blindly trust her through her job.

Sadly this is where this version of her story ends. The second chapter of this campaign was to reveal her family to the party. They would travel back home to Paradise Rocks and everyone would learn of her noble mayoral family! Which would have had quite some reactions. One character would probably hate me so bad lol.

The meta things to say about Asphodel while playing her is... it is so hard, but so interesting. i lied so much, not just in character but out of character as well. i probably lied more ooc than i did ic actually, as we are all friends who hang out casually and would talk about dnd. i managed to get them to think she was true neutral. one joked about how i liked religious trauma but i casually said yeah, but shes pretty normal. one said "i wanted to play neutral evil but DM said they dont want any evil characters". in other talks it was no issue talking about how itd be cool to play lawful evil, but it seems so hard. Storvus' player and i had a private interaction that i made them think they had a special secret with me that even the DM couldnt know right now, but in reality i told the DM about our interaction and purely did this just so the player thought we had some special, even out of character. it goes so far, and it was likely that i was going to keep this up until chapter 7 (we only finished chapter 1).

for now, this is it. but the talks with the DM have me knowing they want to play with me again (and the one other player from that campaign), even if its just a two person party. and aside from that, they want to do one on one memory/past related sessions for me (and the other player) which will be very nice to do in the mean time.

[owlseeyoulaterpal]

Like Real People Do, Chapter Twelve

Gale Dekarios x Named! Tav x Astarion Ancunín

Chapter Synopsis: Seraphina battles with the tension between her and Astarion after his confession and with her intensifying distance to her goddess, Tymora.

Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three. Chapter Four. Chapter Four and a Half. Chapter Five. Chapter Six. Chapter Seven. Chapter Eight. Chapter Nine. Chapter Nine and a Half. Chapter Ten. Chapter Eleven.

Read on ao3.

Word Count: 4.5k

Notes: I moved across the country recently so this went on an accidental hiatus, but now we're back to our regularly scheduled programming of me yapping about my tiefling baby. Incredibly excited for the next few chapters as I wrap up Act 2 in this fic :)

Learn more about my Tav, Seraphina.

Chapter Eleven: What do I stand for?

Some nights, I stay up cashing in my bad luck Some nights, I call it a draw Some nights, I wish that my lips could build a castle Some nights, I wish they'd just fall off But I still wake up, I still see your ghost Oh Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for What do I stand for? What do I stand for? Most nights, I don't know anymore

The words refused to leave Seraphina’s mouth. Her knees did not buckle, and her head stayed level, resistant to bowing. She took a deep breath and tried to will herself to kneel, lower her head, and pray. But her body was defiant. Or perhaps it was her soul. She slowly began to spin the ring that adorned her right index finger, desperate for her hands to be busy.

Seraphina could hear everyone around her packing up for their travel today. She wouldn’t have much time now. And yet, she couldn’t do it, even as she cast guidance on herself. It was a wonder she could even still tap into her divine magic when her soul felt so unsettled. She started to let out a groan, but immediately stopped when she felt someone watching her.

Ever since Shadowheart pointed out how often the wizard’s gaze settled on her, Seraphina had become aware of when Gale was looking at her…which was often. Though, the eyes on her now could’ve easily been Astarion’s. Her tail twitched as she heard the ground crunch behind her. The steps were not measured and feather-light, so faint they were almost imperceptible. They were lumbering and imprecise, the steps of someone whose knees ached more often than not. Seraphina relaxed. She didn’t know what she would do if it was rough black leather armor entering her peripheral vision instead of deep purple robes that smelled of parchment.

“I do hope you’re not regretting spending your night listening to me read the ramblings of a deranged necromancer,” Gale joked as he approached and stood next to her. “Instead of heading off to cut short the life of that Beshaba worshipper.”

She felt a tinge of guilt. When she told Gale of that conversation, he immediately assumed that her desire was to strike down the assassin. Seraphina couldn’t speak the words to even imply that she was the tiniest bit interested in discussing exactly what Beshaba’s offer was. There were still a few hours left before his ship departed…

“Hmm,” she said. “I thought you said any god would be honored to have me worship them?”

Gale blinked at her before he seemed to successfully recall the conversation and he chuckled. His rumbling laugh and the sparkle in his soft, adoring gaze were enough to banish some of the darkness that was encroaching on her heart.

“Yes, I did. Quite a sharp memory you have. You must’ve been quite bothersome as a student in the temple, I reckon,” Gale said, which made Seraphina nod with a mischievous smirk. “Perhaps I should have added that only a worthy god should have the blessing of your piety.”

“I suppose...” Seraphina said thoughtfully. But what makes a god worthy? Were any of them worthy?

“I wasn’t regretting last night,” she continued with a weak smile, placing a hand on his arm. “Today I can’t quite seem to…find the words to say in my morning prayer – or at least what I think is morning out here.”

Gale’s eyebrows lifted and he turned to face her more directly, but she continued looking past him into the darkness just outside their camp.

“I must admit this is a bit surprising. What has brought this on?” he asked. Seraphina barked out a laugh.

“What didn’t?” she replied. “Was it hard for you to pray to Mystra after everything that happened?”

Gale took a deep breath and exhaled. She lifted her head to look at him and his eyes were glazed over with grief.

“I…went through stages. There were days where I spent so much time at her altar, begging for a response, that the sun would sink beyond the horizon, and the moon would rise before I considered standing up. There were days when I would stew in my own vexation, and I avoided even casting a glance at her statue,” Gale replied, his voice becoming breathier as he now seemed to look off into the distance, taking himself back to those days in his tower.

“I doubt that anything I experienced on the emotional spectrum made a difference in how Mystra chose to respond to my transgression,” he said. Seraphina’s hand wandered down Gale’s arm, ghosted over his wrist, and she softly grabbed his hand.

“The gods are incredibly fickle, even towards their most devout followers. We truly are at their mercy,” Gale whispered. He squeezed Seraphina’s hand.

“Do you think it’s possible for mortals to take control back?” she asked.

“I believe we’re in control of how we respond to them and their demands. But raw, unbridled control over the directions of our lives, control that surpasses even the power of the gods?” Gale’s jaw clenched and, a moment later, he slowly shook his head. “I’m not sure.”

“Perhaps we’ll find out,” Seraphina whispered. When she went to pull away from Gale, his hand clutched hers, keeping her in place.

“Seraphina, if your mind is wandering where I believe it is, I beg you to move with caution,” Gale said, his voice firm. “It is one thing to turn away from a god. It is another altogether to flee in order to worship a deity that they despise.”

“It’s bad enough that we travel with a Shar worshipper. I won’t inflict a Beshaba upon us, Gale,” she faked a laugh. She went to pull away again. As their skin separated, cold instantly seeped into Seraphina’s bones and she wanted to take his hand again. She wanted to take his hand and say the truth: she was in love with him, and she would risk any punishment from Tymora if it meant she could destroy the Absolute and save Gale’s life. She would devote herself to Beshaba if it rid her of her wild magic, ending the threat she posed to Gale and herself. She wanted to tell him she would do whatever was necessary to keep them safe, to keep them from blowing each other up, to make it so they could be alive together.

She chose to say nothing – for now – and she turned to walk towards the dwindling campfire. Her breath hitched when she made eye contact with Astarion, who was standing near the fire. His lip curled into a sneer as his eyes flicked towards Gale and back to her. A sharp sting in her chest nearly made her fall to her knees. He quickly averted his gaze and continued filling his pack. She stayed on the opposite side of the circle to finish preparing her belongings.

Nothing about this morning felt normal. At some point, it had become routine for Seraphina to wake in the vampire’s arms with Astarion’s quiet whispers, delicate touches, and gentle kisses to her neck and shoulders rousing her from sleep. They would help each other put on their armor and Astarion would wait, albeit impatiently, for her to finish her prayer before he handed her breakfast to her. When they set out to deal with whatever horrors awaited them that day, he was never more than a few steps behind her. In the night, Astarion would join Seraphina in her tent, or she would come to his and the cycle would repeat. 

But that was before Seraphina knew that it was all an act. When had Astarion’s affections and attention become genuine? She would probably never know. Truthfully, knowing which actions of his had been deceptive would probably break her heart more. There was nothing to do with the love she held for him except lock it away and try to move on. It wasn’t possible to trust him again. Was it?

Seraphina dared to look up and Astarion was already looking at her as he slung his pack over his shoulders. His expression gave nothing away as he turned and went over to Shadowheart. 

Shortly afterwards, their party departed out into the cursed lands again. 

x x x

“Tsk’va! Where is the druid?” Lae’zel hissed.

“He just needs more time!” Wyll shouted.

“Gods, we may not have much time left,” Gale panted.

Their party stood on a rocky ledge, surrounded almost entirely by violent victims of the shadow curse. 

Their venture to the Thorm family mausoleum was interrupted by their discovery of Art Cullagh’s lute after they felled Malus Thorm in the House of Healing. Having to travel back to Last Light to assist Halsin in his personal mission to finally cure this land of the shadow curse wasn’t ideal, and neither was the current situation.

As she looked out at the swarm of enemies before them, Seraphina lifted her hands.

“Ira et Dolor!” Seraphina roared. A wall of gigantic flames sprouted from the ground, cutting through the crowd of undead.

Suddenly, a blanket of cold enveloped her. She gasped as ice flooded her veins and she gritted her teeth as she attempted to continue concentrating on the spell that was now keeping most of the sea of enemies at bay. Her knees buckled and her staff fell from her hands as her armor seemed to turn to stone, her body unable to withstand the weight of it. Seraphina forced her head to turn through the pain, only to see the looming figure of a Wraith, its dark tentacles wrapped around her. 

Thwick.

Thwick.

Two arrows shot through the Wraith, flying over Seraphina’s head as the Wraith vanished with a ghastly groan. Astarion emerged through the dissipating shadow, and he thrusted her quarterstaff back into her hand.

“If you’re going to send us into unnecessary battles like this, you better stay alive to see them through,” the vampire hissed.

“Focus on the archers,” she responded. Despite his hostility, Astarion followed her directions. Gale appeared at her other side.

“Lean on me if you need to,” he whispered. Seraphina immediately leaned against him, and they stood back-to-back as Gale dropped an ice storm on the undead emerging from the nearby water.

Seraphina shook her head quickly to try and ground herself as she struggled to raise her arm for her next spell. That Wraith never should’ve been able to sneak up on her. Her focus was faltering, and she was putting everyone else at risk. After Halsin returned with Thaniel, it was during their battle with the indignant spirit Oliver that Karlach spoke up.

“Soldier, you’re leaving your left flank wide open. Where’s your head at?” Karlach said as she threw her pike at the shadowed owlbear. 

As their party freed the tieflings and gnomes from the prison of Moonrise, it was Wyll that saved Seraphina from what would’ve surely been a fatal smite from one of the prison guards.

“Stay sharp, Seraphina. We need your head here with us,” the warlock commented.

At the tollhouse, a wail from a shadowed skull paralyzed Seraphina. Shadowheart helped Seraphina to move with a well-timed sacred flame eviscerating the visage.

“Keep focused,” Shadowheart scolded. “What’s the plan here?”

At the Waning Moon, Lae’zel knocked Seraphina out of the way of an explosion of fiery spew from the mouth of Thisobald Thorm.

“T’chaki! Pull yourself together!” Lae’zel shouted as she yanked the tiefling back to her feet.

Seraphina didn’t know how to explain herself and any words she attempted to come up with to say to anyone fell flat. Astarion, Wyll, and Karlach wouldn’t understand. Lae’zel, Gale, and Shadowheart were so devoted to their deities. Worshipping Tymora felt like it was in her bones and now her inner turmoil made her feel like she was being torn asunder. She’d lived her entire life and made nearly every decision in accordance with what she’d been taught in the temple. Who was she if she wasn’t following Tymora? It terrified her to even try and think of it. And yet the thought couldn’t leave her mind. Without Tymora, Seraphina’s confidence was obliterated.

The last few days had passed in a blur of enemies, injuries, familiar faces, and moving back and forth across the landscape. Seraphina’s only reprieve became when it was time for rest, and she would join Gale in his tent. Thankfully, Gale enjoyed staying up late. It was comforting to have his company. Every time she entered his tent, Gale had already planned how they spend their night – usually with a bottle of wine prepared as well. One night, they simply read different books while sitting next to each other. The next night, Gale had his lanceboard out. The following night, he had pulled out a map of the Sword Coast and asked her where she had traveled in her adventures. Those moments gave her peace – and set her body on fire at the same time with some of the heated looks Gale gave her as the bottle ran dry.

But tonight, she longed for solitude. The longer she stayed awake, the more she thought of Tymora. Karlach and Wyll were keeping Arabella entertained tonight, so Seraphina stumbled away from the campfire, her body aching for her bedroll and the bliss of being unconscious. But she should’ve known that nothing would be that easy.

As she turned to tie closed the flaps of her tent, familiar black shoes walked up on the other side. Seraphina tensed as she opened the flaps, looking up from her knees to see Astarion.

“Hello there,” he said.

“Well met,” she nodded.

Silence.

“Did you need something?” Seraphina asked.

Astarion awkwardly shuffled his feet. She looked at his face and she relaxed, some of her iciness melting away as she took in his appearance. To say he looked pathetic would be an understatement. He was frowning, which wasn’t strange, but he looked exhausted and gaunt.

“This is hardly something I want to ask of you at the moment, but you can imagine that it’s quite hard to find suitable prey out here in this wasteland,” he said. Seraphina blinked at him and Astarion grunted in frustration, crossing his arms.

“I need a little blood, darling. It’s…been a few days,” Astarion murmured. She searched her mind and realized the last time he fed from her was when they were all at Last Light.

“Of course. Come in,” Seraphina replied.

She shuffled further inside her tent and sat down, her back facing the opening, and she tilted her head, exposing her neck. She hoped that this would be a short visit. Her heart began to race as she felt Astarion sit behind her, his presence suddenly filling all the empty space in the tent. One of his hands grasped her shoulder and the other held her head, his cold fingers brushing her scalp and sending a shiver down her spine. Her tail twitched from where it draped over Astarion’s leg.

“May I?” he asked.

“Go ahead.”

Astarion’s lips briefly grazed her neck before his fangs entered her. She sighed as she felt her blood flow from her and into him. He took long gulps, soft groans of satisfaction escaping him as he fed. Astarion’s hand drifted from her shoulder and began to trail down her torso, resting on her waist. 

It was too familiar. It was too much. She blinked back the tears welling up in her eyes as Astarion leaned closer, her back pressed against his chest. Mere days ago, she would’ve leaned into him. She counted to thirty in her head.

“That’s enough,” Seraphina gasped. Astarion’s fangs pulled out, but he didn’t pull away. She clenched her eyes shut and her hands gripped the fabric of her sleeping pants when Astarion lapped at the blood leaking away from the puncture wounds.

“Delicious as always,” Astarion said. Seraphina straightened and the hand that was on her head fell to her arm. She didn’t want to tell him to pull away, but she had to. They couldn’t stay close like this.

“I…uh, have things to do before bed. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she stammered, pulling away and turning to face him as her head spun from the blood loss, his hands falling to his legs.

“Ah, yes. Wouldn’t want to keep you from the wizard’s bedroll,” Astarion grumbled, rolling his eyes.

“I was planning on spending my night alone,” Seraphina said evenly.

“Why would you do that when Gale of Waterdeep is waiting just across camp for you?”

“Mind your tongue, Astarion.”

“You certainly can’t keep yours to yourself. Tell me, was anything of what you said the other night even true? Did what I had to say simply provide you an easy exit to finally go after the man you truly wanted now that touching you won’t cause him to level a city?”

His sudden vitriol sent her reeling.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that. Nothing has even happened between Gale and I,” Seraphina replied. “I didn’t expect any of this and we’ve lived every day not knowing if we’ll even have our souls or our bodies in a few hours. I wasn’t going to turn my heart from love. You…you have no idea how I’ve felt. To care so deeply about two people – one of them doomed to die if the tadpole didn’t do it first and the other seemingly only interested in sex and a superficial relationship.”

“I didn’t even want to have sex with you. I didn’t want that then and it’s not what I want now,” Astarion snapped. “You – you made me feel things I’ve never felt before, but it was stupid. All of this was. Enjoy your night. Sweet dreams.”

He angrily exited the tent, but the tension remained. Seraphina’s mind swirled. She thought about Astarion’s words tonight and everything he said in his tent that night that changed everything between them. She turned the words over in her mind over and over again as she laid on her bedroll. There had to be a way forward for the two of them, but she couldn’t figure it out.

And then a different realization struck Seraphina as she slowly let sleep consume her.

She hadn’t prayed today. Or yesterday. Or the day before. Or…even the day before. For the first time more than a decade…Seraphina wasn’t praying to Tymora.

The thought didn’t unsettle her.

x x x

Camp was quiet except for Arabella’s chatter the following night. Everyone was bloodied, bruised, and drained after the events of the day. Completing the Gauntlet of Shar was no easy task. Shadowheart had angrily insisted that they continue through the final door, but Seraphina had to tell her how foolish such a thing would be after the beating their party had received at the hands of Yurgir the orthon and his merregons. The Sharran wisely pointed out that killing Yurgir wasn’t required, but for Seraphina, it absolutely was. Astarion’s need for it to be done was reason enough. Even if he had been unreasonably cruel recently, she knew that his brooding wouldn’t last.

Seraphina couldn’t help the sneer on her face as Raphael theatrically explained the infernal contract that had been carved into Astarion’s skin. 

“And that, my tragic and toothsome friend, is that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have business elsewhere,” the cambion purred before disappearing in a puff of black smoke, leaving behind an air of sulfur.

Seraphina looked at Astarion and his face was…surprisingly blank except for his furrowed brows and his pursed lips. It was odd, especially when her own body hummed with anger for the vampire lord that awaited them in Baldur’s Gate.

“Hmm…” Astarion hummed.

“We’ll stop Cazador,” she said, crossing her arms to give her hands something to squeeze.

“You still think it’s that simple,” he replied with a scowl.

“You’ll never be free while he’s alive, so there’s only one option for us.”

He frowned and his eyes focused on the ground.

“I hate how right you are,” he grumbled. “I knew he wouldn’t leave me alone. But if I’m the key to this power he craves, he’ll never stop hunting me.”

He looked up at her, his eyes wide and vulnerable.

“I need to take the fight to him. And I need you to help me,” Astarion said.

“I told you I would. I’ll make good on my word,” Seraphina nodded.

Astarion looked her up and down carefully. He scrutinized her face, his eyes staring into her own before darting over her eyebrows, cheeks, and lips.

“Yes, you did say that…I believe you,” he said.

Astarion stalked away and disappeared into his tent. Seraphina turned to look towards the campfire. Everyone sat around the fire with Arabella and Thaniel nearby playing with Scratch and the cub, who had recently been named Swoosh by Arabella. Gale stood at the cauldron, crafting their dinner.

Seraphina’s heart skipped a beat as Gale burst into laughter at something Halsin said. His smile was hypnotizing, and she wanted to walk over and be the one to make him laugh like that again. He must’ve felt her staring because he looked up and their eyes instantly met.

He grinned at her, and she took moved forward, pulled towards him like a moth to a flame. And then she stopped. The weight of her sadness hit her, and she couldn’t take another step. She smiled back and turned away, going into her tent.

Seraphina isolated herself, drinking from a bottle of firewine while surrounded by empty bottles as she crafted an overabundance of potions. Her hands ached and the weight of her coin pendant against her chest almost made it difficult to breathe. At least the scent of all the herbs was pleasant.

A rustle at the opening of her tent made her jump and she whipped around only to see Astarion crouching at the entrance, a bowl in his hands.

“It’s getting quite late. You haven’t eaten,” he commented.

“We don’t have too many food supplies out here. You can save it for Arabella,” Seraphina replied.

“Resist your urge to be so damn selfless for once.”

He fully entered the tent and shoved the bowl into her hands. She stifled a moan at the enticing smell of the soup. Astarion watched her and, as she finally lifted the spoon to her lips, he looked away, observing her surroundings.

“I believe we have more than enough potions, darling,” Astarion said, gesturing at about ten healing potions.

“I’m just being careful. We could use a few more elixirs,” she mumbled around a bite of carrot.

“If you tell me the recipe, I’m happy to assist you. Keep eating.”

He scooted closer to her and picked up an empty bottle. He moved over her mortar and pestle and looked at her expectantly.

“There’s really no need, but I appreciate the offer,” Seraphina replied. Astarion didn’t budge. She sighed in defeat and looked over the ingredients.

“Take…some mergrass and three hill giant fingers. Crush both of those please.” 

He smiled at her, and he got to work. She ate as he crafted elixirs, his hands a little clumsy at first handling the pestle and keeping the salts and suspensions within the mortar, but his dexterous fingers eventually got quite used to the motions. He asked her quite possibly a hundred questions about alchemy, ingredients, harvesting, and storage of ingredients. She chose not to question his curiosity because it was nice to just talk for the first time in a while.

As soon as Seraphina finished her food, she shooed away Astarion’s hands.

“I’ve only done two!” he protested.

“And I appreciate it, but I really can handle it from here. I quite enjoy it. It’s a mindless little activity that keeps my hands busy,” Seraphina said.

Astarion pouted. He looked around her tent again. He seemed anxious to be doing something himself. She was reminded of one of her young nieces, Inyis, who loved asking questions and investigating anything she could in any room she entered. He reached over and grabbed her pale blue robes, inspecting the fabric.

“Well, you simply can’t walk around with your clothing in this condition,” Astarion’s finger glided over a rip that she had received courtesy of a bonesaw in the House of Healing. “Do you want me to sew this up for you?”

“It’s not that big.”

“Must you be so difficult?” Astarion huffed, dropping the robe. “I’m trying to repay you and you’re making it impossible.”

“Repay me for what?” Seraphina asked.

“For…” Astarion hesitated. “For risking your neck to help me kill that orthon. You didn’t have to, and I almost expected you not to after all that’s happened between us.”

“You could just say ‘thank you,’” Seraphina shrugged.

“Hmm,” his eyes darted to the ground before he looked up at her again, his jaw stiff. “Thank you for helping me. It was very kind.” The words sounded clunky and foreign coming out of his mouth.

Seraphina smiled.

“You’re welcome, Astarion,” she replied.

Astarion’s eyebrows furrowed.

“You truly want nothing from me? After everything I’ve done and said to you?” he asked. 

“My love is freely given, Astarion. You never needed to do anything to earn it and you’ve never needed to repay me. Though I wouldn’t mind you not being an ass every now and then,” Seraphina said. “But you don’t owe me anything.”

His eyebrows lifted and his lips quivered as he stared at her. 

“Why?”

 “I care for you very much, Astarion. I think I always will,” she whispered. “I…I wish that things happened differently, but I can be your friend. I want to be your friend if you’ll let me, if that’s what you want.”

It would be a process to build a friendship with Astarion without any romantic or sexual entanglements. Seraphina knew how she loved. She knew the kind of relationship she desired was something that Astarion wasn’t ready for – and it could be something he may never want. But she wanted him in close in her life for however much time they had left.

Astarion’s eyes glistened.

He held out his hand. Seraphina placed her hand in his and Astarion placed his other on top of hers, staring at their hands for a moment as his thumb gently rubbed over her knuckles. His cold touch sent a shiver up her arm, but she didn’t pull away. She wasn’t going to run from him again. If Astarion needed someone to run to, Seraphina was prepared to be that person. She didn’t know fully who she was without Tymora, but she knew that she could, would, and did love with all her heart.

“A friend. I’ve had more than my fair share of lovers but…a friend?” Astarion murmured, almost speaking to himself. He lifted his head and, as he smiled, the cold Seraphina felt in her body was suddenly replaced by warmth.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend,” the vampire said. “Until you.”

[theworldwalkersdiaries]

I thought it would be fun to share Winter's origins, so it's time for some ✨old art✨

Image 1 Description: Pencil drawing of a young tiefling. His shoulders are high and his tail is threatening to wrap around his own legs. He holds a toy bow with a suction-cup arrow, and more are in a quiver at his hip.

Beside him reads: Winnie he/him, 5 y.o. looks perpetually worried (is just shy) never goes anywhere w/o boy & arrows wants to be a ranger when he grows up.

Image 1 Description end.

Winter, or Winnie, was originally made for the Baby Tieflings Candy Heist One-Shot. He, along with his fellow orphans Trouble (played by my wife @horseandlion), Tenacious ("Ten-Ten"), and Goose, succeeded at their candy heist with flying colors. We had so much fun playing them that we went on to begin a campaign with them as adults.

The color portrait below (Image 2) was made to be Winter's Roll20 token.

Image 2 Description: 3/4 bust drawing, pencil and colored pencil. A purple-skinned, purple-horned tiefling. His straight, black hair is pulled back in a low ponytail and a few strands escape between his horns and in front of his pointed ears. His horns arc back over his head before angling in toward each other at the tips. He wears a green shirt with a round collar and a gold coin on a leather cord. His eyes are black corner to corner. The name WINTER is emblazoned beneath him, curved up to fit in a round frame.

Image 2 Description end.

Image 3 Description: full body pencil drawing. A slender tiefling man carrying a long- self bow. He wears a close-fitting waistcote over a set of two shirts, the other wish slashed sleeves. He wears thigh-high boots that tie up to his belt with stays. He wears a cloak over all. A dagger is strapped to his right thigh, and a short sword is at his left hip. His quiver is strapped behind him, level with his hip to his right and lower to his left. Beside him, his name, WINTER ORIANNA, is written in Ogham.

Image 3 Description end.

The setup of the adult campaign was that Sonya Orianna, a retired adventurer and High Priestess of Tymora, goddess of Good Luck and Adventurers, was the founder of the orphanage for tiefling children, which was on the grounds of a temple of Tymora. "Mama Sonya" was Winter, Tenacious, Trouble, and Goose's guardian. In the first session, we learned that she had been abducted. In the quest to recover her, the crew accidentally. uh. declared Holy War against Beshaba, Tymora's twin sister and Goddess of Ill Fortune. Oops.

After recovering her, we had to prepare for said Holy War, which was apparently imminent anyway, but was now On. Tenacious went to study at a temple of Selûne, where Sonya's mentor, an elven woman, was High Priestess. (We also made friends with a God in the shape of a giant cat there, who needed to be returned to his own plane.)

From there, the party departed to a site sacred to Sune, Goddess of Beauty and Love, to meet their High Priestess and assist with the festival happening there. This site was treated as a sort of open-air temple, with a lake at the center. While there, we had the opportunity to don special armor and/or dancing clothes, as we were essentially offering to serve as guards. We needed it, as we ultimately ended up investigating the deaths of fellow guards and fighting a clan of Kuo-Toa who worshiped Beshaba.

Image 4 Description: full body pencil drawing of Winter. He wears a set of armor. The chest plate is emblazoned with a cluster of three roses in bloom. The leg and arm pieces are etched with the likeness of thorny vines spiralling around his limbs.

Image 4 Description end.

Image 5 Description: full body pencil drawing of Winter. He wears light and revealing dancing clothes, including a crop top with a zig-zag, angular hem with a latticework of pearls hanging from it. Attached at the shoulder are separate, tight sleeves, each with a loop for his middle finger. He wears low-slung pants with slashed sides that reveal most of his legs. Draped over one arm is a translucent shawl with coins or metal discs hanging from the bottom edge. He wears anklets that each have two chains that connect to a single toe ring. His hair is loose.

Image 5 Description end.

While at the festival, the party met two of Sonya's long-time friends, who we later found were also her partners. One of them, a druid cursed to be stuck in his wildshape, gifted Winter a necklace that would allow him to take the shape of a Wolf, to deepen the bonds of friendship between him and his companion, Ember. My DM was way too nice to me and allowed Winter to keep Hellish Rebuke in wolf form bc it's badass.

Image 6 Description: Full body drawing, pencil and colored pencil. Winter in wolf shape and Ember. Ember is red and black, with orange eyes. Winter is black, and retains a set of purple horns atop his head; there are smaller purple spines in two rows that run down Winter's back and tail. His eyes are still black corner to corner. They sit side by side, their heads cheated toward each other.

Image 6 Description End.

Image 7 Description: Full body drawing, pencil and colored pencil. Two additional views of Winter in wolf form, one standing, body in profile and head in 3/4, and the other a depiction of Wolf Winter casting Hellish Rebuke. In the second, he crouches low, snarling at the viewer, and rainbow flames jet from his mouth and take to the ground before and around him.

Image 7 Description End.

Because the kids were raised on the grounds of a temple of Tymora, all of them had a magic coin with a luck-based effect, which recharged per long rest so long as they prayed, made an offering, or did some kind of devotion to Tymora, if memory serves.

Where the campaign left off, going on indefinite hiatus, the party had just finished investigating happenings at Mama Sonya (and her lovers') former school. What ended up being the final session, Sonya made reference to time magic, insinuating that she had plucked Winter, Trouble, Tenacious, and Goose from different points in time to bring them together for a purpose. We never found out if my interpretation of Sonya's statement was strictly true, or what the purpose was.

Winter's current incarnation as my Tav in the world and story of Baldur's Gate 3 has a ton of nods to his original campaign. His core personality and features remain the same, like that he has the Urchin background and is a Beastmaster Ranger with a wolf companion named Ember, and that his only significant relationship as an adult is his sister, Trouble, back in the city. His original advantageous terrains were Urban and Forest, so when offered the chance at specializing, I chose those. (Though there's no Favored Quarry mechanic in BG3, in his original campaign it was Noble Men LOL idr exactly why except that he deeply disliked them.) While he is no longer a religious person, as a nod to Tymora, his first feat was Lucky. And, in honor of Sonya Orianna, without whom Winter as a character would not exist, I had him take the last name Orionn for himself. In universe, it's meant to be in reference to Orion, the Hunter (since I found a Tolkien elvish dictionary that included him as a constellation), or denoting that he is "of Orion". It's soothing and satisfying, to cobble together little pieces of the original version of him, and honor the story that will never be told.

[oakleybillions]

my dnd character for a new campaign I’m playing! Their name is Munty and they’re a wack-a-mole champion

[pastel-kun]

New tiefling I designed and drew out in a rush for a Tal’Dorei campaign I was invited to!! ;v; He likes his fluffy pancakes with butter and honey, no maple syrup allowed!! 🍯 🍯 🍯

[catverst]

[beware the witch’s swamp]

[nyuula-art]

more of the NPC Mallory, Black Finger of Beshaba in the campaign I DM 🦌

[freelanceplatypus]

What color scheme do y'all like best for this new dnd character? 1, 2 or 3!

[maahriarts]

Full body work-in-progress sketch for the beshaban tiefling warlock