#bg3 drabble

[astarionmylife]

18+

When you and Astarion first have sex, it's all an act. It's a carefully precise performance he is putting on. Perfectly timed grunts and groans, pretty seductive language. He puts up a domineering front, disassociates like he always used to. It's second nature to him now, sex is not a tender act of affection anymore. It's a deal, the only thing he can offer in a trade. He's in control, simply exists to make you feel good.

As the two of you get closer, when you start experiencing feelings for each other, he doesn't know what to do. He feels lost, and the sex is much gentler. He's starting to feel comfortable with you, sometimes allows you to top and take control as he surrenders. His mask of pretense is dropping, his perfectly manicured act falling apart. He finds little whiny moans escaping him as he finishes. He finds himself clinging to you more and more, trusting you with more parts of his past.

After awhile, the two of you are open with each other, very much in love. You take care of him when necessary, and while the sex is never the same ideal as it was, it's so much more satisfying. And sometimes he can cry during sex, sobs falling down his cheeks as he sloppily thrusts into you, head buried in the crock of your neck as you stroke your fingers through his hair and whisper affirmations into his ears. And on the less emotional but just as horny days, you can spend days in bed, alternating between just holding each other, and pounding into each other. Life is good.

[colonelarr0w]

Just thinking about Astarion as a personification of the trope "unamused until my S/O walks into the room."

Just imagine it.

Karlach had practically insisted that the group rest at a nearby tavern following a successful battle against a particularly nasty band of goblins. Nobody dared protest with her, not when you smiled and nodded happily along with her idea.

That led you and the rest of your companions to a small, rundown tavern on the outskirts of the town you had visited.

To be fair, Astarion had never been a fan of spending time in crowded places -- that much had been evident from the very start. You had always noticed that on the nights where you and the others gathered around the camp's fire Astarion would retire for the night.

You never pushed him, and for that he was grateful. And after all, he would have you to himself soon enough. You always sought him out after spending time with the others, ready to sleep curled up against his side and whisper to him underneath the moon's glow.

But this time was different, now he was surrounded by lowly creatures that he couldn't be paid to interact with. They danced happily and drank with one another, their happiness only adding to Astarion's very visible frustration.

He stands off to the side, his arms crossed firmly over his chest while his hardened scarlet eyes roam over the tavern's patrons. Shadowheart, Gale, and Lae'zel seem to be enjoying themselves, drinking happily and engaging in pleasent conversation. Karlach is most definitely enjoying herself, indulging in the tavern's ale and laughing heartily.

Astarion's ears perk at the sweet sound of your laughter, his eyes flickering to you. You were talking with the tavern's bartender, lips curled upward at something she had said to you.

The sight is almost instant; Astarion's eyes soften, the crease in between his brows vanishes, and the scowl on his lips is replaced by a gentle smile. He leans a bit more comfortably against the tavern's wall, attention focused on you.

He may despise going on, but to see you smiling and happy? Maybe going out wasn't so bad after all.

[comatosebunny09]

Nothing. Just Astarion scolding you for getting hurt, tenderly bandaging you up. You wear a love-stricken smile while he does it. And he appears focused, pretending that the way you look at him doesn’t make his body hum with pleasure.

“You’ll always take care of me, won’t you?” you muse aloud, touching his hand, thumb easing over his knuckles.

Astarion scoffs, intentionally pulling tight on your dressing. You wince, never releasing that insufferable smile.

“Gods know you couldn’t be bothered to take care of yourself. Idiot.” He flicks your forehead, standing to wipe his palms off on his thighs. Releases a weighted sigh, turning his nose up as he offers you his hand. “Come on.”

He acts like he doesn’t care. But deep down, you know he’d give you his heart in a handbasket if he could.

You stare up at him admirably, the galaxy swirling in your eyes. His hand is corpse-cold in yours but no less comforting as he hauls you up.

You lose your footing, purposely ungraciously crashing into him. A series of giggles is pulled from your chest, a soft grunt drawn from his. Astarion rolls his eyes, yet he’s cautious as he winds his arms around your waist to steady you.

You stand on tippy-toe to kiss him, something quick and chaste on the apple of his cheek. He stiffens, casting you a sidelong glance.

“S’alright,” you say wistfully, encircling his neck with your arms. “I know you love me.”

Another scoff.

You feel his body give, and he angles himself to kiss you thoroughly and honey-slow on the lips. Palms wide and possessive at the small of your back, a gentle groan of approval poured into your mouth.

[cambion-companion]

Curled atop Raphael to thaw.

@sky-kiss put it in my head how nice it would be to use Raphael's hellish body heat to unfreeze after a cold day. Actually, she's mentioned it several times. So of course I had to make a drabble. This is the softest Raphael has been or ever will be haha

(Also remoras are the fish which attaches to larger fish to "clean" them.)

“I feel like I just trudged through the snows of Cania.”  Your teeth chattered, making it difficult to speak.  Huddled as you were by the inn’s paltry fireplace, the flames were doing very little to thaw the bone chill.

Raphael looked up from where he reclined, perusing a long scroll of parchment. His hellfire gaze swept over your shivering form, arching a brow in amusement. “I did warn you not to venture forth.  Yet you remain intrepid and stubborn as ever.”  He cleared his throat and resumed reading the contract he’d been editing since your return.

You glared over at the devil on his bed, not that he saw.  You shuffled off your heavy coat, the fabric stiff and just as frozen as the rest of you.

On numb bare feet you crossed the small room at a slight run,and hopped up next to where Raphael reclined. He gave you a look that you recognized as a sign his patience was slipping. “I don’t share my bed with little frozen mice.”

“Good thing I’m not a mouse, then.”  You snuggled close to his body, his skin the shade of ripe cherries and giving off infernal heat. “Indulge me.” You repeated the words he’d spoken to you days previous, accentuating your accent to mimic his own.

Raphael tutted and, with a tug, moved his wing away from where you rested on it. “Your body has the appeal of a corpse.  Get yourself hence ere I remove you.”

“Hurtful.”  You didn’t budge, instead pressing yourself closer and sighing as the heat radiating off him began to seep beneath your clammy skin. “Please, Raphael.”

The cambion stilled, his hand holding the parchment still outstretched to keep the fresh ink from smudging as you moved yourself as much on top of him as possible. You felt him sigh beneath you and smiled, sensing victory.

You did not expect the pressure of Raphael’s hand upon your hair, stroking once before resting against your upper back. He waited for you to stop moving, finding a comfortable position half-curled atop his torso.

“What are you willing to do in exchange for my constant lenience?”  Raphael’s breath stirred your hair.  He rested the parchment back against the top of your head and seemed to be only half interested in your reply.

In response you made sure to tuck your ice block feet against his thighs.  Raphael’s muscles twitched in response, and he gripped your waist hard in retribution. “You’re telling me you don’t enjoy this at all?”  You asked, your sense of self-preservation long since fled.

“I’m reminding you everything has a price, my dear.”  Raphael murmured. “I shall let you ruminate.  For now, be silent, I have work to do.”

You found no issue with that, feeling the rise and fall of the devil’s breath beneath your body as he warmed you.  Your eyelashes fluttered with a sudden wave of drowsiness.

Raphael’s wings curled around you both in a sort of cocoon, increasing the feeling of being thawed.  Soon you were enveloped in a haze of red and heat, every so often hearing the sound of paper rustling and the scratch of a quill.

You stretched, hooking one of your legs over the cambion’s waist and wrapped your arm around his chest.

Raphael looked down at your relaxed body, curled atop his. He smiled slightly to himself moved his long fingers through your hair. “What a soft, pliant creature you are. The errant remora seeking refuge, fully knowing it’s within the jaws of a shark.”

[writtenbyafan]

Whole World

⟢ Pairing: Astarion Acunin x Tav ⟢

Tav: “I can fit the whole world in my hands.”

Astarion: “No, darling, that’s impossible.”

Tav: *Walks over and tenderly cups Astarion’s face*

Astarion: *blushes furiously with his face smooshed between Tav’s hands*

Astarion: “Get off of me, I have a reputation.”

[Astarion shoves Tav away and fixes his hair]

Tav: *Stumbles away from the flustered spawn with a laugh and watches Astarion huff away*

Tav: “You’re too adorable.”

Astarion: *Barley spares Tav a glance as he flees back to the safety of his tent*

Inspired by this picture:

[darkenedurge]

Gale never thought he’d be here.

Never thought he’d have his love, have her. Beams of sunlight rippled through the parted, wispy curtains that adorned his open balcony – his balcony, in Waterdeep. His home. Their home.

The golden light was strewn across her face, illuminating her features – her pretty freckles, the curve of her jaw. Her head rest in his lap, lashes fluttering as she stirred, eyes flitting up to gaze at him. Gale loved when she looked at him, like he was the only man in the whole, entire world. She’d smile, not long after. She always did. Always.

Gale guides his fingers through her hair, untangling any stray knots in the process – earning an appreciative hum. “You always get sleepy at this time of day.” He comments, voice nothing but soft, gentle – saturated in love, and in adoration.

“Do I..?” She murmurs in reply, still weighted by sleep – whining as she stretched, repositioning herself, cheek nuzzling against his thigh.

His smile only widens, his cheeks darkening in equal measure, “Yes, my love, you do.”

[reverieblondie]

Imagine surprising Haarlep by flipping your positions in bed as things are getting steamy. You whisper in their ear "Let me do the work this time." then kiss and nibble your way over to the incubus' other ear, "Let me pleasure you."

What do you think would happen next? How do you think Haarlep would feel/respond?

So, I had someone else ask me about a very familiar scenario of Haarlep and an afab Tav wrestling and finally pinning them down to dom them, so I am going to combine that one with this one. Enjoy!

18+ under the cut!

Haarlep sometimes forgets how strong you are, especially when they are on top of you, looking down at your prone form, ready to be devoured. So imagine Haarlep’s surprise when you, seemingly so innocent, so sweet, suddenly turn the tables on them. Grabbing onto their wrist, you effortlessly flip the positions. Haarlep looks up at their once docile pet, now looking down at them with newfound hunger. Haarlep eyes you intrigued by your next move. Mortals…such funny creatures. 

Placing their clawed fingers on your soft hips, they attempt to rock their cock into you and fuck you with reckless abandon, but you push Haarleps hips down, forcing them still. Haarlep looks at you, eyes narrowed and lips curling into a smirk. “Now what is-” a soft ‘shh’ leaves your lips as you lean to their ear. “Let me do the work this time.” Haarlep is about to make a sarcastic remark, but then your small tongue licks up to the sharp tip of their ear. Open-mouthed heated kisses go down their neck, and Haarlep can’t help but hum in approval. Then, a sharp nip makes their hands on your hips tighten. Cheeky girl… Your lips continue their pursuit until your sweet voice is again in their ear. Haarlep closes their eyes, taking in the feeling of your fingertips tracing over their lips. “Let me pleasure you…” your words are a sinful promise. Reopening your eyes, Haarlep looks at you, seeing all over you, “You can try, pet.” 

Haarlep loves admiring your flushed body on top of them; a shiver that only you seem to bring to them waves through their body: excitement. However, with having to be Rapheals for so long, they don’t get their hopes up. Plus, you are mortal; you will probably tire out making them finish the job. But as you’re positioning yourself, there’s something in your eyes. Then, as you grind against his rigid base, coating your sticky sweet essence all over their thick length. They start to catch on. That smile does not seem so sweet anymore, and right as they are about to say something about your teasing, you dip down and lick a quick stripe on their nipple, then give a quick bite. The whimper was involuntary as you rose back up, not missing a beat in your grinding. Harrlep can only smirk at the discovery, “You naughty girl, you’ve done this before…”

You smile; Haarlep loves it when you’re mischievous…

Sliding Haarlep in nice and slow, sinking them so deep they feel their dripping tip licking against your cervix. The stretch is maddening as it forces your walls to take their every bulging ridge. The moans of their name, as you start to rut them deeper into your womb, will cause Haarlep to grit their teeth, one part of them wanting to take back control, but the other part of them is enjoying the show. The sounds of your moans, the feeling of your splaying hands against their chest, slowly rising back up to the tip, hovering above them, scratching your nails down Haarleps chest, teasing them all the more as you wait to push them back in. All this unfamiliar teasing makes Haarlep dig their nails into you more. Right as they are about to comment in protest about not being buried deep in your tight sex, right as your walls are no longer aching from the stretch, you slide back down quickly, forcing the cock in so deep, arching and grinding to get them so deep it makes Haarlep head spin (not an easy thing to do). Riding Haarleps cock hard as you rub your sweaty hands all over their body, as you moan out breathless cock drunk praise for them. 

Haarlep will see your sweaty form and try to grab your ass to assist you, squeezing it to lift and lower you, but you won’t let them. Haarlep is only meant to be enjoying not working. Grabbing their hands softly, bringing them to your lips as you kiss against their palms and knuckles, moaning with every push and keeping your eyes on Haarlep glowing ones. This soft moment is so different…Haarleps cock throbs, and you can’t help but throw your head back, trying so hard to get them off before yourself. Then, as you feel that ecstasy threatening to wash over you, you place their hands against your stomach and let Haarlep feel how deep they are. How much you’re taking, doing just for them. The throbbing continues as your walls eagerly grip on every inch. 

Inevitably you will cum undone on Haarlep despite all your trying. But as your cunt quivers against them and their lidded eyes drink in your orgasm, you bring your hands to cup Haarleps cheek as you keep your mind-numbing pace. “Haarlep, I want to be filled with your pleasure…Would you please honor me?”. Haarleps eyes widen. Not only do you want him to cum, but you’re asking for it so sweetly. No demands…No forcing…Not forgetting that they feel things and want things…

It’s a moment of rare vulnerability as Haarlep looks up at you, moaning your name as they spill their hot seed deep within your womb in thick spurts. The slight bit of hope for it to take…

Crashing down to their broad chest, you press yourself so close to them, a wave of exhaustion starting to come over you now. Haarlep will tilt your head to look into your cloudy eyes. Haarleps eyes are lidded, and sweat decorates their skin; they two equally look spent. Then their sinful voice speaks to cut through your haze, “After some rest… we’re doing that again…” 

Fiends…Such greedy creatures…

[fic--writer]

🤰Rolan and the pregnancy news:

Master of Ramazith Tower, Tav, Cal and Lia gathered around the table for dinner.

- Oh, no. Don't put meat on me, Lia, I've been feeling bad about this for three days now. - Pale Tav waved the steak away.

- You sound just like a pregnant friend of mine. - Lia joked, taking her portion and eating it with gusto.

A slurping Cal interjected:

- Yeah, what pregnancy, what are you talking about, sis? Tav can't even leave that damn tower. Rolan locked her in and now tortures her with his magic lessons twenty-four hours a day.

All those "lessons" Cal had mentioned flashed before Rolan's eyes. Every possible sex position they'd tried instead of the books.

The Archmage was petrified and now just stared at Tav, his face open in surprise, frozen in a silent question.

Tav caught his glance and understood. But she hadn't fully grasped the situation. And now she, too, was in a state of prostration.

Lia, noticing their reaction, angrily threw the cutlery on the table:

- Rolan?! Rolan! What have you done?!!! - Of the four of them, she thought faster than anyone.

- I think I should get out. - Tav standing up to his feet without further explanation.

Rolan jumped up and ran after her.

- What the hell is going on? - Cal asked, slurping as if nothing had happened.

Lia cackled and screamed:

- Tav is pregnant!

- Who did she get knocked up? - Cal said conspiratorially.

- Gods! - Lia slammed her hands on the table and walked away.

Cal just grinned and finished his meal. And when he realized that no one was coming back to the table, he finished Rolan's portion. And Lia's portion. And Tav's.

[blackjackkent]

Wyll is trembling like a leaf when Jaheira pokes her head into his tent.

"I brought you some stew, cub," she says, setting a bowl down just inside the tent flap. "You will not want to come out to the fire tonight, I think." Her lips twitch with a brief flash of rueful humor. "Gale is holding forth about something or other that no one is in the mood to hear - least of all you."

She watches the Blade uncurl himself slowly from his hunched position. He wipes hastily at his eyes, his head tipped away from her in an attempt to hide his face, but she clicks her tongue dismissively. "Come now, boy," she says - and her tone is gentle in contrast to the curtness of the words. "Do you think I have not seen tears before? You have cause of crying; do not hold back on my account."

(Hypocrisy, of course. She would not be caught dead crying in his position; she would be swallowing down the tears and hiding the weakness, and she knows it perfectly well. But what use being so old, she thinks sardonically, if not to give advice one has no intention of following oneself?)

He tries to laugh but it doesn't quite come out right, a shaky, whimpering sound. "I'm-- sorry, I..." he mumbles. "I can't--"

Silence. She waits, watching, until he's ready to speak. "It didn't seem truly real till now," he finally whispers. "That they'd taken him, that my father--" He swallows. "He threw me out for listening to Mizora, and then he goes and gets himself taken by that-- that thing--"

His voice cracks and he looks down at his hands in his lap. "Like father, like son, eh?" he mutters. "I thought I'd failed him, all those years ago. That I was simply weak, that he would never have allowed anything to touch him as Mizora touched me. Seems I was wrong."

"The bitterest cut of growing up," Jaheira says with the ghost of a humorless smile. "The moment when you must learn that those who raised you are no more perfect than you are; some simply put on a good show of it." And some do not.

He nods. "All this time, I thought maybe... one day, there would be a reconciling," he admits. "And now this... he might be lost, with so much left unsaid..." He squeezes his eyes shut and she sees the glimmer of tears between the lids. "What if I can't save him?" he whispers.

She debates her answer before speaking - groundless hope or harsh practicality. "If it can be done, you will do it," she says at last. "And we will all be beside you."

She wishes there was some bit of certainty she could offer him in place of these empty words. Her own parents died in the flames of the crisis that toppled Tethyr; she has no memory of them. Sometimes it occurs to her, in vague terms, to be envious of those who know the faces of those who bore them. Other times, like now, it feels far easier never to have known.

"You should eat, Wyll," she says, gently nudging the bowl towards him. "It will gain no flavor by cooling off."

"I'm not hungry." He breathes out shakily. Then his head snaps up and he looks around with sudden wildness, starting to push up onto one knee. "I should-- I need to-- Rakha..."

"Stlarn. No," Jaheira says, and the word is suddenly so curt that it slaps him backwards into a sitting position again. "Do not trouble yourself with Rakha."

"She'll-- she'll need me, I--"

"She will keep." Jaheira frowns darkly. "The things she needs will not be found tonight, and they are a weight heavier than you need to carry. And for once, Wyll Ravengard, you will take care of yourself first, or I will know why."

He swallows. "Yes, mum," he says, and it's supposed to be a joke, but his voice cracks a little on the word.

There's a long silence. He leans over, puts his hand on the side of the bowl and drags it a few inches towards himself, but doesn't lift it. "She knew him," he mutters. "She was one of those behind the whole blasted plot, and he-- you saw the way he looked at her. And it's because of her that we have these things in our heads..."

He presses his fingertips to his temple and looks up at her with a lost, uncertain expression. "How do I look past that?"

"Wyll..." She sighs.

It is so much harder with Rakha than it was with Caden. Caden had Bhaal's blood, he stood on the precipice, but he never had the chance to truly fall into that dark god's clutches. Rakha, meanwhile, has spent her life submerged in blood; the best she can hope for is to be able to break the surface and draw a new breath.

"This is no better nor worse than what we have already learned of her," she says carefully. "The question to you remains the same. Do you hate her for what she has been, or do you love her for what she is, what she may yet be?"

She smiles ruefully. "No one but you can answer that question - and in truth I think no one would have cause to judge you if you decided it was too much. I hope you will not, but I would understand--"

"No," he says. "No, I-- I love her." He swallows and rubs the heels of his hands against his forehead. "It's just... it's just hard, that's all."

She nods. "I have loved many with darkness in their hearts," she says softly. "It is no easy matter. But you are equal to it." Her lips twitch. "Or you will be - if you will do as I say, and eat your stew, and sleep."

This startles a very low, very shaky laugh out of him, and he finishes pulling the bowl towards him and picks up the spoon. "All right. All right," he says. "I will. Blade's honor."

-----

"She was his friend?!" The flames around Karlach's body are high and wild, the highest Jaheira has yet seen them. The pale gold of her eyes has turned near blue with the incandescent heat. "She was his FUCKING FRIEND?!"

Jaheira watches the young tiefling warily, deliberately positioning her body between Karlach and the corner of the camp to which Rakha has retreated. "So it would seem," she says, her voice calm in contrast to Karlach's rage. "Though it cheapens the word to use it."

"I'll kill her," Karlach growls. "I'll fucking kill her. All this time, she was old buddies with Gortash? For how long, huh? Were they palling around the night he decided to pack me off to Avernus? Were they sitting about with a nice cocktail, talking about how my blood money paid off their first shipment of fucking worms?"

"I do not know, Karlach." Jaheira shakes her head. "Nor does Rakha."

"Yeah. Right. We sure of that? Maybe she remembers more than we think." Karlach's lips twist in a hard, manic smile; the rage is bright and blinding in her eyes. "Seems like the only thing I'm sure of right now is that she went into that fucking keep and swore an oath not to hurt him. Well, y'know what? I haven't sworn any fucking oaths, and I'm really, really, really ready to hurt someone."

She pulls the heavy sword from her back, makes a half-turn, and takes a step forward, about to break into a run.

In an instant, one of Jaheira's scimitars is out of its sheath. Without hesitation, she snaps her arm forward so that the hilt knocks smartly against Karlach's wrist.

Karlach yelps and drops her sword with a clang, shaking her suddenly stinging hand. "Ow! Shit!" She grips her wrist with the opposite hand and looks at Jaheira with wide eyes; surprise has muffled the rage for a moment, along with a hint of admiration. "Whoa."

"Do not think I do not understand your anger," Jaheira says curtly. "But I will not allow you to act on it. We both know you would regret it after."

A muscle works in Karlach's jaw with frustration, and then she spins and lashes out with a kick at the tent behind her, which immediately topples into a messy pile of fabric and poles. "Fuck..." she snarls down at it. "I can't believe we're working with that motherfucker. After everything I've been through..."

Jaheira cocks her head, looking at the young woman with no small amount of sympathy. She is all too familiar with the need for vengeance; a sudden memory flashes through her, of the sight of Jon Irenicus vanishing out of their grip deep within Spellhold, his mocking laughter lingering in the air behind him. No - she knows full well what Karlach is feeling. Unfortunately, it does not change the situation at hand.

"It is a practical matter," she says. "We have many enemies. This 'alliance' removes one of them for a time. It will not be forever." Her eyes narrow minutely and she folds her arms across her chest. "You will have your vengeance yet, Karlach."

Karlach leans over to pick up the sword she dropped, absently wiping a clump of dirt off the handle with her thumb. Her lips are pursed out, an attempt at masking her emotion but not a particularly successful one; Jaheira has seen many times already that Karlach's heart is worn firmly on her sleeve.

"I hope you're right," Karlach mutters. "But... what if she decides she likes him better'n us, huh? What if she decides she likes who she was then, better'n... all of this?" She waves a hand in a vague gesture towards the camp around them. Then her hand falls to her side and her shoulders slump.

"He welcomed her home," she adds quietly. The blue rage-glow is fading out of her eyes, and she stares at the ground next to Jaheira's boots. "Time was, not too long ago, I'd've done just about anything for someone who welcomed me home..."

Jaheira waits in silence for a moment. When she is certain that the immediate crisis has passed, she begins to slowly and methodically resheathe her scimitar on her back. "Do you trust Rakha?" she asks after a short pause.

Karlach laughs ruefully. "Ask me a tough one, hm?" She drops the sword with a low clunk on top of the pile of fabric that used to be her tent. "I think so? I mean, I did. I have. All the way through the shadowlands and all. We knew she was fighting some bad shit, but so are the rest of us, and I know Wyll loves her like fucking mad. But this..." She rubs at the bridge of her nose. "A Bhaalspawn, and now I find out she was working with Gortash too... It's just a fucking lot to take in, you know?"

"I know." Jaheira considers, then amends the question: "Do you trust me?"

Karlach's head snaps up and she blinks rapidly. "What? Of course I do, ma'am. You're--" She grins sheepishly. "I mean, you're Jaheira. Be stupid not to trust you, right?"

If only that were always the case. "Take my word, if you do not take hers," Jaheira says firmly. "This is the correct choice."

A short silence. Karlach studies her expression closely. "You're that sure of her?" she asks. "That she'll keep fighting and won't turn on us?"

Jaheira's eyes flick away.

The truth is that of course she isn't sure. Rakha is, at her worst moments, a feral animal struggling to hold onto its own leash; Jaheira would be foolish to think she is not capable of being supremely dangerous.

But... she sees snatches of someone else, buried deep in all that darkness - a curious, doggedly determined, oddly guileless, deeply frightened woman clinging onto sanity by her fingernails, a dark-mirror echo of one of Jaheira's oldest and greatest friends. She can't turn her back on that - no matter how uncertain the path.

"I would stake my life on it," she says gravely.

Karlach tilts her head, and then laughs suddenly. "Yeah," she says wryly. "Guess we all will, huh?'

-----

Rakha has dragged Lae'zel's training dummy away from the camp. She stands in the seclusion of nearby trees and another rotted-out building, and is pacing around the dummy like a stalking animal. Every now and then, with a sudden spasm of movement, she lashes out with a punch, a kick, a gripping rip to pull a piece of fabric away from the wooden frame. She has been at this for some time. Her knuckles are bloody.

As Jaheira draws near, she can hear the half-orc mumbling to herself, inarticulate phrases, frantic nonsense sounds. Her mismatched eyes - one blank white, the other pure black - glint almost imperceptibly in the dim light.

"Don't come near me," she snarls, hearing Jaheira's footsteps behind her.

Jaheira halts at once. "As you say," she says mildly.

"I mean it." Rakha's breath sounds ragged and rough; she inhales in a gasping, mewling groan, as if struggling for air. "I'm broken. Dangerous."

"You sound very certain of that," Jaheira says, keeping her tone carefully measured.

"I am. You heard him. Gortash." Rakha puts a strange twist on the name that is hard to define - it sounds like a curse, like a groan of pain. "He knew me. Blood and all, every bit on my hands. He was glad to see me. We were-- partners--"

"So it would seem."

Rakha growls hoarsely. Magic pulses around her body and then erupts outward, a thunderous shockwave that knocks the dummy ten feet backwards. It crushes the grass in a circle around her. "We were partners," she snarls. "We built this." She presses her fist against her temple, leaving a bloody smear from her knuckles across her skin. "All of it. The worms. The cult."

Again that strange whimpering gasp; she hunches over as if shielding herself from some unseen blow. "Bhaalspawn. Chosen. I wanted them all dead. Blood spattered, entrails spilled, thanking me as they died for the Absolute..."

She lifts her head, and for a moment Jaheira truly is frightened to see the manic desperation that has taken over her expression. "I did this," she rasps. "I did all of this. What happened to Wyll... it's because of me. What happened to Lae'zel... to Minthara... to you-- it's all-- because-- of me--"

Her breath is coming in rapid and uneven gasps now, hyperventilating, choking. And the words start coming faster, too, not her usual clipped-off sentences but a waterfall of terrified thought. "I could feel it, there, when he looked in my eyes, I remembered-- I remembered how I wanted to tear off his skin, how I had a greater plan, to bleed every last soul of the world into a pile of rancid carcass--"

She stops abruptly, her eyes wild, her fingers curled into desperate clawing shapes as she struggles for control. Her gaze rakes over Jaheira's body, and Jaheira is reminded all too clearly of the madness in Caden's face in the moments when the Slayer form took him. Subtly she shifts her weight, ready to dart to the side, to fight back if the need should come... but Rakha shakes her head suddenly, staggers backward and falls to her knees.

"I can't make it stop..." she gasps out. "What if I can't make it stop...?"

"You can." It takes a great deal of effort for Jaheira to keep her voice steady and even, not to betray any of the fear and revulsion that is rising in her in spite of herself. What if you can't, indeed? "You are strong enough."

"Am I?" Rakha laughs. Jaheira is not sure she's ever heard her laugh before, and certainly not like this; it's a bitter, hysterical sound full of pain. "It would be easy to give in. No more fighting. He wanted all of me, all of the broken parts. I could just give in... give in, and it would all be easy... no fighting, no wondering, just blood, and blood, and blood..."

She rocks spasmodically side to side, her fingers clawing restlessly at the uneven scar along her hairline. "Oh, gods, I can't make it stop..."

With a sudden movement that is more instinct than thought, Jaheira crouches to eye level with her, reaches out and cups both of Rakha's cheeks, wrenching her head up so their eyes meet. "Look at me. Hold on. Breathe," she snaps.

Rakha flinches back from the touch, her lips curling back from her teeth. "Why do you help me?" she snarls. "You should hate me. All of you should hate me."

Her eyes lock onto Jaheira's, desperate, feral. "Hate me."

"No." Jaheira's eyes narrow and her jaw sets, staring back just as fiercely.

"Gods. I'm broken. Shattered. Hate me."

"No." No doubt it would be easier if she could. She wishes she could, for then the path would be clear.

"HATE ME!" Rakha screams, and curls backwards into herself, her head hunching down into her arms. "Please..."

"I will not." Jaheira's pulse is thundering in her throat. She feels the delicacy of this moment, not so different from taming a beaten and frightened animal in the woods. "Those thoughts are in you, but they are not you. They do not define you. Who you were is not who you are. Breathe."

Rakha draws a ragged, sobbing breath that wracks her whole body. "It hurts..." she groans.

"I know. Look at me." Jaheira waits, carefully unmoving, until Rakha lifts her head and their eyes meet again. The frantic terror is ebbing away, slowly replaced by an exhaustion that makes something in Jaheira's heart twist to witness.

"I don't want to slip," Rakha whispers.

"I know," Jaheira repeats, more gently.

Rakha breathes in, shuddering. "I don't want to-- for Wyll--" she mumbles unsteadily.

"No." Jaheira shakes her head, just slightly. "Do not think of Wyll. Do not think of me. What do you want?"

The question seems to give Rakha some pause. She looks down at her hands, the blood on her knuckles, and then closes her eyes. "I want peace..." she says, almost too low to hear. "But I don't know where to find it..."

Jaheira relaxes a fraction, rocking her weight back. "You will not find it with Gortash," she says.

Rakha doesn't answer aloud, but raises one shoulder in a stiff shrug.

A long, long silence passes. Neither of them moves. Then Rakha shifts, and her eyes hood over again as she looks away. "I don't want to sleep in camp," she mutters. "I'll sleep out here."

Jaheira nods. "Then I will join you," she says brusquely. Without waiting for a response, she moves to the edge of the clearing and sits down with her back against a tree.

Rakha hesitates a moment. She seems as if she wants to say something, but though her mouth opens, no words come out. Then she shrugs again and turns away. Finding a patch of uncrushed grass, she lies down and curls her bulky frame into a tight ball, her back to Jaheira and to camp.

-----

Only when the half-orc's breathing turns steady and shallow does Jaheira allow herself to relax. She slumps, suddenly aware of all the weariness that adrenaline has been holding back, and rubs a hand down her face.

Ye gods... she thinks ruefully, leaning her head back against the comfortingly solid tree trunk behind her. How do I keep getting caught up in things like this?

In this brief moment of quiet, with no one to witness it, she allows herself the acknowledgment - she is frightened. This may be the second Bhaalspawn she has known, but Rakha is not Caden; that fact is becoming clearer with every moment, with every new revelation about the half-orc's bloody past.

And regardless of the confidence she expressed to Wyll and Karlach, Jaheira is not at all certain that they will win the battle for Rakha's mind.

I may have to kill her, she thinks bleakly. All of this may yet be for nothing in the end. The thought makes her scowl.

But not if I can help it. I will hold onto her with every bit of strength I have, before I will let Bhaal have her. I will hold onto them all...

[hivesfics]

im utterly obsessed with gale dekarios and bg3 so have this based on a post i saw earlier. 18+ below the cut, minors and ageless blogs DNI

she/her pronouns and afab terms used below

thinking about this post i saw where this person was eating their partner out and their partners thighs were too tight around their head and despite their attempts to get their partner to loosen up they wouldnt so they grabbed them by the thighs or hips and slammed them into the bed and their partner thought it was insanely hot so they never told them that they did it cause they couldnt breathe and thought about it being gale despite his measly 8 strength stat

cause even if that man is dying he’s gonna go out eating his partners cunt.

so tav sits upon his face, a bit nervous but excited. after all, she has to see what this “practiced tongue” business is all about and he insisted this was the best way.

so she hovers above his face, legs spread on either side of him. he tuts and pulls her flush down against his face, his nose hitting her clit while his tongue licks up the seam of her cunt.

his hands come in between her thighs, spreading her open with his thumbs so he can fuck his tongue into her more easily. he’s near ravenous as he devours her, slurping, licking, sucking, even placing a soft teasing nip against her clit.

it causes her thighs to squeeze tight around the sides of his head, cutting off any air flow that he can move to get. he’s stuck under her warm, wet cunt, unable to breathe.

he tries lifting her hips, spreading her thighs, whatever he can but its no use. so with the adrenaline from his lack of oxygen, he uses his strength to hold her hips and drive her backwards onto the mattress. slamming her body down against the bed, all while staying somewhat connected to her cunt.

the shock of it has her thighs loosening around his head. a shaky gasp mixed with a moan coming from her after.

he pants heavily against her wet centre, face soaked with the slick from her. he looks up at her through his eyelashes, afraid he’s startled her.

but she grabs his hair and pushes his face back flush against her cunt. to which he moans and removes her hand from his hair. he grabs her thighs and presses them up to her stomach, keeping them spread to ensure she doesn’t suffocate him with them again before he happily begins licking at her again.

he’s enthusiastic with it despite the near death experience, or at least near passing out. it didnt seem to deter her arousal with the way she drips down her ass and to the sheet beneath.

when she finishes he doesnt have the heart to tell her she nearly killed him. especially when she raves to him how hot it was that he tossed her around like it was nothing.

he doesnt have the heart to tell her it will most likely never happen again unless he had a potion of hill giant strength. he’s simply a weak man who was driven by adrenaline. it still sends pride through him that she found it so attractive though.

[aeshttp]

assistant apprentice

gn! reader x gale

where gale has a midlife crisis over being attracted to his apprentice.

read under cut!!

There was something about you, hunched over a table consumed by scrolls and tomes, a lone candlewick dripping concerningly close to one of the texts and eyebrows furrowed in paramount concentration as your teeth gently bit down on plush, pink lips, that Gale found endearing, and alarmingly attractive.

Damn it, he knew it was wrong- but it quite literally hurt his heart to turn away from the tranquil scene before him. It wasn't as if you weren't a consenting adult, but what student would enjoy their teacher scrutinizing them, eyes hazed over with lust and awe?

As you scratched your scalp with the tip of the quill, mouth curled in something akin to frustration and disdain, an expletive on the tip of your tongue, Gale had finally gained adequate strength to tear his eyes away from you- suddenly awfully interested at the glass lamp he had procured at a market many moons ago.

Crystal clear in his memory, Gale was able to embarrassingly recall every minute detail surrounding the first day in which he met you, much to his chagrin.

He had been wondering around a vast library for a while, engrossed and captivated by the towering shelves of books, each filled with knowledge waiting to be ingested, as a niggling feeling at the back of his mind made him aware that he was most likely being followed.

By who or what, he had no idea- but Gale would be damned if he was to be caught off guard and attacked, although wasn't exactly sure on what type of person would be ambushed in a library of all places- lest the attract the vitriol of the librarian.

Sharply turning a corner, Gale waited by the edge of one of the bookshelves, waiting for the assailant to round the corner and instead get spooked by Gale.

When you appeared from round the corner, eyes bulging with awe and reverence, fingers moving nonsensically by your side- as if barely able to reign in excitement and fight the urge to pounce on him- Gale was entirely nonplussed, and for a moment- flattered.

The feeling only expanded in his chest as you spat out words in haste, stumbling over compliments and praises- inching closer every second, practically buzzing from excitement.

Gale would tell anyone about his work if they gave the slight inclination that they were interested (which they hardly ever were), but to hear about his studies from a secondary source birthed a feeling inside of him he didn't think possible, so overjoyed by the fact he'd gone off about needing an assistant- a complete lie- but was utterly overjoyed when you had accepted without a minute to process.

And nearly two months later, here you were, living in his humble abode as his 'apprentice', desperately trying to put a damper onto his feelings. Of course, Gale never regretted making you his apprentice, more displaced by the fact he had grown to develop feelings far from platonic- simply because you were a kindred soul to his.

It was a shame, that you had hailed him a genius of the arcane, a master of magic and yet, he was far too cowardly to admit his feelings to you, content with him being your teacher and you his apprentice.

Perhaps one day, he'd find the bravery to speak from his heart- but as you rushed over to him, begging for him to demonstrate a spell in order to understand the theory behind it, he simply smiled and donned the mask of an adept sorcerer.

[cambion-companion]

A Marriage Contract

Eyo...I had an idea LOL what a world!

The scenario of Raphael x reader (gn) being forced into some sort of marriage agreement has been bugging me ALL day! Hopefully some of you lovely folks are as depraved as I am and enjoy this!

“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”  

You were sitting opposite Raphael, the firelight flickering orange across his scarlet visage. You watched with bemused interest as, with a black quill, he scratched ink across a sheaf of yellowed parchment.

The cambion took little heed to your agitated words. His posture was relaxed, one long leg stretched out between your own, his tail tapping idly against your thigh where it rested.

“Raphael.”  You leaned forward, catching a glimpse of the words he now wrote in that elegant script of his. “…Hey, I did not agree to doing that every day with you.”

A peeved hiss escaped Raphael’s sharp teeth as he removed quill from paper and sat back, his yellow eyes finally moving to your tense face. “This arrangement is at the behest of one I cannot yet deny.” His long fingers drummed a pattern against the cherrywood table. “Don’t complain too much, pet.  I may begin to think you’re getting cold feet.”

“Not in this sweltering house.”  You quipped back.  Then you pointed again to the sentence he’d scrawled detailing what lurid acts he expected from you. “I will not be doing that.”

“Might I remind you, this is a contract of marriage.”  

“Believe me, I am well aware.”

“You would receive such pleasures in kind.”

This gave you pause, your brow arched in disbelief. “From you?”

Raphael chuckled dryly. “Yes, from me.  Master of the House, your doting husband.”

Your skin prickled. “There’d better be a clause in there for an annulment once all this is over.”

“It’s possible for such a loophole to be penned in.”  Raphael tilted his horned head diplomatically, though his eyes remained hard. “For you to take advantage of should the fires burn too hot.  However, you will always be mine.”

“How romantic.”  You deadpanned.

“I certainly try.”  Raphael rolled his broad shoulders and stretched his neck side to side.  “Now, shall I rescind these latest conditions or are you now more amenable?”

You hesitated, scooting your chair closer so you could better read the script without getting a crick in your neck. “Hmm…yes, alright. You can get rid of the ‘submits to my will in all infernal matters’ bit.”

With a smooth motion Raphael struck a line through the offending words. “Would ‘heeds my counsel in all the doings of my domain’ better suit your tender palate?”

“Rewording the same sentiment isn’t going to get passed me, love.”  You kissed his cheek, teasing.

Sharp claws pierced the flesh of your jaw as, quick as a viper, Raphael grabbed your face with one hand and held you very still.  His face turned and your noses brushed. You felt his warm breath and his hot skin.

The air between the two of you grew tense, riddled with the frustration at your situation and the desire you’d had for one another since meeting. The lust to dominate and own from him and your need to be wanted and no longer alone.

“This marriage contract is forever binding, little mouse. Much more so than those fragile slips of paper from your insipid mortal world. There is not a clause in your wildest imaginings that will free you from me once you sign yourself over.”

You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks, his strong hand still holding your head firmly. “We have little choice.”

Raphael’s grip tightened and he brought his lips against yours, just enough to leave you craving more. “What a quaint notion, to believe I have no power to deny or evade.”

He did not elaborate, but his message was clear.  Raphael wanted this. The thought didn’t leave you feeling warm and fuzzy.

There was an evident dynamic here that you didn’t have the capacity to fully understand.  It gave you a sense of dread yet sent a thrill through your body.

You gave Raphael a smile bordering on playful. “Your signature mysterious and vaguely threatening answers won’t exactly breed a relationship of trust.”

“You and I have very different concepts of what a marriage should look like.”  Raphael released your jaw and took both your hands, pulling you with one strong movement onto his lap.  His tail wrapped around your waist, securing you against him. “Speaking of ‘breeding’, I have an excellent idea.”

Your retort was silenced as a long tongue and sharp teeth claimed your mouth and drank down your following noises.

[barbiewritesstuff]

Glimpses: True Love's Embrace and True Love's Caress

Hear me wax lyrics about you, Astarion and rings for a bit.

This is part of a bigger collection of drabbles showing glimpses of how you and Astarion fall on love. (They will not be in order lol also title is in progress)

No proofreading, we die like men

Pic found on pinterest

He doesn't realise it at first but he has to admit he hasn't taken a single hit since the start of the battle, or rather, he has but it doesn't seem to hurt him much if at all. He doesn't question his good luck, he's due some after all the bad shit that's been thrown his way for nigh on two centuries, especially since the battle is going spectacularly wrong. They've had to revivify Karlach and Gale twice already and you guzzle potions like your life depends on it -- and it does.

Astarion watches you unscrew the cap on one right now, you're crouched behind a trunk in a shady alleyway where the only thing worse than the visibility is the smell. He watches you take a swig, a couple of drops of it trailing down from your chin to your throat and then down your armour, a flimsy thing made more for show than for protection, it's low cut and gives him a lovely view of your breasts, which, he suddenly thinks, he should stop staring at.

Lost in thoughts of such depravity that he'd never admit to them, he doesn't notice the enemy sneak up but he does feel him grab his shoulder and plunge a dagger straight between his ribs. Then, he feels him pull it out and ... nothing. Just a dull ache, and all consuming fury that makes short work of the other man, but nothing else. No death. No blood.

He starts to say how strange he finds what happened to be. There's luck and then there's this... but he doesn't get far in his sentence when he spots you, rasping for breath, blood bubbling out of a stabwound in your chest. There's no one nearby, and he knows no one came close to you, but here you are, on deaths door, trying to stretch your arm to reach the potion you were holding before he got attacked.

He hands it to you in a hurry, half already spilled on the floor, and just as he lifts it to your lips, he notices your wound sits right where his own should have been. Then, he notices the ring hugging your right ringfinger, snug and shiny against your pale digit.

He looks at his own hand, where the matching rings sits. Horror washes over him like a cold shower when he realises what has happened. This is no mistake either, not when he watched you loot it from their owners' dead bodies, read their diaries and heard Gale drone on about the encredibly powerful magic that had been cast upon the rings. You knew what would happen if you wore it. There was, of course, the possibility that you'd worn the wrong one. That he had been meant to wear yours all along, but Astarion doubted it.

No, there wasn't a doubt in his mind that you meant to take those hits. That you wanted to protect him.

"Hold on, dear," he whispers, tears threatening to spill as he watches your cheeks lose colours, and your skin turn cold, your breath getting more laboured by the second, "We'll get you back to camp.

[underdark-dreams]

I'm finishing up a Rolan proposal fic for a very patient anon & ended up with this little scene between Rolan and Dammon that I don't think I'll use. Thought I'd post it here as a drabble! 💗

Rings

Rolan commissions a very particular piece for his beloved from the infernal blacksmith. [541 words]

------------------

“Are you sure it’s the right size?”

Rolan turned the smooth metal over in his hand, trying to compare it against his own fingers for reference. The material gleamed luminous and silver-blue even under the shade of Dammon’s open workshop.

“It’ll fit,” Dammon told him with surety. He wiped a hand on his apron and watched with no little pride as Rolan examined his past weeks’ handiwork. “I forged a few pairs of gauntlets for them back in the day. I’d like to think I know a thing or two about Tav’s hands. Professionally,” he hastened to add, perhaps noting the way Rolan’s brow twitched.

“Maybe so, but—”

“I know, I know. Tav deserves perfection.” Dammon gave his placid smile.

“Yes.” A bit chagrined by the obvious strength of his feelings, Rolan made no other response. As he turned the band over again, his eyes caught very fine lettering engraved around the inner surface. He peered closer—the marks were Infernal.

“Ah.” Dammon shifted nervously on his feet. “I hope you don’t mind the addition. It just—came to me.”

“��Strength in Unity’,” Rolan translated under his breath. He glanced up at Dammon. “The watchwords of Elturel?”

Dammon rubbed the back of his neck in a characteristic gesture, but a shadow passed over his face. “You know, in terms of cities and their mottos…that one always rang a bit hollow to my ear. After everything.” He exchanged a long glance with Rolan. “If anyone deserves to reclaim the words, I thought it ought to be the two of you.”

Rolan stared back down at the ring on his palm. In a rare moment, he found himself rather lost for words. Then he slipped it carefully into the pouch at his belt and began counting out gold pieces.

The smith raised a hand, but Rolan cut him off before he could start. “Dammon, whatever the hells you’re about to say, keep it to yourself. This is fine work, and I’ll be damned if you don’t take the other half of the fee.”

“Couldn’t you consider it a wedding gift? For the two people responsible for getting me to Baldur’s Gate in one piece. Or even,” Dammon proposed hastily, “a reward for letting me work with such rare material.”

“Then keep what’s left over,” Rolan told him. He tucked his coin away as the idea for a compromise sprang to mind. “Make something incredible from it.”

“That—” Dammon’s eyes grew wide for a moment. “That’s quite generous. Do I even want to know how you found such a pure chunk of mithril?”

“We have friends in the Underdark,” Rolan answered tersely. “I may have…funded a small expedition.”

Dammon only gave a low whistle. If anyone could grasp the cost of such an undertaking, it was a blacksmith. Then he extended a calloused hand, and Rolan clasped it in a wordless agreement.

Finding the matter resolved, Rolan turned toward the front gate of the forge. The gleaming ring stored at his belt had introduced a very distracting flurry of butterflies into his stomach.

“Hold on there—” Dammon stooped to fetch something from underneath his work bench. As he straightened, a small hide bag sailed through the air into Rolan’s surprised grasp.

“You’ll be needing the other one.”

[reverieblondie]

Rolan x Tav prompt: Rolan (and maybe his siblings, too) meets Tav's family, who thought Tav was dead after being abducted by the mind flayers, only for Tav's family to react... poorly to one of their own being with 'one of those devil spawns'. What if after a moment of shock, his lover absolutely tears into their family—I'm talking 'How dare you!', maybe Tav even smacks one of their family members in the face first, ending with something like 'If I'd known I was related to such disgusting people, then I'd have saved us all some trouble and let you continue to think I was dead!'—before storming away, their hand in Rolan's, as they murmur apology after apology to him about what just happened and ask if he is okay?

So I have been sitting on this one forever! I keep starting it but just can not get the story right so I will do a quick drabble for the ending. I love this this prompt! and I can totally see this happening to a Tav who has been estranged to their family. Maybe one of the reasons they were in a position to get abducted was because they were leaving their family home for something better.

I think the only reason Tav would go to this thing was because of Rolan suggesting it might be good to see her family again, get closer about everything. Rolan offers to go with her for moral support (like a good partner would) Of course her family are asses from the start talking about how famous Tav is now and how much money they must be making... but Tav and Rolan are just trying to ignore these rude questions and their not so sublet subjections for help... Tav is obviously not wanting to help them after everything and her family has some things to say about that...

"You disappear for a year and your some fancy hero and you can't even help your family? What have you even been doing all this time? shacking up with some...hellspawn?"

Now insult Tav all you want but go after Rolan? Hells no.

"And what of it? Rolan is my partner."

That's when Tavs aunt speaks up, "Your a fool girl, those soulless imps will take you for what your worth then throw you out."

Tav is about to slap her aunt but before she can her hand is caught by Rolan. Tav looks at Rolans solemn face and that's when the tears well up.

Tav holds the tears in as much as he can as he looks at those people who dare to call themselves her family. "You are the soulless ones... Rolan and his family have been more of a family to me than any of you ever were... Consider me dead, because you all are dead to me."

With that Tav storms out with Rolans hands tightly in hers, they walk in a fast pace heading towards their home and Tav is fighting the tears trying to fall from her eyes and Rolan keeps trying to call for her to slow down. Finally Tav stops and spins around hugging Rolan so tightly it threatens to knock the air out of his lungs.

"I am, I am so sorry... I didn't know they... I'm so sorry for what they said. Please know that I didn't think they would say that. They are terr-"

Rolan finally places his hand to Tavs Rambling lips before wiping her tears. "I'm the one whose sorry... I told you to go visit them.. and what they said... I've been ridiculed my whole life, but for them to ridicule you is something I can never forgive."

Tav and Rolan share in a tearful embrace, both of them trying so hard to reinsure if the other is okay.

I later imagine when they get engage its a huge story in the Baldurs Gate paper. Its not out of spite... but if they happen to see it and feel like idiots than thats okay too.

[sorceresssundries]

The Hero of the Gate

It had been years since the defeat of the Elder Brain, and life had carried on as it was always bound to.

The heroes of the gate stood as stone sentinels in the main square, the once alabaster marble now etched by the claws of perching birds and eroded by the touches of grateful hands.

The statues had blended quietly into the backdrop of the city, but despite the dwindled offerings and attention, they were still a focus of the city's children who would clamber on them in unburdened play. Their laughter rang through the square in total, sweet oblivion as to how their silent playmates came to be there.

You had fallen into the habit of making sure there was always at least one bunch of fresh heliotrope or autumncrocus laying at the inscription of the largest, central statue:

Gale Dekarios, Who gave his life for Faerûn. The bravest of wizards, and greatest of men.

Tides and currents stop for no-one, and inevitably you had been swept along to new shores. You now had children of your own, who would spend sunny afternoons playing around the statue of your past love.

But still, there were nights like this, when the sky was clear and your grief was sharp. You would escape to sit on the bank of the river and with soft, crinkled eyes, gaze at the dancing glow of the purple aurora, which seemed to appear whenever you needed it most.

Here you would let the light wash over you, and lose yourself for a few quiet moments - to the most beautiful of fantasies.