#bg3 verse

[fvzzyelf]

BG3 VERSE SHIT:

Honestly i already created my "tav" based on kurt fdkljgdlgdr so a lot is coming from my actual play through currently, sorta.

kurt was raised in a troupe of traveling bards. he was found abandoned in the earthwood forest of damara by his adoptive mother margali. she was a powerful sorcerer in her own right and traveled with the circus and bards from damara as far as the gate.

tieflings were not well regarded by damaran humans but kurt was considered a bit of an anomaly for a tiefling which made it more difficult for him when they traveled in damara and not further southwest.

the anomaly being his lack of horns and his fur, despite his appearance otherwise indicating a Mephistopheles bloodline. he also has only three fingers and strange feet, is more flexible than most, could blend in with shadows with little issue, had fully golden glowing eyes instead of just the iris, and...

when he was just a teen he discovered he had an innate ability to essentially "misty step" though without actually having to cast the spell. something was off about the act too as he always ended up re-appearing in a plume of noxious smoke that reeked of the hells before dissipating.

an incident with locals back in damara had kurt fleeing to a local temple of ilmater for sanctuary when he was about eighteen. the kindness of a monk there was what eventually inspired kurt to consider becoming a paladin when he was in his mid-twenties.

he left the circus behind to do just this and while he was a virtuous and devout man in his faith he broke his oaths in his thirties just before being captured by the mind flayers.

kurt acted out of his own idea of what justice meant (will work on the incident later) and when met with the oathbreaker knight he decided to remain broken.

he has a particular hatred of the chosen three since he still believes in most of the tenants of the triad of torm, ilmater, and tyr.

[th-ramblr]

@trasshflow ((moved over here to answer since this is my Kytes blog))

I didn't expect to wake up to this today for sure but I'm glad I did! The first thing I did is run to show and tell Rune's creator and both of us really love it! The armor and sky came out especially good, very shiny! (better than I probably could have done with it lolol I'm very bad with making metals look good)

I'm really glad you're enjoying Squidhawk, much less enough to make fanart over it! Honestly I think that's the best compliment any fic writer can get :D

Definitely look forward to more because there's going to be more chapters incoming (just as soon as I get my lazy ass to write). There's definitely a lot more planned for these guys and other characters as well! Thanks a ton. We love it!

[onlyathief]

i think i like the idea of saying remy's accent and language (the french obvs) in D&D is an undercommon language only used among this specific thieves guild. so like he was raised learning that and the common tongue and that's why his accent is funny and why people probably don't understand wtf he is saying unless they learned the teziirian thieves guild language.

hmmm

[soundlessroom-archive]

"If you've never been spoon-fed love, you learn to lick it off knives. And watch my tongue, eager to dull the blade."

Their circus work is dangerous. But the adrenaline and applause is intoxicating enough for Ceres.

[undyingmedium]

🥀 romance headcanons

Stolen from: @dxnse-macabre Hi~ Tagging: @steel-and-fire @witches-and-weirdos @aquatic-hybrid @deepseawarlock @deaddoveadventures @sanguine-law @windwithinmyveins and whoever else wants to do this!

name: Anika Fuhe

nickname: Someone called her Ani before

gender: Female

romantic orientation: Bisexual

preferred pet names: Darling, dearest, sweetheart

relationship status: single

opinion on true love: *Insert Harleep laugh here* "Love. What a sweet poison, and what a trap it can be. Love among family is the only one that never got snuffed out before to me; one I never got betrayed for. I tried friendships, I tried romance, more or less deep. It never lasts, and sometimes it leaves void behind when it goes. It was also my fault, sure; but not only mine. So, does true love exist, really? I have my doubts, and I certainly don't believe in it. But alas, everyone can have their own honeyed opinion about it."

opinion on love at first sight: "Oh dear, that's not love. That's attraction, and it's usually the surface cover for the call of flesh!"

how ‘romantic’ are they?: Despite her bad experiences and twisted opinions, she's actually pretty romantic. She likes to make those moments special, she likes to leave marks that her partner won't forget - and hopefully stay marked herself. Some old memories still make her sigh, and she will pursue romanticism even in lesser occasions. She can never know if she's going to have another chance at playing like that again.

ideal physical traits: Clean, lively eyes, intriguing smiles. Bonus points for stronger builds than hers and taller people, so that they can carry her around. Extra bonus points for wings, horns and exotic ancestries - from nephilims to genasi (to eclysians *COUGH*) - as long as they keep mostly humanoid traits, or at least visages. Extra extra bonus points for long hair.

ideal personality traits: Discreet when it counts, otherwise outgoing, confident, ambitious - even arrogance can be interesting to a degree. But to her? Protective, respectful, reliable, trustworthy, patient. There has to be a strong chemistry, or she won't budge beyond the physical benefits.

unattractive physical traits: Dirty/smelly, too disproportioned builds, extreme wrinkles or moles, small and inexpressive eyes. She's not against the undead, but rotting bodies are a no-no for multiple reasons. There would have to be an exceptional relationship with someone that is a zombie or a skeletal someone for things to work despite that.

unattractive personality traits: Too self-centered or narcissistic, too shy or insecure, too proud. They can go kiss a mirror.

ideal date: Dinner in quiet, private places; candlelit rooms with soft pillows and some exotic incense burning; strolls through the night, out in the midst of nature or isolated town neighborhoods - somewhere where not even ghosts may reach her and her partner. Secrecy and intimacy give her enough space to bloom, to not worry about the rest of the world and make herself a little more vulnerable. Assuming it's worth it.

do they have a type?: Not really, but she's got a strong tendency towards women.

average relationship length: I doubt her relationships ever even reached six months... Maybe one or two at max?

preferred non-sexual intimacy: Hand holding, complicit looks, occasional pecks and hugs. Nothing too flashy, but meaningful nonetheless.

opinion of public affection: It's okay as long as it's not something exaggerated. Too much sugar, involving her or other couples, and she may start to spit acid.

past relationships?: Her first was with an aviari woman, Xilla, but it was obviously not meant to last due to her strong tie to her nomad tribe and Anika's mission leading her elsewhere. Ferenir was her second and last; they had something she believed in more, but complications arose pretty quickly, then he decided to leave her and she lost faith in others on a much deeper level.

[manneatcrs]

me thinks at the moment they are my only bg3 muses. I'll probably add verses or muses later, but I'm obsessed with them

[marionmaverick]

@darlingdesiredelicious from here "A-About...?" It's like he suddenly can't breathe. Well he can't really breathe anyway on account of being a vampire, but! "About us? What? What about us?"

___

Calem doesn't comment on the vampire's sudden nervous manner. He's been around Sebastian long enough now to expect it. Instead he just smiles and leans against him. The school skin feels nice against his own.

"I've been thinking I like us," He admitted. "At first it was just kind of a game, just indulging my curiosity and playing around with affection."

He doesn't look at Sebastian. He seems preoccupied with fiddling about instead.

"I think I would like it to be more," He said. "I find myself looking forward to visiting you more and more. I get to just be myself around you. It's nice."

[crowtongued]

{--Ngl, I'm excited to play around with the Shadow Magic Sorcerer subclass for Alekt.--}

[circlefled]

this is the tiniest bg3 verse write up.

Maxwell is a sorcerer from The Circle of Ostwick. One of the only two remaining examples of a system considered by the entire sword coast to be barbaric, ancient, and wiped out. the rest of the circles fell more than an age ago and the sorcerers within rescued and brought to various learning institutions.

However, contrary to wildly held believe the circle of Ostwick survived, and the heavily fortified citystate has existed on it's own cut off from the rest of the material plane. The only reason maxwell is outside of the walls in the first place is because he was being transfered from one circle to another.

all of his information is terribly dated and can be traced back to around when the circles were meant to fall, his terms themselves are incorrect as he will refer to all magic users as 'mages'.

personality wise he is very hesitant, terrified, and, he's reluctant to befriend anyone as he's 100% sure that at any moment the templars will come find him and bring him home, he meticulously maintains his circle uniform because he's terrified of being found without it when the templars come to retrieve him., he was told he was a curse and a weapon to be wielded, and he was taught how to be one, his attacks display a distressing lack of care for his own safety

[frost-eyed-autumn]

{--AGGRESSIVE HEAVY BREATHING.--}

[fvzzyelf]

"is it.. katherine?" her name on his tongue was a balm to a day of burning and blood. all morning it had felt as if he was bathing in the stuff, first from having helped the blade find his foe of a devil only to realize it was not karlach they should introduce to their swords, to then suffering karlach's incredible rage after cutting down those very souls that thought to make her out as the hellish beast she was not.

hellish, maybe, a beast in battle to be sure, but not in the manner in which wyll had thought or anyone else for that matter. they were all exhausted by the afternoon, tired of killing and burning and all the damned lies.

kurt, who had been seeking solace on the top of this hill overlooking the grove, did not expect to find one of the companions of tav instead. he might have just walked past her and down again, away toward some other place closer to the river banks perhaps, but something in him had kurt pausing instead.

maybe it was her eyes, he thought, lovely and dark and doe-wide. under his fur his cheeks burned.

"i do not think i ever properly introduced myself," he eased himself into a courtly bow. perhaps unnecessary, but it was his way. "kurt wagner, of dalamar."

@katzchn

[th-ramblr]

@iron-hearts-ablaze

These truly were becoming strange times indeed. Not because of getting yanked up into an alien spacecraft, or finding a nasty little brain-worm behind his eye that let him telepathically connect with other infected hosts, or having some weird man talking in his head that visited his dreams, or dealing with a crazy cult let by an immortal war-General. He'd gotten used to all these things by now and taken them as par for the course, just another knot in a long string of shitty luck throughout life that naturally had to fall on him.

No, the strangest thing in all of this was the company he kept finding himself in. However terribly mundane of a thing it was, for him, he'd never really found what he would call 'good company' until all this, and he still hesitated to think of it as such, even when he'd found people singing his praises or speaking up to vouch for him that he was 'one of the good ones', whatever that meant in all this mess.

Off and on, he'd crossed the paths of others similarly bound for a cure to these stupid tadpoles. Each time, he'd been determined to go his own way regardless of insistence that he team up, but the roads left to walk were narrowing and converging on one major point ; Moonrise.

And while this little tavern in a bubble wasn't Moonrise, it was close enough that he didn't have much room to complain about paths crossing once again. Even less so with the shadow-curse hungrily waiting just outside, choking the road against anyone who didn't possess a moonlantern from moving forward.

Right now, that consisted of only him and the stupid spider, which made him a much more popular topic than he wanted to be right now, but it couldn't be helped.

At the very least, this little den of Harpers and refugees had one positive thing to offer him -- a weapons' supplier and that Tiefling blacksmith who could set him up with some rather potent explosives to deal with the more dangerous threats and thicker crowds of enemies.

That that flaming Tiefling woman also had an interest in the services of the blacksmith was of little concern to him. Or at least it should have been, but out of all the oddities, that one was the highest.

It had been no planning of his, that he just happened to be there when the news was broken to her. That her flames would be better under control... but that her engine, her 'heart', was still doomed to fail her at any given moment. A matter of when, not if.

Normally, he wouldn't care. The plights of others had never been any concern of his, just as no one else cared for his troubles, or at best, all they felt was distant pity.

This, though...

For once, this was a unique kind of suffering he could relate to, more than he was strictly comfortable with, but the situation was what it was. Most of his childhood, he'd heard and been told how his weak heart would sputter out and fail him, that he'd die a young and premature death and there was nothing to be done to change it. It was a miracle he'd made it this far in life, as he'd often been told he likely wouldn't even survive to adulthood, but each day he survived, that threat of it being his last day loomed ever larger in his mind, its shadow growing longer, knowing that his time was rapidly counting down.

It was... a lonely feeling, always having that knowledge in the back of his mind, and knowing that no one else around him could understand it even if he tried to speak of it. Even his dream visitor, much as Kytes had come to confide in him, couldn't really understand it.

Maybe that's what brought him drifting closer after she broke away from the rest to be alone, despite that he'd normally never entertain even the thought of her company, his steps phantom-light as he habitually approached from an angle of least visibility and came to stop in her blind spots.

For a few beats, he was silent, his face giving a small twitch, his fingers loosely fidgeting with uncertainty. He debated stepping away to disappear again before she could become aware of him, the thought of interaction still one that intimidated him, but his voice ultimately won out before he could make up his mind on leaving, spoken soft and tentative.

"Are you alrigh'?"

[onlyathief]

ignore my shitty ass graphics card result here but anyway, remy of teziir

[voidtouched-blue]

Plotted starter for @luposcainus

It was peculiar for the wind to feel so cold on such a warm summer's day. The mountains maintained a relative temperate breeze to welcome all travelers into it's evergreen boughs, but none had cut through to chill the bone quite like the gust on this day. Perhaps it had been the unnatural quiet that surrounded stumbling steps through the muddied path, or the sinking sunlight that cast blades of light through the shroud of the trees that had added to the unsettling feeling on the air; though the setting had been a display of peace and tranquility, the scene had been nothing more than a façade.

There was no comfort to be held in the warmth of day.

Cyra's trembling form rushed down the puddled path unsteady in every step. The single sounds of her own feet slapping the mud were quickly followed by the thunderous chorus of the predators giving chase to the bloodied woman. Her breath was heavy, wheezing. Her heart pounded against the walls of her chest, wrenching a panicked whine with every exhale. The muscles in her thighs ached. It was a single moment of hearing the shouts behind her, turning her head for a single second to-

-to find herself without breath, and with hands sunk deep into the mud.

She grunted, quickly trying to reason with herself to explain the way the ground seemed to rise up to meet her. The thin woman didn't remember the way her legs seemed to tangle together as she fell. Yet, her concerns had quickly shifted as the group trailing behind her had spilled forth from the thicket. Each one adorned in identical robes with a peculiar symbol embroidered upon the breast of their tabards. They watched as her hands scattered the mud, leaving frantic trails with each desperate attempt to scramble back to her feet. Every attempt to gain purchase in the viscous sea of dirt had done nothing more than add to the fear of a helpless animal.

That short moment of fear had cost her. Turning to face her fate, she watched with cautious gaze as they kept their distance. The five of them stood as silent statues overlooking the soul that awaited judgement.

Cyra had been many things by this point in her life. She had filled many roles, and performed many tasks upon commanded request of others. But she had yet to fully submit to the unfortunate circumstance of the path she had been dragged down by the will of the Gods. Faith may have abandoned her, but the instinct of self-preservation had remained unshakeable. She would survive this by any means necessary.

"The Lord has cast his punishment upon you for your crime." One of the faceless men spoke up, though she could not identify who as their mouths had been hidden behind masks.

"The Great One has gifted you this life- granted you this role to serve his chosen."

"Yet you still refuse to accept that the tapestry has already been woven."

"As all souls have been spun as thread under His hand, your body and breath has purpose -even in defiance- in His written passage."

"Such mutiny cannot continue without reply," they spoke as though each individual had been of one mind. Their declaration and judgement coming to a conclusion had prompted the five figures to group closer together. They stepped forward to approach their mark, and in near-perfect unison, their words chimed as one:

"So it is Spoken, so it is Written, so it is Woven- and so it shall Be."

It was then that Cyra tightened her grip around the hidden knife in the mire. Terror had dulled the look in her eyes, leaving her blind of the hope that had once granted her courage. There was no escaping the faithful in their 'holy duty'. She could only wait for the dream of her painted prayer to grant her that freedom she so desired. The path of the faithless had been dark, but the ebbing call of crimson had become the only glow to illuminate her path. And so, she decided that the only salvation for this pitiful creature was the bloody baptism at the end of the blade.

The speed of her movement had surprised even herself as she lurched up from the silt that congealed around her. The muddied blade arced through the air before the thirsting metal had met flesh. Just as she felt the first warmth of life spill over her fingers, the sensation returned as she drew the blade from its prey.

Despite her swift action, that quickness was not enough to stall the doomed man before her. The four others had moved in with uncanny synchronization; each one filling a role for the task of subduing their prize. One had quickly stepped behind her as she rose to meet her target, raising his gloved hands to catch her free hand at the wrist and twist her arm behind her. The second had pulled a pair of shackles from his belt, ready to adorn the girl in the iron bracelets the moment the opportunity presented itself. The third unsheathed his own blade from its scabbard, the light glinting off the metal as it danced upward to slip between her palm and the stolen knife well seated in his companion. The fourth had stepped behind the fifth, who had the misfortune of finding her violent answer in his gut, to pull the wounded to safety.

Cyra felt the breath leave her body as the the first zealot had acted the instant she released her grip on her weapon. Her arm twisted behind her, and he violently tangled his gloved fingers into her hair. Once he had a grasp of the slave woman, his feet pivoted in the mud and he pushed her with his weight to the ground. With his hand still in control of her head, she felt his knee press into her back with his full body leaning into it.

She gasped, feeling the second quickly rush over to clamp that cold metal around her restrained wrist once more. It was then that she felt that stab of instinct call for command over her limbs. Without warning, she twisted. The woman felt her shoulder pop unnaturally as the trapped animal within offered its own reply with perfect diction. It had no care for any injury sustained in struggle; it had but a singular intent, and that was to fight.

Somewhere in the struggle, she had used the chained shackles as an improvised flail to bludgeon two of the zealots as she regained her footing. Parts of her memory had vanished, leaving her in wonder of how she had been able to manage fleeing from them once more.

Cyra had taken off running the moment she was free of their vice-like grip on her body. Blinded by both fear and terror, she had failed to notice the figure that had come into her path until she had mere seconds to react. She flexed, managing to shift her weight in the last instant to turn and spin around the stranger. However, her quick action had thrown her off balance, sending the partially-shackled slave careening into the brush. Stunned only for a few seconds after impact, she grunted and groaned as she attempted to return to her feet. Between the gash that wept bloody tears in her palm, and the opposite shoulder held tenderly against her side, her efforts had been met with nothing but failure.

"Please..." she whispered. "Let me go."

[undyingmedium]

♾️ !?

♾️ - A random headcanon about our characters' relationships

They're clearly the bad influences of the party. Having them work together is a constant calling each other out with teases and sharp pokes about anything, judging whoever crosses their path and possible murderous intents.

[[And one more thing, less related to bg3 scenarios and more related to original Anika 👀]]

Astarion isn't the first vampire Anika met and won't be the last. She wouldn't mind helping him hunt for prey if he needed it, and, in case they got close enough, she wouldn't even mind sharing her own blood - by bite or by gathering it from cuts to avoid contact, as long as she is never made a spawn, she had done this before. Too bad she's undergoing a slow process of turning undead herself at the moment, and her blood is blackened. Wonder if that tastes differently?

[marionmaverick]

“Devils just die if you kill them in their own realm?” Calem asked, “Awesome!! Voidsent are immortal that makes things with Raphael much easier.”