#breeches the goblin

[meu133]

It's Ixalan spoiler season and oh boy have i found new blorbos

[ollypopwrites]

Dinner and Diatribes;

Gale x F!Tav (she/her, AFAB) [note: references to the fact Tav is Curvy but there’s no descriptors on her appearance besides what she’s wearing]

Summary: Gale gets his perfect night in Waterdeep.

Rating: M (18+ MDNI)

CW: smut (oral sex, PiV sex, fingering, slight overstim, references to Dom!Gale but he doesn’t actually make an appearance this time), insecurity, General Mystra Warning, L-bombs

Word count: 4.5k

Notes: this was originally written with my SorcBard Tav in mind. They end up together post-game and Tav and Gale have not been with each other physically as of yet.

Read on Ao3

Tav appraised her appearance one last time, nerves bubbling up in her when she knew there ought not to be any. She was having dinner with Gale, not a stranger.

Yet, she tugged at the lacy sleeves of her tunic, the cream colored fabric dangling off her shoulders and belling at the sleeves. Her breasts were up and out, figure tucked and smoothed by the sturdy corset she wore. The wrap skirt, slit at the leg with stockings underneath, was periwinkle, hugged her hips and showed some skin. She had wanted to veer away from the normally shapeless practicality of the protective gear she wore throughout their journey.

And she found the delicate pale blue embroidery against the white fabric of the garment to be quite pretty, the silk bows that served as sleeves made her think of romantic ballads. She felt delight at wearing something pretty without thinking of practicality for the first time since being taken by the nautiloid. There was a novelty to sitting down to take time to get ready for something fun rather than something that could potentially end with blood and death.

Her eyes drifted over to the corner of the room that until recently had housed a small altar to the Mother of Magic.

In its place was a vase of flowers, Tav’s favorite colors and blooms, which had appeared that morning. The altar itself had mysteriously disappeared the day after they first arrived in Waterdeep. Neither of them had said anything about it, but she knew he had seen her staring at the dusty offerings and long burnt incense laid at the feet of an idol of his former lover.

With one last look in the mirror she bolstered herself. She was no goddess but she had defeated a Vampire Lord, undead generals, a 200 year curse, hordes of goblins and a Netherbrain. That had to count for something.

Taking a deep breath she left through the bedroom door, and was met by Gale.

Well, Gale’s double. A projection, as he was often fond of using.

“Greetings! I am here on behalf of Gale of Waterdeep!”

“Oh, are you?” She asked sarcastically.

“I am indeed!”

Sarcasm was not translated into the projection it seemed.

“If you are ready for the evening to begin, please say so, if not, I shall await your confirmation.”

Tav smiled a little, “I’m ready.”

“Please follow me.”

She followed him down to the same level as the study, and she found herself confused. They were meant to be having dinner. The whole package, she had recalled, he wanted to wine and dine her. She expected to be escorted to the dining room, not the study.

The door was closed, and the projection gave a polite bow to signal its leave. Should she knock? Uncertain, she gripped the door handle and opened the door.

Immediately she was confronted with a wave of unfamiliar smells. Normally the study smelt like the fireplace, leather of bound books, ink and slight sea air from the terrace. Instead this smelled of savory food, crisp night air, and heavy sea spray. The entry was draped by lavish silk curtains hiding any view of the room, tassels and embroidered prints creating lovely textures.

Gale stood waiting for her arrival.

His hair was pulled back and pinned neatly in his new fashion of a small bun at the back of his head. He wore a white tunic, billowed sleeves and a jerkin of sapphire blue, embroidered intricately with bronze filigree. Dark blue breeches, and what looked to be blue shoes which matched his vest.

It also looked as if he had trimmed his beard, the lines smooth and incredibly sleek. Tav had certainly noticed how handsome he was during their travels, and even then he was always somewhat genteel despite the rugged conditions.

This was different. He seemed more in his element like this, maybe not quite so formally dressed, but she could imagine this was the Gale Dekarios which caught the eye of a Goddess. Confident, gentlemanly and remarkably good looking.

His eyes lit up at the sight of her.

“Hello,” she said, aware how nervous and jittery her voice was despite her smile.

“Hello,” Gale grinned. “You look… exquisite.”

She blushed. “And you look very good in blue.”

Gale kissed her cheek, and she gripped his face to make sure he kissed her properly. “I’ve prepared everything,” he said. “Are you ready?”

“For you? Always.”

Like a true gentleman, he offered her his arm and she accepted. They walked through the fabric barrier and Tav audibly gasped at the transformation. The study was changed, made to look like an enchanting garden. Lit up by candelabras, framed by arches made of vines and flowers of every color imaginable, it was beautiful.

The view from the terrace had been expanded, so that from every angle a clear view of the glittering lights of Waterdeep glinted. The entire mirage was topped with a star filled sky and the moon hanging at the horizon of the water. She could feel a breeze, not too cold but carrying the scent of the ocean.

A table sat at the center, intimate, and music was playing from some unseen source. Most likely the enchanted piano. Where she knew the terrace was, his couch still stood, overlooking the view. The sounds coming through beyond the music were real, she could tell. It was simultaneously an illusion and blissfully real.

He led her to the table, pulled out her chair for her and then sat across from her. The smile on her face was starting to hurt her cheeks, only emphasized by another Gale projection bringing them wine. They toasted each other and she looked out on the view of the city.

“Do you like it?” He sounded uncertain.

Her hand came out to grab his across the table. “It’s hard to describe, but like isn’t a strong enough word.” She glanced over to the projection of Gale waiting to be summoned for any need they may have, “although I think the waiter fancies me.”

“I applaud his taste.”

It was very clear how meticulously planned the night had been. From the food to the wine, Gale had an exuberant explanation for his choices. For a moment Tav wondered why she would be nervous at all; they had shared every meal together for months. But, Tav knew that this was the courtship he had wanted to offer her, this was the night he wished he could have given her when he thought it was his last back on the road to Moonrise.

Gale, if he was nervous, did not show it. Instead his eyes glinted with excitement, eagerness, and delight. His gaze was so intense on her, she felt like either the wine or something else was making her brain fuzzy.

After dinner they danced, slow uncomplicated movements to the music from the piano for a while, and then settled onto the settee looking out at the water. The night sky was clear, the breeze from the bay adding a bit of chill that balanced out the warmth she felt from the wine. It was a beautiful tapestry of midnight blue and silver of the moon and stars.

She leaned against him half draped over his lap as her legs stretched out, fingers dancing over his palm which lay in her lap. His other hand gently danced over her arm and down her side. She thought she may melt at the warmth of his lips pressed against her bare shoulder, beard softly scratching as he lingered there.

“You ought to be careful, Gale.”

“Oh? What dangers lurk that I am unaware of?”

“The danger of spoiling me rotten,” she chuckled.

“I’m not averse to such a risk,” he nuzzled behind her ear, “quite the opposite, really. You deserve it, and more.”

Her mind rolled over that, heart full at his earnestness as usual. Even if she didn’t believe it, he certainly did.

“Thank you,” she said thoughtfully after a moment. “This night has been so wonderful.”

“It’s not over yet,” he whispered.

A shiver ran down her spine. No words finding their way to her lips.

“If I may be so bold,” he went on, “I’d like to partake in dessert somewhere more private.”

“Tell me, Chef Dekarios, what is on the dessert menu tonight?”

“You,” he said, a grin evident in his voice. “I’d have laid you across the dinner table if I hadn’t promised us both a bed first and foremost. You truly are a temptress,” his hand broke from her loving grasp to run along the curve of her neck, and shoulder, fingers trailing over the tops of her breasts before cupping her chin, “you incite such an insatiable hunger, even when you are doing nothing more than sitting there across from me. If you’ll allow it, I’d like to finally have a taste.”

Tav’s head tipped back, eyes closed as her skin began to flush and her heart began to thud in her chest. “I’ll allow anything you want,” she breathed. “Name it, it’s yours.”

“Tav,” he murmured.

“Yours.” She repeated.

A tug in her stomach and the strange shift of moving through the weave happened so suddenly, she opened her eyes, confused by her new surroundings. She was on her feet, Gale behind her still, but in the bedroom, no longer shrouded by lovely blue night sky but the warmth of a candle lit room and the familiar walls.

Gale murmured something, and then spun her around to kiss her. Needy, fervent meetings of lips, and tongues. Her fists curled into the fabric of his sleeves, and his settled on either side of her face. She felt a tugging at her back, then the cool brush of an unseen hand. He had conjured a mage hand to untie her corset, the fingers pulling at the strings to loosen them.

Before it managed to get them all the way undone, she was fumbling with buttons on his vest. She shrugged the heavy corset off, the thud of it falling to the ground ignored as she pushed his own garment off his shoulders. Before he could distract her with his hands again, she untucked his shirt and pulled the fabric over his head.

Her fingers danced over his warm skin, feeling hair and scars and firm muscle beneath flesh. Gale groaned, bending to grip her by the generous flesh of her thighs to pull her up in his arms, for the quick journey to the bed where he set her down. Her tunic was tugged off, thrown aside and he grunted in displeasure at the thin cloth bandeau that still covered her breasts.

Tav chuckled, grabbing the scrap of fabric and pulling it overhead. Gale’s eyebrows hiked up at the sight of her tits out, heavy and round with already pebbled nipples, and under the scrutiny she felt doubt creep in.

“Not what you were hoping for?” It was half a joke, a deflection for the blush she knew was on her face, something to do besides wrap her arms around herself.

“Are you completely mad?” He finally met her eyes, looking offended. “May I?”

She nodded, only to be firmly guided onto her back as Gale put one knee between her thighs on the bed and leaned forward.

His hands grabbed, not fully able to grasp, even with hands larger than her own. “Soft,” he thought out loud to himself. “How are you so soft?”

“I-I don't know,” she hitched a breathy tone. “Ah, gentle please,” she gasped when he began pinching and rolling the peaks between his fingers, calloused fingers from years of spell work and a combined over-excited pinch both thrilling and overstimulating, “they’re very sensitive.”

“Very important information,” he murmured, running a thumb over one in a soothing motion that still made her gasp out loud. “I wonder…”

The thought trailed off as his mouth clasped around one nipple and Tav gave an undignified squeal as her hips rolled. Too many layers between her skirt and underclothes to provide her the relief she wanted, even with his knee between her thighs. Each brush of his finger over one, followed by a firm squeeze, made her twitch and the laving of his tongue had her letting out soft little moans.

Finally he pulled away, watching as his hands continued where he left off. One hand danced over her soft stomach, and slipped down towards the waistband of her skirt, tickling the skin there until she gasped a laugh. He pushed down her stockings, tugged her skirt off and looked one last time for approval before he slipped her under things down her legs.

For a moment, his eyes darted over her body. Despite the thrill of being at the center of such avid admiration, she felt the need to do something in the face of it. A conflicting moment of uncertainty, the apprehension of him seeing any flaw in her moving her to try distract him. Her fingers came up to grab, but he gently redirected her wrist to his lips.

“You are perfect beyond imagining,” he said.

“You’re a flatterer,” she breathed, her eyes avoiding his, as they trailed over his torso and to the bulge in his breeches.

“I reject that accusation,” he said, grabbing a pillow and tossing it onto the floor before he got to his knees upon it. “I’m an admirer of art.”

Tav rolled her eyes with a half laugh as she allowed her legs to be spread, heels set on the edge of the bed. He kissed each one as he set them where he wanted, beard scratching and tongue peaking out to taste.

She was a little in awe of him like this. His eyes dark, a slight smirk painted onto his face, softened only when he met her eyes and smiled at her. With his broad shoulders forcing her legs wider as he moved further between them, and his hair coming out of his once immaculate bun, she felt her throat run dry and a heat rush through her body as she admired him.

He stopped suddenly, and she met his look of intentional seriousness. “If you need me to stop,” he said, “say the word and we will.”

She nodded her head.

He kissed the inside of her thigh again, before his eyes slid down his hands massaging around her outer lips. She was wet, it had smeared her thighs, that she already knew. A gentle gasp pulled from her lungs as he took his time, rubbing and spreading her, the same look of deep focus on his face as when he was taken with an interesting tome.

Gale rubbed along the seam of her, before spreading her open and gently rubbing her clit. A choked sound emitted from her after he commented, “you’re soaked, my love.”

“All your doing, beloved,” she replied.

“I do love hearing that,” he grinned. “You’ll have to tell me what else I do to you.”

Any response died away when he licked a long stripe along her. The slightest groan came from him, and he began to work. It was agonizing heaven, the filthy sounds as he sucked and licked at her cunt and the way he gripped her thighs only enhancing the actual sensation of his mouth on her.

Half-formed thoughts kept slipping out of her mouth until only single words and whines were all she could muster. Her hands slid over his, and he laced them together, his efforts doubling after the gesture of affection. Her excitement was running so high, anticipation adding to arousal, that she knew she would not last long.

“Gale,” she breathed, “feels so good — so close —“

He never pulled away, just found what was making her legs writhe over his shoulders the most, what made her hips search for friction, and her breath spike. Her hands gripped his so both of them had a firm grip of her thighs, as she suddenly teetered over the edge, heavy waves of pleasure singing in her veins as he licked her through it.

Except once it passed, he did not pull away. It felt good, so she was not going to push him off, but she was sensitive. Each touch of his tongue on her clit felt like a shock through her whole being making her legs clamp around him. He let go of her hands and pushed her thighs apart again, she thought that alone had her ready to fall apart once more.

Relentless and yet somehow still controlled, he was singularly intent on making her come again. The sensation almost scared her as she greedily chanted for more, more, more in her head and maybe aloud, she couldn’t be sure. Gale was groaning into her, the firmness of his grip surprising her still. She wanted him inside of her.

“Please“ she started to beg, “fuck me.”

He gave a moan, the only time she felt him falter. “One more, my love,” he replied. A demand or a promise, maybe both. “Give me one more.”

He let his fingers work over her this time, still between her legs, watching each movement she made. For her credit, she kept her hips and legs from knocking him away, the rest of her body making up for it. Her back arched, she writhed and gripped the bedding beneath her like it was going to anchor her.

When Gale slipped a finger inside of her, easy enough that he tried a second, she went stiff. “Good?”

She nodded her head.

“Words, please, Tav,” he said gently. It occurred to her he may be asking after her wellbeing rather than to tease.

Either way, she loved the feeling in her brain at the idea of it being a demand. Of him tormenting her in the most beautiful way.

“Good!” She blurted out. “So fucking good.”

His mouth had expertly pulled her apart, but she was finding his fingers to be just as talented. She clamped down around the digits pushing in her as she felt herself falling to pieces.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Good, Tav…” when she opened her eyes, she was met with him staring at hers. As if he could read her mind, he went on talking, “come undone for me.”

Her whole being responded to the request, as if he had the ability to command her body with just a word. She writhed and rolled her hips as she came, a truly unrestrained string of cries that she knew were a bit too loud. Gale’s hand cupped her cunt, and she could feel the pulse of it against his hand — his face giving way to pure want as he moaned.

“Alright?” He asked after a moment.

“Would be better if I had you inside of me,”she teased, giddily.

“Minx,” he grumbled, coming to stand.

“Tease,”she shot back sitting up.

When she kissed him he tasted distinctly of her arousal, and somehow it made her heart skip a beat. Her tongue danced over his, hand trailing down his chest to the waistband of his breeches, untying as she went. Her hands slipped inside, grasping through his underclothes at the length of his cock, hard and tenting the fabric.

Gale gave a sinful groan, eyes shut tight and when she started to stroke his jaw went slack.

Tav chuckled, “feel good, my darling?”

“Too good,” he grunted, hand gripping her wrist tight. “It’s been… far too long since I’ve — erm, partaken in pleasure on this plane, so to speak.”

Tav frowned, contemplating that, her eyes drifting to the space where Mystra’s altar had once been then back to him. “That’s okay,” she said immediately. “I don’t care.”

“You might,” he replied, wry smile masking what she knew to be embarrassment creeping up on him, “when the night ends rather, prematurely.”

Tav shrugged. “Then we drink some wine and wait until you’re up to more,” she said casually tugging off the rest of his clothes. “I didn’t wait all this time to have you just once tonight anyway.”

Gale licked his lips, eyebrows twitching up in interest.

She tugged at his wrist, “lay back,” she guided him onto the bed, pushing him to sit with his back against the headboard. “We can go slow.”

Gale got comfortable, hands grabbing at her hips when she settled in his lap. Her fingers danced over the orbs mark, raised like a scar but looking almost inked in like a tattoo. The fervor had stalled just slightly, his cock still hard between them but no longer pulsing as it had in her hand.

“What would our friends say if they knew what you were hiding under those robes,” she mused, arms curling over his broad shoulders.

“I rather think I held my own on our intrepid journeys,” he said, sounding more like himself. “Aside from the creaky knees.”

“That you did,” she agreed. “I would have been lost without you.”

She kissed him, slowly and affectionately, as she lifted herself a bit. Her fingers danced down his body again, taking their time to admire the sturdiness he hid under his wizard robes day to day.

Finger nails scratched through the hair that trailed down his torso, and into the thicker patch between his legs. She gripped him again, and he moaned into her mouth, the kiss matching his needy grasp on the flesh of her hips.

Unable to help herself from teasing, she dragged the head of him through her folds, letting him feel how wet she was for him. His brow furrowed harshly.

As she lined him up and slowly sank down, she was torn between watching every minuscule change in his expression and closing her eyes to relish the perfect fit. He stopped kissing her, the shuddering breath he drew and the way his eyes started to roll back giving her that much more satisfaction.

Her own gasp filled the soundless space between them, walls fluttering at the intrusion. “Gods, you feel so good,” she whined.

Gale was speechless. Voice stolen by deep concentration, and then his eyes opened. For a singular moment Tav felt as if she was the only other person in the world, the pure look of awe and combined sharp focus of his attention made her feel ten feet tall.

How could anyone, goddess or not, take his sincere devotion for granted?

“Do you want me to move?”

“Not yet,” he whispered desperately. “Just — please, let me —“

He pulled her to him, bodies pressing at almost every point. His arms were a tight wrap around her, his cheek pressed against her forehead as she gave him gentle kisses along his neck. It felt not dissonant to their time in the astral, joined in every way, but this felt somehow more intimate. To hold him within her, and still have him hold her safely in his arms — a perfect balance she could hardly fathom.

“Kiss me,” Gale breathed. “Please.”

Tav did as asked, fingers tangled in his hair and very gently rocked her hips. He groaned, grip becoming bruising, pausing the kiss and then coming back to it again. Slowly she started to rock, then raise her hips and roll them forward until she was slowly bouncing, the slap of her skin meeting his filling the room.

Gale broke from the kiss, hands moving to the sides of her face. That same look, as if he had seen something beyond his wildest imaginings; focused, stunned and reverent. She never felt so loved in her life, she was certain.

As if she could will the same feeling into him, she pressed their foreheads together. She moaned, as he hit just right within her. Sensitive, eager and greedy she chased the sensation.

“I love you,” she gasped.

His expression crumpled, and he groaned grabbing her around the waist so she had to stop. She could feel his cock throbbing inside of her. “You are… you — I love you —“ he grunted. “Please, let me — feel you.”

She slowed her movements to a subtle rock, which rubbed against something in her that made her entire body seize up in intense sensation. He murmured affirmations to her, face buried in her hair, his hand grabbing at her ass to pull her back and forth.

“I have to feel it,” he said, need dripping from his tone, “buried in you, I must —“

Her mouth left sloppy kisses wherever she could leave them as she rutted against him. As another sweet peak approached she leaned back, bouncing just slightly to get what she needed. Gale’s eyes flicked down to her chest, to where they were joined, and back to her face. Her body started to pulse, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

It felt so good. The drag of him against her walls, the blunt intrusion as she rolled her hips. Whines fell from her lips, she closed her eyes to focus in on the sensation, head thrown back in ecstasy.

As she peaked her legs shook on either side of him, hips moving out of pure instinct for more as she felt herself tighten around him. Uncontrollable pulses, grabbing and sucking him as far as she could talk him and a gush of wetness that added deliciously lewd sounds.

Gale seemed to stop breathing for a moment, before something in him snapped. He grabbed her hips, and with bent knees and feet planted on the soft sheets began fucking up into her.

More ruthless than she had expected, desperate and selfish and needy. It was nearly enough to get her to the edge again. Grunts from somewhere in the back of his throat joined her shocked cries telling him ‘yes’ over and over again.

He watched as he disappeared inside of her, mouth open as he panted, and then finally he broke.

With a swiftness she didn’t expect he pulled out of her, but his arms came around in a caging embrace so he still rubbed against her wet folds. He whined, as his hips jerked without any sort of pattern, punctuated by the hot splashes of him coming. Sticky, wet and warm.

His body shuddered as it passed, but he did not let go of her as he caught his breath. When she lifted her head to look at him, his head was tilted back and eyes closed as he recovered. She kissed his cheek, and he opened one eye to look at her, a smile blooming on his lips.

“You’ve ruined me,” he muttered.

“And you enjoyed every moment.”

“‘Enjoyed.’” He repeated. “Very light way to put it.”

“Then how would you describe it?”

“Hm,” he breathed. “Having trouble thinking currently. I will get back to you.”

“Now that’s a real accomplishment,” Tav laughed. “I’ve rendered Gale of Waterdeep utterly speechless.”

He laughed, one eye peeking open again before he playfully kissed her on the cheek. As she nestled back into his arms, she knew they would have to break away soon to clean up the mess they had made. But for just a moment she cherished the sound of his heartbeat, calming down and steadying with his breath.

“The first of a thousand nights.” He murmured.

“Hopefully more.”

“I’ll have the rest of your nights, if you’ll allow it.”

“They’re yours.”

Thank you for reading! 💜

[morelikeravenbore]

The Final Goblin

Sebastian Sallow x F!MC spicy one shot 🔞

Warning: SMUT. 18+ CHARACTERS. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Contains sexual content, reader discretion is advised.

Ordinarily such a demure little thing, whenever Sebastian's brilliant, powerful girlfriend unleashed her gift of destruction upon their enemies, it broke something inside his brain - as if all that raw power she tore from the ether went straight to his cock, turning him feral.

Word count: 1.4k

READ IT UNDER THE CUT 👇

[read on wattpad | ao3] ✨ [HL fic masterlist]

The final goblin had gone out in a blaze of searing white light, blasted into oblivion by a powerful surge of magic that had come from the hands of one petite little psychopath. 

His petite little psychopath.

There was nothing left of the goblin camp but a haze of smoke, the lingering scent of singed hair and a single tent engulfed in flames. Nothing else stirred but the sound of the wind through the bare trees, the sizzle and pop of the burning tent, and his own desperate moans as he fucked the ever-living hell out of his girlfriend.

'Fuck,' - groan - 'fuck,' - groan - 'fuuuuuck.'

Ordinarily such a demure little thing, whenever Sebastian's brilliant, powerful girlfriend unleashed her gift of destruction upon their enemies, it broke something inside his brain, as if all that raw power she tore from the ether went straight to his cock, turning him feral.

The sight of her wielding such unfathomable power - so wild, so dangerous, with her eyes glowing a vivid blue and a deranged little smile curling her pretty mouth - was enough to make him come, untouched, right there in his trousers. In fact, there had been a few times in their early days of conducting poacher raids and dishing out vigilante justice when it actually had. But he'd gotten better at controlling himself. These days, he always managed to hold on long enough to stumble over to her - led not by his brain but by his throbbing cock - to mindlessly bend her over the nearest surface and fuck her senseless.

Tonight's escapades had been no exception. By the time it took for her to blast the final goblin into whatever miserable afterlife awaited it, he'd managed to lumber over to her, clumsily unbutton her breeches and slide his trembling hand beneath her soaked panties. They'd both groaned as his fingers sank into her wet heat, her insides hot and slick and still tingling with the magic that coursed through her blood. 

Driven almost to madness by lust, Sebastian had wasted no time in pinning her to the ground and wrangling their pants down just enough to slide cock-deep into the most dangerous woman known to wizard kind. 

Sebastian was an insatiable man even on a day that didn't involve his beautiful girlfriend committing murder with her Ancient Magic. Driven by a deep-seated need for physical affection, he was simply unable to keep from touching her, craving her closeness like her skin was infused with Amortentia, addicted to the feel of her soft lips against his, her small hands, her soft hair, her warm supple body. When he wasn't touching her, he was dreaming of touching her - or else touching himself as a proxy, his fist a poor substitute for her. 

But it wasn't just about sex. Drawn together by trauma and tragedy, the pair had forged a connection that - to Sebastian, at least - bordered on something spiritual. Muggles believed in an all-powerful God, a celestial creator, but Sebastian worshipped only one divine deity. 

A goddess.

Her.

She was the love of his life, the missing piece that perfectly fit the gaping void in his soul. Their bond was a tangible, unbreakable thing that not even the very worst things could sever; not his obsession with the Dark Arts nor her penchant for murdering goblins. They were kindred spirits, unstoppable in their love and terrifying in their power. 

Ordinarily, Sebastian liked to take his time when they were intimate. He liked to suck the sweet little moans from her slender throat, to coax her desperate pleas with his fingers, his tongue. Ordinarily, he withheld his aching cock until she begged him for it, her eyes wet with tears of desperation, her little fingers digging into his shoulders. But there was nothing ordinary about taking her when she was power-drained and weak from magical exertion, when she was crossed-eyed and whimpering and so fucking wet that his stomach and thighs were slick with it. No, this was something different. 

Something primal.

Powerful. 

Having never had much power in his life, Sebastian wanted to consume her, to use her, to fuck her into submission over and over until she forgot her own fucking name. And she, shouldering the heavy responsibility of a volatile magic, weighed down by a burden she'd never asked to carry, had an equally desperate need to submit, to relinquish control and let someone else take over. To let him take over. No, it wasn't just about sex; it was a forging of hearts, a merging of souls, a relief from the pain that ceased only when they were together. 

Her eyes, still glowing a vivid blue from the power surge, locked onto his own: her brilliant blue gazing into his warm brown: sky and earth, spirit and body. Remnants of her magic tingled over her skin like there was lighting in her veins, passing from her core to his cock where it settled deep within his stomach, coaxing his impending release. 

She smiled then, flushed and panting. 'You feel it?' she moaned, clenching herself around his length. 'The power?' 

He could only moan in reply.

Merlin, how easily she could kill him, his little moaning whimpering mess of a girlfriend. With nothing more than a single touch, she could evaporate him into non-existence as she'd done the goblins, destroying him so completely there'd be no body to bury, no trace that he'd ever existed at all. But she wouldn't. She never did. 

The thought drove him wild. 

With a strangled gasp, he thrust into her - hard, hitting that sweet spot inside her that made her utter filthy words she was ordinarily too sweet to say aloud. A jolt of power surged through her fingertips and she cried out, convulsing and twitching beneath him. White-blue and so bright he had to squint, her magic sizzled along the ground, forking across the dry earth like streaks of lightning. But rather than leaving destruction in its wake, swatches of lush new grass sprung up beneath them, cushioning his skinned knees. 

He laughed, awed and joyful as he thrust into her again, harder, and harder, and harder, each frenzied movement causing more power to blaze from her fingers. This time, flowers bloomed beneath her hands and sprouted up around them. He caught the scent of them, a sweet note permeating the scent of death and lust; flowers and sex. Sugar and salt. Beauty and chaos. 

If this kept up, they'd soon be fucking in the middle of an oasis, not a site of destruction. Sebastian laughed again, the sound broken and breathless as he pounded mindlessly into her. Her power could destroy, yes - but it just as easily create. 

Merlin, she was so fucking beautiful. 

With every surge of magic, every fervent meeting of their bodies, her core clenched around him, threatening to rip his release from his body. He gasped for air, suffocating in desire, drowning in pleasure, so close to the edge he couldn't - 

He couldn't - 

And then she did something she'd never done before, surprising his impending climax into temporary submission. 

Reaching up beyond his head, her delicate fingers curled around what appeared to be nothing but air. But a moment later, a single strand of silvery magic materialised within her grasp, twisting and wriggling in like a worm on a fishing hook. Sebastian, too fucked out of his mind to care if she was about to blast him into oblivion, simply watched it undulating in her fingers. 

Then she lifted it to his face. 

As if by instinct, as if some wordless communication passed between them, he obediently opened his mouth and latched onto her fingers, moaning as he sucked at them, pulling on the chords of magic like they were much needed sustenance. 

His field of awareness shrank down to only two points of their connection; her wet, warm center as it contracted around him, and the tingling sensation of raw magic as it buzzed down his throat and into his gut, filling him as thoroughly as he was filling her. With a broken cry, his vision whited out completely and he succumbed to the hardest orgasm he'd ever had in his life. 

There was a ringing in his ears when he eventually came to awareness. Still sheathed deep inside her, his head spun as he lifted it gingerly from her chest, his damp skin peeling away from hers with a sticky slick. He gazed down at her, his beautiful girl with her flushed cheeks and her damp hair, her eyes still glowing that impossibly bright blue. 

Smiling softly, she lifted a heavy-limbed hand to touch his face, cupping his cheek with a gentleness that made his heart ache. Sebastian leaned into it, wishing they could stay connected like this forever. 

'Your eyes,' she whispered, an awed expression gracing her perfect face. 'Sebastian, they're blue.' 

[smolandweirdwriter]

oh let me tell u i am so normal about adaine so here have a collection of some of my headcanons (that i can remember)

adaine starts dressing more "punk" in a sense because she lives with fig (totally not cause shes trying to remove herself from her goody two shoes appearance that her parents knew)

I also think this comes out of necessity as she doesnt have the money to buy new clothes if they get damaged so ends up sowing patches onto her clothes.

Adaine is the second tallest bad kid (after gorgug) at 5'11 simply because fabian is 5'10 and claims hes 6'0 (adaine is having none of it)

Adaine and tracker are still really close even after kristens breakup

She also has chronic fatigue which did not help her anxiety attacks. for most of her life she just believed she was lazy and not trying hard enough due to her parents thinking she was making excuses

Fig realizes at the beginning of Sophomore year that she really, really likes fun colors. She’s sick of all black. She wears bright red skirts and t-shirts of all colors and she smokes her cigarettes and dyes her hair and paints her nails pale pink and is uniquely, wildly, entirely herself. She doesn’t limit herself to a “rocker aesthetic”. Isn’t the whole point of rebellion to be you? 

Adaine’s style has changed so much. Partway through freshman year, she begins dressing as defiantly as possible. Whatever her parents would hate the most, Adaine wears. She borrows Fig’s clothes, which tend to be a bit too short and tight on her, but it’s all black with a leather skirt and ripped fishnets and her mother calls her a slut and her father forces her to go back to her room and change. Aelwyn mocks her for it over breakfast and Adaine stares at her food and doesn't wear fishnets or crop tops again.

(Aelwyn sneaks out that night wearing a similar outfit because she knows what her parents would say and the idea of the look on her mother's face being pointed at her is enough to terrify her to the point of nausea, and she drinks and drinks and drinks until she forgets to be afraid.)

Still, Adaine's style keeps changing. Sophomore Year it's mostly her Jacket of Useful things, t-shirts, and jeans. But as much as she hated being forced to wear the Hudol uniform, she really likes nice clothes. Junior Year she begins exploring more elven clothing: long skirts, vests with collared shirts, pleated blouses, breeches, tall boots, et cetera. She, Ayda, and Gorgug work together combining Wizardry and Artificing on her Jacket of Useful Things so that it can effectively transform into any coat/jacket/vest/etc to go with her outfit. It's perfect as her style is constantly shifting on a daily basis. 

This is just my thought on all of their heights, but here we go:

Riz is shortest, obviously. He’s actually average-height for a goblin, resting at about 3’6’’. 

Fig gives severe Tall Vibes, so much so that people forget she’s actually only 5’3’’. She wears boots that bring her up to about 5’5’’, but she’s still the second-shortest bad kid.

No one will let Fabian let down how short he is. He’s tried changing his diet, stretching, everything he can imagine—he’s still 5’4’’. It’s mortifying. Fig fits into his clothes perfectly.

Kristen has always felt somewhat ungainly, her limbs at different shapes and sizes, and she’d crash into things a lot. She’s always felt too much: too tall, too wide, too much, too much, too much. Junior Year she starts working out and begins getting comfortable with her body. Still, she’s tall, almost 5’10’’.

Adaine is quite tall, but her parents and sister are taller than her, and she’s spent her life feeling inescapably small. Her posture is good, but there’s something to the way she tilts her head, the general way she carries herself, hunching around a too-big orb and clutching books to her chest, that makes her look short and small. Sophomore Year, her confidence grows, she becomes more stable, and most importantly, she eats much more. She uncurls herself, and by the time she finds Aelwyn again, Aelwyn is horrified to see that her little sister looms over her. Adaine is 5’11.

Gorgug hunches over a lot, and it’s actually after becoming an Artificer that he gets better with his posture, because he’s sitting a lot more now and his back hurts if he hunches too much. His actual height is 6’5’’. He’s the tallest bad kid.

My personal headcanon is that Tracker also has anxiety and used to “wolf out” whenever she got overwhelmed. So she understands Adaine very well, perhaps better than anyone else. She understands the way Adaine’s anger stems from her fear, from her lack of control. Tracker helps her find the right anxiety meds and teaches her methods of working through and handling feeling overwhelmed.

When the bad kids see Nara and Tracker again in Fallinel, she introduces them all to Nara. “Ah,” Nara says as she and Adaine are introduced, and Adaine tenses for oracle, the daughter who killed Angwyn Abernant, the oracle who ran away, but what she’s met with was: “Tracker’s little sister.”

Adaine never tells Tracker how much it means. She loves Aelwyn, and Aelwyn loves her, but that love is something that has been asked for by both parties. Adaine never realized before that she shouldn't have to ask. 

[pursuitseternal]

“Relenting:” a romantic💞 update to ETL Astarion x Tav (OC) in “Our Blood is Thicker:”

Astarion x F! (OC) | E | 4.7K of angst and kisses

Summary: At the end of another long day, Cordehlia seeks a moment of isolation, only to have the source of her agony ask her for a bite. Same old pains resurface, same old ambition for power in his crimson eyes. Only trouble is, after a falling out, he hasn’t returned…. And there are more monsters in this forest than a charming Vampire Spawn…

CW: angst, self-loathing, fight, flashbacks, anxiety, some mildly graphic violence against werewolves, “first” kiss, post battle make out, cockblocking companions…

Previous Chapter | AO3 link | AstarionMasterlist

Chapter 4: “Relenting”

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

Hag destroyed. Tiefling allies made. A few goblins killed… more supplies for the camp, more loot for everyone’s pockets. Cordehlia turned the day over in her mind as they threw together a ragtag place to rest. Most of her companions were too tired to pitch a tent, settling for a bedroll under the stars of the Grove.

But not him. Oh no, he took every tedious care to set his abode just as he liked it. Just as he saw fit. Cordehlia shook her head, amused and irritated in equal measure. Her companions consulted one another around the fire, their plans for infiltrating the Goblin camp tomorrow… finding the Archdruid that was demanded. It would be another grueling day tomorrow.

Her elven sensibilities grated on her with how dirty she was, silently she grabbed a carafe of water and a rag, fishing out a bar of soap she had found among the Tieflings today. At last. Supplies and clean linens, a change of clothes in hand, she left without a word.

Night crept in as she did the same, stalking to the edge of camp so as not to draw attention. Eager to wash the grime and blood from her skin.

She hurried, not wanting to get caught again by prying eyes. She laughed at the memory.

If only he knew… if only he remembered the eery and striking resemblance to what set them on their path to engagement. Being caught lusting after her… all those years of fondness and flirtation as youth suddenly solidified as the truth of his feelings came forward. Prominently. No denying it after being caught with his hand down his pants, that veil of dramatic pretense finally slipping away.

Sighing, she scrubbed her skin, letting the light clean scent of the soap reground her. It was enough for now. She smiled just a bit, assured and proud of herself that he still wanted her. For all the centuries of torment they both endured, she still made him… long. Long for her.

And long and hard.

She giggled to herself. But the sight of her dirty, rust-colored skin, stained with the results of her violence sobered her.

She was not that innocent She-elf. Nor was he that confident, devious, charming Elf lordling that set his sights on her.

He couldn’t even remember her.

She could barely remember herself anymore.

Washing in silence, the weight of her suffering grew with every swipe of the clean cloth over her skin. It should be making her feel free. Cleansed. But instead, she only watched as the once pure water ran stained as it touched her.

Corrupted.

Ruined.

Vicious.

She hastily threw on the clean tunic and breeches, and even with all the torment she struggled to fight back down inside her, it did feel good to be clean.

In her body if not her soul.

Footsteps approached. And she hurriedly grabbed her soiled clothes, dumping out the basin and wringing out the wash cloth.

“There you are…” that silken voice purred from the edge of camp. Astarion ran his eyes over her, the scent of soap and cleanliness hitting him strong. “Feeling better are we?” His smirk turned the corner of his mouth, that ravenous glint in his eyes as he pulled out another little bottle of ruby potion for her. “I thought you might give me a hand…” he drew near, “or a wrist, or a neck…” then he whispered right into the curves of her pointed ear. “Or a thigh, if your blood is running hot like mine.”

“Is this your ask every fucking night?” she snapped.

His eyes went wide. Mouth tweaking just a hint in surprise at her instant rage.

Good.

“Your blood might be hot, but not as I was hoping,” he couldn’t help the tease. But as he watched her face only growing redder, he softened. “Sorry, I… you’re not feeling better. Ahem…” He cleared his throat nervously. “I can just…”

She gave a feral growl, tugging up the sleeve of her shirt, balling her hand into a fist and shoving it in his face. “Here, be quick. Tomorrow will be grueling. Bloody. Another list of victims to add to my count, I would imagine.”

“Victims?” he queried, his voice gentle, almost as gentle as the way he caught her rigid arm in his hands and set it back down at her side. “What is going on, Cordehlia?”

She said nothing, only hissing breath from her mouth as she looked at her feet.

“You were glorious today you know, righteous…” he purred at her, his hand slowly stroking the bared skin of her arm. “No one looks so delicious covered in blood. Well,” he taunted with a dark little laugh, “maybe except for me.”

Scoffing, she shook her head. “I wasn’t meant to be this…” swallowing, she tried to pull from his touch. But he held firm. “I wasn’t meant to be blood-spattered and reckless. Violent and sadder and wiser. You were. You always were impetuous and rash and devious.”

Her body went numb. Chilled except for the feeling of his hand on her skin and the raging heartache that tore through her chest. He just let her stay beside him, his hand around her arm a steady tether keeping her present.

“Well,” he cleared his voice, all that honey in his tones gone, nothing but softness and the gentle rasp of his low tones in his throat, “you’re not alone you know, that feeling of being made into something against your will.”

The devastation in his voice drew her attention, meeting those dark red eyes, usually so exacting and seductive now wide and worried.

“We can even compare notes if you like, which would be easier if I could remember more…”

She swallowed that burning lump in her throat.

“But, for what it’s worth, as another being thrown into the darkness and made to do horrid, unspeakable things against my will… I am glad I’m not alone.” Those full lips of his tweaked slightly into a smile. “Not anymore.”

Gods, her face was soft in the moonlight. Bathed and glowing, and strangely familiar. Was she looking at him with longing on purpose? Were her lips trembling to catch his attention, bidding him to stay them with his own?

Her eyes began to flutter, and every muscle in her arm in his grasp clenched in expectation.

Until she took a deep breath, shaking her long red hair. “I…” she withdrew. “I am not myself right now,” she mumbled. “I need food, rest… all this business with the tadpoles, finding the Goblins, rescuing the Druid… it’s a bit much.”

“It is,” Astarion smiled. Holding his place. Letting her sway on her toes, undecided if she should stay or leave. Undecided if she should kiss him, by the way those lips twitched and puckered.

She looked down where his hand hung, the one that had just held her gently, that cool chill of his touch… He had given her something so small, so insignificant. Swallowing, she realized it was only fair she returned the favor.

So, she held up her wrist. “I need you strong, so feed, my vampire,” she whispered. “And be quick.”

“It would be my pleasure,” he smiled, caressing his fingers along the pinpricked skin of her arm to press her to his mouth. He looked into her face, expecting her to shut her eyes tight, bracing for the piercing pain of his bite.

But those silver eyes just stared back. Her breath was quick, her eyes dark as they dilated to watch his mouth on her flesh. That ivory of her complexion grew flush, just a kiss of blush on the crest of her cheeks.

His hunger took hold, that scent of her skin so close, the pull of her blood so strong. He bit, sharply and quickly, letting his lips and tongue do the rest. Drinking her down, as all the while, she watched. Licking her own lips as her blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. Forcing shaky breath after shaky breath from her lungs, hiding it from him with her silence.

She looked so… radiant, it made something inside his undead heart shift. And what was more, she had called him hers, her vampire…

He lifted his mouth, pressing the potion of healing into her palm. “Here, a little something for the effort from your grateful vampire,” he teased.

A weak smile twitched on her lips as she downed the bottle. “Little something for a massive effort. Each day seems to just be more. More cures that don’t work, more puzzles and people who need help… more mysteries and unanswered questions. These tadpoles aren’t going to remove themselves…”

“Well,” he stepped into her path. That wry look on his face. Calculating and cunning. It made her stomach sink, for she had seen it so often before. “I know you’re working hard to fix these little tadpoles of ours, but you have to admit… there is potential here.”

“Potential for what, exactly?” she cocked her chin. “Power? Influence? Control?”

“Well, yes, naturally.” He raised that brow, a flick of his wrist.

Cordehlia just shook her head. Some raging disbelief darkening her face and she hung her head low.

“Look, all I am saying is that we know there are many others under this influence, instead of removing them… what if… we found a way of controlling them… and those who possess them?”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Her voice fell soft. Sharp and cold. “You would like it so much, you would choose it above everything.”

“Above you,” he snapped, “you mean?”

Oh that little spitfire, she squared her shoulders and parted her legs. Her eyes narrowed with all the resolve she mustered. “Forgive me if my memory is intact, that I remember the consequences of your obsession with making a name for yourself… or to find a way to influence others to your benefit…”

“That was it, wasn’t it? The thing you accuse me of for leaving you… not that I can remember,” he snapped, his teeth bright in the moonlight. “So eager to keep me with you always isn’t that right, darling?” he gave that low, rumbling chuckle. “What if controlling these tadpoles was the way for us to be together for eternity? We know so very little, perhaps they grant us powers beyond even our ability to rip into the minds of others…. Long life? Power? Wealth? A way for me to kill my old master?”

“What if it causes loss and despair and heartache and death?” She hissed in reply. “What if it hurts others more than you could ever fathom, even if you finally got your head out of your…”

“Tch,” he interrupted, his own temper beginning to flame. “I have the feeling we aren’t discussing the same thing….”

Cordehlia scoffed, trying to push past him, but he slid effortlessly into her path again. “Let me pass,” she hissed.

“Not until you admit it. You’re angry with me, and I have a feeling we aren’t discussing anything related to these tadpoles at all…”

“You want to know? You want to know?” she panted. Her face now red with rage.

She closed her eyes, drawing upon the tadpole’s power inside them both as their minds smashed together.

“It won’t take me long,” Astarion grinned from atop his horse. “First, a few months study, then a career in the Magistrate’s office. I’ll have a name, influence, wealth, I’ll have it all…” He grinned wider, reaching a hand down to the She-elf beneath him. Her red hair dancing in the breeze, her silver eyes brimming with love, and desire, and longing. It made his heart full and his groin ache. “We’ll have it all, my love.”

“You know, I would wed you if you had nothing more than your charming good looks and the clothes on your back,” she smirked, grabbing his hand. “Of course those would most likely quickly end in a pile on the ground…”

“Vixen,” he purred, leaning over to place his lips on her fingers. So soft and warm and familiar. “Only a little time until that may happen… a few months perhaps. A blink of the eye for our kind. And then, we will wed. And you,” he gave her that same rakish leer that made her stomach flutter and her thighs hot, “you, Cordehlia Ancunín will be the toast of Baldur’s Gate, my bride.”

“It does sound rather nice,” she gripped his hand, running her thumb across the back of his hands, knowing the way every muscle, every vein raised in his pale skin. “The name… and the fame.”

“Doesn’t it just?”

The scene grew hazy… blurred as if she kept him from seeing, from hearing every detail. Just the galloping of hooves and the sight of him riding into the woods.

Then it was only her… standing in the road. A different day, a different dress. Her body was wrapped tight in white furs. The snow crunched under her feet, shaded by the barren trees.

She looked up the road. Shivering as she clutched her fur cloak tighter. Her hands trembled, but she held tight to something… letters, a thick stack in her palm. She was waiting. Again. For anything. For him.

Until the wind tore down the path, ripping every paper from her frozen fingers faster than she could scream and cry and chase after them.

Gone.

She had nothing now. Only a cleft of loneliness in her heart. The chill of winter, the death of her hope. The shiver of her body, the warmth of her love dispersing forever.

He was gone.

She released him. Her eyes filled with hot tears, but she wouldn’t blink. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of crying over him again. Not again.

Not to his face.

Before he could even open his eyes, she ran up the path and into the camp.

He was gone. Again. Or still. It was time for the night watch, and still he was away. Cordehlia’s heart raced, but from worry or just raw hurt, she wasn’t certain.

The only thing that made her feel slightly less worried was that Karlach had watched him take his daggers into the forest… grumbling about going hunting. It wasn’t much, but it was at least a direction he was spotted and a purpose.

But even as the company sat around the fire, her stomach turned blackly sour. It felt familiar. Him leaving. Her waiting. The old thrum of anxiety and not knowing….

She shook it off for now. He was no Magistrate, no elfling, he wasn’t even young anymore. He was a Vampire. More deadly than the vast majority of things in the woods.

It made her mind wander, her mouth waiting to speak until there was a break in the conversation amongst them. She turned to look at the human, the newest member of their band. “You were raised in Baldur’s Gate, were you not, Wyll?”

“Indeed,” he flashed that gentlemanly grin at her. “Son of the Duke, no less, though I obviously was promised for a different path…” He meant all that he had become too, Blade of Frontiers, warlock bound in service. Monster hunter.

“Do you know of Cazador Szarr?”

The question hung in the air, and by the weight in her voice, everyone grew silent. Heavy. Each surmising at least the source of such a wondering.

Wyll cleared his throat, “Can’t say that I have. But I haven’t been in the city since I was a youth. Is he new?”

Her eyes grew sad as she turned back to look into the fire. “I doubt it,” she murmured.

“I have heard,” Gale’s gentle voice slid right in to fill the quiet. “Patriarch of the Szarr family, centuries old and steeped in nasty business, if the rumors are true…”

“They probably are, if I knew of them.” She breathed. Unable to look into those kind eyes.

“I’m not surprised, Wyll Ravenguard, that you have no notion of them in your own city. They lurk in the shadows, nefarious as they come. Why, it’s rumored that he’s centuries old, some gift of immortality…”

Silence from the She-elf made him continue, even as she gave no reaction.

“…they also suspect he’s at the center of abductions, murders, missing persons…”

Still silence.

“… the boldest call him Vampire, his victims, those missing…”

“There is a wisdom in being bold,” she finally breathed.

Wyll’s eyes went wide. For someone new, he was clearly observant. “Your vampire rogue… you don’t mean…”

“It would be easier to confirm if he were here,” she snapped, raising her head to gaze into the shadows beyond their camp.

Gale scooted through the grass, closer to speak just to Cordehlia. “You know, if Astarion is Cazador’s spawn, there is danger. A master that powerful won’t stop looking for something that is his… And from what I’ve read, true vampires have such powers… turning to mist, flying, calling legions of were…”

A sharp howl pierced the quiet of the woods.

“…wolves…” Gale finished his thought as he leapt to his feet.

Cordehlia jumped, racing in the direction of the sound, managing to grab her blade and dagger as she sprinted.

Her heart pounded, every instinct in her elven body hummed to life, her quick feet and perfect balance launching her through the dark woods. Her battle intuition was on fire, following the scent of blood in the air, hoping it was from Astairon’s kill and not the Pale Elf himself.

Whatever it is, it was just ahead now. The ringing of a blade against… something denser than metal. The growling of many voices. And the grunt of one rogue, fighting for his life by the sound of it. Cordehlia drew her weapons, breaking into the clearing. No thoughts, just pure bloodlust and rage clouding her vision in crimson. Her blade tasted flesh, burying into matted grey fur. The beast howled, a death rattle as it fell to the forest floor.

All eyes turned on the now bloodied warrior, three more werewolves salivating with their glowing yellow eyes. But it was the look of pure, sheer relief on Astarion’s face that made her whole body spark and thrill.

He was alive.

And he was smiling. Feral, wild, relieved.

Cordehlia leapt over the carcass, facing the beasts, her vampire rogue at the ready at her side.

They moved as one, fluid and smooth and elegant, even as the creatures fell and spurted their streams of blood with each slice and stab the elves made. They were slow, lumbering and snapping, slashing their claws to try to block their shining blades.

But even three wolves were no match for their speed and stealth and deadly aim. With one last stab, Astarion buried his blade into the last werewolf’s neck, pulling it out to wipe it clean on the dark fur of its body.

Crodehlia stood, breath heaving, wiping her blade clean too on the nearest fallen monster.

She could feel the intensity of his stare on her back, but she wasn’t ready to face him. The question on her tongue burned too much. “Did Cazador send them for you?” she whispered, the silence of the woods falling back around them.

“Yes,” he gave that single reply. His throat bobbed up and down as he looked at her. His breath still ragged. Rough. Loud. “I thought that was it… I thought I would be taken… and then you…”

Silence. Just his breath whistling.

“Astarion,” she whispered his name with her own trembling voice.

He broke, descending on her, hands clutching around her head, pulling her lips against his. So rigid, as he kissed her, the moment their lips met, every part of her body softened. Melted. Molding into his. Relenting. Astarion couldn’t pull her close enough, and the way she tugged at him, hands pressed into his lower back, something just felt… right.

Familiar.

She was so tender… the taste of her kiss covering his tongue. And he ate it up, like one starved. Maybe he was. Maybe there was more he hungered for than blood. Than living blood.

Than her blood.

And she… that… vixen… met his hunger in equal measure. Stroke for stroke. Lick for lick. Her tongue dove between his lips. And those lips, he couldn’t get enough of their supple pucker between his own.

Gods, they had done this before. For all his mind had forgotten, his body remembered.

Remembered it well.

Her hands pressed him harder into her belly, and even without her blood in his veins, he could feel it. That fullness, that drive igniting in his goin at the way she drew herself along every inch of him.

Wanting him.

Her hands gripped into his shirt, brushing against his ass.

It was pure instinct; the override of his body, so natural and feral of a drive as his hands swept to her shirt. The collar was so flimsy, just a thin piece of fabric over her lithe, little body. It was so easy to grip and rip, the fabric giving way almost as willingly as she did. For the fearsome warrior she was, she put up no fight. Leaning in as his cold touch traced over her shoulder, caressing and adoring the swell of her breast in his palm. So easy, pressing her to retreat, her kiss keeping him bound to her, leading him until her back slammed again at a tree.

And then, she moaned. Nothing hidden or held at bay. The sound of her pure, wanton desire.

All her ferocity, her ice, her anger… gone. Relenting at last to reveal the fire inside her for him. Bright as her hair, brilliant as the lights in her eyes. Her own hands explored his body, more hesitantly.

Making him chuckle into her ravenous mouth. “Courage, my darling, you won’t hurt me. I won’t bite…” he laughed again, “unless you want…”

“Yes, Gods, yes,” she panted. The same intensity in battle now trained on him, fingers flying through the claps of his doublet, pushing it open from the curve of his shoulder.

Which he was more than willing to give her aid doing to let it tumble behind them. She breathed his name again, her voice shaking as her fingers finally explored beneath his shirt. The warm caress of her touch melting even the undead chill of his skin.

She clung to him with all the strength of her soul, desperate, fearful, relieved. The centuries of her waiting and longing finally giving way to him. Relenting to him, and the love she no longer could deny.

Somehow, he knew everything about her, with no memory to guide him. His fingers traced her cheek, that subtle rise hot to the touch as he stroked into her hair. A slight grip into the back of her head to angle her higher, making her mouth open all the more for him to plunder, a gasp that stole his breath as she moved so willingly at his command.

“You… remember…” she mouthed the words, her lips too busy to speak properly, not with the way his tongue tangled with hers.

But it was rent apart.

The crack of a branch, the crunch of leaves underfoot. It caught both their sensitive ears, making them freeze.

Hearts racing now for different reasons.

Cordehila tried to catch her breath, eyeing the pure carnage they had wreaked. “Foolish,” she chided herself, pushing him off her, finding her blades in the bloodied dirt. “That was foolish,” she hissed with wide eyes.

Astarion followed suit to find his own daggers, fighting hard to ignore the way her slightly torn blouse revealed the gapped swell of her breasts.

Gods, they looked divine. Milkwhite and full. He could still feel them in his hand.

It took all his effort to shake the lust from his head, tossing his silver curls as he tried to scan the distance for more danger.

They stood, ready, waiting, primed to kill again.

Until Gale burst into the clearing, Karlach right on his tail. “You’re alive!” she bellowed, pure joy in her breathless voice. “When you didn’t come back we thought you…” Her brows furrowed as she took into the sight of the fight. At the four dead and hairy bodies strewn about in the night. Silent as she turned her flaming head.

“Tried to come for you, he did?” Gale stating the obvious as the magical glow from his hands faded at the lack of a threat.

“I’m afraid there will be more where they came from,” Astarion sneered, that sarcastic humor lilting in his voice. “Cazador never kept pets before… other than us poor slaves, his spawn. These mindless servants are new… conjured to find me, to bring me back to…”

He shook and sputtered.

Cordehlia placed a hand on his arm. Even with them watching, in the sight of her band of fighters. Instantly, his body calmed. “We dispatched them before anyone could lay a claw on our Rogue.”

“So you can see, your little rescue was very… poorly timed…” Astarion grinned, sour and taunting as he resheathed his weapons.

He could feel the little shakes of Cordehlia’s silent laughter beside him. Gods, was that how close she was standing?

“Must have been a true battle, soldier,” Karlach's eyes went wide. “Your shirt is torn…” Then those glowing eyes rested on Astarion, equally disrobed and disarrayed. “Oh…”

She let the suspicion glance right off her, unshakable vixen she was. “It was nothing we couldn’t handle, but I am grateful for the reinforcements all the same,” she smiled back.

They all began walking back in haste to camp, Gale muttering about putting up protective wards tonight in case there were more in the woods. Hiding Astarion’s scent.

But it was that vampire rogue who insisted on following so closely on Cordehlia’s heels, she was the one who could smell him. “Grateful, are you? For the untimely help of that limp Wizard and the fire girl?”

“Grateful they care enough about us to come and help,” she replied, that same steady coldness in her voice. “You should be grateful too.”

“I’m sure you understand my reasons if I haven’t relented from irritation to find such gratitude yet…” he hissed, voice dripping with that seeping seduction. His hand catching hers where it swung freely at her side.

And she let him. Fingers interlocking for that moment. The warmth of her touch sending that now-familiar ache for more coursing through his body.

They walked that way to the edge of camp, their fingers lightly connected, their little secret behind their companions back, out of sight.

She only shook off his touch when they could finally spy the circle of light. Their campfire.

He glanced towards his tent, raising his brow at that humble little pallet in the cold. “You sure you want to sleep in the cold, darling?”

“What?” she taunted, folding her arms. “Would you rather I sleep with something cold?”

“Well,” he purred. His brows wriggled, raising and twisting in that voracious leer. “I do still get so chilled in the dark. Might be nice to cuddle up with something warm…”

“Goodnight,” she grinned, slyly and unrelentingly. “With Gale’s wards, you really should rest after that experience.”

“I’d rather… relive that experience…”

Her eyes flickered nervously, scanning around the camp. Her throat bobbed. Her face tweaking, as if her lips wanted his on them again.

Then she just gave him a warm smile, subtle. Inviting. “Goodnight, darling…” she purred back at him before crossing to her little bedroll.

“You know,” he called after her, keeping his distance as hard as it was. “After today, after how you leapt into the dark to … to help me, to find me, I hope you can see it is a strength for you to be so vicious, ruthless, and blood spattered. It’s what saved me…”

Her smile widened, her lips tweaking, definitely fighting the urge to kiss him now. Again. But she turned and departed for her bed. Alone.

Astarion could only shake his head and groan, a sigh of discontentment. But at least he knew he would maybe dream about the softness of her body than the glare of the wolves sent to hunt him down.

And for that, he was grateful.

[mk-writes-stuff]

OC/WIP AMA Tag

Rules: open the door for questions about your WIPs and the OCs in them

Thank you @illarian-rambling @pluppsauthor @paeliae-occasionally and @autism-purgatory for the tags!

Suggestions:

Seven Station Chronicles:

Characters: Belladonna, Cassie, Nellie, Narcissus, Cassiopeia, Ricinus, Goldenrod, Stellaris, Rhys, Sel (and Bee I guess)

Future book characters: Septimus, Asher, Moons, Ambition, Ruthlessness, Torathen, Rozael, Korriel, Seffae, Lorriat, Ananias, Azrael

Locations: any of the seven stations, or the elf planet

Seven Stations: The Jump

Station heads (characters): Errant, Camellia, Kintarō, Dominance (Dom), Jael, Andromedus, Castor

Other characters: Aspen, Cinnabar, Beni

Locations: the stations once again, or Terra (the Old World)

The Pirates’ Roost

Characters (so many): Merry, Malcolm, Tatum, Amelia, Breeches, Julian, Finley, Vraska, Jace, Apatli, Kiali, Azalea, Jetti, Vivenna, Francisco (among others)

Locations: High and Dry, the Stormwreck Sea, the Sun Empire, Orazca, Torrezon

Ships (like physical boats): the Belligerent, the Sea Star, the Wraith, the Drowned Gull, the Hangman’s Noose, the Sliver Bullet, the Drowning Siren

Species: sirens, merfolk, vampires, orcs, goblins, angels

Or of course feel free to ask anything else you like! I’m always open for asks :)

Tagging @kaylinalexanderbooks @somethingclevermahogony and @ominous-feychild

Also as always credits to Magic: the Gathering for some of the pirates roost characters and to my lovely gf for characters and worldbuilding on all of my WIPs

[danco110]

"You don't tame a horncrest, Malcolm. You convince it that it's easier to destroy something else."

“Ooh. Now that doesn’t sound like the usual Sun Empire spiel, Amautl.”

Though he was tied by his own rope and hanging upside down, Malcolm still managed to smirk at Amautl’s words. He then made his taunt with both the Sun Empire soldier and her bonded dinosaur glaring up at him.

“That’s right,” laughed the siren, “I can tell you’re exactly not on the same ‘peace and harmony’ bandwagon. But don’t worry, I’m not judging.”

Amautl turned up her nose at Malcolm. “We would never be so cruel as to force our companions to do anything. We work together.”

“Until dinner time, you mean.”

“Actually,” Amautl grinned, “that’s when we get along the best.”

“You’re…gonna eat me?”

“Wh- No! I mean, I direct them to eat you. I don’t do any of the actual- Enough stalling!”

“Worth a try,” Malcolm muttered.

Amautl pointed up, and her horncrest opened its mouth. Before the dinosaur could feast, however, a cacophonous screeching interrupted it.

“SWINGING AND RESCUES AND- ACK!”

A goblin with a beautiful hat swung into view. He promptly became tangled in Malcolm’s bindings and ended up similarly restrained.

“Ah, Breeches!” Malcolm chimed. “So nice of you to join me!”

The goblin’s head bobbed up and down in a frantic nod. “YES! PARTNER MALCOLM!”

“All right, that’s…heartwarming,,” Amautl groaned. “Now, back to-”

“YOU SHOULD MUTINY!”

“…I beg your pardon?”

“BIG LIZARD SHOULD MUTINY!” Breeches bellowed. “MASTER PUTS OFF MEALTIME, MAKES YOU CHEW METAL BITS!”

“That is ab…surd…”

Amautl felt a shiver down her spine. She looked behind to see her horncrest eyeing her, now.

“Easy…easy…?”

Amautl turned tail and sprinted away, the dinosaur chasing close behind. Malcolm breathed a sigh of relief.

“Good thinking, Breeches.”

“LEARNED MUTINY FROM OTHER PIRATES!”

“Thank goodness…” Malcolm blinked. “Did you bring anything to cut us down?”

“NO!”

Malcolm hung his head, angling upwards due to him being upside down.

[Scene: Player 1 casts Mutiny, forcing Player 2’s Horncrest to kill their only other creature and leaving it unable to attack or block.]

[dimmadoome]

No Good Deed

_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_

Ship: Gale/Halsin (Pre-Relationship)

Rating: Mature

_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_

Gale shuddered heavily, almost hyperventilating with stress and fear, as he pulled his pouch from his neck and fumbled with the leather straps. Pulling them apart with shaking and bruised fingers. 

He should not be doing this. His mind supplied. He should be saving the scroll for his own death, but the goblins that had brought him here would never listen to his mirror image and use it to save his life. The drow that stared at him with cold red eyes and a look of contempt didn't seem like the type either.

The corpse he was jailed with seemed to be his only option of escape...if it was once again a living person that might help try to save Gale's life...that is.

Gale knew he couldn't escape the temple ruins on his own. He could fight a few goblins well enough, maybe even a drow or two, but a whole camp of goblins and drow and hobgoblins....no. Gale couldn't fight them all on his own.

Even he had to concede his limits sometimes.

The answer to his dilemma was simple really. Gale needed help and trapped as he was, This was his only option.

The pouch by his heart was the only thing left on his person after his capture. His stave was gone, his pouch with his gold was gone, hells, they even took his outer robe. Leaving him chilled to the bone in only a light undershirt and some breeches. All he had, all he managed to hide from the grasping fingers of the goblins, was his scroll of true resurrection and a ball of temperamental weave trapped in his chest. 

Gale cast a glance around the large room they were in…. correction...he was in. Besides a couple worgs snuffling and howling in the next cage over, there was no one here. No guards or drinking goblins, no drown, no hobgoblin. No one but him and the corpse.

Which meant no one was there to stop him from performing his next trick.

The corpse beside him was still in its death. Its ruddy skin was bloodless and cold. The chestnut hair covering half its scarred and tattooed face was covered in blood. The color was almost obscured by it. There was so much blood. So much viscera. all of it looked to be from a gaping wound by the left temple of its head.

Gale shakily pressed his fingers to the hole in the corpses temple, feeling around for any debris that would be stuck there when the scroll did its work. The flesh was cold, blood congealed. But the corpse looked to be in fresh enough condition that the scroll would work if he used it.

He had to make sure that the use of his one life line wasn't wasted. Had to make sure it would work.

With that task done, Gale brought his bloody fingers to the pouch. Pulling the string off of it and whispering the words to open it. The cold stone of the floor bit into his knees. A chill went down his back. He could swear the broken statue of Selune in the corner stared at him with pity. Even though the glittering lapis eyes were never alive to begin with, they looked to have lived a thousand years or more. What those eyes had seen, Gale would never know, but he hoped that, at least once, they would see a miracle.

If this didn't work….if this man he was trying to resurrect couldn't help him …he was out of luck. He was out of luck.

Not that he wasn't already out of luck. Not that he hadn't been out of luck for over a year.

The acorn and leaf motif emblazoned on the corpse's chest denoted him as a druid. Druids were usually helpful…. weren't they?

This one better be anyway.

Gale unrolled the golden scroll and pressed it gently to the man's chest. Then he sat cross legged by the corpse. Close enough that he could read the wording on the scroll and manipulate the weave in a way that the spell could encapsulate the dead man's massive form. Gale took a moment to check the stairs leading to the door. Making sure no one would come in and interrupt him while he was working.

When he was sure the door was firmly shut and no one would enter it, Gale turned his attention to the ritual. Cracking his torn knuckles and flexing his bruised fingers. Relaxing them as much as he could to make sure his casting was as precise as it could be.

Words poured from his mouth, weave poured from his hands and the whole room glowed a brilliant purple. He felt her press herself to his back, looking over the subject of his attention with thinly veiled curiosity. He felt a tug in his navel and suddenly she was gone. Replaced with the feeling of…warmth. The feeling of a father…proud and strong….standing over him with a critical eye.

Tendrils of gold snaked between his fingers. Overwhelming the brilliant purple and eventually taking its place. Responding to his manipulations as if it was trained to do so. The sensation of new magic tickled his sinuses. Filling his throat with the taste of honey and cinnamon and pine.

Strange, this was not a magic he was used to. Whoever it belonged to, they wanted something from Gale. Wanted to use him for its own ends. Ends that just so happened to correspond with Gale's own.

Whatever god had granted him use of their weave must have had a vested interest in the man whose corpse Gale was resurrecting.

The whole process took less than five minutes, though it felt like an hour or more. Slowly blood and viscera eeked its way out of the man's mouth and nose, ejecting itself from his lungs as it was not supposed to be there and would choke him if left there when he breathed anew. 

One breath. Then two. Then three. A shake and a whine. Then Gale knew it worked as warmth and color seemed to spread across the now living druid's face. Finally, the man's eyes opened and hazily searched out Gale's face. The mans eyes glittered with the most beautiful Blue Hazel color Gale had ever seen.

“Oak Father?”

The man's voice was rich like chocolate. Deep like coffee. He moaned, low and keening, deep in his throat, and brought his hands to his face, pressing fingers to his skull where it had knitted back together. Gale watched as he winced and gasped, smearing blood across his face with a sluggish, half aborted attempt at prodding for more wounds.

“Don't move for a while.” Gale set his hands on his knees and blinked away the sudden wave of exhaustion. Watching as the gold magic finally settled around the man and sunk into his skin. Converging in the druid's eyes before disappearing entirely. The scroll followed suit. Cooling from a bright gold to a plain, yellowed piece of useless paper.

There it went. His one shot at keeping himself alive. Hopefully the man he had saved would take the duty from it.

A hand pressed against his thigh. Large and warm and clumsy from the man's recent death. The touch startled Gale out of his thoughts. Forcing him to look below. Forcing him to face the consequences of what would be a very, very terrible idea if this man turned out to be useless.

“Thank you.” The man shuddered, then let out a wracking cough, loud and hard and terrible all at once. The flames from the braziers overhead cast long shadows across the blood covered stone floor. Making the world around them look like they had descended to the hells.

The parasite in Gale's head squirmed. It was the hells. Whatever the hells were, he was there. Trapped in them.

“Please tell me I did not save you in vain.” Gale found himself pleading with the man. “Please tell me you'll get us out of here.”

The man just nodded and squeezed Gale's thigh with his soft, calloused touch. He slowly sat up, groaning as he did so. His hair fell away from his face, showing the tips of his ears. one was still covered in sludgy blood, the other was half bitten off by what looked like a feral animal. Maybe a Worg or a goblin. It looked fresh and painful. Gale couldn't help but grimace at it. Scrunching his nose in sympathy at the bits of chewed cartilage.

“By the grace of the oak father, I will get us out of here. You have done your part, more than I could ever have asked of you. Let me rest for a moment, then I will do mine.”

Hours later Gale followed the large man, who called himself Halsin, out of a hole in the back of the temple. They misty stepped their way across the river and into the woods. Heaving with exertion and exhaustion. 

He settled himself against a tree, falling down to stare, wide eyed at Halsin. Thankimg all the gods that he chose correctly and rescued him from the jaws of death. As he closed his eyes to rest them, something brushed against the back of Gale's mind. The presence had the same warm, masculine feelings to it that he remembered during the resurrection ritual.

“Thank you my boy.” it said. “Thank you for saving my chosen. His path has not yet been walked, neiter, I think, is yours. I owe you a great debt Gale of Waterdeep. Speak your desire to me and I will see it done.”

Gale, who had never been owed anything by a god before, closed his eyes and wished. Feeling his heart beat out of his chest at the excitement, pressing against the orb in his chest and burning through his lungs.

When he opened them again, for the first time in over a year Gale could breathe freely again.

The tadpole still wriggled around in his head, but the orb that had been destroying his entire life for the past year was finally gone.

Thanks to his unintentional good deed....thanks to Halsin and whatever god that took patronage of him, Gale was finally free of his greatest burden.

He was finally free!

[oogalaboogalabich]

More Bloodweave comic outline. Links to 1 & 2 below.

Part 3: Orb Boy starts learnin' The Angry on how to vampire better

The first battle against the goblins commences not long after they pick up two females. A gith and a half elf. Both seem very fun and very angry at each other.

They do surprisingly well, though astarion gets fairly badly hurt.

He watches while gale and this blade of frontiers fellow and how well they work off the others fighting style. Same with the religeous and military types that have been bickering the whole fight despite the fact that they practically danced together. its actually quite fascinating to see in action, despite the frustration of being basically ignored while hes bleeding out.

He fails to dodge when The Blade lobbs something at him. He readies a nasty lityle retort about how whatever he tried to do didnt manage to kill him... when he realized hed been healed. Almost entirely.

The....the bloody -hero- just ...-helped- him.

What a fucking idiot.

---

Astarion hangs back when everyone heads to camp to fuck with the blacksmith, who seems actually very nice. Its a bit off putting in a way that a quick cuppa with Auntie Ethel cures with ease, and decides to actually pay her that visit sometime.

Astarion returns from the grove with some things he plans to squirrel away. He would deny it if asked, but he directly avoided stealing anything from the hellspawn. Not out of pity of course. Definitely not. The druids were massive pricks anyways.

He finds gale resting atop the boulder pile in the center of camp, splayed out shirtless and laying in the sun.

Fuck thats right. Hed been so worried about everything, he hasnt even taken the time to enjoy the fucking sun.

Gale hears him approaching, twists to one side and utterly beams down at him. Hes cleaned up really well.

The sun, astarion notices, shines almost red through his hair.

"Youre back! Excelent!" He lifts himself into a one handed flip off the rock with the practiced ease and casual nature of a man who has no idea hes showing off and lands a few feet from him. He looks a little toasted, but it makes him look all the more lovely- LIVELY. Lively is what he was thinking.

Tch... bloody prick with his crazy acrobatics and dumb fuck beard.

and his stupid perfectly waxed moustache, and rediculous tattoos down one side of his torso and...straight past the beltline of his breeches...

His mouth felt so dry all of a sudden.

"Must say i havent had such an easy time getting warm in quite a while. The rock behind your tent is the nicest but i dont much think youd appreciate me looming about your tent, aye?"

(should gale say "aye" in this au? Should look into waterdavian/dnd pirate slang if thats even an elaborated thing. I like it. I need an excuse)

Astarion and he talk about how it felt stepping into the sun for the first time in forever.

Astarion had woken up in the pod and promtly begun panicking until he realized there were holes in the transparent chitain, and the sunlight was beaming through. He lifted a hand to it and felt such a rush that hed managed to break himself out and spent some time just ....being excited about something. Anything at all.

Gale finds he rather likes that mental image. This surly little wildcat grinning up at the sun and raising both hands up while he laughs for the wonder of it.

Perhaps then falling back and flipping off the very sky...it seems like something he might do.

Gale simply woke up on the beach and lay there a while to process and plan, nothing too interesting.

So Gale mentions that sometimes, back home, he would stay up late certain mornings to watch Artor step out into the Sun.

Its a morning ritual to keep himself sharp and humble. He would stare out until the sun peaked over the horizon, cast a sphere of invulnerability and watch from the safety of it.

(Note: this doesnt actually work in canon, but gale either wouldnt know that or would have been forced to forget whenever he relearns that fact. Plot thickening joose)

"He wont admit it but im almost entirely sure he used to collect his own ashes, before he learned the spell. that was a long time past, though, far before either of us were a glint in our mothers eye."

"Collected them? What for?"

"He probably wanted to see if it was useful in some way. Mummy dust can be a Powerful addative to healing salves and potions of disguise."

He holds up a finger.

"Though never vice versa, mind.- Stands to reason vampire ashes might be valuable. He still has a small warehouse full of the stuff.

"Round oh id say ..nearly seven maybe eight thousand clay urns, in all. he tells everyone they were a group of spawn hed collected in his earliest centuries.

"But Im fairly certain he says that to keep us on our toes. I cant imagine how he would have managed such a massive hoard. I have fourty someodd siblings, and most of them are a bloody handfull."

"Seven thousand!?"

"The man is over a millenium old, astarion. Thats a lot of sunrises."

---

Things branch off to where Astarion says he cant turn into mist or summon wolves because hes a spawn, and he feels a little cheated that spawn have no substantial powers or abilities aside from basic teleportation. And even thats gone with the tadpole.

This distresses gale on his behalf.

"I...astarion i think cazador has been keeping you far more ignorant than you are aware of. Vampire spawn have a veritable littany of skills and abilities to hone on, it just takes time and practice like any other."

"What do you mean?" And gale vanishes in a puff of smoke turning into mist and back with his arms out in a gesture of "see?"

"What in the hells?"

"I cant summon wolves per se. But with ...well proper feeding, theres a great deal we can do. We arent helpless. Were just

"Slaves"

"I would more readdily compare us to marrionettes. Poppets, worker drones and the like. but yes. Essentially."

"Well.." astarion huffs, " what can we do?"

Gales smile grows boyish and enthusiastic, and he grabs astarions hand- pulls him towards the water. " Do you see that cave over yonder, just past the canoe?"

"I see it." Astsrion yanks his hand free with a disgusted little sneer.

"Alright. I want you to picture yourself in total darkness. The furthest reaches of the light are several turns out, and none can reach you.

"This had better be going somewhere."

"Just do it, trust me."

"....Very well."

"Alright now...connect to that darkness. Feel where your body ends and the shadows begin. Feel their coils reach out and embrace your limbs, your lungs, your mind." He presses a palm near the center of his back "draw them in with your breath. anchor yourself with them until you sink deep....deep into the dark...."

He feels those shoulders relax just a little.

"Now...tell me ...whats inside that cave, astarion?"

"....how should i kn-....oh...."

Hes suddenly there, as if one foot of his essence has stepped from where his body stood into the dank cavern.

"theres. Hmmm well theres an astonishing lack of dirt...it smells ...gods just -awful-...but its soft....and...warm." he gets an almost whistful quality to his voice.

"so wonderfully warm..." he draws another breath, as if he could consume that warmth. he hears a chittering at his ear, and suddenly realizes.

"Bats....there must be dozens of them." Gale is surprised by how bright that smile is. It warms him to see.

"now...call them."

"How do i do that?"

"I cant tell you that, you have to figure it out."

There was a physical whomph of sensation within him as his own irritation broke his focus.

"Tch well thats not very generous of you."

"I cant teach you to walk astarion, i can only offer you my hand."

Astarions pout deepens and he opens his mouth to speak, but gale continues.

"If you still need help in say...give it three days. Why mess with a cliche? If you havent summoned those bats by then-

"What makes you think we will still be here in three days?"

Gale thinks of all the goblins they've fpund dead around here. The goblins theyve killed. there will be way more further out. Way more than they could realistically fell in a few days.

"Just a hunch."

[lazodiac]

ONCE MORE, we delve into the plane of Thunder Junction, in our attempt to figuring out what each plane each card is from.

Last time we finished all the monocolour cards, and you can find all of those here. I'll also been including a villainy score for Oko's gang, to see how much they count as villains... and in retrospect wish I'd done that for all the legends, since this is a VILLAIN set. Call that a project for another day...

For now though, let us enter into the wild, wild world of...

MULTICOLOUR

We open off with a big one- Akul the Unrepentant! The main antagonist of the story, a PERFECT black-hat western villain- he is fierce and evil and SMART but also you can bait him with the right words and at the end of the day he's just a right bastard with a gun. An honestly pitch-perfect villain for a villain set.

The way his scorpion mandibles make a cowboy hat silhouette, his gun-stinger tail and his fire breathing claws, he is a perfect example of what a Scorpion Dragon is and how strongly it fits the aesthetic of the plane.

But we've been told all the Scorpion Dragons are from Gastal, an obscure plane from Urza's Planeswalker novel, so they're from Gastal. I hope we go there one day and learn what that plane is like beyond its very sparse appearance elsewhere.

Annie Flash! Our first member of Oko's gang to rob Akul! She's Atiin so from the Atiin Plane, and is the only Atiin that shows up in story. We learn from her stories that her people are still out there wandering, while some settled in Thunder Junction.

Among them her nephew, who Akul afflicted with tuberculosis with his stinger (it's some kind of dark curse but given how it is described it's absolutely TB, a fitting disease for the time period). He left to join his people, because staying in bed all day half asleep from medicine is worse than suffering while awake.

At any rate, she's retired to protect the town she's ended up in... and is threatened by Oko into helping take down Akul. On the villainy scale she is a fierce 0/10. I wish she'd just shot Oko in the head.

Annie Joins Up is one of a cycle- all of the major members of Oko's gaing gets little pieces like this. They're clearly part of one singular mural but we haven't been shown it and it makes me sad.

Given the context, I'm counting these cards as Thunder Junction original.

A strange, fascinating card, it's a sherrif's sterling silver star, radiating various creature spirits out of it. Given the form of magic at play I'm gonna say this is from Alara, since it resembles the Nacatl totem magic.

Hellspur Mercenaries holding, unfortunately, YOU at knifepoint. Good luck friend cause I'm out of here.

... okay I'll stay long enough to say it again; Hellspurs threw away all ties to their home planes to become dyed in the wool magma mutants. They're from Thunder Junction now. The predominance of glowing purple and dyed hair could imply these individuals are from Kylem, but I'm sticking to my thunder-guns here.

This is the only real indication that the cactus folk are "new" to the plane, despite having lived here for generations as non-sentient cacti. I don't really like this, but whatever. Native to Thunder Junction.

The Sterling Company's shiny leader, in the vampiric flesh. Given his style he's definitely from New Capenna. He doesn't show up in the story at all, but his presence is felt by the colonizing cops that he employs.

Big ol' Bonny Pall is our distaff counterpart to Paul Bunyan, the American lumberjack of old west mythology. She's even got a massive blue ox to help her out!

She's one of the giants from Eldraine, and if I could remember where I saw blue oxen on that plane I'd tell you to confirm it.

Everyone's favorite goblin-monkey, Breeches! A secondary member of Oko's gang, though in truth his loyalties lie with his captain, Vraska. His main goal in the story is blowing things up- as is his want- and showing us that he has more self control than Gisa does.

As far as villainy goes he's a soft 2/10. Nothing he does is inherently evil, the pirates of Ixalan (his home plane) are categorically the nicest faction present there, and ultimately he's only with Oko to help Vraska betray him.

Bruse Tarl! There's absolutely no reason he should be here in the villain set, but also he's a cattle rancher who is a fan favorite on a plane where ox and cattle are well known an aesthetic so of course he's here from Zendikar, having finally found some beasties that listen to him.

Fun fact; the four visible livestock on the card include Pillarfield Ox, Ox of Agonas, Vigor, and Bartered Cow. These cards won't add to the total, but are here and that's cool.

Also fun fact: according to the card crafting stories, this card was originally Strongarm from Lorwyn/Shadowmoor! Neat!

A cactus with a gun! Native to the plane, and my friend.

Gryff's are the wonderfully unique heron-hippogryffs of Innistrad, so this beautiful bird-beast is from there.

Who????? Who are you???? You have human hands but are otherwise completely just a bear man??? The only plane where ANYTHING like this even remotely exists is fucking Blobavia, in the Un-iverse? Who are you??? Why is there no legend article for this fucking set?!?!?

I have no fucking clue where this guy could be from, but the flavor text leans me towards Arcavios. This is some random bear druid man from Quandrix House.

Eriette, the Beguiler! She's one of the secondary members of Oko's gang, despite being ostensibly the first one recruited (or at least the first recruited on screen, by Jace-as-Ashiok). She is of course from Eldraine, and even has beef with Kellan, the newest member of the gang.

Beef that she puts aside! For the mission! Because her evil plan on Eldraine was "I will treat PTSD from the invasion by offering the chance to go to sleep forever, and will coincidentally get to rule the plane" which is like, not even THAT evil? It's misguided and kinda fucked up but not like, EVIL evil? And despite anger at seeing the DIRECT guy responsible for her defeat, she still buries the hatchet. This is like, a 1/10 on the evil scale.

Also there is the slightest, slightest implication she might have poisoned Oko at the end of the story. If she did she gets a "Nahiri did nothing wrong" modifier.

This delightfully cheery grandma is from Zendikar, and is doing what she does best: climbing stuff! She's a new character as far as I can tell so we know nothing about her otherwise, but she's survived the Eldrazi and the Phyrexians and is still smiling so she's okay in my book.

Notably, she does get some fun flavor text on other cards.

The flavor text feels at odds with the vibe of what formring a posse would be- normally this sort of gearing up of the locals would be to fight AGAINST the Sterlings coming in and taking the entire plane, but I digress.

The specific sort of decorations of the town and the people involved feel Atiin to me, but I think I've gotta give this to Thunder Junction proper.

Ghired is a fascinating character to me, because he's shown up before and despite doing so still has no real character and has not contributed to any of the stories he's in. Which is a shame because he's one of the best concepts they've ever come up with, from the best plane they've ever made; he's someone on Ravnica who left one Guild to join another!

This Selesnyan shaman turned to the Gruul Clans after witnessing Illharg, the biggest of the big pigs, rise from the primal earth of the plane! Despite joining the Gruul he still has a Selesnyan connection to wildlife, and on a fully untamed plane like Thunder Junction he is THRIVING. It's so cool! He should do stuff!

It's time for a controversial legendary! It's the Gitrog monster, freshly done being Thalia's steed during the Phyrexian Invasion. He's bullfrogged his way tot Thunder Junction, and now people want to turn this one cult inspiring hypnotoad into just another wild and wacky horse to ride.

I get it. I get why people find this to be a discrediting of the Gitrog from fearsome monster to funny creature, but it honestly works? Innistrad is a plane of horrors, and what happens to horror media when it recurs? It reduces, with each iteration. The best horror film franchises start and end at one, maybe two if you're lucky, and it only takes a complete and total revitalization and reimagining to fix it.

For now, Gitrog is a funny horse, but maybe one day he'll be the monster you remember from your nightmares.

A scam artist and swindler from Innistrad, Old Honest Rutstein is a surprising pull for the plane... and yet works perfectly, as snake-oil salesmen fit the old west aesthetic perfectly. Has many a fun flavor text in the set, and notably is NOT a hellspur. He's just got some fun glowy corn husks to play with.

Was the first card from the set teased as preview art before this story arc began.

The name is a reference to Misinformation Campaign, one of the best cards from Guilds of Ravnica, but mechanically it really is more like Dovin Baan's stupid planning and plotting card.

With that in mind, and given the... strange art, I'm saying this is from Ravnica.

Jem Lightfoote, with an e, is one of the Atiin, as her flavor text implies. This is all we know about her, other than her being delightful and probably fun at parties.

Jolene Jolene, please don't go punching my man into space. This... hilarious card showcases New Capenna's premiere boxing tough knocking a guy directly out of his boots, while her horrifically photo-realistic snorse niss's menacingly behind her.

Fun fact: her magical gauntlets, which she still has and you can tell because you can see them around her fists, lets her literally punch money out of people! Every hit knocks some gold out of them, made from their blood and life.

This is directly referencing a magical item from some actual play DND podcast that I'm blanking on the name of. Maybe The Adventure Zone?

Kambal, once the Consul of Allocation of Ghirapur, in Kaladesh, was ousted from his position following the revolution, replaced with Pia, Chanra's mother. Despite losing all of his actual political power, his underworld connections didn't consume him for failure, and he survived past the Phyrexian Invasion to go on to becoming the corrupt mayor of Prosperity.

The art of him makes it look like he, as the kids these day say, is "serving cunt" and I kinda adore it.

Kellan's join up card. Thunder Junction.

And here is Kellan proper! The erstwhile hero of the "omenpath" saga of magic story, this is the first time since Eldraine that he's actually mattered in any real capacity! Here, he finally manifests the last of his birthright, the fae magics of Oko's plane, but in his heart he's still the little shepherd boy from Eldraine.

Kellan's story honestly concludes so well that I'll forgive the somewhat lackluster middle portion. He's a sweet and innocent and perfect soul. 0/10 villainy score.

Kraum is Ludevic's Opus, his perfect creation, the pinnacle of his mad stitching science. He's like two dudes connected together who can fly through electromagnetic powers. Mad scientists are silly.

I adore that Ludevic cares this much about his apprentice though. Kraum never shows up in story, which is probably for the best, but it's really funny to imagine every scene Geralf is in just has a two headed lightning crackling Frankenstein just, off in the distance watching him.

Jaspar Flint is, apparently, a Hellspur, which I can kinda see from the mutations on his hands and chest, so I suppose he's from Thunder Junction. But also there's no Viashino out there that look like desert lizards, so I do wonder where he's from... my best guess is actually Gastal, for some reason.

Lazav, successfully convincing everyone on Ravnica of his death in defense of the plane, has decided to go solo mode. So much for him and Tezzeret's plane to take over Ravnica- not that that'd ever come to fruit given it's from a book everyone hates.

I really love the art for this card.

Lilah is the leader of the Slickshots, and notably while she doesn't show up in the story proper, the secret to her and her gangs success does; a magical tincture only she can make, that empowers her and her allies with a little extra oomph to their magic.

The best way to identify a Slickshot is through their magic, and thte specific green magic she's launching out of a strange, heart-shaped bottle, suggests to me that she's actually a witch from Eldraine.

The flavor text, plus the make and model of the thunder-gun on our would-be gunfighter's side, suggests this is Atiin to me.

And that's a total of thirty! So lets take a quick break and go to part 2 momentarily!

[threerattsinatrenchcoat]

✨ Last six sentences! ✨

I was tagged by @redroomroaving

I'll tag @my-favourite-zhent @coreene @lemonsrosesandlavender

I don't know if this is the last 6 sentences I wrote or an ending, so I'm just going to pick the last 6 sentences of a fic because my current WIP is very hardcore smut, haha.

This is from my most recent SWF fic:

The lines:

Hours later, the goblin Klagga examined his new breeches. Nearby, the remains of "Brian" roasted over the fire.   Krolla took a bite. "Huh. It's true what they say. Dwarf really does taste like pork!"

[calastrophe]

miscellaneous sketches!

[ID: Four flat-color digital illustrations of characters from The Goblin Emperor. 1) A full-body drawing of Kiru Athmaza and Cala Athmaza on a pale blue background. They are standing, and Kiru is handing Cala a mug of tea. They both have pointed ears, pale skin, and straight white hair tied in a braid, though Cala’s hair falls in his face while Kiru’s is pulled back neatly. They both wear pale blue robes with paler blue shirts and pants underneath, and gray dress shoes, as well as a maroon sash with gold embroidery; Cala also has round glasses. 2) A full-body drawing of Csevet Aisava on a pale green background. He is standing and pointing ad a piece of paper held in his other hand, looking off to the side. He has pointed ears, pale skin, and long, straight white hair with one braided strand, pulled back into a low ponytail with a blue bow. He is wearing a peacock blue long jacket with teal embroidery, a teal waistcoat with darker teal embroidery, gray breeches, white stockings and jabot, and black dress shoes with silver buckles that match his earrings. 3) A waist-up drawing of Csevet on a pale blue background, sitting at a table at a 3/4 view and holding a teacup. He is looking down at the teacup and smiling, his other arm is resting on the table. He looks the same as in the previous image, sans the embroidery. 4) A shoulders-up drawing of Uleris Chavar on a pale green background. He has pointed ears, a pale but flushed wrinkled face, and long, straight white hair half up in a bun. He is wearing a green-brown suit jacket, a double-breasted teal waistcoat, and a seafoam green tie, all with faint embroidery. A gold band with a green gem fastens his tie, which matches his gold earrings. End ID.]

[bbbeternelle]

The warped flooring of the lair and soundconducting walls thereof, to say nothing of the uprights and imposts, were persianly literatured with burst loveletters, telltale stories, stickyback snaps, doubtful eggshells, bouchers, flints, borers, puffers, amygdaloid almonds, rindless raisins, alphybettyformed verbage, vivlical viasses, ompiter dictas, visus umbique, ahems and ahahs, imeffible tries at speech unasyllabled, you owe mes, eyoldhyms, fluefoul smut, fallen lucifers, vestas which had served, showered ornaments, borrowed brogues, reversibles jackets, blackeye lenses, family jars, falsehair shirts, Godforsaken scapulars, neverworn breeches, cutthroat ties, counterfeit franks, best intentions, curried notes, upset latten tintacks, unused mill and stumpling stones, twisted quills, painful digests, magnifying wineglasses, solid objects cast at goblins, once current puns, quashed quotatoes, messes of mottage, unquestionable issue papers, seedy ejaculations, limerick damns, crocodile tears, spilt ink, blasphematory spits, stale shestnuts, schoolgirl’s, young ladies’ milkmaids’, washerwomen’s, shopkeepers’ wives, merry widows’, ex nuns’, vice abbess’s, pro virgins’, super whores’, silent sisters’, Charleys’ aunts’, grandmothers’, mothers’-in-law, fostermothers’, godmothers’ garters, tress clippings from right, lift and cintrum, worms of snot, toothsome pickings, cans of Swiss condensed bilk, highbrow lotions, kisses from the antipodes, presents from pickpockets, borrowed plumes, relaxable handgrips, princess promises, lees of whine, deoxodised carbons, convertible collars, diviliouker doffers, broken wafers, unloosed shoe latchets, crooked strait waistcoats, fresh horrors from Hades, globules of mercury, undeleted glete, glass eyes for an eye, gloss teeth for a tooth, war moans, special sighs, longsufferings of longstanding, ahs ohs ous sis jas jos gias neys thaws sos yeses and yeses and yeses, to which, if one has the stomach to add the breakages, upheavals distortions, inversions of all this chambermade music one stands, given a grain of goodwill, a fair chance of actually seeing the whirling dervish, Tumult, son of Thunder, self exiled in upon his ego a nightlong a shaking betwixtween white or reddr hawrors, noondayterrorised to skin and bone by an ineluctable phantom (may the Shaper have mercery on him!) writing the mystery of himsel in furniture.

James Joyce, Finnegans Wake

[bergdg]

Great Goblin Bash: Final Round

"With great power comes great risk of getting yourself killed." - Goblin Arsonist

Well this is it folks! After weeks of eye-pokes, snarls, and gut punches, we are down to the final 4 contenders for the greatest legendary goblin printed (through March of the Machines: Aftermath)!! Our champions eagerly rose to the challenge, and each represents a different plane from across the multiverse. So let's hear it for Breeches of Ixalan, Kiki-Jiki of Kamigawa, Daretti of Fiora and Krenko of Ravnica!!

Below the cut, each of our champions have prepared a short statement on why they should be named champion. But before that, we will ask one final time:

Breeches: "We fight Dusk, mess them good. VIOLENCE! We meet up. ALE AND CARDS! We are pirates. VOTE FOR ME!"

Kik-Jiki: "Wanna know what's better than one champion? Multiple copies of the champion! Wanna know what else is great? Riding a dragon up to a sky city to steal some delicious grub. So if you're awesome like me, you know just what our combo can do."

Daretti: "Where a lesser mind sees junk, I see infinite potential... in eradicating the junk that is my competitors. I've already taken down those who once opposed me at the academy. These novices don't even stand a chance."

Krenko: "Knives are such pretty things. They catch the sunlight oh so nicely, especially when they've been shanked into something fleshy, if you get me. And those rumors about a 'mysterious' Mr. Taz? Forget 'em, doesn't matter. We all know who the real boss is around here."

@askkrenko @vorthosjay @dimestoretajic @mtgbracket

[oldschoolfrp]

I recall an illustration of a gnome-like creature labeled "kobold". Do you recall suggest a thing?

You might be thinking of this one by LEW Kattelle, from the 1922 book It's Your Fairy Tale, You Know by Elizabeth Rhodes Jackson:

I previously reblogged it here, from a post that took it from a Blogspot. The traditional "house elf" sort of kobold from European folklore probably resembled this in most people's imaginations.

There's a copy of this book on eBay at the moment with a picture open to this page, with a passage in the text calling the kobold a "grotesque figure" who was "about the size of a six-year-old, and had white hair and white whiskers and a very long white beard that reached to his waist. He appeared to be wearing a belted velvet suit, with full sleeves and breeches, and he was very stout and stocky."

After reading the question I was sure I had seen something like it in OD&D, but I must have been remembering all the other little gnomes and gnome-like drawings in the original rules. The description of kobolds in OD&D Volume 2: Monsters & Treasure just says "Treat these monsters as if they were Goblins except that they will take from 1-3 hits." Players were left to imagine any sort of goblinoid or gnomish appearance, until Sutherland's illustrations in the 1977 AD&D Monster Manual set a new standard specific to D&D.

[tess-grey-maned]

Sender take a stab for reciever.

Tess and post shadowlands Sylvanas

thank you so much!! fic below the cut :D ngl i haven't written tess in a long time and i've never written post SL sylv before so pls be nice to me!

  She’s been struggling with her memories since the soul fusion.

  Some of the faces she guides out of the Maw are familiar, their names or their deaths hovering on the tip of her tongue, just out of reach; their consciousnesses brush hers, screaming wordless obscenities at her, stabbing her with cold, condemning anger as she sends them on their way. Not once does she flinch. Not once does she fight back. She keeps her eyes down, and her focus on her penance.

  One soul, brimming with youth and broken optimism, breaks ranks and rushes at her in a swirl of Thalassian tulips, a smiling mouth open and calling her name-

  But she flings them up before they can. Insults in Darnassian she takes in stoic silence. To hear herself condemned in her own tongue would… hurt.

  There are no days in the Maw, and Sylvanas rarely allows herself rest. She stumbles from one lost soul to another, worn down like a cog in the Azerite machines she can’t quite remember the blueprints for anymore (were there three levers or four? One goblin operator or two?) On occasion she cleans her leathers. When her boots go into holes, she hunts Maw-touched beasts to replace the soles.

  There are no hours in the Maw, no sunrises or sunsets, nothing familiar, nothing she can cling to. But no matter the circumstances, no Windrunner would be too tired or disorientated to recognise she was being followed.

  Followed by the living, no less.

  They’re good, she’ll give them that. Their footsteps are too soft even for her hearing. They cling to the shadows like a child to a blanket. But they are still human, and so she guides one more soul upwards, flinching at the psychic bellow of IHATEYOUIHATEYOUMURDERERBUTCHER it jabs her with as it’s pulled away.

  Then she turns to the rock beside her, and folds her arms.

  “Princess Greymane. An unexpected- surprise.” She has to pause to cough mid-sentence. She’s had no need for words since her sentence began; her throat feels dry and clogged. “What brings you- ahem- to the Maw?”

  “Oh, bollocks to it,” comes from behind the rock, and Tess Greymane emerges, brushing her own breeches off. “I should have known the Banshee Queen would sniff me out. What gave me away? Did I leave a footprint?”

  “To your credit, no. I did indeed sniff you out.” Sylvanas shifts her weight onto one leg. “You had roasted Gilnean boar for lunch, with a seasoning mixture from the Gilnean royal family’s cookbook. My spies were nothing if not thorough.” And, when Tess only blinks in response: “Though the recipe originated in Quel’Thalas. The Dawnstrider family. No. No, the Dawntreader- no- why are you here?”

  “Well, make your mind up!” Tess’ fists are clenched above the pommels of her daggers. “I want you to lead me to Liam. The Arbiter says he hasn’t passed through yet. He’s still down here somewhere and… well, I… you’re uniquely placed to…” She pauses. Her mouth works silently. “Erm, locate him,” she finishes, uncertainly.

  “… And who is Liam?”

  The screech that rips itself from Tess’ throat has Sylvanas stepping backwards sharply. “I beg your- how dare- what do you mean, who is Liam?” She lunges for Sylvanas, eyes wild. “My BROTHER! You MURDERED him!”

  “You must understand-” There are so many I killed here, how could I possibly know where one is, which one was he-

  “You fucking murdered my brother and you don’t even REMEMBER!” One flailing fist grabs Sylvanas by the collar; she jolts forwards with a grunt. “Let me enlighten you, you rotting bitch, you conquered my homeland and you slew my brother, yeah? Sound familiar?”

  “I-”

  “Don’t give me that shit! Nobody fucking forgets something like that! I don’t care if your fucking Scourge brains are turning to fucking liquid between those knife-ears, I want you to find Liam so he can be at peace, so that my family has justice, and so that my father will finally fucking accept he’s gone!”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Like me!”

  Of course. But long red hair in a ponytail, where hers is raven-black (like Minn’da’s). Steely faced- it was obviously his first battle. He was on horseback. A blade in one hand, a blade with gleaming runes, the dewdrops froze on her skin as he charged her down no he held a torch he was another human prince it impaled her and it stole the air from her lungs, it cut her so deep, cut her soul

  “-Windrunner! Fucking snap out of it!”

  She jerks back to reality as Tess Greymane slaps her in the face.

  “Ow,” she says, on nothing but instinct.

  And Tess- actually rolls her eyes, like a gossiping maid-servant. “Oh, come on. That didn’t hurt.”

  “No. No, it didn’t. Though if you want to tell everyone on Azeroth that you hurt me, I’m sure they would be delighted to know.”

  One hand still gripping her collar, Tess tilts her head, staring at Sylvanas. “You know,” she says, and wets her lips with the tip of her tongue, “I always thought of you as this malevolence. This wordless evil in the dark. A brooding, ruthless assassin who stole my brother away. And you’re just a-”

  “You’re not the first to call me a monster, and you won’t be the last.” Tess’ brows furrow. “For what it is worth,” Sylvanas continues, and gently untangles Tess’ fist from her shirt, “I had no quarrel with your brother, nor your country. Garrosh- whom I did have a quarrel with- he gave me the “choice” of staying together and risking my people’s annihilation in a hopeless, pointless war with Gilneas, or watching my people be carved up into regiments and thrown at the Alliance until none of us remained.” She shrugs. “Obviously, I chose the former. I cannot apologise for acting in my people’s interests.”

  “Well,” Tess snaps, “I won’t apologise for acting in my people’s interests.”

  And she slaps Sylvanas hard enough to send her stumbling backwards.

  There’s a pause, as Sylvanas silently prods at her teeth one by one with her tongue.

  “No ‘ow’ this time?”

  “My apologies. Ow.”

  “Huh.”

  The silence falls again.

  “I… fuck’s sake. I thought this would give me closure too. But I knew it was Garrosh. He admitted it all at the trial. I-” Tess’ shoulders slump. “He… he was really going to do that to the Forsaken? Deliberately send you to your deaths?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us or something? Pretend to invade? We could have-”

  “You would have slaughtered us on sight, like every other human nation.”

  Tess opens her mouth, the beginning of a protest on her lips-

  And promptly closes it. Sighs, heavily, and plops down on the rock beside her. “Yes,” she admits. “Yes. We would have.”

  “And Garrosh knew that too.”

  “Fuck him.”

  “That,” Sylvanas says, and prods her face to check for any blood, “we can agree on.”

  “Yes.”

  Finding nothing but dry, cold, lifeless skin, Sylvanas straightens herself up, hands folding behind her back. “If you are willing to help guide me to him, I am willing to find your brother. It may take some time. The Maw is a hostile environment to living creatures.” Even now, a presence is creeping nearer, and she readies herself for another psychic bombardment from a night elven soul. “Many adventurers died here in their attempts to stop Zovaal, and many condemned entities remain even after his demise. Entities that will slaughter anything living they come across.” Is that a soul? Do you need guidance?

  No, comes the guttural answer. Sylvanas stiffens.

  Tess stares at her, oblivious to the shadow materialising behind her. “But our reports said there was nothing-”

  “MAWSWORN!” Sylvanas shouts, and dives at Tess to throw her away from the dagger that lodges in her stomach instead.

  The Mawsworn rears back with a screech, dragging a second blade from its holster and Sylvanas yanks the dagger from her belly just in time to parry the killing blow with it. “He’s gone,” she cries. “Zovaal is gone!”

  “BETRAYER!” Their blades clash so hard it sets Sylvanas’ ears ringing. Her feet scrabble desperately for purchase in the dust. “THE WORLD MUST BE BROKEN!”

  “He,” she pants, feinting this way and that way for some sort of opening, “is-”

  There THERE her blade flashes in to puncture its heart just as Tess’ buries itself in its back and the Mawsworn screams in agony, flailing at her wailing at her and they jump back from its death throes.

  “Dead,” she finishes as it dissolves.

  The cloud dissipates to reveal Tess, one shirt sleeve bloodied, staring dumbly at her.

  “You… you saved me.” A hand comes up to point at Sylvanas’ belly. “You- you actually took a dagger for me. You did.”

  Sylvanas looks down at herself. At the black blood oozing lazily from the stab wound to her belly. The sluggish, half-forgotten ache of her cold body going through the motions of mending.

  She looks back up at Tess.

  “Oh, right,” she says. “Ow.”