#directly to Ketheric's face

[y-rhywbeth2]

Meeting Isobel with Durge is always fun, both for the fact that Durge's first impulse is to declare their desire to vivisect and cannibalise her and for the fact that I just know this scenario is Ketheric's worst nightmare. Like if you asked him whether he'd rather have Isobel in a room alone with Aylin or Durge he'd have a hell of a time deciding which he hates more.

[amorgansgal]

A Moment in Moonrise Towers Library

Big thank you to @12thhouse-sun for letting me be inspired by their fic you're at the top of my lungs (a wonderful Gale x Tav fic and is well worth a read) and allowing me to write a smutty scene involving Gale x Female reader in the Moonrise Tower library post Ketheric fight! Hope you enjoy this homage.

CW: Sexual content, touch of dominance/submission, very brief mentions of blood and injury

The portal Dame Aylin had conjured led you all back to the doorway that you had first gone through to reach the eponymous towers that made up Moonrise. You stumbled a little on the first step, your heart was still racing after the battle, your skin covered in bruises, sweat and blood - some of yours, some of the other creatures you had fought. So while you longed for a good hot bath, some bread and cheese, and your bedroll, you knew you’d be unlikely to sleep with how shaky you felt. 

Thankfully your lover, Gale, caught hold of your arm, stopping yourself from falling flat on your face down the rest of the stairs. It would hardly do for a conquering hero to make a bit of a fool of themselves! You were about to crack a similar joke to Gale while thanking him for coming to your aid, but on turning to him, and catching his gaze, you faltered. 

His eyes were dark, much darker than even their usual warm brown depths would be, and the slight flair of his nostrils and tightened grip on your arm made you pause. He inhaled sharply as though he longed to press his nose against your neck and you remembered how he had once said he found you utterly desirable in the heat of battle with your muscles glistening! At the time you had, more or less, dismissed the notion as just a bit of silly flirting, a little bit of fun with not much to it… but given how he was staring at you, as though he would practically devour you… maybe he had been skirting around the truth. Or… well… pointing you directly at it!

Gale’s tongue darted out to wet his lips and you saw him shift his weight, curving his back a little and finally letting go of your arm to rearrange his robes. You glanced down, then cursed yourself for doing something so stupid in front of the others, though thankfully everyone seemed to be distracted and were already moving off to go back down to the main hall. But you were quite certain that Gale was hard. 

You tried to act like you hadn’t even noticed and began to follow the others along the hallway to the stairs, but before you could catch up Gale took hold of your arm again and whisked you into what had been Moonrise Tower’s library before you could even let out a cry of surprise. The door was shut behind you and you didn’t even have a chance to ask, ‘Gale, what are you doing?’ He pressed his body tightly against yours and was kissing you as though you might disappear, his hands cupping your face, running down your sides, round your back until you were flush against him and he was grinding his hard length into you. 

The growing ache between your thighs made you whimper against his mouth and suddenly he pulled you round the corner of bookshelves to where Z’rell’s desk was. An absolutely devilish gleam entered Gale’s eyes and he pushed all of the books, papers, quills and so forth that had been scattered on there onto the floor. 

He grinned. ‘I’ve always wanted to do that, but hesitated when it came to my own desk!’

A laugh bubbled up in your chest, but Gale easily picked you up and then plonked you down on the desk, his lips continuing their onslaught of passion and desire as he kissed down your jaw and neck. ‘Gods, I was so worried about you,’ he murmured.

‘I was fine,’ you said softly, your head tipped back, enjoying the kisses he was burning into your skin. ‘We did it, we defeated him.’

‘I’ll never not worry about you, my love. And the moment the battle was done, I wanted nothing more than to take you into my arms, to claim you, to become one with you-’

‘Well I’m glad you waited until we found a private spot, I’m not sure how the others would feel about that, but we should get downstairs…’

Gale outright growled and you let out a breathless laugh as his fingers eagerly scrabbled with the ties on your breeches, tugging them down to your ankles. ‘Gale!’ you cried out quietly, but he seized your mouth in another passionate kiss till you felt like he was trying to pull every bit of air from your lungs and leave you dizzy. 

‘Shh, my love, we have to be quick.’

‘Gale!’ you whispered, attempting to be scandalised that he was actually considering this: fucking you desperately and quickly in the quiet, dark library while your companions, friends and allies were downstairs. When in truth it sent a shiver of desire coursing through you and the brief touch of his fingers against your cunt made it downright clear how sopping wet you were just from the delicious notion of him claiming you after a battle, how much it turned you on seeing his dark, wild look. 

He smiled, triumphantly, wickedly, his beautiful brown eyes gleamed in the half light and finally his clever fingers slipped between your thighs, drenching themselves in your slick and circling your clit till you let out a pathetic whimper and instinctively bucked against his touch. 

‘Gods damn,’ he whispered, his voice hoarse with lust. ‘Evidently I’m not the only one who finds a scrape with death inspiring!’ 

‘Gale!’ you whined and felt his soft chuckle of laughter, as he pressed kisses to your throat, his fingers easily slipping inside of you, the palm of his hand grinding against your clit, making you thrust your hips, needily seeking out your pleasure. 

‘You’re so wet,’ he whispered, his voice tickling your ear. ‘Did I do that, my love? Do you want me to take you here, fuck you on this desk, claim the hero of Reithwin?’

You didn’t even have it in you to argue that the whole group were the heroes of Reithwin and of course, he was utterly to blame for the slick between your thighs, the domineering, passionate kiss he had given you made you weak with longing. You nodded pathetically and eagerly reached for him, uncaring whether anyone downstairs noticed your absence or whether they would try to look for you. You pushed aside his robe, unlacing him and freeing his hard cock from the confines of cloth. Gale hissed as your hand stroked him, smearing down the precum that beaded at the end of his cock down the length.

‘Be quick,’ you demanded and his smile widened. He placed your hand back on the desk, then found your slit once more with his fingers, sliding one inside and making you drop your head back to moan.

‘Quiet, darling, you don’t want anyone to hear us,’ he murmured, though he was still looking very pleased with himself and you were quite certain he did not care a jot whether anyone else heard your cries of pleasure. There had already been a few teasing comments and displeased looks from your companions on a couple of occasions when you hadn’t been able to bite back your moans in camp. Gale rarely tried to stifle his either and kept up a running stream of how good you looked, how much he wanted you, how wonderful you felt, how badly he needed to hear your pleasure. 

He slid his cock back and forth against your slit, then easily sunk into you, his fingers tightly digging into your thighs, his groan buried against your neck and turning into a sharp bite. You gasped at the sensation and whimpered at the feel of his long cock nestled deep inside you. His warm tongue laved at the mark now left on your neck, soothing it. 

‘Gods, I will never get used to how good you feel,’ Gale said, then slowly pulled his hips back, till just an inch of him was left inside you and then quickly thrusting into you, making the desk jolt underneath you. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, wanting him closer, but he suddenly pushed you down on the desk and draped your arms back so you were clinging to a corner of the desk. 

‘Keep those legs wrapped tightly around me, my love,’ he said, then placed a hand against a nearby bookshelf and began to fuck you, hard and fast. 

It was relentless, desperate, the culmination of all the emotions and fear you had felt during battle, a deep seated need to touch and make sure the other person was alive and well, the adoration and love you felt for one another. The bookshelf creaked under Gale’s clenched grip, the desk groaned and you cared nothing at all if anyone heard you. You moaned loudly as Gale’s other hand returned to your clit, stroking and circling it quickly, bringing you almost painfully to your pleasure, an inescapable wave and rush of utter bliss. 

He continued to thrust into you, his eyes gazing down on you, drinking you in, his brow furrowed a little, his breath coming short and fast, his groans joining yours in a cacophony of lust in the quiet library. Finally he almost collapsed onto you, the last few thrusts were short but deep, pressing himself all the way inside you, Gale panting against your cheek, his eyes closed, a few unthinking kisses pressed against your cheek and jaw and lips. Then he was still, the warm weight of his body over yours, your legs still wrapped around him.

‘Gods, I needed that,’ Gale murmured, his throat sounded a little rough and dry. ‘I needed you.’ He gently cupped your face and then kissed you, now so sweetly and gentle that it felt almost impossible to think that desperate, domineering man who had yanked you into the library and this soft, sweet man were one and the same. ‘You are so beautiful, so wondrous, everything about you… gods… it’s beyond words, beyond any magic I could conjure, you are…’

‘Shh,’ you whispered. ‘You are incredible too,’ you leaned your head back again and got your breath back. ‘That was good… very good.’

‘Not too fast?’

‘I liked it fast. I liked how much you wanted me.’

‘Oh, you have no idea!’ Gale chuckled, then manoeuvred himself off you and offered a hand to help you up. He gave you one last searing kiss, his arm wrapped around your waist when he felt your knees buckle a little. He then rested his forehead against yours and you breathed in the scent of him, even if he did smell slightly of sweat, blood and ash. ‘I love you, my dearest, darling heart,’ he said.

‘I love you too.’

You both quickly tidied yourself away and headed back downstairs to join the others. At first you thought that maybe no one had missed you, that everyone was so busy talking and celebrating the battle being won and done, that you had timed your little jaunt well. But as you walked down the stairs Astarion caught your eye. He raised an all too familiar mocking eyebrow and smirked. 

‘Where were you?’ he asked.

‘Just seeing if there was anything in the library worth taking,’ you muttered, avoiding his gaze.

‘Well evidently you found something worth the taking!’ he teased, pointedly staring at Gale who had been pulled into a conversation with Jaheira and Halsin. ‘Or was it Gale who did the taking?’

[galedekarios]

gale & curing the orb - early access

writing my current series of cut content from early access made me think a lot, especially about how curing gale of the orb might have originally worked out if larian had kept to what had been set up in early access. it's no secret that a lot of things were changed or cut entirely, big and small, like for instance halsin's involvement with ketheric's fall, isobel and the shadow curse.

gale's condition, too, seemed different then.

what exactly was different in early access?

while only a few body models were unique in early access, gale's key art showed his left arm in bandages.

in early access, auntie ethel had vicious mockery lines, which hinted what might be beneath those bandages:

Auntie Ethel: I can smell what's under those bandages, wizard. You're all rot and ruin. Come to greet death early? You'll be a lovely spectacle.

we also had information from gale directly as to what happened to karsus in the aftermath of casting his spell:

Player: I was wondering about that “mighty lord” you told me about in your story. Gale: Ah, yes. Karsus Karsus was perhaps the most powerful wizard that ever lived. The child-who-would-be-a-god, the elves called him. And he tried. With a spell of his own devising he endeavoured to usurp in one fell swoop the power of the goddess of magic.  Mystryl, she was called then. Imagine what it must have felt like. To be a god. To know yourself to be untouchable. To be mistaken. As Karsus aimed his spell at her she began to unravel, and with her, the entire Weave. Too late did he realize what he had unleashed. It would have been the end of everything had not Mystryl sacrificed herself.  Gale: The goddess of magic is all magic. By dying, the entire weave was lost, and the spell that challenged a god failed. It was the end of Mystryl, the end of Karsus, and the end of an entire civilization. As the child-who-would-be-a-god was turned to stone, his empire came crashing down around him. The floating cities of Netheril were no more. An event that came to be known as Karsus’ folly.

which is in accordance with the lore:

Unfortunately, his choice was a terrible mistake, for one of the responsibilities of the deity of magic was to regulate the flow of magic to and from all beings, spells, and magic items in the world. Lacking the ability to do so properly, magic surged and fluctuated. With her last remaining bit of power, Mystryl sacrificed herself to block Karsus's access to the Weave, causing all magic to fail. The flying cities of Netheril plummeted to the earth. The severing of the link also killed Karsus and transformed him into stone, and the last thing he saw was his entire civilization being destroyed because of his actions. This was to be known as Karsus's Folly. The stone form of Karsus eventually landed in a part of the High Forest, now called the Dire Wood. The city of Karse was built around its base. Karsus was never accepted as a petitioner by any god, nor did he go to the Fugue Plane when he died. Instead, his soul was bound to the Material Plane. Those with experience in pact magic could call up his vestige, where he appeared as a giant blood-red boulder, like the one found in the High Forest where his petrified form landed. Blood burbles up from the top of the stone, trickling down the side facing the summoner, pooling at the base. When he spoke, the pool fountained upwards, its height varying on the volume of his voice.

the netherese orb then seemed to have a immediate visible physical effect on gale, in addition to the ones that carried to the full release version of the game.

so putting these clues together, i think it's safe to say that the orb caused gale in early access to be afflicted with some form of corrupted petrification, which makes sense given that it's a piece of magic unleashed during karsus's folly.

at that point, this corruption seemed to be affecting his left arm the most, perhaps either from opening the book containing the netherese magic with it, or trying to shield himself with it - but that's just speculation on my part.

so what did the early access set up in terms of curing gale from his affliction?

gale in early access showed a great interest in the astral plane, especially in the absence of time there. he has several banters with lae'zel, which are still in the game now and showing his vested interest in the astral plane as well as any knowledge or insight lae'zel might offer on it:

Gale asks Lae'zel about the Astral Plane. Has she been there? Gale: Tell me, Lae'zel, what is it like on the Astral Plane? Your home realm intrigues me. Lae'zel: Githyanki lay their eggs on other planes. They cannot mature in the Astral. Lae'zel: I will only be welcomed once I obtain a mind flayer's head.

lae'zel notices gale's interest and initiates a banter of her own:

Lae'zel asks Gale what his interest is in the Astral plane, and he equivocates Lae'zel: Tell me, Gale: what is your interest in the Astral Plane? Gale: Time. Or rather: the absence of it. In the Astral Plane, everything is eternal. Lae'zel: It will be my home soon enough, should Vlaakith will it.

in addition to these banters, which clearly show gale's interest in the astral plane - which now in the full release seems merely academic - hinted at another solution to ridding himself of the orb.

what points to that quite conclusively is gale's dialogue when he reveals the truth about the orb to the protagonist.

this reveal differs quite significantly from the full release version. most notably, the protagonist was able to ask him about his own ideas for a what might be able to cure him from the orb.

gale had something very interesting to say to that question:

Player: What would permanently rid you of the orb? Gale: The orb was kept safe and inert in a pocket of Astral Plane, suspended in time. If I can somehow manage to expel it from my body while in the Astral Plane, it will be rendered inert again. Alternatively, I could learn to control it’s chaotic magic, that is; to succeed where I failed before. But without Mystra’s favour, I don’t see how that may come to pass. Of course there could be different answers as well. Faerun brims with more magic than any one wizard could fathom, let alone comprehend. Who knows what outlandish solutions may yet present themselves?

so what does this all mean?

in conclusion, i believe originally there were either more ways to cure gale from the orb - or maybe even in a different manner entirely - than there are in the full release version of the game (begging mystra to remove it, ascension, or accepting/keeping the orb).

perhaps even one that would circumvent having to beg mystra for forgiveness entirely, without gale having to sacrifice his mortality to do so.

i think these banters and lines of dialogue show that the astral plane, which would have rendered the orb inert and stopped the corrupted petrification of his body, would have played a bigger role in gale's quest.

[meldingintheunderdark]

Halsin's ending is not a beautiful, pain free dream

I don't know if this opinion is unpopular because my return to tumblr is so recent, but hear me out. I will not speak about Tavs since I don't ever play them. My post will be solely focused on Halsin solo romanced by the Dark Urge, i.e. Sszazar who fought tooth and nail for redemption.

Rationally, I understand that some players are satisfied with his ending, yet I find it soul crushing all the same. It's the perfect example, nay, the quintessence of Halsin's problems. A messy knot of unaddressed traumas, of questionable decisions, the embodiment of his perpetual fuite en avant (rushing ahead to avoid something, to repeat actions that led to a first crisis).

His project is a clear attempt to fulfill needs forever denied: to have a family of his own, a community where he's at long last free from the shackles of leadership, or even to follow his own path as a druid, away from the suffocating traditions of the Emerald Enclave. A commendable project, but too ambitious for one man.

Indeed, Halsin's plan is his and his alone. Although he spoke of his desire to have a family or to help the unfortunate children, the PC is not directly involved in preparing the commune. They are kept in the dark until Halsin is ready to leave without them.

Halsin single-handedly shoulders the planning and the responsabilities that the future settlement entails. Needless to say, for centuries now, he has favored a paradoxical approach of avoidance and obsessive behavior combined with extreme guilt trip to deal with his own troubles, even distorting traumas to make them palatable. In my opinion, his solitary preparation is the expression of said approach.

They won. Faerûn is saved. The shadow curse is no more. It could be the ideal time to slow down, to assess the extent of damage after such a nerve-racking adventure. Yet Halsin is already rushing into another long lasting project involving countless settlers, among them nine whole wagons of children. He's restless. Instead of turning inward to acknowledge his shortcomings, to simply heal, he barrels along at full speed, continuing his never-ending cycle of avoidance. What about his failings as the archdruid of the Emerald Grove? A group of haggard tieflings and his absence were sufficient to let hate and cruelty fester amongst his druids. How did he fail to notice the rampant corruption? Were the Shadow Druids manipulating his people under his nose? Why did he welcome the refugees, exhausted and traumatized, only to abandon them because Aradin was going to the shattered sanctum?

Halsin must do everything alone. He welcomes the tieflings. He leaves with Aradin because he must deal with the shadow curse. Survivor guilt. If it's about himself, his most vulnerable side, then Halsin oft deals in absolutes.

Ironically, he cannot save Thaniel and his realm on his own. Although far-fetched, I personally interpret Halsin's personal questline as his reflection.

Halsin's questline is his reflection

He's obsessed with the shadow curse, without a true confident for a good century, and neglects his druids and the tieflings he decided to shelter. Out of the blue, he chooses mercenaries to support him in his irrepressible, compulsive endeavor. Unfortunately, wrong team, they fail. He is then caged like a rabid animal, at the mercy of goblins who don't communicate with him at all. There is nobody to listen to him, to his worries, to his needs. He's once again alone, like he had been with the drow captors.

The PC gives him his freedom back when no one else would, thus he faces his main fixation obsessively with this newfound support. And yet... Who listens to him? Who finds Art Cullagh? Who finds the lute? Who finds Oliver? Who kills Ketheric? The PC.

He goes to the Shadowfell to find Thaniel, alone, protected by his allies. He wants that light, that friendship, that support. (The portal with a warm, comforting glow attacked by shadows, the fact he can die if the portal is destroyed while he's seeking Thaniel… The portal could be a representation of Halsin, of the positive changes he yearns for, but he cannot progress as he's attacked by doubts, old pains, traumas.) He comes back with Thaniel, split in half. Thaniel and Oliver are reunited by the PC who, if the right options are selected, encourages Halsin to soothe Oliver.

During the last push to chase the shadows, if he's in the team to vanquish Ketheric, he's supported and led by the PC.

I know my interpretation is highly disputable, nevertheless, his questline is so him. That positive side, Thaniel, hollow. The darkness, Oliver, deeply lost and lonely, surrounded with shades that are his pseudo friends. Thaniel and Oliver are stronger together, however the curse is still overwhelming. The PC carries Halsin all the way till the shadow curse is lifted.

And the very last cutscene is all about Halsin and the PC watching nature blooming once again. Hope for a better, brighter future.

Halsin: I don't deserve you, my friend.

Halsin needs support. Don't get me wrong, he's a capable adult. He can take care of himself. Yet the glaive (though it was in EA) ended in a lone, secluded vault. Out of sight, out of mind. Halsin has been alone for so many years that he craves the support of his trusted equal to progress. It doesn't make him weaker or less of an adult. It's merely a lot less wearing to be helped by someone who reciprocates care happily and willingly.

The consequences for the commune and the orphans

All that scarcely credible yapping about his questline to say that Halsin tends to shoulder responsabilities alone, too many, far too many, with little to no self-empathy. That, without proper support, he tends to fail and hurt himself, to repeat situations which have already wounded him in the past (cf. my post about the drow twins). So, what does it mean for the commune?

I assume he will fail to nurture an environment without a vertical organizational structure at first. The hierarchy won't be similar to the Grove's, however he will become the de facto leader because he cannot for the life of him acknowledge his deepest, most painful shortcomings. Case in point:

Halsin: All these months, and I haven't been away from what we built together. There's a whole community out in Thaniel's realm that has never known a day without our presence. Halsin: Being away from it... I cannot help but worry how they will fare in our absence.

He will surround himself with like-minded people, nevertheless, we must not ignore the fact he's an archdruid, a 350 years old elf as he loves to repeat, and one of the saviors of Baldur's Gate. His experience, his fame and his tendency to burden himself are a recipe for disaster. Six months after the Elder Brain's defeat, the commune depends heavily on him. He fled leadership, only to become a leader again.

Halsin: At last count, there were nine whole wagons of children in tow. They are my duty now. 'Daddy Halsin', they call me. Who am I to tell them otherwise?

The Daddy Halsin has been "memed" to death. From my point of view, it's jarring. When Halsin reveals his plan, he barely mentions adults and doesn't associate them with the kids. His statement is crystal clear. The nine wagons of children are his duty. He's their caregiver, their new father figure. Not one parent, or one guardian among many, but the one they call Daddy. From his point of view, the concept of family seems to be eminently traditional.

Halsin: I just hope the children get by without me there for their bedtime stories...

Ultimately, the orphans will be neglected temporarily because Halsin cannot provide the necessary parenting, the emotional support nor the individual time any child deserves on his own. Furthermore, these children are extremely vulnerable. Abandoned, parents and siblings killed by the Absolute forces, who knows? It may last a week, but Halsin needs to realize first that he cannot be their only Daddy, otherwise he will hurt them. Not out of malice, not on purpose, just because he's deeply entrenched in his views and his longings.

The Dark Urge

Halsin is overly positive about the refugees wishing "to praise the savior of Baldur's Gate", adding that "quite a few little fans will be overjoyed to make your acquaintance". I won't ever believe that every single settler will be in awe of The Dark Urge, a war criminal, a murderer and a former Bhaalspawn. I can't imagine no one would demand revenge, swift and brutal justice, that nobody would directly conflate Sszazar and the destruction of their home, the death of their friends, their lovers, their families. That everyone will be levelheaded, willing to forgive and forget, or downright clueless about his identity. Not everybody will be magnanimous like Alfira. Would Halsin choose to lie by omission or be truthful about his lover's bloody past? A commune built on such a massive lie won't withstand the revelation of this ugly secret.

Henceforth, people who suffered because of the cult will be exposed, day after day, to the sole surviving Absolute mastermind. The cause of their plight is their next-door neighbor. At first, it will surely go beyond petty disagreements. Some may leave and never return. Halsin's reputation may be tarnished since he loves and shelters a war criminal. He sold them his dream without the Dark Urge because he was persuaded to be unworthy of commitment and love.

All in all, I don't think his dream will crash and burn, but I believe the canon scenario forces the happy ending devoid of nuances upon the player. Truth be told, I imagine the commune will go through a rough patch, especially if the Dark Urge is present. I won't even talk about the logistical side of the commune. Tending the crops, buying tools, managing resources, so many details... With luck, Thaniel is a real powerhouse and can heal his realm in the blink of an eye. I doubt it.

Halsin's ending is, as depicted in game, a beautiful nightmare.

[09/15/24 - edited for clarity, grammar and to highlight that I hc Halsin's failures as temporary]

[mumms-the-word]

Choosing to Live

Pairing: Gale x Tav (you/reader POV) Summary: Shortly after Gale decides to defy his goddess and not self-destruct in the caverns below Moonrise Towers, you turn and see him struggling with the conflicting emotional fallout of his decision. CW: death, suicidal ideation, panic attacks, survivor's guilt (implied), coercion (implied) A/N: I was inspired by @gangstagandalf's emotional fanart of Gale and Tav just after Moonrise. It's not quite the same scene as their art but I just couldn't resist writing my own angst version. Check them out, their art is lovely! @gangstagandalf I hope you don't mind if I borrowed a few of your lines from your original post! (Pic is of my tav Dani because that’s all I got) UPDATE: Now on AO3 woooo

You watch as the husk of Ketheric Thorm collapses at your feet, a hollow shell of dessicated flesh and heavy armor. You’ve done it at last—you’ve defeated the Bone Lord’s Chosen, the first of three enemies who have enslaved an Elder Brain through the power of some sort of crown it bears. 

At the thought of the crown, you turn your head, seeking out the person who had first pointed out the crown to you. It was the thing that seemed to wake him from his reluctant obedience to his goddess’s command. There had been hunger in his eyes, more than you’d ever seen in him before, and for a brief moment you had thought yourself and him safe from the commands of the goddess of magic and mysteries.

But then he’d steeled himself. You’d watched as he physically and mentally struggled with the weight of the goddess’s demands, preparing himself for what he thought was inevitable.

Death. Destruction. Catastrophe. But one that would supposedly thwart mass enslavement at the whims of an elder brain and three evil Chosen. A noble sacrifice, but one that would kill dozens of innocent lives, too.

You don’t remember what all you said in those panicked seconds between him making his decision and you being dragged into a battle against Ketheric. You recall, vaguely, that you had clutched his robe in your hands and told him you loved him. There had been other words, too, but they were lost to your memory. Whatever it was, it had been enough. Because as of this moment, the elder brain has disappeared, Ketheric is dead, and you are not.

Your eyes find him, your love, your Gale, standing on a far platform where he had climbed to better aim and prepare his spells. He stands, leaning against his staff, panting, staring at the lifeless and inert body of Ketheric at your feet, and then his gaze shifts to you. You, covered in your blood and Ketheric’s black, fetid ichor, in bone dust and illithid matter. You probably look horrible, you think. You know you should bend down to examine Ketheric’s body and see what the glowing stone in his chest is all about, but you can’t look away from your love. Not now.

Not when you were so close to losing him to his goddess’s arbitrary and cold demand. 

But you didn’t. He’s alive. He’s alive. The thought pumps outward from your heart, warm and reassuring like the blood rushing through your own veins, reminding you that you too are alive. Your only thoughts now are of closing the distance between the two of you and peppering his face with kisses, telling him how proud you are of him, how brave he’s been, how much you love him. But as you take a step toward his platform, a shift in him gives you pause.

He slowly kneels down, still leaning heavily on his staff, and for a moment you think he’s praying, in the same way Shadowheart kneels to pray to her goddess. But no, his eyes are wide, staring, unfixed, not closed and reverent. After a moment, he sits fully on the ground, his staff falling with a clatter against the surface of the platform, and he buries his face in his hands.

You go to him immediately, using a last rare scrap of magic to misty step directly onto his platform. He’s shaking with fine, shuddering tremors as you approach, your steps cautious and soft but your heart aching and yearning to rush over. You reach out a hand, your own fingers trembling as they hover suspended above him, and you whisper his name uncertainly.

“Gale?”

You hear his voice but his words are muffled by his hands. You bend closer, making out fragments as his words tumble forth in a soft, whispered babble.

“Oh gods, oh gods,” he gasps. “I nearly—I almost—I could have—the orb. What have I done—”

“Gale,” you say again, finally kneeling in front of him and laying a hand on his shoulder. He jolts at the touch, stiff and startled by you, but you don’t let it deter you. You squeeze his shoulder in what you hope is a reassuring touch, even as the tears threaten to choke you as you watch and feel him tremble. “It’s all right. We’re safe. My love, you’re safe.”

He lowers his hands, one clenching the fabric of his robe over his chest, his breaths coming shallow and quick. His gaze on you is so different than before, all the warmth and steadiness and gentle, shy uncertainty that came with looking at you replaced with abject horror and unfocused panic. You get the sense he isn’t really seeing you, but staring through you to some theoretical what-if nightmare. One where you didn’t make it out alive. 

“I very nearly killed us all,” he mumbles, still clutching his chest. "I nearly killed you."

“But you didn’t—”

“I was so close to—to—th-the orb, I could feel it stirring, like it wanted me to—” He breaks off, his hand tightening in the fabric of his robe. The mark of the orb glows faintly, the barest hint of illuminated magic threading upward toward his eye, casting an orchid-purple sheen to his dark iris. He bends forward slightly, combing a hand roughly through his hair and clutching brown and gray strands tightly in his fist, his eyes wide. You half-expect him to be sick as he presses his other hand flat against his chest, breathing heavily. “And now I’ve defied my goddess. I—”

He turns suddenly, sharply, twisting to prop himself up on hands and knees away from you as his body rebels against him and he retches. Very little comes up—he hasn’t been eating well since you first stepped into Moonrise and he found himself faced with the very real possibility of sacrificing his life—but his body shudders and bucks violently as it attempts to dispel everything inside him. Not just the contents of his empty stomach but the fear and loathing and terror too. 

You don’t shy away from him. You shift closer, sitting on your knees at his side as his body settles into little shivers, his hands pressed flat into the surface of the platform. Your eyes are burning with tears now and you want to sob, your heart shattering for this man, your love, your heart’s song, but you have to be strong for him. You smooth his hair from his face, fingers brushing against his sweat-slick skin, and you cradle his feverish cheek in your palm. You say the only words you know to say and you repeat them as many times as you have to before they break through the haze of his clouded mind and resonate within him.

“Shh. You’re safe, my love. I’m here. I’m here with you. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, my love. You are safe.”

He leans into you and you gather him in your arms, rocking you both gently as he rests his head on your shoulder and wraps his arms around one of your arms. His shoulder is awkwardly pressed into your chest and he’s half-curled into your lap, weighing your knees uncomfortably down into ground, but you don’t mind. Discomfort and awkwardness don’t matter. What matters is that he is alive and so are you. You remind him of that in words, in your stream of murmured comforts, along with all the rest. 

It takes several long moments for his breathing to even out again, and another few for him to finally rest against you without an errant shiver wracking his body. But he calms at last. The tears on your face have since dried, but your heart aches no less than before. To think that your love would suffer so for making the right choice—the choice to live—but to suffer nonetheless out of a sense of guilt and fealty to a goddess that had thrown him aside like a broken toy.

It fills you with an uncommon rage. The gods are ever cruel, but the goddess of magic—you dare not even give her the honor of her name in your own thoughts—she is among the worst in your eyes. Even now, as your love struggles to compose himself, it isn’t a goddess’s arms or a goddess’s blessing that are there to comfort him.

The arms that are wrapped around him are your own. The comfort you have to offer is that of warm flesh and soft breath, mortal and precious. And it is better—better, you tell yourself with all the prideful conviction of a mortal soul—than anything an immortal, unfeeling goddess could offer.

He finally stirs, straightening up to look at you. Or look at your shoulder, rather, unable to meet your gaze. His expression is hollow, sorrowful, but calm. You know the road to him accepting and finding joy in his decision to defy his goddess is not yet over, and the path ahead may still be thorny.

But at least he has the chance to try and walk that path, rather than ending it all here.

"Forgive me," he says softly. He seems to want to say more, but the words don't come easily. You shake your head, not caring what he's trying to apologize for.

"There's nothing to forgive, my love. You made the right choice." You caress his cheek, wiping away the grime and the tear tracks that have collected there. “I love you, Gale.”

He finally meets your gaze and oh, your love, he looks so exhausted. But there is a flicker of his old self still there, a warmth that is familiar in his dark eyes. You press your forehead to his, still caressing his cheek, and close your eyes. 

He’s alive. That’s all that matters. You can figure out the rest as you go.

“I love you, too,” he whispers.

You have to get out of here, out of this cavern of flesh and stone and brine. You have to face the problems of the world at large, the threat of the elder brain and more. You know that. But you steal a few more moments for yourself, breathing softly with Gale, treasuring every breath as though they were more precious than diamonds.

———

You set out to leave the shadow-cursed lands at what you think is dawn the next day. Even with the curse waning, it’s hard to tell the time with the sun still obscured. But the hope is that as the land fades away behind you, you’ll be walking forward into sunlight and not more night.

You and Gale walk at the back of your little group, your companions moving on ahead. With each step, the shadow curse lightens. There are hints and signs of new life all around, tiny green leaves fluttering against once-dead branches, thin shoots of grass poking upward from the cold, dry ground. It restores your hope for good things to come. Not just for these lands, but for you. For your love.

He’s been quiet since the fight against Ketheric. Contemplative. Thoughtful. You had spent the night wrapped in each other's arms, counting his every heartbeat and breath until you were pulled into slumber, suspecting that he had done the same for you. When you woke you both pretended that sleep had cured you of the previous day’s torments and used the task of breaking up the camp to travel onward as your distraction from your concerns. But you watched him across the camp anyway, a knot of worry in your stomach.

Sometimes, both this morning and in the moments traveling now, you see that hunger in his eyes as you did when he first saw the crown atop the elder brain. But sometimes you just see a lingering sorrow. You haven’t been able to bring yourself to ask him about it. Not yet. It’s enough that he’s here with you, and you trust him to speak to you about what weighs on his heart in his own time. But you still worry.

Just up ahead, the shadow curse seems to fizzle out entirely, like a fog that dissipates as the sun burns it away. Beyond the threshold is sun-warmed landscape. Though scarred by the smoldering and abandoned remains of the Absolute army’s campfires and shelters, nothing has ever looked so inviting to you before. You rush ahead, eager to feel the sun on your skin again.

The difference in temperature alone is enough to reassure you that the shadow curse is behind you at last. One second you are enveloped in the chill and dimness of the shadows, and the next you are warm and bright in the light of the sun. You pause just a few steps into the sunlight, stretching out your arms and lifting your face toward the sky, drinking in the warmth. At last. You feel as though you can breathe freely again.

You turn to smile at Gale, but he is not at your side. He lingers in the shadows, watching you. The shadow curse is like a sheer black veil between you, obscuring his expression slightly, but as you step closer you realize his eyes are glimmering with unshed tears.

“Gale?”

He blinks, as if awakening from the depths of his thoughts, and quickly rubs his eyes. “Ah…my apologies. Lost in thought, I suppose.”

You hesitate to leave the warmth of the sun, but you sense this is more important than sunlight. You step onto the threshold of the curse, reaching out a hand to him. You want to pull him out of the shadows and into the light with you. He stares at your hand a moment before taking it, but he doesn’t move. Like he isn’t ready yet. 

“Tell me what’s on your mind, my love,” you say gently. “Tell me how I can help.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but for the first time, words seem to utterly fail him. He swallows, gazing at you with a stricken expression, and tightens his hold on your hand.

“It’s simply…I am…in awe,” he says at last. “Of you. And I am mortified with myself. No, more than mortified. I nearly…”

You sense the flow of his thoughts instantly, your minds connecting via the tadpole, his thoughts unconsciously opening up to you. At first he resists, his mind shutting down like a trap to spare you, but then the shields waver and fall away, and you are pulled into his memories. You feel the struggle within him as he stares at the elder brain. You feel the heat and pain of the orb inside, as if reminding him of his purpose. You see yourself through his gaze, the fear and love warring in your expression as you beg him not to go through with his sacrifice. You feel the moment he makes his decision, his resolve hardening like steel in flame, only to shatter, brittle and broken, the moment the brain disappears, the pieces transforming into needles of doubt that bury themselves in his psyche, his heart, his body.

As the familiar, terrifying sight of the colossal avatar of Myrkul rises into your vision once more, for one fleeting moment, you sense the desperate desire to end it all now, to end the storm of uncertainty in your mind, the pain of the orb, the fear of disobedience, the exhaustion of facing another battle with impossible odds. For one fleeting moment, you consider letting go and letting the orb obliterate you and everything around you.

And then the connection ends, and you are left standing at the threshold of the shadows with Gale’s hand in yours.

“I nearly killed us all with one rash thought,” he murmurs quietly. “The thought of my sacrifice never left my mind, even as I swore to you I wouldn’t go through with it.”

He takes a shuddering breath and a tear drips down his cheek. You catch it with your fingertips as you cradle his face with your free hand, your heart breaking for him all over again. His tears prompt your own and you struggle to hold them back, for his sake.

“And now,” he says, his voice altered, thick with tears. He swallows. “And now I see what I fool I was to doubt. To doubt you and your wisdom. To wish for death so quickly.” 

He meets your gaze and you see a thousand words he hasn’t said yet there in his brown eyes. A hundred apologies, a hundred ways to beg forgiveness, a hundred confessions of love, a hundred praises, all about and for you. It’s a torrent of love and longing and guilt in his eyes and your knees nearly buckle at the sight of it.

“I would have condemned the brightest of stars to death,” he says. “I would have robbed the world of its greatest treasure. And for what?”

“Oh, Gale,” you whisper. You abandon the sunlight to join him in the shadows and embrace him, holding him tightly as he struggles to regain his composure. “No more. You made the right decision. You’re here with me. I’m here with you. We’re alive, my love, because of you.”

“But I could have—“

“But you didn’t.” You pull back to cradle his face in both your hands and wait until he’s looking you full in the face. You want him to see your own resolve, but also your love, your faith in him, your pride for him. “You chose to live, my love. That is the most important thing. That is all that matters right now.”

He stares at you, letting your words sink in, until at last he smiles. Though it’s still tinged with sadness and guilt, it’s genuine. It soothes your spirit and settles some of your worries. 

“I don’t deserve you, you know.”

You shake your head. This isn’t about deserving, but you know that’s a battle you won’t win here. Instead you kiss him, your lips soft against his, and you let that suffice for words for a moment.

When you finally pull away, he seems a little restored. The love is back in his eyes and his smile isn’t weighed down as it was before.

“I love you,“ you say.

“And I love you,” he responds. “Immensely. More than I scarce dreamed I could love anyone.”

“We will find another way to deal with the brain and quiet the orb inside you. Some way that keeps us both alive and together. I swear it.“

“I believe you.” There isn't a trace of uncertainty in his voice when he says it. “I want that more than anything.”

“Want what?”

“To live. With you. To see the dawn of a new day with you, the dawns of a thousand more days. To know that the road ahead, whatever it holds, won't be spent alone, because I'll have you by my side.” He pauses, as if a thought is only just now coming to him. “I can...I can have that hope, now. Thanks to you.”

You smile. You take both of his hands in yours and step back, placing yourself once more on the threshold between shadows and sun. “Then will you join me in the sunlight?”

He looks at you, then at the sunlit road beyond, and then back at you. He nods, letting go of one of your hands but tightening his hold on the other. “Yes. I’d love to.”

Without another word, he keeps his hand in yours as you lead him forward step by step.

Away from the darkness and into the light.

[imagineitdearies]

~ A Flawed Eternity ~

(AKA drabbles set in the Perfect Slaughter universe.) Thanks to my new author discord community for voting on this one! 🩵

In which Tyrus walks in on Astarion's 'alone time.'

~

Even though they’d cleared the tunnel under the river, secured the fishing hut and passage to sneak into the House of Healing, and had a half-reliable map of the Gauntlet of Shar, the war council had delayed an infiltration for almost a tenday merely arguing over who would go.

With the colder weather creeping in and battles stagnating into standoffs, Tyrus supposed they foolishly thought they had time.

Morfred wanted a larger group to ensure they had enough support. Jaheira said no more than three highly-skilled individuals, to give them better chances at stealth. Ganyl simply wanted to go, even though his entire enclave was against risking their leader, and it took two meetings just to talk him down. Halfred didn’t think the quiet assassination plan of Ketheric Thorm was a good idea in the first place. They all worried that Ketheric’s brother, Malus Thorm, could be too tight-lipped or ignorant of the Gauntlet’s secret entrance to be worth the risk of fighting first.

Astarion had given up on attendance for the last two meetings. But as designated ‘Leader of the Vampires,’ however underqualified Tyrus felt he was for such a role, he felt obligated to attend. Just so he’d have updates to give Astarion and the spawn army below, really. He and Astarion had come up with the idea of a quiet assassination to avoid further bloodshed, so they were already guaranteed a spot in the party if and when it was approved. Halsin was a tentative third in Ganyl’s place, though Jaheira wanted it to be herself who struck Ketheric’s killing blow.

Now Tyrus felt close to giving up himself. He left the meeting before its scheduled end when Jaheira and Halfred started a shouting match about the risks of trying Ketheric's son at the Waning Moon Tavern instead, and Messaged Ganyl to send word if a decision had finally been made. Then he crossed the road past the armory, over the short bridge and around the small, cheery fountain in front of their temporary abode of late, the Last Light Inn.

Tyrus let out a plaintive sigh of relief the moment he was through the doors and could shrug off the sapping weight of the Cloak of Dragomir, avoiding the occasional beam of sunlight until he reached the stairs and could head down to the basement floor. Most of the rooms were used for storage—but at the end, built around the low docks the inn now used to receive war supplies from the east, were a couple of suites that looked directly out over the Chionthar.

He hadn’t expected to find Astarion in their suite, really. His partner liked to socialize a lot more than Tyrus ever did. In their short time here, he’d already been chatting with some soldiers at the inn’s bar, meeting more often with Halsin, and playing enough lanceboard he now could beat Tyrus if he focused hard enough. Astarion was used to crowds, to strangers, while Tyrus still found himself seeking the safety of four walls and a single locked door.

As he reached the door, however, Tyrus thought that safety must have been an illusion as his ears picked up Astarion’s voice, loud and seemingly in distress.

“Ah!—ah, gods—Tyrus!”

Tyrus wrenched the door open in a panic, hurrying inside—

—and was confronted with the sight of Astarion in a bath, pale face flushed, eyes squeezed shut, steamy water sloshing around the fast pace of his wrist under the water as he tugged at his pink, erect cock.

Tyrus stared. Even as Astarion’s eyes wrenched open bleary and wide, his hand freezing in the water, Tyrus couldn’t stop looking. He’d seen Astarion’s cock before so many times—but in his defense, it’d been months. Only feeling the shape of it in Astarion’s trousers when their kissing progressed further, only seeing Astarion’s bare body offhandedly as they dressed. Now Tyrus could also admire how much more lively Astarion’s skin looked despite still being pale, how his half-submerged, muscled middle had softened into looking less malnourished and dehydrated thanks to a healthy diet.

After another second, Astarion relaxed a bit. He waved toward Tyrus with the hand that had a moment before held a death-grip on the wooden tub’s edge, smirking as he huffed, “Could you close that, love?”

Tyrus’s momentary shock at the man’s beauty faded, then, in time for his rational brain to kick in. “I can come back later—?” he started to offer.

“No—no, I . . .” Astarion interjected, only to hesitate. His eyes trailed away for a moment, uncertainty lining his face. 

Tyrus retreated back to the door. “I don’t want to interrupt,” he spoke in earnest, and smiled at Astarion when the other vampire tentatively met his gaze again. “Truly—I’d much rather you enjoy yourself, like you’ve been wanting to.”

“Not quite like how I’ve wanted to,” Astarion scoffed, though a moment later the lines on his face faded. “No, stay here, darling. If you’d like to. I’m only imagining you here anyhow.”

“That’s quite different,” Tyrus pointed out, though he went ahead and shut the door, locking it for good measure before turning back to Astarion.

“Is it? I was just thinking of you interrupting me like this,” Astarion smirked, gesturing at himself. The hand in the water wandered back between his legs and began to lightly stroke as he sighed, “Though in my head I skipped the part where a whole conversation would be necessary for you to join. Bring a stool?” he nodded at the floor just next to the tub.

Tyrus didn’t hesitate to obey. He grabbed a small cushioned one in front of the sheet-covered mirror and placed it so he could sit just next to the tub’s head. His stomach swooped at being this close to Astarion—at watching him stroke himself again, bare and exposed save for the flimsy distortion of the sudsy water.

He wanted to touch him. He wanted to help, or at least kiss Astarion. But he wouldn’t dare do a thing without checking, given how impossible it’d been for Astarion to be sexually intimate since Cazador’s death.

And Astarion was such a pretty sight just to watch, with his eyes shutting again and dark lashes on display, pink lips slightly parted. Meanwhile, his small breaths and huffs of pleasure as he built back into a rhythm sounded sweeter to Tyrus’s ears than any melody. Even the smell of him was delightful. That smoky, musky perfume he always had a slight hint of at the palace was now much more refined and strong thanks to their shopping in the city. It was already a feast for the senses, if not all of them.

But when Astarion’s other hand extended just a bit past the tub, palm up, Tyrus was quick to take it and enjoy a sense of touch as well. Astarion hummed and pulled their clasped hands down into the water, flattening Tyrus’s palm to rub against his inner thigh. Tyrus gratefully mimicked the movement, and next let Astarion’s hand overtop his guide him to gently handle Astarion’s ball sack, eventually taking over to stroke his erection in tight, quick motions Tyrus still remembered the rhythm of well. 

Astarion’s hand stayed cupped around his throughout it all, continually guiding and keeping control even as he sighed, “Tyrus . . . uh, I’ve missed these hands . . .”

“Would you like it if I did anything else?” Tyrus murmured, after another minute of nothing but stroking and listening to Astarion’s heavy breathing.

Astarion’s eyes shot open, head lifting to regard Tyrus with a furrowed brow. His hand slowed Tyrus’s to a stop. “Such as?”

Tyrus bit back the assertion of Anything, anything at all. Giving actual ideas would probably be more helpful, if Astarion didn’t have his own. “Kiss you. Your lips, your neck,” Tyrus started with. “Or . . . here,” smiling as his thumb idly swiped over the head of Astarion’s cock and his partner visibly shuddered in response. Letting his voice go a bit lower, as he pointed out, “I don’t need to breathe, after all.”

“Fuck,” Astarion swore, then gave a short, barking laugh. “This is what four months of celibacy has done to my sweet, virtuous partner? I didn’t think you even liked that sort of activity, darling.”

“I haven’t ever tried it, technically. At least not of my own accord, so,” Tyrus shrugged. 

The air went somber ever-so-slightly at his words. 

"Shall I?" Tyrus asked in hopes of dispelling it.

“Not this time, my love,” Astarion sighed, starting to move Tyrus’s hand again around him. “But . . . yes—kiss me, please. I think I just need a little bit more of something—”

Tyrus wasted no further time. They’d kissed goodbye only hours ago when he left for the council meeting, but it’d been more than a tenday since Astarion had kissed him like this. One of their first nights in this inn, in fact, before he’d grabbed one of Tyrus’s wandering hands by the wrist and ended things rather abruptly. But whatever else Tyrus did or did not feel in the mood for otherwise, he never got tired of kisses—Astarion’s free hand cupping his jaw close, lips so passionately pressing and sliding against Tyrus’s, tongue darting out to taste and in return welcoming him in.

His instinct was to bury his free hand in Astarion’s curls, but Tyrus gripped the tub’s edge instead. He didn’t want to risk the wrong touch ending this lovely, easy moment. Not when Astarion was so clearly enjoying his other hand’s touch at the moment, hips bucking up and splashing the water a bit more.

Sometime later, a small moan escaped Tyrus when Astarion slid his hand back to tightly cup the nape of his neck, angling Tyrus’s head for an even deeper, all-consuming kiss. Astarion’s hand tightened a bit further around Tyrus’s in the water, so he sped up his movements even more—and groaned with Astarion as the other elf wrenched free of their kiss and threw his head back, shouting “Tyrus!” shakily, his cock pulsing in Tyrus's grip, his spend streaking in the water as the press of his bent legs made the wooden tub slightly creak in protest.

Tyrus kissed down Astarion’s neck and bobbing adam’s apple, slowing his strokes with the guidance of Astarion’s hand as Astarion breathed harshly through the aftershocks. When at last Astarion released his grip on Tyrus in the water, head resting against the tub again, Tyrus went back to gently stroking his smooth inner thigh. He rested his forehead against the other man’s clavicle, listening to them both breathe for a moment before whispering, “Alright?”

Astarion huffed—and then he began laughing. A soft, lighthearted, warm sound Tyrus couldn’t help but smile at, and hoped never to forget as Astarion’s chest lightly shook underneath him. Then Astarion’s wet arm emerged from the water and wrapped around Tyrus, pulling him in just a bit closer despite the awkwardness of the tub between them.

“Oh, besides a sore wrist of late,” he chortled, laying his cheek against Tyrus’s head when his giggling finally stopped. “I did start to find some enjoyment, even managed an orgasm the last two times, though. And this? Hmm . . . this is nice.”

Tyrus smiled wider against his chest. Of course, after another minute his back twinged and he regretfully had to pull from Astarion’s embrace—but was grateful his partner quickly dried off and joined him on the bed, despite the fact only Tyrus still needed a trance.

Once they'd both changed and his lover was spooning him snugly from behind, Tyrus thought to ask, “Have there been other things you like to imagine? Any specifics that I should take into account?”

The entire line of Astarion’s body froze up behind him. “I . . . I wouldn’t say there’s much I’m sure about acting on, darling,” he said in a slow, careful voice. “It’s been hard enough just to imagine sex without the thought of a customer, or him, intruding. Once that’s less an issue, I—I should be back to normal.”

“Normal,” Tyrus huffed, shaking his head and hugging Astarion’s arm a little closer to his chest. Being around relatively ‘normal’ people of late had taught Tyrus just how far off he and anyone else from the spawn colony were likely ever to be from such an ideal. “But hand jobs with you guiding me, would you say that goes on the safe list?” he stipulated.

Astarion was quiet for a moment. Then he kissed the tip of Tyrus’s ear, repeating, “The safe list, what a sad state of affairs—but yes, I’d call that a success. We’ll have to see about your mouth. And perhaps, if you’re up for it, I think I'd enjoy some unconventional stimulation, just skin-to-skin.” A beat of silence, then Astarion’s voice came out so soft and uncertain, almost afraid, as he admitted, “I . . . I’d still like a break from anything so performative as full intercourse, if that’s alright . . . and, if you can forgive it, I may still just need time, before I can offer attentive service to you, love . . .”

Tyrus twisted under Astarion’s arm so he could face him—but only to wrap his arms tightly around him, tucking his chin into the crook of Astarion’s neck. Declaring, gently but firmly, “There’s nothing to forgive, and no service to worry about. You have always been so giving, love." Even more softly, he coaxed, "Now, let’s take care of you for a while?”

Tyrus felt his partner’s body shudder in his arms. Then, increment by increment, Astarion melted into the embrace.

“Gods, I do love you,” he whispered in answer.

[lunastrophe]

Minthara's Imprisonment

"Hey, been on a beat the blorbo binge with Minthara as the Blorbo, I'm curious as to what you headcanon Orin having done to her? (...)"

Sorry for not replying directly to your message, Anon, I hope that you will find this post somehow 😉I was not exactly comfortable with posting the full quote - thank you for understanding.

🕷️ Minthara describes her imprisonment in the Mind Flayer Colony during one of her conversations with the Player's Character:

When Orin stood before me, she touched the dagger to my eye, drawing out a tear of blood. I want this one, she said. Ketheric nodded his permission, and I was taken below. You've seen the horrors of the colony. Orin kept me there for days. She forced me to watch as my men were processed; some for food, others as thralls. And then she placed the tadpole in my eye herself.

🕷️ In another line, she recalls that after being tadpole'd, she stayed in Moonrise only briefly - so after being infected, she was no longer Orin's prisoner:

My indoctrination - my infection - took place at Moonrise, but I did not stay here for long. (...) Ketheric recognised me as a soldier, and took me into his army immediately.

🕷️ When Minthara speaks about Orin later, she is obviously terrified of her:

I have faced Orin before, and she left scars on me that will never heal.

In a different line, though, when the Player's Character remarks that the cult "broke her mind", Minthara replies that "broken minds heal just like broken bones".

It can mean that despite everything, she expects to recover from her experience one day (...or maybe she just says that because she does not want to appear weak).

🕷️ As for my headcanon - I admit that it does not go far beyond what Minthara tells the Player's Character.

For any drow, being imprisoned in the illithid colony would be a pure nightmare. An equivalent of being captured by cruel aliens to whom you are just a cattle - with next to zero chances to escape or to be rescued.

In the Underdark, drow and mind flayers try not to engage in open conflicts when they can be avoided - but in some cases, they are more enemies than allies. And mind flayers are more than happy to torment captured drow, or to use them as hosts, thralls or simply as source of food (brains).

It is quite possible that before Moonrise, Minthara has never been in the illithid colony (not as a prisoner, at least). Still, she probably knew what to expect and it was not making things easier.

She was forced to watch her men being "processed" for days - convinced that in the end, her fate was going to be the same, if not worse. As if it was not enough, there was also Orin, certainly more than able to create a bloody spectacle that would make even a Lolth-sworn drow uneasy.

🕷️ And atop of that, the source of the greatest horror was inside Minthara's own head (and it was not the tadpole). In one of her lines, Minthara confesses:

I do not know what weakness of mine allowed them [Orin, Ketheric] to take me. That haunts me more than anything they did to me.

During her imprisonment, Minthara was convinced that everything that happens is a consequence of her weakness. And because of this weakness, she failed and soon she was going to be processed, consumed and forgotten, like a piece of meat. A horrible thought for a Lolth-sworn drow of her station and accomplishments.

I imagine that Orin was eager to feed such thoughts in her. She needed not even to torture her physically - inside her head, Minthara was already torturing herself more cruelly than anyone else would be able to.

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

Dame Aylin does not worry; she strategises.

This is something I started as part of a little examination of writing Aylin's voice, but think might be neat as its own post. It does provide a nice quick look at how she constructs her glorious dramatic proclamations and when exactly she refers to herself in the third person.

So I give you, directly from the game files: every time Dame Aylin says Dame Aylin.

To kick it off, the line she has if you attack her in camp:

You defile our alliance with violence. A disappointment - but not a threat to Dame Aylin, immortal.

Some lines from the end of Act 2, the Moonrise debrief, and the first time she comes to camp:

You have defeated Ketheric Thorm, yet you who were content to leave Dame Aylin in his thrall until it served you best. How do you account for it? But Dame Aylin's life is neverending. And she does not forget. Now - I believe Isobel asked a question of you. We will meet you in your camp - is it agreed? Do not speak so abruptly to the mate of Dame Aylin, daughter of the Moonmaiden, paladin of - You would deny Dame Aylin, daughter of the Moonmaiden, paladin of the selfsame Selûne? And you - Sharran. Cleric of the Lady of Loss, who is so much more than she appears. You and Dame Aylin have dangerous ground to tread. Moonmaiden, I ask you to cleanse the wickedness in the heart of the slayer of Ketheric Thorm! Forgive them the sin of sending Dame Aylin into his foul clutches! Hmm. Ketheric Thorm. Father of my one and only love. Enslaver of Dame Aylin. Why, she already has. She has brought her sword to your side. Dame Aylin.

Moving on to Act 3, talking about Lorroakan looking for her (and possibly discussing Aradin and his fellow mercs as well):

Is he indeed? Pray tell, what does he seek from Dame Aylin? Let them come, and let them find me. Dame Aylin will strike down any who seek to bring her to harm's home. Do not speak false to Dame Aylin. Not after all we have endured. Dame Aylin will face him. You will wield your glorious might at her side. Let us split him, crotch to crown, and let his twin halves fall where they may. Your intuitions are my lodestar, darling. But consider: now that Dame Aylin has returned to the fold of time, she could use allies and interlocutors. Hmm. If you judge him worth the endeavour, then I will do as you say. Now that Dame Aylin has returned to the fold of time, she will need allies and interlocutors. But Dame Aylin's deeds are great; her presence - present. Sooner or later, he will discover that the daughter of Selûne lives. Dame Aylin does not worry; she strategises. Our camp has been besieged by bribelings. And Dame Aylin is the prize that seduced them. There can be no doubt about it. But even Dame Aylin experiences lapses in her fine judgement. To Ramazith's Tower they were meant to take me. Ho! Won't Lorroakan be surprised when Dame Aylin trounces him in his own citadel. Oh, I hope he tries. Please, Lorroakan, come to me with your magicks and your flaccid charms. Attempt to lay one hairy finger upon Dame Aylin, daughter of Selûne most high.

Then, the showdown in Ramazith's Tower proper - first two if you side with her, the rest if she is betrayed:

Magicians and their plans for Dame Aylin. Predictable; sadistic; flaccid. Dame Aylin is watching. She is indomitable. And when her face lights the shadows of your wrongdoing, you are broken by its beauty. Dame Aylin does not go anywhere quietly. Do not tell Isobel what fate has befallen Dame Aylin. She must not enter this viper's den. When next we meet, no words will cross Dame Aylin's lips, but her sword will find your flesh and make of it her sheath.

Post-wizard camp conversations:

Set your mind at ease, my friend. Dame Aylin is more well now than she has been this past century. Ha! I am not surprised. You have a great talent for tearing down Dame Aylin's enemies. Thank you, my friend. From the bottom of my heart. But fear not: When the time comes for you to face the foe of foes, Dame Aylin will stand at your side.

A couple of battle cries - first one from the Act 2 final boss if you don't free her until then, and the second from the Act 3 final battle:

MOONMAIDEN, HEAR ME! DAME AYLIN IS FREE! Dame Aylin will not let this place fall!

I'm also going to include her introductions, though that's obviously a bit of a different case:

I am Dame Aylin. Out of this hellish realm I carry my sword by the blessing of my mother, Selûne. I am Dame Aylin. Daughter of the Moonmaiden, Selûne; champion of her causes in this fine realm. You will address me with due deference. I am Dame Aylin. And you are a whelp without honour, without pride, with nothing but a tower full of trinkets.

And, finally, we have a couple of written notes - very, very different in tone. First, a threatening, ominous promise she leaves behind if you betray her to Lorroakan, but he dies and Rolan fails to bind her:

Dame Aylin has never had an enemy She did not destroy, A traitor She did not undo. Dame Aylin has never died And stayed dead. No, she waits, waits, until The one she hates sleeps, alone, in bed and then and then she strikes.

Chilling, and calls to mind her vows of vengeance if you mess with her in the Shadowfell. I don't know if I'd find it scarier delivered in an angry scrawl or with some perfect fancy penmanship.

The second note is, alas, her epilogue letter if Isobel has died:

Ally mine, It has been a full half-year since last we spoke. Your great victory against the wicked brain of brains still plays before my eyes by nights; ho, it was a sight I'll cherish for the remainder of my infinite days. I hope these last turns of my mother's face in the sky have brought you rest and peace. But rest has not found Dame Aylin, no - I pursue the heels of a villain no less foul than the so-called 'Absolute'. An assailant who has targeted Selûnite enclaves across the coast. But fear not! Dame Aylin will find them. And you have seen yourself what she does to those deserving of her boot. The road is long. It is lonely. And I have not forgotten all I've lost. But I cherish what I have found, too. Yours eternally, Dame Aylin Daughter of the Moonmaiden Selûne The Nightsong-no-more Anon and Everlasting

And finally, to end this post on a high note, the beautiful PS she adds to Isobel's epilogue letter:

P.S. IT IS I, DAME AYLIN! I SEND MY REGARDS!

There you have it! Hope at least someone finds this amusing and/or useful.

[moghedien]

ok I'm gonna start emo durge posting now and I just wanna say like...I wish the game had let you express just how fucking complicated I feel like my durge's feelings for Orin is

like honestly I get why rpgs can't take into account all the big emotions that a character could have for every event, but like I wish I could at least hint at how complicated the Orin situation is for a good durge

because on one hand, Orin is evil. Cartoonishly evil even. She's playing with you and everyone else like a cat playing with their prey before they kill it. Murdering is her only goal, specifically murdering for daddy Bhaal.

And just on a character level, she has done the most to hurt you. She's the reason why you have no memories. She took your life from you. She's the reason why you're fighting the tadpole in your head. She's the reason why all of your friends and loved ones are fighting the tadpole in your head. She kidnapped one of those friends. She murdered people just to take their place so she can spy on you. She stole your life and identity and made have to start anew not knowing who you are or why all you want to do is hurt everyone around you.

But in a fucked up, unintentional way, Orin saved you.

If she hadn't attacked you and taken your place and stuck a tadpole in your head, you would be Bhaal's Chosen. You would be the same mass murdering cannibalistic psychopath that Bhaal shaped you into since you were a child who was made to murder the family that took them in and raised them. You would be one of the villains your current friends faced, and you probably would have killed them all or enslaved them with the tadpoles in their heads, and you wouldn't have thought anything of it. They wouldn't be people to you, just meat to pile up to get you closer to reaching Bhaal's true goal of ending everyone and everything. You were going to do it too.

The closest thing you ever had to a friend was the Chosen of the god of tyranny, your sister who attacked you and took everything from you, and the grotesque unnatural servant your daddy sent to fawn over you. That's not even getting into account the things Gortash and Orin have directly done to two people you might be close to now, or even romantically involved with. Those were the people you kept company with. Those were the only people who you thought liked you, and clearly you misjudged how much Orin actually did.

By the time you can get into learning more about Orin, you know what you are and you've already made the decision to reject or accept Bhaal. If you've resisted him, if you've expressed to Jaheira or whoever that you want to be free of him, you're aware of what you are. And you've found some evidence of what you've done in your past. If you've been hit with a heal spell, you've seen your first murders, and you know that you were shaped into this as a child. And you might have been Bhaal's spawn made directly by him, but at least there was a moment, however brief, where you were just a kid being raised by a family that took you in. Until Bhaal changed that with the Urges.

But Orin? You find out more about Orin that she knows herself. You can find out just how fucked her parentage actually is with Sarevok being both her father and grandfather. You can find out she was lied to about why her mother attacked her as a child and how Sarevok abused and manipulated both of them while she thought he adored her. She was born and raised into a Bhaalist upbringing, having literally no other context or experience. You at least had a few years as a seemingly normal child.

And even then, she was second to you. She was in your shadow, following your commands, and you can find your own writings that made it clear that you did not treat her well. You didn't respect her. If there was ever any kind of bond between the two of you as you were growing up, that was gone by the time you begun the alliance with Gortash and Ketheric, and she was well in your shadow.

And by the time you learn all of this, you have actual friends. You have people who love and admire you. You have people who are grateful to you for saving them and going above and beyond to keep people safe. You probably have a romantic partner and you've probably begun making plans for afterward. You have people that have guided you down a lighter path, that are actually trying to help you be good and happy and who want help you even when you're scary. There are people who know what you are and what you've done and the fact that you were at the center of creating the mess that everyone is in now, and they're still with you.

What does Orin have?

Only a cult of people who worship her out of fear, people that have abused her, and the knowledge that despite her best efforts, you're still coming to punish her for defying you.

But regardless of everything else, you would not have gotten anything you have now if Orin hadn't cracked your skull open.

Orin is the only reason you can be redeemed. Even if you're the one who actively decided to be a better person after escaping the pod, you never would have gotten to that point if not for Orin. You weren't going to suddenly change while you were Bhaal's Chosen, at the top of your power and almost achieving the goals you planned out and put in motion. The only reason you had to opportunity to change is because Orin damaged you to the point of forgetting what Bhaal shaped you into. There were only empty spaces to become your own person because Orin carved them out with her knife.

In the most fucked, but undeniable way Orin saved you.

And I just can't help but wish that the game at least let me acknowledge this and how fucking complicated you can feel about Orin.

Or at least let me ponder if maybe it isn't possible to at least try to do something for your fucked up little sister who never had or wanted anything but Bhaal, yet still managed to save you from him. Even if its not possible, even if you couldn't have really tried, I wish that the desire to try or some contemplation on that had been possible.

[wellthebardsdead]

Lucy: *sighs and dusts herself off after obliterating Marcus and the winged horrors, her cambions ushering all the refugees out of hiding and checking for injuries, thankfully finding none* it’s a stupid thing to try lying to a devil miss Thorm.

Isobel: *freezes in shock*

Lucy: yes. I know who you are, I know ketheric is your father and he’s the chosen of Myrkul, that’s why you’re alive and not in the coffin our Druid halsin put you in after you turned on him for whatever reason. *looks back at Halsin* Yes. I know. *looks back at Isobel and Jaheira* Aylin is also alive Ketheric has her imprisoned in the shadowfell and I swear to all fucking hell shadowheart- *looks at her* If you don’t pull your head out of shars arsehole and listen to me I will sacrifice what’s left of my humanity to spend eternity personally making that wound on your hand feel like a mosquito bite in comparison to what I will do to you. *looks at Jaheira* Now if you will excuse me I am going to start winding down for the evening because I frankly am at my wits end and the next person to test my patience is going to get hurt.

Jaheira: *nods watching her eye twitch* Understandable.

Lucy: good. *walks off to go upstairs only to see Raphael sitting there still, looking at her expectantly* … *drops down in the seat across from him and turns the board around so black is on her side* leave it to you as a wet blanket not to jump in and help.

Raphael: *moves a pawn* you looked like you had it covered.

Lucy: *moves a pawn, blocking his* as I always do. You’re just like your father, can never be asked to lift a finger and always expect everyone else to work for you. The anagram of your name starting with Har and ending in Eep would agree.

Raphael: *shock visible on his face as she cracks his mask once again, jumps a knight as an aggressive opening* Who… told you about that?…

Lucy: nobody, I found out myself. *jumps her knight too matching his opening* I’m good at finding out things, I can do so without even needing a spy like your pathetic little warlock, Korrilla.

Raphael: you… two have met?? *steals her pawn*

Lucy: No, *jumps her other knight and smiles as he takes it* She’s just very bad at her job. The whole point of spying isn’t to be caught right? First lurking in my camp, then getting in my path at the goblins hive, and I bet I’ll no doubt run into her in the darkness out there. *takes out his knight with her pawn* you really should consider better help.

Raphael: *moves one of his pawns to protect from her knight* and that’s why I’ve chosen you my dear. Together we can help each other.

Lucy: *moves her bishop* I can certainly help you but there’s nothing you can actually do for me.

Raphael: *moves his bishop expecting her to move her queen* oh but I certainly can. I promise You won’t be able to remove your tadpole without me.

Lucy: *moves her knight instead letting him take her queen* I definitely can. *moves her bishop directly in line to hit his king*

Raphael: *moves his king forward* and how can you be so certain of that?

Lucy: Staffords Gambit. *moves her other bishop locking him into a checkmate*

Raphael: *staring in shock that he didn’t see that coming* I’m unfamiliar with it.

Lucy: you’re so blinded by the end goal of your ambition and your overly inflated ego that you can’t seem to grasp the possibility that you could be so easily tricked by the pawns you choose. You can technically cure me of this tadpole yes. But not with anything you can actually do. Your magic is useless against it. Your answer will be giving me the tools and making me do all the work in exchange for something you want. And you’re just like your daddy… You don’t want my soul. *smiles* but by all means. Keep trying to underestimate me… And you’ll end up, just, like, that. *flicks over his king before getting up and walking off*

Raphael: *left with more questions than answers* …Where or who in the hells or all the realms is Stafford??… And what the hell did korrilla do to piss her off so badly?

[animentality]

Can I just bitch about Baldur's Gate 3 for a second-

JK, I'm not fucking asking.

So Ketheric Thorm...got an entire fucking act basically DEDICATED TO HIM.

The Shadow Cursed Lands suck because of him. Everything in that zone is fucked because of his nonsense. Every enemy you fight is either related to the shadows or the Absolute plot, which, as far as you know at that point, is tied directly back to him, and him alone.

And every fucking person you meet, rounds him out in some way.

Thisobald, Gerringothe, Malus, these are all unique looking and fun bosses. And they all round out Ketheric Thorm, showing us his fucked up family, and how terrible their impact has been.

Balthazar, Z'rell, even Aylin and Isobel- all thematically and narratively tied to our Shar/Myrkul worshipping bitch.

Even Halsin and Thaniel, Minthara and Shadowheart...all of them have ties to Ketheric.

And that's great and all. That's probably why I, unlike many others, actually enjoy Act 2 a fair bit.

But then. We get to the dreaded Act 3.

Which is a bloated, disorganized, incoherent mess.

But worse than that is... Gortash and Orin are our next big bads, yeah? And they have a kind of fun intro, that makes you think ooh, the next big bads...

And then.

And then what happens?

You can kill Gortash immediately, pretty much at the beginning of Act 3. No build up. You can just do that. Sure, you can do the Steel Watch or the Ironhand Throne quests...but tell me.

Could you just go up to Ketheric Thorm and kill him at Moonrise? The answer is no. Even if you skip a lot of content, you still have to go through a million other tasks before you can face him, AND the big boss battle at the end is entirely him and Myrkul. It's EARNED.

But Gortash? Well, fuck, he's fucking dead before you can even face the final big boss.

And Orin? Sure, you have to collect a bag of hands to get into the Temple...but so what? That's maybe two or three quests, but you can circumvent them. Besides, as soon as you kill her, she vanishes from the narrative and doesn't matter. She's a somewhat easy boss battle, but the actual build up isn't intricately tied into the narrative of Act 3...because there is no inherent narrative to Ac 3.

Act 2 was about an insane man's descent into villainy after losing the people he loved most.

It was tragic, but at least thematically consistent.

The fuck is happening in Act 3?

Gortash is committing war crimes because he's tyrannical, and Orin is murdering indiscriminately and just for funsies.

at least Ketheric's entire thing is about defying the gods, using them for his own gains, and similarly, being used by them.

But Orin? She has one sympathetic scene, and then she dies immediately after.

Gortash you can just kill and then he doesn't matter, or you can side with him, and then he just dies, and doesn't matter.

It's utterly baffling and mildly infuriating.

I know Act 3 was hit with the cut content rush and all, but I feel like you could've spent your time actually bothering to build them up the way you built up Ketheric. You could've given us political quests or world building quests with Gortash, especially given how manipulative he is, or given us more madness and shadows and underground labyrinths and spooky monsters with fucking Orin.

Instead of garbage quests like the Wavemother, Mystic Carrion, Stop the Presses, and Lady Jannath's Torture House, you could've given Karlach a quest related to fixing her heart, which would've tied into Gortash's plots, or given Gale more to do than simply go to Sorcerous Sundries, or tied Cazador to some kind of patriars plot, or had Wyll's father do more than be kidnapped and then later saved.

You could've given Halsin literally any fucking quest, instead of bringing in Jaheira or Minsc. But most importantly.

I just don't get it. Gortash runs Baldur's Gate. You could've easily tied him to a lot more quests, and made him far more threatening or hard to take down. You could've also made Orin feel like an actual threat, and not just a mild nuisance.

It's just kind of...it irks me.

Not just as a Gortash stan, but as a writer, because it's so odd, to have 3 perfectly decent villains...and only flesh out one.

The other two might as well be optional mini bosses.

[calypso707]

Did you get a request? It's an one shot for Astarion to react to gn crush who would always help him if they can but always refuse to repayed in any way whether it's money or anything else. Thanks!

For this request, I decided to simply make a part 2 of my OS - Astarion x Gn druid reader : On your skin (pt 1). I thought it was a good fit for this idea! Enjoy! ♥

OS - Astarion x Gn druid reader : On your skin (Pt 2).

You and your companions had been at Baldur's Gate for a few days now. You'd never really enjoyed life in the city, and certainly not here, where you could feel the poison spreading through the ground and into every living creature around you. Trees were dying, wild animals were fleeing, birds were silent.

During a seemingly routine patrol along the banks of the Chionthar River, you were ambushed by some disciples of Bhaal, the Lord of Murder. They outnumbered your group and seemed more dangerous every time. Since the death of Ketheric Thorm, Orin the Red had been tracking you like a predator watching and playing with its prey. The disciples under her command would do anything to spill your blood. Just as one of Bhaal's assassins dashed towards Astarion, dagger raised, you lifted your arm to imprison him with vines that you conjured up from the ground with your magic.

"Astarion, look out!" you cried.

You couldn't see if the enemy had managed to hit Astarion, for your attention was immediately diverted by another one who threw himself at you. You barely had time to drop ice spikes on him, which pierced his body from all sides, his knife merely grazing your cheek. As his lifeless body collapsed heavily at your feet, you looked towards Astarion, who had just thrust his blade into the heart of the man you had imprisoned earlier in your vines. Karlach and Lae'zel slaughtered the last ones who resisted them. Silence fell around you, it was finally over. You drew a breath and made the climbing plants disappear with a wave of your hand.

"'Is everyone alright?" you asked, wiping the blood from your cheek.

"Affirmative, soldier," Karlach replied.

"Tsk. Orin's tracking us like wild fowl, I cannot wait to give her a taste of my blade." added Lae'zel.

"Let's get back to camp" you announced.

Astarion seemed far too quiet for you. You still had enough strength left to open a portal leading directly to camp. Lae'zel and Karlach stepped through, soon followed by Astarion and you. A step through and you found yourself facing the campfire in the center of the old barn. Your eyes hovered over your three companions standing beside you. Karlach had a few scratches but didn't seem to be suffering, Lae'zel had superficial wounds that still merited some treatment, and Astarion seemed to be fine - well, he seemed elsewhere.

You thanked Halsin and Shadowheart, who had come to treat the wounded. You chose to treat your wounds alone with your own ointments and elixirs. As you headed for your tent, footsteps behind you made you turn around. It was Astarion.

"Are you wounded?" you asked, worried.

"Well.. Yes," he sighed, pouting.

"Why didn't you say something?"

"For nothing in the world would I miss an opportunity to be healed by my favorite druid." he grinned, winking.

You sighed at his words. Despite his smile, you noticed his discomfort, you tried to examine him carefully and found the source of his pain, a cut on the inside of his arm. The blood dripping from it blended in with the dark fabric of his outfit. You let him into your tent, your little sanctuary had become very familiar to him. This time, however, he didn't sit, he stood. You approached him and started undoing the buttons on his jacket, then on the shirt underneath. You could feel his gaze scrutinizing your every move, but you remained focused. You were imperturbable, especially when it came to treating wounds. You slid your hands under the fabric and against his skin, the contrast of his icy skin against yours always surprised you. You slid the garment as gently as possible.

"This is getting ridiculous,' finally said Astarion.

"What's that?" you asked without understanding and without taking your eyes off his wound. The blade had ripped his skin, but if care was taken, it would heal properly.

"This. You keep helping me, at the risk of getting yourself hurt. This is ridiculous."

"It's not ridiculous, the situation was under control," you replied. It wasn't totally true, though; you'd just been lucky and had a good reflex.

You grabbed a wooden bowl containing a mixture of weavemoss and mugwort bundle that would stop the bleeding. Your touch and the coolness of the mixture made him shiver, its effect was immediate, the blood stopped. You wrapped the wound in a clean bandage then you finally looked at him. His scarlet eyes never left your face.

"Your compulsive kindness sickens me," continued Astarion. "I am forever in your debt, and I do not know how to repay it. Tell me what you want. Tell me what to do."

You kept staring at him, completely stunned by his words, and you bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling. For him, pure altruism didn't exist. Life was just a succession of exchanges or debts that absolutely had to be repaid. You wanted him to see beyond that.

"I don't want anything in return, Astarion. Why is it so hard for you to understand that I'm doing this because I care about you?" you replied. "I simply don't want to lose you"

Astarion seemed genuinely troubled by your words. You'd never been false to him. You cared about this vampire spawn. You'd shared many moments together, but the ones you preferred, apart from the nights spent by his side, were when you treated his scars or healed his wounds. These were intimate moments, that you cherished because they allowed you to discover his vulnerability. The same vulnerability you were seeing at that very moment. He allowed himself to emerge from the darkness of his past that threatened to envelop him to stand in the light beside you.

"It is even more annoying." he sighed. He moved his hand over your cheek, sliding his thumb over the dried blood that had drained from your cut. "But I rather like that idea, that you care about me."

.。・゜・。..。・゜・。..。・゜・。..。・゜・。..。・゜・。..。・゜

i'm not totally satisfied with what I've written but thank you for reading it, feel free to check out my other writings on Astarion! ♥︎♥︎

Astarion x gn reader : On your skin (pt 1)

Astarion x gn reader : A thousand thanks

Astarion x gn reader : No place for love

Fic : Astarion x Fem! bard Tav : Fruit of the Poisonned Tree

[trappedinafantasy37]

Act 2 of my Shadowheart origin has officially come to its conclusion and so it is time to update the ongoing story. In case you missed Act 1, read about it here.

WARNING: this gets pretty long. Again, it's a story. Also, some things are gonna be a little outta character and involve my own head canons as I try to fill in the gaps of what isn't directly said in the game.

MOONRISE

Rolling up to Moonrise, Shadow was ready to finally get some answers as it seemed to be the origin of the tadpole that is wriggling around in her skull. She may also have the opportunity to finally face the Absolute, which is seemingly a much greater threat than she initially realized. What she did not expect to see was Minthara being put on trial by a General Ketheric Thorm. Here, Shadow is a little conflicted.

Shadow still harbors immense guilt over what happened at the grove and Minthara is the one who led the charge. But, Minthara was merely a soldier following orders and she followed them faithfully, something Shadow can understand. But, it is also Shadow's fault Minthara is on trial. After all, Minthara's mission of securing the Prism was only a failure because Shadow purposefully hid it from her. The tieflings are all dead because of her actions, she's not about to let Minthara die too. She can't have more blood on her hands. That and she owes Minthara for giving her the mind shattering orgasms.

After the trial, dispelling of some Goblins, and getting an update to the main quest from Z'rell, Shadow makes her way into the dungeon so that she may rescue the paladin. And, of course, she helps Minthara with killing her tormentors. Shadow has to then do some excellent word smithing to convince the guards to just let her leave and walk out of Moonrise with a fugitive.

Seeing and understanding the Absolute for what it truly is, Minthara decides she wants nothing to do with the Absolute any longer and would like to join the woman that she prayed to and who saved her from certain death. Minthara is desperate for Shadow to let her join in on her crusade. If Shadow doesn't agree, Minthara would have her mind wiped and turned into a thrall. She would rather die! And, even if she did survive the Absolute, she has nowhere else to go and Shadow is, ironically, the only beacon of light in the dark for her. Thankfully, Shadow let's her join her on her crusade against the Absolute.

Promptly after joining, she makes a visit to Withers (who calls her maidenless haha) so she can get a respec and become a Rogue Paladin. By now, Minthara is an oathbreaker twice over. By joining the Absolute, she broke her oath to Lolth, even if it was against her will. By leaving the Absolute, she has broken that oath as well. Now, she takes up a new oath, but it will not be in any gods name, not after the gods have tormented her and abandoned her in her greatest time of need. No, she takes her new oath in Shadow's name instead and swears bloody vengeance against all those who loyally serve the Absolute. Now the cleric and her loyal paladin march outta camp to take on the Absolute together.

The two explore the Shadow Lands and fight many threats side by side. Some of their misadventures include:

Protecting that, eugh, cleric of Selune, Isobel, from Marcus' ambush

Talking Gerringothe Thorm into handing over all her money and quitting her job

Talking Thisobold Thorm into drinking himself to death

Talking Malus Thorm into being a proper mentor and allowing the nurses to stab him to death

Fighting off a shambling mound

Made this really weird guy with his pet bird stab himself

Killed the warden in Moonrise and cleared the prison, saving some Gnomes

Also went on a super secret stealth mission and cleared out most of Moonrise

THE GAUNTLET OF SHAR

Eventually they work their way to the Thorm Mausoleum and discover the Gauntlet of Shar. Shadow is ecstatic as she may be able to finally achieve her destiny, and Minthara is more than eager to help. After all, the power of a Dark Justiciar is legendary!

Once completing the trials, Shadow makes one final prayer to Shar. Of course, Minthara has her reservations about Shar. The Nightsinger is nothing but a poison and worship of her is self-indulgent. Clearly, it hasn't done Shadow any favors as Minthara can tell that her Sharran worship forces her to repress herself and fills her with self-pity. She also has a unique antipathy to Shar given the immense similarities to Lolth. However, Shar does have a few admirable qualities. One of them being the ability to grant Shadow the power of a Dark Justiciar.

They make their way to the heart of Shar's domain, the Shadowfell, and learn what the final test is that awaits Shadow. A woman trapped in a soul cage, the last Selunite. Now, Shadow doesn't know what to do. Surely, this woman, this Nightsong, doesn't deserve to be killed. But Shar is in Shadow's ear telling her to kill the caged woman. It also doesn't help that Minthara is on the side telling Shadow to kill the Selunite so that she may achieve her destiny.

Minthara may dislike Shar, but she will grant Shadow a power that they sorely need in their fight against the Absolute. And Minthara has no problems with gaining power. It is just a shame this power would attach Shadow to Shar forever, but so be it. Shadow completed the trials honorably and this is the final test! Shar is more than willing to embrace Shadow as her Dark Justiciar and grant her the power of one. Minthara does not want Shadow to back down now.

In an unexpected turn of events for everyone involved, Shadow throws the spear into the endless storm of the Shadowfell. The grove is dead because of her. What is the point of this "grand destiny" if it only leads to death? Look what it did to Ketheric. Look at the Shadow Curse! Shadow doesn't want to be responsible for any more pain and suffering in the world. After all, her guilt saved Minthara's life, someone who has been nothing but protective and loyal to her. Why stop here in front of the Nightsong? Minthara isn't happy with the loss of potential power, but she sees wisdom in Shadow's decision as it means she will finally be free of Shar's poison. That and, well, she's starting to grow a little fond of the half-elf and cares about her well being.

Unfortunately, disobeying Shar also means begging for her wrath. In response to Shadow's disobedience, the Nightsinger sends an indescribable pain throughout Shadow's body. There is no lesson to be taught here, it is just pain for the purpose of inflicting pain. Although Minthara feels that Shar is right to punish Shadow for her disobedience, even she feels that Shadow does not deserve this level of torment and Shar was too quick to discard her. She can sympathize with Shadow's situation given a similar thing happened to her with Lolth and the Absolute.

But there is an internal struggle happening within Shadow. She has been devoted to Shar her entire life, or so she thinks. Shar is the only thing that she has known. By turning against Shar, surely Shadow should have lost all of her clerical abilities. But, they are still there. A small part of her mind knows why she still has her clerical abilities and who is powering them, but she does not want to confront that reality. So, for the time being, she just ignores the fact that she has been embraced by the warm light of the moon.

RAID ON MOONRISE TOWER

Now time to take on Ketheric Thorm. The fight through the tower would have been a bitch, but Z'rell was the only one who showed up on the big day! Apparently, a pair of unknown and sneaky elves made their way through the tower and killed everyone a few days prior. How weird!

They finally rush to the top of the tower with Jaheira as a temporary ally to finally fight Ketheric. Since Shadow had done some snooping earlier, she was actually able to convince Ketheric to stand down and surrender. Minthara was in the back absolutely seething over the idea of showing Ketheric mercy. He doesn't deserve mercy! Not all that he has done to her! She is on the verge of having a fucking aneurysm cause Shadow is being merciful and at the worst possible time! But she will do what Shadow wants. But, Dame Aylin swoops in and starts a fight anyway, much to Minthara's delight! And of course, Minthara absolutely humiliates Ketheric and forces him to retreat back into his tower.

Shadow and Minthara finally explore the Mind Flayer colony where it is clear to Shadow that Minthara is not having a good time. But, Minthara is going to pretend like she's not having some serious flashbacks. She doesn't want Shadow to see that level of vulnerability in her. Not when they still need to find and kill Ketheric. Now just isn't the time for Shadow to think she's soft and weak. So, instead of talking about herself, she instead decides to provide some lore about the colony itself to redirect Shadow's attention away from herself.

Descending further into the colony, they finally reach the lower level where they eavesdrop on a conversation between Ketheric, some random dude who is neither young or handsome, and Orin, Minthara's tormentor. Of course, Minthara could say something, warn Shadow how dangerous Orin is. But she can't. Poor girl is having a silent panic attack over seeing her tormentor again.

Eventually Orin and the greasy guy leave with some weird throbbing brain and it's just Ketheric alone. Shadow goes up to confront Ketheric and gives him one last chance to surrender. Overwhelmed with his own guilt and fears that he can never repent, Ketheric falls back into a brine pool and functionally kills himself. And out pops Myrkul. It was a hard fight, but with the assistance of her fellow paladin, Dame Alyin, Minthara is able to land the killing blow on Myrkul and, by consequence, Ketheric.

Taking a victory lap, Minthara sits on Ketheric's throne and overlooks the rest of the tower. It may have been a few months and a little bit of blood, sweat, and torture. But she has finally eradicated the inhabitants of the tower and conquered Moonrise. Too bad she can't take the victory back home to her house. But, she can still enjoy this moment.

With the revelations of the new information they discovered about the Absolute, Minthara hatches the big brain idea with all 8 of her intelligence points of conquering it and taking it for themselves. With the power of the cult and the elder brain, they can reshape the world to their hearts desires. No more will they ever have to fear being tormented by the gods like Lolth or Shar. As Absolute, they would be gods in their own names and these other petty and vindictive gods can no longer hurt them or meddle with their fates. They would be the masters, the writers, of their own destinies and they will have the power to kill all those who dare interfere. Obviously Shadow is opposed to this as she'd rather destroy it and rid themselves of the worms in their heads. That and Shadow has never been one for power. Minthara is not happy with this response, but she is confident that she will change Shadow's mind about it soon enough.

Now that things have calmed down and Ketheric is finally dead, Shadow meets with Dame Aylin and Isobel back at camp. Aylin decides to show Shadow the truth of one of her oldest memories, and the truth that Shar did not want her to see. That she was kidnapped from her home. That she was fed lies her entire life. And, most importantly, that she has parents and that they were still alive!

There are still doubts swirling within Shadow's mind, but there is an inescapable truth. She has been embraced by Selune. But why? Shadow didn't ask. And a part of her still struggles to fight against the Sharran indoctrination that has been beaten into her. A part of her still sees Selune as the enemy. And yet, Selune embraces her, even if Shadow is not willing to embrace her back.

Even if she isn't ready to embrace Selune, Shadow still wants to put some distance between herself and the god who now only lives to torment her. As a symbolic gesture, she cuts and dyes her hair in the colors of the Moon with the sole intent of telling Shar to go fuck herself.

Minthara thinks about her journey thus far and everything she's done with Shadow. Since their first night after the grove raid, Minthara hasn't been able to get Shadow out of her mind. And out of pure desperation, she prayed to her, begging for Shadow to save her when she needed to be saved. The gods ignored her, tortured her, and left her to die. Shadow did not.

She has been the only person on the surface that has accepted her and appreciated her for who she is and does not hold any judgment against her, despite any disagreements they may have about the gods. And in her time of need, Shadow came and saved her. When she prayed to all the gods, begging for just one of them to help her, Shadow was the one who appeared before her. How can she do anything but worship her cleric?

But Minthara has been down this road before with another cleric in her old life. She does not want to make the same mistake again. So she asks to see into Shadow's mind and learns fully that Shadow will never hurt her, betray her, abuse her, use her, or abandon her. This is a new feeling for Minthara as any previous relationships in Menzoberranzan never had this kind of guarantee. For the first time, she has found someone she can put her full trust and faith in. She has found someone that she can truly be open and vulnerable to, confident that any vulnerability she may feel will never be turned against her.

From Shadow's perspective, Minthara is also someone who hasn't judged her for any of her misdeeds either and has always stood by her side. Even when Shadow was overwhelmed and drowned in her guilt for her actions at the grove, Minthara was right there to comfort her through it all. Even with their little disagreement in regards to rejecting Shar, Minthara was still right there. Even when they disagreed on how to handle Ketheric, Minthara was still right there. Even when they disagreed on what to do with the Absolute, Minthara was still right there. Minthara can disagree with any decision that Shadow can make, and Minthara will still stand proud right next to her, fighting in her name. Shadow has never seen this level of loyalty and devotion from anyone, at least not that she can recall. How else can she feel anything but adoration for her paladin?

Thanks for reading my story! Act 3 is underway and, oh boi, I'm already feeling the Act 3 dread. Not to mention, the Elden Ring DLC has finally arrived, so it may be some time before I get back to Baldur's Gate. But, once I wrap up Act 3, I'll get to writing the story and provide the final update as well as the epilogue. As per usual, I will still provide my mini progress updates.

<Act 1 | Act 3 >

[tavtime]

One of the things I've been thinking a lot about (as I very, very slowly write my longfic about it) is this theme in BG3 of conflict between gods or godlike authorities versus ordinary people. I think the things it has to say about how "the Great and the Good" treat people they consider their inferiors, and where real power is actually located in that dynamic, are very interesting.

Like. Ok. Literally every full companion's personal arc is concerned with that companion being used as a pawn by an actor with greater scope of influence than themselves: Karlach is on the run from Zariel; Lae'zel finds herself in direct conflict with her people's god-queen; Shadowheart's entire relationship with Shar is dependent on her compliance to being bent to Shar's purposes at the expense of all other connections; Mystra tells Gale to blow himself up to earn her forgiveness and derail a competing power. Even Astarion and Wyll, who aren't beholden to gods per se, are struggling against being manipulated by those who hold sway far beyond the scope of their own (Cazador is not just powerful as a vampire but implied to be socially powerful as well, and Wyll's conflict is not just with Mizora but also his father in his capacity more broadly representing the needs of Baldur's Gate).

And the interesting thing with each of these, what gets brought up time and again, is that these gods and betters aren't actually the ones exercising power over the situation. They're trying, via manipulation of those in service to them, but they aren't actually exerting influence directly in most cases. The implication is of indifference, impotence, or being themselves beholden to a greater power (Gale does make an offhand comment re: how willing Ao would be to overlook Mystra's interference in mortal affairs). The people who actually end up exercising power in this situation are the little people, the ones nominally being used.

Which, Thing One, I think this is a very intentional storytelling choice that yields fantastic contrast to the interactions between the controlled party and the antagonists. The Dead Three are a threat in large part because they were willing to get their handa dirty and operate on the material plane. The first real boss the player faces, Ketheric, is not just chosen of Myrkul directly wielding some of his power, but transforms physically into his avatar. Orin and, to a lesser extent, Gortash as well, can be analyzed along similar lines.

But Thing Two, which I think is really the thing I want to spend the most time turning over, is that the story takes a pretty clear position on moral and personal value in this situation. Basically, in the conflict between the ordinary people of the world and its gods and paragons, the narrative comes down very firmly on the side of the people who are considered pawns or disposable. The protagonists are the ones winning this fight, not their gods, and every time a character gets the opportunity to rise above their "station" to be on equal footing with those powers it's framed negatively. Durge embracing Bhaal, Astarion completing the Ascension, Shadowheart becoming a Dark Justiciar, Gale reforging the crown, Karlach becoming a mind flayer, any Tav or Durge choosing to dominate the brain - all of these involve the character gaining a large amount of power, and all of them are framed by the narrative as "bad endings" (though whether you as the player personally feel differently about them is left up to you, of course). The sole exception to this might be Wyll, who has the opportunity to step into his father's shoes, but even then, there is some aspect of power only being framed as "good" when it is used in service of the people.

Basically what I'm trying to say is that there is an allegory here about class conflict and the power inherent to ordinary people which I think is worthwhile to examine, and is a crucial part of any thorough analysis of BG3's themes.

[harpershigh]

@myrkulsapxstle

Jaheira lowered herself to the ground by the fire, her movements slow, deliberate. She sat cross-legged, her back straight, facing Ketheric Thorm directly across the flames. The flickering light painted sharp shadows across her face, but it was her eyes that cut deepest — steady, piercing, and full of unspoken judgment. Her expression was carved in stone, anger tempered by a careful, calculating scrutiny. She studied him as one would study a venomous creature, searching for the vulnerable spot beneath the armor, the crack in the facade. There was no room for kindness here, only an unyielding need to understand the man who had brought so much devastation.

Understand? No. Not the right word. This man had taken too much from her to deserve her understanding now.

"Tell me, general," Jaheira said, the title drawn out with a contempt that cut like a blade. Her gaze bore into Ketheric's, unrelenting. "Do you truly believe that a single good deed can erase the years of shadows you've cast?"

Jaheira didn’t expect him to answer. She doubted he even could. Yet, she asked anyway. What was she hoping to hear? Perhaps nothing at all. Gods, the only conversation she wanted to have with Ketheric Thorm right now involved the sharp edge of her blades — or, better yet, her claws.

[emmy-dekarios-bg3]

Heart of the Weave - chapter 44

After a worrisome journey, we finally arrive in the area that was once the Shadow lands, and I’m relieved to see that the shadow curse is still lifted despite Ketheric being resurrected from the dead. Moonrise is such a short distance away, yet I’m less anxious than I was previously. Is it possible I’m coming to terms with Gortash’s fatal fate? Whatever the reason, I’m feeling a surge of confidence and an urge to obliterate the evil that remains standing.

“Ah, memories. It’s so beautiful here. I love seeing the life flowing through the flowers and trees, the blossoms brightening the surrounding areas, and the sun reflecting through the waters of the pond,” Halsin comments, admiring the serene nature that was once a disastrous area consumed by shadows and death. I’m still in shock that this beautiful place was once so deadly and filled with lost souls searching for peace. Too many lost way too soon.

I stare down the path ahead that leads directly to Moonrise, feeling the broken pavement crumble beneath my feet. I eyeball Jenevelle as she lies with contentment in her stroller, trying to convince myself she’ll be alright and our worries are once again about to fade away.

“The tower is up ahead. Is everyone ready? I have the vials of invisibility potions,” Gale assures with a quiet tone. He pulls the potions out from the pockets of his shirt and hands one to each of us to use.

“Let’s do this! Emmy, you stand back–” As Karlach begins to speak, she’s interrupted by a slow clap behind us, and of course my worst fears come to life. I feel my heart sink and accelerate as I turn around to notice Gortash, Fanden, and Ketheric standing just a few feet away.

“Ah, Emmy. It’s been awhile, my dear. Too long. I knew you’d come, you’ve always been true to your word…well, other than killing me, of course.” Gortash’s voice is ominous and deep as he tries to get beneath my skin.

“Shit… You were supposed to be in the tower,” I mumble under my breath as I stand here in shock, swallowing the confidence that’s no longer there. “Where’s Rolan? Our friend?” Gale immediately grabs Jenevelle from her stroller and holds her tightly against his chest. Ketheric and Fanden approach Gortash’s side.

“Ha! I never abducted your friend. Though, weird how eager you were to blow up the tower knowing he was abducted. However, I did send my only son to keep tabs on you. Every second of every day, my dearest daughter.” Thank the Gods Rolan is alright. To be fair on all accounts, we know for a fact he wasn’t in Moonrise. Gortash glares at Karlach, yet appears to be completely thrown off by her presence. “Ah, Karlach. It shocks me you’re still here.”

“Yeah, you bucket of bolts. I found a way to fix my engine, thanks to Wyll and, ha, even Avernus. You thought you had the last of me. Well newsflash, traitor, I’m still here you pathetic fuck.”

“Tsk tsk. You still have such a way with words.”

“Get to the damn POINT,” I mutter impatiently as I clench my fists. He takes another couple steps toward me while his hands are behind his back, smirking as he stares at me with piercing eyes. His very presence sickens me.

“I tracked you down to make amends with you. To apologize to you for not being in your life as you were growing up. All those years, I had no idea I even had a daughter, let alone any children at all. To have you and your brother here means a lot.”

“Give me a BREAK!” Karlach shouts, her face expressing rage, her body ready to charge at him any second.

“I was talking to my daughter. Please, Karlach, don’t be rude.” I close my eyes, trying to contain my cool as I anticipate his next words to me.

“Tell me the real reason you want me here. Revenge for when I killed you? Or, let me guess - you want something from me.” I detect curiosity on his face as he raises an eyebrow, wondering how I would have gotten the idea he wants to use me. He studies my face, realizing the truth of my anger and hatred toward him.

“Nonsense. I wanted to formally apologize to you and meet my granddaughter. She looks like you, you know.”

“You don’t deserve to breathe near our baby. We know exactly want you want, Gortash,” Gale comments sternly, his brows furrowed as he makes intense eye contact.

“What are you on about? I want nothing more than simply a discussion with my one and only daughter. It’s time we address this chaotic situation.” My eyes look past Gortash and I notice an evil smirk on Fanden’s face as if he’s up to no good, and he appears to be exchanging looks with Ketheric. They’re planning something diabolical. While my eyes are focused on Fanden, it appears Ketheric has vanished. Gortash used us as a fucking distraction! I turn to face Gale, and before a word could escape my lips, Jenevelle gets snatched by Ketheric, who then becomes visible that very second. He must have taken a potion… Gale and I widen our eyes in terror as we catch our daughter being taken by this cruel, evil man in front of us. I feel my chest burn with anger as I feel an empty void fill my heart as I watch my child be taken from us. I can’t explain this horrible feeling within me, but it’s sickening, like nothing I’ve ever felt. I grit my teeth as tears form in my eyes.

“NO!!” Him and I both scream, trying to bolt toward Ketheric but Fanden jumps in front of him to stop us.

“YOU BASTARD!” I shout, my hands shaking as I try to bolt toward my baby. “Give her back!” Karlach and Wyll then charge at Gortash, pouncing on top of him. While Wyll has him in a headlock, she beats him with the intensity of her warhammer. My blood boils and tears escape my eyes as I try to once again reach out to Ketheric, but he pushes me away with his right hand with extreme force, holding Jenevelle in his other arm. He proceeds to cast ‘sanctuary’ so he is unable to be harmed.

“GIVE US OUR BABY BACK!” Gale’s voice is like thunder, causing me to tremble, simply because I’ve never heard him yell or raise his voice before. I can see veins pulsating through his forehead as anger courses within his body. “No one takes my daughter from me!”

Fanden proceeds to charge at me so I can’t unleash the holy power within me, but Halsin casts ‘hold person’ on him, causing him to be in a state of immobility. Wyll proceeds to use Eldritch Blast on him, which drains a significant amount of life from his body. As this is happening, I hear our baby cry, and she’s completely terrified as she notices us fighting to get her back.

“Say goodbye to your daughter before the soul chains suck her dry of her immortality,” Ketheric grumbles, followed by a chuckle that instantly pisses me off. Gortash kicks Karlach off his body, revealing bruises and blood across his entire body, soaking his white shirt.

“Now, Ketheric, even I’m not that cruel. We’ll get what we’ve been after, just hand me the baby,” Gortash demands, his eyes intimidating Ketheric into submission. “I won’t allow harm to be done to her under any circumstance.”

“Please, hand her to us. I’m begging you,” I whimper, gritting my teeth as I watch her helpless body being held by my tyrant father. Tears drip off my chin, and I notice Gale is crying as well. It pains us horrible to watch her out of any protection. At this moment, I finally feel it: the unstoppable and vicious power within me, ready to unleash. I notice it within Gale too.

As Fanden becomes unfrozen from the spell, Karlach and Wyll both stomp on his back so he’s unable to get up. Gortash stares at our daughter, smiling at her as her bottom lip quivers. She’s trying to stop crying.

“Ah, my lovely little granddaughter. There’s so much potential within you. I could take that immortality from you and grant you the experience to grow up. Then, once you’re old enough, you can have it back again.”

“NO. If she dies at any point before you grant it back, her soul is debted to the Hells and she will be tortured. We had no choice,” I say calmly, trying to contain my power while my daughter is still in his hands.

“What a shame. It can never be simple, can it?” Right then and there, Gale charges directly at Gortash, but Ketheric stops him by gripping his shirt, causing it to rip. “My dear daughter, I know how badly you want your baby back. I’ll give her to you if you can make a deal with me. Let me make up all those years that have been lost. Allow me into your life. Let’s…catch up, per se. Forgive and forget the haunting past.”

While it’s true he may want to be a part of my life, I sense deceit in his words. I have a feeling he wants me to trust him so he can find a way to use me for his selfish gains and immortality.

“You may have been a decent man at one point, but you’re a manipulator. You will never gain my trust. Power is too important for you to care about anything else.”

“I hear the hurt in your voice, darling. You want to love me, you want to respect me. You can.” Gaslighting is what he’s good at, and he’s either telling the truth, or masking his intentions very well.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore.” Gale places his hand on my right shoulder, his eyes saddened as he realizes I’m being sucked into his trap.

“Love, he’s willing to keep our baby locked in soul chains if you don’t obey him. Do not believe a single word he says.” Gortash glares at him, then sighs, but a hint of sadness is lingering in his breath. It’s so hard to decipher his intentions.