#draconic sorcery

[cagemasterfantasy]

Draconic Sorcery (Formerly Draconic Ancestry) (5.5e)

Your innate magic comes from the gift of a dragon. Perhaps an ancient dragon facing death bequeathed some of its magical power to you or your ancestor. You might have absorbed magic from a site infused with dragons’ power. Or perhaps you handled a treasure taken from a dragon’s hoard that was steeped in draconic power. Or you might have a dragon for an ancestor.

Level 3 Draconic Resilience: The magic in your body manifests physical traits of your draconic gift. Your Hit Point maximum increases by 3, and it increases by 1 whenever you gain another Sorcerer level.

Parts of you are also covered by dragon-like scales. While you aren’t wearing armor, your base Armor Class equals 10 plus your Dexterity and Charisma modifiers.

Level 3 Draconic Spells: When you reach a Sorcerer level specified below you thereafter always have the listed spells prepared

Level 3: Alter Self, Chromatic Orb, Command and Dragon's Breath

Level 5: Fear and Fly

Level 7: Arcane Eye and Charm Monster

Level 9: Legend Lore and Summon Dragon

Level 6 Elemental Affinity: Your draconic magic has an affinity with a damage type associated with dragons. Choose one of those types: Acid, Cold, Fire, Lightning, or Poison.

You have Resistance to that damage type, and when you cast a spell that deals damage of that type, you can add your Charisma modifier to one damage roll of that spell.

Level 14 Dragon Wings: As a Bonus Action, you can cause draconic wings to appear on your back. The wings last for 1 hour or until you dismiss them (no action required). For the duration, you have a Fly Speed of 60 feet.

Once you use this feature, you can’t use it again until you finish a Long Rest unless you spend 3 Sorcery Points (no action required) to restore your use of it.

Level 18 Dragon Companion: You can cast Summon Dragon without a Material component. You can also cast it once without a spell slot, and you regain the ability to cast it in this way when you finish a Long Rest.

Whenever you start casting the spell, you can modify it so that it doesn’t require Concentration. If you do so, the spell’s duration becomes 1 minute for that casting.

Spells

Alter Self is a level 2 Transmutation spell for Sorcerer and Wizard. Casting Time is 1 action Range is self Requires a Verbal and Somatic component. Duration is Concentration up to 1 hour.

You alter your physical form. Choose one of the following options. Its effects last for the duration, during which you can take a Magic action to replace the option you chose with a different one. Aquatic Adaptation: You sprout gills and grow webs between your fingers. You can breathe underwater and gain a Swim Speed equal to your Speed. Change Appearance: You alter your appearance. You decide what you look like, including your height, weight, facial features, sound of your voice, hair length, coloration, and other distinguishing characteristics. You can make yourself appear as a member of another species, though none of your statistics change. You can't appear as a creature of a different size, and your basic shape stays the same; if you're bipedal, you can't use this spell to become quadrupedal, for instance. For the duration, you can take a Magic action to change your appearance in this way again. Natural Weapons: You grow claws (Slashing), fangs (Piercing), horns (Piercing), or hooves (Bludgeoning). When you use your Unarmed Strike to deal damage with that new growth, it deals 1d6 damage of the type in parentheses instead of dealing the normal damage for your Unarmed Strike, and you use your spellcasting ability modifier for the attack and damage rolls rather than using Strength.

Chromatic Orb is a level 1 Evocation spell for Sorcerer and Wizard. Casting Time is 1 action Range is 90 feet Requires a Verbal and Somatic and spell ingredient is a Diamond worth at least 50 gold pieces. Duration is Instantaneous.

You hurl an orb of energy at a target within range. Choose Acid, Cold, Fire, Lightning, Poison, or Thunder for the type of orb you create, and then make a ranged spell attack against the target. On a hit, the target takes 3d8 damage of the chosen type. If you roll the same number on two or more of the d8s, the orb leaps to a different target of your choice within 30 feet of the target. Make an attack roll against the new target, and make a new damage roll. The orb can't leap again unless you cast the spell with a level 2+ spell slot. Using a Higher-Level Spell Slot: The damage increases by 1d8 for each spell slot level above 1. The orb can leap a maximum number of times equal to the level of the slot expended, and a creature can be targeted only once by each casting of this spell.

Command is a level 1 Enchantment spell for Bard Cleric Paladin. Casting Time is 1 action Range is 60 feet Requires a Verbal component and Duration is Instantaneous.

You speak a one-word command to a creature you can see within range. The target must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw or follow the command on its next turn. Choose the command from these options: Approach: The target moves toward you by the shortest and most direct route, ending its turn if it moves within 5 feet of you. Drop: The target drops whatever it is holding and then ends its turn. Flee: The target spends its turn moving away from you by the fastest available means. Grovel: The target is Prone and then ends its turn. Halt: On its turn, the target doesn't move and takes no action or Bonus Action. Using a Higher-Level Spell Slot: You can affect one additional creature for each spell slot level above 1.

Dragon's Breath is a level 2 Transmutation spell for Sorcerer and Wizard. Casting Time is a Bonus Action Range is Touch Requires a Verbal and Somatic component and Spell Ingredient is a hot pepper. Duration is Concentration up to 1 minute.

You touch one willing creature, and choose Acid, Cold, Fire, Lightning, or Poison. Until the spell ends, the target can take a Magic action to exhale a 15-foot Cone. Each creature in that area makes a Dexterity saving throw, taking 3d6 damage of the chosen type on a failed save or half as much damage on a successful one. Using a Higher-Level Spell Slot: The damage increases by 1d6 for each spell slot level above 2.

Fear is a level 3 Illusion spell for Bard Sorcerer Warlock and Wizard. Casting Time is 1 action Range is self Requires a Verbal and Somatic component and Spell Ingredient is a white feather. Duration is Concentration up to 1 minute.

Each creature in a 30-foot Cone must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw or drop whatever it is holding and be Frightened for the duration. A Frightened creature takes the Dash action and moves away from you by the safest route on each of its turns unless there is nowhere to move. If the creature ends its turn in a space where it doesn't have line of sight to you, the creature makes a Wisdom saving throw. On a successful save, the spell ends on that creature.

Fly is a level 3 Transmutation spell for Sorcerer Warlock and Wizard. Casting Time is 1 Action Range is Touch and requires a Verbal and Somatic component and spell ingredient is a feather Duration is Concentration up to 10 minutes.

You touch a willing creature. For the duration, the target gains a Fly Speed of 60 feet and can hover. When the spell ends, the target falls if it is still aloft unless it can stop the fall. Using a Higher-Level Spell Slot: You can target one additional creature for each spell slot level above 3.

Arcane Eye is a level 4 Divination spell unique to Wizard. Casting Time is 1 action Range is 30 feet Requires a Verbal and Somatic component and Spell Ingredient is a bit of bat fur. Duration is Concentration up to 1 hour.

You create an Invisible, invulnerable eye within range that hovers for the duration. You mentally receive visual information from the eye, which can see in every direction. It also has Darkvision with a range of 30 feet. As a Bonus Action, you can move the eye up to 30 feet in any direction. A solid barrier blocks the eye's movement, but the eye can pass through an opening as small as 1 inch in diameter.

Charm Monster is a level 4 Enchantment spell for Bard Druid Sorcerer Warlock and Wizard. Casting Time is 1 action Range is 30 feet Requires a Verbal and Somatic component and Duration is 1 hour.

One creature you can see within range makes a Wisdom saving throw. It does so with Advantage if you or your allies are fighting it. On a failed save, the target is Charmed until the spell ends or until you or your allies damage it. The Charmed creature is Friendly to you. When the spell ends, the target knows it was Charmed by you. Using a Higher-Level Spell Slot: You can target one additional creature for each spell slot level above 4.

Legend Lore is a level 5 Divination spell for Bard Cleric and Wizard. Casting Time is 10 minutes Range is Self Requires a Verbal and Somatic component and Spell ingredient is Incense worth at least 250 gold pieces which the spell consumes and 4 ivory Strips worth at least 50 gold pieces each. Duration is Instantaneous.

Name or describe a famous person, place, or object. The spell brings to your mind a brief summary of the significant lore about that famous thing, as described by the DM. The lore might consist of important details, amusing revelations, or even secret lore that has never been widely known. The more information you already know about the thing, the more precise and detailed the information you receive is. That information is accurate but might be couched in figurative language or poetry, as determined by the DM. If the famous thing you chose isn't actually famous, you hear sad musical notes played on a trombone, and the spell fails.

Summon Dragon is a level 5 Conjuration spell unique to Wizard. Casting Time is 1 action Range is 60 feet Requires a Verbal and Somatic component and spell ingredient is an object with the image of a dragon engraved on it worth at least 500 gold pieces. Duration is Concentration up to 1 hour

You call forth a Dragon spirit. It manifests in an unoccupied space that you can see within range and uses the Draconic Spirit stat block. The creature disappears when it drops to 0 Hit Points or when the spell ends.

The creature is an ally to you and your allies. In combat, the creature shares your Initiative count, but it takes its turn immediately after yours. It obeys your verbal commands (no action required by you). If you don’t issue any, it takes the Dodge action and uses its movement to avoid danger.

Using a Higher-Level Spell Slot: Use the spell slot’s level for the spell’s level in the stat block.

Draconic Spirit stat block

AC: 14+the spell's level

Hp: 50+10 for each spell level above 5

Speed: 30ft on land a flying speed of 60 ft and a swimming speed of 30 ft

Strength: 19 (+4) Dexterity: 14 (+2) Constitution 17 (+3) Intelligence 10 (+0) Wisdom 14 (+2) Charisma: 14 (+2)

Resistance to Acid Cold Fire Lightning and Poison damage and can't be Charmed Frightened or Poisoned.

Has Blindsight to a range of 30ft and Darkvision to a range of 60ft

It only speaks Draconic but understands any language you know but can't speak them

Traits

Shared Resistances: When you summon the spirit, choose one of its Resistances. You have Resistance to the chosen damage type until the spell ends.

Actions

Multiattack: The spirit makes a number of Rend attacks equal to half the spell’s level (round down), and it uses Breath Weapon.

Rend: Melee Attack: Bonus equals your spell attack modifier, reach 10 feet. Hit:1d6 + 4 + the spell’s level Piercing damage.

Breath Weapon: Dexterity Saving Throw: DC equals your spell save DC, each creature in a 30-foot Cone. Failure: 2d6 damage of a type this spirit has Resistance to (your choice when you cast the spell). Success: Half damage

@doodl3

[elgarabelas]

After such a long break from drawing anything i present u yet another wip :)

[tiny-chubby-bird]

has anyone considered

[countercharmda]

Slapping down the fact that Ren and all the Angemonts do not have infernal characteristics, but rather…more Draconic characteristics. As a treat

[sangre]

here's my tav's relationship chart, with the original linked here! catarina's the descendant of a cursed green dragon so things are a bit complicated in the bonding with people department. he is slow to trust but once you've got it it's pretty unbreakable :( he loves his dearest bestfriends so much, lot of funny little creatures that they are.

[siderealsandman]

[demifiendcruithne]

i sure would like to make a basic program to optimise and make consistent my music collection

shame i'm looking into literally every obscure thing i can think of to enable stupid dnd combinations instead

the upside of ADHD is that it makes you a fucking genius

the downside is that you don't get to decide when and for how long you're a genius.

[dinrelsanddragons]

Now that I've boned up on artificer subclasses, I'm wondering if Noel wouldn't have a few levels of Alchemist Artificer. She is a brewer, and likes to heal people; Alchemist is the most supportive artificer subclass.

HMMMMM.

[acridid-s]

The Elden Ring brainrot is rearing it's head again. I want to start a new game and make my Ashen One in the CC with an according build.

[powdermelonkeg]

Archwizard Gale lore???

Okay, SO! My personal headcanons for Gale's powers, both as archwizard and Chosen of Mystra, are based upon the following:

D&D makes a distinction between "archmage" and "archwizard," with the former being a spellcaster dedicated to the arcane arts and either: the counsel of royalty, a lich tyrant, or a reclusive hermit, all with multiple apprentices, and the latter being "an arcane spellcaster of extremely high power who successfully claimed a floating enclave," that specification coming from the time of Netheril.

Gale is NOT royal counsel, NOT pursuing lichdom, NOT a hermit (willingly), does NOT have apprentices when he first makes the claim, and does NOT have a floating enclave.

Despite these, he still claims "archwizard" as a title. This is significant, especially from Waterdeep, where the most powerful wizards in the world gather, including Laeral Silverhand (another of Mystra's Chosen, immortal to a degree, and Open Lord of Waterdeep) and Vajra Safahr (current Blackstaff and Archmage of Waterdeep).

Bonus points for his significance, he is Gale of Waterdeep. His personally chosen moniker marks him as outstanding among Waterdhavians. There might be a handful of people named Gale in Waterdeep, but there is only one Gale of Waterdeep. This is further backed up by Lorroakan recognizing him, with his only reason for Gale being lesser than someone who supposedly figured out immortality being that Gale was Mystra's discarded lapdog.

Gale is skilled in all manner of magic. This is confirmed directly in his epilogue, where you can question him about his choice teaching the School of Illusion, and he says that he wanted to teach ALL the classes there, but the staff told him no. That includes schools you wouldn't normally associate with him, like Divination and Necromancy.

Based on all of that, I've decided that "archwizard," as Gale means it, is a term referring to a wizard who's multiclassed into all their subclasses.

Does this make him overpowered? Yes. But he's an archwizard, prodigy, and Chosen, he's MEANT to be within the bounds of his own lore.

In addition, I also believe him to be an untrained Storm Sorcerer, based upon the following:

Sorcerers and wizards differ in that sorcerers know magic intrinsically, while wizards study it to use it.

When talking to Halsin as Origin Gale, you can tell him that as a baby, you summoned a whole pack of rabbits. Presumably, baby Gale was NOT reading and comprehending arcane textbooks.

Gale has an intrinsic understanding of the Weave, by his own admission, saying he could compose it rather than just control it. He was also casting third level spells like Fireball at eight years old.

Gale's theme is all about storms: his name is Gale, he occasionally says "A rough tempest I will raise" in combat, almost all his official art has him controlling lightning, and his robe is thunder purple. This continues into God!Gale's design, where he has literal glowing lightning bolts framing his eyes, and his outfit is lightning blue.

K'ha'ssji'trach'ash: On his own, the mephit is pretty self-contained; it's a magma mephit capable of revealing the true form of a True Ressurection scroll. However, the key to getting him to do this is to respond to the question "what is my name" in Ignan with the correct answer. After which, K'ha'ssji'trach'ash says "T'i n'uthrantha m'ahthra Gale." We don't know what this means, but it's clear that he's talking to us, about Gale, possibly thanking us or asking us to pass a message along. This implies that he doesn't speak Common, or else he would, because we answered correctly. Why do I bring this up? Storm Sorcerers have an innate ability called Wind Speaker, which allows them to speak Primordial (including Aquan, Auran, Ignan, and Terran). Thus, Gale can speak to/understand K'ha'ssji'trach'ash, despite his known/studied languages being Common, Celestial, Giant, and Draconic.

Because he's untrained, and rather than Storm Sorcery being just a Lv1 flavor bit that does little, I've decided that Gale has access to the class features of Storm Sorcery without access to its spell slots or Metamagic, that way it's reflective of his power without training.

With both of these conclusions, both archwizard and sorcerer, I've decided to pick and choose which class features are from which iteration of both classes, because BG3 and official D&D have a few key differences that were mostly changed for gameplay reasons. I've then taken those and added more flavor to them, based on the already-given flavor of D&D and effects of BG3, doing away with the mechanical side of things for storytelling reasons.

On top of this, because the maximum level you can reach in BG3 is Lv12, and we know that the Orb consumes "the greatest of [his] talents," I've decided that the Orb consumes any ability beyond Lv12 until its removal.

That being said, beyond whatever spells and slots you care to give him, the powers I think Gale has pre-tadpole are:

Abjuration

Arcane Ward: When Gale casts Abjuration spells, residual magic shields him from the worst of incoming hits

Projected Ward: Gale can extend Arcane Ward to someone nearby instead of himself

Improved Abjuration: On short rest, Gale can strengthen Arcane Ward to sustain itself beyond a single hit

Evocation

Sculpt Spells: Gale can control his Evocation spells and keep them from harming allies

Potent Cantrip: Gale can force enemies that resist his cantrips to take half damage from them anyways

Empowered Evocation: Gale's Evocation spells are particularly deadly (based on +INT modifier to damage rolls)

Necromancy

Grim Harvest: Gale can harness the power released when a spell kills a creature to heal himself, UNLESS it's undead or a construct

Undead Thralls: Animate Dead: Gale can reanimate a corpse

UT: Additional Undead: Gale can efficiently harness the power it would take to reanimate one corpse to reanimate two corpses with Animate Dead

UT: Better Summons: Gale's reanimated dead can take more of a beating than others' dead

Inured to Undeath: Gale's been exposed to necromancy enough that he's resistant to necrotic damage, and his life force capacity can't be reduced (this one in particular helps with the "Netherese bile" flowing through his veins)

Conjuration

Create Water: Gale can call forth rain at will (BG3's feature over D&D's to align more with storm sorcery)

Benign Transposition: Teleport: Gale can teleport up to 30ft, and can use that to swap places with an ally

Focused Conjuration: Gale's concentration on conjuration spells can't break due to pain

Enchantment

Hypnotic Gaze: So long as Gale holds eye contact with someone, he can charm them into stopping everything they're doing and staring at him in a daze

Instinctive Charm: Reflexively, Gale can make a split-second charm attempt to redirect an attack at someone directly nearby

Split Enchantment: Gale can efficiently harness the power it would take to enchant one person and instead enchant two targets at once

Divination

Portent: Gale can focus and gain split-second glimpses into the immediate future (such as the next blow about to be thrown in a fight)

Expert Divination: Casting divination comes naturally enough to Gale that he can cast divination spells using a lower spell slot

Third Eye: Gale can increase his powers of perception and gain a very limited Darkvision/Ethereal vision at will, as well as read any language

Illusion

Improved Minor Illusion: Gale can cast illusory effects with incredible ease

See Invisibility: Gale's experience with illusions lets him detect invisibility spells at work, focus on them, and see through them

Illusory Self: Gale can create an identical double of himself reflexively to confuse opponents

Transmutation

Experimental Alchemy: Using transmutation magic, Gale can more efficiently refine potion ingredients, occasionally enough to create a second potion

Transmuter's Stone: Gale can lock some of his transmutation magic into a stone, granting whoever holds it an effect of his choice from the following: Constitution proficiency, Darkvision, extra speed, resistance to acid/cold/fire/lightning/thunder damage

Shapechanger: Gale can polymorph himself once a day without consuming a spell slot (only into beasts with a CR of 1 or less)

Storm Sorcery

Wind Speaker: Gale can speak, read, and write Primordial (Aquan, Auran, Ignan, and Terran)

Tempestuous Magic: Gale can summon gusts of wind around him immediately after casting a spell greater than a cantrip. These winds are strong enough to propel him in flight for ten feet

Heart of the Storm: Gale has resistance to lightning and thunder damage. In addition, whenever he casts a spell that deals lightning or thunder damage, the magic that erupts is stormy and more powerful than other kinds of magic at equal level

Storm Guide: Gale can subtly control the weather around him, causing rain to stop falling in a 20 foot sphere centered on him, or wind to blow in a different direction in a 100 foot sphere centered on him

Feats

These are based on what I, personally, think make the most sense for him pre-tadpole:

Ability Increase: +2 to INT score

Elemental Adept: Thunder: Spells/attacks ignore resistance to thunder, and when a spell he casts causes thunder damage, it can't critically fail

Elemental Adept: Lightning: Spells/attacks ignore resistance to lightning, and when a spell he casts causes lightning damage, it can't critically fail

Okay, so Gale's crazy powerful, right? What could he have possibly lost that's greater than all this?

Well...

Abjuration: Spell Resistance: Gale was in tune enough with the Weave that he could resist spells (as well as gaining advantage on saving throws against them)

Evocation: Overchannel: Gale could deal maximum damage on a 1-5 level spell without ill effect on first cast, but suffered unresisted necrotic damage when using it again

Necromancy: Command Undead: Gale could bring undead made by other wizards under his control

Conjuration: Durable Summons: Gale could give anything he summoned a temporary shield against damage (30 temp HP)

Enchantment: Alter Memories: Gale could make someone unaware they were charmed by him, as well as make them forget something that happened during that charmed period

Divination: Greater Portent: Gale used to be able to predict more split second decisions ahead with ease

Illusion: Illusory Reality: Gale used to be able to pull shadow magic together into illusions and make them, temporarily, real. He can still do a limited version of this, but only via concentration to keep the threads together (hence the "anatomically correct" illusory wizard in the Drow twins scene; shadow magic is NOT the same as the Shadow Weave)

Transmutation: Master Transmuter: Gale could consume magic stored in his transmuter's stone in one go, using it to transmute one object into another, remove curses, diseases, and poisons, raise the dead, or reduce a creature's apparent age by up to 30 years

Storm Sorcery: Storm's Fury: Gale could react with lightning damage when struck physically Wind Soul: Gale was immune to lightning and thunder damage, could fly at a speed of 60 feet, and could reduce his flying speed to 30 feet for 1 hour to make four additional people fly

Yeah. Ouch. And that's not even including his former Chosen abilities.

Gale's Chosen abilities

Silver Fire: Gale could command pure energy of the Weave in the form of silver-white flame, which, at his command, could destroy anything in its path, banish dead magic areas, restore torn Weave, purge external magic and psionic effects from his own body, teleport without error to the last location he used the ability at, or cast spells without verbal, somatic, or material components

Mantle: Gale could cast the dangerous Mantle spell without suffering any ill effects, while other wizards casting the spell would suffer a drain of life force as long as it persisted

Weave Detection: Gale could detect magic's presence without the use of a spell

Weave Tapping: Gale could cast high level spells repeatedly without losing a spell slot, although this was discouraged by Mystra

On the page for Mystra's Chosen abilities, it says that sometimes her Chosen gained an immunity to magic, as well as disease and poison. I don't think Gale was so lucky, however; in the House of Healing, he mentions that he once turned himself in to a hospice in Waterdeep for a "bout of ruddy pox." Him having turned himself in implies he was an adult at the time, and should, therefore, already be Mystra's Chosen.

All that to say: behold, Gale of Waterdeep, in his original splendor. How the mighty have fallen.

[thydungeongal]

Okay I did take one sideways glance at One D&D and while I think it's objectively good that the Sorcerer subclasses are no longer as concerned with BREEDING as before (they've renamed the ones like "Draconic Bloodline" to just "Draconic Sorcery") probably because like idk maybe talk of bloodlines and stuff like that gives off wrong vibes in the year of our Lord 2024,

But I also can't help but be reminded of @prokopetz's post about how the text of D&D is increasingly trying to dance around the idea of "your peepaw fucked a dragon" which became surprisingly common in D&D 3e,

[britishassistant]

Night Raven Mercenary Group

(Aka nailing down the BG3 versions of these bastards so the plot bunnies will stop multiplying)

Heartslaybul Company

Ace: Half high elf rogue (Arcane Trickster)

Deuce: Half orc barbarian (Berserker)

Trey: Dragonborn wizard (School of Illusion)

Cater: Drow cleric of Tymora (Trickery Domain)

Riddle: Forest gnome paladin (Oath of Ancients)

Savannaclaw Company

Jack: Wood elf druid (Circle of the Moon)

Ruggie: Half drow rogue (Thief)

Leona: Were-lion sorcerer (Wild Magic)

Octavinelle Company

Floyd: Water elf barbarian (Wild Magic)

Jade: Water elf druid (Circle of Spores)

Azul: Water elf warlock (Great Old One)

Scarabia Company

Kalim: Human sorcerer (Storm Sorcery)

Jamil: Yuan-ti wizard (School of Enchantment)

Pomefiore Company

Epel: Strongheart halfling cleric of Sune (Life Domain)

Rook: Human ranger (Hunter)

Vil: Drow paladin (Oath of Devotion)

Ignihyde Company

Ortho: Deep gnome construct (Warforged? Some kinda deal look this kid is a sentient robot)

Idia: Deep gnome artificer (Artillerist)

Diasomnia Company

Sebek: Dragonborn paladin (Oath of Devotion)

Silver: Human fighter (Champion)

Lilia: Archfey ranger (Gloomstalker)

Malleus: Black dragon sorcerer (Draconic Bloodline)

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 8: Free Fall

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6.8k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

Pet spawn?

Unrestrained laughter erupts from your lips at Elowyn’s overt taunting. This snake has made the doltish mistake of thinking that she can manipulate you through her callous words. She believes you to be a blind fool, but you see her goading for what it is, and you will not be baited as if you’re a starving animal being offered food on a silver platter.

She’s been trying to exploit my weakness for Astarion all along.

Elowyn’s face deforms into a bewildered mess that makes her usually gossamer features vanish. She smooths down her silky green dress with a restless hand. Those beaming sapphire eyes try to drill through your unyielding gaze, and she doubles down on her efforts to spur you on.

“Sugar doesn’t believe she’s your pet, Astarion,” she throws her head back with mocking, frosted laughter echoing into the night, “How adorable.”

“I know what you’re doing, Sugar,” you giggle, pulling your hand out of Astarion’s, who watches you with a cocked brow, his mouth slightly agape in astonishment, “It will not work on me.”

Your palms heat as you stalk steadily around her and Astarion. Running up and down the length of her svelte frame, your eyes analyze Elowyn with an iron gaze. She really is quite stunning, with her pouty lips polished with a red-hued stain, but she can’t conceal that conniving, duplicitous flare in her eyes from you.

“I am sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, spawn,” Elowyn croons innocently, “Astarion, dear, your toy is frightening me. She needs her Master to give her leash a yank.”

Astarion chuckles, bitter and biting, “I warned you to watch yourself,” he purrs, shoving her away from him, “Did I not?”

The blue flare of lightning erupts across her fingers, and you’re momentarily confused. You’re too away for her to cast Shocking Hands against you. It doesn’t dawn on you until it’s too late that her target is Astarion. You cast quickly and pitch her into the air with Telekinesis, sending her hurtling across the paved ground.

It’s too late, and you watch Astarion’s eyes flicker between the deathly spiritless frost and the vivid cardinal red. He shudders with a bellowing roar as the lighting courses through him. Seeing him in pain causes your intrinsic sorcery to surge in a torrent, along with the ardour of your rage. Fire detonates to life from your palm in a molten, oscillating sphere burning so hot it would put the very Hells themselves to shame.

You prepare to bombard Elowyn with the draconic firestorm, but Astarion’s strained voice makes you pause, “Don’t,” he grimaces as the aftershocks course through his body, making him twitch and jerk.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Astarion?” you snap, your body trembling with the sheer amount of power brimming inside you.

“I will explain everything,” Astarion’s eyes dance between ice and fire as the conflict inside him sieges his mind, “but right now, I need you. I cannot afford to lose control.”

You look between him and Elowyn, who remains unstirring on the rigid ground. You could kill her effortlessly right now and wipe her miserable soul from existence, but you would almost surely cause Astarion to lose the fragment of control he is hardly clinging to.

Elowyn or Astarion? 

The choice is obvious, but it still vexes you. “Fuck!” you scream into the sky, struggling to rein in your rampaging temper. The fireball in your palm ebbs as you try to douse it, “Tell me what you need.”

“Kiss me,” he commands.

You glance once more between Elowyn and Astarion, gods-fucking-damn it, you think, before sprinting towards Astarion. You drive yourself into his outstretched arms and take his lips in yours. He crushes you against him with such strength that you wonder if your ribs may splinter and break.

You slide your tongue over the sharp tip of your fang and let the metallic sharpness flood your mouth. You entice his lips to part, and a groan rumbles in his chest as your taste drags him back from the brink of oblivion.

The clattering of unsteady footsteps resounds, and Astarion breaks the kiss, glancing behind you. Elowyn is wobbling on shaky legs as she attempts to stagger away. The bright vermillion hue of blood streaks her face and drips from her cheek onto her soiled dress.

“She must not get away,” Astarion says with a voice bathed in malice.

You untangle yourself from him and cast Hold Person. A purple glyph renders on the ground under Elowyn, and she halts, mid-stride, dead in her tracks, as the blockade encompasses her. Glimmering chalky tendrils cavort around her, keeping her statuesque and speechless.

“Go back to the manor,” Astarion orders with a sharp edge, “I will return when I have dealt with this.”

He wants me to leave?

You can’t help yourself, and you grit your teeth as you try to bite back raw jealousy, “Are you taking her back to the palace,” you spit harshly, “to entertain her?”

“No, you adorable, envious thing,” he chuckles, “Most certainly not.”

“Then why do I have to leave,” you cross your arms over obstinately.

I do not take orders.

“I do not wish you to see what I’m about to do to her,” his eyes bore into you.

“You’re not going to kill her, or you would have let me do it,” your eyes tunnel into Astarion, scrutinizing him, “What do you not wish me to see?”

He sighs, running his hands through his hair, “How long will the spell hold?”

“It will dissipate with time, or I can end it at my whim, but you are avoiding the question.”

“Fine,” he growls. His hand rests at the back of his neck, and he shakes his head slightly, "If you wish to stay, then stay, but keep behind me and do not look into my eyes.”

Your brow cocks in confusion, “Why?”

Astarion runs his fingers lightly down your arm with that practiced scheming smile, “Do as I ask, please.”

He’s trying to manipulate me.

“I’m staying.”

“Bloody Hells, you’re stubborn,” he groans as his face twists between an angry scowl and an amused grin. Astarion takes several steps forward before turning back to you, “You should take heed of my instructions at times, you know. I’m trying to protect you, and you’re making it exceptionally difficult.”

Protect me from what? From the feeble, sad sack of flesh stuck in my cage?

Astarion disperses and becomes flesh again at the other end of the street in front of the imprisoned Elowyn with his arms crossed, regarding her with low, pinched brows.

Show off.

Casting Misty Step, you vanish and appear beside him. Elowyn’s eyes flicker between you, but that’s all she can move. You stare at her acutely with a smug smile. The wound on her forehead still weeps, and blood dribbles down her face, slow and syrupy.

“How long until she’s free?”

“I can let her free if you wish,” you say while walking a lap around the suspended woman, trying to figure out what is so off about her that makes your hair stand on end, “or you can wait for the spell to wane.”

Astarion’s eyes cast skyward, “It will be dawn soon. Get behind me, let her go, but do not look into my eyes. Do you understand?”

You press your back against Astarion’s as you stare off in the opposite direction, “Tell me when you’re ready.”

“Do it.”

Gripping the Weave, you allow the spell to unravel and give Elowyn her freedom. The scent of her blood on the air is heavy this close, and you feel like you’re frothing at the mouth, trying to bulldoze your profane urges down. Astarion’s hand turns and folds over yours, giving you something to concentrate on.

“Astarion,” Elowyn gasps, finally able to speak, “You don’t have to do this. I overstepped. Master, please be merciful.”

She calls him Master? HA!

“Elowyn, darling,” Astarion’s voice is wrapped up in the velvety tone of manipulation you remember so well, making you wince, “You must learn your place, or I will be forced to replace you.”

“Master,” she sobs, “please.”

“Be a very good girl and look into my eyes, Elowyn,” Astarion coos, “You will go home tonight, crawl into your bed and fall into a deep sleep. When you awaken, this will all be but a dream.”

Elowyn’s voice is emotionless and blank when she answers again, and you can’t help but spin around. Staring into her eyes, you recognize the compulsion from the guards at Cazador’s. Threads of red rays are weaving around her as she stares at Astarion, unwavering.

Gods, she doesn’t even blink.

There’s nothing but a vast emptiness in those sapphire eyes now, almost as if you were looking into the eyes of a corpse. Her pupils are blown wide, obscuring much of the colour of her irises. This should delight you, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t a little, but you wonder how often he’s made you forget. How many times has he made you go home and think something was simply a dream?

No wonder he didn’t want me to witness this. Can I not even trust my memories?

At Astarion’s command, Elowyn walks away in a rigid and jerky motion as if her limbs are carved from wood. They lurch stiffly, and you can hear her repeating, “Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream,” as she marches wherever she goes.

You watch Elowyn disappear into a dark alley, repeating those words in a hollow voice, “What did you do to her, Astarion?"

You already know, but you must hear him admit it.

“Probably precisely what you think,” Astarion says with a stiff back, standing exceptionally tall and intimidating, “I compelled her.”

A tremble runs through you, “How long does that last?”

“Until my commands are completed,” he looks at you, and you watch an ominous glow recede slowly from his eyes, “As far as I can tell.”

How many times has he done this to me? Another thing I must be alert for.

The walk back to the manor is tainted with an awkward silence. Flaming Fists patrolling the streets nod to Astarion as if they are acquainted, but they give you careful, often fearful, looks and even change their paths to keep their distance from you. You are tempted to scream “BOO!” at them to see if they jump.

Astarion walks casually beside you and, oddly enough, slows his pace to yours. In your peripheral vision, you catch his eyes repeatedly snapping toward you. You pretend not to notice his peculiar behaviour, but apprehension claws at you, ruffling your nerves. Usually, it was hard to get Astarion to shut up, but right now, you wish he would say anything to dispel the cumbersome stillness.

Casting your eyes heavenward, you stare into the sky, not a cloud to be seen. All those little pinpoints of twinkling lights are starting to dwindle as the moon prepares to yield to the sun, “Astarion, are you still yourself?"

“Yes,” he crosses his arms and cocks his brow, “I am still myself, more or less. Why?”

You pivot on him quickly, grabbing his arms with a bright smile, “Can we watch the sunrise?”

Astarion halts, eye round and brows raised so high they seem to be trying to climb onto his scalp, “You wish to watch the sunrise with me?”

“If you promise you won’t let the sun burn me.”

“Never, my sweet. I would be honoured,” Astarion grins boyishly, his fangs in plain view, “I know a perfect place. This way.”

Astarion twists you through the upper city streets until you reach the newly rebuilt High Hall. The palace towers into the sky and construction continues on a few additions and extra wings stretching outward.

Several grand spires topped with parapets sit atop an elaborate multistory estate with elegant windows. It is protected by an outer wall with several rather large round towers. The central courtyard boasts lush gardens, expertly manicured with crisscrossing walkways lined with benches.

“Astarion,” you say while looking around at the extensive scenery, “where in the Hells are you taking me?”

He points to the tallest rounded tower with a flat top, “Up there.”

Glancing at it, you cross your arms and stare at him with knitted brows, “I can’t get up there. I can’t see where I’m going.”

He chuckles with a sly smile and shrugs, “I guess I will be the only one watching the sunrise then because I can fly up there.”

Sometimes, you can’t tell when he’s joking, and you stare at him petulantly with pursed lips.

“Oh, you are adorable when you’re being sour,” an endearing crooked half smile draws up the corners of his mouth, “No tricks needed. We are just going to walk right in.”

Walk right into High Hall?

Astarion strides through the grounds with you on his heels. He’s familiar with the property and knows what paths to take and where to turn. With dawn approaching, the groundskeepers are starting their rounds of watering and pruning the various plants. They all greet him with a bow and a respectful “Saer” before continuing their routines.

Gods. They know him. What the fuck has he been up to?

He lets himself into a tower where a couple of guards are playing cards or dozing in their chairs. They jump to attention as soon as they see him. Some pop up so abruptly that their rickety wood chairs and stools capsize with a rattle.

“Master Ancunin,” they greet him with their heads bowed in respect.

“At ease,” Astarion instructs, “Wigmund, I will be at the top. No one is to disturb me. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Master Ancunin, as you say,” the burly man rasps.

You duck down slightly to try and look at their eyes. You can hear hearts beating, but you wonder if one or more of these poor souls are Astarion’s spawn.

How else would he have such command over them?

Astarion crosses his arms and cocks a brow at you, “Heads and eyes up, all of you,” he barks before motioning to you with his hand in a dramatic gesture, “Take a good look, my dear.”

The men snap their heads up with wild eyes. You stare at Astarion, observing his eyes to ensure you haven’t upset him. He stands casually, aloof and quite clearly bored but with a lopsided grin. You stare into the eyes of all the men, browns, blues, and greens, but none are sanguine red.

“Finished your inspection of my men?” Astarion tuts, “We will miss the sunrise if you take much longer looking for things that aren’t there.”

“I’m going to have questions for you later, Astarion,” you taunt with a wry smile.

“You are exceptionally nosy these days,” he admonishes playfully, bounding up the twisting staircase as you follow, “It seems we have much to discuss.”

Astarion motions to the ladder leading the hatch that will open to the top of the tower, “Ladies first.”

“Are you angry?”

He sighs with a theatrical flair, “Why? Because you inspected the guards to see if any of them were my spawn instead of simply asking me?”

“You’re not answering the question.”

Astarion’s fingers slide down your arm, “I’m not angry in the slightest. You may inspect as many guards as you want. I care not.”

You point at the ladder, “You go up first.”

He bows, “As you wish.”

Climbing onto the top of the tower, your eyes are met with a breathtaking view of the Chionthar and lower city. Large and small boats slice through the otherwise still waters as the first dim wisps of light creep up on the horizon.

Astarion’s hand comes to the small of your back, “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful up here.”

“It is,” he smiles one of the most beautiful smiles you’ve ever seen on him, “Come. Sit with me. Sunrise is not far off now.”

You crawl onto the flat stone top and let your legs hang over the edge precariously. Looking down, you shrink away as anxiety tightens in your stomach. You were never a big fan of heights. It’s been established that you are not the most graceful being to walk this land, and part of you fears you might topple right over the edge.

Astarion watches you intently before shaking his head and giggling at you, well aware of this phobia, “Heights still trouble you?” he looks down and cocks his head, “The fall wouldn’t kill you, but it would be painful.”

“Wow,” you scoff at him dryly, “Thank you. I feel much better now.”

“Come here, little love,” he chuckles as he grabs you by the waist and moves so you’re sitting comfortably between his legs, “I’ll protect you from your woeful clumsiness.”

The first swell of the sun ascends over the horizon, and you lurch back further into Astarion, gritting your teeth in a knee-jerk reaction. You know you’re safe with him, or at least you hope so, but logic succumbs to panic. Burying your face into Astarion’s chest and closing your eyes, you grip tight handfuls of his shirt.

Please, please, don’t hurt me.

“It’s alright,” Astarion pushes the hair out of your face, and his fingers sweep up and down your arm, “I’ve got you. Open your eyes.”

You open one of your eyes in a narrow slit and peek out of it, looking toward the horizon. The golden sphere climbs slowly, casting outstanding, sharp oranges and pale yellows into the sky. The radiant light frisks over your pale skin, and you smile.

Astarion lights up when he sees you smiling. His arms pull you closer, and he rests his head against yours and whispers, “This is nice.”

It is.

You relax in Astarion’s arms as you both watch the birth of a new day.

Standing in the long hallway, you stretch with a yawn. The heavy drapes cover the windows, smothering the manor in shadow, which means Astarion has gone out. On your way to the library, you pass a large mirror with a delicate silver trim. You peer into the reflective surface. Unsurprisingly, the mirror remains empty and void of your image. You let the pads of your fingers slink down the smooth finish. It used to make you sad, this lack of reflection, but somewhere along the way, you became anesthetized to it.

You look down the hall at Astarion’s bedroom door. It’s slightly ajar, and you can’t help but take a peek inside.

I shouldn’t.

Despite your better judgment, you push further into his room, letting your fingers trace over the baroque tables and wardrobes fashioned from deep plum-stained wood. Papers and ledgers are strewn on his desk, various contracts and purchase agreements with notes and signatures in his immaculate hand.

A rectangular black leatherbound notebook lays on his bedside table. Picking it up, you sit on the bed and let your fingers meander over the smooth cover. You know you shouldn’t open it; you shouldn’t be here in the first place, but curiosity was always your downfall. Your fingers undo the ties, keeping the oddly shaped notebook closed, and you flip it open.

Your face stares back at you from the page, and you gasp as your eyes pine over the beautifully detailed sketch. Gods, you haven’t seen yourself in so long, and you wonder if it’s even you for a moment. Your fingers shake as they hover over the drawing. You fill page after page countlessly as you flip through them.

Every single one.

You hear the creak of the manor door open, the resounding thump of Astarion’s heartbeat and footsteps as he ascends the staircase. You should leave, but your eyes are fixed on the image of your eyes before you. At least, you think it’s your eyes as they appear now, but you’ve never seen them, so you can’t be sure. It’s the only sketch in colour. Red veils most of the irises, but there are splotches, cracks and slivers where another colour emerges against the vivid scarlet.

Astarion leans against the doorframe. His arms crossed, “Snooping, are you?”

“I didn’t know you draw.”

“My dear, I’m 200 years old, with much of that time spent hiding away during the day,” he tuts with a low chuckle, “I am a man of many talents.”

“These,” your voice drifts as you swallow hard and turn another page, “These are all...”

“You,” he cuts you off, “Yes. Observant, as always.”

Finally prying your eyes away from the page, you stare at him bewildered, “Why?”

Astarion sits beside you on the bed, “I could never get you out of my head,” he shifts the notebook out of your hands and stares down at the page, “For awhile, these were all I had left of you.”

“I-I,” you spring off the bed, intending to leave, “I’m sorry. I should not have been in your room.”

“I did say I could be convinced to call it our room,” Astarion grabs your arm, a sly grin quirking up the corners of his lips, “You’re welcome in here, even if it’s just to rummage through my things, you delinquent.”

Our room. It sounds so good.

No. I cannot let myself get caught in this trap.

“Is that what my eyes look like now?”

Astarion turns the page and cocks his head, examining it, and then back at you scrutinizingly. Walking to the window, he pulls the curtains back, allowing sunlight to splash over the room and beckons you closer with his finger.

“Look at me,” he angles your face so the sun washes over it, “Hm, close, but I could do better.”

Astarion almost rips the page out, and you grasp at his hands with a yelp, “What are you doing!?”

He giggles with a smirk, “Don’t fret,” his thumb caresses your cheek, “I will sketch it again.”

“If you’re just going to tear it out and throw it away, can I keep it?”

He cocks a brow at you and looks at the page. Smiling, he tears it out carefully and hands it to you, “It’s all yours, beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you say breathlessly, staring at it, mesmerized.

“If you’re done poking about now,” he sighs while closing the notepad, “I believe we have matters we must discuss.”

Elowyn. Fuck.

A discussion topic you would rather avoid. You’re not ready to hear whatever he has to say, and truthfully, you don’t want to know what kind of relationship he has with her. She already told you more than you care to know.

You look at him, crestfallen, “You want to discuss Elowyn.”

He nods, “You did well to avoid an altercation with her,” Astarion praises, taking your hand, but you pull away from him.

“I’m not an idiot. She was trying to bait me,” you scoff, clenching your jaw with a frown, “I have used the same tactic many times. She knows what you are, Astarion, and about whatever is wrong with you. She tried to get you mad on purpose. You realize that, right?”

“Yes, that’s quite clear after her little performance,” Astarion’s fingers cradle his chin, “Her motives for such a demonstration still elude me, though.”

You toss your head back and laugh steely and sarcastic, “She wants me out of the way. I suppose she’s not happy to share you,” Astarion’s mouth opens to speak, but you trample over him, “I don’t want to know what she is to you,” your eyes shine, wet with unshed tears, “Please. Spare me that pain.”

“Sweetheart…” he mewls with a timbre of candied gloss.

“I said no, Astarion,” you say, sharper than any dagger ever could be. Your hands shake as you place the drawing on a table, careful not to crease the delicate parchment.

“Why do you evade this?” he roars coarsely while tearing off his coat as if it’s suffocating him, throwing it aside, “Why does this upset you so much? You abandoned me!”

“If you don’t know why this upsets me, then you are being intentionally ignorant, Astarion!” you scream as the tears finally spill out of your eyes, “I thought… I thought...”

I thought you loved me.

You wrap your arms around yourself to stifle your sobbing, “It doesn’t matter what I thought.”

Leaning your back against the wall, you hope it might help steady you. Sometimes, you miss the all-consuming numbness that has been slowly unthawing, leaving you this walking emotional catastrophe. Your knees feel like jelly as sobs you’re trying to keep suffocated wrack your body.

“Elowyn means nothing to me,” he whispers in a velvet dulcet, “She is simply a means to an end.”

I guess we are doing this.

“If she means nothing to you, why didn’t you let me end her,” you wipe the tears staining your cheeks, “Why did you protect her? It’s hardly like you to be against murder.”

“She is still useful to me. She is a rather keen alchemist and a proxy for that vile Drow merchant.”

Drow merchant? No… It couldn’t possibly be.

“I’m sorry. What?”

His fingers wrack through his hair fitfully, messing the perfected style, “I’ve contracted the blood merchant to do some,” he pauses, “assessments for me. Elowyn is her assistant.”

Did I just hear him correctly?

Exploding, you scream at him. Leaping forward, grabbing his shirt, you shake him, “Please tell me you are not talking about Araj Oblodra?”

“The very one.”

“What in the fuck are you doing cavorting with her,” you scold him, flushed with helpless rage, “you hate her!”

“I do, most fervently,” he retorts harshly, “which is why Elowyn takes care of the dirty work.”

“Assessments?” you cringe, the word tasting sour on your tongue, “Please tell me you are not giving her access to your blood.”

He won’t even give me his blood.

“If I tell you that it would be a lie, and I’m no liar,” he says in a crystalline tone, “The ritual changed the composition of my blood. I’d rather like to know why and if it has anything to do with my… ailment.”

He’s gone completely mad.

“You godsdamned idiot! How could you be so careless? You have no idea what your blood is capable of!”

“Oh, come now,” he scoffs with a serrated click of his tongue, “Don’t be dramatic, darling. It’s only a minuscule amount. They could hardly do anything with it.”

“Fuck,” you rage on, and all the candles in the room alight at once with long, skinny flames twirling like tornados unnaturally, “I can’t believe you would be so fucking brainless.”

He glances at the candles and shrugs with a clever glint in his eye, “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” he waves dismissively, “and all that.”

“Close is one thing, but taking her to your bed?” you give him another vigorous shake as if you might be able to physically shake sense back into him, “What in the nine Hells are you thinking!”

“Take her to my bed,” his brows pinch together, “whatever are you talking about?”

“Don’t lie to me,” you rasp, tears freefalling from your eyes, “She told me about your relationship, and you implied it the night she showed up, and you told me it was none of my business! A long night entertaining your guest, remember?”

His forehead creases, and his eyes shift as if trying to recall memories, “Ah,” he looks suddenly abashed, “Yes, I suggested that. I, uh, may have embellished… a little.”

“Why? What was the point?”

“I asked you to stay that day, remember? I asked you to stay with me in the palace, and you declined. I may have, perhaps, a trifle childishly lashed out.”

“But Elowyn,” you finally let him go and start pacing the room, “she told me!”

“I’m curious,” Astarion straightens his shirt where your unyielding grip rumpled it, “What exactly did she tell you?”

“She said you two were having a lot of fun. I believe her exact words were, “Sex, sweetness, sex,” you bristle while trying to quell the nauseating wave that unfurls and tickles your throat, “She made sure the clarify that for me as if I were some fucking halfwit.”

Astarion throws his head back and laughs loudly, “Gods. She wishes,” he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, “Elowyn has never graced my sheets. That is not to say she did not try, of course, but can you blame her? I am terribly charming.”

“You’ve,” you blunder. Your tongue feels numb, and you can’t get it to form the question, “Never?” you ask, finally managing to nudge it out clumsily.

“Absolutely not!” Astarion exclaims, clicking his tongue in disapproval, sticking his nose pompously in the air, “I do not fraternize with my underlings.”

Was that why he wouldn’t touch me? Did he consider me his underling?

“Why,” you stammer, swallowing hard, “why would she tell me that? What would she gain from it?”

“You did say she was trying to goad you,” he shrugs, “As for her motivations, I do not know, but I intend to find out.”

“I’m still going to fucking kill her one day,” you growl with a devilish smirk, relishing the vivid unpardonable visions racing through your head, “after I discover what she is up to.”

“Still murderous,” he grins wickedly handsome, “I’m impressed. When the time comes, she’s all yours, my love.”

My love.

You giggle at his approval, but it fades as you stare into those engrossing ruby-red eyes. You crash into him, wrapping your arms around him, taking his lips in yours, primal and uninhibited. Astarion groans, and his tongue darts into your mouth, desperate to savour you as if he is a drought and you are the first droplets of rain in centuries.

Gods, your hands ache to roam the silk ivory of his skin, and you tug at his shirt. He pulls it off in one swift motion before his lips crash into yours again, his hand cradling your cheek. You start to undo the metal clasps of your shirt. Apparently, too slowly, and he tears it from your body, tossing it aside uncharacteristically carelessly, the usual requirement for order and tidiness slain by his untamed need for you.

“You’re beautiful,” he drawls, “So Godsdamned beautiful.”

Your rationality is eclipsed by infernal, white-hot desire. You pull him close, letting your searing hands pour over the contours of his flawless body. You are slipping, tumbling down an icy hill you will never be able to ascend again, but at this moment, you barely recognize yourself nosediving to your demise.

His hands burn trails of vitality into your lifeless skin. A deprived whimper escapes your mouth, and you can feel the smug smile spread across his lips. He knows, he always knows you won’t fight him, won’t spar with these feelings, even when you should.

Gripping the back of your thighs, Astarion pulls you off your feet, just as he did that night in the forest. Your legs straddle his waist, and in a couple of fluid, silent steps, he pins you between himself and the lofty mattress with his hips. He grinds his erection against you, eliciting unconstrained sighs from you against his starved, urging mouth.

His hand pushes past the waistband of your trousers to find you slick with arousal, and a moan rumbles deep in his chest. A feverous tension coalesces in your abdomen. Fuck, you should stop him, you should, but you don’t. He has poisoned you and made himself the antidote, leaving you helpless against him.

“What do you want, darling,” he coos with a voice like a warm spring day, “Tell me what you want, and I will make it yours.”

Astarion’s dexterous fingers sweep gently over your swollen clit in flawless execution. He remembers you, remembers your body and remembers exactly how to drive you to unadulterated senselessness, which is exactly where he wants you. Isn’t it? Senseless and begging, pleading, beseeching him for his touch, his love, his acceptance.

Hells, you know better than to let him overwhelm you, but being with him is like second nature in the same way breathing had once been. Even after all this time, despite everything he’s done, you cannot fathom how not to love him.

“I want-” you murmur as his finger glides magnificently around the pulsing bundle of nerves, and you bite your lip to stop yourself from crying out at the decadent sensation, “Fuck, Astarion. I want you.”

“And I want you, only you,” he articulates in an assertive, sultry inflection, carefully pronouncing every word as if his very life depended on getting the message across, “Forever, until the world falls down.”

Astarion’s fingers crook in your waistband, and he pulls on it lightly in a silent query for permission. You’re in a tailspin, spiralling into the depths of your desires, and you feel yourself nod before you have even really had time to consider the request.

Astarion strips you, and you’re bared to him entirely. His crimson eyes gorge themselves on the banquet of your pristine snowy skin with such intensity you can feel them dancing across your flesh.

Astarion leans over you, lowering himself in a torturously slow progression, and his lips wrap around your nipple. His tongue flicks over the sensitive peak, and you writhe against him in a hopeless attempt to curb the pang between your legs.

His warm mouth brushes down your stomach, over your belly button, his breath hot and humid. Your body produces heat no longer, but Gods, you feel feverish as if he’s breathing new life into you.

Astarion lifts your leg, trailing chaste kisses down the delicate skin of your inner thigh as he places it over his shoulder. You lurch forward, nearly bounding completely upright, when his tongue laps at your swollen clit. Astarion holds you down, steadfast and unwavering, while he states his fervent hunger with the taste of you. Those eyes look at you through thick lashes full of covetous eroticism that makes your breath hitch in your throat.

His eyes close, and his lips wrap around your sensitive bud, driving you further into bliss. You tangle your fingers in his hair as your body jerks with every sweep and flick of his tongue.

Astarion’s fingers tease your entrance, and he relinquishes his foray of sensation on your swollen flesh. You groan in displeasure at his retreat, and he chuckles deeply, which results in an impetuous scowl from you.

“Oh, don’t be cross, love,” he taunts with a sly smile before he sucks on his fingers, that captivating crimson gaze never letting your eyes retreat. He pulls his fingers out of his mouth with a lewd pop, “When have I ever left you wanting?”

His tongue delves, parting your sex as his fingers sink into you in a slow progression, allowing your body time to adjust. A vulgar and indecent growl resonates from him as he eases in until he’s knuckle-deep.

He twitches the pads of his fingers upward as he starts languid thrusts, hitting your G-spot. Your back arches and hips jerk as he escalates his tempo to harmonize with your breathy whimpers.

He must feel the traction of your release begin because he moans deeply against your tender pearl, and that sound, the embodiment of passion and longing, sends you spiralling overboard. Astarion doesn’t stop the delicious onslaught of sensation until he’s coaxed every splintering pulse out of you. His name cries from your lips in a sonorous, majestic recitation.

Your vision has barely started to clear when his lips catch yours, and you can taste yourself on his breath, driving your desire to new heights while your fingers grapple with the border of his breeches.

“Say you are mine,” he instructs, in a husky tone with those blood-red eyes digging into you, hooded and affectionate, “I want to hear you say it.”

“I’m yours. Please. Gods, please,” you whine in shattered breaths.

In a split second, before you even have time to perceive his movements,  Astarion crawls up the bed, his knee hooking yours, spreading your legs wider. His hard cock slides through your folds with a lazy roll of his hip, covering himself in your arousal with a yearning quivering pant.

His swollen head pushes against your entrance. Astarion pushes the stray strands of hair out of your face with a tenderness you haven’t seen since he Ascended, “I will be gentle,” his eyes search yours for hesitation, “Are you ready?”

Ready?

Gods, you have far surpassed simply being ready. You crave him. No, you covet him, selfish and mandatory, and there is nothing that can stop you from drinking him in, “Fuck me, Astarion.”

“Fuck you?” he giggles, “How utterly vulgar,” he teases, “No, darling, I will make love to you unless you have objections, of course…” he trails off.

If you didn’t know better, you would say he was almost unsure of himself.

Make love?

Is it a trick? You can’t tell anymore, you don’t want to tell, and you drive the thoughts out of your mind, blurred by burning lust. You press your lips against him in wordless approval. Panting moans leave his mouth as you stretch to accommodate his girth.

He sputters, his chest heaving and breath snagging, “Hells, love, you’re tight,” he rasps low, clenching his teeth. He immerses his hard length into your wet heat gradually until he’s filled you, claimed you.

The throbbing in your centre bursts anew as he angles himself perfectly, and your nails dig harshly into the silken bed linens. The pads of his fingers find the pulsing collection that swells between your thighs as he starts to pump into you, careful and attentive, raptly watching you for any signs of discomfort.

“I want to hear my name cried from your lips,” he taunts, all provocation and suede baritone, “You will fall apart around my cock, won’t you?”

You know you will. The tension in your muscles is already ballooning with every snap of his hips. Astarion’s fangs drag delicately over your skin. The mix of pain and pleasure is too much, and you mewl in desperation.

“Astarion,” you stammer as your pleasure expands through your limbs, and your core clenches, gripping him, “Fuck, Astarion!”

He gasps, “I can feel you fluttering around my cock,” he stutters, breath hitching in his throat, “Dissolve into rapturous ecstasy around me. Fuck,” he groans, “With me, my love.”

You crest over the pinnacle of your pleasure as ordered, and the shockwaves rocket through you, violent and so brutally you wonder if your heart might have stopped if the grip of death had not already stilled it.

His name rips from your throat poetically, just as yours does from his, and he spills into you with a final, powerful thrust.

Both of you wrest unneeded air into your lungs, chests surging, rising and falling fruitlessly. You’ve let your attachment to him muddle your rationale, but Hells, does it ever feel brilliant.

“Good girl,” he purrs triumphantly.

He expected this all along. You can tell by the saccharine intonation, but you’re too spent to give a damn.

His lips faint over your ear and he whispers, “Hold on me.”

His arm glides around your waist as you wrap yourself around his neck, and he lays down, settling your head on his chest with your leg laced over his.

Astarion exhales a contented breath, and his fingers sweep up and down your arm tenderly, “You are unharmed, yes?”

There is genuine concern drenched in his voice that makes you think of a chapter of your life long gone, and you wince, “I’m alright,” you manage to stammer out, but your voice is as dry as yesterday’s dust.

Astarion jerks as if you’ve struck him at your intonation and uses his hand to cast your eyes toward his. His brows are furrowed as his eyes shift, trying to identify the nuisance parching your sun-baked voice.

“Did I hurt you?” his hand and eyes skim down your body as if looking for an injury or wound that might provide the explanation you’re not giving him.

“No, you didn’t hurt me,” you sigh, bony-weary and forlorn.

“Little love,” he coos, scarlet eyes bleeding into you, threatening to swallow you whole, “tell me, whatever is the matter?”

Before he can interrogate you further, his eyes harden and wrench away, bitter and unkind. Punitive, strident banging rattles the estate’s prodigious door on its hinges.

Astarion groans, trawling his hand across his face, “It’s for you,” he murmurs, irritated.

Your brows scrunch, and your body laments as you sit up with Astarion’s assistance, “How do you know?”

Astarion stares at you cold as a winter pond, “It’s the wizard.”

Gale? No, no, no! Fuck, not now, not here.  

I really appreciate everyone who takes the time to read/kudos/comment, etc. It gives me the confidence to keep the story going, and I hope you enjoy reading it as it unfolds!

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

AO3 [Crossposted]

Small Notes: - Well, Astarion has been exceptionally pleasant for a little while, but how will he react to Gale showing up and how will poor Tav deal with it? - Tav learned some new things in this chapter. Looks like we have a lot of different things we have to explore! - The Blood Merchant... Really, Astarion?

[desolatehands]

ding dong the witch is dead.

rawest thing my character ever said to a betrayal tn in dnd was 'a person who cannot keep their word does not deserve to keep their tongue. you are dead' to a woman who had said she'd keep a promise on our journey

[pawpunkao3]

Yknow what since we're doing discourse on Irredeemable Teens I wanna share with yall some thoughts on Penelope Everpetal

Penelope is a wild magic sorcerer. It seems so random. With a name like Everpetal, wouldn't you expect her to have something more elegant, like divine soul sorcery? Storm sorcery, like her best friend Sam? Hell, even draconic sorcery has a certain villainous finesse to it, especially considering that she's working with a dragon. But instead, she gets wild magic. The subclass that new players get told to avoid because half of its features nerf your character. The subclass that has a 0.1% chance of killing you and everyone in a 20ft radius every time you cast a spell.

People like to joke that sorcerers don't work for their magic---I mean, they call the sorcery teacher "just a guy who hangs out with students and talks about how cool their powers are". But that's ignoring the other side of magic---not power, but control. While wizards and bards fought to learn to cast even basic spells, Penelope struggled to reel in her magic. It was a battle that nobody saw, and when she lost it, it would end up humiliating at best, and devastating at worst. Combine that with the fact that she seems spoiled and entitled---maybe the type of person to believe being born with magic made her better than other casters---and it's easy to see the conflict. Her sorcery should have made her glamorous, desirable. Instead, it only burdened her.

Maybe that's why Kalvaxus picked her as his future prom queen.

I imagine he found her in her freshman year. She'd had a surge in class and grown a big beard of blue feathers---not cute. Not pretty. Humiliating. So there she was, behind the school, sobbing and tearing them out in big bloody fistfuls and muttering about how she was going to kill everyone who ever laughed at her because she was the best most powerful sorceress ever, and, well. Kalvaxus normally wouldn't care about some idiot student being sad, but something about her fury intrigued him. It seemed...exploitable.

So he blew a puff of smoke her way and made her sneeze the rest of the feathers out. Told her she was right---she WAS better for being a sorceress, and it wasn't fair that people made fun of her for something she couldn't control. Penelope wouldn't have noticed the contradiction. She was only fourteen, and more than a little dehydrated. All she wanted was for someone to hear her problems and not laugh, and he did just that.

And so Vice Principal Goldenhoard became her special friend (don't tell mom and dad---they wouldn't understand that he really was just her friend, you know SOME teachers would be using her confidence for nefarious purposes. Not him, though. Never him). If she had a bad surge and Sam was busy, he would even let her eat lunch in his office. He made a confession: he wasn't a dragonborn. He was a true dragon, kept in this form by a wicked curse. She agreed that Aguefort was evil for trapping him. He should be principal, really. Maybe (when he suggested it) he should even rule the world.

As Penelope grew older, she and Kalvaxus made an agreement---she would help him rise to power, and he would make sure nobody mocked her and her friends ever again. He introduced her to some new friends---one of the paladin students, a party girl from Hudol, a warlock with a cool car. She started campaigning for prom queen. But there was one little thing: for the plan to work, he needed sacrifices. Nobody important---that stuck-up nerd from the library, the cringy horse girl who made everyone so embarrassed (she forgot how bad it felt to be in her place whenever she surged), a bossy jock. Kalvaxus had her pick out the next one---an annoying activist type, someone nobody really liked, someone who she might even be able to convince to give up her life for the "greater good". Kalvaxus was so proud. They took that brash cleric without a hitch, but it was harder to get her to budge on her best friend. Suddenly her good friend Kalvaxus turned scary---she couldn't back out now. She'd already helped kidnap five girls. Did she want him to turn her in? Besides, when she was queen, everyone would want to be her friend. Who is she to question him when he tells her to sacrifice this one?

Penelope didn't protest when Kalvaxus picked a random freshman as the last sacrifice. She'd already done the worst thing anyone could do.

By the time the Bad Kids charged into that gym, she was too far gone. She'd steeped too long in Kalvaxus's lies for the stain to come out. She genuinely believed that being herself gave her the right to be queen. She'd sacrificed so much for it, after all. Maybe eventually she realized she wasn't going to win. But hey, she came this far. Might as well go down swinging.

[madgirlmuahaha]

*cocks gun* Inkblade headcanons or the ship gets it!

My high school experience with romance (as a closeted biro/asexual teen) went two ways simultaneously: pining silently for years over someone I had a raging nerd-crush over, and also being completely oblivious to the fact that other people are interested in me because flirting and picking up on those cues doesn’t come intuitively. I’m definitely projecting but I also feel like Oisin is the silent piner with the nerd-crush and Adaine is the oblivious to flirting one. She understands flirting on a conceptual level but is pretty late to catch on when she’s being flirted with.

Maybe Adaine is a late bloomer, maybe she’s sapiosexual, I see her as somewhere on the gray-ace spectrum. Oisin caught her attention when he started talking magic theory and it was only after that initial spark of intellectual interest that she appreciated the physical characteristics like his cool tattoos and buff figure.

He’s been down bad for her the whole time, though he was never confident enough to make a move.

I’m gonna run with the idea that they’re narrative foils and say that Oisin’s family also isn’t the best, especially since his great-grandma was buddies with Kalvaxus. Compared to Adaine’s relationship with self-worth and overcoming her family trauma, Oisin is at a much earlier part of his journey, not yet ready to let go of the idea that his self-worth is dependent on external validation from his family. That’s a lesson he’ll have to learn during his post-Ragenarok redemption.

I so badly want to see them get together, but I think Oisin deserves just a little more suffering.

That whole “you must not be a very good oracle” lives in my head rent-free. The drama. The angst. Adaine feels stupid because she finally let herself play into the flirting, and she got horribly burned and betrayed over it. Oisin is going to have an uphill climb to prove that even though he was actively plotting against her, his feelings did have some sincerity. These teenagers are so messy and I’m rooting for them.

I’m sort of using this as an analysis of their characters and potential messy relationship dynamic, but I do have a few fluffy hc’s:

Boggy the Froggy warms up to Oisin pretty quickly. He likes to ride on top of Oisin’s head, tucked between his horns.

If Oisin decides to tap into the innate sorcery magic of his draconic heritage and multiclass into sorcery, the first time he uses metamagic will be to protect Adaine.

Their love language is spellcrafting. The first time they officially call each other boyfriend and girlfriend is after they’ve created and exchanged custom spells for each other, because they’re nerds like that. I haven’t yet decided what kind of spells, but it could just be something stupid, like “conjure singing mephits” or “create meme”.