#durge: i’d do it if you did it.

[wi1dshxpe]

my top ten list of things i headcanon durge and gortash did before having sex, kissing or admitting feelings like normal people includes: sleepovers where they voluntarily share a bed(as professionals do), platonic biting and commissioning nude portraits of one another

[kitabasis]

ok so I lied (changed my mind). Dirge (yes that’s their name I’m boring but I like the symbolism) isn’t going to be a glass cannon mage or a dex-y ranger. They’re going to be a Giant Butch human devotion paladin (who’s going to be forced to become an oathbreaker very quickly by circumstances but we’ll work on it).

I’m planning/hoping on getting Baldur’s Gate 3 soon. I’m planning on doing Dark Urge for my first run, but I can’t decide what lineage and class they should be. So. Poll.

additional information that might be useful: I want a high wisdom (because i would rather not fail murder checks), high-ish charisma (because from my understanding that’s a not unimportant part of character interactions), and a decent probability of not immediately dying

[preciouslittle-bhaalbabe]

“Astarions reaction to Durge dying when rejecting Bhaal is so nonchalant. It’s like he doesn’t care”

Consider. He just witnessed the only person he has ever cared about die while being able to do nothing about it. Then the weird skeleton guy who’s dusty ass has been chilling in the camp this whole time just shows up and fixes it. He lost everything then gained it back within moments.

I’d be in a bit of a shock. Wouldn’t you?

Dudes still processing whatever the fuck happened. They talk about it later and he expresses how relieved he is that things ended up how they did.

[rosys-fans-fics]

Gortash x Redeemed! Durge Netherbrain fight

I cannot tell you how sad I was when the brain killed Gortash! I spent so long trying to redeem my boyfriend and get him to forsake Bane as I did Bhaal only to have the brain go “lol no! Player input be damned!” So here’s what should have happened instead!

Instead of Gortash just hip bumping you out of the way and getting blasted, it should have been a hand off of the stones for him to do the final attack. Gortash has done this before, he knows how to do it, he actually remembers how to unlike us! You have him try to do the final attack only for the brain to mock him and be like “lol I was using you the whole time and I never respected you mortal!” This is such a good character moment for gortash, his whole life he’s been trying to become more powerful so he’ll never be someone’s slave or puppet again only to find out he was still being controlled this whole time. That should be part of his redemption, realizing that he was never in control and now needs to destroy what he thought his source of power was.

When the brain attacks him, we as the player should have the choice to save him! A simple 1. Let gortash handle this or 2. Step in and help. Should we leave him to take care of the mess he made or stand with our ally and boyfriend to stop the brain? If you don’t step in, gortash dies. But if you do, the prism creates like a mental shield or bubble around you and gortash. The brain then says, “I saw potential in you, Bhaalspawn, but your love for this mortal was always a failing of yours. You have forsaken your father, your destiny, for this weak human.” After that, you grab Gortash’s hand and are like “together?” And he says “together” to deliver the final attack. This would lower the dc check cause you have help!

Then big fight ensues. Defeat the brain, celebrate, and have a conversation with Gortash where you decide to rebuild the city not as tyrants or gods but as heroes. Gortash will also apologize to Karlach and offers to fix her heart! Karlach deserves a good ending and while she’s not forgiven Gortash for selling her, she isn’t going to kill him. She says, “if you fall back to your old slaving tyrannical ways, I’ll find you and end you.” And gortash is just like, “I’ll hold you to that!”

For a little epilogue I’d love for Gortash and Durge talk about how Bane will be coming soon for Gortash’s soul and that durge will stand with him when they fight Bane off. Then Gortash hugs you and says “you’ve always seen the best in me, I thank you for that. I love you for that”

[adaptacy]

If you are taking requests, I have a pairing that I do not ever see enough of: Gale x Durge. Specifically resisting the urge type Durge. Starved for content as I am, I’d be happy with whatever is written about the two. But I’d love something involving Durge nearly killing their lover or the reveal of Durge being one of the orchestrators of the Absolute plot. In game, those scenes feel far too underdeveloped.

Durge playthrough spoilers blow the cut (Shadow-cursed lands, Last Light Inn stuff. No act 3 spoilers)

so, I haven't gotten to that far into my durge playthru but I did get to the part where you try and kill your lover and to nobody's surprise that happened to be Gale!! i was actually kinda terrified that he was going to die bcs, in my defense, I did try to kill Isobel but Marcus or whatever-his-name-was got the last blow on her first and I was devastated that Gale was gonna have to pay the price for my low damage roll. in the end ofc it was worth it cause he tied my durge up and, I mean, who's gonna complain abt that??

ANYWAYS point is, yes, I agree, I wish that scene was more fleshed out too and I am more than happy to oblige and build on the scene that we were given! Also fun fact, I hadn't actually confirmed the relationship with Gale when this scene happened but the night directly after I tried to kill him he showed me his... 'tower'. And given how horny he gets watching tav/durge beat ppl up in the shadow cursed lands, i do not think that was a coincidence LMAO

No Sceleritas here cause I'm just gonna get to the good part :D — also durge here is gonna be sorta resisting the urge, but has more or less been allowing it to fester, just not embracing it.

Gorgeous was an understatement.

Busy days — waking hours occupied by wars, sight filled only with the flashes of spells and showers of blood — were all you knew. Nights were barely any break. Smiles were more common at camp, but given the near complete lack of smiles outside of camp, it wasn't saying much. There wasn't much time to be at camp, as the original mission to rid yourselves of the tadpoles grew messier and messier with every passing battle, and each matter was more pressing than the last.

You didn't mind, really. While you were just as eager to get the incubating creature out of your head as the rest of your group, each new quest and mission brought along with it the promise of bloodshed. Adrenaline. Victory. A momentary but exorbitantly satisfying quenching of your thirst for violence. A thirst you first found unsettling and terrifyingly unfamiliar.

When you first found yourself gazing down at the bloodied body of a stranger, dreaming of the torturous pain they must have felt when they met their fate, you were disgusted. Couldn't believe where your thoughts had wandered.

You'd fought it. Refrained from telling the others for fear of being ridiculed, or losing their trust, or scaring them. For a while, you'd fought it. But scarlet liquids, screams of terror, and slaughter had become your routine.

And gorgeous was an understatement.

Peace. Security. Naivete.

One knee bent, the other lazily stretched out, the bedroll barely containing the length of his body. One hand under his head, the other by his side. His eyes were closed, the soft hazel only ever plagued by a buried longing was hidden from you now. His hair spread over one arm and on the thin straw pillow beneath his head, more messy than he'd ever let it be seen while he was awake.

His right cheekbone had a bruise on it from where he'd hit himself with the butt of his staff while swinging it, and you recalled finding time to chuckle at his mistake in the middle of the battle. Being a few feet away, he'd heard it, and couldn't help but look over at you, his cheeks red from more than the blunt force, his mouth pulled back in an embarrassed smile. The moment of shame had earned him a punch to the side from his opponent moments before Astarion managed to stick them with his own blade, saving Gale from a worse fate.

Even down here, far from the surface, it was warm enough — perhaps from the fire that burned a mere two, maybe three, feet away — for Gale to concede and discard his shirt, resting more comfortably in a pair of indigo pants.

He had been honest about his appetites. His cravings. He was hardly hesitant about revealing that part of himself to you — fortunately, he was plenty aware of the consequences that would be wrought upon you, and the rest of the group, should he risk being unable to consume artifacts if he kept his secret.

Even Astarion, who's affliction was much closer to your own, was honest about his needs. It took a lot longer, and you're not sure how things would have gone over had you not woken up the night he planned to feast on you, but his admission did occur.

You were aware of the risks of your secret. You always yearned for more, even when you were positively drenched in crimson, when you'd been messy enough in your strikes that bathing in the river the following evening caused the water around you to be tainted a diluted red. Everything was temporary. Even the satisfaction derived from fights that left your weapon with such thick clumps of gore that Gale had to hold the shaft while you scrubbed away, as if the fight itself hadn't been taxing enough on your exhausted body.

Yet they all remained unaware. Some picked up on it better than others; Lae'zel's compliments, however shallow they often were, had picked up in frequency as you allowed your hunger to get the best of you, undoubtedly giving you some heartless upper hand against the foes forced to face off against your party. Karlach found you delightful, affectionately doting over you as you imitated her own battle-induced rages, though she didn't quite pick up on your lingering stares or mild smirks when your appetite had been satisfied.

Gale was the closest to discovering the truth. Unsurprising, given your mutual favoritism for one another. When you'd butchered Alfira, you'd been quick to blame wolves. Shadowheart, immediately discomforted at the mention, believed you without a second thought. Lae'zel had jumped to blame the Tiefling's lack of defense. Astarion seemed unbothered at best. The others were too busy mourning the bard's early demise to ask questions.

But he'd found you later, kneeling by the river, just before bed. 'A devastating misfortune she suffered. A sweet, innocent soul. Misfortune is perhaps the only apt term for the loss. Terribly curious, it is — To be so savagely slaughtered by beasts that aren't even native to these woods.'

You remembered freezing, fear flashing in a quick rush across your vision, knowing his eyes were on you, studying your reaction. He was so close. You'd agreed — 'an unfortunate fate indeed' — and he'd said goodnight.

Never again was it brought up. Never again was it questioned.

And gorgeous was an understatement.

That was, perhaps, the worst misfortune of all. He had such undying curiosity about the world, and yet that curiosity never reached you, or your intentions, or your past. Too trusting.

The camp was quiet. Crackling flames, distant whispers from the shadows hanging just beyond the light's reach, and his soft, patterned, blissful breathing. His chest rose and fell, so helplessly gentle.

His staff leaned up against a rock several feet away, alongside with everyone's weapons, save for Astarion, who preferred to keep his daggers close. Today had been no different from the rest; the battles had been taxing, only seeming to increase in difficulty the further you wandered into the shadows. He'd given it his all today, and it had been worth it, as you'd managed yet another day without losing any member of your party. As he'd explained it, the more of the weave he manipulated, the weaker his spells got — at least until he was able to rest.

He lay before you, undoubtedly sapped by the day's events. Defenseless.

And gorgeous was an understatement.

Three bruises. One on his cheekbone, one persistent discoloration that sat in the middle of the dark mark of the orb, and one on his side where he'd been assaulted by the undead in his moment of distraction. In a blink, your fingers grace the bruise on his side, and they tingle. Being fresh, the blemishes swirl a deep purple into his light skin, nearly matching the tint of his pants.

Purple was his best color, wasn't it?

The twitch of your fingertips sends a pulse through your body, and you taste an itch in the back of your throat. The tadpole squirms, you can feel its short wriggle behind your eye, but its control falters. Some other sensation warms your body, easing you into a malleable, thinning consciousness, and your gaze trails slowly, drunkenly, over his torso.

Three bruises. Clear, stuck to his skin like the stars he so fondly recalls. So far from the view of the sky, and yet you find a constellation still. Another blink, and your right leg has crossed over his waist. However forgotten your past is, it grants you a waking dream, as vivid as reality; Gale Dekarios, laying under you much like he was now, his pretty face littered with prettier bruises that dot all the way down to his shoulders, his neck red and swollen, branded by the picturesque imprint of hands.

Your hands.

And gorgeous is an understatement.

It's distinct. The pulse of his arteries, teasing the gift of blood beneath his skin, purring under your fingers as they push, your thumbs hitched underneath his jaw, pressuring the veins. Your own heart is thumping, encouraging your desires, urging you to indulge.

You've tasted vindication like this before. When you awoke to the spectacle of Alfira's maimed corpse, there was serenity like nothing you knew possible. It came underlined by pride, your work preciously appalling, and you relished the piece, the art macabre and perfect.

The sweeter the canvas, the finer the design.

Gale was nothing if not sweet.

"My — Hardly the sight I was expecting to wake to."

Another blink, and his bruises are gone, save for the contusion on his cheek. Absent are the inscriptions of your hands on his neck, and his hazel eyes are revealed to you once more. Though you don't remember moving it, your hand presses against the black circle on his chest, palm pining for his throat.

You're unable to move. Unable to control yourself. Unable to win back your own consciousness. Gale props himself up on his elbows. His heart rate has picked up, and yet you don't sense fear. The curiosity in his eyes is familiar. The quirk in his left eyebrow and the smirk playing on the corner of his mouth is not.

"I do assume you meant to wake me, eventually. No harm," he says, gaze narrowing, and your lack of a response makes him huff out a chuckle, or at least part of one, as it only lasts a beat. Your eyes are pinned to his throat, reaching to find the comfort of your imagination's lens again, but your dream has been interrupted. At last, your eyes meet his, and it's the hazel that causes the tadpole to squirm again, awakening your senses once more. Gale moves one of his hands to rest on your waist, and his head recoils ever so slightly. "You look uncomfortable. What's wrong?" He asks, and you're able to sense a less pleasant curiosity, but it's still free of fearful influence.

"I'm going to kill you. You have to stop me."

His eyes widen, and still, there is no fear. He doesn't believe you. "A rather twisted joke... Not one I find particularly humorous. Albeit, humor is subjective, although–"

"I killed Alfira. You're next. No time – you have to stop me," you huff, and your confession brings on a raging headache, unlike any pain you've ever felt before. You lean forward, teeth grit as you groan, and Gale squeezes your hip for a moment. Though the reverberations in your head are overwhelming at the least, you finally catch a hint of fear from the wizard, and you're thankful for it. At least a part of you is, though the beast that brings on your headache is only bubbling to a rage, furious that you would dare turn against your thoughts. You've not committed a betrayal against your own conscience, but instead, betrayed your destiny, refusing some urge that is larger than yourself.

With what little remaining control you have, you push yourself off of him, and he's quick to rise to his feet. Your eyes squeeze closed, fighting the unwelcome entity with the rest of your energy, though given your excursions earlier in the day, that energy is quickly dwindling. Your knees press to the dirt, the heels of your palms pressing to your temples as you keel over, an aggressive, roaring nausea plaguing your senses, soon joined by an even more violent malignity that rips into your control as though it means to test you.

You want him dead.

A wonderful bath his blood would provide — A marvelous crack his bones would sing — A remarkable terror he could feel. He will suffer.

There's a firm squeeze on your arms as they're yanked behind your back, and you writhe, fighting your cravings as they fight your containment. The hold is followed by a burning scrape on your wrists as they are hastily, and uncomfortably tightly, bound by rope. Your head swings, but Gale manages to pull back in time, his reflex causing his grip to falter, and you fall to your side, rolling towards his bedroll.

He frowns, eyebrows pinched inward and he kneels in place, a few paces away, reading the situation and assessing just how much of a threat you pose. Gale glances at where Shadowheart and Karlach lie, still miraculously sleeping soundly despite the struggle occurring no more than two yards from where they reside. His attention returns to you. "Easy. Should you retain any control, I merely request that you refrain from indulging in... whatever your intentions may have been. Greedy as it may be, an explanation certainly wouldn't hurt."

There's a command, conjuring as a sensation rather than a verbal declaration, and it rings through your entire body. You're unable to decipher the apparition's ambition, but your muscles act nonetheless. It fights — you fight — against the rope, and there's a flare of savage discontent when you're unable to free yourself. "You're better off as my prey! You will suffer a purgatory worse than any of the hells could manage," you bark, and your words are not your own. The control he speaks of is entirely silenced, leaving you an unwilling vessel, forced to submit to the will of your past.

"Not the answer I would have preferred, but an answer nonetheless. Yelling will only stir the others from their slumber, and I predict they won't be as understanding as yours truly. You should consider taking up a quieter tone," he advises, and you growl, forcing rashes into your wrists as you wage a war on your binds.

"I will spill your blood before this night is through!" You yell again, and Karlach shifts where she sleeps, stirring a flash of worry in his expression. "Wake them! I'll slaughter them all the same!"

Gale cringes, conflicted for only a moment before he overcomes his internal argument, and he quickly rushes to your side. You bite at him with a rabid ferocity, and he sits behind you, pulling your body closer to his own, even as you squirm and fight him. Shadowheart mumbles, bordering on the edge of lucidity, and Gale curses out a whispered "Godsdamn it." He huffs, irritated just as much as he is scared, and his palm presses to your mouth, his thumb keeping your jaw shut — or at least trying to keep it shut — as your head is pulled against his shoulder.

You mumble, fervently antagonizing him, your muffled words being split up only by the subtle flinching of your jaw as you attempt to bite at his hand, all to no avail. His grasp is tight, nearly rough, keeping you as restrained as possible, and he watches Karlach and Shadowheart with apprehensive dread, his focus painfully split between concern for you and fear of you.

Gale looks down at you, his expression firm and yet, against all odds and expectations, somehow understanding, even if it is incredibly mild. "I've seen you tear apart the most ferocious of beasts. Foes that would make Bhaal himself tremble. You always prevail. You must defeat this — whatever it is." He nods, but his encouragement is not what you want to hear; you thirst for his terror, you thirst for his pleading, you want to see him tremble. His tone softens, and he squeezes your jaw, almost tenderly. "I'm right here. No blood will be shed tonight. Fight to your heart's content; I will not give in. You cannot give in, either."

Your heart is all that remains of your better judgement, and it aches at his promise, though the guilt and appreciation is quickly whisked away by your burning rage, your need for violence. You persist, as does he, correcting your every shift, no matter how exhausted he grows. Certainly the most stern you've ever seen him — more disciplined than you knew he could be, but you have little room in your mind to process that. You despise the way that he cares, the fact that he is just gentle enough not to injure you as he restricts you, the understanding in his expression, the near nurturing tone he takes on.

Yet it's the affection that eventually subsides your bloodlust, willing it to retire, however angry it remains. Angry at the loss, angry at the incompetence, angry at the devotion. Devotion to the wrong subject. Gale wins, ultimately — and by some affiliation, so too do you. A temporary victory, you're well-aware, but even if it isn't permanent, your body becomes your own, your thoughts and feelings along with it.

Exhaustion is the first burden you bear upon your return, and Gale is hesitant to ease his grasp on you, but he takes the risk, and you can't muster the energy to move away from him. Your head pangs with a narrow pain, manifesting as a faint ringing in your ears, and your wrists sear with sharp bites from the fraying rope. His hand releases your mouth, shifting quickly to your shoulder as your torso threatens to fall over, your buried rancor having completely wasted away the last of your energy.

Gale sighs, his own muscles easing up as he inches backwards, allowing you to lean more comfortably, and with a bit more stability, against his chest. One of his arms stays displayed over your abdomen, quite possibly still a little worried you might lash out again, and you didn't blame him for exercising caution. You lean into him, mostly because you lack the energy to do much else, but also because you want him to understand that you are beyond appreciative. "I'm sorry," you mumble, your voice hoarse and barely above a whisper — barely audible at all, really.

"I know. You're okay. Rest now, you'll certainly require some form of rejuvenation if we intend on defeating Ketheric and... Well, repressing whatever it is that you find yourself cursed with. And I assure you, I do so unquestionably intend on assisting you with your affliction. After all, I'm quite fond of my vitals, and I've no interest in seeing them spilled." Gale's tone is almost lighthearted, but genuine still.

His arm releases you, and he guides you to rest your head in his lap, allowing you to experience a little more comfort. Your eyes close, and you fear sleep — you know the possible horrors you could cause when you're left defenseless against your bloodlust — but you feel it taking you nonetheless. Gale doesn't untie you, not yet anyways, and it provides the slightest of reassurances. Worst case scenario, you know that, should the urge take advantage of your rest, Gale will expect it this time.

"Perhaps a poor time for confessions," he begins, his hand brushing stray hairs from your face, "But I must admit, the notion of you becoming lost to that rage is not a concept I'm anywhere near comfortable with. Keeping my heart beating is one motivation, and a strong one at that — but I hope you understand that keeping you safe is also immensely important to me. In all honesty, I'm... not sure what I'd do without you. I worry enough witnessing your engagement in the violent affairs we do so often find ourselves tangling with." Gale pauses, and clears his throat, shifting nervously. "Apologies, pay me no mind — A little shaken up, I fear my feelings may be getting the best of me. Rest. We'll reconvene come morning."

[clownsnake]

guys. Astarion wasn’t literally considered a child when he was 30. Among elves he was clearly seen as Of Age to do adult things like drink and live independently and fuck and pay taxes. its just that elves have a stupid extra concept of adulthood that doesn’t MEAN adulthood in a literal sense. has nothing to do with physical or brain development. not even necessarily emotional development, but it kind of is depending on how u interpret it, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

basically elves in the forgotten realms trance instead of sleep (we know this) and until around age 110, during their trances they “dream” of their past lives (I’ve only seen a few ppl who know this, but idk if they also knew it stops at a certain age). They then stop dreaming of their past lives naturally, and it’s generally considered kinda traumatic to go through bc well. you’re losing what has been a fundamental part of yourself for so long.

I interpret that as being like a “shared trauma maturation stage” where instead of elves brains literally becoming more adult, losing the guidance of their past lives feels like more of a final step towards independence to them. and adulthood is just the closest social experience to this stage of being “truly on your own”

around 30-40 they get a “first reflection”, which is when their dreams start having experiences from their current life. (Makes sense for Astarion having a dream about Cazador in origin runs that prompts the biting scene) And then the loss of past life memories at 100-110 is called the drawing of the veil.

Tl;dr Astarion was a young adult by elf standards stop infantilizing him PLEASE

Getting into headcanon land now, feel free to draw your own conclusions from here.

i imagine older elves kind of have a sense of being more “mature” than under-110 elves in the way tht people comparing their trauma tend to do. Like “u think ur so smart and worldly but you haven’t even been through half the shit I’ve been through.” PATRONIZING that’s the word I’m looking for, it’s patronizing. And since every elf goes through this, they just kind of assume that yeah, going through this trauma/emotional loss IS a big step towards being a full adult. so it’s like if the concept of adult had a Pokémon evolution that didn’t involve getting wrinkly and hair loss and going through menopause or erectyle dysfunction. Adult 1.5 steam update.

I have no clue if Astarion would have the drawing of the veil as an undead elf. The fact that he even has dreams shows that being revived as a vampire keeps certain bodily functions running, mainly anything relating to the brain and consciousness, but idk if it would keep him physically at 30 or let his brain change.

Although hold on, in the epilogue where you’re a mind flayer and considering eating Astarions brain, you get narration that’s like “ooohh his brain part that handles senses must be sooo wrinkly” which would only be caused by the shit he went through post-vampirification. Meaning his brain Would be able to change and “mature”. But that’s also just an assumption that mindflayer!tav/durge is making.

k I looked it up. The exact quote is “Astarion’s sweet brain may be a bit less wrinkled than the rest, but you hunger for its teasing cells. His parietal lobe - which controls his sense of touch - will be an aphrodisiac in your maw.” Hilarious, he canonically gets called smooth brain. Anyway if u kill him I don’t think you get to eat his brain, withers just banishes you asap lmao. So we don’t actually know if his parietal lobe changed over his un-life! I’d wager it did though, based on his “don’t touch me” selection line (and probably some other lines hinting towards over-sensitivity tht im forgetting). And change caused by external trauma vs change caused by aging is different anyway.

no conclusion wrt to if he’d reach the drawing of the veil or not. Does it even matter? He’s still the same adult man, who’s gone through far worse hardships than losing memories of his past lives. If he lost his past life dreams too, well then I don’t think that’d make much of a difference for him.

[captainsimagines]

meet me in the afterglow || Halsin BG3 || Part Two

Summary: She aided everyone, himself included, and he hated how useless he felt. But if he were to simply open his eyes, he would see that she too was losing her mind.

Pairing(s): Halsin x Durge Drow Tav

Trope(s): Slow Burn; Fantasy; Established Canon Scenes; Male Love Interest POV

Based on the Song(s): Afterglow by Taylor Swift

Total Word Count: 30,000 +

If you would rather read on AO3, here is the link

This is a single one-shot, split into 2 parts. This is Part Two.

Warnings: This story deals with heavy sexual situations, strong language, canon-typical violence, self-harm, fantasy elements, emotional backstories, past memories of necrophilia, the "Dark Urge", "resist dark urge" storylines, past rape/non-con, attempted sexual assault, and minor character death. You are responsible for your own media consumption. This work is strictly 18+ only. This is purely fanfiction.

---

“Do you regret not claiming that power for yourself?” Tav asked Astarion, swinging her leg off the side of Astarion’s bed. The elf lounged with his back against the headboard, a pensive look boring into her curious one.

Halsin lounged by the fire with Shadowheart by his side, whittling a figurine of Scratch she had asked him to make. She was also making use of his chisel set, but instead of a complicated first endeavor, she had opted for carving a simple heart. 

He slowed his knife around the paws, half his attention on the conversation nearby. It didn’t feel like eavesdropping when Shadowheart so happily joined, pushing her hair behind her ears for better tuning.

“Oddly, no,” Astarion responded.

The fight with Cazador had gone as expected. Bloody, emotional, traumatizing. They nearly lost Astarion to the ritual and Minthara in battle. Tav had misty-stepped to Astarion’s aid and earned a couple of bat bites along the way, while Halsin and Gale worked to keep Cazador obstructed. Minthara had fallen first, failing to dodge a slash from one of the ghouls. He had believed Tav would scream for her, but she was occupied with guarding Astarion. What startled him—and Gale, funnily enough—was that the scream came from Halsin himself. He yelled as she went down, even abandoned his crowd of ghouls to heal her. To say she was surprised would be an understatement, and neither spoke of it since.

“How do you feel?” Tav asked.

There was a twinge of sadness in the soft hum Astarion let loose. “Numb, mostly.”

Tav nodded. “I’d do anything to feel numb.”

“You will reclaim yourself soon. You will break your chains. I did, and I can scarcely believe it.”

“I’m so proud of you, Astarion.”

The elf clicked his tongue. “Thank you, I guess.” 

They shared a laugh, and he and Shadowheart shared a look. 

“Don’t you dare take Gortash’s deal.”

Tav pursed her lips, though they threatened to pull upward. Astarion tilted his head in response to her upcoming sarcasm. 

“My cunt was never on the table.”

“I sure hope not. Bloody table was never a comfortable position. Not for me, at least.”

Shadowheart nudged his bicep, lifting her crooked heart at eye-level. She wore a proud grin, and Halsin rewarded her with one of his own. 

“How long do you think we can put off killing Orin?”

Tav’s question was itching at his insides as well. It had been a week since they spoke to Gortash and since Wyll broke his pact with Mizora. It had been almost a month since Orin deceived them in Rivington. They had all taken Gortash’s warning seriously, but Orin had yet to strike. Karlach would keep an extra close watch as Yenna traveled a few blocks down to buy ingredients for her signature soups, and Lae’zel had begun volunteering for more night shifts. And as much as it tired him, Gale had cast arcane locks every night once everyone retired to bed, holding the spells well into the morning hours. 

Soon Gortash would come asking for an update, and soon Orin would strike.

“Darling, I’m leaning more towards killing Gortash first.”

“Decisions, decisions,” Tav sang, as if their words weren’t inked with treason.

“What does our Emperor say about it? Gods know it will only speak to you.”

“Nothing. I think they’re keeping their opinion to themselves.”

---

He had been returning from buying some sweets with Wyll when he heard snippets of a very vibrant conversation between three enthusiastic sounding people. Well, two of them were happy-sounding and the third seemed to contradict everything they were saying. Peeking around the corner into the Elfsong’s kitchen, he found Tav, Yenna, and Minsc huddled close together near the boiling soups. Cher Rover eyed them suspiciously from the other end of the kitchen, but made no attempt at kicking them out. Halsin thought he quite enjoyed the company, even catching him sharing a pint with Jaheira the other day. 

“Boo believes love should be spontaneous!” Minsc exclaimed, earning a hush from the small girl. He ducked his head comically and lowered his voice. “And Minsc believes the same.”

Tav rolled her eyes. She quickly dipped a finger into the soup nearest her and licked it clean before Chef Rover turned around. 

“I say kiss him!” Yenna beamed, hopping in place. “He clearly likes you! You miss all the chances you don’t take!”

“But he hasn’t even tried kissing me again,” Tav lamented. 

Minsc let out a dramatic pfft sound. “Halsin is an honorable elf—Not as honorable as Minsc, of course. Minsc beats him in everything.”

“That’s why she should just walk up to him and kiss him! Be romantic! Just because you’re the girl doesn’t mean you have to act all scared.”

Tav pouted. “I’m not scared!”

“Looks that way to me, missy.”

“Fine!” Tav declared, a smile playing at her lips. “Next time I see him, I’ll kiss him.”

“Ah, but what about the next time Minsc sees him?”

“What?”

Halsin neglected to hide once all three pairs of eyes met his own. He smiled sheepishly, running a nervous hand through his hair. 

“Apologies.”

No one moved. Yenna snickered and poked Minsc’s side, the two simply waiting to see what happened next. 

He and Tav shared a moment of simple acknowledgment. And when Yenna snickered even louder, Tav straightened herself and marched across the kitchen, closing that pesky distance between them to plant a proper kiss to his eager lips. He responded immediately, kissing her back as innocently as possible with a child present. 

Immense and euphoric happiness swelled in his chest, and he found himself smiling through the kiss. Tav matched it easily. 

“We’re matchmakers!” Yenna cheered, high-fiving the joyous giant ranger. "Mum would have loved to see this!"

They separated rather quickly, but he spotted no shame in Tav’s face. She wanted to kiss him, found him willing, and took her chance. 

And if she was brave enough for spontaneity, then he would do everything in his power to prove he was a worthy partner.

"Yellow."

"What?"

"Yenna reminds me of the color yellow. Energy, audacity," Tav said, chuckling, "Childhood."

---

“You desire her.”

Halsin hadn’t been alone with Minthara the entire time they had traveled together. It was an unspoken agreement between them to simply acknowledge one another in conversation but to avoid private interaction. Though they came to a truce in the shadow lands, Halsin had never warmed up to her. He didn’t want to. The fight with Cazador had been a slip, a moment of panic in the grand scheme of things. She was their strongest fighter after all.

He watched as she placed a coin on the counter and took the mug of beer Alan offered her. She awaited his response, leaning on the wood with a single brow arched. Confident, regal, a cut-throat beauty. 

He sipped his soup, humming gleefully at the taste. “I do not know whom you speak of.”

She scoffed, “Do not treat me like a fool, druid. I speak of Tav, and you do best to speak openly to me.”

“I will not be forced to share my emotions with you, Minthara.”

A genuine laugh. The shock in his face made her laugh again. She sat opposite of him, surprisingly relaxed for how crowded the pub was. “It is not force. I am here, I am asking, and you have not spoken to our other allies about this at all.” 

No, but he assumed that Astarion knew. Tav told him everything. And if Astarion knew, then so did Gale. Gale found he enjoyed gossip with Wyll, and Wyll could keep nothing secret for long when it came to Karlach. Plus, Wyll was the one who discovered him devouring Tav on the roof, so. 

And Minsc definitely shared what happened in the kitchen yesterday with Jaheira. 

Honestly, Halsin felt like an idiot for even thinking he could keep his feelings secret at all.

“I too desired her for a while.”

A ball of jealousy weighed his full stomach down, and he bit into his bread to distract it. “I’m happy for you.”

Minthara squinted, a quirk in her lip. “But she turned me away. Do you know why?”

“Your personality?”

The quip came faster than he expected, before he could reel it back in and save himself a fist fight.

“So—” Minthara took a long gulp and when the mug lowered, her smile was brutal. Teeth and all. “The druid can bite.”

“That was humor, Minthara. When I bite, you’ll know,”

“Oh, I’ve seen you bite. When you are in wild shape, you are otherworldly.” Taking the time to scan his broad chest and shoulders, Minthara hummed her satisfaction. A blush rose to his cheeks. “You bite hardest when protecting my fellow kin. Understandable. She is of a different variety. Warm and sour, dangerous and cruel, kind and terrifying. You, druid, have the capability to handle it all.”

That might have been the sweetest thing he had ever heard her say. Perhaps the realest. 

And if Minthara, of all people, was to be the only one who approached him on this topic, then she deserved to be treated seriously. This must have taken a lot of… heart. Courage she was full of, but empathy?

He took a moment to watch her watch others. How her brow furrowed when friends embraced, how she snickered when a drunk fell from their stool, and how her eyes brightened when lovers snuck away to dark corners. She was new to this world, new to this city. And it hit him that he had been picking at the strands of this city all along. On their daily walks, Halsin complained and spoke of change, but Minthara was experiencing everything anew. He had been destroying her experience and hadn’t given one damn. Tav indulged him, her thrill for judgment obvious at those moments. It was Astarion who would shut him up sometimes, claiming that though he hated these streets at night, they were colorful during the day. Unknown. 

Minthara was approaching him with the intent of being friendly, and he was squandering it. So, pushing his fear of being understood down, he admitted, “But does she truly desire me?”

“I did not take you for a blind fool.”

“Honesty is required at this very moment, Minthara,” he said, pushing his empty bowl away. “I have experienced much in my life, but never the combination of love and lust. To be seen is unnerving, but to see someone in return is glorious.”

She nodded, though he didn’t think she was agreeing. She popped a grape in her mouth and took her time chewing. He waited, vulnerable, until finally her mask fell and she asked, “How does it feel?”

He pondered for a second, his tongue twisting as his heart hurried. “Deep. Like something is burrowing into my insides, to the very depths of my marrow, and filling me with this passion that I can almost taste. And once I get close to tasting its power, it’s… pulled away. Not maliciously, of course. It travels further, but I am more than happy to catch up with it. Because I know that once I grab it, if it’s reciprocated, I’ll feel sated.”

“I should kill you for stooping to such a level of desperation.”

Her loose threat pushed a surprised laugh from him. “You have a tender heart. Same as mine, I would say. You, however, are better at masking it.”

She grumbled, rolling her eyes. “You bleed desperation.”

“I think my biggest weakness is my transparency.”

“Good… You’re finally admitting it.”

They spoke about their past conquests, their errors when it came to people they thought they trusted, and the accomplishments they hadn’t quite considered positive until now. He discovered that her actions back in the goblin camp weren’t entirely her own, and that he had indeed endangered civilians by chasing after the past. And he hoped that she discovered her allies were not simply protecting her back because of honor, but because she had proven herself loyal. 

Hours passed until Alan announced last call, and he found that he had revealed much more than he ever intended to the drow. Much more than he ever did with Tav, really. But because of it, he felt he could share more than just his heart with her. He could find it within himself to share his soul. “Powerful tricks you have, Minthara.”

She smirked, then drank the last sip of her third drink of the night. “I am a drow. We are a manipulative bunch.”

She stood from the booth, everything about her more loose. Comfortable in his presence. Safe, he dare speculate.

He leaned back in his seat with his eyes closed, content. And when she strode past him, she laid a gentle palm on his shoulder.

She squeezed once. 

And was gone before he could turn his head.

---

“We could just fight this thing.”

Tav’s suggestion went ignored as the group argued amongst themselves near the doorway. Raphael’s personal incubus waved at them from afar, spreading their legs wider in anticipation. Halsin shuddered, but he wasn't blind to the humor of this situation.

“I brought enough healing potions to defeat Raphael, not his incubus, too!” Shadowheart hissed, clutching her satchel with an incredulous glare. 

Tav rolled her eyes. “The pool here will heal us afterwards. Or would you like to fuck them, Shadowheart?”

Before Shadowheart could bite back, Gale whispered, “Are we sure they’re here out of their own free will?”

“They look excited enough.” Tav locked eyes with Harleep, curling her fingers enticingly. Harleep scoffed playfully, then pretended to swoon. Halsin merely blinked at her when she turned back, enough of a gesture that said he was insulted by that. Tav held in her laugh, and his nearly burst.

“Hells. We slaughtered the damn House of Healing, what’s to say we can’t slaughter the House of Hope?” Minthara suggested, leaning on her hip.

“Perhaps because we haven’t even found Hope yet,” Halsin answered.

Astarion huffed, “If you all want to fuck this thing, then do it. Count me out.” Then, shooting a quick hand in the sky, “I pull the trauma card!”

“Arsehole, beat me to it!” Shadowheart exclaimed.

“What cards do we have left?” Lae’zel asked, her confidence high considering no one would suggest she sleep with the incubus. Though, if Halsin truly had a say, the responsibility technically should have fallen to her. They were here to acquire the hammer necessary in freeing her prince, so. Technically.

“Gender, race, and experience cards,” Tav answered.

“Do we consider experience the same as age? If so, I am an old widower who has not yet gotten over the death of her beloved husband.”

“Fuck you, Jaheira,” Astarion snapped.

“If anyone should fuck the incubus,” Shadowheart added, “it should be Gale! Man has fucked a Goddess!”

“In the Weave, not the Hells!”

“What difference does that make?”

Gale shuffled on his feet, gripping his staff harder. With one look at Astarion, he had his answer. “I pull the race card! I’m human, I have a shorter lifespan! This memory will not simply dwindle!”

“You’re a wizard! Elminster is one-thousand years old!” Tav argued. 

“Then ask him to fuck the devil!”

“Guys…” Wyll interrupted, the crease between his brows deepening. “Karlach has been awfully quiet during this—”

“Really?” Karlach yelled, pointing a fiery finger at her new friend-turned-enemy, “You’re the devil now! Get on your knees—”

They went back and forth for a while longer, no one suggesting that Tav crawl under the incubus herself. Surprisingly, his name was left out of it, too. He could have volunteered, but the thought made him sick. Turning his stomach at the thought of himself beneath a stranger, a stranger wearing a devil’s face. If only he had packed more healing potions, and Gale more scrolls—

“Minsc proclaims—‘Give me my heart’s desire!’”

They all turned at the same time, shocked to find Minsc bloodied and bruised, but wearing the widest smile. He had lifted the painting beside the bed, a bed now carrying the limp body of the naked incubus, and grabbed what looked to be Raphael’s diary. 

“Boo has proven himself the greatest warrior amongst us! Now, let us steal this Hammer of Orphic!”

Astarion’s face twisted in disgust. “Did the hamster fuck the incubus?”

Minsc gasped, holding up both thumbs to cover Boo’s ears. “No! Does Minsc need to retell Boo’s heroic epics tonight? Weren’t you all listening?”

After they find Mol’s contract, free Hope, and defeat Raphael once and for all, Halsin finally lets himself breathe. 

They could do this. They could really save everyone and survive this fight. To kill a devil of Raphael’s stature only cemented his belief that Gortash and Orin would be easy targets. And seeing Tav celebrate with ale and jokes that night cemented his growing love for her.

They shared a kiss before bed, and it’s Halsin that pulled away before things heated. He would court her right, court her like she deserved. He would be all her firsts if she’d let him. 

Oak Father preserve him, he wanted her to be his last.

---

The wizard accompanied him to the river to bathe. Karlach and Shadowheart had claimed the two tubs first, but Gale could not wait to wash the hag’s blood off. The river was about a fifteen minute walk from the Elfsong, and Halsin had brought Astarion's shortsword just in case they took longer than expected and needed to search for dinner on their own. 

There, Gale spoke of his home in Waterdeep and his early schooling, a topic that absolutely fascinated Halsin. How the wizard kept a garden at the peak of his tower and treated his books as if they were his own children, it made Halsin yearn for a visit. Baldur’s Gate was grimy and savage, while Waterdeep seemed to provide a healthy alternative. Or perhaps it was because the wizard was Halsin’s idea of home. They were all starting to become his idea of a peaceful home, and to say it didn’t frighten him would be a lie. 

But what else did he need to prove? He had vanquished the shadow curse, relinquished his title as Archdruid of the Emerald Grove, and was currently hunting greater evils than those of his past. The bear within wanted to roam and see the world, meet new lovers and claim all of nature’s bounties. 

But the man he was becoming, the man he had ignored for the past century, was screaming for his slightest shuffle through dirt to be heard. Maybe it was time to listen to it. To delve into a whole new world with people who had quickly become friends. He was a friend to all, to all of nature, but something was different now. 

Tav had burrowed into his lively heart with her putrefied one, and that was the rare balance he had been searching for over the last few weeks, the very one she had urged him to seek and nourish. 

“Ow! What in the Nine Hells was that?”

Up on shore, Halsin pulled his trousers up his waist but left his shirt untouched. The bear had ruined his last comfortable attire when he had fumbled mid-transition due to the flaming tiefling sneaking up on him. He watched as Gale lifted a hand out of the water, resistance evident the higher he pulled. 

“Is this tar?” Gale observed, groaning as he tried taking a step out of the river. 

His defenses immediately raised as he witnessed his wizard struggle harder, as the water rippled angrily around him. But before he could ready a spell, before the bear could unleash itself, Halsin felt the sharp tip of an arrow pierce the hard muscle of his shoulder. His magic fought against the necrotic poison, failed, and he tumbled to the sand. He could vaguely hear Gale gagging, drowning maybe. 

Halsin curled his body, forcing his neck to turn to see if Gale was safe. But his vision was interrupted by red armor, armor that contorted and bent to his level. Then pale eyes bore in his closing ones. 

“Don’t worry, pet. I won’t touch the wizard. Not yet, at least,” Orin laughed, her grin pulling so wide Halsin had to blink to free himself of the horrid image. “Father only wants you.”

---

Slipping out from the covers, Tav stretched her sore arms and found her slippers. Everyone was fast asleep, snoring away like they didn’t just kill Ethel and avenge Marina today. Tomorrow, they would check-in with another of the names on the Bhaal list and stock up on supplies. She hadn’t seen Rolan in a while either, and she wanted to catch up with Cal and Lia over tea. 

As much as Tav wanted to lay down and never wake up again, she pushed herself to fight. To lead. To see the greater picture, the endgame. She could ignore the ache in her neck and the weight on her chest for a while longer. She had no doubts that everyone else was feeling the same way. 

But she had got them all into this mess. It was her responsibility, her atonement. 

Knocking softly on the nighttime window, she awaited the aggravated voice of the woman who provided them with meals at night. Withers hummed in the corner and traced a gray finger along a sentence he was reading, paying her no mind. She wrapped the thin robe over herself, and avoided breathing near him. 

No one in the Elfsong responded. 

The only water they had in their rooms was two days old and saved for morning baths, and Gale hadn’t returned yet to conjure up a glass. Nor was he here to cast arcane locks on their doors. She pushed the worry to the back of her mind. Gale was with Halsin, and it took an army to get through that wall of muscle. Honestly, she believed it would take an army to get through Gale as well. From the Grove to the Shadowlands to the Lower City, Gale had surprised her immensely. 

Stepping over Grub and Scratch, she quietly descended to the main floor and looked around to make sure the coast was clear. There were three citizens tucked away in the corner, but Alan had closed out all tabs for the night. Patting the dagger attached to her hip, Tav scurried into the kitchen and lit a lamp. She was hoping to at least run into Lakrissa, but the tiefling was most likely lounging on the roof.

Alone. 

Because Tav had stolen Alfira from her. 

She gripped the water pump until her knuckles turned white, cursing underneath a shallow breath. She would be haunted by that forever, too much of a coward to admit to Lakrissa what she had done. When Zevlor had asked if his people had made it to Last Light, Tav hadn’t told him that she had stolen one’s fighting chance. She looked Rolan in the eyes and flirted with him, and he never knew just how violent she had proven herself to be. She never told Halsin the nasty thoughts she had when that snake reached for Arabella, and the false, bloody images she enjoyed those first few nights. 

Steadying her breathing, she pushed herself away from the wall and cupped her hands beneath the faucet. Too distracted to feel someone creep up behind her. 

She was slammed face-down onto the counter, just out of reach of the knives. Her own dagger pressed into the stone. The stranger pressed their palm to her cheek, smashing their weight down to the point an involuntary whimper broke through her trembling lips. 

This was it. Gortash had found her and came to trade. She would be forced to remember and forced to play a part. And maybe her body would betray her and actually fall back into routine. She’d lose this new self. 

“Just lie still, my heart.”

No.

No.

“Halsin—” Tav tried to flip herself around, but Halsin forced his hand underneath her chin and pulled her to his chest. “What—”

“My heart,” he repeated, his lips caressing her jawline. The gravel of his voice when he said it… He had never said that name in lust. It was reserved for soft moments, for safe moments. Halsin understood that. And this Halsin… It didn’t sound right. “I apologize. But hearing Gortash merely speak of your cunt…”

Her stomach churned. Bile rose in her throat as one of his thick fingers came up to gently tug at her hair. Halsin smelled like pine and burning wood, and this person… They smelled like the city and rosemary. What every male in Baldur’s Gate smelled like to her.

“Get off of me,” she hissed, dragging her sharp nails across his forearms. She drew first blood, and that seemed to excite them even more. “Who are you?”

The person wearing Halsin’s face turned her neck to give her a bewildered expression, then dragged their finger over the fresh red lines on their arm. They licked the crimson, never breaking their gaze. 

“It’s me, my heart. I thought you liked feeling overpowered,” they said, grinning. Even the damn smile was a perfect replica. Tav sobbed, ashamed by the flip of her stomach. “I thought you liked relinquishing your control. Learning from me. You wanted to mold yourself into someone better, someone even the Oak Father would accept, no?”

She halted her thrashing, eyes wide in realization. 

Had the Halsin on the roof been… This person? No, not possible. She had smelled him, had felt safe, and he never rushed her. He made sure she was comfortable and that anything they did was with both their consent. This monster must have watched, or Orin had enlisted the services of some damned pigeons. 

Where was the real Halsin? Gods, where was Gale?

Their lips connected to her neck as a large palm lowered to cup a breast. “You taste… remarkable.” 

“Stop,” she tried, her voice coming out as a mere whisper. It was all her frightened body could conjure. Then, with a little more push in her lungs, “Astarion!”

The customers outside would hear her. They had to. She screamed again, but the door remained shut.

They slapped their hand over her mouth, then forced her down again. Her head pounded, the tadpole squirming. The tadpole. 

“My hand is yours to bite into,” they breathed, their hips meeting her backside. Clenching her eyes shut, Tav sent every feeling of fright and disgust down the tadpole’s connection, even begging the Emperor to do something. “We must keep quiet so the others do not hear.”

"They are rousing. Keep screaming," the Emperor ordered, its concern a small reprieve from this torment.

“Astarion!” she tried again, earning another smack and the sound of a belt unbuckling. And through a broken sob, she tried even louder. “Astarion!”

“Call for him all you want, Chosen of Bhaal. This is what Father asks. This is your punishment.”

Her punishment. Perhaps she deserved it. All those years of committing worse atrocities on innocents. She deserved it.

And yet, this was her punishment for defying her Father, not for the violence she had enacted. His vengeance was misplaced. This was something being done to her out of pure spite. 

“Fuck you,” she spit, groaning when they laid their heavy body over hers. This wasn’t Halsin, and that fact settled something sad inside of her. At least this punishment would be done by a stranger, as much of a stranger Orin was to her. It was the first time she thanked the Gods that the pale woman had destroyed her memory.  

At least she was face-down and wouldn’t be forced to watch Halsin do this to her.

“I will, blood-kin. I will.”

“I will kill you, Orin. I will split your skull and devour your hopes, your desires, your damned insanity!”

Hearing Orin laugh in Halsin’s body nearly had her crumbling. Tav spread her arms out and gripped the sides of the counter, trying desperately to slow her breathing. Calm, Halsin would have instructed. Calm yourself, build your strength, and then fight.

“Father wanted me to shift into all of your friends. Take turns using you, stripping you of that gods-awful pride and sentiment you’ve built. To remind you that such connections are worthless! But I told him it would destroy you more if the one you loved was the one to ruin you.”

One second Halsin’s false hand crept up her thigh. Then all that heinous weight was blasted across the room.

“Gods, Tav! We’re here. I’m here.”

Gale.

His soft hands helped her up. As she rose, she saw Astarion and Minthara directly behind him—a single dagger and a longsword pointed at her attacker. She had never seen Minthara so livid, so disheveled. Her night clothes were barely hanging to her shoulders. But as she held the sword up, there was no tremble. Astarion held the same rage in his red eyes, a hint of madness creeping through. Remembrance. Twin empathy. 

“I knew I should have started with that dreadful foreplay.” Finally, finally, Orin contorted and revealed her true self. Shedding Halsin's skin and giving Tav back her sanity. 

“The shamed wizard, the slave spawn, and the drow traitor to the rescue!” Her infamous dagger swept through the air as she named her friends off. It lodged into the wall beside Tav’s head. “Your druid is so terribly boring. With his reputation, I thought it would be simple giving him the same punishment.”

Tav’s heart plummeted, and Gale audibly winced.

“But he couldn’t find the… excitement. So I left him with a promise that I would give that punishment to you.”

“Rabid bitch!” Astarion roared. 

“My assumptions were wrong then? You do not share his bed?” Orin smiled, called her blade back, and twirled it. “Is it because his heart still pumps with juice? His mind is his own? Or is he the unwilling one? I say, dear blood-kin, you always were the ugliest of us.”

“Where did you take him?”

“Where do you think?” 

Tav recalled the pungent smell, the sticky floors, the never-ending screaming. That wasn’t a place for Halsin. That wasn’t a place for anyone with a good-natured heart. 

“Pick through your ravaged mind-matter and find home again. Slaughter your way there! Let the bear’s screams provide the most delightful music for your grand entrance!”

Before Minthara could strike true, Orin disappeared in a red blur. Instead she sliced across the wood, and watched as her weapon tumbled from her grip.

No one spoke. Tav faintly felt Astarion wrap his coat around her shoulders, the drops of water falling from Gale’s hair and to her slippers, and Minthara’s timid fingers as they came to cradle her cheek.

“She took Halsin,” Tav mumbled, swaying in Astarion’s grip. “She took him.” 

“Let’s wake the others. Minsc and Jaheira probably know where this place is located—” Gale started to reason.

“Astarion, she took him,” Tav pleaded, grabbing the elf's collar. “There’s no sun in the temple, Astarion! There are no plants and no light! He’s all alone!”

“Tav, darling,” he tried, his back meeting the wall from all her involuntary shoving. “Gale, help me.”

Gale took a step, but it was Minthara who turned her so she was facing her, wrapped her arms around Tav’s waist, and held her firm. Tav’s nose nestled into Minthara’s neck, her arms pinned between their bodies.

“His—his staff is still here. His bow.”

Minthara kept silent, words eluding her.

On the way back up to their room, Tav noticed the three citizens still at their booth, bleeding out from their necks. Her companions said nothing else about Orin’s assault on Tav, and Gale told everyone how he was unable to stop the abduction. Tav simply sat with her knees tucked tightly, Jaheira at the foot of her bed.

“We’re going to find him, yeah? Look at me, soldier,” Karlach promised from across the room. Clive sat in her lap, his tiny arms wiggling between Karlach’s fingers. “We’re going to bring that hunk of an elf back, safe and sound. Do you hear me?”

Tav tried to move any muscle, but none were cooperating. All she could feel was Orin behind her, and all she could think about was Halsin begging Orin not to touch him.

“He can’t die alone,” she whispered, looking Jaheira in the eye. The older elf did well to remain steady, but Tav saw the slightest jump in her jaw. “He’s all alone.”

Jaheira nodded, then kept watch as Tav attempted and failed to get some rest.

---

Both the trust of Jaheira and Minsc were tested, but when Tav chose to bathe in Sarevok’s blood instead, something tipped itself in the grand scheme of things. Something that proved Tav had changed, had rejected Bhaal’s influence. 

She was capable of good. Capable of chaos. Capable of sweetness and evil. Just like the rest of them.

Smearing Sarevok’s blood down her neck, between her breasts, and over her corset, Tav took a moment to regain her footing. No one spoke, though Wyll did place a gentle hand upon her red shoulder. Tav bristled slightly, but soon placed her own hand over his.

“You don’t have to watch this,” she warned, her voice monotone.

Minsc chuckled lightly, “A fact for you, Tav—you cannot do more carnage than Boo, here.”

She didn’t smile, didn’t react to his words. Instead, she went around and piled the bodies in the middle of the room and watched them sink into the pool. Slowly, the pool overflowed with darkening blood.  Slowly, she submerged herself into its depths. Slowly, the others lowered themselves to one knee. Even Valeria quieted. 

She emerged seeking vengeance. 

An oath to herself, to the bloody grand scheme of all things.

---

The only stop Tav made before descending into the sewers was Sorcerous Sundries. There she spent most of her coin on scrolls for Gale, healing potions, and a new dagger for Astarion. Rolan gave her that and more, descending into the library for scrolls mainly used in battle, and a longsword that was promised to an ancient soldier seeking redemption.

Rolan said she could keep it if she liked the weight of it. So she passed Sarevok's blade to Minthara and adopted the ancient silver steel for herself. 

Rolan trusted her with it.

It was the first time in Tav’s life that she kneeled before anyone and thanked them with tears in her eyes.

---

The fourth time Halsin heard the crack of Tav’s lungs was while he was strapped to Bhaal’s altar, praying to Silvanus for anyone to come and save him. How he missed Tav’s awkward smile and her genuine innocence to all things common. How he missed Gale’s blabbing and knowledge about topics Halsin had always wanted to explore. How he missed Lae’zel’s naiveness to all things Faerun and the way her high nose crinkled when annoyed. How he missed Karlach’s spontaneous attitude in the face of death and the way she practiced her dancing when the others made deals across the city. How he begged Silvanus to give him a fighting chance because he forgot to hug his vampire and tell him he was proud of his decision back at Cazador’s palace. How he needed to live because Wyll needed someone to tell him that his trying was starting to pay off and he did not need his father’s approval to show his face in the city again. How he wanted to learn from Jaheira, no matter their similarities, because she had explored much more of the Sword Coast than he ever did. And he needed to live because he forgot to tell Minthara that he respected her and that her words the other night had elated him to new heights. 

He wanted to live because before he met his companions, Halsin didn’t think he had truly lived at all.

Tav lunged for Orin, slicing up her back and cracking her armor. Orin wailed, her pale eyes darting toward the altar. She lunged forward, close enough to knick Halsin’s forearm, before smacking against the temple floor with the full weight of her sister. Tav wrapped her hands around Orin’s throat, nails digging into the meat.

The temple gave a great shake, and everything happened too fast. 

Orin’s bones broke and her muscles melted. Her face contorted and stretched. Her limbs grew and her nails punctured stone. Tav scrambled back, hitting Astarion’s knees. He too was frozen in shock, readying his daggers. One great strike and Astarion was sent into a crowd of Bhaalists, the spray of his stale blood igniting their most sadistic desires. Forgotten were Orin’s orders, and Shadowheart took the opportunity. Casting spirit guardians, she dashed for the small crowd and tore them down one by one, even drawing out the invisibles. Gale kept his distance, missiles flying directly into Orin’s back as she inched closer and closer to Tav. 

One massive step, and Tav had to jump back. Again and again. But each step brought Orin closer to Minthara, whose sharpened blade met the tendons of one of her monstrous arms. Orin bellowed, swinging blindly, which allowed Tav to nail a strike to her neck. And when Bhaal instilled more energy into Orin’s slayer form, they repeated the tiresome process. 

Though groggy, Halsin forced himself to sit up on the altar. To watch Tav land the long-awaited, final blow. The agony in her swing, the tortured crack of her throat, the absolute devastation on her face when Orin transformed back and crawled to her—melting and moaning, a single arm extended in a last attempt at landing another hit. 

When Orin was nothing but a rancid puddle and her Bhaalists quieted, Halsin stepped onto the ground. Wobbly on his feet, he was held up by Gale’s strong arms and handed his staff for extra support. Minthara made to loot Orin’s remains when the temple shook below their feet and darkness enveloped them. 

It only took a minute. One horrifying minute where Halsin and his companions stood paralyzed as they watched Tav reject Bhaal, and curse his name and line. One disturbing minute as they watched Bhaal steal back his blood in literal ribbons.

The ground quaked, as did the crimson walls. Bhaalists slowly retreated into the shadows, shame and fury keeping them from another fight. Bhaal’s likeness flared after each individual quake, as if trying to shake them from his domain. 

Bhaal didn’t need Tav anymore—He would choose another. He didn’t need her companions to keep her alive anymore. He didn’t need anything anymore.

Falling to his knees, Halsin cradled her head in his large palm. It didn’t seem like Bhaal had broken her bones. Just... drained her of all fluids. His blood. Holding her delicately, he hovered a palm over her chest. 

Nothing. No beat, no pump. Stale.

“Please,” Halsin whimpered, the force of his tears blinding him. “Defy your fate. Just one more time.”

Shadowheart tugged on Halsin’s bicep, begging him to carry Tav out instead. That they could work together underneath the sunlight, in the embrace of the Oak Father. But he could not pull himself away from her, could not stop pumping his hands into her fragile chest, could not stop sharing his air. Rational thought begged him to listen to Shadowheart, that the air of Bhaal’s temple would not nourish her orphaned lungs. Halsin could not stop trying, because the moment he stopped he understood it was the end.

The lilac of her face paled to an ashen white and when he lifted an eyelid to catch any form of light, he was cursed with the sight of bloodless and pale eyes. They retreated so far back into her skull that he caught a glimpse of the surrounding nerves. The silver fire had truly been extinguished. He yelled in frustration—in untamed misery. 

The temple shook violently, sending Astarion to his knees. He cursed, dodging falling rock and the crumbling altar. Halsin continued to pump her chest, his healing power slowly seeping through her skin. 

Not fast enough. All failing. 

Gale fumbled inside his robes and pulled out a scroll, determination evident through his panic. Halsin knew a scroll of revivify would be of no use. Gale persisted, cursing as he ripped a corner, and read it quickly. The temple shook again.

And through his worry, Gale lifted his chin and faced Bhaal’s likeness. Brow lowered and dark eyes fully unmasked, he said in a whisper like pure death, “You forget yourself, Bhaal. Tav is not the only Chosen standing before you.”

Casting globe of invulnerability, Halsin and Shadowheart were now free to work. Surprising not only Halsin but the pale elf beside him, Bhaal grew silent. Frozen. Strangely cooperative for Mystra’s shamed Chosen.

And through Halsin’s rapid breathing, he heard the unmistakable sigh of Withers.

---

It was Astarion who talked him off the ledge. A figurative one, thankfully. After Tav was revived, she was so damn happy and grateful that he… Distanced himself for a few hours. Orin had only psychologically tortured him, but not even to the extent he believed she would indulge in. It was like he was an afterthought, and he found himself wishing he wasn’t. If Halsin wasn’t the one receiving punishments, it meant Tav was. It meant another poor soul was under Orin’s knife. 

And in those rare moments of solace, when the smell of blood and shit clogged his nostrils so badly all other senses failed to work, he realized just how stupidly righteous he was. All this time he had mentored others on why self-care and self-love were the most important factors in one’s daily routine, and he had never participated in either practice. Halsin was huge on taking care of the body, getting the right amount of meditation, and nurturing one’s magic like a newly sprouted seedling. But where was the self-care that involved speaking well of himself, of sometimes selfishly taking a day off to do absolutely nothing? Where was the self-love that translated to being kind to himself, of acknowledging that he can’t win every battle? 

“A second chance means it’s all out in the open now, darling. Do not leave anything unspoken.”  

Tav was given a new lease on life, and he needed to realize he was, too. His inner turmoils needed to be dealt with, but never at the expense of his peace. His positivity needed to be channeled through multiple platforms, not just through pep-talks and health-related issues. His love, though bountiful, had taken root in one person, and after three hundred and fifty years he would finally follow the invisible string that had been glowing gold since fighting his way out of that goblin camp. 

Being righteous had its perks, but he learned that abusing all of them at once would only bring about a harsh end. If one wanted to be a tragic hero so badly, then the Gods would take pleasure weaving that fate. 

He decided that tragedy would have no place in his world, nor would it for Tav. 

“Tell me she did not hurt you,” he said, his heart jumping as he received a surprised gasp.

He felt her lingering not far, her scent one that would take millennia to forget and would be discovered carved into his spine-bones.

Their companions had cleared out an hour ago and were no doubt adding to the ruckus downstairs. Shadowheart’s parents had taken Yenna and the animals on a walk around the park. It was only Halsin in their rooms, lounging on his bed pretending to read the book Gale had let him borrow. Tav leaned against the wooden pillar as if waiting to be called into the gigantic space. Her lean frame was concealed under a heavy knitted sweater. 

Her mouth slightly parted. “Me? Tell me if she hurt you. Please.”

“She did not touch me, my heart.”

She walked to him slowly, pausing mid-way when he put the book down. 

“If I had never come up with that stupid tadpoling plan, if I had never stolen that godsdamned crown, if I would have just told you to stay at the Grove all those months ago—”

“You would be dead.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“If Orin hadn’t experimented on you and instead chose to kill you, we would all be dead. If you had never stolen that crown, Gale would have never gained the independence he so desperately needed from Mystra, and chosen to better himself for himself. If you had never had the idea for the tadpoles, Astarion would still be a slave with no way out. You wouldn’t have defeated Orin or gained your own freedom—been born again. And if I had listened to you and stayed at the Grove, I would still be wallowing in self-pity and estranged from the outside world.”

“I have caused so much travesty—” she began, tears pricking her waterline. Halsin would not stand for that.

“You were Hells sent, but by the Gods have you proven to be the most beautiful fallen devil.”

A single tear. That was all she let fall before wiping her cheek and lifting her chin. He stood and closed the distance, cupping her face and tracing his thumb over her scar. 

“Listen to me, you annoying brat of a drow. You were liberated for a reason,” he said, his throat clenching on itself. “You were given a second chance for a reason. It is not up to you to decide whether you deserve it or not. You do, and only soulless creatures will argue it.”

She copied his movements and smoothed over his own scars, her soft-hearted gaze just as powerful as her perfected vicious one. 

“For everything I’ve done… How is it possible for my prize to be you?”

“How is it possible that for all my years of unchanged routine, I want to discard everything I know to learn my first steps with you?”

“Please don’t discard everything,” Tav pleaded through a chuckle, “because if I must learn how to be good again, then I’ll need you by my side.”

“My heart, my love,” he declared, his thumb now hovering over her plump bottom lip. “Give yourself more credit.”

Tav catapulted into his arms, claiming his lips with her own in a kiss so anguished and starved he had nothing to compare it to. Every kiss before was now rendered a dull touch, and Tav was all he would ever know. Grateful as he was for the new reality, Halsin immediately responded to her eagerness, matching it with such force they threw each other into the walls. He had spent so long ignoring the undeniable urge to devour her wholly, to make a feast of her sweat and moans. 

Tav pushed forward, knocking him into Wyll’s bedpost. It dug into his spine, but he countered quickly. He dove even deeper, their teeth clanging momentarily as he pushed her into Jaheira’s alchemy set. It toppled to the ground, nothing spilled, but blocking their clumsy path all the same. He was trying to guide them back to her bed since his was currently covered with books, but it seemed like their legs weren’t cooperating with their decision. Tav didn’t seem to mind. She kissed him with a hunger that rivaled Gale’s orb, or Astarion’s bloodthirst. This was a kiss equivalent to a last one—like she was trying to make it count. 

He wanted to voice it: They were going to survive. Their allies were going to survive. They would live happily after this. Free of the dark urge, free of titles, free of responsibilities that weren’t their own. He would be by her side for however long she would have him. And Gods, did he hope that was forever. 

They toppled to the center of the room, the ever-blazing fire warming their already searing bodies. They detached for the sole reason of removing their upper layers, baring their skin and basking in the nearby orange glow. 

Pulling her close, Halsin savored the feeling of her breasts pressed against his burly chest. Her soft skin like velvet, it was everything Halsin imagined. Snaking his hands down her back, he made sure to leave a delicate path along her spine. She shivered as the pads of his fingers kissed each vertebrae, her nipples hardening against his skin. Tav attempted to do the same, but eager in her pursuit, she skipped his entire spine and went straight for his ass, cupping it so she could pull their hips together. There, she proved his readiness. 

He groaned softly, caressing her curves in return. “I will spend hours kissing every inch of your skin—”

“Halsin,” Tav rasped, pulling away with an expression that looked almost pained, “It’s getting late and the others will be returning soon. You can cash those hours another day, I promise. I want you to absolutely ravish me right now.”

“Fuck,” he breathed, gripping her hair and pulling her back in. She chuckled through the kiss, his spiced tea still lingering in her breath. He removed his trousers and hers, flicking her sandals over the railing and across the room. Laying her down, he could finally witness her beauty uncovered. Three parallel scars faded directly below her left breast, another just above her hip bone. A handful of stretch marks encircled her waist, the lilac skin pulled to its extent, probably during her younger years. And there were freckles dusted along her inner thighs, each a tantalizing path to her dripping center. He carefully pulled her thighs up and apart, spreading her open to take her in. 

She wiggled under his gaze, the rush of untainted and newly reclaimed blood staining her cheeks. A spectacular delight to know she belonged to herself now and was willingly allowing him to share in her discovery. 

“Do you not like me looking at you here?” he asked, running his fingertips close to where she pulsed. She swallowed hard and tried to shut her legs. 

“Even I haven’t seen myself down there, you annoying oaf of a druid.”

“Then it is settled.” His voice lowered to a dangerous level, inciting a spark of heat through his own stomach. “The next time I fuck you, it shall be with your back against my chest, my cock between your legs, and a mirror in front of us. Then you’ll gaze upon yourself and your argument will be shot to the Hells.”

Her eyes widened, an almost innocent look that had his cock jumping.

“Go get it now.”

An uncontrollable moan sprouted from his lungs, but he did as he was told. A total of ten seconds he was away as he hauled the mirror to the center of the room, but it was long enough for Tav to take matters into her own hands. He returned to find her fingers deep inside her cunt, another twisting the hardened peak of her nipple. 

“Give it to me,” he ordered, lowering to her level again. She gasped, moving to kneel before him. Taking her hand, he made sure to lock their eyes before taking two wet fingers into his mouth. She tasted earthly, original, delectable. The same taste that formed on his own tongue when he pleasured himself, when that spark of energy grew at the base of his spine and his chest rose with a battered scream. He sucked softly, savoring every drop, and took himself in his hand. 

Tav followed his movement, her yearning evident as it practically shot from her essence into his own. Warming his insides, sating his darkest wants. 

“You are no stranger to self-pleasure, yes?”

Tav shook her head. “I indulged.”

Guiding her hand back to herself, he continued stroking. He was fortunate enough to have an impressive length as well as girth, and something he would do for any and all lovers was prepare them. There was no Hell in this realm where he would hurt them to satisfy his needs quicker. 

“Show me,” he pleaded, jutting his chin. “Show me, and I’ll show you.”

Tav circled her clit slowly, switching from watching his face to watching his hand. “Tell me, druid. Did you ever fuck yourself while thinking of me?”

The smile he offered was feral. “Have you no manners? What an invasive question.”

She leaned back and opened her thighs again, and plunged two fingers into herself. A gold glimmer scurried up his skin, then disappeared. 

“I did it once,” she admitted, moaning softly as she went a little too deep. “It was the first time I ever thought about someone else while doing it, too. Do you want to know where and when I did it?”

Sliding his thumb over his slit, Halsin bit his tongue. He settled between her open legs, her knees knocking against the sides of his torso. So close that he could feel the heat of her arousal. 

“Tell me.”

She took her fingers out and paid close attention to her clit. “That night you returned from the Shadowfell and officially joined our group. I asked you about lovers and you mentioned that you bed alone. I—ah—didn’t know what that feeling was so I explored it. I came four times that night, all because you were so kind and Karlach never shut up about climbing you like a tree and I was curious—”

She came with her back arched and a cry on her moist lips, but her fingers never paused. Neither did her confession. 

“You made me so confused and angry all the time. Would you have fucked me all those months ago if I asked?”

Halsin expertly lifted her and flipped her around, cushioning his knees at the same time. They could see each other in the mirror now, exposed and glistening. His braids were loose and a sheen of sweat covered his biceps. He lowered Tav until her bottom rested on his thighs. She moved them slightly, her backside brushing against him tenderly. He hugged her firm, but loose enough that she could still move forward if needed. 

“No,” he admitted, reaching up to cup one of her breasts. Before he let her expression sour however, he added, “You weren’t ready. I wasn’t ready. You said you did not want to be another notch on my belt, and I promise you that if you’ll have me, I will be your one and only. You will be my one and only. We see each other for who we are now, unburdened by inner turmoils. And I will continue seeing you long after we defeat the enemies that await us. So no, Tav. I would not have slept with you all those months ago.”

He lifted her carefully, and lined himself up. She watched the mirror intently.

“We see each other now,” he whispered into the crook of her neck. “The silver of this mirror meets the silver of your beauty, and I shall use the golden hues you see in me to light you in its presence.”

He slid into her, holding her steady with each new inch, muttering words of encouragement as she struggled. 

“Halsin,” she whimpered, raising her arms to use his hair as a grip. She could pull with all her strength and Halsin would bask in the pain. “By the gods, this can’t be real.”

Halsin chuckled, and finally all of him was seated inside her. He felt himself pulse with the need to move. She circled her hips, testing the waters, watching the way she stretched around him in the mirror. The pornographic sight had his hips stuttering. Each bounce she attempted had him breathing harder, a savage burn encasing his heart and lungs. Yet he held back, holding her around the stomach now as she explored the new feeling. 

“Hot,” she said, her smile genuine. “You feel hot against me. Inside me.”

“Tell me to burn hotter and I will.”

Adjusting her hips, she nodded at him in the mirror. 

A single thrust and his skin pricked deliciously, the guttural groan Tav gave because of it prompting him to thrust again. Together they moved and watched themselves in the mirror, gaining as much speed as their knees allowed. Plunging deeper and deeper, Halsin reined in the bear and forced himself to stay present. Never had the need to wildshape been this serious before. 

“You’re glowing,” Tav said, a sudden whine escaping her throat as he hit her from a particular angle. “I’m not about to have a bear’s cock inside me, am I? I can barely handle this one.”

His laugh melted into a moan. “No, my love. But we can explore that terrain another time.”

She scoffed playfully, “Damn druids.”

She yelped as he pushed her forward on her hands and knees, watching her face in case he overstepped. But all he saw was pure delight, excitement in being adored like this. It occurred to him that she had probably never been taken, and he doubted Gortash fucked her properly. 

Wrapping her hair in his fist, he lifted her head so she could watch him pound into her. He fucked her hard and fast, the slap of their skin reverberating through their quiet rooms. Her mouth dropped open as he kept his brutal pace, her eyelids drooping in perfect rapture.

“Ah! Fuck, I—Oh, fuck Halsin. This is—this is so fucking good,” she whined, then sucked in a deep breath. “It’s like you're in my stomach.”

“You’re doing perfectly, my heart. The feeling—the feeling around me…”

He couldn't finish his sentence. Tav dropped to her elbows and screamed, pushing her hips backward to take him deeper. He watched as he fucked into her, her arousal coating the sides of his cock and dripping down the backs of her thighs. Watched how the enticing curve of her spine met the base of her bowed neck and the damp baby hairs curling there. And in the mirror he was also able to catch a glimpse of the drool she failed to catch, of her hand coming to wipe at her chin and then quickly catch her weight again. 

“It feels so good I might cry,” she laughed, though the sound was overridden by more devious ones. 

“Your beautiful sounds are surely the talk of the pub right now,” he teased, slowing his thrusts purposely. “Do you think they can hear you cry for me? Do you think they hear as I fuck into you? Gods, you’re soaked and begging, aren’t you?”

Tav pushed her hips again, her frustration growing. 

“I pray they come and investigate. I can scarcely believe I’m not dreaming. And if they see me fucking you out in the open, how deep I am, my seed dripping out of you—”

The fifth time Halsin heard Tav scream was when she came so violently around his aching cock, tears of bliss on her blushed cheeks and a whole-body tremble seizing her, pulse after pulse threatening to milk him of everything he had. And she partially succeeded as he came inside her, a shout of his own syncing with hers. 

Floating for twenty or so seconds, they enjoyed the feeling of their entanglement before Halsin started moving again. Tender, silky slides that were louder now as his seed spilled out of her, coating them equally. Tav’s breath quickened, the rug burn on her elbows striking him with a powerful burst of elation. Soon he’ll match them on her knees, he’ll gladly accept them in return, and he’ll ask Tav to make him scream until his throat was raw. 

Though he fucked her deep, he kept his hands soft. Much to her surprise, he turned her onto her back and draped himself over her. 

Tav giggled and pulled her trapped hair from under her shoulders. “Your chest hair is ticklish.”

His heart swelled. If such a visceral reaction was possible from such a simple sound, how would he feel when that laugh rattled her chest and burst eardrums? He wasn’t above dropping dead—may his flesh nourish the soil she walked on, may his bones carry the weight of her decisions, and may his soul grant her peace. 

He stroked her right cheek with his index, loose strands of his hair kissing the left. “Apologies.”

“Don’t apologize. I know it’s wrong to say, but I am so glad you’re alive alongside me.”

“It’s not wrong to say,” he assured, sliding back into her with a short grunt. He bit her bottom lip as she gasped. “I’m just glad you’ve given me the chance to experience this alongside you.”

They shared their breaths as Halsin quickened his pace. Grabbing her left thigh and lifting it, he reached her most sensitive spot and kept at it. They were still in the middle of their highs, but his head was clearer. Sure, the idea of their companions walking in on them was intriguing, but Halsin found himself selfish now. Maybe another time they would discuss their fantasies—this was all for themselves. Practically shielding her, he felt the bear shimmer with…

Acceptance. Possessiveness. Satisfaction. Happiness. 

The urge to roam that lay dormant for the past few months vanished entirely. He was Tav’s and Tav’s was his, and no longer would they be slaves to expectations or the commands of others. This moment they shared would bleed into eternity. 

“I love you,” she said, her waterline silver. She repeated it, over and over, and he too admitted the same. 

“I love you, too.”

They came together again, their hearts aligned, their breathing timed for risk of stopping altogether. 

Later, when their companions returned and noticed the positive shift in their relationship, Halsin realized that though his love for Tav was unparalleled and rare, it also extended to the rowdy group of adventurers who had proven their loyalty ten times over. And if fate would allow it, he wanted to follow them long after their final battle proved victorious.

---

x

[baldursgrave69]

Stubborn

Summary: Agnes (the Dark Urge) is feeling a bit under the weather, though she didn’t tell anyone until Astarion stumbled upon her too sick to move. She’s entirely too stubborn to ask for help so Astarion must take matters into his own, icy cold hands.

Pairing: astarion x fem!durge (named)

Word count: 1.4K

Tags: fluff

While writing this I was listening to: Distance by Christina Perry

FInd me on Ao3 here

Camp was quiet as everyone slowly emerged from their tents and prepared for the day. Gale stood by the fire as he fried some eggs for breakfast. Karlach and Lae’zel stood by the water doing their morning stretches while Wyll practiced sparring near by. Astarion emerged from his tent, stretching his arms and yawning as he looked about camp. Astarion’s eyes trailed through camp, making sure everyone was accounted for. But someone was missing. The vampire walked up to Gale, nonchalantly fiddling with his night shirt. “Have you seen Agnes?” He asked, watching Gale flip the eggs. “Come to think of it, I haven’t. She’s usually the first one up,” Gale admitted, scanning the camp for her. The wizard went back to cooking and Astarion walked over to Shadowheart’s tent, who was knelt in prayer. Astarion approached Shadowheart, standing to her side as she prayed. “I haven’t seen her,” she said without opening her eyes. “Right,” Astarion murmured, swiftly leaving Shadowheart’s tent. Astarion looked over to the Agnes’ tent, noticing the flap was still pinned shut.

The rogue made his way over, leaning his ear up to the entrance. He didn’t hear anything at first, but after a moment picked up on the faintest noise; a pained groan. “Agnes?” He said, his hands reaching for the clasps on her tent entrance. “Fuck off,” Agnes growled, her voice sounded gravelly and hoarse. Astarion rolled his eyes at her cursing and opened the flap to her tent anyway. Inside he saw Agnes lying on her bedroll in her smallclothes, her body was glistening with sweat. She had a hand resting on her forehead and her cheeks looked flushed. “And what’s going on in here, darling?” Astarion tuts walking over to the bedroll and leaning down next to her. “Just leave me be, Astarion. I’ll be fine,” she grumbled, turning to face away from him. As she adjusted herself, a wince escaped her lips at the soreness in her body. Astarion placed an icy hand on her neck, her body was radiating heat. “My dear, you’re positively burning up,” Astarion said, his voice more serious now. He went to pull away his hand but Agnes grabbed it, keeping it on her neck. “Don’t move,” she said, turning towards him a bit more. “What is it?” Astarion asked as Agnes awkwardly held his hand. “Your hand is cold and I’m burning up,” she said closing her eyes. Astarion let out a sigh, bring his other hand up to her cheek to cool her off. The cool touch to her skin pulled a relieved sigh from Agnes. “I need to go get Halsin, you need some healing,” Astarion said after a moment, standing up. “Gods, please don’t,” Agnes whispered, her eyes pleading.

“It’s cute that you think you have a choice. Why are you so weird about getting help?” Astarion huffed, crossing his arms. “I’d prefer not to get into that,” she grumbled, closing her eyes. “I’m going to go get the druid,” Astarion said after a moment, swiftly exiting the tent. Agnes opened her eyes to see that the vampire was gone. She took a deep, painful breath in before sitting up. Her whole body ached as she attempted to stand. She could feel her legs buckling under her as she attempted to get herself up. “You little shit,” Agnes looked up to see Astarion and Halsin entering her tent, the vampire had his arms crossed as he looked at Agnes in disappointment. “Where did you think you were going to go?” He huffed, signaling for Halsin to check on the rogue. “Agnes, how long have you been feeling sick?” Halsin asked, leaning down next to her and placing a hand on her cheek. Agnes’ eyes fluttered open as she looked up at Halsin, her vision was blurred, the large elf looked divine in the morning light peaking through her tent. “Wow,” she croaked, her eyes nearly crossing as she gazed up at the druid.

“Agnes, answer me, how long?” He said again, his brows knit in concern. “Hmm, a day or two? Maybe three,” she mumbled trying to remember when the aches in her bones started. Astarion let out a loud huff as Halsin went to work trying to identify what was ailing the half elf. “What symptoms are you having?” He asked, rustling through his medicine pack. “I’m so hot,” she groaned, holding a hand out to Astarion. Halsin looked at Agnes’ outstretched hand in confusion. “What do you need, little thief?” Halsin asked as he pulled some potions and antidotes from his bag. Agnes wiggled her fingers at Astarion, her other hand covering her eyes. “Use your words,” he said with a smirk, stance unmoving. Agnes huffed, her outstretched arm starting to ache. “Please cool me off,” she whined as Halsin mixed together an antidote for her. Astarion rolled his eyes, though he moved to her other side without hesitation. Astarion placed a hand on Agnes cheek, eliciting a groan from the other rogue. He sat awkwardly with his hand on Agnes cheek, watching Halsin work on the medicine.

“You still haven’t told me your symptoms besides ‘I’m hot’,” Halsin said, looking over Agnes. “Aches, chills, nausea, generally feel like I’d rather be dead,” Agnes said, moving Astarion’s hand from her cheek to her forehead. “You very well could’ve been if Astarion hadn’t gotten me,” Halsin said in a stern tone. “Let’s sit you up, you need to drink this,” he added, holding out an arm for Agnes to pull herself up on. Astarion removed his hand from her forehead and assisted in propping her up. Agnes groaned as the two men helped her sit up, her body ached as she tried to adjust to her position. “Down the hatch,” Halsin said, bringing the concoction up to Agnes’ lips. The half elf shivered as she drank down the antidote, it was bitter and thick. She coughed slightly, her body shaking from having to hold herself up. “Get some rest now. Astarion, keep an eye on her. If anything worsens, come get me,” Halsin said as he packed up his bag. “That’s not necessary, I’m fine,” Agnes said, swaying slightly. “I beg to differ,” Astarion growled, helping her steady herself. Agnes groaned, leaning back on a crate behind her. She was entirely too exhausted to argue at this point.

Agnes let out a shaky breath as she slumped against the crate behind her, her body overheating again. “What can I do?” Astarion asked, his tone laced with worry. “I’m burning up. I feel like I’m going to catch on fire,” Agnes breathed, the pain shining through in her voice. Astarion sat for a moment, trying to come up with a way to keep her cool. “Lean forward,” Astarion demanded, standing up next to Agnes. “What?” Agnes grumbled, looking up at Astarion. “Just do it,” he said with a roll of his eyes. Agnes complied, leaning forward. Astarion got behind Agnes, sitting down with his legs in either side of her. “Lean back,” he demanded, holding his arms out. Agnes rolled her eyes, but leaned into him, his icy touch cooling her body. Astarion wrapped his arms around the half elf, pressing his cold fingers against her skin. Agnes leaned her head against his shoulder, her breath steadying. “Gods,” she groaned, finally having some relief from the burning fever. Astarion leaned his head back against the crate behind him, subconsciously rubbing his thumbs along Agnes’ arms. Agnes eyes fluttered shut as she fell asleep in the vampires arms. Astarion listened to Agnes as she slept, little sounds and groans escaping her lips. Astarion rested his head against Agnes’, holding her tightly. “Damn it,” he breathed, closing his eyes. His little plan to manipulate Agnes into an alliance was failing. He didn’t anticipate actually growing to care for her.

Karlach peaked her head into Agnes’ tent to see if Astarion would be joining them for the day. She looked inside to find Astarion holding Agnes in his arms, both were asleep as they held one another. “Awwww,” Karlach squeaked, trying to be as quiet as possible as she pulled her head out of the tent. “Shadowheart!” She whispered loudly, waving the cleric over. “Is everything alright?”Shadowheart asked, hurrying over to Agnes’ tent. “Just look at them,” Karlach said excitedly, parting the tent so Shadowheart could look inside. “I knew it!” Shadowheart whispered, as the two women watched Agnes and Astarion from afar. “They’re cute,” Shadowheart said with a laugh, heading back towards her tent.

[astarionposting]

hey!! Could you share your favourite tav's of others? I'd love to connect with other people who posts their tav's! Also thank you for your tutorial's, they helped me so much <3

Hello! I got a similar ask but about male tav’s as well, so I figured I’d post it all in one. I don’t really follow that many Tav-centred blogs, mostly Astarion/Halsin/Gale, BUT a lot of my lovely mutuals have some BEAUTIFUL Tavs and I’ve even had the privilege of being able to photograph and edit some sets of them! &lt;3

My lovely mutuals with their beautiful Tavs/Durges/OCS:

@vspin (I love her drow baby she is so beautiful I wanna give her a little smoochie smooch)

@cheekylittlepupp (BEAUTIFUL GORGEOUS GODDESS ANGELIC OC I am going to be doing some edits of her soon hehe)

@anderwelt (their OCs are so beautiful and unique, I had the pleasure of editing Ceres, but working my way towards editing Tae who is equally as cool and awesome and amazing)

@tadpole-apocalypse (so much beautiful artwork of their oc I luv Morgan sm)

@honeysulani (ALSO MAKES BEAUTIFUL SIMS IF U LIKE SIMS AS WELL)

@stinkrascal (pls pls look at their ocs i beg u they are all so beautiful and handsome)

@mercymaker (beautiful beautiful ocs AND incredible edits, just u have to see for urself ok??)

@asykriel (really hot and sexy male tav but I didn’t wanna say it out loud)

@narrayya (they make their own self-sculpted heads and they are absolutely gorgeous and ethereal and SO SOOOO UNIQUE)

@tugoslovenka (a gorgeous DRACONIC BLOODLINE drow lady and a new pretty pretty elf gal-also most badass names I’ve ever seen-I just steal mine from other video games 😭 )

@bhaalbaaby (many beautiful tavs, but I must say Penelope is my absolute favourite she is just so so soooo cute)

@julietvoid (NOW HER OCS ARE SO BABYGIRL I LOVE THEM THEY ARE AO BEAUTIFUL I JUST WANNA GIVE THEM SMOOCHES AND TWLL THEM HOW MUCH I LOVE THEM OK???)

@korcariiwitch (super fucking cool drow oc I love love LOVE)

@haarleps (i forgot to add but then remembered, VERY VERY BEAUTIFUL TAVS/OCS, especially Freyr also bc i am biased since that is freyja's-the goddess my tav's name was yoinked from-twin brother's name in norse mythology so i rlly like)

@malewife-mansplain-magus (this one is for the male oc anon- u just need to look like their ocs are just 👌👌chefs kiss ALSO INCREDIBLE AMAZING BEAUTIFUL ARTWORK I WAS LIKE WTF WHERE DID THAT MASTERPIECE OF GALE COME FROM ITS ONE OF MY FAV GALE FANARTS)

So there are probably so many more of my beloved mutuals that have incredible tavs/durges/ocs, I’m just really bad with my memory but I also tried to focus on those who (I think) post their ocs consistently 😭 so if I didn’t mention you and you are mainly a Tav/Durge/OC blog, PLEAAASE comment like I wanna see it and I also would love to share it for others to see &lt;;3

[maegalkarven]

I understand what you’re saying about the Chosen of the dead 3, but I think Orin and Gortash are in the same boat. She wasn’t part of the plan at all, she killed or tried to kill her sibling to actively be part of the plan. She wasn’t even Bhaal’s chosen, she forced into that position herself. And if her abuse is grounds for understanding, then I’d say Gortash’s abuse is too. Sold to a devil as a child and tortured for years until he escapes and he grasps at anything to be in control so no one can control / hurt him again. I think he’s a shit person that did shit things, but I do like the character. And I don’t think Orin’s abuse outweighs that of Gortash. Someone/something messed them both up really bad. Bhaal uses Orin’s bloodlust and trauma to get her to do what he wants, Bane uses Gortash’s fear and need for control to get him to do what he wants. Gortash isn’t more/less redeemable because he’s the smart one that put the plan together. Also being Bane’s chosen means if he fails, he’s tortured for eternity. After being tortured for years, I’d imagine he’d do quite literally anything to not end up there again. Either they’re both redeemable or they’re both not in my eyes at least. Ketheric is the most redeemable for sure, he started out with a decent reason at least.

Gortash is my absolute fav actually because of all the layers. He's a fucking onion.

"Trapped in narrative- escaping the narrative"wise Gortash is the only one who actively walks into His.

He could do anything he wanted after escaping Hells. He wasn't exactly chained up or forced to climb the ladder to world domination.

Back then he still had a choice, even if his mind, twisted and turned by being Raphael's captive, didn't want that choice. Because fear is a strong thing, fear can control person in the worst possible ways. I believe Gortash chose "be the worst ever so no one can hurt him again" road and narrative himself.

But he CHOSE it. (The same way, some might argue, Ketheric chose not letting Isobel go, but I think Ketheric simply wasn't able to let her go)

Orin is different because she didn't exactly force herself into the narrative; she had always been in the narrative. She was born into the narrative.

No Bhaalspawn is ever free and no Bhaalspawn is ever not Bhaal's tool. She would inevitably be put on Durge's path because Bhaal loves putting his children against each other and because only One Bhaalspawn can remain. She even tried to play by the rules and challenged Durge, who didn't take her seriously and refused.

Both Orin and Gortash are more tragic than Ketheric because they're broken children who can never let it go.

Gortash is willingly not letting it go while Orin is literally trapped in it (her family, her cult, Father Bhaal in her head).

Ketheric is someone who, if convinced he can actually redeem himself (and if Isobel is alive), would try it.

Orin can only be redeemed if you forcibly take her out of her cult and cut off Bhaal's influence getting DIRECTLY INTO HER MIND. (Bhaal doesn't really have children, only victims)

Orin could easily be on Durge's place, tadpoled and amnesiac. Tbh I feel like her losing memory is the only way she could ever break free because for her where was nothing but Cult and Bhaal. She wasn't allowed anything else. Confronted with the truth about her upbringing, she's horrified; she also had been punished by Bhaal before for disobedience, Bhaal commands her what to do and Bhaal literally strips her of her own will and body because this is what Bhaal does. But if we can claw her out of it, knock her memories away and cut Bhaal off? Then she has a chance.

That's pretty much the only way she can have it (there's a reason Jaheira calls her lost soul).

But Gortash would not want redemption because he was not forced into the path of tyranny. He chose it. He quite likes it up on the top. He's comfortable over there being the worst and selling people and giving explosives to children. The only thing better would be if he had someone to share his kingdom with, someone who gets his genius.

If put on the ground, he will try to climb right back again. He doesn't care about freeing himself because in his mind only on the very top is where he is free. This narrative not his cage, it's his castle, he build it and he's not giving it up.

That's why any attempt to actually "redeem" him would fail because he is Not Interested in That. He is interested in Power and Being the Biggest and Strongest. Also so ppl would love him, idk how he plans to balance it out with his tyranny, but he pretty much requires the gaping audience. Admire him, everyone.

I have several plots of dragging him off his high horse bc the other alternative is his death, but all these plots require things to be the way where he's actively stripped of power in some way or another bc only his own survival will make him somewhat cooperate on an equal level (one particular ally, durge or tav, but more often durge aside). He is not a team player. He pretends he is.

There are, sure, some AU salvations for him, but no redemption because He Genuinely Does Not Regret a Thing, nor will he.

Neither is Orin, but Orin is a broken doll with a god of murder in her head. She lost herself so long time ago no one even recalls it.

Gortash has himself because no one ever had him. He will do anything for his survival and this is why he does not want or require redeeming. Not dying from Netherbrain, that's another story. But he inevitably always serves his own interests first.

Orin fights for the awful love and approval of a cruel god, Ketheric's love for his daughter transcends her death.

Orin and Ketheric's narratives are two sides of the same coin.

"A child craving affection of a cruel parent" VS "parent doing unimaginable horrors bc of the love for their child."

Gortash is out of that particular narrative, his narrative is "There's No One But Me. Only I Matter. No one loved me so I will love me in excess. No one loved me so no one deserves my love".

It is an echo and awful influence of his tragic past, but it's something he actively chooses. He loves that narrative of his, even if it doesn't exactly fulfill him 100% (because it's lonely on the top. Because somewhere deep inside Enver Flymm still lives. Because he can't let Enver Flymm go no matter now pathetic that past self of his is).

His tragedy is of being lonely af and not admitting it/not having anyone to match him in his genius, but not his Tyrant Path. This one he chose for himself.

The thing is, of course gods use their Chosen ones. I think Gortash knows that, and I think he also actively uses Bane. He wears the coat protecting him from the fear and is a chosen of a Dread Lord. That's telling. He doesn't actually serve Bane, he serves himself and aligns himself with Bane for as long as it works for him.

[astarionslittlejuicebox]

A Little Confession (Part 1)

Author: @astarionslittlejuicebox

Imagine: Astarion has a confession for the reader, but is she ready for what he has to say? 

Pairing: Astarion x F!Durge!Reader

Trigger warnings: minor spoilers (Act 2), suggestive themes, language, mention of slavery, mention of manipulation 

Word Count: 932

Can we talk later? Astarion’s words echoed through (TAV’s name)’s head as she sat around the campfire with everyone that night at camp. Her heartbeat had increased slightly with increased anxiety as she wondered what the pale elf needed to talk about.

Had I done something wrong? She thought. Does he not want me anymore? Another voice said in the back of her mind. Shadowheart and Karlach kept sharing worried expressions as they took notice of (TAV’s name)’s unusual silence around the camp. Her usual chipper attitude was replaced with a much quieter version of their companion. The camp also noticed that a certain fanged companion of theirs was also absent from the campfire. No one decided to address the issue, and everyone went to their tents with a shared look of concern as they all said goodnight.

(TAV’s name) could feel her heart beating in her throat as she sat in her tent, and she tried to forcefully swallow it down as she stood up to walk to the pale elf’s tent. She focused on her breathing as she walked across camp to the familiar tent where the scent of rosemary and finely aged brandy lingered in the air. The (TAV’s race) tried to plant a small smile upon her lips as she reached Astarion’s tent. Upon hearing her soft footsteps approach, the pale elf himself swallowed and pulled back his tent flap. He noticed the fake smile on her face, and he felt his heartbreak a little. Astarion was just as nervous as she felt, if not more. 

“I’m glad you came.” He said softly. “Come in.” 

“Of course.” (TAV’s name) spoke softly then walked inside the elf’s tent. “Is something wrong?” She asked once Astarion let the tent flap fall back down. He bit his lip before he turned around to look at the (TAV’s eye color) eye that he had fallen in love with. He didn’t want to tell her this, but he knew that if they stood any chance at something real he needed to tell her this. Did that make this any easier on him? No, but the vampire spawn knew that (TAV’s name) was unlike anyone he’d ever known. Astarion looked down at the ground before he looked up at (TAV’s eye color) eyes. 

“I have a confession to make.” The look of concern in her eyes made Astarion feel even more awful about what he had to say.

“Oh, yes, I’m fine. I just…” The vampire spawn sighed. “…feel awful.” (TAV’s name)’s eyebrow raised on its own accord.

“Look, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan—seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me. It was easy—instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do was not fall for you.” (TAV’s name)’s eyes softened with a bit of hurt as Astarion spoke, but he had to continue his confession. “Which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart.”

“You—you’re incredible.” His voice was soft and full of emotion. “You deserve something real.” “(TAV’s name)’s (TAV’s eye color) eyes looked at the vampire spawn with so many emotions he couldn’t place a name to. “I want us to be something real.”

“So, the nights we spent together didn’t mean anything?” The hurt in (TAV’s race)’s voice broke the dead organ in the vampire spawn’s chest.

“Of course they did—that’s the problem! Or part of it.” He looked down before he looked back at (TAV’s name). “Being close to someone—any kind of intimacy—was something I performed to lure people back for that wretched vampire.” 

“Even though I know things between us are different, being with someone still feels…tainted. It still brings up these feelings of disgust and self-loathing.” Astarion’s face twisted in sadness. “I don’t know how else to be with someone. No matter how much I’d like to.” (TAV’s name) looked at him with soft, caring eyes.

“I care about you deeply.” Her words were softly spoken, but Astarion’s keen elf ears heard her.

“Really?” He whispered in surprise. (TAV’s race) stepped close to him and wrapped her slender arms around him. Astarion’s face showed the shock he felt as his arms stayed in the air beside him. As (TAV’s name)‘a arms tightened around him and she snuggled into the vampire spawn’s chest, Astarion slowly wrapped his arms around her. He could smell the sweet vanilla scent that wafted from her, and he rested his head against hers.

This is nice. The vampire thought to himself. As (TAV’s name) pulled away, Astarion couldn’t help but smile at the (TAV’s race).

“You…you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” A smile graced his lips. “Honestly, I have no idea what we’re doing or what comes next,” Astarion held out his hand, and (TAV’s name) placed her small delicate hand in his hand. “But I know this? This is nice.” He placed his hand over hers, and she gave him the warmest smile.

“Just tell me whatever it is that we need to do, or not do, to make you more comfortable with this. I promise you that I’m not going anywhere, and I’m going to be right by your side through it all.” Astarion swore he could see the love in her eyes, and he could almost feel his heartbeat at her words.

“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.” He said with a genuine smile. For the first time in forever, Astarion didn’t have to fake his words or actions—he could just be.

[emmy-dekarios-bg3]

YOUR OC AND THEIR PARTNER as parents:

ANSWER IF YOUR CHARACTERS ARE (headcanonically) PARENTS POST-ELDER BRAIN.

1. Who is your Tav / Durge’s partner?

Gale Dekarios 🫶🏻 the wizaaaaard!

2. Did your characters have a boy or girl?

Girl 🩷 named after Shadowheart. They named her Jenevelle.

3. In your fanfiction, if any, how old does the child grow up to be? Or do they stay as a baby? If you do not have a fic, how do you picture the child’s life?

In my fanfiction, baby Jenevelle does not age. She is immortal, as well as both of her parents — Gale and Emmy — due to a circumstance with the devils.

4. Would you say your character or their partner is more clingy or protective over the child?

Gale no question!! Emmy loves her daughter to pieces and is protective of her. But Gale enjoys the snuggles and never wants to put her down. lol. Every little ‘issue’ that pops up, he asks Emmy “oh my gods! Is this normal?!” “Is she going to be alright?!” Yes, even with something as simple as spit up 🤣

5. Who is the more stern parent?

This does not apply to us since our baby doesn’t age 🤣

6. How do your character’s love interest bond with the child?

Gale swaddles her and plays with her hands. He smiles at her as he feeds her a bottle. Emmy and Gale both give her a bath at the same time. 😊

7. Who handles the gross situations with the child better?

That’s a hard one 🤣 I’d say they both handle it very well. At first Gale gagged when he changed diapers in the beginning, but after a few tries (and after Emmy accidentally casted cloudkill in the bathroom in the middle of the night) he’s used to it! Emmy’s cloudkill incident was much worse 🤣 After a long day at Blackstaff, Gale takes every opportunity he can to clean up any baby messes because he hates being away from his daughter.

8. What are your character’s favorite things to do with their partner when it comes to the child?

Go for walks in the stroller!🫶🏻 Also Emmy likes to bake and cook with Gale while the baby is in the baby wrap 🥹

9. What’s been their biggest struggle as parents?

Facing the fact their daughter will never grow up.

10. Will their child ever go adventuring?

Lmao! No. I mean, maybe in the stroller with her parents to Baldur’s Gate or somewhere close. And if they go far, their companions will join for extra protection…especially auntie Karlach.

11. What is the child’s favorite song / lullaby, or what song would you say fits them the most?

The Unicorn by Chalmeris 🫶🏻

NO PRESSURE TAGS! @darcydekarios

[smallnico]

14, 21, and 26 please!!

thanks for asking!! >:3 sorry for the wait, my internet's been shit all day.

14) Who's a character your OC cannot stand! It's on sight when they see them!

ooooghghhh. i want to think about it harder but honestly it's probably minthara. i love minthara but esper super doesn't. i got more into it here but suffice it to say, they have worldviews that clash fundamentally and one of the first things minthara ever said to them was that their blood is impure and implied that their existence is something they have to make up for. she also reminds them a bit Too much of their own intrusive thoughts for comfort. love you minthy <3

21) What song best describes their relationship with their enemy?

YES THE SONG QUESTIONSSSS i love them. i have so many. SO many possibilities. the answer obviously varies based on who you consider esper's enemy, since they have a few (orin, society, gortash, sceleritas, etc.) but bhaal is their Most Enemy Ever. i can't choose just one song, so have 3:

HUNGOVER IN JONESTOWN -- Amigo the Devil

“The greater the power, the more the abuse / You are the hand, I worship the bruise / If romance is dead, I guess I’m a necrophiliac. / Every god needs a sacrifice / I am the cross, and you are the Christ.”

pretty succinctly conveys the relationship between pre-tadpole esper and father bhaal. they're coping well obviously

POOR ISAAC -- The Airborne Toxic Event

“And I feel sick tonight, I feel just like / The dancing flame on the funeral light / And I’m not sure if I want you to save me. / And I’d be less uptight if I knew the sight of / Blood was just a weakness and / Not the whole reason that you made me, / ‘Cause sometimes I think it is.”

this one's a popular one with durges for a very good reason, being that it slaps. bhaal made esper to be the perfect avatar of violence, but he also tailored their life to contain so much of their own suffering instead of just making an empty shell to hold his hatred. is it because he wanted the gratification of destroying something real in addition to just a perfect vessel? is it because he wanted his mere presence in the world to be an act of violence in and of itself? my answer is yes, but it takes esper a second to come to terms with that.

ALMOST HUMAN -- Aurelio Voltaire

“What did I ever do to you / That you should treat me this way? / Is it really such a crime / For an angel to speak his mind, anytime? / I'll try to shed some light."

this is a good song all-around for esper post-tadpole coming to terms with their fragmented memories and their dark urge history and the god that made them. i count this as a song about their relationship to bhaal because it's one of the songs i associate with their internal deconstruction and their realignment from a deluded and isolated divine being to something more approaching the real person they were never allowed to be. what better for that particular cocktail of emotion than a song about lucifer

26) What flower do you associate your OC with?

rosemary and azaleas! :>

[enduringmoth]

If it’s not too much to ask and if u weren’t already planning on it, I’d love to hear that secondary post about the consequences of the party’s actions regarding Durge’s reveal 👀👀 the first post rly resonated with me and honestly I’m a little obsessed with the idea of what drastic actions a redeemed!urge might take in the face of rejection,,, it was a rly interesting read nonetheless!

hello there!! i'm happy to talk a little more about it, absolutely! ^^

for those who didn't peep at the tags of my last post, in which i discussed how painful it must be to a seeking-redemption durge to be so heavily rejected by the party, i wrote in the tags:

this might not be exactly what you were looking for but i will do my best!

at the absolute least, i believe the minimum consequences of this interaction involve durge shutting down and withdrawing from most of the group. thinking in particular of my seeking-redemption durge, asha, she carries guilt interwoven with resentment -- she knows she has done wrong and that she deserves to bare the brunt of their rage, but she is also so furious with the idea that these people do not know how much she has done for them since waking up in that pod.

how many urges has she squashed? how many easy kills has she passed up on? does anyone other than gale (her romance interest) even begin to comprehend how painful it was to resist killing isobel, killing gale himself, and yet she did it anyway? because it was the right thing to do?

and yet here, when they all learn the truth -- durge included! they have fucking amnesia! -- it's almost like not a soul left there cares that they've clawed and fought and bled for the entire party at every point.

i think a lot about the dialogue durge has with astarion the morning after realizing they're a bhaalspawn. of all of the companions, he is the only person to realize something is wrong from minute one, and he asks about their sleep and their weights they carry. he then proceeds to empathize with durge, saying they are alike, and that he believes they will succeed.

and yet it seems no one else in the party feels the same, and that has to be agonizingly isolating for durge.

now, onto gortash.

at this point in act 3, the durge has (likely) found the prayer for forgiveness in balthazar's lab in act 2. this scrap of their past lets them know enver gortash was a source of tension in their following of bhaal, enough that they are begging for forgiveness from their father over their admiration and fondness for him.

for us durgetash enjoyers, this is a romantic entanglement. for those who do not see their relationship as romantic, it's still a clear platonic attachment for durge that shook their faith in bhaal's plans.

the people who have traveled with the durge for weeks are (seemingly) regretting that decision, and blaming them for things they cannot recall doing. enver gortash greets them like a friend, offers them a metaphorical and literal hand, reaching out to them when others are pulling away.

at minimum, it creates tension. gortash is "bad" and their party members are "good", right? certainly the durge cannot go on to support gortash in damning the world when that's the "wrong" thing to do -- right?

and yet.

if even those who the durge may have started to believe should be able to understand and accept them, due to having similar-enough struggles in their own past with domineering patrons/gods/masters -- if even they cannot understand, what hope is there for anyone else in the world besides enver gortash offering them that same acceptance?

why save a world that cannot and will not open its arms to you?

thusly, the next step is for the durge to minimum consider what gortash is offering. for me, the durge is most likely to kill orin before gortash anyway, so the first steps here are simple.

depending on how the party continues to respond, the wedge may deepen or back out. depending on how the durge continues to be exposed to enver gortash, they may be more drawn into him or pushed away.

another step up (or down, as it were) would involve who orin kidnaps. we know that she may take gale, halsin or lae'zel, or take the child, yenna.

a particularly bitter durge might let them die. why waste their breath on someone who could not find it in their heart to forgive them?

we proceed apace. i know it's (huge spoilers ahead) canon that gortash is slain by the netherbrain. but if we pretend that that can be avoided one way or another, i believe the second-to-most-nuclear option here is the durge taking over the world with gortash as he originally suggested. in turn, choosing to reject redemption (largely, considering they are still sparing gortash and bhaal wants everyone dead) purely because the party could not see them as redeemable.

(and let's not even get STARTED on how this would involve killing astarion too, the one party member who even got close to seeing her, because the pain drowned out his love too entirely.)

the most nuclear, of course, would be the durge deciding they could not even trust gortash, and instead killing him and embracing bhaal entirely, drowning the entire world in blood as bhaal would have wanted.

now, the bittersweet twist on all of this would be something of a happy ending with a redeemed gortash twist, as so many of us love. perhaps the wedge drives them closer to gortash, but along the way the party is able to prove their willingness to support and accept the durge. but now durge is tangled up in enver, and the only path forward, it seems, is to attempt to free both the chosen of bhaal and the chosen of bane from their masters.

(essentially the consequences of their semi-betrayal being that durge gets in too deep with gortash and they (read: karlach, mostly) have to accept that, but they all live happily ever after because the power of friendship yadda yadda-- my durgetash brain needs a crumb of fluff now and then.)

anyway, this is as disjointed as my sanity but i do hope you got some enjoyment out of it!

[pengychan]

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 16

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: M Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** TFW you send your wayward son to serve another archduke to straighten him out, and the guy actually likes him more than you do. ***

While an abandoned watchtower couldn’t really hold a candle to an inn, Durge had to admit it was an upgrade from the caves they’d found refuge in since their arrival to Avernus. 

Raphael would have probably failed to see the bright side, and scrunched his nose in disgust as he tended to do, but he was out like a light as he recovered from the fight. He didn’t even stir when Durge laid him down on the bedroll Halsin had placed on the ground.

“... How close a call was it, Halsin?”

“Very close - I’d say he had moments to spare. The poison Yurgir coats his blade with must be powerful indeed.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to test it. I got a few bottles out of one of his merregons.” Two pairs of eyes turned to Astarion, who shrugged. “I didn’t steal those, don’t worry. I don’t take risks--”

“Astarion. Love of my life.”

“... Fine. I don’t take stupid risks. One of the lot was willing to trade, and I had just won some coin.”

“How did you even communicate?”

“They grunted and I grunted back.”

“Nnmmgh…”

“Yes, something like that.”

Durge glanced back at Raphael, but he wasn’t waking up: just shifting on the bedroll, brow furrowed. It was hard to tell if he was dreaming or just trying to lie more comfortably. 

“I’ll head back downstairs and see how the planning is going,” Halsin said, standing. There was an old table at the ground floor, where Yurgir had placed a map as he discussed with Karlach and Wyll - their party’s experts on all things Avernus, so to speak - how to best ensure they could cross the Styx without incident. “And I think Yurgir could use some extra healing, however much he tries to shrug off his wounds. Although I cannot say I have a salve potent enough to help him should he still be here when Raphael recovers enough to start gloating.”

“Hopefully, he’ll be wise enough not to,” Durge replied, gaining themself a long look from Astarion.

“Durge. My little bhaal-babe.”

“... Fair enough. I suppose we can only hope Yurgir will have left by the time he awakens.”

As Halsin headed down the stairs with a chuckle, Astarion sat with his back against the wall, letting out a long sigh. “Well. Seems the incubus was wrong.”

Still sitting on the ground next to Raphael’s bedroll, Durge blinked. “The incubus?”

“When they said Raphael only ever wants to sleep with himself. I’m pretty sure he’d make an exception for you.”

Durge blinked. Opened their mouth. Closed it when Astarion raised an eyebrow, and finally reached up to rub their forehead. To be entirely honest, the assessment didn’t entirely come as a surprise… although they had not been entirely certain, either, that they were not misreading signs. “Surely, he has more urgent matters on his mind.”

“I had you on my mind when I had the most urgent matter in that mind, love. I can’t say I’d blame him,” Astarion added with a grin, gesturing widely at Durge’s body.

They cleared their throat. “It’s entirely possible all he has on his mind is manipulation,” they said, although they were not certain of that either. “Some misguided attempt to ensure I keep my word when it comes to getting the other half of his soul back from Mephistopheles.”

Astarion shrugged. “A sound strategy. I first seduced you to make sure you wouldn’t turn against me, remember?”

Durge chuckled. “Hoisted by your own petard.”

“Oh, no complaints. I mean, I had plenty of complaints when feelings decided to show up and complicate the matter, don’t get me wrong. But no complaints whatsoever now.”

“Even if I’m dragging you to Mephistar?”

“You make my life interesting, darling. And speaking of interesting, you did specifically ask for Raphael’s form in the House of Hope. Impossible not to take notice.”

Durge groaned and chuckled at the same time, resting their head against the wall. “Almost made Karlach carve her own eyes out.”

“I for one think it was an excellent choice. If one had to pick.”

“It doesn’t necessarily mean I’d--”

“Not necessarily, no. But if you would - understandable, although I must say I’d prefer him with horns - just know that you need not hold back on my account. As long as you tell me how it went, that is. I’m rather curious to find out if it would really take half a moment to finish him.” A pause, then he tilted his head as though something had suddenly occurred to him.  “... Huh.”

“What?”

“Do you think he felt it, when you were with the incubus?”

Durge blinked. “I… ah. I had never thought about it. I suppose he would have. But I had no idea that would happen.”

“Maybe that’s why it took him so long to get back, he first had to take care of--”

A sudden barrage of screams and hollers caused him to trail off, the merregons Yurgir had left stationed outside the tower to keep guard clearly reacting to something. Amidst the screaming there was a voice that sounded very much familiar. 

“Oh come now, that wasn’t nice-- ow! Hey! You really don’t want me to sound this horn now, pretties!”

Durge blinked. Astarion blinked back, and immediately jumped on his feet to look outside through the arrowslit in the wall. He stared a few moments before blinking again and laughing. 

“Well,” he said, turning back to look at Durge. “Speak of the devil, indeed.”

***

“Ah, here you are. I was concerned I’d missed my chance to speak with you prior to your departure.”

Duchess Baalphegor’s voice was not unfriendly - it never was - but it still made something clench in Raphael’s stomach, his fingers slipping as he tried to buckle the final strap of the leather armor he’d been given. He turned, bowing so quickly he didn’t get a real look at his father’s consort. Further back, in the doorway, stood one of the debtors she’d hand-picked as her attendants, but he barely saw her out of the corner of his eye and paid her no mind.

“Lady Baalphegor. I was not expecting--”

“Oh, hush. Let me look at you.”

Raphael swallowed, and looked up. She was closer than he’d realized, brow furrowed as she examined his face; however, the frown quickly smoothed out in yet another of those half-smiles which were never far from her lips. “Well, look at that - not the slightest sign of scarring. You truly made an incredible recovery.”

“I had excellent healers tending to me, Lady Baalphegor.”

“The most excellent healers in Baator could have done nothing for a hellfire-charred corpse. The fact alone that you survived to receive treatment is remarkable.”

“If not for Lord Mephistopheles’ will--”

“Oh, he was being silly over nothing, wasn’t he?” She sighed, and Raphael bit the inside of his cheek. The friendliest smile or the hottest pincers in Baator couldn’t tear a single word against his father out of him, not in his court, not where he could find out. For all he knew, Baaphegor was looking to have him say something which his father could condemn him for.

Loose lips had almost cost him his life. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

He almost killed me. He called me son. I’m nothing to him. He gave me a chance. I hate him. I’ll make him proud. 

“... I was disrespectful. No devil of his standing can tolerate disrespect. I am grateful for his mercy,” he replied in the end, gaze still low. “I’ll make the most of the second chance he saw fit to grant me.”

There were a few moments of silence, and already he feared he’d made a wrong move when he heard her hum. “Well then, I’m here to wish you best of luck, and to ask that you deliver a message to the Lord of the First on my behalf.” She held out something - an envelope sealed with wax. It looked mundane enough, but Raphael could sense the arcane power in the seal as soon as he reached to take it. It was clearly meant for Lord Bel’s eyes alone, and Raphael had no intention to find out what may occur if he attempted to open it. 

“Of course, Lady Baalphegor. As soon as we reach Avernus--”

A laugh. “Ah, don’t be ridiculous. You’re not marching with the troops through all the layers from here to Avernus. That would be dreadfully tedious, and this letter is to be delivered quicker than that. I’d go myself, if I wasn’t needed for yet another meeting with emissaries from Minauros. As you’re carrying out an important task for me, you have a one-time authorization to use my outer portal to the Bronze Citadel. You may await the rest of the troops’ arrival as Lord Bel’s guest.”

Truth be told, that was a relief to hear: Raphael had been dreading the march almost as much as the Blood War itself. Every single one among the troops was likely to know who he was and how he found himself among their ranks, and nothing delighted a fiend quite as much as stepping over someone who’d just been brought low. At the very least, he could expect ceaseless mockery; knowing that at least was delayed - and perhaps averted, as the Blood War surely would take most of their focus - brought some measure of comfort. 

“I shall inform the commander at onc--”

“The commander has been informed. No need to concern yourself with him.”

“... Thank you, Lady Baalphegor.”

“Oh no, you’re doing me a favor. No need to thank me,” she replied. Rather certain that she knew precisely what she was sparing him, Raphael bowed his head again.

“I am humbled by the trust you’re placing in me, despite my recent-- shortcomings.”

“Youthful indiscretions are hardly shortcomings. My consort would know as much, if he recalled what youth even is.” She shook her head in a sort of indulgent exasperation that, Raphael knew, no one else in Cania would dare show towards the Lord of the Eighth without severe consequences. “Upon your arrival, make sure you deliver that letter to Lord Bel directly. You are to place it in his hands, and no one else’s.”

“It will be done, Lady Baalphegor.”

“Good.” She smiled, and turned to leave, but paused in the doorway. Next to her, the attendant still stood in the same spot she’d been all along, gaze low. Had he paid attention to her, he may have noticed brown eyes peering at him from beneath a curtain of dark hair, but all his attention was for Duchess Baalphegor as she spoke again, without turning. “And, Raphael?”

“My lady?”

“... You’ll find Lord Bel to be a fine strategist, and a reasonable creature. Use your time at the Bronze Citadel well. If you prove an asset, he’ll treat you as one.”

Rather than as cannon fodder, the unspoken part went; Raphael understood that all too well. “I’ll keep it well in mind, Lady Baalphegor. You have my deepest gratitude,” he said, bowing his head once again. Then the door closed and he was again alone, a sealed envelope in hand and some hope that he may, perhaps, yet survive his service in Avernus.

***

“... And thus I came to find you, to give Raphael this token of Lord Bel’s support and see what I can do to ensure he doesn’t get too horribly mangled in the process of helping you see this mission through. You’re all very welcome. That was by far the worst welcome party I’ve ever had, I must say.”

“That may be because you’re not welcome, incubus. At all.”

“Oh, I’m sure you don't mean it.”

Yurgir snorted. “Believe me, I do,” he replied, only to be utterly ignored by Haarlep. They looked over at Durge instead, and grinned. 

“Ah, I have a few more reviews on your form! I wrote them aaaaall down. Didn’t bring the records with me, unfortunately. Would you like to hear the gist of it?”

“No, thank you,” Astarion snapped, in a way that clearly suggested he meant to give absolutely no thanks. Haarlep tilted their head.

“It’s mostly good reviews.”

“They said no. ”

“They didn’t say anything. You said no.”

“I’d also rather not know. And I’d rather we drop the subject now,” Durge replied, putting a calming hand on Astarion’s shoulder. He glared at the incubus, but he eventually let out a long breath and turned away, back to Yurgir as he spoke again. 

“So, you’re going for Zariel this time? Could have mentioned that.”

Astarion made a face. “Ah, that. We figured it was on a need-to-know basis.”

A scoff. “I won’t go running my mouth. If you can take down Zariel, then she isn’t fit to rule Avernus and Bel may as well get another shot at it. I won’t be the one to get in your way.”

“I know you wouldn’t tell on us, buddy. Just figured it could put you in a shitty position if we got caught, is all,” Karlach pointed out, patting his back. For all her disdain for devils in general - something Wyll couldn’t help but share, to be honest - she seemed to rather like the orthon. He could see why: it was difficult not to like someone who could take a bloody defeat with a shrug, and return it with unwavering respect.

Yurgir stared a moment, and barked out a laugh. “Are you concerned for my safety now?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of a mortal thing to do,” Karlach said with a shrug.

“Hah! No need. I can look after myself, and I will get Haruman out of your way tomorrow - push a big enough horde of demons by his hill, he won’t resist charging through it. The incubus can even make itself useful by letting you know when the way is clear.”

“Huh? Me?”

“Those wings aren’t just there to look pretty, are they? May as well use them to survey the ground from above and report back to them once I get Haruman out of the way.”

A smile, sultry as they come, a brief flick of their wings. “You think my wings are pretty?”

“No. Did you hear a single sentence past that?”

“Report back to them when the way is clear.”

“Mph. Good enough.”

Haarlep nodded. “Well then, consider me well and truly at your service. Tell me what to do, and it will be done. And I am sure you have questions - I’ll be happy to answer all those I can answer at present. But first, I’d like to see how my former master is faring.”

“He’s sleeping upstairs. You may want to try and convince him not to take unnecessary risks. The duel came close to killing him,” Halsin said, entirely ignoring Yurgir’s snort that it hadn’t been close enough. “He only has half a soul. I don’t know if a scroll or spell of resurrection would work on someone in his state. I am not eager to find out the hard way.”

The incubus seemed amused at the request. They seemed amused by just about everything. “I’ll see what I can do,” was all they said, and headed upstairs, Bel’s horn still in their hands.

***

One thing Haarlep had always liked about Raphael’s human form was how small it was compared to the one they wore. It was easy to move, to pick up and bend into all sorts of delightful ways; the skin was so thin, easy to mark and break, and it always flushed so nicely under their ministrations. They always made sure to both mock and praise all those things, loudly, each time they bedded him. Raphael wore that form as often as his other one in bed; perhaps more, come to think of it, especially when he wanted to feel small. 

For someone who loomed so large outside the boudoir, that happened remarkably often.

Haarlep had tried taking his human form, once. And only once, because seeing them wearing it had sent Raphael in a fit of screaming rage such as they’re rarely seen. It wasn’t often that they paid any heed to his threats to draw and quarter them, but that one time it had felt dangerously like he might, after all, go through with it. 

Curious, that. Raphael had never expressed discomfort about his human form; even if it was not the one he celebrated in those tacky portraits of himself, even as he said time and time again it was only meant to put mortals at ease, Haarlep always got the feeling he quite liked it. Yet he did not want to see Haarlep wear it, and had forbidden them to use it, ever.

In a way, he seemed strangely possessive of it - one form he’d hold onto and never surrender even to them. It had made them wonder, sometimes, which form he considered the true disguise. Haarlep was no stranger to disguises, of course. Yet beneath all the glamorous they had collected there was a form that few had ever seen, but which they knew was entirely and unequivocally their own. For Raphael, and all cambions, it was not so. Both forms were his own, which meant that neither truly was if one were to overthink it. And Raphael spent most of his time doing just that - overthinking.

With a sigh, Haarlep set down Bel’s horn next to Raphael’s bedroll and sat on the floor, reaching over to smooth back his hair. It caused him to stir, mumbling something. When he opened his eyes, he still seemed dazed. No wonder, that: a human taking on an orthon alone crossed the line between foolishness and suicidal ideation. And yet there he was, still recovering but alive. 

“Haarlep?” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep, and they smiled.

“You look well, my little brat. For someone who fought an orthon, that is.”

“How…?”

“The sending stone I left with you on our last meeting, remember?” Haarlep reminded him, and pulled back their hand. Or tried to, because Raphael reached up to grasp their sleeve, and struggled to lift himself on an elbow. Something had yet to heal, clearly, because he stilled with a groan. Haarlep sighed, and reached over to pull him on their lap, cradling him with arms and wings. “There. Be still now.”

Raphael let out a long breath, resting his head against Haarlep’s shoulder. They expected him to ask what they were doing there, demand an explanation of what was truly going on, but he asked something entirely different.

“The debtor who aided my escape,” he murmured, eyes already slipping shut. “Who is she?”

Ah. Well. Now that was unexpected. Haarlep paused a moment before they chuckled, leaning their chin on top of Raphael’s head. “If out of all the questions you must have on your mind that’s what you ask first, I suspect you already know.”

“Tell me.”

“... Yes. She is your mother.”

A long breath. “Is she still-- is she well?”

“As well as one can be as a debtor in Mephistar. She’s watching over your other half. She’s grown fond of him, if you can believe that. She calls him Israfel, and he responds to it.”

“Impossible. I killed him” Raphael murmured, clearly already sinking back into sleep. Or unconsciousness - hard to tell the difference. “He was weak and I ended him.”

“You’re talking more nonsense than usual, pet. Quite a feat.”

A grumble, but he didn’t protest. He only opened his eyes, or tried to. Haarlep could feel the eyelids fluttering against the side of their neck. “Lie to me,” he murmured. 

Ah, that. Not an uncommon order, back when he owned them. Usually uttered once they were done servicing him, as he lay spent and boneless on the mattress. Now that they were no longer sworn to Raphael, they could refuse. Still, old habits were very hard to kill. 

“Oh, with pleasure. I just love your blazer,” they said, and waited for the usual scoff at the impertinence. Yet, the puff of air against their neck felt almost like a silent chuckle. Haarlep blinked, faintly wondering what they’d given him to dull the pain.

“I despise it.”

“Not your style, I have to admit. Clothes as a whole don’t flatter you. I like you best naked.”

“That is not a lie.”

“Ah, are we still doing that? Very well. What do you want me to lie about?”

“You know,” Raphael murmured, in that quiet voice that they only ever heard in the boudoir before - that voice of his that pleaded without pleading. 

Of course Haarlep knew what he wanted to hear. It all always came back to the one lie they told best. And for what was perhaps the millionth time they decided to indulge him, pressing their lips against his hair before speaking it, just as his eyes fell shut again.

“I love you,” Haarlep said. There was no response, and they had no idea whether Raphael had even heard them before he fell back in a deep sleep, but to be honest it didn’t matter. 

They’d have more chances to lie to him. It was their second greatest talent, after all.

***

“Lord Bel. This one says he was sent by Duchess Baalphegor, to deliver a message.”

This one has a name, Raphael thought, but did not speak. At the heart of the Bronze Citadel, surrounded by at least a dozen fortified rings positively crawling with armed devils, Raphael knew it was best not to speak unless spoken to. So he kept silent, head respectfully bowed before the throne where Lord Bel sat in the least regal pose possible, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees to better peer down at him.

Up to that moment, Raphael had only heard tales of the Lord of the First. If other archdukes were somewhat dismissive of him, there were few devils in the Hells who did not dream of doing precisely what he had done - climb all the ranks, from a lemure borne of a mortal soul all the way up to pit fiend, coming to rule Avernus through his own skill and victories.

And, well, some betrayal against his predecessor. But that went without saying, in Baator.

When Bel spoke, his voice was a guttural rumble. Massive and covered in crimson red scales, cut a fearsome figure. “A message? And what it may be?”

Raphael bowed. “I do not know, Lord Bel. I was not to open the seal, and I did not,” he said, pulling out the letter. “I was instructed to deliver this to you personally.”

The archdevil’s flaming eyes narrowed as he looked at the seal. Then, he smiled. Green, steaming venom covered his fangs. “Very well. You can give it to my guard,” he said, gesturing to the armed erinyes standing around them. One of them stepped forward, holding out a hand, and Raphael stepped back. 

“... My apologies, Lord Bel. I was instructed to deliver this letter in your hands only.”

“And I am instructing you to hand it over to my guard. Are you going to obey or not, Canian?”

Raphael bit his tongue, mentally cursing every deity whose existence he was aware of plus a couple more he made up for the occasion. It was plain as day that he was being tested, but whether Bel wanted him to show obedience to him or prove he didn’t waver from an order, he did not know. He had to make a guess, and hope it was the correct one. 

“... Forgive me, sir. I may only leave the letter in your own hands, and no one else’s.”

There was a long, heavy silence. The erinyes who had stepped forward did not move away, and her hand rested on the pommel of her sword; Bel stared at him for several moments, saying nothing. Then, he laughed. It felt sudden and loud as the crack of thunder. “Hah! At ease, Oreasha. You, what is your name?”

Raphael breathed out before he replied. “Raphael, your lordship.”

“Well  then, Raphael,” Bel said, holding out a hand, palm up. “Here’s my hand. You may place Duchess Baalphegor’s letter in it.”

The letter exchanged hands, and Raphael watched in silence as Bel opened it, the seal disappearing in black smoke. He watched him read, then pause; both his eyebrows went up, and his eyes flickered up to look at Raphael before he resumed reading. That the letter spoke of him was an easy enough guess; not knowing exactly what it said set him on edge.

For all I know, she wants me dead and I’ve just given Bel the order to end me. 

He couldn’t think of any reason why she’d wish him dead, but he could think of no reason why she’d help him either. The intrigues going on in the court of Mephistar made even his most elaborate deals with mortals look no more impressive than the theft of eggs out of a chicken coop, and now he was caught up in it, hapless as a mortal. What if--

“Well. Never thought I’d see the day a son of Mephistopheles would grace my halls,” Bel muttered, and the letter in his hands went up in flames with a gesture. Raphael knew better than to try asking precisely what the letter said, and he just bowed his head.

“My parentage is irrelevant. I was sent to serve you, and serve you I shall. If you’ll let me.”

A rumbling laugh, and the Lord of the First stood. He towered over Raphael, over every guard in the room. He gestured for the erinyes to stay put, and stepped past Raphael. “Walk with me, child of Mephisto,” he said. Raphael followed him, through hallways and onto a balcony. 

The Bronze Citadel had few of the lavish luxuries of Mephistar, but it was to be expected. Unlike Cania, Avernus was one immense battlefield; the Citadel was more fortress than palace. From the balcony Raphael could see the barren land beyond the fortified rings, the watchtowers against a burning sky.  “Had you been to Avernus before, Raphael?” Bel asked.

“Only in passing, my Lord.”

The Lord of the First nodded, and gestured to the landscape. “That’s the Styx. Every day, along the River of Blood, demons breach our barriers and pour in from the Abyss. Every day, we repel their attacks. Do you know how many devils are in all the Nine Hells?”

“No, sir.”

“Too many to count. Some will tell you it means infinite, but they’d be wrong. We are not infinite; however, demons are or come damn close to it. Their strength is in numbers - we cannot hope to match that - so I turn away none who’s willing to serve. It would be foolish. And while I do not partake in the political maneuvering your father and his peers are so fond of, I am no fool.”

“... Yet for all their numbers, Avernus has never fallen into demon hands.”

“All that keeps them from spilling in the layers beneath and onto other Planes is that they are mindless hordes. We fight back viciously, and we fight well, but advantage is strategy.” He turned, nodding towards something. A huge table, it seemed… until Raphael approached and saw it was a map of Avernus. Miniature figures representing armies and demonic hordes moved across it, no doubt mimicking the movement on the ground at that very moment. 

Lord Bel approached, placing a hand on the edge of the map. “You’re no soldier.”

“... I can hold my own in a fight. I can--”

“You will not be kept from the battlefield, obviously. Inexperience in battle makes for poor strategists. But I’d rather you play on your strengths instead of trying to prove a point. A sharp blade can slaughter demons; a sharp mind ensures their armies are kept at bay.” Bel gestured widely at the map, at the miniature armies moving across it. “I told you, strategy is everything. Lady Baalphegor says you’re a good learner. So for now watch, and learn. ”

And so he did.

***

“So, there is some sort of plot going on in Cania, and it concerns Raphael in some way - hence why his human half was smuggled out of Mephistar.”

“Yes.”

“But you cannot tell us, or him, what it is yet. Or who’s involved.”

“Precisely. My lips are quite literally sealed.”

Wyll nodded. “I am not unfamiliar with that sort of predicament,” he conceded. “Anyway, there is a different plot to get Zariel out of the way that involves both the previous Archduke of Avernus and Mizora, who in turn ordered me to see it through--”

“Correct again. You are her favorite warlock, from what I’ve heard.”

Wyll made a face. “A dubious honor.”

“I’d be happy to be her favorite anything,” Haarlep sighed, gaining themself a slightly baffled look from Wyll and a groan from Karlach. 

“Eugh,” she said, causing Haarlep to shrug. 

“There’s no accounting for taste, darling. Which is to say, yours is clearly unaccounted fo--”

“Back to the subject at hand,” Halsin cut them off before they got too sidetracked, “you said Raphael was not supposed to get mixed up with the business about Zariel.”

“No. But as he did get mixed up , it was decided it would make a fine test. If he doesn’t survive this mission, it means he never had any hope of accomplishing anything in Cania in the first place, so it wouldn’t be much of a loss.”

“How delightful,” Raphael muttered. Rest, potions and healing spells had restored him to full health, but he was still frowning as they hiked their way up the hill. Haruman’s Hill, although there was no Haruman in sight. There was no one in sight, Durge noted, demon or devil. Somewhere in the distance, west of where they stood, they heard the sounds of a battle.

As though reading Durge’s thoughts, Astarion looked around before speaking. “... Well, this was a lot easier than I thought it’d be. Yurgir wasn’t joking when he said he’d get everyone in a mile radius out of our way.”

Karlach grinned. “Of course he wasn’t. He’s a devil of his word,” she said, causing Wyll to chuckle and Raphael to scoff. 

“Oh, I thought you couldn’t stand devils,” Wyll said. 

“I beg to differ, given how he turned on me despite the perfectly generous agreement we had in place,” Raphael muttered.

Karlach shrugged at both arguments. “What can I say, I like the guy. He’s the one shining exception.”

“Am I not an exception?” Haarlep asked, turning to her with something remarkably close to a pout on their-- well, Raphael’s face. “I was really good at this entire scouting thing. Came back to tell you the way was clear right away.”

Karlach let out a hum, as though considering. “Eh, maybe if you change your face to that of someone less insufferable,” she conceded. Again, her words caused Raphael to scoff. 

“Puerile as her comment is, it would be wise to take a different form, Haarlep,” he muttered. “Most denizens of the Hells are not familiar with my human form, but the one you’re wearing is more widely known. If someone sees it and news that I still live spreads, all of the bounty hunters of the Nine Hells would be looking to capture me and drag me back to Cania in chains.”

Haarlep to shrugged. “On the bright side, my pet, it wouldn't be all that bad.”

“No?”

“You look delightful in chains,” they replied, causing Durge to nearly choke on the water they were drinking from their flask and everyone else to disguise their laughter as coughing fits with… varying degrees of success. Raphael scowled. 

“Once I'm whole again,” he snapped, “my very first act will be ripping out that insolent tongue of yours."

"Of course it will," was the response, not in the slightest concerned, and Durge could tell that did gain them a few points with Karlach… which were then promptly lost when Haarlep chose to take Durge’s form, of all forms. This time, at least, they were wearing clothes. “How about this one, pet? Last time I visited you, I did notice--”

“No!” Raphael barked, so suddenly it caused nearly everyone else to recoil. He looked furious, skin flushed. “Another form, incubus. Now.”

“I do quite like--”

“He said now, ” Astarion snapped, and Haarlep sighed, rolling their - Durge’s - eyes. 

“Very well, if you must all be so dramatic,” they muttered, and changed back into a different devil - tall and with ivory-pale skin, hollow black eyes and an equally black mustache. The horns were on the smaller side, but the wings were admittedly impressive. “There. How about-- huh. Raphael? Are you well?”

Raphael was, quite obviously, not well. He’d stopped in his tracks as though struck, and his jaw clenched before he spoke, his voice tight. “How-- when… ?” he asked, only to scowl and shake his head when Haarlep opened their mouth to reply. “No, don’t. Just change. I hardly think that the Justiciar of Cania is a fitting choice to go unnoticed,” he ground out. 

Whatever the problem was, it was obviously not just that; still, Haarlep asked no questions and changed form again. This time it was a rather nondescript devil with a bluish tint to their skin, who might have passed for a large tiefling if not for the wings. “How about this one?”

“... Suitable,” was all Raphael said, and for the rest of the hike he remained silent, gaze locked dead ahead of him. 

Only as they got to the top of the hill and prepared to cross - Haarlep by flight, the rest of them through dimension door spells - did Durge approach him to speak. “Are you well?”

Raphael glanced back at them, and turned away just as quickly. “... It was not my intention to cause a scene. It’s ancient history; Bele was no justiciar back then. He got his claws in me when I was still foolish enough to slip up, and was quick to report that slip to my father. I was hoping to never have the displeasure of looking at that face again, that's all. I will admit that knowing he had Haarlep as they wore my form does not precisely delight me.”

“Would you like us to kill him when we get to Mephistar?” Astarion called out, searching through the scrolls they’d brought for the one he needed to cross over with Halsin. “It can be arranged for a fee. A small one. Call it a friends discount.”

For a moment, Raphael stared. Then, his lips curled upwards. “Careful, spawn. I might decide to hold you to your word.”

“Oh, please do,” Astarion said, and grinned at Durge, grabbing Halsin’s arm and holding up the scroll he needed for the spell. “See you on the other side,” he called out, and within moments they were gone, reappearing down below, joining the others already on the opposite bank of the Styx. 

“Well, only us left,” Durge said, and placed a hand on Raphael’s shoulder, preparing to cast. Before they could, however, Raphael spoke again.

“... Your concern is unwarranted. I do appreciate the offer to kill him, however.”

Durge smiled. “Do feel free to hold us to our word, if we cross paths with this Bele. No fee required. I am the Chosen of Bhaal no more, but I remain rather good at killing people.”

“You failed to kill me.” 

“And I am glad,” Durge admitted, giving Raphael’s shoulder a squeeze before they cast the dimension door spell. And perhaps it was only their imagination, but for a moment they thought they’d felt Raphael leaning against them a little more heavily than strictly necessary.

***

“So. Are you going to tell me what that was about, my pet?”

“I am your nothing. And I owe you no explanation.”

“Justiciar Bele did seem to have it in for you. It took me a bit to recover last ti--”

“Be quiet.”

Raphael had ordered Haarlep to be quiet many times before; it had never quite shut them up, really. But sometimes it gave them pause and this was one such time. Still, they did not leave: they sat back, watching Raphael tune his lyre at the entrance of the cave they had found refuge in while, further inside, their companions were setting up a small camp.

Finally, they sighed. “I tried to offer other forms, truly. He would not change his mind and I had no intention to raise any suspicion."

“Like you ever needed an excuse to spite me,” Raphael muttered, but he couldn’t bring himself to put much venom in the words. “... I consider the matter closed. Don’t bring it up again.”

“As you wish, my little brat.” Another pause, then, “... You know, back in the House of Hope, the handsome dragonborn over there also asked specifically for your likeness--”

“Agh!”

Raphael’s hand slipped and the unforgiving string he was testing cut into the pad of his finger. He snatched up the wounded hand with a hiss and a curse. “Will you be quiet!” he snapped, trying his best to pretend the cut was the only reason why his voice had almost cracked for a moment. 

Still wearing the likeness of some devil Raphael had never met, Haarlep tilted their head and reached over to take Raphael’s hand. He offered no resistance, only looking away as they brought the wounded finger to their mouth to place a kiss on the cut, then on his palm. To Raphael’s annoyance, it still made his breath catch a moment. He really couldn’t win with that creature, could he?

“You should be more careful, my pet,” they purred against his skin. “This form of yours gets hurt easily, and I promised your mother I’d keep you safe.”

His mother. He hadn’t thought of her existence in the longest time, until the beginning of that entire charade, as though Mephistopheles had made him out of thin air. And now the thought of her haunted him as it did when he was young, as it had haunted her husband.

“I don’t understand. What’s in it for her?”

“I suppose that at first, it was to spite Mephistopheles. Spite is a powerful motivator, no? You always said so. But to be honest, now she’s rather more concerned about you.”

Raphael scoffed. “She doesn’t even know me,” he muttered.

She was in Mephistar all along, and never once sought me out.

“She knows your other half, at least. Seems fond of it.” A shrug. “And besides, humans are odd like that. How many souls did you get that way? So many mortals with unremarkable or even unlikeable children, and yet willing to part with their own souls for no reason but that they loved the bones of them.”

“Mph. Insolent as ever.” Raphael frowned, and cast a quick healing spell on his wounded finger before he resumed tuning the lyre. Her lyre. Maybe he ought to return it to her, once all was said and done. He’d hand it over and say… what could he even say to her?

“Enough with the frowning, my pet. I always told you it would give you wrinkles, and heeere they are,” Haarlep sing-sang, reaching over to rub two fingers over the creases of Raphael’s scowl. Still, when they pulled him close to rest against their chest and folded both wings around him, he did not resist. “Besides, she knows of you.”

“Of course she heard--”

“I told her a lot of things about you. Entirely too much, maybe. She did ask me to stop.”

Ah, he could imagine precisely the kind of things they’d have told her. Raphael groaned. “You despicable creature,” he ground out, only for Haarlep to lean in and kiss the bridge of his nose, right where it always wrinkled in anger. 

“Ah, I could have done worse - I could have shown her. Alas, she was obviously not interested…”

Raphael scowled. “I despise you.”

“No, you don’t,” they informed him, and kissed the scowl again. “You want to hate me, of course. But you never managed to do that.”

Raphael may have hated them for being correct, if not for the fact that they were indeed correct. He’d felt disdain and annoyance as well as anger, and many more emotions in-between, but true hatred was reserved to few beings indeed and Haarlep, for all their valiant efforts, was not among them. “I find you infuriating,” he said instead, taking one last look at the lyre and giving it a soft strum to make sure it was tuned. 

Resting their chin on top of his head, Haarlep laughed. Their hand went down his chest, down his stomach; with their wings shielding them from sight, they placed a hand over Raphael’s groin. He shivered, and did not protest, when they palmed him through the fabric. “Of course you do,” Haarlep chuckled against his ear. “And you’re such a brat about i--”

“Hey, Raphael!” Astarion’s voice cut them off from the back of the cave. “Can you play that thing, or is it just for show? We need some music here!”

Raphael blinked, and turned to look. Haarlep pulled their hand away and helpfully lifted a wing out of the way to let them see what precisely was going on - a dance lesson, apparently. Ravengard seemed determined to show Karlach the ropes of some courtly dances, which in Raphael opinion didn’t fit her any more than they’d fit Yurgir, for the remarkable pirouettes he’d shown himself capable of the previous day. 

“I can do without,” Karlach protested, a good deal more flustered than she was trying to let by. The others were not joining the dance lesson, clearly, and were getting ready to enjoy the show instead. Astarion in particular, as he was grinning, draped over Durge’s lap with his head resting against Halsin’s thigh. 

“But it’s much easier with music to follow, trust me,” Ravengard exclaimed, already poised to start, a hand held out to her. He turned to glance back at Raphael over his shoulder. “Come on, I gave you the rapier that won you that duel. You owe me one!”

Raphael scoffed. “I owe you precisely nothing,” he muttered, but he sighed and leaned more comfortably against Haarlelp’s chest before he picked up the lyre again. “Very well. Let’s say I’m in a generous mood. What do you have in min--” 

“Oh! Do Three Thayvian Roses!” Astarion yelled, causing Karlach to laugh, any embarrassment forgotten. 

“No, no, do Down Another Tankard!”

“The Waiting Grave!”

“Juice of the Vine!”

"And That's Why You'll Hear Johnny Cryin'!"

“Absolutely none of those are any good for a courtly dance,” Ravengard protested, laughing, and turned back. “Come on, you’ve been around since before the fall of Netheril. You’ve got to know a good one.”

Raphael snorted. “I know more songs than you can hope to even name between all of you,” he informed him, and leaned back to start plucking at the strings. Indeed, suspected he knew more songs than humanity as a whole had ever written - too many to pick, and he let his fingers do the choosing. He closed his eyes and only when he recognized the tune did he begin to sing. 

“Alas, my love, you do me wrong, To cast me off discourteously For I have loved you well and long, Delighting in your company…”

It had been years since he’d performed that one, but of course he didn’t misremember a single word, didn’t miss a single note. It was not the type of music he’d compose himself, but there was a soothing quality to it. It was easy to let himself get lost in it. 

“Your vows you've broken, like my heart, Oh, why did you so enrapture me? Now I remain in a world apart But my heart remains in captivity…”

The words rang out in the utter silence inside the cave, and that was what finally startled him out of it - how quiet it was, no sound of shuffling steps, or stumbling, or whatever a barbarian would do while trying to dance. Raphael blinked his eyes open and turned to realize everyone was stock still, staring right back at him. Ravengard was still stuck in his bowing position, his hand held in mid-air; the tiefling was still standing precisely where she was before, jaw slack.

They all looked as though someone had cast a petrification spell while Raphael wasn't looking. Glancing upwards, he realized even Haarlep was staring down at him. He blinked again. “... Is something the matter?”

“Huh,” Karlach replied, not very brilliantly. 

“That’s-- well--” Ravengard echoed, not much more articulate. 

Sitting against the wall, the druid just stared in silence; his gaze seemed a million miles away. Beside him, Durge seemed to shake themself out of some sort of trance. “Good,” they managed. “That-- really good.”

“What my companions are trying and failing to say,” Astarion supplied helpfully, still on Durge’s lap, “is that you put every harpy who ever lived to shame, and we should find a way to bottle your voice and sell it. Is there a way? We should ask Gale if there is. We could split the profits.”

Haarlep laughed. “Oh, you never sang so prettily for me. Should I be jealous?” they asked, leaning in to nuzzle his neck before whispering, “I still enjoy your moans best.”

Raphael rolled his eyes, but made no attempt to pull away. “... I agreed to provide music for a courtly dance. I see no such dance happening,” he pointed out, causing Ravengard to recoil and immediately turn back to Karlach. 

“Ah, of course! I’m ready, I’m ready!”

Raphael sighed. “The time you’re making me waste,” he lamented, but he did pick up the lyre, and began to play anew. This time, he didn’t close his eyes right away. Ravengard and the tiefling did start to dance in a slow circle; to his surprise, she didn’t stumble on anything. Clearly, they had done it before; they kept their gazes fixed on one another, and smiled.

“Greensleeves was all my joy Greensleeves was my delight, Greensleeves was my heart of gold, And who but my lady Greensleeves…

Still sitting against the wall, the others were listening, eyes closed. Durge’s head seemed to sway a little at the music, as though they were getting lost in it. Raphael turned away, closing his eyes again. Beneath his head, Haarlep’s chest was a solid, warm pillow. He chose to only focus on that, on the strings beneath his fingers and the words coming unbidden to his tongue. No Cania, no Avernus, no Zariel or Mephistopheles.

For a time, there was nothing outside that one cave.

“I have been ready at your hand, To grant whatever you would crave, I have both wagered life and land, Your love and good-will for to have…”

*** Bards gonna bard. The song is a traditional English folk song called "Greensleeves". The author is unknown. Legend says it was written by Henry VIII for Anne Boleyn (that ended up great didn't it) but it's only a myth, as it was most likely composed some time after his death.

***

[Back to Chapter 15]

[On to Chapter 17]

[Back to Start]

[fangsyouverymuch01]

"Astarion" "neutral" lol

I guess this has to do with my reblog about liking chaotic men and classifying Astarion as one??

Astarion is a complicated character and the player has a huge part in him either being chaotic neutral or evil. That being said, verbal persuasion can only do so much. The player can’t persuade him to be good aligned per say, because he isn’t.

What is chaotic neutral?

So according to dnd I found this:

- A chaotic neutral character is an individualist who follows their own heart and generally shirks rules and traditions. Although chaotic neutral characters promote the ideals of freedom, it is their own freedom that comes first; good and evil come second to their need to be free.”

- and “A wandering rogue who lived both by work for hire and petty theft was an example of a chaotic neutral character”

Here is what bdg 3 wiki writes about his character too:

- The player does not have to be "evil" to gain his approval, however — he approves when the player makes choices that support independence and autonomy, and when the player helps certain characters in need.

(Sounds very chaotic neutral to me)

- Here is a link to his entire character that follows his quest, approvals/disapprovals https://bg3.wiki/wiki/Astarion

Tav and Astarion

I’d say that spawn Astarion falls into the neutral alignment pretty clearly after his confession about his feelings for Tav, because he doesn’t have to do it. He gains nothing from Tav or the party when he confesses to being manipulative. But he does, because he cares and feels guilty for doing it. Astarions motives are rooted in fear of being enslaved again and he actively risks his life by confessing his feelings. Which is a very non evil thing to do and he does it because he wants to anyways. Here is the convo he has with Tav:

Astarion - Look, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan - seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you'd never turn on me. It was easy - instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do was not fall for you...which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart. You - … you’re incredible. You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.

Blood merchant

Throughout the game, Tav and the party challenges Astarions trauma mentality of “if there are good people, why did no one save me? Therefore, I justify to be selfish” by being kind for the sake of being kind. Which he remarks on. Here is one example of Tav allowing him to make his own decision about biting the blood merchant in act 2:

Astarion - I spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back for my Master. What I wanted, how I felt about what I was doing, it never mattered. You could have asked me to do the same - to throw myself at her, what I wanted be damned. But you didn’t. And I’m grateful.

Durge and Astarion

Bonus! If the player plays redemption Durge, Astarion is extremely supportive from day one. Which is also confirmed by Larian :). My favorite scene of this is when durge refuses to kill Isobel and is forced to kill the one they like most. After Astarion ties up durge, they have a conversation that is very sweet and unselfish of him to have considering that durge tries to off him hours ago. Here it is:

Tav – “I’m so worried about you. What if I get possessed again?”

Astarion – “I’m also worried about me, but I seem to somehow be worried about *you* more. You give me something to care for, and that’s worth the peril.”

Conclusion

So, combining all of these examples we see that Astarion is not evil, he acts out fear to be stripped of his autonomy again. The things he approves of are not driven by being good or evil, they are driven by his core charachetistic - to be free to choose what he likes/needs/wants. And the first thing that he chooses is Tav. He wants tav no matter if they are good or bad aligned, because he is not driven by either of those things.

This was a very long post and it could be an entire essay if I had all the time in the world. I hope this gave some insight into how I, and many others, view him. However, if you don’t that is totally fine as well.

/Matti