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jellymellydraws · 10 months ago

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Astarion x Dark Urge Chapter 12 Rating: E Tags: Angst, Fluff, hurt/comfort, slow burn, two guarded people fall in love so hard it makes them stupid

Chapter Summary:

Alfira sympathizes with Rose, who continues to struggle getting rest. Taking the tiefling's advice to heart, she decides to test the waters by opening up to Astarion a little more about what plagues her sleepless nights. During morning preparations, Gale has an urgent matter to discuss with Rose, in private. Shadowheart, Alfira, Wyll, and Rose enter the Blighted Village.

“Look at you. Beautiful.”

The whispering of sweet nothings greeted her as she awoke. Sweet as sugar as they whispered in her ear; lyrical, even. A finger stroked her cheek lovingly, before caressing her chin.

“No need to wake, not yet. You had a long night, after all.”

There was a comfort to their words. A promise of a sweet embrace that wrapped itself around her body. Rose felt a smile on her lips as she relaxed against their touch. A shiver ran down her spine as those fingers trailed between her breasts. Goosebumps raising towards the scratch of their nail against their exposed flesh.

“Gods, I can't get enough of you.”

There was a high she didn’t want to come down from. A floatiness that encouraged her to stay calm.

But as her vision began to focus, nothing came into view. Nothing but a bright light above her and the smell of blood in the air. As the numbness faded, Rose’s heart raced. Pain shot up through her core. Every fiber of her being screamed, but her throat stung her into silence.

“Shhhh,” the voice cooed, “easy, pet. I’m almost done.”

The wandering hand pressed against her shoulder, pushing her down onto the smooth surface she was restrained to. It was then, she felt the straps of leather that kept her tied down. The belt around her shoulders tightened, pressing her back against the table. She strained again, desperate to sit up.

To see.

The bright light above stung her eyes. How twisted of a joke this was: facing a light from above knowing it wasn't her salvation, but instead, her hell.

“Oh, I know, pet, I know.” A shadow eclipsed the light for a moment, just to wipe a stray tear away, “I got carried away, didn’t realize the anesthetic ran out. You’ll need to hold on a bit longer.”

Rose bit into the finger that wandered too close to her maw. She snarled towards her captor, who hissed in pain through manic giggling. She spat out the tip of the finger defiantly, but her captor only laughed louder.

“Wonderful! Your teeth haven’t softened at all!” They moved away from the light, blinding Rose yet again, “you’re special, you know. With that tadpole wriggling in there, most of the others transformed by now, but you . No, not you.”

Again, she tried to pull herself up from the restraints, to no avail. Her racing heart was giving way to other feelings. Rage. Danger.

Fear.

‘Focus...figure out where you are.’ She concentrated on the sounds around her. The clattering of supplies, likely from a bin. The footsteps of her captor grew closer. She turned her head, able to see a bloodied hand being wrapped in gauze. The shadow moved away, out of her vision. But there was the sound of metal clanking on metal that she struggled to place. Too pitchy to be swords. Maybe more akin to tools?

The walls were a pale red hue, bringing forth more questions than answers about her surroundings. Several tables lined the wall, holding up several jars and bottles. Some were full with questionable fluid and various body parts. Some were humanoid-looking, others were alien to her. The more she looked, the more nauseated she expected to feel. A testament to her ability to detach when she needed to take in information for a mission. Even if that mission was a personally assigned one.

But it was the squelching sort of sound that made her stomach turn.

It wasn’t the sickly turning she was familiar with, it was some other kind. She tilted her head slightly, trying to see where the shadow had gone. They were standing further down the table, by her stomach, putting something inside her. For a moment, she saw a bundle of pink and red tubes in their hands.

Now she felt the familiar sickness churn, as bile threatened to rise.

The shadow giggled with delight. Was she watching how her organs responded to this torment? Was it the way her intestines adjusted to their usual position that brought them joy?

Those ever so gentle hands continued to work. To touch. To sew.

“We’re almost done, pet,” they promised, “I just need to get a look at that pretty heart.”

“NO!”

Tears streamed down her face as her eyes adjusted to the darkness around her. Rose fell back onto her bedroll, breathing shakily.

No bright light. No giggling shadow.

She was alone.

Alone in her tent. In the woods. Near a goblin village. With a tadpole in her head.

Her mind raced with the images replaying as she sat herself back up again. But her memory had been unreliable. She couldn’t risk losing this. Rose grabbed her pack and pulled out the leather bound journal, and made her way out of her tent with a torch in hand. The only one awake was Alfira, sitting by the fire with her lute and soft humming. The campfire in front of her was still burning, being the only source of light for the camp.

Last watch-- Alfira had volunteered to take the last watch of the night, that’s right.

Rose walked towards the campfire, sitting across from their proper bard and opening her journal.

She began writing anything she could remember. The blinding light, the voice, the sounds. She wondered if she was feeling the shadow’s nails on her skin after all. The thumping in her head continued, each beat reminding her how uncomfortably warm her face felt. Sweat dripped down her temple. Was the twist in her stomach the usual sickly start of her day, or was she still remembering the nightmare?

Rose shook her head, forbidding that line of thought from continuing. She didn’t know.

It didn’t matter…

How loud did she awake from this nightmare? Was she screaming? Did anyone else get disturbed? Gods above, she couldn’t stop wondering how burdensome it must’ve been to disrupt the entire camp’s sleep. Her eyes glanced over to her tent, which sat innocently between Lae’zel’s and Shadowheart’s at this camp.

‘I’ll move it before our next night’s sleep...’

“A lot of us still have nightmares,” Alfira’s voice cut through her racing thoughts, “from Avernus.” Rose said nothing as the tiefling talked through the soft strumming of her strings, “Everyone deals with it differently, but I think it’s helped to have people who understand what you’re dealing with.”

Rose suppressed a scoff. How the hells would she know what she was dealing with? She wouldn’t-- Rose knew that. Just like how she knew Astarion wouldn’t know what she was dealing with either. Or Shadowheart. No one would understand.

How could they, when she couldn’t, either?

“You remind me of my best friend,” Alfira continued with a growing smile, “Lakrissa doesn’t like to show it, but I know she has trouble sleeping some nights. I’ve been worried about her, wondering if she’s taking care of herself.”

“...How does she handle it?”

“Poorly,” she laughed softly, “but sometimes she talks about them...when she doesn’t want to talk, she’ll sit with me quietly while I’m practicing. Hells, she’ll sit next to me even if I wasn’t doing anything. I guess it helps her to not be alone with her thoughts...” she went back to softly strumming thoughtfully.

Rose stared at the open journal on the ground as she considered this.

“Is it different when you’re the one in charge?”

“Hm?” Rose glanced up from her book.

“Well, I mean, I don’t know who Zevlor has to help him through...He’s a Hellrider, so I know he’s seen his fair share of horrors before the descent.” Her eyes softened, looking at the dying flames, “I hope he has someone though...it sounds awful to be alone when your own thoughts torment you.”

‘It is…’

She shifted her gaze away from the fire, sitting in silence with the bard who ceased her strumming. Maybe she could find comfort in company as well.

It was unclear how much time passed when a yawn escaped her. Tiredness was calling for her again. She glanced at her tent, cautiously. How long would she remain asleep this time? Was there any point?

“You should get back to sleep,” Alfira insisted with a gentle look on her face, “but I’ll still be here if sleep doesn’t find you.”

“Thank you, Alfira.” A sincere smile stretched across her face, “I’m glad you’ve become part of this camp.”

Morning was on the horizon when she left her tent. Not even the birds were ready to greet her, yet there was enough light in the sky to see her path to the river. Alfira smiled at the assassin as she walked by. Sleep never did find her, but she took whatever brief moments of shut eye her body would allow. The path to the river was easier to see without the night obscuring her vision. The picturesque surroundings welcomed her as she approached the river.

Just above some of the bushes, she caught the sight of soft white curls. She didn’t need to hear the soft playing of a violin to know who it was. He sat upon a log several feet from the edge of the water, seemingly unaware of her approaching presence.

Like a maestro at work, Astarion played a few notes, stopped, then played a few more. He was shifting his attention between pulling music from the violin and scribbling on a piece of parchment. These were glimpses into the saucy artiste that she felt lucky to witness. This genuine side of him where he bore no mask and played no role. They were similar that way, she supposed. Two people wearing one face in front of the whole camp, only to set it down when they found themselves a moment alone.

For what reason he bore his own mask, she could only wonder.

“No daggers to greet me, this time?” Astarion smirked, looking over his shoulder to his solo audience. He tutted towards her, “I’d ask how you slept, but I already know it went poorly.”

“It’s that obvious?” Of course it was. “Right,” she sighed as she walked towards the river and knelt next to it, “and how did you fair in your trance?”

“Very pleasantly.”

“At least one of us got a good night’s rest.” Her voice began to trail off. She glanced back to the river, trying to push the memory of the shadow surgeon away. But she couldn't.

Something about this nightmare felt different. No fleshy meadows or grotesque scene of her hands inside someone’s chest cavity. No. This felt real. Like an awful memory bubbling to the surface.

A distorted reflection began to look back.

A smooth hand stroked her cheek.

Gods…was it not enough to be tormented in her sleep?

She splashed the water on her face, as she intended to do in the first place, before getting up and sitting herself besides Astarion on the log. He continued with his writing, and she began to do some of her own once she opened her journal.

The theorizing began. What was she before the nautiloid? An experiment? A lab rat? Maybe the nightmare took place on the nautiloid itself…

‘They said I was the first to not transform…’

How long had she been on that ship for? Was anyone else trapped just as long?

More questions. Always more questions.

“Now, what’s running through that pretty head of yours?”

Astarion startled her out of her thoughts.

“Another nightmare,” she scoffed, “obviously.” her face soured, “this one was...different. It felt real. Like a memory.”

Her fingers brushed over her shirt, where her own scars would be. The sound of the river did little to soothe the budding headache. She glanced at Astarion’s hand, which rested on the violin in his lap. Was it still cool as ice? Gods, it would feel so soothing against her face.

The elf scoffed with amusement before lifting his hand towards her cheek. She flinched when that cool finger brushed her skin. He pulled back, shock crossing his face just as it did hers. His eyes scanned over her, questions filling his expression.

“Sorry, it’s...it’s not you,” Rose insisted, gently taking his hand and pulling it back. She sighed with relief as she pressed the back of his palm against her cheek.Her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned into it.

Did her past need to strangle the momentary bliss she found in her present?

‘Bliss?’ Ugh. A little too lofty for whatever it was she did with the handsome elf. ‘Escape’ was more like it. Gods she hoped she wasn't the type to fall for her one night stands. That would be mortifying. Shadowheart would tease her for days. Alfira would write a song about it, proclaiming it to be her next masterpiece!

Still, whatever it was, it was nice. A small comfort, if nothing more.

Rose chanced a look at him, remembering the well meaning advice from Alfira. Maybe talking would help. Maybe not-- but what further harm would it do to try?

“Let’s say you also lost your memories, do you think you’d rather not know how you got your scars?” Her amber eyes studied him as she asked the question.

Astarion furrowed his brows. It was surprising that he entertained the question with sincerity. She expected some snarky quip from him. Like an ‘of course not, that’s ridiculous.’ Because it was ridiculous.

But he took his time, thinking. Pondering.

“I...hm,” he tutted, unsatisfied with his would-be answer. “I hadn't really thought about it...why in the hells would I want to forget?” He turned his face to the river, adjusting himself to sit more comfortably, “But I also can’t exactly look in a mirror to see what was done, just how awful that night felt.” The hand which rested on his knee began to clench into a fist. “I suppose I can see why you’d want to forget. I don’t think I’ve seen you the least bit relieved when remembering anything about yourself.” He began to smirk, but the expression dropped quickly, “Actually, have you remembered anything about yourself? Well I suppose you remember being an assassin but, anything else?”

“Honestly, I’m still not convinced if ‘Rose’ is my name. It’s the only one that came to me, so I guess that’s what it is now,” she admitted softly. His hand dropped from her face, which she allowed in favor of turning her eyes back to the river. Sunlight was beginning to slip between the trees, decorating the water with specs of light, “I couldn't remember what I looked like until I found that mirror in the crypt.” His high pitched laugh was odd, but she couldn't help but smile at the tragedy of it, “it’s ridiculous, isn't it? How does someone forget what they look like?! But that’s what happened...I thought we missed a raider and almost stabbed my own reflection!”

She laughed incredulously at herself. It felt so surreal to speak it out loud. Forgetting her own face but remembering how much an assassination contract could pull?!

It was laughable. And she was laughing.

She turned to her companion, expecting his laugh to have minimized into snickering. But no, instead he stared at the river with an intensely.

“What did you think?” Astarion asked, a softness to his tone that stilled her breathing. He half glanced towards her with a sort of somber expression, “when you saw yourself, did you like it? The face that looked back?”

She felt his sincerity. There was a need for him to know. It gripped her heart, and held it hostage. For a moment she wondered if it was to continue laughing, but the look in his usually piercing eyes told her otherwise. He did want her answer. She was sure of that much. She chewed her bottom lip, grasping at the memory of her self reintroduction. How she stared at her own eyes. The way her fingers gravitated to the scars on her face. She mimicked that moment now, tracing the line that fell along her cheek.

“I don't know what I was expecting, honestly. I didn't realize I forgot my own face until I was staring right at it. In a way, it felt like getting reacquainted with myself. But at the same time, it was like studying a stranger... I wondered about what battle I was in that earned my facial scars. I was even less sure about my name when I saw the tattoo on my neck. I guess I should have been relieved that I didn’t hate the face in the mirror. At least I didn’t think it was an ugly face? I suppose that’s a good thing.” She took a few strands of hair between her fingers, twisting them in a small ray of rising sunlight to see the purple shine, “Although, I was thrown off when I saw the purple hair. I already knew it was purple, but imagine my confusion when I realized I’m just a human.”

“Wait, I know you’re opening up or whatever— are you telling me that color is natural?”

“Hells if I know, you better tell me if my roots are visibly different.” she chuckled, playfully bumping her shoulder against his, “As one of the best styled members of camp, it’s your responsibility to make sure I’m not running around with a disaster on my head.”

“One of?” He began twisting one of the curls that dropped on his face, “Darling, I have the best styled hair in the whole camp.”

“Mmmmh, I think Shadowheart claims that spot,” she smirked, rising to her feet.

“She only gets points for the accessories! These curls are natural!”

Rose laughed at his dramatics as she pocketed her journal. Astarion took a moment to grab the rest of his things before the two began their trek back to camp.

“Now, feeling better?” He smirked proudly.

“A little.”

”For what it’s worth, your face is beautiful.”

Admittedly, it didn’t go as poorly as she had feared.

Lae’zel provided a thorough report from last night’s scouting assignment. She marked Rose’s map with potential scouting posts and where she noted traces of goblin patrols. Eager as always, the gith awaited her next command, and deflated when it was “get some sleep.”

Actually, there was something she could have Lae’zel assist with— after she woke up. The assassin wrote a note in her journal and tore the page. But the gith was not to unfold this piece of paper until after she woke from her slumber. Lae’zel slunk off to her tent with an audible ‘tchk’ as she passed.

The rest of the camp was preparing for their day. Similar to their time in the grove, they would be split in order to make the most of their day. She assigned Gale and Astarion to watch over the temple (an assignment that Astarion bemoaned for being ‘too boring’) and the others would join her into the village.

Rose had been coating her blade in wyvern poison when the wizard walked up to her. He looked about the camp, like he was about to break some unspoken rule about adventuring etiquette.

“A moment of your time, please?” He asked softly, still not properly making eye contact. She nodded to him, closing the vial and stowing it in her pack. “I must insist that I join your excursion into the village today.”

Her brows raised for a moment, then immediately she hardened her stare at the wizard. She expected Astarion’s resistance, but this was a surprise.

And oh, how she detested surprises.

“And you didn’t think to insist while we were strategizing yesterday?”

“Well there is a, uh, different circumstance today,” he insisted, still telling her all of nothing. Sure, different circumstances. Of course. She stared at him with continued intensity until he forced a nervous half-smile, “by virtue of the fact it is, merely, a new day.”

“No.” Rose pulled the poison out and began to uncork it again. The wizard placed his hand over hers, stopping her.

“I’m afraid my attempt to avoid alarm is minimizing the importance of my request.”

“Gale,” she began slowly, “I have enough people going with me. We don’t need anyone else.”

“I’m sure Astarion could handle scouting on his own.”

“And I’m sure you know how close you are to trying my patience.”

“Please,” Gale squeezed her hand, his pleading eyes finally meeting hers, “ever since you freed me from that stone, I’ve seen you demonstrate remarkable guile and intellect. I’ve seen how you fight battles of wit as well as blade, and you’ve managed to quel whatever spat was between Lae’zel and Shadowheart. In short, I’ve grown to trust you.” through his sincerity, desperation slipped through his tone. She had become aware how his hand shook as it squeezed hers. “And I’m telling you this because I’m confident you would hear what I want to tell you and that you’d handle it with the appropriate amount of discretion. It’s something I haven’t told any other living soul, save for my cat.”

She took in a slow breath, then stowed the poison bottle once more. His gulp was audible, as she silently sheathed her blade and rose to her feet.

Rose beckoned for him to follow her to the command tent. Once they were inside, she took a glimpse around the camp at what everyone else had been doing. A private conversation didn’t need any prying ears. Everyone looked to be going about their business donning armor and preparing their magic. Satisfied, she pulled the flaps of the tent closed, letting a sliver of light through their small gap. Just enough for the both of them to see within the cramped space.

“Alright, you have my full attention,” she turned to him with a soft expression. The tormented look on his face couldn’t help but remind her of the way she’d felt the last few days. “Don’t worry about how it sounds. Whatever it is, I’ve got you.”

The hesitation on his face softened, if only for a moment. He took a deep breath of his own as he wrung his shaky hands over each other.

“I have this condition,” he began slowly, “it’s very different from the parasite we share.”

Rose stiffened, though she tried not to show it. When Gale stopped speaking, she nodded in encouragement.

“Go on. What kind of condition are we talking about?”

“The specifics are rather personal, but I’ve learned to live with this malady,” he breathed out a tired sigh, “with much effort.”

“How serious is it?”

“Deadly. ”

That would’ve sounded like a joke, had they not begun talking softer and softer into a whisper. They drew closer to each other until they were face to face by the table.

“You’re either telling me this so I’m prepared for you to drop dead, or because there’s something you need— besides discretion,” she whispered, less demanding of him and more like she was thinking out loud. Regardless, he responded with a small nod.

“Every so often, I need to get my hands on a magically imbued item and absorb the Weave that’s inside.”

Well. That was… not what she expected. A detour to acquire rare reagents? Sure, that sounded plausible. An accommodation to remain in camp or take it easy? Yeah, she’d find a way to give him that.

“Powerful, magical items? So you can absorb them?” She tried the words on for size. How was she supposed to be prepared for a request like that? “Would eating scrolls be enough?”

“I’m afraid not,” he shook his head remorsefully, “I know it’s asking a lot, but it doesn’t have to be a weapon. It wouldn’t need to be anything with a specific value attached to it. Something like that necklace Withers gave you would suit my needs.”

Necklace? Oh! Rose reached into the pouch on her hip and pulled out the silvery pendant, which was shaped like a skull with sapphire stone eyes. She held it towards him.

“This? I don’t even know what it does. Are you sure it’d be enough?”

“It would let you speak to corpses, similar to a necromantic spell called ‘Speak With Dead,” Gale blurted out. Then, smiled bashfully, “I studied it some nights ago…”

‘Fuck, we might need that, after all…’

“Why didn’t you keep it? I hardly remembered it was still on my person until you mentioned it.”

“I thought maybe we’d come across more trinkets by now, ones that would suit my needs without robbing of us an advantage against these Goblin fanatics. But more importantly, I didn’t think it wise to steal from the camp if we were going to continue traveling together.”

Rose sighed, wishing she could curse him for his consideration. But how could she? At least he had a handle on his ‘condition,’ while hers left blood on her hands.

“I’m not going to change the assignments, but I intend to loot anything we can carry back to camp. Tell me what I should look out for— are there any tell-tale signs that would lead me to more magical items?” He sighed with relief, the tension in his shoulders releasing. She smiled softly at the poor wizard and placed her free hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“If there are runes etched into floorboards or walls, that would hint at magical concealment,” he explained, “only a studied caster would be able to make those. Otherwise, your average cellars, bedrooms, and just about any place where one keeps valuables would be as good a spot to investigate.”

“I’ll be on the look out,” she promised.

“Thank you.”

The smile on his face could melt the coldest of hearts. She couldn’t help but continue smiling back as they both left the tent. While she tied the flaps of the command tent open, she saw a nosy elf pretend to check his nail beds not too far away. Those pointed ears suddenly left her feeling paranoid about the promise she made to Gale regarding discretion. Better figure out how much damage control she’d need to be prepared for later.

Rose crossed her arms and approached Astarion, who looked at her as if surprised she was there.

“How much did you hear?” She asked in a low voice.

“My dear friend,” he couldn’t help but smirk, “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Keep it that way,” she warned.

The worst part was, she couldn’t tell if he was being honest or coy. His pout didn’t do much to prove either theory. All she could do was hope for the best.

But this was Astarion, and she had just stood her ground about him and Gale spending the day together. Gods she hoped she wouldn’t regret that.

The wizard and artiste duo made their way up the path Lae’zel had mapped out to one of the scouting posts. Meanwhile, Rose departed with her small party of Wyll, Shadowheart, and Alfira. They took a longer route, deciding to take their approach of the village as if they were deliberately walking in.

Well, they were deliberately walking in. The gates greeted them on the other side of the bridge, without any guards at the front to stop them. It seemed odd, considering how well-coordinated she heard the goblins were.

“Stay sharp,” Rose commanded, “be prepared for this to go south at a moment’s notice.”

“I’ve got just the spell,” Alfira strummed a few soothing notes, like the start of a lullaby. Wyll beamed with pride that she had taken to adventuring like a bird to flight.

With a nod, the group approached the gates. Their heads were on swivels, keeping their eyes peeled. Shadowheart raised a hand at the threshold.

“They’re prepared for an ambush,” the cleric whispered, “are you sure about this?”

No.

“We have to be. Let’s go.”

An arrow met the ground a few feet into the village.

“Oi!” A scraggly voice shouted from one of the rooftops, “WHO GOES THERE?!”

Rose didn’t falter in her composure. She crossed her arms as she looked towards the voice. A goblin woman with a skull helmet and wielding a bow decorated with bird feathers.

“Ohhh, you thinks you can walk in ‘ere like you’re somethin’?” The goblin taunted.

Initiate the first test.

“Sazza should’ve told you I was on my way,” Rose answered flatly. The goblin spit at the ground.

“Sazza ain’t worth worgshit.”

Alright then. Second test.

“You’re speaking to a True Soul,” her voice raised, wanting the rest of the ambush to hear. A few goblin heads poked out from broken windows and around corners.

Better, but the helmed goblin narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Unconvinced. She muttered something to another goblin on the roof with her before climbing down a ladder and sizing up the supposed True Soul as she approached.

“True Soul, ye say?” She asked, with a familiar brand upon her shoulder starting to glow. Similar to the people they came across on the road, there was a tug in her mind. The tadpole.

Rose closed her eyes, allowing the parasite to connect. She felt a twinge in her head. The damned thing bit her! Besides the momentary discomfort, she felt nothing else. The goblin, though, changed her stance. While Sazza had become fearful, the guard instead offered a respectful bow to Rose.

“Ay, sorry mam,” the guard said. Well trained, impressive. “Our forces are thinned out ‘ere while the army’s up North.”

Well, that would explain why the place looked so empty.

“Explain.”

“Dunno much, just that the Drow ordered ‘em to Waukeen’s Rest.”

“When did they depart?”

“Yesterday, mam.”

Rose looked at the disarray of the village. Walls fallen, barrels broken. Completely destroyed.

“And they ransacked this place first?” She asked. The damage done by an army of goblins, especially one that was organized, was starting to worry her.

“No, it was like this when we got ‘ere.” The guard answered, “we’re lookin’ fer anything valuable though.”

“Carry on,” she started towards the rest of the village, “make sure the rest know I’m here. I shouldn’t have to tell you what happens if a True Soul is disrespected.”

“Will do, ma’am!” The goblin called after her. “OI! WHADDYA STANDIN’ ROUND FER?! YOU GOTTA GO SPREAD THE WORD— GO! Feckin’ useless idi’ts.”

Rose smirked to herself as her group made their way to the center. Wyll quickened his pace to meet hers.

“Waukeen’s Rest is about a day’s travel from here,” the Blade informed her.

“Wouldn’t that mean the camp is vulnerable right now?” Alfira asked with that ever hopeful tone.

“That depends on several factors we won’t know about until we rendezvous with Gale and Astarion.” Rose watched the goblins pick through the rubble of a long lost village, “Don’t forget, the goblins are working with Drow. Their forces are more organized, and they might have additional strength granted by their new goddess. Stick to the current plan, and let’s see if this village has anything of use to us.”

Wyll and Alfira nodded in agreement.

“I wonder how long this place has been abandoned…” Alfira questioned as they climbed over the fallen wall of house. Well, they assumed it was a house…

“Looks to be years…” Shadowheart answered, “this place has long been deserted.”

The village had several statues of a womanly figure, with curtain bangs to frame her face and a quiet gaze towards the world in front of her. One of her posts was behind the fallen building they were climbing over The offerings at her feet had long rotted, and her robe had been defiled with the brand worn by the Absolute Goblins.

“Shit,” the cleric hissed behind them. The other three drew their weapons, prepared for an attack. But it was just Shadowheart, rubbing her hand over the circular scar in her palm. “It’s fine!” She insisted, “It…this happens, time to time. It’s my goddess testing me,” then looked to the statue with disgust, “testing my faith.”

“Is that her?” Rose asked. A cleric disgusted with the test from her own goddess? That didn’t sound right.

“No,” Shadowheart spat, “that’s Selune. A goddess who’s tricked her way into being adored by her worshippers. It’s tragic, really,” she scoffed at the statue, “goddess— more like a witch.”

“The stories I’ve heard haven’t been so terrible, Shadowheart,” Wyll approached, looking at the statue with a smile, “she seems like a beacon of light.”

“False promises. Like I said, her worshippers don’t know who they’re really worshiping.”

“I’m sure you feel strongly about that. Might I inquire if it’s due to your own patron’s teachings?”

The cleric pursed her lips, narrowing her gaze to Wyll. As if daring to ask was an affront. Then, she looked to the assassin expectently. Normally, Rose would stop the potential escalation. But she was curious herself. Moreso, she hadn’t seen Shadowheart get into conflict with anyone besides Lae’zel— and that was based off of a different reason entirely. How would she fair in a (relatively) normal disagreement?

“I don’t need to give you permission to share personal details, do I?” Rose asked, a hint of amusement in her tone. She did her best to avoid smiling for the sake of Shadowheart’s pride.

The cleric crossed her arms and shifted her weight. Her glare looked downwards, scanning the ground.

“Fine,” she looked Rose in the eyes resolutely, “I worship Shar, Mistress of the Night. She’s Selune’s twin and foe. Please don’t make a big fuss about it.”

That ‘please’ sounded more like a threat. A dare. One that Rose wouldn’t care to attempt.

“Alright. Let’s move on.”

“What?” Shadowheart furrowed her brows, looking incredulously at her.

“We’re moving on, let’s go,” she repeated, starting to walk off the rubble and seeking the next building to explore.

“You're surprisingly understanding about this. Most people shun Shar worshippers.”

“You thought I was so basic to be like most people?” Rose smirked, “Shadowheart, I thought you knew me better than that.”

Shadowheart chuckled, “I suppose now I do.”

Wyll clasped a hand on the cleric’s shoulder, offering his usual encouraging smile. No words of judgment followed. Shadowheart continued the search with them, looking much more relaxed than when they first entered. Good to see another burden uplift from this camp’s shoulders.

Next Chapter >>

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #dark urge #astarion #astarion x dark urge #baldurs gate 3 #durge #durgestarion #good dark urge #astarion romance #jellymelly writes #I've Got You

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theameba1436 · 6 months ago

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20 Tav QOTDs

a compilation of questions i’ve seen on twitter + ones i’ve come up with myself <3 can be used as an ask game or as a daily game!

what do they smell like at their freshest? (and/or after a tenday. your choice) Vorn tries his best to smell good. Since to himself he always just smells like blood. But, most of the time he smells like musky dark sandalwood, mixed with smoke from his hand wrapped cigarettes and eventually a slight mix of what Astarion wears when he starts to be around him more.

what would their blood taste like to vampires? It would be thick, sweet and yet heavy with a sour tang. Kinda like sour candy and or a old brandy.

how would they kiss their LI? Soft unless they are taken by his urges. Then he would kiss rough. Almost like he is trying to eat the other.

how do they sleep with their LI (what position, does one steal the blankets, is one too hot/cold, etc)? He would sleep on his back or left side and doesn't move a lot. When he is having a bad night he likes to sleep curled up with Astarion. Doesn't matter how they curl up just as long as they are touching.

what does their tent area look like? where do they prefer to pitch their tent (next to water, covered on three sides, etc)? He doesn't care where he is placed as long as he can see Astarion's tent and or is next to his tent. His tent would be a dark rust color fabric. Inside would be his bedroll, a small table with books on it mixed with notes and music papers. He would have a small chest filled with other instruments in case he wants to mix up his music sound. Over all to someone who doesn't understand how organizes his things. It is a total mess. Outside his tent would have two small chairs and table for him to sit to play or write his music. Along with a place for scratch and the owl-bear to sleep.

6. if they had a set of dnd dice, what would they look like?

7. do they collect anything (gems, bottles, keys, etc)? The man love his music, books and instruments.

8. if either, are they part of the astarion/gale book club (magic & literature) or the wyll/shadowheart book club (trashy romance novels)? He enjoys being around Wyll and Shadowheart and is a bard. But he dose read Asation's books. However it is only when they are together.

9. if they had to be put in a “get along shirt” with a companion, who would it be? Gale and or Karlach. For gale it would almost always be how he speaks to him and or over his god awful cooking. Then with Kalach it would be how loud she is and how she keeps messing up the camp when she plays with scratch or the owl-bear.

10. do they prefer speak with dead or speak with animals? He is a animal lover and enjoys being able to hear what they have to tell him. He almost is always using it just to tell if they need something or not.

11. what are their thoughts on clowns? He doesn't hate then and yet he doesn't like them either.

12. their companions are gossiping about them behind their back! who is it and what are they saying? Who tops in his relationship with Astarion.

13. what makes them laugh? what does their laugh sound like? He tries not to laugh most of the time. But what almost always gets him is someone being clumsy and or when Astarion gets sassy over something he did. His laugh is loud and 9 times out of 10 he will snort as well.

14. do they have any inside jokes among their companions? Sometime he will join in wyll and shadowheart's banter over smutty books. But, the only one he really jokes with is Astarion and most of the time it is talking about how the others would taste. Because yeah the man loves his raw meats.

15. what’s the description of their camp clothes in the inventory menu? Seems to look new from a fear but close up you can tell it is well used.

16. what’s the description of their underwear in the inventory menu? loose fitting, and comfortable.

17. how do they celebrate their birthday? The only thing he would want to be doing is sitting under a tree, reading, writing and being alone. But, his friends have other plans most of the time and he hates it.

18. what modern day tv show would they binge over a weekend? do they get their LI to watch with them? Spit how he looks Vorn loves drama. So something like GOT or maybe bridgerton. He will also watch horror shows when he is feeling up for it. But, to be honest his life is a horror show so this wouldn't happen often. If he is feeling like watching something cheesy he would most defiantly watch a good vampire show. Something like Buffy the vampire slayer or angel. If he is watching tv with his partner he wouldn't really care what is on as long as he is with them.

19. do you have a playlist for your tav? if so, what’s the title + description? Hmm, this is a hard one because I never make playlist. It is all just thrown together in a folder lol I would say if they had one it would be called. My brain is full of holes.

20. if you were to try pickpocketing them, what would they be carrying? gold, random music sheets, a instrument, a ball, random animal treats and a leather black notebook that has a spell lock on it.

20 Tav QOTDs

a compilation of questions i’ve seen on twitter + ones i’ve come up with myself <3 can be used as an ask game or as a daily game!

what do they smell like at their freshest? (and/or after a tenday. your choice)

what would their blood taste like to vampires?

how would they kiss their LI?

how do they sleep with their LI (what position, does one steal the blankets, is one too hot/cold, etc)?

what does their tent area look like? where do they prefer to pitch their tent (next to water, covered on three sides, etc)?

if they had a set of dnd dice, what would they look like?

do they collect anything (gems, bottles, keys, etc)?

if either, are they part of the astarion/gale book club (magic & literature) or the wyll/shadowheart book club (trashy romance novels)?

if they had to be put in a “get along shirt” with a companion, who would it be?

do they prefer speak with dead or speak with animals?