#hector carlisle

[blackjackkent]

Can we say my Harper responsibilities to maintain balance start *tomorrow*? Hm... no.

Bonus:

/cc @astreamofstars and @springagainafter, my fellow Jaheira-lovers. <3

[bladesandbhaalspawn]

BG3 Moodboards

Hector Carlisle

[origin characters | other companions | npcs | tavs | durges]

for @blackjackkent

pronouns: he/him

Tav/Durge: Tav

race: human

class: monk [way of the open hand]

romance: Karlach 💙

want your own? here's the info!

[blackjackkent]

Awwww. OK, following on from that drabble I just wrote about Hector talking with Jaheira and Karlach about the Cazador stuff... if we click on Jaheira she has a little situational dialogue with Astarion!

"They say that the only thing a vampire can feel is hunger. Nothing else touches them - not grief, or mercy. Or any sense of what is just."

"Do they? Well, there must be something to it then."

"Careful, Astarion. Despite your every effort to the contrary, I am in danger of thinking you might be a good man."

[blackjackkent]

It doesn't feel real, truly.

Hector never considered himself a lonely man. The concept didn't really have meaning at the monastery; nobody was alone and yet everybody was, all of them existing primarily inside their own heads in worship or philosophy or study. If no one held him or spoke softly to him, caressed him or asked after him or loved him, what did that matter? He had the life of the mind and the history of the whole world to occupy him; he had the warmth of Selune's gaze in the moonlight outside the window of his bedroom cell.

That was before. Now... everything is different.

There was no one like Karlach at the monastery. Karlach is immediate and real, all flesh and blood and bone and fire. He loves her as he has never loved anyone before, but sometimes it feels as if he does not know how, as if he is learning, over and over again, what it means to live in his body, to feel things so deeply with his flesh and his heart as well as his mind.

It doesn't feel real - to have someone who will touch him, who wants to feel the soft give of his skin or the rough stubble of his beard. She is always touching him, desperate for it after ten years of denial. When they stop for a break on the road, her hand always finds its way to his arm, his back, over his shoulders, her fingertips ruffling the hair at the base of his neck. Where her touch moves, it leaves trails of heat on his skin and makes his heart race. She explores him with her hands as if she wants to map out every part of him, as if she thinks he is a gift and she can't believe her luck.

It doesn't feel real - to kiss and to be kissed, to need and be needed. He can roll over at night and press his lips to hers and even in her sleep she will smile against his mouth. After a life of isolation it feels decadent - no, illicit - to be able to simply ask for a kiss from someone he loves and know that it is there for the taking.

It doesn't feel real - to be held. Karlach's arms are warm and all-encompassing. In her embrace he is safe and the rest of the world, with all its trials and threats, does not exist. He smells the scent of her - heated metal and sweat and something sweeter like wine - and it seems impossible that all of her should be his, and more importantly, that all of him should be hers.

And it hurts. He does not know how to explain it. He loves her and she touches him and it is good and wonderful and it hurts, as if she is reaching deep into his chest and adjusting his heart until it fits into place properly under his ribs. It aches like frozen flesh brought into warmth for the first time, the straining and stretching feeling of a cramped limb uncurling itself. It is so good and it hurts...

And it hurts all the more because he knows that it cannot last. That same heat that warms him in her embrace will consume her at last and take her from him, as surely as the moon rises and sets.

------

"You 'wake, Hec?" she mumbles to him one night.

He is curled into her arms, his eyes open in the darkness, fixed on the curving point where her neck meets her collarbone as if fixing every line of muscle into his memory. That soft ache rolls and rolls in his chest and twists sharply upward at the sound of her voice.

"Yes," he murmurs back.

"Wha's'a matter?" She presses her face into his hair.

He smiles. He does not know how to tell her that sometimes he cannot sleep for how much he loves her. He has no idea how to explain that the feelings she wakes in him are beyond anything he was ever equipped to bear.

"Nothing," he says softly. "Nothing... you're perfect... that's all..."

[blackjackkent]

I'm making an actual romantic gifset of Hector and Karlach in the Act 1 romance scene that I didn't get in his actual run, but I had to pause and make this because I was cracking up that the animation made it look like Hector was sitting up to examine Karlach's boobs with the eagerness of a man spotting an oasis in the desert.

[blackjackkent]

I think it's about time someone looked after you. How about Shadowheart? 🦉🐻

for @resting-meme-face

[blackjackkent]

Owlbear Vignettes

At first, Buddy sticks very close to Hector in camp. Hector was the one who fed him first. Hector is kind, with a soft voice. Hector gives him scritches between the ears and murmurs blessings Buddy doesn't understand. Hector is not Mother, but Hector is safe.

The others take some getting used to.

-----

Karlach is not expecting it, the first night Buddy tries to sleep in the tent with them. She's half-asleep and at first only dimly aware of claws jabbing through her clothes, which meld unpleasantly with a dream of stinging sparks in the Hells. Her eyes flicker open - and then she jumps as she comes face to face with an owlbear beak. Buddy has nestled himself between her and Hector, curled into a floofed-up ball.

"Aw, hells. Hec--" she says sleepily.

"Mmph?" Hector answers. "Wha-- ack!" There's a sudden sputtering noise as he rolls over into a faceful of feathers.

"That."

She hears Hector laugh softly in the darkness. "Buddy, you can't sleep there." He nudges at the cub's flank; Buddy makes a soft noise of objection. "Come on, Bud."

Buddy gives a chirping whine but allows himself to be displaced so Hector can snuggle in against Karlach again. The cub considers the situation for a moment, then flops deliberately on Hector's other side, staring at Karlach the whole time as if daring her to say anything about it.

"I think I have competition," she tells Hector with a grin.

"You're way prettier than he is, don't worry," Hector mumbles into her shoulder.

-----

Gale makes a picture of a woman, but she has no smell. Buddy doesn't like that. It seems wrong.

Wyll emerges from his tent to the sound of Waterdhavian-accented oration at full volume.

"That is the goddess of magic, Buddy. That is Mystra herself!" Gale is lecturing the little beast, poking a finger into Buddy's face. "You cannot simply swipe a claw through her as if she were a mouse you'd caught unawares. That is a disrespect of the highest order and I would have thought you smart enough to know better."

Buddy listens attentively, his head cocked over to one side, occasionally chirping whenever Gale pauses for breath.

"I understand that you are an owlbear and therefore not privy to the mysteries of the Weave," the mage goes on. "But that does not exempt you from a certain level of basic decency towards the divine. I will thank you to remember this in future and improve your decorum."

Wyll grins, folding his arms as he watches this little display unfold. "Do you want to try it again with an animal speaking potion?"

Gale sighs. "No, no, never mind. He's just a beast after all, he can't really be expected to understand."

"I don't know," Wyll says mildly. "Perhaps he has the right of it. A protective instinct, if you will, given the target does want you to blow yourself up. I think he's not the only one in camp who would give her a swipe if they could."

"I'll thank you to keep your disrespect to yourself as well," Gale says dryly. His fingers flick through the air, conjuring a new, glowing image of his goddess.

Buddy swats a paw through her again at once.

-----

The githyanki is sharp like Mother's claws. She snaps when Buddy comes close, sniffs disdainfully when he scarfs down some of the camp supplies. He steers clear and watches her from a distance.

He understands how this works. She is one of the alphas. She must be brought a gift before she will accept him in the flock.

One night, Hector watches with bemusement as the cub, his whole expression screwed up with deep owlbear concentration, drags a large dead rabbit through the camp.

Catching Hector's gaze, he drops the rabbit and chirps softly, wandering in a slow circle around his prize. His feathers fluff up in a deliberate attempt to make himself look bigger, as if to steel himself for a great challenge. Then he grabs the rabbit again by the head, and in a single smooth motion, drags it into the tent where Lae'zel is currently sleeping.

There is a brief moment of silence, followed by a yell that echoes through the whole camp. Buddy, still poofed out in all directions, comes sailing through the tent flap, tumbling end over end and hitting the ground some distance away. The dead rabbit follows closely thereafter.

The next morning, Lae'zel acts as if nothing happens, but Hector does note with some surprise that she gives Buddy an absent pat on the head every time she walks past him. Later, she offers him a torn off scrap of the hunk of jerky she grabs for her evening meal.

"You're not holding his midnight visit against him, then?" Hector asks her.

"On the contrary," she says gravely. "The creature offered tribute to me as its jhe'stil, and showed bravery in doing so. It has earned the respect due a beast of combat."

"But you threw him out of the tent!"

She looks at him unblinkingly. "Yes."

Hector considers trying to understand this, and then decides not to bother.

-----

Shadowheart rarely comes close at first to either Buddy or Scratch. She is wary of them as beasts of the forest. Scratch says she is afraid of wolves. Buddy is NOT a wolf - but he is almost as big as one, so he thinks maybe it makes sense.

She often looks at him like she would like to pet him, though. A few times, she does drift near, and lays her hand gently between his ears on the soft feathers at the nape of his neck. And he sees a little smile tug at her lips - but then there is a flash of magic around her hand, and she winces or cries out in pain and draws away.

Many weeks on, deep in the Shadowlands, there is a great commotion one night - an explosion of light and crashing and roaring in the distance. Buddy watches with great interest, and some concern, as Hector returns to the camp with Karlach and Wyll, all of them covered in blood and slime. Shadowheart, equally battered, follows behind them at a distance, her eyes hollow and her face even paler than usual.

Buddy finds her in her tent later, staring at the wall in the darkness. He sits in the tent flap and chirps questioningly.

"No. Go away," she mutters. "I can't--"

She falls silent. He chirps again, scoots a little closer to her.

"It hurt so much..." she whispers. "All this time, all that pain... for a lie..."

She gives a sudden hoarse, humorless laugh. "There was never any wolf. D'you know that? There was never any wolf at all."

He gives a soft, whickering sort of noise and nudges his head cautiously against her hand. There is no flash of magic, no cry of pain. He does it again. Her fingers fist suddenly into his feathers, pulling him towards her.

He squawks, alarmed, then relaxes as she presses her face into the soft down of his back and sobs.

-----

Late one night, Astarion tracks a deer through the woods. They're difficulty prey, jumpy and skittish, but his steps are light, an almost inaudible tread. And they have quite a lot of blood in them. The hunger gnaws at his stomach and his red eyes gleam in the moonlight.

Just a little closer...

His boot knocks against an ill-placed stone, barely a rustle of sound but enough. The deer lifts its head and gives a keening cry, and bolts.

"Oh-- damn it," he mutters, straightening out of his crouched position. His fingers flex with undirected frustration and he leans heavily against a nearby tree. "Damn, damn, damn." What a feast that would have been... the local squirrel population has been decent, but deer is something else entirely. One of his favorites, second only to the kobolds and, of course, the one pure draught he got from Hector's throat...

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of an animal squealing in abject pain, a ripping, tearing noise of wet meat - and then a soft chirp. He looks down, puzzled.

Buddy is sitting looking up at him with bright, wide eyes. His beak is coated in blood, and he bounces in an excited circle around Astarion's feet before guiding him through the foliage nearby. The deer sits sprawled on the mossy ground, its head bent at an odd angle.

"Huh." Astarion raises his eyebrows, examining the gory tableau. His stomach growls audibly at the glinting shine of wet blood at the deer's throat. "Not badly done. I didn't think I was in the market for a hunting partner, but perhaps we should work together more often."

Buddy wiggles all over with excitement and butts his head against Astarion's leg.

"Yes, yes, you're very cute. Now stay out of the way and let me drain this thing before you start looking tasty as well."

-------

"No!" Minsc bellows, looking down at the cub imperiously. "You will stand aside, beast; though your talons be very sharp and your beak to match, Minsc will bear each scratch before you shall lay one claw upon Boo!"

Buddy cowers back, his eyes very wide and all his feathers standing up, as the berserker towers over him. Boo sits atop Minsc's head and squeaks angrily down at the cub from his perch.

"Minsc!" Jaheira steps in between them, raising one hand before Minsc can speak again. "Calm yourself. I heard you all the way across the camp. What is the matter?"

"Minsc woke to find the little feather-beast eyeing Boo with the hungriest of eyes," Minsc says fiercely. "Does he think Boo a little snack to be feasted upon?!"

"No doubt," Jaheira says calmly, struggling not to smile; Minsc is obviously incensed, and yet there is something comical in seeing him stare down the little round ball of feathers with such ferocity. "For he is a beast of nature; why should he know otherwise?"

"Well, he shall not have him!"

"Peace." Jaheira crouches next to the owlbear, murmurs a spell under her breath; green light flares around her body. "Do you hear me, cub?" she murmurs.

Buddy goes very still; his feathers flatten out and he stares at her with wide eyes. "You... speak?" he whispers.

"With all the wisdom that nature gave me." She smiles, reaches out to scratch him under the chin. "You must leave the hamster alone. For he is Minsc's to protect, as you are Hector's."

The cub chirrups skeptically. "Rat. Tasty," he points out.

"There is no shortage of rats in the city," Jaheira says dryly. "We shall find you other meat. But you must promise to leave Boo in safety."

Buddy makes a soft grumbling noise. "All right. Promise," he mumbles.

Jaheira looks up at Minsc, her eyes glinting with amusement. "The bargain is made," she says soberly.

"Ah." Minsc brightens up at once and grins. "Good. Minsc did not want to kick such a little, cute butt, if there was any helping it."

Buddy trots along at Jaheira's side as she walks away; his sharp little eyes peer up at her excitedly. "You speak. New Mother?" he asks hopefully.

"Gods. No," Jaheira sputters. "I am no more your mother than I am Minsc's Wychlaran; where does everyone get these ideas?"

Buddy's ears turn down. "Just hoped."

She pauses, then smiles faintly. "I may not be your mother, cub, but I think you have a whole camp full of family. As creatures of the wilderness go, you have it made."

-----

Withers examines the cub closely as it creeps around the edge of the camp, watching him from the shadows. "I offer no threat to thee, little beast," the skeleton intones gravely. "Thou hast no need of secrecy."

Buddy chirps. Emerging from the shadows, he sits at Withers' feet, looking up at him.

Withers' expression does not shift. "Indeed," he murmurs. "A creature without mooring. Untethered and yet bound. A matter of luck... or of fate."

Buddy tips his head slowly to one side.

"Thou art a pillar, upon which is built the lever which shall move the world." The faintest hint of a smile twists the skeleton's lips. "And yet thou knowest it not. This is as it should be. By such truths does all remain in balance."

[blackjackkent]

"So here's a question for you," Karlach says to Hector as they walk out of the Stormshore Tabernacle.

"Hm?" Hector says distractedly, his thoughts still on Gale's encounter with Mystra.

"Would you sleep with Selune?"

Hector is startled entirely out of his preoccupation and blinks at her rapidly. "Excuse me?"

She grins at his reaction. "Gale slept with Mystra, right? A whole lot, the way he tells it. So I'm just wondering. If Selune offered you the chance to shack up, would you take it?"

"Uh." Hector clears his throat; he isn't sure whether to blush, laugh, or look around for a moonbeam to drop and smite them off the street. "Is this you fishing for a compliment?" he finally asks with a hint of amusement. "About how I wouldn't even think about it when I have you?"

"No." She chuckles. "Though that's very sweet of you. But I'm serious. Selune. Smash or pass?"

"You are--" He's definitely laughing now, and at the same time trying very hard not to, leading to a sort of wheezing exhale, his fist pressed to his mouth. "You can't just ask a question like that! She's the Moonmaiden!"

"So? Mystra's got the whole Weave to look after, and that doesn't seem to have stopped her from wanting to grease Gale's quarterstaff, if you know what I mean." Karlach is grinning from ear to ear, fully enjoying his discomfiture.

"Gods..." Hector runs a hand down his face, struggling to force his face back to something resembling composure. "No, I would not sleep with Selune, given the chance."

Karlach puts her hands around her mouth and lowers her voice an octave, mimicking a divine boom from the heavens. "WHAT? WHY NOT, HECTOR CARLISLE? AM I NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU?"

Hector gives her a light punch in the shoulder. "Stop it, you."

She snickers. "ALL BEHOLD THIS MORTAL WHO WOULD RATHER SOME PUNY TIEFLING THAN THE GODDESS OF MOONLIGHT!"

"Gah!" Laughing, he tackles her around the midriff, wrapping his arms around her and knocking her gently against a nearby wall.

She bursts out into a fit of giggling, dropping her arms down to his shoulders. "Ahhh-- you got me. Chastised good and proper, I am."

"I should hope so." He's still grinning in spite of himself as he looks up at her. "Selune stands far beyond me, and it's better that way; I'm not sure anything Mystra offered Gale was good for him in the end. And I would much rather have the Moonmaiden's blessing than her love."

He pauses, then tugs the collar of her armor gently until she leans forward and he can press a kiss against her lips. "But it's true, anyway - I don't need a goddess when I have you."

[blackjackkent]

Based on a conversation with @doriangaymer in my Discord server. XD

[blackjackkent]

Hector Carlisle / Rakha the Dark Urge

[blackjackkent]

Ask prompt fill for @jennycalendar for this ask meme: Major Arcana Tarot Prompts Jaheira + The Chariot (Control, willpower, success, action, determination) Ty for the prompt! <3 This one's a little stream of consciousness but I enjoyed writing it. c:

-----

He is alive.

The thought rings like a bell inside Jaheira’s head, a cold clear burst. He is alive. He is alive. He is alive.

She watches Minsc curl his battered body into itself on the floor of the sewers, pulling his arms underneath him, struggling for balance, for strength. His face is darkened with bruises from Hector’s fists, lined with the scores from her own wildshaped claws. His eyes are half-closed and his breathing labored; any sane man would collapse under the beating he has taken. 

But she knows him. Minsc will rise, and rise, and rise.

“He won’t stay down for long!” she cries out.

The relief in her is like a taste of madness, a snapping free of impossible tension. For months, she has traveled in curse-laden darkness chasing the Absolutists, but in truth she did not believe it could be for anything more than vengeance. Surely Minsc was dead long since, dead in that terrible hole he forced her to leave him in; there was nothing left to her but to see that those who killed her old friend might suffer for it.

She never dared to believe, until this moment, that she might be wrong.

He is alive. He is alive. He is alive. They have poisoned and stolen him but he can still be saved. 

She rounds on Hector, for a moment unheeding of the solicitousness in her own expression. Everything - dignity, decorum, self-control - falls away in favor of the precipitate need. They must not have him a moment longer. 

“Tell your illithid to protect him from the elder brain’s influence. Quickly!” she barks.

Hector nods, his fingers white-knuckling as he grips the Prism with both hands. A muscle works in his jaw and his eyes roll back in his head.

She looks down at Minsc, her pulse thumping in her temple like hammer blows. The muscles in his back are twitching with strain as he balances on knees and fists. 

She has fought at his side so many times, for so many years; she knows every line of him, every quirk of movement, with more detail than she has ever known anyone short of a lover. She knows the twist of weight that will bring him onto his feet, a slight favoring of the left knee over the right - not because of the scar wound on the outside of his thigh, but because he will pivot the great bulk of his weight and lash out a kick like a greathammer. 

And she knows the madness in his eyes, too. She has seen that flat blank rage sparked by a thousand righteous causes, rising to beat back evil at every turn. But here it is corrupted and wrong, turned against the good by the machinations of the evil. Turned against her.

“Hector!” she snaps.

Hector’s head jerks slightly. His eyes work violently under their lids and his breath hitches with a low groan of effort. Jaheira’s jaw tightens and her eyes go narrow as she realizes what is going on.

The illithid is fighting back. Of course it is. What use will it see in Minsc, a thrall already corrupted by the Absolute’s taint? What use will it see in saving him purely on the basis of her friendship? It is a brutal, cold, pragmatic thing, and it will rebel against such fickle sentimentality. It will try to convince Hector to leave Minsc behind, that he is worthless, dead mad weight.

But if Minsc is allowed to rise, he will keep fighting. And after everything - after the illithids and the shadowlands, after the road and the city, after the grief and the anger and the terrible lonely pain… she will be forced to kill him.

Everything in her rebels at the thought. No. Not here. Not ever. I will die myself first.

 “The mind flayer pours poison in your ear, I think.” Her voice is all of a sudden very slow and very cold.

Hector’s eyes open to slits and his fingers flex on the Prism’s surface. His head jerks in a slight nod. 

Minsc’s head lifts; he makes a wordless noise of rage and pain and Jaheira feels something twist and snap inside her heart. No, my friend. No, I will not leave you behind, illithid be damned. We will both die here in the heart of this cess-pit before I will turn my back on you again.

She meets Hector’s agitated gaze squarely, looking past his eyes to the monstrous creature battling inside his mind. “Tell it,” she growls, “I will tear the Prism from your grasp and throw it in the deepest lava pit I can find!” Her fists clench at her sides. “Long after our bones are dust and ash, the walls of its prison will still be burning!”

She means it, too. Perhaps in a moment, she will not, because of course it would be to doom everything… but as the words emerge from her, they are a statement of absolute fact, bitter determination from a woman who has been hurt too much.

Her voice lifts, echoing weirdly in the waterlogged sewer cavern. “NOW HELP MY FRIEND!”

Almost in time with her words, Minsc finally gains his feet and roars like an animal.

“Jaheira--” he bellows, towering over Hector’s slighter frame. “You KILLED HER!”

And they are the same in that moment, Jaheira and Minsc - two wounded creatures each ready to rend the world apart for the threat of the other’s death. They have lost so much and hurt so terribly, and they cannot bear it, not again, not again, not again--

“You are being dramatic,” she says softly, a hint of bitter humor in the words even in this moment of terrible strain. I am here, my friend. Whatever happens… I am here at your side. And her words catch him, draw him back a fraction of a step as he turns and looks at her with puzzlement poking through the rage.

Hector’s eyes open and his grip on the Prism loosens, and there’s a whipcrack of power through the air that even Jaheira, with no worm in her skull, can feel. Minsc’s head snaps backwards and he cries out, his dark eyes rolling to show the whites; staggering, he rocks back on his heels, clutching at his temple.

Relief floods through her, carrying with it a wave of exhaustion so deep it is almost painful. It’s over, she realizes. It’s over. The illithid gave in. The battle is won. He is alive, and he is safe.

She can see the moment where the terrible blankness fades from him, where her old friend looks out of his own eyes again. And so she’s able to laugh, just a little, when he turns and looks at her, the Stone Lord’s calm replaced with the befuddled good humor that she knows all too well.

“Jaheira?” he mumbles unsteadily. “I… do not understand.”

“Good.” She chuckles low in her throat and reaches out to rest a hand on his forearm, real and warm and solid as an oak. “That means you are back to your old ways.”

[blackjackkent]

Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap, MAJOR DEVELOPMENT that I only FIGURED OUT because I am a FUCKING NERD.

Maybe this is common knowledge in the fandom, but it seems like maybe it might not be, but either way my little nerd brain is so happy right now.

OK, so Hector and co. are wandering around the Emperor's old Knights of the Shield hideout, right? And wandering into the main hidden room, a few (mostly inconsequential-seeming) items cropped up with perception checks which the Emperor had comments about:

Then, on examining a painting on the wall:

And then, an INCREDIBLY INTERESTING LITTLE DETAIL, which triggered when Hector picked up a random spoon on a table:

This sounds like I'm joking, but I'm actually not. This is an INCREDIBLY DEEP CUT Baldur's Gate 1 reference, which I would absolutely not have even picked up on myself if I had not literally JUST looked at part of my BG1 liveblog this morning, because I was revisiting Caden's doppelganger encounters to compare them to Hector's.

The butter knife in question is an item that you can find in Baldur's Gate 1 on the werewolf island. One of the things Caden had to do while shipwrecked there (in between crushing on the local werewolf lady) was break into another old shipwreck which had belonged to Balduran, a legendary explorer and trader who is the namesake of the city of Baldur's Gate.

And within that shipwreck, guess what Caden found?

Incredible. Holy shit.

The Emperor was fucking BALDURAN before he got mind-flayered????????

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WELL THAT IS A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT

I fucking love that this is just randomly slotted in here to reward anyone who happened to pick up on the connection and just blow the case wide open. And I love that it's secreted in here among a bunch of other similarly inconsequential-seeming stuff so that it would seem completely unimportant to anyone who didn't make the leap.

This game is so good. And I am a huge nerd and enjoying this so much holy crap.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[blackjackkent]

Jaheira's office does indeed look completely overgrown, which is apropos to be honest.

There's several notes in here from various people regarding her investigations into the cult and the shadowlands prior to her departure to Last Light. Also a note from the Flaming Fist indicating that Rion and Jord have been helping to "settle street disputes" in a fashion the Fist disapproves of, and a clipping from the Baldur's Mouth Gazette relating to the Beloved Ranger statue (which was actually Minsc) disappearing.

There's a button operated by the pin Tate gave us on the side of her desk; it opens a pathway down into "Jaheira's Hideout" beneath the house.

Whoa.

There are quite a number of these traps set up. The Narrator informs us, on a passed arcana check, that these are attuned to the druid who set them - Jaheira - but that they can be overwhelmed by being hit with the same element.

I trust you implicitly, Jaheira, and also I can't figure out what pressure plate you're talking about. So I hope you're right. XD

At the bottom of the hill is... well, a sort of paradise.

A gorgeous green lagoon rounded with trees and plants and a run-down but sturdy house of wood and thatch. Next to it is a badger, labeled "Postmaster Badger", and several "Messenger Rats."

"The only patch of wilderness this city permits me," Jaheira says wistfully. "There ought to be supplies here to aid us."

"You know this place, Boo?" Minsc says indignantly. "Hmph. Minsc has never been invited."

Everything inside the house is trapped. XD I quicksaved aggressively while disarming everything because I was very afraid of exploding Jaheira's sanctuary by accident.

In disarming the traps, Hector finds a hidden door behind a bookshelf.

Jaheira reaches out and puts a hand on his arm before he can proceed. "Keen eye," she says quietly. "But if it's supplies you seek, weapons to aid in our fight - you won't find them behind that door." He can hear a sudden effort in her voice, one he knows all too well - the struggle against sudden emotion. "There is nothing back there of worth to anyone but me."

Hector looks at her thoughtfully. His curiosity is piqued, certainly, and it is a powerful force on its own - but more than that, he has been fascinated, over this past hour or so, at seeing beneath the brittle shell that Jaheira always presents to the world. "If it matters to you, it matters to me," he says earnestly.

She looks away from him, her eyes flicking rapidly around the room. "On my word," she mutters. "All you will find inside is dust, and the mouldering keepsakes of a much younger woman."

"Jaheira," Minsc rumbles gently. "Our friend has put their trust in us. Boo thinks it only right to return the gesture, no?"

For a moment, Hector thinks she is going to lash out, defensive-- but then she hesitates, and smiles ruefully. "You so rarely make a habit of being right, ranger, that it puts me ill at ease when you are." She sighs, looks back to Hector and nods. "Pass, then. Go on. See what it is a foolish old Harper thinks worth hiding away."

Hector holds himself still for a moment, giving her the chance to change her mind. He is curious, and he welcomes the chance to connect with her here-- but he will not push where he isn't wanted.

When she doesn't object, he leans over and pushes the bookcase aside.

It's an unassuming little area, really - no more than a dirt cave behind the house. A large chest, several display cases and crates and a table covered in scrolls.

-----

The table first, and the scroll on it:

"Rite of the Timeless Body," Hector says thoughtfully. "What's that about? I'd best ask Jaheira."

"I found a strange scroll in your sanctuary. Something about a 'timeless body'?"

She snorts. "The threat of spanking never kept the children from poking through my things. Why should it deter you." She glances at the paper on the table. "It is... a ritual. Or it describes one at least. Practiced by druids of certain esoteric circles. If they be learned and powerful enough, the practitioner of this ritual might slow their aging, extend their life well beyond its natural reach. In greener days, I might have been strong enough to do it. I might be yet, with the right preparations."

Hector blinks. "So you plan to do it?"

Jaheira hesitates, shrugs. "I make no plans. Only... contingencies." She scowls, seeing the expression on his face. "Do not look at me like that. I have been content to see the span of my natural years - a privilege far too few in this world can claim. I do not speak of clinging to life for its own sake. I just... look back on that life's work and I wonder... is it done?"

She lets out a heavy breath and leans against the wall of the building behind them. "The Dead Three plague the world still. The city still falls prey to small minds like Gortash or lost souls like Orin. It is every Harper's hope to be a light that drives out darkness. But I've lived long enough to see so many of those lights burn out, while the shadows cling stubbornly on. Knowing that, isn't it our duty to burn on if we can? To fight for as long as we are able?"

Karlach gives a sudden, sharp laugh at Hector's side. "You're preaching to the doomed choir, ma'am," she says sardonically.

Jaheira smiles sadly. "You've done more than your share of fighting already, Karlach," she says. "If there is one person I would trust to make the most of a longer life, it is you."

Hector knows he shouldn't ask, he knows it isn't fair with Karlach standing right there to hear him... but the words slip out anyway. "Would you live on at any cost?" he asks.

She quirks an eyebrow at him. "In truth, I had put this ritual from my mind - until Last Light. Trapped in that darkness, I turned to my research again. What if I was a little stronger? As fast as I once had been?" She shrugs. "Then you came, and made the question moot. But I kept this. Just in case, I told myself. A final resort. Perhaps you were not the savior you seemed. I had learned better than to think of life as some simple tale, after all. There is no guarantee of happy endings, or true heroes."

She looks at him thoughtfully for a moment before going on. "I believe that still. But when I look on all we have achieved since, I wonder... perhaps it is not heroes we need. Only people who are willing to try. I do not know what manner of story that makes. But I do know that, without an ending, it would be no story at all." She gives a short, sharp nod. "So I will accept mine, when and however it comes. As for this city's story, well..." She grins suddenly, pockets the scroll. "Well, that is entirely your problem now, cub."

He smiles slightly. "I'm honored you think of me that way."

"Hah. Do not thank me for slinging a weight around your neck," she says dryly. "I might start to feel bad." She huffs out a breath and shakes her head. "I do mean what I say - but I am also a Harper. In every honeyed word, there is a hook. But I do not plan on going anywhere just yet."

She pauses, and then grins with gallows humor. "And besides, you still have a tadpole in your skull. You are almost certainly going to die first."

Hector doesn't really think that's particularly funny.

-----

(A/N: Time for some incredibly self-indulgent headcanon - in this worldstate and in my particular headcanons for Jaheira post-BG2, you cannot convince me that she didn't obtain the information on that ritual partially for Rasaad, knowing she was going to outlive him by a century and not wanting to face losing another man she loved. Though I think the more altruistic explanations for her wanting it still also applied. (And perhaps Rasaad wouldn't have accepted it anyway even if she'd been able to figure it out.) She does say she put it aside for quite a while, until Last Light. Probably after Rasaad died.)

-----

Throwbacks!

There are two Very Rare quality weapons in the chest opposite the table:

This is a scimitar first found in a haybale near the Druid's Grove outside Trademeet, in Baldur's Gate 2.

This staff is obtained in Watcher's Keep in the Throne of Bhaal expansion. Caden (to my recollection) never went there during my playthrough, but that doesn't mean he didn't while I wasn't paying attention. ;) Cespenar also apparently can upgrade it in the pocket plane.

I miss Cespenar. I hope he's doing well.

-----

Finally, at the back of the room is a slightly dusty-looking display case.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Aw man, c'mon, I just teared up. You can't hit me with a throwback like that and expect me to remain normal.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

This is the necklace that Khalid makes for Jaheira (if you help him) in the Siege of Dragonspear expansion between BG1 and BG2. He was incredibly cute about it and talked about how he declared his love for her for the first time. SHE was incredibly cute about it and talked about how lucky she was to have him. The item description was also incredibly cute and talked about how just wearing it revitalized her.

HNNNNGNNNGHHHH I NEED TO GO LIE DOWN.

*quiet wailing*

We can ask her about it further, too.

"About that amulet I found in your house..."

"Oh dear," she says, looking at him warily. "Should I brace myself for some fashion advice?"

She pauses, then sighs. "But I suppose you have earned better than glibness from me. It was a gift from my husband, Khalid."

He can hear the emotion that rockets through her with the single word. He is sure he sounds much the same when he speaks of Karlach.

"He was a Harper," she goes on. Her expression grows distant, lost in memory. "A better one than me, truth be told. Any idiot can swing a sword. But to believe in the cause, with the whole of your heart? A much trickier thing."

She draws a breath and lets it out shakily. "He died. Alone, in pain, and far too young. Murdered by a mage who craved immortality." A muscle works in her cheek. "I'll not grant it by naming him in the same breath as my husband."

[HISTORY] Recall what you know of Khalid.

Narrator: The quiet, unassuming shadow to Jaheira's strength, Khalid was another warrior who helped end the Bhaalspawn crisis. Shortly after, he was murdered by the mad mage Jon Irenicus.

Hector and Jaheira have spoken of this a little before. Jaheira first mentioned him in the context of Karlach's engine, and the impending similar loss that Hector faces himself. In that moment, and in this one, he felt and feels a sudden deep surge of connection with her, a terrible bond that steadies and reassures him even if he wishes neither of them had to bear it. He is not alone, and neither is she. He hopes his presence gives her similar solace.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I hope I didn't bring up any bad memories."

She smiles weakly. "Nothing that wasn't already there, fear not," she says. "But I've lived many lifetimes since Khalid died. You, ah..." She trails off before the slight shiver in her voice can take root and blossom into tears. "You twine your life around the people you love. And when they are gone, you grow around their absence instead. It is just another way they shape you..."

She swallows, then goes on suddenly louder, faster-- "Which is my sage way of saying... I am in no danger of forgetting how my husband died. But I choose to remember how he lived."

(A/N: God, the writing in this game is gorgeous.)

Hector wonders, briefly, what Karlach thinks of this conversation, but he does not dare to look at her, or that same emotion will rise into his own throat and choke him. Instead, he focuses on Jaheira, listening intently. I choose to remember how he lived. "Tell me something about him no one else knows," he says, tone deliberately light.

She gives a slight laugh. "Most Harpers swagger and flash their feathers to catch your attention. Khalid was of a quieter sort," she says. "I have never known a warrior who would go so far out of his way to avoid a fight. Which meant the few he chose were usually the right ones." She pauses, and then laughs again, shakier this time. "And when we were married... on an upturned cart in the rainy Dalelands... he stammered so much, I've never been sure if our vows actually counted."

Hector smiles. "You seem an odd pairing," he says, gently teasing.

Her eyes narrow, taking on a sudden almost playful air. "The druid in me would like to say it was a thing of balance. The younger woman recalls rather more about a fine bottom-- and the habit not to speak unless he had something to say."

This comment is so unexpected that it startles a laugh out of Hector - and he's relieved to hear Karlach laughing too, behind him. Jaheira looks rather pleased with herself at the reaction.

"The songs make much of Khalid's meekness," she goes on after a little while, more seriously. "The quiet little Harper who had to keep a tight hold on his courage. But he had it when it counted. And more than that-- he had compassion. When you live a Harper's life, see all that a Harper sees, that is by far the harder thing to hold onto."

She looks down at the aquamarine pendant in her hands, then slips it around her neck. "But a bard can tell you all the rest," she says, turning away. "As for all the things they cannot... well. I shall just have to keep those for myself."

[blackjackkent]

Fresh Meat

Pairing: Karlach/Tav (at end of fic) Characters: Karlach, Florenta the Garroter, Custom Male Tav (Hector Carlisle) Rating: G Warnings: Dark Themes Descriptors: Flashback, Military Backstory, Dark, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Happy/Bittersweet Ending Chapter Word Count: 2.2k Chapter Setting: Ten years pre-game, then early Act 3

Summary: 

Memories of a young Karlach's first days in Zariel's army.

This fic is a character study investigation of some of Karlach's experiences in Avernus, inspired by this gorgeous and devastating piece of art by @featherwurm. Please go check them out; their Karlach-related art is some of my favorite in the fandom. <3

The ending of the fic is also a response to a prompt from @astreamofstars from this ask meme.

read on ao3 | send me fic requests!

-----

Sweat trickles down her spine, pools at the base of her neck. It's so fucking hot in Avernus, like being buried in the depths of a coal fire. It matches the burning in her chest, the boiling in her guts. She fidgets her weight from one leg to the other, back and forth, as if that’d somehow ease the volcanic pressure behind each pneumatic pulse of molten blood in her veins. 

“I said ATTENTION!” Legate Jastor pauses in his inspection of his troops and halts in front of her, bellowing in her face. The pit fiend’s pale red eyes are filled with disdainful loathing. “I don't care if you’re Zariel's new pet, Cliffgate; you'll hold still when you're told!” He lifts a hand and cuffs her in a vicious backhand slap across the face. 

She squeezes her eyes shut, forcing herself not to react to the pain. Easier than it should be, really, because everything else hurts too. Her chest hurts and her head hurts. The exhaust vents along her shoulders burn with searing chemical heat. The bruising sting of the slap disappears, swallowed up by the inferno. 

“Yes, sir,” she grinds out. 

This isn't real, some part of her brain still stubbornly insists. No fucking way this is real. I'm dreaming. Gonna wake up any second and go see Gortash and laugh - hey, boss, you'll never guess the shit I dreamed you did to me!

It can't be real, that he betrayed her, after everything they've been through together. It can't be real that she’s on another plane in the fires of the Hells themselves. It can't be real that she met the Archdevil of Avernus, and the bitch cut out her heart.

It can't be real. It can't be real. It can't be real. It's not real. 

She opens her eyes again and stares into Jastor's smirking, grotesque face. His breath stinks of brimstone as he laughs. “Fidgety little fuck, aren't you, Dart? We'll fix that soon enough.”

Read More on AO3

[blackjackkent]

@suntiger745 requested:

The scene on the duergar boat when going to Grymforge, where the PC does a badass sidelook/over the shoulder look, but shirtless. Then show it to Karlach. Maybe Shadowheart or Gale makes a minor illusion if the moment. Unless Karlach was on the boat. :)

Karlach very much appreciates the view. ;)

[blackjackkent]

I had to put this together because it's been living rent-free in my head ever since I saw this post the other day. I feel like this is absolutely a conversation they have had at some point. XD