#hes a sorcerer and he loves to terrorize gale

[coyoats]

More of they

[spacebarbarianweird]

request for draconic sorcerer! tav x astarion headcanons!!! draconic sorcerers are so fun bc you can mess around with the idea of draconic instincts while also getting cool magic B)

Damn, I even didn't know such things existed! Now I want to play as Draconic Soreceress, too!

Draconic bloodline sorcerers are those practitioners of the arcane arts who have some biological connection with dragons, either through their own relations or those of their forebears.

Wiki

Astarion x Draconic Sorcerer!Tav

Masterlist

Headcanons

There is fire in your veins and scales along your body.

With a draconic bloodline, there is a skill to speak the Dragon language and to cast fireballs.

Dragon blood calls out to you and you suffer from nightmares.

Of course, you know you can't be turned into a dragon - but your body can be changed beyond recognition if the magic takes upon you.

The tadpole is a blessing - the scales are gone and you don't feel the fire.

Of course, you also can't use your magic. Everybody assumes you are a ranger, whose favored enemy is a dragon.

Astarion doesn't believe you - he tastes dragon fire in your blood and demands you tell the truth.

But he isn't afraid. He loves this "spice" in you.

Besides, once he feeds on you, he can cast much deadlier fireballs than he usually does.

He has his reasons to ascend - you have your reasons to keep the tadpole.

The dragon's ancestry scares you, You know it waits and who knows what will happen once the tadpole is gone.

In your nightmares, you transform into a beast. In your nightmares, you yell in pain and terror.

And only Astarion's cold hands can soothe you.

Astarion assures you there is a way to control your powers and, for a brief moment, you believe him.

Astarion refuses to ascend and you refuse to engage with Mindflayers.

The tadpoles are gone.

Astarion cries in pain and disappears into the shadows.

But you...

Your worst nightmare comes to life.

The scales return on your cheeks and hands, red and soft.

The draconic wings burst out of your back, the nails transform into claws.

The pain is so unbearable you want to die.

Before anyone manages to help you, you rush to the dungeons.

Maybe Gale or Wyll would know what to do, but you can't think straight because of pain.

You hide in the Underdark, trying to get as far as possible from sentient beings.

You are going to be a monster, who lives in some dark cave, slowly losing her humanity and sanity.

"I suppose it's not the best days in our lives", you suddenly hear a familiar voice weeks later. "But next time, do me a favor and slow down."

You hide.

You can't let Astarion see you like that.

Let him remember you as you were. Besides, you haven't seen your reflection, you don't know how bad this is."

He doesn't insist. But he also doesn't leave. He makes a campfire and waits.

The loneliness finally is too much and you step from the shadows.

Astarion is very bad at hiding his emotions.

There is shock.

Fear.

Remorse.

But before you escape, he grabs your hand with his newfound vampiric strength.

Scales. Claws. Sharp teeth.

"Well, no tail. Pity - it has always amused me how many things tieflings and dragonborns can do with them."

But most importantly - wings!

A pair of amazing, draconic wings growing off your back.

"Can you fly?" he asks, studying them like an artist.

"I-I don't know-"

"Well, we should find out then. Dragons aren't supposed to live in dungeons. Maybe they are, but not you."

You cry in his hands as he lulls you to sleep.

Once you return to the surface, Astarion finds a mirror for you, and while you stare at your body with disgust, he caresses your skin with his cold fingers, calling you a demi-goddess.

He sews your dresses to highlight your red scales.

He asks you to pierce his skin with your claws when you have sex because it's a pleasant pain like no other.

He adores your wings.

When you hug, they cover you both with a cape.

It's difficult for you to sleep on your back, so you develop a habit of lying on the Astarion's chest, covering you both with the wings.

Even years later, you still have body image issues - the draconic magic went nuts on you, and other sorcerers are just shocked to see what has become of you.

But Astarion has none of this. You are one of a kind. The most gorgeous woman he has ever met.

He also encourages you to learn how to fly - you can't do it for a long time but still can, and every time you are back, he looks at you with adoration.

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui

[wrightingdungeon]

What about a literal kid, 10-ish or something YO, Tav(or Durge) that is really really strong?. Obviusly not the leader of the group. What would the gang reaction to meeting them.

Maybe a sorcerer, a warlock or a rogue?

Absolutely love this ask thank you for giving me the ability to terrorize the BG3 cast

Ankle Biter Durge 100000000% my friend, I am going the redemption route and rouge for this little shit. Reminds me of my Chucky Durge I made, but baby-sized and a chance at redemption

Warning: Cursing, blood, violent little Chucky child, killing the goblin kids, A little fluff

Astarion: Waking up from his meditation/sleep to go feast he blinked, rubbing his eyes. There in front of him stood the small child Durge that they had adopted, covered in blood, holding out a dead rabbit to him. “I saw you like blood too mister Astarion.” The child spoke to him with the innocence of a child but their face held the smile of a mad man. “O-Oh… Thank you, Darling…” He said slowly taking the rabbit in a pinch hold. “Good night Mister Astarion.” Astarion sighed and got up. “Let's get you cleaned first, you… little killer you.” He said with a soft chuckle remembering he was traveling with a pack of weirdos. After helping the child clean off and tucking them into their bed roll ensuring they fell asleep. Astarion snuck off into the night, only one thought in his mind: this had to be normal… Right?

Gale: The group had been ambushed by Gnolls, Gale guarding Durge with himself as they stood back. As a Gnoll approached them Gale cast a fog cloud so he could get the child out of the fight safely. Turning to grab the child and run, he gasped seeing they were gone, they had been right there! They were holding his robes! Hearing the Gnoll right behind him he turned knowing it was too close for him to defend, bracing for the attack. Crazed giggles started to ring out over the Gnoll’s growls, yelps, howls, and screams of pain rang out from the fog. Gale dropped concentration on the cloud, gasping as he saw the tiny Durge making minced meat of the Gnoll, the manic giggles had come from the child. “Durge, Durge!” Gale yelled pulling the child back from the corpse. “He almost got you Mister Wizard!” Gale was touched the child wanted to save him, but looking at the mangled Gnoll he couldn't help but feel fear.

Halsin: He loved every child he did, but the Child who came with the Adventuring Party…. That wasnt a child. He was shocked to see a child walk into the cells with the adults at first pitying the child for being dragged into such a dangerous place by so many irresponsible adults. When the child started crying about the Goblins “Hurting the Fuzzy Bear.” He couldn't stand it anymore, breaking out of his cell so he could take the child back to the grove where they would be safe. As he fought he saw from the corner of his eye, that the children goblins were running away screaming for help, but Durge followed them. His eyes widened as Durge jumped on one child's back slitting their throat before jumping to the other and tackling them to the ground. He had to turn back to his fight at hand, but after the smoke cleared he held his mouth looking at the butchered bodies of the two goblin children. “They almost got away!” The giggles he heard made his blood run ice cold, no, that wasnt a child at all.

Karlach: Sighing a sigh of relive able to make “The Blade of Frontiers” Wyll to see she wasnt a demon, just a tiefling. She looked at the rest of the group her eyes landing on a small child hidden behind Wyll. “Well hello, their little one.” She said smiling and waving at the child. “Hey, there are Paladins of Tyr nearby, they are hunting me.” She said looking down at the kid. “I don't want them getting hurt.” She was confused when the group didn't seem to hold the same worries. She learned fast though, yelling at Anders no one had noticed the child climb to the loft watching the arguing from above. When it started to get heated Karlach was shocked when the little Durge dropped down attaching themselves to Ander's head and stabbing him over and over squealing like they were playing a child's game. After the fight and blowing off some steam, she looked over chuckling watching the child running the dead's pockets. She couldn't help but see a memory of her boss from when she was young, the way he would kill them and only take the valuables. It sent a shiver down her spine, but Gortash was the past, no need to sit on that right.

Lae’zel: Looking out from her hiding spot she viewed the surroundings before looking back to Durge. “You can do this, you are a warrior.” She said firmly and pointed out to the sleeping Bugbear. “He is asleep, slit his throat.” She said and watched as the child tiptoed out from their box shield. She watched a feeling of pride washing over her as she remembered her training as a child, and how she was able to train a little warrior of her own, like the general she was meant to be. “Htak'a” She whispered under her breath watching the child raise their blade above their head, smiling as the blade came whistling down slitting the large creature's throat and plunging into his heart, she couldn't be more proud. “Kith'rak! Kith'rak! I did it!” Durge yelled out happily running back to Lae’zel with open arms, stopping the child she patted their head smiling at them. “You did good yank.” She said standing up and pulling her sword out to attack the Goblins that Durge had attracted with their yelling.

Shadowheart: Glaring at the shopkeep she huffed giving up on her haggling. “Ya know what, who wants this stupid armor anyway.” She retorted at the shop-keep grabbing Durges hand and walking away. “Miss Shadow Lady, didn't you want that?” The child asked looking up at Shadowheart with a confused look on their face. “Not for that price in silver.” She said sighing running a few more errands the camp needed to be done before returning to Camp. Waking up she blinked seeing the armor she wanted, a little blood-stained, but sitting next to her bed roll. The whole camp had gotten new armor or weapons like someone cleared out that shop-keeps store. Returning to town a day later, Shadowheart heard that the shopkeep she was haggling with had been robbed and killed in the middle of the night. She couldn't help but notice the little coy smirk placed on the Durge's face, their eyes turning large and puppy-like, their lip jutting out into a pout when they caught Shadowheart looking at them.

Wyll: Hearing his father could be in Waukeen’s rest he helped break down the door and charged inside, leaving Durge with a flaming first outside. Saving Counsellor Florrick he tried to figure out how to get to the man he saw trapped under a large beam. Feeling something bump into him he looked down gasping trying to grab the legs of Durge as they slipped into a hole he couldn't fit in. “Durge! No, get back here!” He called scared to break the door open knowing it would engulf the room in flames. He watched yelling at Durge to come back that it was too dangerous, He groaned as the child ignored him, but was shocked to see the child was able to free the man, using their slingshot to break the other door and escape safely. Running out of the burning building he rushed past the Flaming Fist who was bitching about Wyll’s child biting them and running away. He ran to Durge and picked them up looking them over. “Never do that again!” He scolded them hugging them close. “But I got him out!” Hearing the child whine he chuckled looking at them, not able to argue that they had saved a life today. “Yes you did, you saved someone Durge.”

[weavemasters]

TAV Appreciation Post

Name: Eol'wyn Gender: Female Pronouns: She/Her Race: High Elf Sexuality: Pansexual Age: 104 Height: 5'1'' Hair Color: Auburn Eye Color: Brown Scars/Freckles: Light freckles on her face and shoulders. A small scar on her right cheek, and a larger scar on her jawline. Class: Sorcerer Alignment: Lawful Neutral About:

Eol’wyn, is a sorcerer from a long line of sorcerers. She was born with a strong connection to the weave given her fae ancestry. Her relationship with magic is like her relationship with breathing oxygen. It surrounds her at all times and ebbs and flows (and sometimes explodes out of her with no warning when she’s fighting). She finds comfort in the chaos and has grown comfortable wielding the beautiful but unpredictable weave. The first spell she ever learned was Fiat lux - her mother taught it to her as a small child because she was afraid of the dark. That gentle compassion and using the weave to help others is what inspires Eol’wyn to love magic. When she was younger Eol’wyn served as a magic user with a squad of Harpers as a consultant when traversing the Shadow Cursed lands. They were grossly underprepared and their squad fell to the curse. She watched in horror as nearly every single of the Harpers were taken, twisted, and began to attack each other. In order to survive Eol'wyn had to do the unthinkable and kill them all. Her friends. She was found days later clinging to a weakening light spell, huddled in the hollows of a tree. This experience left her scarred both physically and mentally, leaving her with occasional debilitating and violent night terrors and waking flashbacks. If I had to pick a handful words for her relationship with Gale they would be: Compassion, patience, empathy, and support. She tries to help him see the worth in himself, to support him through his journey, and provide a gentle unconditional love even as she deals with her own personal demons. Act 1, 1.5, & 2 Appearance:

Act 3 Appearance:

RP Rules/Requests:

My DM's are open for RP requests. Please be: Over 18 (Over 25 preferred but I'm flexible) Please provide a screenshot of your TAV and a short biography (if writing your TAV). Please provide a writing example Please be prepared to write at least 1-4 paragraphs, shorter posts are acceptable in certain situations. Please write in 3rd Person, Past tense POV, NO EXCEPTIONS (Ex:"He walked down the road")

Looking for: TAV/TAV or Gale Dekarios

[baldursgrave69]

Finally got time to do this!! Thanks again @sporeservant

Ares, (he/him), Storm Sorcerer

What is their preferred combat style? Ares does love magic, but he gets the most fulfillment from fighting in Slayer form

What is their favorite weapon? His bare hands most certainly

What (or who) would they do anything to save? himself

What (or who) would they do anything to destroy? Orin and anyone who gets in his way

What keeps them up at night? He certainly has nightmares/night terrors and he cannot make them go away unless he kills

What brings them peace? Killing

What is their greatest asset? Ares is extremely intelligent and calculating.

What is their achilles heel? His hubris most certainly

What does their voice sound like? Deep and unsettling

What do they smell like? Ares always slightly smells of copper, but he covers it with bergamot and roses

What do they take pride in? His command of the Weave

How would they spend the last night of their life? He would spend his last night with Astarion

How does someone get on their good side? He doesn’t have one, to be honest

How does someone get on their bad side? Getting in his way

What is the best and worst memory they’ve formed since they escaped the Illithid ship? Best memory was meeting Astarion, worst was when he almost killed him

If they could change their ancestry and choose to live another life, would they? What path would they take? No, Ares takes pride in his life as the most pure Bhaalspawn there ever was.

If they had the option to restore their lost memories, would they? I don’t think he would. He doesn’t care much for his past.

Which companion was the first to learn of their dark urges? How did this individual find out? Astarion most certainly, considering that he was there when Ares cut off Gale’s hand. 

Are they secretive, or open about their dark urges? Why? Ares never tried hiding it. He made sure his companions were aware, though he never mentioned that he wasn’t exactly fighting it.

The Mind of a Murderer: 

Do they succumb to the urge of free will? Yes. Ares doesn’t try to fight it.

What do they gain from taking a life? Ares gains a sense of calm and power. His mind quiets, even if just for a moment and that is worth it.

To their memory, which kill did they most savor? Orin’s death is Ares most proud. 

To their memory, have they ever resisted the urge? Ares only resisted the Urge when it compelled him to kill Astarion. 

To their memory, have they ever regretted taking a life? No. Ares does not have regrets, he does what he feels he has to.

[ryttu3k]

Have a few fun ideas for BG3 Mod Builds! (This one keeps their base classes intact.)

Astarion: Phantom Rogue, Mastermind, or Soulknife Rogue.

Karlach: Fundamental Chaos, Ancestral Guardian, Zealot, or Storm Herald Barbarian.

Wyll: Hexblade Warlock (Basically a Magic Sword Warlock Pact, which he probably should've been from the start)

Shadowheart: Twilight Cleric, Arcana Cleric, or Grave Cleric

Gale: Chronurgy, Bladesinger, or Order of Scribes Wizard

Lae'zel: Echo Knight, Psi Warrior, or Samurai Fighter

Oh daaamn some of these are fun! I really love the idea of Shadowheart as a Twilight cleric of Selûne, too:

"Clerics who serve these deities-examples of which appear on the Twilight Deities table-bring comfort to those who seek rest and protect them by venturing into the encroaching darkness to ensure that the dark is a comfort, not a terror."

Is that not absolutely perfect for her, post-Shar?

And replying to this here as well, since it's on the same topic:

Fun idea: download the Artificer Mod and reclass Gale as an Artificer just after recruitment. (I like to assume the "lore" would be that Mystra cut him off entirely and he had to turn to technology and invention to both satiate the bomb via making magic items, as well as to literally re-forge his connection to magic. However, he finds he has a talent for it, and slowly comes to embrace it. Mystra can't take this from him: this is his talent.)

Oooh. Is that on the official manager yet? The update made the old one go kablooey so I'm rebuilding my library, but honestly that could be fun as hell. I was going to give him some Storm Sorcerer as a more innate form of magic, but Artificer could work really well, too!

For other reclass ideas, Astarion is starting as Thief but will eventually switch to Arcane Trickster as he gets closer to Gale, I'm going to mostly focus on an Eldritch Blast build for Wyll, but also adding in a few levels of Bard for flavour (College of Swords), Karlach is currently Wildheart Barbarian and will be getting two points of Warrior to get Action Surge, Shadowheart will stay as Cleric but will eventually switch to Life domain, and for Lae'zel, I think I'll just keep two levels of Warrior, and for the rest - Open Hand Monk!

[winterwolvesandstarbucks]

{Flashback}

It felt like a tedious evening against the tumultuous onslaught of unabated hunger that jetted through his veins; standing on the cement edge of a gridlock near an upscale residential sector, Bucky steered his grayish-aquamarine irises blearily at the crosswalk sign, trying his utmost to evade the incessant-congested traffic rushing against the powdery snowfall. Amber scones of streetlight glared off brownstone storefront windows that were adorned with scarlet heart-shaped decor-the West Villiage was a hotspot of numerous artisan chocolate shops; he eagerly purchased an overpriced box of Swiss fudge coated strawberries and shredded coconut to ignite a new Valentines tradition with his enchantingly beautiful kitten (kotenok).

He was still learning the ropes on engaging subtle-visceral tactics on the arena of passion; he felt unnervingly out of depth. Tonight was about risking all measures of the heart-indulging on rich chocolate and decadent- the addictive flavor that was infused in the ardent lushness of Selina's pillowy voluminous lips. Nothing ever challenged to those indescribable moments of visceral reverence-freedom that always left a shivery phantom caress over his fusing lips when the beckoning heat intimately captured him into mirroring duel of imploded surrender when the world deafened out against the blinding urgency of breathless tempo.

Clutching the rose paper bag with a rigid of his leather sheathed hand, grudgingly Bucky waited for the intersection's signal light to switch red; the wispy snowflakes powdered over the sleekness of his black leather jacket, became a soothing deterrent in that wake of vigilant contrast. Under his threadbare Dodger's baseball cap, lengthy wolfish chestnut tresses were shaggily disheveled against the icy gales that swept over his jacket. The ambiance of the Upper East Side of Midtown felt viscerally pulsating against the airy snow drifts, a barraging convergence of winter had been encroaching over the eastern horizon as Bucky involuntary felt the proximity of nocturnal apparitions evolving in shadowy backdrops.

The grounds of crime-ridden alleys thrust a grappling wake on undeterred terror; he never evited the valorous impulse to unstoppably gun his enhanced speed when a beckoning scream of mugged victim careened in the airways. He wanted to alter the measure of relevance-humanity-to stake the hellbent spirit of valiant Brooklyn again; he was a destructive-surgically enhanced amnesic; a vermined deviant out of the 'sleeper' ranks of HYDRA. The electronic-convulsive tortures conducted by the parasitic insanity of Armin Zola made him 'damaged goods'-a mechanicalized Siberian wraith agonizingly chastened in the hostile drift to comply with murderous orders of predatory termination.

Uncertainty gripped Bucky when his aquamarine irises flashed stormily with laser-edge intensity that veered on an elderly couple across the street exiting out of a Starbucks, timeless years of prevailing devotion etched in their wrinkled smiles and conveyed in their lagging paces-it wasn't a cheap run of expandable love-they outlasted the battleground of life -that kind of love was damn real.

'Wow..." he murmured throatily, feeling a quirk stretched up his shapely-wide lips."That's really somethin'..." He gnawed on the swell of his raw underlip, hastiness rapt over the hard-edge planes of his stubbled features as he stifled out a vexatious breath, whooshing traffic passed the curbside as he reeled haphazardly back against the cement pole. He didn't want to robotically fix his sniper vision on them like marked down targets, as his bristled jaw fiercely clenched with a dragging breath. Arcs of the blurring headlights of impeded traffic glinted off the vibrainium-alloy plates of his bionic hand that was rebelliously sheathed in motorcycle leather; unbeknownst that soon he would engage a reckoning of a sorcerous onslaught when the ascent of vengeance clashed against his world.

smugness

his fingers feathered down

fusion of their bodies

The vacuous ambiance of the Weirwood estate's stable grounds heralded an unbidden sense of detachment to chase down rebellious momentum of a reined caged spirit. Bordering the Gothic manor were black onyx statues of winged stallions that were mounted like frozen sentinels at iron- gates of the stableyard; runic sigils of Noric mythicism had been visibly etched into the flawless expanse of their reared sculpted chests. A telestic aura veined through each stall-a harvesting implosion of astral energy that spawned a power of ignited reckoning of carious malice.

The prevalent embrace of home-security was tested by measures of expendable trust that achingly rivaled out the insurgency of the breeding ranks. It wasn't a harbor of anchoring serenity to ground her against the ravaging-brazen impulses to race out onto a free road.

Restlessness stemmed bone-deep through her dormant veins as her spaded ears twitched reactively against the whickering turbulence of her captive stablemates-a massively bulked smoky gray Shire, a sleek chestnut Arabian, and an intimidatingly jet-black Friesian mare. Auras of unbridled confusion grudgingly reigned around her with encompassing-constrictive force. Salvaging onto threads of warring restraint, she evicted the stoking urges to echo their grievous cadence. The pulses of soul defiance were beaten out of them until the ranks were throbbingly conditioned to the gravity of submission.

Being rewarded for tolerable compliance was having sugar cubes and slices of apples shoved down her large furred throat. Nevertheless, it was a condemned reality that she braced against every daybreak, trying her utmost to not devolve into a sterilized husk of prized docility. Silvery glints of encroaching morning light caressed over furred splotches of mahogany and stark white alabaster that exquisitely sheathed over the corded muscle of her voluptuous equine form. Her disheveled lustrous tresses sleekly cascaded with draping length over the broad and lithesome curves of her neck.

Among her clamorous ranks, she was an indescribably alluring Gypsy Vanner mare infused with feminine resilience that was delicately evident on the jutted curves of her bulky form. She was a mystifying chimera of Noric legends that was a descendant of the warrior chargers of empyrean realms. There was no revealing protrusion extending out the heaviness of her girth that heartbreakingly detracted from her desirous sirenic beauty-she was temptingly honed with a graceful and silken vitality that fused in every rigid muscle that sculpted her into a treasured prisoner of her viperous keeper who insidiously reeked of arrogance.

Thomas Weirwood was the highborn cavalier of his family's dynasty who embodied a malicious will to claim domination among the elite stations. His cutthroat stakes had prospered on the biding market with truancy of moral regard towards hoarding distinct horse breeds. He relentlessly thirsted to conquer any obstructions to his groundswell of wealth.

Given the secrecy of his aspirations to rule the breeding stocks; no outsider was authorized to breach her veiled proximity without the command of his avaricious intent, Thomas mercilessly stilted her to remain untouchable-off limits- and isolated from trotting out into the frigid gusts that whitened the grounds. Derisively, the mare emitted out a vehement snort and gawkily pivoted on her block-shaped hooves towards a prepared bed of hay, a scarlet blanket had been recently discarded off the wooden gate, no doubt from an irascible neighbor that was coaxingly ushered out of the doors for a morning fill by the newly hired stable boy.

An effective gentleness tactilely jarred her incredulous resolve as her dark bronze irises steered towards the wintry contrast, feeling a perpetual tug ardently burgeoning her stiffened awareness when the virile smokiness of rosewood and mint tantalizingly wavered against the myriads of putrid- odorous stink that nauseously enwreathed her raring senses. With a challenging snort of cool poise, the headstrong gypsy mare began painstakingly to ease herself down with deft precision as her muscled legs with conscious traction braced underneath the largeness of her heavy-set form. With a flex of her long muzzle, she bated grittingly out a breath, a rampant barrage of repulsive urges dredged up an inevitable question that she heatedly murmured out. "Is this how a big girl lives forever?"

Her question remained unanswered in the gloom of her secluded stall. The days passed in a countless blur that she didn't care to count, not until he had arrived. As if her thoughts were being read, her sharp hearing listened to a familiar thumping of footsteps outside of her concealed area. The other stallions and mares reacted with high-pitched neighs and sputtering when the new yet familiar stable-hand entered the stables bearing buckets of treats. "Hey you guys. Miss me?" James smiled as he set the buckets down. The horses' volume increased at his question as if they responded with exuberance and desperation. His heart ached for a number of them he'd become fond of since coming to work for Thomas Weirwood. Dressed in a pair of brown cargo pants and a heavy winter coat. His thick long tresses were combed into a neat bun with a snow cap over his temple. His boots were caked with fresh snow that he dutifully cleaned off before entering the enclosure.

"I know you did. I come bearing gifts. Don't get too eager with them; we're a bit low on stocks till next week," he urged as he began passing apples and sugarcubes between the horses. Many of them neighed and nuzzled his hand with appreciation. Others were too quiet for his liking and wordlessly took the food. They were the ones he worried about, especially once he noticed the telltale signs of abuse or depression due to their unhospitable owner. James never regretted taking a job here for such minimal pay. If his presence here helped these majestic animals even a little bit, it more than made up for the salary. "Hang in there, bud," he said to a comely stallion with a golden mane that reminded him of someone he couldn't place.

Once his eyes focused in on the adjacent area of the main enclosure, he felt a prickle of curiosity when he noticed the unlocked door that Thomas always tended to keep guarded. It was left open, maybe in a hurry the Weirwood forgot to close the pen. James knew he kept his most prized stallions sealed off from the others, but had never been given a chance to see them. How rare were they that they had to be sealed off from the others? It was a cruel thing to do. These horses were living breathing animals, not trophies to be kept on display, and certainly not fragile to be kept inside. At least he hoped not.

Against his better judgment, he decided it was time to see what all the secrecy was about. Picking up a bucket he made his way towards the sealed area.

In the breached instant, she guardingly registered an encroacher invading her forbidden proximity, the enchanting mare wrenched her head up fervently with breakneck reaction, frustratingly she drew out a neigh, with a chagrined effort to steadily lift up the hulking mass of her latent body-a sluggish tumult of rejected hunger was increasingly crippling her mobility. The advancing boot steps of tactical exactness hauntingly distracted her intent when her dark irises fleetingly captured a robotic gleam of metallic cutting through a dense shadow-a beckoning menace that arrested her rapid pulse. "Whoever you are... stay back..." she railed, bitingly in a raspy pitch, thrusting the heft of a feathery white forehoof that fringed viciously against the wooden planks of her gated door. "I'm not playing..."

"Hello?" James paused the moment he entered the gloomy space the moment he heard an aggressive neigh carry out from a closed stall far ahead. The area was dim except for the pale daylight that entered through a single window just above the stall where he could see the shape and shadow of a single horse. His curiosity was replaced by increased awe the moment got a good look at the mare inside. A Gypsy Vanner. Rare and endangered. She was big, but not in an obese sense. Her length and build told of a hidden strength within, accentuated by her majestic beauty; a silky brown coat of mahogany, unblemished by time and weather, generous curves with hard muscle that shimmered in the pale light. What captivated him most was the depth and expression he could see in her brown eyes.

It was daunting and alluring all at once. He found himself staring in open silence with the bucket of apples in his hand and with nothing but a blank mind to guide him in approaching the creature. Questions ran through him the longer he stood. Why was this beautiful creature locked up like this? Where did Mr. Weirwood acquire her from? The question he found himself wondering most was the most simple and crucial. "What is your name?" A lengthy pause followed before he realized the silliness of his question. How could he expect her to respond? She was just a horse…

"I mean...My name is James. Don't worry, I'm a friend." He tried, talking to her with the same level of openness as he did the other horses.

The imploring stretch of his gloved hand bespoke subtle caution as he evidently leaned against the gate, reaching to stroke unkempt tresses of her mane. The intimating flex of delineated cords of muscles grew tauter under his jacket -he showed a reality of an invincible clash of dormant power stoking through his veins-a roguish implosion that ghosted in a stark cadence of his alluring heat that intensely melded in a cool light of his grayish-aquamarine irises as he furrowed assessingly into a taut pinch. She detected a charade of palpable restraint in the variances of his measured footing as his shapely-wide lips quirked up smirkily, he was obviously trying to enforce a solid ground of trust between them.

As the stable boy dared another step against the gate with the approach of evident trust, she felt patent cast of menace radiating off the smooth planes of his boyishly rugged features, that dangerously echoed in his impassive stance. He didn't smell greasy or beer-washed like the other irresponsible workers, the whiff of his masculine scent of heady sandalwood and Irish spring was intoxicatingly familiar that made her senses riot in the fiery wake of reaction.

Unceremoniously with a feverish tracery of throated strain, the elfin mare whickered out a braying -derisive snort, her oval-shaped eyes gleamingly blazed akin to liquid flint as she fixed her unwavering stare on the lush empire apple balancing in the deft clutch of his opened palm as he unerringly brandished a knife. Lunging her thickened neck back, she tellingly revealed a feral snap of her jutted teeth; the stable boy didn't attempt to budge against her unhinged aggressiveness. "Can't you get the damn hint..." She murmured stormily, hammering down a forehoof with bone-fracturing momentum. "I want to be left alone..."

The racking gravity didn't falter between them, James begrudgingly didn't reel back against the powerful thump of her feathered hooves quaking the ground as his rigid stance became invested with measured tack. Quirking his shapely lips into an easy smirk, he drawled back soothingly."Easy there big girl, M' not gonna force ya..." The mare registered the suave pitch that resonated murmurously deep, and with the practiced ease of teasing intent, he shoved the juicy apple back into a pocket of his dark gray hooded parka. "Well, I guess you're not hungry, huh..." he quipped out cockily, readying for an instinctive nudge of her muzzle with an unnerving turn of his back as he pressed his lips taut with rapt disappointment."Too bad it's kinda the last one..."

At first she appeared to ignore his tempting fact if the upturn of her snout was any indication. For a moment it threw him by how stubborn and human it seemed. Horses were known to be cleverly majestic animals that could pick up on human expressions, but Bucky had to wonder if they were always this vivid. As he held the apple in his hand, he looked between the defiant mare and the piece of fruit and shrugged. Maybe Thomas had fed her before he arrived? He really doubted that. "How about I just leave this right here for you." Stepping forward cautiously he placed the apple on top of a stack of hay within reach of the Vanner who watched him closely. "In case you're hungry later," he smiled thinly at her, hoping it would be a start to showing he meant her no harm. The next step involved introductions. "My name is James. I started working here a few weeks ago. Its my job to take care of you...and the others."

The infinite gravity was trust felt ephemerally unnerving, raptly tilting her furred muzzle with dismissive ease of raw coolness, with a rivalrous variance of intimidating traction on her massive block-sized hooves; the vixenish mare gratingly fumed out a heated-scoffing breath. "Lucky you..." A rueful pitch of unbridled snark heatedly chased out a neighing snort; she became maddeningly aware that he wouldn't evade the soul-piercing glint of her dark-brandy irises, she needed to harbor a different tactic as the flavorous scent of the apple he'd effectively placed on the haystack was temptingly revving up warred-uncompromising hunger. "Don't you have someone else to small talk with...?"

James had worked with horses long enough to tell when they were trying to communicate. From the huff of a deep breath, to a pitch of their neighing voice, their messages could be construed as either agreeable, stubborn or hostile. The mare in front of him had stubbornness seeped into her very bones, he knew that to get her to trust him he would have to be a bit stubborn himself. "Can't say I understand what you just said but I'm sure it was lovely," he snarked with his usual brand of wit. "Usually when a pretty dame is trying to get rid of me, she's a little more subtle." he recalled his previous girlfriend, who hadn't been so understanding of his line of work to spend more time take care of animals in need than doting on her every waking moment. A cup of coffee had been thrown at him which effectively ended their relationship. Not that he minded so much that he had been wearing his favorite shirt that day. "Do you mind if I keep you company awhile?" he asked the mare as he eyed a stool close-by. "It'll be awhile till the others will be needing me to dot on em."

Enforcing a reactive semblance of curbed vehemence, stiflingly gypsy mare lowered down her bulkier mass over discarded hay, mirroring him as he dragged out the metal stool with the charming tack of boyish deviousness evident to the etched crow-lines bracketing under the length his roguishly disheveled tresses; she refused to give him a moment in her isolated stall, with instinctive readiness teeming in her voluptuously massive form, painstakingly she thrusted her muzzle, snapping a gripped bite over a putrid blanket that she immediately draped over her widened shoulders, unblinkingly glaring at him twirling a combat knife with conscious fluidly in lethal accord of his gloved bionic figures-pretty impressive. A flitting quirk stretched over her rose-white fur of her equine muzzle as she became hypnotized by the mechanized precision of the glinting steel. Breathily she emitted a snort, angling her larger head up with an unguarded fringe of curiosity.

"Habit of mine," Bucky explained as he continued to twirl the knife between his fingers as if it were an extension of himself. "Been doing it for as long as I can remember. It just helps me to think." There were times he felt as if there was a part of himself that he had yet to discover. Something locked away and hidden in the recesses of oblivion that would one day emerge. It terrified and excited him all at once. Setting the knife down he exhaled deeply, taking a moment to survey the interior of his enclosed part of the stable where this unnamed mare was being kept. Adorned along the walls were a number of common tools used for attending the stall. But what caught his attention were a few framed plaques that depicted horse racing and a beautiful country-side somewhere abroad. "Venice, huh? Or is it Romania? Can't say I've ever been there. But I'm guessing that's where Thomas picked you up, huh?"

Against her tempered chagrin of defensive reaction, edgily the mare's spaded ears unceremoniously twitched as the graveled smokiness of resonance of his Brooklyn drawl arrestingly breached her with a tactful steadiness that was underlying a penetrative urgency that he stowed back- definite echoes of unwarranted-visceral heartache in strained cadence. She didn't know where Thomas had sired-bred her as a young foal; she felt unremittingly abandoned- phantom denizens of cleaved memory became rampant volumes of listless static in warred dregs of possessive detachment.

The rebellious deviance of their barred souls had nakedly become a beckoning force as she unstintingly felt the palpable urge to nudge his denim-clad knee with the taut heaviness of her muzzle. In a headrush effort of telltale fervency was grippingly suffusive, the mare closed the distance between them, and tentatively pushed a wood-trimmed grooming brush towards his threadbare boot, with a ragged-out snort. "Well, at least you can make yourself useful," she murmured, huskily, watching his brows pinch into a tense furrow, knowing that her avaricious raven-haired keeper would never permit it. "I won't tell..."

[yourfavsinbg3]

After a few days of recharging, I'm ready to get back into it.

Broad overview; the default party is:

Lyra, half-drow Light cleric of Selune and main dex user of the default party;

Shadowheart, storm sorcerer/tempest cleric of Shar;

Lae'zel, githyanki battlemaster;

and Wyll, warlock/oath of ancients paladin.

The Recap:

Lyra and Shart recruited Gale and Astarion without issue. There was a scuffle (failed deception check :/) when it came to recruiting Lae'zel, and we had to knock out the tieflings.

Went to the grove immediately following, had some Words with Aradin and Zevlor.

(this was actually panic inducing, because my game glitched out and I couldn't see any dialogue options except "continue", which, when clicked, Punched Aradin. tool tip: it may be cheating, but a task manager induced crash doesnt not count as a save and quit. I also had to verify files a couple times because BG3 really does not like forced crashing (good!)) Managed to talk everything out in the end, and my cheating powers will only be used to fix glitches.

Along the way Wither's Crypt was cleared out, just in time for me to do some releveling for multiclass shenanigans (Shadowheart as a storm sorcerer + tempest cleric my beloved)

Recruited Wyll, rounding out the complete traveling party, and which lead to the first true in character decision: Lyra at this point would have believed Wyll to the end, no matter the mistake.

Which means that yes. I killed Karlach. I feel eternally guilty and spent a full irl day agonizing over it.

No one was happy when Mizora showed up, Lyra least of all.

After meeting Mizora for the first time and getting the Infernal Robes, it was time to take out some gnolls. Saved the Zhent agents stuck in a cave, and Lyra took the bone flail from Flind for herself. (Not that she'll ever use it, but it's good to have a backup when spells fail. Also, look at how cool she looks now.)

Then went to Waukeen's Rest and saved Councilor Florrick. Lyra had a heart attack learning that her crush is the son of nobility in addition to being a warlock. We also traded with the Zhentarim. spent a lot of money. Perhaps poorly, but Shadowheart is now also properly kitted out with the Jolty Vest and the lightning quarterstaff. Could I have stolen it? Yes, but I didn't have Astarion in my party at the time and I didn't feel like going to get him, and the idea of failing the roll terrified me.

Somewhere along the way we discovered that Astarion's a vampire and Shadowheart's a Sharran, but i didn't take any screenshots and don't remember when it happened chronologically

Oh! I had Shadowheart's romance scene and had to turn her down. In another save file you shall get so many kisses, Shadowheart, but Lyra has fallen for Wyll and Wyll only

(also they're still fighting about Selune v. Shar every fuckin night, it would not be a healthy relationship)

Bumbled into the Githyanki terrorizing the bridge after that. Had a pants-shittingly terrified moment when I realized I was level 3 and didn't cast guidance on Lae'zel for the deception check, but it passed and Voss flew away into the sky. Thank all gods we did not fight Githyanki that day.

On the way to the Blighted Village Raphael decided to show his face, and Lyra is so. Done. With. Devils. The party was in complete agreement for the first time in that we shouldn't trust a word Raphael says and we're not making deals with devils.

God I love to hate Raphael, he's great. What was I talking about.

Fun fact! If you approach the Blighted Village from the North/Risen Road and go immediately to the windmill, the goblins are very hostile and can't be talked to or intimidated away. There's enough of them that it was my second near party wipe moment.

The third near-death experience came when Lae'zel put her shiny metal ass in view of the goblin ambush on the rooftops, and I was fed up enough that I initiated combat while on the ground. Protip: Don't do that.

The fourth near-death experience was when a similar thing happened except it was entirely my fault: while trying to get the drop of the goblins at the east gate, I got Lae'zel to jump onto a roof. Except I misjudged the jump and wasn't sneaking, so Lae'zel once again initiated combat. Luckily Shadowheart was on the roof with her, but unluckily the party wasn't grouped so Lyra and Wyll were across the fucking town and had to run over while also in combat. Everyone was out of spell slots. It was terrible.

It was at this point that my partner came in and yelled at me for having over 1,000 camp supplies and not long resting the instant things got hairy, so I long rested and took at break for a few days to play Potionomics.

(Unrelated, Potionomics is a very good and very cozy game, Highly recommended.)

Phew. That's that all caught up with. Now it's time to see how long I can put off fighting Auntie Ethel and the Goblin Camp.

Honor Mode Live Blog

Because I am a little gremlin, I've started yet another BG3 save file. To make it more interesting, I'm attempting honor mode and will be blogging about it! So... meet Lyra!

Half-drow cleric of Selune, former guild artisan, and a brand spankin' new adventurer. She was inspired to become a cleric after following stories of The Blade of Frontiers. She was on her first ever solo mission when she got Yoinked by the Nautiloid. Her inexperience and naivety mean she's going to have an intense learning curve along this journey.

My last attempt at making a character to specifically romance Wyll failed so we're doing that again and this time I won't get distracted by Shadowheart... or Gale... or Lae'zel... Wyll's the last person I want to romance so it's just a matter of sticking with the save file.

Main traveling party seems like it's shaping up to be Wyll, Shadowheart, and Lae'zel. Double cleric parties can do some real nasty stuff (affectionate) and I have a feeling having more healers won't be a bad thing here. I'm still not sure what builds I'll be going for, so I'm researching that now before gettin beyond the Ravaged Beach.

[graysongraysoff]

Ok I wanna ask about Raleigh and Raye and I have a whole list of numbers I'm trying to remember but feel free to just pick a couple if this is too much!!! Ok they are: 6, 11, 12, 18, 34

hhh sorry for getting to this so late! i fell asleep mad early last night

Thank You So Much For Asking About My Boys

[sits down backwards on a chair] let’s discuss

6. do your characters have recurring themes in their dreams?

being storm sorcerers in skyless cities, raleigh and raye both have dreams and nightmares about things they’ve never seen before: they dream about huge, howling gales; about lightning cracking through pitch darkness so loudly it wakes them up; about sandstorms and volcanic eruptions and floods. raleigh dreams of blizzards, and raye of earthquakes.

11. in what situation were your characters the most afraid they’ve ever been?

raleigh has definitely never been more scared than when that deep abomination teleported behind the desk he was hiding under. he has not had a very long life, and he’s not exactly known for his sense of self-preservation, but when that desk went from hiding him to trapping him and all he could do was watch as that thing shuffled toward him? it’s a wonder he didn’t freeze solid from sheer terror. like add that to the recurring nightmare repertoire.

raye is a little more difficult, since he has not faced a deep abomination at the age of seventeen like his counterpart. when he was thirteen, though, he was exploring some of the ruins on the outskirts of adara on a dare. ghosts are said to lurk in the crumbling old buildings, but raye told himself he didn’t believe in that stuff as he picked his way through them. he was standing in the shell of what once had been a shop of some kind, looking for something suitably creepy to bring back and spinning the scary story he would tell once he returned. then something moved in his periphery, and he looked up.

a humanoid shape stood among the rubble, just far enough away that raye couldn’t tell who or what it was. everything about him froze; he couldn’t even bring himself to cry out to the figure, to ask who they were. for a horrible, tense moment, neither of them moved, and raye began to wonder what he should do.

and then the building raye was standing in collapsed.

luckily much of the ceiling had already fallen in, and the section that gave this time missed hitting raleigh by a few feet. when he looked back up, though, the humanoid figure was gone.

he didn’t know if he’d been out there for an hour yet, but he still ran back to the city proper as fast as his legs would carry him.

12. in what situation were your characters the most calm they’ve ever been?

raleigh is the most calm on holidays, when his neighborhood gathers around the fire pit and shares what little luxuries they have to indulge in. raleigh loves the steady noise of talk and play, and sure the heat gets to be a bit much with the fire and the extra bodies, but he’s learned not to mind. everyone he loves is in one place, and raleigh basks in it.

raye is the most calm in the moments after a holiday celebration; when he’s finished charming everyone he was supposed to charm at whatever grand society event he followed his parents to, and he can sneak onto some roof and breathe in cold night air.

18. are your characters more likely to admire wisdom or ambition in others?

both raleigh and raye are admirers of ambition: a wild idea is going to get much more enthusiastic praise from both of them than something that makes good sense.

34. are your characters more likely to keep trying a solution/method that didn’t work the first time, or immediately move on to a different solution/method?

raleigh and raye are both “throw spaghetti at the wall and see what sticks” thinkers; they likely haven’t even finished trying the first thing before rattling off second, third and fourth ideas, “in case this doesn’t work.”