#hes a war cleric<3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[the-peculiar-rogue]

I took a look at cotl and went "haha my cleric frfr"

[rexcaliburechoes]

gale is ambition, so he has both crippling self doubt and debilitating pride in his work.

gale is ambition, so if a character tries to undermine him by one-upping him, he'll think he's not nothing left. more else can the orb destroy that it hasn't already?

gale is ambition, so if a character tries to undermine him by one-upping him, he'll vehemently deny that. he's the wizard of waterdeep. he was mystra's chosen. he was her lover. who could be any better than that?

gale is ambition. it's his greatest flaw and his greatest asset.

[forcedhesitation]

I'm actually rather surprised that not a single one of the boys made top three. but then again, I suppose the large number of straight men that play this game are not as visible in fan spaces as us lgbt. That is...a fortunate thing, though, I'd argue.

[quiddling]

teehee (-;

[justahoax34]

Been watching Calvin’s from the fog videos and now I’m obsessed with Minecraft again.

My Lore for herobrine/players:

Ok so my version of players is that they are basically shapeshifters from the void. All the tiny white dots in the void are player stars (the brain) they command their surroundings void to either consume other weaker stars or the End island to create more void.

Physical Players started being allowed on the surface when the God, Creation (Mojang) found potential use with the void stars, that being helping them create new shit for the world ( Modding ). Now this is where herobrine come in, just before the Piglin war Creation decided to put their experiment into motion by pulling out one of the void stars (herobrine) without any accompanying void and as a defense mechanism it shut itself off. Creation spend months try to find a way to reactivate the star or communicate with it but after 4 month with nothing they decided to let the other gods, Knowledge, Foresight and Action to try their luck with it. Unfortunately before they could get any real work done with it the Piglin war started and they had to turn their attention to preparing the ancient hero for the upcoming battle.

At the end of the war right before the Gods returned to the Well of Fate, Action, who still had the dormant star on their person, drop it into the Overworld without realizing, leaving it for one of the ancient hero’s to find. That hero being Steve, one of the first three hero’s to be summoned by the Gods, he was a scientist and researcher of the slow forming civilization of ancient Builders while his older brother Brian and his daughter Alex were warriors, a ‘real’ hero they’d call it but we won’t get into that.

Anyway Steve found the fallen star and since it was the Gods who left it behind he assumed it was a gift, so he took that star deep underground to a newly constructed city/laboratory (the soon to be deep dark). Down there Steve had a team of 7 main researchers to help work on the mysterious star. 3 cleric villagers, 2 witches and 2 members of the newly made mob, Illagers. During their research, tension grew between the villager and Illagers, it got to the point where every Illager and villager interaction ended in an argument. One of these arguments however happened in the testing chambers where the star was held and currently getting a close contact check up by Steve. It started when one young villager, Issac Larmon kept pestering another young Illager named Esmith Hensworth, about her peoples interest with ‘concerning’ new methods of magic. Their petty disagreement quickly turned into a full fledged debate when other villagers/illagers researchers working on golem creation nearby decided to put their two cents in and pick sides.

Steve needing to keep his focus on the star, it being incredibly fragile, wasn’t able to defuse the situation leaving the tension and negativity to rise in the room tricking the star into think it was back in the void therefore reactivating itself while still being held by Steve. The star began to do what it usually would if it were in the void and that is to ‘make more void’ by drain the life from Steve’s had and replace it it with this tar like substance. ( the exp from Steve’s hand floating within it) This caused Steve to immediately let go of the star let it fall and crack a few shards off, this flip a switch in the star now realizing that it is in fact not in the void and is in desperate need of a shell now that it’s hurt, so it buries itself into Steve’s chest and unfortunately for for the both of them Steve’s human body was not made to hold something of the void along with the fact that it was such a sudden transfer that not only did it completely burn out Steve’s insides and light coming out his eyes/mouth it also cause an explosion and right before that explosion happened Steve turn to see his brother Brian coming down to see what all the commotion was all about. That being the last person he saw before he died and the only thing the star grab from Steve’s died conscious was his brother’s name: The hero Brian aka Herobrine.

[crazylittlejester]

JES IMAGINE IF THE MODERN AU BOIS PLAYED DND-

OH THEY SO FUCKING WOULD

i actually have thoughts about this, I play DND and every time i go to meet up with my friends and play ofc i think about my silly ass modern au and what kinda characters I think the boys (and the girls!!) would play

the current DND group is definitely War, Twi, Sky, Athena, Sun, and Midna with Linkle as a BATSHIT DM

War: usually plays a rogue, and I’m honestly torn between him playing an arcane trickster or an assassin because both are right up his alley and i think he’d enjoy either. He just kinda fucks around and he has a GRAND time doing it, causing problems makes him happy. he has hot pink dice

Twi: circle of the shepard druid, his wild shape is a goat because of course it is. there’s definitely been a part of some campaign where someone has grabbed the goat and ran. he has a little goat figure he bought to put on Linkle’s board. his dice are just black with white numbers, sky plans to get him a fancier set because he’s been using those same dice for the past seven years

Sky: Storm sorcerer, he loves chain lightening and fireball. AND MAGIC MISSLE. he’s there to be silly and have a great time and he does both. he definitely buys dice to fit whatever character he plays, so he’s got a couple sets by now

Athena: Grave domain cleric, toll the dead has fucking saved the group’s asses a good few times, it helps that she got good stats when they were making their character sheets. her dice are also pink like War’s, and when they play in a dark room it’s not uncommon for them to accidentally take one or two of each other’s dice because they’re so similar

Sun: Fey wanderer ranger, because she likes rangers but also on the dnd wikidot she saw “fresh, seasonal flowers sprout from your hair each dawn” and was like “THAT ONE.” she got her dice on etsy and they have flowers inside of them, they’re very cool

Midna: Oathbreaker paladin, and she came up with a very mysterious past for her character as to how that oath got broken. sometimes she plays a yapper, but her oathbreaker paladin is much quieter. she has purple sparkly dice, i know it in my heart

and then Linkle as a DM puts them through fucking hell. it takes Sky like five seconds to solve the hard puzzles she comes up with, but then group will get into screaming matches over shit that SHOULD be obvious because they way overthink things, and usually War takes that as an opportunity to open the door anyway and run into another room with Midna while Sky and Twi loose their minds and Sun and Athena have intellectual conversations (about the dungeon)

this is not to say i don’t think the others would play DND, because they’d all love it (TIME would be the biggest fan I think), but this is the group the main 3 play with

[ae-neon]

Secrets Sworn by Night are Kept in Death

Day 3 - Night Triumphant & Lady Death

The Order of the White Blade had been born in the desert during the Merchant Wars of Faran Kithal’s reign and were now commonplace in the plain's six cities.

It was not until their 25th year, however, that they took the God of Night and the Goddess of Death as their official patrons. A blasphemous affront by any other measure, given the known hatred between the two, but many holymen have since speculated that the Order's activities in the preceding years had granted them grace and favour with both deities.

And so, it came to pass that annually the assassin's stayed their death dealing hands for a single night. Of all mysteries - of which the moonless dark held many - the secret rites of the White Blade and their adversarial masters remains the most enigmatic.

From Monarchs, Merchants & Murder: a Brief History of the Sinari by Soruk Lahn

[ Part 1 ]

Fin.

The House of Starlight was one of the largest temples in the city. As home to three Gods - the Lord of Night, Lady Moon and the Bastard Prince of Shadows - it was, naturally, also one of the richest. Tithed to by followers and kin followers of each, this included industry tithes from guilds of assassins, merchants, taverns, sailors, pleasure houses and guards.

The temple's main building was a great tower whose glass dome roof had been built by genius engineers and mystical alchemists. It was designed so that the light and beauty of the stars was magnified when viewed from beneath it.

It was this that made the House a popular haunt among artists, vagabond poets, young nobles, keen philosophers, melancholy musicians and sex workers. Its resident acolytes and clerics did not mind, of course. Not so long as the guests stayed and paid. Entertaining these admirers was not a requirement but their Lord and Lady were fond of such atmospheres. And, in the case of the Knight of Shadows, his spies were ever inclined to use whatever means available to their advantage.

Darthan plucked a grape from a serving bowl as he sauntered through the main hall. He slipped his hand under his mask, careful not to disturb the crown of silver spikes. The black robes he'd been given matched the attire of his fellow Night acolytes as well as those of the Shadow Prince's followers hiding in their midst. Even so, these were much finer than his usual garb: embroidered about the shoulders in silver and gold, and ending in a cape tailored to billow as he walked. All gifts from those he was to serve tonight.

The few spots of bright silks amongst the raven clothed residents signalled the first of the temple’s guests arriving. Tonight, the absence of the Moon and her followers meant the enchanted space would be lit solely by starlight. The occasion always drew in a larger crowd than usual, from street urchins to acolytes of other Gods, all to witness the wonder of the starry night through the dome.

He’d looked forward to this night every year since he’d pledged his life to the House of Starlight and its Lord. But Darthan could not pretend he did not have his own reasons to be excited about missing it this once. He'd long been curious regarding the mystery of the White Blades. A curiosity promised satisfaction when he had been chosen as Vessel for their rite.

He wondered for a moment how the other Vessel might be faring – the House of Death seemed to him such a dour and serious place. Though, given their Mistress’ dominion, that was only natural. He’d entered the temple only once, a few years ago, to lay his own lady mother to rest. At the time the priestesses, dressed in varying shades of blue, had all been either locked in hushed conversation with their bereaved visitors or buried in books and scrolls. It had struck him as oddly peaceful and in that space, the throbbing headache he’d borne from holding back his tears and the knot of grief that plagued his throat had both come undone. And, for the first time in the days since his mother passed, he’d wept.

“You’re looking well. Ready for tonight?” Mezra said from behind him, jerking his mind from the memory. Darthan had learned not to react. The Shadow's acolytes were second only to assassins in their stealth and it was useless to pretend the skinny boy didn't know it was him by gait alone.

“I am. But if you’re fishing for information, you’ll catch nothing here.” It was instinct to glance around. Where Mezra went, Mazan followed. But the boy’s twin, as well as all other followers of the She-Wolf Moon Goddess, had gone to the Niwa Oasis just beyond the city limits to perform their own secret rituals tied to this moonless night. As he soon would. “Run along, Mez, and stay out of trouble.”

Darthan did not waver or hesitate as he strode through the temple and out into the waiting crowd that spilled into the street; those not here for the wonder of the temple itself but to participate in what little of the assassin’s ceremony was open to the public.

Just beyond the crowd a clearing had been made by the masked members of the Order, ominous in their plain robes and masks. They would spill no blood tonight but the death dealers were still feared enough to create a deterrence. Within the clearing a piebald mare stood tall and proud, fitted with gilded reins.

Praise and petals were thrown about as he made his way towards the mount, aimed at the face they imagined behind the mask. A thousand glories, My Lord! Keep me in my journey to Palik, Lord! Bless my son, Lord! The words began to meld into a chorus of devotion, and as the sky to the west darkened, Darthan felt a weight come with it, a reassurance that rang in his bones. The power of his God.

☼

The young woman glanced from her window on the second floor of the temple, across the dusk painted rooftops of the Dasari quarter, to the assassin’s keep. The wave of apprehension she had expected she might feel did not come. In this she was not Zinam the orphan, there could be no room for old fears of inadequacy. All stood equal before her Lady, and she had been chosen as Vessel.

A cool breeze drifted through the wood lattice window and pulled lightly at the white sheet which had been draped over the polished silver of her mirror. It did not move but she could not help but turn to stare at it, as if she might pierce the gauze, curious at whatever might gaze back.

The soft shuffle of feet drew her attention – as was intended, she knew, for the residents of the keep were trained to walk in absolute silence. A figure shrouded in loose white robes and a white mask with only slits for eyes, bowed at the hip, “It is time.”

The Vessel stood, squaring her shoulders. The markings which had been painted onto her nude form vanished from sight as her sister acolytes clothed her in a finely woven, sleeveless slip of a grey dress. A veil of the same material was draped over her chestnut hair, the pearls sewn onto its hem framing her face. She lifted from the table a long golden handle, the end of which held a skull mask which she set over her face before leaving. Two acolytes followed the Vessel, holding the excess of her veil above the ground as she walked out into the balcony that looked over the courtyard at the temple's front.

Down below, more masked figures from the keep had gathered to give their tithe. The large open square was flanked by pillars on which enchanted incense was burnt; soothing scents which sapped the fright and terror from all those who stepped foot into the House of Death. It had been this smell that had first called Ziman to the temple and where, in her Lady’s embrace, she had slept peacefully for the first time since she had lost her home. She did not glance at the contents of the wooden chests which had been laid out on the grey stones when she passed by them. Only nodded a small bow at the assassins before she went ahead of them towards the temple gates.

It was not the practice of this God or Her followers to accept offering from those who wished to cheat fate, such a thing was both futile and risked an insult to the Lady. But those who dealt death – executioners, butchers, and assassins – and those who fell under Her shared dominion – seafarers, witches and warriors – were considered kin followers to Her devotees. It was customary they contribute to the upkeep of the temples.

Of these the assassins – key figures in a city where the noble houses and guilds had blood feuds stretching back two thousand years – were the largest financial contributors. It was more than enough. The Lady did not share many of the other Gods' love for pomp and spectacle. In this She was an odd match for the bestial God of Spring, Lord of the Southern Winds, who too kept a more modest temple. Or so the Vessel had heard from the butchers who gave tithe there and here as kin followers of both. She stepped from the temple, passed the iron-wrought gates and the perimeter of lemon trees, into the cobbled streets.

The shift in scent brought a second of hesitation but she steeled herself once more, whispering behind the mask the familiar meditation: The Silver Star is my guide, my hand She holds, Her blade my shield, Her heart my tomb. She is the End of all. She will shall spare no king, shun no beggar, pardon no priests and condemn no blasphemers. At Her feet even Gods shall fall.

A crowd had gathered though none dared to look upon her even as they murmured prayers. Besides the dozen masked figures, it appeared the procession was to be escorted by a contingent of city watchmen. The guards were not followers of the Lady or Her Husband. The Vessel wondered if they had come on behalf of one of their patrons. She was gently lifted onto a white stallion, careful not to show her face, and from her mount took in the road ahead as the last minutes of sunset stretched over the city in a medley of pink and orange.

For a moment a deep silence fell, so complete it was broken only by the cry of river birds, the huffing of her horse and the distant bustle which told her that across the city, the other Vessel had also just emerged from his House. She waited. Seconds slowed as night descended with a palpable presence. The echoing toll of bells rang out and with it, the Vessel surrendered all she was to the God of Death.

Does it count even if Rhysand or Nesta don't really appear yet? I hope so

@rhystaappreciationweekend

[australianspy]

what i wouldn't give for bg3 to let durge be a war cleric for one of the dead 3....... bonus points if it's bane. their brain is so goopified to the point that all they remember about themself is their own name, don't even know their profane FATHER. and yet, we see that they remember gortash's name? what if they also remember the freedom he promised, not in so many words but in FEELING, and recognize it in bane? does bhaal exsanguinate them on his altar for worshipping the enemy? does bane laugh the whole time at how easy it was to corrupt the flesh of his sworn rival? sure, but it'd all be worth it for how gortash would be falling over himself when amnesiac durge approaches him for the first time, clothed in the colors of his lord and devout to the last vestiges of his memory.

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

COLLISION

Astarion x Y/N - Chapter 2 - 2.5K WC

Masterlist

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 (you are here!)

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 NSFW 18+

Chapter 6 NSFW 18+

Chapter 7 NSFW 18+

-------------------

Magic was tougher than it looked. It felt like the most grueling full body workout. “Well, you’ve got enough to get you through a very short… heavily aided battle.” Shadowheart said, it sounded like the best backhanded compliment. 

“Can we be done for the day?” You asked, cracking your neck and stretching your back. “Please?”

Gale smiled and waved you off, “Just for today, we’ll need you in battle soon enough. Best you have a few tricks up your sleeve to survive… A word of advice, seek out Lae’zel, have her show you combat training. The Githyanke are -”

“Excellent warriors, I know.” you stated without thinking.

Gale’s face faltered for a moment before relaxing “Precisely, she’s the best to learn from.” he clapped his hand on your shoulder before walking back to his tent.

Shadowheart was walking back to her tent but gave you a smile and mouthed “good luck” towards you. 

You took a deep breath and walked to Lae’zel’s tent. Feet practically made of lead the way the anxiety made them drag. You stopped in front of her not looking up.

“Speak” was all she said.

“I’d like to spar with you… have you teach me how to fight… so I’m not just a useless cleric.” Your lip twitched up at the end of your sentence. Finally raising your gaze, Lae���zel looked at you and crossed her arms. 

“Fine. I suppose you can use this.” She said handing you what you recognized as “The Cruel Sting” sword from the drider, Kar’niss. 

You clutched the sword and followed Lae’zel to the center of the camp where she unceremoniously body checked you, knocking you onto your back with a groan.

“The Hell was that for?!” you yelled at her.

“Your enemy will not fight fair, you need to know brutality if you wish to fight.” she said as she unsheathed her sword.

You stood and held your sword. Nothing had ever felt more out of place. This wasn't a Renaissance Festival, this was real and you had to learn this to survive. You took a deep breath, closing your eyes and praying a collective prayer to any deity listening. You opened your eyes, the first strike of many clanged against your sword.

Shit.

________________________ 

Metal collides well past sundown. Lae’zel had run you ragged. You were currently trying to shove her back. She put her foot behind yours and shoved, sending you crashing onto your back.

“Have you learned nothing?!” she yelled so loudly everyone else in the camp was watching now. “Your enemy will not hesitate to kill you. You shall offer them no such mercy either!” she continued to yell.

That's it. That’s what broke the camel's back. Rage consumes you after being beaten down for hours. Your hand reached slowly for the small blade tucked into your breast pocket. Lae’zel put her sword to your neck to demand your surrender. You raised your hands. Lae’zel began putting her sword away and that's when you struck. You kicked her closest ankle and sent her falling. Dagger in your hand, you rolled on top of Lae’zel, straddling her hips and pressing the blade to her throat. She gawked at you, she was speechless. 

“Never assume the war is over because the battle was lost.” you said with hate in your voice but a proud smile on your face. 

Lae’zel gave the faintest smirk before taping the handle of the blade, signifying she surrendered. Both of you got up slowly. Lae’zel extended her arm. You stared at it in disbelief but your arm went to hers. Holding each other's forearms she shook it once firmly before saying, “Cleric, you may survive us yet.” she let go of your arm, walking to the bonfire as the meat roasting smelled as if it was almost done. 

Karlach walked over to you, “That’s as close as you’ll ever get to her saying you’re friends now.” she laughed. “You’ve improved a lot in one day. It’s going to be nice having you around soldier.” she patted your back before she herself walked to the campfire. 

You smiled watching her walk away. Glancing at Gale and Wyll they both gave you smiles, Gale giving a soft clap and Wyll a thumbs up. You walked back to your new tent that Karlach had set up for you while you were in the weave. It wrapped around the tree you slept on last night. A bedroll, some candles, and a small table with a lamp softly flickering. The flamed danced shadows across your tent, you laid on your bedroll momentarily, watching the shadows. Quickly, before you got too comfortable, you stood and began your walk to the stream. Your body ached but in a satisfactory way. Maybe you could be an adventurer. At least until you got back home. You shed your camp clothes at the shore, looking back and making sure everyone was at camp. You could hear them eating and telling stories  around the fire. You waded into the stream until it reached your ribs. You sat against a boulder in the stream. The water rushing around you felt calming, as if the water was trying to massage the ache out of you. You brushed water over your face and hair before leaning your head back and closing your eyes. Trying to connect to the earth around you, searching for a blissful escape in the elements even if only for a moment. 

---------------------

Astarion watched you from behind a tree near the shore and his tent. He didn’t mean to spy on you. He honestly thought he saw a fae or siren wade into the water, your body enchanting him. He watched you wade to the boulder finding some sort of solace in it. You leaned there unmoving for what felt like hours. 

Sad

That's what rang out in Astarion’s mind. The tadpole saying what your mind must have been screaming. He felt that unfamiliar pang in his chest again. He wanted to… comfort you? He didn’t even know what that would look like. Was it like seduction just… less? He both wanted to know and despised the thought of knowing.

Without realizing it, he had drifted off and he refocused on your form trudging back to the shore. He knew what he had to do to get rid of the pang in his chest. Crush it. Crush you. The very thought hurt him somehow but he knew it had to be done. He walked out from behind the tree heading towards the shore. Your back was facing him, your shirt and underwear on but nothing else. He adored the way the moonlight made your shirt cast a shadow of your body. He noticed every curve, dimple, freckle… he noticed them all. 

---------------------

“Oh! Astarion…” you jumped when you heard the rocks behind you shift. Your hands flew all over your body trying to cover up but not sure what exactly to cover. He grabbed your hip when you started to move backwards. You glanced at his hand before looking at his face, your eyebrows scrunched together. Astarion hadn’t exactly been the most welcoming in the camp so what was this? Hand still on your hip he possessively pulled you to his chest, his opposite hand tilting your chin up so your lips were a breath away from each other. Your whole body felt like cement and lava at the same time. Your eyes watched his every move. 

“A bath with no invite? Darling, you wound me.” he whispered onto your lips. You sucked in an unintentionally sharp breath when he leaned forwards and smashed his lips to yours. He was rough despite his gentle grasp on your chin. He continued to kiss you, nipping at your lower lip.

“Ouch!” you yipped, pushing his chest away. 

“Come now darling you cannot be so delicate…” he said seductively.

You backed up and held your arm out in front of you to put a physical barrier between you. “Astarion, stop.” You said as your finger smoothed over the nip on your lip that had drawn the smallest bit of blood. 

Now it was his turn to freeze, “What? Why? Is something wrong?” He asked. He almost sounded… annoyed? Instead of concern which you would expect from a lover. 

You knew enough about Astarion from your progress in Baldur's Gate III that he was trying to manipulate you by sleeping with you. It saddened you. He might not like you much in reality but you would still protect him like everyone else in your party. Your face gave a painful squeeze before you swallowed it all down. You put your arm down, picking up your pants, boots, and vest. “Astarion… you don’t truly want this. I’ll umm… I’ll see you at camp.” You whispered out. 

-----------------------

The world seemed to be so still and quiet down by the stream. Astarion heard every syllable. He watched you leave quickly and did he detect… a quiver in your voice? Why would you be upset about him trying to fuck you? Why did you say “you don’t truly want this”? He didn’t want it, but how did you know that? He walked back to his tent glumly. After seeing you take down Lae’zel he thought you might not be so bad to have under his thumb. Why would you reject him? He saw himself for the first time in 200 years that morning so he knew for a fact he was still beautiful, fangs and all. He wracked his brain but couldn’t come up with an answer to why his plan didn’t work on you. It works on everyone else. 

A bitter seed was planted inside him. He watched your form move around camp for the rest of the night. Eyes never meeting his. He watched you talk with the others. Sing with Wyll. attempt to dance with Karlach. Everyone wore soft smiles, even Lae’zel which was rare. A warmth was spread around the camp. As if the air was made of warm honey. Suffocating you in the best way possible. Rested and comfortable is what it was.

He wanted so desperately to be a part of it. And yet, that bitter seed took root and every thought of you suddenly felt like rot and decay. Finding the bad and none of the good. Making you the cause of such ire. He wanted to be rid of you. He thought of the item you had, the “mirror” he used. Had you told the others about that? What would they think of it? He could twist it to make you look like the villain, he was sure of it. 

------------------

“”Y/N darling…” 

Your head snapped to Astarion who had silently managed to sit across from you at the bonfire. Your head swirled a bit, whatever Karlach was drinking had some twang to it that's for sure. You were drunk and the warm glow of the fire made you feel like a cat in a sunbeam.

“Astarion darling…” you giggled back.

“Have you told our dear friends about your powerful little tool?” he batted his eyelashes at you but a devious smirk laid across his lips. 

Everyone's eyes slowly drifted to you and lord did you feel them on you.

“I… I showed Gale.” you rushed out. You weren’t hiding it. Not truly. You just didn’t know how to tell them what a phone was without having to tell them about your… well… life? And how to you, they were a mere video game. That they didn’t actually exist. That's a little tough to deliver. Especially while drunk. 

“Yes! She had me repower it.” Gale chimed in. 

“Oh it needs magic to power itself? Sounds dangerous if you ask me…” 

Now everyone's eyes were not only looking at you but focused on you, scanning you over for any potential danger. You slowly reached into your bedroll. Your phone lit up and everyone kept a strong hold on their weapons. 

“I… it is a power source… but it only powers itself. It’s not dangerous I swear…. It’s used to communicate where I’m from.” you quickly defended yourself.

“And where is that exactly?” Astarion hummed.

Your skin was crawling, you felt how unsteady your stomach was, a cold sweat coating your back, your hands shaking, and dear god you were fighting the urge to spill tears. All out of sheer anxiety. You didn’t want to lie, but you didn’t know how to tell the truth either. 

“I… I’m… not from here. Or Baldur’s Gate. Or Faerûn. I’m… I’m from somewhere far away. I’m not sure how to explain it.” you choked out. The tears slipped out but you quickly wiped them away and looked at your new friends, hoping they’d believe you but not push for more answers either. 

“How mysterious.” Astarion jested. “Care to show up what it does so we know it isn’t dangerous?” 

You looked down at the phone before looking at everyone around you. You had no idea if this would have some sort of butterfly effect or alter reality but you didn’t really care. These people were your best hope, you needed them and were in no position to test their patience. You looked down, defeated. You agreed, turning the phone on you opened the camera app. 

“I can use it to see people… and take portraits of them instantly.” you softly explained before taking a picture of yourself and then showing them all the picture. They looked impressed, borderline shocked. 

“Anything else?” Astarion asked, sounding unamused. 

You opened your music app and clicked on classical music, thinking that would be somewhat close to the music they know. Playing strauss II - voices of spring you turned the volume up and watched them become entranced. Karlach started swaying and humming with the melody. Everyone’s tense appearance faded and they all seemed pleased with the music. 

“Portrait machine and a music box, how delightful!” Gale spoke before drinking more wine. 

“If you all don’t mind I will retire early this evening.” you spoke softly as you got up and walked away leaving your phone as it began the classical music playlist you had saved for when you would study. Some of the group gave you nods, some were too deep in drink or conversation to notice. But Astarion did.

He saw how tightly you clasped your hands as you walked away. How your eyes were so big and full of fright. How your heartbeat sounded. Terrified.

Shit.

---------------------

He watched you from his tent as you threw rocks from the river bank into the riverbed. He could still hear your heartbeat. How strained it sounded. Like it was fighting itself. He felt wretched. He was doing what he needed to. Right? Then why did it hurt so damn bad? Why did the way the tears skimmed down your face feel like a wound to his heart? Why did he want nothing more than to go to you and whisper sweet apologies. He hates you. He has to because it is the only control he can feel at this moment. So why does the final sob he hears escaping you on the shore bring him right back to where he doesn’t want to be. He digs in his supply pack before pulling out the vile of angelic slumber. If he couldn’t meditate this away he was not above drugging himself to sleep for the night. Anything to not feel what he felt when it came to you.

Hello angels! You all were so sweet leaving me comments, likes, and reblogs. Thank you soooooo much! All that support went into overdrive so here is chapter 2! I'll be working on other chapters this week. Thank you again for all the love, I love interacting with ya'll! <3

[littlejuicebox]

Midnight Chimes 4 / Ringleader

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader Warlock.

Word Count: 2,415

Summary/Setting: You and Astarion have met before, though you think it meant more to you than it did to him. You are an apothecary shop owner that has recently gained some mysterious Warlock powers; Astarion is, in your eyes, a rake that you wouldn’t trust as far as you can throw him. You two run into one another again after the nautiloid crash.

Preview:

It hadn’t really been you that found the three new party members, after all. It had been your patron. The blasted thing seemed to alternate between completely ignoring you and positively strong arming you into submission.  And it seemed unfortunately hellbent on collecting every straggler along the way of this little adventure. Though you supposed the cleric, the githyanki, and the Blade would likely prove to be more useful additions than the pale elf sitting nearby.  But how could you explain the connection to the celestial being to Gale or anyone else if you did not truly understand the connection yourself? How could you explain they were putting their trust in the wrong person for the job? Gods, you needed to get back to Baldur’s Gate and head to Sorcerous Sundries. Surely they would have some information about this unwilling bond. And speaking of unwilling bonds…

Warnings: eventual smut and gore 18+ / in game spoilers / angst, trauma, fluff

A/N: Finally feeling (almost) 100% back to my normal, healthy self! Thank you for the good vibes and well wishes! &lt;3

The warlock, the wizard, and the rogue.

This little group started off with the makings of some ridiculous fairytale your parents would have read to you before bed.

Though, despite your parents wishes, you hadn’t really been a child interested in fairytales and make believe. Your penchant for pragmatics had developed early on, and before long mama and papa had all but given up on their dreams of a perfect princess daughter. In her place stood some sort of mad scientist… at least in their eyes.

You hadn’t actually been mad. Not then, at least. Though you were starting to worry that between the parasite and your patron, you might truly be going crazy now. No doubt the two were at war, trying to determine who would wrestle ultimate control of your mind.

Should you simply choose between the lesser of two evils, when your fate already feels sealed as it is? 

Gale and Astarion had blindly followed your lead the first day, and remained silent every time you decided to stop and change course, prodded in another direction by the celestial being playing with your psyche. This abrupt switch in traveling plans led you all to Lae’zel, where you convinced the tieflings to let her go, and Shadowheart, as she desperately tried to break open the door of some abandoned ruins. 

Astarion had simply picked the lock of the ruins, earning him some clout among the others for his skill set and further suspicion from you. After all, why exactly did a man like Astarion have any need for a skill like that? 

Subsequently, the five of you explored the dank, dilapidated building. After downing a handful of humanoids and some reanimated corpses, the group happened upon a strange, skeletal being named Withers. He said he would see you again soon.

After a relatively restless night in camp, you all happened upon the Grove on the second day of exploration. Some druid named Halsin is missing, though it turns out he may be the answer to your little predicament, Nettie tried to poison you (stupid, really, to try to poison an apothecary with one of the most basic tricks in the book), you saved a little tiefling thief from death, and then you met Wyll… all in a couple of hours.

The Blade of Frontiers is looking for some devil he’s supposed to kill; he’s also got a tadpole in his head, and like Gale, seems in relatively good spirits for such a grim situation. Those two seem suspiciously well-adjusted. 

The entire journey thus far had only been two days long and exceedingly… well, odd. 

It was certainly a much different experience from your day to day of brewing potions and tending the shop. You wanted nothing more than to return to the comforts of city life. But instead, you were forced to be the unwilling ringleader of this circus, despite your protests on the matter.

You are discussing your concerns about leadership with Gale as the group takes a short rest not far from the Grove. Wyll is gathering the last of his supplies and will meet up with all of you in mere moments. 

“Oh, but you’re doing a fantastic job, Demetria!” Gale exclaims, somehow unfailingly supportive of a woman he barely knew. 

Oh, how you wished to trust anyone half as much. 

“You have such remarkable intuition. We wouldn’t have found Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Wyll, or all this great loot without you!” He continues, before gesturing to a handful of gold and scrolls while positively beaming.

The wizard clasps a friendly hand on your back and then scans the surrounding area. He smiles at you once more, “Now I plan to make myself useful and harvest some flora! If you plan to make use of that newly procured cauldron, I best give you materials to work with.” 

You smile softly and nod at the wizard before he disappears into the shrubbery. Brewing potions was easy; you could craft all the basic ones by memory alone. But leading a group of people through the wilds based on some sort of fabled intuition and instinct? You weren’t so sure about that. 

It hadn’t really been you that found the three new party members, after all. It had been your patron. The blasted thing seemed to alternate between completely ignoring you and positively strong arming you into submission. 

And it seemed unfortunately hellbent on collecting every straggler along the way of this little adventure. Though you supposed the cleric, the githyanki, and the Blade would likely prove to be more useful additions than the pale elf sitting nearby. 

But how could you explain the connection to the celestial being to Gale or anyone else if you did not truly understand the connection yourself? How could you explain they were putting their trust in the wrong person for the job?

Gods, you needed to get back to Baldur’s Gate and head to Sorcerous Sundries. Surely they would have some information about this unwilling bond. And speaking of unwilling bonds…

Astarion is perched on a fallen log, basking in the midday sun’s rays. He’s the picture of relaxation, as if this entire sordid affair is a holiday away from Baldur’s Gate.

Sure, the pale elf had been helpful in battle, and he seemed to have a strange knack for opening locks, but as far as participating in camp efforts went, he certainly left a lot to be desired. You should have guessed as much. With the princely attitude and haughty confidence, it was likely he was merely another spoiled, rich elf. He reminded you of…

Nevermind.

You look to Shadowheart, hoping to pursue a conversation with the woman, but she is a few feet away, resting on her knees in prayer. Lae’zel is also preoccupied as she meticulously sharpens her already deathly blade. You’ve spent almost all day trying to intentionally avoid Astarion and keep any conversation with him to a minimum. But as everyone else seems busy doing their own thing, you’re left with no choice but to take a few minutes of reprieve near the rogue. 

You sigh and nestle yourself on the ground, unwilling to take the empty spot on the log next to Astarion; sitting like an animal in the dirt seemed the better option for your pride. As you lean back to stretch your aching muscles, the warm country breeze picks up, swirling around the elf’s silver curls. You are sitting downwind from the rogue, and the gust pushes a whiff of bergamot and rosemary in your direction. 

You can’t help it. The fragrance angers you. Astarion hadn’t even written to you once, even to send a simple rejection or at least compliment your sample. He’d wasted your time on your last few hours of vacation three years ago. All for what, exactly? 

He hadn’t even gotten to bed you, which had surely been his goal, in the end. 

You glare at him, in all his world-endingly beautiful privilege, as he simply lounges about in the sun as if nothing is wrong.

“It seems you liked my perfume sample enough to procure a rip off of it, but not enough to write.” You state coolly, watching the pale elf as he snaps his eyes open to study you. You notice him thinking, no doubt calculating some sort of smooth response.

“You can save the piss-poor excuses, Astarion.” You sigh, now reaching into your pack, trying to find the small vial of perfume oil you’d had inside your robes when that ship snatched you up. You open the vial and take a deep breath, basking in the comfort of familiarity.

It smelled like home. Like your quaint little townhome, in Waterdeep. Too bad scents can’t transport you back in time… at least not literally. 

There are a few beats of silence as Astarion watches you.

“I do apologize for not recognizing you before, and for not writing…” He begins, slowly, as if trying to soothe a wild animal, “I lost your card. I have a tendency to be… forgetful. And I lose things a lot. But, I did quite like the scent, as you can tell.”

You nod, acknowledging the apology but not willing to acquiesce any further. You cannot decipher if Astarion’s words are the truth or if they are simply honeyed lines meant to subdue you. Your pinky finger presses against the perfume bottle’s rim and you rub a bit of the fragranced liquid behind your ears.

The wind shifts, blowing your thick, dark hair forward around your face, obscuring your vision. You cap the small vial and then quickly tie your hair back. When you are able to see again, Astarion is almost gawking at you, scarlet eyes blown wide in surprise. 

He shifts and recovers quickly, jerking his gaze away and running a hand through his windswept curls. When he speaks, his voice has a manufactured, airy nonchalance to it, “It is quite windy out here, isn’t it?”

You don’t respond, and he turns to face you once again. His jaw tenses for a moment, and then he leans back, assessing you once more. He tries another tactic.

“That is… another lovely scent that you’re wearing.” He murmurs, and this time, the genuine, hesitant intrigue in his voice catches you off guard.

“Thank you,” You begin, and despite yourself, you are flattered by his statement. You truly love when others notice and compliment the artistry of your craft. You shrug and offer the vial to Astarion. Perhaps a small olive branch is due, if the two of you are stuck tethered together for who knows how long. 

The rogue takes the bottle and inhales the fragrance, and then he emits a noise that sounds something like a soft moan or groan. It’s a deep, uninhibited sound from the back of his throat, almost as if he’s absolutely losing himself in the scent. When he focuses on you again, there’s a relaxed look in his eyes paired with a soft, unguarded smile. It reminds you of the way he looked at you in your parent’s tavern. 

“Delicious…” He murmurs, his tone dropping into that salacious one he’d used on you at the tavern all those years ago, when asking if you planned to murder someone with poisons. Something about the way he said the word while staring directly into your eyes, his pupils blown from the fragrance he’d just inhaled, made your face grow hot.

You aren’t interested in a rake, and you won’t be fooled again, you remind yourself. No matter how beautiful the bastard truly is. 

You extend your hand out, motioning for the vial and he obliges with a disappointed tut.

“It’s a combination of lavender, sage, and vanilla.” You explain, tucking the precious vial back into your pack.

“And what else? There’s something else, isn’t there? It’s the same thing that was in the sample you gave me.” He responds, eyebrow cocked in curiosity.

You laugh in genuine surprise, “Good nose. Are you trying to steal my recipe so that when you return to Baldur’s Gate, you can have an exact duplication instead of the lesser version you have now, Astarion?”

You are partly joking, partly serious. 

The elf shakes his head, brows crinkling together in absent thought, “No… merely curious, I suppose. I’ve never smelt anything quite like your concoctions. I have to admit the memory of the scent from that night has… stayed with me. I would have written to you to tell you as much, if I could have. If I hadn’t… lost your card.”

You squint your eyes. There is something genuine in Astarion’s statement, despite the strange excuse about losing the card. Sure, he may have truly lost it. But then, he could have simply returned to the Drunken Dragon and asked your cousin for your address.

The next time you visited your family on holiday, after your conversation with the rake, your cousin indicated the elf hadn’t been by since that night. When you asked about Astarion every year, feigning nonchalance, your family always indicated he hadn’t been seen. 

It was almost as if he were avoiding the Drunken Dragon altogether for those three years.

You’d ultimately assumed he moved away… or perhaps died, murdered by one of his jealous lovers.

“It’s dragonsblood… just a drop.” You admit, eyeing the silver-haired elf with suspicious curiosity.

A sudden bark of laughter escapes Astarion’s lips. And then his head tips back and he positively cackles in a mixture of amusement and delight. He seems to find this information exceptionally hilarious. Your brows stitch together in confusion as you watch the rogue chortle.

Sure, it was an unusual additive. But it wasn’t exactly hilarious, was it? 

“Dragonsblood!” He exclaims, clapping his hands together in front of him as his eyes crinkle with mirth, “How… unique. You are quite the artist, Demetria.”

You feel the flush rise in your cheeks at the compliment while you murmur another thank you. Surely he’s flattering you, trying to ingratiate himself and hoping you’ll forgive his slight against you, isn’t he? 

Astarion’s eyes flit between yours now, and he hums in thought, “You look… different. From my memory at the tavern.”

“Really? Well you didn’t actually remember me at all until the parasite helped you, so I’m not quite sure how reliable your memory of me is. You look the same as I remember.” You deadpan, instantly trying to deflect from his observation. 

You know what he means… the ring hadn’t just affected your mind. It has permanently altered the color of your eyes into a strange purple, reminiscent of the cosmos itself. But you aren’t ready to share anything about your patron or the damn ring with anyone else just yet.

Astarion cocks his head, and he is about to say something more, but then Gale is bursting back through the brush. His eyes are wide with apprehension as he looks between you and the rogue. The concerned expression on your otherwise affable campmate causes everyone in the vicinity to quickly rise to their feet.

Gale grimaces as he addresses his new traveling companions with some level of unease, “I think you all might want to see this.”

And then he disappears back into the brush without another word. Part of you thinks you shouldn’t follow him, but you do anyway. After all, how could this possibly get stranger than it already is? 

Your patron is laughing again. Poor little apothecary, you have no idea.

[kimberbohwrites]

Alright, I'm officially launching this. It's been a long time coming on this one. Dusk & Honey: Chapter One Next Chapter> Word Count: 4,157 Rated: Overall fic rating is Explicit, this chapter is SFW READ ON AO3 (or continued below) Please don't forget to kudos/comment/like/reblog <3 >Halsin x Tav art by @ DARKURGETRASH on tumblr<

Summary: The story of my OC Tav, Luna and her experience during the timeline of the game, not modifying canon so much as adding more to the Halsin-romance path. Featuring: world-building, action, well-researched drow lore, hurt/comfort, slowburn Halsin romancing, and eventual smut. PLEASE MIND THE TAGS, we'll be exploring trauma in several areas including touching on some of the darker canon trauma faced by Halsin. Tags/Warnings: Eventual Smut, Enemies to Lovers, mildly they are gonna fight, Halsin Romance Route, Named Tav, Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Drow Culture , Half-Drow Tav, Anti-Drow Racism, Anti-Tiefling Racism, Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Baldur's Gate 3, Cleric Tav, Implied/Referenced S*xual Assault, (meaning the eventual discussion of Halsin's time in the underdark), Pining

Chapter One

Luna had seen a lot in her life but the events of the last tenday had left her unsettled and she didn’t care much for the feeling. It was probably the fact that she’d experienced true terror before in her past and she wasn’t keen to relive it again so soon. She was relatively young for her kind, only 50 or so years old, as a half-drow that settled her in her final years as a young adult. Were she human she might be considered middle aged or even older by the archaic standards by which they viewed women.

I guess that was something the drow do have right, holding our older women in reverence.

She shook the thought away, she knew the cost of that reverence was absolute tyranny under Lolth. Pushing her long white hair out of her eyes she peered out from her bedroll at her strange new companions. Sleep wouldn’t come easy for her and so she silently stood and retreated from the circle of safety in which they slept each night. Their forms were still, save for Karlach who let out a snore and a grunt every so often.

A tiefling barbarian powered by infernal mechanics, an vampiric elf with tragedy in his eyes, a cursed human man with too much mystery to make him simply a harmless wizard, a fairytale prince with a dark past, an alien from a different plane whose hardened armor likely shielded more than just her body, and another half human stuck worshipping a terrible goddess for unclear reasons.

The half smile that crept across her face in the moonlight held warmth. She couldn’t help but already feel a certain attachment to them. Was it too soon to call them friends? How does one describe a group of perfect strangers who are about to risk their lives together?   They were on the eve of storming a massive goblin war encampment. Where hopefully they’d be able to retrieve a Druid who might be able to heal them of the mindflayer tadpoles they’d found themselves infected with at the start of their adventure.

Halsin, they’d called him.

The handsome older tiefling at the grove seemed certain that if anyone could set everything to rights, it would be him. Luna held no love for the Druids of the Emerald Grove for she had seen their cruelty firsthand. While her Goddess, Eilstraee called her to good, it had been all she could do not to rip out the Druid Kagha’s throat when she had discovered her holding a child under the threat of death by a venomous snake. She could have killed a little tiefling girl all over a statue.

As a Cleric, her reverence for her Goddess was absolute but she was certain that the Dark Maiden wouldn’t call on her followers to kill children for removing a statue. Luna wasn’t educated in the ways of Sylvanus but surely he wouldn’t have wanted blood spilled over his idol. With a deep huff, she cleared the memory of Kagha from her mind and gazed up at the moonlight.

Moonbathing was her favorite thing to do since she’d made it to the surface. There wasn’t a moon or a sun in Menzoberanzan — just the Narbondel and the fairie fire of various shades that lit the cavernous spaces and houses, some bioluminescent flora and fauna existed as well. Largely, there was darkness and the bleakness of the Underdark had weighed heavy on her. They’d said it was because she was a “filthy half-breed” and that was why she couldn’t abide the Underdark. But the joke had been on every person who’d pursued her as she’d fled Menzoberranzan. Every member of the party was a full drow, a whole hunting party meant to eliminate her before she could escape the Underdark. Her survival had been mere dumb luck, because as she’d finally made it to the surface they’d overtaken her to discover it was a midday on a brilliantly sunny summer morning. They’d been forced to turn back, some falling to the ground in pain and being left by the group to suffer.

Luna had continued into the sun, her eyes and skin burned against the foreign rays of the sun — but that pain had been all that stood between her and freedom.

That had been almost 30 years ago but the memory still felt like a fresh wound in her mind. She forced the sounds of screaming and the curses chanted on the wind from the Clerics of Lolth. Instead, she let the moonlight kiss her skin as she offered her arms and her troubles up to the visage of her Goddess in her lunar form. Swaying lightly in the breeze as she allowed her muscles to ease and willed the stress and unease away. She scanned the reaches of her mind, her memories for something sweeter to replace them.

Images of perfect ripe berries, sunflowers, the yellowed and worn pages of her favorite book, and silver swords ringing true all flashed across her mind. Her favorite things never failed to bring a smile to her face. But something else, just a flash of something new had been in the mix: kind eyes and the warm words of the very Druid they currently sought to rescue.

The words were easy to know the source of, she had taken Halsin’s journal and his pipe from the Grove while Nettie hadn’t been looking. While she didn’t approve of stealing, she couldn’t help but want to know more about the Elf that everyone spoke so highly of on both sides of the simmering conflict. Besides, she had told herself repeatedly that she would return them to him as soon as she rescued him so it truly wasn’t stealing. Many of her nights were sleepless and reading over his notes and journal entries had been like getting to know the man a through one-sided correspondence. Luna couldn’t help but notice an obvious warmth in the tone of his words, even in something as clinical as his research notes.

The flowers were drawn so lovingly, as were the animals depicted in the quite talented sketches that accompanied many of the notes. She thought of the soft Druid that must have drawn them — probably meek and scared in the hands of their goblin captors. Her resolve strengthened.

The kind eyes took her a moment longer to connect, but after a moment a blush crept across her dusky, storm-blue skin. They were Zevlor’s eyes, of course, the kind and handsome older tiefling that had sent them in search of Halsin in the first place. Luna had always had a soft spot for people who care for those around them who are weaker. Zevlor’s dedication to his kin had been admirable.

She’d wished she hadn’t talked him out of laying out Aradin, that failed adventurer, but alas it has been the right thing to do. Violence was nessecary, yes, but only as a last resort when the time for words was passed. With the new lightness of spirit provided by her meditation came the clarity of the truth before her. It was very likely that unavoidable violence lay on the horizon for Luna. It wasn’t that she was afraid for herself, as a tempest Cleric, her ability to heal and destroy had already made her valuable for her camp-mates.

Luna recalled the stunned look on Gale of Waterdeep’s face when his thunderwave had missed during the battle at the front gate of the Druid Grove where they’d first happened upon Wyll, Zevlor, and Aradin. She had stepped up right after and with a deft hand, thunderwaved two goblins from the top of the outcropping on which they’d chosen to make their stand. The goblins had perished and her party had been able to fight its way to the small group in front of the gate to rescue them from the Worg and Bugbear which had surrounded them.

“What kind of Cleric are you exactly?”

Gale had done little to disguise the shock in his voice as he asked that question. It was colored with both amusement and surprise. Luna had smiled sweetly at the question and offered her answer. In truth she had barely avoided the wizard and her other companions. She was powerful but like the storms she wielded, her power was unruly and dangerous.

No, it wasn’t herself that she was afraid for.

Zevlor popped into her mind once more, triggered by the memory. His dusky crimson skin, the wrinkles and ridges that adorned his rugged face, and the nervous twitch of his tail as they’d spoken together in private in his cave. With a start, she shook his face loose of her mind and started back for the campfire. Sleep would be important to the success of tomorrow’s battle. She had already let Astarion feed on her, she couldn’t handle any distractions or weaknesses.

She climbed back into her thin bedroll, flat on her back to look at the stars as she let the sweet sounds of the evening carry her to sleep.

—*—*——*—*—

The battles had been trying, but they had lived to tell the tale — but only just. Sneaking in through a weak wall in the temple facade had proven a key strategy, she was grateful for Wyll and his ability to blast down the rubble. It had allowed them to bypass the leaders and goblins within as they’d made their way back to where Astarion had spotted a bear being tortured by the goblins.

It was very likely, this was their Druid but they had no way of knowing for sure.

Only Wyll and Karlach had supported her in her decision to free the bear without knowing fully. But her companions had followed her into battle nonetheless. The large brown cave bear had in fact, been the Druid Halsin and he’d noted her potential madness at freeing a bear with no questions asked.

The moment Luna had laid eyes on him out of wildshape form, something had caught in her chest. Something she’d never felt before. She’d seen many handsome men and women in her time, surely this wasn’t just about Halsin being easy on the eyes. He was an altogether unexpected thing, the soft and meek Druid she had been anticipating was instead an unusually large elf, built more like an orc than any elf she’d ever laid eyes upon. It was another thought for her to bury in her mind for another time. There was additional bloodshed ahead of them and it didn’t look like it was something they would return alive from.

When Halsin had offered to go with them to finish off the goblin leadership and the hundreds of goblins within the ruined temple of Selune, Luna had eagerly agreed. She found the presence of a large cave bear padding softly behind her, oddly soothing despite the way he seemed to unsettle everyone else in her party.

The full drow that had awaited them in an antechamber, Minthara had chilled Luna to the bone. There had been such hate in her eyes and it had forced bitter memories to the forefront of her mind. Like savage childhood beatings from Lolth’s favored that looked just like the cruel drow woman, who they’d come upon plotting the mass murder of the Druid grove with the eagerness of someone picking what to eat for dinner. Killing her had been easier than she would have liked to admit. 

Halsin and Karlach had lead the charge in, with Luna, Astarion, and Wyll on their heels. But Minthara’s focus had lasered in on Luna.

“Oh, whelps like you are quite rare for a reason, half-breed”

The Paladin’s words had settled on her like ice that threatened to paralyze her and she had felt the familiar panic rise in her chest one more. She was never going back, she’d sooner die. Minthara could tell she had hit a nerve and continued her line of verbal attacks, coupled with brutal physical blows to Karlach.

“Usually, someone would do you the kindness of putting an abomination like you out of your misery as a babe, how uncared for you were that they couldn’t have spared you the shame.”

When it happened, her heart had been beating so hard that it pounded in her ears like some artificer’s creation. Her blood ran cold and the rage she felt within had let loose to a blissful emptiness that overwhelmed Luna like the tide pulling her out. What had come next was a surprise to everyone but her, oh she knew what would happen and it had been too late to stop it.

Luna’s power had exploded it out in a violent storm surge of thunder and lightning, like a typhoon contained within a dropped flask — it engulfed everything around it. Wyll and Astarion were lucky enough to be standing far enough back to simply be knocked to the ground and hit with bits of debris from the blast. Minthara, Halsin, and Karlach couldn’t say the same.

The sound of Minthara’s scream growing quieter before fading away completely as she had plummeted to her death in the cavern below them was all Luna could hear as her eyes had tried to refocus from the blast. Tears had already brimmed in her eyes, if Karlach and Halsin had been standing in the wrong place — not even her healing magic could bring them back from that fall.

“Luna! For gods sake, help!” Came Wyll’s voice on the ledge of the pit. His arm had been latched to the unconscious form of Halsin, dangling in the cavern. He had been knocked out of wildshape and was elven again. Astarion was clinging to Wyll’s ankles and pulled back with all of his might to try to stop the warlock from sliding off the edge after the Druid.

She’d bit back the forming tears and dove down to the ledge and spread herself out flat, grabbing Halsin’s other arm. Still, the three of them weren’t enough to haul the Druid back to safety and she could feel them slipping after him.

“We need to let go damnit!” Astarion had hissed as he continued to hold Wyll’s legs.

Luna knew he had meant it to save their lives, but still she had held fast and pulled in an attempt to accomplish the impossible. She was unwilling to let Halsin die alone because of her foolish lack of control. She had been so ready to accept her death, she had just needed to get the other two to let go.

“Take Wyll!”

She’d shouted back at Astarion, hoping he’d choose to save the two of them as opposed to dying. The look of shock on his face had been new.

“No one is letting go, solider” Had come a groggy voice over their heads as Karlach had reached over the edge and grabbed Halsin by the back of his tunic. She had clearly been knocked unconscious by the blast and was bleeding from a large gash on her head. Her arrival was like a hero of old, auspiciously timed when all hope seemed to be lost. Tav wondered if Karlach had become used to having to save the day constantly as a result of her hard decade in Avernus.

Her fingers had still clung to the massive Druid’s arm, his skin slick from the battle but her grip felt more secure. Karlach had begun to slowly pull Halsin back up as the three of them scrambled to help. Incredibly, with her help it had been easy to move him.

Luna scrambled to her feet to make room for the massive Druid’s form and she’d encouraged Karlach to lay down as well.

“Please Karlach, i’m so sorry this is all my fault, let me heal you”

The guilt that threatened to paralyze her had risen like a tide from within. It’s all my fault. She had willed a steady breath into her lungs as Karlach settled before her. The moon controls the tides. She had repeated it to herself over and over. Before long her heart had begun to beat steadier and she had allowed herself to relax after a few moments.

Looking Karlach over had revealed some painful looking, but easily healed superficial wounds. Luna had quickly rummaged through her pouch to find the bottles she kept wrapped in grimy scraps of fabric so they didn’t break.

“Got a bottle of the strong stuff while you’re in there, solider?”

Karlach’s jokes had seemed quick but the wince she had made revealed that the humor was a simple front. Finally she had located the bottles she was looking for, glowing red and freshly brewed by her that morning. She’d always loved herbalism and luckily there were a lot of herbs and other reagents found on the road.

“Drink this, I promise you’ll feel good as new, friend.”

“Bottoms up, mate”

She’d then been able to turn her attention to the Druid, she had found him being tended to by the less capable hands of Wyll and Astarion. The latter being the real culprit. Wyll had removed his jacket and forced Astarion out of his to create a pillow under Halsin’s head. Halsin had appeared awake but only barely, his eyes looking up at the cavern ceiling above him without focus.

His eyes had seemed to try to find hers as soon as she had entered his field of vision when she leaned down to look him over.

“By… Sylvanus” He had murmured “My lady”

She’d found blood pooled on the ground under his head and more running slowly from one of his ears. It was then she bad been positive, her stomach sunk slightly at the truth, the bleeding in combination with the difficulty focusing had meant massive head trauma. Fatal, if unhealed.

“Shhhhh, it’s just a bump on the head, you’re going to be okay”

Wyll had glanced down at the blood pooled on the ground and then back to her, bristling at her obvious lie to the Druid. Sure, it had been much more than a bump on the head — But Luna planned to make good on her promise. There had been no need to panic the large elf. She liked Wyll, he was brave and had the makings of the kind of hero she’d always heard about in tales that had inspired her. But he was also young.

She had shot Wyll a firm look before turning her attention back to the Druid. Luna had then gently eased his head down flat on to the ground and removed the makeshift pillow from under him. She’d tossed them over toward Astarion who had immediately taken issue with the state of his jacket. He’d held the bloodstained garment aloft with a look of disdain.

“Would you look at the state of —“

 Luna had fixed Astarion with one of her harder looks and his sentence had trailed off. While Luna never liked to issue threats of violence unless absolutely necessary — she also wasn’t above letting someone know they were toying with the line, with a single glance. Growing up the way she had and being alone for so long, that look had been a life saving mechanism.

She’d turned her attention to her charge once more and had found him even more dazed than he had been only moments before, a smile had spread across his broad face as his eyes tried hard to focus on her. Something had stirred like a tickle in her chest at the sweet look on the dazed man’s face. What was wrong with her? He was dying for goddesses sake and she’d allowed a momentary distraction.

“It’s you” he’d murmured

“Shhhhh”

“Eilstraee, I saw you in a painting…” Halsin’s voice had trailed off.

Luna had fought back the blush she’d felt at such an obvious but flattering mistake. He was concussed and needed healing, he didn’t know what he was talking about. She’d hushed him gently again and closed her eyes. She had looked to the night sky within her and the beautiful pendant of the moon hanging on its canvas. A deep breath had centered her within her power as she summoned the strongest healing spell she had been capable of in that moment.

In hindsight it had probably wasteful to expend the most powerful healing spell she had on hand before they’d dealt with Dror Ragzlin. Still, it had worked out for the best, the hobgoblin had been no match for a full strength cave bear blessed with the might of her goddess. Of course he’d been helped by a freshly healed and mended Karlach, Wyll, Astarion, and herself.

They’d agreed there would have to be a discussion on what exactly happened when Minthara had pushed her too far. She’d begged for their patience and to respect her privacy. It was the same respect given to all of them. They had agreed with varying levels of ease — some outright vowing to pry it out of her. There was a lot she should have probably said to her new companions but she couldn’t begin to understand how to start. For now she was content in respecting their secrets and begging them to let her have hers.

They were grateful to reach camp and the rest of their traveling companions that night. Gale had prepared a stew of foraged roots and some fish he’d magicked out of the Chinothar. It bubbled on a smaller fire the wizard maintained just for his nightly prepared meals. Always ready for whenever his companions were ready to eat as he lounged in a chair nearby, reading a heavy tome.

Strangely, even now as they began their post-battle and evening rituals, her mind drifted back to sweet moment when Halsin had awoken freshly healed. She’d been holding one of his hands as the spell took hold. As he had come back to full consciousness, his thumb had begun to stroke her hand tenderly. Luna had tried not to think much of the action until the Druid had sheepishly cleared his throat and pulled his hand away from her grasp with an awkward chuckle.

But now, standing outside her tent, gathering her supplies for a bath her mind drifted back to the gentle touch of his large hand in hers. Why did she feel so strange after healing a man she’d just met? Sure, the elf was attractive but she was sure it wasn’t that. She’d taken people to bed before and none had caused such an unusual reaction. Logic clearly pointed to a romantic affliction. However drow were not known for being romantic and in that regard Luna was more drow than human.

Maybe I should just bed the giant elf and get him out of my system.

Her goddess embodied love of all types but romantic love had always seemed beyond her understanding. Eilstraee had been patient always in their meditations, but deep down she worried her goddess believed such a thing beyond her. Not that it matters and I’m missing much, she thought.   She enjoyed carnal relations and had never met anyone to change that to anything deeper. She shook these questions and frustrations from her mind as started off toward the river, sundries in hand.

By the roaring fire, several of her companions had already gathered around warm bowls of food, fresh from their baths. Tomorrow they were due back at the Grove, Halsin having already headed there right after the fall of Dror Ragzlin to set the escalating conflict to rights. She continued past her companions with a quiet smile, polite but quick enough to not invite company.

As she scrubbed the grime and blood of the day away her mind drifted to Minthara again. She’d been a Baenre. After so long free of that nightmare and yet the conflicts and horrors of her people had found her already. A Baenre. Minthara’s family had essentially ruled Menzoberranzan since not long after its founding. Of course Lolth’s will was the final word, but the Matron Mother of House Banere had only the Spider Queen herself above her in station.

Her heart began to race. Even a Half Drow like herself, kept out of sight as a servant and whipping post, knew about House Baenre. All Minthara had probably ever known was violence and at the end, she’d died a violent death. In her chest, her heart heaved at that thought. Her eyes brimmed with tears, she refused to allow to fall, she wouldn’t cry for that monster.

Am I any better than they are after this?

 As she lingered in the water the tears had fallen anyway, carving little rivers of their own in the blood and muck on her cheeks — the evidence of her guilt. She scrubbed harder at her face in the broken reflection on the surface of the water.

Scrub as hard as you want, the truth will always be there. You’re just. like. them.

[duckprintspress]

September Patreon Releases: Six Short Stories and an Art Piece!

Duck Prints Press currently releases our single-author non-anthology short stories solely to our Patreon. The higher one backs, the more stories one gets! Not only do backers get access to our new releases based on their backer level, but they also get access to the entire back catalog of short stories we’ve published to Patreon! That means that someone who becomes a new backer at the $3/month level RIGHT NOW would instantly receive access to 41 short stories. Yes, $3 for 41 stories! Higher levels get even more; at our highest level, $25/month backers who subscribe now automatically gain access to 100 short stories and two exclusive art pieces. That’s a whole lot of awesome queer tales to read and art to view, so check it out, and read on to learn more about this month’s releases!

New General Imprint Titles

Telemachy by Willa Blythe. A bittersweet first-person exploration about a young lesbian who moves to the big city but can’t escape her regrets. Available to Patreon backers at the $10/month level and above.

Junk by J. D. Harlock. Set in a future when sentient robots box for human enjoyment, the fighter Junk Boy confronts his owner about his desire to retire. Available to Patreon backers at the $7/month level and above.

The Deadman’s Gambit by Nicola Kapron. An undead man who has long sought his equally undead husband and a young woman eager to rid herself of her family legacy join forces against the corporation that makes super soldiers in this zombiepunk sci-fi second-person story. Available to Patreon backers at the $7/month level and above.

In Fine Feather by Violet J. Hayes. After being summoned to be the familiar to an herbalist mage, a crow shifter is frustrated to discover that his summoner appears to already have another crow as his familiar. Available to Patreon backers at the $10/month level and above.

New Explicit Imprint Titles

On Campaign by Dei Walker. Lilya and Maret return in this stand-alone story set some months after the events of Clerical Error. War is hell; intimacy can be a much-needed break and chance to provide mutual comfort in this f/f fantasy erotica short story. Available to Patreon backers at the $5/month level and above.

then, too, at sea by ilgaksu. A young lighthouse keeper rescues an injured seal who washes up on the banks below his lighthouse, and discovers the seal is more than he appeared to be. Available to ALL Patreon backers!

September Backer-Reward Art Piece

Artist: May Barros Title: Magic Friendship

May Barros brings us their vision of aroace solidarity and friendship in this sweet piece of two dear friends in a magical setting.

Viewing Access ($5/month and $7/month backers) | Viewing and Download Access ($10/month and $25/month backers)

Become a Patreon backer today, get a ton of amazing stuff!!

[utilitycaster]

Well now im curious, what are your top 10 etiquette violations

I'm not actually sure there are 10 tbh in that these are relatively broad - you could split them up more finely if you wanted but they cover a wide range of behavior. Also this is...a bit stream of consciousness. I do stand by 1 as the absolute Golden Rule of D&D in that it's really just so Me Me Me (more so than main character syndrome) that it's inexcusable, but like...rules 2- 6 are kind of all in the same nebulous position in my mind as are rules 7-10. 2-6 are "really bad, have a talk and be prepared to kick this person out if they don't shape up and honestly I would probably not want to hang out with them irl much if they don't shape up" and 7-10 are "maybe don't invite them to game nights but they could be okay otherwise."

Deliberately going against the general vibe of the table. This is the broadest but also obviously worst trait. If everyone else is here to play a serious playthrough of Curse of Strahd and they're all vampire hunters and whatnot and you're playing a clown in a hawaiian shirt named Jeff you are not funny; you are an asshole. I think that person who made the post of like "I'm playing D&D with my dad's friends and they're all fighters with tragic backstory and I'm a neon firbolg who resurrects our enemies and runs therapy sessions" should be beaten with hammers. Like, be unique, but if everyone else is going for a lighthearted vibe it's not time to bust out your darkest PC and vice versa. (This also goes deeper, like, if your table has decided PC death in-game is okay, you can request a change, but if you've never spoken up about this and then your character dies and you pitch a fit, that's on you.)

"Um actually my rich family solves this" and similar circumventing of obstacles in a way that cuts off all story avenues. It's fine to offer your services to help - sometimes the party will want it! But the worst player I've played with (who still did not violate Item 1) did this and short-circuited like 75% of the plot by being like "well my wealthy merchant family can probably smooth this over" and I wanted to, well, beat them with hammers. Brian Murphy of Naddpod calls this "showing up and trying not to play D&D" and he's right.

Closely related to/overlapping with item 2 but Main Character Syndrome. If you're a wizard and there's a nonurgent trial of strength? that is for the barbarian. If they ask for help, go for it, but don't just do everything. Share the table. Self-explanatory but man do some people not get it. I'm also grouping this with "my character wouldn't help" behaviors. Like to be clear, forgoing your turn as a roleplay thing is fine, but another Naddpod D&D Court regular topic is like "the player for whatever reason would not join combat bc their character wouldn't, and we nearly had a tpk because the encounter assumed our fucking cleric would be there".

Actually violating player agency. Closely relating to 2-3. Conflict is great and good. I think it's fine to lie, cheat, and steal from your party members if your table agrees on that. There are spells or abilities that lead to possession which is also valid if your table has talked through that. But you do not get to otherwise like, force another player character to do your bidding (unless your table has, again, decided this is okay). You cannot persuasion check other PCs into going against their desires unless that's a very specific conversation you've had out of character as a table. Even in game, like, the DC on persuasion checks can be arbitrarily high - even impossible - if someone would simply never do it.

Noncombat/non-violent D&D. There are other TTRPGs that are not heavily based on war games with character classes that aren't like 90% battle abilities and you should check those out. Anyone who plays noncombat/nonviolent D&D and is proud of it is dumb as the bag of hammers I'm beating the people of items 1 and 2 for and I don't respect them. I guess this isn't so much an etiquette violation in that if your entire table wants this you can all be terrible together, but it is kind of a dick move, especially since I both love D&D and find the anti-D&D crowd to largely be the most sour grapes-ass losers of all time, but also believe passionately that there are many things D&D does not achieve well because it is in fact a specific game with specific objectives. You should, if you want to play a game that is all social encounters and skill checks and no fighting, play the many indie games that would love your patronage and suit you admirably, not the most neutered, milquetoast, unsalted margarine version of D&D. I genuinely believe that people playing murderhobos or hardcore metagamers are VASTLY preferable.

Not making a good faith effort to know the rules. You do not have to be good at D&D. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting for not knowing every rule of D&D. You only have to let the soft animal of your body have at least read the rules of your character's class, subclass, and race, and show up prepared, instead of being like "tee hee I listened to 5 episodes of TAZ Balance and am going to twirl my hair at the DM and hope they help little old me." The DM is BUSY and has SHIT TO DO. Read the fucking manual. It's okay to be wrong! It's not okay to be clueless on purpose.

Rules for Thee and Not For Me. Mostly a DM thing, and to be clear, the DM does have special rules bc they are the special one and this is obviously not about that. There are also rules that apply to NPCs/stat blocks and not PCs, and those are inherent to the balance of the game and are fine because NPCs have different abilities. But if, for example, you are requiring an athletics check of PCs to climb up on a ledge and don't permit acrobatics, your rogue NPC villain can't do acrobatics either unless they have some specific pre-written ability.

Metagaming pt 1: excessive metagaming: Part 2 will reveal the "excessive" but like. If you know trolls regenerate because you've been playing D&D for years but you are a level 4 INT 8 sorcerer in-game? you do not know trolls regenerate.

Metagaming pt 2: refusal to engage with the fact that this is a game: Sometimes you get the reverse, when people are like "well my character wouldn't realize that this magic item was important to your character" despite the other person RP-ing everything or "would I notice you were knocked out directly in front of me? It's a pitched battle!" Like. don't cheat but come on bro. This is, ultimately, a game. I will once again bring up Naddpod both because D&D Court exists AND they will do rule of funny shit (as Murph once pointed out, if you want to say you go to Ruby Tuesday's as a joke, great, if you try to use it mechanically, no, which is a healthy attitude towards immersion) AND Murph understands the concept of kayfabe.

Really extensive indecision that doesn't involve the whole party. This is mostly me but like. it's not fun, and I am impatient. If you're not an actual play livestream, you should take a break and in fact talk out of game and resume because god this drags. If everyone's on board obviously go for it but if it's one person's choice...babe the spotlight is on you, sing your solo or leave.

Basically: remember you are at a table with other people and you are telling a collaborative story in a system that is combat-heavy. I'm not bothered by (for example) someone stealing another character's item so long as they understand that this may lead to consequences for them! If you can dish it out but you're prepared to take it and your table trusts each other? Great! The problem is when people try to win against the other players, ask for special treatment they do not grant others, waste everyone's time unnecessarily, or skip to the end of the story; that's against the fundamental nature of the game. It's inconsiderate AND it misses the point.

[yeetmeoutthewindowdaddy]

A deep dive into Zevlor's devotion (Part 2.5) Zevlor's paladin oath:

(Had to make this section separate because (Part 2) got too long)

(Part 3) Zevlor's actions during Act 1, an analysis of a man who is barely holding on.

A deep dive into Zevlor's devotion series (master list)

______________________________________________________________

Zevlor's Paladin Oath:

(AN: From here down anything highlighted in green is 100% canon and not me speculating.)

Being a Tiefling, especially one who's infernal heritage is very prominent in his features, would have made becoming a Hellrider (pardon the pun) hell. Zevlor would have had to work harder than his fellow recruits. His record had to have to be flawless and his behavior impeccable, he would have been held to standards that were even more stringent than the already strict ones Hellriders were held to.

Even if he wasn't a deeply pious man (which he definitely is), how better than to prove your devotion than by becoming a paladin? Swearing an oath upon a God is not a matter to be taken lightly in a world where the gods regularly interact with mortals. He received his God's blessing, which he wouldn't have if he was being deceitful in his vows.

I think Torm was his deity of choice.

"The deity of paladins and the god of duty, loyalty, righteousness, obedience and, after the Spellplague, law. By the late 15th century DR, Torm was the war god of courage and self-sacrifice... And the state official religion/ God of Elturel."

The Spellplague (LINK) is a can of worms I'm not opening. Suffice to say Mystra died again, along with some other Gods again, and chaos ensued again.

I used to think Helm fit him the best, but some Godly shenanigans, called the Time of Troubles, made him fall out of favor as a God thanks to Mystra being on her bullshit again, amongst the people of Faerûn. Not exactly a god a person who already suffers from prejudice, and who is desperately trying to prove themselves as trustworthy, would be chomping at the bit to become a paladin to. Also Helm was dead up until like ~6 years before the start of BG3.

The Time of Troubles (LINK) is another can of worms I don't have time to get into. TL;DR: Every god (except Helm because he was needed to guard the gates to the heavens) had to walk the earth in their moral forms. Gods died, gods were resurrected, and gods ascended. Clerics and paladins lost access to their powers, and using the Weave (Because Helm destroyed Mystra) became dangerously unpredictable.

Yes, I know Zevlor has the Hellrider's Pride that gives you Helms blessing. But it is hard to imagine that Zevlor would choose a hated, dead god as his patron deity. Elturel still seems to have like Helm well enough, but Zevlor is strategic-- and would recognize that becoming a paladin of the city's preferred deity would garner him more favorable opinions than being a paladin of Helm would.

To make things even more complicated, Helm and Torm were buddies. Their clergy, however, were not friendly with each other.

"The only god who could have been considered a full ally of the Watcher (Helm) was Torm, the god of paladins. Strongly held ideological differences caused a great rivalry verging on hatred between the clergy of the two gods, but the deities themselves remained close."

With Helm and Torm being friendly and fairly similar to each other, (they're so similar that I can't understand why their clergies had beef with each other) Zevlor would have seen Torm as a good alternative for Helm.

Although, it wouldn't surprise me if he was stubborn enough to swear to Helm anyways. From what I can tell Helm worshippers are more hardcore and uncompromising in their beliefs than Torm worshippers, and this fits nicely with my "Zealot Zevlor" headcanon. (Also, the thought of Zevlor failing his people just as his god failed his is tragically delicious.) This post [alt] by @davi-doo adds critical information about Helm in Elturel, and makes a very strong case for Zevlor being his paladin. And this post [alt] by @nightmarist and @haru-sen covers the Companion, the Creed Resolute, and paladins and their oaths.

Seeing that paladins weren't common in the Hellriders, and that he'd need to go to extreme lengths to prove himself-- I'm going to go ahead and assume that Zevlor joined the Knights of the Companion division of the Hellriders.

It is possible, based on the lack of tieflings being under 'membership' in the Order of the Companion on the wiki, to conclude that whether explicitly or implicitly tieflings (and other races) weren't welcome in that particular branch. Regardless if Zevlor was in the Order or not, he certainly devoted himself to Elturel with a fervor akin to theirs.

That's it for part 2.5, here's a link to (Part 3) Zevlor's actions during Act 1, an analysis of a man who is barely holding on.

Links to the other parts:

A deep dive into Zevlor's devotion series (master list)

[hwaddist]

So I had a Big Autism moment the other day so.

Here I present you: The QSMP member’s Baldur’s Gate 3 (d&d) classes

Some notes:

•I FORGOT CARRE, BUT HE WOULD BE AN ARCANE TRICKSTER ROGUE

• Honestly, Tubbo and Pierre are both artificiers but bg3 doesnt have it as a class so they’re wizzards

• Both Cellbit and Mike have Cucurucho as their patron

• My friends and I were wondering what to do with Mouse because technically speaking she’s a demon someone would make a pact with but then we decided to make her a Barbarian because she’s batshit crazy (affectionate)

• I almost made Pac a fighter but then my friend pointed out Gloom Stalker Ranger and i was like Wait. Ur right.

• the first draft didnt had rubius but I changed it after yesterdays stream

• im still not 100% convinced with archfey warlock luzu but hes still a warlock nonetheless

• im also having second thoughts about wild magic sorcerer maxo but i think im keeping it because i think its silly (sapo peta would also be a wild magic sorcerer)

• charlies the most bard to ever bard ever

• i almost made phil a tempest cleric but then my friends pointed war and i saw the light

• this whole thing started because i made bbh in bg3 as a tiefling and my mind went crazy

• mariana when him and charlie got flippa, made an oath to devote and love his family. The oath broke when he killed flippa.

[charmedcleric]

Get to know your tav!

I was tagged by the lovely @auspex-author Thank you so much for the tag!

Her name is Athena and she is my war domain cleric of eilistraee. Her character sheet is here and this post is very long so I’ll put most of it under the cut! Once I start talking about my tavs I literally can’t stop, also I talk about her relationship with rolan a little bit so that’s why he’s tagged <3

What is your tav’s….

favorite weapon?

- Athena’s favourite weapon is a longsword you find in act 1 called the Phalar Aluve

style of combat?

- She is usually in the frontline swinging her singing sword while casting spirit guardians. She also loves ambushing, as it’s a great way to get advantage over others

most prized possession?

- Athena has two lockets that she wears 24/7. One locket was a gift to her from her mother. The other locket belonged to her sister. Athena’s mother had a tradition to get each of her children a matching locket with a photo of the family in it to remind them that no matter what happens they are with them all the time. As Athena’s parents and sister had passed away she had both the lockets on her at all times to feel close to her family

deepest desire?

- To have a family of her own. She was orphaned at the age of 14 and became her little sisters full time carer. 4 years later her sister got very ill, so Athena became a cleric to help look after and heal her.

Her healing magic helped her sister stay alive for 5 years until her sister Rose succumbed to her illness and passed away. Athena felt empty as she now had no family left and she felt as if she had failed as a cleric. She would love nothing more than to have a family to call her own, yet it’s one of the things she fears most as she doesn’t want to let anyone else down

guilty pleasure?

- Athena’s guilty pleasure is gossiping, she knows she shouldn’t but she loves listening in on others business. Her, astarion and shadowheart basically have a gossiping club at this point where they tell each other all the juicy stuff

best-kept secret?

- That she is a sword dancer of eilistraee. A sword dancer is a specialized priestess (cleric) of Eilistraee. Athena had been a follower of eilistraee since she was little but once her sister died leaving her to be the last in her family, she felt as if the only thing she had left was her religion. She decided that she wanted to become a sword dancer. As she already lived on the surface becoming a sword dancer was slightly easier as to become one you must spend at least a month on the surface dancing each moonlit night for eilistraee and you had to witness dawn at least once.

She also went and offered her services at the Promenade of the Dark Maiden, she wasn’t there for long before she was taken by the nautiloid.

greatest strength?

- Her dedication, when she puts her mind to something or she wants something she will get it

fatal flaw?

- She blames herself a bit to much and she shuts down while doing it. This is seen when rolan yelled at her in the shadow lands and even after saving the tieflings from moonrise she still wasn’t herself and became very quiet for some time although she didn’t let that stop her from her task of infiltrating moonrise towers

favorite smell?

- She loves the smell of freshly baked bread, it reminds her of home when her mother would bake bread for the family in the mornings

*bit of post game lore of Athena x rolan hehe* when Rolan found this out he always made sure that there was bread being freshly baked in the kitchen each morning, nothing made him happier than seeing the smile on Athena’s face each and every morning. Of course when Athena would ask him if he was doing it for her and if he would ask them to also make some of her other fav bakery goods, he would of course deny what she said and tell her to not be greedy lmao

favorite spell or cantrip?

- She loves AOE spells such as glyph of warding and flame strike

pet peeve?

- She hates lying, she can usually see through people when it comes to lying and she makes sure that they know she isn’t happy especially if it’s someone she considers a friend or someone she has more intimate feelings for

bad habit?

- When she is nervous or stewing over something she plays with her hair and pulls out strands of her hair. The only companion that called her out on it was karlach, but as this was a habit Athena wasn’t actually aware she was doing she dismissed karlach’s worry

She was then called out by rolan which made her kinda pull back, shocked he would notice something like that (she thought he hated her) she was now well aware she was doing it and actively tries to avoid doing it. She also went and apologized to karlach for dismissing her worry

hidden talent?

- She is really good at lock picking , she likes to joke that she could give astarion a run for his money which he doesn’t agree with of course. She never lets him forget about when he was struggling to open a chest and after like 100 goes Athena had a go and immediately lock-picked it lmao (based on when astarion failed lock-picking like 20 times and then when i got Athena to have a go she got a NAT 20 lol)

leisure activity?

- Painting/drawing and singing. Before she became a cleric she would paint and sell her artwork on the city streets of waterdeep that’s how she made money to keep her and her sister alive. Now whenever she gets a free chance she will sit down and draw/paint landscapes until the sun goes down. And while she is painting she will be singing or humming along to one of her favourite songs

favorite drink?

- She loves a plain cup of coffee, she has a lot on her mind and she feels coffee helps her to relax, although some people might beg to differ

comfort food?

- Her comfort food is her mums homemade soup, whenever she has the time and ingredients she will make it as it reminds her of home and brings her immense comfort

favorite person(s)?

- Athena has multiple favourite people and all for different reasons. Her most favourite person though would have to be rolan. Even though they had a rocky relationship when they first met, Athena was nothing but nice to rolan, she admired the love he had for his family (a value she thinks is very important). They ended up getting together after the fall of the absolute.

After the fall of the brain, Athena went to rolan to catch up and to tell him that she was going back to waterdeep and well Rolan kinda lost it and confessed his feelings for her right then and there.

-Jaheira is another one of her favourite people. Athena views jaheria as a mother figure and was on the verge of tears when Jaheira first started calling her cub. Anyone around could see that Jaheira was very important to Athena and that she was the mother figure Athena wished she still had in her life

*more Athena x Rolan lore cause I’m obsessed with them lol* when Rolan was thinking of asking Athena to marry him, he went and asked Jaheira for her blessing as he knew the importance of their relationship

favored display of affection (platonic and/or romantic)?

- platonic: she loves hugs, especially giving them,

-romantic: hugs, hand holding and kisses on the cheek

fondest childhood memory?

- Playing at the local park with her family just before her parents passed away, it was one of the last times as a family and the last time she truly felt carefree and happy

free-response! Is there anything else about your Tav you'd like to share?

- She LOVES reading, once she opens a book it’s all over, you’ve lost her lol you won’t hear from her until she’s finished said book (that’s mainly cause she actually struggles to read and takes forever to finish) it’s one thing that she missed most while traveling to baldur’s gate as she had no time to just sit down and read for hours

Tagging: @esolean @lanabenikosdoormat @commander-krios @orangekittyenergy and anyone else who’d like to do it! I love reading about people’s tavs