#i think he sees wyll as a younger brother

[thats-a-lot-of-cortisol]

Some sketches of my wizard Peri as I (slowly) work my way through Act III

[masterangst]

General Headcanons that play a part in Post!game long fic of mine

This could also could just be seen as random headcanons I have of the characters based on my playthrough

For starters, Wyll became a Paladin in my playthrough, and I actually think it fits his character very well. Oath of the Ancients, to be exact.

He's in the Hells with Karlach in the beginning, but he still comes and checks on things above

He has no problem living up to the Ancients tenants, and the powers he gained are quite helpful to him in the Hells.

The reason I chose to do this, is because Wyll embodies what a Paladin does. He strives to inspire others and beat back against despair and to help others. He preaches hope and wishes to inspire it in others. He loves his friends and cares deeply about his father and his city and isn't afraid to voice it/do what it takes to protect them.

Though, he struggles with his belief that because he's still tied to Mizora, that he's unworthy of the position, but believes he can do more good than he could before. Considering it's a very powerful combo.

He's also come to accept being a warlock under Mizora, deciding to see the powers given to him because of it as a gift instead of curse.

He's main focus is helping Karlach at the beginning and may develop into something more 👀

Astarion

Him and my Tav, Axel, have become bounty hunters of sorts. It's a great way for Astarion to find people to kill and drink from. "Nobody actually cares about murder, as long as you murder the right people"

He's grown a lot more comfortable with his body and with sex. He still likes to enchant people with his charm, but now he does it cus its fun sometimes

He forces Axel to sleep in luxury and not in a bedroll every night. Also, it is the one that keeps Axels' appearance in check and repairs both of their clothes if they get damaged.

They created a technique together to take down their enemies. Sometimes treating it like a dance as seeing themselves in battle turns them both on. (I can make another post that goes into their relationship a bit more)

Now that he's not malnourished, his eyes have turned less red and his teeth are now not constantly pointy. In other words he appears more human/elfish to others now. He uses that to his advantage

He also has discovered a few abilities that spawn have that Cazador hid from him. Such as spider climbing, though he struggled with it at first. Only Axel knows of this.

Bg3 has almost it's own rules than just normal DnD. Because of this, and based on what is stated and shown in the palace. There is no evidence that the spawn were bound by their coffin like normal dnd. So in my story, that isn't a thing. And I stick with the notion that Astarion isn't forced to sleep during the day, but must at least trance once a day

He also is not the best as writing letters to everyone, but he's always watching over Axels shoulder and butting in to make corrections or add something

Shadowheart

She has a little cottage where she homes Scratch and the Owlbear.

She's not very good at gardening but she's trying. She's determined to have a small garden by the beginning of spring (story is set in winter)

Also went on a few trips to find her connection with Selune

She struggles with overcoming her trauma with her parents and with Shar and feeling worthy of being a follower of Selune

Mostly been traveling and learning more about her parents for now. Has evaded Shar assassins and has a small map of locations she's knowledgeable about of Shars followers. She intends to use it someday, but not yet.

I imagine she gets lonely and wishes to be with the others again. Though she sleeps with Scratch every night and the Owlbear sleeps on the floor by her bed.

Scratch accompanies her on her travels and makes sure she's eaten and lifts her spirits when she's sad

Her and Axel write to each other all the time and she sees him like an older brother even though hes younger (she's 48, he's 39)

The only other person she's spent time with is Gale. She stayed with him when she went to the temple of Selune in Waterdeep. They also write occasionally.

Gale

Gale is quite content with being a professor. He feels like he doesn't have that dying need to prove himself all the time anymore

Though he still wishes to be recognized by his peers at the academy

Also has tried to rekindle his relationship with Elminster, but hasn't seen him in person yet

He still feels very lonely, however, and frustrated he's having to rebuild his career in a sense. He misses being on adventures and the people he considers his real friends

He keeps in regular contact with Wyll and Axel the most. Gale helps keep Wyll informed of upstairs news and gives him new things to read to keep him company. Also has decided that Wyll must be his invite to the Blackstaff ball.

Wyll forces Gales to practice his dancing and they exchange recipes as well

Gale considers Wyll his best friend, but won't say it aloud or admit to it. It's like a mother who says she doesn't have a favorite child but clearly does.

Wyll also considers him a best friend, but also besides Karlach

Karlach

She didn't want to go back to the Hells. She was terrified and was ready to die, but having someone there helps.

She's tired of constantly fighting, I mean it's fun and all, but it's also tiring

She wants to settle down in Baldur’s Gate and have a place big enough for all her friends to visit her

The reunion party reminded her why she's still fighting. So she can come home and go on adventures again

Her and Axel are the closest. Axel was the first leader Karlach ever fully admired and didn't grow to regret it. She's also the only one who knows things others do not about him, and she takes pride in that.

She loves the color Pink and she can't wait to wear pretty dresses at the Blackstaff Ball no one tell Gale she's coming too

Sneaks away to relieve her sexual tension and lies about it. She lives with the guilt.

Is much like Astarion when it comes to letter writing. She looks over Wylls shoulder and makes comments about what he should write and how dumb the companions are sometimes.

Lae'zel

She won't be in my story very much, because she's off trying to fight/negotiate a war, since Orpheus was sacrificed.

To be frank, Lae'zels arc is my my favorite one. Especially if you choose the route to go against her queen. She's a beautiful character. Anyways.

She's a bit busy with the rebel forces but she holds onto a memento given to her by Axel to remind her that peace sometimes works better than violence.

She misses her friends on the Material plane and fully intends on seeing them in the flesh once her battle is done.

Also checks in a lot with the hatchling Xan

She can't write to her friends, but she knows they are rooting for her

By the end of the game, her and Shadowheart had made up their differences and actually became friends

In terms of everyone together. I like to imagine that a permanent side effect of the worm is that now everyone must rebuild their stats.

I'm sure I have more, so maybe I will make another post. But I was thinking of the things that play into my long fic as well.

[roguishcat]

I wish I could freaking get this fic I have in my head down. There is SO MUCH there! Just for Astarion I have headcanons about his parents (and a younger brother Astarion accidentally screwed over without ever meeting him), a daughter Astarion adopts on a whim, ideas for Astarion's relationship dynamic with ALL off the party (from my Tav, my default Companion!Durge, to Wyll, Karlach, Shadowheart, all the way to Minthara!), and post canon stuff too! What Astarion does for work in between adventures (he's a professional stylist lol), the NEW party he travels with (he deserves more friends!) Astarion gradually gains various methods of overcoming his weaknesses to... pretty much all of his weaknesses (though it takes a long time and not all of them are permanent). Heck, I even have Astarion find His People™: a group of vampires who align themselves as Good or Neutral! Boy is living his best life!

(Random little headcanon among my ranting: as soon as Karlach's engine is fixed permanently her and Astarion go on adventures together and they have so much fun together!)

I love all of these! Your ideas and headcanons are gold!

I can definitely see Astarion getting up to all sorts of mischief post-game. I mean, romanced or not, at the Epilogue party the boy tells us all about how he's living his best life! The resilience that he has and the way he heals is just- just amazing.

Here is a little piece about Astarion overcoming his weaknesses. Starting with the crucial one, overcoming his inability to walk in the sunlight.

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Astarion held the ring in his hand. Perhaps it was just his imagination playing tricks, but the metal band felt a little warm against his palm. Imagination or not, the seemingly plain trinket was supposed to keep him from burning to a crisp if he chose to feel sunlight warming his skin again.

And he wanted to do so much more. To wander as free and as careless as any other down the sun-kissed streets. To pickpocket a vendor in broad daylight. To enjoy the taste of his love's lips as warm daytime breeze flirted with their clothes. To feel the caress of the sun on his back as their kisses grew heated and he-

Astarion had to stop himself there. Because as nice as it was to imagine all the lovely, naughty things he would get up to, he had to stop being a coward and actually try out the damn thing. And so he did. Astarion slipped the ring onto his finger, marched straight to the curtains and threw them open. He winced, the harsh light blinding him momentarily. And then he opened his eyes, drinking in the colour. Oh, how he missed the brightness of it.

"Astarion?"

He heard a startled gasp and a plate crash as weak fingers let it fall to the floor. He grinned.

"Well, my love. It seems too pleasant a day to waste indoors, don't you think? How about the two of us have one of those picnics that you seemed so fond of as a child."

[commander-krios]

A Divine Dream

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Rolan/Dammon Rating: Teen Summary: An invitation to a Grand Ball. A returning hero. And the man who'd gotten away. Words: 5798 Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Slow Dancing, Ballroom Dancing, Banter, Happy Ending, Love and Hope, Second Chances, Mild Language, Background Wyll/Karlach

Read on AO3

This fic was written for @Cozy_Bossi to go along with a piece of art they made a few months ago of Dammon and Rolan. I've attached the picture and their twitter on AO3 so that you can follow them for more wonderful art!

Also, I hit 200k words posted for 2023!

Your presence is requested at a Grand Ball in honour of the rebuilding of Baldur’s Gate by his eminence, Duke Ulder Ravengard.

The invitation was written in elegant script, looped letters in golden ink that glittered in the light. He knew he should attend. Most likely, his absence would be noticed and considered rude among the upper circles of the city. He was the master of Ramazith’s Tower and Baldur’s Gate’s newest archmage, yet he had much to still do, even a year after the destruction of the Absolute. With a sigh, Rolan tossed the parchment on his desk amidst mountains of scrolls and books. 

The movement caught Cal’s eye. His brother glanced up from his book, scrunching his face in concern. “Another solicitor?”

“If only.” Untying his hair from the elaborate braid he’d started to wear recently, he brushed his fingers through the strands, combing the knots out. “There is a party for the Duke in a tenday. I’m expected to attend.”

“A party sounds fun.” Cal reached for the paper, glancing it over quickly before a grin appeared on his face. A grin that Rolan didn’t like the look of. “And Ravengard is fair and honorable. You might actually enjoy yourself.”

“The horror.” Rolan muttered, the sarcasm not lost on his younger brother. “I can think of a hundred other things I’d rather be doing than getting dressed up like a prized peacock and prancing around a dance floor.”

“Is it because you don’t have a date?” Cal teased, setting the invitation face up in front of Rolan again, the golden script mocking him.

“A date? Have you seen the type of person that tries to woo me? Hardly any of them are worth the time or effort.”

“So you’re saying that some of them are worth it?” 

“Please spare me.” The invitation sat open, a temptation despite his objections. How long had it been since he’d left the Tower to merely socialize? His work as archmage brought him to many drawing rooms in Baldur’s Gate, not to mention his travels across Faerun visiting with other archwizards. He wasn’t locked away in Ramazith’s Tower like his predecessor had been. No, he frequently took on apprentices, delved into research with other wizards in the Realms.

But his patience for frivolous things, for frivolous people, had waned in the last months. What use was making connections, social or otherwise, when the one person he wished to see had left for Avernus nearly a full year ago?

Cal shifted in his seat, bringing his book closer as if he planned to continue reading, but his eyes were fixed on a singular spot on the page. He knew what this was. Cal craved life outside of the tower walls. Lia was well established with the Flaming Fist. She had friends and dates and hobbies that kept her away for days at a time. Cal had put his life on hold to stay behind and help Rolan with the organization of the Tower, of everything Lorroakan had left behind. He worked in Sorcerous Sundries most days, only going out on the occasion when Lia insisted.

After everything they’d been through to get to this point, Rolan knew he owed his brother this.

With a sigh, Rolan rested his elbow on the desk, cupping his chin in his hands, his eyes fixed on his brother. “Cal.”

Cal glanced up curiously, the shadow of a grin twitching at his lips. “Yes, Rolan?”

“Did you want to go to the ball with me?”

In his excitement, Cal slammed the book shut hard enough that the entire table shook. Rolan cast a spell to stop the ink pot from tumbling to the floor. It floated, suspended in mid-air before he snatched it and returned it to the safety of the desk. 

“I know you’re excited, but please be careful.”

“Sorry.” Cal said with a sheepish grin. “Should we invite Lia?”

“I suspect she’ll be there.” Rolan cleared away the texts, standing and replacing them to their spots on the bookshelf. He didn’t want to discuss the ball, or the Flaming Fist, or anything when he knew how easily it could lead to places and people he wasn’t ready to talk about yet. Friends that were long gone and most likely would never return.

“Right. Flaming Fist and all.” Cal stood as well, stretching to relieve his muscles from sitting in one place so long. “Should I check in on Tolna before bed?”

“No.” He said, realizing his voice was sharper than was necessary. Forcing himself to be gentler, he turned to his brother, putting on his best smile. The frown on Cal’s face only proved he was still terrible at it. “I’ll do it. I should secure the vault and check in on a few things anyway. Go. Get some rest.”

Cal hesitated, as if he wanted to say something, but decided better of it. “Alright. You’ll let me know if you need help, right?”

Rolan nodded, but he knew no matter how much help he needed, he wouldn’t bother his brother’s well deserved rest. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he gathered up his loose hair, tying it back like he used to do when they traveled the dangerous roads of the Storm Coast. If Cal noticed, he didn’t comment on it. “Of course. Now off with you. I have work to do.”

Cal knew better than to argue with him, it wasn’t worth the trouble. Even if Rolan was in the wrong, it took practically pulling teeth for him to admit it. When his brother finally exited through the portal, the wizard of Ramazith’s Tower was left in the echoey silence.

~~~~

Duke Ulder Ravengard’s estate was lavishly decorated with red and gold hangings, perfectly shined silverware, the glow of hundreds of candles creating the perfect romantic atmosphere for the couples that had already taken to the dancefloor. Gowns made of delicate fabrics in colors of indigo and crimson, lavender and silver, each one more beautiful than the last, billowed and swayed with each movement. Elaborate beading, expensive jewelry, fashionably coiffed hair…

Rolan still couldn’t believe he was here with the nobility as an equal. All of his ambition and dreaming never prepared him for this new life: the opulence, the respect, the wealth of knowledge at his hands. He knew how lucky he was for such a chance, he’ll always be grateful to Wyll and his friends for helping him acquire it. 

With a wave of his hand and a quiet recitation of a well-known spell, stars sparkled across the ceiling, falling in wide arcs of light and color, and a smattering of applause went through the room at the sight.

Cal inhaled sharply beside him, eyes fixed on the magic until it disappeared, wonder and appreciation  on his face. “Wow. That never gets old, does it?”

Rolan smiled softly, clapping a hand to his brother’s shoulder, enjoying the way his eyes lit up at the light show. Almost like old times. “I’m glad you convinced me to come. Now, go. Enjoy yourself. I am going to see if Lia is here yet.”

Cal met his eyes, hesitating. “Are you sure you want me to leave you?”

“I can handle some nobles, Cal.” Rolan held back a laugh at the incredulous look on his brother’s face. “I’m not that insufferable, am I?”

“Well…”

Pushing gently against Cal’s shoulder, he wasn’t surprised when he burst into laughter. “Get out of here, you menace.”

Cal was still chuckling as he melted into the crowd, in search of whoever he knew among the guests. The Flaming Fist was here in force, silent watchers in the corners of the room, although most threats to the Duke or the city had long disappeared with the destruction of the Elder Brain and the deaths of the Chosen Three. Baldur’s Gate, like much of the Storm Coast, hadn’t experienced peace such as this in years. He hoped it lasted.

Rolan had no difficulty finding Duke Ravengard in the crowd, he and Counsellor Florrick speaking to nobility and common folk alike, neither being barred from the Upper City as was once the norm. Now, everyone had a voice in the rebuilding, in the life that was going to bloom here, and Rolan was grateful to be part of it.

Perhaps there was hope, after all. Hope for a better future, for a happier one. A future where he didn’t have to regret or question the choices he’d made.

A future where he finally made a life for himself.

His sister was at her post near the back of the room, the refreshment table not far from where she stood. When Lia noticed his approach, a smile spread across her face, waving in the direction he’d come from.

“I knew you had to be here when the magic show lit up the room. Can’t stop showing off, can you?”

“I did it for Cal, if you must know.” He replied flippantly, reaching immediately for the Arabellan Dry and pouring a large glass full. “He is here, somewhere.”

“Probably searching for Lord Guthmere’s daughter.” She teased, pretending to be at attention when he glanced at her. “They’ve taken a liking to one another.”

“Please, Lia. Let’s not make enemies of the patriars of the city already. I don’t want to be chased out by a mob because you and Cal cannot be discrete.”

She was silent as he sipped the wine, watching the people of Baldur’s Gate flirt, dance, and stand a world apart from them. Even if he was considered among them, Rolan doubted he would ever feel as comfortable among the glitter and gold than he was in the Sundries library, discussing spells and history with other wizards, most notably Elminster and Gale, both of whom visited him frequently over the last year. It’d been quiet, informative, and immensely enjoyable.

“You look weird.” Lia said, barely concealed mischief flirting across her face. She wore her Flaming Fist uniform, the crimson fabric and silver iron looking right on her. He would never admit it aloud, but he was proud of the woman she’d become.

But that didn’t mean she didn’t still irritate him.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He brushed a hand over the rich blue robes he wore, enjoying how the golden threads shone in the light. Rolan had spent days searching for the perfect set of robes for the Duke’s ball, only to end up in Facemaker’s at the last moment to find something worthy of an archmage. “This was an expensive purchase.”

“You might want to ask for your money back.” She teased him, motioning to the ensemble. His frown deepened. “Half of it is missing.”

Rolan sniffed in irritation, lifting the goblet to his mouth again.“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“Hells, you’re sensitive tonight.” Lia rolled her eyes so hard he was surprised they didn’t roll all the way into her skull. “I was joking, you idiot.”

“It’s difficult to tell when everything you say is a joke.”

She stared at him until his lips twitched, a smile curling his lips without his permission. Lia snorted a laugh, shaking her head but the expression on her face was approving. Figured.

“Why are you over here sulking, anyway? I’m sure there are plenty of people who would love to get to know the fabulous Master Rolan.”

He gazed into the wine glass, the dark burgundy liquid holding no answers to what plagued him. Only he knew and like hell would he explain any of it to his sister. 

He diverted her attention instead.

“Shouldn’t you be worrying less about me and more about protecting the Duke instead?”

Lia rolled her eyes, nodding to the Duke in question. “As if anyone is going to get past his entourage. Most of the Fist are here for the appearance of protection. Absolutely no one is going to hurt the Duke with a wizard prodigy, a Harper, and a damned vampire spawn protecting him.”

There was no doubt about that. The Duke’s son had left Baldur’s Gate to his father’s benevolent rule, but hadn’t left him alone. Many of his companions had either stayed in the city or visited frequently, to the point that they were welcomed guests at Ravengard’s.

“I suppose you have a point.” Rolan conceded before taking another sip of wine, refusing to meet his sister’s gaze. The last thing he wanted was to see her smug grin. She may have won this argument, but there would be plenty of those tonight and he wasn’t going to concede victory so early. “But then again, I am also here to protect our beloved Duke. Lest you forgot.”

“Could never forget a head that big.”

Rolan held his tongue when there was movement ahead, a gathering of the patriars and their guests as the familiar visage of Duke Ravengard appeared, calling for their attention as if his very presence didn’t immediately call for it. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed even Lia had snapped to attention, her chin held high and her focus entirely on the man she worked for. He’d never seen her so disciplined before. 

Perhaps he wasn’t the only one to truly benefit from the time they’d spent in Baldur’s Gate.

“Now that everyone has gathered, it’s time I explained why I asked you here.” Ulder Ravengard stood slightly raised above the crowd, a goblet of wine in his hand, Florrick and a few of his closest council standing a few feet off, watching with much less anxiety than the rest.

Whispers broke out, speculation running rampant. Ravengard raised his hands in supplication, a genuine happiness on his face that Rolan hadn’t seen much of since Wyll left for Avernus, and the guests fell silent, waiting with bated breath for his announcement. Rolan sighed quietly, trying to still the anxious flutter of his hands. He folded his arms over his chest, tucking his hands against his body, trying to ignore the foreboding that tickled at the back of his mind. 

“It’s been nearly a year and yet, I never gave up hope that my son would return home to Baldur’s Gate. To us.” Rolan didn’t miss the whispered ‘to me’ that Ravengard spoke under his breath. “And for the first time since that day against the Netherbrain, he isn’t alone. Please aid me in welcoming back the Pride of the Gate, your hero, and my son. Wyll.”

Applause and cheers mixed among the patriars, all turning as one as the enormous ornate doors opened once more to admit their heroes. Wyll Ravengard stood at the front, looking as much the hero as the Blade of Frontiers ever had, dressed in an impeccable doublet of black and gold, a prince among patriars.

The tiefling barbarian, Karlach, stood beside him with their arms linked, a radiant force with her wide smile and affectionate laugh, eyes sparkling with a fire that always burned within her.

Rolan hadn’t heard a single scrap of news regarding the tiefling with the infernal engine until now. Her return to Avernus was kept quiet among the companions and the few people who knew of her affliction. Duke Ravengard’s mood had soured considerably after Wyll left with her, refusing to let the woman he loved suffer alone, but tonight, there was a new light within the Duke… within them all. A happiness that Rolan hadn’t seen in so long. 

Wyll’s infectious laughter and wit immediately drew people to his side as it always did. He was surrounded by his usual friends, those that had helped him end the Absolute plot. The silver-haired cleric held a goblet of wine and a rather beautiful smile on her face. The wizard of Waterdeep with his jovial laughter and light hearted, yet silly jokes. The pale vampire who was the life of the party, taking in the attention with the air of a man who’d done this sort of thing his entire life. The High Harper and the former First Druid stood side by side farther back, discussing something at length with the Githyanki, supplied with all manner of drink and entertainment, preferring to shield themselves from the golden light that radiated from the savior of Baldur’s Gate instead of basking in it.

But none of them held the allure of the one who stood within the confines of their circle, out of place among heroes but never far from Rolan’s thoughts.

A tiefling blacksmith with a heart of gold and a smile to match it.

Dammon’s radiant smile was all the more blinding with the joy reflected in his dazzling blue eyes. He watched Karlach and Wyll with the pride of a friend, the affection of a brother. They had been his constant companions for nearly a year and yet, Rolan was jealous of the bond he’d so clearly built with them. 

It was then that Rolan realized what their return meant. Karlach was no longer burning up, the fire of the infernal engine stifled in her chest. 

They’d done it.

“It sounds like father has been telling tall tales about our exploits.”

“If anyone deserves to be a hero, it’s you, darling.” Astarion cooed at him, lifting a glass of wine to his lips. “Just take it before he decides to build a statue or something. The man is relentless.”

Karlach laughed, a harsh loud bark that was full of so much love and joy that it nearly broke Rolan’s heart. How he missed her vibrant personality, despite how loud and perhaps a tad bit boisterous she could be. Wyll took her hand in his, pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles, a gesture that felt too intimate for the setting.

He ignored his friend’s teasing and instead, tugged Karlach closer, slipping his free arm around her waist, their combined hands coming up in the imitation of a dancer’s pose. “Let’s lead this dance, shall we, my love?”

Karlach responded, but Rolan didn’t care what it was she said, what any of them said, not when Dammon had noticed him staring. Realizing his mouth was hanging open, he snapped it shut, blush crawling up his neck and cheeks to the tips of his ears. Dammon smiled at him kindly and approached as the heroes of Baldur’s Gate continued to the dance floor, ignoring the two of them completely.

Rolan’s gaze swept Dammon’s body, taking in the new piercing hanging from his pointed ear, the dark blue doublet with fancy cloak, gold clasps glittering in the light of a thousand candles.

“I didn’t realize you’d returned. This is quite the surprise.” Rolan said, trying to keep his voice as casual as possible, but knowing he immediately failed when Dammon glanced at him, curiosity winning out over anything else. He swallowed with some difficulty, a lump sitting painfully in his throat. Might as well have been his foot.

“Yes. It was… recent. Very recent.” Dammon cleared his own throat, suddenly captivated by the sight of the dancers. Avoiding his gaze, most likely. “Karlach is doing much better than I expected. Better than I had hoped. I’m proud of how far she’s come. She deserves a happy ending.”

And what of us?

Rolan’s shoulders stiffened as his gaze sought out the subject of their conversation. She was laughing loudly, her voice carrying over the music and the chatter. Rolan could acknowledge that she deserved this, both she and Wyll did, but he was still angry that Dammon of all people took that responsibility on to himself. To leave for the Hells, the very place they’d escaped from such a short time ago, to put himself in danger for a woman he barely knew. Only because of the infernal engine she carried. 

He took advantage of Dammon’s distraction to study him. The doublet he wore was a rich ocean blue, only highlighting the azure of his pretty eyes. His blond hair brushed his shoulders when he turned, watching a particularly handsome couple spin across the dance floor. The corners of his mouth tipped up, his expression gentle, softening his features. Longing thrummed beneath Rolan’s skin, the desire to reach out and comb some of that blond hair from his face, to tuck it behind an ear, if only to trail one of his claws across Dammon’s jaw.

“I suppose they all do. They did save us, after all.” Rolan forced the words out, trying to bridge the gap between them, the one that he had created when they’d last spoken. Because despite Dammon deciding to help Karlach’s mission in the Hells, Rolan was the one who’d taken a step back, reexamined things. He decided to leave the fleeting touches and longing looks behind him.

Rolan didn’t want to be left alone picking up the pieces of his heart when Dammon didn’t return. For a year, he’d been right. Dammon was gone, he wasn’t coming back, the Hells had torn him apart or had broken him. And if he did come back, what would be left? Would the man he cared for even still be in there, somewhere?

Rolan knew he wouldn’t survive that. Not after everything they’d fought against, fought for.

Dammon played with the edge of his cloak, the fine fabric shimmering with each movement. He was lost in his mind again, the revelry echoing in a sea of sound and color, a kaleidoscope of chaos. “Everyone here is a hero, in their own way. Even you, Rolan.”

He snorted, resisting an eye roll at the almost compliment. “Of course I am. My greatest achievements being almost getting killed by goblins and shadow creatures only to end up abused at the hands of a megalomaniac. You have a strange definition of hero.”

Dammon glanced up at his confession and Rolan realized too late what he’d admitted. He couldn’t meet the blacksmith’s gaze, this time he was the one to stare out into the crowd. “Lorroakan did what?”

Shit.

“I… Karlach told me about the aasimar, but not-”

Rolan waved the concern away, trying not to feel embarrassed at how easy it was to talk to Dammon. Like old times, indeed. “It’s fine. I’m fine. If it makes it easier to swallow, I helped to throw him from the Tower.”

“It does not.” Dammon sighed, closing his eyes and breathing slowly as if to calm himself. “If I had known, if you’d told me-”

“It changes nothing. Lorroakan is dead and I’m the new Master of the Tower. It’s taken a lot of work but it is mine now. And the Realms’. Knowledge shouldn’t be hoarded.” 

Dammon made a noise low in his throat. A strangled laugh. At least, that’s what he thought it was.

“Is something funny?”

“I didn’t expect you to see the silver lining in such an awful situation. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve always had confidence in excess.”

“Confidence or not, I’ve had plenty of practice surviving. We both have, it seems.”

Dammon bit his lip, concentrating on the words for what they were, a truth that was impossible for him to refute. They’d both done quite a bit of surviving over the last few years. Together and not.

And that was the problem, Rolan realized. Despite everything he’d gained, the safety and security of his position, the wealth and knowledge at his fingertips, the wonderful lives that he always swore he’d provide for his siblings, he was still in survival mode. A difficult habit to break, for sure.

“Rolan, I-”

Clearing his throat, Rolan cut Dammon off before he could get anything else out. The last thing he wanted was a heart to heart in such a public place, with the man who he, once upon a time, wanted something more with. “I apologize, but I really must return to the tower. It’s excellent that you’re well, Dammon. Truly. Perhaps, in the future, you can regale me with tales of your fight in Avernus.”

A brief flash of uncertainty crossed Dammon’s face before he hid it behind a smile. The blacksmith was always levelheaded, more so than Rolan ever was.

Rolan turned away, intending to disappear into the crowd without another word, when a hand clamped down on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks before he could take a single step. “Ah, here you are. The man I was looking for. Where are you off in such a rush?”

Wyll. Of all the people who could’ve caught his escape, it had to be the one whose disappointment would hurt most.

“I’m terribly sorry for leaving so soon… there are things I forgot that must be done, tonight-”

Wyll tsked, shaking his head with a frown on his face. For a brief moment, Rolan felt like a child again, being scolded by the matron of the orphanage he’d been abandoned at. The expression always rankled and this was no exception.

“The Archmage of Baldur’s Gate must stay for one dance. Come, I haven’t seen you in nearly a year and you’ve been standing here stiff as the statue my father said Lia had commissioned of you.”

“She did what?”

“I must insist that you enjoy yourself.” Wyll smiled kindly, nodding towards the dance floor. Rolan’s heart thudded dangerously fast in his chest at the thought of twirling among the other guests. Dancing wasn’t one of his strengths. He couldn’t recall ever having to do so. “Please. Think of it as a favor to an old friend.”

Damn him.

“I’m sure I can enjoy myself quite well with another glass of wine.” 

Dammon coughed, covering his mouth with a hand, eyes staring at his feet. Rolan easily saw the smirk he attempted but completely failed to hide. So this was an ambush, was it?

“You mustn’t leave us so soon, Rolan.” Wyll continued as Karlach joined them, the fitted ebony gown looking even more stunning up close. She slipped her hand into Wyll’s, the joy of being to touch her love clear on her face. “There is plenty of fun left to be had.”

“But, I don’t have a partner.” Rolan responded, a smug grin aimed in the direction of the blacksmith. Dammon’s eyes widened slightly, as if he realized where Rolan’s thoughts had gone. If I have to suffer this madness, then so do you.

“Crazy idea!” Karlach interrupted, a grin breaking out across her lips, excitement sparkling in those glowing golden eyes. “You and Dammon could dance. Together. Because if it’s one thing I know after all of this crazy shit, it’s that everyone needs a chance to find that special person that makes them better. And Dammon here,” Karlach nudged him with an elbow, a grin that could light the Hells on her face. “Well, let’s just say he hasn’t stopped thinking about you since we left for Avernus.”

A blush colored Dammon’s cheeks at the revelation. “Karlach!”

“Was it a secret?” She asked, seeming genuinely confused and Rolan might’ve laughed if he wasn’t so embarrassed. “Come on, the two of you are irritatingly obvious and if I have to throw you into a wardrobe until you finally just f-”

“What Karlach means to say is-” Wyll cut her off, tugging her away from the two of them with a laugh. But not before throwing one last look at them. “Enjoy yourselves.”

Karlach’s laughter faded into the murmurs of the crowd, the son of an Archduke and the tiefling barbarian he loved finding the time to enjoy their lives now that the latest crisis had passed. Rolan released a breath, feeling the tightness in his chest ease only a little, a new fear warring inside of him. With a quick glance in Dammon’s direction, he wasn’t surprised to see the blacksmith studying him. 

“I think that was the most polite threat I’ve ever had aimed at me.” 

Rolan laughed, feeling breathless, and perhaps a little dizzy. It was definitely a threat, but one he might actually not be afraid of the consequences of. “I guess we have only one option then. That is, if you’re amenable to a dance.”

Hells, was he really doing this? He didn’t even really know how to dance a proper waltz.

Dammon raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him. “Is that what you want?”

The man was so annoyingly handsome, with his light hair cascading around his face and striking blue eyes that haunted Rolan so many nights since their first meeting in Elturel. And here they were, both alive and settled in Baldur’s Gate, surrounded by friends, living the future they’d only dreamed about. Dammon was watching him intently, a soft grin curling his lips in a way that left Rolan’s insides feeling like pudding.

Holding his arm out in invitation, he tried to quell the erratic beat of his heart when Dammon linked their arms together, fingers brushing softly against his forearm.

Dammon was alive. After all of this time. The Hells hadn’t destroyed him, hadn’t changed him. His eyes were still kind, soft, beautiful. And to touch him after everything...

The room was too warm, too crowded, too bright, but when Dammon turned to face him in the midst of it all, everything faded to background noise. The only thing Rolan could see was the hypnotic azure of his eyes, a golden ring around his irises that was the same color as a noonday sun. There was a pink flush to his cheeks, the candles in the chandelier above highlighting the gold in his blond hair. Dammon was ethereal, dazzling, and too good for him.

The orchestra began its song, the music swelling around them as Dammon took the lead, free hand sliding to Rolan’s waist while the other gripped his hand gently. Then, without warning, they were moving, no, gliding, across the dance floor, their feet barely touching the ground as they went. Rolan knew there were eyes on them, he felt them burning into the back of his head, but the look of unadulterated bliss on Dammon’s face kept his attention.

There was nothing more beautiful to him than the sight of Dammon’s smile as they spun in the complicated dance, his face flushed in exhilaration, a laugh on his lips that came out awed, delighted. 

“You’re good at this.” Rolan said, forgetting himself in the moment. He felt weightless as Dammon changed direction, stepping even closer. Blush creeped up his neck at the soft brush of their chests and his breath caught in his throat. “Uh, dancing, that is.”

Dammon chuckled, barely able to hide the smile on his face. “You are kind to say that. I admit, it’s been a while.”

The music picked up speed, a tempo that had the rest of the dancers spinning madly around them. Dammon’s gloved fingers tightened on his hip, digging into his waist and if his hands weren’t protected by the thick gloves he wore, his claws would’ve drawn blood. Rolan clenched his hand against Dammon’s shoulder, letting the music distract him from the sudden uncomfortable feeling flooding through him. Closing his eyes, he let Dammon lead him through the dance, each twirl and sway of their bodies, each tap of their feet to the rhythm, each brush against the other’s body nothing short of intoxicating.

Rolan wanted to stay in this moment indefinitely, free of responsibility for the first time in months, with the air rushing by as he realized how much he truly did enjoy dancing. At least, he did in the arms of a man who clearly knew what he was doing. 

“Can I be honest with you?”

Dammon’s question pulled Rolan from his mind. He opened his eyes to find his friend watching him intently. His eyes begged for understanding, for a chance to be vulnerable. Rolan, at least, owed him that much. “

After a beat, Dammon realized his breath, tilting his head slightly to watch out for other revelers, focusing on everything but Rolan’s face. Almost as if he couldn’t bear to see his expression at his revelation. “I didn’t believe I would survive the trip to Avernus. I’d accepted that the Hells would be my tomb. That I would never see the sky again. Never see my friends from Elturel again. But whenever Karlach or I started to doubt, the Blade of Frontiers was there filling our heads with hope.”

“That does sound like him. Irritatingly so.”

Dammon laughed, a soft sound that loosened the butterflies in his stomach and he nearly felt as if he’d be sick. “If there is one word to describe Wyll Ravengard, it is hero.”

“A hero, yes, that’s for certain.” Rolan snorted, leaning forward to glance around them. Guests were still coming and going, and would be well into the night, and for a moment he contented himself with watching the glittering jewelry and fabric, the gilded gold and gemstones, the dancing lights above. It was lovely to behold, this moment of peaceful bliss.

“Do you have an issue with heroic types, Rolan?”

The question brought his gaze back to Dammon and the smile that greeted him there. He was teasing, eyes hooded and sparkling with laughter, and they twirled again, in their own world where no one else but them existed. “Depends on the hero we’re talking about. But to answer your question. No, I don’t have an issue with them. Not anymore.”

With a shake of his head, a breathless laugh escaped his lips, but he didn’t once take his eyes from Rolan’s. “Well, that’s excellent news because I’m dancing with my hero. To be fair, I almost feel like I'm dreaming.”

Rolan might’ve scoffed if the admission didn’t shock him. “Me? A hero? I think the Hells scrambled your brain.”

Dammon rolled his eyes, but sidled closer, their bodies touching again as they danced. “You saved us in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. I wouldn’t be here if not for you so… thank you.”

Rolan broke eye contact, staring at where their hands were entwined. Maybe… this was a second chance. Maybe there was more here than either of them expected. Perhaps, together, they could figure out what that was.

With a smile, he returned his gaze to Dammon, thoughts of a divine dream dancing in his head. A dream that he refused to imagine for so long that he craved it as much as he did the wine in his goblet. His hand tangled into the golden locks that brushed Dammon’s shoulders, enjoying the shiver that ran down his spine at the silkiness. 

“If you’re staying in the city, I’m certain I’ll need your heroics to save me. From a stuck cork in a wine bottle, perhaps?”

Dammon laughed, the sound a balm for the soul but did little for the erratic beating of his heart in his chest. “I’m sure I can handle that.”

Yes, quite the divine dream.

[wasteful-sam]

Worthy [Part 1]

Synopsis:

While on their way to Baldur's Gate, Rolan and his siblings have to settle in Emerald Grove, as the lands are overrun with goblins and mysterious cultists. It is here that he meets a peculiar drow, and the story of their unlikely relationship starts to unfold.

Tags:

Slow burn, romantic, ongoing, F/M, Rolan/female drow.

Disclaimer:

This will be a long one, covering the overall BG3 story and storyline of some of the origin characters. Thus, spoilers ahead for anyone who hasn't completed the game.

The story is a slow burn that is bound to end up explicit, so, yeah. (~‾⌣‾)~

Also, English is not my first language, and I apologize in advance if the wording may sound odd somewhere in the text.

All in all, I wrote this to relax a cluttered mind, but I genuinely hope that the fic will be enjoyable for you! Yours truly, Sam.

[AO3 Link]

+++

Worthy

Part 1 | Chapter 1

The strangers

The day they arrived - chaos erupted in the Emerald Grove and, subsequently, his life. That bunch of self-important, nosy do-gooders. And to think, by this time, Lia, Cal, and he could have been halfway to Baldur's Gate. Of course, deep down, Rolan chastised himself – he should have been firmer with his siblings. After all, when did the authority of strangers become more important to them than their brother? Was he that pathetic?

"No," Rolan's ego violently interrupted his ever-emerging self-doubt, at least for now. His mind returned to earlier today when it all started.

+++

The reverberating roar of a horn was the first sign of trouble. The three tieflings were chatting by the beach when the sound startled them.

"What in the hells!?" Cal exclaimed, frantically turning his head around.

"Something's at the gate, come quick," Lia cried out, rushing up the hill.

"Stop!" Rolan hissed angrily, trying to catch up with his sister. He finally grabbed her arm, bringing her to a halt near the Sacred Pool. Cal joined them shortly, breathing heavily.

"Are you out of your mind? Where do you think you are going? You two – get back to the beach and hide somewhere among the cliffs," the tiefling wizard whispered angrily.

She pulled her hand from Rolan. "We can help protect the grove. We must at least warn the others!"

"I think they already know," her younger brother mumbled. Other tieflings around them were visibly nervous, trying to figure out what was happening. Even the druids stopped their ritual, looking up toward the grove gates.

For a couple of minutes, the siblings were silent, listening carefully. Lia was the one to break the silence.

"Let's at least come closer, can't hear much from here. I promise we will run to the beach as fast as possible at the first sign of trouble," she added, noticing Rolan's growing frustration.

"Fine," he sounded defeated. "I'll go first. If I say run – don't you dare disobey."

At this point, Rolan figured that whoever attacked the grove would have broken through already if they had sufficient manpower.

After all, scouts who kept watch on the grove's walls could be barely considered fighters. Likely, just a couple of goblins stumbled upon their hideout.

He signaled Cal and Lia to stop as they passed Aaron's make-shift merchant post. From there, they could somewhat see the commotion on the bridge and hear the tinkling of swords and spells being cast. The siblings didn't dare to speak or move – all froze in anticipation. 

The wait felt like an eternity. Finally, they heard Zevlor's command to open the gates. Rolan relaxed his posture. The usual smirk graced his face as he saw Aradin and his thugs running through the entrance. "Of course, these idiots have something to do with this," he concluded.

To his surprise, a group of strangers sneaked into the grove shortly after Aradin. Well, he knew at least one of them – that pompous Blade of Frontiers. Wyll, was it? He stumbled upon the grove a couple of days ago and has become somewhat of a local fencing teacher. And most tieflings found his company quite enjoyable. "No wonder these simpletons hang onto his every word – all they need is just a couple of embellished fairytales to deem someone a hero," Rolan scoffed to himself.

But no matter. He didn't intend on making new acquaintances. It was time for a serious talk with his family.

+++

The outsiders intervened just as he was arguing with Lia. The group was passing by when Rolan tried to convince his siblings to leave the grove as soon as possible.

"What's the point in blades and spells if we don't bloody use them?! We should stay. These people aren't fighters, we can help!" she exclaimed angrily.

The group stopped and exchanged glances. Rolan had no doubt they had heard most of the arguing.

"You should all stay. A single blade could make a difference," said the silver-haired drow. She glanced confidently at Lia.

Satisfied, Lia turned her head to Rolan. At this point, he knew the battle was lost - once Lia sets her mind on something, it's impossible to get through to her.

"Fine, we will stay! If we survive, it will make for a good story, I suppose," he growled, intentionally paying no attention to five prying strangers.

"We were told you have a healer. Do you know where she might be?" inquired another woman with black braided hair. Her tone was colder and tired.

"I think she will be in the chambers by the pool. It's where most druids spend their days. Just head down the stairs, you'll see," wedged in Cal.

"Please, you think the druids will have time for strangers that appeared on their doorstep out of thin air?" Rolan finally graced the group with an arrogant stare. "They are one ritual away from exiling us all from this gods-damned place. What makes you so special?"

"I don't know, maybe the fact that we slaughtered a bunch of goblins outside the gate will play a role?" replied a pale elf, injecting as much arrogance into his words.

"Alright, calm down. We will deal with all that one step at a time," the drow spoke again, placing a hand on the elf's shoulder. "Thank you for your help! I'm Nimriel, and these are Shadowheart, Gale, Lae'zel, and Astarion." She pointed at each of them individually, branding an enthusiastic smile. The others, however, weren't as excited.

The tiefling woman couldn't help but smile in response, "I'm Lia, this one's Cal, and the grumpy one is Rolan."

"Nice to meet you," Cal cautiously said, while Rolan rolled his eyes and murmured, "Pleasure."

"The fight was intense, I see," Lia noted, looking at the group's dirty, bloodied clothes.

"You can say that again," the drow chuckled. "One of the bastards has thrown a bottle of grease at me, and I tumbled down the hill like the most graceful sack of turnips! Then a worg charged straight at me…"

"Nimriel, we don't have time to chat right now," the black-haired woman interrupted.

"Right… Sorry, we really got to go," the drow nodded apologetically. "Thanks for the directions."

And with that, the group bid their hasty farewells and sprinted towards the druids' chambers. The tieflings could hear how the green-skinned woman – Rolan, although surprised, was sure it was a githyanki – was scolding the drow for being too open with the "horned ones."

"What an odd bunch," Cal said quietly, watching them leave.

"They certainly are. We should keep away from them."

"What? Why? They've slayed the goblins! Who knows if Zevlor and Aradin would've managed on their own," Lia raised her tone again, her annoyance growing. "They can help us fend off the next assault!".

"Don't be ridiculous. Their arrival at the grove at the right time was either a strange coincidence or a malicious plan. Think, Lia. When was the last time you saw a friendly drow? Hells, druids killed a drow who was snooping around just last week! Not to mention a githyanki amid them," Rolan sounded firm and confident.

"If we go by your logic, all tieflings are just wretched, evil fiends," his sister paused, taking a deep breath, "I'll talk to whomever I want; it is not for you to decide."

Rolan scoffed. Arguing with Lia felt exhausting at this point. He thought she was still young and naïve, not used to being approached with anything other than concerned stares and rudeness from non-tieflings.

"I'm… I'm with Lia here," Cal gently broke the silence. "Let's just see what happens."

"Of course you are. Two troglodyte peas in a pod. Do whatever you want," Rolan turned away from his siblings, pondering.

He couldn't let anything happen to them, not when their future was at stake. At that moment, he decided to watch the strangers closely. He was determined to confirm they were no threat.

+++

Rolan saw the despised group of outsiders a couple more times that day. They were walking around the grove, talking to tieflings and druids. At one point, they approached the Blade of Frontiers, who was training kids in fencing. Judging by their body language, they have reached some kind of agreement.

Later, the tiefling wizard noticed the strangers walking into Zevlor's chambers. They left the grove shortly after, taking Wyll with them. "Maybe this is the end of the unfortunate encounter," Rolan thought, relief washing over him. Still, he wasn't convinced.

+++

He approached Zevlor later that evening. The older tiefling was just leaving his chambers to get some fresh air.

“Good evening, Zevlor. Although it could have been better if not for the goblins' stench outside the gate," Rolan said casually, a note of arrogance still evident in his voice.

"True. What Aradin did was reckless. What's more infuriating is he left Halsin behind. Who knows what's become of the druid." 

This revelation startled Rolan. Indeed, with all these worries about strangers, he didn't even realize that the bear druid didn't return. More bad news – Halsin was a competent warrior and one of this grove's most significant tiefling allies. The other druids had even more incentive to kick them out without him.

"We were lucky that Wyll and those travelers helped us out. Although our position at the grove gets shakier," Zevlor continued.

"Oh yes, I saw them getting a private audience with you," the wizard tiefling responded sarcastically. "Mind sharing what they wanted?"

Zevlor glanced at Rolan’s face, trying to find the source of his concern. He smiled gently: “I know the drow’s presence may worry you. I was surprised as well at first. All you need to know is that they are not a threat to us. In fact, they can prove quite helpful in the future.”

“Riiiight,” Rolan crossed his arms. “And you know that after talking to them, what, half an hour at most? You are not being rational about this!”

Zevlor wasn’t perplexed by Rolan’s reaction. He’s grown accustomed to the tiefling’s fiery temperament. “I know enough to place my trust in them. They didn’t have to help us fight goblins. And they surely had nothing to gain from saving Komira and Locke’s daughter from Kagha’s wrath,” he concluded calmly.

The sly fox must’ve had some kind of a deal with strangers. He wasn’t shy of sweet-talking people into doing what’s best for his tiefling tribe. Although Rolan was fond of this quality of Zevlor’s, he still thought the old paladin’s judgment was clouded.

With that, he left Zevlor be. He needed to process all the new information.  

+++

"Hello! Apologies, do you maybe have hyena ears stashed somewhere? I'd gladly buy, seeing as none of the merchants here are in possession of those," a cheerful male voice interrupted Rolan's concentration.

Annoyed, he looked up to see who had disturbed his reading. Of course, those pesky outsiders returned! One of them – a human, most certainly – was talking to Cal while Lia stood near, puzzled. The other two – githyanki and drow – were buying something from Dammon, whose "forge" was nearby.

"Hyena ears?" Cal was confused. "What for?"

"Why, for a potion of speed, of course!" the man stated as if it was common knowledge. "My supplies are humiliatingly sparse at the moment."

"Oh, um…, no, sorry."

"Well, it never hurts to ask," the man shrugged, his voice still friendly and pleasant.

"Any luck, Gale?" his two companions were approaching as they finished their business with Dammon.

"I have asked around, and no one seems to have what we need," he replied.

"No matter. We have no use for your magical trinkets. My sword alone will be enough to cut through weaklings of this plane," githyanki replied confidently.

"Lae'zel. Calm down a bit, will you?" the drow hissed, looking at her companion with a plea. She then turned to tieflings, her tone rapidly shifting to cheerful. "Don't mind that, please, she's just tired… Soooo, what's…new?"

"Oh, nothing much," Lia said cautiously, yet a faint smile appeared on her face. She clearly liked talking to the drow, Rolan thought to himself.

"Not that we have much to do here, just chatting, trying to make ourselves useful. Say, but you've been busy! I heard you've helped Arabella yesterday," she continued. "I knew you could turn things around here."

"Oh, you mean the little girl? The whole situation was disgusting. That Kagha is one nasty toad," the drow answered, "I thought druids would be more understanding and peaceful. What's their deal?"

"The same "deal" that everybody has with tieflings," Rolan finally had enough of this whole conversation, longing for peace and quiet. He looked directly at her, smirking. "You should know, Underdark dweller. And if you don't - ask around your Menzoberranzan cronies."

The drow looked hurt for a moment, returning his glance. Rolan's comment definitely struck a nerve. However, she promptly recovered, saying, "Yes, I know, although I'm not from the Underdark. I'm sorry I offended you."

Her response made Rolan think. It was not a reaction he expected from a drow.

"No, you didn't!" Lia exclaimed quickly. "Rolan's just an old grump. Don't mind him."

"I'm not grumpy! And not that old either!" the tiefling wizard heard himself exclaiming. He could rarely leave the teasing of his siblings unanswered. He noticed the drow giggled, reacting to his outburst. "What's so funny?!"

"Just didn't expect such a serious-looking man to react so childishly. You really are not that old," Nimriel giggled again.

"Sounds about right," Cal pointed out cheerfully, and he and Lia were now grinning.

"Anyway," Gale interjected, trying to change the topic. "Why are you in such a hurry to reach Baldur's Gate?"

After the brief episode of humiliation, Rolan felt an urgent need to brag. "My apprenticeship with Lorroakan begins shortly, I cannot be late. Yes, that Lorroakan, the greatest wizard in Baldur's Gate," he said arrogantly.

"I've heard the name before! Young man, yes? Lives in the Ramazith's Tower in the lower city?" Gale sounded excited.

"The very same."

"I heard he's a bit of a cad, but you say he's a powerful wizard?"

"Of course he is! The greatest spellcaster along the Sword Coast! As if I'd settle for a lesser mentor."

"In that case, I would very much appreciate it if you could arrange an introduction should we reach the city," Gale suggested, turning his head to Nim.

"So you are a wizard?" Nimriel wondered, staring Rolan up and down. "Should've figured by the way you seem to enjoy the sound of your own voice."

"I'm... what!?" the tiefling tensed up.

"Sorry, sorry, I had to get even," the drow raised her hands lively. All this sounds fine to me. Could you?" She looked at Rolan, smiling gently. Something about her expression made his heart skip a beat, but he chose to ignore the feeling.

"If it is powerful acquaintanceships you are after, look no further than yours truly. Few can match me in either magic or talent. In years to come you will boast of this meeting. I can assure you," he bowed his head slightly, breaking their short eye contact.

"Enough chatter already, we don't have all day," githyanki intervened.

"Right, we'd better go. Sorry, it was nice talking to you all. Will definitely see you again," with her last sentence, she squeezed Lia's shoulder a little, making her giggle.

"That was quite embarrassing," Cal nudged the tiefling wizard as they watched the trio leave.

"It would be if I cared," Rolan nonchalantly opened his book.

"Tell me, when did you become like this? So I know the exact age when I turn into a joy-sucking prick." "You live and learn, brother."

Chapter 2

Mistrust

It has been a week. Rolan still struggled to figure out what made this group of seven blockheads join forces. Yes, seven! On day three, they showed up at the grove with a tiefling, who was even more loud and obnoxious than the drow. And the Blade of Frontiers now had a set of horns growing out of his head for some reason!

Although they were sparse on details of their alliance, the group certainly loved bragging about their adventures. At least, Rolan saw it that way. All it took was for tiefling children to take a liking to strangers after those saved a boy from harpies.

Word of the rescue spread fast, and soon, the whole grove knew what had transpired. Tieflings warmed up to the outsiders, wanting to learn more about their new-found idols.

Rolan also listened to the strangers' stories, but not because he was fascinated by them, like others. He analyzed and pondered their motives, making mental notes on each. Some remained a complete mystery to him, like the silent half-elf and irritable githyanki, who barely interacted with the grove's dwellers.

Others, however, were either loud, chaotic, or pompous. The wizard named Gale was, perhaps, the most tolerable of the bunch. As a man of considerable intelligence, he was grounded enough to keep his companions from being too ignorant or obnoxious. Although, his constant monologues of self-importance grew old very fast.

But by far, the two outsiders he involuntarily interacted with the most were tiefling and drow. They talked frequently with Lia, perhaps due to similarities in character.

That drow, Nimriel, was especially odd. Whenever visiting the grove, it seemed like her mission was to come up and talk to every person she could see. It was as if she was afraid to be forgotten about. Or was sniffing out information.

Once, after Lia's friendly chatter with the two, Rolan swallowed his pride and asked directly what they were talking about.

"You're not subtle at all," his sister replied condescendingly.

"Maybe I'm just curious, ever considered that?" Rolan shrugged.

"Oh, sod off. You're using "the parenting tone." It's like Elturel all over again. Your paranoia is getting annoying. They are regular travelers."

"Travelers?"

"Well, yeah, met up on the road to Baldur's Gate and decided to travel together for safety. Like we did with Zevlor's group."

"It's not comparable," the wizard shook his head.

"Why?"

"Alright, let me spell it out to you: an aggressive githyanki, a monster hunter, a suspicious drow, and a runaway from the hells – all in one group. And the other three are quite shady, too, if you ask me."

"You know about Karlach?" Lia asked, surprised.

"It's easy to get Dammon yapping after a couple of beers," Rolan replied nonchalantly, checking his well-manicured claws, "But you're missing my point here. They are all very different, some are natural enemies, in fact. Yet, they travel together? All of them need to get to Baldur's Gate and they just met on the road like that? There's something behind all of this."

Lia sighed. She knew Rolan all too well, and such outbursts were expected. Her brother was living in a mind-made cage, keeping her and Cal locked as well. Lia knew he was trying to protect them, but treating his siblings like children was getting out of hand.

"I don't know what to tell you. They're just going around, clearing their way to the city, killing monsters, looting…. We could've learned something from them."

"Like what?" Rolan rolled his eyes, "Living as mercenaries?"

"How about just "living" for starters? We'd be better off with money if we'd take a risk once in a while," Lia insisted.   

"Why risk if we're already on the way to our future home?" Rolan softened up a little. "I promise you, Lia, once I'm the apprentice, you can forget all these constant worries."

"I know, I know," she looked at him, calming down. "And you promise to relax a little, too?"

"I won't be relaxing. Wizardry is hard work, you know."

"I meant your attitude."

"The attitude is what kept us going for so long," he replied smugly. "But yes, I'll definitely be more… "relaxed," as you say."

"And you won't mind me joining the Flaming Fist then?"

The wizard bit his tongue. It was a sore topic for them. "We'll see," he replied.     

+++

"Hey, Rolan!" the drow approached him nonchalantly the very next afternoon.

"Mhhm."

"Reading as always?"

"How observant."

"Seems like your favorite book! What's it about?"

"Nothing that would be of interest to you."

"You know me well, I see?" There was no malice in Nim's voice, only teasing.

He finally looked at her, "You don't strike me as someone who practices magic. I see you more as an expert magpie."

"I am interested, actually. The more we travel, the more I learn that swords and cantrips don't always quite do it in fights. I even asked Gale to teach me some of the simpler spells. But to no avail. I just don't have a talent for it like you two."

Nimriel sounded sincere, which took Rolan aback. Was she trying to sweet-talk him, or did she genuinely believe his prowess without needing any proof? He simply didn't know what to reply.

"Can I take a look at your book? I'm just curious," she smiled, breaking the silence. The drow turned her charm to the maximum, looking straight at him. Nim couldn't help it - she wanted desperately to be liked by everyone around, even this irritable tiefling.

"Suit yourself," the wizard passed his book without much regret.

Now that the spells grabbed the drow's attention, he could take a closer look at her without being discreet. Her armor was ripped in several places, blood stains adding colors of terror to an otherwise dull leather outfit. Fresh cuts could be seen where her lilac-grey skin wasn't covered by clothes. The drow was still smiling as she read his book, her pretty, animated face dissonating with the disheveled attire.

"What happened to your ear?" the worrying tone of Rolan's voice surprised him.

"Oh," she automatically reached to her left ear, "Nasty burn, huh? Luckily, it was the only one. We got to the mercenaries' hideout yesterday, and those weasels had their lair stuffed with explosive barrels. Long story short – a fight ensued, things got fireballed, and – here's the result," Nimriel told the story so nonchalantly as if describing her favorite recipe.

"Looked even worse yesterday, but Shadowheart fixed me up well. With her skills, it will subside soon, but until then – I own of the ugliest ear in the grove," she giggled, but her expression betrayed her, showing how conscious she was about the burn.

"It's not that bad," Rolan replied, but he quickly realized how it sounded. "I mean, it doesn't flaw your face much. It still looks…presentable," he added apologetically, forgetting how to speak normally.

"Aha, I see the mighty wizard is also very skilled in reassuring," Nim laughed. She resumed reading, not noticing Rolan's embarrassed scowl.

They've spent some time in silence. While Nimriel was looking through pages, he continued unwittingly studying her face. Slender, blessed with elegant features, she would look like those literary portrayals of royalty if not for her big light-violet eyes, ragged shoulder-length haircut, and battle cuts.

"Too difficult for me still," Nimriel's voice yanked Rolan out of his intense contemplations. "I think I need to learn to work with scrolls first," she closed the book, reaching to give it back, but froze. Rolan was looking at her intently, his arms crossed.

"Why are you nosing round the grove?" he asked with authority.

"What do you mean?" Nim tried to master an innocent smile, but the wizard caught her off-guard.

"Your pleasantries won't work on me. You know exactly what I mean."

"Didn't realize that people must only be cordial for a reason. But then again, the cordiality expert knows best," she sighed. "What's your problem?"

"There are talks about strange cultists roaming around, goblins taking captives to their camps… And in the midst of this all, you appear here, out of nowhere. Snooping around, making friends left and right. It is… peculiar."

"You know a lot for someone closed off in the grove."

Rolan smirked, "Unlike you, I don't have to stick my nose into every conversation to learn what I need."

"This is exactly what you do now," Nim's tone became tense. "I don't think we've given you any reason to mistrust us," she shoved the book into his arm and turned around, "Sorry for distracting you. It won't happen again."

As he watched the drow walking away, Rolan shook his head. He rarely felt bad about giving someone a piece of his mind. Why now, all of a sudden? 

+++

It all ended before anyone in the grove even realized something was happening. The adventurers have taken down Kagha. Apparently, they found proof of her conspiring with Shadow Druids and confronted her in the druids’ chambers. As a result, Kagha and other Shadow Druids that sneaked into the grove laid cold on the stone floor. The ritual was swiftly stopped, putting the worries of refugees to an end.

“Serves her right,” Rolan heard his brother talking excitedly to Danis and Bex. “That witch would rather cut all our throats than let us stay!”

“We are lucky that other druids came to their senses,” Bex replied. “Maybe they will even help us next time goblins come here!”

“Now, now, don’t hex it,” Danis gently squeezed her hand. 

“Let me dream a little,” she kissed her husband’s cheek.

“Hey, Lia! What’s the news? Have you seen them yet?” Cal exclaimed, seeing his sister approaching.

“We exchanged a few words, but they were in a hurry. Looked pretty tired,” she sighed.

“Pity. I’d love to thank them personally. Maybe even bake something to celebrate,” Bex glanced at Lia. “You think they’ll come back?”

“Karlach definitely will once she hears you promised a hot meal,” Lia snickered.

Rolan listened to their conversation, his face emotionless. But deep within, a shift had occurred. Perhaps he was glad to be wrong about someone’s intentions for the first time in his life.

+++

No one heard from the group for the next few days before their sudden return. They came through the grove's gates nonchalantly, as if they were regular residents. Of course, nobody in the grove knew the burden the adventurers had carried for two weeks. For how much some of them talked and interacted with refugees, they remained a mysterious seven.

The group made their regular rounds, eventually coming to Dammon for supplies. It didn't take long for a friendly conversation to start, with all the regulars among tieflings joining in.

Rolan was there as well, his usual silent self. He would sometimes look at Nim while she chatted lively with the others. The tiefling wizard still didn't figure out what he would tell her. He will not be apologizing, of course not! But he didn't want to end it all on a sour note.

She finally caught the tiefling's glance and smirked, nodding. A wave of panic hit Rolan, but he tried keeping his composure. The wizard gestured Nimriel to come aside for a talk, to which she agreed.

"Hey there," Nim said casually, her brow raised.

"Listen. The last time we spoke…"

"No-no-no," she interrupted quickly. "The last time we spoke, you glared straight at me. I believe I deserve the same treatment now".

"Alright," he straightened his pose, looking into her eyes. "I was harsh. I had my reasons to distrust you. But my concerns proved unfair," Rolan paused, trying to find the right words. It was hard looking at Nim. The tiefling could see that she was quite enjoying his vain attempts at explaining himself. A large black eye she got was quite distracting as well.

"You did well for the grove, and I was unjust."    

"What an intricate way to say you are sorry," her tone was soft with a smudge of teasing, "Don't worry about it."

"Just like that?"

Nim shrugged, "It's not a first for me. I'm a drow, remember? You should know."

The tiefling felt embarrassed. She even remembered the exact words he threw at her back then. And Nimriel noticed that.

"Hey," she said softly, "Can't we just forget it and start getting along? I hate making people feel all bad."

"I can assure you, it's nothing of that sort," Rolan blabbered, averting his eyes.

"Let's be frank, it's written all over your face," Nim giggled, "You are redder than usual."

"This is just fantastic," the tiefling sounded defeated. However, a feeling of relief began to settle inside: "For your information, it's just hot in here, hence the color change."

"Suuuure, keep telling yourself that."

They chatted for a little while before Nimriel left for her camp. Some of her companions, however, stayed.

The group's elf and tiefling were talking with others by the Dammon's "forge." Rolan joined in on their conversation soon after.

"The swamps were awful," Astarion complained. "The smells, the bugs, the dirt! I'll need a full wardrobe change once we reach any half-decent townlet!"

"Oh, come on! You are so dramatic. The nature was still beautiful there!" Karlach said gleefully. "Anything's better than hells!".

"Lucky for me, I won't be comparing anytime soon," the elf replied, supporting an innocent banter.

"How are things at the camp?" Dammon interrupted. Has my old workbench found a use?"

"Yes, thank you! Things are fine, more or less." Karlach sounded a bit apologetic. "We had a small setback, but overall…"

"I wouldn't call the brawl a small setback," Astarion interrupted playfully. "It was glorious!"

"What are you two talking about?" Lia wondered.

"Lae'zel and Nim got in a fistfight, and…"

“Astarion!” Karlach grunted.

"What? It's all fine now, anyway. Let me enjoy my "socializing-outside-the-camp" time!" Astarion shrugged, putting on the theatrics. "Anyway, you know how Lae'zel can be, with all her "I'll cut you down-s and slash you in-s." Well, she didn't quite like one of our plans, and she wanted to leave. Nimriel, predictably, started to talk her out of it. And the gith had it – ripped her armor off and took a fighting position. "A weakling such as yourself won't be able to land a single hit on me!" Astarion tried to imitate Lae'zel's crude delivery, "You want me to stay? Prove your worth!". Oh, how we all gasped when Nim threw her armor to the ground, too!"

"Oh, gods," Lia interrupted, worry growing in her voice. "Why didn't you stop them?"

"And miss the show?" the elf glanced at her like the tiefling was mad. "Honestly, the only thing that could've made it better is mud brawl. But, alas..."

"Cut it out," Karlach rolled her eyes.

"Alright, alright! So, fists started swinging left and right. Screaming, arguing, the spectacle! To my surprise, Nim even managed to land a few hits on the green devil! But the results were obvious from the start – Lae'zel knocked her out – straight in the eye!" he froze in a dramatic pose.

"Aaand?!" even Dammon was invested at this point, dropping the short sword he worked on. "Did githyanki leave?"

"No," Karlach replied calmly. "In the end, Lae'zel admitted that Nim was stubborn enough to make her stay. Although, I had to knock her out and tie her to a tree first," she grinned bashfully. "They made peace for now."

"You are one twisted group of individuals," that's all Rolan could say.

"Believe me, you don't know the half of it," Astarion shook his head, simpering. 

Chapter 3

The night at the Sacred Pool

The moon was full and inviting that night, laying its silver light on the grove. Shadows danced among the trees, creating a tapestry of light and dark on the forest floor. A soft breeze whispered through the branches, carrying the earthy scent of moss and pine.

If only Rolan could enjoy it. He hadn’t slept properly since the whole debacle at the druids’ chambers. The anxiety of not making it to Lorroakan on time laid heavy on him. The future at Baldur’s Gate is what his family deserves. He couldn’t afford to let them down. He sat near the Sacred Pool for the last few nights, working tirelessly on his spells. “Why waste time laying on a bedroll if I can’t sleep anyway,” he thought.

The dawn was close, and the tiefling heard the sound of bushes whirling somewhere nearby. It startled his sleep-deprived mind, and he called, “Who’s there?”

“Huh? Rolan, is that you?”

The tiefling squinted, looking in the direction the voice was coming from. He stood up, his yellow eyes piercing the dark. Someone’s figure was emerging from around the trees. At this point, Rolan thought the lack of sleep had driven him insane. It was Nim walking towards him. The drow was also squinting, holding a batch of apples in her arms.

“Nimriel?” he asked in disbelief with a hint of annoyance. “What…what are you doing here? And what’s with the apples?”

“Um…it is a little embarrassing,” she smiled confusedly. “Can I come closer?”

“Can you?” now his voice sounded almost mockingly. “Well, why not?”

As she approached, Rolan realized something dreadful and swiftly turned his head away.

“Why in the hells are you walking around here in your undergarments?” he hissed.

“Shit! I’m… well, I didn’t expect anyone to be up this early. I got hungry and thought I could quickly sneak in here for some apples,” she gabbled, walking towards him.

Nim stopped near the tiefling, close enough to see his face in the light of a small lantern the wizard brought. She didn’t quite know what she was doing – frankly, a night stroll for apples was just an excuse to clear her head. No matter how positive she tried to be, the inner worry that her new-found exciting life could end as promptly grew stronger day by day. The worst part was that she forbade herself from sharing her fears with the group. They were, after all, Nimriel’s first semblance of friends. And losing them was even scarier than dying to a tadpole.  

And now, here she was – staring at the half-turned face of a tiefling whom she found pretty extraordinary. To her, interactions with Rolan mostly felt amusing – the serious, snobby demeanor contrasted too much with his short-tempered behavior. Why not use this distraction right now, Nim thought.

The situation they found themselves in started to feel very comical. Nimriel snickered, biting into one of the apples. “Did your head stuck?”

“It’s called having manners, being appropriate. Such concepts might be foreign to you, of course,” Rolan sounded irate, his head still turned away from her. He then looked around, searching for something. Getting no results, he lowered his voice as if embarrassed. “I… can offer you my shirt if you don’t mind.”

“I see you take this “having manners” thing seriously,” Nimriel shook her head playfully. However, she felt intrigued – she was sure the tiefling would just shoo her away from there. This was quite a nice gesture, “Alright, I will entertain it. Take it off.”

Rolan felt his skin tingling as he undressed his shirt. “Did she have to phrase it like that?” he thought.

Nim slipped into it with no issue, the white shirt barely covering her upper thighs. She quickly plopped onto the stone bench near the pool, chewing on the apple. Rolan sat on the opposite side of the bench, keeping the distance.

“Well, you seem quite nonchalant,” he broke the silence awkwardly.

“Why shouldn’t I be? It’s just you,” Nim mumbled without bothering to swallow her food first. “Or what, you want to scold me for stealing apples or something?”

“Never mind.”

“Oh, it’s about this?” the drow gestured her chin down to her body. “As I said, I didn’t expect anyone to be awake. Why bother dressing? Besides, I can take on anyone in the grove,” she paused, thinking. “Or scream for Karlach to help, this works too.”

“Sure,” he replied calmly, rolling his eyes slightly. “Are night apple runs a usual occurrence or…?”

“Nope, just couldn’t sleep,” Nim shrugged. “Am I distracting you?”

In truth, she was. But for some reason, Rolan didn’t really want her to leave. There was something soothing in talking with Nimriel like that when no one was around. It was as if they were sharing a special moment only they would know about. He quite liked this feeling.  

“Nothing important,” he replied after a short pause.

“Would you mind keeping me company for a bit, then? I don’t want to go to sleep just yet.”

Rolan felt relieved. He may be able to entertain this peculiar situation for a little longer. “Why, nobody among your companions wants to listen to your apple-munching at the dawn’s break?”

“Back to your usual “pleasant self”, I see,” she threw back at him. Although, the wizard could tell that Nim enjoyed his little jab.

“Learnt any new spells since we last spoke?”

“Nah, we were way busy these days.”

“Busy brawling with your githyanki friend?” Rolan pointed at her black eye.

“Oh,” she giggled uncomfortably. “I see my supreme leadership skills are talked about far and wide. What do you think? Does my face still look presentable?”

Nimriel didn’t expect the tiefling to consider her question seriously. He looked closely as if calculating every proportion and curve. She now had a chance to take a better look at his face, too. Surrounded by darkness, his features seemed as sharp as ever, with deep yellow eyes – dangerous but alluring. Her cheeks started to blush.

“I can’t think of anything that could spoil a face like yours,” Rolan replied quietly. But his condescending tone made a swift comeback. “Was getting punched worth it?”

“It was,” Nim was confident in her words. “I won the argument and kept her from making bad decisions.”

The wizard lifted his brow, considering her response. “Interesting perspective. So, you are a leader?”

“Apparently,” Nim chuckled. “Why? Don’t I look like one?”

“I can’t judge that, haven’t seen you in action,” the tiefling replied.

“Wow, no sarcasm or a snarky remark?” Nimriel said, tilting her head. “I mean, I wouldn’t call myself one. Sometimes, I think they’ve chosen me because they wouldn’t talk to each other otherwise.”

“At least you’re honest with yourself,” Rolan smirked.

“Ha-ha.”

“You wanted a snarky remark, didn’t you?”

“Anyway, why aren’t you sleeping?” the drow asked lightheartedly, changing the subject. She was munching on another apple.

“Well, I…,” he stumbled a little, “Just too excited about my apprenticeship. Such a powerful wizard as Lorroakan expects a lot from me. I have been working on composing my own spells and…”

While Rolan was blabbering on, Nim seized the opportunity to look him over. For a wizard, he was very well-built. The drow was particularly interested in the ridges covering his chest and torso. She has never seen anything like it up close. A hot, pulling feeling began to form in her stomach.

Rolan noticed her staring and stopped talking immediately. “What?” he asked in a cold tone.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, trying to look as uninterested as possible. “I was just curious. These protruding bones look so interesting, almost like an elaborate carving.”

“Whatever you say,” Rolan said, unimpressed. He turned his body sideways to escape the drow’s eyes. To him, any such glances from non-tieflings felt like mockery.

“I mean it,” Nim said seriously, looking into his eyes.

Rolan returned her glance, trying to figure out if the drow was trying to save face. He finally mellowed down, believing Nimriel. “It is a reminder, you know,” his voice now sounded grim. “Sins of our ancestors we are bound to carry with us forever. Marks of deformity and ugliness to instill fear and disgust into anyone that encounters us.”

“I’m sorry I disappointed you,” she paused. “It may not mean much coming from me, but I don’t see tieflings that way. And… I think I understand how you feel.”

Rolan considered her words. "Suppose you are," he nodded, remembering how he called her the Underdark dweller.

"Although," Nimriel hesitated, "It's not the same. The hate towards us is justified."

"It is," the tiefling replied quietly.

Nim shrugged, "It's the same everywhere. I appreciate your honesty, at least. Do you... does everyone else in the grove share this belief?"

"The fear of drow comes to tieflings as naturally as the fear of plague to any mortal man," Rolan looked at her, sighing, "But you don't have to worry."

"What do you mean?"

"It's obvious that they don't hate you."

Nimriel appeared relieved, "You think so?"

"It's pretty obvious that they grew to trust and like you. Many of them, at least," Rolan chuckled, "Gods, you're so shaken about this, it's quite something."

"It just... doesn't happen much," she smiled, "But I'm glad that somebody sees me just as a person."

The topic started to intrigue Rolan. Nimriel seemed as far from her kin as one could imagine. "I remember you mentioning not being from the Underdark?"

"The locals found me in the Forest of Mir. I might've been born in the Underdark, but I wouldn't remember – I was practically a newborn then."

"Hm. You were raised by humans, then?"

"Raised is a strong word," Nim mumbled uncomfortably. "But yes, I lived among humans for a little while. As you can imagine, they weren't fond of drow either."

Rolan decided not to ask further – the past clearly made Nimriel uneasy.

"And now, when it seems that I have found people who look past my heritage, it is too late," Nimriel quickly stopped talking, understanding she had already said too much. 

"How come?"

"I…," she faltered. I don't really know. I can't tell these days when the time is up." She glanced at him, and Rolan saw deep sadness in his eyes for the first time. "Life has suddenly become very complicated."

At that moment, the tiefling finally recognized Nimriel for what she was – unsure and anxious, just like him. She didn't find the strength to hide it behind the usual chattiness and smile. This is probably the reason she's not sleeping tonight.

"Life has always been complicated," Rolan responded calmly. "And it will become harder," he saw her eyes starting to glisten and couldn't help but put a hand on her shoulder. "But, as I discovered for myself, if you work and believe hard enough that you deserve something, you can find happiness in your struggles, even if for a short while."

"You are harsh, Rolan," Nimriel squeezed his hand. A feeble smile returned to her face.

"I speak only of what I know. You seem capable enough to withstand the treachery life presents."

Nim's brows furrowed as she studied his expression. "Well, if you speak of what you know…It explains a lot about your behavior."

Rolan smirked. "My behavior is not of your concern."

She didn't respond, but the wizard knew, judging by her expression, that Nimriel was onto him. She saw a breach in the walls of coldness and waspishness Rolan had been building all these years. The thought of her peeking through these walls terrified him.

Still, the tiefling couldn't look away from her, nor could she. Something happened between them tonight, something they both feared and wanted.

"It was nice talking to you, but I think it's time for me to get back to camp," it seemed Nim returned to her usual, cheerful self.

She stood up, taking his shirt off. Rolan didn't make an effort to turn away this time. Their conversation made him see Nimriel in a different light. She amazed him in a confusing way: both strong and vulnerable, open but full of mysteries still. Just like that, he fell for Nim. Maybe it happened even earlier, but Rolan wasn't interested in details.

"Have a good rest of the night," Nimriel returned his shirt, smiling. She pretended not to notice how Rolan looked her over. Her drow nature immensely enjoyed that.

"You too," he muttered, watching her leave. The tiefling wouldn't see Nim for a couple of days after this night. Her return, however, would bring about a change.  

Chapter 4

The paths split

He found himself standing amid a party, quite content. The outsiders, impressively so, managed to destroy the goblin camp – the final obstacle between tieflings and the road to Baldur’s Gate. And the party was, of course, in their honor.

Rolan now began to understand why Zevlor put such immense trust in them – they must’ve had an agreement all along. And so, does it mean that the adventurers were swords for hire? What a simple conclusion to a mystery he was pondering all these weeks.

The cheap wine relaxed Rolan’s mind. His annoyance subsided, and the tiefling wizard didn’t mind talking to his kin and even once-dreaded outsiders. He was chatting in the company of Wyll, Lakrissa, Shadowheart, and Astarion.

Although, Rolan was quite in and out of it, chasing Nimriel with his eyes. He didn’t have a chance to talk to her yet – the drow was prancing all over the place, talking, laughing, and hugging the temporary grove inhabitants she grew close to so quickly. Rolan was glad to see her this way. What the group achieved was well deserved.

“Say,” Wyll turned to Lakrissa, “We’ve got so many weapons from our goblin raid. I think it would be great if we leave you some, for your journey.”

“The heroic Blade of Frontiers strikes again,” Astarion rolled his eyes. “How are we supposed to get money for new armor?”

“So, you are saying that you don’t mind carrying a dozen short swords?” Wyll replied cheekily.

“Well…I was counting on my good friend Karlach…”

“How gallant of you,” Shadowheart remarked sarcastically.

“Oh, come on. We all know she is the might of the group”.

“Which makes you…?” Shadowheart raised a brow.

“Why, the charm, of course,” the pale elf said, elegantly fixing his hair.

“Bhaa,” the Blade burst out laughing. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“It’s not my fault that the truth hurts, darling,” Astarion smirked.

“So, what do you think of my offer, Lakrissa?” Wyll broke a short silence.

“Oh, right! Let’s see what you’ve got,” the tiefling replied. Shortly, the two departed to the west side of the camp to see the group’s loot stock.

“By the way,” Astarion turned to Rolan. “You are pretty well-versed in magic?”

“Of course. Why do you inquire?”

“How about necromancy?”

“Well,” Rolan paused. “I try to indulge in learning about all wizardry schools… Depends on what you want to know.”

“Interesting,” a foxlike smile graced the elf’s face. “You see, my friend, I’ve got this book…”

“Stop nagging the man with your stupid book,” Shadowheart interrupted. “Nothing good will come of it.”

“Don’t you have another three bottles to devour? Don’t interfere while grownups are talking,” Astarion replied condescendingly.

“We should’ve left you on the swamps,” the cleric gurgled.

“What’s the issue with the book?” Rolan asked. The prospect of showing off his knowledge entertained him quite a bit.

“I think it contains some powerful necromancy spells, but the book won’t let me read them. And it also toys with your mind somehow once you open it.”

“Hm… a cursed necromancy book, how original,” Rolan contemplated for a moment. “Your best bet is to find a skilled necromancer who will recognize what curses were bestowed upon it. Until then – DO NOT open the book and don’t cast any spells onto it, the attempts of purifying it will only backfire.”

“Well, that’s… something, at least,” Astarion sighed.

“Having fun?” Nimriel sneaked in on them, her face beaming.

“As much fun as this cheap wine can afford us to,” Shadowheart replied.

“Ah, niben Nim! Maybe you will be reasonable enough to talk Wyll out of gifting around our weapons?” the elf pouted at her.

“You volunteer to carry it all up the mountain pass, then?” she smirked.

“…I hate you people,” Astarion growled in defeat.

“And you make no effort to hide it,” the cleric added calmly.

“Look who’s talking!” the elf reacted. “For your information, I…”

“Come on, Rolan,” the tiefling was swiftly taken out of the argument as Nimriel grabbed his hand. “This will take them a while. Do you mind a short stroll?”

“Not at all.”

+++

She quickly led him down to the beach, so quickly, in fact, that Rolan didn’t have much time to protest. Not that he wanted to – her delicate hand, curled carelessly around his fingers, felt so nice. Nimriel finally stopped near the water, turning to him. She had the widest smile – Rolan wasn’t sure if wine was the reason.

“Didn’t expect you to come to the party, thought you’d be halfway to Baldur’s Gate by now,” the drow lifted her brow.

“I would’ve been if not for Cal and Lia. They desperately wanted to chat with their favorite hero,” that was a lie he came up with beforehand. Of course, the tiefling would not admit he also wanted to see her.

“And you didn’t?” Nim asked playfully. She definitely was inebriated.

“Oh, please. I nearly dispatched those goblins myself, but it seems you’ve managed well enough,” even in moments like this, Rolan’s arrogance took the better of him. And the wine didn’t do any favors either. “And why wield a masterwork where a butcher’s blade will do?”

“I certainly will not miss those nasty jabs of yours,” she replied, smirking.

“It’s sad to hear that you take reasonable remarks as jabs,” the tiefling swayed his head left, keeping eye contact. “I thought you thoroughly enjoyed them, given you came back for more on the daily.”

“You are insufferable,” Nimriel rolled her eyes. “But you were helpful…”

 “Helpful?” she caught him off-guard.

“Well, yes, that’s what I wanted to tell you. But let’s sit; I feel like I’m about to fall over.”

She plunged unceremoniously onto the sandy shore. Rolan followed hesitantly.

“I feel a bit foolish,” Nimriel finally said, looking at the water.

“Why?”

“I’m… I don’t have much experience talking to people. Or being sociable, for that matter,” she replied sheepishly.

“You must be joking. I doubt there is a single person at the grove you didn’t bombard with your chatter,” Rolan kept his smug tone.

“No, I mean, in general,” her tone sounded apologetic and a bit annoyed. I… At first, I thought you absolutely hated my guts. And, honestly, I’m still not quite sure if you don’t,” she giggled nervously. But I’m grateful for your advice the other night and that you spent time with me. I really needed to talk to someone then. It was a lucky coincidence that you were awake, really.”

Rolan didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t a norm for someone to thank him. And it came from Nimriel – a person he was so rude and unpleasant to. The sinking feeling started pulling on his chest. The tiefling glanced at her quickly and, to his terror, realized that Nim was also looking at him.

“You really are easy to impress if me talking does it for you,” Rolan heard himself replying. “And, just so we are clear. I don’t hate your guts. Your company is perfectly serviceable.”  

“That’s nice to hear,” the tiefling saw a modest smile returning to her face, feeling relieved. “Then can I ask you to give me your hand? Like this, palm facing me?”

Confused, Rolan obliged. Nim then lightly pressed her palm against his, comparing something. “Mm, that’s about right,” she mumbled and swiftly reached into her pocket, producing a small silver ring.  

“I thought you may put this to good use. It allows casting the dimension door. At first, I wanted to give it to Lia but figured – you are the wizard of the family, so it’s only logical,” Nimriel explained.

“I won’t take it,” Rolan replied adamantly.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t take handouts from anybody. All I need I always get myself.”

“But it’s not a handout… Just something that can help you on the road. I also gave Cal and Lia some supplies, and they didn’t mind.”

“You are not responsible for my family’s safety. I am. And I’m capable enough to provide it,” Rolan sounded calm but determined. His pride took the better of him.

“Guess I’ll be giving it to Lia then.”

“Oh, you are stubborn,” Rolan shook his head. “She wouldn’t even know how to use it.”

“Well, she wouldn’t need to. Her magnificent brother will cast 20 dimension doors for her at once, straight from here to Baldur’s Gate! Will be a pretty accessory, though.”

“Bitterness doesn’t suit you,” the wizard smirked.

“That’s right, bitterness is your most attractive feature, on par with arrogance, of course.”

Rolan began to understand why the group chose Nimriel as their leader. Something in the way she looks at you makes you feel and do as she pleases, as if she bewitches you with her genuineness and determination.

“Fine,” he sighed. “Maybe I am somewhat unreasonable here. If you still want to, I will take it.”

Nim’s features softened. Arguing with Rolan always felt like a small battle – frustrating but weirdly satisfying once it’s over. This tiefling was, in a way, special to her. Brutally direct but still closed off. Harsh but nice at times. Smart. Observant. Leary.

The worst part is that Rolan was right to be suspicious. She and her new-found friends were a danger to the grove, risking turning into mind flayers any minute. What would happen if the refugees, in whom she found so much comfort and joy, learned of this? Nimriel couldn’t bear to think of it. She was perceived as a monster all her life, only to be turned into another one.

“Give me your hand,” she said quietly. As Rolan obliged, Nim carefully placed the ring onto his pinky. The ring was relatively small and stuck right in the middle of the finger, where the bone protruded. The wizard looked at his hand, examining it.

“Fits well enough,” he muttered.

“Well, I’m glad we can end our little acquaintanceship on a positive note,” the drow said, relaxing.

 “Are you also leaving tomorrow?”

“Yes, heading for the mountain pass. And then Underdark, perhaps. Will be interesting to see the ancestral homeland for the first time, so to speak.”

“Hm. Take more food with you. The Underdark’s flora and fauna aren’t what you are used to eating here,” Rolan responded knowingly.

“Thanks, will keep that in mind. I was also thinking… AUGH!” she exclaimed suddenly, clutching her head.

“Nim? What’s wrong?”

“Just migraine,” she burbled apologetically, although Rolan could see an immense amount of pain in her expression.

“Can I help somehow?” he asked, worry in his tone.

“No, it’s fine. Can I just lean on you for a moment?”

“Sure.”

Nimriel leaned against the wizard’s shoulder, her eyes closed in pain.

“Has something similar happened before?”

“Yes, it will pass soon, don’t worry. Give me a couple of minutes. In the meantime, you can tell me something interesting, it will help”.

“Alright. What would you like to know?”

“Mm, I don’t know…what do you like to do for fun?”

Rolan thought for a minute. He genuinely couldn’t remember when was the last time he did something most people considered “fun activities”.

“Studying magic is fun for me,” he concluded, watching her, trying to figure out how she feels. “Don’t get me wrong, it is hard work, but once you learn a new spell, it is a divine experience. You can’t fathom how body and mind so generic can create these extraordinary things. And you only grow more eager, can’t stop wondering how far your potential can reach. I hope to unlock it fully one day.”

“You describe it so lovely,” Nimriel beamed through ache, her eyes still closed. “Please, continue.”

Rolan couldn’t help but smile back at her.

“Once I get to Baldur’s Gate and settle down, I’d also like to study stars.”

“Study stars?”

“Yes, they fascinate me truly. A perfect amalgamation of power and beauty. I have never felt such calmness as I saw them after leaving Elturel,” he looked at the sky to remind himself, if only just for a moment. “It would be nice to have a telescope and watch them after my study sessions with Lorroakan are over. How is your headache?”.

“Much better,” Nim replied. The tiefling felt she was drifting into sleep. “I wish I got to know this version of Rolan sooner,” she whispered.

His heart skipped a beat. A wave of bittersweet sadness covered Rolan’s mind.

“You still have time,” the tiefling murmured, pressing his tail gently against Nimriel’s back to keep her from falling. “You can visit me in Baldur’s Gate…I could…tell you more about the stars.”

“I’d love that,” was Nim’s last words before falling asleep.

Rolan sat in silence, looking at the sky. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her as if the mere act would cause her to vanish. Yet, Nimriel was still there – her form leaning against his shoulder, her breath a soft lullaby in the stillness of the night.

If only they’d met another time, another place, the tiefling thought. Not at the most turbulent point of his life, when he has nothing to show for himself, nothing to be proud of. She is so kind to him. But then again, she is like that with all the tieflings. To her, he must be just another face in the crowd. A bitter, arrogant face at that. He is a fool – to fall for someone that easily. Pathetic. But it will be over tomorrow – they will go their separate ways, and he will likely never see Nim again. Good. Time shall pass, washing away the regrets of what could have been. He must take care of the family at all costs. He can think of his own wants and desires after. It is decided.

…But the dreaded tomorrow hasn’t come yet. He can stay here, with her, just for a little longer. There is no harm in pretending they are watching stars together, happy in each other’s company.

Rolan carefully turned his head towards Nimriel. Her expression was peaceful, the migraine must have stopped. There was so much he wanted to ask her. To hear her talk to him and smile again. But he missed his opportunity, deservingly so.

Enough of this nonsensical moping. He is a grown, rational tiefling. Living inside your head gets you nowhere in life. Only a cold, emotionless mind and determination.

With that, Rolan removed the ring Nim gifted him and put it into his bag. The book on spells he showed her once was in there, too. The tiefling pondered a bit and took it out together with an ink pot and quill.

+++

Wyll was slowly going around the campfire, gathering empty bottles of wine. The party ended not so long ago, but the campsite quickly went quiet – most of his companions were plastered, snoring in their tents. But the Blade didn’t want to sleep just yet – it was a delightful, warm night, particularly in the face of what to come next for him and the group. He didn’t want it to end just yet. Wyll was thinking about taking Lae’zel’s offer. She was rough, sure, but wouldn’t it be nice to spend the night with someone, especially if it could be his last time. Besides, you have to give it to the gith – for all her aggression, she was strong-willed and direct, which are very attractive traits in Blade’s book.

The sound of movement interrupted Wyll’s trail of thought. He lifted his head and saw Rolan coming towards him. Interestingly, he was carrying Nim in his arms. The drow was deep in her sleep, wheezing comically, probably drunk.

“Hey, Rolan. Thought you all left already,” the Blade said quietly, pointing to Nimriel. “And what’s with this blazed potato?”

“She fell asleep while we were talking.” the tiefling replied, his voice sounding tired. “Can you take her to her tent?”

“Sure.”

Rolan took a fast final look at Nimriel and passed her body to Wyll. “Also, can you give her this? She will understand.”

+++

“Soooldier, rise and shine! Breakfast time!”

Nimriel slowly cracked her eyes open, reacting to Karlach’s delightful voice. The menace of Avernus was lightly pulling off her bedcover.

“Urgh-eh,” the cacophony of sounds was the first thing the drow could master after the night of heavy drinking. “Is it late?”

“Nah, Halsin’s still at the grove. So we have time for Gale’s special treat!”

“Thank gods for that man. Mystra’s a fool for throwing away someone with such passion for cooking.”

“Maybe the broad doesn’t eat normal food,” Karlach giggled. “Come on!”

As they approached a makeshift table, the other group members were lazily stuffing their faces. The hangover has been their unwelcome guest this morning. But even in times like these, they maintained their tradition of eating together.

“If it weren’t for yesterday, I’d thought you were all turning,” Nim joked, landing next to Lae’zel.

“Haven’t looked in the mirror today yet?” Shadowheart sneered.

“Nah, I’m not prepared for new nightmares,” the drow replied. “Thanks for breakfast, Gale!”

“At your service,” the wizard tried to bow gracefully, dropping his fork to the ground.

 “I wonder how many bottles we emptied last night,” Karlach said, chewing ravenously.

“I stopped counting at fifth, but you lot outdid yourselves,” Gale noticed.

“What else were we supposed to do?” Astarion nagged. “I was bored out of my mind. All this hero life is not for me. I ended up wandering the woods, but that demented bard’s music must have scared off all the animals”. He grinned curiously. “Please tell me at least someone got busy last night. I want to know all the gritty details!”.

“Ha, I wish!” Karlach responded. But in my case, it would be a veeeeeery steamy sex.”

“You have no shame,” Shadowheart rolled her eyes at them.

“You too, darling, judging by your blood-shot eyes.”

“No arguing at my breakfast table!” Gale declared. “Besides, I don’t think our condition is particularly ingratiatory towards intimacy.”

Wyll remained silent, chuckling on the inside. He briefly glanced at Lae’zel, who didn’t seem to pay attention to the conversation at all.

“You are just a prude,” Astarion grimaced at the wizard. “How about our dearest drow?”

“I was way too drunk for that,” Nimriel replied, pondering. “I don’t even remember how I got to my tent.”

“That’s because you didn’t,” Wyll interjected casually. It was a good opportunity to distract Astarion from asking about the Blade’s night adventures. “Rolan carried you in.”

“Huuuh?” Karlach’s face beamed with intrigue.

Nim stumbled for a moment, trying desperately to remember. “Oh… Right, I remember chatting with him on the beach. Did he tell you something, Wyll?”

“That you fell asleep.”

“Ha, ha-hah,” The elf roared with laughter. “The man is so stuffy that even sex with him puts women to sleep!”

“Cut it out, we just talked. You think I wouldn’t know if I slept with someone?” The drow interrupted, annoyed.

“So defensive we are! Something’s definitely going on between you two lovebirds,” Astarion responded cockily.

“Wish you could fight as well as you joke,” Nim scowled back at her companion. She now could remember what they were talking about, feeling embarrassed that she nodded off during the conversation. She greatly enjoyed Rolan’s company when he was calm and open, like last night. To fall asleep in the middle of it was disrespectful. And Nimriel didn’t even say a proper goodbye.

“At least that explains why you disappeared last night,” Karlach replied. She turned her head to the elf. “Drop it already.”

“You all such bores, even you, Karlach,” Astarion pouted.

“I almost forgot!” Wyll got up, still a little disoriented from the night of drinking. The Blade swiftly entered his tent and returned to the table, carrying something in his hands. “Rolan asked to give this to you. Said you will understand,” he passed a medium-sized red book to Nimriel.

“A book?” the confused drow took it off Wyll’s hands. It was the same tome of spells she once asked the tiefling to look through. The pages were a bit shabby, riddled with Rolan’s remarks written along the pages.

“Hmm, a “Weave of Life?” Haven’t seen these series of tomes for ages, I don’t think they get printed anymore,” Gale looked at the pages over the Nim’s shoulder. “Quite outdated for my taste. But I see Rolan came to the same conclusions, judging by his markings.”

“What do you mean?”

“He tried improving the spells, figuring out how to get the most use. I’d say some solutions are pretty adequate,” the wizard nodded in approval. “Why did he leave it behind?”

“Well, I once mentioned that I tried learning some spells,” Nim smiled. “Perhaps it was his way of saying thank you.”

“Try it if you want; I can help decipher some of the writing,” Gale clapped her on the shoulder, returning to his plate.

Nimriel continued flipping through the pages, participating in conversations now and again. She paused at the last page of the book, realizing that Rolan had left her a message:

For the ring. Practice at least once a day. Hope the spells from the book will help on your journey. -          R.

Short and scrupulous writing, just as she would expect from him. Still, the tiefling’s gest felt so warm and personal that Nim could not help but smile. The hot, tickling feeling rushed through her chest. She wanted to see Rolan again.  

[ambrosearietes]

We (and by that I mean myself) demand more headcanons cuz they go hard asf😈

i have so many i’m gonna break these up by character. i will only do like the major ones. these are not all my headcanons just my big ones.

ADAM

despite living in slavic countries for most of his life, adam speaks english with a british accent because he learned it from anthony. he can also do a perfect american accent because he played WAAAAAAAYYYYYY too much fallout

adam is autistic (this one actually is canon, i mean come On dude) but also has ADHD and C-PTSD

scrawny because he was malnourished during his time as d-class. very insecure about it.

he and sylvester sloan know each other through anthony. i mentioned that sloan babysat adam occasionally, i was completely serious. he let adam watch star wars and adam literally wanted to BE luke skywalker.

yeah luke was his gender awakening

uses she/her to refer to his younger self from before anthony saved him as a coping mechanism— in reality he’s trying to deny that it even happened to him in the first place.

smokes weed when the team is off. calvin does not approve.

marries harvey in every stardew valley playthrough.

romances halsin in baldur’s gate 3.

cracked at fromsoft games.

CALVIN

bisexual, he just doesn’t realize it.

calvin is a gamer. he had adam build him a setup. they play together. adam beats his fucking ass in everything and makes fun of him for it.

really, really bad habit of bottling his emotions (which is why olivia keeps dumping him)

was ~19 when he got arrested for the stuff hyun-ki mentioned. vehicular manslaughter while driving under the influence is considered a felony charge.

grew up in the midwest. talks like a midwestern dad.

his aunt owns a horse ranch. calvin REALLY likes horses as a result.

he once promised adam to take him to meet his horse and teach him to ride after everything. poor guys :(

he and aaron would have had a father-son relationship.

he was a very “difficult” child due to him not being believed about his mother’s death. he had no idea how to cope with it. often got into fights, which is why his aunt ended up sending him to boarding school. she got a lot of calls even when he was there because calvin just. got into a fuckton of fights.

he didn’t go to therapy until the insurgency MADE HIM go to therapy.

legally can’t drive. doesn’t give a fuck.

he would occasionally let adam just lay on top of him like a cat. he thought it was platonic. like just guys being dudes.

would be a good father.

if he saw his dad again he’d shoot the guy without any hesitation.

blames the foundation’s negligence for his mom’s death.

likes planes a lot.

OLIVIA

sees adam as her little brother. they’re extremely close by O5-3’s chapter. she’s rather protective and very quick to defend him.

adam taught her to play dungeons and dragons and gives her book recommendations. she plays a halfling life-domain cleric/college of swords bard (multiclassing)

loves mystery novels.

adam introduced her to stardew valley. she usually marries leah.

bisexual. does not know this.

easily frustrated with calvin because calvin is terrible at communicating his feelings. calvin is trying to work on this. it’s going terribly. despite this, calvin is very affectionate with her and she does how open he is with that.

very relationship-centric person. this is mostly because she didn’t get much characterization in twie.

keeps a sketchbook. mostly doodles flowers.

her and sophia would have gotten along amazingly.

likes to dabble in poetry.

would romance wyll in bg3

huge fan of law and order. adam questions her taste in television shows.

if she had procreate she’d be fucking unstoppable.

i don’t have much on her bc characterization is so lacking :((

would have gladly taken sam (O5-11) with her back to the insurgency. deeply regrets that she didn’t. she thinks about sam a LOT, it genuinely haunts her. like she will try to sleep and she’ll just hear that gunshot and want to throw up.

VINCENT ARIANS / ANTHONY WRIGHT

i don’t remember if i mentioned this in the last post but vincent is a cat person. had a cat named mira. she was a calico.

insomniac.

in his ‘ideal world’ he would have lived with aaron and been able to raise adam.

very, very envious of people with ‘normal lives’.

we don’t know much about what vincent did in the foundation— the dialogue from O5-13 at the end of the children matches up with what he tells aaron in the apartment scene so i assume vincent was felix’s predecessor and felix held another number. as for what he did, we do know he was, like, an ACTUAL engineer who designed bombs at some point (stated in O5-5’s chapter); he could have been in charge of security.

it’s implied he had a second-in-command type position under aaron and likely was on the first delta command before his first ‘disappearance’, unless he wrote the summa modus operandi then just vanished off the face of the fucking earth for a while.

records of vincent are next to impossible to find within the insurgency as he worked so closely with the engineer and they don’t even know who the engineer was.

aaron thought vincent was dead until he received reports of anthony wright working with calvin.

anthony and sloan were good friends and out of all members of delta command during the way it ends, he respected sloan the most. anthony would have considered an actual relationship with him if he wasn’t like “no, i’m probably gonna disappear again or just straight up die soon anyway.” anthony was right, he did in fact die.

sloan knew who vincent arians was, he just had no idea that anthony and vincent were the same person.

genuinely, anthony wanted to die.

adam gave him a reason to live outside of vengeance.

GENUINELY sees adam as his son. he’s a bit harsh on him during TWIE because he never wanted adam in the insurgency at all. he and adam had a conversation at some point where anthony expressed this and told adam he wished the latter just went to a good college and worked in programming or IT.

would not have been able to kill calvin had he made it to the end. would also have not been able to kill aaron.

frederick traumatized this man just as much as he traumatized aaron, vincent just absolutely refuses to acknowledge it.

sophia knew about vincent’s love for aaron and may have even encouraged it.

if his love for aaron was reciprocated, they likely had a relationship while aaron was with the insurgency and tried to be secretive about it but felix carter just “I know what you are.”

he would be very sweet as a lover. very sappy. hopeless romantic. given who he was in love with, are we even surprised?

cigarettes are part of how he started aging again.

the insurgency kind of knows he’s older than he looks, they just say he’s in his fifties because he looks like it, but even TWIE says he’s been around as long as anyone can remember. likely, vincent surfaced as anthony wright around the same time that sylvester sloan joined the insurgency.

his plan in case anyone saw any old photos of vincent and noticed that he looked eerily similar to anthony was to say that he’s vincent arians’ grandson and that his mother was arians’ daughter.

vincent had no children, but he did like being around kids.

during his years with the foundation he’d often lock himself in his lab just to cry. aaron often checked in on him.

frederick repeatedly called him aaron’s dog as a joke that vincent found very not funny. vincent/anthony isn’t really big on dogs because of this.

if anthony saw adam today he’d be immensely proud.

if anthony had made it to the end he would have tried to make aaron tell him why he left. aaron would not have been able to tell him.

anthony was a bit scared of how much like aaron calvin is.

would have liked O5-11 if they met.

AARON SIEGEL / O5-1 “THE MAN WITH THE INFINITY GUN,” “THE FOUNDER”

if you claim to be frederick’s #1 hater and you’re not aaron siegel then you’re fucking lying.

very sappy romantic, similar to vincent, but only with sophia. she thinks it’s adorable. he just really loves his wife a lot.

cannot let go of anything for shit. if he was at the scene of vincent’s death he would have tried to bring him back.

had a very weird father-child relationship with sam.

tolerated most of the other O5s at best, especially rufus (O5-6) and valerie (O5-7).

felix has always been his favorite aside from sophia (and vincent during the insurgency days)

borderline personality disorder

capable of straight up hanging up on frederick. this annoys the absolute fuck out of frederick.

PETTIEST BITCH IN THE WOOOORRRLLLDDD he’s like a fucking crow

sees mortimer (O5-5) as family because he’s the grandfather of alison chao, at least in other realities. mortimer gets along well with aaron.

very easily sent into overstimulation, it’s unknown why. he’s only ever perfectly calm in a sensory deprivation chamber.

extremely pale.

lives at overwatch. often falls asleep at his desk or on the fucking floor.

wreck of a man, but a surprisingly exceptional leader when he actually feels like leading instead of letting valerie handle things.

the other O5s don’t even know much about him.

visits san marco as much as he can.

FREDERICK WILLIAMS / THE ADMINISTRATOR

obsessed with the string theory, literally discovered it before the idea was even conceived.

had a wife and daughter, both died horribly. his daughter was extremely young and he’s a tad bit obsessed with the idea of bringing her back. driven by grief but also the fact he’s just a Bad Person in General

extremely manipulative (canon), but also just likes to fuck with people.

sometimes he doesn’t even call aaron or calvin he just speaks into their heads.

sometimes he’ll just call them and ask shit like this. aaron would hang up on him but calvin can’t.

can manifest however he wants, he usually chooses the phone.

reality bender (canon) and extremely powerful at it. like it’s lowkey concerning.

god complex.

totally the kind of guy to go “no don’t kill me im just a girl”

adam ivanov as the engineer would beat the shit out of him if given the chance.

what aaron described in the apartment scene was literal psychological torture. aaron was not the only person he subjected, just his favorite punching bag.

aaron, near the end of his life, got him a world’s worst boss mug and kept it next to the phone. calvin got a second one just to drive the point home.

a bit obsessed with antediluvian anomalies (project paragon). talks to calvin about them extensively.

hated vincent for no real reason he was just a bitch.

[futchgunk]

Bladders Gat3 Finish doc

:et me get the rest of my fucking feelings out about baldurs gate:

im so mad bc any character who is not human or realism/white passoid is literally regarded with the same type of dismissal that you would see in mainstream media. all the companions that are not white passing are treated like shit and have bad ends.

-Lae'zel (gith) gets abducted by the a bad guy for the last 1/3 of the game (also we could talk about her being the fighter class as default is also a bit racist, but the deep dive will be its own essay). and then she can die and not be able to be resurrected. (resurrection scrolls and revivify spells ONLY work on companions and not npcs)

Wyll (THE ONLY BLACK HUMAN MAIN CHARACTER, side note we could talk about how is name is spelled like a white mormon names their kids) is a big talking point bc he is constantly strung between the expectations put upon him by himself, his family, and then his pact matron. AND NO MATTER WHAT OPTION IS CHOSEN WILL CONTINUES TO SUFFER IN THIS EXECUTIVE PURGATORY. He starts as a "i have to kill this devil" actually its a tiefling (suddenly its now fantasy racial infighting, so of course u dont wanna kill another companion so early in the game, so Wyll is forced through Hell's Circles and the exposure makes him grown large demonic horns. (Wyll does not have control over his body or himself, nor his actions, and only suffers the consequences of the actions of the Tav (PC)). Wyll even gets to have the "I did everything for my father's (approval just to have my father misunderstand me and then the most noble course of action is to be independent because i am still bound by choices prior and also if two black people form any sort of family on screen its disgusting and blasphemous so I might as well treat my father like my brother who i never was able to relate to when i was younger" THIS IS NOT MENTIONING THAT WYLL IS LITERALLY THE SON OF THE DUKE OF BALDURS GATE. HE GIVES UP HIS STATUS OF NOBILITY TO BE HEROIC AND IS JUST FOREVER CONTINUALLY PUNISHED. THE DUKE OF BALDURS GATE IS BRAINWASHED TO RELINQUISHING HIS TITLE AND CORONATES THE WHITE DEVIL EVIL DICK BAD GUY WHO SOLD KARLACH (TIEFLING) TO HELL FOR GIGGLES.

Karlach (tiefling) is a bright eyed noble hearted character that is looking for solace after having 10 years of her life taken from her when she got sold to devil and hell and made a war machine slave because thats perfectly tragic. Her heart is taken from her and replaced with an engine (machine) that is slowly killing her when she is not in Hell. THE ENGINE DOESNT EVEN HAVE A GOOD IN GAME MECHANIC, YOU GET TO SET URSELF ON FIRE TO GET A 'HEAT' DEBUFF THAT U CAN CONSUME ON AN ATTACK, you build heat any other way, so its like only <Lv. 4, and if you minmaxed the opening scene, you get a 2h sword that does this every attack, so like its a bit moot and useless. Furthermore i think its really stupid that shes yearning for companionship and yet is not allowed because her engine makes her to hot to touch. Which rubs me the wrong way as a black transfem (u could argue tiefling coded) because I already feel like that. I feel like im too intense and hot with my passions and i intimidate people to the point that I'm actively denying myself the intimacy i crave so dearly just by existing and expressing myself. The taxation of life shouldn't really exist in video games!! The whole party gets mind enslaving brainworms that magically dont work because the plot armor is really strong yet the demon character who EVEN WHEN THEY SEEK HELP IN THEIR COMPANION QUEST ARE DENIED THE REALITY OF LIVING COMFORTABLY BECAUSE THEY SHOULD ONLY EXIST IN HELL. (cried actually). Before the last of this mess, she offers to turn into a mindflayer just to give herself the peace that she could be the hero that saves the world (become the villain because its better than who you currently exist as, or die being yourself (who has LITERALLY BEEN DEMONIZED). Karlach doesn't get to have have a happy ending because she either dies from engine overdose or goes to hell just to fucking breathe. THE KICKER IS THAT WYLL, THE PERSON WHO WAS GOING TO KILL HER AS PART OF THE WARLOCK PACT, OFFERS TO ACCOMPANY HER IN HELL AND FIGHT BY HER SIDE. WHICH MEANS THAT ALL OF THE MARGINALIZED IDENTITIES EFFECTIVELY FUCK OFF AFTER YOU SAVE THE WORLD.

White victim Shadowheart has the option of rejecting what she knows (which was a lie told her) or believing it. The worst she has to do is kill a bound seraphim, and free her parents held captive by putting their souls to rest (she turns them into light, killing them). She gets sick weapons. Clerics are busted anyway.

White devil astarion got to ascend in pale supremacy and got cool vampire powers (bite+, bite++, buff on kill, and consume buff for heal || next hit crits). The final battle WAS BUGGED FOR ME. I WAS STUCK ON THE BOSS FIGHT FOR TWO WEEKS BECAUSE THE END OF BATTLE SCREEN WOULDNT LOAD. LIKE I MADE A WHOLE NOTHER CHARACTER BECAUSE I BEAT THE BOSS 7 TIMES AND MY BUGFIXED DIDNT WORK!!

if im gonna get so heated about video games i am just gonna go play bloodborne so i have no room to complain bc im constantly sucking

[brackenfrond]

So. Wondering about how Carver, in my BG3 playthrough, would feel about the companions and some NPCs and I took psychic damage. Naturally I have to share this.

Warning: spoilers for both DA2 and BG3

Because Lae'zel is forthright and an excellent fighter and he trusts that she'll watch his back and suddenly he remembers Aveline, always there to plant herself like a tree, to yell and snarl. Who he met single handedly fending off a swarm of darkspawn to protect the person she loved wholeheartedly.

Because Shadowheart is so devout, so fairhful in her goddess until she is asked to do the unthinkable and she can't. And he is so proud and for a second he sees Merril, of all people, clinging to her Dalish heritage, her religion. He heard about the elven gods being fake, and could see Merril's anguish in Shadowheart's stunned silence in the aftermath.

Because sometimes when he's half asleep he sees a flash of white hair and nearly hisses out an annoyed 'Fenris', until he remembers. Astarion is dissimilar to him in personality (Isabela, his mind screams. His personality is all Isabela) but everything else is too similar. Not just the white hair - the breaking of chains, the anger at his former captor, and the feeling of sudden emptiness when the job is done.

Because Gale grates on him purely because he is so much like Anders. Clever and quick, casting spells with efficiency and rambles about his interests in a way that reminds Carver of rants about mage equality. Sometimes he closes his eyes and sees a brught explosion and is too scared to examine that closely, wondering if he'll see the Chantry or his new mage friend at the epicentre.

Because Wyll is harder to place, but his prince charming demeanour brings to mind Sebastian, for as short a time as Carver really knew him. Because even with horns curling from his skull, from whatever hellish curse Mixora put on him, Wyll is good. And kind. And full of a desire to help people. And Carver can't examine that too hard, because it makes him think of Bethy, and someone else has already stolen her face.

Because Karlach is the hardest. She's boisterous and loud, bright smiles that can turn into pure, unbridled rage at injustice. Who when she can touch again asks him for a hug, and pats his shoulder and calls him 'soldier' and she is his sister. And Hawke is dead. Hawke walked into the Fade at Adamant and never came out and Karlach does not deserve to be compared to the woman who Carver still sort of hates while grieving her. Because Hawke was his sister and he loved her, but even after she was gone he was just 'her brother'.

Because the guardian, because The Emperor, had the gall to steal his twins face and he hates hates hates it for it. But he still cries when he thinks about the early dreams, of how he had called her name. Voice trembling, shaky, feeling like a five year old again. And she didn't know the name. Or it didn't know the name. It hurts Carver to think about it, and more than just in how to refer to the early dream visitor.

Because he sees the Tiefling refugees and is immediately transported back to Kirkwall, to being rejected over and over for being a refugee, and launches himself into helping them. He sees Isabela in Mol's cunning, argues with Rolan and finds himself warming to him as time goes by, his devotion to his younger siblings admirable. He snatches Arabella away from Kagha and had to be physically held back from attacking her because she's a child. The refugees echo him, in a way, and he mourns when her reaches Last Light and find out that soem are dead, others maybe good as.

Aylin and Isobel hurt. Because Aylin and Isobel make him think of brave, strong, powerful Hawke and small but no less terrifying Isabela, and that fucking hurts.

He punches Lorroakan in the face when he meets him. He feels vicious vindication when Aylin breaks his spine.

He hugs Shadowheart when all she has been put through comes to light, digs his hands into moonlight silver hair and prentends he doesn't feel her tremble.

He gives a soldier's salute to Lae'zel when she leaves to free her people, pride bubbling in his chest when she grins viciously in response, returning the salute.

He's proud of Gale for turning away from absolute power, from godhood, to make a name for himself away from gods who have only ever hurt him.

He stands at Astarion's side when he faces Cazador, snarling and ready to assist. He leads him away by the hand after everything, after he turns away ascendancy, and promises to find a way to let him walk in the sun after the tadpole is dealt with.

He hugs Wyll before he leaves for the hells, manages not to cry when he hugs him back.

He only avoids hugging Karlach because she is burning hot, hut vows to give her the biggest hug ever when he sees her again, because she deserves it.

He is welcomed at Sorcerous Sundries by the new master of Ramazoth's Tower and his two younger siblings, and nearly collapses into Rolan's arms. But he's smiling.

These are his people now. He'll see Mol grow to become a terrifying crime boss, and he'll hear Alfira sing her songs, hear her talk about Lakrissa, and he'll eventually meet Morena Dekarios and the famous Tara. He'll always mourn what he's lost.

But here. Far away from lands he knows, he finds a new family, a new home, and Carver Hawke gets a happy ending.

After all, he has always deserved that.

[sangre]

A VERY DESCRIPTIVE PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE.  REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG, with the information of your muse,  including headcanons, etc.

name: catarina raverre. nicknames: rini from wyll + which the tiefling children from the grove picked up on and call her as well, rina from shadowheart and gale, cat (funny/condescending) from astarion, karlach will enthusiastically call him Raverre!! if not soldier, and lae’zel is trying not to pick up a nickname but settles on an over emphatic ca-TA around act 3. Full-naming is very weird and intimate for her, so of course, she hears it most from the dream visitor in the shell of her ear. tav is the quick and easy introduction he gives to other NPC’s (it's what her brothers called her growing up) and will hear it from just about everyone as well. age: twenty-nine. race: asmodeus tiefling, infernal bloodline on her father’s side, draconic lineage on his mother’s. gender: fluid, he/him & she/her. often dancing the lines to have fun in presentation and feeling with both at once. orientation: bisexual. zodiac: aries. a very strong case for an aries I think. moral alignment: chaotic neutral, though he’s protective of innocence and will go out of his way on select occasions to pay back in the name of karma :wink: (Karma is also the name of the dragon that her lineage comes from). class/subclass: sorcerer - draconic bloodline. (poison dragon) background: guild artisan. interests/hobbies: woodwork and architecture hold his attention in a quiet appreciation kind of way, as in he could watch someone whittle for a long time and enjoy the silence (haha) about it – and traveling to see different kinds of buildings and interior decoration and stuff like that is very compelling, as someone who was raised with a reverence for like... ruins and the history shown in the way places are built. she loves magic. being able to storytell and stuff through that medium is very precious and memorable to him. quite nerdy behind closed doors. demanded to be read to a lot as a baby before falling asleep. LIKES NAPPING! Is sleepypilled. some other misc things he likes are intricate weaponry and gambling (he's freakishly good at catching a cheater/reading people's faces). spoken languages: fluent in common, draconic, infernal, and primordial (in addition to being able to communicate in sign in common) profession: adventurer, mostly. back at home, she follows the raverre family line in serving as a warden for a vestige that comes from the hoard that the dragon from her lineage kept and protected. she has four older brothers and one much younger brother, hence a very no-nonsense approach to bullshit. height: 5’11” colors: deep pale brown, purplish red, toxic slutch green, and fiendlike nauseous pink. fruits: grapefruit, guava, strawberries, pineapple and passionfruit. drinks: iced coffees, iced fruit juices, anything that tastes like radioactive mcdonalds sprite and buzzes and freaks out his tongue. alcoholic beverages: dark honey mead, ginger beer with lime. smokes: no but she DOES BREATHE smoke if she coughs and her temperature is too high. drugs: recreational use if he’s with friends and he gets something fun from an alchemist or druid he trusts. drivers license: can this bitch steer a horse? (Catarina voice) Sure how hard could it be. (NO) (BE CAREFUL) (GET OUT OF THE WAY) (horses get nervous around her. Most animals are okay with her/love her in fact but for some reason I think, to a horse, she has rancid vibes. I think it’s because she stares them in the eyes). ever been arrested: YUP but it did not last long!

TAGGED BY: no one i stole this from one of my old RP blogs ^p^ i wanted to party TAGGING: tagging my bagu gagu fwiends but also fwiends for other ocs! @the-lovely-lady-luck @interstices @reides @fluffy-snow-fox @kirkewrites @roberthouses @jessieleaf @killdragons @cass1x1 @bvckywrites @devilatelier

[vacantgodling]

HIII hi i'm (mostly) normal again now and i'm gonna yap about sunbringer's song to you. specifically the fanfic version bc that's what's on the brain right now. though the specific thing i wanna yap about is also just a fact about eden as a character that means a lot to me. and that's his huge soft spot for children.

(off the top of my head i don't remember how much bg3 lore you're familiar with so. if any of this is confusing pls feel free to ask for clarification fjasld;kjf i love to yap about it. anyway)

SO ANYWAY! eden is a very selfish and logical character, and ESPECIALLY at the start of sunbringer's song, his main goal is to figure out what the fuck happened to him and save himself from the fuckin Parasite shit he's got going on.

he decides to let the other major characters travel with him because they're working towards the same goal, and he reasons that having more people working towards the same goal means that they'll get shit done faster. he doesn't have much interest in them as people, but he's helping them because he expects them to help him in return. everyone wins. and this is his approach to most interactions early in the story.

(side-note, but god i'm also so excited for eden to slowly become attached to the group. he thinks he's doing suuuuch a good job keeping them at arm's length and that this is all just to cure his fuckin brain worm, but before he realizes it he's decided that he would gladly die for any of them. they're his best friends. found family but he's the last one to figure that out.)

(and that but twofold for the romance shit he's gonna have going on with gale and wyll,,,,, i wanna talk so much about the romance arc i have in mind for those three and the slowburnnnnn but i'm nervous for no gd reason)

BUT ANYWAY. AN EXCEPTION TO THAT IS CHILDREN. there's a few instances in the early arcs of this story where eden is presented with a situation where a child is in danger, and without fail every time, he drops everything to help. eden has a HUGE soft spot for kids and their safety is important to him, even kids he doesn't know.

with adults, it's gonna depend on the circumstances whether or not he does anything to help. with a kid, he's going to help.

and a lot of this comes from his upbringing. eden basically had to raise himself and his younger brother, and he easily falls into an older sibling role when interacting with kids. that, and he remembers all too well how the adults in his life when he was a child didn't do shit for him... so, much of the time, he assumes that no one else is going to help, and it is up to him to protect the child.

one of my favorite examples from this in the first proper arc of the story is with a little tiefling boy who wandered away from his parents, and ended up being lured to the edge of a cliff by a flock of harpies that wanted to fucking kill and eat him. eden sees what's going on, figures out what's about to happen, and decides *absolutely the fuck not.* he takes charge and grabs the boy, taking him away from the danger and handing him off to another member of the group. and then he turns to take care of the harpies.

another example is with another tiefling kid being threatened by a powerful druid. eden knows logically that he should be working with this druid because she has a lot of power and influence in this area, and if he wants to be healed, he's probably gonna wanna stay on her good side.

but when he sees her threatening to fucking kill an innocent child, all of that goes out the window, and now the only thing stopping eden from attempting to gore this woman with his horns is knowing that this is a fight he won't win.

idk i'm not sure how much sense this is making but it's something that makes me super emotional to think about. all bets are off when it comes to kids, especially younger kids. eden sees a kid on their own and goes "is anyone gonna be their new brother?" and doesn't wait for an answer.

okay thank u for your time

1. i don’t know much about bg3 tbh my only knowledge of it is other people’s ocs, mainly eden tho HFJDJRJ so in my mind its just the eden game where eden is the mc and im sure thats not good for his ego PFF—

2. eden being a big brother makes me HMM EMOTIONAL and the instinctual way he just looks after any kiddo he comes across: wEH

3. i can’t wait until eden has the realization that welp he’s stuck with these guys they are his family now and he’s stuck it’s gonna be both sweet and really funny FJEJRJA

[astarionhell]

BG3 Tav Introduction | Jamil D'Oria

I have... about twelve other things I should be doing, most of them grad school related but the tadpole speaks to me and I must answer so here's some information I've been scrounging together for my Tav

commissions from jilljoycearts and molliartsie

Jamil (Alfonso Parsa) D'Oria, 41, with a noble background and member of the bard class, from the College of Lore

I've been developing him as an OC for about three years now and he is my beloved boy (even though he's about twice my age lmao)

Alignment: Neutral Good? with a bit of chaos sprinkled in there maybe

Gender/Sexuality: Gay man, he/him

Astrological Signs: Leo Sun, Pisces Moon, Pisces Rising

Romancing: Astarion. Of course.

I'm thinking he would be very close with Wyll prior to the game plotline or shortly into it just based on their similar upbringings

I do not know any DnD lore and I am currently not able to get a crash course in it so if anything I say about him contradicts it, don't tell me <3

Some fun facts about him!

Oldest of three siblings, has a younger brother Hakim and younger sister Eufemia

Part of a huge family on his mother's side, the D'Oria are an ancient established family with many many family members

He doesn't get along with his mother and travels as much as possible to avoid going home and back to his duties as the oldest son, however at this point she's all but disowned him and focuses on Hakim instead

His instrument of choice is a guitar gifted to him by his favorite aunt when he was a teenager that he would protect over his own life

Trained in sword-fighting as a teenager/young adult with his uncle, a world-renowned swordsman

Makes his own clothes more often than not

Technically needs glasses especially when it comes to reading and seeing at night, but refuses to wear them

Has a very friendly disposition that most people might assume is learned from years of nobility events, but he's just genuinely kind

Is not great with any kind of magic on his own, but can be used as a channel for others' magic

However, he has almost supernatural luck, which tends to rub off on those he spends the most time with after a while

Anyway, here he is, hopefully this will soothe the tadpole for a bit until I can sit down to write fic for him and Astarion

Some more art of him under the cut!

commission from hirodraga

commission from jilljoycearts

[prismatic-dreaming]

tav backstory ask game! 1, 2, 11, 15 👀

Is your Tav Baldurian? If yes, did they grow up in Baldur’s Gate? If no, where are they from?

She looks to you with a smile. "Ah, yes, I am - I wasn't born here, but it's been my home since childhood. My mum and I moved here when I was around 12, so we've been here for about half my life at this point. It's an interesting place to call home, that's for sure. We live in the Lower City, though I've spent time outside the city at the Selûnite enclave as well."

Does your Tav have any siblings? Are they close?

"Two, actually! Both adopted and notably younger, but I care for them dearly. Faeryl's ten, she's the kid of one of our neighbors who was killed when she was a baby. Thankfully I was watching Fae at the time. We'd thought someone had gone after her for being a drow or she'd gotten into some trouble, but now I think I know what actually happened... and I'd say I've gotten what justice I could for her. She's a good kid, curious about magic and helps me make potions sometimes. I'd be happy to help her on her journey if she learns magic sometime." There's also Kaelis, my little brother, he's twelve. Little troublemaker, but he's a good kid. Hopefully he'll stay out of trouble. There's some kids I ran into on my journey that reminded me of him.

Did your Tav know or know of any of the other characters?

"I had heard of Gale before, actually. I'm no wizard, nor the biggest fan of many, honestly - it's the magical elitism and the common audacity. But I keep in the loop on and have done some research on magic and mages. I never would have expected that an archmage would be someone I could sympathize with on having volatile magic inside of you. Though mine isn't threatening to kill me - anymore at least - nor is it explosive. I think. He'll get on my nerves at times, but we get along fairly well. Not the closest, but we are friends.

And of course I'd heard of the Blade of Frontiers, though I didn't know much about Wyll beyond the stories before we met. I always respected him, but didn't expect to meet him or end up as one of my dearest friends. Same goes with Jaheira and Minsc - and Boo, of course - strange circumstances to end up with revered heroes as friends. Though I suppose I ended up becoming one too. Still feels a bit odd."

Do they have any sentimental items?

this is the one that took me awhile to come up with (alongside siblings)

"Yeah. My mum's an artisan, makes jewelry, trinkets, various metal things. When I was little, and I had a pretty rough time when my powers were coming in, and she'd tell me I was as strong as a dragon, and that I'd make it through. I didn't get to see her as often as either of us would have liked when I was recovering. It couldn't be helped, since she had to get a new job and find a place we could live in the city. But one day when she came to visit she'd made me a little dragon and put it on a cord as a pendant. It meant a lot to me, reminded me of her encouragement. And I did get better." She's been holding onto the pendant, which she holds up to show. "I still wear it, and it was a good reminder during some of my tough times finally getting a real hand on my powers along my journey - though I learned to rely on the people around me too."

"During my adventures, I also found an owlbear plushie somewhere along the road that I ended up attached to. Named 'em Feathers, and they're little buddies with Clive." She chuckles. "I leave 'em next to him when we head out for the day." (note: clive is karlach's teddy bear and sera is dating karlach they are in love <3 added just in case for the few non bg3 playing friends who might read)

[moonslittlestar]

Lot's of thoughts this morning. Think I'm going to start planning which companion to put with each character. I swap out when needed but I think in terms of all their lore's, their main companions will be: Moon's companions: ☽ Astarion (Oddly attached / Romantic interest) ☽ Lae'zel (Adores her fighting skills and see's her as an equal warrior) ☽ Gale (Loves his book smarts, they nerd out together) Darragh's companions: ☘ Shadowheart (Romantic interest) ☘ Wyll (Admires his courage and good heart) ☘ Karlach (She's just good fucking banter - reminds them of one of their sisters) ☘ Halsin (Lover - joins when he can) Echo's companions: ♥ Astarion (Romantic interest) ♥ Karlach (Ride or die bestie) ♥ Wyll (wine buddy, helps Echo see the good in people) ♥ Halsin (Lover - joins later game) Ara's companions: ♬ Gale (Romantic interest) ♬ Lae'zel (She's been teaching him how to fight) ♬ Astarion (Great for a gossip and bitching about things and people they meet, doesn't judge Ara when he needs to not be perfect for a little while) ♬ Jaheira & Minsc (will join later game, they remind him of his family)

[W.I.P] Torán's companions: ⸸ Minthara (Romantic interest) ⸸ Astarion (annoying little shit that weirdly reminds him of his younger brother, doesn't understand why he hasn't killed him yet) ⸸ Shadowheart (Evil little sister)

[kyberled]

send me  ‘ hc ‘  + a word and i’ll write a headcanon about it regarding my character. || ACCEPTING

@stubborn-amphibian​ asked:

hc + relationship with the clone troopers

He loves his men. That’s really the be-all end-all of it. Obviously, he doesn’t know all of the troops; there are far too many for that. And they’re all too different. But the ones he works closely with, he adores. He has a lot of them that he considers close friends, including Wyll’s Vibes, Darian’s Kay (and Rex), Alpha’s Vin and Noisy, Torrent’s Rex, and Sol’s Waxer, and then a handful of NPCs I’ve thrown in for flavour (The Twelvers - Kriss, Prez, Boone, Cooper, Lonnie, Tanzer, and Lowswipe - and Maverick, Beskar, Steppes, Razz, Otto, and Surefire from the 212th). And then there are some he regards as family, rather than friends: Xidori’s Wolffe and Collie’s Ace as his brothers (older and younger, respectively), Liz’s Cad as an uncle figure, and of course, Liz’s Cody is papa bear. On a different section of the spectrum is Michael’s Fox, who Braig figures he’ll never get along with on a personal level - they’re too different, he thinks - but he does respect Fox a great deal for the work he does, and for how much easier he and his brothers make the Jedi’s jobs by keeping things running smoothly on Coruscant. Those he serves with, he feels a great loyalty to. He knows they’d be lost in the war without them. He also feels protective over them, which I imagine looks kind of funny without context. This tiny, put-together teenager getting riled on behalf of the huge, battle-hardened soldiers. 

But, Braig is a Jedi. As far as he’s concerned, protecting people is what he’s here to do. Sometimes, this means protecting them physically. Defending them in battle, for instance - the way he sees it, he’s a Jedi, he’s got the heightened reflexes, he’s a Force Healer. He has an infinitely higher chance of surviving the front lines than someone who can’t connect to the Force. This has lead to more than a few ‘I’m supposed to protect you / no I’m supposed to protect you’ back and forths, but he means well. Sometimes protecting them physically means taking their medical care into his own hands. As I said, he’s a Force healer. He’s usually in the med-tents after battles, and it’s not always because he got himself scraped up. The Force can heal serious wounds faster than bacta, even if he’s still just learning, and there’s only so much he can do at the moment. Sometimes, though, it’s for older injuries. Darian’s Kay and Liz’s Cody, for example, both suffered from chronic pain from injuries that hadn’t healed right at the time. He might not have known how to fix the issue, but he could ease the pain without side effects, and it was enough. (This also leads into the story of how Braig played the system to get Kay out of the Kaminoans’ research labs and into better care, but this is going to be long enough without that.) And, sometimes, caring for them medically just means using his status as a medic and the knowledge that he can get away with murder at this point to assign the men a few hours of ‘medical leave’ if they look too run-down. Go nap, trooper. He’ll deal with the CO’s. 

Sometimes, protecting them means looking after them emotionally. Somebody has to, after all. This might just be talking to them, listening to them, and generally making himself available for the men to come to with their concerns. He knows he won’t understand like their brothers will, but he also knows he has more power and influence than they do (and depending on the point in time, more than he should reasonably have), and as such can probably solve some issues that would otherwise be over their heads, so. He does what he can to be someone they can come to if things get rough. He might not always know exactly what to say or do - he’s only a teenager - but he tries. It can also just mean helping them cope with everything going on. Liz and I often joked that Braig was Cody’s teddy bear/comfort item. Having a bad day? Give the padawan commander to the Marshall Commander. Cody Can’t sleep? Cuddle up to your Littlest Jedi and the problems get better! If you want a favor from Cody, make sure Braig is there. It puts him in a better mood. In a more direct, if not toned-down manner, Braig also taught Cooper a few meditation tricks and breathing techniques from the Temple when the latter suffered a panic attack during the Tassish mission. We all know the Kaminoans wouldn’t care to help them in that department, so, someone has to. 

… And sometimes it means picking fights with visiting dignitaries because they’re badmouthing the men within Braig’s earshot. Yes, he did this. No, he hasn’t been punished. In fact, the master he was with - Sam’s A’Sharad - basically told him ‘good job, kid, my turn next’. We’ll see how that affects the budding complex he’s got going. Even if he did get punished, though, he figures he can take it. He’ll get over it. There’s significantly less they can do to him than to one of the men, and he knows it. He’ll ask politely, of course, try to open a dialogue and resolve things quietly, but if you keep going at it, well - Jedi protect those who can’t protect themselves. He will do his best to rectify the situation. 

And then there were the no-Order-66 post-war shenanigans from a while back where the teenagers got into politics to try and get the men citizen status and the accompanying rights. Why not? Trying to be idle after the end of the war just… Didn’t work for him. Yes, he was glad for the rest, but he had to adapt to it. In the mean time, why not challenge the entire Senate? What’s the worst that could happen? I don’t think all of us who were involved ever came to a conclusion, but it did get absolutely buckwild. The mafia was involved. People were getting bribed left and right to stand behind the movement, when their own morality failed them. One of the senators, half way through a meeting, just went “I have a spy network, would that help?” “Uh, yes?” Anyway, it was a mess, but he’d do it again in a heartbeat. He just doesn’t think he’s allowed to call himself the friend of the men he’s close to if he’s not going to stand up for them and try to improve their situation. 

Long story short, he’s trying his best, and he loves his boys. 

Which is why Order 66 hurts so much more.