#inn at price tower

[ungoliantschilde]

more images of Price Tower. I found these online.

Those metal chairs in the office? They were designed for Price Tower. The hotel was largely unoccupied between 1981 and 2000. Stuff was stolen or destroyed during that time, and the surviving pieces occasionally show up at auctions. One of those chairs sold for $13,750.00.

Multiple websites describe this building as Frank Lloyd Wright’s masterpiece. That is not an overstatement.

Please share this post. Please bring attention to this beautiful part of our nation’s history and culture.

[the-californicationist]

Through a Glass, Darkly

A new priest is assigned to your remote abbey, but when you go to him for confession, you realize you are kneeling before the Devil himself.

Anonymous asked: Hiya Cali, crazy thought but happy october 🎃 brain worm, think about mirror sex with vampire!Price / 141 and the absolute flith that would pour from his mouth as he watches you stretch around seemingly nothing…

———

TW: vampirism, blood play, priest abuse of power, heavy religious imagery, fem!reader, rape/noncon, virginity loss, corruption, mind breaking, historical fantasy au, father/my child/sister religious titles, fully adult characters

You’ve been warned, and I don’t wanna hear it. Your click, your fault.

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. — 1 Corinthians 13:12

—x—x—x—

When Mr. Hawthorne arrived that morning with fresh milk, eggs, and a cart full of potatoes and turnips, you thought you would forget yourself and fling your hands around his fat neck. It had been weeks since supplies had been delivered, and although you lived in what was probably the smallest abbey in the world, you were just thankful that you had not been completely forgotten.

“Oh, thank you, Mister Hawthorne! We are so grateful for your service. The Lord rewards the generous,” you praised him.

The plump man’s face flushed red and he took off his sweaty cap, holding it limply in his hands,

“Tha’s alright, Sister. I had a good yield this season. You send a letter over to us if you need anything more. Hopefully that new priest will be arriving soon. Margie said she spotted him at the inn yesterday afternoon.”

“New priest?” You asked, wholly unaware of your abbey receiving an actual man of the cloth.

“Yes, Sister. He looks a little rugged for a holy man, but she said he was wearin’ the collar, clear as day.”

“Oh,” you mused, unsure of what to say.

“I’ll take my leave of you, Sister. Hope he’s a good one. It’ll be nice to have services back in the old church.”

“Yes, it will. Take care, and safe travels, sir. May God bless your next harvest.”

You watched as his rickety cart, pulled by an equally rotund mule, delivered the farmer away from you and your tiny sanctuary. As soon as he was out of sight, you rushed back through the wooden doors of the abbey to find Sister Ruth and Sister Sarah to tell them of the news.

They were both as shocked as you were. You had all three been convinced that the good Pope had completely forgotten about your little sect, and no letters had come for months. But, a new priest in this parish would bring much needed governance to the provincial people of your small village, and you needed to prepare.

You and your fellow nuns cleaned, cleaned, and cleaned some more. By nightfall, the abbey gleamed anew.

As you were preparing for bed, you heard the whinny of a horse outside of the abbey doors. You looked out into the corridor, and Sister Ruth was peeking out as well. Arming yourselves with long, steel fire pokers, you made your way to the entrance. Ruth nudged you with her elbow, encouraging you to call out. So, you said,

“It is past hours. Please come back tomorrow!”

“I’m Father John Price, and unless I’m mistaken, this is my abbey,” a deep, gravelly voice called out to you, seeming to flow and roll through the door with a convincing ease.

You cracked the wooden portal and looked out.

There, holding onto a frothy, exhausted steed was the most handsome man you’d ever seen. He wore an all-black capello romano on his head, towering above you by at least a full cubit. His face was pale, protected from labors under the sun, but his hands looked like they had certainly known the true meaning of work. His body was well-muscled and immense. Even in the midst of his flowing black robes, you could see the bulging form of his shoulders stretching the fine fabric. Around his thick neck, his white clergy collar sat dutifully under a jutting Adam’s apple and a proud chin, shaven although the rest of his beard was trimmed to full length.

But it was his eyes that unnerved you. For all of his brutish form, the look in his gaze made your blood run cold. There was something hypnotizing about the pale blue irises. It made him seem almost inhuman.

That deep, purring voice returned, and he stepped closer to you, threatening your threshold with white, sharp teeth pulled in a tight smile,

“Aren’t you going to invite me inside?”

“Forgive me, Father. Please, come in. Sister Ruth will take your horse to the stables. Allow me to take your bags and show you to your chamber.”

He followed behind you at a close distance, studying the abbey’s courtyard and walls, judging its worthiness. You were proud of the work you had done to keep it in good working order, but you knew it was in desperate need of repairs.

As you walked, you tried to make small talk to ease the tension,

“I have been in prayer thanking God for your arrival, Father. It has been many years since we have been blessed to house a priest within our abbey walls. Our parishioners will be filled with joy to return to their pews.”

“Mm.” His hum was polite but noncommittal, so you gave up on the niceties.

Finally, you reached his cell, you pried open the door and allowed him to enter before you. He studied the spartan room with the expected amount of enthusiasm, and watched you lay his bag down on the small chair at his desk. You straightened out the Bible that lay on the table, making sure the corner matched up with the edge of the table, placing it just so.

“Will you take supper, Father Price?”

“No, I am not hungry. You will find that I eat very little, in fact,” he said, taking off his cloak and laying it on the freshly-made bed. He hung his hat on its hook and tried to straighten his hair.

“Should I have a mirror brought in for your cell?” You asked, thinking that he may need to look presentable. As a nun, you never used a mirror as a rule, but you were willing to accommodate your new steward as best you could.

“Do you use a mirror, my child?” Price’s voice deepened and smoldered like a bundle of kindling, threatening to burn. He stepped toward you, using his size to impose himself upon you in the small space.

“N-n-no,” you stammered, “Of course not, Father. But I am not in a position to be perceived such as yourself.”

“Recite Proverbs 31:30, my child,” he commanded, stepping closer to you, slowly creeping into your personal space, close enough that you could smell the scent of the sun and the grass on his robes, mixing with the sweat of his skin.

You swallowed, clearing your throat, and obeyed,

“Yes, Father. Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised.”

“Good,” Price smiled, using his finger to lift your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes, “We must not succumb to vanity, my child. A dutiful disciple is one who serves others, yes?”

“Yes, Father,” you said, stepping backwards, away from his touch, hanging your head in reverence.

“In fact,” he purred, “It is James 1:23 which reminds us that those who look into the glass will be blinded by their own desires, only seeing themselves, incapable of suffering God’s divinity. It is the good works done that are worthy of praise, my child, although…”

He stepped forward again, grabbing your chin in his huge hand roughly, clutching the very bone of your jaw, making you gasp,

“Our Lord has taken special care to display his almighty talent in your face, has he not? Such delicate features. Like an angel.”

His mouth was so close to yours that you could smell the heady scent of iron and musk on his breath. His piercing eyes never left yours, pinning you in place.

Then, he released you, and you left the room without being dismissed, closing the cell door behind you and rushing back to your own cloister. You rushed into your room, locking the door fast, and knelt at your altar to pray for forgiveness.

Except… you were not asking to be forgiven for suggesting vanity to your new priest. No. You were asking to be forgiven for the warm, wet lust that was smearing across the crease of your thighs. Father Price had awakened strong feelings in you not of enlightenment, but of lurid desire, and you begged to be cleansed.

The next morning, Father Price called the abbey together. Yourself, Sister Ruth, and Sister Sarah reported to the small courtyard, along with two young pilgrims who had lived there since the past summer, Timothy and David. You and the nuns had suspected them as runaways, but they pledged themselves to the cloth and took care of the manual labor around the premises since you lacked any monks to speak of. They were well into their young adulthood now, and they would become apprentices to Father Price, if he saw fit.

You tried to put what had transpired between you and the good Father out of your mind, but seeing him in the cold light of day did nothing to quell the sinful desire you felt towards him. The way he had grabbed you…

“Good morrow, everyone. I ask that you will join me in our Biblical studies every morning. I find that the word of God helps me put the rest of my day right. I want to begin at the beginning, yes?”

He looked around at all of your faces, as if anyone would protest against his power, and then he continued,

“What does Genesis 4:7 tell us, Sister Ruth?”

“Speaking to Cain, the Lord said: If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him.”

“Sin lieth at the door,” Father Price mused, then, as if shaking himself from his thought, he said, “Please continue, Sister.”

“And Cain talked with Abel, his brother: and it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel, his brother, and slew him. And the Lord said unto Cain, Where is Abel thy brother? And he said, I know not: Am I my brother's keeper?”

“You are,” the priest’s voice rose in his chest, startling Sister Ruth and silencing her words. He began to pace back and forth, slowly stalking through your small ranks, “You are your brother’s keeper. You are more than that. You are keepers of this entire parish, are you not?”

“Yes, Father,” you all said in unison.

“There will be a reckoning in this parish,” Price snarled, “I will not lead a flock of demons disguised as sheep. If any of you hear witness or see evidence of sin, deliver it to me at once. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Father,” you repeated.

“I will now take your confessions. I understand that it has been a number of years since you were cleansed, so be prepared to repent lest you allow the Devil into your soul.”

“Yes, Father.”

The day dragged on through the gray clouds, and Father Price had taken his time with the confessions of the members of your abbey. Sister Sarah had gone into his cell after the boys, and she had emerged with red eyes full of tears. You had comforted her in hushed whispers in the corner of her cloister, asking her what he had done, thinking it was something even more awful that how he had accosted you last night.

“He…” Sarah sobbed, “He made me kneel on sharp stones while I recited my prayers. It hurts so much, Sister.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. Although sharp stones were not a gentle punishment, they were at least devoid of physical contact. He had not taken a hand to her. But, Sister Sarah was young. She had avoided some of the harsher training practices of the more traditional members of the church. You knew that there were a bevvy of punishments that would make kneeling in discomfort feel like a blessing.

Sister Ruth also came out sniffling, reporting that she had fifty lashes across her palms for the sin of plucking figs off of a nearby tree owned by the neighboring farm.

Again, you sighed and thanked God that he had a little mercy within him.

His cell door opened, and Father Price locked eyes with you and demanded,

“Come, my child. It is time for your confession.”

“Yes, Father Price,” you complied, taking your leave of the other nuns and following him into his cell.

Inside of his room, a shaft of sunlight cut across his face, illuminating his eyes and stunning you, keeping you from moving forward.

“Shut the door, my child,” his timbre was ominous, and you tried to hold yourself together.

“So far,” he rose from his seat and walked over to you, “I have cleansed the souls of a nun who is a thief, another who is a sloth, a young man who is a liar, and another who is filled with pride. It seems, Sister, that you have allowed the Devil through the door, indeed.”

“Forgive me, Father. I knew not of their wicked ways, nor have I your wisdom to correct them.” You stared at the stone floor. It was easier than looking at him.

“I do not believe that the wickedness was borne within them,” Father Price mused, tapping his finger on his lips as if deep in thought, “Because I discovered this beneath your mattress, and so I know the evil is inside of you.”

In his hands, Father Price held up a square, familiar, looking glass. You trembled, watching as your own reflection met you back. You could see the fear spread across your face, and you were disgusted by it.

“Tell me, my child. How did you use this mirror?” He asked sweetly, but as he watched you think about how best to answer the question, his voice became hot with fury and he snarled into your ear, “And don’t you dare lie to me. I will know your deceit.”

Your heart was banging in your chest, and so, beyond your better judgment, you told him the truth.

“I used it to… examine myself, Father.”

“Show me,” he commanded.

It was as if his whole cell bent and bowed under the weight of his authority. Your body began to move against your own will, relenting to his instead. Without thinking, you pulled back your habit and let your hair fall down your back. Then, you began to peel away your robes. Underneath, you untied your shift, and you allowed the fabric to pool on the floor at your feet, staring at yourself naked in the glass.

He watched you in silent awe, his pupils darkening, his mouth parted at his full lips, his chest heaving as he watched you make yourself bare before him.

“Go on,” he said, knowing that you were not finished with your demonstration.

You felt yourself obeying him helplessly, and you performed the same inspection that you did in private in front of him.

“I wanted to see how God hath made me, Father. So, I looked.”

“Where did you look, my child?”

“Here,” you raised your hands to squeeze the supple flesh of your breasts, showing him how your nipples were bouncy and puffy until they turned stiff and tight.

“And here,” you allowed your hand to fit itself between your thighs, spreading your labia, covered in dense hair, until your pliant lips revealed a shining, smooth center, wet and ready for pleasure.

“Now that you have examined the Lord’s fine works, what did you do with this knowledge?” Price asked.

“I would touch this part of me, Father, and I would let it bring me to Heaven.”

“I would like to know Heaven, my child. Turn around.”

You tried to stop yourself, but he was using his power to bind you. You were nothing more than a toy, helpless to his every whim. You turned, your back facing him, and he set the mirror on his desk so that you could see yourself within it. Then, he moved in front of you and his body blocked your view, reaching down to grab your chin like he had the first night he arrived, raising your mouth up to his.

You thought he would kiss you. His lips were just within reach, but he commanded you darkly,

“Confess.”

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” you recited dumbly, “It has been three years since my last confession. In that time, I have…”

His mouth covered yours, kissing you deeply, feeding you his long tongue and eating up your words before you could say them. Then, you felt his hands on your breasts, squeezing them cruelly, pinching your nipples to make them ache and sting. You couldn’t help the lewd sounds that escaped your throat, but he didn’t seem to care to stop you. Finally, he pulled away, and when you looked into his eyes again, the bright blue had been replaced with a Hellish red.

You gasped, and he grabbed you tighter, pulling you towards him by the soft meat of your breasts, making you cry out in agony. That noise seemed to please him because he smiled down at you, and you could see that his teeth had grown into long, wolf-like fangs. He chuckled,

“My pretty little sinner.”

“D-d-demon!” You cried breathlessly, shaking from fear as he held you to his body.

Price bared his fangs at your assessment, hissing from the title,

“Yes, and you have invited me in, so eager to be corrupted.”

Releasing you from his grip, he held you around your waist with one arm, and he used his free hand to dip between your legs, discovering your wetness there and sighing from it.

“Mmm… Let me taste your sweet, little Heaven, Sister.”

He knelt on the floor in front of you and held onto your wide ass cheeks in each hand, forcing your hips to tilt toward his face. You looked down and watched as his impossibly long tongue flicked against your swollen bud. His wide tongue parted your lips to drag wetly between them. You tried to hold back your cries, but you’d never known such pleasure, so you could barely keep it in. You prayed for forgiveness as you came apart against this demon’s mouth, succumbing to his vileness.

Then, you glanced into the mirror, and you noticed that you couldn’t see his head. Only the collar and robes were visible in the glass. All you could see is how your lips were being spread apart, seemingly on their own.

He had no reflection.

“You… you’re…” You couldn’t say the words, but Price knew what you meant to call him.

He looked over his shoulder, using his thumbs to spread your lips wide apart, gazing at them in the glass and smiling even though he didn’t have a reflection to smile at. Then, he looked back up at you, a sick grin spread across his lips,

“Cain, yes. The immortal wanderer, cursed from the earth which hath opened her mouth to receive my brother’s blood. And I have not tasted food, for it becomes ash in my mouth, just like He promised. But, blood… I can taste blood just fine.”

He planted the softest kisses between your shivering thighs, sucking on the thin skin, and then, after slaking his thirst with your sticky center once more, he sank his fangs right in the inside of your thigh, making you howl with pain.

His eyes were locked on yours, watching you writhe in agony, your nerves sensing his venom coursing through you as he sucked the life from your veins. You watched yourself in the mirror, seeing the puncture wounds, watching as blood spilled out across your skin, smearing and being licked away by his greedy tongue. Finally, he released you, and the poison of his mouth took effect. You became deeply fatigued, and you could barely stand on your own. He had to hold you in his arms to keep you in position.

He stood, smiling down at you, his mouth caked with your dark blood, his teeth stained red,

“What a blessing you are, my child. Such perfect innocence tastes so fine, so… pure. I almost hate to sour your ripe little fruit, but that will be sweet in its own way, yes?”

You watched as your demonic priest yanked at his collar, popping it from his neck. Then, he pulled off his robes, tearing away at his layers until he was as bare as you, both of you fully naked and pressed together, joined in a crash of skin and heat, his mouth painting your body with your own blood as he kissed and licked your breasts and belly, teasing you with his tongue as he explored you.

Then, he stepped around to your back, and you caught sight of his heavy cock as it swung between his legs like that of a rutting beast. You tried to fight the black spell you were under, but it was no use. You were trapped in his thrall.

“Watch yourself in the mirror, my child,” Father Price commanded you, grinning as you immediately obeyed, “Come and behold the marvelous works of God.”

You couldn’t turn your eyes away. You were alone in the mirror, and yet, your breasts were being crushed by invisible fists, your nipples tormented between unseen fingers. Then, you felt Price fit his phallus against the entrance of your sex and press it into you, stretching you wide across his prodding cockhead. You saw how your body was being invaded by him, pulling itself apart to allow him inside. The dark hole of your quim opened like a toothless maw, drooling and starving, hungry to take him deep within you, welcoming him up to your womb.

You sobbed at the strain, and then you felt something give way sharply inside you, and he had a much easier time of filling you with his engorged length. As he fucked himself up into you, he was grunting like an animal, praising you in your ear, telling you his own confession,

“Forgive me, my child, for I am sinning. Right now… I am sinning with you, and it is so sweet. God has made you for me. What a gift you are. See?”

He used his hand to swipe at your gaping hole, bringing his hand in front of your face so you could see the bright blood that coated his fingertips,

“You have broken so easily for me. The Lord knew you needed me to come and serve you. He brought me to you, my child. You welcomed me inside, didn’t you? Spread these lips for me, invited me in… Didn’t you? Say it.”

“Y-y-yes, F-father…” You whimpered, tears dripping down your chin and onto your bare chest.

The loud slapping of skin against skin filled the cell, and you watched as your hole spread wider and wider, taking more of him with each punishing thrust.

“Louder, my child,” he hissed in your ear.

“Yes, Father!”

His hand was playing in your slippery folds, massaging your hidden bud and forcing you to clench hard around him from the pleasure. In the glass, you could see your hole trying in vain to twist itself shut, pumping him in a steady beat.

“Didn’t you pray to God for a prick like mine when you touched your filthy quim in your mirror?”

“Yes, Father!”

It was true. You had touched yourself, hoping that you might one day know the pleasure of being taken by a man. You had watched the mating of cattle in the field next to the abbey many a summer past, hanging clothes and sheets on the line, and yet all the while looking into the grassy glade, staring at the bull who would mount his cow and thrust his turgid rod into her to breed her deeply. And she would croon for him, and when he left her, the spent seed would hang in long, thick strings from the head of his phallus, making him wet and ready to sink his sword through its next sheath.

“And the Lord answered your prayers, did he not? Begging him for someone to breed you like this, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Father!”

Price was the bull, and you would be bred by him, and you would be cast out of God’s mercy forever. Ruined. Steeped in sin and tainted by lust.

“You smell like a ripe plum, my sweet child, and you’re just as soft in my mouth,” Price began to lick your neck from your sloping shoulder all the way to your earlobe, over and over, letting his spit cover your flesh. Then, he sank his fangs into your vein and began to drink from you in long, slurping sucks, swallowing your blood into his throat in audible gulps, moaning with each mouthful of your essence.

The venom of his demonic bite made your head cloudy and your will compliant.

“Touch yourself, my child,” he mumbled, quickly returning to his feast on your flesh.

You had no choice but to obey. You felt him increase his pace, his long cock bottoming out inside of you with each thrust, flinging his weight into you like a hammer. You began touching your breasts, pinching yourself gently as you watched your ruination unfold in the looking glass, helpless to stop it.

Then, you began to touch your rigid nub, taking over for him as he continued to drink from you. You made achingly slow circles around your most sensitive spot, and because you were so wet, you were able to go faster without any discomfort. You made yourself come quickly, jerking your hips against him as he fucked you, listening to him groan from the feeling of your tight hole trying to squeeze the come out of his body.

“Beg me for my seed, Sister. Beg me to spill it in you,” Price murmured, licking your neck in the spot where he had bitten to rub the taste of your blood across his tongue.

“Father, please… Please come in me. Spill in me… oh!”

You felt him jerk inside of you, and then you heard his growling orgasm rip through his body, his cock pulsing wildly, shooting ropes of creamy seed all over your walls, bursting through your tight, virginal core.

“So perfect for me, so perfect…”

Price caught his breath while he was still inside of you, panting and smiling against your neck before he pulled out of you, watching his invisible shaft slip through your cunt in the mirror, the gaping hole slowly shrinking before your eyes. As he retreated, you saw large strings of come drip out of you, white and endless, flowing out of you and onto the floor of the cell.

Father Price dressed himself in front of you, leaving you standing where he had last commanded you to be, admiring your ruined body. Once he clipped his collar back under his shirt and cloak, he stepped in front of you to pinch lightly at the tips of your nipples again, making you whimper like a hungry mutt.

“For all your virtues, Sister, you are prone to sin. An innocent such as yourself must be trained to resist the Devil. Come to my cell for confession every morning and every night. I promise,” he stroked your cheek and then your neck, right where he’d bitten you, “I will put my goodness deep inside of you, my child. Right here.”

His other hand came to touch your bare belly, gently caressing the skin and flesh that protected your womb.

“Yes, Father,” you said, trying to avoid his furious gaze, shaking with pure, gut-wrenching terror, understanding that for you, there was no escape. You were under his vampiric command, and if he wanted you, your body was going to obey. You’d taken the Mark of Cain on your neck, and the only hope for you now was to beg for his mercy.

“Take this mirror with you, my child. I want you to kneel in prayer over it, spread those plump legs wide, and I want you to watch my seed drip out of you. With every drop, you will thank God for me and my prick. When the Lord answers our prayers, it is our duty to be grateful.”

“Yes, Father,” you said, pulling your robes back on and adjusting your habit.

He handed you the mirror, and you took it with a crushing amount of shame, feeling his come still seeping in a steady stream out of your well-used hole.

As you left his cell, he smiled down at you, carefully petting your cheek,

“Don’t worry, my child. Your next confession is in only a few hours. You will feel the warmth of the Lord’s forgiveness again very soon.”

—x—x—x—

Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated!

AO3 Link

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Life's Sweet Bells

A COD Farm Sim AU with some omegeverse splashed in!

Meet the Town!

John Soap Mactavish - Clean and green, with a scent like shortbread and rose,  you can see how the wiley alpha Soap got his nickname. Soap runs the neighboring livestock farm. Soap specializes in critters big and small, from velvety eared rabbits to towering horses. He prides himself in his work, and his animals usually run best in show for the town's yearly festivals. When not at the farm, Soap can be seen chatting it up at the blacksmith's or having an evening pint at the inn. With a friendly smile and sunkissed skin, could Soap be your first friend??

John Price. Or rather Captain, formerly. John is an alpha that once ran the town's mines with a tight efficiency. Slaying the monsters therein and emerging with jewels and ores a plenty. Since the town's devastating earthquake the mines have since been closed. John stubbornly remains, clearing the mines on his own. Though his ink and coffee scent permeates the artifacts wing of the local museum, a responsibility he shares  with Alex. John is considered an expert in monsters and hidden treasures. During down time John is down at the docks with Farah and Nik.

Simon Ghost Riley. Formerly Price's right hand in the mines, and now the town's blacksmith, Ghost stands tall and aloof. Pale arms lined with scars, and soot stained fingertips. Some say his room is lined with awards for his craft. Ghost can make anything, and is responsible for a lot of specialty items for the whole village, special swords and crossbows for Price. Stronger tools and equipment for Gaz. He doesn't say much to you when you show up, and you assume the mask is to protect his face, though he never takes it off.  What's more odd is the syrupy sweet scent buried under all the brimstone. 

Kyle Gaz Garrick. Kyle is a master of his craft and does the bulk of the repairs and renovations around the village. (As well as some of its more charming cosmetics) With the help of Ghost and Price, Gaz is slowly but surely piecing the town back together after the earthquake. Kyle is renown in town for his delicate work and eye for detail. Despite popular beliefs Kyle is a calm and laid back Alpha, with a fresh and citrusy scent that's almost hypnotic. Kyle is one of the first to come to the new farm, providing a few extra tools he had laying around to help you get started. He's ecstatic to have a new face around town!

Nikolai? Nobody seems to know his last name, but he seems to be well liked in town. Nikolai was once a traveling merchant, never staying in one place for too long. He made his way by selling rare and unique wares. Since the earthquake the alpha has settled in town on a more permanent basis. Nik now runs a beautifully crafted bathhouse so those hard workers of the village can rest their weary bones, while still having a handful of new and rare items to sell each week. There seems to be more to the alpha that meets the eye. 

Kate Laswell. Kate is the town physician. A no nonsense beta who is chronically scraping townsfolk off the ground when they fail to take care of themselves properly. She's lovely, but so very tired. When Kate isn't at the clinic she assists her wife with running the inn. 

Farah is a fisherman extraordinaire, and has been a godsend with getting supplies in and out of the village while the bridges were out. While Farah doesn't brag, tales of her adventures are written on the scars on her toned tanned arms. While goods and services aren't her day to day now, Farah still heads out on her boat each day with Alex in tow.

Alex is responsible for a bulk of the collections at the museum, and when he's not there, he helps Farah out on the docks. In his downtime Alex writes stories down on the well worn pages of his journal. Harrowing tales of a strong and fearless pirate who saves the day again and again. So what if the long braided heroin resembles someone familiar?

(Not sure how deep in the weeds i'll go with this, but I'm having fun, I would love to make it a little series)

[vintagelasvegas]

Tally Ho / Aladdin / Planet Hollywood

Aladdin opened in 1966 with one of the Strip's first neon-enhanced porte-cochéres, a freestanding sign featuring a revolving, three-sided marquee, topped with an "Aladdin's Lamp," designed and fabricated by YESCO.

Timeline.

Tally Ho ('62-'65)

'61: Edwin S. Lowe announces plans for Tally Ho non-gaming hotel. In the 40s the land was owned by locals Salton, Rose, and Goldberg. (Alexander & Rebecca Salton, founding members of the Las Vegas Jewish community.)

'62: Dec. 24, Opening of Tally Ho, hotel and country club with 9-hole golf course. 322 of the 450 rooms open during “preview opening” in Dec. The hotel was alternately spelled Tally Ho, Tally-Ho, and Tallyho.

'63: Oct. 11, Tally Ho closed. “Ed Lowe made no excuses … admits he was dead wrong about a no gambling luxury hotel.” (Hertz, RJ 10/13/63)

'63: Oct., Norman Kaye and Frank Windsor operate the Tally Ho golf course.

'63: Oct.-Dec., The hotel is sold to Kings Crown Inns of America, represented by Floyd and Beryl Cook, Donald Bolinger (Cooks Brothers Trusts, Indiana). Under lease to operators Edward Nealis, Charles Luftig, and partners, Kings Crown Tally Ho's hotel, lounge, and restaurants reopen in Dec. (Duke, RJ 12/20/63)

'64: Construction of a showroom and casino begins in Fall, misses New Year's Eve opening deadline. The showroom and casino are completed in '65, ultimately never opened. (RJ 4/8/64, RJ 5/18/65)

'65: Nealis heads 18 casino applicants of Tallyho Operating Co. who are unable to get approval from Nevada Gaming Control Board (GCB). In later years Jimmy "the Weasel" Fratianno of the Los Angeles crime family claimed he owned a piece of the Tally Ho and was to run the casino. (AP 2/17/65, RJ 11/25/84, Mob Museum 12/8/2017)

'65: Apr. 1, Tally Ho closed for the second time after King's Crown files suit against Tallyho Operating Co. for unpaid rent. Tenants are evicted, property put in control of the owners.

'65: Dec., Tally Ho bought by Milton Prell (Prell Hotel Corp.) from The Cooks Brothers Trusts.

Aladdin ('66-'97)

'66: Aladdin announced. Drawings for redesigned casino and proposed hotel tower unveiled early in the year. Martin Stern, architect. (RJ 1/2/66, RJ 1/17/66)

'66: Mar. 31, Aladdin opened. Freestanding sign and the Strip's first neon-enhanced porte-cochère by YESCO. Primary owners M. Prell, G. Gilbert, and S. Krystal, all former members of Sahara-Nevada Corp. Comedian Jackie Mason opens the 500-seat Baghdad Theatre.

'66: Dec., Prell stops $75k/month payments on the Aladdin and asks that the price be cut. The trustees agree to reduce the sale price to $5.5M. (Dayton, 4/20/72)

'67: Sep. 26, Milton Prell suffers a debilitating stroke which removes him from Aladdin management. (Dayton, 4/20/72)

'68: Apr., Stockholders of Prell Hotel Corp. vote to merge with Parvin-Dohrmann Co., leading to Parvin-Dohrmann take-over the Aladdin.

'68: Jun., Parvin-Dohrmann operation of Aladdin’s casino approved by GCB. (RJ 6/20/68)

'68: Sep., 28, "after the stock trade was finalized, Milton Prell, by this time paralyzed, was told by the new management he had two weeks to get out of the Aladdin." (McKnight, Alexander. Journal Herald, 4/20/72)

'70: Parvin-Dohrmann adopts the new name Recrion, and strips the firm of all its holdings except for its three Las Vegas hotel-casinos: Aladdin, Fremont, and Stardust.

'71: Oct.-Dec., Recrion announces sale to Sam Diamond, P. Webbe, R. Daly, D. Aikin as Aladdin Hotel Corp. Diamond announces plans for hotel tower.

'71: Entertainment director James Tamer is involved in secretly managing the casino and directing the skim, according to later conviction.

'74: Aladdin investigated by GCB for issuing comps to organized crime figures.

'74: Groundbreaking for the “Tower of Majesty” high-rise, and theater. Lee Linton, architect. Years later in '83, Linton and Aladdin attorney Sorkis Webbe are each convicted of tax fraud in relating to a kickback scheme during the '74 expansion.

'76: Jul., Tower and Theatre for the Performing Arts opened; new porte-cochère by Charles Barnard, Ad-Art; original sign replaced; all financed by Teamsters Central States Pension Fund loan.

'76: Mae Ellen George buys 24% of the hotel, relying on advice of Tamer.

'78: Aug. 3, Detroit federal grand jury indicts Tamer, Aladdin GM James Abraham, Aladdin casino manager Edward Monazym, and Charles Goldfarb (denied a license in ’71) of conspiring to allow hidden owners to exert control over the resort. Owners of the Aladdin at this time are Webbe (34%), Diamond (23%), Mae George (19%), Daly (14%), John Jenkins (8%), and George Morse (2%). (RJ 8/3/78)

'79: Mar. 13, Tamer, Abraham, Monazym, and Goldfarb convicted.

'79: Aug., GCB closes the resort; U.S. District Judge Claiborne opens it hours later, “until a mob-free buyer could be found.” (German, RJ 9/20/2021.)

'80: Jan., Ed Nigro gains a court-sanctioned takeover of the Aladdin after he and Johnny Carson sign an agreement to buy the property for $105M. The deal falls through.

'80: Jul. 10, GCB revokes Aladdin's license and the casino is closed; hotel remains open.

'80: Oct. 1, Casino is reopened after Ed Torres and Wayne Newton buy the Aladdin for $85M.

'82: Jul, Torres buys Newton's shares of the Aladdin.

'84: Feb., Aladdin placed under bankruptcy protection after a Teamsters Pension Fund forces foreclosure.

'85: Jan. 22, Ginji Yasuda buys the Aladdin for $54M; casino closed during Yasuda licensing.

'87: Apr. 1, gaming reopens.

'89: Aug., Yasuda, failing to reveal the source of millions in loans, loses his gaming license; Aladdin forced into bankruptcy.

'89: Sep., Court appointed trustee Jack Fidelman, and WDT Associates (Wm. and Tim Dougall, Larry Bertsch) take over operating the hotel. Aladdin remains in bankruptcy through the early 90s.

'91: Jun., Property title transferred to Bell Atlantic Tricon Leasing Corp when no buyers meet the minimum bid.

'92: Jun., Aladdin emerges from 3-year bankruptcy, control is given to Joe Burt and his JMJ management team on a 12-year lease with Bell Atlantic Tricon.

'94: Dec., Jack Sommer, Signman Sommer Family Trust, buys the Aladdin for $80M. "When the family trust sold a major New York property in '94, Sommer needed to find a real estate investment for the proceeds to avoid substantial capital-gains taxes. The Aladdin was on the market at the time." (Simpson. RJ 8/13/2000.) Other potential buyers included Donald Trump.

'97, Nov 25: Aladdin closed. A new hotel-casino to be built on the 35-acre parcel.

'98, Apr 28: Aladdin tower demolished. Former Tally Ho rooms later demolished; Theater remains.

Aladdin (2000-2007) Planet Hollywood (2007-)

2000: New build of the Aladdin. Mall opens 8/17/00, hotel and casino delayed, opening 8/18/00. Cost: $1.1B.

2001: Sep., Aladdin files for bankruptcy.

2003: Aladdin sold for $635M to OpBiz investment group led by Planet Hollywood CEO Robert Earl. Sale finalized 9/1/2004.

2007: Apr. 17, renamed Planet Hollywood.

2009: Harrah’s Ent. purchases part of the $860M mortgage, takes full ownership in Feb. 2010. Harrah’s later rebranded as Caesars Entertainment.

Photos of Tally Ho | Photos of the Aladdin

Headline photo: Undated, circa '68, from The Magic Sign by Charles Barnard.

Circa Feb.-Mar. 1966: The hotel was open before the casino. Installation of the sign is beginning. Photo: Las Vegas News Bureau.

Mar. 1966: Sequence of photographs showing YESCO’s revolving, three-sided Aladdin pylon structure being pieced together by dual cranes ahead of their opening on the 31st. Ad-Art collection, from Charles Barnard’s The Magic Sign.

Undated, Las Vegas News Bureau.

3/31/66 – Opening night. Four men holding scissors are Bill Braire, Las Vegas Mayor Oran Gragson, Milton Prell, Las Vegas Sun Publisher Hank Greenspun. Las Vegas News Bureau, LVCVA Archive.

“Aladdin Casino was the first Las Vegas hotel to integrate major sign elements and neon into its porte-cochère. Sign modules were incised into the leading edge of the projecting canopy and wrap-around grids of incandescent lamps followed these contours back to the entry.” - Charles Barnard, The Magic Sign. Photo: Las Vegas News Bureau.

Postcard c. '66-'68

Showgirls at the Aladdin, 1966. Las Vegas News Bureau.

Timeline sources.

Previous landowners: C.D. Baker Map of Las Vegas Valley ’40; Alexander Salton. UNLV Special Collections & Archives.

Tally Ho: Tallyho Preview Attracts 3500. Review-Journal, 12/28/62; Tallyho Hotel Closes. Review-Journal, 10/11/63 p1; Murray Hertz. Future of Tallyho Raises Questions. Review-Journal, 10/13/63; Gordon Kent. Tally-Ho Hotel Sold. Review-Journal, 11/1/63; Forrest Duke. New Tallyho Sale Deal. Review-Journal, 12/20/63; Tallyho Plans $1 Million Show. Review-Journal, 4/8/64; Associated Press. Gaming Board Refuses Tallyho Casino License. Review-Journal, 2/17/65 p1; G. Kent, F. Duke. Strip Hotel Closes. Review-Journal, 4/1/65 p1; Tallyho Sues Owners. Review-Journal, 5/18/65 p1.

Tally Ho and Aladdin sales covered in a series by Keith McKnight and Andrew Alexander for The Journal Herald, Dayton OH. Welsh confirmed with crime figures. Journal Herald, 4/20/72; Firm with crime ties linked to casino deal. Journal Herald, 4/21/72.

Aladdin: Associated Press. Gamers Approve. Review-Journal, 6/20/68 p1; Associated Press. Firm adopts new name: Recrion Corp. Reno Gazette Journal, 12/14/70; Lou Miller. Aladdin Hotel sold. Review-Journal, 11/8/71; Jerry Ralya. New Aladdin Corporation seeks license. Review-Journal, 12/29/71; Aladdin execs indicted. Review-Journal, 8/3/78; AP. Las Vegas architect sentenced to prison. Review-Journal, 3/8/83; AP. Webbe convicted. Review-Journal, 6/19/83; Jane Ann Morrison. LV Casinos Targeted in Money Laundering. Review-Journal, 11/25/84; Aladdin Hotel's history spans 30 years. Review-Journal, 1/5/94 p3; Dave Palermo. Aladdin Hotel finally sells. Review-Journal, 12/9/94 p1; History. Review-Journal, 11/23/97 p14; Jeff Simpson. Aladdin owner faces music. Review-Journal, 8/13/2000; Chronology of the Aladdin hotel-casino. Las Vegas Sun, 8/18/2000. John L. Smith. Sharks in the Desert. Barricade Books, 2005; David Schwartz. Jimmy The Weasel Fratianno. themobmuseum.org, 12/8/2017; Jeff German. The Genie in the Lamp, and Close the Place Down. Review-Journal, 9/20/2021.

[galedekarios]

gale, waterdeep & coinage

just musings on gale's means as well as waterdeep lore bc i love waterdeep:

Gale: Believe it or not, but I witnessed a similar standoff back at the Yawning Portal. Of course, an establishment like that invites all sorts of outlandish entertainments. Player: What's the Yawning Portal Gale: An inn in Waterdeep. Never a dull moment there. Adventurers come from all over Faerûn to try their luck down the well: Leads into the Undermountain, you see - full of death, danger, and vast amounts of treasure. Hard to resist. Player: What was the standoff about? Gale: Oh, a drow, a dragonborn, and a cleric of Cyric walk into a bar. Your standard fare. Maybe someone was cheating at cards, maybe it was some weird lovers' quarrel. In any case, out came the crossbow, and a hush fell over the entire room.devnote Player: What happened next? Gale: I stood up and yelled: 'Shadowdark ale for everyone!' The crowd cheered, the tension drained into five dozen tankards, and soon all was well again. Gale: In a place like the Yawning Portal, the most powerful magic is calling for a round of drinks. Gale: Mind you, all I did was call for ale, but you went and stood in front of that crossbow. I'd drink to that.

i will definitely take a look at the yawning portal itself at a later date (as well as other points of interest within the city) bc it's very interesting as a focal point in waterdhavian history and society.

while we can only speculate about what gale's background in terms of means, wealth and standing looked like since things like tutors and even maids were not uncommon in waterdhavian society, it is interesting to note that he - whatever his personal means at the time this event took place - felt the need to defuse the brewing fight with 'five dozen tankards'.

we do actually know how much one such tankard costs at the yawning portal:

[source]

17cp x 60 = 1020cp

this was interesting to me in terms of this meant in actual terms of coinage and wealth and money spent.

here's an overview of waterdeep's various coins:

source: volo's waterdeep enchiridion

gale spent over a 1000 nibs/copper pieces that evening (or more than one sun/platinum coin) to de-escalate a potentially lethal fight.

to put that into perspective, i'm adding this reference of prices here:

source: volo's waterdeep enchiridion

gale also attended blackstaff academy, with elminster as his mentor. the academy had costs attached with it:

Acceptance to the Academy was predicated on either demonstrating extraordinary magical aptitude (those who could not cast arcane spells were very rarely admitted) or having a particularly compelling personal history. Joining the Academy was free, however monthly dues were required to continue attendance. These fees started at 10 gp per month and increased as a student gained seniority and required more advanced tutelage. In addition, it was a requirement that any new spell that was discovered or researched by an apprentice had to be added to Blackstaff Tower's library. [source]

ten gold pieces per month as fees, although with gale being elminster's mentee, he may have chosen to assist gale and morena partially or fully with any costs that blackstaff academy may have charged.

it does sound, however his childhood may have looked like with a presumably absent father and a mother with her hands full with a young genius, able to conjure rabbits as a babe, summoning a tressym, a magma mephit who set a room on fire, as well as casting a level 3 spell (fireball) at age 8 or younger, that gale at least during the height of his career as a wizard, lived comfortably.

ending this with more food for thought and a banter between gale and karlach:

Gale: They say wealth offers a form of magic. Alas, it's one I've rarely dabbled in. Karlach: Nor I. Never had more than a few coppers in the city, and any soul coins in Avernus went straight to Zariel. Gale: Make no mistake. Souls are sold for coins up here as well. All too cheaply, in most cases.

[kittenintheden]

No Thoughts, Just Vibes

Oh, you know, just a little Solstice/Midwinter treat for you. Enjoy!

Rating: E Pairing: Astarion/Tav (descriptionless) (BG3) Content warnings: PWP, PIV sex, oral sex, sex toys, tooth-rotting fluff

---

Their adventures by night in Faerún take them all over, from the Underdark to check up on Astarion’s siblings and their new spawn charges to Waterdeep in search of potential arcane solutions for certain undead individuals with sun sensitivity.

In fact, they find themselves entering Waterdeep just in time for Midwinter. The magicked streetlamps of the place glow golden and are festooned with all manner of wintery decorations, which feel oddly out of place in the seaside city but have a magic all their own nonetheless.

It’s just past dark when they approach a wizard’s tower, having spent the daylight hours getting to know the tavern and inn down the way while the sun still sparkled off the water. Now that it’s safe once again, Astarion and Tav ring the bell near the tower door and are greeted with a series of chiming meows in the style of a popular carol.

“He really doesn’t have to try so hard,” Astarion says, smirking despite himself. “And yet.”

“Let him be the dork of his dreams,” Tav chides playfully. “He deserves it. We all do.”

On cue, the large door of cypress wood before them swings open and their wizard friend holds out his hands in the foyer of his tower, arms wide.

“You made it!” Gale says, beaming. “Come, come inside. Please mind Tara, she’s been quite taken with the mistleberry and has made herself sick more than once despite my gentle reminders .” He yells the last words toward the spiraling staircase and from a nook nestled high in the wall, he receives a hiss in response.

“Relateable,” Astarion mutters as he comes inside, but he accepts an embrace from Gale nonetheless, giving him a stilted pat on the back.

Truly, the lot of them are glad their adventuring brought them to Gale’s doorstep. It’s nice to be off the road and surrounded by modern luxury again, and the wizard’s gone out of his way to ensure their modest celebration is full of delights. He’s even procured a top-vintage sanguine refreshment for Astarion.

“Did you imbue this with clove?” he asks, swirling it in his goblet and giving it another sniff.

“Not exactly,” Gale says, cheeks rosy from his own imbibed glass of wine. “Were you aware certain herbal and spiced components cross the blood barrier when inhaled or consumed? Give the resulting blood a bit of an essence for a certain frame of time. Garlic is the most common offender, but I thought I’d skip it, in this case. This donation came from a dear friend in the spice trade. One who doesn’t ask many questions and frequently dabbles in certain other trades.”

Astarion blinks against the verbal onslaught, then turns to Tav and says, “Hold on. Is that why I break out in hives after you’ve put too much garlic in your food?”

Tav’s also delightfully tipsy and she raises her glass to him. “I love you, dearest, but I’m not giving up garlic for you. Some prices are simply too steep.”

The night winds on and on like that until eventually Tav nods a sleepy head onto Astarion’s shoulder and he guides her off to bed in the spare room at the base of the tower. He returns to Gale, who’s ragaling Tara with his own rendition of “Marvelous Midwinter” to her great disdain.

“So, Gale,” Astarion says, interrupting to give Tara an appropriately respectful scritch on her head. “I have a bit of a favor to ask, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all, my friend,” Gale says, swaying. “How can I help?”

Astarion reaches into his pocket and procures a folded bit of something. He hands it to Gale, who unfolds it and examines it with some curiosity before cocking a brow at him.

“Any possibility of, erm. Recreating something to this effect?” Astarion asks. “One tied to a command word, perhaps?”

“Oh, certainly,” Gale says, going into tinkering mode as he examines the object. “I would need a few components, but luckily I have them in stock, thanks once again to my spice merchant friend. A little bit of articifer ingenuity to craft an arcane battery, some relatively complex enchantment, and a… wait.”

Gale gives Astarion another look and the vampire tilts his head and smirks.

“Right, I’m not asking,” Gale says, eyes back on his new puzzle. “Give me a day.”

“Lucky we’ll be here for three,” Astarion says with a light laugh.

The morning of Waterdeep’s official Midwinter celebration dawns bright and mild, the sea breeze rustling through the thick curtains they keep drawn in the guest room to ensure Astarion doesn’t wake up with burns or worse. They doze in the double bed in their underthings, Tav draped across Astarion’s chest and breathing softly as she wavers in and out of sleep. He’d actually fallen asleep last night, pressed up safe against her, and now he smiles into her hair, tracing his fingers up and down her arm.

Eventually she stretches along the length of her body and yawns against his skin, resting her chin on him and looking up into his face. She blinks lazily and runs a finger over the length of his nose with a delicate touch.

“Morning, dear,” she says, voice still rusty with sleep.

“Happy Midwinter, my love,” he murmurs in return. “I got you a little something.”

“Oh?” Tav purrs, sitting up a bit. “Is it fun?”

He arches a brow. “I certainly hope so.”

Astarion tangles his fingers in her sleep-mussed hair and draws her to his mouth, kissing her deeply as she relaxes into his body, letting her tongue stroke against his. He rolls them both to their sides and hooks his leg over hers, taking his time as he lights up her skin in all the ways he knows she loves. She laughs, tilting her head back to expose her throat to him, and he licks along the column of it, though he doesn’t bite. He wants her fully aware this morning.

With one hand, he deftly undoes the clasps of her brassiere and tosses it aside. Her smallclothes follow quickly after. She hums, pleased, lazing onto her back as he kisses down her breastbone, palming one of her breasts and rolling his thumb over her nipple until it peaks. His mouth works at the other, teasing and swirling until she’s arching up into him and rubbing her thighs together.

“Is this my gift?” she sighs. “I like it.”

Astarion chuckles against the space below her breasts as he continues working his way down. “In part, I suppose. But not quite.”

He runs his tongue underneath her breast and then leaves her a moment to fetch something from the side table. She whines at his absence, but he doesn’t leave her waiting long. He rolls back over, slipping a ring snugly down onto the second knuckle of his middle finger.

She giggles. “Are you proposing to yourself? Fitting, honestly.”

“You’re cute when you’re lust drunk,” he says before he puts the weight of his body on top of hers, kissing her deep.

He hauls her leg up by the thigh, wrapping it around his waist so he has better access as he runs his hands down the length of her, gripping her arse tight before moving around to the front and teasing his clever touch between her legs. She’s already going wet, her arousal making for a smooth draw over her skin and she settles into it, a wide smile on her face, knowing she’s in a master’s hands.

Astarion grins. She has no idea.

He places his hand flat against her slit, cupping her and resting the ring against her in just the right place.

“ Deliciae ,” he whispers.

The ring sends a brief, rapid vibration through her core, just beside her clit, and Tav cries out in surprise, bucking her hips and gripping his biceps, her breath going erratic. She’s fully awake now, staring up into his face, wide-eyed.

“What in the hells,” she gasps.

Astarion gives her a light kiss. “I’d hoped you’d like it,” he says. Then, again, “ Deliciae .”

“Oh,” she says, her thighs shaking on either side of him as another vibration pulses through her. “Oh, dearest . Again.”

He's happy to comply, kissing her between her gasps and mewls, repeating the command word in a sultry whisper while he works her with his fingers in the meantime. His own arousal aches where it’s pressed against her hip and he gently grinds it against her for relief, just enough to keep his own head as he watches her break to pieces beneath him.

Tav rolls her head back and opens her mouth in a silent scream as her legs shake, incapable of holding back their shudders as a shivering, powerful peak comes over her under the little toy. It’s familiar but sweeter; her hips rise off the mattress and then slam down as she tips over the other side. Astarion feels her clenching and pulsing, strong and slick, and the entire ordeal is instantly worth it to bear witness to the unraveling. There is no pleasure, no greater high, than knowing he’s the one who brings her to this state. The one who has the privilege. The one she chose.

She blinks back to herself, a moan low in her throat as she tries to clear the spots in her vision. When she meets his eyes again, he’s panting himself, still rolling his hips to get some relief against her side. Her gaze clears as she breaks the surface of her pleasure and she growls, grabbing his face and bringing him down to her mouth, nipping his lower lip between her teeth until he whines from it.

“You liked my gift?” he whispers, breath quickened.

“Oh, yes,” she sighs. “Now let me give you yours.”

Tav’s hand snakes down their bodies to find his fingers and she takes them, slipping the ring off. He’s so dazed with lust that he lets her without thinking about it too much and gladly moves as she rolls them both until he’s the one on his back. Her mouth is so hot on his cooled skin as she places open mouthed kisses everywhere he likes – the space behind his ear, the place where shoulder meets neck, every rib on the way down. She spreads a hand in the center of his chest, over where his heart resides, and presses him into place as she licks down the line between his abdominal muscles.

Astarion’s cock twitches, throbbing against the weight of her body as she continues her path, and she uses her free hand to give him a rewarding squeeze and stroke, running the pad of her thumb over the split underneath the head. She gives his foreskin a little swirl, helping make sure it’s properly drawn down, and he thrusts up into her hand with a pleased murmur.

It’s taken time and significant gentle coaxing to get him to a place where he simply lets go and allows her to lavish him with attention. A lesson he’s forever learning, rewriting centuries of conditioning with care, with passion, with love. He closes his eyes and focuses on her touch, allowing himself the pleasures she’s happy to share with him.

With a slight jolt, he twitches when he feels her warm tongue follow the path of her fingers, rolling circles around the head of him and applying long licks down his length. Her fingers move to his sack, gently rolling his balls in her palm, warming them. She places a knuckle against the spot beneath them, kneading deep but gentle, finding the place that drives him wild.

“You are so good to me,” he sighs as she moves her mouth over his head again. “That’s so good.”

He senses her smile just before she swallows him down, taking his length halfway into her mouth and working him a few times before she pulls off and says, “ Deliciae .”

Astarion’s vision whites out as the knuckle pressing into his perineum sends a hard vibrating pulse through him at the same time she takes his cock in her mouth again. He gives a sharp cry.

“Bleeding hells,” he manages. “I… I…”

She pulls off of him, tears forming at the corners of her eyes, and says it again.

Pleasure upon pleasure crashes over him, lighting up his entire body as he writhes under her touch. She goes slow enough to make it delightfully tortuous, though it would be incredibly easy to push him over the edge in short order. She moves the enchanted ring, experimenting in different places – the base of his cock, the rim of his arse, the crease of his thighs – and each spot brings new sensations.

He’s an absolute mess by the time she draws back and crawls up his body, his hands weakly grasping at her hips as she sits up on her knees, gingerly reaching between her legs to hold his cock in place as she slides down onto it, both of them near sobbing at the sensation.

“I love you,” he manages with what little breath he can hold. “Gods, I love you, I love you.”

“Love you,” she breathes back as she rolls her hips hard against him over and again. “Love this. All of this.”

Tav rides him slowly, firmly, with intention. When they get to a point where they can’t help but pick up speed, grinding one another into oblivion, Tav lifts his shaking hand in hers and takes the ring from her finger so she can slip it back onto his, the movement reverent.

Astarion looks her in the face as he reaches down between them with his fingers spread over the base of his cock where they meet, resting the ring right alongside her oversensitive clit. 

“ Deliciae ,” they say together.

They shatter in the same moment, eyes rolling back, crying out to the morning light. The waves of delight roll like the tide outdoors, rising up the shore and receding back to the great unknown.

Tav collapses onto Astarion’s chest and his arms are so very heavy as he lifts them to wrap around her back. They breathe, and pulse, and live. Eventually, he begins tracing soothing patterns along her skin.

He clears his throat. “I take it that’s the inaugural positive review for Gale’s potential toy venture?” he says.

“Oh gods, that’s where…” Tav covers her face with her hands. “Oh gods, I have to go out there and see him.”

Astarion laughs and she laughs with him.

[simpcityy]

My Little Spawn Pt.8 (Dadstarion X Child!Reader)

Summary: Astarion was finally free from Cazador after being kidnapped by a mind flayer but he was stuck with one annoying task, you.

Disclaimer: I do not own Baldur's Gate 3 or any of its characters.

Word Count: 1K

Warnings: Use of (Y/N), Cazador, language, violence, spoilers for those who haven't gone far in the game, mentions of blood, animal death...Uhhh...I think that is all. MAJOR SPOILERS IF YOU AREN'T IN ACT 2 AND 3 YET.

Author Notes: I'm back, I hope I can finish this series and move on to my Rolan one. Maybe I should do another dad series with another character? I like doing these and I know you guys seem to be enjoying them as well! We are getting close to the end of this series so please remember to reblog and like if you enjoy this series.

After raiding Moonrise Towers, the group was now on the road to Baldur’s Gate with a new addition to the group, Jaheira. (Y/N) runs around in the field of flowers that the group has decided to take a short rest. Astarion watched from afar, his mind pondering over and over. What will happen once they reach the city, will Cazador be able to sense you? Will the other spawns see you and report back to him? Many thoughts were running through his head but stopped when he felt a tugged at his hand. You looked up to him, “Are you here? I’ve been calling you over and over.” You pouted only for him to sigh “I was thinking but what do you want?” he mutters, setting you between his lap. “When we reach the gates, are we going to see papa!” You beamed at him. Astarion only stayed silent before patting your head “Time will tell.” He whispers. 

Getting access to the lower city was going to be difficult for the group. Tav sat on a rock after they were being denied entrance. “there must be another way to get inside…” They mutter and look around the group for any ideas. You were busy collecting different types of flowers for your father as a gift, still listening in on their conversation. This is when a thought occurs to you, a rather mischievous idea. Astarion was leaning against a pole before seeing you run past them and to the guards. “The hell are you doing?!” He follows you. You walk up to the lady, “Why can’t we go inside? Is your job to help people right?” You began. “Well yes but by orders we cannot let anyone in without a valid reason.” She leans to your height. “I don’t think my papa is going to like that, he’s been looking for me everywhere and if he finds out that I wasn’t able to go back home to him, he’s going to get really angry.” You smile at her innocently. Astarion stops a distance from you and watches. “He knows a lot of important people!” You remember that night in the Moonrise cells, that Lord Gortash. “He’s even friends with a man who looks over important! He looks just like this.” You point to the poster with Gortash's face. Upon that information, the woman pales a bit. “Lord Gortash? A-ah I see, you could’ve said that before.” She looks back at the group and yells out to bring the gate down. Astarion picks you up “You…really are his child…” He mutters impressed how you manipulated your first mortal but worried at the same time. You are really a small version of Cazador, and he wasn’t liking that. Cazador was a man who always had his way, he saw it just now with you and that woman. You had your way. 

After securing a room at the inn at a reasonable price, Astarion watched as you went with Shadowheart for your bathtime. Wyll walks over, “You’ve been quiet, that's not like you.” The pale elf looks up and sighs “Many thoughts are running in my mind…(Y/N) acted just like my worst nightmare, Cazador. I always forget they are a piece of Cazador.” He sighs “What is the next step for me? Do I exchange them to Cazador for my freedom…or…do I save them and the other spawns from him…thankfully they don’t have that mark on their back but…I have no clue what he plans for them…after reading all the books, there never seems be to a good happy ending for their kind.” He looks over to his backpack with the books he’s read so far. “They’ll grow up to be lonely…their kind is very rare, and I doubt there is another out there alive. As for family…seems like Cazador is the only one so far..so if I were to kill him, they’ll have no one…” He hated this, how can one simple small child bring him this much trouble. He would’ve toss them out in the city already and have the spawns take them back home but there was a small itch in him that prevented him. He hates it but he’s grown attached to them. “I want to resent them; I want to hate them for causing me so much trouble. I wanted to feel free the moment those ugly bastards captured me. I was away from Cazador's clutches but no!” He groans in frustration. “I was stuck with his child! A copy of him!” He felt the tears. Wyll only stays quiet letting him take it all out. He knew Astarion was going through it, the spawn was feeling overwhelmed the moment they got closer to the city. 

You stood behind the door of the bathroom listening, Shadowheart was out with the rest getting drinks after she bathed you. You only look down, playing with your hands trying to stop the tears from falling down. You glance from the door watching Astarion stomp out of the inn needing fresh air. Wyll sighs before walking over to his bed. You took this chance, you wanted Astarion to feel the freedom, even if it means without you. You walk to the door slowly and open it. Checking the hallway and walking out. 

Midnight rose and Cazador stood at his desk frowning. He watched the moon before sighing hearing the door open. “Didn’t I say I wanted to be left alone!” He turns, spotting Godey. “I know you did demand that Master but there is a gift for you at the entrance.” He bows at his master. Cazador only glares “I don’t want anything at al-” he stopped before hearing that voice, his little songbird is back. You walked to the main room and stopped by the big door. You look around, how you missed this place but a feeling within you made you rethink it. Looking back, you heard the doors open and spotted Cazador.

“Welcome home my little songbird.”

[mumms-the-word]

Daydreams

Characters: Rolan x fem!Tav (Fawn) Summary: Rolan's apprenticeship isn't everything he thought it would be. On yet another dreary day of retail, he lets his mind wander to the frustrating adventurer he met at the grove and left behind in the shadow-cursed lands, a beautiful woman named Fawn. A/N: A gift for the AMAZING @orangekittyenergy for her birthday!!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY friendo!!! Also this is a companion piece, a continuing of this fic about Rolan in Last Light Inn <3

Rolan could taste blood again, coppery and bitter and sharp. It no longer alarmed him. In truth, the taste of blood had become something of a daily occurrence, for one reason if not another. Just another perk of the job, he thought, his mood dark.

He rolled his tongue around the inside of his mouth, searching for the source of the blood. Two tender spots lined the inside of his right cheek where his teeth had broken through the soft tissue—old wounds, about two days old, from when his master had struck him with the side of his staff for answering out of turn. The spots were sore, but they weren’t bleeding. He kept searching until he felt a sharp but fleeting pain along the side of his tongue. He managed to hide his wince.

He must have bitten down on his tongue, but he couldn’t remember when. Was it when Master Lorroakan had sent one of the books flying toward his head this morning, or more recently when a customer had wasted half an hour of his time complaining about the shop’s herb selection (as though Bonecloak’s Apothecary were not literally across the plaza) and he’d literally chewed on his tongue to avoid yelling that at them? Perhaps it didn’t matter.

He sighed softly through his nose and eyed the potions stocked underneath the counter. They had a few healing potions, and a quick swig from one of them would surely heal his bruised and bleeding tongue…but then he’d have to pay for it.

Or would he? It wasn’t as though Master Lorroakan minded the shop at all. The bastard never came down from the top floor of Ramazith’s Tower, let alone venture outside of the Upper City, even with his magical portals that linked Ramazith’s Tower with Sorcerous Sundries. No, it was Rolan’s job to man the shop, keep track of the stock and proceeds, and listen to customers and adventurers alike complain about everything. 

Some glorious apprenticeship this was turning out to be.

He again contemplated the potions but decided against it. He might be the one manning the sales counter, but Master Lorroakan kept an animated armor or two around to keep order, not to mention magical images of himself to test cocky adventurers who thought they could con their way into a reward for the Nightsong. One of them would surely tattle. If Master Lorroakan chose to care, it would mean another “surprise test.”

Rolan wouldn’t be surprised if the surprise test was another myrmidon attack.

He swallowed down the saliva and blood that had mixed on his tongue and tried to forget about the pains in his mouth. And face. And body. He rolled his shoulders to try and ease some of the stiffness there and shifted his weight on his aching feet. Just another few hours and he could close up the shop and return to Ramazith’s Tower. Perhaps his master would be in a better mood today. Perhaps he would finally let Rolan learn a new spell or two. Perhaps…

Perhaps he was just fooling himself. 

Since arriving at Baldur’s Gate, he had learned almost no new magic or magical theory, and what little he had gleaned was from books he had attempted to read when Lorroakan wasn’t looking. Instead what he had learned was how to quickly memorize the shifting pricing and stock for Sorcerous Sundries, how to listen to a complaining customer’s every third word to get through the ordeal of listening to them with less of a headache, and that Lorroakan’s Nightsong venture attracted a very particular brand of increasingly stupid imbeciles—sorry, adventurers. There was one outside right now, still shouting at one of the animated armors about the injustice of not getting to personally see Lorroakan.

Get in line. The bitter thought practically crackled inside Rolan’s mind. He rolled his eyes, mostly to himself.

He had half a mind to cast silence over the adventurer, over this entire shop really, and dull the chaotic, neverending combination of spellcasting, customer chatter, and general chaos. The shop was never quiet, what with all the magical items humming or crackling or occasionally catching fire, or the elemental summons they conjured every morning swirling with water or creaking with the full weight of their molten rock forms, or the clanking of the animated armors. There was always something happening inside the shop, something colorful or dangerous. Sometimes it was amusing. These days most of it was just annoying.

He remembered when he thought all the lightly controlled chaos was thrilling. His first day at the shop and at Ramazith’s Tower, finally in a place that would appreciate his talents. Finally somewhere with color and light, unlike those dark and twisted shadow-cursed lands they’d just escaped. But that excitement had quickly faded.

It was hard to maintain a sense of excitement and wonder when his training involved his master lashing out with violence for every wrong answer given to every nonsensical, impossible question. He wanted to be angry—he was angry—but the anger tangled up in his mind until he was never entirely sure if he was upset at Lorroakan for not making sense, or at himself for failing to understand and learn.

These days, very little made sense. 

He sighed. What he wouldn’t give to have Cal and Lia here. Just to chat over the counter, if nothing else. But more than that, just to see them again. Ever since Lorroakan had refused to let Cal and Lia join them at Ramazith’s Tower, they’d been off finding work around the city and taking rooms at various inns and taverns. Last he heard, they were trying to find rooms at the Blushing Mermaid, just a few streets away. So close, and yet so far. 

He hadn’t seen them in a few days. Either they were busy, or he was. They left notes, and he sent notes back, but he hadn’t seen them physically in a while. He missed them.

But at least they were safe. There had been a moment when he thought they were gone for good. Gone forever. He still had nightmares about it, if he let himself linger on the memories too long.

He folded his arms loosely over his chest, letting his mind wander back to that time, only a few short weeks ago. Most of the early days in the shadow-cursed lands were a haze. A drunken dream he stumbled out of only at the last minute when the shadows attacked him outside the docks of Reithwin. It should have ended with his death.

But then she appeared. 

Fawn.

Gods, he was furious when he saw her. Why her of all bloody people in Faerûn? 

He smiled a little to himself now, remembering. He’d snapped at her and griped and sulked, and she had just let his words glance off her like flimsy darts against an adamantine shield. Completely unfazed. 

He still remembered the look of concern and worry she wore before he’d yelled at her.

Even in that darkness, half-illuminated by his torchlight and the moonlit magic that protected her from the shadows, she had been…lovely. Distractingly so. Even with her eyebrows drawn with concern and the down-turned corners of her mouth, the softness of her lips and hair had distracted him almost entirely. And that distraction had made him angry. How dare she meddle in his affairs again? 

But he’d be dead without her. Days of introspection had finally let him admit that to himself. And more than that, Cal and Lia would be dead without her. It was only because of her that they had survived Moonrise and made it out alive. 

He shook his head to himself. What an annoying, infuriating, maddeningly baffling woman Fawn was.

He wondered what she was doing now.

Probably wrapped up in some chaotic adventure, no doubt. Chaos and danger seemed to follow her every step wherever she went. Or perhaps she intentionally sought it out. That seemed just as likely.

Maybe one day he could walk into chaos at her side.

He blinked, the thought taking him a little off guard. At her side? He uncrossed his arms and rubbed at his temples. Maybe the stress of retail work was getting to him. It was much more likely he’d never see her again, so what was the point of even thinking about her?

But…he glanced around the shop. All the customers were either busy studying the wares or milling about. No one looked ready to approach the counter just yet, which gave him time to…well. Daydream.

Just for a moment.

He bent and rested his forearms against the counter, allowing his back a brief rest as he let his mind wander back to her. The beautiful Fawn. These were daydreams, right? So anything could happen there.

In his mind’s eye, he pictured her walking into the shop with a crooked smirk on her plump lips, her green eyes glittering with untold mischief. She’d approach the counter and stop, setting a hand on her hip, and tilt her head to one side, her soft brown bangs brushing against her forehead.

You up for an adventure? she might say. Or perhaps, Long time, no see. Or maybe, I thought I might find you here.

He would fondly roll his eyes and respond with something clever. It took you long enough. 

And she would laugh. A bright, sparkling laugh that would buoy his dampened spirits, or a sweet, quiet giggle meant only for his ears that would make his calloused heart flutter.

Perhaps he’d get lost in staring. Perhaps he would find himself tracing the line of her nose or the shape of her ears, find his gaze trailing down the scar on her right cheek. Perhaps their eyes would meet, infernal gold with wilderness green, and he’d find in her gaze answers to questions, about her, about the two of them, that he had asked himself a dozen times since they parted in Reithwin. Or perhaps his gaze would linger on her lips, his favorite distraction, and he’d think, not for the first time, not even for the hundredth time, about what it must be like to kiss such lips. To take her mouth with his own and consume her. To pull her body against his and fit himself against her curves and lines, like a puzzle piece locking into place, two parts of one whole. 

He straightened up suddenly, hands pressed against the counter, and shifted his weight. He ought to know better than to entertain such thoughts in the middle of a busy work day.

He tapped his nails against the counter, mostly to get out some of the pent-up energy that had been building up inside him. Click-ck-ck-ck. Click-ck-ck-ck. Click-ck-ck-ck. Another noise to add to the din of the shop.

It was a stupid thought anyway, and he was a fool for playing the lovesick idiot in his dreams. Even if she walked through those doors—and she wouldn’t, he was quite sure—there would be no leaving with her. Not with Master Lorroakan holding his leash.

Oh, he could leave whenever he wanted, sure. But that would mean leaving behind the most lucrative apprenticeship he could possibly secure as a refugee of Elturel, not to mention leaving behind all the treasures of Ramazith’s Tower, be that arcane artifacts or tomes rich with knowledge. His place was here—his purpose was to stay here and make a name for himself, to provide for his family, to become the greatest wizard he could possibly be. He had the natural talent. He wanted to hone it into something awe-inspiring. Something that had value so great it would be impossible to ignore or dismiss.

If that meant dealing with Lorroakan and his insanity…so be it. He could endure it. The violence. The impossible questions. The dull inanity of retail work. He could. For Cal. For Lia.

And…in a way, for Fawn. To prove to her that he was as good as his word. That he was a wizard worth knowing, but more than that, to prove to her that he could learn from his mistakes and improve his craft. Perhaps, eventually, to prove that he was a man worthy of her attention.

He took a deep breath, ignoring the pain in his cheek, on his tongue, in his back, his feet, and rolled his shoulders. Better get back to work, then. 

Back to mindless, repetitive, neverending work.

He was just turning away to check the organization of the trinkets and potion bottles beneath the counter when he heard an all-too-familiar masculine voice at the front entrance.

“Look around you. Indulge your curiosity! Sorcerous Sundries is the finest purveyor of magical miscellany for miles around.”

Rolan turned his head a little too quickly, scarcely daring to believe it. Gale, that pretentious wizard from Waterdeep? But if Gale were here, then surely—

His eyes fell on her immediately, watching her laugh at something Gale said, or perhaps something the tiefling, Karlach, said. He felt himself go a little slack-jawed with surprise. He wasn’t imagining this, right? That was actually her—Fawn was actually walking into the shop with her companions in tow.

Whatever he had imagined in his daydreams and fantasies, the sight of her there in the real world was far superior. Even his best imaginings couldn’t quite capture the way her hair, tied up and back, swung gently with each step and brushed against her shoulders, or the way she moved with grace and confidence. With her staff secured on her back and her easy smile, she looked perfectly at home among the crackling magic baubles and spell summons as she carefully stepped around a wandering illusion of a crab and looked around the space.

Suddenly the shop felt alight with color and wonder again, with her occupying a space in the room. Was he only imagining a fizzling new magical energy in the room now that she had arrived, or was that simply something that always happened when she entered a room? 

Gods, she was beautiful.

He couldn’t bring himself to speak just yet, but it didn’t take her long to notice him. The delight that lit up her features was enough to sustain him the rest of the tenday. “Rolan?”

He couldn’t help but grin. “Fawn! What are you doing here?”

She laughed and jogged over to him. “Well it is called Sorcerous Sundries, isn’t it?” she said with a wink. “I figured I should check it out. What are you doing here?”

“This is my apprenticeship,” he said, shrugging.

“This?” As she reached the counter, she stopped short, her smile fading. “Rolan…”

“It…has not been what I expected,” he admitted, unconsciously lifting a hand to his face. He caught himself before he could touch one of the bruises and clenched his fist, pressing it down onto the surface of the counter. “Master Lo—”

But she didn’t let him finish. She leaned over the counter and cradled his cheek gently in her hand. The touch of her warm skin made all other thoughts fall completely away. There was that look of concern again, the down-turned corners of her mouth, and he felt himself faltering under such a look now where before it had only angered him. 

What had he done to earn such compassion from her? After all the times he’d yelled and snapped at her, tried to drive her back or insult her—he may have let his imagination get the better of him, to let himself fantasize that perhaps she would regard him as a friend, or (perhaps foolishly) a would-be lover, but he never actually expected…

“What happened, Rolan?” she asked, her thumb brushing featherlight against his cheek.

Gods, he would give anything to banish that concerned look away and see her smile instead. If this weren’t the middle of his work day, if there weren’t animated armors and Lorroakan illusions watching him at every hour, he’d abandon this counter now and follow her anywhere. But that simply wasn’t an option, and he didn’t feel worthy of it just yet.

Still…

He reached up and took her hand, gently pulling it away from his face. Normally he would let it go, try to push her away, but today…for now…he could take a small risk.

He kept hold of her hand as he lowered their hands to rest on the counter. “Nothing for you to worry about,” he said quietly. 

He felt his chest tighten as she shifted her hold on him, turning her hand so that she could hold his more comfortably. She didn’t look convinced, but she seemed willing to let the matter rest, at least for now. More than that, she seemed willing to linger.

He offered her a slightly crooked smile and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Enough about me,” he said. “I want to hear what you’ve been up to. Tell me everything, and leave nothing out. It’s not every day the savior of the world comes walking into our humble shop.”

She rolled her eyes at his teasing, but settled against the counter, still holding his hand, and began to chat. He smiled to himself as he listened to her recount the latest adventures since they’d last seen one another, content to listen to her voice. The whole time, she never let go of him and she didn’t seem to mind when he began to rub absent-minded circles into her skin with his thumb.

It all felt so natural and easy. Comfortable. Normal. Unlike so much else these days. There was chaos, there was bitterness, there was frustration…and there was Fawn, who felt like a breath of fresh air and the crackling of new energy all in one.

Funny how things change.

If he weren’t physically holding her hand, he might have convinced himself she was just an illusion, something his bored and tired mind had conjured just to get him through another monotonous day. But no, she was here. She was here, and she didn’t look any the worse for wear, and she made the entire room glow with her mere presence.

And she was beautiful.

Maybe one day he would actually tell her that. Out loud, outside of his daydreams.

But not today. He bit his tongue gently on the un-injured side and contented himself with simply listening and holding her hand. Ten minutes ago, he was certain he’d never see her again. Now, it was enough to know she was in the same city as him, adventuring and getting into trouble mere blocks from where he manned this dismal little counter. 

The world looked a little brighter now that she had walked into his shop. He could work with that.

[princess-leaorgana]

Please Come Back

Little Rolan x AFAB Tav based on this fanart made by la_bordeliere

BG3 END GAME SPOILERS

Never had Rolan moved so quickly in his life. He had been through a lot in the past few years, surely, but blind instinct had the tiefling running from the comforts and safety of his wizard’s tower to the docks of the Chianthor. The Netherbrain had fallen, the illithid monstrosity had fallen from its place above High Hall, crashed into the sea, and in a terrifying explosion, was lost. Gone in an instant. But what of those on top of that monstrosity? All of those people fighting for the safety of Faerun? Plenty of people had died in the streets, Rolan was sure some of his cannon fire had harmed innocents, that was the horrible price of war. So why did Rolan care so much about those on top of the aberration? He didn’t, not really. He only cared about one of them. The one who was responsible for his life, his fortune, his family’s safety, his new home. Surely. Surely she was not dead. A ranger, like his brother, a ranger who took charge, no matter how many times it had pissed him off. But Rolan had been stubborn, impatient, and most importantly, wrong. Allowing the ranger to push him time and time again, allowing his sturdy walls to be crushed, it led Rolan to one conclusion. He loved the ranger. The last time he saw her was just at the entrance of High Hall, and he replayed the moment in his head for the past hours since it happened, regretting he did not say more to her.

‘Well, make sure you hit the illithids, everyone else should be left unsigned, if possible,’ she said and Rolan grinned.

‘As if I need any instruction,’ Rolan responded playfully with a smile, adrenaline pumping through his veins. She was really going to climb up that damned thing. ‘You should take your own advice,’ he added and she laughed. She nodded and began to walk away, but Rolan caught her arm. She looked up at him, a little bewildered, but was always ready to hear him speak. ‘Come…please come back,’ he said softly and she stared into his golden eyes. ‘Please.’ He felt her take his hand and squeeze it.

‘I will,’ she said just as softly and Rolan felt his heart fall. She couldn’t promise that. He swallowed hard and nodded, letting her go. She walked away and without another word to anyone, Rolan fled back to his tower, awaiting her signal. 

The Chianthor was alive with debris from ships destroyed in the crash, people were swimming up to shore, though plenty of lives were lost. Rolan’s chest felt tight as his eyes searched the water for a sigh of her, of any of that group of misfits. The large tiefling, Karlach, surely would be visible, the woman was on fire. The githyanki? Maybe Gale cast a protection spell, making the weave visible along the water’s surface. He saw nothing, he was paralyzed. No, she couldn’t be gone, not now, not after everything they had survived thus far. Mindlfayers were dead in the streets, maybe that was her fate too, having that damned tadpole. His eyes searched the water and docks frantically for any sign of her. And then his heart stopped.

‘Rolan?!’

Her voice, he was hallucinating, surely. His tail whipped furiously behind him and he slowly turned to the sound of her voice. At the speed of light, she was running at him. She was alive. She was drenched and bloody and bruised but she was alive. She was moving so quickly, her boots pounding on the wood of the docks. Rolan barely had time to process his relief before she lunged at him. Hard. He had barely turned around fast enough to catch her, her lips crashing against his. The force of her running jump wasn’t too strong for him to catch her, he caught her. He held her tight, she was drenched. Now he was. He had longed to kiss her for months now, aching every single night he spent at the Last Light Inn. Practically falling over himself when she helped set him free from Lorroakan. And she just did it. How could she be so bold? He was grateful for it. Her arms wrapped around his neck, holding him tight and he was so glad. 

‘Are you alright?’ She asked and Rolan couldn’t remember how to breathe. He looked down at her and nodded.

‘I love you,’ he whispered and she laughed lightly.

‘I know, I love you too.’

[adaptacy]

If you are taking requests, I have a pairing that I do not ever see enough of: Gale x Durge. Specifically resisting the urge type Durge. Starved for content as I am, I’d be happy with whatever is written about the two. But I’d love something involving Durge nearly killing their lover or the reveal of Durge being one of the orchestrators of the Absolute plot. In game, those scenes feel far too underdeveloped.

Durge playthrough spoilers blow the cut (Shadow-cursed lands, Last Light Inn stuff. No act 3 spoilers)

so, I haven't gotten to that far into my durge playthru but I did get to the part where you try and kill your lover and to nobody's surprise that happened to be Gale!! i was actually kinda terrified that he was going to die bcs, in my defense, I did try to kill Isobel but Marcus or whatever-his-name-was got the last blow on her first and I was devastated that Gale was gonna have to pay the price for my low damage roll. in the end ofc it was worth it cause he tied my durge up and, I mean, who's gonna complain abt that??

ANYWAYS point is, yes, I agree, I wish that scene was more fleshed out too and I am more than happy to oblige and build on the scene that we were given! Also fun fact, I hadn't actually confirmed the relationship with Gale when this scene happened but the night directly after I tried to kill him he showed me his... 'tower'. And given how horny he gets watching tav/durge beat ppl up in the shadow cursed lands, i do not think that was a coincidence LMAO

No Sceleritas here cause I'm just gonna get to the good part :D — also durge here is gonna be sorta resisting the urge, but has more or less been allowing it to fester, just not embracing it.

Gorgeous was an understatement.

Busy days — waking hours occupied by wars, sight filled only with the flashes of spells and showers of blood — were all you knew. Nights were barely any break. Smiles were more common at camp, but given the near complete lack of smiles outside of camp, it wasn't saying much. There wasn't much time to be at camp, as the original mission to rid yourselves of the tadpoles grew messier and messier with every passing battle, and each matter was more pressing than the last.

You didn't mind, really. While you were just as eager to get the incubating creature out of your head as the rest of your group, each new quest and mission brought along with it the promise of bloodshed. Adrenaline. Victory. A momentary but exorbitantly satisfying quenching of your thirst for violence. A thirst you first found unsettling and terrifyingly unfamiliar.

When you first found yourself gazing down at the bloodied body of a stranger, dreaming of the torturous pain they must have felt when they met their fate, you were disgusted. Couldn't believe where your thoughts had wandered.

You'd fought it. Refrained from telling the others for fear of being ridiculed, or losing their trust, or scaring them. For a while, you'd fought it. But scarlet liquids, screams of terror, and slaughter had become your routine.

And gorgeous was an understatement.

Peace. Security. Naivete.

One knee bent, the other lazily stretched out, the bedroll barely containing the length of his body. One hand under his head, the other by his side. His eyes were closed, the soft hazel only ever plagued by a buried longing was hidden from you now. His hair spread over one arm and on the thin straw pillow beneath his head, more messy than he'd ever let it be seen while he was awake.

His right cheekbone had a bruise on it from where he'd hit himself with the butt of his staff while swinging it, and you recalled finding time to chuckle at his mistake in the middle of the battle. Being a few feet away, he'd heard it, and couldn't help but look over at you, his cheeks red from more than the blunt force, his mouth pulled back in an embarrassed smile. The moment of shame had earned him a punch to the side from his opponent moments before Astarion managed to stick them with his own blade, saving Gale from a worse fate.

Even down here, far from the surface, it was warm enough — perhaps from the fire that burned a mere two, maybe three, feet away — for Gale to concede and discard his shirt, resting more comfortably in a pair of indigo pants.

He had been honest about his appetites. His cravings. He was hardly hesitant about revealing that part of himself to you — fortunately, he was plenty aware of the consequences that would be wrought upon you, and the rest of the group, should he risk being unable to consume artifacts if he kept his secret.

Even Astarion, who's affliction was much closer to your own, was honest about his needs. It took a lot longer, and you're not sure how things would have gone over had you not woken up the night he planned to feast on you, but his admission did occur.

You were aware of the risks of your secret. You always yearned for more, even when you were positively drenched in crimson, when you'd been messy enough in your strikes that bathing in the river the following evening caused the water around you to be tainted a diluted red. Everything was temporary. Even the satisfaction derived from fights that left your weapon with such thick clumps of gore that Gale had to hold the shaft while you scrubbed away, as if the fight itself hadn't been taxing enough on your exhausted body.

Yet they all remained unaware. Some picked up on it better than others; Lae'zel's compliments, however shallow they often were, had picked up in frequency as you allowed your hunger to get the best of you, undoubtedly giving you some heartless upper hand against the foes forced to face off against your party. Karlach found you delightful, affectionately doting over you as you imitated her own battle-induced rages, though she didn't quite pick up on your lingering stares or mild smirks when your appetite had been satisfied.

Gale was the closest to discovering the truth. Unsurprising, given your mutual favoritism for one another. When you'd butchered Alfira, you'd been quick to blame wolves. Shadowheart, immediately discomforted at the mention, believed you without a second thought. Lae'zel had jumped to blame the Tiefling's lack of defense. Astarion seemed unbothered at best. The others were too busy mourning the bard's early demise to ask questions.

But he'd found you later, kneeling by the river, just before bed. 'A devastating misfortune she suffered. A sweet, innocent soul. Misfortune is perhaps the only apt term for the loss. Terribly curious, it is — To be so savagely slaughtered by beasts that aren't even native to these woods.'

You remembered freezing, fear flashing in a quick rush across your vision, knowing his eyes were on you, studying your reaction. He was so close. You'd agreed — 'an unfortunate fate indeed' — and he'd said goodnight.

Never again was it brought up. Never again was it questioned.

And gorgeous was an understatement.

That was, perhaps, the worst misfortune of all. He had such undying curiosity about the world, and yet that curiosity never reached you, or your intentions, or your past. Too trusting.

The camp was quiet. Crackling flames, distant whispers from the shadows hanging just beyond the light's reach, and his soft, patterned, blissful breathing. His chest rose and fell, so helplessly gentle.

His staff leaned up against a rock several feet away, alongside with everyone's weapons, save for Astarion, who preferred to keep his daggers close. Today had been no different from the rest; the battles had been taxing, only seeming to increase in difficulty the further you wandered into the shadows. He'd given it his all today, and it had been worth it, as you'd managed yet another day without losing any member of your party. As he'd explained it, the more of the weave he manipulated, the weaker his spells got — at least until he was able to rest.

He lay before you, undoubtedly sapped by the day's events. Defenseless.

And gorgeous was an understatement.

Three bruises. One on his cheekbone, one persistent discoloration that sat in the middle of the dark mark of the orb, and one on his side where he'd been assaulted by the undead in his moment of distraction. In a blink, your fingers grace the bruise on his side, and they tingle. Being fresh, the blemishes swirl a deep purple into his light skin, nearly matching the tint of his pants.

Purple was his best color, wasn't it?

The twitch of your fingertips sends a pulse through your body, and you taste an itch in the back of your throat. The tadpole squirms, you can feel its short wriggle behind your eye, but its control falters. Some other sensation warms your body, easing you into a malleable, thinning consciousness, and your gaze trails slowly, drunkenly, over his torso.

Three bruises. Clear, stuck to his skin like the stars he so fondly recalls. So far from the view of the sky, and yet you find a constellation still. Another blink, and your right leg has crossed over his waist. However forgotten your past is, it grants you a waking dream, as vivid as reality; Gale Dekarios, laying under you much like he was now, his pretty face littered with prettier bruises that dot all the way down to his shoulders, his neck red and swollen, branded by the picturesque imprint of hands.

Your hands.

And gorgeous is an understatement.

It's distinct. The pulse of his arteries, teasing the gift of blood beneath his skin, purring under your fingers as they push, your thumbs hitched underneath his jaw, pressuring the veins. Your own heart is thumping, encouraging your desires, urging you to indulge.

You've tasted vindication like this before. When you awoke to the spectacle of Alfira's maimed corpse, there was serenity like nothing you knew possible. It came underlined by pride, your work preciously appalling, and you relished the piece, the art macabre and perfect.

The sweeter the canvas, the finer the design.

Gale was nothing if not sweet.

"My — Hardly the sight I was expecting to wake to."

Another blink, and his bruises are gone, save for the contusion on his cheek. Absent are the inscriptions of your hands on his neck, and his hazel eyes are revealed to you once more. Though you don't remember moving it, your hand presses against the black circle on his chest, palm pining for his throat.

You're unable to move. Unable to control yourself. Unable to win back your own consciousness. Gale props himself up on his elbows. His heart rate has picked up, and yet you don't sense fear. The curiosity in his eyes is familiar. The quirk in his left eyebrow and the smirk playing on the corner of his mouth is not.

"I do assume you meant to wake me, eventually. No harm," he says, gaze narrowing, and your lack of a response makes him huff out a chuckle, or at least part of one, as it only lasts a beat. Your eyes are pinned to his throat, reaching to find the comfort of your imagination's lens again, but your dream has been interrupted. At last, your eyes meet his, and it's the hazel that causes the tadpole to squirm again, awakening your senses once more. Gale moves one of his hands to rest on your waist, and his head recoils ever so slightly. "You look uncomfortable. What's wrong?" He asks, and you're able to sense a less pleasant curiosity, but it's still free of fearful influence.

"I'm going to kill you. You have to stop me."

His eyes widen, and still, there is no fear. He doesn't believe you. "A rather twisted joke... Not one I find particularly humorous. Albeit, humor is subjective, although–"

"I killed Alfira. You're next. No time – you have to stop me," you huff, and your confession brings on a raging headache, unlike any pain you've ever felt before. You lean forward, teeth grit as you groan, and Gale squeezes your hip for a moment. Though the reverberations in your head are overwhelming at the least, you finally catch a hint of fear from the wizard, and you're thankful for it. At least a part of you is, though the beast that brings on your headache is only bubbling to a rage, furious that you would dare turn against your thoughts. You've not committed a betrayal against your own conscience, but instead, betrayed your destiny, refusing some urge that is larger than yourself.

With what little remaining control you have, you push yourself off of him, and he's quick to rise to his feet. Your eyes squeeze closed, fighting the unwelcome entity with the rest of your energy, though given your excursions earlier in the day, that energy is quickly dwindling. Your knees press to the dirt, the heels of your palms pressing to your temples as you keel over, an aggressive, roaring nausea plaguing your senses, soon joined by an even more violent malignity that rips into your control as though it means to test you.

You want him dead.

A wonderful bath his blood would provide — A marvelous crack his bones would sing — A remarkable terror he could feel. He will suffer.

There's a firm squeeze on your arms as they're yanked behind your back, and you writhe, fighting your cravings as they fight your containment. The hold is followed by a burning scrape on your wrists as they are hastily, and uncomfortably tightly, bound by rope. Your head swings, but Gale manages to pull back in time, his reflex causing his grip to falter, and you fall to your side, rolling towards his bedroll.

He frowns, eyebrows pinched inward and he kneels in place, a few paces away, reading the situation and assessing just how much of a threat you pose. Gale glances at where Shadowheart and Karlach lie, still miraculously sleeping soundly despite the struggle occurring no more than two yards from where they reside. His attention returns to you. "Easy. Should you retain any control, I merely request that you refrain from indulging in... whatever your intentions may have been. Greedy as it may be, an explanation certainly wouldn't hurt."

There's a command, conjuring as a sensation rather than a verbal declaration, and it rings through your entire body. You're unable to decipher the apparition's ambition, but your muscles act nonetheless. It fights — you fight — against the rope, and there's a flare of savage discontent when you're unable to free yourself. "You're better off as my prey! You will suffer a purgatory worse than any of the hells could manage," you bark, and your words are not your own. The control he speaks of is entirely silenced, leaving you an unwilling vessel, forced to submit to the will of your past.

"Not the answer I would have preferred, but an answer nonetheless. Yelling will only stir the others from their slumber, and I predict they won't be as understanding as yours truly. You should consider taking up a quieter tone," he advises, and you growl, forcing rashes into your wrists as you wage a war on your binds.

"I will spill your blood before this night is through!" You yell again, and Karlach shifts where she sleeps, stirring a flash of worry in his expression. "Wake them! I'll slaughter them all the same!"

Gale cringes, conflicted for only a moment before he overcomes his internal argument, and he quickly rushes to your side. You bite at him with a rabid ferocity, and he sits behind you, pulling your body closer to his own, even as you squirm and fight him. Shadowheart mumbles, bordering on the edge of lucidity, and Gale curses out a whispered "Godsdamn it." He huffs, irritated just as much as he is scared, and his palm presses to your mouth, his thumb keeping your jaw shut — or at least trying to keep it shut — as your head is pulled against his shoulder.

You mumble, fervently antagonizing him, your muffled words being split up only by the subtle flinching of your jaw as you attempt to bite at his hand, all to no avail. His grasp is tight, nearly rough, keeping you as restrained as possible, and he watches Karlach and Shadowheart with apprehensive dread, his focus painfully split between concern for you and fear of you.

Gale looks down at you, his expression firm and yet, against all odds and expectations, somehow understanding, even if it is incredibly mild. "I've seen you tear apart the most ferocious of beasts. Foes that would make Bhaal himself tremble. You always prevail. You must defeat this — whatever it is." He nods, but his encouragement is not what you want to hear; you thirst for his terror, you thirst for his pleading, you want to see him tremble. His tone softens, and he squeezes your jaw, almost tenderly. "I'm right here. No blood will be shed tonight. Fight to your heart's content; I will not give in. You cannot give in, either."

Your heart is all that remains of your better judgement, and it aches at his promise, though the guilt and appreciation is quickly whisked away by your burning rage, your need for violence. You persist, as does he, correcting your every shift, no matter how exhausted he grows. Certainly the most stern you've ever seen him — more disciplined than you knew he could be, but you have little room in your mind to process that. You despise the way that he cares, the fact that he is just gentle enough not to injure you as he restricts you, the understanding in his expression, the near nurturing tone he takes on.

Yet it's the affection that eventually subsides your bloodlust, willing it to retire, however angry it remains. Angry at the loss, angry at the incompetence, angry at the devotion. Devotion to the wrong subject. Gale wins, ultimately — and by some affiliation, so too do you. A temporary victory, you're well-aware, but even if it isn't permanent, your body becomes your own, your thoughts and feelings along with it.

Exhaustion is the first burden you bear upon your return, and Gale is hesitant to ease his grasp on you, but he takes the risk, and you can't muster the energy to move away from him. Your head pangs with a narrow pain, manifesting as a faint ringing in your ears, and your wrists sear with sharp bites from the fraying rope. His hand releases your mouth, shifting quickly to your shoulder as your torso threatens to fall over, your buried rancor having completely wasted away the last of your energy.

Gale sighs, his own muscles easing up as he inches backwards, allowing you to lean more comfortably, and with a bit more stability, against his chest. One of his arms stays displayed over your abdomen, quite possibly still a little worried you might lash out again, and you didn't blame him for exercising caution. You lean into him, mostly because you lack the energy to do much else, but also because you want him to understand that you are beyond appreciative. "I'm sorry," you mumble, your voice hoarse and barely above a whisper — barely audible at all, really.

"I know. You're okay. Rest now, you'll certainly require some form of rejuvenation if we intend on defeating Ketheric and... Well, repressing whatever it is that you find yourself cursed with. And I assure you, I do so unquestionably intend on assisting you with your affliction. After all, I'm quite fond of my vitals, and I've no interest in seeing them spilled." Gale's tone is almost lighthearted, but genuine still.

His arm releases you, and he guides you to rest your head in his lap, allowing you to experience a little more comfort. Your eyes close, and you fear sleep — you know the possible horrors you could cause when you're left defenseless against your bloodlust — but you feel it taking you nonetheless. Gale doesn't untie you, not yet anyways, and it provides the slightest of reassurances. Worst case scenario, you know that, should the urge take advantage of your rest, Gale will expect it this time.

"Perhaps a poor time for confessions," he begins, his hand brushing stray hairs from your face, "But I must admit, the notion of you becoming lost to that rage is not a concept I'm anywhere near comfortable with. Keeping my heart beating is one motivation, and a strong one at that — but I hope you understand that keeping you safe is also immensely important to me. In all honesty, I'm... not sure what I'd do without you. I worry enough witnessing your engagement in the violent affairs we do so often find ourselves tangling with." Gale pauses, and clears his throat, shifting nervously. "Apologies, pay me no mind — A little shaken up, I fear my feelings may be getting the best of me. Rest. We'll reconvene come morning."

[cocogum]

My honest reactions of episodes 5 and 6 (part 2)

PART 1 : HERE

(‼️ SEASON 4 SPOILERS ‼️)

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Okay I just HAD to devote the full Alibert inn scene from episode 5 here CUZ WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT YUGO GOING BACK TO EMELKA!! I know I already mentioned Chibi and Grougal (as well as the tree Tofu tower) in part 1 but part 2 will basically be about all the rest of the inn scene cuz tumblr couldn’t let me have more than ten images per post (I know the site apparently lets u have more but I always use the phone for it so shush.)

But first, we finally get to see Alibert again after all those years 💕

Alibert. Sweetie. Baby. You can take care of two (technically four) kids with the addition of a freaking INN, you COOK for the customers, AND, ON TOP OF ALL THAT, you’re the MAYOR of EMELKA, that same place where you run the inn and take care of your adopted sons.

You do much more than just “taking care of an inn”, you got three jobs AND you’re still sane. You’re three in one, a whole package, props to you king. He’s such a boss ass man I love him 💕💕

NAH MAN

Not these ppl trying to avoid the inflation 😭😭 I don’t blame them tho. I would’ve said the same thing lol.

(Also is the wine a call back to Gustavio? Plz it would be so funny if the reason why Alibert is angry is cuz these ppl are saying how “bad” it is just so the prices can stay the same but also because he’s mad that they’re calling Gustavio’s wine “disgusting” even if they were all just trying to make him not raise the prices!)

Love how Yugo doesn’t say that same shit to Ruel after all those years of cooking for his ass and never getting anything from him.

Like even the whole Brotherhood calls Ruel a “cheapskate” but the only time where we see Yugo say that same shit is when he says that to his own CUSTOMERS?!?

Gurl bye Yugo’s such a silly little hypocrite!! 😭😭

OMG THE WHOLE FAMILY’S BACK TOGETHER!!

Adamaï get your stupid lizard ass over here.

It’s been so long since I’ve seen these two just laughing and hugging like this 💕💕💕

Also, Ankama tried being very slick with Az and his wife.

Nah cuz how can you not see these two and not think about Yugo and Amalia?? Does the thought never come to mind or what??

They literally give off the same energy, how did no one say anything before???!!?

THESE LITTLE TOFUS ARE OBVIOUSLY A SILLY PARALLEL TO THESE TWO AND NO ONE CAN TELL ME OTHERWISE.

Okay now the next part of the Alibert inn scene is very important to me so listen.

Recently, I came scrolling on @moths-are-better’s recent posts about Yugo and I came up on the one where he drinks the “milk” that was in the cup in the scene below.

But like-

@moths-are-better STOP LYING TO YOURSELF THIS IS CLEARLY WINE!!!

Look at all the other people drinking in the inn before they left: they all had that same kind of cup, insinuating that they were drinking wine (and also cuz they confirmed it was wine while trying to avoid any possible future inflations with Alibert).

I just love how Ankama deliberately shows us small scenes like this to remind us that Yugo can do adult things even though he looks like a kid. Because THIS is one of those scenes! Just look at how Alibert quietly pulls the cup of wine away from Yugo as soon as the guy starts ranting about his problems.

That’s clearly not milk lol I just love your delusions @moths-are-better 💕💕

But not only did this scene made me realize that nothing can stop Yugo from doing adult things despite how he looks, it also helped me realize that Yugo is the type to only drink when he’s having problems. We clearly see him about to drink more while ranting to Alibert before he carefully pulls the wine away from Yugo cuz he KNOWS Yugo would drink more just for that.

That level of attention to detail is amazing and I’m so glad I managed to catch up to the hints early on.

Alibert be looking like Yugo’s bartender AND therapist in just that moment alone lol

Ngl I would’ve loved to see a drunk Yugo if he had been able to drink more before Alibert intervened.

‼️ EVERYONE ‼️

👏 BE👏 LIKE 👏 ALIBERT 👏 ❤️❤️

This is making me wanna have kids too man….

His caring and calming attitude towards Yugo and the way he just treats him, cares for him, and acts like a responsible parent during all these years really makes me wanna do the same thing someday. Alibert is so good at his job(s) that he’s even beating a freaking goddess. Let that sink in. (actually any good parent like Alibert would beat the Eliatrope goddess’ parenting easily lol)

Alibert is genuinely so sweet, patient, thoughtful, and understanding of Yugo. Like even though he just heard Yugo say he finally found his true family, Alibert doesn’t take his words as insults and would rather just let him spill out all of his words to him.

When I said I missed these two like this, I really meant it. This inn is not only where Yugo was raised in but it’s also Yugo’s comfort place.

My ass knows this is foreshadowing.

It just knows.

Older Yugo where u at? We need to talk.

Ankama’s gonna ruin this family and laugh about it while eating some croissants.

[erika-xero]

Behind the scenes: interiors and architecture

Hey, guys! I know that it isn't that type of a post that are interesting for the general public and/or gain much attention, but I still wanted to share some of the stuff that I usually keep to myself. So here are the screenshots of my 3D-models that I use for the background art! I created all of them myself and collected them carefully within the years to reuse some of the smaller models/elements in my future works.

Starting with my favourite one: The MacFragan inn for @inwilis. It's also my biggest model so far! It took WEEKS to finish. This version is slightly edited: I combined a few different shots with different lighting.

And this is how the model looks like in Sketch-Up:

There's also the stairway that didn't end up in the shot.

This is how it ended up looking in color:

Moving on to the next one! The abandoned chirch for the mixed media art featuring Kirsi that I did for Evelynn Gonti!

Different angle!

Here's an earlier version of the model. This was a small experiment on coloring:

And the finished background:

Next one! The city model for the tryptich piece I did for @inwilis. There were actually two versions of this model: the regular one, and the post-war one. Enjoy the little random vase on the left, because my models are a mess!

Some architecture details!

Finished backgrounds:

Oh! This one is interesting. I actually never posted this piece online, because it's a bit n/s/f/w.

Finished background:

Another abandoned church! This one is for the piece I did for CaIamarti!

And a coloring WIP!

Another background for the piece I did for @inwilis and @bitemerogers. This one actually exists in two versions. The first model was scrapped, but I used it to make a tutorial.

Some earlier work! Drow architecture for the piece I did for Nielspeterdejong back in 2021.

And another oldie that I still adore:

Colored version! Still use it as an example of how cool I am at doing backgrounds xD

Here comes some of the smaller models! My fantasy assets. The staff can be seen on the Vesta commission I did for @glatissart!

Winterhold model I did for this commission for gnomonics!

The DJ-set I modeled for @happy-go-pucky's commission! Bonus: the analogue one.

Beware! The first model I did for my 2D art: the Temen-Ni-Gru tower (it's horrible and completely broken).

That's all for now! Some of the models are lost forever, some of them are made for other people's projects, and some of them I forgot. I also have a tutorial on how I color this models!

Cоmmission prices | terms of sеrvice | cоmmission inquiry form

[gennyrthewriter]

Is the wait for book II just too long and you can't take it any more?

How about a short story that takes place 4 years before the events of The Backwater? Paul and Wickham kiss in it. You're welcome.

I plan on writing and posting more of these canon-until-proven-otherwise little short stories here, so keep a look out for them! Click under the cut and get reading <3

Building Halcyon

The General woke up in bed sheets damp with sweat. He hadn’t been sure if he dreamt until he felt his clammy skin. He must have. He sighed and massaged his face with his gruff, cracked hands. He rose slowly, achingly rotating his body to the edge of the plush inn bed. He stretched his nude legs outward, reaching with his torso to meet them with his fingertips. His back popped as he inhaled, and he sighed as he let the breath out.

His Captain must have heard the sigh, as he delicately opened the door and entered the room.

“Winters,” the General stated, bidding him a good-morning. “Who was on guard with you?”

The Captain quietly closed the door behind him. “Sergeant Rogan. I already sent him away, to get his sleep.”

“You should do the same,” Madino grunted, rubbing his forehead. “I have a busy day with many appearances to make. I won’t need you running any errands while we’re here in Bathe.” 

Winters grinned. “I know,” he started, brushing the curls across his face away with a finger. “But I wouldn’t want to miss your address, sir.” He adjusted his black greatcoat, then bent down to the General’s eye-level. 

The surly man gently brought a hand behind Winters’ neck and pulled him softly to his lips. “These are the times our nostalgia will lust for, my kingfisher.”

“You told me our idyll was yet to come, Paul” Winters whispered back, not yet leaving his lips. 

He opened his eyes and slowly pulled back, beginning to rise from the bed. “That will depend on how the day goes,” he said, stoutly. He approached his trunk, filled to its walls with a heap of gray tunics and black trousers. Any set was as good as the next. “My armor, Wickham? Is it ready?”

Wickham nodded. “The smithy down the street should be done polishing it by now. I’ll fetch it for you at once, sir.” He made for the door, and left as gracefully as he had come in. 

The city of Bathe was the most elegant jewel of the Home Isles. It was ancient, with ruins and ancient baths in its center dating back to the days of Primii colonists. The tall towers of Aredian Trinite churches rose from every corner of the city. A weaving network of white marble roads connected medieval stone buildings, that now fetched a hefty price from Aredian urbanites desiring to live in such a historic city. 

The most important aspect of Bathe though, and the reason General Madino had been summoned, was its university. For the past generation, the Aredian Empire sent its civil servants and military officers to study in its prestigious halls– those that could afford the privilege, of course. Madino had not attended, nor Winters. 

This year’s graduating class, the class of 1703, had sent a special request for the General to speak at the commencement ceremony. Had Wickham come back alone to squire for him and help don his armor, Madino was going to practice the speech one final time, but Wickham was accompanied by Major Ficker, who carried the lower half of Madino’s armor. He wordlessly stood and let the two men clad him in his signature black plate. 

“Just a reminder of your schedule, sir,” Major Ficker started, tightening the armor around Madino’s left calf, “you have your meeting with the Emperor in the University Gardens just after breakfast tea.”

“I don’t think I’d forget a meeting with his eminence,” Madino growled.

“Of course not, sir,” the Major replied, meekly, “but you are nearly late for your first meeting with the professor.”

Madino jolted away from the officers, who had no sooner finished affixing his armor. He played a glare at Wickham and scolded, “you should have got me up earlier.” The officer did not respond with anything but a smirk.

The inn had been completely cleared for Madino and his Blackguard entourage to lodge in. A handful of officers ate bread and sausages in the modest pub on the first floor. The wood tables were plain, and lacked the typical tablecloths they would normally be adorned with, as no civilian tavernkeep nor housekeeper was permitted to be in the presence of such high officers, and as such, there was nobody to set the table. The bread and sausages must have come from a street merchant. 

The officers all stood and saluted the General, who eased them with a wave of his gloved hand. “Where is the professor?” he asked. 

“He’s outside, with some books,” Major Keventer replied. “Shall I let him in?”

“Yes,” Madino grunted. “And all of you, leave us.”

The officers all stood, leaving their food on the table, and promptly shuffled out the door. Ficker followed, and Winters brushed Madino’s armor as he passed. They left the door open, and submissively, a small man appeared in the doorway. He wore a plain brown coat and possessed only a few tufts of hair upon his head. He carried a small stack of four books, and nearly dropped them as he stepped up into the doorframe. 

“Professor, please come in,” Madino said, as invitingly as he could. 

“Thank you, sir,” the professor said, clearing his throat to muster courage. “I– I brought the books you requested.”

“Excellent. Please, sit,” Madino said, pulling a chair out for the man before taking one for himself. 

“The third book is in Madradian, written by a Gremshawn. The newest books about ancient Ruinian magic all are– I trust you have someone who can translate it?”

Madino shook his head. “Not currently, but I’m sure I can find someone trustworthy and reliable enough.”

“I have a student,” the professor began. “She’s in the School of Naval Logistics– I believe her parents forced her to enroll– but she’s got such a knack for linguistics. She can speak fluent Herman, and some Madradian too.”

“Is she in this year’s graduating class?” the General inquired.

“No sir,” the professor replied. “She’s quite young– only 15. It’s her first year here. But I can have her write to you–”

“I appreciate it, professor, but I can find a translator anywhere in the world,” he said, dismissively. 

“But the girl– if I may, sir. She came into my office as I was getting these books together and expressed her interest in ancient Ruinian history. She said it was an interest of her’s as a child, and she even taught herself to read their language.”

Madino perked up and raised an eyebrow. “Are her parents in the Order?” 

The professor shook his head. “They’re far from ascetics or communards. She’s a Thompson. Her parents are well-off entrepreneurs in the Isles. I believe she is just a bright spark.”

“I’ll reach out to her in time,” Madino said, appreciative of the connection. “These books are excellent, professor. Is there anything else to know about them?” 

The professor wrinkled his nose. “No, I believe they’ll serve you well. Though– the book about the connection between Ruinian magic and Shioi magic has been a hot commodity, so to say. It’s from a small press in Echo, from the college there. There may be more copies of it in the colonies.”

“I’ll do well to safeguard it then, and search for others,” Madino said, standing. “I appreciate your efforts, professor. These books will be locked away, where none will be able to retry what the Coalitioners were attempting.” He chose not to speak of his own role in their emulation.

The General followed the professor out into the street, and was wordlessly joined by Winters, who indicated that he would escort him to his next appointment. The two walked through the city, as the pedestrians on the streets parted before them. Some even bowed. All knew to show reverence to two Blackguard officers. Veterans who recognized the General saluted him as he passed. One such veteran, a man living out of a crate on the street, attempted to stand on a peg-leg and honorably salute the two as they passed. He stumbled, falling to the stone. Madino could not bring himself to turn to acknowledge him. 

The University was not far from the inn. A platoon of royal guards formed a perimeter around an ornate wrought-iron fence that bounded the University’s magnificent gardens. Flowers of every color bounded geometric paths that intersected each other in a design made to evoke the diagonals of the Aredian imperial flag. At each intersection was a set of colossal, ancient gray stones. They were the Druidstones, a set of mysterious, rectangular slabs that had stood in a field near Bathe for millennia. When Watson I took the throne of the newly united Home Isles, he moved them to the University as a show of imperial might. Whatever purpose they served in antiquity was lost now. They were reduced to garden decorations. 

Madino approached a gate to the garden and, wordlessly, with a snap-salute, the guards parted to allow him in. Winters waited outside the reformed ranks. 

He was surprised to find the Emperor with somebody else, but Madino immediately recognized the squatty man. The two were virtually opposites; the Emperor was a lanky man, dressed elegantly in an all-white greatcoat to compliment his white hair, while the other man was in a weathered red general’s coat with faded gold piping, in a size that had clearly not been tailored to him in a very long time. 

“Ah, Madino, I’m sure you recognize Ambrose,” the Emperor said, acknowledging his presence. “He was here for the council meeting yesterday.”

He quickly bowed his head before the Emperor, then extended his armored arm to allow his gloved hand to meet Ambrose’s plump hand in a firm shake. 

“Of course, your eminence,” Madino replied. “It was an honor to defeat von Daun alongside him in ‘98.”

Ambrose let out a deep laugh. “It was your lads that won it, Madino. You had it wrapped up before my boys and I could cross the Krummer. We didn’t take so much as a handful of arrows.”

Madino tried to grin, for courtesy’s sake, but the reminder of the battle stung inside. Like any of his victories after the Valley Campaign that liberated Sheffold, it came at a tremendous cost. “You wanted to speak with me, your eminence?” he said, turning to the Emperor. 

“Indeed, Paul,” the Emperor said, walking, indicating that they were to follow. “I’m just trying to figure something out,” he began. “You didn’t attend the University– nor any other college for that matter, correct?”

He nodded. “Correct, your eminence.”

“And you pleaded with me to, as you put it, escape working on research in The Capital in the Coalitionlands, yes?” 

He nodded again, slowing his pace as the Emperor slowed his own.

“And four weeks ago, I received your letter requesting that you accompany the colonization efforts of The Southern Colonies.” He stopped, turning to the Generals. “I get it, of course. I don’t lack all semblance of empathy, Paul. I understand wanting to get off the battlefield– and with your record, I knew it would probably help the war cabinet balance its recruitment quotas too. So I allowed it. Working intelligence and logistics has its merits as well, and I admit, it’s been useful to have you rejuvenate the Blackguard like you have.”

“I understand your hesitation to allow me to go to the south, your eminence.”

The Emperor looked at his own reflection in Madino’s Black plate armor. “Surely you understand that it’s a bit of a waste, yes? A man of your experience and loyalty? The Southern Colonies are a backwater. They’re only valuable because they’re land the Bulians might claim for themselves, and we can’t allow them to have a flank on Falconhold.” 

A big frown worked its way across Ambrose’s face, but Madino spoke before he had any chance to express whatever worthless thoughts he was thinking. “Your eminence,” he began. “The country is in a period of unprecedented peace. Despite our plans to end the occupation of the Coalitionlands, it will be a generation before they’re in a state to reunite. Allow me to go with George Hosk and shepherd the colony. He and I can tend to it like the groundskeepers tend this garden. The Southern Colonies will look like Echo in twenty years– God willing I’m around to see it–”

The Emperor laughed. “If the Three had his way, you’d be in hell already.”

Madino stiffened his brow. “Your eminence, the Old World is secure. There are no threats here. Allow me to cultivate something new in the south; Hosk is a master in administration– he’s proven it with his service to the Bysench in their 4th World colonies. Falconhold is a strong military fortress, but sir, permit me to build a Blackguard agency just a few weeks to its south and you’ll find that it could become so much more than a backwater archipelago.” 

 The man in white made an exasperated sigh and put his hands up in exasperation. “What do I care, Paul? If you want to waste away your days in the farthest corner of the world, be my guest. I needed someone to monitor the Shio anyways, as they’re being relocated down there too– I’m sure you know.” He walked towards Ambrose and slung an arm around him. “But at the first sign of catastrophe, at the first sign of another great war–” he pointed two fingers on his left hand at Madino and Ambrose respectively– “it’s you two back at the front. I’ll go down there and pluck you up myself if I have to, Paul. The fat man needs you beside him!” 

Ambrose chuckled, nervously. “Who else could you call upon besides us, your eminence?” 

It was enough for Madino. He had at least a few years of isolation secured ahead of him. Days of peace somewhere beyond war and plotting, beyond dark magic and twisted experiments, somewhere he could focus on figuring out a way to stop it, somewhere he could love alone with– 

As he exited the garden, he was quietly rejoined by Winters. “We’ll be going south for some time,” the General said, enticingly. The Captain couldn’t hold back the smile on his face. 

They strode in tow to the grand colonnade at the face of the university. Two thousand white and red-robed graduates stood in ranks resembling military regiments in parade dress. An array of soldiers formed long lines, with their halberds affixed to a point above Madino and Winters’ heads as they passed beneath them. 

Everything became blurry as Madino approached the stage. A dozen professors and administrative staff saluted him– others outstretched their hands for him to shake. A scowl overtook his face and he considered walking back the way he came. Then came a light brush against his armor– the unmistakable brush of Wickham’s hair against a shoulder pauldron– and he was brought back– though Wickham disappeared into the crowd. 

The General greeted the receptionaries as warmly as he could, and ascended the stage to the podium, where he cleared his throat and began his address. 

“Graduates,” he projected, and all became silent, permeated by the presence on stage, giving their full attention to the suit of armor that facilitated their metamorphosis into imperial armors of their own. The words he had carefully rehearsed left his tongue, but even after the applause, his mind was already a thousand leagues away at the bottom of the world. 

[mystique-6]

Kinktober (It's really Whumptober) Day 7: Spanking

 Summary: Ailis' unresolved trauma is triggered and she takes her feelings of guilt and remorse out on her companions. Astarion makes her pay a price for it.

Hello! My hyperfixation on Astarion has got me in the writing mood so I will be participating in Kinktober using @flightlessangelwings Kinktober list. The pieces may be part of a bigger fic(s). I have started the fic. If you like this please consider checking out my main fic, This is Me Trying. (Can you tell I like Taylor Swift?) Either way, I hope you enjoy. I do plan on completing the 31 prompts though it will take me past October. I also have the fic posted on AO3.

Warning: Anyone under 18 do not interact. Please pay attention to the tag warnings below.

Tag Warnings: Spanking, Light BDSM, Safe, Sane and Consensual, Un-Resoled Trauma, Guilt, Survivor's Guilt, Nudity, Snuggling & Cuddling, Aftercare, Whump, No Sex, NSFW

Additional Note: This fic involves Spawn Astarion. I have stated that some of these prompts will be used in my main BG3 fic, This is Me Trying. This one definitely will be. This is actually a very important chapter for my OC and I saw an opportunity to have a practice run of the chapter. I'm glad I did it because I know now for sure that a flashback chapter will be needed. This ended up being too much exposition. Still, I hope there will be some people who enjoy this fic. If you are reading This is Me Trying and don't want spoilers though, you may want to skip this one.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from BG3.

        

  Ailis felt her headache growing as her group argued over how to rescue the tieflings…again.  Two days ago, they’d entered the Shadow-Cursed lands.  Earlier this day they’d met a group of Harpers and had helped them in a battle against a batch of shadow monsters.  This had gotten them an invite to the Last Light Inn, the final sanctuary left in these lands.

            Once there, they’d been revealed as true souls.  The leader of this faction of Harpers, Jaheira, had made to attack her group, but thankfully the tiefling child, Mol, had convinced the woman to give them a chance.  It was clear now, though, that Jaheira just saw her group as a tactical maneuver.  She wanted them to use their status as true souls to infiltrate Moonrise Towers and find a way to kill Kethric Thorm; the person who had taken over these lands.

            She didn’t necessarily oppose to looking into Kethric Thorm.  He seemed to be involved with the Absolute Cult and they were in desperate need of answers about their tadpoles.  Looking into Thorm and getting information on the Absolute and their tadpoles aligned with each other.  However, Jaheira also wanted them to go on a rescue mission.

            While her team had scouted around the inn on their arrival, they found some of the tieflings they’d helped at the grove.  About half of the group was missing.  It turned out that the road they had intended to follow to Baldur’s Gate had been destroyed.  They had opted to travel above land through all the Shadow-Curse instead of cutting out most of it by going through the Underdark.  The group had been attacked by Absolute cultists.  Many had been killed or captured, but the rest had found their way here.

            Ailis was sympathetic to their plight.  She could feel the hopelessness, grief, and guilt from those who remained.  She couldn’t stop Rolan’s angry words towards her earlier in the day from playing on repeat in her head.  But they had their own problems.  They needed to start putting their whole attention on getting rid of these tadpoles.

            “This arguing is ridiculous!”  Wyll’s shout caught her attention.  He made eye contact with her.  “Chief, tell this lot we need to save the tieflings first.  Thorm can wait.”

            “If we go in and bust their prisoners out, we’ll make the cultists hostile towards us and we won’t be able to get the information we need,” Shadowheart protested.  “The tieflings have to wait.”

            “There are ways around that,” Gale said.  “We could use confusion spells or disguise spells.  Or we could make it look like the prisoners broke out themselves.”

            “That seems like a lot of effort when we can just rescue them after we take care of Thorm,” Shadowheart said.

            “I agree with Shadowheart,” Lae’zel said.  “Though it pains me to say it.”

            “This is getting ridiculous,” Wyll sighed.  “Ailis, come on.  Set this lot straight.”  She felt a surge of anger course through her.  She always had to be the one to solve all their problems or play mediator.  It was growing tiresome.  It was draining her.  It was too big of a job with this crew.  She could feel her skin crawl with anxiety over the overwhelming job of managing all their egos.  Her nerves prickled at their expectant stares.

            “Ailis…” 

            “We don’t have time to be wasting on the tieflings again,” she snapped as her emotions boiled over.  A part of her was horrified at what had just spewed from her mouth and her gut roiled with guilt from the shocked and dismayed looks on Karlach’s and Wyll’s faces. 

            “I’m surprised to hear you say that,” Gale said in a saddened tone.

            “As am I,” Lae’zel agreed.  “I didn’t think you had it in you to ignore people in need.”

            “Oh please,” she said.  “I’m hardly a hero.”

            “You are to these tieflings,” Karlach stated.

            She ignored a fresh stab of guilt and shook her head.  “We need to focus on these tadpoles,” she said.  “We don’t have time to spend on a group of people who are clearly doomed.”

            “Wow,” Shadowheart said.  “I would expect that level of callousness from Astarion, but not you.”

            “Well, that’s rather rude,” Astarion whined.  “I probably would have kept that thought to myself.  Probably.”

    ��       Ailis sighed.  “Look, what happened to the tieflings is tragic, but we need to focus on our own problem,” she said.

            “Then it’s settled.  We’ll investigate Thorm, and then we can free the tieflings,” Shadowheart said sounding pleased.

            “Well, that depends on what we find out about these tadpoles while looking into Thorm,” Ailis replied.  “Don’t forget these parasites are time sensitive.  At some point we will transform into mindflayers.  If we discover that’s going to be sooner rather than later, we won’t have time for the tieflings.”

            “You’re seriously saying you don’t want to help the tieflings at all?!” Karlach cried angrily.

            “I’m saying, that our tadpole problem is more important right now,” she said.

            “I suppose if we take out Thorm, that would make it possible for the Harpers to help the tieflings,” Gale cut in.  The wizard was always trying to find the middle ground.  He wanted so desperately to be liked.  She usually found this endearing, but right now it only fueled her anger.

            “I suppose that’s an option if we need to take out Thorm at all,” she muttered.  More incredulous looks greeted her.

            “If we need to take out Thorm?” Wyll repeated, astonished.  “Ailis, have you not paid attention to these realms?  Look what the man has done!”

            “What he’s done doesn’t concern us,” she argued.  “Our focus is getting rid of these tadpoles and if we can do that without spending time killing Thorm, then that’s what we’ll do.  End of discussion.”

            “I think there’s a lot more to discuss,” Karlach snapped.  The floor around her began growing scorch marks.

            “Easy now,” Wyll soothed.  “There’s no need to get worked up.  This is just a disagreement.”

            “One that we’ll all work out,” Shadowheart added.  Ailis snorted and the cleric glared at her.  “And what did that mean?”

            “Oh, I just thought what you said was amusing,” Ailis replied.  “‘We’ll work it out’ Ha!”

            “What are you getting at, Ailis?” Shadowheart snapped.

            “I just think it’s cute that you think you all will figure it out,” she replied.  “What you really mean is I will figure it out because I am always the one to figure out what we’re doing.  I am always the one who manages everyone’s opinions to come up with a solution.  I am the one who manages everyone’s ginormous egos!”

            “Now, that’s not really being fair,” Gale tried to intervene.

            “Fair?” she shrieked.  “No!  What’s not fair is dumping all your trauma on me and expecting me to deal with it for you.”

            “Darling, I think you…”

            “Don’t ‘darling’ me,” she snapped at Astarion.  “I have to do everything for everyone!  And no one ever helps me.  No one ever checks in on me to see how I’m doing.  So the only one whose opinion matters here is mine.  We need to learn about these tadpoles.  If that leads us to needing to take out Thorm fine, but if not, our next step is whatever gets rid of these parasites.”

            “You’re out of line, Ailis,” Shadowheart growled.

            “Now, hold on,” Wyll intervened.  “Ailis did make some fair points.  We could put more effort into controlling our emotions and…egos.  However, Ailis, you are the leader of this group and it’s your job to…”

            “Yes, I am the leader and I’m doing my job,” she cut him off.  “I’ve told you what we’re going to do.  That’s the end of the discussion.”

            “So, we just have to do what you say now?  Our opinions don’t matter?” Shadowheart scoffed.

            “That’s exactly, right,” Ailis replied coolly.

            “And if we’re not willing to go along with that?” Shadowheart asked through gritted teeth.

            “Then you can leave,” Ailis said.  She knew she was going too far, but she couldn’t stop herself.  She couldn’t bring herself to back down.  The frustration of the last few weeks was bubbling over.  Still, her guilt increased at the look of hurt on her companions’ faces.

            “You’d really kick out any who disagreed with you?” Lae’zel asked in a tone of surprise.

            “Don’t tell me you suddenly disagree with that philosophy,” Ailis replied.  “You’d have had me kick out most of this group a few weeks ago.”

            “I…”

            “You know what?  I’m done with this,” Ailis cried.  “Whoever decides to join me, meet back here in the morning.”  She turned and stormed out of the building.  She stalked angrily down to camp and began pacing the rocky shores of the lake nearby.  As she paced, she could feel her anger and anxiety turn inwards.  She shouldn’t have yelled at them.  They didn’t deserve that.  She just couldn’t stop thinking of Rolan’s words from earlier that day.  He was right.

            “You’re going to burn a hole in the ground if you keep pacing like that,” Astarion’s snide voice called out.

            Ailis glanced up at him and scowled.  “Go away, Astarion,” she said.  “I don’t want to talk right now.”

            “Yes, I gathered that,” he replied sitting down on a large boulder.  “Still, someone needed to check on you.”

            “And they decided to send you?” she asked.

            “I sent myself,” he replied sounding a little annoyed.  A stern look crossed his face when he noticed her look of disbelief.  “I’m not completely callous to your well-being, Ailis.  I care that something is clearly upsetting you.  Why don’t you tell me what it is?”

            “You don’t want to know,” Ailis replied bitterly.

            “Ah, but I do,” he said.  “It must be something big to make you go off like that.  Now go on and tell me.  It will make you feel better.”  She began to pace again.

            “You just want me to go back to being complacent,” she grumbled.  “You don’t care.  You just don’t like it when I’m a bitch, but it’s not my…”  She cut off when he stepped in front of her to stop her pacing, and gripped onto her shoulders.

            “You’re not a bitch, Ailis.  You’re just upset.  And yes, I do care,” he said.  “If you talk to me about whatever has you so upset, maybe you’ll feel better.”

            “I…I can’t,” she replied.

            “Yes, you can, darling,” he said.  “Just tell me what has you upset.  It was what Rolan said, wasn’t it?  You’ve looked agitated since that conversation.”

            “I can’t tell you.  You’ll leave if I tell you.  You all will,” she cried, tearing herself out of his grip.  She began pacing anxiously again.  This time, he didn’t try to stop her.

            “No one’s leaving, darling,” he said.

            “You would if you knew,” she said.  “You’d have never agreed to travel with me if you knew.”

            “Well, now I think I have to know,” he said, trying to teaser her to a lighter mood.

            “I’m serious, Astarion,” she replied, though she did stop pacing.

            Astarion nodded.  “I’m sorry, darling,” he said.  “Still, I think you better tell me.  I think it will help.”  She sighed and closed her eyes.  She opened them when she felt his arm wrap around her waist, and he led her over to the boulder he’d sat on before.  “Here.  Sit down here and we’ll talk.”  She gathered herself for a moment and stared out at the still water of the lake.

            “This isn’t my first time leading a group of people,” she said slowly.

            “I gathered that,” Astarion replied.  “You lead troops in the Espax War, didn’t you?”

            “Yes, and I have plenty of guilt over that, but that’s not what’s bothering me now,” she said, and then glanced up at him.  “How much do you know about the Espax War?”

            Astarion shook his head.  “Nothing,” he replied.  “I’d get bits of news when hunting targets, but that’s it.  Espax is a long way from Baldur’s Gate.”

            Ailis nodded.  “The war started as a rebellion against Espax’s government,” she began to explain.  “By all accounts, Espax had an incredibly corrupt government.  There were two factions running the rebellion.  Both wanted to take out the existing government, but their ideas for the future government differed.”

            “A recipe for disaster,” Astarion commented.

            “Exactly,” she said.  “The factions managed to overthrow the original government, but they couldn’t agree with each other enough to build a new one.  They began fighting and it turned into a full out war.  Both sides began recruiting soldiers, originally from their own people.  However, one faction was more popular than the other amongst Espax’s citizens and most went to fight for them.”

            “So, the faction you fought under had to resort to other methods of recruitment,” Astarion said.

            “By the time I was press-ganged into service most of the people fighting were doing so unwillingly,” Ailis replied.  “Even those who had originally joined freely had turned against this faction by that point.  They committed horrendous atrocities.  Many even said they’d rather have the old government back than continue to support this one.”

            “And you led people in attempts to escape?” he asked.  “Or overthrow?”

            “Escape,” she answered.  “When I first got there, I tried to escape on my own.  When that didn’t work, I started recruiting others who wanted to leave.  There were a few of these attempts.  They all ended with many of my group dead or tortured as punishment.”  Her hand came up to her face to worry at the deep scar running down her cheek to her jaw.  She had a smaller one below her right eye.

            Astarion gently moved her hand away from the scar and rested their intwined hands on his lap.  “Is that how you got those scars?” he asked.  “Trying to escape?”

            “Helping someone else to escape,” she said and then smiled bitterly at his incredulous expression.  “I had given up trying to escape by the time I got these scars.”

            “But you were still helping others to escape?” he questioned.

            “Not at first.  For a while I just gave up and did what they wanted me to,” she said.  “I’d accepted it as a just punishment for my previous crimes.  I proved to be a good soldier.  After a while they trusted me with training new recruits and then leading small groups in battle.  Eventually, I began to form friendships with others there.  The two relevant to this story were Nash and Marissa and her three kids…”

            “Kids?” Astarion said.  He looked surprised.

            She nodded.  “They recruited anyone they could,” she said.  “They’d take criminals being transported to the gallows like I was to travelers just passing through.  Many of the travelers had children.”

            “Is that what happened to your friend?” he asked.

            “No,” she replied.  “Marissa was in the war almost from the beginning.  Her husband was part of the rebellion and was a supporter of this faction.  Marissa had no idea until after he was killed in one of the first skirmishes.  The faction blamed her husband for the loss of so many lives in that skirmish and so did a lot of the dead’s’ families.  The faction told her if she worked for them, they’d forgive her husband’s failure and keep her and her children safe.

            “There was no choice for her.  She agreed.  She mostly did secretarial work for them.  She wasn’t thrown into battle until the last few years when things were growing increasingly desperate,” she explained.

            “They started putting the kids into battle, didn’t they?” Astarion guessed.

            Ailis nodded.  “When I first arrived, all children stayed in camp,” she said.  “The older kids kept the barracks in order and watched their younger siblings.  But the war wasn’t going well and they couldn’t get enough soldiers.  In the penultimate year of the war, they decreed sons that were fourteen or older would be put into battles.  They would ‘try and keep them off the frontlines’ they said, but we all knew they’d end up there eventually.

            “Marissa was beside herself with worry.  Her oldest son was nine months off from fourteen,” she continued.  “We all saw the war would be ending soon, but not soon enough for her son.  On a night off, me and our other friend, Nash, took her out for drinks to let her vent her worries.  She kept repeating that she had to do something.  That she couldn’t let this happen to her son.”

            Ailis closed her eyes and sighed.  “I was the one who suggested escaping,” she said.  “Marissa was hesitant about it at first.  Punishment for runaways by this point in the war was almost always death, and if they didn’t kill you, they’d make you wish they had.”  She worried at her scar again.

            “You got her to agree to the attempt though, didn’t you?” Astarion said.

            “She came around to the idea,” Ailis said.  “She didn’t like it though.  It didn’t sit well with her.  She didn’t think it was fair that just she and her kids would get out.”

        ��   “Why would she care about that?” Astarion asked perplexed.  “She should have just worried for herself…and her kids, I guess.”  Exasperation and amusement settled across her expression.  The vampire spawn’s lack of empathy tended to reveal itself in inopportune times.  There was no point admonishing him, though.  She’d accepted by this point there were some things Astarion would just never truly understand.

            “Marissa wanted to get more people out,” she continued.  “After some convincing she got me and Nash on board.  Well, she got me on board.  Nash only agreed to it because I was going to be involved.”

            “You and him were involved?” Astarion asked.  She could see he was trying to just sound curious, but she heard a jealous note in his tone.

            “We had an arrangement.  Like ours, really,” she admitted.  “There weren’t any deep feelings.  We both got what we wanted out of the other.  And Nash wasn’t exactly hard to look at.”

            Astarion snorted.  “So, did it work?” he asked.  “Whatever plan you concocted to free people.”

            “For a time,” Ailis said, “but after six or seven months they were cracking down.  Nash insisted we had to stop, at least for some time.  But Marissa’s son would be turning fourteen in just over a month and there was already talk of lowering the age to thirteen.  I insisted that we do one last escape to get Marissa and her kids out.

            “Nash didn’t like it but he agreed if it was just Marissa and her kids I led out.  The night started like every other escape night, but…it all went wrong,” she said, closing her eyes against the painful memory.

            “Nash betrayed you,” Astarion said.

            “No.  Not Nash,” Ailis said.  “The night guard he bribed to ignore anyone he saw escaping.  He might not have done so willingly.  I’ll never know.  They killed him.  Guns went off when we breached the camp.  We ran off into the woods, but they knew our routes.  Marissa and I tried to gather the kids together and come up with an alternate route, but a soldier shot off a gun near us and her little girl ran off frightened right into the open and they…they shot her.”

            “Ailis…”       

            “We went back with them after that,” she continued through her tears.  “They brought us to the General’s tent to interrogate us.  They wanted to know everyone who was involved in the operation.  We did our best to conceal who’d been involved, but in doing so, Marissa incriminated herself by admitting it had been her idea to help families escape.  I tried to intervene; to convince them it was all on me.  I had the history of escape attempts, not Marissa.  All my attempts got me was a knife to the face.  They then forced me to watch as they killed Marissa.  They killed my friend right in front of me and her remaining children.  That was my punishment.  They wouldn’t kill me.  I was too useful to them.”

            “What happened to her two sons?” Astarion asked.

            “Nash got them out,” she replied woodenly.  “He was high ranking in the army.  One of the lead officers had a niece who couldn’t have children.  They lived away from the fighting.  They weren’t involved at all.  They were willing to take them in.”

            “Nash couldn’t have done anything for you or Marissa when you were captured?” he asked.  She could tell he was judging her old friend.

            “No,” she replied, harshly.  “He made it very clear from the beginning when we were planning the operation he wouldn’t lose his position for something he thought was foolish.  He did what he could for us when we were captured and that’s it.  What happened to Marissa and her daughter wasn’t his fault.”

            “It wasn’t your fault either, Ailis,” Astarion said.  “None of what you’ve just told me was your fault.”

            “It was though,” she insisted.  “If I hadn’t planted the idea of escape in her mind, Marissa wouldn’t have thought to include other people in it.  I should have insisted that night that we would only get her and her kids out.  Or I should have caved and agreed with Nash.  He had high rank.  There were things he could have done to keep her son safe.

            “I got Marissa killed.  I got her daughter killed.  I got all the people from my original escape attempts killed,” she said.  “I can’t help the tieflings.  I’ll get them killed.  I’m going to get everyone killed!”

            “Ailis, darling, look at me.  Look at me!” he repeated when she turned her face away.  She reluctantly turned and met his gaze.  He looked very concerned.  “Ailis, what happened to your friend and the others was not your fault.”

            “It was.  I…”

            “Did you force them to try and escape?” he asked.

            “What?” she cried, confused.

            “Did you force them to try and escape?” he repeated.  “Did you threaten pain or death if they didn’t follow you?  Did you blackmail them into joining you?”

            “No!” she cried, appalled.  “Of course not!”

            “Were they aware of the risks they were taking when they agreed to join you?” he grilled.  “Did you tell them the potential consequences?”

            “Yes.  I drilled it into them what could happen if we failed,” she replied.  “Astarion, why…”

            “I’m asking you, darling, because I’m trying to understand why you think you’re at fault,” he said.  “Based on everything you’re telling me, you only gave everyone an option to join you.  You didn’t force them.  You let them know the risks so they made informed decisions.  I’m failing to see how you bare any responsibility for what happened.”

            “I led the attempts.  I was responsible for all their lives.  I am responsible for their deaths,” she said.  “You should leave.  You should let the others know what a failure I am and leave.  Nothing good will come of following me.”

            “I’m not leaving, Ailis,” Astarion said.  “And neither is anyone else.  If you told the others what you just told me they’d tell you the same thing I am.  What happened was not your fault.”

            “I was responsible for all of them.  That makes it…”           

            “That does not make it your fault,” he said firmly.  He gave her a soft expression and gently wiped tears from her face.  “The burden of the failures may be ours, but what happened to those people…that’s not your fault.”

            “You’ll feel differently when I get you and our companions killed,” she whispered.

            “You’re not going to get us killed, Ailis,” he said.  “We’re all getting out of this alive.  We’re not like your previous groups.  You have a group of skilled individuals with you.  You’re not alone in defending everyone.  You have us to reply on.  Everything is going to be fine.”

            “You don’t know that,” she said.

            “No, but I have a feeling,” he replied with a smile.  She said nothing in return.  She just sat there and stared out at the calm waters.  He began to massage her scalp, probably hoping to help her relax, but she couldn’t let her failures go. 

            “Sometimes I think it would have been better if that wagon had reached the gallows,” she said.  His hand stopped moving through her hair.

            “You really think it would have been better if you had died?” he asked.

            “A lot of people would still be alive right now,” she replied.

            “You don’t know that,” Astarion said.  “They could have died later in the war.  They most likely would have.”

            “They’re not the only lives I’m responsible for losing,” she said.  “Trust me, Astarion.  I deserved to be brought to the gallows.”

            “You don’t think four years forced into a war that wasn’t yours was punishment enough?” he questioned.  “You don’t think your guilt is punishment enough?”  She shook her head.  “Well, I do.”  He stood up and she felt her mood plummet even further.  She had wanted to be alone when she came down here, but now it was the last thing she wanted.  She couldn’t blame him for wanting to get away from her though.  She’d just encouraged him to do exactly that.

            He didn’t walk away, though.  Instead, he turned back towards her and held out a hand for her to take.  “I think I know a way to help ease your guilt,” he said giving her a smile.  “Do you trust me enough to give it a try?”

            When they’d first met a few weeks ago, she wouldn’t have agreed to anything he proposed.  At least not without a detailed breakdown of what he intended.  Now though, she took his hand and let him lead her through their camp.  She was relieved to find it was still empty.  She didn’t want to face her companions yet.

            Astarion led her through camp to the abandoned building they’d found.  There had been a squabble over it as most of the group had wanted to take up residence there as it had a bed.  It was decided that no one would set up permanent camp there.  They would use it for group meetings or personal time only.  She guessed the latter was what he had in mind now as she looked at the clean sheets that had been put on the bed.  She felt a spark of irritation.  She should have realized he thought sex would make her feel better.  It was the last thing she wanted right now.

            Still, she would go along with it.  It would be easier than trying to explain why his action was insensitive to her feelings and the argument that would ensue.  It wouldn’t be the first time she endured sex to please a man’s ego and it most likely wouldn’t be the last.  And Astarion was very skilled in bed.  Maybe it would prove a good distraction from her thoughts.  As they approached the bed he let go of her hand and then sat down on the edge of it with his feet shoulder length apart.  He looked at her with a serious expression.

            “Remove your pants and undergarment, Ailis.  They get over my lap,” he ordered.

            Ailis blinked and stared at him dumbly for a moment.  This wasn’t how they usually did this.  “I…what?” she said confused.

            “You wanted to be punished, didn’t you?” he questioned and her face flushed a hot red as she realized what he intended to do.  He smiled wickedly at the sight of her blush.  “I do love it when you blush.  It’s such a rare occasion.”

            “I…I’m not a child,” she protested, though that statement certainly made her feel like one.

            “Only children can be spanked?” Astarion replied with a widening grin.

            “I…I’ve never…”

            “You’ve never received a spanking before?” he questioned, surprised.  “Your mother never had you over her knee?”

            “My mother didn’t believe in hitting children,” she replied, defensively

            “Well, as you’ve just pointed out, you’re not a child,” he said. 

            “I…”  She didn’t finish her statement.  She didn’t know what her statement was.  She squirmed where she stood and stared at the floor, trying to come up with something to say.  Astarion’s feet suddenly came into view, and then she felt his cook fingers caress her chin as he lifted her face so she was looking at him.  He brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ears.

            “You’re rarely this flustered,” he murmured softly.  “What has you concerned?”

            “I don’t know what you’re expecting to get out of this,” she said.

            “He frowned, puzzled.  “Get out of this?” he repeated.

            She flushed.  “I know some people do this for fun,” she said.

            He nodded.  “Yes, and you may find you enjoy this, but that’s not the intended purpose of tonight,” he said.

            “Then what are you getting out of this?” she persisted.  “My pain?”

            His eyes widened.  “Your pain?” he said shocked.  “Ailis, how hard do you think I’m going to hit you?”

            “I don’t know!” she cried.  “I’ve never done anything like this, except for that Loviatar priest.  I don’t know how this works.  I know you enjoyed watching that priest strike me.”  She expected him to get mad, but he just stared at her thoughtfully for a moment.

            “Hold out your wrist, Ailis,” he ordered.  Confused, she did as he asked, holding her arm out in front of her with her palm up.  His own hand struck her wrist before she even saw it coming.  She hissed and drew her arm back, cradling her wrist to her chest.  She gazed at him with a shocked expression.  His own was perfectly neutral.  “Did that hurt?”

            “Yes,” she replied in a tone that made it clear she thought he was crazy for asking.

            “Is the pain unbearable?” he asked in the same neutral tone.

            “No,” she answered, eyebrows furrowed.

            “That’s as hard as I intend to spank you, give or take a little,” Astarion said.  “I’m not going to beat you black and blue.  You’ll be able to sit down tomorrow.”

            “But when the priest…”

            “I didn’t know you very well when you let the priest beat you.  I hadn’t fully decided I trusted you.  I thought you must have been into that sort of thing and responded accordingly.  I was surprised you never asked me to do anything similar when we began having sex.

            “You’re not wrong that I get off on others pain.  I’m not going to lie about that,” he said.  “But the purpose tonight isn’t the pain.  You carry a lot of guilt over your past.  I just want to try to help you release some of it.  As for what I get out of it, well, control.  We don’t have to do this, though, Ailis.  I’m not going to do anything to you that you don’t want.”  She believed him.  Even before she really began to tryst him, she’d trusted him to stop if she asked.  He was always attentive of any boundaries set during sex.

            “Okay,” she finally agreed.  “What do I say if I need you to stop, though?”

            “Just say stop,” he told her moving back to his previous position on the bed.  She didn’t follow yet.

            “Don’t people use specific words for this sort of thing, though” she questioned, “because they might say stop on instinct?”

            “Yes.  A safe word is usually put in place for that reason.  However, due to our personal histories if you say stop, I’m going to take that at face value,” he said.  “So don’t tell me to stop, Ailis, unless you really want or need me to, okay?”

            She nodded.  “Okay,” she agreed.

            “All right then.  Remove your pants and undergarment and come here,” he ordered pointing to a spot right next to him rather than demanding she get over his lap right away like he had originally.  She moved slowly as she completed his orders.  A nervous anticipation had her heart racing, and she couldn’t help trembling a little.  Astarion noticed and took her hand in his, gently massaging her knuckles with his thumb.

            “Are you all right, darling?” he asked, giving her a soft look.  “We can stop.”

            “No, I’m all right,” she said.

            He nodded and his expression turned stern.  “Do you understand why you’re being punished?” he asked.

            “For failing to save…”

            “No,” Astarion said and she gave him a puzzled look.

            “You said this was to try to relieve my guilt,” she said.

            “It is, but I’m not going to punish you for something that wasn’t your fault or something you already received punishment for,” he said.  “Pick something else.  Something more recent.”

            “I shouldn’t have yelled at our companions,” she said after a moment.  “I was being unfair.”

            “You certainly were,” he said.  “You shouldn’t have taken your problems out on them.”

            “I know.  I’m sorry,” she whispered.

            “I know you are.  Still, you need to receive punishment for your actions,” he said.  “How many times should I spank you?  How many have you earned?”

            “I…I don’t…” she looked at him helplessly.  She had no basis for this.  She felt completely lost in the moment.  Luckily, he seemed to understand.  He gently squeezed her hand in reassurance.

            “How about I give you two options, and you choose what works best for you?” he suggested and she nodded her agreement.  “Option one: I give you ten harder strikes.  Option two: I give you twenty with fifteen being the same strength I slapped your wrist earlier, and the last five a bit harder.  Either way, you’re going to be able to sit tomorrow, Ailis.”

            Ailis thought about it for a moment.  Ten sounded more appealing than twenty.  She wouldn’t have to be in an embarrassing position for as long.  However, the slap he’d given to her wrist earlier had stung and the skin was still a little pink.  The skin on her ass would be even more sensitive.  She’d never done this and she wasn’t sure she was comfortable having him hit her any harder.  Getting through five hard strikes seemed better than ten and if she couldn’t handle it and had to tell him to stop, she’d have already taken at least sixteen.  She’d be able to say she gave it a fair chance.

            “Twenty,” she said quietly.  He nodded and gave her hand a final squeeze before letting go.

            “All right then, darling,” he said.  “Get over my lap.”  She awkwardly positioned herself over his lap.  He helped her maneuver so his one leg helped support her upper torso even as her head hung down just below his knee.  She held onto his one knee with one hand and the sheets on the bed with the other.  Her ass was completely exposed to him, and she trembled with nerves.  She jumped when he placed a hand on the center of her back.

            “Try to relax, darling.  You’re safe,” he soothed, rubbing her back a little.  She took a few deep breaths and slowly felt her muscles relax.  “That’s it.  Are you ready for me to begin?”

            “Y-Yes,” she said.  “Do I count them out loud?”

            “Hmm, that is an appealing thought,” he said in a teasing tone before growing serious again, “but not tonight.  We can examine that possibility another night if you decide you like this or find it helpful.  I don’t want to push limits tonight.  Now, take one last deep breath for me before I begin.”  She did as he said, and the first stroke came as she let the breath out.

            She let out a startled squeak.  It hurt.  It felt worse than the strike to her wrist had.  Still, it was not unbearable.  She hadn’t quite processed it, when the second strike hit, and then she stopped thinking as he continued to land blow after blow.  By the time he struck her ten times she realized she’d made a mistake in choosing twenty strikes.  Her skin where he’d hit her felt like it was on fire and the pain was increasing with each strike even though the strike’s strength hadn’t changed yet.  When he reached the fifteenth strike her tears finally spilled over and down her cheeks.

            He stopped after the fifteenth strike for a moment, but any relief she might have felt vanished when he shifted his leg so the seat of her ass raised to a higher position.  She whimpered as she thought of where the last five, harder blows were going to land.  He hushed her and comfortingly stroked her back.

            “It’s just five more, darling, and then you’ll be done,” he assured her.  “Do you think you’re ready to apologize now?”

            “Y-Yes.  I’m sorry!  I’m sorry!” she cried.  “I didn’t mean to act like that.  I couldn’t stop myself.  I…I…I…”

            “Shhh.  Shh, darling,” he soothed.  “Breathe for me.”  She tried to do as he said and took big gulps of air in until her breathing found a rhythm again.  “Good girl.  I’m going to give you the last five strikes now.  I want you to try and release your guilt with them, all right?”

            She nodded and then the first blow hit and any thought of trying not to cry anymore escaped her.  She started sobbing and it took everything in her to not ask him to stop as the next blow hit.  She had felt worse pain before than this, but this just felt so intimate.  She wanted to bare it for him.  Right now, she would do anything for him, so at the last strike, she tried to release some of her guilt.

            Astarion helped move her into a sitting position on his lap.  He managed to adjust her so her ass was mostly between his thighs so nothing rubbed against her reddened skin.  She buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed ash she clutched to him like her life depended on it.  She stroked her back and hair and pressed a kiss on the top of her head.

            “Shh.  It’s all right now, darling.  All is forgiven.  You’re all right,” he soothed.  He repeated a variation of these words until her sobs turned to cries and then to whimpers until finally, she ran out of tears.  She rested, slumped against him, feeling more exhausted than she had in her whole life.  They sat like that for a few minutes and then she felt his hand slide between her legs and a cool finger split hear seam, running the length of it before brushing over her clit.  She let out a shaky gasp.

            “What do you think, darling?  Based on how wet you are, you seemed to enjoy that.  Should we move on to more enjoyable activities?” he asked.  She thought about it for a moment.  She was surprised to find she had evidence of arousal, but in the back of her mind she’d been aware of a stirring of heat between her legs that was different from the heat on her ass from the spanking.

            Still, she shook her head.  “No.  I’m sorry.  I don’t feel up to it,” she said, her resolve to endure it from earlier cracking.  She knew he wouldn’t make a big deal out of it.  “I’m sorry.  I know you were planning on having sex tonight, but…”

            “It’s all right, Ailis,” he cut her off.  “Don’t apologize.  We both have to want it, remember?”  She smiled and nodded.  He moved his hand back to a more acceptable spot on her thigh.  “So, what do you want, darling?  How are we spending our time tonight?”  She opened her mouth with an immediate response but then just as quickly clamped her mouth shut and looked down at her lap.  “What’s wrong, Ailis.”

            “Nothing,” she said.  “It’s just, what I want…you won’t like it.  I’m trying to think of something else.”

            “Ailis, darling, look at me,” he ordered and she raised her face to meet his eyes.  “You’re just tried something very new to you that had you completely out of your element tonight.  You’re going to get whatever you want.”  He grinned.  “Within reason of course.  So, tell me, what do you want.”

            “I just want to naked cuddle,” she said.  “And I want you to stay with me all night.”

            Astarion nodded.  “Very reasonable,” he said and kissed her forehead.  He slid her to sit on the mattress.  Her full weight was on her ass though and she felt the skin burn as it brushed against the sheets.  She jumped up from the bed and clutched her ass.  Astarion laughed and she gave him a hurt look. 

            “I’m sorry, darling,” he said as he stood up.  “The look on your face was just funny, that’s all.  Here.”  He helped slide her shirt and upper garment off.  “Stand there for a moment while I undress and then we’ll get you on the bed comfortably.”  He kissed her forehead again and she stood waiting as he quickly undressed.  When he was naked, he sat down on the bed and then moved until he was lying down on his back in the middle.  He held out his arms for her.  “Come here, darling.” 

            She climbed onto the bed and crawled over to him.  He pulled her down so she rested mostly on top of him.  Her head rested on his shoulder.  She hissed when he pulled the top sheet over them, but the sting only last for a minute.  He stroked her back and left gentle kisses to her forehead every few minutes.  Her eyelids grew heavy and she felt sleep trying to claim her.  She tried to fight it, but Astarion wasn’t having it.

            “Go to sleep, darling,” he ordered her gently.  “You need to rest.”

            “I want you to stay,” she murmured through a yawn.             “I’m not going anywhere, Ailis,” he promised.  “I’ll be here when you wake up.”  She smiled sleepily as he pressed another kiss to her forehead.  It was the last thing she felt before sleep finally claimed her. 

[tarithenurse]

I see fire - 15

Fandom: D&D 5E/homebrew campaign. Word count: 3239. Contents: Hangover-hack, travel, stranger-danger, fighting, death, luck, gore, mystery. A/N: Any questions are welcome. Please comment and like and reblog. Let me know if you want a tag. Divider by @firefly-graphics

XV

“My hair hurts,” Morella complains, blinking miserably against the sun.

The sigh coming from Anvindr is partially a testimony to his own state but more to the fact that no one really is surprised with the druid’s poor condition.

“Can’t you just...heal it away?” he asks.

The colourful female just groans. “Then I have to think.”

“But just for a while.”

Interrupting what might turn into bickering, Zilvra asks her friends to wait there for a moment. “I’ll be right back,” and with that she heads into Travis’ Wax.

There’s only one other customer in the shop and as the huge, burly man behind the counter looks past her at the newcomer, Zilvra flashes him the hand-sign in Thieves’ Can’t for “business”, earning a curt nod: clearly he understands, meaning she must be in the right place as suspected.

It takes a moment during which Zilvra peruses the wares (a multitude of candles in different heights, thicknesses, colours and even scents) but then the customer leaves, allowing the man – who must be Travis – to focus on the drow.

“What can I do for you?”

His voice startles her because it is so light but she manages to keep collected.

“I’ve lost my tools and was hoping you would either be able to acquire new for me or at the very least point me in the right direction,” the rogue explains, with her hands signalling lock-picking.

“I can get that for you if you give me a few days and pay up front.”

“There’s no rush, I’m heading out for a while but expect to be back within a week.”

Travis nods. “12 copper then.”

For a heartbeat, the drow considers bartering but she doesn’t quite know what a fair price would be Topside and so she relents, counting out the copper and handing them over.

“Pleasure doing business,” the man squeaks, pocketing the money.

“See you soon.”

Once back on the street, it’s evident that Morella has taken the genasi’s advice and magicked her hangover away because she’s much more chipper. The male on the other hand wants to know what Zilvra was up to and he’s promised an explanation once they’re out of town.

They only have one more stop to make and that is by the Adventurer’s Guild to get paid for the jobs they have completed.

“Take care,” Tio warns the group, handing them 60 copper.

“You too.”

---

“So?” Anvindr demands.

Zilvra adjusts the wooden goggles slightly. “Hm?”

“Travis’ Wax. What was that about?”

She explains briefly about lacking certain items after her arrest and how she wants new sets.

“Oh, maybe I could have just made them for you,” is his reply which makes her look at him questioningly. “I can conjure tools every day. Woodcarving, stone carving, you name it. They only last 24 hours but they’re good quality.”

“Lock picking tools?” the rogue asks, slightly disbelieving.

The genasi wrinkles his brow. “No, but why’d you need them?” Morella giggles, patting his arm. “Why wouldn’t you just knock?” he insists, though.

---

That evening, the trio rests in Oldgarde knowing there’s still five days of travel to go before they reach the tower. They talk a bit with Davis but he’s too preoccupied and instead they hang out at the inn where also another adventuring group of silver rank is stopping by.

Deciding to play nice, Zilvra brings them ale and soon both groups are chatting about their experiences. They call themselves the Footsoldiers and are heading south to investigate a mine there.

“You better be careful,” Anvindr warns them, “we’ve been to a few mines and apart from the duergar there’s been something else there too.”

One of them, Valmir – a man with white robes and neatly kept hair, looks to the others with concern. “Something...what?”

“Fire,” Morella beams slightly creepily. “Living fire.”

Fred, the scarred melee in the group, looks bummed as he does gather that fire won’t be as susceptible to his weapons as the dark dwarves would be.

Letting the Footsoldiers in on what little the trio knows about mines, duergar, and the fire creatures, there’s little else the friends can do to help but the men are happy, feeling better prepared with the knowledge.

“And where are you off to?” Valmir asks.

“East past the logging camp,” Zilvra deflects neatly, “taking a bit of time for our own.”

The three men nod before the last – a ragtag-looking, robed guy with a wild beard – leans in, having just finished his ale: “If you go far east you’ll reach the swamps on the other side of a mountain range...we’ve just been there and found ourselves between orcs and ogres working together.”

“Mhmm,” Fred chimes in. “Watch out for the orcs, they’re strong and smart...and impressive sprinters capable of closing any gap rapidly. We were hard pressed just dealing with one.”

The trio exchange glances, happy that they aren’t going that far.

“Good to know,” Morella nods.

---

Nothing much happens on the trip but on the fourth day, the trio sees a cart in the distance with two familiar figures, Elmer and Harris, turning off towards the logging camp but they decide not to try and hail the men and rather continue on.

---

Watching Morella skip ahead of the other two, Zilvra can’t help but marvel at how much more vivid the eladrin’s green hue is compared to the plants they pass and yet when the druid does stand still, she seems to belong rather than stick out like Anvindr with his blue skin or Zilvra herself with her slate hue. Even the birds and little critters seem not to mind the druid...in fact, they seem thoroughly unbothered by anything at all and perhaps its because of that, that the trio suddenly stumble out into a clearing with a stout tower at the centre without any warning.

Round and perhaps a bit boring, the only part of the architecture that seems to carry any more thought than brutal practicality is the glass dome. Torches burn magically by the closed entry door but other than that the place looks quiet.

Too quiet.

No one hails the trio or tries to stop them as they withdraw a bit again into the bushes, finding a place to observe and wait the night rather than storm in unprepared. Anvindr and Morella see to the camp while Zilvra sneaks off, scouting the perimeter for any signs of...well, anything.

She’s made it about half way around the tower when she spots him: a man lying beneath the bushes, grasses and leafy branches used as disguise but incapable of hiding the sheer size of him. And he’s seen her too, it’s clear because their eyes lock – pale blue with golden brown – forging a mutual understanding that there’s no reason to pretend and so Zilvra waves.

He’s big for a human at a distance and seems somehow more imposing when he comes over, adjusting the cloth that covers half his face.

“Didn’t expect anyone coming around,” he admits.

“Didn’t expect anyone lying in the bushes,” she counters.

Nodding, the large man surveys the area before looking Zilvra up and down once more. “Why are you here?”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, the drow recalls Paul Davis’ warning about trusting people. But at the same time...this guy wears a bandana similar to the ones the Mason people they’ve met so far have.

“Something seems to be up with the towers,” she begins haltingly, trying and failing to read his expression, “decided I’d check it out.”

“Took it upon yourself, did you?” he rumbles. “Impressive initiative.”

He reaches out to pat her on the shoulder, his touch making her freeze up and thus offering no resistance when the pat turns into a grasp and the other fist comes flying with a force that cracks several of her ribs and knocks the wind out of her.

It’s an unfair fight even as Zilvra dances to avoid the devastating punches while back-pedalling towards the campsite. She gets several jabs in with her rapier but he seems to just shrug the pain off, almost like he enjoys it. Then there’s a snarl of a wolf followed by two rapid shots and finally the man looks surprised even if it’s only for a moment because the brief confusion morphs into cold rage and flames begins to crackle from his fists.

“You should’ve said you brought friends and they wouldn’t’ve had to have missed out at first,” he growls, sending Morella flying with a single flaming punch that reduces her wolf form to her normal appearance with a puff. “Eladrin shit,” he snarls.

Three against one, and the trio still find themselves hard pressed although they seem to offer a worthy resistance too. It’s just not enough.

Having resorted to her crossbow to stay out of range of the hits the enemy tries to land, Zilvra watches with blind fear as her friend, Morella, is knocked unconscious and crumbles to the ground.

“Anvindr...run...” she gasps, throwing herself headfirst at the brutal man to win the genasi some time.

She’s vaguely aware through the pounding of her own heart in her ears that he calls for aid from the tower. The rogue dodges one fist, her dagger landing deep in the opponent’s thigh but as she’s about to step out of reach once more, he grabs her by the braid, yanks her onto the ground and the last thing she sees is a flaming fist coming for her face.

---

Gentle, warm hands are cradling the pounding skull of the drow, fingertips tracing the edges of bruises as the swelling diminishes just a bit. Enough to open the eyes.

Morella is there, leaning down and looking quite a lot worse for wear but smiling at the sight of consciousness returning to her friend.

“What happened?” Where -?” Zilvra beings only to be shushed by the druid.

“Glad to have you back,” a different, familiar voice says.

Looking about, the rogue sees #2 a few paces away. His brows are furrowed and his lips are pressed into a thin line.

Anvindr comes over, helping both girls to their feet. “I called out for the people in the tower to help, but he – the guy – said he’d killed them all. He was gonna kill me too but then #2 here showed up. The other guy is called #5 and he ran off.”

As if on cue, a distant roar can be heard in the direction Anvindr had just indicated. South.

“That sounded like...” Morella begins before allowing her voice to fade away.

“Like what?” #2 asks sharply.

The eladrin swallows. “Like a dragon.” Her eyes are big and filled with confusion. “I once new a dragon. Boil, the Protector of Forests.”

“Never heard of it.”

She shakes her head. “He’s a Fey Dragon. But this...it sounded just like that.”

For a long moment, they all stand in silence, listening for more but eventually it’s the sounds of the birds and critters that return.

Unable to keep to her feet, Zilvra allows herself to plop down onto the grass once more. She can reach her discarded weapons from there, drying them off in the emerald tufts before sheathing them. Morella joins her, stretching out as the sun begins to set beyond the trees.

“Why are you here?” Zilvra asks #2. “Not that I mind – thank you for saving us, really but...how...?”

There’s finally a smile on the man’s lips, as wry as it may be. “Klaud told me what you were up to so I figured I’d better warn you that someone were playing both sides of this mess...guess we know who it was now.” The smile fades. “I’d previously sent a gold group to investigate a tower and they found themselves having to flee...but at least they were able to ascertain that the Tower there had been wiped out.” He rubs his face. “Didn’t find out why or by who but...things will start to move now that he knows that I know of his betrayal.” #2 looks sternly at the trio. “That also means you three will be in jeopardy.”

Anvindr looks down at the girls. “I think we gathered as much.”

“Get out of Stouvania.”

“Right...we were already toying with that idea...” Anvindr mumbles, earning a raised brow but no questions voiced out loud. “Before we part we need to check out this place and there’s...we met a guy, called himself Gavin.”

It doesn’t take long to fill in #2 on what the trio had learned at the Lockett Logging Camp. What does come as a surprise to them, however, is that the man just nods, admitting to having trained many of the men that now are the core of the Masons, including the leader. Just like him, he explains, they were part of an elite intelligence corps and they all wanted Stouvania to prosper.

“Garrion Clarke was a good friend of mine. I considered many of them my friends. Men with the hearts in the right place although they have lost their way now.” #2 sighs. “They all have their area of expertise: intelligence gathering, tactician, you name it.”

Anvindr looks up at that. “Tactician...smart enough to predict how an entire people will search for a better home if their country is starved of resources?”

#2 nods. “Even smarter.”

Pushing up off the grass, Zilvra drags Morella along. “Right, so you know what you’re facing, that Stouvania is dealing with yet another corruption too...and we still haven’t checked out this tower.”

Resolutely, she walks up to the door and knocks on it, unsurprisingly receiving no answer. Investigating, at least there are no mechanical traps but it is locked – a detail that under normal circumstances could be dealt with if it hadn’t been locked by arcane means but together with Anvindr, the rogue manages to bypass the warding and soon the door swings open, allowing a stench of decay to waft out into the faces of the four peering in.

Gagging, they all take a step back to steel themselves and then the trio follows in #2’s wake as he crosses the threshold.

It’s a massacre. Still lying where they fell, guards and magicians alike are strewn across the floor and staircases. Some clearly tried to escape but the only way was up, trapping themselves. Others must have tried to fight because their weapons are drawn and there are marks from magical missiles like firebolts...but none of it had been any help against their foe.

“This is...” #2 is at a loss for words.

There’s nothing the trio can say to comfort the man and so they just follow him, eyes peeled for any sign of survivors or movement that doesn’t belong. Nothing.

At the very top of the tower, underneath the centre of the glass domed ceiling, is a large orb with the vague lines of a map and little sparks moving across the surface.

“These must be the anomalies in the area,” Zilvra deduces, studying the places that correspond with mines and...and a rapidly moving dot rushing south at an incredible pace.

“Hold on,” Morella mumbles. She manages to find some paper and an intact inkwell and she quickly tries to trace what the orb shows, placing little crosses for each spark. “That one’s so fast,” she points to the one heading in the southern direction.

“Dragon?” Anvindr asks nervously.

Morella’s nose wrinkles. “Are we saying #5 is a dragon or that he has a dragon?”

“What’s to the south?” Zilvra asks #2, pointing to the orb.

He studies it for a moment. “Silver Keep is southeast. But that’s not part of Stouvania and I see no tactical advantage for him by heading there.”

“Maybe a personal connection?” the drow suggests.

It earns her a shrug. “Don’t know...he’s fairly knew to the ranks although he’s been climbing fast. But I have to reconsider all I thought I knew about him.”

“While we speculate,” Anvindr suggests with a wary eye on the human, “let’s check out the place for anything useful.”

Calling upon his arcane gifts, Anvindr scours the place magically, finding that obviously the large orb with the sparks is magical (and too big to carry with them) but one other item radiates in his vision as well: a large gemstone with a word carved into it that according to both him and Morella is Gnomish for “power”.

“Doril,” Anvindr speaks it out loud, causing the other three to stop what they’re doing.

It’s as though his gaze turns inwards, the genasi listening to something he alone can hear but they can all hear his reply: “I’m Anvindr Hayate. The Tower has fallen, all are dead.”

#2 is rushing across the room, and he slaps the softly glowing gem out of the genasi’s hand. “What are you doing?”

“You don’t know if you can trust them!” Zilvra groans, having understood that the gem must be an advanced Sending Stone, allowing communication across great distances.

“Out. You must go,” #2 implores, ushering the trio down the stairs. “You must leave the country.”

“And you?” Morella asks with kind concern.

He looks torn. “I can’t leave things as they are...there are people that must be warned. I’ll head back. You can’t count on me having your back another time so let this be a lesson in when it’s time to run rather than fight...although I doubt you could’ve run from him.” At the Tower door, he pauses, grabbing on to Anvindr. “To the far, far south, there’s a mountain range which used to be occupied by giants...there are remnants of machinery there, mechanisms and feats of engineering.”

The genasi nods although with some confusion before asking, “will Silver Keep be a safe place for us to go?”

“And if not, do you know anything of a place called Umbra?” Zilvra questions.

The man’s head whips towards her, eyes narrowing. “Why?”

Baffled by the sharp reaction, she takes a step back. “I just...we need to lie low and -”

“According to rumour, many of your kin’s men aren’t keen on the matriarchy and their role in it. The ones that managed to escape should apparently have founded Umbra and now work as vigilantes, mercenaries, freelancers, anything they can find that still keeps them hidden from the females of their kin because they would not risk going back.” Studying the female drow, a soft understanding dawns on his features. “You’re looking for someone...well, good luck. If it does exist, then it should be between the farmlands to the south and Silver Keep to the east. According to rumour male drow have been spotted there and there are indeed abandoned mines, too derelict for use but maybe not for those in need.” Zilvra nods, too happy for the first leads to be able to thank him. “If you learn anything...tell me.” He turns to leave but then stops. “One last thing, Anvindr....maybe don’t use your name while travelling?” and with that he’s off.

The trio stands looking at each other for a moment. They’re beat up and tired and the sun has long since settled but it’s clear that they can’t stay there.

“Let’s go,” Zilvra sighs, taking the lead back to their little camp where they retrieve their backpacks.

From there they go northeast, reconnecting with the road and on for a while before eventually succumbing to fatigue and barely creating an adequate shelter for themselves.

[midsummerpetrichor]

Reflexion

Astarion x reader/Tav

Warning : very bad grammar and very bad Astarion, mention of sex and death and violence, Tav is very depressed

———

Maybe you should have kill him on that beach. It’s what everyone would

You liked helping people, you tend your hand to gale, freed lae’zel, helped that child avoid the druidess’s dreadful punishment. You even helped to dissipate that misunderstandings between Will and Karlach (with your word again, how great you were !)

He didn’t like it. To altruistic, naive, to his taste, he said. And that irked you. You wanted to prove him that you’re not that much of a goodie two shoes (even though you have nothing to prove), so you tried to be a bit more selfish sometimes.

He likes it when you lie, and you were always good at lying. You liked how he smirked at you when those gobelin let you through without much of a second thought.

—

He’s a vampire.

Again you could have kill him, he tried to drain you, and no one in their right mind would have hold that against you.

Again, you didn’t. You listened to him, and when he asked if he could drink from your neck (which, you have to admit, takes a lot of nerves considering he tried mere minutes before without your consent), you accepted.

—

He is complicated. Selfish, for sure.

You reluctantly gave him that strange yet undoubtedly dangerous book of necromancy, but you decided to trust him. You knew that his motivation were more self-serving that he wanted to make you believe, but what’s life if not a leap of faith ? You believed in the goodness of people.

When you took Ethel hair, you understood that he wanted power, and that he didn’t really care for the price.

(He liked it when you fed the owlbear cub, you thought it was cute)

—

You knew that he used to be a slave.

When the hunter is here to bring Astarion back to his “master” you don’t hesitate much before killing him, you have morals after all.

When you think about it, it was probably there that you saw him, the real him, for the first time.

That’s also when you first heard the name Cazador.

—

You cleared the path for the refugee to continue their journey, the same night Astarion and you had sex.

Two birds with one stone some might say.

It didn’t mean a lot, the alcohol and the euphoria from the party helped you not second guessing to much the decision you made.

And you have to admit, he speaks very well too, you weren’t that hard to convince.

—

You had sex a second time, in the underdark.

He teased you, so you teased back : you make him say : “I love you”

It’s a lie, you both knew it, but at that time it was fine, you were too busy saving everyone to have a relationship anyway.

But, you saved the gnome in grymforge, it was a good way to celebrate

—

At the last night inn, you learn that he liked cat.

You also learn that the refugees, that you help a few weeks, if mere days, ago were taken prisoner by the Absolute. You vowed to save them

—

You always wondered why he kept a mirror when he couldn’t see himself in it.

He was quite vain, you found that cute.

You enjoyed being his eyes, at that time, telling him through your gaze how he looked like.

And to be honest, he was beautiful.

You might like him a bit.

—

Infiltrating the High moon tower was easy.

You were that good at lying.

They wouldn’t tell you where the prisoners were but they ask you to retrieve a relic, and you have no doubt that, once in your possession, you’ll be able to sneak them out without a single drop of blood hitting the floor, then disappears from that awful place

—

You saw Astarion’s chain with that drow and her blood potion.

You were disgusted, the stench of that place, for how she saw him as nothing, as a mere object to use,

How she saw you, as his master

How he saw you.

He would have accepted, if only you asked, ordered, him too, if that was what he needed to ensure is survival.

You wanted to cry, to yell, to destroy the entire place (you supposed you did, later).

You wanted him to break free

(You didn’t see as much the goodness in people as much after that, the absolute would do that to you)

—

He talked to you, afterwards.

He explained how he had to seduce prey for his master, how he was tortured, destroyed for 200 hundred years, how he still see himself as only a mean to an end, how sex mostly disgust him, as something tainted

and how now, he wanted it to be different with you.

For you saw him and he saw you and could see himself through your gaze.

He didn’t know how to be with someone so he took your hand, it was nice.

—

You made kind of deal with a devil for him : kill someone (an other devil who’ll just spawn back in his realm) and he’ll read to you what’s on Astarion’s back.

So you did just that.

It was on the way of where the relic were anyway.

—

Astarion thought you should try to join the absolute, take control of the cult and dominate the world.

You said no

He said you still have time to change your mind.

—

You failed to save everyone.

Arabella’s parents are dead (that kid you save from the druids and who’s mom thank you profusely and who’s dad make her promised not to get in trouble again), you find them in the abandoned House of healing. They were tortured.

The refugee also, the relics was an immortal women, and you free her.

Needless to say that it was impossible to infiltrate the Tower after that.

When you came back, after all the fighting, all the dead, you found the cells underneath the tower.

Only puddles of blood were left there.

(You didn’t believe in the goodness of people anymore)

—

The devil told you that the mark in Astarion’s back are the incantation for a ritual, a very dark ritual of very dark magic that would give tremendous power to the vampire who attempted it.

The ritual is called « the Ascension »

You saw the glimmer in Asterion’s eye.

—

You didn’t know if Asterion’s hate for Cazedor was greater than his thirst for power.

To be fair, you didn’t know what to think anymore.

You thought that making it to Baldur’s gate would relieve your mind a bit, it didn’t.

You were attacked by a clown in a circus, some civilian died.

Wyll had to choose between is freedom and his father.

Karlach is dying.

Gale was ordered by a goddess to sacrifice himself to save the world.

Two shop owner’s were killed in front of your eyes as you were tracking the murderer.

You failed at everything

You wish you died in that crash, on the beach.

—

You try to express your concern about the ascension to Asterion, he half listen as you talk by the campfire.

You loved him, you didn’t like seeing him that way, full of hatred, of envy.

And you don’t think you could bear loosing him.

—

You found Cazador’s palace. You didn’t know how you convinced the gards that you were his new servant. it’s felt as if you’re voice was nothing but a shaking whisper : the one of a child caught stealing candies in the kitchen.

They granted you passage anyway and you listened as Astarion tell you all the horror of his years in servitude as you explore the place in research of his master.

—

Seven thousand

That the numbers of souls the ritual needs in order for a vampire to ascend, and Astarion doesn’t care. He is blinded by rage, revenge and desire of freedom that he believe can be only obtain by power.

And you begged, you begged so much, you almost cried, for him to stopped, that he would be no better than his former master -now laying at his feet- and he didn’t hear you.

You voiced failed you, the only time it mattered that it really mattered, it didn’t work.

He asked for your help, and you obliged. You didn’t know what to do anymore, the fear of loosing him paralyzed you, yet, he was there, frenetic, asking once again for your eyes so he could carved his scars into Cazavor’s back. And so you let him in.

It was awful. Your two conscience merged and it was as if the knife was in your hand and you were the one carving his skin. You could hear Cazavor echoing through Astarion’s ears and yours in the same time. You wanted to close your eyes but you couldn’t, he wouldn’t let you. You could feel the blood on your hand and…

And then, it was done.

Astarion started the rituel

Astarion Ascended

You cried.

—

It was terrifying, how he walked, how he spoke. You couldn’t recognize him, but it was him.

He was different without being different, like a seed that was there all along and finally decided to grow.

He always showed no remorse when it come to killing, but those hunter were something else. A game, a demonstration of force, unnecessary and a carnage.

You tried to speak, again, to find compromises as you usually do.

You failed again, it didn’t really matters anymore, everything was just so, so exhausting, and you watched as the body started falling on the ground.

(Who were you to judge, you helped him killed them anyway)

—

You still loved him, you can still see him behind all of this

So, when he called you a pet - his pet !- it hurts so, so much.

You didn’t show sadness though, only anger that he cast aside as if it was nothing, just a joke.

He wanted you eternal with him.

Not like him ! No, gods forbids a vampire create an other equal (he told you that night’s ago, it felt so far away, lost), but as his spawn.

He didn’t call it that way, you’d be his princess, his consort. But what is a name, a spawn by any other name would still fall under it’s creator’s order

And you knew that, if you accepted, as soon as your brain would be free of the tadpole in it, you wouldn’t be able to resist Astarion’s command.

(He said he would never and you wanted to believe him)

You didn’t want eternity, you never did.

You didn’t want to be a glorified slave

But he spoke so well, reassuring you, seducing you. You tried to break it off, to find another way to be with him (because, desperately you still wanted to be with him) and it was exhausting ! You didn’t want to fight not with him, not ever, you didn’t think you could take it.

And he was still speaking, alluring, lurking, cornering you, the choice was yours he assured you, even though it didn’t feel like it, and you were so tired, so lost, he was so sure of himself and it would be just so easy to follow him.

Really, you needed something easy for once.

And to just stop thinking.

So you accepted.

He made it sound like a gift, but as he made you kneel, naked while he wasn’t, telling you how he’ll turn you, you realized that Astarion, this version of Astarion, only takes.

(You didn’t ask him to be careful, you refused to take pleasure in it)

—

You hated all the nicknames (you still do), they made you feel like you were an object (they still do)

He was proud, every time you spoke with him, you could see that glimpse, not of you, but of himself to have you.

He spoke of your future, of controlling the city with you by him side, how he wish he could just kept you in his palace, how you won’t be able to roam far anyway.

He said life was a joke, you started to believe him. The ritual was just an elaborate way to exchange your freedom for his. What a joke indeed.

(You were afraid of what he would do if you tried to leave)

—

You pretended everything was fine, you kissed him, you smiled, you rescued children.

You were always good at lying anyway.

(Your corpse felt so cool at night)

—

It’s over. Everything is over. Baldur’s gate is no longer in danger, your camp is empty, there is no longer a parasite in your brain protecting you from Astarion’s command. You didn’t want to think about it.

He asked what you wanted to do now, and it took all the courage you had, the last flickers of hope, of determination, everything of you really, for you to say you wanted to leave.

And. He. Just. Laughed.

—

You used to be so strong. You really were, you were considered as a hero, an inspiration to the people.

You wondered what they saw in you, truly there was nothing left to salvage in you.

—

The first time you tried to escape, you didn’t make it pass the gate.

He was quite lenient with you he said, as he makes you apologize on his bed, you should thank him for it, and you did, you should beg for his forgiveness, and you did.

You only want to close your eyes and to never wake up again, to never talk, to never feel…

You couldn’t, he didn’t allow it.

—

The second time, a few years later, you managed to survive in the underdark for about two weeks.

He locked you in his room for three years.

Only seeing him, needing him to survive, needing his approbation for everything…

He loved it. He was your everything and he made sure you knew it.

(You never tried to leave again and you wonder why you did in the first place)

—

There are now scars on your back, the similarities with what Cazador did to him is laughable but you didn’t dare bring that up. The marks on your skin are upcoming and going but the scars are permanent.

You think it’s his name but you can’t know for sure, he wouldn’t tell you (maybe one day, he say, if you’re very nice)

How terribly cliché and terribly fitting of him.

He is kissing them right now, in the room you share, in front of the large mirror that ornates the wall, as useful as a pinch of salt in the seawater.

You’re glad though, he calls you “beautiful”, “pretty”, “my treasure” and so many other things,

but you couldn’t bear to see, in your reflection, what you’ve become.