#misadventures in the underdark

[mt-musings]

The Last Silverboughs

Halsin struggles to put his past to rest, but it's haunting him in more ways than he realizes. He'd thought his time in the Underdark was long behind him, an unpleasant pitfall of youthful hubris, but remnants of his captivity remain, the youngest of which unwittingly stumbles to his rescue.

Lythra can't stop running from her past--hasn't, since she managed to make it out of the Underdark. She has no love for Menzoberranzan, or her House, or anything she left behind in the dark. Or nearly anything.

Still, she'd rather die than return--a prospect all the more likely with a tadpole jammed behind her eye. But perhaps, with the help of a renown druidic healer, she can go back to what remains of her half-life in the sun.

Part 1

Read on AO3

Halsin could hear the clambering from below, hear shouting and spell fire. He fumbled with the key he’d been eyeing for months, waiting for the perfect opportunity to snag and undo his bindings. He glanced once more to the bedroom door before unlocking his shackles, the surge of his magic returning to him knocking the breath from his lungs for a moment. 

It had been three years since he’d felt it. 

He crossed to the wardrobe, pulling a cloak from it’s depths—there was nothing else that would fit him, but that, at least, would shield him from the chill of the Underdark when he couldn’t slip into his bear form. The leather straps he’d been forced to wear certainly wouldn’t.

He glanced once more at the bedroom that had been his jail cell, fury rolling in his gut. Everything that had been done to him, everything that had been taken—

He turned and transformed, not into a bear as his nature called him, but into a mouse, letting him slip away unnoticed in the chaos of the attack. 

He wouldn’t miss House Mizzrym. 

Not for one second. 

[selvepnea]

My Drow Warlock Talfrin :)

[bloodiedrogue]

PAINFUL VULNERABILITIES (5)

SUMMARY: When your past begins to blend into your present, you find yourself longing for Astarion's comfort.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,648

WARNINGS: ANGST, hurt/comfort, body horror elements, descriptions of torture involving a knife, panic attack, sort of made up Illithid lore??? (I promise there's comfort in the end, I'm sorry!)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Day 5 literally doesn't have a prompt because this idea got terribly out of hand so let's just ignore that and enjoy the angst, shall we?

(Also again, a lot of people's tags weren't working so next time if you haven't fixed it I will be taking you off the list because taglists are a bitch!)

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

The nightmares start a few days later.

At first, they’re subtle. Wisps of darkness cloud your thoughts, leaving no memory behind. Silently it lingers, creeping through your skull in waves that inevitably crash against the shore, ripping you awake —leaving you breathless each time you’re left gasping for air in your dishevelled bedroll. When it happens, it always makes you jolt up to look around, trying to find the cause of your plague. The reason why you’re suddenly so wary to lay your head each night.

When you reach the Underdark they only get worse. 

What were once forgotten memories become recurring torments. Endless onslaughts of clawed hands that scratch at your flesh, pulling back skin in massive chunks that pluck excitedly at your insides. 

Thanks to the powers of the Illithid you feel every movement. Every poke and prod slips through you like a knife, cutting you down piece by piece until you’re nothing but a shell. An empty carcass of bone that’ll inevitably be harvested for a purpose far greater than yourself.

Or so she says. As you lie there, writhing in pain, blinking to shield the teeth that bear witness to your torture, you hear her whisper cool and quiet, telling you of your death. Of your fated downfall, and then of your— 

You always wake up before she finishes.

Before you can hear her utter the words you’ve heard a thousand times. Feeling the burn of your lungs, you stretch your fingers across your chest in remembrance, breathing in and out as the skin beneath your digits runs hot and you’re forced to forget the experience all over again.

When you reach camp that night, sore from the seemingly never-ending mushroom forage, you find yourself dreading the prospect of such sleep. Even through the exhaustion, the last thing you want to do is rest your head lest she arrives tonight, so you fight the urge, settling in against the edge of the fire. 

“You look tired.” 

You turn to look at Gale with half-closed eyes, offering him the softest grin you can muster before turning toward the flames. They seem brighter than usual. A decorative flash of warm-toned hues that make you blink and rub your eyes, somehow feeling even more languid. 

“Mushroom hunting take it out of you?”

You hum, making no move to look his way as you pull your knees to your chest, curling in on yourself for comfort. 

As much as you’ve grown to like Gale’s company, all you want right now is silence. A moment of peace where you can just stare into the fire and let your eyes burn from something other than the lack of sleep. Especially after spending the day alongside Lae’zel and Shadowheart as some poorly trained mediator. Just the thought of opening your mouth to speak feels like a threat to your vocal cords. The prospect of speech too much to handle, even as Gale begins to fill you in on his and Wyll’s misadventures with a nearby myconid colony.

“They’re truly such interesting creatures. Did you know…”

His voice falls on deaf ears, earning you nothing but a confused sigh once he realizes you’re not listening. Mostly because it’s not normal for you to just blatantly ignore your peers. 

“Are you alright? Need anything? Perhaps a drink or a—“

You’re standing upright before he can even finish his sentence, brushing the ass of your leathers before walking away, paying no mind to the curious wizard as he looks around the camp, catching the eye of Wyll who merely shrugs. 

It’s not like you to leave. To ignore a friend mid-conversation but your voice is gone. Lost to the void of constant intercession and a brewing anxiety that sits in your chest. As you walk towards your tent you can feel it shifting. Starting at your gut, everything twists to form a sickly sting. A stabbing pain that throbs within your abdomen, threatening to grow as you part the fabric and crawl inside, plopping into bed face first.

Despite your better judgement, you let out a low groan you’re sure at least someone hears causing you to frown, knowing that you’re better than this. Better than neglecting your health because of some silly nightmares. Better than letting the fear of your past get the better of you. Better than brooding about it. 

Turning to lie on your back, you palm the sockets of your eyes in frustration, letting your mind wander. Allowing yourself to feel everything you’ve been suppressing over the last twelve or so hours.

Aside from exhaustion, it’s mostly Astarion that surfaces. His face in the darkness looking at you as you left camp that morning, barely awake enough to give him a nod. In an instant it was as if he was there and gone, looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place before shifting out of view alongside an overly excited Karlach. It was the kind of look that made you question its intentions. Its knitted brows and pursed lips rising and falling through your memories between the scuffles of your two companions. 

As you walked along the edges of the Underdark’s cliff sides, you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly it represented. What emotion it was trying to convey in such a small amount of time before it disappeared completely? 

As you lie there now, once again imagining its form you feel it’s something bordering on pity. A showcase of solidarity in your obviously failing quest for sleep. 

Astarion may not say much about your struggles —unlike him, you don’t complain about the endless problems that you face on the road— but you know he’s still aware of them. He’s too perceptive not to be. 

So why hasn’t he said anything? 

A heavy breath escapes. A shaky one damaged by speculation. Ruined by the assumption that it’s because he doesn’t care. That perhaps you aren’t worth the trouble of a little bit of worry despite previous actions.

You may have killed for him —had his back long before anyone else, but have such feelings ever been reciprocated? Has your worth been proven now that you’ve slain a man in his honour? And if so, how much worth do you truly hold? Is it substantial enough to ask you how you are? Big enough to look at you with any semblance of fondness? Or is it all just for show?

There’s a part of you that hopes it is. That the moments filled with kindness are nothing more than lies told to keep your attention. If he were lying, it wouldn’t necessarily make the way you feel right now any better but it’d mean that there’s an end. A barrier to stop you from getting in too deep. An excuse you could use to explain the naivety of thinking he may care.

Because it wavers —his care. Some days it’s obvious, sometimes it’s not. You can never guess when the care will appear, only that when it’s there and eventually dissipates you’ll be left alone again, wondering why he puts the extra effort in at all. Why he reels you in only to let you go, forcing you to question his intentions as you watch with careful eyes for those moments of reassurance. Moments that you can never prepare for. Ones that gnaw at your heart with pointed teeth wrapped beneath hungry lips, starving for the truth. 

You’re not too sure you’re ready to take that leap yet. To push him for the answers you know he’ll just avoid. He’s never been quick to trust and even when he does allow you in there’s still a blockage of sorts. An obvious resistance that sits between you, forcing you to settle regardless of the fear you hold inside your chest, wondering what would happen if you tried to push. 

You assume it’d ruin you. That, more than likely, pushing too hard would only create an even deeper wedge, making the truth that much more unattainable, leaving you with less than what you started with. 

Shooting upwards, you groan again and breathe, resting your face against your open palms in irritation. 

All you want to do is sleep, knowing the only reason you’re thinking so much is because you’re avoiding it. If you think you can’t drift which means the nightmares can’t come, leaving you with two bad endpoints you know you have to choose between.

It makes you want to scream just thinking about it but instead of giving in to such desires you merely settle back down, pulling the fabric of your bedroll up to your shoulders before closing your eyes. 

You’re going to get some sleep whether or not it kills you. Whether or not you have to endure the pain of a thousand deaths all at once before you’re inevitably woken up in a stupor of suffering.

It doesn’t take long for you to drift. One minute you’re lying there, counting your breaths like sheep and the next you’re out, filtering through a darkness that feels all too familiar. At first, it’s just there, coating your skin in nothingness. Lost to the void of slumber, you’re at peace for the first time in forever but as expected eventually the shadows unfold. Part to reveal a body of pale skin wrapped around viscous veins full of the blood of many. 

It beckons you almost immediately. The flutter of that icy voice saying your name over and over until you come to call, allowing yourself to move. Letting your feet guide you to her presence, you feel the waves and how they threaten to spill over as you kneel before her, feeling her grab your throat. 

Her fingers twitch and curl but never grip as she leans forward, offering you a grin. “You’ve been avoidant.”

You don’t speak. For a moment your lips part, feeling the presence of her thumb glide across the base of your throat but you don’t dare speak.

“You know it’s coming, my dear. You can’t avoid it.”

Your tongue moves to wet your lips while you blink, trying your best to let the visions of her angular face blur into the night that surrounds you, realizing she looks just as you remember her. All papery and washed out —a mere shell of herself now that you’ve gone missing. Her features drying out with each passing day you find yourself separate. 

“Come back to me. Let me protect you.”

You swallow hard and turn your head, feeling the nails of her fingers dig into your neck prompting you to cry out. 

She doesn’t let you do much else. Quickly moving on from the one-sided conversation to grab her knife, you watch as she mumbles under her breath, turning the blade between her fingers with a grin. “In untimely death comes timely renewal, remember?” she says, letting it ghost across your bare chest, pushing the edge against it until it breaks the skin. 

You barely feel the first insertion. As the blade dips through the layers of your flesh, the only thing you feel is her breath. The pattern of air that puffs against your face as she recites those aforementioned words, taunting you as she pulls it down. 

In untimely death comes timely renewal. In untimely death comes timely renewal. In untimely death comes timely renewal…

As the knife moves lower, you repeat the words in unison like a mantra, struggling to get them out through gritted teeth as she works to cut you open. To slice your torso from the sternum down revealing countlessly re-healed bones and slimy organs that lie in waiting for her to pluck.

Hovering above you, her hands move to survey such handiwork, her fingers stroking the edges of your open skin before they inevitably dive right in, ripping you awake. 

You feel the pressure of her inside your gut before it really hits that it’s done. Shooting upward, you cough and double over in an instant, pressing your hands shakily to the ground in front of you. 

It’s the worst dream you’ve had yet. Longer than all the others, you can feel the adrenaline of it all penetrating your thoughts. Overthrowing every single anxiety you’ve ever felt as you sniff back tears, pushing yourself towards the entrance of your tent. 

Pulling it open, you look around the camp in desperation, catching the eye of Wyll who raises his brow, watching as you shake your head, slipping further into the ground.

Before you can even think he’s on you, reaching for your shoulders, asking you what’s wrong and how he can help. In response, you make no effort to reach back. To remedy your pain as you continue to shake and cry, sobbing out the cursed mantra through heavy gasps that leave him panicking. 

“Guys! Something’s wrong!”

As he calls out to the rest of the group, you quickly find yourself surrounded by familiar faces. All of them looking down to see your hysteria unfold. 

“What happened?” Dropping to her knees, Shadowheart’s the first to your side, moving her hands to cup your face before you swat her away, mouthing the words over and over and over again. 

“I don’t know!” 

“You don’t know?”

The two of them continue to bicker. As Wyll explains the way you crawled out of your tent, mumbling something about death, you force yourself to shuffle back, maneuvering your body so that you’re half sitting inside your tent again, watching it all unfold. Focusing on the confusion as Lae’zel and Karlach stand in the wings, muttering to each other words you can’t quite hear while Gale stares down at your mouth, watching the words you speak only to yourself as your eyes start to dart around. 

Surveying the rest of the camp, you wipe away your tears and try to breathe, forcing your mouth to stop its repetitions once you remember the ache inside your chest. 

Because of the Illithid, you can still feel her handiwork. Beneath your sweaty tunic, you can sense its edges burning —stinging from the aftermath as you press a hand to your sternum, making sure you’re still intact. Making sure your organs aren’t on display as you catch sight of Astarion coming up the path. 

He’s nose deep in a book when you see him, scanning the pages with interest before his eyes inevitably raise to see your nervous frame, curling into your tent. Then his interest fades. Evaporating into thin air before it’s replaced with fear. Genuine, heartbreaking fear that has him moving so quickly he fades out of view before reappearing in front of you. 

“What happened?” 

Just like Shadowheart, his hands cup your cheeks, gripping the plush as he lowers himself down, moving his forehead to yours. 

Unlike before you make no effort to push him away. Instead, all you do is frown and try to suppress the tears, clawing at his shirt with desperate pleas, begging him to stay. Begging him to tell you that everything’s going to be okay. Begging for him to lie and say he’ll protect you just like you did for him. 

Using your tadpole you beg him over and over again, letting the tears silently fall from your face, not caring that the whole party is watching.

All you need is him. In falseness or in truth, you don’t care. You just need him to ground you. To call you darling and to make you laugh. To make you feel like you’re something more than a vessel of organs one day destined for harvest. 

As your chest begins to heave, letting all the nightmares unfold all over again, you feel the tadpole behind your eye squirm in response, asking you to let him in. Without hesitation, you close your eyes and swallow hard, feeling his thoughts start to overthrow the visions of her and her knives and the mantra that sticks haphazardly across your brain matter.

I’m here, you’re safe.

For once it feels like a promise. A silent vow meant only for you as he ushers you further into the tent, saying something to your peers before closing it up. After that he readjusts the bedroll with gentle hands, always keeping a single palm against the small of your back, even when he guides you to lie against his chest. 

It’s the first time in weeks that you’ve felt safe. Resting a cheek just below his collarbone, you can feel your breath begin to return to its normal state. No longer ravaged by the panic of your dreams, it moves in and out, fanning the fabric of his shirt. 

“Was it a nightmare?”

You nod. Unsure how to explain it because, while it is a nightmare, it somehow feels so much more. 

“Of the past or?”

“Sort of.” 

He hums curiously, glancing down to see your hand slide up his chest to grip his shirt. 

“It feels like I’m answering a call.”

“A call?”

“Like there’s a person trying to reach me and when I answer I can… I can feel them.”

“Feel them?” 

You can tell he doesn’t quite understand. Not that you blame him for it. The whole concept of these nightmares still vexs even yourself. Leave you stumbling in confusion each night you find yourself awake, struggling to remember what’s real and what’s not. 

The nightmares are not as easily explainable as the actual torture you’ve endured. Especially considering that up until now there had been periods where the memories had died. Days where her face was nothing more than a splotch of white against a backdrop of black, slowly fading away. 

It doesn’t make sense why they're suddenly returning. Why your mind is forcing you to relieve these memories night after night. 

“Does your tadpole make it hard for you to dream?”

There's no hesitation when he says yes. No moment thought before his answer, making you wonder if maybe he too is experiencing these dreams. 

“I feel like it amplifies everything.”

Looking up to gauge his response, you can see the worry clouding his eyes. How his expression sort of fades into the abyss as his eyes focus on yours. 

“I dream of the past a lot. Of my life before this and… and I can feel it. Everything that ever happened I can feel all over again and it’s—“

“Painful.” His voice is broken. A crack in the mirror, shattering the often joyous image of his face as he looks away, blinking. 

Without even processing your movements you prop yourself up on your elbow, reaching over to grab his cheek and pull him back in. “I wish you didn’t understand how it felt.”

There’s a flicker of hurt that hits his face, enveloping his features before the previous sadness kicks in again and he’s reaching for your wrist, tightening around it. “Yes, well, not all of us get the luck of the draw when it comes to good lives.” 

“You should’ve,” you tell him.

He scoffs and closes his eyes, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “You’re probably the only one that thinks that.” 

You let your thumb explore his cheek. Let it move in soft circles, taking in the way it shifts beneath your touch. 

It feels strange to be this close to him even after all of the other intimate moments you’ve shared. Something about it feels softer, more honest than the rest of them, making your heart beat rapidly against your chest, threatening to burst. 

“I know it’s not my business but if you ever want to talk about it—“

He places a kiss to your hand, letting his lips linger against the pad of your thumb as he closes his eyes, reaching around to grip your waist. 

In an instant, the words drift out of your mind once you feel it; lost to a touch you didn’t realize you longed for.

Swallowing hard you lay back down to look away, feeling a bit overwhelmed at the tender image that unfolds as his arm shifts again, accommodating your movement. Making you feel that rush of comfort return as he pulls his mouth away and clears his throat. 

“I’m, uh… I’m not good at this kind of thing.” 

“Vulnerability?” you joke, earning yourself a snort. 

“I suppose that’s a word you can use.” 

“To be fair, neither am I.” 

You feel him shift to meet your gaze, looking at you with surprise. “Really now? I think breaking down in front of the whole camp just so that you can find me is quite the effort of—“

Before he can finish you clamp your hand around his mouth. “I was in shock, you bastard. I wasn’t thinking about my dignity.” 

Flexing around your palm, you feel him smile before he pulls away. “That’s good because there was absolutely nothing dignified about the way you looked at me back there. It was…” He trails off, his words catching in his throat for a moment before he clears it again. “You scared me.” 

There’s a moment of silence after that, lasting far longer for it to be deemed comfortable as you lay there, wide awake, wishing you could get him to talk to you. Hoping that maybe if you reach out with the Illithid he’ll answer your questions. 

Closing your eyes, you feel his presence in your mind already, vying for your attention in a way that has you both moving in closer, tightening your hold. 

Show me the dream. 

It isn’t a question or a request but a simple command that has you obeying —letting him enter your thoughts. Letting him stand along the sidelines as she guides you to the ground and cuts you open all over again. Letting him listen to the recital of words that are spoken behind two frozen expressions as Astarion pulls you tighter against him, placing his mouth to your forehead to stop himself from crying. 

-

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[mina-logan]

Youthful Misadventures WIP

I have no patience to wait until a piece is done to share it so here’s a WIP of something that’s nearly done. I couldn’t stop thinking about how cavalier Halsin was in regards to his time WHERE HE WAS LITERALLY HELD AS A SLAVE FOR THREE YEARS in the Underdark.

Anyway this is my answer to that.

[galedekarios]

Hey there! You're one of the best Gale-ish devnotes\datamines sources that I know of, so I might as well ask. I remember that at some point Gale mentions taking part in Blackstaff Academy balls (or something like that). Is it mentioned elswhere, and do we have any details on his involvement in such activities? Need that for science\personal lore, and I'd appreciate any info (including EA), if you have time. Thanks!

thank you for your message and i'm sorry for the belated response!

i took my time to comb through everything and sadly, the banter with wyll is the only instance i could find of gale mentioning a ball at blackstaff academy:

gale & the annual blackstaff's ball

gale: i knew you were a graceful man, wyll, but i hear you're quite the dancer too. gale: i've been known to trip the light fantastic myself. mine was a popular hand at the annual blackstaff's ball. wyll: i'd have love to have witnessed it, gale. i wager you are as elegant on the dance floor as you are on the battlefield.

the only other banters i could find that are only loosely related. some give us glimpses into his life at the academy, others into his life in waterdeep.

here's another story about gale & being a young student at blackstaff academy, which triggers in the wizard tower in the underdark:

gale & the death slaad

gale: ah. quite. a misadventure from my days as an apprentice at blackstaff academy. gale: i was but a child, only a few months into my studies, but already i knew i was destined for greatness. no one believed me, of course, so i decided to prove it. to cast a spell with the blackstaff itself. gale: from one perspective, i succeeded. i opened a portal. however, instead of pointing it at the first year dormitory, i found myself pulled into limbo, facing a very irritated death slaad. gale: fortunately, the blackstaff himself came to the rescue, hauling me back from the brink, and straight into several months of writing lines. or rather, finessing my autograph. gale: now, much as i enjoy reminiscing about such tomfoolery, i believe we've more pressing matters at hand. is there anything else?

this dialogue path from the epilogue has him speaking a bit more about those days as well:

gale & his days as a wayward apprentice

gale: teaching at blackstaff academy has proven such an unexpected pleasure. sometimes i find it hard to tear myself away. gale: just one of the myriad unexpected ways life has delighted me in recent months. gale: even my own city feels new to me, now that i share it with you. player: probably because i make you put down your quill once in a while and enjoy it. gale: that you do. i've not had so much fun in waterdeep since my own days as a wayward blackstaff apprentice. gale: you've certainly made quite the impression on my friends down at the yawning portal. the last i heard, they were thinking of naming a drink after you.

while he seems to have enjoyed a much richer social life in waterdeep before his time of isolation, it's mentioned in another epilogue banter (devnotes) that he didn't seek out any of the more dangerous parts of the city.

there are also other banters about gale's life in waterdeep before the game:

gale & the temple of beauty in waterdeep

gale: i must tell you, shadowheart, the bathing waters here leave much to be desired. gale: the ablutions offered at the temple of beauty in waterdeep are far superior. and they have the most excellent soaps. shadowheart: hmm. i was wondering why you always smelled like a wealthy dowager.

gale & spending time in the hospice of st. laupsenn

wyll: this was a hospital? feels more like a prison. gale: a common enough interpretation. sickness has a nasty habit of making you feel trapped, if only within the confines of your body. gale: i once spent weeks convalescing in the hospice of st. laupsenn after a nasty bout of ruddy pox. for all their kindness, leaving that place behind felt like freedom to me. wyll: i’ve always relied on the kindness of the healers and menders of the coast. better a cleric’s healing touch than a chirurgeon’s scalpel.

gale & florist

lae'zel: these flowers are quite vivid - not to mention, pungent. not to my liking. gale: are there no flowers in tu'narath? lae'zel: in the city of death, the mlar cultivate the fruiting bodies that sprout from the corpses of the slain. gale: i'd rather get them from my florist in waterdeep, if it's all the same to you.

i'm also including this banter between wyll and gale here because it speaks (even if somewhat joking) about his upbringing as a whole by morena:

wyll: i admire your courage, gale. gale: thank you. any particular reason? wyll: between the orb and the bug, you've got more than your fair share of unwelcome passengers. gale: what can i say? mother always taught me to be a gracious host.

we also know that he has had multiple tutors:

lae'zel: you strike me cleverer than most istiki, gale. multiple tutors, i should guess. gale: many a wise man and woman indeed. waterdeep is the home of myriad scholars. wyll: ah, the city of splendours. spent a whole fleetswake there with my father. what a delight.

hiring tutors appears to be relatively common in waterdeep:

so while this sadly wasn't what you were looking for, i hope this is helpful to some degree! 🖤

[meldingintheunderdark]

Halsin, Drow and submission

Halsin has a complicated history with Lolth-Sworn drow to say the least. Three years of his youth have been stolen to satiate the selfish, dehumanizing pleasure of an influent matron and her man. Let’s not disregard Minthara who threatens the Emerald Grove alongside Priestess Gut and Dror Ragzlin in Act I. Although Minthara now serves the Absolute, she is a member of the ancient and powerful House Baenre of Menzoberranzan, thus first and foremost a Lolth-Sworn drow. Furthermore, drow cultists also obey her (e.g. the corpse outside of Waukeen's Rest, Narvass in the Shattered Sanctum and the man who attacked Nettie and him). Consequently, we know with certainty that, canonically, Halsin is exposed twice to the infamous cruelty of Lolth-Sworn drow through his captors, then Minthara and her minions.

Halsin also states that he has returned to the Underdark many times. I assume that he did so before his unfortunate capture, but also after his daring escape from Menzoberranzan. It isn’t too far-fetched to think he might have encountered more drow showing their typical Lolth-approved brand of malice. Despite his “misadventure”, as Halsin says himself, he couldn’t stay away from the Underdark’s arguably hottest residents. Why so?

Halsin: Astarion, I am astonished. To relish in intimacy again after such hardship is a wound many never recover from. Astarion: Are you charging for this sage advice, or is sticking your nose into my business just a hobby? Halsin: Jest all you will. I believe now in your honest heart.

This is a sweet albeit clumsy banter. Halsin seems to relate to Astarion’s traumas, however his gauche attempt to empathize and bond is not well received by the spawn. Although Halsin says “many”, he may be speaking from experience. After all, he is not one to be the center of attention, unless it is in a self-sacrificing way, thus I can hardly imagine him using I, especially with such a personal topic.

As aforementioned, Halsin has never left the Underdark once and for all. I suspect that he may have had difficulties to be intimate again after three uninterrupted years of torment and abuse at the hands of the drow couple. His frequent returns to the Underdark may have been a way to claim back what was stolen: his ability to express agency and exercise bodily autonomy, among other things. He is desired by drow because he is an exotic surface dweller, one of a kind. He can handle them now. They cannot hurt him anymore. He knows better. Yet, at the same time, he is objectified. He exposes himself regularly to lovers who are likely to share the same beliefs and ruthlessness as his captors. In order to deal with his traumas, he sought out drow, perhaps to his own detriment. He became a legend. Halsin coped as best he could. From my point of view, this banter isn't solely about one shared experience among survivors, it’s also about Halsin sympathizing with Astarion because he too had to go through a similar recovery process.

I would like to preface this paragraph with the following statement: I do not judge players who refuse to be exposed to the foursome and the dialogue the encounter unlocks. We all have our boundaries and our sensibilities. This being said, Halsin’s traumas are often met with horror and compassion, sometimes too much if it makes any sense. His past experiences are discussed in such a way that they become sacrosanct. Too holy to be used and abused with his consent. Meanwhile, because Halsin is a bear of a man and a deeply caring individual, he tends to be the top/dom in the relationship. His traumas are sanctified, yet simultaneously they’re overshadowed by his nurturing disposition and his glorious hairy body. As if he can solely be a top/dom. As if DU/Tav must only show empathy, kindness and care as a bottom/sub. Yet care is multifaceted.

This is the crux of this post and one of my main gripes with the fandom: Halsin shouldn't be a strict top/dom. In fact, I am persuaded submitting would help him a lot.

Halsin: To give oneself wholly, and to have a lover totally in your thrall…? A harmless game, until it becomes real.

While I believe Halsin would relish any flavor of dom, I am also inclined to think he would request scenes that happened with his captors. In other words, his partner can hardly be a gentle dom only. He would willingly explore his traumas in a risk-aware and consensual environment, with the person he has come to love, trust and rely on the most.

Oftentimes, when survivors enjoy anything remotely close to their trauma(s), such as a kink, when they ask for it and like it, when the exploration and the re-enactment of their trauma(s) are positive, then the public opinion is either worried or downright judgmental. There is not a singular way to cope and heal. BDSM is too often pathologized. It can be curative. Consensual slavery to serve a harsh master, especially a drow DU/Tav, could be healing for Halsin. He hurts himself with the twins (my post), as he oft does, however it may be completely different if he submits to his lover the very same way he has submitted to his captors. This time, his consent will be supreme.

By the way, I don’t aim to enforce a specific hierarchy, however I do believe a Bhaal-made drow/drow Tav would play a unique role. Halsin is traumatized by Lolth-sworn drow.

Sszazar: You are aware you're asking me to kill a drow? Halsin: You drow relish turning on your own, if there's something to be gained. Don't pretend otherwise.

Sometimes, because of traumas, unfair expectations are placed on certain individuals because they are associated with said traumas. It isn't rational, it just happens. So, a relationship with a drow could be more intricate than with any other race while Halsin is finally taking care of himself. Thus, curative BDSM (as in re-enacting traumatizing scenes) may be even more intense with a drow partner.

Sszazar: The mighty bear is an escaped pet, then. I wonder if there is a reward for your return.

It would be a delightful line. To be honest, the [Drow] options available during the dialogue about his past demonstrate the deeper involvement of a drow DU/Tav. This intricacy is also highly visible thanks to Halsin's lack of rage or sadness when the previous option is selected. drow DU/Tav look like his captors. He's still trauma-bound to them.

Lastly, it’s okay to favor dom Halsin over sub Halsin. It’s difficult to write about topics we know nothing about or that we simply don’t like. Nevertheless, it’s unfortunate Halsin isn't more written as a sub, let alone as a sub re-enacting voluntarily past traumas to heal and to enjoy himself. I wonder if Halsin would be more often depicted as a sub and/or bottom if he looked like the average wood elf, less manly and huge.

Bears love to be dominated too.

[princess-leaorgana]

Fond of You

Summary: Cursed by Shadow Magic and a bomb inside of himself, Gale of Waterdeep takes on one more challenge. Prequal to my longer series 'Of Waterdeep' that I'll be writing little bits of here and their that reflect events that take place in-game.

Gale x Tav (Tavriel, human sorcerer female, described)

M/F

Warnings- Spoilers for Baldur's Gate 3

Read here on Ao3

Gale wasn’t used to being nervous. He excelled at almost every single thing he had ever attempted, and when he was denied a request, he had always figured out a way to get what he wanted. He was privileged and talented, he was ambitious, so nervous was not a normal feeling for him to have. But tonight he was nervous. He was very nervous. He felt stupid about being nervous, but he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He had just been tasked with an impossible task. Self-sacrifice, by divine request. He had been given control back to his body, but only for this. To let the synthetic, cryptic magic that had a hold over his whole life for the past year finally be under his control, until he was able to unleash it. He was given something back, his autonomy, yes, but he was also given back his nerve. There was something, through all of their groups adventures and misadventures he had been pining to do. He wanted more than anything to remove the tadpole from his head and the evil of this cult from Faerun, but not every second of his time was thinking and hatching new ways to do this. He was a human, a human who hadn’t had a lot of social activity in a long time, and now a very loud part of him was dying for more.

‘You look like a wet baby cow.’ Gale’s face turned bright red and he turned to his left. Astarion had snuck up on him at the campfire. That was a very annoying habit the elf had. He had a smarmy little look on his face.

‘I don’t think I want to know what that is supposed to mean,’ Gale remarked, with a decent amount of snark in his voice. Astarion’s smirk grew.

‘It's supposed to mean exactly what I said. You, Gale of Waterdeep, look like a baby cow who has been drenched, pining over at the wilderness. Mummy is coming right back, not to worry,’ he said and tutted playfully and Gale sighed out. His nerves were certainly gone, now that he was talking to Astarion. The vampire was charming, of course he was. The vampire was handsome, of course he was. But the vampire was a snobby asshole who had no idea when to shut up. It was very annoying how Astarion was truly loved by all, but certainly the first one fed to a pack of gnolls if a sacrifice was needed. Gale looked back at the thicket of trees, trying to ignore Astarion. ‘Fine, I was trying to be nice, so now I’ll be honest. Could you please go to her, confess your love to her and rut in a bush somewhere so we no longer have to deal with the sad baby cow face?’ Gale turned bright red again, his ears hot. He shot a look at Astarion, who was no longer smirking. He looked annoyed. ‘Although, now that I think about it, newly matched Gale might be more annoying than love-lost pining Gale.’ Gale stood up from his spot in front of the fire, trying to ignore Astarion, but the elf had one more damned thing to say. ‘I don’t know why you’re so worked up about it, Gale. She’s very….giving,’ he said and Gale stopped dead. He had been wanting to just go away, walk before he did or said anything too stupid, but Astarion had gotten under his skin.

‘After that little scrap we just had with those shadow demons, do you really think I’m the one you want to anger, Astarion?’ He asked and Astarion sat up straighter. A fight just won, luckily, and although no one was really keeping track of kills, Gale’s recent performance in the battlefield made him a fire wielding menace. Astarion laughed a little and put his hands up.

‘Oh, now, Gale, you know I was just-’

‘And she is giving. She’s very giving. Both you and I are very lucky she’s so giving, or I’d be in some remote cave in The Underdark and you’d already been captured by Gur,’ he added, pointing a very stern finger at the elf. Astarion didn’t get another word in before Gale walked away in search of the very person they were talking about, Tav. Tavriel. She was the very point, the epicenter of his nerves that evening, and he would face her, head on. He found her where she said she would be, at the river, washing her clothing.

She knelt over the water, scrubbing fabric. Gale watched her for a moment. He had the instinct to turn around and leave her alone, because how could he do this? How could he confess to her? Confess to her that he adored her, he was falling for her. It wasn’t much of a secret, and Tavriel had, on two occasions, suggested that the two of them become closer, but both times he let the moment slip from his fingers. How could he be so foolish? Both times he had been overcome with worry that the Orb in his chest would detonate if he became too excitable. Spending a night with Tavriel, or even just having her kiss him would be exciting enough. Although, it would have been a very fine way to go, he would never want to put her in any danger. But there wasn’t any danger anymore. No more sating the dark magic within to keep him alive. He only had to command it, he controlled it now. And now he wanted a little more control over his life.

Tavriel was in a nightgown, sort of. A linen dress, but nothing on her feet. That was always the strangest thing about Tav, when all was calm, she never wore anything on her damned feet. He always meant to ask her if she needed shoes, but he didn’t know if that was a delicate question or not. Her hair was still up in a slick braid, it was always that way. He imagined for a moment what it might look like down and he shook his head. He took a few more steps towards her and cleared his throat. She jumped a little and turned to look at him. She grinned. He couldn’t help but copy her.

‘Hello Gale,’ she said and tilted her head. ‘Did you need anything?’ She asked. Oh he did indeed, but he shook his head.

‘No, sorry, I don’t want to disturb you, I only wanted to…chat,’ he said and her grin widened. She nodded her head to space next to her and Gale walked over. She loved chatting with Gale. They were very different people, at first she thought Gale thought very little of her. He was a renowned wizard, a sage, she was a sorcerer. She was very powerful, but she was not as learned as he. Her magic just came to her, but he understood it. He would have had to or he wouldn’t be able to control the Weave at all. Wizards and sorcerers were always known to butt heads. But Tavriel liked Gale. She liked him a lot. He was also just joyful to listen to. When he was proficient at something, he was a showman, and it really amused her.

‘Am I getting another lesson?’ She asked as he sat next to her.

‘That was not the plan, but if my lady is requesting one,’ he said and she giggled. His lady. She knew that was just how Gale spoke, but it still made her blush.

‘What was the plan then?’ She asked him, wringing out a pair of socks.

‘Make an ass of myself,’ he said and Tavriel snorted and shook her head, placing her socks in a little basket.

‘Now what is that supposed to mean?’ She asked him, turning her attention to him fully. She had such bright blue eyes, round features, freckles across her face, she struck him so. Gale looked down for a moment.

‘I’ve been…waiting to tell you something for a while now. For a long while now-’

‘Yes?’ She interrupted, leaning in closer to him. He looked back up at her and he thought he felt his heart stop. When he was younger, before he shared a bed with the goddess of magic, Gale was very easily swayed by pretty girls. And he was charming, handsome and quite well off. Girls used to swarm him, and he got himself in trouble with that a lot. But now, a man in his early forties, a man who had experienced more than many men in history had ever experienced, he was repeatedly struck by this little sorcerer. He had planned a little speech for her, his confession, but it was gone now. He could barely blink. She looked so earnest. It would be obvious to the blind that Tavriel was very keen on him, the most logical part of Gale’s brain knew she was. But he couldn’t seem to admit it to her that he liked her as well, more than likely, he liked her more than she could realize. He might have loved her. ‘Gale?’ She asked as he was taking so much time to think. He blinked and cleared his throat.

‘We’ve been together for a while now-no, I mean adventuring together not-’ he shut his eyes and ran a hand through his hair in embarrassment. ‘And in that time I’ve grown…very fond of you,’ he said and opened his eyes. He searched Tavriel’s eyes, why were they so kind to him? The truth was, she was desperate. She had flirted with him twice, both times being rather forward, as she had never been a shy person. She felt very comfortable around Gale, but as two of her advances were met with nerves and shyness, she refused to push further. Their group had to get along and work together more than anything, so she would not create a strain or awkward drift between them by being too forward.

‘Really?’ She asked him softly and he nodded. ‘How fond?’ She asked, her voice a whisper. That question gave him a little relief. He felt stupid being so nervous, she didn’t need to spell it out for him to know how much she cared for him. His face grew a kind smile.

‘Very fond,’ he told her, his voice soft and low, speaking just for her. She felt her heart flip and she looked down at the grass and mud beneath them. She was grinning so wide her face would become sore.

‘I am very happy to hear that,’ she said after a moment of composing herself and she looked back at him. Her freckled cheeks were red. ‘Finally,’ she added and he gave her a little laugh. It was bold, but it was very true, finally indeed. The two shared a nervous giggle and Tavriel glanced out on the water. ‘What now, then?’ She asked and bit her bottom lip. His brown eyes followed her movement and made eye contact with her again.

‘I’d walk through a pit of lava if it meant I could kiss you,’ he admitted and Tavriel needed no more permission. The sorcerer flung herself up to meet Gale’s lips with hers. He was taken aback, but did not waste a second of time. The last time his lips were met with another mortals, well, that was a long time ago. His physical relationship with his patron was different. Everything was illusionary, made of Weave, nothing true. Nothing mortal. He had forgotten the little tingle he felt when kissing another. The way he could hear her breathing, how she smelled. He kissed her back, promising himself that a first kiss should be just that, a first kiss. He didn’t need to make more of it, it was special on its own. He placed a hand on her cheek and lifted his lips from hers, but touched his forehead down to keep in contact with her. Her eyes were so beautiful and bright. She looked so happy.

‘Was that worth a lava pit?’ She whispered and he smiled and hummed a little. She giggled at his reaction and reached her hand out slowly. She was reaching just above his wrapshirt, at his mark, his brand. She’d called it a tattoo before, that certainly wasn’t what it was. ‘Is this going to be alright?’ She asked and he nodded. Although his stomach and heart were both flipping wildly, the Netherese Orb was silent among the rest of his organs. She reached further and touched it gently and Gale let out a faint whimper. Her eyes grew and he shook his head.

‘Sorry, it’s been a long time,’ he said and she nodded and let her hand drop.

‘I’ll go slow,’ she said and he shook his head.

‘Please don’t,’ he asked and she smiled. ‘Since our kidnapping, it’s become very clear to me that every single day could be our last. Even before the kidnapping, to be fair, but we have had ourselves mortal perils galore as of late. I don’t want to waste any more time than I already have. I don’t want to rush or pressure, but Tavriel…I cannot stop thinking about you. Since you weakened my portal on that first day you have strengthened my heart,’ he told her and her face melted. He was a sweet man. Tavriel did have a little secret, one she would probably have to admit to him, with all of the other confessions. Tavriel had never had a male partner before. She liked men, but was much more comfortable with women. There was something so different about her wizard, she just felt so comfortable around him. She never wanted him out of her sight, he made her laugh. He was so kind and positive, she adored him. She leaned up for another kiss and sighed happily when she felt him kiss her back. It was a new feeling, kissing someone with a beard. Where Tavriel was from, facial hair wasn’t common at all. She loved Gale’s beard. He groomed it well, it matched his beautiful hair and his masculine facial features. She wanted him, she wanted to take him to her tent and hold him, touch him, anything, but she would need a bit more time to prepare herself for that.

‘You are a very good kisser,’ she whispered lightly and he chuckled and sat up properly.

‘You’re a bad liar,’ he responded and she giggled and bit her lip.

‘Could we take a walk? Get out of the mud?’ She asked and he nodded, getting himself up with a grunt, but helped her up quickly. She took his hand and stood up with him. ‘How are you feeling?’ She asked him, not letting his hand go, not just yet.

He looked up at her question, up at the terrifying night sky. They were in tents under the protection of dim torches and the power of a light cleric. The lands around them were cursed in shadow weave and nothing but despair lingered. An hour ago, he would have given her a very clear answer to her question. He was feeling dread, anxiety, fear. Perils aside, Gale was usually very positive. Tavriel could attest her bravery to Gale’s positivity. Always making light of each situation helped her face many things in these past days she wouldn’t have been able to otherwise. 

‘I don’t think there is a very good answer to that question,’ he said, looking back at her. ‘But after talking with Eliminster and now you…it’s hard for me to think about what lies just beyond our camp,’ he said and she gave his hand a little squeeze.

‘Elimister’s message left you…happy?’ She asked and he laughed hard and shook his head.

‘Gods no! I mean yes, there was a sliver of hope and relief knowing I would no longer be a danger to myself and all of you, but the rest, the bigger part of that message, happiness is not the emotion I would use to describe how I am feeling,’ he said and she nodded. That made complete sense to her. She had been present during Elminster’s visit. She knew how she could describe her emotions on that visit. Anger. She was still angry about it. ‘However, if we could just leave this conversation to what we are talking about now, I’d be very happy,’ he said and Tavriel nodded. She and Gale hadn’t spoken much about Gale’s new divine mission. Tavriel was convinced Gale was going to go ahead with it. Tavriel would absolutely not allow him to. ‘Because you, you make me happy Tavriel, happier than I’ve been in…well over a year.’ Tavriel squeezed his hand.

‘I’ve never envied all of that about you Gale. You were Msytra’s chosen, her lover, a renowned, powerful and talented wizard, yes, but…to be and feel such loneliness, it breaks my heart to think of you like that. You’re a wonderful man, and tadpole or otherwise, I’m very lucky to know you. To have you in my life,’ Tavriel spoke as they began to walk. ‘We all are,’ she finished and Gale chuckled.

‘Well, you know how to get to a man’s heartstrings, don’t you?’ He asked her and she grinned. She looked down at their interlocked hands and was instantly reminded of one of the first times Gale and her spent any time together. His little Weave lesson. It was the first time Gale had ever gotten a hint that Tavriel was keen on him. They had opened communication between them, their thoughts in a moment of comforting Weave. She might have been thinking about what it would be like to take a romantic walk with Gale, hand in hand.

‘Hmm…just like that moment we shared. Perhaps I have a little talent in Divination,’ she said haughtily, and Gale chuckled and looked down at their hands as well.

‘I used to think very little of Divination when I was younger, but I have dabbled in it. I find most wizards who claim they are sufficient in it are liars, making most people skeptical of the art,’ he told her and she hummed in response.

‘I assume your practice in Divination did not give you fair warning about our misadventures,’ she said, almost being hopeful, as if Gale had some knowledge hidden away. He shook his head.

‘No, believe it or not, locked away in my little tower, I never exactly wanted to see my future,’ he said, his voice a little low. Tavriel sighed and stopped walking. She faced Gale and he frowned.

‘I’m sorry, I know you said you didn’t want to, but Gale, we are going to find another way, I promise. We’ve gotten through a lot together and we can certainly-’ Gale lifted his hand and she stopped talking. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered and Gale just shook his head.

‘We haven’t found whatever it is that is The Absolute. There is quite a high chance that when we face it, The Orb will seem like a gift,’ he told her and she frowned. ‘Let us have this discussion then, please,’ he said and she chewed on her bottom lip. She would do anything to keep Gale safe. Allowing him to detonate was absolutely not in her list of possible outcomes. He had said that if Mystra and Elminster said this was the only way, then it was, and Tavriel just stared at the jarring hole in that solution. What if Gale had already died? What if they failed him in their journey so far and he never satiated The Orb with a magical item? What if the nautiloid crash killed him? What if his body gave into ceremorphosis? Then all of life was doomed? She refused to believe it, there was always another way. The Orb might be an easy way out, but it wouldn’t be for Tavriel. She would not allow him to be a sacrifice.

‘I’m sorry that I’m being selfish Gale, you’re going through enough, you don’t need me nagging at you,’ she said softly and sighed.

‘Yes, damn you for giving me something worth living for,’ he told her with a little smile. She looked up at him and half smiled back.

‘You have plenty to live for,’ she told him and he grunted. ‘No no, you speak very highly of your mother. I don’t know if I can say I have the same relationship with mine, but I have a feeling yours would be devastated if she were to lose you,’ she said and he laughed hard at that and he nodded. ‘And Tara? Your tressym? Surely you’d like to keep your best friend happy,’ she said with a confident smile. He shook his head, but he was smiling.

‘I could imagine the three of you getting along quite well,’ he said and smirked. ‘Stubborn, steely, all of you, and brilliant. And much too kind to me,’ he added and she nudged him. She looked at him, trying to find a way to lighten the mood and change the subject. She would not let it go, but she would for tonight.

‘So, how about that lecture?’ She asked him and he lit up a little.

‘Really?’ He asked her and she nodded.

‘Yes, and I will practice and perfect it, give us something to do tonight and…future nights,’ she said and he grinned.

‘How could I possibly refuse that, now…what shall she be taught then?’ He asked and their hands released as he brought one up to his chin. ‘Your current talents all line up in the elements, so let us use that to our advantage. What element do you feel most natural in?’ He said and she tilted her head.

‘Fire I have the most fun with, but my body seems to almost default to lightning, so I’m not exactly sure how to answer that,’ she said and he nodded.

‘Always knew you to be a firecracker,’ he told her and she grinned. ‘But lightening could be a great way to demonstrate the study of Evocation, it is my specialty. The study of controlling offensive elemental magic,’ he told her and lifted his hand. From the ground to his hand, bright blue bolts of lightning crackled. ‘You or any of our companions have never been hurt by anything I’ve casted, correct?’ He asked and she nodded. ‘That is by design. Now, go on,’ he said and nodded to his hand. ‘Reach out to it,’ he said and she obeyed. Lightning would not hurt Tavriel, so she had no fear. As she did, the flow of electricity seemed to bend away from her, like oil meeting water. She glanced up at him and he was grinning, very proud of himself indeed. The lightning disappeared. ‘Now you,’ he said and waved his hand. Tavriel chewed on her lip and raised her hand, copying Gale. Without much of a thought, angry lightning erupted from her palm and connected easily to the ground. Her magic was a bit more wild, but the same spell either way. Gale put his hand close and she hummed.

‘Wait,’ she said and placed her other hand under the first, causing the lightning to go between her hands. She figured she would have more control of it this way. He nodded.

‘Oh, good thinking, very clever,’ he said and her sparks brightened at his compliment. ‘Now, concentrate on your target. You only want to hit your hand, yes? Anger, you want to use anger, whatever might give you that feeling, use that to concentrate,’ he told her and she blinked a few times. She closed her eyes, not having a very easy time channeling her anger. But then she found it. Mystra. How ironic. ‘Do you have it?’ He asked her and she nodded and opened her eyes, looking at him. She felt electricity in her hair. Oh, she was rather angry. But she would need to channel that to her hand. Her left hand was now the lady of mysteries, goddess of magic. Another god to demand a mortal sacrifice their life for ‘the greater good’ because a god is too lazy to care enough. To care about those who gave everything to them, so they could have their damned power. A rogue spark flew, but Gale lifted his hand, trusting her. Gently, he lifted and very subtly, her sparks shot away from his hand. It did not bend gracefully like Gale’s demonstration, but it broke, as if his hand was cutting her magic. ‘Oh, very good. I’ve not yet seen it like that…’ he said and she looked back up at him, smiling at his compliment, but as her concentration shifted, so did her anger, and poor Gale bore the brunt of it. He moved back quickly, holding his hand and shouted out.

‘Oh!’ Tavriel squeaked and took his hand quickly, hissing. ‘Oh my gods, Gale, I’m so sorry,’ she said hurriedly, checking his hand. A little scorched for sure. She blew icy breath on the wound, just enough to cool him down.

‘It’s alright, I’m alright, I should have known better, but by Oghma’s lute, what were you casting?’ He asked. ‘I demonstrated a mere witch bolt,’ he told her and she frowned up at him and shrugged.

‘Lightning,’ she said in a soft voice, feeling horribly guilty. Gale looked at her from a moment and chuckled.

‘Well, that showed me,’ he said and laughed. He examined his hand quickly and shook his head. ‘It is no matter, I am fine, and I was preparing for this experiment not to work, please stop giving me that look,’ he said, still laughing a little. Tavriel felt embarrassment rise in her cheeks. Gale recognized that very quickly and lifted his mildly scorched hand to her chin, two fingers gently lifting it. That made Tavriel feel a whole different set of nervous emotions. ‘I’m fine,’ he told her, smiling happily. ‘Come now, let us try once more, concentrate this time, don’t let me distract you,’ he told her and she nodded. ‘I know I’m devastatingly charming, but you must focus,’ he said playfully, but there was a shallow overconfidence in his voice. Tavriel smiled and shook her head. She gave way to a giggle and refocused, lifting her hands once more.

The lesson only resulted in two more little zaps to Gale’s hands, and the two decided to walk back to camp. Gale happily carried Tavriel’s laundry. Back at camp, Shadowheart and Astarion sat at the fire, both with goblets in their hands. It was easily assumed they were not drinking the same liquid. They were chatting, but once they caught sight of Tavriel and Gale they stopped. Shadowheart smiled politely, but Astarion was less subtle.

‘There you are! We were getting so worried!’ He said with a smirk and Gale scowled.

‘You look it,’ Tavriel said sarcastically and walked to her little tent. Gale followed her and she took her little hamper from him. ‘Thank you, you really didn’t need to,’ she told him and placed it down so that she could hang her clothing out to dry. Gale smiled down at her.

‘I have to begin to pay you back, for giving me such a magical night,’ he told her softly. ‘I do hope it is not the last of such nights,’ he said and Tavriel smiled up at him.

‘It’ll take more than a century old curse to stop me,’ she told him, just above a whisper and Gale’s smile grew. It was nice to be wanted like that. That Tavriel wanted to be around him. It had been a long time since he had felt that sort of comfort.

‘Rest well, Tavriel,’ he told her and she leaned up for one last kiss of the night. He kissed her forehead, being polite about the few companions that, although were decently far away, were staring at them. Gale, although very excited to share his affection with Tavriel, was raised very differently than most of his companions. He was raised to be a gentleman, gentlemen did not commit acts of public affection. Though their camp in Shadow Cursed Reithwin wasn’t exactly polite society like Waterdeep and Tavriel certainly was not raised to be a gentle lady. She furrowed her brows and leaned up more, leaving him with a sweet little kiss. Nothing to excite anyone over. Gale was not expecting that at all and was a little taken aback by it. It was welcomed, very welcomed, of course. He blinked down at her.

‘Good night Gale,’ she whispered and smiled, planting her feet back on the ground. He was bright red and he turned to his tent, hearing a faint little giggle behind him. Tavriel happily went back to her laundry and was immediately biraged by Shadowheart. The half-elf was a little tipsy, which usually made her snarky, but she looked as joyful as Tavriel felt.

‘Well well well, finally time that spark was finally ignited,’ she said and Tavriel giggled and hushed Shadowheart.

‘I think he’s a little embarrassed,’ she said softly and Shadowheart just kept smiling.

‘I can imagine anyone would be a little nervous after all that time in self-isolation, you can’t exactly blame him,’ she said, very cheerful. Tavriel frowned and shook her head.

‘I don’t, I blame myself. I’m not exactly shy myself,’ she said and Shadowheart’s grin grew.

‘Then you will complete him. And him you, most importantly, of course,’ she said and Tavriel nodded. She hoped her companion was correct on that front. She glanced in the direction of Gale’s tent, the usual purple glow peering through the door flap. Tavriel had seen a lot in the last month, she’d changed a bit as well. She wasn’t confident all of her companions and herself would make it to the end of this adventure, this battle against the Absolute. But she knew one thing, she loved that gods damned wizard.

[autistichalsin]

Hi! I saw your post regarding Halsin and a certain Drow scene - could you tell me more about the scene? I haven’t triggered it (yet? idk)

I had no idea Halsin was enslaved…

So, to trigger it, you have to do the scene with the Drow prostitutes at Sharess's Caress. You can either have just Halsin, or Halsin with you and either Astarion, Gale, or Shadowheart. It doesn't matter how you do the scene other than Halsin needing to be present.

After, go up to him and talk. Pick "I don't think those Drow will be forgetting us in a hurry," and when he talks about it bringing up memories of his "youthful misadventures in the Underdark," probe at it a bit and he'll tell his story.

As a young Druid, he went into the Underdark to experience the beauty for himself. He was then found by a noble Drow couple, who both- the matron and patron- "saw him as a novelty" and kept him as something between a "guest, prisoner, and consort." He mentions that he was afraid for his life, and he did "what was necessary to survive" but then says he also did things that were "less than necessary" (which sounds like just his way of trying to cope with it all). After three years chained in their bedchamber, the house that held him fell out of favor, and a rival house attacked them. During the chaos, Halsin managed to escape, and "never looked back until [he] breathed fresh air again, and never learned what came of [his] 'hosts'." (He only calls them hosts, not captors, unless you select one particularly evil Lolth Drow-exclusive dialogue option that was introduced in patch 5.)

Before patch 5, that's where the scene would end, but after patch 5 they introduced new dialogue options that let you ask if he was REALLY okay, and then he would think a bit and admit that time can be a trickster in many ways, and that the stress of the Shadow Curse caused him to "gild undeserving memories of his youth" because he had no confidantes/peers left.

[loquaciousquark]

Two recent misadventures! First, I'm in the duergar fight in the Underdark, and despite careful preparation, Karlach has completely inadvertently and through no fault of my own found herself surrounded by six full-health reanimated corpses. Astarion helps by shooting an arrow of fire directly at Karlach, then gives up, bored.

I don't quite know how to get her out of this, considering that's an awful lot of opportunity attacks, and she doesn't halve her damage as a berserker, and then I remember—oh. She's a berserker. She has Tavern Brawler. She has two attacks, a bonus action throw, and a huge bonus to throw damage.

It is time to chuck men.

Three throws later, two duergar are dead, two have plummeted 50 feet down off the bridge, and the remaining two are prone and unable to nip at her ankles as she strolls by, beaming. Astarion is less bored and now seriously alarmed.

It was glorious.

Secondly, pre-Underdark, I was strolling around in the Zhent cave in the wilderness. There's one ledge that's lower than main—easy to jump down to, but impossible to jump back up afterwards, especially with Tav's 8 strength.

However, I'm determined to get her back up sans cheating, teleporting, or waypointing. There must be a way. There must be some in-game mechanism to allow her to make this tiny tiny jump.

This took almost fifteen minutes (the ledge terrain is not flat and it really wanted to set the box stack at a 45 degree angle, which prevents you from being able to stand on it), but by God, we got there in the end.

[bg3ramblingstuff]

Tav: hope you had fun :)

Halsin: yeah it was really good and fun. Reminded me of the time I spent three years tied up to a bed as a sex slave. It's so fun to recall these misadventures of my youth, and how wondrous and fascinating oak father made underdark nature :)

Tav: *so shocked he forgets Christianity isn't canon* My brother in Christ -

[maya-kholin]

im playing my drow tav as not ever having kept track of his age and having no idea how old he is. but he'll occasionally let slip that he remembers some historical event or make reference to just an implausible amount of misadventures for one lifetime that has the party yelling "how old *are* you"

until gale finally goes to the bookstore and picks up volo's definitive history of the underdark or whatever and quizzes tav on increasingly distant historical events and they realize he's nearly as old as halsin

and suddenly they're all like ok that explains the video game protagonist syndrome, he managed to live to nearly 300 in the underdark, a place where the leading cause of death is exploding mushrooms followed closely by a knife to the guts, you have to be a little bit resourceful

[intheinkpot]

Six Some Sentences Sunday Tuesday

I was tagged to do this forever ago by @pentacass and just...uh...forgot to do it lol

Feeling the weight of eyes on her, Faerel places a fist over her heart and bows her head. Oak Father preserve us. Anxiety and dread sit heavy on her tongue. Please. If she is lucky, Silvanus is listening. But if he hears, will he aid her? The Oak Father is distant, likely to allow events to unfold if he does not deem them a disturbance to the natural order. It doesn't matter, says a voice in the back of her head. An absent god is better than a present one.  A hissing laugh echoes in her mind, and she represses the shiver that runs down her spine.

And another section to make up for how long it took me to actually do this lol

Faerel takes a small step back in shock when the drow woman turns to face them. Her eyes lock onto the tattoo on the woman’s neck, now clearly visible in the light from the sconce. What in the hells is a Baenre doing here?  “A drow?” the Baenre drawls, her voice deep and rough and pleasant to Faerel’s ears. “Tell me, Sazza, did your misadventures take you to the Underdark?” Faerel represses a shiver at the whip sharp pronunciation of Sazza’s name, the low irritated growl on the word ‘Underdark’.  “They woz in some rickety druid grove! Mostly full of tieflin’s, but them intruders you’re after were hidin’ out there!” Sazza says, clearly expecting a positive reaction from the Baenre at this news.   Faerel feels something like pity for the goblin. The intruders must have been the adventurers she met at the Grove’s gate, led by the one that punched Zevlor - empty eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling, blood turning dirt to mud, stupid, stupid, stupid, if he had just listened - before gathering his people and leaving the Grove, the ones she had met later near the ruined village of Moonhaven. The ones who had left behind the Archdruid Halsin. No drow from the Underdark would be pleased to learn of the goblin’s failure at capturing or killing the adventurers, much less a noble from Menzoberranzan. A Baenre even less so.

Since it took me so long to do this, tagging @pentacass back lol

[maegalkarven]

Out of curiosity what happens to all of your dark urges post-game?

This is going to be LONG, so i'm putting it under the "read more".

Thanks so much for asking and giving me an opportunity to rant about my boys! (they're all masc, yeah. All kind of trans. I am not projecting anything. Also I lied just now)

As of now I have 3 (4 counting Morgan) developed till post-game Durges.

Morgan is my first playthrough and maybe shouldn't be counted, but he and Astarion leave for Underdark. Morgan is a drow bard btw and his story is the messiest bullshit ever bc at that point I was still figuring BG3 out.

Now to the fun part! (June, Levi and Nemo). Mind what all 3 of them are romantically involved with Gortash and it plays its part.

So let's start with my favorite druid asshole Levi. He visually appears to be a tiefling. 6 ft tall handsome young man with one blazing green eye, one eye pitch-black (later an implant of the eye of the devil he took for himself), wavy ginger hair, freckles EVERYWHERE and a very arrogant attitude. His horns have been broken by Sarevok when he was around adolescence.

Levi has 2 versions of how his live goes after the end credits. Basically his good (canon) ending and his bad ending.

Bad ending is where Gortash dies, Levi goes the whole "I am god" way, takes the Crown of Karsus for himself and erases Bhaal from the existence of the universe, successfully taking his domain, his aspect and his place. It's a lonely life of godhood for him and the one where he loses himself.

His good ending branches depending if Noah (his son) exists.

If Noah indeed exists, Levi has a whole ass husband and a son waiting for him at home (in Baldur's Gate) and a whole new playground of the city. He transforms part of the city into the garden and creates the new circle of druids with Kagha as the achdruid. But inevitably fuck off to hells to fight not his battle bc he can and he loves fighting.

Levi is set on a long ass quest conquering Hells bc: 1) it's fun. 2) His homie needs Mizora dead. 3) His other homie needs Zariel dead.

If Noah wasn't born, his path goes almost the same way (considering Hells), but it's the main focus of his, and the main goal. In that version he wants all of Mephisto's wonders for himself and operates from the House of Hope what he and Gortash live in (while planning evil things for evil reasons, yeah. "If heavens are out of reach, we will make Hells ours" kind of an attitude.)

Basically for Levi it's either godhood but the path of loneliness or a lot of shenanigans in hells with his two best friends (Wyll and Karlach) and the wicked partnership with Gortash. Watch him successfully balance out THAT dynamic mix.

Then there's Nemo. Nemo is non-amnesiac Durge who got very weak after his sister's attack. Looks like a half-drow (ppl keep calling him half-breed and he hates it. He is a pureblood bhaalspawn, damn it!) Looks like a golden child with sun-warmed skin, golden eyes and hair and A LONG ASS SCAR ORIN LEFT OVER HIS PERFECT FACE. THANKS FOR NOTHING, SISTER. Short (5 ft). The only 'off' thing about him is what his sclera is black.

He is also the mastermind behind the successful creation and management of the current cult of Bhaal in BG as it is. Nemo's misadventures are featured in the series of oneshots called "Empty Prayers".

He has only a good ending because I said so, and this is where he kills Orin and himself in a double suicide act, robbing Bhaal of the chosen and a child. Bhaal throws a fit, Withers plays a savior.

EVERYONE is angry at Nemo, Orin is left with no memory of who she is or what the fuck is going on.

No one is happy 2.0.

His post-game ending is where he is a shadow over the BG, a leader of the newly established assassins' guild into which he drags his lover and partner in crime Astarion.

Nemo is a man who transfers the cult of Bhaal into something else and earns money for it. It is easy, because most of the cultists only knew him as a leader and several of them were raised by him.

He basically lowers his expectations and chills, having joint-custody over the city underground with Ninefingers.

Gortash manages to stay arcduke in that one, but ba-a-a-arely. No one is happy, even Gortash, because it's such a mediocre win it's embarrassing. He will manage to pull Nemo into some heist-like bullshit very soon, that with him and his very useful guild of trained cutthroats who are loyal to Nemo and Nemo alone.

The last one - June. My least fav child bc I am v conflicted with how he just branched into 2 separate entities. @ June come on. He has either grey hair and silver eyes (selunite!June) or black-blue hair and light-blue eyes (cambion!June). Either way his skin is greyish-blue with freckles, his horns are grey as some ash can be. He is 5 ft 5.

June is either tiefling priest of Selune or cambion grandchild of Mephisto. I consider both of the versions like alt. of the same person.

In his good (canon) ending June leaves for Underdark with Gortash and Astarion to conquer it and seek all the netherise artifacts left there.

Ex priest of Selûne June does it in some quest of "salvation", cambion June does it because he's the forbidden knowledge seeking bastard (Mephisto raised him, ok). Both versions of June defy Bhaal, though for different reasons.

Now, there is a bad ending for June too, which is highly tied to how he treats the situation with Gortash and how much has the tadparty affected him. If he has failed to develop enough ties with the team, June agrees with everything the man says - Gortash dies at the Netherbrain Blast - June becomes the new Chosen of Bane.

Which strangely fits both versions of June, because selunite!June DID pray to Bane, he just never answered.

And cambion!June is a little too alike Bane's own son (a hybrid of a god and fiend who Bhaal probably was going to use the same way Bane used his son) and in a dire need of a plan to out-do Mephisto.

If June does have close ties with his team and they affect his decision-making, then he's a little more smart about it, tadpoles Gortash, and that derails everything to Gortash joining the team and all hells breaking loose (to the good end. I promise)

There's also Callisto, but Callisto didn't live further than the escape from the nautiloid. I will play them after I break my pc's mind and re-merge it gently, after which BG3 (hopefully) will run on my pc without any third parties involved. But Callisto is a half-drow priest of Tiamat. My baby said FUCK toxic father, I want to be adopted by a toxic mother instead. Their main long goal is freeing Tiamat from her prison in Hell.

[shiniestcrow]

The misadventures of Sage part 4! (which I totally didn't have to look up twice because I forgot it immediately after the first time lol)

Sage has been very busy since last time, and I don't feel like writing it all down, so you'll mostly just get some highlights:

The most important part first: we made a bear very happy :D (by saving Halsin, but that's not the important part here)

Rest under the cut

Sage got read to filth

there was a party and Sage had to reject Lae'zel. She took it well

...uhhh a little too late for that, Karlach dear...

obligatory close-up of Sage looking pretty:

Had a chat with a Hag. She was... nice. Karlach had a very succinct opinion on the Hag's lair

Then everyone went into the Underdark, and Lae'zel and Shadowheart immediately tried to kill each other, but luckily Sage managed to intervene. Anyway, that's not the important part here. Because there was a visitor!

Unfortunately, Astarion scared it off, and Sage very seriously considered killing him after all

Then they went and saved some slaves and also found an ancient forge where they made some nice gear after defeating its guardian. And then Sage got declared a god by some fish people. Shadowheart was not impressed

(it's the name isn't it?)

The group also met a mindflayer who tried to help with the tadpole. The tadpole was not impressed either

And finally, after leaving the Underdark, our little Owlbear Cub returned and joined our camp permanently <3

[iamthunderhearmehowl]

Baulder's Gate 3 AU Halsin's Daughter: "Circle of Decay"

Description: All Faeryl wanted was her freedom – Her home was life was messy, abusive, and shrouded in secrecy. Being the bastard daughter of noble drow princess and an unknown father has caused the hierarchy in her house to become out of order. Because of this, she is treated like a house servant behind closed doors. However, in the public eye , she is one of the best escorts and spies of her Noble House. One day, during her older sister's engagement party, she finds out that her mother is selling her innocence to one of the highest bidders there. This causes her to spill wine on a guest, which in turn causes a downward spiral of events leading to her to run from the underdark. Once on the surface world, she makes her way towards Baulder's Gate where she meets Mol and Arabella. Two tieflings who work for “The Guild" doing their mercenary and heist jobs. The two take Faeryl under their wings and show her the ropes; they soon become and unstoppable team and are given a new mission: Kill the Eldest Son of House Vandree, Alistair, Faeryl's half brother. Unfortunately, the steps and misadventures needed in order to finish this mission push the girls to the edge as they struggle with reminants of their pasts.

Main Characters:

Faeryl:

Class: Druid / Circle of the Moon / Circle of Shadows

Race: Wood Elf / Drow

Age: 90 (ish)

Mol:

Class: Rogue / Theif / Assassin

Race: Tiefling

Age: 22

Arabella:

Class: Sorceress / Wild Magic / Shadow Magic

Race: Tiefling

Age: 20

Other Notes:

Faeryl is ( basically - even though she's hopping off the back of Halsin ) an OC - shes NOT cannon.

This takes place 10-ish years after the events of BG3

This is 100% a fan fiction and NOT cannon

This honestly started out with me making a character for my voice reel to practice - and what do you know Faeryl became a full fledge character in my head :')

The setting / events / information in this AU changes based off of new information I get on the main game - IT IS NOT A FINISHED WORK

Will I write out this fan fiction into an actual written series? Eventually - right now it's all out of order headcannons/ mainly because using my imagination to create this pulled me out of a deep depression (Lmao I almost went on a grippy sock vacation)

I currently have a rough draft written - it will take me forever but bear (lmao) with me

I know this doesn't get a lot of attention - I am screaming into a void - but I really do enjoy this AU I've created and if at least ONE other person enjoys it as well - I am happy.

The Links to everything are on my masterpost that is pinned to the top of my page! But I'll also link it below <3

Links:

Master Post -> ( Click Me )

All Content Page (holds every post regarding this AU) -> ( Click Me )

I'm also doing everything I can to make this accurate so if anyone has books / links / articles in regards to DND /BG3 please send them my way

Thanks <3

[call-2-arms]

"Have you ever been to the Underdark?"

@bruinescence || cont

Such words from a Drow of all sources had him bristled, though without the bear's fur serving as his armor for the moment being, the stiffening of his shoulders was hardly noticeable. It would have to be a feeling he would have to find himself intimate with more often than naught considering the fact that he was too proud to open up to any of his current traveling companions regarding any...youthful misadventures.

The slight challenge in this 'Sornin' fellow's voice gave him pause long enough to shift the great weight of himself from one foot to the other- a shuffling that came with a firm locking of eyes later accompanied by a quirk in the druid's brow. "As a matter of fact, I have. Would I be worthy of an Archdruid's position without some knowledge of the subterranean ecology?"

Sornin couldn't really speak, considering this was the first time he'd actually been topside. A life lived in the Underdark, the tunnels that could turn a man insane as they became lost in the eternal labyrinth, and that was if they even managed to survive the beasts that lurked within the darkness. The Underdark was known as a cruel place, one had to either be bold or a fool to wander too far down.

Grey lips pressed firmly together, eyes that had once been red now violet no thanks to the tadpole. His newfound 'companions' had no idea that he was Lolth sworn, or... at least he once had been. Sworn, perhaps, that did not mean he had any love for his goddess. She was cruel and sadistic, and he had seen first hand what the priestesses could do.

He would say Halsin was large for an elf, but he himself was around the same height, and bore the same muscles. That in itself was impressive, and Sornin had an appreciation for a man that could show off his strength and hold his own. But the Druid had also been captured by the likes of goblins...

"Then you have fared well," he said, his voice deep. "Not many survive its clutches."