#my bg3 character

[kaeoticneutral]

Morning cuddles for Astarion and my Durge Katriel, done by the wonderful @aqvarivsvart. They look so soft and sweet here, I’m in love 💙

[imagineitdearies]

Ask and ye shall receive!! Here's Tyrus Aman'del, the necromancy wizard drow Dark Urge that I'm playing on my second bg3 runthrough--and more importantly, the inspiration behind Tyrus in Perfect Slaughter! (Astarion x male OC, basically putting a Tav into Astarion's backstory)

Post Astarion's haircut, his vibes here I think match young/innocent Tyrus for the first 10 or so chapters of my fic:

But here's more, because I can't not spam-post pictures of my son (and his boyfriend) the moment someone asks 😂

[travatul]

[scripturient-artificer]

Leaving The Cave

Originally Written for @bg3zine

Lae’zel watched Kith'rak Voss leave upon Qudenos. She was not thinking of the tadpole or the Mind Flayers. She was thinking of her hunger to be in the sky, how the wind would feel on her face. Her blood smeared skin would match perfectly with its scales that shone a deep crimson. With each flap of the dragon’s enormous wingspan, Voss ascended. It seemed to propel an unparalleled sense of autonomy. 

“Autonomy?”  The word rolled around in her brain, it was quite the word to pick at this moment. Born and raised to comply and carry out the will of Vlaakith, the mere thought of life with only her at the helm sent shivers down her spine. Before she could decide if it was a good or bad feeling, she noticed the looming shadow of her closest companion.

They were dragonborn, and at first meeting she was immediately enamored. Their scales were not the usual red she was accustomed to but a shocking teal that faded into a shimmering deep pink. If that was not enough, they proved themselves a worthy soldier.

There was a bit of embarrassment hidden deep within herself from her failed attempt to court the dragonborn. She expressed it simply by allowing them to be far more vocal than any of her other companions, and giving them literal space. Wyll’s monster hunting tales helped make the transition easier. 

Maybe that was where she’d gripped this growing idea of autonomy, the brief intimacy she felt she’d held with the dragonborn may have not left her empty handed. 

“He was lying.” Their eyes did not disguise their concern and a dash of fear. “He is not going to see your queen.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t just me that noticed that weird change in the conversation.” Wyll sideled over, eager to discuss. “It’s one thing to lie to us, but another thing to lie to fellow githyanki.” 

While she was quick to brush off most opinions, she was not so naive as to reject Wyll’s assertion. He was very accustomed to those more powerful than him being deceptive. 

“What are you thinking, Lae’zel?” She looked solemnly up to this dragonborn she admired, how could she tell them that she was feeling fear? She was no coward, her whole life has prepared her to be putting her life on the line. As long as it meant the destruction of ghaik. 

“It is to be expected, if I too am dishonest.” She gestured to their drow paladin, who was carrying the curious artefact that somehow was aiding them. Githyanki in origin, yet she could not fathom handing it over. Not that she could pry it from the paladin's firm grip.

“That’s not the same . . . he’s got more of a responsibility, doesn’t he?” Wyll shifted his weight, attempting to give something intangible to her.

“You assert far too much authority on me, I would be so blessed to be in his presence.”

Authority, was that what she’d meant to think earlier? It did not carry the same warmth that autonomy had.

“Lae’zel, you haven’t given me any reason to think otherwise.” The dragonborn knew how to compliment her in a way she craved, but not enough to make her overstep yet again.

“Istik.” she chided. “You’d do better to respect the hierarchy of my people. The people that will save you and all others’ from the excruciating transformation of ghaik.” 

For the first time in a while, she felt her words go soft without the level of sternness the others had come to attribute to her. 

“We are wasting time! The crèche is close. We can be free of these parasites, finally.” Maybe if she said the words out loud, they would become reality. This was the protocol but she had never met anyone who had experienced removal. Most were slain as a mercy on the field, or shortly after succumbing to the transformation.

“I agree. I think we should take a short rest, then make our way through.” The paladin would surprise her often with support and logic. 

She followed the others with the posture of one who would maybe be so lucky to earn a silver sword to carry. 

While she knew that rest was ideal for the perfect soldier, she would not be afraid to admit that her time amongst Faerun was isolating. She loathed these moments, they’d simply bonded better with each other over her. The closest bond she’d felt otherwise was on ice, left to cool down lest she cause them to flee out of discomfort. 

A longing lingered in her stomach, an emotion with no purpose, yet it persisted. She watched the paladin astride Karlach and Shadowheart, the three nearly inseparable. The dragonborn shifted between a polite conversation with the bard and Astarion. Although she could tell from their tail’s movement, it was not as polite as they desired. 

“Lae’zel, take a moment. It was quite a hike up here.” Wyll had snuck up behind. 

“Do you think me that weak? A trek of that length would exhaust me?” She was irritated by how he maintained his smile, still gesturing to the space beside him. “If you insist.” She joined him, reluctantly. 

“The others are caught up in each other. I cannot blame them considering the circumstances, it's hard to be alone with our little worms.” He pointed to his head, earning himself an eye roll from her. “But I’m not so selfish to forget we’re all carrying our own weight.”

“I don’t need anyone to carry me.”

“Not like that! I meant like, symbolically in relation to our duties, beliefs, even fears.” 

“I do not carry something so unnecessary as a fear.” She lied to herself.

“I’m carrying my own weight, including fears. I don’t think that impacts my skills.”

“I’ll take note of that the next time you fall in battle.” He chuckled despite her seriousness.

“When I was younger, my father meant the world. He was everything I aspired to be, until one day he wasn’t. My failure to meet his expectations . . . it destroyed everything between us. Even if I thought what I was doing was right.”

“If it was right and what your people needed, why would it do such a thing?”

“Because the way that I thought I could be of use, be the best version of myself. It came at a cost, and he did not see the value. Maybe one day he might.”

“You truly believe you know better than him? Blade of Frontiers?”

“Is that a bit of humor I detect?” He teases. “When you see this face of scars and my horns. But inside I’m still following what I consider to be true. If giving some of myself would help me save Baldur’s Gate and the people I care for, I would always pick them. Even if they could not see the value of it. Even if no one cheered for me. Even if my father hated me.”

She felt a churning in her stomach as she processed.

“Do you think Voss is lying . . . for us . . . for his people?”

“Are you not lying to protect us?” She sucked her teeth thinking of the artefact. “He may be lying for your people. I do not think you should let down your guard but maybe there’s more yet to learn.”

“But, to assert he would know better than Vlaakith herself?”

“Even if they hated you, would you not do what you thought was the best for them?”

“Protection of my people and Vlaakith are what I was born for. It will be what I die for. But thinking I could know better than her would be almost certain death.”

“Those in power tend to overlook cracks from above. They miss things we can see, things we know would be better for our people. I made that choice to get the power to do that. Against their will, but it was a choice I stand by. My choice.  ” 

“A choice. Your choice. I could dare think I know better?”

“You could.” 

Lae’zel watched quietly as Wyll smugly grinned. He has had this conversation before, although this might be the first time someone actually listened.

“Is it lonely?”

“Lonely?”

“To make a choice others might not understand, as you said.” She sees the realization spread across his face. She was questioning the sadness he hid behind the Blade of Frontiers.  

“I suppose it has been . . . but clearly it won’t always be.” He gestured to their makeshift band of tadpole’d survivors. “Maybe it just looks different than what we expected.” He sighed longingly – she suspected he was thinking of his life before Mizora. His future drastically had been altered as much as he was physically, and yet he still became a defender of Baldur’s Gate and more.   

Maybe, much like Wyll, her desires would have to be achieved differently. Something far less simple than following the standard githyanki training manual. She looked back towards the warlock feeling his jolly presence seeping. 

“Perhaps, without the horns.” She blurted out loud.

“Excuse me?” He didn’t wait for an explanation and broke out in a hysterical laughter. It didn’t take long to gather the others' attention, inquiring to see what had caused it. She watched their gazes warmly observe her and Wyll, feeling anything but alone.   

[muuurder]

I do not recall if I posted this.

It’s arguably a fav.

[shinyredgloss]

All is Ash and Meat

💚😻@mouldering-casket gave my Durge, Ash, a chance to cuddle her familiar, Meat! THANK YOU! I love seeing these two together like this! (what good is being a ranger if you can't cuddle your baby?) I especially love the artistic choice to make Meat stretch her little legs! Thank you for adding this detail! 😻💚

[lutethebodies]

LTB Tav Tuesdays: Cannor Coth, the Lost Singer (Part 2)

A very loose version of @kelandrin's Tav Backstory Bash to follow-up this post about Cannor, my first and favorite 5e/BG3 character. Since he had an established bio long before I'd heard of BG3, I'm using my own homebrew setting names and can switch them out for BG3/Faerun stuff at the end. Is it tropey and clichéd? Probably. Do I care? I do not. Here goes:

Vitals: 37-year-old human male Bard (College of Swords), with a background of Spy (Artisan in BG3).

Childhood. Cannor is the accidental result of a tryst between two Kalen exiles: stoic field surgeon Macanso of Cutheleann and unruly Lady Corda of House Baethu, who met in the stratified yet chaotic confines of the Kalen rebel outpost at Sevánhra in rural Narán. Cannor's childhood was already stunted by limited contact with his mother—a connection cut permanently at age seven, when Corda joined the Exiles' Army in their doomed crusade to retake the Kalen homeland from usurpers and invaders. Dishonorably discharged and increasingly alcoholic, Macanso tried to train Cannor as a healer, but the boy longed for escape to the wider world, enraptured by stories and songs of travellers, traders, and sailors passing through Sevánhra's tiny port. When Mac finally drank himself to death, Cannor got his chance, and at age ten stowed away on a Caranacian ship bound for the City of Fortune.

Adolescence. Discovered and mentored by the lenient boatswain Maramad the Tramontine, Cannor worked for his bunk until the ship was ambushed in the Narrow Sound by bloodthirsty pirates. With his protector among the dead, Cannor was thrown off the ship in Caranacia and sought Maramad's sister Cabella at the Wandering Star Inn. Once there, Cannor awkwardly and soon expertly charmed his way into found family, friendships, and flings—finagling his way through the City of Fortune's taverns, markets, shrines, and academies until he could handle himself in a fight, in the sheets, on stage, or in negotiations. This was also when he experienced a catalyzing event: witnessing the famed traveling bard Ruqirt Al-Zeem (aka "Raz the Rambler") perform at the Wandering Star.

Adulthood. Gripped by ambition, at 18 Cannor left Caranacia on a multi-year voyage, singing and strumming through the ancient cities and storied nations further west, from theocratic Emberhaven to cosmopolitan Great Zeyira, from the archaic Hundred Islands to austere Sanduzca, City of Balance. His shortest version of that story is that "it was a great plan until it wasn't." He fell in love with wayward Yedalari acolyte (and eventual semi-divine "Queen of Revels") Apertumina of Labri, and the trip soon soured into disaster, throwing him in with traders, fanatics, smugglers, acolytes, slaves, pirates, caravans, and troupes before ending in a Sanduzcan dungeon thousands of miles south and worlds away from home. After rotting there for a year, Cannor escaped with a fellow prisoner, the Schismastic apostate and Ovalansi warrior Suvarro Egir, eventually returning to Caranacia by his late 20s and re-establishing himself as "The Lost Singer."

Recent Events. Recruited by the Equiposium (Caranacia's academy of diplomacy and espionage), at 32 he continued performing as a cover for intrigue high and low among the city's movers, shakers, guilds, and gangs. The power and privilege went to his head, and after too many conflicting clients and tangled affairs—most explosively with the ambitious noble scion Esadora de Errocamesi, niece of his Equiposian spymaster Regina de Atraveisa—Cannor caused several simultaneous diplomatic crises, and was banished from Caranacia. With Esa's help he eluded capture, landing in the distant backwater of Saithaaven, and at 37 is getting ever more desperate to repay that debt and regain his independence, and someday return to his adopted home city.

Nua-to-Faerun Parallels: The Naransi city of Caranacia, Cannor's adopted hometown, is a sort-of medieval Iberian/Al-Andalus-esque civilization in my homebrew world. It's sort of the Barcelona to its two sister cities Narancia (faux-Cordoba) and Enancia (faux-Gibraltar). In Faerun it most easily becomes Baldur's Gate—and its Equiposium is a handy stand-in for the Harpers. Cannor's current location, Saithaaven (Seven Harbors), is much more of a Celtic-Teutonic mashup a bit like medieval London or, in Faerun, probably the chaotic frontier settlement of Luskan. Regardless, he was unhappily stuck in the dangerous sticks.

BG3 Notes: Before being captured by the Nautiloid, Cannor was scheming ways to get back into Baldur's Gate. He plays original songs, so he doesn't get many gigs and had despaired of gaining enough fame to return home. He was chased by Karlach, seduced by Lae'zel, and kissed by Shadowheart, but fell hard for Minthara—both physically and emotionally, and was obsessed with helping her escape the cult (to the bewilderment of his companions). Her value of loyalty above all else, even power, was ultimately what hooked him—but her contemptuous disdain for the Harpers didn't hurt. Neither did her beauty, of course.

As for the other companions and followers, Cannor respected Aylin like an elder sister for umpteen reasons, and related to Jaheira's resigned ambivalence about the Harpers. He empathized with Gale and Astarion. He tolerated Minsc and Wyll and steered well clear of Mizora. Oh, and he fucking loathes Volo. After the events of BG3, Cannor found himself involved with yet another strikingly compelling noble (Minthara), and yet another overly-ambitious scheme (taking over the city with her, from the inside out). It would require some artful tact and deft dealing, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

[henriethsmile]

I thought I would show you all my Tav's

I love them like my own kids (if I had any) 🥹 Who do you like the most?

[xxpeppermintxx109]

my winter eladrin elf warlock tav and their seldarin drow guardian *smushes their faces together to kiss like two barbie dolls*

[edeacross]

My BG3 Durge - Tali. Working on a little comic I wish I could share soon!

[kaeoticneutral]

Kit and Enver saw you from across the bar and they’re digging your vibes. She’ll probably kill you while he watches but what a way to go 🥰. Thank you @lwiann for making my killer queen and her (ex? it’s complicated) man look incredible!

[seahagart]

Drífa went from no friends to more than 1, so she is pretty happy

[saveskum]

The lovely shapes and colors of our companion's eyes.

[araneapeixes]

i made a chart to explain my views and beliefs

[thundersnapp]

found a brothel in Baldur's Gate 3 and hired a very kinky drow, then experienced the funniest video game sex scene I've ever seen

[lutethebodies]

LTB Tav Tuesdays: Cannor Coth, the Lost Singer (Part 1)

Let's kick this off with my first Tav, based on the first character I made when jumping back into 5e after a ~30 year layoff from D&D. His name is a very loose translation of the Welsh canwr ar goll ("singer lost") or canwr cudd ("singer hidden"). I've spent more time with him than any of my other characters, so I'll try to keep this entry from running long and flesh out bio/backstory details in other posts this week, using the many surveys/memes/prompts on here. His short bio (stripped of all names/places) goes like this:

The bastard son of a disgraced army medic and a wayward noble lady, Cannor was raised in a rebel military camp far from his parents' native land. When his family was broken by that exile army's defeat, Cannor slowly clawed his way from obscurity to infamy, becoming a skilled singer and storyteller who dabbles in diplomacy when the money’s good and his ego is starved. Slightly over the hill but still antsy to be remembered, Cannor’s happiest when creating. Whether blowing blarney, keeping cool, or anything in between, he’s equally at home in lordly courts and tumbledown taverns. Cannor is a cultural sponge with nearly four decades’ worth of travel, soaking up language, accents, impressions, geography, history, and lore. As a younger man, he cultivated community wherever he went and made the world his home, but after being banished from his adopted home city years ago, he’s developed a deep desire for stability.

In 5e, I created Cannor circa late 2019 for my brother's homebrew campaign "Worlds of Aeos," a sailing/islands-based setting that eventually expanded well beyond that. Cannor was originally a College of Whispers bard, armed with a whip and dagger to finesse rather than fight, but as the campaign quickly became more violent and dangerous, I switched him to College of Swords. For a party that began as literally an "oops all bards" power trio (everyone, including the DM, had been in college bands), surviving to level 16 was no small feat. Cannor was effectively the frontman, a saber-wielding singer/storyteller and aspiring envoy who never got beyond the "spying and dirty tricks" bits of diplomacy school.

In BG3, I've run about five playthroughs with him: a FAFO original, a second to refine my playstyle, a third to be as completist as possible, a fourth with my other favorite Tavs as his hirelings, and a fifth that finally graduated from Explorer to Balanced. In each one he balances fights with finesse, taking full advantage of what a human swords bard can do and equip. BG3 rules allow him to be much less fragile than 5e, but I still sort of nerf him by sticking with light armor (the stylish +1/+2 studded leather, dyed black and summer green) and d6 scimitars instead of d8 rapiers/longswords (I wish there were whips in this game). He always romances Minthara, both because she's my favorite companion and because it actually works well with his old backstory (which I'll get into with another post).

For better and worse Cannor is my self-insert/running commentary on how poorly bards have been stereotyped by popular culture, because I hate the "useless fop" and "lecherous swine" bard tropes and I always have. I tried to subvert that a bit by creating a sort-of "spy who sings and strums" character—who leans more on "master of none" than "jack of all trades"—someone who's not utterly useless in a fight, but also not as combat-focused as, say, Gurney Halleck from Dune. It's probably not as original as I'd first thought, but it works for me and that's what matters.

In my own homebrew "Nua" campaign, Cannor was the DM-NPC and lore-dispenser (like Volo, but much less clichéd and much more able to defend himself) who accompanied my players' PCs through one region of the world I made. That worldbuilding was so compelling that I created my own cartography for it, and in 2022 self-published it as an atlas. In 2023 I used Cannor (and his career-killing habit of composing/performing original songs) as a frame for my own longtime music/lyric hobby, writing and recording seven of "his" songs using a mandocello. Thankfully I finished that project before BG3 ate my brain.

Anyway, since this post was much less about the character himself than what I've done with him, I'll add a much longer, story-like follow-up post soon, and I promise future Tav posts won't be so convoluted. But like I said, Cannor's my guy, so he gets special treatment. Part 2 is here.