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mumms-the-word · 2 months ago

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On the Run

Characters: Gale Dekarios x Tav (Dalia) Summary: In an Old West AU, Gale finds himself on the run from something or someone back East and lands himself in a saloon with the gorgeous singer (and possibly more than singer) Dalia. Someone is out to get him, but she has a plan. A/N: This is inspired by @orangekittyenergy's fanart of @magspeaches's Tav, Dalia for magspeaches's birthday!! The art was just too inspiring, so I tried my hand at a Western AU for Gale and Dalia. Happy birthday friend!! I hope you enjoy this little start to a Western adventure. Who knows where they go next! (I don’t haha this is just a oneshot sorryyyyy)

Every time Gale walked into the saloon at the center of this dusty town, there was always the same beautiful girl sitting atop the same bar, her stockinged legs crossed and her voice trilling out the words to whatever song the pianist nearby banged out on the out-of-tune piano in one corner. Somehow, despite the discordance of the instrument, she always seemed to round it out with her voice, so that the music they made together was not only pleasant to hear, but practically mesmerizing. It had caught his ear the first time he walked past the saloon his first day in town, and it had drawn him in like a siren song every day since.

She was stunning, whoever she was. Her blue skirts were hiked up and fastened at about the middle of her thighs, leaving her long, trim legs and delicate ankles visible for admiration. Today she had ornamented them with thin white stockings and lace-up boots, the tall heels slender and elegant. When she shifted, Gale could could see the hint of a black lace garter and the silver flash of a small revolver before she smoothed her hand over her skirt to cover them again, each movement natural and casual. She’d abandoned her white chemise from the day before to wear an embroidered maroon corset flush against her sunkissed skin, leaving her arms bare and the swell of her breasts a tantalizing treat with every breath she took to sing her next few notes. Even Gale, gentleman that he thought he was, couldn’t entirely tear his eyes away.

He still didn’t know her name, and he’d been here a week, skulking around town trying to figure out where to go or what to do next. He always wound up here eventually, claiming a chair at a back corner and watching as she sang or poured drinks or played cards with the other patrons.

Now, as he searched the room for an empty table, glancing periodically at her, he saw her turn her head toward him. Her gaze swept over the room as she began the next stanza of her song, but when her eyes landed on him, hovering near the door, they lingered. She smiled at him through her next few words before leaning back on one hand and turning her face away again, drawing out the last few notes.

It felt like an invitation. Grab at seat at the bar, why don’t you? Right here by me. But he didn’t dare.

He took a seat at an empty table instead, setting his hat on the surface and combing his hand through his dust-gritty hair. He’d spent more than a week in this town, bunking in an old hotel across the street, and despite his eastern city wardrobe and polished accent, he was starting to look like the locals. Sun-tanned, with a layer of dirt, and in need of a good shave.

But that was a good thing. The less he stood out, the less people knew about him out here, the better. If word got out back East…

Well, suffice to say there was a rather powerful entity back home that would be all too happy to send forces out West to drag him back. Better to lay low. If people believed he was here to settle in for a while or just passing through, then the wary glances would stop. He wasn’t the only man trying to travel West.

He was pretty certain he wasn’t the only man escaping trouble back East, either.

He glanced around for one of the serving girls, hoping to wave her over to place an order, but before he could say a word, the singer from the bar was in front of him, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and two tumblers cradled in the other. She offered him a red-rouged smile.

“Care for a drink?” she asked, setting the bottle on the table.

Gale blinked at the bottle and then at her. “Oh, I—”

“First glass is on the house,” she added, setting the glasses down. She poured a measure of amber-colored liquid in both tumblers before sitting down across from him. He glanced beyond her at the bartender, but he was busy with other patrons and the other girls in the saloon were making their rounds with fresh pitchers of beer or trays of whiskey glasses.

When she noticed he didn’t immediately reach for the glass, she raised her eyebrows. “Cat got your tongue?”

“No, no, of course not,” he said quickly. He lifted his glass in a toast to her and knocked the whole thing back in one burning swallow. He fought against a grimace—the whiskey out here had all the kick of an angry mule but none of the age or elegance of the whiskey back home. And there was always a strange aftertaste that suggested the barkeep added God-knew-what to it on the side. He set the glass back down with a slight clearing of his throat.

Her lips twitched at a smile, as if she found something about him funny, and she took her own glass in hand, swirling her whiskey idly. “I noticed you come here often these last few days. What’s your name, stranger?”

He thought about lying, but decided against it. He’d already made the mistake of giving his actual name at the hotel register. It was already known by a few others in the town as a result. “Gale Dekarios.”

She didn’t even bat an eye. “Fancy name.”

“So they tell me.” He put his arm on the table, inclining his head toward her. “And yours? May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?”

“You can call me Dalia, Mr. Dekarios. Pleasure’s all mine.” She shot him a quick wink and took a sip from her tumbler. He couldn’t help but notice the lip rouge mark left on the glass when she set it down again. “What brings you this far out west, Mr. Dekarios?”

“Hm? Oh.” He forced a smile and poured another shot of whiskey, trying not to linger over the mark on her glass or the red of her lips. “Nothing much. Just looking for…opportunity.”

Dalia chuckled and rested her chin in her hand, watching him with a knowing smirk. “You don’t walk this town like a man going after…opportunity.”

He paused with his glass halfway to his lips. “What do I look like to you, then?”

She tilted her head slightly, chin still in her palm, and let her eyes drag slowly down over his form, lingering around his collar, then the buttons of his shirt, then where his body disappeared beneath the surface of the table. She flicked her gaze back up to meet his and he was struck with the range of colors he saw there—steel gray mixed with a sprinkling of gold and a bloom of green, like stumbling upon a sudden vein of gold on a mountainside. The corner of her mouth twitched, as though she were amused.

“Like a man on the run.”

He tried to hold her gaze, but his mind was running a mile a minute now. What gave it away? His attire? His behavior? The way he spoke or acted? He’d seen his wanted poster—he’d grown a beard to help confuse anyone not looking too carefully. It seemed as though more was needed. He tapped his fingers against the side of his glass and finally set it down again, whiskey untouched.

“Whatever could I possibly be on the run from?” he asked, leaning his elbow on the table and raising his own eyebrows at her.

She pursed her lips and leaned back in her chair, idly twisting the two long curls that she’d left unpinned from the rest of her dark hair. As she wound the curls around her finger, she let her eyes sweep slowly around the room again before lingering on a table in the far corner. She indicated it with a little jerk of her head.

“I don’t know your story,” she said, “but something tells me they might.”

He followed her gaze to the distant table, squinting through the dusty afternoon light to see two men seated there. At first, nothing seemed all that remarkable about them…until one of them shifted and the light caught a little silver badge that he had pinned to his vest. An eight-pointed star.

Her mark.

Gale resisted the urge to sink down in his chair or hide his face beneath his hat. He’d hoped she would give up by now.

But he had something she wanted. Until she got it back she would hound him for days. Even with a few days’ head start, her men had already caught up with him.

But then again, they didn’t seem to notice him. Yet. There was still a chance.

Dalia turned back to look at him, interest sparkling in her eyes. “Should I introduce you?”

“No,” he said shortly. He glanced at the two men and away again. Dammit.

Dalia glanced over her shoulder at the men and then moved her chair a little to the left, blocking his view of the men—and their view of him. It brought her even closer to him at the table, so much so that he caught a whiff of the perfume she wore. This close, he noticed the little beauty marks on her face, one just above her mouth and the other on her cheek. They practically beckoned him closer for a kiss, and for a moment he was distracted by thoughts of pressing his lips tenderly, lovingly at each mark before taking her lips with his.

He blinked, hard, to banish the images.

“Seems like you’ll be leaving soon, Mr. Dekarios,” she said, seemingly unaware of his train of thought. She finished her glass of whiskey and then gave a theatrical sigh, setting the glass to the side. “A pity. The two of us haven’t gotten to know each other yet.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “Is that…something that interests you?”

“You interest me, Mr. Dekarios,” she said smoothly, taking his hand and setting his glass of whiskey in his palm. “You and those two bounty hunters in the corner.”

“Bounty hunters?” He scoffed. “That’s one way of thinking about them.”

She shrugged her bare shoulders with feigned nonchalance. “I don’t know what else they could be. The reward they’re offering seems pretty high.”

“A reward for what, exactly?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You, of course. Curious thing, though…they’re real keen on bringing you back alive. I wonder why that is…”

“Ah…fantastic.” He was about to take a drink again when a thought occurred to him. He set the glass down again, looking suspiciously at Dalia. “If the reward’s so high, why haven’t you turned me in?”

“Why, Mr. Dekarios.” She smiled sweetly at him. “I barely know you. Who am I to decide a man’s fate before I even know his name?”

“Is that what this is?” he asked, gesturing to the whiskey between them. “A test to see whether I deserved to be handcuffed and dragged away?”

“Are you always this suspicious of people?” she asked, but the tilt of her head and the glint in her eye suggested she found the whole conversation entertaining, rather than annoying. “Don’t you worry. I don’t plan on blowing your cover anytime soon. In fact, I have a bit of a business proposition for you.”

His eyebrows drew together. “A business proposition?”

She pressed a finger into his chest, drawing his gaze downward. “You need to get out of town, don’t you?” she asked. She dragged her finger slowly up his chest, up the column of his throat and to the tip of his chin, raising his face slightly so he would look at her. “And I can make that happen, on one condition.”

“Just the one?” he asked warily. He knew firsthand the consequences of taking a deal before you knew the full terms. It was part of what got him in this mess in the first place. “What is it?”

“You take me with you.”

He blinked, surprised. “I beg your pardon?”

She leaned back in her chair, suddenly cool and aloof. “Not interested?” She shrugged and started to rise. “Then I can just—”

He grabbed her hand hurriedly. “Wait, wait, hold on, settle down.” He gestured for her to sit again, glancing anxiously at the bounty hunters in the corner. They didn’t seem to notice them. Dalia settled back in her chair, deftly removing her hand from his but watching him silently. He leaned in and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Why do you want to leave?”

She snorted. “Why shouldn’t I? D’you think I want to spend my life serving drinks and singing the same six songs? The pay isn’t bad but this isn’t living. Not the way I want to live.”

Her voice suddenly became soft and thoughtful toward the end, her gaze shifting to stare out the nearest window. He could guess what she saw through those dusty panes. An open sky that stretched on farther than the eye could see, blue and cloudless and bright. An open expanse of land that changed by the day as you traversed across is, from gritty sand and rock to hard-scrabble brush, from hardy, stubborn trees to the sudden, breath-taking rise of a mountain range, snow-capped and standing sentry-like in the distance, like a gateway to paradise. You could walk or ride for miles out here without seeing a single soul. Just you, your horse, and the wildlife that called these plains, deserts, and prairies home.

It was freedom. Illusive freedom, a siren song of its own, but better than the chains that weighed them down where they were now. Gale wasn’t very good at carving out an existence outside of a settled town, but Dalia…she struck him as a resourceful type. Longing for the finer things in life, but not afraid to get her hands dirty, so to speak.

Gale had the sudden impulse to reach for her hand again, but he stopped himself. “I can understand that,” he said quietly. “But what’s keeping you here now? Why wait for me to leave?”

She shot him a wary look. “That’s my business.” And then, after a second, she relented and added, “I’m waiting for someone.”

He arched an eyebrow. “A lover? Husband?” He paused. “Ex-husband?”

She scoffed. “A friend. She and her partner are out on a job right now. Once they’re back, we’re packing up and heading out. I don’t have any plans to stay here.” She plucked his untouched glass of whiskey from the table and took a long sip, eyeing him over the glass. Then she smiled sweetly again, tilting her head coquettishly. “Do you?”

His mouth was suddenly dry, but she was keeping his glass hostage in her manicured hand. He licked his lips, trying to remain as subtle as possible. “Is that an invitation, Miss Dalia?”

“Could be.” She dabbed delicately at the corner of her mouth, letting her finger drag slowly along her bottom lip. He followed the motion with his eyes, enraptured. Her next smile was like honey, enticing him to draw closer to what he knew must be an inevitable trap. “Interested?”

Oh, he was very interested, but his interests were in a bit of a tangle just now. “I’d…have to think about it.”

“I’d think a little more quickly if I were you, Mr. Dekarios.” She set the glass down and folded her arms on top of the table, leaning forward to study him. The posture pressed her corset up and into her chest, the swells of her breasts nearly spilling out over the top of the embroidered fabric. Suddenly it was all Gale could see. “That beard and long hair’s not going to fool those two for much longer. I’ve already heard them asking questions. The clock’s ticking.”

Gale tore his gaze away from her breasts to look her in the face. “What exactly are you offering, Miss Dalia? And what, exactly, is the cost?”

She sat up straight in her chair, suddenly all business. “You want to go farther out west? We can take you. You want to disappear? We can make it happen. In exchange, all we’re asking is a reasonable cut of that cash you got on you. Call it a small fee for our services.” She smirked faintly. “And don’t lie to me about the cash. I’ve seen how much you carry. You can easily afford us.”

Gale frowned. “Why do I get the sense that your definition of ‘disappear’ and mine are different? What’s to stop you from robbing me blind and leaving me for dead the moment we’re out eyesight of town?”

She lifted her eyebrows a fraction. “You don’t trust us?”

“Would you, if you were in my shoes?”

The question seemed to amuse her. She twisted one of her curls again, putting on a thoughtful expression. “You want to take your chances with those bounty hunters instead? I could bring them over.”

“No, no thank you,” he said quickly. He sighed. He was running out of options. The noose he’d flung around his neck the moment he escaped out West was starting to tighten around his throat. Dalia was handing him a knife to cut himself free…but who was to say she wouldn’t use that same knife to stab him in the back? Metaphorically, of course. Or perhaps literally.

She tilted her head again, watching him thinking, and then leaned forward again, lowering her voice. “Tell you what. I’ll arrange for you to meet my associates in two days. My friend and her partner. We can negotiate a deal with them. Something that satisfies all parties.”

“And in the meantime?” he asked. “Am I supposed to hide in my room? Camp outside of town and hope those two don’t come looking for me?”

The flicker of a smile on her lips told him she wouldn’t give him a straight answer. She took up his tumbler again, studying the last swallow of amber liquid in the glass, holding it up to the light. “Something tells me you’re a smart man, Mr. Dekarios. You’ll figure something out. And if not…” She toasted him with the glass. “You know where to find me.”

He watched her knock back the rest of the whiskey and set the glass down with a satisfied clack. Like she’d already closed the deal. “Why are you helping me?”

She gave the question some thought, her expression playful and coy. After a second, she refilled his glass, the one she had taken from him because hers had been empty, and set it down in front of him, leaning over the table, her fingers on the rim of the tumbler.

“Because I like you, Mr. Dekarios,” she whispered. With a swift, practiced twist of her wrist, she turned the glass clockwise on the table until the red-tinged mark left over from her lips faced Gale. She left the glass there and stood. “Don’t let it go to waste.”

And then she was gone, sauntering back to the bar and disappearing into a back room, out of Gale’s sight. He stared down at the tumbler on the table, his eyes on that curve of red lip rouge, a lush half-moon broken by little lines and cracks. The shape of her bottom lip, temporarily branded into the clear glass, as unique as a fingerprint. Hers and no other.

After a moment, he raised the glass to his mouth, lining his lips with the mark, and savored the whiskey as it burned down his throat.

#i love writing gifts for peoples #i hope you love it!!#i've never done a western or old west anything so I was going off vibes alone #and orangekittyenergy's amazing art #WHICH YOU SHOULD CHECK OUT #happy birthday mags!!#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #old west au #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #my fic #other tavs #dalia

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dekariosclan · 3 months ago

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Hi!

I saw you had thoughts and recommendations for Dad Gale, which I LOVED.

I wondered if you had any thoughts and recs for... Er.. smutty Gale?

Asking for a friend.

( it's me, I am the friend )

Oh. Oh, sweet Anon! This is the equivalent of asking Smaug if he has a few shiny baubles that he might like to show off? 🙃

Here’s a fun fact about me: I have more BBC miniseries dvds than my local library. I have an entire bookcase dedicated to romance books. I am a romance addict. So, I hope you believe me when I tell you that the Gale smut I have collected is better written AND infinitely hotter than any of the published romance books I paid actual money for. I am not exaggerating. The writing talent in this community is absurd. Y’all are brilliant.

Anon, my friend, come and feast on the magnificent hoard I have collected!

18+ under the cut. (note: that’s both the age requirement AND the number of fic recommendations you are about to receive…)

Purple indicates Female Tav

Red indicates Male Tav

Green indicates Gender Neutral/no gender description

———

@senualothbrok has written so many incredible fics I don’t even know where to start, but in an attempt to keep this list at a manageable size I will only name three:

Gale and Tav use their Words to a very satisfying end

A Tight Fit gives Gale and Tav the chance to get to know one another intimately (whether they wanted to or not)

It’s a lazy morning in bed until Gale gets a little Carried Away (but Tav’s not complaining)

———

@sorceresssundries is a poetry master AND a master of regency-inspired Gale fics. The dashing Mister Dekarios would like to inquire as to whether or not you own a bodice? Because it’s about to get torn off:

Tav gets most deliciously Ruined by Mister Dekarios

A Heatwave gets Gale and Tav all hot n’ bothered

…and Tav gets very very wet in Downpour

———

@orangekittyenergy writes fire smut during the rare moments she is not busy creating absolutely stunning artwork:

Gale getting woken up with a bj

A lovely little ‘ficlet/smutlet’ featuring blindfolded Gale

Gale and Tav finally get to share Indulgent Desires after the orb is stabilized

———

@tumbleweed-run has an outstanding collection of Gale smut, including the incredible Sing Your Praises about a Tav with a praise kink, and Desserts, where Tav is…well…Gale’s dessert.

@lady-sapphyre’s Elerra helps God Gale remember all the mortal pleasures he sacrificed (and helps him come to his senses) in Divine Follies.

@wild-magic-oops wrote the lovely, lovely Worship in Moonlight where Gale gets a well-deserved bj on Mystra’s shrine.

@darlingdekarios proves Tav giving Gale a perfect day—followed by Gale giving Tav a perfect night—is the best thing.

@tociminna wrote about Gale having to…attend to some mortal needs in Pent.

Eternal_Starr on A03 wrote You are beautiful, like I’ve never seen, featuring Gale getting absolutely cherished.

@faerybella219 wrote a 5.3k word feast about Professor Gale coming home from a conference and receiving a very warm welcome. (featuring switch!Gale)

A03 author Arabellandry describes what happens when Gale calls Tav’s name at a rather inopportune moment—or perhaps the perfect moment? In peach, plum, earth, sun.

Vulkinreads on A03 wrote With thanks, Gale which explains in some detail how Gale and Tav stay warm on a cold winter’s night.

———

If anyone has any additional recommendations that I can add to my pile hoard collection please do add them in the comments! 🥰💜

#As a romance addict is it any wonder I am so obsessed with Gale?!#The man is romance personified #And he provides peak 10/10 romance in every fic 💘#Galemancers come and get your fic recs!#Come get fed!#gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #bg3 #gale x tav #baldur’s gate 3 #answered ask #gale x reader

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alsoika · 3 months ago

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Lucanis x Sibal commission for @orangekittyenergy!

#rook x lucanis #lucanis dellamorte #datv #dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age lucanis

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sorceresssundries · 4 months ago

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The Githyanki Initiate

A Lae'zel prequel story

Art by the incredible @orangekittyenergy - please send her some love for it <3

Warnings: Violence, death, angst

Nestled deep within the Tears of Selûne a hollowed-out asteroid drifted silently through the sea of night, Its silhouette stark against the luminous backdrop of stars and swirling cosmic dust. This was no place for outsiders; it was a sanctified bastion of discipline, a fortress where tradition and honour were etched into the very stone.

Within its confines, the children of Gith were hatched, raised, and forged. Their raw, untamed potential was shaped by discipline and fire, hammered into the tempered steel of seasoned warriors. Here, the weak were culled without mercy, and only the strongest emerged, tested by relentless trials to serve Vlaakith, the eternal Lich-Queen and their pitiless God.

Not just a training ground; it was a crucible where the young were stripped of weakness, reshaped by pain and perseverance, and reborn as the relentless warriors who would one day take their place among the stars; destined to continue the eternal war against their enemies. Every stone, every shadow, and every breath pulsed with the legacy of a people determined to conquer all, driven by a history of enslavement and a future of unyielding conquest.

In Crèche K’liir the strong survived, and the weak were forgotten.

At its heart was a vast chamber filled with the gruelling clang of clashing blades and the grunts of exertion. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and the crackling energy of psionic power, as recruits of all ages, from the youngest initiates to those on the brink of joining the Githyanki’s elite, honed their deadly skills under the vigilant eyes of seasoned instructors, their Varsh. The training grounds were meticulously divided into specialised sections, each designed to forge different aspects of combat mastery. Sparring arenas witnessed fierce one-on-one duels, where every strike could mean victory or death. Obstacle courses twisted through the grounds, designed to test not only physical agility but the recruits' strategic thinking and endurance.

Every failure was a death sentence, and every success a stay of execution. It was barbarous, it was impersonal, it was necessary.

In these unforgiving environs, a lesson was unfolding - one that would be the most challenging, the most pivotal, ever taught to young Lae’zel of Crèche K’liir.

She was ten years old, and she was about to be changed forever.

Today, the weight of expectation pressed heavily on Lae’zel’s shoulders as Kith'rak Urlon, a towering figure of authority and unyielding discipline, observed the lesson. His cold, piercing gaze swept over the recruits, measuring their worth with an unreadable expression.

Lae’zel felt the intensity of his scrutiny, every movement of her body under the sharp focus of his eyes. She knew this was not just another lesson - it was a test, one that could define her path within the crèche and into the great beyond. If she was to become a Kith’rak and sit astride a Red Dragon, if she were to bring honour to her race and blaze the legacy of the Githyanki across the stars, it would all start here. Now.

There were no training swords, nor were there lighter, smaller blades meant for the soft hands of younglings. Lae’zel was an initiate of the Githyanki, and she would have her glory, or she would die chasing it.

With the precision of a seasoned warrior, she sparred against her peers, her blade a blur of calculated strikes. One by one, she disarmed her opponents, her skill evident in the fluidity of her movements and the sharpness of her mind. Finally, she faced a young boy, a cousin from her clutch. Their clash was brief but brutal. With a swift, decisive strike, she brought him to his knees, his weapon clattering to the ground.

As the boy gasped for breath, Lae’zel stood over him, her heart pounding not from exertion but from the realisation that all eyes were on her. Kith'rak Urlon stepped forward, his heavy boots echoing against the stone floor, and stopped before her. His expression was inscrutable, but his words were laced with a cold, hard edge.

“Impressive,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Your ferocity and tactics are commendable, Lae’zel.”

A flicker of pride surged within her, though she kept her expression neutral. “Thank you, Kith'rak.”

“Tell me,” he continued, his tone more probing, “have you made your first kill?”

The question struck her like a physical blow. Though her training had prepared her for this moment, she hadn’t expected it to come so soon. Still, she met his gaze unflinchingly. “I have not, Kith'rak, but I eagerly await the day my blade is baptised in blood.”

He remained impassive. “That day is today,” he declared. He gestured to the boy she had just bested. “Kill him.”

For a heartbeat, hesitation flickered across Lae’zel’s face. The boy knelt before her, his breath ragged. The weight of the command, the finality of it, pressed like too-tight armour against her chest.

They were children. And as her eyes met his, memores stirred within her, bittersweet and fleeting, like a ghost from a time that no longer belonged to them.

She knew him well, he was from her clutch, the same group of young Githyanki raised together from the time they could toddle. They had studied the same ancient texts, shared the same meals in the cold, cavernous mess hall, and endured the same gruelling lessons. There were nights when, after the day’s brutality, they had found moments of quiet together. They would sit at the edge of the great asteroid, looking out at the vastness of space, watching as the lights of far-off worlds twinkled in the distance, promising future conquests. In those quiet moments, they had shared all the possibilities that were waiting for them. The battles they could face, the precious knowledge they could gather.

Entire worlds were theirs to conquer, they had the pride of the Githyanki and the impenetrable imagination of children.

“What will you become?” Lae’zel had asked him, as she dreamt of her own future.

He had paused for a while, before answering her. “Whatever I want.”

This was before sharper blades had been pushed into their gentle little hands. Before their futures had been decided and they still had the sweet, innocent privilege of being able to dream one for themselves and to get lost in the bright adventures of tomorrow, the way children often do. But, time has a way of sharpening the softness of youth. What was once a world of limitless possibilities slowly narrowed into a path they had no choice but to walk. Their laughter became battle cries, duty replaced dreaming, and wonder, which had once been boundless, was now shackled, locked away, and eventually… forgotten.

She stared at him now. He was steady, unafraid, despite the certainty of what was about to happen. Knowing him made her proud. Knowing him made her hesitate. Only for a moment, but long enough.

“Perhaps I was wrong about you, Lae’zel,” Urlon said, his voice dripping with disdain. “Perhaps you lack the ruthlessness required to honour Vlaakith”

His words were a dagger to her pride. The very idea that she could fail, that she might be deemed unworthy in the eyes of her people and their queen, ignited a fire within her. She could feel the eyes of her fellow recruits on her, the raw heat of their judgement. The pressure was immense, suffocating.

“If you cannot fulfil this command, then perhaps you are the one who needs to be culled.” He gestured to three other initiates, waiting patiently at the sidelines.

“Execute her,” he ordered them coldly.

Something pulled tight snapped within Lae’zel. This would not be the end of her legacy. Her grip tightened on her blade, and without a second thought, she whirled to face the approaching students. Her eyes narrowed as she assessed the threat, she had the calculated mind of a warrior who knew she was outnumbered and outsized… but far from outmatched.

The first initiate charged with a war cry and Lae’zel dropped into Hrath Ajak, the battle stance known for its precision and fluidity. Her muscles coiled like a spring, and as he brought his sword down in a sweeping arc meant to cleave her in two, Lae’zel darted to the side, her body a blur of motion. His blade met only air, and before he could recover, she was inside his guard, her blade flashing up to slice across his unprotected thigh. With a quick pivot, she thrust her sword into his side, between the plates of his armour. He collapsed, his eyes wide with shock as life was snuffed from them.

The second initiate lunged at her with a snarl, his blade slashing toward her with well-honed viscousness. Lae’zel twisted her body, just barely evading the strike, but the tip of his sword slashed down her face, leaving a burning line of pain. Blood welled up from the cut and trickled into her mouth, and she spat scarlet onto the floor at his feet and hissed at him in response.

The pain was a whetstone, and she sharpened herself against it.

He advanced, each step deliberate, each swing of his sword aimed to overpower her. Lae’zel danced backward, her movements fluid, conserving her energy as she let him tire himself out. She was smaller, lighter on her feet, and she used it to her advantage. She ducked under a wild swing and darted around him, her blade flicking out to slash at the back of his knee. He staggered but didn’t fall, turning to face her with a growl of frustration. Before the growl was finished, she drew her blade across neck, silencing him with a swift, ruthless strike. He was still spluttering blood as the third soldier attempted to approach her from behind.

He was the largest of the three, and Lae’zel knew she couldn’t match his strength, so she did not try. He pressed his attack, striking harder each time, trying to crush her beneath his superior size. Lae’zel’s breath came in short, controlled bursts as she parried his blows, her arms shaking from the force behind each of his hits.

As he brought his sword down in a powerful overhead strike, Lae’zel dropped to the ground, rolling beneath his swing and coming up behind him. She darted around him, her movements quick and unpredictable, her blade slashing at every exposed piece of flesh she could find. Finally, she saw her chance. As he brought his sword up for another heavy blow, she leapt upwards, and thrust her blade under his chin and out through the top of his skull.

Lae’zel stood amidst the fallen, bloodied but unbent, her chest heaving with adrenaline. Salt from her sweat dripped into the gash across her face—it stung fiercely, mingling with the taste of iron on her lips. She felt the pain but did not acknowledge it.

She turned back to the boy, her cousin who she had once gazed at the stars with and asked about his future, and In a single, fluid motion, she drove her blade between his ribs and into his heart.

His corpse slumped to the ground with the others.

Kith'rak Urlon watched her with a neutral expression.

There was a beat where she expected the swing of his sword to drive her to the same fate, but she was spared.

“You will make a fine soldier, Lae’zel. Report directly to me tomorrow and we will continue your training.”

Lae’zel, still breathing heavily, bowed but did not bother to wipe the blood from her blade as she sheathed it. Let the blood of her kin stain the floor beneath her feet. She cast one last glance at the bodies on the ground before leaving them behind.

Something had ended today, and something else began. There was no going back.

Later that night, she sat alone in the Great Library of K’liir. Her ten short years were but a single, unpolished stone against the tower of ancient knowledge surrounding her. She was small, a solitary figure in the vastness, the low orange candlelight throwing shadows that loomed large behind her. In her small hands, still caked with the blood of her kin, she gripped a Githyanki Disc - her gold eyes danced over it, reading the story of her people as though it were a fairytale. To a frail and fanciful human, it might have seemed just that: knights clashing with dragons, the slaying of monstrous horrors. But, this was her history, and her future. She would be a hero to sail the astral sea and bring glory to her kin. She would drag a mind flayer’s severed head through the halls of her people and mount a dragon whose fiery breath would set the stars alight.

She would not just be a part of history; she would make it.

She read the disc in her hands for the third time.

There is no other race as proud, as fierce, or as deserving of the stars as the Githyanki. We are the survivors of enslavement, the conquerors of our oppressors, and the raiders of countless worlds. We, who have risen from the chains of the Illithids, stand as the eternal guardians of the Astral Plane.

Without our vigilant guardianship, the Illithid parasites would spread like a blight across the cosmos, an uncontrollable plague that devours life and enslaves our people. These soulless creatures would have turned the stars themselves into a wasteland. It is by our hand, our unwavering resolve, that such a fate has been averted. While other races allow their emotions to cloud their judgement, we possess the strength to cast aside such weaknesses and do what must be done. A Githyanki does not falter.

Our brutality is not born of cruelty for its own sake, but of necessity. We do not shy away from the hard choices, the difficult actions that must be taken to preserve the balance of power. It is our destiny to bring order to the chaos that lesser beings have allowed to fester.

We are the blade that cuts through decay, the fire that purges weakness, the storm that reshapes worlds.

Vlaakith gha'g shkath zai.

After reading it so many times the words became etched in her mind, she walked with aching muscles and a heaviness in her bones over to the great statue of Vlaakith that stood vigilant over the room where the history of her people was held.

The Lich-Queen’s carved eyes seemed to pierce into Lae’zel’s very soul, demanding her fealty, her submission, her all.

She let herself have one final, mournful thought of a cousin who she had once sat with and talked of the future, before gripping the pommel of her blooded sword and vowing to never hesitate again. One day her sword would be silver, and she would be tethered to no-one, only Vlaakith.

Never again would she sit idly and watch the sun and stars with another, nor let the colours of a hopeful sky warm her days or glimmer with promises of what could be. There was no more colour, no more softness. There was only the red of blood and the black of death.

Lae’zel of Crèche K’liir, was a child no more.

#lae'zel #lae'zel bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 #lae'zel art

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galebrainrot2024 · 1 year ago

Text

GalexYou Pep-Talk

Summary: Pre-relationship yearn alert! This is a BIG yearn. Thank you @orangekittyenergy for the idea! Gale goes to seek you out (gender neutral) after a long day. Mutual pining, angst, fluff. Word Ct. 1.4 k

Master List | Read on Ao3

After the merriment and bustle of the night wore away and gave into the doldrums of sleep, Gale flicked his gaze around camp searching for you. You slipped away and although he expected you to return, the emptiness in your absence haunted him.

He sat outside of his tent, then stood, pacing with book in hand. He wasn’t worried. Not necessarily. You had been traveling for a few weeks together now and you had a certain levels of tenacity it seemed even gods and devils refused to trifle with.

It was just that he had grown accustomed to your company post-dinner and campfire camaraderie and felt a pang of remorse in your absence. The night air too quiet without the soft hum of your laughter. Sometimes, he would read aloud to you, other times you would both get lost in conversation, and sometimes would sit in utter silence. It intrigued and terrified him, that you sought out his private company despite the others being starved for your attention.

It was quite flattering and made him want to rip out the persistent thrum in his heart. He couldn’t indulge in such frivolities and would cause far less suffering to not humor the feelings at all. The orb’s ever looming threat didn’t allow Gale to succumb to whatever emotions festered in his gullet. At least, not consciously.

His mind began down the treacherous path of ‘what ifs.’ It was a game, like lance board, Gale was excellent at. As the moon greeted the stars, Gale’s anxiety intensified, his mind whirling with options. It had to have been a least an hour you’d been gone, longer than you’d take for bathing - not that he knew exactly how long that was! It was just something he happened to notice. Coincidentally.

The foreign thrum of desire stirred and the thick hair on his arms stood straight up as he wondered if you were bathing. If you allowed the water to kiss your supple skin, to know your secrets. Gale shook his head, embarrassed and felt his face redden. Keep it together. They could be dead and you’re fantasizing over their wet body? You should be ashamed of yourself.

Gale expected you to traverse through the trees any moment, prepared to feel ridiculous at his worrying. Why did he care? It’s not as if there was anything more than friendship between you two, at least from your end. He had to repeat this to himself to be convinced.

When he overheard Astarion ask Shadowheart if she’d seen you, Gale felt the whispers of envy touch his heart and decided he spent enough time wasted, musing over your whereabouts when you could be lost, or worse besides.

He couldn’t tolerate the sudden pain that gripped him with that ‘what if,’ and he walked into the brushes to find you.

***

Relief roiled through him at the sight of you, despite your disheveled appearance. Gale’s breath caught in his throat and he stopped, gripped when he looked upon you in the pale moonlight. Your eyes were red and swollen, it seemed like you’d been crying. He felt his knees buckle and he cleared his throat, so not to startle you.

You whipped your head around and Gale’s lips parted when he saw crimson blossom across your cheeks as you wiped away the streaks with the back of your hand. “Oh, I um.. how long have you been standing there?”

“Not long, I assure you,” Gale’s voice was tender, quiet. He held up both of his hands at waist level, palms facing up and smiled at you. “May I join you?”

You hesitated for a moment and Gale panicked that he’d made the wrong move, said the wrong thing and of course he had already messed up any chance he might have because he was so pathetically out of practice. You’d think a man who bedded a goddess would have a bit more self confidence in his seductive prowess, but being shunned and cast out by your former omnipotent lover does a number on one’s self esteem.

When you nodded, he tumbled off the cliff and the orb revolted as it mingled with the rush of adrenaline and rapture he felt from the simple gesture. One nod. To Gale, it was everything. He felt welcomed into your world, elated you’d allow him to offer support. You didn’t have to, and yet you did.

Gale joined you on the boulder that was nestled in the thicket, the soft buzz of nighttime harmonizing with his unsteady breath. “Hm… I know that look,” Gale said, gazing at how your lips curved. “And a clear mind does not eviscerate flowers quite like this.” He fingered a petal and gestured at the flowers and stems, all petals plucked intentionally from their root. “A nervous habit, no doubt.”

You sighed and his heart swelled, “I just don’t know what I’m doing. Every lead ends up in either more unanswered questions or unhelpful ends.” You groan and grip your chest, your breath coming in unevenly. “I’m exhausted,” as your head fell into your hands Gale, without thinking, rested a hand on your upper back and stroked your hair behind your shoulder.

“Ah, heavy is the head that wears the crown.” Gale felt warmth pulse through him as you laughed, whether genuinely or out of pity he wasn’t to know. He wasn’t sure he cared. “For the record, you have pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes most skillfully. You’ve shown remarkable courage and determination and, I’m confident the others would agree, many of us would not be so fortunate to still be alive if not for you. You must know that.” He rubbed his fingers in small circles along your upper back. When he became conscious of what he was doing he pulled back, ashamed and nervous by the electricity that seemed to flow between his skin and yours although barred by cloth. You whined a little and Gale cocked his brows, “What?”

You turned and as your gaze locked with Gale he drowned. Oh. He was jolted by the flash of profound need and emotion that coiled through him. Every part of him felt aflame and he worried that it was his end, that the orb was at last collapsing in on itself. Yet, as he remained next to you in the thickening silence, he realized it wasn’t the orb at all. When you spoke, Gale thought surely this was the moment he was becoming a mindflayer, a wicked dream to lull one as they succumbed to the parasite. “I.. .can you do that again?”

“Gladly.” Gale shyly returned his fingers to your back and as you leaned into his touch, Gale knew it was not longer a matter of if, but when. As you leaned farther, you almost rested in his shoulder and his throat closed. He swallowed hard and tried to steady his body and mind, every cell quaking with anticipation and overstimulation.

He inhaled. Temptation. You smelled like rain or fresh cut grass. You smelled like home. It was when you leaned into him, he was certain he forgot how to formulate a thought. Your head nestled against his neck and your side pressed into his. He wondered if the quaking was from your body or his. He dared not move, frozen as if Tara had fallen asleep on his lap.

The pain that coursed from Gale’s chest through his veins was almost enough to send Gale back to camp. The undue excitement made the orb restless. Agitated. He was both grateful and nostalgic when you pulled away and sat up. “Thank you, for that. Let’s get back to camp. I don’t want the others to worry.” You smiled at Gale and it seared into the crevices of his mind, a look he would capture a thousand more times and it would never sate him. You gave his hand a squeeze and then stood, offering your hand to Gale’s with a cheeky grin. “Here, I’d hate for you too put too much strain on those creaky knees of yours.”

Gale’s hearty laugh took him by surprise and he took your hand and stood with a grunt. “A wizard is useless without his knees, shame on you for poking fun at their fragility.” Gale chased the feeling of you, of this closeness and realized that, even before his isolation he had never met a person quite like you. Gale would have stood there in stunned desire forever had you not taken his hand to guide him forward, the movement breaking the trance and he pulled his sweaty palm from yours, embarrassed. He wiped them on his shirt and followed you back, his heart and head swimming with the idea of kissing you.

#gale dekarios #bg3 #bg3 gale #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #gale #gale of waterdeep #bg3 brainrot #gale x you #gale x reader #gale fluff #gale angst #gale yearning #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanficiton #gale fanfiction #bg3 gale fanfiction #bg3 gale fanfic

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