#ornate mirror bg3

[nucleqr]

the mirror in ilyn toth's cellar can't see astarion

[pickel182]

This is what I wanted the ornate mirror to do for Astarion, so I added it into Ch7, because he deserves to see himself again after all this time ♥️

[vibingandsimping]

You're the only one I've ever seen write for Ketheric and I crave more content,,, literally anything about this sad old bastard,,,

I have officially received Ketheric and Oathbreaker Knight requests. I know i’ve made it in the BG3 community.

Cold steel digs into the flesh of your thighs as you shift in discomfort. It’s beyond you why this man never dresses in anything besides his armor. He’s immortal? Why does he need the constant protection? You chalk it up to a show of power, or perhaps it was the importance of the Netherstone. One that always awed you with how it shimmered in the breastplate. The air around him tense with otherworldly energy. You sharpen an inhale and find an angle that doesn’t nearly cut the circulation in your legs off. The whole reason you were even sat in his lap was to tend to his unkempt beard. Lately Ketheric had taken on too much responsibility and began to neglect himself.

You tidied and brushed it to the best of your abilities. He was a busybody and instructed those of Moonrise as you worked. Fingers deftly weaving in and out of the hair. You could’ve left a little while ago but you craved his presence and time dearly. Not only had he neglected himself but he’d been neglecting you. Lip drawn between your teeth as you laser-focused on the tiny braids you were lining the bottom third of his beard with. Tiny trinkets and such interwoven in. You finished your art with a sigh and flex of your aching fingers. Eyes trailing to your side where he finished conversation with a halfling. Ceasing the moment you tapped him and unsheathed an ornate hand-mirror tucked to your side. The elder elf blinked away his concentration and followed your gestures. He inspected himself in the reflection, fingers drawing along the freshly preened hair. There’s a moment of bated silence that’s only accompanied by a contemplative hum. His lips twitched upwards in a smile to break the unease and your heart instantly fluttered.

You dropped the mirror onto your lap as his hand rested along the small of your back. Pulling you in towards him so he could plant a kiss onto your face. A matching smile instantly appeared and the ache in your fingers and thighs suddenly no longer mattered. As the pain was never there to begin with. The low gravel of his voice rumbled your form. “Thank you, my dear. I realize it hasn’t been fair to you or me. I will try to clear some time in my schedule.” You simply nodded whilst tucking your face into the crook of his neck and shoulder. Sometimes, you had to draw him out of his crafted reality and back into yours. He treated you well when not lost in his conscious. So, you never truly mind. He held you close for the rest of the afternoon as he tended to civil work. (Upon discovery of your discomfort he instantly acquired a pillow for you. Such a gentleman.)

[clazberryk]

WIP Wednesday

This will not leave my head. I am working on a little oneshot for the alternative of STUS. yes I know i should be working on the edits of Difficult Truths, but seriously i cannot get this out of my head.

It is very much inspried by this Youtube video. Seriously the Song of hamilton Burn and this video just PERFECTION!!!!

It is a look into Taveleigha several hundred years after the Events of BG3, and what if they Ascended Astarion. I am not a huge Ascended Astarion, I do ascend him in my evil Durge palythrough's but other than that I am not a fan. No offence against those that do like Aastarion, I just do not. I am hopign to get this up by Friday.

So without furtherado, please enjoy my little WIP.

Taveleigha stared at the ornate painting of the two of them. It was from one hundred years ago, several centuries after they become the heroes of Baldur’s Gate, several centuries after decisions made in the moment that were impacting her now. Decisions that she was now regretting. How could so much promise, life and love be lost in half a millennia? She did not even recognise herself anymore. Unable to speak to her old friends, unable to look at herself in a mirror, all she had to go on was what artists and painters drew whilst the two of them stood for hours, the perfect profile for the painter. Not one bit of hair, cloth, thread or even stance out of place.  She looked down at the bracelets on her wrists, they were delicate wisps of silver, with little jewels embedded in the linkages of each ringlet. Gifts he had said but she knew they were her chains, keeping her tied to him. How had this happened?

There was not one defining moment, it was little moments throughout the centuries, as they gained more wealth, power and geography, he become more controlling, more demanding, less and less of the man she had fallen in love with. Those many, moons ago when they were thrust into each other’s lives because of a tadpole. She had been promised the world, and she was given the world, but to only admire, not to live in. She could only watch from afar, and through the window of their palace as he moved from one building to another courting the people of the main cities up and down the Sword Coast and eventually all of Toril.

No pressure tags: @slothquisitor @roguishcat @shewhowas39 @lirotation @loquaciousquark

[thecharmingchimaera]

WIP Whenever!

Thank you for tagging me @emimayooo! You're a gem

I'm tagging @smoreofbabylon @beyourlionheart @willfulwyvern as well as anyone else who would like to do this.

I'm lurching, kicking and screaming, to the end of this short BG3 fic. I started it a few days ago, and the end is in sight! Soon. Hopefully. Anyway, enjoy some Durgestarion goodness.

“Did something happen?” the Dark Urge asks. Her voice is slightly louder, for everyone else’s benefit, but her tone is mild. Her eyes fix on him, but there is no accusation in those amber irises. “Oh,” Astarion says casually, even as the words stick in his throat. “I just find I’m not too partial to skeletons.” “Seem an odd thing for an undead vampire spawn to be squeamish of,” says Shadowheart. There is a note of intrigue to her voice though, a flutter of curiosity at the edge of her words. It terrifies him.  The Dark Urge stares at him, her expression unreadable. Astarion hitches a smile onto his face and waits. Assured, porcelain, false. “You fought well,” the Dark Urge says finally. Something tight and tense inside Astarion breathes out a sigh of relief.   He can’t rub his forehead though, because he can’t afford to show weakness. Astarion makes himself smile winsomely at her instead. “Oh, I know. You’re lucky to have me around, really.”   And the Dark Urge honest-to-gods grins at him as she passes. She glides towards an ornate mirror on the other side of the room, and Astarion stares after her, feeling faintly winded. He has never seen the Dark Urge smile before. Ever. Well. He could use that.  And then they find the book.

(I somehow triggered Astarion's romance scene after wandering into Ilyn Toth's cellar, before I'd even come across the goblin camp, and so this idea was born.)

[gidianthe]

making a drow who uses a fake last name and straight up googling the fake name that elves use at the ornate mirror in BG3

[causticcontemplation]

Some people I'd like to get to know better

Tagged by @myshartandsoul

Last song: Brave as a Noun by AJJ

Favorite color: Purple, green, and yellow!

Currently watching: Dungeon Meshi. I gotta get caught up on Freiren >_<

Sweet/savoury/spicy: Spicy! A capsaicin molecule won my tattoo poll lol

Relationship status: Married 4 years now

Current obsession: BG3 and Dungeon Meshi

Last thing you "Googled": ornate mirror answers

Tagging: Uhhh @assarivanguard, @siyurikspakvariisis and @quitefair

[waterdhaviancheesecake]

I was tagged by @danse--macabre to post an excerpt from a wip. I only have one currently and it's only two pages in so this is what i have to offer:

The floral-papered walls were lined with shelves of leather-bound books, framed portraits and landscape oil paintings, and the aged hardwood floors were lain with ornate rugs. A heavy goldleaf mirror was sat on the floor, propped against the wall near a wooden wardrobe carved intricately with leaf motifs. Above the mirror was a portrait of a couple - an elf with long, tawny hair and vine tattoos that seemed to creep from below their shirt, up their neck and framing their face, and a human, with daring, deep-set brown eyes, and brown hair streaked with silver that tumbled in waves over his shoulders. The couple’s hands were intertwined on their laps, upon which sat a winged cat with long, tortoiseshell fur. The bed on four carved posts which matched the rest of the room in character, was embellished by green and violet drapes with accents of gold. The room smelled of perfume and burning wax. Dust moats danced in the beam of cold light that stream through the window shutters.                 They glanced down at the bed beside them. There was a faint depression of where someone had slept beside them, the covers were slightly mussed as if put back in place sleepily. Instinctively they leaned in and smelled the depression – notes of patchouli, warm spice, and the pages of aged books mingled with sleep musk. While straightening back up they glanced down at their hand. Tattoos, matching the crawling vine motif of the elf in the portrait, crept up their arm and across their chest. They looked at their other hand. On their middle finger was a ring that appeared to be forged from two different rings. One, silver, inlaid with tiny glittering crystals of blue and purple; the other, copper, engraved with a primitive twisting style that mimicked tree roots and affixed with opaque white stones. The two halves were joined with a center setting of a swirling brown tiger’s eye sphere.

This is from a long fic that's meant to be a personal sequel to bg3. Select Waterdeep residents, including Varien, wake up one day with not a single memory of who they are, including where they live and who their friends and families are.

I'd like to tag @lewdisescariot @the-real-housewives-of-waterdeep and anyone else who wants to do this! Just say I tagged you. (if you want!)

[eeldritchblast]

Party Members and the Ornate Mirror

The quest Search the Cellar features a magical Ornate Mirror, which you can either succeed in a skill check to get past by examining it, or answer its questions correctly. When the mirror gets to the last question, “If you could see anything in me, what would it be?” each party member has different choices.

Astarion:

I'd see my home. My real home - the one I haven’t seen in centuries.

I'd see how to safely keep the powers this mind flayer’s worm has given me.

I'd see Cazador, my old master, burning in the sun.

I’m extremely curious about what Astarion considers his ‘real home’. But otherwise his options are unsurprising.

Shadowheart:

I have no memory of my parents - I'd like to see them, at least once.

I'd see myself as Shar's Chosen, with all her power at my disposal.

I'd see those who'd tormented me in the past receive the same.

Shadowheart shares that she has missing memories, as a sacrifice to worshipping Shar. But the memory of her parents is gone, even? Or did she perhaps never know her parents to begin with?

I also wonder who it is that tormented Shadowheart in the past. Torment, anguish and grief are often reasons that lead people to worship Shar, after all.

Gale:

I'd see a wizard tower. A safe haven for me and a sweetheart - forever.

I'd see myself in my next incarnation: a living manifestation of Netherese magic. A mythal in my own right.

I'd see my rivals humbled - jealous of the majesty that I've become.

Uh, Gale? We need to talk bud, cause every single one of these is wild. Every single one of these is about becoming more than human, but just doing different things with it. Living forever with, I assume Mystra? Literally becoming one with magic? Having his rivals worship him? (Also, what rivals?)

Wyll:

I would see my father - his arms extended in forgiveness.

I'd see Mizora, cowered before me and begging my mercy.

I'd see droves of admirers, gathered to hail the Blade of Frontiers.

Like Astarion, the last two options for Wyll are unsurprising and nothing new. But I wonder what it is he did, that he seeks his father’s forgiveness over? I specifically wonder if it’s whatever happened between him and the Flaming Fist, that made that one woman encountered in the burning village hate him so much? Wyll mentions that his father was his hero, too. So I can only imagine how hard it must be, to think his father thinks poorly of him.

Lae’zel:

I'd see myself as a kith’rak: ghaik head in one hand, silver sword in the other.

I'd see the zaith’isk, the purifier - a relic used to extract a tadpole.

I really wanted to know what Lae’zel would have as the family/home oriented option, since githyanki do not have families, but instead there just isn’t one there. And I think that in itself says a lot about her. It’s not even something she ever questioned.