#quick revivify them

[unreadpoppy]

Death and Resurrection (part 1)

Minthara x Galatea

Read on AO3

A/N: So this is going to be two short fics, about Galatea and Minthara reacting to the other's death and revivification.

Galatea wasn’t one to cry easily. In fact, during their whole journey so far, Minthara had not seen the tiefling shed a single tear out of sadness. 

Today’s events changed that. 

In combat, Minthara could handle herself. Her strength and battle strategy, alongside her healing powers made it quite difficult for enemies to down her. But this time, she was being bested. 

Her enemies were proving too strong for her. She could see the rest of her companions also struggling - everyone had been cornered by enemies, making it near impossible for one of them to come help her without taking a serious hit first. 

But Minthara Baenre would not go down without a fight. As if imbued by a god-like strength, the drow delivered hit after hit, killing three out of her four attackers. But just as she was close to ending the last one, he got the best of her. 

It happened quick - the enemy shoved Minthara away, and entangled her with a spell. As she tried to squirm away, she could only watch as her enemy marched closer, kicking her sword away from her hand, and raising his own above his head. 

“Straj.” Minthara cursed as the steel pierced her chest and the world went dark, hoping that the damned skeleton would soon bring her back. 

.

Galatea had not seen where Minthara, Karlach or Shadowheart had been during the battle. It was only after all their enemies had been dealt with that she found the others.

“Where is Minthara?” She asked the other two, who just shook their head. The place was badly lit, and too many bodies scattered the ground. The three looked at each other as they began to scavange around for their drow companion. With both Scratch and Shovel having been killed and sent back to camp during the battle, the task was even harder. 

Galatea worried. She kept thinking ‘Minthara is strong, she is probably hiding somewhere to regain her health. She is fine’ to try and ease her mind, but she still worried. Even if her lover was marvelous in combat, she was not immortal. 

Could Minthara have been downed? Or worse - 

‘No’ She thought, the moment that the idea of Minthara’s death crossed her mind. ‘Don’t think that.’ 

After a good ten minutes, she heard Karlach scream “Come! I found her and it’s not good.” 

Galatea ran faster than she ever did to where the other tiefling was kneeling, Shadowheart following close. There were vines wrapped around the drow’s body and her body was badly bruised. Nearby, a sword was coated in Minthara’s blood - a sword Karlach had quickly hidden so as to not panic Gal even further. 

“No, no, no, no, no” The sorcerer said, as she and Karlach broke the vines. She held Minthara’s face, wiping away some blood. “Please, wake up.” She begged, but as the seconds passed, the realization began to dawn on her. 

Minthara was dead. 

Now, a companion dying was not something new to Galatea. Astarion had died various times in their journey, and he was still kicking. 

However, this time, it felt different. It was as if all rational thought evaporated from Galatea’s head as she held Minthara close and cried. She cried as she had never before, as if part of her soul had been ripped from her body. 

And because of that overwhelming storm of emotions she was feeling, she had even forgotten that before the battle, Galatea told Shadowheart to prepare Revivify. 

The cleric looked to Karlach, speaking with her via the tadpole. ‘If you make her release Minthara, I can bring her back.’ 

She nodded and held Galatea’s bicep, trying to pry her away from the drow. “Hey, soldier, hey, look at me.” She said softly. “We’re going to bring her back, but you need to give her some space first.” 

The sorcerer looked between her companions before gently releasing Minthara, and holding onto Karlach’s bicep. She held her breath as Shadowheart began praying, a warm glow emanating from her hands. She touched Minthara and they all waited to see if she would wake up. 

.

The first thing Minthara felt as she came to was that there was something dripping on her, which was strange, since there was no water nearby. 

Opening her eyes, she quickly saw what it was: Galatea was hunched over her, crying with her eyes closed. 

That was the first time that Minthara had seen the tiefling crying. She reached out a hand, and placed it on her cheek. Before she could say anything, Galatea gasped and threw herself on her, hugging Minthara close. Karlach and Shadowheart, though glad that their companion was back, decided to give the two some privacy, and walked away for a bit, looting the corpses around them. 

The drow awkwardly moved the two to sit, so that she could better look at the tiefling, who continued crying. The sight made her feel strange: she was not used to Galatea crying, and hated seeing it, but it gave her a weird comfort to know it was because of how much she loved Minthara that had caused it. She didn’t remember anyone ever being this upset at the possibility of her death. 

Shaking her head, Minthara held Galatea’s biceps and then tucked a stray hair behind her ear and wiped her tears. “Enough of this, I’m here now.” She said softly. 

“You scared me.” Galatea sniffed. “For a moment, I thought I lost you.” 

Minthara smirked. “I wouldn't dare.” 

 “You better” She put a hand on Minthara’s cheek. “Because if you do this again, I’ll drag your soul back from the Fugue Plane myself.” 

The drow raised an eyebrow. “I did not expect you to go that far.” 

“For you? Always.” Galatea leaned forwards and rested her forehead on Minthara’s. 

[optiwashere]

Baldur's Gate 3 Fic Prompts

Prompt fills always give me a quick shot of inspiration, so why not? There's not a lot of general prompt lists out there for this fandom - at least that I can find - so be the change you wish to see and all that.

You can send in a ship or platonic pair along with the letter and number for the corresponding prompt that you want to see (e.g., "Shadowheart/Karlach B5") and I'll write a ficlet! These are meant to be largely rating agnostic.

If you have multiple prompts, please send them in separate asks! It makes keeping track of everything so much easier 💜

A. Fluff & Comedy

Non-sexual physical intimacy

Cooking together

Building something together

Teaching one another their language(s)

Character A gushes about their favorite book with Character B

Gift giving

Bickering/arguing over the party's magic item distribution

Playing a game of cards and one of them gets very competitive

Celebrating one character's firstmorn (birthday!)

First post-canon date

B. Hurt/Comfort

Resurrection hurt/comfort

Scars

Crying

Breakdown and comfort

A character that isn't used to being protected finds someone who will protect them from anything

After being separated from the party, Character A carries a wounded Character B to safety

Character A has a vivid nightmare and Character B comforts them

Non-sexual assisted bathing due to injuries/sickness

Convinced that their past makes them irredeemable, Character A struggles with Character B's affections

Character A suffers from low self-esteem and Character B vocally or physically adores them

C. Angst

Lifespan differences (e.g., Character A is an elf and Character B is a tiefling)

Mutual pining

Unrequited love/attraction

Tired of fighting

Fear of abandonment

Fear of acceptance

Permanent character death (no resurrections, no revivify)

Character A forgets everything about Character B and the relationship they have due to memory loss, mind control, or any other devious plot device the writer devises

Character A believes that Character B doesn't truly love them/care about them at all (resolution up to the writer)

Character A kills Character B

D. Action/Adventure

Catching a spy in camp

Trying to get a better reward for a quest

Exploring a dungeon together

Sneaking into a location together (literal stealth, disguises, etc.)

A desperate escape from an unwinnable situation

Attacked at camp while on watch together

Scouting ahead together

Last two standing in a fight

Stranded on another plane

Character A is magically incapacitated (petrified, mazed, etc.) and Character B is the only one that can help them

E. Miscellaneous Scenarios

Tadpoles sharing thoughts that shouldn't be shared

Discussing their Dream Visitors

A clash over differences in deities

A magical mishap with a scroll, potion, or wand

The first night at camp in the Shadow-Cursed Lands

Character A considers consuming a Mind Flayer Parasite or the Astral-Touched Tadpole, and Character B sways their decision one way or another

While relaxing at camp, Character A begins to suspect that Character B is Orin in disguise

The first morning/day/night in Baldur's Gate after the conclusion of the Absolute Crisis

Character A is considering a devil's deal or a hag's bargain, and Character B convinces them one way or another

One of the characters draws from the Deck of Many Things

[fillingthescrapbook]

Let's Talk About: Fantasy High Junior Year and Ragenarok (Part 1)

I shouldn't have watched the teaser for next week's episode prior to writing this because-- Well, now I'm even more pumped for the finale and my thoughts for this episode were already very jumbled to begin with--

But begin we shall!

"Fabian, is there anywhere you want to live?" is a hell of a line at the start of the episode--especially with the context of a Bad Kid needing to steer the fall of Fabian's house to anywhere in Elmville.

Lou and Emily going all in on a bit in the background while Ally, Murph, and Brennan were figuring out the logistics of something was funny as heck. Ally really has gone far from the Freshman Year where the allure of a bit would have certainly derailed them from the more serious figuring-out-the-stuff talk with button-up boys.

But the most important revelation this episode? SQUEEM HAS FINALLY REACHED ELMVILLE! They still have some distance to cover but they're here!

And, can I just say, Siobhan rolling quick for the group roll just before Murph could was clutch as fuck. I must admit though that I also felt sad that we missed out on a possible addition to the collection of "I have just as good a chance as any of you to roll good" bits. It did allow the Bad Kids enough time to squeeze in a short rest though, so, hats off to you, Siobhan!

Now, onto the battle itself:

A Rat Grinder going down QUICK got me in my suspicious era. Like, what is going on with these rat grinders? Why do they have such high level attacks and yet--

Oh, never mind. The others' HP are more robust.

Brennan clustering his bad guys is always funny to me. Especially when you see an Intrepid Hero fight the urge to moustache-twirl as they see Brennan unconsciously giving them an area of opportunity. And it happens twice this episode!

Zac--not Gorgug--being so angry at Mary Ann passing her saving throw was hilarious to me. Especially because another Intrepid Hero tried to stop her from saving--only for Mary Ann to be naturally resistant anyway.

Riz going full maniac, saying "make sure to cut his head off so he can't be revivified--" and then Murph pulling back… Murph, the actor that you are! Chef's kiss.

My absolute favorite part of the episode though was when Zac had to reroll a bunch of dice. Ally asked why, and Zac cited one of Gorgug's feats. Having Ally say "I thought we were honoring something" absolutely broke me.

It's funny to me how Kipperlily was created to be the foil of Riz--but she's not really Riz's nemesis. She's Murph's.

And I rejoiced when Brennan, pulling the Box of Doom out again, got a stern "put my partner down" from Ally. It's been a while since they returned to this bit. I thought they had forgotten their relationship.

With this season coming to a close… I have to say that it's really one of the most enjoyable seasons of Dimension 20 for me. Is it my favorite Intrepid Heroes season? I think A Starstruck Odyssey and the first season of The Unsleeping City are still fighting for the top spot… But Junior Year is definitely following those two.

Especially with Brennan finally gifting Ally with Ice Feast--not realizing the implications of said spell to his finale battlemap.

And lastly… the way Brennan said "reincarnate" at the top of the episode? Saying "re-ANKARNA-te Porter?" The yelp I yelped.

I can't believe the season ends next week.

[jadewing-realms]

So there i was: playing bg3 last night, streaming for my sibling who's just starting to play their own run. Thought I'd show off some higher level shenanigans with my party of Naven/Tav, Astarion, Shadowheart, and Lae'zel.

Spot 3 goblins having a private drinking party and go okay, ill just have Naven as the warlock with ranged spells and Astarion with sneak attack creep close and pick them off real quick. Tell my sibling to watch cause sniping baddies is fun.

Wrong.

Suddenly, my high dex characters decide they can't hide for shit. Combat begins, and takes like 12 rounds because ig i severely underestimated these 3 goblins. 5 rounds in, both Naven and Astarion are down, next round Naven is dead.

Shadowheart and Lae'zel swoop in like the queens they are and save the boys' stupid asses, roasty toasty goblins, and combat ends with Astarion down for a 2nd time and not a single successful hide despite the camp being cluttered with cover.

After one scroll of revivify, the party is back on the road and I'm cackling imagining these men trying to brush that unequivocal failure of a stealth attack off like nothing happened. Naven takes the lead again.

And I proceed to accidentally walk through a tunnel full of landmines (with the conveniently delayed passive perception warnings from the boys coming only after everyone has taken damage), Naven goes down again, and then we attempt to escape over a tree bridge, off of which both men plummet immediately.

I love these goons. I love this game.

[thatwitchrevan]

I have so many questions about the pwk being meant for Merilwen and ofc I'd like to hear the in game reasoning for that but I think Luke was right at least in part about it being a strike for the strongest threat (and most likely to be able to bring someone back)

But what was the DM thought process. Because Johnny didn't give away how serious it was until Corazon got hit instead of Merilwen. Which makes me wonder if they expected Merilwen to evade or dispel it somehow? Or were they genuinely prepared to outright kill Merilwen? And if that had happened what are the chances that she could be brought back? People have mentioned Egbert having Revivify but I have no idea if that's confirmed.

I think going for Merilwen makes a lot of sense but the prospect of it actually killing her is terrifying for multiple reasons. I like. I love all the Oxventurers pretty equally and I was definitely upset that Corazon took the hit, especially cause he was low on the list of who I was prepared to see individually killed off (I pretty much was prepared to lose Dob or Liliana or Egbert).

BUT I think him doing the heroic jump and joking about it took the edge off a bit (which is one of the best examples of why I love this series and how everyone plays together so much. Andy rambling about his hit points while the table grapples with the revelation that he's been killed is just peak Oxventure.)

If Merilwen dies outright I think everyone would have just been in numb shock for a second and I would have had to pause the episode and go outside to scream for like an hour. And then beat Liliana to death with one of her own arms.

But Corazon's play was a twofold rescue of Corazon absorbing the attack to protect Merilwen, turning a painful and senseless death into a still tragic but also heartfelt moment showing their bond and his character growth, and Andy salvaging some hope and cutting the tension with jokes.

Also, Merilwen's immediate response shows why she's essential to the team in this moment, because everyone else was frozen in shock and unable to immediately act to protect themselves or provide catharsis, and while I think Prudence or possibly Dob would have attacked Liliana if Merilwen was dead I think Merilwen's outpouring of rage perfect and a great culmination of her character, and I'm kind of biased towards her as the enactor of righteous fury and all that.

Any of them dying was a huge shock given the hilariously light stakes of most of the series but it being the squishy human pirate definitely had a different impact than it being Merilwen, the eldest with hella strong magic. And then there's the rest of the party's guilt that they wouldn't have been quick enough to protect her.

I think I would have been really sad if Corazon stayed deas though, because again I love all of them a lot and because he is a squishy human (well. Was a squishy human) and because he's had so much growth and was so keen on continuing to live and grow and yet he risked himself blindly, selfishly, automatically for his friend, yeah I'd be real torn up if he was gone for good.

[blackjackkent]

There are too many of them. Karlach has been through many battles, many wars. She can see the way the odds are turned. Balthazar, who would be a powerful foe even in his own right, backed up by almost twenty undead, each of them brought to life with only one course - destruction.

And almost immediately, everything goes bad.

Almost before they have time to blink, Hector is staggered - a burst of corrupting necromantic energy slams into him out of Balthazar's fingers. Karlach can see the pain rocket through him as he is knocked to his knees.

"Gods!" he cries out, and the agony in his voice tears at her heart. "My Lady...help us...please..."

But there is no answer. Even if the Moonmaiden is watching them, she has no power here in this land of dark.

Karlach finds herself moving entirely on instinct, lashing out in all directions as the undead begin to close around them. Higher up she can hear Gale and Shadowheart shouting spells, trying to knock back the tide of horror. But each chink in the oncoming wall lasts only momentarily, and then Balthazar's endless legions are back on the attack again.

Can we win this? Is it even possible? Is this the end, after everything?

The rage is coursing through her, each strike landing true, and she holds onto some hope, some certainty that perhaps they might do the impossible yet again...

And then Hector goes down.

"No!" Her scream is muffled in the noise of battle all around them. "Damn it, soldier-- get up!"

She isn't sure what hit him. One of the large skeletons, most likely, which is bearing down on him with its deaths-head grin, an enormous blade clenched in one hand. She staggers backwards, stands over his body - a furious lioness crouching over her fallen mate, all rage and love and terror.

But gods, gods...they are still coming.

And she can't fight them all, not even to save him...

The crowd of undead close around her and she feels despair grip around her heart. Hector, at her feet, spasms with pain; his breath rasps in his chest, a death rattle. All the fury and rage in her does nothing to change the fact...

It can't end like this. It can't--

Her eyes drift upwards, to the platform where Gale and Shadowheart are still standing, both of them equally battered, drenched in acid from one of Balthazar's attacks. Her eyes meet Gale's, and she sees the same despair she feels reflected back at her.

His wrist flicks, a ball of flame appearing between his fingers, and he hesitates.

She understands in an instant what he means to do - and she knows that he's right. And before she can second-guess herself, before she can reflect on what it means, she lifts her voice and bellows above the hissing of the undead.

"FOR GODS' SAKE, GALE, DO IT! DO IT NOW!"

Gale's head snaps back, and then he twists his fingers in a quick burst of movement and the fireball crashes across the platform.

Karlach is no stranger to the heat of fire; she has burned alive every day for the last ten years. But the explosion bursts through her like a thunderclap, the concussion hurting as much as the flames, and she is knocked sideways with a cry of pain as the fireball consumes her and all the creatures around her.

As she hits the ground, she hears Hector's scream as the flames consume him, and though she does not want to see it, she turns her head and meets his eyes as he dies.

It feels as if everything has gone completely still inside her for a moment.

She knew exactly what she was doing, of course. She knew he would not survive the blast, that she herself is barely hanging on through the damage it did. They have Shadowheart, they have scrolls of revivify, they even have Withers if it comes to it... he will come back to her. He has to.

But all that knowledge pales against the true, immediate agony of seeing the life fade out of him in front of her.

"HECTOR!" she screams, and it tears at the burned muscle of her throat. She wants to drop to his side, hold him, beg his forgiveness for causing this to be done to him, but she can't. The fight isn't over, though most of the skeletal force has been decimated.

Balthazar still lives, and it is on him that her rage can expend itself.

In an explosion of movement, she leaps across the platform trailing flame off her armor and out of her hair. And for a moment she almost thinks she sees a burst of fear in the necromancer's eyes before her blade crashes through his skull.

Blood splatters around her and she swings and swings again, all the rage in her coming to bear on this one target. And she screams with grief and fury and all the pain they have all suffered and do not deserve.

It is a long time before the storm in her cools and she realizes that he is dead.

-----

She comes back to herself knelt at Hector's side, gathering him into her arms. She realizes she has been sobbing; the boiling heat of her tears sizzles on her cheeks. Gale and Shadowheart are standing at a slight distance, watching, each uncertain how to break the silence.

"I'm sorry..." she whispers, pulling his still body against her, running her fingers desperately through his hair, across the burns on his face and shoulders. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I love you... I'm sorry..."

Cautiously, Gale lays a hand on her shoulder, and flinches feeling the now-unusual heat under her armor. "I'm sorry as well," he mutters. "But you were right. It had to be done...we'd never have been able to take the upper hand otherwise."

She shakes away the attempt at a comforting touch, leans forward and presses her forehead against Hector's. Her breath comes in short, stuttering gasps.

Shadowheart steps forward now, crouches at her side. "If... you can give me a moment to prepare a spell... I'll revive him," she says uncertainly.

Karlach lifts her head and glares at the younger woman fiercely, feeling oddly defensive against anyone else's offer of help. "I'll handle it," she mutters. "You just... do what you came here to do..."

[slothquisitor]

There for the Taking

In which Liv has a crisis, and Astarion is kind of mean. Or what if your good character was just a tiny bit tempted by Astarion's suggestion you take over the cult? Thanks to TheWyvernRising (on AO3) for letting me borrow Rowan and also naming the fic. Titles are hard. Liv x Astarion, 4.6k, just angst.

Also on AO3.

______________________________________________________________

Blights and shambling mounds sharp as razors leap from the darkness. Here the shadows cut and slice. Despite her hypervigilance in this place, Liv is surprised all the same. She lobs a bolt of fire at the nearest blight, hoping that they might be vulnerable to fire damage. It explodes into flames and needles, and she feels as if she’s being stung by a hundred bees at once on every exposed bit of skin.

Astarion has used the distraction to try and get close, stepping around the back side of the shambling mound. He gets in two quick dagger strikes before the mound’s long, vine-like branches snap his way. The tendrils twist around his feet, pulling him down to the ground where the mound rips into him. 

His name catches in her throat as she uselessly screams his name. It had been a bad idea to come up this path. It had been her decision, and she had walked them right into an ambush. They’re looking for a house Halsin had seen, apparently surrounded by wildflowers in this bleak and desolate place. It might well be the key to breaking the curse on this land, but right now, she’s not sure why they’re bothering when everything here wants to kill them. 

And Astarion hasn’t moved. His pale skin is marred with gashes and scrapes, and he isn’t fucking moving. 

Karlach is trying to get to the mound while contending with two smaller blights, and Shadowheart is slowly making her way toward Astarion’s still unmoving form. Liv hurls another spell at the mound, determined to give Shadowheart a clear path. Liv had been trying to conserve her magic, but the fight is looking far more dire than she’s comfortable with. She isn’t about to lose any of her friends to fucking trees . 

She conjures a tiny mote of flame that snakes into the backfield and then explodes into a fireball. The outward in a burst of heat very nearly engulfs Karlach, her great axe slicing and splintering through a blight. A few more strategically fired scorching rays and swings from Karlach’s unrelenting axe, and the last of the cursed trees fall. Liv is breathing hard, her magic sputtering. Despite her best efforts to stay out of the fray, her arms and face are covered in small cuts from exploding needles, they sting as her sweat runs into them. 

Shadowheart’s spiritual guardians dissipate, leaving them in darkness once more. She’s kneeling at Astarion’s side, and Liv realizes with a certain degree of horror that his injuries are much worse than she thought. And it hurts . 

She knows what this is. What they are. She doesn’t get to cry out his name when collapses. She doesn’t get to have her heart squeezed vice-like while she watches Shadowheart’s healing magic pour into him. That’s not what this is. 

Shadowheart swears as a healing spell does nothing, and then looks up at Liv. “I need a scroll!”

Liv digs into her bag, drawing out one of their precious scrolls of revivify. They’ve only had to use these twice. Once when Lae’zel was knocked into a chasm by a minotaur in the Underdark, and another on Wyll after a thunder arrow knocked him into the lava of the Grymforge. They’re lucky to even have these scrolls, to have options to avoid the finality of death. But it doesn’t help her feel any less panic as she hands the scroll over with shaking hands. 

This sort of magic isn’t her forte. She can craft a fireball, mimic lightning, and throw up shields to protect herself, but she has no spells for moments like this. She cannot heal or ease anyone’s pain. She’s barely been able to craft them healing potions. All of her magic…her studying…what is it for if she can’t truly help people?

A moment later, filled with a burst of divine magic, Astarion’s eyes open. He’s alive. Well, as alive as he was before anyway. And the tightness that had settled in Liv’s chest loosens. She’s more than simply relieved; she’s grateful. She wants to yell at him about being too close to enemies, at his infuriating cockiness, and she wants to pull him into a hug, make sure that he is in fact alright.

She doesn’t do any of that. 

“That nearly ended me,” he says quietly. He’s inches from death’s door, his skin a collection of bruises and cuts, but he’s fine. He’ll be fine. 

“Only nearly,” Shadowheart replies with a small smile of triumph. 

They’re all looking a little worse for wear, and one glance up the path tells Liv that this is a dead end anyway. “This is certainly not the right way. Do we need to go back to Last Light?” Liv asks. 

“And risk another ambush?” Karlach asks, eyes darting about the darkness. 

“We should take an hour here, at the very least,” Shadowheart says, hands still hovering over Astarion’s wounds. Her magic glows a bright blue and the worst of his wounds stitch together. 

She doesn’t love the idea of waiting around here in the darkness or something else to find them, but Karlach has a point. They can at least light some torches and keep the worst shadows at bay for now. Around them there is nothing but the crumbled remains of what was once a tower, perhaps it was a lookout on this ruined battlefield. “Alright then, let’s take an hour.”

She busies herself setting up a perimeter of torches, but it’s not quite distracting her from the image of Astarion crumpled on the ground, all life gone from his eyes. It’s startling how precarious all of this feels, and how much she cares . There are many things from her past life she has tried to leave behind, but caring for those who wouldn’t give a second thought to her doesn’t seem to be one of them. It’s stupid, really. She’s at least ten years too old for this sort of behavior and far too clever for it besides. She knew what Astarion was when she met him in that clearing and she knew what he was offering. Looking for more is simply an exercise in heartbreak. 

And yet. Her foolish fucking heart wants anyway. 

She sits down against the base of the tower, as far away from Astarion and Shadowheart as she can manage and still be within the safety of the torchlight. She pulls out her spellbook and begins looking for anything she might have learned that she can prepare, something that might be more fucking useful.

It surprises her when Astarion shuffles over, cradling a health potion and still battered and bruised despite Shadowheart’s healing. She curses her stupid heart for racing when he sits down heavily beside her. 

“Well, I think I might have argued to stay in camp today if I’d known the trees were going to attack us,” he says. “Really, what is it with this godsforsaken place? It’s downright awful.”

“Really makes you miss dirty goblin camps, doesn’t it?”

“Shockingly, yes,” he replies, flashing her a slight grin before downing the healing potion with a grimace. 

And then he tips his head back, eyes falling closed as he tries to rest. She lets her gaze linger on him a moment longer, convincing herself that he is in fact safe. Then, she turns her attention back to her spellbook and tells herself that his presence beside her means nothing. Right?

***

Shadowheart’s healing magic had done good enough work in bringing Astarion back from death’s door, but there was something vaguely disquietening about having been dead. It’s a different sort of death than what he experienced when Cazador turned him. Still hurt like the hells though. He feels a disconcerting distance between himself and his own limbs as if he hasn’t quite settled back within his body. In some ways it’s kind of pleasant, to be floating above his body instead of trapped within it. It’s easier to pretend he’s somewhere else. 

And he does, for a while. Though Liv’s shifting and the quiet sound of her turning the pages of her spellbook occasionally pull him back. But even that is kind of nice. It’s…easy to be with Liv. It’s not like that with their other companions. Karlach and Gale make him tired. Wyll and Shadowheart are fun to trade words with, but even they feel like work. Lae’zel and Liv seem to be the only members of their little group who seem to value a comfortable silence. And Liv seems to always sense when he doesn’t want to talk, seems content to just be.  

Liv had looked…bothered when he’d come to. Her expression was schooled into something cool and impassive, but her eyes…her eyes were filled with worry. He thought for a moment she might fuss over him, express some outward concern for his safety the same way he’s sure she’d yelled his name when he fell, but instead, she’d simply stepped away. It had seemed almost forced. Even after tendays of traveling together, he’s not sure what’s going on in her head half the time. 

So perhaps that is why he presses forward, headlong into a conversation that might be best left alone. “So…Moonrise towers approaches…”

“Assuming we ever actually make it there, yes,” Liv replies, not looking up from her spellbook. 

“You know…I feel a connection with you. Like we’re two souls walking the same path,” he says. That gets her attention, gets her to look up from her spellbook. There’s something that looks perilously close to hope in her eyes. Something about it bothers him and he almost abandons the whole conversation. But there’s no time like the present, and he needs to know what it is she plans to do. “You might be a little naive in the ways of the world, but I see promise in you. Ambition .”

She frowns and whatever had brightened her eyes dims. “What do you mean naive?” 

He needs to be careful with this. Guide her to the conclusion he’s come to. Gently. “Just that you…have a big heart. You like doing what’s right. So I was thinking, what would be the right thing to do when we get to Moonrise Towers? When we come face to face with whoever is controlling the parasites in our heads.”

Her brow furrows. “The right thing to do would be destroy the cult and end its evil forever.”

Ugh. Really? She’s unwilling to let go of this ridiculous hero streak of hers. He rolls his eyes. “Gods. No…try to think outside the box. Just a little.” She’s clever, he’s begging her to consider the implications. “Consider the parasites in our skulls and think - how many others have the mind flayers infected? Hundreds? Thousands? And they’re not just goblin trash - there are powerful people in the worms’ thrall. And whoever’s waiting at Moonrise Towers controls it all. But if we can take that control from them, imagine the power we’d wield.”

“The power we’d wield? Are you…you’re being serious,” Liv says, words slowly rising in pitch. “What is it about me exactly that would lead you to believe I’d have any interest in that kind of power?”

She sounds almost hurt, offended, even. It surprises him, but he doesn’t stop pushing. If only to see just how far he can before her careful control breaks. “So much for hoping you had ambition. I’m just saying there’s an opportunity here. If we can control the tadpoles, we can keep ourselves safe and liberate the world from this evil.”

“By making people our slaves? I thought you of all people would see the problem inherent in that.”

Anger flares in him, bright and fast and razor sharp. She doesn’t know anything . She’s never had to experience what it’s like to be powerless, to have no control over your own fate. If there is power on offer, and if there is a way for him to gain an advantage over Cazador he will fucking take it. “So much for thinking you had ambition. Isn’t that supposed to be the hubris of wizards? How utterly wasteful.”

She closes her spellbook with a snap, leaning far away from him. “This is clearly going to be surprising to you, but I don’t want power. Certainly not that kind.” Then she stands and brushes the dirt from her robes. 

“You don’t have to be so wet around the ears about it,” he laments. He knows that he’s hurting her feelings and probably jeopardizing whatever this thing between them is that he had fought so hard for, but he can’t seem to stop. He's always doing this, pushing her and watching for the point where her patience, her unyielding kindness finally breaks because he doesn't seem to know what else to do with these things she offers him. 

She stares at him for a moment and shakes her head. “You know, saving you from Cazador and liberating everyone with a worm in their head aren’t mutually exclusive.” And then she walks away without another word. 

He’s sure she believes what she’s saying. She’s fundamentally honest. Even when she’s convincing cultists that their group is friendly or persuading mad doctors to let their nurses slice them to ribbons, she’s not a liar…so he’s not sure why her comment gives him little comfort. The tadpole is the thing that’s set him free. It’s given him back his life and given him the advantage over Cazador. He’s no longer compelled, controlled, chained. And even after everything he’s told her, she would strip that protection away, make him a slave to Cazador’s whims once more. 

He doesn’t know how to tell her that her world is different from his. That cruelty has ruled his life for longer than she’s been alive. He knows what survival really takes.

She wants to help him. He knows that; he can sense it whenever he tells her about his life under Cazador’s thumb. But she doesn’t understand the power, the absolute control because she is too damn afraid of taking it herself. But what he can’t fathom is why….she grew up with power, in power. And yet…she seems so damn afraid of it. Their dream visitor offered her power too, and she absolutely refused it. Even Gale had at least been willing to hear their guardian out. 

He’s going to have to apologize for this whole conversation later when she’s not so upset and he can be convincingly contrite. A part of him rankles at the thought, at the memories it stirs up. But he’d had a plan, it wouldn’t do to ruin it all now. 

***

It’s late in Last Light, but Liv can’t stand to be in camp tonight. So instead, she sits at the bar by the fire, nursing a glass of…something. She’s not really sure what it is, the label was too faded to read, but it smells strong and tastes just sweet enough that she welcomes the burn with each sip. She’s not alone in the downstairs of the inn, though the other folks here are just as solitary as she is this evening. 

Almost everyone left in the bar area is mourning in some way, Harpers who lost friends on the road. Tieflings who were separated from friends and kin. Flaming Fist who feel they failed their Duke. 

Liv feels like an interloper. She’s not mourning anything except perhaps the future heartbreak that’s sure to crush her sooner rather than later. She can’t shake the conversation she had with Astarion earlier today. Would he take that sort of power for himself? Does he think she would? Is that what he really thinks of her? 

She’s been accused of being many things she doesn’t find particularly accurate over the years. Some have found her cold, too impassive, too unmoved by things. Others still have told her she is too passionate, too set in her ways and her belief in right and wrong. She’s not sure if the truth lies somewhere in the middle. Most days the only thing she feels she has in excess are feelings. She feels too much and too deeply, and simply ends up hurting too much of the time. 

She wishes that she didn’t want Astarion to be the person who knows her best. Especially when he’s so wrong about her, but then…there had been a moment. A small, small part of her was tempted. Just for a moment. It made her sick. 

Perhaps he did know her well enough to know she’d be tempted. Well enough to echo words she’s heard before: a lack of ambition, a bad wizard, what a waste. Fuck. 

“Mind if I join you?” asks a soft voice at her side, and Liv is startled from the downward spiral of her thoughts.

Liv recognizes the elven woman, Rowan. She’d been injured badly when the inn was attacked, and while she’s not a Harper, it’s clear Jaheira trusts her. She doesn’t really want company, but perhaps it can’t be worse than whatever one wizard pity party she’s been having for gods know how long. She summons a smile she doesn’t particularly feel. “Not at all.”

Rowan sits beside her, her long red hair falling like a curtain between them. She tucks it behind her ear and sighs. “You’re looking a little too long-faced to be the long-awaited hero here to save the day.”

Liv liked being the hero back in the Grove…before she realized how heavy the weight of expectation could land on one’s shoulders. Hope shone in the eyes of the tieflings from the Grove when she and her companions arrived here to Last Light, and she couldn’t help but meet that hope with promises and reassurances she’s not sure she can make good on. Even when she tempers expectations by promising nothing more than to look for friends and kin…it still feels dishonest. 

“Isobel is the real hero here. We couldn’t make it more than a few miles down the road today before being ambushed by shadow-cursed trees,” she says. She doesn’t mean for the words to twist bitterly in her mouth as she speaks, but they do anyway. 

Rowan watches her, amethyst eyes sharp. She doesn’t say anything for a long while. “Are you alright?” 

This is the one question that goes unasked amongst her companions. It’s been avoided for tendays now, ever since it became clear that they’re no longer in immediate danger of turning into mind flayers. The answer itself is fairly obvious for them all, who would be alright under these circumstances? And Liv is tempted to force a smile, to be a good little Vires. 

“No,” she whispers. There’s something freeing in the admission, given to this stranger. She doesn’t want to interrogate why it is so much easier to admit this to someone she hardly knows instead of her friends. Her eyes burn so she takes another sip of her drink, keeping her gaze focused on the far wall. 

She has a tadpole in her head and everyone wants her to save the day, and she is falling in love with someone who doesn’t feel the same. She and her friends are flung into danger every day and today she has nothing to show for it, but scrapes and bruises and new nightmares to haunt her. Halsin keeps looking at her like she can help him break the curse on this fucking land…and the heroes in the books she’s read never mentioned the fucking anxiety that comes with all these people relying upon them. She’s not cut out for this.

After all, Astarion had looked at her and said to himself that she’d want power, no matter the cost…and is there something buried in her soul by her fucking family that she can’t smother no matter what how she tries? Sometimes her last name feels like a stain she can’t wash out.

“Oh shit,” Rowan says, offering her a handkerchief and pouring more of whatever she’s drinking into her glass. “I was really trying to help, not make things markedly worse.”

It’s then that Liv realizes she’s crying, tears streaming down her cheeks. It takes some effort, but she manages to slow her breathing down and get a hold of herself. Gods, she can’t remember the last time she cried, much less in front of someone else. “You’re very kind…I am so sorry. It’s just been…a bad day.”

Rowan nods, looking at her with concern. “Just…slow down. It’s alright.”

It’s not, but Liv is grateful for the assurance anyway. She can sit here and have a drink with a stranger and be perfectly normal. She’s sure of it. She takes a sip of her drink and nods. “You’re looking better than when I last saw you,” she attempts. 

Rowan snorts softly. “You mean when my insides were practically falling out of me?”

“Yeah…sorry.”

“Just lucky there are plenty of good and willing healers around,” Rowan says, and Liv doesn’t miss the way her gaze wanders to the door where Halsin sits vigil over the man who had somehow survived the Shadowfell. 

Isobel and Halsin and Shadowheart have magic that is actually useful; magic that actually helps people. “Very lucky,” she agrees.

“You know, at the risk of providing unsolicited advice…I often find that things look better in the morning. Nothing drains the hope out of a situation like being tired.” 

Liv nods. “You’re right.” She’s unlikely to find any answers at the bottom of this glass anyway.

“For what it’s worth, you’ve already done a lot for the people here. Don’t let whatever defeat found you today keep you down.”

Liv pushes up from the bar, her limbs heavy with exhaustion. “Thank you for the company.”

Rowan offers a smile. “Any time.” 

She wishes she had something more to offer than thanks. She worries over the interaction all the way back to her tent, as if admitting she’s not okay has opened up something, some vulnerability that everyone else will be able to see. It’s an old fear…and not very generous in the face of the kindness she received tonight. 

Their little encampment next to the inn is quiet, the fire has already burned down to the embers. She doesn’t want to see Astarion, but some part of her can’t resist glancing at his tent anyway. He’s not there. Which is just as well. She’s not sure what she’d say to him anyway. 

She glances up at the bright moon, at the shield Isobel keeps around this place, and tries to tell herself that all the hopes she carries aren’t misplaced. 

***

Astarion has spent a tedious hour hunting around Last Light for any creatures he can drink from. He’d managed to find a few small animals, and he tries to remind himself that he’s survived on far less and far worse, but it’s hard to remember because he’s hungry now . Besides, animal blood doesn’t hit quite the same now he’s had the blood of thinking creatures. 

But they’ve spent their days fighting shadows and trees and shadow-cursed zombies, and so he’s had to make due in other ways. He could ask Liv for blood; she’s been willing enough in the past, but there’s something about the fact they’ve slept together that changes everything about asking for her blood. He seduced her for safety, for security, asking for her blood in addition to that feels like taking far too much. 

He takes and he takes and he takes. Beyond the sketch she drew of him, he’s never taken anything from her that wasn’t already offered. And he’s not sure when it began to bother him, but it happened sometime between figuring out that the sadness in her eyes only truly disappears when she has something to offer someone and realizing that she never asks for a damn thing. He is well-versed enough in starvation to recognize it in another, but he can’t figure out what she could possibly be lacking. 

He sees her coming down from the inn towards their encampment. She’s pulling her long hair loose from the tight bun she keeps it in most days. She’s almost to her tent when he intercepts her, falling into step beside her. She jumps when she notices his presence. 

“Gods, don’t do that,” she says. “Where in the hells did you come from?”

“I was simply walking back to my tent. I can’t help that you’re unobservant.” He wants her to ask him where he’s been, so he can tell her about his less-than-successful hunt. Perhaps if she offers her blood it will feel less like taking. 

But she doesn’t. 

“Well, good night then,” she says without looking at him. He can smell the alcohol on her. She drinks little, so it is more than a little surprising. Warning bells are going off in his head. Something is wrong…off. Suddenly, this thing between them feels tremulous and fragile. 

“Are you upset with me?” he asks. Genuinely curious. She doesn’t seem the type to hold a grudge, but he’s been wrong about her before. 

She looks back at him, brow furrowed. “No, Astarion. I’m not upset with you.” The words are brittle things, but they don’t ring false. 

“A pity. I’ve been told I’m quite good at apologies,” pitching his voice down, filling it with dark promises. The sentiment isn’t true. He’s been told he’s good at groveling, and that’s not the same thing. But it’s a half-truth; it’s the only thing he seems to have to offer her.

She’s feeling distant, and something about that makes him want to grasp tighter to whatever this thing is he’s orchestrated between them. As if he could wrench back the simplicity, the surety he felt when he invited her to join him after the tiefling party. 

“I’m tired,” she says. It’s the truest thing she’s said so far, and it feels suddenly the most dangerous. 

She doesn’t want him. It’s the most freeing thing in the world, there’s a certain relief at her refusal, and yet some part of him is disappointed.

He doesn’t show it; instead, he smiles. “Well then, goodnight, my dear.”

She disappears into her tent without so much as a glance behind, and he is the one left there standing in the darkness, wondering what it was she actually needed this evening and why he couldn’t bring himself to ask. 

He had intended to twine himself so inextricably to her that the safety, the brightness, and the implicit trust she is afforded would fall easily on him too. And it has. The hope and expectations she was loaded up with the second she appeared at Last Light have followed him too. But it hasn’t filled up whatever lives inside him, whatever empty void is left of his heart. 

He’s startingly glad she turned down his company and simultaneously worried that he’s lost the only skill he’s ever had. He likes being in her presence, likes talking with her. She has an ability to listen when others talk in a way that makes him feel seen and heard. Who wouldn’t want her undivided attention when it feels like that?

And that’s all this is, isn’t it? An enjoyment of her attention. Nothing more. He tells himself that she’s getting just as much out of their little arrangement as he is, but even as he thinks it he’s not sure it’s true. 

Perhaps whatever has gone wrong today is simply a byproduct of their surroundings, of the general disquiet in this place. Perhaps tomorrow will be different, better. Perhaps she will keep offering him beautiful, impossible moments of comfort…and he will keep taking them. And perhaps it won’t bother him. 

[bloodyshadow1]

death in the legend of vox machina. 

Campaign and show spoilers, this is a warning

with the Legend of Vox Machina being a thing that takes hints from dnd but obviously doesn’t follow all the rules because it would be hard to adapt such a series. I wonder how they’re going to handle deaths in it. 

Characters die in the campaign, not a huge amount of times, but they die quite a bit and it does matter because dnd has mechanics for death and revival and Matt has mechanics to make sure that those deaths don’t feel cheap.  with the animated show there isn’t a reason to have such mechanics because it isn’t a live play show, it’s an adaption of a liveplay dnd show and the audience is different.  If you keep killing off characters and bringing them back, it will start to feel like it doesn’t matter.  Especially since the seasons for the animated show is 12 episodes a season so far with each of those episodes being 20something minutes long, very different from the campaign with 115 episodes, with them averaging 4 hours each over years.  There just isn’t enough time in the

Of the multitude of deaths in the campaign, I think only 3 are necessary, maybe 4 if you are going to argue for it.  The big 3 that are completely necessary for story of vox machina are Vex’s death, Scanlan’s death against Raishan, and Vax’s death against Vecna and his cohort the first time they fight him.  Vex’s death means Vax seals his pact with the Raven Queen and a whole bunch of stuff that can’t be removed, plus it has already happened.  Scanlan’s death against Raishan is the straw that broke the back of his initial time with Vox Machina and why he leaves the group.  And Vax’s death is a whole thing where I don’t have the time to discuss it. 

All the other deaths in the campaign could be written out of the animated series or changed to badly injured at the point of death.  Basically every death that can be fixed with a revivify can be changed to being brutally injured instead of dead. The only one I think would arguably be needed to be kept in is Percy’s death against Ripley, since it’s the final battle with her, but it could be changed to Orthax taking his soul out of his body in the fight and say Pike keeping him alive while they deal with Ripley and the demon.  Same reason why I think they won’t ‘kill’ Grog off with climax of the Craven Edge story line, especially since a quick death with little repercussions after Vex’s in the same season would make death seem cheap.

I think they’re going to completely write out the Keyfish death, since it’s funny and iconic, but really has nothing to do with the plot and with animation time is essential   I think Vax’s death against the Kraken is going to be written out because I think they’re not going to adapt the Taryon arc. as I said, other deaths, like Percy in the Raishan fight or

Just a thought with the season coming out and having thoughts on how to adapt one medium to another different one with different rules and the like

[cidthecoatrack-blog]

So I (jokingly) suggested to my coworkers that we play Dungeons and Dragons as a team building exercise, since I play and can DM. Manager says, "That sounds awesome!" Then nothing happens for several months, I go on vacation, get a new manager (same coworkers otherwise), figure the whole thing fizzled out. Whatevs, no big deal. Then I get to meet my coworkers in person at a conference (we are all remote and different ends of the continental US), and one of them asks, "Hey, weren't we gonna do that D&D thing? We should totally still do that!"

Alright, it has revivified. Talk to New manager, he is down. Talk to coworkers, all are on-board. I tell manager in no uncertain terms that this is NOT a small time commitment. Not a "play a quick game during lunch." ESPECIALLY since NONE of my coworkers who enthusiastically want to play have ever played before. I say I need an hour with each player 1-1 to set up character and talk basics, then probably a 4-hour time slot for actual game play.

Manager puts it on the calendar. Note: manager is one of the players.

Sweet. Well this will be fun. Do the 1-1s, get people's characters set up. They all are excited. I find out one of my coworkers is leaving in a few weeks for a different job, but will be here to play. Figure give him a send-off and make his character a little more badass (a Gold Half-Dragon hill dwarf). My manager randomly creates a Tiefling rogue. And immediately starts asking if he can steal from/stab/MURDER the other party members. Oh boy, manager wants to be a villain, well that might be a twist, but sure.

Get to play time, players enter the Grand Hall to speak to the king and be given the quest to rescue his grandson from a dragon. Went super classic adventure for the first-timers.

One of the other players, in the middle of the quest description, asks if he can "start casting spells."

Curious, I ask, "What do you want to try to do?"

He says, "I want to assassinate the king."

Oh dear.

Manage to talk them off that ledge, but they want to go into town and buy some equipment before they head out. Totally fine. Manager decides to try to rob the magic store - and manages to roll well enough that he does. Steals a few scrolls. Everyone else in the party is 100% on board with this - distracting the shopkeeper, offering to cast invisibility, no one is holding back.

Oh man, this is not quite what I expected.

Party sets out on the quest. TL;DR they charm a wererat, get past a doppelganger riddle, defeat the dragon and rescue the prince. What do they want to do next? Talk to the doppelganger, have it impersonate the prince, collect the reward, and then use the REAL prince as bait to attract other dragons.

And then it dawns on me. For all my decades of DMing, for the first time, I have a group of Murder Hobos.

And they are my coworkers. And manager.

[wetbloodworm]

thinking about benny and remiel

benny calls remiel 'remmy' almost exclusively. she pretends to hate it for the bit but enjoys having a nickname.

i'm thinking they met during an attack when arayis was defending a city against an attack with her veloxi. remiel scooped benny away from danger near the end of the fight and benny was star eyes. was grateful but more importantly thought remiel was cool! like wow first of all you're so tall? but also you just obliterated that demon with me tucked under your arm that was AWESOME. etc, just excited rambling, and since the fight was over remiel was able to take the time to talk a little, and just nodded along like mhm, mhm, okay yeah you're delightful.

once benny realized he could just pray to them whenever he wanted it was over for that motherfucker. calling up to chat. remiel thought that benny was in trouble the first few times before eventually learning that no he just wants to talk, okay cool.

ofc he wasn't always available to talk, war kept him busy, but if he had the time he was happy to. yeah benny, sure, tell me what you're making for dinner.

benny likes to cook... i made him proficient in cooks tools. i think he would cook for the soldiers and guards defending the town/city, or whoever worked in the tents helping the wounded. everyone's gotta eat and it's harder when you're busy. and it's nice to have cooked meals rather than rations and such! i think him going out closer to the front lines put him in danger more than those that stuck closer to the center, even if he wasn't fighting.

remiel hadn't spent much one-on-one time with mortals before, so they were very curious about benny and his life. what do mortals do all day. what do you do when you wanna go somewhere far away and can't use a divine gate or even fly. you're always that short, what's that like? etc etc. they also weren't used to having to worry about someone who could die MUCH easier. ofc they wanted to protect mortals during the war, but it had never been so personal or targeted before. like oh gods he's so squishy? he's so squishy and the world is on fire. i've only had benny for a day and a half and if anything happened to him--

the Close Call that got the pact going was. well. benny died. he was bringing soldiers food when there was an attack, and he wasn't able to flee back to relative safety quick enough. VERY luckily, there was a cleric nearby with revivify and enough diamonds, so he was brought back and ushered away from the fighting. remiel was busy with another attack elsewhere and didn't hear about what happened until benny was like 'soooooo something happened today'. after which remiel immediately tore open a divine gate to be like WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DIED!!!!!

so again, the pact was an attempt on remiel's part to help keep benny safe. give him a way to defend and heal himself.

one small problem is benny got magic and went, oh shit, i can help in fights now :) which remiel legally couldn't strongly discourage, helping protect people is what it's all about, but also her tearing her hair like THIS. IS NOT HOW THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO GO. DAMN IT BENNY. WHY CAN'T YOU JUST SIT IN YOUR HOUSE AND ELDRITCH BLAST ANY DEMON THAT TRIES TO GET IN

[indeedcaptain]

Spirktober 2023, Day 5: Focus

I'm caught up on the Spirktober prompts! Yay!

I hope you enjoy this fic about... insomnia.

Also posted on AO3 here.

☆ ☆ ☆

Spock did not believe in coincidences, or curses, or bad luck. He believed in probabilities and physics. But if he did believe in forces outside of random workings of the universe, he would have thought that something was out to get him today.

He had woken up at his standard time, stretched, abluted, dressed, and eaten on his normal schedule. He nodded to the officers that he normally saw in the mess, nodded to ensigns he passed in the hallways, and entered Laboratory C five minutes before the start of his shift, as was his custom. He had an ongoing experiment, courtesy of Lieutenant Sulu’s participation from Botany, regarding growth rates of plants based on different freeze-dried and revivified fertilizers. He was unwilling to hypothesize without additional data, but should his results be statistically significant, he thought that they might be important for the transportation of fragile crops on long space flights. He and Sulu had even started to talk about a paper.

A human and traitorous part of Spock’s mind thought that the ship was out to get him when he entered Laboratory C to find that the temperature controls had malfunctioned, frozen, and then defrosted his plants overnight, killing them all. He gingerly lifted a limp leaf and sighed quietly through his nose, sent one quick comm to Sulu asking for his assistance and one to Scott asking what had happened, and set about salvaging what data he could from the remains.

The abrupt and premature death of his plants was one thing. The next was a replicator malfunction spraying his face and tunic with plomeek soup at lunch, necessitating a return to his room to sonic shower and change, which made him late for his bridge shift. The science officer who had sat at his seat before he had was shorter than he was, and had adjusted the chair to suit her height, which was a logical decision except for that because he was late he did not adjust the chair to his height upon his arrival and smacked his knee into the console, drawing further attention to himself and pulling a high-pitched squeak of laughter from Chekov. He turned his back on the captain’s empathetic smile and hunched over his station as much as a Vulcan could hunch for the rest of his shift, counting the milliseconds until he could return to his quarters and meditate. Although they approached no rips in the fabric of spacetime or black holes that he saw, he could not help but notice that the time seemed to pass interminably slowly. 

It was, if Spock was being honest with himself, a bad day. 

☆ ☆ ☆

The bosun call announcing shift change rang through the bridge, and Spock stood immediately. He inclined his head to the rest of the bridge and strode to the turbolift, directing it to take him to his quarters. 

Before the door could slide shut, though, Captain Kirk slid in with him. He grasped one of the other handles and smiled at Spock. 

“Captain,” Spock said.

“Sulu told me about your plants,” he said. “That’s a tough break.” 

“It was an unfortunate accident of engineering. Mr. Scott has assured me it will not occur again,” Spock said. 

“Isn’t that what I said, Mr. Spock?” 

They exited the turbolift and turned left down the corridor. Spock’s door came first, and he halted in front of it. Captain Kirk halted with him. 

“Is there anything I can do for you, captain?” 

“Are you busy this evening, Mr. Spock? We missed our last chess match after that mess on Aldux II. I was hoping for a rain check.” The captain smiled up at him. 

Spock had not made a habit of denying very much of anything to his captain, but he could sense that he was one ‘unfortunate accident’ away from losing control and causing structural damage to the furniture and potentially the ship itself. 

“My apologies, captain. I require meditation.” 

“Very well, Mr. Spock. Another day.” The captain smiled at him again and turned, walking down the hallway to his own quarters. With a small sigh of relief through his nose, Spock let himself into his quarters, locked the turbodoor behind him, turned the lights down and the heat up, and settled himself on his mat for as many hours of undisturbed meditation time as he could steal from the ship that never slept.

☆ ☆ ☆

Spock knelt on his mat in front of his firepot, breathing in the familiar scent of Vulcan incense. He had sorted through his feelings of the day (frustration, more frustration, and then compounded frustration) and dismissed them, slowly letting the tension from the day melt out of his muscles until he had returned to homeostasis. 

Despite these successes, he was unable to focus enough to sink any further into his mind, to achieve the deepest levels of meditation necessary for renewal of the mind. He rejected the threat of further frustration and opened his eyes. 

He was used to sharing a bathroom with the captain. It had been over two years now, and he had found the captain to be as considerate in bathroom usage and space sharing as he was in all other aspects of his life. He had grown accustomed to the noises that Kirk made as he rattled around in the bathroom. His pre-bed routine rarely varied: he urinated, washed his hands and face, brushed and flossed, and returned to his room. He preferred to shower after sleeping, before their shift; he liked using water showers instead of sonics when they had the resources for it; and he shaved every third day. Spock had long since adopted the background noise of Kirk in the bathroom into his understanding of the Enterprise soundscape. It was as familiar to him as the rumble of the engine through the walls. 

It was the discrepancy between this night’s noises and all the other nights that prevented him from focusing. An unfamiliar sound came from the bathroom, leaking through the wall. He stood and approached the door, listening harder. If Kirk had brought a companion to his room, and whomever it was had decided to use the bathroom, that was Kirk’s prerogative. There was no logic to discomfort regarding Kirk’s potential sexual exploits. Then again, perhaps there was an intruder in their bathroom. That situation seemed less probable than the first, given that they were in deep space, but trouble followed Kirk like a shadow. 

As he listened, mumbled sounds and tones resolved into words and a melody he recognized, one that wrapped a hand around his heart and squeezed: Kirk was singing an ancient song from Earth, one that his own mother had sung to his father. 

“Like a river flows, surely to the sea, darling, so it goes…” 

When he was a child, his mother had sung, “Some things, you know, are meant to be,” and his father had taken her in his arms and said, “Kaiidth, my wife,” and they had swayed together in the kitchen in their house on Vulcan and he, Spock, had turned his face away, embarrassed at the naked emotion on his mother’s face and the intensity in his father’s eyes. 

Now, here, on their ship, in their bathroom, Kirk sang, “Some things are meant to be,” and trailed off. Had he stopped singing, or had he departed? Whatever the cause, the music stopped, and Spock found himself bereft without it. He had never heard Kirk sing before, and now that his voice was gone the room was too quiet; even the rumbling of the Enterprise had faded before the sweet tenor. 

Spock retrieved his lute from its place on his shelf and settled back onto his mat. He returned to his memory and listened to his mother’s sweet voice, singing as she swayed by herself in the kitchen. He forced himself to watch as his father entered, pulled in by the music of his wife, and then he laid his hands upon the strings of his lute to pluck the simple melody by ear. 

Maybe, he thought, he could play this and surprise the humans the next time Uhura dragged him to the rec room after their shift ended. Maybe the captain would enjoy it. Maybe he would even feel moved to sing again. Maybe Kirk would say that some things were meant to be, and Spock would tell him, “Kaiidth,” in return. 

The focus required for meditation had escaped him, but it had returned to his hands, and when he set the lute aside some hours later, satisfied with his arrangement, something knotty within him had loosened. He lifted his padd to check the time and saw that he had received a scientific journal article from the captain just moments before, titled “Regeneration of Flash-Frozen Plants: Possibilities for Post-Climate Upheaval Agriculture.” So the captain was awake as well. Before he could convince himself of the illogic of the decision, he instant-messaged the captain. 

STS > Good evening, captain.

JTK > Good morning, more like

JTK > What’s up?

STS > Thank you for the article. Are you unable to sleep? 

JTK > Too many reports, too little time. You too? 

STS > Yes. 

STS > Would this be a convenient time for your “rain check”?

Thirty seconds passed, and the captain had not responded. Perhaps he had fallen asleep, or was no longer interested in playing chess. Perhaps he really was doing work related to the ship, but somehow Spock was less convinced of that option. 

Forty-seven seconds after Spock’s last message, the door between his room and the bathroom slid open. Jim stood in his pajamas, chessboard in his arms. Spock stood and beheld him. His hair was a golden bramble around his head, like he’d run his hands through it repeatedly. The circles beneath his eyes, which faded and returned according to Kirk’s stress levels, were a shade darker than they had been the day before. His pajamas were soft and gray, and a triangle of light brown chest hair appeared above the top button. Spock was struck with the urge to tuck his commanding officer into his bed and demand that he sleep until he was sated. 

“Captain,” Spock said. 

“Rematch, Mr. Spock?” Kirk said, and even though it was the middle of the night, his crooked smile made Spock feel like the sun had started to rise. 

[mythrae]

Hey! So since you want prompts, got a bit of angsty one for you. Maybe you could write about a point where for some reason Tav/durge/or an origin character isn't able to bring back a dead companion. Withers refuses to help, the revive scrolls aren't working, no divine help occurs. You can pick the companion (lover, friend, friends with benefits, go wild lol), but maybe explore either what leads up to it or the aftermath. If you want something more light let me know and I can think of something else

oh I love the way you think!!! thank u for this request!!!

I decided to write this about my wild sorcerer durge Salome :) also this was supposed to be a drabble and it's a bit longer than anticipated because I made it a little fluffy at the end (oops)

It all happened so fast.

Salome and her party were approaching the mountain pass, on their way to finally enter the Shadow Cursed Realms. Lae’zel saw a group of githyanki, her people, her own kind, and rushed to their side. She knew they would help direct them to the creché, to get the damned tadpoles out of their heads. 

She trusted her people to lead her to safety.

Instead, they slaughtered her, like a lamb on an altar.

"Only in death are the infected cleansed."

These were the words she heard as the image of the githyanki warrior piercing Lae'zels heart with her sword replayed over and over in her mind.

“Lae’zel! No!”

Salome found herself falling to her knees in front of her companion’s corpse. Around them, the githyanki that had turned their backs on Lae’zel lay strewn about, having met their own grim fates. Usually, the alluring smell of blood and the sight of guts would have her urges running rampant, begging her to play with these new-found toys scattered all around her.

But that urge never came. She only felt the urgency to bring Lae’zel back.

“Shadowheart, come quick! Please!” The half-drow commanded, hearing heavy footsteps coming from behind. The cleric was already conjuring up a spell, the familiar blue glow in between her fingers.

“Already on it.” She replied, her anxiety straining her voice.

Shadowhert knelt beside Lae’zel, muttering a few words under her breath as she released the magic into the githyanki fighter’s body. The blue light encapsulated her body, lifting it slightly up in the air before she fell back to the ground with a sickly thud.

But she didn't wake up.

With a furrowed brow, she tried again, speaking the incantation a little louder this time. Just like before, she was met with the same outcome.

Nothing.

“Dammit, it’s not working!”

“What do you mean, it’s not working?!” Salome yelled.

“I-I don’t know…” Shadowheart stammered, her hands shaking, “My revivify spell has never failed me before…”

“Nine Hells below… Does anyone have a scroll we can use?” Salome looked upwards to face her remaining living companions.

Astarion and Shadowheart shook their heads begrudgingly.

“Gods above…”

Salome grabbed La’zel’s shoulders and shook her aggressively.

“Wake up, dammit! We need you! I need you! Please!”

As she heard her cries echoing in the mountain pass, she felt the tears spilling out of her eyes, hot and salty, trailing down her cheeks. She may not remember much of her past life before the tadpole was put in her skull, but she knows she’d never cried over the death of anyone. She’s seen so many people lose their lives, and was also the reason others lost theirs, so why would she be shedding tears now?

Why was she so devastated?

“We need to get back to camp, as soon as possible.” Shadowheart’s voice pulled her back from her thoughts. “Withers should be able to help bring her back.”

Salome wiped the wetness from her face, nodding her head in agreement. “You’re right,” she said, “if there’s one thing that weird skeleton can do, it’s bring her back to us.”

The sorcerer was not a strong woman, but with all the adrenaline running through her, she was able to pick up Lae’zel’s limp body and throw it over her shoulder. As quickly as they possibly could, the party made their way back to camp, praying to whatever god would hear them for a miracle.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What do you mean, you can’t bring her back?!”

Salome didn’t mean to shout at Withers, especially after the sun had already set and her party members were getting ready for bed, but she couldn’t help it. He was her only hope of bringing Lae’zel back to life, and he refused her wishes.

“Their soul is in a place even I cannot peer into.” He stoically replied. 

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

Salome fell to her knees once more, burying her face in her hands. There was nothing she could do, it was all out of her control. It was hopeless. Her body shuddered as she sobbed, the loss of her companion almost too much for her to bear. 

“Why… Lae’zel…”

Withers looked down at Salome as she wept, his eyes gazing upon her with a twinge of empathy.

“Pray tell, Salome, why art thou so troubled?”

She paused, pulling her face away from the palms of her hands. 

“Thine Urge yearns to end the lives of many, yet thou shed tears over your fallen comrade?”

“I… I don’t know why, Withers.” Salome whispered, looking up at the skeleton, “I’ve never… felt this way before.”

“Hast thou ever had… a friend?”

A friend?

The thought was almost laughable to the half-drow.

“I doubt anyone would want to be my friend, Withers.” She confessed, softly. “Not with these urges plaguing my conscience.”

He shook his head with a knowing smile.

“Thou hath thine companions right here in thy camp.” He gestured towards Astarion and Shadowheart’s tents. “They would not stay with thee if they did not find thou as a friend. They trust thee with their own lives.”

She sniffled as she gazed over at their tents, slowly realizing that he may be right.

“Did… did Lae’zel..?”

“Of course.” He replied, “And that is why thou heart aches. Thou hath lost someone close to thee, a true friend.”

“A true friend…” she repeated. 

Salome had never thought she could have a friend before. 

And now, she realized she had friends all along.

“Now, go,” Withers ordered, “rest. Come morning, let you and your companions grieve your loss. Then, take care of thou companions on your journey. Let the loss of the githyanki be a lesson to you.”

She sighed, standing to her feet once more. “Thank you, Withers. I…”

“Say no more,” he interrupted. “Thou thanks is enough.”

With a small smile, Salome nodded to the skeleton, and turned to make her way to her tent for the evening.

Her heart was still broken that she was unable to bring back Lae’zel. The loss weighed heavily on her, and she wished there was a way she could have stopped the githyanki warriors, prevented them from fighting, even found allies from their forces. She would not be able to sleep that night, imagining all sorts of scenarios that could have saved her fallen friend.

But come morning, she would devote herself to make sure she kept both Astarion and Shadowheart safe, no matter the cost.

[lycantripuwu]

Legends of Barovia update! Its been a while and a lot of sessions since i did one!

Rhil has lycanthropy, we banished an escaped vestiage/demonlord, Traveled around with Ezmerelda and got harrassed by Morgantha

-We got back from the lonely tower to find Milijov abd Henrick about to be publicly executed by Rahadin for stealing the bones.

-Rhil stepped up and successfully talked down their sentence, they were only publicly lashed. Rahadin actually seemed sad that Rhil was glaring at him so hard.

-Mirre used his scryglass he got from the lonely tower and figured out where Anastrasya took the female children and Reek

-Rhil made a pact with Mother Night through her vestiage in the amber shard named Pandoryum. Hes serving as a conduit for Mother Nights power.

-Rhil got flash backs to her time as a priestess of Mother Night, her life before her temple was destroyed, and she was killed. Mother Night was a celestial archfey who was betrayed by the Rozana, the ladies three, and was sealed away by the fanes. Rhil was told that in order to free Mother Night, she had to use the gems at their respective fanes to destroy the seals.

-we headed out in the morning by horse to check a small town named Reneka. According to Urwin, it used to be a large trading hub for lumber until all communications stopped and traders started disapearing.

-We cross some flooding and end up at a sketchy lumbermill, it was filled with lycanthropes. Werewolves, werebats and wereboars, oh my. Combat ensues after we find out Anastraysa dropped off "unsuitable" children and the lycans have either been sending them to Kresk or snacking on them. We win after hordes of wolves and lycans. Both werebats fled, but not before Mirre branded one with his brand of castigation.

-Rhil and Jace got bitten, Rhil by a werewolf and Jace by a wereboar. Rhil learned that lycanthropy was created by Mother Night to serve as guardians of Cerrunos to protect the forests and it's been slowly corrupted by the mists since she was sealed away. Pandoryum told Rhil that if she can learn to control it, it will help her later on.

-Rhil grew up with lycanthropes, her Auntie Irda who she adores is a werewolf. So she's choosing to embrace the lycanthropy. Jace on the otherhand, does not want it. So through an old Mother Night ritual and help from Pandoryum, they cured Jace of his lycanthropy.

-We move on after sending back a group of traders with a girl from the orphanage back to Vallaki with our horses, and we make it to Reneka. Which is in horrible condition, tons of corpses litering the streets. We get chased around a bit by demonic statues that reform after being killed and end up at a old monastery of the morninglord which is arguably worse then the town itself.(very diablo like it was great)

-we prepare for a fight and armed with a banishment ritual to be rid of Arsynax, the lord of plauges. Rhil and Jace are eventually killed, trying to set up the ritual. Luckily Mirre stayed alive so he could finish the ritual and banished Arsynax.

-Mirre went to revivify Jace and Rhil, But one of his vestiges, Tarakamedes, stated the dead needed to remain dead and wasted a revivify scroll as Mirre tried to use it. Mirre begged his other vestige, Seriach, for help. After back and forth between the two(felt like a dad and mom arguement), Tarakamedes said he would help this once, but if both died, Mirre himself would not be able to revive them and they needed to stay dead. Seriach stated that Mirre owed him a favor before both dissapeared after reviving Rhil and Jace.

-after some much needed rest and Mirre getting got by a nightmare haunting from Morgantha. We headed out to follow the trail of one of the werebats marked by Mirre's brand of Castigation.

-we were eventually ambushed by spawns, wolves and werewolves, we got surounded pretty quick.

-a lighting bolt came from the trees and took out a few we had whittled down and in came Ezmerelda to help us fight!

-after the fight settled, we talked and turns out Ezmerelda has been tracking a pack of loup garu for personal reasons(her missing leg) and came across us. Believing we could possibly put her on a lead to the loup garu's, she offered to help us find and save the children.

-after hours of traveling and some catching up and learning about eachother, Mirre and Ez bantered quite a bit. Talking about past monster hunter stories while Rhil was fangirling in the back since she knows Mirre's has a crush on Ez. Ez is also looking for Rudolph Van Richten, who without a word, just up and left for Barovia.

-we eventually get to a cave, we fight our way inside and turns out that Anastrasya learned Mirre cared about Reek and took him with her back to Ravenloft. We figure out that shes been experimenting on these little girls and has them turned into undead and caged up in cells, a lot of them we recognize from the orphanage. The only one that wasnt fully turned was a little girl named Myrtle, a little girl we saved from the hags, but something definitely wasnt quite right about her.

-we quickly get ambushed by the bloodthirsty spawn and have to fight and kill off a bunch of children. we make it out through a back entrance since Anastrasya had traps set up to cave us in and we popped out on the other side of the mountain.

-Ez is about to part ways until Mirre confesses that he knows where Van Richten is and offered to lead her to him. Despite Richten telling him to steer Ez away from himself, Mirre's going through some things with the recent death of his mentor and feels Ez deserves the chance to at least talk to Richten. Ez appreciates it and comes along with us to travel to Vallaki.

-Morgantha shows up and offers to leave us alone in the future if we hand over Myrtle. We, of course, refused and get chased into the woods by large hordes of the undead and three yeth hounds. Morgantha saying she will make our lives living nightmares.

-after being chased around the woods, we try to settle for night after stumbling across a group of Dwarves that ended up in Barovia that day and have been lost.

-after some drinks, food and heavy flirting between Mirre and Ez. We get ambushed by sorrowsworn who tear through the dwarves and kill every one infront of us.

-after us quickly getting overwhelmed, Mirre dies and is torn apart infront of Ez, Jace being next until our lights go out and Rhil gets a powersurge from Pandoryum, entering a shadowy state where shes nothing but a black silhouette with glowing purple eyes and scares them off. Mirre gets revived by Pandoryum.

-Ez helps tend to Mirre who resets up his rites. Ez states that while the rites are useful, it was hard for her to see him bleed so soon after watching him die

-We have successfully killed off two yeth hounds but are chased into cave/crypt by a horrible storm. we open a coffin that was recently moved to find and unconcious Jace. Turns out the second we entered the cave Morgantha swapped him out with a fake Jace. Fake Jace looking corrupted and dead with a sword all to familiar to Vladimir's. The illusion disappears before it can strike us and Morgantha strolls in.

-She curses us. The curses go like this.

"We can do so much more then give you wee little nightmares dearies, we can make them into reality. You have no idea what you've messed with."

She sets her gaze upon Mirre. "You gave us your voice, son of bloody hunts, now let it strike fear into all those you converse with." A cold tickle can be felt within your throat.

She shifts her gaze toward Rhil. "You gave us your heart, daughter of night, now let it be drowned in the dark seas of doubt." A slight tightening can be felt within your chest.

Her gaze then lingers on the sarcophagus containing Jace. "The son of bright kings light gave us his word, a paladin is only as good as the oaths he keeps, is he not?"

-then she summons a huge shadow monster and atleast 9 shadows before leaving.

A fight ensues, Jace remaining unconsious the entire time. Mirre gets dragged off by the large shadow while Rhil and Ez fend off the smaller shadows.

Once Rhil clears up a lot of the shadows with spirit guardians. Ez races to try and help Mirre whos fighting for his life, she upcasts her lighting bolt and does just enough damage to let Mirre finish it off. Mirre only had 2 strength left, so he would have died if he got hit again.

-the fight ends, we get Jace up who has a level of exhaustion now and Ez carries Mirre since hes to weak to stand and we flee as fast as we can out of there.

-the session ends when we finally pop out of the woods at the walls of Vallaki!

[blorbologist]

Vampire Bashter is everything.

if you have time/spoons for it, I would love a follow up to the last one with Jesters first meal.

HEY! Last Valentines ask, woo - I went a slightly different direction for this one, I hope you don't mind. It started as a little tiny leadup to a first nibble, but was starting to get a touch long for a quick snippet.

Everything after is pretty blurry. Not like she has something in her eye or anything - if anything, a few blinks in everything is sharper. Acute. But blurry as in smeared, as in everything is moving fast and she can hardly keep up, as in she’s moving fast and her head’s still looking a little too far to the left. 

Oh. Oh man. She gets it now. Gets why Yasha’s eyes trail over the aftermath of a fight. Gets to feel her blood, what’s left, sloshing to lazy heartbeats. Gets is really doing work, is what she means.

Caleb’s blurry with blood - Jester skids through it when she throws herself down to help. There’s a second where she licks her lips, runs a finger through the caterpillar crawl, coaxes it onto her finger to admire, before - before it hits her this is Caleb, their Cay-leb, and he’s dead and she’s - 

She casts Revivify. Expects it to hurt. It doesn’t. 

Caleb breathes again, and his wounds give one last gurgle, and Jester gurgles something of her own and pats his head and stumbles away.

The fleshy, weeping walls of Cognouza look juicy.

--

Jester almost forgot about the whole ‘oh yeah I’m a vampire now’ thing. Honest. Really!

(They’d saved the world, and Lucien was dead, and Molly was too, and whoever was here was scared, and she wasn’t scared, she was just tired and hungry. So. Nothing to talk about! It could wait.)

The afternoon sun is drowsy, filtered through clouds like satin sheets. 

It burns.

Yasha throws a wing over. The feathers don’t sear, though her exposed skin does as she gently shuffles Jester into the shade. A shove would have done the job.

“Yasha -”

“It’s fine,” she says, when they’re both under the trees. The rest of the Nein hasten to explain the broad strokes to the Clays, celebratory return (a heroes’ welcome! And she’s missing out!) dampened just a bit. 

She isn’t, she really isn’t. So Jester huffs and - and she has to really lean up on her tippy-toes, so high she thinks she might topple, to take Yasha’s face in her hands and cast Cure Wounds. Just enough to help. 

“Now it’s fine,” she declares. Hesitates  - she can almost hover like this, with Yasha’s jaw as an achor, and feel the muscles pulling there. It’s almost normal, not like it was around the others. Because they’re both vampires, now. 

“Yasha?” 

“Hm?”

Jester bites her lip. Doesn’t think it through - her fangs are more, now, and they draw a nice little gash in red ink. She doesn’t have enough blood for that, anymore. “It - it’ll be fine, right, Yasha?”

Her brows furrow, her wings fold. “I - I mean. I can’t promise that. ‘Cause it wasn’t alright for me.” Jester winces. The honesty is nice, though, even as Yasha stammers. “But! We’ll try. Okay? We’ll try for fine.”

“Thanks, Yasha.” Jester sniffles.

She isn’t crying, even as her eyes burn, desperate for tears. 

They always tell you how vampires get blood from other people. Like how Yasha drinks from Beau, sometimes from bad guys they’re killing anyways. Not that Jester’s seen her do it, but - she’s read a few books, okay? 

No one ever talks about where the tears come from. Apparently because they’ve only got so many, after they turn.

Guess she used all of them on Molly’s body. Haha.

[viladlind]

headcanon — fiyero's fighting style and battle tactics!

had my brain full of it today, so i'm gonna be putting down a few tidbits about fiyero's position in battles as well as his job within the party! to preface, my party is usually made up of karlach (barbarian), lae'zel (monk) and astarion (rogue). while fiyero does interact with and occasionally take others, that's the main team.

fiyero being a glamour bard, and being the only one who can heal, that's usually his job in battle. karlach and lae'zel move in, fighting people up close. astarion moves to a spot higher up or to the side. fiyero stays in the back, far enough to not be the first target, close enough to move in and cast cure wounds if needed (a spell that requires touch to be able to heal).

this means that he usually remains relatively unscathed in battle. occasionally he'll pull out his longbow and help finish people off, or he'll cast spells that lower the chances of the enemies/boost the chances of his party (like bane and bless). he has a rapier if challenged up close, but he's not an expert at using it, only meant as a last resort.

however, this also means that he can get singled out. there's truly nothing more annoying than the healer in the very back, protected by his teammates, putting negative effects on your own people. it's a lot easier to kill the rest once the healer is down— so people will go around while karlach and lae'zel are engaged in a fight and can't move away immediately, or they rush through, trying to be quick about it.

and the thing is, once fiyero is unconscious, his party is kind of fucked. there's healing potions, and that's usually enough to get them to win. but a lot depends on him staying conscious and safe, and that's hard to do when you're the leader and face of the party, who's usually the first in line when it comes to confronting people.

fiyero depends on his friends. if he gets hurt, if people get up in his face, he gets frantic and desperate fast. he's not equipped to fight by himself! when he's hurt, he slips into infernal first. when he gets grievously hurt, it slips back into elvish, the first language he ever learned. he doesn't trust anybody else in his party (except for wyll) to perform first aid on him, often refusing help if he thinks he can do it himself. he's terrified of scarring, doesn't want things to heal wrong, needs to put bones into place properly, pull out a spearhead so the skin doesn't heal over it.

he's good at his job, but that relies on him continously being good at his job, and not passing out while he's at it.

(and as a small addition, he's died in battle plenty of times, which is the first time he had to confront that experience after his assassination. he absolutely hates it, but not as much as rushing over to people within a minute of their death and casting revivify in time for them to come back.)

[blackjackkent]

Continuing to wander around the outside of the House of Healing before going back in to confront Malus.

Ran into a group of "Shadow-Cursed Harpers" that I had to fight and I was briefly REALLY concerned that this was somehow Jaheira:

But I don't think it is. Phew.

The nearby fountain has three plaques on it with gibberish; they click when Hector interacts with them, and are clearly a puzzle.

Hmm.

The above is the order in which I initially read the plaques, but rearranging them gives us a full mesage:

OUR LADY OF LOSS MISTRESS OF PAIN WHEN NIGHT FALLS THORM SHALL RISE

Very cheerful. Toggling all three plaques in the right order opens a passageway down under the fountain.

This also pops an inspiration for both Gale and Hector which identifies this underground area as the "Sharran Sanctuary." It is untouched by the shadow curse and contains a lot of Sharran symbology but doesn't seem directly connected to the temple we were exploring before.

Walking down to the bottom and examining a plaque on a statue down there gets us a cutscene:

Narrator: "Do you accept Shar's test of your intellect?"

Hm. Is this part of the gauntlet or some separate test? I'm going to assume the latter since we seem to be in a different building. But damn, Shar likes giving tests huh.

Anyway, Hector obviously wants nothing to do with this - but Shadowheart is on board! Apparently all clerics get advantage on the intelligence saving throw that we would normally get here - but Shadowheart, as a cleric of Shar specifically, gets to skip the check entirely.

[CLERIC OF SHAR] You are Shar's child - there is no reason to shy away. Nod in acceptance.

Narrator: You feel a small pulse of energy race up your spine. And a strange sensation of...acceptance.

Aw, look how happy she is.

Nice! Not sure how relevant that will be before we next sleep, but still, good for you, Shadowheart.

I was about to roll on out pretty quick, since Hector's kind of unnerved by the whole thing - but I noticed there's also a panel on the wall that looks distinctly like it could be a hidden passageway. And looking around, there are two other plaques with similar challenges - one for Wisdom and one for Charisma, judging by the text - so I ran Shadowheart through all three, and sure enough, I am in fact a genius, and the wall opened.

Uh...huh.

Gonna continue to let Shadowheart take the lead here while Hector lurks awkwardly in the background. She got a cutscene and a special dialogue option:

Narrator: An altar to Shar. It appears to seek pray [sic], and a blood offering - your blood.

(Both the subtitle and the narrator said "pray" there, not "prayer," which doesn't make any sense. XD )

[CLERIC OF SHAR] Take up the dagger, recite Shar's wisdom, and offer blood from your arm.

Completing this whole process got us a total of three inspiration - one from Shadowheart called "Honing the Darkness" for completing the tests, and then one each for Hector and Gale called "Partaking in Local Customs" (lol) for completing the ritual.

A bunch of items also popped up for looting on both sides of the altar, including a Revivify scroll. Nice!