#rosalind sunlark

[weaveandwood]

Uhm ok I get the Rugan thing (I missed him in my other playthrough so this is my first time seeing this scene and wowieeee)

Rosalind: Is he...flirting with me? Wyll: Is Jealous

[druizard]

Bladesong: a tender moment~

For: @weaveandwood

[weaveandwood]

I’m obsessed! I’m crying! They’re so perfect!

The Bard and The Blade - art exchange with my lovely friend @weaveandwood

Close ups

[weaveandwood]

The Bard and the Blade! First attempts at sketching Wyll and my second Tav, Rosalind.

[weaveandwood]

The bard outfit is so stupid looking I hate it.

[weaveandwood]

The Bard and The Blade Chapter 2: A Small Continent

Wyll/Named Tav | Slow Burn | Read on AO3 | Entire Work

Summary:

Rosalind has a poor showing in battle and the mission is a complete failure. Will Wyll change his mind about accompanying the party now?

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out before taking a large gulp of her wine, which he instantly topped up.  “For what?” He laughed. “For having a bad day? It happens to everyone. I have had a number of days end just like this, returning to camp with my metaphorical tail tucked between my legs, my only solace at the bottom of a glass of wine. Now…I can honestly say I haven’t died in the middle of a fight,” he smiled as he teased her, hoping it would help lift her spirits. He wasn’t ready to admit to her that the sight of her lying lifeless on the ground sent a cold dread through him, even though they had only known each other a little more than a day at that point.

AN: This chapter was born out of the fact that I am playing on Balanced mode (and am Not Good at the game, even though I enjoy it immensely) and a glitch in my Investigate Kagha quest. I'm hoping to update this fic every 2 weeks, alternating with Weave & Woods. Also big thank you to @druizard for the banner!

Dying the second day of their adventure wasn’t part of Rosalind’s plan, but as she woke up gasping for air with her three party companions standing around her, it was clear that was exactly what happened. She groaned as she sat up, her now pounding head in her hands as her elbows were balanced on her knees. 

“What happened?” She asked the ground, not wanting to make eye contact with Gale, Astarion, or especially Wyll out of sheer embarrassment.

“Wood Woads,” said Gale. “Nasty buggers, they got us all pretty good.”

“Speak for yourself, wizard. I am perfectly fine, thank you very much,” said Astarion, a hint of amusement in his voice. Rosalind glanced up. Gale and Wyll looked way more beat up than Astarion. She assumed he used his sneaking abilities to get around the majority of the fight. She had been friends with plenty of rogues growing up in the Lower City, she knew how they operated. 

“As I was about to say,” Gale said as he leveled a look at Astarion who was no longer paying attention, having moved on to look around the small island for chests that may have loot in them. “Luckily, we had taken down most of the mud mephits and the other Wood Woad before you went down. Wyll here got the final blast in right after you…well right after you died.” 

She looked at Wyll, who was staring off into the distance, not making eye contact with her. While she had to admit he looked extremely handsome as the sun shone on his face, this had clearly not been a good first impression on her part. He was probably rethinking their deal right at this moment and was plotting how to leave their camp and capture Karlach on his own, leaving her in the dust. She thought about resurrecting the Wood Woad to take her out again or crawling into a large tree trunk and never coming out. Maybe she could get Gale to cast an invisibility spell on her so she could slink off for good. All three sounded like good and valid options at this point. 

“Weren’t we supposed to find some sort of clue here about Kagha?” Astarion yelled from behind the large tree trunk. The whole reason they came to this area was to see what shady deal Kagha was getting into based on the letter they found in her quarters and hopefully try to talk her out of performing the ritual that would seal the Emerald Grove and set the tiefling refugees out on a road far too dangerous for anyone who wasn’t trained to fight. “There’s nothing here!”

Rosalind took Gale’s now outstretched hand and he smiled at her as he helped her up from the ground. What a good, kind man. She was glad she pulled him out of that rock. She walked stiffly to Astarion, groaning and rubbing her back as she did. “What do you mean, there’s nothing here? There has to be!” She was desperate for something to go right today. 

“Darling, I’ve looked in every chest, under each rock, and in every nook in this tree. There’s nothing. Either someone else got to it first, or we were duped and there never was anything here.”

She sighed. This was not her day at all. “Alright, let’s head back, I guess.”

As they walked the path through the swamp back to the grove, she found herself falling in step with Gale while Wyll and Astarion led the way. Gale was easy to talk to - partially because he loved to talk, and partially because wizards had always been so interesting to her. The way they practiced magic was so studied, so precise. Sometimes watching a wizard cast felt cold, calculated, formulaic - less about artistry, more about precision. Gale was on a different level - the way he moved his hands was faster than any wizard she had ever seen, and the spells he chose had a certain flair to them, either in the type of spell he chose or when he chose to cast them, which resulted in the most dramatic effect. An artist can always spot another artist, and Rosalind felt a kindred spirit in Gale. 

“You know,” he said softly as he slowed down, putting more distance between the two groups, “I think Wyll was angrier when you went down than he was during the goblin fight yesterday. An instant after you fell, the Wood Woad who caused your demise was nothing but ash. He was also the one to revive you. Astarion and I didn’t even have time to attempt to dig our scrolls of revivify out of our packs before he was already chanting the verbal components at your side.” He smiled, a knowing tone in his voice. “Interesting, don’t you think?”

Rosalind stopped in her tracks, her mind racing. Wyll revived her? Instantly, she was giddy as she pictured him pushing everyone away to rescue the downed, fair maiden. She giggled internally at the thought and caught herself starting to blush. On the other, more practical hand, it made complete sense. He’s a hero - of course he’d rush to her rescue out of a sense of duty. Part of the job. Just another day. She knew that. And the anger Gale described? Well, that was definitely because she was a failure and put them all in danger. Any thoughts she had of him potentially fancying her disappeared as quickly as they came, replaced by deep embarrassment again at being unable to hold her own on the battlefield that day. Living in a large tree trunk for the rest of her days now seemed like the most appealing option again. 

Maybe a family of raccoons would take her and her tadpole in. 

******

The mood at camp that evening was subdued. Wyll noticed everyone seemed to take their cues from Rosalind, effectively the party leader at this point, and Rosalind was not in the best of moods. She sat away from the rest of the group, using her fork to stab at the remnants of whatever vegetables remained in her bowl of stew Gale had prepared and muttering to herself.

He recognized that mood.

He grabbed two cups and a bottle of wine and walked over, sitting next to her on the ground. He saw her freeze for a second before looking up at him. She had the biggest blue eyes with flecks of gold. He hadn’t taken the time to appreciate them fully the other day, but he was sure he’d notice their beauty all the time now. He filled one cup and handed it to her before filling his own. 

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out before taking a large gulp of her wine, which he instantly topped up. 

“For what?” He laughed. “For having a bad day? It happens to everyone. I have had a number of days end just like this, returning to camp with my metaphorical tail tucked between my legs, my only solace at the bottom of a glass of wine. Now…I can honestly say I haven’t died in the middle of a fight,” he smiled as he teased her, hoping it would help lift her spirits. He wasn’t ready to admit to her that the sight of her lying lifeless on the ground sent a cold dread through him, even though they had only known each other a little more than a day at that point. 

She groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Don’t remind me. I have a scroll I can give you to replace the one you wasted on me.”

He placed a hand on her arm, the contact making her look at him. “It wasn’t a waste, Rosalind. It would never be a waste to revive a valued member of a party.” 

She sighed. “I’m not sure exactly how valued I am. I am sure everyone here thinks I’m awful and would leave me on the side of the road in a heartbeat. Well, maybe not Gale. I’m just…new to this. Fighting, traveling, roughing it. All of it. I’ve only been outside of Baldur’s Gate just a few times, and one of those times led to me being kidnapped by mindflayers. Once this is over I don’t think I’ll be venturing outside the city again for a good long while,” she said and laughed nervously, finishing her wine. 

Wyll took a drink, observing the rest of the party. Lae’zel kept to herself mostly, sharpening her blades each night. He had heard her admonish Rosalind for dying, ordering her to train with her during any free time from now on. Gale, Astarion, and Shadowheart sat together, laughing quietly at something. Gale looked over at them a couple of times as Wyll watched. He thought he saw a smile, a nod directed at Rosalind. Wonder what that is about? He turned to look at her and caught her staring at him, her chin resting on her hands. She quickly tried to look away, but he noticed the blush rising up her neck. He smiled to himself. 

“Refill?” he asked, holding up the bottle of wine, now half gone. 

“Please,” she replied, holding out her cup. 

“So you’re from Baldur’s Gate?” He asked, wanting to confirm that his suspicions on her identity were correct. 

“Oh! I guess we didn’t really get a chance to talk much. Eventful day yesterday, what with the kidnapping, the crash, and the battle with the goblins. I think I fell asleep 10 minutes after setting up my tent. Anyway…” She cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m from Baldur’s Gate, born and raised, in a manner of speaking. You’ve already figured out that I’m a bard. Hmmm, what else? I mainly perform in coffee shops and taverns in the Lower City, sometimes the Upper City - but those are few and far between. I’ve been asked to perform at private events and bigger venues but I turn them down every time. One must keep their reputation intact, you know.” She rotated her cup in her hands as she spoke. “Do…do you ever stop in Baldur’s Gate on any Blade of Frontiers missions?” She asked. 

He shook his head. “I was raised there, but left seven years ago. I was seventeen with an eye for adventure and haven’t been back since. I did enjoy seeing bards perform in the Lower City Plaza when I was a teenager though.”

“I used to perform at that plaza! My first paying gig was there. I was so nervous!” She smiled, her face lighting up as she reminisced. “It was such a big place, and it was the weekend so of course it was busy with people not even pretending to pay attention to me. I remember it so vividly! I wanted it to feel intimate so I cast dancing lights but instead of the cool blue they normally are when I cast, I changed them to be warm yellow, like candlelight. I thought I was so creative,” she laughed. “I think maybe twenty people listened to me that night, but I’ll never forget it.” 

Wyll couldn’t believe it. It was her - The Sunlark. What a small continent it was. 

“I wonder if our paths ever crossed before this. It’s such a huge city, it feels unlikely. But I got that gig when I was seventeen, and if I’m doing the math correctly, that would have been when you were sixteen, so there’s a chance,” she said, looking at him again and catching him smiling at her. “What are you smiling about?” She asked, taking a sip.

“I remember you. I saw that performance.” He finished his wine, the bottle now empty. 

He heard her choke on her wine and had to hold back his own laughter. “You did? And you remember it after all these years? It was either really good or really bad to be that memorable,” she laughed nervously. “Hopefully good, though,” she added.

The fire cast a diffused warm glow onto her, reminding him of that night. “Good enough for a sixteen year old boy to skip drinking with his friends at the Elfsong. And good enough to remember a pretty bard’s beautiful singing after seven years,” he said softly as he looked over and saw her shy smile, the faint blush returning to her cheeks. His gaze traveled over her face, taking in the faded bird tattoos, the scar above her eyebrow, her freckles, the scar cutting through her full lips. They looked soft. He saw her beautiful blue eyes do the same, pausing when they got to his lips. He realized suddenly that he had been leaning toward her, their bodies closer now than they were when he sat next to her. All it would take was him leaning in just a little more…

No, there wasn’t time for that. He cleared his throat and stood up quickly.

“It’s getting late, I should get to my tent. Tomorrow we hunt down Karlach and we’ll need all of our strength to capture that infernal devil. Goodnight, Rosalind, thank you for the conversation.” He bowed to her before turning and walking across camp.

******

Rosalind smiled to herself as she finished the last of her wine. He had seen her perform. He remembered her. He called her pretty . Gone was the embarrassment of the day. Gone was the desire to run away. Gone were the feelings of doubt and insecurity - at least for now. She was positive she’d make more mistakes, most likely tomorrow. But none of that mattered because the Blade of Frontiers complimented her singing voice. She would float on the cloud she was now on as long as possible.

Not quite ready to end the day, she went across the campsite to sit between Gale and Astarion, laughing at jokes they were telling at each other’s expense. Her favorites were the ones about Shadowheart’s permanent scowl - even Shadowheart managed to crack a smile at a couple of them. As the wine flowed between the four of them, however, the attention turned to her. 

“So, Rosalind,” Astarion crooned. “You and Wyll looked rather…cozy over there.” 

Oh, no.

She felt her cheeks get hot, sure they were turning bright red. “We were just talking,” she said, taking a long drink. 

“Please, the two of you looked like you were two seconds away from -”

“Now, Astarion,” Gale interrupted. “Rosalind and Wyll are young. Surely you remember what it was like to be so young after the heat of a battle? I could hardly blame them for their…closeness.” Rosalind choked on her wine again. Somehow it sounded even worse coming from Gale. 

“No, no. He was just cheering me up! It was a hard day, what with dying and the mission being a complete failure. That’s all. We both grew up in Baldur’s Gate, so we were reminiscing.” Gale, Astarion, and Shadowheart all exchanged a look that implied they didn’t believe her for a second. 

She looked up at the sky, squinting at the moon, now high overhead. Does that even mean anything for nighttime? She thought, suddenly wishing she had taken the time to learn just a little about life in the wilds and not focus her entire childhood on just surviving in the city. “Well! Look at the time! We should probably wrap this up - big day tomorrow, capturing a devil and all! I’m just…I’m just going to go to my tent now.” She turned on her heel and raised her hand to give an awkward wave. “Good night! See you in the morning!” She heard the sound of muffled laughter as she entered her tent. 

She took two deep breaths, thinking again about her conversation with Wyll. She smiled as she climbed into her bedroll, grabbing her small notebook she kept for jotting down notes, potential lyrics. She wrote “fire, wine, soft lips, almost kiss” on a page and closed it, holding it to her chest. 

“Sorry family of raccoons, I think my tadpole and I are going to be sticking around here,” she laughed to herself.

[weaveandwood]

Did I stay up until 3am to have Rosalind smooch Wyll? Yes I did.

Listen to how absolutely flustered he gets - I'm absolutely kicking my feet, twirling my hair.

[weaveandwood]

Gale this is a Wyllmance playthrough you cannot look at Rosalind like that I am WEAK.

[weaveandwood]

The Bard and The Blade Chapter 1: What a Day

Wyll/Named Tav | Slow Burn | Read on AO3

Summary:

What if you met your favorite hero and they fell in love with you?

He stuck out his hand to shake hers for an introduction. “Wyll Ravengard, Blade of -”  “- Blade of Frontiers, I know. Big fan here.” Rosalind interrupted as she shook his hand, actually shook his hand. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted, that was rude. I’m Rosalind Sunlark,” she introduced herself. She thought she saw a flash of recognition cross his eyes, but it passed in less than a moment before their minds connected, which meant The Blade had also been on the mindflayer ship.  “Seems like we’re in the same predicament,” he said, his smile replaced with a serious countenance.

AN: I had a lot of fun writing this! I hope you enjoy my new fic!

Rosalind Sunlark was having a weird as hell day. 

Waking up on a mindflayer ship? Having a tadpole in her brain that will turn her into a mindflayer? Somehow surviving a fall out of a crashing ship that should have killed her if not for some magical force? 

Pulling a wizard out of a rock?

Fine - just another day on the Sword Coast, if she was being honest. Weird things happen here on the daily. She had sung about most of them, it felt like, when she performed at her favorite coffee houses and taverns in Baldur’s Gate.

But seeing The Blade of Frontiers? It was too much. Her brain was having trouble reconciling what her eyes were seeing. She recognized him immediately, and even if she hadn’t, he did that thing that folk heroes do and introduced himself to his enemies while brandishing his rapier. He was the folk hero she sang about the most, the subject of stories she wanted to pass on to everyone in her vicinity whether they wanted to hear it or not, the person who legends should be written about. He was The Blade of freaking Frontiers.

In front of her. Wielding a blade. Taking down goblins without getting so much as a scratch.

She needed to sit down. 

An arrow shot past her, the draft causing strands of her hair to rustle as it flew by. She shook her head and blinked twice, remembering she was in the middle of a battle, helping the Blade of Frontiers. She aimed her crossbow at a particularly ugly goblin and amplified her voice. 

“Pernicious, putrifying pissant!”

The goblin winced and was distracted as her crossbow bolt found its mark, taking the goblin down completely. 

“Nice shot!” she heard from across the clearing. From The Blade himself. She smiled and gave what was potentially the most awkward wave she had ever given. She was going to pass out.

What a great day Rosalind Sunlark was having. 

******

“Nice shot!” 

Wyll did a double take when he saw who shot the bolt that took down a goblin in one fell swoop, having to stifle a chuckle at the vicious mockery the bard uttered from across the field before shooting. The bard looked familiar, somehow. Something tickled at the back of his mind, and he was positive it wasn’t his brain’s new houseguest, courtesy of the mindflayers. Was that…surely it couldn’t be The Sunlark? Not all the way out here. She was a firm fixture of the Baldur’s Gate music scene. And yet…

Clang! The sound of his steel against a goblin’s brought him back to the task at hand. He needed to focus, the Blade of Frontiers didn’t get distracted by a pretty girl who was a good shot. 

He saw the flash of bright, almost white-blonde hair as the bard assisted one of her party, a wizard from the looks of it, with a healing spell then rammed a shortsword into the nearest enemy’s stomach with a shout of desperation. 

He smiled to himself as he ran his rapier through the last of the goblins. He most definitely would get distracted by pretty girls who were good shots and absolutely brutal in battle, even if her fighting skills were a little raw. 

Especially this one, if she was who he thought she was. 

He was transported back to Baldur’s Gate on a warm summer evening when he was almost seventeen, walking through the streets with a few of his friends, sons of other nobles. He didn’t get much time to himself after his studies - his father, newly promoted to Grand Duke, thought his time was better spent training with the sword to eventually take his place as a Flaming Fist, then as Grand Duke in the future, so he relished the time he got to spend with them, being as normal as sons of nobles could be - swimming naked in fountains, wandering about the lower city, participating in minor mischief that only sons of men with privilege would be able to get away with. If he was being honest, though, they were mostly looking at pretty girls and talking about adventures they wanted to have outside of the city.

Strolling down one of the larger plazas in the lower city, they were all laughing and joking about some prank they had just pulled when he heard the faintest melody of a lute, a soft mezzo soprano voice drifting over the din of the crowd who were all absorbed in their own conversations and cups of wine. He looked around and saw a bard sitting at the far side of the plaza. The dancing lights surrounding her cast a warm glow, like she was illuminated by fifty candles. Her light white-blonde hair was practically incandescent as she sang, and her voice made him want to move closer and closer. There was a small crowd, maybe twenty or so people, standing around her, watching and swaying back and forth to the music. 

He was transfixed, even at that distance. A hand waved in front of his eyes, drawing his attention back to his friends. 

“Wyll, you there, man?” He said with a laugh. “We’re going to go get some drinks at the Elfsong, you in?” 

He looked back at the bard. “You guys go on without me, I think I’m going to stay here a little while longer. I’ll meet up with you there.” 

******

“Wow, that guy was a prick,” Rosalind remarked, reaching out a hand to help Zevlor to his feet after getting clocked by Aradin despite her attempts at defusing the situation. “You okay?” 

Zevlor affirmed he was fine and started talking about the tensions in the grove between the tiefling refugees and the druids. Rosalind tried to pay attention, she really did, but when she looked over Zevlor’s shoulder, she saw a glimpse of a training platform with small tiefling kids being taught how to swordfight. It looked like they had a guest teacher - it was him. Now was her chance to introduce herself. Gods, what if he - 

She startled as Gale elbowed her in the ribs, bringing her attention back to where it should have been. Zevlor looked at her, confused. She definitely should have been listening instead of daydreaming.

“I’m so sorry, what was the question? I must have gotten hit in the head during that battle,” she laughed, trying to play off how rude she was being. 

“I asked your name,” the tiefling said, smiling warmly at her. 

“Oh! I’m so sorry! I’m Rosalind. And this is Gale, Shadowheart, and Astarion,” she smiled as she made introductions. Gale was the most exuberant of all of them, eager to learn more about the tieflings and their journey out of Elturel. Normally, Rosalind would be eager to learn more too, to add to her lore as potential material for future songs. The journey of the tieflings would actually be pretty epic, but…him. She felt her gaze drifting back to the training session.

Astarion leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Have your eye on a certain handsome hero? It looks like Gale has this under control by not shutting up so now is your chance - go.” She nodded and slinked off, attempting to be discreet about it. She smiled to herself. She knew it was a good idea to invite the pale elf on their journey, she liked him already. 

As she got closer to the platform, her heart started beating faster and faster. She hadn’t felt nerves like this since her first paid performance in that large plaza in Baldur’s Gate all those years ago - gods she must have been only seventeen. She shook her hands and exhaled, trying to calm herself before stopping a few feet away to watch for a minute. 

“You don’t have to be as good as me, you just have to buy yourself enough time to be able to run,” she heard him tell a child. Such a frightening scenario for one so small, but a strategy she knew all too well from her own childhood. 

The Blade of Frontiers noticed her standing near the platform and smiled at her. Don’t pass out, don’t pass out, she thought. 

“You had some pretty great shots out there, any advice for these kids?” He said as he beckoned her to come closer with a nod of his head. After looking around to make sure he wasn’t talking to someone else, Rosalind stepped up onto the platform and put on her cool, calm, and collected face, even though inside she was a storm of nerves and excitement. 

“Alright,” she crouched down to be at eye level with the kids. “Be sure to back up your friends. You’ll only get through a fight if you stick together. And then you can tell all your other friends stories about your heroics. Then they tell their friends, and they tell their friends, one of whom happens to be a bard, and that’s how legends are started.” The kids cheered and raised their wooden swords before their instructor urged them to take a break and get a drink of water, leaving her alone on the platform with The Blade. She smiled as she stood up. 

He stuck out his hand to shake hers for an introduction. “Wyll Ravengard, Blade of -” 

“- Blade of Frontiers, I know. Big fan here.” Rosalind interrupted as she shook his hand, actually shook his hand. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted, that was rude. I’m Rosalind Sunlark,” she introduced herself. She thought she saw a flash of recognition cross his eyes, but it passed in less than a moment before their minds connected, which meant The Blade had also been on the mindflayer ship. 

“Seems like we’re in the same predicament,” he said, his smile replaced with a serious countenance.

“Indeed it does.” She took a deep breath. Now or never. “I know you’re The Blade of Frontiers and all, but my party all has the same affliction. We’re looking for a healer and you’re welcome to join. If you want. If not, that’s alright. Totally fine. I’m sure you’re busy.” She was rambling. Why did she ramble when she got nervous? Singing in front of hundreds of people was easier than talking to him. 

“Actually -” The tadpoles connected their brains again, interrupting Wyll. The image of a devil’s advocate flashed through their linked visions. Wyll laughed softly, “As I was saying, actually that sounds great, but I am currently hunting down a devil who will lay waste to the Sword Coast if not dealt with.”

“Hmmm…two big problems at once. How about you join us and we can help you hunt this devil down? We may not be seasoned heroes, but I do have a wizard that seems to know what he’s doing most of the time. That has to count for something, right?” She smiled at Wyll. Why did that name sound familiar?

He gave her an easy smile. Gods, that smile already made her weak in the knees and she only knew him for five minutes. “That sounds like a plan. I have some things to take care of, but I will meet up with you in a few hours. Until then, please, explore the grove and speak with these tieflings. I imagine their stories would provide a bard with plenty of material. Maybe help spread a kind word about the refugees.”

“How did you know I was…right! The violin strapped to my back,” she laughed. “Obviously.”

“And your fighting style. Very impressive insults - I almost felt bad for those goblins. Almost.”

“Well, growing up in the Outer and Lower Cities of Baldur’s Gates does wonders for one’s vocabulary,” she said. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gale, Shadowheart, and Astarion attempting to haggle with the merchant at the entrance of the caves. Poor guy. “I better go see what they’re up to. Meet outside the grove in a few hours?” 

“Absolutely. It was a pleasure meeting you, Rosalind,” he smiled at her and gave a half bow with a funny little flourish and walked away. 

She exhaled deeply, puffing out her cheeks as she watched him leave. Not only was he handsome, compelling, and good with the blade, he was kind, a good teacher, and going to join their party?

Oh, she was in trouble.

Big trouble. 

Worse trouble than the tadpole.

[weaveandwood]

The Bard and The Blade Chapter 3: A Reckoning

Wyll/Named Tav | Slow Burn | Read on AO3 | Entire Work

Summary:

The gang meets Karlach and Wyll finds out that his pactholder has not been as forthcoming as he thought.

Suddenly, flames and an oily black substance surrounded Wyll, engulfing him. Lightning storms raced across his body, followed by a lick of flames, repeating over and over. He was screaming as if he was being dragged across all the Hells. She looked around - everyone was frozen in fear. Somebody had to do something, and who better than her? It was a lesson she learned throughout her childhood. She couldn’t depend on someone else to save the day - she had to do it herself. She lunged forward, only to be held back by Gale, who had moved closer while Mizora was monologuing

Wyll was adrift in a sea of doubt and half truths. Rosalind had immediately seen the situation for what it was and shouted at him to stand down, that Karlach was not a devil but a tiefling who had been enlisted into Zariel’s army against her will. Once he saw the tiefling’s memories through the tadpole connection, he knew . He knew Karlach wasn’t a devil. He knew he had been deceived. He knew he had been lied to by the person who held his strings, who controlled his contract, who allowed him to access his powers through their pact. And he knew the refusal to slay his charge would come at a steep price.

He was in a somber mood that night at camp. No matter how many jokes Gale tried to crack or how much teasing Astarion did, nothing could seem to raise his spirits. He was left waiting, wondering when his judgment would come. He knew it would, and likely soon - his patron didn’t like to wait. 

“Hey,” Rosalind said as she sat next to him on the ground in what he was starting to refer to as their spot in his head, as silly as it was. 

“I’m afraid you’ll find me in poor spirits tonight,” he said, sitting his still-full bowl down on the ground beside him and looking toward the heavens. If only he had been able to make a pact with a god and not a cambion on that fateful day so many years ago. Had he swung his blade at other beings that were undeserving while he was blinded by duty and without the one benefit of the tadpole connecting them all? The thought wouldn’t leave his mind, guilt gnawing at the corners of his conscience. 

“That’s okay, I just thought you’d like some company, even if it’s just to sit in silence together. Bad moods are likely to turn into worse moods when a person is left alone. Learned that one myself last night,” she smiled, leaning into him to bump his shoulder. He couldn’t help but smile. 

“Forgive me, then. A reckoning is coming, Rosalind. I suspect the veil will be lifted and I will be forced to pay my penance tonight,” he said wearily, thoughts of his punishment and how it would be exacted having run through his head since they began their walk toward camp that evening. 

“What kind of reckoning?” she asked. He could hear the nerves in her voice. 

He sighed, still staring at the stars, small pinpricks on a navy blanket. “You’re not in any danger, I promise you that. Though I can’t say the same for me.”

The ground started to rumble. Black, inky tendrils swirled, reaching toward the sky from a spot near the campfire. He heard Rosalind gasp, and saw the rest of the party snap their heads to the disturbance within the space they thought was safe, protected from the outside world. How he hated to be the one to break that illusion. 

“Hellfire. She’s coming,” he said with quiet resignation. He stood up and walked toward the disturbance, Rosalind and Karlach following closely behind. He still owed Karlach a proper apology for all of the torment he put her through - perhaps whatever was about to happen would be a first step in righting the wrongs he had directed her way. 

Fire erupted inside the inky disturbance, an oily black figure appearing in the center before revealing herself to be a cambion - Mizora, his patron. Gods, how he hated her. 

“Wyll, you’ve been naughty,” she cooed. “And you know what happens when you’ve been naughty.”

******

Rosalind looked the cambion up and down. Weirdly low cut dress, heavy gold jewelry, creepy seductive nature - it was all she could do to not roll her eyes, really. She took a deep breath, knowing she needed to take this seriously, even if the villain in question was a tacky try-hard. 

Mizora went on and on and on about something or other - Rosalind might have tuned out when she got into the specifics of the pact - contract law was never something that even registered as remotely interesting to her, but then something Wyll said brought her back to the conversation at hand, and she saw red. 

A technicality? 

Wyll was getting punished over a technicality. Fucking contracts, fucking cambions, fucking Mizora . Karlach didn’t have a beating heart in her chest, so that made her fair game. Rosalind made a mental note to figure out a way to make Mizora pay for whatever she was planning on doing to Wyll. 

Suddenly, flames and an oily black substance surrounded Wyll, engulfing him. Lightning storms raced across his body, followed by a lick of flames, repeating over and over. He was screaming as if he was being dragged across all the Hells. She looked around - everyone was frozen in fear. Somebody had to do something, and who better than her? It was a lesson she learned throughout her childhood. She couldn’t depend on someone else to save the day - she had to do it herself. She lunged forward, only to be held back by Gale, who had moved closer while Mizora was monologuing. 

“Rosalind, no!” he whispered. “Wyll will survive this. You would not.”

“You mean to tell me I should do nothing ? That we should just stand here and let her torture him?” she hissed as a bright glow erupted from the ground, swirling tightly around a now groaning Wyll. She pulled against Gale’s hold, but it only caused him to grip her arm tighter. Gods dammit, she thought, only able to watch as Wyll now stood up. He seemed uninjured, but he had…changed. Rosalind's eyes grew wide as she took in his new form - large horns sprouting from his forehead, ridges on his skin. A black eye with a red pupil instead of his large, beautiful brown one that she had grown so fond of looking into these past couple days. Her mind started flying, thumbing through all of the stories she had taken in through her life. Surely she knew something, anything of this type of magic. There had to be a way to reverse this, to get him back to his old self, to - 

“Get used to the new look, pet, there’ll be no going back. Even some magic I can’t undo,” Mizora said. Well, that answered that. Rosalind scowled at Mizora, though she doubted she was even noticed. All Mizora saw was Wyll. “Don’t forget, the pact still stands! Ta-ta!” she called out as that oily black substance coated her and she disappeared. Oh, she would be sure to make Mizora pay for this, somehow. 

She looked at Wyll, who glanced her way before shaking his head and taking off, out of the camp. 

“Wyll doesn’t even know me and he chose my life over his. No one has ever stood up for me like that,” Karlach said softly from beside her.

“He’s a good man,” Rosalind replied, watching the direction Wyll took off. “You must be relieved.”

“Absolutely, I could learn a thing or two from him,” she nodded, then her gaze followed Rosalind’s. “You should go. See how he is.”

 ******

Wyll was furious. He had never expected Mizora to be completely honest with him, but this? This seemed below even her. He hated her, but he had also misjudged her - even after all this time he still retained a bit of naivete about her. That was gone now, his guilt and shock now replaced with a burning anger. And the way Rosalind had looked at him would not escape his memory - eyes wide with shock as she took in his new form. She must think he was a monster. He hit the tree he was leaning against with his fist. Over before anything began , he thought, his good eye misting over as he blinked rapidly. 

“Wyll? Are you here?” he heard her call out. Part of him wanted to remain silent and stay hidden, but a bigger part of him wanted to see her. He stepped around the tree and his anger disappeared, gone without a trace. The moonlight was bright enough they didn’t need any spells or torches to light their way, and oh, did she look ever so beautiful bathed in it. Her hair had taken on a silvery hue and her skin was illuminated as if she were a star that had fallen from the heavens just to find him. He smiled to himself as he was taken right back to being a sixteen year-old boy again with a song in his heart and a crush he thought would last forever.

“Over here,” he called out, raising his hand. He could see the smile appear on her face when she turned to look at him. It wasn’t the smile of someone who thought the other person was a monster.

“How are you doing with all the…changes?” she asked when she got to his tree, motioning up to his horns with her eyes. 

He laughed a bitter laugh. “Well first of all, gods damn Mizora straight back to the Hells. I did the right thing, and she made me pay for it. I was to be hunting down evils - demons, devils, traitors, hypocrites. Not…not victims. Not innocent tieflings. Not people like Karlach.”

She nodded as she leaned her back against the tree beside him. “I mean, she is a devil - not exactly the most trustworthy. You’re probably lucky she didn’t take your soul or something. Why is she so interested in you? Why would she do this?”

He sighed. He wanted to tell her everything, but just the thought of doing so made a heavy weight fall on his chest, and it felt like his airway was cut off. His mind raced, quickly thinking of how to tell her about the pact without going into too many details. He took a deep breath. 

“Mizora is who grants me my power. Even though she is…well, you saw what she is, everything I have done has been for the good of the Coast. I do not regret pacting myself to her. It is one of my proudest moments, and has been worth the sacrifice - even this.” He paused before continuing, “please know that all I can give you is my solemn word about this, and I hope that’s enough.” Gods, he wanted to reach out and touch her - her hand, her arm, her face, anything for a brief bit of contact. A small comforting moment that he was not sure he deserved, but wanted anyway. 

He watched as she looked up at the moon, her brow furrowed in thought before she finally nodded. “I get it,” she said. “You wouldn’t have been able to do all the good you’ve been doing for all these years without it, even with its cost to yourself.” She looked at him. “Do you ever think, though…what your life might have been like had you not pacted with Mizora?” 

“Of course I have. Though every time I do, I realize my life would have been completely unremarkable, following in my father’s footsteps along a path he laid out for me, making no grand achievements of my own. No bards would sing songs about a normal man in Baldur’s Gate, though I’m not sure if many sing about the Blade of Frontiers,” he joked, bumping his shoulder against hers. “Besides, I would take one hundred punishments from Mizora if it meant I would be where I am right now, at this moment,” he said with a serious tone as he found himself drawn in to the way her eyes reflected the moonlight back at him, the way they creased when she smiled. They were ever-changing - now they shone silver and blue, but he knew when the sun broke the horizon they would shine blue and gold like the morning sky. 

He heard her breath catch while a soft smile lit up her face and her eyes darted back and forth between his own before traveling up to his horns, over the new ridges on his face, down to his lips, where they settled briefly before looking back into his eyes. He started to reach his hand out and over towards her, just for the slightest hope their pinkies would brush together. It would be so easy to play it off as an accident, an involuntary twitch that ended with their fingers interlaced. He pictured them walking hand in hand back to the camp, him pressing a gentle kiss to her hand as they parted to go back to their respective tents. He sighed and scolded himself internally. He could not give in to these desires on a night tainted by Mizora. Even though his heart practically leapt out of his chest every time he saw her. Even though he found himself never wanting to be apart from her. Even though it had only been a few days since they met officially, he felt like he had known her since he was sixteen. 

“We should probably head back,” she whispered after a moment’s silence, breaking eye contact and taking a step away from the tree they were both leaning on. This time she was the one putting distance between them. “Don’t want the others to get worried.” 

She started to walk down the path back to camp. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something white and luminous on the ground - a patch of moonflowers, their small petals surrounded by green leaves that were a brilliant blue in this moonlight, a flower reflecting the heavens themselves. These don’t typically grow this far south. What great fortune I have on such an abysmal night , he thought as he plucked one quickly and hurried to catch up to Rosalind, walking beside her in amiable silence as they made their way back. The glow from the campfire grew brighter and brighter, mimicking the smile on his own face as he anticipated giving her his small token of appreciation. Rosalind turned to look at him, catching his expression before he could mask it. 

“What is going on?” she asked, her eyes squinted at him in teasing suspicion. “You look like you’re about to play a trick on me.”

Wyll laughed, placing his empty hand over his heart in mock offense while the other remained firmly tucked behind his back. “Rosalind, you wound me!” He smiled as he held out the single moonflower. “No jest here, just my honest and sincere thanks to you. How glad I am that you see me as more than my patron's pet. You have shown me true friendship tonight. I will always remember this.”

She took the moonflower and smiled. He thought he noticed a hint of pink on her cheeks, though he couldn’t be positive if it wasn’t just the campfire’s glow. 

“Thank you, Wyll. It’s beautiful. I…I better go find some water for this,” she stammered as she started to back away, her smile growing larger and larger before she turned and walked toward her tent, only to be intercepted.

“ Elminster’s beard! Is that a moonflower? All the way down here - where did you find it? Did you know…” 

Wyll shook his head, throwing an apologetic look at Rosalind as she made eye contact with him from across the camp as he heard Gale starting to explain the history of the flower and its magical properties. He turned and went to his tent while Gale attempted to make the flower glow for Rosalind - “if it is a strain related to those in Silverymoon,” he heard the wizard say. 

As he drifted off to sleep that night, thoughts of Mizora were the furthest thing from his mind, replaced by a comforting melody that had been playing through his head for the past seven years.

[weaveandwood]

Rosalind when she walks up to Gale admiring his mirror image is a mood.

What the hell you doing, mate?

[weaveandwood]

So I’m playing my Wyllmance run with Rosalind on balanced mode (Auroria is Explorer mode bc I am Not Good at the game despite enjoying it a lot) and we’ve had three battles. And she’s died in each one.

Poor Wyll, he’s going to need to start carrying 10 healing potions just for her.

[weaveandwood]

Not making the same mistake I did on my first playthrough. No way am I killing Rolan again!

Meeting Wyll next! So excited for my girl.

[weaveandwood]

Snippet Sunday!

No one tagged me (haha I'm a loser) but I wanted to post a little something I've been working on. You've probably seen that I started a second play through with a human bard named Rosalind Sunlark to romance Wyll. Well, I'm writing a fic too! It'll be called The Bard and the Blade.

I've been working on the first chapter this weekend, and I really like it so far. So far, it's more lighthearted than Weave & Woods, and I think I intend to keep it that way (though it will be explicit in later chapters). Since Rosalind is only 25 and Wyll is only 24, it feels right.

Here is a link to a Meet My Tav I made for Rosalind if you want to learn a little more about the Gate's favorite indie singer.

Rosalind Sunlark was having a weird as hell day.  Waking up on a mindflayer ship? Having a tadpole in her brain that will turn her into a mindflayer? Somehow surviving a fall from a mindflayer ship that should have killed her if not for some magical force? Pulling a wizard out of a rock? Fine - just another day on the Sword Coast, if she was being honest. Weird things happen here on the daily. She had sung about most of them, it felt like, when she performed at her favorite coffee houses in Baldur’s Gate. But seeing The Blade of Frontiers? It was too much. Her brain was having trouble reconciling what she was seeing. She recognized him immediately, and even if she hadn’t, he did that thing that heroes did and introduced himself to his enemies while brandishing his rapier. He was the folk hero she sang about the most, the subject of stories she wanted to pass on to everyone in her vicinity whether they wanted to hear it or not, the person who legends should be written about. He was The Blade of freaking Frontiers. In front of her. Wielding a blade. Taking down goblins without getting so much as a scratch. She needed to sit down.  An arrow shot past her, the draft causing strands of her hair to rustle as it flew by. She shook her head and blinked twice, remembering she was in the middle of a battle, helping the Blade of Frontiers. She aimed her crossbow at a particularly ugly goblin and amplified her voice.  “Pernicious, putrifying pissant!” The goblin winced and was distracted as her crossbow bolt found its mark, taking the goblin down completely.  “Nice shot!” she heard from across the clearing. From The Blade himself. She was going to pass out. What a great day Rosalind Sunlark was having.

I'm really excited about it, it's been really fun to think about and write. It has a whole "what if you met your favorite rock star and they fell in love with you" vibe.

[weaveandwood]

[weaveandwood]

Rosalind Sunlark | Bard | College of Lore

Race: Human Background: Urchin Class: Bard Alignment: Chaotic Good Age: 25 Romancing: Wyll

Rosalind Sunlark grew up on her own first in the Outer City and then the Lower City of Baldur's Gate. She learned the violin and lute at an early age, and honed her performance skills as a child performing in parks and town squares for spare change. With a good heart and a free spirit, she made a name for herself as The Sunlark, a local darling who was a mainstay at coffee shops and taverns from the Lower City to the Upper City.

The Sunlark regaled her audiences with tales of heroic feats by smaller, less well-known heroes she learned about from visitors to Baldur's Gate and during her occasional travels outside the city. Everyone on the continent knew the stories of Balduran or Drizzt Do'Urden, but hardly anyone knew about her favorite folk hero, The Blade of Frontiers. She had never met him, but was hopeful one day their paths would cross.

Little did she know they already had, and would again.