#shadowheart works front register

[t4tav]

When I worked at Wendys I made a baldurs gate au where they all worked in fast food because I'm fun and normal and this was my go at translating the netherese orb since stressing Gale out aggrevates it :)

[sorcerous-caress]

So fun fact about me irl I work with children but often my teacher language slips out like telling my friends to say “bye bye bus”, telling another person in my lecture writing to “be nice to the pencil, it’s your friend.” And greeting a roomful of grown as adults with good morning boys and girls. It’s mortifying but How do you think the companions would react to having a teacher!tav slip up like that.

Dealing with a Teacher Tav

[Bg3, fluff, platonic kinda, nb!reader]

[Gale, Shadowheart, Laezel, Wyll, Karlach, Astarion, Halsin, Minthara, Jaheira, Minsc]

Gale

He delightfully plays along whenever you tell him to thank a stranger or say goodbye to an inanimate object. He thinks it's very silly and joyous.

Teachers have always been a big part of his life, it doesn't phase him in the slightest when you unawarly awake the deep memories of being in wizards pre-school for him.

Says good morning to you back, adding a teacher honorific at the end for the sake of being playful while asking if you've finally graded the homework he handed in.

He gives you an apple occasionally. He thinks he is very hilarious.

Shadowheart

She freezes in awkwardness whenever it happens, not sure if you’re being serious or just playing around. Sometimes, you don't even register slipping up as go on with your day, leaving her wondering if she's imagining things.

She has zero experience with the school system, completely confused by the need to say thank you for carriage after it arrived. It's just a carriage, why should she?

One time while her and Laezel were arguing, you used the same call you'd use in the classroom to get the kids to quiet down and it completely caught them both off guard. They just stood there baffled, forgetting their original argument.

Laezel

Why, yes, she is very familiar with teachers. In fact, she was the best out of her class, ask any githyanki teacher, and they'd tell you endless praise about her throat cutting techniques and sword welding stances.

You, whoever, use very unusual teaching techniques. How would learning a song about washing your hand and brushing your teeth help her in slaying her enemies?

Intriguing, so you take advantage of the brain's tendency to latch on to phrases that rhyme, which makes them easier to remember? And you encode your melodies with instructions to embed them into the impressionable youth?

Huh. She actually is impressed. She made her decision, you will lend your teaching skills to help her embed the most effect way of fracturing someone's spine into a melody to spread to the githyanki children.

Wyll

As someone who has been an unofficial teacher for so many kids throughout his years, he can relate to your struggle a lot. He slips up more than he cares to admit.

The both of you meeting early in the morning while still groggy and tired, your brains working on automatic mods as you greet each other with the same high pitched enthusiastic voice you use to greet a toddler.

Then just stare at each other, complete understanding between the two of you. Like two people accidentally using their customer service voice in front of the other.

You struggle to tie your boots once, and he unconsciously bends down to tie them for you while using the rabbit loop euphemism, only to stop in his tracks as he realises what he's doing.

He uses a curse word once, and you immediately use your teachers voice and say, "we don't speak like that here, that's wasn't very nice."

You're both tired, you both need a nap and neither of you brings it up when the other slips.

Karlach

Much like Gale, she finds it extremely amusing. Top tier comedy to her. Unlike Gale, she hasn't been to any proper schooling system, so she doesn't exactly know what most of these phrases mean or imply.

In a way, it lets her pretend she was a part of something like a school in her youth, like she could've had a normal childhood like everyone else.

She'd indulge you, saying goodbye and thank you to the pigeon that delivered her a letter, or overhearing Wyll's rabbit loop ryhme and whispering it under her breath as she ties her own boots. Who knew this could've been so easy?

Astarion

You remind him of how Leon was with his daughter back in Cazador's manor. Astarion never was close with any of them, but still, he sometimes overheard him attempting to give his daughter a semblance of a normal childhood and growth.

It's endearing when you accidentally use your teaching ways while dealing with the owlbear cub, but he'll never admit it.

Doesn't indulge you with it, he has appearance to keep. Well, unless he has a chance to twist your innocent meaning words into a sex or gorey joke like the 12y old humour that he has.

Ah, the scrowl on your face is the exact same one Leon had around him, such fond memories.

Halsin

Ah, you bring him back to his old days of having to deal with the children at the grove. Although his methods focused more on showing them that nature is a friend rather than inanimate objects.

But who is he to judge your ways? If anything he could learn a thing or two from you to add to his skillset.

Tells you about the fables that were passed down from elf to elf throughout the generations, animal stories have always done a great part in teaching him morality.

Do you happen to have any? Maybe you could tell it to the children of the grove, they are good kids.

Minthara

As a noble, she was only given the best and most prestigious of teachers while growing up. Even the ones that weren't a drow would still be considered the best of the best, crème de la crème.

Yet not a single one of them applied such...childish methods. etiquette and discipline were taught by the lash and threat of punishment, not lullabies and gentle guidance.

....it's not as bad as she imagined.

She doesn't get why some of your companions find it amusing. She doesn't bother indulging either.

But sometimes, sometimes, when it's just the two of you, and she is sure not a single soul is around, she will reply with a pun with the most deadpan face expression you've seen.

Jaheira

Despite what most would think, she actually integrated the same methods into her teachings back when her kids were little, it just happened to be weaved with her more dangerous lifestyle ascept.

Here comes the plane, with the airplane usual holding a good dosage amount of poison to build resistance.

A short rhyme about what to check before leaving the house, except the list has a suspicious amount of daggers and trap disarm kits in it.

If it works, it works, so what if she had to alter a kid's book about a honey loving yellow bear into one with decipherable texts to teach them Harpers' secret communication language.

Minsc

Ah! Boo does use the same method on him sometimes, the two of you have a lot in common. Although Boo's methods do involve a bit of biting every now and then.

Say, how about he teaches you some fables from Rashemen, a lot of them are about a rabbit who got lost after not listening to his witch frog companion.

You could use it in your teachings later! Show the youth the importance of good teamwork. Yes, he is aware of the fact he didn't listen to Jaheira and got captured by the cult. No, he doesn't see why this is relevant? Why is Boo suddenly agreeing with you? He is supposed to be on his side.

[aerynwrites]

Fear of Losing You

Dammon x GN!Reader

A/N: Had this idea and realized it would work perfectly as a part 2 to Emeralds! I hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: angst, talks of death, fear of death, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, kissing, Dammon is once again a sweetheart and I love him.

Part 1

His screams are the only thing you can hear. 

His screams among the dozens of others filling the air. You can’t even see what’s happening, darkness filling your vision as you search blindly for him. 

“Dammon!” 

You scream his name, desperate to find him, but it only echoes around you, never receiving an answer. 

Swords clashing, more screaming, the iron tang of blood flooding your tongue. 

What’s happening? Where’s Dammon? What’s going on?  

A frantic call of your name has you spinning, that blackness nearly suffocating you as you search blindly for the man calling your name. 

He sounds scared. He sounds scared and hurt and you can’t see anything- 

Another call of your name is what finally jerks you awake, the all consuming blackness giving way to the familiar darkness of nighttime at camp. 

You’re shaking, sweat making your clothes cling uncomfortably to your skin as you take in your surroundings. 

Gale sits in front of you on your bedroll by the fire, brows pinched in concern as he gazes at you. His hand on your shoulder squeezes gently as you try to get your bearings, your other companions looking on in worry. 

“You were having a nightmare,” Gale says softly. “Are you alright?” 

You nod your head, bringing a shaking hand up to rest against your forehead.

“I’m fine I…” you shrug his hand off. “Something just feels…wrong.” 

“Such is the way of the shadow cursed lands,” Halsin says from across the fire, arms crossed pensively over his chest. “The shadow magic here affects more than just the creatures it creates. I’m sure when we reach Last Light, we may find some solace.” 

You nod despite the deep pit of anxiety settling in your stomach. 

“Yeah…you’re probably right.” 

You give a small thanks to Gale before laying back down and turning your back to the fire, knowing no sleep will come to you. Not with the fear of those terrible screams returning.

When morning comes, you’re already on your feet and gearing up for the trip to Last Light. You’d spent most of your sleepless night finding the best route to the inn the Harper’s had marked on your map, and once everyone was ready, you head out. 

You had tried all night to ease the pit of dread that formed in your stomach, but nothing helped. 

It’s as if you could sense that something was wrong. Something more than the evil that cursed these lands. And your mind would not stop going back to that dream. To Dammon’s screams…

“Oh, gods…”  

Shadowheart’s murmured gasp pulls you from your thoughts and the map you are currently looking at, coming to a stop as the group does. You’ve barely blinked when the map falls from your hands, utter fear gripping your heart as you see what caused even the sharran to pause. 

It’s the refugees. The tieflings from the grove. 

Dozens of them lay slaughtered in an open field in front of you, and before you can think better of it, you’re darting towards the massacre and out of the safety of the light Karlach holds. 

You faintly registered muttered curses and calls of your name as your companions chase after you, but you don’t care. All you can do is scan each body you pass, hoping and praying with each one that you don’t see his body among them. 

You see dozens of faces, some familiar and some not, but you know for certain they were from the grove. And with each one you find that isn’t Dammon you feel equal parts relief and dread. 

Until your eyes land on an all too familiar green scarf caught in the branches of a bush on the side of the path. It flutters weakly in the bitter breeze constant to these cursed lands, the only source of color besides the blood soaking into the ground. 

You stumble over towards the item slowly, reaching out and clutching the soft material between shaking fingers. Pulling it free form the tangled branches, you hold the fabric up to your nose, confirming what you already know. 

It’s Dammon’s. 

It still smells like him. Like burnt metal, smoke, and the subtle sweet spice cinnamon.

A cry works its way past your lips before you can stop it, and Shadowheart just barely manages to catch you before your knees buckle. 

“He’s…it’s Dammons,” you tell the others, tears already wetting your lashes. “They…they’re all dead.”  

The last word is choked out and you can feel a torrent of tears ready to follow, but Karlach steps forward, getting down on one knee beside you. 

“Don’t lose hope,” she says, voice firm. “He isn’t here, you looked remember? We haven’t found him yet, and this-“ she gestures to the scarf in your hands. “He could have gotten away.” 

You nod as her words sink in, the fear subsiding ever so slightly, but still gripping your heart. 

“Y-yes I suppose…” you trail off, looking back down at the scarf in your hand before wrapping it tightly around your knuckles. “We should push on to Last Light, maybe they…maybe they know something.” 

The rest of your companions mutter small agreements, as well as words of hope. Even Astarion places a gentle hand on your back, saying something about how Dammon wouldn’t go out that easy. 

The last leg of the journey to the inn feel like eons, each step feeling like a mile and each turn and bend looking the same as the last. 

Despite Karlachs encouraging words, you can’t stop the sorrow from clogging your throat. 

It feels foolish really - you and Dammon hadn’t even really started your relationship and yet here you are… mourning him. 

You try not to let the darker thoughts creep in. The thoughts of what his last moments were like. If he was afraid or angry or… scared . Did he think of you? Was he in pain? 

You let out a shuddering sigh as you turn the last corner, a cobblestone bridge coming into view, revealing a large dome of what looks like pure moonlight. 

This must be Last Light Inn. 

You just hope it holds what you so desperately yearn for. But just as you cross the bridge into courtyard, you’re stopped by two Harper guards. 

“Halt! Keep your hands off your weapons!” The woman says, drawing her own. 

You hold your hands up as you approach, your companions following suit behind you. 

“Who are you?” The guard asks, her crossbow at the ready. 

You introduce yourself as a friend of Halsin’s, before jumping into your more pressing concern.

“We’re just looking for someone,” you tell them. “Please, we just - I need to see if they’re here.” 

The woman regards you for a moment before dropping her weapon. “A friend of Halsin’s? She will want to see you. Come.” 

You cast a wary glance at your companions before following the guard, your desire to get more information winning out against any caution. You follow them further into the courtyard, watching as they approach a woman with long ashen hair. 

She turns to face you upon your approach, lips turned downward and eyes pinched distrustingly. 

Before you have a moment to speak, the woman reaches down towards the ground magic erupting from her palm as vines explode from the ground to wrap around your legs, leaving you immobile. 

You panic, tugging uselessly at the tendrils as you glance up at her. 

“We mean no harm!” You say, hysteria rising. 

You don’t have time for this! You need to find Dammon- 

The woman regards you coolly, “We will see soon enough.” 

Using her free hand she reaches behind her to produce a small jar, holding none other than a tadpole. You watch as the creature squirms, knocking against the glass as your mind pulses with familiarity. 

“This is why we’re here you see?” The woman says. “If there’s one thing we know about these creatures, it’s that they know their own kind.” 

She looks to you then, tucking the tadpole away in favor of unsheathing her dagger. 

“You never should have come here, True Soul.” 

Your heart rate spikes, and you hear your companions ready their weapons behind you. 

“No! Please , you don’t understand! We’re not true souls we -“ you can feel your tears threatening to spill over. All of your emotions from mere moments ago to now proving to be too much. “I’m just trying to find someone, please-“  

A faint call of your name causes everyone to pause, and your heart stops as you hear a commotion from the back of the gathered crowd. 

Bodies are pushed to the side, grumbled complaints silenced as the person comes into view. 

“Stop!” Dammon calls, wide eyes settling on you. “They are the saviors of the grove, they aren’t the people you’re hunting.” 

“Dammon…” 

Everything else falls away then, the surprised murmurs, the muttered orders of the  woman questioning you. All that remains is the man before you, the man you thought you lost. 

He looks the same as when you last saw him, sans his signature emerald scarf. But there, sitting against his chest is that all too familiar silver and green emerald pendant. 

The necklace you gave him. 

You don’t even realize the vines have receded from your legs until you’re stumbling towards Dammon, the tears finally streaming down your face as you all but fall into his waiting arms. 

“I thought you were dead,” you tell him, voice so quiet you’re sure only he can hear. 

His arms wrap around you tightly, holding you securely to him as his lips fall to press into the crown of your head. 

“I’m alright, I’m okay,” he tells you, voice soft as he holds you in his arms. 

You faintly hear the woman who interrogated you invite your companions inside to discuss things further, thankfully allowing you a moment with Dammon, who slowly starts to lead you away from the crowd. 

He leads you to a small stone building off to the side of the inn, the warmth from the glowing forge offering you some form of solace as you both come to a stop. 

Slowly, Dammon reaches up to cup your face in his hands, urging you to look up at him, bright blue eyes searching your face. His brows are pulled together in concern, his thumbs wiping gently at the tears on your cheeks. 

“What happened?” He asks. 

Your lower lip wobbles, the tumultuous waves of emotions from earlier rushing back. 

“I kept having this terrible feeling,” you begin, sniffing lightly. “Then when we were on our way here we saw…we saw the refugees and they-“ you force down a sob. “I thought you - I saw you scarf, and even though I didn’t see you, I thought the worst and I-“ 

“ Shhh…”  

Dammon shushes you gently, pulling you back into his arms as more tears spill forth. “I was among the people you saw…we were ambushed. But me and several others were able to escape and make it here.” 

He pulls away from you once more, eyes soft. “We’re alive, I’m alive. And I don’t plan on going anywhere.” 

His words are so sure and full of conviction as if he plans to survive against the odds on sheer will alone. 

Before you can think better of it, you lean forward capturing his lips with your own, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly. 

There’s only a moment's hesitation before Dammon responds, one hand cradling your cheek while the other slips down to wrap around your waist to pull you closer to him. 

His lips move against yours gently, as if silently reassuring you that he’s here and he’s alive.  

He’s the first to pull away, but not before pressing a few parting kisses to your cheek and forehead before tugging you towards the back of the forge. 

You follow silently, taking in the small stall he leads you to. It’s clean, the straw looking fresh and the bedroll tucked in the back corner making you raise your brows. 

“You sleep here?” You ask, not missing the way Dammon’s cheeks turn just a tad darker. 

He nods, pulling you down beside him as he sits on his bedroll, his arm slipping around your waist as you take your place beside him. 

“Figured it’s easier this way - I keep odd hours so it’s nice to have a place close to my work.” 

For the first time in days you smile. Albiet small, but genuine smile as you turn to look at your blacksmith. 

“Why does that not surprise me?” You say, relishing in the way he smiles back at you. 

It’s then as you look at him, that you remember the scarf wrapped tightly around your hand. You look down, unwinding the fabric from you before holding it up. 

“You’re missing something,” you say softly, reaching out towards him. “May I?” 

Dammon smiles again, eyes twinkling in the orange glow of the forge. “I’d love nothing more.” 

You reach forward, slowly wrapping the soft viridescent fabric around his neck before tucking the ends beneath his leather vest. You then reach up and tug the delicate silver chain from beneath the scarf, letting it and the emerald pendants at its end rest on top. 

You thumb the pendant between your fingers, eyes flicking up to Dammon. 

“You still wear it,” you say, voice whisper soft. 

Dammon nods, reaching out to brush his fingers against the dagger holstered at your hip. “And you still carry this.” 

You smile, leaning forward so your nose just barely brushes his own. “So we always carry a piece of each other, right?” 

Dammon smiles, lips brushing yours. “Always.” 

Then he’s kissing you again, lips full of promises and so much more. 

[bg-brainrot]

Hugs for a Vampire (Astarion x GN!Reader) - Chapter 2: After Fighting Grym

Chapter 2: After Fighting Grym

Each chapter can be read as a standalone hug.

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Rogue!Tav)

Genre: Fluffy, Filling in Canon

Rating: Teen

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Act 1, Canon-typical violence

WC: 1.3k words, 2/18 chapters

Summary: Their second hug takes place after a tough battle. A painful hug, but comforting nonetheless. Rogue!Tav has begun to catch feelings, Astarion is none the wiser.

Ao3 | [Hug1][Hug3] | Hugs for a Vampire Masterlist

You don't think you've ever been this sticky– sweat is dripping from pores you didn't even know you possessed. The Grymforge needs to be this hot to operate, but any hotter and you may cease to function.

As if the oppressive heat isn't enough to protect this deathtrap, the forge's guardian is currently looming over you. Its giant back obscures your view of the rest of your team, but if all is going to plan, they should be in position. A wave of lava gushes out around you, surrounding the platform that you’re on and splashing onto the metal monster in front of you– Karlach has turned the valve.

Now you just need to complete your task: be bait.

"Come and get me, you piece of junk!" you yell, as if this mechanical construct could understand what you say.

"A bard you are not, darling," comes a verbal jab from Astarion. He's positioned opposite you as the two of you have been kiting this behemoth back and forth in a clunky, messy dance. It hasn't been your best work, but you can see sparks emitting from the creature's joints, starting to wear down.

"Yes, well," you start, quickly surveying your surroundings. "At least I'm good at stabbing." You jerk an arm forward, piercing the glowing superheated carapace of the guardian with one of your daggers. It emits a sharp keening before refocusing its entire attention on you, turning toward you in pre-programmed aggression. Job done, you move to leap onto the platform behind you.

The metal monster has other ideas, reaching a gargantuan hand out to swipe at you. “Argh,” you grunt, as a searing hot claw makes contact with your side. It feels as though you’ve been hit by a cart and you stumble back, barely catching yourself before you hit hot, molten lava. You may still be reeling from the blow, but you know that you’re in a world of pain if you don’t get off this platform now.

Taking advantage of the creature’s slow swing, you finish your leap from before, scrambling onto one of the platforms on the edge of the forge. “NOW!” you yell so that Shadowheart can hear you across the cavernous room.

She doesn’t respond, but the satisfying ‘click’ of a lever and the impressively loud ‘KA-CHUNK’ of the forge’s hammer are a clear indicator that she heard. You watch as the massive construct in front of you is flattened, steam hissing off of it as its body cools.

It lays there motionless for a moment, and the hammer shoots back up into the forge. You vaguely register an adamantine piece of armor shooting out of the contraption– the forge’s instructions finally completed.

You feel a sense of vast relief, the grueling battle finally won. Your team is safe now, carefully avoiding the remaining lava flows to make it to your platform. But underneath that feeling of relaxation, you feel a much more annoying, much more urgent, sense of pain.

It’s always a drag when the adrenaline dies off. Between the heat of the forge continuing to wear down on your tired body and the blistering wound at your side from the forge’s guardian, your legs begin to wobble against your will. “Ah hells,” you mutter, placing a sweaty palm to your forehead. “Is this what it feels like to get a hug from Karlach?”

The large woman laughs, almost having made it to your platform. “I think you’d be a puddle if you attempted that.” Then, with some concern to her voice, “Are you alright, soldier?”

“I’m…” your voice trails off and, as your vision begins to blur, your follow up comes out as more of a question, “Fine?”

Your team is quick to answer your question, all picking up their pace to reach you. Astarion, moving with the speed of a practiced predator, is the first to make it. Just in time too, because you’re teetering precariously off the edge of your platform, inches away from molten death.

“Easy there, darling,” he says, an arm wrapping around your torso. He pulls you toward him, away from the lava. However, as he pulls, he tugs along the side where you got swiped, eliciting a sharp, pained breath from you.

“Astarion,” you gasp, seeing spots of white in your vision from the pain. “It hurts.”

He looks momentarily flustered, “What hurts?”

“My side,” you manage, eyes dropping down to see a massive burn mark across your leather armor where the construct struck you.

“Oh,” Astarion says in surprise, releasing you immediately. Your body sways at the sudden loss of his arm and he’s back on you again in a panic. One arm wraps around your shoulders and pulls you to him tightly, the other presses a surprisingly gentle hand on your forehead. “What do you say we get you some healing and a nice flask of water?”

You nod into his hand gratefully. It’s somehow several degrees cooler than everything else and you don’t think you’ll be able to leave its cooling touch until you’re out of this damned forge.

For his part, Astarion doesn’t seem to mind, holding you and his hand in place while Shadowheart arrives. He doesn't say anything while Shadowheart inspects the wound and calls upon her divine healing, just continues to hold you, steady. This is the closest you’ve been since that night after the tiefling party and, as the fog of pain lifts, you suddenly become incredibly self-aware.

I’m quite possibly the sweatiest person in Faerun right now, how badly must I smell, you think. The heat is most certainly getting to you, because you feel a sudden urge to jump into the lava to avoid finding out. You resist the temptation, thanking Shadowheart as the pain subsides, “Thank you, now let’s get out of this hells hole.”

“I happen to think it’s quite agreeable,” Karlach says from your side. “Though a bit toasty for you all, I’d imagine.”

Astarion, who has not let you go yet, chimes in, “If you so much as breathe on me, I may burst into flames, Karlach. Please stay far, far away.”

“Oh fine,” she says, taking a step back from you both. “But I am the one carrying the water.”

Astarion gives an annoyed click with his tongue, and removes his hand from your forehead to hold it out expectantly toward Karlach. You try not to let your disappointment show at the loss of its chill balm. “Very well, as long as you don’t throw it at us this time.”

The tielfing moves to hand him the flask, but you can see the mischief in her eyes before she makes her decision. One loud shattering of glass later and both you and Astarion are drenched from head to toe in water. “Shouldn’t have reminded me, Fangs.”

Honestly, you don’t mind it. It’s quite refreshing in the otherwise hellish heat. But from the way that Astarion’s arm around you tightens, you can tell he doesn’t quite share your mindset. “Karlach,” he says, slowly, his tone deadly. His eyes are narrowed, leveled at Karlach under a mop of wet curls. “Have you ever wondered if you could withstand lava?”

He releases you, and his absence brings you a sudden pang of sadness. Luckily, you don’t have much time to consider why that is because Astarion is quickly stalking after Karlach, murderous intent rolling off of him.

“Well, that was… fun,” Shadowheart says walking up to you, her face looking anything but.

“Yeah,” you respond, stretching out your side carefully. “I guess we should stop them from killing each other?”

The cleric shrugs, looking at your companions. “It’s up to you, really. I wasn’t the one melting in Astarion’s arms.”

You hold back a surprised cough. “I was not melting. It’s just hot in here.”

She gives you a knowing look. “Sure it is.”

You ignore her remark before setting off– you have enough problems. You don’t feel like adding ‘the comforting feeling of Astarion’s arms around you’ to the list.

[verbenaa]

WIP THURSDAY

so this was supposed to be for WIP Wednesday obviously but I fell asleep watching Star Trek so now you get it today instead! Thank you to my lovely friend @elinorbard for tagging me to participate! Who doesn't love a good WIP post?

This is a little excerpt from the modern day coffee shop AU fic that I've been quietly working on in the background, featuring a druid Tav who works as our lead barista because DUH. It will still be awhile until I get this posted but I wanted to share a teeny peek at it 🤗

Please enjoy~

He was staring at her. Again. Although maybe glaring was a better term for the look he was sending her across the tiny coffee shop, dark red eyes narrowed as he sips from the eco-friendly to-go cup held in his elegant hand. “What the actual fuck is his problem, you think?” Karlach’s attempt to whisper across the butcher block counter to where Tavi stands by the espresso machine is sorely lacking, the words still several decibels too loud in the otherwise silence of the cafe. Tavi rubs her damp cloth at an imaginary spot of dark roast on the worn wood in front of the stainless steel machine, voice calm and breezy as she refuses to look up at he-who-was-looking-at-her. “I really haven’t the faintest idea, Karlach.” He sat at the same table he always did. He had his pick of tables, naturally, as he was their only consistent customer the last few months who for reasons unknown chose to frequent their establishment exactly 30 minutes before close almost every day. But every time, without fail, the pale elf would choose the same table. It was a small booth in the back corner—far away from the charming front windows and the smattering of potted plants that marked the most popular seats—where he would sit and drink his coffee with a book that looked old enough to belong in a museum set out on the table in front of him. “Oh, I think she knows exactly why he’s staring,” Shadowheart’s voice lilts from several steps away where she stands by the register, counting out the money left in their tip jar from the afternoon shift, the cracked glass painted in garish shades of pink by Karlach one slow afternoon using some markers long forgotten by a child. “Don’t you, Tavi?”

Tagging @ladyduellist @inkymoonbunny @preciouslittlebhaalbae and anyone else who would like to participate, no pressure my friends ✨

[tabitha42]

The Wizard's Apprentice - Chapter 42

Saffron is just a lowly apprentice with barely a successful firebolt to her name. So what chance does she have with the arch mage she's slowly falling in love with?

Gale x Tav, slow burn, eventual smut

Chapter 1 Previous chapter Next chapter

“A… curse??” 

Gale barely registered Halsins words as he continued modifying his Detect Magic spell, desperately trying to scrape together any more information he could get. He also didn’t register the worried looks of his companions. 

“What sort of curse?” Halsin asked, and this time his words made it through to Gale. 

“I don’t know,” he answered, not taking his eyes off Saff. “It’s… distant. Faded. Like it’s hidden somehow… I can’t even make out what school of magic it is…” 

He finally lowered his arms and the glow faded from his eyes. As the spell dissipated he was left with only the same familiar image of Saff’s frozen form in front of him, reaching out in fear… a sight he’d thought he’d never have to see again. It left a deep dread in the pit of his stomach.

“If it’s just a curse, we can remove it. Much easier than removing petrification,” Shadowheart said, stepping forward. Gale looked unsure, but certainly wasn’t going to stop her trying. She walked up to Saff, raised her hands, but when she cast the spell the same flash and spark interrupted her. 

“It’s too powerful…” Gale murmured. “Powerful enough that it can hide itself, and powerful enough that it can prevent lower level magic from removing it. This is no ordinary curse…” 

He began pacing, stroking his chin as he thought about it all.

“Ok, what do we know?” he started, speaking through his thoughts for his own sake as much as to share them with the others. “We know that was an unusual spectator as spectators don’t usually petrify people. So perhaps it could have some unusual magic that manifests in curses like this one. It unpetrified the drow to fight against us, perhaps it has magic to keep its victims petrified so it can use them when it needs,” he reasoned, wracking his brain for answers. 

“Magic that didn’t affect anyone else,” Halsin pointed out, glancing at the others.

“Perhaps… it is fallible. Perhaps the curse is not guaranteed to take effect,” he suggested. It certainly wouldn’t be the only magical effect to work in such a way. He paused for a moment as he thought about it, then resumed pacing again. 

“Or perhaps something else… the Underdark is full of threats. She could have triggered a trap that placed a curse on her, and none of us noticed. Or… something we’ve faced cursed her. Or… she was already cursed…” 

He trailed off a bit as he thought about the last option. She didn’t know her family… what if she’d been cursed her whole life? If that was the case, did they have any chance of helping her here? He ran a hand through his hair, forcing himself to focus on finding a solution rather than give in to the rising dread in his stomach. 

“We need more information. For a curse this powerful and unusual to exist, it must have been observed and documented somewhere. You said there’s a wizard’s tower near here, yes?” he asked, looking at the group. 

“Yes, west of here,” Halsin confirmed, and Gale quickly went to his tent and grabbed his staff. 

“Then let’s go.” 

Halsin, Wyll and Karlach accompanied Gale to the wizard’s tower while the others stayed back to search the nearby area. Gale had been a force of nature as he tore his way through the arcane defenses of the tower with summoned lightning, shattering the guard turrets before they even had a chance to attack. He barely flinched this time when confronted with the sussur blooms as he grabbed one and shoved it into the generator, bringing the tower to life. 

Watching Gale scour the tower’s books was like watching a skilled warrior cut through a horde of enemies. He would scan through and dismiss five books before the others had barely had a chance to look through one. But as they worked through the tower, growing ever closer to the top with no answer, his anxiety grew. 

When they took the lift to the top floor and were met with an automaton reciting poetry, he’d been so distracted thinking about the curse that he didn’t even register what was being said to him, and ended up getting the group into a fight they could probably have otherwise avoided. Even as the last of the constructs fell to pieces, he didn’t think of the magic they’d just destroyed as he would have done otherwise, he simply began the search once more, rifling through every box and cabinet he could find. 

When the group stopped to eat, he refused, insisting instead on going back through the books they’d already checked in case they’d missed something. And when the group insisted it was time to head back, they had to pry him away, only managing to convince him to leave with the reminder that the others may have had more luck back by the campsite. 

Sadly, they didn’t have more luck. Astarion had found a notebook in the temple, penned long ago, noting how it was weird that the spectator outside their walls was able to petrify. Other than potentially supporting Gale’s theory that the curse was rooted in strange spectator magic, it did little to help them. 

Halsin joined Gale in reading through the books he’d taken from the tower in the hopes they might hold more answers than he’d thought from the quick glance he’d given them before. They hoped that with their two very different backgrounds in magic, one of them might be able to find a lead. So far though, both came up blank.

Wyll was the one to cook dinner that night as Gale refused to stop his research. Purple light bathed the campsite as he cast spell after spell on Saff, desperately hoping to discover more about the nature of the curse, but finding the magic too powerful for him to decipher. Even with Tara’s help, their magic combined was still not enough to reveal the curse’s secrets. He damned the orb and the tadpole - he knew he’d be able to do this without them, but with them both hindering his abilities, he couldn’t even get close. 

As the others ate round the campfire, he sat at the table pouring through the books he’d bought from the tower. He still hadn’t eaten a thing yet, and Tara decided she’d had enough. 

“Mr Dekarios,” she said firmly, jumping up to sit on the table in front of him, “you need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” he muttered, not taking his eyes off the book in front of him. His attention was finally pried away from it as Tara walked over and simply sat on the book he was reading. 

“You know as well as I do that a brain needs food to work at full capacity. I hear you did not eat lunch. If you continue to starve yourself, you could stumble right upon the answer and you will not recognise it. Now. Eat. For Miss Saffron’s sake, if not your own.” 

Tara always knew the best way to get through to him, and finally he pulled the plate in front of him and took a mouthful. 

As the hours wore on, Gale remained at the table with his books, his dinner pushed half-eaten to the side, looking up only to look at Saff or try a new spell on her he hadn’t tried before. The others tried to convince him to get some sleep before retiring to their tents themselves, but again, he refused. Now, with the camp silent but for the crackle of the campfire, Tara watched as his head dipped periodically and he struggled to keep his eyes open. 

She jumped up on the table once more and pulled his attention to herself. 

“Mr Dekarios,” she said firmly. “Once again you are sabotaging your own efforts. You can no more find the answer if you are sleep-deprived than you can if you starve yourself. Come. You need to sleep.”

“How can I possibly sleep…” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

“How can you possibly read when you can barely keep your eyes open?” she countered. “Now, Mr Dekarios. Gale. Please.” 

Finally he relented, lingering as he walked past Saff to look at her once more, before following Tara into the tent. 

She curled up with him under the blankets hoping that would be the end of the matter and he’d now be able to get a good night’s sleep, but when she woke in the small hours of the morning as she always did, she found the tent empty. She emerged outside to see Gale sat at the table once more, slumped over, fast asleep, the quill still in his hand where he’d been making notes. Well, she supposed with a sigh, at least he was finally getting some sleep. 

The next day he accompanied the others to the myconid colony, hoping someone there might be able to offer some help, but found nothing. The myconids themselves had no information about the spectator or any curses in the area, and while Omeluum and Blurg were happy to help in any way they could, they too had no information to offer. They even returned to camp with Gale to see the curse for themselves, but could see nothing that Gale hadn’t already noted. 

The next few days continued in much the same vein. Gale would work on his research while the others would either help him if they could, or continue their search for the Shar temple. While Gale turned to books, Halsin turned to nature. He spoke to any surrounding animals that wouldn’t attack him on sight and communed with the plants as best he could, but none could offer any answers. Late at night, when he and Asatrion would normally have been the only ones left awake, Halsin grew increasingly concerned by Gale’s refusal to stop his research and let himself rest. 

Not only that, discussions that would normally have fascinated Gale barely registered to him. One evening while eating they mentioned the bulette, which continued to attack them from time to time, and each time they barely survived til it would finally decide to burrow away to go heal up before attacking them again. Though they began to notice it only seemed to attack when Halsin, Wyll or Shadowheart were in the party. 

“Lenore was trying to tame it,” Gale muttered, barely taking his eyes off the page he was reading. “Maybe it’s become attracted to magic.” 

The others looked at each other in confusion.

“Sorry, who’s Lenore?” Astarion asked. 

“The cleric of Mystra that lived in the tower. She was taming the bulette and probably used magic to do so. So it may be attracted to magic.” 

“So we should avoid using magic if we don’t want it to attack us? That’s going to be difficult,” Shadowheart commented. Gale just shrugged, and that was the last input he had in a conversation that he would otherwise have been very interested in. 

As time went on, he became less and less involved in their conversations until he barely even registered what they were saying. The group grew more and more concerned for him as he became noticeably more tired and frazzled, unable to rest and suffering from the stress of the situation. Even when Tara could convince him to finally lay down, sleep didn’t come easily, and he ended up getting more sleep slumped over the table than he did in his tent.

On the fifth day he headed with Wyll on another trip to the wizard’s tower, hoping to find something they’d missed. As always, the tower presented them with no answers. 

Wyll wandered the floors in search of Gale when it was time to leave, and frowned when he didn’t find him at the desk surrounded by books as he’d expected. He continued up the floors til he reached the roof and very nearly turned back down again, til he saw a glimpse of purple above him.

He climbed the ladder to the tallest platform of the tower where he found Gale sat on the edge, looking out over the Underdark. It was the first time he’d seen Gale not buried in his research since Saff had been petrified. He walked over and sat down next to him, looking out over the sprawling cavern that extended beneath them. They were both quiet for a long moment, til Gale broke the silence.

“She was so excited when we first came here,” he said quietly, his voice almost hoarse. “She couldn’t wait to explore it… she thought it was beautiful.” 

He hung his head and held it in his hands. Wyll gently placed a hand on his shoulder, his heart going out to his friend. 

“Come now, Gale. We’ll figure this out. You’re talking as if she’s dead.”

“I wish she was.”

Wyll looked at him in surprise as he lifted his head from his hands. 

“Death is known. There are ways to deal with it, to reverse it. Revivify, resurrection… they might not be easy, but we know they exist, and they work…” 

Wyll watched as his shoulders slumped and a pained look came to his face. 

“But this… this is completely unknown. And I… I don’t know what to do…”

His voice cracked as tears began to well in his eyes. He’d refused to think about the inevitable for so long, distracting himself by thinking only of how to cure her, and now that he was left with no options and had to face the truth, the crushing reality was unbearable. 

“We can’t stay down here forever. The others will find the temple eventually. And when that happens, I…”

The tears finally escaped his eyes and ran down his cheeks. 

“I can’t leave her, Wyll… I can’t leave her down here on her own…” 

As he broke down, unable to hold back his tears anymore, Wyll pulled him into his arms, holding his friend tightly as he cried into his shoulder. 

When they returned to camp that night, Gale’s fear had come true: the others had found the way to the Shadow Cursed lands. 

Gale didn’t even listen as they explained what they’d found. He didn’t hear as they spoke about duergar and gnomes and a drow named Nere. He heard only the ringing in his ears as he sunk into the chair next to the table his work was strewn across and held his head. 

What did he do? He couldn’t leave her, yet he knew he wouldn’t survive on his own down here. He could leave with them, find the answers once he had access to proper resources and come back for her, but what of the tadpoles? If they found the cure, would it still be available once he’d restored her? And that assumed nothing in the Underdark damaged or even destroyed her while he was gone, which he had no guarantee of. 

His mind spiralled as guilt ravaged him. Magic was his greatest strength, yet he couldn’t use it to help her here. If he’d just stayed with her during the fight, perhaps they could have escaped together. He remembered what he’d said to Malitas, how he’d promised to protect her… 

Suddenly his eyes snapped open as a thought came to him. Gods, why didn’t he think of that before? 

He jumped up and ran to his tent, leaving the others to watch him in confusion as they stopped mid-conversation. Gale rifled through his belongings til he found what he was looking for, then emerged clutching something in his hand. 

“Gale?” Wyll asked, watching him in confusion, along with the rest of the group. 

“There’s one more person we know that might be able to help her,” he said, opening his hand to reveal the sending stone. 

“Oh no,” Karlach grimaced. “You’re not gonna ask the king of the dickheads for help, are you?”

Normally Gale might have laughed at that, but his expression was completely serious now as he looked at her. 

“What else do you suggest? I’ve tried everything. He knows magic, and he cares about Saff. He also has access to all the resources that I don’t right now. Maybe he can even find basilisk oil. We have to try.”

“Are you sure?” Shadowheart asked. “After everything he said to you? I still don’t believe his apology, even if he was in the Zone of Truth.” 

“I’m sure,” he said firmly, looking at her. “Saff once, quite rightly, said to Malitas that if his pride was more important to him than her life, then he could find another apprentice. If I refused to seek his help simply because I don’t like him, then I would have no right to call myself her partner. My pride is not worth more to me than her life. Nothing is.” 

The group reluctantly agreed, and watched Gale clench the stone in his hand, closing his eyes as the engravings lit up. 

Upon receiving the message that Saff needed his help, Malitas’s reply was instant. Gale barely even had time to announce that Malitas was on his way, before the portal opened and he came through. 

“What’s happened?” he demanded, looking at Gale, who simply turned to look at Saff. Malitas followed his gaze, and when he saw Saff, his eyes widened. He quickly ran over to her, looking at her for a moment as Gale followed him over. 

“She’s been petrified?” he asked, turning back to Gale, who nodded. “Basilisk oil,” he said simply. 

“Have you got any?” Gale asked, and Malitas had to give a resigned shake of his head. “Neither do we, and we don’t even know if it would work.”

“Why wouldn’t it?” he asked, frowning. 

“Because there’s a curse on her,” Gale answered. Malitas’s eyes widened once more, and despite his best attempt at keeping his cool, Gale could see a hint of fear cross his face. 

“What? What sort of curse?” he asked quickly. 

“I don’t know, all I know is it’s powerful… powerful enough to stop us from unpetrifying her with Greater Restoration, and powerful enough to stop us removing it.” 

As Malitas looked back at Saff, Gale could almost see the cogs whirring in his mind. 

“Show me,” he said, stepping back slightly from her.

Halsin obliged, walking up to Saff and attempting to cast the spell. Once again the same spark and ripple of magic interrupted him. Malitas raised his hands and incanted the same spell Gale had, his eyes glowing as he looked at her, before he lowered his hands and turned once more to Gale. 

“Tell me everything you know.” 

Over the next hour Gale recounted Maltias with everything he’d found. He showed him the corpse of the spectator, which they’d pushed up against the cliff edge just outside camp. He showed him the books he’d taken from the arcane tower, though noted that none of them contained anything that seemed to be related to this. He showed him the book Astarion had found in the Selûne temple, noting that the spectator seemed different to others in its ability to petrify. He spoke at length about his theories, including any theories he’d discarded and why. Malitas listened carefully the whole time, stroking his chin and nodding. By the time Gale was finally done, the others listened curiously to what Malitas made of it all. 

“Your theory about it being part of the spectator’s magic seems most plausible to me,” he said, glancing back at the spectator’s body just outside camp. “I’d even have theorised it had actually  been a beholder, had I not seen the corpse for myself.” 

He paced slightly as he considered it all. 

“I will return home and see if I can acquire basilisk oil, with any luck this curse only affects magic. If not, then I will head to Candlekeep and see if I can find any relevant information there.” 

He stopped pacing and turned to face Gale. 

“And you should get some sleep. If this is not a simple solution and we have to find a way to remove this curse ourselves, I do not wish to work with someone who looks like he will keel over at any moment,” he said firmly. With that, he summoned a portal, then disappeared once more. 

The group looked at Gale as the portal’s magic dissipated, and he found himself deciding to do something he never thought he’d do. 

He decided to take Malitas’s advice. 

---

Careful, slowly, slowly…

She held her breath as she gently tipped the bottle, trying to steady her shaking hand, watching as the liquid made its way to the rim. Just a drop… a single drop…

The small gush of liquid that fell from the bottle into the mortar below fizzled with a flash as it hit the rest of the concoction she’d been creating, releasing all the carefully gathered magic in a single puff, rendering the whole thing useless. 

“Arg!” she gasped in frustration, slamming the bottle down on the table and clutching at her head. No matter how many times she tried this, she just couldn’t get the hang of it. 

Her thoughts were snapped back to reality as she heard magic elsewhere in the tower. Malitas was back. Quickly she grabbed the box by her feet and scooped everything into it, then buried it amongst the boxes of old equipment in the back of the room. She hadn’t expected Malitas to come straight into the alchemy lab, but when he did, he found her cleaning the table. 

“Basilisk oil,” he said quickly, rushing to the cabinet of ingredients behind her and looking through it. “Is there any basilisk oil??” 

She was taken completely by surprise by his urgency. It was quite out of character for him.

“Um… I don’t think so… why do you need basilisk oil?” she asked, watching as he rifled through drawer after drawer. 

“Saffron has got herself petrified,” he answered, taking out a bottle and inspecting it briefly before shoving it back in and moving to the next drawer. She looked at him in surprise at the news, too worried for a moment to respond. “So much for ‘she can protect herself’...” he muttered under his breath. She didn’t quite know what he was referring to, but decided not to ask as that was clearly quite a bitter subject for him. 

“How did she get petrified?” she asked. 

“A spectator,” he answered, moving now to another cabinet. She frowned. 

“I didn’t think spectators could-”

“Petrify people? No, neither did I,” he said, sounding quite annoyed about it as he continued to search.

“What about magic? Didn’t you say they have a cleric? Can’t they use Greater Restor-” 

“Enough questions!” he snapped suddenly, sending a jolt of fear through her as she went silent and quickly backed away from him. She’d never seen him this stressed before. Even when Saff had been taken by the mind flayers, he’d been less stressed about it than this. 

She remained silent as he continued to search, checking every drawer and cupboard. He briefly started searching the boxes at the back of the room, til he realised they were nothing but old equipment and moved on.

Once he’d exhausted every location in the room, he muttered a word in Elven. She didn’t know a single word of the language, but she was pretty sure that one meant ‘fuck’. 

He said no more as he left the room. She quickly followed after him, leaving enough distance to not get in his way. He went downstairs and grabbed a cloak and his bag, then disappeared out the front door, slamming it shut behind him. 

[thewingedbaron]

BG3 Fic Feburary Day Five!

(Still a little behind right now, but working on catching up)

WARNING: Depicitons of Violence and gore. If that's not your thing, maybe skip this one.

Read on Ao3

Day Five: First time seeing companions in battle

The crossbow bucked in Alyss’ hands as the bolt sped away and tore out the throat of the goblin sounding the war horn. The raiding group had already reached the Grove’s gates and were pounding mercilessly at three humans that had been locked outside when it shut. Alyss could see the defenders on top of the wooden wall, armed with crossbows and bows to  rain down fire on the attackers. Lot of good it was doing them. With the goblins attacking their mercenary allies in front of the gate, none of the defenders could get a clean shot. Not the mention the goblin’s own archers and casters working their hardest to keep the defender’s behind cover. That, Alyss decided, was where they would start.

“Lae’zel, get that bastard with the stick and work your way in toward the bugbear.” Alyss called, loading another bolt. “Gale, rocks for cover, do your best to cover the Blade of Frontiers.” 

“The what?” 

“The idiot who just jumped down into the fray waving a sword around.” Alyss snapped back. “Shadowheart, help me get the archers, then pinch the main group with Lae’zel.” 

There was a round of affirmative nods as the group set about their tasks. Lae’zel sprinted right, slamming into a knot of goblins like she had been launched from a catapult. Bodies and blood flew with each swing of her blade. 

Gale worked his way left, alternating between firebolts and ice crystals as he chipped away at the goblin’s own casters. Confused by the crossfire, one their warlocks stepped out of cover to find their new attackers, only the eat a firebolt to the face. One caster down, Alyss thought. 

For her part, Alyss started to wear down their archers. Ordinarily, she would aim to injure, firing for arms and legs. An injured target often took two out of the fight, but goblins cared little for their wounded. Instead, her bolts slammed into chests and shoulders, slowly dropping the opposing archers one by one. Next to her, Shadowheart whispered the words of a spell, capturing a flame in her hand. 

“Ignis!” She shouted, sending the flame off like a bolt of her own. A moment later, she cursed as it slammed into the stone cliff-face, a few feet above her intended target. Shadowheart snapped her fingers in frustration, and a holy flame slammed onto the goblin from above, removing them from the fight. Alyss cocked an eyebrow at her companion. 

“Watch out!” Shadowheart cried, throwing her shield arm over the ranger. Three impacts slammed into the hardwood face, intercepting shots meant for Alyss. The ranger snapped off another shot, dropping one of the offending goblins in response. 

“Sorry!” Alyss reloaded. “Didn’t see that one.” 

“You’re lucky.” Shadowheart replied, regaining her composure. “Eyes off me and on the enemy next time.” 

The pair paused, both faces turned a slightly deeper shade of red as Shadowheart’s words registered. 

“Lae’zel needs help. I’m, uh.” Shadowheart nodded several times to herself. Below them, the gith warrior was tearing through a pack of goblins on her way to the bugbear as if they were wet parchment. 

“Right, got your back.” Alyss replied stiffly. By the time either of them looked up, it was already over. The mercenaries were battered, but alive, and steaming mad. Lae’zel was surveying the scene like  a general overlooking a battlefield, waiting for the next target to reveal itself. Gale approached them slowly, too busy trying to scrape the blood off his robe to notice the awkward silence between the other two members of the party. 

“Well, that was quite fun, wasn’t it? That Lae’zel is quite the warrior.” Gale smiled. “Are you two injured? You both look like you’ve been walloped over the head with a goblin’s club.” Gale’s smile faded as his two companions nodded stiffly at him and began to make their way toward the Grove, not acknowledging each other, or him. Was it something he said? He pondered for a moment before realizing that he was alone on the battlefield. 

“Now wait just a moment, I’ll not be left behind!” He called, jogging after the party as the gate began to lift.

[nightingaletrash]

With a Little Help From My Friends 1/2

A Karlach Fix-It Fic in which Karlach gets a happy ending like she deserves <3 y'all can thank @andauril this only happened because of our shared babbling xx

AO3

--

The chamber was suffocating in its silence as Karlach’s screams still seemed to echo off of the walls like a chorus of ghosts, the spectres choking any semblance of satisfaction out of the room. The stench of blood and smoke powder clogged the air and Gortash was dead. They had another Netherstone. And none of it fucking mattered because she was still dying.

The air itself seemed intent on choking them all, so Nemeia led the party back the way they’d come, all of them shuffling along in silence as the words kept replaying themselves over and over; the break in her voice, the utter despair that couldn’t quite choke out the fury of injustice, and the fact that no matter how they looked at it, she had been utterly right. When this was over, when the Absolute was no more, Karlach would likely be gone along with it and the rest of them would carry on with their lives.

How fucking unfair.

And it was like Wyrm’s Rock knew of this great injustice that it had just played host to because despite all of the people that filled its halls and the scrambling of the Flaming Fist to fill the patrols of the now-defunct Steel Watch, the keep seemed to have fallen mysteriously silent and they encountered no one as they made their way down the stairs and through the corridors as they made their way back outside. Maybe the world had finally seen fit to fall silent in respect for the inevitable end of a woman who’d deserved better. Or maybe grief just had a way of filtering out everything but the things that hurt the most.

As they exited the keep, the sun had reached its zenith, shining cheerfully when it should be doing anything but. On a day like this, under circumstances like this, it ought to be dark and cold and gloomy as the heavens opened and the sky wept for the one person who’d been denied her true justice. That’s how it was in the stories. Sunshine and misery were like oil and water. They were never meant to go hand-in-hand.

Where was the outpour of grief? Where was the poignant reflection of circumstance? Where was the fucking justice?

Yet despite her silent tirade at its tyranny, the sun just shone on happily, warming them all up in spite of their collective mourning. In fact, Nemeia was so deeply caught up in it that she barely registered it when she stepped out towards Basilisk’s Gate that someone was shouting. It was only when Shadowheart pinched her elbow did the static in her ears finely peter out and she realised that a strangely familiar gnome woman was calling out and running towards them as fast as her legs could carry her.

“You there! You’re - the one from the Foundry right?” the gnome panted as she skidded to a halt in front of them. She had long blonde hair tied into a ponytail and a dirty white coat that struck Nemeia with the realisation that she knew where she had seen this woman before. She was a Gondian who had worked in the Steel Watch Foundry, complete with control collar and the threat of death looming over her head. Her whole face was bright red and dripping with sweat, and she doubled over as she panted for breath. Had she ran all the way up here from the harbour?

“Is everything alright?”

The words seemed to stick in Nemeia’s throat, which was unlike her. It wasn’t like the Gondians were to blame for Karlach’s condition, it wasn’t their fault that they couldn’t provide her with a miracle solution. But for them to approach her so soon off the back of Gortash’s death, undoubtedly to ask for her help when she had already done so much for them when they couldn’t do anything to help Karlach-!

“What? No, no - we’re fine. Everything’s - fine,” the gnome gasped, still gulping down air like a drowning man. She didn’t seem to realise that she had interrupted a very angry train of thought. “Sorry… I’ve just spent so long holed up in that - damned foundry. Not used to running around - like this. But Zanner said that - it’s important.”

She paused to better catch her breath, then continued.

“Listen. I know what we said - about your friend’s engine,” she began. “And truly, we can’t fix it. That thing - was built to run in Avernus, and only Avernus. We’re inventors, not miracle workers.” Her breathing finally evened out and she straightened herself up, still red and sweaty, but looking very sincere as she craned her head up to look at Nemeia. “But you all did so much for us and for the Iron Hands that we all decided to put our heads together and try to think of something we can do. And-”

Nemeia’s heart jumped into her mouth as the gnome grinned up at her.

“-we think we’ve got something.”

[]

Barcus and Zanner Toobin were seated at the table in a sideroom of the slapdash workshop that had been erected in the old Flymm Export building; they were pouring over a set of blueprints and talking intensely when the party arrived, following after an eager and still somewhat breathless Lowa.

All around them, the workshop was alive with activity as Gondians and Iron Hands alike bustled to and fro, all discussing eagerly among themselves. Some were working plates of metal in the forge while some were working with oils and tubing, and others were from room to room with pots of coffee and freshly-made toast to keep everyone supplied. It was a gnomish workshop in action, and it seemed that everyone was pitching in on their latest project.

Barcus looked up as Nemeia approached and beamed enthusiastically at the sight of her and the others. He leaned over to whisper to Zanner before waving the group over.

“There you are. Lowa found you alright? Good!” He glanced over at them and his expression wavered somewhat. “Karlach’s not with you?”

“She needed some time to herself now that Gortash is dead,” Nemeia said vaguely. She didn’t need those words to be invited back into her skull where they could occupy her thoughts with free reign, and fortunately, the delighted cheers of the Gondians and Iron Hand chased them away for the time being. Karlach wasn't the only one who'd wanted to see Gortash get what was coming to him. “Lowa said that you’d been working on something for her?”

She glanced at the papers on the desk. The documents were detailed, with numerous notes scratches in margins, and scribbled out words, lines, paragraphs, and sketches in addition to the very detailed schematics. The details were far beyond her understanding, but she could recognise the central purpose of it all: an engine. 

Barcus’ beam renewed itself and he nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes, yes. Zanner and I were just going over some of the finer details and we think we’ve got just the thing.” He moved a blueprint closer for Nemeia to see, and Zanner leaned in to say his piece.

“It’s a refined version of the engine that we created for the final iteration of the Steel Watch,” he explained, his calm voice edged with a note of pride. “After what you told us about Karlach’s engine being an infernal prototype, we theorised that we could scale down the engine we created based on the materials that Gortash had supplied us with. And with what we had to hand, we’ve managed to create a prototype that should work perfectly as the baseline for the final product.”

She could already hear the ‘but’ coming, and yet she didn’t care and hung on Zanner’s every word. If she had to go back to Avernus and fight through every last layer of Hell to get what they needed to make this prototype work, she’d do it in a heartbeat.

“Hopefully that won’t be necessary,” he said with a smile, and only then did she realise that she’d said any of that out loud. “What we need is a skilled mechanic, one familiar with an engine like Karlach’s as well as the dimensions of her chest cavity so that the final engine we create is tailored to fulfil her precise requirements. If the engine is too big, it won’t fit. And if its too small, it won’t sit right, won’t produce the proper energy requirements for her body and could end up failing entirely, along with the multitude of other problems it would cause.”

“We also need the correct materials,” Barcus added. “The prototypes have been made with whatever we’ve had to hand, but when you’re installing machinery into a person, you need to make it with materials that will last. The last thing anyone wants is to have to replace their insulator shell or their fuel line every six months.”

“Fortunately, the parts and pieces we need that could survive in organic housing are right here in the city,” Zanner continued confidently. “No one’s removed the defunct Steel Watch from the streets, and the biomechanical fusion of their construction means the materials would be perfect for this new engine.”

“Chk!” All heads snapped in Lae’zel’s direction as she glared at the gnomes, and Shadowheart side-eyed her as if trying to silently tell her to calm herself. It went unnoticed. “Were the Steel Watch not part ghaik in their construction? Are you suggesting that illithid machinery be the solution?”

“Not at all,” Zanner replied smoothly, not even skipping a beat despite the venom in her voice. Maybe it helped that he couldn’t see the white-hot stare that he was being subjected to. “The biological components of the Steel Watch are certainly illithid in nature, but those aren’t the parts we need. We need the mechanical parts because they mesh well with organic material, nothing more.”

That seemed to placate Lae’zel who sniffed but said nothing more and just jerked her head at Nemeia in ascent. She nodded back at her and turned to Barcus and Zanner.

“We know a mechanic here in the city who’s worked on Karlach’s engine before. We can get him on board, no problem, just tell us what parts you need us to find.”

Both gnomes beamed, and Barcus turned back to the papers to shuffle through them.

“Well, luckily you won’t need to know what to look for. Myself and a few of the others are going to head out and salvage the materials from the Steel Watch ourselves. Considering that Lord Gortash isn’t around to claim the salvage, we’re certain that the Iron Hand and Gondians will be granted the rights to retrieval by Duke Ravenguard now that he’s back to his old self.” 

He gave Nemeia a knowing, self-satisfied look. “You just need to find the mechanic and ask him to come here as soon as possible. I don’t doubt that his insight will be invaluable to perfecting our designs so that we can sign off on them and get to building. And he’ll be needed for the installation of course. Should Karlach wish to swap out her engine, that is.” He cleared his throat. “I only ever heard bits and pieces of the story while at your camp, but I’ve gathered enough to know that she’s had too many choices made for her. Even if our intent is different from that of Zariel’s, she deserves the right to say no.”

She’d never say no, not to this. Not to the chance to live. 

But, Nemeia reminded herself, it mattered that Barcus had even considered it all the same. This was Karlach’s choice in the end and no one else’s. No one here was going to forcibly strap her down and rip out a part of her in exchange for something that wasn’t her’s. Something better . That was what Gortash had done. What Zariel had done. They decided that they were improving her by taking her heart from her. And while the engine might be the source of her pain and woe right now, it was still her’s. It was part of her, had been part of her for ten years now. Fixing it and replacing it were two separate things. She might not want to replace it. She’d probably do it if it meant surviving, but doing what she needed to do wasn’t doing what she wanted to do. And only she had the right to make that call.

Regardless, one thing was clear: the Gondians and Iron Hands had gone above and beyond in their efforts to find some kind of solution, and they were closer than anyone to cracking a seemingly unsolvable problem.

In less than twenty four hours, they had drawn up their blueprints, teased out every flaw in the existing design, figured out how to make it work for a person rather than a machine, noted down every last detail they could think of that would need to be considered before they even approached the idea of installation, and they were still working away even now. Despite the treatment they’d received at the hands of the Banites, despite having every right to throw up their hands and rest, they chose to work instead. The aroma of coffee was nearly overpowering, and it mingled in the hot air with the stench of fire, sweat and oil as they continued to march ever onwards, forging test pieces for their prototypes. The rhythm with which they worked was well practised and fast paced, but there was a fiery determination which motivated them far beyond anything the Steel Watch Foundry might have witnessed from them. There, they worked so that they and their families might survive. Now, they worked so that someone else could live too, even though they’d originally believed that it was beyond them.

This was more in line with the stories. That one person could be so loved, that heaven and earth would be forced to move before anyone gave up on them.

Maybe she’d judged the sunshine too quickly. Maybe there would be no need for rain at all.

[]

After weeks of fighting through the hostile territory, combating the Shadow Curse, and travelling in the company of a hardened Githyanki warrior, one might expect Nemeia’s athleticism to have improved somewhat. As it so happened, that was not the case. As she arrived at the top of the steps that led into the Forge of the Nine, her face had gone from a delicate pink to a deep scarlet as she gasped for breath.

After running all the way up from the harbour, she suddenly found herself feeling deeply sympathetic to Lowa. It must have been a much longer run from the harbour to Wyrm Rock, and she’d done it all with gnomish legs. The others followed up behind her, all in varying stages of out-of-breath. Though of course Lae’zel was perfectly fine, despite wearing heavy plate armour. Of course she was.

Nemeia leaned up against a wooden post as Dammon set down the shield he was working on and hurried over.

“Nem, is everything alright?” he asked, glancing over her and the others for any sign of injury or trouble. And if they were there for any other reason, Nemeia might have considered that they were still bearing the marks of their battle with Gortash and his Banites, from the crust of their blood dried to their weapons to the scorches and burns they'd received from his traps and explosives.

Instead she just nodded hurriedly while still sucking down lungfuls of breath, and Dammon rubbed her back before reaching for his belt. He offered a water skin which she accepted eagerly. After gulping down two mouthfuls, she passed it off to Gale and gasped out, “we’ve found a way to save Karlach.”

Dammon’s tail went stiff and his eyes widened. Then his jaw clicked and he straightened his back as he said, "tell me everything."

They piled into the Forge and presented him with the notes provided by Zanner and Barcus so that he could study them himself. As he devoured their contents, Nemeia explained why they had come to him and what they would need.

Without a word, he grabbed a pen and started scribbling over the notes, marking down measurements and suggestions as they came to mind and he pinched his tongue between his teeth. Still he nodded along as Nemeia spoke, showing that he was listening intently.

"It could work, though I'd want to talk with the other engineers first. The proposed housing unit isn't sturdy enough for a person who's not clad in heavy-plate armour," he mused. "Infernal Iron is what her body's used to, and can handle more punishment. If you still have any on hand, we can see what the Gondians have to say about its use."

“It’s back at camp,” Nemeia replied excitedly. “We hung onto it all in case we found a way to fix the engine.”

“And it seems like it was a wise decision to do so,” Gale noted humorously. “Despite the extra effort required to haul it around whenever we picked up camp.”

“As if you ever once tried to carry it yourself,” Lae’zel sniffed imperiously.

“And let him break his back in the effort, Lae’zel?” Shadowheart jabbed mirthfully. “He has enough trouble with hauling around the scrolls and books that our fearless leader insists on collecting.”

"So long as you still have it," Dammon cut over before anyone else could jump in, drawing all focus back to the subject at hand. "Of course I'll need to consult the others first, finalise a design that we can all agree on, mock up a final prototype to ensure it all works and then-"

He stopped short and shook his head.

"I'm getting ahead of myself. I need to get to this workshop before we even consider installation. I take it that Karlach's with them?"

Nemeia shook her head.

"We killed Gortash not long ago. And with the whole 'go back to Avernus or die' thing, she needed some time alone, so she went back to camp,” Nemeia explained. “The Gondians approached us after she'd already left, and well. I guess I want to be certain that this could even work before we consider getting her hopes up." 

She worried at her lower lip as the guilt soaked through her chest, and she gave the mechanic a pleading look. "She was so upset, Dammon. So angry about the fact that Gortash wasn't the slightest bit sorry about selling her to Zariel, or that even with him dead, she was still dying. She wants to live so badly, and I could never bring this to her just for it to turn out that it could never work." Her eyes burned as she shook her head and Dammon grabbed her hand and squeezed it reassuringly as she finished, "we need to know that it'll work. So that it's real and we won't just be setting her up to get hurt again. She deserves that much… More. Everything ."

He nodded sympathetically.

"Then we'll give her everything we have," he said with firm-yet-gentle confidence. "I'll gather up what I need from here and we’ll head to the workshop. If the infernal iron can still be used, then you can fetch it from your camp and tell Karlach that there might still be a way to save her."

A lump formed in Nemeia’s throat.

“And if the iron causes some kind of problem? What then?”

But Dammon just clasped her hand gently.

“I’ve got enough infernal scraps lying around here for a prototype. An old commission that went unfinished by the last smith who worked here,” he explained evenly. “I’d never use it for a final product, but it’ll serve well enough. By the time we need the raw stuff you’ve collected, we’ll already know one way or another.”

And just like that, the lump dissolved and her heart soared even as her eyes watered. She held Dammon’s clasped hands with her free one and fixed him with the utmost gratitude that she could muster.

“Thank you Dammon, thank you so much,” she said wetly. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

He just smiled and said, “all I need from you is the promise that you and Karlach will come to visit me when you’re done saving the world, and that you’ll buy the drinks.”

She smiled and nodded.

“Deal.”

[valiantvillain]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @poetikat. and @arendaes

While I'm still working on chapter 2 of Duty, Diligence, Devotion, I can say that I am nearing the end of this rather long chapter so I got plenty of snippets to choose from this time.

Characters: (half-orc paladin Tav) Miraz x Astarion

________________________

Squaring her shoulders, she made her way over to Astarion, who sat with his back to her, examining the thin line of red scouring the length of his forearm. One of the spiderlings had gotten in a good slice when it had phased right in front of him and struck out with its razor-edged mandibles. They had staunched the bleeding easily enough afterward, knit most of the flesh back together with only an utterance to cure minor wounds and leaving only a shallow groove of flesh behind. Something that the body would repair well enough on its own given time, but Astarion glowered at it all the same. As though its very existence confounded him. 

Miraz recalled that vampires had formidable abilities of regeneration. Such benefits extended to the spawn as well. Yet since she’d met him, Astarion appeared to recover no faster than the rest of them. It seemed the tadpole had its drawbacks alongside its boons. 

“In my experience, staring doesn’t make them go away,” she remarked as she approached. He might have also been sporting a sizable bruise across his back, given that the matriarch had sent both him and Karlach flying halfway through the fight. 

At the sound of her voice, he momentarily went rigid before registering it was her and allowing the tension to ease from his limbs, though not without a small sound of discomfort. A large mottling splotch of red and purple undulated beneath the thin white silk of his shirt with each tiny motion. That confirmed the bruise then. Even so, he painted an impish grin onto his equally impish face. 

“How very lucky that we have you and Shadowheart around then.” His head swiveled to look at her, gaze lingering a moment longer than could be considered platonic and bearing a dreamy expression. An elegant hand lazily interlaced with hers, entangling itself between the grooves of her fingers with an almost unconsciously intimate ease, tracing the tiny scars of battles past on her knuckles. “Especially you, darling.”

Miraz bit her tongue, then told herself not to fight it and just let him regret it later. Instead she placed her free hand gingerly upon his back, a sharp intake of breath hissing through his teeth as she touched the tender flesh. The delicate edges of his nails, meticulously manicured and maintained, grazed the hills and valleys on the back of her hand as he squeezed it. It didn’t hurt. She didn’t think he had it in him to actually hurt her in any regard save her patience.

“I suppose it pays to have someone knowledgeable in the fine points of the undead, though Wyll’s hardly without expertise himself.” The paladin pressed her lips into a thin line to prevent the small smile tugging at them as Astarion’s nostrils flared, pettily displeased at the mention of the Blade of Frontiers. Just as she had predicted, the pale elf had indeed lost to him in the long, arduous war of wits they had waged for the better part of a few days. His clever comebacks steadily whittled away by Wyll’s amicable perseverance. 

Yet his bitterness fled just as swiftly as it had arrived, gone with the planting of a kiss upon her clasped hand. So lightly delivered that Miraz questioned whether it had happened at all. So gentle and tender that anyone less sensible could have mistaken it for a loving gesture. Of course, he made certain to catch her gaze, hoping to make her heart flutter through eyes half-lidded with the suggestion of desire. 

“Your company is far more preferable, darling,” he asserted in the hushed tone of a sweetly shared secret. 

Miraz rolled her eyes. “You needn’t flatter me. I was going to heal you anyway.” 

“You know, a less persistent man would be thrown off by such hardheartedness.” 

“That’s certainly one way to describe you. Now let me do my job, will you?” 

Remarkably, he fell silent and kept still. Unnecessary but definitely better than a squirming patient. She had one last spell in her, one last spark of divine magic, and as his injuries were, they were minor. One incantation and it would be as if he hadn’t so much as scraped his knee. Closing her eyes, Miraz drew deep from the remaining drops in her well, felt the wellspring of her oath beneath its floor. The source would replenish, the well filled once more to the brim with a bit of rest come morning. Still, she managed one last pull from the pool of her oath, conviction made manifest, both warm and cool at the same time. Comforting balm and unrelenting invigoration in one flowing through her being, circulating through the chambers of her heart and all the way to her fingertips. Light emanated from her palm, shifting hypnotic hues of teal, turquoise, and cyan spreading wide and deep into the elf’s body. Loosening the knots of muscle, knitting flesh together with the delicate painstaking grace of a spider’s spinning, repairing the broken vessels beneath his skin like washing red wine from fine ivory silk. Miraz heard the sigh of relief leave his lungs before it reached his lips. Contentment bubbled within her. She had always liked this, using the same hands that wielded a weapon to soothe and settle, to watch the body put itself back together beneath her careful touch. 

It was not tiredness she felt when she had drained the last drops of her reserves, but rather a faint hollowness deep in the recessed of her being. One that might have saddened her, and indeed it had made her quite lonely in the first days of her oath when its powers were new and yet somehow as though they had always been a part of her, were she not able to feel them but a short distance away. Long mollified by the knowledge granted by time and experience that the waters of faith would flow in her anew come dawn’s first light, ready and waiting to be unleashed just below her fingertips and beating with all the strength of her warrior’s heart. 

All these years later, she still marvelled at it, though her doubts of whether or not she was deserving of such powers, such favor, had mostly abated. And when she looked upon her work, her heart swelled with pride. 

“There, that should do it.” 

“Mmm, much better,” purred Astarion, who rolled his shoulder to test the newfound range of movement now that it wouldn’t be plagued by twinging and throbbing. He suddenly appeared much more limber, refreshed. 

Miraz also noted that he had yet to surrender her hand, nor had he lessened his hold upon it. Indeed it seemed to have leeched some of her own inner warmth. 

“I should hope so,” Miraz said drily. “Because that’s the last you’re getting until tomorrow. And no, you will not be getting priority for asking nicely.”

“Not even for an acknowledgement of your exquisite beauty?” 

“That will bump you to the back of the line.”

A chuckle sounded low and lush in his throat as he leaned back to take her in above him, squinting in mock scrutiny. A wry grin fought its way onto her face, an act for which she internally admonished herself and that prompted him to try and tug her closer. With very limited success, mind. 

“There is something rather intriguing about that stern charm of yours. All those little walls and defenses. You only make it so much more tempting to peer through the cracks.”

Miraz raised a sardonic brow. “And you expect to find the tender heart of a romantic beating behind them, correct?”

That overconfident grin of his widened as he brought her their conjoined hands to rest over his clavicle. The bone was fine as a bird’s. Was this supposed to entice her? Coax her to lower her head to kiss him? He should have been grateful he was good at holding his breath. Still, her treacherous heart skipped a beat.

“Oh, I suspect I’ll find much more than that, my dear.”

What a charmingly vague prediction. So many words to say so little. 

Sure enough, he made to kiss her, craning his neck to reach her lips only for her to pull back with the quickness of instinct. 

“Not yet,” she hastily muttered, the tips of her ears burning hot at the prospect of being witnessed by their companions. 

Even if Miraz had been taken with him, even if she had been madly in love with him (gods fucking forbid), she did not think she could ever warm up to the idea of displaying affection so publicly. Too used to shamefully stolen glances and couplings locked tightly behind closed doors, discouraged from so much as greeting her past partners with more familiarity than a passing acquaintance. It was bad enough his “intentions”, if they could even be called that, were so transparent. She didn't need their comrades watching them with any more curiosity than they already did.

To the credit of Astarion's performance, however, he seemed almost delighted at her prudishness. Like a rake with a maiden he believed to be putty in his hands, hanging onto fragile conventions of modesty lest she fall victim to his amorous overtures. How very literary. How very in the tradition of cads and lusty ne’er-do-wells and seductive charlatans. Yet there was that recognizable thread of strain to the way he held his smile, that thread of tension strung taut throughout his entire body that belied hesitation, an innate discomfort. And yet Astarion maintained the facade. 

Why? What was so vital about ensnaring one of them? After all, Miraz had hardly been his first choice. Had he not struck out with the others, it would be one of them subjected to this foolish game. A reliable source of blood would have been the obvious answer. But then why continue when that access was now permitted and assured? She doubted he was so desperate for the haphazard excuse for companionship that could be afforded in their current predicament now that he had escaped this Cazador. Of course, sex had rarely ever been the first item on her list for seeking succor. 

“A quiet evening, for once. Perfect for two people who’d like to take some time to themselves, if you catch my meaning.” His whispered words wrested her from her thoughts, each one more hushed than the last as if bidding her to come closer. “And I do mean sex, to be clear. We’ve been waiting long enough.” 

Miraz’s mouth went dry for all the wrong reasons. Maybe if she were lucky he would run off before any clothes came off, primarily hers. Then she could tuck away the added slight of not having even gotten her out of her trousers for later as well. She swallowed, stubbornly setting her jaw to steady her resolve. 

Just a little longer and it would be all over. Like ripping off bandages. 

“All right, but where will we go?” It was a stiffly stated question if ever there was one. 

A long slender finger pale as bone oh so fondly began to tangle itself in her hair, winding the black strands thick around it. This time when he tugged her nearer she reluctantly hunched over, making sure her ear was level to his mouth. Discreetly as she feasibly could of course. 

“Let’s find our own little piece of nowhere. Somewhere we can lose ourselves and forget all about this madness.” He cooed and charmed so prettily that she could almost feel that slimy tongue of his flicking against the shell of her ear. “There’s a secluded place that should do nicely. Wait until the others are asleep, then come and find me there.” 

“I’ll see you there,” was all she managed to say. 

“Indeed you will, my love, I can’t wait.” 

My love. My dear. Darling. Sweet nothings from a serpent’s mouth that made her skin crawl. 

He scarcely left her side for the rest of that evening, practically glued to her in a way one could almost believe was genuine. The saccharine seeming of a new relationship where one sought any and every excuse to steal a clandestine touch, a suggestive bit of wordplay, a more than simply appreciative sideways glance. Likely done in as much of an effort to inflame her in preparation of their doomed rendezvous as to convince the rest of the party of his ardor. His supposedly undeniable desire of the paladin who had only spared his life but provided him with her blood. 

Were they really fooled by this charade, Miraz wondered.

[blackjackkent]

Hector lands on the final platform with a grunt and looks towards Balthazar and the woman caged in front of him.

The woman is pale as a ghost, even to her hair and her eyes. Her face is heavily scarred and her clothes ragged and torn. She glances at Hector with disinterest, but her gaze, and her ire, is primarily reserved for Balthazar, who is standing before her with a look of casual cruelty.

"Balthazar," the woman snaps. "Come to add more bars to my cage. Or perhaps to lead this would-be Justiciar's blade directly to my heart?"

She gestures, indicating Hector, and he flinches away from the assertion. Shadowheart is the one here to become a Justiciar; to be considered the petitioner himself is anathema. (And indeed, out of the corner of his eye, he can see Shadowheart surging forward to claim her rightful reward - but he puts an arm out across her chest, blocking her. They cannot speak yet; there is more to be heard.)

The woman's eyes flash back to Balthazar, and she lunges in his direction against the edge of the sigil holding her - and pale green spectral hands grasp at her, pulling her back, holding her still.

"I invite you," she snarls. "Heap more sins upon your head. My retribution will be all the sweeter for them."

Balthazar smiles coolly, unfazed by her impotent rage. "All this time," he murmurs, "and you still fail to appreciate the gifts I bestowed on you, Aylin. Sad, to see a thing of beauty not recognize its own worth." He circles the edge of the sigil, eyeing her like a particularly fascinating caged beast. "But General Thorm... *he* appreciates you. And he wants you close at hand, so I am here to whisk you back to him."

The Nightsong - Aylin? - struggles against her bonds, and the snarl on her face turns sardonic. "Ketheric. I welcome the sight of him, after these hundred years - he whose immortality I supply with my very soul."

Hector goes very still. His eyes flick sideways to Shadowheart and he sees that she has registered the meaning of these words as well. There is so much more at work here than the Justiciar trial, something that ties to the heart of everything they are struggling against.

This woman cannot be allowed to return to Thorm - at any cost.

Balthazar's smile loses some of its cool humor. "*General* Thorm," he repeats icily. "I'm sure you'll be on your best behavior for him, but just in case, I've taken some precautions."

He turns casually to Hector, seemingly unaware of the monk's distaste for the entire situation. "Keep back. It will take quite some concentration to secure Aylin for her little journey."

Hector draws a slow breath, trying to calm the racing of his mind enough to think, to decide on a plan. "Wait," he says, stalling for time. "The Nightsong is a person?"

Balthazar laughs.

"Person? Please. You insult her. You insult *me*. Aylin is so much more than that. She is an aasimar, bound to a soulcage of my creation and lending her immortal strength to General Thorm. Her power, his will, and my genius - an unsurpassable feat."

Hector feels a chill go through him. An aasimar - one touched by celestial blood, beyond human - trapped in this place for the century that Thorm has been immortal, mocked by this blasphemous cruelty for decades...

"Ramblings most unsane," Aylin sneers, uncowed even after such torment. "Poor Balthazar, for maggots ate his brain long ago."

"Hold your tongue, Aylin," Balthazar snaps coldly. "Or I'll take it away from you again." He turns to look at Hector, and the veneer of calm authority begins to slip in favor of irritation. "And you - no more questions. No more interference."

Hector flicks his eyes to his companions; all of them have shoulders set, eyes narrowed. He knows they all see the truth of the situation as clearly as he does. This can't be allowed to happen. And there is no way Balthazar will be dissuaded from his plans with anything other than violence.

Subtly he shifts his weight onto the balls of his feet, into the steady central stance ready to leap in any direction. Hidden by his crossed arms, his hands clench into fists.

"If she's the reason Ketheric Thorm is invulnerable," he says, voice steady and hard as steel, "you're not taking her. Leave, or you're a dead man."

Balthazar turns slowly towards him, and any pretense of pleasantry vanishes from him. His eyes are black coal flared with embers.

"Dead man," he murmurs. "You haven't been paying attention, have you? Perhaps I'll revive your carcass and add you to my retinue. Then you'll have all the time in the world to think on your mistakes!"

With astonishing speed for his bulk, he darts backwards, flaring with necromantic magic, and all around them, the strewn forms of the dead begin to rise.

Oh boy.

[acanthawrites]

How to jilt a rake

Chapter 8

AstarionxTav

Featuring: Gale, Lae'zel, Karlach, Wyll and Shadowheart

Rating: Mature

Genre: Angst, eventual smut, teasing, comedy, romantic comdey, shameless smut, emotional conflict

“Is this all?” The cold tones cut through the air like a whip. Dimly Ellana registered the cold hard floor beneath her body and the thin silk robe that she had been dressed in. She did not move, only very slightly fluttering her eyes as her mind came to register the heaviness of her limbs, the coldness of her fingers against the surface beneath her. The flavour of the drugged wine lingering in her mouth leaving a slightly bitter aftertaste.

“Yes.” The voice was hesitant, small but recognisable. Astarion.

Ellana managed to open her eyes a little, the room was cavernous and poorly lit. Lavish draping’s covered the windows and suits of armour lined the walls, a huge expensive woven rug lay in front of a vast fireplace that was burning in the hearth and the air was so heavy with the smell of perfume it made it almost difficult to breathe.

“Disappointing.” Came the voice again, it was a cruel voice Ellana thought, devoid of emotion. “You are always disappointing are you not?”

[sorcerous-caress]

👉👈 uhm could you maybe release a snippet of those fics? Please? 🥺

I’ve deleted and rewritten this ask like 5 times because I’ve never in my life requested smut let alone something like… well that.

-The Ex-Lurker

Anon I am very sorry to inform you that these snippest are as real as santa. I never work on more than one or two fics at a time. And even when I do, i immediately post them the second they're finished.

There is no easter bunny, no queen of England and no Shadowheart degradation snippets.

I have requests for Shadowheart degrading people that i plan on posting after I actually write them, which I have not.

Instead, have this piece I've written just for you as an apology for leading you on <3 i will do it again.

Shadowheart degrades you

[ Smut, degradation, overstimulation, nb!reader, Dom!shadowheart ]

The sound of your voice was all you could hear in the room, raw, breathless, and needy. Hearing the desperation in your own moans made you close your eyes in embarrassment.

"What's wrong?" Shadowheart's soft voice came from above you. Her hand went down to caress your head on her lap.

You choked on your own reply, your body squirming and twitching as yet another orgasm was forced out of you. Her hand between your thighs now drenched with your cum.

"Is it too much for your brain? Is that what this is about?" She didn't even give you a moment to rest before hand started moving again, the same brutal pace that she's been forcing onto you for an hour.

"If only you could see how pathetic you look right now." She didn't take her eyes off of your fucked out face on her lap, she seemed to revel in making you feel that burning shame of being watched.

She still had all of her clothes on, not a hair out of place, while you laid naked below her. She didn't even break a sweat while she continuously toyed and abused your most intimate areas into overstimulation.

"Just how many times did you make a mess already, and you're still cumming?" She stopped overstimulating you long enough to give the inside of your thighs a light slap, making your body jump as a loud whine escaped you.

She laughed, she was laughing at you.

Immediately, you felt yourself getting pushed to the edge of another orgasm, so fast too, you were really losing your mind.

"That pretty head of yours will probably be empty by the time I'm done with you." She caressed your head again, "you won't have any other purpose after. You'll be completely useless."

You were so close, you didn't care about your dignity anymore. You just wanted relief.

"Maybe I should invite all of our friends here, give them front row seats to your little show." She let you grind against her hand, cooing and chuckling as you made another mess, covering the insides of your thighs in your own cum.

But she didn't stop, instead, her hand went back to the same brutal pace if not faster.

The pleasure was too intense. It became too much and borderline painful. Your cries were ignored by Shadowheart as you begged and pleaded for a rest.

"A bitch in heat, that's what you are." The hand on your head pulled your hair in a painful grip as she brought your head closer to her face.

Her hand never stopped, you were full on crying from the burning pleasure. You couldn't control yourself, you couldn't control your voice and you couldn't stop from cumming endlessly on her hand. This was your punishment for overindulgence.

Isn't it her job to cleanse people of their sins as a cleric? Then consider this your atonement for being the whore that you are. For all the lust filled thoughts clouding your brain.

"Say, thank you." Her hold tightned on your hair, "thank me for treating you like you deserve to be treated, and I might let go."

Your nerves were on fire. You barely registered your own words as you thanked her as loudly as you can between your cries. Thanking her for giving a dirty pathetic whore like you the chance to repent and get cleansed.

Both hand let go of you, you head was dropped back into her lap.

"Turn around." She looked at you in disgust, "ass up, face down."

[lets-just-daydream]

I loved this:

https://www.tumblr.com/lets-just-daydream/730163482466680833/pls-only-if-you-want-to-but-i-have-been-searching

It sparked a thought! What if Cazador did turn you into a spawn? Astarion and group kill him, perhaps you are sent to safety to ensure your soul is not sacrificed. Then spawn Astarion and you get to spend eternity as equals, no need to find a cure for vampirism or extend your mortal life.

Love your work. Cheers!

POOR TAV LOL

destined to end up in Cazador's clutches (at least in my fics) but we need the angst before the happy ending right???? (decided to put these requests together)

Ahh. You'd made it. Baldur's Gate! Weeks and weeks of travel, killing, bloodshed, making friends and making enemies. You were almost certain with all the walking you'd done you could lift a house with your new leg muscles. Well not quite but you certainly felt like it.

Your companions scattered slightly, feeling mildly safer in the city and agreeing to meet up in a nearby tavern Shadowheart had pointed to and said she was departing to. You wandered off to find a merchant to buy some perfumes and soaps from because you were certain you smelled awful. Right beside you, not unexpectedly, was Astarion. The closer you got to the city, the clingier you found him to be. Not that you would ever complain. Being back in Cazador's domain was kind of scary for you and you could not imagine how utterly terrifying it must be for Astarion. As you walked, you looped your arm in his and you felt him relax slightly, a smile gracing his features. But you still saw him looking over his shoulder every couple of minutes.

You tried to converse with him as a distraction. "How about we get some nice soaps and perfumes, go back to the tavern, get ourselves a room and have a nice, warm bath?"

"Mhm," Astarion responded half-heartedly.

"Astarion?" You asked. He barely registered your voice and you gave his arm a slight squeeze to get his attention. "Look, I know that you're worried but I've got your back, we've all got your back."

He smiled back at you and gave you a soft peck. "I know, darling. But I… just can't help the feeling like I'm being watched."

Your brows furrowed and you looked around. It was broad daylight and you were in the middle of the street.

"My love," you said. "It's the middle of the day. You're the only vampire that could be out here."

Astarion looked at you and laughed, he'd forgotten this important piece of the vampire puzzle.

"Of course," Astarion smiled. "Now let's get these soaps so I can lather you up later."

You smiled and chatted as you found a vendor, smelling the soaps on offer, not knowing that Astarion's gut feeling was right. You were being watched. From the shadows.

You made it back to the tavern with many soaps in bag, keen for a relaxing night in. You'd discovered the rest of your companions had booked their own rooms. It made sense after camping out together for weeks everyone would jump at the opportunity to have their own space.

You bit your lip and turned to Astarion. “If you'd like to get your own room, we can bathe wherever you'd like.”

Astarion only offered you his trademark smirk before turning to the innkeeper and asking for one room, with one bed. You blushed and watched as Astarion took the key and turned back to you.

“I would like to bathe with you, in our bath, in our room.”

You nodded and grinned, following him up to your allocated room and stepping inside after he'd unlocked it. There it was. One bed. A bathroom off to the side and a wardrobe, a desk and comfortable looking couches situated in front of an unlit fireplace. It was rather warm these days. You then spotted doors off to the side and opened them to find a balcony decorated with plants and wooden furniture.

“Oh, it's a nice view from here, Astarion,” you said as you leaned against the rail.

You heard him step onto the balcony and he stepped in behind you, caging you in his arms between himself and the railing. “Yes, you're right,” he said plainly.

He sounded so casual and even though you had shared a few nights together and confessed your feelings to each other, his simple touch or his body against yours still sent you into a silent internal frenzy. You truly could spend all day watching the street below with Astarion pressed against your back.

“I am so desperate for this bath. I'll go get it ready,” Astarion said as he leaned down and pressed a kiss just under your ear.

You shivered and felt him smile against your skin before he was gone, retreating inside.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, soaking in the sun before you felt a ruble under your feet. Your brows furrowed and you leaned over the railing to see what could be causing the building to shake.

Before you could even process what was happening, the balcony crumbled and gave way under you, dropping you to the cobbles below. You heard a slight hiss and a cold hand on your skin before everything went black.

Astarion began filling the bath with warm water, a smile on his face. He didn't ever dare to dream that he could have a relationship like he had with you but it seemed the gods had slowly begun smiling down at him. He peered through the bathroom door and watched as you leaned over the railing. He admired the view you unknowingly gave him before he saw you begin to fall as the floor fell out from under you.

He screamed your name and ran to the edge of the destroyed balcony but you weren't there. Were you under the rubble? He screamed your name again as he dropped to his knees and reached for the rubble but he was too high up. He ran out of the room and came face-to-face with your other companions.

“We heard you scream,” Lae’zel said.

Astarion shoved past everyone, unable to put into words what he had just witnessed. They followed silently as he got outside and pushed through the crowd of people surrounding the rubble. Astarion dropped to his knees and pulled stone, wood and plants to reach you under the fallen balcony. He'd made a dent in it as Karlach and Lae'zel made short work of the pile but you were nowhere to be found. Astarion called your name again, scanning the crowd to see if you had been picked up but he couldn't see you. He couldn't smell you. But he could smell something familiar. Something that if his heart still beat, would have made it stop.

This was Cazador's doing.

You woke to a splash of freezing water to your face and you gasped as you gulped for air. You opened your eyes and looked around, not recognising where you were. Or how you even got here. What could you remember? You were on the balcony in your room, it collapsed and… that's it.

“Astarion?” You called looking around the dank, cold chamber.

Stone and tile lined the walls and floors and gods it was freezing. You tried to make sense of where you were and you noticed cages suspended from the high ceilings, a coffin in the middle of the room and… suspended bodies lining the perimeter of the room. Your blood ran cold and you froze as you saw the pained, tortured look on each person's face. You raised your hand to your mouth but were stopped. Chains shackled you to the ground and you could barely move an inch.

“What the fuck…” you whispered to yourself. “Astarion?!”

“Call for the little vampire all you like, but he can't hear you,” a sordid voice came from behind you.

You whipped your head around and saw a tall figure looking over you. Pale skin, long black hair, fangs peeking out from beneath his lips.

“Cazador?” You whispered.

“Indeed.”

You squinted up at him, confused. “You did this to me? Why?”

Cazador huffed and stepped in front of you, leaning down to take your chin in his hand. His skin was ice cold. Colder than Astarion's and you shivered at the feeling, your stomach recoiling in disgust. “Hmm. They told me you were clever. Too much credit, I say.”

Cazador stared at you impassively, like he was bored with you. “You're… insurance. I figure the boy will come to save you. I've heard that he's so desperately in love with you. Isn't that cute?”

You didn't respond, only letting your mind wander to Astarion, hoping he was safe. If you were still here with Cazador it meant Astarion was still safe and alive somewhere. You hoped your companions would keep him away. You knew Karlach would. But Astarion was also stubborn and you prayed to every god who was and wasn't listening that he wouldn't come looking for you.

“Some say cute,” Cazador continued. “Pathetic, I say.”

You furrowed your brow in anger and struggled against your restraints, desperate to reach the vampire in front of you and stake his heart.

“I'll kill you,” you sneered.

Cazador deadpanned and gripped your chin tight, his nails digging into your skin painfully. “Don't test my patience. If Astarion doesn't come for you, you'll take his place. Then I'll ascend and kill him myself.”

You stilled and fear overtook you. Cazador was cruel and he intended to complete this infernal ritual one way or another. Maybe if he did use you instead, Astarion could hide away out of Cazador's reaches. But becoming ascendant, he could go anywhere, sun or no sun. They could play hide and seek for all of eternity. You had to get free and kill Cazador.

The vampire lord dropped your chin and stepped away, taking in his suspended spawn, his eyes landing on the spot where Astarion should be. He was impatient. There was no guarantee Astarion would even come for you. He may not even know where you'd gone. He turned slightly to find you struggling against your shackles. He could just do as he said, use you in Astarion's place and kill him later, anyway. Then he'd have the satisfaction of tormenting Astarion with your untimely death… Yes, the idea had merit and the more he thought on it, the more appealing he found it.

“Change of plans, dear hero,” Cazador said as he approached you once again and crouched in front of you. “I've been patient for too long to wait on that insolent fool any longer.”

You flinched as Cazador's fingers found your neck. “We'll be speeding things up.”

You gulped. “What do you-”

The remainder of your question died on your lips as Cazador reared his head back and bit into your neck without warning. You let out a scream as you felt an icy blanket fall over your body, your blood being drained from you.

You had gotten so used to Astarion feeding on you and being to gentle that this feeding frenzy felt like torture in comparison. You tried to shove Cazador off of you but the shackles held you in place. As the vampire took deep, clumsy gulps from you, you felt yourself begin to weaken and your vision begin to fade around the edges. Astarion would have long stopped by now and kissed your neck before laying you down to sleep.

Your body felt numb and cold as your hands fell limp by your sides, you could feel the strong beat of your heart slow to an unnaturally slow lull. As Cazador took a final gulp, your head lolled back and your eyes slipped shut, visions of Astarion filling the void before you finally faded away. You wished you could tell him one more time that you love him.

“I don't know about this,” Shadowheart said as they searched Cazador's study. “We're not even sure if Cazador is behind this.”

Astarion grinded his teeth in frustration. “I know he did this. The smell of his spawn was all over that rubble. If you don't want to help, then leave,” Astarion snapped as he kicked a book across the room.

It seemed the gods did indeed smile down on him as the book flew across the room and budged a lever everyone had missed and revealed an opening in the floor.

“I didn't even know this was here…” Astarion gasped, stepping past before anyone could stop him.

Your throat was dry. Impossibly dry. Like you'd just consumed a carafe of Baldur's Gate’s finest sand. You tried to move and you realised you were sprawled out on your stomach with something heavy on your back, your bare chest pressed into the cold tiles. Speaking of, your back was killing you. You stretched and felt around before feeling something wet and sticky. You pulled your hand back and saw that your fingers were covered in… was that blood?

Your eyes widened as you felt a stab and slice into your back and you let out a guttural scream at the pain. It felt as though someone had taken to your back with a knife and was carving into it. The dots connected in your brain and your body stiffened in shock. You heard a laugh from above you and you craned your neck to find Cazador above you, dagger in hand with a manic look on his face.

“Yes, let your screams out, little spawn. It makes this all the sweeter,” Cazador praised.

Your screams turned to laboured breaths but it didn't feel right, you couldn't get enough air into your lungs.

‘No,’ you thought in horror as tears welled in your eyes, shock finally giving way to reality.

You ran your tongue over your teeth and found two sharp fangs in place of your canines.

“It's a shame your life as a vampire will be so short, I think you might have enjoyed it,” Cazador said as he stuck the dagger into your back once again.

“Please… please stop,” you sobbed.

“Soon, my dear. Soon you and all these seven thousand spawn will cease to exist and I will become the greatest vampire of all time.”

You let out another scream as Cazador resumed his work, but he stopped abruptly and he fell off of you as you heard hurried footsteps and familiar voices. You turned your head toward the noise and saw Astarion heading the rest of your companions, running down the stairs toward you and Cazador.

“Grab him and tie him up. Tight,” Astarion commanded and Karlach and Lae'zel nodded as the latter put her crossbow back on her shoulder.

You looked up at Astarion, almost not believing your eyes. You began to smile but the look of horror, guilt and shock on his face caused you to frown and close in on yourself, a cry of pain escaping you as you moved.

You weren't yourself anymore. You were a vampire spawn. Cold, covered in bloody wounds and completely different to the person Astarion fell in love with.

“Oh, my love,” Astarion sobbed as he dropped to his knees in front of you. His hands hovered over you in fear of hurting you any further. “What has that monster done to you?”

You let out a pained sob as Astarion took the cloak from his back and draped it over you. He cupped your cheek and you looked up at him, his eyes shone with tears that threatened to spill. “I'm so sorry I let this happen.”

You sniffled and stiffened again as you heard Cazador speak behind you. “You finally made it, Astarion. If only you had been faster, you could have saved your dear lover from this awful fate. A failure once again.”

Your heart hurt as you watched Astarion listen to Cazador's words, you truly wished he didn't have to suffer such an awful master and now he was here because you had been captured and now he would think you're hideous and you were probably both going to die anyway. But Astarion stood and walked over to where Cazador was bound, held in place by Karlach and Lae'zel.

“What to do with you…” Astarion mused, unbothered by Cazador's words. “I could take your place and become the ascendant.”

“No…” You choked. “Don't do it Astarion. You're better than him, I know you are.”

Cazador had revealed that he would be sacrificing seven thousand souls to ascend and there was no way you could live with Astarion if he sacrificed all of those innocent lives. The chamber was silent for a moment before Astarion stepped closer to Cazador, unsheathing his weapon.

“You're right. I am better than him.”

It seemed as though Cazador let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps he thought Astarion was going to cut him free. Be the bigger man, as it were.

“But I'm still going to enjoy every second of this,” Astarion took Cazador's hair in his hand, pulled his head back and stabbed into his master's neck. The sound of metal squishing into flesh was all that could be heard in the cavernous dungeon as Astarion stabbed into Cazador's almost lifeless body over and over. You watched Astarion's face as he finally threw his dagger down and dropped to his knees. You tried to comfort him but the shackles holding you in place jangled against you.

Karlach ran forward and freed you by prying the shackles open and you crawled over to Astarion and wrapped your arms around him.

You felt him stiffen under your touch and you moved away, worried you'd overstepped in this troublesome time he was going through.

“Your body is… cold,” Astarion said, taking your hand in his and pressing it to his cheek.

Tears welled in your eyes. “I'm sorry,” you whispered, not really even knowing why you were apologising. You were worried that without the warmth of your skin and the blood coursing through your veins, he wouldn't love you anymore. You had no warmth and no blood to offer him anymore.

“Why are you apologising? Why are you crying, my love?” Astarion asked.

You looked down at the space between you and felt your face drop.

“I'm… different now,” you struggled. “I can't feed you anymore… I'm cold.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks and Astarion leaned forward and held your body against his, careful of the fresh scars on your back.

“Darling I… I still love you,” Astarion whispered against your ear.

This was a rather tender moment and your companions wandered around the room examining what they could loot and whether the other vampires should be set free.

You leaned back and Astarion offered you a small smile. “You'll have me by your side for all eternity.”

You nodded, wiping the tears from your eyes and offering him a small smile. Admittedly you had wondered what your relationship would be like as the years ticked by. You'd grow old, no longer young and energetic and Astarion would stay the same; forever young and beautiful, frozen in time. But now you were frozen in time, too. Young and beautiful, glad to know you and Astarion had eternity together.

“Let's get out of here,” Astarion said, helping you to your feet and offering you his arm. “I never want to come back here again.”

“Me neither,” you replied.

[bg-brainrot]

Hugs for a Vampire (Astarion x GN!Reader) - Chapter 6: Before the Assault on Moonrise

Chapter 6: Before the Assault on Moonrise

Each chapter can be read as a standalone hug.

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Rogue!Tav)

Genre: Fluffy, Filling in Canon

Rating: Teen

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Act 2, Canon-typical violence, developing relationship, blood, boundaries

WC: 2.3k words, 6/18 chapters

Summary: A feeding-hug for Rogue!Tav and Astarion. They're still working out how to act around each other, with Astarion setting the boundaries.

Ao3 | [Hug5][Hug7] | Hugs for a Vampire Masterlist

It feels like the calm before the storm. Come tomorrow, you���ll head to Moonrise and begin an attack on the evil that resides there. You’ve freed the Nightsong, given Shadowheart some time to herself, and now gathered the Harpers for a full-on assault. Your companions are all itching to get going– for the most part. 

Throughout the Gauntlet of Shar, Astarion had been a bit off. You imagined it was an odd combination of learning about the scars on his back and, selfishly, both of you trying to figure out something real between you. Now that you’ve left the Gauntlet though, Astarion still seems lost.

“Something the matter, love?” you ask him over dinner at the Last Light Inn. The two of you are eating together, though he only holds a glass of wine to your plate of actual food. He seems deep in thought, staring off into the distance as he runs his tongue over one of his fangs.

Astarion jumps at your words, taking a second to register that you’re speaking to him. “It’s nothing,” he says, on instinct. Then, after a stern look from you, follows it with. “I’m just a tad peckish, my dear.”

Tilting your head, you ask, “Have you not found something to your liking today?” Early on, you’d agreed that he can and should drink from any enemy with a pulse.

He shakes his head ruefully. “Not much on offer out here,” he sounds wistful, and you register an underlying desperation to his voice. “I don’t think I’ve had a solid meal… well, since we entered the Shadowlands.”

You balk at that, thinking back to every enemy you’ve faced so far. Undead, plants, cursed fish, the odd shade, and he hasn’t fed from you since you’d agreed to take things slowly– how did you not realize this sooner? “Astarion, you must be starving!” You push your own food away, as if its presence would only make his hunger worse. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What will you do, bring the undead back to life? And it’s not like I could drink from a Harper,” he rolls his eyes and pauses. “Wait, do you think I could–”

“Don’t you dare,” you stop his thought process in its tracks, holding up a hand. “We are nice to the Harpers and we appreciate their help, got it?” 

“Oh, you’re no fun,” he pouts. “I guess I’ll just continue to starve. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gone without.” He adds that last sentence as a bitter afterthought. The thought of him having gone weeks, months, a year without so much as a drop of blood tears at your heart.

“And why don't you ask me?” you ask, quieting your voice so that only he can hear you in the din of the Inn.

He looks genuinely confused. “Ask you what?”

You narrow your eyes at him– surely he didn’t forget you are not an undead, not an aberration or anything of the sort. Right? “Um, ask me for blood?” you offer, equally confused.

“Ah,” he says, it comes out like a soft huff. “My love, I couldn’t.”

“And why not?” You bristle at the thought that your blood isn’t good enough, isn’t as satisfying as some random Harper’s. “Am I no longer to your taste?”

Placing a hand on his chest, he gives you an aghast look, “Of course not, dear. You’re quite possibly the most delectable creature I’ve had the fortune to taste. In every single way.”

You hear a startled choke from behind you. Astarion has not been keeping his voice quiet in the same way you have, and a blushing Gale tries to pretend that he is absolutely enthralled by the plate of food in front of him.

Shooting a look at Astarion, who doesn’t even have the good grace to look embarrassed, you say, “Let’s talk a bit more privately, shall we?”

“If you insist,” he replies, with a hand wave. “But I hope you know it isn’t the first time that half this team imagines devouring you.”

You decide to ignore the bait, opting instead to drag him gracelessly away from the Last Light’s central area. All but pulling him upstairs, you set him on a bed and place your hands on your hips.

“You’ve had your fun, now tell me truthfully,” you start, keeping him pinned with your eyes. “Why haven’t you asked to drink from me? You know I’m happy to offer.”

“Darling,” he starts, eyes avoiding yours, clearly intending to avoid this conversation. “I don’t see what the big deal is. We deal with the cult, we get back to Baldur’s Gate and I’ll have a veritable feast of ruffians to pick from.”

“The big deal is that you planned on suffering by yourself this entire time,” you say, and hurt begins to color your voice. “I thought we were being more… honest with each other. Maybe I was wrong about that.”

Astarion stands then, whispering your name as he takes a step toward you. “I am being honest, love. I can’t possibly drink from you, not anymore.” His hands reach up to cup your face, and the ruby eyes that lock with yours are so very conflicted.

“Why not?” you ask again, trying to keep firm under his piercing eyes but failing miserably.

“Because it feels different with you,” he says, quietly. He rubs a cool thumb across your cheek, bravado all gone as a searing sweetness settles between you both. “You’re not some bandit, some cultist, or goblin. I don’t want to hurt you and…” Astarion looks down, away from you. “I don't want you to feel like you owe me anything.”

You lean into his hands, closing your eyes. A strange sort of relief settles over you as you respond, “My sweet fool.”

“What?” he says, indignantly.

“I don’t feel like I owe you anything,” you say before opening your eyes again. “I want to do this for you.”

“And how do I know that I haven’t just entranced you against your will?” he says with a soft, disbelieving scoff as his eyes search yours. “In fact, I’m finding that, for perhaps the first time in my life, I'd rather someone’s blood remain soundly in their body.”

“What if,” you start, not sure how to say it without sounding insane. You drop eye contact with him to muster the will to continue, “What if I said I liked it when you fed from me?”

He’s silent and you’re suddenly worried that you’ve said too much, been a little too honest too quickly. But when you finally bring your eyes back to him, you just see a war going on behind Astarion’s eyes. A deep hunger, surely, but above all else, a concern– one that you know is for you and your well-being. 

“I promise I’m not just saying that,” you add, hoping to assuage his worries.

Your love doesn’t seem to believe you, brows furrowed and hands gripping your face a bit tighter as he tilts it this way, then that way. “You… like having your life force drained out of you?”

“Listen,” you start, placing a hand on Astarion’s arm to stop his examinations. “If you don’t want to believe me, you don’t have to. But I invite you to drink from me regardless. You can’t confront the armies at Moonrise like this.”

He finally releases your face, shoulders drooping with a heavy sigh. “In two centuries, I never thought I would be fighting an offering of blood like this, but darling, if I injure you, if I take too much…”

“You haven’t before,” you try reasoning. “Besides, I’ve pushed you off once, I can always do it again.”

“Fine,” he says with a frown. “But don’t you dare hesitate.”

“You know I wouldn’t,” you respond easily, tugging on one of his hands. “Shall we get comfortable?”

Astarion allows you to take him back to the bed, sitting down in a manner all at once defeated and eager despite himself. You can’t even imagine the hunger he must be feeling right now, and the fact that his feelings for you could have overridden even a portion of that astonishes you. You sit down next to him and bare your neck.

He settles in behind you, hands ghosting at your neck and shoulders. “You’re certain?” he asks again, eyes large and pleading. 

“Yes,” you stress. “But if you’re that worried, could I make a request?”

“Anything,” he says, the word a breath on his lips.

You still waver, the vulnerability new and quite frightening. “Well, the previous bites haven’t been exactly cozy. Would you mind… holding me while you bite?”

Astarion’s response comes in the form of his arms wrapping around your torso, pulling you into his chest. He places a fleeting kiss under your ear before burying his head into the crook of your neck. Nuzzling softly, his nose tickles your bare skin. “Cozy enough, my dear?”

“Mmm, yes,” you say, feeling a blush creeping up your neck. You hadn’t expected him to embrace you so thoroughly. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he murmurs and he sounds utterly bewitched as he inhales. The sharp bite that follows catches you by surprise and you know that he couldn’t resist any longer. He takes a long pull from your neck, drinking more deeply than he has in weeks.

However, unlike previous times that he’s fed on you, this feels distinctly different. It’s the first time he’s bitten you since you’ve agreed to figure out, well, whatever you have between you two. And it shows.

It shows in how his arms, which had previously held you in place while biting, gently squeeze around you. In how his lips, which he used to bare wide, press the occasional soft kiss as he drinks. In how your heads tap together, his curls caressing your cheek.

Oh, you think distantly as you lean into his devouring mouth. I see why this might feel different from a bandit. While it felt like a nice gift you could provide before, now the act of feeding him feels immensely close. Could you always feel his breath on you like this?

You don’t have to ponder long before he pulls away, placing one last kiss where he’s bitten. “There,” he says, taking a shallow breath. “How do you feel?”

Taking a second to check in with yourself, you find that you feel pretty normal. “I feel good, too good,” you say, turning to face him. “Are you sure you had enough?”

Astarion licks a few drops of blood from his lips as he surveys you, verifying your liveliness. He smirks before responding, “More than enough. As I said, I was only peckish. Thank you, love.”

He looks more vibrant now– his eyes shine bright in the firelight of the inn and there’s a rosy tint to his skin that wasn’t there before– so you decide not to push it. “You’re welcome, and thank you,” you say, grinning at him cheekily.

“Whatever are you thanking me for?” he asks, skeptically.

“If you always embrace me so tenderly while you feed, I may run out of blood asking for another go.”

Astarion clicks his tongue with annoyance. “I was not being tender. I was quite literally consuming you. Could you please have an ounce of self-preservation?” 

You keep a small, satisfied smile on your face as you shrug. “Some mighty righteous words from a man who was just refusing to feed.”

“How about this,” he starts, leaning into you. “I promise to seek you out if I need sustenance and you promise to never call me tender again. What will the others think of me?“

You lean right back into him, and give a short affirming nod. “Your secret is safe with me, my oh-so-fearsome vampire.”

“Thank you, my delicious little treat,” he responds. Swiftly bringing your hand to his face, he places a kiss on the back of it. “And thank you for…” He clears his throat. “Helping me navigate whatever this is.” The vampire vaguely gestures between you both and it’s evident what he means. If feeding felt different for you, he surely felt it too. Even the emotions bubbling at the surface now feel different. It would surely settle in time, but for now, learning together, it is a terrifying new unknown.

“Of course,” you say, placing your other hand on top of his. Your eyes meet in unspoken communication, marveling at the absurdity of your situation, of your gentle moment. Of course, you must be the one to break it. “I was worried for a moment there.”

“Whatever for?”

“I thought maybe you didn’t like the taste of my blood anymore, maybe I ate something off-putting,” you pretend to sniff at your arm, as if you’d be able to pin down the scent of your blood.

Astarion shakes his head at you, ruefully. “I meant it when I said you’re the most delectable.” His eyes get a distant look to them, as he thinks. “Maybe it’s because you were the– ehem– first. Or because you're just… you. But you have a lovely flavor.”

Unable to help your own curiosity, you ask, “What do I taste like?”

“It’s hard to pin down.” He pulls your hand to his nose for a long sniff. “But you taste like warmth feels.”

You’re not sure what to say to that, but by the way it’s sending your heart somersaulting, you’re not certain you’d be very coherent anyway. So you just give a little, “Mmm.”

Astarion laughs at your reaction and drops your hand. “Let’s head back to dinner. You’ll have to keep your energy up if we’re to defeat the Absolute or whatever nonsense.” He gets up to leave and you return to reality.

“And to keep my blood tasting warm,” you quip, standing up and following after your vampire.

[lovingzombiechaos]

A Girl Named Man

AO3 Link here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27404203/chapters/66978391

I’m really excited to present to you my newest work of fiction, based on the early access version of Baldur’s Gate 3. I’ve been playing D&D for about 6 years, and after buying this game for my spouse, I fell in love with it. And I’ve had so many ideas. So, here they are! Explicit, as always. Word count: over 4k. A jolt of lightning shot up my spine as it connected with the beach. Splayed out on the ground, I barely registered the debris thudding all around me. Indeed, the only thumping I registered was the not so steady rhythm of my heart in my chest and ears. By some miracle of the gods, I was alive. And mostly unhurt. I could wiggle my toes. I could grab handfuls of sand. I could breathe, though my lungs were on fire. I lied there gasping for air, eyes staring wildly into the vivid blue sky. 

The kind of blue that was too blue to be real. The kind that made your eyes ache.

Eyes. I covered my own with the heels of my hands, pressing into my skull. As if that would crush the mindflayer spawn lurking in my head. My cheek thrummed at the pressure and I tenderly reached out to feel where the rock had hit me. 

Swollen, I thought as I prodded the cheek, but not broken. One less thing to deal with.

I let out a shaky breath, followed by a half-hysterical laugh. This was fine. Completely fine. Who cared about the mindflayer parasite in my brain? I was alive. Here on the banks of the Chionthar, I hoped. Alive with a tadpole in my brain.

Another laugh escaped me and I clapped my hand over my mouth.

“It’s okay, Dir,” I whispered to myself, my hot breath flitting over my face, “you’re alive. In one piece. You need to get up and function.”

Words I had told myself every day for the past thirteen years. Why would today be any different?

It was tempting to just lie here, in the warm sun and let go. So easy to just let myself drift away. If I rolled over, I could be in the river and it wouldn’t take long at all. And then I would see Jamie again.

But it was for Jamie that I had to go on. That was what got me out of bed in the morning. The idea that I was wasting away my life, when he couldn’t live his. And that is what gave me the resolve to push myself up into a sitting position. My love for him.

The hilt of my longsword poked me in the side. At least I hadn’t lost that. I had lost everything else, including my spellbook and the locket given to me by Aislinn. I rubbed my hands up and down my arms, feeling naked and vulnerable. Like I was being watched. Aislinn was going to murder me.

I couldn’t think about that just yet. I needed to gather my wits about me, figure out where I was. I skimmed my fingers over the hilt as I surveyed the immediate area, taking note of the rocky wall behind me, the river to my right and the remains of the ship, flaming hot, a few yards away, half in the water and several dead bodies spread along the beach.

I rose to my feet, brushing the sand from my legs and fluffing it out of my hair. Great, I’d be emptying sand from every crevice of my body for the next month. As much as I wanted to push forward, the dead bodies gave me pause. I’d seen plenty of the dead laying in gentle repose, but never like this. Never seen them with their unseeing eyes staring up at the sky, their mouths agape and jaws twisted. Had never seen limbs form into such jagged lines. The terrible thought of Jamie laying this way made me physically recoil. It was a visceral, horrifying sight. I closed my eyes, the better to block out that horrible image. It was enough to make me want to cry.

Despite the carnage on the beach, and the horror in my mind, my stomach growled and gurgled. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate. Certainly not on the ship.

It was the hunger that forced one foot in front of the other, until I found myself on my knees next to one of the dead bodies. I hesitated, but only for a moment. It was just a dead body. Nothing more. Nor did he have need for anything on his person.

I fished out a few gold coins, some line, a small vial of some sort. No food. I pocketed the coins and the vial and moved to the next body. More coins, more line, bait, a dagger. And an apple. I gasped and then looked over my shoulder. Nothing there.

It was a nasty, bruised apple, the kind I would have turned my nose up at had it been served to me. But gods be damned, it was the best damned apple I’d ever eaten. I ate it all the way down to the core, the juices dripping down my chin. One belch and a sigh of relief later I tossed the remainder of the apple into the river. I glanced back over my shoulder again, a wave of guilt coursing through me.

They were dead and I was alive. Though if I didn’t find a healer, I was royally fucked. And unless I had supplies, I would not be able to find a healer. This was not the time to contemplate the morals of supposedly robbing dead men. Not when I was so close to death myself. Or rather, a death of the self. The thing I was infected with would turn me into a mindflayer. An ugly, gray tentacled mind flayer. With no mind of my own, no action of my own. I reached for my locket. Still gone. I let my arm flop uselessly to my side and blew the stray strands of hair from my face. Standing here was getting me nowhere, and fast.

I pushed onward, clutching the rocky wall as I carefully stepped around the dead bodies of three young men. They must have been fishing at the time of the crash. Bad luck.

Though, I wondered what killed them. I stopped and turned back to look at them with a frown on my face. There was no debris around. That was…odd. I squatted down and examined the face of an elf, staring at the big lash across his neck. It wasn’t a knifes doing, though. A knife didn’t make singe marks in the wound. And a knife that deep in the throat would mean more blood. The wound was cauterized. What?

Looking about, I saw no one save the bodies and the only footprints I could make out were my own and theirs. The beach was eerily quiet save for sounds of water. I was alone, and yet I felt watched, by someone, something.

I stood up and shook my head. Aislinn’s paranoia was getting to me now. 

Whatever killed those men were long since gone.

I went to reach for the locket again and cursed when I remembered I still didn’t have it. I needed to stop faffing around and get going.

I left the three dead sailors behind.After an hour of walking and glancing back over my shoulder, I came across a tall, raven haired woman, standing at what looked to be an entrance of a temple. Littered all around her were the bodies of those brain…things.  

She swung her bloodied mace, hitting the door repeatedly, but it wouldn’t budge. “Blasted door!”

I strode towards her before hesitating. I’d just assumed she was friendly. There was no guarantee. I lay my hand on the hilt of the sword, just in case, and cleared my throat.

She whirled around, green eyes staring wildly as she leveled her mace at me. 

“Stop! Not another step or I’ll…”

The anger melted from her face, replaced with recognition. “Wait…it’s you. You tried to save me on the ship. At least, you made the effort.”

It was her, the half-elven woman I’d found on the ship. Some of the tension left my body and I took a step towards her. My head began to pound, stopping me in my tracks. From far away, she cried out and our minds touched. I felt her anger, her resolve and her gratitude.

It was over just as soon as it had begun and it left me reeling.

“What the bloody hells? It must be the mind flayer tadpole. It connected us somehow.”

I rubbed my temples. “We need a healer.”

She nodded and gestured to the door behind us. “Been trying to get through for the past hour. But I’ve barely made a dent in it so far.”

I stepped back to take in the door. Whatever the temple was, it was built directly into the rocky cliffs. With a closer look, I decided that it probably wasn’t the front of the temple at all, but a secondary entry.

“There’s probably another way in.”

“That’s what I was thinking. Up the cliff there,” she waved her mace towards the cliff. “Though, I don’t know if we’ll find a healer there. Or anywhere in this wilderness.”

“All we can do is try,” I said, eyeing the path. I could see smoke curling up the end of the pathway. More parts of the ship. Lovely.

“You can call me Shadowheart.”

Shadowheart? Well, I wasn’t the one to judge names. I licked my lips and regarded her for a moment. If I told her my name, I knew exactly what words would come out of her mouth. Ah, well, I’d heard worse, and from people better loved than her.

“I’m Dir. Shall we head on?”

Shadowheart did not disappoint. “Dir? As in the elven word for man?”

I wanted to roll my eyes at her. Instead I plastered what I hoped to be a serene smile on my face. “Yes.”

“Your parents must have hated you,” she said with a small smirk as she lead the way up the path.

I followed, climbing the steep slope. “My parents wanted a boy. By the time I was born, my mother was rather stuck on the name.”

“Even for a boy that name is…odd. A human boy called man. Unless, it’s short for something. Is it?”

“Yes.” But I wasn’t going to give her even more ammunition.

She paused, one foot hovering above the entrance to the ship and half turned towards me. Poised and waiting. I knew better than to engage.

Instead I stopped short and took in the mass of writhing purple in front of me. 

Shadowheart’s gaze followed mine back to the ship. It didn’t look nearly as elegant laying in pieces on the ground, a flaming mass of former glory. My stomach lurched, the apple nearly making a reappearance.

“Not so impressive now, are you?” Shadowheart practically snarled, echoing my sentiments.

We marveled at the havoc and wreakage around us and an unearthly cry filled the former helm. The hairs on my arms stood up and my toes curled in their boots. I clasped the hilt of the sword strapped to my hip, drawing it slowly with silent intent.

Shadowheart lifted her shield and gripped her mace. “There!”

An intellect devourer. A walking abomination of a former brain. They had been on the ship. They were the ones calling for me to release them. They had been the ones to kill those sailors.

“Stay back, one strike could be lethal,” Shadowheart said to me over her shoulder as she inched forward, mace at the ready.

To my left another one came from the shadows. A third screamed from above and landed on the flooring between myself and Shadowheart.

With another piercing shriek the three devourers moved in unison. Two towards Shadowheart and one towards me.

I adjusted the grip on my sword and waited for it to come into range before slicing through the meat of the brain. The little faux tentacles on the side swiped at me as I danced out of their reach. The air crackled as they whizzed by. Shit. Too close.

It skidded to a stop and turned to face me again and again, I waited for it to rush to me before making my move. As I thrust the sword into the brain, it wrapped its tentacle around my wrist and I roared in pain. I swung my arm around until it slipped from my wrist and went flying.

It hit the side of the ship with a splat and slid to the floor in a vicious, slick red puddle on the ground. It moved no more.

I held my wrist with my good hand and turned to Shadowheart, who was pulverizing one of the brains while the other smacked into her shield.

Pushing the pain from my mind, I came up behind the other and struck it right in its rear. It gave a blood curdling cry and danced at the end of my sword before collapsing on the deck.

Just when I’d thought I’d seen enough combat. I stood, looming over the dead devourers, and gave my head a shake. Monstrosities.

A sharp pain in my wrist brought me back to the present. I peeled the sleeve of my tunic back and grimaced at the angry, red slice. It had the same crisp edges as did the dead elf’s face, though it wasn’t as deep. Still hurt like a bitch.

I sheathed my sword and sat down upon one of the lopsided stairs. From a cursory glance, it looked like we were in half of the helm of the ship. I didn’t want to spend another godsdamned moment in there, but I needed desperately to catch my breath.

Shadowheart turned toward me, a victorious smirk on her face.“Well, you fight quite well. It seems our survival may not be such a distant prospect afterall.” Her eyes flitted to my wrist and the smirk disappeared. “You’re hurt.”

“Yes. It would seem so.”

As she reached into the bag on her hip, she walked over to me. She pulled out a large bandage and began to wind it around my wrist. When she was done and had tied it off, she whispered. “Take cure.”

The magic settled into my wrist, knitting the skin back together. The pain had already lessened by a considerable degree.

She stood up again and nodded. “It will be good as new in the morning…If we even have that long.”

I pushed myself up to my feet. “Let’s get moving. We don’t know how long it will take.”

“Agreed.”

We skirted through the helm, past the dead bodies of thralls that had been previously hidden, and past the body of a mind flayer.

Shadowheart stopped and spat on him. “Monster.”

“Monster’s too good a word for it.” I said, cupping her elbow. With a little tug, I said, “Come. Pissily staring at it won’t get us any closer to a cure.”

“You’re right,” she sighed and allowed me to guide her out of the ship and onto an unfamiliar patch of sand.

I tilted my head back, shading my eyes from the sun. Too much foliage and fiery wreckage, prevented me from seeing anymore of the temple. We’d just have to keep climb upward and hope we were going in the right direction.

I shrugged back at Shadowheart.

“Something the matter?”

“No, just looks like it’s a longer walk than we first anticipated. Hope we make it before nightfall.”

“You have got to be kidding me. Come on,” she said as she rolled her neck and shoulders. “This is ridiculous.”

“Welcome to, uh, wherever we are.” A pathetic attempt at a joke, but Shadowheart half-smiled at me anyway.

“Well you know---"

“Help! You! Help me!” A voice cried from the brush.

Shadowheart and I exchanged quizzical looks.

“Please, I need help,” the voice insisted.

“I’ll go,” I said with my hand on the hilt of my sword. She grabbed my arm. “We don’t know if they’re friend or foe.”

While she was right, she could also be very wrong. I smiled blandly at her. “I didn’t know that about you either and yet, here we are.”

She threw her hands up. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I headed toward the voice. “Promise, I won’t.”

A tall, white haired elf stepped directly in my path. He had a handsome face and windswept curly hair, nearly as white as snow. His dark eyes darted between me and the brush as he pointed.

“There! Do you see it? It’s just there, I had it cornered just now. Can you kill it? Like the rest of them.”

I sized him up; he was no small elf, tall and thick in stature, with a handsome, haughty face, angular in nature. And red eyes. I squinted. That couldn’t be right. No, they weren’t red, just a rusty brown…

I glanced over. “Where is it?”

“There, just there! Can’t you see it?” His voice very nearly sounded desperate.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” I drew my sword and stepped closer just as a boar jumped from the brush, causing me to jerk back in surprise.

Right into the waiting arms of the elf.

The cold bite of a dagger bit into my throat as his other hand gripped my aching wrist and my sword fell with a clang into the dirt. All while whispering, “Shh, shh,” in my ear.

Behind me Shadowheart roared. “I TOLD you! Let her go!”

The elf ignored her and his breath tickled my ear. “Now, you were on the ship, were you not? Just nod, like a good girl.”

As much as I wanted to remain calm, this was just too damned much. A pounding formed under the skin of the wound and there was a rock jutting into the middle of my back. I was fucking done with the day. Done.

I wriggled into him, taking him by surprise and leaving a trickle of blood at my throat as I slammed the crown of my head into his chin full force. Just as Aislinn taught me. I could almost hear the glee in her voice, telling me every inch of the body was a weapon.

He rolled back, roaring and I scrambled to get up just as Shadowheart ran over, her mace poised for attack. I stomped my heel on his wrist, twisting. He let go of the dagger and I gestured with my head for her to pick it up.

As soon as she grabbed the dagger, I moved my foot off his wrist and stepped back, allowing him to scrabble to his feet.

His handsome face was twisted into a red, wet angry mess of features. “How dare---arrgh!” He gripped his head between his hands.

My head throbbed as visions flashed before my eyes. The streets of Baldur’s Gate. Dark, but busy.

What the fuck? First the githyanki woman on the ship, then Shadowheart, now this elf too. I splayed my hands on my knees, panting as I stared up at him.

He stared back at me. “They put one of those brain things in you too. I felt it.”

I said nothing, observing him. The way his dark eyes flitted back and forth, searching my face.

He lifted his bruising chin at me. “And to think I was ready to decorate the beach with your innards. My apologies.”

I regarded him for a moment and stood up, giving him a curt nod. “Accepted.”

He smiled. “I am Astarion.”

Sigh. Here we go again. “I’m Dir.”

His light brows shot up. “Dir? As in, man?”

Did people think they were clever for pointing that out?

“Yes. And now, we’re in desperate need of a healer. You’re welcome to join us.”

“Are you insane?” Shadowheart hissed behind me. “He just tried to kill you!”

“There is safety in numbers. And it seems he has our problem.” I tapped my finger against my temple.

She sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”

The elf grinned and bowed with a flourish of his arms. “Well, then, lead on.”

Lead on? Both Shadowheart and Astarion were both looking at me expectantly. I pretended not to see them as I readjusted my belt and went after my sword. This was insanity. I covered my mouth to prevent another giggle escaping.

“You alright there?”

“Yep, just a sneeze,” I said, pinching my nose as I slid my sword back into the scabbard. “Let’s go.”

“So, do either of you know the consequences of our little parasite?” Astarion drawled as we climbed further.

“Yes,” said Shadowheart. “It will turn us into mind flayers.”

Astarion laughed.

I whirled around and whispered, “Shh! Don’t draw attention to us.”

“Sorry, it’s just….of course it will turn me into a monster. What else did I expect?”

I peered him. He focused down on the soft white sand beneath our feet. His lips pursed into almost a pout. There was a sad, despairing look about him. The urge to comfort him was strong, but he didn’t look like the type of man who would appreciate a kind word and a soft touch from a stranger. He turned his face to the sun, eyes closed and inhaled deeply.

“I suppose we should get moving,” he muttered.

“Yeah, we should.”

“That’s curious,” said Shadowheart.

She pointed at a shimmering rune etched on the rocky wall. I jogged down the slope with Astarion on my heels. I traced my fingertips down the intricate lines. A transport rune. The stone was hot under my hands, yet left me cold and empty. The weave was barely reacting to my touch, leaving an ache in my heart.

“I see you’re alive and well!” An unfamiliar voice said.

Damn. I was meeting all sorts of new people today. I stood and turned towards his voice.

His voice was friendly enough, as was his face, save for the furrowed brow. But, he was more thoughtful than scornful. His brown eyes examined my face closer and his bearded mouth split into a grin, revealing straight white teeth.

“Where the bloody hells did you come from?” Shadowheart cried.

“Netherese rune,” the man said, patting the rune. “Simply viscous with magic. One little touch and now, well, here I am.”

The man turned his smile to me. “Last I saw you, you were laying in a crucibles worth of blood, an intellect devourer nibbling at your ear. Glad to see that my eyes deceived me. I’m Gale. Well met.”

I bowed my head to him. “Well met. These are my companions--”

“I’m Shadowheart.”

“Astarion. I take it you too, were on the ship?”

“That I was. A traumatic as well as instructive experience.” Gale replied, his palms together.

Shadowheart snorted and Astarion laughed aloud.

“An instructive experience? Hardly. Traumatic, yes, I’d say so,” Astarion drawled. “But tell me, Gale, were you also infected with our little…friend?”

“Indeed, I was. Are you aware that after a period of excruciating gestation it will turn us into mind flayers? A process known as ceremorphosis. It is to be avoided,” Gale said with a scowl.

I let my face curl into a half-smile. “Well, yes, I’d agree there.”

He looked between the three of us. “I take it none of you are wizards?”

“No, we are not,” Shadowheart sniffed. “Why?”

“Pity,” Gale said, seemingly to himself. He peered at me with a frown. “I sense a gust of weave coming from you, but I’m in need of more of a tempst.”

I lifted my brows in response, but said nothing. His eyes met mine for a brief moment.

He sighed. “Nevermind that. Our first priority is a healer. I don’t suppose any of you are accomplished healers?”

Crossing my arms over my chest I shook my head.

“That would also be a no,” Astarion replied.

“Hmm. Well, we need a healer, and fast. I’m not sure where we’re going to find one in this wilderness.” He rubbed his chin as he stared at the rune over my head. After a moment he clapped his hands together. “Why don’t we embark on this quest for a healer together?”

Astarion and Shadowheart were both oddly quiet and staring at me. I stepped forward, arms still crossed, regarding Gale. It was clear the man was intelligent. 

Slightly full of himself, but entirely capable. Of course, I was going to say yes, but not before I pretended to think it over.

“Alright,” I said, clearing my throat. “That sounds like a plan.”

Gale flashed his white teeth again. “Excellent! But before we’re off, I didn’t quite catch your name. And by didn’t catch it, I mean, you didn’t mention it.”

Here we go. I licked my dried lips. “I’m Dir.”

He inclined his head. “Well met, Dir. And, without further ado, let us be off!”

He gave no inclination of knowing the meaning of my name. Indeed, a learned man such as himself, would be apt to know the meaning. I smiled at him, a little grateful.

We pushed further up the cliff. Due to the sheer amount of debris and fallen earth, it took a few hours more than we’d originally anticipated. By the time the ancient ruins came into sight, the sun was settling low in the sky.

I put my hands on my hips. “We should stop and make camp soon.”

“Every moment we aren’t looking for a healer, is a closer moment towards death,” Shadowheart hissed.

“We need rest. Rushing won’t get us anywhere but into a load of trouble. Not to mention,” I pulled back my sleeve, pulling down the wrappings. Shadowheart inhaled sharply. The skin on my wrist was half-healed, an angry, throbbing red. “I’m of no use to anyone now with my wrist like this.”

Gale leaned in close to examine my wrist. “Intellect devourer got you?”

“Yes.”

He waited for me to say more. When I didn’t he began to turn my wrist over in his hand.

“Oh, don’t mind her,” Astarion said. “She’s the strong silent type.”

“Indeed,” Gale said, his eyes sparkling as he wrapped up my wrist again, taking care not to wrap too tightly or too loosely. “Too bad we’re not back at my tower. I probably would have a soothing salve for this.”

I allowed myself a smile. “I’m fine. We all need the rest. We’ll be of no use to each other, exhausted and hungry.”

Shadowheart opened her mouth as if she wanted to argue, but then thought better of it. “Fine. But we need to be up at first light.”

I nodded. “Agreed.”