#skipped the entire Underdark to get here

[voloslobotomyservice]

no words, just heavy breathing

[threerattsinatrenchcoat]

2024 Writing Challenge Wrap Up

This year I wanted to put out a piece of writing—either a complete piece or a chapter—every week. My main goal was to quit getting stuck in editing hell. This is what I learned:

Writing for output gets you faster but it really highlights your weaknesses as a writer. I found myself reusing a lot of genres, themes, characters, sentence structure, etc, as a crutch to make the process easier. The worst was when I would simply list everything that happened in a scene, like a micromanaging script writer—she did x, he did y, she did z—without taking the time to prune it to the story I wanted to tell. (Funny enough, a friend sent me this article today that perfectly highlights what I'm trying to describe here. This past year my consumption of visual media definitely increased). I'd finish a piece and the word count would seem impressive, but those words didn't actually say anything. Quantity was reducing my quality.

Compared to my earlier writing, I also slipped into using more obvious/dull similes and metaphors. Every character started to speak and act the same, and instead of writing endings, I found myself just writing characters who simply "won" the plot.

Writing short stories combatted almost all of the above. It forced me to remove parts that were hiring the story and remember that I rarely needed the text to describe everything. The dialogue, characters actions and values, my audience's own brains would fill in the gaps. I think people even enjoy a bit of vagueness, especially with jokes; explaining the punchline doesn't make it funny. Letting people have that moment of "aha!" is more effective.

Sometimes I overcorrected—I've read a few older pieces where I'm like, "wait what just happened," but at least I didn't find myself skipping parts of the story.

Applying the concepts of "but it went wrong" and "they would not say that" also helped the above. When I caught myself just writing a list of all the things my characters did to win the plot, I would combat that by either having them fail or fuck up or both. My stories were way more fun/interesting when I figured out the line a character would not cross and then made their victory beyond that line, so they either had to cross the line or avoid it entirely. Example: in The Gang Goes to the Underdark, Zarys will not leave the shipment, even if it means leaving part of her team behind and traveling a very dangerous route, so she goes to ridiculous lengths to deliver it, including capturing minotaurs and walking straight into a trap.

Refusing to have characters act out of character made for more interesting stories, I think. After all, there's a reason I like these characters. (Shout out to @graysparrowao3 whose toxic Aradin/Rugan fics encouraged me to let people be more awful, and to everyone who stans villains). Whenever I had to have a character break "they would not say that" I tried to figure out a good why. Why would this unempathetic character be nice to someone? Maybe because they really love them… or maybe because they think they can get something out of it.

Writing is time consuming. I joked a few times about how I need to step away from the keyboard, my family misses me, but I work full time, go to the gym, volunteer and aim for 7 hours of sleep a night…and then was writing 10+ hours a week. For my pieces, I tried to note down how long they took because I think people devalue free things, but every made thing has a cost.

I can write through (almost) anything. I originally thought I would fail at this goal. Technically I did—4 things I wrote were never posted (projects fell through), and I was without power/cell/internet/water for weeks after a hurricane and while I did write, posting wasn't on my agenda. I also was wildly burnt out/grieving after the hurricane and found myself mechanically getting pieces out there, using the challenge as a way to implement some normalcy. But I posted most weeks and wrote something for every single one. I learned how to barrel through writer's block and how to say "good enough" for a deadline.

Avoiding burnout is a proactive, not a reactive, activity. I fully planned to abandon this challenge if I thought it was ruining my relationship with writing. However, really prioritizing other parts of my life did a lot to protect my relationship with writing, especially prioritizing exercise and my family/friends. Towards the end of the year I started writing less and less, mostly to pick back up other hobbies (gaming especially).

I can write characters, ships, kinks and stories that I don't care about. I did several exchanges/challenges this year because coming up with so much to write is hard. These exchanges meant that I wrote a bunch of stuff where I started the fic not giving a single flying fuck about the characters. Three of a Four Course Meal is an example—I picked it up on a pinch hit mostly because "vampire dinner party" was too hilarious a prompt to let it not be written. I'm not into robots, most of the mages, or Cal/Geraldus (or most of the couples I write, sorry! Like 90% of them are from talking to people online and being like "I like this person, I want to make them something") but I wrote each with the mindset of "I don't need to be into this, I just need to figure out how to write it." I think this helps a lot with output and with pushing yourself to write better. The advice to kill your darlings is also a lot easier when the piece doesn't start out as darling.

Stats:

I debated not including this because all that ^^^ is the real victory, but fuck it, I want to link fics, haha.

I posted over 300,000 words in 2024 (I started to do the math to remove all the words in collab chapter fics I didn't write and gave up) across 48 fics and 105 chapters, which for me is a massive quantity. Every single fic was a rare pair. I cracked several new tags on AO3—I'm probably most infamous for Dammon/Strange Ox, but I also did others, like Vorgoth/Rook, Guex & Pandirna and a bunch of Salazon tags. I also contributed to so many Elturian Refugee and Zhent tags. I'm still a little confused how there are only 43 works with Alfira/Lakrissa, but 4 of them are mine and 3 of those have Alfira/Lakrissa as the main couple. I'm doing my part!

My most popular fic for hits was Wine, Iron and Other Damnables. This was also one of the first I posted, closest to the "height" of activity in the fandom. It was my longest at 44,047 words. I recently reread it and it's not as snappy as my stuff ended up in the end, but it does have a lot of fun plays on words I'd like to return to.

My most kudos'd fic was Where There's Smoke. It was posted pretty soon after Veilguard came out and got a shout out on tiktok, which quadrupled its kudos in 3 days. Really a testament to how much the "when" you post matters; it's pretty standard Ratt smut but so much more popular than my other stuff! The word count was 2,988, although you can pick your pronouns and stuff so the word count is actually higher.

My least popular fic for hits is The Curse of a Promise. It's a rair pair, is WLW, it's SFW—basically everything people say won't get hits haha. But it's my little fic (878 words) and I love it. Least popular for kudos is Popper's Bag of Popping at 700 words, which I was a little surprised by. Maybe it's an issue with the tone not matching the subject? Either way, I'm glad it's no longer one of my Wyll fics.

My shortest fic was Perception at 141 words, and I'm honestly very fond of it!

What's next?

I plan to keep writing, but definitely not at the same output. I would really like to return to some of the creativity and wordplay I had in my original stuff, and I can't do that and put out as much material. I also really want to prioritize longer pieces again.

I'll probably step back from exchanges. It was pretty disheartening to work hard on something for someone and have the receiver comment "can't wait to read it" and then nothing. Or, you know, get literally nothing, not even a kudos. It's kind of soured my feelings toward exchanges. However, shout out to @commander-krios and @lolliputian for running several solid collabs/exchanges and the Zhentil keep for their round robins.

I would like to do a bit more art this year. I know practice generally makes improvement, and seeing how much other artists like @littleplasticrat and @redroomroaving have improved has made me want to get back at it. I cannot do a piece a week, though, haha. Maybe one a month, we'll see. I haven't decided.

Overall, though, I would like to spend less time online. I miss my family, I miss DnD, gaming, reading and hiking. There were things I delayed last year to meet this goal that no longer exist. I'm tired. Happy I did this, but tired.

Additional thoughts that didn't really fit anywhere:

I never expected to make friends during the challenge but I did. I made a lot of friends, and they're all driven, creative, ridiculous, intelligent, hilarious, honest, silly and so valuable to me. I really missed making things with people. I'm just so grateful to everyone I met.

I'm also grateful to all the people who tagged me in their end of the year posts, thank you so much. You're all very lovely

[bigmfrat]

OC-ifying the windmill mindflayer because I can here he is in-game, he's so cringe and so fucking stupid I love him so much

Thez wanted to kill the newborn until the emperor agreed with him, being the spiteful little shit that he is he changed his mind and decided he was going to smuggle the newborn into the gate and raise the little idiot in his home instead. At least Thez has experience with adolescent illithid since he trained the apprentices when he was a venerator but he was not considering the next 20 years of his life (probably because he thought he was going to die or be enslaved within the next 3 days). My headcanon is that they do a lot of physical development in the first month, coming out like nasty little baby birds with soft and sloppy bones, joints, and insides, and take 10-15 years to fully grow into their adult body. To skip most of this the moonrise colony used netherese magic to speed up the process, this, however, leads to incomplete assimilation of the host's mind causing severe mental partialism in a large percent of its population. Basic mental partialism is supposed to be rare and keeping any conscious memories is supposed to be extremely rare to the point that it was a "story told to frighten young-adult mind flayers (pg 35 of the illithiad)". The emperor having it, you having it, and possibly even the windmill mindflayer having it (because he talks like a murder hobo bhaal boy) shouldn't be possible, at least extremely improbable. So I decided he's a silly little bhaalspawn with mental partialism :) Without JR, Thez would go back to doing what he was doing before getting snatched by the nautiloid, rotting in his house and only leaving to go to work, but now he's taking jr to the Underdark to attempt to erase the last bit of his affliction

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

Even though ceremorphosis produces illithids that appear mature to the uninitiated, neophyte illithids do not possess anything near the experience or mental abilities that outsiders attribute to all illithids. Just like any other race, illithids must grow into their strength and powers, though such knowledge is guarded by mind flayers. In fact, from the time illithids are born to the time their powers mature, many years will pass. Just like other living organisms, experience brings wisdom and new abilities; illithids that live long enough can expect to reach their race's standard potential within 21 years of their emergence. Thus, while an illithid force of traders, explorers, or other important group consists of mature illithids, a large subterranean city of illithids possesses segments of the population with less than stellar abilities.

pg 14 of the Illithiad At the end of the week of ceremorphosis, nothing remains of the victim. Its tissues have been entirely replaced with the rapidly transforming mind fl ayer tissue. The creature is warmblooded and hermaphroditic, with a life expectancy of up to 135 years. It looks fully grown, but the newly ceremorphosed creature is an infant, only days into its sentient existence. It must grow in learning and experience before coming into its full power. This process varies from one mind fl ayer to another but the average “growing up” period lasts about twenty years. Immature illithids are seldom allowed outside the security of a well-protected subterranean city.

pg 63 of the Lords of Madness

[meanbossart]

I love Izzy so much, I feel for him tremendously.

Can you tell us something about his future relationship, whatever it might be, with Grodderick? Or is it under wraps for spoilers? 👀

Sure! The details of their relationship are never relevant to the plot, it's more of a background thing that changes some very minor character interactions in ways I doubt one can predict by simply learning about it - I'll still leave it under a cut for anyone who wants to avoid it. I'll also skip certain story beats which allow their relationship to happen in the first place that are most definitely spoilers, and only talk about the actual dynamic between them and post-ANE events, so if details feel amiss, that's because they are.

So it's probably obvious that they're meant to develop a romantic relationship lol this happens after Grodderick gets somewhat "stuck" with Izzy around through certain circumstances. Izzantar, in his predicament, happens to be far more comfortable around him than anyone else because of his predisposition to feel safe around "slave" races. Now, that's obviously not a great start to any relationship, romantic or otherwise lol but it is what it is.

They grow a little closer through Grodderick's endless patience and sincere curiosity about a culture he isn't familiar with. Izzantar, despite his experiences, considers the underdark his home, he can only properly conceptualize of surface customs by comparing them to his own culture, and Grodderick is the only one willing to hear it without judgement - with the eventual wisecrack or pushback. But the way he does it is one Izzantar comfortable with.

Likewise Izzantar would probably defy Grod's own generalized negativity around the orc-ish side of his culture (and frankly be positively shocked it has any merit at all). It's a funny little game of "no, YOU have internalized hate" they keep playing between themselves by accident.

Another major point here is that Grodderick is a) the only person who sees Izzantar as an adult and b) someone who immediately recognizes him as someone with an anxiety disorder. With time he would help Izzy to calm the fuck down and not always assume the worse out of people. His company also allows Izzantar to feel more at ease in public settings in the surface as a drow, and Izzy's brazen company and completely unfiltered perspective is a breath of fresh air to Grodderick. He thinks he's funny, he recognizes and participates in his dry humor, he doesn't offend easy, and he's the furthest thing from a drow. This makes him an apt friend choice and later a romantic interest. Being hot and having cool tats helps LOL

Also they both like to partake in a little devil🌿 which is likely how their first meaningful interaction ever happens (Izzantar sees him smoking and is like "oh boy I could really fucking use some of that right now")

They probably starting fucking kind of casually. It's entirely on Izzantar to pursue him since Grodderick isn't interested in feeding a drow's ego, which is a funny interaction of its own where Izzantar just blows up frustrated that he won't make the first move, since he's used to being a very passive partner. Something along the lines of "WHY DON'T YOU WANT TO FUCK ME" probably comes out his mouth verbatim LOL they get over this non-misunderstanding quickly and Izzantar is just happy to have sex in a way that's completely the opposite of what's expected of him in the Underdark as a popular breeder. Obviously he also finds Grodderick profoundly attractive both for his confidence, smarts, appearance, and frankly his imposing presence because he's not immune to a little bad-boy charm.

I think they catch feelings around the same time as one another, and proceed to get on a long-term relationship.

Izzantar (this is post ANE and never mentioned) eventually sets shop somewhere as a jeweler. He gets a lot of business based on the fact that he's a drow and knowingly plays up the part of someone who's mystically more knowledgeable and skilled about precious stones and minerals than most because of his race (on top of his genuine talent). His bad attitude is also hysterically seen as charming drow bedside-manner and indicative of the quality of his work to wealthy clients.

He lets his hair grow out and for semi-plot-related-reasons starts passing as a female drow (also, he just likes it) Grodderick doesn't care either way. At that point they're living together and get a cat that Izzantar names Angkacha. To his despair, Grodderick nickanames it Chacha and it sticks. Izzy wants the cat to be a vicious killing machine but whenever he casts animal speak on it the cat's just like OOOO MAMA ME LOVE MAMA and he hates it (but not really, he would kill for this cat)

aaaand here's some old doodles of him from that point of his life! The last two have been uh cropped for uh reasons

[jynrso]

laid to rest

For the first time since drinking Tav's blood, Astarion has a nightmare. Eager for some sort of distraction, he goes searching for it. . .but quickly finds out that he isn't the only one in the camp with past trauma. tw for unintentional ableism on astarion's part due to a misunderstanding. it's small and he does . . . "apologize" in the only way he knows how, but i thought to mention it, just in case. if you'd like to know what the situation is before reading, skip to the end note. read it on ao3!

With the taste of Tav’s blood on his tongue, over the next few weeks, Astarion feels more powerful than ever. More alive.

For all its “supposed dangers,” the Underdark had hardly been a challenge –– not for him, anyway. It had been near effortless to carve through hordes of duergar and anyone else who’d gotten in the way of his blades. 

Without the constant hunger gnawing at his gut, he’s able to watch his companions more closely. Though he’s got an in with Tav, it doesn’t hurt to diversify his interests in case their partnership sours. (Not that he has any interest in that happening –– her blood is still the best he’s tasted.)

But despite his best efforts, his attention keeps moving in her direction. When she’d first joined their camp, he hadn’t thought about her more than once a day, yet now it’s nearly impossible not to notice her. 

Most notably, unlike Gale and Wyll, Tav had kept up surprisingly well in the pitch-black darkness for a human, so much so that it had piqued his interest. He’s kept quiet about it, not really caring what she’s keeping secret from the group (besides, don’t they all have secrets?) but makes a note of it all the same. 

But even as his companions had struggled (both physically and morally –– he could care less about the annoying, whiny gnomes), it’s been. . . good. He still balks at the prospect of facing Cazador, but it almost feels like he now has a small chance of beating him rather than a nonexistent one.

Then once they hit the Shadowlands, it’s like a switch flips. 

Astarion scrambles up in bed with a scream lodged in his throat, lungs heaving to suck in air they don’t need. He wipes a cold, clammy hand over his face as his chest stutters, a vise gripping tightly around his heart. He needs –– he needs. . .

He needs air. He needs to get up and get out of this damn tent, where the memories are closing in on him. He needs not to think about his dream about Cazador or Godey or the damned kennel, or any of his victims' faces as they’d passed by him in quick succession, one after another –– 

Astarion scrambles upward, pushing his blankets away without his usual grace, and lunges out of his tent like some sort of animal. 

He doesn’t mind the dark but the Shadowlands at night are another thing entirely. He’s drawn like a moth to a flame when he sees Tav sitting in front of a small fire, her shoulders hunched and back to him. It would be so easy to sneak up behind her and sink his teeth into her neck. . .

His eyes darken and he imagines the hot rush of blood flowing down his throat. His incisors bite into his bottom lip. It’s a want more than a need –– he’d just fed from her yesterday. But. . .

Maybe it’s for the best that Tav turns before he can do anything. Even though he keeps his tread quiet, she tenses when he approaches her, hand moving to the dagger holstered at her side as she twists to face him properly. 

He clicks his tongue at her reaction. All of a sudden, with her eyes on him, he feels raw and all too visible. He’d come out here to escape his nightmare, had approached her on purpose. . .yet now he wants to skitter away like some sort of scared animal. 

Pushing those urges aside, it’s easy to fall back onto the charm and oozing seduction he wears like armor.  “None of that now, darling. Save it for all those shadow monsters, hmm?” 

She relaxes, though only slightly. Even though there’s no immediate danger, her body remains oddly stiff, muscles rippling underneath her skin. Thankfully, however, her hand moves away from her blade and rests against her bent knee, dangling down toward the ground. Predictably, she doesn’t say a word –– though she doesn’t protest his company, either, so he takes that as permission to sit beside her. 

The small fire in front of them does little to warm the chill that seems to have permeated every corner of his body. In need of a distraction, he opens his mouth to fill the silence. “You know, I could have sworn you were on watch earlier. But here you still are.” 

Tav just barely glances his way, shrugging in response. A usual – albeit unsatisfying – answer.  But something feels off beyond that. Her body, more rigid than usual, curls away from him as she stares with glazed eyes into the fire, almost as if in a trance. 

Maybe she’s been woken up by a nightmare, same as him. But, a part of him wonders absently, does he really care? So long as she’s willing to keep giving him blood and remain by his side should a conflict arise. . .what else does he need from her?

They sit in silence for a few more minutes. To some, it may be the comforting sort, but not for him; instead, the air between them feels charged, almost frenzied. There’s a sort of buzzing beneath his skin that threatens to tear through his flesh and emerge into the world. He needs ––  something more than this.  

“It is odd, though, don’t you think?” he says suddenly. “With how often I see you pacing around, it’d seem that you didn’t need sleep! But. . .” he leans in conspiratorially, relishing in the way Tav shifts away from him, a frown pulling at her lips ( finally reacting! ). “Those dark circles under your eyes say otherwise, darling. Really, you look quite horrid. I’ve seen corpses with more life than you!” 

Her mouth opens, teeth flashing and ready to rip into him –– yes! he thinks with a vicious sort of glee, eager for a bit of verbal sparring –– but after a faltering moment, she closes it and simply scowls. Silently. 

“What,” Astarion sneers, upper lip curling back. His words fall like the lashes of a whip. “Nothing to say? Can’t say I’m surprised.” 

Tav’s lips part, eyebrows pulling together in frustration as she inhales –– but says nothing. Instead, an odd, sort of guttural noise escapes her throat; both of them flinch back at the sound of it, Tav looking as surprised (and frustrated) as he feels. 

But when that fades, he’s left feeling just as dissatisfied as he’d been when he’d come out here. The image of Cazador still lingers in the corners of his mind; to his immense irritation, she’s done nothing to distract him from the ghosts of his past.

“I don’t know why I even bothered.” He stubbornly pushes the voice in the back of his mind down that tells him exactly why as he gets up, face twisted in disgust as he prepares to spend the rest of the night in haunted silence alone in his tent. 

Quick as a viper, she reaches out and grabs his arm. He pulls away as if burned, spinning on his heel to face her. His words come out in a hiss. “What now?”   

He watches her hesitate before her hands make a series of complicated gestures in response. Astarion blinks once, frowning. After a beat, she does the same series of signs again, looking increasingly frustrated (and is that a hint of desperation he sees in her eyes?) when he doesn’t understand whatever the hell she’s doing. 

He scowls, a ball of irritation forming in his chest. He’d been a fool to think that anyone would be willing to provide a distraction, let alone care that he currently wants to rip his skin off his bones and –– is Tav fucking drawing with a stick in the mud? 

Dumbfounded, he blinks in disbelief as he watches Tav carefully make a series of lines in the dirt in front of her. When she’s finished, she jabs at her work with the stick insistently, a clear command for him to look at it. 

At first glance, he’s left even more confused than before. It’s only when he takes a few steps toward her and looks it at from Tav’s direction that he realizes it’s a single word inscribed in the dirt at her feet: “Can’t.” 

“Can’t?” he scoffs, brows pulling together as he struggles to parse out her meaning. “What do you mean, can’t?”  

When he glances over at her again and sees the hand that slowly rises to her throat –– he finally understands. 

“You can’t speak right now?” he asks softly, a bit more hesitantly. Revulsion begins to crawl up his throat once more, though not for the same reason as before. 

A slow nod, as if she doesn’t quite understand it either. 

“But –– you can speak sometimes.” 

Another nod. 

Hands propped up against his hips, he studies her for a few more seconds in the waning firelight. Then, he slowly takes a seat next to her. She shifts uneasily but doesn’t move away or slide one of her daggers into his gut, which he takes as a win. 

(It’s not like he can have his only reliable source of food revoke the gift that she’s given to him.)

“Well,” he clears his throat, feeling out of his depth. “That would explain. . .” he gestures toward her. “. . . this. ” 

Tav huffs out a breath, shaking her head. 

And maybe he’s pushing it too far but he can’t help but prod further. It’s likely not the best time for it, not when he can’t understand her signing, but he’s surprised by how much he wants to know the answer.  “ –– Can I ask why?” 

For the next minute or two, she’s silent, considering his question. Instead of looking at him, she focuses her attention off into the distance, beyond the boundaries of their camp. The Shadowlands are quiet, for now, but it’s a temporary reprieve. He almost wishes that something would jump out of the bushes and attack, if only to interrupt the silence between them. 

Astarion’s just beginning to think that he won’t get an answer of any kind when his tadpole squirms unpleasantly in his brain. It takes him a second to realize that it’s Tav’s tadpole on the edges of his mind, asking for entry. 

What the hell, he thinks, opening his mind to the gentle nudge –– and then immediately regrets it. 

All at once, he’s struck by half a dozen memories at the same time, all clambering for his attention simultaneously. The small snippets he sees –– hooded figures walking silently down a hall, a whip striking lashes against someone’s back, someone’s tongue being pulled out with a pair of tongs –– are disjointed and confusing, made all the worse by the sheer terror that undercuts them. 

It takes a few seconds for him to regain his bearings and examine the scenes –– the memories, Tav’s memories –– with any sort of analytical eye. He finds himself –– finds Tav –– in a dark, dimly-lit castle or church. She wears heavy robes with a hood and so do the people around her. The flashes he gets are perhaps visions from her day-to-day life, yet she never utters a single word. Her hands act as her mouth instead; they’re moving almost constantly –– underneath tables, in the dark of night, in hidden nooks –– all away from the watchful eye of a few prominent figures that seem to repeat across all the echoes. 

But just as Astarion is beginning to figure it out, Tav breaks the connection. Both of them reel backward, lungs heaving. Tav’s eyes are wide and uncharacteristically fearful, her lips moving silently. In her lap, her fingers twitch. 

“That was. . .” he trails off, shaking his head. A hand absently moves to rub at his sternum, as if in an attempt to unravel the knot in his chest. 

By now, it’s become clear that everyone in their little traveling party has some sort of trauma. He’d never excluded Tav from that grouping, assuming she has her own fucked-up myriad of problems, though it slowly dawns on him that perhaps their pasts might be a little too similar for comfort. 

It can’t have been as bad as Cazador, his inner voice sneers, but –– he’d felt her fear, all the same. Felt her pain. 

And more than any sympathy he feels for her, he needs her. Not only as a partner, should things go bad, but also to provide him blood in a place where feeding off of their enemies might be more trouble than it’s worth. 

With that in mind, he shifts in his seat, then says, “I think I understand. Why you can’t speak right now.” And he does –– at least, sort of. After all, he’d come out here looking for company in the wake of a nightmare; if he were a betting man, he’d guess that she had one, too –– one that transported her back to that place where speaking led to physical punishment. 

His next words are tacked on as an afterthought but are no less meaningful: “ –– But I didn’t, before.” 

It’s not an apology –– even if he’d wanted to apologize to her for his callousness, the words are stuck in his throat. But it’s as close to one as he’s gotten in years and that means . . . something. 

(He tells himself it’s not a big deal, that he’s doing it for survival, and then doesn’t think about it again until later.)

In response, Tav just shakes her head slightly. When she meets his eyes, the corner of her mouth quirks upward. Nothing needs to be said out loud for him to understand exactly what she’s saying: It’s fine.

“You impossible, wretch of a woman,” he mutters, throwing up his hands. He’s suddenly irritated with how quickly she’s seemingly forgiven him. “You’re supposed to ––  I don’t know! ” His eyes dart down to her belt, the shine of her blade glinting in the firelight. 

He’d fucked up and yelled at her –– now it’s her turn to retaliate. But she’s not doing that. She’s not doing bloody anything, just sitting there, looking at him like all’s been said and done –– but it hasn’t. He’s not––he’s not used to. . .

Astarion sags, his mind weighed down by a wave of exhaustion. This conundrum, combined with his earlier disorientation from the nightmare, leaves him unable to properly voice his thoughts without it being incomprehensible. 

At his side, Tav shifts, moving slightly closer to him. There’s still a good few inches between them but the solidness of her presence is enough to ground him. She doesn’t say anything –– either with her voice or her hands –– but the silence isn’t as tense as it had been when he’d first emerged from his tent. 

She doesn’t shout at him. She doesn’t pull out her blade and cut him to ribbons for the slight. Instead. . .they just sit. Together. 

Astarion doesn’t know what she’s thinking –– doesn’t have the energy to try and guess her intentions. Had she somehow perceived what he’d been trying to say? Could she feel the war inside his mind, the constant tugging of abuse that threatens to tear him to pieces? Nobody knows about Cazador; he hasn’t said a word. But for the first time in a long time, he finally feels like maybe, just maybe, someone might understand. 

He’s not at peace, his brain still reeling and muscles jumping at every sound. . .but perhaps there’s more to Tav than the blood she can give him. And by the way her breathing begins to return to normal, as her muscles relax and her eyes lose some of that distant shine over time, it might just be that she benefits from his presence, too. 

That’s a troubling thought. 

“Wizard.” 

“I have a name, you know,” Gale replies dryly, looking up from the dusty old tome he’d been reading. “What is it? Don’t tell me you need money again.”  

From his pocket, Astarion produces a glittering ring with a flourish. Though he’s had little practical training, he can feel the magic of it thrumming in the air between them. At the sight of it, Gale’s eyes widen eagerly. 

“I found this a few days ago, carelessly thrown away,” he begins, falling into the cadence of his usual dramatics. “And I thought to myself, ‘well, this seems like just the type of thing that Gale would eat right up!’” 

The wizard sighs. “I’ve told you all a dozen times that I don’t actually eat the artifact ,” he replies wearily. “It’s a rather complicated process that doesn’t involve. . .” 

Astarion tunes him out for a few seconds. 

“. . .And besides, now that Mystra’s stabilized the orb, I no longer have a need for such things.” He pauses, then remembers his manners, and adds, “Though I suppose it was thoughtful of you to think of me. Thank you, Astarion.” 

He didn’t do it for thanks. Scowling, he tosses the magical ring in Gale’s direction anyway, forcing the other man to catch it lest it hit him in the eye. Once it’s in Gale’s possession, Astarion claps his hands together brightly. “Excellent! A ring for a favor. I’ll be cashing that in now.” 

“You could have just asked––” 

“Now, I’m sure you learned lots of things in wizard school––” he ignores the exclamation of protest at his wording and continues on, “but what I particularly need your, ah, expertise in is languages. Specifically those spoken with hands.” 

Intrigued at the possibility of sharing his knowledge with someone who actually wants to hear it, Gale’s eyes light up as he hums in thought. “Well, there are quite a few. Common sign language, which, as the name suggests, is the most common. There’s quite a bit of overlap with that and thieves’ cant, which, admittedly, I know little about. Then the drow have their own variation that looks quite like spellcasting. I actually studied with someone who spoke it and stars, that was difficult to parse––” 

He has to stop this before Gale goes completely off the rails. Astarion cuts in smoothly, “The first one. Common.” 

“I only know the basics,” Gale emphasizes (to which Astarion shrugs because it’s better than nothing). He thinks Gale’s going to continue but the other man pauses, brows narrowing in suspicion. “. . .What’s this about?” 

Astarion meets his gaze, eyes flashing dangerously. He could turn to threats but that would be a waste of a perfectly good Gale (and the only person in camp who might be able to help him) if he had to follow through on them. “No questions and you can have the next magical item I find.” 

“Is this about Ta––” 

“No questions,” he snaps, losing his temper and cutting the other man off before he can finish that sentence. Now he turns to threats. “The next words out of your mouth better be ‘ oh, yes, Astarion, I can’t wait to help you with this’ or I’ll start cutting off your fingers one by one . ” 

Gale raises an unimpressed brow. “Give me the next two artifacts you find.” 

“. . .Fine, you absolute cretin. But we start now. ” 

Gale claps his hands, rubbing them together in excitement at the prospect of having a willing student. With one arm, he holds open the flap of his tent, motioning for Astarion to go first. “After you.” 

Slowly beginning to regret this decision, Astarion lets out a long-suffering sigh and acquiesces.

[eeldritchblast]

since you've played a full evil playthrough with Cassius, what do you recommend to make things go the easiest? like order to do things and/or the best ways to fuck around?

It's so hard to find good evil playthrough guides bc so many the guides are about the best ways to do things the good way!

And I'm doing my first evil aligned playthrough and I am clueless about the best ways to go about it!

It all depends on how bad you want to be lol - Cassius did a few good deeds because he personally benefited from them, for example. But if your PC just wants evil for evil, there's probably more than what I can recommend as of yet? Still, some things I do know from first and second hand:

Make sure you get Withers because you'll probably have to make use of the hirelings, as you won't be able to keep all your companions most likely

You can trigger a fight between the druids and tieflings by stealing the Idol of Sylvanus - this will later make it easier to assault the grove with the goblins

Karlach will refuse to join you for what you do to the grove, so you'll have to kill her

Enter the goblin camp and reveal to Minthara where the grove is, then join her for the assault

Minthara will try to kill you after the party, and you can either fight her or convince her not to, if you want her as a party member

Either way, you can go to the Underdark, explore around, and kill the myconoids

Go to the Grymforge and save Nere, let him kill the enslaved gnomes, and then kill the duergar for him

Return to the surface and then go to the Mountain Pass - here you can optionally do Lae'zel's questline, or skip right to going to the Shadow-Cursed Lands

You'll meet a goblin at the entrance to the Shadow-Cursed Lands that will instruct you to grab a torch and head to the caravan. At the caravan you will need a spider lyre from either Nere or Minthara to continue on. You can either stick with the caravan or kill them and get the lantern for yourself

When you get to Last Light Inn, you can either help Isobel get captured or killed - this will destroy the entire place, so grab supplies from the vendors first

[bg3-aita]

AITA for trying to stop my best friend from making the worst mistake of his life?

I’m hoping the good people reading this will be able to help me figure this out. It’s been weighing on my mind for days. I can barely sleep, it bothers me so much.

I’ve known my best friend for almost my entire life, ever since we were both skipping rocks on the same Underdark lake as children. Life and various events as we grew older necessarily meant we had to part ways at times, but I never once forgot him. He’s my best and, truthfully, my only friend.

He went missing one day. All I found was a bloodied necklace. I was rightly terrified, to tell the truth, but I knew there was only one course of action. I had to find him. He was in danger.

And find him I did. He was in danger. But with the aid of some rather intrepid (perhaps foolish) adventurers, I was at last reunited with my best friend in what might have been the most cursed but safe inn I’ve ever had the pleasure to rest my head in. But our reunion was…well. Let’s just say it didn’t go the way I thought it would. My best friend was at best dismissive, and at worst…well, a little rude. I might have been the AH here for pestering him when he was tired but I was just so excited to see him.

Anyway, it’s been a few days since then and I've rarely left his side. I thought that once we were home in the city, all would be set to rights. But once we were in the city, everything just got worse. Is worse. My best friend has this plan, you see. A plan that would not only spell trouble for him, but for hundreds of other innocent lives too. He keeps claiming his plan is all for the good of the city. And in some ways, he is right about many things. The city is under, shall we say, dangerous and dubious leadership, but his solution to that little problem is to set off a bomb.

And I do mean that literally.

Not to worry! I’m trying to dissuade him otherwise. There has to be another way. A solution that doesn’t threaten innocent lives. He says these people aren’t innocent and that they’re building weapons of mass destruction, and technically they are doing that, but…I don’t know. Is a bomb really the answer? 

He’s called me the AH for pestering him so much about this. Says he can’t get any work done with me hovering over him “like flies on rothéshit.” Perhaps it’s deserved. I’ve been a thorn in his side for weeks now, but he hasn’t given up. And neither will I. So we’re at a stalemate.

AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[littlemourningstarr]

Angelic Reprieve

By sheer accident, Sekh'met discovers that Astarion's scars are Infernal. And while the news answers one question, it brings up an endless array of uglier unknowns. For just a night, Sekh wants Astarion to be able to not think about them, or to be reminded of Cazador. And what better way to forget than to sleep?

Read below or on AO3!

Pairing: Astarion x transmasc Tav

Part of the Eternally Yours series!

Tags: Transmasc tav, fluff, comfort, coitus interruptus

Sekh took a slow, deep breath, smiling to himself as the air filled his lungs. The spores gave a sweet, Earthy scent he had missed, while topside.

It felt good to be back in the Underdark.

Around him, the Myconid colony buzzed, with their own languid actions and the now addition of he and his party. Gale had been quite curious about the beings, and seemed intent on exploring every bit of their colony. Sekh was just pleased to have a safe place to rest, before they set out tomorrow. Not everyone had seemed to agree with his decision to take up the Myconid’s request regarding the Duegar, but Sekh had convinced them, in the end.

He turned, boots sinking slightly into the packed, warm soil the Myconids so loved. He was at the edge of their colony, simply looking beyond. The lights, the colors- it was all so beautiful. He had missed it terribly.

He’d been topside for the past year- no, nearly two, since his last visit. And as much as the Underdark was his home, there weren’t places that he felt a connection to anymore that would keep him for long. It always hurt.

He could hear Syl’s voices, echoing in his mind, don’t fret sweetling, you’re home, and he smiled again. He shouldn’t waste the time they had here- he knew it would be brief.

He hiked back into the colony, giving a nod to the Hobgoblin he had met earlier. He wanted more time to discuss this Society of Brilliance with Blurg, as he was utterly fascinated that there was an organization out there that wanted to see his home thrive, away from the stereotypical violence everyone believed it was soaked in- but he simply hadn’t had time. Perhaps if they did pay this Lenore a visit for the fauna requested by the Mindflayer, he’d get a better chance.

Oh, that Mindflayer had nearly sent Lae’zel reeling. Shadowheart and Wyll had been forced to physically hold her back, until she finally agreed to set aside her- not unfounded- hate of the beings to hear him out. Sekh was glad. He didn’t love the idea of working with the same things that had abducted them and put the damn tadpoles in their heads- but Omeluum was different, at least. Or, he seemed it.

He made his way into where camp had been set up, dodging a sudden flying piece of armor as Karlach was tearing through her things, looking for something. It clattered close to his feet, and he heard a shouted sorry!

He chuckled, shook his head, and just carried on. He had planned to pause at his own tent, look over the small but ever growing list of things he always needed from the Underdark, when he spotted Gale bustling about, a stack of books in his arm.

Sekh pivoted, rushing over as the books began to slip. He one before it hit the ground, as Gale righted the rest. “Superb timing!” Gale said, grinning at him. “I could use another set of hands.” Before Sekh could say anything, the wizard plopped the entire stack of books into his arms, hurrying off towards a stack near the entry to his tent.

“Gale,” Sekh said, attempting to tuck the stack under his chin for additional stability. “What are you- gods below!” Sekh nearly dropped the books as Gale tossed one behind him, having to dodge as it skipped to the ground a foot behind him.

“I know I have something around here somewhere,” Gale mused to himself, pausing to survey the books around him. Sekh huffed in fond annoyance, stooping to set down the stack of books in his arms and gather up the one Gale had tossed, adding it to the pile.

It took some prodigy, but Sekh managed to get Gale to focus on him long enough to state he was looking for his books on the Underdark. He claimed he didn’t have many with him, and woe that he didn’t have his library in his tower at Waterdeep at his current disposal- but he knew he had some.

“They’re just fascinating,” Gale said, referring to the Myconid. He flipped open a book, before furrowing his brow and setting it aside. “I mean, their telepathic communication is amazing. It’s just like our tadpoles without the lovely little wrigglers themselves.”

Sekh settled on his knees next to Gale, taking the book the wizard had set aside and moving it further away, lest Gale forget he had already rejected it. Gale settled down on the ground himself, groaning slightly in the process. “I’ve always found them fascinating,” Sekh admitted, “never got to mingle with them much in my youth, though.” Gale passed him another book, which Sekh set aside as well.

Gale after a few minutes of continued page flipping and scowling, Gale admitted he was hunting for a book he claimed he had on the Underdark. Sekh quietly wondered if he really had it with him, or if it was at his tower- but he kept that to himself. It was supposed to be a general field guide on the fauna and their many uses, but Sekh knew Gale had been intrigued at the mention of a Sussar tree nearby. Claimed he needed to refresh his memory a bit, but that he’d love to see it, as alarming and disarming it would be for a wizard.

Sekh wouldn’t mind seeing it either. They were beautiful, even if they would leave him feeling empty.

Gale blindly handed another book to Sekh, this one open, and Sekh took it, almost clamped it shut without looking. He glanced down at the last second and paused, the script on the page looking familiar. Jagged but almost elegant.

Astarion’s scars.

Sekh made a wordless noise, leaning over and shoving the book into Gale’s face. “Gale, what language is this?”

Gale leaned back, looking alarmed at the sudden intrusion. He stared at it for a moment, before saying, “Infernal. I would’ve expected a warlock to recognize- oh right, of course. Your patron is fey- Sekh!”

Sekh was up already, holding the book open in one hand awkwardly. “I’m borrowing this!” he said as he ran, heading across camp, for Astarion’s tent. He found the vampire emerging from his tent, having just stripped off his armor. Astarion paused when Sekh skidded to a stop, boots digging roughly into the soil. He quirked a brow, and Sekh sucked in a breath, trying to steady his heart.

“Darling, we haven’t been apart that long,” Astarion teased, but his playful smile fell away at the serious look in Sekh’s eyes. Softly, he added, “Sekh?”

“Infernal,” Sekh said, holding out the book. Astarion took it, glancing down at the page. “Your scars. They’re written in Infernal.”

Astarion stared down at the page in silence for a moment, before muttering, “Bloody bastard.” He slammed it shut, tossed the book on the ground. Sekh lifted his hand, went to reach out for Astarion, and the elf spat a sharp “don’t.”

Sekh pulled his hand back, an apology on his lips, when Astarion’s shoulders sagged.

“That was uncalled for,” the vampire admitted, “apologies. I…it’s just…” he paused, cleared his throat, “it’s never good when devils are involved.”

Sekh couldn’t argue- their own devil, Raphael, was alarming enough with his interest. And having Wyll entangled with Mizora was nightmarish- and now a third infernal influence?

“Did Cazador ever use infernal?” Sekh asked, stooping down to pick up the book. Astarion shook his head.

“The bastard was only figuratively hellish. There were never any devils hanging about the crypt.” He paused, added, “I never saw him write in infernal, let alone speak it. I might have missed it… but I doubt it. He kept me quite… close. I was one of his first.”

Sekh nodded, not having stood up from where he knelt to get the book. “We could ask someone to read it for you- Karlach, maybe?”

Astarion hummed, folded his arms, didn’t look pleased with the idea. “I’d rather not bring everyone into this little problem. It’s not even your problem, you know.”

“Your problems are my problems.” Sekh didn’t hesitate to say it, and even when Astarion’s pretty eyes went a little wide, Sekh didn’t take it back. It was true- Astarion wasn’t going to face this alone, not while Sekh was there.

That was what it meant to care about someone- and Sekh had already made that admission.

“Do you want to see it?” Sekh asked then. Before Astarion could argue that a mirror wouldn’t word, the drow added, “I could draw it. Or try to. I don’t know a lick of Infernal myself.” Astarion stared at Sekh for a moment, contemplating- before he gave a single nod. He pulled his shirt off, holding it in his hands and turning, offering Sekh his back.

Sekh began digging into the dirt, attempting to recreate the symbols. He truly didn’t know any Infernal, and he was sure he was off on some of the proportions, but after a few minutes, he had something at least resembling the scars on Astarion’s back. He said the vampire’s name, and Astarion turned, staring down at the dirt.

“Two centuries carrying this, and I can finally see it…” He trailed off, just staring. Sekh watched, could see the lines deepening in his face, his eyes seeming to go distant.

“We’ll figure this out,” Sekh promised, “somehow. But we will.”

Astarion glanced at him, eyes focusing, coming back into himself. “Will we?” he asked, so softly Sekh could barely hear it. He sighed, but then gave Sekh the smallest, pained smile. “How sweet.”

-

Sekh was finger combing his hair later that night, making his way back into the Myconid camp. It was peaceful, the warm buzz he found in the air around them. Most of them seemed to be drifting in a calm stasis.

Sekh hoped he wasn’t intruding, as he glanced towards the small area that seemed to belong to the Hobgoblin, Blurg, he had met earlier. He imagined the man might be sleeping.

As it was, he was there, still in his Society of Brilliance robes, except now sitting on the ground, looking more relaxed as he hummed to himself, studying a book in his large hands intently. He glanced up after Sekh had watched him for only a moment, and offered a rather warm smile.

“Well hello again,” he said, deep voice much quieter now that the world seemed to be sleeping around them. Sekh smiled, walked over and sat down on the ground next to him. “I wasn’t expecting another visit considering the hour.”

“Sorry,” Sekh offered, “I came out here looking for the dwarf trader, but she seems to have turned in unfortunately.” Sekh pulled his knees up, settled his arms on them. “I hope I haven’t disturbed you.”

“Not at all! Perhaps you can assist me- I’m trying to map out as many cities as I can where perhaps we could spread the society’s word. Would you be able to point out your home city?”

Sekh bit his lip, glanced away from Blurg and back out to the Myconids. So peaceful. “It’s gone,” he finally said, “the town was burned to the ground over fifty years ago.” After a long pause, Sekh added, “Honestly, I don’t think I remember how to find it anymore.”

Blurg nodded, once, his face somber now. He closed his book and reached out, placed a large hand on Sekh’s shoulder, gave it a squeeze. He was very warm.

He said nothing. Sekh was fine with that. What words were there to be shared, between Underdark dwellers? Sekh’s past wasn’t different from many. Sympathy wasn’t needed.

Still, the touch has been nice, kind. When Blurg’s hand left his shoulder, Sekh took a slow breath. “I’d like to know more,” he said, “about your work. About the Society. The Underdark… it’s so beautiful. It’s my home. And I hate how tainted it always feels.”

Sekh wasn’t sure if he wanted to return, permanently, when this tadpole business was finally over. He hadn’t had a home since his childhood home was destroyed, he’d wondered for years, never staying anywhere long. But having a place in the Underdark that he could return to, could feel safe in-

It was a pleasing thought.

“Perhaps when your current cranial issue is resolved, we can have a proper conversation.” Blurg reached up, tapped his own forehead in emphasis. “The Society always needs new minds, fresh perspectives. We could use some…” Blurg paused, cleared his throat, “action.”

Sekh nodded. He’d gathered that while the Society of Brilliance boasted fantastical ideas and minds, they seemed to lack the action to drive their dreams into reality.

“We have a Lodge, in Baldur’s Gate,” Blurg added. “Perhaps your travels will take you there.” He stood up slowly, and Sekh followed, dusting himself off. “Now, what did you need from our good neighbor Derryth?”

“I was hoping she had a certain… potion.” Sekh thought back to Astarion’s face, upon seeing the scars on his back sketched out in the dirt. The ache, the agony, the realization that there was far more to Cazador’s cruel act than he originally thought.

Sekh just wanted him to rest, to get away from the reality, for a moment. A night.

“Angelic Reprieve,” Sekh added. “My… companion could do with actual sleep, I believe.”

Blurg nodded. He set his book on his table and held up his hand, signaling Sekh to wait. The drow watched him disappear into some veins and fauna, to what must have been a more secluded, private area.

He wasn’t even sure Astarion would be open to the idea, but he wanted to offer. The vampire had sulked off to find some beastie to quench his appetite, left Sekh wracking his brain as to how to console him, what to give him that might help ease the agony he knew he had to be feeling. It felt like getting a single answer to those scars had only opened up a hundred more painful questions.

He had never asked Astarion what he saw, during his trances. But considering the man seemed to remember so little of his life before his death, Sekh assumed the bits of his life that replayed nightly behind his eyelids weren’t pleasant.

Maybe dreams could offer something soothing, even if they were fantasy only. Maybe they would offer nothing at all, just a moment of Astarion’s mind to fully silence.

Sekh came back to himself when Blurg appeared, holding a nondescript bottle. He offered it to Sekh, who furrowed his brow. “I may not bottle it as artistically as they do in the cities, but I promise, it’s just as strong.”

Sekh took it, realizing there was enough here for Astarion to sleep for days- nights. “How much gold do you want for it?” Sekh asked, ready to empty everything he had.

But Blurg just held up his hand. “Omeluum is quite good at concocting those, and I think he’s taken a liking to you. He would be quite perturbed if I asked for anything in return.”

Sekh held the bottle tighter, before he walked quickly to Blurg, reaching out and enveloping him in a tight hug. The hobgoblin stood shocked for a moment, before he returned the embrace, large hands seeming to envelope all of Sekh’s back.

“Thank you,” Sekh whispered, pulling back. “I owe you. And I pay my debts.”

“Anything for a neighbor of the Underdark. Now,” Blurg stepped back, gesturing for Sekh to go, “I imagine your companion will be quite eager for some rest. Best go find him.”

Sekh nodded, glanced down at the bottle again. Smiling to himself, he turned, hurrying back to camp, hoping Astarion wouldn’t be long behind him.

-

“Sleep?” Astarion asked, once he had returned to camp. He had found Sekh sitting outside his tent, waiting for him. And while he had hoped to see the drow before the man slipped into his trance for the night, he hadn’t expected him to be waiting.

It was… nice, if Astarion was honest with himself. Almost like coming home.

Sekh nodded. He had stood up, was holding a boring looking bottle in his hands. “I thought, considering everything…” he paused, took a deep breath, and then in a nervous rush, “I thought you might just want to get some rest. I can’t imagine your trance lets you relive anything pleasant. And maybe it’d be nice to… well… just turn everything off.” He sighed, shook his head. “Gods I sound like a damned fool.”

He sounded nervous, but a fool? Astarion had to disagree there. “I haven’t slept in two centuries,” Astarion admitted, reaching out, running his fingers along the bottle. The thought of simply nothing for a few hours, while nice, was quite intimidating. “Cazador would have never bothered with this.”

“Well, Cazador is less pleasing than a Lich’s withered ballsack.”

Astarion stared at Sekh for a single moment, before he burst out laughing. The laughter was so strong it hurt his gut, his lungs, made his cheeks ache from smiling. Sekh laughed with him, and Astarion leaned forward, still chuckling as he cupped Sekh’s cheek, pecked the corner of his mouth. “Very classy,” he whispered, enjoying that the little bit of affection had left the drow blushing.

Gods he loved when color flooded Sekh’s cheeks.

“I’m not wrong,” Sekh pointed out, as Astarion’s other hand left the bottle, found his waist. And no, he wasn’t. It was just… nice to hear someone else hate his old master and yet not have once been under his complete control. Nice to have someone outside the situation validate Astarion’s hate.

The colorful word choice? A bonus.

“You’re sweet for this,” Astarion added, in sheer honesty. The words weren’t honeyed, weren’t false. Even if he had wanted to, Astarion didn’t think he could make use of the charm he had perfected over the last near two hundred years on the drow, not when he had done something selfless, just for him.

Astarion was finding it increasingly harder by the day, the hour, the minute to be anything but himself around Sekh.

“One condition,” Astarion said, finally releasing the drow and taking the bottle from his hands. “I…” he paused, cleared his throat, and then whispered, “I don’t want to sleep alone.”

Because while nothingness, oblivion did sound quite nice, Astarion didn’t think he could do it alone.

In short time they found themselves inside Sekh’s tent, closed off to the world. Astarion had wanted to be completely surrounded by the drow, to drown in his scent until there was nothing but him, in his mind.

Anything to chase away the possibility that his dreams could be nightmares.

They’d both taken a mouthful of the potion, which seemed like enough. Astarion had the faintest memory of them being sold in small, elaborate bottles in the city- and they couldn’t have held much more than that. As it was, he was feeling… calm, already. Relaxation seeping into his muscles.

He was sitting on Sekh’s bed roll, his shirt discarded already, watching as Sekh unlaced his pants. “I could do that much faster,” Astarion teased, even if he was enjoying the show. Even if, while the promise of any sort of release with Sekh was divine, he didn’t think he wanted that, in that moment.

He didn’t think he wanted sex.

Sekh rolled his eyes, turning away and shimming out of his pants. Astarion didn’t hide the way he looked at the drow’s ass.

“I can feel you staring.” Astarion hummed, leaned back on the bedroll, didn’t deny it. There was no point. Sekh turned around then, pushed his shirt up over his belly slightly, before he paused. “How much skin is too much?”

Astarion opened his mouth to tease that there was no such thing as too much skin darling, but it died on his tongue. Felt insincere, wasn’t what he meant in that moment.

He licked his lips, thought it over for a moment. The idea of nothing against him but Sekh’s warm skin, the blanket keeping his heat in, warming Astarion as if he was living was divine in countless ways. 

When he didn’t answer, Sekh walked over, knelt down next to him. His fingers found Astarion’s hair, gently stroked. Astarion’s eyelids fluttered. “Astarion?”

Astarion licked his lips. “I want all of you.”

Well, it was an answer. Although Astarion realized all too quickly it wasn’t exactly what Sekh had asked- and, gods below, he was answering a question that had never been asked.

But he did want all of him.

“Okay,” Sekh said with a smile, before he sat back, pulled his shirt off, left it tossed away. He paused, reaching up to cover his mouth with the back of his hand as he yawned, and Astarion he was looking away, covering his own, echoing the gesture.

He was tired. But it wasn’t unpleasant.

Sekh flopped down next to him, squirmed until his underwear were discarded, and then grabbed his blanket, pulling it up. “Hurry before I fall asleep,” he teased, and Astarion pushed himself up, finished undressing without another word. He crawled back under the blanket, and Sekh quickly got his arms around him, pulling him against his throat.

Astarion didn’t fight it. Their legs tangled together as he nuzzled into the warm skin, felt Sekh’s body heat seeping into him. He heard the drow yawn again, and placed a soft, lingering kiss to his throat. Beneath the blanket, Sekh’s hand found his back, fingers slowly tracing along his scars.

Astarion shivered, but when Sekh went to pull away whispered don’t. He settled a bit lower, rested his head on the drow’s bare chest, as the man began tracing softly again. Against his ear, Astarion could hear the rhythm of Sekh’s heart, a constant, calming thump against his ear that made his muscles feel loose.

“How long until we’re sleeping?” Astarion asked, truly unsure himself. Sekh shrugged subtly, and Astarion let his eyes fall shut. And then, in a fit of honesty, he whispered, “talk to me.”

He couldn’t see Sekh smile, but he knew he was. He couldn’t explain that. “About what?”

“Anything, my sweet.” Astarion hooked an arm over him, dragged his mouth in what might have once been a kiss along Sekh’s skin. “I just want to hear your voice.”

The potion was supposed to make him sleep, not be brutally honest.

Sekh hummed, and Astarion could tell from his heartbeat he was feeling the potion just as much. It seemed to slow, just a tick. For a moment, Astarion thought the drow wasn’t going to speak, and maybe he had already drifted completely, but then-

“I have my father’s hair.”

Astarion opened his eyes, thought to raise his head, but found he didn’t think he could. He was so tired. Sekh’s fingers kept tracing his back, making his scars warm.

They had never been warm.

“Mom’s eyes,” Sekh added, “but dad had hair, according to my mom, like muted fire.” He giggled. “I always pretended to hate when she’d fawn over him.” His hand moved between Astarion’s shoulder blades, teased the curls at the nape of his neck. “He’d dye it, this pink or purple or magenta- it all depended on how the dye turned out when he brewed it. Said it went over better with the classy customers.”

Astarion stiffened, slightly. “Sekh-”

“Sex is work,” Sekh offered then, hand moving back to Astarion’s scars. “Dad did it, that’s what was expected. He didn’t care.” Astarion lifted his head then, even though it felt so heavy, could see Sekh staring up in the dark, above them. “You don’t want to hear that though… I’m sorry.” He paused, his eyes falling shut for a moment, two, before they opened slowly. “I’m rambling…”

But Astarion found he did want to hear it. He wanted to know more. He wanted to know everything about this man, who his parents had been, what he’d dreamed of as a child, what he’s hoped for.

What he wanted, now.

He folded his arm over Sekh’s chest, pillowed his head there, found he was fighting now to stay awake. “I asked you to talk,” he reminded him, “what else did he do?”

“Alchemy. Potions and potions and just… so many things.” Sekh smiled. “I didn’t know what most of them were, but I loved when he’d send me out to go find him things. He said I was the best at finding whatever he needed, even the hardest weeds out there.”

Astarion recalled, then, that when Sekh had opened his mind before, he’d had a basket, when he found Syl.

“That’s what you were doing, when you found your patron.” Sekh nodded, and Astrion pushed himself up, leaned over the drow. Sekh’s eyes flicked to his, and Astarion bowed his head, kissed him softly, sweetly-

Lovingly.

“I hope I remember this in the morning,” Astarion whispered, though it felt like his voice was outside his body, echoing around him. Sekh smiled, before he was guiding Astarion back down to his chest. The vampire had no arguments in pillowing his head against Sekh’s calming heartbeat again.

Sekh chuckled, and it reverberated through Astarion. “I hope you don’t. I sound like a fool.” Those fingers paused, back on Astarion’s scars, radiating the softest of fires. “Astarion?” The elf hummed his response, realizing his eyes had fallen shut. He didn’t think he could open them. “Sweet dreams.”

-

There was nothing at all, and then there was simply warmth. Astarion sighed, becoming aware of his body, the blanket tossed over him. He shifted, an arm around his waist tightening. For the briefest of moments, he didn’t know where he was, if he even was, but it was comforting.

And then he remembered Sekh’s heartbeat, and realized the smooth, warm skin pressed to his back, his scars, was Sekh. Slowly he tried to open his eyes, blinking a few times. The tent looked no different from when he had fallen asleep- the lack of sun in the Underdark did have its upsides for a vampire-

Undersides? Because, well-

He almost laughed at himself.

Sekh shifted against him, and Astarion reached down under the blanket, found the drow’s hand splayed against his belly. He traced the delicate bones of his hand, still feeling drowsy. It was strange to come back to consciousness and not be fully aware, fully present.

It wasn’t an uncomfortable feeling.

Sekh mumbled something, and Astarion felt his mouth, at the back of his neck. The drow’s legs tangled further with his, and Astarion wasn’t exactly sure where he even ended and Sekh began.

“Darling?” Astarion whispered, his voice a bit hoarse. Gods, it was like he had died, yet pleasantly so.

Astarion felt Sekh’s mouth on his shoulder now, lazy kisses that had his belly in knots. He sighed, didn’t feel like he could stop himself, leaning back into the man’s heat. Sekh’s fingers flexed against his belly, and then the drow was leaning into him, pecking the side of his neck.

“G’morning,” he mumbled, sounding just as drowsy as Astarion, “starshine.”

Astarion felt his heart lurch forward, swore his ribs crumbled. He stiffened, his breath caught in his throat. Sekh seemed unaware of how he had suddenly caused a fissure in Astarion’s mind, and hugged him tightly from where he lay. Gods above, he was so warm-

Astarion twisted in his hold, managed to untangle enough to roll to his other side. He found Sekh’s mismatched eyes watching him, hazy with sleep, under thick lashes, heavy lids. His hair was in disarray, completely free-

And he was beautiful.

Astarion reached up, slid his fingers along his cheek, into his hair, Sekh sighed, tipped his head slightly, and it was too perfect. This moment, this man- it shouldn’t have been. Astarion couldn’t have things, like this.

Sekh tried to squirm closer, seeming to miss the skin to skin contact of when he was pressed to Astarion’s back. The vampire couldn’t find it in him to push away, and Sekh tangled their legs together again, nestling into Astarion’s neck, kissing lazily at his throat. The new position had Astarion realizing, very quickly, that he’d woken up hard.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d risen from his trance aroused. Gods, not since perhaps those first few years, when his marks at least gave him a few lucious memories. But those faded to nothing-

He canted his hips slightly, and Sekh chuckled. He hooked a leg up over Astarion’s hips, and Astarion realized it was an invitation.

He could just… have him.

Because he wanted to.

And while perhaps the previous night he hadn’t wanted sex- Astarion realized he did, now. Or at least, he wanted something. The release, sure, the pleasure- but more so, he just wanted to be as close as he could to this man. Wanted to live inside his very bones.

He reached down, wrapped a hand around himself, teased his cockhead along Sekh’s cunt. The drow shivered, dropped his head down to Astarion’s chest. He mumbled Astarion’s name, and the vampire eased into his welcoming body, slowly, agonizingly so.

Astarion groaned, hand moving to cup Sekh’s ass, knead the supple flesh. The drow rolled his hips, mouth dragging along Astarion’s chest, a broken curse falling from his lips.

When Sekh lifted his head, tipped it back just enough to see Astarion, the elf was there, kissing him. His lips were so pliant, silken, that Astarion was lost. His body felt like he was floating, encased in the sun itself, the heat from Sekh’s skin still trapped under the blanket, making him feel alive.

And he realized, as he lazily, almost rhythmlessly thrust into Sekh, that he did feel alive, for the first time in countless years.

Sekh was making little noises, one hand finding Astarion’s back, tracing his scars again. Astarion gasped over the touch, as Sekh dragged his mouth along his jaw. Under the drow’s breath, Astarion heard him say again, starshine, and he squeezed his eyes shut, felt the corners burning.

He wanted to sob. He wanted to scream. He wanted to kiss this man until he found death for a second time.

He wasn’t even sure he was chasing any sort of finale, any sort of release. He just wanted to touch Sekh with every fiber of his being.

Carefully, Sekh rolled them over, so he was on his back, his leg still firmly hooked around Astarion. He tipped his head back beneath him, looked so glorious, and Astarion bowed his head, gasped as he felt tendrils of a static like heat creeping along his back, spilling into his belly. Sekh’s hair had fanned out around him, those shadows along his face moving lazily, as if they had slept with him.

Astarion found his mouth, kissed him again. The vampire’s hair was falling against his forehead, curls fluffy and free of their hold, and Sekh’s free hand was in them, teasing, toying, playing with them and making Astarion tremble. He slowed his already tame thrusts, reveling in Sekh’s fingers in his hair, along his scars instead.

He wanted to die here, stay suspended in this moment for the rest of eternity.

He very well might have, if a voice hadn’t cut through into Sekh’s tent.

“Please don’t make me drag the two of you out here.” It was Gale, and he sounded less than thrilled.

Sekh opened his eyes, glancing at the still tied flap of his tent. He cleared his throat, and managed in a rather husky voice, “I’m awake.”

Astarion shivered, felt his cock throb over it. Gods below.

Gale mumbled something about not wanting to know what was taking so long, but Astarion could hear him walking away. Carefully he pushed off the drow, pulling out of him and settling on his knees, as Sekh sat up slowly. Sekh pushed his hair back, before he flashed a smile at Astarion.

“Guess that potion really worked.” Astarion nodded, just once. “Sorry about Gale’s… timing.”

Astarion ran his tongue along his teeth, over the points of his fangs. And while he did want to damn the wizard for shattering the sleepy bliss that he had wrapped himself in, he knew it couldn’t last forever.

Sekh bit his lip, looked all too enticing then. Yet Astarion didn’t want to throw him down, to ravish him until he screamed his throat raw.

He just wanted to stare.

“Should we…” Sekh cleared his throat, said a little softer, “finish?”

Considering the side of him Astarion had seen on other nights, he didn’t need to be coy.

“I don’t know that I want to,” Astarion admitted, before he pinched his mouth shut. He didn’t think he could fall back into that dreamlike state now. And a part of him didn’t want to tarnish how perfect it had been.

But gods he couldn’t just say that, what if Sekh thought he wasn’t enjoying it? What if he thought Astarion wasn’t interested? What if he wanted to-

“Alright.” Sekh leaned forward, kissed Astarion’s cheek softly. Before Astarion could say anything, Sekh stood up, offering a hand. “Maybe we can pick up later, after we’ve gotten our blood pumping a little.”

That sounded… nice, actually, if Astarion was honest. Let this moment die, let it rest, and after whatever trouble they found themselves in today- well, they could ride that high out together.

Astarion took Sekh’s hand, let the drow help him up. Sekh moved to begin dressing then, and Astarion followed, letting the silence lapse.

“Did you dream?” Sekh finally asked, as he was lacing his pants. His shirt was thrown over his shoulder, but he didn’t seem interested in actually putting it on.

Astarion shook his head, and Sekh smiled more. 

“Good.” Astarion pulled his own shirt on, and Sekh bent down, untying the tent. “I’ll be outside when you’re ready.” Astarion watched him depart, left him to finish dressing alone. He pulled his shirt on, realizing that it faintly smelled like Sekh, from being buried with his own clothing, overnight.

It made his heart skip like a lovesick child.

He sighed, let himself out of the tent, intending to make a quick line for his own to fix his hair. The utter disarray it was in felt shameful, curls brushing his forehead, tangling around his ears. Halfway to his tent he noticed Sekh was standing with Shadowheart and Lae’zel, discussing something quietly. He still hadn’t put his shirt on, but he was reaching back, knotting his hair at the base of his neck, stretching slightly so his scars were on prominent display.

It made Astarion smile, slightly. He turned away, lest he get distracted, trying to tell himself this was all nothing.

That his plan wasn’t crumbling piece by piece around him. His nice, simple plan.

That he absolutely wasn’t falling for the drow.

[oogalaboogalabich]

Goddammit that kiss got me sick. I cant stop feekin dyin o typhus long enough to do anything productive so here.

I built the AU Astarion from my kinkfic and im runnin him as an abberant mind mage.

This backstory is entirely off the rails of canon. So effin self indulgent. I apologise for nothing.

Astarion in this AU met Cazador a few years earlier, barely weeks after the guy commited Vampire Patricide. Cazador just up and tried to go for it, nearly ripped Astarions throat out and scared him off so bad the elf skips town.

Ends up in the underdark and finds himself hanging out with a bunch of pirates for a few decades. Almost immediately after marrying this noteably redheaded crewmate ("she had a penchent for silk ropes and putting twats in their place") their crew gets fucked by a new ring of slavers. He doesnt actually know how long he was with them, but hes narrowed it down to almost two years on that ship before being sold to a house in the underdark. He escaped fairly quickly from there, helped by an unusually large druid, whod been their captive long before astarion arrived.

He gets an escort back to his family home, where he learns hes a little past overdue for his coming of age.

After all hes experienced, and a mind freshly robbed of any comfort or escape his previous lives used to bring him in reverie, he doesnt much care about picking a new name. Something he knew would come off as practically sacrelidge to certain parties.

In the end he picks "Astarius" as his adult name to avoid the trouble of getting used to something new. Its a bit ambitious in nature, and the drama behind "God of Stars" pleased his father well enough.

He spends a brief time trying to heal himself with a group of gith monks who have taken over an old lethanderan temple.

But when their methods dont quite work for him, he falls back into pirating, though he acts as more of a legal advisor and launderer these days.

He was about 200 when he simultaniously opened two practices. One in Waterdeep, the other in Immurks Hold. He found it invigorating having to juggle the Immurk Code of Conduct and the laws of Waterdeep.

He found hed gotten over most of his developed fears through the fairly prominant presence of vampire Lord Artor Morlin in his dealings. Though always under the pseudonym of different mercantile captains, which Astarius thought to be very funny.

He was on a business trip in the underdark near Waterdeep when the events of baldurs gate 3 take place.

No matter where he goes, everywhere in the underdark is suddenly swarming with illithids, and its even worse up on the surface. The world is in shambles, theres nothing left after a mere few months. The world made utterly barren, the soil salted and waters poisoned.

The animals die off, the people left behind are systematically rounded up and slaughtered or turned.

Less than a decade later the last bastion (at least in faerun) is ironically Menzoberranzan, where Astarius is forced to return. But when he arrives, people have for the most part let go of the prejeduces that ruled them. Its a fairly plesant place to live for the year or so it survived after his arrival.

He didnt stay for a fight when they heard the illithids were finally going to launch an attack on them directly. Almost nobody stayed in the end. And an attack never came.

For whatever reason. They all just...left. all the illithids gathered in their nautiloids and left the planet behind.

The few hundreds, maybe a few thousand people left on Torill spread out. Even with nothing fit to grow or drink naturally, they still get by with magic if they are lucky, summon creatures and glean vegitation from other planes etc.

Until Magic ceases to exist. After four or five years. It just...stops happening. Something or someone has killed Mystra again. And this time it doesnt come back.

Devils have stopped answering summons, or showing up at all. Warlocks are the last to lose their powers.

Astarius survives because he must. And instead of being content to live in this barren waste of a planet, he sets to work on finding a way out. Either off the planet, into a new world. To the astral plane for all he fucking cared.

Somewhere...anywhere but here.

Hes nearly 400 by the time he makes an ounce of headway.

Near the dregs of what was once reithwith town, he finds a crypt nearly untouched by the desolation of time, and even deeper still, lay the literal gauntlet of bloody shar.

Most importantly theres meat. Actual real food that isnt insects or what few digusting plants can still grow.

An entire colony of rats to live off of for as long as he can keep them breeding faster than he, or they, can eat.

He lives in what he jokingly calls "squalid luxury" for days, exploring and narrowly escaping death a few times. Shar was still ever present. Of course she would be. Torill was perfect for her now.

Theres one area he avoids simply because of the rank stench, but eventually curiosity gets the better of him.

And there...near a pile of corpses deep within the temple, he finds a polyhedron relic, covered in what was clearly tir su script...

[gamersguide]

Baldur’s Gate 3: A Gamer’s Pilgrimage To The Forgotten Realms

Hello fellow gamer! Today I am going to share my experience and review of one of my favorite games of 2023, Baldur’s Gate 3. If I praise the game a lot, ignore it because I only write about games I love. Now, you all gather ’round the virtual campfire, for I’m about to weave a tale of my journey through Baldur’s Gate 3, the latest chapter in this legendary RPG saga. Buckle up, ’cause we’re diving deep into dungeons, deciphering lore, and maybe even flirting with a tiefling or two.

Release Rampage:

Remember the early access days? Those were like storming Candlekeep with a rusty spoon instead of Minsc’s trusty Flametongue. Bugs swarmed, features flickered, and crashes were more frequent than bards at a tavern brawl. Larian Studios was weaving a tapestry of D&D gold, a true successor to Baldur’s Gate. Fast forward to August 2023, and the full release hit like a meteor shower raining loot. Polished, packed with content, and oozing that familiar forgotten Realms charm, Baldur’s Gate 3 was here, and it was awesome(for me atleast). It wasn’t just a game; it was a homecoming, a reunion with old friends and the promise of epic adventures yet to come.

Resuming the legacy:

Now, I’ve slain my fair share of goblins and romanced my share of mages in Baldur’s Gate 1 and 2. So, how does this new kid on the block stack up? Well, imagine walking into Candlekeep library after years away. The old tomes are still there, whispering familiar lore, but the shelves are bursting with new stories, unexpected twists, and characters that leap off the page. The Forgotten Realms are still here, vast and perilous, but Larian’s injected their own brand of magic. The story’s a labyrinth of intrigue, with betrayals sharper than Drizzt’s scimitars and secrets deeper than the Underdark. And the companions? Forget stereotypical party fodder. These are living, breathing characters with their own baggage, dreams, and moments of vulnerability that make you question who you can trust, who you can love, and who you might accidentally set on fire with a miscast fireball.

Subtle Sorcery: 

But Baldur’s Gate 3 isn’t just about epic battles and witty banter. It’s the subtle details that make your heart skip a beat. The way moonlight filters through leaves in a moonlit forest, casting dancing shadows that whisper of lurking dangers. The nervous twitch of a goblin’s ear before it lunges, betraying its bravado with a flicker of primal fear. The way a character’s eyes soften when you make a kind choice, or turn steely when you choose the path of shadows. Larian’s poured their heart and soul into these details, and it shows. Every corner of the world feels handcrafted, a living tapestry woven with secrets, beauty, and danger. It’s the kind of world that begs to be explored, every step a potential discovery, every interaction a chance to rewrite your legend.

Gameplay:

Forget rusty spoons, adventurer, in Baldur’s Gate 3, you wield an entire orchestra of tactical options. It’s not just about clicking on enemies and hoping for critical hits (though let’s be honest, those never get old). This is a ballet of dice rolls and environment manipulation, where every spell slot and shove action is a note in your own personalized battle ballad.

The Divinity Dance: Larian’s Divinity 4.0 engine is your conductor, orchestrating a symphony of possibilities. Imagine setting the stage with an oil slick, then throwing out a bard’s thunderwave to ignite the flammable floor. Boom! Goblin barbecue. Or picture teleporting an enemy archer onto a precarious ledge, then nudging them off with a well-timed shove. Splat! Environmental takedown. This engine encourages creativity, letting you turn the battlefield into your instrument, each encounter a unique composition of tactical genius makes it lit!

Read More

Originally published at GamersGuide

[timeforelfnonsense]

The Lusty Eladrin Maid (3/3)

Dafni x Astarion || E (very spicy) || Ao3 || Previous Chapter ||  Sunshine & Starlight: My on going bg3 series || 

All of Sunshine & Starlight is written as one shoots that can be read alone for the most part but there is a passing reference to The Bargain in this one. It’s not necessary to read it before but it might clear some things up!

Italicized quotes are implied elvish Translations (via Candle Keep) & Lore: Veluthe - Beautiful Arael’sha - Heart-Friend (term of endearment) Lore on elves  (just the basics) 

Marsember - the City of Spices, a metropolis and the busiest port  in the entire kingdom of Cormyr.

Dafni’s breath hitched as Astarion hulled her by the waist, pressing her snugly to his own body. His hips rocking gently against her own. Dafni was able to wiggle her hand between them, with a bit of fumbling, Dafni worked the buttons of his breech falls free. She gave him a light caress, her thumb teasing its way along the underside of his shaft. Dafni felt him twitch in her palm, a proud grin tweaked at her lips. Astarion buried his face in the hollow of her throat, muffling a husky groan. Dafni only ceased her attention to rid him completely of the meddlesome fabric of his pants. 

He really was beautiful everywhere. 

Astarion framed her with his lithesome form. His narrow hips coming down to meet her own, teasing his length against the tender, pink, flesh between her legs. She kept her expression reminded wide-eyed and demure as she shamelessly skimmed her wet slit against his cock. 

“Veluthe,” he murmured, kissing along her pointed ear. Dafni squeaked as he nibbled lightly at her earlobe.

“Come to me, arael’sha.” She coaxed, arms draped loosely over his shoulders, Dafni toyed with the soft baby-hair at the base of his skull, twirling the snowy wisps of curl gently around her index finger. She lifted her hips up to meet him, “I’m aching to feel you inside me.”

A delicious pressure started at her entrance. Her nerves were still alight from her first climax, the sensation of Astarion’s manhood sinking into her, inch by inch nearly brought tears to her eye. Stretched tight around him, her caves wrapped around him, heels digging into the top of his backside, urging him forwards. He set a slow, pleasant rhythm, his length delving delightfully deeper with each roll of his hips. Astarion dropped to his forearms, hilting himself at last.

A musical keen rattled through her as she writhed below him. He felt utterly perfect, buried so deep inside her. A warm, resplendent sensation enveloped her with each thrust. 

She was tipsy on intimacy and lovemaking. The feeling of their shared pleasure buzzing around her. By her nature, Dafni was a creature defined by emotion. Fashioned from boundless joy and playful whims, she took in the delight of others like lungfuls of crisp spring air. She could sense Astarion’s trepid excitement. Feel his need in every stroke. 

That’s the way, dear heart. A little tenderness won’t kill you.

Dafni drew him into a kiss, her lips locking against his with increasing passion. She could still taste the floral tang of her own arousal on his tongue as it swept between her parted lips. A bright smile took shape across her face when she broke the kiss. A single, iridescent butterfly had come to rest on the tip of his nose. It’s translucent, faerie fire wings illuminating his face with their whimsical glow. Astarion wrinkled his nose, a low, warm laugh filling his chest as the illusionary creature fluttered away. 

“I’m sorry,” she giggled, her hand cupping his cheek.

“Don’t be.” He insisted, “I find your quirks endearing.” 

Calling her wild, glittering charms, endearing quirks, was really a disservice. She turned what was once nothing but a grassy clearing into a lush meadow. A little slice of the Feywild brought into creation with nothing more than her bliss.

Spellbinding would have been a better discretion, however, he wasn’t exactly eager to add yet another item to his list of embarrassing, mid-coital confessions. It was frighteningly easy for Dafni to turn him into a besotted idiot. Between her honey-tongued kisses and bright laughter, it was hardly a fair fight. 

Add blood lust to the mix and he had a proven recipe for trouble. For that very reason, he’d come to the conclusion that separating feeding and fucking would be the wisest course. He enjoyed both far too much to fully surrender either. But it was hard enough to keep himself in check with his cock nestled inside her. He took in a deep breath, savoring the heady sweetness that clung to her smooth skin. Lilac and primrose, just a hint of bergamot. An aroma that left him feeling totally beguiled. The finest perfume from Marsember, could not hold a candle to Dafni’s heavenly bouquet. 

Her neck and thigh still bore dark purple reminders of their last encounter. He slid a hand along the soft skin in her inner thigh, his fingertips lingering on indentations he’d left behind. Dafni’s palms pressed into his chest, fingernails lightly scraping along his skin as he worked himself in and out of her snug cunny. A bolt of pleasure skipped down his spine at the memory of her blood, sweet and sharp, coursing through him as she came undone in his arms. 

Yes, separating feeding and fucking would be the wise, but by the Hells, was it getting harder and harder to listen to wisdom when she was around. 

“May I?” He asked, nuzzling lightly at the side of her throat. 

Dafni gave him a quick nod. His lips made their way down the column of her neck, his tongue running along the healing puncture marks. Dafni braced herself for the sharpness of his teeth as his lips whispered across her fluttering pulse. Dafni whimpered as he pulled out to the tip, her body aching at the loss of perfect fullness. With one forceful press, he hilted himself once more, sinking his fangs into the crook of her neck as she cried out. Dafni’s whole body felt as if it were alight, euphoria coursing through her every vein. Warm tears threatened to form in the corners of her eyes as she unraveled around him. He took just a few deep swallows before breaking away, a trail of red dripping from the edge of his mouth. 

“Dafni…” His fingers laced through hers pressing her hand to his heart, a steady thump jumping beneath her trembling palm. 

A glimmer of remembrance tugged at the back of her mind. A taste of something once known, lost to time. Dafni tried to chase the sensation but it was gone as quickly as it came, hidden beyond the bittersweet veil of mortality with her idyllic memories of Arvandor. 

Though she’d only known him for a short time, the friendship that had blossomed between them meant more to her than she’d dare say. She thanked the Gods for allowing him to fall so serendipitously into her life. She’d grown quite attached to all of her new friends, of course! But, there was something about Astarion and the easy familiarity between them that felt so very right. 

Her thoughts drifted to their conversation in the hag’s cottage. He’d spoken as if he’d known her for centuries then days. He had no recollection of their conversation when he awoke the following morning. In truth, Dafni had been a bit relieved. 

However, he came to know her true name- Whoever he might have been to her so many lifetimes ago, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the here and now, the people they were in this lifetime, and the person he now did not need the burden of any past affections he may or may not have had muddying the waters.

 If Astarion was to care for her, let it be on his own terms, free of influence and expectation. If by some slim chance, more memories resurfaced, they could deal with it then. Until that moment, if it ever came, she would continue nurturing their friendship and allow the tenderness budding between them to grow in its own time.

His hips slapped against hers with increasing desperation. His eyes were heavily lidded, a subtle flush glowing across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. His hold on her left hand tightening with every movement. Her intimate muscles tensed around him in the aftershock of her climax. His cock twitched, emptying inside her with a low, gratified sound. 

“You are an incredibly seductive little pixie.” He dropped to his forearm, his full weight pressing down against her, “I was sent out to bring you back to help pack and somehow I ended up naked in the woods with a ravished cleric.”

“I’m innocent in this situation!” Dafni chirped with laughter, gently freeing herself from his smothering tangle of willowy limbs. “I was seduced!” Astarion resisted her attempts to disentangle with playful flare. A flash of pearly fangs glinting beneath his upturned lips before landing on the ground beside her with a soft thud. Dafni rolled to her side, her hair tumbling down her bare shoulders as she came to rest on the swell of her hip, “I like seeing you smile, I wish you did that more often.”

“I promise to smile all you like if you come back and help me pack our things for the Underdark.” He quipped tapping his index finger to the upturned tip of her nose.

[koboldburrow]

Aurix update

There won’t be one of these for a while, since our schedules ain’t workin’ out until next month, buuuut:

Last time: Ronin wanted to get some Thieves’ Tools, and Aurix brought him to some shady-ass Drow gang to hook him up. He didn’t really wanna pay 50g for a set of tools, so instead offered to do A Favour. They asked him to get rid of an elf who was a High Priest of Savras; he agreed. Aurix asked him if 50g was a price he was okay with paying for blood on his hands, and promised to back him up in however he approached this job.

THIS TIME: Aurix made some very excellent use of her new spell, Flock of Familiars, in scouting out the Temple of Savras. We not only found out the high priests would be meeting tonight (one of which was our assassination target) so everyone could see them vote on a change in tenets, but we spotted a young girl that may be the child who was taken away by the temple. (I’m a little fuzzy on what THAT’S about, since it’s a plotline that was going on before I joined the campaign.) 

Von (the bard) polymorphed Ronin (the samurai) into a spider, Aurix tucked him into her hood, and one Mask of Many Faces disguise later, we sneak into the temple for that big meeting. We see the girl is being kept behind a High Priest by the name of Shadowstone, who’s got a fancy tattoo on his arm marking him as a member of the dwarven shady-ass mafia. Ronin also picks up that our assassination target glances at Shadowstone with utter fear before voting the same way that he does. It’s pretty clear that Shadowstone is the dude behind the sketchy business, and it’s equally clear that the drow gang who Ronin promised to Do An Assassinate for probably picked this dude because he’s obviously in Shadowstone’s pocket. 

The Polymorph is getting close to running out, so disguised-as-a-random-Savras-cleric Aurix tries to scootch out of the meeting all “bathroom break s’cuse me.” She manages to deceive all the high priests except one, ducks out, and hides away in an empty room so Ronin can be a half-orc again and not a spider. Knowing their cover may be blown, Ronin tries to suggest pulling out and coming back with the rest of the party. Aurix is wary, knowing that much of the party won’t be super on board with “murder a church guy” or really cut out for Stealth, and fearing that the suspicions they raised may lead to tighter security. She suggests instead that they do a “to hide a tree, use a forest” approach and try to slip in with all the leaving clerics when the meeting ends, and maybe try to follow their mark that way. 

No luck seeing him among the people who go by, though, so Ronin figures that we should just cut our losses and leave. He gets caught on the way out, though, and we get taken to talk to the High Priestess who wasn’t fooled by Aurix’s “lol brb bathroom” bit. She talks about Shadowstone’s shadiness, a bit about our mark’s past, and how he’s one of Shadowstone’s many puppets. Aurix suggests that they, as ardent adherents to the tenets of Savras and not this skewed version Shadowstone is trying to push, try talking to the mark in private. Somehow, this works, and the priestess arranges for them to talk. 

At this point, Aurix is READY THE FUCK TO HIT. Hexblade’s Curse, poised to strike, waiting for Ronin to give the signal. He talks to this drow High Priest a bit. The guy doesn’t really know anything useful at all about Shadowstone, but he quickly realizes that we were sent by the drow gang to kill him, and starts sobbing and weeping. At this point, Ronin does a 180, and completely changes his mind about killing the dude. He kinda does a “well now you know that this gang wants to kill you, so we’ll just see what fate decides” kind of thing and asks how he can help and stuff. Aurix is like shooting him Looks and trying to mouth stuff like “DUDE WE NEED TO GET INTO THE UNDERDARK ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO DOUBLE CROSS THE DROW MAFIA,” but she takes her oaths pretty seriously, so she doesn’t really want to run this clown through in front of Ronin after she promised “I’ll have your back, however you wanna get the job done.” 

She knows that the High Priestess of Savras has seen his face and heard his voice, and she also knows that he openly admitted where he’s from, so she’s just thinking, like, “well shit, I gotta protect this poor naive idiot or he’ll absolutely get arrested and/or silenced.” She tells him “okay, go leave back to the inn, don’t hide it, just let people witness you exiting the temple.” Once Ronin clears off, she talks with the mark, convinces him “look, these people will just send someone who’s actually willing to assassinate you once they realize this failed, you have to flee, I can help you disappear so well neither Shadowstone nor drow can find you.” With some very lucky smooth-talking, she convinces him to tell some of the Savras clerics he’s heading out for a walk to clear his head (thereby proving he was still alive after Ronin left), and she takes him out to one of the city gates. 

Now, at this point, her full intention was “get somewhere with no witnesses, run him through, dump him in a ditch.” She did NOT want to backstab the drow criminal syndicate for a lot of reasons. 

They also knew Ronin’s face and voice, meaning they could easily come for him and/or the party he was with.

Aurix had been prepared all along for “I can do an assassination for you” to result in actually doing the assassination, so she was pretty braced for “this is a priest, he probably won’t go HELL YEAH KILL ME I’M EVIL AS SHIT,” so she wasn’t all that moved by tears at all

also Aurix is a True Neutral lizardfolk only really concerned with keeping her oaths and surviving, so risking the necks of herself and her friends for no better reason than “this total stranger did a real sad cry” is just not really something she’s wired to understand 

Aurix is a fuckign criminal with an evil sword that thirsts for blood. She’s been in shadyville so long that she’s probably pretty numb to shedding the blood of sapient beings, especially ones that are cronies in some Real Fucky Business

they definitely did still need to get to the Underdark, and the only really accessible entrance is in this exact city, so thumbing your nose at the drow seems REALLY unwise

It didn’t actually work out that way though. The mark passed out a little outside the gates, an elf standing guard there was all “HEY WHAT ARE YOU DOING.” Aurix tries the “hhha ha ha he’s just drunk I’m taking him home,” but the dude just automatically knows that’s horseshit. I’m thinking “jesus christ this unexpected morality moment is going to get my character arrested and/or killed,” so I try to cast Hold Person. Automatic fail (I guess elves resist paralysis or WIS saving throws?). I’m like. [SCREAMS INTERNALLY] and just..... try to bribe the guy to forget he saw anything 

I think the DM feels sorry for me and my utterly screwed character lmao, because the elf kinda just goes “actually for this much gold I’ll just handle making sure this guy gets to the next town over lol” at which point I go “COOL THANKS IF ANYONE ASKS YOU SAW NOTHING” and just fuckign. peace out. So I ended up losing a chunk of change on this, but like.... at least Aurix didn’t Perish

So the whole party reconvenes at the inn, and Ronin has already spilled most of what they were up to. The group moves up to one of their rooms for Privacy and Aurix is... not entirely happy.... about the way things went. She’s pissed that he sprung a last-second backdown on her with no warning and put her into a situation where she had to break an oath to these dudes, that they’ve made enemies of both sides of a gang war, that she had to go through a bunch of money and trouble to clean this up, and that there’s now a loose end running wild on his way to the next town over. The vanishing of a high priest is very quickly noticed, despite the “just going for a walk” thing, and the alarm is raised across the city. We decide “hey this would be a REALLY GOOD TIME to skip town.” We wait until the next day, when Corrin (half-dragon ranger/sorc) can pick up her new +2 spell focus, Aurix picks up the Entire Live Cow she ordered, and we skip town to go back to the ancient dragon’s lair and see how much of the hoard the kobolds have dug up. 

Aurix comes barreling in all “MY SWEET LITTLE LIZARDY BABIES I BROUGHT YOU A BEEF.” Kobolds are very pleased to get an entire delicious cow, and present us with A SHITLOAD OF STUFF. 11K gold tossed into our portable hole, along with 36 more magic items (most of them are scrolls). We explain that we’re gonna be away for a while and that the kobolds really should stay away from hassling the nearby city because AURIX NEEDS HER BABIES TO BE OKAY LMAO. 

With our ducks all in a row, Von (bardy boi) does a Teleportation Circle, and we all blip back to Breedonne to hand in our dragonscales to (and get our magic items Identified by) the wizardy dude who we’re doing this Main Quest stuff for. We retire to an inn to discuss our next move. We’ll still need more dragonscales probably, but it took us a lot to find this white dragon, so we’re not all that sure how easily we’ll even be able to locate another dragon to hunt. Sticking to getting mindflayer helmets from the Underdark seems like the better move, but considering the only really accessible entrance is the one in the city we just messed with the drow in, we’re kinda unsure how well that will go. We figure that we’ll maybe just, like... spend a bit here in Breedonne preparing and researching and getting materials for our Underdark adventure, and hopefully by the time we’re ready to come back, the heat will have died down a little bit. On that decision, we end for the night, and we’ll pick back up sometime in March!

[rarestereocats]

recap of our last session!

My name is Zakina Kociak and this is the story of how me and my friends died.  I'm just kidding,  nobody died.  Or did they?  So we open this session up with Xaren storming through the tunnels of the Underdark after laying Virhea's shit out because in case anyone forgot,  she kind of blew up a cavern ceiling and destroyed an entire drow city all to prove herself to an evil god.  Velevana calls out to him during his moment,  talking about how we're all dying right at that very moment and then Elathera's voice calls through his mind asking him where he's at and letting him know Industria made breakfast for everybody.

It was a valiant effort,  Velevana,  but you fell short.  I'm watching outside of camp for him like a grandmother waiting in the front door for her grandchildren and once he's back,  we all have a lovely breakfast like the dysfunctional family we are and then head out.  We're not sure what the next course of action is,  to be honest,  so we decide to continue our campaign of terror in the next drow city up until we're pulled into another plane of existence.  It's a spooky forest and me and Virhea can feel that there's something watching us from behind the trees that stretch on and on.

We keep going until we reach a swamp and when that swamp gives birth to a bunch of hungry undead,  we decide to nope the fuck on out of there.  As we run,  the plane shifts into an open field of golden grains at night.  There's a spire off in the distance and with no other way to go,  we make our way there.  Virhea and Tenin can't seem to figure it out though and as we all get closer,  the spire appears to move further away from them.  Frustrated,  they take off into a sprint before they hit the Patented Invisible Wall (courtesy of Bethesda,  I bet) and even more frustrated,  Tenin punches it and the spire is suddenly visible to them.  He awkwardly turns to Virhea to let her know that there is indeed a spire there,  so she punches it too.

We head in to find out the spire is bigger on the inside and I'm not gonna put a Doctor Whomst-the-fuck reference here because fuck that guy.  Anyways,  it's a nice,  sprawling dungeon full of cells and chains and torture instruments.  All you could need in one single place,  ya' know?  So we keep going and the corridor seems to stretch on forever until we make a turn and we're on the ceiling now.  Eventually,  the path crumbles away into nothingness,  so Industria,  Tenin,  and Virhea throw themselves into the abyss and they're brought to a closed off room.  Separated from the rest of us.  Until Elathera simply teleports us there by swapping places with Tenin.  We're reunited!  But hey...where's Tenin?

He's plane shifted somewhere underground.  All alone until he hears the sounds of heels clacking against stone and out steps Viene.  Tenin mentions how he watched her die,  but before the two can throw hands,  Elathera transports Tenin back to us and Viene's pissed.  So we press on from the tiny room that confines us and keep going until our eyes befall a sight most...I don't know?  I really don't.  A nice,  big ol' lesbian drow orgy just in full swing right before our eyes.  One of them tells us to come on in cuz the water's fine,  but our virgin eyes have seen too much,  so we turn the other way.

With the concerning dripping of water that reminds Xaren of an awful vision he had,  we have to double back to the literal Fuck Hole,  but thankfully,  the orgy is gone so we don't have to push our way through writhing,  sweaty bodies.  But the dripping is continuing (Virhea please calm down,  the orgy has passed) and a large body of water appears.  And immediately,  a crowd of undead crawl out.  From one way comes Viene and the other way,  Velevana in her first form.  She appears as a drow woman with four arms so with that,  we huddle around Xaren.  Eventually we all disperse,  Industria and Virhea going to take out Viene and her eidolon.  I shadow step me and Xaren to the priority target and everybody else is spread out between stopping the horde and helping either squad.

It's a long,  hard fight,  but Viene is eventually put down.  The undead fall soon after,  leaving Velevana.  The problem is,  she's a literal fucking goddess,  so taking her down is not that simple.  But we're all powerful too,  so it's practically a stalemate.  Frustrated,  I crack into the good ol' box of summoning salts again and throw down the pink one.  Out comes an incubus...one who is more than happy to help Velevana.  But he misses his attack on me after she orders him to kill us and hits her instead.  After getting berated by her,  he opts to stand around uncomfortably and question his entire life up until this point.

Eventually we trigger her second form.  She's sobbing,  but that soon fades to laughter as her body morphs into that of a giant,  black spider;  but her torso is still the same.  The plane shifts to a cave again and we're all thrust into the continuing stalemate.  Another plane shift later,  we're in an ocean full of islands of ice.  It's here that we finally manage to break the stalemate.  With some well executed moves and a lot of panicking,  the odds are in our favor.  Virhea makes some called shots on Velevana and takes out her legs,  leaving her prone for Xaren to kick her ass right into the endless ocean.

But she's still clinging on.  So I hop onto her and finish her off,  dropping into the cold ass ocean myself as she shrieks and her body dissipates.  Sabella comes on down to make sure she stays dead and after the kill is confirmed and set in stone,  Velevana's personal plane of existence begins shaking and shifting out as all the souls she claimed burst forth to freedom.  We all watch as they pass us by,  thanking us and praising us before we decide to shift ourselves out and back to Florence.

We defeated an evil goddess,  Xaren is free,  and we all hug and cheer because it's finally over.  Cue the time skip as we're picking back up a year later ingame.

[dailybestiary]

Munavri

(Illustration by Kim Sokol comes from the Paizo Blog and is © Paizo Publishing.)

After all this time, I think we finally have it: a worthy subterranean human race.  

Drow have elves. Dwarves have duergar.  Gnomes have svirfneblin.  Orcs have…well, orcs.  Halflings have no one cares (or dark creepers if you’re being kind).  You get the idea.  

But subterranean humans have tended to be confined to lost cities or are so corrupted/devolved by life underground that they are no longer recognizable human.  In the first category we have “basic”/Known World D&D’s Cynidiceans, Greyhawk’s Lerara (once again I’m pointing you to the excellent Dragon #241), and Forgotten Realms’ Deep Imaskarri.  In the latter, we have morlocks, dark folk, and even (in certain canons) skulks or derros. Those are great races, but none are what you’d call human anymore (and only dark folk really build civilizations of their own, rather than squatting in caverns or occupying ruins).  Unless I’ve majorly overlooked something, we’ve never had a human race that was both recognizably human and spread out throughout the Darklands/Underdark/Deepearth.

And then here come the munavris.  Are they human with a dash of something extra?  Sure, they’re telepathic albinos.  Do they have a distinctive culture?  Yeah, the telepathy and the need for genetic diversity have led to open minds and even opener relationships; they also worship the empyreal lords and fight in jade armor.  Can they go toe-to-toe with the drow and duergar realms?  They don’t have to, because they sail purple-sailed ivory ships across subterranean seas, battling urdefhans and retreating to jade islands that ward off aboleths. And to top it all off, they’ve got a neat object reading ability that lets them use almost any device—including weapons, armor, or spell-trigger items for a short period of time.  That alone makes them instantly iconic.  (And you can even play them as a PC race!)

All in all, I think the munavri are a real coup.  And they belong on the underground seas of your game world.

Based out of the sunken city of Mushroot, adventurers find a magical torc made of a metal they don’t recognize.  Assuming they can smuggle it past the duergar tax agents, their dark dancer fixer agrees to set them up with someone who can help.  He arranges a meeting with a strange, pale humanoid. The woman, who calls herself a munavri, barely needs to touch the item to recover the command word, and offers hints as to its origin. But she will not reveal more until the adventurers allow her to accompany them on their journey.

Most airships don’t do well on seas—and they have no business being underground!  But when a waterspout seizes the Falcon’s Promise and plucks it out of the sky, that’s where a party of adventurers find themselves: floating on a vast ebony lake in an unthinkably large cavern.  An encounter with a water orm goes badly when a jittery crewmember looses a harpoon at it.  They are only saved by the arrival of munavri corsairs, who warn them that far worse threats await them if they cannot get their ship aloft or under sail soon. (And how they will get back to the open sky is another question entirely…)

The Spear of Prophecy is a jagged shard of jade the size of a mountain erupting from the Stillwind Plains.  A monastery sits about halfway up, carved into the Spear itself. Pilgrims who go to treat with the light-shy, prophecy-spinning monks, oracles, occultists who dwell there have no idea that the monastery leads all the way down to a sunken sea miles beneath, patrolled by the monks’ far more piratical kinfolk.

—Occult Bestiary 34 & Pathfinder Bestiary 6 197

Personally, I’m not enough of a sci-fi or old-school psionics fan to really geek out over telepathy. If I were running a campaign I’d probably skip that and just concentrate on the advanced object reading—that’s an awesome enough mental power for any race.

On another personal note, I’m really conflicted by the munavri art. It’s excellently done and all the details are right—that jade armor even actually looks wearable!—but the overall sense is off.  I totally get how it happened…the art order was probably for an agile, good-aligned, albino human psychic race in jade armor…and the artist delivered.  But the pose is that of a fey trickster—every time I see it, I get the sense that if we filled in the white background, we’d see this munavri lounging on a toadstool chatting with Alice and the Caterpillar. For a sense of munavris as badass, aboleth- and urdefhan-fighting sailors of subterranean seas, Darklands Revisited’s art is sketchier in detail but more on point in terms of tone.

[nordic-the-dm]

WBJ Day 3: People and Races

I like to make my world accessible to everyone, which is partly why I have so many different continents to keep in your mind. 

The races of Rhuin are those that can be found as the playable races in dungeons and dragons 5e, including all of the races that have been added through the expansion books.

There are, however, some specific features that are unique to Rhuin, as well as 3 more races I’ve homebrewed, which I’ll briefly go through before getting to the nitty gritty of race trait differences and prejudices.

 The three unique races are: gargoyle, unicorn, and centaur. (And as a DM note, if you’re interested in playing any of these, just give me a ping and I can send you the race sheets. Also, let me know how it goes, because I haven’t really gotten to test these out yet. . . .)

Gargoyle

Gargoyles were creatures created originally to protect the castles and towers of warlocks. In the millennia since their creation, they have evolved to form their own society and break the chains of servitude. They still retain their core values of clan life and their duty to protect and will often pledge loyalty to a lord for their clan to protect his land. Gargoyles don’t often become adventurers; their ties to their clan are too strong to leave. But if a gargoyle loses his clan through battle or through banishment, he will become an artisan or an adventurer since his skills are often suited only to those two professions.  

Unicorn

Unicorns are mysterious, generally mysterious creatures that tend to keep to themselves, but they will occasionally become adventurers or feel the need to explore the world. Their horns are coveted as rare ingredients for potions and offerings in magical rituals, so they are often hunted for them, which is part of the reason they have become so secretive. They have a strong bond with the land and dwell within forests. Unicorns are usually white, naive, and good intentioned, but they can become corrupted into black unicorns, who are interested in self preservation, revenge, riches, or domination. Black unicorns become adventurers more often than white. 

Centaur

Centuars are herd creatures, generally. They live in nomadic societies and will often only join large adventuring parties to keep that feeling of having a herd, even if they have left their herd voluntarily. They are happiest out in the plains, but have adapted to life in the cities as well, for they are valued for their effective military systems. Their herd mentality allows them to bond with their squads and follow coordinated orders effectively. They’re also fierce warriors and can be very valuable on a battlefield.

Now, onto the other stuff. I think it’s interesting to think about different racial appearances and how they would all interact, including how prejudices work, but I know that freaks some people out, so I’ll put it under the cut. Plus, this post got a little bit suuuuuper long on me . . . . 

As far as traits go, appearances of many of the races will vary depending on which Shard an individual is born and raised on and where his ancestors are from. I based my decision on this because in the real world, our skin tone and some degree of our bone structure is based a lot on ancestry life style and geographic location. So, a Dragonborn from Selkhet will have thicker, bonier scales with a duller sheen to protect and deflect the harsh desert conditions like sand and sun, while a Dragonborn from Manaroa will have thinner, brighter scales to reflect its dangerous nature, and again, a Dragonborn from Eurus having thicker limbs and more flexible scales to handle travelling through the more mountainous regions. 

The Dragonborn are just an obvious example, but the more humanoid races will have similar effects, with their skin pigments differing depending on place of origin and ancestry. While this doesn’t often result in conflicts between peoples alone, there are some deep rooted prejudices in some societies that lead to tension between races and even those of the same race with different appearances. Below the cut, I’ll go through some of those tensions and prejudices, though it isn’t a comprehensive list. So, idk, skip it if it bothers you.

Due to an ancient war with the Infernals of the Abyss and the Nine Hells, there are many who view all tieflings with suspicion, especially on Eurus and Selkhet. Tielfings, however, due to their brighter colors and exotic horns and tails are actually held with high regard in Manaroa, so a tiefling coming from Manaroa to Eurus will often be surprised by the amount of hostility the people have toward the race. 

Dragonborn from Eurus look down on Dragonborn from Manaroa as being lazy and mostly for show instead of hearty enough to be worth anything. Many races from Eurus regard their ability to survive harsh conditions as their best trait and any member of any race that doesn’t put a high standard on that is weak and beneath them in some ways. Unless they’re magic users, but that’s an entirely different post. 

Drow are often viewed with disdain and mistrust on all the continents. They’re in charge of all the Assassin Guild activity and many still live apart from the other races in the Underdark, so seeing one above ground is generally assumed to mean that the Drow is up to something shady. While the Drow in Agreste have moved their civilization above ground and have made efforts to integrate, progress has been slow. 

A final example of tension is in Selkhet. The people who live in the cities of Selkhet generally see the nomadic tribes as theives and charlatans and many cities won’t let caravans into the city walls, only allowing certified agents inside to do business. Since many of the nomadic tribes are made mostly of tabaxi, there is a general idea that tabaxi are thieves and untrustworthy, which often ends with tabaxi from other Shards being treated as though they had committed a crime withough proof. 

ALL THAT BEING SAID, there is a huge amount of movement of peoples between Shards and those of different ancestry can be found all over the place, especially in the Infinity River port cities, which have become a huge hub of people, ideas, and things. These cities especially have more of an ancient Roman attitude that everyone is a citizen of that city and that you have to find your place on your own after that. And there are so many more things I could say on that front, but this post is already way too long, so I’ll leave it here.  

Disclaimer: I don’t want to encourage any players to be horrible to any other players, but I do think that there is a realistic notion in racial and societal tension, even in a fantasy land. After all, with a huge hodge podge of cultures and biases, there will be some conflicts. If not, wars could never be fought because there would be no “us versus them” mentality. 

[chriswoodink]

DUNGEON CRAWLING ON A CYBERPUNK SKYLINE

You crawl through rubble filled hallways, climbing through a hole in the roof to find a dilapidated former apartment room. Or a hospital wing. Or a convenience store. Inside is a dirty, scraps-wearing man cradling a long dead skeleton. One of your friends tries talking to him of course but it goes badly. 

The man picks up a shard of glass resting on a shattered digital photo frame. He attacks. You see whirring pistons beneath your broken skin but you don’t feel anything. The man’s legs disappear underneath a fallen pillar to the left of the room. 

Another friend asks whether or not to move through the destroyed rooms to the left, following the man, or climb right up through the shaky vent above them. The first option is a lot safer but it’s going to take a while and time is money. Your wrist beeps and the device strapped to your arm reads ‘59 MINS POWER REMAINING’. The latter route is risky but looks a shorter trip. 

A whirring sound hums louder and you can hear metal on metal echo throughout the room. It’s coming from the hole in the floor you just climbed up...

If you were to kneel at the great tree of Role Playing Game taxonomy, trace it’s many branches down and dig the dirt away, you’d unearth a root close to the surface: Dungeon Crawling.

With the resurgence of the old school mindset, the dungeon crawl has once again taken its place as both the bread and the butter.

But why do people keep going back to them? Well, they’re easy to run, right?. Simple in concept and in practice. The procedure for running the adventure is right there in your hands and it’s mostly fool proof.

Now I’ve learnt to love fantasy. But my first love was sci-fi. I adore cyberpunk and I’ve been hankering for a good cyberpunk game. I’ve also gotten right into the OSR as of late. So how do we reconcile cyberpunk and the OSR?

Dungeon crawling in an abandoned Judge Dredd-esque freaking mega-block skyscraper.

A structure so large it could have once held the equivalent to an entire city’s population.

Think combing the ruins of an older world ala Fallout or wading through a dangerous, falling apart high-rise that’s leaning on another in the Last of Us. The real life urban exploration explosion comes to mind as well.

This will be the first of a series of posts about hacking up this sort of game for my play group. 

Now it doesn’t take long into thinking about the logistics of running an underdark-like campaign in a vertical plane that things start falling apart. Nearly all underdark maps I’ve seen are hex crawls. Veins of the Earth is a considerably impressive manual depicting procedures for replicating labyrinthian cave systems in both planes. But its macro layout is still mostly horizontally distributed.

So the chief obstacle is how to manage a map that makes the y axis a central pillar of its design while still maintaining clear, minimal note taking that’s easy to use at the table.

This is what I came up with.

Grab an index card. This is going to be one Block in the larger city building structure. Each Block has a number of Rooms that are still intact enough that something is or has recently been there.

Roll a D6 to determine how many Rooms are in the Block.

Any position is fine. The map is mostly conceptual rather than literal. A simple method is to place them on the card in the arrangement of dots on the dice.

Not all rooms are the same so let’s differentiate them a bit and add a little variety. Remember to do everything at the same step, working clockwise before moving on. So determine the size of all the rooms before heading to the next instruction. Do this for all of the following steps. I found it’s quick and easy to have a pencil in one hand and the dice in the other.

Roll a D6 to determine how big the rooms are.

1-2: Small or one room.

3-4: Medium or 2-3 small rooms

5-6: Large or 4-6 small rooms or 2 medium rooms

Marked with a S, M or L respectively.

Remember we want verticality to permeate all of the map design so there’ll be 3 levels within each card.

Roll a D6 to determine which rooms are in which levels of the block

1-2: Level 1 or the lowest level

3-4: Level 2 or the mid-tier level

5-6: Level 3 or the highest level

Note this by writing the Level number next to the size

Now we’ve got our rooms, let’s determine some of the connective tissue. Routes link the rooms together and are the ‘gutters’ to our ‘panels’.

Let’s take a little time to clearly define Rooms and Route, and what this means at the table. During play Rooms are ‘Zoomed in’. We play through this portion of the fiction in a moment to moment basis, seeing all the nitty gritty details. 

Routes on the other hand are ‘Zoomed out’. We gloss over the journey a lot of the time in stories and role playing games because it’s usually not the particularly exciting part of the games. Here we’re working at an hour to hour basis compared to moment to moment. That is unless there’s something interesting for the players to interact with. Then we Zoom In. This could be a risky climb for instance. Rooms have specific interactive encounters. Interesting things happen in them, compared to Routes where there usually isn’t anything interactive.  Routes could be hallways or a number of actual rooms. But since they’re rooms with nothing inside them worth the players’ time then we don’t zoom in. 

This sort of concept is important to understand if you notice you get a lot of blank stares and awkward dead air after you tell them things about the fiction. You’re probably not giving them enough of a cue of something for them to interact with and respond to. The game is like a conversation in this way. I used to do this all the time when I first started GMing. The players would tell me they move through the tunnel. And then I’d respond with a detail of some sort about how the tunnel looks and smells like and how it extends onwards and then cue the awkward silence. They’d ask me if they come across anything and I’d skip to where they came across something important and interactive like an encounter. 

Skip to the good stuff.

Draw some lines between a few rooms. These are our Routes. Then let’s determine how they connect. No rolling here, just look at the levels of the two rooms you’re trying to connect.

The Route is:

Horizontal if the two rooms are on the same level

Slope (~45*) if they’re a level apart. This has a +1 Dice Modifier for when the players roll to see how long the passage takes to traverse.

Vertical (~90*) if they’re two or more levels apart. This has a +2 Dice Modifier.

Next is how, in general, the Route is structured.

1-2: Walkway. Large enough in diameter to make your way through without any squeeze.

3-4: Crawl. Hands and knees territory. This has a +1 Dice Modifier

5-6: Squeeze. Walls up against you. You almost have to stay calm in order to even fit. This has a +2 Dice Modifier.

Write W, C or S along the line representing the route.

This is your basic Block.

Let’s talk about Time in a little more detail. Each Route is a point of decision making. Do the players travel down it or find another path? Time eats away at resources. Time is important in time-sensitive situations. And it's an important factor in creating tension in your OSR games. When the players traverse a Route have them roll a D6, adding any modifiers for the route. Each result equals that many 10 minute increments. On a 6, the die explodes and another D6 is rolled, adding any remaining modifiers. Tracking time through the use of PbtA/Blades style Clocks with six 10 minute sections I can fill in.

If your players want to find another route not on your card to a room on or not on your card then they can roll to determine how long it takes for them to find it. The building is a maze of cracks and crevices, and since we don’t want the players to be wasting their time they’ll always find the passageway. Usually they’ll probably want to skip a dangerous vertical climb by breaking it up into a longer Slope or maybe they’re just looking for a random room off the beaten path. If they are roll one up quickly and mark the new Route as a dotted line.

There are a few rules that are important in order to maintain verisimilitude. The time it takes to climb up a Route is twice as long than it is climbing down. The time it takes to travel through a Route is halved if it has already been traversed

Once you’ve got your Block repeat this process a couple of times and then arrange them like this.

This is your building (or part of it). This setup is conceptually the same as stacking cards of the same letter on top of each other with the higher number on top.

The highlighted areas of the cards are all areas that are on top each other, either directly below or above.

To the right is the concept from a different angle. The North area of Block A1 is right under the North Area of Block A2. If the players were in a Level 3 Room in the North area of A1 they could travel through a Slope Passage to a Level 1 Room in the North area of A2.

Simply draw any routes between the cards/blocks, connecting them. I’ve found when I use this method at the table I can hold the cards around them like a hand in poker, but when I’m playing a game of Discord I have no problem laying out the relevant cards in the way drawn above. How many you want to place down entirely depends on how many you want to generate at a time. Think the limited view distance in old video games popping objects up or having them vanish. 

You could probably use this for running a crawl through castle ruins in your classic fantasy campaign too. Or a dungeon that goes straight down.

In further posts we’ll talk about what players will find in these rooms, how to structure an encounter within this framework and the idea of Power as both the amount of light remaining and fuel for chainsaws and laser weapons. Also monsters.

All images copyright 2018 Chris Wood Ink.