#tav multiverse

[vixstarria]

Bloodbang Chronicles - Chapter 13 - Tiriel the Barbarian

Chapter summary: Can Astarion handle not one but two drunk red-headed half-crazed half-elves?! Also, a cautionary tale of drinking and exhausting all of one's spell slots.

Chapter word count: 5.3k

Chapter CW: drunk and disorderly behaviour, gore

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Series summary:

Five years have passed since the confrontation with the Netherbrain. Astarion and his warlock lover, Asmodea, are living it up in Baldur’s Gate, running a cabaret. Their life of decadence and debauchery seems idyllic, until Asmodea’s patron disrupts it with a proposal. One that seems too good to be true. One they cannot refuse.

Pairing: Astarion x Original Female Character

Genre: Humor / adventure / smut

Rating: Explicit

“Hold it firmly, with both hands. No, not there, hold it near the end. …There, that’s better. Good. Now brace yourself, bring one leg forward and align it with where you want it to go. Goood… Now lift it over your head… No, what are you doing? Don’t flick your wrists, limp wrists will get you nowhere. Yep, like that. Now show me how you’re going to do it, without releasing. Nonono, aim straight ahead, not above your head… Yes, good job. And don’t worry about rotating it. There we go��� Again. One more time. Perfect. Perfect technique. You’re doing so well. One more time, and you can let go. …Now release!”

The axe flew out of Asmodea’s hands, spinning recklessly towards a tree trunk. It successfully met its mark, firmly lodging itself in the bark, though, miraculously, it penetrated the tree with a corner of its handle, rather than the blade of the axe head.

Tiriel cocked her head and released a low whistle at the sight.

“So… What you just did is actually really impressive. …But I know you did it by accident, so you still lost. Drink up!”

Astarion observed the absurd scene from the opposite edge of their campsite’s clearing. There was something similar about the two half-elven women, though he couldn’t quite pin-point it down to any particular feature. Curious about their level of vigilance in their obvious inebriation, he deliberately stepped on a twig, making it snap. Both women spun, wild-eyed, in his direction - Tiriel lifting her own throwing axe, and Asmodea raising her hands, ready to hurl magic at any intruders - both alert and ready for violence, though decidedly unsteady on their feet. Ah… There it is, he thought. The spark of madness…

“You’re back!” Tiriel exclaimed. “Good. Assie here keeps trying to convince me she’d make an excellent berserker.” Astarion held his breath, waiting for an eldritch blast to befall the hapless woman for butchering Asmodea’s name, but it never followed - instead, Asmodea only grinned at him proudly. “You can take over making sure she doesn’t accidentally hurt herself, I’ve got some business to take care of.”

With that, Tiriel headed out beyond the clearing, past the tree they had been using for target practice. Having made it a few steps out, she paused, threw a wary glance at Asmodea and the axe she had retrieved from the tree trunk, and walked in the opposite direction instead.

Astarion only chuckled and sat down on a log near the fire. Within seconds of sitting down, he found Asmodea on his lap, impish smile on her lips.

Her breath smelled of a weird combination of mint and ale from the peculiar halfling brew she and Tiriel had been drinking. He knew she had enough alcohol in her blood for it to affect him. It was… tempting. Very much so. Especially now, when he desperately wanted to get his mind off the encounter he had earlier in the night. His mind had been spinning and spiraling out of control the entire way back to camp from the abandoned shack.

His lips caught hers in an eager and needy kiss, grappling for any peace that she might give him, seeking to lose himself in it, even if only temporarily.

“You and Tiriel seem to be getting along like a house on fire,” he murmured in her ear, gathering her closer against himself.

His lips traced down her jawline and to her neck, until he grazed it with his fangs in silent question.

Asmodea squirmed in his lap and leaned away, holding a finger against his lips.

“Better not,” she said. “Don’t want things to get out of hand while we’ve got company.”

“Oh?” Astarion said, genuinely surprised. “I was sure you were going to suggest we invite our new friend over to our tent to play.”

“She’s not interested in me,” Asmodea said with a solemn smile.

“How do you know?”

“I can tell,” she said, simply. She then tilted her head at Astarion for a moment, before gasping and giggling. “You’re disappointed!”

“Disappointed?!” he sputtered in mock dismay. “Darling, I’m relieved, dealing with two red-headed half-elves might just be the final death of me.”

Asmodea laughed and slid off his lap, also staggering off into the bushes just as Tiriel returned.

Tiriel didn’t say anything, but rather sat down to dig around her bag, appearing to look for gods only knew what, whilst throwing increasingly long and thoughtful glances at Astarion from beneath her brow.

“You’re staring,” he said, finally. “Rather intensely, in fact. What is it?”

“I can’t shake off the feeling that I know you from somewhere,” Tiriel said, frowning.

“Have you visited any alehouses in Baldur’s Gate over the past 200 years?” Astarion asked, offhandedly. It may well have been that they’d crossed each other’s paths at some point, though clearly they hadn’t gotten to know each other too closely, else she would be somewhere in the Underdark, likely plotting his demise, and not out in a forest, teaching his wife how to hurl projectile weapons.

“I have, but that’s not what I mean… I feel like I know you, but not from Baldur’s Gate or anywhere here, but…” she paused, trying to find the right words. “It’s as though I knew you in another life, or… on another plane of existence,” Tiriel tried to explain.

Astarion barked a sudden laugh, catching Tiriel off guard.

“Another one!” he said, as though to himself. “You know, you’re not the first person to tell me that,” he said to Tiriel.

“No?” she blinked.

“No, I’ve heard that from several people. Why, even our bouncer, Ban, said the very same thing almost in those exact words,” said Astarion. “Only she thinks she and I were bats in whatever other world she met me in,” he chuckled.

“Do you ever feel like you’ve met these people before too..?” asked Tiriel.

“My memory is full of gaping holes and I try not to dwell on whether I’ve met anyone before, much less the circumstances of the meetings,” Astarion deflected. “But ah…” he paused before continuing, “I would appreciate if you didn’t mention this to Oddie. She’s not too fond of these doppelganger sighting. Stopped thinking it was funny after the first three, in fact. Wouldn’t want her to hold me accountable for whatever trouble all my alter egos are getting up to on all these alternative planes,” he said with a toothy grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Tiriel nodded, just as Asmodea crashed back onto the clearing through the bushes.

“So d’you see anything interesting while you were prowling around?” she asked, plopping down onto а log.

Astarion hesitated before answering.

“As a matter of fact, I met the vampire the Hornhollow residents were so concerned about,” he said.

“You WHAT?!” Tiriel exclaimed, getting back up on her feet. “Well, where is it?!”

“And weren’t there s’pposed to be two?” added Asmodea.

“There was only one, I told you the villagers were exaggerating,” Astarion lied. “And how in the hells should I know,” he shrugged at Tiriel. “I told him to scram and he left. He won’t be bothering the villagers and their dogs any more.”

“FUCK!” Tiriel’s shout just about shook the trees around the clearing. “I don’t give a damn if he bothers them or not - no proof of kill means no pay, and I needed that bounty money!”

Astarion bristled at her tone, but before he could say anything, Asmodea cut in.

“Now wait a minute, Tir. You can’t just… go around killing people only because they stole a chicken and scared someone.”

“It’s a vampire!” Tiriel said, as though stating the obvious to someone ignorant, and as though Astarion wasn’t sitting with his fangs bared just a few paces from her. “And I need new boots.”

“Vampires are people like you and I. They just have… unfortunate dietary restrictions,” Asmodea slurred, parroting words she’d heard said by Katrina about vampires. Alas, the diplomatic turn of phrase did not deter Tiriel’s rage.

“It committed a crime, and had a bounty on its head. A bounty is a bounty. And you,” she said, gesturing at Astarion, “made me miss out on it!”

“Do you honestly think you could have taken him on?” Astarion said, narrowing his eyes. “He’d have charmed you and made you his thrall before you knew what was happening.”

“I nearly had you, didn’t I?” Tiriel retorted with a grim smile.

“Shut up, both of you,” Asmodea cut in, again. “How much was the bounty?”

Tiriel named an amount so paltry, Asmodea and Astarion could barely keep their faces straight on hearing it.

“Why don’t we just give you that sum? For the inconvenience, ale, axe-throwing lessons and good company?” Asmodea suggested.

“Do I look like a whore to you, taking payment for my company?!” Tiriel exploded again, choosing to disregard a good portion of what Asmodea had just said. Astarion belatedly remembered that the tribes of the Sunset Mountains, from which Tiriel had told them she hailed, had prickly and complex notions when it came to matters of honour.

“So you won’t take our money, the vampire the villagers wanted dead is gone, and you can’t kill this one in his stead,” Asmodea said, gesturing at Astarion. “What do you suggest?”

Tiriel hmphed, her lips drawn into a tight line, and looked away, arms crossed, considering something.

“The villagers have another bounty up,” she said, finally, looking back at Asmodea and Astarion. “On gnolls. They say there’s a pack of them that’s been roaming the forest.” Astarion rolled his eyes and groaned, but Asmodea perked up, excitedly. “I heard their yowling out there, deeper in the woods,” Tiriel said, gesturing. “They’re easy prey, but there’s too many of them for me to take on by myself. Help me, and we’ll be even.”

“We’ll do it!” Asmodea said, jumping back up on her feet.

“Darling…” Astarion began.

“Great! They’re not far, if we set out now, we’ll be finished well before sunrise.”

“Let’s go!”

“Darling,” Astarion repeated.

“What?!” Asmodea snapped.

“Darling, you’re drunk,” he said, pointedly. “Both of you are, in fact.”

“Yes, I fight best after a few ales,” Tiriel said, once again giving him a look like she was explaining something obvious to a child.

“Do you think I can’t handle a few gnolls?!” Asmodea said, projecting defiance and indignation with her very stance, her fists planted on her hips. The gesture was somewhat ruined by a loud hickup that escaped her throat.

“Come on,” Tiriel picked up her greataxe and beckoned Asmodea to follow her. The warlock happily obliged, first taking another hasty but deep swig of the brew they’d been drinking, and grabbing one of Astarion’s harnesses containing a multitude of bladed weapons.

And just like that, Astarion found himself silently cursing and trailing behind the two women as they headed deeper into the woods. Bloodying his daggers wasn’t the worst alternative to what he initially had in mind when he returned to the clearing, he reluctantly admitted to himself.

“Who’s a good little creature? Who’s the goodest, good widdle critter?? Yes, you! Who wants to go kill some beasties??? You wanna go kill, yeah??! You wanna spill some blood??? Yes you do!!!” Asmodea cooed and lilted enthusiastically, stomping and crushing through the forest. She had gotten ahead of Tiriel and Astarion in her eagerness for bloodshed.

“Who is she talking to..?” Tiriel asked Astarion, cautiously, keeping her voice low, as they crept after her.

Astarion released a resigned sigh.  

“She says it’s her patron, but to be honest, sometimes I wonder whether she’s just insane,” he replied.

Abruptly, Asmodea stopped, raising her arm in a halting gesture. 

“They’re close,” she whispered, crouching down and creeping forward quietly.

The sight that unfolded before them would not have made the gnoll god Yeenoghu proud.

A ragtag group of a dozen or so gnolls - most of them on the scrawnier side, presumably all strays chased off from other packs, who had banded together - surrounded a central bonfire, barking and snarling at one another in something that sounded like rudimentary Low Common. Crude weapons lay scattered around the makeshift camp. Several hyenas lay gnawing on bones of unknown origin. They had not detected anyone’s presence yet, perhaps being unable to smell or hear anything through their own stench and ruckus.

“How do you want to handle this?” Astarion whispered.

“The pincer maneuver,” Tiriel answered. “I’ll circle round and leap into their midst. They won’t expect it. You two, get to high ground and pick them off with your arrows and spells. I doubt they’ll manage to react fast enough to harm me, but if it looks like I’m in trouble, pick off the ones closest to me. Can I trust the accuracy of your arrows, elf?”

“The answer you seek lies within your very question,” Astarion scoffed.

“…What?” Tiriel looked at him, her face void of understanding.

“…Yes, damnit,” Astarion spat.

“So why not just say that?” Tiriel chided. “Good. Now, just give me a minute.”

Tiriel gripped her greataxe, shutting her eyes. She breathed in, deeply, through her nose, and exhaled. She repeated this over and over again, each time the breaths growing more ragged, until she began to hum on her exhales. Astarion had seen Karlach do something similar when working herself up into a berserker rage.

Tiriel’s eyes shot open. Though they were beginning to glaze over with an animalistic fury, she wasn’t quite fully gone yet, and she began to creep around the gnoll camp, continuing her breathing regiment.

Something about the primal simplicity of it, as well as her casual control of the uncontrollable, was terrifying, Astarion had to admit.

“I’ll boost you up a tree,” he said, turning to Asmodea, only to find that she was nowhere to be found. “Oddie..?” He whipped his head around, searching for her, and finally spotted her edging the gnoll camp in a direction opposite to Tiriel’s. “What do you think you’re doing?!” he hissed.

Asmodea held a finger up to her lips and shushed him, grinning entirely too mischievously for his liking.

“Oddie,” Astarion repeated with a warning in his tone. Asmodea only giggled and waved him off, turning towards the gnoll camp. “Oddie, no,” he said firmly.

She paid him no mind, instead getting up and bringing her fingers up to her mouth, to release a shrill whistle.

“Gods fucking damnit, Od!” Astarion cursed, grabbing his bow.

“Heeeeere, puppy!” Asmodea yelled. “C’mere, boy! To heel, you ugly mutt!”

With those words, she snickered and disappeared off into the woods. Several gnolls and a hyena took off after her. Off to Astarion’s side, somewhere across the gnoll camp, Tiriel released a bloodcurdling scream and hurled herself into the encampment, immediately taking out a gnoll with her very first blow. Amidst all the chaos that was breaking loose, Astarion never had a chance to release a single arrow, as he found himself face to face with a snarling gnoll, and reached for his daggers instead.

Asmodea sped through the forest, ululating and leaping over roots and collapsed tree trunks, as the beasts chased after her.

She reached for the throwing stars contained in Astarion’s harness – shuriken, the vendor had called them – as she ran. She doubted she could have caused any real harm if she flung them at her pursuers, but that wasn’t the plan anyway. Instead, she began dropping them on the ground.

“Let me in,” Fuckface whispered, their anticipation palpable.

She did.

She lowered her barriers, allowing her patron deeper into her mind, letting their presence unfold and spread through her.

She felt Fuckface’s psyche blending and merging with her own, the lines between the two blurring. Her mind buzzed and whirled with ghosts of thoughts and notions that couldn’t have been hers. Newfound wonder and joy at the mundane, together with inexplicable streaks of cruelty or indifference which were too unlike her, couldn’t have been her. Surely.

What was ordinarily limited to telepathic conversation and the sharing of her sight expanded into her patron gaining deeper insight into all her senses. She knew the fey could now taste the very air she breathed and feel the pleasant burn of her muscles as she raced - all so alien and strange but all the more enticing to them. In turn, she felt more alert. More resilient. More alive. Lighter on her feet. Everything appeared just a little bit sharper, her hearing became just a touch more acute. All her little aches and pains that had been distressing her body melted away into nothingness, replaced with vigour and energy.

And, most importantly, her very being brimmed with magic, begging to be used, percolating at her very fingertips.

It was euphoric. Exhilarating.

And so she screamed for joy and ran, letting the fey feel the thrill of the run.

As she ran, she reached with her mind for the hyena that chased after her, searching for the cracks and fissures in its psyche, and slipped inside, effortlessly, and sent the beast running on an alternate path.

Astarion wouldn’t have approved, but what he didn’t know couldn’t bother him.

She allowed one of the gnolls to get so close she could just about feel its hot, rancid breath on the back of her neck, before tittering and misty stepping away in a different direction at the last moment.

The gnolls skidded to a stop, seeming to have lost her for the moment.

“Here boy,” she yelled at them. “Fetch!” With that, she hurled a firebolt in their direction, badly singing one of them. And the chase was on again.

A new gnoll that must have broken off from the camp, appeared right in front of Asmodea as she ran, but the hyena she had claimed bolted from the undergrowth, sprinting and slamming into it from the opposite side, knocking it over and tearing at its throat. Asmodea paused only long enough to bury her pact-bound dagger into the gnoll's guts while it was distracted by the hyena, and kept moving.

Misty step. Firebolt. Sprint. All the while dropping more throwing stars in new spots, gradually taking the gnolls in a circle. Repeat, until Asmodea or Fuckface, she couldn’t tell which at that point, grew bored.

Finally, just as the gnolls were on her, Asmodea released a bone-chilling howl that had the gnolls stop in their tracks, clutching at their heads, before they stumbled away, fleeing in a desperate attempt to escape something only they could see.

The silver mist enveloped her again, and Asmodea teleported to a different spot, positioning herself atop a small hill at the base of a tree. The approach was root-laden and covered with thick moss.

The gnolls had recovered from their mass panic and were amassing on her once more, more cautiously now.

“Little doglets,” she cooed. “Not even your mothers could bear to look at those muzzles, huh? Banished, exiled from tribe and clan? Unwanted. Useless. Pathetic.” 

One of the gnolls lifted a spear in her direction.

“Puny bitch,” it snarled, its voice guttural, words barely understandable. “Scumfang wear your skull as codpiece."

Asmodea’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. How did Scumfang know the word ‘codpiece’..? Ah well. She wasn’t about to delve deeper into its vocabulary, alas.

With a gesture, Asmodea brought all the throwing stars she had dropped flying towards the group of gnolls. They lodged themselves haphazardly in the gnolls’ flesh, most sinking into haunches and shoulders, only one winding up in a gnoll’s neck. This seemed to anger them more than anything. One gnoll charged forward, but an eldritch blast knocked it back into the others, sending them all sprawling in a snarling, yelping mass.

‘Look at these ugly, stupid beasts...’ she thought. ‘How can anything this base even live..? Vermin. Parasites. Why should this mindless evil deserve life when so much good perishes, for nothing..? They don’t belong here. A blight on this forest. On this very world. A festering boil that must be lanced. I will purge them. Burn them. Cut them to shreds. Let their blood soak and fertilise the soil so that new things will grow. Rend their flesh and turn it to mulch. Feed them to the worms. Tear them. KILL THEM. END THEM.’

Another gesture, and the throwing stars began to spin.

An explosion of blood and gore followed. After the initial burst, the throwing stars left the torn flesh and continued to spin and fly, haphazardly, continuing to lacerate anything that crossed their path. The gnolls howled and tried to crawl out of the onslaught, but it was all happening too fast: flesh, tendons and blood vessels being torn faster than they could react.

Suddenly finding herself lightheaded, Asmodea hunkered down to sit on her heels, watching her modified cloud of daggers do its job at the base of the hill. She was pleased, very much so. She hadn’t had a chance to test the spell with the throwing stars until then. The only downside was that it was all over too soon: Astarion had laced each projectile with poison to boot.

Somewhere within her mind, Fuckface all but danced for joy. Asmodea smiled. It had been so long since they last coalesced this way. There was no reason to wait so long again, no.

After some unsuccessful attempts, she had given up on even trying to explain or describe this connection or its depth to Astarion. He wouldn’t have understood. No, he would have been horrified by it. Disgusted, most likely, given his history... He already often complained about his dislike of having to share her. The jealousy was cute, in a way, if unjustified and undue to begin with. She was never ��shared’. What she offered him never diminished. Rather, through this connection, she was more than she had ever been before. And she would become yet more.

She was brought out of her musings when she abruptly realised that everything around her had grown silent, aside from all the regular night forest sounds. The gnolls lay dead. The cloud of daggers had exhausted itself, the projectiles all having dropped into the pile of viscera.

Asmodea slid down the hill through the moss, wrinkling her nose at the distasteful mess, and began retrieving the shuriken. Thankfully all had ended up near the top.

Asmodea was considering whether it was worth casting prestidigitation to clean them off, or whether to simply wipe them, when her thoughts were interrupted.

“You’ve done enough for now. Go find your vampling,” Fuckface’s words sounded in her head.

The fey had a point. Prestidigitation would have been wasteful. She already felt like she was close to her limit.

Sounds of battle reached her as she made her way toward the gnoll camp. Could they possibly still have been going..? Suddenly worried, she directed her thoughts as Fuckface.

‘We have to get there, fast.’

‘A final burst,’ the fey acquiesced.

Another series of leaps via misty step, and Asmodea stumbled out onto the clearing, gasping from the rush.

Tiriel and Astarion, but especially Tiriel, were covered in blood - not their own, from the look of it. Asmodea glimpsed Astarion throwing her a look of concern, which turned to exasperation as soon as he was satisfied that she was unharmed. 

They had finished off most of the gnolls, but one still remained - the largest, most scarred, ugliest gnoll, which couldn’t have been anything but the pack’s chieftain. They circled it, cautiously, but it waved a massive polearm, not letting them get close enough to strike. Didn’t Astarion have a bow..? What happened to that?

“Wait… Just one more…” she pleaded with Fuckface.

“Last one.”

With a low, throaty laugh Asmodea raised her arms, readying a string of eldritch blasts. It had been years since she’d last pulled something like this off, and when she did, it was on a target much smaller, but this was the perfect opportunity to practice. Now if only she angled and timed them just right, making the bursts criss-cross and overlap just so…

Power surged from her hands, as she cast three blasts in a rapid succession. The force with which the blasts collided with the gnoll’s body from different angles tore it into pieces where it stood. The head, which had been ripped off the neck, rolled towards Tiriel’s feet. It was an instant - if an extremely messy - death.

Tiriel swore, recoiling in surprise, before breaking out into a laugh.

Asmodea approached Astarion on unsteady legs, still giggling.

“Rest now, little one,” a whisper sounded in her mind.

Fuckface withdrew, taking its power with them. Exhaustion hit her with the force of a charging rothe. Her knees buckled, and she sagged against Astarion, clutching onto his shoulder. He caught her, looking at her with worry again.

“Ahhh! Now wasn’t that fun?” Asmodea grinned as he scowled.

A limping hyena approached her and Astarion, looking at them questioningly. She and Astarion both turned to look it.

“Shoo!” Asmodea hissed at it, finally breaking the mental connection that she hadn’t realised still lingered. The animal whimpered and bolted, its tail tucked. Astarion frowned but did not say anything.

Meanwhile, Tiriel had picked up the gnoll head by its mane.

“This will be enough for the bounty, it’s huge,” she said. “Is she alright..?” Tiriel added, looking at Asmodea.

“’m fine,” Asmodea slurred, though her vision was beginning to blur. “Just need a little nap.”

“Idiot,” Astarion muttered, lifting her off her feet. “Never do that again, you hear?”

“Hmm? Oh I w-” she never got to finish what she was saying, as she lost consciousness.

She didn’t feel any better once she came to at the camp.

Fuckface had been right when they told her her power waned from disuse. She could do more, much more, before. Her body had grown unaccustomed to the stress. She needed practice to build up a resistance to the exhaustion. In the meantime, she didn’t think she could gather enough magic to lift a feather until she rested properly.

She and Astarion decided to spend another day at their campsite. There was no point trying to move further - the night was almost over.

“Will you stay with us longer?” Asmodea asked Tiriel.

Tiriel shook her head.

“Better not. I’ll head back to Hornhollow - wash all this gnoll off me with a proper bath, then pass out in a proper bed. Besides, I don’t trust the innkeeper not to rummage through the things I left there.”

“I guess this is it, then,” Asmodea said sadly, before perking up again momentarily. “Wait, I’ve got something for you.”

She disappeared inside the tent, to return with something pink, gossamer and trimmed with feathers in her arms.

“…What in the…” Tiriel blinked, looking at the bundle in horror.

“It’s a dressing gown! I want you to have it.”

“You really are out of your mind,” Tiriel said point blank, once she had regained her voice.

“No, no, I know what you’re thinking, but hear me out… Here’s my vision. You’re on a quest. You were tasked with rescuing a captive. A prince! Who’s a vampire. …A handsome, silver-haired one.” Astarion snorted where he sat, cleaning his nails with a dagger. Asmodea ignored him and went on. “His captors are huddled together, scheming how best to torture him, when a fearsome battle cry shakes the very ground they stand on. They look up and cower in fear, for lo and behold - it is you. You are power. You are vengeance. You grip your greataxe and take a stance as your frilly pink robe flutters in the wind! You are death incarnate.”

Tiriel guffawed and accepted the robe with one hand, drawing Asmodea into a hug that nearly cracked her ribs with the other.

“Very well! And you take this throwing axe,” she said, removing the weapon from her belt loop and handing it to Asmodea. “Try to hit your target with the right end, next time.”

“Farewell, Astarion!” she said, still choosing not to get too close to the vampire. “Thank you for not drinking me dry.”

“Thank you for not leaving any stake-sized splinters in me, it would have been most inconvenient,” Astarion said snidely, baring her fangs, but gave Tiriel a cordial nod and wave nonetheless. “Do stop at the Dancing Siren if you’re ever in Baldur’s Gate. I expect we’ll make it back there again… ah… eventually.”

And with that, she was gone.

In the ensuing quiet, Astarion’s thoughts immediately snapped back to the gnomes and all the implications surrounding them. He glanced at Asmodea - she had taken out her travel journal - something he hadn’t seen her written in since their journey back to Baldur’s Gate after the nautiloid crash, and was busy scribbling away in it. He watched her through his lashes.

Eyes the colour of sunlit leaves, locked on her writing. A soothing, lulling heartbeat. Warm hands. Warm skin. Warm blood.

He had already made up his mind, he realised.

He couldn’t even tell her about the freed spawn capabilities. Even if she didn’t immediately demand to join him in undeath, she was already reckless - she would only throw all caution out the window completely, if she thought that he could drag her out of death’s maw should it ever come to that.

No, he had to keep the knowledge to himself. It was safer for everyone that way.

Besides, he didn’t even know how it was done… The gnome must have done something wrong. Or been too weak. Or his spawn must have already lost her mind by the time he turned her. Must have…

Asmodea had finished writing in her journal and set it aside, gazing into the fire instead.

“Finished documenting your heroic battle with the gnoll mongrels already?” asked Astarion.

“The gnolls aren’t worth the ink or paper,” she answered. “But I’ve been thinking… I remember events from five years ago just fine. Ten - it starts to get blurry, but mostly remains intact. Twenty - I have a notion of what went on, but the blanks I must fill in are bigger than the pieces that remain. What will happen in another ten years? Another thirty? More? I can’t fall back on reverie to preserve my memories. Will I even be the same person if I can’t remember who I once was?”

“Is that why you’ve started this again?” Astarion asked, gesturing at the journal. Asmodea nodded. “May I?”

“Sure,” Asmodea shrugged, handing him the journal. “It’s only brief notes.”

Astarion opened the journal at the last page with writing. Having read the passage, he shut the journal and looked up at Asmodea.

“Earth-shatteringly deep,” he said with an unreadable expression.

“I told you, it’s brief. Just breadcrumbs for my mind to find its way back to this day.”

‘Met a feisty barbarian named Tiriel,’ the passage read.‘Hot tempered. Hot headed. Hot. Bonded over ale and exterminating some gnolls. Had to part ways after. Pity. DNF.’

“What does ‘DNF’ stand for?” asked Astarion.

“Oh that. ‘Did not fu-’”

Asmodea’s voice faltered as a man with a drawn bow emerged from behind a tree.

“You have got to be kidding me, twice in one night?!” Astarion sneered. “Are we in some amateur two-copper adventure tale?”

Another joined him. Then another, and another, and more, until they were surrounded.

Astarion threw a glance at Asmodea to gage her reaction, and saw that she had paled, eyes trained on the only man who did not have a drawn weapon. With a subtle, one-handed gesture concealed from everyone else, she slipped off her wedding ring and hid it in her sleeve.

“Well, well!” The man said to Asmodea, jovially. “Fancy seeing you again, after all these years!” He cast a sweeping gaze over their camp and laughed. “And I do believe you still have something that belongs to me!”

~~~~~

Thank you for reading!

Tiriel belongs to my friend @spacebarbarianweird. Thank you for letting me borrow her! ^_^ Read more about Tiriel in her Raging Blood series, and check out her other works!

Find the fic on AO3 as well.

Tags:

@littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tragedybunny @spunky-89

@lariatbunny@whiskeyskin @asterordinary @wingsy-keeper-of-songs @spacebarbarianweird

@brabblesblog @littlejuicebox @icybluepenguin @snowfolly @ayselluna

@mj-bites @bardic-inspo

[lirotation]

This is a gift to one of my watcher on Deviantart. Her request is following.

since Astarion can't remember ever swimming, he and Nerosa making that memory together. The two of them in the water, either playfully splashing each other like children, or wrapped in each other's tender embrace.

I Absolutely love her OC Nerosa! Such a beautiful Tiefling. While I was painting this I was thinking to myself, well, good thing my Amaara was not this complicated, or I will never hope to do any comic or animation with my cp ever.

Conversation for this scene:

Astarion: This is quite lovely. Well, it seems I do recall how to swim after all these years. Not that I make a habit of plunging into water willingly.

Nerosa: It's glorious, is it not? We should swim together often!

Astarion: Oh I think not. Hours of careful grooming, wasted! Do you have any idea how long it takes to achieve my usual perfect hair? Why, it could take until moonrise just to regain my usual radiance.

[averiix]

I am rotating this mf in my brain- he will not leave- fml- I love him sm- 😭🥺

[durgeteriormotives]

Good morning ❤️ Art by Heph

The little blue tiefling Alamo belongs to Feydstan

The elf cursed with tiefling horns (and tail not pictured) is my durge Cain

[pxiedustnblades]

Leila - The doomed lover ——

while it comes to no surprise that I have a tiefling for a new character, I cannot deny the excitement for her story.

Little background on her creation - if I may. Leila had always sort of been in my life. Not always as such this form. No, in fact she was two seperate characters from my middle school days. Two characters I had a fondness for, and yet never quite fit the mold of the universes they were born into. Thus being stuck in a permanent limbo with only my attachment keeping them alive. No true story, no true home, no true family, etc. Not wanting them sitting in the dank storage recesses of my mind for all time, I fused them. Thus, birthing Leila - a perfect hybrid of her mothers. (If my deviantart wasn’t deactivated I’d show you them) Now since her predecessors were originally of different franchises, she now stands in as my multiverse child; her timelines and stories forever expanding as she discovers them. (She is my go-to in customizable rpg styled games)

While, yes, her canon design is a tiefling, her story is not bound to the Baldur’s Gate story - no- in fact she doesn’t have an exact story. Her stories are infinitely possible as her; her body taking on the form and adapting to fit the mold of the story as needed.

Her stories follow a set of patterns, but as of right now she does not have a cemented one. Typically taking on the form of an orphan/street urchin, Leila grows up typically fending for herself. Only at some point later in life to join a guild/group at some point to make life better for those so they wouldn’t have to suffer like she did. Something usually goes down and she becomes a reliable heroine. Usually falling in love, in the process and only for her to meet some tragic fate in the end. a heroes sacrifice so to speak. That or only get a mildly happy ending.

However, as of right now, her true canon lover, does not share the same world with her. Least not in her true universe. He is of a separate timeline. Another canon timeline. One where there romance is a mere blip in the story. While she does know of him in her true timeline, she can only rely on finding him in his timeline. That or by some miracle, find someone that embodies a similar energy. She still does love the individual as themselves, but finding that echo of her true lover, is usually a driving force in that fated bond. Only when the two find one another in the true timeline, will her variants get their happy endings.

[Leila romanced Garrus in Mass effect. Her guardian in BG3 is a half-elf variant of Garrus as well. Thus her lover’s variant meant for her is meant to embody that energy in her true timeline.]

That’s all to say, Leila will find her happy ending eventually. I hope you all will love her as much as I do.

[wetcatspellcaster]

Hello! In the spirit of Rosalie Lore questions I have one as well. As long as it’s not spoilers, how do you see their relationship with Astarion when she’s significantly older — in her sixties, seventies, eighties and beyond?

hmmm, anon. I'm worried this one could potentially have consequences!

generally, I'm happy to have everyone imagine whatever future they want for the characters as I write them. I finish my fics at the point where I'm happy and the story feels complete to me, I'm honestly not particularly fussed about what's comes after. I also know a lot of people are having feelings about immortality vs. mortality in the case of Rosalie, and I'm more than happy for people to end their comfort reading in whatever way gives them most comfort! If you want a world where they're together forever, you go for it!

with that being said, I'm also happy to answer your question, I've just put it under the cut so if people want to resolve things the way they want them they have that option. don't like don't read!

for me, I genuinely don't see many timelines - except Pieces, where they have lost time to make up for and to mourn - where Rosalie isn't mortal. this is partly bc I didn't know tiefling age ranges, when I first wrote her - I'd misunderstood the source text, and thought they lived a lot longer than they did!! (to like 150-200 years). when I found out i was wrong, it did feel sad initially, but I found that I actually liked that feeling bc it mirrored something in my own experience, of thinking you have more time with a person than you end up having (insert gesture to personal life here. but alongside a gesture to shadowgast, my favourite critical role ship. i love immortal/mortal pairings actually, D&D is fucked up for putting humans in a world where others live for half a millenia).

so I imagine that, even in timelines where Astarion is cured of vampirism or True Resurrected, as an elf in his??? late 30s?? he outlives Rosalie by a long way. I think as Rosalie ages, they stay together but their relationship gradually becomes more platonic from her 60s/70s, the same way that most marriages that have lasted a really long time become more companionable, with romance and desire still there but intimacy being the primary factor. if sex is something Astarion wants (I fall differently on this issue every time I think about it) they potentially move to an Open Relationship in Rosalie's elderly life, but every other need I imagine is still fulfilled the way a relationship between two aging people is fulfilled. they can still be close, still live together, still have fun. and then, yes. Rosalie dies at some point.

I know that this is not something people like to imagine for their comfort characters, so I'm not going to force the issue! But it is my personal belief that even if any romanced!Tav dies - not just Rosalie - the impact that they have on Astarion's life going forward is probably astronomical and indelible. They have helped him, over a stretch of decades, build up the tools with which to enjoy and appreciate whatever life he makes for himself after them. He care about others, and can form connections with others, partly because of them. I imagine he goes on to have future relationships, and though none of them are the same ,they are had in the knowledge that she was the person that made them possible. That doesn't mean that all of the future partners are inferior to her, they're just different - and I think those partners are probably capable of appreciating and cherishing the memory of her along with him, because they know she helped shape the man they love, and they know it's partly because of her that he's even alive.

[bakarspace]

OMG IT'S ZORN!

Ahahaha I am so "funny" 🥲😅 Pretend to laugh please 🥲 Nah just kidding 😅 I got this silly idea since we thechnicly have two Zorn's 😏 The og and Baldur's gate universe so my brain decided to be funny and drew this very know spiderman meme 🤦🏻

[mytavruin]

Oh gowd. this comic is killing me.

[thetavernintheinbetween]

This is the blog for a Home variant named Tavvie who is a tavern in the In-Between, the space, well, in-between, the various AUs and timelines of the Welcome Home Multiverse. You can ask questions to Tav as well as her employees here!

Rules: No NSFW asks No offensive asks Don't be a jerk The basement is off-limits ASKS ARE OPEN!

[tavs-brainworm]

Me naming my bg3 oc after a figure in greek mythology: sick 👍

Me finding out there’s a god in dnd lore with the same name but a completely different vibe, who it makes no sense at all for my oc to be named for:

[vixstarria]

Bloodbang Chronicles - Chapter 12 - Mercy

Chapter summary: Armed intruders and moral and ethical conundrums, how fun.

Chapter word count: 2.6k

Previous chapter | Series masterlist | AO3 | Overall masterlist

Series summary:

Five years have passed since the confrontation with the Netherbrain. Astarion and his warlock lover, Asmodea, are living it up in Baldur’s Gate, running a cabaret. Their life of decadence and debauchery seems idyllic, until Asmodea’s patron disrupts it with a proposal. One that seems too good to be true. One they cannot refuse.

Pairing: Astarion x Original Female Character

Genre: Humor / adventure / smut

Rating: Explicit

Asmodea studied the intruder, thoughts racing as she weighed her options.

Would an arrow, especially a silver-tipped one, count as a stake..? Assuming otherwise certainly carried a risk, all things considered.

It was possible Astarion would be able to dodge an arrow - his reflexes, speed, and strength had far surpassed that of ordinary mortals ever since the tadpole was removed from his brain. However, it was still only dusk, and she knew he would still be sluggish at this time of day.

As for anything Asmodea might have done to intervene - there was nothing she could do that would be faster than the simple movement of letting the arrow fly, or that wouldn’t otherwise risk the arrow being released. A Hold spell would likely slacken the woman’s muscles. Any offensive spell would take more time to unleash than it would for the woman to react. Mind control… Though Asmodea had a hunch that it wouldn’t be too difficult to slip into the woman’s psyche - who in their right mind would confront two strangers point blank like this? - even if she did it seamlessly, without triggering the nocked arrow, it would inevitably trigger a fight with Astarion instead, later. ‘Compulsion’ this, ‘just like Cazador’ that, he’s a ‘strong independent vampire and doesn’t need to be protected with the help of her dirty tricks’, and so on and so forth… Asmodea mentally clicked her tongue in frustration. She supposed she would just have to talk to this hare-brained maniac…

“That man is a vampire,” the woman directed at Asmodea.

Oh bless, she thought she was helping…

“Yes, I am aware my husband is a vampire,” Asmodea answered, taking a nonchalant sip from her mug. “You can lower that bow now.”

The woman narrowed her eyes at Asmodea instead, keeping the projectile aimed at Astarion’s chest.

“What’s in your mug?”

“Coffee,” Asmodea said honestly. “Would you like some?”

Catching a suspicious stare from the woman, Asmodea sighed and pulled her upper lip to the side, to demonstrate her appropriately blunted canines.

“There, happy? No fangs. Now kindly put your weapon away, if you don’t mind. It’s bad manners.”

Astarion started to speak, but the woman cut him off with a sharp warning shout, likely assuming he would try to Charm her. Asmodea arched an eyebrow at her in the ensuing silence. The woman shifted on her feet, no doubt starting to feel inadequate in her unmet belligerence.

“…And what does he eat..? Your… husband,” the woman finally asked, warily.

“I keep him on a strict diet of game, wine, pussy and an occasional treat from my own neck. Now for fuck’s sake, will you put that thing down?!” Asmodea snapped, rapidly losing her patience.

At last, the woman lowered her bow with a sigh.

“No, he doesn’t look like someone who preys on chickens and old women…” she muttered.

She then laughed and trampled over to the fire, collapsing onto a log next to Asmodea, as though she hadn’t just accosted her and threatened to kill Astarion. Asmodea was so impressed and dumbstruck by the woman’s sheer audacity that she found herself shaking her offered hand and introducing herself and Astarion, instead of eldritch blasting her.

“My name’s Tiriel,” the woman said, discarding the longbow and instead unstrapping a massive greataxe from her back, placing at her side, within reach. “Did you know, in Hornhollow, the logging village over yonder, there is a bounty on vampires? The villagers say vampires have been stealing their chickens and killing their dogs.” Tiriel turned to look at Astarion. There was an unmistakable unease in her eyes, though she was doing her best to conceal any fear she might have felt. She did not offer a hand to him, however. “You know anything about that?”

Asmodea exchanged a look with Astarion. Had the exodus from the Underdark started and gotten this far already..?

“Vampires would hardly risk revealing themselves just to pilfer some chickens and dogs when there’s a whole wood full of game,” said Astarion, evidently choosing to omit the fact the village was also full of human necks. “Are they sure this was done by vampires..?” 

Tiriel shrugged.

“All they know is, animals are turning up drained of blood, and an old woman nearly died of fright stumbling on someone with red eyes and long fangs, in her barn. She said there were at least two of them.”

“Fear will make mountains out of molehills…” Astarion said, noncommittally. “Could have been some lost kobolds.”

They watched Tiriel continue to make herself at home in their camp, retrieving what appeared to be a well-worn bag of holding, and, impossibly, pulling a keg that was wider than the bag itself out from its depths.

“Whatcha got there?” Asmodea asked with an amused grin.

“Ale! I’ve got all kinds. This one’s Belbuck, halfling-brewed, the good stuff. It’s minty, perfect to freshen your breath after a meal. You want some?”

Asmodea glanced at the remaining dregs of her coffee, broke into incredulous laughter, and tossed her mug’s remnants over her shoulder.

“Sure, why not? We’re in no hurry.”

Astarion made an excuse about scouting their surroundings and left Asmodea and Tiriel laughing and drinking at the campsite. He had to satisfy himself as to whether there were truly other vampires about.

Sure enough, it wasn’t long before he picked up an unmistakable trail. 

 It wasn’t via a sense of smell, not exactly. Rather, it was a prickling sensation somewhere in the back of his brain. Something akin to an incessant noise - not disruptive, not soothing, but simply there. He had gotten used to its constant presence during his time with Cazador. Indeed, he hadn’t known anything but that sensation, until he was transported away by the nautiloid. Its sudden absence struck him then. At first it was frightening, the isolation he felt in the abrupt silence. But, before long, the stillness became peaceful. Experiencing this perturbation again, after years of very few direct encounters with other vampires, was… not irritating, not exactly, but he knew where his preference lay now. And now, the sensation was ramping up and intensifying the closer he got to his quarry - though not before making him guess and fumble as to its source, as though he was playing some demented version of a game of hot and cold.

Eventually he arrived at an abandoned shack that reeked, for a lack of a better word, of his kin.

“I’m just here to talk,” he called out, bracing himself.

He was met with silence.

“I know you’re in there,” he sighed and continued, “so let’s not do anything-”

A figure, the sheer terror of the night personified, all fangs, claws and glowing red eyes, leapt out at him through the window, hissing. He caught it by the neck and held it, one-handed, looking at it incredulously, as it flailed its limbs in impotent rage and frustration.

A gnome vampire. Not even three feet tall. What an utter disgrace.

“Stop that,” Astarion growled, giving the gnome a shake.

The door of the shack flew open and another gnome appeared in the doorway.

“Lord Astarion!” he cried. “Mercy! She is not well.”

The gnome backed away as Astarion entered the shack and dropped the female onto the floor. She scurried over into a corner with a whimper, and crouched, staring at him with a haunted, wild look on her face.

“Make no mistake, I can easily break both of your necks before you as much as scratch me. And believe me, regeneration after a spinal injury is extremely painful,” Astarion warned, sitting down on a window sill.

The woman continued to stare at him like a cornered animal from under her brows, keeping her chin low.

“Pumpkin, it’s Astarion,” the man spoke to her. “One of the Seven. Don’t you remember?”

Astarion frowned as she said nothing and only continued to stare.

“I’m sorry, she’s… not been herself,” her companion apologised for her.

“I can see that,” murmured Astarion. “No matter. How did you end up here? And are you aware there’s a bounty on your heads?”

“We fled the Underdark,” the male gnome explained “Things haven’t been easy there. And yes… I thought that might be the case. I’ve been trying to keep her fed…”

“And must you terrorise the locals to accomplish that?! Look at you two. You could feast on the blood of a single chicken for a week. Hells, just get a pig or a large dog and bleed it occasionally, you’d live like kings,” Astarion went on, gesticulating.

The male only shrugged and spread his hands apologetically, not saying a word. The female gnome released another low growl at Astarion. He eyed her with suspicion, before continuing.

“…And who even brought you in to begin with..? Cazador believed himself above gnomes, I don’t think anyone made the mistake of dragging one back to the manor more than once, not even Yousen.”

“Petras,” spat the male.

The released lesser spawn tended to harbour a vitriolic hate for their direct captors. Astarion couldn’t hold it against them.

“And you?” Astarion asked, approaching the woman. She hissed in response.

“She’s one of Violet’s,” the man hurried to respond, following after Astarion. “Wouldn’t take no for an answer when her human friend was taken, you see…”

“Is that so..?” Astarion murmured, lifting the woman’s chin. She only went limp and squeezed her eyes shut at his touch. “…As I thought,” Astarion sighed, looking at her neck, and turned towards the male gnome. “Every single one of the 7,000 sacrifices brought in to Cazador had his maw imprinted on their necks. This one,” he said, nodding at the woman, “looks like she was bit by a squirrel.” He got up, rounding on the man. “You absolute imbecile, what did you do?!”

“Mercy,” the man whispered, backing away. “I had to... But no one will ever find us! I was only trying to get some human blood - maybe it will make her well!” The gnome went on blabbering, coming up with excuses, as the woman scurried off into an opposite corner, scampering on all fours across the wall. Astarion observed them, barely listening. The words seemed to come through a haze, as a nagging, high-pitched ringing began to manifest in his ears. Suddenly he felt nauseous.

So his suspicions were confirmed. Freed spawn could sire new vampires. This one was clearly mad, but whether something had gone wrong when she was turned, whether it was temporary, or whether this was inevitable - he had no idea. Why hadn’t he pressed Ivar further..?

“How did…” he began to ask, swallowing hard, “…never mind.” Now that he was faced with it, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

He understood his siblings’ reasoning for making the very knowledge of this possibility taboo. No one could know. Even with thousands of them dead, the remaining spawn would spread the curse like a disease. And when it became common knowledge that vampires could increase their ranks this way, they would find themselves hunted to extermination. There would be no trade. No covens and strongholds in the Underdark. No neighbourly relations with drow and druegar. And certainly no flaunting one’s fangs at the Siren.

Yes, this had to be cut at the very root before it spread. He knew that. It wasn’t a question of ‘greater good’ or ‘lesser evil’ or ‘law’ - it was simply about survival, including his own.

Astarion rubbed his temples as the gnome continued yapping.

“Will you shut up?!” he hissed, finally, giving the gnome an exasperated glare.

An unnatural silence held, broken neither by breath nor heartbeat, despite the presence of three beings in the room.

“…Does she listen to you?” Does she obey? “Does she even understand when you speak to her?” Is any of her still even in there?

“I… I can persuade her,” the gnome mumbled. “She’s sweet to me, like… like a stray cat that recognises the one who feeds it. And she follows.”

“Why-” Astarion started to speak before cutting himself off, again. No, he didn’t need to know why. He already knew.

“Mercy…” the gnome repeated again, in a hushed whisper, apparently having lost his resolve for any more pleading.

There was likely a simple answer to the most effective and logical way to proceed with this, Astarion thought, but at that moment it eluded him. What to do..? Let them go and pretend he never saw them? Send them to Waterdeep, to Gale and Katrina? Take them back to camp and ask Oddie or Tiriel for a donation, to see what happened if the female sampled some sentient blood? Execute them? He really ought to do that, shouldn’t he? They all but begged for it themselves, looking at him like two lambs resigned to their own slaughter. It would have been the right thing to do, though damned if he could think of how - he didn’t have any silver on him, unsurprisingly. Catch them, stake them and leave them out for the sun? An image of him chasing after them with a wooden stick as they scampered into opposite directions flashed in his mind, and made him release a nervous, high-pitched giggle. It took an enormous amount of effort to will himself to regain his composure. Finally, he spoke.

“If I thought I should have any say in whether you live or die, I would have killed all seven thousand of you five years ago,” he said.

The gnome stilled completely, in wide-eyed disbelief.

“Make your way to Baldur’s Gate. Board a ship. Stow yourselves away.” Words began pouring out of him in a torrent. “Sail somewhere far. I don’t know or care where. Just… far. If anyone sees you and thinks to asks - she is not Cazador’s. Or, say you don’t know whose she is - she’s insane anyway, who’s to know any better? Figure it out. Cover her. Say she’s a leper. I don’t know. Make something up. And, repeat this, you never saw me.”

“We never saw you, m���lord,” the gnome repeated, dumbly.

“Good. Now get out of my sight before I change my mind.”

The gnome took an unsure step back, then another, and another, until he was close to the woman, reaching out for her with one hand.

He had kept himself between her and Astarion at all times ever since she was released in the shack, Astarion now realised. How… sweet, if futile.

“Come… Come, sweet pea, we’re leaving,” he choked out.

The woman stood, and looked up at him, inquisitively, taking his hand. Her sire gave Astarion one final nod, before pulling her after him, out the door. And then they were gone.

Astarion sat on the edge of a rickety table, shoulders slumped, deflated, and waited for the prickling sensation telling him of other vampires’ presence to subside, before exiting the shack and heading back to camp.

Idiot.

He should turn, hunt them down, and end them.

Or, should he have given them one of his weapons? It didn’t look like they had anything but the claws on their hands. But then it could be traced back to him... No, it was good that he didn’t, yes.

Weakling.

They would probably perish on the road anyway. The sun would find them. Or a monster hunter.

How would they cross that stream he had to jump across?

Wretch.

This wasn’t his problem.

Astarion grit his teeth and hastened his step. Thankfully, the gnomes must have gone in a different direction - the sensation telling him of their presence faded.

No, this did not involve him. He had nothing to do with it. 

Coward.

He only wished all the voices in his head that were screaming about his inadequacy would shut up.

Finally, he caught sight of the camp, though he heard it before he saw it.

Oddie and Tiriel appeared to be engaged in some drinking game that involved axe-throwing and a lot of shouting. Oddie was clearly losing. Astarion donned his most amiable face and made his way to them.

~~~~~

Chapter 13

~~~~~

Tiriel belongs to my friend @spacebarbarianweird. Thank you for letting me borrow her! ^_^ Read more about Tiriel in her Raging Blood series, and check out her other works!

Find the fic on AO3 as well.

Tags:

@littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tragedybunny @spunky-89

@lariatbunny@whiskeyskin @asterordinary @wingsy-keeper-of-songs @spacebarbarianweird

@brabblesblog @littlejuicebox @icybluepenguin @snowfolly @ayselluna

@mj-bites @bardic-inspo

[sincerelyang3l]

OC Dump

Pt 1: Active

Hi folks!! Just doing an OC Dump for anyone interested. I’m making two parts to this, one of non-scrapped and the other of old/scrapped ocs. Feel free to ask questions 😊🙌

I’ll also be providing a list at the end of OCs I just haven’t drawn yet 🤷‍♀️

Enjoy~

Anathema 🥀 (Multi-Fandom)

Amara 🌺 (Baldurs Gate 3)

Nariel 🌲 (Baldurs Gate 3)

Sable (FavreMySabre Multiverse)

Rosemary ✝️ (Faith The Unholy Trinity)

In use without drawing:

Eleanor Pines (Gravity Falls)

Echo (Stardew Valley)

[talesofkiruu]

Elftober2023 day 1 Introduction!

Introducing Duskwight Elezen Kiruu and Seldarine Drow Kiruu. Both are Paladins, though one is a little more mercenary then the other.

(going to try to include my bg3 character from time to time for Elftober)

[friendsforanotherday]

mevrina at any given point is just 🥺

[barbwillbrb]

so instead of shaking hands are they fuckin’ or—

sub!rolan 🤝 dom!rolan

licks you silly

[ayselluna]

Ascendant Astarion Recommendations!

I'm a fan of both Spawn and Ascendant Astarion so I do enjoy reading both. But if you want to explore and read some good shit~ Ascendant fics well here you go~

I've read a lot so bear with me, These are my TOPS~

I LOVE ALL OF THESE:

A Gift, A Curse by @elemit - This updates daily most of the time, the author is getting busy IRL but it should be back on a daily update again soon I think. This is one of the darker theme of Ascendant Astarion "50 shades of 'FCKNG LITTLE TWAT' Ancunin" as one of the comment says haha some scenes are "traumatic" but the rollercoaster ride of emotions you'll get on this story is one for the books! ONGOING!

Fangs and Fractured Hearts - by @fangsandfracturedhearts - This one's one of the softer sides of the Ascendant, the dynamic of Tav and Astarion here is exquisite! The cliffhanger on this one just uggghhhhh. i love it!! ONGOING!

Hellish Rebuke by @bludazey this one's a classic! the details on this story is so genius I swear. Also I think a lot of Astarion fanfic writers got inspired with the Devil's dealing here. Also Tav here is effing smart and just chef's kiss! such a great heroine! ONGOING!

His Star - His Queen [Originally titled Across Stars and Time] by ARandomIntrovert - Now this a bit different, What if multiverse exists? Now there's two Astarions fighting over you, Spawn VS Ascendant, where do you think this would go? :)) Story's definitely amazing and unique! I easily got invested. haha ONGOING!

In Another Life by @locallegume - Definitely a softer side of the Ascendant but Tav and Astarion's dynamic here is one of my fave! <3 Tav here is not the overly good role model we usually read, she's troubled too and definitely has effed up issues. but sometimes you just need to find your own freak and be together forever. ONGOING!

Pieces Still Stuck In Your Teeth - by @howlsmovinglibrary / @wetcatspellcaster - The amount of Banter and D&D Lore on this one is superb! you have to watch out for the writer's notes! I love how I get to learn more D&D stuff and godssss how many times I almost got so swayed by the Ascendant here! good thing Tav's so good at bantering haha ONGOING!

Remember ye not the former things by @brabblesblog - THE SEQUEL!! It focuses more on the aftermath and them working out their relationship, a lot more TAV bg story but gods, Astarion here , I just want to smother him with cuddles and kisses, TAKE MEEEEE ONGOING!

Whither is thy beloved gone? by @brabblesblog -

It has a sequel!!! - that's how good it is! <3 also The Ascendant here is my favorite! The confrontations are just so real and so true I caaaaan't. He wrote the Ascendant so good I actually sided with him more than Tav! A lot of smut ngl but I got into the characters more that I should have. you're missing out if you haven't read this. COMPLETED!

Most of these are still ongoing but I am updated w/ each, along with other Spawn Astarion fics :)) They are all good! some more soft than the others, some darker and evil :))

Let me know if you guys want to get some Spawn Astarion fics recommendations!