#the only companion who has NEVER come on to me is shadowheart for some reason

[wizzardhat]

very funny watching people have to deal with rejecting gale over and over again because he cant take a hint. cant relate but its still funny.

[dark-and-kawaii]

꧁༺ 𝒞𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓃𝑒 ༻꧂

Astarion loses sight of you in a fight, he fears the worse has happened to you. He finds you and manages to bring you back to shadowheart for healing, only to discover he has more to protect than just you…

Angst - Hurt - Comfort - Pregnancy

(Click For Part Two)

You were fearless. He watched as you swung your dagger effortlessly, piercing into the necks of their enemies.

He wondered how you still managed to look elegant even when covered in the blood of fallen warriors.

His gaze never left you for too long, making sure you were safe, while he stealthed around the makeshift arena, racking up his own share of kills. How glorious this was! There was so much blood splattering all around them and with his love at his side it truly couldn’t get any better.

Astarion’s eyes couldn’t be everywhere though, and at some point, he lost sight of you. The last person to recognize him for what he’s worth, the one person he truly couldn’t afford to lose.

His head darted across the battlefield, desperately trying to find you. His panic plunged into sheer dread as fear overcame him. It was happening all over again, he’d seen this before… Alone.. No, please, he couldn’t let this be his fate.

He hadn’t felt fear this whole day; why should he? He was free of Cazador, had you- A subtle manic laugh drew from his throat, he’d never be free of fear, instead of fearing for himself or what his old master would do to him he now feared what would happen to you when in danger.

His red eyes turned a dark shade of black. The expression of a crazy man etched onto Astarion’s face. No, he wouldn’t let fear consume him, no more! He’d finally be the protector! Overcome with fury he went on a rampage. Cutting through the battlefield, slaughtering anyone and everyone in his way, determined to find you. He raced over to where he last saw you, faster than a blue dragon's lightning splits through the air in a storm.

Was he truly going to be the reason you passed on to the next life. Was his fate to destroy everything he held near and dear to his heart? He nearly killed you before with his own fangs and now, no! He wasn’t the cause of that, was he? He hadn’t ever tasted human blood before, but if he was stronger it wouldn’t have happened! If he would’ve ascended he would’ve been able to stop this, however he’s still just a spawn… How could you have fought for his love, a fool who couldn’t even protect you. A fool who was going to be the reason you die.

“FIND HER” He roared at the top of his lungs. “FIND TAV!”

The group of companions didn’t dare hesitate and instantly started searching the grounds, Gale being the second most worried.

Astarion was about to collapse to his knees before hearing Gale's voice, “I’ve found her!” in the distance. It filled him with more apprehension. All he could think is, ’what if she’s dead’.

Staggering up the hill where Gale’s voice had come from, Astarion can see a figure laying in the dirt next to the wizard, “No! You can’t die dammit! Get up!!” he rushed out his words, dismay evident in his tone as he knelt next to you.

“She is unconscious, but alive. There’s hope.” Gale replied.

Astarion let out a shaky breath of relief.

“We must get her back to camp,” Astarion demanded. “She needs Shadowheart, she’s the only one who can fix this!” His voice cracked despite his efforts to mask it.

“I agree.” Gale, mere inches from grabbing you to lift you in his arms until the pale elf stopped him, “Don’t touch her!- I- I will carry her.” Trying to compose himself he lifted you bridal style.

Astarion never left your side during Shadowhearts attempts to heal you. Time never bothered him, not after his 200 years of torment, he waited as “patiently” as he could.

“Honestly, how long does it take! You could at least give me some good news!”

Shadowheart continued to focus on you best she could, everyone including the gods were used to Astarions fits at this point. Gale on the other hand not so much, he could hear Astarion all the way in his own tent which caused the wizard to scrunch his nose. Eventually, leading him to where you were being treated, “Astarion, why don’t you join me in some wine. I’ve got quite the choices, besides… It might be best if we give her some space.”

Astarion scowled, “You expect me to leave her side to join you in some cheap wine? Really? I didn’t think you could get anymore annoying, Gale.”

“It’s done. She’ll be fine after some more rest.” Shadowheart stood from your side and wipes the blood off her hands. She’s been traveling with you and these two men for far too long, toning out their bickering was a skill of hers at this point.

Turning to face you, if his heart could beat he knows it would’ve dropped in his chest this very moment… “Leave us-“ kneeling down next to your bedroll, his eyes fixed on your bandaged wound, “please.”

“I was able to save her,” -Shadowheart bent down towards Astarion- “and the child, but it took most of my energy and resources… Don’t ask for me again for a while. Keep them both safe.”

He was quiet, his eyes wide after the news he was just told.

“Ahhh,” Shadowheart’s voice was surprised, “she didn’t tell you yet? Hmm or perhaps she hadn’t known yet? Curious.”

Astarion could only stare at his love, “A-are you for certain?”

Gale interjected, “I doubt her magic would deceive her, congratulations.”

Dark bruises and cuts decorated your once perfect skin. A deep purple shade surrounded your right puffy eye. His eyes traveled further down your body, stopping at your stomach.

He caressed your still flat stomach, causing you to wince and awake. Retreating his hand, he awaited for your eyes to open and look up at him.

A-Astarion?” You spoke with a small smile carved on your lips.

“Yes, my love. It’s me.” He struggled out, trying his best not to crumble.

You were both silent, hands entwined with one another thankful that you both can spend another day alive in the presence of another.

He was the first to break the silence, “thank you.”

You were so weak, but you wanted to know why he was thanking you out of the blue, “For what?” Your voice barely heard.

“For this,” his hand stretching out to rest on your abdomen, “for giving me purpose again.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, not knowing what he was talking about until it finally hit you. Your arm wavered as you lifted it to place your hand atop of his on your belly. A gentle smile forming on your lips as you stared into his vermilion eyes.

When your breath became labored indicating you had fallen asleep again, Astarion’s attention was back at your torso where the bandage was slowly being stained by your blood. This moment of relief turned to anger again as he lashed out, slapping a metal canister of water out the tent with force. The absolute intrigued him at first, more power meant being stronger to protect you, but now… He was beyond ever considering it again. The cultist not only almost killed you, but the child growing from within you!

“How dare they…” He seethed, “How dare they harm her and my child!”

Astarion was pacing around angrily, how could he have allowed this to happen? He started to blame himself.

“Astarion-“ You spoke up, attempting to calm him down.

“I’ll show them, my love-“ he cut you off, “that nobody is allowed to touch what is mine.” He growled.

His eyes darkened again: “I’ll make them pay.”

[graveyardcuddles]

There's this post I saw on here about how if the player turns Shadowheart over to the Sharans, the rest of the party should all turn on you. I completely agree, and I think they should also mutiny against Tav/Durge if they tell Orin to just go ahead and kill the party member she takes hostage. Act 3 feels like the act where everyone in the group should care about each other the most and yet it's the act where they arguably feel most disconnected from one another. And this is all probably a symptom of the overall lack of reactions and responses to major events in Act 3 from the companions in general.

But another similar example that drives me insane is how, if you ascend Astarion and then immediately turn on him and side with the Gur, ALL of the companions will just be like "Nice work taking out the trash, team. Job well done. Another vampire lord vanquished, " without so much as a hint of emotion after you betray him, gang up on him and KILL HIM?? As if they hadn't spent weeks and possibly months traveling with Astarion, getting to know him, bonding with him, ect. As if they hadn't just all stood there and let him complete the ritual. But the moment Paladin Karen and the Gur show up, they just abandon all that over what? Some vague ideal of "evil is evil black and white no nuace" nonsense? (which is even more ridiculous if some of the other companions are evil like DJ Shadowheart or Minthara).

The only companion with a reasonable reaction is Halsin, who correctly points out you should have tried harder to stop the ascension rather than betray Astarion and kill him after it happened. I understand that not all of the companions have the best relationship with him. And I understand all of them very much disapprove of him ascending. So I don't expect the whole party to mutiny over this particular decision. But the fact that they ALL uniformly turn on him so quickly for these people they don't even know is disappointing. There should have realistically been some pushback/objections. Or at least some guilt and sadness and reflection over the fact that they all just had to kill their former traveling companion/friend that THEY allowed to become this threat they felt warranted putting down.

It feels like it should be an incredibly tragic and cathartic moment, and it just falls spectacularly flat. I tried to rationalize their reactions as just part of the shitty lack of responses the companions all generally have in Act 3. But at least with Shadowheart and the hostage situation with Orin the companions will still be ANGRY at you and express their disaproval. Whereas here it really comes off like they just don't give a shit about Astarion and never really did. It's depressing.

I feel like it unintentionally and very sadly lends validation to the idea that what Astarion says about no one else being like Tav/Durge. No one else will look out for him. No one else will have that same kindness for him. No one has a heart like them. I don't actually agree with this notion. I think based on the good epilogue for his spawn ending he's definitely capable of making friends and genuine human connections. But Tav/Durge HAS to come first. They have to be the example that shows him how.

Also why I can't stop repeatedly romancing him. Astarion needs Tav/Durge arguably more than any other companion. He has nothing and no one else.

[bitethedevil]

Living with The Devil You Know (Raphael x Tav): Chapter 10

Chapter: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen

Read this fic on AO3 (Link)

Fic Summary: Tav broke their agreement by handing the Crown of Karsus to Mystra instead of Raphael. Not only that, but she also robbed his house and killed his incubus. Raphael is patient and he is determined to get his revenge.

…Tav isn't too bothered. She will figure something out eventually. Until then she just has to find a way to live peacefully with a devil.

Chapter Summary: Tav's companions finally comes to her rescue, though the master of the house comes home before they can escape.

AN: Oh boy...one more chapter after this one, my dudes. It's officially the chapter before the last one. I originally wrote another chapter between the last one and this one, but I just wasn't happy with it and I thought it was redundant, so I removed it. I am getting emotional over these two. Tav is going through it in this one, and so was the author lol.

TRIGGER WARNING: Parental Abuse, Depictions of Trauma

Tav had a nightmare. She was on the floor of her childhood home again, getting beaten by her father. She had experienced nightmares like this a hundred times before. She was forever reliving the incident in her dreams.

She struggled to get up off the floor. Every time she moved, he would only beat her harder. Then her mind snapped, and she managed to push him back. She cast the grease spell, making him slip on the floor. Her father looked up at her with a look of both surprise and deep hate.

“What do you think you’re doing, girl?!” her father yelled at her, trying to get up from the slippery floor but failing.

“Tav! Stop this!” she heard her mother cry out in her panicked voice from across the room when she saw the flame in her hand.

Tav threw the firebolt at him and he went up in flames. She heard her mother scream. For some reason, he never died when she was having those nightmares. He just kept staring at her as he was burning, with that face of horror that she had seen that day.

She caught her mother’s arm before she ran to him.

“Mama, no,” she pleaded and tried to pull her away. “Mama, leave him. We need to get out.”

Her mother kept screaming and sobbing, trying to pull herself out of her grip to go to her father who was burning. The fire was spreading to the rest of the house.

“Please,” Tav pleaded with tears in her eyes. “We deserve to be free…”

Her mother turned her face, just as she had done back then and in every nightmare after, though something was different this time: it wasn’t her mother’s face. It was her own.

“Let me go!” Tav heard her scream in her own voice. “I don’t want to be free without him…”

Tav froze and loosened her grip, as she slowly stepped back away from the flames. She saw her own form run to the burning figure of her father. She noticed that her father had changed shape as well. He had horns and wings…

She heard the sound of the house giving in around her, and she ran as fast as she could. As she did, she heard her own name being called again and again:

Tav, Tav, Tav…

She ran faster.

“Tav,” she heard a voice say and felt a hand shake her arm.

She woke with a sharp inhale. She looked around the room panicked, blinking her eyes to figure out what was going on. There were people around the bed, and someone had their hand on her arm. She looked at the person and blinked.

“Gale?” she asked gently.

Gale smiled at her. She flung her arms around him and hugged him. She felt her eyes start to tear up.

“You stupid idiot,” she sobbed and laughed in relief. “I told you not to come.”

“Told you,” she heard a familiar voice say.

She squinted at the dark-clad figure behind him who spoke. He was covered head to toe with not an inch of skin showing.

“Astarion?” she asked.

“Hello darling,” Astarion said in a muffled voice from under all the fabric covering him.

Her eyes moved to Shadowheart.

“And Shadowheart,” she spoke quietly. Shadowheart smiled at her. “You’re all here…”

“For now,” Shadowheart said. “We need to get a move on if we don’t want to get caught.”

Tav nodded and sprang out of bed, to quickly throw on a robe. She was still somewhat disoriented and not entirely awake.

“Wait,” Tav said and looked at them as she hurriedly fastened her robe. “The hammer…Did you find it?”

“Yes, we have it,” Gale said and gestured to Astarion.

Astarion pulled it out of his bag and handed it to the strongest of the four of them, which was Shadowheart.

Tav breathed a big sigh of relief. She quickly got to the floor to lean her wrists against a flat surface for Shadowheart to swing the hammer.

The hammer crashed down on both of the metal constructs, and they fell apart, freeing her. She rubbed her wrists and scratched the itches she could not reach for all those days in her captivity. When the moment of relief had passed, she looked at her friends.

Gale was squinting at her face.

“What happened to your face?” he asked in a concerned voice and pointed to the burn scars. “Did he do this to you?”

Tav blinked and then shook her head.

“Long story,” she said hurriedly. “Doesn’t matter. We need to get Hope and we need to get the fuck out of here.”

“Right,” Gale said. “You will lead the way and we will follow you. We are using an invisibility spell to move around, but we should still avoid running into anyone in case someone should see that you are not in chains anymore and alert Raphael.”

“Good, yes,” Tav said quickly and nodded.

They made their way to Hope’s cell. Hope was excited to see them. They were less excited to see her when they saw the beholders and the imps surrounding her.

They managed to kill them, but they had used a lot of energy on it and most of them were seriously wounded after the fight. It made it even more important to avoid Raphael, because they would most likely not survive a fight if it came down to it.

They freed Hope and Tav was rushing them to get out of there. She was paranoid about the fact that Raphael might return at any moment.

“Would it be possible to circle back to the restoration pool before we leave?” Gale asked.

Gale was in pretty bad shape, as was Astarion.

“No,” Tav said. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to take any chances. Raphael could be home any minute. I think we should just run for it and hope for the best.”

“No need to worry about that,” Gale said. “We have someone at the portal who will alert us if he does.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Tav said. “If Raphael is already in the house, we can’t get out. It will come down to a fight if he does and I’m not sure we would survive that with the team we got here. No offense, guys.”

“None taken,” Astarion said.

“You don’t understand,” Gale said. “He is one of Raphael’s warlock’s who have gone rogue. He knows his comings and goings.”

Tav froze and her eyes widened.

“Cassius…” she said quietly.

“You know him?” Gale asked.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she mumbled in frustration. “Alright, we rush to the restoration pool and then we go to the foyer. Prepare for a fight.”

“See, Gale?” Shadowheart said, sounding frustrated. “I knew we shouldn’t have trusted him!”

“But I don’t understand, I—” Gale said but he was interrupted by Tav.

“It doesn’t matter right now!” she yelled. “Let’s GO!”

They rushed out of there. It suddenly made all the sense in the world that Cassius would forgive her so easily. He was not out to help her. She was sure of it. He was out to remove her from the picture and further Raphael’s original plan. He had found the hammer and told them where it was, that was why she had run into him a couple of days prior.

They took a dip in the restoration pool and ran as fast as they could to the foyer where the portal was. She would kill Cassius on sight when she found him. Unfortunately, she did not get the chance, because the second she entered, she saw Cassius smirk at her, and Raphael appeared a second later in his devil form.

There was a look of betrayal and surprise on his face when he locked eyes with Tav, but it quickly turned into a look of anger.

“My, my…What do we have here?” Raphael said with a sneer. “It seems that despite my leniency, you have decided to defy me. Perhaps I have been naïve to expect better of you, little mouse.”

“Raphael…” Tav said quietly.

“I made a promise to you, did I not?” Raphael said. “When your friends would come knocking, I would kill them and then you…and you know I always keep my promises.”

Tav was breathing hard, and her heart was in her throat.

“I also know you always deal fairly,” Tav said. “This isn’t fair, Raphael.”

“Fair?” he said in a dangerously low tone and walked closer to her. “I have dealt fairly with you and what did I gain from it? You did not deliver the Crown of Karsus to me, and you robbed my home. I have been more than fair to you. Have you been rotting in a cell for your crimes? Have you suffered? You have not…So do not speak of fair to me.”

Tav held his gaze when he spoke even though she was terrified. Then she turned her eyes to Cassius who was smiling behind him.

“Your warlock convinced my friends to come here, even though it was your plan to leave them alone and keep me here,” Tav said as calmly as she could. “He was here to snoop around a couple of days ago and I should have told you, though I did not in my wildest imagination think that he would go against your orders like this.”

Raphael narrowed his eyes at her and growled in frustration before turning to look at Cassius. Cassius’s smile was wiped off his face the second Raphael looked at him.

“I-I-I only lured them here,” Cassius stuttered. “It was their choice to do it. Her choice to get freed from her chains. Can’t you see? That’s what she had been planning the whole time. She acts like she’s loyal to you, but she’s not. I am! She was just waiting for an escape. Wasting your time and—”

“Quiet,” Raphael ordered sharply and was quiet for a moment before looking at her friends. “Which one of you imbeciles were the brains behind this little plot of yours?”

Gale cleared his throat and stepped forward. Tav noticed he was slightly shaking.

“Gale Dekarios,” Raphael purred with a dangerous smile. “Would you be so kind and explain to me what role my unruly warlock played in all of this before I send you to that goddess you hold so dear?”

Gale explained how Cassius had sought him out, and how he had been skeptical about him at first. He explained how he had used an Elixir of Truth on him to see if he was lying.

“And what did you ask him?” Raphael asked.

“If you had ordered him to lure us into a trap, which he denied,” Gale explained.

“Hm,” Raphael hummed and nodded.

Raphael turned his attention back to Cassius. He looked terrified. The scraps of sympathy that Tav would have had for him had died when he had knowingly led her and her friends to their deaths.

“Any last words before I send you to the dungeons, boy?” Raphael asked calmly.

“No, NO!” Cassius protested and started sobbing. “I only did it for you. It was all for you. I thought you would see what I saw. She doesn’t deserve your time. She doesn’t love you—”

Raphael snapped his fingers and Cassius disappeared. Raphael turned back to face them. Tav wondered if it was their turn to face his wrath now, but he just looked at them for a moment.

He snapped his fingers again and suddenly Tav was alone with him.

“No…” Tav said and looked back to where they stood a moment ago. “What did you do?”

Raphael smiled cruelly at her fear.

“What did you do?” she asked again, and tears welled up in her eyes.

“Sh-sh-shh,” Raphael shushed and stopped a tear from rolling down her cheek with his finger. “I sent them back to Baldur’s Gate.”

It did not stop her from crying, because that would mean that it was most likely his plan to imprison her again and continue on as if nothing had happened. She felt utterly hopeless in the moment. Speaking of, where was Hope transported to? To the Gate or back to the dungeons? Tav guessed the latter.

Raphael’s cruel smile faltered slightly as he caressed her cheek. He let his thumb follow her burn scars. It was as if he was entranced with them for a moment.

“You will never let me go, will you?” Tav sobbed.

Raphael was still quiet, looking at her scars. His eyes moved to hers for a moment. He leaned forward to plant a kiss on the top of her head. He buried his nose in her hair like he always did and took a deep breath. He looked at her in the eyes for a moment. There was something that looked like grief in those orange eyes of his.

He let go of her and his face quickly turned into a calm and collected expression. He stepped to the side.

“Go,” he said and moved away from the portal. “Leave.”

She froze and looked at him.

“What?” she said.

“I said go,” he said sternly. “Make no mistake…Your soul is still mine and I will come to collect one day, but until then you are free to grow old and enjoy that freedom you so clearly long for. I don’t want you here anymore.”

She felt that last sentence in her heart. As if something broke inside her. Instead of sadness, she turned to anger at him. Even now he was playing with her. She did not believe him.

“Why?” she asked. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you are in my home and I do not wish for you to be under my roof anymore,” he explained calmly, though she could see it was a façade hiding something else. “You have been a distraction for too long. I let Cassius go right under my nose because I was too busy with you. You have taken enough of my time, and I want to be rid of your company. Leave or I will transport you there myself.”

She chuckled bitterly and a tear ran down her cheek.

“I hate you…” she said harshly and looked up at him.

“Likewise,” Raphael purred with a smirk, though it faltered slightly at her words. “Goodbye, dearest…”

She sniffled and dried her tears before walking through the portal.

When she was on the other side of it, she bent down and held onto her knees. She broke down. She could not breathe and started hyperventilating. She felt like she wanted to throw up. She did not even hear her friends running up the stairs to the room she was in.

“Tav! You made it!” she heard Gale’s relieved voice call out.

They crowded around her, making her breathe even harder. She felt like she was going to faint.

“Give her some space,” she heard Shadowheart say.

Tav sat down on the floor and started sobbing loudly.

“Oh darling…” Astarion said sympathetically and sat down on the floor beside her. “You’re safe. You made it.”

Astarion no doubt recognized what she was going through as he broke down in much the same way when he was freed from Cazador. He gently put a hand on her back which only made her sob even more. She had so many conflicting feelings that were just rushing to the surface, that she had no idea what she was even crying about.

Relief? Sadness? Grief? Fear? All of them? None of them? She just knew that she wanted to cry and scream.

She heard someone else come up the stairs.

“Hells…that’s usually the reaction of those who enter, not those who leave,” Helsik said when she saw her. “Is everything alright up here?”

“Give us a moment, please,” Gale said to her and politely gestured for her to leave.

She just kept crying and it would not stop.

They eventually got her home when she had calmed down a bit. They were all quiet for the walk there. Once she got home, she started feeling a little safer and a bit calmer. They all sat down in her living room. Gale wrapped a blanket around her.

She suddenly remembered something.

“Hope?” she asked and looked at Gale. “Did she…was she with you when he sent you back?”

Gale smiled.

“She was,” he said. “She was very grateful, but she ran off. She promised to send a sending spell when she found a place to be. She seemed just as surprised as we were when he let her go…”

Tav was dumbfounded. She could almost not believe it. Hope had been freed like she promised all that time ago, and it felt like a burden had been lifted from her shoulders. Unfortunately, it probably meant that Cassius would take her place instead.

“It’s understandable if you don’t wish to talk about it, of course,” Astarion said while struggling to escape from all the clothing he had been wearing since they had blacked out the windows of Tav’s house with magic. “I just can’t help but be a tiny bit curious about what happened.”

Tav looked up at all of them. They were all looking at her expectantly.

“I’m not sure,” she said quietly. “He let me go. I’m convinced he is still playing some kind of game with me. It can’t be that easy. It never is with him…”

“Do you think you might be in danger?” Shadowheart asked. “I mean…could he mean to send someone to kill you? Do we need to stay here with you?”

Tav shook her head.

“No,” she said. “That’s not how he works. He wouldn’t kill me or physically hurt me. I don’t think so at least.”

“He hasn’t physically hurt you already? I mean…” Astarion said and winced slightly as he gestured to the burn scars on her face.

“He didn’t do that,” Tav said.

She noticed that they looked at each other skeptically, as if she was lying about it for some reason.

“Tav, you didn’t have them when we saw you last,” Shadowheart said.

“He didn’t do it,” Tav said sharply. “He never hurt me intentionally.”

“Intentionally?” Gale asked. “So, he did hurt you.”

“No, he was—” Tav shook her head and sighed. “There was an accident, but he didn’t mean to.”

They all looked at her sympathetically and she hated it. She felt like an insane person.

“Why are you defending him, Tav?” Gale asked gently.

“I am not defending him!” Tav snapped. “He messed with my head a lot, yes, but he never meant me harm. My scars are…”

She trailed off and looked at the floor. She did not want to tell them. It felt completely illogical. She had so easily told Raphael, but she did not want to tell her friends the details of how she got them.

“They are from when I was younger…” she explained. “I used glamour to hide them because I didn’t like the look of them.”

“But he forced you to show them?” Astarion asked a bit confused. “To humiliate you or?”

It pissed her off that they would think that was the case. No, it was not to humiliate her. It was because it is a part of her that she should not be fucking humiliated about, and Raphael, despite his faults, made her see that.

“Why are you all so fucking busy making him into a monster?” she snapped at them. “He is, don’t get me wrong, but it is really annoying that you are trying to force me to feel like a victim.”

“You were kidnapped, Tav!” Gale said. “Of course, you are a victim…Which is why it is worrying to hear you defend him.”

Tav got up from her seat, to walk towards the door.

“Please get out and leave me alone…” she mumbled with an empty stare.  

They all looked at her with confusion and worry. She sighed deeply and tried to collect her thoughts.

“I’m sorry…” she said in a calmer voice. “I am really thankful that you got me out, but I need time for myself to sort all of this through. I’m really sorry you had to get into this whole mess, and I can never thank you enough for getting me out of it, but please…I need time.”

“You’ve been through a lot,” Shadowheart said quietly. “If you need us, you know where we are, Tav.”

“Thank you…” Tav said.

They left her.

It was odd being alone in her house. It was too quiet. She was restless, and all she felt like was curling up in bed and crying. So that is exactly what she did. The problem was that it felt even worse. The more time passed, the more it felt weird to sleep alone and in her own bed. Each time she was close to falling asleep, she half expected to feel his arms around her and his nose in her hair.

She cried so much for the whole night. She did not know what was wrong with her…Except she did, but she would not admit it to herself: she was heartbroken, and she missed him.

Damn him.

When she woke the day after, or rather, got out of bed for she had gotten little sleep at all, she stumbled into her living room with her blanket over her. She caught a glimpse of her reflection. She looked like a mess with her puffy and tired eyes.

When she sat down in her sofa, her eyes drifted to the shelf where the hammer had once been. She squinted as she saw something laying on it. She got up to get a closer look.

She sighed and started tearing up once again, as she saw that it was the book that he had given her.

“Oh, you bastard,” she mumbled tearfully to herself as she took the book off the shelf.

She absentmindedly flipped through the pages as she sobbed quietly. A piece of paper fell out of it and landed on the floor. She picked it up and read what it said. It was written in Raphael’s recognizable scrawl:

‘To the fearless woman who stole everything from the devil and lived to tell the tale.

The little mouse caught in the cat’s snare,

No claws unsheathed, no hunter's glare,

But fate was cruel in its silent decree,

For a cat and a mouse, was not meant to be.

The dawn would break, and reality would stay,

And the little mouse would live another day.

A shame that we were not granted the opportunity to give your friends a show, when you play the organ so wonderfully.

May you have many years before I have to collect what is mine, little mouse.

--R’

Trust in Raphael to write the most touching thing she had ever read and allude to the time she was fingered while playing the organ in the same letter. She could not help but smile, cry, and curse at him internally, all at the same time.

She still did not believe it was over. She was still convinced they were playing the game.

[oimliette]

my best is yours

Pairing: Gale/Durge reader

Tags: angst, guilt, hurt/comfort, love confessions

Warnings: it’s durge so you know… violence and gore, but not too explicit. suicidal thoughts as well.

Words: 3.3k

“I don’t want you to die,” You say, voice weak and shaking. You hate how it sounds. “I would never forgive you.”

There is a pause, like he’s taking you in.

“I don’t need you to forgive me. I just need you to be alive.” He says. He says, so softly in the face of your rage, like he’s trying not to break your heart.

His mind is set.

read on ao3

It’s colder than you expected. Halsin didn’t mention that. You knew that the land was cursed, that the shadows were alive and sap both your sanity and strength. You were ready for it. You didn’t think about the temperature.

There’s a chill here like something was breathing down your neck. You still haven’t gotten used to it.

You glance at your companions after fighting against a horde of necrotic plant creatures. Whatever they were, they were clearly not alive, with the glow of the rot-magic emanating from their vines.

It’s only your second day in this cursed place and your party doesn’t look any better than they did yesterday. Astarion looks wary and miserable. He probably hates this place for the same reason he didn’t enjoy the Underdark: there is no trace of sunlight here. The only light comes from your torches and the Blood of Lathander Shadowheart is wielding, casting a soft glow on your surroundings. Shadowheart, on the other hand, looks—distracted, fascinated with the darkness enveloping your party on all sides. You’re concerned, but before you can think more of it, Gale meets your eyes, like he was seeking you out.

You’ve come to rely on Gale over the course of this adventure you were all forced into. Most nights, he is the reason you have warm food in your bellies. He’s a human with a lot of knowledge to dispense, and he takes every opportunity to do that, even to the point of sounding arrogant. Everyone does their part to keep the camp, but it would be particularly difficult to imagine the journey without Gale by your side.

Gale gives you a worried look, one he’d been giving to you more and more often. You pretend not to notice and hurriedly face the other way. You feel tired all of a sudden.

You think to yourself that the fact Gale hasn’t brutally mutilated an innocent girl in their sleep is a pretty good point too.

Sometimes you wonder if it’d be better that he’d have been the one to lead your motley crew instead. He certainly has the makings for it. He’s a reliable man, usually level-headed and preferring to err on the side of caution where you might be stubbornly facing in one direction. He insists on compromise, insistent on working together even though he confessed to you, one night, that he hardly has anyone he can call a friend outside of his tressym.

“I find that hard to believe,” you said. You took the first watch, though not everyone was asleep yet. From beside Gale’s tent, you idly watched Wyll fiddling with a broken lute he found on the road. Gale can talk like he’s used to speaking to himself, expressing himself in full-bodied words more common in academia than in casual talk, but he is unendingly curious, something that, to you at least, was something that endeared you to the wizard.

“I’m glad to hear that. I thought my time spent wallowing at my tower alone had rusted my social skills.” He laughed in relief.

It had, you nearly said out loud. There are instances where it’s obvious, but you decide to keep the comfortable, shared silence.

The flaps of his tent closed after he bid you goodnight. The air was cold, but you ran hot so you didn’t mind. You thought about Gale, as you often do, these days.

He was good at that. Making you feel comfortable in his presence. Like you could trust him. He has some secrets, but who in your camp doesn’t? Every one of them has their own story half-uncovered. You didn’t even know yours, your memory extending as far as waking up on the nautiloid, and the fight to get out of it in one piece.

But the battered state of your mind makes you uneasy. The random pulses of pain and the violent thoughts were symptoms you would have attributed to the parasite, but none of your companions have experienced anything like that. It’s just you. And even in this camp, the gathering of the infected and the hunted, you were the odd one out.

You listened to the wind rustling the leaves overhead. You wondered what your mind knew that you didn't.

Ever since you awoke on the nautiloid, your memory has been spotty. Trying to separate what happened in the first tenday of your adventure from your last is a useless activity.

There is an emptiness inside you that has been there as far as your memory will allow you to remember. Nothing feels real. Almost as if you’d wake from this any moment now, to whatever life you used to live. And this would all be a dream hastily forgotten.

But it’s not a dream. You know that.

The sticky feeling of blood in your hands felt real. The smell of it, sticking to you for days. The red crust under your fingernails that never seemed to disappear.

You are a person that rings hollow, and you are terrified one of these days your companions will see you for what you are: a monster.

You don’t understand why they believe you can lead the way to salvation. You don’t know where you’re going. You can’t even see past today.

But you try anyway. To atone, if not for anything else.

Tonight is no different. Tonight, the camp is tucked into an area you guessed was a less harsh patch of the hostile environment. It felt like picking which area of the mouth of an owlbear would be better to lean your head in. You don’t know why they trust you to know.

You don’t know why they still trust you at all. They’ve never seen you the same after what happened with Alfira.

Your offering of gore, the blood drying in your hands, damning you with each second as you waited for them to wake up, one by one. You didn’t even try to hide it or wash it away. What difference would it have made?

There was still a corpse there, right in your camp. The bard, trusting and sweet, was still dead.

Was she awake when you did the horrible deed? Was she breathing when you painted the ground with her innards? When you burst her eyeballs in her skull? You could almost feel it burst under your thumbs, the sensation familiar, deep in the recesses of your mind.

The gnawing headache at your brain grows. Pulsing, pounding.

Their tolerance of you is a reflection of everyone’s desperation, willing to let you stay because they cannot afford to be picky with company now. No one in the camp’s hands were clean but you doubt they’ve ever been this stained.

She didn’t die immediately. You know this, somewhere in your broken mind. It makes you sick that you’ve never felt more alive than the morning after.

You’ve been doing good. No murders in the night since then. But you’d be lying if you said there aren’t nights when you wake up with a start, afraid to see where or who your knife-hand has fallen on.

You wonder if they’re suspicious of you, still.

You set up camp, because you are tired and Astarion is whining about the trek and Shadowheart seems absolutely taken with the curse wrapping around all of your necks, threatening to invade and twist and unmake and Gale—well. His gaze is filled with determination, though his posture betrays his exhaustion. There’s something he wants to say, you’re sure, but unfortunately for him, it’ll have to wait until camp is set.

The headache persists. Your head throbs.

After a while, you sit by yourself in front of the campfire. On any other occasion you’d prefer to have been standing to the side, away from the comings and goings of the people in camp trying to get food or putting and taking from the chest. But that was before.

In these lands, the very ground itself seems malicious, trying to lick at the skin of your boots. The light provides some comfort against the oppressive dark.

Gale sits himself beside you. You don’t acknowledge his presence but you let him sit so close your knees touch. The point of contact is nice. Comfortable.

The fire is warm, but more importantly it is bright. Already you begin to feel better. Less like your soul is being syphoned away.

Gale calls your name, staring at you with sincere eyes you cannot meet.

This is a fragile alliance. A party brought by circumstance and tied together by desperate need to live, despite it all. They are all so wildly different, each with their own goals to accomplish—but this is what you have in common. This is what brings you together: you want to live.

“It’s alright, Gale. I’m not hungry,” you say first. That is not what he wants to speak about. You know that.

You surprised yourself with how furious you became at Gale’s pathetic acceptance of the fate thrust upon him by his goddess. How could he not thrash around, rebel at the circumstance! His plan to take this with hands behind his back and his head bowed down as the blade dropped on his neck made your blood boil, made your teeth ache with the urge to tear.

Good fucking gods, every single day you’ve though about killing yourself, each method more gruesome than the next. Driving a knife through your own heart. Bathing in acid. One by one removing your senses until you die of blood loss. Eyes are the last to go, so you can see what you’ve made of yourself.

It’s a common fantasy, a permanent solution to your problem: you. But no one is supposed to die. You don’t succumb to the urge because you have people to lead. Sins to atone for. You of all people don’t get to have a break from your torturous mind. That’s your fucking burden to bear and you will bear it as long as you are able.

It’s your job to save them from this. They trust you, when they really shouldn’t, and godsdamned if you’ll let one of them get killed because some fucking prissy goddess can’t fix a problem herself.

Lot of good all these deities have done in Faerun, you curse as you look at the darkness surrounding you from all sides. You can barely see anything past it, even with darkvision. Just more twisting trees and the glowing rot leaking from the land like pus from a wound.

“You’ve been reckless lately. More so than usual—alarmingly so. Make no mistake, I am not here to complain about the efficiency of dealing with our enemies. I am most appreciative of that fact. But I do get concerned with how you tend to act after.”

“What do you mean, Gale?” You ask. He has this habit of beating around the bush and though you’d usually find his wordiness endearing, today has been long.

It weighs on your shoulders, every time you leave camp, every night you set it up again. Another day. Food. Loot. Trade. Kill. Day in and day out. Live live live. Another step in front of the other. Every day, asking you to live longer.

The light at the end of the tunnel is getting ever farther as you walk closer, but you keep these thoughts to yourself.

Your companions deserve to be alive. They deserve to hope. Just because you lost yours doesn’t mean you’re about to break their morale. You know they’ll make it.

But you? No. You don’t even deserve to see it.

“Yes, you’re right. Well, truth be told, I worry about you…” Then he says your name again, so gently, like his tongue was cradling the syllables in his mouth. “Not as our leader. As you.”

“You don’t have to.” You interrupt, uncomfortable with the sincerity. You can take care of yourself. Whoever he thinks he’s fussing over—it’s not you. You don’t need the concern, cloying and all too sweet. All too easy to use. He doesn’t know you, doesn’t understand the wickedness in your head and your heart.

“Ah, you’ll find that I want to.” He flashes a charming smile. “Clearly, you aren’t looking after yourself, so someone has to.” He points to himself.

Your headache pulses. You imagine in a world without these urges, the charm might have worked. Maybe you’d be brave enough to look him in the eye, tell him honeyed words that you have so desperately wanted to. If you were just normal, someone unburdened by the blood singing under your skin, this would go differently.

Oh, yeah? You imagine yourself saying. Do it then.

But this isn’t that world, so instead you scoff, because Gale is orchestrating his own death in two different ways and if you think about it too much you might drive yourself insane. Isn’t that fucking hilarious, that the first person you let inch into your heart is going to die, either by your foul hand or a deity that thinks him so invaluable she would ask him to kill himself for the sake of the world?

This sweet, trusting man. Arrogant and unbearable. You want to kill him yourself. You want to save him. From Mystra. From you.

He looks embarrassed with his attempt at flirting and hurt at your reaction. You want to tear your heart open. You want to atone. For this. Fuck, for everything. Maybe you’ve already doomed him by letting his affection get to you. Does he know how close he is to your heart?

You just swallow the lump in your throat. You can see some people in the camp pass a glance at the both of you, and you sigh. “Can we go to your tent?”

For once, Gale shuts his mouth and nods. He sits down after you enter the tent, quiet still. You bite your tongue. Think, if only for a few moments.

“I don’t need your help.”

“I think you’ve made that clear.” He replies curtly.

“I—“ you grit your teeth. “You can barely take care of yourself. And now you want to save me—“

“I never mentioned saving! And my apologies for daring to care about you—”

“You’re a hypocrite, Gale. You know how tough this journey’s been. You say you’ve been watching me. You know my mind is broken, possibly beyond repair. But I’m not dead! That’s my choice, every godsdamned day to put one foot in front of the other and hope that I at least get to do the one good deed of saving you before I go. My choice to stay in this godforsaken place because you’re my people.

You continue, “Did you think no one would care? That we would all proceed like normal, go about our daily lives saying thank fucking Mystra, good on her to tell Gale to kill himself and like a stupid little dog he followed through with it. You’re not on her leash anymore, so act like you have a choice, damn it!”

Your chest is heaving. There is prickling behind your eyes.

You realise you would do anything to keep him alive. You would raze down hordes of innocent hundreds by yourself if it meant the poison in his veins were cured. It would be adding to your tally of sins. It would weigh on your heart. But aren’t you already damned?

Aren’t you both?

“I don’t want you to die,” You say, voice weak and shaking. You hate how it sounds. “I would never forgive you.”

There is a pause, like he’s taking you in.

“I don’t need you to forgive me. I just need you to be alive.” He says. He says, so softly in the face of your rage, like he’s trying not to break your heart.

His mind is set. This is how it will be: you will live and he will die.

The irony of it is not lost on you. You, who have been begging for death. You, who have been trudging through this journey to lead them to a future you could not imagine being a part of.

Gale has so many reasons to live. His mother. His tressym, Tara. His brilliant mind, which would do much more good in the world if it was lent to research than here, fighting for their lives every day. This is not the life Gale should have lived. This is not how he’s supposed to go out.

He’s supposed to be back home in Waterdeep. He’s supposed to live a full life, passing on after making great contributions to the world, remembered for who he was: an intelligent, kind man, brilliant in both the head and heart. You ache to imagine yourself with him.

You don’t deserve it.

“I love you,” your shaky voice whispers. You had all the intention to keep it unspoken until you were in your grave, but Gale needs to know how much of a hold he has on you. That the thought of him makes every day a little easier.

That, selfishly, he needs to stay for you.

He wipes the wetness from your cheeks. You lean into his hand, despite yourself, and you can’t stop crying now that you’ve started. You idly watch the slow drops on the ground, even as your eyesight blurs. You can’t face him.

You want to have this. To have him. You place your hand above his, intertwining them as they rest on your cheek. You bring it to your lips and kiss the back of his hand.

Your blood gnashes in your veins, protesting the vulnerability without violence.

You’re so tired of atoning.

His arms wrap around you, wordlessly, and your head rests on his shoulder. Away from his gaze, you speak up, voice still soft. “You deserve to live.”

“So do you.” He replies. You shake your head.

“You’ve seen what I can do. There is something wicked in my heart that I cannot cure. Every day I—“ You breathe out, shaky. You’ve never admitted this to anyone, didn’t even want to acknowledge the event to others in the fear they realise you’re a foul creature and cast you out. Remove your reason for being alive: your clan. “Every day I wake up and check my hands for blood. I don’t deserve you. I don’t even deserve to live.” You remember how blood feels. Sticky. Sweet. Familiar.

“You do.” He insists. Places his hand on the back of your head, cradling you. He treats you so gently, like you haven’t mauled and killed and lied. “Because I say so. I want you to live. I want you to have a good life, even beyond the tadpoles and the Absolute. Beyond me.”

“Then we’ve hit an impasse.” You remove yourself from him, looking him in the eye now. “You won’t die and I won’t.”

He grins in a way you can feel work into your heart.

You’re going to have to face the inevitability of each other’s deaths someday. Your adventure is a perilous one. You’ve already had many close calls, least of which the danger that you yourself pose to the others.

“I want to show you something, soon,” Gale says. You can feel his voice vibrate in his chest. You hum in response, your eyes already closed. The day has been long, taxing both emotionally and physically, and it’s only now catching up to you. “I don’t have nearly enough energy right now,” Gale chuckles. “But know that the depths of my feelings… You’ll see it. I promise.”

You trust him. Gods, you really do believe him.

You cling to his words: you deserve to live because I say so.

What makes mortal conviction any less powerful than a god? If Gale thinks you should live, then you will.

Maybe it can be that simple.

Perhaps you do deserve a slow, painful death. You know, somewhere in your broken mind, that Alfira wasn't the only victim of your cruelty. Maybe that would be the just thing to do, to wipe you off Fae’rûn. To rip this rare-found peace away from you.

Tomorrow will be another day. Another fight. One foot in front of the other. Live live live.

Your past will catch up to you someday. Your hands have committed countless unforgivable atrocities.

But tonight, your hands cover Gale in an embrace.

[sailorgundam308]

Got pretty annoyed yesterday while discussing the game with a friend (don’t worry, we’re still friends lol). But truly, I got annoyed at, once more, seeing how there are wrong assumptions weaved into the community discourse - things based out of someone’s ass, apparently, that got traction and now are repeated by players as if it’s true. But, of course, if anyone stops 2 seconds to actually pay attention to the game, these ideas prove to be just wrong.

This friend, for example, was mentioning how Astarion and Karlach NEVER agree or disagree together in anything. That’s a lie. I’ve (me myself, so I KNOW firsthand) been screen shooting every time there’s an agreement between them and when there isn’t. There are much more agreements than disagreements between Astarion and Karlach. They do come across as having different alignments, but they think alike MUCH more than ‘the internet’ (or even some devs?!) tend to believe. They might justify their rationale in different ways but they do agree together and disagree together way more than they disagree with each other. So that is something I personally can attest to.

Then I heard the argument that Karlach and Astarion don’t get unique scenes between each other: again, untrue. The tiefling party scene with Karlach, for starters, is the only unique romance scene for Astarion. The only person who has back and forth with Karlach after the paladins of Tyr are defeated is Astarion. They have (out of the top of my head, at least 4 unique short banters while both are in the party - again, more than Karl with any other companion.

Then the wrong assumption Astarion can’t go to Avernus : he can and he goes, both as ascended and spawn if you’re playing origin Karl. Ascended if you’re playing him.

A lot stems, again, from simplistic and shallow interpretations of both these characters’ story arcs and personalities. Others come from prejudice, from passing judgement on their appearance instead of their “content”.

Moreover, though, there will never be as much this x that content if it’s involving Karlach (and worse for Wyll) SIMPLY BECAUSE there is LESS than A THIRD the amount of content for Karlach in ANYTHING.

For some reason writers/devs took a long while to decide to put the work into Karlach and when they did they clearly made a bet that blew in their faces - that she’d be a lesser origin character and that’d turn out alright. But she’s the second most popular character and because people like her, they are paying attention to her story - and the massive lack of work and resources dedicated to her arc. Imagine if she had received the attention in detail and the game time / in game content, say, shadowheart received? Instead of a temple Shar, we went to Avernus? In place of Shar, ZARIEL made a personal appearance? We could’ve gotten a young Karlach flashback cinematic, an extra dungeon in act 3, then a personal quest closure with Gortash instead of SH’s parents, so we’d know what the fuck happened. As someone who can’t give two shits about SH, that would’ve been incredible to play. Half of that would still have been a blast. But we get nowhere near. And I’m only bringing Karlach to attention here as an example - if you look at Wyll (who was the front page origin boy since the conception of the game), the disparity is even more shocking.

I’ve read on a writer’s twitter a while back (can’t remember who exactly so you’ll have to excuse me), that they were the writers for Durge, and for a time they got to write some stuff for Astarion for a bit, due to some task delegation changes and whatnot, and they explicitly said they “managed to put in things specific to their “main” character (durge) in Astarion’s writing” - or something in those lines. Honestly… what the fuck? Not sure if that was the intention, but to me it sounded like someone with their own precious OC, which they are obviously attached to, pushing content in to benefit their “main”. In a game where there are several “mains” and many with glaringly less content than others. Again, in my interpretation of what I read that day, this information came across as the most unprofessional shit I’ve seen - if you are tasked to write someone else’s character, you should act as that character’s writer - not a fanfic writer trying to push a personal headcanon or narrative because it pleases YOU, in detriment of other characters. It was wild at the time and I just kinda… walked away and pretended I didn’t read it. It was just shocking and not the attitude I expected from a serious professional.

Whether that’s the whole truth or not I can’t say, but what I can say is that this left me with a weird taste in my mouth and perhaps that’s why until today I couldn’t finish a single run with Durge despite trying several. There are other issues with Durge for me personally in term of the actual writing of the sentences and the way they were worded that just seems impossible to take seriously. (But I’m trying to get over it still, as I want to experience this part of the game too, so I won’t give any sort of personal final veredict).

Also, the idea that Durge was supposed to be the main character… that’s a new assumption for me and my friend also brought it up. That sounded very sus and I went to read more about it and, of course, that’s also wrong. In previous BG games, we always played a Bhaalspawn. It would make perfect sense we played one again - but the butler shit, the amnesia, the gore erotic fantasies, that wouldn’t fly for the average BG3 player - and wasn’t supposed to. When they decided to split tav to leave the “absolutely neutral protagonist” they parted with the bhaalspawn narrative that was a very big part of the previous games, so I assume they didn’t want to just toss it, but put it to another “dark tav” or whatever shit that means. And then they doubled down with the evil and edge lord of kitschy horror narrative. It’s FINE. But isn’t supposed to be the main character.

TLDR: instead of taking random assumptions about bg3 as yours, pay attention to the game itself. And think critically about it a bit. All the origins are presented AS equals but they’re nothing but. And Larian should be (yes, troubleshooting tech issues but also) trying to even out the absurd gaps they allowed to happen in integrating the narrative of, especially, Karlach and Wyll into the game. Make more and decent content for them, fix the plot holes, rewrite the shit that doesn’t make sense for them FIRST.

Tbh, I wouldn’t be complaining if Larian had owned it to their content and presented us with Karlach and Wyll as sort of Halsin or Minthara type of companion - non origin, lesser tier of companion. Then the production choices they made would be at the very least justified. And I won’t EVEN start on the fact that these two, Karl and Wyll, are the two PoC origins… the black guy and the southeast Asian woman. Because, oh, boy, things start to look VERY bad when you put THAT into this equation… 👀

[thefloatingstone]

Question, so far in BG3 what do you think about each companion and who is your favorite ? Personally, like many, I pick Karlach !

I like the companions but I am still figuring them out (which is funny considering I have 50 hours into the game which is longer than the entirety of Mass Effect 1).

Lae'zel - Completely out of her depth culturally but at this point unaware of it. Very black and white in her thinking regard right and wrong... and yet surprisingly VERY quick to move someone from the "wrong" side in her head over to the "right" side. I was shocked by how she instantly liked Karlach the second Karlach explained her situation to us, and had 0 problem in immediately being like "this is a good one." despite her history. Thinks she's big and tough but is actually just a tsundere. Reminds me of Worf.

Gale - shockingly quick to latch on and trust people. To a degree that suggests he's a little bit desperate for affection. However it's not manipulative or anything, it's very genuine. He just trusts too quickly and will drink up any positive interaction like a man dying of thirst. possible praise kink.

Astarion - Like I said in the other post; essentially a cat that's been mistreated its whole life and will now swat and hiss at anyone trying to be nice to him simply out of fear. Constantly afraid but is hiding it behind sass or bitching. Only member left in the team who is still stuck on neutral in terms of relationship with Tav. Is constantly annoyed with me for being nice to the broken the beaten and the damned. Almost certainly because his experiences have taught him if you're not powerful you will be abused by those who are and it's upsetting to see someone who doesn't follow this internal logic of his. Needs a hug and a hot chocolate.

Wyll - Guy of all time. But he does come with hot demon mommy so that's a plus.

Shadowheart - obviously grew up a spoiled little princess by people who are actively grooming her for some fucked up religious role and have been telling her for her whole life that it's TOTALLY awesome and TOTALLY special and that she's TOTALLY special for being trained for it when really they're just brainwashing her into thinking getting used and and forced into something without her consent is something she actually wants and she should be proud of it. She hasn't figured this out yet tho and mostly still has amnesia about it which is 100% just more grooming. For some reason unlike my friend who found her insufferable and bratty, she's been very nice to me. Sucks to use in a fight tho.

Karlach - Ray of fucking sunshine. Somehow both the mom friend AND the little sister friend. Most purehearted member of the whole lot. Has the ADHD experience of literally vibrating in place but getting told by the entire world to "calm down" and "sit still". Uncomplicated but not in a bad way. Nothing but good vibes all the time. Has never had a bad thought about anybody. Deserves the fucking world.

[xalygatorx]

Unbound | Chapter 7, "Night Orchids & Wine"

Áine Ts'sambra—a wayward half-drow bard with a painful past—has her world upended when she's snatched up by a Nautiloid ship and furnished with a tadpole to the brain. In her journey to remove the infestation before it can turn her and her newfound companions illithid, she not only finds that their solution has more layers to parse through than she can count, but that a particular vampire in her party does as well.

Unbound is an ongoing generally SFW medium-burn romance based in the world of Baldur's Gate 3 between Astarion and a female OC. Any NSFW content will be marked in the Warnings section. Contains angst, fluff, explorations of trauma, spice, graphic fantasy violence, and a guaranteed happy ending.

For anything additional on what to expect (and not expect), check the preface post.

Summary: The group takes some well-earned rest after a second unexpected run-in with gnolls. Scratch makes his reappearance and joins their camp. Lae’zel learns what a dog is. As a result of overexerting herself, an old injury flares up for Áine and Shadowheart offers to help her alleviate the discomfort while having a second agenda in mind as well. Astarion sees it as a new rivalry. Shadowheart and Áine take some private time away from camp that Áine only realizes is meant to be a date after it becomes abundantly clear. The two discuss their respective pasts and Áine’s potential future with a certain vampire.

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC

Warnings: Mentions of graphic fantasy violence; suggestive content & dialogue; fluff; angst; lightly proofread

Word Count: 9.7k

Listening to: Your Bones - Of Monsters & Men

“I will admit I’m happy to have evaded a full-on second round of those awful things,” Wyll said, looking beaten within an inch of his life like the rest of his traveling companions. “But seeing that may have been equally traumatic, Áine.”

“Traumatic for you—what about me? I’m the one that did it,” Áine sighed, her lavender skin blackened by bruises. She absently worried the split in her lip with her teeth as they trudged forward, just trying to find a sequestered spot well away from the road to set up camp and recover. Something felt gone in her mind, something lost to the parasite. It unsettled her beyond words, but they would’ve all been killed otherwise.

Their fears of the escapee gnoll Áine had frightened off going in search of more packmates had come to fruition, and they hadn’t known until they’d gone further up the road. Their ghoulish pack leader had proven to be infested with a tadpole of her own, in the midst of painting crude bloody sigils of the Absolute on rocks when they’d unwittingly approached. Knowing they would never survive another fight with that many gnolls, Áine had turned to the illithid connection between them to convince her to turn on her own pack and then, ultimately, on herself.

“I’m as horrified as I am impressed,” Wyll admitted. Gale, still reeling, nodded in speechless agreement. 

“Vexed as I am to admit it, it was a necessary manipulation of the ghaik tadpoles,” Lae’zel declared. It surprised Áine, who had figured that the githyanki would be the most adamant about not using anything supplied by the illithid force in their minds under any circumstances. “You did well to put an end to them before we could be defeated in more permanent ways,” she said specifically to Áine.

“Despite not particularly wanting to agree with Lae’zel,” Shadowheart said, earning an annoyed look from the gith, “I do. It was a necessary evil. And…” She weighed her next words, seeming to debate on the right ones. “...pretty hardcore, too. It suits you.”

“Indeed,” Astarion piped up. “Ever more a reason to see what these tadpoles can do for us before we go getting rid of them without a second thought.”

“Chk, this isolated incident does not mean they will always obey us,” Lae’zel snapped. “They remain illithid tadpoles, their sole purpose to create more ghaik from our festering, feverish husks, for that is all that will be left after ceremorphosis makes its belated arrival. Do not be a fool, Astarion.”

Astarion knew better than to debate with Lae’zel, especially about mind flayers, but his opinion remained unchanged. As far as he was concerned, the little bugger in his brain was doing more good for him than bad, and if he could harness that energy and keep things skewed in his favor…well, he was well on his way to true power, true freedom as he’d never had it. The way he saw it, for his removed weaknesses, he may have been the most powerful vampire in the world at the moment. Certainly the most powerful spawn. The thought made him smirk.

“Is this far enough?” Gale asked, finally breaking his thoughtful silence. “I think we’re well enough off the road. I at least can’t smell all the blood anymore.”

“I still can,” Astarion commented. “But I don’t mind so much, I suppose. Even if I am getting a bit thirsty again.”

“You will take great care to keep your fangs clear of my neck, vampire,” Lae’zel warned him. 

Astarion made a little distressed sound in his throat. “Oh, but I do love spicy food…”

“That’s enough,” Áine said, her voice firm but on the edge of a laugh as if scolding a couple of mischievous children.

“If you’re so thirsty, Astarion,” Wyll suggested, “why not partake in the veritable buffet back on the road? It’s free for the taking after all.”

Astarion grimaced. “I will never be choosing to eat carrion again, Wyll, and for the record, gnoll blood smells absolutely rancid. No, I will be hunting later for something fresh.”

Áine winced a little at his mention of eating carrion “again,” something that had gone over the rest of the party’s heads. She could still see, smell, and hear the awful, rotten rat from the memory of his she’d seen via the tadpoles. Bile rose in the back of her throat just remembering it. To Gale, she finally said, “This is fine, we can stop here. We should stop here.”

At her word, the group stopped to set up tents. In time, Withers reappeared as he did nightly and so did his spell upon their living spaces. Áine noticed that instead of having to move the floor pillows that usually appeared in a decorative heap outside her tent into the interior, the spell or Withers himself went ahead and did that for her tonight. She was relieved to not have to put any extra pressure on her sore muscles for the night. Even after downing a vial of health potion, she still felt like she’d been bodyslammed by an ogre. Which, to be fair, she’d been almost bodyslammed by a gnoll twice her size, so perhaps her body’s pains were more valid than she was giving them credit for.

After she was settled, Áine sat outside her tent, checking her side where the gnoll’s claws had raked her ribs before she’d scared it off. She let her tunic drop back down and was reaching for the scimitars she’d scavenged—one in the first fight, one following the second after they’d spoken to the Zhentarim mercenaries the second pack of gnolls had cornered in a cave—when Shadowheart approached her. 

“Let me have a look at that,” she said, nodding toward Áine’s side. Knowing better than to say “no” when Shadowheart was in medic-mom mode, Áine moved her arms off her sides so the cleric could roll up her shirt and check her wounds. “Hm, not too deep. That’s good. The potion you took should do most of the work for these, do you need anything else?”

“No, I’m fine,” Áine said, rolling her shirt back down. “Go ahead and see to the others. And please don’t forget about yourself.”

Shadowheart smiled, dark bruises already blooming across her milky complexion. “I’ll do my best to create a balance,” she said. “Thank you.”

After Shadowheart left to move to Astarion’s tent next, Áine set to work wiping down her blades, her brow pinching with discomfort as she felt a familiar clinching stiffness in her back and shoulder the longer she worked to burnish them back to brightness. 

Her gaze lifted from her weapons when she heard Astarion shoo Shadowheart away from tending to his wounds, shying away from any sort of tactile activity that wasn’t his idea in his usual way. At least his wounds seem minimal, Áine found herself speculating. Being a sharpshooter as skillful as he was did thankfully mean that he could stay out of the thick of their fights for the most part. It gave her one less thing to fret about in the middle of a battle.

Áine startled at the sound of a bark off to her left, at first fearing more gnolls. Her worry melted away in full, however, to see their canine acquaintance of just a day or so ago trot happily over to her tent. 

“Scratch!” she exclaimed, an elated grin blossoming on her lips. At the sound of his name, Scratch’s trot turned into a run. He paused just at the edge of the rug she sat on and seemed conflicted, which was when she noticed the ball he held in his mouth. He seemed to debate whether or not to set his toy down for a moment before ultimately doing so for the tradeoff of lavishing Áine’s face with doggy kisses. 

She squirmed away giggling and it sent a sting through her side but she could not have cared less in that moment. She was sure there was nothing like the euphoria of a beloved animal companion showing they loved you back. Perhaps the only things that came close were the person-to-person adoration equivalents, but those she was much less versed in and wouldn’t be convinced that they were in any way superior until she was maybe one day granted the experience. For now, she just ducked and dodged around the excitable pup who was more than happy to playfully antagonize her so long as she was laughing and happy. 

Across the camp, Áine’s giggles had attracted the full group’s attention. Even Withers’ stony gaze softened to see someone genuinely joyful in these dark times, even if it was fleeting. Perhaps because it was fleeting. 

The others all had some variation of a warm smile on their face. Gale almost looked close to tears, the wizard feeling a deep sentiment for the smaller joys in this sometimes dismal life as one unfolded before him, and missing Tara terribly as a result. 

Only Astarion’s expression bordered a bit closer to a sneer. He was more of a cat person, he supposed, but Scratch seemed sweet enough. Perhaps his preference was because he’d never really been around a dog—a living one anyway—given that he’d lived in Baldur’s Gate his whole life and the city, by law, didn’t allow dogs. Perhaps it was because cats tended to be a bit more regal, sometimes even sinister. He could relate to that. If Scratch’s presence continued to result in Áine’s laughter ringing through the camp though, Astarion decided he could allow it with minimal protest and returned to his reading.

Lae’zel, however, was flummoxed at the creature’s reappearance, noting that it seemed friendly albeit a little slobbery. She wasn’t entirely sure she’d ever seen a dog before they’d come across Scratch in the woods that day and, while she didn’t mind him, she didn’t have a clue what to do with him should he approach her. The githyanki was soon to contend with exactly that, as she’d been halfway to Áine’s tent when Scratch had arrived on the scene and descended upon the seated bard. 

Áine noticed Lae’zel’s suddenly cautious approach and smiled at her. “Did you want to pet him?”

Lae’zel looked at Scratch and his wagging tail and lolling tongue with some measure of doubt. “I lack the familiarity with his species to know what that would do to benefit me,” she said, her chin tilted as if admitting she didn’t understand what Áine’s happiness at being bowled over by the furry creature resulted from was a show of weakness. 

Scratch barked excitedly at the prospect of another person giving him affection and Áine noticed the slightest jolt in Lae’zel’s frame, realizing she was unnerved by the loud, sudden noise. She shushed the dog, who gave a quiet groan of recognition much to her amusement. “He’s not upset, he does that when he’s excited,” she explained to the githyanki. Áine patted her lap and Scratch obediently laid across it, placing his head on his paws. His ears remained perked and his tail swished idly as he watched Lae’zel. “I know how jarring the barking can be. It took me a while to get used to it too when I was around dogs for the first time.”

Lae’zel’s lips pursed as she evaluated Áine’s words and then Scratch’s calmer behavior. She watched how Áine ran her hands through Scratch’s fur, along his back and ruff. It didn’t look difficult… And if the creature was to travel with them, she supposed she could try. 

Warily, Lae’zel knelt next to Áine, some caution returning as the dog raised his head to greet her, his mouth open and tongue lolling again as he panted. She eyed his teeth and then looked to Áine for an explanation. “He won’t bite you, Lae,” Áine told her in a lowered tone that only they and Astarion’s vampiric hearing across the way could hear.

Her expression turned suddenly vulnerable as she was caught in her worry, her lips thinning even further as she felt a reflexive, self-loathing reaction to someone seeing her afraid. Her pulse jumped, what little adrenaline her body could spare after the day and the extent of her injuries out on the road flooding her veins. Lae’zel had to remind herself that she wasn’t among her kin—something she missed, but something she was feeling strangely grateful for at this moment. 

The gith took a deep breath and leveled a look at Áine, who was just watching her with a mixture of patience and concern. “Do you think me weak?” she asked the bard in a lowered tone that matched hers. “For being wary of such a seemingly benign creature?”

Áine frowned and shook her head. “Of course not,” she said. “I think it’s admirable that you’re approaching something this new at all. I assume they don’t have dogs or something similar where you’re from?”

While they spoke, Lae’zel hesitantly moved a hand toward Scratch, who gave an excited whine that gave her pause until Áine nodded for her to proceed. She set her hand against the top of Scratch’s head and gave him a couple of awkward pats. 

A held breath eased from her chest when he didn’t attack her and she answered Áine’s question as she gently investigated the creature’s ears. “There is little use in any githyanki crèche for ‘pets.’ Apart from Vlaakith’s red dragons awarded as mounts to kith’rak, a kept animal would only be seen as a point of weakness, a liability in battle, and an easy target for one’s rivals,” she explained. 

Scratch turned his head in Lae’zel’s offered palm to sniff her skin, his tongue darting out for a single affectionate lick—he seemed to be being careful with her too, possibly sensing her nervousness. Lae’zel was yet again confused at the gesture until she saw Áine’s approving smile granted toward the dog. “I think he likes you,” she said.

“I think I like him, too,” Lae’zel said with clear hesitation, still unsafe in her perception of any emotional attachments. Áine thought after this interaction she understood the githyanki warrior a little better and was grateful for it. “Does he understand us when we speak?”

Scratch barked in response to hearing the word “speak,” mistaking it for a trick command. Áine and Lae’zel both jumped and then both relaxed when Áine laughed. “He understands certain words, apparently, like ‘speak’,” she said, repeating the word to show Lae’zel that this was why he’d barked and not for any reason that should disconcert her. “Dogs can be taught commands by training them, usually with familiar words. He might also know how to ‘sit’?”

The white dog rose from Áine’s lap and sat down on the ground, perfectly postured and waiting for her to give him another word he knew. Lae’zel was fascinated by this development and it pulled at Áine’s heart. They were truly a band of weirdos, but she did find something so endearing about each of them. Even Wyll and Gale when they weren’t up her arse about one thing or another. 

“Good boy!” Áine praised Scratch, who lost his doggy mind over hearing those most treasured words, his tail thrashing wildly with joy. “Who’s a good boy, who’s a sweet li’l baby?”

Astarion bit down a smirk at hearing Áine baby-talking to the dog, amused and warmed by the sound of her voice and affectionate tone.

Scratch was in a tizzy now, spinning in circles until he remembered he’d brought his ball with him. He snatched it up off the ground and shook it around before focusing on Áine and bowing playfully toward her, his tail wagging uncontrollably. Áine snorted and reached out to take it, laughing when he danced back from her and resumed his original position. 

“Come here, you little stinker,” she laughed, patting the rug in front of her until he did a four-legged version of an army crawl to where she beckoned. Áine reached out again and he let her put her hand around the ball this time but didn’t let go, making her wrestle him for it while he quietly growled and shook his head to try and knock her hand away. “This is how he plays, by the way,” she told Lae’zel, who still sat by and observed with rapt attention. “If you do this, just be gentle with him and his teeth. I’m not really pulling on the ball, I’m just kind of holding it until he loosens his jaws or lets go.”

“Is there a point to such practice?” she asked, wondering if perhaps it helped Scratch to train for battle or helped to strengthen him somehow.

Áine shrugged, simply playing a tug-of-war with Scratch with one arm while she looked at Lae’zel and responded to her question. “It maybe harkens back to his hunting instincts? But it’s just for fun with us because we’re his friends.”

“What happens if you get the ball from him?” she asked, eying the drool-slick leather sphere with some reemerging skepticism.

Just as she asked, Áine felt a little bit of give in Scratch’s hold on his prize and pulled it from between his jaws, a string of slobber stringing for an instant between his mouth and the ball. “Gross,” Áine laughed as Scratch barked and hopped around, waiting for the return of his toy. “Well, in that case, we get to play fetch!”

Before Lae’zel could ask for further explanation, Áine threw the ball across camp and Scratch tore after it, nearly taking out a chuckling Gale in passing while he worked on their dinner over the campfire. The camp felt so much lighter and warmer with their newest addition and Áine’s heart felt quite full suddenly as she took in their cozy little camp. Suddenly the gnolls and the pain in her side and her back and the stresses of the day felt inconsequential. 

In no time at all, Scratch came bounding back to them, skidding to a stop in front of Áine and setting the ball down on the ground and bowing in anticipation again only to dart in and scoop the ball back up when Áine reached for it. 

“OH, you rat!” she laughed as Scratch proceeded into a round of erratic “zoomies” around the camp. When she looked at Lae’zel, the githyanki was smiling with undisguised amusement and Áine thought that may have been the happiest she’d yet seen her, at least openly. “Well now that he’s off on an adventure, did you have something else you wanted when you walked over? Other than an impromptu lesson on dogs, I mean?”

Lae’zel smirked. “It was an appreciated lesson. Much continues to vex me about Faerûn, but it becomes evermore comprehensible as it is explained by willing parties. You and Gale, mostly,” she said and Áine rightfully recognized this as her words of thanks. “Wyll as well at times, yet I admit at times his language is a little too…flowery for me to fully understand his meaning.”

Áine smirked. “He is, at all times, a bit poetic, I agree,” she said. “Any time you have questions, you can ask. In the moment or later if you don’t want to ask in front of everyone. And if I don’t know the answer, we’ll find it out together. Probably from Gale.”

The two chuckled in unison and Lae’zel nodded toward Áine’s swords. “I was preparing to sharpen my blade and decided I would ask if you would like yours tended to as well. They look in relatively good condition, but they have also seen the road in more ways than the one,” she explained, not realizing that Áine was more than ready to agree already just because the offer was so thoughtful. 

“That would be really nice, thank you, Lae’zel,” Áine said, the touched expression on her face making Lae’zel a little unsettled but not in an unwelcome way. 

Lae’zel inclined her head and picked up the scimitars, taking them with her to her tent and setting them to the side while she took to the likely much lengthier task of tending her longsword. Áine heard the whetstone whirr to life across the campground, the warrior very clearly in her element as she cleaned and sharpened her weapon with pure focus in her eyes. Áine noted with an iota of hope that regardless of Shadowheart’s feelings toward Lae’zel, she must’ve gone to great lengths to heal her wounds for her to be so mobile after the state she’d been in earlier that day.

It wasn’t long before Gale called them all to dinner, taking Lae’zel hers at her tent when she appeared conflicted about pausing in her work. The rest of them—even Astarion—settled near the fire and served themselves from the pot of stew Gale had been tirelessly working over since they’d set up their tents. A bowl of sliced meat and carrots was set aside for Scratch, who quit his laps around the camp for the promise of food.

Áine, seated comfortably between Astarion and Shadowheart, enjoyed her dinner with as much contentment as she’d felt since they’d settled for the night—Hells, perhaps even since her abduction, perhaps even before that. Occasionally, she’d adjust her sitting position to try and compensate for the stiffness in her back and shoulder, rolling the joint to try and work the sensation out of her muscles to no avail. 

“Are you quite alright?” Astarion asked abruptly after seeing Áine readjust for the third time since they’d gathered by the fire.

Amused, Áine looked at him and volleyed back, “Why, is my discomfort bothering you?”

“Yes,” he said, giving a faintly amused smirk when she laughed. “What’s wrong with you?”

“We don’t have enough time in the day for me to answer that,” she bantered back, effectively entertaining and frustrating Astarion at the same time when he was humored by her responses and repeatedly unenlightened by them. Across the fire, she heard Gale say, “Relatable,” before she smirked and answered more fully, “My back is just messed up from today, but I’m fine.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Astarion murmured, but his expression hinged on showing hints of concern. He glanced at Áine’s back but didn’t see anything on her tunic that signaled she’d been hurt there like she had on her side. He thought back to the night he’d seen her down by the river, and ruminated on the scars he’d seen on her front near her shoulder. Would that have had something to do with it? How deep did her scars go?

The scars on his own back seemed to pulse with a sympathetic phantom pain when he wondered about hers.   

“I could try to work on your back later tonight if you want,” Shadowheart chimed in. “In more of a hands-on than magical approach. Maybe over one of the bottles of wine we found today if you’d like.”

Áine, blissfully unaware that this was a date being proposed, smiled and nodded. “That may help, thank you.”

Astarion felt a distinct urge to scream into a bag. Bloody Shadowheart, why hadn’t he thought of that?! 

Was he losing his touch? What he saw as his singular useful skill set still felt reflexive in its nature—blessing or curse, he didn’t know now—but he was somehow still so late to head off the others to get to these positively decadent setups he could create for her to further his plan. Even earlier when he’d heard Lae’zel offer to sharpen her new swords, he’d kicked himself a bit, and that wasn’t even his field of expertise. A massage though? He could’ve taken that by storm, but the bloody cleric had swooped in before he’d even formed the thought.

Some of his internal conflicts must’ve shown on his face because when he focused back on the present and glanced toward Shadowheart and Áine, Shadowheart was eying him with something that looked frighteningly akin to a knowing look. Astarion’s eye twitched and she bit down on her lips to stifle a smirk at his silent turmoil. 

Oh, so it’s war then, Astarion thought, smirking back at her with a challenge in his eyes. Nevermind, this was much more fun than simply winning over his prize with ease. It had been a dance before, now it was a game and from his side at least it was far from over.

Her eyes flitting away to fasten back on Áine’s face while the bard spoke, Shadowheart could only feel bemused but entertained by Astarion’s accidental honest albeit subtle display of emotions. She’d gotten the sense that those two were getting increasingly more comfortable around each other and, while she wasn’t fully certain what that meant from Áine’s side, she now felt like she knew what it meant from Astarion’s. This was partially why she’d suggested their little outing later—she was curious about their bard and needed to understand some things for herself about her relationship with Áine and where it might go. And at the rate she’d seen Áine and Astarion grow closer and Gale and Wyll’s, even Lae’zel’s, different levels of interest in their half-drow leader take root, she’d started to wonder if she’d have much more time left before she missed her chance. 

Shadowheart was historically only one for short-term amusements, but she found herself relieved that she’d get the chance at least now to investigate the possibility of what something like that might look like with Áine—and perhaps a little smug that she’d gotten there before the others. Particularly Astarion, as suave and flawless in the art of seduction as he seemed to be. Given that though, she did wonder if his fumbles meant that he was more interested in Áine than he let on. She also wondered if he was self-aware enough to realize it. If that was the case, she’d perhaps be a touch sorry if she hit things off with their sweet hellion of a bard that night because the prospect was awfully cute.

The rest of dinner passed without consequence as night fell around them and everyone stole to their tents to decompress for the evening, just the ambient sounds of Wyll and Gale chitchatting with scattered attempts to loop in Astarion or Lae’zel, both of whom were too absorbed in their own activities—or thoughts and schemes in their vampire’s case—to be social. Shadowheart approached Áine’s tent about an hour after they’d left the fireside, the promised bottle of wine and two goblets all held deftly in one hand. 

“Ready?” she asked, offering her free hand down to Áine to help her up. Áine smiled gratefully and accepted the assistance, already in the throes of comfortable chitchat as they left the camp together. 

Astarion’s eyes followed them until they were out of sight and their voices left even his sensitive range. He frowned, already perturbed that he didn’t have some sort of window into what was going on and feeling equal discontent at having no valid way to interrupt it. He felt a weight press down on the book he held and he looked down at it, finding that Scratch had situated his head perfectly between the pages, staring up at him pathetically. 

“What?” Astarion asked, even his flat acknowledgment enough to make Scratch wag his tail. 

He sighed, removing the book from under Scratch’s chin before he could drool on it. “I don’t suppose I could coerce you into rampaging on their little rendezvous, could I?” he wondered aloud to the dog, who instead of stepping away when his headrest was removed took advantage of Astarion’s raised arms to scoot in even closer. Close enough to put his head on Astarion’s chest instead, still just staring up at him while his tail tapped the ground. 

“Bleeding Hells, what do you want?” Astarion asked, receiving a quick lick to the chin. “Now we’ll have none of that, understand? No.”

Scratch whined in response, but didn’t attempt another doggy smooch. Astarion gave the dog a withering but considerate look before he sighed dramatically. “Fine, you can stay but no drooling or licking me or my things,” Astarion griped. As much as he could, Scratch seemed to understand and settled himself into Astarion’s lap while the vampire returned to his book.

“Now that is adorable,” Gale commented as soon as he saw that Astarion was letting Scratch sit with him, drawing Wyll and Lae’zel’s attention to the sight as well. 

Wyll smiled and agreed, but added, “I’m surprised he would warm up to you so quickly, Astarion. For no fault of yours, just given your nature…I’d have to imagine that an animal could pick up on that, no?”

“They can,” Astarion drawled, not looking up from his reading again, “and unlike you, the smart ones can comprehend that I don’t feel compelled to eat everything that crosses my path.”

“You did say you were thirsty earlier,” Gale pointed out. “Is it not made more difficult with a beating heart in your lap?”

“I’m around you all at all hours, including when I’m inclined to feed,” Astarion said. “I am more than comfortable in my ability to stave off my thirst in favor of things I’m not inclined to bite.”

“And it is much appreciated, my friend,” Gale said emphatically. 

“I didn’t mean anything against your character, you know,” Wyll said suddenly, looking a bit sorry after Astarion’s cool responses. “From now on, I will take more care in my word choice when I speak of—” 

At the word “speak,” Scratch gave a loud bark that startled the vampire he sat upon, which caused Gale and Wyll to fall into a fit of chuckles as Astarion, disgruntled, lifted his literature to regard the mutt again. 

“You must tell him he is a good boy,” Lae’zel advised him and, by extension, Gale and Wyll. “He has heeded your command and must now be praised.”

Astarion gave an exhausted sigh at his choice of company, his mind wandering again to the companions that had wandered off together into the dark as he rested the spine of his book against Scratch’s back and skimmed the text to locate where he’d left off on the page. “Thank you, Lae’zel,” he said with as much patience as he could muster for the learning githyanki, lifting one bone-white hand to give Scratch’s neck a few affectionate pets.

In a secluded lakeside spot the pair had scouted together, Áine and Shadowheart admired a waterfall while seated on a blanket across a patch of grass. The cleric uncorked their wine and filled their goblets, handing one to Áine. “What should we drink to?” she asked.

Áine gave that some thought, swirling the wine in her goblet and inhaling the fruity notes wafting up. “Erm… I would say to no more godsdamn gnolls, but I don’t want to jinx us,” she said. “How about to…Scratch finding us safely?”

Shadowheart’s expression softened and she clinked her goblet with Áine’s. “To Scratch.” They took long sips and Shadowheart looked thoughtfully at her goblet afterward. “You know, for road wine, that’s not bad at all. I wonder if that was a merchant cart we took apart today.”

“It’s very nice,” Áine agreed. “For ‘road wine’ of course. Although it’s been so long since I’ve had wine that’s not been purloined from an upended crate or cart that I forget what not-road wine tastes like.”

The cleric laughed softly. “I can relate to that,” she said, her long ebony braid falling over her shoulder as she studied the drink in her hands. “I also think my standards have lowered some for what is ‘good’ wine.” She smirked at Áine. “Maybe after all this is over, we can meet up in Baldur’s Gate for a wine tasting to reset our palates.”

Áine smiled at the notion. She could feel the tension in her expression, even if it didn’t show, at the simple thought of returning to the city. It was unfair for her to project all her bad memories on the city as a whole, but she’d never quite been able to cleanse her image of the city for all the sins of her past. To Shadowheart, she said, “That sounds nice. I’ve been to the city a handful of times, but never really for recreation. I wouldn’t even know where to go.”

Shadowheart furrowed her brow as she refilled her goblet. “If I could remember much at all about my life there, I would suggest a place, but… Well, you know. After I’ve fulfilled my duties to Shar and my cloister, perhaps I’ll have some ideas for us.”

Áine warred with herself, between her past-born prejudices against Sharrans and what she knew so far of Shadowheart. Part of her wanted to ask point-blank why she subjected herself so deeply to Shar’s darkness, but she also knew why. Shadowheart had shown her herself via their tadpole connection. The leader of her cloister had saved her, taken her in, and raised her amongst her own. It only made sense that Shadowheart would feel as if she owed her very life to the goddess that same cloister worshiped. Áine just wished for Shadowheart’s sake that it had been someone else’s god. She justified Shar’s teachings and the way she had been raised and trained beyond measure, but Áine saw plainly the pain in her eyes every time she did. 

“Are you still certain my loyalty to Lady Shar doesn’t bother you?” Shadowheart asked, softly challenging Áine out of her own thoughts that wondered the same thing. When Áine hesitated, Shadowheart explained, “The silence is quite loud following my mention of Her.”

“I’m sorry, I was just thinking. Apparently a bit too deeply,” Áine admitted. “Any hesitation I still feel regarding it comes from a place of concern alone. The wound in your hand, your memories, what I know of Sharrans’ training… It pains me to think of all these things happening to my dear friend, despite understanding why her loyalty is so cemented to the Dark Lady.”

Shadowheart smiled faintly. “I can appreciate that. And I would be lying if I said that I never wondered why I must suffer in the specific ways that I do in Her name. But that’s part of faith, isn’t it? Allowing a hand in the darkness to lead you, trusting that they’ll see you safely to the other side.”

Áine shrugged her shoulders, wincing when the movement did nothing positive for the ache in her back. “I wouldn’t know personally. Faith in a deity wasn’t something that I was raised in proximity to while growing up.”

“Not even Lolth?” Shadowheart asked, surprised. “Sorry, I suppose I’m as readily making assumptions about your drow heritage as I condemn others for doing the same about my Shar worship.”

Áine’s mouth drew into a thin line, but it was one of discomfort rather than anger. “Lolth and  Eilistraee were prevalent in trinkets and paintings I remember from long ago, but active worship of either by my blood? Not that I can recall,” she said.

“There’s a lot of pain for you there, isn’t there,” Shadowheart observed and Áine thought she was making a keen observation about her tone when she noticed instead that the cleric’s eyes had homed in on her left shoulder and, indeed, the source of her aches. 

Most willingly, Áine leaped away from discussing her past, nodding in response to her question. “Old wounds left to heal on their own for longer than I should’ve allowed them left things in more than a little disrepair,” she explained, adjusting her tunic collar to show Shadowheart the fanned edges of the scars on her chest. “It’s my fault for putting pressure on it today when I rolled around with that shield on my arm. It takes that sort of movement to aggravate it and put it out of commission, but usually only for about a day.”

“A day is all it could take in our new line of adventuring,” Shadowheart reminded her with a frown, throwing back the last bit of her second goblet of wine. Áine began to wonder if she possibly espied a coping mechanism at the bottom of that cup, but hardly felt entitled to judge another for the way they worked around their trauma. Still, she made a mental note. “Right, let me have a look at it. Do you mind removing your blouse?”

“Sure,” Áine said, loosing the little strings at the collar and maneuvering the garment over her head. Holding the fabric against her breasts, Áine used her right arm to settle herself on her stomach and then rested her head against her forearm.

Shadowheart shifted over to straddle Áine’s bum, smoothing the half-drow’s pearlescent locks away from her shoulders. On Áine’s back, she found similar scars to the ones on her chest, perfectly positioned over the same locations. Whatever had hit her from either side, it had hit her hard enough to come out the other. Twice. 

“Gods, what happened to you?” Shadowheart asked as her probing fingertips began to investigate the area around the old wounds. “Let me know if I do anything that causes you pain, by the way.”

“I will,” Áine said, her snowy lashes fluttering as her eyes closed. She felt naked in more ways than the way she was physically without her shirt on. She’d never shown another person her scars before and she’d certainly never let anyone touch them. But she trusted Shadowheart and she respected her clerical expertise and healing touch. More than that even, she supposed she was finally ready to understand the extent of the bodily damage she carried with her. She wanted to know if there was anything she could do for her physical scars while she tried painstakingly to heal the ones in her heart.

“You are riddled with scar tissue,” Shadowheart said, her voice troubled. “Particularly here and here as well.” Her hands gently prodded the areas she wanted to highlight to Áine. “Which is likely why you end up with so much resistance around the joint when the musculature flares up.”

“Is there anything I could do for it or is this just how it will always be now?” Áine asked, carefully keeping her anxiety in check as she felt Shadowheart continue to prod around her weak points. She could hardly touch her own scars without remembering what had caused them. Having someone else do the same and not immediately knowing where their hands would land or press added to the nerviness of it all.

“How old are these?” Shadowheart asked before she answered.

“A little over ten years,” Áine replied. Ten years and 39 days.

“We could try and make this a more regular thing,” Shadowheart suggested, finally ceasing in her prodding and beginning to massage the area after dabbing some lavender oil on her hands. Her fingertips ground deep into her muscles and tissue and it did hurt, but it was a gratifying sort of burn that was left behind. “Of course, it needn’t be me doing it every time if you’d rather I not and you can likely work on the scar tissue collected around your chest, but your back will be harder for you to reach on your own. Aside from seeing if massage will start to break down the tissues… I’m not sure. There have to be some advanced healing magics that could help, I’m just not versed in them yet.”

Áine nodded against her arm. “I understand.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have a better solution for you,” Shadowheart said, her voice a little strained as she dug more deeply into a knot she found until it released. “Or at least a faster one.”

“Please don’t apologize,” Áine insisted. “You’re already helping me plenty now. I’ve lived with it this long, if I find a way to mend or improve it down the road, then that’s unexpected good news.”

“Truthfully, I don’t know how you do it sometimes,” Shadowheart commented.

“Do what?” Áine asked.

“Stay so hopeful,” the cleric said. “Especially now. We have actual worms burrowed in our brains and you still manage to find joy in the smallest things and possibilities.”

“I will admit that I occasionally forget about the tadpole and that may be why I’m so stupid in my optimism,” Áine admitted, causing them both to laugh. “And then of course it moves the slightest bit and the world’s crashing down around me again, reality returned.”

Áine felt Shadowheart raise her weight off her backside and the cleric’s hands guided her to turn over on her back. It was only at that moment (much belatedly in retrospect) that Áine realized why Shadowheart may have suggested a secluded spot and wine for what would’ve otherwise been a purely medicinal massage that could’ve taken place with ease in one of their tents.

Shadowheart settled her weight back across Áine’s hips, leaning down over the bard until their faces were a breath apart. Áine could feel the thump of Shadowheart’s pulse vibrate in her own sternum as the leathers of the cleric’s camp attire pressed through the thin blouse Áine still held over her chest. Áine was somewhere between shock and panic. I’m such an idiot for not catching the intention here, she was already thinking. Shit, she’s going to hate me for this.

While Áine was trying to slow down her thoughts and sort out how to best manage whatever fallout came of her expressing her lack of romantic interest, Shadowheart had closed the distance and pressed a curious, soft kiss to Áine’s lips, testing the waters. She tasted like the wine they’d shared and was perfectly pleasant to kiss, but the chemistry was simply not there. 

When Shadowheart withdrew and regarded Áine below her in the moonlight, she gave the bard a faint, shy smile. “Nothing?”

“I’m sorry,” Áine whispered, her voice laced with apologetic shame. “I was too thick to catch the signals before, well…before just now, honestly.”

“Really?” Shadowheart asked, giggling. “I suppose I could’ve made it more clear, but I thought the wine might clue you in. A professional masseuse wouldn’t drink on the job.”

“I’m an idiot when it comes to these things,” Áine sighed. “Thinking back, you couldn’t have been more clear.”

“Stop calling my friend stupid,” Shadowheart ordered, giving Áine a light flick in the nose that caused the half-drow to smirk. “You don’t need to be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong here either.”

Áine frowned, resting her good arm behind her head to cushion her skull against the ground. “I feel like I did. Honestly, I always feel like I do.”

Knowingly, Shadowheart asked, “Have your past lovers made you feel that way?” Áine froze, at a loss for words, which was answer enough for Shadowheart. “Then that is on them, not on you.” Instead of getting up, the cleric just continued to lay on top of Áine, only shifting slightly to get more comfortable. “I can move if you’d like, but I’m also not opposed to a platonic cuddle if you aren’t.”

Áine laughed and shook her head. “Those, I’m versed in and happy to oblige,” she said. She could have cried from relief that Shadowheart wasn’t angry with her, which just informed her better how unfortunate her past encounters had been thus far to have so thoroughly taught her that rejecting advances would lead to damnation and rejection of both her character and her claims. Hesitantly, Áine said, “Thank you for not being angry with me.”

“Not a thing to be angry about,” Shadowheart said. “I admit it was more a test of the waters than anything. I don’t have a speech prepared in my pocket to declare my undying love, sorry to say. But you’re a lovely person and a friend I’ve come to treasure, so I needed to at least try and see. Especially before the rest of our group headed me off at the pass.”

Áine’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Shadowheart gave her an obvious look. “Maybe you are thick in the head,” she teased. “There is not a single person back at that camp that isn’t interested in you. Fair warning.” At Áine’s frightened look, Shadowheart laughed with mirth. “So if I may indulge my curiosity… Do you solely like men in that way?”

Áine sighed. “Tragically, I’m afraid so,” she joked, earning a snicker from the cleric atop her. “At least I believe so. Sometimes I have trouble reading my own heart, so I can only make educated guesses to serve as answers.”

“Well that may speak to your heart,” Shadowheart said, “but what about your…more carnal inclinations?”

“There are no carnal inclinations without a connection of the heart for me,” Áine said. “Therefore I more often than not don’t ‘like’ anyone in that way.”

Shadowheart’s brows rose into her bangs. “Not even the vampire?” Áine’s lavender skin turned a deep shade of reddish purple and a grin spread across Shadowheart’s lips. “Ah, I see.”

“Don’t be smug or I’ll roll hard enough to launch you into the water,” Áine warned her.

A look of genuine concern crossed Shadowheart’s face. “Please don’t. I can’t swim.”

Áine frowned. “Truly? Or are you teasing me again?”

“No, I really can’t,” Shadowheart said seriously. 

“I’d be happy to teach you at some point,” Áine said, wincing when she adjusted her shoulder. “Perhaps when I’m not already ailing. What else don’t I know about you?”

“Plenty, but primarily what I also don’t know,” she said, lacing her fingers over Áine’s breastbone and resting her chin against the bridge they made. “I do like night orchids.”

“Of course you do,” Áine teased her, earning an eyeroll. “I like lilacs.”

“A good choice,” Shadowheart said, smiling slyly as she continued, “but let’s not change the subject. You’re interested in Astarion?”

“It’s complicated,” Áine said, her words coming out with a heavy sigh.

“Try me,” Shadowheart suggested, rolling over to lie on the ground beside Áine instead of continuing to lie atop her and be a menace. Besides that, even if Áine didn’t protest, Shadowheart couldn’t imagine it would help with the shoulder situation. Her brow furrowed, remembering the layers of scar tissue she’d dug into. Based on her scars, Áine had been shot with something, but what? And by whom?

“There’s…tension,” Áine said. “A lot of tension. Which can sometimes be the best parts of these things and given my obvious fickleness with this stuff, I’m genuinely afraid to broach the subject only to realize I read my own feelings wrong.”

“Is how you read your feelings really the problem?” Shadowheart asked. “You seemed to know precisely what you didn’t want tonight. You were just afraid to say it because you thought it would upset me.”

Áine felt properly seen and she wasn’t completely sure she liked it. “Not everyone is as gracious as you were,” she said in response. “What if he isn’t either?”

“So what if he isn’t?” the cleric challenged her, turning onto her side and propping her head against her arm to look down at the bard. “As I said before, it would be far more his problem to react that way than it would be yours.” As she inspected Áine’s conflicted expression, Shadowheart began to understand something a bit more. “...This one’s different for you, isn’t he.” It wasn’t exactly a question.

The half-drow somberly regarded the moon above them as she said, “Without getting into where I come from, I can tell you it wasn’t a pleasant environment in which to grow up. The people grew up just as twisted and gnarled as the world around us. It didn’t make for a good first few ‘romantic’ experiences.”

“You didn’t end up that way,” Shadowheart suggested gently. “Despite what sound like perfectly good excuses to do so. It’s exceptionally easy to just lean into what we’re taught without question.” She paused. “But I do wonder what that has to do with Astarion?”

“Very little apart from perhaps making me a poor choice of mate,” Áine said with a soft laugh. “I’m not what happened to me and I know that, but it left its marks.” When Shadowheart’s eyes dropped down to her scars, Áine shook her head. “Not those. Invisible ones.”

“Ah,” she said knowingly, mentally ruling out the possibility of a past lover giving her those scars. “Well, we all have those. I’d imagine he has his fair share, too. Although it can be difficult to tell with him sometimes.”

“That’s the other piece,” Áine admitted. “There are times I look at him and I see him, but then others that he knows I’m looking at him and shows me something else instead. He has this sort of mask he likes to throw on when he needs to disengage. Or when he’s aiming to make me swoon within an inch of my life.”

Shadowheart laughed. “He does have a way with words and, well, what goes with them. But I’ve seen the mask you mean. Only fleetingly because he’s not trying to impress me, his sights are set on you,” she said.

“Don’t say that,” Áine groaned.

“It’s the truth of it,” Shadowheart insisted. “Listen, from a third-party standpoint, it’s quite clear that you two have eyes for one another. Why not just lean into it and see where it goes if you’re curious? It’s not as if you have to marry him if you test the waters and don’t like what you find.”

“What if I’m wrong?” Áine asked. “About him or me? Or him and me?”

Shadowheart shrugged. “Then you’re wrong and you move on. It really isn’t as complicated as you’re making it for yourself, Áine.” She took in the doubtful twist of Áine’s lips, the concern creasing her brow, the quiet fear in her eyes. “Gods, you’re half in love with him already.”

“I am not,” Áine laughed. Her laughter suddenly died soon after. “...I’m not, am I?”

“This is adorable,” Shadowheart said instead of answering Áine’s question. “I am finding myself particularly grateful though that this isn’t my usual pattern. These things in the short term are my cup of tea in large part—feelings just get too messy.”

“And I have to imagine that either Shar or your Mother Superior wouldn’t be in support of such distractions as a practice,” Áine said.

Shadowheart shook her head. “Not at all. So it works out that such things don’t interest me.” Áine wasn’t entirely sure she believed that. “And, as it seems that they interest you, I suppose it’s a good thing that sparks didn’t fly between us.”

Áine smiled sheepishly. “Anyone else you have your eye on?”

Shadowheart shrugged her thin shoulders. “Gale and Wyll are both sweet in their ways, but they both strike me as the type who prefers long-term relationships, too,” she mused. “The gith, not in a million years, and the vampire is taken.”

“He’s not taken,” Áine said.

Shadowheart shot her a teasing smile. “He’s taken with you.”

“Shut up,” Áine laughed, exasperated with her friend and her implications. “Ready to start heading back?”

“I suppose so,” Shadowheart sighed, glancing at the night sky with a sense of reverence. “Thank you for coming out with me. I promise if there’s a next time that I work on your shoulder, it will be just that and nothing else.”

Áine smirked. “Okay, thank you. Although I would take the chat as well. It was nice to talk.”

“It was, wasn’t it,” Shadowheart said with an affectionate smile Áine’s way. “I haven’t had many who I would call ‘friends’ in this lifetime, but it does feel very nice.”

Áine nodded after slipping her shirt back over her head. “I share that sentiment and it does, truly,” she said as they began to retrace their path back to camp.

“For the record,” Shadowheart said, giving Áine a pointed look, “if you were attracted to women in that way…”

“You would be the first to know,” Áine said with a lighthearted smile.

“Thank you, I can preen again with confidence now,” Shadowheart said, putting on a posh sort of air that reminded Áine of Astarion and caused them both to laugh. As if reading her mind—Hells, perhaps she did given their tadpole affliction—Shadowheart said in a more serious tone, “I can’t speak for his intentions or really anything else about him, but I do know lust when I see it. And that man would run off with you for at least a night if you gave him half a chance to do so. Maybe just see what happens? And then tell me all about it, of course.”

Áine’s face flushed again. “We’ll see. Perhaps I will, my strange sentimentalities be damned,” she said. “That aside, we all may be mind flayers come the morrow. Not exactly a great time for me to be precious about my heart.”

“I suppose not,” Shadowheart agreed sadly. “What a mess this has all become.”

They made it back to camp without issue, their conversation quieting as they neared the vicinity of their sleeping companions. The two parted ways to their tents and out of habit, Áine’s eyes trailed over to Astarion’s tent before she reached her own. She was surprised to catch sight of him still sitting out on his throne of floor pillows where he almost always retreated at the end of the day. Curiously, Áine glanced over to make sure Shadowheart had gone inside her tent before silently stepping closer to see if he was okay. It wasn’t like him to be up this late, at least as far as she knew. Maybe he’d just come back from hunting and didn’t intend to go back into a reverie after or—

Áine froze when she rounded the side of the pillow mound. He was indeed in reverie, his long fingers perfectly curled to touch his middle finger to his thumb on both hands. What she hadn’t anticipated was finding Scratch across his lap, sound asleep. Her hand moved to her mouth, where she was fiercely biting down a tender smile that threatened to make her eyes water. Was it possible for something to be so precious it could break your heart?

Her eyes lifted from the sleeping pup to the face of the man he sat with, a stately white elf in perfect repose. Gods, he was beautiful. The effect he had on her had all the potential to be devastating and she knew it. She hadn’t told Shadowheart the whole truth of things—how part of her nerves stemmed from knowing in the tiniest doses that his past was as riddled with darkness as hers, how she feared adding to that mass of pain neither of them deserved, how the deeply rooting tangle of this budding attachment on her heart could become either her biggest heartbreak or a trip into uncharted territory that she was suddenly aching to explore. 

Astarion was a duality before her very eyes at all times—the rake and the prince. A mask and the face beneath that she’d already grown to care for. The more she grew to care for him, the more offensive the mask became when it appeared. He was a master flirt and seducer, the lines and advances practiced and predatory, the entire thing a cat-and-mouse game. Learned behavior, either by his own chosen lifestyle before the Nautiloid or by something else. 

Maybe this was his distraction of choice, his coping mechanism to deal with his bastard of a master she’d only seen a glimpse of in his memory because their tadpoles had decided to shoot their shot before they had. It was equally possible that she was entirely wrong and was reading into it and he simply enjoyed the persona she’d come to think of as being a mask. 

But she didn’t think she was wrong. Not about that at least.

She let her gaze linger just a moment longer on the smooth, relaxed planes of his face, her smile lingering too. This was the man who had brought her a snack to make sure she got her energy back after helping him with his thirst. The one who’d remembered that she was curious about learning to lockpick from one past conversation. The one who’d saved her from being crushed by a harpy, who had been headbutted by her twice and still felt emboldened to be close to her whenever he saw the opportunity, who bantered with her and teased her and smiled all manners of smiles at her, sweet and rakish and sad. 

He was also the man who’d frozen in the wake of her frustration and asked if he was dismissed from their traveling party with all the measure of a person who knew enough of people and their potential cruelty to know how to brace to be hurt. Who had accepted that she’d seen into his mind, the safe space that was his private memories, with all the grace of someone who wasn’t accustomed to owning anything for himself. Who sometimes looked almost sorrowful amid his most exuberant displays of the grand and romantic.

Astarion wasn’t something so simple, so garishly superficial as a rake. She wasn’t sure he knew that though. Or perhaps he did but he didn’t want anyone else to know. But why?    

Scratch woke up then and Áine met his soulful eyes, smiling as his tail gave a little wag. “Stay,” she mouthed to him, holding up a hand. The dog did as she asked and she decided it was time she turned in before she got caught and had to explain herself. She crept back to her tent, nestling into her pillows and tugging her threadbare blanket up to her chin. 

Even without telling Shadowheart all her inklings, she’d still landed on the correct summation of Áine’s emotional state. “Gods, you’re half in love with him already.” Perhaps she was, but she had nothing to compare it to. But she did care for him. That, she knew without a doubt, no matter what form it ended up taking in the end.

Through his reverie, the lingering scent of lavender oil touched Astarion’s senses, and a deep calming exhale eased from his chest.

Next chapter: Chapter 8, "Áine's Favorite Princess"

[thedevilinherself]

So I finished the BG3 after doing every side mission I could find. And.... I have feelings

So I played with the poly mod, so I romanced everyone but Lae'zel and Shadowheart who I couldn't get the romance to start for. I also had the mod that lets me have all the companions with me, so I don't know how or if that changes the ending cut scenes.

But first off, the endings were way too short. I heavily dislike endings that have you fight the final battle, give you a cut scene, then end. Give us a little something after to come down from the high of the victory and see the happiness of the ending we fought so hard for.

Speaking of happiness; I can't say I'm happy with anyone's endings. I told Lae'zel she should go back to her people cause I know that's what she's wanted this whole time, so she left to free her people. This was in my opinion the happiest companion ending I got, even though it's still bitter sweet and doesn't feel like theirs closure cause she still has to fight to free her people with no time to rest.

Astarion just started to burn in the sun and ran off, then Shadowheart was like "poor guy, no more sun for him" then I never saw him again. Kinda shitty considering everything he fought for and the fact I was in a relationship with him. And it's not like the ending just picked one of my love interests to give the ending for, since all my other partners acknowledged me as their partner in their cut scenes (more on that in a moment).

Gale just stood at the edge of the doc and was like "the crown fell into the water. Guess I gotta find it" and then talked about his ex some more before saying we'll do it together. Didn't like that his arch was left open ended as well with him still afflicted with the orb AND wanting to return to Mystra who is terrible for so many reasons.

I got nothing for Shadowheart, and I don't know if Wyll can have his own scene, but his was lumped in with Karlach's for mine. Karlach is dying, her engine burning up, and she says she loves me and is glad we could be together. Wyll was really upset and yells "my love, we have to get her back to avernus! It's the only way to save her". Karlach didn't want to go back, but we convinced her and tell her we will be there with her and will protect her till we find a way to cure her. The three of us go to avernus and it ends with us about to fight imps and I guess I'm in a poly with the two of them, which I didn't know was an option, but them both referring to me as their love in that cut scene was a scripted thing so I don't think it was cause of the mod. Either way, I hated that at the end of the game, we haven't cured Karlach and now she's back in avernus. All her endings seem to suck as, spoiler, she either dies, returns to avernus, or becomes a mind flayer and has to live in hiding. So all of her endings suck.

I hated how none of the characters felt like they got a good resolution or much closure. There wasn't a sense of happiness or real victory. That kinda thing can work in DND cause the campaign can keep going, but in a video game, where there is no way to move forward, it seriously sucks. I put 300+ hours into this game, made so many choices to ensure my companions were safe and happy, tried to get them each the best ending I could without looking up too many spoilers, and in the end, they each get 3-5 minute cut scenes where their main character quest is unfinished and left in limbo? That just feels really crushing and disheartening as a gamer. In my next playthrough, why bother trying to help Karlach? She'll still be uncured by the end. Gale's just going to go back to his abusive god or maybe still blow up. Who knows. Astarion will still be hiding in the shadows, stuck as a spawn forever.

Over all, it just kinda sucked that not one of them felt like their arch got wrapped up/resolved.

[archduke-enver-gortash]

gortash 1, 6, 7

zeke 3, 4, 5

<3

(hi! i realised i had this finished but it was rotting in my drafts so i’m gonna queue this for my short absence lol.) i mean. gortash isn’t an oc but sure why not lol. you can always send me asks about him actually <3

1. What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

just sitting still? not a problem. his problem comes with finding something like this to be an utterly wasteful way to spend your time. i think even when he gets done with work for the day earlier than planned (which doesn’t happen often because his plans are so meticulous. usually some incident like someone he was meeting with unexpectedly not being able to attend was the cause here which he. doesn’t like because interruptions in schedule bad lol) he usually finds some other way to be productive. (like spending time in his workshop or drawing for example.)

but uh. how long would he be able to sit still? if a plan of his for some reason required him to sit still and do nothing for a fucking week, he’d gnash his teeth about it but he’d be able to do that and much more—everything that’s necessary will be done. otherwise? you absolutely will not catch him just lounging around lmao.

6. Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable?

definitely immovable 100%. there’s just a teeny tiny problem with this—this applies to his system only, his way of viewing the world, his values and laws for himself and the laws and values he inherently imposes on others. he considers himself a man who does whatever is necessary, and more importantly the only one who is capable of actually deciding on and carrying out order. judge, jury and executioner, y’know. his word is law and his word is what he will stick to until the very end and everyone else better follow suit if they don’t want to be mentally branded as a mistake by him lol. i think he sees it as there being a universal way the world should work, which is the system of the machine with him as the core, it’s just everyone else that doesn’t see this ‘truth’ at the moment & needs fixing.

7. What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

to me, gortash is a man of the future. yes, he does so enjoy taking his trophies from past conquests and yes, he does not forget the past, dissecting and learning is a process that includes his past as well as others’ he so loves to dissect and use in his schemes, but i simply don’t see him as someone who would ever wallow in feelings like nostalgia. it’s not even that he doesn’t want to, he just doesn’t experience it in the first place.

to sort of illustrate what i mean: i think he definitely remembers his coronation to become archduke as a grand stepping stone in his plan and all, but that’s what being a man of the future and baldur’s gate’s saviour means, it’s exactly that—a stepping stone for more. he won’t simply rest on the steps now when he has so many more to climb. and when you’re at the top of the stairs, there is no need to look back either.

3. How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)

not at all uhhhhhh. only joking. well. only half-joking? zeke, due to his paranoia about everything surrounding gortash, the nightmares that result from that & just his nature as someone who never fucking stops being on his feet, has insane troubles sleeping. with his severe malnutrition and lack of sleep just result in the biggest eye bags known to man. more like eye trenches or whatever.

anyways, the solution is just uhm. going so hard until he eventually passes out and then repeat that process. 😬. later on when he does finally trust his companions enough to eat a bit around them, shadowheart laces his food with a sleeping potion because she hasn’t seen him rest for more than half an hour consecutively and he understandably gets triggered (gortash never put mind-altering drugs into zeke’s food, stuff made him sick for example was what was commonly used instead, because he needs him to be aware of his own suffering to enjoy it, but. still.) because of it. so. not ideal.

4. How easy is it to earn their trust? & 5. How easy is it to earn their mistrust?

i’m just gonna combine these into one bigger answer hope that’s okay 👍 so, every single thing starts out with lots of mistrust from zeke lmao. and yes, i don’t just mean every person, i mean everything, even objects he has never seen before or shit like that. but there’s still multiple levels of mistrust, there’s again the basic mistrust everyone gets, and then there’s mistrust as in ‘you’ve given me a sign (and this truly might be fucking nothing. it most often is nothing. this boy is insane) that you’re working for gortash and i am now immediately killing you’ 😬 and then there’s of course the ‘AAAAHHHHHH WHAT ARE YOU’ level exclusively reserved for mr gortash himself.

to gain his trust, you have to approach it a little bit like you would with a feral kitten except a lot more careful because this thing can actually kill you before you even know that he went for the killing blow if you do something wrong. you have to essentially let him sniff you out, sometimes metaphorically and sometimes literally, assure him that you’re not a threat to him. no sudden movements, loud noises or other similar actions and you’ll be good. he’ll still be on high alert, but is out of ‘kill once it gets within 10 metres’ mode lmao. and that’s basically it. building trust with him is an extremely slow, hard & painful (most often for the party that isn’t zeke) process and honestly? it’s not worth it considering YOU can never fully trust him not to suddenly feel his entire being scream to hunt & kill you. i’ve made this comparison before but it’s essentially like one of those people on taking an animal like a lynx or a chimpanzee into their home. they’ll probably get used to you and maybe even trust you, but they’re still wild animals at the end of the day. wild animals who can and will, if you’re not careful, severely hurt or even kill you if. zeke is the wild and the wild is zeke and all haha.

the methods to earn his trust and mistrust are both not very complex, but while earning his trust is a slow, never sure and stable thing, earning his mistrust is quick and very, very easy in comparison. once again, just one sign that you’re a threat, one wrong movement at the wrong time and you’re out. and this behaviour is just his base instincts as the apex predator and all. like how i described earlier, zeke also has SO many gortash related triggers on top of all that already. for example, telling him that his eyes are beautiful! they just are objectively extraordinary, so you most likely just want to genuinely compliment him! it’s rough. zeke is awful. end essay.

[commander-krios]

How is Alyril'fryn and Juniper relationship to the other companions? Are they close with any of them, other than their LIs? What is their dynamic like?

Bonus: Do they have any notable relationships among the other non-companion characters? (You know, other than Rolan 😏)

Alyril'fryn

Aly never cared much about friendship before the tadpole crew. Any friends she might've had was always about survival, not much else. But with these idiots, she finds she actually enjoys being around them. In face, she got close to a few, mainly Shadowheart and Astarion.

With Shadowheart, it was a rough start. Shadowheart didn't really warm up to her until late Act 1/beginning Act 2. But they were a lot alike in many aspects, though they didn't realize it at the time. Aly agreed with Lae'zel a lot of the time, wanting to make sure they were focused on getting rid of the tadpole, not caring much about religion or Shadowheart's mission. But they ended up learning a lot about each other over the course of their journey, and formed a bond that neither wanted to break at the end.

With Astarion, Aly did realize she had a lot in common with him. Their violent, broken pasts that were catching up to them but also, how they viewed the world around them: that everyone was out for themselves, might as well protect yourself and to hell with the rest. But then, together, they realized that wasn't a healthy view of the world and broke that cycle together. Their dynamic was extremely sibling-like: bickering, teasing, hating/loving each other in equal measure.

The three of them; Aly, Astarion, Shadowheart; spend a lot of time together throughout their journey and even after, continue to be closet friends.

The only NPC besides Rugan (her ex, former Zhent partner) that made any difference on her in game was Barcus Wroot. As a drow and a deep gnome, their friendship arc fascinates me and I hope to explore it a bit in fic.

Juniper

Juniper makes friends easily. She's charismatic, knows how to play a crowd, can find convincing arguments for those who disagree with some of her choices (usually). But as far as close friends, I'd say she's only super close with a few people, mainly Gale and Karlach.

Karlach is the first. They have a lot in common besides being tieflings. They both love life, food, love. They enjoy a good fight and the celebration that comes after. They enjoy dancing and singing and if Juniper hadn't fallen for Rolan, 100 percent would she and Karlach be an item. Karlach is the first person she talks to when she wakes up and the last one she talks to before turning in at camp. They tend to cause more chaos than they stop, but that's part of their charm.

Gale is her best friend. He's like a brother to her, warm and kind and understanding. They protect each other, teach other, help each other. They have a shared love of cooking and reading, and will spend many nights discussing recipes or stories or history. Big nerds.

As far as NPCs go (I won't talk about Rolan since I can go on forever), Juniper is close with Volo, Dammon, Alfira, Cal, Lia, and the Tiefling kiddos).

Volo is obvious for bard reasons. Juniper enjoys his embellished stories and has fun co-writing a bunch of the stupidest tales with him. She goes to him if she needs a laugh and really does enjoy his company (much to the irritation of Rolan).

Cal/Lia become her family after everything. She and the two of them are a bonded trio, making life very difficult for Rolan lol

Alfira (and by extension, Lakrissa) are the reason she has a purpose in BG after game. Alfira begs her to help with the bard school and she does, helping with the preparation and opening, eventually taking on her own students. She loves Alfira so very much, she's become a sister in all but name.

The tiefling kids are also a joy to Juniper (and Zevlor as well, but more in a role model figure). She loves each and every one of them, but there are a handful that really got to her. Mirkon, Arabella, Ide, Mattis, and Silfy become so special to her that she does eventually adopt them.

And finally, Dammon. He's another close friend of hers, best friend perhaps. He's reliable, he's special, he reminds her so much of home with his sun stealing smile. She loves him, so much, and I have a thought to make him an official part of her relationship with Rolan.

[optiwashere]

So curious about what you think of Lae'zel vs Shady at the start. That fight over the prism. Saw a comment on reddit (I kno I know) /r/BaldursGate3/comments/17p2nov/least_favorite_companion/k837nqh/?context=3

Yeah, this is one reason I stay away from meta discussions on the subreddit now. I'd be such a killjoy lmao.

Because this is part of the "excitement -> backlash -> backlash to the backlash -> excitement for the backlash's backlash, etc." loop that happens on social media. People that aren't fans of X (in this case, Shadowheart) eventually feel like they have to speak up. Then it goes round and round until we all die.

It's a weird cycle, but it happens to every character. In a year's time, there's gonna be some fucking absurd fandom wank, I guarantee it. There's already the hilarious Halsin guys. Give it time and we'll have the Lae'zel brigades (anti- and pro-) beating the shit out of each other in the replies and an eternal war between the Shadowheart simps and haters.

Long ramble ahead to actually talk about the comment, so here's a read more.

The fight made sense to me. But, to dig into... well, everything else before that.

Being cruel to a githyanki? I feel that some folks in the BG3 fandom need to learn what the githyanki are and remember who Lae'zel is. The githyanki are not a sympathetic people, at least not anymore. They're an actual empire trying to expand via all the hallmarks of traditional imperialism. They are slavers and raiders almost to the man, and there is factual evidence of them wanting to rebuild a great empire that spans realms. Calling them fascist frog people is only, like, barely a joke. Lae'zel, at the beginning of the game, is a quintessential brainwashed child of a fascist regime.

Not having more githzerai in the game, other than a fucking brain and, arguably, the gith monks you fight, really kneecapped people's understanding of the -yanki. I know there's a whole thing about alignment, but the githyanki are almost the poster children of Lawful Evil.

Stealing from them and being worried about the fallout of that is one of the most normal reactions possible lmao. Shadowheart's a Sharran that doesn't trust any of her companions. Why should she just play along?

And not having remorse? I don't know, but I'm an admittedly vindictive and petty person and I am very, very loathe to forgive people if they've slighted me. And I'm not even dealing with possible ceremorphosis! So, I guess I get where Shadowheart is coming from and it never struck me as even remotely strange for her to require a lot of work to even trust Lae'zel, let alone "bury the hatchet."

It's also perfectly in keeping with Shadowheart's character, especially that early on, to not respect an honorable duel and instead try to kill Lae'zel while she has the chance.

Mix this with Shadowheart starting as a not-at-all-trusting person? I mean, I don't know. It's just a tastes thing. I'd have been confused if everyone in camp was just cool with Lae'zel, which after a point they are. I don't really buy that some of the others would put up with her, but I like her character enough to let it slide and enjoy what's in the game.

And just let a character have negative traits, flaws, whatever! The companions are great for that reason!

Plus, she's a literal abuse victim. Compassion is in some ways a skill, and a lot of people lack it.

[dearfriendsinhigherplaces]

hi!! first omg you are the first person i have seen with both a RDR2 and a BG3 and that's so cool me too!!

i wanted to ask about your bg3 DR because I'm redoing my script and also want to cut out the whole "parasite" scenario and/or divvy away from the main plot. How did you write your script to go around those kinds of things? thanks!!

sorry i’m responding to this late, i just seen it. this also might be a bit long lol. i’m just gonna loosely explain my dr plot, and info dump a little bit if that’s okay. (some bg3 spoilers). also i love finding bg3 and rdr2 shifters, there’s not too many of us.

so, it took me way too long to figure out a way that all of the companions could meet each other without the tadpole bringing everyone together, and i still really haven’t figured out some details yet (i’m just gonna let the dr figure it out because idk what to script).

my dr doesn’t really have a plot at first, i just live in a camp in the woods outside of baldur’s gate with my partner. me and astarion meet because he randomly stumbles upon my camp, looking for something to feed on (our first meeting plays out like the scene in the game where you can let him bite you for the first time/when you discover he’s a vampire, except at this point in my dr i’ve never met him). he doesn’t feed on me but i offer to let him stay at the camp since he doesn’t have anywhere else to go.

for his backstory i know i didn’t want the possibility for him to ascend, so i scripted that cazador’s dead (don’t know how he died, astarion doesn’t either), but when he died astarion booked it out of szarr manor, hence him running into me. i wanted him to be able to be in the sun, but there’s no tadpole so i scripted he has a ring enchanted with magic that gives him sun immunity when he wears it (he randomly found this right before cazador died). so for a while it’s just me, my partner, and astarion living in our camp together. and i shift there for the first time the morning after me and astarion meet.

for gale, I used to study magic at blackstaff academy and that’s where we met, we’re old friends. i find him the same way you find him in the game, in the portal.

i want a pretty peaceful experience in my dr with no fighting or death (i know i can’t handle it which is the main reason i scripted the mindflayer stuff out), so i just scripted we can all help people and be heroes without any harm happening. i think there’s still going to be some conflict with the emerald grove, with the druids and the tieflings where maybe we can help them somehow without fighting goblins (i want the tiefling party to happen in my dr). a lot of the details are just “figure it out when i get there, see how things play out,” because i swear scripting around the bg3 plot is so complicated.

as for how or why everyone who ends up at the camp might stay there together, all the main people in bg3 are kind of going through something, with or without the tadpole. even without the main conflict of the game, they’ve all got their own side quests for things they’re dealing with.

in my dr, all of that is still going on and everyone is trying to heal. gale has the thing with mystra and the bomb in his chest, astarion is healing from his trauma, shadowheart is coming to terms with not wanting to follow shar anymore (i’m only at the end of act 2 so i’m not sure how some things play out in the game), lae’zel’s whole thing with vlaakith, karlach still is trying to figure out what to do about her engine, etc. so even if you script out the main plot, there’s still all this personal stuff that they’re working through that maybe you could help with (unless you’re scripting all that out too which is fine).

but in my dr all this stuff brings everyone together, and it very much becomes a found family situation, especially since a lot of the companions don’t really have anyone else in their lives. my drs typically don’t have plots, i just want to live life chilling with my pals. the end goal for this dr is hopefully everyone is able to heal and be in a good place, and then maybe we’ll all move into gale’s and tara’s house in waterdeep lol. my script mainly focuses on me and my backstory, and i don’t really have many scenarios scripted so it’ll all be a surprise to me when i get there and meet everyone.

hope all that kinda answers your question. i’m also still figuring it out lol. it’s ok if you can’t get everything to fit together 100% because it will play out in your dr in a way that makes sense.

[thenugking]

🌤️🌪️🪐 please!

🌤️How do you interpret the game mechanics in your fic?

I try to avoid going into a lot of detail about game mechanics, because they can make things really clunky and unnatural. I can’t use the phrase “spell slots”, it sounds far too gamified to me, so I stick with a more general “using magic takes energy”. From First Rest we have:

Wyll’s able to convince Shadowheart to use the last of tonight’s spellpower on summoning up a bucket of clean water,

Because I’m not going to fucking say “Wyll gets Shadowheart to use her last available Level One Spell Slot on casting Create Water, and then she needs to have a Long Rest to get some more back.”

Some things that are clearly just there for game balance I ignore. Like, sure, it’s useful in game to be able to pay Withers 200 gold to bring back your party members whenever they drop dead, but in fic, it really cheapens the emotional weight of death to have Withers be doing that all the time. That said, as much as I hate when fics feel beholden to the “only four party members” rule, I do kind of want Gortash telling Lee that nope, sorry, Orin can’t come on this mission, we already have four people, it’s just not possible to bring any more because of Reasons, sorry, I’d love to bring your freak of a sister along but everyone knows adventurers can’t hang out in groups of five.

(Lee: Well that’s all right, Orin’s basically just an extension of me so she’s a Summon actually--)

🌪️Is there a nugget of game lore that fascinates you, but you haven’t written about yet?

Hmm. If something fascinates me enough, I usually have to write something, just to get it out of my head. Although I would at some point like to write pre-game fic about Astarion’s siblings. Astarion too ofc, but there’s six other people here being horrifically abused and developing their own relationships and issues with each other and having their own terrible trauma responses. I want to dig into that and make things horrible for everyone.

🪐Who’s your favourite non-companion character, and why?

Orin Orin Orin my beloved baby girl who has done nothing wrong in her life, except for all the horrifying atrocities.

I will hold up my hands and admit that the reason I started liking her was aghsj Hot Evil Lady. But then I started really getting into exploring Durge, and Lee specifically, and goddd this girl is tragic. She’s my poor little meow meow who’s been groomed and abused by every family member she has, and honestly what fucking chance did she ever have to be a good person, or even a normal person? She’s tragic, and sympathetic, but has also, yknow, hurt so many people, and done shit that’s way too fucking evil to just be excused with, “well she’s an abuse victim.” Which ofc is a big theme of BG3 generally, but the game never fucking explored that fully with Orin, so now I get to do that. 

I’m loving writing her in No Highly Esteemed Deed, having her be very clearly Lee’s victim and, I hope, entirely sympathetic for her eventual decision to stab them right in the brain, but, well. She’s still clearly utterly fucked, she was obviously intending to rape Lee before they raped her, and it’s not exactly a spoiler to say that getting rid of her abuser isn’t going to suddenly fix her. Like, I’m currently writing Ketheric seeing an Innocent Victim and looking out for her, and you might notice that this is very much not the dynamic we see with them at the end of Act 2!! I love writing Orin destroying any positive relationship she has because she doesn’t know how to have a healthy friendship and is too disdainful and afraid of the whole idea to try.

I love putting her in Situations and have her fucking maim her way out of them and then voluntarily go back in them because she maimed everything outside her Situation too and now there’s nothing else left <3

[s1r3nsc4llwrites]

Headcannons: Love Languages

Due to Alfyr's past, he grows up to be someone who barely ever shows his affection through touch. He doesn’t typically hug people. The exceptions are/were Shadowheart and Zalia, and even then he keeps it pretty private. What Alfyr DOES do though? Words of affirmation. He’ll tell you how proud he is of you. He’ll tell you he loves you in a thousand different variations. he'll tell you all about how you make him feel like the stars are aligning, and how he wouldn't want anyone else but the people he has now by his side for life.

“I love You. So much. The mark you’ve made on my life indelible. I can’t imagine a world for me without you in it. You make me feel like I can breathe again, and I’ll forever be thankful to wake up by your side every morning. You’re my first thought of the day and my last thought before bed. You are the moonlight that guides me.” -Alfyr to Shadowheart.

“Im glad to be by your side, and that you were one of the people to join me on this journey. You make me a better person. Your presence in my life never fails to calm me, a warmth in my heart that never ceases.” -Alfyr to Karlach.

Elxian, in contrast, barely ever uses his words to show his love. He never says "I love you" To people. Those words are sacred to him, something he’s only said to very specific people, those people being his parents and sister. After Elora disappeared, he had never uttered the words. But, he shows his love for everyone through physical affection. Hugs and kisses are things he’s not afraid to give to his companions.

Elxian will caress Wyll’s horns the night he gets transformed, run the tips of his fingers along the ridges of his face and neck as he tells him he’s still the man Elxian got to know, horns and all. He’ll press a kiss on Wyll’s eyelid, the one that was transformed and tell him that red is his colour.

He’ll give Karlach hugs whenever he can. He’ll give her little pecks on the temple or cheek because he knows just how much she craves that kind of touch and he’s more than willing to give it. Hell, if she needs someone to cuddle with, he’ll spend the night at Karlach’s tent, simply okay to hold her.

He’ll hold Gale when his orb is acting up and they have no artifact to give him yet. He’ll hold his hand reassuringly when he speaks with Elminster.

And even though Astarion’s very reserved with PDA, for good reason, I like to imagine that at some point after Elxian and Astarion say no to Araj in Moonrise towers, Astarion would sometimes come to him to be held, and Elxian never, ever rejects him.

[elfcollector]

AHEM. my time has come. FOR DELIGHT, if it pleases you... 2, 6, 7, 8, 10, 11, 14, 15, 17, 32, 34, 35, 41, 42, 44, 46, 47, 48, 50. i know it is a lot... my desire to know more of delight cannot be understated. HAVE FUN

ask me about my ocs! / accepting! / @bg3

FRAY GOOD LORD....i owe u my life. AWESOME. this is going under a cut cos its gonna get SO long.

2. Do they wear perfume/cologne? If so what scents do they prefer?

Not historically! They're an adventurer by trade, and rarely stay anywhere long — they show up, save the innocents, convince the baddie to lay off or kill them, and then they leave. And the vast majority of their adventuring is something they're doing alone. These things combine just mean they're rarely around another's company long enough to care about what others think of their smell, and they don't care aside from not wanting to smell gross.

That being said, they take bathing regularly seriously, so they do often smell, under the blood and etc., like clean soap! And, once they start getting closer with Shadowheart, some members of the camp notice they seem to have started wearing orchid perfume, despite having never done so before. Everyone's too polite to comment on how obvious they're being.

6. If they were badly injured, and for whatever reason couldn't go to a hospital, who would they go to for help?

I don't think they're the type to let others know they're injured! If they can, or even if they can't, they're gonna try to hide the injury and take care of it without anyone finding out. tough with a vampire on the team! that being said, when they do show it, wyll is 100% their go - to — they're best friends, and they trust him not to try any funny business.

7. Do they have any unusual fears?

I'm still sort of rotating the finer points of their backstory in my head like a rotisserie chicken, but they struggle to depend on others — their biggest fear is trusting someone (in the sense of trusting them to be honest, or to fulfill their end of a bargain, or etc.) and that trust resulting in not only their own suffering, but the suffering of others.

As for more unusual ones — they find the sound of bone cracking really unsettling, which is rough when your job involves so much violence.

8. Do they collect anything? If so, what and why?

They collect jewelry, though they rarely wear it! They're especially likely to take jewelry off of any corpses the gang finds.

If you looked through their (extensive) collection, you'd find a few things that are inscribed with the names Lythia and Lythi — it's odd that this name shows up so regularly. Poor Lythia must have died with a lot of jewelry, one supposes.

As for the why...if you asked directly, they'd say that jewelry is often a sign of love — after all, jewelry is so often a gift — and so, by holding onto it, Delight is preserving a sign of love between people, even if those people are dead. And they're not lying! That is most of the reason.

10. Do they have any regrets?

Oh, so many, but they won't talk about them for the most part. And, to their credit, most of the regrets are in the past; nowadays, as long as they did their best and did what was right (or as close as they could, in the circumstances) they're good at not blaming themselves for what happens that no one could have predicted. "I did the very best that I could, the rest is out of my hands."

That being said, the gang is the first time in years they've had any kind of real companions, and losing any of them would be...unbearable. No matter how good their intentions were or how much they tried, if they lost any of them, they'd...well, it wouldn't be pretty. That would be a regret.

11. Do they have any addictions?

If you asked them, they'd say "heroics, probably" as a joke. I don't think so, to be honest, and if they are addicted to anything, it's less substances and more...concepts.

14. Do they have a hard time opening up to people?

Yes, though it's less out of intentional secrecy (at least for the most part) and more because they're just out of practice. They've been on their own for a long time, doing solo heroism and only stopping to be a listening ear to whoever happens to be suffering along the way — that role doesn't require a whole lot of heart-baring on their part. When Shadowheart asked them to tell her something about them, they diverted and asked about her, not out of a desire to avoid the question but because it simply felt more natural after so many years of not confiding in anyone.

I mentioned that they hide wounds and things, and I do think it can be a challenge for them to open up about mistakes they've made in the past, but as far as their general day-to-day life and their dreams and etc, they wouldn't mind talking about that sort of thing if they could just break the listening-but-not-sharing habit.

15. What kind of sense of humor do they have? Or do they have one at all?

They're very funny! It tends to be a dry thing; they've got a lot of charisma, but when they're interacting as themself and not in the interest of trying to get someone from somebody (which is when they crank the charisma up) they tend towards a dry, deadpan humor. They and Gale get along fine, but he's so theatrical in his humor and they're so flat in theirs that they struggle to reach the other's wavelength some time. Ironically, they play off of Astarion's theatre-kid-isms no problem.

17. How easily would they be convinced to do something that goes against their morals?

It's INCREDIBLY hard. Delight has a very strong moral center and etc — they know that nothing haunts them quite like not sticking to their guns. Not that they're not flexible — they can adjust on the fly if there's not an obvious 'good' answer, and they're not above lying, stealing, etc. — but still...

There was a time a long time ago when they should have stuck to their morals, but they trusted someone too much, let that someone warp their goodness, let that someone convince them to set aside their morals, believed that someone when he promised that he'd fill in the gaps and keep people safe...and it ended with Delight scarred and so many others dead. Never again. If they cause death, better to be because of their own choice rather than their own abdication.

32. If they could change one thing about themselves what would it be?

If they could rewrite parts of their past, they would, but as for who they are now...they'd not change anything, I think! They fought for who they are now, and they like that person, despite the pain in their history.

That being said, they would love to get the tadpole out of their head. They very nearly let Volo put a fucking icepick through their skull about it.

34. How well do they deal with grief?

Depends on the kind of grief. If a loved one died naturally, they would mourn and be miserable for a long time, but they'd be okay. If someone they loved was lost to them and it was their fault, then...well! Again, it would not be pretty!

35. Do they believe in fate or do they believe they are in charge of their own destiny?

It's not something they think about, honestly, though if you asked them they'd eventually come back with "We're inclined to follow fate, but we can always break free if we choose." Another person acting cruelly or leaving others to suffer or failing themselves while claiming it's fate and not worth fighting would just make them angry.

41. Do they learn from their mistakes?

Whether they learn the right lessons is up in the air, but generally speaking, yes!

42. Can they speak multiple languages? If yes which all do they speak and why?

Does talking to animals count?

In all seriousness, yes! They grew up in a very multicultural environment, lots of languages happening at once, so they got used to that. It helps a lot in all their traveling.

44. Who, if anyone, would they trust with their deepest secrets?

It takes a long time for Delight to be willing to share the grittier parts of their history, their secrets; they're deeply ashamed of some of it, and fear being judged. That being said, Wyll is the first in the gang they'd be willing to share with. Shadowheart, eventually, then Karlach.

I imagine by the end of the game, they'll be there with most if not all of the gang. But their...primary circle or whatever is Wyll-Shadowheart-Karlach, and they'll always be the closest.

46. Would they lie to get out of trouble?

Oh, absolutely. They lie all the time and are good at it! Being a hero is as much about know how to diffuse a problem as it is about killing people, and sometimes the best way to diffuse a problem is to tell a half-truth.

47. Would they lie to get someone else out of trouble? Even if they would have to take that someone else's place?

Even more absolutely. Put them in jail because Karlach got caught with the sticky fingers. That's fine by them. It'll be fun.

48. How likely are they to go on a quest for revenge?

For their own revenge? Not going to happen. Revenge for someone they love? Almost definitely.

50. What is your favorite thing about them?

I joked before I got the game that a lot of my main PCs in these games, especially my first playthru, end up following the same basic beats — and Delight isn't anything truly groundbreaking for me. But I've enjoyed developing them in the game and in my head and seeing the small differences, the little stuff that's new. They're good and they do the right thing, but it's interesting how it seems to me like it stems less from like....how do I word this.

They are morally upright and have a tough moral center. But they don't really care if their companions don't (though, no killing innocents on their watch) because while they do believe in their morals it's like...they don't think about them. They do the right thing because that's just what you do, and because the time they didn't lead to the biggest regret of their life, but there's like...no posturing or sense of superiority or even sense of "my way is right and yours is wrong." Again, this has limits, but it's interesting to rotate this character in my head who is extremely good but not in a way that has anything to do with like...actual steadfast beliefs, if that makes sense? It's fun!