#this is set the day the nautiloid crashed. the next day they would find the grove and meet wyll + lae'zel

[spellsparkler]

“ – that isn’t covered in blood and fluids? We can’t leave her in that –”

“– didn’t exactly have time to pack a bag –”

She is sitting on the ground, cross-legged; her head hurts; she was looking for something, but she can’t remember what. Something like grass tickles her knees, but when she looks down she can’t find it – just a flat, speckled plane of green, like an ugly carpet. There is a wide expanse of brown. She deduces it’s her lap; there’s something in her lap. She can’t feel it. Everything she reaches for slithers away. There’s a distant cacophony in her ears but when she tries to catch it – spread its iridescent wings and pin it down – it fades into nothing, like so much smoke between her fingers, like a candleflame that burns and burns and never stays. Her head hurts. There’s so many heads. She wants to let them roll just to get a little peace.

“– underneath, I can do without it, I’m sure! Though it might not be as comfortable without an underlayer –”

“– Oh, do. Let her puke on the wizard’s clothes, that would be hilarious –”

She opens her mouth, and several seconds later, some echo of the words she’s thinking peel out. “What’s happening?” she asks; there are people here, with their gaggling voices and their screaming heads, and she thinks she knows them. She’s not hiding. She’s not alone. She can’t remember who they are but she knows she’s not alone. Something high-pitched happens and her headache twists in a way that momentarily punches all understanding from her body; when she comes back to it she’s standing over the hideous green carpet. Something fraying and irritable wisps over her skin. There’s so many colours and so much clutter and none of it quite makes sense. What were they doing, again? She was looking for something. She’s still looking.

“I’m Shadowheart,” says a voice, ever so calmly, and something bright and shiny jostles through her field of view, aching bright. “We nearly died, but we escaped together.”

“We haven’t,” says another garbled voice, and then there is something that is lost to the noise, and then, “introduced! But unfortunately you’ve misplaced your name – unless –”

“Collar,” she replies. It trips out of her mouth without her quite thinking about it. When she looks down, she sees heaps of trailing fabric, a mess of dreary colour; her dress must be torn to shreds, she realises. She can feel scraps hanging down, brushing her skin. Coming apart at the edges. Thread unwinds and unwinds and unwinds, until the bobbin rattles empty, until the puckered silk screams for a steadying stitch; this isn’t even silk. She says, “Who are you?”

There is a blur of sound. She can’t hold any of the threads. Everything unspools.

There’s a lot of green around her, the weft of the canvas that pins her in its centre. It’s so bright. Shadow dapples everything like an old friend; things keep moving but she can’t quite ascertain where. She can’t remember where her hands are. Her head is too high. Her hands feel wet and gritty and cloth whispers over her arms.

“– in combat.” Those words peel themselves clear from the miasma with steely precision.

“ – haven’t had cause to witness that performance yet, but it sounds like remarkable resilience –”

“Not remarkable,” says the voice threaded through with the sharp things and the soft things hiding like meat inside them, “impossible. That level of awareness doesn’t fit with her disorientation, and yet she didn’t so much as stumble –”

She was looking for something. There’s something she needs to do. Her distant, lopsided hands are holding something; she looks down at it, uncomprehending, to see something flat and grey. There is a dark stone set into a little peal of filigree. She lets her hands do as they will with it; the weight in them evens her out. What was she looking for? Why can’t she find it? She can’t find it. She can’t find anything.

“– Can you hear me?”

“I can hear you,” she says. “Who are you?”

“I’m Shadowheart.”

She squints, toying with the thing as it warms in her hands, and says, “You said I had a brain injury.”

The voice that is Shadowheart says, “I did, yes.”

“It’s a waste of breath to state the obvious,” she says. The thing in her hand is a knife. She sets her fingers over its ornate hilt longways and particular, like it’s a scalpel, and she feels a little better. Her head still hurts quite badly, like some burning thing has lodged itself there, swollen, and is gnawing at her ganglia. She flicks her wrist, delicate as anything, and imagines cutting it all open. She could fix it that way – open up the coronal suture, the sagittal suture that carves its way along the place where the hemispheres diverge, the delicate shield of the pterion. She says, “Where did we escape from?”

Again, a disparate noise, fizzling into nonsense. She says, “I can’t hear you.” She says, “I can’t see you.”

Everything is moving too much and she can’t find the right parts; it’s all a mess, smears of colour and hard-lined shapes, light and shade and twisted edges. “I can’t see you,” she says. The knife is warm as blood in her hand. Her hands hurt. Her head hurts. “Where are you?”

She can’t remember how many there are; she can’t remember their names. She can’t remember if she’s supposed to listen to them or not. She can’t remember how they got here. She finds skin, blood-warm under her bare hand, and presses her fingers to it hard, arm outstretched, elbow clicked into place. “You’re pinching my nose,” says the owner of the voice. Her fingers drive against the joining of nasal bone and cartilage.

“You had green eyes,” she says.

The voice says, “Yes.”

That remembering is enough of a relief that she drops her hand. There are other voices, but they are quiet. The steady voice is still talking to her. “– a river,” it says, words slipping, sometimes. “You’re covered in blood. – stopped here – thanks, Gale – wash?”

She asks, “What’s happening?”

She wants to lie down, but she can’t do that in front of the people. How many people are there? How did she meet them?

What is she missing? What is her name?

“We’re going to clean you up,” says the voice, with tired patience. “Put the knife away, please.”

“All right,” she says, ever affable, and, “no, thank you.”

The gaggle of noises rises and tumbles; the sky is piercing blue; there are trees around her, she deduces after a time spent staring at them. It’s very hard to make the shapes around her resolve into anything recognisable, which is concerning. She has obviously had a head injury; her senses aren’t connecting as they are supposed to, and she keeps finding her mouth open with forgotten words dying on her tongue, and her head hurts. It wriggles. Her body moves like something unrelated to her, perambulating her around like a passenger in a carriage. Her fingers are wrapped around a hilt. It’s warm to the touch.

There are trees around her. She is outside; if her head tips back her eyes are directed up and she can see the sky, and the pain that lances through her right temple at its light is truly impressive, and even when she puts her head down light dances all through her vision. She looks very hard and she sees a rock, but she can’t tell if it’s close enough to sit down on. Her hand twists, the knife she holds flicked deftly over her fingers and safely gripped again. Her head hurts. She can’t really feel anything else. There’s a soft, curving pattern to the rock’s grain. The world behind it is flat and lurid, as if it was coloured in with pastels blown over with water, something that sticks and runs. Sound fizzles in her ears. Something, somewhere, is dreadfully cold.

“– think your dress can be salvaged,” says the voice of the woman with the green eyes and the soft things and the sharp things; “A shame. It looks like it was quite pretty, once.”

Thank you, she says, or maybe thinks; it’s all so loud. The sun is in her eyes again. No matter where she looks it gets there. She says, “I’m quite certain I’ve had a head injury.”

“We’ve established that,” says the woman. “The river is just in front of you, now. Do you think you can manage taking a bath?”

She asks, “When did we get to the river?”

If she focuses, pain slinking shyly between the lobes and hemispheres of her brain, she can see the person she’s talking to; smudges of pink and black and silver. The ringed shine of chainmail. The black is helpfully distinguishing. Everything is silver, but the trees are rarely black.

“Just now,” says the voice. She thinks she’s doing a remarkable job of keeping track of this conversation. “We walked.”

She doesn’t remember moving, but seeing as she remembers literally nothing else either, it hardly signifies. She looks to the muddled plane in front of her – the light reflecting off the river! the grey sludge the colour of water! If she were not definitely unequivocally suffering from a recent brain injury she would not be so pleased at recognising these things. If her body wasn’t holding fort so well she would need to lie down. But it stands – a bulwark – a tower – a blade blunted into the ground – and she stands with it.

“ – help taking your clothes off?” a voice asks, primly inexpressive.

“My clothes off,” she says, which is not what she means to say. It doesn’t come out right. She lets her hands rise to the back of her neck; the knife – she’s holding a knife – whispers through her hair. She can feel it in her scalp. The buttons come neatly, easily loose, even as the fabric around them is pulling flimsily apart. Two of them are missing. When they’re all undone, the dress slides off her like a leech falling fatly away from a meal. There are more clothes underneath. This stumps her, briefly, but her hands get rid of them too; they fold both, though the fabric that was once a dress is sticky and delicate and probably impossible to put on again, and put them down on the rock. Her hands know how close and how far the rock is, which is convenient, as she does not.

There is mail lying in a clothes shape on the rock. She looks long enough to determine it is a shirt. Shadowheart says, “The knife will get rusty if you take it in to bathe,” and she remembers Shadowheart; and she sees the objective reasoning of this statement, so she puts the knife down. Her fingers mourn its absence, but she is not, in this, a servant to her fingers. It isn’t as if she might lose it – they will remember where it is, even as she forgets, which she will, because she has sustained a head injury.

The water is cold and bright, pressing in on the pimpled rind of her skin. All the little vessels of it constrict with the shock; her heart tumbles steadily on. An ache rises in her ankles, in concert with the ache in her head. The water is beautifully bright. She discovers that she likes cold water. This is lucky, because she is covered in filth – blood and bile and sweat and dirt, speckled over the undulating grey-pink of her, streaked through the long, unavoidable daylily yellow that she assumes is her hair.

“– little further,” says the owner of the hand on her elbow. “Good.” And they sit down together, in the water; she looks until she makes out a dark block of what must be hair, and the black seems familiar. She makes out the pale smudge of the face, though its details elude her. She focuses on one of the eyes. It’s green.

“Good,” says the woman, again. The name eludes her, at the moment. The hand is on her arm. The water laps at her chest. “– me? The Lady guide me – we’re days from a horrible death and I’m helping a stranger bathe.” She can see her hair floating like so many of those little flower petals in the water. The name escapes her. This bothers her tremendously. The woman says lightly, “If I didn’t owe you a life debt I’d be tempted to leave you to the illithids.”

“Your bedside manner is terrible,” she replies, and tips her head back until it meets the water, until the cold shocks the place at her skull where all the agony lives and time skips through her fingers like badly gathered ribbon.

She might scream; it doesn’t really matter. It barely signifies. The water is cold around her, heavy, and with her ears under the noise is all diluted down to a wet, swirling gasp. It’s like before, wandering the cold, soft floors, thumbs knuckle-deep in tissue, all the walls breathing and flexing, all taut ligaments and raw, unfinished flesh; she couldn’t make it out but she knew it was unfamiliar and strange and interesting, though it hurt too much for anything to be interesting. Her body had moved neatly through, hands trailing over the meat of the walls. There had been so much noise, horrible screaming, that it had dampened itself behind the pulp, gone past what she could hear, taken her to a place of merciful silence. It would have been more merciful if her head didn’t ache with such terrible pressure that she could have cracked it open at the pterion just to aspirate the excess. She’d found a scalpel. She can’t remember what she did with it. She can’t remember where the meat place went.

Right now she’s underwater, eyes open to a shining-pale sky, limbs drifting; her hair is writhing like snakes, tugging gently for attention, twisting itself into plaits. Something moves at the top end of her vision. She doesn’t think it’s part of the sky, but it’s hard to be sure. Her head hurts. She doesn’t remember how long it’s been hurting for but she’s beginning to get sick of thinking about it.

She leans against the thing that is behind her, and it presses solid against her back, taps like rattling fingerbones at her scalp. Her eyes hurt in the light. It pushes her head up; water drips out of her ears, down her neck, hooking its way under her jaw like pearls. Her shoulders are gently nudged upright, too.

It’s a person who is touching her, she realises, and for some reason this strikes her as astounding. She wonders why; people touch each other all the time. She thinks. But she is an amnesiac who didn’t realise there was a person there until just now, so she probably shouldn’t take her own word on anything.

“– easier with soap,” says the person who is touching her. They slip around in front of her, so that they are a black and purple and pale silhouette. She can feel the shape of their limbs in the water; black hair drips down onto the surface like a rope. They say, “Oh,” and they say, “Are you listening?”

“Yes,” she says.

They press deft fingers bare to the tough, livid skin stretched over her sternum, and they ask, “What is this?”

She drops her head so she can see the hand. It doesn’t make much difference. Part of their arm is purple; she assumes that’s their sleeve. She can’t see exactly what she’s referring to, but she feels it under the pressure of touch; she knows each jigsaw-cut piece of the body by name. (Where did she learn that? She must have learned somewhere.) Her fingers pinch, as if grasping a scalpel, or a knife; she says, “The juncture of body and manubrium. Second rib.”

Above those bones is the beginning of the clavicle, half the framework that the shoulders rest on; skin draped over osseous scaffolding, hinged at the joints. The body is a careful machine. There is a spanner in her works. Her headache keeps moving, as if it can’t just get comfortable and let her get used to it – the cold is seeping up her spine – hair is plastered wetly to the back of her neck. The sky in front of her is pale as the fragile shell of an egg, and just as prone to breaking. Why does she know the things she knows? Costal notches, serratus anterior, linea alba. The positioning of the heart and the map of its arteries, the threaded tangle of nerves, ligaments that stretch from bone to bone. The empty cavities where organs nestle. There is an answer, and it belongs to the hollow place, but whatever was there has gone missing and she can’t find it again. It was important. It might have been the most important. There might have been nothing else in the world that mattered. But she is still here, and it is still gone, and excepting false muscle memory, grand gestures that do nothing, hits that should land glancing away, a half-centimetre off – excepted, she is bearing its loss well. Whatever it is.

She’s looking for it, but she doesn’t know what she’s looking for, and that makes the whole thing rather unachievable.

Her arms float limply in the water. Her fingers curl around the hilt of her knife, but it isn’t within reach. Where did it go? She knows she had it. She knows. There is a clever-knuckled hand rubbing at her shoulder. She is bare; the hand is bare. She reaches for her knife. It isn’t there.

“You put your skin on my skin,” says her mouth. It’s so very cold. Her head feels pained and slow. “I would honour your gall.” Her fingers curl around the knife that isn’t there. Her legs, criss-crossed in this shallow ocean, are still. The stranger speaks, but the words are unfamiliar.

It’s cold in the water. She reaches for her knife. It isn’t there. The stranger speaks. “I don’t understand,” she says, but her mouth doesn’t open. All the attention of her skin is turning inwards.

It’s cold in the water. She reaches for her knife. It isn’t there. The stranger says the same sounds again and again, like the same moment in time is twisting itself into knots, spiralling back around until there is no past and no future and not very much in the present, either. Her mind is quiet. There is water around her. It’s cold.

She holds the hilt of a knife that isn’t there. The headache squirms until it settles. She closes her fingers around the hilt of a knife. Light shifts in front of her eyes. Sounds swelter without meaning. Her fingers wrap around the hilt of a knife. Her hands are empty. Her ever-aware body isn’t looking; and she is unmoving; and she is alone.

She grasps a knife that isn’t there.

She lets go of it, eventually. It’s a sharp, juddering thing, like the cut of a line; pain spears through her temples like it’s caught her skull on a spit, and she cries out.

And Shadowheart says, “Eli?”

She is sitting down. Her hair is damp, hanging neatly down her back in a thick braid. She is dressed in something heavy and purple. The material is good. There’s something small and a little heavy in her lap. Upon close inspection she finds it is an apple. She knows what an apple is. That’s good news.

Her hair is wet. Water drips into the warm weight of her collar. She must have been in the water at some point.

She asks, “What’s Eli?”

Shadowheart looks orange; the light shifts over her, giving her too many shapes to track. The sky has gone away. She says, “I found it stitched into the collar of your dress.”

The light shifts. Her hands are empty. She closes them – opens them.

Shadowheart says, “The rest of the embroidery was too damaged to make out.”

Her body curls around her, steady, warm. She says, “I want to go to sleep.”

“All right,” says Shadowheart. In the orange light, her eyes are as slick and formless as oil-pools. It takes several lipid-slow seconds to pin them down. “I’ll keep watch.”

[oh-my-damn]

Cat Behavior

Pairing: Astarion x Female!Tav/reader

Summary: You've noticed certain behaviors in your vampire lover. And it's adorable.

Wordcount: 1600

Warnings: None. Pure, unadulterated fluff. Fun and sassy (and in love) Astarion. Astarion being a kitty-cat.

Masterlist

The best part about getting that damn worm inserted in his head was the fact it took away some of the side effects from being a vampire.

Astarion had never been able to enjoy the benefits of being one - for 200 years he was forced to do his masters bidding, always hiding in the shadows and being fed rats to sustain himself - if he was allowed to eat, at all. That's without even mentioning the things he was forced to do, the matter of his consent not even an afterthought in Cazadors mind.

But the tadpole had taken away those issues, even if it was only temporarily for now, which allowed him to enjoy the things about himself he hasn't been able to for the past 200 years. Those things included his speed and agility when fighting, using his fangs as both a weapon but also as a way to taste the sweetest nectar he could ever imagine. Nothing quite compared to sinking his teeth into your beautiful neck, the little shivers in your body as he drank from you.

Except maybe one thing.

The tadpole allowed him to be in the sun, again.

When the nautiloid first crash landed and he was thrown from it haphazardly, he thought it would be the end of him. He woke up on that beach, and he immediately felt heat - something he hasn't felt in several lifetimes. He thought that would be the end; that he would perish right there, on some disgusting beach surrounded by smelly fishermen and even smellier mindflayers, burning in the sun.

But when his scarlet eyes popped open after minutes of feeling that heat but no pain, he realized that whatever had been done to him must have had an affect on his vampirism, in some strange way.

And since then, he has cherished being in the sun – almost as much as he cherishes being around you.

You've noticed how he tends to gravitate towards the sunny spots wherever you go. The first time you took note of it was in Grymforge. Astarion had managed to find the only spot in your entire camp where, despite Grymforge being in the Underdark, a small beam of sunlight had made it's way through the rubbles.

You chose not to comment on it, though. It didn't surprise you to learn that he wanted to enjoy the sun for as much as possible, after hundreds of years of lurking in the shadows. Seeing him in that spot in your camp reminded you of the first time the two of you spent the night together - or rather, it reminded you of the morning after the two of you had spent your first night together.

Waking up to see him standing in that clearing, his eyes closed and head tilted backwards, soaking in the warmth of the sun. You hadn't fully realized what it meant at the time, being so early on in your acquaintance, but you understood now.

Which is why you've never mentioned it to him when you notice him subtly moving around whenever you're in camp, to try and find the best patch of sun to sit in. Part of you is unsure whether he is even aware he is doing it - it starts out with him leaning towards where the sun is moving, and then shifting short distances when it moves too far; all while still reading his book, or talking with the others, or drinking his wine.

The one time it does annoy you, however, is during times like today.

You're all back at camp, enjoying a well deserved half day off, and the sun has been beating down on you for most of the day. The afternoon is lurking, which means the sun is slowly moving across the sky, preparing to set for the day.

You're sitting around the un-lit campfire with the others, Karlach and Wyll sitting at your left, Gale and Shadowheart at your right, and Halsin and Jaheira straight across.

Everyone is talking casually or reading a book, seemingly all enjoying an afternoon of quiet resting before your next big confrontation interrupts it.

You and Astarion are sitting on a blanket, each of you with a glass of well deserved wine in hand. Well, perhaps sitting is not the right word; he is leaning back on his hands with his legs in front of him, and you're resting your head on his thigh. He's deep in conversation with Halsin, and you wouldn't have considered Astarion to be as interested in the druid as he seemingly is, if it wasn't for the fact you suspect he might be just a teensy bit attracted to the beefy elf.

You're having a conversation with Karlach and Wyll, the two of them asking questions about your past and defending their inquiries with the fact that you know so much about them and they barely know anything about you.

You're replying with chuckles and smiles for the most part, indulging them, carefully taking sips of wine with your head leaning on Astarions thigh.

The sun moves slightly on the blue sky, as it always does this time of day, and you want to curse at yourself for not seeing what happens next coming in advance.

Just as you're about to reply to one of Karlach's questions, your pillow (Astarion's thigh) is snatched away from under your head, resulting in it thunking against the grass. Your boyfriend shifts away, completely oblivious to what just happened as he lets out a delighted laugh at whatever Halsin tells him.

Your let out a hrmpf at the impact, your brows pulling into a frown when you sit up, rubbing the back of your head with your fingers, "Ow."

Karlach and Wyll both watch you with widened eyes, their gaze bouncing between yourself and Astarion, the latter still completely unaware of how he just moved away from you to accommodate for the moving sunbeam he always chases.

"What just happened?" Karlach muses, tilting her head. The question makes Astarion glance over at her, taking a sip of his wine, "What do you mean?"

You narrow your eyes when they find your lover, letting out another disgruntled noise, "My head just hit the grass, you oaf!"

You push at his shoulder (gently) to make your point, making him spill af few drops of wine, "Hey, watch it! This is a perfectly balanced red!"

You glare at him, his scarlet eyes searching your face in confusion, "Astarion!"

"What?!" He exclaims, looking utterly confused as he looks between you and the others, "What is it?"

"You made my head hit the ground when you moved, you doofus!" You exclaim in exasperation, scooting closer to him to get back to your former position, your lips forming a pout, "Apologize."

That makes him frown instantly as if the notion of apologizing is obscene, his nose wrinkling as he glances down at the blanket, "What are you talking about, I didn't even move?"

"Yes you did!" You exclaim, and Karlach chimes in with a "Yeah, you did," which makes you look at him pointedly.

Astarion's expression only gets more confused, but he glances at the others who look equally confused yet entertained by whatever is happening between the two of you right now.

You let out a dramatic sigh, sitting up to point at your former spot, "We were over here, now you're over here. See? You always do this."

"Do what?" He asks in annoyance, "I don't even remember moving."

"I know," you quip, grabbing his glass of wine out of his hand to take a sip, "But you always do it. As soon as the sun moves, you do too."

He blinks in surprise, and the others around you snicker in response.

"What do you mean?"

"You move with the sun, vampy," you jest, cupping his confused face in your hands, "And normally it's real cute, but not when I'm using you as a pillow. Got it?"

His eyes search yours, his lips lifting slightly at your teasing expression, but he looks a little embarrassed when he asks, "I move with the sun?"

"Uh-huh," you nod, ruffling his hair and making him sputter in protest, "Whenever the sun moves so you're no longer in it's direct path, you move to wherever you need to in order to get back in it. It's very cute, all things considered, but it's not very practical when I need to use your milky thighs for resting. Okay?"

He pushes your hands off at your little comment, making the others chuckle, and instead he reaches up to curls his hand around the back of your neck. He smirks, clearly embarrassed and a little flustered but trying to hide it as he pulls you closer, "All right, I think we all got it. I move with the sun."

"Yep," you quip, "Just like a kitty cat."

His eyes narrow as the others laugh, and then the two of you have a staring contest, each refusing to back down. Your smile turns wider, enjoying the teasing banter between the two of you, your previous gripe already forgotten.

"Are you calling me a cat, darling?" He asks, his voice lowered, "Is that what I am to you?"

"Yes, just a cute kitty. Like Halsin!" You muse, glancing over at the wood elf. Astarions eyes dart over to look at him momentarily, and you can tell he gets even more flustered when the large elf only smiles back at him.

"You hear that, Astarion? Guess we have more in common than we thought."

[bitchysouljellyfish]

Reassurance

Monk Tav is doubting herself. Good thing Tara is there to set her straight.

Border by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Strange how life works.

One day, you're out on a mission for your temple, quarterstaff resting comfortably in your hand as you trek through the streets of Baldur’s Gate looking for an inn to rest your head for the night before setting off bright and early in search of new and bright eyed recruits to send to the Order of the Yellow Rose to begin their training.

And then you’re abducted by a mindflayer ship, have a tadpole inserted into your skull, escape said nautiloid by crashing it, meet the craziest bunch of strangers you'd ever meet in your life, fight countless monsters, fall in love with the man you pulled out of a stone, subsequently save the world and now you're in Waterdeep, resting comfortably on a chaise in front of a roasting fire as the beginnings of winter makes its way through the Sword Coast with a tressym relaxing while you both wait for your fiancé to come back from shopping.

It is very strange how life works.

Tav never would've expected this was how her life would've turned out. She expected to spend the rest of her days in service to the temple, becoming a Grand Master and then training the next warriors of the Era before dying of whatever the gods deemed fit for her. But now? Now she was envisioning a future far from violence and grueling training, replaced with wedding bells, a dress her future mother in law wanted to help her find, and even considering tiny feet with even tinier tails and little nubs for horns.

That was in a not so distant future, however. First, Tav would have to deal with present problems. Mainly gaining the favor of the tressym before her and getting out of her own head.

Tara was like a second mother in law. Don’t mistake her, Tav adored the tressym and she was fairly certain she liked her as well, but there wasn’t much the two had in common. Tav wanted to know everything about Gale's life, and the ones most important to him, but having small talk?

She’d rather spend 12 hours in the Hashi with the grandmasters. It was awkward and so mind numbingly boring! There had to be a better way to get to know Tara better, and by extension, Morena. Nobody wants a daughter in law they know nothing about. Thankfully, sitting by the balcony with a book on her lap about the latest experiments of the thunder wave spell and its effects on the body, she finally had her chance.

Gale was out, getting… something he wouldn’t tell her, but Tara had stayed behind, napping and cozily roasting her feet by the fire to combat the first chills of Waterdeep until a flurry of wings interrupted her sleep. Almost immediately Tara perked up and got into position to pounce on the unsuspecting pigeon. Her wings positioned tight against her body while her rear end wiggled.

Tav had to cover her mouth to stifle the giggles as her own tail flicked back and forth with glee against the couch. That caught Tara’s attention as well, unfortunately, the wide open pupils narrowed into tiny slits again.

“Oh, please forgive me Tara. I don’t mean to laugh,” she says, curling her tail around her feet. “Its just- I love the look on your face when you get so determined like that.”

“Not to worry, Tav.” Tara left the pigeon alone and hopped onto the arm of the chair she was sitting on. “You probably got me at just the right time. I did promise Mr. Dekarios to leave some of the pigeon population alone, but he said nothing about watching the little devils.”

“Gale was probably just worried about any messages being lost.” She says and sets the book to the side. “Are you hungry, Tara? I could cook something for you! Despite what Gale and the others have said about my cooking, I have perfected some dishes.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, my dear.” A tiny paw pats the back of her hand, almost motherly. “Not hungry, just a bit bored I’m afraid. Mr. Dekarios said he would bring something back for the both of us and now it has me sitting on pins and needles.” Tara’s ears perked up before laying flat against her head. “Oh dear, I’ve said too much.”

“No, No, Its ok!” It was nice to hear Gale was planning something. “I promise, I won’t tell a soul you said something, but if you’re bored why don’t we do something together? We could play lanceboard, or um let’s see…���

A soft chuckle came from the winged feline before her, stretching herself out as she climbed onto Tav’s lap. “why are you so nervous my dear? It is just old Tara, we’re all part of the same family. Or will be once you and Mr. Dekarios settle on a wedding date.”

Tav sighed and leaned back against the cushions, hovering her hand over Tara’s soft fur before being granted permission to pet. “but you aren’t just Tara. You’re Gale’s oldest and most dearest friend, practically a second mother to him. I’m just- forgive me it’s silly of me.”

“Its not silly if it’s causing you this much turmoil. Come now,” she hopped off her lap and pulled at Tav’s tail with a quickly conjured Mage Hand-well Paw- to lead her. “Come have some tea. I know Gale bought some of that delicious jasmine tea just for you that I myself have been dying to try.”

Tav fumbled with her fingers as she followed the tressym, feeling more and more like a bumbling fool than a respected monk of the Order of the Yellow Rose. She could beat down goblins, minotaurs, mindlfayers, hell she defeated the Elder Brain and lived to tell the tale!

But Gale wasn’t a problem she could just train and fight away. He wasn’t a problem at all, mind you, but he meant everything to her. Her first true love, the man she saved the world with and the one who encouraged her every step of the way and looked at her with such love she had no idea what to do with it. Tav wanted to make sure she was just as good as he thought she was, the person that he told his family about. Tav wasn’t sure if she could handle them being disappointed in who she really was.

She felt so weak for being like this, but at the same time hated doubting her feelings. For all the good the monks did for her, regulating emotions was not one of the skills taught. Gale had been blissfully patient, waiting while she literally punched her feelings out and comforted her with bandages around her knuckles and a healing potion to amend the damages she’d done to herself.

Gale made her feel like a teenager with their first crush, fumbling over themselves trying to get the feelings out while Gale just… did it. He did it with such ease it made the monk jealous and made her cheeks frightfully warm while all she could do was silence his praises with a kiss that hopefully took his breath away. It was rather ridiculous , as they were to be married some time soon.

Tara showed her where Gale had kept the tea and waited patiently while it brewed, loafing on the table.

“Now, tell Tara what's on your mind. I can guarantee that this conversation stays just between the two of us. “

Tav smiled and poured them each a cup. “Thank you for this. I just…” She chewed on her lip. “I cant help but feel out of my element. Domesticity, peace, tranquility. The monks spoke about it all the time, but it's so different than actually living it. I'm not complaining, don’t misunderstand me, Waterdeep is amazing and I love Gale with my entire being, but…”

“You feel as if you're waiting for the ball to drop.” Tara finished for her. “so to speak?”

Tav sighed and drummed her nails against the tea cup. “Yes. I feel as if Gale will one day realize he wants a real wife, one who can cook without burning a dish, who had a normal upbringing, one who doesn't… doesn't have nightmares about battles long past and can go out for a walk without constantly looking over her shoulder. I’m afraid I’ll be alone again, and I'm not sure I can handle that heart break.”

Tara ignored her cup of tea and trotted over to her side. “My dear, if you think that Gale would ever do such a thing I'm afraid you don't know him at all.”

“Huh?”

Tara put a paw on her hand, “You truly haven't seen the way that man looks at you when you don't notice or what he has done to make you comfortable here. And I don't mean that to sound cruel, I'm sure Gale hid it from you on purpose. Look over there, under the spice rack. That is a cookbook filled with recipes for warriors to keep their energy and maintain their physique. In his desk, he has a book on learning Infernal because he knows you mutter to yourself as you plan your next training session, and he wants to speak to you in your mother tongue. My, when we were out shopping the other day, he stopped a tiefling couple to ask about tail language so he could better understand your emotions.”

As Tara continued, Tav’s face kept getting warmer, her tail beat against the floor with her growing joy and her heart beat ever faster. How had she not noticed any of this? She prides herself on her perception, but all of this slipped past her detection?

“That isn't to say you don't put in the same effort. I've seen the way you clean up his potions, reading your own books on magic and the Weave to understand his passion better. I've also seen the look of complete and utter joy you have on your face when he goes on about his lectures. You don't patronize him, you don't roll your eyes, you pay attention as if you were one of his students. Yes, you two met and went through incredible circumstances, but that means you two have seen each other at your worst and still live each other with everything you have. My dear, Mrs. Dekarios absolutely adores you because you make him so happy! Believe me when I say you have nothing to worry about.”

Tara gasped when two hands went under her front limbs and she was brought into a tight hug with the subtle dampness that was beginning to grow on her fur. She nudged her head against Tav’s chin to comfort her. “Oh no, did I say something wrong? It wasn’t my intention to-“

“No, you said everything right.” Tav sniffed to try and avoid getting about and tears in her fur. “I cant believe- I didn't realize, but thank you, Tara, for everything.” The tiefling set her back down gently, wiping her face as she did. “I… I love him so much, so much so that I didn’t think it was possible to love someone this much. And to have that confirmation makes it all the sweeter. You’re a wonderful friend Tara, and I’m so thankful to be apart of your family.”

Tara rubbed against her face and purred loudly. “I feel the same, Tav. You saved my little love, and I will be forever grateful to you.”

“I’m home!” Gale’s voice echoed through the tower, unintentionally interrupting the tender moment.

Tav didn’t waste any time, pressing a gentle kiss to Tara’s forehead before rushing down the steps to welcome her love home. Tara stayed at the table and started drinking her tea, her purrs getting louder as she heard the subtle noises of a smothering of kisses and gentle admonishes from her family.

“My love, I’m happy to see you too- dearest I’m holding gifts-give me a mome-“

A crash, followed by mirthful laughter from both parties made a chuckle flow from Tara as well.

Yes, she thought, this was a love that would be told about for ages.

[theunlikelycassiopeia]

Note: this is my own creative take and is only roughly based on the game. Enjoy!

Cass still hadn’t quite processed everything that had occurred. A deep tiredness set in her bones, making her legs feel suddenly heavy. Since the nautiloid crash, Cass found herself in the company of very strange strangers. Shadowheart, half elf cleric, was awfully secretive about who she is. Sometimes Cass saw her wince in pain. Cass quickly learned to stop asking about that. Soon after the crash they’d found Gale, a very chatty wizard, stuck in a portal in a wall. Cass half-wished they’d left him there because he never stopped talking. Then, the day after, they came across the peculiar, white-haired Astarion. After a misunderstanding and a scuffle in the dirt, Cass decided to invite the pale elf to join them. Despite finding him awfully creepy, she found his skills in lockpicking to be very useful.

Shadowheart yawned “We really should get some rest and bunker down for the night.”

Astarion scanned the horizon “Finally. A smart suggestion. But this doesn’t seem like the kind of place with an inn…”

Cass unloaded her burlap sack from her back and plonked it down in the dust. She brushed her white hair out of her eyes and surveyed he area. “We’re better off camping out here. I’ll set up the fire if you l-”

“Camping?” exclaimed Astarion with disgust. “You may be a barbarian, but I am not sleeping in the dirt, darling-”

“Call me ‘darling’ one more time.” hissed Cass. She’d already warned him twice.

Astarion smirked. “Darl-”

“PERHAPS” Gale interrupted loudly, “we should deflect ourselves from such debates and focus on replenishing our energy. It looks like the most obvious option is to set up camp. I suspect tomorrow will be another trying day and it is awfully important that we are fully rested.”

Cass and Astarion narrowed their eyes at one another. Suddenly, a streak of sunlight danced across Astarion’s face and Cass realised how very pale the elf was. His eyes reflected ruby against the golden sun, his skin was so pallid it was almost translucent. Dark eyelashes swept up into his hooded eyelids. He tilted his eyes upwards at her, making him seem almost cat-like. Cass hadn’t realised that she was plainly staring at him until an inquisitive frown shifted across his brow.

“Would you like a painting or…?” A flush of red tinged the tips of his pointy ears.

Cass blinked. “Sorry, I just didn’t quite realise how white you are. Did you say you were just an elf?”

“It’s rude to comment on other’s appearances.” snapped Astarion.

“As nice as it is that you two are staring at one another, it would be better if you were helping set up camp” interjected Shadowheart.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Cass was surprised and relieved that the air was still warm. For the sake of keeping some light in the camp, Cass set a fire going. The oaky smell of the burning wood reminded her of the temple. She shuddered away from the thought, rubbing the deep bruises on her wrists. A flash of a memory, she was being dragged from-

“This is some lovely cheese. Tastes very similar to what we have in Waterdeep. I know a wizard who is partial to a little cheese. You all may have heard of him. He’s legendary for his…”

Cass was, for once, grateful for Gale’s mindless chatter. She’d managed to get her hands on some cheese and bread from the camp they’d found in the underground ruins. She was yet to eat anything but her stomach was still so tense. She sighed out a shaky breath and brought her knees up to her chest. She scanned her eyes along her new acquaintances. Gale was talking near non-stop about Waterdeep to anyone who looked his way, Shadowheart was inspecting the unusual wound on her hand and Astarion’s eyes were fixed on the tree line of the woods next to their camp. Cass wondered about the Githyanki woman she’d fought alongside in the nautiloid. Where did she go?

After an hour, Gale and Shadowheart set their bedrolls next to the dwindling campfire. It wasn’t long until she heard their faint snores.

Despite being bone-tired, Cass could not switch off. Her mind raced over the past two days. Mind flayers, Intellect Devourers, dragons, githyankis, Avernus, Baldur’s Gate.

Suddenly, her mind snapped back into the present. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she was suddenly aware that everything was very quiet. She was being watched. She spun her head around. Astarion had silently perched himself on a felled tree a few feet behind her. Light from the dying campfire didn’t quite reach him. He was simply a dark and still silhouette against the silver moonlight. His eyes seem to shine in the dark of the night. He looked uncanny. She felt unnerved by him.

“You should get some sleep.” He whispered. His head tilted forward, his face catching the dying glow of firelight. His smile, which in daylight may have looked innocent, curled in slight wickedness. “I’ll keep watch.”

“Absolutely not,” she snipped at him. “Not a chance I am closing my eyes with you around. I will keep watch.”

Astarion huffed and pouted his bottom lip in feigned hurt. “Fine.”

She turned to face the campfire, but an uneasiness settled in her chest. I’m going to have to keep my eye on him, she thought to herself, creep.

Cass lay down on her bedroll and looked up at the starless sky. Smoke from the still burning nautiloid plumed into the dark of the night. She glanced over at the pale elf frequently and felt assured that he had taken to trimming his nails rather than watching her. He hummed a tune, one that she recognised as the bard tune Down by the River. As he hummed and preened himself, Cass found her mind drifted into strange dreams. She was barely aware that she’d fallen into a meditation. Not until-

Her eyes flew open as her instincts screamed for her to WAKE UP. Her heart almost leapt out of her mouth at the sight she was greeted with. Astarion’s face hovered over hers, his crimson eyes fixed on her exposed neck. His cold breath danced on her face. His mouth parted and his fangs- FANGS?!

“What are you-?!” Cass shot up so fast she almost headbutted him.

Astarion fell back, startled. He scrambled to his feet. “It’s not what it looks like!”

Cass jumped up, dizzy with adrenaline coursing through her. Astarion was already backing away. But it was too late, she could already see what he was. Her eyes were on his mouth.

“Shit,” he muttered, panicked. “I wasn’t going to hurt you. I just- shit. I just need some..”

“Some WHAT?!” Cass picked up a jagged piece of wood from the now dead campfire.

Astarion’s eyes widened in fear. “Wait, please, just let me explain.” His eyes darted to the others who were still deep in their slumber.

“A vampire? You’re a vampire?!”

“I promise, I wasn’t going to kill you.” His voiced pleaded, his eyes now trained on the wooden stake in her hands. “I was only going to take a little. Please don’t kill me. If you want, I will leave.”

“I can’t let you leave. Who’s to say you won’t come back and kill us all?!” Cass gripped the charred stake in her hand.

“If I was going to kill you, I would have done that already. But I don’t want to kill you. I just need a little bit of blood.” Astarion had both of his hands slightly raised in surrender. His head was bowed, and his eyes pleaded for mercy.

In any normal situation, Cass would have killed him already. But this was NOT a normal situation. A strange thought ebbed into her mind.

Help him.

She shrugged the thought away and took a careful step forward. Astarion shuffled backwards, almost loosing his balance on the uneven terrain.

No rash decisions, bear heart.

She paused but clenched her jaw.

“Shit shit shit-” his eyes darted around, searching for the safest escape.

Look at him. He’s exhausted like you. He’s just trying to survive like you. Think of all you led to slaughter in the past, young acolyte. Your redemption can start here.

She dropped the wood.

Astarion froze on the spot, confused.

“When was the last time you killed someone?” she asked, bluntly.

“Killed someone?” He responded incredulously. “I’ve not killed anyone! Well, not recently. I’ve not fed, you see. Not in a long time. I am weak.”

Cass regarded him, her heart thundering in her chest. Something whispered from the peripheral of her mind. Give him a chance.

Astarion’s eyes flickered across her face. He lowered his hands slowly. “Look… If I am going to fight alongside you all, I need to be strong.”

“I am still processing the fact that you’re a fucking vampire. I knew you were creepy, but THIS?”

“Cre-? Excuse me.” He exclaimed, hands now on his hips. “I am not a true vampire, anyway. I am merely a spawn.”

“Same difference to me,” Cass bit back. “Whatever you are, you should have told us from the start.”

“Exactly how would I have gone about that? ‘Hello, my name is Astarion. I am a vampire spawn. Lovely to meet you!’”

“Well, it would have been a start!” huffed Cass.

“Oh!” scoffed Astarion, “Because you certainly would not have driven a dagger straight through my chest!”

“Well…” Cass folded her arms across her chest, “I suppose you’re right. But no more secrets from now on, yes?”

Astarion’s eyes watched her face intently, his eyes slowly taking in her features. He was trying to read her.

“So… you’re not going to kill me?”

“No.” Cass took a deep breath in. She shook her head as if in disagreement with herself.

“And… I can stay?”

“Yes. I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

His eyebrows shot up, as if no one had ever trusted him before. “Really?”

“Are you really questioning me right now?”

Something changed in his expression. “What’s the cost?” he asked softly. Somehow, Astarion suddenly made himself appear smaller. His eyes dropped to the floor. His shoulders rounded downwards, as if in resignation. Or was it shame?

“…Cost?” Cass observed his sudden change in body language. He appeared almost frightened. “There’s no cost, Astarion. It’s better we all stay together in this. We’re all just trying to survive- when you’re not trying to drink me to death. We should remain allies.”

Astarion pulled his gaze back up to her eyes. For a moment, he glanced away and muttered something unintelligible to himself.

“Astarion?”

He straighten himself and threw her an amused looked and straightened himself out. “You know, you are a strange one. Full of surpises.”

“That’s a little rich, coming from you.”

“I’m honestly just wondering how sound your mind is, darling.” Astarion laughed. But then stopped as soon as Cass uncrossed her arms and glared at him. “So, you are… trusting me?”

“Yes. Maybe. Well, you need to earn it. But you must tell the others about your condition. Tomorrow.” Her words didn’t feel like her own. In her old life it wouldn’t have been a shock to anyone if she’d hacked his head right from his shoulders. But that strange sensation inside of her told her to Help him. Was it the tadpole? No. She didn’t think it was.

“I promise to tell the others.” He laughed nervously and rubbed his forehead. She noticed that his hands were shaking. “I really thought you were going to kill me.”

“Well, I thought so too. But apparently I am an idiot. We’re going to have to start trying to trust one another if we’re going to survive.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” They stood, looking at one another for a moment. Internally, Cass was fighting with herself.

Idiot.

You should have killed him immediately.

No, whispered that new strange part of herself. He’s important. Wait and see.

Astarion cleared his throat, bringing Cass back from her thoughts.

“I wondered, though…” he tilted his head to the side, as if he were an innocent child. “Do you think you could trust me… just a little further?”

Cass’s eyes flittered down to his mouth. He smiled, dangerously. White, sharp teeth exposed just a little. Her eyes flitted back to his eyes. Hunger. He was starving for her.

“You must be kidding.” She scoffed.

“I only need a drop.”

Help him.

Don’t be so stupid!

Help him.

He’s going to kill me!

Help him.

“Only what you need and nothing more.” Her own words surprised her.

“Not a drop more.” He purred. He bit his lip. Excitement and fear pooled in her belly. What on earth was she doing?!

His eyes darkened, like midnight. He stepped closer to her, his footsteps silent.

Astarion gestured to her bedroll. “Let’s make ourselves comfortable, why don’t we?”

Cass laid down on her back, her body quivered in anticipation. He stood over her for a moment. Moonlight shone like a halo through his white hair. His eyes danced on her neck. He brushed his thumb over his bottom lip, as if contemplating his meal. As he towered above her, she realised that he really was VERY beautiful. His ridiculous poet blouse was slightly loose across his chest. She watched the steady rise and fall of his chest. She wondered for a moment if he actually needed to breathe? He tilted his head back slightly, still considering his next move. As he done so, she finally saw the scar on his neck. Two small, but deep holes on the right side of his neck. She wondered how on earth she did not notice it before.

His tongue flashed in a quick motion as he wet his lips. Cass’s breath caught in her mouth.

“Are you ready?” the words came out of his mouth like a melody.

She nodded. In slow movements, he kneeled over her, a knee on either side of her waist. Her heart hammered in a quick loud pace. His eyes glanced down to her chest.

“Be quiet, that little rabbit heart of yours.” He smiled, teeth exposed.

He then traced a cool finger from the edge of her jaw down to her collar bone. He was looking for a good spot. His lips parted slightly, his tongue curled to the edge of a sharp fang.

As he sat back on his heels, she felt the weight of him on her hips. Heat pooled in frenzy at the base of her abdomen. She resisted the urge to bring her hands to his thighs. Her thoughts edged treacherously, wondering what he looked like without that ridiculous blouse on. She shook the stupid thought away, feeling annoyed with her carnal reaction to him. He’s a fucking vampire.

“Are you sure about this?” he said in barely a whisper.

She nodded.

“I need you to say yes.”

“Yes.”

As he began to arch over her, he placed a hand on either side of her head. She tilted her head back, exposing her neck to him.

“Very good, darling.” he breathed into her neck then-

At first, it was like a cold shard of ice in her neck. Cass gasped at the shock of the pain and her hand found its way to Astarion’s chest. She gripped his blouse. In involuntary movement, she pulled him down to her and he complied. Soon the pain faded, and her vision was met with a blur. She could hear her pulse rushing in a terrible rhythm. She became very aware of the small sound of pleasure he made against her neck as he bit deep. She felt the small brushes of his tongue against her skin as her blood pulsed into his mouth.

Then her vision began to darken.

“Astarion, that’s enough.”

He didn’t let go.

Panic.

“That’s enough!”

He withdrew fast. He threw his head back and breathed deeply, as if coming up for breath. Deep, dark, oxygenated blood dripped from the corners of his mouth, down his neck. He made quick work with his fingers, drawing up the blood from his neck before it reached his blouse. Cass watched dizzily as he sucked hungrily on his fingers.

“That was… amazing.” His voice was thick with pleasure. “You are delicious. I feel stronger. I feel happy.” He was almost panting as he looked down on her. He gently placed the palm of his cool hand on her throat. The other hand brushed away her white hair from the sticky wound he left. His mouth, still slightly open, curled up into a drunken smile. Cass remained still. It took her a moment to realise that she was almost enjoying herself. She felt heat burn the tips of her ears. Astarion had noticed. With one soft hand still on her throat, brushed his forefinger of his other hand up to the point of her left ear, sending a pulse of hot electricity deep into her belly. Gently, he smoothed his palm from the base of her throat up to her jaw. His thumb applied pressure to her chin, encouraging her to open her mouth. She surrendered to this unspoken command. Astarion’s eyes fixed on her mouth. He let out a shuddering breath as he held her there for a moment.

He finally stood up, stepping over her.

“Where are you going?” her voiced almost sounded intoxicated.

“As lovely as you are, that wasn’t quite enough. I need something more substantial.” He turned toward the woodland but then suddenly paused. He looked over his shoulder, his expression unreadable “This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.”

As he walked away, she noticed that he looked stronger. He looked more confident. He stood taller. She also noticed the flush of crimson at the tips of his pale ears. She smiled.

[adinfernumadinfinitum]

Ah, You Devil!

Raphael x Fem! Devil-Tav (NSFW, Slow Burn) 18+

CW: Graphic Depiction of Violence

What could be worse than a tadpoled devil? A devil walking among mortals, concealing her infernal identity while searching for a cure. But when a certain charming, manipulative devil crosses her path, things take a dangerous turn. He’s after more than just a contract - he holds the key to her past and her exile. As their fates intertwine, the line between enemy and ally blurs. And the more she uncovers about him, the harder it becomes to escape his claws… or the truth about why they’re bound together.

Chapter 1 - [AO3]

A Savior? That‘s For Certain

Chapter 2

Words: 3.835

You woke up, irritation flooding you as you sensed scorched air, wet hair, and an aching head. The last thing you remembered was being on the Nautiloid and the crash.

Why were you not dead? Or at least in the state that you used to call ‚dead’? A fall of such height would have killed anyone and anything.

You looked around, not recognizing your surroundings, and spotted a woman lying unconscious on the beach near the shipwreck. Before you made your way to examine her, you stood up, looked around again, sniffed the air one more time, and scooped some water with your hand for a taste. Freshwater, you thought; there must be a settlement somewhere nearby.

You strode over to the stranger lying on the ground, eyeing a small octagonal box in her hand. On each side of the shining metal, you recognized githyanki sigils, bringing back memories of your short-time companion on the Nautiloid. But what was a Sharran disciple doing with a githyanki artifact? You waved the thought away as you grabbed her shoulders and shook her awake.

After a brief conversation and her thanking you for freeing her from the pod, she eagerly expressed that staying together was a must. You complied, thinking that it couldn’t harm letting her tag along. After all, she might be a valuable asset - one look at this girl, and you knew who she was or at least which god she worshipped and devoted herself to - for it was not a daily occurrence to meet a Sharran (especially one clothed in Sharran armor from head to toe).

„Something the matter?” the half-elf named Shadowheart asked dryly as you felt the need to pry information about the artifact. She desperately tried to hide the box and divert your attention elsewhere so you swiftly dismissed your questions. It wouldn’t be fair to interrogate her when you didn’t want to share your secrets either.

 

You explored the ravaged beach further, killed the remaining wretched things called ‚Intellect Devourers,’ and stumbled upon an old wooden door belonging to what seemed on old chapel.

„We should take a look inside.” You signaled your companion toward the chapel and opened the locked door with a snap of your fingers. Alas Shadowheart disapproved, shooting you a deathly glare. „Finding a healer should be our priority. I doubt we’ll find one in these ruins.” She was determined to move on - she grabbed your arm and started dragging you away from the door, so you promptly set off to your next encounters.

 

A handsome, pale elf with crimson eyes who initially wanted to murder you (of course), a white male dragonborn who lost all his memories and whom you had to rescue from kissing a mind flayer who then, in all gratefulness, tried to kill you (of course), a charming wizard from Waterdeep trapped in a stone wall whom you also had to rescue (of course), and last but not least, your already acquainted sharp-tongued, bat-nosed githyanki whom you rescued from a trap, though she seemed convinced she would have made it perfectly without you (of course).

After a couple of hours of picking up companion after companion to tag along like children, you found yourself wondering what the hells you were actually doing, all in the name of finding a ‚cure’.

But the only thing on your mind to get rid of the stowaway was inappropriate in the presence of your company.

 

Several days passed with no help in sight.

 

You roamed the forest further when you heard screaming voices demanding some gate to be opened, finding yourself and your companions in the midst of a goblin attack upon following said screams.

Curiosity killed the cat, you thought.

As you unsheathed your sword and dagger, a young man, a warlock, appeared, calling himself ‚The Blade of Frontiers’, ready to fight alongside you. The fight was short-lived - your companions, like yourself, were skilled fighters after all.

 

When you were invited past the gate that had been demanded to be opened minutes ago, into the druid grove where your companions hoped to find a healer, you found yourself with yet another companion. ‚Luck‘ just seemed to be on your side as the newfound companion swore to kill devils, yet all you saw in his thoughts as your tadpoles connected was an enslaved tiefling woman he tried to hunt down.

Oh, how all of this was going to be fun. You laughed to yourself. Ironic.

 

After dillydallying through the grove, singing with a tiefling bard named Alfira, helping tiefling kids avoid being murdered by snakes and harpies, and trying not to get killed yourself by poisoned thorns from the supposed healer ‚Nettie’ (once your Dragonborn companion, Durge, told her you were only a short hop away from becoming mind flayers), you were then more than sure you would not find any cure there. However, something about the demeanor of the druid worried you, and as you engaged in further conversation, your worry grew.

„Because you should be changing – there should be a small army of mind flayers out there! But you’re not. Weird powers aside, you seem perfectly normal.” Nettie shifted uneasily, and Lae’zel chimed in, „My thoughts exactly.” A weird and unfamiliar feeling crept up your spine at her words. The Githyanki warrior was the best informed about mind flayers and tadpoles, as you had witnessed so far. If even she had her concerns, it must have meant something.

„Mind flayers reproduce by infecting someone with their parasite. Seven gruesome days later, the victim transforms, and a new mind flayer is born.” Nettie continued. „The thing in your skull though? It’s different from anything in our records. It’s one of their worms, for sure, but this one gives you powers – telepathic connections. And it doesn’t turn you into one of them.” She elaborated on her own worries as you picked up her mentioning the infected converging on an old temple of Selûne. Then she stopped and pleaded for you to look for their Archdruid Halsin, as he knew more about the whole situation and finding him would help the grove get back their old master.

You paused to think for a moment, then sighed in surrender and agreed to Nettie’s plea.

 

Next stop: the old temple of Selûne, to find Halsin, look for a cure, and while we’re at it, help the tiefling refugees by annihilating the goblin leaders in (what a coincidence) the old temple of Selûne.

 

So off you went then.

 

On your way to the goblin camp, you encountered a dog named Scratch whimpering at his dead owner’s side. In your time on the material plane, you came to love animals more than people, and given your circumstances the last couple of days, picking up companion after companion, you just couldn’t leave the poor boy alone. You gave him a whiff of you so he could find you at camp and went on as you heard a loud cry full of pain.

And of course, you and your group had to follow the noise.

Curiosity killed the cat, you repeated in your head.

As you approached the source of the cries and what sounded like swearing and grunting, you were met with a blazing heat radiating from a muscular tiefling woman. Red skin, one horn, and the smell of Avernus’s fires. So that was the Blade’s prey… „Karlach!” Wyll shouted upon recognizing her, and all of your tadpoles connected. After Karlach explained her situation and you managed to convince Wyll of Karlach’s innocence, the barbarian and warlock settled their dispute, resulting in you gaining yet another companion (of course).

He was tricked by his patron, you thought, hoping not to come across any of the rather unfortunate encounters.

But fortunate you were not. Not since the day you were born – the words of your mother echoing in your mind. You would have felt some sort of remorse, but you were unable to have such feelings due to your nature. Still, something stung in the region where your heart was from time to time, bringing bitterness up your throat. You had another odd feeling the moment you set camp.

And there was the source of the feeling, arriving as soon as the sun went down. The earth at your feet was set aflame, and out of what seemed a black pool of devil blood, a creature appeared.

You recognized the fiendish woman instantly. A cambion – a half-devil who served the Archdevil Zariel – and for a moment, you thought she recognized you too as she eyed you from head to toe. But her attention on you was brief as she swiftly turned her gaze to her warlock.

„Wyll, you’ve been naughty.“ She said in a haughty, mocking tone. „And you know what happens when you’re naughty. My pet’s been unruly and its leash needs a yank!” The cambion gestured in mid-air at Wyll as if reaching for a chain, pulling him like a dog to her side.

„We had a deal, Wyll. But Karlach is still breathing.”

As Mizora lectured her pet on the breach of their contract and the penalty it entailed, you took a step back and decided to just watch. There was no way to avoid punishment, and you certainly weren’t going to reveal yourself to the first fiend that came along. Devils are lawful creatures; signing a tricky or unspecified contract did not make them any less bound to the law. The contracted party had to actually think about terms and conditions and hidden clauses. 

So you stood there in silence, watching as the she-devil bestowed punishment upon your companion. Two devilish horns appeared on Wyll’s head, the sclera of his good eye turned black, and his iris burned a hellish red. He became a devil himself.

With her last words that some magic even she can‘t undo, she wanted to bid farewell with a „Ta-ta.“ as she paused for a moment and shot you a glare, „You… keep an eye on him, would you? And I will be keeping mine on you.“ She waved her hand and disappeared in a blazing fire, leaving dancing sparks and ash behind.

 

The night grew darker, and everyone was settled in for sleep when you noticed someone was missing. Rising from the campfire, you looked around but couldn't find your companion anywhere. Durge was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t the first time he had had done strange things at night, but never had he vanished from camp. At that moment, you sensed a presence in the shadows. Whoever it was, they were using exceptionally skilled concealment magic, as not even you could detect them. Despite the unease, it seemed that whatever - or whoever - it was, it wasn’t focused on you. You knew that if someone had discovered you, all hell would have broken loose. Going to sleep was the only right solution for now. 

 

The next morning, to your relief, Durge had returned, safe and sound. However, someone - or something - else had joined your camp: an undead creature that, despite its modest appearance, seemed peaceful.

When the others awoke from their slumber, they were equally surprised by the new arrival. Your vampiric companion (and yes, you had known since your first encounter that Astarion was a vampire; it was quite obvious) asked the dragonborn where he had found the skeleton, but his expression told he was not quite sure himself „Oh, I couldn’t sleep yesterday and went to the beach. I don’t know what happened, but just before sunrise, I woke up in what seemed like the ruins of an old temple. And there I found him.“ Durge shrugged, while the rest of the group gathered around the aforementioned 'Withers' to inspect him.

So a mysterious undead entity joined your party, calling himself ‚a scribe, a seneschal - a keeper of records‘ and offering resurrection services. 

You had a faint suspicion, and to confirm it, you approached the creature as well. Upon closer inspection, it became evident: the boneman that Durge affectionately referred to as ‚Withers‘ - a name that quickly caught on with everyone - was an avatar of Jergal. The original god of death, Lord of the End of Everything, the Last Scribe. 

After this revelation, you had to pause for a moment. Once again you found yourself wondering what in the Nine Hells you were actually doing. How did you end up in the here and now? It‘s not as if you‘ve led a quiet life, but the sheer number of events and strange encounters over the past few days surpassed everything you could have experienced in a century. But before you could get lost in your thoughts too much, you realized that it was your burden not to be mortal, not to be human, plagued by knowledge and gifted with powers you could not fully wield. Not as long as you were hiding. And you did not want to be found. 


So what would you do about it? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Accept it and leave it. After all, it’s said to live and to let live. But deep down, you knew that it was all no coincidence. All these events were meant to lead to something, something significant. And the mere thought of it turned your stomach.


Once everyone had satisfied their curiosity about the undead visitor, you prepared yourselves to infiltrate the goblin camp. Moving through the enemy territory was much easier than expected. A bit of talk about ‚True Souls’ and ‚praise the Absolute’, and you were welcomed. These must have been the cultists Nettie had mentioned. As soon as you reached the old temple, an invisible force pressed you to the ground. An indescribable power rendered your bodies immobile, and in the distance you heard a faint but imperious voice „Hear my voice. obey my command.” The voice was irresistible. You recognized the authority that you’ve used on others, only infinitely stronger and turned against you. Your parasite began to squirm, a sharp pain piercing through your head, and your sight darkening until you saw visions of three figures before you. While the voice instructed you how to obey, you caught a glimpse of a glow from the corner of your eye. It came from the githyanki artifact that Shadowheart tried to grasp. It pulsed several times before beginning to vibrate violently, and the darkness around you dissipated. A sense of lightness filled your body as you regained control once more. 

„Whatever that is you are holding, Shadowheart, it saved us.” The wizard of your party exclaimed. „A gith relic.” Lae’zel answered angrily. „But the question is, why does a half-elf carry it?”, the tempers were rising and Shadowheart was forced to tell her secrets, that she was serving Shar and was sent on a mission to retrieve the artifact in question. 

To calm the situation, you suggested to Lae’zel to return to the camp, but both she and Shadowheart promised to behave for the time being so the group agreed to continue moving forward. And once again you were met with the eerie feeling of being watched from the shadows.

Someone was definitely following you. 

 

It wasn’t much of a surprise, though you had your doubts when you entered the temple. You managed to infiltrate the goblin camp without any issues. All that remained was to split into small groups and begin eliminating your enemies one by one. However, before you could proceed, a figure emerged from the darkness of the temple.


A tall man dressed in luxurious, tailored clothing befitting a nobleman approached you slowly but confidently. „My, my, what manner of place is this? A path to redemption, or a road to damnation? Hard to say, for your journey is just beginning.” He accentuated every word, accompanied by theatrical gestures of his hands.

As you stood before him, you felt the unmistakable aura of powerful concealment magic. Was he the one lurking in the shadows, following your every step? Watching you? Most certainly not, since you perceived his true nature. But now you knew, your pursuer was someone sent by him.

Curiosity killed the fucking cat, you thought to yourself over and over again, repeating like a prayer. 

Thoughts started to race through your mind, adding to your headache. Did he know who you were? Had he been sent by your sister? What was his plan? 

You tried to calm yourself by examining the man more closely as he spoke to the group (poor Durge standing right in front of him) maintaining an air of sophistication and charm. He was tall and had a lean, yet muscular build and carried himself with a confident, almost aristocratic posture. His dark and meticulously styled, slicked back hair enhancing his noble appearance. An overtly handsome face, strong jawline, chiseled cheekbones and his eyes… when his gentle honey-colored, yet piercing eyes met yours, he almost managed to sweep you off your feet.

You stopped breathing for a second, questioning your sanity. Were you attracted to him? At first sight at that? You mentally slapped yourself and refocused on the man’s theatrical monologue. He introduced himself with a bow after reciting the words of a lullaby from Cormyr „Well met. I am Raphael. Very much at your service.” A sleazy smile crept upon his face, when Durge shifted uneasily, glancing at the others and then back to you, as if asking you to switch places with him. You did not make any amendments to move from your spot, so the dragonborn nervously asked „Am I talking to the cat or the mouse?”. Raphael arched an eyebrow, „Neither. The fox, rather, hiding in a word: a silent observer - about to break the silence. Of course, what I’m about to say merits some privacy - as well as some more… let’s call it refinement. This quaint little scene is decidedly too middle-of-nowhere for my tastes.” He swung his hand through the air and with a swirl of smoke, you felt the air shift around you. A familiar heat gently caressed your skin. 

The heat of Avernus. The heat of hell.

As the smoke around you disappeared, you were greeted by an imposing, almost gothic architecture that combined the dark elegance of a devils lair. Columns and arches adorned with devilish motifs and carvings that depicted scenes of torment and power. You and your companions inspected the surroundings to where you were forcefully teleported. You stood in a vast and spacious hall with vaulted ceilings. Shards of souls dancing around the grand chandelier hanging above a big octagonal table, covered with a luxurious, deep red tablecloth. The spread of food was both lavish and surreal, a feast that seemed almost too perfect. 

In front of you stood the man Raphael, spreading his arms satisfied. Behind him was hanging a painting above the fireplace. The scene depicted in the painting was both beautiful and terrifying - at its center an imposing figure, a half-devil, portrayed in a manner that exuded both power and malevolence.

Suddenly the name ‚Raphael’ rang a bell. So rumors do seem to hold truth, you thought. 

Now you calmed down, relaxed even. He did in fact not know who you were and wouldn‘t have any business with your sister. 

„There. Middle-of-somewhere. The House of Hope. Where the tired come to rest, and the famished come to feed - lavishly.” He gestured to the table: „Go on. Partake. Enjoy your supper. After all… it might just be your last.” Raphael spread his arms even farther, exceeding dominance as he threw his head back with a sinister smile while flames embraced him, revealing his true form to you. 

Your companions recoiled at the sight and drew their weapons. „The Devil!“ One of your companions shouted as Wyll and Karlach corrected them in unison, „A cambion!”. You nodded fairly, somehow proud that they knew the difference.

The devil stood before you in his full glory, much larger than his human form: blood-red skin, claws like a beasts, a forked tail, large leather-wings and two sets of beautifully curved, majestic horns adorning his head. 

Your eyes wandered back to the painting. Of course he would have an enormous painting of himself hanging in what you perceived as the ‚reception room‘.

„Oh please!“ He said bemused. „There is no need for crude cutlery.“ A sinister chuckle escaped his mouth as he once again started a theatrical monologue, „What‘s better than a devil you don’t know? A devil you do. Am I a friend? Potentially. An adversory? Conceivably. But a savior? That’s for certain.“ 

To your chagrin but also to your entertainment, your companions had grown accustomed to shifting decision-making onto you. Once again, they looked at you in anticipation, waiting for you to handle the situation.

You sighed, giving them a tired look before heading to the table laden with food, specifically searching for something to lift your mood. You strolled slowly along the centerpiece of the hall, indulging in the sight of the food until you stopped. You had found it.

You picked up a crystal bowl filled with the sweetest-looking cherries, bringing it to your nose to inhale their sweet scent. Then, you popped a cherry into your mouth and met his gaze, his glowing yellow-orange eyes fixated on you.

„Oh, excuse me! Did I interrupt? I just couldn’t help myself - cherries are my favorite.“ You were exaggerating each word deliberately, attempting to mimic his theatricality. „Please continue.“ You made a light bow with your head, watching his jaw clench.

So you hit a nerve. Good.

„Come now. Why play hard to get when you‘re in deep over your tadpoled head? One skull, two tenants, and no solution in sight. I could fix it all…“ Raphael paused dramatically to snap his fingers, a flame emitting from them. „… like that.“

„You’re mad if you think we’ll make a deal with a devil,” Astarion said warily, to which the fiend chuckled. It was a game of push and pull, a classic, you thought. He didn’t intend on making a deal with any of you. At least not for now.

„And what is madness but a denial of reality? Still, I have a feeling you’ll change your mind. Before it’s changed for you… Try to cure yourself. Shop around - beg, borrow, and steal. Exhaust every possibility until none are left. And when hope has been whittled down to the marrow of despair - that’s when you’ll come knocking on my door.”

He continued as you grew tired of his seemingly endless monologue. You refused to believe that someone could spontaneously come up with such a performance, especially with those rhymes…

 

As you sunk deep into your thoughts, you noticed his hand waving through the air again, preparing yourself to be whisked back to the material plane. Instead, all of your companions around you disappeared in smoke.

Satisfied to have regained your attention, the cambion shot you a glare. „You, though… there’s something about you.”

Chapter 2 >>

[blackjackkent]

All right, home from a very chaotic holiday travel and ready to settle into almost two weeks off of work, all full of Baldur's Gate 3 shenanigans. :P Picking up Hector's story in the midst of the Act 2 climax, which has so far been a pretty intense experience for him.

We've most recently been navigating around the underbelly of Moonrise Towers which is full of creepy flesh and creepy people. It seems like this is the heart of the operation, as the particular area we just wandered into is labeled "Tadpoling Center."

And hey, we just found one of our side objectives!

Most of the NPC indicators on the map are the intellect devourers wandering around - but one isn't.

Oh, boy.

Actually, this is, it turns out, a much more interesting situation than I originally thought, because I went to look at where her icon is on the map and found this:

????? Yo, what?

It's kind of blurry, but that is most definitely Mizora IN the mind flayer pod, writhing around and looking quite unhappy.

Presumably we'll get more information shortly, but my immediate interpretation is that this has been a situation like Sorceress Sellen from Elden Ring, where the interaction we've had with her was basically a projection while her real body has been trapped here this whole time. Which definitely explains why she was agitated enough about her task for Wyll that she was willing to bargain his freedom against it.

I think Hector and company all probably get a visceral reaction to even seeing one of these pods active again. Hector finds himself thinking back to those first terrible days of the adventure - breaking Shadowheart out of her pod, running through the nautiloid in terror, the crash, the fall.

He's come a long way since then, for better or for worse.

Time to go see what this is all about.

"Mizora?" Wyll says, visibly bewildered, his tone more than a little strained. "You're Zariel's asset?"

Mizora smiles coldly at him through the pod's cover. Despite the tenuousness of her position, she seems calm, even disinterested - or at least is putting considerable effort into seeming so. "My dumb little stinker," she says coolly. "Took you long enough." The smile fades into an authoritative scowl. "Now, by Graz'zt's cock, get me out of this thing," she snaps.

Wyll's eyes narrow, his shoulders squaring in a determination very unlike the submission he has shown towards her in the past. "I'll do it - and you'll set me free," he answers. "That was the deal."

"Yeah, yeah," she scoffs dismissively. "So get to it already."

Hector squints at her skeptically. There's no question she's in a precarious spot - but even so, she seems... too acquiescing, for a devil. He is fully prepared for there to be some loophole, some backstab, something she will try to put her on top of the situation again.

Still... the agreement seems clear enough on the surface. Let her out, Wyll goes free. So he might as well try to hold up their end in good faith, at least until the other shoe drops.

Narrator: Wyll's eyes turn to the control panel next to the pod. It has two devices marked with illithid symbols. The controls are open to your tadpole's command - to your authority.

Examine the device on the left.

Narrator: [ARCANA] The symbol's meaning comes into focus: 'annihilate.'

Examine the device on the right.

Narrator: [ARCANA] You decipher the symbol. It's an illithid sigil meaning 'unleash'.

Interesting. This is something of a conflicting moment for Hector. His instinct is always towards honesty - but he is dealing with a devil, someone whose instinct is almost certainly towards the exact opposite. And his friend's fate hangs in the balance.

If he were sure of what it would accomplish... perhaps for Wyll's sake he would be willing to suffer through breaking his word and killing Mizora in her cage. But what would that do to the contract? It very well might be considered a rebellion against it, even if Wyll's isn't the hand that pulls the trigger.

So much for the 'annihilate' button.

The 'unleash' one is more concerning. Admittedly, his interpretation of it is based entirely on his hazy understanding of the illithid symbols granted by the parasite - but if that interpretation is correct, the word choice is... troublingly ambiguous. It could mean 'release', letting Mizora out of the pod... but it could also mean to unleash her 'potential' - i.e. turn her into a mind flayer herself, as they saw happen to the unfortunate trapped woman all the way back on the nautiloid.

There is, of course, a third option, more direct than either of the controls. And, under the circumstances, perhaps it's the only one he's willing to risk.

[STRENGTH] Gather your strength and smash your foot through the pod.

Hector's foot plows through the machine's delicate biomechanical circuitry in a shower of sparks. As the pod's cover recedes, Mizora climbs from the broken shell, her wings spreading, stretching imposingly around her.

She draws a slow breath and lets it out with an air of satisfaction before striding down off the pod casing and into the muck that surrounds it. Her eyes flick past Hector to fix on Wyll with casual disdain.

"You did all right, Wyll," she says with a shrug. "I'd give your belly a good rub, but never could stand the smell."

Wyll glares at her. "You're free, Mizora. I held up my end. Now you hold up yours. Sever the pact."

Mizora looks at him steadily for a moment, then smirks and makes a show of dramatically clearing her throat. "Mm. Hrm. Mm-mm-mgh-AHEM. Clause Z, Section Thirteen. 'If the soul-binder consents to separation, she will release the soul-bearer from all obligation within six months."

Hector winces, and fire flashes in Wyll's eyes. "Six months?" he snarls. "Gods *damn* you."

"Ignorant thing," Mizora sneers. "It's always the terms and conditions that get you."

Hector senses Wyll's desire to lash out, and hastily puts out a hand against his friend's arm. Realistically - this is probably the best outcome they could have hoped for, and he can't let Wyll break the contract now after coming so close to being freed from it. Still, he can understand the Blade's fury; even after what they've done for her, Mizora is still, ultimately, just toying more with him.

[PERSUASION] "You'd think we'd get a reward for going through all this trouble," he says carefully. He's only half-expecting to get anywhere with the request, but perhaps if Mizora has anything else to offer, it will help mollify Wyll long enough to get them away from here.

For a moment, he thinks she's going to refuse outright, but then she cocks her head to one side and smiles with a strange facsimile of pleasantness.

"Another one? Well, after jumping through all those hoops, a little treat wouldn't hurt." Light flares around her fingertips, out towards Wyll, surging over his body, lifting him off the ground.

As he settles back to the ground again, the light begins to coalesce in front of him into the shape of a sword - a long, thin rapier of intricate metal with flame pulsing in the blade.

Mizora watches thoughtfully as he grasps the sword's hilt. "All that power. And to think, you want to throw it away." She shrugs casually. "Now - you've got business in the Towers to take care of. Don't you fret - I'll find you soon enough. You're going to need me. Count on it."

Her lip curls playfully. "Oh, and - go ahead, tell your chums how we met. It's a real cracker of a tale. Ta-ta!"

And then she's gone in a burst of consuming light.

------

"Well," Hector says cautiously after a long pause. "It's a nice sword?"

Wyll grimaces. He turns the blade in his fingertips, then reaches into his sheath, pulls his current rapier out and tosses it into the muck. "Gods damn her," he mutters. "Always more games. Always more taunting."

"But you will be free," Karlach puts in, her tone gentle. "That's something, right? When you're stuck with a devil you don't usually get to have an end date to the arrangement."

He glances at her, hesitates and then shrugs slightly. "Yeah. It's something."

[melanie-ohara]

My Heart Was Wired in Thorns - Chapter 2

Whumpuary2024, Day 04 - Prompt: Choking

This one is a little spicy, but not like super explicit. Lae'zel and the Dark Urge exchange relationship advice. It goes... poorly.

AO3 here

Sithla left the others setting up camp and walked to the mouth of the cave, looking out over the Underdark stretching into the gloom ahead of them. Somewhere across the water was the route to Moonrise Towers, and she was no longer sure if she wanted to get there or not. There were answers there, she was sure - both to the tadpole problem and… other things. Did she even want to know? Was there a way to be rid of her compulsions otherwise? Or, the thing she truly feared: would answers even help? Out in the dark, mushrooms glowed. Sithla took a few steps out of the cave mouth and, when nobody called out to stop her, turned the corner until the entrance was out of sight. Wyll hadn't exactly tightened her leash since the incident in the woods, but she had noticed him trying to stay close to her. He kept her in sight when they travelled, and Sithla was sure he had asked Shadowheart to watch her when Mellephora split them up. In camp, she caught him glancing her way long before it was time to turn in for the night. She had expected to find it tiresome but something about him made her feel safe, though she wasn't nearly naive enough to think anything had changed. 

"Shirking your duties?" a voice called from behind her and Sithla jumped. She had been so wrapped up in herself that she hadn't noticed Lae'zel of all people approaching from behind her. 

"It's Emily's turn to cook," she pointed out without facing her. "Just needed some air."

"I see," Lae'zel said. This time Sithla did hear her step closer and turned around. She had already stripped off her armour and was wearing just her strappy leather bra and comfortable trousers, her strange slightly ridged green skin exposed to the close and sticky air of the Underdark. She sauntered towards her, looking a lot more relaxed than any of the others did when they were alone with her. 

"You followed me." It wasn't a question, but she was looking for an answer.

"Yes," Lae'zel said, stepping closer. 

Sithla stood her ground. She had three knives in her coat that she hadn't told Wyll about yet and Lae'zel never carried anything shorter than a hunting dagger. There was nowhere to hide something like that in her current outfit, but Sithla was wary anyway.

"You are on your guard," she observed. "As you should be."

"Why's that?" Sithla shifted her stance very slightly, just in case. 

Lae'zel pressed her chin out with her head slightly cocked. "I am a very dangerous woman."

Sithla didn't blink. "So am I."

Lae'zel's strange lizard eyes darkened, which Sithla was starting to recognise as some kind of satisfied smile. "Our coupling will be legendary," she said, and Sithla nearly choked on her next breath.

"Pardon?"

"Are you so surprised?" Lae'zel said, taking another step closer. She was well within striking distance now, but Sithla was too stunned to even move. "Your prowess. Your bloodlust. You do not shrink from a challenge or question the need for violence." 

The bloodshed Sithla left in her wake should be off-putting. At least, she thought it should. After the Nautiloid crash that had thrown them all together, Sithla had found herself struggling to understand the others. She could fit in, that part was disturbingly easy, but actually connecting with them was another matter entirely and even before the murder most of them had found her off-putting. For Lae'zel to approach her like this was a strange feeling. She wasn't sure it was unwelcome yet, though.

"I thought," Sithla started, and then paused to moisten her suddenly dry lips. "You and Emily…"

"Tchk!" Lae'zel spat, turning her eyes away from Sithla for a moment. "If the cleric wishes to make me hers then she must pursue me herself," she said. Her tone sounded hard, but there was something in her eyes that looked a lot like want to Sithla. She'd seen it in some of the others too, when they looked at each other. Such a complex web of relationships stretched across their little camp, and so finely balanced. 

"And in the meantime?" Sithla asked. She hadn't realised she was doing it, but suddenly she was standing a lot closer to the githyanki warrior. She could smell the strange, bitter herbs she chewed to clean her teeth, and see the gleam of polished leather gleaming in the Underdark's soft light.

"I will bed who I please," Lae'zel whispered, tilting her head and parting her lips. An invitation. 

"Like Astarion?" Sithla asked softly. It was hardly a secret - everyone in camp had heard them.

Lae'zel's teeth snapped shut with a click. "He was adequate, but performative. I trust you have no such - "

Before Lae'zel could finish, Sithla's hand shot out and closed around her throat. She turned and shoved her hard against the rock face beside them, keeping her grip tight but not painful. Not yet.

" - Inadequacies," Lae'zel finished, her voice strained by the choke but still purring with satisfaction. 

Despite herself, Sithla felt a deeply familiar thrill as she pinned Lae'zel to the wall. It was the thrill she felt when a blade pierced flesh, or skin burned, or a neck snapped - the thrill of causing pain and taking life. Of spilling blood. 

Emily had cried for hours the night Astarion had followed Lae'zel down to the river. Sithla remembered the illicit joy that spilled down her spine at the sound of it, muffled and desperate. Her fingers twitched involuntarily at the memory and Lae'zel let out a soft moan that forced Sithla to concentrate. 

"You have the wrong idea, gith," she hissed. She moved her hand a little, shifting the pressure from the blood vessels in the sides of Lae'zel's neck to the airway at the front. Lae'zel's eyes widened very slightly, and Sithla nodded. "Good. Move at all and I'll crush your throat in a heartbeat," she promised. She realised she was smiling, the sharp over-extended smile that only came out when she was doing something she wished she wasn't capable of - but now it was useful, she let it stay.

"What do you want, istik?" Lae'zel hissed. 

"I don't remember a lot," Sithla said softly, leaning in close to Lae'zel so she could speak directly into her strange sharp ear while keeping both of her hands in sight. "But I know I've been used before. Maybe I am still." Her lips touched Lae'zel's skin and she had the sudden gleeful desire to bite down and rip until the whole ear came off in her teeth. It took her a moment to get the heady idea of gith blood spraying across her lips out of her mind before she could speak again. "I don't like it. Don't try it again." 

Lae'zel opened her mouth to deny it, but Sithla knocked the back of her head against the rock hard enough to change her mind. Still, her stare was defiant. Sithla realised that if she kissed her now, Lae'zel would still fuck her. The urge rose. Not to kill, no - there was a sweeter, more complex flavour of cruelty to inflict. She could have Lae'zel here and now, loud and aggressive and unresevered, everything Emily wasn't, and in the morning she could look the cleric in the eye and tell her what she'd done so she could watch that little light of affection die forever. The poor girl would be distraught, and Lae'zel would lose her for good, all in a misguided attempt to make the poor, sad, pathetic creature jealous. 

Her lips had nearly met Lae'zel's when she stopped. Blood pounded in her head. The delicious fantasy of hurting all three of them with one night of ecstasy crackled through her like a lightning spell, making her vision swim and her knees tremble with desire. She pressed her eyes closed against it and made herself concentrate on Lae'zel's breathing: shallow, regulated, even. They both wanted it, and it would be so easy…

"I would bloody your nose if it were just a little bigger," she whispered. And then she let Lae'zel go. She didn't immediately gulp for air, but with her training and discipline Sithla wasn't surprised. 

"And I would cut your throat for your impudence, kainyank," Lae'zel growled.

"But?" Sithla prompted as she rested her hand, ostensibly casually, near the opening of her coat. 

"Do you know?" Lae'zel said, tilting her head. "I cannot think of a reason." For a moment Sithla was sure she was about to lunge for her, but then the githyanki shook her head. "G'lyk, the people of this plane have a strange attitude to sex. I may never comprehend it."

Sithla smiled. They understod each other, that was enough for her to know Lae'zel meant her no harm. Her hands shook from the adrenaline, of the confrontation and of denying the urge, and she clenched and unclenched her fists a few times as she started back to the cave. 

"Except - " Lae'zel darted forwards and before Sithla could even turn to face her again she had wrapped her own hand around Sithla's throat. This wasn't the violent hold Sithla had used, though: her grip was possessive and focused, carefully limiting the blood that flowed to Sithla's brain. She couldn't hold back the indecent gasp that slipped her lips. 

"Except?" she whispered, before she could stop herself. 

"I know what you crave, half-elf." Lae'zel's words slithered down her neck and she shuddered, feeling her other hand grip her hip hard enough that she could feel her fingernails through three layers of cloth and leather. "I have seen you look at Wyll. I can offer you release."

Lae'zel's talons dug in and Sithla's mind filled with images - memories she thought lost. Another set of nails digging into bare skin deep enough to draw blood, a tighter hand on her throat that choked like it was trying to kill, a cock that filled her from behind, orgasm after orgasm after - 

"No," Sithla breathed. Lae'zel moved away so fast it felt like she vanished out of existence to leave Sithla alone in the dark. Her sudden absence struck Sithla like a blow and she fell to her knees, gasping like she needed air when Lae'zel hadn't taken any from her. What - who - was that? There was a name, and a past attached to it, that flickered just out of reach but she knew she'd heard it before. A former lover, she was sure of that. Despite the violence, she was beyond any doubt it was what she had wanted. Demanded. Begged for. Sithla wanted to throw up.

"Very well," Lae'zel said, smoothing imaginary creases in her trousers. "But you will look back on this moment and wish you had made a different choice."

Sithla barely glanced up as she walked past her, headed back to camp.

Who the fuck was that?

[liltaventures]

Misery's Company

Closed Starter for @reining-disaster

Quillen's day had started out pretty well only to turn to shit rather quickly.

The dhampir had turned in a few bounties for some gold in the lower city. After treating himself to a new set of leather shoulder pads and daggers he had his gear repaired by a blacksmith. However, just after he had picked up another bounty the half-elf had been cornered by a group of mind flayers who kidnapped him and brought him onto their ship where they locked him in a pod and opened it briefly only to force one of their disgusting slimy tadpoles into his head. All he could do was scream as it wriggled its way into his brain and embedded itself into it. He managed to escape with the help of a Githyanki woman if you count being attacked by a dragon, teleporting to another plane, and being thrown from a crashing ship escaping that is. Something or rather someone helped him not meet an early end by colliding with the sandy beach below and instead lowered him to the ground. He passed out due to shock shortly after. One of the first things the dhampir noticed when he woke up was that his skin no longer stung in the sunlight. While he wouldn't burn in the daylight like a full vampire would his skin still ached from the warm rays. He had learned to deal with the cons of his afflictions and made peace with what he couldn't enjoy but now? Now he was able to truly bask in the sun's rays, he could feel its warmth, and he could enjoy it for the first time in his life. Quillen slowly got to his feet and checked his surroundings before he checked himself and his gear for any damage. While someone had been looking out for him the same could not be said about the other victims who had been taken. Multiple dead bodies were scattered about the bright sandy beach along with blood, viscera, and debris from the nautiloid ship. "So many lives lost and for the purpose of what? Becoming bloody mind flayers? I suppose this is a better fate for them than becoming illithid..." The half-elf frowned from behind his black bandana and slowly made his way up the beach. Quillen snuck his way past a trio of intellect devourers and then stumbled across the very mind flayer that had taken him. His eyes narrowed as he approached the grotesque creature, its body pinned under some debris. He let out a scoff as it reached out to him, looking for his help. "You have some nerve asking me for help. Now do us all a favor. Lay here and rot." The rogue turned away from the creature and made his way towards a clearing. Quillen let out a content hum at the sight of a woodsy area. "This is much more calming than that blasted ship. I should look for a place to set up camp soon." He thought aloud. The dhampir cracked his knuckles and continued to press onward until he found himself at an entry gate to a village that was run down and abandoned. Quillen crouched down and peered through the gate only to scowl when he noticed that there were multiple goblins stationed around the area. 'There are at least two on the left roof and there seems to be at least three gathered at the second building on my right.' He thought to himself. 'I will need to either wait for help to come to me or come back with help of my own, there is no way I am going to fight them alone. Who knows how many could be hiding nearby. Plus I will need to find a healer soon. These cuts shouldn't stay open for too long.' The dhampir slowly snuck away from the gate and made his way towards a nearby tree and stood by it, crossing his arms as he thought of his next steps.

[dem0batz]

The Night Does Not Belong to the Gods

Vexx (Durge!Tav) x Astarion

Author's Note: For the full Introduction to this series and what to expect, please read my Masterpost.

Summary

After awaking on a Mindflayer ship with no memories of her previous life, Vexx must find her way through unknown lands in the Sword Coast to rid her infected mind of the tadpole. She meets an eccentric elf who quickly attaches himself at her side and has no problem indulging her bloodiest fantasies.

🔞Content Warnings: Canon Typical Violence

Word Count: ~2000 | Read on AO3

Chapter 1

Vexx had blacked out at some point after connecting the transponders. The landing did not go as smoothly as expected, the Nautiloid having lost control once it escaped the Hells and crashing down in an unknown location along the Sword Coast. In the midst of fighting the Cambion warriors, she lost track of the Gith and the dark-haired captive. By the time she awoke, she was alone on a sunny ravaged beach surrounded by alien tech and piles of bodies strewn about, wafts of pluming smoke filling her lungs.

How in the Hells had she survived that fall? And how long was she out?

A quick internal scan tells her that nothing feels amiss. Add it to the list of mysteries, including her apparent memory loss. Nothing but a name and a stabby urge.

The next hour is spent on trying to figure out her location and collecting scattered supplies for a camp. It would take some time to familiarize herself with the area to find her way back.

To where, though?

Where did she come from? Who was she? How did she lose nearly all sense of self? And the questions of the hour— who was responsible and when could she gut them?

She circles back around the beach after finding what looked to be a temple door with a lock she couldn’t pick. Whatever was down there was extremely protected, and while that made her ever curious, she didn’t exactly have time to be fussing with a lock that didn’t want to budge.

The Mindflayer situation took precedence, unfortunately. Movement catches the corner of her eye when she approaches a hole blown right through the side of the Nautiloid. She arrives just in time to see a couple of those brain creatures scattering about.

Shit, they must have seen her too.

Not wanting to take the chance of them attacking first, Vexx crouches down and moves forward on light toes, suppressing the squishing sounds beneath her boots. Taking cover behind one of the collapsed balconies of the alien ship, she lines up her shot and takes aim. After the first is taken down, she realizes there was one more than her initial headcount, but she had the advantage of taking them by surprise to nock a second arrow, and managing to get a hit on another. It was still up, but she was confident she could take the remaining two of them alone.

By the time she is done, Vexx is covered head to toe in brain matter. It delighted her far more than what was probably considered sane. The beach on the other side of the ship proved to be limited in supplies. It came up mostly empty aside from a few stray barrels and crates as well as few herbs she knew could be used for some potions and basic poisons. How she knew, she was not sure. But the information was there and it felt like truth in her gut.

Just when she was about to call it a day and start searching for a place to set up a camp, she heard a voice off in the distance. Her head whips toward the direction the sound came from and she cautiously moves toward it. A closer inspection reveals a pale-haired Elven man in elegant, but well-worn leather armor.

“Hello? Can someone help me?”

Nope, she thinks, turning around to sneak back the way she came. Vexx had bigger things to worry about than stranded strangers. If she was able to figure a way to survive out here, he could too.

“Excuse me! You there. With the horns.”

Great.

With an annoyed sigh, she turns to face the man as he jogs toward her to close the distance. Vexx takes a cautious step back as he comes closer, both hands raised innocently in the air though his eyes keep darting nervously back to where he had come from.

“I saw you kill those brain things earlier and I managed to corner one on that cliff,” he points. “Can you help me kill it?”

Vexx takes a closer look at the man. He was quite beautiful— pale hair that curled prettily around his pointy ears, smoldering eyes and soft pink lips. She was correct in her assessment of the leathers. They appeared to be luxurious in nature but well-dated and mended quite a bit over time. He had the right allure that would have a good person rushing to help in his time of need.

But Vexx was not a good person and her gut was telling her that something was off about this man. He certainly was not a good person either, despite his innocent act, and this was not a ploy she was going to fall for.

“You seem capable enough. Do it yourself.”

With that, she backs away cautiously then turns to put as much distance between herself and the pale elf as possible. She was too far away to catch whatever he mumbled to himself and the next thing she knows, there is a knife to her throat as she’s being yanked back against his body while he whispers in her ear.

“Shh, shh. Let’s not harm that pretty little neck. Now, I saw you on the ship, didn’t I?”

When Vexx does not respond, the knife tightens against her throat.

“Nod.”

Gritted teeth, she nods her head even as she imagines all of the ways to bleed and gut him.

“Good girl. Now you’re going to tell me everything you kno—arghh!” Vexx takes advantage of the loosened position, breaking free from the man as he stumbles backward to catch his bloodied nose. Now face to face with a dagger in each of her hands, he would not have the opportunity to over power her. She would not make the mistake of turning her back to him again.

“You made a grave mistake in targeting me,” was all Vexx was able to get out before both of them doubled over, grabbing their heads as a flash of images flood each of their minds.

Vexx sees images of a city street that seems vaguely familiar, but one she is unable to quite place. The sun is long gone, the dark sky making way for a blanket of twinkling stars that are barely visible through the glow of street lights. In the vision, she prowls forward at a slow, stalking pace toward a figure off in the distance before she is zapped up by an unknowing force. In the next instance, she is watching herself from a different point of view behind what appears to be an enclosed glass window. Unable to escape as a mindflayer approaches a pod containing Vexx’s body with a squiggling worm-like creature pinched between it’s clawed fingers.

Just as quickly as the vision had come, it disappears, catapulting Vexx and the elf back to the present. They both stagger back in shared shock as they realize they had been in one another’s memories. Though the elf did not have much to see from Vexx, considering she remembered nothing before awaking on the ship and having a tadpole crawl in her eye.

“What was that? What just happened?”

“I think whatever they put in our heads connected us. Someone I met during my escape mentioned something about turning into mindflayers—“

“They’ll turn us into mindflayers?” he asks, eyebrows disappearing into the hairline. His face gapes for a moment before the elf breaks out into maniacal laughter that lacks any humor. Just pure madness. The echoes bouncing from the cliffs eventually die out as he stares up at the blue sky in disbelief. “Of course it would turn me into a monster. Well, I suppose we should try to see if we can find a healer. Surely someone out there knows how to rid us of these tadpoles.”

“We?”

His gaze finds hers once more, brows knitting in the middle for a moment before straightening his posture.

“Of course. Sister of my tadpole is my friend, right? Our chances of getting rid of them is better if we join together.”

Vexx’s eyes narrow on him suspiciously as she tries to think of a way to free herself from the elf without spilling his innards. Fun as that would be, she simply would not have it in her to clean her leathers after gathering supplies and setting up camp tonight.

But on the other hand, maybe he had a point…

“What is your name?”

“Astarion,” his voice lilts in that pretty accent. “And, you are…?”

“Vexx.”

His ruby eyes dance down her form, really taking her in for the first time. From the horns and obsidian hair to the scar marring her red-stained lips, down the dark leathers, and back to the flaming blood-red eyes that were glaring sharp holes into him much deadlier than the daggers still clutched tightly between her clawed hands.

“It suits you,” he finally says with appreciation.

She visibly rolls her eyes, annoyance lacing her veins though his scrutinizing gaze had brought a flush of heat burning beneath her skin that could rival Avernus.

“Fine, you may tag along with me for now. But don’t slow me down because I will leave you behind.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, darling! I will be on my best behavior. Promise.”

His mischievous smirk guaranteed that he would be anything but well-behaved.

In fact, she was certain that Astarion would prove be a thorn in her side.

“Well, this is a little…novel,” Astarion grimaces, unable to hide the disdain from his face.

Vex tightens the rope, securing it around the makeshift stake to keep her tent from flying away should the elements in this area prove to be taxing. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do.

“What, never slept outside before?” she taunts.

It was obvious this fancy-pants elf was used to a certain level of luxury, even if said luxuries were at least decades old. How he managed to scrounge up a burgundy velvet stool was beyond her; but as long as she didn’t have to carry it, she didn’t care what he decided to drag to their secluded little camp by the water.

“No,” he huffs out a laugh as if the idea itself was ridiculous. “Though I suppose there is a first time for everything. So,” he continues, changing the subject. “What now? Do we get drunk and swap sordid tales of debauchery while gazing at the stars?”

Vexx shrugs.

“We could start with you telling me something about yourself. I would like to know what I’m getting myself into by traveling with you. Mindflayer larvae aside.”

“I’m a magistrate back at the city,” he responds noncommittally. Sitting on the velvet stool and crossing one leg over the other, he busies himself with flipping through the pages of a book he found along the shore. “There isn’t much to tell, darling.”

Astarion’s sudden refusal to look at her when he had been openly ogling her all afternoon makes her even more suspicious than his obvious advances. The elf put on a show of nonchalance but like her, Vexx suspected that he had a whorl of thoughts dancing behind those deceptively pretty eyes. Scheming.

She hums, “Then I suppose we should just try to get some rest.

Tomorrow will be another long day.”

“I’m not quite tired yet so I intend to read,” he waves with the book in his hand. “But you sleep. I’ll keep watch for a while.”

Vexx doesn’t trust this elf as far as she can throw him, but keeping her suspicions to herself, she nods and crawls into her tent. Sleep does not find her easily but when it does, she drifts off with a deadly lullaby luring her there.

Blood.

Blood.

Blood.

[shewolfofvilnius]

For the Tav ask!

1, 6, and 8.

What was your Tav’s place of birth and raising like? (This was an ORDEAL to answer lmao). Tav was born in the city of Veltalar in Aglarond in 1467, which was where her mother's family had fled to from Thay. Her parents had gone to her mum's family for a couple of years to have support while having kids. Tav's early childhood was spent with them. For years she knew only a large, devoted family. Eventually, however, they resumed traveling Faerun performing in one city for a few months at a time before moving on. Despite being a bard, Tav's father was a DEVOUT follower of Kelemvor, and her mother eventually signed on too. Her parents had been performers in a circus-type act when they were younger (her mother had been sold into it in Thay, her father had fled to it after the death of his parents in childhood). Tav grew increasingly unhappy traveling, and began acting out - primarily via theft. She had actually fit in in Elturel, and on her 16th birthday her parents had decided they would move back at the end of the year. After they died in an accident, she was taken in adopted by a farmer couple near the crash site, and spent the rest of her teens on the farm. She never heard from her birth mother's family again after her mother's death even though she reach out, a fact that still burns. (As other answers allude, the reason Tav stayed all the way to age 20? She loved the farm and countryside, and secretly wants to move back. Almost did before the Nautiloid got her.)

6. What is your Tav’s favourite childhood memory?

Unsurprisingly, the day she was 13 and saved Lia from a 4-on-1 bully attack, saved an heirloom belonging to Rolan's birth mother, all leading to her first kiss? That was a fairly good day. In general, she liked the entire six months she was in Elturel. She'd thought the city, while still intolerant, less bad than some others at the time, and had actually made friends, or at least friendly acquaintances.

8. Did your Tav have any romantic and/or sexual relationships prior to their illithid adventure? If yes, who was it with and what was it like? If no, how did they feel about being single?

Long answer: As both fics set in the universe establish, Rolan was her first kiss, but she and her family were also literally moving the next day. Her first plan when they'd planned to move back when she was sixteen was to find him, Lia, and Cal, assuming they were still there. [Sadly that was thwarted by her birth family's death]. She had a couple of romantic encounters over the next couple years, but nothing serious as she lived in a semi-rural area around humans and the occasional half-elf, halfling, or gnome, and didn't particularly care for being fetishised.

Eventually, however, she and a farmhand on her adoptive parents' farm named Linus hit it off. She'd have married that man, and thought he might propose the next year. They were still young, but that was life on the farm, and if anyone had an issue with his wedding a tiefling, he knew plenty of creative uses for a pitchfork. Died in a gnoll attack when she was 19, and she basically stays emotionally kind of broken after that.

As a 20-something primarily in Baldur's Gate, tends to have a series of flings or short-lived couplings, but never, ever anything remotely serious (esp with her tendency as an adult to wind up in jail), until the Nautiloid crashes on the grove and she's reunited with Captain Grumpy.

[astarionancuntnin]

Undisclosed Desires (Chapter 1)

summary: astarion and you, along with your other companions, have been traveling together for a few weeks now. he gets on your nerves at least once a day. but as much as you hate to admit it, your late night activites are plagued by him. little do you know, hes aware of the effect he has on you and intends to use that to his advantage.

rating: E

word count: 3.1k

pairing: astarion x you (fem!reader, reader is a self-insert tav who happens to be a sorceress, nondescriptive appearance)

cw: 18+. smut, porn with no plot, "enemies" to lovers ish, slight masturbation, fingering, rough sex, kinda possessive/hate sex, brat reader, vampire bites, blood (obvs), PiV, primal play (if you squint), creampie, denial of feelings, "oh no I'm falling in love"

a/n: WHEW i finally managed to write this, my first bg3/astarion fic ~ let me know what you think! originally this was supposed to be a one shot fic but i might have some ideas for a next chapter maybe potentially so if yall deem this good enough i might write some more uwu

Masterlist

read on ao3

next chapter

or keep reading down below ~

edit: corrected a few typos and added lyrics from my astarion playlist that inspired this debauchery

Maybe in time

When we're both better at life

Daylight can open my eyes

And you'll still be by my side

But meanwhile

I've got my contact high

You've got your powdered lies

We've got these summertime nights

Night by night

I let you eat me alive

I want you to eat me alive

I want you to eat me alive

-

You and Astarion, along with your other companions, had been traveling together for a few months now. You grew accustomed to his usual banter, though most of it got you rolling your eyes. You did enjoy the few moments of silence you would get while traveling, and his annoying habit to fill it with his remarks annoyed you profoundly. 

Gods, you thought. I wish he could shut up, just for once. Would it be so much to ask for ONE day of peace?

As much as you hated to admit it, you needed him in your party. The bastard was a master in lockpicking and disarming traps, which you came across much too often. You started learning on your own in the hopes of making him useless, but it had proven to be quite the challenge. As a sorceress, it was simply not a trick you had up your sleeve. In the meantime, he would have to tag along, if only for that, and you would have to tolerate whatever witty comment he had along the road.

You felt that he knew how much his comments annoyed you, too. Everytime he was about to say something, his eyes would dart your way, expecting a reaction from you, and you always delivered: an exasperated groan, a sigh, shaking your head, rolling your eyes, and always picking up the pace to get away from him. He took a vicious pleasure in disturbing your peace. 

And your private space.

You did appreciate physical contact, that was no issue for you. Karlach’s hugs were the best in your opinion. Ever since you got to fix her engine, you've really enjoyed getting crushed in her arms, lovingly of course. Shadowheart came close second, you really cared for her with your relationship growing since the nautiloid crash. You had favorites of course, but in general you didn’t mind it from anyone, really. You longed for physical contact from the people you loved.

Astarion, on the other hand, did not fit that criteria. But it didn’t stop him from brushing your hand as he walked past you, having his hands linger over yours when exchanging potions or even holding your waist to move you aside a few times. Even with your hatred for him, those temporary touches set a fire inside you that you couldn’t understand. It would bother you all day, sinful thoughts invading your mind and almost sidetracking you from the goal at hand. I despise him. How is he doing this to me? Why do I find myself longing for his touch? 

What’s he doing to me?

Usually when that happened, you would take care of yourself at night once everyone went to bed, hoping your pillow was enough to muffle your moans as you pleasured yourself. You were lucky your tent was well far from the others. Or most of them, anyway. You always insisted on putting it up in a secluded space of the camp. You had enough struggles with those conflicting feelings about how the vampire made you feel, the last thing you wanted was for one of your companions to tease you about it.

Today was no exception. As you laid down in your bedroll wearing nothing but your loose blouse and underwear, your hand carefully made its way between your legs. You played out the rehearsed scenario in your head of the scene that happened earlier, but with your own twist on it. Karlach and Shadowheart had proposed to split up to cover more ground looking for a document, and it left you alone with the pale elf. 

“Well, well, aren’t you lucky to be the one by my side?” he teased, once your friends were far enough from you. “Don't worry, love, I won't bite. Unless you ask, of course”. His words and honeyed voice alone had set off something unnerving in you, a familiar warmth that pooled down to your stomach. 

If you had had it your way back then…

At the next corner, you would’ve pushed him by the waist against the nearest wall and shut his pretty mouth up, roughly kissing him, biting his lips in the process, hoping to draw out some of his own blood to have a taste. You would’ve taken the chance to let one of your hands roam through his silky smooth, curly hair, pulling it enough to get a moan out of him. How you would’ve parted his legs with your own, and grinded against his crotch, feeling his growing bulge. You would’ve made him whimper, you would've -

You’re suddenly taken out of your fantasy by an exaggerated cough outside your tent. Fuck, what now? You recognize the tone of the vampire you were fantasizing about seconds ago. Shit. Did he hear me? You take a second to push yourself up on your elbows.

“What do you want, Astarion?”

He takes this as an invitation to enter your tent, “Well, hello to you too, dear”.

“Do you even know how late it is?” You practically spit out, annoyed. “Can I help you?” You try to cover up as the cold night air slipping inside with him makes you shiver, and your blouse doesn't leave much to the imagination.

He smirks. “My, my, no need to be so hostile,” he kneels next to you. “I was actually thinking we could help each other out.” 

You stare at him, pausing before asking your next question. “...What do you mean?”

“Well, I was hoping you would be willing to share your blood with me again.”

“I helped you one time and you almost killed me,” you stare at him with daggers in your eyes.

“And here I thought everything was forgiven,” he puts a hand over his undead heart, fainting a pained expression. “You hurt me, really.”

“Plus, didn’t we agree you’d be feeding on the blood of our enemies from now on?”

He sighs, “We did, and it’s sufficient at best.” His voice deepens. “And now that I’ve tasted yours, I’ve come to… crave it.”

You feel his gaze going through you and your heartbeat quicken. Your breath gets stuck in your throat at this confession. You are fighting yourself to conceal any noticeable change in your expression, but it's a battle you’ve already lost. 

“I fail to see where that’s my concern,” your shaky voice betrays you. You could swear he had gotten closer to you, but you couldn’t allow him to see through your vulnerabilities. “As far as I know, there’s nothing in it for me so far. What makes you think I would indulge you?”

“Oh darling, you didn’t really think you were hiding anything, were you?”

Your blood runs cold. “...What?” He knows. No fucking way he knows. 

“Come on now, you thought I wouldn’t notice how you’ve been acting around me lately?” 

He crawls towards you, and you try to move back but the limits of your tent don’t allow you to escape him, who is quickly closing the short distance between the two of you. “The way you shiver under my touch. How those simple touches render you incapable of making eye contact for the rest of the day after. How your face turns into the sweetest shades of red when I’m nearby.” He hovers over you completely by now, his face merely inches from yours. “The way I can hear the muffled sounds from your tent every night.” He pins your arms next to your head, locking you in place, and whispers in your ear. “The fact that I can smell your arousal, at this very moment.”

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His cold breath sends a shiver of pleasure down to your core. You fumble over your words, you’re not sure what else to say. You might be conflicted about your feelings for him, but the truth is, you find yourself wanting this, whatever he’s willing to give to you.

“Very well then, let me show you.” You gasp in surprise as he pushes your arms up above your head, allowing him to hold them both with one hand while the other slides down between your legs. A soft whimper escapes your lips as his fingers touch your cunt over your panties, feeling your wetness through them. 

“Mmh, just like I thought,” His voice is deep with lust. “So wet for me already.” 

“That’s… it’s not… what you think..” you pant at his touch, struggling to get the words out.

“Is it? Cause to me it seems that you were already touching yourself before I visited you tonight. And I would bet my undead life that you were thinking about me.” His hand makes its way inside your undies and a finger slides between your folds.

You can’t fight the moan that escapes you at the contact of his cold skin against yours. 

“Shhh, we wouldn’t want the camp to know about your dirty desires now, would we?” he whispers, as he keeps exploring the increasing warmth between your legs.

“What… makes you think that…I would touch myself to you?” Each word takes your full effort to manage to say them. You didn’t want to cave in as easily, if he was trying to make you admit to these fantasies, he’d have to torture them out of you. Although, his hand pressing against your clit was doing a pretty good job so far. 

“Maybe… I was thinking about Shadowheart.” You frown devilishly, biting your lip. That should throw him off.

“Mh no, no,” he smirks back, his eyes wearing a predatory look. “Your tadpole was pretty clear on who you desire.”

You can’t hide your surprise and Astarion notices instantly. “You’re lucky the others sleep too far to catch it, I’m sure you would never hear the end of it.” His hand previously holding you down makes its way to your neck, holding the back of your head, and his mouth trails kisses from your ear to your throat. His fangs scrape the bite mark he’d previously left on you, that first night, earning him a soft moan from you.

“How long have you-”

“Known?”, he cuts you off. “A tenday, more or less.”

Many thoughts are suddenly racing in your head. You vividly remember an interaction you had with him a few days ago: that time he caught you trying to lockpick a chest away from the group and leaned against your back, taking your hands in his to guide you. “Here, let me show you,” he’d said. His breath was cold against your neck and you could feel his lips close to your ear, the feeling sent shivers through your body. You had struggled to look at him for the rest of that day. This moment alone created that need for him from then on.

You gasp sharply, as you are taken back to the present by two of his fingers making their way inside you slowly.

“I must say you have a very creative mind, dear. I’m just disappointed you didn’t invite me in on the fun before,” his hand slides from your neck to your breast to give it a soft squeeze, kneading it, before pinching your nipple through the soft fabric of your blouse. ”I sense this is not how you expected this to go, is it?” His talented fingers between your legs find the sweet spot that makes you see stars, and he thrusts them in with ease.

“A- Astarion…” You buck your hips into his hand, trying to feel more of his touch. You don’t feel like arguing anymore. Fine, he knew everything you’ve ever thought about him. Now, all you wanted was for him to do something about it. You needed to feel him, all of him, all over and inside your body.

“My, my, aren’t you an eager little thing?”

He removes his fingers from you and you cry out from the loss of his touch. You make eye contact as he gets up on his knees and moves his coated fingers in his mouth, sucking on them to get a taste of you. “Mmh, delicious.”

“Please…” You wriggle underneath him, you’re desperate for him to touch you.

“Use your words, darling. Tell me what you want.”

“You. All of you, “ you beg. Your eyes dart to his lips. You wanna taste him and yourself on his tongue, too.

“You’ll have to be more precise than that.” 

Fucking tease.

“Godsdammit,” you groan in frustration, your fists hitting the ground next to you before you raise yourself up to face him. You’ve had enough of this. “I want you to fuck me, Astarion!”

“That’s my girl.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he grabs you by the throat and closes the distance between you in a fiery kiss. Nothing about it is soft. It’s desperate, messy, and rough. It’s all teeth and your tongues are fighting for dominance, and you let yours be nicked by his fang, leaving the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. You’re pushed back against the ground and in his eyes you can see something change. Everything about him feels… primal.

In a matter of seconds, your panties are ripped off from you and your blouse is torn open. There’s a sort of fear stirring inside of you, something about you being his prey, and it's arousing. You are so dizzy from the feeling that you barely notice him pulling his trousers down to his knees and angling himself with your entrance. His mouth ravages your tits, leaving scratches from his fangs as he sucks on them ravenously and licks the few drops of blood that leak out, all while his hands take hold of your ass, roughly squeezing you. You feel his hardened cock slide against your wet cunt, and you push your hips up to rub yourself against him, aching for more contact.

He groans deeply at the contact, his hips jerking at the sensation. “You little minx.” His smile shows his bared fangs, a delicious threat that you want to challenge.

“Just because you’re on top doesn’t mean you get all the control,” you spit back. Gods, this is so much better than what I imagined. “If you want it, you’ll have to fight me for it.”

“You insolent little wench.”

Without any warning, he pushes his body against yours, pinning you to the ground and buries himself inside you in one swift thrust. Your mouth flies open and the scream that escapes you is quickly muffled by his hand. His other hand remains on the curve of your hips, where it holds you in place, perfectly aligned with his to hit you deep. His thrusts are raw and erratic and with each hit you can feel your eyes roll further in the back of your head. The feeling is simply ecstatic. 

His voice takes a much deeper tone as he breathes out in the nook of your neck, “I’m gonna fucking devour you.”

With your head tilted back, Astarion wastes no time finding your pulsing vein and biting down on your neck, taking his fill of you. His sharp fangs feel like ice shards, the feeling making its way down your chest, just like you remember them from the first time. The icy feeling leaves place to a fire coursing through your veins as he drinks you in, leaving you in a blurry state of bliss.

You are at his mercy. You can’t fight back. He has complete control over you.

And you love it.

His reckless pounding only gets faster and sloppier. You’re convinced that his hold of you and those bites on your tits will leave bruises come morning, but it was the least of your worries. Right now, you’re getting filled by the pretentious elf that had been teasing you for over a tenday and you’re fully enjoying it.

Your tent is filled with the wet sounds of your fucking and his grunting against your neck, along with your muffled voice which, thank the gods it is, otherwise the entire camp would have heard of your late night tryst by now.

You swear you could feel his cock get harder inside of you after each sip of your blood. You feel dizzier and the combined feeling of him getting his fill of you while filling you up at the same time were bringing you close to the edge, and so was he. 

“Don’t fight it, pet,” he growls. “Admit that you lost to me. Surrender yourself to me. Scream my name. Let everyone know who ruined your pretty little cunt.”

His last words are enough to send you over the edge, shockwaves making your entire body spam. As he removes his hand from your mouth, you cry out loud. You can't help the sounds escaping you, the overstimulation you're feeling leaves you mindless. You couldn't care less anymore if any one heard you.

Just as he feels your juices overflowing, Astarion gives a last stroke and with his cock deep in your womb, fills you with his spend. He remains still inside of you until he rides out his aftershock.

You both remain in this position as you take the time to come back from your high: panting and sticky with sweat, him still inside you, overflowing with both of juices, and his body crushing yours. The feeling is weirdly comforting.

After you come back to your senses, you can't help but laugh wholeheartedly, which has Astarion raising his brow.

“What's so funny?”

“You. This. Us, really.”

“I take it that you enjoyed our little time together, then?”

“As much as I hate to admit it, yeah.”

“You will learn to know that my company is most enjoyable.” 

His expression is back to the overconfident vampire you know, a contrast to the feral beast he was minutes ago.

“Mmh, I think that’s still debatable,” you tease him.

“What is it with you trying to hurt me so carelessly?” he smiles, playing along.

You chuckle, “I'm sure your oversized ego will get over it.”

“I'll have you know that my ego is perfectly sized, as I am, thank you.”

You look at him and you don't know what takes over you, but you grab his face and pull him in for a tender kiss. It's sweet, longing, it's trying to communicate a feeling you don't dare to speak aloud. It’s the complete opposite of how you felt when the night started.

It might be the aftermath of your climax or these long repressed feelings that we're tainted by annoyance or the absurdity of the situation you're in, but you find yourself wanting him to stay for the night.

When you break the kiss, his gaze is softened. He’s taken aback and tries to mask his surprise with a question, “So then, tomorrow, same time?”

You push him back with a smile, “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Though, you wouldn't mind making this a recurring occurrence.

-

I can feel your love

Your temporary touch

It's a hit and run

You go back there when you're done

Don't you want some more

'Cause I can feel your love

[entergamingxp]

Larian’s gorgeous Baldur’s Gate 3 looks to be a game of groundbreaking systemic depth • Eurogamer.net

It’s early days for Baldur’s Gate 3. An end of year release window seems to have leaked but there’s “no exact date” for when it’s coming out, according to developer-publisher Larian Studios, of Divinity: Original Sin and Original Sin 2 fame. And when it does come out – simultaneously on Google Stadia and Steam – it’ll be in early access first. Understandably, early access can seem a bit icky to some, but Larian’s argument for it seems fair enough: the game needs en-masse testing from its own audience if it’s ever going to come together, and having now seen a marathon, over three hours long presentation of live gameplay, I can see why. Baldur’s Gate 3 is a game with an extraordinary level of systemic depth and remarkable complexity. Across the board it’s a game that’ll need time. Time to polish, time to balance, and quite a bit of time from the player, I’d imagine, to really get anywhere close to understanding and mastering its systems. But from what was shown of the game and what Larian has told us in our Baldur’s Gate 3 interview, it’ll be worth the wait – and then some.

Baldur’s Gate 3

Developer: Larian Studios

Publisher: Larian Studios

Platform: PC (Steam), Stadia

Availability: Early Access “later this year”.

Our presentation opened with the same stupidly pretty CGI intro you’ll have seen from the Baldur’s Gate 3 panel going on at PAX, before a quick run through the character selector, a skip over the “secret” tutorial, a couple of hours of early game party-gathering and dungeon crawling, and then a closer look at a massive, later-game dungeon that showed all the flashy systems off with a little more depth. To start at the beginning though, on the most fundamental level, Baldur’s Gate 3 is a darker, more viscerally detailed story than what you might have been used to from Larian.

The story begins with a bunch of Mind Flayers – angry, definitely-not-Cthulhu squid people with some pretty gnarly magic powers – flying around in a jumbo squid mothership called a Nautiloid. On board, you and a handful of others are held prisoner and infected with what could more or less be described as brain worms: a “tadpole”, with lots of teeth, bores its way under your eyelid, through the back of your eye and into your brain. The Nautiloid crashes, you wash up on a spot of beach, and your mission is to find someone who can get that tadpole out of your head before it pops through your skull and rather gruesomely turns you into a Mind Flayer yourself. As I said: a bit darker than Divinity.

The tadpole does come with a special power though, which acts as one of Baldur’s Gate 3’s central gimmicks: you can sort of “mind meld” with anyone else who has one, and as well as the “origin characters”, plenty of characters around the world will turn out to have a pet tadpole of their own. (The character creator itself appears just as detailed as Original Sin 1 and 2. Origin characters and their special, fully-voiced, cutscened and backstoried facets return of course, and in the creator you can choose race and subrace, background, class, subclass, and just about everything else conceivable).

On the surface, much of the time the tadpole mind-melding boils down to the odd special dialogue option with fellow brain wormers, acting as sort of shortcuts through tricky conversations, in the vein of special origin character options that are seemingly always positive. But that’s a superficial explanation, really. The tadpoles are one part of a much wider set of systems – or perhaps more accurately, a wider web of sets of systems – that all play off one another with Larian’s now-typical panache. To get to the heart of how this little story gimmick plays into the wider game you need to go deeper, into what Baldur’s Gate 3 really is and how it really works.

What it is is complex. Start by thinking of a typical CRPG like Divinity: Original Sin, where the background numbers power the visible numbers, like your characters stats, which dictate your ability to navigate certain situations like persuading someone to let you out of prison through dialogue, or smash through a door with magic. All of the people-persuading and the door-smashing intertwines with a set of rules, which in the Original Sin games is built around surfaces and statuses. So, if the floor’s on fire and you throw some water on it, or cast a water-based spell at it, the fire and water turn to a lingering cloud of steam. Standing in the steam might do damage to you or cure you of an ailment or whatever else, depending on all the moving parts like what race you are and what innate traits you have, and so on.

The devious grease and fire trap in action (click to expand these images, and for better look at the UI behind our captions).

Now, intertwine those rules with the rules of Dungeons and Dragons, as they were back in the original Baldur’s Gate and Baldur’s Gate 2. You can dip weapons in flaming sconces to light them on fire, you can throw anything you have on your person (more on that in a bit) you can stack objects to create stairs (more on that too), and, above all, everything is powered by a D20 dice roll. Sometimes that’s behind the scenes, little formulae whirring away in the background as you walk around the world passing and failing perception checks for little hidden levers or pressure plates; or spotting or failing to spot facial twitches that reveal anxiety or anger in conversation, all the working-out of which viewable in a little bottom-right tooltip that lifts the mathematical bonnet. Most of the time, however, that dice roll is quite explicit. You roll for initiative on encountering enemies, according to things like who has the high ground or the element of surprise. You roll for explicit attempts to do things like persuade or intimidate in conversation, as well as the passive rolls in the background that might just pop something up. You roll, three times, to see just how “dead” you are when you’re downed: fail three and you’re dead for good (if you haven’t already been picked off, or if you haven’t got a resurrection scroll on some other party member to recover).

Stir all that together and what do you have? Chaos. Baldur’s Gate 3 is a molotov cocktail of a game, every action’s consequences shattering outwards, spreading and spurting across seemingly the entire length of a run through it. Take the experience we had, with Larian’s founder, Swen Vincke, taking control of the origin character Astarion, who’s a vampire spawn (like a vampire only he has a boss, who’s more of a proper vampire). Astarion, being a vampire, regularly has the option to just go ahead and feast on the neck of whoever he’s talking to. Most of the time that’s not a very good idea and there’s not a very good chance it’ll work, but if you want to try it, you can. To demonstrate this, Swen opted to chow down on a sleeping party member at your camp (you can make camp in most places to heal up, restore ability uses and so on). He needed to role an 18 or higher, out of 20, to succeed – the purposes of the demonstration was to show it was pretty tough – and of course he rolls a natural 20 and now we’re noshing on our mate, left the next day with an especially upbeat Asatarion and a very “tired” Cleric.

But that, really, is only the surface of what you can do – and more than that just how much the inherent chance-based systems of D&D affect an already complicated mesh of things you can do in games like Divinity. At the very beginning of our first playthrough, at what would be the first little tester battle after the tutorial, Vincke missed a shot that had a 90 percent chance to hit, scored a critical miss on what would’ve been a one-hit-kill spell, and got killed in one shot by a critical hit from the enemy. So we roll back through all the intro chat for another go and: two hits, two kills, enemies done and dealt with before they could even move.

In another skirmish, this time our party up to three members, against about four bandit grunts, Vincke showed off the game’s new stealth system, sneaking Astarion up behind an archer that would have had an incredible high-ground advantage to punt him off the ledge before the battle begins. Again though: bad luck. Misses and critical hits in all the wrong directions mean that, even including the tactical ledge-punt, the battle goes horrifically and we’re left kiting the bandits out into the woods towards some neutral fighters nearby, in the hope they’ll join in. A magical, disembodied hand was used to try and nudge someone off another ledge but missed. Potions were used up, abilities spent, and Astarion left to throw his boots at an enemy for a bit of chip damage – and hits. Half-triggering the nearby group of neutrals changes how we meet them later on, forcing us to fight the last one instead of triggering a cutscene. Some party members are lost for good. Some secrets, hidden in plain sight just off the beaten path, through some bushes and under some noticeably odd-looking rock, go undiscovered. The point above all is luck can swing a playthrough to the wildest extremes of success and failure. Enjoying that will come down to how happy you are to improvise, make do and fly by the seat of your throwable boots. Or how regularly you like to save.

There’s 4 player online co-op, and two-player couch co-op confirmed by Larian so far.

There’s another rather ingenious twist to all this, too, which that bandit skirmish hinted at. You can split your party and put any of them into turn-based mode at one point, while the others can simultaneously walk around in “real time”. Baldur’s Gate 3 is technically a turn-based game. The combat is turn-based, dialogue is turn-based, so to speak, and the environmental puzzles, of which there seem to be many, are solved in that manner too. But you move around the world in real time and this system, really, is a bit of a hybrid. In our playthrough Astarion wandered down into a dungeon – previously guarded by those bandits – on his own, and worked his way through most if it solo while the others were left presumably frozen up on the surface. Then we got stuck in some combat after some more bad luck, including a key that failed to open a chest it should’ve (and an attempt to smash the chest open that just… smashed the chest entirely), and had to bring in some help. So back up on the surface another party member smashed through the ground they were standing on to drop down, conveniently, into a room next door to this tricky battle – a spot of movie magic, I’d suspect: “oh no it’s going wrong in exactly the right place, we definitely didn’t plan for this as a way to show you how the hybrid system works!” – and so we turn a 2v1 into a 2v2, that additional party member automatically entering turn-based mode when he reached the “battle area”.

Later in that dungeon we got stuck in a particularly grisly grease and fire-based trap (with a dash of raising the undead thrown in for good measure) and again Vincke demonstrated the power of lateral thinking by juggling real-time and turn-based movement to bring other party members to join and work around the hazards. Often that actually descends into a sort of calculated gaming of the game itself, and fascinatingly that seems to be where the game really finds its groove. Baldur’s Gate 3’s magic is in its malleability, but also in your malleability, as a player that has to react and adapt. You are supposed to try and break it. You’re supposed to build a staircase of crates the other side of a door to an enemy and keep popping it open and closed to confuse them and juggle the aggro. You’re supposed to see what happens when you throw this at that, cast this on them, say this to her or climb up onto that.

The elaborate verticality in action, as our party splits and sneaks through a multi-floored dungeon.

Which brings us to the climbing, and perhaps the biggest shift in how CRPG regulars will need to work their way through Baldur’s Gate 3: its fascinating use of verticality. Your characters can now all jump quite a significant way – success depending on, you guessed it, character stats and semi-hidden D20s – and so even in towns and hubs you can work your way onto a building and down into it through the roof, bypassing locked doors or barred gates. In the later-game dungeon we played, you’re tasked with tackling a tough boss surrounded by enemies. He’s got a tadpole himself, but try to use that in dialogue and, unless you’re lucky with the dice, it’ll probably fail, leaving him angry and you exposed to a pretty nasty ambush. So what do you do?

Well, if you picked up some interesting-looking barrels several hours ago, you could use them to create sort of veil of darkness to sneak up behind him. Things – obviously – went wrong when this was attempted in our playthrough so again, improvisation. The stealthiest character was sent up to the rafters – this must be the third or fourth level up of at least a four or five level dungeon – and around beside the boss. A very risky jump is attempted, to right behind him, and somehow pulled off. An explosive barrel is placed, and the our rogue Astarion works his way out up the other side, knocking down the escape ladder with him. Then the conversation, which our other party members had seemingly been paused in, half-way through, this entire time, can play out. Mind-meld fails, boss gets angry – planted explosive barrel gets detonated! – and he goes flying across the room and through a hole, down three floors to some giant spiders in the basement. Carnage – but all predicated on a decision to pick up some barrels hours earlier, your own ingenuity to think of it, your knowledge of how the systems themselves can be gamed, and the luck to pull it off.

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/02/larians-gorgeous-baldurs-gate-3-looks-to-be-a-game-of-groundbreaking-systemic-depth-%e2%80%a2-eurogamer-net/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=larians-gorgeous-baldurs-gate-3-looks-to-be-a-game-of-groundbreaking-systemic-depth-%25e2%2580%25a2-eurogamer-net

[liltaventures]

Quillen couldn't stay mad at the pale elf. After all, he probably did seem suspicious given how often he was sneaking off during the evenings. The half-elf sighed softly and turned to face Astarion, uncrossing his arms and leaving them at his sides. As the elf spoke Quillen began to feel guilty. While his gaze never left Astarion's his facial expression softened. He really shouldn't have kept his dhampirism hidden for as long as he had.Astarion had been the first person he'd met after waking up on the bright sandy beach after the nautiloid had crashed. Normal people would have been angry, frustrated, or even scared to be met with a knife to the throat, especially after surviving something that should have killed them. However, Quillen wasn't like normal people. Instead, he tried to reason with the elf, and after successfully doing so the half-elf suggested that they journey together. The two found a space to set up camp and ventured out the next day.

Due to his dhampirism, he was able to pick up on Astarion's vampirism when they had initially met though he never mentioned his discovery to the elf. Even when they had both acquired new faces to join them on their journey he still never spoke of what he knew. It wasn’t his story to tell, it wasn’t his secret to unveil.

Quillen swallowed thickly and took a deep breath that he didn't need. "I suppose it is high time I was honest with you." He said softly. "I am the offspring of a mortal and a vampire. My mother was a human and my father is a full vampire.” The half-elf cleared his throat before speaking up. “There are many names for what I am. Dhampir is the most common term but some call those like myself daywalkers, sunwalkers, you get the idea.” As Quillen spoke he seemed to grow sad and it was clear that there was more that he wanted to say. “I was raised alone by my mother. She worked in a brothel and had gotten pregnant after my father requested her…services. I never met my father and my mother was never keen on me trying to find him either so I never bothered seeking him out.” He explained. "I'm sorry that I kept this from you. I should have been honest about my dhampirism much earlier. If we are traveling together we need to be on the same page. We need to be able to trust one another.” Quillen expressed, a soft smile dancing on his plump lips. Astarion was the first person who Quillen had truly put his trust in and now he worried about how the other would see him. “If this changes anything and if you would rather I depart from camp I won’t make a fuss.” He expressed. A pained grunt escaped Quillen’s lips and he grimaced, a shaky hand helping brace himself against a tree. “Shit…I need to find something to feed on.” He said softly. His fangs ached and his stomach panged with hunger. He needed to find blood and soon.

Quillen made his way deeper into the forest and as the smell of blood grew stronger his fangs ached in anticipation. He followed the scent closely, crouching down to the forest floor as he moved silently until he spotted it. A large fox happily feasting on its kill which happened to be an unlucky bird.

The half-elf carefully removed the bandana covering his mouth, tucking it away in his back pocket, and readied himself to strike. His mind raced in excitement, thoughts of what the animal’s lifeblood would taste like on his tongue filling his head. However, as soon as he went to attack the small creature a voice spoke up.

Astarion.

The fox let out a startled yip and scurried off into the darkness leaving behind its ravaged dinner to rot on the floor.

“Aww, Dammit!” The dhampir whined. He stood up abruptly as he watched the animal disappear into the night. Quillen turned to face the elf, an annoyed expression painted on his face. “Do you always like to scare off another’s dinner?” He huffed and crossed his arms. His fangs were in clear view now, sharp and shining under the moonlight.

Another huff escaped his lips and he looked away from the elf. “Well, did you need something?” He asked. “Or was following me all the way out here and scaring off my dinner enough of a thrill for you?” Normally Quillen wasn’t so grumpy. However, it had been a couple of days since he had properly fed himself and now he was a little hangry.

The dhampir’s lips formed a small pout and he narrowed his eyes. “Gods…” He muttered, still bitter that the fox had gotten away.