#tiefling slander

[keegansakura]

Listen. If you almost died to the parties fighter for trying to talk him out of storming Castle Ravenloft because he would have been slaughtered instantly and got snapped at by the rogue for trying to tell him that NO. THEY ARENT INTO YOU.

You would join Strahd and kill the party too.

Jesus Christ Lysander.. but the fact she made that choice after dinner at the castle which ended in a one night stand- I- ... Listen here you BITCH-

AND THAT WAS JUST ARC 1 FOR HER

[bridoesotherjunk]

Genuinely I am so sick of people playing BG3 and commenting like ""Oh it's so dumb that Wyll is uncomfortable at the Tiefling party because of his horns -- all the tieflings have horns too""

I disagree completely.

Wyll's uncomfortable because he has horns NOW and did not have them the last time he saw those tieflings. Literally most of them know him BY NAME. He's uncomfortable because he doesn't want to have to answer the same question over and over and over again to these people that he knows, has worked with, and has helped teach.

If you've ever lost a job or had something bad happen to you, it makes sense. You don't want to go to a big event right after it happened because you KNOW everyone will be asking you about that bad event. And you don't want to deal with it!!!

That was me after my dog passed away last year. I knew people were being understanding and trying to be comforting, but I didn't want to keep telling people that he fucking died over and over again!! It was upsetting!!! It just kept re-opening the wound!

I feel like that is why Wyll is upset at the tiefling party and I am so tired of everyone making fun of him for it.

It's a very real reaction.

[randomfanner]

It crushes me how much Gale Slander there is.

I know a bug made him horny and clingy but in my current play through Gale and Blanche(what I named my Tav) are bros and I have found it easy to avoid romancing him.

And how can you dislike Gale for being a bit pushy and hitting on you when literally EVERYONE HITS ON YOU!!! At the Tiefling Party, if you have medium approval with anyone you can start romancing them and they all want you to god dammit.

But if you actually romance Gale, he is pretty damn shy and hesitant. You can think you want to kiss him and he doesn't just kiss you, he is just stunned. He is not trying to jump right into a romance with you! He can get pretty forward once you, the player, have shown interest in actually romancing him. (Like when he says you are hot when you fight)

A lot of people dislike Gale for talking about Mystra when he is trying to romance you but we have to remember: Mystra means so much more to Gale than just being his ex-lover. Gale worshipped Mystra as his goddess before, during and afterwards their relationship. Mystra is magic, the literal goddess of what he ties all of his self worth too. I will admit I am biased towards Gale because I am the same way about my grades, and for Gale, the Goddess magic and the embodiment of his art took an interest in him and made him his chosen.

When he lost the favor of Mystra, he lost everything he had worked so hard for in his life. Was it partly his own fault? Yes, he fucked around and found out. However I genuinely think if Gale had only been Mystra's Chosen rather then Mystra's Lover, he wouldn't have.

Mystra approached Gale and from how we see Gale act when he is trying to seduce Tav, he didn't make the first move romantically either. Mystra had a lot of power over Gale and I don't blame Gale for wanting to become the equal of the woman he loved.

Of course the problem arises because she is a Goddess and he is a Mortal Man who is overly ambitious. But I do not think the bases of what he wanted was too much to ask for.

Maybe I am giving Gale too much credit, I mean, look at how he reacts to the Crown and oh I do sigh at that. But his reasons are very complex for wanting the crown more then just power.

And the magic items. It is three magic items and you get so many thrown at you during this game. Not all of them are good for every run. An uncommon magic item is like what, 33gp?

When Gale actually comes to you about it too, it is either after you have shown you are a good person who likes to help people and he feels he can trust you to help him with the bomb in his chest that could wipe out a city. Or the alternative is he literally has to come talking to you lest he actually, literally explode and you are the person who is in charge. Yes he gets angry when you refuse but man has good reason, everyone's life is at stake!

Does he give you all the details? No! But the only people who tell you everything at this damn camp are Lae'zel and Karlach! Literally no one tells you ja

There are plenty of reasons to not like Gale. Gale is my favorite but I do see how parts of him, like how he can be sort of a classist asshole about magic(I do not think he intends to be and I think that is Gale's ~Touch of the Tism~ showing and being mixed with self worth issues)

Gale is such a genuinely sweet guy. He values life and people and magic. He may be over the top and get in over his head way to easily just wants to be at home with his cat and a good book and I am so sick of all the slander towards my boy.

[firapolemos05]

@augusnippets Path of Hurt

Day 10: execution/fake execution/begging for mercy

CW: minor whumpee, mock execution, government corruption, abuse of power, imprisonment, framed for a crime, future captivity

Itzal (he/him)

Word count: 756 (a bit longer but I couldn't resist)

The Champion taglist: @emmettland , @ostensiblywhump , @scoundrelwithboba

They don't listen when he says he hasn't killed anyone. When they shove the gag into his mouth and secure the strap at the back of his neck, Itzal realizes they're not going to listen to anything he has to say.

He doesn't want to die.

It didn't make sense. There wasn't a trial. No evidence given that tied him to the supposed death of whatever unnamed Lapis guard they mentioned.

Only twenty-four hours between Itzal getting brought down to this prison and learning they were going to kill him.

‘ “Rebels don't get trials,” ’ they had said, sneering laughs lapping up the tiefling's terror.

He cursed them. Would've trashed and clawed up his cell had the shackles at his wrists not held him down. Would've tormented the guards with illusions had his magic not been suppressed. All he had were his words and he used them. Such fragile pride they had that they'd waste time and resources to silence a seventeen year old vandal who dared to insult them.

Itzal's anger spat until they gagged him.

He realizes now part of that anger had been fueled by denial. Armored guards clutch his bound arms as they drag him towards the courtyard, and dread clutches his gut.

He's going to die.

He tries so hard to fight. Bucks at the grasping hands until their grip is hard enough to bruise. Lashes out with his horns until one guard grabs one to force his head still. The blindfold around his head is wet with tears he failed not to shed.

He should’ve been more careful. Should've picked a safer, less public spot for his last graffiti run. Should've went home when his mother told him to and wait for a different day. 

His mother's face flashes into Itzal's mind. His father's. His little sister's. 

What's going to happen to them?

He won't even get to say goodbye. 

The screech of a metal door opening preceeds a waft of warmth as the sunlight hits his skin. The Crescentine sun is always harsh in the summer. The guards force Itzal to his knees in the dirt, latching the chains to a bolt in the ground so he couldn't stand. Couldn't flee. He balls his hands into fists to hide how much he's shaking. 

“Itzal Azarola,” a voice booms from behind. “For the crimes of treason, accomplice to murder of a government official, defacement of government property, government slander, and resisting arrest, you have been sentenced to death under orders from the Cerulean Constellate.”

Treason?

It doesn't seem real. It can't be real. This has to be a nightmare. He'll wake up home in his bed and be safe.

There's more noises. A rifle being loaded. His heart hammering in his chest. 

He will wake up soon. He doesn't want to die.

A click of the safety being released. A muffled sob escaping his lips.

He doesn't want to die.

“Fire!”

HE DOESN'T WANT TO DIE!

A trigger being pulled. 

A deafening blast sends him reeling, all other sound drowns under the piercing ring in his ears. His head throbs. His body collapses. He hopes it'll be quick. He hopes it'll be over before he feels it. He-

He's still alive.

The pain of a bullet tearing through his organs doesn't come. No smell of blood or burning flesh. The world still dark under a blindfold he can still feel on his face. Itzal is still alive.

More hands grab him. The chain is released from the ground and he is being carried away. His legs drag uselessly. His muscles feel like gelatin. His mind in a fog.

Why?

He should feel relief but instead there's a void. Nausea burning up his throat he has no choice but to force down because he's still gagged. 

What's happening?

Was there a mistake? Is he actually dead and his thoughts now are from his ghost trying to cling to life? Where are they taking him? He still can't see. No one's saying anything. What're they going to do to him now?

They drop him on hard stone. “Is this the one you wanted, Lady Matar?”

The blindfold is removed. There's a woman standing in front of Itzal. Short red hair and red eyes. Cloaked in the luxurious vestments of the Constellate. Lady Matar. High Martinet Scarlet Matar.

The master of judicial law stares down at the young tiefling, drinking in the tears on his face.

The way she smiles at him is the most terrifying thing he's ever seen.

“Yes. I will be taking him now.”

[saphirered]

a winter's ball with vax'ildan, maybe? only if you have time

When I read this one, I immediately got inspired. Hope it turned out well! 😘

Wining and dining was never really his style. Vax’ildan prefers the shadows over the shimmer and shine of these ostentatious events. It’s a thing he could do without but with Vox Machina’s rise in reputation so came obligations. It’s not every day the Sovereign invites you and your friends to attend some posh party and while he might want to forget, his sister and her boyfriend-he means friend- have not neglected to remind him this is not something he can get out of. At least there’ll be an open bar and as long as he sticks with the likes of Scanlan and Grog, he’s in for an eventful night to be sure. Even if everyone has been threatened urged to be on their best behaviour, he is used at being a shadow in the crowds. He’ll be fine. It’ll be hell but he’ll be fine. So here he stands dressed in his best, listening to the chatter and whining of the nobility of Tal’dorei. Plenty of gossip and slander and he has to admit his fingers do twitch when he sees some of the blatantly disregarded riches people put on display. It’s like they want to be robbed. Wait… That man was wearing three rings just a second ago. There’s two now. He searches the crowd. Nothing out of the ordinary. At least to the untrained eye. He recognises a pattern of movement, someone making their way across the room, to be as far away from the scene of the crime as possible, not like the rich prick will notice the ring missing in the first place but better safe than sorry he supposes. Whoever you are, you’re good. Just not good enough. And since Grog’s been cut off from the open bar and Scanlan has already has found some privacy, it’s not like he’s got anything better to do. 

On your trail, he realises he was incorrect when he assumed you were getting away from the crime scene. Instead you are making a clean sweep, mingling with groups, inserting yourself into conversation. He’d have lost you completely had he not seen you change you appearance behind a pillar. He almost did lose you several times but there’s something distinct in your behaviour, a tell that he knows all too well, and one he’s guilt of himself. Though, when he gets close enough, your voice, it sounds familiar. He can’t quite place it. He gets closer but doesn’t quite join the same conversation you’d slid into. He listens to you, watches your every movement. You’d taken on the appearance of a tiefling, horns and orange eyes and all. Attire displayed more Marquisian. You lay it on thick, flattery, compliments, charms and don’t neglect the occasional flirt to really sell it. 

“My my, that ring of yours, it is a gorgeous piece!” You gasp as one of the ladies not so subtilely brushes the rubies around her neck. Obviously she was looking for a way to insert the ostentatious diamonds into this conversation and was failing. That faint glint in your eye right before you spoke, the one that’s akin to focussing on a target, that’s your tell. Everyone has one after all. 

“It ought to be. It was a gift from J’mon Sa Ord themself!” The lady already stretches her arm out towards you, to give you a look up close. Vax watches as you daintily reach out to take the woman’s hand and let the ring hit the light perfectly. 

“Such a high honour, my lady. A gift befitting a queen one could say. You simply must share the story behind it.” As she retracts her hand what the woman does not notice; you unclasped one of the bracelets on her arm, let it drop into your palm, the one that clasped under her hand, and sweep it away as she goes into the extensive story, having all those around oohing and aaahing. In the mean time you grow quieter and quieter until the focus is entirely away from you. You bend out, and make for the nearest alcove. Vax watches you brush along your clothes and then let your hands fall to your sides, bracelet nowhere to be seen. That’s when he decides to make his move. 

A job well done. You got plenty of loot from your little scavenger hunt, no one any the wiser. Tonight was a fruitful night. Who knew the desperate for attention and admiration were still granted plus one to such an event with a tight invite list. Just your luck you make a good actor and have no obligations to sweet-talking yourself into this spot. Such a shame though, the event is so large with so many attendants, it’s easy to get lost and lose sight of your escort. It’s unlikely you’ll meet again, or rather, your escort will meet you again. You’d not be so stupid to wear your own face on such an adventure. Nothing a little magic couldn’t fix. Not all deals made are bad ones and you surely reaped the benefits of this one. Time to leave. Stay close to the dance floor, make it to the balcony and off you go. It’s like stealing candy from a very rich baby. Another change of face; a half elf this time, with a tiered ruffle skirt. It seemed suitable, and just slightly big enough to keep at bay some of the suitors waiting for a dance partner of their choosing. You turn down the others, claiming exhaustion, already being spoken for, and so on. 

“Would you like to dance?” Your breath catches. You know that voice, and seeing the half-elf to your side, you are not mistaken. Shock must have spread across your face but you recover quickly. He looks as handsome as you last saw him, though the outfit is not very him. Vax. Your heart aches 

“I’m afraid my dance card is full, good sir.” You reply and sound a little more breezy than you intended. You have to get out. This is no place for a confrontation. Vax only takes one look at you and knows every single instinct on the verge of kicking in, so instead he simply takes your arm and pulls you into the ongoing dance. It’s a good thing you’re both quick on your feet or you might have sprawled across the floor unable to avoid the other couples in their routines. You want to say something, protest or just get out but He’s guided you along to a place where doing that inconspicuous would be very difficult, even for you. Bastard. You put on a smile and play the part of a whimsical lady who belongs here. 

“What brings you here, Miss?” You want to snort at his all too innocent question and playing into your act. He’s learned quite well. Then again, he always had charm, though, his sister will always be the more persuasive one. 

“Oh, I’m here with the Lord Waters. My uncle was kind enough to send me along to familiarise myself with the court here! And you, good sir? What brings you to this marvellous event?” You want to gag. You feel his hand burning against the small of your back, know he can feel through the illusion, feel the dagger you’ve got holstered there. His fingers of the other hand have clasped with yours, the fingerless gloves must have been a nice surprise as opposed to the dainty satin it appears to be. 

“Me and my companions were invited.” Damn it. You should have taken a better peak at that guest list when you had the chance. Of course Vox Machina would be in attendance. You’d have made better efforts to avoid them. Not that you’re not enjoying this encounter. In an odd way it feels good to be here, back in Vax’ arms. You’ve got plenty of memories like these. Though few include being in a palace like this. It feels good even if you’ve been made and should probably make an effort to get out now. 

You must be very important then. Excuse me for not knowing-“ You keep playing the game and Vax almost starts doubting himself. Maybe he was mistaken. Maybe he missed you in the crowd and is confusing you for this innocent half-elf but then you cast your eyes to the closest balcony. It’ll only be a matter of time before you’ll pass it and he wonders if you plan on making your escape then, slide away without another word. 

“Vox Machina. Heroes of Tal’dorei some say, though it’s a bit pretentious if you ask me.” He speaks earnestly. And then your window of opportunity approaches. 

“I’m afraid my feet have grown quite tired. It was lovely dancing with you, Hero of Tal’dorei.” You make to push away from him and he lets you go. What you don’t notice is that he’s just as good as you and in your distraction of getting away, you miss him removing that dagger from your belt. Your head’s turned when he swiftly slides it up his sleeve and follows after you, through the crowd. 

You break for the balcony, moving through the crowd gently until you reach the doors and slide through unnoticed. There’s no one else. It’s freezing cold after all. Big change from the warm interior and leaves you shivering just a little as your body adjusts. You look around the ledge; bushes below lead into the gardens. A drainpipe goes down to one side but looks rather shaky. Though his balcony is supported by pillars and happen to have decent foothold, even if a layer of frost covers the ground below. You’ll have to be careful still but you could not call yourself a master thief if you were thwarted by some ice. You pick a nice spot and sit on the railing, reach for your- it’s gone. You frantically look around, as if it might have dropped on the stone here somewhere. Then the door opens and through slides that damned half-elf, holding your dagger between his fingers. 

“Looking for this?” Cocky as you know him to be when successfully stealing something. “You can drop the act now.” You roll your eyes as you jump back to your feet and meet him in the middle of the balcony. He lets you take the dagger without a fuss and you quickly put it back in its sheath dropping your disguise. He wasn’t prepared. Vax didn’t think you’d actually drop your disguise, that he’d be facing you now. With your urgency to get out he had assumed you might have been running from your past, from him but you’re not. You’re standing here and don’t make a dive for your escape. You cross your arms. 

“You’re a bastard, and you know it.” You snicker. Despite the freezing cold the sound warms him from the inside. It’s been far too long since he’s heard that sound, heard you. You take another step closer. Your breath shows upon the cold air as you look him in the eyes. You tilt your head slightly, lips parting and begin to lean in. You bring a hand to his chest, let the other brush along his cheek, along his pointed ear until you guide his face to yours, as if you’re going to kiss him. But then he feels a pull and his hair falls free out of the tie he’d been persuaded to keep it in. You step back laughing and lift yourself onto the balcony ledge. He crosses the distance as you play with the tie. 

“Is it really that easy?” He laughs at your antics. It’s like you never parted, like not a moment has passed since your last goodbye even though it has been years. He was a scavenging thief with an annoying sister back then. He’s an adventurer now, still with an annoying sister though. You were a runner for a local guild. What have you become? You bear no seal, now sigil and you seem wholly unburdened. You wink at him. 

“It can be.” You swing your legs over, and stand on the small ridge. You quickly peck his lips and leave the half-elf in shock, short of a response. “Pick a place. Tomorrow. Lunch. My treat.” You play with a gold necklace between your fingers but before you’re about to jump off the shock has vanished and Vax feels in control of himself once more. He cups your cheeks. 

“I’ve missed you.” He breathes as his brain is trying to wrap his head around all of this. You’re here. You actually want to see him and as it looks like now you’ve no objections to picking up where things left off. What in the world is happening? 

“Missed you too.” Genuine words. Gently he presses his lips to yours, awaiting any response of objection but you move them against his, wrap your arms around his neck and deepens the kiss. The cold breeze cuts at his skin, his fancy clothes doing little to keep it at bay as opposed to your attire, clearly suitable for the weather and your objective for the evening, though he cares little when he holds onto you, when he feels your fingers brush against his skin and spark a fire to keep him warm, however short-lived this kiss may be. He pulls away, reminded you are on a job and he’d be a terrible partner in crime if he did not look out for you. Your hum in disappointment almost makes him forget about that. 

“There’ll be a guard patrol coming in two minutes. You’ll want to be past the fountains by then. The roses to the right will give enough cover.” Vax gives you the run down and you nod. With a final peck you push off the ledge and he runs to the edge to see you grab onto the pillar, and slide down. When he does he feels something in his breast pocket. It’s the gold bracelet. You blow him a kiss when you hit the ground before you turn on your heels and make a sprint for the roses quite a ways a way. You’re lucky you’re fast. With a longing sigh he watches you go. Lunch it is. 

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

My thoughtsabout Baldur's Gate 3 after 50 hours of playthrough

Love that this game gives you not only class and race dialogue options but SUBCLASS dialogue options too

Enjoy playing as a paladin no problems with oath-breaking whatsoever, everybody rolling eyes at my do-goody ass

especially playing as oath of the ancients is like "in the name of trees and lakes and birds - fuck you"

made a shocking discovery that romancing companions is truly secondary and I'm just happy to survive

Astarion tolerates me and I'm afraid there's no hope for me in this playthrough but honestly, I don't really care I just want my boy safe and cared for, whether as a partner or just a friend is truly secondary

he's even more cat-coded than I thought

kind of glad he won't propose to me at the party because we legit know each other for FOUR DAYS! Like- Sir!

Lae'zel is amazing, wonderful, and showstopping wtf is people's problem with her. She's rude? Please. She's a product of her environment. As far as Githyanki go she's the nicest of them all. I won't let anyone slander her on my watch.

Gale is a bit of an intellectual snob but he's a wizard so that's part of the package. I actually enjoy his ramblings, I could listen to him for hours. maybe I'm the weird one in that

During the goblin fight, I fell into a spider pit while casting a spell and running forward. Spend the rest of the fight plastered on the wall so the spiders won't notice me. The rest of my party had to search the entire temple for the key to get me out. Truly a full dnd experience at its finest.

Love reading the books just as much as I enjoy it in Genshin.

As cheesy as it is I love playing the hero.

I bend backward to save everyone, and it makes me really happy to keep as many people as possible alive. Yes, even Kagha, even hag spawns, even tiefling children.

I love all my companions equally but Astarion gets all the jewelry.

[spyridonya]

Prevention

Fandom: Wrath of the Righteous Rating: Teen-Mature Pairing: Kadira (OC) x Raphael ( @jean-dieu's OC) Words: 1776 Trigger Warnings: Unintentional footplay and light kink. Summary: Why shouldn’t The Eternal Rose send care for her Sunflower’s best? 

Many Crusaders claim that all Tieflings look alike, though that isn't true.

The common slander shared among most newly arrived in Mendev and the Crusades is that all Tieflings look alike. It absolutely wasn’t true. This was a fact that wasn’t tucked away in Kadira’s mind to be sprung upon her with the blinding realization she couldn’t remember how she knew this: Kadee knew it because she experienced it. 

The commander witnessed it in the scant days after Deskari had laid ruin to Kenabras, with eyes upon her warily—exhaustion, anger, and fear etched into their gazes. Such emotions were not an excuse in her mind; it was simply a cause for her treatment. It happened rarely now, now that the Fifth Crusade had begun and Drezen was taken and she was given the title of Knight Commander.

But sometimes, some people did look at her like any old tiefling. 

Tieflings were like snowflakes, notably so in the aftermath of a century of demons roaming the land. Color, horns, tails, skin color, and more—it was luck of the draw with demon-blooded Tieflings where asymmetry was common among them.

Even Hellspawn were unique to one another despite the similarities among them: the uncanny symmetry, the tendency for various shades of red skin and dark hair, pointed tails, and startling gold to yellow eyes were incredibly common—even if Kadira didn’t entirely match each feature, she did with many. Knowledge of these features had come from somewhere, but she never chased after that thought beyond looking at herself in the occasional mirror as a girl.

Until Raphael, all Tieflings Kadira had met were Pitborn. The variety of colors, horns, tails, and features that weren’t quite balanced in varying degrees were common for obvious reasons.

Then she met Raphael. Understanding that he was different from other Tieflings she had known came right away beyond the gold and white of his clothing, mimicking the rarely seen white clouds and triumphant sun. His features were balanced and regal and his golden eyes were like fire, radiating the demand for justice and order. His fur and skin were a brilliant shade of red compared to her own deeper hues of skin and the black fur on her lower legs, though their hooves were similar enough.

They got along well. Though at first glance, it might not have been surprising—those who worshiped one member of the Prismatic Ray often got along with those who worshiped the other goddesses. It was likely because of that, that Kadira showed an uncharacteristic openness to Raphael despite her misgivings toward Inquisitors.

Raphael was firmer in his opinions about justice than Kadira was with her religion, though she admired his devotion. Kadira kept her own religious beliefs close to her heart, revealing them only when necessary—during moments of granting mercy or delivering justice. She assumed he admired how she concealed her compassion within pragmatic and reasoned logic.

Still, there were times Raphael’s devotion surprised her, even though her education had taught her better. Sarenrae had been harsh once and still held a standard for redemption that was difficult to attain. Sarenrae and her followers took up arms when measured compassion and redemption might not be possible without greater loss, and Kadira strived to understand that. Raphael grasped the concept far better then she ever could, endearing him to Sarenrae in his quest to defeat evil fueled by righteous anger.

Yet, there was no sadism in Raphael’s eyes. At worst, if there was any sadism, the Inquisitor directed it toward himself. Often, Kadira wondered if it stemmed from Raphael simply being a tiefling.

Regardless, she likes him—in that amorphous way of hers that she refused to pin down. There’s no time for such reflection, and while she knew Shelyn would not appreciate that lack of introspection, Kadira liked to think her goddess understood why.  Caring for other is good, it’s an expression of love. 

And Kadira attempted to demonstrate her affection in the best way she knew how— by taking care of others. Like when it occurred to her that Raphael also had hooves on a cold, wet late summer day during their march toward Drezen.

"Stay still," the command wasn't harsh when it left Kadira's mouth, but it was firm, despite the intimate setting of Kadira’s tent. A woman on her haunches before a handsome man might raise eyebrows if one couldn’t see the forest for the trees. For the most part, her compatriots had their eyes on the forest. 

Besides, Kadira wanted to spare the Inquisitor any potential embarrassment. Trimming and applying a proactive coat of oil on his hooves might lead to unwelcome attention or mockery in public.

Raphael stared down at her, his expression firm, his mouth set, and his tail lashed slowly behind him. Kadira knew that body language varied among tieflings; but the only time she recalled her own tail moving like that was when she was angry or frustrated. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at the other tiefling with a puzzled expression. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

He shook his head, tousled locks of dark, shaggy hair moving in an almost endearing manner. "Are you sure this is alright?" Raphael asked, his voice rough to be mistaken for anger, if Kadira hadn’t known that he was seeking assurance. 

Here are some suggestions to enhance consistency in formatting and style:

"Utterly," Kadira promised, her smile soft and gentle as she tipped her head down to focus on her brush. The bristles moved slowly from just under Raphael’s thicker fur where it met the hardness of his hoof in a soothing manner. "Olive and sunflower oil are absolutely safe on hooves, and Shelyn's grace knows you need it." She noticed Raphael’s foot twitched and hear his tail lash suddenly as it hit the floor with a dull thud before he managed to hold it still. “Did I… did I say something wrong?”

His candle-like eyes momentarily widened, but his stoic expression swiftly returned. "No, this just seems like an... indulgence."

"Oh?" She asked, carefully stroking along the edges of his hoof, trying to avoid the sensitive flesh. “Is preventing a cracked hoof in the middle of acidic snow an indulgence? Or is it prevention?”

“If Sarenrae’s will deems it necessary for such an injury during my duties, then I would simply endure it,” he countered, his voice a touch raspy, as Kadira’s brush began to trace the edge of his hoof.

Kadira huffed despite the smile on her face, holding her answer for a moment as she firmly held Raphael’s foot. She glided the brush carefully along the inside of his hoof, aware that the flesh there could be sensitive despite possible calluses. She was prepared for the flinch of his muscular leg as the brush grazed his skin by mistake. “But I’m here with plenty of sunflower oil for more than one tiefling.” She looked up, beaming at him. “Shelyn provided for me when I found sunflower patches along our route. She wants to make sure her beloved Sunflower doesn’t lose a good soldier.”

Raphael met her sky blue gaze with his fiery gold before he swallowed and looked away, his tail lashing even faster this time. “A point well made.”

“It is,” Kadira said without false bravado as she absently stroked down his shin, placing his foot on a towel beneath them. “I don’t mind being seen as vain... I’d be puzzled because I have so little to be vain about, but I don’t mind. It’s all about health, you know.” She continued her careful brushing over his other hoof. “This is all protection from the elements out here. That’s why I’m teaching you this.” She looked up earnestly. “What would I do if I lost my only Sarenite?”

Did Raphael swallow? Or was the oil brush tickling him? "Commander, you needn’t worry about such things. I’m capable enough as a healer as I am a warrior. I should be protecting you."

"Fine, we’ll call it prevention," she informed him, the brush gliding slowly over the black surface of his hoof as she massaged his tense calf. “And prevention is a far better cure than treatment.” She noticed a shiver—was it from the brush or something else? The next stroke over his hoof was more delicate, the bristles curling to the edge and up the inner walls.

The insides of his foot should be massaged with oil too, Kadira thought. The cold was likely to make the skin crack in the coming days, and that could lead to infection. However, judging by Raphael's tail, if she attempted to do it, it was just going to agitate him.

She placed his hoof on the towel and dipped the brush into the oil jar before standing up. "Can I trust you to stay here until the oil soaks in? Anevia probably knew you’d be here before you did, so she’ll make sure no one disturbs you."

Kadira watched as the Sarenite's shoulders rose and then fell. "Yes," he replied, his tail quivering, the lashing present but slower than before.

She beamed. “Will you put some oil on the skin on the bottom of your hoof?” she asked, her voice stern.

“Yes.” Raphael’s jaw twitched, and he leaned over to pick up the jar despite the clear annoyance in his voice.

“Good boy,” Kadira praised, her voice softer than usual before she felt an odd compulsion. She leaned forward, gently placing her hands on Raphael’s shoulders and brushed a kiss over the soft fur of his forehead.

The gesture was intended to be motherly, yet Raphael drew out a sigh. Annoyance, she supposed, and well earned annoyance at that. Kadira didn't ask—it wasn't the time. "Sorry," she apologized suddenly, "I just... felt that. You sounded… You honestly did well, Raphael."

There was a not-quite-a-smile on his face. "That's all right, truly, Kadira. I'll be fine and back to my prayers soon."

"I won't do it again," she promised, noticing the not-quite-a-smile had faded. Maybe it was never there in the first place? “I mean, if you need help with your hooves or anything. I enjoy taking care of you,” she clarified. “There's tea in the pot if you want some, and if Tiger wants a lap, you better give it to him.”

“Y-yes,” Raphael replied. “I’ll have tea at least.”

“Excellent,” she beamed once more. “I’ll see you at dinner. It’s been a challenging day, but the company should be comforting.” With that, she bowed, carefully stepping on the carpet and reeds as she left her tent. “See you then.”

The flap was long closed before Raphael's whispered prayer for mercy escaped his lips.

[grailfinders]

Grailfinders #324: Jacques de Molay

ayyyyy its time to get spooky! at long last the Halloween events have returned, and they’ve returned with three new servants! we here at Grailfinders are, of course, going in servant ID order, so first on the chopping block is the disgraced crusader Jacques de Molay! they started off as a holy knight, but ever since their fall they’ve been tainted by lies and slander, so while they start off semi-holy as a Death Cleric they fall pretty fast as a Fiend Warlock by the end of the build. basically they’re kind of a discount, evil paladin, which fits nicely!

check out her build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!

next up: I'm pretty sure I can't include a picture on the next one without getting banned.

ancestry & background

obv jacques is a human, buuuut her final form is a grey-skinned humanoid with glowy eyes and horns, so why would we miss this chance to go tiefling? specifically we’re going with the glasya tiefling variant so eventually your Legacy of Malbolge (mispronounced to your liking) will give you access to disguise self, and then you can look human that way! right now, it just gives you Minor Illusion. you also get Hellish Resistance against fire damage, as well as Darkvision to clown on those dumb “human” knights. you also get +2 Dexterity and +1 Wisdom thanks to Tasha’s trivializing ancestry differences.

you’re not a good Acolyte, but you’re definitely an acolyte, so you still get Insight and Religion proficiency all the same.

Ability Scores

we’re starting off as a cleric so your Wisdom needs to be pretty good, at least for now. after that, your Dexterity- you’re uh. you’re not partial to armor. (though I would accept an argument that your first ascension has light armor on, but that’s still mostly dexterity based.) third up is Charisma- this will be better later, but if you had high charisma before you died, you probably wouldn’t have died. your Constitution is above average since you were a knight and all, but that means your Intelligence isn’t that high. you’ve got the megane look, but we just don’t need it for the build. finally, we’re dumping Strength. you’ve got actual knights for heavy lifting now.

Class Levels

1. Cleric 1: starting off as a cleric nets you Wisdom and Charisma proficiency as well as History and Medicine, warrior monk and all that. starting off as a Death cleric specifically gives you proficiency with martial weapons, so you get your sword and shield right off the bat! you’re also a Reaper now, so you can learn an extra necromancy cantrip like Sapping Sting- it deals a little damage and knocks people over! I mean, you’re not winning any shoving contested rolls any time soon, might as well turn to magic, right?

oh right, you can also learn and prepare Spells as part and parcel of being a cleric by using your Wisdom. since you can swap spells out each day we won’t be super in-depth about which ones you learn when, but we’ll point out the cooler ones to look at each level.

first though, your regular cantrips! Guidance and Resistance are subtle, but powerful- a great excuse to not do anything yourself! also grab Sacred Flame or something to attack people while your dexterity isn’t high enough to reliably use your sword.

as for your first level spells, you get False Life and Ray of Sickness for free, but there’s plenty of other spells to look into too. Shield of Faith is a pretty good alternative for mage armor at the moment, giving you or an allied creature +2 AC for up to ten minutes, concentration pending. it’s no shroud of turin, but it’s not like you used the real thing either, right? Bane is our very first curse, reducing a group of creature’s checks for a while if they fail their saves. also, Ceremony is the closest we can come to your “turn everyone evil” technique for now, although it only reveals a creature’s original alignment, not a new one. I guess the dedication ceremony could technically count?

2. Cleric 2: second level clerics can Channel Divinity in one of two ways once per short rest- Turn Undead (boo hiss) forces wisdom saves on every undead creature in the area, making them run away for a minute, or until they take damage. good for when you have to clear a room, I guess. the death clerics have a CD with some oomph though- your Touch of Death lets you make a necrotic smite dealing up to 25 extra necrotic damage in a single hit as you level up.

3. Cleric 3: third level clerics get second level spells, but you also get a free copy of Disguise Self from your Legacy of Malbolge. once a day you can look like any humanoid you like, though physical inspection can turn up discrepancies. luckily, as long as you aren’t getting headpats regularly “you, but human” is a pretty safe option.

as for your second level spells, Blindness/Deafness is a fun curse to throw around, as is Ray of Enfeeblement, and both will always be on your spell list! the heavy hitter this level has to be Spiritual Weapon though- you can make a big floating weapon and use bonus actions to move it around and hit people- essentially, it’s your very first summonable knight. I know those knights are mostly just part of your Noble Phantasm animation, but if Stheno can get knights, so can you.

4. Cleric 4: normally we’d use your first Ability Score Improvement on raw stats to improve your offense or shore up some weakness (y’know, improving an ability score), but right now our most pressing issue is getting the War Caster feat. sure, it gives you advantage on concentration checks and makes shield of faith a much better defensive spell. sure, you can cast inflict wounds as a reaction now, but the most important part is you can cast somatic-based spells while both your hands are full with a sword and shield! most DMs probably won’t care too much, but really every part of this feat is super useful for us as an IKEA paladin.

to celebrate the occasion, you can cast Thaumaturgy now. really sets the mood for a dark mass, you know?

5. Cleric 5: fifth level clerics can Destroy Undead of CR ½ or lower when they turn them successfully, which actually makes it even worse for our purposes, since this is also the level they can cast third level spells like Animate Dead. it makes skeletons and zombies- either creating one or reasserting dominance over up to three per casting. you can command one or more of them as a bonus action each turn, but they’ll only listen to you for the first 24 hours after you cast or recast the spell on them.

you can also cast Invisibility once a day thanks to your legacy- it’s not in character but it is useful!

as for other spells to look out for, Bestow Curse does just about any negative thing you want it to- if you’re going to be evil, it will help out a lot. I’d also grab Speak with Dead so you can really connect with your undead minions, and Spirit Shroud for a creepier ambiance next time you stab someone.

6. Cleric 6: at level six you can channel divinity twice a short rest, and you have an Inescapable Destruction about you that makes your divinity impossible to resist! literally- it prevents the necrotic damage your spells and CD do from being resisted. now you can beat up aasimars with your (currently) 17 additional points of necrotic damage per attack!

7. Cleric 7: seventh level clerics get fourth level spells. your freebies are Blight which is cool, it doesn’t really specify how the target got dehydrated, and Death Ward. it’s not quite the invincibility we want for your shroud ability, but it’s less dying which is useful. I’d also grab Guardian of Faith so you can get a whole knight instead of just a sword, and Divination because you’re still god’s specialest little princess, probably.

8. Cleric 8: eighth level clerics get another ASI, and its about time we start thinking about getting evil. the Flames of Phlegethos are as hard to spell as they are useful, increasing your Charisma by one while also letting you re-roll ones on fire damage from spells. you’re not all that fire-and-brimstone, but it’s a nice touch. even better, after casting a fire spell, you can cover yourself in an evil aura for a round, causing you to glow and counterattack anyone stupid enough to hit you with a melee attack. like. she’s on fire. of course you’re going to burn your hand.

additionally, your Divine Strike adds a bit of necrotic damage to your first weapon attack you hit each turn. you’re kind of a paladin, so now you have a low-level smite, go nuts. (also destroy undead works on CR one creatures now but hush)

9. Cleric 9: ninth level clerics get fifth level spells. Cloudkill is probably the closest thing to your NP if we’re going by the animation, but it can be pretty finicky. it’s strong, but a good gust of wind will destroy it pretty fast. your other freebie is the real prize- with Antilife Shell you finally have a shroud of turin to protect your team with, at least against melee enemies. it keeps anything that isn’t undead or a construct away from you, but you also can’t move them through the barrier or it breaks as well. thankfully most of your party by weight is undead at this point, so it shouldn’t be too much of a hassle.

that being said I’d also grab Flame Strike for a more consistent NP attack and Hallow- we can’t turn people evil, but at least we can turn everything else evil!

10. Cleric 10: tenth level clerics get one more cantrip, so now you can Toll the Dead to deal some ranged damage, especially if you kick people while they’re down. I guess this is your scarf thing?

also, you can get some Divine Intervention, if Shub-Niggurath is feeling benevolent that day. as an action you try to get your god to help out, and if you roll a 10 or lower on a d100, it works. if it worked, you can use it again in a week, otherwise you just have to wait a day. dang, I wish worshipping the devil worked like that irl too.

11. Warlock 1: okay, time to break out the goats. as a Fiend warlock you have access to the Dark One’s Blessing- whenever you reduce a hostile creature to 0 HP, you get temporary HP as a little kickback for sending a soul his way.

you also get Pact Magic, which you cast using your Charisma. you get a different set of spell slots that recharge on short rests, though you can use warlock slots for cleric spells or vice versa. also, when you pick your warlock spells you’re stuck with them until you level up again, so we’ll be more hands-on this time.

grab Eldritch Blast and Mind Sliver for some casterball-ish cantrips, as well as Arms of Hadar to finally make some tentacles to slap people with, and Charm Person to get started with seduction.

12. Warlock 2: at second level warlocks get Eldritch Invocations, ways for you to customize your fall into madness and depravity. Armor of Shadows will give you mage armor whenever you want, so you can finally wear that cute backless dress you’ve been meaning to! Beguiling Influence gives you proficiency in Deception and Persuasion- I bet you thought I forgot to pick those up at the start, didn’t you?

also, you can Hex people now, mostly because we needed a warlock-based curse option for stuff later. now you can deal extra necrotic damage to creatures you attack! annoyingly, this is not affected by your cleric features!

13. Warlock 3: at level three you can summon a cute lil goat man thanks to your Pact of the Chain giving you free uses of find familiar. also you can hit people with the ol’ Crown of Madness to make them turn on everything they knew and loved before. I guess we can make people evil after all!

14. Warlock 4: at fourth level we get another ASI, so bump up that Charisma for stronger spells! now it’s time to ascend for a better weapon- with Shadow Blade your sword can be upgraded to deal psychic damage, and if you throw it you can summon it back as a bonus action! plus- since this is making a weapon, and not directly attacking someone with a spell, you can add all your fun cleric abilities too!

15. Warlock 5: fifth level warlocks get their best boon to their knight corps(e), the third level spell Summon Lesser Demons, letting you drag up to eight demons knights to the material plane to fight! they’re hostile to literally everything, so good luck controlling them though. good thing you know Hallow!

you also know a Maddening Hex now, so whenever you hex someone you can deal psychic damage to them, as well as everyone else around them, as a bonus action with no save!

16. Warlock 6: at sixth level, you have the Dark One’s Own Luck- once a short rest you can add a d10 to any check or save. things always go the villain’s way, at least until the third act. also you can cast Tongues now to understand every spoken language and be understood in turn. I know this is more of a holy sort of effect, but it’s still super useful when you’re evil.

17. Warlock 7: at level seven you get fourth level spells like Shadow of Moil to give you a more thematically appropriate evil aura. for up to a minute after casting the spell, you’re surrounded by darkness that heavily obscures you, giving you resistance to radiant damage and another kind of counterattack. the worst part about turning to evil is all the other paladins suddenly have a problem with you “living”, and “drawing breath”, and “corrupting the innocent”. such a hassle.

18. Warlock 8: one last ASI, so use it wisely. I mean, use it charismatically. it’s for Charisma. you can also cast Raulothim’s Psychic Lance now! I know yours is more of a literal lance, but it doesn’t hurt to try.

19. Warlock 9: our final spell of the build is Negative Energy Flood, taking your NP’s animation a bit too literally, but at least it’s a single target attack again. when you hit a living creature with it you’ll force a constitution save against your spell, dealing 5d12 necrotic damage on a failure, or half on a success. furthermore, a creature killed by this spell becomes an uncontrolled zombie the next turn, going after whatever is closest. if you target an undead, they’ll gain 5d12 temporary HP instead, so your generals will be more protected.

you also get one last invocation, and with Whispers of the Grave you can cast speak with dead at will to really get to know your potential recruits better.

20. Warlock 10: finally, a tenth level fiendlock has Fiendish Resilience, letting you pick a damage type each short rest to gain resistance to it, as long as its not from magical or silvered weapons. that’s why we’ve still got shadow of moil for the paladins. you also get the cantrip Chill Touch, I guess. reach out and touch somebody, with gross skeleton hands.

Pros & Cons:

Pros:

you might not have the unlimited power of a sorlock, but having warlock slots to burn on Animate Dead means you can keep a huge army in check for relatively little cost- even just one short rest a day can supply you with fourteen extra bodies to fight with!

it’s honestly super refreshing to see a spellcaster with a shield. that, plus your healing from fighting and your various ways to resist incoming damage, make you a longer-lived spellcaster than most. having an AC of 18 thanks to mage armor plus two good saves in the big three, plus up to two resistances will help you eat any stray attacks coming your way.

most stories like treating demons as major threats, locking ways to deal with them behind quests and such, so being able to draw demons out for your own benefit can be pretty dang useful in certain situations. unless your playing something like curse of strahd, calling on the forces of evil is usually out of left field enough that whatever you’re fighting won’t have many defenses against it.

Cons:

on the opposite side of that coin, most campaigns assume you’re good. I would consider myself pretty open-minded, but I would have reservations about helping someone walking around with an undead army, I’m just saying.

your undead army can also easily be blasted apart by aoe spells, like the kind your cleric half brings to the table which make up your strongest firepower for most of the build. one wrong move, and suddenly you’re starting from scratch again.

we’re using a lot of different ability scores in this build, so you’re all over the place statwise. I would’ve loved to get more swordplay in, but we had to spend points on two different spellcasting stats, leaving you without a single maxed stat, plus lower constitution than I’m entirely comfortable with a gish having. still, doing a little of everything tends to be the most useful path forward, just ask bards.

[thetavolution]

for Paloma and Vaira

pre-relationship 5.What would their lives be like if they had never met? 7.How do their friends and family feel about them as a couple?

general 14.What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise? 15.What is their most common argument about?

love 1.Who said "I love you" first, and what was the situation? 14.Who is more protective? Who would get into a fight to defend the other? Who tends to the other's wounds?

domestic life 10.Who is more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning? 13.Do they have any "couple traditions", or family traditions?

Thank you for sending this my way!

It's from this post.

PALOMA

Love Interest: Halsin

5. What would their lives be like if they had never met?

Paloma may have never lifted the Shadow Curse simply because of the role Halsin plays in it. If Halsin never met her, he might not lift the curse and he might lose the Grove.

Halsin most likely would have kept living his life as is, drowned in even more guilt and grief. Paloma would still be cautious around potential love interests. She'd still be a single mom.

7. How do their friends and family feel about them as a couple?

Paloma is an orphan who really has no contact with the orphanage she grew up in. All she has left are her children and younger sister, Lamia.

Paloma's children love Halsin, naturally. It doesn't take them long to call him "dad" or "daddy." Lamia doesn't trust him at first but only because she's protective of her family. Over time, she likes the guy and teases him like she would an older brother.

Halsin's family has passed, but he still has the tieflings and the orphans. The orphans would happily embrace Paloma as a mother figure and Paloma's children would be easily accepted, too.

14. What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?

15. What is their most common argument about?

Paloma's need to do everything and her bossiness. Halsin needs her to delegate more and trust him to do things, especially when it comes to the children.

Halsin normally likes it when she's bossy, but there's a time and place for it. They've argued over Halsin downplaying his trauma before, or sometimes he goes off into nature without remembering to give Paloma a heads up.

Overall, however, they mostly just get into small couple arguments. Usually just those moments where you briefly get annoyed with each other, but quickly get over it.

Paloma also really needs Halsin to not forget to clean his dishes so often. He gets distracted on that front a lot.

1. Who said "I love you" first, and what was the situation?

Paloma said it first. Her heart felt as if it might beat right through her chest, but she said it. Halsin would take that as "permission" to say it back.

After the life Halsin's lived, I don't think "I love you" has been a common phrase for him for a long time. He finally feels free to say it again whenever he wants. He's more of a love in action rather than word person. Paloma does both.

14. Who is more protective? Who would get into a fight to defend the other? Who tends to the other's wounds?

They're both protective in their own ways. On the battlefield, they keep an eye on each other, and are quick to heal each other first.

Paloma is quicker to want revenge on Halsin's behalf. He'll barely get a scratch and she's trying to kill whoever did it. Halsin is usually set off when Paloma is seriously injured.

Paloma also becomes protective of Halsin when she realizes how often his feelings are discarded by others. Halsin tries to guard her from further pain and he's quick to defend her from any slander.

If Paloma's ex-lover (and father of her children) comes back into the picture, may the Oak Father have mercy on him because Halsin sure won't.

10. Who is more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning?

They're both early risers with kids to take care of. On the rare occasions they can sleep in, it depends. Sometimes it's Paloma that makes Halsin get back into bed and sometimes he's the one that gets her back into bed.

On a lazy rainy day, Halsin will make sure she's cozy so she can sleep in and take care of the kids before coming back to bed himself.

13. Do they have any "couple traditions", or family traditions?

On rainy days, they do have a tradition of staying in and just having a family togetherness day. They make a warming meal while Halsin or Paloma read to the whole family.

They would also have regular camping trips out in the woods as a family. Halsin would take the lead teaching the children how to survive in the wild by themselves. He and Paloma would also let the kids have "solo camping trips." In reality, they'd be nearby to give the kids space and independence, but be ready to jump in if they're in danger.

Birthdays are a huge celebration in the Silverbough-Silkflower home.

Last but not least, Halsin and Paloma are careful to make sure they always have at least one night a week for themselves and their relationship.

VAIRA

Love Interest: Gale

5. What would their lives be like if they had never met?

She would still fight back against Vlaakith if she still was tadpoled, especially if she met Lae'zel. She just wouldn't have Gale to support her through it.

If Gale wasn't around to ask her to marry him, she would have followed Lae'zel into battle against Vlaakith. She would never end up staying in Faerûn, which I believe she needs to truly grow as a person.

Gale would have never gotten out of that damn rock.

7. How do their friends and family feel about them as a couple?

Morena and Tara would be thrilled that Gale found love. Morena is an intelligent woman who anticipates some culture shock with her new daughter-in-law and happily guides her through it.

Vaira would be lovingly accepted into the Dekarios family. Tara would be happy there is another lap to sleep in. I think Morena would want grandchildren.

Vaira's family dynamic is a bit different just because of how gith are hatched. She has Lae'zel as her honorary sister. Lae'zel already loves and respects Gale by the time he's in a relationship with Vaira.

Vaira's varsh, Ja’adoc, is like a father to her. He isn't a big fan of Gale at first, but just because he's a human. Couldn't Vaira find a gith to fall for? In the end, Ja’adoc warms up to him and eventually comes to love him, even if he'll never say it. Gale knows though.

14. What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?

15. What is their most common argument about?

Gale's ego and ambition. Gale has learned from the events in BG3, but he still thirsts for power in unhealthy ways. He will make plans that involve overstepping boundaries or taking things too far. He eventually sees reason, but they definitely argue about it first.

There are also plenty of arguments that stem from Vaira doing things the githyanki way. Mostly when she's being a little too brutal in training students, or when she's coming across as a little too heartless. She's still undoing a lot of toxic indoctrination and Gale is the first in line to challenge her thought process.

They do argue over Mystra, but not because Gale dated her in the past. It's typically religious/magic arguments because Gale is still very religious. He's on better terms with Mystra, but Vaira is still not her biggest fan. Mystra, on the other hand, couldn't care less about Vaira.

1. Who said "I love you" first, and what was the situation?

Gale. Of course it was Gale. He says it that night they shared under the stars, giving Vaira the courage to eventually say it back.

14. Who is more protective? Who would get into a fight to defend the other? Who tends to the other's wounds?

They're pretty equal on that front. Vaira would slay anyone who harms Gale and Gale would incinerate someone on Vaira's behalf. They would both heal and take care of one another.

They would just have different ways of going about it. Vaira is more upfront in her aggression while Gale will threaten you with a smile.

10. Who is more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning?

Gale would do the convincing. Vaira normally gets up at the crack of dawn. Gale would talk her into coming back to bed. You know he loves his beauty rest and sleeps in.

13. Do they have any "couple traditions", or family traditions?

Vaira doesn't have any family traditions, but she is happy to follow a lot of the Dekarios traditions. This includes a weekly tea with Morena.

Gale and Vaira also have a day set aside once a week for a date night. They go out more often than that, but one night is The Date Night. No matter how busy they are, they'd move mountains to make sure they keep date night.

They start going on regular vacations so that Gale can show Vaira more of Toril, and so that he can also find more magical research. Sometimes that vacation is just a once a month day trip just due to busy schedules.

At the end of the year, they host a dinner for their students at Blackstaff that is cooked by Gale.

They do partake in Gods' Day, especially since its important to Gale.

[oh-hey-its-blue]

Break of Dawn, Chapter 3 (Astarion x Tiefling! Tav)

A/N: I wanted to experiment writing chapters from Astarion's perspective, so that's what this is. Featuring Astarion's awesome flirting skills and vague Gale slander.

Warnings: Brief flashback scene with Cazabitch but nothing too graphic.

WC: 4k

Astarion could not believe his good fortune.

To be fair, he would’ve thought a day spent somewhere besides the palace or someone else’s bed without the threat of a whip to the back would’ve been paradise, but this? This was beyond anything he had dared to hope for.

Which was funny, considering how his day had started.

It was the same as always: woken from a weak trance he had been lucky enough to earn by the tapping of his master’s staff. He had rolled out of his bunk and bent his head as Cazador gave his orders. Ten people by sunrise, no preference for age or sex, but he’d receive something by way of a reward if he found someone blonde. Astarion never questioned his master’s tastes. Success meant dinner, failure meant pain. He had agreed because he had no other option.

Cazador had gripped his chin in a frigid hand, tilting Astarion’s head back until he was forced to meet his master’s eyes. A small smile had crossed his face while he examined Astarion, a cruel sort of fondness in his gaze.

“Your brother fell short of my expectations,” he had drawled in a voice like a breeze through a crypt. “And I have no desire to punish another of my children tonight.” One thin eyebrow had raised. “You won’t disappoint me, will you?”

“No, master.” 

The smile twitched up slightly.

“For your sake, I should hope so.”

Cazador had bent and pressed a kiss against Astarion’s hairline, and it took everything he had to suppress the shudder that almost wracked his body. As Cazador straightened, the grip around his chin suddenly tightened, and Astarion caught a glimpse of what he knew to be the beginnings of Cazador’s irritation.                 

“I gave you the privilege to rest, my child. It is well past nightfall now. Did you not think I would want you ready by sunset?”      

“I’m sorry, master, I—"

A squeeze against his throat and Astarion’s voice had choked off.

“You have taken advantage of my generosity. Perform well tonight, and perhaps I will overlook this slight.” Cazador had given him a long, slow blink. “I told you ten for tonight?”

Astarion nodded, knowing better than to speak. Cazador’s smile split into a full grin, fangs curved over pale lips.

“Bring me fifteen.”

Astarion had dressed as best he could, doing his best to hide the ache deep in his bones and the familiar dagger pain in his stomach. He had passed the kennels on the way out and ignored Petras’s howls from inside. Petras had failed. Astarion would not.

He had walked the halls so many times that he barely registered the servants stalking the passages, fists clenched tightly around their brooms and rags, eyes turned down in permanent subjugation. His thoughts swirled in a spiral of his own mental chastising. He knew better than to oversleep, knew better than to push his master’s limits. Now he was paying the price. Fifteen before the sun came up was near impossible, but it was nothing he hadn’t managed before. Astarion had grit his teeth. He wouldn’t fail.

He was so distracted that he had nearly collided with Dalyria. Astarion hissed and sidestepped her.

“Watch where you’re going,” he had growled at her. Dalyria had just huffed and continued the way he had come from, he caught the faint scent of blood as she passed. He paused and turned back to watch her go.

“You ate?” he called. Dalyria had stopped and tilted her head back.

“I brought the master one of the hunters from the Gur camp. I was rewarded.”                                                                                                      

Astarion’s stomach rumbled at the mere mention of a meal.        

“With what?” 

Dalyria had blinked, and Astarion caught a glimpse of pity. Maybe a bit of guilt.         

“A rabbit.

Astarion could hardly believe it. Two hundred years and he’d never gotten a rabbit. Dalyria flinched as Astarion couldn’t even bother to hide his rage.

“Perhaps if you’re quick tonight, you will be rewarded, too.”

Astarion said nothing as he slipped away. He couldn’t fail now. Not if rabbits were on the table. He’d bring Cazador all the blondes on the Sword Coast if he had to.   

The lamplit streets of Baldur’s Gate were familiar to Astarion as he slinked down the paths to his usual haunts in the Lower City. Yousen had nearly been flayed alive a few nights prior when he’d brought back the son of a wealthy patriar by accident, so the Upper City was currently off limits. That meant seedy bars and sweaty hands ruining his already patched-together clothing, but at least the people there wouldn’t be missed. He could already feel himself going through the motions: drawing his back up straight, fixing his hair, digging roach legs out from between his teeth and wiping the dirt from his skin. Tonight, he was a charming magistrate from the Upper City looking for a pretty commoner to bring back to his estate. Confident, sultry, put-together. For his sake, he hoped he found someone who bought it.

Astarion passed the Elfsong and noticed it was busy but decided against finding a mark there. He’d gone to that tavern the last few nights he’d been sent out and had no desire to draw suspicion, even if the patrons there were usually of a higher class than those that frequented the less popular bars in the city. Instead, Astarion’s feet brought up to the Blushing Mermaid. He wasn’t fond of the sailors and pirates that he pulled there—the one thing worse than their breath was their manners, both in and out of the bedroom—but the Mermaid’s clientele was often a desperate sort. People who had just spent months with nothing but the open ocean for miles and only their own hands for company. Usually, all it took was a whispered promise of ecstasy to get a wayward sailor following on his heels. The quality of any resulting situation was rarely stellar and often painful, but it was nothing Astarion hadn’t stomached before.

He was already running down his reliable list of lines to use on his chosen victim when a sudden gust of air blew past the top of his head. Astarion curled his lip, knowing his hair was now likely in disarray, but a scream further up the street drew his focus away.

It was Baldur’s Gate. Astarion had heard screaming before, often followed by the sound of a coin purse or a stomach getting split open and the footsteps of a thief fleeing the scene before the Fist arrived, but this felt different. It wasn’t a scream of someone being mugged or assaulted. Whoever it was sounded terrified.

He didn’t even get the chance to find out why when a light flared up before him, and even after two centuries of running from the sun Astarion could tell it wasn’t daylight. If his lungs still had breath, he was sure the air would’ve been sucked from him. His ears popped, and the light disappeared.

The next thing he knew, he was in a very tight and very dark place, and for a moment his undead heart seized at just the prospect of being deep underground again. His hands clawed out, terror in his throat. What had happened? Had he passed out? Been attacked? Tears burned in his eyes because he knew it didn’t matter what had happened if he had failed. If one of Cazador’s minions had had to drag him back to the mansion empty handed.

He was back in a coffin, back to endless days of blackness and hunger and—

Astarion’s hands met glass.

The panic waned for a moment, replaced by confusion. His fingers dragged down a cold surface, and now that he wasn’t consumed entirely by fear and actually focused, he could see that the surface in front of him was transparent but fogged up by smoke and his frantic undead breath. Glass, he told himself. Not wood. Not a coffin.          

But that hadn’t answered his question of where he was. Or, more importantly, how much trouble he was going to be in when he escaped.

He was just beginning to formulate excuses and apologies for whenever he next faced his master’s wrath when the glass suddenly lifted away, and Astarion found himself face to face with one of the most hideous creatures he’d ever seen. All tentacles and beady orange eyes, long fingers holding up something squirming, and then he was screaming as his eyelids were pried open and it was shoved into his socket, wriggling all the way down.

Astarion had faded in and out of consciousness after that, wondering if it was all just a bad dream—somehow worse than his usual bad dreams—but soon he felt a shudder through the floor, and the far wall was ripped away. He couldn’t get a good look outside, but he saw a bolt of fire rip through the room. Astarion could do nothing but watch in terror as the room began to burn and hope that he wouldn’t be roasted alive. Well, not alive, but…you know.

Soon after he caught sight of someone moving outside. He had reached up and wiped away some of the fog on the glass and saw the vague outline of a tiefling climbing down from some kind of large pod. The same kind of pod Astarion figured he had to be in. He watched the tiefling straighten out, horns stark against the blaze of flames, and saw their face framed in the light streaming from outside. It was a woman, that much he could tell, but she was sprinting from the room before he had the opportunity make out much else besides that and the symbol of a sun on her chest armor. He didn’t even have the chance to call out for help.                   

Another lurch, and he had no time to stop his head from snapping forward against the glass, and everything went dark again.

Then he was on the beach.

Everything had hurt when he opened his eyes again, more than usual, but that quickly became a low priority problem when he realized he was laying in the sun. Astarion had shot up, every instinct in him telling him to run, but as he stood and looked down to assess the damage, he was beyond shocked to see no blisters, no burns. Instead, just his pale skin, fully exposed to the sun, scratched and slightly bloody but otherwise completely fine. He was standing in the sun. Standing in the sun and he was okay.        

It took another bewildered moment for Astarion to realize another thing. Besides a splitting headache, his mind felt remarkably empty. There was a strange tingle behind his eye, but beyond that, nothing. No voice telling him what to do. No whispered command to cut his own skin or to lay with a person he could not have cared less about. No compulsion. No Cazador.                         

If his headache wasn’t so bad, Astarion would’ve been convinced he had died a second time and somehow slipped into Elysium.

His elation only lasted a moment longer before reality set in, however. He was, somehow, standing in the sun, far enough away that Cazador couldn’t reach him, completely and utterly by himself with no idea where he was or what to do. The familiar rumble in his stomach told him a meal should be a top priority, followed perhaps by a tumble in the river to see if he could manage a swim without his vampiric nature causing the water to make him vomit. Then he needed to find civilization.

Astarion looked around. He needed a plan.                                   

He didn’t know how to make a plan.               

He sighed.    

Maybe the situation wasn’t as great as he thought.

Astarion was standing in front of the wreck of his pod, trying to force his brain to come up with something useful, when he heard a voice over his shoulder. He turned and saw two figures further up the road he’d been standing on, with a third a little bit behind them. Astarion blinked into the sun—his eyes were starting to hurt from the sudden strain—and caught the shape of curved horns and red skin.                  A tiefling. The tiefling. The one that had ditched him on the ship.

Now he had a plan.

A plea for help had brought the woman over, with her two companions following shortly after. A quick lie about one of the mindflayers’ pets in the bushes brought the tiefling close enough to snatch, but not before he caught her eyes and saw a momentary flash of suspicion. Astarion gave her his best smile in an attempt to broadcast that he could be trusted and grabbed her the moment she turned her back on him. Stupid move on her part. Never trust a stranger on the road.

Her companions had started yelling almost immediately as he brought his knife to the tiefling’s throat, and this close he could smell her. The sweat on her skin, the faint whiff of cinnamon underneath, and the blood in her veins. Rich and delicious. Her neck was right there. He felt his mouth begin to water and his stomach reminded him that he was starving. All it would take was a tilt of his head, an open mouth, and he’d be more fed in that moment than he had been in nearly two centuries.                      

There was a blossom of pain against his chin and the tiefling was slipping from his hands. With a start, he realized she had bashed her horns against his face. Bitch.             

Astarion leapt to his feet and held his dagger up as he faced the tiefling and her companions. In the sun, her skin looked red as cherries, but there was something wrong with it. He squinted and caught the raised edges of scars curling over her lower face and down her neck. Burn scars, from the look of it, too old to have come from the burning ship. Even with the scars, the woman was pretty. Attractive. Bright, clever eyes, long dark hair braided down her back. His gaze was drawn to her armor again, and he recognized the symbol of the sun as Lathander’s. The Morninglord had no temples in the city, but his and his followers’ quest against the undead was violent enough that Cazador had taught all the spawn to be wary of those baring the mark of the Dawnbringer. 

Astarion narrowed his eyes. So, not only had the woman left him behind, but she also happened to serve the one god who hated the undead more than anything else? Great. Wonderful. Fantastic.

He had spat out his suspicion towards the woman, accusing her of working for the illithids, to which she had retorted that none of them—neither her nor her companions—had wanted to be on that ship. Apparently, they had gotten something slimy forced into their eyes. Parasites that would turn them into mindflayers by the week’s end if they didn’t find a cure. Astarion felt his heart plummet.

He’d gotten the sun and freedom from his mater in exchange for hideous tentacles. Just his luck.

The tiefling introduced herself as Tav, the brooding half-elf as Shadowheart—ominous—and the human wizard as Gale. To Astarion’s surprise, Tav had extended the offer to him to travel with her group, much to Shadowheart’s immediate and obvious irritation. He had weighed his options. On the one hand, he knew it would be incredibly stupid to follow a Lathanderite whose sole divine mission was to hunt the undead. If she even had the hint of suspicion that he was on her god’s hit list, he was done for.

On the other, Astarion genuinely couldn’t recall the last time he’d been on his own. The last time he had to fend for himself. He had enough sense to know that trying to survive by himself would likely end in disaster, and that his odds improved exponentially when accounting for allies, even if one was Lathander’s pet cleric. Oh, well. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.                                               

Astarion had sheathed his dagger and agreed, layering on his best smile for good measure.

Yes, his luck was certainly on the upswing.     

---

Astarion may have not been a fully-fledged member of society in two hundred years, but that didn’t mean he’d forgotten how to make conversation. A skill the wizard apparently lacked. It had taken less than ten minutes of Gale’s rambling about the wildlife he’d noticed on their journey so far for Astarion to determine that, at the first chance, he was pushing the wizard off a cliff. The half-elf, Shadowheart, wasn’t much better. She was quiet and somber, glaring at him every time he so much as looked her way. Astarion gathered enough to know that she, too, was a cleric, but she wouldn’t say who her patron was.

That was fine enough for Astarion. The only confirmation he needed was that Shadowheart was not another Lathanderite. Her lip had curled when she denied the accusation, and Astarion had the sneaking suspicion that, for all Shadowheart’s bristles, she may have been a kindred spirit.

Then there was Tav. Early on in their trek, had had bounded to the front where she was walking. It was obvious the other two were looking to Tav as some kind of leader, and damned if he wasn’t going to weasel his way into her good graces as soon as he could.

“So,” he had drawled as he sidled up to her side. “What’s a woman like you doing in a place like this?”

He almost bit his tongue from cringing at his own line, but it had gotten an eyeroll and a small grin out of Tav, which he counted as a win.

“A mindflayer ship, same as you.”

“Ah, yes. Of course.”             

He waited for Tav to say something, but she let the attempt at conversation lapse into an awkward silence only broken by Gale’s whistling from behind them. Astarion had cleared his throat and cast a glance at Tav. She was pretty, even with the roping scars across her face and neck.

“What were you doing when the mindflayers got you?” she finally said, obviously feeling his eyes on her. He smiled, slipping into the persona he’d been ready to use on his victims.

“Just some late-night paperwork. I’m a magistrate, back in Baldur’s Gate. Tedious work. I’d stepped outside to stretch my legs when those heathens snatched me up.”                                                         

“Baldur’s Gate?” Tav said, and he had caught a curious look in her eye. “I was heading that way when the mindflayers got me."         

“What buisiness do you have in the city?”

Tav had paused, swallowed, bit her lip.

“Visiting friends.”

Astarion knew a lie when he saw one but hadn’t pressed his luck.

Shortly after that, shouting from up ahead and drawn their attention. Astarion stood back and watched as Tav had jogged up, and when he and the others had caught up with her, they saw Tav speaking to two other tieflings who were pointing at something hung in a cage nearby. Upon closer inspection, Astarion saw it was a gith woman, looking very much like an angry toad, glaring at the crowd below.

Tav was talking in low tones to the tieflings, but the words that reached his ears were in a language he didn’t recognize. The two tieflings had exchanged a glance with each other before walking away. Shadowheart had turned on Tav the moment they were out of earshot.

“You are not freeing are, are you?” she had snapped. Tav had already angled her fingers in the direction of the rope holding the cage above the ground.

“More the merrier, Shadowheart. We need allies.”

“Not if those allies are gith.”

Tav hadn’t waited for any more dissention. She let loose a small flicker of brilliant gold flame that seared the edge of the rope. With a crash, the cage had collided into the ground, freeing the gith inside. Almost immediately, Shadowheart broke into an angry rant that the gith wasted no time in joining. Tav nudged in-between the two, attempting to cool the situation.

“Well, she seems delightful,” Gale had quipped from beside him.

Tav had eventually explained that she and Shadowheart had met the gith woman on the mindflayer vessel, and that apparently the gith had been very adamant on leaving Shadowheart to burn alive in her pod, something Shadowheart was still very clearly upset about. There was some bickering, some swearing, and some mild threats of violence, but both Shadowheart and the gith had eventually fallen into a tense calm.

The gith had introduced herself as Lae’zel before explaining that her people knew a cure for their current predicament, and that the cure was located somewhere she called a creche. Whatever the hells that was. Lae’zel had apparently heard her tiefling captors discussing someone who had seen githyanki nearby, and that must have meant one of their strongholds was in the area.

Tav had then revealed the details of her conversation with the tieflings. Under the guise of needing a healer—which Astarion figured wasn’t quite a lie—she had gotten the tieflings to reveal the location of their encampment: a druid’s grove near the top of the incline, around a mile away. However, the tieflings had mentioned something about the grove not being open to strangers, especially not after dark, so the group had decided to make camp and visit the grove in the morning.

That was almost an hour ago, and the sun was giving out its last bit of light before dipping beneath the horizon. As it turned out, only Tav, Lae’zel, and Shadowheart had the supplies to set up a tent, but the two clerics had extra bedrolls to spare for him and Gale. Lae’zel had found an open patch of grass near the beach that was far enough away from the trees to ease fears about wild animals finding their little camp. It was far from luxury, but anywhere Astarion could lay down without Cazador breathing down his neck was good enough. 

Astarion was setting up his bedroll around the fire Gale had started and found his eyes wandering to Tav. Out of solidarity, she had refused to put up her tent and elected to sleep out in the open with him and Gale. Shadowheart and Lae’zel had not followed her example and were putting their tents up on opposite ends of the clearing. Gale meanwhile had begun walking the perimeter of the camp and was setting up protection spells for some extra insurance against attacks, leaving just Astarion and Tav by the fire. Astarion watched her removing her armor piece by piece, first the large chest plate followed by the tough leather shirt underneath, leaving her in just a loose shirt and leggings. The more she stripped away, the more it became clear how far down her scars ran. Her arms, hands, and upper chest were all mottled with puckered tissue, interspersed with patches of white flesh.

“It’s vitiligo,” she said suddenly. He blinked. Apparently he wasn’t being as subtle as he had thought.                      

“Sorry?”

Tav looked up, and in the dark her infernal eyes almost seemed to glow. She pointed to a spot of white skin just above her elbow, stark against the surrounding red flesh.

“These little patches. It’s a skin condition. My body doesn’t make enough pigment, so sometimes the color gets washed out.” She looked up with a crooked smile. “It’s not contagious.”

Astarion hadn’t even realized he was leaning away from her.                  

“Ah. Yes, of course. I knew that.”

Tav gave him a look that he wasn’t sure was a good one.

“Besides,” continued, looking back down to where she was running a cloth over a crossbow. “You’re so pale already, I doubt it would make much of a difference.”

Astarion huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Don’t blame me for wanting to keep all this,” he gestured up and down his body, “looking its best.” He blinked. “Not that the spots don’t suit you, of course. They’re charming.”

“Thanks. I guess.”

Astarion shot her his best smile, but only saw a slight scrunch form between her full brows. Tav was speaking again before he had a chance to take control of the conversation. 

“Speaking of, not to be rude of course, but I couldn’t help but notice you are rather…pallid.” Tav turned to face him fully, crossbow abandoned in her lap. “Don’t get a lot of sun?”

Astarion met her gaze. There was something in Tav’s expression, a pinch in the corners of her eyes, that he couldn’t put his finger on. So, he shrugged and let an easy grin fall over his face.

“I spend my days in an office, darling. Not a lot of time for sunlight when the Fist have you pouring over every minor case this side of the Chionthar.”

“Are you sick, then? The paleness could be due to…lack of blood flow, perhaps? Poor circulation?” 

Astarion caught the suspicion in her eyes this time. An arc in her brow as she worried the skin of her lip between her front teeth. He cursed himself. Tav was a cleric of Lathander. They were bloodhounds when it came to sniffing out the undead. Combined with the other events of the day, she was definitely on high alert.

So, he smiled. Leaned back onto his hands, purposefully catching the fading sunlight that was streaking into camp past the trees. He didn’t need a mirror to know the rays were directly on his face now.

“Alas, I am but one victim in a long line of porcelain elves. Just be grateful you got me and not my father—staring at him in this light would blind you.”

He wasn’t sure if that was a lie or not. Astarion couldn’t remember his father’s face.

“But I do appreciate your concern, dear. Should I feel under the weather, you’ll be the first I call.”

Tav took a long moment, staring at him in the sun, obviously fighting some internal battle. Astarion watched, begging her to let the matter drop, to turn away, to give him his first easy night in two centuries.

At last, her lips curled up in a slight grin, but he could still see a sliver of hesitation in her eyes.

“Of course. I didn’t mean to be nosey. Cleric’s instincts, you understand.”

“Water under the bridge, darling."

There was a clatter and a shout, and they both turned to look over at where Shadowheart and Lae’zel were bickering over what looked like a broken crossbow. Tav sighed and stood, brushing dirt off her pants as she turned away to calm the storm once again.

“I’ll take the first watch tonight,” he called after her. Tav glanced back, a question in her eyes, but she simply nodded. He watched her go, her tail curled up high against her back, shoulders strong, hair well-combed.

An uneasy feeling stirred in his stomach. Tav was suspicious, and watching him walk in the sun was only going to stop her snooping for so long. Eventually, she was going to start digging like Lathander’s lapdogs always do, and the game would be up when she inevitably found out the truth.

Astarion drew his brows together. Vampires were far from the most well-liked creatures in Faerûn, and he didn’t trust any of the people in camp to let him stay if they found out what he was. At best he’d be cast out, at worst he’d be staked. And as much as Astarion hated to admit it, he knew he’d be useless by himself. Two hundred years deprived of freedom led to rusty survival skills. He needed this group, if for nothing else just to keep him safe for the time being.                More importantly, he needed Tav. Her approval was a necessity to earn his place in her makeshift party. It was just a matter of how to earn that approval.

His stomach growled, and he was once again reminded of how hungry he was.

Tav’s favor was a tomorrow problem. For now, he was going to find himself a godsdamn rabbit for dinner.

[keegansakura]

Unrelated but thanks Tumblr update for highlighting I have mutuals now o-o hi yes hello

Anyways if you wanna ask about or help slander my problem tiefling my box is open

Also got some other DND characters related to the Lore and Lunatics universe if you're curious-

And some non lore and lunatics stuff.. maybe a drabble- idk

Someone looked under my metaphorical internet rock and I don't know what to do

[tomsfoolery]

born to make maps forced to 5,000 word essay (I’m an English major)

map for my oc lore :] the continent (or two continents idk one flood and that little strip is GONE) is called Deoskrotia

rip the korosian empire you wouldn’t have loved the 30 year war over oil between you know who and Norway (I love my lore)

I’ll add the capital cities when I actually name them LOLZ

But korosia’s capital was called Vriqal Spires and it’s mostly abandoned now

and Corvus’s is called Auratovus

ramblings v

uhh Korosia operated under the belief that their land sat atop the slumbering body of a great dragon (save me vaguely dragon shaped continents save me) so they were very environmentally conscious which is why Corvus magically nuked them and destroyed their environment

Belraine used to be a part of Korosia but they broke off thanks to my bg3 durge who is also in my oc lore bc…yeah…and Vael happened to be like the vessel of a god (not Bhaal) so the empress at the time decided it wasn’t worth fighting the god she worshipped over belraine so

Korosia & Belraine are almost entirely inhabited by tiefling/tiefling-like individuals, Korosia has a lot of dragonborn and half-dragons as well tho bc dragons are very important to them which is ALSO why Corvus stole the dragons as their symbol

Dragons & any draconic or reptilian species are very important to Korosia so they have a lot of respect the more scales or wings you have so…y’know

ummm the whole deal between them is Korosia worships the creator god (who actually made most of the stuff) Ilya and Corvus worships Sycorlan, who is also a creator god but didn’t make as much. Ilya & Syc had a falling out over a misunderstanding and Syc basically rewrote history to paint Ilya as evil bc Ilya represents a lot of life cycles n stuff?? Like death must happen to make way for new life n stuff, so Syc used that against him and then beat him so bad Ilya basically died and is forced to reincarnate into vessels that are growing increasingly independent of his wishes. Which is where the lore picks up?

Kosorvo was the ATTEMPT between Korosia and Corvus to get along but Corvus pressured them w/trade embargoes into allying with them so

Nuevas Cantaras isn’t actually a country anymore, but they used to be a very long time ago. Back when the gods Ilya created were still in power Nuevas Cantaras was a huge hub for worshippers of the fire snake god Feu-Ra, however aftee Ilya’s fall he could feel his power corrupting and his control slipping so he trained the daughter of the new fire god to take his fang and slay him which created the Eye of Fire that’s been passed down quite a lot to the other main character in my story (who cannot tie his shoes)

Ilya, after spending several eternities having his name slandered and countless wars, is not nearly as benevolent or kind as he once was so his vessels usually aren’t happy.

Vaelkas is actually the only one of these vessels to break himself away from Ilya and still be alive and it’s because Astarion (yes I yoinked him) found a way to drain him to where he’s almost dead and simultaneously perform a ritual to expel Ilya.

Vyserion was the vessel prior to the one in the main story, he died during the final war between Corvus and Korosia that got Korosia eradicated. Tbh he just wanted to retire and go live on his estate in peace. Now he’s a ghost who bullies/advises the new vessel occasionally and also is currently trying to stage a coup in hell!

Aaaand the current vessel is named Ser and he was rushed to be made (?) bc Ilya wanted him to be the child of the lady who killed Vyserion just to make her go insane so naturally that childhood went very well for ser

And naturally he grows up during a war between Norway & the U.S. over oil reserves (blah blah his “mom” moved from Deoskrotia to earth blah blah) so what better way to avoid being the tool of the god than to be the tool of the military!

Ser is struggling so hard trying to live with a foot in both worlds he is losing his mind thank goodness he has a loving husband (he gets kidnapped) (and slowly falls out of love with Ser bc man’s cannot find his marbles)

[piratemousey]

"Peace on the Road"

Tav and Gale

Affinity Designer (I'm teaching myself still with tutorials and a technique called "What's this do?")

My Tav: Ava Kross, Bard School of Lore

She honors the goddess Tymora who brings luck to adventurers with gold clovers falling like coins on her lute. The pillows are ones she's collected along the road to try and make her tent more comfortable.

This took long but I learned a lot about the program. The background was the last thing I did when I realized they were just in a white space. lol So, the background was a quicky.

If anyone has recommendations or tips about digital art, let me know. I learned photoshop about fifteen years ago in college when I went for fine art. I almost changed my major but then I had to go live with a blue eyed cutie.

Anyway, here's a fanfic for anyone interested in Gale romance.

Tav x Gale

Warning: romancing Gale, act 1 and 2 spoilers, head cannon, kissing, misuse of magic, magic which may not exist but it's a story, Lorroakan slander.

Tav laid quietly in her tent, the only sound the soft notes as she plucked her lute. After a long day on the road, Tav finally cleaned off the mud and crawled into her tent. The camp was quiet. The companions had spent the morning sifting through the remnants of the Duergar village. The underdark was strange for Tav who’d spent her life one the surface, but as she looked through the empty homes of the underdark dwarves, Tav no longer felt satisfied in her victory for the Myconids. Part of her knew that saving the colony was right. The Duergar were servants of the absolute. But it didn’t make it any easier to see children toys, crafting materials, pots and pans. Evidence of life. Life outside of warfare and dark alliances. They had lives and loves. It wasn’t that much different from Baldur’s Gate.

As Tav heard the soft rustle of her tent’s flap being moved, she wasn’t surprised to turn her eyes to find Gale crouched there.

“I didn’t know if you wanted to be alone with your thoughts,” Galen said.

“I can be with my thoughts and you,” Tav said. Gale smiled, looking down in his bashful way. It was funny to Tav that a powerful, daring, ambitious wizard would blush for her.

Gale climbed into the tent, sitting on the inside of the bedrolls where there was room. He sat contented on her overstuffed pink pillow. Tav and Gale had grow closer since the grove and the tiefling party. They shared so much in common; their love of knowledge and all things arcane. They read poetry to one another and recounted countless facts they found fascinating. But, it was more than that. Since the moment they spent in the weave together they’d been comforting one another. It started with a hand on the shoulder, or a touch on the back. It wasn’t something they talked about, it was something that happened. They quickly escalated to hugging.

Tav remembered when Gale hugged her fully for the first time. She’d sent everyone away from a planning meeting in frustration, but Gale stayed. He watched her with his soft brown eyes before he gathered her in his arms. His tenderness moved her and she found her frustrations lulled by the warmth of his affection. Gale held her firmly, and she held him back.

They hadn’t even kissed yet but she felt the connection. The warmth and reactions of love. He was trying to be a good friend. He was burdened by the orb and couldn’t imagine anything else in his life.

But Tav knew she was falling in love.

“Half the trouble is the beach wasn’t the best place for a camp,” Gale said. He moved his fingers in a practiced way, and a soft purple glow surrounding them along the floor of her tent. The soft scent of roses and vanilla encompassed them, sealing out the reality of the world outside.

“It seems I’m not alone in being thoughtful,” Tav said. “The whole camp is quiet.”

“I think everyone is tired,” Gale said. “Most of us haven’t been without the sun for this long, it will effect the mood. The underdark is peaceful though, and beautiful in it’s own way.”

Tav nodded her agreement. “I love the glow of the plants. It makes it more obvious everything around us is alive.” Tav let out a sigh, trying to push away her worries. “I’m probably the only one wondering what happened to the Duergar’s children than,” Tav confided in Gale knowing he’d search for a way to make things right.

“Given the Myconids propensity for recycling, I’d say they’re probably full of mushrooms tending a mushroom garden,” Gale said thoughtfully. Then he looked over at Tav realizing what he’d said. “I’m sure some of them made it to other colonies.” He tried to recover.

“You’re probably right on both counts,” Tav said. She pushed lose hair back from her. “It’s just one of those days you get on the road I guess.”

“We go through a lot in our day to day,” Gale said. “Never mind the hard ground, the cold, the mud, the dead things. We encounter things which test us. My own experimentations aside,” Gale said while he gestured to the scar on his neck from the orb blast. “These tests may not be fun, but there are some which can make us better. Some of them bring rewards which can further our skill and power, some take from us. People like us, we can’t resist the tests.”

“I always tested well but I went to a bard school,” Tav said in a self depreciating way.

“All knowledge brings challenges, none are less than the others,” Gale said. His smile was earnest, his face open like it was when they’d be info-dumping to one another about their interests.

“You don’t believe that,” Tav said with a laugh.

“I do, just because it’s not something I excel at…” Gale said.

Tav chuckled at Gale’s stuttering explanation.

“You don’t think your bard school was important?”

“I think it was important; especially at the time. But, I would have bet Gale of Waterdeep, an evocation wizard with his tower and his Tressym, would find it frivolous.” Tav said. She smiled and kept her tone playful so he’d know she was teasing him.

“You wound me,” Gale said with false discomfort. “I'd never begrudge a bard their own search for truth. You know my love of knowledge is only surpassed by my own self-obsession."

“What a self to be obsessed with,” Tav said. She couldn’t help but flirt with Gale. He was so close and she loved his smile. He looked so handsome and sweet when he smiled.

“If you think I’m bad you should meet this absolute ass of a man I know in Baldur’s Gate. Lorroakan. Thinks if you summon enough elementals and inherit enough magic artifacts from famous cousin’s people will think you’re powerful. He has a fire elemental in library, I understand the necessary for a good firetrap now and then, but surely he sees the danger of a flame creature near books.” Gale was incensed by this Lorroakan and his reckless elementals. Tav loved when he grew impassioned.

“We’ll have to go post up in front of his shop,” Tav said. She gestured with her lute. “I’ll think up some limericks for him.”

“I can provide petty details if you have need of any,” Gale said, looking pleased. “Wizards do love to gossip.”

“A collaboration?” Tav said. She shifted her body on the bedroll. She wanted to draw Gale’s attention to her body, and it worked. She saw him look over her reclining form briefly, his lips parting. “That could benefit us both. Tymora blesses people who share creatively in order to celebrate life, love, all kinds of things.”

“The blessing of a goddess,” Gale said, his eyes finding Tav’s again. “Well, we know the lengths I’d go to for such a favor.” Gale’s eyes were full of his affection for Tav. She’d seen the look before, usually when she wanted him to kiss her the most.

“I know Lady Luck well. I can teach you what you need to know,” Tav said. “She’s a more… giving goddess than some of the others.” Tav kept a soft sexy smile on her lips. She could tell Gale was responding to her innuendo.

“What would your first instruction be?” Gale asked, his voice taking on that soft rumble Tav loved.

“You can come closer if you’d like,” Tav said. She shifted her lute the beside her as if clearing the way for Gale.

Gale moved onto his hands and knees and moved closer. His smile endearing and self-assured. He rested on his elbow beside her. At first it looked to Tav like he might leave a space, but then they were close. They were in each other space and the weight of attraction pressed between them. Tav felt a yearning, she saw it on Gale’s face. He looked over her figure again before his hand rested on her side, the other arm, pushing beneath her back.

The soft perfume of roses had filled the tent only heightening the romantic atmosphere. And the silence of the camp gave the impression of being completely alone.

Tav and Gale gazed into one another’s eyes with desire. Gale rested his head against Tav’s cheek for a moment as he felt overwhelmed with affection. Tav released her lute, leaving the favor of the goddess Tymora for later. She rested her hand on his arm as it held her. Gale eased back to meet Tav’s gaze again. His hand moved from her waist to her cheek, gently tracing her lips with his fingers. Fingers which commanded the weave, hands which could be strong or delicate as needed.

Tav enjoyed Gale’s touch. She wanted to kiss him, but she also wanted whatever tenderness he would show her.

His hand moved under her ear. As Gale titled her head up, she closed her eyes. Their lips met softly. When Gale tilted his head to the right. He separated their lips for seconds. Those seconds drove Tav wild and she set her hand on his wrist. Gale’s lips curled in a satisfied smile as he gave her individual feathering kisses. Then he tilted his head to the left. He leaned into the kiss, pushing her lips apart. Tav scooted closer, her body pressed against Gale’s as their kiss deepened. Tav moved her hand into Gale’s coat, rubbing his chest. Gale’s tongue was pushing against Tav’s own, pushing her arousal. She used her tongue to run down Gale’s before gently sucked on his tongue while her fingers pushed open his collar.

The air shifted and the smell of seaweed drew Tav’s attention from her enjoyment of the moment.

Gale broke their kiss. When Tav looked around, she saw the purple glow was gone. Gale had stopped channeling.

“I’m sorry,” Gale said. “I don’t know why I used a concentration version of the spell. There’s another scent spell that stays around, but I don’t knows your thoughts of woody scents.”

“Did I break the concentration of Gale of Waterdeep?” Tav asked with a sly smile.

“You did indeed,” Gale’s gaze was on hers again, his passion only just beneath the surface.

“That sounds maybe like another test for you to pass,” Tav teased.

Gale laughed, letting his head drop between them. Tav felt so natural and relaxed as they held one another.

“Maybe another time,” Tav said. “I like woody scents, reminds me of the library.”

“Me too,” Gale replied as if their love of the library was almost a new idea. She loved his enthusiasm. Gale leaned onto his side to cast another spell, the warmth of the weave filling the tent again. The scent of heartwood and oak moss.

“That’s lovely,” Tav said watching the soft tendrils of weave which carried the scent.

Gale’s touch drew Tav’s attention. His thumb caressed her neck, his fingers gliding to her chin. He tipped her lips to his again. She let her fingers travel again over the scars on his chest, feeling his heartbeat race again. Tav didn’t know what reaction was occurring, but she knew it made Gale’s passion rise.

Tav and Gale kissed gently and spoke softly to one another as they lay in the haze of their affection. The small tent became an oasis from the troubles of the road and those which had upended their own lives. However, Tav felt conflicted. Amongst the tadpoles, and devil’s deals, fetching heads for giant mushroom people, She’d found Gale. He was wandering into the wilderness to die when the illithid plucked him up for their plans. Tav would never had the chance to meet him let alone fall in love with him. While Tav didn’t hold tightly to the goddess of adventure and luck, she wasn’t lying when she told Gale about the blessings which found people who honored her spirit. Tav didn’t care if she had to thank a goddess, an illithid, or a pack of goblins, she was gifted Gale. Tav wouldn’t lose him to the orb or some goddess’s whims.

💜💙

I know that the game cannon has it’s own romance points. However, my head cannon is that while Gale was defiantly distracted with his own mortality, he and Tav were physically affectionate. The night with the stars, the tour, and the bed was their first time having sex. Gale had separated his emotions and even alone time with Tav from their day to day in his mind, not believing he could have anything good. He continued to wait for Tav to leave him as the pain from the orb grew, but that didn’t happen.

That’s why when he confesses his love he’s desperate and somewhat confused. He never thought he’d find love. He thought his fate was to die. But, in act two he can’t deny their love any longer.

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

book club meeting no. 0

for the @owlcatober prompt 3, reading.

Daeran interrupts Mura reading to have a conversation around the books shes been weighing the party down with, and requests for certain types of books

warnings: none! except some dirty humor about illustrated demon summoning books and a joke that's in line with daerans dialog about certain key figures of the crusades.

The vapid aasimar lounges in her doorway, a book in his hands; A book that should be locked in her chest at the foot of her bed. The bed she's currently sitting on, curled over reading one of the books that caught her eye in the library, just before she finally gave way to exhaustion.

‘And pray tell, why do you think you have the right to rifle through my things?’ a tad defensive, but he revels in evoking such emotion.

‘I was hoping that at least one of the books you decided to make us lug around the city after various mutts and malcontenters would make for more interesting reading than the blandness that counts as reading material in this armpit of the city’ a faux outraged turn of his head, ‘you would think a establishment such as a tavern would have interesting material, not this depravity of culture’ a mock look of dismayed understanding, ‘although i do suppose the damn crusaders got here first and practically leached anything interesting out of this place the second they crosses the threshold’

She volleyed back with a desert dry voice ‘what a shame, i left the heretical books illustrated sex rituals in the dungeon with their creators corpses, i thought i should let their ghosts have some entertainment. And given that you occupy so much of your time and derive so much joy from taunting the crusaders that surround us, I thought that sated your appetite for entertainment. I see my mistake now, and shall seek to rectify it in the future’

‘Surely you could have left some for me?’ he pulled off the pleading look well, but not as well as the tiefling. 

‘If we make it out of here alive i'll commission you a personalized version with all the sacrifices being replaced by her majesty’

And there was the sharp grin that was uncomfortably close to the one that fills her dreams.

‘I will hold you to that, as payment for my suffering among these cruel killer of joy’ his dramatics made him more irritating than endearing, but he was plenty of entertainment by himself, and though she didn't suffer much under the practicality of the current crusaders, the urge to laugh in there face and mock them to the end of the earth for their naivete and piousness was one she fought down often, so having the count voice her slander made some petty part of her sing with joy.

‘Your more than welcome to leave, i believe you should be able to walk out the door’ a dramatic point not out of place on a theater stage, but slightly out of place coming from her wrinkled and creased shirt sleeve, and topped by her cracked nail polish and in some cases torn nails. 

Of course the world had conspired against her appearance in front of the one person in the city who would currently care.

His smug and self assured voice cut through her thoughts, ‘Please you would miss my darling personality’ 

Sharpening her tongue, she lowers her hand and dons a smug grin of her own,  ‘I wouldn't miss the severed heads weighing us down- surely they take up more space than a few books’

A thud through the left wall, and a cut off exclamation accompanied by the sound of swiftly moving hair proved that the tiefling and the half elf had both been, at least to some extent, listening in.

Mentally rewinding the conversation revealed no major conflict, indeed the thief would almost certainly appreciate her joke about the queen, although the rapier wielder was another thing altogether, but one on the fence rather than far out in the field on the opposite side.

The healer in front, on the other hand, had become an order of magnitude more insufferable for his small success in her slip up. Although the jokes on him, given the loudest their conversation got was her sharply revealing the source of the severed heads plaguing the groups various storage's.

Wrapping her hand around the spine of the book splayed open on the covers of her bed, she snapped it shut in an attempt to signal an end to the conversation. 

An attempt that works thankfully, with a mere parting shot of ‘i'll hold you to that promise, and make no promise of my own about hiding the source’ as he turned away to his own corner of the tavern.

A grin slowly built up inside before bursting onto her face as she slipped a hand under her pillow and cracked open the sloppily bound, and disconcertingly bloodstained book hidden underneath.

A delightful read, and insight into the warped minds of the cultists they were fighting, even if some of them were, let's say, lacking imagination. Maybe it would even find its way under the pillow of a certain counts chair.

A book club sounds like the perfect idea to promote conversation and bonds between the ragtag group- she couldn't wait to see what books the count managed to find if it did go ahead.

[theamethystofficial]

The Amethyst & The Prince: Volume I - chapter one

A/N: hi! i'm very excited to share this with you. it's been on my mind since november, and i've finally gotten the chance to edit and upload it! also, this is my first time uploading a fic to tumblr as well as ao3 -- let me know how you like it!

ao3. | hub post.

If it were up to Mollymauk, they’d be enjoying themself outside on a fine day like this. The sky outside is a pristine blue, kept clear by the silent breeze that causes the powder-white curtains framing the half-open window to flutter. Idly, they watch a scene of two children running through the maze below with a faint smile.

What they wouldn’t do to be down there themself, enjoying the lovely day outside.

“Mx. Tealeaf.”

In an instant Mollymauk’s attention returns to the frowning man sitting across from them. Right, they were in the middle of a conversation – one they’d struggled to pay attention to. On the napkin their host’s tucked into his collar, he somehow managed to acquire an assortment of biscuit crumbs. He wears them more as an accessory than anything, they think but don’t say aloud.

“Are you even listening to anything we’ve been saying?” he asks. There’s a faint look of contempt on his face, just barely concealed. Reflexively, the tiefling starts to smile in a quiet apology as they roll their eyes internally. They hate to-dos like this. Everything is so stuffy here – the people, the room. Even the birds outside seem to be bloated, stuffed to the brim with something pompous and powdery.

“Oh, love, that’s just how these kinds of people are.” The man beside him waves a hand. There’s no disguising the distaste in the smarmy smirk he gives Mollymauk. “Very little going on upstairs, dear. That’s exactly the kind of personality to be expected from someone like the Ruby of the Sea. Only good for pretty faces.”

Any attempt at defending themself dies in an instant. Mollymauk turns their gaze to the other man, gaze scrutinizing. A pretty face, huh?

“I’m flattered that you think my employer and I are pretty.” The tiefling sits straighter; a hand reaches for their cup of tea. “I can promise you, however, the Ruby is more than a pretty face. There’s a reason she’s treasured by the Menagerie Coast.”

The smarmy one’s husband chuckles into his cup of tea. “Oh, I can think of two reasons she’s treasured by the sailors.”

Mollymauk’s blood boils at that. Their eyes narrow at the man. Their rage hides behind a pointed smile as they focus on the magic coursing through their blood. The chuckling man’s eyes turn black in an instant, ichor leaking from them.

“Oh my,” they say, doing their best to sound concerned. “Are you well? You should get that looked at. I hear it’s an affliction quite common in people with hearts blackened by envy.”

As the two men fuss over the ailment, Mollymauk calmly stands and dusts off their dress. “I’ll leave you to handle this pressing matter. If you can stomach the thought of sharing a room with a harlot such as the Ruby of the Sea, you are more than welcome to write her an apology for this undeserved slander.” Their polite smile melts into a disdainful snarl. Easily they switch from common to infernal. “Respectfully, I hope you two have the day you deserve.”

With that parting sentiment, the tiefling turns and walks outside. They give Yasha, the aasimar woman at the carriage, a pleasant smile before climbing inside.

“So…I’m guessing that went as well as we were thinking it would.”

Mollymauk scoffs lightly, looking out the window of the carriage as they start the trip back home. They catch their reflection in the glass. A striking lavender face, made up with the nicest makeup found in the colorful city of Nicodranas. Their eyes glint red in the glass. Crimson as long as they can remember. Marion said their eyes made them special. Some days, like today, they find them unsettling. Abruptly they look back to Yasha.

“I hate this place,” announces the tiefling with a cross of their arms. “Full of frigid people who think they’re better than everyone else just because they’ve got more gold. More – education. It’s infuriating being in the same room as them.”

Their friend gives them a sympathetic look. Despite her intimidating frame, she has her gentle moments. “They didn’t hurt you?” she asks.

“Not at all. They couldn’t hurt me – even if they wanted to. And I’m sure they did.” Wryly Mollymauk grins. “I gave them quite the spook, though. But…we’ll probably never hear from them again. I hope not.”

“Who needs them, anyways? We certainly don’t.” Yasha lifts her head with a smile. “I’ve had better booze in the worst of dingy taverns. Their cherry wine’s got nothing on a pint of the good stuff from Killian’s Last Stand.”

That gets a chuckle out of Mollymauk. “I’d drink to that, if I could. Well said, love.” With a sigh they look out the window again. “Shit, I could go for a drink after that, personally. Detour?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

The dive bar they find is positively grimy, but full of life. It seems to be the exact opposite of the house they’d just come from. With a deep breath in, Mollymauk takes in all the rancid smells of the place, before exhaling with a pleasant sigh.

“Now this is where I belong,” they announce. “This is more like it.”

The pair squeeze into a couple of bar stools, with Mollymauk offering the bartender a smile and wave. Hopefully they don’t stand out too much in their nice dress. For a moment they fret over it, before shaking it off. If anyone tries anything, Yasha won’t be too far behind to keep them out of trouble.

“Wonderful! Positively splendid.” Mollymauk’s smile is bright as the bartender sets down a pair of tankards in front of the two. “Thanks very much, friend.” They receive a grunt in response, which makes them chuckle.

“At least that was the only errand you had today,” says Yasha after a deep swig from her tankard. She wipes away the sudsy mustache on her lip. “If you had something else to do after that, I was wondering if we’d need some sort of excuse for you to return to the Chateau early. Some sort of head cold, or stomach bug.”

“I appreciate you looking out, love,” Mollymauk says with a chuckle. “Honestly, I’m not sure how well I’d have been able to do that song and dance again after being called a brainless piece of eye candy just now.” Their nose wrinkles at the thought; they push it away with their own swig of ale. “But! That’s all behind us now, yeah? No need to ruminate.”

“The next one will be better.” Yasha gives a single nod, before looking down at the tiefling. “And if it’s not…well. I could always teach them a lesson or two, if you need me to.” With a raise of her eyebrows, she presses a fist into her hand, then grins.

“Tempting, certainly. I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

Their pleasant conversation is interrupted by a commotion at the door. Turning, Mollymauk watches a half-elf stroll in. His suit is covered with patches, but still looks quite smart on him. Perhaps it was the finely curled mustache that tied the whole thing together, or the top hat. The gentleman looks around the tavern for a moment before catching the tiefling’s gaze.

“Well, I have never seen folks more in need of a good time than you two,” he says as he approaches. His voice is full of bravado. The air of a performer is hard to miss as he offers Yasha and Mollymauk each a flier. “Fortunately for you, the Fletching and Moondrop Traveling Carnival of Curiosities is in town! Only a couple silver to get in. Best coin you’ll ever spend in your life. You’ll be changed people after this show, or my name isn’t Gustav Fletching!”

“A carnival?” echoes Mollymauk, eyes widening. “That sounds lovely.”

“Doesn’t it just? We’ve got all sorts of performers, refreshments – even a trinket or two to decorate your shelves at home! I promise you, Ma’am, it’s worth peeking your head in for a moment.” Gustav’s smile falters for a moment. “Or – Sir? Sorry.”

The tiefling waves their hand. “After the day I’ve had, I’m not concerned with either, really.” They look to Yasha, who’s studying the flier with a furrowed brow. “We’ll think on it,” they finally say to the half-elf, who folds in a half-bow.

“What do you think?” Mollymauk asks once Gustav leaves. After another moment of silence Yasha shrugs, offering a hum.

“Seems a bit…garish,” she finally says. “Very flashy and loud. I say we just finish up here and go back to the Chateau.” *

Now it’s Mollymauk’s turn to go silent. They look at the flier in their hands, admiring the way it sparkles and glints when they hold it a certain way. It’s tacky, sure, and likely not worth the two silver admission, but they can’t deny there’s something charming about the idea of a traveling circus.

“What if we just…ran away on one of these trips,” they say abruptly. “Join a show like this. We could go anywhere we’d like! And we wouldn’t have to worry about offending stuck-up ‘friends’ of Marion’s, who aren’t really her friends, but who pretend to be.”

Yasha’s chuckle is a surprised one; they’re surprised by the sheepish expression on her face. “I’m not sure about all of that, Molly. I don’t think I’d do too well in one of these shows. Not the best performer, you know.”

“Oh, nonsense. You’re the charm! Everyone would love you.” Mollymauk gently bumps her shoulder with theirs. “And if they didn’t, they’d be too scared to tell you that.” Their smile fades a little as they look back at the flier. “I just think…we could be free, y’know? To do whatever we’d like. See the world. No obligations.”

“You might be free, but you wouldn’t be respected.” The gruff voice behind them seems to come from out of nowhere. Abruptly Mollymauk turns to see the bartender scowling at the door, where Gustav had recently left with a wave and a lift of his hat. “My daughter left to join one of ‘em shows last summer. She came back not a month later, cryin’ about how everyone treated her like absolute shite. You join a sideshow like that, you’re beggin’ to be spat on. Just how the world is nowadays.”

Mollymauk blinks in surprise, looking at Yasha. She offers a quiet shrug, just as confused as they are. After a moment the tiefling leans in. “Sorry to hear about your daughter. If you don’t mind me asking, what was her – I dunno, her act?”

“She’s always been pretty skilled with a pair of swords. I think her stage name was the Whirling Dervish of the Menagerie.” A proud smile tugs at the corners of the bartender’s lips. “She was small, but a ball of righteous fury when she had to be. Menace when she was younger, though. This place? I’ve had to redo the roof three different times.”

“Sounds like she was quite the handful.” Neatly Mollymauk folds the flier in half, tucking away the thought for now. “I’d love to hear every story you have of her, if you don’t mind.”

By the time they leave, the sun’s settled just behind the point of the red and white striped tent that’s appeared just on the edge of town. Yasha’s left to get the carriage ready for the trip back, leaving Mollymauk to stand just outside the doors of the tavern. Wistfully they watch people filter through the canvas doors of the tent, disappearing into a world of whimsy.

What was it like, they wondered, to have a home that never stood still? Maybe one day they’d find out. Hopefully that day would come soon.

“Molly?” The sound of hoofsteps behind them brings the tiefling back to the present. Yasha tilts her head at them as she brings the carriage to a stop. “Ready to head out? Marion might be worried if we take any longer.”

Right. They were the Amethyst, first and foremost. Waiting back at the Chateau was a job, and responsibilities that came with it. Shaking their head, Mollymauk offers her a smile as they approach.

“Sorry about that. Just thinking. Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

[choccy-zefirka]

Faerun is a fantasy world with a mish-mash of real-life historical period inspirations, where you can travel around a faux Medieval town with your pockets full of literal potatoes while inter-dimensional spaceships loom overhead, you are being slandered in a local newspaper, and one of the villains is creating clockwork inventions and bickering you in a videocall on a submarine. You can brew potions that increase or shrink your size. Your camp is a sprawling array of cluttered tents that somehow fit into a tiny backpack. Historical accuracy flew out the window the moment an evil psychic squid shoved a tadpole in your eye.

Even then. Real-life strongmen and weightlifters are often fat. It's the optimal built for the kind of feats of strength they perform. So if anything, it's unrealistic for a character that swings a heavy warhammer to be a tiny twig or a severely dehydrated bodybuilder.

Plus, the distribution of fat tissue is often a genetic trait, as much as height or hair color. I can't name the studies to back it up off the top of my head, but I recommend checking out a blog like @worth-beyond-a-number-scale for sources. If your fantasy characters can have horns, claws, tails, shiny fantasy eyes and naturally pink hair, why not give them body diversity as well? Just as a fun character design feature?

Larian has already opened the in-game world for other marginalized groups to see themselves in. You can have all kinds of romance, as do NPCs around you, both major and minor; one of the Tiefling kids is clearly meant to be autistic; there's talk about an Archduchess who had to use mobility aids after suffering a stroke. Why stop the representation there? Why limit fat bodies to villains and monsters?

Finally, English is not my native language, but I have seen native speakers point out that "obese" and its derivatives are slurs, because the word comes from the Latin word for eating, and thus perpetuates the stereotype that eating in excess is the only cause of fatness, which could not be further from the truth.

as much as I love Baldur's Gate 3 it is. Baffling and infuriating that there is nobody online talking about how in a world as massive and populated as this game's there are 0 fat people in it, anywhere, at all, when we had body sliders in Fallout 3 fifteen fucking years ago

If you want Boy body type you get to be hunk and More Hunk and if you want Girl body type you get to be skinny or skinny with muscles and that's WEIRD, right? It's weird that no one's talking about that?? This is a bizarre regression from a game that advances so much and I would have happily waited another whole year of development for a body slider feature