#whats his last name is it really ravengard

[sangpires]

preorders for stickers up!

come get ya villagers

[vixstarria]

The Sheath of Frontiers

So, in light of the disparity between the amount of Wyll content compared with the other companions, I felt it would be prudent for my Tav and Astarion to seduce him. Enjoy!

AO3

Astarion x F!Tav x Wyll

18+, humour, smut, threesome, soft dom/service top Astarion, sub/bottom Wyll, Tav and Astarion are both little shits, anal etc

This is probably more really lewd and descriptive comedy than erotica, you have been warned.

Approx. 3,400 words (gods, these things just keep getting longer and longer)

Written in 3rd person, and Tav's name is... *drumroll* Tav. Hey, I don't know who you want to relate to here, take your pick.

Tav, Astarion and Wyll occupied a booth at the Elfsong. They were the last ones still up drinking after a long day roaming the city. 

“But don’t you ever feel... tempted?” Astarion threw Wyll a sultry look from beneath his eyelashes, circling the rim of his wineglass with one finger.  

Tav had been watching the subtle seduction show unfold for the past while. She wasn’t sure whether Wyll was oblivious to Astarion’s flirtation, or impervious to it, but either way, the man would not budge.  

“Call me a hopeless romantic, but I want the moment to be special for my one and only. Anticipated. Meaningful. And what could hold more significance than waiting until after marriage vows?” Wyll answered. 

“Yes, yes, you are ever the romantic hero and want to make it ‘special’ for your chosen one, blah blah...” Astarion rolled his eyes, sipping his wine spiked with Tav’s blood. “But you’ve admitted you’re no virgin, it’s not as though you’re ‘saving yourself’ for anyone. What about casual no strings encounters? Simple carnal lust, for hells’ sake!” 

“You never know when or where you might find true love. Wouldn’t want to accidentally spoil it from the beginning,” Wyll said, with a smile and a head shake. 

Astarion threw a quick look of pure vexation at Tav, as she tried to hide her laugh behind her own goblet. She’d told him he wouldn’t be able to crack the ‘Blade of Frontiers’ - something he took as a personal challenge.  

“Hmm... You know, you should marry us!” Astarion suddenly exclaimed. “I would make an exemplary spouse for a duke! You should see me entertain at balls. Tav might be found to be acceptable as well, after a good scrub.” 

Tav threw a piece of pie crust at Astarion in response. 

“We wouldn’t accept your proposal without a test ride, though,” Astarion warned.  

“What, marry both of you? ...First of all, polygamy is not legal.” Wyll seemed a bit thrown off by the sudden change in the direction of the conversation.  

“So make it legal, the reigns of power are in your hands. Or will be,” Astarion shrugged. 

“Astarion, we both know the entire legal system would collapse if polygamy was to be permitted officially. Can you imagine all the complications? Especially all the implications it would bear for noble families and their hereditary lines of succession,” the future Duke Ravengard rambled.  

“I see what you’re saying, and I agree, but there could be a provision to allow persons who are unable to produce heirs to marry into the noble families as secondary spouses,” Astarion countered. “And you could always implement obligatory prenuptial agreements to simplify asset division.” 

Tav screamed inwardly: once Astarion started talking legalese the only way to get him to shut up was by literally occupying his mouth with something else, one way or another. 

Meanwhile, Wyll shook his head. 

“That would only serve to provide obligation-free unfair advantage to such persons,” he said. “It is nothing but furthering nepotism.” 

“I see nothing wrong with persons gaining unfair advantage, as long as I am those persons,” Astarion parried. 

“I could marry Tav and provide you with some kind of concubine status, if you wish,” Wyll suggested. 

“Not interested,” Astarion scoffed, sipping his wine. “I’m afraid we’re a package deal.” 

Tav groaned in frustration and got up.  

“I’ve had enough of this. Wyll, you don’t need to worry about spoiling any 'precious moments’ here - neither Astarion nor I have any interest in letting you make honest people of us anyway.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Astarion muttered with a huff, sipping more of his wine. 

“Shut up, Astarion,” Tav threw. “I’m going upstairs, and I, for one, intend to fuck this vampire before the night is over. Are you coming with us or not?” 

Astarion choked on his drink. If this was all it would take to lure the Blade into their bed – Tav would never let him live it down. 

“I uh... I must confess – I have never done that before,” Wyll said, visibly flustered. 

“What, fuck a vampire? Most people haven’t.” Tav shrugged. 

“Not that either, but what I meant was... be intimate with a man,” Wyll forced out. 

He jumped a little as he suddenly found Astarion’s lips a hair’s breadth away from his ear. He hadn’t noticed the vampire inching closer to him. 

“Would you like to..?” Astarion purred. 

“It’s nothing you haven’t done yourself hundreds of times, what’s so shameful and difficult?” Tav teased. 

“That's not true,” Wyll protested.  

Tav tilted her head and shot him a look that said ‘oh please’. 

“No, I mean that. Ever since I... entered that contract, I’ve hardly ever indulged. Never know when she might be watching. ...Doesn’t your patron ever watch as well..?” 

“Sometimes...” Tav mused. “But after a while it’s like fucking with a cat in the room. You learn to ignore it. As long as it doesn’t jump on the bed and sniff your asscrack while you’re in the middle of it, it’s fine.” 

“Ahem,” Astarion cleared his throat. “Can we please concentrate on the matter at hand?” 

Astarion sat on the edge of the bed in full naked glory as Tav, also in a state of almost total undress, sat behind him, resting her chin on his shoulder, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other stroking his cock.  

Meanwhile, Wyll perched on the opposite edge of the bed, trying to look anywhere but at the couple in front of him.  

“Eyes down here, darling,” Astarion drawled. “If Miz-” 

“Don’t say her name!” 

“If that skank decides to show up, she’ll get more than she’s bargained for.” 

Wyll finally allowed himself to gape openly at the scene in front of him.

Astarion’s cock was surprisingly thick and veined, and flushed at the tip. Perhaps it was the only part of him that could be flushed with blood. Wyll tried, habitually, to distract himself from his own arousal with thoughts of the workings behind vampire erections, to no avail – his own cock was straining against his pants almost painfully. He observed, almost in a state of a surreal daze, as Tav used her thumb to spread a new bead of precum over the head of Astarion’s cock, and reflexively licked his lips.  

She noticed and let out a satisfied hum. 

“Why don’t you come help?” she purred. 

“Hmm?” Wyll seemed to snap out of his daze. “You want me to take over..?” 

“No, like I said, this is hardly something you haven’t done before – try something new.” Tav grinned. “Why don’t you come down here and kneel in front of him?” 

Somehow, Wyll’s legs got him down onto the floor between Astarion’s thighs. The vampire himself leaned back against Tav, his head thrown back over her shoulder, with a vague smile on his lips. 

“Really...?” Wyll breathed a shaky laugh. “I thought we would start with some baby steps. Maybe a kiss..?” 

“No, no darling...” Tav cooed. “Don’t be silly. Kissing is way too intimate. Just lick his balls for now.” 

Still not quite believing what was happening, Wyll went ahead and did as he was told. Two things, he noticed immediately. One, the overwhelming scent of Astarion’s musk was making his head spin. He wanted to simply bury his nose in the spot between his shaft and balls and inhale, but he wasn’t sure whether that would be appropriate. And two, his ministrations immediately made Astarion groan, the sound sweet music to his ears. 

By then Tav had moved out from behind Astarion’s back and lounged on the bed next to him, her hand still stroking his cock, and watched Wyll’s efforts. 

“Good boy,” she purred approvingly. 

“Love?” Astarion said.  

“Hmm?” Tav hummed. 

“You talk too much.”  

Wyll watched Astarion push her head, quite unceremoniously, down towards his groin. She let out a somewhat annoyed sound, but went right on, taking his cock in her mouth. 

“Finally, some silence,” Astarion groaned.  

Once again, Wyll found himself gawking at the display now mere inches before him, as she worked the length of Astarion’s erection with her lips, her cheeks hollowing - obviously a practiced motion for the two, as they entered a familiar rhythm, Astarion’s hips bucking up, his fingers tangled in her hair, as she bobbed her head.  

Tav’s eyes met Wyll’s, and she released Astarion’s dick from her mouth, with a loud plopping sound and a sigh. She lifted Wyll’s chin with one finger.  

“Now you can take over,” she whispered, getting up.  

Wyll hesitated, taking Astarion’s cock in his hand.  

‘Huh... Not cold at all,’ he thought.  

“Don’t tell me the Blade is intimidated,” Astarion taunted. 

Wyll tried to think of a witty retort, but, for once, his mind was blank, and in any event it hardly seemed appropriate to orate and put on heroic airs whilst on his knees between Astarion’s legs. He decided it would be prudent to simply put the dick in his mouth.  

Tav had made it look so easy... She slurped that thing up like a horse with a carrot. But Wyll found himself struggling, despite quite enjoying the taste and sensation of tender skin on his tongue. 

Astarion sucked his breath in, with a hiss.  

“Teeth...” he said. “We keep our teeth behind our lips, darling.” 

Wyll tried to mumble an apology without removing Astarion’s cock from his mouth.  

“And don’t talk with your mouth full. Gods, you’re from a decent family, haven’t they taught you any manners..? ...There, that’s better.” 

“Is he doing a good job?” Wyll heard Tav’s voice somewhere in the room.  

“Well...” said Astarion.  

“Hey!” she exclaimed. “Wyll, honey, you know you can bite him if he’s mean to you, right? You’re the one with the power here, right now.” She got back on the bed, holding something in her hand. “But why are you still dressed?” she laughed.  

Wyll released Astarion from his mouth and fumbled with his clothing. Meanwhile, Tav had slid onto Astarion’s lap, and they busied themselves with each other. Their sheer hunger for one another, as they kissed and exchanged caresses, made Wyll feel like a third wheel, but Tav quickly turned her attention back to him.  

“My love, I think he’s bored,” she said to Astarion. “Should we wake Halsin up again?”  

“Are you trying to educate or traumatise him..?” Astarion murmured in response. “But that reminds me of something...” 

Astarion positioned Tav to sit on his lap with her back against him, guiding her onto his cock. She moaned as he entered her, his knees spreading her legs as his hands roamed her body, stroking between her legs as he bucked his hips up into her.  

“It was such a breathtaking view, I thought he would enjoy it as well,” he murmured. “Like what you see?” he directed at Wyll. 

Nothing in Wyll’s life had prepared him for this. Eyes locked on the spectacle before him, he had at last begun stroking himself, staying in time with Astarion’s movements. He didn’t notice as Astarion went to whisper something in Tav’s ear.  

“Do you want to taste her?” Astarion goaded.  

“Yes,” Wyll breathed, leaning forward. 

“Ah ah! Not like that.” Astarion intercepted him, pulling out of Tav. She got up, returning onto the bed with a giggle. Astarion’s cock glistened with her juices.  

“Go ahead now,” Astarion purred. 

Wyll eagerly took Astarion into his mouth again. Tav’s taste on Astarion’s cock combined with Astarion’s own precum was absolutely divine, and Wyll greedily lapped up as much as he could.  

“Much, much better this time...” Astarion purred approvingly. “Consider that a little treat... But that’s enough now. Come here...” Astarion pulled Wyll up by one of his horns, directing him onto the bed and pushing against his chest until he was on his back.  

Tav angled a pillow under his head so his horns wouldn’t get in the way, and laid down on her side near Wyll, and smiled at him, lightly caressing his face with her fingertips. Wyll’s heart beat like a mad thing trying to break out of its cage, as Astarion crawled on top of him, with a predatory look in his eyes. 

“So just how... ‘intimate’ were you thinking of getting?” Tav asked, softly.  

Wyll swallowed hard as Astarion emitted a soft growl and started kissing down his neck, his hand slowly working its way up the inside of Wyll’s thigh.  

“Is this about my blood, or are we now well enough acquainted to kiss..?” Wyll managed. 

Astarion lifted his head with a small sigh. 

“She’s asking whether the Blade might want to become a sheath for a spell,” he explained.  

Wyll found himself at a loss for words again.  

“...Can’t the Blade remain a blade?” he asked, finally.  

“That’s not on the table today, darling,” Astarion shook his head. “But we can entertain ourselves in other ways.” 

“Well then I uh... I think yes maybe..?” Wyll sputtered. 

“Yes what..?” Astarion asked, his voice low and husky, rolling over to lay on Wyll’s other side. “Do you want me to fuck you? Say it.” 

Any words Wyll might have said died somewhere between his racing heart and his suddenly parched throat, but his cock twitched visibly, jerking up and landing with a resounding thud on his abdomen.  

Tav and Astarion both turned their heads at the impressive display. 

“Why don’t I take it slow, and you can tell me if you want to stop at any moment..?” Astarion asked, unable to contain a grin. 

Wyll did not object to that. 

Tav had been trailing her fingertips lower and lower, leaving feather light caresses on Wyll’s skin, until she reached his straining erection. Meanwhile, Astarion had reached for the object she’d retrieved earlier. It turned out to be a vial with some kind of oil.  

“You’re in expert hands, you know,” she whispered in his ear. “I’ll admit, I’m actually excited for you.” 

Wyll watched Astarion pour some of the oil on his fingers. Lying between Tav and Astarion, he gained the distinct impression of having a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other.  

‘Who am I kidding?’ he thought. ‘They’re both devils.’ 

Tav reached and took his cock in her hand, just as Astarion spread some oil on it, before moving down to cup and gently tug on his balls with his hand. 

“Ah, you weren’t kidding about bumps and ridges!” Tav giggled. “My, they look fun!” 

“Bring your knees up,” Astarion purred.  

Wyll swiftly complied, and the vampire went to nibble on Wyll’s earlobe as his hand slipped lower. His finger circled and teased his puckered hole, while Tav continued to stroke his cock. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Astarion whispered in his ear. 

“Hnngaa-ah!” said Wyll, bringing his knees higher. 

Tav and Astarion exchanged a look.  

“I think that meant ‘no, don’t stop’,” said Tav.  

“I think so too,” Astarion agreed. “Very well.” 

Astarion applied more and more pressure as he teased Wyll’s hole.  

“Try to relax,” he purred, working a single finger in. “Breathe... It’s just a finger, for crying out loud.” 

Wyll whimpered, his cock twitching again, to Tav’s immediate delight, as Astarion continued to gradually work his digit in further, thrusting in and out, spreading more oil in and around.  

“That’s it,” Astarion whispered. “I think we can add one more.” 

Astarion’s thrusting had grown more persistent, as he added another finger, all the while watching Wyll’s expression with a lidded gaze.  

Wyll was finding himself being reduced to a blushing, mewling mess, throwing his head back as much as his horns would allow, with his eyes shut.  

Tav had begun licking and nibbling on his neck. 

“Do you like it?” Tav purred, as Wyll nodded. “Think you’re ready for more?” 

“Yes,” he whispered, almost inaudibly, rolling his hips in time with Astarion’s fingers now. His cock was leaking obscene amounts of precum onto Tav’s hand as she continued to play with it. 

“Get down here then,” Astarion directed him closer to the edge of the bed without pulling his fingers out.  

“Do be gentle, Astarion, it’s his first time after all,” Tav called out as Wyll slipped out from her hand, drawn after Astarion. She got up to wet a washcloth in the basin, leaving it within Astarion’s reach.  

‘Is that..? Oh. Well, that makes sense.’ Wyll’s scrambled brain thought.  

“Well, if I can’t marry into the Ravengard family, I guess I’ll settle for deflowering the heir,” Astarion grinned. 

Wyll let out an involuntary whine as Astarion’s fingers left his ass. 

“Don’t worry, darling, there’s more on the way,” Astarion drawled.  

Wyll watched Astarion spread more oil on his own cock, before falling back again, shutting his eyes and whimpering in anticipation.  

Astarion set a torturously slow pace as he worked his cock in, stretching Wyll more and more with slow, shallow thrusts that gradually grew deeper and deeper. 

“Good...” Astarion groaned, slowly sliding in and out of Wyll almost fully now. “Who knew you’d be so good...” 

He picked up the pace, setting a steady rhythm with his thrusts once it was clear Wyll was comfortable with it.  

“So how does it feel to be fucked?” Astarion asked with a devilish grin.

“Oh leave him be, he’s already going through a lot” Tav cut in, reclining near Wyll again.  

Wyll looked up at her. She was smiling at him so sweetly... He reached towards her. 

“I didn’t say you could touch her,” Astarion warned with a forceful thrust, making Wyll yelp. 

“I wouldn’t anger him, if I were you,” Tav whispered, slowly running a finger down between the ridges of his muscles. “He still holds a grudge about your little seduction attempt back in the Shadow-Cursed Lands, you know.” 

“What in the hells are you two gossiping about..?” followed from Astarion.  

“My heart, he’s doing so well, don’t you think he’s earned another little treat?” Tav asked Astarion, ignoring his question.  

“I’m the only one here who’s earned any treats,” Astarion muttered. “But sure.”  

He slowly pulled his hard length out of Wyll. 

“On your feet!” 

Wyll scrambled up, bending over the edge of the bed. Tav stayed on the bed, edging over to sit before him with her legs spread. 

“Still want a taste?” she purred with a wicked smile. 

Astarion entered him again, with a perhaps slightly too forceful thrust, making Wyll collapse face-first between Tav’s legs. With a groan, he plunged his tongue between her folds, earning a moan from her.  

Wyll’s efforts might have been somewhat sloppy, but he made up for it in sheer enthusiasm as he lapped at her, eagerly. 

Unbeknown to Wyll, Astarion caught Tav’s eyes and raised a questioning eyebrow at her. She shrugged and waved her fingers in a ‘so-so’ motion back at him. Astarion nodded with a roll of his eyes.  

Wyll was caught off-guard when Astarion reached around him to take his neglected cock in his hand.  

“Let’s get you off and let you rest, little prince,” Astarion murmured.  

His cool hand was firm and practiced in a way that Tav’s simply could not be, its deliberate movements incessantly urging Wyll towards a release. 

Wyll completely lost all traces of composure and simply moaned between Tav’s legs as Astarion worked him.  

“Can’t multi-task, darling?” Astarion teased. “That’s alright, I’ll finish that job myself later as well.” 

Wyll lifted himself on his arms, trying to push his hips back against Astarion’s as Tav slipped out from under him. 

“Alright, give him a peck, I know he wants one so desperately...” Astarion said begrudgingly. 

Tav returned to lift Wyll’s head and kissed him, tenderly, her tongue swirling and dancing against his, as Astarion continued to fuck and stroke him.  

“I said a peck! Gods, woman, offer you a hand – you'll take the whole arm, every time.” 

Astarion’s grip on Wyll’s cock tightened, his hand speeding up, until Wyll couldn’t take it anymore and finally erupted, crying out and whimpering into Tav’s mouth, as he spilled a thick and well overdue load onto the sheets as Astarion continued to stroke him.  

He was still gasping, trying to catch his breath when Astarion slid out of him, giving Wyll's ass a loud smack, before wiping himself and Wyll down.  

At last, Wyll collapsed on the bed next to Tav.  

“Gods...” was all he could muster.  

Astarion gave him a self-satisfied smirk as he joined them on the bed, kissing his way up Tav’s leg.  

“Now shall I show you how to actually satisfy a woman? So you know what to do with your ‘one and only’ later?” 

~~~~~

Hope you enjoyed, this work is part of a series, check out the rest of it

AO3

~~~~~

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[sparrowsarus]

A defense of Ulder Ravengard

Ulder Ravengard starts his life as the 4th son of a blacksmith, and it is implied that Ravengard Senior talks in grunts, and hardly acknowledged his children.

So with that foundation, a young Ulder fucks off and joins the Flaming Fist--a mercenary company with an identity crisis, cops and soldiers and mercs, and damn is Baldur's Gate's government dysfunctional.

At some point, he falls in love with a woman named Francesca, who dies in childbirth. That's all we get of her--and that only if you happen to read some flavour text on Ulder's sword. He tells his crying son that it will be alright, and he doesn't seem to believe it.

It is much, much easier to get the other flavour text on Ulder's mace--how he didn't want to be like his father, but felt a distance between him and his newborn son. Some people say this is proof that Ulder never loved Wyll--I think it says he just lost the woman he loved, and was now facing single parenthood with no baseline to work off of. He was going to be doing this from scratch, with no help nor role model. He's going to be a little distraught!

But. He has his son. Who he takes to the harbour, and teaches to swordfight, and is really a very hands-on guy! His kid runs a little wild (having the childhood Ulder never got to have; maybe being a little too lenient, since Wyll's only a boy.)

And then he watches his boss, a beloved figure in the Gate and son of Bhaal, get ripped apart--and he can do nothing. Even as the new Marshal, trying to run an investigation with the God of Murder whispering paranoia in his ear.

There is hysteria. There are riots.

There are tribunals, and I won't defend them, but--Bhaal, trying to corrupt and coerce. It is important to remember--Ulder is a hero to the people of Baldur's Gate. He will go to the Gods when he dies. What a fantastic prize for the God of murder.

But Ulder manages to escape that fate, and at some point he becomes Grand Duke. A real success story--the poor blacksmith's boy becoming the leader of one of the Sword Coast's biggest cities. A position he had to fight for, because Baldur's Gate's politics are run by hereditary gentry and the wealthy guildleaders. Ulder Ravengard is an outsider, and the last commoner duke was aligned with devils.

And Wyll, his boy, learns to dance, and charm the Upper Crust of the Gate, and get into fights with his father--who had to learn politics, and to work with people he hated, because no, the Glorious Revolution will never come to pass. You need to work with people towards a common goal even when you hate them.

And one day, Ulder leaves for a meeting with another city's leader--

and when he gets back, his 17 year old son, his boy, the child his wife had died for--

has a devil with him and won't (can't, but Ulder doesn't know that yet) tell him what is going on. Wyll takes him to Dusthawk Hill, to see nothing.

So Ulder exiles him, because, again, devil.

(Sidenote: Devils in D&D are Ontologically Evil. Full stop. People who ally with them are generally assumed to be evil. Take it up with WoTC. UIder did nothing wrong regarding the exile, because he has to look out for an entire city, and Wyll was considered a grown man in his society by 15. This is not the actions of a child, and to treat it as such is a disservice to Wyll.)

(Wyll would always have to leave.)

And seven years later, Ulder Ravengard goes on a diplomatic visit, and gets dragged down to the Hells, along with the city of Elturel. He tries his best to save the city, to fight the demons, to manage the defenses. He tries so, so hard.

And once Elturel is restored, Ulder heads home.

(The tiefling refugees are headed to Baldur's Gate; I wonder if Ulder had promised safety? Sanctuary? A home less judgemental than Elturel?)

But on the way back to The Gate, Ulder is kidnapped, forcibly mind controlled, and damn near scrambles his brain fighting that control.

(Note: he tells Florrick to look for Wyll. He still believes there is some good in him, that Wyll is not wholly the devil's creature. But he's afraid, too, because if Wyll did it for a good reason? Ulder has failed. And you do not go from blacksmith's son to Grand Duke if you are tolerant of you own failures.

Wyll saves his father. Wyll proves he did what he thought was right.

Wyll gets an apology, and his father's support, either becoming a duke or becoming a ranger--everything Wyll wanted from his father..

And a family is rebuilt--different from before, but there is no harm in that. Both of them putting in the work to fix things, because you need to meet each other halfway--give the other person space to apologize, and forgive, because that's what they both wanted.

[losingdcgs]

[ … ] ❀ you’re not from around here , are you? i figured because you totally just missed { isaiah francis } walking by. don’t tell me you don’t know who { he } is ? they kind of look like { lucien laviscount } and i could be wrong but i think that they might be { thirty-two } years old right now. they’ve been living in palmview for the last { eleven years }. and i don’t know if anyone has ever told them this before but they kind of remind me of { wyll ravengard } from { baldur's gate 3 }. if you stick around the town long enough you might catch them in action working at { the local fire station } as a { firefighter }. you see this town isn’t really that big of a place, some folks like to call them the { chronic hero } of palmview! they took a liking to the name too after a while, go figure. oh crap, they must have heard me yapping. they’re coming this way. i got to warn you though, rumor has it they can pretty { self-sacrificing } at times. i wouldn’t take it too seriously though, from the times i’ve spoken to them they seemed pretty { kindhearted } to me. we see each other all the time since they live in that { two bedroom } apartment beside me over in { ocean's edge }. i better leave you to it. it was nice meeting you!

Basics !

Full name: Isaiah Francis

Nickname: N/A

Gender: Cis man

Pronouns: He/him

Age: 32

Birthday: October 5th

Sexuality: Bisexual

Relationship Status: Single

Occupation: Firefighter

Time in Palmview: 11 years

Counterpart: Wyll Ravengard

Label: The chronic hero

Enneagram: 3w2 (the achiever, the performer)

Aesthetic: Sunlight flooding pass drawn curtains, the heavy weight of expectations resting on your shoulders, warmth in a smile, saving everyone but yourself, a heart of gold, a playfulness beneath formality, heartly laughter and deep conversations with friends, strength in kindness

Quick Backstory ! (tw parental death)

What was supposed to be a joyous day, Isaiah's birth came with tragedy when his mother passed away due to a complication during his birth. While there was always the sense that something - or someone - was missing in the Francis home, there was still plenty of care and love to fill the home for the lively child Isaiah started to grow into. Like many children, he grew up thinking of his father as his hero and in turn he was the pride and joy of his father.

Despite being a fairly energetic child, prone to occasionally get in minor trouble while attempting to have some sort of childish adventure, Isaiah had a rather formal upbringing - came with the territory of growing up in a wealthy and influential home. It never seemed to really bother him, part of him was always eager to please, so if that meant spending a boring evening at some wealthy benefit instead of running around the neighborhood with some of the other kids, then so be it.

Unsurprisingly, growing up with way did mean his own future was predetermined for him, he had a role to play from the start. Initially he was alright with that, but more and more his heart wasn't in it. Isaiah wanted to see more, and more importantly do more for others with his life. His heart longed to help and serve a community.

Eventually, and perhaps for the first and last time, Isaiah made a decision for himself, to escape the role chosen for him and do what he felt was right for himself. It wasn't without its consequences, the once strong bond with his father was now strained, but he would be happier in an occupation caring for other, right? That's been the plan at least since arriving to Palmview and working as a firefighter.

Misc. !

Loves to go dancing (honestly might be an ideal date for him)! He knows how to ballroom dance, but honestly enjoys most kinds of dancing.

If there's ever a situation where the options are help this person but suffer personal consequences or don't help to avoid personal consequences, he's going to pick the first option every time. He truly is selfless to his own determent.

Genuinely just wants to do the right thing, help out, and have his dad be proud of him (to the point his self-worth may or may not be attached to all that, he definitely needs to work on that whenever he gives himself a chance to do something for himself).

Generally fairly optimistic despite life's disappointments, tries to maintain hope and see the light in every situation.

Need a hype man or someone to believe in you to the point they give you a little speech about it? He's your guy.

There's a formal energy around him on account of his upbringing, but really he's a fairly down to earth person (and more cheesy and playful than he may initially let on)

Wanted Connections !

I'm going to have all my wanted connections here (I still have to go into detail about them), but I'm genuinely open to anything! Give me all the wholesome, angsty, messy connections your hearts desire <3

[odessa-castle]

Thank you again for the absolute glory that has been NLTS Part 1. I have enjoyed every word immensely so far, and can't wait to see more of it when you pick it up again. In the interim, if you're still accepting ficlet prompts for this verse, I will surprise absolutely nobody by saying that I would love to see more of Astarion having a bad time, if it so moves you.

Consider me so moved!

This is safe for work, technically, but the vibes are unpleasant. Content warnings for references to offscreen torture, and for Cazador being, well, himself. This is set sometime shortly after the end of Part One.

~~~

Cazador trails a claw down each knob of Astarion’s spine. It’s a worse feeling, somehow, than the pliers. “My foolish child,” he says. “What am I to do with you, if you will not learn?”

Answering is a trap. Not answering is a trap. If Astarion still had his fingernails, he’d dig them into his palms; as it is, clenching his fists only sends raw bolts of pain shooting up his arms, and he bites his lip to keep from crying out. It doesn’t matter, really. This is going to go the same way that it’s gone the last – however many times. Astarion’s lost track of how often Cazador’s gone through this cycle of compelling answers out of him, punishing Astarion when the answer displeases, and then, once Astarion’s screamed enough to satisfy him, returning to the same damned questions as before.

If Cazador wants a different answer, he should let Astarion bloody lie about it for once, but then Astarion wouldn’t be bringing all these punishments on himself, now, would he?

Cazador seizes Astarion by the hair, yanks his chin up from the table, forces Astarion to look into the red depths of his eyes. “I ask you again,” he says. “Do you still love Wyll Ravengard?”

The command hooks itself in his chest, drags the answer out of Astarion’s unwilling throat. It isn’t fair that Cazador gets to hear this, over and over, when Astarion never got the chance to tell Wyll –

“Yes,” he says. He can’t look away. He swallows, braces himself as best he can for Cazador’s next eruption of fury. (He can never brace himself enough, even after all these years.)

A cold smirk curls on Cazador’s lips, this time. “Perhaps we should go about this lesson a different way,” he says. “I cannot help but think back to the last time you fancied yourself in love. It was during our first decade together, was it not?”

No. Not the tomb. Not again – “Please, Master,” he begs, “please don’t make me go back there, please, I’ll be good, I promise, I swear I’ll obey –”

“Your promises are as empty as your head,” Cazador snaps. “But you misunderstand me. I was thinking not of the tomb, but of that darling boy of yours. You were dreadfully fond of him, I recall.”

He – yes. He had been. He remembers fragments: warm, callused hands; a dark mop of curls; the softened consonants of southern Faerun. His trade had something to do with travel, didn’t it? A sailor, perhaps, or a merchant, or a caravan guard? 

“What was his name, again?” Cazador’s eyes glitter with malice. He gives Astarion’s curls another wrench. “Surely you remember, don’t you? You gave up so much for him, after all. He must have been important to you. You must have cherished him, in your way.”

Astarion furrows his brow, runs through the ruined corridors of his memory for any sign, any signal. He would have known the boy’s name. He must have known the boy’s name. 

“Perhaps there is some pity left for you in me yet, boy,” Cazador says, in a tone that indicates anything but. “Tell me that man’s name, and I shall allow you to return to the dormitories for the night.”

Astarion swallows, his throat working soundlessly. There must be more he remembers. He forces himself to cast his mind back. His name began with a P, didn’t it? Or a V, maybe. Was it a T? And he had freckles across his nose. Astarion can’t recall their color, or the exact tone of his skin, but he kissed those freckles, and the boy laughed. Or does that memory belong to another man, another year?

“You’ve forgotten, haven’t you? Say it.”

“Yes, Master,” Astarion whispers. “I’ve forgotten.”

At last, Cazador releases his grip on Astarion’s hair. Astarion presses his cheek to the table, stares at a bloodstain on the walls.

“Oh, my child,” Cazador says. He strokes the curve of Astarion’s cheek with his thumb. “We are eternal, you and I. For creatures such as we, who know true permanence, these fancies cannot last. That boy from centuries ago is dust now, forgotten to all who knew him – including you. And so, too, shall Wyll Ravengard fade, until he is but the shadow of a thought.”

Astarion wants to deny it, wants to shake his head, wants to slap Cazador’s hand away. But with the weight of time bearing on him like this, it’s impossible to move.

“How fortunate, then, that you shall never fade,” Cazador says. “And neither will I. Now, then. Shall we begin again?”

[linka-from-captain-planet]

Florrickology, Part 7: An Annotated Biography of Counsellor Desiré Florrick (Volume 1)

Aside from simply collecting thought-trinkets for my mind palace, the field of Florrickology had a goal:

Developing an elaborate, but believable, headcanon backstory for my beloved.

Has Florrick always lived in Baldur's Gate, or did she move there from elsewhere? Is she, or was she ever, a Flaming Fist? How long has she worked in service to the city? How, where, why, and when did she study to become a wizard? How did she come to be Ulder Ravengard's most trusted and supportive friend, and his advisor?

Below is Part 1 of my headcanon based on scant evidence, vibes, lore* (via Forgotten Realms wiki), more vibes (making shit up), and also what I personally think is the most interesting and/or sexiest.

*lore mistakes are actually just part of the AU so don't worry about it

Annotated Biography of Counsellor Desiré Florrick (Volume 1)

Early Life

Florrick was born around the year 1368(a), the last child of a family-unit consisting of four intermingled adults and their combined eight offspring. Born underneath the setting sun, she was given the birth name Ren (b).

(a) BG3 takes place in 1492, when Florrick is approximately 124 years old. (b) According to the Forgotten Realms wiki (FRW), "ren" means "west". I originally named her "Dale" because I thought it was cute and funny, but decided that based on her community, she should have a more Elven name.

The family made their home in a small river valley known to locals as Florrick Dale. They were part of a large, semi-isolated wood elf community deep within the great Forest of Tethir. The only non-wood-elven settlement nearby was a druidic enclave (c), which the family counted as friends. Aside from necessary trade, the community largely rejected contact with the world outside of the forest, its members living wholesome, but ascetic, lives of hunting, farming, woodcraft, and the wood elf ancestral duty of defending the sacred forest from perceived threats.(d)

(c) This is Jaheira's enclave, which took her in after her Tethyrian noble family was slain by peasants. Connecting her to Jaheira, for Reasons, is the only reason I placed Florrick's origin in Tethyr. (d) all Wood Elf lore, beliefs, etc comes from FRW.

As the baby of a large family, young Ren was coddled by her parents and older siblings (e); and as a very bright child, she dominated the community's thorough (if limited) schooling and ranger training. Although only a middling archer, she particularly excelled in tracking and spellcasting (f). Often, she was held up as a paragon of wood-elven youth, an example for others of her age group and younger to follow.

Subsequently, she grew into an exceptionally confident and bold (read: vain and brash) teenager and young adult... but also a bored and curious one (g). But, dutiful daughter as she was, golden child as she was, she did her best to swallow the discontent brewing inside her.

(e) She just serves "spoiled youngest who was also really talented" vibes. (f) As established in Florrickology, she is a very good tracker. Her skill with a bow is unknown, but she did manage to beef up to 12 STR as an adult, so her athletic prowess is at least somewhat demonstrated. (g) Her delusional self confidence and Fuck It We ball approach to life had to start somewhere.

Although the Florrick Dale family were not extremists themselves, other members of the community subscribed to the belief that all humans should be eradicated from Faerun in the interest of protecting the sacred forests from their destruction. Frequent conflict among the Elders on this matter was a great source of intrigue for a restless teenage Ren, sparking an interest in the outside world and its inhabitants. Could the outside world really be so dangerous, so violent, so destructive? Was there no order or justice to found outside the hallowed wood of Tethyr? Were humans such irredeemable monsters? ... Was there a world outside of the dale and the wood worth knowing? Was there a life aside from hunting, and farming, woodcraft, and patrolling? Ren tried to put these questions out of her mind, trusting the judgement of her parents and the community Elders. But by 1391, when the winds carried whispers of a great battle and a nearby land slowly being swallowed by shadow(h), the curiosity and the sense that there was something out there aside from what she knew got the better of her.

(h) the Harper-led battle against the forces of Ketheric Thorm and the subsequent inception of the shadow curse took place in 1391, when Florrick was around 23 years old.

Unable to shake the sense that there was something she was missing out on, Ren tracked her way to the trading outpost on the edge of the wood and purchased two worldly books: The Illustrated Adventures of Balduran and, on an impulse--an instinct, perhaps--, an early edition of Magic of the Weave - an Introduction. Few things was actually against the rules of the community--but Ren was well aware that owning such things was frowned upon, and such social pressure was the primary means of enforcing harmony (compliance) within the community. So, while she devoured these writings at every opportunity, re-reading, annotating, and even beginning to practice the magic that was so different, yet so similar, to the ranger spell she'd already learned... she did so in private, confiding only in her closest friend and teenage sweetheart, a boy called Taran. However, secrets are hard to keep when one has never been taught to keep them. To the present day, Florrick doesn't know which of her parents or siblings found her secret stash in a tree, but the sheer disappointment rolling off them in the days that followed was almost too much to bear. Although it felt a part of her went up in flames with the paper, desperate to please her family and the community that had before not only embraced, but celebrated her, Ren burned her contraband and publicly prostrated before the Elders, seeking forgiveness (i). Although the event left her rattled and humiliated, the discontent didn't go away, nor could she forget the knowing of just how small her world was.

(i) Florrick completely crashing and burning the moment she experiences the sensation of Failure is canon, and also is indicative of her status as a former Golden Child.

Some months later, a bedraggled female half-elf was intercepted by scouts and brought to the village center for questioning; fortunately, she had energy enough to prove that she was a Friend of the Forest. Jaheira, demoralized by the incomplete victory against Ketheric Thorm, had spent the time since escaping the shadow curse wandering aimlessly, and finally had decided to return to her druidic enclave to lick her wounds in peace and isolation. Judging her to be too weak in body and spirit to survive the difficult two-day hike to the enclave (if she even remembered where it was), Ren's family insisted on her spending some time recuperating with them at Florrick Dale. Too exhausted to resist, Jaheira complied with the invitation. These would become some of the most influential days in the future Counsellor Desiré Florrick's life. Drawn irresistibly to the world-weary and experienced Jaheira, Ren's hunger for a life beyond the forest came thundering back. Although Jaheira was reticent, Ren was persistent. Slowly, as the pair bonded (j), Jaheira opened up about her adventures in Baldur's Gate and Candlekeep and Athkatla --Ren wouldn't learn for some time more why Jaheira seemed so grieved, to tell that tale--and, finally, Reithwin. The action, the battles, the victories and losses were intoxicating, but what really spoke to Ren? It was the element of freedom. Of living one's life by their own moral compass. Of serving a good greater than one's immediate surroundings. Of working with, not fearing, peoples of all kinds. (k) It was an inflection point. Ren's eyes had been opened, and she couldn't close them again. There was a life outside of Florrick Dale and Tehthir, and it was worth knowing, and her desire to know it was too great to deny.

(j) Florrick/Jaheira REAL and specifically, Jaheira at about 45 years old being MILF-ified for the first time by a haughty early-20s Florrick is also real to me. (k) Why Jaheira? Generally, if I need to fill a significant role in a headcanon (in this case, person to encourage and inspire Florrick to explore the outside world), I will fill it with a canon character if I can, rather than crafting a new OC because I'm just not an OC guy.

[verbenaa]

to eden | chapter four

𝓈��𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: “Another compliment? Why, I’m going to have to start keeping count.” She’s pinned by his gaze like a butterfly on a board, unable to look away from him even if she wanted to, Astarion’s thumb brushing against her skin where he holds her chin.

“Feel free to write them down so you don’t forget.”

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Astarion/F! Tav

𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔: E

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 6.6k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: mentions of previous sexual scenarios (minor descriptions), sexual tension, frottage? (kind of).

𝒶/𝓃: hello! I'm back with chapter 4! this chapter turned out way longer than I had initially planned, but I think it turned out well. hopefully it's a fun and enjoyable read, if nothing else! please let me know if i forgot any warnings, I'm posting this so much later than I normally do and my brain is not computing. I hope you enjoy reading and please let me know what you think <3!

ao3 here

masterlist

Waukeen’s Rest was, to put it lightly, a fucking mess.

Rin knew there was to be a first time for everything, however she would gladly pass on a second experience of running through a burning building in search of a certain Grand Duke by the name of Ulder Ravengard, who then had the gall to not be inside and instead have been kidnapped by a group of Drow and spirited away to…well, no one was quite sure yet.

She did manage to come out on top with the rescuing of one Counsellor Florrick, who it would seem was the next best thing to said Duke himself.

With a long suffering sigh, Rin couldn’t help but wonder how it always just so happened that everywhere they seemed to set foot, trouble somehow managed to appear as if summoned by some all-knowing, omnipotent force set on inconveniencing them. 

Counsellor Florrick, all pointy ears and high slit robe with nary a hair out of place on her head, finishes her speech with little flourish, despite her begging of them to continue the search for the Grand Duke in a way that seemed quite no nonsense for a woman who had just been stuck inside of a fiery building on the brink of collapse.

“Well, Counsellor, I suppose we can add rescuing the Duke to our little to-do list. What’s one more task?” Rin gives Counsellor Florrick her most charming smile, hoping it will cover the latent sarcasm of the words. The last thing she wanted was one more task on their ever-expanding list, but alas, it would seem that their current path had other plans.

“Thank you. And should your courage falter, remember the Duke’s generosity.” And with that, Counsellor Florrick dismisses them with a turn towards her legion of Fists, doling out orders with enviable authority.

While Rin had little to do with the politics of Baldur’s Gate (or much of anything, really, unless it involved the frequenting of taverns or petty criminal activity) she wasn’t quite so dim as to have not heard the name Ravengard before and know of the weight it carried.  

Rin’s mind briefly drifts under the weight of their growing responsibilities, and it’s the stench of burning hair that drags her back to reality—it wasn’t hers, was it?—as she grabs a lock of hair, bringing it to her face to inspect the ends for any singed pieces.

“I know he’s a Duke and all, but must we really rescue him?” 

Rin shoots Astarion a pointed look as she drops the hair in her hands and turns, eyebrow arched quizzically. “Would you want to have been kidnapped by a group of angry Drow and taken off to Gods-know-where?”

The scowl on Astarion’s face is answer enough as he huffs, attention moving instead to flick at the tiny bits of ash clinging to his dark leather armor as he mutters under his breath something along the lines of ‘they better pay us for this’.

“I agree, it is the right thing to do. Perhaps if we are able to rescue Ravengard, he may be able to assist us in some way or another. Having the Council and the Fists on our side could prove useful.” Gale’s hand comes up to his mouth and his eyes narrow in consideration, the picture of a scholarly wizard deep in thought.

“Those tin buckets aren’t useful for much of anything, Gale,” Rin looks at one of the many members of the Flaming Fist wandering around the yard amidst the chaos. “But I do find the allure of the Grand Duke’s numerous connections and apparently deep pockets to be worth the trouble.”

Gale heaves a sigh at that but says nothing in defiance to Rin’s quite salient point, at least in her own opinion.

“Oi. Not to spoil the fun, but this thing on my back is getting heavy. Let’s get a move on and find the hideout, yeah?” Despite her complaint, Karlach looks at ease with the extra weight and it certainly wasn’t stopping her from running around and bashing through flaming walls and doors only moments ago.

And to think that they merely ended up here on the behest of a member of the Zhentarim, of all organizations, in search for their hideout to return a quite cumbersome chest currently in Karlach’s possession.

“You heard the woman. We can argue all about the merits of saving the Duke back at camp.” Rin gestures towards the grounds around them, tufts of grass still burning here and there. “Let’s get on with it, I’m sure the hideout will be full of delights.”

And with that, they search. 

The entrance to the basement is embarrassingly easy to find once they actually begin to look, stepping over the charred wooden boards and still smoldering piles of ash strewn about the yard only to come across several too perfectly placed crates in front of a door, laughable in its utter simplicity. 

“Karlach, would you like to do the honors?” Rin turns towards the Tiefling, who seems all too eager for the chance at more bashing, picking up the crates one by one before throwing them off to the side, bits of wood splintering as they collide with the ground. 

Karlach wrenches the door open once the path is clear and Rin steps inside what seems to be a perfectly normal store room, eyes scanning the periphery before noticing the man crouching low behind a supply shelf, a summoned flame dancing as he cups it in a gloved palm. 

Rin looks at the man expectantly as she gauges the threat he poses, not yet pulling the rapier from its place on her back, her eyes darting swiftly from the fireball blazing to life to the surprisingly shocked expression he wears. 

Behind her, she recognizes the now familiar sounds of her companions—the quiet slide of one of Astarion’s blades being freed from a sheathe barely a whisper in the silence, the beginnings of an incantation waiting to be spoken into existence by Gale, Karlach’s fist tightening around her great axe as she readies a swing.

“Well, that’s not any way to treat a friend, now is it?” She eyes the fiery orb with a nod, the man’s own eyes flicking to it as if he had forgotten it was there.

“Th-that’s not the password!” The man seems ill-suited to such a job, as jumpy as he was, the fireball only growing larger in time with his apparent fear.

“Not one for conversation, I see. Fine then, have it your way: Little serpent, long shadow.” 

The man seems instantly relieved the minute he hears the passphrase, flame sputtering out of existence as he stands upright. “Oh, Helm’s orbs. I thought you were the Flaming Fist.” 

“We most certainly are not, I can assure you.” Astarion is quick to answer, his dislike at being remotely likened to a member the Fist palpable as he sheathes his dagger.

“Ah, well, anyway. The entrance is behind the wardrobe—here’s the key.” Rin accepts it quickly, eager to be done with this errand and wash her hands of it as soon as possible as they walk towards the wardrobe on the far wall.

Rin inserts the key and turns it, the lock clicking open audibly as the door swings towards her, creaking on its hinges. She peeks her head in, noting the ladder leading down into the depths much to her displeasure.

“A bloody wardrobe? What in the hells do they think is this, a book for children?” 

Astarion isn’t exactly wrong, it was quite ridiculous.

“It’s a bit on the nose, I agree,” Gale adds in, anchoring his staff back to his back in preparation to go down.

“At least it’s more creative than a hatch in the floor.” Rin steps inside the wardrobe first, turning around to begin her descent as she steps onto the first rung, lowering herself down.

Karlach audibly moans, shoulders sagging slightly under the weight of both the chest and her axe. “Aw hells, don’t tell me we have to go down another ladder?”

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

The Zhentarim hideout left little to be desired with its dusty floors and cavernous ceilings and beady-eyed members watching their every move. While they may have been coined “Friends of the Zhentarim” by Zarys herself, Rin found the  hospitality to be decidedly lacking in quality.

“Is it—“ Gale starts, eyes shifting side to side as he looks at their surroundings and the Zhentarim nearby, voice a whisper of trepidation. “is it wise to be stealing from thieves?”

“It’s rather unwise, I should think. But thank the Gods that we have such a powerful mage on our side should the worst happen.” Rin gives Gale a friendly pat on the back, hoping the flattery with soothe over any errant nerves he may have. “Besides, the danger is half of the fun. Isn’t it, Astarion?”

She turns to glance at where Astarion stands unbothered next to a small table, pocketing something small and shiny before looking up to meet Gale’s eyes with a wide smile that has the wizard loosing a breath of exasperation. “Oh, undoubtedly.”

“Alright let’s split up and search this place. Astarion, you’re with me. I want to see if there’s anything fun hiding around here.” Rin keeps her voice low. While they may technically be around ‘friends’, she didn’t trust a one of them. “Gale, Karlach: you two can do…well, whatever you want but try your best to not be suspicious, Astarion is good enough at that for all of us. I trust you’ll know if we get ourselves into trouble?”

“Don’t worry soldier, we’ll follow the directions of the screams when we hear them.” Karlach’s voice bellows out, drawing several sets of narrowed eyes their way.

With a last little wave in their direction Rin turns away to look around the hideout, eyes perusing the hustle and bustle around them before choosing a direction at random, not waiting for Astarion to follow as she sets forth.

“So, are we looking for anything in particular or are you just taking me on a little pleasure stroll?” She had only taken a few steps before Astarion’s voice reaches her, the vampire clearly not waiting more than a moment before trailing after.

Rin glances over her shoulder, amusement written over her features as Astarion catches up with light, graceful steps, easily matching her pace and he settles in next to her on the narrow pathway, linking their arms together as if they were a pair of lovers breezing through Bloomridge Park on a sunny afternoon.

Her feet catch on a rock and she barely manages to save herself from tripping over it in her surprise, eyes darting down to where Astarion’s arm loops through her own as he strolls casually next to her, perfectly at ease as his eyes drift around the basement in boredom.

She rights herself, ignoring the little smile of victory Astarion wears at her little stumble. “Do you take many of them down in the depths of the earth in dusty criminal hideouts with terrible security measures, Astarion?”

“I’m not picky if it means getting to spend a little more time with you, darling.” His words are far too smooth to be spoken in such a place, and Rin immediately lets out a soft laugh at the ridiculousness of them.

“Do you use that line on every Half-Elf bard you meet, or did you save it just for me?”

“Why, I would never reuse a line, darling. How dare you.” Mock outrage colors his tone, the arm not linked with hers dramatically crossing his chest to rest over the place where his heart used to beat.

“Such protest is a little much, don’t you think?” Rin glances at him out of the corner of her eye, his dramatics endlessly amusing as she tugs at the arm wrapped around her own. The closeness of his body is more pleasant than she would like to admit, the weight of his arm through hers easy and strangely comforting.

“It’s the perfect amount, I assure you. You’re insulting my art.”

Arm in arm they amble, dust blooming around their feet with every step as they wind through the basement, everything thoroughly unremarkable until they round a corner and come upon a rather large set of doors at the end of the chamber, several agents and a pair of fearsome wolves stationed in front of it with weapons at the ready.

“Well, well. I think we found the fun, don’t you?” Astarion looks to Rin as he waits for her answer, eyebrows raised in interest as he calculates whether the four of them could take the guards ahead.

“So it would seem.” 

She spots a little enclave off to the side of the pathway, unguarded and perfectly placed for her to hatch a plan and poke around a little, the room just out of eyesight of the guards. It was unlikely anything of real importance was inside, but it what was the harm in checking when they happened to already be there?

With a slight pull, she leads Astarion to the room he had no doubt already taken note of and he follows easily, their heads held high with imaginary authority on show for anyone who happened to be looking their way.

The room is admittedly not much, Rin notes, as their eyes take stock of the several jars and baskets hiding away in the corners of the room and dilapidated shelves lining the walls. 

“Plan?” Astarion looks to Rin, his deference to her opinion still a strange thing she wasn’t sure how to feel about quite yet.

“Give me a minute and I’ll think of one. Let’s look around in the meantime.”

Astarion’s arm drops away from hers with little preamble and Rin starts at the sudden absence of it—of him—as he saunters away towards the far corner of the room, beginning to rummage through a set of old, mouldering baskets sitting lopsided on the ground. 

She shakes the feeling away as she walks towards a rickety table situated in the far corner underneath a set of the shelves, the warped wooden top covered with objects of little value—several letters, a copper ring long tarnished with spots of green and white, and a chipped knife with an ordinary wooden handle. 

Rin lifts one of the letters off the tabletop, fingers quick to break the thin, waxy seal before scanning the contents. With a huff she tosses the parchment aside, gossip of who was sleeping with who the only information to be found inside.

With a glance towards the ceiling she rises up on the toes of her worn leather boots, an arm outstretched high above as she reaches for the precariously hung shelf above, a gleaming iron bottle sitting just out of reach of her fingertips as they disrupt old dust with every brush against the shelf.

“Oh, come on.” Rin’s feet leave the ground as she gives a little leap into the air to no avail, hand returning with a perfect coating of dust on each fingertip. She swipes her fingers across the table, leaving streaks of dingy white against the greying wood.

Astarion barely makes a sound as he crosses the dirt floor, and it’s not until Rin smells the now familiar scent of rosemary and bergamot fill the air that she realizes Astarion is behind her. 

Before she can turn her head to look his way Astarion leans in towards her, the thick leather of his chest pressing her rapier into the space between her shoulder blades. Gauntleted hands find their way to her hips, settling on the soft swell of them as he runs his lips along the shell of a pointed ear, her breath catching in her throat at the feeling of his cool lips on her skin.

“Need some help, darling?” 

He speaks in a dulcet tone that has a shiver running down Rin’s spine, irrepressible after visions from their shared escapade run across her thoughts, memories of that voice whispering far more scandalous things into her ear and those hands mapping every inch of her naked body.

Oh, how she had worried about this—that she had made some terrible, horrible miscalculation in sleeping with Astarion those nights ago.

And it seems that she may have been right.

It was already becoming almost impossible to look at him without vivid memories of their night together jumping out at her when she least expected it, a fact Astarion was all too pleased to make worse with every knowingly flirtatious look he sends her over his shoulder as he saunters about disarming traps and picking locks and aiming his bow; every subtle flick of his nimble fingers nothing but a reminder of how they felt gliding across her skin and pressing deep inside her cunt, every sardonic quirk of his lips sending images flooding into her mind of how exactly that mouth of his looked glistening with her essence as it busied itself between her legs.

She had thought—hoped—that scratching the proverbial itch would clear her mind and cleanse her soul of him, but instead it had only made her crave him more. 

His words, his attention, all of it.

Rin swallows down a breath, her back held straight despite her traitorous body whispering its want to lean her weight into him and melt into his embrace. “I can figure it out on my own, I think.” 

“You know, it’s an utter shame there’s so many layers between us.” His lips map the line of her jaw as he leans in further, the words fluttering across her skin as she revels in the feeling of his lips. 

“So you could do what, exactly?” Rin doesn’t give him time to answer, spinning in his arms so that they could stand face to face, on equal ground. She leans her weight back against the table, Astarion’s hands still gripping around her waist as she raises her brow despite the blush she knows has already begun to spread across her cheeks.

“Do you need me to spell it out for you, darling?” Astarion’s mouth twists into an amused smile, eyes heating with the barest beginnings of lust as they flick down to watch as her tongue darts out to wet her lips.

His insinuation has the flush on Rin’s cheeks darkening, heat beginning to pool low in her stomach as she runs her gloved fingers over his chest and up, the touch so light she doubts whether he can even feel it through the thick leather he wears before wrapping them around his neck. “Maybe I’d just rather hear you say it.”

She tilts her head as her gaze flicks up to his own, her loosely tied hair swaying with the movement. 

The motion captures Astarion’s attention, a hand coming up from her waist to run through the thick waves, the strands flowing around his fingers like liquid gold. With a frown, he gently tugs a tendril away from the rest, examining the locks before running his thumb over a soot-darkened smudge, expression unreadable as he wipes the darkness away with an uncharacteristic care that has her breath catching in her chest.

“I—thank you.” Rin watches him curiously, the heat Astarion had set aflame inside her changing, softening, as her mind works to put together the puzzle of the sudden tenderness of the action.

With a last, final brush Astarion lets the strands slip through his fingers, falling like water as join back with the rest of her sinuous waves. He brushes the soot staining his hand along the collar of his armor to clean them before moving them underneath Rin’s chin, lifting her face towards his own.

“I hate to see such pretty hair sullied.” The words have her heart skipping a beat in a way that has nothing to do with their earlier flirtations.

“Another compliment? Why, I’m going to have to start keeping count.” She’s pinned by his gaze like a butterfly on a board, unable to look away from him even if she wanted to, Astarion’s thumb brushing against her skin where he holds her chin.

“Feel free to write them down so you don’t forget.” Astarion lowers his head to her own, capturing her lips in an unexpected kiss.

His lips soft as her lashes flutter shut, Rin leaning into Astarion as he kisses her. She tightens her arms around his neck, bringing herself closer to him as she luxuriates in the simple feeling of his lips on hers.

This kiss is different than the others they’d shared, all desperation and urgency and hunger absent. It was a feeling that was all too easy for Rin to lose herself in, the lightness of his kiss and the strange affection she feels rushing into her chest as the outside world fades away to nothing as she focuses solely on him.

She feels his tongue brush against her lips, asking for entry which she is quick to grant, parting her lips for him eagerly. He tastes her leisurely as his tongue brushes against her own, a small noise escaping her throat at the feeling.

It ends all too soon, Astarion breaking away first as he leaves Rin panting, catching her breath as he drags his mouth away from hers to kiss a line up and over her cheek instead, working his way back towards her ear.

“Do you really want to know what I would do?” Any hint of lingering softness dissipates from his voice, replaced instead with that seductive tone perfected for one purpose and one purpose only. 

Astarion abandons his earlier tenderness as ardent hands run down from her waist and over the curve of her behind, cupping her bottom in his hands as he pulls her hips closer to his own, slipping a thigh in between her own.

“Yes.” A terrible and familiar want pulses through her body as she whispers it, and in that moment Rin is quite sure she would let him fuck her here, however he wanted, if he so desired. She had left her dignity discarded next to her ruined underwear on the forest floor when she had let him do whatever he wanted then, too.

And it was a good thing she never had much dignity to begin with, she thinks, as Astarion draws a quiet gasp from her throat as his thigh presses hard enough for her to feel, even through all the layers of leather and metal.

“Well, that’s too bad,” He speaks low against her skin and Rin can feel the sensual smirk that he presses against her temple. “I think I’ll make you wait to find out instead, darling.” 

Astarion’s hands squeeze her ass through her armor once before traveling back up to rest at her waist once more, the leg wedged between her own retreating back to join his other as he stands upright once more.

It feels akin to something like whiplash as Rin withholds a small noise at the loss of his very intentionally placed leg and from the pleased smile on his face she knows that he knows, Astarion no doubt reveling in her frazzled state and the blush that still sits high on her cheeks.

“You’re impossible, you know that, right?” She swallows before letting out a breath, forcing the want that pulses deep in her body to melt into nothing as she shoots him a look. 

“Darling, I count on it.”

She needed to get this back on track before he find other ways to tease her, and Rin had no doubt that if given the opportunity Astarion would find other ways. 

“Astarion, what do you think it is they’re hiding behind that suspiciously large door over there?” Rin looks over his shoulder, fingers carding through the curling locks at his nape as she shifts the focus with as much grace as she can manage, still feeling the residual heat that Astarion had left simmering. He’s still so close to her, his body pressed up against her own as his arms rest comfortably around her waist.

His smile turns vicious at the thought, body suddenly humming with an anticipation that she can feel in the lines of his neck. “Do we go in with blades out or no? It’s been awhile since we’ve killed anything and I’m getting antsy. It’s your call, darling.” 

“Oh, keep it in your pants, Astarion. It’s unbecoming.” She hazards a glance down, his armor hiding anything he may have on display much to her disappointment.

“How strange, I don’t remember you saying that the last time I had my arms around you.” 

He was far too amused by his own cleverness judging by the delight evident in his eyes, Rin’s own rolling in response. “I was talking about your knives, obviously. Now, shall we go see if there’s anything for you to kill?”

“By all means. We should get going then, yes?” Astarion keeps his eyes locked on Rin’s as he reaches up above her, effortlessly grabbing the potion she had been reaching for all along off the shelf with quick fingers. 

He dangles the bottle above her head just out of her reach, the opaque crimson liquid inside swishing from side to side as he takes a graceful step backwards out of the circle of her arms, taking the potion with him with a victorious smirk.

“Astarion, don’t you dare!” Indignation alights along Rin’s face as her mouth opens in disbelief, arms propping themselves on her hips as he deposits the potion into his pouch before gesturing towards the doorway with an outstretched hand.

“Lead the way, dearest.”

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

It had turned out, in fact, that the Underdarkis what lay in wait behind those overlarge doors fitted into the stone of the wall—a giant, wooden lift ready to take them down, down, down into a world of darkness and luminous grace Rin had only ever heard stories of.

Gruesome stories.

Rin suppresses a shiver as she makes her way out of her tent in wonderfully fresh clothes, every smudge of soot cleaned away by a nearby stream, the smell of ash and burning wood rinsed and replaced instead with scented oils of jasmine and honey diligently rubbed into her sun-warmed skin.

The moon rises above camp, a whisper thin crescent half covered by hazy clouds drifting slowly across the sky as Rin steps out of her tent in search of her dearest companions and even dearer bottles of wine.

But as she takes a step towards the roaring fire a small flash of silver catches the corner of her eye, her head turning at the brightness of something like quicksilver as she pauses mid-step to take stock of what exactly it is she sees. 

There in front of his tent stands Astarion, hand held aloft as he turns an ornately decorated hand mirror to and fro, staring into the mirrored glass with an expression that can only be characterized as troubled.

The sight of such a look of distress on his face has Rin padding over the ground towards him, feet moving across the softly trodden grass before her mind allows as her inquisitive nature gets the better of her once again. 

Her own image grows larger in the mirror as she nears, though something very obvious is missing from the scene, the space where his features should be next to her own in the glazed oval empty.

His reflection was missing. The realization dawns on Rin as she comes up behind him, her mind turning with the knowledge.

“Looking at something?” He calls out to her before she has time to think any further on it, Astarion angling the mirror towards her as he waits for her answer.

“I’m looking at you. What exactly is it that you’re doing, Astarion?” Rin smiles at the mirror, the curving of her lips perfectly captured as she tucks an errant curl behind a pointed ear.  

“I’m looking too, but not seeing very much.” Astarion heaves a heavy sigh that has her taking another step towards him as he turns to face her, Rin’s own smile faltering at the sound of it. “Another quirk of my…affliction.”

Ah. She had often wondered where the line between fact and fiction regarding vampires was, the stories and myths numerous and often incongruent between one another.

“Do you miss it? Seeing your own face?” The words are out before she can hold them back, the honesty of them less finessed than she would prefer as she winces at her own curiosity. 

“Preening in a looking glass? Petty vanity? Of course I miss it. I’ve never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red.” His mouth downturns in upset, bitterness coloring the words as he spits them out and his eyes narrow in obvious dismay. The sight of it has her heart constricting in her chest, the thought of what was yet another thing taken from him one she does not relish adding to the list of the ones she already knows of.

Rin was still unable to fully reconcile the many horrors he had faced, the things he had confided to her of on their evenings sitting together under darkened skies in the moments when peace was unwilling to allow either of them a reprieve from reality—he with his endless mending and she with her scrawling words on paper, a bottle of wine shared between them by the warmth of the fire.

And then there were those scars she had seen on his back that morning, his arms outstretched towards the sun as warming rays of light beamed down onto his marble-pale skin, face upturned towards the light, expression a lesson in misery for the mere moment she was able to glimpse it before he realized she had awoken and put his ever-present mask back in place.

Rin was thoroughly unsure of how exactly to categorize Astarion—a companion, certainly. Maybe a lover? Perhaps even a…friend? 

But one thing she did know was that seeing such open distraught on his face, that bitter discontent taking hold of him, has her heart aching more and more with every piece of his misery she collected.

Rin didn’t have terribly many skills, but if anything she was talented at two particular things: amusing people and angering them.

She’ll just have to hope that amusement wins over anger.

It was, at the very least, one surefire way to take his mind off of his plight. 

“I suppose you would be the type to have lovingly gazed at your own reflection.” She gives an overdramatic sigh, mimicking him as best as she can with a sly smile. “Though it may be for the best. I hate to say it, but you’re not exactly aging, well…gracefully.”

It gets Astarion’s attention, if nothing else.

“Aging?! What do you mean ‘aging’? I’m a vampire—forever young. And an Elf, for that matter!” Outrage blooms across his face as he stares at her, open mouthed and horrified, a hand coming up to touch the skin in question as he searches for evidence of wrinkles. 

Rin should have known that anger would triumph over amusement, but thankfully this is a hurt she can soothe with words that come far too easily for her own comfort.

"I’m teasing, Astarion. You look great. You always do, I promise.” She laughs as Astarion blinks once, twice; his building anger rapidly disappearing as he puts her words together and lowers his hand.  

“Oh, really? Anything in particular?” Astarion turns around a slow, dramatic circle with the mirror still in hand as he eyes her, a small smirk already back in place as he shamelessly fishes for a compliment.

Rin leans in towards him, letting her eyes run slowly over the features she never allows herself to look at so openly and without reservation, her gaze flitting from his soft curls to his expressive eyes before moving down along the bridge of his strong nose to rest upon expectant lips waiting for her reply.

“I am quite partial to that dangerous smile of yours, I must admit.” Her eyes drag back up his face to meet his eyes once more before adding mischievously, “Your eyes aren’t half-bad either, I guess.” 

“My eyes aren’t half-bad? Gods, I would have thought you’d be better at this.” Astarion huffs out a breath of annoyance despite the curling of his lips upwards with something like enjoyment as he gives Rin a dismissive wave perfectly punctuated with a roll of his eyes. “Now, just tell me I’m beautiful and we can call it a day” 

“Oh? Is it just shallow praise that you want, then? No poetic metaphors for your hair or long-reaching similes to describe the exact shade of your eyes?” Rin could easily list them, all the things about him she finds beautiful from the elegance of his features to the quirks that had been growing on her each day she spends in his presence, but she doesn’t. 

It would be too much to lay her cards out on the table so readily like that for him to devour right in front of her.

“Hardly. There’s also gold, sex, revenge—quite the list, really. But failing any of those, I will always settle for shallow praise.” He counts them out on long fingers, that clever little smile of his still perfectly in place on his lips.

“Well, I think I can facilitate at least two of those things for you.” It’s an easy offer for Rin to make, the flirtation obvious.

“Not all four? Where’s your vision, darling?” The sound of him teasing her is music to her ears, the morose words of minutes ago long gone.

“I could have said your skin was wrinkled like an old woman or that you had an unsightly mole, you know. Be glad I was at least truthful.”

Astarion crosses his arms in front of his chest as he looks at Rin with reproach.  “You’re a little menace, you know, what with your teasing.”

Rin preens at him, her smile wide as she flutters her lashes prettily. “You know, I came across a wonderful vintage earlier today, I’ll give you a little taste. Think of it as…a reparation.”

She slowly backs away, taking step by step towards the roaring fire behind them as she beckons Astarion to follow her.

“Such charity from our fearless leader.” He sighs but smiles nonetheless as he trails after her for a second time that day. “Fine. But I want more than just a little taste. Give me half, at least.”

“I’m sure we can come to an understanding, Astarion.” With that, Rin twirls around to face forward, golden hair illuminated by the growing fire against the darkness of the night.

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

It took only half a bottle of the wine she had promised Astarion for the idea to come to her, growing from nothing more than an inkling of a thought to a full-fledged plan in mere minutes, not even bothering to finish her portion before momentarily excusing herself from the center of camp to breeze back to the privacy of her own tent.

Rin sits on her bedroll with legs crossed, leather bound journal balanced precariously on a knee as a bottle of dark ink sits on the dusty ground next to her. Her quill scribbles the words onto the bound parchment as her lips move around silent words left unsaid earlier in the evening. 

Dearest Astarion,

I feel as though apologize for my teasing, though I am somewhat unsure as to why (perhaps it is that wine, I told you it was a good vintage).

But if you insist on knowing what the world sees when they gaze upon you, I suppose you should hear it from me. I will be your mirror, and you may preen all you wish at your reflection within the looking glass of my eyes.

Shall I bore you with poetics? I did promise you metaphors and similes, after all.

I do wonder what you would actually want to hear about first. Would it be your eyes, with their pomegranate glow that alights in the darkness? Or would it be your mouth, the way your plush lips curve while those ever elegant hands of yours twist your blade right before you throw it. 

Or maybe I should tell you about the way your hair curls perfectly into the loveliest little wisps around your ears, the color of the freshest snow.  

Rampant poeticism aside, I think you’re beautiful. 

It wouldn’t become you to forget such a thing, so I guess I will have to be the one to remind you then, won’t I?

- Rin

She blows at the glossy ink, careful to not disturb the still-wet letters. With hasty fingers she rips the page from the journal, folding it thrice before using the wax from a nearby candle to seal the letter.

The thought wouldn’t leave her alone—maybe she should have told him of all the things she finds beautiful about him because maybe he deserves to know them after all he’s been through. Her letter can be her small kindness to him in a world where he has not had much.

Maybe Astarion wouldn’t even read it, choosing to burn it to cinders instead. But it was worth a try. She had already written the words, anyway. 

Holding it between two quick fingers, she exits, using every bit of the stealth she possesses to work her way around the edge of camp towards Astarion’s tent, the subject of her little mission blessedly still sitting on the outskirts of the fire as Wyll regales the group with colorful tales befitting of the Blade of Frontiers.

Rin places the letter on top of the same silver mirror sitting face down on his side table, its shine reflected in the moonlight. She has no doubt that Astarion and his ever-observant eyes will notice it the moment he returns to his tent for the evening.

Satisfied, Rin wanders back over to the warmth of the fire, picking up a new bottle of wine and bringing it to her lips with a pleasant smile as she sits next to Shadowheart, falling back into the conversation with an easy grace.

The moon is low on the horizon when she finally makes the walk back to her tent for the evening, her companions all long since retired; the impeding trek down into the depths of the Underdark looming above her despite the wine that swims in her head. 

With a yawn she shoulders past the flap, stripping off her pants and not bothering to change her tunic as she plops onto her bedroll, stretching her arms high over her head. As she turns to reach for the glass decanter of water next to her bedroll she spies it: a small, rectangular piece of paper wedged underneath the chipped ceramic mug, the fresh flowers leaning slightly to one side.

Rin carefully removes it from its hidden spot, fingers brushing over the smooth vellum as she unfolds it to read.

The response contains only a few words, written in a scrolling script indicative of one person and one person only, though he leaves no signature. Her eyes scan the letters, piecing them together as a smile alights her lips, a tiny noise of joy leaving her mouth as she reads.

Don’t make promises you can’t keep, sweet thing. I have 200 years of my reflection to catch up on, after all.

[normal-thoughts-official]

Window to the Soul

Wyll's story, growth, and mental health issues as seen from his own eyes. Literally.

Written for @thekindredcollective's Wyllstravaganza prompt 13: Redemption.

WARNING: This story deals with Wyll's issues of depersonalization, particularly with his tendency to refer to himself as "the Blade" instead of a person. Paired with his line about how he wanted MC to know him as the Blade and not Wyll Ravengard, I interpret this tendency as one of the many ways in which Wyll dehumanizes himself (like how no one can ever be collateral damage instead of himself, how he cares so deeply about everyone except himself, etc), by seeing himself as a hero figure and an object rather than a person. So, there is one excerpt in which Wyll refers to himself as "the blade" and uses the word "it" to refer to himself. To be clear, my intent here is to show how bad his mental state is at that point, because Wyll deserves better, NOT to dehumanize him myself. But I'm leaving a warning if it's a trigger for anyone, especially Black people who might be triggered by seeing a Black character refer to himself that way. This particular excerpt will be marked by a "~" instead of the normal "*"s of the rest, in case anyone wants to skip it.

The boy with stars in his eyes ran across the shore, successful as always in his eternal mission to find wonder in the world. “Papa, papa!” he said, “I saw a mermaid!”.

In every corner, a new discovery lit them further up. Mermaids. Shells. The sea, the breeze. Each greeted with a new exclamation and a wider smile, as he met his very first love: the world, and his city.

*

The son with scars over his eyes clawed at his own throat, trying to speak past the sounds of his own choking. He had tried everything. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t write, couldn’t show him. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t stop crying.

Couldn’t do anything other than nod and obey when he heard the most fateful word of his life.

“Go.”

*

The Blade of Frontiers, with fire in his eyes, slashed his way across the Sword Coast, getting rid of devils, wrongdoers, and the unjust. He delighted in seeing towns get a little livelier and a little better when he left than they had been before he arrived, and savored the relief he felt at seeing that he was still worthy of some people’s trust.

The world was still full of wonders, even if most of them weren’t for him.

*

The Blade, dull in the eyes, felt himself at odds with the sharpness of his blade. He still didn’t regret it, but - so much has been lost. He no longer had a city. A family. Friends. Dance partners. Sometimes, it felt like everything that made him human had been stolen away.

But if he wasn’t human, what was he? He refused to be a fiend.

The answer was glaringly obvious. Right there in his name - for he no longer had the right to call himself by the name his father gave him, so Blade of Frontiers would have to do.

If he couldn’t be himself again, a weapon he’d become.

~

The blade, with a tracker for an eye, never stayed. Its care, like its blasts, was best delivered from a distance. Anything that caught its eye could catch hers, and it’d never be forgiven if it hurt those it was meant to protect, just because it wanted to feel a comforting touch again.

It blasted, and cleaved, and slashed, and bled.

And then it left.

~

The farce with a tadpole in his eye couldn’t help but stay in the Grove. He was helping, he reasoned. They needed help.

Besides, soon it wouldn’t matter anyway. The tadpole was a death sentence, and a quick one, too. He didn’t risk staying, not really. So he could, maybe, have a place to come back to for the last days of his life. Children to play with, to teach. One last group of people to ensure the safety of, while he hunted down his new mark and prepared to die.

He just had to make sure he’d be far away from the Grove before he officially became an “it” again.

*

The warlock with kindness in his eyes sheathed his blade. He would not hurt those he was meant to protect. If that meant he would be the one hurt instead, so be it.

He always liked the idea of being a shield better than a blade, anyway.

*

The monster with the Hells in his eye stayed at the edge of the party, observing the piece of the sea that touched their little camp.

It was still just as wonderful as the first time, even if a lot more lonely.

*

“I won’t pester you for details, but believe me, I will be there by your side, whatever comes.”

“I’m glad you saw me for who I am. And - and I think I can see you for who you really are, too. A hero.”

“You may look like a devil, but you’re one of the most noble men I’ve ever met.”

And Wyll, with tears in his eyes, for once felt right.

[multi-lefaiye]

tav game (hehe)

i saw there was a tav info tag game thing and came as fast as i could. yoinking the open tag from my friend @kk7-rbs, which you can read over here: [x] (i also wanna shout out the other one of these i've seen, by @findingtarshish! you can see theirs here: [x])

for this one, i'll be doing my boy eden, sharing screencaps from both of my save files with him, but mainly the dark urge one b/c that one i've taken more screencaps in. he's a model to me.

gonna leave this as an open tag for anyone who'd like to do one! for bg3 or not. but i *am* gonna poke @skitzo-kero @void-botanist and @anexor specifically if y'all want <3 (no pressure to any of y'all ofc)

(his dream visitor in this screenshots is taking the form of his estranged father, abdiel, who left him deeply traumatized and riddled with self worth issues)

Name: Dr. Eden Linnaeus (eventually Dr. Eden Ravengard-Dekarios)

Nickname(s): Captain, Ed, Doc, The Sunbringer, Ivaebhin (only Kader, his childhood best friend, can get away with calling him that last one)

Pronouns: He/Him

Star Sign: Leo Sun, Virgo Moon (not sure what else he's got going though lol)

Height: 5'3" / 160 cm

Orientation: Gay

Class: Warlock (Archfey)

Race: Mephistopheles Tiefling

Romancing: In my main save with Eden, Wyll! And in the Dark Urge save, Gale. And in my heart... both. It's a polycule. And the polycule is a biiit more complicated than that even, with other characters involved, but point is. There's a lot of love going around here, of various flavors.

I imagine at least those three are married, though, and Eden takes both Wyll and Gale's surnames, distancing himself from his own family's legacy and forging a new one with these people he cares for so deeply.

(the rest under the cut)

Favorite Fruit: Raspberries! He likes to snack on them while he works.

Favorite Season: Spring! He likes seeing life return to the world after a long winter.

Favorite Flower: He'll say he's not one for flowers, but Eden has a fondness for Mountain Laurels.

Favorite Scent: In many ways, Eden is rather indifferent to smells and doesn't put much thought into picking a favorite. However, he has a fondness for woodsy scents, and a deep-seated aversion to smokey scents.

Coffee, Tea, or Hot Chocolate?: Coffee, all the way, but he has a fondness for a specific flavor of Waterdhavian tea Gale brews for them both sometimes. He's not exactly a connoisseur of tea, though, haha.

Average Sleep Hours: Far too few, haha. Eden tends to work himself to exhaustion rather frequently, and then keep going. Wyll and Gale have become experts at redirecting their husband's attention and convincing him to take a break and rest.

Dogs or Cats: Both! But I think Eden is overall more of a dog person, having grown up around them. Still, he adores Tara.

Dream Trip: When he was younger, Eden wanted to see Rosymorn Monastery, as his mother told him many stories of her studies there on her journey to becoming a cleric. However, as he got older, he became far more agnostic in his beliefs and the idea became much less appealing. He gave up on praying to Lathander after his mom's death, and now he feels mainly just... a vague sense of discomfort and grief when he thinks about the god he was raised with. This only got worse after seeing the monastery during his travels with the group.

So, now Eden wants to see Candlekeep. He desperately wants access to that expansive library and to learn all that he can. At heart, Eden hungers for knowledge above all else.

Amount of Blankets: So many. Eden is always on the chilly side, and that coupled with his chronic joint and muscle pain means he can only really sleep bundled up in a blanket nest. Wyll and Gale have had to make peace with their husband being a blanket hoarder.

Random Facts:

Yes, Eden has a fantasy phd. He basically got a degree in being a wizard... despite not having much ability to use magic himself. His magic is almost entirely from his warlock pact, as besides that he just can't use magic in the way a lot of other mages can.

He also has pretty serious chronic joint pain, made worse when he strains himself using his magic. It's a condition he inherited from his mother, and it's one he's learned to live with and how to accommodate for.

Eden's storyline is a mix of the normal tav story and the Dark Urge storyline. How so? Well. Before the adventure, Eden died, and he's only recently been resurrected at the start... minus many of his memories about who he is and what happened to him. So, on top of all the other shit going on, Eden has to figure out why his brain is full of holes.

Eden's father Abdiel is a very well-known and respected wizard, one that Gale actually was a fan of when he was younger. However, after seeing how horribly Abdiel treats Eden, Gale has left that adoration behind. Never meet your heroes, and all that.

(On a similar note, Wyll originally encouraged Eden to consider forgiving his father and reconnecting with him, which was the cause of a lot of conflict between them in the early days of their relationship. Eventually, though, Wyll came to understand *why* Eden doesn't want to forgive the man who traumatized him and abandoned him, and he respects and supports Eden's decision.)

(Gale and Wyll might or might not have an agreement to make sure Eden never has to even be in the same room as his father ever again. They'll keep him safe.)

[thetavolution]

I'm unclear if you meant you wanted asks for those couples of yours, but just in case:

14. Rings - What do their rings look like, if they choose to exchange any?

15. Vows and Unity Ceremonies - Does the couple exchange vows? Do they complete any kind of "unity" ceremony, like handfasting, planting a tree together, etc?

18. I Now Pronounce You... - Do your characters change their last names, keep their last names, arrange for a specific kind of name? For example, "Mr. and Mr. Dekarios" or "Lord and Lady Ravengard-Cliffgate"?

3. The First Look - Write about the moment when your married couple sees each other in their wedding outfits for the first time.

I'll think about answers for later. <333

Thank you for sending this! I'll be honest, I didn't really know how it worked haha. I just wanted to tag people who might want to do it. I have no idea what I'm doing.

I would have probably filled these out without asks because I'm just like that.

BG3 Wedding Season Tag Game

14. Rings - What do their rings look like, if they choose to exchange any?

Gale is definitely the easiest to figure out rings for, for both the Gale/Tessa and Gale/Vaira pairings. Ed Greenwood, the Forgotten Realms creator, explained Waterdeep wedding ring traditions:

"Each person about to be married takes their own ring to the same smith (in Waterdeep, many "storefronts" for gnomes and dwarves reach anvils in the Warrens) and are ("betrothal rings" are worn on middle fingers in the Realms) "sized."

Then both rings are cut in half, the non-matching halves fused together to create two half-and-half "union" rings, made (either by adding new material or by thinning the rings to stretch what's already there) to fit the respective middle fingers (resizing visits may be necessary).

These are worn to the ceremony on fine neck-chains by the partners-to-be, then exchanged, each puts the ring on the other, and at the end of the vows, the rings are clinked together to end the ceremony, so the kissing and feasting can start."

Wyll proposed with an acorn. He would eventually have a ring, but it's hard to top that acorn. I think he'd probably use his mother's ring. Both Lamia and Minty would happily accept that, too.

Lae'zel has no idea what you're talking about. She does not care about weddings. Laura, fortunately, doesn't care that much about tradition. A ring exchange would not be part of their ceremony.

Halsin wouldn't do rings either. He wouldn't even have a wedding. He'd have something wedding adjacent. Maybe this is a hot take, but while he is poly, I don't think he's as "we just roam and do whatever" as he claims. I'm sure he was in his younger years, but he's more prepared to settle down now. It doesn't mean he's less poly, just less "I roam around and if my partner takes off, that's how it is." He actually wants something more stable.

Exactly what the ceremony or tradition he partakes in would look different depending on his partner, so it'd be different for both Ingrid and Paloma. That said, he still wouldn't care for rings. It feels to close to claiming ownership for his liking.

Astarion would have jewelry from 200+ years ago that he would use for his rings. And the rings would be, I dare say, gaudy as hell. Lamia would also love something that flashy. Bex would just go with the flow and defer to what Astarion would want.

Barcus would make rings for his betrothed. They'd be rustic, yet heartfelt.

Rolan would overthink it so hard. He'd hunt for the perfect rings. Since Elyse was born a noble, he'd pressure himself to get the most expensive ring. He'd eventually realize that's not what she wants, but he'd still feel like a failure if he couldn't provide it. It'd take a lot of reassurance before he accepted the cost of the ring is the least important thing.

15. Vows and Unity Ceremonies - Does the couple exchange vows? Do they complete any kind of "unity" ceremony, like handfasting, planting a tree together, etc?

Gale's vows would be an hour long. Tessa would match him for time. Vaira, on the other hand, would be more succinct. Hilariously succinct. And it would sound so perfect to Gale.

Wyll would definitely exchange vows. Lamia would follow Wyll's lead for the most part. She'd be surprisingly sincere in her vows. In Minty's case, she'd want to add some more Kara-Tur traditions into the ceremony, which Wyll would love. I'd have to look into that to see if there's anything already out there on it, or what might have to be created.

Lae'zel would just challenge Laura to a fight and cry joyfully when Laura wins.

Halsin would alter what he does for his partner. I could see Ingrid and Halsin planting a tree together to watch it grow together. It'd be a gathering for their friends. With Paloma, it'd be such a small, intimate affair with vows. Halsin would 100% tear up during the ceremony.

Astarion would want a traditional elf wedding. I found this on Reddit:

"An elven marriage ceremony can take many forms. Though it is often a ritual celebrated before the entire community, it can consist simply of two elves speaking the words that bind them forever with no witnesses except the trees and the grass. Most elven weddings are officiated by a priest of whatever deity the couple deems appropriate (most often Hanali Celanil, but sometimes Corellion Larethian). The two elves write and speak their own vows, and the priest uses their own words to seal the union. Thus, an exchange of vows amounts to an exchange of life essence that forever bonds one to the other. Dowries are not usually exchanged unless the marriage is of considerable political import, though gifts to the newly wedded couple from the community are common."

Astarion seems like he'd be ostentatious in how he would write and perform the vows, but I think he'd just get emotional during the ceremony. He'd cut himself short and not even say half of what he meant to. He'd try to play it off and fail miserably.

Barcus would prefer to have something like a barn raising with an exchange of vows.

Rolan would follow Elyse's tradition of exchanging vows, but he'd also want to do handfasting.

18. I Now Pronounce You... - Do your characters change their last names, keep their last names, arrange for a specific kind of name? For example, "Mr. and Mr. Dekarios" or "Lord and Lady Ravengard-Cliffgate"?

Vaira doesn't have a surname since it's not really something gith do. She'd happily take Gale's especially since it'd help her fit in more in Waterdeep. They would become Mr. and Mrs. Dekarios. Gale would be so delighted. He doesn't need his partner to take his name, but the idea of the love his life taking his name would make his heart soar. I just think everything would make that man melt. If you don't take his name, he'd just be like "My love is so strongly independent" or something. It's win-win with him.

Tessa would want to keep her surname for social reasons. So it'd be more of a Mr. and Mrs. Dekarios-Chastain situation. Because Gale would probably feel the same about both their surnames. I told you, this man just loves his love.

Minty is proud of her family name, but also understands the importance of Wyll's. They'd become the Ravengard-Lam or Lam-Ravengard household. They're figuring it out. Their children would have both surnames.

Laura would keep her surname. Lae'zel has no interest in taking a surname, no matter how much she loves Laura. I also don't think they'd have a "I pronounce you..." moment in their wedding. They'd want something much more unique and fitting for their relationship.

Ingrid has no attachment to her surname. While I, personally, like her surname (I did give it to her after all), she associates it with her parents who she has a rough relationship with. She would happily take on Halsin's surname. He would just want her to do what makes her happy.

Astarion would want to have the same surname as his partner in my opinion. It wouldn't matter if his partner took his or if he took theirs. It would give him a sense of family and belonging. It's more about coming together as one family than the name itself.

Bex wouldn't care. They could go by either Ancunín or McQuoid and she'd be fine with it. It'd drive Astarion nuts that she'd make him decide which name they go by. (He'd pick Ancunín btw.) Lamia would most likely change her name to Ancunín. In the case of Paloma, she's not interested in changing her surname. Astarion would take hers.

Lamia would take her lover's name, be it Ancunín or Ravengard. She just does not care about her birth name. She's apathetic to it. For Astarion, it would give him that sense of family. If she's with Wyll, she will want to wield the power of the Ravengard name. Also she'd be so fucking smug about being an ex-con changeling who married a Ravengard. (Look, she does love him... but she's still petty.)

Viktor would keep his name. He would leave it up to his partner how they feel about their own name. Barcus would also keep his name. So they'd have to just be pronounced married lol.

Rolan... does he have a surname? He might take Elyse's just because she has one. Also Starling is a big deal name in Baldur's Gate and there's something juicy about a refugee tiefling getting to have it. Cal and Lia will make fun of him forever for it, too. But then they will also throw around the Starling name to get things as they should. They are Starlings by marriage now so suck it.

3. The First Look - Write about the moment when your married couple sees each other in their wedding outfits for the first time.

For now, I'm only going to do two.

Halsin and Paloma

Their outfits are simple yet elegant. They reflect nature in some way.

Halsin didn't expect Paloma's dress to affect him so profoundly. He had heard of how grooms and brides reacted upon seeing each other. He just assumed it wouldn't apply to him. He had agreed to do the commitment ceremony while never anticipating the rush of emotion that would come over him.

Seeing Paloma changed everything. She was surrounded by her children who he would also vow to care for. His family was waiting for him to join them before the Oak Father himself. It was overwhelming to say the least. He wept, happily. His tears set off Paloma's. She's also taken off-guard by how handsome he is, the man she hoped to grow old with. She'd been burned before by love and assumed her jaded heart wouldn't stir at the sight of him, and yet....

They would both be incredibly glad they had decided to do a commitment ceremony, and cherish the memory for the rest of their days.

Rolan ad Elyse

Rolan wouldn't even notice he was holding his breath. He'd be so blown away by his partner. Elyse would be able to make the most simple, inexpensive gown look like it was being worn by a queen. He'd be tongue-tied before he finally found his voice again.

Elyse would be anxious until she laid eyes on Rolan. All of her fears would melt away and it would feels as if it was just the two of them.

Cal and Lia would never let these two dorks live it down, but they'd cry the day of. Fortunately for them. Rolan is too distracted to even notice so he can't tease them back.

[blackjackkent]

So I was pretty certain that we would get a romance scene with Karlach if we took a long rest after all that, but NOTHING HAPPENED.

What do I have to do to get a tiefling kiss around here, sheesh.

I'm really hoping I didn't completely lock myself out of the romance by not having her talk to Dammon the first time in Act 1. :/ But I guess we'll see how things play out.

For now I guess we'll go back to the stupid plot or whatever. XD

Another quick circuit of Last Light, post-Marcus battle. Unfortunately, it looks like while we did protect Isobel, Mol did get taken and is nowhere to be found.

The tiefling kids who were tending the bar downstairs are pretty agitated and discussing, not very subtly, a plan to go after her, which is noble but obviously a terrible idea. Hector reassured them that he would find her and they should stay put; I think they believed him. Yet another weight on Hector's soul...another life in his responsibility. But what else is he going to say?

Big ups to Rolan, actually; he put up a very good fight downstairs during the battle despite having been confirmed just previously to be drunk off his ass. Unfortunately we didn't have the option to say that to him, and talking to him just got us more snark. Hopefully we can get his siblings back.

Also, finally found Councillor Florrick! I knew she was here bc the Flaming Fist guy said so but I hadn't seen her before/during the fight. She had a couple of interesting things to say, namely:

She's going back to Baldur's Gate to try to get reinforcements for the hunt for Duke Ravengard.

The Harpers found a man (currently unconscious and mumbling the refrain of a strange song on a nearby bed) near the inn when they liberated it from the curse. He carried a letter from Duke Eltan (name drop from BG1) and is probably one of the very first Flaming Fist, which means he's likely been trapped here for more than a century

Baldur's Gate has reported they're starting to receive attacks from Absolutists. They're being defended by something called the Steel Watch, which is apparently an army of automatons managed by a "Lord Gortash." Hector and Karlach both know this name - Gortash is most definitely not a lord, and he was the one who originally sold Karlach to Zariel. So this Steel Watch sounds like it might not be as good as Florrick seems to think it is.

Karlach, unsurprisingly, was pretty mad about this. Hector promised her that they would find a way to make Gortash answer for what he did to her, if and when they make it to Baldur's Gate.

As for the man on the bed...

Narrator: This is no physical ailment, but a spiritual malaise. The man's mind has been gripped by the Shadowfell...yet it has not broken.

The most interesting thing here is that the song he is singing includes the name "Thaniel" - which is the name Halsin mentioned when describing the fey creatured tied to the land and therefore the curse. He agreed to bring Halsin to the inn.

The last place we hadn't looked at yet was the cellar, which apparently has a bunch of prison cells in it?

What the hell kind of inn was this? :P

[limpfisted]

ONE. THE LEGEND OF THE BLADE, and/or: WYLL RAVENGARD'S GUIDE TO LARPING SO HARD YOU FORGET YOU'RE AN ABUSE VICTIM, FOR WISDOM DUMP CHUMPS.

The Blade is not Wyll Ravengard. In fact, very few people know Wyll's name. The people he's saved the last seven years do not know his last name, or that he is the son of Duke Ravengard. Seven years after seventeen, not so baby faced, with only one "good" eye, and so many more scars----scant few but those in the Flaming Fist and nobles connected to the Ravengards remember what Wyll looked like, and so, The Sword Coast has no idea who this kind, heroic, POWERFUL stranger is.

The Blade is not Wyll Ravengard. The Blade is the Blade.

His friends call him Wyll.

We never meet his friends. I suspect he does not actually have many----as the people across the Sword Coast are actually wary and suspicious of adventurers, according to the official guide. He takes their kindness and generosity if it is offered, he regales them with tales, but they are not really his FRIENDS, per se, no more than a boss and employee can really be friends.

The people of the Sword Coast don't know much about Wyll, in truth. He has to keep a secret from them. A dangerous secret. He professes to be a hero, a monster slayer, that fights devils.

But in truth, he is fighting devils for Mizora. (Monsters and bandits and cultists he fights on his own terms, mostly.)

He has a contract with a devil. And no one can know about it. He can't tell anyone about it. He can't even explain his sending stone eye. He did it for all the right reasons, of course----HEROIC reasons. But a devil is still a devil. You can't trust devils,he says so himself. Devils deceive people. Devils lie. And yet, at seventeen, he thinks he can outsmart her. Trick her. And for the next seven years, she proceeds to isolate, manipulate and trick HIM into sometimes killing innocent people.

Who is the Blade? The Blade is not Wyll Ravengard. But with the power of Mizora, Wyll was able to create a hero made of lies and hypocrisy and children's/teenage fantasies to soothe his own ache and loneliness and emotional and material stability.

In early access, Wyll did not make a pact to become a hero. He did it for recognition.

And while Wyll DID make a pact on this blog to do something heroic--I fully believe he did not HAVE to. He was lied to and manipulated, but it was never his responsibility as a seventeen year old teenager to save all of Baldur's Gate by himself.

There were other things, other powerful unspoken bargains that were given to Wyll. The power not just to stop these cultists, but the next. The power to fight devils. The power to live, in some small part----with his soul fighting on, forever. You never have to die, if you sell your soul. And legends never die, either.

The Blade is a maladaptive coping mechanism that Wyll uses to understand his place in the world, and feel POWERFUL and in control of his own life and choices, even as doors keep getting slammed shut in his face, even as he is ever more isolated and manipulated and lonely. The more desperate and violent and self-righteous he feels---the more he falls into this persona.

And the more this persona, he feels, makes his inner desire for power, devil magic---magic on this blog is always a stand–in for lgbt passion and desire, creation and creativity and fear and anger—-palatable to the general audience of his “loving” fans.

Wyll NEEDS to be The Blade. He can live with knowing people see him as a devil. But if he loses being able to perform as his heroic alter self, he starts to spiral out of control, feeling trapped and helpless and weak, and more than that, like he is being looked down on, and that he is alone, and unworthy of the attention and approval of others, because of a deep sense of loneliness within him that Mizora further latched on to and drew out like a rot.

Wyll cannot function without the "task" or "goal" of being the Blade. The Blade gives him a sense of purpose AND an excuse to do great harm and violence. See: Karlach and the innocent people he has killed for Mizora. But more than anything? He just wants to be looked at, smiled at, and know he's good in your eyes and that his DEEDS and his track record as the Blade are good enough in his own. (How can he perform “goodness” without this role? Certainly not as the exile Prince. Certainly not as Wyll Ravengard,)

This is, of course, because he believed he needed to “earn” his Father’s prise and to be worthy of the great Duke Ulder and Ulder’s own impossible lofty bootstraps noble ideals. It was impossible to live up to his Father. It was more impossible to stand up to him and meet his gaze head-on until he lost it entirely.

[rinwellisathing]

Dad!Wyll Drabble

My writing, again, is super super rusty, and my headspace has not been great for writing sweet things or fluff lately, but I just really wanted to get something down because Wyll is my favorite love interest and he would be a really cute dad and husband. So...um...here's what I've got so far...It's part of my larger overarching series of works in a multi-Tav, multi-Bhaalspawn setting, for more about the OCs involved, I have quite a few character introduction posts on my blog, here's a link to at least one so included OCs aren't too confusing:

https://www.tumblr.com/rinwellisathing/742299034825424896/get-to-know-my-ocs-companion-quests-if-they-were?source=share

Wyll Ravengard/Fem presenting named Tiefling Tav

The peaceful quiet of a misty upper city morning was something Wyll hadn't experienced in so long but found he could increasingly experience over the last few years. He let himself relax into the soft, cool comfort of his bed, hand reaching out and finding the smooth, clawed hand of his partner, grasping it gently and giving it a good morning squeeze. She responded in kind, scooting closer to him and curling up against him, her tail flicking up to curl around his waist as her head rested on his shoulder, pale hair caressing his skin.

It felt like this could last forever, until something thumped heavily onto the bed, little hands just beginning to manage similar claws to her mother's pressing eagerly against the blankets. “Father! Father!”

Wyll blinked awake, red eye meeting the soft, dark brown eyes of her little ladyship Alyce Ravengard. Her tight blond curls were a beautiful, untamed halo around her head with curling pale blue horns poking through. Her tail flicked curiously behind her as she anxiously waited for her father to respond. She had dressed herself this morning, it seemed, as the five year old was wearing a light blue linen shirt two sizes too big and a backwards pair of dark blue trousers, her belt not managing to go through a single loop.

“Alright, Alyce, I'm awake.” He smiled warmly, releasing his partner's hand to gently sit up in bed and pick Alyce up under the arms. “I like the outfit you picked today, I take it this means you want to practice fencing again?”

“I want to go to the park and play Blade!” Alyce grinned widely, sharp little teeth visible.

“Anything for my girl.” Wyll nodded. “Why don't you go see if your brother is awake while I get ready?” He set her down gently beside the bed and nodded towards the door.

“Awww...do we have to bring Edward? He's so bad at playing Blade! He throws a fit when he has to be the monster.” Alyce pouted, sticking out her lower lip and folding her arms across her chest, sleeves immediately falling over her little hands.

“Alyce, be kind. Your brother is still little. You have to help him learn, just like your mother and I help you.” Wyll chided gently. “Besides, if your brother doesn't come with us, your mother will have to stay home with him.”

“Can't grandfather watch him?” Alyce whined.

“I don't think your mother would agree to that.” Wyll scratched the back of his neck, looking over at his slowly waking partner.

“Absolutely not. Empathy is important for children.” The tiefling murmured sleepily as she slowly sat up in bed, blue eyes blinking awake. “Now mind your father, Alyce. Please go check on Edward.”

“Two against one isn't fair.” Alyce muttered, stomping off out of the room.

“You watch, in a few years they'll be best of friends.” Jaina smiled. “Tibs and I always were back on the island.”

“Your brother stabbed you in the stomach when you were eight.” Wyll quirked a brow, looking to his partner as he slowly climbed out of bed and crossed to the wardrobe.

“By accident!” Jaina laughed. “And besides, I'm still here, aren't I?” She sat up slowly, inching towards the edge of the bed and laying her hand on the night stand, shakily rising to her feet. After a moment of steadying herself, she slowly joined her partner at the wardrobe.

Wyll looked at her with concern, moving closer to offer her support if she needed it while the two chose their clothing for the day, both deciding on simple trousers and traveling shirts as well. Finery wasn't something either of them was used to after their time together, and also something they'd never grown fond of.

“I think maybe I can get by with just a cane today.” Jaina smiled hopefully, finishing lacing her shirt and turning to the mirror to tie back her hair. “I...” She was interrupted by a heavy coughing fit that brought her slowly to her knees. Wyll was immediately by her side, hand on her shoulder. “Or...maybe the chair is necessary...”

“It's alright. Alyce and Edward are just happy you're there with them.” He assured her, helping her to her feet and guiding her back to sit on the edge of the bed.

Alyce was returning by now, hand in hand with a slightly smaller boy with horns that matched hers. His jet black curls were shorter and his dark brown eyes were wider. He rubbed his eyes sleepily and let go of his sister's hand, toddling over to his father. “Daddy, Alyce waked me up.” He frowned.

“Ah, sorry Ed, we just thought you might like to go to the park today.” Wyll explained, taking a knee and ruffling Edward's hair. “Let's go find you some play clothes and we can get going.”

Alyce shuffled over to the bed and climbed up, sitting beside her mother and resting her head against her, swinging her feet impatiently as she watched her father and brother return to the nursery.

“So, Edward, what color today?” Wyll asked, expertly leafing through the various comfortable shirts in the smaller set of drawers near the smaller bed in the nursery. The walls were painted with scenes of exciting adventures at sea, pirate ships and great beasts, heroes and mermaids. Wyll couldn't help but smile as he looked at them. He remembered painting them before Alyce was born.

It had been a nice spring day, the windows open, a few friends around. Halsin had sat in one corner putting together some nursery furniture, a chair, a cradle, a few other sundry things. Sentry, newly free of his father's influence, had hovered near the ceiling painting a fantastic bronze dragon flying across half the upper wall while Gale concentrated on the spell that allowed him to remain up that high. Jaina was painting clouds on the other side, her storm magic allowing her to hover easily.

“If you drop him, I'm biting you. And not in a good way.” Astarion had reminded Gale for about the fifth time from just outside the door where he was sewing something he wouldn't let anyone see just yet. Something that would later become Alyce's favorite party dress until she outgrew it.

“Clive recommended some friends.” Karlach announced as she and Shadowheart entered the room with arms full of stuffed animals. “No better guardians for a little princess than these soldiers.”

“There are also some books. Octavia and I discovered a whole section of Sorcerous Sundries with picture books for Istik children.” Kroger announced as he and Octavia entered the room, each holding some fairy tale books and introductory tomes. The two Githyanki seemed pleased with themselves. “Our Kithrak apologizes for not being here...in so much as she knows how to apologize. The rebellion goes well, however.”

Coming back to the present, Wyll smiled as Edward pointed to a purple shirt. “Good choice, Ed. This one is your mother's favorite.” And he held the shirt open as Edward raised his chubby little arms up, letting his father pull the shirt down over his head. The little boy beamed brightly.

“Alright, now we just need to find some pants and shoes and you're set.”

“mkay papa.” Edward mumbled, sitting down on the floor and waiting for his father.

[quiddlemans-queries]

Welcome to Baldur’s Gate

Ahh, Baldur’s Gate. A place where dreams come true. Well actually, they get smashed upon the bloodied fist of reality and thrown into a well of tears, but sure, let’s go with the “dreams come true here” spin. After all, it’s important to stay positive in times such as these. Remember that city that you used to visit on holiday? You know...Elturel. The place with the beautiful gardens, soaring white towers, and the surprisingly affordable brunches? Yeah, it’s GONE! All that’s left is a crater and a growing horde of refugees that are taking shelter in this flea-ridden excuse for a city. I’ll be honest with you, these refugees are not being treated well. In fact, they are being beaten and robbed in the streets by the Flaming Fist soldiers. Good to know that in these tough times we can look to our officers of the law to be honorable and above reproach. 

Sorry, I’m getting distracted. You may be asking yourself, “Who is this guy?” That’s a good question! I am Qenneth Quiddleman, your Acquisitions Incorporated assigned PR representative. I’m here to tell your story and market your franchise in a way that makes Acquisitions Incorporated look good...no matter what. So, I’m basically just a teller of truths and the architect of the lens through which your heroism will be viewed! Let’s do a little recap, shall we...

It was yet another beautiful day in Baldur’s Gate. Our heroes were at their headquarters, which for reasons (mobility, awesomeness, waterfront views, hammocks, diving board, stability for a 1900 pound Dragonborn, multi-functionality, etc.), is a houseboat. It is no surprise to hear that, during these trying times, the governing body has turned to our heroes (representatives of the very successful and reliable Acquisitions Incorporated adventuring conglomerate) to bring stability and peace back to the city. Contrary to a few nasty rumors, the Boat Party (name pending) franchise was not drafted on the threat of government reprisal if they did not comply. Pish posh! Our brave heroes were begged to help the cause and volunteered (with the promise of payment of course) their services without a moment's hesitation. Captain Zodge certainly looked like he could use the help since our heroes' first interaction with him was...well...watching him beat displaced villagers and laughing as his men robbed them of their meager possessions. 

Their first mission was to meet the spy Tarina, and find out what she knew about the Dead Three (the gods Bane, Bhaal, and Myrkul) and their followers. Apparently, these rascals have been taking advantage of the current refugee crisis and the fear that has arisen since the Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard went missing (presumably dead) along with the city of Elturel. With their mission in hand, our heroes visited the last known location of Tarina, Elfsong Tavern. After some much-needed renovations to the taverns staircases, doorframes, and couches (facilitated by our very own Dragonborn Paladin, Magnus), our heroes engaged in a local tradition (Baldur’s Bones and drinking) to build trust and rapport. With a literal barrel of ale at their disposal, they quickly endeared themselves to the tavern regulars and to Tarina herself. It is here that our joyous journey takes a dark turn! Tarina was being hunted by pirates of the worst order! Accused of crimes she, um, definitely did not commit, Tarina beseeched our intrepid adventurers to stand by her side as she faced her accusers. Without the help of Acquisitions Incorporated, this damsel in distress would surely meet her end. But never fear! Acquisitions Incorporated strikes fear into the hearts of blaggards and its adventurers are nothing if not the heroes the common folk need! 

In preparation for their impending, er, negotiation, Mila obtained access to locked rooms (without even bothering the staff to ask for a key...how courteous!) in order to scout the front path. Magnus networked with a group of wise sages known as the Puffer Fishers and became, hm, enlightened. Jade took up a strategic position in a windowless storeroom and sent a bat to keep a lookout. The rest of our heroes took up positions around the tavern, made new friends, and furthered the brand. While they waited, the ghostly lamentations of an elven spirit rang forth in the form of a song. The elven spirit usually has a limited repertoire, but on this night the song was one never heard before by tavern goers. I have recorded it here for posterity.

O sing a song of Elturel, Of water, woods, and hill, The sun dawns on her rudy cliffs, And fields green and still. This land of long-abiding joy, Home of the strong and brave, Renowned by all, across the realms, And never once a slave.

O sing a song of Elturel, When foes are at her door, Her fields torn by cloven feet, From some infernal shore, Arise the mighty Hellriders, Take up your swift, keen swords, Then charge into the hellish fray, And scatter devil hordes.

O sing a song of Elturel, And when the night does fall, Sleep safe beneath Companion’s light, Until the dawn does call. We’re bound by mortal covenant, That only ends with death, And so we’ll sing of Elturel, Until our final breath. 

Our heroes may discover a mystery in those lines, but that is yet to be determined! Barely had the last notes faded from their ears when the pirate filth made their entrance. Mila reacted with the reflexes born of a thousand successful missions and secreted herself in a newly renovated couch...where she began the task of selecting the tools of negotiation best suited for such an encounter. Always the gentleman, Magnus greeted each pirate as they entered the Elfsong. The last pirate to enter the tavern was given such a hearty greeting that he collapsed to the floor under the sheer weight of such excellent hospitality. Captain Dead-Eye opened aggressive negotiations rather quickly and Ezra, Eleon and Tarkin stepped forward to defend the honor of the fair damsel Tarina. Hoping to trick Dead-Eye into thinking our heroes were overmatched, which I can assure you they were not, Tarkin took multiple body blows from a cutlass and fell to the floor...feigning defeat. Overconfident, the pirates let out bellows of victory! This was just the opening our adventurers needed! Our brilliant Jade was able to convince many of the pirates to take some r and r and after a physical reorganization of the pirates' bodily infrastructures, some pointed arguments really sank into Dead-Eye. Many of the pirates needed Magnus to hammer some of the details into their heads over and over, but in the end, the whole mess was mopped up, and the pirates were convinced to never again bother Tarina or any other living soul! What a resounding success! Those are the results you can expect from an Acquisitions Incorporated franchise! 

We left our heroes as they were about to meet with Tarina and hear what she has to say about the Dead Three and their followers! They know not what adventures await them, but you can be sure that when you are in need of a hero, look no further than your local Acq. Inc. branch. We’ll keep the torch lit for you! 

The next installment of Quiddleman’s Queries will be featured in the upcoming ten-days first-day edition of the Baldur’s Gate Daily News (page 4). Back issues available upon request. Processing fee required. For a weekly subscription, contact the Acq. Inc. home office (terms and fees apply). All subscriptions are subject to change without notice. All subscriptions are lifelong and non-negotiable. All contracts regarding subscriptions are binding. Lifelong subscriptions cannot be canceled without approval from a notary, an elf in good standing, two drunk dwarves, a masked Lord of Water Deep, and Jim Darkmagic (the real one). Failure to comply with any and all contracts made with Acq. Inc. will lead to punishment to the fullest extent of the law, even unto death by hanging. Our current subscription is on sale for the low cost of 5 gold pieces per month for the first two months (price of subscription after the second month is TBD and fluctuates wildly depending on the mood of the CEO)! Act now! This deal won’t last long!

Until next time, dear reader! I bid you adieu! 

This has been a Qenneth Quiddleman story. All rights reserved by Acquisitions Incorporated - Baldur’s Gate branch - LLC.