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commander-rahrah · 1 year ago

Text

Talking to the Moon

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader Word Count: ~5000 (haha.. whoops) Warnings: slightly suggestive for a tiny moment but SFW, swearing, PTSD, trauma, past/implied abuse, fluff, angst, emotional hurt/comfort

archiveofourown: here

masterlist: here

Summary: Set in early Act II. Reader/Tav's origin of their powers is revealed to the party and there is a negative reaction to it. Astarion attempts to comfort reader with his usual routine and provide a "distraction" but gets rejected. He begins to question their own reasoning and feelings, and realizing that he might be feeling something… different.

Note: This is still a GN!Reader/Tav in second perspective with no names or y/n. However, there is some backstory (noble background and a deity) and appearance descriptors (only freckles and hair colour) assigned to the reader/Tav. I really enjoy the dynamic of the moon/stars that I have with my own Tav named Olympia and Astarion and for this particular idea I wrote I felt the backstory was too important to leave out!

I am an avid D&D player and I loooove making OCs (its a problem I have like 30) but this particular backstory and character that this is based off of is very dear to me, so I really hope your enjoy!

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You were all gathered on the grounds just outside of the Last Light Inn, heading back inside the main doors with Jaheira and Isobel. The safe haven protected from the forces of the Absolute — thanks to you and your companions quick action. The remaining Tieflings and the other inhabitants of the inn still shaken from the sudden attack, but resting safely inside. “I’m thankful you were all here to stop the attack.” The cleric of Selûne said softly.

Isobel then looked over her shoulder at you, stopping for a moment as she looked you over from head to toe. “And you... I recognize my goddess’s powers within you — but they are so different from mine. Your magic is not born out of devotion for her.”

“What is she talking about?” Shadowheart asked from your side, whipping her head to you so fast her black braid flung out behind her.

You swallowed. You had been dreading this conversation. Fearing the moment it came out. “Yes, I, uh—,” You stumbled over your words, your tongue suddenly heavy in your mouth. “I was blessed by Selûne as a babe.”

Isobel raised her eyebrows, her lips stretching into a slight smile. “A blessing indeed. A drop of Selûne's own powers lives within you. You use it well.”

You bowed your head, your cheeks flushing a bright shade. Embarrassment and chagrin flooding you as every single member of your party turned to face you — varying reactions on all of them.

You eyes were still on your boots as both Isobel and Jaheira bid you a goodnight, telling you of your own rooms upstairs before disappearing amongst the many doors of the inn. The rest of your party quiet — not even Astarion had opened his mouth to fill the silence with a comment or joke.

The voice who broke it was the one you had dreaded the most. Shadowheart’s voice was a harsh whisper, but it still cut you deeply. “I cannot believe you. You’ve been lying to me this whole time!”

You winced, your teeth biting into your cheek, “I wasn’t lying. I just… didn’t tell you.”

“You just didn’t tell me that you are blessed with divine magic from my goddess’ enemy.” The dark-haired cleric scoffed, her nose crinkling so much that the scar across her face shrank considerably.

You thought of all the nights around the campfire sharing soft laughs, the early mornings that you helped braid her hair. This was why you had been avoiding it. You didn't want to lose that. Shadowheart had become a friend, an ally. “I didn’t want to ruin anything, we’ve grown so close and… it’s not like I worship her. I don’t say my prayers to her every night, I was just a babe—“

“Well I do!” She raised her voice, a few passing Harper’s stirring in shock at the outburst before shuffling away. “In Shar’s name. This is unbelievable — I’ve been mere feet away from you this whole time.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But you kept your devotion to Shar a secret and when it did come out all of us have been nothing but accepting.” Your eyebrows were furrowed together in worry. This was going exactly as you had dreaded. You’d hope your friendship would be something she would consider however…

“Alsoooo,” Astarion drawled, “The last time you had a disagreement with one of us, we woke up to you holding a knife to Lae'zel’s neck. Can you really blame them for not bringing it up?” He wagged his fingers at her, a single white brow raised.

Her nostrils flared as she flashed a look to the vampire, before turning back to you. “This is no disagreement. This is wrong, this is against everything my lady stands for."

“Shadowheart, please. You are my friend—“ You began to beg, but the cleric cut you off.

“No. Not anymore. We will continue to travel together to reach Moonrise Towers. We will get rid of these tadpoles and then we are done.” She spat.

“I—,” You choked, unable to think of what else to say. How else to defend yourself. You realized that Shadowheart’s mind was made up, no matter what you said right now.

“Shadowheart,” Astarion cut in again, stepping in front of you almost protectively. “Enough.” His voice a low growl.

Gale and Wyll stepped forward too, concern etched on their face. Karlach’s own features were torn — her eyes flitting between you and Shadowheart with immense worry. Lae'zel remained in the back, her muscular arms crossed over her chest as she observed silently.

The dark haired cleric shook her head, a loud breath escaping her before she stormed off up the stairs. Her armor and weapons clanking loudly as she stormed away.

“Princess, come on!” Karlach shouted after her, starting up the stairs. But she paused for a moment, stretching out to grab your elbow gently. “It’ll be alright giggles, ok? Don’t worry about it.”

You could only nod as you watched the Tiefling chase after her, both of them disappearing upstairs.

“Well, that was hard to watch.“ Wyll murmered, offering you a pained smile.

You waited for the sound of a door slamming above, before turning to head up the stairs yourself. You felt your throat tighten as you fought to keep your tears at bay. "Today was a lot. I think I’m just going to find my room now.” You barely waved goodbye as you took the worn steps two at a time, disappearing from your group without a backwards glance as a few tears broke free.

“Wait, do you need—“ Gale began to trail behind you, his brows knitted together and face pained.

“Let them be, Gale.” Astarion waved a hand to stop him pursing you up the stairs. “Let them drop the mask for a while. If you go barging in there right away, they will paint a smile on their face and act like everything is fine.”

A look of surprise crossed his face before the wizard let his shoulders slump, “You’re right.”

A sound of delight escaped the vampire, before he cupped his pale fingers around his pointed ear, “I beg your pardon, could you say that again? I didn’t hear you.”

Gale let out a large huff, before he admitted “I said you’re right. I’ll let them be.”

“Oooh, Gale. If you’re trying to woo me, at least buy me dinner first.” Astarion pretended to twirl his hair, before flashing him a wicked grin.

Gale pushed his face into a palm, letting out another exasperated sound. “Gods, save me.”

• • •

You were sat on the bed, your back pressed into the back of the headboard with your knees pressed to your chest. It had been a few hours before the tears had finally stopped, leaving you feeling even more exhausted and drained. You weren’t sure when the news of what lived inside you would come out — but it went exactly as you feared it had. The betrayal and anger on Shadowheart’s face was repeating over and over in your mind. The rest of your party had seemed accepting… but it was hard to tell what exactly they were thinking.

A sudden knock at your door had you scrambling to right yourself, wiping at your damp cheeks and eyes with the back of your hands. You fixed your shirt, and stretched out your legs to look as if you were just relaxing on the bed before letting out, “Come in.”

Your voice sounded much more meek than intended.

Astarion poked his head through the door, a strange combination of both hesitation and curiosity painted across his pale face. “Hello pet,” He purred, lingering in the door way for a moment.

“Astarion, hi.” You sat up a little straighter, surprised to see him. “Come in.”

He shut the door softly behind him, “Feeling any better? Or did Shadowheart come find you for an encore?”

You shook your head, “No, she’s stayed in her room — thank the gods. I don’t think I could handle another moment like that tonight.”

His eyes betrayed him for a moment, glancing to the floor, “Yes, well usually I would say it’s entertaining watching someone else’s drama unfold… but I didn’t enjoy that.”

He swayed over to the bed, sitting on the edge. Not close enough to touch, but you couldn’t help the small fluttering that erupted in your belly as he sat next to you. How casual it seemed, how easy it had become.

You shoved the thought away, instead scrunching your mouth up as you spoke, “I was avoiding it for a reason. I feel terrible... I shouldn't have hidden it for so long.”

“Well, if you were looking for a distraction…” He stretched his hand over to you and drew lazy circles on your knee before dragging it up to your thigh. “I can be of some assistance.” A seductive smile curved his lips, his eyes darkening.

Your expression crumbled as the crack you had just soothed in your chest starting to form again. “That’s all you see me as, isn’t it?”

“What?” He asked, his hand freezing on your leg.

“Sex. That’s the only way you see me.”

��I—“ His eyes widened with bewilderment, before he blinked at you. “I don’t— I mean.” He continued to stammer, his fanged mouth hanging open in genuine shock.

You let out a sad sigh, your eyebrows furrowing like you were in pain. You were. The ache in your chest was growing tenfold, the familiar feeling of your heart crawling up your throat returning. “I’m not in the mood Astarion. If you want to feed, do it and go.”

He instantly pulled his hand away at your rejection, clutching it to his chest with the other one. He didn’t give an apology, nor did he seem interested in your offer to feed. His red eyes were blinking animatedly, as if confused. Before he bowed his head and got off the bed quickly. Then the sound of the door clicking softly behind him an instant later.

You couldn’t hear his steps in the hall even if you wanted to — so instead you rolled over onto your side, curling your limbs into yourself as you screwed your face up once more and cried.

• • •

Astarion didn’t know what to think. What to do.

No one had ever rejected him before. This is what he did, this is what he was built for. To manipulate. To seduce.

To play the dazzling, charming distraction. He used to target the lonely, the distressed and upset… it made the hunt so much easier. And Cazador used to praise him for it — he said the miserable and desperate tasted so much better.

But you weren’t like those easy targets. You weren’t simple, and he should have known better. You were complex and contradictory — not something he appreciated in a target. But something he could appreciate in a fellow person. Things were becoming to muddled, too confusing.

Gods dammit, he had been so foolish. His entire plan could be falling apart now — you sitting up in your room alone mulling everything over.

But what really bothered him wasn’t the idea of his plan falling apart. That his protection from his old master could be gone by morning, leaving him behind to suffer the consequences.

No, what really bothered him, what he was really afraid of was how upset you’d been. That he was the cause of that.

Astarion's skin felt hot and crawling as he realized he had treated you as others had treated him all these years. Trying to use your desire as a way to override any other feeling. To seduce you into acquiescence, to fool you into thinking you needed only him. It disgusted him, what he’d done. Shame coursed through him and his fingers clenched onto his leather clad knee.

He was grateful for the little dark attic he had found above the barn — grateful to be away from the prying eyes of the rest of the party. He couldn't explain this to them, he wouldn't.

A splash of wet splashed onto the back of his hand and he realized he was crying. He'd forgotten he could do that. He'd stopped so many years ago, numbing and willing himself so that none would come. So that despite the pain or hurt he was feeling, his tears would not be there to give Cazador anymore satisfaction. His master didn't need anymore physical evidence of his anguish — his screams and blood and broken body was enough. He had stopped crying years ago. Until tonight.

Wiping his face, he took a steadying breath he knew he didn't need. And then again for good measure. He wasn't really sure what he was doing, but he stood up with a slightly trembling body. He needed to fix this. For you. For himself.

Before he knew it he was back outside of your door, his fist hovering just above the painted wood. His other hand was picking at the seam of the side of his leather pants nervously. His red eyes stared at the little tray of food he'd brought up for you — resting on the hallway table as he waited to see if you would even let him in. A peace offering he'd thought. A way to get his foot in the door before he could… explain. Apologize.

Chewing his lip, he finally let his knuckles rap on the door. He lingered for a moment, before opening it slightly. The small crack in the door angled enough to reveal you still laid in the bed, your back to the door as you were curled up on the mattress. Guilt flooded through him all over again.

“Gale, I told you I’m fine—"

He pushed the door open a little more, just enough so that is creaked to get your attention. He only poked his head through, enough for you to see his pale face as you strained your neck to look over your shoulder.

“Oh. It’s you.”

Astarion swallowed at the sound of your disappointment. It was not something he ever wished to hear again if he could. His lashes fluttered against his cheeks as he looked down, unable to look you in the eye, “Will you let me try again?”

“What?”

He finally looked up, his red eyes round and soft, “Let me try again.”

You gave him a hard to read look, before nodding curtly.

Astarion grabbed the door, not closing it fully but just enough that the lock bounced softly back. His pale knuckles knocked again gently, before he heard you let out an exasperated breath. “Come in.”

A sheepish, tight lipped smile spread across his face as he stepped fully into the room and looked at you. You were sitting up in the bed now, your arms crossed over yourself with an unimpressed look on your face. He used his foot to close the door quietly as he held his peace offering behind him.

“I won’t bother you, if you don’t want company. But I noticed you hadn’t eaten. I brought you dinner.” He pulled the tray out from behind his back, showing it to you.

“Oh.”

“And a glass of wine.” He placed everything carefully onto the nightstand, before backing away towards the door. “It’s disgusting.”

A soft laugh escaped you, “Thank you." You took a small sip of the wine, before twisting your face. “Ugh — you are right, that is disgusting.”

“I’m almost certain I saw those Tiefling children your so fond of mixing it themselves. Pray this is a part time gig and they don’t become bartenders in the future.”

The two of you let snickers out through your noses, before the room turned quiet again. “Thank you for bringing this up. I mean it.”

“You’re very welcome.” He shuffled his feet, unsure if that was a dismissal or not. But he also found himself not wanting to leave. His hands were behind his back, his own fingers intertwining and squeezing tightly. “I’m… I’m sorry for how you were treated today. It wasn’t fair.”

Your eyes flashed down, your brow crinkling. “It’s okay—“

Astarion shook his head profusely, “No, it’s not. You didn’t deserve that. You don’t owe any of us anything — not your story, or … or anything else. What you decide to tell us, what you trust us with... that is your choice.”

“Thank you. It’s not that I don’t trust you all, I do… I just.”

He cut you off gently, “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“I know.” Your finger was playing with the rim of the wine glass in mesmerizing circles, over and over. “I do, trust you though.”

His red eyes lifted from your hands, to give you a quizzical look, “Now, why in the heavens would you do that?”

Your laugh was music to his ears. Full and bright. You shrugged, putting the glass back onto the nightstand — abandoning it and the dinner for another moment. “I just do.”

The vampire couldn't stop the purr that escaped his lips, “Hmmm, other members of our merry party would disapprove.”

“Probably. I think they disapprove of most of my interactions with you.” You said quietly, picking at the blanket you were sat upon.

The room filled with silence for a moment as you thought. “I was just a baby… when it happened. I was born ill — so weak and tired, it was almost like I was a dead. My parents threw all of their power and wealth at every scholar and healer they knew to try and cure me.”

Astarion’s eyebrows shot up as you spoke, joining you carefully on the bed. Much further then his previous visit. His hands settled onto his own lap as he listened.

“Nothing would work. And with every failed attempt, father become more and more distant. And mother became more and more desperate, hoping for any miracle she could find. She began to pray to any God that would listen, traveling to their shrines and statues. One night, my mother had fallen asleep crying while kneeling next to me. She said she awoke to a breeze and silver light — and the most beautiful woman she had ever seen was standing over us. Her hair was set in long silver waves, a flowing dress cascading over her curves, and a small smile on her lips as she watched the scene of mother and child. 'Selûne?' My mother asked, and the ethereal woman merely smiled again. 'I heard your prayers and felt your tears as if they were mine own. No mother should know the loss of their child.' As I slept, she touched my hair lightly, telling my mother I was pure and good-hearted. Selûne told her that she would help me, but that I would have a calling that would lead me away from my normal life of nobility and comfort. After my mother agreed, a white light shone through the Goddess’ hand, spreading into my hair, into my body and creating an aura around me. My hair turned silvery white, and star-like freckles began to shine all over my skin.” Your fingertips danced across your face, touching the skin that showed the blessing.

Astarion was gobsmacked, his eyes lingering over your silver hair and the freckles that dusted your nose and cheeks. His mind struggling to keep up with the information. “So, what Isobel said is true… a drop of Selûne's power lives in you?”

You nodded your head weakly, avoiding his stare.

“Gods… Why tell me this?”

You only offered a soft smile, “I wanted you to know.”

A thousand thoughts were running through his mind — most of them selfish. He'd prayed to the Gods every night for years, asking, begging, willing them to save him. To give him a swift death. Anything. And never received an answer back. But Selûne had for you.

But now that he knew you, he could think of no one else who would deserve it. He couldn't bare to think what the world would have been like if you had been taken away so early. Where he would be now if he hadn't met you on the cliffside after that damn ship. “Well, it seems that you truly are walking poetry, darling. Our little moon shining a light on all of us.”

He swore he saw you bottom lip tremble at the name.

"Let me tell the others, when I'm ready?" You asked quietly.

"Of course."

The room fell into silence again, but it was more comfortable then before. Astarion found himself lost in his thoughts — a confusing melody of haunting memories, and wishful thoughts.

“You never answered my question before.”

“Hmm?” Your voice had him blinking back to reality, turning his body to look over at you.

“About… how you see me.” Your eyes were big and vulnerable. They tugged at his heart, at the knot in his stomach that formed with the thought of you.

“Oh," Was all he could get out.

“I—I just,” Your voice was feint and nervous, your eyes studying the features of his face intently.

“Don’t ask now.” He blurted, his fingers clenching into a tight fist on his lap.

“What?”

“Give me time. Please.” He begged gently.

Your eyes softened, before you nodded in silent understanding. “I can do that.”

Relief flooded him, his fingers relaxing and shoulders drooping.

You seemed content on letting it drop, instead grabbing the plate of food next to you and balancing it on your knee. “Where is my roommate for the evening?” You asked, before taking a bite.

“Lae'zel? Oh she deemed the lodgings unacceptable and that she would rather die than join us soft-skinned weaklings in a room. She set up a tent out front in the dirt.”

You finished chewing, before grinning. “That… checks out.”

“So you get a luxurious evening alone. At least one of us does." He feigned a frown, before waving his hands dramatically, "I get to spend the night listening to Gale and Wyll snore.” He rolled his eyes before speaking again. "I will say charming Wyll did volunteer to sleep on the floor so I could have half the bed, bless him.”

“You could stay here if you want. To sleep, I mean.” You offered easily, pushing the food around your plate with the fork as you waited for him to reply.

He blinked again, caught off guard by your proposal. “Oh, that’s not necessary—“

“Astarion, really? You’ll share with Gale, but not with me?” You teased, a single eyebrow arching.

He stared at you for a moment, dumbfounded before nodding, “Alright. Eat your dinner. I’ll get my things.”

• • •

Slinking into his room, Astarion left out a sigh of relief as he realized it was empty. He needed a moment to ground himself and stop his spinning head. He had no idea what today would bring, but this whirlwind of a night was not at all what he had expected. He started grabbing his night clothes he had laid out on the bed in his shared room with Wyll and Gale, stuffing them into his rucksack.

But he bristled as he heard steps approaching, looking over his shoulder to see his two fellow male companions enter the room.

“Ahhh, they you are Astarion. We wondered where you scurried off too.” The wizard spoke, tucking the book he had in his hands into the crook of his arm instead.

“Oh, I found better company than the likes of you.” He shot back sarcastically — earning an eye roll from Gale.

“Did you now?” The warlock asked with eyebrows raised, before bending down to his own pack to untie his bedroll from it.

“Don’t bother with the bed roll tonight, Wyll. You’ll have to keep Gale warm tonight.”

"Where are you off too?" Gale asked, his brows furrowed.

Wyll studied him carefully, before offering a little smirk to the vampire. “Off to sleep under the stars?”

“Amongst them actually.” Astarion replied, keeping his face perfectly neutral. As if to not give anything away.

Wyll gave him a knowing look. “You be a gentleman, yeah?”

“Aren’t I always?” He said with a little bow before grabbing his bag and slinking out of the room.

• • •

Your room was very quiet when he emerged back in it. Your empty dinner plate was sat on the edge of the nightstand, the glass of wine mostly untouched expect for that first single sip. The candles were starting to flicker with their last remaining life, the glow now a deep set orange instead of a bright yellow light.

You had stepped behind the privacy screen as you changed, only the outline of your figure could be seen through the sheer material stretched across the wood. He’d seen your naked body before, as you’d seen his — several times by now, actually. But he respected the privacy — appreciated it actually. There was something quite raw about getting undressed in front of someone like this. Something vulnerable.

Something he wasn’t quite ready for.

Realizing he had been staring at that screen and your outline, he sat his bag down on the dresser and began sorting through his things. He heard the soft pads of your feet across the worn floorboards, before the creak of the bed as you laid in it. He turned around with a fake cough, his own night clothes in his pale hands. “May I?” He jerked his head towards the screen.

You simply nodded, turning on your side away from the screen to face the ajar window instead.

He changed efficiently, tugging on the delicate breezy nightclothes before padding bare feet to place his folded clothes on top of his rucksack. He swallowed thickly as he turned to survey the room, to the large space you left in the double bed — intended for him.

"I don't bite." You muttered with your eyes still closed. Like you could sense him hesitating.

He barked a laugh, before moving to his side. "Cheeky pup." He slid into the bed, savoring the feeling of the soft sheets on his skin, the way the mattress hugged his tired and sore body. He hadn't slept in a real bed in ages, in well — he couldn't remember how long. He thought he had gotten used to the small comfort of his bed roll and tent these past weeks, especially when he compared it to the stone floor of Cazador's dungeon and kennels. But remembering the simple luxury of this room and bed would put his tent to shame once he returned to it. His pale fingertips rubbed the soft fabric covering his body, committing to memory.

You adjusted yourself next to him, moving your pillow in a way that wafted your scent throughout the room. It made his movements stop, frozen as his senses were overwhelmed by you. You smelled sweet and warm — inviting. And it had nothing to do with the scent of your bouquet that usually clouded his mind. Licking his lips, he forced himself to look away from you — instead looking up at the dark ceiling, as the last flickers of the surviving candle in the room began to fade away.

"Good night, Astarion." You mumbled into your pillow, your voice already sounding heavy with sleep.

"Sweet dreams darling." He whispered back.

You had fallen asleep next to each other before, of course — laid out in that forest or on the sands of a beach after wondering off away from the others to have your way with each other.

This... this was different.

He couldn’t will himself to fall into a trance. No matter how hard he tried. Instead he was still staring up at the grays and blacks of the dark ceiling, becoming more and more increasingly aware of your breaths and the thrum of your heartbeat.

Only once he had heard them slow down, only once he knew you were in a deep sleep, did he chance looking over to you.

Your face was peaceful, serene as you slept. He wasn’t sure if it was actual moonlight trickling in, or just the cleric Isobel’s protective aura that had cast the blueish white light into the room. But either way it was resulted in Selûne’s power, and even in your sleep you were basking in it. The freckles that marked your checks and nose were almost glittering in the light. The silvery white of your hair shimmering. Your soft lips slightly parted as you dreamed.

Gods, you were beautiful.

Astarion closed his eyes as he was suddenly reminded of his times stuck in those wretched dungeons in the palace. Not what torture or pain he had to endure there. No. For once, that was buried away.

No, instead he recalled what he stared at to get him through those never ending sessions of abuse and torment.

The night sky through those barred windows.

The stars, somehow still blinking and winking from him through the city smoke and light.

And the moon. That beacon of light in the black sky — constantly changing its shape and colour. But it was always there when he needed it to be. When he needed to look up, to be somewhere else, to think of something else — the moon was always there.

Shining. Listening. Understanding.

His eyes opened again, staring again at your tranquil face, your slumbering form curled into the soft bed and sheets.

You were so much more than he had bargained for. A companion blessed with a drop of an actual god’s power. He should have been thrilled — that his plans for protection and well-deserved justice on Cazador was even easier to achieve than he first thought.

No. Instead he realized he was feeling something else. Something… new.

That even though he had missed the sun, longed for it for two hundred years, delighted in the colours it cast the world in it. That even though he could finally enjoy the sun's beam, and bask in the it's warmth and golden glow. Despite all that, he knew that the sun would never understand him like the moon did.

Oh shit.

He had royally fucked up his plan.

Part II: here

#bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion fanfic #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x gn reader #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 fanfic #astarion/reader #astarion/tav

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galedekarios · 8 months ago

Note

you mentioned a few days ago about how Eilistraee's connection to Mystra is part of what bonded Alton and Gale initially, can we hear more about that? sorry i'm just a huge Eilistraee fan and love your ocs so much so my ears perk up whenever they're mentioned at the same time

i apologise in advance because this got away from me!

i already had something written up from a while ago, but your message gave me the motivation to polish and finish it.

thank you. 🖤

"May I enter, my friend?"

Gale’s only answer is a ragged breath coming from the far side of the ruin. The small space is only illuminated by a single candle by the entrace, the dim light not enough to banish the darkness reigning inside entirely – at least not for his poor human eyes.

"...You may.”

Gale steps inside the crumbling ruin Altonaufein had made his sanctuary right from the moment they had made camp a tenday ago, the stone walls a protection as much as at least an illusion of privacy, "I'm going to approach, Altonaufein. I have something for you."

Through squinted eyes, Gale is barely able to make out the shape of the drow: Sitting on the ground, back to the wall, knees half drawn up, both of his arms loosely resting on them. His short-cropped hair a stark contrast even in the low light.

It's dishevelled, tufts of white sticking up at odd angles, reminding Gale very much of his dear Tara – of when he was young and, to tease her, had brushed back her fur the wrong way. She’d complained, of course, though more for show, and unlike Tara, Altonaufein has twin scimitars resting close to his side. Gale has seen their deadly dance firsthand.

The search for the Githyanki crèche had not gone well. They had found Zorru, yes, but what had followed had been a tense moment between his two companions.

Lae’zel and Altonaufein – their relationship between the two was strained at the best of times – of which there aren’t many lately, Gale finds himself thinking ruefully – yet when Lae’zel had commanded that poor terrified tiefling to bow, lower and lower, to humiliate himself before her, the drow’s eyes had glowed like freshly spilled blood, scarred hand tightening on the hilt of his blade, Drowic harsh on his tongue. Gale had interfered before the situation could truly escalate, but the moment had stayed with him on their track back to camp all the same. As it had with Altonaufein, evidently.

So close now, he catches the red glint of Altonaufein’s eyes again, muted now, but still there. The flickering candlelight casts sharp angles on the drow’s face. Many fainter at heart would turn heel at the sight, run screaming for a mob, for pitchforks and pyres, but Gale finds himself not so easily cowed.

He’s a wizard of Waterdeep after all and has dealt with far worse than a taciturn drow.

“I took the liberty of preparing you a cup,” Gale holds up a warm steaming mug, its strong herbal scent gentled by spices and honey, “Peppermint and balsam with a dash of sweetness. It calms more than the discomfort of our current surroundings.”

Red eyes flick from Gale to the mug then to Gale's face again. It doesn’t take someone particularly insightful to spot the distrust in them.

"Why do you keep doing this?" The drow’s raspy voice is low and rough, as if a hand had wrapped itself around his throat and squeezed too tight. Yet it was no hand, Gale knows. Its loneliness, isolation, its claws sunk deep. Altonaufein had held himself apart from the group since the beginning. And who knows of his experiences before all this, too.

"Because you are in need of a friendly hand," Gale’s tone is so matter-of-fact, as if he was speaking a simple truth, obvious to anyone who would care to see it. As if he wasn’t talking to a drow, ruby-eyed with Lolth’s touch. A hint of a smile twitches his lips as he remembers the drow’s own friendly hand pulling him for the unstable portal, saving his life, grip strong and sure.

"Do I?" Altonaufein lets his head fall back towards what's left of the ruin's stone wall.

Refusing to let himself be discouraged, Gale still holds the mug, waiting for Altonaufein to take it.

"Does the thought not bring you some peace, my friend? Having an ally in this journey that we have so unexpectedly found ourselves on?" Gale asks, brown eyes patient, free of judgement. He wishes to understand, but at times he feels like navigating conversations with Altonaufein is like navigating the waters of the Sea of Swords. In a rowboat. On a starless night.

He doesn’t blame the drow for it. He’s heard hushed whispers at the Promenade, a few tales at the Yawning Portal, from a moondancer here and there, caught too deep in their cups, caught even deeper in their memories.

"Peace?" Altonaufein's mouth thins, lips pressed together, gazing at the night sky. There is a pause and Gale almost thinks the drow will leave it at that before he continues, "It might as well be up there, with the moon and the stars. I'll never have peace." A breathy sound follows, one that Gale realises is a laugh, bitter as nightshade.

Gale frowns, brows drawing down. The thought doesn’t sit right with him.

Never knowing peace? No one deserves that, he thinks, his own hand unconsciously reaching up to lay over his chest, where, under the threadbare fabric of his tunic, the deepest of the bruised purple lines of his magical scar remain well-hidden.

Banishing the shadow that had crept through his mind like the sun rising over clear waters, a poem comes to him, a second nature, its words familiar, “Speak with me. Speak of the broken past, named and not. Speak of the uneasy peace we share. Speak with me, through the night, the night air, the breathing particles of other lives. Too much to carry around the heart. Speak free.”

At the confused look in Altonaufein’s red eyes, Gale cannot help but smile. It seems a different strategy will have to be employed. Luckily, he has many at his disposal.

Ah well, it's no trouble at all.

Casting a minor illusion, a gentle moon appears between them, almost translucent; a faint purple glow illuminating their faces in the half-dark.

“Let me propose something to you,” voice slow and measured, Gale’s eyes hold the drow’s gaze, “You told me you look to the moon. What if I tell you about what I know of your goddess while you drink the tea? It'll keep you warm and chase away your worries – for a spell, of course. I promise, no magic in it, not even a whisper of the Weave.” With a chuckle, he adds, “Save perhaps for the magic of Mother Nature herself, I suppose.”

Where at first the drow had startled at the unexpected motions, hands reaching for the weapons at his feet, seemingly innately recognising the arcane power behind them, his shoulders lose their tension when he sees the illusion of the moon.

Altonaufein's weary gaze lifts from the illusion hovering over Gale’s palm to search his face. They are the eyes of someone who is unused to promises given and kept, but he seems to find what he was looking for, hand deceptively sure when he takes the mug Gale is offering.

He was right. Gale knew there were the first fragile seeds of trust here, between the two of them, he was sure of it, and, by Mystra, he’s glad he had been right. He had had little cause for gladness in years.

Settling against the rough stonewall, too, only a arm’s width away from Altonaufein, Gale moves his hand in front of both of them.

He’d startled the drow just a moment ago and he refuses to make the same mistake twice, “Let me show you something – or someone, rather. The moon you look to, the goddess that has guided you, is none other than the Dark Maiden, Lady Silverhair.”

The moon in front of them changes into a new form, one of a female drow, dancing, bare, save for the silver hair falling in long waves around her body like a long silver veil, a sword in her hand, a smile on her handsome face.

“When Corellon's wife, known then as Araushnee, tried to kill him, he forced her, and all dark elves, into exile. They were all expelled from his haven, Arvandor, with the exception of his daughter,” Gale cannot help the dramatic pause he makes, a storyteller before a grand reveal, “Eilistraee.”

There’s an undeniable spark in Altonaufein’s tired eyes as he leans forward ever so slightly, mug held tight in his hand. Gale catches the motion instantly for what it is: The drow is engrossed in the story he weaves.

“The Dark Maiden, compassionate, asked him to banish her, too, so convinced she was that the dark elves would need guidance to travel the surface and to fight this evil that would inevitably take form again, known later as Lolth.“

Eilistraee’s illusion is joined by another figure. A woman.

“Eilistraee became a friend of Mystra, the goddess of Magic and the Weave.”

With the mention of her name, Gale feels the by now familiar combination of sadness and melancholy, love and pain, twist his heart. Not allowing himself to linger, the wound still so fresh in his mind, he pushes on.

“She is and embodies the Weave itself. I used to see it completely, all around us, but now… Well, perhaps that is best saved for another time. Another story.”

With a flick of the wrist the illusion is gone, only leaving behind rolling waves of purple and blue.

“This is the Weave, connecting us all, connecting everything through magic. During the Time of Troubles, the Gods walked among us. Eilistraee appeared to mortals, too. If my memory does not fail me, she appeared in Waterdeep, in a location that later came to be known as the Dark Maiden's Leap, a site of pilgrimage sacred to her. The goddess ventured there to rescue a group of drow refugees and lead them to safety. In honour of her deed, a temple was founded, the Promenade, safe in Waterdeep itself.”

As he tells his story, Gale shifts – the hard stone wall bothers his back, yes, but the story draws him in as much as it does Altonaufein – his shoulder almost touching the drow’s.

“Now, that's something I can speak about first-hand: I visited it myself. The Promenade of the Dark Maiden is a sacred temple of Eilistraee, located in the Undermountain. It’s there that her clergy stops the horrors of the Underdark from reaching the city while, at the same time, helping all those in need. Slaves, escapees, lost souls.”

Gale steals a glance at Altonaufein out of the corner of his eye, “Admirable, really.”

Clearing his throat, he continues, “Eilistraee fought many battles and, in one of those battles against her mother, she was killed. Yet soon, she returned. After the Second Sundering, she was seen again in Waterdeep. Three years ago, we witnessed the Dark Dancer, near the walls of the city. In that year, Waterdeep welcomed an influx of moondancers.”

Over his outstretched palm, a figure appears once more, with silver hair, dancing under the moon, brighter than before.

“It's said that the Dark Maiden has helped Mystra in containing and repairing the Weave for many years. You see, their friendship is very deep. They help each other, they share the Weave.”

With a flick of the wrist, the illusion is gone again and Gale tries to chase the wistfulness away that had risen up in him so sharply, almost stealing his words.

Altonaufein's eyes are wide as he turns to look at Gale. There's wonder in them and longing and... hope?

That hope, that spark he sees, makes Gale smile again, soft and small and private, “The Dark Maiden and Mystra revel in freedom and in mysteries, in the little chaotic marvels that magic brings, in nurturing beauty, in embracing the happiness that living in this world, in beautiful Faerûn, inspires.”

The drow, who had been mustering him so intently before, drops his gaze to the floor in what Gale can only assume is a force of habit. It's clear to Gale that his words touch something inside Altonaufein so he decides to simply press ahead, “Now you know why I keep doing this. How can I see a follower of the Dark Maiden in need and not offer him a friendly hand? I want to honour our ladies' friendship, Altonaufein. Life is all about humble miracles."

Silence follows, but Gale cannot find it in himself to regret his words. He nearly makes to stand as only the steady rush of the waterfall sounds around them – then, quietly, "Thank you... Gale."

Words rough with emotion that have not been wrest back under control, still, it's the first time the drow has called Gale by his name.

Not rivvil.

Not faern.

Not even a cautious abbil.

Simply ‘Gale’ – and Gale's smile widens further with the realisation.

"Don't mention it. I hope that my little story brought some comfort to you.”

"It has," Altonaufein’s answer is curt, but there’s a gratefulness in those red eyes Gale can see as clear as day. Scarred hand reaching out, the very tips of Altonaufein's fingers hovering just over Gale's heart, drawing away before they can truly make contact.

"You are... kind,” the drow’s words are halting, as if they taste odd on his tongue.

Gale doesn't move away, only glad that the drow is willing to break his walls – at least for today. He stands, rubbing his back, almost comically, exaggerating in hopes of winning a smile from the drow, "My, this wilderness takes some getting used to, I do so long for a proper bed with at least a dozen down feather pillows..."

When he sneaks another glance at his companion, Gale sees that he has won this battle, too.

"I suppose I need to prepare dinner, otherwise we’ll have to suffer Karlach’s cooking. If you are in the mood, please approach the group tonight,” with that, Gale casts a final illusion before he turns to leave: The Dark Maiden dancing under the stars, Mystra at her side.

“It will last a few moments, my friend.”

Altonaufein's eyes linger on Gale’s back a bit longer than perhaps necessary before focusing on the illusion the wizard had crafted, and his heart feels oddly light with it.

On a night when the moon shines as brightly as this, the unspoken thoughts of even the most discreet heart might be seen.

—Izumi Shikibu, “On a Night—”, trans. by Jane Hirshfield with Mariko Aratani in The Ink Dark Moon: Love Poems by Ono No Komachi & Izumi Shikibu, Women of the Ancient Court of Japan

#a big thank you goes to lairofsentinel #who helped me lay the groundwork for this as well as alton and gale's dynamic <3 #i'm mildly mortified now and will go into hiding #otp: a soul that steels my own #ch: gale dekarios #ch: altonaufein #vg: baldur's gate 3 #series: baldur's gate #fic: mybg3 #text: asks

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we-are-inevitable · 5 months ago

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vivid picture in my head of jack looking at davey all pleading because his character is one death saving throw fail away from being full dead and their party doesn't have revivify because nobody wanted to play support and davey refusing to bend the rules to save jack's character when he rolls another fail. also jack's character had a normal person name like. mike. and years later whenever they're bickering for fun jack will say "well you killed mike my best friend mike!" and davey just has to take it because he did kill mike. nobody else knows what's going on

-asper

YES. all of this. oh my god im using this as an opportunity to rant for a second. rest in peace mike

jack is such a dramatic player and he really loves jokingly lying to davey while they’re playing. like

“Let’s see… Uh, Jack.”

“Yes.”

“Does a 25 hit?”

“…No.”

“Really? Huh. I’m pretty sure it hits.”

“Nah. Nope. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t.”

and it’s that playful bickering that really gets them going bc what’s the point of d&d if you don’t have fun with your boyfriend ???

also i feel like jack kelly as a character is a tiefling rogue. but i feel like jack kelly as a Player would really love playing as magic casters, primarily a sorcerer- and i think that wild magic fits him so well

jack takes his characters so seriously. even his joke ones. i can see jack being a middle school anime kid who made OCs and looked up deviantart adoptables on pinterest and was constantly drawing his own little people in his sketchbooks (even though he takes that to the grave) and that weird kid never left- he was just dormant until davey put a character sheet in front of him

davey is the same with his NPCs though lets be real. the day jack draws davey’s favorite NPC is the day davey considers proposing

i don’t think that jack would ever DM but charlie probably would, and jack and davey are menaces when they’re both players. their characters always end up sleeping together and falling in love. it’s inevitable (hah)

anyway yeah jack gets really invested in his little gay people in a way neither himself nor davey expected and it’s a great time for the both of them

@loving-jack-kelly

#jack kelly #davey jacobs #newsies #david jacobs #livesies #newsies musical #javid #javey #ask a jac !

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thatfooltheycallweaver · 25 days ago

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Patchouli and Candlelight

Day 3 of @fluff-cember

Prompt: [Alt] Hot Bath

Pairing: Aveline [OC] x Zevlor

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 [Dungeons and Dragons]

Word Count: 736

At the end of an Elturian autumn, there was always a cold snap. It only ever lasted a few days until warming back up for a short while before the winter fully hit, but it always made the conditions for an afternoon of riding through the heartlands interesting. Halfway through their ride, a heavy rain had begun to fall, soaking through their cloaks and making the end of the ride a race to get home. Of course, despite the biting cold that had finally gotten to them, the priority were the horses: removing the tack, picking the mud and smaller rocks out of the hooves, and brushing out the coats. It was warm enough in the stables that they wouldn’t have to worry too much. Zevlor wrapped his arm around Aveline and quickly guided her inside. She removed her boots and cloak, hanging them by the hearth as he set about starting the fire. She traced over his shoulder as he worked, untying his cloak to hang it. He looked over his shoulder and smiled, murmuring a thanks. Despite the house beginning to warm up, he was not satisfied on her behalf, watching her sit and try to warm herself in front of the fire. The tiefling left the room and drew the water they had stored for a bath, casting Produce Flame. He first used it to light candles to place around the bath to set a certain ambiance, to get a particular type of warm lighting that he had been envisioning for their moment, and then to heat the water. He looked around on the shelves, glancing through the bath oils, and felt the patchouli one was the more fitting of selection. He poured it in, and stretched his hand over it to feel the warmth rising off the surface. After a moment, she appeared behind him, both curious and missing his presence.

“What are you doing, my love?” She asked. He stood, taking her hand.

“The fire didn’t seem like it was much help, so I drew you a bath.” He chuckled, tracing her knuckle with his thumb. “Although…” He brought her hand to his lips, kissing the back of it with a smile. “...I’d hoped to join you.”

“How could I leave you to freeze when you’ve done so much to spoil me?” She kissed his jaw in return, reaching up to brush a few stray strands of his golden-brown hair back behind his horns. “Do you truly think I am so cruel?”

“Never. I know you would not treat me that way.” He smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. She traced up from his side to the laces on his shirt, pulling them undone. He shrugged out of the shirt, shuddering slightly at the cold air. He did the same with her, undressing each other; every inch of newly freed skin met with a reverent caress. Zevlor couldn’t stop staring at her form. She pulled away for a moment to tie her red hair up, looking back to find his soft gaze settled on her.

“You stare as if you haven’t seen it a thousand times before.” She murmured, a little embarrassed.

“Can you blame me? You are my wife. I’ll see it thousands upon thousands times more before I even begin to tire of it.” He responded, kissing her forehead. Aveline melted into the affection as he guided her to the bath, getting in first to lean back against the wood. She got in after, sitting in front of him, between his legs. She leaned back as the warmth from both her husband and the water began to make her comfortable, to chase away the chill that had stuck to her skin. “Is it hot enough for you?” He asked, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, one arm wrapping around her waist.

“Yes, my heart. I’m perfectly comfortable. The patchouli was a nice touch.” She tilted her head back onto him, looking up. “Are you?”

“I could do with you being a little closer.” He pulled her in a bit more, keeping her back pressed against his chest. She reached over to the side, running her fingers along his leg, just wherever she could reach. He did the same over her hips, taking care not to scratch her. He kissed the top of her head, adoring the way the smell of wood smoke clung to it. “And now I’m completely content, my love.”

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #dnd #zevlor #oc: aveline #oc x cc #fluffcember #fluffcember 2024

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galedekkarios · 9 months ago

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male oc (tav, durge) x gale fic rec list! ✨

in no particular order + heed the tags, ratings, and warnings before reading!

Beneath the read-more you'll find 40 recommendations with their summaries attached. Enjoy!

Anxiousscrambles' entire BG3 collection (17 Works).

You'll find lots of Gale x Durge, featuring Dreuer, a middle aged tiefling warlock (who I love so much). They've written about Gale and Dreuer's journey from the beginning to the end of the game, as well as their life after (and a little of Dreuer's life before, too). Both characters grow and develop across each fic, both as individuals and partners, and it's just so lovely to witness them both being written with such care. There's a bit of everything, too, when it comes to content.

the night so black that the darkness hummed by persephoning

Kidnapped on his way to Waterdeep, elven bard Ruadhán Riddon wakes up with a blinding headache, an illithid tadpole in his eye, and no clear way out of either mess. To his dismay, the magnitude of the situation only grows worse by the hour, but there's more good hidden beneath the darkness than he expects.

Ship to Wreck by Snailsnol

“Teach them spell shield, first.” Anyir instructs as he limps back to his desk. “Yes, but my issue is how. I can’t simply tell them to cast Spell Shield while I throw a fireball at them.” Anyir sighs like that’s a great disappointment. “And additionally, you are a proficient martial fighter, the throbbing of my thigh is proof of that and I cannot teach them any of the skills you or your siblings share.” “Oh-khay. Explain Spell Shield me like you would your students.” Anyir says, scooting his chair up next to Gale’s. He barely resists the urge to bump their knees together. “Speak, magician.” ----- After defeating the Absolute, Gale finds himself alone in his tower again despite extending a hasty invitation to the artificer, Anyir. He desperately tries to shove the disappointment from his mind and bury himself in teaching his students, but his fool heart clings to it like a web. Until one day he is no longer alone and realizes existing is much different when you aren't the only one doing it.

you say love, i believe it to the bone by alliancedogtags

"Gale," the paladin finally spoke, voice quiet under the crackle of the fire pit and the breeze in the trees around them. "Surely you know that with or without your magic, you are still an incredible man?" Gale couldn't answer that. He tried, mouth opening, but no words came out of it. His usual charm of words, the security blanket of knowledge, the comfort of a conversation's upper hand. There was nothing. Not when they were alone. Not when Mylo looked at him like that. his finger traced the muted purple line down the side of his neck. "Gale," Mylo repeated again, softer this time, and something laced his words. Not just something, no - a certain sadness that escaped in the pitch of his voice. Not even pity. Sympathy. "Great Gods, Gale. If only you could see yourself the way that I do."

Sage and Lavender (Series) by TheMoYouKnow

Evander: 42, Half Wood-Elf Ranger. Hails from the area just outside Baldur’s Gate. Gale: 38 (probably), Human Wizard. Famously from Waterdeep. One shot pieces written at random for different points in their timeline, but the series will always be reordered chronologically after a new piece is posted.

Gale & Devour (4 Works) by CaptainNautical.

The link features four fics for Gale x Devour, a Dragonborn fighter. Devour is a beautiful character, and his relationship with Gale is so tender and touching in every fic.

Ironfire by scarvenrot

But beneath Gale’s hands, and in his arms, the withering ache of muscle turned from burden to gift, because it called such a fount of affection out of him. Every stroke of his fingertips, each careful brush of lips against flesh was a balm against burns, ice to swollen bruises, warmth to the joint. Krull didn’t have the right words for it all. You make me feel strong, was all he could say. Stronger than I ever have. Was this how his mother had felt, Krull wondered, when she had come across that bumbling, balding man and his goat farm besieged by goblins all those years ago? Did he unwittingly charm her with his earnest humanity, his love for his little home and his modest life, his empathy for livestock that ran so deep that he called them his family? Krull had never asked, and he didn’t know. But he imagined it must have been so. That it was written in his blood for him to love a human being so fully, so simply, for every fragile piece of who that person was. *** A half-orc barbarian and a human wizard fall in love.

gale gets good dick anthology (Series) by auriadne

maybe a joke, maybe not. mostly home to m!durge/gale fic. (op chiming in to say that this is some extremely delicious well-written smut, just in case the "maybe a joke" bit threw you off!)

Taste You On My Lips by Djarfskald

Gale had only intended to impress Tristan with a bit of magic and show him how it felt to touch the weave in the ways he did. What Gale hadn't expected was what the tiefling showed him when they shared that moment. All Gale could think about was seeing more, and it turns his already interesting predicament into something wildly unexpected.

Under the Stars, in Your Arms by weenietime

Gale had never been sure that scales would be a feeling he'd yearn for, but now he was finding himself bubbling with desire to run his hands along the textured skin below him. The warm surface was rough against Gale's softer skin, his human form pressed against the chest of a Dragonborn. He didn't have to imagine Altid underneath him anymore, because he was actually here; his hands gently grasping Gale's clothed love handles as he laid beneath him, warm breath tickling Gale's neck. (Aka me needing to write my first Tav and Gale makin' love underneath the stars)

Devour by Sylpherna

Gale contemplates the destiny Mystra had ordained, while Estevan begs him not to follow through. They fight, and then they fuck about it.

Skornweave (Series) by BoilingHeart

A cleric of Ilmater with a dark past falls for the wizard of Waterdeep. Both find in each other not just a new meaning of life, but the meaning of love and passion.

Shelter (Series) by Iselea

A series about my dragonborn Tav and Gale of Waterdeep. Hailing from Alaghôn, the capital city of Turmish, Tavraskirno Marivaldi is a dragonborn who ventured far into the Sword Coast to visit his adopted human sister who had settled into Baldur's Gate, only to wake up in the nautiloid with a tadpole in his head.

let it bleed through my fingers, a treasure in my hands by blazeofglory

Gale tosses his head to the side, practically writhing on the bedroll, and River spies a glint of silver, almost lost amongst Gale’s lovely brown hair. His earring. Mystra’s symbol. River cannot abide by Mystra's mark on something that belongs to him.

Magic of a Different Kind by Girlfoxgirl

My Githyanki Tav Genos and Gale share an intimate evening sometime following their first experience in the Weave. Character development and smut.

Cooking Time by Tal_Art (Tal_Monarch)

Gale panics when he sees smoke coming from the tower only to find Tav has attempted to cook.

My Hand That Will Not Harm You by goddessofcheese

The tent fell quiet again as he moved his attentions over to the other hand. The worries he’d dredged up wouldn’t quite leave but he found them easy to drown out by focusing on Gale’s high knuckles. His pulse, steady and strong beneath his grip. The fastidious cleanliness of his fingernails. Every so often he looked up, to make sure he wasn’t pushing too much into the mystery pain of what the wizard had to live with, but was glad to only see him with his eyes closed for the most part, fully absorbed in the relief. Pride flitted into Zen’s chest at being able to give that to him. Pride and… something else. Something… now altogether unfamiliar. He wanted more. ----- Alternatively, Gale finally accepts some help with the pain.

Wizards and Evil Lizards by SunflowerRose22

On a whim, the Dark Urge sneaks into Gale's tent one night. He's been craving the wizard for quite some time now and has decided to make Gale his.

Crow and Seagull by Subaruchan192

After two weeks at sea, Gale and Karasu finally arrive in Waterdeep. Both are looking forward to finally starting a new chapter in their lives together.

Want is a Four Letter Word by Saccharine_smiles

“Why did you–ugh–you confounding man!” The fear is evident in his voice and his fingers shake from where they begin the incantations of healing he knows. His eyes squint in agony at seeing Tav bloodied and beaten beneath him and he swallows the cry that claws at his throat knowing that this was his fault. “I like it when you use big words,” Tav says, head lolling onto one shoulder as the warm, soothing feeling of Gale’s magic overtakes him. It is the softest touch he’s had since the last time Gale had reached out to him with kindness. He is still not used to it.

I Want To Hurt You (I Want To Love You) by Brittany_Hamato

“I want to hurt you,” Tav’s voice rumbled from his chest, making Gale’s muscles quake and his chest tighten. “Excuse me?” “With your permission, I want to break you. I want to take you apart, piece by piece, and take everything you have to give, then take just a bit more.” Tav sat closer, his hand trailing across Gale’s shoulder blades, sending trails of electricity over his skin. “Please, gods” Gale choked on the aborted noise, it wasn’t quite a word, but Tav heard him anyway. Tav moved in closer, pressing his lips to Gale’s pulse as he nearly whispered his desires. His hands wandered lower, one supporting his back while the other tangled in his folded hands. “Your goddess can’t protect you from me,” Tav snarled, teeth pulling threateningly at his earring before continuing back down his neck, “and my god wouldn’t take away my toy.”

Forward, This Book is Dedicated To, Epilogue by upwards_descent

Gale is a disgraced and somewhat washed-up professor at the local prestigious college when he crosses paths with a handsome stranger at the library. Would this be the romance he needed to fix the hole in his heart, or was he just needlessly putting his own soul on the line once more?

fall away by whenwindwhispers

The Shadowlands have made our beloved party gloomy. Some members are becoming irritated by the smallest of things. For Gale, he is drawing the line at dirtying his favorite robes any further, and Whisper has the perfect solution: why not carry him? In short: Gale discovers he really likes being carried by Whisper.

Gum on your shoe (Series) by Lintu

1: Gum thought he'd been cursed to face the worst scenario taught to him by his people. Perhaps maybe a ghaik tadpole was the ticket he needed to see the world. Small segments of my tav, Gum, exploring Faerun and bonding with his new found companions. 2: "Wow. That's some sleight of tongue. Never seen that before." Gale watched as Gum stood, stolen ring in hand. "I have," Karlach replied. "But that's another story for another time." 3: Gale was left drowning in misery, the egg he intended to fry for breakfast past burnt and stuck to his pan. The very knowledge that he had turned Gum down, pushed him into the spawns arms, made Gale want to scream. --- Gale and Gum navigate both tadpole removal, abolishing the absolute, and their relationship.

My Many Tavs (Series) by upwards_descent

1: A series of snippets revolving around my Tav (Cairros Elrûn, a woodland elf Evocation Wizard) and his lover, Gale. Hella gay, super cute, with some bits of backstory for my boy sprinkled in. 2: Another series of snippets, this time featuring Gale and my other Tav, Rizal Aganaad the swashbuckling elder tiefling bard. A bit more angsty, a bit more kinky, just as fun! 3: A third collection of snippets romancing Gale, now with added Dark Urges! Featuring Autumn A. Augustus, soon-to-be redeemed human Great Old One warlock

A Talk About Control... by Faetality

Gale wants to talk about his pursuit of a certain artifact. Kai’chrell finds himself less than enthused with the idea and the urge… well. It raises its head at the worst of times.

You are Beautiful, Like I've Never Seen by Eternal_Starr

“You’re worth something to me…” He promises. “Worth a lot to me. And you are important in this world, even if you don’t feel it…” He watches as tears begin to swell in Gale’s eyes before he blinks hard to push them back down. He turns to meet Altair’s gaze, a warmth glowing inside them. Silence creeps in again. Neither of them dare to break it. ----------- Gale feels his death will make his life worth something. Altair claims he's worth something now.

Gale's Folly by arcanewriter

“Another night, I want to show you my home. Waterdeep. Tonight .. can you just hold me?”

Well Rested by Lintu

The gang gets to Baldur's Gate and stays a night at the Elfsong.

don't accuse me of accusing you by sertuna

Elminster delivers a message from Mystra. Callesian gives his opinion on the matter. “If you have something on your mind, I'd surely like to hear it,” Gale spoke at last as they locked eyes. He paused in response, leaving Gale to witness the gears turning in his mind as he formulated a response. Every feeling that had been stirring within him that evening threatened to bubble over the edge. Callesian knew if he let out even an ounce there would be no slowing down. For all the good rapidly escalating emotions did a barbarian in combat, it wasn’t a conduit for rational discussions. At last, he settled on what to say. “No, I don't think you would.”

Silly, Silly Tav, Or: Gale Gets Buttfucked Through The Portal by faeblesmith

“It seems… unstable, somehow. Normally, magic this old is the most stable sort, with decades, centuries, even millennia of support. There must be something very powerful behind this mass of sparks. Just as Tav gets within arm’s reach, someone half falls from the portal. Ass first. Bare ass first. “Hello? A hand? Anyone?” Tav stares at the ass, unable to even think for a moment, let alone move to do anything about some man’s bare ass (and legs, quite a nice set of ass and legs at that) jutting out from… the sheer rock face on the side of a hill.”

The Stars Can't Compare by Brittany_Hamato

He wants to forget his goddess and Eliminster's words. Instead of worrying about the orb, or the decisions left on his shoulders, Gale wants to just spend a night watching the stars. Tav decides to distract him. Gale is definitely distracted and certainly not complaining.

Roar of a bear by Subaruchan192

Gale is awestruck the first time Karasu turns into a bear and due to this distraction, gets hurt. The bear gets feral and afterwards they share a moment of tenderness and maybe flirting- or whatever these idiots understand by flirting.

wordlessly and entirely by reddragoncrush

The hungers in Gale never quite died, but sometimes they were silenced. Or, perhaps, more interestingly, he hadn't done what he needed to sate them.

Even in Darkness by PerditionLaFey

Post- game end, Male Tav was injured and has lost their sight, maybe for good. Gale comes along to provide some much-needed comfort.

shake like the bough of a willow tree by deathishauntedbyhumans

They never last long like this, either of them. The few times they’ve made love directly after fighting something that has made an honest attempt to kill them have always been hot and dirty and rather to the point. Tav doesn’t mind, though— there have been other moments, other times where their lovemaking has lasted much longer, been much sweeter. This is different. This is… stimulation, for the sake of stimulation.

an incantation of tongue by sanquines (wraithes)

Gale's desires are a well untapped, the cool waters of his mind plagued with wanton ripples. In attempt to free himself of one man, he finds himself with two — a challenge even the prodigy struggles to wrap his mind and mouth around.

an abundance of moments by floralprintshark

Gale struggles with his feelings for Tav and talks to pretty much everyone about this except to Tav. (Tav called Suvi, they're a Tiefling bard with the urchin background)

Counting Sheep by Nightwang

“That’s not what I meant. I was thinking more of turning that big, beautiful brain of yours off.” “Oh really? Well now this I’d like to see. What great plan do you have, oh fearless leader? A sleep potion? Perhaps a nice chair to the head?” For the prompt Gale/Any - Cockwarming on the Baldur’s Gate Kink Meme

God of Ambivalence by SpaceMonkeySalsa

A tiefling Artificer trying to carve a new path for himself splits a large stone on a beach to discover something truly shocking: a wizard missing a hand and in need of a lot of help, and magical items. Lucky for the wizard, Elion happens to be a fount of magical items.

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #gale x durge #bg3 gale #bg3 #bg3 fic #fic #one thing about me is i be reading 🫡

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multi-lefaiye · 7 months ago

Text

the eden linnaeus powerpoint

we did it, gang, we climbed this whole mountain.

inspired by @vacantgodling, here are the slides for my eden linnaeus powerpoint <3 because i love him.

i had a lot of fun making this, so i hope y'all enjoy <33

tagging the Eden Fanclub/people i think would be interested in this: @anexor @skitzo-kero @vacantgodling @invaderskoodge @paradoxspir1t

@drawnecromancy @astral-runic @void-botanist @vampiresdrinkfruitjuice @chaieyestea

slide transcriptions under the cut!

SLIDE 1:

A Guide to Eden Linnaeus

Or: I’m kind of unhinged about this purple boy. And now you will be, too!

by @/multi-lefaiye, your local purple tief enthusiast.

[Image ID: A heroforge model of my character Eden Linnaeus, a purple-skinned tiefling with white hair, a van dyke beard, and black horns. He is shown from the chest up, smirking as he looks to the right. End ID]

SLIDE 2:

Who is Eden?

Eden Linnaeus is the character I play in my fiance’s D&D campaign “Into Darkness We March,” which has been going since 2022.

The basic premise of the campaign is that a group of characters from vastly different time periods have all been revived in modern day, and they’re looking to put a stop to a terrible curse slowly rotting their world from the inside out.

Also, all of these characters fucked up big time in life and were struck with the curse, too! :D

The curse is based on the concept of the seven deadly sins, so each character has an associated Sin. I’ll get into that more shortly.

Anyway, even though Eden was originally made for this campaign, I’ve become so attached to him that I’m keeping him as an OC outside of it as well.

Something about a purple demon boy can just be so personal

SLIDE 3:

Eden Linnaeus is the son of a famous necromancer and a powerful cleric. However, his father, Abdiel, abandoned the family when Eden was very young, leaving him to care for himself, his younger brother, and his dying mother, despite being only a child at the time.

As he grew older, Eden came to deeply resent his father, the rejection and abandonment leaving him feeling worthless and lost. And after his mother’s death, he silently vowed that he would get revenge, that he would punish his father for leaving him behind. He would prove to everyone, especially that deadbeat sack of shit, that he’s not worthless. In fact, he’s the best. And he won’t rest until Abdiel lost everything.

This ambition drove Eden for many years, leading him to become an accomplished and respected magic user. However, it also destroyed him slowly, leading to him pushing away everyone who still cared about him until he was completely alone. Which was fine by Eden--who cared if everyone abandoned him? He’d prove them wrong, too. Fuck them.

But in the end, Eden never had the chance to really prove himself. When he was 28 years old, shortly after finishing his phD, he died in his lab, alone and forgotten by history.

Then, just over 600 years later, Eden came back… and he’s not wasting this second chance.

SLIDE 4:

Basics - 1

Name: Dr. Eden Linnaeus

Yes, he has a fantasy PhD.

Nicknames / Aliases: Ivaebhin (Kader only), Ed (Michael only), Jericho Ferebey (rarely)

Age: 28

Gender: Male

Eden is trans, as a note. He’s got that autistic tboy swag.

Orientation: Gay

Class: Artificer / Warlock

Sin: Pride

Eden’s sin is pretty self-explanatory. For much of his life, he’s been motivated by an intense, all-consuming need to be the best in every situation, better than everyone around him. Even if it destroys him.

[Image ID: A drawing of my OC Eden, shown from the waist up and facing the right. Eden is holding both hands up and smiling at a ball of magic floating above them, depicted as purple with a gold outline and a smiling face in the center. He's wearing a red jacket with a popped collar, a golden necklace, a black t-shirt, and a pair of red fingerless gloves. The background behind him is dark purple with gold accents, and his name is written across the bottom of the image.]

SLIDE 5:

Basics - 2

Species: Tiefling

Languages Spoken: Infernal (native), Common (fluent), Elvish (fluent), Sylvan (proficient)

The version of Elvish that Eden knows is rather archaic compared to modern Elvish, but he still understands modern Elvish decently.

Education: He has a fantasy PhD in alchemy, lmao.

Deepest Fears: Fire, extreme body horror, his body or mind deteriorating, being overshadowed by his father.

Fun fact: Eden can’t stand the smell of cooking meat for the same reason he’s afraid of fire :D

[Image ID: A drawing of Eden sleeping on the floor, with straighter hair than usual and without his facial hair. His eyes are closed and he's resting his head on his arms. The whole drawing is tinted a light purple. End ID]

Outdated art, but still cute!! This is from before I settled on his horn design and decided how curly his hair should be. And before I gave him facial hair.

SLIDE 6:

Appearance

Purple skin, with patches of scales on his face, shoulders, and hips

Curly white hair that grows past his shoulders, usually in a ponytail, and a van dyke beard

Black horns, with a crack in the left one

5’3” (approx 160.02 cm)

Multiple ear piercings and an eyebrow piercing

Various scars, most notably on his arms and face

Details on next slide :3c

Right hand slowly turning dark grey

Little spikes on his tail, especially at the base and near the tip

Usually wears a lot of red and black

[Image ID: A fullbody drawing of my OC Eden Linnaeus, squatting and facing slightly left. Eden is wearing a dark shirt under a red jacket, dark pants, red fingerless gloves, and knee-high boots. He has a small smile on his face, and his tail is curled slightly around him. The background is dark purple, with a yellow gradient starting from the center. End ID]

SLIDE 7:

Notable Scars

A black handprint on his right side.

This scar is from the time his father almost killed him during a magical duel when he was 19.

Jagged scratches across his face.

From the creature that killed him, lashing out and slashing his face in fear.

Long scratches along his arms.

How he actually died :(

A crack in his right horn, and a ring of scar tissue on his tail.

These are from the same event so they go together. Eden cut these parts of him off for a ritual, but they grew back immediately when the ritual was complete, leaving just the scars behind.

[Image Description: A drawing of my OC Eden Linnaeus,, shown shirtless from the waist up with one arm raised and his hand resting on the back of his neck. He wears a red and gold compression bra and black slacks, and he has multiple gold piercings. Notably, he has a black mark on his right side shaped like a handprint, his right hand is covered in a dark mark, and he has scars on his arms and face. The background is a block of dark purple with gold accents and a gold question mark next to Eden. End ID]

SLIDE 8:

Personality

Eden is a very stubborn, egotistical jackass much of the time. He’s better than everyone around him and not shy about telling them that.

… However, under that, he is incredibly, deeply insecure. Eden believes wholeheartedly that he has no inherent worth as a person, and people won’t stay with him if he’s not The Best.

He cares so so deeply about those close to him, but he struggles to accept that they might care about him, too.

Very logical, very low empathy. Articulate and intelligent.

Extremely passionate and excitable, loves to learn and share information.

Lowkey highly self-sacrificing.

[Image ID: A drawing of my OC Eden Linnaeus, shown from the chest up with a tired, disgusted expression on his face. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail and he's holding a cigarette in one hand. End ID]

SLIDE 9:

Key Relationships - 1

Dr. Abdiel Linnaeus is Eden’s father, who left when Eden was only six years old. For most of his life, Eden has been haunted by the shadow his father left behind, fueling a burning resentment for the man who abandoned him. Before his death, Eden dedicated his life to destroying Abdiel’s legacy, desperate to punish the man who hurt him, and also to prove that they have nothing in common.

As much as Eden hates to admit it, he and Abdiel are very similar. Two sides of the same coin, one might say, with very similar sins weighing on them.

Eden wants to destroy Abdiel only a little more than, on his worst days, he wants to destroy himself.

Hannah Linnaeus is Eden’s mother, who died when he was twelve years old. He remembers her very fondly, so much so that he puts her on a pedestal in his mind. Though Hannah tried her best to be a good mother, she ultimately failed to protect Eden, too, and left him deeply, deeply broken and hurt. Many of his insecurities stem from Hannah, and how she compared him to Abdiel at nearly every turn in an attempt to convince him to forgive his father.

Hannah loved Abdiel, even though he left her, until the day she died. And for that, more than anything else, Abdiel deserves to burn, as far as Eden is concerned.

SLIDE 10:

Michael Linnaeus is Eden’s younger brother, who Eden had to raise almost entirely alone, despite only being a child himself. For most of their lives, Eden and Michael were extremely close, and Eden has always been very protective of his brother.

This made it hurt all the more when, as an adult, Michael decided to forgive and reconnect with Abdiel. Eden couldn’t understand why Michael would forgive the man who’d abandoned them, and this sparked a long, drawn-out falling out between the brothers.

By the time Eden died, he and Michael had stopped speaking entirely.

Kader Al-Masri is Eden’s childhood best friend and first romantic love. The two met as young children and became fast friends, and as Eden’s family fell to pieces, Kader’s family stepped in to help out and take care of the Linnaeus brothers. And as Eden and Kader got older, they developed romantic feelings for each other, and they started dating as teenagers.

In the end, they broke up before they left for university, because neither of them wanted to try long distance, but they always thought they might try again someday.

Eden always thought they’d get married someday. But, things don’t always work out that way. Kader found someone else, and his friendship with Eden fell apart when Eden reacted badly to the news.

SLIDE 11:

Family Tree

[Image ID: A simple depiction of my character Eden's family tree, from his grandparents to himself and his brother. On his mother's side, his grandparents are listed as 'Mg. Ansel Ferebey' and 'Jeriah Ferebey.' On his father's side, his grandparents are listed as 'Noa Linnaeus' and 'Sylaris.' His mother is listed as 'Hannah Linnaeus' and his father is listed as 'Dr. Abdiel Linnaeus.' Finally, he and his brother are listed as 'Dr. Eden Linnaeus' and 'Michael Linnaeus' respectively.]

Michael went on to marry and have children of his own as an adult, but Eden never met any of his nieces and nephews, so I didn’t wanna list them here.

SLIDE 12:

"Mini Eden," AKA Eddie

Eddie gets his own slide, because I love him so much.

Baby boy. Baby. Baby bastard.

Eddie is a homunculus, an artificial being created from part of Eden’s soul.

He also has all of Eden’s personality traits turned up to an 11, for better and for worse.

He’s rude, loud, and whiny, but he’s deeply protective of Eden. In many ways, Eddie is basically his son, not that Eden would admit that.

About the size of a gerbil. Soft and warm and furry.

[Image ID: A drawing of my character Eddie, a small, bat-like creature with purple fur and a lighter underbelly. He has a mop of curly gold hair and yellow eyes, as well as darker horns. Eddie is wearing a red vest and his hair is pulled back into a ponytail. He has a vaguely humanoid face and is smirking as he glances to the right.]

SLIDE 13:

Magic Color-Coding:

As a fun treat for myself, Eden’s different spells are color-coded based on the source of the magic powering them. When he uses these spells, they manifest in these colors.

Innate Tiefling Spells: These spells come from Eden’s demonic heritage on both sides of his family tree. Many of them are associated with fire in some way, and as such, these spells manifest in shades of red and orange.

Artificer Spells: Eden’s artificer spells are those he learned growing up or during his time at university, and he knows them inside and out. They don’t feel magical to him anymore, often manifesting as silver or a very light grey.

Warlock Spells: His warlock spells, meanwhile, are an unknown, terrifying new power granted to him by a being whose motives he’s uncertain of. He’s still learning them, and on some level they frighten him deeply. As such, these spells manifest as a very dark purple, almost black.

Cleric Spell: All of the characters in this campaign, regardless of class, have one cleric spell, gifted to them by the goddess Phara. These spells in some way reflect the character’s true souls and intentions. Eden’s cleric spell, Shield of Faith, manifests in gold, with touches of blue to represent the goddess’s influence.

[Additional Details: The color names mentioned in the above text are the colors mentioned.]

SLIDE 14:

Associations

Animal: Lion

Color: Gold

Zodiac: Leo

Flower: Laurel

Tarot: Knight of Wands

Song: Faust, Midas, & Myself - Switchfoot

Misc. Associations for Symbolism: Kintsugi, the sun, Icarus, stars

[Image ID: Two screenshots of Eden as he appears in my save of Baldur's Gate 3. In the left one, he is shown with longer hair that's shaved on one side, his eyes closed as he smiles. He has silver piercings. He's wearing black and red armor and has a gold staff strapped to his back. In the right one, he's shown with different piercings and shorter, spikier hair, his eyes glowing green. Here, he wears leather armor, and he has a black staff strapped to his back. End ID]

Two different screencaps of Eden in BG3--one with short hair, one with long hair. Unfortunately both with wayyy straighter hair than he should have, but none of the curlier options feel like him either, so this is as close as I could get.

He’s such a model to me.

#multi makes text posts #eden linnaeus #oc powerpoints #i love u eden #this was a labor of love #also if i missed something in the id lmk!!

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ghost-proofbaby · 10 months ago

Text

She’s said the wrong thing. She doesn’t fully understand how, but she can certainly feel Astarion bristle at those words. Nettie remains unaware of their internal conversation, digging around at her table full of alchemy sets and important looking herbs. If you think that, as a reward for simply existing, the world is going to hand you kindness, you are a bigger fool than I took you for. When Nettie turns around, finally having finished her piece, she holds a thorny branch. If I must be a fool, at least I am a kind one.

summary: the tadpoles prove to have some use, and aruna proves to be a bigger fool than astarion expected when she trusts the wrong person.

wc: 4k+

warnings: continued memory loss, being poisoned? just canon-adjacent violence and such. nothing crazy.

a/n: mom can you come pick me up i think i'm projecting too much onto one of my ocs again (also experimenting with placement of the read more this time don't mind me)

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Was Aruna someone’s daughter once?

It’s the only thing she can think of after she speaks to Arabella’s parents. A young tiefling girl, currently being interrogated, her parents desperate and brimming with fury as they try to find a way to save their daughter.

Surely, Aruna was someone’s daughter once. And if she was the one in interrogation, life at risk, she’d want someone to offer to help her as well.

The druids that had been arguing with the tieflings let Aruna and Astarion through under the premise of Kagha wanting to speak with them. Which, in all honesty, doesn’t sound very promising. But Aruna is determined, mind rattling with thoughts of Arabella, someone’s daughter, and her singular goal of saving her.

“What in the Hells are they doing?” Astarion questions the center of the grove, several druids gathered around the center point that appears to be a small idol.

Aruna hadn’t even noticed the green flow of magic, had hardly heard the chanting, “Who knows?”

It’s a pathetic response. Hardly humoring him, falling terribly flat as she continues to take large steps in the direction of the stone door the druids had pointed out to them.

Was she someone’s daughter once? Did she have parents out there, just like Arabella’s, anxiously seeking her return?

“You’re telling me you’re not the least bit curious about that?” Astarion squints after her. When she doesn’t respond, he reaches out for her, fingers wrapping around her sleeve just as she had done to him by the ox. But his touch is a bit rougher, a bit more secure. Less instinctual. “I find that incredibly hard to believe. What’s wrong?”

She blinks rapidly at that, taken back by his sincerity, “Since when do you care about something being wrong with me?”

“Since you’re leading us, specifically me, into a possible fight while seeming impossibly distracted.”

Right. He didn’t want to be led astray, walked straight into danger, when she was in this state. It was nothing more than that. And that was reasonable.

But she can’t stop picturing it; was she something small once? Something impossibly delicate?

She sort of feels delicate now, void of memories and uncertain of just who she is.

“I can’t remember if I have parents,” she admits all in one breath, uncomfortably aware of both his eyes on her and his hand that had yet to leave her arm, “I can’t remember if I had a childhood.”

“That’s all?” he scoffs, hand finally dropping, “You’re worried about if you had a childhood after agreeing to free some foolish tiefling girl?”

His words are hard, but she can still see right through his mask – her words have given him something to think about as well. A kindred emotion, a flash of something lost, sparking behind his eyes for only a moment.

“Yes, that is all. You seem to forget while you all have your own personal journeys and motivations that I can as well.”

She doesn’t know herself. All she knows is this, whatever this journey of their group had become. All she knows is the tadpole, the beach, her companions. She just recently learned about her magic while it’s clear the rest of them have an entire artillery of memories in which they’ve perfected their crafts.

Of course Astarion is better with his daggers. He must have practiced wielding them for years, and remembers that practice. Aruna might have also, but she can’t recall it. The fact that she remembered how to even hold them properly is a miracle.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says just as she sees Astarion’s hard exterior beginning to soften. She doesn’t want pity, doesn’t want empathy. She just wants to help the girl, “Let’s just talk to this Kagha and help Arabella.”

Before she has the chance to turn, Astarion is speaking to her lowly, disregarding the way she clearly wanted to move on from the matter, “I do apologize. Your condition… does slip my mind. I forget myself.”

“It’s not a condition,” she snaps, “It’s… it’s temporary. Maybe once we get rid of our parasites, I’ll regain my memories. It’s fine.”

Parasites. That’s what these tadpoles must be, leeches that have taken home in all their minds, and Aruna is just the unluckiest of the bunch to be stuck with one with a craving for memories.

She’ll remember. She has to.

“For what it’s worth,” he takes a step closer, nearly whispering, as though he’d rather die than allow anyone to hear his next words, “I do believe you had a childhood. We all must have, even those of us who can’t recall them.”

If she had been a little less absorbed in all her own issues at the moment, she might have picked up on that little word: us.

She would have noticed Astarion’s grouping of himself in that category.

But she doesn’t. She only turns and continues onto their mission, to find Kagha and Arabella, completely unaware that Astarion has bared a vulnerable fragment of himself to her. The moment passes, and she never witnesses the fall of his face as he realizes that the thread of connection has gone entirely over her head.

—

Aruna doesn’t know what her experiences with snakes had been prior to all of this, but she’s starting to sense they were not good. That, or all her survival instincts that were a product of human evolution were far more overactive than everyone else’s.

Astarion doesn’t even flinch at the snake. In fact, he looks monumentally disappointed when Aruna manages to persuade Kagha to not kill Arabella by letting the bloodthirsty creature sink its fangs into her.

“What a waste of a perfectly good show,” he sighs wistfully, watching the girl run off and out of the underground room they were now standing in.

One sharp warning glance from Aruna, and he’s smart enough to not make another comment on it.

“You wanted to speak with us,” Aruna says as she approaches Kagha once the death viper has long since departed. If Astarion notices, he certainly keeps quiet with his teasing.

“Indeed,” Kagha looks up. She still wears a veil of authority, holding herself bigger than she is as if to prove herself, “You are the ones who fought at the gate against the goblins.”

Suddenly, Aruna feels a squirming in her mind, a sudden presence pressing against her tadpole. It’s unfamiliar, sharp, but not unbearable.

The same experience as when she had met each of her fellow ailed companions, but to a less intense degree.

Obviously.

Aruna is shocked when she swears she hears Astarion mutter the sarcastic reply as it echoes in her head. She turns to look at him, but his lips are sealed tightly, wearing a bored expression that morphs into offense when he catches her glance.

Why is she looking at me like that? I didn’t say that outloud, did I?

It’s nearly impossible to school her shocked expression, but Aruna manages.

Astarion certainly did think the sarcastic reply, but he didn’t say it outloud. Aruna shouldn’t have been able to hear that. And yet the squirming in her head increases, and she has the sinking suspicion of who the culprit behind the shared thoughts might be.

Interesting.

“We are,” she answers Kagha before the pause grows so long it becomes suspicious, “And the druids at the entrance said you wanted to speak to us. So, please, by all means…”

She trails off, but her eyes continue to flicker towards Astarion. He’s growing more antsy under her watchful gaze, but she’s not going to scold him for being a sarcastic ass in his mind.

Maybe she had imagined it. Maybe the tadpole is draining her of memories and sanity.

Imagined or not, tadpoles to be blamed or not, Aruna remains distracted for most of her conversation with Kagha. Her focus wanes, only leaving just enough sensibility to make out that Kagha wants their group to clear the way for the tieflings to leave the Grove. The ceremony that Astarion had questioned outside, was being executed with the intent of sealing the Grove off. No one leaves, no one enters.

It’s all a bit morbid. And it makes Aruna’s bleeding heart ache for the tieflings. Predictable, she swears she hears Astarion’s voice say as her face contorts at that shared information.

She feels the crashing waves of Astarion’s irritation over all else when Kagha finishes her short speech.

“I’m asking you to help them. Will you?”

He already knows her answer. And so does Aruna – there’s not a single way in which she’ll walk out of here without agreeing to do so.

But she does take pause, and she does consider her options. Astarion may be shocked at the fact that she takes his reaction into consideration during these decisions now, but she does. And for all he seemingly loathes helping others, he is concerned with the parasite – he’s concerned with finding a healer, just like everyone else in her party.

“I’ll help,” the quietest of groans are already escaping Astarion’s lips, but they grow quiet when she continues, “On one condition.”

“Offering conditional help?” he admonishes, “I didn’t think you had that in you.”

For once, please shut up.

She doesn’t say it outloud. She thinks it, shooting the thought like an arrow, straight for the pressure of the presence against her tadpole.

It wasn’t an imagined connection. It’s clear Astarion had heard her by the way he nearly staggers not even a second after the thought has passed.

Very interesting.

“What’s your condition?” Kagha demands, looking between the two with brewing suspicion.

If she knew about their tadpoles, she’d probably kill them. With that damn death viper, no less.

“There’s a healer here by the name of Nettie,” Aruna feels Astarion perk up, all his dissatisfaction with the idea of helping the tieflings quickly fading, “I’ll help them, if she helps us.”

“And what would you need a healer for?”

“None of your business.”

Even Astarion is shocked by the sharpness of Aruna’s words. But when she looks at Kagha, all she sees is a woman turning her back on the helpless. And it sparks a new anger inside of her, a sense of righteousness that had to have been ingrained in her at some point. Whether it be before all of this or if it is simply a pillar of who she was, who she is, doesn’t matter.

Kagha is someone cruel. And Aruna suddenly realizes that cruelty is not part of who she is, not at her core.

Kagha smiles, a forced diplomatic grin that reeks of ingenuity. “You’ll find Nettie somewhere around here, feel free to seek her out as you please. But after you’ve seen her, I do expect you to speak to Zevlor, and to keep up your end of the bargain.”

There’s no need for Aruna to bristle at the words or her condescending tone. Astarion does it for her, and without looking, she knows his hands twitch beside his daggers.

Her dagger-happy friend, her shadow. She was never worried about blindly walking into a fight when it was him at her side.

Nods are exchanged, and when Kagha turns her back, Aruna is quick to guide herself and her companion across the room, narrowly avoiding the abundance of mud.

He doesn’t say a word until they’ve walked through a second doorway, entering what almost resembles a library of some sort. She expects a comment on her lashing out.

He surprises her when he simply says, “We have to talk about it, you know.”

“Out of all our companions, you are the one I least expected a lecture from regarding being rude-”

“I couldn’t care less regarding your attitude with the druid,” he interrupts, stopping them just before they cross into what looks to be a living quarters. A hospital, of sorts, “I mean the tadpoles. You spoke to me, without uttering a single word aloud. How?”

He doesn’t know that he initiated that connection. “I- You’re serious, aren’t you?”

His lips curl, nose scrunching, “If you’re about to tell me I’m going insane, I might go find the nearest stake and put myself out of my own misery.”

Stake? How oddly specific.

“See?” he exclaims suddenly, pointing at her accusingly, “I heard that! And yes, death by stake is quite specific, but don’t read into it too much, darling.”

“Get out of my mind,” she hisses, more mindful of being quiet than he was being, “Gods, Astarion, I don’t know. Technically, you opened up that connection. I heard your thoughts first. Which, by the way – thank you for not being such a smartass out loud in front of Kagha.”

His eyes widen, “Oh. Oh, you… heard that?”

Instead of answering properly, she only puts on her worst impersonation of him, accent and all as she tries to perfectly mimic his “Obviously.”

“I do not sound like that.”

“You certainly did when you said it in my head.”

“No, I did not. My voice is far less nasally, far more refined-”

“Who cares?” she cuts him off, “The point is, we can use these parasites for our benefit until we rid ourselves of them. Imagine the potential of using those private… channels to speak to each other when we’re in front of an enemy.”

“I’d hardly call Kagha an enemy,” he snorts. But he doesn’t dismiss her idea, softening up in consideration, “I suppose you’re right. The only issue, of course, is how we opened up the connection to begin with.”

He’s right. Aruna isn’t so prideful as to fight him on that, nor is she idiotic enough to force the misfortune of figuring out the answer to that solely on him.

“Well, what were you feeling when you first thought that?” she asks carefully. She isn’t trying to pry, something she’s starting to figure out he’s not fond of, but to simply get answers, “I wasn’t hearing your every waking thought before then.”

He blinks rapidly, and she swears for a moment that he’ll take a step back. As though she’s gone too far. As though what he was feeling in the moment is private information that she hasn’t earned the knowledge of yet.

He doesn’t. “I… I suppose I just wanted to say that outloud, to you.”

That alone has a dozen implications.

“I need more than that,” she squints her eyes, “Especially considering it wasn’t something very important-”

“Making a sarcastic quip,” he looks pained as he elaborates, “Whenever I have something… particularly annoying to say, I enjoy watching your reaction to it. It’s fun to see you scramble when I run my mouth.”

She doesn’t know how to respond to that, but it does make sense. When she had sent her own message to him, she’d been feeling almost the exact same way – regarding wanting to talk to him, not so much as wanting to annoy him.

“I focused on the presence, or whatever it was, of your tadpole in my head,” she says, glancing over his shoulder as she catches sight of movement in the next room. A woman of shorter stature, hovering over something on one of the stone platforms, “So I suppose that’s the secret to it. Knowing us, another situation will arise soon enough for us to test our theory.”

He has more he wants to say. She can see it clearly in the press of his lips and the flare of his nostrils, but he doesn’t dare to speak whatever weighs on his mind, “Right. Of course. Knowing us.”

It was probably just another complaint of the way Aruna keeps getting them into trouble. He held his tongue, and she’s probably better for it.

Probably.

When they continue their exploration of the area, Aruna decides to take her time in surveying the new room rather than heading straight to the woman she had spied over Astarion’s shoulder. Tables of medicinal items, ranging from mugwort to jars of odd liquids, almost appearing to swirl with the night sky inside. The shelves of books, tomes, and slabs alike also pique Aruna’s interest. She wonders just how much trouble they might get into if she sent Astarion on a quick roundup of some of the interesting reads; his hands were far quicker and more adept for slipping them unnoticed into their packs. He’d proven such with the apple.

She doesn’t even notice that the thought has slipped down their tadpole connection until Astarion is shooting her an amused look, crossing his arms as he stares her down.

“And I thought you were against thievery,” he murmurs, voice low enough so that the woman on the other side of the room won’t hear them.

Aruna really has no defense. Besides, aside from his torment of teasing, Astarion doesn’t seem to actually judge her for having any slip-ups in morale, “I am. Hence why I didn’t ask that of you.”

“Say the word, and I’d do it,” he holds up a hand, wiggling the fingers for emphasis, “You could have your own precious library to rival the wizard’s – for a price, of course.”

“A price?”

Her grin is impossible to miss. Radiant, it’s golden cast reflecting right back at her off of Astarion’s own lips.

“You didn’t think I’d do that type of work for free, did you, darling?”

It’s a fun dance. A momentary distraction. For just a few brief seconds, they’re simply two people teasing one another, unbothered by their current circumstances or situations.

“Of course not. And, just out of curiosity,” she hums, well aware that in a few moments, they’ll need to approach that strange woman. They’ll have to drop the illusion and return to reality. But that specific warmth that only he seems capable of triggering has begun to burrow into her chest again, and she chases after the feeling, “What would your price be? If I did request that of you?”

He hesitates. She had expected a quick answer, a rapid-fire she’d struggle to keep up with. She hadn’t expected for a genuine look of contemplation to cross his face, as though he was struggling to even come up with a response for the hypothetical.

“Your daggers,” he says, although his tone isn’t quite as playful as it had been. His eyes flicker down at the blades tucked safely into each of her hips, and when they rise to meet her eyes again, it’s clear he’s somewhere far from her. Lost in thoughts, lost in his own mind, “You seemed quite defensive over them the other night. If they are special, and you’re hardly adept at wielding them, I might as well make use of them.”

“You’re not getting my daggers,” she shakes her head.

“Then I suppose you’re not getting your library.”

She laughs, and she prays he doesn’t hear any of the concern brewing beneath it. She prays that he’s still too far in his own head to recognize the way her attitude dips to meet his own deflation. Her laugh is as disingenuine as his forced smile he offers her, effectively ending the conversation.

He’s gone somewhere, somewhere so far that she couldn’t possibly follow, tadpole or not.

She finds herself hoping it isn’t quite as lonely as her own mind.

—

Nettie is… nice.

Or, rather, nice enough.

She’s fairly patient with Aruna and Astarion when they first approach, ignoring Astarion’s rude comeback to her requesting they give her just a second. She reacts kinder than necessary when Astarion prods the bird she had just healed as they pass by, prattling on about how the bird needs time to heal and how Astarion could benefit from exhibiting kindness to others.

At least his responsive scoff stays between Aruna and Astarion, echoing down the connection of their tadpoles.

She’s nice as she inquires what’s wrong with Aruna, she’s nice as Aruna explains the tadpole, and she’s nice as she offers to bring them back to her own private enclave for further examination. Hells, she’s even nice as she explains her entire experience with tadpoles thus far; a story involving another healer named Halsin, another unfortunate tadpole to be studied, and the dead drow on the table that Aruna tries to not stare at.

Something about the sight of the drow makes Aruna’s chest ache. An indescribable sorrow. A mourning she can’t recognize.

Halsin sounds more useful than this bore.

Astarion’s voice in her head cuts through all that odd grief, helping her shake it off easily.

Give her a chance.

I gave her a chance when I didn’t interrupt her ridiculous spiel regarding that damned bird and kindness.

And what makes that bird any less deserving of kindness than you or me?

If you think that, as a reward for simply existing, the world is going to hand you kindness, you are a bigger fool than I took you for.

When Nettie turns around, finally having finished her piece, she holds a thorny branch.

If I must be a fool, at least I am a kind one.

He doesn’t have a snarky response for that one. As a matter of fact, all that Aruna can feel through their connection is a resigned sadness. Something old, something yearning, something learned from a different lifetime. It makes no sense to Aruna. He doesn’t know her. Her being a fool shouldn’t affect him. Aruna’s own feet being set on the path of kindness has nothing to do with Astarion in the grand scheme of things beyond their journey to rid themselves of these worms. She’s the one with the ominous letter, she’s the one with debts to be paid regarding him once it’s all said and done. Her foolish kindness shouldn’t affect him.

And yet, it does. To a startling degree that Aruna can’t even offer proper focus to at the time being, because her focus must remain on the healer in front of her.

Because Nettie is nice enough, until she isn’t.

A series of questions, as if Aruna was on some impassable trial, is all it takes for the smaller woman to lose that nice exterior. And Aruna is unsure if maybe it was her tone to blame, being a bit too snippy with Astarion’s anxieties pounding at the back of her head. Or mayhaps if it is her memory loss to blame, making certain gaps impossible to fill and certain answers impossible to be honest. She doesn’t know where she went wrong, but she did – she’s gone terribly wrong the moment that Nettie’s face hardens in a flair of certain impassive determination, and she reaches out for Aruna’s hand.

Don’t.

Aruna can’t decipher if it was that knowing animal inside of her or Astarion that warns her so ferociously. Perhaps it had been the tadpole, a self-serving parasite that got them into this mess to begin with. She doesn’t know, she doesn’t know, she doesn’t know.

She only knows that the moment those thorns scratch her palm, it hurts like all Hells.

It burns. Terribly. And Aruna, for all her cluelessness, knows that healing shouldn’t burn.

She tugs her hand away from Nettie impossibly fast the moment the tips of the thorns have dug in, looking down at the angry pink scratches left behind. Only surface level, but they burn.

“What in the hells-” Astarion starts, taking a step forward as Aruna cradles her hand to her chest.

If I must be a fool, at least I am a kind one.

“Be careful – your legs will probably give out first.”

It’s not a cure. It’s not a plant of healing. It burns, its venom sinking its way into Aruna’s veins, spreading with a painful speed, her racing heart only quickening the process.

Aruna doesn’t have the chance to so much as blink before Astarion’s daggers are against Nettie’s neck.

Kind fool indeed.

TAGLIST: @emmaisgonnacry @writinginthetwilight @moonmunson

#ghost's stories #astarion #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #astarion fanfic #astarion fanfiction #the moon will sing #wahoo #aruna you absolute dumb ass you failed that perception check #every day i go through life whispering to myself 'if i must be fool at least i am kind' over and over and over and over #i would rather be foolish and kind than callous and heartless #the older i get the harder it is to maintain that #anyways #three cheers to finally getting to the tadpole connection establishment we're definitely going to misuse that for nefarious reasons later o

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ellekhen · 4 months ago

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Hand, Hearth, and Home

Chapter 73 - Awaken and Rest

Chapter Summary: The party reunites for a desperately-needed rest.

Pairing(s): Astarion x Male Tav (Main); Past OC x Male Tav Rating: Explicit Length: 373K+ words; Chapters 73/?? (Master Post)

Excerpt below:

When Church comes to, he finds the world frozen in time.

And then he sees her.

The Raven Queen stands there — watching him from behind an unblinking, haunted-looking Astarion. She appraises them both, tilting the pale mask of her head. Her many eyes wink as her feathers flutter in a nonexistent wind.

“Oh Church…” the Raven Queen murmurs sadly. “See how easily he overwhelms you?”

“Stay away from him!” Church snarls at her.

The Raven Queen sighs, gesturing down at the vampire spawn.

“All it took was exterminating one undead — one suffering soul — and you would have had my protection until the day you died… and beyond. Your shadow never would have bested you.”

Her mask drifts lower as her wings flex.

“It is not too late for you to win back my favor.”

Church stares at her incredulously, and he almost wants to laugh at the ludicrousness of her proposal.

“I don’t want your protection,” he spits. “I don’t want your lies, and I won’t hurt him.”

“Oh?”

The Raven Queen’s feathery body grows longer, more monstrous as she stretches forth to crawl over to him. But the tiefling stares as steadily as he can as her mask studies him closely, even though every cell of his body screams to turn and hide away.

“You saw what became of you without my protection. Is this your final decision?” she asks him softly. Dangerously.

“I won’t vow to destroy the undead,” Church says evenly. “Not for you. Not even for my own soul.”

“Your mind could die. Your soul could sunder. Is that what you wish?”

Church huffs a bitter laugh.

“Well, you said ‘could,’” he mutters. “Does that mean I have a chance after all?”

The Raven Queen laughs — as if taken aback.

“There is always a chance, however small,” she muses. “But embracing that chance also means embracing the far greater possibility of endless suffering and death.”

Church stares and stares at the frozen Astarion, wishing he had time to help him understand…

“I don’t want to die,” he croaks. “But I want him to live more.”

“Even if his life will bring more death and damnation? Not only to you, but to many, many others?”

Church closes his eyes for a moment. He can still smell the foul blood and viscera caked into his clothing by whatever transpired during his sleep.

“…yes,” he whispers.

The Raven Queen’s mask looms over him, studying him closely.

And then she giggles.

“How delightful,” she murmurs. “How curious. How deeply…” she takes a deep, shuddering breath as she retreats back into her smaller form. “How… horrible,” she says, voice distant, “Oh. I see your path before you — the turns in the road manifesting like newborn stars. You poor things…”

Church frowns at her.

“What are you—?”

“Where one door closes… another opens,” the Raven Queen lilts. “I still see tragedy in your futures. Such sweet, sweet tragedy. But, oh! It is ever-shifting. Yes, so many possibilities are ripe for the picking…”

Church swallows, his mouth dry.

“You intrigue me, child,” the Raven Queen declares, amused. “I will keep my eyes on you both. I will send my witnesses. They know your names.”

“Just leave him alone!” Church beseeches her. “Leave us alone.”

“Fret not, child. No pact will be made today… by your choice alone,” she says softly. “But the offer still stands, for as long as you are capable of making that choice. And that choice will linger there beside you — your destiny. Your doom.”

Church reminds himself to breathe.

“So what happens now?” he asks her, voice cracking. “Is my soul lost? Is that the tragedy?”

The Raven Queen hums dubiously.

“I see the potential for a tragedy far more delicious… provided you survive this one. You will have a short reprieve when you wake,” she says enigmatically. “What you will do with it, I do not know. Not yet. You will play your part, and my children will watch. Whether it’s tomorrow or a hundred years from now, we will be waiting for you.

“And then, when all has come to pass, I will see your face in the Fortress of Memories, my child. And when that happens…” she summons the silver orbs of Astarion’s memories once again, smiling at them. “...you may collect what was lost.”

Without further ado, she disappears in a flurry of wings.

Church slumps back to the ground, his consciousness fading as time begins to pass once more.

Without the protection of any entities, it’s only a matter of time before the shadows will claim him again.

Well.

He won’t spend it waiting for that to happen.

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astarionsilverbough · 1 year ago

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What's the what on Halsin's polyamorous nature in TLOGAM? Just curious if u have thoughts of how that might be portrayed!

(I love that slutty druid and his perspective on """the bounty of nature's gifts""" but I also just want to be a lil tiefling with 2 boyfriends, one of whom is big enough to carry us both on his shoulders, so it works out beautifully for me. Also like hell yeah poly rep also I guess as a secondary bonus.)

,,,, well

the tags do say monogamous halstarion, darling, and while i get that he gives that option i’m of the (possibly controversial) opinion that halsin’s ‘poly’ nature is borne of his trauma from being a sex slave.

he tells us in game that we’re the only one he wants but if we want to wander we can; this is a man who has been grieving for hundreds of years to the point where he can’t see his own value and can’t imagine why anyone would want only him. idc if he remains a poly option but i would love if larian added the ability to tell the poor man he’s all we want, too.

beyond that, i cannot ever abide astarion being coerced into polyamory - he has to be persuaded into it, asks (heartbreakingly) if it’s because you haven’t fucked in a while, and is blatantly and vocally uncomfortable in situations wherein threesomes or foursomes are possible. he’s also wildly traumatized and would say yes to being poly just to keep his partner happy, which breaks my heart even more.

there will not be any polyamory in tlogm. i myself am not against it and do have MULTIPLE ocs that are poly but it really doesn’t fit these characters in my own personal opinion.

#the land of gods and monsters verse #baldur’s gate 3 #astarion #halstarion #halsin #rambles

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unreadpoppy · 1 year ago

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song as old as rhyme - chapter 9

{Beauty and the Beast AU - Raphael x OC (Elize)}

chapter 8

Read on AO3

Taglist: @littlemoondarling @desenhosdebolso @shyminnie07

A/N: I don't know how I feel about this chapter. Maybe it could have been better but this was the best i could come up with. Also, I may be rushing some things but it's so that we get to some important plot points faster. I hope you guys enjoy it.

Haarlep had essentially dragged Elize around the House of Hope, most of the places she had seen before, but hearing them talk about each room did bring her some comfort.

Eventually, they found themselves sitting across from one another in a random room, asking questions about each other. There was a bottle of wine between, which had been mostly consumed by the incubus.

“So, you’re his personal incubus?” Elize asked. Haarlep nodded. “What does that mean?” She had a vague idea that these creatures needed sex to survive but she’d never imagine that Raphael would house one in his home.

Haarlep chuckled. “It means that I do all the work while Raphael lays on his back and barks orders.”

“And why do you look like him?”

“Because Raphael only fucks Raphael, dear.”

“Oh.” Was all Elize could think to reply. “And how did you get here? Why did you start working for him?”

“Curious thing, aren’t you?” He raised an eyebrow, taking a swing from the bottle. Up until that point, he had been the one doing most of the questioning. “I was sent here by his dear father, Mephistopheles, to distract the naughy boy.” He paused. “Although, when that misadventurer, Tav, showed up with their tadpole problem, I had a hard time in doing my job.”

Before Elize could ask further, Haarlep stopped her. “But enough about me. Did you know” Haarlep began the question “that you talk in your sleep?”

“What!?” Elize exclaimed. “I do not talk in my sleep.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I do not.” She sipped from the glass.

“I saw you doing it.” Haarlep smirked. “You were mumbling something about ‘mommy’ and ‘sunsets’ and ‘nightmares’.” They said each word in a mocking tone.

Elize’s lips formed a thin line and she used the wall behind her to help her up, visibly upset by that. “I think I should get to work.”

“Oh, come on, just when things started to get good?” Haarlep said, also standing up.

Before they could continue arguing, a portal opened and through it, walked out a dwarf woman and a tiefling girl.

“Korilla, Mol!” Haarlep addressed the new arrivals. ”What brings you here?”

“The master is going to receive an important guest today.” The dwarf replied. “He ordered the house to be clean. Everything has to be in order and everyone is to be on their best behavior.” She then noticed Elize behind Haarlep. “You must be the new girl. I’m Korilla Hearthflame.” She said, with a slight bow. ‘And this is Mol.” The dwarf pointed towards the child.

“I’m Elize.” Was all she replied.

“Now that everyone’s acquainted, it’s time to get to work.” Haarlep said and so, for hours, the four of them made sure that the House of Hope was in good condition. Elize was glad to no longer be the only one holding the broom.

When the master of the house arrived, everyone felt it. It was as if the air stopped to greet him.

Elize and Korilla had been tasked with waiting the table for Raphael and his guest. Both women would take turns serving the meals. Whenever it was Elize’s turn to go in, she would try to do everything as quickly as possible, avoiding eye contact.

The guest was an elven man, with long blonde hair. Elize wondered what could he have to offer to be of such importance for the devil, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Now, she was waiting for the dwarf to return to the kitchen.

There was a knock on the door and Elize opened it, allowing Korilla to walk out. Suddenly, she smelled something familiar.

“Is this smell coming from that?” She asked, pointing towards the opened wine bottle the dwarf was holding.

“Yes.” Korilla replied. “It was the guest who brought it and made a point that it was served tonight.”

“May I?” Elize opened up her hand and the bottle was placed in it. She brought the wine close to her nose and took a sniff. Besides the smell of wine, she noticed a hint of berries and a subtle, woodsy and earthy scent. It was when she smelled something very sweet, that she realized.

A memory appeared in Elize’s mind eye. She remembered her mother teaching her about different kinds of poisonous plants and how to spot them.

She also remembered her mother laying on the floor, a drink with that smell rolling on the ground.

Elize came back to her senses. “Korilla, did you serve this to them?” She asked in a worried tone.

“Yes, why do you-” Before she could finish, Elize was running towards the room where the dinner was served.

Elize ran, ignoring Korilla’s shouts, and bursted through the doors of the room.

Raphael, who looked human, put his chalice down and got up, furious. Before he started shouting, Elize interrupted him.

“He’s trying to poison you!” She screamed.

“What?” Raphael replied but before he could go further, his nose began to bleed, and he almost fell on the table, coughing, a hand on his heart. He looked deadly at his guest. Before the man could try to run away, the devil snapped his fingers and the elf disintegrated.

The spell proved itself to use too much of his remaining strength, as immediately afterwards, Raphael fell backwards. Elize ran towards the fireplace and grabbed the poker, using it to pull some coal out. At the same time, Korilla, Haarlep and Mol had arrived.

Elize began to bark orders. “Someone get me water, a plate and paper! Quickly!” They all sprung into action. The girl took the hot pieces of coal in her hands and knelt besides Raphael. His eyes had glossed over.

Soon, Haarlep and Mol appeared beside her with the plate and the water. She poured the water on the plate and began to mix it with the charcoal. Finally, Korilla arrived with the paper. Elize rolled up the paper, making it into a funnel and told the incubus to hold it to the devil’s mouth.

She placed Raphael’s head on her lap, and while Haarlep held the makeshift funnel, Elize poured the coal water into the funnel. She poured a good portion of it and stopped, to see if Raphael reacted.

Nothing, besides some spasms. She continued pouring. Eventually, the plate was empty and Raphael looked as good as dead.

“Oh gods, please…” Elize whispered. They all looked defeated until the devil lurched forwards and vomited the coal out.

He spent a good moment like that until he finally stopped, and just laid on his side, breathing heavily.

Looking relieved, Elize turned to Haarlep. “Take him to his room.” She said. “We will clean this mess in the meantime.” They nodded and carried Raphael out of the room. Now that they knew the master would live, the situation dawned on Elize, and she began to shake slightly.

After the devil and the incubus left the room, Mol got up and turned towards Elize. “How did you know to do that?!” The young girl asked.

“My mother, she… she taught me some things.” Was all Elize replied. She got up on shaky knees and without another word, began to clean the table.

#raphael x oc #raphael x elize #not tav oc #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #beauty and the beast AU #my writing #haarlep bg3 #haarlep #mol bg3 #korilla bg3

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aurorawinternights · 3 months ago

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OC Deep Dive Questions:

Thank you @adorablebanite for the tag ^.^ looking forward to reading everyone else's OC's as well of course. I would tag but all my mutual's already appeared to be tagged XD.

What common/uncommon fear do they have?

Do they have any pet peeves?

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

What do they notice first in a person?

On a scale from 1-10, how high is their pain tolerance?

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

What animal represents them best?

What is a smell they dislike?

Have they broken any bones?

How would a stranger likely describe them?

Are they a night owl, or morning bird?

What’s a flavor they hate and a flavor they love?

Do they have any hobbies?

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprise?

Do they like to wear jewelery?

Do they have neat or messy handwriting?

What are the two emotions they feel the most?

Do they have a favourite fabric?

What kind of accent do they have?

OC's name: Lucid Reign

answers to said questions under the cut.

What common/uncommon fear do they have?

Lucid has a big fear of not belonging and being cast out. As there is a big stigma against individuals who are direct descendants of devils or demons, often getting them chased out of populated areas or being hunted down and killed, she has spent her whole life pretending to be a Tiefling to hide this and survive.

Do they have any pet peeves?

I think Lucid's biggest pet peeve is waking up in the morning and smelling freshly brewed coffee only to find it was made too weak for her tastes. To go along with that she is NOT a morning person so if there is too much chit-chat or high energy before her first cup she WILL have words about it.

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

The three items you will find in her room are a signed copy of Volo's Guide to Baldur's Gate (she kind of low key fangirls over him being an aspiring bard and all), a violin that she purchased with her first paycheck, and not really on her room but is on her at all times but an enchanted anklet she has worn since birth supposedly gifted by her mother before handing her over to the Guild as a baby.

What do they notice first in a person?

That would have to be the way they are carrying themselves tells her how she herself is to approach them in conversation. She is a naturally guarded person so she is very adept at picking up body language cues and matching accordingly

On a scale from 1-10, how high is their pain tolerance?

UMMM... is there an number higher than 10?? Jk...but for real she has such a damn hard time asking for help so often neglecting and hiding her pain. It often takes those around her noticing the damage and forcing her to accept help by convincing her she is not indebted to anyone for it.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

definitely fight mode, vicious mockery anyone? She is very defensive and snarky when feeling pressed though this can turn into flight if it digs particularly deep. Such as talk of her being abandoned or cast out as it reminds her of being cast out by the Guild or more specifically Nine-Fingers. She viewed them as a family and misses them dearly and is looking for every opportunity to return back to them no matter what it takes.

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

yes and no to both honestly. Lucid is essentially an orphan who was raised within the Guild specifically by Osgur Hallorn as one of his spies. He is a kind man who looked after all the children he cared for but it wasn't really a family in the traditional sense. As far as Lucid knows (at beginning of the fic) her mother was owed a big favor from Osgur and she was fleeing a cult that wanted to take her child away from her. She had died protecting Lucid.

Lucid isn't really a family person she has no desire to have children or really settle down, very much a free spirit but she is content with her found family that ends up happening to her in the fic.

What animal represents them best?

an accurate depiction of Lucid trying to get Enver's attention

she wants food, attention, and is full of mischief need I say more? She would look at her boss, Enver Gortash, dead in the eyes and knock over a coffee mug, break it, and walk away...

What is a smell they dislike?

Grey Harbor in the mornings, that dead fish mixed with saltwater smell is foul.

Have they broken any bones?

I have outlined a scene where she does get blunt force trauma from a nasty encounter with the Flaming Fists. She also has a pretty knarly scar on her left thigh due to a skirmish where she had to protect her boss. She is his bodyguard after all...

How would a stranger likely described them?

this is funny because she is polarizing either strangers will love her and find her hilarious and charming, or think she is fucking stupid and a pain in the ass.

Are they a night owl, or morning bird?

Sheesh I should have read these before answering XD I accidentally answered this one already whoops. To answer the question though: she is a night owl for sure to her bosses chagrin who is clearly a morning person who just never sleeps.

What is a flavor they hate? What is a flavor they love?

A flavor she hates is anything other than the taste of coffee first thing in the morning. A flavor she loves (besides coffee Aurora...we get it *eye roll*) she loves spicy foods the hotter the better which I headcannon so does Gortash as a like a guily pleasure thing.

Do they have any hobbies?

She is a bard who performs in the Blushing Mermaid on occasion. She also enjoys cooking on occasion and can be found late at night making a meal and cleaning up after herself (she doesn't want to wake up the staff and put more work on them, kind of considerate that way).

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to the surprise?

She would honestly be shocked, no one has ever done anything like this before for her (at start of the fic) and then be ecstatic because there is going to be food, wine/spirits, and maybe someone to spend the night with. She is a Cambion but specifically half-succubus who has needs and wants.

Do they like to wear jewelry?

she is wearing an anklet at all times that is enchanted (for what I cannot say as its part of the plot XD) . Beyond that she enjoys wearing it on nice occasions. she is fond of necklaces and tail and horn adornments (those make pretty sounds when she dances/performs)

Do they have neat of messy handwriting?

She has messy handwriting but its not unreadable. Honestly I can see Gortash being like 'we have to work on your penmanship' and being the one who helped teach her and it went from outright bad to ok (he has more patience than I would XD) making it at least readable.

What are the two emotions they feel the most?

If I had to pick two that reoccur the most would be guilt (has to do with the fic) and loneliness. both that she copes with dark humor and a seemingly aloof IDGAF what you think type attitude.

Do they have a favorite fabric?

two actually: satin and lace. Sadly, both are not practical for being a bodyguard, but are nice for performances.

What kind of accent do they have?

English? Whatever the in game for voice 8 would be considered ^.^

#my ocs #tag game #cambion tav

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spacemonkeysalsa · 7 months ago

Text

God of Ambivalence

A tiefling Artificer splits a large stone on a beach to discover a one handed-wizard inside.

Pairing - Male OC/Gale (and some Shadowheart/Lae'zel which I mention because as of chapter fourteen there are more scenes of the two of them together than my main couple, but that's because I love me a slow burn and full disclaimer this is like an actual novel)

Chapter fourteen spoiler - A tiefling, a wizard, a githyanki monk and a cambion in disguise run into a fey creature who is interested in acquiring a new warlock.

Read Chapter One on Ao3

Read Chapter Two on Ao3

Read Chapter Three on Ao3

Read Chapter Four on Ao3

Read Chapter Five on Ao3

Read Chapter Six on Ao3

Read Chapter Seven on Ao3

Read Chapter Eight on Ao3

Read Chapter Nine on Ao3

Read Chapter Ten on Ao3

Read Chapter Eleven on Ao3

Read Chapter Twelve on Ao3

Read Chapter Thirteen on Ao3

Read Chapter Fourteen on Ao3

Or read Chapter Fourteen below

There was probably only a hair of difference between Erakis and Elion when it came to height—Elion’s horns helped. All the same, it seemed like Erakis had longer legs and could outstrip all of them with humiliating ease. He was far ahead, finding paths that Elion’s eyes couldn’t see, and guiding them through the underbrush with no small amount of impatience. The journey to meet with his ranger friend and to use her portal was only meant to take a day—but was that according to his personal pace? If so, they’d have to make camp well before they got there.

Gale was predictably in the rear of the group, still recovering, in spite of what he said, and in spite of what the cleric had insisted. At certain times there might be a full quarter mile between Erakis and Gale, with Elion and Xan hovering in between to keep the group from splitting completely.

They talked, mostly of the wilderness around them and what they were seeing. Elion could feel the subject of their poor pace bubbling closer to the surface as each of them took it in turns to let their anxiety get the best of them and glance back over their shoulders at the wizard.

“Seems like your family is close with Arabella. Has she always stayed in this area?”

“Not at all,” Xan shook his head. “I understand that my moms met her in that druid’s grove near Moonhaven, but she’s nomadic. I’ve known her my whole life, but only for a few days at a time, and never in the same place twice.”

“Your whole life? I thought she was younger than me when I first laid eyes on her.”

“Something to do with her nature. Chosen of someone. Of something. We can only speculate. She started as a normal tiefling. Then changed. Rolan’s the same.”

Being a tiefling on its own was complicated. People were already frightened of them on sight—of the implications. Rolan and Arabella had the power to isolate themselves as needed. It was hard not to be intrigued by that. “You traveled around a lot too?”

“Had to,” Xan admitted, a little grim quirk lifted one side of his thin mouth. “When on Toril, I’m something of a novelty. That’s fine for a short time, but a novelty in one place too long becomes a pariah. On other planes, the same became true, and this world held me all the more.”

“I know that feeling,” said Elion, “not really belonging anywhere.”

“In spite of insistences.”

“Constant,” Elion groaned. “I can hear my mother’s voice now. She was always telling me I belong anywhere I stand. I wanted to believe it.”

“You’ll go see them, while in Baldur’s Gate? Your parents?” Xan asked.

“I think I must,” Elion both looked forward to it and dreaded it. Six months was the longest he’d ever gone without seeing his family, but the circumstances of the present reunion were not ideal. They hadn’t parted on the best terms and he would have deeply preferred to return with something more impressive to show for his time away than a few new muscles and a very disappointed master. “They’ll be a little insufferable.”

“They’ll want you to stay.”

“Yes.”

“Will you?”

“I don’t know,” Elion paused a moment to spare a glance back at Gale, but was reassured to notice that the wizard seemed to be improving his pace, gradually. Perhaps he’d gotten a second wind. “What do you think? When did you leave home? Really leave?”

“In a sense, I never did,” Xan admitted. “And in another sense, I never really had a permanent home to begin with, in the Faerûn tradition. The little cottage where my grandfather lives would be close. But, I have spare memories of living there with him, and both my mothers—more distantly, my grandmother. The githyanki may never know peace and independence, but it won’t be for lack of effort. That effort has taken me from one plane to another at frequent intervals, since I was old enough to remember,” Xan admitted, frowning. That much, Elion had surmised, but hearing Xan say it with all the weight of his life behind those memories made Elion appreciate that he’d had a relatively eventless upbringing, it also made him feel very young. He supposed he was, but it was easy to forget that, being a member of a species with such a short lifespan to begin with. He’d felt ancient ever since he realized his life was a quarter over, at best, and he felt it had barely started.

Xan smirked, “It seems like the first time I left home I must’ve been very young. Just the day before my mother had been chasing me around the garden in play,” he stroked his little beard and recalled with a note of laughter, “she used to remove her false eye and hold it out in front to frighten me. I’m still not sure if she can actually use it to peer around corners like that, but she always acted like she could.”

Up ahead, Erakis had stopped walking, but Elion had the sinking feeling it was not because he was waiting for them to catch up. The man’s massive back bent as he crouched low. He seemed tense, and Elion quieted his footfalls. Xan was sure-footed, but seemed to follow suit, turning to swiftly and silently throw a gesture at Gale.

It could be any manner of beast, or an ambush, or some spectacle. Not for the first time, Elion thought how foolish it was that they ever thought that they might make it to their destination in a single day, without any upsets, detours or disasters. That simply wasn’t how these things worked. Erakis wrapped one large hand around the polearm of his spear, which did nothing to assuage Elion’s concerns. “Should we wait?” He caught Xan’s arm.

“You stay here, keep out of sight. I’ll make sure he doesn't need help.”

Xan moved like a scuttling reptile, silent and so fast it made Elion feel a little dizzy to imagine moving under his own power that way. The Monk reached Erakis so quickly that Elion had to privately acknowledge, somewhat sheepish, that if Xan and Erakis had traveled on their own, they probably would have reached their destination already. The two exchanged a word, seemed to be arguing. Xan gestured in front of them and gave a shrug. Erakis rolled his entire head and beckoned for the other two to approach. It was safe, apparently.

When he reached them, he saw that the hold up was just a small group of travelers ahead on the road. They were in some distress, having broken a cartwheel. They appeared to be nothing more than a little human family, with two young children and an old granny snoozing in the back of the lopsided cart. A man was trying to dig beneath the cart, perhaps hoping to get under it enough to put a new wheel on, but where they’d get a new wheel, Elion couldn’t say.

“Just some travelers in need of aid.”

“I could probably fix the broken wheel—or if not, I’m sure Gale could conjure a new one,” Elion suggested.

Erakis looked like he wanted to protest, but didn’t seem to be able to form the argument. Sensing his unease, Xan said, “They don’t really look dangerous. And it won’t take long to give them a hand.”

“Do as you like,” Erakis’ mouth, jaw and throat were all tight as he turned away.

For the life of him, Elion couldn’t discern what the problem could be. He suspected that Erakis was already annoyed with them for taking longer than expected, but maybe he could alleviate some of that irritation if he just showed off how simple it was to repair the cart with the tiniest bit of magic—or even just basic engineering. Elion had both skills at his disposal.

The family hadn’t noticed them yet. They were still far enough back and mostly veiled by the brush. The mother looked to be close to tears as she distantly begged her children not to wander far from the cart. It may be a simple enough thing for Elion to fix, but they were clearly out of their depth, and probably exhausted from travel. No reason not to lend a hand when it cost them so little. He might even be able to have it all sorted before Gale caught up with them.

He raised his hand to call to them, when suddenly Xan grabbed him by the arm to stop him. “Wait!” he hissed. “Where’s the wizard?”

Elion whirled around, but Xan’s concern was well founded. Gale was gone. He’d been back a ways—but not far enough for them to get split up naturally. There was now no trace of him at all on the trail.

“Godsdammit,” murmured Erakis and he let out the deepest of sighs.

“Godsdammit,” Xan echoed with marked more enthusiasm.

Elion saw a moment later that they were both facing the direction of the road ahead again. The family had vanished, along with their cart and the tracks Elion was sure had marked the mud behind it. All of it had been an illusion, and a powerful one.

The first thing Gale became aware of was that he was missing time. That thought struck him before he even knew where he was, before he fully took in the view, floral and herb scent, and humid weight of the muggy air around him. It was dark, but not in an ominous or underground way, more like a well insulated chamber with the curtains drawn over what few windows it had. There was a little candlelight for convenience, but the glowing embers in the fireplace were about as much extra warmth as one could stand during these summer months. The chamber, wherever it was, would serve better in winter. Gale was setted at a low table, his knees jutting up to his chest. He held a cup of tea in his good hand, his new prosthetic listing to repeatedly tap the side of the tin cup with a faint chiming song. It was the ringing in his ear that seemed to draw him to his senses.

Something was very wrong. The last thing he remembered clearly was walking along that narrow pathway out under the blazing sun. Elion and Xan had been ahead of him, Erakis shaming them all, far ahead. Then.

Lilac? Did he recall the strong scent of lilac? And a laughing voice.

He looked around the small chamber for some anchor of reality, but there was nothing familiar, and nothing to pin his location.

He wasn’t alone, however.

The woman was busying herself, arranging something on a plate. She appeared young at first glance, though her movements were a bit too smooth, a bit too poised. She delicately stroked a variety of nuts, simple biscuits and dried fruit into place with the deliberate and thoughtless movements of someone who had long ago learned to disguise their lack of vigor with a touch of maturity and grace. Her face though, turned to the side, was youthful, and her skin was clear and perfect, what of it he could see. Down her back she had a braid knotted at even intervals and adorned with silver trinkets that matched an overbright sheen in the corner of her eye.

He felt like he’d been here for some time. The acrid hum of fey magic buzzed in the air, more apparent than when Arabella had unfolded herself from nowhere. Whatever he’d gotten himself into, and however it had happened, he needed to be careful. And, probably not drink the tea in his hand.

“I’m afraid my offerings are rather meager today,” the woman apologized as she set the plate before him on the table and stroked crumbs off her apron before sitting down beside him. Her voice didn’t sound like a woman of nineteen either, but the glamor was very good. He couldn’t find the edges of it. Couldn’t begin to guess what she really was. “It’s this time of year, nothing has quite sprung to life yet, and the winter larder and pantry are all but spent. Give it a few days and the whole of the land will start to awaken.”

An anxiety gripped him as Gale had to suppress the urge to ask about the others. It was grim arithmetic, but he did it in an instant, had to think of it. If he’d been taken by some fey creature, which seemed confirmed by his present situation, then it was all but impossible she’d simply left his companions out on the road, unbothered, where they might yet come search for him. In all likelihood, she had them in some kind of confinement, intending to use them for leverage.

But, leverage to do what? What did she want with him?

He wasn’t above sacrificing a moment’s peace and decorum to demand answers, but she spared him by addressing his unasked question with the smallest of smirks on her too pretty, and too predatory face. “Now, I’ll be quite honest with you, lad. I’ve interviewed likely candidates for a pact before, but I’m well out of practice. I hope you’ll go easy on me.” Her violet eyes had an undulating warmth to them, more like the embers in her fire than sunlight, but with the smallest hint of blinding fury.

“A pact?” Gale’s concern ebbed, then redoubled. A fey creature soliciting a warlock was it? Interesting. “I’ll admit, I’ve never seriously considered a warlock’s pact.”

“That word seriously does quite a lot of work in that statement though, doesn't it?” she teased, and her chiding wasn’t a shot in the dark. There was such confidence behind it that Gale had to narrow his guesses about her true nature down to fey creatures with some natural divination ability. She could see a portion of his past, in all likelihood, maybe even pick up traces of dark things from his mind and private memory. Alternatively, there was the time he couldn’t remember. Had she drawn some secrets from him while he was entranced?

“I’m sure you’ve heard it all before, all their trembling warnings about the intoxication of power. Wizards like you pursue it as a life’s work. It’s an obsession. Those are the highlights of the lecture, are they not?” the woman rolled those purple eyes as she took a sip of tea from her own cup. “Oh! And the self destruction and misery that it leads to, of course.”

“Of course,” Gale had indeed heard this lecture—in a number of different languages, in fact. “But there are marked differences between what drives one to dedicate themselves to the study of magic as a wizard, as opposed to what drives a warlock to pursue power.”

“True,” the woman conceded, “I have my own understanding of those differences—but what do you think they are?”

“The effect of mastering magic is part of the appeal, part of what drives the obsession,” Gale didn’t like to follow this thought to its logical conclusion, because it had some rather bleak implications for his melancholic disposition, but it was also observably true. It wasn’t just magic that was his obsession, it was the continual pursuit of the unobtainable. “I would never describe myself as a patient man, but a warlock’s pact is certainly something of a shortcut, and one that doesn't appeal to me. I’ll take the long road, thank you.”

The woman let out a quick bark of laughter that turned into a giggle behind her hand, “the long road? You could cast fireball by the time you were eight.”

“True enough. That’s an unnerving little trick, you know? Peering into my past.”

“I am well aware,” the woman smirked, “but it's as natural as breathing to someone like me. How considerate are you, when it comes to suppressing all the things you know so that the people around you feel more comfortable?”

She had him there, but he wasn’t about to admit it.

“The truth is, you are remarkable, and under better circumstances, I don’t think you could be tempted by even the most reasonable of pacts. But. Your circumstances,” she gestured to him, one long finger nearly brushing across his prosthetic. “If left entirely to your own devices, perhaps you could have overcome the frequent pitfalls of power’s endless pursuit. You might’ve been the exception, and not just another Karsus. But, you do have such circumstances, don’t you? You were interfered with at every turn, one might even say that you were pushed to ruin. Dragged there.”

“One might,” he’d had those thoughts himself, during the darkest nights alone in his tower, when he felt fragility and mortality most keenly. When time seemed to gush rather than seep, and he feared he’d face an ignominious end before he ever got another chance at greatness, or redemption. “But, it hardly follows that I should—”“—oh, I think it does follow.” The woman’s flare of excitement gave him pause. “I think it’s the most natural thing in the world to recognize that even with a shortcut, you still might face inevitable defeat by your own ambitions. As natural as death itself. You are no ordinary dreamer. The unobtainable heights you seek require every scraping advantage you can grab onto, while you still have hands.” She shrugged, “Or, while you still have one left.”

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 gale #gale dekarios #bg3 gale #gale of waterdeep #god of ambivalence #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfiction

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this-bard-cannot-sing · 14 days ago

Text

The Worthy

Chapter 4 - The Kiss

Read Chapter 3 here.

Masterlist

Summary:

"Halt!" said the druid priestess, "No outsiders past this point." The priestess took in their ragtag party, but her eyes lingered on Wren. "Especially, Drow. Get back!"

Gale felt anger bubble in his chest at the woman's comments. Before he could leap to Wren's defense, Wren growled, "We need a healer. Let me pass."

"Careful, druid. She has--creative--ways of getting what she wants," drawled Astarion. Gale noticed him gingerly touch his still-broken nose. The blood on his face had now faded to a ruddy brown.

Warnings: racism, slow burn, angst, AFAB main character, graphic violence, swearing, sexual themes, anxiety, seizures

Pairings: Gale x OC

Author Note: This fan fiction follows the exploits of my OC, Wren, a Drow barbarian raised by fey and caught up in a nautiloid invasion. This story takes place during the events of Baldur's Gate 3. This chapter is a reimagining of the group's time in the druid grove and meeting Wyll.

________

"Gale, behind you!" shouted Shadowheart.

Gale turned and saw the goblin leap off the boulder and into the air. He landed on Gale's chest and knocked him to the ground. "Oof," huffed Gale.

The goblin cackled and pulled a knife from his belt and raised it to strike at Gale's belly. Gale raised both his hands and yelled, "Arde!" Fire flickered down his arms and into the face of the goblin. The goblin screamed in pain as his rat-eaten armor was engulfed in flame. He leapt off of Gale and ran off, trying to find a puddle, pond or pool to douse himself in. Gale quickly stood up, knees aching, to take in the battle raging around him.

Goblins and bugbears roared their battle cries and attacked anyone in the clearing outside the druids' grove. Shadowheart stood on a ledge hurling her deity's power at unsuspecting enemies. Astarion fired arrows out of his twin hand-crossbows and hit every mark. Lae'zel swung her great sword and cut the head off of a warg, blood spilling onto the parched earth. Gale spotted the Blade of Frontiers hurling eldritch blasts at a group of goblins trying to scale the gate to the druid's grove. Wren was nowhere to be found.

"Wren?!" yelled Gale.

"Heh, you're mine, little wizard."

Gale turned and saw the biggest bugbear he had ever seen marching towards him. His muscles rippled and he twirled his knocked and battered short sword. Gale prepared himself to cast Ray of Frost when the bugbear suddenly sprouted a silver horn.

Not silver, thought Gale, steel.

Blood poured from the wound from Wren's war pick. The bugbear at first looked confused, then reality seemed to dawn as he finally collapsed and his soul was lost to the Fugue Plane. Wren appeared several feet behind the dead bugbear. Her leathers were stained with blood and sweat shimmered on her blue brow. Gale felt his breath catch in his throat and his pants grow uncomfortably tight.

Oh dear, thought Gale.

"Are you alright?" asked Wren. She walked towards the bugbear's corpse and ripped her pick from his skull with one fluid motion. Gale could not keep his eyes from every flex of her muscles under her leathers and every rise and fall of her chest as she panted from the exertion of battle. "Gale?" she asked again, concern bleeding into her voice.

"Wha-uh yes, I'm fine. Thank you. That bugbear would have been the end of me," said Gale. He brushed off his robes and turned away from Wren, hoping she wouldn't notice how flushed his face was. Across the clearing, Astarion sliced the throat of the last goblin. They had won the battle.

From atop the gate, a tiefling yelled, "Inside, all of you! More may follow!"

"Let's go," said Wren and she squeezed Gale's shoulder before jogging towards the gate. Gale followed, with the rest of their companions close behind. The giant, ivy covered gate raised just enough for them to pass through. The Blade of Frontiers brought up the rear and the gate closed behind him with a thud. Everyone leaned against the gate wall, catching their breath.

"Well fought. Those goblins came out of nowhere," said the Blade of Frontiers. Gale had heard tales of the young hero, even in Waterdeep. He was known as a guardian to travelers and small folk, alike. It was quite fortunate he was also at the grove. Even if he is a warlock, thought Gale.

"Same, warlock. Tell me, do you have a name?" asked Lae'zel. She sheathed her great sword and adjusted her silver armor.

"I'm called Wyll, who are--" said Wyll when an incredible pain ripped through Gale's head. The other companions doubled over in pain as well. Suddenly, visions of Avernus filled Gale's mind and he felt himself running through the fiery landscape. I've never ran through the hells, thought Gale. In the vision, he could see a she-devil clad in ripped and charred leathers running away from him. The vision suddenly ended and the pain ebbed. All the companions breathed a sigh of relief and looked at each other uncertainly.

"What in the hells was that?" asked Wren.

"Hells, you saw that too?" grimaced Astarion.

"You saw that? Then, you must have parasites too," said Wyll as he rubbed his temples. Gale's chest clenched. Telepathy is a symptom of mind flayer infection. Time is running short.

"You were on the ship too? Were you taken in Baldur's Gate?" asked Wren. She looped her weapons onto her back and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

Wyll sheathed his own sword and sighed, "No, I was hunting in the hells when I hopped aboard the ship to chase my quarry. Mind flayers got to me before I could get to her."

"Then, you know we are in need of a healer," said Gale.

"Aye, it is why I came to this grove in the first place. But, I'm afraid things are more complicated than what meets the eye," said Wyll. He tilted his head in the direction of the path leading deeper into the grove. Gale turned and saw that the tiefling who urged the party into the safety of the grove was in a heated argument with one of the travelers ambushed at the gate.

Gale saw Wren's keen eyes narrow. "What is their problem?"

"I'm afraid the druids are none too happy at having so many visitors. You see, the master of this grove, Halsin, welcomed a large number of tiefling refugees. They were in need of shelter after suffering many dangers on the road. However, that bloke there," Wyll points to the human arguing with the tiefling, "Is a treasure hunter and was wanting to loot a nearby goblin camp. Halsin went with him and so did any kindness these druids possessed. Since the master of the grove left, many of the druids want the tieflings gone. They think it's their fault the grove has been attacked in recent days. The goblins outside are the most recent invasion force."

Gale saw Wren's brow crease with concern as she observed the tiefling and human arguing.

"Well, we've got bigger problems. Does this place have a healer?" asked Shadowheart. Lae'zel scoffed behind her. The Githyanki had made it very clear that only her people knew how to remove a mind flayer parasite. Gale knew her people had a long and violent history with the tentacled beings, however he wasn't willing to risk his life, and his companions for that matter, on the hope that an army of brutal warriors would help infected outsiders.

Wyll's eyes narrowed in disappointment at Shadowheart's icy response. "Well, I heard tell Halsin was their best healer, but he did have an apprentice. I was going to find her when the goblins attacked."

"Then, let's not waste any more time," said Gale. Wren stood across from him and nodded. They lead the way through the grove. Gale marveled at the majesty of the ancient place. A massive cave loomed ahead of them and housed a statue taller than even his own tower in Waterdeep. Nature and civilization melded perfectly. Plants creeped along stone walls. Passages led to small hovels and wooden huts filled the space. Gale snuck a glance at Wren and saw the tension in her shoulders had eased and she wore a small smile. This must feel like home.

Milling throughout the caves and pathways were tieflings of all hues. Gale spotted a young tiefling wizard arguing with two other tieflings. He walked past a group of tiefling children learning how to defend themselves. He noticed one tiefling child separate from the others, silently watching over all the comings and goings in the grove. He had yet to see any druid.

"Where are they? The druids?" asked Gale.

Wyll pointed towards a pathway that led under a great stone arch carved with the likenesses of birds. Through the archway, Gale could see a circle of druids chanting to an intricately carved statue. He couldn't make out the words, but he could only assume the statue was of Sylvanus. There were many tieflings standing around the entrance to the holy ground. They were clearly not welcome. Three guards--two humans and a gnome stood sentry over the entrance. Wren approached the guards.

"Halt!" said the druid priestess, "No outsiders past this point." The priestess took in their ragtag party, but her eyes lingered on Wren. "Especially, Drow. Get back!"

Gale felt anger bubble in his chest at the woman's comments. Before he could leap to Wren's defense, Wren growled, "We need a healer. Let me pass."

"Careful, druid. She has--creative--ways of getting what she wants," drawled Astarion. Gale noticed him gingerly touch his still-broken nose. The blood on his face had now faded to a ruddy brown.

The druid priestess looked between Astarion and Wren warily. "I--I mean it! Force my hand, and I'll show you it's claws!" At this, the man beside the priestess roared and shapeshifted into a fearsome bear. Gale saw Lae'zel and Shadowheart put their hands on their weapons in alarm. Astarion just rolled his eyes, clearly not impressed. Wyll stepped forward to stand between the druids and the tieflings. Gale had never fought a bear before, but he would much rather not find out what that experience was like.

"Excuse me, priestess," said Gale. Wren pulled her red gaze from the druids to stare at Gale with confusion. Gale patted her gingerly on the shoulder as he stepped between her and the druids. He heard Wren huff behind Gale in frustration. "We are in need of a healer. Now, before you insult my lovely companions again, I think it wise to let us pass. Once we have met your healer, we will leave in peace."

The druid priestess kept staring at Wren in anger and fear, clearly not hearing Gale's pleas. However, the gnome beside her did and reached up to get her attention. "Ahem, Jiorna. Perhaps, Kagha should speak with them? They did protect the grove after all."

"Wha-what? Oh," said the priestess Jiorna, shaken from her thoughts. She looked back at their party, giving one last lingering glance at Wren behind Gale's shoulder. "Fine, Kagha awaits inside," said Jiorna and she pointed towards a cave near the back of the clearing.

"Thank you," said Gale, "Oof!" Wren had shoved past him and marched forward towards the cave. Gale reluctantly followed, rubbing his shoulder where Wren had pushed him. What did I do?

Wyll caught up to Gale and said, "Well done. That could have been a blood bath. What's your name?"

"Gale," said Gale. He was still staring at Wren's back as they walked towards the cave. The tension had returned to Wren's muscles and even though she had resheathed her picks, she opened and clenched her hands as if she wished she were wielding them.

"Well met," said Wyll. He walked ahead to follow Wren into the dark maw of the cave. Gale followed suit and found his eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness after being in the sunlit forests all day. He stumbled on some unseen rock and nearly fell face forward into the dirt when he felt someone catch him.

"Careful, Gale," said Shadowheart.

"Thank you," said Gale. He let out a frustrated sigh. He lost sight of Wren, but his mind was still filled with thoughts of her. Why did she shove me? I was trying to keep us out of another fight."

"This is precisely why I hate attachments," said Shadowheart. Gale looked to his left. He could now faintly see Shadowheart's face in the darkness as they continued deeper into the cave. He thought he was adjusting to the darkness, when really it was just the faint glow of torches up ahead that improved his vision.

"What do you mean?" asked Gale, trying to feign innocence.

"Ugh, you know what I mean. Focus, or you're going to get yourself killed," said Shadowheart. She released Gale and followed the others into the cave. Giggling echoed off the walls as Astarion caught up. He had clearly heard what Shadowheart had said. Gale glared at the uppity elf. Astarion was clearly not intimidated because he straight out guffawed as he passed by Gale. Lae'zel brought up the rear of their party and urged Gale to keep moving.

He followed the soft glow of torchlight deeper into the cave. He felt the floor gently slope beneath his feet. Then, the floor turned into primitive steps. The steps led into an aquifer. Ancient cave paintings adorned the walls and the water shimmered in the torchlight. It would have been a peaceful place if it weren't for the sobbing of the tiefling child standing before a group of druids. Wren was already standing before the druids, her voice raised.

"You're imprisoning a child? What is her crime?" asked Wren. The tiefling child shuddered and let out another sob.

Standing before Wren was an elegant wood-elf with flame-red hair pulled into intricate braids and rolls. She wore robes adorned with what Gale thought were vines and flowers at first. When he caught up with the party and stood behind Wren, he realized that the vines were actually serpents. A rustling on his right caught his attention and he turned to see a massive viper staring at the small tiefling child before them. I don't like this, thought Gale.

"She eats our food, drinks our water, and steels our most holy idol in thanks," said the druidess. The tiefling child shifted, her eyes darting in every direction. Gods, she's going to run.

"You call yourself a druid? Is this what Sylvanus wants? The blood of an innocent child feeding his holy grove?" asked Wren. She stepped closer to the druidess.

One of the other druids, a man with a rack of antlers adorning his head pleaded, "Please Kagha, she's just a child!"

Kagha only had eyes for Wren. Gale saw the elf take in the Drow's features. He could see her distaste flash across her face. But then, her expression changed to uncertainty when her eyes rested on Wren's piercings. He couldn't blame her. It was one of the first things he noticed about her. She had bear claws dangling from each of her blue ears. Along her brows she had small pieces of copper, as if they had melted into her skin. Gale enjoyed how they would glimmer in the sunlight. But here, in the flickering torchlight of the cave, they created the illusion that Wren's eyes were aflame with rage.

"Per--perhaps you are right," said Kagha. She turned towards the viper coiled next to the child and spoke to it. The snake reluctantly acknowledged her command and wrapped itself snugly around the elf's leg. "Go, child. Tell others of my mercy--and my fury."

The child gasped in relief and ran as fast as she could out of the cave. Gale saw Wren's stance ease a bit.

"Forgive me, but it has been many years since I have seen the markings of the Firbolg in these halls. How did a drow come by these?" asked Kagha. The other druid looked at Wren's face. His eyes widened in wonder.

"I earned them when I earned my name, like all firbolg," growled Wren.

"If only we had firbolg in our grove now, to protect us from these devils and the monsters they bring with them," said Kagha. She looked at Wren pleadingly.

"Any firbolg would welcome weary travelers into their home. They would shame you for how you are leading this grove," spat Wren.

Anger flashed across Kagha's face. "What do you know, outsider? We have been beset by all manner of beasts and villains since these devil-kin arrived in our grove. With Master Halsin dead, it falls to me to lead this grove."

"But Master Halsin--" interjected the antlered druid.

Kagha turned her venom on him and hissed, "Keep his name off your tongue, less Tiela pierce it!" The viper wrapped around Kagha's leg mimiced it's master. Kagha turned back towards Wren. "I will complete the Rite of Thorns, and this grove will be protected. All the tieflings must be gone within seven days, or the viper must strike." At this, Kagha abruptly left and retreated down one of the paths leading to the separate chambers in the cave.

"Well, she's a joy," smirked Astarion.

The antlered druid remained. He collapsed onto a stone bench, defeated. Gale approached him. "We need a healer, do you know of one?"

The antlered druid looked at Gale with tired eyes. He nodded and pointed towards a chamber where a stone wolf looked down from its plinth. "Through there. She was--is--Halsin's apprentice. She might be able to help," said the druid. Gale said his thanks and the party proceeded into the chamber. I thought I was the only thing ready to explode--this grove is a powder-keg. Gale could sympathize with the druids' protectiveness over their grove, but he also understood the tiefling's plight because it was so similar to their own. They need the druids' help if they're going to survive in this wilderness, let alone survive the tadpoles in their heads. It was clear from Wren's reaction that the druids and firbolg who raised her would not have agreed with Kagha's judgment. Perhaps that is why she is so angry, thought Gale.

Inside the chamber, Gale found a dwarf healing an injured bird. The dwarf was focused on her task and had not turned to welcome them. "Give me a moment," she said. She uttered her healing spell and the bird perked up, flapping its wings gingerly. "What is it you needed?" The dwarf wiped her hands on her robes and took in the visitors before her. Gale noticed that the dwarf looked uneasy when she saw Wren.

Everyone looked to Wren to speak, as she seemed to be the one taking charge. However, she was speechless. Oh no, thought Gale. He stepped forward, careful not to touch her. He glanced at her face and saw the panic roiling underneath her stoic demeanor. She made eye contact with him and the fear in her eyes turned to pleading. Then, Gale felt the familiar tingle of the tadpole in his skull and Wren's voice echoed in his mind without the drow ever moving her lips. Please, said Wren, I lost my voice again.

Gale's face softened and nodded. These tadpoles are helpful, at times. He turned towards the dwarf and asked, "Are you Nettie?"

The dwarf nodded, "Sure am, are you in need of healing? I'm not as skilled as Master Halsin, but I do what I can. What ails you?"

Every member of their party shifted uneasily. "Uh, well," said Gale. He thought of how best to say what their predicament was. We've been impregnated by mind flayers. Ew, no. That makes it sound so much worse. He decided to keep it simple, "We have tadpoles in our heads."

Nettie's eyes widened in terror. "Tadpoles? Mind flayer tadpoles? All of you?"

Gale saw Wren nod and the rest of the party followed suit. "Can you help us?" asked Shadowheart.

Nettie's eyes shifted from each member before her. Gale thought she might bolt and raise an alarm, but instead she said "I'll do what I can. Follow me." Hope bloomed in Gale's chest. He looked to Wren and saw a modicum of relief in her eyes. He walked alongside her as they followed Nettie to another side chamber. Just as Lae'zel stepped past the threshold, the stone door rumbled closed behind her. Gale felt his stomach clench. Something's off.

"Tell me your symptoms," said Nettie while she rummaged amongst bottles and dried herbs on a stone table. It appeared Nettie had led them to the infirmary. Laid out on a stone slab was a dead drow. Fear that wasn't his own flooded his mind. He looked to Wren and saw that she was staring at the drow, eyes wide in terror. Nettie turned back around and followed their gaze. "Ah, yes we found him in the woods. Attacked me and Master Halsin. When Master Halsin killed him, a tadpole wriggled out. That was a few days past. We've been studying other victims, but couldn’t find where they were being infected. Master Halsin wanted to follow the adventurers in the hopes he could find the source."

"Did he? Find the source?" asked Gale. He stepped closer to Wren, hoping his presence would help calm her.

Nettie shook her head. "He never returned. Others think he's dead, but I don't think so. If anyone can find a cure for this, it's him."

"Are you kidding me? We fought through a swarm of goblins just for you to tell us that the one person who could help us may be dead? Ugh, this keeps getting better, and better," complained Astarion, his hands on his hips.

"I'm sorry," muttered Nettie. She shifted between each foot. Gale's eyes narrowed in suspicion. What's going on?

Quick as a cliff panther, Nettie pulled something from her robes and struck Wren on her exposed throat. Wren's reflexes were too slow and the object left deep scratches on her blue skin. Droplets of blood started to leak from the scratch. Wren stumbled back and the party drew their weapons.

"Tskva! What was that?" yelled Lae'zel, her great sword pointed at the druid.

"I'm sorry! It's the only way," frowned Nettie. She moved to attack Astarion next. Astarion raised his blades, ready to kill the druid when Gale cast Sleep and Nettie's eyes rolled into the back of her head and she collapsed to the cave floor.

"What are you doing? She's trying to kill us!" yelled Astarion.

"If we kill the druid, we bring down the entire grove upon us and those poor tieflings. We need to get out of here, quietly," said Gale. He turned his attention back to Wren. She stood silently with her hand against the bleeding scratches on her throat. He gently clasped her wrist and removed her blue hand so he could better see the wound. Whatever Nettie had in her hand left three thin scratches on Wren's throat. "Are you alright?" asked Gale. Before Wren could answer, Wyll interrupted.

"Shit," cursed the warlock. Gale turned to look at Wyll while still holding Wren's hand. Wyll was crouched over the sleeping druid. He gingerly picked up a twig covered in thorns from the ground. He held it up for the others to examine. "This isn't good," said Wyll.

At that moment, Gale felt Wren's hand tremor in his own. His head whipped around to look at her and found her entire body was beginning to convulse. "Wren!"

Before he could catch her, Wren collapsed to the cave floor. Her body writhed in agony. The red pupils of her eyes that made Gale's heart flutter disappeared as they rolled into the back of her head. Gale leaned over her, gently holding her face in his hands. "Wren! Stay with me, Wren!"

"Out of the way!" shouted Shadowheart. She pushed Gale off of Wren and began to examine her. She pulled down the collar of Wren's leather armor and revealed dark, black tendrils spreading from the scratches on her neck. "She's poisoned!" Shadowheart rested on her knees and prepared herself to pray to her deity. If anyone can heal her, Shadowheart can, thought Gale.

"Stop! It won't work!" warned Wyll. He still had the twig gingerly pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

"What do you mean?" asked Gale.

Wyll held the twig closer for Shadowheart and Gale to see. "This is no ordinary twig. This is Kelemvor's Kiss. I've seen these plants growing wild in the forests. It is the deadliest poison in Faerun."

Gale's heart sunk. He had read about Kelemvor's Kiss. Those exposed to it always died. No antidote, no elixir could combat its toxins. Tears welled in his eyes as he watched Wren's body wracked with pain.

"No," muttered Gale. "No! We must try! Shadowheart, cast your spell," ordered Gale. Wyll looked at Gale with sadness in his eyes. Shadowheart looked between the two of them, then turned her attention back to Wren.

"Vix medicantrix," intoned Shadowheart. Healing magic flowed from the cleric's fingertips and into the scratches on Wren's neck. Gale could see the blood dry up and the scratches knit themselves back together. But, the convulsions continued.

"Hells," whispered Astarion. The pale elf watched as Wren continued to writhe on the floor, his eyes wide in fear. How could the healing spell not work? Thought Gale, Not even a god can save her?

"What we need is time," said Gale. "If we could get somewhere safe, slow the spread of the poison, perhaps we can make an antidote."

"You heard the warlock," said Lae'zel. "She might as well be dead already."

"You cowards!" shouted Gale. His sudden outburst rattled them. Shadowheart avoided eye contact. Lae'zel crossed her arms across her armored chest, her face hardened into anger. Astarion looked down at his feet. Wyll stood up a little straighter, looking down his nose at Gale. "You would let her die, the woman who ripped you from your pod," said Gale to Shadowheart. "The woman who welcomed you into our camp." He looked at Astarion, who at least had the courage to stop looking at his feet and look into Gale's accusing glare.

"He's right, we have to try. I can help, if you'll have me," said Wyll.

Gale grasped Wyll's shoulder and gently squeezed it, grateful for the support. Gale glanced at the other companions and saw determination in their eyes. He quickly leaned down and cupped Wren's face between his hands. Her body was still wracked with spasms and her eyelids fluttered. He placed his lips as close to her ear as possible and tenderly whispered "Sleep." He felt the Weave crawl through his veins and into his fingertips. A soft pink glow haloed around Wren's head as the spell took effect. Gale wasn't sure this would work, but he had to try. As the pink glow faded, Wren's body began to quiet. Her muscles relaxed. Her eyelids stopped their fluttering and gently closed.

"Gods, it worked," whispered Shadowheart.

"Her spasms have stopped, but I'm afraid the poison still moves in her veins. We will need a scroll of slow to buy us time," said Gale.

"Ok, let's gather all the potion ingredients we can find and get out of here," said Wyll. The warlock started searching through Nettie's baskets and boxes, careful not to wake the sleeping druid. Shadowheart stood up and went to assist him.

"Ugh, give her to me, wizard," said Lae'zel. Gale looked up into the Githyanki's eyes and saw she was serious. He stepped back and the scrawny warrior easily lifted the sleeping barbarian onto her shoulder.

"Astarion, I need you to find a scroll of Slow. Search the druid quarters, tiefling camp, everywhere," ordered Gale.

"Excuse me, do you take me for some sort of thief," asked Astarion, disdain edging his usual drawl.

Gale looked the pale elf up and down in his soft leathers, supple boots, and the multiple daggers Gale knew were hidden on his person. "Yes, that's exactly what I took you for," said Gale.

"Tsk, how dare you," scoffed Astarion in mock affront. He smirked at Gale and nodded. He would do it.

Shadowheart and Wyll returned to the rest of the group, their packs filled with dried herbs, vials of various liquids and tools for potion making. Gale exchanged glances with each of his companions. They would only get one shot at this. Gale motioned them forward and used magic to unlock the stone door. It rumbled as it opened, revealing the main chamber beyond. The party quickly stepped through the doorway before Gale shut it behind them, concealing the sleeping Nettie. She should remain asleep until someone wakes her. Let's hope that's not for a long while.

He followed his companions through the caverns. He tried using the tadpole to communicate with them. Slow and steady. We must make it out of the grove. He could see his companions were startled by the psychic intrusion, but they made no comments. Gale glanced across the chamber and saw Kagha talking with the antlered druid while looking at a map spread across a stone table. Several other druids sat throughout the chamber, reading or preparing food. No one took a second glance at their peculiar party with a slumbering Drow slung over a githyanki's shoulder. Perhaps leaving Nettie's chambers unconscious was a common occurrence, thought Gale.

They reached the stairway that sloped up towards the entrance. Astarion broke away and slipped down a side tunnel to search for the spell scroll. Mystra, aid his search, prayed Gale. Wyll grabbed a torch and led the way through the darkened paths until sunlight shone from the entrance. The party walked a little faster, eager to be out of the heart of druid territory. Gale cautioned Lae'zel, Don't jostle her. She'll wake and the pain will begin again. Gale heard a grunt in response, but she did as he said. They were now standing in the ritual space, the drone of druidic prayers and spell casting surrounding them. Wyll and Shadowheart led the way toward the arched entrance. The guards saw them coming and moved out of the way. The druid priestess stared at Lae'zel.

"What potion did Nettie give her?" she wondered aloud.

Everyone breathed a little easier once they were out of the holy ground and surrounded by tieflings. As they begun to round the corner and head towards the entrance to the grove, an alarum sounded behind them.

"Someone hurt Nettie!" shouted a druid. Gale's face paled. He looked everywhere for a way out, but as far as he knew, there was only one way to escape the grove--the way they came in. He heard a bear roar behind him and footsteps getting closer.

"Ow!" exclaimed Gale. A rock had flown out of nowhere and hit him in the shoulder. He turned to find the culprit and found a young tiefling boy looking up at him. Before he could admonish the youth, the boy grabbed his hand and dragged him towards an outcropping of rock. The boy reached into a crevice in the stone and revealed a secret passage. Gale's eyes widened in surprise and hope was rekindled. "Lae'zel! Wyll! Quickly!" he rasped as he motioned for them to follow him. He and Wyll took the slumbering Wren from Lae'zel so she could crawl into the passage first. Once she was secure on the ladder leading down into the passage, they handed her Wren again and she heaved her back onto her shoulder. The two disappeared down the ladder. Wyll was next, then Shadowheart. Gale quickly followed and the small boy slammed the door shut behind him. "Thank you," yelled Gale through the thick wood. He could faintly hear frantic footsteps on the other side where they had just been standing. He breathed a sigh of relief.

Gale slowly descended the ladder into the cavern below. When his feet hit solid ground, he took in his surroundings. Gigantic stalactites dangled from the ceiling. Sunlight shone through multiple holes in the cave, giving the space a warm glow that the druid cave was lacking. He couldn't see his companions, but heard the buzz of voices coming from further in the cave. He followed the sound and found his companions hovering around a sleeping Wren while ten, no twenty tiefling children peered at them from behind rocks and from makeshift bunk beds. One tiefling, however, was not shy. She stood before them, hands on hips. An eye patch covered one of her eyes and delicate gold filigree decorated one of her horns.

"Word has it, you pissed off the druids," said the tiefling girl. A devious grin stretched across her face. "Whose hand do I have the honor to shake for that?"

"Hers," said Shadowheart, pointing to the unconscious Wren. "We need your help."

The tiefling girl looked at Wren. "What do you need?" she asked.

#bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x oc #baldur's gate 3 #drow oc #wyll ravengard #astarion

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