#arijon the tiefling bard

[needs-a-lil-spice]

Arijon's Nightmare - Just out of reach

SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR ACT 3 ASTARION ROMANCE [One of many nightmares; not the first and by far not the last for the Tiefling. His ‘visions’ had increasingly become more frequent and vivid the closer they had gotten to Cazador and the more time he spent with Astarion, all because it was on the forefront of his mind. His nasty little power could simply give him an edge by giving him vague hints about the past, present and future, but instead it’s merciless, brings him knowledge of things that don’t even matter anymore and lets him live through it as if it was real. Sometimes it makes him question if he did the right thing and seeing alternatives is the power’s way to let him know. And sometimes he’s convinced this must be some god’s cruel joke, when he’s forced to live through events that seem to have no other purpose than to torture him with images of bloodshed, pain and sorrow. Cazador is dead. Astarion is free for now - depending on whether their end-goal will leave them alive or dead - but Arijon’s dreams are plagued with ‘what-could-have-been’s until one night it’s just too much to bear. CW: Major-Character death (in a dream, but still), semi-graphic description of violence and emotional distress, non-graphic description of vomiting, light panic attacks, hints of anxiety and feelings of inadequacy throughout (because gods know I can’t stop projecting onto my characters).

All followed by comfort, however!]

Also found on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49580941/chapters/126249154

The rancid stench of blood, death and decay lay heavy in the air, filling Arijon’s lungs with each labored breath. His ears rang from the constant, infernal magic reverberating through these defiled halls, that bound Cazador’s spawns to his ritual; one of them being Astarion, suspended helplessly in the air like the others. Ari could see him strain against the red magic that held him in place, but to no avail.

The Tiefling’s claws dug into the smooth floor of the platform, desperately trying to get up but he had gotten pinned by two of the Werewolves when he tried to free the Elf. Sharp pain ran through his body and made him grit his teeth in agony, when they dug their claws deeper into his back, his arms, his legs, dragging him away like a toy.

He turned his head in a panic, trying to see where his other companions were, but they had been overrun just like him. Karlach was surrounded by the grotesque Undeads that used to be Gur in some life, with Shadowheart blocked behind her, terrified by the remaining Werewolves sprinting towards her. In any other situation he would have been understanding of her fears but right in this moment he could have screamed in frustration. A clever cast of her Spirit Guardians seemed to do the trick at first, taking two of the Undead close to Karlach out. “Karlach!” He screamed, trying to get her to focus on him so she could rush to Astarion in his stead, but the moment she even dared to glance away for a moment, the Fallen Gur Hunters were on her, one slashing at her before another released a toxic looking fume that made them gag and cough and freeze in place in reaction to it. “Gods, no…” Ari uttered under his breath, trying not to let the rising anxiety and panic take hold of him.

When one of the clawed hands released him for a moment, reaching back to strike him again, he twisted and held his arms out, burning them with his Flaming Hands, making them howl in pain as the embers lit up in their faces, singeing their fur and catching on the little clothes they wore; good, they deserved nothing less. His body was screaming at him but he was running out of time. While he and his brave companions were trying hard to get even the smallest foothold in this fight, Cazador had been taunting them, mocking them and worst of all kept gaining powers from the ritual that was heading closer and closer to its completion. Each passing moment the noise of the infernal magic was getting louder, more penetrating, it rang through his mind, worse than the tadpole ever had been. Every pounding ache in his head was followed by Cazador’s words of triumph. “Any moment now..!” The Vampire Lord laughed like a madman, a sound so shrill it echoed in Ari’s ears.

The Tiefling was scrambling to get back onto his feet, his focus back on Astarion, despite the ache in his body. If he could just reach him..! When he looked up  he felt his heart stop; the strain in Astarion’s face had warped into pain, groans of agony leaving his chest and his eyes were focusing right on him, pleading, losing hope. Arijon willed his body upright, barely dodging another attack from one of the smoldering Werewolves. He just had to get to him. Then it’ll be over. Just reach him. Save him.

Faceless whispers began haunting his thoughts; too many, too quiet to make out. Was it a side effect of the sounds of the battle ringing in his ears? They seemed familiar in a way, yet paradoxically unknown. All he knew was that they made his already blooming fear grow even bigger. His rapier was nowhere to be found - he lost sight of it when he was tackled - so another swing from the beast behind him was returned with a kick to the gut instead, just something to keep it off him for even a moment longer. When the beast growled in pain and curled into itself, Arijon turned, rushing towards his love.

Only a few more steps! Only a few—

“ARGH!” Arijon cried out as forceful magic engulfed him and all but made him topple over in crippling pain, fear washing over him like water through a broken dam. This wasn’t natural, something was forcing his thoughts to go haywire and before he was pinned back to the ground by the second Werewolf from earlier, he briefly saw the glimpse of that damned skeleton mage. His face met the ground again, claws firmly pinning him to the ground this time; his body was giving out, he tried to wrangle himself out of the grip but his body wouldn’t listen.

Gut-wrenching noises came from around him; the screams of Cazador’s sacrifices, crying out in agony before they abruptly fall into silence, only followed by an ungodly squelching sound. One by one, from the front of the platform all the way to the back. Hells, gods, this couldn’t be the end! Not like this! He couldn’t lose him like this! “Please, NO!” The Tiefling yelled, straining against the heavy grip on him to no avail. Arijon could only look on in horror. And the last thing he saw was that beautiful, pale face contort in pain again, mouthing something he couldn’t decipher, before there was only… red. As if dissolving in an invisible acid, this man he had loved so dearly ceased to exist. Remnants of the body he had held in his arms not too long ago just fell to the ground in chunks, unceremoniously, bearing no more resemblance to him.

As sudden as everything had started it stopped. It was as if the whole world had gone silent. “No…” Arijon kept staring at the heap of flesh on the ground, barely able to form the sound that left his mouth, eyes blown wide in shock, a storm of emotion rampaging through his body all at once while his mind was blank.

The unhinged laughter of Cazador’s barely registered, his companions yelled something from the front of the platform but he couldn’t focus on them anymore. The overwhelming, metallic smell of blood filled the air, making it hard to breath and something in Ari finally snapped. “NOOO!!” A broken scream broke free from his lung, tears stinging in his eyes as the wave of sorrow, rage and guilt alike fully hit him.

He failed him. Astarion had counted on him and he couldn’t help him. And now he was dead. In stories he read as a young lad, they’d always make these tragic parts count; let them have their final good-byes, swear their undying love or ask for revenge. Sometimes they’d let the hero know what path to go from thereon.

Reality was rarely as kind, however. As he balled his hands into tight fists, sharp nails digging into his flesh, body contorting under the Werewolf’s claws with silent sobs and screams of anguish, the whispers from a moment ago started flooding his mind again. They were loud, deafening, but they made no sense. Strings of words and sentences from hundreds or even thousands of different mouths, all overlapping, jumbling together into an assault of syllables. They clawed into his brain the same way the Werewolf tore into his flesh, spilling his sanity instead of blood, hurting all the same, although it was nothing compared to the pain in his heart. As they took over his mind, some fragments became barely audible to him, as if they were teetering on the edge of his mind, just passing by before vanishing.

“…gift, you know? I won’t forget…” “...always be beneath him…”

“…don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable…” “...I WILL ascend..!”      “...so close to losing everything…” “...afraid, so very afraid of everyone but you, who he should…” “...we’re done..!” “...mean so much to me…” “...and I’ll weep, wondering what happened to my mad love…” “...a little naive maybe, but…” “...are you sure you want this..?”

“...if we only had more time…”

      “...this is the end…”

A guttural cry ripped through his throat, overwhelmed, trying to silence the words, pieces of visions that tried to worm their way into his conscience, trying to scream into the faces of whatever cruel gods let all of this happen, his hands now clawing at his own head as it they were the only thing still able to hold him together, but the torrent never stopped. Images flickered into his mind, Astarion, all slowly replaced by the mangled corpse in front of him.

“I’ve had enough of this whining welp, kill him already.” Cazador spat next to him, sounding as if his voice was drowned out by rushing water, barely audible. With one swift motion the beast on top of him pulled him back and tore into his throat with dozens of sharp teeth, the whispers finally silenced as the sounds of  tearing skin and flesh and bone replaced his mind. Maybe it was better this way. How could he possibly have gone on knowing he had the blood of someone so precious on his hands, if they even could have made it out of here. He just hoped Karlach and Shadowheart were able to get out… A last, gurgled scream of pain was cut short by the monster biting harder and the world turning first red, then dark.

With another scream he finally awoke.

Arijon shot up, sweat rolling down his face, heart racing, breathing frantically as if he had just run for miles and miles without stopping. The world looked blurry, he was disoriented, where was he? He just was at Cazador’s just a moment ago but… oh gods, Astarion… Panic overtook him before he could regain any clear thought, making him feel sick to his stomach, his body ached, tears were dangerously close to stream from his eyes. Trembling hands gripped onto himself, his breath couldn’t come in or out fast enough to let him keep the air in his lungs and his thoughts were a muddled mess.

Panicked eyes darted around, trying to find his way back into reality; it was night, he was in a tent, it looked familiar, he felt something stir next to him and then a cold hand on his arm, making him snap his head into its direction.

“Gods below, what’s going on with you?” The sound of his beloved’s familiar, soothing - if slightly annoyed and tired - voice was like healing balm on an open wound and Ari was fighting with himself not to start bawling on top of him feeling like he was about to break into a thousand pieces. Astarion had stirred, ripped out of his reverie by his panicked scream, but his knitted brows of annoyance shifted into worry the moment he properly laid eyes on the disheveled Tiefling; definitely not the kind of disheveled he would have preferred. “What’s going on, love?” His tone switched to something softer and inquisitive immediately and he sat up next to him. The brief euphoria of seeing his dear Elf alive didn’t last long among the panic still rampaging through his body and before he could even say anything, the claws of grief and despair dug into his soul, the smell of blood and death suddenly fresh in his nostrils again. The images of Astarion’s hopeless, pleading eyes and his mangled corpse flashed through his mind again and finally Ari’s stomach turned. The hands that had clawed into his arms now shot to his mouth, trying to suppress the bile rising in his throat but it was a battle he couldn’t win.

Gagging and scrambling to get up as fast as he could, he rushed out of the tent towards the nearest bush to empty his stomach then and there. As horrible as the feeling was, it numbed his thoughts for a moment and the immediate nausea lessened. Hells, what a display he must have been, he felt like his skin just turned two shades lighter and sicklier… While his mind was still catching up with him, he vaguely remembered that they set up camp near Rivington to… right, to follow up on the Bhaal murders. Cazador was dead and his love was alive; thank gods. … Oh. And since grinding Cazador into dust was so high-priority and didn’t leave much room for romance, this was the first time in a while they had slept next to each other… so that was absolutely fantastic… Well, at least his head brought itself back to reality without the need of his journal. And before he could feel too bad, the next wave of nausea already hit him and made him gag again.

He flinched lightly in surprise when he felt those familiar, cool hands on him again, one on his back in support, the other raking through his hair to collect the strands and get them out of his face before they got in the way. Ari glanced briefly at the Elf in-between his heaving; it would have been funny if he didn’t feel like dying right in this moment, the way his pale hands were so soft and supporting while he turned his pretty face away with only a slight sneer of disgust. Understandable, who wanted to closely watch someone else vomit their soul out, especially after being so rudely awoken? Honestly he was already happy enough he even bothered at all, holding him while looking like an absolute mess; what a keeper.

“Sorry…” The Tiefling croaked out when his retching finally subsided and his head buzzed, his voice sounding awful to his own ears. He leaned back into a kneeling position, catching his breath and closing his burning eyes for a moment, trying not to focus on anything right now, from the thoughts still circling his mind to the vile taste in his mouth and the lessened but still lingering nausea. He made a small disgusted sound and wiped at his mouth. “Hardly something you have to apologize for. Let me get you some water.” Astarion soothed, letting his hands slide off of him, leaving only the ghost of a touch he already missed. With a sigh he fully put his weight on his legs for a moment, closing his eyes and taking in the fresh summer air, trying his hardest not to let his thoughts or stomach spiral out of control again. But it was difficult. The vivid images kept flickering back into his inner eye, the stench of death still lingering in his nostrils, the pain of being attacked viciously sitting in his bones and the grief of having lost someone so dear to him weighing on his heart; he shouldn’t feel like this. It was a dream. No matter how vivid his vision was, Astarion was safe! And yet… Gods he just wanted to hold him, be sure he really was there with him and unharmed, until these thoughts went away but he felt pathetic enough already.

With a groan he tried to get back onto his feet. His legs were wobbly and he had to hold himself steady with quite more effort than it should realistically have taken. A strong hand was on him once more before he’d keel over, helping him up and stay steady. “There, there.” Astarion cooed. The Elf had come back with a small bottle full of water, guiding it into his hands. Arijon took it with a ‘thank you’ on his lips, stopping himself from just full-on leaning into the touch and instead politely turning his face, washing out his mouth and spitting the remnants into the bush. Following it up with a sip of the water, he sighed in relief, feeling a little better after it soothed his sore throat.

Astarion’s hand reached up and tucked a few stray strands of long, silver hair behind Ari’s ear and the Tiefling found himself unable to resist leaning into the contact this time. “You look absolutely exhausted, my love; that must have been quite the horrid nightmare.” The pale hand moved towards the back of Ari’s head and gently applied pressure, making him lean against his beloved. The cruel images and cutting thoughts in his mind finally died down a bit when he breathed in the familiar scent lingering on his skin, felt the reassuring hand on his head drawing little circles with its thumb. The Elf’s words had been soft, caring, tinted with the gentle worry you’d expect from a lover, but there also was the hint of a question in his tone. Ari bit his tongue when he was about to thoughtlessly reply “it’s fine”, but it wasn’t. And Astarion wouldn’t have accepted that answer. Not anymore.

They had… briefly talked about his vision-induced nightmares before. When dreaming these visions of past, present or future came to him more easily than trying to force them in his wake or having them occur seemingly at random when faced with decisions in his life. But beyond that vague explanation, Ari at best had avoided the topic, especially since there had been more important things to be done first; there always was something more important…

Astarion sighed when no reaction came from him. “We don’t have to talk about it today if you don’t want to… but I really think we need to at some point. How many more nights are you going to spend tossing and turning, then trying to smile it all away the next day?” His question was pointed but the concern was unmistakable. Arijon peeked at him as he tilted his head to the side, looking rather sheepishly at him. “You can’t just help me be more open towards you just to then keep closing yourself off instead, my sweet little hypocrite.” He added in jest with a little smirk on his lips and Ari couldn’t help but chuckle, hiding his head back in Astarion’s shoulder. “I… wasn’t trying to close myself off, I swear. But when there’s already so much trouble, I didn’t feel like I should put my own troubles on top of it; especially ones that are completely born from my own mind, willingly or not...” The Tiefling mumbled, feeling the tiredness in his bones now that he was so comfortable in Astarion’s embrace. He felt the little huff from the pale lips on his skin. “Right, so if everyone under the sun just dumps all their trouble on you it’s fine, you gladly take it on, but you do not allow yourself the same kindness.” He put it bluntly and Arijon flinched uncomfortably, not liking being called out like this. Astarion’s hands moved between the two, gently making Ari move away much to his dismay. But they moved towards the bottle he was still awkwardly holding, removing it from his grasp and abandoning it on the floor before those same hands moved to either side of his face and Astarion leaned in closer, their foreheads touching. The look those ruby eyes gave him almost made the Tiefling cry, it was so soft and caring. “We’re in this together, my love. You’ve been so patient with me, you never let a single word I said go unheard. You’ve been there with me… been there for me from the very beginning. Maybe you needed to hear this a lot sooner and I’m sorry if I missed the opportunity to do so, but let me make one thing clear:I’m here for you. Always. Whatever troubles you, be that your visions or anything else that weighs you down, you can tell me and I’ll be there to listen. To support you. You’ve given me so much hope and comfort; let me give that back to you! Not because I think I need to repay you but because I cannot stand seeing you silently suffer like this. I’ve been doing that myself for way too long and I’m not going to let you keep doing this to yourself.”

Oh no. There it was; he felt the sting in his eyes. The absolute sincerity in Astarion’s every word moved him like the sweetest song he’d ever heard; the love and care and worry that was carried throughout every syllable… Arijon had thought he would have been able to keep it together, but when his lover’s eyes shifted a little to the side and his thumb wiped gently at his cheek, the Tiefling realized he had shed a tear or two. And once he realized that, it was too late to try and keep them at bay. He grimaced, his tense shoulders fell and his hands rose to his mouth, his head lowered, to at least try to keep the audible sob to himself.

He felt lips on his cheek when the comforting hands left his face and instead gently guided him back into the tent.

It felt ridiculous to react this strongly to Astarion’s words. Ari should have just been happy to have his support and not break down the moment they were said. He even felt a little guilty, as if he made his beloved say these words because he was a mess and couldn’t keep it together. He was used to being there for others, thrived on their comfort and their gratitude towards him when he was able to be of use. Not even that. Just knowing someone’s burden was even a little lighter because of him was enough. He never expected anyone offering the same level of commitment. He could deal with his own silly thoughts and be there for the people with actual problems.

At the very beginning of their relationship, this was true for Astarion, too. He had gone through absolute hell and since there still had been much to go through until he could resolve it - killing Cazador and reclaiming his freedom - so Ari never expected him to fully commit to the same level of affection or even feel as strongly for the Tiefling as he did for him. But every day it felt a little different. His lovely Elf was always so good with honeyed words, yet they somehow became even sweeter still. The way he had opened himself up to him, told him such vulnerable things, reacted so heartbreakingly to a hug and then held his hand… How he wanted to know things about Ari, that he hadn’t commented on before, like his music; such a big part of his life that Astarion wanted to actively know about, to share with him. He still could barely believe the two of them could play beautiful songs together whenever they wanted.

He didn’t just love Astarion. Astarion loved him back. Truly and even with Arijon doing anything.

Funny in hindsight. How this was so similar to what he had helped his Efl with first. The whole idea of not needing to do anything first to be deserving of love and compassion, yes turning a blind eye to it yourself.

Back inside the tent the two made themselves comfortable again on the arrangement of bedrolls and pillows, Astarion wrapped his arms around the Tiefling’s body, shaking with every shed tear, and let him bury his head in his shoulder, a pale hand on his back, another on the back of his head, rubbing gentle circles into his skin. “I failed you.” He uttered quietly in between sobs, not trusting his voice to be steady if he dared to talk louder. “I couldn’t get… to you in time. Watched you die… right in front of me. Because I wasn’t strong enough, not… fast enough… whatever it was. I let you down. I let you die.” Ari wept, having to pause at times in an attempt to keep his sobs inaudible. The embrace around Astarion’s frame and the grip on the back of his shirt tightened. “And I can’t stop thinking about it. Every second… felt as real as this moment.”

“Oh, my sweet…” He cooed softly in return, moving slightly to kiss the top of the Tiefling’s head and thinking for a moment before replying. “I understand how heavy it weighs on you. What a horrible vision… But my love, I’m here.” His hand moved to the dark-skinned chin, lifting Ari’s head a bit so he could glance at him.

“You haven’t failed me. You came for me and I didn’t die. So don’t think about what could have happened. Focus on me. I’m right here with you and I’m going nowhere.” Maybe it was Arijon’s imagination but it almost sounded like Astarion had gotten a bit teary-eyed himself. No matter, because right now he could easily cry a river to rival the Chionthar for the both of them. 

It wasn’t just the sorrow of one bad vision. It was the sorrow of so many that came before, so many more that will still come, making him go through them as if they were real and sometimes making him wonder if he had made the right decision. The weight of feeling like he was expected to keep smiling and help everyone selflessly lest he’d be abandoned but also the relief of the first steps of realizing that maybe that wasn’t the case. And the relief that the person closest to his heart understood and was able to ground him again when he felt like his mind was drifting away. 

He wrapped himself tight against Astarion again, mirroring him by running one hand through his soft curls - which always felt calming to him - nuzzling his head into the crook of his pale neck and just let it all out. He didn’t try to hold himself back anymore, he simply was too tired and emotionally wrecked at this point and it probably was for the better, too. He had no idea how long they laid like this, with him weeping pathetically into his neck and shirt all the while Astarion kept petting him lovingly, whispering sweet words of comfort to him. But eventually he found himself just gently resting with him, intently focusing on his calming touch, his breath ghosting over his head, the last, quiet crackles and pops from the dying campfire outside, the mild summer winds rustling the leaves of trees and bushes outside, crickets chirping… His body finally was finally relaxing and became overwhelmed with actual drowsiness, feeling himself slowly drift to sleep.

While he hadn’t anticipated the events of this night… maybe it wasn’t so bad that they happened. Somehow he felt even closer to his dearly beloved than before; like a gap was crossed that he had involuntarily placed between himself and everyone else.  And he was so glad it had been Astarion to do so.

With that in mind, he finally succumbed to a dreamless sleep, safe in his lover’s arms.

---------------------------

[There we go, a bigger angst piece I had started a while back before being interrupted by fluffy thoughts.

I picked at it again as I was finishing up my first, in-depth playthrough; now I'm preparing for a Dark Urge run AND WHOO BOY, once I'm done with that and know more context than the scenes flying around sometimes on Twitter/Tumblr/YouTube/Wherever, there will be so much more delicious angst and angst/comfort <3

But that will still take a while.

In the meantime I can start writing some post-game things, too, now that I know the full context of the ending :D

After this angst/heavy stuff, there will probably be some fluff again next uwu

But Ari's dreams will always bring up angst, a good plot device. It shows him things that could have gone wrong, it shows him things that can go wrong and he doesn't really have a say in it.

The more he worries about something, the more it will however stay in his mind and it's more likely his power will focus on it, too.

Hence the many bad outcomes that trouble his mind when Astarion is near and they just got through a very emotionally intense event together.

And I tried to leave it out but with a power like that and the implications of having had it for a while and always wondering if you did the right thing or not, I couldn't help but embrace the connected anxiety that may have developed in Ari throughout his life due to it.

Since I'm an anxious person myself, it's a way of thinking that comes unfortunately more naturally, so it's easier for it to slip into a very introverted story about someone's inner thoughts xDBut I think it still fits him, he tries his best anyway :3As a quick end-note, it’s implied here and I probably will put it in writing eventually, too because it’s important to my HCs for post-game, but between Act 2 and Act 3, Astarion wanted to actively bond more with Ari, so he started to show more interest in his music than usual. He always loved hearing him sing and play but BECAUSE he knew how important this is to him he started asking more questions, joined him when he played a lot more and eventually Ari offered to show him how to play a few chords on the lute so they could play together. One thing led to another and Astarion actually learned how to play the lute (and later more) and could play songs with him and share his love for it uwu]

#arijon the tiefling bard #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate spoilers #writing #astarion #baldur's gate oc #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 oc #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #baldur's gate #angst #angst with a happy ending #baldur's gate writing #baldurs gate fanfiction #fanfiction

[needs-a-lil-spice]

A touch, still lingering and growing

[A scene that plays out after the confession in Act 2 but before Act 3. Astarion reflects on the things that have happened ever since meeting the bard. What brought them closer and how it made him feel, especially after confessing their love for one another; actual, real love. With all of that in his mind and the feeling of that precious hug still lingering on his skin, he finds himself yearning for more.] - Astarion x Arijon (Male Tiefling Bard) - Potential Act 2, light Act 3 spoilers - No specific CWs

Also can be read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49580941/chapters/125629252

Confessing his true feelings to Arijon hadn’t been easy. Hells, it took Astarion a long time and a lot of thought to even get to that point. Letting everything that happened run through his head, from meeting after the Nautaloid crash, up until now. His perfect little plan, that should have worked just like all the other times, backfired gloriously on him. In hindsight he may have seen it coming, although he still likely would have tried to convince himself it wasn’t true, when he had the very first pang of something… different in his dead, little heart.

He remembered how frustrated he had been, trying to touch the wild and unknown shapes on his back and discern their meaning. Infernal of all things… But the Tiefling, who had been the one to enlighten him on the nature of his scars in the first place, had offered his help once more. Astarion had stood there, vulnerable to someone else’s eyes that were resting on the results of another bloody and tormenting night born from Cazador’s hands. It was mostly out of selfishness, needing to know what was done to him, but the way Arijon had looked at him stuck. He hated the glint of what he thought was pity at first. Later he’d realize it was compassion. Feeling for the Elf that had gone through hell. Maybe that was what made him confide in him more and more later. It had… stirred something in him. Not love yet by any means but a sense of trust that he hadn’t thought was possible.

And after that, it just… felt so easy to tell him all these things. He never judged. He challenged him sometimes on things they particularly had split opinions on, but never judged.. He never saw him as something lesser, never made light of his suffering, never saw him as a monster or an object. And while the gruesome things Cazador had done to him could never be undone, he felt the pain lighten a little every time he shared more and was actually supported by him. Where the Elf at one point believed that this silly man was so easy to manipulate and grow feelings for him, he now saw that there was actual empathy at play. And after traveling with him for so long and witnessing his clever, silver-tongue many times for himself, he sometimes wondered if Ari even knew to an extent that there were untold or false things between them at the start, saw through the manipulation and still decided to stick with him and see it through. See Astarion for who he really was and maybe more. And when the bard looked at him, with so much… warmth behind his eyes, so much trust, so much fondness, even without the promise of giving him his body as he had done countless times in the past… it made his dead heart beat anew.

It was difficult to pin-point when exactly Astarion’s own feelings had shifted to love and fondness for his companion. But he knew he had to address it when Arijon had done another great favor for him without even thinking twice about getting anything out of it other than helping him out. And in almost terrifying style nonetheless; not many could claim to have defeated a demon by convincing him to slaughter all his companions and then himself. Just so Astarion could learn more about what Cazador planned. And when Astarion talked with him about it, brought up the plan of claiming the ritual for himself… despite Arijon’s clear aversion he listened. While there was the smallest spark of worry in the back of his mind, he overwhelmingly trusted the Tiefling to be beside him anyway when the time comes.

He had had all of these thoughts before, reflecting on them all dozens of time until it finally boiled down to a final realization: He had fallen unmistakably in love and wanted to make sure that Arijon knew that those were his true feelings, no matter what it had started as. The Elf half believed that his companion would have been furious at the deception. But instead there was that understanding again. A moment of sadness followed by worry when he had asked about their previous nights having meant anything and after reiterating they actually did, him asking if Astarion had been alright after it was done. If Astarion had been alright. Here he had just confessed that while there was something special about it, their first nights were all a ruse and something he forced himself through due to habit and wanting to manipulate him into an alliance, and the first thing that hopeless man could think of was if Astarion had been alright afterwards.

The Elf couldn’t remember the last time a few simple words like that moved him this much. He had no idea where this relationship would lead them but he had decided at that moment he truly wanted to see it through to the best of his ability. This man had already seen so much of his broken soul and hadn’t turned away; for the first time in gods knew how long, he wanted to do the same. Be there for someone, give back to them. It was an odd feeling. Terrifying. Yet it brought hope back where none had been in centuries. And as if things couldn’t have gone any more awry, the Tiefling had gone ahead and destroyed the last bits of his doubts when he wrapped his arms around him, showing him in this way how much he meant to him. That this was mutual. That they both cared for each other. As the bard’s warmth seeped into his cold skin, a rush of euphoria had him on the verge of tears, which he had luckily been able to suppress in the end. He had been shaken to his very core, needing a moment to return the embrace fully and when it was over way too fast, he already missed it. But it all made way for something new. Something wonderful. Something he wanted.

And with that, Astarion opened his eyes, staring at the roof of his tent, listening to the little pops and cracks of the campfire outside. There was no sense in trying to continue his reverie; his mind was too occupied with dozens of thoughts at the same time. The pale Elf sat up with a sigh, hand running through his white curls. He still was able to feel Arijon’s touch on him. His soft lips on his’ when they sneaked a kiss before or after leaving or returning to camp, sometimes even in-between. The subtle touches on his arm or back when they were out and gods that damned hug. He wasn’t sure why that one was the thing that beautifully haunted him the most. But he still vividly felt those strong arms around him, firm, reassuring, yet gentle. How they drew him in, made him feel safe, even if just for a moment. How his warmth seemed to envelop him, giving him a comfort that’s hard to reproduce in any other way.

It all still lingered on his skin and he found himself yearning for more.

It almost made him laugh out loud; the way he was craving something so simple and how it made him almost giddy thinking about the fact he would just have to ask for it and he could receive it. Yet he hadn’t done so so far. Physical contact in a non-sexual way or genuine feelings beyond the sweet veil of afterglow - which he very, very rarely was allowed to bask in anyway - after seducing one of his victims was all so very new to him, he was actually glad Arijon had taken initiative and made it easier to fall into something more sweet between them. But he still took pride in how he at least was able to make the bard look so soft and loving or even flustered when he fawned over him with honeyed words. With a huff, Astarion promptly got up; enough thinking. It was time for doing. He was denied so many things for centuries, so why would he be denying himself a sliver of happiness now?

Judging by his inner clock, he was pretty sure he hadn’t been in his tent for long yet, maybe an hour, and Ari was known to more often than not stay up after everyone else retreated to their bedrolls to go over his journal. Tonight wasn’t any different. His tent was a simple tarp, but it was adorned with little knick-knacks he found pretty, even some alright embroidery by his own hands to try and give it a little bit more of a personality; maybe Astarion ought to show him how to make those stitches even better sometime. Two chests and a big Traveler’s Chest were placed outside. He knew that one of them held his precious instruments, only lacking a lyre, which the bard lamented every time they found another duplicate of the other musical tools; not as if that would stop him from collecting those duplicates anyway. The other was full of important books, documents and objects that were - or still are - necessary for their journey at one point or another. And the Traveller’s Chest was full of their general supplies. Other things were strewn around those; more books and scrolls and supplies, some decorative pieces to make the tent feel more inviting. It was actually a little messy and usually stacked up if nobody told Arijon, as if he hadn’t even noticed the books piling up higher and higher.

The Tiefling sat on a small table, even more documents sitting on it, burying the little music box that Ari kept there, all of them relating to their current endeavors. A candle illuminated the small space and some incense was burning low on another corner, keeping insects away and filling the air with a pleasant smell. Astarion halted for a moment, watching the usually relaxed and open face in the candlelight. He looked worried. Brows knitted in deep thought as he stared at a map of the Moonrise Towers. Although, actually  it looked more like he was staring right through it. He was idly fiddling with a quill in his hands, unfinished notes next to the map already dried. Was something troubling him? Well… obviously dealing with whatever was at the Moonrise Towers would not be an easy endeavor, but… It was Ari who always reassured the group that it’d be fine, that they are prepared and can take it slow to know what to expect, that he believes in all of them to be able to get through this. Yet here he saw a man who looked very much like the opposite of those statements. Worried, scribbling plans all over parchments that were crossed out and written again dozens of times. His eyes seemed to dart over invisible lines, trying to find a truth that was unknown to him yet.

Astarion’s own brow quirked for a moment before he made his presence known with a small ‘ahem’ and approached the table. The bard flinched, almost dropping the quill in his hands and turning back at the source of the sound wide-eyed. “Oh! Gods, you’ve startled me.” He laughed, casting the previous worry and then surprise from his face to instead paint it with a soft smile, putting the quill back onto the table. “Forgive me, dear, that wasn’t my intention.” He apologized, returning the smile. “Would have been curious if you did, hah. Is there something you need? I thought you retired for the night.” Now this was a dilemma… The Elf had come by with some different intentions, but he didn’t like the way Ari had looked just a moment ago. If something was troubling him, he couldn’t just barge in with his own wants and completely ignore his’. … Gods, sometimes it was ridiculous to realize how much that Tiefling rubbed off on him…

“Ah, yes… I suppose I did, but… Is there something troubling you? You looked awfully far away a moment ago.” Ah, hells be damned. It wouldn’t feel right to ignore him. How often did he listen to Astarion’s own plights on repeat; offering the same thing back was the least he could do. The Tiefling raised his brows at that, glancing back at the chaos that was his table, plastered in documents. “Oh. Well, I mean… it’s just the usual planning. We need to be clever about it after all, we don’t know what exactly will await us in there. Nothing to worry about, though.” He nodded towards the Moonrise Tower map before turning his gaze back to Astarion and putting that smile back on his face. How often did the other man just hide his worries behind that seemingly soft smile? It hit way too close to home for Astarion’s comfort and he wondered how many times he had either missed or accidentally ignored it in the past. “Really? It didn’t look like nothing to me, darling. You know, you can… talk… to me if you have troubles.” He replied with knitted brows before looking away briefly, words of genuine worry and the want to help being a little foreign on his tongue. Instead of replying right away, the Tiefling just looked at him with a mix of bewilderment and wonder before settling on a horribly intoxicating smile that at least was genuine this time, from what the Elf could tell.

“Aw. It’s sweet to know you worry about me. I— Don’t worry. If there’s something I will let you know. But really, it’s fine. I probably just looked at all of this for longer than I should have.” The Tiefling explained, getting up from the stool he sat on and rubbing his good eye. For a moment it looked more silvery than usual but it may have been a trick of the moonlight; nothing was out of the ordinary when he looked back at him. “But either way, you needed something, right?” Astarion sighed internally. He couldn’t blame the other man, really. He knew best how difficult it was to open yourself up, but he had hoped with how far they came that Arijon wouldn’t feel the need to do so. Maybe he just needed to be a good example. “Honestly? I was just looking for some… companionship. There’s…well, a lot on my mind. Enough to not even let the reverie set in.” The Elf replied, clearing his throat, hoping the twinge of fluster wouldn’t be too obvious. But Ari just chuckled lightly, his smile somehow even more radiant than before. “Oh, if that’s all, I’m gladly at your disposal! Sleep eluded me, too tonight. Obviously, I mean you just saw me, heh.” He awkwardly replied. It was good to know that they apparently both still felt a bit clumsy when it came to the deeper details of their relationship. “Well, I’m sure a little bit of affection would come a long way for the both of us, then.” The pale Elf replied, words dripped in flirtatious charme.

Arijon thought for a moment, glancing between nothing and Astarion’s eyes, seemingly debating something. “You know…” He started, looking hopefully at him. “I mean… I could join you in your tent if you’d like?” A split second of panic arose in Astarion’s mind.

“Just being with each other, nothing more!” Ari very quickly and firmly clarified when he saw said panic in his eyes. Silly to still hold onto this fear even though they had talked about it at length before. But old fears die as hard as old habits. Astarion just nodded in relief, understanding.“If anything, the night would be a lot less lonely spent next to each other. At best we might even find some sleep. But…” He glanced away for a moment, smile wavering. “... I guess there is a lot on my mind, too.”

A wave of fondness came over the Elf. It was progress at least, that Ari admitted to it rather than keep it to himself. He raised his hand, palm up and open to invite the other’s hand right into his’. The Tiefling barely contained his grin, quickly extinguishing the candle’s flame and the burning incense before taking Astarion’s hand, pale fingers wrapping around it. They never did end up talking about what bothered Arijon or what had kept Astarion up. But it was soft, idle chatter as they sat next to each other, close enough for their arms to touch and their hands still interlocked, rubbing little circles into them. This was nice. Intimate. And despite his earlier, brief panic, Astarion felt at peace knowing there wasn’t an expectation somewhere between the other’s words and action. When Ari couldn’t hold back a yawn anymore and his gaze sometimes drifted away, the Elf chuckled and raised his hand to his face, kissing it gently. “I believe it’s time for some actual rest. You could return to your tent, or…” He said quietly, a hopeful suggestion for him to stay. Neither of them wanted to let go of each other yet. And when Ari held his hopeful gaze and returned it with a brief, soft kiss, the two laid down, trying to get as comfortable as they could on a bedroll that wasn’t made for two people in mind. Nothing the extra pillows and the extra blanket Astarion had couldn’t fix. They lay there for a moment, just looking at each other, the silence between them comfortable and intimate. Eventually Ari moved his arms, stopping just before touching the Elf. “Can I hold you?” He asked so impossibly gently. “Please.” Astarion replied quietly, looking soft and vulnerable, only for his dearest to see. Arijon scooted closer, wrapping his arms around him and kissing his forehead when he was close enough. The Elf closed his eyes, sighing in relief as if an aching wound had finally been closed. He lowered his head and after some maneuvering, ended up a little under Ari, so he could lean it against his chest, taking in his scent and returning the embrace. He smelled of the incense he had burned but there was a faint whiff of something he couldn’t place as anything else other than just Arijon’s unique smell on top of the sweet scent of his blood. It was just as comforting as feeling his warmth seep into his cold skin down to his bone. The joy it brought him was comparable to when he first was able to let the sun caress his skin again after 200 years. He listened to his heart beat like a soft drum in his chest, a steady rhythm that was starting to lull Astarion into a restful state. Gods, he never wanted to move again. How long would he be able to enjoy this? This… closeness. This love? Something inside of him still wanted to be skeptical despite everything. As if it was just a matter of time until the other man would get tired of him and his baggage and who knew what still lay ahead of them. And yet. As he kept taking in his companion with all his senses, repeating his words in his mind, feeling him in his arms… it filled him with hope. A luxury that at one point he thought lost to him.

Ari’s pulse slowed, his breathing steadily calmed and became deeper, as he started to drift into a blissful sleep. The pale man smiled to himself.“Sweet dreams, my love.” He whispered, only briefly moving to place a kiss on his lover’s dark skin before comfortably cuddling back against him.

Maybe… it’d be alright in the end. And even if not, he could at least pretend for now and enjoy it while he could. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander until he’d find his own rest.

---

Halfway through writing a different prompt I just HAD to write something about Astarion wanting to be close again. If not angst it's teeth-rottingly sweet fluff that fuels me 8D It's only touched on here, but for some stories/prompts I want to also go a bit into what my Tiefling is troubled by. After all, he's helping all his dear companions out so much and unless you are committing to something big in-game, there's not much they can react to on your side. Stuff like the Dark Urge is great (and will be my choice for the second playthrough; after I'm done with that expect some Dark Urge!Arijon stuff 8D) because it shows how much of a 'helping each other out' is happening, instead of "just" MC helping out Astarion. That's what writing stories is for, though! And Astarion can learn more about Arijon that way and they can supposrt each other <3 The self-made mysterious power of fourth-wall-breaking... I mean mysterious vision-powers will come more into play there too... but all in due time uwu Thank you for reading <3

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate spoilers #baldurs gate astarion #writing #arijon the tiefling bard #fluff #fanfiction #baldur's gate writing #baldur's gate oc #baldurs gate fanfiction

[needs-a-lil-spice]

The things that make me love you

[What exactly is it about Astarion, that makes the Tiefling just want to hold him and never let go? What draws him to the beautiful elf beyond his beauty? It’s small things, really. And one day he catches himself noticing all of them throughout the day until he just can’t contain himself anymore.]

- Astarion x Arijon (Male Tiefling Bard) - Very light Act 2 spoilers (mostly for behavior and small details) - No specific CWs

Also can be read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49580941/chapters/125341804

It already started early in the morning. The little glances that Arijon couldn’t keep to himself, always gravitating towards his precious Elf. Like watching those nimble, pale fingers carefully style his hair back into shape after a night of rest - gods know how he was able to manage this without the use of a mirror, consistently every time - and feeling the urge to gently tug a strand of it behind his ear and leave the ghost of a touch behind. When those brilliant ruby eyes met his own and his lips turned up into a soft smile, it made the Tiefling’s heart skip a beat; no matter how many times he saw it, it would always fill his heart to the brim with adoration. Well, at least he wasn’t kept entirely yearning and he was able to sneak a small good-morning-kiss in before the group had to pack up camp and move on; there was always something important or another to get to after all. But it didn’t keep him from wishing there was just a day of mundanity in which he could indulge in not having to worry about some illithid beings or devious plots, relax and dote on his beloved.

The rest of the day was much of a repeat of its morning however. Despite having their hands full of things to look into, now that they reached Rivigton and Baldur’s Gate was closer than ever, he kept stealing glances whenever he could. Maybe it was his bardic nature, finding a sort of poetic beauty in even the simpler things, but with Astarion he barely had to try. The way the sun kissed his face at certain angles would make even the gods envious he believed. But it was about more than just his outer beauty. Now, obviously it was true that he possessed a lot of outer beauty, but it was when those perfect features morphed into a joyous smile or when he heard his cute little laughs, when his heart was truly soaring. The latter was especially bad, because Arijon never was able to suppress a wide smile on his own when he heard it. It was infectious, really.

He also enjoyed his somewhat eccentric personality; in the very beginning the excessive sass and snark wasn’t… Well, he wouldn’t say he had disliked it - quite the opposite actually, it was entertaining - but he hadn’t been used to a person like him staying so close for so long. Usually Ari’s own personality clashed with people like him, despite him not minding them and in the beginning he probably did clash with Astarion, too. He had no ill feelings for the Elf’s initial deception and manipulation - he understood the pain he had gone through and the feeling of needing to do this in order to survive - but without it, there was a chance he wouldn’t have been allowed to get as close to him as they had been. Or maybe they would have, who knew. The romantic in himself wanted to believe they would have found their fondness for each other one way or another, but he wanted to stay realistic. And that was the point, really. They had grown fond of each other, all unique personality traits included. And sometimes Ari found himself being a little sassier or snarkier or more realistic than he ever thought he’d be. Astarion had rubbed off on him. And he believed he probably had some effect on him in turn as well. But as it stood in this moment, the bard could listen to him for hours on end, laugh at his dramatic reaction to people’s different issues and fight the urge to just kiss him every time he filled his heart with joy over these mundane things.

There was also the heartache, however. Every time a new piece of information of Cazador’s endless torment was brought up, Arijon always felt two emotions violently fighting for dominance in his body: The pure rage when thinking about all these horrible things this Vampire Lord Bastard had done to his love and the sheer endless sorrow he felt in turn when he imagined for a moment what it would have been like to be in his skin. Every time he heard something new, he so desperately wished he could take it away from the Elf. But he couldn’t. All that was left was the primal urge to just hold and tell him he’s there, even if it wouldn’t undo anything that had happened before but maybe bring the smallest of comforts to him. To be there for him when he wants to open himself and share his burden. When they came back to camp that night, Arijon reflected on the turbulent day. A lot had happened and a lot was yet to come but when he glanced back at his most special companion, he felt his worries wash away, replaced by all the feelings that came in their stead. He was so beautiful and cute and intelligent and cunning and surprisingly silly once you really got to know him and it was all too much; he yearned all day and finally needed to act on his urges.

Once everyone got comfortable for the night at camp, Arijon approached his beloved with steady steps. “Hello, my sweet~” Astarion greeted him with that wonderful smile of his that he wished he could put onto a canvas. Before the Tiefling even got a word in, though, the Elf continued. “Now, I could be wrong - which I don’t think I am - but you’ve been staring at me awfully much today, haven’t you.” He didn’t seem to mind, considering he said it with his usual charisma dripping from every word. It did however fluster the bard a little being called out like this so bluntly. “Oh! So you’ve noticed, hah.” He chuckled, trying to play off his fluster. Astarion raised a brow and smirked at that. “Darling, I think half of Rivington has noticed. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ve very much enjoyed your undivided attention, I’m mostly just wondering what I’ve done to earn it.” It sounded like idle, charming banter, not unlike most of their day to day interactions, but Arijon felt like there was a hint of truth in his words; that he truly wondered how or why he ‘earned’ it.

With a soft smile, the Tiefling stepped closer and embraced his beloved. For a second he felt a familiar flinch, just like the first time he put his arms around him, so unfamiliar to the pale man, so full of emotion. But unlike the first time, Astarion didn’t take as long to free himself from his daze and return the embrace, leaning into it and making the Tiefling’s heart beat so loud he wondered if his love could feel it in his own chest. “It wasn’t anything specific. You’re just… wonderful.” He began softly. “Every time I look at you and see you smile or hear you laugh or crack a joke or share parts of yourself.. I just want to hold you and never let go.” He said honestly. Luckily Astarion couldn’t see his face, dark-tinted due to embarrassment and adoration alike. As a bard he obviously was one for the big declaration of love being flung around in his circle but truly, honestly meaning them and saying them to your lover? It was a very different experience and still made even the bard himself nervous at times with how much they made him feel.

But he had to lean back, had to see Astarion’s face, had to know if those words reached him and had any kind of impact. And much to his delight those ruby eyes looked back at him widely, mouth slightly agape as if in shock. “O… oh. Is that so?” The Elf mumbled, having lost his wit for just a moment before he smiled brightly at his Tiefling. “I mean, who could possibly blame you, aha~” Ah, there we go he had found his wit again, together with that cute laugh of his. Now the Tiefling truly couldn’t hold himself back and kissed his cheek, then his cheek bone, then his temple; just peppering him in tiny declarations of love, feeling his Elf’s arms tighten around him in response. “Gods, you’re adorable.” Ari whispered, smiling ear to ear like an idiot. Instead of answering - maybe he couldn’t with the way he looked at the man in his arm, oozing emotion he didn’t know how to properly put into words - Astarion tilted his head and responded with a kiss on his own, soft on the Tiefling’s lips, loving. “Am I now…?” He whispered back when their lips left each other. Sometimes he seemed so shook when being offered the same acts of adoration that he threw at Arijon. “Very much so.” Astarion sighed softly. “Well, aren’t you just sweet.” He followed this up with another kiss before the two finally let go of each other. “Now… I think it’s my turn to prepare the provisions for today. Care to join me?” The Tiefling smiled, letting his fingers run down Astarion’s arm to gently take hold of his pale hand, tugging it just slightly as if to invite him to the fire. “With pleasure, my dear.” He drawled, following along and looking forward to the rest of the evening relaxing with his beloved and his companions.

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate spoilers #astarion #baldurs gate astarion #baldur's gate oc #writing #arijon the tiefling bard #baldur's gate writing #baldurs gate fanfiction #fanfiction

[needs-a-lil-spice]

Prompts/Story Snippet requests

While I probably like to focus more on my Tav with Astarion, due to having developed Arijon as his own character that I enjoy, I still would be interested in maybe getting some additional writing prompts! I have a lot of head canon and other stuff already outlines to be written out eventually (a lot of fluffy HCs, lots of angst that needs to be properly set up however and also a lil bit of spice for AO3 only) but I keep pulling myself from one to another because I'm unsure which one to do next xD But to shorten this: If you have requests/ideas, feel free to shoot me an ask or reply O/

#arijon the tiefling bard #baldur's gate 3 #writing #astarion #baldur's gate oc #baldurs gate astarion #baldur's gate spoilers

[needs-a-lil-spice]

Arijon, the Mephisopheles Tiefling bard. A small reference collage for people to know what he looks like and as a quick reference for myself for rough reminders or even art. There's a few small extra features I imagine on him, like extra piercings and markings/scars, but overall that's my boy <3 Also found on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/49580941

Images - Physical Description - Story about his person Images : https://i.postimg.cc/TY4VF7ks/Arijon-Ref.png

Physical Description : Arijon is a Mephistopheles Tiefling with long, white hair, ending just past his shoulder blades. It’s usually kept in a ponytail, which reveals the neatly kept undercut. His skin is dark with just a hint of blue or purple, adorned with the Tiefling-typical ridges on his skin and speckled with freckles; most prominently on his face and shoulders but you will find them all over his body. His nails are dark in color and usually pointy, almost claw-like; on occasion he files them down. His horns in comparison are much lighter, almost white. In Tiefling-typical fashion, he of course also possesses a long tail with a half-arrow tip, which is quite flexible. His good, left eye has the Tiefling-typical black sclera while his iris is a softly glowing yellow. His fake, right eye would have been indiscernible from a regular one if he had been a more human being, but against his striking left one, the white sclera and blue/brown iris stands out.

If you reached his eyes, you wouldn’t have missed the scars on his face. Funnily enough it’s actually not one scar but two he got at separate occasions. The one branch that goes up his nose bridge a bit was from a broken lute string snapping into his face in his early years of becoming a professional Bard. Those were simpler times. The larger branch however was from an unfortunate fight he had with some thugs who decided to pull a knife on him one day outside a tavern. They just didn’t expect him to pull a sword in return. There are smaller scars on his body from other fights, which are less memorable to him, however. He decorates his body with piercings of all sorts, most noticeably on his pointy ears, however there’s also one on his belly button and two rings on the base of his tail. (Latter ones not in the pictures) He sometimes thinks about tattoos but he never was able to decide just what he’d want to permanently put on his skin. Once he starts brainstorming, he will muse about it all day and night and never come to a conclusion.

His overall physique can be described fit from a life spent running errands from one place to another while more often than not having to defend himself. While definitely muscular, he’s more on the lean side.

—

You hear a pleasant, familiar-sounding tune, which softly fills the strange place you’ve found yourself in. How did you get here? What were you doing? It’s not known to you. Curious. It’s just a dark void with a small stage, illuminated by a single beam of light. As you follow the melody, you find a Tiefling Bard sitting in a chair on said stage, skilled hands strumming the strings of a beautifully engraved lute. He’s utterly lost in the music and doesn’t stir as you approach.

The song ends, and he finally seems to have noticed your presence.

“Oh! Welcome! Forgive me, I was so focused I haven’t heard or seen you come in. My name is Arijon!” (…?) “Haha, no no, not Arjun . Ahh-Ree-John!” (…!) “Yes, that’s it, you got it! But you can just call me Ari if you prefer, that’s fine, too.”

He gently leans the precious instrument against the chair he’s sitting on.

(...!) “Hm? Oh yes, it’s a very pretty lute isn’t it? I call her ‘Merryweather’~ The first proper lute I ever bought for myself when I started out as a Bard. She’s definitely my favorite, but I am well-trained in many others! Rhythmic drums, elegant violins, joyful flutes and divine lyres~”

He waves his hand towards a nearby table, which displays said instruments. They all look pretty, definitely worth a price but also well-used.

[Perception Check: Successful] The lyre is especially beautiful. Adorned with similar, beautiful carvings as the Bard’s Merryweather, but there’s also something engraved on its body. From where you sit, however, it's not legible. It's too long to be a name, maybe a phrase?

“Obviously I can also call my voice a proper instrument, though, haha. I pride myself on being a versatile Bard. Life hasn’t always been kind, but art and music has always made those heavy steps just that little bit lighter. Some might describe me as kind and soft-spoken, a sensitive soul; true by all means, I’d say, but do not underestimate my silver-tongue; I once convinced a demon to kill— Ah, but that’s a bit graphic for a first introduction, no? Haha.”

He smiles warmly at you.

[Insight Check: Successful] You noticed the small tug on his face before he shrugged the story off and smiled; the brief moment in which a wicked grin could have formed. Whatever graphic thing had happened, he clearly was very proud of it.

“A lot has happened on my journeys. Big adventures like that rarely leave you as the same person you started at. My body and soul can tell you all about it, but I believe it made me stronger.” (…?) “If there was hardship? Oh… why of course, but there always is, isn’t there? You just have to keep on trying and move on in the best way you can, especially if you have people who can support you!” (…) “I take it too lightheartedly? Haha, maybe~ But a positive outlook is a good outlook!”

Once again he smiles warmly at you.

[Insight Check: Successful] At first glance it seems genuine. He seems to be kind and positive. The smile even reaches his eyes but that’s where the facade fails. They mirror sorrow back at you, things untold, burdens unshared. He likes to keep the appearance of a man who can go through life without a care and being able to handle any situation no matter how difficult while wearing a bright smile… But even he is just a person. Even he can only take so much. His eyes don’t lie. They speak the truth he hides.

“Looks like you are quite an observant one, hm? You’re not wrong. We sometimes go through difficult times in our life and we all handle it differently. Sometimes all you can do is put on a brave face and hope it will be fine in the end. … Urgh..!” The Tiefling seems to yelp briefly in pain, rubbing his organic eye. “Ah, apologies, it looks like something got into my eye, heh. Where were we?”

[Arcana Check: Successful]

A bizarre, unknown magic seems to radiate from his good eye, making it briefly appear silver and distant before it returns to its original color. You feel it so distinctly, yet you just can’t place the type of magic that might be at play here. A hex? An evil being’s curse? The gods’ divine intervention?

(...?)

“Heh… my, you really are observant. Fine, since there’s no hiding from you… I have a gift. Or… a curse. It really depends on how you want to see it. I can’t even decide myself which direction it leans towards most of the time. But this… power… It allows me to not quite see the future fully but peek at glimpses of possibilities. Thingy yet to come but I don’t stare down a straight road, rather I stand at a road that forks into oh so many directions. Say I’m in a really dicey situation, I might get visions of what is to come. Depending on that I might be able to steer into a more desirable outcome! Practical, no? Well… It’s not always helpful, however. Sometimes it’s just a faint premonition of what’s to come. And sometimes the possibilities of events already past still haunt me in my dreams…

But! Let’s forget about that for now, yes? Do you have a favorite song?”

(...) “Ohhh, yes, that’s a good one, I love that one, too! Especially with a nice flute and violin accompanying you. I even have a music box that plays it. But for now, just a lute will do.”

He reaches for the pretty instrument again and positions his fingers in preparation.

“Sit down and relax; me and my trusty Merryweather will make sure we all can just forget hardships and curses and whatnot for a while and let our minds drift gracefully with the music.”

He smiles softly at you.

[Insight Check: Successful] It’s genuine. The smile reaches his eyes and his good eye practically radiates joy. He loves music with a passion. He means every word he says when he wants to let people get lost in pretty tunes and forget their sorrows for a while.

So maybe, you decide that staying just a little longer will be fine.

[Perception Check: Failed] Before the Bard starts his tune, you feel like an extra pair of eyes are on you but when you turn around you see nothing but darkness. While your mind is convinced something red and shiny was eyeing you, you quickly forget about it when the first strings were strummed and the Tiefling’s soft voice lured you back in.

“*~Down, down, down by the river…~*”

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate spoilers #writing #baldur's gate oc #tiefling #arijon the tiefling bard