#i need to decide on a tav | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

invinciblerodent · 5 months

Text

Another case of the "I'm not done"-s seems to have possessed me, because the immortality and rebirth of elven souls and this fucking elf/vampire!elf romance I'm doing right now is kind of ruining me.

Because, well... look.

This shit is ripe for angst.

For so long, there is no real reason to think much about the passage of time. Death, it's but an abstract far in the future- a bridge to be burned when they get to it. It's easy enough to practically forget that mortality is a thing to account for: with both the endless stretch of centuries they have and her body as unchanging as his, that thought can be kicked further down the road for what feels like it might even be an indefinite amount of time. Their lives just inch along, endlessly, and twine together like the roots of an ancient forest, building around- and with one another. Friends come and go, live and die, and yet, every moment, every day, is permeated by the other's presence: even in their "sleep", they're reliving shared memories (there is scarcely another kind, by now) while holding one another.

Talking about which of their adventures they chose to remember in Reverie is one of his favorite parts of the night.

Until one evening, as she opens her eyes to greet both him and the nightfall with a smile, he catches... just the faintest opaque, silvery glint in her pupils. It's barely a flash, gone in an instant, as if it was merely a trick of the light, but the thought, like a pesky insect, begins buzzing in his head. It will not let him rest.

With this new thought gnawing at him, he can't not see that there's almost a... strange distance, to her now. Even with this hazy half-awareness, it would have slipped his note if he hadn't come to know her quite so intimately over the past half millenium, if he hadn't memorized her cadence and heard her every loving thought as if it was his own. But he's attuned to her: even as her fingers glide through his hair, and her lips speak her words of love like they have so many times before, the same words, they... ring slightly hollow, robotic, automatic in their sweetness now, and once the dreaded Sun begins inching over the horizon and he's forced back into the shadows once more, her kiss goodbye lingers just one second longer, she holds him just a touch tighter before she'd be out the door.

All day, he circles the darkened room like a trapped animal, mind flush with thoughts of robotic words, silver glints, and a creeping dread. Surely, it cannot be what he thinks. It cannot. It wasn't a half-moon, it's not the Transendence, it was merely a... a reflection off something, moonlight bouncing off a silvered picture frame, or the twinkle of a magelight lighting the street glancing through an improperly closed curtain, a... a stomach bug that she's toughing out and is too stubborn to say anything about, something. It cannot be what he thinks, fears that it was.

The day drags on, the hour he'd expect her back comes and then passes, and when she returns, it is closer to sundown than it normally would be. Usually when she must leave for the day, she tries to time her return so that they can rest together, and then emerge from their chambers at the exact moment of nightfall to maximize the amount of time shared, the time he can walk free with her on his arm, but today, she returns with darkness on her heels, and bittersweet sorrow marring her face.

"Arael, we need to talk," she says, and the beloved endearment in their shared native tongue, 'heart' and 'hearth', 'center' and 'lover' in a single word, turns to acid in his ears. Instantly, he knows what she's going to say.

"How long have you known." It's not a question in tone, only phrasing- the hiss of his own voice feels alien in his throat. "When were you planning on telling me."

"It's been... a few days."

A few days. A few days, she's been...! He can't bring himself to think the word 'dying'. He can't. His knees give way under the weight of her words, and he crumples onto the nearest chair.

"You.... should have told me right away." He wants so dearly to be furious. His hands itch to rip, to tear, to destroy everything, his tongue aches to spit bile that'd make her feel exactly the pain he does in this moment... Gods, it was so easy to grow complacent and start believing in forever, to stop counting the hours, the days, the years, and still, it's her godsdamned near-forgotten mortality that's come knocking-- now, that his life is inexorably intertwined with hers, that she's been the other half of his soul for long enough to see the birth and death of friends and enemies, the rise and fall of monarchs, nations. And yet, her life's thread is soon to be clipped, while his must stretch on, infinite.

He buries his face in itching palms and swallows the bile to make room for the flood of grief. "I could have prevented this," he whispers now, "We could have had the chance, at forever... forever, if I could have turned you, if only I had-- if I--"

A soft hand on his shoulder stills him now. "Arael," she repeats, and traces a line to his chin, gently urging him to look at her. "I could not have dreamed of a more blissful, blessed life, than the one I shared with you. But--"

"Don't say it!" She winces as he snaps, and his hand is now grasping her wrist, insistent, hard enough to almost hurt, as he presses her palm against his cheek. "Don't, it's not over yet-- she may be calling, but you don't have to answer, you can stay--"

"I can't, my love."

"But--!"

"Arvandor is calling my soul, Astarion. The Gate is open. Sehanine has shown me; I must answer."

"But not yet, there's still time, you--!"

Her thumb gliding feather-light over his lips cuts off his desperate shout. "I have time enough to get my affairs in order," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, "but I can delay it no longer than maybe another tenday. For now, please... simply be with me."

That night, they make love. Tender, aching love that leaves them both tearful in one another's arms- his whole body shakes, racked with heavy sobs as he buries his face in her chest, as if that way he could melt into her, to keep her here, keep her safe, keep her for himself, or... or follow her, anchor his soul to hers, stow away and smuggle himself into the afterlife that rejected him, so they can be reborn together, find one another again, have another six hundred years, and another, and another...

Hopeless. A fool's desperation, no more. There's no tricking the Seldarine: he had rejected rebirth in favor of this wretched, eternal half-life the moment Cazador's fangs sunk into his flesh so long ago now, and his soul was rent from Arvandor. There's no changing that now, no fighting it, and no putting it off longer either. So he kisses her through the sobs once more, makes love to her once more, and drinks deep from her once more, willing his tongue to carve this memory of her taste, her essence, her love as deep into his mind as it may.

She takes the promised tenday to get her affairs in order, and to set up all that may only be done during sunlit hours: she organizes herself a nighttime funeral, arranges for her assets to be dealt with as she may, and makes sure to hold him tight, to mourn with him as if she herself wasn't the one dying. And each night, she speaks sweet, reassuring nonsense of the permanence of memory, of rebirth, and the aching, heartrending beauty of gentle endings.

And once no more minutiae is left to handle, there is no more delaying the inevitable.

She is laid to rest in a modest ceremony, in a small circle of trusted friends, under the light of a waning moon.

He mourns, bitter and alone, for years- barely leaving his chambers out of necessity, flitting through the nights as a ghost not entirely unlike the one he was so long ago, until one evening he wakes to find the pain... bearable. There will quite possibly never not be a wound on his soul now, but even the deepest wounds, they scar over: there's new, tender flesh, pink and gnarled, stretching over the void of her absence now. And life, it continues as it does, relentless.

Decades pass. The new flesh, it toughens, thickens, until it can scarcely be seen, unless you know where to look for it: the loss now lives only in the absent-minded seeking of her warmth in his cold slumber, in the automatic gesture of taking two wine glasses from the cabinet only to set one back down; it lives behind the locked door of her untouched workshop and in the slip of parchment left between the yellowed pages of the book she had never finished reading.

Until one evening, shortly after nightfall, there is a knock, hard and insistent, on the door.

His body redies itself for a fight, as if a hunter might be so bold as to announce their arrival- but curiosity, it's too hard to resist, and he scarcely makes an effort.

It's... an elf. But not any elf- a woman, younger, taller, and fuller in figure than she was, and her hair, it's a tightly curled warm chestnut rather than her blood-red waves, but it's unmistakable: her features, they are exactly the same. The same fire amber eyes, the same freckles dotting her cheekbones, even the same raised mark at the edge of her jaw that sits there like an insect had folded its wings and chosen to make its home on her skin. And the stranger speaks, with her voice, before he could find his own.

"So you do live!" she says, equal parts disbelieving and relieved, "Or, well, something like that. I could tell that you were a vampire, from the-" she gestures vaguely to his face, "-fangs and all, but I still wasn't sure I'd ever actually find you."

There's... a prickle of understanding. It's her, but... not quite. Her soul. Her, but born anew. And she returned in a way, to reminisce, to meet him once more- and his mouth opens, but the words, wary and elated and tender at the same time, get lost on their way to his lips.

It's an imperfect replica of her laugh that leaves the woman's mouth. "Gods, don't gape at me like a beached carp like that! I've been seeing nothing but your damn face in my trance for decades now; I was looking for you, hoping you could answer some questions I have." The familiar stranger flashes her mischievous smile. "Can I come in? I feel we have a lot to talk about."

There is no love in this. But, there's nevertheless something... bolstering, in the unique opportunity he can present to the new owner of her soul: the opportunity to get to know, truly know, who she once was. Halting and strange as it may be, they do talk quite a long time, and when she leaves, it's with gratitude, and a short, awkward, one-armed hug that she bids her farewell.

And time stretches, infinite yet again.

As long as he may live, her soul, it continues seeking his across however many lifetimes, until one day, the strange elf finds the door in their hazy memories hanging off its hinges, and the home, collapsed and empty, maybe for decades now.

Occasionally, it is still said that in each generation, there may very well be an elf born whose soul feels an irresistible need to make a curious, solitary pilgrimage to the ruins of a city once known as Baldur's Gate, and hope against hope to find a pale man with red eyes wandering the empty streets.

And maybe, a woman who had once lived there so many centuries ago was right: there's an aching, heartrending kind of beauty in that.

#squirrel plays bg3 #squirrel writes #astarion #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #look it's the closest thing to actual fic that I've written in like 6 years #there needs to be a Cool Internet Slang Abbreviation for 'head in my hands'#i've decided right this second that i'm going to make it happen and just use 'himh'#himh take this away from me #i feel a weird urge to add just one or two more words because this is 2022 words it seems #but even though it's def not perfect i kinda don't want ot keep touching it #ANYWAY have quick and dirty and hastily written angsty fluff sometime far far far into the future

53 notes · View notes

silentspectres · 8 months

Note

I would like to know about your disaster tiefling! Backstory, current romance, what drives them, anything youd be excited to share!

thank you for indulging me! I cannot express enough that I am like a vampire in that I have to be explicitly invited to do something, so I'm grateful

This is my disaster tiefling Mercury, they're a mephistopheles tiefling rogue (assassin specifically) and they're allergic to making wise decisions

I have a hard time grabbing good screenshots from my console sometimes so a few of these are Crunchy™ but I genuinely love the range of lighting the game has that makes them go from somewhat well-adjusted looking to mostly just glowing eyes. I'll put the rest about them under a read more!

Mercury usually sticks to decisions that will benefit themself or their friends above all else (and usually not through honest means), but they've been known to freely help children with no clear end gain. They had a great time around Mattis, the tiefling child, out-conning him. It's probably the closest to playful their group has come to seeing them be playful (save around Scratch/the Owlbear), since Mercury was using it as an opprotunity to teach the kid rogue techniques that would benefit him later from someone who's been at it for quite some time. It'd be cute if they weren't such an awful influence

Mercury's backstory is admittedly not something I've been able to work out past large overtones or some general character defining events, but they're a character that likes to keep their privacy and hold things that matter to them close, so I think it works out in the long run. They were fiery and loudly defiant against the world and its cruelty when they were younger, but as they grew older and realized that the only person they could rely on was themself, they grew more cunning, quiet, carefully composed, and discarded the intense emotions that once drove them. This change most likely came from being used + discarded by a disguised devil, and they have an extreme discomfort and distrust for devils or the Infernal as a result

I like to call Mercury a mirror - they're a reflection of the general harshness the city had on them (being a scrappy tiefling with nowhere to call home), but once they're surrounded by people who offer them kindness (Wyll/Karlach/Gale particularly being huge influences) they actually almost habitually return kindness + favors to the small group close to them. Their friends are one of the only noted exceptions, though; they still don't really do great in the empathy department otherwise

I could write several pages about Mercury's romance, BUT I'll try not to ramble too long (narrator voice: this was a lie). Mercury is romancing (spawn) Astarion + their dynamic drives me up the WALL. The two of them had a weird push and pull to their early relationship - Mercury was well familiar with the song and dance Astarion was performing when he targeted them and knew he certainly had ulterior motives, but they... truthfully, between the empty meaningless void that had become their existence and the inevitable certain death they would now be facing as a result of being tadpoled, and the fact that they could never remember a single moment in their life in which they were wanted (let alone desired by someone), they didn't care. So they let him use them and they played along as coyly as he did, fully aware that the more that they got involved with him or the others the higher the chance they might end up walking away caring. Which, unfortunately, happened.

A lot of factors contributed to changing Mercury's apathy toward the group and ultimately swayed the change to caring romantically about Astarion, almost none of which was even Astarion's doing himself. It started with Wyll, who was always kind and selfless without a second thought, who willingly chose to risk losing everything against Mizora because he'd rather stand by Karlach. And Karlach herself was easy to get along with - she cared deeply and loudly about those around her and wasted no time or consideration into treating Mercury with the same warmth as she did the others. Gale, maybe surprisingly, was the ultimate catalyst, though. He had formerly been a wizard Mercury kept at the same distance as everyone, one of the companions Mercury actually thought less often about despite traveling with him among the most, before they met Elminster along the roads to the Shadow Cursed lands. Mercury is hard to sway, but a goddess telling her most devoted follower that he only stands to make something meaningful of himself by killing himself ignited some long since extinguished anger in them - anger at the gods, anger at the world, anger at the shitty hands they and these people they're around were dealt - and Mercury drunk themself to sleep that night following the realization that fuck, this anger in place of apathy meant they cared. Astarion was next to show them a little vulnerability by letting them read his scars to him (and it drives me insane thinking about the level of trust he would've reasonably have had to have in them to turn his bare back to another rogue), revealing that he is only one part of an unknown whole, and that that unknown whole could very well be an Infernal pact. And so it goes - suddenly, Mercury was in over their head. Suddenly, they cared.

They both end up stumbling through figuring what a relationship (and even the full scope of what either of them truly want) means later, when they're both forced to face the fact whatever was between them is now real (and dangerous, Mercury reasons, because to admit they want to care and be alive means they have to invite back in all the hurt it could bring - hurt they're intimately familiar with - but they can't deny that what they have is nice.) Mercury is very much a deeply touch starved person, so they offer Astarion a lot of small, quiet moments of physical intimacy like leaning against him in camp, resting their hands on his, soft touches against his face to brush against his hair, stuff that, in general, he probably has no lasting memories of ever having. In turn, Astarion offers them a quiet sanctuary - a gentle reminder - that they have others they can lean on and rely on and that they don't have to bear their burdens alone. There's a lot of push and pull in this stage of their relationship, too, but it's less about a game they're performing and more about learning boundaries, limits, and the depths that they're both willing to admit to themselves about whatever it is they have.

By act 3, Mercury has no doubts about where Astarion stands to them, and truthfully I don't think Astarion does about Mercury either, but it's a bit harder for him to think about with certain looming disaster hanging over his head. Reasonably. He sort of lashes out the closer they get to dealing with the inevitable, not in the way he's harsh, but in the sort of defensive "I feel like a cornered animal so I'm reverting back to trying to pull the strings (new strings at that!) to use/manipulate you into doing what (I think) I want because I genuinely can't believe in a kinder future for myself" sort of way. Mercury by this point can see right through him and offers a constant, steady pressure by always pointing out "If you do this, you'll have to do a lot of difficult things, are you sure you're prepared to do that?" and by the point of the crypts, it's clear he'd be really fucked up by carrying through with it now that he's had to come face to face with both what he's done and what he stands to become by taking Cazador's power, especially after finding the scroll about the other vampire masters. So Mercury stands firm and becomes his reminder that things don't have to end in bloodshed, lashing out, and bared teeth - a lesson Mercury themself was taught by the kindness (a kindness they had always lacked) their companions (now friends) never gave up on. Their relationship is stronger for it and they're genuinely good influences on each other (somehow, Astarion has become some sembalance of the voice of reason and is a good 90% of the reason Mercury has stopped doing things with no regard to their own self preservation now) and they're both extremely well adjusted partners despite the so many issues both of them have. Who would've thought the local pair of murderers are an exceptionally sweet couple???

I have rambled for far too long and I have a thousand more things I could say about Mercury but I'll spare you because it is very early in the morning, but thank you for letting me speak a little about them!! I have a playlist and a pinterest for them if anyone is seriously further curious about them and my inbox is always open for more questions but I must sleep for now

#bg3 #bg3 tav #bg3 spoilers #answered #rhubarbtonapalooza #my ocs #silent speaks #seriously my mental illness with Mercury is unparalleled #if anyone takes commissions for fandom ocs let me know maybe #one of my favorite things about my stupid disaster tiefling I didn't cover in the main part of this post is that they've #accidentally done quite a few good / selfless things for people throughout the campaign #they're like i'm going to agree to help because this person will owe me something later or surely give me something I need in return #and half the time those people were like thank you :)) that was very kind of you #and mercury every time was like WHAT WAS THE POINT #one of my favorite moments was showing up to the city finally and there's this guy loudly complaining about people breaking into his house #so Mercury immediately is like why?? do you have something valuable in there #and the guy alludes to something being in the basement #so Mercury decided actually I think that'll be mine thank you #they show up to civilization finally and immediately get in a fight with some mercenaries #proceed to break into this man's house #pays the family to leave because the guy has a kid and the kid deserves to be safe #goes down to the basement to see if the guy does have anything valuable #discovers a plot to explode some refugees #they're like COME ON I just wanted some gear I didn't come down here to play hero #(some of the tieflings from the grove were part of said refugees so they unfortunately did once again play the part of the hero)#anyway I am so tired I need to sleep #bg3: mercury

7 notes · View notes