#we need more Zevlor content | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darkenedurge · 6 months

Text

𝐓𝐨 𝐀𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟.

"My dear, surely you don't want to waste this party speaking with an old paladin?"

The younger tiefling's tail swayed behind her, like a coy kitten – a swish, swish, of subtle annoyance. Her brows furrow, and Zevlor almost wants to laugh at her blatantly obvious distaste toward his words.

Until, he doesn't. Because her next words, barrel into his chest like a freight train.

"There are things we can do besides speak, then." And she's serious. Completely, intently.

He can't catch his breath, splutters and stumbles – his wine, fortunate to still swill within its chalice confines. With a cough, and an uneasy chuckle, he offers a light, but dishonest shake of his head.

"You don't like me?" She asks, disheartened – and, painfully so. Her eyes have softened, expression twisting with regret. Zevlor panics.

Panics a little too much. An admittance falling all too hastily from his mouth, "I do! I really do. Since the very moment you set foot through that gate.."

Light, within her eyes once more. Still, she remains wordless, awaiting further explanation. Such, she deserves, he supposes.

"It's just.." A pause, "It's been a while."

Her hands unexpectedly find his, being careful not to tip his drink for a second time, "I don't mind. I want you, Zevlor."

As if there weren't enough heat, torturously lingering between them already..

Her words, the very smallest grace of her touch, sends blood rushing below. To where it shouldn't be, arguably, but it's there all the same. And it's dizzying. Zevlor opens his mouth to once again force her away, lips parting. Yet, what leaves is a quiet, "Then, please."

With a tug, she's dragging him out, away from the vicinity of camp – whipping past watchful, knowing eyes. For a brief, brief moment, Zevlor wishes to disappear. That's until he's tumbling backward onto a bedroll, grass licking at his ears, as her mouth finds his.

And, by the Gods does she taste incredible. Sweet, like ambrosia. Like every piece of Elturel, of what he'd lost, returning to him in one, fell swoop.

His hands settle on her waist, thumbs tracing circles against her clothed skin. Her hand, on a horn – tracing the ridges with an adventurous fingertip. The other, is already palming him – earning an unrestrained, whimpering sound.

He's never been wanted like this.

"Patience," He murmurs, as she breaks for air, "I want to savour every bit of this.. if you'll let me."

She considers, before giving a small, affirming nod – "How do you want me? This is your night."

With a shred of mustered confidence, he succeeds in rolling her onto her back – beneath him, as he had been for her. Hunger, need, dances within her irises.

"No, my love, it is not.. you're our hero, after all. And, I'd like to taste you." His fingers hook beneath the waistband of her camp garments, slipping them down with ease. She doesn't wear underwear to bed, it seems.

Or perhaps, this was an exception for him. That thought, only made him all the more hard – near painfully so. He neglects his own needs for now, parting her legs with gentle encouragement.

Zevlor dips his head, being mindful of his horns, nose burying in her cunt with no sense nor need of patience – his tongue, quick to gain a taste of her. The sweetness of her forces a guttural growl rumbling from the back of his throat, and her hips arch – one hand back, upon a horn. The other, nestling in his hair.

He's slow, to begin with, tongue swirling her clit with expert technique, and with patience. His resolve is strong, until his name whines past her lips – hips rolling. Then, and only then, does he further his pace, the pressure of his tongue increasing tenfold. His name, again, again, again.

"Zevlor," She moans, cries, "Zevlor, I can't–"

“You can, my heart,” He lifts his head, only for a split-second, “Cum for me, be good.”

A few, additional, incoherent murmurs pour from her mouth – until a flurry of gasps, and pitched moans interject, her orgasm riding mercilessly through every nerve and limb. Zevlor steadies her shaking thighs with a tight, yet not harsh, grip – lapping up her juices, supping one, last taste.

Zevlor grant her a moment – peppering kisses up, down her thighs as her breathing steadies to a regular pace once more, despite the occasional hitch as his teeth graze her skin.

“You did so well,” He praises, following her unspoken lead, as she guides him against a nearby tree – sinking to her knees, “You.. you don’t have to do this, my girl.”

She doesn’t reply, but rather ignores him, the cold night air of spring breathing against his cock as it’s pried free – sending a shudder, coursing through him. Her thumb runs over the ridges, that line the length of his shaft, and he almost buckles – clawed fingers grasping at tree bark to re-steady himself. The notion earns a small, adorable breath of a laugh from her, before the entirety of him disappears within the cavern of her mouth. Her tongue teases the tip, cheeks squeezing the length of him. He could’ve cum at the snap of her fingers, at the first, instantaneous press of her tongue against his cock. But he holds back.

Her efforts are swift, clear that her favour was merely in order to prepare him for her. Prepare herself, to take him. She releases him with an audible ‘pop!’, and gazes up at Zevlor – doe-eyed, pupils blown wide with blaring desire. “How do you want me?” An echo, of a question she’d prior asked, before he was gifted the taste of her. The divine taste of her.

Zevlor’s head is reeling, and there’s an unintentional silence as he considers his options. The colour in his cheeks darkens, “Would it be.. old-fashioned of me, to ask for missionary?” A following silence, accompanied by her smile, “I just.. I want to see your face, my girl. My pretty girl.” His hand, caresses her hair upon the words that leave him, and her eyes briefly flutter.

“No,” She replies, catching his wrist, and pressing a kiss to the inner-side – “I think that’s lovely, Zevlor.”

Her words are cemented, as she’s on her back once more – her shirt rid from her body, rolled and placed beneath the small of her back as a makeshift pillow, leaving her bare before him. His breath catches in his throat, admiration ghosting across his expression. Lowering, their hands conjoin in aiding Zevlor out of his armour – his gaze cast aside, shy.

“You’re incredible,” She breathes, hands now tracing the expanse of his stomach, bumping over the ridges that adorn his skin – mirroring those on his cock. His eyes squeeze shut, still shy, but he smiles.

“Are you ready, my heart?” He then asks, clinging to the courage that allows him to look in her eyes, allows him to cup her cheek – thumb running over visible freckles that littered her skin. She nods, tail winding around his leg. Zevlor swallows, thickly, his tail mimicking her own – spreading her legs as it wound.

“I hope your tail speaks truth,” He utters, as he lines himself with her slick, pleading entrance, “I wish for nothing more than to be your mate. Beyond this moment.”

“It does,” The words are spoken in a sharp gasp, as he sheathes himself inside, her walls fluttering graciously around his cock – “I’m yours, for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Forever,” He pants, hips pistoning at a far quicker, and harder, pace than he’d anticipated, forehead coming to rest against hers – horns gently bumping, “Forever, my heart.”

Her moans slip into tandem with his thrusts, and she clings to him in any way she possibly can – cunt, impossibly tight around his cock, nails pressed into his skin, tail still wound around him. The sounds of their sex is embarrassingly loud, unrestricted. Zevlor’s name rolls off of her tongue like a prayer, and he can’t see himself lasting much longer.

To which, he announces, voice cracking, breaking, “I won’t.. I’m not going to last..”

“Then, don’t,” Is quipped in reply, in speedy succession, a kiss pressed to his lips – “Cum for me. Cum inside me.”

Zevlor’s eyes widen, the knot that coiled within his abdomen beginning to snap, “You’re sure?” – the question is strangled from his throat, hips still driving relentlessly into her.

“Yes,” She whines, “Yes, yes, yes, just– please.”

And who is he, if not a man, living to please his partner? Zevlor allows himself to tip, or rather crash, over the precipice – filling, spilling his seed into her with a shuddering cry of release.

They remain, for a minute or three, within one another’s embrace – kisses planted upon Zevlor’s shoulder, before her lips are stolen by his, tongues dancing in perfect unison.

“I love you,” Zevlor rasps, before interrupting himself with yet another, sloppy kiss, “I love you so much, my darling.”

“I love you too, Zevlor.”

#baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate iii #bg3 #tav x zevlor #zevlor x tav #zevlor x reader #zevlor x you #tiefling tav #tieflings #bg3 smut #bg3 x reader #bg3 zevlor #baldurs gate 3 zevlor #zevlor

571 notes · View notes

forgeofthenine · 5 months

Note

Hello there :) I just want to say that I love all of your work so far, it’s absolutely amazing :) if it’s okay please could I request headcanons of the Bachelor’s having a crush on a shy and insecure non tiefling reader 💙💙

Thank you so much! ♥️♥️♥️ I'm sorry it took me a while to get to your headcanons, but I hope you enjoy them! I also just got a new phone, so any extra typos are bc this new keyboard is screwing me over lmao

The bachelors with a shy and insecure reader

Dammon

Easily one of the best love interests for someone that's shy or insecure

Dammon is great at slowly easing people out of their shell, he pushes without going to far

He has patience too, even if it takes months for you to have a full conversation with him

Really, the man just likes seeing you act all shy, the way you flush with embarrassment is endearing

And, while the fact you're a non tiefling gives him pause at first, it's not really an issue for him

If anything it just means you won't pick up on the way his tail wags-

Dammon is so sweet about your insecurities

Depending on what they are, he'll either help you reach your goals or assure you that your wonderful

Both even and possibly at the same time

He's so big on praise and there doesn't go a day where Dammon doesn't compliment you in some way

Everything Dammon says is so sweet and genuine too

Zevlor

This lovely paladin would suit someone shy and insecure

Zevlor himself is quiet and reserved, and has dealt with his own share of insecurities throughout his life

He can see it in the way you act, what's going through your head

There's no way you can hide things from him, after years of being a hellrider it makes you observant

The way Zevlors endlessly understanding is so sweet <3

If you need support or comfort in any way, he will always be there

Whether you need a hug or help fixing a problem

He never expects anything back, but seeing you open up to him is more than enough of a reward

You being a non tiefling doesn't bother Zevlor, I definitely think he's been with non tiefs before in the past

Like Dammon, he is also very patient

Despite his feelings, Zevlor will take your relationship at whatever speed you'd like

He's quite content being a close friend of yours and supporting you

Please just kiss Zevlor already, he'll die before making the first move

Rolan

Are you sure you want to try and date Rolan? 💀

We love him, but this man is a firecracker of a tiefling, he takes a while to adjust to

While he realises you're shy, it takes Cal and Lia pestering him before he stops his little angry outbursts

Instead he starts to become a lot more mindful about his voice, tone, and body language

This goes double when he realises his feelings for you

It's a noticeable change, particularly when you leave a room and the firecracker attitude is back

He's your hype squad too when you're feeling insecure

Rolan is both a proud man but he does worry about his abilities and how he stacks up

It's a perspective that helps him both understand your thoughts, and help you overcome negative thinking patterns

If he gets to spend time with his crush while he helps, then that's just a bonus

In the end, you and Rolan end up being like the 'they asked for no pickles' meme, if anyone knows what I'm talking about

It's honestly so cute seeing him pine over you while hyping you up in his own sassy way

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 x reader #bg3 x reader #baldurs gate 3 dammon #bg3 dammon #dammon x reader #baldurs gate 3 zevlor #bg3 zevlor #zevlor x reader #baldurs gate 3 rolan #bg3 rolan #rolan x reader #bri answers

267 notes · View notes

bg3ficreviews · 1 month

Text

Thunder reforged: Rolan x Dammon - #BG3 FanFic Review

Review by Aivu (@aivuthedragon)

Happy timezone, dear readers! Today I'm happy to bring you this incredible series of works by velocitross on AO3. What's hotter than a tiefling wizard with a knack for a well-timed thunderwave? Said tiefling wizard having a rendezvous with his tiefling blacksmith paramour, of course.

A note from the BG3FicReviews team: The entire BG3 community was been rocked by the recent controversy surrounding Dammon's VA, including the various fanwork creators who've fallen in love with Dammon, included him in their work, and are part of the LGBTQAI+ community themselves. We want to express our support and love to Dammon fans, Dammon fan work creators, the LGBTQAI+ community generally and all those adversely affected by what's happened. As such, we have decided to feature such works in our reviews this week. Make your love louder than the hate. 💜

As always, mind the tags! Our review is continued below the fold due to the NSFW nature of the content in these works.

This incredible artwork by @arczism was inspired by velocitross's Rolan x Dammon fic Working Steel, which is included in today's review.

Working Steel, the first of velocitross’ three works that include this rare pair, is a masterwork in character portrayal. The author adeptly captures the at-a-glance somewhat incompatible personalities of the two tiefling refugees who fled Elturel together and now reside in Baldur’s Gate. In this work, the relationship between Rolan, the ever-surly wizard and the newly ‘appointed’ master of Ramazith Tower, and Dammon, the gentle yet infernally talented blacksmith of the Forge of the Nine, has grown far beyond mere friendship.

Rolan, frustrated by his attempts to catalogue the mindless chaos remaining after the untimely death of the tower’s former owner, approaches Dammon to ask for his help and visits him at his forge. But what could a blacksmith possibly offer a wizard? Well, a good fuck, for one thing. Rolan is pent-up, impatient, and needs a good lay. And, it turns out, so does Dammon. The smut that ensues is not only blazingly hot but also beautifully captures the tender affection between the two tieflings through not only their words, but small, unique gestures of love and care. (Mind the tails. I mean, tags. No, tails.)

In Up in the Tower, it’s Dammon’s turn to visit the wizard’s domain. But the blacksmith receives a less-than-warm welcome, as the ever-grumpy Rolan becomes highly annoyed at having his work interrupted. But considering Rolan is dressed in little more than his underwear and an open robe, I’m more than willing to forgive him for his surliness. Dammon, however, being the sweet, gentle soul that he is, insists on taking care of Rolan beyond his carnal needs alone. In this work, the relationship between the pair deepens, and the author has wonderfully captured the intimacy of the pair. Lastly, we have Within the Storm. This work takes us back to the Shadow-Cursed Lands as the tiefling refugees attempt to cross its desolate lands on their way to Baldur’s Gate. When the Absolute’s forces ambush the group, Rolan expertly wields his magic to stave them off. But when something happens to Zevlor, the battle takes a turn for the worse. In the chaos, Rolan’s siblings, Cal and Lia, are kidnapped and several of his friends and co-travellers are brutally murdered.

Once at Last Light Inn, Rolan is a fucking mess, devastated by his siblings’ capture. Lost in the depths of his despair and way too much drink, the tiefling wizard finds comfort in the arms of a fellow refugee he’d known since childhood - Dammon. And thus the gentlest embers of affection between the pair begin to spark to life. This lovely one-shot serves as a prelude to the author’s much-anticipated long fic about the pair, their growing affection for one another and what looks to be a truly beautiful love story. If you would like to follow velocitross’ incredible work about the love between a tiefling wizard and blacksmith, please be sure to subscribe to the author on AO3 and follow their work and the pending long fic. We have included a snippet of Working Steel below for your enjoyment. As always, please support the writers of our incredible fandom by leaving kudos and comments on their work. 🫶

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

Working Steel

By velocitross on AO3

The ring of his hammer fills Dammon’s ears and his attention as he works. A soft frown of focus curves his lips. It’s a simple enough repair—restoring a blade for the halfling woman standing outside the forge watching him work. Still, there’s a satisfaction to it: the rhythm of his strikes, the heat of the day in Baldur’s Gate warming him beneath his layers of apron and clothing. The ordinary busy noise of the city goes on just outside his focus, a subtle, stabilizing comfort even months after the Netherbrain’s defeat.

When he glances up from his work, a distinct figure catches his eye amongst the passersby. Rolan, with his proud bearing and his regal blue and red robes, coming toward the smithy with a tense, bothered scowl and his tail lashing behind him. A smile touches Dammon’s lips. He knows that look.

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” he says as Rolan comes to a stop an awkward few feet from the halfling waiting on her sword.

“Well, don’t take too long,” Rolan snaps, and then reddens further when Dammon raises an eyebrow at him. “Sorry. I’ll just—I’ll wait.”

Dammon lifts the blade off his anvil to study it. He smiles at the halfling as he passes her the sword.

“Give that a try. Come back if you need anything else.”

She moves off to the side to examine the blade, allowing Rolan to step up to the forge. He stands, arms crossed, his face flushed as he fixes Dammon with his bright yellow stare.

“Anything I can help you with, Rolan?” the blacksmith prompts.

Rolan sighs. He places his hands carefully on the edge of the anvil, glances again toward the halfling woman, and leans in toward Dammon.

“I need . . . Steel.”

Dammon breathes a good-natured chuckle.

“Come on,” he says, nodding over his shoulder toward the building. “I could use a break, anyway.”

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfic reviews #bg3 rolan #bg3 dammon

163 notes · View notes

ceo-of-sloppy-men · 6 months

Text

I want to pick Zevlor off the street like a stray cat, wrap him in a blanket freshly warmed and let him cry in my arms. He deserved better. Both acts he was in all he got was hurt. First he had to get help with Kahga and the goblins so that his people wouldn’t be slaughtered when they were just trying to survive. Then his people actually got slaughtered so close to the finish line, and he’s left burdened with all of that guilt. You can see it on his face when you save him: he didn’t want to be saved. He didn’t want you to pull him out of the mindflayer pod, he wanted to be left there to rot for what he did. The absolute didn’t just tempt him, it broke him into a husk of a man.

Then we’re just jarred when he shows back up with his oaths at the end. It isn’t fair. We get to see so many characters have such cathartic arcs but zevlor is missing. We see Rolan finally getting his wizard tower, Alfira and Lakrissa making their way in the world, our companions healing and growing, but not Zevlor. He was an original character from EA we spent years with him, in new saves, smiling when he’d come on screen, and all we got was two acts of pain and anguish, then a jarring ending.

I realize that time constraints and resources are a big part but this isn’t some act 2 character. This is an original early access character. We see so much for Raphael, Rolan, Dammon, Alfira, Mol - fuck even Aradin appears! Yet nothing for Zevlor, and he’s just as important as the rest of them! He gets villanized in act 2, gets the perfect set up for at the very least an act 3 quest (if not companion) and nothing. Nadda. Zilch.

Where was our Loroaken moment? Where was our Shadowheart moment? Where was our freedom moment where we could help our beloved tiefling realize he is loved? Why must we be hurt in this way? I wish he had gotten this love during early acces and part of me kicks myself for not loudly shouting about him from every roof top until launch, but this still hurts. No one needed to shout for the others. No one had to ask for Dammon or Alfira or Mol. We just got them and that was amazing. You can’t even say it’s because he was in act 2 because all the other tieflings got content there to! Hells, we get TWO new companions and a gaggle of camp npcs in act 2&3 and you’re telling me we get nothing for Zevlor in act 3. Nothing? We couldn’t even set aside a tiny quest for him?

The only thing we did get is if we didn’t find him in act 2 and that is heartbreaking. It’s not even a better option because it’s just his lifeless corpse. It feels like tossing salt in the wound. A big fat mocking laugh. I know I shouldn’t be mad and I’m not saying I hate Larian for this, but my heart aches. The only other option for him is death! You only see him in act 3 if he’s DEAD! They’ve fixed so much stuff and that’s wonderful but no one is talking about how zevlor either disappears or just dies. Karlach is getting a fix, there’s dataminded evidence of Halsin getting more content, we get character customization mid game, people are calling for a Minthara fix, and that’s wonderful they’re listening. I just wish I could be loud enough to be heard as well.

#I’m sorry about the rant I’m just emotional over this #he’s my favourite character #and it pains me to remember this #I’m so happy other characters get more content #but I wish zevlor did to #bg3 #bg3 zevlor #bg3 spoilers

75 notes · View notes

faerunsbest · 25 days

Note

Currently writing a Zevlor fic and just had to get a second opinion...

Zevlor gives dad standing outside on the porch while insane storm rages outside energy.

Thoughts?

Also what is Rolan doing during a storm? reading? sleeping?

I need more teiflings doing mundane stuff content...and you said ask more weird stuff so here I appear. Thank you!

lemme see

Zevlor as a father is not like inept or anything but i imagine what really fluster's him is that he doesn't always know the best way to go about calming the kid when they're really wound up. So I can see him trying hard not to get overwhelmed and going outside, poor man forgot it was raining and now hes just sopping wet trying to decide what to do next.

I think Rolan would enjoy being settled up nice and cozy near a window, a good book in his lap, none too far from a fireplace. Picture him on a chaise in a nice relaxed robe, wine in hand while flips a page from particularly interesting read. he might even pause to just look out and see how far the towers height lets him view.

we want daily task tieflings?

i love those domestic things for them!

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #rolan #bg3 rolan #holy rolan empire #zevlor nation #tieflings #ask

25 notes · View notes

eyebagshawty · 4 months

Note

How many characters can we request for scenarios or headcanons? Would you do the same prompt with different characters? Are there any topics you won't do like rape, suicide, etc? Do you do poly ships x reader? Would you mind if we request for Alternate Universes or Aus like AU where the character lives happily? Would you mind if the request is suggestive, implied sex, or mentioned sex but no explicit sex? Would you mind if we specify for reader to be human or their race to be unspecified? What kinks would you accept for NSFW requests? Thank you in advance!

So for how many characters, I’d prefer to do 7-10. This is because with that amount it would allow me to keep the quality at a high, and I only want to give you guys my best! I’d probably need a clarification on which prompt, but I’m sure for instance with the bathing/taking care of them prompt I could make another part and include Zevlor, Rolan, soft Raphael, and others; that is to say I can always make a part two if you ask.

With sensitive topics, I’m down to write pretty much whatever as long as it goes productively towards the plot. For instance with non-con situations, I’d like to keep to plot driving moments instead of nsfw one shots; dub-con I’m more comfortable with in that sense, but I just don’t think I could write a non-con one shot and be happy with my work.

Poly is perfectly fine with me.

I absolutely love AUs, it’s always so interesting to see how each character would be in a completely different setting — so by all means request those if you would like!

With requesting suggestive content, by all means let me now how suggestive you would like it! I want to make your request perfect for you and the more knowledge I have the better :) I’m comfortable writing in any of those forms listed.

Specifying race is okay with me, such as human, drow, elf, tiefling and the like. If it isn’t specified however I usually just write with a blank slate that anyone can build their oc off of.

Lastly, for kinks, the list of what I’m willing to do is pretty long. So here is a list of what I’m NOT under any circumstances comfortable with:

- any bodily fluids outside of the realm of blood and semen

- any really wide age gaps or dd/lg (daddy kink and mommy kink are fine just no age regression type of thing)

- any like really extreme physical abuse

- no Halsin as a bear if you know what I mean

- again probably no non-con if it doesn’t move the story in a driving way (as in non-con just for the sake of it — dub-con I am more comfortable with)

My policy would be that if it’s not in that list but you’re still unsure, just dm me and ask; I’m judgement free and will respectfully decline if needed. And thank you anon for this ask! I hope it helps with any requests you might have <3

#18+ content #bg3 #alternate universe #fanfic #astarion x reader #gale x reader #karlach x reader #shadowheart x reader #lae’zel x reader #halsin x reader #wyll x reader #bg3 smut #bg3 romance

21 notes · View notes

tavyliasin · 2 months

Text

Iron Flowers Never Wilt - Barcus Wroot One Shot

Written for the Baldur's Date SFW Event, and inspired by my inbox~

Barcus Wroot has a little problem. It has been a long time since he's thought about finding a new...friend...and now someone has caught his eye, he isn't exactly sure what he should be doing about it.

Lucky for him, he has had the good fortune to have met a certain group of misfits who all have their own idea of romance. Can they help him plan the perfect date for the one he wants to woo?...

Pairing: Barcus Wroot/Zevlor SPICE Rating: 0.5/5 (mild suggestive language) Content Warnings: None, it's all fluffy

Spoilers Act 3 Mild Spoilers Canon Compliance In the very vaguest sense, this has little to do with canon. It's mostly indulgent fluff and an exploration of the different characters' attitudes to romance. Other Notes There are a few background pairings in here because it felt fun, and it was nice to look at how those dynamics might affect how the companions suggest solving the issue at hand.

Song/Mood Love Exists by Amy Lee "It can be born anywhere In the last place you'd expect In a way you'd never dream It can grow from nothing And blossom in a second A single glance is all it takes To get inside you

Invading every thought And every beat of your heart Love can make you scream And it can leave you speechless Love has a thousand stems But only one flower"

Full Chapter below the cut! Or Click Here for AO3 7,288 words ----- -----

Iron Flowers Never Wilt

Barcus Wroot found himself walking along the streets of the lower city as his feet carried him without thinking towards the Elfsong Tavern. He had precious few associates that he could rely on, but rely on them he would have to if he wanted anything to change in this miserable city.

The bartender sent him up the stairs to a large wooden door, which he knocked on gingerly, half thinking to change his mind and walk back out when a familiar face appeared at the open door above him. “It’s…you? I wasn’t expecting a visit, but you’re welcome to come in. Sorry about the mess, there’s a lot of us staying in here right now… You know how it is, right Barcus? You make the best of what you have.” Tav was already talking far too much, infuriating the part of the deep gnome that felt a spike of jealousy for how easily she gathered people to her. It was far too irritating to see how nice she was, and how she was clearly dropping everything she had been planning just to make time to speak with him because he turned up. “Well? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Right. About that- ah, that will do.” He took the goblet of wine handed to him and sat on the array of floor cushions opposite Tav in a wide open space between some beds at the far side of the room. “I might need some…advice. About something that has been troubling me. And you seemed about as adequate as any other option.” His request sounded hollow even to his own ears, the veiled insults a poor disguise for the plain fact that it was not a short trip across the city to get here nor an easy one.

Tav frowned, her expression quickly darkening with a low fury. “If it’s about that Wulbren fucking Bongle again-”

“No, no. Not any more. That ship has sailed, and, well, I’m looking at what else might be in the harbour.” He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “It’s… It has been quite some time since I tried to make a new friend. ”

“You have a crush on someone~” Tav teased with a grin. “Good for you! Who’s the lucky one that caught your eye?”

“Maybe I made a mistake coming here, you’ll only make fun of me again.” He tried to stand to leave, but the offer of a top up of the wine changed his mind.

“I’ll be nice, I promise. And I will help if I can - it’s about time you had something nice to look forward to.” She smiled more softly, getting more comfortable on the cushions and gesturing for him to tell the tale.

“Well, we first crossed paths - albeit briefly - back on the coast, before I encountered those wretched goblins.” He began, taking another long sip of the wine. “Didn’t think much then, I had other things to think of.”

“Of course, you were very dedicated to your search.”

“For all the good that did me.” Barcus sighed, fussing with the edge of his shirt hem for a moment. “Well, when next we crossed paths it was in that godsforsaken prison - but he was taken away before we could speak much. Though you know me, I know when to listen . The things his friends said about him, and all the things they didn’t say that were far more important.”

“I think I have an idea who you mean, but do go on. I’m listening. What next?” Tav tried to give him a little encouragement, but the alcohol seemed to be more effective at that as he emptied the glass.

“Next thing I know, we’re all on the march to the city again - thanks to our gallant rescuers, I suppose - and we didn’t cross paths much until after you took care of the blasted Steel Watch… Horrible machines, almost as horrible as the bloody runepowder. Mortals shouldn’t have that much power in their hands if you ask me. Which…you did not. But you understand, you must do. Hero type and all that.” He was gesturing a little more with his hands now his glass was empty, tongue loosening as he continued. “But then there he was, carrying this horrifically big sack of food and other supplies - gods know how - so I offered to help. Nothing better to do, you see, and it made for a nice excuse.”

“A burden shared is a burden halved, right?” Tav took his empty glass and put it to one side with her own, resting her chin on her hands as he finally approached the point.

“Maybe not quite half, he’s a little bigger than me, but I took what I could carry for him. Turns out we were going round to the refugees in the outskirts. Not just the Tieflings, either. He made sure his people were fed first, but nobody went hungry. When we were finally done he had a small loaf of bread and a lump of old cheese. Do you know what he did? He sat with me on the grass, broke it in half, and gave me the larger pieces! Who even does that? I’ll tell you who - Zevlor!” Barcus had been growing more animated with every word, and finally with that clear admission he let go of tension he hadn’t realised he’d still been clinging to. “I’ve only gone and fallen for a Paladin, a proper leader - despite what he will try and tell you - but what am I even supposed to do about that? I’m just…Barcus Wroot. Doomed adventurer, occasional tinkerer, and if personal history is anything to go by, a terrible judge of who should be a… friend .”

“You can just say boyfriend or partner, Barcus. It won’t kill you to admit you have feelings for someone.”

“You don’t know that, knowing my poor fortunes it just might.”

“Don’t be silly.” Tav shrugged and smiled in that terribly disarming way she always did. “You have plenty to offer, you just need to work out how you want to approach him. When was the last time you went on a date?”

“That… I don’t recall.” He thought back, frown deepening as he realised exactly how true that was. “How am I meant to find out?”

“Well, there are lots of ways to seduce someone-”

“Slow down, I’m not trying to be seductive -”

“Alright, maybe I’m not the best person to ask about romance …” Tav sat back, fidgeting a little with her hands as if counting off different options, before settling on the solution. “Everyone has a different idea of what romantic might mean, how to show someone you’re interested. Why don’t you talk to everyone, and see what they say? You don’t have to tell them who you’re thinking of, just open the conversation, make a decision after you’ve heard from them all.”

“And they’re just going to take time out of their day to talk to me, just like that? You might be living carefree up here, but most everyone else has their own business to take care of.” He paused, relenting a little at the look on her face. “No offence meant, of course, I’m sure you have…some kind of heroics to do, business to meddle in…”

Tav shrugged once more, meeting his eye with a more serious look. “Well there is that little matter of what’s causing the earthquakes beneath the city, trying to keep my friends alive in the middle of about 20 fights per day… I have a list, actually, if you wanted to-”

His expression fell, ears drooping a little as a slight blush of shame threatened to creep more visibly into his cheeks. “No, no, you’ve made your point. I apologise. And thank you, for making time for my little issue.”

“It has been nice, actually, to sit and talk about something that isn’t world-ending or immediately life-threatening. I’ll let a few of my companions know that they should expect you, but put yourself out there a little too - you never know who might have the clue you need to figure it all out.” She stood, dusting off her armour, before putting the used glasses and empty bottle over on the table. “Good luck, Barcus, but I don’t think you’ll need it.”

“Good luck to you too, with all the, you know, world ending peril and all that.” He paused after standing, hesitating to leave. “Oh and I should also show a little gratitude for your kindness. Not to me, to Zevlor. Something you said to him, it seems to have given him a bit more of that fire back that the other refugees spoke of from his past. It suits him, even if he wears it like an ill fitting jerkin for now.”

He began to make his way to the door, when a chilling voice - as cold as death’s fingers caressing the back of his mind - crept into his ears. “Thou art courageous to seek new connections, gnome.”

Barcus turned to see the withered husk of what once might have resembled a man, clad in loose robes with gold clinging to his body in lines akin to jewellery, or perhaps an artistic form of pottery repair holding his wrinkled form together. “I…umm…I should be going.”

“Thou art most welcome to speak with me a while, shouldst thou so wish.” Withers continued, a wry smile on his near-skeletal features.

“I’ll consider your offer,” Barcus replied hurriedly, “but for now I’ll try my luck with the living.”

As the door closed, Tav shot a look at the being in the corner. “You almost killed him with fright.”

“Bringing him back to his mortal coil would be a trivial matter.” Withers shrugged.

“Yes, but dying isn’t a pleasant experience to us mortals. Dare I say it might even traumatise the poor man far more than he deserves.” It was likely pointless to argue with a being who treated life and death as an easy matter, like tossing a coin, but he seemed to relent.

“Then might I recommend that thou pack more potions, lest thou find thyself in need of my services before the sun sets?”

“Thank you.” She frowned. “I think.”

—

Karlach was whistling and almost skipping down the street when she damn near ran into Barcus as he tried to wave her down.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise you were looking for me!” She had stopped in her tracks just short of him, putting her axe head on the ground and leaning on the haft. “What’s up?”

“Of course you wouldn’t realise, with your head in the clouds…” He grumbled a moment, before swiftly remembering what he wanted to ask. “Well, you see-”

“Wait, is this about that thing that Tav told me about?” Karlach’s face lit up with excitement. “Ooh I know just the thing!”

Barcus took a step back involuntarily. “I’m suddenly reconsidering the wisdom of consulting someone with such a…fiery constitution.”

“Oh come off it, soldier! I’m a love expert! Well, I am now I’m not turning everything I touch to ash. So, have you tried just telling him what you want?” The tiefling’s grin was joined by a wink that was far too obvious for his comfort.

“I could never be so bold! It’s far too early to be thinking of any night-time shenanigans, thank you very much.” His blush coloured his grey skin from his neck to his ears with a subtle pink that felt hotter than the woman’s mechanical heart.

“Not that! Well, if you want to, you could-” She laughed as his pink hue deepened. “What I mean is, talk to him. If you don’t tell him how you feel, how is he ever going to know?”

“What if I don’t know how I feel?”

“You’ll work it out!” She gave him what she judged to be a friendly shove, though like an overly excited dog that still thinks it’s a pup she put a bit too much strength into it and left him staggering back a few steps. “Oh, gods, sorry… Guess I don’t know my own strength. Don’t overthink it too much.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Let your heart do the talking for a change, not your head, and listen to it. You never know what it might tell you.”

“That’s…surprisingly astute, Karlach.” He rubbed his shoulder slightly, but his expression had softened. This was certainly one thing to consider.

“I know, right?! I surprise myself too some days!” She grinned again, slinging her axe back over her shoulder. “Have a bit of courage, you’ll be just fine.”

As Barcus watched her carry on down the street with a spring in her step, he wondered how she got to be so strong - not just the clear muscles of her body, but that extra glow from something else behind her smile. —

The next one he encountered made him reconsider the idea entirely. Red eyes and white hair seemed to almost glow eerily in the sunlight - something about Astarion always felt decidedly unnatural to Barcus, but just as he turned to walk away before he was spotted, he heard that awfully flirty voice.

“Well, hello~” Astarion quickly caught up to him, tapping him on the shoulder with a pale and slender finger. “My darling told me you were looking for a little advice, and far be it from me to turn down one of her requests, especially when she asked so nicely~” The flash of sharp teeth was even more unnerving, but there was no stepping away now.

Barcus sighed. “Alright then, what is it you recommend? I suggest not advising I go picking any pockets, or breaking into his home in the middle of the night-”

“Perish the thought! You’d never get past the first lock.” The pale elf laughed, testing his patience further. “Naturally I am not in the slightest bit serious.”

“Could you try? Even just a little bit serious might be preferable.” He huffed. “I didn’t come here to get mocked, if I wanted that I’d visit the circus.”

“Hmm…not a bad idea, but I doubt your date is fond of the circus.” Astarion stroked his chin in thought. “You need to find his weakness. The places you can stick your dagger - metaphorically, of course - to get into his armour. That part can be literally , if you like.”

“Are you all this utterly depraved?” Barcus could feel a slight headache returning.

“Only for the right people~” The elf smiled a little more naturally this time, which was somehow an even more terrifying sight. “I do mean what I said. Learn all you can about him, and use that to your advantage. Think of it as a battle, and you are getting to know your enemy before taking them on.”

“I’d rather not think of him as an enemy…but I suppose I know what you’re implying. I shall give it some more thought.” He began to leave again, wondering if a battle of wits was really the wisest plan-

“You are most welcome, my good sir~” Astarion called out, in a mocking tone.

Barcus sighed. “You have my gratitude. Even if I don’t entirely agree with your thesis on how to handle people.”

“It works, gnome, don’t forget it.” The elf was gone by the time he turned around, no doubt slipping down an alley or hiding in some shadow waiting to pounce on some unsuspecting fool…

Barcus shook his head, that wasn’t a particularly generous thought. There had been an attempt at sound advice, and it might have some value to it if he changed the context a little.

—

Feeling a little tired of the louder member’s of Tav’s group, Barcus decided to seek out the wizard next. He seemed to be more level headed, calm, and Tav mentioned the man might well be in that magic shop, Sorcerous Undies? Didn’t matter, it was a place full of books and magic where the famous Gale of Waterdeep might be-

“You cannot be serious! If you were to use Leomund’s Tiny Hut in that kind of an area, well it’s foolish at best, if it doesn’t outright get you killed by the time it fades in the morning! No, you need to be far more careful, you see-” The voice carried all the way out onto the street, passionately arguing about…well, Barcus could not care any less if he tried. And for a moment, he did try.

He sighed, rubbed his aching temples with his fingertips, and steeled himself to enter.

Inside the shop, Gale was indeed deep in some kind of debate with a couple of younger apprentice-looking types, ill-fitted robes hanging off them like they had been passed down through the family line hoping to carry a hint of pride with their fancy stitching. Luckily for the gnome, it seemed like the conversation was wrapping up as Gale threw his hands in the air in a gesture of frustrated defeat, turning on his heel and striding towards the door.

“Ah, excuse me!” Barcus called out to the wizard as he walked past muttering something about grateful brats not listening. “Could I- Just for a minute?”

��Oh! Yes, yes of course, please forgive my rudeness, you see I was just explaining to those-”

“Spare me the magic lecture, if you don’t mind.” He quickly stopped the oncoming onslaught of complaints before the man could hit his stride with them. “Do you have any advice of the, uh, other nature?” “You seem terribly uncomfortable - there’s a nice bench around the corner, let’s take a seat there for a while and talk in peace, shall we?” Gale outstretched an arm to indicate the direction they should go, and fell into step with Barcus, matching his pace with care. “There, that should do nicely, don’t you think?”

“Yes, very picturesque, I’m sure.” The view from the bench across the lower city was certainly an interesting one. Tumble-down shacks dotted between others that were maintained in a manner that required almost daily repairs. Smoke curled up from one or two alleys, and the only buildings that were completely stable had an air of ominous foreboding to them that kept all but the bravest - or most foolish - souls far from their doors.

“It has it’s charm.” Gale laughed quietly. “At least, that’s what the locals tell me when trying to get me to buy one of those seafront properties . But we aren’t here to discuss the finer points of home ownership in Baldur’s Gate, now, are we?”

“No,” he replied, feeling a little more at ease in the company of the wizard than the others so far, “no we are not. I was hoping you might have some advice of the amorous persuasion.”

“Ahh romance! I’ve raided many a library shelf for novels of that nature, some quite racy pieces too - you know there was one with a gnome and a tiefling where-”

“Gods, are you all insatiable?” Barcus groaned, it seemed he was running out of luck again with a group that might as well be putting succubus saliva in their porridge. “I don’t want to think about any of that, thank you very much.” At least, not yet , he added in his mind alone.

“Well, it wasn’t all about the, uh, naughty bits , you know. It was actually a very sweet romance. You see, it turns out that although they lived very different lives, when they shared more time together they realised they had a lot of smaller things in common. Their favourite fruit, the places they wanted to visit, even their careers had some unexpected parallels.” Gale looked down at him now, though he was still too caught up in his thoughts to look anywhere but his fidgeting hands as he mumbled.

“I don’t know, maybe there’s something similar in what we do now? But I’m no warrior and he’s no tinkerer, that’s for sure. But we both have people looking up to us, relying on us, and…well I know he didn’t fail his friends as badly as he thinks he did, but I… Well maybe the fruit is something to go on? And we do live in the same city now, that’s certainly a…very boring thing to have in common. Plenty of people live here that’s not special.” He sighed, letting his shoulders slump forwards.

“Maybe you should read a few books - now I know that life isn’t exactly a fairytale, we’re living proof of that,” Gale winked and idly fiddled with his earring, “but there’s still plenty to be learned when you read between the lines on the written page. It certainly couldn’t hurt to try, now, could it? I’ll have a few sent over to you by courier tomorrow - they’re a little heavy for the pigeon post.”

“At the very least they might bore me to sleep.” Barcus resigned himself to the no-doubt oversized reading list that would be on his table by morning. “I will keep in mind what you said, though, you seem the most level headed amongst your companions if nothing else.”

“I shall choose to take that as a compliment, such as it is. Maybe even high praise coming from you!” The wizard laughed warmly, pressing his hands to his knees before standing with a sigh. “Well, I must be off for now. I am happy to have been some assistance. I wish you all the best with your romantic endeavours.”

—

Barcus stayed on the bench for a while, contemplating his options as he watched the lower city’s denizens going about their business down below. He almost didn’t notice when a large shadow blocked out the light from behind him.

“Don’t panic there, friend, just an old druid stopping by for a chat.” Halsin stepped around the side of the bench, careful to keep from unblocking the sun into Barcus’s eyes. Something about the quiet compassion of the druid reminded him of Zevlor. He sighed slightly before he could stop himself. “I know that look - worry not, I am not here to deliver a lecture or try to persuade you into something you are not comfortable with.” Halsin’s smile was as warm as the scent of wood, moss, and leather drifting from his huge form. “I apologise too, on behalf of my loves, if either of them were too…forward, with their advice.”

Barcus found it was very hard to be frustrated by anything the large elf did, though perhaps that in itself was what irked him at times. “You knew Zevlor, did you not?”

“Only for a brief time. His group were not at the Grove long before my untimely capture by our mutual foes.” Halsin looked out into the distance for a moment, as if trying to see the memories clearer in the clouds themselves. “He is a very devoted man, a far better match for you than your previous beloved.”

“Yes…well, perhaps it took me a little too long to learn the hard way. But I am here now, in one piece no thanks to him.” He shoved the thoughts from his mind, unwilling to dwell on that sneering face and harsh voice that tried to erode his self-esteem even as he clawed it back for himself each day. “There has to be something you know about him that could help me, he does not open up easily. Even just a favourite food is a start.”

“Ah now that one I can help with.” Halsin reached into the bag he had been carrying, pulling out a few pieces of fresh fruit. “I seem to recall the old Hellrider had a fondness for pears. Take them, I can find more - I do not mind another excuse to take a trip out of these stone walls and back into nature’s embrace.”

“That is…well, most kind of you. Thank you. Though I don’t think handing him a couple of fruits is really going to be any kind of a romantic gesture.” He carefully wrapped the fruits in some clean cloths and stowed them in his pack where they would not get damaged.

“Perhaps you should find an excuse to leave the city, spend some time in the wild.”

“I’ve spent quite enough time traipsing through mud and trees, I still have scars on the back of my head from the brambles.” Barcus grumbled, idly rubbing at the fine faint lines that marked his scalp.

“Well, it needn’t be the woods for you then. The point is, take him somewhere nice. Somewhere that is special for him, for you, or just somewhere different that can become special by being there together.”

“You know, I didn’t take you to be a romantic sort, druid.” He mused out loud, raising an eyebrow quizzically at the larger man and earning a soft chuckle in response.

“There is much you don’t know about me, my friend. But that’s alright, I have a feeling our paths may cross a few times yet - though hopefully under these more pleasant circumstances than most of the last times we have met.” Halsin laid a very gentle hand on his shoulder, even for his size he was far more careful with his strength than Karlach had been. “Take care of yourself, and of Zevlor too. The old warrior still has some fight in him yet, but that does not mean he should be so quick to throw himself to it.”

“That much we can certainly agree upon.” Barcus began to stand, carefully picking up his bag. “Thank you for taking the time to sit with me. Perhaps it would be beneficial for our paths to cross more often in peaceable times.”

“I would enjoy that.” Halsin leaned back comfortably on the bench, enjoying the moment with the sun warming his back as the gnome made his way back out into the city.

---

The Githyanki stood out like a sore thumb in the crowd, her armour shining in the sunshine and her large sword strapped as ever to her back ready to be brandished at a moment’s notice should anyone be foolish enough to ignore the warning of her frown.

Lae’zel was intimidating, but Barcus reminded himself he had no real reason to fear the woman. As terrifying as she looked, she was neither malevolent nor an enemy. If anything, she was an ally he would be glad to have standing between him and whatever danger did not run from the sight of her.

“Ah, I had been told to expect you, though I hope you do not expect me to give you poetry or grand advice on romance.” She greeted him with the usual straightforward manner. It was at least easier to deal with one who spoke clearly and freely.

“I would be concerned if you did, to be honest.” He followed her to stand in a slightly quieter side street as they spoke. “Tchk. Actually, the githyanki people have several thousand poems and romantic overtures inscribed into our zaithisks, but I have been informed that the more sensual nature of the works would not suit your tastes.” Lae’zel’s expression gave little clue as to whether or not she was being serious, but she gave him no time to consider it further. “I will keep it simple and to the point. Zevlor is a paladin, a mighty warrior - no matter how far from his home he has travelled he has a warrior’s heart. Remind him of this, and become the new home that he can fight for.”

Barcus felt his headache returning as the creases on his forehead deepened. “I appreciate who he was, who he is, but I do not want to see him throw himself headlong into an early grave.”

“You are hearing, Istik, but you are not listening . If he has a reason to come home safely, then when he inevitably goes to fight - as his heart will be drawn to by its very nature - he will not be so reckless.” She smiled, much to his surprise, her thumb idly caressing the petal of a small flower tucked into her belt by her hip. “Become the thing he does not want to lose by giving him the strength to be the man he most wishes to be.”

“That is oddly reassuring…” Barcus mumbled slightly quieter than he meant to, beginning to work out how all of the pieces fit together.

“So that’s where you’d run off to.” Another voice came from behind, startling him from his thoughts. “I thought we were to meet in the-” Shadowheart stopped as she stepped around and saw who Lae’zel had been speaking with. “Fancy seeing you here, though if you are done… Lae’zel, you can go on ahead of me and reserve the table, I shall give our friend a little advice. You weren’t too hard on him were you?”

“Tchk. You are lucky I am so fond of you and your little jokes. Do not be too long, the heat has left me hungry.” The gith gave a short nod of a bow, which Barcus returned, before walking back out onto the main street.

“You will have to forgive her abrasive nature, sometimes she forgets that not everyone was raised in an astral battleground.” Shadowheart observed him carefully, her pale hair catching the light even in the shade of the buildings.

“She was actually very insightful. Pleasant, almost.” He glanced over his shoulder, confirming with a small measure of relief that she had indeed left them alone. He wasn’t sure how she would take such a compliment.

“But only almost?” Shadowheart chuckled, her hand drifting to a familiar looking blossom tucked into her breastplate. “I know what you’re going to ask about, but it is more simple than you think. Memories, Barcus, they make us who we are. Even when they’re hard to grasp, they’re still a part of us. The two of you have some unpleasant ones from your lives up to this point, but you have plenty of time left ahead.”

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at, how does this help me get to know him, or even to get close to him?” He grumbled, longing for someone who might talk more simply again.

“What I mean to say is that what is important now is to make new memories. Together. Spend moments together that neither of you can forget, let those be the thoughts and feelings that bind you. Dwelling on your history would be painful, and I’m not saying you should forget it either, but put your focus on the present and the future.” She knelt for a moment and straightened his jacket collar much in the way a sibling might. “Show him who you are and become unforgettable.” The meaning in her last words carried a strange echo of what Lae’zel had told him just moments ago. The thought lingered even as she bid him a swift farewell and left with hurried steps to catch up to her… friend . Definitely very good friends, he thought with a wry smile. —

A few ideas were kicking around in his head as he carried on up the hill towards the Forge of the Nine, hoping that speaking to someone else who knew Zevlor for longer might be able to confirm his ideas.

The sound of metal being hammered into submission echoed down the street, the slight burning smell of the Forge carried with it on the breeze. That meant Dammon would be hard at work as usual, though he seemed to be deep in conversation even as he brought his tools down upon the anvil with staggering force.

Rounding the corner, it became clear that it was Wyll stood with the Tiefling as he worked. Excellent , Barcus realised, that’s two targets, one arrow .

“And there’s nothing else you can do?” Wyll’s voice was plaintive and clear.

“Not yet, I’m afraid. But as soon as there is, you’ll be the first to know, I promise you that.” Dammon wiped the sweat from his brow, quenching the small blade carefully. “Ah, it seems I have an unexpected customer - good to see you again, my friend.”

Barcus felt the warmth of the greeting was perhaps a little too familiar given the scant few times they had crossed paths, but he had heard plenty from around the town about how the blacksmith was one of the most trusted and welcoming in the entire city. And he had barely moved in a couple of tendays ago. “Dammon, Wyll.” He nodded politely to each in turn.

“I hear you’re looking for advice on your potential suitor, Barcus, and I’d say you’ve come to just the right place.” Wyll gestured to a nearby table. “Why don’t the three of us take a seat for a minute? I’m sure the smithy here could use a break from his fire for a few minutes at least.”

“That wouldn’t be a terrible idea,” Dammon agreed, setting his gloves to one side and wiping the sooty residue from his hands as Barcus pulled up a chair and took a seat. “But unfortunately I doubt I’m much help with whoever it is you’re looking to charm. I barely know anyone in this city.”

“The word is,” Wyll leaned in conspiratorially, “our serious looking friend here has his heart set on a certain Elturian Paladin.”

“Well, in that case there…is still not a lot I can tell you, I’m afraid.” Dammon’s smile was almost as warm as the forge itself, bringing over a large jug and a set of simple cups to the table as he and Wyll took their seats. “We weren’t close in Elturel, but I can tell you he’s a good man.”

“A man of honour,” Wyll quickly agreed, still not leaving the gnome any room to get a word in edgeways, “so you should do well to remember that in your courtship.”

Finally, an empty second appeared as the cups were filled with water that Wyll quickly chilled with a cantrip as Barcus seized the opportunity to speak for himself. “I have no intention of sullying his honour, or crossing his oath, or anything like that. For now.... I want to know how he feels. And that’s not easy, the man is as open as an underground prison in the deepest level of the hells.” Both men winced at the word. “Ah, my apologies, I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine,” Wyll raised his own cup, pausing a moment with it held aloft, “there are some people worth being trapped in the hells with.”

Dammon’s cup met the Blade’s with a metallic clink, the two men drinking the water as if they were toasting a pact that Barcus was not privy to.

Wyll took a long swig and set his cup on the table once more. “Courtship is a dance. Once the music is playing, you offer your hand to your partner. If they take it, you learn to move to their rhythm just as they are learning to move with yours. But keep listening to that music, find the steps to the dance and keep time. Not too fast or too slow.” He stood, bowing and offering his hand to Dammon to demonstrate. “My good fellow, might I trouble you for a dance?”

The teifling’s impossible bright eyes sparkled as he followed the act. “No trouble at all, my lord, it would be my pleasure.”

Barcus sat almost in disbelief as they began to waltz around the forge to the distant sound of the bards playing in the square. But it was, in its own way, making more sense too.

“Be aware of his feet are so you do not step on his toes,” Wyll continued to talk as the two danced in perfect step, “and watch out for his tail, too.”

“Wouldn’t want to step on that, it can be a little…sensitive…” Dammon grew quieter towards the end of the sentence, a hint of a blush rising to the tips of his ears, his tail swishing subtly along with the music behind him.

“When the song changes, so does your dance. Listen for it.” Wyll’s lips twitched with the hint of a mischievous smile as he slid an arm around the tiefling’s lower back, holding and dipping him backwards as the music came to an end with the distant sounds of applause.

Barcus wasn’t quite sure if he should look away as the pair stood upright again, the smith smoothing down his apron before they returned to their seats. “That might be all well and good for a fine gentleman and his chosen dance partner, but I never learned how to waltz. I’ve always had a preference for the practical.”

“Then it’s simple.” Dammon declared, gesturing to the forge behind him. “Make something for him yourself, with your own hands. Craft something that holds meaning. You are more than welcome to use my tools, consider my Forge at your disposal in the name of budding romance.”

“Budding…” Wyll leaned back, casting his eye over the carefully kept flowerbeds that somehow survived the heat from being close to the forge. “Do you know much about flowers, Dammon?”

“I can’t say that I’m an expert, but I’ve always been fond of these.” He plucked a small bloom from a nearby pot, cone-like centre surrounded by reddish-violet petals that curled out and away. “They remind me of a heart, the flower itself opening fully to reveal it to you. The colours are reminiscent of the tones you can achieve in specially cooled steel, too.”

“Echinacea.” Wyll nodded, taking the flower gently from the smith’s hand. “My mother used to grow them outside her room. Father said they represent both strength and healing - fitting for the old Hellrider, don’t you think?” “They can also be made into a tea, although that’s not quite as pretty to look at.” Dammon took the plant back.

“So you’re saying to give him a flower?” Barcus was more perplexed than ever.

“Not quite.” The tiefling placed it carefully on the table, going back to the dagger that was being quenched when Barcus had arrived. “You can make him one that will last forever.”

The blade was laid on the table next to the blossom, the shine of the metal a very similar hue to the petals. “It’s beautiful.” Wyll leaned closer to admire the unfinished weapon, the thin sheen of colour clear in the light.

“When you work with steel, the temperature it is at when quenched affects the surface. A little careful timing, and you can get some wonderful colours.” Dammon smiled, refilling their mugs. “You’re far better at working with smaller parts than I am, but I have free time to help you get the perfect colours.”

“I am not certain I have enough spare gold to pay you for such a bespoke service.” Barcus fiddled idly with his coin pouch, he had been hoping to save a little for a future that seemed more worth saving for the longer the day had gone on.

“Pay me? Consider it a favour, for old friends and new.” The smith grinned for a moment. “I wouldn’t turn down a good word amongst your companions for where to get their equipment, of course, but it would be my pleasure to help you make a gift from the heart.”

—

And so Barcus found himself at the Forge a day later, the head of his favourite steel hammer in hand, laying it in the crucible ready to be melted down. The wooden handle stayed in his palm with a firm grip for a while, slipping back into his pocket when it was time to work the metal into the sand cast petal shapes they had made, the cone-like shape of the centre and the stem of the flower in a separate sand cast.

It took several hours of meticulous work, heating and reshaping the metal with delicate care, pulling and twisting it into shape, securing each petal to the blossom with breath held and hands as steady as they could be. The metal was heated and quenched precisely to give the final piece the perfect colour.

Dammon examined the piece one last time before handing it back to him. “You have a real way with the finer detail, Barcus, it’s as if we took a flower from the pot, enlarged it, then turned it to metal with some kind of magic.”

“Oh hells,” he sighed, “I could’ve just asked the bloody wizard to do that and saved us a lot of trouble.”

“Trouble? It has been a pleasure. It’s nice to make something that will warm a heart rather than pierce one for a change.” The tiefling laid a hand on his shoulder, a look of soft pride crossing his face. “Besides, it wouldn’t mean as much if you didn’t make it yourself.”

“That was the easy part.” Barcus sighed, realisation dawning. “I have to give it to him now, don’t I…”

“That you do, my friend. You’ll be fine, I’m certain of it.”

—

Several more days passed, and Barcus had spent them as wisely as he could. He made a few excuses to speak with Zevlor, trying to learn more about him, even taking the time to visit more of the Elturian refugees camped in Rivington without the Paladin there to overhear. He listened carefully, trying to find the “weaknesses” in his “armour” as the rogue had so indelicately put it, trying to channel a little of Karlach’s courage to speak more boldly.

At night he had even read some of the books that Gale had sent him, pleasantly surprised to find there were a few passages that gave him some ideas. The pears from Halsin remained fresh and perfectly ripe - he questioned if perhaps the druid had imbued them with a little magic to give him the extra time to make his plans properly. He had picked as nice a spot as he could find, at the top of the hill above the tiefling encampment in a semi-secluded area where they could still hear the sound of the bards playing below and the soft chatter of daily life.

Two simple glasses sat beside a bottle of rare vintage wine sent over from Tav, a selection of simple foods as it seemed the tiefling wasn’t given to indulging in too much extravagance. He held tightly to the hope that quiet conversation could slowly bring down a wall that had seemed insurmountable a mere tenday ago. Everything had been so carefully prepared, right down to the crimson and gold embroidered silk that wrapped delicately around the gift hidden in a side pocket of the picnic basket. It was unlikely to break, they had made sure of that, but despite the solid metal it felt as fragile as if he had held his own heart in his hands as he tied the blue ribbon around it. Perhaps it was an apt metaphor, giving a part of his past - the hammer that had been with him since he first learned to tinker with contraptions - to the hope of a better future and someone worth spending it with.

Barcus had been there a while, trying to make sure everything was just right, but his date arrived perfectly on time. His breath caught in his throat when Zevlor appeared at the summit of the hill, armour sparkling in the sunlight, eyes tired yet bright with a warm flame that was beginning to feel like the hearthfire of a home… It wasn’t perfect, nothing in the wretched city could be…nothing except the look on the old warrior’s face as Zevlor finally began to relax on the grass beside him.

------ ------ ENDING NOTES ------ ------

Well, Barcus fans, I really do hope I have given your favourite guy a very lovely really nice day for a change, he's more than earned it~ Thank you to those who suggested the pairing, it's rather sweet, really. I don't think I have space to do any more with this, so if anyone wants to collab and write a sequel/continuation please do be my guest and let me know!

#barcus wroot #zevlor #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #fanfic #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 barcus #bg3 zevlor #fluff #romance #Spotify

17 notes · View notes

blackjackkent · 21 days

Text

Diving back into Rakha's story today. I downloaded the Basket Full of Equipment mod to potentially mess around with some new looks for her but I need to get it from the grove merchant and I can't go there without triggering conversation with Zevlor to set up the party, and I would like to go to Waukeen's Rest first for Extra Wyll Content. So:

Long rest

Waukeen's Rest

Zevlor/Halsin/Kagha etc.

Party

Let's get rolling. :D

Coming back to camp in the wake of the goblin adventures, Rakha is pretty worn out. The beast in her head got quite a bit of exercise with all of the death from the goblins and it is a straining experience, even when they were people she actually did need to kill. But Gale wants to talk before she can sleep!

Her attention is drawn first by the way the Weave is swirling around him, the way it always does when he is casting a spell. It's a different motion than occurs when she casts her own; his are more precise, more carefully defined. More localized, the effects not spilling out into the Weave further beyond.

Today, he is casting an illusion - a woman's face, long hair and slender neck, cupped in the palm of his hand. His expression is terribly sad as he looks at her.

Rakha eyes the illusion with mild curiosity, takes a step forward up to his side. "Pretty," she says, noncommittally.

Gale jumps; his hand falls to his side and the illusion fades. "Oh!" He flushes. "My, you startled me. I was... miles away."

He's embarrassed. She isn't sure why. Who is that woman? "Is everything all right?" she asks cautiously.

He smiles ruefully. "More or less. I was lost in... prayer, of all things." He makes a vague gesture with the hand that conjured the unfamiliar face. "Mystra," he goes on, "for indeed it was her image I conjured, commands all magic. Salvation - if such a thing exists - is hers to bestow, or withhold."

A strange expression crosses his face for a moment - something like fear, or grief. "And yet, even now - more than I fear losing my own self and soul, I fear losing my command of her art."

He sits down slowly on a stool near his tent, rubbing his jaw. "Magic is... my life," he says thoughtfully. He seems to be speaking as much to himself as to her, his gaze turned inward. "I've been in touch with the Weave for as long as I can remember. There's nothing like it. It's like music, poetry, physical beauty all rolled into one and given expression through the senses."

As Rakha listens to him describe it, she feels the odd twist of a slight smile on her lips. And for once, it is not the feral smile of the beast taking hold, but a true smile, an expression of pleasure. Gale has been very cautious around her, particularly since Alfira died, but what he is describing is something Rakha understands very well.

The sight of the Weave, its rolling colors and breathtaking energy, has been Rakha's first, truest - and in many ways, only - experience of beauty. And Gale understands this better than anyone.

He seems to register her change in expression, because his eyes clear and he looks up at her with gentle curiosity. "Is it the same for you?"

She does not have his command of words. If she did, perhaps she could describe something of what she sees in the magic of the world. But as it is... his description will suffice. "That sounds very familiar," she says quietly. "Yes."

He relaxes and looks somewhat pleased. There's a short pause, and then he says, somewhat hesitantly, "Perhaps we can share the experience by reaching into the Weave together."

Rakha blinks. This is not anything she expected, and it takes her a moment to decide how to respond.

Reaching into the Weave. He has just described how important his experience of magic is to him, and heard her agree and affirm what it is to her. And he wants to share it with her now.

This is a peace offering. A gesture of friendship from the man who has trusted her least, layered through the brightest thing in both their lives.

She finds that for a moment, she cannot speak at all. There's an odd tightness in her throat that has come from nowhere. When she does finally answer him, her voice feels hoarse, thick. "By all means."

"Then follow my lead." He moves to her side, lifts his hands, and she watches the Weave warp around him as he turns his wrists in a gentle arcane motion, conjuring a burst of pale light into the air in front of them.

His eyes flick to her expectantly. "Now you."

Her eyes drift half-closed. She does not know any name for what he did - but she can sense how it touched the magic around them. She can feel the nature of the spell even if she could not identify it. It is a binding, drawing the Weave tighter around them, pulling them into its fabric.

The movement comes to her hands naturally, imitating his gesture with a rougher edge.

[SORCERER] Imitate the gesture with ease.

There's a soft whump as the burst of power looses from her fingers, and she feels the bond that Gale began draw tighter around her. The magic ripples between them both, comforting. Safe.

Narrator: A familiar feeling - like a kind word and a kind touch at the same time. It's warm and comfortable.

Her heart rate feels like it has slowed from its neverending anxious pulse. She is still. She is at peace. It is not quite like the peace of her dreams of the guardian; she can still feel the muted background growl of the beast, the squirm of the worm in her temple. But it is the calmest she has ever felt in the waking world.

Gale smiles. "Excellent. Now repeat after me. Ah-Thran Mystra-Ryl Kantrach-Ao." The very air seems to rumble with the resonance of the words; she feels them vibrate along her skin, through her mind.

[ARCANA] You sense power in these words. Speak them deliberately.

There's another pulse of energy through them both as she enunciates each syllable carefully.

Narrator: Suddenly - the scent of rosewater and a sense of wellbeaing. A sliver of Weave that tastes sweet on the tongue.

She has never stood so fully inside the magic that drives her. For a moment everything else is forgotten, even the vengeful rage. She stares forward, her gaze unfocused, seeing past the world into the energy within it.

"Very good," Gale says softly. He too sounds dreamlike, lost in the moment. "Now I want you to picture the concept of harmony. As true as you can."

Harmony. It is not a concept she is deeply familiar with. All her instincts run towards destruction, towards conflict, towards the ripping apart of sinew and bone and soul.

Except this.

[SORCERER] Sink deep into your magic. It is who you are. It is home.

Another pulse. The Weave closes around them fully, locking them away from anything else.

Narrator: You see - or is it sense - the unmistakable presence of Mystra, the Lady of Mysteries. There's something like the anticipation of a kiss, then the pleasure of being cloaked in peace. You are safe. You are nestled in the cup of Mystra's hand.

She knows nothing of this Mystra. But she feels the magic all around her. She feels the peace and the safety and the comfort. And to her astonishment, she feels tears sprout in her eyes. She squeezes her eyes shut against them, baffled by the reaction, but she is sure Gale hears her breath catch in her chest.

He is watching her closely. "You did it," he murmurs. "You're channeling the Weave. How does it feel?"

[SORCERER] "Incredible," she whispers. Then, to cover the tight roil of emotion in her chest, a flash of equally uncharacteristic humor. "Though... of course, I could have managed it by myself..."

He laughs softly. "You're hard to please, aren't you?"

Narrator: The Weave connects you. The moment feels intimate.

For a long few moments she simply stands there, focused on the infinite depth of the magic playing along her skin. But she is conscious, too, of Gale's closeness. To bind himself into this fabric with her, even for these few moments, is an expression of unspoken trust. And she finds herself suddenly strangely afraid that, should she stay here too long, she will find some way to shatter that fragile trust apart. She knows she is capable of infinite destruction...

A satisfying end to a wondrous experience. It's time to let go.

Narrator: The Weave evaporates, and as it does so, you realize the night feels suddenly cold and lonesome.

"Oh..." Gale whispers softly, his head drawing back. "There it goes." A sudden deep sadness touches his gaze. "How easily things slip away from us, no matter how hard they were in the obtaining..."

He takes a step back, turns away towards his tent. "Good night. I enjoyed sharing a moment of magic with you."

She remains very still, her eyes half-shut. She has no words to articulate the cocktail of unexpected emotion that has been poured through her in the last fifteen minutes. She feels as if she should follow him, tell him he has given her a gift, that she is grateful.

Instead, she turns and walks away, and feels the Weave slowly shiver its way off her skin, drop by drop.

#bjk plays bg3 durge #rakha the dark urge #WELL #this was an unexpectedly deep little moment for rakha #very interesting indeed

8 notes · View notes

tieflingsfingers · 27 days

Text

The Barbaric Feminine

What and who: Humor, Mild Fluff. Thomasin and Alfira play music. Wyll and Karlach roast Astarion. Aradin and Remira need to leave. Summary: Thomasin encourages Alfira to put on a little show for the caravan to both cure her writer’s block and encourage her peers. All the companions witness Aradin and Remira's pettiness. Astarion learns the true meaning of art. Warning/Content: Just a little fun character building and au event in the grove. I love the tieflings. Part of series. More in the realm of character study, per usual, so also a lot about two elves that are bad at feelings. And an ounce of fighting. Word Count: 3,443 Ao3 Link

Thomasin swished her skirt to and fro to the light jingling emitting from her boots. Bells hooked on straps, buckled onto her shoes for a theatrical flare. A contraption she’d made herself after inspired by another performer long ago. She tightened her finest corset, whose fabric had to be fully reupholstered upon purchase, and let it cinch the excess of her dress. Her sleeves billowed, to match every other asset, and followed every single movement she made.

With a sudden stomping of her heels, she clacked them firm onto the wooden floor boards beneath her to settle the small crowd of tieflings.

“Well, thank you kindly for wanting to see me perform today!” she announced to the gathering, careful to make sure each word had its proper annunciation. Her hosting skills were quite rusty. “After the warmth, gifts, and open arms, how could I say no? My name is Thomasin, if we haven’t formally met, and I’m here to lift a few spirits today!”

In front of Dammon’s roost and the soup kitchen, the wooden platform where many rested their heads was reinvigorated and reinvented into a makeshift stage. Rudimentary in design and weathered by the elements over years, but that didn’t stop Alfira from proposing such camaraderie nights before. Each performer was to simply stand at the edge of the staircase and present their talent.

Alfira had found herself confessing worries of her passing teacher’s legacy and the artistic block that coincided. How the confidence of herself and her people had been lost after such rocky migration and the nerves of the caravan were relentlessly rustled. She wished that, for one single evening, battles were of little importance. And, in her own wholesome logic, she decided that entertaining her brethren was vital.

The tiefling would heal with the arts. She would play her lute. Someone wanted to juggle. Someone could eat an apple in two bites. No auditions, just nonsensical amusement. They had sat through scrappy children showing off their introductive cantrips. Lullabies and travel songs belted from the lungs of mothers. Sword balancing acts and flashy conjuration spells with advisory warnings. Thomasin needed no begging to be thrown into the roster.

Scattered before the staircase were horned children, parents, and tipsy friends alike. Even with little luxuries, they set out blankets in the dirt and indulge in whatever festivities they could find. Dammon’s blacksmith quarters radiated a heat that cozied the onlookers as they passed around loaves of honey bread and apples. Bottles of gin and moonshine made their way around. No fear or pain where the supply was constant, guzzled down until the last drop hit someone’s tongue.

Behind Thomasin, Wyll, Karlach and Astarion settled near a table atop the platform, further behind the performing acts. Out of the tieflings’ eyeline, but more than participating from the comfort of a canopy. The same spot where Remira and Aradin had previously settled their claim.

In honesty, the humans' plans to head out in search of holy artifacts and bounty riches gave Zevlor respite. Their presence was now nothing more than packed bags and distasteful comments upon passing. Remira stood a few feet away from Astarion and the others, tucked behind a sturdy support beam engraved with white naturalistic patterns. She watched Thomasin with contempt, awaiting Aradin’s return so they could leave before sunset. Going out in a flash of dramatics would give them more trouble than it was worth.

Thomasin readied herself. The half-elf lifted her violin up to her chin, tucking it comfortably, and raised her bow. A studied grace. “If you know the words to this one, please join! Nothing more beautiful than a harmony from your good graces!”

Before she knew it, she had slipped into the role. It didn’t matter how makeshift or sudden the gig was, there was tremendous relief. The connection to others in the name of mundane, if not jovial, normalcy. She was in her element. Glittering pigments collected over years sparkled on her eyelids and left iridescent streaks across her cheekbones. No more than a few hard smacks of her heel and the half-elf began to sing a common, yet classic bard ditty. Something bright and upbeat.

They all watched as Thomasin glided around the small corner of the platform, some in awe like she were an exotic bird spreading its wings. Circles, winks, keeping multiple rhythms in tact. Her ribbons were tightened and her outfit meticulously ironed by metal heated over their campfire. Like a single fraction of time where everything was in its place.

Propped against barrels under the canopy’s shade, her companions watched her perform. Karlach busied herself with fruits warming in her hands and gin she passed back and forth to Wyll. The two practiced their most enthusiastic cheers. If they were to tour this to Baldur’s Gate, their fanaticism had to be as perfect as their friend’s talents.

Astarion opted for a subtle approach. He leaned back, arms crossed, perhaps to prove he knew how to consume art most effectively. Even if his expression settled into cynicism, there was no doubt he couldn’t help but gaze upon her.

Thomasin swished her hips, making a spectacle out of every inch of her person. The dulcet tone of her voice. The strings of her violin. The bells shaking and whipping about with each step. Even when she stopped her flow of dancing, earning pause from the crowd, her skirt would wrap around her legs, then unravel in a swirl of cornflower blue revelry once more.

Astarion found himself squinting at the details of her dress.

He remembered the night he and Thomasin laid under the stars and reminisced about their favorite, most prized thefts. Small trophies, but ones that lived on as fashion staples. High heeled boots from a cheating man’s wardrobe. Bolts of fabric lifted from elderly women with a storefront and unwelcoming demeanors. Beads broken from a drunk aristocrat’s necklace and confiscated with a swift scoop up into pockets.

That’s what he recognized. The hem of her dress. The glint of repurposed opalite beads sparkled against glowing faerie lights. A product of multiple late nights, pinning and picking at a dress she never wore on the road. He’d watch her fall into a quiet trance for hours around the fire, pulling at thread and pinching tiny beads, stringing them along. It was one of the few guilty pleasures she invited in. A reward after mending a hole along Wyll’s inseams or re-attaching a buckle to Karlach’s leather straps.

Astarion was getting lost in the magnetism she garnered from her act. Admired how she bounced back from days where bodies ached and brains barely functioned, now teeming with unbridled vitality. No longer in lethargic depths, free to experience the wonder of watering her like a well-pruned leafy plant. Naturally, he took the credit where he could though. His personal rations and food scraps were often gifted to Thomasin in nonchalant exchanges. If he wasn’t to eat it, at least she could be nurtured.

He noticed her growing into her softness. What he imagined she was like before the days of treacherous nature walks and feasts only composed of wine and wild lentils. The masses now got to gawk those same ample hips but jealousy was nothing he was going to voice. Their minds must’ve ventured into poetic saccharine monologues. Ones that, in his opinion, were for lust-riddled simpletons. Nothing more than idealism and viewing her beauty as a commodity. Best used to simply get you wanted and leave before the beautiful possession caught on.

“Philistines can’t even enjoy music without all the moonshine coursing through them,” Astarion muttered.

Karlach stopped in the midst of her swaying, befuddled at how he could keep still. How he was not enamored, even at the most platonic level, by the art Thomasin created. She knocked her bottle of gin into his arm, shoving his lithe frame a bit. The joy in her voice was palpable.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Look at you. Can’t even enjoy yourself for a night. You upset because everyone is looking at how pretty she is all dressed up?” the large tiefling said, trying her best to keep her volume respectful.

He scowled at Karlach, knowing she wasn’t phased by such grouchiness, and snatched the gin from her hand. His eyes watered with regret immediately upon taking a swig, scrunching his nose. It burned with a fierceness down his gullet. “Ack- gods no. I’m upset by the terrible choice of alcohol in this place.”

Astarion looked back over at the half-elf to assess his thoughts. Despite encouraging her musical endeavors, he always included a jab that undercut such complimentary words. It was natural to him. Yet, he began to realize had never heard her sing more than a well-tuned hum. Never saw her dance unless guided by Wyll’s hand.

The closest he could recall may have been during her worship of Eilistraee, but those were always witnessed from afar. Memories housed only within the context of his own selfish voyeurism. Maybe self-expression wasn’t always frivolous, he thought.

The elf caught himself staring, mind drifting between conflicting hypotheticals and amorous soliloquies. Details that he was quick to shake from his consciousness. “Thomasin is doing a just fine job,” he followed up plainly.

“Perhaps she could teach you a thing or two, Astarion. How to show that personable side hiding deep in that illustrious heart of yours,” Wyll teased, his half of the gin adding blush tones to his cheeks. “What if you’re a natural born performer?”

Astarion scoffed. “I’ve got a skillset already, thank you very much. I haven’t gotten this far just on looks, I will have you know.” His fingers pressed flat against his own chest. “Personality is half my charm. You should try it sometime.”

The sour attitude and unapologetic gumption tickled his two drunken companions, suppressing their laughter to not become interruptive. Mirth so bountiful, it leaked between the cracks of their fingers clasped over their mouths.

“I’ve gotten this far on looks alone, you should try it.” Karlach eventually said, catching her breath. She had begun to stretch her chest wide, back tightened, and presented the bend of her arms in a muscular flex. Years of pommeling through Avernus had to pay off in some capacity. “It’s versatility, ain’t it? Being hot in every sense of the word really gets the ladies going.”

Wyll clinked their shared bottle onto her bicep in agreement before gesturing to his own horns. A facet of his appearance he was still getting used to, but bonding amongst Elturel survivors made acclimation easier. “The horns are also a definite plus, I’m growing to learn. Nothing like romantic poetry penned by a horn dipped in the finest oil inks.”

“Yeah, exactly. Oily inks.” Karlach pointed to Wyll with her thumb, mouth full of fruit, mumbling her words. Juices from an apple, crisp between her pointed teeth, flew out as she spoke. Although she decided to ignore the fact, knowing she would break into a fit of laughter over Astarion vocalizing disgust.

He did notice.

He did sneer.

“You two are insufferable. I’ll let you know I have remarkable, if not astonishing, reviews without all the tricks,” Astarion said, waving a dismissive hand. His lips, then, curled in a hint of amusement at their taunting.

They three continued swaying their heads, clapping as stray copper coins and picked wildflowers were thrown at Thomasin’s feet. The half-elf felt herself return back into her body by the end of the song, engulfed by the rain of praise, and grinned from ear to ear. Genuine unadulterated happiness. She bowed to the small crowd.

When she rose, the sting of coins pelted against her back, followed by a familiar thud. The sound of arrowheads, two to be exact, penetrating wood behind her. She rolled her shoulders, determined to not acknowledge it. To not let it ruin her composure. At her feet, she noticed Wyll crouch to gather all the flora and tips left, whispering tipsy affirmations to her and lurching back to their spot to keep her gifts safe.

Thanks to him, her smile never faltered, and she went onto presenting the next act.

“Thank you! Thank you all very much, dearly,” she cheered, holding her violin idle in her arms. “This lovely evening was all brought to you by the ever so talented, Alfira.”

Alfira ran up the far staircase where Karlach and the others stood, flashing them a sheepish delight with her lute clutched tight. Karlach felt herself blush at the sight of the feminine tiefling’s pastel whimsy, offering her own toothy grin. The bard looked overwhelmed, but particularly gorgeous that night. The way her pink and blue undertones glowed under the low sunlight.

She had to say something. Anything.

“You’re gonna do wonderful, babe,” Karlach whispered, giving Alfira a thumbs up as she scurried down the long platform and up to the crowd. A sigh as Karlach critiqued her less than smooth demeanor.

Thomasin’s arm extended to present Alfira in all her glory. “Speaking of the delight of your travels. Please give a round of applause and your utmost attention to Alfira on the lute!” The two musicians exchanged a supportive hug before Thomsin bowed again and walked back to her companions.

As she approached the canopy, she caught the sight of Aradin and Remira. The curly-haired man had returned, hand just barely on the railing before he made eye contact with her. A face plastered with smug satisfaction and obvious inebriation on his breath.

Remira glared at the drunken human coming up the stairs. Not only did she recognize his anger simmering, but she was pinned to the support beam by the shot of arrows through her clothes. Two, again, to be exact. Comeuppance for the fact her silly little hostile coin toss resulted in Astarion’s swift archery. Pettiness resolved by the act of more pettiness. All she could do was await for Aradin to reign terror in her honor and help her down.

“Did you need something, darling?” Thomasin said softly, setting her violin aside and kneeling before him from her elevated height. Her fingers fiddled with the buckles on her boots, unlatching the bells from them. She felt her performative pleasantries loosening as she remembered her first day at the grove. How punching him square in the face may have not been the answer, but her tolerance for masculine pride had been long ground into oblivion. Now, she was in her brightest pigments. He was no match for her when rouge made her stronger, taller, more powerful.

Aradin flicked a coin her direction, amused by his own taunting as it bounced off her shoulder. His eyes wandered long after though, taking a step closer, blatant and unrepentant in her objectification.

“Was gonna call you a bitch for making all this commotion by our awning, but I gotta admit you clean up pretty nicely, don’t ya?” he responded.

The comment made her grin. Solidified her reasoning for retaliation. Her lashes fluttered in the name of feminine mystique before glancing over at Alfira at the opposite end, entertaining her peers. Dancing lights bloomed around the tiefling as she reveled in the attention. Belting out a song that would make her teacher proud. As long as the tiefling was well into her song, Aradin would be dealt with.

To the backdrop of Alfira’s lute and nervous melody, Thomasin took a step forward, pressing the base of her heeled boot against Aradin’s chest, its thick stem situated right atop his sternum. Her shoulders pushed forward, chest enclosing in on her bent knee, and kicked him back with the force of her shifted weight.

His build hit the ground with a solid heft, blood pressure rising at such disrespect. Perched upon his elbows, back still laying in dirt below, Thomasin grabbed the bottom of her dress and walked down the steps. The human’s face contorted into a myriad of emotions. Disdain, confusion, and then reluctant enticement as she walked over him and settled in a straddle atop his lap.

Astarion’s eyebrows rose at her sudden dominance, noticing Wyll and Karlach’s similar disbelief. They merely waited with excitement and bated breath for this was the last place they expected a bar fight. So, the elf did the honors and grabbed her instrument for protection, stepping back with no comment or snark to be heard. He respected the arts now, after all.

Thomasin grabbed Aradin’s wrists and pinned them above his head, noting the lack of struggle on his part. It was a relief. Reassurance she had the upper hand. A man that could overpower her if he wished, playing feeble in hopes of gifted flesh. She proceeded to tighten her posture, back curved and body shifting into fluidity.

Practical, utilitarian sexuality. It was all performative in nature, far from her actual desires, but the skill set promised survival. Retribution was never a natural instinct of hers. At least not one from birth or even youth. The seed was planted over decades of unpredictable company, learning from the adults around her. Their feuds, loyalty, murder, and pacts. It bore its roots deep, granting her access to her own sadism. Sleeping, unkempt, until it thrashed out in the name of untrustworthy bandits or unsavory temporary lovers.

“Aha- not one for being on the bottom, but I’ll take one for the team,” he tittered.

Thomasin giggled back at him like she’d done to countless others before.

Methodical and sensual, she crept closer and closer to his ear. The half-elf braced herself for whatever his reaction may be, screwed her eyes tight, and let forth a faint blue glow from her lips. Dissonant whispers. The language of her ancestors spliced with nightmares of catastrophic proportions. Threats to the nervous system, disjointed phrases, and speech so rapid, it ran his blood cold.

They all clashed into one another, almost as painful to his biology as it was incoherent. The glowing wispy smoke crawled into Aradin’s ear canals and thrashed through every microscopic crevice of his brain. Only a few seconds, but enough to make up for the multiple stressors he inflicted on others outside the grove.

He gasped for air as his body took its time regulating itself, crawling backwards in desperation. Trying to figure out how Thomasin had shifted back from an extraplanar terror back to her unintimidating figure. Chest heaving for any semblance of comprehension.

The half-elf leaned back, palms flat and raised to allow him to scurry away. She didn’t prolong his horror. She had no need to. But, she couldn’t deny her heart raced with self-satisfaction. No matter how many times she found the drive to fight back, she knew it had a chance of ending with her demise. Of course, the thought frightened her, but she couldn’t dwell. She knelt where he left her, brushing off stains from their grassy tussle and watching his dilated pupils mellow.

“First the tieflings and now the drow. No keeping the fucking peace in these parts,” he spat at her, scrambling to his feet to scuttle off.

“Don’t be scared everyone is going to find out you’re nothing more than an impetuous noisy cuck.” she retorted, scorn riddled on her face.

Thomasin turned her head to notice the three watching her in light awe. She tried to catch her breath from the intense exertion of both her emotions and the Weave, reminding her body that she was safe. An easy assertion for a titter soon left her lips. She noticed Astartion’s foot propped up beside Remira, giving her mercy with a yank of the arrows to allow her to fall to the floor. No much grace offered, but the human wanted no pity after being strung up in humiliation.

The group watched as the two humans darted away, bickering at one another for their lack of judgment, and then focused back to Thomasin.

“Cheers to that, I suppose,” Wyll said, raising his bottle and taking a swig, then handing it off to Karlach.

“Cheers. Not going to sugarcoat it, that was kinda hot, mate.” The tiefling grabbed the gin, colored by her love of rough-housing and unfortunate touch-starvation. Her word was an objective, undebatable fact.

Astarion felt himself laugh. Unhindered and genuine for the first time that evening.

“Praise the Dark Maiden,” he proclaimed.

10 notes · View notes

jellymellydraws · 5 months

Text

Masterlist ~ <<Previous Chapter ~ Next Chapter >>

Astarion x Dark Urge Chapter 06 Rating: E Tags: Angst, Fluff, hurt/comfort, slow burn, two guarded people fall in love so hard it makes them stupid

Chapter Summary:

Gale has some choice words for how Nettie handled their delicate tadpole condition. Rath, another druid, pulls Rose aside to ask for a favor. A lighthearted camp dinner is interrupted when Zevlor and Arabella's Parents approach with a costly request on their lips. The day's events start to weigh on Rose's thoughts.

“I can’t believe she poisoned you!”

The conversation with Nettie hadn’t quite gone as planned. ‘As planned’ being the greatest understatement of the day. Just about every plan Rose had was slowly uprooted because of this damned grove. The dwarven healer masked a poisonous root as a cure for the tadpoled party. Apparently her ask for help meant ‘kill me now, we’re doomed beyond saving.’ Thankfully, no one got hurt-- not really. Nettie felt guilty when she realized they were being sincere with their plight, and handed them the appropriate antidote.

Even though Rose was the one who was poisoned, it was Gale fuming after the dwarf left them alone.

“Gale--” Rose tried to interject.

“Tried to put you down like a dying dog-- without as much as a whisper of consent!” Coming from Gale, she was taken aback. Rage, fear, all emotions that she saw very clearly in the others, but not yet from the wizard.

“Yeah, not really what I was expecting from a healer ,” if she couldn’t calm him down, she could at least engage and sympathize with his outburst, “at least she saw reason. She would’ve been long dead, otherwise.”

“A kindness she didn’t deserve, I assure you.” He spat as he paced in front of the lab’s entrance, “how dare she snuff out life with as much thought as snuffing out a bloody candle?!”

“Gale,” she spoke slowly, calmly, despite her brows being raised in surprise, “are you okay ?”

“OfCourseI’mNotOkay!”

The sudden lash of his words surprised the whole room, leaving only his echo behind. His face was red, dangerously close to turning blue at this rate. Even Astarion, who usually had a quip ready for their mage, was tight-lipped (even if those lips were also trying to restrain a grin in the process).

“I just-- it’s fine,” he finally sighed, running a hand through his hair, “ we’re fine, you handled it.” Another deep breath, “We live to see another day.”

“Yes, we do,” Rose nodded slowly, ensuring the movement matched the pace of his breathing, “And, we still got valuable information,” she put a gentle on his shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze, “I’m fine , Gale. Let’s get back to camp, Lae’zel needs to know what we learned here.”

“Right, thank you.” The color didn’t leave his cheeks, but his breathing calmed.

Gale left the lab with Wyll, who insisted on joining the worked-up wizard as they left the sanctum. Rose turned her attention to the table of notes and jars that Nettie left behind, seeing a buffet of information that she could take with her.

“He looked like he was about to explode,” Astarion finally released a fit of snickers.

“Let’s go easy on him for the rest of the day, hm?” Rose suggested as she plucked papers from the table and stuffed them into her bag.

“Oh, but now it would be more fun to do,” he pouted.

“How about you tease Wyll, instead? He’s new,” she smirked, looking back at him with a wink, “should be fun.”

“You’re awful , I love it.”

She rolled her eyes, returning to the contents of the lab that were interesting to her. In a jar was a parasite much like the ones they had wriggling behind their eyes. This had to be the specimen that crawled out of the Drow’s skull. She carefully placed it in her bag, ensuring it was padded on all sides to prevent damage. Once the desk had been cleared, her eyes scanned over the cadaver on the slab beside her. Nettie told them the drow was slain when Halsin realized they were being followed. They took the body back to check for signs of ceremorphosis. So, their belongings had to be somewhere nearby. If this was a scout, there had to be other information hiding on his person. After rounding the slab, she found it-- the pile of clothes gently folded and placed on a stone chair. Her fingers made quick work of the apparel, dipping into pockets and procuring a folded note.

Footsteps approached the lab, giving her a short moment to stow the parchment and stand up straight. Astarion, who she realized was standing by one of the bookshelves, also shifted his stance to a more natural pose, hiding a book behind his back. Rath appeared in the doorway, peering into the room as if looking for something before his eyes settled on Rose.

“I was asked to escort your group out of the inner sanctum,” Rath said, “is everything alright in here?”

“We were just admiring the scenery,” Astarion answered cooly, “stone gray is a bit overdone, but I think you druids make it work.”

Astarion with the quips again, well timed at that. She casually walked around the slab and approached Rath, not resisting the request to leave. She had everything she needed, and it seemed her elven friend got a parting gift for himself. As they crossed the atrium, Rose noted the child’s body was no longer on the ground. She wasn’t sure if they buried the remains as Kagha ordered, or if they returned the body to the parents. Part of her desperately cared about the answer, the other wanted to ignore it entirely.

In the interest of keeping her stomach from launching itself from her body, she chose to ignore it.

Once they cleared the stone door and crossed around the ritual circle, Rath slowed his pace. Rose did the same, glancing at him curiously, but cautiously. He was up to something. She let him guide them further away from nearby druids— away from listening ears. Something troubled him, judging by the furrow of his brow.

“If you have something to say, make it quick,” she whispered, keeping her eye on their surroundings for onlookers. Astarion, keenly aware of the situation, stood nearby as a discreet lookout, pretending to look at his nails and only turned his head if he made a face that implied he thought someone called for him.

“Look, you saw what happened in there,” Rath finally whispered, “Kagha is out of her mind . Halsin wouldn’t have let this happen.”

“Halsin isn’t here, he left her in charge,” she reminded, “if the goblins got him, he’s long dead.”

“Please, if there is even a chance that he’s still alive, find him.”

Rose took another glance at their surroundings, checking for prying ears or nosy critters. No one seemed to be paying them any mind, good. She crossed her arms over her chest, watching the desperation in Rath’s eyes as he pleaded with her. She wouldn’t answer him so quickly.

What were the facts; what did she know?

According to Nettie, it was Halsin who had been studying the tadpoles closely. There were others who had been infected, long before the nautiloid crash. In this case, Nettie was classified as a reliable informant. She had no motivation to lie to them that Rose could surmise. Supporting this, she knew a normal mindflayer tadpole would have transformed them, but they had remained unchanged. The other subject, somehow, gained powers from their tadpoles. Whatever power this was, it seemed to vary. The question then remained: why hadn’t her camp been gifted with any such powers?

On one hand, these questions added complications to their problem, but if the subjects were tadpoled for weeks prior to their crash, then they had more time to save themselves. Hopefully.

Rath was beginning to shift uncomfortably under the unmoving, unblinking, gaze Rose held on him as she ran through everything. Finally, she closed her eyes and breathed in heavily.

“I’ll consider it,” she answered.

“You said the same to Kagha,” Rath muttered.

“Because I have other things to consider before accepting every quest presented to me. If you’re eager, you can do it yourself.”

“No. I-- okay, when can you give me an answer?”

“Tomorrow, before we leave the grove.”

“Thank you,” Rath nodded.

He continued to lead her and Astarion towards the entrance of the sanctum, where a tiefling couple shouted to the approaching trio. Rath sighed heavily, walking right up to them. Rose examined the two tieflings, who she realized bore a resemblance to the dead child. Her insides felt cold as they closed the distance. Why hasn’t anyone told the parents yet?!

“Somebody tell me what’s going on! Please!” the mother cried, “where is Arabella?!”

Rose turned her face away, hiding the involuntary wince. The unnamed discomfort she felt was harder to push away when she knew their name. Arabella. She remembered the look of fear in her eyes, when they looked at each other for a brief moment. What happened after that? Between their eye contact and her heart stopping? Her stomach turned. No, she couldn’t think about it. She wouldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” Rath’s voice was small, “there was a terrible accident.”

“What do you mean, an accident?” the father asked with an arm around his wife’s waist, holding her hand tightly.

Rath hesitated. God damns he hesitated, and she couldn’t stand the silence.

“Arabella’s dead,” Rose stated, finally facing them when she delivered the news. They looked at her with widened eyes. She pushed through everything within her that froze, every desire that wanted to keep her from saying anything further, “there’s no other way to put it.”

“No...” the mother whispered, then sobbed, “that monster!”

“You’re a monster!” a bloody face flashed in front of her, tears running down a different face. Curled strands of hair sticking to her brow. The smell of murder in the air.

Rose blinked the image away, faced with the tiefling mother in mourning again. The lump in her throat choked her, she couldn’t stay here. Without another word, she continued past the grieving parents, taking hurried steps up the path, hurrying to camp. But the images followed her.

A tiny dagger, grasped in a similarly small hand. The woman screams before the knife slashes her throat. Sputtering. Choking. Silence. Blood.

No. She forced the images away, buried them further into the depths of her mind-- likely to the same place her missing memories were hiding. She couldn’t let herself get lost in these thoughts. Couldn’t bear to see anymore. She needed a distraction, something— Astarion! In her haste, she didn’t realize he kept up with her. Small talk could help, she decided. Something. Anything.

“What kind of book did you grab?” she conjured up her half smirk, tilting her head towards the elf who walked beside her.

Astarion hummed as he inspected the cover embossed in the fine red leather.

“‘Disorders of the Nerves and Mind: A Treatise of Information,’” his nose wrinkled more as he read each word, “wouldn’t have been my first choice, it’s what I grabbed when the damned druid interrupted us. Buuuut if it’s all I have, it will have to do.”

Astarion extended the book to Rose when she held her hand out, letting her flip through the pages. A medical journal of sorts, written by a single cleric about their various treatments on the mundane and magically insane. What a cruel joke the cosmos must have been playing, to put such a thing in her path. She passed it back to him when she was done skimming.

“Let me know what you think of it,” she casually commented, “I might be interested in reading it when you’re done.”

“If it’s as boring as its title, you’ll be reading it long before I’m done with it.”

The view from their camp was perfect. High enough above the grove to see into the inner sanctum, part the tieflings’ refuge, and the immediate wilderness outside the gates. Very few opportunities to be caught off guard. Shadowheart did well to find this spot, she commended.

As expected of someone who was a trained warrior, Lae’zel set up the new tents and supplies perfectly. She even set up a ‘command center’ for Rose to review their travel plans. It looked like a tiny war camp. Rose could work with this, easily.

Gale was eager to show off what he could do when he had more than fish on the menu. The ingredients from the storehouse were appreciated and quickly being cut up for dinner. While the stew cooked over the fire, Wyll regaled the camp with his monster hunter stories, acting out climatic battles that he effortlessly won.

Shadowheart and Lae’zel were with Rose, going over the map, notes, and information that they acquired throughout the day. The information, she knew, was going to be outlandish and hard to swallow, but Lae’zel listened. Closely. Concerned. The gith’s brows furrowed as she scanned her eyes over one of the druid’s research journals.

“Modified Ghaik tadpoles,” Lae’zel bristled, “all the more reason we need to get to a creche.”

“So they can strap us to tables and run their own experiments on us? You would suggest that,” Shadowheart baited, smiling smugly when Lae’zel snarled at her.

No, not tonight. They needed to focus .

“You said there’s protocol to this sort of thing-- what do you suppose protocol for an abnormal tadpole would be?” Rose redirected the conversation, needing to keep things productive. Her eyes were fixed on the map, considering the other quests put in front of her that day-- like potentially rescuing the druid, Halsin.

“Normally protocol calls for immediate purification using a Zaithisk,” she paused, considering something. Her face twisted with discontent as another option occurred to her, “or they would eradicate us. It would be too risky to leave us alive without knowing how to purify these new tadpoles. Especially if there are more out there. Tsk’va.”

Tsk’va, was right. Rose drew a circle around the Selune Temple’s location.

“We can’t go walking up to a group of gith with an unknown threat, not without information they could use,” Rose determined. She tapped the end of her charcoal stick to the newly circled spot, “this is where Halsin went to get more information about the tadpoles. His notes indicate that there are probably others with the same tadpoles in this camp. We’ll pose as one of their own and see if we can speak to anyone in charge-- someone who could have answers on where they are coming from and what we can expect.”

Lae’zel glared at the map, glancing between the Selune Temple and the last known location of her kin. Behind that hardened face, she could see the growing fear. Rose sympathized with the warrior. Thrust into unknown situations, with even fewer known circumstances before them. While the human may feel alien to her past, Lae’zel was simply alien to this world. It had to be a lot to take in.

“The way I see it, we have few options,” Rose concluded, her commanding voice relaxing slightly as she spoke directly to Lae’zel, “knowing more about what we’re dealing with is the only advantage we can give ourselves.”

Lae’zel cursed under her breath again, turned on her heel, and disappeared into her tent. If that flap was a door, Rose would suspect it’d be slammed shut.

“It isn’t too late to abandon her,” Shadowheart suggested, adding a mark to her map-- likely matching the one on the table, “let her go search for her kin if that’s what she wants so badly.”

“No, she’s upset about this fucked up situation the same as the rest of us. She knows as well as you and I that we’re better off working together,” she gave the cleric a stern look, “I don’t care what you have against the gith, we need each other. Understood?”

The half elf pursed her lips, but nodded quietly.

“Good.”

Lae’zel didn’t emerge from her tent until Gale called everyone for dinner, which featured a hearty meat and vegetable stew.

“My compliments to the chef,” Wyll declared, clapping a hand to the wizard’s shoulder. The stew almost sloshed out of his bowl from the impact, but he still grinned appreciatively.

“Well go on then,” Astarion smirked, stirring his bowl, “give him your compliments.”

“Ah, it’s a figure of speech, my very literal friend.”

The smirk on Astarion’s face said it all. He was playing with the Blade. Oh wait, she did tell him to tease the new guy didn’t she? She grinned mischievous watching the show unfold.

“I had hoped you could come up with something better than ‘compliments to the chef’ after the way you tell your stories. No worries, I can show you how it’s done,” the elf leaned towards the two gentlemen, “Gale, darling ,” his smirk widened, flashing a hint of teeth, “the stew smells divine , were you a professional chef back in Waterdeep?”

Oh he was good . The wizard flushed, chuckling bashfully. Wyll chuckled, then cleared his throat for the challenge before him.

“Gale, this stew can find itself in a king’s banquet,” the Blade grinned towards Astarion, seeking his approval of his performance.

“Not bad, getting better,” Astarion hummed with amusement, “but I’ll say this stew is so heavenly it can resurrect the dead.”

“If you’re all going to start inhaling each other’s mouths, please use one of our new tents,” Shadowheart’s teased, feigning disgust on her face.

Gale’s entire face was as red as the stew. Wyll and Astarion had a good laugh, seeing him shrink between them. Rose couldn’t help but add to the laughter filling the camp. The atmosphere tonight was vastly different from their first night at camp. Maybe it was Wyll bringing a burst of optimism to the group, or maybe it was the relief that they haven’t shown any signs of sprouting tentacles from their maws. Regardless, it was welcomed.

Dinner continued with more conversation, sharing what everyone did back in their respective homes. Wyll, the Blade of Frontiers. Gale, a prodigal wizard of Waterdeep. Lae’zel of Creche Kliir. And now, she knew Astarion was a Balduran Magistrate. Rose wasn’t feeling in the sharing mood, not if it risked worrying the whole group about her lost memories. Not tonight. She made an excuse to go back to the command tent, but encouraged the rest to keep enjoying their night. Astarion gave her a knowing look as she walked around his side of the fire. A look which she ignored.

Rose sat in a stool by the makeshift table. Perfect spot to view the entirety of their camp and write in her newly acquired journal. There was a lot running through her mind after this day. Between the death of two innocents, tadpole revelations, and even more disturbing visions, she finally had a moment to process it all. The thoughts flowed from her head onto the page. The approaching sound of footsteps didn’t stop her from writing, she could tell exactly who it was from their gait.

“Not up for telling the camp about the life you were ripped out of?” Rose asked.

“Not particularly,” Shadowheart answered, grabbing another stool to join her, “seeing as you slinked away, I figured you would understand privacy.”

Rose hummed thoughtfully, continuing her writing. Shadowheart watched the others share stories and laughter from the campfire. At some point Gale’s voice could be heard enthusiastically explaining the difference between wizards and sorcerers. The tidbits that she picked up on seemed to bring a small smile to the half-elf’s face. Perhaps she wanted to share more than she admitted, but for one reason or another she was holding back. Rose wondered if it was a matter of trust, caution, or necessity.

Well, now was as good a time as any to test that out, wasn’t it?

“It’s not so much that I’m trying to be private,” she broke the silence between them. Shadowheart looked over to the human, her face begging the question without needing to utter a single word. Rose continued, “I just couldn’t share anything if I wanted to.”

“How do you mean?” Shadowheart pressed.

“I don’t remember my life before this. Can’t really share something I don’t know anything about.”

For a moment, Shadowheart fiddled with her hands, circling a spot in her palm with a thumb. Rose noticed a small scar, a perfectly round mark. A note was marked in a different page of her journal.

“Seems we are in the same boat— well, camp, I suppose,” Shadowheart finally said, “I…was on an assignment from my goddess. There were more of us, but I’m the only one left. This mission was crucial, so we volunteered to have our memories suppressed.”

“To avoid compromising your mission and anyone involved in your organization,” Rose commented. Not a question. An understanding. She closed the journal and turned her full attention to the woman beside her, “does this mission have anything to do with that prism you grabbed from your pod?”

Shadowheart nodded, hesitantly. Still looking at the other campers.

“I won’t pry. I…have a sense that I’d be the same way, if it was that important,” she promised, “hells, maybe I’m on my own assignment and I’ve just…forgotten.”

Shadowheart scoffed, finally looking over to Rose who chuckled at her own misfortune.

“You’re turning out to be an understanding ally…in time, I might be willing to tell you more,” Shadowheart smiled, turning her nose to the air in her usual attempt to seem holier than thou. But the sincerity was still there.

Even surrounded by walls and guards, there was wisdom in being cautious. The conversation around the fire was beginning to quiet down. Watches were being decided for the night. The tension between the druids and tieflings warranted that much. Speaking of tieflings, a small group of them approached the camp. Zevlor, leading the charge, with Arabella’s parents following behind him.

‘And there goes the lighthearted atmosphere.’

“Zevlor,” Rose nodded to him as he approached. She stood up as a sign of respect, speaking to him across from her ‘desk.’

“Rose,” he nodded back, briefly nodding to Wyll and the others who started to gather around, “I hate to ask more of you, but, we’ve been put in a rather…uncomfortable position,” Zevlor sighed. The parents behind him clutched each others’ hands.

Rose understood immediately, this had to do with Kagha. What else? She grabbed the journal off the crate and opened to one of its marked up pages. The list of favors, requests, and hopes were growing. Another one was going to be added.

“Kagha has gone too far,” he began. Yep, there it was, as she guessed. “She killed a child— “

“She needs to pay .” The mother’s words spat with venom. Her husband rubbed her arm, trying to soothe her.

“Where am I fitting into this picture?” Rose asked, lowering her journal to maintain eye contact with the other leader.

“You were able to get close to Kagha. No other outside has managed that. It’s a lot, I know, but it would be a great service if you could convince her to stop the ritual.” Zevlor kept his composure before her. One commander to another. Business. This type of engagement suited her, she realized.

The mother glared at Zevlor’s back, but she held her tongue. Interesting.

“She’s given your people a tenday before the ritual is complete, that gives you time to prepare,” Rose informed, ignoring Wyll’s expression of distaste at the cold deadline. Heroes can be so hasty, it seemed.

“As long as those goblins are a threat, we won’t make it far. Most of the people here are not fighters, they are civilians. ”

“How many could there possibly be?” Astarion asked, hand on his hip and hand circling the air, “a couple dozen, surely, you can handle?”

“An army.” Zevlor deadpanned, “Could be over a hundred.”

“A hundred?!” the elf shrieked.

Rose pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing with frustration. Gods he was right. Her group was already having issues in how they were going to resolve the goblins for the sake of travel. An army? They weren’t equipped to handle an army.

“If you can convince Kagha to stop the ritual, we would be indebted to you. More than we already are,” Zevlor continued without missing a beat, “we need to stay here until it’s safe. Whatever means is necessary to fulfill that arrangement.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she promised, jotting the new request along with the others.

Briefly, she gauged the reaction of her camp. Lae’zel and Shadowheart held stone faces, not reacting in any obvious way to the conversation. Gale and Wyll looked concerned, with the latter holding a pleading look in his eyes only a hero could have. Astarion winced, his face twisting like a piece of lemon was pressed to his tongue.

Zevlor nodded in thanks and turned to leave. The tiefling parents followed after him.

Rose took a seat, reviewing the growing list from her, adding additional notes as she considered each one’s prospects. Desperate footsteps quickly approached. A small pouch fell onto her journal with a metalic thud.

“Kill the bitch and it’s all yours,” the mother, standing over the crate with a fire burning in her eyes. Her husband was quickly running up behind her.

At the other end of camp, Zevlor was still leaving. Smart man, wanting no part in this. A conspiracy to assassinate the current druid leader in this already tense climate? He’d be a fool to suggest a thing. Rose wondered if the parents were invited to join him when he walked to her camp or if he simply allowed them to follow.

“You can’t be serious,” the husband turned his wife to face him, “that is all we have.”

“It doesn’t matter! Nothing matters! Not without our little girl.” Her voice began to quiver.

Rose quietly poured out the contents to count them as the parents bickered. Did she have parents back home who would throw their entire worth at a stranger to avenge her death? Was there anyone who missed her back home— wherever that was? Was the woman she thought of earlier her mother? Was that her hand, holding the knife? Gods, she hoped not. As the questions stirred within her head, not a single piece had counted.

Arabella’s eyes flashed at her from the shine of the coins. The argument continued, but their voices began to fall away as Rose focused on those scared little eyes.

The child shaking with fear as the snake’s tongue tickled her cheek and slithered down from its perch. Taunting the child. Daring the child. Rose smirked, an idea forming. She glanced at the exit behind her, slightly blocked by her own form. Ah, well the tiefling was a small thing, she’d only need a little bit of wiggle room to get her hopes up. Smoothly, she shifted her weight, giving her that bit of space. The child noticed, innocent eyes widened, tears ready to fall. Ever so slightly, Rose tilted her head to the opening.

‘Go on,’ her mind whispered.

No.

‘It’s okay.’

Stop!

‘You’ll make it.’

It’s a trap!

‘If you can outrun the viper, that is.’

The stool clattered loudly behind her. All conversation, silenced by Rose, who now stood with her fists closed around the pile of a mothers’ desperate plea. Her head pounded, stomach twisted. All at once, the world threatened to fall away.

“Keep it,” Rose swiped the coins back into their pouch and pushed it to the other end of the crate.

The mother fell to her knees, hands clasped together desperately. She refused to look at her, focused more on steadying her breathing and keeping her eyes closed to help with that. The mother’s voice hitched.

“Please—“

“I’ll handle it,” Rose interrupted, darkly. She opened her eyes when her impending tears were contained. With resolve, she turned her sights to the pleading woman. Then, she looked to the husband, and nodded to them reassuringly, “Go. This conversation never happened.”

The mother opened her mouth to speak, but Rose raised her hand. Eyes narrowed, warningly. The message came across, no words were spoken, but the thanks read clearly on their faces before they took their coin and fled the camp.

The silence weighed heavily in the air. No one dared utter a word. No one dared to breathe.

Not until Rose did first.

“Shadowheart.”

“Yes?” The cleric stood from her seat, instantly.

“Names and descriptions of everyone who are loyal to Kagha,” she turned to a blank page in her journal, slowly uprighting her stool as she sat back down. Charcoal pressed to the page. “now. ”

Next Chapter >>

#bg 3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #dark urge #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x dark urge #baldurs gate 3 #fanfiction #jellymellydraws #ao3 writer #ao3 #bg3 tav

4 notes · View notes

arctophyllax · 6 months

Text

We Zevlor simps are just a small little cozy pile of sad people full of love

And I do hope that pile grows because that man deserves everything and more

By the way I intend on making so much content (written pics, ideas, stories, sad stuff, sweet stuff, eventually smut, and definitely my random, niche thoughts) about him because we need more content.

#zevlor #bg3 zevlor #baldur’s gate 3

94 notes · View notes

halsinsbiceps · 8 months

Text

A Great and Sudden Change - Chapter 4

I just posted Chapter 4 of AGaSC on AO3!

You guys have no idea how glad I am to be done with this chapter...again, it's a lot of exposition and talking about Shadow Druids, making sure the characters know what's going on, all that fun stuff.

Anyway. Fic below the cut!

Thanks to Zevlor’s foresight, the tieflings had been packing themselves up since the morning, not long after Kagha had ordered the Rite of Thorns to begin. Much of their time was spent loading wooden crates and burlap sacks into wagons and scouring the Hollow for any forgotten belongings and useful items.

Shadowheart and Astarion rejoined them mid-afternoon to provide a report on their scouting. Outside of an apparent stakeout by some long-gone bandits, the ruins were clear and ready for the refugees. Shadowheart also warned there was some sort of temple deep in the ruins that should be avoided before they pitched in to help with minimal complaining.

About an hour before dusk Zevlor approached her as she paused to flex her sore, stiff fingers near the makeshift jail. “That should be everything,” he said. “I have yet to do a proper headcount, but everyone is gathered at the gate.”

Enelya nodded tiredly and moved to head there herself, but Zevlor stopped her by laying a warm hand on her shoulder.

“None of this was your fight,” he said softly. “But you bought us time to get out before the druids forced us. You saved Arabella, and then you helped us gather our things. You…” He paused, searching for the right words, flaming eyes shimmering with gratitude. “You have shown more kindness than we have seen since before Elturel fell into Avernus. We can’t thank you, or your companions, enough.”

Enelya’s heart nearly burst with gladness at his words. “You're welcome. I'm happy to help, Zevlor.”

"That seems to be your motto," he said with a small smile. It quickly twisted into a doubtful smirk. “Your companions, however…” He trailed off before producing a small burlap bag from his belt. He took her hand and pressed it into her palm; the weight and soft chink told her it was coin.

“It’s not much, but I took up a collection,” he said in reply to the question in her eyes. “You deserve some reward for your assistance, and your-”

“No.” Enelya pushed the pouch back into his hand, bringing her other hand up to curl his clawed fingers around it. “I do not accept this gift.”

“But the others…”

“They will deal with it.” Enelya’s voice was firm. “I mean it, Zevlor. I’ve dedicated my life to bringing balance between nature and civilization; between druids and those they deem outsiders. This is my duty and my honor. And besides that…” She smiled. “It’s just the right thing to do. Keep your coin. You will need it more than we will."

Zevlor listened to her in awe. “Your generosity knows no bounds.” He tucked the pouch back into his belt. “You’re a good woman, Enelya.”

She shifted uncomfortably at the compliment, deflecting it as she ducked her head. “Let’s go make sure we’ve got everyone.”

At the gate, Zevlor counted his people. Only two were missing, but accounted for, as they finished burying one of their own on the slope overlooking the grove's entrance. Kanon had been slain as he tried to open the gate for Aradin’s band, and although Enelya hadn’t known him, she grieved the tieflings' loss.

Enelya took the time to check on her own rag-tag group. All of them looked about as good as she felt - tired, hungry, and dirty. When the caravan rolled out, they shuffled silently along with it.

As weary as she was, Enelya felt peaceful as she walked. The tieflings were not in very high spirits, but seemed content with being moved to a safe location. Dappled light filtered through the trees and cast long shadows against the cliffs. Birds sang out their final songs of the day as the sun lowered; a light, chilly wind blew in from the west, cooling their sweaty bodies. It would be a welcome night for a bowl of stew and a warm fire.

Once they reached the ruins everyone spread out to lay claim to sleeping spots. Most of them stayed out of the building itself, but the children raced ahead and slipped into the chapel. Shadowheart followed them, calling out a warning to not venture too deep. Enelya bit back a laugh when she heard high-pitched mocking echo back and Shadowheart returned with a scowl.

The refugees settled in quickly, and by the time the sun had fully set a crackling fire roared in the center of the ruin, a cooking pot full of thin gruel suspended over it. Enelya's stomach churned at the thought of food. When was the last time she ate, she wondered; Baldur's Gate? Three days ago? Four?

Her companions set up their own spots some ways away from each other and the tieflings. Enelya had a hard time believing they had all met only in the past twenty-four hours; the way the day dragged on, it felt more like two days. She watched them each in turn: Lae'zel stood with her back to them, gracefully moving through a series of movements. Astarion and Gale both were trying to make their respective corners more comfortable; Gale even conjured a couple of large throw pillows. Shadowheart perched cross-legged on a rock, brows furrowed as she fiddled with an object in her hands.

Enelya approached her first. "What's that?" she asked.

"Oh!" Shadowheart looked as if she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't have been. She paused. "Just a puzzle box. Nothing important." She tucked the toy away and flipped her braid back from where it had slipped over her shoulder. "Did you need something?"

"Not really. Just…checking in, I suppose.”

"Hmm. Making the rounds?" Shadowheart asked. "Well, I'm doing alright. You, though." She gave her a once-over. "You look like you've been wrung out like a wet rag."

Enelya chuckled. "That's about how I feel."

Shadowheart shifted over and patted the rock next to her. Enelya gave a weary smile and sank down onto the stone, her body aching in protest. For a long moment they watched the others in their group go about their business.

"How well do you know this Halsin fellow?" Shadowheart suddenly asked. “I know he’s a druid, like you, but you don’t necessarily all know each other.”

An image of Halsin appeared from her memories; his kind, hazel eyes smiling down at her as his large hand brushed over her cheek, cupping her jaw as his head dipped down…

Enelya's breath caught in her chest and she shook her head to rid herself of the vision. "We met once, during a ritual in the High Forest - my home. Otherwise I only know him by reputation." Even to her own ears, the words sounded uncertain.

Shadowheart glanced sideways at her, not quite buying her story. "Quite the reputation, to be the target of a daring rescue," she commented. She leaned in conspiratorially. “Are you sure there isn’t more?” When Enelya only stared down at her fingers as they twisted in her lap, Shadowheart nudged her with an elbow. “You don’t need to tell me everything ,” she said softly. Her green eyes were understanding. “But we need to trust each other, don’t we? Entwined as our fates are.”

Enelya chewed on her lip, mulling over the other woman’s words, then sighed before turning to Shadowheart. "Before...all of this…Halsin sent for aid from the Emerald Enclave, the order by which most, if not all, druids abide. He had made some sort of discovery - what exactly, I don't know."

Shadowheart regarded her solemnly. "But it might have something to do with these goblins?"

Enelya shrugged. "Maybe? All of this has only happened in the past few days. Halsin is a skilled healer, and incredibly well-read by our standards. For him to ask the Enclave for help, it must be serious. And to be captured besides…he knows something."

“I see.” Shadowheart thought for a moment. “So did this Emerald Enclave send help?"

"Rather less, actually." Enelya smiled ruefully. "They sent me."

“ Less?! ” Shadowheart stared at her. "How is that less?" she demanded. "You've already helped everyone along your path, and y ou're hurtling yourself headlong into danger on a whim!" She shook her head and looked up at the sky, muttering under her breath. "I'm coming with you."

Before Enelya could protest, someone cleared their throat. They turned to find Gale had joined them, hands clasped behind his back. "Speaking of comings and goings," he said, his gaze falling on Enelya, "I believe you have a rendezvous with some druids."

Enelya slid off the rock. At Shadowheart's confused look, she told her she’d explain later and set off for the hollow where they'd discovered Lae'zel that morning.

Gale fell into step alongside her. "I'd like to tag along, if that's alright," he said. "After our little experiment this afternoon, I must say my curiosity about these Shadow Druids has been piqued. But I wanted to ask: how is your noggin?" He tapped his own temple for emphasis.

Enelya snorted. "To be honest? It feels like it's been squeezed through a sieve…but you're welcome to join me. I’ll do my best to answer your questions."

"Most excellent!"

They made their way out of the ruins in silence save for the chirping of crickets and the crunching of gravel beneath their feet. Enelya could see well past the light of the fire, but Gale shortly conjured a light for himself, the small purple flame dancing playfully along his fingers.

They were the first to arrive at the hollow. Enelya sighed and leaned against the rocky face of the cliff above them to stare up at the stars, her arms crossing to ward off the night-time chill. Gale settled in beside her as the flame in his hand extinguished.

"I find it hard to believe the Shadow Druids are evil simply by virtue of their name," Gale said after a few moments. "What exactly have they done to earn scorn amongst the rest of your order?"

Enelya took a moment to reply, furrowing her brow as she looked up at the sky. Gale waited patiently for her answer.

"The Shadow Druids beliefs are…antithetic to ours. Where most druids encourage balance, they say there is no such thing. They believe there is no place for civilization amongst nature and would rather spread darkness than light, often by any means necessary." Enelya shifted against the wall. “It’s not unheard of for druids to be killed for resisting them.”

"An extremist group, then? I believed druids were all opponents of civilization and its encroachment on the wilderness."

"Not so. Followers of Silvanus are more wary of expansion and will often do what they can to impede progress; grow walls of thorns, sabotage deforestation efforts...the druids of the Emerald Grove are Silvanites, which I suppose makes it more understandable why Kagha was so easily swayed to their cause.”

“And…you are not Silvanite?” Gale asked.

She shook her head. “I am a follower of Mielikki - the Lady of the Forest. We encourage living in harmony with nature within a civilization. We teach survival skills to those who have none, and we protect the forest from those who would harm it. But civilization has many things to offer that benefit us as well, and so we are more open to sharing space."

He hummed in approval. “That’s a rather pragmatic belief.”

She smiled. “It is, and an important one. The Shadow Druids, and Kagha, by extension, live in fear of what will happen if we open our borders and our minds to outsiders, to other ways of thinking. I can understand that fear, but...” She met Gale’s gaze. “I trust that people are inherently good, and that they only want the best for themselves and others. If sometimes they prove me wrong, that’s alright. I don’t judge the many by the actions of the few.”

“Ah. You are an optimist, then. Refreshing.”

She hesitated, then tore her eyes away from his. “Not really,” she admitted softly. She scuffed at the earth with the toe of her boot.

She heard Gale inhale, about to ask a question when suddenly he straightened his posture. "Your friends are here," he murmured.

Enelya turned to see Rath and his friend step into the hollow. She pushed herself off the rocky wall and moved to meet them, Gale only a few steps behind.

"Rath," she said in greeting. "Thank you both for coming." She nodded at the dwarf. "I'm Enelya. I apologize for not introducing myself earlier, but….well. You were there.” She offered them a tight smile. “This is Gale. He helped me send the message.”

“A pleasure, I’m sure,” Gale said.

"I'm Nettie," the dwarf replied. "I'm the apprentice healer, under…Master Halsin." She paused briefly as she spoke, her brows furrowing. Enelya could practically feel her concern coming off her.

"I'm afraid we don't have much time." Rath's face was solemn. "Kagha has only spiraled further since you left and instituted a curfew. State your piece."

Enelya nodded once. "How well do you know Faldorn's Canticle?” she asked.

"The doctrine of the Shadow Druids? I've heard of it, but have never read it, of course." Rath looked disturbed by the very idea.

"Well, I have. As part of a mission, I became quite familiar with the writings. Obviously we all know the gist of it, but….Kagha directly quoted it today in the grove,” she explained. “Along with her insistence that the Rite of Thorns be carried out, I'm confident she has been corrupted to their beliefs.Have either of you noticed anything, any behaviors, that might prove this?”

Rath and Nettie shared a troubled glance.

"Kagha has always been a bit….distant," Nettie said. "But in recent weeks we've noticed her becoming more and more secretive, even combative. Arguing with Master Halsin more than usual, snapping at everyone…things have been quite tense.”

“What were the arguments about?” Enelya asked.

“She wanted to stop letting in so many outsiders,” Rath replied. “It’s how she’s always felt, but now she seems desperate to close us off from the world, and she’s gotten her claws into several of the others. We’ve seen and heard her speaking to them; they always clam up when we come around. We’ve discussed this very concern, but we thought she might be trying to stage some sort of coup to wrest power from Halsin, not invite the Shadow Druids into our midst.”

“Normally her behavior would be understandable, even warranted with everything else happening. But her actions, her fervor …I would write to the Enclave, but we have no evidence. Which is another reason why I contacted you.” Enelya paused to take a shaky breath before continuing. “I need you to find something, anything , that would prove Kagha’s involvement with the Shadow Druids. Then we can alert the Enclave so they might judge her.”

Rath lowered his chin to his chest in thought as Nettie frowned. “I’m not sure Master Halsin would agree with the Enclave’s involvement. He prefers to handle things internally.”

Enelya met her gaze. “I’m afraid that is not possible. Now that I am aware and involved, as an agent I must report any outlawed activity. I really should have sent a bird just for the Rite of Thorns, and for her threats against Arabella. Regardless, first we have to find Halsin.”

Rath’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m going to find him and bring him back to the Grove. If I can,” she added.

Nettie bit her lip, trying to hide the relieved smile that crept onto her face. “That would mean the world to us, and the Grove, if you would. Master Halsin is beloved by our people, mostly, and our animals are mourning him.”

“I’m confused about one thing,” Enelya said. “What made him decide to go with Aradin, if the Grove was in so much danger from the goblins?”

Nettie hesitated before looking at Rath, who nodded. She turned back to Enelya and Gale.

“About a week ago, Master Halsin and I were in the forest, meditating and gathering herbs, when we were attacked by a drow and a few goblins. We killed them, but…this thing crawled out of the drow’s head after, through its eye.” Her face was grave. “It was a mindflayer parasite.”

Enelya felt Gale tense beside her. “How is that possible?” he asked.

“We don’t know. But Master Halsin caught it and has been studying it all week. He’s barely rested. His belief is that there are more infected at this goblin camp, but wherever it came from, it’s not a normal parasite. It’s been altered, somehow.”

Gale moved closer, an excited look on his face. “Go on.”

Nettie shot Enelya a confused look, but continued. “The drow should have undergone ceremorphosis days before it attacked us, if not weeks. But the transformation never happened, or it was delayed. We don’t know. All I know is that when Aradin said he was going to that camp, Master Halsin jumped at the chance to go see for himself.”

Enelya swore softly under her breath.

Gale raised his eyebrows. "Seems your theory was correct, Enelya."

"Theory?" Rath asked, his blue eyes curious.

"I believe he was taken prisoner of his own accord,” Enelya said. “From what I know of Halsin, he is…not one to go quietly."

"That would not be surprising," Nettie admitted. Her eyes glinted with mischief. "Master Halsin doesn't follow the beaten path. If there's something to be found, he'll find his own way."

"All the more reason to get him out of there,” Rath said. “Not only could his knowledge be paramount in stopping whatever is happening, he is in grave danger...if he is not dead already."

Nettie looked down at the dusty earth, her eyes suddenly fearful. Enelya's heart went out to her; she could easily see how dear Halsin was to her.

"We'll do our best to get Halsin back…but I won't make any promises," Enelya said softly. "Do what you can to delay the rite, and find evidence against Kagha." She held out her right arm. “Mielikki guide you.”

“Oakfather preserve you.” Rath and Nettie clasped her arm as they departed, Nettie giving her an extra squeeze and a quick nod, her eyes flashing in determination. Enelya and Gale watched them go before they turned back to the camp.

"A mindflayer parasite," Gale mused as they walked. "It seems our little excursion is not some random event after all."

Enelya did not reply. Worry ate away at her thoughts. Exhaustion crept into her body, numbing her limbs. Behind her eye, the tadpole twitched.

Perhaps sensing her concern, Gale tried another tack. "You're quite the investigator.”

Enelya shrugged and stepped over a branch. "It's my job."

"A druid detective? Sounds rather like a crime novel. ‘The Druid Detective and the Case of the Missing…Druid.” Gale chuckled, then cleared his throat. “You'll have to tell me more about your adventures sometime."

Enelya stopped just inside the ruins and turned to him, arranging her face into what she hoped was an expression of empathy. “Gale, I appreciate you trying to lighten the mood. Truly. But if I’m honest, I’m too tired to banter. Maybe tomorrow...” She trailed off, one hand coming up to rub at her eyes. They felt as if they were full of grit, and watered when she closed them.

Gale nodded. “Understood,” he said. “Let’s get some rest, shall we?”

“ Gods yes. Thank you.” Enelya made her way down the stairs, looking forward to a hot bowl of food and passing out on her bedroll.

It was not to be so, as Shadowheart met them near the fire. "We have a guest," she said, gesturing behind her. A man leaned against the wall, facing away from them and looking up at the moon. "His name is Wyll, but he calls himself the Blade of Frontiers, and he has already made a pass at me." Her tone was derisive, but Enelya noticed a tiny, pleased quirk at the corner of her mouth.

"Charming." Enelya sighed inwardly and sized him up from afar. He had a strong body, his muscles shifting under dark skin as he turned to look over his shoulder. His left eye focused on her; the right was milky white with blindness. He shoved himself off the wall to face them.

"You must be Enelya." He moved closer, extending his right hand. As he stepped into the firelight, Enelya could see his eye was not blind, but rather a smooth stone, complete with an etched iris and pupil. "The Blade of Frontiers, at your service."

The connection between their tadpoles happened almost seamlessly as Enelya slipped her hand into his. She could see into his memories as he chased a devil through Avernus, sweat dripping down his temples and into his eyes. The next moment he was in the Nautiloid ship, a Mind Flayer lowering a tadpole towards his left eye. Her own tadpole quivered in excitement. Then the connection severed.

She found herself staring at him, mouth agape. "You were on the ship!"

"I was. Though I understand I didn’t board in the same manner as you and your companions.” His eye glinted in the firelight.

“Picked up in the Hells,” she said, crossing her arms. “Taking on more frontiers than this one, then?”

Wyll chuckled and ducked his head in an almost shy manner. “It’s…a bit difficult to explain,” he said. “But essentially, I was hunting a devil, and we ended up on that ship. She’s still out there, and I must find her. I was hoping for your help."

Enelya heaved a sigh before she realized it. She was about to turn him down when he interrupted her by raising his hands placatingly.

“I also know you are leaving in the morning to track down this…Halsin. If it’s all the same, I’d like to join you. Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone.”

“Of course!” Astarion appeared from the darkness, a salacious smile on his lips as he looked Wyll up and down. He seemed to be drinking the other man in, much to Wyll’s discomfort. “The more the merrier!”

“Hold on.” Shadowheart leveled a narrow-eyed gaze at the elf. “You’re coming too?”

“After what our dear new friend told us? Absolutely.”

Enelya looked at Wyll. “What else do you know?” she asked.

Wyll smirked. “I know these little stowaways of ours aren’t normal, and that there’s a cult in that goblin camp. I ran into some others out in the wilds being led by someone with a tadpole. They called him a True Soul, and they were under orders from the Absolute to find survivors from that Illithid ship. Then, when I told them I was one, they tried to gut me.” He shrugged. “Unsuccessfully, as you can see.”

Gale raised a pointed finger, shaking it as he spoke. “Now that you mention it, there was a goblin in the Grove, in the jail,” he remembered. “She called me a True Soul as well, and started rambling about this Absolute. I assumed she was mad, so I’m afraid I didn’t pay much attention to what she said.”

Wyll focused his gaze on Gale. “Is she still there? Or did you bring her with you?”

“Ah. Sadly, she was shot by that poor dead tiefling’s sister.” Enelya’s stomach rumbled and her brain ached with the effort of keeping all of this information straight. Devils? Cults? True Souls? She wanted nothing more than to ignore everything and feed herself. Instead, she groaned in resignation and rubbed at her temples. “Well, better have it all out then. Gale and I have also just learned some interesting information.”

Lae’zel wandered over as her companions listened closely to Enelya’s recap of their meeting with the druids - how the tadpole was altered, and that Halsin went to find out more, as well as her suspicions about the Shadow Druids. Gale turned to her as she finished, a curious look on his face.

“Do you think the Shadow Druids are involved?” he asked lowly. The others did not seem to pay him any mind and continued talking amongst themselves.

That thought had crossed her mind as well, as much as she hoped it wasn’t true. “At this point, I don’t think it wise to leave anything off the table,” she replied softly. “Who knows how entangled this web truly is. It can’t all be coincidental, can it?”

The group agreed to wake at dawn and set out for the goblin camp immediately; to Enelya’s surprise, even Lae’zel seemed eager to join them. As everyone retreated to their bedrolls, she finally snuck away to snag a bowl of gruel from the pot. An elderly tiefling greeted her with a warm smile as she approached.

“Here you go,” she said gently as she handed Enelya a steaming bowl. “I know it’s not much, but it’ll fill your belly.”

The steamy, oaty scent wafted into Enelya’s face and her stomach growled loudly. “Thank you,” she said quietly, “for sharing your food and your fire with us. Your generosity will not be forgotten.”

“Pish!” The tiefling waved her hand, but beamed with appreciation all the same. “You have more than earned a little slice of it, love. Now go eat and rest. Those bags under your eyes are nearly enough to carry me in!”

Enelya laughed, an odd sensation as it reverberated in her chest, and nodded her thanks once again before returning to her little pocket of camp. Around her, tieflings slept or chatted quietly. Her companions had turned in for the night; she could hear gentle snores from Gale’s roll. She noticed Astarion’s roll was empty, but shrugged it off; elves only needed short trances and meditation to receive the same benefits a human did from a full night’s sleep, after all - a perk of their heritage in which she fully planned on indulging once her bowl was licked clean.

Minutes later, Enelya’s belly was indeed full and warm, and she laid back on her bedroll. Her hand slipped into the pouch she always carried with her, finding what she was looking for almost immediately as the smooth, worn wood brushed against her fingers. She pulled the little carved duck from the bag and stroked its head, the wood shining softly in the firelight. She still remembered when Halsin gave it to her as they parted, nearly two years ago now, and the feel of his lips as he kissed her goodbye.

As her eyes fluttered shut, she cleared the gnawing, worrying thoughts from her mind. The issue of these tadpoles was proving to be bigger than she’d hoped. Still, with Halsin’s help, they could soon be rid of them.

But that was tomorrow’s problem.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #halsin #bg3 halsin #baldur's gate iii #halsin x tav #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #a great and sudden change #halsin x enelya #enelya #gale #shadowheart #lae'zel #astarion #wyll #karlach

5 notes · View notes

dammons-forgefire · 5 months

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/arctophyllax/735707485263085568/actually-theres-a-way-to-ask-larian-to-give-us

Omg i found this!! Request send already! Spread it my love our men needs a hug at least!

Hello anon, thank you for sharing!

I'll definitely ask them to give us more interactions with our favorite tieflings, but I will be completely honest; I think there are limits to what we can realistically ask for here. Do some expectation management, if you will.

So far we don't even have hugs for our direct companions and lovers in the game, so if hugs for NPCs are to come, it might take a while. Perhaps even a long while. I still think they would definitely implement them should they see the demand. Larian is overall great when listening to fans and players.

But there are also a lot of things I doubt we can expect them to implement.

The way a lot of the NPCs are written feels like their story should take place off-screen as well, and making more of it happen on-screen would probably take a very long time of writing and recording more dialogue, among other things.

I doubt they will add any new permanent companions, as that would mean an insane level of additional effort for them. And while Zevlor, for example, is extremely strong and I would have loved for him to help us more under Moonrise, I think overall, the area was supposed to be difficult but manageable, which it already is, even in Tactician difficulty, especially if you have Aylin to aid you in the fight. Adding him to fight with us there would probably not be too difficult, but it feels as though they would have to buff Ketheric in order for things to still be balanced.

Now this might just be me, but as much as I adore Zevlor (among a lot of other NPCs), and even though I would have loved to hug him or even flirt with him during the party in Act I, accepting something like that or even having him sleep with Tav there doesn't seem to be in character to me. He seems more like the type to be caught off guard and flattered, but not like someone who would ever act on it, even if he did have a little crush on Tav. I could be wrong, though.

There is also a big difference between changes like that during early access and now that the game is released. It is no longer in active development, even though they are still working on a lot of things. But the game is released. It's out. I don't see them putting in thousands of work-hours into completely new character quests that they didn't at least already explore during earlier stages of development.

I know they had something else planned for Zevlor in Act II, but from what I heard, that was about him intentionally betraying the refugees, which I'm very glad they didn't implement.

Now, as much as I understand some people wanting to ask for romances of their favorite NPCs (I've seen Zevlor, Dammon, Rolan, Raphael, Omeluum, Abdirak, Kar'niss, Gortash, Orin, Nere, Barcus, Rugan, and a whole bunch more that people want to romance), writing a whole new romance that doesn't just feel like an afterthought, but fleshed out takes a lot of time. And you can already tell that, because even most of the main companions don't feel like they ever finished those. Which also means that the companions need to be the top priority here.

Wyll was rewritten a few months before the game was released, and even now, months AFTER release he is still hours behind in content compared to other companions. It just takes a very long time to write, produce, record, polish, animate, then fully implement things. Even with mocap, there are still animators who have to properly animate everything. Mocap doesn't do the full job here, so even smaller animations take time.

Something as fleshed out with as many scenes and dialogue options as Astarion's romance took them 4 full years of constant development, recording and many iterations to get things right. And even there they still have to keep working, fix things, rewrite smaller things, add more dialogue, etc.

Larian worked on the game for years to get it to this point, so another romance, a fully developed quest line, could easily take a year during active development. Outside of development, it could take much longer, so to me it doesn't sound feasible to create something like that for a character that isn't part of the main group.

They already have their hands full with hundreds of things they still fix and develop, the entire upper city was cut fairly shortly before release, so it will probably be put back in. And I wouldn't be surprised if that meant some changes as to what we can see and who we can meet in Act III, but even then, I doubt they will make smaller NPCs romanceable.

Hugs? I would like that. A few more one-night stands with some extra dialogue? Sure. But I don't think we will get any more companions, or full romances. (Which is, by the way, the reason I think Frazer has been told not to hype up a potential romance with Dammon, not to inspire hope where there is none. He is a big part of the story for Karlach, that was already written in Early Access and developed quite a bit before being ultimately dropped for now. But creating a full romance with him is not in scope of what they can realistically put out with the level of quality they aspire to have.)

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #wow #this comes off as waaaay more negative than I intended it to be #I do think they absolutely listen to feedback #but we should probably not get our hopes up for something that would take thousands of work hours

1 note · View note

soulventure91 · 7 months

Text

Diric has at LAST finished Act 2! One PC death and a remake later. [His choices, impressions, etc under the cut]

Entering the Shadow-Cursed Lands from the Underdark was different from his first go (emerging from the pass and lying to summon Kar'niss before siding with the Harpers at the ambush site), especially given the curse itself! But he saved the Harpers that initially appeared and gladly went to Last Light to meet Jaheira (and hearing Karlach squeal in fangirlish delight) and Isobel (protecting her from Marcus's ambush!), as well as reunite with the surviving tieflings from the Grove!

Speaking of re-meeting the survivors, Diric of course checked on Dammon and provided the second piece of infernal iron to help stabilize Karlach's engine! Diric gave her her first hug in ten years like the softie he is.

However, it was Wyll that fully captured Diric's heart as they danced one evening - this time Dir inviting Wyll to kiss him after stealing one off of him at the end of Act 1. This did mean Karlach had to have her heart broken because of her intense feelings for Dir (which he shares!!!) and was not going to share him with Wyll (but this is what post-game fic is for).

Getting into Moonrise was fairly straightforward thanks to the tadpoles - though witnessing Ketheric Thorm's immortality gave Diric huge pause. He avoided all conversation regarding the Prism and its contents (as far as he knew at the time) and instead slid out to clean out Reithwin of Thorm's twisted relations. In so doing, Dir then found Art Cullagh's lute and helped Halsin rescue Thaniel and Oliver in preparation of undoing Thorm's curse!

Definitely had to savescum a few times on entering the Gauntlet and meeting Balthazar - and deciding to off him right there in his office. [Pictured above: a failed attempt prior to reloading] But we got him down, and completed all of Shar's challenges successfully to enter the Shadowfell and come face to face with the Nightsong. SOMEHOW, Diric got a natural 20 against the initial DC 30 persuasion check to keep Shadowheart from killing Aylin! She was then freed and helped tremendously in battling Thorm at the top of Moonrise Towers - she practically soloed Thorm to drive him to the colony underground while Diric and friends clobbered the skeleton wizards, bone doggy, and True Soul necromancer. Of course Diric's military time came to the fore in the colony - save who you can, kill all else. So Zevlor and the two captured Flaming Fists were successfully saved, as well as Mizora.

Fighting Thorm himself was actually quite straightforward - after all, when you hit level 9 just prior to the descent, this saves a lot of rough HP gaps - even more so when you boost your CON! No need to reload as Shadowheart and Wyll dropped Flame Strikes and Gale unleashed an Ice Storm to buy Diric the necessary space to get to Aylin (even if he did try to hit Thorm a couple of times on the way and realized the immortality was back in effect). Even though I was ready for Shadowheart to pocket-heals for Aylin, that moonlight deva absolutely wrecked Thorm - even if Gale did finish him off with a well-placed Fire Bolt.

At least, until Myrkul decided to show up.

And yet! The party plus Aylin were speedy enough to take down the avatar in two rounds, with Diric finishing him off! Thus the Chosen of Myrkul got his ass beat. Diric tore off Thorm's Netherstone and heaved an exhausted sigh of relief. Even if there's an elder brain controlled by Chosen of two-thirds of the Dead Three running amok, plus an army of mind-controlled thralls with tadpoled lieutenants ready to transform into mind flayers on command.

But despite it all, the curse is lifted. And now Diric and friends head for Baldur's Gate...

...though waylaid by the revelation they're carrying a renegade mind flayer that likes to be called The Emperor as well as gith prince Orpheus inside the Astral Prism. And Diric has absolutely no intention, whatsoever, of evolving into a mindflayer.

But that's all farther down, deep in the streets of Baldur's Gate itself.

#bg3: diric vajon #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 tav #bg3 oc #GOOD TIMES ALL AROUND #and dir still has not found a full-time replacement for everburn so i think that's just. his sword forever lmao

1 note · View note

mybg3notebook · 3 years

Text

Astarion Analysis

Disclaimer Game Version: All these analyses were made up to the game version v4.1.101.4425. As long as new content is added, and as long as I have free time for that, I will try to keep updating this information.

“Morals are all well and good, but power always wins.”

“If all I want is shallow praise? Hardly, there is also gold, sex, revenge, quite the list, really. But failing any of those, I will always settle for shallow praise.”

--Astarion

The majority of sources used for this article are in the game itself (including Astarion-solo playthroughs) and the dev’s notes and datamined information provided by pjenn. Astarion as origin is (almost) not taken into account since it’s not finished and is highly unpolished.

The itemised list will show some instances of approval or disapproval as seen in the game. To make the reading of this article easier and shorter, you can skip them since they are basically the proof I use to sustain the introductory concept of each block.

We can infer a lot of Astarion by analysing what he approves and disapproves of. Sometimes, we can even lightly infer some information from his neutral reactions, but let’s be honest: this way of analysing a char is pretty poor since it leaves everything to speculation. Neutral reactions can only be analysed by contrasting the same situation in other contexts, and seeing what other options Astarion approves or disapproves of. With these considerations in mind, we can proceed to describe this character.

Disclaimer: this is a meta with my personal interpretation of the character, sticking as much as possible to the facts and leaving little to “desires” or “projections” of what I want him to be. If I do so, I will state it explicitly in the text for the sake of analysis honesty. I want to be clear about what is canon (facts shown in bg3 EA), from what’s personal interpretation with little proof.

Also, this list is extensive, gathering as much as I could in my many playthroughs, but I’m sure it’s not absolutely complete. Some details may have escaped to me, but honestly, I believe they will be easily fit in these blocks once the pattern has been seen.

Understanding Astarion by enumerating his reactions

Astarion is usually seen as a character whose behaviour is the embodiment of “randomness”, and after several Astarion-solo playthoughts, I began to see the patterns that showed little randomness in my opinion.

We can say that he likes gratuitous cruelty and murder. He has a special taste for animal cruelty too. He is greedy, but mostly if it leads to murder or to make little people suffer. Sometimes this greedy side comes from the fact that he doesn’t like to “work for free”: most quests should have a reward for him to be neutral to them. Accepting them without asking anything in return tends to earn a disapproval. He is more reticent to humiliate or outsmart NPCs that may be potentially stronger and more powerful than him.

[[1]] Situations showing his greed:

He supports the robbery of the fishermen that were helping the mind flayer (MF) after the crash.

Astarion supports stealing the “magical” ring from the tiefling kid (Mattis). This could be seen also as a gesture of outsmarting a person or mere trickster behaviour (see below).

He supports asking for compensation from the deep gnome we saved at the windmill.

He agrees to force Tulla (dying gnome in the myconid camp) to give you her magical boots.

Denying Baelen the scrolls because “they don’t come cheap”.

He approves pickpocketing Mirkon while being lured by the harpies.

[[2]]Situations displaying plain murder or violence:

He supports joining Lae’zel against the tieflings if you persuade them to free her, since this means killing (which is always an entertainment for him) creatures he considers lesser.

He supports killing Gimblebok and his gang near the Jergal ruins if you avoid any attempt of persuasion. This can be shown as a demonstration of power. (see below)

He supports killing Kagha without trying to persuade her or change her ways, not because he thinks Arabella’s death was an aberration (he enjoyed the show, as his approval and later comment confirm it) but simply because he enjoys murder.

He supports attacking the goblin camp. It’s a great spectacle of murder combined with his personal dismiss towards goblinoid races.

He approves of joining Minthara and massacrating the tieflings. It’s another great spectacle of murder, but in this time, of weak people (He detests weak creatures, and despises Tieflings in general).

He approves of killing Lae’Zel in the scene where she attacks Tav during the night, out of fear of turning into MF.

He approves of killing Rugan in the hideout.

Still related to this level of violence and cruelty, he supports learning more about Shar once Shadowheart explains Shar’s teachings, all about violence and death, fighting against the illusion of safety.

He approves killing Ellyka, the tiefling spying on the Gith patrol, if Tav is a Githyanki (true or disguised as) and chooses “Attack.”

He approves of helping Glut in massacring the whole Myconid colony.

He approves of sacrificing one of the companions to the fish-people who worship Booal.

He approves fighting the fake god Booal because it’s a massacre; where there is bloodshed, there is Astarion’s approval.

For the same reason he approves killing the Githyanki patrol: pure bloodshed.

[[3]] Situations of gratuitous cruelty: I understand that a lot of people confuse this trait of his personality as a “trolling attitude”. There are different archetypes of tricksters in DnD, and he is not particularly the silly-funny one (e.i. Jester in Critical Role), but the cruel-funny one. His “pranks” don’t cause annoyance or silly troubles, they usually end up in murdering the person he is pranking, or causing them great pain. What he considers “funny” is always related to a lot of blood and suffering. Examples of this:

He disapproves of diffusing the situation between Aradin and Zevlor after the first goblin attack. He is “missing” his show. This situation is also related to enjoying humiliation of others (see below).

After letting Arka kill the goblin and take her revenge, Astarion will approve the comment that refugees are desperate and they will do anything. He is enjoying the show of despair of weak creatures. And he is also expecting for some of them to become survivalist beasts.

He approves of telling Kagha that you enjoyed the show of Arabella’s death as an answer to her question about if she is a monster.

He also approves of telling Arabella's parents that Kagha will release their daughter when the Rite of Thorns is completed (while Arabella, in fact, has been killed by Kagha's snake). This is another example of Evil Trickster, a prank with a really dark taste. This also shows that Astarion likes to give false hopes [One of the most iconic characteristic of Cazador]

He approves of telling the tiefling kids training with Wyll that they are going to die, inspiring that despair he enjoys to see in weak creatures. (see below)

He approves of breaking Alfira’s teacher’s lute, leaving the tiefling heartbroken because that had been the only memento she got from her teacher, and could not finish her tribute song.

Astarion approves of interrupting the goblinoid couple having sex, which he considers disgusting. After killing them, Astarion will support the idea that it was funny. Another example of Evil Trickster where the prank ends up with the death of the pranked one. But we also know Astarion despises goblinoid races.

He approves of killing Crusher after humiliating him.

He supports Tav who volunteers to torture Liam at the goblin camp.

He supports of laughing at Lorin (the elf trapped in Ethel’s house) after pretending to be the monster he sees (psychological torture). This example can be part of the list of humiliation too.

He states that seeing Mayrina’s horrified face after resurrecting her husband was funny. Another example of false hopes [One of the most iconic characteristics of Cazador] On the contrary, if Tav kills the undead afterwards, Astarion will disapprove, since he missed the “fun” of seeing Mayrina tortured.

He enjoys every state of Abdirak’s torture upon Tav. This can be seen as a fine bloody show he is enjoying, or as a way to put Tav in a humiliating situation (as he approved the dung-smearing or the foot-kissing instances)

Using the leader gnoll Flind to attack her own gnolls earns his approval. Asking her to devour herself increases approval once more. This situation could also be seen as enjoyment of animal cruelty (since gnolls are considered animals by Astarion too) but also as the reflection of Astarion’s inner desire of becoming a Master of bending wills.

Probably the most innocent prank so far we saw, he approves of doing Baaa at the redcaps in the Bog.

[[4]] As I said previously, he suports any form of animal cruelty:

He approves of kicking and killing the squirrel Timber in the Druid Grove. According to the dev’s notes, he is “shocked and annoyed” because “you stamped a squirrel to death when he could’ve eaten it.” (DEN_General_Squirrel)

He supports prodding to death the bird that Nettie was healing during the dialogue (you need Speak with Animals for this).

He supports freeing the Owlbear cub at the Goblin Camp, and feeding it later, because he wants to bite the owlbear cub eventually (he uses the word “delectable” to describe him, and when the owlbear escapes, Astarions states “You‘ve scared off the little snack.”)

When we find Halsin in his bear form, Astarion will have two instances of approval: the first one when Tav tells the goblin kids that throwing stones with sharp edges would hurt the animal more, and then when Tav themself joins the goblins in throwing rocks at Halsin.

We can also add the confrontation with Flind, the Gnoll leader, as another example of animal cruelty since he approves a smart yet twisted way of killing her by double-using the tadpole. First to command her to attack the gnolls, and then to devour herself. However, since Gnolls are considered aberrations lore-wise, this point could be left aside in this particular case.

If we take into consideration that Astarion sees Goblins, Kobolds, and Gnomes as animals, killing them always increases his approval. This happens when we kill, out of the blue, most goblin NPCs, or simply attack the camp. (Datamined content) He will also approve of killing slave gnomes in Duergar Encampment (place you find after the boat). All these moments can be also seen as “animal” cruelty if we take into account Astarion’s perspective.

He approves of killing Priestess Gut in the Goblin Camp. It could also be interpreted as his usual dismissal towards goblins (he sees them as animals), since he never believed that she could help them in the first place. Or this approval can fit perfectly fine the cruel, murderous aspect of Astarion. As I said, many approvals overlap different aspects of Astarion, but all seem to fit his patterns either way.

I suspect that the reason behind this particular kind of cruelty comes from those two hundred years of torture, in which he had to drink animal blood. Considering he was such an unfair magistrate, directing his rage against the ones who are not the root of the problem seems fitting.

[[5]] Astarion is filled with racial bias and prejudices.

He only sees elves and humans as the only creatures capable of thinking. (Scene after the bite)

However, he has strong biases against a particular ethnic group of humans: Gurs. He thinks they are all cut-throat, and probably would approve the rest of stereotypes that Gandrel added in that scene. (Scene of meeting Gandrel)

He mocks halfling and dwarf Tavs, who he thinks are naturally weak, until they prove him wrong. (Stargaze scene for short-sized Tav)

He supports the idea that tieflings have demonic powers just because of their heritage. (Speaking with the Grove halfling seller). During the party, he compares the lives of the tieflings with the lives of the goblins as something of similar value (which we know he considers as animal).

He sees goblins, kobolds, and gnomes as animals. (Scene after the bite)

After killing the goblinoid couple which was having sex, if Tav choose to say that the situation made them scrub their eyes, Astarion would add and extra “dehumanizing” comment against gnomes. “I’ve seen worse. Gnomes can be… ughh.” (Scene of interrupting sex)

[[6]] He finds pleasure in humiliating people or in outsmarting them, especially if they are trying to outsmart Tav. He dislikes weakness and loves to humiliate weak people in particular.

He approves telling Lae’Zel to say “please” when we met her again in the cage, humiliating her.

He disapproves of diffusing the situation between Aradin and Zevlor after the first goblin attack. We know he is “missing” his show where one of them is being humiliated.

Astarion approves of telling Elegis that she is pathetic for being scared of a few goblins. Once more, humiliation due to weakness.

He disapproves of telling Arabella's parents that the Druids overreacted when speaking in the Druid Grove’s stairs. He is disapproving for defending a weak and silly creature who was not smart enough to survive on her own.

Astarion supports stealing the “magical” ring from the tiefling kid. This is another situation of humiliation of a weak person and outsmarting them. This could be considered a prank of a more silly-funny trickster doing an innocent prank.

He approves of telling the tiefling kids that they are going to die.

He feels disappointed when Lae’Zel did not kill Zorru, the tiefling that she forces to kneel and confess where he saw the Gith patrol. He approves the psychological torture of the interrogation.

He enjoys interrupting the goblinoid couple having sex. This is an example of the prank cruel-funny trickster. This “prank” ends up with the goblinoid couple being killed.

Astarion approves of smearing dung in the guard's face at the goblin camp entrance. The show of seeing someone being humiliated is satisfying.

He supports booing and humiliating Volo off the stage in the goblin camp.

He supports licking the goblin’s foot (It could also be considered a prank).

He supports kissing the goblin’s foot while stealing the ring. This situation puts two things he enjoys in the same place: the humiliation experienced by Tav and how the Crusher was outsmarted in the process. Astarion will approve if Crusher is the one humiliated and forced to kiss Tav’s foot.

He approves of laughing at Lorin (the elf trapped in Ethel’s house) when the elf is scared of Tav who pretends to be the monster that’s torturing him.

Humiliating “low people'' is an important aspect of Astarion’s personality, since it’s a small petty pleasure he can have now, when during the last two hundred years it had been done to him. Humiliation has to do with power as well, another symbol tight to Astarion’s personality. Through humiliation Astarion can taste a little bit of power, that power he lacked for two hundred years. That power that, if his backstory is not retconned in future versions or in the full release game, he had before turning into a vampire, abusing those groups he considered less.

[[7]] If we think in power, we also have to think in manipulation. And of course, Astarion is a great master of it. Sometimes the events that stand out his taste for manipulation overlap with the ones displayed in the humiliation section.

Since the moment we meet Astarion, we know he keeps working in turning himself into a pleasant and useful companion for Tav. Astarion knows he has bigger chances to succeed and survive staying with this group. A lot of his “neutral” behaviours respond to this goal: he doesn’t want to enrage Tav to the point of being kicked out of the party, it’s not about a hidden gentle side inside he is showing with an apathetic neutrality, it’s, once more, raw preservation and survival. During the first scenes of the game, when we don’t know he is a vampire, Astarion tries to avoid taking a position in the situations we face: he is just feeling the ground all the time: with Sazza and with Arabella’s death is clear. He doesn’t judge hard, he is testing Tav, he is trying to understand their mind, and acting as pleasant as he can according to what he sees. It’s a natural use of manipulation to guarantee his survival in a group of strangers. During the bite scene—when this façade finally ends—he is truly nervous of being killed for his vampiric nature, and tries to convince Tav of keeping him in the group using arguments that go from seduction to practical usefulness.

The scene of stargaze also shows his usage of seduction as a manipulative tool to guarantee his survival (he weponises seduction and sex). Although he says mostly the same, he reacts very differently in tone depending on Tav’s approach. If Tav is wary, Astarion will act encouraging their ego and enumerating several feats, while getting uncomfortably closer. If Tav is already interested in Astarion, the elf will use softer manners to keep the seduction into a more intimate tone. This is a scene of a predator tasting his future prey as well (Dev’s notes are pretty clear about his manipulation). In this scene, also, Astarion is light-headed because he has not drunk blood in a while, and has “his head foggy” (something we can repeat during his origin as a personal tag). Exact words he will use as a narrative hint during the bite scene. Therefore, this scene has little of “Astarion falling for Tav”, and has everything of vampiric hunger combined with a raw sense of survival and usage of seduction to guaranteed it.

(potential interpretation) He approves when he is persuaded into sharing his dream with Tav. In any other character, we usually would understand this as an approval for caring about the character himself. In that scenario, failing the approval doesn’t cause a penalty (unless the character understands this failure as prying, as it happens with Shadowheart). In Astarion’s case, when you fail this persuasion, you are penalised with a disapproval. We can understand this in the same way we see it with Shadowheart: this is his annoyance for prying into his personal business. But there is another interpretation in this disapproval: he recognised a bad execution of persuasion as a manipulative attempt, and Astarion is in particular very sensitive to manipulations and mind games (see point [12]).

Most of his “romance” is manipulation as well, keeping in mind the first point of this section: he becomes pleasant for Tav, using whatever shape he needs, so he can survive (this is especially noticeable with a good-aligned Tav). Astarion has weaponised seduction and sex without any hint of subtetly for the player (As the Dev’s notes say: “For Astarion, this is a game of power - one he’s played many times before in the taverns of Baldur’s Gate, trying to lure people back to his master. He’s an old hand at seduction, very self-assured at first, but the player might not go along with the script he expects them to follow.”) We can assure that Astarion will find more satisfaction in having “fun” with a high-approval Tav rather than a low-approval Tav.

If Tav is not evil enough (and therefore has a low approval), Astarion will need to be the one inviting Tav to have sex (to be sure the control is still in his hand, still pushing for “catching” Tav). If a low-approval-Tav invites Astarion, he will decline saying that he “has standards'', implying he needs to be the one controlling the situation (he is basically playing “hard to catch”. Astarion already knows that he “caught” Tav in this scenario since Tav was the first one showing their interest). If Tav is evil-like (and has enough approval), Astarion will not only weaponise sex, he may express some degree of personal desire in having “fun” with Tav. After all, evil characters can like one another. In this case, he would accept Tav’s invitation for more hedonist reasons such as personal pleasure and not mere survival. Still it’s always present the layer of using this situation as a manipulative tool to have control on Tav.

Approves persuading Crusher without a fight, understanding it as an approval earnt for the good manipulation tool used. Of course this scene is combined with the natural approval that Astarion gives when outsmarting creatures he considers lower or animal-like (See point [6]).

Successfully persuade Lae'Zel to "play along" when meeting the Githyanki patrol, and pull off the deception.

I personally found funny that Astarion, without the intention of the writer, is so good in his manipulations, that he broke the fourth wall and ended up manipulating a good amount of players as well into believing him.

[[8]] He supports revenge in all its forms and degrees, which is not strange since it’s his main motivation against Cazador.

He approves of letting Arka kill Sazza in the cage as revenge for her brother’s death.

He approves of the attack against Nettie when she poisons Tav.

He approves of telling Edowin's siblings to find the beast that attacked him as a way to avenge the True Soul.

Astarion approves of Arabella’s mother killing Kagha at the party.

He approves of helping the Sovereign to take revenge against the Duergars that killed their young. However, it’s not clear if Astarion approves the revenge itself or the method proposed, which is, according to his own words, “a bit genocidal” and therefore more entertaining for him (we need to remember he enjoys the display of murder and violence in all its forms, [2,3]).

He approves of helping Glut in massacring the whole Myconid colony, since according to Glut’s words, they saw Glut’s circle being killed by the Duergars and did nothing, so Glut is looking for revenge.

[[9]] He doesn’t like to get involved in anyone’s problems unless you can obtain a benefit or a reward for it (this is directly connected to his greed aspect [1])

He approves of telling Mayrina’s brothers that they are on their own, and actively disapproves if Tav agrees to help them find Mayrina.

He approves of declining to help Halsin in killing the Goblin leaders.

He disapproves of helping Wyll to save the Tiefling refugees in the Grove.

He disapproves of helping Zevlor.

He disapproves of finding evidence that confirms that Kagha is working with Shadow Druids. He will additionally disapprove again if, after exposing her, Tav asks her to change her ways. From Astarion’s point of view, Tav is basically meddling too much in the Grove’s problems for free, and ruining all the instances where murder could happen.

He also disapproves if Tav agrees to help the two Zhentarim humans that are attacked by gnolls without asking for compensation.

He approves of not getting involved in the rescue of the Duke when Tav speaks with Florrick

[[10]] Despite having been a slave, he lacks of empathy for those who shared his fate and, instead, he supports slavery:

If we take into consideration what Swen said about his background in one of the first playthough he showed, we know that Astarion, as a magistrate, used criminals as food for local vampires, and in an attempt to outsmart them, he began to sell them into slavery (we can see in this brief background that Astarion has been greedy and cruel before turning into a vampire).

Although he disapproves paying for Oskar, the painter in the Zhentarim Hideout, he does it because of the money. When Tav buys the painter and demands him to stay silent because “slaves should speak when they are spoken to”, Oskar will think this is a joke (which is not the case, since none of those options has, in this patch at least, a (performance) tag). When Tav reinforces the idea that this is not a joke, and Oskar is now a true slave, only then, Astarion will approve.

When seeing one of the servant Duergars of the Myconite Colony, Astarion will comment on how useful they are, and how Underdark drows should learn about these creatures, since these slaves are more efficient than the standard ones. If Tav brings awareness about the contradiction that those thoughts cause coming from an ex-slave, Astarion will justify his thinking saying that they are husks without mind, claiming that his feelings “may be different, had they been conscious beings. Or maybe not.” He emphasises in this dual possibility. And we can be sure that he certainly would not care slavery on conscious creatures, as we confirm it later with Oskar (A human who is not a Gur, and therefore, a creature that Astarion consider thinking acceptable beings).

(Datamined content) When reaching the Duergar Encampment, once Nere is rescued, there is approval for killing the slave gnomes when the True Soul orders it. One can interpret that Astarion minds little for these slaves because they are gnomes, and therefore, animals.

[[11]] He looks for power and dominance, to have control over others and also as a way to guarantee his own freedom.

In the discussion after every dream, Astarion supports the use of the tadpole's power in every opportunity, dismissing their effects. He is thrilling for the ability of bending everyone’s will (curious note, this is one of Cazador’s characteristics most hated by him)

He approves of letting the Koa-Toes bow before them as the Booal's chosen. This scene can be understood as a typical prank of a trickster, but also as a taste for being adored as a master/entity with more power. This scene shows that he and Tav are placed in the “Master” position. This reinforces the idea that Astarion wants to be a Master/Cazador, eventually. (Check post about Astarion and Power 1 and 2)

If Tav claims that the worship to them as True Souls can be useful after letting Edowin’s siblings leave, Astarion will approve. He shows in every instance more delight for having Cazador’s powers, making emphasis in the mind control ability, again.

Astarion approves of keeping the Necromancy of Thay tome. As we see later in his scene, he believes that there is something powerful hidden in it that may help him against Cazador. He wants to muster all the power of any kind he can.

Astarion approves of sparing Auntie Ethel’s life when she surrenders during battle because she will grant them power in exchange. He wants to muster all the power of any kind he can.

[[12]] Astarion is particularly sensitive to mind control. His expressions and the tone of his voice against any type of mind control are filled with feral ire (video here):

He is angrily affected by the movements of his worm in his own head,

He screams against Ethel’s control when using the mask,

The insults at the harpies when he is lured,

The way he is annoyed by the telepathic spores in the Underdark,

He disapproves failed attempts of persuasion (understood by his character as failed, obvious attempts of manipulations).

And, potentially, this is the reason why he disapproves of Priestess Gut cleaning Tav’s mind.

[[13]] Because he likes power, he also likes the demonstration of power whether his own or his allies’, therefore he likes most intimidation options in general

He approves of intimidating Gimblebok and the gang near the ruins.

He approves of intimidating or provoking both Aradin and Zevlor at the Druid Grove.

At camp, when discussing preferred methods of death, he approves if Tav tells him "If I die, I'll take you with me." (after first picking "Try it and I'll spill your guts") . He also approves if Tav chooses a method of death (decapitation, knife, poison). Both options show resolve, strength, and freedom in deciding one’s fate. Since Astarion died at the hands of strangers, he values the freedom of choosing how to die. He will disapprove picking the option of letting others decide your death.

He approves if you intimidate the mirror into allowing passage.

[[14]] He is a survivalist character, and therefore, a lot of his approvals are related to elements that will guarantee his life, such as looking for his own freedom, the acceptance of his vampire nature, and the encouragement in looking for strong alliances or keeping alive strong individuals that can be useful as allies.

He approves of being accepted with his vampire nature and allowing him to feed on Tav’s blood. He keeps approving if Tav defends him during the exchange of opinions in the camp.

He approves if he has permission to feed on enemies.

He approves of killing Gandrel. This approval is also mere raw survival.

He approves if during sex, Tav allows him to drink their blood.

He disapproves of promising Nettie to take Wyvern Poison if you feel symptoms of the Tadpole, since it goes against his survival instinct.

When Lae’Zel is killed by the Gith patrol, he will state in banter that it was a waste since Lae’Zel was a powerful/strong specimen, so clearly he is lamenting the loss of a powerful ally.

Despite appreciating his freedom, he has explicitly stated that he “would choose servitude over oblivion any day”, showing how extremely survivalist he can be.

[[15]] He likes to find a solution to their tadpole problem using unconventional ways, or at least, using options that may lead him to the twisted solution he needs (which is not exactly being cured of the tadpole, but to control it, he certainly needs more exceptional means)

He approves of telling Auntie Ethel about the tadpole in the Druid Grove simply because she “looks lunatic”.

At first, Astarion disapproves of Raphael's invitation to remove the Tadpole, claiming that he would not change one master for another. However, when the situation starts looking dire, he will approve of the idea, because anything “may be better than Cazador” adding later that he “would choose servitude over oblivion any day.”

A bit contradictory when he was the first one claiming that Raphael used mind games similar to Cazador’s, games they know they have won before starting.

[[16]] He has a “soft spot” for helping people to escape their masters or killing/rejecting people that can be seen as Masters. However it’s requirement that those escapees could be seen by Aastarion as strong and capable creatures. He would mind little for creatures he sees as underlings. (Weak concept, seeing it with squinted eyes)

He approves of helping Karlach to get rid of the Tyr followers, since they are in fact working for Zariel, Karlach’s previous master. With all what Karlach explained about her past, she certainly qualifies as a strong person who is trying to get rid of her master.

He disapproves of Tav who tells Raphael that they would do anything to remove the Tadpole. This is probably resounding in Astarion: his past bad choice when he was at death's door due to the Gur attack and Cazador appeared to “save” him. He knows that going to that extent has poor results.

Astarion approves of Tav if they say that they won’t become Raphael's pawn (conversation in the camp after the encounter with Raphael). It’s true that when the other options narrow, Astarion starts to consider the possibility of changing a vampiric master for an infernal one.

This post was written on April 2021.

→ For more Astarion: Analysis Series Index

#astarion #bg3 early access #bg3 meta

293 notes · View notes