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masterangst · 26 days

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Yay I did it. Since people were in the majority (and I never meant to make the poll so long) here is chapter 1 of my post game long fic for Tumblr

Chapter summary: Astarion needs to make it in time to meet his friends. So he travels to Waterdeep to pick up a friend along the way. Traveling isn't very fun for a vampire, though.

Warnings: none

Words: 2650

Chapter 1: Welcome to Waterdeep

Sometimes Astarion wonders what sleeping would be like. To waste away hours of the night, or day, cradled by sweet dreams. Time spent not worrying or plagued by existence.

If he was able to sleep like normal mortals, other than elves, he would have spent less time being bored. Not that hunting down a notorious robber of merchants wasn't fun. That was quite so. Their blood was even more fun to indulge in. Then the small celebration he hosted for himself to gain the shallow praise of strangers he helped...was also very fun.

But it's when the chase stops and the party ends that his mind wanders right back to his main source of worry.

Axel.

His beloved hunter.

Astarion kicks off his boots by the inn door and throws his belongings on the bed; one he won't even use. He flings himself into the chair by the fire and groans.

It's been a month since the reunion with their fellow travel mates. The merry band of misfit weirdos who stopped an army of mind flayers and helped kill Cazador. Got to see that camp with brand new eyes.

If someone had told Astarion, nearly a year prior, that Cazador would be dead. He'd be an unlikely hero. Find someone who he'd love and cherish more than anything, and find friends he would never admit to caring for. He doesn't know. He'd probably laugh and lure them to Cazador for dangling a bone in front of a starving dog. It’s hard to imagine how he’d react. He barely knew what to do the moment he opened his eyes and the sun blinded him the day he landed.

At the reunion, everyone besides Lae'zel, Karlach, and Wyll, agreed to meet up again for the Moon and Spirit Festival on the northern end of the Sword Coast in Neverwinter. It was perfect. Shadowheart discovers her loyalty to her new goddess, and it takes place at night so Astarion won't have to worry about the sun. And it gives them all a chance to reunite once again just a little over two months later.

That's the problem. It's been over a month. This Moon and Spirit Festival was just a little under a month away and Astarion would have to leave this cozy inn he found for himself just to make it in time on foot.

Normally that wouldn't be a problem, but Axel is still gone. The man had left nearly two weeks prior.

“I swear. I will only be a fortnight. If I'm any longer, I promise you,” Axel cups Astarion’s hands and feather kisses them, “I will reunite with you at the festival.”

A sinking feeling tugged inside Astarion. He trusted Axel, but at the same time, he couldn't help but feel like the man was hiding something from him. His tongue itched to pester Axel for more information on where he was going, but he knew it was hopeless. Axel would never reveal it to him. That made the sinking feeling turn to poison ready to be spit out.

Axel seemed to sense Astarion's frustrations and leaned to cradle Astarion’s head against his own. “I love you. I promise you I will return.”

It's been a fortnight…yet no Axel.

Vile thoughts rip Astarion's chest open. What if he abandoned you? That sinister voice asked himself.

Astarion shot to his feet, so quickly that the chair he sat on knocked over. He shook his head and began to pace.

Axel wouldn't abandon him. Why wouldn't he? Have you seen yourself? Very funny. Everyone would leave you if they truly knew every detail of your past. They would leave you in a heartbeat if they saw the real you.

No! Axel hasn't. Astarion has cut himself open more than once to let the darkness ooze out in front of him, yet the man stayed.

Till now.

Astarion scowls and lodges his claws in the bedpost. What is he going to do? He made a promise to the others, yet should he leave here before Axel shows up? What if he comes back tomorrow or the next and Astarion is gone?

He did say he would meet him at the festival.

Astarion sighs. He guesses he'll just have to trust his lover on this.

He falls back on the bed and pouts up at the ceiling. It's not like you need him.

True. But it doesn't mean he doesn't still long for him.

~~~

Astarion gave it one more day. He forced some bandits outside of town to hand over their money before ripping into them for an added bonus. It got him through the night, but the day was approaching fast. It isn't the easiest thing, traveling during the day as a vampire. It means he can only get so far during travel than others.

His solution was stuffing himself in a box on the back of a wagon. Not the most elegant, and quite frankly something he loathes, but it's better than walking the whole way. The man he offered money to doesn’t have a covered wagon, so a makeshift coffin is the closest he’ll get.

He couldn't wait for Axel any longer. If he had, he'd be way too late for the second reunion. The man promised him he'd be there, so it was Astarion’s turn to put his faith in him.

The box, or rather, the crate was far too small. Astarion felt like a contortionist being locked away. Utterly humiliating. Only comfort Astarion finds, is that the others aren’t here to witness this. The wagon coach didn't seem to be bothered by it, which Astarion took as a good sign. Or maybe a concerning one? Just not on his behalf. If Astarion was the man, he would question why someone preferred to “sleep” this way, but each their own.

Each step of the horse carried through to the crate, bumping it and rattling it like a doll. Unfortunately, it was growing closer to the new year, so winter had dominated Faerûn. Meaning the sun provided no warmth to seep into the crate. For a vampire, the cold is not much of a problem, but Astarion’s skin still longs for the heat. A tragedy he must endure.

Thankfully, a trance helped pass some of the time and allowed him to feel refreshed enough to waste the rest of the sun away. The moment the cool air of night drifted into his homemade coffin he burst forth with a dramatic flair. Much like a true vampire would from their healing sleep. He moved up to the front of the wagon for the rest of the night, taking over the reins when the man was tired and needed his sleep.

It was quite busy along the roads. Refugees from all over are now returning to their homelands, or heading to other major cities if their homes were destroyed. Their blood pounded in their veins like sweet nectar, the scent filling the air like a bouquet of metallic flowers. The Hunger inside him grew from a whisper to a banshee's scream in seconds.

The beast is not a stranger to Astarion. No, he's as intimate with the Hunger as he has been with a thousand other victims, only this intimacy is rooted deep within like a root of a tree.

A group of refugees crowded the road, slowing down Astarion’s cart. The nice pace he created was now a slow trot through the maze of heat, noise, and pounding.

A little girl, sweet and innocent, the very mocking of Astarion's nature, skipped alongside the wagon. She smiled, oblivious to the growing thirst inside him. The scent of her warm blood dominated the aroma of the air, tempting and tormenting him in equal measure.

Astarion clenched the reins till it bore holes in his skin as the struggle within him intensified. The child's laugh echoed a fragile melody that grounded him away from the predatory whispers from the Hunger. How easy it would be to snap her neck. He would not. He's better than some depraved beast. He’s spent almost a year sustaining on the foul and the wicked, only using Axel when Axel offered himself over. It has kept him sustained.

But never satisfied. The Hunger would never be satisfied.

Astarion snapped the reins and pushed forward, caring not if the refugees or travelers moved out of the way (thankfully they did). He’d feed on his host, but unfortunately, he needs the man to be his guide during the day, and being away from any type of settlement lowers his access to criminals, so animals it is tonight. No bother. There is plenty of fauna frolicking amongst the trees. The blood of a fawn and its mother already called for him within the woods.

The hunt and his return to the cart went completely unnoticed by his sleeping guide. The Hunger thankfully remained silent the rest of the way.

This cycle repeated for five nights and four days till he arrived in Waterdeep. Even though this is his first time in this city, he’s heard more than plenty from Gale to make up for his lack of experience.

Waterdeep from beyond the gates of the city is just as impressive as Baldur’s Gate. Towering walls and watchtowers line the city just as Baldur's Gate has. Looming spires and intricate architecture adorn the skyline, casting impressive shadows onto the road outside the walls. Astarion and his host enter through the check gate together and distant sounds of the city become more distinct – the hum of bustling markets, the distant clatter of hooves on cobblestone, and the increasing sounds of chatter.

“Guards are a bit more scary looking for the River Gate.” Astarion’s wagon friend grumbles.

Astarion figures this is a good chance to get more information. “Is that what this entrance is called?” He gestures towards the approaching gate.

The man gives a quick huff that Astarion takes as a yes. How simple-minded his friend seems to be. Partly how I got this far.

“Care to elaborate, or must I spell it out for you?” Astarion rests his chin in the palm of his hand, crossing his legs with the slightest of pouts.

“Oh, right,” the man shifts his fisher hat, “you said you were new to these parts. I reckon this might be a tad overwhelming, eh?”

Astarion shakes his head. “Not in the slightest.”

“Ah well, the River Gate’s the entrance for the Trades Ward. That's where my family and me’s got a shop. You're welcome to stop by anytime by the way. My wife makes a killer veggie stew.”

Astarion hides his eye roll by turning his head. “Yes. I most certainly will think about it. Would you perhaps know the name: Gale Dekarios?”

The man scratches under his hat once more. “I don't reckon I have. It’s such a big city, it's easy to lose count of people. A friend of yours?”

Astarion leans back. “Something of the like.” Then a piece of information comes back to him. “He’s a wizard, a professor actually. For Blackstaff Academy. Don’t imagine you’ve heard of it?”

A puzzled look plagues the simple man’s features, then the look of sudden surprise. “Oh yes! That’s the Blackstaff tower over on Swords Street. A bit eerie if you ask me, but I suppose it's a fitting place for wizards.” That was enough for Astarion. He’d try there first. That’s if the bumbling idiot hasn’t already taken off for the festival.

One more question. “Where is this Sword’s Street?”

“Home of The Lady Dreaming. North in the Castle Ward. Look for the sleeping lady.”

Astarion grimaces slightly then smirks. “Am I to ask every sleeping beauty I come across or is there a special one I should be watching out for?”

Astarion’s sarcasm goes unnoticed as the man laughs. “Oh, why she’s the lady in the garden. She’s a massive statue that looks over the city from her slumber. Least that’s what legend tells. I believe the tower might be before the lady though.”

Astarion supposes that's enough for now. He fears that if he asks any more questions the man’s brain might erupt from the amount of thoughts flowing in.

Astarion's crimson eyes flicker with a tinge of curiosity, his gaze momentarily tracing the details etched into the ancient stone of the gate as they finally enter the city. The city's lights paint a kaleidoscope of colors, reflecting off the polished armor of passing guards and the gem-laden stalls of merchants preparing to close shop. Astarion's eyes gleam as he observes the diverse array of inhabitants, from noble figures in regal attire to the more discreet denizens of the night. All of it is so familiar to him, even the subtle taste of salt from the sea breeze.

The Trades Ward is far more buzzing with life than The Lower City of Baldur’s Gate. The street that flows through the heart of it all is more compact and a better reflection of the Upper City than the Lower City. A part of it feels like home to him. The noise is like a war drum, the senses being overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of things to look at and smell. It's a far cry from the almost torpid nature of life on the outside. City life never sleeps. Not in a city known for its splendor and wealth. Every person looking for their next meal, or next sale, or the next person to warm their bed. Every need can be fulfilled in the city.

Asatrion smiles up at castles and towers and turns over to point it out to… His smile warps into a scowl. Disappointment didn’t begin to describe what he felt. He hated his travel companion at that moment. Hated him for who he was not. Hated himself for letting reality slip from him. He had grown so accustomed to having Axel there by his side that the sudden loss felt jarring. No quip or witty banter. No indulgence in Astarion’s antics. Just silence and a stranger. It made that longing in him grow stronger.

Astarion hops off the first moment he can, tossing his friend the coin pouch he promised, and slips away through the crowd. He moves with fluid grace, capable of navigating the city streets with ease. Might be new streets, but if you can navigate one big city, you can navigate any of them.

The sun would be upon the city in a few hours. Just enough time for Astarion to find a place to shelter himself for the day. In a city this populated, it won’t be hard to find an inn or two.

Astarion passes by one he recognizes as a pleasure house by the smell of it. It doesn't interest him, instead, he makes his way farther north and finds a tavern that catches his interest. This one must be on the edge of the Trades Ward, as the markets grow more sparse and the patrons grow more lavish.

The sign above reads “Ghost Sword”.

It's not the most popular tavern, which for him might be a good idea. Back in the day, he would have only gone to the most upheld and most occupied estate. Easier to find a target. Nowadays, without any pressure to lure anyone back, he has the luxury of choosing a place for more than its guests. Once a novel concept.

Instead, he chooses this one for its silk-covered cushions. Meaning they must have silk sheets. He would kill to lay in a silk bed instead of a wooden box.

A throat clears from behind him. Astarion shrugs it off, thinking it is another random noise, and takes the key to his room. Then it happens again.

Astarion scans the room till his eyes land on a familiar sight. A projection of the very man he was looking for.

Gale.

#astarion #gale dekarios #baldur’s gate 3 #astarion bg3 #bg3 gale #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 tav #shadowheart #fanfic #post game #astarion x male tav

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peach-comix · 7 months

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The Beast Beneath [fem!Tav X Emperor, slight NSFW]

this fic is NSFW but it is not smut 👍 the sex is for PLOT RELATED REASONS and is symbolic (btw act 3 spoilers)

Also crossposted on AO3.

—

“Is there any part of your body that is not perfect?” She asked, her fingers trailing from his scalp down to his face, and her thumb finding its way to rest beneath his chiselled jawline.

“I could ask the same of you,” he replied with a sly smirk, voice weighted with reverence and depth: touches tender and almost… devout.

As for him, the monster hiding under her bed (or, hiding under the face of her lover in this moment), who knew what he thought of her?

But in this fleeting moment, she felt… loved. She felt seen. And so she closed her eyes and continued the fairytale.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

Since their first night together, Tav and the Emperor have fallen into a routine together. Perhaps it is genuine lust for the being who was only conjured to seduce and tempt her, or perhaps she has fallen in genuine love with the beast beneath. But for now, at least, Tav has been summoned back into the Astral Prism, that her protector might pay his toll for her loyalty and subservience.

Too bad for Tav that she was always a sucker for a man in armour…

When they would crash into one another like a powerful wave hitting the shoreline, she could run her hands up and down his torso… up his strong neck, through his tousled locks… and almost imagine that she was cradling that gallant knight in resplendent armour.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

[[Perhaps you would prefer my… other form?]] He’d asked, the first night they shared. The night in which he’d come to her, having abandoned his usual armour. She had been peering through his tentacles, and trying to find a mouth she could plunge her tongue into… Treating him too much like a human being. She’d only seen those sharp rows of teeth, reminiscent of a shark’s maw — and her mind could only conjure unsettling visions of them rending through her skin and tissue asunder. He seemed to sense her confusion and… perhaps, her revulsion. [[It might be more familiar for you to navigate.]]

She had found some solace in that. He was far from human: his digits too foreign, head too alien. Mind flayers hailed from realms beyond, she recalled reading, and now she understood it. As she gazed into the dim glow of his amethyst eyes, shimmering admist the ethereal haze of the astral plane, she sensed a stark absence of… emotion. In that suspended moment — airborne with him — the undeniable reality struck her. He is not human. And maybe that was visually obvious. But even down to his very core: he had been human, once, but now the man he’d been was gone. Far, far, far gone.

He was no gallant knight astride a noble steed, asking her to “let down your hair!”. He was an eldritch horror, asking her to claim for him a crown.

She felt the air beneath her feet and felt her lungs empty of breath.

No, he was no dashing knight. He was a beast. A horror.

And yet, as she looked into those eyes, she could see the knight she had dreamed of before the honour guards’ attack.

With a breath that quivered in the astral air and words that lingered with a profound weight, she finally answered. “Yes, please.”

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

And the monster was gone. Leaving behind a figure straight from the pages of her cherished novels. Even now, a few weeks into their strange… arrangement, he remained an amalgamation of every man she had ever found attractive; every feature she had ever held in admiration. A canvas painted with strokes stolen from her memories of desire, adoration, and affection. A hauntingly beautiful visage, embodiment of divinity and boundless allure, that seemed… beyond reach. Unattainable. As though her very touch - a touch from such a mortal, limited, and imperfect being, might somehow sully this wondrous creation.

Perched atop him, her thighs astride his large form, she delicately combed her fingers through his hair. Soft: a texture akin to the finest cashmere. Or silk. Even his very touch - even the texture of his hair - was tailored to her preferences. Her nails glided over his scalp, his long tresses billowing out beneath him: cascading like a lush flowerbed onto the astral ground.

He gazed up at her through his eyelashes. A sight designed to bring forth tenderness only elicited a wry smirk from her. Every single eyelash, every strand of hair upon his head, he had meticulously crafted solely for her pleasure.

This was their dance. It was the toll the beast paid, every other night, for her continued loyalty.

She felt his hands distinctly, their presence acute as they nestled in the curve of her waist, fingers tenderly resting on her hips. They glided along the gentle dip of her abdomen; reverently over the dip of fat protecting her womb. And the thought conjured lustful images in her mind, images that he must have felt, of this perfect knight filling her womb with a child… a child made from them. (Images she cast aside as quickly as they had come. And she told herself this was love for the knight and not the beast underneath. Definitely not. Could they even have a child together?) His hands traced the contours of her body, embracing every curve and contour; every rise of fat or lean muscle….

“Is there any part of your body that is not perfect?” She asked, her fingers trailing from his scalp down to his face, and her thumb finding its way to rest beneath his chiselled jawline.

“I could ask the same of you,” he replied with a sly smirk, voice weighted with reverence and depth: touches tender and almost… devout.

Her lips tightened in displeasure. She knew the truth. You don’t mean that. She had seen his true face. And his ilk felt no sexuality: no earthly desires, neither love nor lust. He was as incapable of loving her as he was of lusting for her. The beast beneath was indulging her lust, not out of affection, but to better unsheathe his prized sword when she would be needed.

But here, in this moment, there was no monster. There was only her knight in shining armour, the one who had rescued her from her tower and carried her across his shoulder. The one she had prayed for in the darkness of her childhood: a good man. An honourable man, kind with even kinder eyes, hair gleaming like the first light of dawn, and eyes a starry night sky. A man who could only exist in the realm of fiction: somebody who loved her, who cherished even her greatest flaws and still regarded her as perfection. Whose touches were more befitting a priest to his holy book.

As for him, the monster hiding under her bed (or, hiding under the face of her lover in this moment), who knew what he thought of her? As he stood now, in the centuries (or however long it was) after ceremorphosis, he was a being beyond her comprehension, transcending the limits of human understanding. Could he even feel, she wondered? And if he did, what did he feel for her?

But in this fleeting moment, she felt… loved. She felt seen. And so she closed her eyes and continued the fairytale.

He had vanquished the dragon and ascended her tower… He told her she was safe now and carried her to refuge… And when they found solace, she had eagerly stripped him of his armour, tearing it away like a predator rending tendons from its captured prey. She initiated it, and he had desired it, not out of base lust like a man with lowly urges, but as an act of love. Because he loved her.

Because he was a man from fiction, and therefore a good and honourable man.

In a world marred by darkness and horror, where virtuous men were often punished and rejected for their good deeds - she could find sanctuary in his warm and stable embrace. She could pretend they were together because of love: because she loved him, and he loved her back. Their connection wasn’t imposed by fate; here, he was not a necessary evil but a well-deserved sanctuary.

His purple silken garb draped over his broad chest, exposing one of his breasts, and she cupped it like a precious delicacy.

They met eyes, and she could unmistakably feel his arousal rising beneath her.

“I love you,” she sighed into the crook of his neck, bestowing kisses onto the skin there.

He smiled kindly.

She guided herself onto him: a position that usually took the reins, but even in her position of control, he remained in charge. (And she told herself that it was not the creature lurking beneath, with his insatiable hunger for control even in her fantasies, but simply the manifestation of safety. She didn’t have to bear responsibility; here, she could let go and be secure.)

His strong arms enveloped her, drawing her closer, and every thrust was perfectly timed and aligned, hitting her just right in the way she’d wanted. (It was not the creature reading her thoughts, desires, and expectations, she told herself. It was the man, who was remarkably experienced and skillful. Yes, that was the one.)

His large hands continued their reverent exploration of her form, cradling her with unwavering stability as their rhythmic dance persisted.

“I love you,” he murmured gently back to her, his voice an oasis of serenity amidst the fervent urgency of their union. His voice was too calm and settled despite his desperate and starved thrusting.

But here, at least, when she had coaxed the creature under his disguise, she felt safe. At least with him under this face, she did.

—

hope you guys enjoyed feel free to tell me if you did and any thoughts on this and also requests (im kind of open to them rn)

also please word vomit at me about the emperor I LOVE HIM!!!! HE IS A CUTIE!!!

#baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #bg3 emperor #the emperor #bg3 the emperor #bg3 mindflayer #mindflayer #tav #bg3 tav #bg3 tav x emperor #tav x emperor #emperor x tav #the emperor bg3

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super-nova5045 · 1 year

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ok maybe i am crazy. maybe i am.

but season 2 is all about the mind flayer (which we know now is henry) secretly watching, always watching, and that will is trapped - he's being watched and being censored; he can't tell anyone about this or they'll all be in danger.

season 2 is set in 1984....1984 also being the name of the very famous dystopian novel where citizens are constantly watched, censored and brainwashed into loyalty and fear of big brother, the one behind it all. does that mean maybe will could be possessed and/or brainwashed into loyalty with vecna if vecna shows him an altered version of the truth?? am i being delusional (the answer is yes)?? or was the themes of s2 just a clever reference to the book, since s2 is set in the titular year??

idk man but it's a nice hint the duffers did, even if it was unintentional.

#stranger things #henry creel #peter ballard #001 #vecna #stranger things 2 #will byers #mike wheeler #byler #<- target audience #stranger things theory #byler theory

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blackjackkent · 2 months

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Onward to Orpheus's cage!

The Emperor is still acting as if it and Hector are allies and just need to brainstorm a new plan, which is honestly odd under the circumstances. It knows Hector and Lae'zel plan to free Orpheus, it knows they have the Hammer; it really has no reason to believe that they are still on the same side.

Honestly the whole situation speaks of a level of almost-sentimentality on the Emperor's part which is uncharacteristic of it to say the least. The other options, of course, are that it has a trap planned of its own, or that it is so utterly desperate in the face of the Brain's power that it is willing to ignore Hector's planned betrayal. All of these are bad possibilities, albeit for different reasons.

In any event it does not immediately turn around to face Hector as he approaches, but continues looking thoughtfully at Orpheus trapped within Vlaakith's prison.

"I have assessed our encounter with the Netherbrain from every angle," it says calmly. "I know why we failed."

Silence. Hector waits, and eventually the illithid turns to face him, its pale purple eyes intent. "The problem was not the stones. The problem was you."

Hector scowls defensively - and yet the words strike deep in his heart. He feels keenly aware of the fact that he failed in what was supposed to be the final showdown; that on some level he was not strong enough to do what needed to be done.

"You can make only one move at a time," the Emperor goes on. "But the Netherbrain calculates every possible move at once. It knows what you will do. It knows everything you could possibly do. You cannot outmaneuver it."

It drifts closer to him, hooking its hands behind its back. "To defeat it, you would have to think like an illithid. Better yet - be one. Your mind is not capable of this."

Hector's scowl deepens. Of course - even now, the Emperor will try to insist yet again on the Astral Tadpole, on forcing him into "evolution".

But the Emperor surprises him. "Mine is," it finishes. "You will give the stones to me. I will assimilate Orpheus. And then I will be able to leave this Prism to face the brain."

Several moments' startled silence follows these words. Hector just sort of stares at the Emperor in bewilderment.

It is, he reflects, an astonishing display of misplaced confidence. Why does he think Hector will agree to this? And yet at the same time, it stirs that same strange, frustrating compassion that the Emperor - or perhaps whatever is left of Balduran inside it - has always been able to stir in him; in spite of knowing full well that Hector has ulterior plans, it still wants to work with him. It still believes their partnership can succeed. It still saved him when it could have let him die.

Hector hates the sense of guilt that comes with this knowledge - because he is the one torpedoing that partnership wholesale, without question.

But he has a deeper loyalty elsewhere.

"Assimilate him? Tsk'va! No, now is the time to liberate him! Do not stand against me!" Lae'zel hisses behind him.

No fear of that, Hector thinks. This decision was made before we arrived.

"There is another way," he tells the Emperor, deliberately calm, matter-of-fact. "We will free Orpheus."

A mind flayer's expression is nearly impossible to read - but Hector has a pretty good handle on the Emperor's at this point, and its anger is unmistakable. "You still don't trust me? After all we've been through?" it snaps. "Remember, I have been your salvation from the very beginning. Your knight in shining armor. I freed you from the nautiloid, prevented you from crashing to your death. I have protected you ever since - at no small cost to myself."

It floats a foot or two closer to him, its eyes narrowing, and its voice goes oddly soft. "I came to you as a leader, but i did not shy away from showing you vulnerability. I needed you as much as you needed me. I was not above recognizing this. When you discovered my true identity, I did not flinch from truth. I never lied to you, not once. I am just like you. We have the same enemy, the same story. I encouraged you to fulfil your potential, all while protecting you from harm."

It extends a hand towards him and demands, "Now I ask you for the last time to trust me! Release the Netherstones to me!"

Hector remains utterly still, making no move to retrieve the stones.

Oddly enough, this strange speech from the illithid backfires completely. Nothing the Emperor is saying is untrue, and yet laying it out so flatly shows it suddenly in a new light.

Yes, the Emperor has never fully lied to him, but there is plenty that it has not said unless forced to it. It has been vulnerable, yes - but the very way it describes that vulnerability is as a practical tool, not an emotional connection. It has been manipulating him; it would have showed him no kindness at all if it did not serve its own ends.

And another thing, too, nudges at the back of his mind - the Brain said that the Emperor was itself a pawn in the Absolute scheme, albeit unwillingly. Far better, then, to turn away from it entirely to something the Brain does not expect.

"Enough," he says flatly. "I have the Hammer. I will free Orpheus."

The Emperor's tentacles twitch suddenly, sharply. Its voice, always nearly emotionless, goes utterly cold. "I told you we have to trust one another," it growls. "I told you the githyanki would only want to kill you for what you are. Still you choose to break our alliance."

"Even united, the Netherbrain was going to be an impossible enemy. But apart - we have no chance of survival. Very well. Since you will not work with me, you work against me."

A new portal shimmers open behind it; it keeps its eyes fixed on Hector's as it drifts backwards into the gate. "You leave me no option but to join the Netherbrain."

Hector watches in silence as it vanishes into the pale light and the gate seals behind it.

-------

"What?" he says weakly. "What just happened?"

"That's a hell of a flip," Karlach says dryly.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised..." Hector mutters. "It was always about its own survival, in the end."

And yet there's a strange hollow feeling in his chest at the breaking of this alliance that he cannot possibly explain.

-----

"The ghaik is gone," Lae'zel says, unconcerned by this latest strange development. "Our mission is set. Smash the crystals with the hammer, and free the Prince of the Comet. Gith's beloved son will lead us to a sure victory against the Netherbrain."

Hector sighs, hefting the Hammer up in one hand and eyeing the crystals that line Orpheus's prison.

I do hope I am not making a terrible, terrible mistake, he thinks to himself wryly, and then lashes out in a wide, arcing swing that shatters the crystal apart.

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle #bjk writes her own party banter

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veilkeeper · 5 months

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Lord Enver Gortash: The quakes are a clear warning. If nobody steps in soon, it'll free itself from the authority of the crown. I expect it'll start with turning the Sword Coast's infected - you among them. That Prism of yours won't last indefinitely. Next, the Grand Design. The mind flayer empire reborn. If we're lucky, we'll become slaves. If we're unlucky, well - Not the most thrilling of prospects. But it's a fate that be avoided if you and I come to an understanding. Together we can still restore authority over the brain.

the amount of willpower its taking me to not just fall over myself doing whatever he wants. i have to keep reminding myself that im roz right now. yes i find him impossibly charming and convincing but roz absolutely does not.

roz actually has interesting feelings here. they believe him, when he says they'd rule together. ironically, of the three vying for their loyalties, they trust gortash the most. however, they're so completely uninterested in what he's offering (i.e. ruling as god-kings) that they aren't even willing to entertain the offer beyond staying civil with him until it's time to let karlach go after him.

also. i want his fucking crossbow.

#him offering this alliance to tav is very interesting #it obvi makes sense for a durge #but for tav it has a certain uhhh #air of desperation about it #like oh he NEEDS you to take care of this shit for him #insight check says he intends to share the kingdom but.... with a tav? i cant imagine he intends to share it for *long*#but thats just My Thoughts #gortash #roz pt #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 dialogue #wyrms rock

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tieflingtareon · 6 months

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My love, are you the devil? (Oh, call me a devil)

Chapter 31 | Words: 8.2k

Summary: Astarion found himself often surprised by his heroic companion. He had one goal. To become the favoured companion of the group, to earn the Tieflings loyalty, to make Tar'eons strength his own. Yet Tar'eon isn't like the usual target of his manipulations. Despite his naivety, he does not seem gullible. There is something very wrong with their 'leader' to begin with. Astarion isn't sure if he wants to control it or eradicate the threat it posed. But can he really do either when Tar'eon himself seems so...unwaveringly kind?

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50668558/chapters/127995079

Tar'eon looked out at the ocean before him, the cold sea air caressing his skin as he closed his eyes, letting the scent of salt and fish fill his nose. His body felt heavy like an anchor. It was tempting to simply thrown himself over the edge and let himself sink to the bottom. To drown in the ocean sounded more painful than to drown in a river, but it was becoming clear to him than drowning in a river, drowning in Astarion, wasn't an option tonight.

He missed his cool fingers against his face, a kinder chill than the ocean winds. He buried his face in his hands, trying to hide from the cold, even if it didn't help his flushed face, his swollen eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he cried, really truly cried. He hadn't been able to stop after it started. He knew he had to tell them all eventually, but being put onto the spot so suddenly...

He wanted to resent Astarion. He wanted to scorn him, to feel that same furious rage he felt for Orin, for his enemies, but he couldn't even manage a flicker of a flame. He felt like he'd been soaked by rain, heavy and cold and wet. There was no chance of starting a fire inside himself when all the kindling was soaked with self-loathing. How could he face them again? After everything he told them...

Karlach and Wyll would hate him for allying with Enver, for damning the Coast. Jaheria, Halsin and Gale wouldn't be able to trust him, the wizard still didn't even know who took his hand. Aylin and Isobel...who knew what they'd think of him, being child and cleric of Selune. Shadowheart would probably side with Karlach, given their relationship.

Astarion...Gods, he didn't want to think about it. Not after how he snapped at him before leaving. He might find acceptance from Lae'zel, given she doesn't care for bloodshed, but...it still didn't feel like a comfort. She may have different opinions now, having abandoned her faith. He felt like there was no one in his corner, and that scared him. He felt...truly alone, for the first time since he escaped the ship.

He'd tried so hard to be a good person...but in the end, was being a good person now enough to rectify all he did in the past? He couldn't see an end to this journey that benefited him if he was honest. When Shadowheart rejected Shar's will, she had suffered the agony of thousands...What would Bhaal do when he rejected him? Would he even be able to? Would his past devotion to his Father win in the heat of the moment?

All the what ifs turned his stomach, but even still...he wouldn't let the world perish. Not if he could help it. Even if it meant the end of his own life, he would sacrifice everything to give his companions their freedom back. To make the world safe again for children like Mol, Mirkon, Silfy, Mattias and Doni, like Arabella - they all deserved to grow up and live. Not become food to mind flayers.

He would fix the mistakes of his former life, even if it cost him his current. It's not like there was any home to return to after the journey ended anyway...Nobody would mourn him. Well, maybe Astarion, but he'd move on. He'd live on for centuries, maybe even a millienia...and he'd heal. He'd forget about him. It was probably for the best. He would free Astarion of Cazador like he promised...and then, he'd free him of the tadpole. Whether he saw the next dawn wasn't important. Whether his friends did was.

Tar'eon looked out at the moonlit waters and admired the rippling of light across the dark sea. The peace was interrupted by a mechanic squeak, a shudder of metal. He looked over his left shoulder, looking at the Steel Watcher that stood a few paces behind him. He quirked a brow.

"Are you spying on me, Enver?" He asked, but the machinery was silent. Tar'eon stared at the helmet a long moment before turning back to the sea. "If you're going to bother me, I'd rather you do so in person. I feel ridiculous speaking to a hunk of junk."

"Now that's quite rude." The clink of the cane against wood made Tar'eons eyes widened, looking over his right shoulder to see the Archduke approach with a smile. "I spent quite some time designing these 'hunks of junk'."

"Why are you here?"

"I was informed by one of my many Watchers that you were alone, and far from your camp. It struck me as odd." He came to stand beside him, both hands on his cane and looking out at the waters with something akin to pride. Like a God marvelling at the beauty of the world he created. "Are you out on a late night hunt, my dear assassin?"

"You know, if I didn't know any better, which frankly, I don't, I'd think you were stalking me." Tar'eon narrowed his eyes, glancing at the man from the corner of his eye. Watching him just as closely as he no doubt watched him.

"It's my duty as Archduke to remain informed, lest chaos ensue in my streets. Your wandering alone has caught the attention of many creatures who stalk these streets at night, awaiting a lone soul like yourself." Tar'eons brows jumped up in surprise, turning to look Enver.

"I...Are we being watched?"

"Oh, most definitely, I'm sure." Enver grinned, looking rather pleased that Tar'eon had caught on. "Orin doesn't appreciate your return. She wants you gone, and her faceless hoard know it. That, and you've somehow gained the attention of vampire spawn from what my Steel Watchers have told me."

"Vampire spawn-" Tar'eon furrowed his brows and cursed softly. "Astarion?"

"Oh no, not his delightful self. But they're certainly Cazador's brood, if that's what you're wondering. Your fanged lover has not run into the night after you, I'm afraid. My condolences." He didn't bother hiding the sarcasm in his tone. From the way he spoke, it was obvious that the city had little to no secrets from him anymore. He even knew Cazador was a vampire lord, and from his tone alone, Tar’eon could tell he wasn’t the man’s biggest fan. One thing they could agree on.

"I'm sure you already know what happened. Since you've got your fingers in every corner of his town." Tar'eon grumbled.

"Unfortunately, I do not know. But I would love to hear it. Lovers quarrel?" His dark eyes gleamed with mischief, obviously hoping for it to be just that. Tar'eon pursed his lips and looked back to the ocean.

"...They know who I am now. They know what I've done. I'm giving them time to decide whether I'm worth the trouble or not, I suppose." Tar'eon picked dirt out from beneath one claw and sighed, closing his eyes. "Just associating with you has ruined more than one of my relationships with my companions, you know?”

"If your bonds are that weak, why bother entertaining them?" Enver scoffed. "They are beneath you. They have no idea of the honour that comes with being the Chosen of one's God."

"I don't want it." Tar'eon told Enver, who looked slightly surprised before he smoothed out his expression into something more neutral. "I don't care what Bhaal wants with me. He is not my Father, not anymore. I will kill Orin, and I will disown him. And when the time comes, I want you at my side when we destroy the elder brain."

"Destroy- you want to forsake all our plans? For what? Once we have all three Netherstones, the brain will no longer be a threat to us. There is no point in trying to kill the damn thing if we can control it."

"Perhaps. But it will always be a liability. Your Steel Watch does enough to maintain order in this city. I doubt you really need it now." He gestured to the metal bodyguard with it's back to them, surveying the area for dangers to its maker. "What is the point in controlling the whole world via some faux religion? Eventually, they'll realise it's all for naught, and it will be your head that they want. Besides, who's to say you won't use the control you have over the brain against myself one day?"

"I would never." Enver actually looked furious at the mere suggestion. "I much prefer you with your free will intact. It would be a waste of your brilliance to make you a mindless slave."

"And all the others in Faerun with their own brilliance? Where will the good things in the world go? People will be too devoted to the Absolute to do the things that make humanity so beautiful." Tar'eon reached back and frowned. He'd forgotten his flute...

"Where will the stories that could have been told go? The songs that would have been sung? The music that will never play...The laughter, the hope, it will all disappear. It will turn into a monotonous grey. All there will be is the Absolute - or fear of it. The ballads will speak only of Her, rather than of a lover or a friend, of family and adventure. There is so much we'll be stripping the world of if we continue on this path."

"I think I just threw up in my mouth a little." Enver remarked with a deadpanned expression. "When did you become so soft, Tir'yal?"

"Fine. You don't want to think of the good? Think of the consequences. We have no guarantee that the elder brain will remain under our control for long. You can barely control it right now as it is; who's to say it won't grow to resist all three stones power?" He challenged. "Who do you think it's going to kill first when it breaks free? The very ones who enslaved it."

He gestured to the both of them and Enver narrowed his eyes at him.

"As long as we have the crown, we don't have to worry about losing control of it. You and I already went over every flaw in our plan, made back up plans for back up plans - trust in our brilliance, Tir'yal. Once Orin is out of the way and the brain is back under control, we'll be able to unify the world beneath our rule. With Ketheric’s army, the Absolute’s army, put to waste, we can share in the rewards of our victory against them. We will be heroes in the peoples eyes.” The same heroes who made such an army to begin with. All to gain the favour of the people. To be see as their sworn protectors; to be adored. At least, that was Enver’s goal. Tir’yal had simply wanted blood for his Father.

"False heroes." Tar'eon stood straighter and huffed. "I'd rather die a true hero than live as a false one."

"You're impossible. If I knew losing your memories would make you into this, I would have put you out of your misery for your own sake when you arrived to my coronation. You’re lucky you still have your uses." Enver shook his head, as if disappointed. "I do hope you see reason the next time I see you, Tir'yal. It would be such a waste of good potential.” He turned his foot, swinging his cane forward to meet the wood as he stepped away, ready to leave, but he was halted by a hand grasping at the sleeve of his robes.

Enver turned to look over his shoulder, quirking a brow at Tar'eon.

"I...I know I'm different from what you remember. Vastly different. I know I'm not the man you knew, but if you still care for him in any measure...please stay with us a little while longer?" Tar'eon asked weakly, hating himself for stooping so low, but he was lonely. So fucking lonely. He didn't want to be alone right now, or he feared he'd be a body washed ashore by morning rather than a returning camper. He wished he’d let Astarion follow after him. Maybe then he’d already be back at camp, wrapped up in his arms and smelling rosemary instead of sea salt and cologne.

Enver stared at him for a long while, his expression giving little away before he stepped back into his prior spot, hands clasped behind his back, fingers wrapped around the length of his cane rather than the handle.

"Thank you."

"By Bane, don't. I'm only here because you're right. We have history. I may not be a fan of how weak you've become, but I still see promise in you yet, Tir'yal." Enver's lips thinned. "It is hard to find an equal in a world such as this one. You were my equal once before...and I still wish for you to be.”

Tar'eon smiled ruefully.

"Lonely at the top, isn't it? Being a leader...can be very lonely."

"I have always been enough company for myself. You were simply an addition I didn't mind. An addition I quite liked."

"You liked me." Tar'eon hummed.

"I did."

"More than Orin."

"An easy feat. The woman is dreadful and grating to listen to. I've never been one for needless bloodshed - I’ve always preferred to use it as a tool. You? You were smart with it. You were quick, efficient, you didn't make a show of it like she does. You were only ever curious about your kills once you were done, not overindulgent."

"I sated my urge as your 'assassin', I'm guessing?"

"You had great control of your urge, but yes. We made a good pair. You got rid of competition. Weaklings and blackmailers...You made climbing the ranks much easier compared to my own efforts alone." He chuckled. "I see death as a grim necessity. You saw death as an act of devotion. As, dare I say it, loving. So I gave you offerings to your Father, and you put more and more political power into my lap with every throat slit.”

"I gave you a lot of things, from what I do remember." Tar'eon pursed his lips. How many did he kill for him during their time together? How long had they known each other? He’d said years, hadn’t he? Less than ten, considering Karlach hadn’t recognised him. Enver grinned.

"Shall I list all the things you've gifted me with, my dearest?"

"I fear to know." Tar'eon admitted. "I feel like it might change things. I'm not sure I can afford that."

"Why deny yourself the truth? You've always been the hungry sort - hungry for knowledge, hungry for gore, hungry to prove yourself to your Father...You were near impossible to sate." Enver chuckled, like it was some sort of inside joke they'd once had. Now, he was the only one who could laugh at it.

"...You're right. I do want the truth. I- I crave it. I want to know everything, and it vexes me that I still know so little despite remembering my service to Bhaal. Knowing I'm...knowing I'm his spawn - it's a lot. I know nothing of my past, but I know I belonged to him. That I still do. I'm not sure I can ever come back from all the cruelty I did in his name."

"Such is the life of a Chosen. We are instruments our Gods play. We create the melodies they've written, and we revel in our duty to them, and the power they pass onto us in return." Enver gestured out to the ocean, the ships, the rippling waves. "They bless us with the power to take what we desire...and in turn, they have our undying devotion. They have our souls - much like making a deal with a devil." He chuckled at the comparison.

"You don't seem to be the biggest fan of devils."

"Beneath a devil, you are given lies and punishment. Gods are where true power is, and their wrath will not come for you unless you fail them." Enver glanced at Tar'eon. "I worry your rejection of Bhaal will not end well for you, my dearest."

"Perhaps. I worry too, but I can't accept him. As long as I am under his thumb, there is no true freedom for myself. This Urge - it isn't who I am. Not anymore. It is Bhaal's will, an extension of his control over my mind and body. He will use it to remove my loved ones until the world is empty and I am the last soul alive. I would rather die a free man than live serving beneath the heel of a God."

Enver was silent a long moment, and Tar'eon turned his head to look at him, but the man was focused on the moon, the dim lighting making him appear almost ghoulishly pale. His features were so dark, sucking up the shadows, that Tar'eon was sure he wouldn't be able to see him on a moonless night. The sleepless shadows beneath his eyes looked like bruises. He wondered if he ever slept through the night, or if he lived solely off naps.

"Do you ever wonder what life would be like? Without Bane?" Tar'eon asked and Enver scowled, his eyes narrowed as he looked at the tiefling.

"I would be servant to a devil, rather than a God. I much prefer my chances under Bane's hand than under any others. Bane has given me everything I have ever desired." He gestured to the city behind them, the grand place he had called home since his birth. It felt fitting to have it be the first place he took off the map in his journey to rule all. "Bane has given me the power and strength to take this city as my own. To wield it under the Black Hand. He has given me the means to control everything."

He placed a near loving hand to his Steel Watcher, smiling at Tar'eon.

"Even as a child, I saw the world for what it is. Full of chaos and despair. I knew in unifying the people against a common enemy, culling the ones who would not fall into line...I could bring this city prosperity and peace. That I could earn their adoration and loyalty. When people are left to decide their own fates, they will toss even those they claim to care most about into the dirt. If I control every aspect of this city, there will be no need for petty crimes, for debts to be paid, all of it will be delegated to me...Nobody wants the responsibilities they're given. If anything, they'll thank me for fixing all of their problems, for removing the ones that simply don't want to go away. I will be a hero in the eyes of many."

He seemed to truly believe his words, but Tar'eon couldn't read his mind. Only the language of his body. His stature was nothing short of confidant, even if he was physically shorter than Tar'eon.

"You'll be a tyrant who acts like a just and fair king." Tar'eon saw through it with ease and Enver laughed.

"Well...When you worship and are chosen by the God of Tyranny, it only make sense to follow the path he's paved before you."

"Considering all you've told me, I'd say you and I were the ones who actually got you as far as you've come." Tar'eon mused and Enver barked a sharp laugh, the sound more biting than humorous this time.

"I would not have met you again if not for Bane. I would not have lived to see all of our plans come to fruition if not for him." Enver clasped his hands together and came to stand at the railing, his eyes searching the darkness of the horizon. "You may have no love left for your Father, but Bane has my devotion until the end of my days. He was the God who answered when no other would. I was destined to be his Chosen."

“‘Again’? Are you saying Bane organised our meeting at the coronation?” Enver shook his head and grinned.

“We’ve known each other since we were children, Tir’yal. It’s why I have the reserved right to call you by that name, amongst other reasons. I was there before your Father even called upon you…” He seemed to be reminiscing from the shine in his eyes. “I barely remember that far back myself. I was young when we parted. When I returned to Baldur’s Gate, you were already in service to Bhaal I would assume. Your childhood home was nothing but a haunted house.” He chuckled. “Your foster family were sacrificed for Bhaal’s love. I had not yet been Chosen by Bane, so we lived separate lives well into our twenties before I was finally given the honour. I had worshipped diligently, but one must prove themselves worthy if they want to be empowered by a God. It took a decade of blood, sweat and tears for Bane to finally proclaim me as his. Shortly after, fate drew us together again. Almost two decades apart…you hadn’t the scarcest clue to who I was, but I remembered you. I don’t think I would have bothered with partnering together in our first heist if I hadn’t. You were quite arrogant. Though, being a pureblooded Bhaalspawn…Who could blame you for turning your nose up at the Chosen of Bane, your Fathers sworn foe?”

“When you said we had history, you meant it, huh?” Tar’eon couldn’t fathom it. “Did I…I really killed my foster family? For Bhaal?” To think he had a family once…a family who loved him, he'd like to think. He spilt their blood for a God, for his true Father, and he suddenly felt sick. The more he knew of himself, the more impossible if felt to crawl out of the hole he’d dug, unable to be purified by the grace of the sunlight. Unable to be redeemed, or reborn.

“You did. You lived in the house across the wall, opposite mine. Your father brought shoes from us often because you grew much faster than your brother.” He chuckled. “A tiefling adopted by a family of elves. It was an amusing sight in the markets. You always had your nose in a book. You didn’t spare any adult respect that wasn’t earned. You hated my parents with a passion, and always insisted I make your shoes for you despite the fact that I was an awful cobbler. I hated working with leather, but metal? That was my calling. You enjoyed wearing steel boots worthy of a knight. You said it made it easier to squish rats in the street, and easier to clean too.”

“I sound…awful." A sadistic child, was that really who he'd been? Rotten from the start? Or had it been Bhaal's influence, even back then? "It sounds almost like I bullied you as a child.”

“You were the only one who saw my genius, who understood my view of the world. The other children simply didn't understand us. Or, I suppose they feared you." Enver shrugged with a thoughtful expression. Tar'eon noted the distinction between 'us' and 'you'. The children hadn't feared Enver. He didn't have many friends before him, did he? Had he been his first? "You having a blunt exterior was a price I had to pay to have someone to watch my back when I pickpocketed merchants.”

“We were troublemakers then?”

“We were kids. Your brother was the opposite of you, so you two clashed a lot. Ever the sensible soul, he was, saying I was an awful influence. It only made sense that you would hang out with me instead. We were both bad influences, after all. He couldn't blame only me.” He chuckled.

“I wish I could remember…” Tar’eon sighed. “So Bane reunited us when he made you his Chosen?”

“He got me to Baldur’s Gate. He got me home. Making me his Chosen simply increased my chances of seeing you again.”

“Where were you between the time you left and the time you came back?” Tar’eon asked and Enver was quiet. Tar'eon had some ideas, but they didn't really make sense to him.

“Where I was holds no relevance to our past together. The important part is that I returned. And it was all thanks to Bane. He has given me the ability to take everything I could ever desire.”

"And you want for nothing else?"

"I am close to having everything I've ever wished for. There is nothing else I could want." Enver shrugged one shoulder and smiled. He seemed to believe it. His devotion to Bane was true. He both worshipped him like a saviour yet acknowledged the transactional relationship they had. Tar'eon wondered if he'd ever been so devoted to Bhaal, his own Father. He grimaced and leaned against the railing, his elbow brushing Envers.

"You offered to share your kingdom with me. Not very tyrannical of you." Tar'eon mused.

"It took some convincing...but Bane came to see the benefits of our union once we had the crown."

"Bhaal doesn't extend the same regard to you, I'm afraid." He may not want to kill him, and the Urge may not feel insistent about the matter of his blood spilling the floor, but he knew it desired it deep down. To make him a pretty corpse one day. To be the one he gasped his final breathe before, to be the last thing reflected in those shiny dark eyes.

"Oh yes. I was to be your final kill, wasn't I? You used to tell me you'd kill me slowly...so we could breathe our final breaths together."

"That's...so fucked up." And oddly romantic, honestly. In a devastatingly morbid way. "Were you really going to let me do that? Kill you?"

"Well, I had intended to convince you to rule with me for a while. Work our way through each city, each continent; there's so many places to see, so much land conquer and admire...eventually, when the world was finally empty of any other soul, I would have laid on your Fathers altar and died with you." There wasn't a single ounce of deceit in his tone, and it made his stomach flip.

"That's..." Tar'eon stared at Enver with wide eyes, unsure what to say. "I don't know what to say to that."

"It's not as if it matters now. You intend to reject Bhaal and his plans of sacrificing every soul. You've killed an Avatar of Myrkul who now lacks a Chosen. There is a clear path before us both." Enver gestured outwards, the faintest light coming out from the horizon. A lighthouse.

"And what path is that?"

"The path we walk together." He offered his hand to the tiefling with a small smile, something fond in his gaze. "Blessed by Bane, we can take Toril as our own with the elder brain under our control. You can be the just and fair king to the people...and I can be the tyrant needed to keep the peace. Marvellous, is it not? Imagine it. A world in our image. Or, Bane's I suppose, but it's all the same."

Tar'eon stared at his hand. If he could remember the past, perhaps he would agree. But he couldn't. He didn't want that life anymore. He shook his head softly and Enver dropped his hand with a downturn to the left corner of his lip.

"So I'm to clean up your messes to the rest of my life? If that what you suggest?"

"I'd make it worth your while." Enver smirked before shaking his head. "You may deny yourself now, but one day...You'll see. When you're at the top of the world, you're the one making the rules. You could change the world for the better. Or the worst. Whatever you desire." Enver didn't seem to care either way, as long as he was at his side.

"Being a king, above everyone else, it sounds like a lonely life to me."

"You won't be alone." Enver reminded with a soft smile. "Your home will be a palace, your people your pets, your advisers your confidants...and you will have me to share the burdens and delights of our ruling with."

"I'd rather a modest home with animals as pets and a partner to share the burdens and delights of life with." Tar'eon crossed his arms. "I don't want power, Enver. I simply want to live my life as my own. That's why I'm rejecting Bhaal. It's why I'm killing Orin. It's why I will stop the elder brain and remove the tadpole from my skull. I told you. I'd rather die a free man than have other people in my head."

"Not many can be given the offer of a lifetime and turn it down so swiftly." Enver chuckled, but it was a terse one. "I really can't convince you, can I?"

"You may speak with the same silver tongue of a devil, but I have bested a God and intend to best another. I am no longer Bhaal's puppet or his devoted son. I am my own man, or...I intend to be. Which means I choose my own path. My own desires."

"And what do you desire?" Enver actually sounded curious rather than mocking.

"I..." Tar'eon licked his lips. "I want to travel. Settle down. I want a home. A-a family. A real one. I want kids and pets and to not fear harm will come upon us. I want to be strong enough to protect what's mine. I...I want love." He smiled softly, thinking of Astarion's soft red eyes. Of the sunlight gracing his white curls and his fanged smile. "I want to heal my friends of their wounds and watch them live the lives they deserved but never got."

"...You really have gone soft. Entirely. It's like there's nothing of you left."

"Maybe that's all he wanted too, and you just didn't know it. Or he couldn't accept it himself. After all, this is still the same body, the same mind, if a bit battered." He thought back to the note he found in the colony. At the time, he'd thought nothing of it. "...I think he loved you. He just didn't know how to show it properly."

"Don't pretend to know us - It may have been you, but you don't remember yourself the way I do." Enver scowled.

"I remember the feeling though." Tar'eon reached out and Enver stepped back, eyes searching him for possible danger. Tar'eon reached further and Enver didn't move this time, allowing the larger man to take his hand gently in his, pressing his palm to his chest. To his rapidly beating heart. "My heart still reacts to you, even though I should despise you. You've ruined countless lives, you've had me kill people for your own gain, and you've attacked myself and my lover in the span of a single day. I should hate you."

"And yet...?"

"I can't bring myself to. And I hate myself for it." Tar'eon let go of his hand but Enver didn't remove it, his golden talons pinching the skin of his chest. "He must have loved you a lot. I'm almost sorry Orin scrambled my brain. I think you two needed each other to be human, rather than the favourite of hateful Gods."

"You know nothing of how we were." Enver breathed bitterly, almost a hiss, his claws only digging in deeper. Tar'eon didn't flinch away.

"I know what devotion feels like though. I know what love against all odds is like. I know the feeling of duty coming before the heart, of struggling against it. I speak the truth when I tell you he loved you. He still loves you. Somewhere in my brain, he's there, even if I can't find him. You are loved, Enver."

Enver snatched his hand away, leaving behind a small tear in the fabric of his shirt.

"You may think you know love, Tir’yal, because of this dalliance with that fanged friend of yours, but I assure you — it is infatuation at best. You’ve known each other how long? Weeks? Love is not made in weeks, my friend.” He chuckled, but it lacked humour. “That is simply a notion woven into fairytales so children have something to look forward to in the mundane life of adulthood. Love is not even a priority in any successful relationship, I assure you. I doubt it truly exists for those with more than half a brain. What is real, what does work, is trust. Respect. The ability to compromise on things you wouldn’t dare change if anyone else asked. Love is sacrificing. It leaves one vulnerable. And that makes it a weakness you and I never dared to allow. Your mind is muddled beyond comprehension, Tir’yal. All your body is feeling is the physical affects of lust, my dearest. A rapid heartbeat is not a reason to become poetic.”

“Did we not share all of those things?” Tar’eon looked at his torn shirt and clicked his tongue. He’d have to get Astarion to mend it for him. He supposed he’d have to return eventually after all. They’d have to talk about everything…properly this time. “Trust, respect, compromise…”

“Perhaps. We were partners after all, in many senses.” He picked lint off the lapel of his robes, or attempted to. There was no lint to pick. Tar’eon wondered if that was a subconscious habit like his tail. To make his attire impeccable, to seem uncaring about it when perhaps he did care. About a lot of things. “But neither of us could afford to make each other our ‘one and only’s’. We, after all, are Chosens. The only 'love' we can offer is to our Gods.”

“Is that what he told you?”

“It’s something we agreed on.” There was something soft in his tone, and Tar’eon was sure he would have missed it if his voice wasn’t so familiar to his ears even without the memory of it. He had the blueprints, but no manual. It was quite frustrating. Enver turned his gaze out to the lighthouse in the distance, and for a moment, Tar’eon thought he could see someone younger before him. Someone with longer hair, someone who wore white compared to black, lacking a shadow-y stubble and who’s under eyes weren’t so dark.

With only the moon to light him, he thought he saw the lover of Tir’yal, rather than the man before Tar’eon. As awful as his past self had been, he mourned for his sake. They may not have spoken the words out loud…but there had been love there. Their own twisted yet almost pure version of it. As pure as a bloodstained kiss could be; and from his experience, a bloody kiss could feel angelic.

“I’m sorry. That he never told you he loved you. You deserved to hear it. I think everybody does, at least once."

“You barely know me.” Enver scoffed. “Not this new version of you at least.” He gestured to the tiefling before him. He was familiar in the right ways, a spitting image of his lover, but all that had been between them was a mystery to him. He still had the same brilliant mind, always had the right words to make his tongue looser than he liked…but he was fractured. Turned inside out. The man before him wasn’t the same as the one he had near worshipped on the same level as Bane. The one he had trusted and respected above all others. The only one who understood, who knew he didn't want sweet words when he woke from nightmares, who knew when it was time to drag him to bed, who knew when he hadn't eaten all day, and never judged him for it, simply praising his dedication and making dinner for two, stealthily moving papers out of reach and taking up the space on his desk so he would finally take a break.

Enver wasn't one to focus on the past, he was always looking to the future, but he found it was near impossible not to focus on the past when that's where his Tir'yal was. Where his first friend and true equal lived. The man before him was a mere shadow of his former self, and he couldn't let go of what had been his. He knew he was in there, somewhere. If he simply waited, if he was patient like he'd been with Bane all those years ago, perhaps he'd return to his side eventually. By the Gods, he was actually willing to wait if only to have him back by his side.

“If you did know me, now, I don’t think you’d agree.” Bane had granted him the power to escape the House of Hope, had ordered all living souls be dedicated to him once Bhaal had his slice of death and blood. But he knew Tir’yal was the reason he was here now. Without his help, without their combined brilliance, he never would have made it out of their heist to take the Crown to begin with.

It had been his hand that pulled him out of Avernus when he thought he’d be trapped there again. Not even Bane’s hand had been extended to him in such a way. A God could rarely intervene with mortals after all; that’s why they had to do this. They were the Chosen who could meddle in human affairs. This was the only path where both of them could stay together, under Bane's blessing. Tar'eon could reject Bhaal, could lose his status as Chosen, and Enver would still gladly rule with him. He knew deep down, the man was not weak in the slightest, even if he had softened in some ways. All he needed was the guidance that would return him to where he belonged.

“Perhaps. Our guardians, our tormentors…Our Gods. They form us. They shape us in their images. I’ve seen it - I’ve experienced it.” He thought to Astarion who had been beneath Cazador’s thumb for two hundred years, to Wyll who was leashed to Mizora for seven, Gale forced to be a human bomb by his Goddess and Shadowheart being mislead by a religion that kidnapped her away from her true family. To Aylin who had been trapped, to Isobel who had been killed and brought back, to Karlach who served Hell for a decade, and Lae’zel who had been deceived by her Goddess her whole life. Each and every one of them had had their worlds turned upside down by another. It wasn’t fair to any of them.

He was fathered by the God of Murder. Yet they were all turning their lives around. Starting over. For the better. He wanted to do the same. He wanted everyone to have that chance.

“Yet, we can still break free of their grasp. We can still mould ourselves into a new image. I’ve seen and experienced that too. There is never a point of no return. Not to me.” Tar’eon turned back to the sea, breathing deeply in the salt and fish. There couldn't be a point of no return, or he'd never be able to turn away from his own bloody past. “I will regain control over my own life. I refuse to bend the knee to my Father and be his slayer. I will break away from him and create my own path. What I will do with it, I’m not sure. But I have many ideas.”

Enver was quiet a moment longer than he needed to be before his lip quirked into almost a smile.

“You tell me far too much, considering the advantage I already have. You are far too trusting. Or perhaps, you are simply naive now.”

“I don’t feel the need to lie to you. You’re as familiar as the scars on my back — I know they are there, I can feel them and I trust their placement, even if I cannot see them. Even if they may look different in a mirror compared to in my mind.”

“I’d say I know the scars on your back better than anyone else.” Enver smirked.

“Perhaps. Maybe that’s why I can trust you not to stab me in the back and add to them, with all I tell you.”

“An unwise use of trust, my dearest.” There was a strange note of approval in his tone. Like he wouldn't usually approve of such a decision, but there was something special about this moment that allowed him to agree with the choice. Like this was an exception rather than the rule for him.

“It’s worked for me so far.” Tar’eon grinned, feeling a little silly if he was honest. Enver was right. He was being reckless. He was speaking with too loose a tongue despite being completely sober. He should be careful around the man, but it was hard to remember that when they spoke in this bubble of solitude, shrouded by the night. They were simply two old friends catching up, even though they both knew it was far more complicated than that. “You’re right. I should hold my tongue around you.”

“Don’t you dare. It’s far too entertaining to watch you give yourself away.” Enver gave a throaty laugh, shaking his head and tapping his cane to the wooden boards. “I’m unable to harm you anyway. That was the rule, was it not? We’re unable to harm each other. We made a vow.”

“My arm tells a different story.” Tar’eon mused, showing off the bandaged forearm.

“Yes, well, I did apologise for that, did I not? It was simple precaution, for my own safety. We can’t have the new Archduke dead on his first day. It would send the people into a panic.” He waved the mere idea off and Tar’eon smiled softly.

“I’ve heard people talking about you in the streets. Mixed reviews. But those who speak highly of you — they do not hold back any sentiments. Half of this city adores you.”

“As they should. I’m keeping this city safe from the evil that plagues its borders.” Enver mused.

“Have you ever considered how rewarding it would be to actually do good by people?” Tar’eon offered and Enver laughed.

“Do you know how most heroes lives end in history? Horribly.”

“So do most villains, I'd argue."

“Perhaps. But I’d rather have the satisfaction of knowing I’ve earned my place on top, without even breaking a sweat. Well…unless you count the sweat I broke on top of the fine wives of other Lords.” His words were shameless, his grin nothing short of sleazy, and Tar’eon made a small sound of disgust.

“I don’t want to know.”

“Please, you’ve watched more times than you probably should have.” Enver sounded far too pleased as the tiefling wrinkled his nose, ignoring the heat in his cheeks.

“I take it neither of us were the jealous type.” Tar’eon noted in a slight drawl.

“We didn’t need to be. We knew no one else would compare outside the sack. So who cared what we did in it, together or otherwise?” Enver shrugged, his eyes twinkling with something mischievous. “It’s quite late. Even the taverns will be closing at this hour.”

“That’s too bad. Having a drink with the Archduke would have been an honour.” Tar’eon wasn’t very good at sarcasm in his personal opinion, his voice too rough and blunt to manage it, but Enver seemed to hear it, because he chuckled.

“The establishments may be shelving their stock for the night, but my shelves do not adhere to standard operating hours.” Enver chuckled. “I’d be happy to share if you feel like baring anything else to me tonight.” Tar’eon could feel his murky eyes running down his body and his heart thumped a touch harder, trying to ignore the tickle of heat low in his belly.

“You are...incorrigible.” Tar’eon shook his head and huffed softly. “I’ve already told you I have a lover, Enver.”

“Ah, yes, he - unlike us - does seem the jealous type. How unfortunate. If things change, do let me know. Your mind may be scrambled beyond recognition, but I’m sure your head is still just as good.” Enver smirked and Tar’eon actually laughed, the sound startled out of him. He did not want to ruminate on that thought; most of his thoughts on Enver were hard to pick apart. He could never tell if his imagination was exceptional or if he was remembering something far too intimate at an inappropriate moment.

If he let his mind wander, he’d think far too much about how Enver’s cock might feel in his throat. He’d rather think of Astarions, but he was trying to be respectful of his lovers wish to be seen in a less sexual light. It was hard when he looked so gorgeous all the time; Tar’eon wanted to do many, many loving things to his body - be that sexual or sensual - until Astarion felt as holy and beautiful as Tar’eon saw him. Kiss all the moles on his face and body…trace his scars…twist his curls around his fingers while he made the vampire flush the prettiest pink. Only granted such a fine colour because of his blood.

Gods, it was hard to stay mad at the vampire for pushing his buttons. He knew he’d made Astarion antsy, he could see through his lies so easily, and knowing he was keeping secrets from him…it must have driven the elf mad. No wonder he pushed and pushed until he broke. He just wished he’d done it where they had a bit more privacy.

“You…Gods. I should head back. My companions are probably worried sick. Or sharpening their blades. Fifty-fifty.” Tar’eon shrugged and sighed, losing the attempt at a playful smile. “You’re right. It’s late. I think I’ve told you more than enough for one night. Anymore and I fear I may actually be blackmailed into sharing wine and a bed with you.”

“Dearest, when you come to be my bed, it will be most willingly, and uninebriated, I assure you. Alas, I still have much to do before dawn breaks. I cannot entertain your rambling all night." He said it like he hadn't offered him wine and company a minute ago. "You still have a traitor to find, and who knows when they’ll strike, hm?” He reminded and Tar’eons heart lurched.

He hadn’t even considered it. What if this faceless in the camp hurt someone while he was gone? What if they hurt Astarion? Shit.

“You’re right. Shit. I should hurry back. Goodnight, Enver.” Tar’eon stepped away from the railing and turned to leave, but after a few steps he paused. “I…thank you. For telling me more about my past. It means a lot to me, to hear the stories, even if I can’t remember them myself. I…I might never.”

“Let us hope you do. You might see reason to our rule again.” Enver mused, a certain superficial charm to his crooked smile.

“Then maybe it’s best I don’t.” Tar’eons words were playful, cheeky even, and Enver’s eyes sparkled at the way Tar’eon refused to bend the knee on the subject. He did quite like a challenge. Equals always challenge you in ways no other could. The superficial edge to his smile was gone. There was nothing hidden in his expression, and it warmed Tar'eons heart in a different way to before.

“May your dreams be bloody, Tir’yal.”

“May your rest by restful, rather than restless, pah rihyl.” Tar’eon responded in kind, the words falling off his tongue before he could even consider their meaning, walking away to return to camp. Enver watched after him until he disappeared, tapping the top of his cane with a soft hum, talons clinking in the quiet. He turned to his Steel Watcher and with a wave of his hand and a whispered incantation, he silenced the machines creaking and thumping, allowing it to hide within shadows.

“Make sure he doesn’t get himself killed on his way back to camp. Stay out of sight unless absolutely necessary.” He ordered and watched the rippling figure disappear. It would do him no favours if the man died before he got him Orin’s stone after all. With spawn and shifters skulking about, if only made sense to watch the tieflings back when his companions could not. He trusted his ability to fight; but anyone could be surprised. Except himself, of course.

He smoothed the collar of his robes as the winds from the sea rustled through his hair, flapping the end of his robe like a ships flag. He glanced out to the ocean, to the lighthouse in the distance and took in a deep breath.

One day, he’d own a castle of his own on the rocks of the sea, so he could leave a window open and feel its breeze every day as he scribbled legalisations. It sounded like the closest thing to peace he could ever imagine for himself. He did wonder idly, if that castle would be as achingly empty as the fortress he called home, if his bed would remain cold like it had for months now. It was a thought that was quickly dismissed, making his way home, back turned to the sea and the moonlight, walking amongst the shadows like all liars and thieves did.

#bg3 fanfiction #baldurs gate tav #durge #past durgetash #dark urge #astarion x tav

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magnificentsapcaddy · 1 year

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A lot of people are driving by the streets of LA and honking in support of the writers on strike, which is nice, but I think we really need to appreciate George R.R. Martin for coming down the LA River and sounding the horns of the Black Bartleby, the grand warship, and in his wake bringing the Queen Rhaenys, the Flying Ray, the Doe, the Cockerel, the Glory of Tyr and Glory of Dorne, the Freefolk’s Folly, the Tenderfoot, the Squabble, the Golden Gosling, the Cockerel’s Crest, the Lady Aliss, the Duchess of Oldtown, the White Hart, the Lizardlion, the Prowling Kraken, the Blackbear, Whitebear, Brownbear, and Redbear, the Gem of the South, the Emerald of the East, the Ruby of the North, the Clamshucker, the Walrustusk, and the Golden Cod.

While we’re at it, let’s thank him for the attack he led against the unionbuster ships: the Black Dog, the Sea Lion, the Lady Samanth, the Blue Rose, the Warrior’s Boon, the Aerion’s Burning, the Dawnseeker, the Valyria’s Finest, the Queen Rhaena, the Glory of Myr, the Lykiri, the Goat Flayer, the Snout of the Dolphin, the Twice-Drowned Devil, the Grumkin, the Manticore As She Stings, the Morning Bell and her sister ship the Mourning Belle, the Loyalty, the Fealty, the Sharkskin, the Devotion, and the Southernbound Lover.

#george rr martin #game of thrones #got #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #this is a shitpost

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barilleon · 8 months

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On Baldur's Gate, and Incorporating Backstories into Campaigns

One thing that completely blew me away about the quest design in Baldur's Gate 3 is how for the most part the core companions all have backstories that tie directly into the main story. It makes everything seem super tight, and gives every companion a very real reason to want to see the fight through. My frame of comparison here is something like a Bioware companion loyalty mission, which is still grounded very much in the world but isn't typically directly invested in the main quest line. I like these missions! But they're created by many writers over the course of years. I'm one guy running a d&d campaign and we're meeting next Tuesday. So I'm gonna take a look at some of the BG3 stories and how I can learn from them for my home games.

Spoilers for all companion-related quests under the cut!

Lae'zel was literally born to play the role of illithid killer, but the stage is not set how she expected it to be. Karlach is both the prototype for a major enemy type in Act III AND the victim of one of the three secondary antagonists. As a cleric of Shar, Shadowheart's destiny was to complete her training in the very temple that houses the means of killing the Act II final boss, and she must choose whether to embrace that destiny or find a new one. Wyll's allegiance to the city you must now protect is written in infernal and signed in blood, but both the circumstances of the game and the pact he's gotten himself in test his limitations.

Gale and Astarion are also very interesting. While their quests don't exactly line up in an explicit way, they're still connected. One informs the quest and the other is informed by it. The shard in Gale's heart is a byproduct of the same event that created the means by which the cult is holding their power. He understands the context and gravity of the situation better than anyone, and is uniquely tempted by the power those means hold.

For Astarion, the events of the beginning of the game are a major catalyst that shoots him from 200 years of servitude and complacency to an independent life in the sun. While his backstory feels very disconnected from everything else, what connects it is just how important that tadpole is to his character. He is the only one of the core companions who sees the tadpole as a boon, a means by which he can obtain his freedom permanently. And that taste of freedom, too, tempts him during his personal quest.

What I'm saying is that there's a lot of different ways of incorporating backstory on display in the main quest line, whether that's a more overt vengeance moment like Karlach's "let me kill Gortash" request to characters' contextual knowledge being unique, like Gale's and Lae'zel's.

Now, this is a video game, and I'm almost positive that the way this was written these backstory elements were informed by the main plot. But sometimes when you're planning a campaign, you already *have* the plot written (by yourself or a team of designers), and players will come to you with character concepts that don't really mesh well with that plot. This is what a session zero is for, you say, and I agree! But sometimes knowing what questions to ask or what information to communicate to your players is super important.

If I were to run the plot of Baldur's Gate 3 like a regular D&D campaign, these are the key points I would give to my players to keep in mind while they were building their characters:

This game takes place in and around Baldur's Gate. Are you from this area? What are your ties to it?

You'll primarily be fighting mind flayers, githyanki, and undead.

This story will focus on themes of vengeance vs justice, cycles of abuse, and trust.

Whom does your character trust the most right now, before meeting the rest of the party? Are they right to?

Is there someone in your past who has wronged you? What do you want from them? (Alternatively: Have you wronged someone, and what do they want from you?)

You will all begin this campaign abducted by mind flayers and infected with an illithid parasite. This parasite can grant you special abilities, such as seeing into the minds of others with this parasite.

I'm open to discussing what abilities and allowances we can give your characters on account of the parasite (e.g. removing drow sunlight sensitivity).

I think with this information, we could very easily see how players would craft characters like the BG3 companions: "What if I was a vampire who could walk in the sun thanks to the parasite?" "What if the one I wronged was the goddess of magic herself, Mystra." "My character puts her faith in her religious order, but that might be misplaced."

And then, my favorite part as a DM: nudging them more towards the plot, where you can grasp their concepts with a tighter connection to the plot you have: "Shadowheart, Shar or Selune actually would be pretty good gods to pick for this campaign. What if you were a cleric of Shar sent on an important mission so secret your memories were wiped?" "Gale, could you be infected somehow with an artifact of Karsus - Mystra's ultimate nemesis?" "Astarion, lean into that: who are you now, after 200 years of living in the dark?"

The planning phase of a campaign is the most crucial part for me. I really want to make sure everyone feels like their character is a part of the story, and their ideas are going to get used. Sometimes that can be a lot of work, but when you get it right it rules so hard. The more you can tie these things to the main campaign, the less work you have to do writing bespoke Bioware sidequest encounters. And the tighter the campaign will feel overall!

#dnd5e #ttrpgs #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #my blogs

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immobiliter · 2 months

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The benefit of the doubt for the True Soul who had saved both her Harpers scouting out Ketheric's forces and the tieflings who had sought refuge here was one thing, but every instinct in Jaheira's body was fighting the urge to trust the elf's drow companion. Not after hearing that a drow commander who matched the woman's description was intimately acquainted with those at the heart of the Absolutist cult, and had not long ago been sent to dispatch a druid camp containing these very tieflings that she was sworn to protect here at Last Light Inn. To see her now in the company of those who had resisted all attempts at enthrallment into service of the Absolute — aided by that mysterious artefact in their leader, Val's, possession — was a curious shift of loyalty, to be sure. But perhaps it stood to question the very nature of the True Soul: not always a willing zealot of this supposed God, but in some cases a victim of whatever terrible machinations General Thorm had unleashed with these mind-flayer specimens. There were pieces of the puzzle here that Jaheira had yet to obtain, had yet to fit together.

“ I see you not as a small child who wandered against her mother's will, but a capable commander who wandered against General Ketheric Thorm himself. ” Jaheira held Minthara's gaze with her own steely glare. Drow were a proud race — Viconia had taught her that — but she was a proud, stubborn woman herself, and she could not be cowed easily, if at all. “ Or who may yet return to his side the moment our backs are turned. ” Minthara could be their greatest asset, or their greatest threat. Someone who had seen the inner workings of Moonrise Towers, who had been acquainted with this new, invulnerable version of General Thorm and had followed his orders faithfully for some time before this sudden change of heart.

Yet if Jaheira was to trust her involvement in their plan to infiltrate the fortress, then she would need to ask some questions of her. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, Jaheira folded her arms. Minthara was spared one more appraising glance before her gaze shifted briefly to land upon Val and the others. The ones who had chosen to trust her. “ But if we are to speak frankly then tell me: how did you wind up in service to the Absolute? And why now do you choose to resist your cult's teachings? ”

@spiderwarden / cont

#spiderwarden #* / thread ( jaheira. )#CONTINUES TO BOUNCE AROUND #mel i am so excited for our things #seeing these two matriarchs go toe to toe is already chefs kiss

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swimmingtrunks · 9 days

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For the Tav ask game: 5, 9, and 22! (Also, whatever the big life change is, I wish you the very best with it!!)

5. Did your Tav have any formal or informal employment? If yes, what was their job? If no, how did they make ends meet? How did they feel about it?

Informal. Kit's a thief, and worked as a free agent for whoever needed their skills. They weren't particularly ambitious, as ladder climbing in any particular faction seemed to put a target on your back. They did honest dishonest work, and they survived. They don't think they have the luxury to feel any particular way about it.

9. What was your Tav doing when they were taken by the mind flayers?

They were on a job, and would probably have to tread carefully if they made it home, as I'm sure involved parties would be none to happy about them going AWOL.

24. Has your Tav become particularly close to anyone romantically and/or platonically in their journey? If so, who, and what is the relationship like? If no, why not?

Mock them as you will, but they have a thing for Gale.

Gale was initially a bit of a mystery and some frustration for Kit, who likes to have a good read on people. Once he fesses up and all the pieces fall into place... he continues to be a frustration for them, albeit one that's tied in to an increasing amount of fondness and affection.

The two of them together are not entirely an odd couple, but I think there's enough of a difference between their areas of intelligence and experience to generate a similar sort of friction/completion dynamic. They can baffle and irritate each other, but there's a foundation of respect and loyalty that makes it worthwhile.

#st plays bg3 #ask game #kit #tav #bg3

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madsexcellency · 2 years

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Billy hc:

Billy was probably tormented with every single mistake in his life. Vecna used the violence in Billy's childhood to torment him. It probably didnt work though. Vecna showed him visions of him violently beating the women who gave even the smallest shit about him.

Billy is scared he'll end up like his father. He knows to an extent he already has but he has justified it in his mind. Vecna tore that justification away and made him relive every moment he caused abuse in his life.

Again, it probably wasnt enough. Billy is strong willed. It doesnt matter that he's a rat bastard he cant let Vecna use his body to hurt people.

Thats when Vecna figures it out: give me the girl and I wont hurt Max.

There are so many times where Max should be in danger, where she is inches away from falling face first into upside down hell. She never does. The mindflayer is literally inches away from her face and when it normally would have sensed her, it spared her.

The reason why Billy goes to barely holding onto his own life to being essentially a flesh puppet for Vecna is because Max is safe. Max will survive. He gives in and lets the mind flayer take over.

When Eleven makes him realize he still has potential to do good on his own without making deals with evil he chooses his own redemption. He sacrifices himself. His last dying words to Max are an apology. He apologizes for everything Vecna made him relive, for every regret. He also apologizes because now Max is a target.

She never should have been a target but now she is. Theres no ethical or logical reason for a truamatized child grieving to be tormented by her grief. Its not logical or ethical, it serves no purpose other than revenge. Billy swore loyalty and because of his failure Vecna will make sure Max suffers.

#billy hargrove #harringrove #max mayfield and billy

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strangertheories · 2 years

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Max mayfield 💚

Max Mayfield (and some Lumax) Analysis

So before I begin this analysis, I'm going to put a quick trigger warning for depression, PTSD, abuse and suicide. If that's not something you want to read about at the moment, please take care of yourself and skip this post. I'm going to write this out similarly to the Mike Wheeler one by breaking down her arc season by season. I might not have included all of her moments, but this post is long enough already so sorry if I missed something out.

Season 2

At the start of season 2, we are introduced to Max. Max is a tomboy who enjoys skateboarding and is brilliant at arcade games. We later find out she can pick locks and drive to a certain extent as well as (in season 3) do proper first aid. Max overall is very smart and skilled and she's one of the most resourceful of the group which is shown throughout the show. In the book Runaway Max, which is dubiously canon, it is said that she learnt to drive from her biological father and even if this isn't the case in the show, we do know that she used to have a good relationship with him (saying her mother was the problem, writing him a letter in S4) which probably contributed to her aloof and unhappy attitude in season 2. It also is an early example of Max's loyalty which we see later on in the series.

Speaking of her aloofness, when Max moved to Hawkins, she is deeply sarcastic, cynical and antisocial. She pushes away the opportunity to make new friends in Lucas and Dustin but we can tell she still wants to be their friend by the fact that she turns up to Halloween with them. She also endures exclusion and poor treatment from the party in order to have friends and be included and I think this shows that deep down, Max craves friendships and closeness with people.

I think this is because Max is dealing with a lot due to her parents divorce, her move to Hawkins and her abusive stepbrother. We see Billy be rude to her, use tactics to emotionally torment her (breaking her things, trying to run over her friends) and be racist towards Lucas. This leads her to push other people away partially because she worries for them but also because she has very low self-esteem so maybe believes people don't want to be her friend and doesn't want to get close to people in case she gets stung again. I also think this is why she endures poor treatment from the party initially but as the season progresses, she stands up for herself to Mike and calls herself the group's 'zoomer', showing how she now feels like she is/should be part of that group.

We see Max's attitude to the world when it comes to the Upside Down. When Lucas explains to her what's going on, she doesn't believe him whatsoever. This is fair enough considering most people wouldn't believe in a parallel universe with D&D monsters. But I also think this is a greater symptom of her distrust and cynicism. But when the strange events are impossible to deny, we see a new side to Max. Max now feels able to trust Lucas and admits to him what's been going on with her stepbrother. She joins up with the group to help fight the demodogs and we see her caring a lot about them. When Billy attacks Lucas and then later Steve, she is able to fight back against him with her newfound confidence that's she's gained from meeting her friends, drugging him and telling him to leave her and her friends alone. She also steps up and drives them to the Mind Flayer's 'hub'. This is also an example of Max's loyalty.

At the end of the season, we see Max going to the Snow Ball. I think this seemingly small Max scene shows just how far she's come since the start of the season. In this scene, Max asks Lucas to dance with her and jokingly refers to him as a 'stalker', his nickname from earlier in the season. At the beginning of her time on the show, Max was aloof and distant. Her nickname 'stalker' was more accusatory and it was used to push away Lucas and co. But by the end of the season, Max has let down her guard, made friends and gained some self-esteem. Instead of being asked to do things, she now pursues friendships and relationships. Instead of using a nickname to push someone away, it's now a friendly joke. I think this scene is the pinnacle of how far Max has come.

Season 3

In terms of character development, I have a lot less to say about S3. We found out in S2 that Max was sarcastic and loyal and was opening up more to people. In S3, we get to see more of the payoff from that. At the start of the season, Max and Lucas are in a happy and steady relationship. Despite Max teasing Lucas and regularly breaking up with him, you can tell that their relationship is pretty good and that Max is no longer pushing away her friends. She has still maintained some of her sense of humour and teasing that made her popular, but it's coming from a positive place now.

Later on, Max takes Eleven under her wing. Eleven is pretty clueless about boys and a lot of the world in general so Max clues her in on what she's missing. Again, we're seeing that Max is now actively trying to make friends and that she's a lot happier which is a result of her arc in S2. Side note: I'm very glad they went in this direction with their friendship as Eleven being jealous of Max in S2 was odd to me. I much prefer them as friends.

Billy gets possessed by the mind flayer so the group describes to essentially boil him in order to find this out. In this scene, Billy begs Max to let him go and you can see that she is tempted as she walks towards the glass. At the end of the season, Max pleads to Billy to try and get him to overcome his possession. He ends up sacrificing himself to save Eleven, her and the rest of Hawkins. His last ever words were 'sorry' to her, which has obviously impacted her. We see her at the end of the season acting cheerful and happy, but privately she is sad and empty. This incident massively traumatizes Max and begins her character regression. Even though Max had a poor relationship with Billy, I think she still believed he could've changed.

Season 4

Before I speak about S4, I just want to reiterate my previous trigger warning for PTSD, depression and suicide as it's pretty heavily implied in S4 and spoken about in some detail in mine.

At the start of S4, we see Max in being spoken to by her councillor because she forgot her last session. She's wearing dark baggy clothes in contrast to her more fun and bright clothes in S3. Max is isolating herself from her friends and her boyfriend. We find out her grades are slipping and that she's putting a lot less effort into school. At the pep rally, she rarely talks to Mike and Dustin except to make a snide comment. Her use of sarcasm in S4 is a lot more reminiscent of what it was like in S2 as she's using it as a tool to be rude and push people away instead of to show her affection to her friends. I also think this is the case in that (quite funny) scene where Max is making fun of Dustin's Hellfire Club t-shirt. She's not doing it out of a place of affection like her with Lucas in S3, she's doing it to try and push people away from her.

She also pushes away Lucas by breaking up with him and deflecting his comments which are coming from a genuine case of concern as him being annoyed she broke up with him. Lucas compared Max to a ghost because whilst she's physically there, Max is not herself at all, which shows just how much she's changed. Lucas clearly cares a lot about Max and I think part of her knows this but because of her depression she's not able to accept that he genuinely cares for her until later.

Under Max's aloof exterior we can still see that she's the same caring girl. Max checks up on Chrissy when she's concerned for her and noticed her leaving the councillor's office whilst upset. She feeds a dog that lives near her house and is very loving and affectionate towards it. She listens in to Lucas' game on the radio. Max is not incapable of love or closeness; it's all an act. But Max thinks that she is. She convinces herself people couldn't understand or care about her so she puts up her guard and pretends to not mind. This is a lot like her in S2, but her depression seems to be a lot worse in S4. I also think that because she's dealt with so much loss that she believes that if she gets closer to someone then she will lose them too.

When Chrissy dies, Max turns to Dustin and her other friends for help. But even at this point, she's still distant from them. We see more of her intelligence and resourcefulness during her investigation, which leads to her realzing that Vecna is going to target her next. She seems pretty resigned to the fact that she's going to die. She's sad about it, obviously, put not nearly as much as you'd think. She writes letters to everyone in her life, telling them what they mean to her because she's too distant to tell them whilst she's alive. To me, these are clearly meant to be suicide notes and before I continue, a lot of this is based off of this post by @kaypeace21 so please check that out for more on this allegory.

Vecna tries to use his trances to convince Max that no one cares about her or would be able to help her. He tries to make her feel isolated and scared. Vecna confirms all of her deepest anxieties and he psychologically tortures her whilst trying to lead her to an inevitable death, telling her that she hides from them and she knows why. He tells her that she is the reason Billy died and that part of her wanted him to die because of his abuse towards her. We know that this isn't true and that Max is clearly mourning his loss and the loss of any chance at having a sibling relationship. But Vecna is not saying anything Max hasn't thought of. He's a personification of that little voice in a depressed person's mind telling them that they're awful and alone and no one could understand them. Vecna tells Max that she wishes to join Billy and the lyrics of the song Running Up That Hill say she wishes their places were switched. Vecna is essentially a walking, talking suicidal thought.

But through the montage, Max realizes that he's wrong. Max has so many people who care about her. She has a boyfriend who loves her. She has so many great moments with friends. She's not a bad person, she's not alone and she's not helpless. Max runs away from her demons and from the forces dragging her down. She runs towards the light. She runs towards hope. And she survives. When she wakes up in Lucas' arms she tells him that she's here. She's not a ghost anymore; she's ready to begin the long rocky road to recovery with the boy and the friends she loves.

To conclude

Max Mayfield is sarcastic and funny, but often times her humour is just a tool to push away the people she cares about. But we start to see at the end of S4 that Max is trying to make a change and recover from her depression.

This post was longggg. I've got asks for Will, Robin, Eleven and Dustin analyses and I promise you that they're coming! Thanks for the ask, anon (:

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