#Moonrise by the Cliff | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pheonixgrave · 9 months

Text

Need You (18+)

I honestly cannot believe how much the last three have taken off, it's actually fucking mindblowing. Thank you guys so much!!!!!!!

Warnings: Fluff and smut, blood drinking, we love Astarion in this household, mentions of Cazador

He loves her. After everything that’s happened and everything they’ve done, he loves her. They held each other all the way from the cemetery back to the camp. It was truly the best night since being back in Baldur’s Gate for her. They could forget that the outside world existed and just focus on each other. They could forget about her parents or Cazador. There was a peace to the night. There was a peace to them. She had loved him for a while. She had loved him since the first night. And she was content to have him however he would let her. She was ecstatic when he told her he wanted them to be something real. She had always been more than patient with him. She had cried when he said he loved her.

It was a deeply emotional night. They held each other, they cried. Astarion knew he had feelings for her at Moonrise. He knew he loved her when she faced down an Orthon in his name. But he was terrified. And then they stood in Cazador’s palace. She hadn’t hesitated to say he would have killed her if they had met under different circumstances. She hadn't hesitated to shove Cazador off a cliff. He had never known her to be malicious. But he could see the look in her eyes as she went toe to toe with a vampire lord. It was certainty. It was defiance. It was breathtaking.

This was real. He had to remind himself of that more often than not. Tav could have had Gale or Halsin. Mizora or Shadowheart. Wyll or Lae’zel. Anyone. But she chose him. And as she laid before him, her once pale skin now a deep golden and most of the softness in her body gone, he couldn’t help the feeling but to own the rest of her. Something about her made him want to be possessive. Sure, they were in the far corner of the rooms they had rented and had more privacy than normal. But he wanted to make her scream.

He sat on his knees, hands gently stroking her thighs. They hadn’t slept yet and the sun was creeping through the windows. They hadn’t even moved past kissing. Everything felt different now. It felt all the more important. She had the same look in her eyes from the first night. Except there was no hesitation. She loves him. Astarion leaned towards her, hovering over her. Piercing red eyes met blue ones. He didn’t kiss her. Instead he kissed her cheek. And then the other one. And then just below her ear, slowly making his way to the bite scars that finally formed on her neck.

He could feel her thighs tremble just from the brief contact. And the way she bared her neck to him was more than heavenly. But he didn’t bite her. Not yet. This was going to last as long as he pleased. She whined when he only sucked the skin around the scars. “Do you trust me?”

His breath was warm against her skin. She wanted him to take her so desperately and he was only taking his time. It was such a simple question but she couldn’t form the words. She nodded vigorously.

“Use your words, pet.”

She whined again but could barely whisper her answer. “I do.”

He smiled against her neck before taking her hands and putting them above her head. “That’s my girl.” He moved quickly, making her grip the bed frame. “Do not move your hands until I say so, understood?”

Her body shook. He had her pinned underneath him and her clit throbbed. She nodded again.

“Try again, my dear.”

“I-I understand.” He had barely touched her and she already knew that the second he did, she was done for.

He sat back and watched the elf squirm under his gaze. “Gods, you’re beautiful.” His voice always did something to her. But a reverent whisper was more than her body could handle already. Her skin was flushed and her chest was heaving. He trailed his hands from her arms to her waist, fingers barely ghosting her skin.

“Atsarion, please!” Tav could see the hunger in his eyes. It made her weak that she couldn’t tell if it was for her or her blood. She’d give him either.

He smiled at her. There was so much emotion in his eyes that neither of them were afraid to put a name to now. They would never be afraid again. He kissed her. A slow, powerful kiss. He kissed her like he needed her. He kissed her like he couldn’t live without her anymore.

He made his way down her body, peppering light kisses along her neck. It took him ages to get to her breasts. He swirled his tongue around her nipples before biting each one. Not hard enough to break skin but hard enough for her to know he could. Her gasps quickly turned into moans as she wriggled against him. And he just kept going lower, every kiss a small worship of her. Her legs had been spread to fit him between them. He started with her thighs, small gentle kisses while his other hand rubbed circles into the other. First the right one then the left.

She was shaking. A slave to his touch and his touch alone. And she cried out his name as he sunk his fangs into her thigh. He felt her muscles tighten as he drank. He knew this wasn’t supposed to be a pleasurable experience. And yet she seemed to almost crave it. It was intimate and held the building blocks for everything they’ve become. He drank slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. Her grip on the headboard was slipping but she was trying so hard to keep her hands there.

Once he stopped, he let blood trickle out of the wound. Quietly enjoying how easily she had given herself to him. He used his fingers to spread her cunt and watched her squirm even more. She knew he’d give her what she craved but she had been waiting for so long now.

“Eyes on me, pet. I want to see those pretty eyes.” Was the only thing he said before buried his face in her cunt. He's found it hard to have any amount of restraint when it comes to her.

"Gods, Astarion," was all she could moan. Her eyes were half hooded but she tried to keep them on the piercing red eyes staring back at her. She would never understand how he could be that amazing with his tongue and able to focus on her at the same time.

Tav was better prepared for him now. She didn't need nearly as much prep as she used to. But her finishing on his tongue? On his fingers? Almost nothing compared to that. Almost. Seeing his cum dripped out of her after he's reduced her to nothing more than a babbling mess? That was truly heaven. And it was Astarion's sole goal right now.

She tried so hard to keep her eyes trained on him. She could barely keep her eyes open as he gave her clit a harsh suck. She cried out for him. Instead of using his fingers to stretch her out, he took a hand and smeared the blood on her thigh around her skin. He made sure to leave his handprint on her stomach. Something about that shoved Tav over the edge. She came with a scream, her body finally finding the release she had so desperately needed. "Astarion!"

He took his hand away, sucking the blood off it. "You taste delectable, pet." He purred before sinking his teeth into her other thigh. She cried out again, her body reveling in the pain. He didn't drink as much, but he wanted to see her bleed. He wanted Tav to know who she belonged to. And she was all too eager.

"Atsarion, I need to touch you." She begged and he was very tempted to refuse her. To make her keep her arms there while he had total control and full reign of her body. But even he couldn't deny how much he loved having her hold him. To feel her wrap herself in him.

"Alright, but I expect you to behave, love." He hadn't moved. Her hands tangled themselves in his curls as he dived back to her cunt. This time, he teased her hole with the tips of his fingers. Her legs wrapped around his shoulders and her back arched as he slipped two fingers inside. The grip she had on his hair was rough. It hurt. And yet, it just made him go harder. She was always so tender with him. Always so careful, almost like he was made of glass. It drove him wild when she lost control and let her body make the rules.

"You're so-Gods-you're perfect." She gasped out and he hooked his fingers inside of her. It wasn't long before he was pumping his fingers in and out of her while tracing shapes on her clit.

She gave his hair a harsh tug, pulling him towards her. She pulled until he was face to face with her again, his fingers still working on her cunt. Now his palm was grinding against her clit. There was a mix of blood and slick on his face. She pulled him in for a hungry kiss. The taste of copper and her on his lips caused her cunt to clench around his hand. She arched towards him, crying out his name yet again.

“Astarion,” she held his face in her hands, “I need you. I can’t wait any longer.”

“After all this time, I thought I would have taught you what patience was.” His forehead rested against hers.

“Stop teasing, please!” She gasped, her body desperately trying to find any source of friction against him.

“Then use your words, pet.”

It wasn’t the first time he had used those exact words. But it was the first time she hadn’t answered. Instead, she wrapped her legs around his waist and managed to flip him onto his back. “I could show you.”

He grinned at her, “By all means,” he slipped an arm underneath his head. He watched Tav realize her position. Her face flushed with embarrassment as she tried to piece together what to do next. If she wanted control, he was more than happy to let her have it. Even if she had no idea what to do with it.

She straddled him, her cunt just a motion away from his cock. Her brain was reeling, was he really just letting her take over? What should she do now? She could take the easy way and impale herself on him. But he had spent so much time teasing her and making her crave him. Maybe she could do the same. She fit his cock between her cunt, not inside. She braced her hands on his chest and started to grind her clit against him.

Needless to say, Astarion was caught off guard. It was finally his turn to start writhing underneath her. It didn’t take long for him to throw his head back. Tav always thought he looked so pretty with his chest heaving and his skin flushed. And he was even prettier covered in blood. The blood from her thighs was a stark contrast on his pale skin. She didn’t consider herself a dark person or someone that enjoyed the darker parts of pleasure. Yet, when it came to him, she craved it.

His hands flew to her thighs to stop her ministrations. He sat up and wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “That’s not what I thought you asked for, pet.”

She moaned as he pushed the tip of his cock inside her. “I-I wanted to-Gods above, Asatrion!” She cried out as he pushed the rest of the way inside her.

“Shh, pet. I’ve got you.” He pulled her head on his shoulder and gently stroked her hair. She wrapped her arms around him, for once not being cautious of the scars on his back. “I’ll take care of you.” His thrusts were slow and deep. He was just enjoying her cries of pleasure and how her body trembled. Suddenly, there was no outside world. No Illithids, no gods. No Tieflings or goblins. It was just them, wrapped in each other like it could be the last time. It was simply Astarion’s quiet worship and Tav’s love for him.

“I love you,” she whimpered into his shoulder. “Gods, I love you.”

His thrusts faltered for only a moment, “Say that again.”

She pulled her head up to look him in the eyes, “I love you.”

Something snapped inside him. He kissed her, gentle at first. Then suddenly rabid. He threw her on her back so fast she thought she imagined it. The slow thrusts suddenly turned into an almost bruising pace. He had never fucked her like that before. Every thrust knocked the wind out of her. His hand grasped around her throat as she came with a silent scream. She dug her nails into his back almost hard enough to draw blood.

It was hard to think, it was hard to register anything but the feeling of him hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars. She could barely make out his whispered groans of “I love you.”

The grip around her neck tightened. She couldn’t breathe but she couldn’t find it in her to care. Her eyes closed as she came yet again on his cock. “Such a good pet,” was all he could manage before his hips lost their rhythm. He couldn’t help but cum inside of her. It was his turn to shake, to tremble in her arms. He didn’t pull out, he wasn’t ready to lose that warmth.

But Tav? Tav saw opportunity. She rolled him over once again. His cock never once leaving her. He was still so impossibly hard and she wasn’t one to let an opportunity like that slide. She remembered riding him for the first time and tried to mimic those movements.

And the vampire spawn was too far gone to do anything but try and meet her hips. His hair was stuck to his forehead and his skin was as flushed as it possibly could be. His nails dug into her thighs. “Shit.” It didn’t take long for him to finish yet again. And she wasn’t too far behind him. Eventually, she rolled off onto the other side of the bed. They laid there, their hands intertwined until the dried blood and cum became far too uncomfortable for either of them.

It was the quiet intimacy of climbing into a cool bath together that cemented what happened. Astarion was truly free of Cazador and he had found someone who loved him simply for being him. It may have confused him time and time again. And as small as she felt when she was pressed against him, he knew he was safe with her. Not just his body, but his soul as well. It didn’t hurt that she was moderately terrifying in battle either. For the first time since the nautiloid, they both felt…At peace.

#astarion #astarion smut #astarion x tav #baulders gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #fem!tav #not my gif #brainrot #yet another one of my fics with blood drinking #is this becoming a thing?#Maybe

326 notes · View notes

lakemojave · 1 month

Text

The Direct Actors: A Baldur's Gate 3 "Adventure" pt. 10 live tonight at 6pm Pacific!

WE! ARE! SO! BACK! After a several months hiatus @caputvulpinum is back from wandering the earth as penance for its numerous crimes against me, the channel, and the sovereign nation of Venezuela. We can get the team together again! Join us for the return of our co op campaign of BG3, with @radiofreederry as Dhudlei Durite, @caputvulpinum as Micah Harper, my friends Nana and April as Leviathan, and me as Delilah "Mama D" Harper! See y'all then!

Art by @terrafey, recap under the cut

twitch_live

THE STORY SO FAR: On the way to a union rally, Delilah "Mama D" Harper and her grandson Micah were abducted and taken aboard an ilithid nautiloid, which they escaped with mysterious dancer Leviathan and self-proclaimed "Champion of Ilmater and Paladin of Good" Dhudlei Durite. Each infected by a mind flayer tadpole, but so far immune from transforming into mind flayers themselves, The Direct Actors, as the party have come to be known, now turn their attention to the Shadow-Cursed Lands, where Moonrise Towers, the lair of the Cult of the Absolute, awaits them...

LAST TIME: With Leviathan missing after falling off a cliff, the Direct Actors allowed Lae'zel to venture forth with them, and at her insistence headed into the mountains in search of a Githyanki creche. Along the way, the party killed a racist who was trying to steal a Githyanki egg, and met a blue jay who asked them to kill some eagles. At the creche, the Direct Actors were introduced to the finer points of Githyanki culture, including a brutal training regimen. Dhudlei was allowed to take an egg to raise with his girlfriend, and said girlfriend was subsequently nearly killed by the Zaith'isk, a supposed device for purifying those infected by mind flayers. As it turned out, the device was really meant to kill the infected as sacrifices to the lich queen Vlaakith. Initially in denial about her queen's sinister nature, Lae'zel insisted that the party seek the Githyanki inquisitor, and an audience with Vlaakith herself led the party to enter the Astral Prism, the Githyanki artifact they'd been carrying which had protected them from ceremorphosis. Vlaakith demanded they kill the Prism's occupant, but Dhudlei was more interested in getting some answers from this being which bore his mother's face. The Dream Visitor explained how Vlaakith had deceived her people and, her secret exposed, Vlaakith declared Lae'zel a traitor and ordered her death. Fighting their way out of the creche, the Direct Actors stopped to catch their breath at camp. They were visited by Kith'rak Voss, who declared his allegiance to the Githyanki Prince Orpheus, and called for Lae'zel to meet him in Baldur's Gate, as Micah chastised Dhudlei for his recklessness in the creche. The argument was interrupted by the sudden return of not only Leviathan, who had spent days wandering the Shadow-Cursed Lands, but New Gale, who had taken a new form as a gnome. Leviathan remembered little of his time in the shadowlands, but seemed shaken by it. The Direct Actors returned to the monetary which housed the creche, and Dhudlei guided Micah to claim the Blood of Lathander, a holy weapon, for his own. Afterwards, after a conversation with Mama D about choice and destiny, Micah received a surprising visit from Ilmater himself, who promised that they would meet again, and answers would be revealed...

Will Lae'zel leave her cult programming behind her, and will she and Micah be able to bond? What has Dhudlei figured out about the Dream Visitor? What - and who - did Leviathan see in his time in the Shadow-Cursed Lands? Will Ilmater reveal himself again? Find out in another exciting instalment of Baldur's Gate 3, starring the Direct Actors!

#bg3 #the direct actors #baldurs gate 3 #twitch #stream #shameless plugging

48 notes · View notes

kirain · 3 months

Note

I love your Tiefling kids all grown up! The attention to detail is astonishing! But please, I need Doni! The sweet little non-verbal boy from the grove!!

I gotchu, anon! All the tiefling children that aren't confirmed to survive to Act 3, but very well could have. This is a continuation of this post. And thank you!

During the attack in the Shadowlands, Doni survived by squeezing between two cliffs and waiting out the slaughter. When silence fell, he paid his respects to the fallen and fled to the closest light source. He quickly spotted enchanted torches in the distance, and he realised they kept the shadows at bay. There he stayed until the curse lifted. Once free to move, he wandered cautiously to Moonrise Towers, where he was welcomed by other survivors. Though unable to speak, he would be instrumental in uncovering precious resources buried during the building's collapse; crawling under debris and mapping out paths for the adults to follow. As the land healed, Doni found a home, especially when Halsin returned. Though not a replacement for his biological father, he came to see the tender druid as a mentor, and with his guidance learned to hunt and attune himself with nature. Slowly, he also recovered from his trauma and reclaimed his voice. He would spend the rest of his days happily foraging food from the now vast forests, and all while blissfully married to the descendant of a Harper.

Meli was taken to Moonrise Prison with the other tieflings, but he managed to escape before reaching the cells. With pursuing guards on his heels, he jumped into the moat, nearly drowning as he dodged their arrows. Through sheer fear and desperation, he floundered to the shore, where he promptly fainted. When he woke, the shadows had faded and the land was bathed in light, but he felt anything but joy. For years, he walked a dark path, his anger seething and survival depending on theft and violence. This changed when he tried to rob a cleric of Lathander. The woman met his transgression with pity and forgiveness, and quickly invited him to join her at her temple. He agreed—with the intention of using her for food and shelter and eventually robbing her blind, but the woman was wise. She saw through his facade, shared her beliefs, and gradually helped him turn a new leaf. As he grew, surrounded by the clerics and their kindness, he too decided to worship Lathander, vowing to carry His virtues and redirecting all of his rage at His enemies. Upon completion of his apprenticeship, he would leave the temple and travel Faerûn, ridding it of undead abominations and protecting the innocent from their scourge.

Gan left the group long before they journeyed to the Shadowlands. Dissatisfied that he never got the chance to fight, and certain that Baldur's Gate wouldn't be the refuge the adults claimed, he chose to stay behind at the Grove. He had always been an independent soul, even at such a young age, and he continued to fend for himself while honing his skills on the practice dummies. The druids attempted to welcome him into their fold, but his proclivity towards violence caused a divide, despite their best efforts. Within a few months, he would leave the Grove and join a band of raiders, but even that stint was short lived when he came to empathise with their victims. One night, after a particularly brutal raid that ended in five murders, he slit the throat of the leader as he slept. It was then, in that moment of lost innocence, that he realised it wasn't violence he longed for, but vengeance. Vengeance for Elturel, vengeance for the refugees, and vengeance for anyone wronged by unfathomable evil. Eventually, he would cross paths with Zevlor, who would recognise the boy's struggle and train him in the ways of the paladin. This gave the wandering oathbreaker renewed purpose, and he would raise Gan to be one of the most feared but celebrated paladins in the Sword Coast.

Unfortunately, Zaki never made it to Baldur's Gate. He never even made it to the Shadowlands. Mere hours after leaving the Grove, he was separated from the group during a brief respite. As the others caught their breath, he left the trail to pee and pick some berries. Unbeknownst to him, he stepped a little too close to a den of wolf cubs, provoking the mother. She attacked, wounding his face and chest and knocking him into a nearby ravine. Once they realised he was missing, the group searched vigorously to find him, but to no avail—and they had to move on. Days later, he was found in a bad state by Rath, who rushed him back to the Grove. The experience had left him deeply traumatised, to the point that even his friend Gan was unable to console him. Feeling responsible for the boy, and the plight of all the tieflings, Rath decided to personally take him under his wing. Slowly, he introduced Zaki to the Grove's wolves, helping alleviate his fears, and soon he came to admire them, along with all the other animals in the area. Through Rath's teachings, he developed an appreciation for peace and the unpredictability of nature, earning him a blessing from Silvanus. From that moment on, Zaki would stay in the Grove indefinitely, one day inheriting the title of Archdruid.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #tiefling #doni #meli #zaki #gan #lathander #dnd #d&d #dungeons and dragons #halsin #rath bg3 #zevlor

32 notes · View notes

karniss-bg3 · 6 months

Text

No Escape

Content warning: This fanfic contains mentions of suicide, intrusive thoughts, self deprecation and self harm. Please do not read below the cut if you are not in the head space to consume this kind of material.

Word count: 554

Summary: Kar’niss awakens to find he is not alone, in his head at least.

***

Filth. Pest. Nuisance.

Kar’niss’ eyes opened, stirred from his trance by the whispered words creeping from within. He was within his twisted alcove not far from Moonrise tower, a secluded spot with gnarled trees, rocky cliffs, and a deep ravine below. His moon lantern remained forever clutched in his grasp to keep the shadows at bay illuminating a freshly drained humanoid slumped over the branch nearby. His gaze darted around in search of the voice even if he knew its true origin, wishing for something tangible to fight rather than the immortal monster within.

The abomination has risen, crooked and twisted. This ravine is deep. A few steps and the suffering ends. Do it. Coward, he is a coward. Selfish, dim, too incompetent to die.

The voices were numerous and relentless, their volume growing in strength the more he came into consciousness. Kar’niss clamped his jagged hand onto the side of his face, trembled fingers coming to curl and dig at the uneven flesh of his forehead and cheek.

“M-Majesty, protect me from their venom,” Kar’niss growled, backing up tighter into the tree.

She has abandoned you.

Our Queen has seen you for what you are, a fraud.

Ugly, ugly, ugly. Vile, She vomits at the sight of you.

We can barely stand to be a part of you. Walk off and free us, WALK OFF!

The drider shook his head frantically maintaining his grip on the lantern, his claws breaking the skin due to the dangerous pressure applied. “N-No, She would not abandon us. We are Her m-most loyal s..servant…”

No one likes you. No one.

Annoying blabber mouth. Shut up, be silent, never speak again.

The abomination cannot help himself. He wants to be accepted, to be loved.

A great joke, that. Add delusional to the list of flaws. A shite smear deserves more love than you, filth.

“SHUT UP! Shut up! Hhnng!” Kar’niss thrashed against the tree with such force it would’ve dislodged leaves had it any left to dislodge. Moisture streamed down his face, trying desperately to regain control of his own mind with little success. The more he fought the intrusive thoughts the more insistent they became. His head was flooded by a chorus of insults, each more biting than the last. He could hear nothing else around him left completely vulnerable to the whims of his inner demons. Even his cries went unheard in his own ears, drowned out by the brutal assault by his subconscious.

It all came to a head in a violent fashion. The voices overwhelmed his senses, his muscles wound tighter than a spring. His hand gripped his hair with such force that it ripped strands out by the roots. He threw his head back and looked toward the blackened sky, his face streaked with tears which cut a path through the dirt on his cheeks. His mouth fell open unleashing an unholy wail from the depths of his chest. The sound tore through the bleak forests of the Shadowlands, disturbing nesting ravens forcing them to flee the branches to get away from the ear piercing screech. The harrowing cry reached the spires of Moonrise gaining modest reactions from the inhabitants. It was a familiar sound that they learned to ignore with time. It would sort itself out, they believed.

One way or another.

#baldur's gate 3 #kar'niss #drider #bg3 #karniss #baldurs gate 3 #my writing #kar'niss fanfic #bg3 fanfic #tw: mental illness #tw: suicide mention #tw: self harm #tw: intrusive thoughts #There is no greater enemy than the mind who turns on its Master

38 notes · View notes

darethshirl · 2 months

Text

Writing Pattern Tag Game

super late with this but better late than never! thank you for the tags @fadedsweater, @anneapocalypse, and @dragon--sage 🥰🥰 tagging back @roguelioness, @sarsaparillia, @korcariiwitch, @queenaeducan, @rosella-writes, @dreadfutures, @melisusthewee, @mel-0n-earth and anyone who sees this and wants to do it tbh!

Rules: list the first line of your last 10 fics and see if there's a pattern!

Goblins were disgusting, wretched little creatures, but even Astarion had to admit they knew how to throw a party.

from i'm not beaten by this yet (you can't tell me to regret) (bloodweave, explicit, 3k words)

It was only after Astarion had finished the kill—after the gut-deep slash, the satisfying spurt of blood—that he realized he was being watched.

from tear it through my heart (again, again, again) (tavstarion, mature, 4k words)

The cemetery was a quiet, unassuming little place, hidden between a shabby building and a formerly-tall church wall that was swiftly falling into ruin.

from cradle me with grace (tavstarion, explicit, 3k words)

Baldur’s Gate buzzed with all the activity of a healthy city, lively and unchanging throughout the ages.

from so long to this wretched form (tavstarion, teen, 4k words)

The tower at Moonrise was both more imposing and more cramped than Astarion had imagined.

from take me under, take me home (tavstarion, teen, 6k words)

The moon shone high overhead, and Ketheric Thorm’s world was crumbling all around him.

from deus proditus (Ketheric study, general, 1k words)

The thing was, Astarion really had wanted her from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her.

from let me wrap my teeth around the world (tavstarion, explicit, 5k words)

In retrospect, John should have waited before bringing his friends back to life.

from like prometheus we are bound, our godforsaken lot (John/Mercy/Augustine, The Locked Tomb, general, 2k words)

It starts so abruptly that Cliff doesn’t even realize what’s happening.

from you know how to make me crawl (Cliff/David, Black Mirror, explicit, 1k words)

Despite everything, and despite what her future memories will tell her, Erica grew up relatively happy in the House of Slaughter.

from ain’t it a gentle sound, the rolling in the graves (Erica study, Something Is Killing The Children, teen, 2k words)

so!! first of all I'm surprised I had to go deep enough that I ran out of bg3 fics lmao. I'd almost forgotten I'd written that black mirror fic!! and yet I didnt go far enough to reach a dragon age one 🥲 I really have left this fandom huh (for now! 😤🐺)

second of all, I'm surprised by how short some of these are! I definitely think of myself as more wordy, and I prefer my longer sentences when I look at this. I think the weakest are the bg3 ones in the middle where I have to establish which act we're in (and let me tell you I STRUGGLED with that Baldur's Gate city description, it was literally the last part I wrote in the fic and you can kinda tell i wanted to get things over with aksdh)

I do prefer the ones that are more character-centric (poor Ketheric, so dramatic lmao). I think if you're going in fandom-blind John's line is the most striking (he can bring people back from the dead???) even tho if you have the context it's not that impressive an opening 😂 And I super enjoyed writing astarion being a dick about goblins!

but I gotta say my favourite line is the "it was only after Astarion had finished the kill" etc etc from tear it through my heart 🥰🥰 in fact I liked that line so much I made it the summary! these are the kind of vibes I want to always achieve 👀 also, honestly, I should start in action/medias res more often! it seems like a fun style I've tragically underused so far

#ask meme #my writing #bg3 #tlt #black mirror #hey you know what other annoying pattern i can see #all my titles are from song lyrics 🙃😂#i hate it but also im not gonna stop it cause. you know. coming up with titles SUCK #but theyre still dumb to look at one after the other akjsd #also you can tell im wordy when my pattern analysis babbling reaches FOUR PARAGRAPHS LMAO 🤡

11 notes · View notes

mithrilandvilya · 5 months

Text

12th – language/culture/beauty

Beauty in Harad

She was Hastalteth, healer. It was a title, assigned to a slave whose duty was to scour the battlefield for the fallen but not-yet-dead, and make them fit for further duty. Aside from this, she had no name that she could remember, and recalled no life other than as Hastalteth.

She was claimed by Qol Kai Chek, a large beast of the men of Harad. Technically, he was Khandish, but his trade was war, and Harad had been his place for most of his career. A fearless and commanding general, he led his troops with brutal efficiency and cunning, crafting his path to higher stations with ruthless ambition.

This particular hastalteth was uniquely gifted at her craft, and this had become well-known amongst all the Southland battalions. In a sea of clashing bodies bent on destruction, those who recognized her stepped aside and wielded their axes and maces in other directions, for the chance that should they fall, she would make them rise again.

Nevertheless, her body was tainted with myriad scars and bruises, with unnatural slight bends and bumpsi n bones here and there from ill-healed breaks. There was no life without pain in Harad, especially for a slave. There were no healers for the hastalteths, forbidden to aid one another and left to the help of only what they could do for themselves.

She helped herself little, because when she saw a fallen soul on the hot, blood-stained dirt at her feet, she gave no heed to who he was or who he served. All broken souls called to her equally, and it pained her more to hear the cries in her head and heart and do nothing than it did to face the lashes, violations, and beatings of her master for aiding an enemy. At the end of a battle, her exhausted body would be carried off to his tent by some servant or other, and she would face his wrath. There was no expression of gratitude for saving his strongest, fastest, or best archer – another day of life was all she could expect in exchange for a successful rescue. Although he would never speak it, despite her willful disobedience at every battle, her unparalleled healing ability made her too valuable to dispatch. Because she was his, his reputation was all the better; she served his ambitions.

Thus she lived on a narrow precipice of survival, mourning little for her own fate. The lowness of her station was drilled into her self-perception, inextricable. She could not imagine a world where she was treated differently or deserved a different kind of life – the very language of Harad which gave her no name ensured it.

At least, that was almost so. The Southlands were bleak and razed, baked by hot sun, repeatedly coated in suffocating black ash, and strewn with anger and death. But her eyes and soul were drawn to the rare flashes of beauty that persisted, and she could almost envision the power of the beauty encompassing all, scouring clean the filth of evil, freeing minds and hearts.

Her mind’s eye held onto the memory of a loyal friend carrying his comrade to her through the greatest peril. She had seen the friends later, arm in arm, laughing away pain and darkness for one more day.

She had seen rare, dainty white sand-lilies springing from cracks in the dried, hard earth, and intrepid bees packing their legs with pollen steadily with no mind to the bloodshed all around them.

She watched magnificent sunrises and sunsets, and moonrises and moonsets, enhanced by the persistent smoke over Harad.

She had once gone as far north as the southern edge of the Dead Marshes, witnessing the ghastly fallen spirits in its murky waters, while over them a family of beavers busily built their lodge, old swords, bows and staffs picked out of the choked bottom made part of its construction, so that the lodge was an entrancing work of art.

She routinely noted bird nests tucked into layered cliffs, parents feeding their young amid soft, sharp chirps of excitement exuding from the nestlings.

And she had twice knelt over and healed exquisite forms of the most beautiful elves, deemed merely mythical creatures this far south, and saw their shining eyes delight as the Halls of Mandos slammed shut before their spirits entered. These had laid their hands on her in otherwise unknown gentleness and gratitude, inviting her to go with them, which she had refused because she desired not to make them a focus of her master’s worst intentions. But ever since, she dreamed of them and the beauty that must fill the lands of such stunningly elegant people.

She held on to these flashes of beauty, secreting them away in her mind, using them to keep from breaking entirely. Qol Kai Chek had complete control over her body, but he never knew what was in her mind. That was hers and hers alone. She had trained herself so that when he bore down on her with whips, chains, straps, and fists to leave her body and instead be with the bees, beavers or birds, or even with the elves. He would grow frustrated that his punishments never changed her behavior, but when he ran out of breath at his exertions against her, he knew nothing else to do short of killing her, which he did not want. He was clever enough to spin all in his favor in the eyes of charges and superiors, so it mattered not.

Hastalteth steadfastly healed hundreds or maybe even thousands before Qol Kai Chek finally fell. In the chaotic aftermath of his ultimate defeat, his remaining soldiers scattered confusedly in all directions, all thinking only of themselves, and none thinking of her. She trudged wearily amongst the fallen, seeking any near enough to life to revive, until she happened upon the corpse of the general, not knowing he had fallen until then. She heard a far-off call from his soul to hers, pleading for life, but when she went to touch him, she felt his spirit violently jerked back away from her, and there was no more of him in this world.

She stood, turned, and looked all around her and found herself utterly alone in the desolation. Above her, the sky was fiery red at the brink of night, and a single dark form cut across it from South to North. A great eagle slowly soared, coming low as it passed over her, and she could see the beautiful fine detail of its powerful yet graceful feathers. It uttered a sharp, plaintive peal, seemingly calling her to follow.

Hastalteth was apparently no more, but what she now was, she didn’t know. The eagle was already far ahead of her and disappearing beyond a ridge as she set out after it. Her path was slow and treacherous over rocky, broken, and battle-shredded terrain, but by dawn, as she pulled herself up the final ledge of a cliff, she saw a trail of daisies before her, heading down into a very narrow green valley surrounded by bare black and red mesas in all directions. The green winding canyon bottom was strikingly solitary and the only way forward. Her eyes followed it as far as possible, and where it disappeared at a bend miles in the distance, she believed she could see a stand of lush trees, something she had never before seen but instantly recognized.

There was a word for these trees, rarely used because they were rarely seen, nearly archaic in the Haradrim tongue. Santi, it was. As she thrilled at the possibilities before her, she carefully made her way toward the stand of Santis, though it would take her nearly the full day to get to them. Looking on them as she drew near, and felt transformed by the sudden change in her fate. She felt inspired to give herself a name.

“Santi I now am,” she said out loud to herself, “and I will follow the path of beauty before me to see where it leads.”

That night she laid under the boughs of her namesakes and dreamed of elves in splendid lands somewhere in the north and west, for the first time thinking perhaps she would actually see them someday. The gently swaying Santis saw her beneath them, and having heard her say her name, reckoned her as one of them, and kept her safe in their embrace through the long night. They sent out whispers through the earth and on the winds to all the places they knew, telling about her, and thus enchanted her journey. Creatures small and large welcomed and protected her wherever she went for the next several months. Whenever she felt uncertain which way to turn, some creature would inevitably appear on her path, leading her around obstacles gradually north, and now and then west. The enchantment continued until she first stepped into the realm of elves, where it ceased, no longer needed.

Santi had no idea she had made it to the lands she dreamed of seeing, but she knew she was surrounded by overwhelming beauty. Perhaps those from these lands took it for granted, but she herself was continually surprised and amazed at all she saw. She sat down to rest, but fought against closing her eyes for more than a few moments, slightly fearful that when she re-opened them she would find this all a fantasy and awake with the brutish form of the general hovering over her, freshly laid welts and bruises marring her body, as she cowered in the corner of the tent of her master. Eventually her eyes did close, and she slept without knowing.

Night fell, starless due to low, wet clouds, when a soft touch on her shoulder stirred her and she was greeted by a voice she had heard once before.

“Santi, I am relieved that you have found and followed the path we laid for you to come to us. You are welcome here as long as you wish to remain.”

Before she could ask, the elf continued, “We know your name from the trees, for we hear their voices as well as yours. Come now to the halls of healing where you may rest and eventually work if you so desire.”

Only then did she understand the solitary green line pointing her north, through the Santis to here, had been laid for her by the elves. The two she met had both invited her to go with them, but had not forced her when she refused. However, they did not forget the beautiful heart of the Haradrima healer that had tended them, and with a gentle touch at their departure had inserted themselves into her dreams to comfort her while they prepared her way out of the lands of darkness.

Never before had Santi felt loved. But once she knew it, she recognized love as the source of all beauty. She understood that what Harad suffered was from its lack, and she pitied those she had left behind.

After a long respite with the elves, she followed the now-decaying green line back to her homeland. As she passed the Santis, she thanked them for their name and protection but set them both aside and again became Hastalteth. She spent the rest of her life healing as many as she could with loving care, with no master other than her own heart.

On a particularly bleak, smoke-filled winter day less than a half-decade after her respite, two elves collected her shattered body from beneath a sullen rocky precipice deep inside the realm of Harad and carried her away to lay her to rest under the Santi trees, who again embraced her as their own.

Those who saw her die mourned for themselves over it, but continued on their way to another battle they would soon face. However, among those she had healed were a few who were touched by her compassion and inspired to carry some of it themselves. Nameless, she was before long forgotten in Harad except by the Santis, the only evidence of her life a small light in the hearts of some she healed and a few more that they themselves touched with compassion. It went on and did not extinguish, helping to keep the full domination of darkness ever so slightly at bay.

#tolkien elves #lotr elves #lotr fandom #lotr fanfiction #haradrim #lotrweek

18 notes · View notes

blackjackkent · 2 months

Text

Unsurprisingly, we get into a conversation with the Emperor as soon as Ansur is dead (again).

"Ansur. I never thought I'd see him again."

Hector is spitting mad about this whole situation and not bothering to hide it. "How much more of your past are you not telling me about?"

I was assuming nobody but Wyll actually witnessed the interchange between the Emperor and Ansur, that it kind of took place inside Wyll's brain with Wyll as the conduit. So I'm also running on the assumption that Wyll - fried within an inch of his life by the whole experience - gave Hector the Cliff's Notes version right after the battle ended, and Hector is now furious as a result.

He is sick of this creature lying to him and manipulating him. He is sick of surprises. He is sick of the fact that his rapidly crumbling alliance with the Emperor still had enough weight that it required fighting a beast like Ansur rather than allying with it. How dare you? he thinks angrily. How dare you allow this to happen?

And he is doubly angry, really, that all of this madness means that he cannot properly enjoy the revelation that is happening here. The Emperor is Balduran? One of the greatest historical figures in all of Faerun? Someone he has read about countless times in his studies in the monastery library?

He feels sick with this desecration - of the dragon, of his own knowledge, of his own joy in that knowledge.

"My past is past," the Emperor answers calmly. "I concealed nothing from you. I simply left out the details that were not pertinent to our cause. But it seems you are interested in them."

Hector scowls. Once, when the Emperor was still the Guardian and Hector did not know the threat it posed, that unflappable placidity appealed to him; now he just finds it infuriating. "You literally founded Baldur's Gate," he says between his teeth, as if stating the obvious to a particularly aggravating child. "Of course I'm interested."

If you cared about me as anything more than a tool, I suspect you would know that already. Further evidence that we are right to turn from you, he thinks bitterly.

"Such sentimentality..." the illithid says disdainfully. "Very well."

(A/N: Another flashback sequence!)

"It's like I always told you. I was just like you. An adventurer who yearned for greatness. And in mortal terms, I achieved it. As captain of the Wandering Eye, I acquired enough gold to found Baldur's Gate. I stayed for a while to watch my city grow, but it was not enough."

"I grew restless again. The sea called to me, and I ran to her with open arms. Life at sea was not easy. Our last adventure was ruinous. My ship was destroyed, my crew lost, but my spirit was far from broken. I was determined to return in triumph once again. I heard of treasure in Moonrise. I strove to find it."

"What I found was an illithid colony, where I acquired a tadpole much like yours and became a mind flayer, enthralled to the Elder Brain."

"It was Ansur who found me, Ansur who pulled me from the brain's domination, Ansur who brought me home. He sought to cure me of my sickness, called on every healer he could find, nearly broke his spirit in the attempt."

"But he failed to understand - I wanted no healing. I was not sick."

Hector listens to this impassively. It tells him little he did not already know, but fills in extra details in the tapestry. And again he feels that spark of rage that he cannot enjoy this moment of learning, that it comes wrapped in agony and fear. "Ansur. Stelmane," he says coldly. "Do your allies always die?"

"Stelmane's death was not my fault," the Emperor snaps. "Ansur's death was born of necessity. And make no mistake - I grieve them both." It shrugs, turns away. "Even after he had exhausted all possibility of reversing my condition, he still clung to hope. I tried to convince him of my reality - I was on the cusp of greatness beyond my wildest dreams. But all he could see was a mind flayer."

A long pause. Its voice lowers. "He came to me as I slept - a mercy killing, in his mind. I saw the tears. I felt his grief. I had no choice but to kill him first. It was an act of self-preservation."

Because you wished to remain a monster. "Is being an illithid really worth the loss of a friend?" Hector asks flatly.

The Emperor matches his tone, its lavender eyes narrowing to slits. "Put simply - yes. And being alive is even more so. Do not think that I am ignorant of what I have lost. I may not regret my actions, but I do regret that they were necessary." It shakes its head in a sharp motion heavy with finality. "While the past is beyond my influence, the present is not. It is time we move on."

It vanishes in a burst of light, swallowed back up by the Prism.

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle

7 notes · View notes