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pursuitseternal · 4 months

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“Stripping,” a nsfw, hurt/comfort, and vengeance update to “Our Blood is Thicker:”

Astarion x Cordehlia (named Tav) | E | 6.3K

Summary: The fight for vengeance for her father comes at last to Ketheric, so long as Astarion is there to keep on hand on her, to keep her from getting lost in the bloodlust of the Bone Picker. Cordehlia needs healing… her burdens of her past too great to bear alone. That’s why her love is there, to strip away her old griefs, and all that covers her.

CW: Bloodlust, angst, revenge, hurt/comfort, allusions to battle-canon gore, Act 2 Spoilers, real sex, tadpole stripping (symbolic), very soft Dom!Astarion

Previous ch | Ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 13: Stripping…

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Moonrise Towers. A curse nearly broken. The Moonmaiden Aylin freed, and the source of that monster's immortality unchained. Only one thing remained to their moving forward.

Ketheric had to die.

They had come close, so close. The rest of his bone-chilled undead fighters were dust at their feet. But then… there was that oozing orifice now in the top of the Moonrise Towers, the illithid stink rising from its bowels. A hole where Ketheric had vanished like the coward he was, threat on top of threat, into the putrid heart of the Absolute.

Cordehlia ran right for it, blade at the ready, pursuing after Ketheric alone. A battle cry tore through the air as she sprinted. Blood spattered. Breathless.

Hellsbent on revenge.

Two sets of feet ran for her… one shifting into a bear just to make sure he got there before she did anything rash. The Druid panted as he raised up on his massive hind feet. Cordehlia slammed into a wall of fur, two lean vampiric arms not far behind to catch her against Halsin’s big bear belly.

“Stop, stop, darling,” Astarion repeated over and over. But the She-elf thrashed even as her weapons were pinned to her sides. Even as she snapped her teeth and hissed in rage at them both.

Her eyes were pure black, dilated so wide with bloodlust. Her need to kill, to avenge.

To repay the debt she had carried for a century, the weight of her Father’s lost soul.

“Let me go, damn you both,” she snarled. Her voice was deep, scratched with all her battle screams.

“Not until you see sense, my love,” Astarion tried to cajole, tried to hold her armored body against his own even as she shook, the rush of her need to kill shooting down every muscle of her body. The bear grunted, a warning, and Astarion held her fast to turn them, to keep the splatter of mud from covering their already filthy bodies as the Druid shifted back.

“Your father wouldn’t want you to fall headlong into danger,” Halsin instantly interjected the moment he could. And for once, Astarion was a tinge glad the ancient elf could help. Especially as he felt her body slowly begin to still at the sound of reason. “You need to regroup, think of your strategy before you dive into the belly of the enemy. That place reeks of Illithids and pulses with the power of the Absolute,” Halsin’s deep voice rumbled, slow and soothing tones that rippled with persuasion and wisdom.

“Ketheric must die,” Cordelia thrashed again, back to her lover’s chest, elbows trying to free herself and making her vampire grunt and hiss in the process. “To break the curse, to end the Absolute, to avenge all that has been taken from me… all that made me this… weapon. I need…” her voice grew feral, threatening in a way that made every one of her companions quake in their boot, “to crush him… I need his blood.”

“Gods,” Astarion tried to gently stroke her face, “now which one of us sounds vampiric, darling?” He whispered, catching the edge of her long and pointed ear in his fingers. Something behind her eyes softened, something that turned that black back to singing silver, slowly, stroke by stroke of his fingers.

Until she stilled completely, limp in his arms, smiling gently as she looked into his face at last.

“There now, little Raven,” he whispered only for her ear as he caressed it.

“You’ll have your justice, little one,” Halsin drew closer. And Astarion fought hard not to bristle at the way his green eyes smiled at his love. “But we need to regroup, gather our forces before we dive into that Mindflayer colony to end Ketheric once and for all.”

“Fine,” Cordehlia stood on her own two feet, finally steady, calm enough that Astarion was pretty sure she wouldn’t launch down that stinking hole alone. “I hear wisdom in your words, my Father’s own sort.” She squared her shoulders, hands quickly resheathing her weapons with a metallic hiss. “We rest a few moments, then we cut him off… cut him down.”

The whole party gave a sigh of relief, finding places here and there to sit, to wipe the blood from their eyes and sharpen their weapons a moment.

Halsin left them to do the same, beginning his work of healing whatever little wounds they had sustained. And Astairon finally felt the peace of being with her alone, for that moment. Even with her back towards him, her eyes fixed on their next move of attack, he couldn’t leave her. “My love,” he bid her softly. “Come and sit a moment with me, won’t you?”

“No,” she replied, fixed forward still. “I won’t rest until his blood is shed and my Father is avenged.”

“Don’t be stupid, Cordehlia,” he tutted his tongue, moving to put himself in her line of sight. Those eyes at first scowled at him… the same way she once did when they first… stumbled upon one another again. There was loathing, hatred. Bloodlust even. It sliced through him, pain cutting right to his slow-beating, undead heart. “What’s wrong, my love?” he frowned, folding his arms across his own armored chest.

“What’s wrong?” she scoffed, vitriol in her voice and hate in her eyes. “I am so close to avenging my Father… so close to fighting my way back to who I once was before I lost my only family to Ketheric, so close to reclaiming what I was when you first loved me…. I am so close to cleaning my hands from all the blood I shed as the Bone Picker, so close to clearing my body of the damned mantle of my former self. My dark self.”

A warm voice cleared its throat at a distance beside them. “Well, that is most encouraging, I must interject…”

Astarion had to force his lips to stay shut, to keep himself from snarling and letting his fangs do the talking. “I don't think Cordehlia invited you to join our very private conversation… Gale… and I know I didn’t extend an invitation…”

“Well,” the Wizard shifted as Cordehlia turned to look into his own face. Her eyes still hardened, her mouth still turned in a scowl, “a fresh start… a new beginning, once this is all through, it’s what you deserve, Cordehlia.”

Astarion bristled. “Forgive me, but maybe what she deserves is to know that what she was has made her what she is… perfect and stronger and fiercer. Capable of bringing down the Absolute, capable of so much more than that.” He could hear it in his own voice, that edge of a hiss, that rasp of threat he hoped made Gale quake and shut his mouth. “Unlike those of us who tried to win the love of a goddess of magic to be cursed with some magical blight… Some of us have a sordid past that has made us embrace the monster we are and use it to our… advantage.”

Cordehlia turned, her love, her fierce defender… she felt something inside her ease as he braced his whole frame, ready to attack at her side. He never saw her as a monster, never condemned her for the blood that stained her past and dripped from her hands. He couldn’t chastise her without naming the same fault in himself. Not that he saw it as fault. Only suffering and torture and loss.

For what fault was there in him? Made to be tortured, made to seduce and use his body for his master’s delight…

And she… she had been formed like adamantine… stronger than a blade, more deadly than any spell. She would end this enemy… Ketheric, the Absolute…

Crodehila took a steadying breath, drawing closer to place one gauntleted hand on Astarion’s arm. “It is the darkest forces, the most devastating pressure that forms the sharpest weapons. And you can’t escape that darkness, that pressure or else… you become brittle ....”

She watched her words take hold, sinking into his chest, his heart, the source of his blight. Gale’s eyes fluttered closed to hear her speak. “None of us need to shatter, not even you, no matter what self-sacrifice has been demanded of you by your former lover. Embrace who you are, what you have learned in the dark, and we will make it out of this.”

Astarion smiled so softly down at her—his unshakable warrior. Every head nodding in approval.

Cordehlia took a trembling inhale, almost watching her reflection in her mind, covered in that fearsome armor of Lady Corvus, smiling back at her. Brighter. Part of her. But not in control. “We can walk from this side by side, once this is all through. And we will all be made that much sharper for it.”

Even that made Gale smile, spurned as he was, jealous or determined… it didn’t seem to burn so bright inside him anymore. “You’re right,” he shook his head, “damned wisdom of the elves… I can’t argue with that.”

The vampire sucked his teeth, a little cock of his head rife with sarcasm. “If only you’d listen with that same rapt attention to me, sometime,” Astarion sneered even as he laughed.

“Not sure you count as an elf…” Gale tossed back, “or wise…”

Karlach snorted with laughter, breaking what could have been tense silence. Chuckles, giggles filled the air, until even Cordehlia’s bubbly, medical laugh peeled beside him. And that made his own lips smile.

Besides, there would be plenty of time to shame Gale as the butt of many a joke soon. Once Ketheric was dead.

That event came with such relief. Came with lots of blood and vengeance and gore. But in the end, Cordehlia stood over Ketheric’s headless corpse, the blood of his undead body caking her boots.

Her blade hung at her side, having struck the death blow at last. Its tip dragged noisily on the ground behind her as she stepped away. The scraping echoing in the massive cavern. Her voice was hoarse as she tried to speak, sore from screaming at him as she had hacked his body, howling the name of her Father, unburdening all the things she had carried on her shoulders from her grief.

Her eyes were wet, wide, and sad as she looked at her bedraggled friends. Her love. “Let's move from here,” she scratched out. “We have more things to do.”

Cordehlia straggled, barely sliding one foot in front of the other. Her eyes looked hazy… distant.

Faint. Her vision swam… a weight off her heart, she could almost feel the Shadow Curse lifting from the lands, almost see her Father’s smooth, smiling face one more time. But there was so much more to do… more enemies to defeat, the chosen of Bhaal and Bane… an army of the Absolute to vanquish, not to mention a Netherbrain to somehow destroy.

It was too much for even her adamantine-hardened soul.

Her knees buckled, but before her body smacked into blood-covered stone, Astarion caught her. Somehow, that lean, vampiric, roguish body lifted her in his arms and over his shoulder, armor and all. Somehow, she could smell his scent of citrus and hers through the tang of blood and gore. Somehow, she could hear his soothing hush inside her mind as she drifted unconscious for a moment.

She had barely moved, still breathing, as she laid in his mess of blankets inside his tent. Halsin bent his hulking body over Cordehlia, and Astarion could only watch as the healing magic glowed around her unarmored body. He kept his lithe fingers in his love’s hair, brushing out snarls, stroking up and down her ears tenderly and slowly. Just to let her know he was there.

“There now,” Halsin grunted as he sat back on his haunches. “She should awaken herself. A bit lighter in the heart I wouldn’t be surprised, after finally finishing what she thought her Father started.”

Astarion couldn’t fight the instinct to have his hackles raised when the Druid spoke about her and her past. But all the same, he forced that well-practiced friendly smile. “Thank you, Druid,” he said. “I’ll take it from here, get her cleaned.”

“Using your tongue or do you prefer the dish and rag?”

“That’s rather impertinent,” Astarion let his fangs show this time.

“I’m only joking,” Halsin chortled, deep and low in his chest as he reached for the basin of water and a rag to bring within reach. “No one is trying to take her from you, you know. You’ve rekindled a bond so strong, so thick, I doubt it will sever even in death.”

The vampire felt his nostrils flare.

“Well, a second one in your case,” Halsin quickly added, that warm smile turning his scarred face.

“There is not much that can outlast even death itself,” he took the bowl from the Druid’s massive hands, busying himself with washing her face clean first. “Not unless you are undead… immortal.”

“I’m… forgive me, I believe I touched a delicate nerve.”

Astarion kept his hands busy; it always helped him think, rest, and concentrate. “Attachments are of little consequence to those who are not in them, Druid.”

“Attachment? You mean love, surely?”

Raising his head with a snap, he leveled his gaze at the massive, crouching Elf. “I do,” he snipped. “There is nothing I would not do to keep her now. After all the mistakes I have made, all the suffering I was forced to put others through.” He paused to wipe some more of the dried blood from her beautiful face. “She might be the one thing I have done right in my life, undead or before… as long as I don’t fuck it up again.”

“If you do… love her… then it is only natural to trust your instincts. You will protect her better than anyone or anything.”

For once, Astarion looked up at the Druid and didn’t feel jealousy or hatred or even annoyance. He was… grateful. “Thank you… Halsin,” he replied, wringing out the rag to get fresh water once more.

“I’d say ‘shout if you need anything,’ but I suspect once she wakes you will be shouting for other reasons, ones you won’t want… disturbed,” he chuckled in that deep bellied way of his before he left the tent.

Astarion couldn’t help the smile on his face, wiping the last steaks of grime from her chin before he placed a soft kiss on those lips. And as her eyes did flutter open, her breath deepening the moment their lips met, he did feel that thickening in his groin. “Welcome back, my love,” he whispered, savoring the way her lips gave a small smile.

Just for him.

She stirred, her shift and leathers shuffling as she moved stiffly. Looking at her hands cleaned, her armor removed, she even touched a hand to her slightly damp cheek. Washed skin under her touch. Cordehlia slowly sat, eyes that were so dilated with bloodlust not hours ago now shined with unshed tears, her pink lips trembling as she pulled her arms around Astarion’s neck. Hanging there for a moment, he breathed her in, listening to the symphony of her heartbeat in her veins as it increased in speed. That thickening and heat in his body only surged the more to have her so close, relieved at last once she pulled his body hard to cover her own.

She was more than reward… she was the one thing he had done right in all his tormented existence.

Tonight, like every night, was bliss now, his own personal reward each day and night to be at her side. Sometimes Astarion felt the bitterest of pangs when he started to think about being denied such pleasure and love and acceptance century after century. But those grumblings in his heart were always soon swept away by Cordehlia. The one who took him just as he was. Resentment was warmed by her adoration, distracted by her warmth and wet, wherever it was. Memories of torment and torture and knives and whips and flaying punishment grew dimmer, her beauty obscuring the flashes he would get of his blood pooling at his feet, her scent covering the phantom stink of the kennels.

It was her warmth that brought him back from the dead, and he was sure there was no grave now that could keep him away from her.

What was lost was found, and for gods sake, nothing would take it away. Now that he found something he finally deserved. Not that he believed it…

Not as he gazed up into her blushing face as she rode him furiously, her hands clenching into his. Not as he had to tighten every tendon in his arms to steady her since she wasn’t watching anymore. He laughed at her carelessness, too lost to the feeling of him inside her and the waves of pleasure he called to race down her spine.

“Fuck,” she let the uncouth curse slip from her rosy lips. Something inside his mind stirred, that old tickle inside him from before, from how freely she would let the word fly as a youth, as frowned upon as it was for her status.

“Such noble lips letting out such vulgar words, darling,” he growled, his breath thin as she pushed him closer with every slap of her body on his cock and thighs.

“Oh, you like… all the vulgar things my lips do with you…” Her words turned to cries, stilted and low, only half-stifled to keep their voices from giving too much away. Cordehlia shuddered, squeezing him as her orgasm swelled. He eased her softly as she collapsed against his chest, her forehead in that sweet dip between his muscles, the top of her red head tucking neatly under his nose.

His hand strayed to the back of her neck, softly and slowly rolling her over on the ground. Cradling her beneath him instead. His body cried out for more. Always more of her. But not before he inhaled that scent, the perfume of her sweat and life itself, verdant grass and blooming flowers. That scent triggered an instant sharp return of what they once had been.

What he wanted to find again more than life itself.

It wasn’t much longer, not as he chased that past feeling of being with her in their youth. Not as he pummeled into her channel, her legs splayed in the air over his shoulders, until there was no sound but the wet slap of flesh and their groans as they burst into their climaxes as one.

Astarion stilled, pulling from her wet to lay on their sides and wrap his arms so tightly around her. “My sweet…” his voice rumbled into the damp and errant strands of her hair where it clung to her sweating forehead.

Her warm and blushing face nestled perfectly into the dip beneath his chin. The bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed and caught his breath was so loud against her ear. “Almost ready for more?” she hummed, tracing her fingers slowly over his skin, brushing over the drying damp on his stomach.

“You… insatiable… minx…” he laughed as he kissed her head again. “I know I am an eternally young, handsome, well-fed, impossibly strong vampire… but even I have limits to my near-infinite well of endurance, my love.”

She flashed him those silver pools of her eyes, glinting with mischief. And then her lips pouted. “After all we endured today… you would make me take care of myself?”

His brows shot to his hairline, mouth twisting in a devilish smirk at her game. “And which one of us is acting the spoiled little elfling now?” he taunted, hand straying to ass to give that supple cheek a little slap. “Tch, naughty.”

“Going to chastise me… punish me for being so spoiled and demanding?” she purred, a slight tilt to her head in defiance, a wriggle of her rear as a silent plea for more.

Astarion lifted his head to slink one of his arms behind it. “Perhaps later… once I’ve regained some of my vigor after you’ve made every one of my limbs ache and since you’ve already taken… so much of my seed between your thighs, pet.” He pretended to close his eyes, watching through the lowered curtain of his long lashes as she pouted and crawled over his body until she pressed herself flush against his side.

“I’ll give you five minutes…” she whispered right into his ear. “Enough time for me to tend to my own needs, I suppose…”

Wet… slick little sounds laid under her voice. Her fingers touched herself, stroking in the thick mix of their cum so loudly, so obscenely squelching.

He turned his head with a dramatic sigh, opening that hungry crimson gaze only halfway so he could watch. “You really are a demanding commander aren’t you? So bossy… so dominating… I would have undoubtedly been constantly aroused by you if I had been one of your men.”

Her perfect white teeth bit at her bottom lip, fingers still teasing slowly between her legs. “If you were under my command, you would know better than to defy your commander,” she smirked, eyes shut tight as her hips began to ride her touch.

“If I was under your command, I’m pretty sure we would both be dismissed for fucking each other every night, darling…”

Her belly swirled at that, at the mere mention of how much they indulged now, how she chase her blood lust away with more lust for him, at how very much she craved their connection, rekindling what once was and discovering what would come next. Side by side. “You wouldn’t have made it one day without coming in your leathers at the sight of me in my armor, and you know it,” she taunted, a dark desirous smirk in his lips.

“Likewise, my sweet…” exhausted, he did let his hand stray a single finger down her side, stroking up and down over her curves with barely the tickle of a feather in his dexterous touch. “There is little you do that doesn’t make me unspeakably aroused, my love, my darling, my betrothed,” he grinned as her eyes fluttered open at that last loving title.

“Gods, I’ve waited ages to hear you say that again. Lived different lifetimes, dulled blades and threw my armor into the sea just to hear it again,” she whispered. Her voice tinged with that mix of sadness and longing. Her hand stilling as she slowed touching herself.

“What was it like, your fearsome mantle of the Lady Corvus, Bone Picker?” He watched her body tense, withdrawing into memories, and for a moment he wished he had just bit his tongue. Perhaps it was too soon after the blinding bloodlust today. Perhaps it was the exact right time. He waited, nervously.

Until she gave a wistful smile. “Black and hard and sharp. Little feathers etched into the metal of my breastplate and gauntlets. Pointed spikes darted from the shoulders, like talons ready to tear the flesh of my foes. My blood-red cape would billow in the winds that carried the ash of my decimated enemies. My helm was small, enough to let my hair hang wild and free, a crown of spikes encircling my head… spikes of iron I once replaced with whitened bone, plucked from the battlefield myself.”

Astarion exhaled deeply, sensing her mix of longing and grief. “Sounds fearsome,” he whispered. His fingers traced lazy circles up her back. “Show me,” he ordered. A curious tilt to her head, and he just sucked his teeth. “Use the tadpole, darling. And don’t you stop touching your sweet little body. In fact…” His mouth brushed against her lips, her eyes fluttering shut, “those fingers can only touch where I tell you… where I will show you…”

“I thought you were too tired…” she pouted, whining right into his mouth. And he silenced her with a bite of his teeth on her lower lip.

“You’ll be doing all the hard work, darling. Come on,” he purred, “it’ll be fun.”

Oh, there it was, that taunting, “I dare you” tone that hadn’t left his voice since his youth.

She could feel his mind sticking a finger into her own, just that little wiggle for her to open wide.

Air smelled of smoke, trees burned to stumps, rocks slick with blood. Astarion looked down from this high point at the field that sprawled below his feet… bones and blood already the feast of carrion birds. But behind him on this rise, she waited nearer to the trees, the ones that still stood, that still carried some blood spattered living leaves yet.

Warm wind swept her scarlet cape, fluttering it to the side, and her arm cradled that spiked helmet in its crook.

Her face, gaunt and pale and blood spattered. More than he had even seen at her side now. A wraith of vengeance, a weapon herself, sharp and deadly.

But it was her eyes that locked into his. Even in this hellish dreamscape. They sparkled like the starlight, growing wetter and brighter as he crossed beside her. “This was me, my love, the monster… the terror… the fighter.”

From the distance, he heard that same chilling deep voice they had all silenced for good today. Ketheric’s taunt, his final words, still embedded deeply in his lover’s mind it seemed: “You think to scare me… the fabled Bone Picker… the warrior of her people. She is but a puny, pale vestige of what her own father wanted her to be. Why do you think you can finish what the great General Aquilae could not?”

Cordehlia’s voice had rung back harder than steel: “Because I’m so much more than what any Father could ever dream up for their child. As if you know anything about that… traitor… deceiver….” She raised her blade for a final swing. “Failure!”

The voices were swallowed by the sickening sound of blade and bone.

And Cordehlia could only stand there before Astarion, arms just beginning to reach for her lover. To beg him to come closer.

“Darling…” he whispered, brushing the knotted strands of her hair from her cheek and shoulder. “You don’t have to fight anymore, your father is avenged at last. Nor do you need to fight to forget me. I’m right here.”

Her breath caught in her throat, cheek rubbing tenderly into the cup of his palm. “It was more than fighting to avenge my father. It was also about you… not to merely forget you… I fought to… punish you… to make you pay for leaving me, to destroy the memory of what we were. What we could never be again.”

Her voice was a hammer that struck his chest woven with her heavy guilt. Astarion winced, facing down that void of their separation, his sins staring back in that darkness. And he sighed, “It was probably far less than I deserved, my love.”

“No,” she shook her head, armor rattling from the quick little shakes as she trembled. “No, you didn’t know, you couldn’t remember. Enslaved and compelled. Forced to obey and forget. Who you were to me was stripped from you… but I… stripped myself from my soul on purpose.”

Her hand flung that bone-horned helmet far away, its clattering the only sound around them. She watched it tumble over the rock and blood.

“Well,” Astarion’s voice was pressed, careful, “we may have both suffered, drowning in our own versions of darkness…” He paused, turning her face up towards his, waiting until those sad, silver eyes finally looked at him. “But now, neither of us is alone. And our darkness will not determine our fate, darling.”

Warm and wet, he could feel her tears on her skin, sliding down her cheek.

He could feel it on his real palm, all visions aside.

“Kiss me,” she sighed, angling closer to his mouth, eyes shut tight against the sights of battle around her.

“Yes, my lady…” he gave his sweet submission, a little tender breath from her lips as they brushed softly. “But let me take you somewhere else… let me… strip away the pain that comes from this time... this armor.”

“Please, Astarion,” she groaned. Her hands suddenly clung into the back of his shirt. The metallic scent of blood dissipated into fresh grass, the sounds of fire crackling becoming the trickle of a forest stream. She knew where she was before even glancing through her lashes.

One more lingering, slow working of her mouth on his, and she pulled away with a contented sigh. Elven trees and moss and moonlight.

The perfect remembrance of their home. Of their little spot of nowhere. Far away, and long ago.

“No more battlefield to torment you from your past. No more fighting alone. Now,” he held her by her jaw, raising her face into his, “now, we fight together.”

Her throat bobbed under his hold, another tear forming and flowing from the corner of her eye. Her hand raised to brush the tear away. “You don’t know what it means to me for you to…”

“Shhh,” he quieted her with a kiss, trapping her hand in his. A spike of mischief in his voice and a hint of command in his touch. “I thought we agreed, darling, you would only touch yourself where I say…”

Oh… she shivered. That grief suddenly ignited inside her core to something hotter and fiercer. No more longing or anger… only them. And their needs.

“I stripped away your battlefield…” he eased his grip, sliding back a single pace. “Now… allow me to relieve you of such armor, my lady, my love.” His hands skated down the exposed skin of her neck, lighter than breath. “Whatever this armor meant to you then, remember, everything is new again. You… me… we aren’t what we were.” His fingers slipped the buckles from her armor at her shoulders, barely touching her body. “We are better.”

Black metal fell harshly behind her, deadened by the moss at their feet.

Slow little strokes across that crook at the base of her throat, and he could feel her body melting under his touch in her mind. Her hands held fast against his back, edging him closer, longing to press her body firmly against him.

But he tutted his tongue. “Don’t touch me,” he taunted, shaking her hands away. “And remember, you’re the one meant to do the hard work, darling.”

He gripped her true hand from her belly, sliding it over her warm flesh to where his fingers danced over her skin in her mind.

“Let my hands be yours… and only do as I do, not one little pat or stroke more.” He growled as he caught her lips. “I’ll know if you disobey, pet.”

She arched under his fingers that traced under her neckline. Her neck craned into his touch. “You want some reward for being obedient, my love, won’t you? Still touching yourself like I asked?”

Her body shivered against him in his arms, just enough for him to feel it. But from his words or her own touch, he didn’t know.

Preferably both.

“Yes,” she moaned, drawing closer for more of his touch on his skin.

“Good girl,” he praised, feeling her shiver as another one... two pieces of jagged metal fell at their feet. “So fierce, so daunting…” he purred into her ear, tugging harder and faster through the latches of her breastplate.

“I became a lot of things to lose myself in my pain and anger…”

��Tch, you were always those things, my lovely Cordehlia. You still are, even stripped of this mantle…” He flung the metal from her upper body to the ground, letting it clatter obscenely loudly. And then, his fingers locked firmly around both her breasts, a low deep breath from his nose as he smirked down at her. “And don’t I just love you all the more for it.”

She raised on her toes for a kiss, but his hands were faster, holding her down by her shoulder, a chiding tut on his tongue. “Naughty,” he hissed and taunted. “You only touch where I show you. My hands are your hands, my pet. Nothing more, nothing less…”

She looked at him with those big, wet, silver pleading eyes. “But…”

“An excellent suggestion,” he smirked, giving his head a little nod, so pleased with himself. His hands ran down her back, caressing through the soft linen of her shirt, finally coming to rest along her rear. “Your perfect, rounded butt is still too covered.”

His hands traced around the crests of her hips, gripping into the buckle at her belly and yanking it open. There was so much to her, metal and layers, but he also couldn’t help but notice how with each little piece of her armor, her hardened shell of Lady Corvus that he pulled from her flesh, she looked younger. Happier.

Freer. Healed.

Her skin glowed, her lips smiled as she bit them sensually and slowly under his touch… her touch on her real body.

Whatever it was he was stripping her of, it was more than memory and metal. He searched her eyes for more, tried wriggling deeper into her mind for more, but she didn’t let him. She was too overwhelmed with the feeling of shedding that weight, of his hands on her skin, cold and dexterous.

Familiar.

He could feel her craving, how she was lost to the past, desiring nothing more than the future that once was. He knelt at her feet, pulling off the last metal braces from her shins. He pressed against the smooth leather that enshrouded her skin. He wanted nothing more than to tear it with his teeth. So he did. He nipped into her thigh, the salt of her breeches coated in sweat made him salivate. The little buck of her body to push closer into his mouth shook him out of his mind. He needed her. Need to have her see him, here and now, alive and loved in his arms.

Real flesh, he slid his real fingers where she caressed up her thighs. Where he had just been nipping in his dreams. A quick shuffle down her body, and he pierced the flesh of her bent leg, the tender skin of her thigh giving so easily. His mouth filled with pools of her blood. She cried, arching under him, unsure if she was dreaming or awake. Those silver eyes flew open, the tingle of their tadpoles releasing its hold.

Astarion only gave her a quick bloodied smirk before returning to have more of his fill. Her hand wove into his curls, as she always did. As she always had done.

But the way her pulse throbbed from that lower artery between his lips, she thrummed with life.

One last broad brush of his tongue over those wounds, as he crawled that chiseled body over hers again. “You are mine, Cordehlia, my raven, my love. And no armor will ever protect you better than I will.”

“Yours,” she sighed. “I feel lighter, empty of that weight.”

“Wouldn’t want you empty for long, darling. Need me to fill you with something instead of grief and anger?”

She buried her face beneath her arm for a moment, hiding that radiant smile, a moment just for her. A moment where she finally savored that weightlessness, that floating feeling he had given her as he stripped her from those memories. From the bile that had poisoned her all those many years ago. Of what she thought she knew from that time… from what she thought she… had known of him. And for a man who had starved, survived torture and assault and whoring himself out, now this man sucked the venom from her heart.

With a rogue’s dexterous touch, he had peeled off the painful layers that had built because of him, stripping her with his own two, living hands. He drew his fingers up her panting belly, his exhale deep as he stayed his hand to grip and knead her breast. Those eyes, fierce, possessive, drank in her every reaction. “Need something, Cordehlia?”

It was a simple question, but that purr in his voice, that heavy-lidded gaze that flitted over her neck, her lips, her breasts, it all spoke more than the simple words that he whispered.

“I need…” she whined, sliding her body to buck against him. Wanting nothing more than to be crushed and confined and caged by his body. “I need…” she panted. No words came to her tongue. So she thrust it into his mouth as it barely hovered over her own.

You. The rest of her words filled his thoughts. Even without the tadpole.

His hand cradling her neck, Astarion gave her everything, trying to fill that void he had seen, that agony he had witnessed with his own two eyes. The pain he wanted to carry for her, instead of her. He knew what it was to struggle under the weight of darkness and loss. He carried so many of his own burdens, but he would gladly take hers on too, if it meant she was lighter.

If it meant she was happy.

If it meant she was loved as she should have always been.

Gods, he groaned as he filled her again. It didn’t matter how many times they had done just that tonight… this week… it was never enough. He had centuries to make up for. His arms held on to her for dear life, wrapping around her shoulders, bracing his legs to keep her thighs wide. His to keep. His to protect.

Her body bent and pressed to mold to his throbbed with the feeling of him, of how he covered her every inch. With every thrust inside her, that chilling gnaw of her bloodied past receded, a flood that ebbed away. And all that was left was fertile ground for new things to grow.

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trappedinafantasy37 · 25 days

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Let me tell you about my first time meeting Minthara and locking myself into the grove raid

I was having a chat with someone in the comments of my fanfic where I had told them I locked myself into the grove raid on my first run. They got really curious as to how I managed that. But, my response got a bit too long, so I figured I’d kinda do a bit of a writeup and reminisce about my first time playing Baldurs Gate 3 all the way back on Christmas Day and how I raided the grove with Minthara.

And oooo boi, where do I begin! Just a massive string of first time player who doesn’t know how to look, how to listen, or how to read. To start, never found Wyll in the grove (and when I eventually did he was big mad). I have no idea how I missed him. For some reason, my dumb ass also didn’t explore north of Blighted Village. So, I never found Karlach (and when I eventually did she was big mad). I went down to the swamp and Ethel just humiliated me, so I decided to go back until I was level 5 cause she was level 5. I never found Wood Woad so I never learned of the Shadow Druid stuff. I also never found the Underdark or Grymforge until exploring the goblin camp AFTER the raid so the only thing left for me to do was the grove.

Kagha wouldn’t talk to me cause she wanted me to go to Zevlor. I don’t know how I did it, but Zevlor wanted me to kill Kagha and just refused to talk to me when I said I wasn’t gonna kill Kagha. I also never found Mol so never got the quest to steal the idol.

So, all that was left was the goblin camp. Went downstairs to find the bear in the cage, I kinda figured it was Halsin. But, I think I picked the wrong dialogue options with the goblin kids and pissed off the bear. Long story short, bear got dead. All that was left was talking with Minthara and man she scared the absolute fucking shit outta me! When she told me to tell her where the grove was, I was literally too scared to tell her no and gave her the location. Don’t know bout you, but powerful and scary women can convince me to do just about anything! I felt awful, but it felt like it was the only way to progress the grove conflict.

Then I started the raid and saw that I still had the option to turn against her. I was so excited and thought “Yay! I can still save them AND I’ll have an army of tiefling and druids.” WRONG! I had 3 tieflings and only 1 was actually worth a damn and the druids slept through their big day. Minthara swept the floor with my ass, again, and again, and again. I tried that fight for 3 hours and Minthara won the fight every time. Mind you, I was severely under leveled and was doing the raid at level 3.

I may have found Withers, but didn’t know about respecing so Shadowheart was still in her default class of Trickery Domain (WHICH IS GARBAGE), Astarion who was an Arcane Trickster (WHICH IS GARBAGE), and Bae’zel who carried our asses as best as she could. And then there was me, a Rogue Assassin who loses her biggest advantage after round 1.

In typical drow fashion, she quite literally beat me into submission and I just said, “fuck it, I’mma join her.” Easiest fight in the game, didn’t break a sweat. When I talked to her in the inner sanctum, I genuinely felt nauseous to my stomach, but I decided I wasn’t gonna reload and was live with my choices, even if they’re stupid. I told Minthara that what we did was murder and we deserve to hang for it. Then she said “Look at me” and I was hooked. She has had me in her clutches ever since.

I did the goblin party and her and I went to the chapel. I figured I was gonna get a fade to black kinda sex scene. WRONG! It has got to be the most graphic and explicit sex scene I’ve seen in a game second to Cyberpunk. I was literally in shock the whole time. And then, afterwards, I cuddled with her and she wanted to talk about my feelings and I'm all "O.o, you're supposed to be evil?" The game may have been painting her as an evil character, but that moment showed that there was so much depth to her than just being an evil character. A moment most players will never see cause most don't raid the grove. I truly wasn’t expecting to see her again in Moonrise. And when I did, I knew I had to get her outta there no matter what.

Looking back on it now, it’s interesting for me to see how many things had to go wrong in order for me to end up raiding the grove. If I had found Karlach first, it wouldn’t have happened. If I found the Underdark/Grymforge first and leveled up a bit, wouldn’t have happened. If I freed Halsin, I probably would have killed the goblin leaders (including Minthara cause I did not know about the knock out method on my first play through) and the raid wouldn’t have happened. Hell, if I had thought to lower the difficulty to Explorer it wouldn’t have happened! But I didn’t get that big brain idea until the fight with Nere, well after the grove raid.

Minthara left such a massive impression on me because I did raid the grove. It really does make me think of her line “I would have just been another casualty in your crusade against the Absolute and no one would remember me.” If I did things right, that’s exactly who she would have been and probably would have been dead in most of my playthroughs. But, instead, I fucked everything up and she most certainly wasn’t a casualty and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget her. When meeting her in the goblin camp, never could I have imagined relating so much to a character. Out of all the companions, I relate to Minthara the most and Karlach comes a close second.

I don’t always raid the grove, but I will never kill her under any circumstance. Her and Shadowheart are the only two companions who have survived every playthough I’ve done and will survive every future runs cause I just cannot play this game without them. And it’s all because I was a chronic dumbass and raided the grove.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #minthara #minthara baenre #nightwarden minthara baenre #shadowheart #karlach #karlach cliffgate #astarion #laezel #wyll #wyll ravengard #team raid the grove #seriously why didnt the druids help its their grove #accidentally evil #life is more fun when youre a chronic dumbass

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unreadpoppy · 3 months

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Halsin, Minthara and Datamines

I've talked about this before but I decided to make a more "formal" post about it, so that I don't have to keep repeting myself. Also, this is a situation that lowkey makes me a bit stressed and it has been plaguing my mind for quite long now, so I'll use this as an excuse to talk about it.

Context: There's datamined stuff that people found of a potential ultimatum scene. In it, Halsin confronts the player for saving Minthara in the party, because of what she almost did to the grove, and basically says it's either her or me (hence the use of the word ultimatum) and then the player would have to choose to either keep Minthara or Halsin.

Now, Larian, as far as I know, has made no move to actually implement this in game but apparently, lines have been voiced.

So... my opinion on this (and let me make this VERY clear: this whole post is solely my opinion ok, feel free to disagree with me, I'm not the owner of the truth): I would hate if this got added in game.

First, because I love both Minthara and Halsin, and I was so happy when Minthara was finally recruitable in a good run, because I personally, don't find evil runs as appealing, so it was nice to have her while still enjoying what I was doing. And Minthara is such a fun character and I loved every second I got to spend with her.

Second, I don't think it's a choice/scene that makes sense. Why implent the option to recruit Minthara on a good run and then make the player choose between her or Halsin? Because, if you can't have both, why go through all the pains of doing a good run, and just stick to an evil one if you want Minty? Like, it goes back to what it was previously, making the option to have her in a good run pointless.

Third, this scene, TO ME, feels incredible out of character for Halsin. Look, I'm not saying that the two of them need to be best friends, but it feels weird that the one guy who believes that time heals, that people and circumstances can change, a guy who believes in freedom and all that, would give an ultimatum because Minthara, under mind control of the Absolute, wanted to end the Grove. If Halsin knew that Minthara didn't do those things willingly, that she didn't have a choice and is not proud of the hold that the Absolute had on her, I doubt he wouldn't offer her the same grace of possible change and healing as he does others.

I'm ok if this scene was something like the confrontation between Lae'zel and Shadowheart. The two have a fight, due to different beliefs, and Tav 'picks' a side to end the conflict, but ultimatly, both stay and eventually, get over their animosity towards the other.

But, in my opinion, forcing the player to have to let go of a companion that they fought hard to get, it's just so absolutely shitty and feels like a betrayal to what their characters are. And sincerely, it would make me feel very negative towards Halsin, if he wasn't willing to listen to what Minthara had to say and was forcing the player to choose.

With all of that out of the way, I want to address data mines over all. To make a long story short, I'm not a fan of datamined content. I think it's stuff we (players) were not even supposed to know, and when datamined stuff gets discovered, it's spread around the fandom like canon when it's not. Sure, there is a possibility that this stuff might get implemented but it is not a guarantee, and it should not be treated as canon. What is canon is what is IN the game, what we can see, hear, find, interact, not datamined material.

Also, please people, if you're talking about datamined material, MAKE IT KNOWN SOMEWHERE IN YOUR POST. More than once was I left very confused by people talking about character interactions that weren't in game, only for later to discover it was datamine.

Finally, to end on the Minthara-Halsin situation. I think these two have a lot of potential together. I've been told by a friend that a reason this would be implemented would be because of the 'issue' of these two characters sharing a tent, which I hope it's not the 'reason', bc that's such a non issue, and the two of them having to share a place is exactly the type of potential for like, interactions and dialogues;

Just stop trying to pit two bad bitches against each other and let Minthara and Halsin be together.

#minthara bg3 #halsin bg3 #my thoughts #longpost #that's a recent screenshot i took since this is the second tiem i have minthara in a good run #halsin #minthara #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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rim-draws · 4 months

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Fearûnian Writing Challenge

Day 5 | SFW

First time seeing their love interest fight

(Not really)

(Since Halsin never start fighting til Act 3 except when we first met him, this is just more camp life featuring bear-Halsin shooing the gnolls near camp area)

Tav waddles over towards Halsin, having just returned from the grove to retrieve the man’s smoking pipe.

Astarion grabs the back of their armour and yanks.

Only it was Astarion who was yanked to the ground.

“Stop! Stop walking!” He huffs and puffs.

Tav finally ceases. They needed a few moments before noticing the poor elf. “What?”

“Don’t you ‘what’ me! Help me up!”

Tav does as they often do.

Astarion huffs a few complaints under his breath as he dusts himself off. He then leans onto Tav, a hand on their shoulder as if it didn’t happen.

“I know that look of yours. You had the same look when we first met.” His voice does that thing where it goes slightly sultry, eyes darken every so little. “You’ve changed your target.”

“Cruel to call it a target.”

Astarion's attitude towards Tav has been… flippant to say the least. When they first met, it took Astarion no time at all to outright hate Tav. It didn’t improve when they saved the grove from the goblin raid, to the point that he outright laughed after he, himself, brought up the idea of having sex with them. Things got a bit better after the Ethel and monster hunter incident. Then increasing as they make it through the Underdark before going back to the upper road to do some unfinished business.

Now, one could say they’re… unlikely friends.

“I don’t judge. We’re like minded people, you and I. And Halsin is a great choice. If we could get him to finally move that big mass of muscles and be useful, all the better for everyone involved.” Astarion waves his hands around, almost smacking against Tav’s face a few times.

“If you’re implying I’m trying to bed him so he’d follow us, you’re–” Tav pauses.

Is Astarion actually wrong, though?

What is the reason Tav is doing all this for? Coming up to Halsin to ask to spend the night, going all the way back to the grove to fetch his smoking pipe, constantly checking up on him at all although he had proved no help after giving them the lead for Moonrise.

Halsin is the Archdruid, Tav is… just some half-elf at best and a criminal at worst.

To try so hard for Halsin, simply because they… like him? That’s… pathetic.

“ –right. Yeah… W– We don’t have a druid with us, especially those who know a lot more than we do. Maybe a few more hip swings and he won’t be able to leave our camp anymore.” Tav traces the texture of the old pipe, focusing on that instead of the sinking feeling in their stomach.

“No need to try that hard. Just take off your shirt. He practically drools every time anyway.” Astarion pushes them forward. “Go get them, tiger.”

Tav fakes a smile. They’ve been growing increasingly good at that. They moved towards Halsin again, less enthusiastic now.

Gods, they really are in over their head. Now their head hurts and it’s hard to tell whether it is the tadpole or because they’ve been… having thoughts!!!

“You’re leaking with anxiety. I can practically smell it from here.” Lae’zel grinds her teeth as well as, well, all their weapons. “What seems to be the problem? You’re never this pathetic.”

It’s like she’s their inner voice, spoken aloud the thoughts they’re desperately running away from.

“I’m just thinking.”

“And it is causing that much grief? Perhaps you should do it less.”

Tav could feel their blood bubbling with rage but this is not the time, Tav. They still have a pipe to deliver.

“If it’s about Halsin, the quicker you can get the druid to carry his weight, the better. He has wasted our time and is wasting our resources.” She takes out one of the many swords Tav brought back, examines it then throws it to them. “Sell this. It’s useless.”

Tav catches easily. “He’s only tagging along for a while.”

“You are very obvious with your intentions. But we are on a deadline. This better be worth it or we will be dead for it.” Lae’zel practically hisses. “Get whatever carnal sins you wish from him then tell him to leave!”

Tav casts their eyes downwards. She’s clearly sharpening Halsin’s whittling tools as they speak. “It’s alright, I know you have a soft spot for animals. He’s practically one anyway.”

“I do not.” She said plainly. Scratch sits on her cushion, tail wagging. “Leave, this conversation is over.”

Tav resists the urge to snap and just turns away.

This is simple. They just need to deliver the pipe. And maybe tell Halsin perhaps his presence is causing a bit of unrest in camp seeing as he’s just kind of… around. Or maybe they won’t tell him at all.

Tav tries to put some energy into their steps again. But not too much to be so obvious that apparently they smell like it. And maybe with a bit of intent so it looks like they’re trying to get something out of him and not just deluded into wanting his attention. Yes. Sounds— great.

A long roar echoed through the woods behind Halsin’s usual spot. Tav stands, shifting from one foot to another awaiting for his return. Within the shadows of the forest, a large bear swings his claws. The pack of gnolls facing him cackles and hisses before quickly retreating. Tav sighs dreamily, catching the disapproving look of Lae’zel and the approving thumb up of Astarion and sucks it back in.

The bear gathers his wooden logs with his mouth and returns to the centre of camp. “Ah, my friend.” Halsin’s voice is muffled through the logs. “Did you come by for the daily petting?”

Tav was about to say no. They were, truly. But the temptations are too big. They rub his bear cheeks and his bear chin, scratching his bear head before stepping a bit back for Halsin to wild shape back.

“Your fur is very soft today too.” The greatest conversationalist - Tav.

“Thank you. I hope you don’t feel discouraged by my enthusiasm.”

“No, no. It’s better for me that you like it.” Tav scratches the back of their head. “Oh!” They fumble, almost dropping the pipe. “In the library. I found. Nettie said it’s yours.” Their voice almost crack. Almost. Just barely held it together.

“Oh, my smoking pipe.” He chuckled. Tav places it in his hand. They ignore the way his palm is twice the size of theirs. “It’s a bad habit of mine. Long hours of work always fill the library with smoke.”

Tav purses their lips. Halsin’s laugh is very nice to the ears too. Maybe it’s better to hold off on telling him to go away for another day…

“My apologies, it’s not something to brag about. I talk of myself too much.” Halsin seems suddenly flustered.

“No, no. I… I enjoy listening to you and learning more about you. Do indulge me.” Tav tried to say.

“I appreciate that. But I need to focus on the Shadow curse Lands.” Tav deflates slightly. Halsin’s eyes grows half lidded, “We’ll… have plenty of time after that.”

Tav perks up at that.

#bg3 tav #bg3ficfeb #my tav #bg3 writing #bg3 #bg3 oc #halsin silverbough #astarion #bg3 astarion #lae'zel #my child is 80% simp 20% rage #nonbinary tav #bg3 fic #halsin x tav #halsin x oc

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whathebeep · 7 months

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So I read the fic about the companions reaction to a tiefling Tav coming back to camp after being captured by Orin and it was amazing. I was wondering if you write for Zevlor. If so could you write his reaction. I really wish you could invite him to join your camp after finding him. Please and Thank you 🙏

I can absolutely do that!!! Continuation of Tiefling Tav being de-horned by Orin and Zevlor's reaction 👀

Zevlor thought he had seen it all- been through it all. He had survived Elturel, he had survived the goblin attacks, he had survived the shadowlands and being captured under moonrise towers. Finally reaching the city and being in Tav's camp- it was welcoming. He would fight by your side but also hold back and help take care of and maintain camp when need be- but when Tav returned without their horns...it broke his heart. He had seen similar things happen to other tieflings for many reasons. More often than not it was to break them, to steal their pride and alienate then from their own people. He felt anger, he felt hatred- he wanted nothing more than to find the person who had done this to you and return the favor. He felt angry, protective even- from all you had done to save others, he was almost always proud of Tav- almost like they were his own child. And it truly broke him to see this happen to you.

Yet, ever the leader, Zevlor leaves to be on his own for that day- to process his emotions and not get in the way while the others healed you.

He would have prayed to the vigilant one, to Helm- he in part blamed himself for not protecting those who saved him, time and time again. He remembers the solid right hook you delivered to Aradin. He remembers how you saved not only the tieflings, but also the drove, and the druid Halsin to boot. Tav even saved his people, something he wasn't strong enough to do- and went even further, saving him from becoming a mind flayer. And now you paid the price. Zevlor sheds tears, and in his prayers to Helm, he swears to protect the group to his final breath.

When he returns it's just in time for Jaheira and the others to start coming up with a plan. He offers great insight, and between him and Jaheira they come up with a great plan for keeping watch. Zevlor without a doubt puts his energy towards being on guard all night. He prays to Helm for your protection, and when he has a few hours to himself, be goes into town and gets you an amulet of Helm- more specifically, he gets one custom made by Dammon- it takes a few days but eventually he's given a silver amulet, with the open blue eye of helm, and horns to signify the tieflings Tav had saved time and time again. He got it properly blessed and brought it back to camp.

By the time he gave it to Tav, it had been almost a week since the attack. Tav had been healing well, but was still taking it slow because they had a broken bone in one of their ankles. When he gave it to you, putting it around your neck, he would apologize, but then thank you- thank you for all you had done for the tieflings, for your friends, for the city- for him. He would commend your bravery and name you an honorary Hellrider. In a way he's remorseful he hadn't done so sooner- it shouldn't of taken losing your horns to be recognized in this way. Tav is more than grateful for this, and gives Zevlor a hug.

For the first few days Tav had certainly worn their hair differently, or even wearing hoods and hats, trying to cover their missing horns- but after that, they were feeling a little more confident, and at least began wearing their hair as they had before, the remaining stumps of their horns proudly on display.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 tav #tav #bg3 zevlor #zevlor #baldurs gate 3 zevlor

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carterashofficial · 8 months

Text

I fucked up my second BG3 play through epically.

For starters, I didn’t leave the kids’ secret hideout until Mol had finished her countdown.

Apparently this means she tells the tiefling guards that you’ve been threatening children. Only way out is to Lie (roll a 20), Prison, or Attack. I’m playing a Fighter who has a -1 Charisma. And my Tav is bloodless b/c she’s been Astarian’s personal Capri-Sun so that’s another -1. Im not passing any charisma checks anytime soon. I tried to escape from prison and uh. Did not want to fight everyone. (Is there a way to just serve your sentence?)

If you’re creative with your navigating you can avoid it all (like the elevator through the Druid grove) and not even run into the guards.

Which is what I did. Just avoid them all and it’s peachy. Save Halsin, Tieflings wanna have a party at your camp.

Here’s the problem. One of the guards spawns at your camp. It’s either Attack or Charisma Check (that I am gonna fail, b/c again, I’m a bloody juice box)

So I have to fight every tiefling, and Halsin, and Sheart (idk why?). Wyll kept getting pissed when tieflings died but my dude, they were attacking you too. Gale and Rohan the Wizard Apprentice had a Magic Missile Duel. Karlach one-shot everyone she touched. Lazael got killed by Halsin in Bear Mode. Twice. Astarian was having the time of his life.

5 rounds of the bloodiest mosh pit known to man, and everyone is dead. So dead.

The whole reason I’m going to have to backtrack 6 hours worth of gameplay is that during the epic fight, Scratch was scared due a Thunder spell and I felt bad.

Also, I didn’t want to kill the Tieflings. I’m going to have to go back to a previous save and just. Ignore Mol. For Scratch. I don’t want the dog scared.

#bg3 #balders gate 3 #gale of waterdeep #astarian #lae’zel #Halsin #shadowheart #wyll ravengard #karlach #I fucked up #unless there’s another solution?

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bhaalbaaby · 5 months

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The Stillness Bends // Chapter 1

Title: Know Yourself and The Enemy (1854 words) Pairing: Shadowheart/Fem!Tav Warnings: Emetophobia, Flirtations, Flashbacks A/N: be gentle and thank you for my beta @bunnidarling 🥺 Taglist: @spacebarbarianweird @tragedybunny @astarionsbeloved @razrogue @celestialomlette @rentheannihilator @rinmoon7

Read on AO3!

Penelope grimaces as they trudge through the mud, thudding and yelling not too far ahead of them. She's never met any goblin before all of this. Odd little creatures. Her first victims. She tries not to think about them too much.

Her daggers have seen so much blood, there's no bloodlust, only grief. She hides it with a smile, not wanting to seem weak in front of her companions. Penelope is not a killer. Her daggers at home were only for threatening. Is she a seasoned killer now or a hero? What would her friends back in Baldur's Gate think? They wouldn't believe her. Hells, she barely believes any of this herself, the experience living in her bones.

She already feels inexperienced with combat and survival when she speaks to any of her companions.

She stops in front of the bridge, the smell of piss, alcohol, and blood thick in the smoky air. Wyll can barely contain himself as he grimaces. "We should cut them down quickly and efficiently. The longer we stay, the more issues we may find." He's so confident. He should be the leader.

Penelope turns to the rest of them. Shadowheart nods, "I must agree. Goblins aren't known for hospitality." "Wicked little creatures," Astarion adds.

"Let's see what they know first. Volo mentioned something about the Absolute, and Nettie said Halsin came here searching about these tadpoles." Penelope reasons, trying to see if they can avoid more bloodshed.

Astarion rolls his eyes. "I suppose we can snoop around. Find out more about these monsters in our heads." She flashes him a grateful smile. "I wonder what power they possess." Astarion continues with a glint in his red eyes.

Her smile fades. She doesn't want to find out.

Getting past the Goblins at the gate is an easy feat. She feigns grief as she lies. "We were sent here by True Soul Edowin. Absolute rest his soul." His siblings were the first humans her blades claimed.

"Another True Soul? The Drow will want to speak to you then." He then remarks on Penelope's body, making her shudder. Before, she would only think about ending any of those who crossed her. Now she can. No one but herself can stop her from fighting.

She can hardly blame the goblin for saying anything. She's ill-fitted for fighting, her armor bits and pieces from her dancer attire, repurposed for battle with Astarion's help. Her dark pink bralette is reinforced with some scale mail they got from Arron. Against Shadowheart and Wyll's suggestions, her midriff is still exposed because it didn't look right covered up. Her skirts remain the same, makeshift boots under them to protect her legs from any damage and the elements. She could always lie and say she's a dancer ready to entertain the leaders if need be. Her long fuchsia hair is rolled up in a bun resting on her neck, with flyaways, and small curtain bangs framing her delicate face.

The urge fades as they walk past the wooden gates. She would kill him later. Would she enjoy it? Possibly... She doesn't know.

As the group approaches the Goblin camp, the tadpole wiggles as if awoken by something. She glances at Shadowheart, jaw tight as they continue. Wyll rubs his temple gently, trying not to cause any attention. Astarion’s expression is no less unnerving, his brow low. Penelope continues walking. At least it's not just her, she thinks to herself as they start to cross the bridge.

The pain is piercing and gradual, forcing her on her knees. She hears the others struggle as well before silence and darkness cloaks her. Her heart races, pressure building in her head. Is this the end? The woman's voice draws her in, the tadpole stilling as if listening as well. Purple light emits in front of her, three black figures sprouting from them. Their features are hidden by the smoke and darkness, but that man, his manner, that smile. She's seen it before. Maybe in her dreams. Her concentration wanes as the voice booms. "Help My Chosen search for the Prism and you shall be worthy to be in my presence."Heat emanates from behind her as the artifact leaves Shadowheart's pack. The voice grows fainter as the artifact dwindles in the air, the power pulsating stronger than ever as it floats back to Shadowheart.

Penelope sits back on her knees, left catching her breath as the pressure lifts. Making sense of what just happened would be as inexplicable as everything else. Shadowheart stares at the prism in awe. "What in the Hells is that exactly?" Penelope asks, her eyes darting between the artifact and Shadowheart's face.

"I don't know. It saved our lives," Shadowheart says, shaking her head. Packing away the prism, her dangerous green eyes meet Penelope's. "I will keep it protected. I must do so. All I know is that it's important to get it back to Baldur's Gate, at any cost."

"What's in Baldur's Gate?" Penelope asks, stepping closer. She can feel Shadowheart's hesitancy as she steps back. "I suppose I must tell you as we're traveling together..." She straightens, her shoulders squared. "I serve Shar. My cloister is in Baldur's Gate."

Shar. Penelope knows little of the Goddess. She also knows the cloister exists, just not where. She lost a client to Lady Shar's practice in the past; the man barely remembered his name except that he came to Sharess' Caress sometimes. She pitied him and all of Shar’s followers. The same sorrow fills her now as she listens to Shadowheart. And such a pity. Shadowheart is such a pretty woman. The Lady of Loss isn't keen on her followers feeling any pleasure and Penelope has fleeting plans for the Cleric.

Wyll shakes his head as concern lines his face. "A Shar worshiper? Not my usual quarry, nor my usual ally."

Penelope sighs, rubbing her head, at least the tadpole is silent. "Thank you for sharing, Shadowheart. At least we know something about whatever that is." She gestures to her pack as Shadowheart rolls her eyes. "This is out of pure necessity. Pure desperation, in fact."

"I'm sure... Keep it safe. Whatever it is, 'The Absolute' is searching for it." Penelope replies, suddenly tired. "Let's go meet these leaders."

The stench grows stronger as they walk through drunk Goblins, Bugbears, and Orges. Penelope holds her breath as they reach the doors of the defiled Temple.

"I don't think I can do this." Penelope whimpers, her uvula feeling thick in the back of her throat.

"What do you mean you can't do this?" Astarion asks, his tone annoyed.

She turns to him, pale. "This smell doesn't bother you?" She asks in a hissed whisper, her stomach lurching. He rolls his eyes as Wyll steps closer, "We can come back later. I'm sure they'll drink themselves to death." She hopes he's right as they head to camp.

Penelope sits by the water at camp. Maybe a bath would clear her mind and calm her stomach. As she starts to undress, she hears footsteps in the sandy grovel.

She keeps her top on as she turns to see Shadowheart. "I don't mean to intrude." She says, surprisingly shy. Her eyes avoid Penelope's direction. "I'm decent enough, luv," Penelope says with a light laugh as she walks over to Shadowheart.

"I made you this. It's for nausea relief. Should help when we go through their stronghold." The bottle is murky brown and smells medicinal.

"Thank you, Shadowheart."

The Cleric nods, still looking away. She's cute when she's playing coy, Penelope thinks as she steps closer, tilting Shadowheart's head towards her. "Are you alright? You seem a little distracted?" Penelope asks, her thumb brushing Shadowheart's cheek. The blacks of her eyes help the bright magenta pop more in the growing darkness, the heart pupils more prominent.

"I-I'm fine." She doesn't pull away from Penelope's grasp.

"Did you want to join me for my bath?" Penelope asks as innocently as she can.

Shadowheart's breathing quickens, her eyes widening slightly before she laughs, stepping away. "No, we shouldn't. Um. Thank you for not being angry with me." She adds as well, keeping her head lowered.

The urge to kiss her is overwhelming, but Penelope behaves herself. "What are you talking about?" She asks, tilting her head to the side.

"For being a Shar worshiper."

Penelope rolls her eyes. "None of that matters while we have The Absolute and Ceremorphosis to worry about." She tries her best to mimic Gale as she says the mind flayer transformation's official name, happy to see Shadowheart try to suppress her smile.

"I guess you're right. I should leave you to your bath."

"The offer to stay is still on the table," Penelope replies, playing with the ties of her dress.

Shadowheart's cheeks tinge pink as she shakes her head. "Maybe another time."

It's not a no. Penelope smiles softly as she turns around, "I'll be here when you change your mind." The dress loosens around her waist as she discards it, stepping into the water. She glances over her shoulder to see the half-elf gone.

Her bath is quiet in contrast to her mind, which thrashes with anxiety as she glides her fingers over her arms. Maybe they can do something else before returning to the goblins. She feels cowardly not wanting to venture further into the keep. They're not ready. She's not ready. She can barely strike without feeling remorse. She knows a few spells, but she feels so weak compared to Gale and Wyll. She is leading them to their doom. Sinking into the water, she ignores the feeling of mud under her toes as she wishes she could run away.

Flashbacks are ice daggers in her chest as she remembers the forest enclosing her and her mother. "Keep going," her mother instructed as they ran. The thudding of horses echoed behind them: highwaymen. She squeezed her mother's hand as they sprinted.

Penelope looks up at the sky and the stars above. The memory tries to resurface, the men shouting at them. “ Hellspawn !” They were so close to the city. Her mother stopped when they lost them, reaching into her pocket and handing the young Penelope the letter from her aunt and her mother's locket.

"Nel, go to the city. If we get separated, find your aunt."

Penelope sniffled, "I don't wanna go without you."

Her mother wiped the stray tear. "My beautiful girl, I'll always be with you."

She splashes her face with water, feeling a lump in her throat. Her mother is now a distant memory, and yet she can recall the scent of rosewater and thyme from their garden in Elturel. Her mother wouldn't want her to give up.

She steels herself with that memory. She won’t break down in front of the others. She walks out of the water as the warm sunset covers the camp. She ignores how scratchy the old towel is as she picks it up. Tomorrow is another day. Hopefully, Shadowheart's medicine works. As another day passes with the tadpole in their brains, the more paranoid Penelope becomes.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 spoilers #bg3 tav #tav: penelope #penelope x shadowheart #tav x shadowheart #shadowheart x tav #shadowheart bg3 #writing #the stillness bends

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aladaylessecondblog · 4 months

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4:59:12 (raphael/tav pt 3)

Tw: Noncon, Raphael taking what he wants from Tav

Note: Cald is not a druid, he just has the Corvid Token.

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

Cald flew over the swamp, and felt himself free.

He loved flying, the view it afforded him, the ability to see through different eyes, to move without fear of hurting someone with a spark, to think ALONE--but above all he craved the freedom it offered him. Up here he was not under his mother's fearful eye, some delicate thing to be guarded and kept away from the danger of the world. Danger! What was danger to being in PRISON all the time? As much as he loved her, he had an itch under his skin, the urge to roam, to see more than this one small corner of the world.

And his mother had promised it to him. At his last birthday she had told a great story, a story he believed on the spot. She had never lied right to his face. Maybe not said things, but she'd said that was because she was afraid he wouldn't believe her.

She spoke of the mindflayers, the squid-faced ones. The little things called tadpoles, that were meant to turn people into them. How it hadn't worked with her, and the friends she made while trying to figure out how to remove them. The people she'd met along the way, the people she hadn't met in this time yet. Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Gale...there were many names his mother spoke, but two that she had spent a lot of time on. Astarion and Halsin.

He knew they were different even before she said she loved them before. She smiled when she talked of them, described the stark-white of Astarion's hair, his love of finery, his "cheeky" smile, and fangs. Because he was a vampire, of course, so he had fangs. A lot of bad things had happened to him, so he had been very, very nice to her in hopes she would help him. After a long time he trusted her.

Halsin--he was a druid like her, a "bear of a man" and more comfortable in his wildshape than with other people. Easy to laugh, slow to anger, but when he WAS angry he was a force of nature. Mother had said that Halsin had loved her first. Said that she reminded him who he was...and that didn't make sense, but then she'd also said that sometimes love didn't make any sense.

These people would not know her when she saw them again. Maybe things wouldn't work out the way they did before.

She spoke so much of good, and very little of evil. When she got to the explanation of the mindflayer thing and what she had found out, she had also given him an explanation that he was still thinking about (which was another reason he'd flown up here.) That his father was not necessarily a good person, but neither was he entirely evil. He had clawed his way up from nothing to become someone important, and he'd done a lot of bad things...but she had loved him anyway. A man, she said, could be a good husband and father while still doing bad things to other people.

Most people were good, some people were bad, but very, very few people were outright evil. Devils, for example.

Only one specific name had she ever used to speak of someone who actually WAS evil. Truly, unsalvageably evil.

That lord who had stayed the night that time, and whom they had seen a few times since. Raphael, his name was.

That man, she said, was evil.

Cald knew it must be true because his mother was afraid of Raphael and she was never afraid of anyone.

The thought passed, however, when his stomach started rumbling. And seeing some particularly chunky tadpoles squirming in the waters below, he decided to dive and have dinner early.

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

Raphael had come again, and he must have told Haarlep to misuse her, because she was fighting back the feeling of being touched as he spoke.

"Are you alone?"

"I am," Tav replied tightly. "And unless there are visitors, it will be so for at least a few hours."

"Oh, I would not dream of imposing so long upon so vital a member of the community." Raphael smirked, and gestured vaguely. "A lady of mercy and charity, whose doors and arms are open to any who cross her threshold."

She waited, unsure how to respond to that.

"Perhaps I should also wonder if that same openness includes your legs."

A particularly strong touch had Tav shutting her eyes and biting her tongue for a moment. But after that pause she answered, "No. Never. You are the only one."

"How touching. It seems you do have some idea of fidelity after all."

"That's not what this is."

Raphael huffed. "If thinking of yourself as a whore helps you sleep at night, then far be it from me to disabuse you of the notion. I'm honestly surprised you would take that view. Given your taste in men, surely..."

Tav gripped her knees under the table, and squeezed hard. The stroking had intensified and she barely held it together.

"No."

"But you like danger, don't you? Answer."

Tav stiffened at the command, and automatically obeyed with, "Yes, but you're TOO dangerous."

He laughed. She would have glared, had she not been afraid to do it.

Of what? she wondered to herself, There were no clauses saying he could ADD time. But...you still have a lot of time to go...and things could be much worse than he's already made them.

Deep breath. Deep, shaky breath. She was nearly there, nearly ready to climax--and then, suddenly the touching had stopped, leaving her absolutely aching. And gods how she hated that. The only saving grace was knowing that this was earning her time off the debt...even if only a quarter of what it actually was. It was SOMETHING.

She didn't meet Raphael's eyes, but she studied his face--watching, looking for any hint of what to expect from this visit. The last seven had been extremely quick...not even five minutes on her knees apiece and he would be walking away again. A mercy, really...though to her private shame she had tried to prolong each of them, to eke a few more seconds out of the debt. Because if she did it with the speed he preferred, he would only be there for three minutes and she was sure she'd never get the debt paid off in time just doing THAT.

"Will it be--the usual, then?" Tav asked quietly.

"No, no, nothing so quick. I know you hunger for more than to be on your knees."

"I was married to the Chosen of Bane, I made a life on my knees," she replied. "One learns quickly, in that sort of situation."

Another smirk, and a slight inclination of the head.

"You learned to like it, then. Little Enver always was keen to show his feeble attempts at dominance."

Better than yours, for certain.

She was earning no time this way, but putting off the inevitable--for it seemed certain he wanted more than for her to be on her knees today--was appealing in its own way. She had a chance to--

A slightly groan she couldn't stifle. It felt as though Haarlep was making liberal use of their fingers, and what large fingers they were--

"Uncomfortable, my dear?"

"Not at all," she replied, as the feeling of thrusting soon followed, "I--simply--"

She gulped slightly. Again, that keen edge and again, a denial. If it were anyone else, anyone she'd consented to, even...it would be a wonderful, blazing, lusty sort of pleasure. But with Raphael it was only humiliating.

"You know damned well what's going on," she finally broke, "I doubt Haarlep makes a move without your say so."

"First of all, we both know that's a lie. I never gave permission for anyone other than myself to be...touched. Yet you went right into my house and took what wasn't yours."

"I didn't take anything," Tav replied. She took in a sharp breath as the feeling of something thicker pressed inside her. "Haarlep seemed eager to have someone that wasn't you in his--their--bed."

The thrusting was slow, but deep, and she was breathing hard. Damn those talented hands! A brush like a touch of her clit had her shutting her eyes and trembling. Close. So close, she could practically taste it.

Your body is not your own, not anymore, she thought. Message received. Loud and clear.

"Haarlep wanted a new body in the repertoire, they'd have promised quite a bit in exchange." There was a pause. "Perhaps we should try something new."

"What?" Tav asked.

"I am feeling...generous, and I have it on good authority that you enjoy...let me see, how would those of your circle say it..." Raphael sat back in his chair and brought a curled finger to his lips in a look of false consideration. "...being hunted."

First you have me against Haarlep, and now this...are you trying to do EVERYTHING I did with--

Suddenly, it made sense. It might not be the case, but she still could not forget what he'd done with Haarlep. Making him wear Gortash's face. Then having her serve both of them at once.

He's trying to do everything I did with someone else. Why?

He wanted her to be thinking of him, when or even if she lay with them again.

A sharp intake of air. The feeling of hands over her breasts, squeezing.

Raphael's smirk was devilish now. "But we couldn't have you running outside, now can we? It would not do to have you caught and watched by some curious passersby. I don't imagine you'd enjoy that."

She remained silent.

"Or considering your proclivities with the bear...what was his name again?"

"I would rather not hear it from your lips."

"Answer."

"Halsin," she said, as yet another orgasm was teased and denied. "That--was--his name."

"Is, my dear Tav. One should think you would be looking forward to taking that brute into your arms and bed again. Or..."

He took a sip of the teacup before him, and flicked a more deviously satisfied look in her direction.

"Is there some reason you haven't been thinking of it? Or of the vampire for that matter...but I presume Halsin is closer to your heart. Perhaps you would like him to remember you? I could do that for you...for a price, of course."

"I will work out my original time. And--I count nothing as certain until I have it before me," Tav replied with a slight edge in her voice and a heavy breath. No. She would not add time to this--this DEBT. He would likely ask even more

"And I am very much before you," Raphael replied. "Get up, go through that fireplace of yours. And run."

There would be no escaping him, but she knew that by now. She gave consideration to killing him...but then she thought of what she'd nearly done with Mizora. She'd learned after letting the woman go that had she made the mistake of killing her, Wyll would have been sent straight to the hells.

And she didn't recall any such clauses in her own contract, but she wasn't going to take any chances.

I will not leave Cald alone for the vipers to poison and the vultures to feast upon.

No.

She stood, hating more than ever that predatory grin on Raphael's face, and walked slowly towards the fireplace.

"Move quickly, Tav," he said behind her, "When I said I would hunt you, I meant it."

Suddenly behind her there was a sound of shifting, a smell of sulphur--Tav glanced over her shoulder to see not the well-kept snob of a man she had been dealing with the past weeks, but the cambion form she had fought.

Wings, horns, and a peal of evil laughter

And she ran.

Through the fireplace, through the twist of warrens she had made into hospitals and storage, through what had once been a living door. It blurred together--the sudden icy chill of the waterfall that she heard steaming when Raphael passed through it. The spots where there had been traps. Her lungs were burning as she made the quick descent down the vines and barely managed not to fall.

"Run, little drow!" The infernal laughter echoed through the cavernous room, "Run!"

But there was no farther to go. She reached the spot where Mayrina's cage had been, and felt her knees weaken beneath her. Left, she chose to go left, only barely avoiding the swooping dive and grab of Raphael's outstretched hands.

"The mouse smiled brightly, it outfoxed the cat!" He recited and turned, just as she did, and smirked as their eyes met. He moved up, then swooped down, one final thing to say, "Then down came the claw--"

Tav could outrun him no longer. Raphael struck her from the side and they went rolling, tumbling, against the back wall. She raised her head, her arms, struggling, but couldn't manage any of it. One of Raphael's hands stayed on her shoulders, and the other trailed downward, to lift the hem of her dress.

"And that, love, was that."

She did not resist. The run had failed as she knew it would, her tormentor's hunt successful, and now there was only for him to claim his reward. The spoils of war. The prize of the hunt.

(She hoped the hunt had taken additional time off her debt, but somehow doubted it was so.)

"Normally, I would prefer not to behave like a beast," he said, giving a growl when he discovered the lack of underwear beneath her gown, "But I was feeling generous..."

He brought her hips up. His larger fingers stroked over her dampness, and there was a chuckle a moment later.

"Ah, yes, Haarlep has prepared you well. Good...good, you shall need it."

Tav took a shaky breath and tried to relax beneath his touch. She heard the shuffling of fabric and clung as best she could to the ground beneath her.

You can endure this. You can endure this. It will be over quickly--!

The first thrust took her breath away--and despite the larger size of his cock in this form, he still managed to sink himself into her in one smooth stroke. She muttered an oath at the stretch and the burn, and cursed internally at the sudden surge of pleasure. So much denial from Haarlep's eager work had left her body hungering for more.

"Oh..." A hand at her throat, a grasping caress, "I thought you felt good before, but now..."

There was a pull back and then a deep thrust that forced a choked groan from her lips.

"Now," he whispered in her ear, "Be very good and show me how much you enjoy this...and maybe...maybe, I will allow you to finally finish."

"Of--course." Tav squirmed and shut her eyes. "Do--as you--like."

"Oh, my dear, dear Tav...I shall."

His hips began to move against hers. Slowly at first, as if to draw out the sweet torment of edging Haarlep had put her through. But then, perhaps, too eager to satisfy himself, he began to thrust more quickly, commanding her with each movement not to stifle herself, to voice her pleasure, to use his name--

"Please, no--" Tav begged uselessly, but a second later her voice obeyed, calling out in passion, "Raphael!"

She could shut her eyes to the shame, bury her face in the dirt, but her voice was given no such luxury to hide. It screamed out that word he so craved to hear from her lips.

"Yes, my dear," she heard him say overhead, as his wings formed a dark dome over the two of them, "Yes, you see, don't you?"

She didn't answer.

"You can run, you can hide, you can think of your loves all you like, but--" Here she yelped as he hauled her up and off his cock. His mouth moved down, bit down hard, hard enough to draw blood, and she screamed in genuine agony. "--but remember this...remember it well."

She was brought back to be speared on his cock again, filled and spread her, and kept thrusting.

"You--"

A clawed hand moved up to her face.

"--belong--"

The other snaked down, bringing up the front of her gown. As his hips moved rapidly against her own, the second hand moved down between her legs and stroked over her swollen clit.

Tav broke. The touch was too much, far too much, and she shattered in his arms as unwelcome ecstasy rushed through her body and left her a shuddering mess soaking his cock with her release.

"How noble is the vanquished prey, when to surrender she comes," came the soft whisper. The thrusts began to slow, drawing out the aftershocks of her pleasure as long as possible.

She didn't answer.

"Beg," she heard Raphael say in a tight voice, "I want you to beg."

"For--for what?"

"For me," he growled eagerly, letting her feel another thrust and hear the groan of pleasure from his lips, "Now obey. Beg your lord for his seed. Beg to be filled with his pleasure."

Tav fought mentally, but her voice broke away and did as he asked automatically.

"Please, my lord--" Her voice cracked as he gave a too-deep thrust in her already overstimulated cunt, "Please."

No. NO.

"Please, give--me--your seed!"

A dark, devious chuckle just slightly overhead. A stroke between her legs, and at her chin.

"If you insist."

Raphael pushed Tav back down, raised her hips, gave another few thrusts--

There was a strangled groan. His body seized behind her, inside her, and she felt the pulse and the heat of his infernal spend as he spilled it.

"Four hours," he said breathlessly, stroking her hips, "Twenty minutes...and five seconds."

There was a pause, and finally, he withdrew from her. By the time Tav turned around, he was wearing that infuriating well-bred face again.

"Such a sweet prey you are," Raphael said as she stood and corrected her gown.

He kissed her hand, watching her eyes--her fearful eyes--for a few moments longer.

Then without warning, he was gone.

#raphael x tav #unwilling on tavs part #tav #bg3 #raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #bg3 raphael #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 smut #tav x raphael #bg3 tav #fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate tav #baldurs gate

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thedragonagelesbian · 7 months

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3, 17, & 27 for cyrus pleeeeease!

<333333

3: Race and subclass?

Race: Wood elf

Subclass: It's Complicated

I actually have a full level 20 D&D character sheet for Cyrus that I made back when he was still just a Dragon Age OC. So, when porting him over to Baldur's Gate 3, I decided to keep as much of that build as possible, making Cyrus a base paladin (because being a knight is his Whole Thing) with a barbarian multiclass (because he has a lot of repressed anger and ruthlessness that become more and more evident the more and more the world wears away at his sunshine kindness, and paladin-barbarian is just a very sexy build).

His original subclasses were Oath of Devotion (again, textbook fairytale knight, this is The quintessential stereotypical paladin oath) and Path of Ancestral Guardians (one of the more support-oriented barbarian subclasses and plays with the idea of Kirkwall itself as his guardian spirits).

On the paladin side of things, I just kept him as an Oath of Devotion pally in BG3, although he did end up breaking his oath during Act 2, switching him over to the oathbreaker subclass.

However, BG3 doesn't have the Ancestral Guardians subclass, and the flavor is very specific to the DA2 version, so I decided early on that when he took his third level of barbarian, he'd be Wild Heart instead-- angling for 'bear heart' specifically because it grants immunity to almost all damage while raging, and being unkillable is an important part of Cyrus' whole deal.

And also.

I wanted him to have fire resistance (however conditional) for smooching Karlach.

And as I also had Karlach specced as a Wild Heart barbarian, it occurred to me that Cyrus' multiclassing into her class could be like. a Thing for their relationship. I wrote a little bit about it in my fic for them-- Karlach being the one to train Cyrus in how to be a barbarian, helping him find his rage & be okay with experiencing negative emotions instead of repressing them, giving him his wild heart piercings after the Ketheric boss fight...

(also in this first playthrough, Cyrus ended up romancing Halsin too, which makes the bear's heart thing that much more significant)

But the thing is. I love Cyrus and I love shipping Cyrus, and I knew very early on that I would want to play through the game again to romance at least Astarion and Wyll with him. But. I love narrative-mechanics overlap too much to repeat his paladin-barbarian build for the other runs, because that's His And Karlach's Thing, and he needs a different thing for Astarion and Wyll.

SO.

I have two other BG3 timelines for Cyrus with two other builds.

The first starts off with the same base class of paladin with Oath of Devotion as the subclass. However, after Astarion kills him while feeding from him the first time, Cyrus Comes Back Wrong and spontaneously develops an innate connection to the Shadowfell for uh... reasons that are truly beyond the scope of this already ridiculously long answer. So, in that timeline, Cyrus is an Oath of Devotion Paladin (he will still break his oath at least once when freeing the other vampire spawn, but I imagine this version of Cyrus will want to retake his oath?) with a (modded) Shadow Sorcerer multiclass.

The second involves moving Cyrus' entire timeline around so he's older, more experienced, and more jaded by the time that he gets tadpoled. He swore an oath of devotion to a tyrant who abused him and then he swore an oath of vengeance against them and their reign, and neither made him happy or let him live his life on his own terms as more than just a Title and a set of obligations.

So, this version of Cyrus lost all of his levels of paladin during the couple of decades of self-imposed exile that precede the game. In addition to some stat shuffling around, his base class switched to Ranger for the 'was living all on his own as a hermit in the woods' vibes, and also to keep him as a martial/melee character because that feels the most correct for him.

I only just got this version of Cyrus to level 3-- I specced him into the Hunter subclass originally, but I think I'm going to switch to Gloomstalker instead. There's just something thematically interesting to me about Oathbreaker-Shadow Sorc-Gloomstalker, a lot of Cyrus' character is propelled by the literal, physical internalizations and manifestations of all the bad shit that happens to him, and struggling to make peace with that and even turn those changes to his advantage.

(Also gloomstalker in BG3 gets misty step as an autoprep and I can never turn down a short-range teleport)

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer?

Paladin/Barbarian Cyrus: unequivocal yes! Cyrus loves nothing more than to feel useful and of service, and adventuring is the best way he knows how to be helpful.

Paladin/Sorcerer Cyrus: he says yes, but he's been in a state of perpetual existential crisis for the entirety of the game made worse by the fact that he tells himself he needs to swallow all of it down so as not to get in the way of the adventure & helping others

Ranger Cyrus: no lol he really thought he had left this life behind, and he is Too Old For This (spiritually). I think he's really thrown for a loop the first time he sits down to trance, comes to having spontaneously manifested some goodberries in his lap, and realizes he can do magic again for the first time in a couple of decades. He'll do the adventure, and he won't even complain that much, and I think as the game progresses, he'll find more to like about it, but at the moment he's quietly being a real sourpuss about the whole thing.

27: What was their life like before the events of BG3?

Kind of alluded to this in the subclass answers, but in the main timeline (which covers both pally/barb and pally/sorc), Cyrus was having a splendid time as a dashing young adventurer.

Ranger Cyrus was living by himself in a small cottage in some corner of Sword Coast wilderness, cut off from the rest of the world by choice. He was able to fend for and provide for himself just fine but was also much lonelier than he would have admitted to himself. Being around people again is a huge change-- and try as he may to keep some distance between himself and his companions, he just can't resist Wyll's smile.

#SORRY IT'S SO FUCKING LONG THE ONLY THING I LOVE MORE THAN MY BOY IS NARRATIVE-MECHANICAL OVERLAP #cyrus bg3

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tuxedo-rabbit · 9 months

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I really like Baldur's Gate, I think the things that they fleshed out they did in a really deep, compelling way. But I keep coming accross stoy paths that feel like Larian didn't really intend for the player to take, because they have so much less detail than the choices they actually want you to take.

Take for example Act 1. It's very clear you're supposed to think Halsin is your best bet at getting a cure. It's also very clear that you're supposed to get invested in the goblin/tiefling conflict. Lae'zel will keep telling you that people have technology for getting the parasite out of your head, but the game for whatever reason, does not expect players to go for that option first.

In my second playthrough, I had a character who chose to do just that. The creche just seemed like the best option to them, and finding a cure fast seemed like the most important thing. There are actually a lot of things about doing the creche first that I really like, but the results of going back and trying to save the tieflings after makes me think the game doesn't want you to do that.

The details they did put in for this path are very cool! When you return, all the tieflings are dead, and the grove is sealed up. You actually don't see your quest log change until you come across the complete massacre of the tieflings in front of the Blighted Village. It's heartbreaking.

But your companions say nothing. Not a word about them all dying. Not even Karlach, whose survival is dependent on Dammon. This was the worst part to me. I came across Dammon's body, Karlach's quest auto-completed, and she had no reaction whatsoever. That feels like a huge oversight to me.

The second worst part is, I had actually exited the mountain pass right next to the goblin camp and, seeing as my quest log at this time indicated the tieflings were still alive, went through and killed all the goblin leaders. The only big change in that section was that Halsin was dead, and I had to learn how to get to Moonrise by speaking to his corpse.

I exited from this big boss fight, went up the road and found all the tieflings dead and the grove sealed. At first I thought, what a hearbreaking, but well deserved way to end the act! I liked that I got punished for choosing the creche first honestly, it made sense. But when I realized there were no companion reaction at all, no cutscene for ending the act...it felt very much not as fleshed out as simple siding with the tieflings or goblins. There are too many options in this game for Larian to account for all of them, but sometimes I do wonder, if they aren't going to flesh out certain choices, is it worth allowing players to take them at all?

#bg3 #bg3 spoilers #i think im going to reload and have them enter the act 1 area through the other path #and then find the tiefling bodies first #and then side with the goblins to try and infiltrate the cult #that way I'll get more content #im guessing karlach will still not react to dammon dying #which is WILD #but at least I'll get reactions from the rest of the party

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emmy-dekarios-bg3 · 26 days

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Heart of the Weave - A Baldurs Gate fanfiction - Part 2

Chapter 8 (still Gale’s Point of View)

We make our way across the bridge to Basilisk Gate, which is just one chunk of Baldur’s Gate, and where it seems to be very quiet. I thought it looked rough after defeating the elder brain, but this…this is just a gruesome disaster by itself, even without mindflayers. Normally, you’d hear chattering from citizens on every corner, or the joys of children laughing as they chase after one another, but all I hear is silence. Some guards are picking up trash on the corners of the streets, some are scrubbing off blood from the walls.

When we were here last, while Emmy was at the doctor getting observed, there was a circus, sorcerers and wizards casting magic outside, and people fishing down at the docks. Even when we were dealing with the mind flayers and Chosen Three, it was more lively here. Now? An empty city filled with loss, heartache, tragedy, and a vile amount of thick blood.

“Gods… This is worse than I thought,” I comment as I observe the emptiness of the city. Every building appears to be locked down for reasons of protection, though who knows how efficient that really is. A male guard approaches us as we try to make our way through the dreaded city.

“Halt,” he demands, though his voice has a tint of weakness. He’s terrified. “It’s not safe to be here. I suggest you find somewhere to take cover and quickly. The Stormshore Tabernacle is your best bet.” Lucky for us, we happen to be next to it, though we don’t have time to take cover and not do anything; these Bhaalists need to be stopped immediately.

“Believe it or not, we’re here to defeat these motherfuckers and put them where they belong – in the graveyard,” Karlach mentions with an expression of vengeance on her face. “We were the ones who killed Orin, Ketheric, and Gortash. Hell, even the elder brain. We aren’t scared of these pieces of shit.” The guard’s eyes widen, and the glistening of the tears he’s fighting back shows hopefulness. I wonder if he lost someone dear to him.

“Oh Hells. Thank the Gods. You’ll more than likely find the cult at the temple underground. Too many innocents are being slaughtered by the minute. Thank you.” His voice is breaking, but he’s smiling at the same time. While this entire situation isn’t ideal, I’m at least glad we’re getting involved to prevent more damage than what’s already been done.

I’m trying not to be distracted by how much I miss Emmy and our daughter. I can’t let these feelings distract me, though it does help to stay positive and think: “We will be home soon enough.” It’s only been a couple days, but I can’t stop visualizing Emmy’s brown eyes, the way she bites her lip and closes her eyes when I make her blush, the way she leans her head on me after a long day. Then there’s our baby’s bright smile and thick brown hair, reaching for my face as I feed her a bottle…my favorite moment. Being able to bond with her like that, even though she will never age, is one quality of parenthood I enjoy most.

“Gale? You doing alright?” Halsin asks. I snap out of my heavy distractions and take a deep breath, preparing to move forward in our endeavors. He’s studying my face, realizing I’m not fully there.

“Sorry, I got lost in a deep train of thought. Let’s go.”

“Thinking about your family, huh?”

“No, no, just how we’re going to obliterate these horrible cultists and demolish their evil ways. I can’t wait to make these fools suffer for what they’ve done.”

“Gale, you’re a terrible liar,” Wyll adds, chuckling. Yeah, I never was good at stretching the truth, not even a little bit.

Once we reach the Lower City, I realize this area is actually rather clean and contains much less blood and gore; though, I suspect there are more guards over here to help keep it contained. Or, maybe people are better at hiding.

We find the manhole that leads down to the sewers, which is where the Temple of Bhaal is, unfortunately. The rancid smell causes discomfort and triggers a peculiar tingle within my stomach. Gods, another horrid odor I’ll never fully adjust to, no matter how often I’m around it. An unfamiliar sensation rises within me following the tingle, but not a regular feeling the average person would obtain. It feels to be a rising of power, something held inside me that wants to be unleashed…and it’s growing stronger by the minute. What is this?

“Hopefully we just go in, kill a bunch of Bhaalists, then make our way back home. I’m not sure it will be quite that simple though.” Wyll’s voice is hushed as we step into the dreaded murder temple, where thousands of skulls and corpses lay and screams of death are being heard from below.

“It never is, unfortunately,” I say, followed with a sigh. We’re here, and I am already aware of the Bhaalists ready to rip us to shreds, even though they’re shrouded and unable to be seen. I know when I’m being watched, the feeling is way too familiar. The screech of terror is nearly deafening and all I can picture is gruesome torture and death. I was hoping I’d never be here again.

We approach the center of the temple where we slayed the slayer, Orin. Piles of corpses surround the circular region and, as we get closer, I notice the assassins are surrounding it also. It seems they aren’t afraid to expose themselves. There’s maybe a hundred of them staring us down like prey; at least, the ones we can see anyway.

“Ooh, mmmm…. Another sacrifice to our Lord, our Father. But…but…but…wait…” One of the assassins growl as they approach us, licking his lips as he stares us down with hungry eyes. He looks around us, as if he’s trying to find a missing piece of a puzzle. “SPEAK. Where is she?”

“What the fuck is this loon talking about?” Karlach whispers.

“SILENCE! I’m talking to the Wizard. He’s married to the one we’re searching for. I’m going to ask again: where is she?” His eyes are piercing me as he awaits an answer, and they slowly turn into a vicious crimson as his patience runs thin.

“You want my wife? Why?”

“Our LORD wants her. He desires her. For her skin to be carved and hung up like cloth, for her body to be placed on his altar. Only then, will he have a new chosen. WHERE IS SHE?!” I give him a puzzled expression, wondering in my head why he thinks I’d willingly give him any information about Emmy.

“Why is she in particular interest to her Lord? Is it because we slaughtered Orin and he wants her avenged?”

“YOU WILL SPEAK NO MORE! Whoever slays her will take her place. I will slaughter all of you right here, right now if you do not speak the answers we desire.” I laugh as he continues to spew his pompous nonsense in my face, as he speaks ill of my wife in front of me. The feeling within me from earlier grows stronger and more potent, and it builds up within me as if I’m about to burst with radiant power.

“You can’t kill her, nor can you kill me. It’s physically impossible, you see.” The assassin licks his bloody blade and puts it against my neck, but he looks mildly afraid for some reason.

“And why not? Bhaal won’t like this, mmm no he won’t.”

“Because we’re immortal.” And it’s at that very moment, an intense wave of power flows through me, building up rapidly as rage grows. My body tingles, which leads to a feeling of overwhelming heat, like my body is an inferno.

“Oh shit, Gale’s eyes are…glowing?” Karlach mutters, observing me in horror but also excitement at the same time. I can’t see myself, but I imagine what I’m doing looks rather unsettling to the eyes of mortals.

“I’m going to be following up on Karlach’s statement with my own: Holy fuck, Gale,” Astarion adds. All the assassins move back as my body floats in the air, my entire body overflowing with powerful radiant magic that seems to be coming from the source of my immortality.

“NO, STAND DOWN!” one of the assassins shrieks in horror, but before they have the chance to dash out of the temple, my body releases the radiance held within me, completely disintegrating at least half of the bodies of the Bhaalists, leaving a few others rather injured. What was this power I was granted with? It’s as if my body sensed evil. It knew what was in here.

{view part 1 and part 2 of “Heart of the Weave” on my Ao3! You can find the link pinned on my page}

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #karlach #dnd #gale x tav #astarion #dungeons and dragons #shadowheart #ao3 #bg3 ao3 #bg3 fanfic #lae'zel #orin #ketheric #gortash

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