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msrhaxoz · 3 days

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Otto's biography

I want to share with you the backstory of my Tav. This is the story before the events of the game. His name is Otto. He is a bard/rogue, trickster with an ambiguous character and a lucky guy with a love of life. He's also a bit of an idiot. Enjoy!

In the depths of Otto's memories lies a foggy recollection of his early years. Yet, through the haze, a handful of cherished moments with his family still shine bright.

Hailing from the dark depths of the Underdark, Otto's family carved out a life far from the bustling heart of the dark elf city, nestled near a temple dedicated to the Dark Maiden. His mother ruled with an iron fist, while his father exuded warmth and kindness. Alongside Otto, the middle brother, stood his siblings: the authoritative Audrey, who played both big sister and second mom and with whom Otto shared both resemblance and interests; and the youngest, Tae. It was Audrey who fostered their shared love for music and dance, though Otto diverged from her in his fascination with magic and warfare. Despite Audrey's attempts to impart basic magical knowledge and combat strategies, the boys often disregarded her guidance and forged their own path.

But the real tale lies in Otto and Tae's bond. Despite their five-year age gap, they were inseparable — so much so that they were often mistaken for twins. Where Otto went, mischief in tow, Tae wasn't far behind. Their connection ran deep, Their connection was so tight that punishment meant for one often extended to the other, under the pretext of "company" and "just in case," as their sister wryly remarked.

Otto exuded a serene aura, seemingly detached from the world around him. His devotion to his goddess knew no bounds; he prayed fervently, joined in the nocturnal rituals with zeal, and found solace in in expressing his emotions through the graceful movements of dance and the soothing melodies of the harp. Despite the mistreatment endured by his fellow drow, Otto remained unmoved, dismissing the tales of the fearsome goddess Lolth as mere myths. Yet, whenever he ventured beyond his secluded realm to gather provisions at his parents' urging, he encountered the disdain of surface dwellers. Thankfully, his protective sister often accompanied him, ensuring his safety amidst the hostility of the outside world.

This marked the sombre conclusion of happier times from the past. At the age of fifty, tragedy struck, forever altering the course of Otto's life. During one of the reverent nights devoted to dancing in honour of the goddess Eilistraee, malevolent dark elves launched a merciless assault on the drow community. The ensuing carnage was unfathomable - nearly all participants in the sacred ceremony were ruthlessly slaughtered by the followers of Lolth. Though Otto's parents were absent that fateful night, he, along with his sister and brother, witnessed the horrifying massacre unfold. Despite Audrey's valiant attempts to resist the attackers, her bravery cost her life, her severed head serving as a grim testament to her sacrifice at her brothers' feet.

Desperate to spare their lives, Otto pleaded with the dark drow, willing to endure servitude or any other fate to ensure his and his brother's survival. Whether out of exhaustion from the night's bloodshed or for other reasons, the drow relented, sparing a handful of captives to serve as slaves. And so, Otto and his brother found themselves thrust into the heart of the city of Menzoberranzan.

Otto spent the better part of his life toiling as a slave, his days consumed by labor in the mines and kitchens hidden beneath the earth's surface. For 137 long years, he lived in the shadows, cut off from the moon's gentle light, gradually losing touch with his goddess, surviving solely by sheer luck - or so he continues to believe to this day.

Despite being forcibly separated, the brothers occasionally crossed paths during their assigned tasks. Otto often found himself consumed by thoughts of Tae, grappling with the harsh realities of their existence and haunted by memories of past horrors. Yet, Tae remained a beacon of hope, preventing Otto from succumbing entirely to despair. As long as his brother endured, Otto found solace in their shared struggle. Despite the hardships, Otto found some comfort in knowing he wasn't alone. However, this hope was short-lived.

Tae endured nearly eight agonizing years of enslavement alongside his elder brother. Over time, the once hopeful drow siblings grew weary, their dreams of freedom fading into the darkness that surrounded them. Despite the dwindling hope, they pressed on, silently bearing the weight of their captivity. Unexpectedly, Otto honed his culinary skills, perhaps finding sustenance and purpose that helped him to linger amidst the darkness that shrouded their existence.

One fateful day, Tae, utterly drained of energy, made a grave mistake in the warden's presence. Exhausted beyond measure, he collapsed under the weight of a heavy load, causing sacks of provisions to spill and inadvertently ensnaring a pair of goblin slaves next to him. Otto, who happened to be nearby, watched the scene unfold before his eyes. As punishment for his blunder, Tae was mercilessly dragged before the hungry rothe, and since he was guilty of depriving them of food, the little slave had to pay for it. To make matters worse, the warden overseeing Tae's punishment happened to be one of the drow responsible for the massacre during the night of Eilistraee worship. Upon recognizing the brothers, the warden, sporting a smug grin, gestured for Otto to approach him as Tae stood by the two wild rothe.

"Rothe may be herbivores, but they possess quite the temper," he taunted Otto with a smirk. "And this pair happens to be the most voracious and vicious of them all." With those chilling words, the drow warden launched a rock at one of the rothe, striking it squarely in the eye. Caught off guard by the sudden violence, Tae gasped in terror, triggering a frenzied response from the hungry beasts. Wild and merciless, they lunged at the defenseless brother, unleashing a barrage of kicks and trampling him underfoot. Frozen in horror, Otto watched helplessly, his hands trembling with silent anguish. His heart felt as though it might burst from his chest as he witnessed the brutal onslaught. Tae's desperate screams pierced the air, drowned out by the sounds of agony and chaos. Blood mingled with tears as Tae's eyes reflected a haunting crimson hue, his neck veins pulsating under the strain of the rothe's relentless assault. With a sickening crunch, Tae's belly was torn open by the beasts' horns, and he fell still only when his head was crushed beneath their hooves, his existence snuffed out in an instant.

And Otto just watched in silence.

He watched as the light faded from his brother's eyes, his gaze unwavering as he bore witness to the final moments of Tae's existence. The drow warden's mocking voice briefly pierced through Otto's numbness. "Perhaps you're not as feeble as you appear. Your selfishness served you well," the drow sneered mockingly.

Otto possessed a sharp intellect and a discerning eye for danger, especially in tense situations. It would have been naive to assume that the dark elves would permit him to aid his brother. With a sinking feeling of dread, he realized this was a blatant provocation. Even if they survived the rothe attack, the wardens would likely execute them both for insubordination, at best. Feeling utterly helpless, Otto made the agonizing decision to live on, letting his brother die alone.

In that moment, a torrent of negative emotions flooded Otto's soul - the suffocating weight of guilt, the insidious selfishness instilled by the warden. The sheer volume of these feelings overwhelmed him, erupting in a chaotic cacophony that left behind a haunting emptiness. Otto experienced a paradoxical sensation of both intense emotion and numbing detachment. Despite the turmoil within, not a single tear escaped his eyes. He knew that, in time, the suppressed emotions would resurface, threatening his sanity. To avoid succumbing to madness, he hardened his body against exhaustion and his mind against the encroaching chaos, embracing a chilling resolve to endure.

The passing century blurred into a directionless existence for Otto, a routine settled into over time, overshadowed by a constant fear of death. He witnessed the brutal executions of disobedient slaves by the drow, observed tears streaming down the faces of tormented men crumbling under the cruelty of the priestesses of Lolth, and watched with detachment as spiders feasted on the anguished cries of goblins. Yet, these harrowing scenes no longer stirred fear within him.

By sheer luck, he narrowly escaped his fate. A riot erupted among the enslaved Minotaurs and Orcs one day, fuelled by the recency of their enslavement, their vigor unchecked by reason. The chaos of the uprising rattled the dark elves, as the Minotaurs and Orcs, in their bid for freedom, wreaked havoc by demolishing nearby structures and liberating the imprisoned rothe. In the midst of the turmoil, with the attention of the Lolth drow diverted towards subduing the larger slaves, it presented the only fleeting opportunity for him to seize his chance at freedom.

Perhaps Otto possessed a natural inclination for stealth, or perhaps he was blessed by the Dark Maiden that fateful night. With meticulous care yet swift determination, he navigated his way out of the city, utilizing every available hiding spot - be it behind corners, haystacks, or barrels. Meanwhile, the other escaped captives drew attention with their frantic and clumsy attempts to flee, providing cover for Otto's silent movements. Step by cautious step, Otto distanced himself

from the chaos, his path guided by the cool touch of cave walls and the enveloping darkness. Despite the uncertainty of his destination or the reason for his flight, he pressed on, driven by an instinctual urge to escape the confines of his captivity.

Emerging from the depths of the Underground, Otto greedily filled his lungs with the crisp air of freedom before hastening onward, propelled by a newfound sense of liberation.

He ran tirelessly, his destination unknown, his only focus on putting distance between himself and his captors. With each stride, he stumbled and fell, only to rise again and resume his frantic pace. Otto pushed himself until his lungs burned, his vision blurred, and his legs threatened to give out beneath him. Eventually, exhaustion overtook him, and he collapsed onto the cool grass, his body spent and gasping for air.

For what felt like an eternity, Otto lay there, struggling to regain his breath, his hands clutching the damp earth beneath him. Despite his fervent desire to rise and continue his flight, the searing pain in his chest rendered him immobile. As he coughed and gasped for air, he forced his eyes open, greeted by the serene expanse of the night sky.

Rolling onto his back, Otto found himself bathed in the soft glow of the full moon, its ethereal light casting a gentle radiance upon the meadow where he lay. In that moment, the young drow felt a sense of peace wash over him, as if the moon itself offered solace and sanctuary to the escaped prisoner. For a moment, the Otto forgot how to breathe, so mesmerised was he by the dark sun. And he finally remembered his goddess.

Tears welled in his reddened eyes, and an uncontrollable laughter bubbled up from his aching chest. Otto groaned, even screamed, burying his face and in his hands, gripping his hair. Turning towards the grass, he inhaled the scent of fresh greenery and damp earth, offering silent gratitude to some unseen force. Mumbling barely audible words, he offered apologies to his brother and sister. Thus, he passed the entire night, seeking refuge in the cool darkness until dawn forced him to seek shelter from the sun's burning rays.

Thus began the dawn of a new life for the former prisoner. Upon the surface, he would once again revel in the joy of music, the gentle strumming of the harp. He would seek out part-time jobs and explore new ways of survival, including, perhaps, resorting to stealing when necessary.

It's worth noting that the trauma of his survival would significantly impact the young man's behaviour. After experiencing a taste of freedom, Otto began engaging in impulsive actions that contradicted his moral compass. Stealing had never been characteristic of him, but the prolonged captivity and initial struggles to earn money pushed him to drastic measures. Thus, he developed kleptomania, an uncontrollable urge to steal even when unnecessary. Additionally, his youthful idealism, which caught up with him later, painted the picture of a naïve and irresponsible individual, despite his advanced mental maturity. He became a person marked by extreme chaos.

Many thanks to @mist1e for translating my text into English. I am very grateful to her for that!

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 tav #drow oc #text #dnd #dungeon and dragons #bard #rogue #menzoberranzan #eilistraee #drow tav #dark elf #my art

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have-a-treato · 7 months

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Alurlssrin

Astarion x drow!Tav, gn!Tav

Tags/Content: Soft, angst, allusions to past trauma, SFW, no sex, one-shot, short

Context: Spoilers for Act 2 Astarion confession. I dreamed about softly touching Astarion’s face and it snowballed into a ton of drow background, not much BG3-specific context outside of Astarion’s story.

Word count: 2k

Your fingers lead his eyelids closed, trailing softly down his cheeks, tracing his laugh lines, and skirting by his lips. Oh, those lips and that toothy smile that has you grinning at everything he says.

Fic List AO3

This one is for all you drow Tav enjoyers.

On a rare calm evening, you and Astarion are up with the ever-present darkness in the shadowlands, set up in his tent together. He watches as you work on patching a hole beginning in your armor from a close call with a fire bolt spell.

“Need a midnight snack?” you quip, not looking up from your task.

“Cheeky. I don’t need it, but if you're offering...” he says with a lilt.

A thoughtful hum is your response as you finish buffing your repair and place your armor aside. Finally looking up at him, your eyes roam his face, settled in a newly uncharacteristic calm and openness. He lounges on his side in his bedroll, head propped up in his hand, a book on the floor before him. You've given him time and space since your conversation, orbiting him like a moon and offering safe, chaste touches. ‘Practice’, you call it. Neither of you meditate much here in the shadowlands, so the nights give ample time to be in each other’s company. And you do just that – be. Sitting together in silence, bantering through the night, and yes, the usual bloodletting. With that open expression tonight, he might be up for more practice. And when he looks at you like that, with the hint of challenge in those red eyes, it raises your dark blood.

“Want to practice?”

His eyes search your face, that open expression holding steady. He sits up and sets his book aside, his mouth slanting up into a tiny grin, “What do you have in mind?”

Another pause follows, and you begin to shuffle toward him on your knees. Tilting your chin toward his lap, you ask the silent question. He picks up your meaning and gives a subtle nod, opening his legs to allow you to kneel between them. You sit quietly, mapping his face with your eyes, letting the closeness settle between you.

You reach up slowly, giving him time to pull away, but his eyes are locked on yours, still with that open, slightly challenging, curiosity. Your fingers retrace the steps your eyes took, ghosting over his brows, and you catch his pupils dilating ever so slightly. Sweeping up to his hairline, you trace the lines down to the hinge of his jaw and slowly follow the muscles to his chin. A furrow forms between his brows and you reach up to smooth it away.

“Ok?” you murmur.

“It’s… different. Familiar and yet altogether new,” he mutters.

“Yeah,” you whisper, entirely enraptured by the feel of him, “Can I…?”

“Hm,” he replies softly, with a barely perceptible lowering of his chin.

You properly take his face between your hands now, marveling at how his eyes flutter and become half-lidded and how his downy skin feels against your palms. Your awe is reflected at you through his red eyes, and a warmth is spreading through your chest. His thick tresses thread through the tips of your fingers. You hold him there, brushing your thumbs across his cheeks, watching his minute reactions and pondering on that warmth you feel.

Once, back when you first set foot on the surface, a young human couple inexplicably allowed you to stay the night in their barn despite your dark skin and red eyes. When the sky reshaped itself into that blanket of stars that mesmerizes you to this day, the couple stood out on their porch and embraced in this way before retiring for the night. The man held his wife's face in his hands, and the look between them has forever haunted your memory. You could not identify it then, as this was your first witnessing of open affection, and as you absconded early that morning with their only horse, your thoughts constantly wandered back to the strange look in their eyes. Your experiences on the surface have been multitude since then, yet you never forgot the small moment you witnessed and never spoke of. Never have you felt safe enough to touch a partner in this way. The others were simply a means to an end, scratching an itch. Astarion was as well, at first. The game you both played offered familiar ground in unfamiliar territory. But now… this moment, this tenderness that is wholly removed from those games... You aren’t quite sure what to make of it.

It seems that neither of you can speak. His eyes flicker between yours as you are momentarily lost in your memory. Is it instinct that has you retracing his features as if to memorize them? As your finger follows down the bridge of his nose, his eyes slowly close. He leans into your touch slightly, and that warmth in your chest begins to bloom and burn, stealing your breath. Your hands start to tremble, and his eyes flit open again, searching your face.

“What is it?” he asks quietly, taking your hands.

Your gaze lowers to his neck, to the two small scars there. You borrow his own words, “’Familiar yet altogether new.’” Adding under your breath, “And terrifying.”

“It is, isn’t it? But also exhilarating.” He lifts your chin gently, redirecting your eyes back to his. “What happened to that confidence from earlier?”

Sighing through your nose, you duck your head. “I’ve been on the surface a long while now. But I still hear the ringing of swords, the clinking of chains, and the chanting of priestesses in the back of my mind. I am still learning that what is weakness there can be something else here…” you give a humorless chuckle, “Sometimes I need the practice.”

“I hadn’t realized how similar we are. How regrettably, terribly, similar. The whole lot of us are, I suppose. Clawing tooth and nail out of one hell and falling into another.”

You raise your head, looking into his downturned crimson eyes, “But I’d much rather wallow in this hell with you than the one I escaped.”

You aren’t sure where the courage has come from – is it courage? – but you let that warmth in your chest guide you now. Your fingers lead his eyelids closed, trailing softly down his cheeks, tracing his laugh lines, and skirting by his lips. Oh, those lips and that toothy smile that has you grinning at everything he says. It’s a sin ever to see him frown.

“Can I kiss you?” you breathe. A humorous huff is his initial response, a smile spreading across those lips and you catch them with yours as he parts starts to actually answer you. Whatever he was about to say dies with this kiss, and indeed, what a kiss it is. It is so slow, tender, his lips petal soft. It starts with that first catching, brush of skin, then delicate slow sips. He tastes like a luscious red vintage with a bitter note, all decadence. It sets your head spinning. That warm thing inside your chest burns again, but rather than smother it, you decide to kindle it with this kiss. You are sure that it is full of things you don’t have words for yet, things that you could only say now with your lips on his. Maybe, one day, you both could say those things out loud. But for now, you wade out into these unknown waters together.

As you pull away, you murmur onto his lips, “I have an idea.”

“Quite inspired this evening, are we?”

You grin, “I have an ethereal muse. Will you indulge me yet again?”

“How can I say no when you say things like that, darling?”

With that, you jump – as much as one can in one’s lover’s lap – into action and pull him down into his bedroll with you. Quickly pulling his blankets over you both, you nudge him onto his side and curl up behind him, around his head.

“If you wanted a cuddle, you could have asked,” he chuckled.

You pause, and as a lead weight drops into your stomach, you remember that this has been a lot of contact all at once, far more than usual. You sit up suddenly, “Light, is this too much? I should’ve asked-”

He silences you with a hasty reply, “This is fine, I’m fine. I think. As I said, it’s different... but not unwelcome. I could get used to this.” He trails off for a moment, and then quietly adds, “But perhaps we go no further than this tonight.” He runs a hand down your arm in reassurance.

You smile softly in response, curling back up beside him, “Of course. Toss me out anytime if I tire you.”

“As if I could toss you out of anywhere,” he scoffs. “You have a way of ferreting yourself back in, anyway.”

“Me!? Ferreting!? That is most unbecoming; I slither, thank you!”

Now you have him in a proper laugh, and you admire the way his whole face changes. The creases at the corners of his eyes, the crinkle in his nose, and the glint of his teeth. Most of all, the sound of it. You adore his real laugh; time seems to stand still every time you hear it.

“’Light’, eh?" He posits, turning onto his side, "I don’t think you’ve ever cursed like that before.”

“I don’t think I’ve said it in several decades,” you muse, Light upon you! being a very common curse. You've since adopted surface phrases to avoid standing out so much. “How did you know it was a curse?”

“I have my sources,” he quips, glancing over at a few of his books.

With a private grin you hum acknowledgement, letting the conversation lapse into comfortable silence. You both lie still next to each other, not touching but very close, content to be together in the time before your companions rise.

In the quiet of the early morning, with only the sigh of your breaths between you, your finger coiling a lock of his hair over and over, you recall a word once whispered in a safehouse from your past. You took refuge there, tucked away in the Mantle on the outskirts of Menzoberranzan. It was depths better than the constant vigilance you were accustomed to in the streets of the slum, fighting off goblins and runaway slaves for any scrap of food. Those days before your trek through the Dark Dominion were the lowest of your shadowy life, but that small, impossible band of drow, goblins, and even a human brought a little light with them when they offered you shelter. You learned their music, accepted their alms, and heard the teachings of Lolth’s wayward daughter. You had little choice but to do so, your other options all leading back to the Stenchstreets, and you were constantly vigilant of the day they would turn on you, kill you, sell you to a pleasure house, use you for some gain. But that day never came. It flummoxed you; and on the eve of the day the group sent you off with a contact through the tunnels to the surface you backed one of them in a corner and demanded to know, to understand.

“Why do you do this?”

“Out of love for our people, and a desire to see them flourish among our brethren above,” was their simple answer. They offered no more, and stood stoic against your blade.

With a ghost of breath, you test the word around your lips, your tongue now unfamiliar with its mother language, and this word too. It is not known in deep drow – only those who dance under the Dark Maiden truly knew it.

“Alurlssrin...”

It is sweet and so unfamiliar but sends a thrill through you. You are sure Astarion hears it, as he is not in trance, but he does not react, does not say anything. He’ll not know what it means anyway, and frankly neither do you, not yet. But with time – with time and this warmth between you, maybe you’ll find out. Maybe you’ll teach him what it means one day.

Love.

---

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.

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