WiP Wednesday
slightly early cuz I can’t seem to post anything during the day lately due to being distracted. A bit of Baldur’s Gate 3 about my Drow bard Zynatheri’s extremely weird and checkered past. Tagging @oxygenforthewicked and @kirkwalls-dumbest should you want to post something!
...
Wyll gave Zyn an odd look. “Sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
Fishing out her knife after she was sure he didn’t need any more healing, she crouched down to slice through the vine holding down his left leg as he worked the other one free. “Oh, sure. Spent over a decade in a male body. Maybe closer to fifteen, not sure. You got out?”
Wyll jerked his leg free, and then grabbed her offered arm to jump over the vines before they could grab him again. “Looks like. Thanks for the timely assistance there.”
“Well, if I left you here I’d be slightly more likely to die,” Zyn said, returning her knife to its sheath with a little flip. Only a bit of showing off. “Come on. We’ve got to get a wiggle on if we’re going to make it to the inn. A proper inn, finally. Might be able to make a bit of coin if I’m lucky. Oh gods, and a bath?”
“No, no, no. You’re not going to go and change the subject so easily,” Wyll protested, taking three jogging steps to catch back up.
Zyn stifled a sigh, rolling her eyes as she made her way back to the rest of the group. She turned her back to them, spinning around to face Wyll and walk backwards. “I could tell you the story but you’re not going to believe it anyways, so why bother?” She turned back around with a flip of her braid and a flick of her hand.
“What did you lie to Wyll about this time?” Shadowheart inquired, the glow in her hands fading as she stepped back from Astarion.
Zyn threw up her hands, aggrieved. “I’m saying I’m not lying! Not lying! The complete opposite of the thing I generally do! It was just a passing fucking comment.”
“Woah, woah, I’m only curious. No need to get your hackles up,” Wyll said amiably. “And even if I happened to slightly disbelieve you, always willing to suspend it to enjoy a bit of bardic hyperbole, eh?”
“It’s not even-” Zyn sighed. Well, as far as prying went, this was a story she didn’t mind telling. “I was at a soiree held by my patron at the time. She had particular tastes, and so did most of her associates, so it was that kind of soiree.”
“I hate that I’ve been around you long enough that I know what that means,” Shadowheart sighed, grabbing her pack off the ground. She slung it on, and picked up her mace from the ground, shaking a bit of viscera off of it.
“And I hate that I wasn’t invited,” Astarion quipped, still looking annoyed as he examined the claw marks in his sleeve.
Zyn ignored his aside with a faint smirk.
“During the group festivities, a wizard asked if I was open to being polymorphed. I was drunk, so I said yes. So then I had a dick, which when you think about it is the most boring thing he could have done. I passed out at some point and when I woke up he was gone, and it was a masque so I never caught his name, and my patron and I had a falling out, and she refused to pay for another polymorph,” she finished, vaguely winded.
The memory was old, and so too were the emotions associated, but she was vaguely offended for her old self. “Anyways, it took me over fifteen years to have enough money to fix it because one, I wasn’t in any particular hurry to be female, and two, every time I had the money I’d spend it on something else.”
“I can’t believe you actually had a patron,” Astarion said. “Was it charity?”
He shoved his sleeve at her, and she sighed and reached for her component pouch. What a spoiled baby. It was just a few little tears. “Yeah, sure, she found me in a crate outside the butcher. Someone wrote ‘Free Bard to a Bad Home’ on the front.”
“Yes...that does seem accurate.”
“Not the kind of adventure I think I’d enjoy,” Wyll mused. “Though I suppose after a while you’d get used to it. Still. Reckon I’d rather not feel out of place in my own body like that.”
“I’ve never been very attached to being a woman,” Zyn said absently, casting a quick mending on Astarion’s sleeve with a small sing-song hum. As the fabric knit itself back together, she lifted her gaze back to Wyll. “I’d do it again if it was both easy to do and undo, but it’s not. Wizards. They’ll do it for free at an orgy, but charge you out the arse any other time. Doesn’t seem fair, does it?”
“Truly a struggle for the ages,” Wyll said sympathetically. Abruptly he stopped, head tilting as he gave a slow, audible sniff. Turning away, he glanced up at the sky, faintly visible through the trees. “Is that…smoke?”
Oh no.
“Please don’t tell me that’s in the direction of…”
“The inn. ‘Fraid so.”
Zyn closed her eyes tightly, taking in a long, cleansing breath. It didn’t work, as it was, indeed, scented with smoke. “Fuck.”
6 notes
·
View notes