a summary of my current playthrough

This is an anti-Mystra blog. I would go further and say this is a Mystra-hate blog.

The grip his stomach has on me is insane--

Hi!! Editing to thank you all so much and to say the finished version is now in the replies/with the link! 💜

If I follow the starlight and call your name

Will I see you again on the astral plane?

Why did learnin' the truth make me feel worse?

Tell me, how does a man change the universe?

The Balancer’s Eye - Lord Huron

Breakup...

Drawing him without his beard has been pure torture…

this took me like a week to complete and i kept having to stop cause i would get so mad about mystra's existence while drawing her and would end up ranting. fuck mystra.

also if y'all don't follow me on Instagram, please do, i post stuff from my own playthrough and more bg3/bloodweave related stuff.

i also do comms!! if anyone wants me to draw their tav, I'll literally kiss you on the mouth. (obviously im more than willing to drawing other stuff too lmao) just shoot me a dm on insta (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

some Gale angst

bloodweave has really grown on me. gale and astarion are just like husbands. they bicker like a married couple but they love eachother. and astarion would KILL that BITCH mystra for everything wrong she did to gale. I hate mystra so much.

thought about gale suddenly and how we're not quite sure when mystra came to him but, he was decently young and she chose him because of his power amd potential with the weave, how he could devote himself to her. she shaped, she groomed him.

the moment she leaves him, abandons him, gale dekarios who has devoted himself to her, is after the orb drains much of his original power. he's no longer an incredibly powerful archmage. if you look at his behavior, his eagerness to please and talk to tav/durge/whatever origin character, he wants to he useful. he wants to be useful so bad because he devoted himself to mystra and when he was no longer powerful, when he was weakened by the orb...she took her "love" for him away.

was gale smart for the orb business? not particularly. was he at fault? sure, basically. But you try begging for someone to love you when all they love is the power they have over you, rethink gale.

I just wanna make Gale Dekarios feel loved and cherished. My sweet man deserves unconditional love

there's a lot of heartbreaking shit about gale and mystra but the moment when he shows tav the weave and when it dissipates he visibly shrinks and lets out this saddest fucking "oh" i have ever heard makes wanna kill mystra with my own bare hands.

𝓜𝓪𝔂 𝓲𝓽 𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮 𝓜𝔂𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓪.

& he's done!!

WIP Wednesday!

My sleepy brain loves to torture Gale :( This part was written last night about 20 minutes before I feel asleep. Also we hate Mystra in this house, don't you worry.

Working Title: "A Touch of Darkness"

(BG3/Soulmates AU : Gale/OC) AKA "the place where I dump all my Gale angst"

Gale had asked Elminster about soulmates once. He had known Irradessa for three months at that point, and he was already trying to figure out how to tell his mother that he wanted to marry this woman. He spent hours putting his considerable mind against everything she would say.  “You're only seventeen!” That's how old you and father were. “You've only just made a name for yourself at the academy! A better one, anyway!” And Irra had been right beside him when he did it. The beats of her tempest magic were the missing component of his grand composition. She was the wind driving him to greater heights.  “You've only known her for three months!” Three months, four days, twenty-one hours and… fifty-two minutes. Fifty-three minutes. And each of those minutes that he wasn't near her was a minute that his brain was deficient a timpani rhythm or a shining symbol crash. Even as he slept, her tinkling piano melodies wove themselves into his dreams. His favorite nights were the ones where she fell asleep on the couch curled under his arm in the students lounge at the bottom of the dormitory tower. He slept so well those nights that when she would tease him the morning after as he hummed her sleepy melodies, he could do nothing but smile softly after her. So he had asked his mentor what it meant when a mage of his talent found someone that pushed his magic beyond the boundaries of what was possible. Elminster had prodded some, extracted exactly what Gale meant by “more”, and needled his way into a name.  Irradessa Alazne Thundershade. Sorceress of thunder and jewel of Marsember.  Thinking back now, Elminster had recognized the name. His eyebrows had turned downward and his teacup cooled in his hand. Gale had needed to reheat it (a courtesy of course). At the time, however, Gale hadn't heard anything other than Elminsters final reaction, a great heave of a sigh and a sad smile.  “Gale, m’boy,” he had said then. “I think you'll find that even if you think you find a soul that steels your own, you'll also find that it is to Mystra's boundless grace where your attention should always return. There are certainly tales and whispers and mutterings of such foolishness as souls for whom the threads of the Weave resonates, but I think you'll find them to be naught but the most convincing of illusions. Your talents have been kindled at such a young age, when the heart wants little more than companionship. Let not your gaze stray from the Weave, for it is she who guides the currents of magic with a deft hand and a watchful eye. Trust not in fleeting echoes, but in the enduring radiance of magic herself.  Mystra is the only resonance that you need put your faith in.” Gale had trusted Elminster then. He wasn't quite sure that Elminster had the right of it now.  Not as he held her hand against his chest. Not as he begged her to understand. Not as he let her in… Into the dark.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲 𝗼𝗿𝗯 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝗿𝗼𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝘁 𝗚𝗮𝗹𝗲'𝘀 𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆. And it is excruciating. On his chest, one can trace its ugly mark, the brand less discoloration and more, unfortunately, a deep-grooved scar. It is unavoidable and impossible to ever miss. Similarly, the way it eats at him is obvious, too. Gale, especially at the start, when his condition, fresh and disorienting, was still abundantly new, the effects of the orb were frighteningly worse. At that time, he little knew how to quell it, that feeding off the Weave would balm the pain, and so for all those days and weeks of panic, he rotted and ached at a terrible pace. He had decayed. And he had bled. Gale's body oozed black, skin, especially at his casting arm, rupturing like cracks in terracotta. He tasted filth always, the bitterness of wasting flesh thick in his throat, nose perpetually leaking with the ink-dark of bleeding. He'd labored to breathe, a feeling like devouring maggots pulsing in his chest. In fact, at the lowest point by then, wallowing and stuck in his tower, Gale began to lose hair, his nails loose and cracking as he scrabbled at the floorboards, knees weak and pain bolting when he collapsed to the floor. He was a pitiful sight. And a worrying one. And even now, with the consumption of magical artefacts, one can still see the way he bows to the blight, heaving for breath when it takes his chest again, sweat at his temples and mouth gone dry. It's all-encompassing. The agony is chronic. It feels like being eaten, being hollowed to his barest self right from the inside. He's a vessel of magic, and the orb means to consume him down to his every last molecule, teeth bared, hackles raised, and appetite crushing. It's like--dying, stolen away to be but swallowed down whole, surrendering to the suck of a hungering vortex. He's unsightly. As well, too, as a burden, he thinks, to the very naked of his bones. But when someone hangs back, touches him despite his rot, he thinks, you shouldn't have to handle something like this. This mere shamble of a graveyard--he's so sorry to dirty their hands.

Gale and Cinna, a few days after channeling the weave together in act 1:

Cinna: Gale?

Gale: I do enjoy our conversations. What do you need?

Cinna: I've been thinking a lot about what you said...

Gale: About?...

Cinna: About Mystra! I was always taught that she is the guardian of the weave we wield, and nothing more. Yet you claim she is all magic, correct?

Gale: Undoubtebly. Mystra is the very embodiment of the weave.

Cinna: Can I ask you something?

Gale: You may.

Cinna: If Mystra is indeed the weave itself, as you say, then why are her followers and chosen almost exclusively wizards and not sorcerers?

Gale: Whatever do you mean?

Cinna: I mean... if Mystra was all magic, then why would she not have the ability to, at least, choose who is born with the weave? Wouldn't she want her worshippers to be sorcerers like me, and have the gift from within? Evidently, she does not have the capability to choose, as seen by the many sorcerers who do not hold faith in her, including me.

Gale: *silent pondering*

Cinna: So I figured you may know the answer. If Mystra is the weave, then why was I, somebody without faith, gifted with the weave, and why did you, a loyal follower of Mystra, have to learn it?

Gale: *more silent pondering*

Cinna: *tilting her head, awaiting an answer or explanation*

Gale: *questioning his faith*

If Larian let Tav meet Mystra…