#Falerin Glais

[slusheeduck]

Bonus Chapter: Late Night Thoughts

A continuation to this chapter

Bhaalist murderer defeated and handsomely rewarded by the Facemaker for their bravery, the party made it back to the Elfsong for a well-deserved night of drinks before heading to bed. As per usual, Falerin was tucked up against Astarion, out like a light—had he shared a bed with someone who needed sleep before he was turned? It made trancing a damn nuisance, not being able to be flat on his back, but admittedly, when he did manage to trance around Falerin, it kept the less-pleasant memories—and the nightmares—at bay. Plus, he kept the bed warm, so the pros outweighed the cons.

Tonight, though, was different. There wasn’t any hope of a trance with the way Astarion’s brain was spinning—and there wasn’t the tadpole to blame for that. He stared at the ceiling overhead, lost in his thoughts as Fal breathed lightly against his neck.

Husband, that had been his lie earlier today. Husband. The word kept repeating in Astarion’s head—it had been ever since Fal had said it. It wasn’t an unusual lie; he’d used it himself plenty of times when he’d been spotted with a mark.

Oh, dear me, looks like my husband’s had a bit too much to drink. Don’t worry, I’ll get him home just fine.

Oh, yes, my wife, isn’t she lovely? No, you can cancel the room she ordered; we just had a bit of a spat, but we’re all made up now.

So there was no reason for it to stick like it did now. But stick it did, and despite Astarion’s best efforts, at about hour two of staring up at the ceiling and trying not to think about it, he realized that, damn it all, he was going to have to think about it.

He couldn’t recall much from before his turning, but he did know he’d always wanted to get married. He’d had the usual daydreams of a dashing, princely sort—very Wyll-esque, his imaginary childhood spouse was—coming to whisk him away from danger before being married in the morning. Embarrassing as it was to admit it, those had stuck with him even after Cazador had dug his claws into him. Nights spent in the Kennel wishing for a Drizzt Do’Urden kind of hero to come break him out. That year in the tomb begging any god that would listen that someone brave and strong and good would open the sarcophagus and pull him out to safety, to a life where he could be safe and cared for.

At the same time, he’d known it was a stupid, foolish thing to wish for. He wasn’t made for love. If he had been before—and he doubted that, going by who he was now—the centuries of surviving had hardened his heart into the shriveled thing it was now. Any spouse was a tool, a means to an end in getting away from Cazador. He was cold and cruel, he knew that about himself. Anyone who didn’t see that was an idiot—just look at all those victims down in the basement. Some of them, many of them, had tried to love him, and he’d delivered them to the most hellish existence anyone could imagine.

Falerin’s face nuzzled against his neck, bringing Astarion back to the surface for a moment. He looked over the half-drow’s face, hand reaching up to brush his fingers through his reddish hair.

Fal wasn’t a dashing hero, not remotely. He was odd; he couldn’t use a sword to save his life; half the time it seemed like his mind was back in the Feywilds. He’d been the perfect victim, falling immediately for Astarion’s honeyed words and flirty looks—lucky for him, all Astarion had wanted was an ally, not his dues for his master. What’s worse, he knew now that Falerin had known exactly what sort of person he was, and he fell for the bait anyway.

And yet…he was kind. He was fun. He thought of him, cared for him even when he’d been at his prickliest. He hadn’t protested when they stopped having sex. He still offered his neck whenever the thirst got too great. For fuck’s sake, the man had made a date out of killing Bhaalist targets because he knew Astarion would like it—a date that turned into more do-goodery, granted, but it’s the thought that counts. He’d never tried to make him into a cuddly, soft lover; he met him where he was, accepted him thorns and all.

I was just telling my…my husband that I was sure we were going the right way.

It was a silly lie. A quick bid for no explanations. It wasn’t that serious.

So then why did he feel giddy as a godsdamned school girl as he played it in his head again?

He hardly knew the man beside him. They’d been thrown together by chance, became lovers by manipulation, and had fallen in love by pure bad luck. Yes, yes, they threw that happy ending line back and forth, but did they actually believe it? Wasn’t it just something to get the both of them through a horrific experience that they very well may not survive? Astarion wasn’t nearly as experienced in the relationship part of trysts and dalliances as he could be, but he was fairly certain that marriages needed to be built on something stronger than trauma bonding.

And, for all his theatrics and fripperies and nonstop quips, Astarion was, at heart, a practical sort. Maybe not when it came to planning things—but there was always someone else who could deal in the details around--but in day-to-day life he was quite rational. Love was a fickle thing, as was he. Did he really want marriage when it came to Falerin? Did he really want to have this, nights in bed with a half-mad warlock curled up to him, forever? Certainly setting up shop in Neverwinter with him was a good way to start fresh, but marriage was so…definitive. After all, marriage wouldn’t just mean having a husband. It would mean that Falerin would his husband. His. Something…well, someone who could be wholly his own. Not belonging to him, per se, but…but where he could point to him and flash a ring and say, “See him? He’s mine. Aren’t I lucky?” It was so trite and possessive and old-fashioned. Did he really want that?

Gods help him. He did. He wanted it more than anything in the world, barring his already-achieved freedom.

He lifted his hands to press the heel of his palms against his eyes, swallowing down a groan as the realization hit him. The jostling was enough for Fal to stir beside him.

“All right, love?” he asked thickly, lifting his head.

“Yes. Just thinking,” Astarion said, hands dropping back down.

“Hard work for you.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Astarion looked up as Falerin laughed, a pillow crease still on his cheek. He swallowed, then pushed himself up to kiss him. Fal returned it immediately, mouth soft and lazy from sleep. Astarion’s hand went to the back of his neck, holding him in place. It was warm and earnest, and he could feel the anxieties of his thoughts melt away with each press of their lips.

He did want this. Forever.

He pulled back after a moment, staying quiet as he pressed their foreheads together. Falerin’s lashes brushed his as he blinked, and he reached up a hand to stroke Astarion’s cheek.

“You sure you’re all right?” he asked softly.

“Mm. More than all right. You should go back to sleep.”

Fal’s lips turned up. “It’ll be morning soon enough. Might as well stay up.” He brushed his thumb over the corner of Astarion’s mouth. “Do you want to go watch the sunrise?”

Astarion opened his eyes, meeting the purple and black of Falerin’s gaze. “It’s a ways off.” He laid back down, pulling Falerin down with him. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a nosy bastard, that’s why.”

Falerin chuckled, and he settled himself snugly against Astarion, nose grazing his jaw. “All right. Let me tell you about how I simultaneously impressed and terrified the wizard I apprenticed under with a modified wall of fire spell—that I cast in his kitchen.”

Astarion smiled, giving a thoroughly contented sigh. “I’m all pointy ears, my love.”

Casual Banter Master Post

#bg3 #bg3 fic #astarion #bg3 tav #falerin glais #astarion x tav #It's been a long time since I've written a stream of consciousness ramble and tbh I deserve to treat myself

[slusheeduck]

Side-tracked

“We’ll be back in just a bit,” Falerin assured from the doorway as Astarion stood outside in the hallway, pouting up a storm. “Then we can figure out how to get ahead of that Bhaalist.”

“Don’t have too much fun, lovebirds!” Karlach called back as Falerin closed the door. He leaned against it for a moment, letting out a breath, then looked over at Astarion. The vampire was glaring daggers at him; it’d probably be more literal if they weren’t together.

“I can’t believe you,” he hissed. “It’s one thing to get tied up in a murder investigation—don’t think I haven’t seen the mysteries you’ve tucked away—but offering to do the Fists’ gruntwork? Gods, it’s like I don’t even know you. I’ve half a mind to…”

“Shh.” Falerin quickly grabbed Astarion’s arms, leaning in until he was nose-to-nose with him. “Listen. I’m having the others stay here because I have a plan, and you’re the only one who can do it with me.”

Astarion’s eyes narrowed. “Go on.”

Falerin dug in his pocket, then pulled out the list of names. “If we want to get into the Temple of Bhaal without fuss, we need to impress the Tribunal. And we need proof. So…” Falerin swallowed. “We’re going to take out two people on this list.”

Astarion’s eyes widened, and a smile spread across his face before he fanned himself. “Oh, my love, are you saying you’d kill for me?”

Falerin made a face. “In a sense? Look, I’m not…I don’t like the idea of murdering innocents. So if we can…can vet them?”

Astarion took the list, looking almost gleeful. “It’s Baldur’s Gate, darling. I guarantee everyone on this list is either an insufferable bastard everyone wishes was dead, or someone who’s so pathetic and at the end of their rope they’ll want to be put out of their misery. We’re doing a service, Fal.” He read it over. “Ah, I know this house—the Highberrys, right next door. Well-to-do, probably awful. We’ll slip in and make it quick.”

~

The house was indeed right next door, and there seemed to be a big to-do out in the courtyard of it. It gave the two of them an excellent opportunity to slip around to the back entrance. Astarion led the way, hopping easily over the gate and already pulling out his lockpick. Falerin shifted back and forth, glancing around nervously. He turned, worried, as Astarion scoffed around the spare pick in his mouth.

“It’s not even locked,” he whispered over his shoulder. “People this careless deserve what’s coming for them.” He stood up, waiting for Falerin to hop the fence to join him, then he took a hold of his arms. “Darling, look at me.” After a moment, Falerin did. “I’ll take the lead here. It’ll be quick and…mostly painless. Remember, it’s for the greater good. And don’t forget to cover your face on the way out.”

Falerin took a deep breath and nodded. For the greater good. And clearly the Highberrys were rich, so…so they were probably bad. Probably.

He kept close to Astarion as the vampire opened the door, slow and silent. They slipped in, quiet as the grave, only to suddenly be face-to-face with a child. They stared at him. The child stared back. Falerin just barely caught sight of Astarion’s arm start to move, and he gripped his elbow hard.

“Ow! Bastard,” he hissed back through his teeth.

“You’re not about to…” Falerin raised his eyebrows. “…a child, are you?”

“Obviously not, you complete lunatic. I was just…”

“Timmy? Where’ve you gone?” Another child’s voice rang out, with footsteps thumping down the stairs. A little girl joined the staring.

“Well…shit,” Astarion muttered.

“Oh! Are you here for the wine thingy?” the girl asked, suddenly brightening. “Cora said some people might come round this way. You’ve just got to go to the front door.”

Suddenly, Astarion turned on his charm. “Oh, yes.” He twisted around to slide an arm through Falerin’s. “Darling, I told you it was where all those people were. Silly thing you are, thinking it’d be inside on such a lovely day.”

Falerin blinked stupidly. “Oh…right.”

The boy, Timmy, wiped his nose on his sleeve. “What were you whispering about earlier?”

Falerin glanced down at him. “Oh, I, uh…I was just telling my…my husband that I was sure we were going the right way.” He sounded nowhere near as nonchalant as Astarion; luckily, you didn’t have to be very convincing to children.

Astarion, meanwhile, glanced over curiously at “husband”, but he patted Falerin’s arm with a trilling laugh. “As if I didn’t know how Cora worked! Honestly.” He looked between the two children. “I…don’t recall you two being around before?”

“We’re orphans,” Timmy said. “Well, Molly says her dad’s comin’ back. Mum’s not, though.”

Falerin’s eyes went wide, and his head jerked over to look at Astarion. Orphans? he mouthed, face caught somewhere between distraught and disbelieving.

“Cora’s taking care of us,” Molly said, swinging against the railing idly. “She takes in all the kids who don’t have a place to go. She’s really nice.”

“She gives really good hugs,” Timmy added. “And she makes a really good pot roast.”

“Oh, she gives really good hugs, does she?” Falerin repeated through his teeth, voice tight, still staring at Astarion incredulously.

Astarion pressed his lips together tightly, then gave another laugh. “Of course she does,” he said with a toss of his head. “I could have told you that, my love. Come along, let’s go join the others.”

“Why do old people like wine, anyway?” Timmy said to Molly as they made their way to the front door.

“Dunno. But they’re going to be getting so much money for those refugee tieflings. Maybe some of the kids round town will join us!”

Once they were by the front door, Falerin stopped and shook his head. “I can’t do it, Astarion. I can’t fucking do it. They’re…she takes care of orphans. Orphans!” he whispered sharply.

“Maybe…maybe they’re being fattened up for ritualistic sacrifice?” Astarion suggested with a shrug. At Falerin’s look, he sighed. “Okay, okay! Fine! We won’t kill her.” He puffed at a curl as he opened the door. “Look, even I draw the line at orphans and widows. Now, anyway. But I expect a glass of wine for my trouble. Who’s next on the…oh, hello. Recognize that armor?”

He pointed over the head of a few wine tasters, where two halflings were chatting with a dwarf in red armor. Very red armor.

“Oh shit!” Falerin quickly shoved his way past a few partygoers. “Move, move!” Never mind the fact that they’d come in with every intent to murder Cora; he wasn’t about to let Dolor get another one on his watch.

~

The interruption went about as well as expected: changelings all over the damn place, a proper mess of a fight, and Dolor slipping away. But they came out on the other side all right, and Falerin peeked inside the house to make sure that Cora (and the orphans) had made it out alive. The halfling woman shook her head as he and Astarion approached.

“I can’t believe what that…that man was planning to do to me,” she whispered, then looked up at them. “Thank you for saving me.”

From the doorway, her husband came over. “It’s not much, but it’s the least we can do to thank you for what you’ve done.” He held out an almost comically large bag of gold, passing it off to Astarion. The vampire’s eyes were wide, and for once, he looked lost for words.

“It’s…it’s not a problem,” Falerin said, giving a little smile to them. “We’re just glad we were here in time.” He set his hand on Astarion’s back, guiding him out. “Stay in tonight! We’ll get things sorted soon enough!”

As they walked out of the courtyard, Astarion’s tongue finally unfroze. “This must be close to a thousand gold,” he whispered.

“We’ve gotten gold for helping people before.”

“We’ve gotten pittances. Is this what all rich people offer when you save their lives?” He nodded at Falerin. “Who’s next on the list?”

Fal pulled out the paper, looking it over. “Ah…Figaro Pennygood.”

“Oh, well, our red dwarf can’t kill him; he’s the best tailor in the city.” Astarion’s brows drew together. “Let’s go get the others and make our way there. I know a shortcut; we should be able to get to him in time.”

Fal gave a little smile. “Astarion, are you saying you’re giving up your life of crime to help people?”

“Gods, no. But if this…” He held up the bag of gold. “…is what philanthropists are willing to give us for saving their lives, with someone as famous and rich as the Facemaker? Darling, you and I could be looking at a free wardrobe for life.” He grinned, knocking his knuckles against Falerin’s chest before he headed back to the Elfsong. “Maybe he’ll even do our wedding, husband mine.”

Falerin snorted as he followed. “You’re not going to let me forget that, are you?”

“Not for a moment.”

Bonus Chapter

Casual Banter Master Post

#bg3 #bg3 fic #astarion #bg3 tav #falerin glais #Inspired by my BG3 sesh last night #Where once I got in Cora's house to murder her I saw 'Timmy the Ophan' and audibly went 'orphans?' in the most despondent voice

[slusheeduck]

A BG3 server I'm in started using the character designer to make their Tavs' parents, and I thought that'd be fun! So here are Fal's parents

Coranzen Hyluan

Falerin's father was fortunate enough to come from Eryndlyn, where there was no sanctioned religion. That said, his upbringing still left him quiet and shy, and a run-in with Lolth worshippers as a young man left his face scarred and branded and himself finding any way he could to get up to the surface. He joined a merchant caravan soon after, since there were quite a few traders in the city who went up to the Sword Coast. Like all of his caravan, he was given a medallion of Eilistraee for safety, and it served him quite well--as long as he wore it, anyway.

Linette Glais

Raised by a farming family just outside Neverwinter, Linette grew up feisty and opinionated. She butted heads regularly with her mother growing up, but calmed down considerably after her death. Shortly after, she went to market and got to chatting with the handsome, if scarred, drow merchant who'd come into town. And then she came by the next day, and the next.

Coranzen (Corrie, as Linette liked to call him) was drawn to the odd balance of ferocity and kindness in her, and she adored his quiet observations with just a hint of snark. They fell in love quickly, and married even quicker. However, after just six months of marriage, Coranzen got wind of a job offer up in Baldur's Gate that would set them up for life. He left his pregnant wife behind, with the medallion of Eilistraee to keep her and their unborn child safe while he was gone.

But one day just a few months later, his letters stopped coming. No word came, and while Linette hoped that one day he'd return, after hearing of the Bhaalspawn that had taken over Baldur's Gate in 1368, she knew her husband was dead.

In the meantime, her son, Falerin, was born in 1366. When he started to show signs of illness--cold extremities, struggling to catch his breath--she turned the ferocity of her personality into keeping him as healthy as she could. Luckily, with a strong support system of her family, she was able to raise him without much incident--and turned her grief into determination that their son would live, no matter what.

#bg3 #bg3 tav #falerin glais

[slusheeduck]

Breathe Deep, and Move

Dead.

Dead, dead, dead.

The word kept ringing out in Falerin’s head as he stood in the graveyard, staring at the tombstone in front of him. The streets outside the gates were unfamiliar, despite the fact he’d walked over the cobbled roads hundreds of times before he’d left.

It was just ten years. It had only been ten years. Yes, the fey didn’t keep time the same way mortals did, but he’d tracked the days as best he could and estimated the rest. He should be thirty-six now, though he wouldn’t look it. His mother wouldn’t even be sixty.

And yet here he was, staring at the tombstone that bore her name. Linette Glais. Devoted daughter, mother and wife. She’d been eighty when she died, and judging by the tombstones close by that had the names of aunts, uncles, cousins, and names he didn’t recognize that ended in “Glais”, that was quite a long time ago.

He hadn’t cried when he’d seen the graves, though his throat tightened and his eyes stung. He could feel the grief start to build in him, but the heavy blanket of disbelief was too heavy to let it bubble up. He didn’t even get to say goodbye. She hadn’t known where her boy had gone. She’d likely thought he was dead, but knowing her, knowing how viciously and defiantly she had worked to keep him alive through every scare when his heart had faltered, she would have always hoped he’d come home.

That was when the tears finally started, even as Falerin tried to sweep them away. Sorry replaced the litany that had been playing in his head. Sorry, sorry, sorry. He should have told her where he was going, he should have apologized for brushing off her concerns, he should have visited more after his apprenticeship.

Sorry, Mum. I’m so sorry I left.

He’d imagined the day he’d come home so clearly once he asked for his release from the Court. Striding in, strong with fey magic, to show his mother how healthy he was—an unnatural, limited kind of healthy, but she’d be beaming with relief all the same to know he’d make it another ten years. He could marry, he could have children, he could have all the things he knew she’d wished for but had never said.

He’d imagined dropping in on Fineas in his tower on the edge of town, showing off the magic he’d learned in his time away. Yes, the old wizard would give him a chiding on doing what he’d expressly been told not to do, and there’d be plenty of grumbling about warlocks taking the easy way out, but Fal knew the dwarf would be secretly impressed that he managed to come out of the Feywild in one piece, and fey-favored besides.

But there was no tower anymore. There was hardly a Neverwinter anymore. He’d heard a few comments on Mt. Hotenow erupting some forty years back. Forty years. His mother had already been dead for nearly forty years when it happened. And dwarves lived a while, he knew, but Fineas had already been old when he’d taken Fal as his apprentice. He was likely here too, but Fal couldn’t bring himself to search.

He finally dropped down onto another tombstone, burying his face in his hands. He’d been a fool. A foolish, impatient, impulsive idiot. Of course there’d be a price for spending so long in a fey court. He’d known that going in, and he’d thrown everything he’d known away for…for what? For ten measly years in a city he didn’t know anymore, for a world of strangers that there was no time to really care for?

But what could he do? He’d made his bed. He’d paid his price. And he’d promised a lifetime of adventure to his patron. Even now, he could feel a hum of boredom in the back of his head.

Planning to just waste away here in the graveyard? You’re hungrier than that, she seemed to say. I have bigger plans for you, Falerin Glais. Don’t disappoint now.

Whether that was actually her or his subconscious, it was enough to get Falerin to stem his tears. He wiped his face, taking in a shuddering breath. It was right, though, the voice in his head. The dead wouldn’t care if he rotted away in this graveyard with them. He should be in the ground, but he wasn’t. No sense wasting his chance.

Shakily, he pushed himself back up to his feet, wiping away the last of his tears. He could do this. He could have the adventure he promised to his patron. Fey magic crackled in him, tingling in his fingertips as it begged to be used. He’d make a name for himself yet—something that would never die, even when his own luck inevitably ran out. Maybe not in Neverwinter. But somewhere in Faerûn, he’d make it. It was just taking that first step, and Falerin was the one who had to push himself forward.

Breathe deep, and move.

So he shut his eyes, took a deep breath and took the first step toward his adventure. It might be slow. It might be hard. But it’d be worth it. It had to be worth it.

In the distance, a dark shadow loomed in the sky, making its way toward the city as Falerin exited the graveyard. He didn’t realize it yet, but his adventure was just a few short minutes away from finding him.

Casual Banter masterpost

#bg3 tav #bg3 #drabble #falerin glais #Fal's broken containment and is being used in a couple campaigns #So I thought it'd be a good idea to do some ~character studies~ to better figure him out outside of the bg3 storyline #In the last game I was in he eldritch blasted the shit out of everyone and I think I'd like to bring more of that energy into my fics #But first he needs to be sad #Also fun fact I picked Neverwinter as his hometown on a whim and had no idea about the volcano erupting #So that's been a really nice addition of 'you can never really go home' that's a big part of his character #Literally can't go home because it doesn't exist and you're left with a copy that will never truly be home to you #Good stuff man

[slusheeduck]

Get to Know my Tav!

Snagged from @mistercrowbar!

Falerin Glais - Drow Half-Elf - Fey Warlock - He/him - (1)27

favorite weapon: Sorrow. For the most part, he likes staying back and slinging offensive spells to get the job done. For situations where that's not possible, though, it's nice to have a way to stab people without getting too close.

style of combat: "So anyway, I started [Eldritch] blasting."

most prized possession: His spellbook! It's the one he was gifted from his mentor ages ago, a very handsome, leather-bound tome that attaches nicely to a belt. While he's a warlock, he still tries to learn spells the traditional way, and he has a nice collection inside.

deepest desire: To live without the threat of death (or ceremorphosis) hanging over him.

guilty pleasure: Climbing things. In a sense, it's not guilty to enjoy it, but every time he does, he can hear his mother telling him not to--just think of your condition, Falerin!

best-kept secret: His first time was with his patron. His very powerful, very noteworthy patron. His first time with a non-fey was with Astarion.

greatest strength: His patience. It's a learned skill, but he's very good at meeting people where they are and not pushing until they're ready. It's helped immensely with keeping peace among the party.

fatal flaw: His stubbornness and self-reliance. He learned early in his life that nothing would get done unless he took the initiative to do it himself, but as a result, it makes him very, very bad at asking for help. It also can end up with him railroading his way through life, regardless of how what he does makes others feel.

favorite smell: Foresty smells--wet leaves, morning mist, wildflowers.

favorite spell or cantrip: Cloud of daggers all day, every day. Yes, it's killed some of the people they've needed to save and resulted in some hasty Healing Words, but it's so convenient and straightforward.

pet peeve: Being pitied, or worse, babied.

bad habit: Licking things. At this point, he'd still do it even if his fey exposure was somehow eliminated.

hidden talent: He's actually quite good at crafting spells, though he often has nothing more to go off of than theories since his own skill is fairly limited. He and Gale started bonding by playing around with the spells he came up with.

leisure activity: Crocheting to the sound of camp bickering. After their adventure, it's often to the sound of Astarion complaining about clients.

favorite drink: Black tea with milk and one sugar.

comfort food: Fresh-baked bread with butter and jam (any kind, but he's very fond of blackberry or marmalade)

favorite person: It's actually a hard tie between Astarion and Gale. While he fell in love with Astarion fairly quickly, he and Gale clicked almost immediately upon meeting. They spend hours talking shop about spells, magic, and other sage-friendly areas long after others (Astarion included) have gotten bored and left. Beyond that, they both have a deep sense of loneliness that they haven't been able to shake off before now, so finding someone who understands just how special it is to have friends makes their relationship all the more special.

favored display of affection (platonic and/or romantic): Physical touch. His mother was a cuddler, so casual touches and hugs are his favorite way to show people he cared. He did NOT hesitate to hug Karlach to test her heat. He did, however, struggle a lot with Astarion being touch-averse early on; he stuck it out and didn't say anything, but it bothered him far more than he let on.

fondest childhood memory: He had a fairly happy childhood (the benefit of being raised in a cosmopolitan surface city by his human mother, no doubt), even with his heart condition, but one of his fondest memories was playing around with magic. It was one of the few ways to play that didn't end in a scolding or a visit from the local healer, and even as a child, he knew that magic was his best shot at fixing himself up.

Tagging anyone who wants to share more about their Tav!

#tav #bg3 #Falerin Glais

[slusheeduck]

2, 16, 18, 23 for Fal?

2. Does he have any siblings? He does not! His mother and father had a whirlwind romance that resulted in him. His father died shortly before his birth, and his mother never could find it in her to remarry, considering how ill Falerin was. 16. What is his favorite childhood memory? Rainy days, believe it or not. Being cooped up inside was Fal's norm, so on days when it was expected, he felt a little less like he was missing out. Usually his mother would stay home with him and they would crochet together as she taught him her favorite songs. 18. What did he want to be when he grew up? A wizard. A very powerful wizard that would be able to fix his heart, get immeasurable wealth, and be famous throughout all of Faerun for his prowess. (You can see why he likes Gale so much.) 23. Dealer's Choice. Fal never had much by way of romance, or even crushes, before he went to the Feywild. He didn't interact much with other kids, and once he started on his apprenticeship, the only thing on his mind was becoming a powerful enough wizard to halt his illness. That said, he was a voracious reader, and when he was about 14, he found some silly harlequin romance featuring a vampire, and things awoke in him.

Astarion can never, ever, ever know. He'll never hear the end of it if he does.

Tav Questions

#bg3 #tav questions #falerin glais

[slusheeduck]

Randoms asks, you've got it xD If Fal could turn into any animal, what would he pick?

He would turn into some kind of bird of prey. He desperately wishes he could fly, but he doesn't want to run the risk of being eaten by an opportunistic tressym.

Now, you would think this translates to him getting to wear the Boon of the Raven Queen, but that stays with Astarion. He wore it *once*, and now there's an order to shoot down any crows on sight in Rivington after he went completely corvid-brained in 5 different residences.

#BLESS #falerin glais

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Stillness, formal, texture, favorite for Fal?

Stillness: Fal is actually scary still at times. He'd never been much of a fidgeter before, but after his time in the Feywild, he looks as though he's actively having an out-of-body experience when he's at rest. Typically, someone will approach him before it goes on for too long, and he acts like he wasn't doing his best statue impression. Once, though, the camp decided to see how long he could go before moving, and at the hour and a half mark Karlach was spooked enough to go over and give his back a good whack. He, by all accounts, was surprised that so much time had passed. "I just spaced out for a moment, is all."

Formal: Growing up, Falerin wasn't poor--yes, he had a single mother, but her family supported the two of them for a comfortable enough life--but between his condition and their station, there really wasn't all that much use for formal clothes, and when the need arose, he was usually just popped into whatever nice clothes a cousin had just outgrown. He'd just started eyeing nice clothes when he was in his apprenticeship with a local wizard, but then he made his Pact. When he was dressed up in the Feywild, it was often just whatever pretty things his patron fancied seeing him in--a lot of gauzy, flowy materials, more artfully draped cloth than actual clothes. So he never really got into formal wear until they got to Baldur's Gate, but he actually quite likes well-fitted coats and vests and finds a little thrill in dressing up properly. After the elder brain, he's more than happy to be a dummy for Astarion's projects.

Texture: Falerin's always been a function-over-fashion sort, so he generally prefers more comfortable, lightweight clothes in his day to day. Soft cotton and linens are his go-tos for his daily wear, but for formal wear he prefers stiff brocade and heavy silk, since they hold their shape well and (he has to admit) look very good with his build. He hates wool, and he hates armor. The latter is an unfortunate necessity for much of his adventure, but you won't catch him in wool sweaters or socks for the life of him. Favorite: He has a little chain with a medallion of Eilistraee that belonged to his father. His mother gave it to him when he started his apprenticeship, and he wears it constantly under his clothes. He doesn't know much about his father--or anything much about Drow at all--but he feels safer when he has it on.

oc asks: character design edition

#thank you!! #falerin glais #ask game #Bruh I missed these I might do more just for funsies

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Since I now have the magic mirror I wanted to play around with what Fal looks like through his ~journey~ (change his hair around)

When he first went into the Feywild--a baby boy who thought he could fix himself up with magic if he just had a little help.

When he got dropped in the path of a passing nautiloid

The very sexy "get woken up at 4am by a hungry vampire/future boyfriend" look

And then a few years post-game. I like thinking that he chops all his hair off to try and separate himself from everything that happened, since the scars and his illness can't be changed. Plus he starts going gray a little early (not that you can see with this lighting)--Astarion warns him he can't do too much of that or one of them will have to dye their hair.

(This one's just here because I forgot to get rid of his fey eye and I thought he looked too pretty to delete.)

#baldur's gate 3 #tav #falerin glais #my tav #I just like playing with character creator what can I say #I tried aging him a bit too but again not that obvious with the lighting

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Thirty seconds ago this man was just barely stopped from licking a red-hot poker some duergar were using.

#falerin glais #He's so pretty but he's also the biggest threat to the party

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Okay, one more Fal because I'm leveling up (again, because I had to go back to see Astarion's siblings) and I just think he's pretty

#Yes I went to ultra graphics #Yes my laptop is suffering #But beauty is pain baybee #my tav #Falerin Glais

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mfw the girls back in camp have a cat fight and wake me up in the middle of the night after I fought an entire camp of goddamn little duergar while high off mushroom spores all while trying to flirt with the local homicidal vampire just enough so I don't look desperate while simultaneously trying to assure my best friend that I do like him I just don't want to fuck him all while dealing with the fallout of accidentally killing a roomful of gnomes and pretending it wasn't us

#bg3 #tav #I was legitimately losing my shit when I saw him make this face #Falerin endures so much #He's always this close to just mcfuckin losing it #Astarion wishes he would #Falerin Glais

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Yeah I could actually play Baldur's Gate OR I could play in Magic Mirror to make Spawn!Fal

#falerin glais #I tried to mimic Astarion's coloring but that's fucking hard for a half-drow #Especially since I apparently used the palest fucking option for him #Ah well I had fun

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2, 11, 18, 29 for Fal?

2. What relationship did he have with his family growing up? Has it changed since? Fal's mother was a coddler, but for good reason. The combination of drows' reputations and Falerin's condition was just asking for trouble from people who wouldn't take the time to understand, so it was just safer for him to stick to her side. Luckily, the Glais family had met his father a number of times and knew he was a decent fellow, and they were more than willing to step in and help her and Fal after his death.

He was in the middle of a whole bunch of cousins, with fussy aunts, stern uncles, and a couple of grandparents thrown in. He was the only half-elf in a family of humans, so there was never much of a chance for him to explore elven culture--much less drow culture--so he always felt a little off-kilter when interacting with other elves.

As for his actual relationship with them, he loved his family but was very, very tired of the constant coddling by the time he left for his apprenticeship. He didn't visit his mother as much as he should have, because every visit was just her fussing over the state of him and asking how he was doing and if he needed any help, and it grated on him.

One of the things he was most looking forward to after his time in the Feywild was going back to see her, but humans just don't live very long. By the time he got back to Neverwinter, every member of his family that he'd known had passed on, his mother included. He deeply regrets not visiting more.

11. What would he consider his greatest flaw?

He's impulsive. He is incredibly impulsive, and his time in the Feywild didn't help with that at all. It goes beyond licking things--he agreed to team up with all of the companions without a single reservation, he got in a relationship with a vampire he'd known for all of a week, he jumped in to using his illithid powers without a moment of hesitation, and he's made a good deal of enemies and troublesome situations by not thinking before he acted.

Back before his time in the Feywild, it stemmed from a place of desperation. Of course he had to act quickly, there wasn't much time left. Now that he has to live with the consequences of his actions, he's constantly kicking himself over split second decisions that he really could have thought over a little bit more.

18. What is his greatest fear?

His heart giving out before he can fix it. During the illithid adventure, death was a constant threat, but it was different. He obviously didn't want to die, but if he did, at least he would die while doing something. After they destroy the Netherbrain, he's back to constantly worrying that one bit of too-strenuous activity--running too hard, moving something too heavy, getting bitten by Astarion--will be what kills him, and that'd be such a terrible way to go.

29. What advice would you give him?

Think. Please think, for once in your life. And don't assume that people pity you.

#thank you!!! #falerin glais

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I LOVE that Fal crochets but doesn't like wearing wool XD I imagine he either finds whatever non-clothing project he can, or keeps offloading his creations. Hope the poor guy has the budget for silk yarn blends one day

The amount of doilies and potholders he makes is insane. They used to be the go-to gift everyone got for Christmas (Well, whatever the Christmas equivalent is in Faerun) when he was growing up, and now that he has friends again, that tradition is starting right back up.

Every now and again he finds a cotton yarn, and he'll make as many scarves as he can from it. He and Astarion get matching ones.

#falerin glais #bg3

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4, 11, 14, 15, 16, and 30 for Tav? I love the weirdo

HAHAHAHA, don't worry, he answers to Tav too

4. If your Tav was a companion, where would they be found? He'd probably be found in the ship wreckage near the start being bullied by that big group of intellect devourers. You'd bring him on for his feylock abilities and softspoken contrast to the Goth Fundie, Mean Vampire, and Gale you picked up, then keep him around for the "stoplickingthedamnthing" banter.

11. Weapon of choice?

Staves and glaives! He's a big, big fan of Sorrow. He also used Blood of Lathander for a while because if you're going to explode a creche with the full concentrated power of the sun for it, you might as well use the damn thing.

14. What hobbies does your Tav have?

Fal crochets! Not nearly as well as Astarion embroiders, but it's a nice way to keep his hands occupied. With his heart condition, he couldn't play much as a kid, so his mother taught him to crochet when he was fairly young. Post-Absolute, he gets really into gardening--especially nightblooming flowers. Turns out spending time with fairies AND druids gives you a really good green thumb.

15: What NPC's do they like? Which one's do they dislike?

His favorite people he's encountered has been Omeluum, Lucretious, and Spaw. He loves Spaw--he would have stayed with the myconids forever if he hadn't been dragged out. Once he knows Yenna's NOT Orin, he's pretty fond of her too, out of all the children he inadvertently invites to camp. He gives her a sword. It's probably safe. He hates Orin. Not even in a "this is the bad guy" way, just in a "you are so FUCKING annoying oh my god please die" way. The moment any rando starts asking him in great detail what he thinks about killing he's just like "Oh my GOD Orin FUCK I know it's you."

He knew Auntie Ethel was going to be bad news because she looked just like his old babysitter growing up, and she was a bitch.

("Oh my god," Falerin said as they limped away from Auntie Ethel's teahouse. "What? Is it the corpse we just reanimated, or the fact that that woman is definitely going to fuck that corpse?" Astarion asked. "No, neither. I just remembered who Auntie Ethel reminded me of. I had this horrible babysitter growing up. Only boiled food, wouldn't let me do anything but sit quietly 'on account of my condition', threatened me with a switch for so much as talking so loud. What if she actually was a hag?")

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Faerûn?

Well, it WAS hollyphants, but finally getting to see one was less than ideal. Tressyms have since replaced them as his favorite creature.

30: What's your favorite thing about your Tav?

In-game, it's the fact that he's meant to be a chaotic good character, but the party keeps killing LITERALLY EVERYONE by accident. And it's gotten to the point where he's just like "...please don't try to attack us we'll wipe out your whole army and I REALLY don't want to do that again." In terms of character, he's fun because he's someone who started his life with sharp desperation--he was a rude, ambitious bastard at the outset, actually, because he literally did not have the time to care--who was softened considerably by his time with the fey. So he really does understand where his companions are coming from--he was a young hotshot trying to prove himself, he was stolen from his home, he made a pact that has its perks but came at a cost, he spent years as a toy for creatures much more powerful than he was for the sake of survival--and now he has the patience to help them, because there's nothing left for him to lose and, honestly, it's really nice to actually have friends.

Thank you for the questions!!

#Falerin Glais #bg3 #bg3 oc #bg3 tav #I'm actually really excited for my long fic because I want to dig more into his character #I think getting to spend a lot of time with him as a character rather than a player expy will be fun #Especially in his home turf so to speak