#Young Wyll Ravengard | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

invinciblerodent · 3 months

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and another very small, very minor entry on the list of Things I'm Getting Just a Tiny Little Bit Miffy About Seeing Repeated (Not Angry Just Ever So Slightly Annoyed)TM:

dnd elves do, in fact, mature at the same rate humans do. they're not "like children" or "not considered full adults" until they hit 100- not to anyone other than other, older elves.

like I get where the thought comes from, I fully understand it, I've read many of the source materials myself, I've read Mordenkainen's and see where the misunderstanding comes from, but... to a human, or a tiefling, or anyone else shorter-lived than an elf, a 50-, 60-, 90-year-old elf is just like a 50-, 60-, 90-year-old of their own race would be. they just look much younger than their age, and act in accordance with their personality, which is.... much less tied to someone's age than many may think. (I mean, have you never met a 50-year-old who seems just staggeringly immature? a 20-year-old who is wiser than their years would allow? have you never been to a retail establishment???????)

it's only the other elves who view a younger one as emotionally immature, and that's mainly because they have yet to bury their first generation of friends and loved ones: something a shorter-lived person only has to do once, while elves may very well go through several cycles of that in one lifetime. They have also not yet had their Drawing of the Veil, when they stop being able to access primal memories, memories of their soul's previous lives, but it's mainly the "all my once-powerful and vibrant friends are now frail and dying from old age, and yet here I remain, as young, strong, and beautiful as the day they met me, untouched by the inexorable crawl of time, what is mortality, what is death" thing.

if the people of Faerun in general thought of a 40-year-old elf as immature, as if they were a child, Astarion would have just patently not been an appointed civil administrator and judicial officer (which is what a magistrate is) 200 years ago. like he could have of course been lying when he said that that's what he was, but taking it as the once-truth, nobody would have let someone they see as a child fill such a position of responsibility. It was, however, a perfectly mundane thing for a learned adult man, such as he was, to do. (what he may or may not have done with the power he allegedly had, the kind of person he was, and whether letting him have power was the right move overall, is pretty much completely irrelevant at this juncture. corrupt officials exist regardless of age, just look at the judicial system of any country today.)

an older elf like Halsin, their maturity is not just on a different level, it's measured by a different metric than that of a shorter-lived character.

it's hard to accurately roleplay or grasp something like this with our human minds, none of us have ever spoken to a 300-year-old after all, but.... a 100-year-old elf is not a "young adult", unless you're an elf yourself. If you're a human, they're just... an adult.

#squirrel plays bg3 #at this point “squirrel rants” might be more accurate though #anyway I just read a little thing where the author had Wyll think of the PC as very young #and I thought they were supposed to be like.... 18-23-ish maybe?#nope they were 90 #and I had to stand up and go make myself a cup of coffee so i could stop giggling #oh yes Wyll Ravengard the literal 24 year old thinks Miss Player Character the woman of 90 FUCKING YEARS OF AGE is oh so very young #...... and now I hc that Astarion does tease Iona about her age from time to time #i think he'd enjoy it; especially her giving back as well as she gets without batting an eye #what can i say; elves just do sexy banter different #sometimes hitting on your (65F) immortal boyfriend (240M) just involves asking if he needs a sitdown to rest his creaking knees

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kenzieverse · 3 months

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Just a little something about Wyll’s first night on his own after his father banished him :)

Wyll watched the kindling catch with some relief. Not a moment too soon, the sun had dipped below the tree line and shadows were creeping to the edges of his encampment.

A well-tended fire is as crucial as a sharpened blade in matters of survival.

Wyll’s stomach cramped painfully. He drew a meat-filled bun from his pack and tore into it. Ravenous. His throat strained around each bite.

You’re not an animal. Slow down.

He wiped the corners of his mouth with his sleeve.

He didn’t know how to cook much of anything outside of the basics. Certainly he couldn’t make something so delicious. He hadn’t thought to bring any salt for curing or taste. It had all happened so fast.

Hells, what did that matter? He knew how to hunt and skin his kills. He wouldn’t starve.

Even after finishing his meager supper, the lump in his throat didn’t go down. He chased it with some wine from the skin by his side.

Cherries and smoke on the back of his palate. A lovely Thayan Red.

Other port cities would have better vintages. If he wanted, he could travel east to Thay and purchase a cask from the vintners themselves. He could go anywhere.

His service to Mizora might take him anywhere. He’d have little say in the matter. No say, in fact.

His eyes began to water.

Coughing a bit, Wyll moved to the other side of the fire. The smoke drifted up into the darkening sky.

He wished he knew how to play an instrument. It was so quiet away from the city. No hawkers selling their wares, no bustling crowds, no drunks spilling out of the taverns at last call.

He thought of a tune he’d heard once at the mermaid and began to sing it to himself. His voice was soft, barely audible over the crackling of the fire.

The song was an older one and he didn’t have all the lyrics. Something about a dwarven rogue who pilfered jewels in a crowded ballroom.

“And she stole through the shadows like a phantom unseen-“

A branch snapped somewhere close by.

In an instant, Wyll’s blade was clenched in his fist. Not the proper hold. It would start to cramp. Stupid.

A careless moment could be your last.

His eyes scanned the dark.

A doe, frozen at the sight of him, stood half hidden in the brush. Her large dark eyes were all terrified instinct.

The rapier fell from his trembling hand. She leapt back into the wood.

Wyll’s breaths came in uneven gasps, his face twitched and tears clouded his good eye.

“Gods, just-“

The dam broke and he wept. His body convulsed with sobs. He held his sides like he might break apart.

Why was he so frightened? Hadn’t he been trained in bravery since birth? Who was this shrinking child? Coward. Not fit to bear the name-

His father’s voice rang in his ears.

Go.

So much pain in such a small word.

He’d have thought the process of being disowned from the Ravengard legacy would have entailed more paperwork. A formal dismissal at least. Something the Duke could disdainfully tack to the door of their estate.

Henceforth let it be known that Wyll Ravengard is no more. Sons of noble bearing inquire within.

But Ulder was economical in his utterances and had afforded Wyll the number of syllables he’d been deemed worthy of.

A tingling in the socket of his right eye, still such an unsettling feeling. Wyll hoped he wouldn’t get used to it.

“Get some rest, pup.” Mizora’s voice reverberated through the stone into his mind. “You’re of no use to me exhausted.”

Wyll‘s tears dried on his cheeks as he stared deep into the fire. He wondered what the flames of Avernus would feel like.

#bg3 #wyll ravengard #bg3 fanfiction #i love thinking about this guy losing his iron grip on the prince charming thing #he was just a kid #fuck ulder ravengard #young wyll #blade of frontiers

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eggbagelz · 2 months

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Wyll's relationship with his dad makes me so so sad bc wyll is so obviously a daddy's boy and looks up to and admires his father but ulder ravengard is like. I dont want to say dismissive but it takes him so long to actually acknowledge wyll as. Well. Anything, really.

#it reminds me of how young wyll is too like. hes only 24.#wyll ravengard #chattering

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vampirecatboy · 2 months

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Wyll is 24 years old.......... if anyone should be at the club, he should be at the club

#stuff and things #wyll ravengard #i was looking up his age for a fic #i knew he was young but Jesus Horatio Christ #Kilian is 6 years older than him #i might have to do some age fuckery for this flashback fic #i wanted to make Wyll 16-17 #but then Kilian would be 22-23 #tbh Kilian would not be pursuing a teenager he would think it beneath him #have you seen 17 year old boys #Wyll is very attractive but no one is immune to being 17 #i could draw up some backstory about Wyll having a crush on Kilian from an early age #or fudge the timeline of his pact #the logistics i'm trying to work out for this oneshot are insane

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thebaldergatescandal · 6 months

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so when I write dialogue for this over the top man, I wind up with a shit load of lyric poetry of all kinds open in tabs to stop and read because I need INSPIRATION to like, amplify it a little more, use a bit rarer words, make it a little more rhythmic and intentional

and that's how I a line of Langston Hughes', from Mother to Son, is iambic pentameter

Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.

#wyll ravengard #it was good for me to notice #i studied hughes when I was WAY too young to go into the details of metrical rhythm #so it felt like a nice little treat for me #wyll gets a lot of shakespeare from me (mercy suits a throned king better than his crown)#a little carl sandburg (I turn once more to those who sneer at this my city...)#its fun for me I usually read a lot more blank unadorned modern shit #wyll is fun its reminding me how much fun bards and performers are #wyll bg3 #its the fantasy genre you need to be FULL earnest #i'll talk about dame aylin too sometime she is a lot of fun zero irony

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cats-obsessions · 5 months

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If Durge Could Recruit Gortash Headcanons:

Once agreeing to ally with Gortash, Durge can convince him to join the party, but only if they agree to kill Raphael. If Karlach is in the party, this may be done in exchange for Gortash to fix her heart if Durge can pass the persuasion roll on Karlach.

• Upon joining the party, Gortash shows up in a more practical armor set, still gold and black but not as decorated as his robe. There’s scrapes and dents on parts of it, clearly having been worn before. Durge can ask him about it in conversation and discover he has chosen to wear the same armor as he did when they robbed Mephistopheles Vault. He never repaired it and can tell a story for each scratch.

• He does a lot to try to jog Durge’s memories, and it works a some degree. We hear little stories around the city, some more suggestive than others.

• Old habits never die. He’s constantly touching Durge, always walks next to them, has a lot of strong opinions but will only concede to Durge.

• Durge persuasion rolls on Gortash are DC10 and under. Anyone else it’s DC30.

• He absolutely compliments Durge a little too much. And he’s always the first at Durge’s side after the fighting ends. Grumbles if he has to rez anyone else but dotes on Durge.

• Gets along well enough with Astarion, Shadowheart, and Laezel. Respects Minthara and Gale, sees them both as potential allies if they know their places. Absolute bitch to Wyll. Actively the number one Ravengard hater.

• If Durge can convince Karlach to stick around, she will only be in the same party as Gortash once or twice. She’ll confront Durge about it after and either has to be kept separate or leaves the party.

• If taken to Astarion and Shadowhearts’ personal quests, he’ll be surprisingly respectful, and will tell them they’d make good Banites, particularly if Shadowheart resists Shar. (Kinda think he would tell Astarion not to Ascend but for his own advantage of not having to deal with an Ascended Vampire and not wanting the hells to gain power from 7,000 souls)

• Random gifts pop up in Durge’s inventory. He says nothing about them. One is definitely the hand of an enemy.

• When in the House of Hope, Gortash will only allow Durge to enter the prison with him until the warden is dead. He’ll tell them everything, but won’t let the others see it.

• Killing Raphael is very emotional. He’s proud, happy, relieved, but being there shakes him up. Durge can hug him in private when they talk about it.

• If Durge chooses to save Hope, she tries to hug ‘little Enver, all grown up’ before they leave. He does not like it, but part of him is happy to see her free.

• Durgetash romance can initiate after Raphael is dead. Sceleritas is so fuckin' pissed. Like, he kinda ships it, but he CANNOT handle Durge getting labotomized again for this Banite fool.

• He has random little personal quests and pop-up events like his formal coronation celebration ball, taking Durge to a fancy dinner, dealing with fans, and assassinating a rude journalist who called him not-so-young-and-handsome.

• If taken to Lady Jannath's estate, she flirts with him. Durge has an option to stab her for this- just once. Just a little. She'll be fine! Gortash approves. He apologizes to her, but he's absolutely into it.

• His two allied pathways at the end are to remain fully evil and control the brain/Faerun with Durge or absolutely still be, ya know, Gortash but destroy the brain and become archduke without the tadpoles' help as he’s now viewed as the city’s hero. This is his least evil option and requires a Durge romance or at least a Durge that will remain by his side regardless and saving Hope as pivotal moments.

• Durge's alliance or resistance of Bhaal would significantly influence this. Resisting Bhaal lowers the DC on any persuasion. Failing the duel with Orin would block any option except controlling the brain with Gortash as he sees it as the only way to protect Durge. Because controlling the absolute would offer them a large enough following to grant them literal ascension to godhood, freeing Durge from Bhaal's control. Plus, you know killing a god would only inflate Gortash's ego more, and that would be his new goal.

#This got so long but I have so many thoughts #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #durgetash #the dark urge #dark urge #durge #enver gortash #lord enver gortash #headcanon #cats thoughts #honestly think hed be down for most quests #but like for the sake of order rather than helping people #like if they let a hag ruin their life thats on them #but he cant have a hag in HIS city #Saverok and Orin would throw SUCH a fit if you brought him to the temple #it would be delicious

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rolanpilled · 5 months

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BG3 Patch 5 Spoilers

WARNING: BG3 SPOILERS AHEAD!

New content from the ending scene of BG3. This is all from the perspective of a redeemed Dark Urge who romanced Shadowheart and Halsin, and recruited every "good" ally possible.

people at the party: all your companions, scratch, owlbear, volo, and a bard in the middle playing a song (his name is milil)

lae'zel is the only one who isn't here physically, she sent an astral projection instead because she's been busy fighting vlaakith

astarion explains why he ran away (ashamed) when the sunlight hit him, he's become a "hero" who adventures and has accepted himself

(romanced halsin) you can hug halsin, he's missed his friends and you. you can do both the hug and the kiss, it's really sweet. he's turned the shadowlands into a community, repursing reithwin and moonrise towers into homes for people

jaheira's daughter rejoined the flaming fist, she's been working on rebuilding the harper network. the upper city was entirely destroyed by the battle but has been mostly rebuilt. she jokes that you might be a parent soon

wyll gives you a choice between three stories, a stegosaur/dinosaur battle, an impossible lich, or a young dragon. he lost his warlock powers but has been managing the best he can, and has become a RANGER ("a true hunter of monsters"). duke ravengard is commanding the flaming fist and help rebuilding the city, and he's very proud of his son

minsc and boo guard the streets while jaheira is "occupied with harperish manners". they "went to give a tickle" to the zhentarim, then got locked up in a zhentish cell, awaiting execution? idk if i'm reading incorrectly but he seems to be implying that he actually GOT executed but withers brought him back just in time lmfao

gale has become "professor gale dekarios of blackstaff academy, educator of the esteemed school of illusion". tara is with him. he surrended the crown of karsus to mystra, who cured him of the orb in exchange (his tattoo is gone), though his students still think he's explosive (he implies that he uses it as a threat to keep his class under control). he tells his students about your adventures together. he also implies you're welcome to visit his tower

shadowheart (main romance) - the game told me that we settled down together to live a happy, peaceful life on a farm in the countryside. shar still hurts her (if parents are saved), especially when she can sense that SH is enjoying herself, but it's been getting less frequent because she's been "losing interest". there's a new hug and kiss scene for her too, so i'm assuming this is for ALL companions and not just halsin/SH/whoever

withers will speak to you about karlach, explaining that she won't be able to come back. he jokes about her, which is rare for him, and you're given to opportunity to grieve her loss. in "a dozen tendays" (assumedly how long bg3 is), "an entire life was lived, she lived several centuries" (not exact quote).

milil, the bard playing in the center, does NOT want to be there. he's pissed that no one recognizes him (he's pissed specifically that i'm a bard and don't recognize him), i had to pass a deception check to recognize him and he cheered up and offered to change the song he's playing

there's a chest called "Chest of Grateful Words" filled with letters from your allies!

"Official Guild Letter"

"Letter from Barcus"

"Letter from Art"

"Letter from Valeria"

"Letter from Ravengard"

"Letter from Sebastian"

"Letter from Florrick"

"Letter from the Gur" (unascended Astarion)

"Letter from Alfira" (durge, killed quil grootslang)

"Letter from Dammon"

"Letter from Elminster"

"Letter from Nocturne"

"Letter from Voss"

"Letter from Hope"

"Letter from Mayrina"

"Letter from Nine-Fingers"

"Letter from Zevlor"

"Harp-stamped Letter"

Baldur's Mouth Gazette

If you find anything interesting I missed, please let me know.

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nrvcntr · 2 months

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My Lover is Like

hey remember how i said i'd write that fic about tav coming from a noble background and having a riddle that someone has to answer to date her and no one ever gets it right and then years later she tells gale and he knows immediately? anyway here it is

There are certain scents that bring back memories - warm grass on a summer’s day, fresh linens placed on a bed, and of course, the sickly sticky burn of a bottle of plum fizz, shared among friends. Astarion recoiled after he sniffed the open bottle, his nose scrunched in horror.

“You can’t be serious,” He said.

“You’re being dramatic. It isn’t that bad,” You replied.

You had found a crate full of bottles on your last trek and dragged it back to the campsite, anticipating a heroic welcome at your generous haul. It was nearing sunset and it seemed as good of a time as any to see what the contents of the crate were. Upon cracking the crate open, your eyes lit up at the sight of bottles on bottles of plum fizz. This had been the drink that defined your adolescence as a noble in Baldur’s Gate. It immediately brought back memories of revelry, singing songs next to bonfires, and a young Wyll Ravengard throwing up in the street. You pulled out a bottle and handed it to Astarion, who had reacted like a man who never knew the joys of noble debauchery.

“It smells like it could raise something from the dead and then kill it again,” He said, handing the bottle back to you.

“Look, we used to drink this all the time when we were kids. It’s like a rite of passage among children of nobility in Baldur’s Gate.”

Wyll, overhearing the conversation, came over to see what you were so impassioned about. At the sight of the bottle in your hand, he recoiled like someone had just smacked him upside the head.

“No. Get that thing away!” He shouted, shaking his hands.

“Oh, stop it. I remember you used to beg to play fizzy hands when we were younger,” You said.

“Fizzy hands.” Astarion said flatly, “What sort of braindead activity is fizzy hands?”

You raised your brow to Wyll, who explained that “fizzy hands” was the beloved drinking game of your youth, where a small magical seal was applied to two bottles of plum fizz, which an individual would hold. The seal wouldn’t break until both bottles were consumed.

“Fizzy hands leads to fizzy guts, which leads to…a fizzy mess, in the street. You couldn’t pay me to take a sip of that now.” Wyll said.

You looked around the campsite and gestured to Gale, who had been beginning the preparations for dinner so intently that he hadn’t noticed the failing case you were trying to make in favor of plum fizz.

“It’s nice to know that your taste in wine is nearly as bad as your taste in men,” Astarion mused, causing you to shoot him a farcefully menacing look. Your affections for Gale were no secret, and the two of you had shared an intimate moment in the Weave, but you were unsure of your current status, or even whether he really returned your feelings. You had begun to write it off as a passing fancy, something to daydream about during long days of traveling. Though, there was no hiding how much you enjoyed being around the man, your conversations often dragging well into the night after everyone else had fallen asleep. You had never met anyone else who seemed to understand you the way that Gale did, or whose company you enjoyed nearly half as much.

“You’re a man of taste, and you’re knowledgeable about wine. Can you settle a debate for us?” You asked Gale when he walked over.

“A glass of wine sounds delightful this evening. What’s the topic of debate?” He asked.

“Astarion and Wyll may not be as cultured as you and I. Just tell them about the fine properties of this blend,” You said, trying to communicate ‘please, say this tastes good’ in your expression as you poured a glass and handed it over.

Gale swirled the glass and his eyes widened at the scent. To his credit, he took an honest sip and racked his brain for something kind to say about it. “It has notes of…berry. And cinnamon. And…” He couldn’t do it. “Acid. It tastes like it would eat a hole through a table if you spilled some on it. Do the youth of Baldur’s Gate really ingest this willingly?” He asked.

You threw your hands up.

“Poor taste, the lot of you. It cannot be helped.”

After dinner, Astarion sauntered over to you, two glasses of plum fizz in hand.

“A drink together. Sort of a truce,” He said.

You were suspicious, but took the glass in hand. The spicy, bitter, sweet, and confusing concoction ran down your throat and made your stomach feel hot. Astarion’s glass was already empty, and he poured you both another. By the time you realized that Astarion had been pouring his drinks out to get you to continue drinking, you were drunk enough to begin telling stories of your youth in Baldur’s Gate.

“So, after Wyll threw up in the street -”

“Can you please stop talking about that. I have plenty of embarrassing stories I could tell at your expense, you know. Lock.” Wyll said pointedly.

“Lock?” Shadowheart asked.

You covered your face, feeling a burning sensation creep up your cheeks.

“What none of you realize is that our beloved companion here was once the most eligible bachelorette in Baldur’s Gate nobility. Her family was wealthy and she was beautiful, intelligent, and charming…”

“Whatever happened?” You asked, making yourself laugh.

“However, she never took a partner. Singles of all creeds, genders, and races tried, but no one could get through to her. So, she began to be known as ‘the lock of Baldur’s Gate’. And, what opens a lock but a key? And the key to her heart was to answer a riddle,” Wyll explained with a dramatic flourish.

“A riddle? How droll. That’s a little…presumptuous, don’t you think?” Astarion asked. You shrugged.

“Why a riddle?” Karlach asked.

“I didn’t want to end up with someone who was a complete dunce,” You joked. It was a half-truth, since the whole truth would have disrupted the mood of revelry among your companions.

“Well, do we get to hear it?” Shadowheart asked.

You leaned back and looked at the faces of your companions. Wyll shook his head, having heard this question lamented among the singles of Baldur’s Gate throughout his youth.

“What is loving Taglath like?” You asked, the question rolling off of your tongue like a well-rehearsed line.

“What a stupid question!” Astarion huffed, rolling his eyes. He had no idea what the answer could be.

“Oh, do you know the answer, then? Since it’s so stupid,” You said, unable to wipe the smirk off of your face. It always delighted you to stump someone with the riddle, and it delighted you even more to watch them struggle with it.

“What is loving like?” You repeated, prodding Astarion for the answer.

“Darling, loving you is like poison seeping through my veins,” Astarion said, pretending to be a romantic poet, his hand gripping his chest, “- and it kills me to be parted from you,” He added, taking your hand in his icy cold grasp.

“Very sweet, but no,” You responded.

Everyone laughed, getting a little chuckle out of Astarion’s foolishness.

“Oh come on, it’s not like any of you geniuses know the answer,” Astarion said, raising a brow to the group. He looked around at their curious faces and wonders aloud, “Do you?”

“Uh, I don’t remember my childhood. Much less silly poems,” Shadowheart said, but thought about it for a moment. “Is it like a rose? Something beautiful out of the dirt?”

You shook your head.

“Chk. This is a waste of time,” Lae’zel said..

“C’mon, Lae’zel, what do you think loving is like?” Wyll probed, the githyanki rolling her eyes at him.

Lae’zel replied, “Like a well-won battle, your enemies dead at your feet.” There is a pause before she asked, “Did I answer correctly?”

“No,” You replied.

Karlach wiped her hands on her pants, not waiting to be asked. “You’re barking up the wrong tree if you ask me, solider,” She said, “But I’ll give it a try. Is it like a cool drink of water on a hot night?”

“That’s sweet, Karlach. It’s own little poem, even. But no,” You said.

“Well what’s the answer?” Astarion huffed, getting frustrated at this little display of ignorance.

“Salamander!” Wyll interjected, snapping his fingers like he cracked the code. This made everyone crack up, to his dismay. “No, because - I mean, uh - well, it’s better than corpses!” He insisted. This only made everyone laugh more.

In this revelry, no one even thought to glance at Gale, who had been watching the scene with a bemused little smile on his face.

There was a lull when the laughter died down, the silence of everyone taking a breath after a hearty laugh.

Through the silence, two words cut through the air like a knife directly to your heart.

“The Sun.”

You gasped (a reaction that, in retrospect, embarrassed you with how dramatic it was). You stared at the speaker, Gale’s dark eyes glinting in the firelight. You felt you must have looked ridiculous, your jaw agape.

In all of the years of telling the riddle, no one had ever known the answer. The key to your heart, you joked. But it had been more serious than you ever let on. As each suitor fumbled through wrong answers, it had only solidified your belief that true love would never be yours. That you would eventually have to settle for someone who couldn’t really understand you.

It was like time stopped, the visions of your companions becoming a blur as Gale came into focus.

Gale, meanwhile, appeared to be blissfully unaware that he had just broken your brain (what was left of it, at least).

“That’s…right. How did you know?” You choked out, hardly above a whisper.

“It’s a very clever riddle. See, most would probably assume that the riddle is about the works of Taglath, whom is renowned as an iconic romantic poet. His works adorn his lover with brilliant metaphors that have captured readers since their inception,” Gale explained to the group, lecturing his never-be students.

“That’s probably why Gef Deldus spent one summer immersed in Taglath’s works,” Wyll recalled, chuckling, “He told everyone that he had solved the riddle. He was convinced you would be his bride by the end of the season. What was his answer?” He asked.

“Love is like a poem,” You replied, still dumbfounded by Gale’s answer.

“The education in Baldur’s Gate leaves much to be desired,” Gale snarked, then continued, “What most people don’t know is that Taglath’s most prominent muse was another poet named Alanis. Unfortunately, most of her work has been lost to history. Almost no complete works remain, and only fragments have been collected for publication. But in her most complete work, she compares her lover to the Sun. It’s a gorgeous poem about loving someone who burns brightly and the fears associated with taking a lover of prominence. Loving despite fear,” He said.

You wondered how it was possible that your body felt like it was on fire but also like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on you. Did none of your companions notice that you were going insane? The realization rocked you like an earthquake.

Gale Dekarios was not a passing fancy, someone to think about kissing when the option presented itself. He was neither a daydream nor a wet dream to pass the time at different hours. He was not the greatest friend you had ever had, the person who you most looked forward to speaking to each morning after you woke and each night before you went to bed. The person who you spoke about nothing and everything with, played games with, or just enjoyed a comfortable silence with. He was not your traveling companion, nor even an ally who had risked his life for you as you had done for him. It was impossible for Gale to be any one of those things because he was all of them all at once and so much more.

Oh, fuck, you realized, your knees ready to give way.

You were in love with him.

The sound of your companions laughing and chattering together mixed together and sounded like ocean waves. If anyone turned to ask you anything you probably would have just stared at them blankly. You attempted to take a step toward Gale and the drinks you had earlier in the night went to your head, sending you tumbling forward and onto the ground.

“Looks like the plum fizz kicked in. ‘Key’, maybe you should take the ‘lock’ to bed,” Shadowheart said to Gale.

You thought that if you closed your eyes, maybe the ground would swallow you up and you would never have to look at Gale again. Instead, you felt him help you to your feet, allowing you to lean against him as he walked you to your tent. You were desperate to know what was going through his mind - did he realize the gravity that he answer had?

“Easy now,” Gale said, helping you down onto your bedroll. He treated you gently, helping you to unlace your boots and get settled in under the blanket. You were sick to your stomach at being doted on by him and kept quiet, trying to focus on anything but the way he looked at you. He left for a moment and came back to bring you some water.

“Is there anything you need?” He asked.

You were quiet for a moment, then spoke.

“Gale?”

“Yes?”

“After we had that moment in the Weave…you mentioned that we shouldn’t talk about it then, with the orb being unstable and everything going on,” You said, then allowed yourself to lean into your own intoxication, asking what was truly on your mind. “Was that really the reason? Because if you don’t see me that way, you can tell me. It won’t hurt my feelings.” The words poured out of you too quickly for you to worry about sounding insecure. It was a lie, of course, that it wouldn’t hurt your feelings. Being rejected by Gale would be devastating.

Gale looked thoughtful, then recited the end of Alanis’s fragments of her poem about her lover.

“My lover is like the Sun, Brilliant and bright He eclipses me And yet I yearn

My lover is like the Sun Blinding and unyielding When he touches me I burn”

He placed his hand on your cheek, his gaze looking through you and into your soul. The two of you could say so much without a single word.

“Am I the Sun, or are you?” You asked.

Gale had loved the poem when he read it as a boy, and later thought of it often when he was with Mystra, trying to make sense of the reality of having a goddess for a lover. He had often wondered if he would ever have an identity outside of being Mystra’s chosen, or whether he would forever be tied to the Goddess. And if that was the case, why did the idea of it make him burn with jealousy?

However, the poem had taken on new meaning since he met you. He felt like the Sun, a ball of fire ready to explode in his chest at any moment. As badly as he wanted to hold you close, he knew that doing so would destroy you. Still, he wondered, might it be worth it to burn if he could have one moment of knowing what it was like to be yours entirely?

Or rather, were you the Sun? He was certainly transfixed by you, drawn to your brilliance. You, a mortal who dared to be more brilliant and enticing than his Goddess. Would following you lead him down the path to certain doom - or worse, would getting close to you lead you to your own demise? It was that thought that kept him up at night, wondering if he should escape in the night. To save you from himself, or at least get you as far away from the danger as possible.

Gale contemplated your question.

“I’m not sure,” He finally replied.

“I don’t know, either.”

You placed your hand on Gale’s, your gaze fixed on each other, searching for an answer in each other’s eyes. Neither of you could find it.

However, there was one thing that was clear to both of you: whether through flames of salvation or damnation, you would burn for each other.

#gale dekarios #gale x tav #gale x reader #gale of waterdeep #bg3 #bg3 gale #bg3 brainrot #gale brainrot

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asspinkie · 1 month

Text

tav and the party begin to lose contact with each other over time. suddenly, halsin is old, several generations of children all raised under his wing. he's passed on his responsibilities, made a commune of reithwin. he's losing his sight when he decides to send one last letter, even though the previous ones have been ignored by a grieving astarion and a relentlessly busy lae'zel. the last time they saw each other was over a century ago, at tav's funeral. wonderful, beautiful tav. who died too quickly, even with longer lifespan of one of faerun's seemingly immortal races. something about years of hard adventuring, and the grief of losing shadowheart, gale, karlach, and wyll. halsin, astarion, and lae'zel would be the ones left, the ones who could never connect with each other outside of tav. but halsin feels like his time is short, so he sends two final letters, two final ties to his past life. one to the ageless clothesmaker in the city who has faded from the memory of the people as a hero of baldur's gate. one to the young and fearless warrior who exists outside of time waging holy war. when astarion and lae'zel finally arrive, it's too late to see halsin alive again. he's laid to rest in the forest he grew up in. an oak sapling sprouts where he's buried, and astarion cries over the freshly turned earth, lae'zel holding him as best she can. halsin is given an honorary sarcophagus in the mausoleum that holds tav and the rest of their companions. there are two other stone coffins that will never be filled.

astarion fades into mundanity and routine. he hasn't seen lae'zel in centuries - he only knows she's still alive from the stories that have sprung up, across the realms, of her exploits. he doesn't dream, but he trances often of his time with halsin. with tav. he wishes he'd been less angry when they'd been alive. he wishes he could live without all the regret he has shored up. he visits tav's mausoleum often. with the same kind of flowers they once left on his grave.

one night, centuries after the defeat of the netherbrain, astarion finds an aged lae'zel in the cemetery. her right hand is pressed to the marble of the mausoleum with a quiet calm that astarion has never seen in her. in her left hand are flowers - tav's flowers. her once taut body is unstrung, the curve in her back decrying years of labor and life. topaz eyes flick up toward him with a cunning that he's never forgotten. it feels like ice in his unbeating heart.

"bury me here," she rasps, dropping the flowers, and turning to face him in earnest. "bury me amongst our friends, astarion."

as she collapses, astarion races forward with uncanny speed to catch her. he is the last person to hold her.

he is the last person.

at last, he is face to face with his worst nightmare. he thought he would be angry. he thought he would cry. but instead, an unnerving relief and resignation fill him. he holds lae'zel until the sun rises. they take their last moments together like those awful spirits at elfsong tavern so many years ago. quickly and bitterly. but amongst friends.

the young duke ravengard finds their remains and ensures that they are laid to rest alongside his ancestor. at last, the heroes of baldur's gate are reunited in death.

#i am feeling all kinds of weepy about this shit tonIGHT #astarion #lae'zel #halsin #tav #bg3 #brief little headcanon/fanfic that i am crying real tears over #i am in the business of hurting my own feelings it seems

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