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spacebarbarianweird · 4 months

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After such beautiful headcanons about Noble!Tav I now must ask about Noble High elf!Tav x Astarion

Did I indulge into reading about noble elven families? I absolutely did.

The Isle of Evermeet - the last true elven Kingdom in Faerun created −17,600 DR during the First Sundering. In the XIV century DR the island dissapared from Toril and many believed it was destroyed. However, the island was just moved to Feywild. In 1480 DR it returned back during the Second Sundering but it dwells in a state of coexistence between Faerun, the Feywild, and Arvandor MORE INFO

Astarion x Noble Elf!Tav

Masterlist

Headcanons

You are one of Amlaruil Moonflower's many children.

Not too close to the throne, but still the member of the highest nobility.

The wanderlust, so common for young elves, forced you to leave to see the world.

You witnessed the Spellplague and, like many others, thought the Isle was gone along with everything you knew and held dear.

None of the magic portals worked. You were a princess with no kingdom and an elf with no home.

You kept leaving, forgetting everything but your name.

You meet elves like you here and there. But you don't like talking about your royal origin.

No need and no point.

Once you meet Astarion, you can't get rid of the thought you somehow know him.

You are the same age, and there are a few million elves on the Isle but you are sure he isn't from the Isle.

But his face, his surname, and some of his mannerisms are vaguely familiar.

The thing he doesn't remember anything about his past doesn't help.

In your reverie, you search for answers in your long 250 years of life.

Having to see your cruel mother and survive the court intrigues over and over again.

Astarion is bothered by it. He feels like you breach his privacy and you promise not to try it ever again.

But you aren't self-disciplined, and intrusive thoughts drag you through your memories.

Why did Astarion's face look familiar? Who did you think he was?

In the meantime, you travel. You are two elves, you have nowhere to rush.

You help Astarion to reclaim his identity.

He isn't a vampire, he is an elf!

You help him to remember his mother tongue, the True Tongue.

You tell him about the Isle, your royal family and ancestors.

He often mocks you calling you a runaway princess.

"Well, I should be grateful to be turned into a vampire. Otherwise, I would have no chance to approach you, my dear."

"Don't be stupid, we are thiramins. No one would dare to separate us."

That brings him comfort.

Should you die earlier than him, you will reincarnate like all elven souls do.

You will return and you will remember.

You eventually realize that the Isle was returned from the Feywild but what happened to its inhabitants is unclear.

Astarion doesn't want to know anything about it - the one last true kingdom of elves? Where you are a princess? With him, a vampire?

No, absolutely not. He isn't going there.

One day, you enter the reverie and get one of the earliest memories of your life in Faerun,

An elf with long silver curls. A ranger of the deep woods.

Emerald green eyes, pale skin, a grin.

"Dalar Ancunin, at your service, princess," he says in your memories, his voice echoing through the decade.

You remember him. You finally remember him. An elf born from two-half elves, who was blessed and cursed by inheriting his ancestors' features.

"It's funny to be born like that. No one knew what to do with us. So we decided to explore the world on our own and went to Baldur's Gate."

"Us?"

At that moment, Dalar's face darkened.

"We were twins, Astarion and I. He wanted to become a magistrate so he wouldn't have to live in the poverty. And I was too bored with books and studies. We… had an argument. A really bad one. And I left. Twenty years later I decided to reconcile but when I got back I only found his grave."

"I am sorry."

"The grave was empty. My brother wasn't there. And I am still looking for him. I don't know, it's been so long… But I just can't give up on him. Again."

Dalar.

You weren't close friends but you'd been in each other's life for a decade before parting ways. Members of the same adventure guild You suddenly remember his songs and his stories and how he called himself "a bastard elf". How he could literally foster any animals or beast they met on the way.

And he had a pet drake he called Nikym. "Dagger" in Elven.

You return from the reverie and look at Astarion with shocked eyes.

Astarion doesn't want to remember. Too much pain, too much sorrow- it seems like his brain just locked memories of his youth not to let Cazador learn of Dalar.

And you start talking. You try to remember every minute you spend with your old friend. What he liked, what he hated. How you sometimes woke up because Nikym was trying to eat your hair or how Dalar could shoot arrows with a blindfold.

You need to find him. If he is alive, if didn't leave Toril to try to live among the elves.

He must be there. Maybe he settled down somewhere, maybe he started a family.

How many decades will you need to catch his track though?

And Astarion doesn't have anyone else. Dalar said they were all half-elves (except for some long-forgotten ancestors). His family is long-dead.

Once you reached for your old friends they immediately pointed out where to look for Dalar.

"Always adventurer, always a traveler."

Astarion still hesitates, but, before he manages to say "no", you find what you wanted.

"The princess Moonflower in all her runaway glory! What does a royalty do in that wild place in the deep the night?"

You try to find the right words. To explain, to prepare. But Astarion has already stepped forward, staring into his mortal copy in disbelief.

You give them time.

Before Astarion manages to say anything or run away, Dalar Ancunin grabs him and hugs him.

They are different. A mortal and undead, a ranger and a rogue.

But similar at the same time.

You are a bit jealous because you got used to having Astarion all for yourself and now you have to share him with his brother.

But you get used to it. Besides, Dalar is your old friend,though forgotten for many decades.

And the drake, Nykim, accepts you both.

"I remember" Astarion once tells you. "I finally remember everything. My childhood, my youth, my death. My brother was searching for me and I just forgot about his existence."

A decade later, you three find yourself on the seacoast of the Trackless Sea.

Time to go home.

Whatever future you hold, it's there, in the distant Isle of Evermeet.

You notice both brothers are equally anxious. It will be difficult to lie about their origin and one of them is a literal vampire.

But you are adamant - you are in your own right to bring anyone along with you.

Astarion is your true love, your thiramin.

And his brother is his only family.

Both Ancunin brothers are coming with you.

For better or for worse.

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96

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mumms-the-word · 2 months

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Gale and Mystra (and Mystra, and Mystra...)

I did a rabbit hole deep dive into this a few days ago and I have Thoughts. Prepare for long/researched explanations (and by researched I mean I read a lot of wikis and scraps of lore books/novels)

So Mystra dies in the Forgotten Realms something like three times (the “official” number is wibbly because there are many writers messing with Forgotten Realms lore and they don’t always agree). She dies in -339 DR, and then again in 1358 DR, and then kind of again a few months later. Allegedly she stayed dead until 1479-1480, which is roughly 12 years prior to the events of Baldur's Gate 3, but didn't get her body back until 1487, which is 5 years before BG3, which takes place in 1492 (if we're going by the Baldur's Mouth Gazette year).

So...what do we do with that and the current popular theory that Gale was groomed as a child?

If it sounds complicated, don't worry, it's more complicated than you think. Welcome to my TEDTalk. More under the cut.

Mystryl, the first goddess of magic (like, ever) dies hundreds of years prior to the events of BG3 during the Karsus/Netheril debacle. Karsus tried to steal her deity/power and succeeded only to realize his mortal body/mind couldn’t contain or control that much power. Mystryl sacrificed herself (her essence, her power) to keep it out of Karsus’s incapable hands. The Weave went wonky for an indeterminate but brief amount of time, during which the floating cities of Netheril crashed to the ground. This happens in -339 DR, over ~1700 years before BG3. Gale tells us a brief version of this story in his standard dialogue. It's also established lore in campaign books.

Mystryl was reborn as Mystra (still in -339 DR), and this Mystra lasted for AGES. This Mystra is the mother of all magic, the Mystra we basically think of as BG3’s Mystra. This is the Mystra that met and claimed Elminster as one of her Chosen (later they became lovers, it's a whole thing).

But this is complicated. Because in 1358 DR…she dies too.

Long story short, for a brief moment, the Overgod Ao forced all gods to walk Faerûn in their mortal avatar forms and denied them entry into heavens (this was called the Times of Troubles, very complicated, the point is, gods were walking the earth as mortals). Mystra decided to fight Helm, the god guarding the stairway into the heavens, and got promptly smote.

Smitten? Smited? Whatever. Helm DESTROYED her. Death #2.

This time, Ao chose a mortal girl named Midnight to replace Mystra. He imbued Midnight, a wizard girl who worshipped Mystra, with Mystra's powers (Mystra conveniently left an amulet behind with some of her power contained within). Incidentally, the Weave didn't die this time like it did the first time. Convenient!

Midnight-Mystra lasts less than a year before Shar and Cyric (god of trickery) kill her and the Spellplague happens. The Spellplague is basically 10 years of magic going haywire and the Weave kind of ceasing to exist. Again. It's complicated.

Ignoring that some Forgotten Realms writers insist the Spellplague didn't happen, BG3 says it DID. One book in BG3 states:

In the infamous, calamitous year of 1385 DR, a conspiracy between the goddess of darkness, Shar, and the god of trickery, Cyric, sought to end Mystra's control over the Weave and influence over the realms by cravenly assassinating her. But instead of merely breaking the goddess of magic's dominance, her death threw the Weave into utter chaos and collapse. Magic spells faltered, or failed entirely. Countless spellcasters were killed or driven insane... Toril would face nearly a hundred years of upheaval before Mystra could return once again, reinstated as goddess of magic in 1480 DR, thanks to the efforts of the legendary wizard, Elminster Aumar and the events of the Second Sundering...

(Curiously Gale’s Countermeasure Abberation at the Netherbrain fight is called Spellplague so...do with that whatever you want. I mean, I know that’s the Countermeasure for ANY wizard in the party but it feels particularly interesting for Gale. Also we're going to ignore the Second Sundering in this post because that's a whole different rant, just know that the Second Sundering means the state of the world and the pantheon of gods basically got soft reset and then locked into place. Which is why it was important for Mystra to return before that happened, or else she would have gotten locked out of returning at all.)

As far as I can tell, between 1385 and 1479, Mystra was silent. Maybe dead, maybe not. There's some suggestion that she existed in the Weave, because other than the Spellplague period, the Weave still existed. The fact that the Weave exists separately from Mystra is important mostly because Shar wants to turn it into the Shadow Weave, which she can't do if Mystra is alive and maintaining control over the Weave. And if Shar can't control the Weave even while Mystra is silent for 100ish years, then...well. Mystra must not be dead-dead.

More importantly than Shar Politics, her being maybe-dead for almost 100 years means she wasn't whispering in the minds of her Chosen the way gods like her normally do. The wikis mention a comic ("Lord of the Darkways") where Mystra spoke directly to Elminster's mind, but that's the only instance before 1479. Mystra was SILENT before 1479...or at least, very, very, very quiet.

So what happens in 1479? Well, long story short, according to the novel Bury Elminster Deep, Elminster travels to a cave where there is a bear carrying some Mystra's remaining essence/power. Why a bear? I have no idea. Point is, she speaks directly to Elminster and confirms that she is, indeed, Mystra. Specifically, she's pre-Midnight Mystra and also...changed into a newish Mystra.

This is some of what Elminster thinks/says when he's speaking with her and notices she's guarding some artifacts:

“Ye collected these things when ye were Midnight?” El blurted, trembling in a sudden chaos of wanting to know so much, yet not knowing what he dared ask. Her love—or at least fondness—was in his head and all around him, but something was subtly different in it, a distance that had not been there once, or rather one that had grown since Midnight had ascended to replace the Mystra his far younger self had first touched and tasted. Gone was the Mystra whose mind would long ago have merged with his to let them converse wordlessly, thoughts flashing.

Bear!Mystra has been guarding things that Midnight!Mystra collected, things that were important to Mystra!Mystra. Confusing, I know. So who is this current Mystra, speaking to Elminster as a bear? This is the Mystra that would then go on to become lovers with Gale.

Now, I'd argue it's basically all the same Mystra. There was Mystryl and then there was Mystra in her many forms. The Mystra that become lovers with Elminster when she selected him as her Chosen 1300 years ago is the same Mystra that took Gale as a lover too—even if she's died and transformed a couple of times.

It’s worth noting that the novels also sort of mingle all the Mystras into one. In the next novel, Elminster Enraged, when another character called the Simbul (another Chosen of Mystra who is also Mystra’s daughter) is speaking with Mystra, they talk about how Mystra has memories both of previous Mystras and of several Chosen. When the Simbul asks if Mystra can sense her current Chosen, Mystra confirms that she can sense her daughters and Elminster.

“Wasn’t that the Mystra before you?” The Simbul dared to ask. Echoes in the Weave, my daughter, echoes in the Weave…we see and feel so much that happened before us, in the Weave; it becomes part of us, the memories of the Mystra who birthed you becoming part of me, so I become that Mystra…

Anyway. Mystra is Mystra. Basically the same Mystra she's been since the fall of Netheril. Why does that matter? Well.

When Elminster is talking to bear-Mystra, she gives him a command: “I charge you to preserve magic wherever and whenever you can” and also; “Recruit new Chosen and gather them here for me to confer with. I need many, and they must be different from my daughters and from each other…and above all, I must have those I can trust.”

Okay, granted, this specific command probably doesn't apply to Gale. Gale never talks about being gathered as Chosen to help usher in Mystra's return. Remember, she's gathering Chosens so she can restore herself to godhood before Ao clicks the "Save" function on his universe post-Second Sundering. That's what this command is referring to.

Elminster does end up choosing several potential Chosen for Mystra (plus he goes on to steal a whole bunch of magic and gives it to Mystra to restore her back to godhood; this happens at the end of Elminster Enraged). Elminster spends part of Bury Elminster Deep, Elminster Enraged, and The Herald (three back-to-back novels) gathering Chosen or...well, killing corrupt Chosen and stealing their power to give back to Mystra. Mystra begins speaking into the minds of those who worship her in Elminster Enraged (around 1480) and the end of that novel has her appearing as a very grand spirit type of lady, but she's only seen restored to her actual corporeal goddess body at the end of The Herald, which is set in 1487.

So what does this have to do with Gale??

Simple. I have two theories.

Theory 1: Larian just ignores timelines and maybe wanted to create a new grooming narrative for Gale

Listen, Larian has a ton of writers and not every writer can be expected to maintain ALL of the lore Ed Greenwood and other writers wrote for the campaign books and novels. The Forgotten Realms is like 40+ years old. It's been through every iteration of D&D rules. Mystra dies every time the Wizards of the Coast revamps their magic rules, to the point where Ed Greenwood literally had Elminster say, in one of his novels, “I think Mystra’s fall was part of a cycle fated to happen again and again, as the Weave—as all magic of this world—needs renewal.” Elminster fourth-wall calls out a "fated cycle" that is just WOTC remixing magic rules.

Hell, maybe Larian knew that and wanted Gale to be part of the next cycle of Mystra-death-and-rebirth. Raphael certainly suggests something similar if Gale ascends to godhood and plans to usurp Mystra. That's a rant for a different post.

Anyway. Point is, it's a lot of lore, and a lot of it contradicted itself before Larian ever got their hands on it. The writers knew enough to know that Mystra picks Chosens all the time and that she's been known to be lovers with her Chosens. They probably took that and ran with it. Gale was chosen by Mystra and become lovers with her and the timelines don't matter, and maybe there are hints that Mystra groomed him as a kid. Maybe Larian just ignored Ed Greenwood's lore that Mystra didn't speak to any of her followers until like 12 years before the game. That's fine!

But if that theory doesn't seem to vibe, consider theory 2 (which for the purposes of this analysis suggests Gale is a cool 35 for convenient math):

Theory 2: Gale didn't actually hear or meet a corporeal Mystra until he was a consenting adult (NOTE: this does not necessarily mean he wasn't groomed)

Brief timeline, again.

1385, Mystra and Midnight both die and anything resembling a goddess of magic goes silent for nearly 100 years. Early 1400s? Elminster hears Mystra's voice but she's otherwise silent for everyone else 1479, Elminster meets Bear!Mystra, begins finding other Chosen of Mystra and gathering power for Mystra 1480ish, Elminster restores power to Bear!Mystra and she Officially Returns (but like, quietly and we still haven't seen her body, she seems to be just spirit and stardust) 1487, Mystra now has a body because she does this Big Reveal at the end of The Herald by entering a room where five of her Chosen are

If Gale is 35 in 1492, then he was 30 when she "officially" had a body again, and 23 when she begins speaking to her Chosen (or those who worship her more broadly) after a century of silence.

Obviously this theory breaks the current ongoing theory that Mystra revealed herself to Gale when he was 8, or at least a young child. However, does the game really support that theory either? Elminster's letter to an ascended God!Gale only says:

Do you recall the day we first met, m’boy? You could have been no more than eight summers’ old, clutching your mother’s apron…

He doesn't say anything about telling Gale that he is a Chosen at the age of 8 or that Mystra personally has an interest in him. Maybe Elminster was just wandering around and met Gale, or perhaps someone wrote to Elminster to tell him there's an exceptionally talented mage boy that he should meet. Elminster doesn't tell us the circumstances of the meeting, so we'll never know. The one thing we do know is that Elminster has known about Gale since Gale's childhood. There's just nothing in his letter proves that Mystra was actively speaking to Gale when he was 8, or even telling Elminster to choose Gale that young.

Keep in mind, if Gale is 35 in 1492, then he was 8 in 1465, well before Elminster had gotten the charge to maintain the Weave and select new Chosens for Mystra.

Then of course we have Minsc's comment that:

While the girl-folk go on to rule as wychlaran, Weave-touched boys were hidden away. Trained to work their craft in silence and secrecy. It is an old custom, not well-observed. In truth I thought it born of caution, after some catastrophe wrought by wizardly men-folk of old. Now I wonder if it was not done to hide them from Mystra, and the snares she sets for young and prideful boys, hm?

I want to point out that this idea that the Rashemi people hide Weave-touched boys from Mystra's sight is completely new lore. Ed Greenwood explained a bit of how he views vremyonni boys/men being secluded in a series of tweets from 2020. Basically, because a wychlaran (female witch) is also a kind of ruling/religious class in the Rashemi culture, male spellcasters create a power imbalance, especially because they have access to more powerful spells than the female spellcasters. To combat this, male spellcasters are hidden away to avoid political imbalance and end up serving as enchanters/weaponsmiths for the wychlarans. Or they leave and become wizards elsewhere.

The idea that the Rashemi hide the boys away to either a) protect them from Mystra's icky amorous tactics or b) protect their communities from Mystra encouraging grand, destructive ambition in their menfolk, is probably unique to BG3 alone...and that's if we can take what Minsc says at face value.

Can we?

Minsc proves time and again he doesn't think much of wizards. The only thing he likes about Gale is that he can explode. I think he mistrusts male spellcasters in general because of his culture. So his comment could just be Minsc taking a jab at Gale while also not accurately representing his culture (possibly by offering an explanation that he just hasn't thought through all that thoroughly).

The fact that he says "young and prideful boys" is curious, regardless. Does he view Gale as a boy, because Gale is technically younger than Minsc by several decades thanks to Minsc being a statue for a while? Is it derogatory? Is it a remark to say that Gale's ambition is a bit juvenile, as wizard ambitions tend to be? Who knows. Minsc's dialogue isn't always as surface-level as it appears.

So...was Gale groomed?

I guess that depends on your definition of grooming. Adult-to-adult grooming is absolutely a thing. It's a cycle of manipulation, isolation, and gaslighting that leaves one person, the victim, in a twisted, unequal relationship with their abuser. So, yeah, Gale absolutely was groomed by his goddess. Point blank. Period. She rewarded his magical talent with sexual/emotional intimacy. He responded with love, intimacy, adoration, etc., that she was incapable of reciprocating as his equal, because of her power of authority over him (over all wizards) yet she used it to her advantage, and then tossed him aside when it became inconvenient for her. Absolutely she groomed him, and she's an abuser.

But if we're merging Forgotten Realms lore and timelines with BG3 timelines, then our understanding of Gale's perspective of all this shifts a little. Instead of a child chasing after a goddess who is stringing him along, it becomes Gale, the child prodigy, desperately trying to understand magic in a world where the goddess of magic is silent, possibly dead, and the Weave is trying to repair itself after a devastating Spellplague a few decades earlier. It becomes Gale in his teens, not understanding why the others think he's so odd for burying himself in his studies to impress a goddess who might not even care, if she's even alive. It becomes a young adult Gale overwhelmed with awe at the first rumors that Mystra might finally, finally be back, and hearing her voice for the very first time. It becomes Gale, in his late twenties, finally staring into the face of his goddess, someone he's had blind faith in before he even knew for certain she was capable of hearing his prayers. It becomes mid-thirties Gale, who has grown up with a patchwork Weave and a missing goddess, plotting to restore even more power to her by finding an elusive bit of errant Weave and making the biggest mistake of his life. It becomes a story of Gale who probably looked forward to the return of Mystra with so much awe and longing, only to be used and cast aside by her within a dozen years of her return to godhood.

No wonder he felt that godhood was not only well within his grasp, but that he could be a more deserving kind of god.

It's not a perfect theory, and a lot of Gale's dialogue suggests he was a young man, probably early 20s, when he began an intimate relationship with Mystra. He also implies that she spoke to him for some time before they ever became intimate. He describes her first as the Mother of Magic, and then his teacher, and then his muse, and then his lover. So what are we to believe?

Well...that's the frustrating beauty of D&D and Forgotten Realms and Baldur's Gate I guess. The lore is wibbly wobby and malleable. You do what you want with it.

#long post #bg3 #bg3 lore #baldur's gate 3 #gale #gale dekarios #fandom discourse #bg3 discourse #in this essay i will #who let me do this to myself tbh

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alpaca-clouds · 4 months

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The DnD Lore Problem - Accessibility and Characters (and how BG3 might not help)

You know what? I am gonna talk about DnD Lore and the accessibility of that lore. I talked about this exessively before. But to summarize that long blog very shortly:

Wizards of the Coasts currently makes the mistake of putting basically most DnD Lore behind a paywall, rather than offering official ressources. This leads to a lot of tables actually playing with their original worlds, rather than Toril/Faerûn, which in turn also means, that they are not spending money on official products. While my anti-capitalist ass things that the lore should be accessible just so that people can enjoy it, I also think that this inaccessibility actually costs WotC A LOT OF MONEY.

Today I want to talk about another aspect of this inaccessibility, that is kinda linked to some of the stuff I talked about before, but also is linked to the things WotC is currently not doing in terms of both Honor Among Thieves and Baldur's Gate 3. A thing, that also might not quite work with BG3, though.

See, the core problem of this inaccessibility is, that a) there is no official place where you can just get base information about the world and the timeline, b) this world has grown organically for about half a century, which lead to clutter, but also to the fact that things are at times showing their age.

I might actually make a post on the gods and religion in the world at some other point - but for now let me talk about something else: Extended universes and access points.

The Problem with Extended Universes

Okay, let's talk about how a lot of the big franchises for the longest time have told their meta stories - including DnD - and how it kinda struggles to find its audience. The extended universe.

I am frankly not entirely sure what franchise has started this. I am assuming it was Star Trek? But that is just a guess. But at some point in the 60s oder 70s someone had the idea that: "Hey, we could totally give the fans more to chew on by making official tie-in comics and novels!"

And that was how it worked for very long. Like a lot of the big franchises had at times around 10 novels and comics (if not more) releasing per year that would just explore other parts of the universe and allow the very engaged fans to... well, learn more about the world. Now, I am not going to talk about all the drama connected to the Star Wars stuff, but if you know, you know.

DnD did this too. (As did a lot of the big TTRPG systems, like Shadowrun and WoD as well.) Having a lot of tie in stuff - in the case of DnD mostly novels - that told more stories on the world and also established like some big player characters within the world. Elminster Aumar is probably one of the best examples here.

Those established some characters that play a big role within the world and also told just more stories of those big world changing events. In the recent DnD history that would be stuff like the Time of Troubles, the Spellplague and the Second Sundering.

Now, here we have one big issue. And one issue where I am not entirely certain where it arose from. But the fact is: In recent years, people invest way less into those kind of books. This is just a fact.

It is the reason why those big universes went from publishing like ten novels a year to often not more than three. We saw that in the failure of the extended Universe Disney tried to pull off for Pirates of the Caribbean (though I will still maintain that another big problem was that they barely marketed that at all - hi, everyone, who did not know there were extended universe novels for PotC). We also saw that with League of Legends, who really, really tried to tell a lot more stories with short stories and then also some novels set in Runeterra, before finally giving up, because most people didn't care.

In terms of Dungeons & Dragons I can totally see that a lot of people will also say: "I do not care what some other people's characters do within the world." Buuuuuut...

Stories actually can help you understand the world. Which brings me to...

The Elminster Problem

Okay, I do not know how to put this, but... If you look at the novels coming out for DnD literally half of them focus on either Elminster Aumar or Drizzt Do'Urden. Characters that have pretty much been around since the very beginning and. Look, I don't know how to put it but... It shows.

I am currently reading some of the newer novels and the fact is, that they do not really feel like fantasy books from the 2010s and 2020s. Because Elminster and Drizzt are very clearly characters originating in a very different time when stories were told very differently.

I mean, just look at Elminster. He is a wanna-be Gandalf character. He is from the early, early days of fantasy and... Look, I personally just really am unable to identify with a character like this.

And while Drizzt is a bit better as a character, but even he... How to put this delicately? They are both very much characters written by white cishet men for white cishet men. There, I said it.

I am noticing this a lot with reading Salvatore's books currently. Like, female characters are not overly sexualized, which is a plus. But they also very much exist most of the time in service to a man or at least in relation to a man. There is not a lot of female characters running around that have their own agency.

Which kinda leads to another thing. I actually saw this one brought up by one of those very cliché nerdy Youtube channels talking on DnD, who recognized the problem as well: There are basically two large groups of DnD players who barely intersect. One is the cliché nerds, the other is a largely queer and largely diverse group. And the youtube guy, who was very in the white cishet nerd group, suspected that actually the later group makes up more of the player base by now.

Buuuut... that is also the group who really do not get catered to by the canon lore so far. That was until 2023 with DnD:HAT and BG3 - both catering actually a lot to those groups.

Honor Among Thieves and the undermarketed books

Okay, here is the thing: Honor Among Thieves had two novelizations (one for young readers, one for older readers) and two tie-in novels. One featuring Edgin, Holga, Forge and Simon before the stuff with Sofina went down. And the other featuring Simon and Doric taking place at the time while Ed and Holga are in prison.

I am honest: I really, really liked the Ed and Holga novel. It was super cute and charming and really gives a better understanding of the characters.

But of course once again there is the thing: The books - just like the Pirates of the Caribbean books - were super undermarketed. Like, most people I know off do not even know that there were books released. Heck, even within the actual active fandom there are again and again people who will be surprised that those books exist.

And... I actually also think that the books waste one big ass opportunity, by not at all tying into the broader lore. They are super self-contained.

And that is actually just a waste. Because the place were Edgin lived in? Yeah, that place was super affected by the Second Sundering. Heck, that might have had to do something with his troubles.

Why is that an issue? Well, because... there was not a lot going on there that was inviting you to further interact with the world and learn more abotu what is happening. For once, again, because I think it is a super fun and interesting world. But also, because... WotC wants to make money and is so bad at it, that it really boggles my mind.

See, here is the thing: They could've used those characters - that really are fun and sympathetic characters - to create an accesspoint into that world.

Alright, so what about Baldur's Gate 3?

Which brings me to Baldur's Gate 3 and the thing that a lot of people have noticed: The other Baldur's Gate games - as well as some of the other games releasing around 2000 - had their own tie-in novels going into the characters, their background, but also what they were doing in the future.

Something that so far BG3 has not done, which some fans have already critized. Because a lot of people have actually gotten really invested into those characters. A lot of the kind of people especially who so far are underserved by a lot of the tie-in stuff: Queer and generally diverse audiences.

Like, I think there would be a lot of people, who totally would read a novel, about...

Astarion getting drawn into some sort of political intrigue in Baldur's Gate while serving Cazador

Karlach's time in Avernus

Some Adventure Wyll got dragged into while being the Blade of the Frontier.

Shadowheart going onto a mission for Shar (maybe together with Nocturne)

Whatever Gale was doing during the Second Sundering

Lae'zel's youth among the Githyanki

The Dark Urge and Gortash starting up the entire conspiracy

... whatever Halsin had been up to in his long live

Heck, people would eat that stuff up. And you could not only use it to worldbuild but also once more create some access into the world and what happened there. And they are kinda wasting a lot of potential by not bringing out those novels.

Of course, there is one big problem: BG3 makes it kinda hard to write about anything happening after the ending. Because as it is right now, someone is gonna be pissed if a novel set after the game does not go with the decision for a character they go for. Like, Ascended Astarion fans are gonna be pissed, if they go with Spawn Astarion - and the other way around. Same goes with every other character where you have those big decisions happening.

This is something they will have to tackle eventually if they plan on doing something with the characters in the future (no matter if we are talking Larian or WotC), but it is definitely an issue that just arises from the structure of the game.

Bonus of course is, that you just cannot define a canonical Tav. But without a Tav, you also gotta act as if the story of the game happened without a Tav, which still is not ideal. I am honestly not sure with how they are gonna deal with this on the long run.

Access via Characters

Alright, but what is the actual issue here?

Well, basically there are two hurdles to overcome for the accessibility of the lore. The first is the physical accessibility - aka, what I talked about in the last long blog post. The second meanwhile is more related to making the lore engaging. And that happens through characters.

It is for me what happened last year. I actually tried to engage with the lore as the movie came out - but only when BG3, that tied a lot more into the actual lore was released I actually found proper access to the lore. Because I had concrete things I could now look for because the game hinted at so much both through characters and major story events happening.

Here is the thing: If you just have the lore on its own, it is about as engaging as reading a history book. Sure, as your local history nerd I find reading history books fun, but most people really do not want to read a history book to engage with a hobby.

People will however engage with stories and characters that interest them. Which is where we get back to the thing I talked about at the beginning: Right now most canonical novels and stories still cater to an audience that is male, cishet, white and also, let's be frank, definitely over 30 years old. Leaving behind a lot of potential fans that theoretically make up a big part of the player-base, but actually do not engage a lot with the lore for this exact reason.

Look. DnD right now is fairly close to being an actual mainstream hobby, due to the recent proliferation of formerly nerdy stuff. And yet WotC is bleeding money, especially in regards of DnD.

If you ask me, sure... DnD should go into public domain. But it doesn't. And given that there are so many creative, skilled people working on this - no matter how dumb Hasbro is and how shitty of an employer they are - I actually do want them to succeed. I have really become engaged with this world now. And I think it is a pity that they clearly do not know how to market this stuff.

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hydropyro · 3 months

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A Dinner Owed

Prologue

“Until we meet again, I wish thee every possible fortune. Health, wealth, love, and above all, problems worth solving.” The recently unretired God of Death said – a goblet of wine held aloft.

Raphael stood at the edge of the party, just outside the glow of the various torches. Milil had seen him and had given him a polite nod in greeting – returned respectfully by the devil across camp – but no other attention was drawn to him yet. He shifted his weight onto his right leg, leaning against the smooth bark of a deciduous tree as he eyed the merrymakers.

“To you.” Jergal toasted, a cheer rose, and everyone lifted their cups before drinking. Though the mingling continued, a few of the attendants began to depart.

First went the drow. Raphael was surprised that she had even attended in the first place. He had no interest in dealing with her directly but followed her work closely. When the Baenre child enacted her plans to collapse the hierarchy of Menzoberranzan, he knew that a feast of souls and of desperate, haughty drow nobles would await his ever-helpful hand.

The gith girl left soon after, proudly declaring that her war needed her swift return. Gith were renowned warriors but so easily brought to heel by their superiors that Vlaakith’s deceit had continued for centuries. Though the Prince of the Comet had made a great personal sacrifice in accepting ceremorphosis on himself, from what Raphael had heard, little Lae’zel was blazing a path through the Astral Sea on her own. Whatever her might, it would not be straightforward to dethrone the Lich Queen –

He kept close tabs on the warrior. When the time was most opportunous he may be inclined to reveal Gith’s location – still alive in Baator. And, once he ruled the Hells, who better to liaison with for her Great Mother’s freedom?

Next to depart was the wizard. Mystra had forgiven the poor sod – for now. Tabs were kept on him, too, though his occupation as a professor made him much easier to track. Raphael had little doubt that the fickle, cradle-robbing Goddess would tire of her twisted plaything, leaving Mr. Dekarios in desperate need of a savior with enough magic to feed the voracious orb in his chest. Conveniently, Raphael would be able to provide – given a reasonable trade.

Karlach and Wyll Ravengard, now dubbed the Blade of Avernus, would linger for as long as Jergal would allow. He did not need to keep track of them; rather, his troops had strict orders to stay well out of their warpath. They were a mild inconvenience now, and hopefully, they would gratefully fall into their place once Zariel was deposed. They would be welcome to stay in his Avernus if they chose to, but he would not tolerate their massacring his armies.

He had continued work in Baldur’s Gate as he had around the rest of Toril, still gathering souls. The Karsite Weave may not need them, but having the extra power at his force’s disposal was welcome. And, in keeping with his deal with the adventurers, the Crown stayed securely tucked away – still on his person, of course – but not in use when he did what he did best.

In his visits to the city over the few months following the resolution of the Absolute Crisis, he’d heard tell of a nighttime vigilante cutting down the criminals of the city left otherwise free to wreak havoc by the corrupt lawmakers.

The spawn would be getting his warm and fuzzy feelings by playing hero for a time – but Raphael need not put any effort into tracking his whereabouts or goings on. Eventually, likely sooner than most would wager, he would see Astarion again – when the vampireling sought him out in a bid for the sun. The longer he held out, the more likely it would be that Raphael could deliver – and deliver more completely – but of course, the price would also be higher as time wore on and the devil’s power grew. With the first violet hues painting the early morning sky, the night-bound spawn had taken his leave to retreat into the dark.

The Sharran turned Selunite was so low on his radar that she’d apparently left without his notice. Aside from her soul, she had little to offer the scheming devil, and given all she’d already put it through with Shar, he was sure she would be reluctant to wager it. All he knew of her time post-Crisis was that she and her parents were traveling. As long as they didn’t get in his way, he had no further interest.

The former archdruid also left early despite being well into his cups. Raphael had not returned to Reithwyn since meeting with the band of heroes at Last Light and was truly looking forward to seeing how the land had changed.

Oh, how he had reveled in the perverted shadow over the land and in the many souls he had harvested from the despair it caused. But tragedy was not useful only when the tragedy was taking place. The resolution of tragedy could bear its own bounty of opportunities. The Shadow Curse had laid waste to the region for over a century – and like many wounds, the healing would take much longer than the infliction.

He did not know if the Harper leader would be there, as well, though she had left along with the other druid.

The lumbering Rashimi fighter was keeping the two infernally damned companions busy for the moment. Raphael was sure the hamster had spotted him across the clearing, though it seemed that the rodent had not made this knowledge known yet to the Rashimi nor the pair drinking merrily with him and dancing to Milil’s enchanting music.

This left Raphael’s true target on their own, sitting for the moment, their mind no doubt hazy in their celebratory imbibing. He started toward them, meeting eyes with Jergal, who impassively looked on for a moment, and rested a hand on Tav’s shoulder while taking the half-full goblet from their other hand. Still near the edge of the party space, the remaining companions had not noticed him.

Continue

#baldur’s gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #raphael #raphael bg3 #simpathyforthedevil #fan fiction #Raphael Romance #Let us have the devil #choose your own adventure

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verai-marcel · 1 month

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Your Hearth Is My Home (BG3 Fanfic, Astarion x Female Reader, Part 27 of 28, 18+)

Summary, Notes, Tags, & Part 1 are here.

CW: There is EXPLICIT SMUT in this chapter.

AO3 Link is here, my love.

Word Count: 5,624

——————————

Act III, Chapter 6 - The Return

Astarion stood at the dock, staring out over the water. The silver moonlight shone brightly, as if it wanted to cheer him on. It was a full moon too, just like it was when they defeated the Netherbrain.

It felt like a lifetime ago.

He had come here every night, sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes for a whole hour, just… waiting. And every night, he left feeling a little disappointed.

But tonight felt different.

Yesterday, as the sun rose in the sky, he had hummed a song he remembered, a song she had sung to him. The melody had lulled him into what he thought was a reverie. But he had fallen asleep. And he had dreamed.

He had dreamt of her.

So he stood at the very same spot where he had last seen her, looking out over the water, and for the first time in a while, he hoped.

Against the soft, rhythmic splashing of the waves, he could almost hear her voice, a warm, rapturous melody that made him feel like he was sitting in front of a cozy campfire, with her sitting in his lap as he sipped from her neck, savoring her warm blood. He could imagine her taste, sweet on his tongue, lingering like honey wine, warm and soothing, just like her.

The singing in his mind grew louder.

“Gods, it’s like she’s right here,” he mumbled to himself. “I’m losing my damn mind.”

He was so sure that he was going crazy that he didn’t even question when the water at the foot of the docks began to swirl in a whirlpool. But as it grew bigger and faster, he began to step back, away from the edge of the pier.

Then he stopped. Her voice was getting louder.

The whirlpool glowed for a moment, then an intricate circular rune began to appear above the water, lines steadily being drawn in a light blue hue that was very familiar. Hope bubbled in his heart like a spring.

Magic crackled in the air as the lines drew out the rest of the pattern. The circle closed and there was a flash of bright light. He covered his eyes against the supernatural glare.

He heard a soft thud and opened his eyes. He blinked.

In the echoing silence, Astarion said her name like a prayer.

***

It was strange, suddenly being back in Toril. You weren’t sure how much time had passed on this side. After all, a whole year had passed for you. But when you looked up, you saw Astarion standing before you, looking a little more pale than you remember. He called your name, like a supplication, and you nearly cried.

As your fey form faded back to your human form, you leapt into his outstretched arms.

The two of you held each other tightly. Nothing short of the end of the world would tear you two apart.

Finally, you moved back so you could see his smiling face, keeping your arms around him. “How long have I been gone?”

He tipped his head in confusion. “Twenty-eight days.”

You blinked. “That’s it?”

He frowned. “Why…?”

You stepped back. “I… I’ve been in the Feywild for a whole year.” You started to cry in relief. “I thought time went faster here, I thought everyone would be gone!”

Astarion pulled you back into his arms and pressed his forehead against yours. “It’s alright, darling. I’m here.”

He let you cry for a little while before he pulled back. “Well. You’ll have to tell me all about your year away,” he said as he stepped back and offered you his arm. “We have a lot to catch up on, it seems.”

***

As you walked with him to his home, he told you briefly about the others. Wyll and Karlach had left for Avernus together a couple of weeks ago when Karlach’s engine started to give out. Shadowheart and Gale had moved to Waterdeep. Jaheira and Minsc were still around in Baldur’s Gate. Halsin had taken the orphans in the city and left for Thaniel’s lands.

“I’d like to let them know I’m back safely,” you mentioned casually.

“I’ll write to them,” Astarion said, just as the two of you reached his home. It was a small townhouse in the city that had belonged to one of the murder victims of the cult of Bhaal. No one wanted to claim it, so Astarion took it, and had been slowly patching it up.

He opened the five locks on the door and opened it with a flourish, guiding you inside with his hand on the small of your back.

The ground level was bereft of any furnishings. A plain foyer led to a small kitchen and pantry, with a small side room and a door to a stairwell on the other side. The stairs were honestly a bit of a mess with chipped stonework and sharp edges on the steps.

“What’s upstairs?”

He shrugged. “Nothing much right now.”

You took a quick peek with his permission. There was only a small room on one side of the hall and a covered balcony on the other that faced the river. It, too, was empty, with dust and cobwebs everywhere.

This place needs some work.

However, once you followed him down to the basement, you were a bit in awe.

The stairway opened into a cozy sitting room, minimally decorated with a rug and some cushions for lounging. You noticed that some ornate daggers were displayed on a mostly empty bookshelf. There were a few colorful tapestries hung on the wall to give the room a bit of life, and a small fireplace to keep it warm. Against the wall across from the fireplace was a chaise lounge, a throw blanket haphazardly tossed across it.

There were two other doors for the washroom and bedroom. The luxurious washroom had two sinks and a tub large enough for two, with a door that connected to a grand bedroom with minimalist, stylish decor. There was a king sized bed covered in black silk sheets, and night stands on either side with two drawers each, clearly stuffed with knick knacks and jewelry. Bookcases lined two of the walls, floor to ceiling. They were only half filled.

“You have a lot of shelving,” you noted, looking at the empty bookcases on either side of the door leading back to the sitting room. “Planning on collecting more books or knick knacks?”

“Perhaps I’m waiting for someone else to fill the other half.”

You turned to look at him, and his shy expression made your heart skip a beat. Somehow, he always seemed so much more attractive to you when he suddenly showed signs of being a normal person instead of a charming rake.

“Perhaps someone would take you up on that,” you commented as you followed him back to the sitting room. He led you to the cushions in front of the fireplace and sat down with you.

“Shall I?” you asked with a grin.

“If you could,” he replied.

You sang your fire cantrip, and you noticed that he was watching you with a content smile on his face. As you watched the wood burning, listening to the crackle and pop of the embers, he curled himself around you and held you close.

“How did you know that I was coming back?” you asked.

“Just a hunch.”

You laughed softly at him using your own line.

“But I really did,” he insisted, though his pout wasn’t making it any more believable. Then he took your hand in his. “I dreamed of you. You were singing on the dock in the full moonlight, and you turned to me and waved for me to come to you.”

“I thought you didn’t like to dream. How did you even fall asleep in the first place?”

He turned away, looking a little embarrassed. “I… I hummed your song. I was surprised it worked, to be honest.”

You blinked. Then you laughed. “Will wonders never cease?”

“Gods, I hope they do. I just want to laze around in bed with you for a whole week.”

“I still need to eat, you know. And find some way of making money so that I can eat.”

He huffed. “I can make enough for both of us.”

You looked at him curiously. “And what have you been doing while I've been gone?”

His eyes glittered with amusement. “It turns out that if you kill bad guys, you can get away with murder. And no one wonders when their bodies suddenly disappear.”

You grinned mischievously. “So you're telling me you've become a hero of the night?”

He rolled his eyes at you. “Stop that, you're making me sound like one of those blasted romance novel protagonists.”

Cackling with merriment, you patted his knee. “I'm actually quite proud of you, despite my teasing.”

Astarion held you close. You could feel his happiness, like sparkles of light on the edges of your own emotions. Wrapping your arms around him, you sighed happily in his embrace.

After a few moments, a serious question came to mind. “Do you miss the daylight?” you asked quietly.

He shrugged. “It was… hard, at first. I hate to admit it, but Wyll and Karlach helped me… accept my circumstances. If not for them I probably would have been a wreck for much longer.”

You kissed his cheek. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you.”

“And I’ll forever hold a grudge.”

When you frowned, he smiled and tapped you playfully on the nose before he leaned down and nuzzled you. “I’m joking. You were trapped in another plane. I can hardly blame you.” He sighed. “It'd be nice if I could find a way to not burn in the sun. I haven't given up, but I've come to accept the shadows as a part of me.”

You smiled at him, so proud of his growth. So proud, in fact, that you hesitated to tell him that there might be a way.

He picked up on your silence, however, as he searched your gaze.

“You're thinking about something.” He tapped your forehead. “What did you learn in that Feywild?”

You swallowed. You hemmed and hawed. But finally, you decided to tell him, and trust him to make his own decision.

“There might be a way to prevent you from burning in the sun.”

“Weren't you already doing that? Before”—he gestured with one hand—“you disappeared.”

You shook your head. “That wouldn't have lasted more than a day.” Mother chastised the hells out of me when I told her what I was trying to do. “There's… another way.”

He stared at you for a few moments, observing your expression. “You sound hesitant.”

You took a deep breath. “Because you’re not going to like it.”

“Try me.”

You wrung your hands nervously. “You… you’ll have to bind yourself to me. With a seal.”

“Oh. So like a warlock. Is that all?”

You looked at him in panic. He doesn’t understand. “It’s not the same! Because I’m not a full archfey, my… mortality… affects how the pact works.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“It means that you are linking your life to mine and keeping me anchored to this plane so that I can stay in Toril when I use spells more powerful than a cantrip,” you quickly explained. “But I'm mortal. At some point, I'll pass away. And when that happens, your life, which is tied to mine, will end too.”

He was quiet for a moment. “And this will let me walk in the sun?”

You shrugged. “It might. My mother thinks it should, in theory. But she wasn’t sure because a vampire spawn has never contracted with an archfey before.” And an archfey would never contract with a vampire, but he doesn’t need to know that.

Astarion hummed in thought. After a few moments, he nodded. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

You were a little shocked. “Wait, you’d bank your eternal life on a maybe?”

“I have the freedom to make my own choices.”

“But I’m mortal! You have forever—”

“I told you. I’m not afraid to die. But to live forever without you? I don't even want to consider it.”

Ugh, I knew he was impulsive. You swallowed. “This goes for me getting killed too.”

“Then I’ll just have to protect you.” He paused. “Does it work in reverse? If I’m killed…”

“I’d just be released from the pact,” you replied, noting that he sighed in relief at your answer. “Are you sure you want this?”

“Never been more sure of anything.” He took your hand. “So bind yourself to me.”

Smiling, tears in your eyes, you held his hands tightly. “We’ll have matching seals,” you said as one last ditch effort to get him to reconsider. “You’d have to live with that fashion faux pas for the rest of your life.”

“Hmm, well, when you put it that way…” He laughed. “Come now, do you honestly think a small thing like that will stop me from wanting this? When can we make our pact?”

“Erm…We can perform the ritual tonight, since it’s a full moon. Otherwise, you have to wait for the next one.” You wrung your hands again. “Are you sure?”

“Stop trying to delay this.” He tipped his head. “Unless, you don’t want this?”

“I…” You paused. Did you? Astarion waited patiently for your answer, but you could tell he was getting worried by your silence.

Do I want to be with him for the rest of my life? Yes. Of course I do.

You took a deep breath. “I want this. I just want to be sure that you do too.”

Astarion smiled. “I do.” He leaned in a bit. “So. How do we do this?”

You got up and led him to the bedroom.

“Oh, is this one of those sexy rituals?” he asked as you took off your shirt.

“Not really,” you half-lied, even though your mouth went dry when he followed suit and removed his own shirt. Gods, he really looks like he’s sculpted out of marble. You took off the rest of your clothes, dropping them on the ground before kneeling down on the cold stone floor in just your underwear. You patted the spot in front of you. “Kneel here, please.”

“So polite,” he said with a smirk as he removed the rest of his clothes and knelt before you. “Not that I mind, but why must we be dressed in only our underwear?”

“In case our clothes catch on fire.”

He raised an eyebrow.

You shrugged. “We’ll be fine. I think.”

Astarion let out a soft huff. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“No.”

He blinked. Then he shrugged. “Well then. I guess we’ll fumble through this together.”

You slowly straddled his lap, his eyes going wide for a moment, but he didn’t stop you. You took his hands and placed his right palm against the small of your back, his left hand covering his right. You did the same to him.

“Whatever happens, whatever burning sensation you feel, don’t let go.”

He nodded, understanding. Staring into his eyes, you began to sing.

My strength will be yours

Within this seal I weave onto thee

Our hearts will combine into one

I will forever be with you

Tonight, our souls meld

Our fates aligned by breath and by blood

Let our lives be ever intertwined

Bind us always in starlight.

Astarion winced as the rune began to take hold on the small of his back underneath your palm. You could feel the same rune on your own skin, like a burning quill, drawing an intricate pattern into your flesh. When you felt the circle finish, you let out a sigh of relief.

“It is done,” you said, leaning back and moving your hands to his shoulders. “You want to see?”

He nodded, and you got off his lap and turned around. Reaching down, he traced the circle’s lines with his fingers. “And the same rune is on me?”

“Should be,” you said, shifting around to kneel behind him. “Yeah,” you confirmed as you touched the light silver-blue seal. “We match.”

He turned towards you, and you realized with a sudden rush of heat to your cheeks that he was quite happy. His exuberance was making a sizable bulge in his underwear.

“Darling,” he purred, leaning closer. “Perhaps we should celebrate.” He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek. “We’ve yet to enjoy each other, now that the world is no longer coming to an end.”

Yes, it was time. A mixture of eagerness and nerves made you tremble slightly as you nodded.

Astarion smiled and stood, holding his hand out to you to help you up. Hand in hand, he led you to his luxurious bed, playfully pushing you down and straddling your thighs. You expected him to lean down and kiss you. Instead, he took your hands in his.

“This will be a first, being with someone I truly care about.” He held your hands delicately, as if you would break under the slightest pressure. “I don't even know where to begin.”

“We could start with a kiss, perhaps.” You smiled shyly up at him. “This is new to me too.”

His eyes widened, but you quickly clarified. “I've had a few awkward fumblings hidden away in closets and storage rooms, nothing… Real.”

“Oh darling,” he said, sounding eager. “Then consider this your real first night.”

He kissed each of your hands tenderly before setting them down gingerly beside you. His gaze became intense as he leaned down, his body covering yours. You reached up and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, feeling his sculpted muscles, his smooth skin. When your lips met, he let out a soft moan as he slowly drew out the kiss, gently nibbling your lower lip before coaxing your mouth open. Your tongues met, hesitantly at first, but the kiss grew deeper, your breaths quicker as his hips moved against yours.

Your legs opened on their own, just so you could feel the brush of his body against you more intimately. As he leaned down to nuzzle your neck, he hooked his hand under your knee and spread your legs even wider.

“My sweet witch,” he murmured in your ear before playfully biting your earlobe. “Will you give me a treat?”

“Did you say please?”

He smirked. “Please,” he asked in a low tone.

“Alright, since you asked nicely,” you replied breathlessly.

He let out a deep, knowing laugh before he let his fangs graze along the sensitive skin of your neck. “Gods, I’ve missed you,” he rasped before he bit down.

You let out a soft cry as the pain and pleasure mixed in your mind. His hips rolled, rubbing himself against you in a most pleasurable rhythm, and you lifted your own hips to meet his pace, the thin cloth of your panties growing wet. To your surprise, he released you from his bite after only a small taste, kissing your wound before lifting himself up to meet your gaze.

“Saving some for later,” he said when you gave him a questioning look. His eyes fluttered shut as he licked a drop of blood from his lips. “I want you fully awake for what I’m about to do to you.”

Your cheeks heated with the implication. Oh goodness.

His hands grazed the neckline of your bra, his finger lingering at the laces that kept it intact. “Shall I take these off for you, my dear?”

“If you can,” you said with some sass.

“Is that a challenge?”

“Perhaps.”

His eyes narrowed as he deftly undid the laces with one graceful pull. “Easy,” he purred as he lowered his head to nuzzle between your bare breasts. His gaze stayed on yours as he lightly skimmed his fangs across your skin before taking a nipple between his lips. As he gently sucked and pulled on one, he teased the other with his forefinger and thumb.

You let out a pathetic little moan.

He chuckled. “Sensitive, are we?” Shimmying down your body and laying kisses as he went, his lips reached the hem of your panties. Without breaking eye contact, he bit the fabric and pulled it halfway down your thighs.

“You’re already so wet, my love,” he murmured as he propped your ankles over his shoulder. “Are you so eager for my touch?”

You were. You could feel his lust, pulsing like a living thing, and it was doubling your own desire. “Feeling how much you want me is heating me up so much.”

He grinned as he pulled your panties off and flung them over his shoulder. Then he held your legs against his chest, pressing his cheek to your calf. He closed his eyes for a moment before turning his head to kiss it tenderly. “Good. I want you to feel every bit of it.”

Taking your legs off his shoulder, he spread you wide. Bending down, Astarion laid a trail of kisses up your inner thigh. With his face between your legs, he grinned. “All of that nectar, just for me.”

You forgot how to breathe when you felt his tongue against your core. He masterfully pleasured you, alternating between delicate licks and taking in your bud between his lips and sucking hard enough to make you scream. He was making your insides coil up, the tension building with each touch.

He brushed against your folds with his finger, caressing your bud with his thumb as he moved up your body, kissing a wet trail up your stomach, around the curves of your breasts, along your collarbone. He nibbled playfully at your neck before lifting himself up on one elbow to look down at you.

You felt his finger penetrate you as he stared, watching your reaction.

You gasped as he pushed deeper.

“Darling, you’ll need to loosen up,” he teased. “Or I’ll never fit.”

Oh gods. Your breathing hitched at the thought.

“Did the thought excite you?” He pressed another finger into you. “Of me spreading you open, taking you, claiming you?”

You whimpered with need.

He laughed, low and deep. His fingers moved faster, his thumb stroking your core with more pressure. He watched you carefully, making sure every touch brought you to greater and greater heights, until you felt the dam finally burst under all the delicious pressure. Pure bliss flooded your body, and you let out a strangled cry.

“Astarion!”

“Good girl,” he murmured. “So good, coming for me.”

Then he slipped a third finger inside of you while you were still spasming, and you shook with the intrusion. He continued to pump his fingers in and out of you, slowing his strokes as you came down from your high. You spread your legs wider for him, your hips jerking forward to meet his hand.

“Who knew? My sweet little witch was secretly a wanton temptress.” Kissing the corner of your lips, Astarion pushed himself completely up and away from you with a knowing smirk. With your eyes glued to him, he peeled off his underwear.

Your eyes must have bugged out, because his smirk became extra arrogant. “Like what you see, my sweet?”

You nodded. But you were a little concerned. He’ll never fit.

As he crawled back over you, he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I can’t wait to sink into you. I’ve been waiting forever for this.” He kissed you again. “Waiting forever for you.”

You felt the tip of him nudging your entrance.

Oh my goodness. He’s…

He pushed. You winced. He stopped.

“Deep breath, darling.”

You obeyed.

“That’s it, that’s my sweet love,” he coaxed as he pushed a little further inside. “You feel so good, better than heaven.”

He slowly rolled his hips in a steady rhythm, and with every stroke, he sank a little deeper into you.

Fuck, he is so thick, he’s splitting me open.

His attention was so hyper focused on you that when he finally hilted inside of you, he paused, watching you squirm underneath him, his mouth slightly open as if he wanted to take a bite.

“Look at you, so helpless under me,” he murmured. “Giving me your trust.” He kissed your cheek tenderly. “You do trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course,” you said in a breathy voice. “Make love to me.”

He laughed softly. “I was going to use the word ‘fuck’, but if you want it sweet and gentle, I can do that for you.”

His hips rolled slowly as he built up a steady rhythm, making sure you felt every inch of him as he showed you how much he loved you.

But after a few minutes, you could tell he was ebbing in and out of being present, and you held his face in your hands. “Astarion?” you asked gently.

He blinked, his gaze refocusing on yours. “I’m here, my love.”

Something isn’t right. This isn’t quite what he wants. “What do you want to do?”

Astarion glanced away for a moment before giving you a smile that you knew was a lie. “Whatever you want to do.”

You ran your hands through his hair soothingly. “I want you to be happy. I want you to tell me how you want to make love to me.”

He stared at you for a moment, his hips slowing and finally resting himself inside of you. “I…” He trailed off, swallowed, and tried again. “I’ve always had to… perform, for the sake of others. But with you… I just want to ravish you, darling.” He leaned down and nuzzled your cheek. “But I don’t want to hurt you, either.”

You could feel the hot pulse of his desire and shivered with the depth of his need for you. Oh. Oh my.

Astarion lovingly kissed your jawline. “I want to fuck you so hard you forget where you end and I begin. I want to be so lost inside of you that I never want to return.”

With a fluttering breath, you wrapped your legs around his waist and dug your ankles into the back of his thighs. “Then take me the way you want to,” you whispered.

He lifted himself up onto his haunches and grabbed your hips. You only had a split second to realize what his smirk meant before he rocked his hips and slammed into you, pushing all the air from your lungs. You gasped and began to make helpless, breathy noises as he fucked you as hard as he promised. He reached down with one hand and cupped your cheek tenderly, a clear contradiction to his ravishing thrusts.

“You make me so happy,” he said before he fell upon you again, slipping one hand between your bodies. His fingers rubbed your core as he nestled his head on your shoulder. You could feel his breath against your neck as he spoke.

“Will you let me bite you when you come?”

“Yes,” you breathed, unable to deny him anything.

“Thank you,” he said against your skin, his tongue flicking out as if he was tasting your skin, preparing to bite. He pressed his lips against your pulse and kissed you gently, even as he was thrusting into you even harder and faster, making his eagerness to both come and to drink from you readily apparent.

You were out of breath with his continuous pounding, so you reached up and touched his cheek, just as he looked directly at you. A blast of passion came through your empathy, and you moaned helplessly from its onslaught, the intensity of his gaze making your heart thump even quicker.

He smiled knowingly. “I just felt you tremble around me. You’re close, aren’t you?”

You nodded, unable to use your voice.

He gave you quite possibly the sexiest little grin before taking you with even more vigor, stroking you rapidly. “Good girl. Come for me, please,” he rumbled.

For whatever reason, that was enough to make your body ignite. You swear you saw fireworks behind your eyes as your climax took you hard, shaking you down, making you scream out Astarion’s name over and over like a prayer.

He purred more praises, coaxing you through your completion. You looked at him in a haze of bliss and noticed his pupils were blown out.

“My sweet treat,” he murmured before he licked your pulse and bit down on your neck.

Your vision went black, then pure white in half as many moments. Pleasure erupted from your neck and your core, and you swear you came again, your channel throbbing and squeezing around him.

Distantly, you could feel him letting go of your neck, hear him cry out as he thrust once, twice, thrice more before stilling, his hips crushing yours against the mattress.

“Fuck,” he rasped, staring down at you. “You are fucking amazing.”

He rolled over and took you with him, draping you over his body as you caught your breath. When you finally looked up at him, you noticed he was staring through you. Reaching up, you cupped his cheek.

“Are you with me?”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, even though he didn’t need to. Perhaps it was the comfort of the motion, since his body didn’t need the air. When he opened his eyes once more, they were solidly focused on yours.

“Yes. I’m here with you,” he whispered as he leaned his cheek into your touch.

You knew he was telling you the truth, that his mind was in the present. You could feel that bubbling affection, a fountain of fondness that enveloped you, made you feel cared for, made you feel seen. “Will you be alright?”

His smile flickered for a moment. “There were a few moments when… I wasn’t here. But I came back on my own. It… may take a bit of time, but I think I’ll be alright.” He hugged you tight. “As long as I have you to return to.”

You hugged him back. “I’m glad. I’ll do whatever it takes to help.”

“I know, darling.” He brought your forehead against his and took a deep breath again. When he looked up at you, his smile was genuine in its softness. “I love you. And I’ll always love you, until the very end.”

***

You woke in the morning, your neck and, well, your whole body sore. You could hear sounds coming from the washroom and knew Astarion was primping for the new day.

Wait. Day?

You immediately sat up, and immediately regretted it as the blood rushed from your head. Groaning in discomfort, you slowly keeled over and held your head.

You could hear Astarion walking over and sitting on the bed next to you. When you raised your head, he was holding a potion out to you.

“Drink this. You'll feel better.”

You gratefully took the bottle and drank it in one gulp. “Oof, this potion tastes like iron shavings and over-cooked mushrooms.” You blinked. “Huh, but my head feels much better.”

Astarion was looking at you with a withering glare. “I made that just for you, you know. It's not my fault your journal didn't have better instructions.”

You looked at him in surprise. “You kept my things?”

“Well, of course. Who else would have them?”

You shrugged. “I don't know, I thought…” You paused. You didn't want to tell him that you thought only Shadowheart would have remembered to grab your pack. “Well, I don't know.”

Astarion continued to stare at you until you began to fidget under his scrutiny. “I know you're lying, but it doesn't matter. What does matter is that I have your things, and that your potions journal is impossible to decipher.”

You could only laugh; you had written your apothecary notes in a shorthand that only you knew. You were honestly impressed he got as far as figuring out the base ingredients for your headache potion.

He put his hands on his hips. “Well, now that you're feeling better, let's go face the new day, shall we?”

Day. Daylight. You panicked.

“What's wrong, darling? Afraid it might not work?”

“Of course I’m afraid! I was told it could work, not that it would.”

“Only one way to find out.” He scooped up your clothes and tossed them at you with a ‘hurry up’ gesture. The moment you were done pulling your clothes on, he took your hand and dragged you up the stairs. You followed him to the shades in front of the window.

He stared at the draperies for a few moments before turning to you. “Ready?”

You hesitated.

Astarion stepped closer to you and pulled you into his arms. “Whatever happens, whether this works or not, I won't regret bonding with you.”

How did he know what I was thinking? Somehow, he had soothed your worries with just the right thing to say. You took a deep breath. “Alright. The moment you start to burn, I'm closing them.”

He nodded.

You pulled the drapes open. The sunlight made a sharp rectangle on the stone floor.

Slowly Astarion began to approach. As the light shone onto his face, you held your breath.

Seconds passed. Then a full minute.

And he did not burn.

He turned around to face you, his beatific smile nearly as blinding as the morning sun. “Darling, I can feel the sun again,” he purred as he walked back to you. “I believe this is cause for celebration.”

With that, he dragged you back downstairs and kept you busy long enough that he didn’t get to enjoy the sun any further that day.

--------------------------------------------

Act III, Chapter 6 End notes: Whew, finally! Haha, I felt a little strange, writing a love scene for a different fandom and different characters, but I hope this was steamy for everyone. This is technically the end of the main story, but I’ve got an epilogue for y’all, aligning with the epilogue in the game, so hopefully that’ll be a nice cap to the end of the story.

The binding spell is sung here. Please forgive my terrible singing, haha.

Tags List: @numblytemporary @xalphafox @avitute @stormyjane7 @kmoon21

#bg3 #astarion #astarion x f!reader #baldur's gate 3 #writing #bg3 fanfic #female reader #bg3 spoilers #your hearth is my home #smut #lemon fanfic

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secret-smut-sideblog · 1 month

Text

Let Me Follow

Gale x F! Tav (named)

(Child Of Dawn series, part 4)

18+ martyr/savior complex, protective Astarion, loss of control of body, implied self sacrifice, injury (explicit), hurt/comfort, intimacy (soft), tenderness, realized feelings

With his lost love's behavior becoming ever more concerning, Gale seeks to reconnect with her. But with the power growing more unstable inside her, he may become witness to a fiery undoing...

Masterlist, Prev Chapter

Two tendays had passed, and Gale was deep in sorrow.

Aurum had stopped seeking him out entirely. She was still cordial, polite, caring. Healing his wounds and bolstering him when things got dire. Somehow that hurt worse. A part of him wanted her to get angry, to lash out at him. Anything to get her to stop treating him like nothing more than an acquaintance.

He didn't know why his interest in her power had caused such a change, but the effects had bled over tenfold.

She was fully the perfect leader now, working tirelessly to meet their various needs and personal matters. Putting everything aside to help, to soothe, to reassure.

Even obliging Astarion's request to get more 'glow blood', citing that it made him feel alive again.

Gale was shocked that she abided by this request, seeing as she seemed to be losing control of her body as is.

The light shielding chest wrappings now extended down her torso and along her biceps. Only removing them when she bathed.

On one attempt to speak to her alone, he had seen the extent of it.

Like burning golden rivers it pulsed from her heart out through the veins of her shoulders and stomach. It was nearly beautiful, but there was still a macabre to seeing the structure of her lit up so viscerally.

He had backed away that night, shocked to inaction.

Now he regretted waiting.

The circles under her eyes told of a hidden struggle, and yet she persisted. Not slowing down, not relenting for a moment.

In battle her prowess had improved at a frightening speed. Spells he had never seen from her ripping through her fingers with little effort, all fire and decimating light. Abandoning her violin almost entirely. In the last two days even leaving it in camp.

If he wasn't already worried, that would've set him on edge.

She had explained to him on one of those perfect early mornings, when things were still soft between them, that her violin had saved her. 'It was my voice when I had none.'

He wasn't the only one to notice.

Shadowheart had started eyeing her, asking gentle leading questions. Subtly encouraging her to open up again, to take a break.

Wyll bringing her extra blankets, speaking to her about the merits of letting others lead.

Karlach offering to carry her when she nearly fell in exhaustion after a grueling fight.

Aurum would only smile and turn the inquiries masterfully back onto topics that pertained to their needs.

The person who seemed the most concerned, shockingly, was Astarion.

"We need to talk." He hissed to Gale, pulling him roughly by the edge of his shoulder.

"Hey, no need to get handsy." Gale sniped, trying to pull free of his grasp subtly.

"Don't fucking start with me, Gale." He pulled him to a secluded corner of the Last Light Inn as they stopped in for supplies.

Eyes all cutting red, he hissed at him. "What did you do?"

Gale knew what he was implying but wanted more information. Precisely, he wanted to know if Astarion knew something about her condition that he didn't.

"What on Toril are you referring to?" Gale hissed back.

"Oh playing coy, are we?" He sneered. "Cute. I'll put it like this then: What exactly did you say to make our fearless leader decide to embark on a suicide mission?"

Gale's blood ran ice.

"Oh, now you're concerned." Astarion barked a cold laugh at the shock that must have been evident on his face.

"What-" He tried to begin but Astarion cut him off.

"The glow blood. After the third time she gave it to me, she went unconscious. After I confirmed she was still breathing, I stole a book on dieties. One of your books, actually. And you know what I learned?"

Astarion leaned towards him, hissing disgust.

"Amaunator? That little old diety she is Chosen of? One of his tenets is destroying the undead. Do you understand, wizard? By giving me holy blood she is slowly killing herself."

He was near speechless, stomach dropping to the floor. But one piece of information rocked him back on his heel.

"She's Chosen?"

Astarion stared at him, then shook his head in nearly impressed disbelief. "She didnt tell you? Oh you really fucked up, didn't you?"

"I'll catch you up to speed on another fun fact: The light? That's from something called the Eternal Sun. But I don't need to tell you what or how dangerous that is, afterall I read it in your book."

Gale suddenly felt nauseous.

"Look, I don't care what you did. I've come to care for her and don't want to see her dead, even if our new blood arrangement benefits me."

All bristling anger, the pale elf hissed one last command to him. "Fix it."

They both looked over at her as she bantered good naturedly with Jaheira, the low light catching the exhaustion on her face.

Seeing both of them, she smiled warmly.

Guilt ate his stomach black.

Gale paced inside of his tent.

Fix it.

How?

What could he say to make this right?

Sighing, he left the cave of his self pity.

He would have to start somewhere.

Her tent was empty, the now ever present golden light absent from her canvas home.

A faint sound caught him then, enough to send his heart reeling. Mournful wordless singing.

He followed and found her crouched under a waterfall.

Her robe was pulled down, puddled around her waist. Facing away from him he could see the winding veins along her body, now burning a deep orange.

Her singing was low, pleading.

She had a bucket of ice water that she lifted and poured over her head. Shivering for a moment, but it quickly evaporated on her skin. Surrounding her in a shroud of mist.

Once again, he was at a loss for words. Given he now recognized her condition for what it was.

"Aurum?"

She turned her head, hand resting on the bucket.

"Sorry, you weren't supposed to see this. Head back to camp, it'll be over soon."

Her tone strived for reassuring, but she sounded so exhausted in that moment.

Gale stepped forward, reaching for her. His hand palming the top of her head.

Something in that gesture broke her.

Shoulders starting to shake in subdued sobs, her hands fell limp to her sides. Orange light burning out unbidden from her center.

He kneeled next to her and took her in his arms. Her warmth was like the campfire, a deep wave of heat. Selfishly, he wanted to pull into her more like this.

To his relief, she gripped into him. Letting slow restrained tears dampen his collar.

"I'm sorry I can't stay in control. Our problems could be over if I wasn't so weak. I have to get stronger." She whispered.

"Aurum, no." Tears had started in the edge of his eyes.

"I can get better at it, I just need more time. The power of the sun is in me, I can be more. I can be our weapon. I just need to try harder."

"No..."

She leaned back to look at him, eyes glowing orange.

"It was selfish of me to hold back. I can be the answer to our prayers. I just need to be better."

Cupping his face, she smiled.

"You don't have to use the orb, okay?"

His heart shattered, finally understanding.

She was preparing to lose herself, to become a weapon in its entirety.

"Please, Aurum. Don't do this." He pleaded.

"Let me show you. I can be what I was made for, for us. I am the sun that cannot set."

Her eyes burned out orange. From the crest of her head her hair lit into a flame, cascading fire down her back.

He had to dive back as she burst outwards, veins through her whole body beating a brilliant orange.

In horror, he watched her rise, flames whipping around her, arms held aloft. A hissing, screaming, aura surrounded her.

She looked down at him, hand pulling to her chest.

"Aurum, STOP!"

The light started to push out, hundreds of voices shrieking out incantations. Church bells deafening.

She wrenched in agonizing pain, a crack forming fracture over her heart.

Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and just like that, it stopped.

It all dimmed, the flames, the light, as she dropped back to the earth.

She rocked on knees, hand pressing hard to her chest, bright blood seeping between her fingers.

"Get Halsin," She choked.

They all sat somber around the fire, waiting.

Halsin finally stepped out of her tent, hands coated in bright blood.

They all looked at him expectantly.

"Well, she's awake and alive. Her chest is... mended, to the best of my abilities. The break in her sternum will take time to heal."

They all let out a breath.

"She's asking for you." He said to Gale, putting his surgery tools away.

Gale rose to feet, deep guilt and fear nearly holding him in place.

He went to her, pushing inside her tent.

Astarion sat at her bedside, her hand in his. He was making a genuinely terrible joke, and she bit back the smile that was forming on her lips.

"You called for me?" He hushed, heart heavy. If he had a hat to hold, it would've been in his clasped hands.

"Hey," Her voice was soft, eyes equally so. "Come here."

"Well, I'll be nearby if you need anything, darling." He eyed Gale with a withering gaze. "I would say you're in good hands, but I don't have that much confidence."

Gale's pride wanted to retort, but he knew the venom was warranted.

Astarion stepped outside, giving him one last accusatory glance.

He took up the space at her bedside, a lump already in his throat.

Her sternum was open to the air, a deep fissure striking down it. Deftly sewn together, but still mottled deep purple and green. Underneath the faintest of glow still held.

"Gruesome, I know. Halsin said it needed to stay dry." She looked down at it, touching gently along the outside of the bruises.

"How do you feel?" He murmured, trying and failing to keep a crack out of his voice.

"Honestly? Better. It's backed off a lot. Maybe he'll decided I'm not fit for this gift after all." There was sorrow veined through the relief in her voice.

"Can a Chosen of Amaunator reject him?"

She smiled fondly. "So Astarion's been gossiping. Lovely."

Her smile fell, and she looked so tired again.

"No, when a promise is made with him it cannot be taken back. God of Law, God of Light. No matter who made it, even in another's stead."

She traced along the sword within her everwinding tattoo. "When my father..."

Her voice faltered, and he took her hand in his.

"Did I ever tell you how I became Mystra's Chosen?"

She smiled at him, that warmth back in her eyes.

"No, tell me."

He began his tale, one of great magic and discovery. His teachings under Elminster, and how young and foolhardy he was.

She listened, humming in agreement and gasping at the right moments. Her eyes, so pale blue, watching rapturously as he wove his history.

He made holograms of the places in his telling, lifting them up and filling the tent with them. Immersing them both in a blue illusion so she may see everything.

It wasn't until a window looking out from Blackstaff passed that she broke her reverie.

Something in the landscape made her face fall just slightly.

"What is it?" He leaned to see where her eyes had settled.

"Nothing, I just miss Waterdeep." She smiled sadly.

He practically whipped his head back to look at her.

"Why didn't you tell-"

"Hey, you're the one telling the story. Keep going, I'm invested."

He wanted to halt altogether and ask hundreds of questions. But she was too good at stroking his desire to indulge.

It wasn't until he got to the part where Mystra had approached him that she spoke up again.

"Gale, how old were you when you became Chosen?" Her voice was soothing and non-judgmental in a way only lived experience could have. But still, he hesitated.

Reaching up, she hooked her pinky into his.

Her own actions seemed to catch her off guard, letting out that wind chime laugh that sung to his heart.

"Oh Gods, I haven't done that in decades!" She looked at their joined fingers. "It's something a dear friend and I used to do. This meant I trust you, you trust me."

His heart ached in near rapturous joy.

She waited patiently for his response, finger folding more into his.

"Seventeen."

He waited for shock or something closer to pity, but it never came.

Only knowing sorrow in her eyes.

"Thirteen." She whispered.

He cupped under her hand still pinky tied to his.

"Can you show me more of this secret language?" He squeezed her pinky.

"Only if you'll stay the night."

His heart soared, and it must've shown in his face. Her eyes sparkling in appreciative mirth.

"Come here to me." She sighed, pulling up the blanket.

He slid in next to her and could have cried. Being with her in her bed again, even in these dire circumstances, was as close to heaven as he had ever gotten.

As they laid in bed together, she held her arm above them, teaching him her language. Demonstrating in soft sweeping pulls on his hands.

He committed every phrase, every twist of fingers to memory. Even starting to have favorites.

She was an excellent teacher, kind but not patronizing. Entertaining all of his questions with thoughtful reprieve.

He could tell she was getting tired, but he was so rapturous in her world. He didn't want to encourage her to stop.

"Do you want to make a new one with me?"

"Yes! I mean... if you want to."

"Well, what should it be?" She smiled.

She leaned her head against his, humming in consideration. Moving her elegant hands in thought.

The movement was hypnotic. Her long fingers dancing, palms white in patterns of vitiligo, as if light had burned the color away.

"How about this..?"

She hooked her middle and ring finger around his, thumb meeting the tips in a circle.

It was perfect. A warm chain linking them together.

"I love it." He sighed.

"Now we get to decide what it means."

I love you.

"Maybe a greeting?" He suggested, ears hot.

"I like that. How about good morning?"

He held their joined fingers up, smiling.

"Good morning, it is."

Her fingers unjoined from his above them, pushing up into his palm.

Heart thumping, he watched as her hand slid against his. The tips of his fingers just eclipsing hers. Her slender elegance against his wider geometric.

Rain started to patter on the roof of her tent, a soft tapping on the crest of their warm world.

"Oh, I love rain." She sighed, starting to drift.

He pulled her hand gently down to tuck into his chest, curling around her side. Resting his head in the curve of her shoulder. Careful to leave her chest untouched.

She sighed dreamily, leaning her head into his. Turning her hips and tangling their legs.

Before she drifted away, she rapped her knuckles twice against his.

Thank you.

Part 5

#this one is especially soft. no one look at me ever again #gale x tav #bg3 smut #screenshot by @dekariosz #lyrics from: no plan - hozier

17 notes · View notes

imperator-titus · 4 days

Text

If I could come up with a title for this series, I would, but I can't.

Thank you to the few people enjoying my work! It has encouraged me (probably a little too much.) This one is pretty long. There may be a lull soon simply because I haven't finished Act 3 on my own so I don't really have an idea for how that'll go. I also don't really know how it'll go in general because this is a fairly sanitized version of my daily daydream material. Concepts ranged from Rowan being a 'minor death deity that Withers pulled into Toril' to 'Rowan can do a lot of things with the power of imagination and suddenly she's a Sister of Battle punching Steel Watchers or a cyberninja a la Cyberpunk getting the Party out of trouble.'

Anyway, Tags (Trying to update when I realize something should probably be tagged): Astarion x Tav (Rowan, not reader, human, agender AFAB but lets the team refer to them as female), Canon x OC, Isekai, Angst, All the Vampirism Warnings (Blood, Biting, etc.), Sexually suggestive situations, Allusions/Mentions of Suicide, Memory Loss, Gender Dysphoria

The group had infiltrated the goblin camp yesterday and decided to take a day to properly rest and come up with a plan. ‘Plan’ was a rather loose word, mostly consisting of “turn goblins into bloody pulp and ash” and bullshitting.

Rowan was, of course, still in a sour mood from her last encounter with Astarion. He was still doing his best to avoid her, lest she turn that icy glare on him again. Everyone noticed and he did a poor job of lying.

“Maybe you should come with us,” Karlach offered a little hopefully as she watched the others’ breakfast being made. “I find it pretty relieving to take out my bad mood on something squishy and gross like a goblin.”

“I think, perhaps, Rowan could talk to us first, instead of putting herself in harm’s way,” Wyll rebutted with a wry smile. “You know, it's been some time and we don't really know much about you.”

“Not much to tell,” she responded woodenly, stirring the potatoes she was frying.

“But where are you from? You're clearly not from Faerûn. But you can speak with us, so it can't be anywhere too exotic,” the Blade continued to ponder aloud. Gale scoffed.

“Ridiculous. You didn't see her when first we arrived on that abysmal shoreline. She was clearly plucked from Faerûn when the nautiloid went through some temporal shift between planes.”

“Heyyy,” Karlach started cautiously, holding up a warding hand towards the woman in question, “why are you almost as red as me? Are you alright?”

Rowan screeched. Loud, piercing, and feral. Everyone recoiled. Lae’zel half-drew a knife. With seething rage, the human hurled her spatula into the ground by her feet with enough force that it sank in a few inches with a satisfying shnk.

“You want to know if I’m alright?!” she screamed, looking them all in the eye, settling on Astarion’s for a few moments. “I am actively going insane, and you’re all compelled to make it worse!

“You’re right, I'm not from here. I don't even know where this place is in relation to where I'm from. Why am I terrified all the time? Why do I ask you dumb questions?” She pointed into the sky with a rage-trembling finger. “That's not my moon! Those aren't my stars! The only things that talk are humans. Elves, dragons, magic? Make-believe tales for children. The dead stay dead and they have nothing to say to us. The existence of God? Practically a matter of philosophy.

“As if it wasn't enough that I am in a place that I am wholly ill-equipped and untrained for, every day I wake up on this horrifying rock and forget a piece of what my life was like before. I have been standing here, making our food, while desperately trying to remember the faces and names of people I loved, the things I've done, the shit that makes me me, and you all come up and fucking prod me about stuff that means nothing to me. I spent our first week here debating the possibility that I've died and this is my own personal hell, which I didn’t believe in until I was being constantly tortured by this place. The person I shared most of my life with is just a shapeless fucking shadow now. I have almost completely lost the concept of who I am as a person. Nevermind that you” Rowan singled out Astarion with an accusatory finger “keep saying and doing things to me that make me want to peel off my own skin on a near-daily basis because for some reason I’ve now long forgotten, they trigger a deep-seeded revulsion at the concept of my having a corporeal form that I am unfortunate enough to still inhabit.

“So, to answer your question; no, I’m not alright! Make your own fucking last meal before you get eaten by goblins.” Rowan turned on her heel and confidently walked out of camp.

She was out of sight by the time anyone could speak.

“Do you think she’s telling the truth?” Gale asked, an inquisitive finger on his chin. “A world with no magic? How would that even work?”

“The worm has scrambled her senses,” Lae’zel said dismissively. “There is no reason to believe anything she says. You should have allowed me to put her down long ago.”

“But it would explain everything, wouldn't it?” Karlach uncertainly voiced, crossing her arms. “She didn’t even trust the vegetables.”

“I cannot imagine losing my very sense of being, surrounded by strangers in a strange land. And to not even have an inkling of combat training,” Wyll mused with a sad shake of his head.

“Well-” Astarion started, one emphatic hand frozen in the air and the other on his hip, before huffing in frustration.

“You were going to say ‘good riddance’, weren’t you?” Shadowheart teased with a sly smile. She knew he couldn’t say it.

The vampire sighed and lowered his hand. “It’s hard to say good-bye to a reliable meal that cleans its neck.”

“Are you crazy?!” Karlach cried, clenching her fists and furrowing her brow. Her fire blazed for a moment before she turned to gather her equipment. “We can’t let her go out alone!”

“Surely she’s coming back? She left her things,” Gale pointed out.

“Wizards really are idiots,” Karlach said over her shoulder with clear annoyance. “Rowan knows she won’t make it out there on her own! A bedroll isn’t going to change that.”

“The danger will either teach her to fend for herself or cull the weak,” Lae’zel pointed out before returning to her tent.

Karlach growled and made a rude gesture in the githyanki’s direction. Astarion also turned to leave, but the tiefling carefully pinched his shirt between her claws just briefly enough to tug him and ruin his balance. “No you don’t, you leech, you’re coming with me.”

“Why me?” Astarion whined, trying to see if she scorched his one decent shirt. “You might recall that she has been very unpleasant towards me lately. I don’t think this is the face that will win her back,” he argued, flamboyantly fanning his hands from below his chin to the sides of his face, smiling as he did so. The smile dropped, replaced by a glower as he flicked his hand in the wizard’s direction. “Take Gale.”

“Nope, you got the most to apologize for. Now put your leathers on and let’s go.”

In a few minutes they were on the road, just the two of them. Astarion debated whether or not Karlach was going to singe his ear off before he muttered, “This is ridiculous.”

“I know, deep down, you don’t mean that.”

Astarion scoffed. “How much complaining must I do before you lot realize that I don’t want to do good things?”

“Have you ever considered that maybe you were a good person before Cazador?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with now.”

“You’ve had a hard go of it, but that doesn’t mean you have to be a dickhead to everyone.”

“This is probably a bad time to say that I’ve been letting you go in the wrong direction for the past 5 minutes?”

Karlach roared. Astarion veered a few steps away to avoid being burned. “What’s wrong with you?!”

Sheepishly, he started leading her in a different direction. “I think the answer to that should be quite obvious.”

Karlach stomped beside him for a bit before becoming visibly confused. “Wait, how do you know the right way?”

“I can smell her blood on the wind,” he answered theatrically, fingertips twinkling in the air like magic. Karlach’s eyes went wide in shock.

“She’s hurt already?!” Astarion rolled his eyes.

“No, darling, it’s just a vampire thing.” Karlach walked silently for a few more beats.

“Like one of those dogs that track something by its smell?” she asked rather innocently. Astarion bristled.

“No.” He eventually sighed in defeat. “Yes, like a scent hound.”

It wasn’t that long before they caught up to Rowan. They found her on the stretch of beach where she and Shadowheart had awoken and started this journey together.

“What is she doing? This isn’t that far from camp,” Astarion pointed out, almost a little miffed. “I thought she was going to find a dragon or something to gobble her up.”

“Looks like she’s fishing, big guy,” Karlach answered earnestly, unsquinting her eyes. “And you are going to go ask her how it’s going.”

Astarion huffed. “What if I mess this up? I’m going to mess this up. Apologies and caring aren’t exactly some of my strong suits.”

“Then I’ll drag her back. She might be a little crispy, but better than goblin food.” When Astarion started to argue, Karlach pointed a firm finger toward the beach. His shoulders sagged in defeat before he rolled them back to swagger with his usual self-importance.

The beach was an absolute mess. The forgotten bodies of dead fishermen were mostly bones, their flesh taken by both animals and the elements. Fetid piles of goo pooled under the nautiloid’s hulking tentacles. Thankfully, a breeze was pushing the smell away from them.

Rowan remained seated as he approached, but an ever-so-slight turn of her head indicated that she knew he was there. “I’ll be honest, you're probably the second-to-last one I expected to look for me.”

“Darling, I’m hurt.” He feigned a blow to his ego, but realized she couldn’t see. With a tone like a lady-in-waiting looking for something scandalous, he asked, “Who's the first?”

“Karlach,” she answered immediately.

“Well, she’s here too,” he said after a deflating huff. “Almost ruined my shirt dragging me out here.”

Rowan didn't respond, merely flicked the end of her fishing pole. Astarion could hear her breath change slightly for a moment before returning to normal. Actual normal, not that high-chested cornered-animal breathing she usually did. Her heart beat a steady rhythm in his ears.

“Fishing? Really? We thought you were looking for a way to kill yourself.”

“I liked fishing. I still remember that,” she told him calmly.

“I think I’d rather die,” he remarked before lowering himself onto a nearby rock that wasn't too dirty. A few moments passed in silence as he tried to figure out how this whole apology thing was supposed to work.

“What’s it like?” Rowan asked before he could even start to find the words. Red eyes flicked over to her, but her attention remained on the water. “Forgetting who you are?”

“Well, I lost myself all at once, so I’m not sure that it compares.” He also didn't like to think about it too much, but it kept coming up in conversations. The group had a way of doing that, making everyone slowly expose the most horrible shit that happened to them. “You had a point, though. The dark shape sitting in your memory. As if you might be able to squint hard enough to make sense of it, but you can't. It nags at you, that it's there and you can't get to it.”

She flicked the end of the rod again, a look of deep contemplation on her face. It eventually softened. “That first night you came to my tent, when I asked you not to stop? I'd forgotten my husband’s name. I spent all day trying to remember it. I was afraid I’d forget something else in my sleep.”

Astarion still didn’t understand why Karlach insisted he be the one to do this. Maybe he was capable of empathy and compassion when he was a mere elf, but life as a spawn had surely broken the part of him capable of relating to the plights of others. He didn’t feel the need to apologize for teasing her, because that was fun. They all did it to one another, why was she special? No one apologized to him for making barbs about his condition.

Although… When she pushed him off of her, when she screamed at them all and ran away, he was afraid. Afraid that Rowan would be gone for good. Not just afraid that he’d have to find some other necks to bite, but that he would no longer feel her warmth. She would no longer be there to admire him and he couldn’t spy on her in the mirror when she wasn’t looking. That cute little look of utter concentration, the nimble flicks of her fingers as she used some thoroughly practiced skill. Here she was, so focused and casual as she waited for her prey to strike.

It hurt when they made those jokes about him. Would he feel better if they apologized? It would have to be genuine. That was probably why he didn’t want to apologize. Astarion was a lie, a lure, and probably hadn’t been genuine in over 200 years.

“I’m sorry about the other day. When I pushed you,” she said, solemnly breaking the silence between them. “I wasn’t ready to accept that my old life was gone. You didn’t know that what you said would hurt so much.”

“I said something very cruel,” he responded after the initial shock wore off. “The circumstances only made it that much crueler. For once, I… I am actually sorry.”

“I’m glad I could be your first,” Rowan joked with a completely straight face. Astarion laughed loudly and if he hadn’t covered his eyes, he would’ve seen a broad smile spread across her face. When he was done, she swiftly pulled her line out of the water. “Come on, then. Who else is going to make dinner for those idiots?”

Astarion turned first to leave, only to find Karlach grinning and giving him two thumbs up. How embarrassing.

“So, we’re all good now?” Karlach asked excitedly as they approached.

“We’re all good now,” Rowan confirmed with a nod. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

Karlach’s eyes went big like when Scratch begged for scritches. “It’s awful what’s happening to you. I still remember what it was like when I first ended up in Avernus. At least I could take my anger out on demons. All you have is a frying pan!”

Instinctively, Rowan tried to place a hand on the woman’s arm, and nearly did, but Astarion swatted the hand away before she could burn herself. Instead, she smiled up at Karlach. “Well, when Dammon can finally fix your engine, I'll be first in line for a hug.”

“You can count on it!”

They walked along, Karlach in front and Astarion bringing up the rear. Not that there was much danger the way Rowan fled, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious.

Karlach was humming to herself when Astarion sped up to walk beside Rowan. In a quiet voice, he asked, “Did you really mean that? That I make you want to… peel off your own skin?”

“It’s hard to explain. It’s not about you,” she answered with a reassuring tone and a soft smile. “You’re the only one… touching me and pointing out the way I look and it just… reminds me that I’m in this body and I don’t like it. I would say that I’d rather be a ball of pure energy, but then I’d have Gale sucking on my neck.”

Astarion laughed loudly again. Karlach looked back at them and pouted. “What’s so funny?”

“Talking about how cute Gale is,” Rowan lied, only to be attacked with one of Astarion’s sharp elbows.

“Gods, don’t tell me you believe that,” he warned her, a defeated look in his eyes. Rowan shrugged.

“What? You’re all cute. Druids were cute. Those tieflings were cute. Bet there’ll be a lot of cuties in Baldur’s gate.”

Astarion glowered at her. “I am not. Cute. I’m gorgeous.”

“Aww, take the compliment, Fangs,” Karlach admonished him, her flames running hot like a blush. “I think it’s sweet. She’s never even seen an elf before and she thinks you’re cute, not disgusting.”

“Wyll showed me a picture of a kobold once. They looked pretty cute too.”

Astarion gagged loudly.

#astarion ancunin #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #bg3 fanfiction #fanfiction #isekai #bg3 tav #Rowan OC #tw sexually suggestive situations #agender oc #original character #tw suicide #tw suicide mention #tw memory loss #tw gender dysphoria #titus writes #a non hero's guide

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morgana-ren · 3 months

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General facts! 😺

All of this is quick. Think of it as a theology scholar in 'wizard school' asking a teenager in Toril for their quick analysis of the Dead Three in the beginning of class to get a general understanding of them. I do this so I don't fucking go absolutely wild and just ramble for hours.

Bane stands as the God of tyrannical oppression, hate, and terror. That is his current dominion. All of the Gods, in a way, are given a folio of shit they get to rule over, and that is his. Quickly put, it was Ao's way of keeping 'order' amongst the gods. Everyone gets a slice. However, if Bane had his way, he would be the God. The only one in all of Faerun. Predictable, given the name.

He was not initially a God. Like many of the current Gods of Faerun, he was once mortal and had an apotheosis by a trial of sorts. He was once a man with sheer fucking determination. So much of it that he and two others, joined by their dogged ambition, took on a goddamned God to have it-- Jergal.

Does the name 'Jergal' ring a bell? It might not. They are referenced in Baldur's Gate 3 in that ancient sea-side temple you run across in the beginning. So ancient that even your companions, given a highish religion check, will reference that they didn't believe that anyone worshiped them anymore. Ancient ancient.

Jergal is the Scribe of the Dead-- or was. Jergal grew tired of Godhood. It wore on him. So tired, in fact, that he allowed the 'Dead Three' to 'trick' him into giving up his godhood. However, shit went awry and those same three rascals had to duke it out over a fucking game of knucklebones over who got what when it came to their new dominions and they had to split Jergal's godliness amongst themselves.

Naturally, Bane won this game and was the first to choose, and his chosen folio was 'strife.' He thought 'Man, that sounds great. I could take over everything with that!'. (Dictated, not read.)

The other aforementioned two that he adventured with towards Godhood are who we know now as Bhaal and Myrkul-- the losers. They also chose dominions they thought they could exploit to become the 'ultimate' ruler.

This is part of why Bane feels fucking cheated. That entire dominion should have been his by right. This is what he feels, hence his rivalry with the others.

Bane is not content with a piece. He wants everything. That is his true nature. He earned it. He beat a goddamned God and he fucking earned it.

That same line of thinking is found in his followers. People who clawed and ripped and tore open the jaws of reality with bloody fucking fingers and wrote their name in that blood on the scroll of history. People who earned it. People who earned their strength and used that strength to exercise their will over the word and puppet it to their whims. The strong. The smart. Those worthy of the name and title they tore from the scalp of lesser kings and now wear that crown upon their own heads.

Bane is, by all accounts, an evil God, but we know how I feel about the word evil. It's banal (lmao Bane.) He has little (if any) mercy for those who are failures, including his own followers. He respects those who are clever and strong and shape the world to their whims. If you can take it, it is yours. If you cannot, you have nothing. You are a slave to those who can take you.

However, he does have rules. A code. Things he respects and things he does not and will therefore punish his followers for. Things he expects from his followers. He backs off and will watch you like a distant father, allowing you your throne that you have earned when you please him (his will exempted, you will adhere to him) and you will suffer if you do not.

He is, in my opinion, the most intelligent of the Dead Three. He knows when to forge alliances and when to enforce his will with might. Sometimes accomplishing a goal means working with others. He is not so stubborn or foolish that he will pass a chance to achieve. He will, however, do everything within his substantial power to come out on top of this bargain. He plans. He calculates. He strategizes. He chooses carefully. He is, in a way, quite patient.

He will dominate other Gods. He has killed other Gods. He has been killed himself, actually. He planned for that. He rose again, just like the others, and now lives in a state of quasi-Godhood trying to claw his way back up.

He's a nuanced guy. Banites are seen as evil, but sometimes, things are better with them in control. Instead of a bureaucratic nightmare where nothing gets done, you have a ruler who is competent because they have been deemed worthy by a fuckin' God. Sometimes, when a Banite warlord takes over a province, the province ends up safer because they have a system of power. Rather than the spoiled, complacent nobility that was running the place before, they have an active ruler that deals with bandits, keeps the roads clean, keeps resources allocated, etc. They have someone who earned the power and knows how to wield it.

However, that isn't always the case. Sometimes, they really are just power hungry bastards for the sake of being power hungry bastards. It very much highly depends. Given the choice, you probably shouldn't put a Banite into power, but that being said, they don't often give you a choice.

He is lawful evil. There are crazy atrocities carried out in his name, but he's not like Bhaal who is just edgy 'death death murder blood waaaaaaghghgghaaa' type of God, you feel?

#morgana and friends #Lore bits

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wearykatie · 5 months

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Journey Into the Wild Beyond - Chapter 4: Yon (Part 2)

“Never split the party.” - I always heard this around D&D and other tabletop games. I always heard it from the player side of things, with the thought being that you’re dividing your group’s effectiveness. Maybe one group doesn’t have someone to pick locks or the other group doesn’t have a healer. Another reason being that encounters may be designed to have a full party.

So Rhin decided to go off to the house of the third Big Bad by herself, and she’s kind of the party’s healer. I was on the DM side of things though. I can tailor the obstacles I throw at a split party, so the only real issue that comes up is how to properly balance parallel events and bounce back and forth between them so no one is getting bored.

Hope Is Kindled

The rest of the party went to the Fey Beacons which were reportedly a way back to the Material Plane. It’s described as eight columns of rock reaching skyward, forming a ring around a deep crater lake. Each column has a ring of steps spiraling up them. There’s a torch-bearing figure trying to light the beacons, but eight perytons keep extinguishing the beacons before he can light all of them.

This is Prince Alagarthas, a wood elf from Toril on the Material Plane. Endelyn showed him a future where he defeated a dragon but died in the process, and claimed to have seen another future where he defeated the dragon and lived. She’d share details of the latter if he stayed in the Feywild for a year. At the end of this, Endelyn said the path was by lighting the Fey Beacons.

I changed a few things about this encounter. First, I made it more clear that the perytons and the whole futile exercise were Endelyn’s doing. Second, I made the solution much simpler because it was a split session. The book allows you to perform for the perytons to impress them into leaving Alagarthas alone. Third, the beacons require the same person to light all eight, but I allowed a coordinated effort of the party, Alagarthas, and Alice to light all of the beacons before they could be extinguished.

Lastly, I changed Alagarthas’ title and where he was from. I made him a knight from an established town in our main campaign, to tie it into things more and because Elora, Hakewood, and Early’s players all at one time played World of Warcraft and I wasn’t about to give them an NPC named “Prince Alagarthas”.

The beacons were lit and the lake became a portal back to Alagarthas’ hometown. Then K decided to send problems down river by having Elora ask Alagarthas to deliver a message to Ana’leth’s girlfriend Velari (who lived in the same town), letting her know Ana’leth had died.

I deserved that. Especially for what was coming later in the chapter.

Why Is She Called a Gobl-IN if She’s Taking the Hags OUT?

Rhin, now choosing to go by her birth name, Reena, walked right up to the front door of Motherhorn and went in. She didn’t find the resistance she was expecting - partly because I didn’t want to punish her for going off on her own, and partly because she wisely went invisible through most of the castle, nullifying the passive perception of just about everyone. I actually pulled up the castle map and cleared the fog of war room to room as she went so that her reconnaissance would pay off.

She found the grand auditorium, the library, and a hallway with…

*sigh*

(portion of the Motherhorn map from The Wild Beyond the Witchlight, cartography by Stacey Allan and Will Doyle)

Can we talk about this? I know this might be because I got a digital version of this map because we play over Roll20, but there were two distinct versions of each map: one for players, one for the DM. The DM’s map has very helpful labels for each room and other things the players don’t have on theirs. And then there’s this dotted square clearly showing a trap at the end of this hallway on the player map. It’s a harmless trap, and really just a jumpscare, but come on.

So Reena obviously avoided that. I don’t blame her, and I didn’t call that metagaming because having it pointed out on the map is just stupid.

Anyway, she went on to a room with many lifelike wooden masks on the walls, a spooky chair in the middle, and a caged goblin in the corner. Reena recognized the goblin from the magical portrait room in Loomlurch - this was her father, Zolt. Reena’s player surprised me by telling Zolt who she was from the start.

Zolt explained that he and his wife Specklenose worked for the Witchlight Carnival, and they had a child - Reena. The hags were manipulating the carnival at that point, so they put Reena up for adoption to keep her safe. When Endelyn began pulling people from the carnival to work in Motherhorn, Zolt and Specklenose fled to Prismeer, hoping to lie low living under the hags’ noses. Eventually, Feena was born, and they ended up being found and put to work by Endelyn anyway.

This was made up by me. Zolt and Specklenose play a very minor role in The Wild Beyond the Witchlight (I think they’re just crane operators). Reena being adopted and having some curiosity about where she came from inspired me to flesh them and Feena/Feenia out a bit more.

Zolt was slated to be put in the machine in the center of the room by the end of the day. All of those masks on the wall? Actual people who were turned into masks by the machine. I briefly considered having Specklenose be one of them, but considering what I was about to do to Elora a few sessions later, I decided against that.

A very determined Reena broke her father out of the cage, cast invisibility on both of them, and took him downstairs to find Specklenose who was working in the workshop underneath the stage. It was here that Reena got her first glimpse of Charmay, a human woman who was giving orders. She and the rest of the party would later learn that Charmay was actually Skylla, a former member of the League of Malevolence, a faction in line with the hags.

But, with a bit of two floors of Motherhorn explored and her parents in tow, Reena escaped and met up with the rest of the party to fill them in.

And it was time for me to set up the final parts of something that had been in the works since before the campaign even started. A little surprise I’d been cooking up.

It’s Trauma!

With the party gathered up again, a possible escape plan in the works, and some recon on Motherhorn already done, they rested up and prepared to go through the tunnel into the castle’s basement. Once again, Alice had to stay behind. Endelyn would know she was there the second she walked in, removing the element of surprise.

Alice wasn’t sure where Early’s item was, but given what they learned about Endelyn having a machine that could peer through time, the party could guess what was powering it. Elora’s item would be in a wardrobe in Endelyn’s room. Elora asked once again what would happen to Alice the person when she found Alice the stuffed bunny. Alice said it didn’t matter. Elora didn’t want to be responsible for Alice’s “death”, but Alice said she would be happy knowing Elora was whole. They hugged, Alice told Elora she was proud of her, and that she would see her again “at the end.”

The party followed the tunnel to a false wall in the basement workshop of Motherhorn where the final and potentially most dangerous hag waited for them. The rest of this chapter is a whole lot, this part is already kind of lengthy, and the rest covers some intense and sad topics, so I’m going to call it a part here. Thank you for reading this far, and I will post the next part in a few days.

“You’ll see me again, at the End.” (art by Clint Cearly from The Wild Beyond the Witchlight)

#d&d #d&d 5e #dm #gm #journey into the wild beyond #the wild beyond the witchlight

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magnificentstrangerchaos · 2 years

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The Tale of Thornfruit (AKA my 1st ever DND character's lore, written at 3am; the idea was to novelize the entire campaign so that's why it's so lengthy)

My name is Carmina Thornfruit, a rogue wood elf from deep within the emerald forests of Toril. I am the eldest daughter of Hetto Thornfruit the Calm, son of Kotava the Fearsome and great-grandchild of the Pillaging Smogk who was the firstborn son of Vog Thornfruit and Baruno Thornfruit’s great grandfather– a long, long family of Executioners who work for elves humans and dwarves alike.

I escaped our tribe village when I was 197 and am now 214 winters old. Here I know everybody, but nobody knows me. Through deceit, lies, ginger smiles, and boot kissing I find my way around the world, the cities, men, and women. I have seen high and low of all kinds and have become as cruel as I dreaded I would be.

No, not cruel. I am cold. As cold and frost-hearted as the goddess I worship in secrecy with my sister, the one deity who has ever responded to our plea, who has looked down upon us as its kin and with frozen hands and a warm smile invited us to continue with our lives.

Mora gave us the hope we needed after that eventful night. When we lost our mother and older sister and painted the snow red with our own blood in the desire to escape this life, go back to the hands of our creator. However, he did not find two children of Or-tel-quessir tasteful enough for reincarnation so soon after their birthing.

That is why she, Mora, the goddess of snow and death came to us in that valley with pity and breathed life back into our lungs, strumming our hearts with the ache of loss but glee of life.

I sometimes have visions of those days after.

As the new eldest sister, I looked after the small house we had. I cooked, I cleaned, I wiped, I fixed and plucked, I read and educated myself of people, herbs, animals, politics, games and masks and plays. All so I could make up for the lack of family apart from my younger sister, my little Nettle.

Our father often traveled, rarely came back to our village but he always sent us notes and money through the trustworthy channels of people who came and went. Some of them – a lot more questionable than others.

I learned to hunt and set traps around the forests where no other elf from the nearby town wanders. I admit I started stealing despite my desire to stay true to what I am – a good sister and a woman working towards becoming a healer. But magic always slipped my fingers, always faded just when I was reaching out to that slither of light I could feel inside.

Fate had not been written for me to do so as I found myself less and less often at home practicing magics, I admit, I never understood. As our town prospered more and more work was forced upon me in the back kitchens of the most famous bakery. I learned how to knead the softest bread, bake the best meat or fruit pies, fry the sweetest pastries. They often gave us whatever was left of the product and took that off our pay.

But my job had some limitations such as having to leave home way earlier than usual for the bakery opening and staying in a lot later until there was nobody in sight to see me leaving. It’s to be noted that because of my family’s fame people would never buy bread made of an executioner.

A funny little legend we have is that people who work down under in the jail and torture rooms receive their bread flipped over, as it is not something, they often deserved to take with the sinful acts they deal with. There were times where I did find the bread, I was to pick on the way back home left like that and when I eventually found out who was doing that… I couldn’t do anything about it, not then and there.

“You’re cursed to have a horrid status despite the baker’s hands,” is what the main baker told me so often while I worked to the bone, trying to earn the bread I baked for hours on end in scorching hot furnaces and had to wear horrid half a mask most of the time. It was for whenever we opened the windows for a breather there would be nobody to recognize the daughter of a butcher of human, a killer on the loose…

The life of an executioner’s child is a lonesome one. We are viewed as monsters, criminals that were given a chance to live a bit more by selling ourselves away to what government we had.

We were allowed a house, money, personal items, and sometimes food like meats and milk, and eggs were brought to our house whenever a good soul decided to pity us. That happened rarely, though. Most wood elves here were… tough and glared at us if we ever arrived in the town during the day, closed their shops, or ignored us if we walked by even if we wanted to buy something with the coin.

‘Filthy.’; ‘Bloody.’; ‘Stolen.’ – none of them accepted it, so I was forced to sometimes simply… leave it behind as we passed by and took what I needed. It was not stealing if I paid for it, not for me. Not for those who are starving.

We had chickens and a few sheep and goats who seemed a lot more understanding than the elves in town. Nettle used to tell me she could talk to them, that she explained why we need to sheer them or take their milk, that the chickens didn’t mind us taking their eggs if we leave one or two for their chicks and loved the food we brought to them. I don’t know how honest she was back then

My little loving ladybug took care of a herb garden and ventured out into the forest, only to come back with foraged goods like shrooms for soup, pine needles for tea, wild honey, juicy berries and syrup from tapped trees.

My sister was the only reason I had left so late into my long, though not immortal life. I wanted to teach her all I could, find what she liked, a job perhaps, or maybe a friend that would not fear her and help her out while I was gone. I really did not want to depart from that small wooden cottage just like that or to drop off just money so she could afford the things she liked.

There was a moment in our lives when I knew peace. When I didn’t question myself each day if our father will stop sending us money, because I had enough; didn’t stare out the window, hoping that I would have someone to talk to, to reveal the fears I harbored inside… the fears I didn’t want to tell Nettleae about.

When I was 189 years old I found someone who brought life to the house other than the mona sleeping in the room next to mine.

While I was walking the way over to town, an elven woman was galloping on a black horse, both sweating and panting as if this was not the first place they were visiting. She looked at me like I was a ghost, paled, but then scorned and threw herself off the animal as she pulled the reigns off to a stop.

“Stop right there,” she spoke, “Are you from the Thornfruit familia?!”

I was more than sure this was the wife of someone falsely accused (and dead) who had found out a way to defeat her sorrows and decided to pay us a visit for a little one on one. I was not going to give up without a fight, surely, I had nothing to do with her grieve and if every second elf thought I can be a punching bag for their revenge – I would’ve been buried long ago.

However, she stalked over to me, her expression suddenly changing when I did not answer.

“Please, I have been asking about for them, but it’s as if they’ve vanished. My father…” She heaved, leaning against my shoulder, hands clutching mine. She was freezing cold and trembling.

“What is wrong with him?” I inquired, steadying her in an arm’s length. She didn’t seem to know the face of the Thornfruit sisters, but if anybody else were to be riding with her, such a close distance would certainly be of a nuisance.

“He’s very ill! He… it was a little cut, but then it grew… and it darkened and it started getting worse and worse. The healer said he will be fine, didn’t even need stitches, but now… He’s been feverish for weeks and…” Suddenly the strength holding the woman onto the horse left her and I was forced to hold her in my arms so she wouldn’t crumble to the dirt path.

The feeling of another being so close was certainly new… I haven’t cradled or hugged or cuddles anybody in forever. Nobody at all if we do not count my dear Nettle. Maybe that was what made me consider my following actions. Or was it the blood whispering in my ears, the perfume of her skin which spelled daisies and raspberries and honey… Maybe it was the lonely life I have been having that made me whisper as if I was not believing myself for admitting it.

“I am Carmina Thornfruit. You found me.”

“Please, Mina… Save my father. I am Omilya Uxlor… My father is…”

“Vamir Uxlor… “ I nodded, staring her down. How could I forget the ring of that name inside my head? “The mayor…”

“I will make sure you will be rewarded as well. Please, you know the ways of life and death. Help him, please, Carmina. I’d do anything.”

I resented that look on her face the first time I saw it. It crushed me inside and strummed all my nerves and muscles into obedience. I felt cold sweat drip down my spine under the simple dress and my hands suddenly felt more than dirty. I wanted to be as far away from her as possible, but there was something else pulling me towards her, closer…

“I’ll see what I can do, miss-“

“Call me Ilya. Please… Do consider this.” She handed me a small pouch, pulled free from the beautifully woven belt around her slim waist, ”You might be his last chance….” And with that she was back on her horse and off, dust kicked off into the air by the stallion. I waited for her to disappear, before turning on my heel.

#dnd #dnd homebrew #dnd5e #dnd ocs #dungeons and dragons #short story #story #original story #original character

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charmandhex · 4 years

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A TOTALLY UNOFFICIAL AND VERY MUCH NOT SANCTIONED BY NBC OPENING SCENE FOR AN AS OF YET NONEXISTENT PILOT OF THE ADVENTURE ZONE: BALANCE ANIMATED SHOW THAT I AM 100% NOT GETTING PAID FOR

Credit to: the McElboys

No credit to: me, Charm H. Adventurezone, sleep deprived [job title redacted] and overly ambitious fic writer

[Our opening shot is of the world of Abeir-Toril (or whatever the fuck we’re going to call it to avoid copyright issues idk that redacted job title up there sure isn’t lawyer) as it drifts through the Prime Material Plane. From here, we can see little but clouds, water, and land masses. One regular-sized moon orbiting the world drifts into view. If you look closely, but you’re only looking closely because you’re a nerd who knows what to look for, you can see a much, much smaller moon -THAT’S NO MOON got there first Clint what now- drifts over a massive, still lake and a brightly colored spot that we might know to be Neverwinter, wait- Eversummer, hm, that was graphic novel, but can we use that there?- KINDASPRING there we go. The initial shot is quiet, for a moment, before seven notes -yes those ones folks- ring out.]

GRIFFIN [audio only]: I can guess what you’re probably all expecting. Some big, dramatic speech to match the big, dramatic intro we’ve got going on here. [As Griffin talks, we start to zoom in on a continent conveniently labeled NOT-FAERUN. We fly by our much smaller moon, but not close enough to see anything of interest – yet. We see Kindaspring, all busy and fantasy and so on. We catch a glimpse of a city buried in the shadow of a mountain range, with a bunch of dudes who all look the same. A city on a cliff, a shining gold monument in the center and trails of dust on a track around the city. Canyons, and a dash of pearlescent color just for a moment. Blink and you miss it, and a flash of a black and white tent in the woods near Kindaspring. You get the picture.] But, fact of the matter is, folks, we kinda blew all the budget on this one shot! Completely boned it in the first two seconds! So, let’s get right into it and roll some fuckin’ initiative- oh, can I say fuck? Are we allowed to do that, here on NBC Peacock? Shit, I’m going to completely bone our cussing budget too- anyway! Let’s roll some initiative and meet our heroes.

[Zoom in on wagon on road outside Kindaspring. It’s not a very impressive wagon. There are patches on the canvas. The wheels are all creaky and bouncy over the dirt road. The horses look like they could use a nap. There are stink lines, y’all. The road, meanwhile, is pretty well-used. There are ruts, and the sides of the road run clean and even. It’s surrounded by woods, and we’re far enough out of Kindaspring to not get any noise from the city, nor close enough to our destination to even get a hint of whatever the fuck I’m going to have to call Phandalin that isn’t Phandalin.

But back to our characters. Right now, only one is visible, a buff human man, like super buff, no you don’t understand animators, he must be a brick shithouse of a man, he’s very sensitive about this. He has massive muscles and massive sideburns, and he looks way too happy to be driving this wagon. You just know the vehicle proficiency jokes are coming. Cartoon GRIFFIN pops up in the corner of the screen, looking unimpressed.]

GRIFFIN: …Well, maybe not heroes. Three… boys. Three very messy, very murder hobo, very horny boys. [A beat.] Tres horny boys, if you will. So, uh, first up is-

MAGNUS [aware of Griffin and waving at everyone- listen, fourth wall breaks are kinda a thing for me, folks]: I’m Magnus Burnsides, human fighter! [Stat card for Magnus pops up on the side. There’s a not very flattering picture with it.] Also… [with the wagon reigns in hand, he starts counting off on his fingers, concentrating] Uh, master carpenter, man of action, rush into battle- oh, and I’m from Raven’s Roost, and-

[The canvas flaps blow open behind MAGNUS, and MAGNUS’S stat card disappears with a pop and a tiny bit of white smoke. TAAKO steps out, already exasperated and swinging a hand, colliding with MAGNUS’S head and pushing it to the side.]

TAAKO: Yeah, save the backstory for like… 40 more episodes, my dude. We don’t have time for that shit right now.

GRIFFIN: O-kay, guess we’re just gonna assume we can swear whenever we want.

[As GRIFFIN is talking, TAAKO stops pushing on MAGNUS’S head.]

TAAKO [triumphant, shouting]: FUCK!

[Flock of birds flies out of the trees.]

GRIFFIN: So this is Taako, the elf wizard [TAAKO’S stat card pops up. Much more flattering picture.] and-

TAAKO: That’s Taako, you know, from… podcast, elf wizard and baller chef, yes, thank you, very much. AND very, very beautiful. [TAAKO does a hair flip. There are sparkles and magical sounds.] And very, very bored. [TAAKO’S stat card disappears.] How far away is this fuckin’ town? What’s it called again?

MAGNUS [shrugging]: Beats me. [To GRIFFIN] Did we come up with a name that doesn’t violate copyright?

GRIFFIN [evading the question, because I still am]: Aaaaaaaaaaaaand last but not least, Merle Highchurch. [A beat. GRIFFIN sighs.] Merle, that’s your cue.

MERLE [inside the tent]: Wha? Somebody say my name? [Canvas flaps rustle rustle rustle. MERLE’S face pops out, looking around owlishly. He also steps out to the front of the wagon.]

MAGNUS [now very crowded and still trying to drive]: You missed your cue, old man.

MERLE [indignant]: I was busy studying my cantrips!

TAAKO and MAGNUS [in unison]: Gross!

MERLE: No, not like-

GRIFFIN [interrupting]: And Merle is a cleric! [MERLE’S stat card pops up. The picture was taken too high, so we can only see MERLE’S hair and forehead.]

MERLE: I’m a what now?

GRIFFIN [overly enthusiastic, it’s a bit now, folks]: Now, for those of you who aren’t familiar, clerics are kind of a support class magic user. They can cast things like buffs-

MERLE: Huh?

GRIFFIN [still overly enthusiastic]: and heal their party members-

MERLE: I can do that?

GRIFFIN: Clerics also serve gods, and Merle’s god is Mort-

MERLE [indignant again]: Hang on! That doesn’t sound right!

GRIFFIN [pushing out of his little bubble and leaning into the scene]: Then who is your god?

MERLE: Uh… Pan! [MERLE pulls out the Extreme Teen Bible.] See? Pan!

MAGNUS [whispering to TAAKO]: Okay, I guess this is how we’re resolving that whole thing. [TAAKO shrugs. MERLE is smiling. It’s adorable, like those little smiles Carey Pietsch does I love them so much, y’all.]

GRIFFIN: So, Magnus, Taako, Merle. Off on an adventure of epic proportions. [GRIFFIN is getting excited.] Full of action and danger and goofs and found family and-

MAGNUS: Now hold on! Epic proportions? Epic? [MAGNUS waves a hand around at the generally pretty chill woods, the boring road, and the stink lines wagon.]

TAAKO: Yeah, so far this is snoozeville, population, uh, me and these two chucklefucks.

MERLE [peering at GRIFFIN]: you sure you got the right dnd party, bud?

GRIFFIN [looking at audience]: We’re still negotiating contracts, so I’m filling in for, uh… someone. So for now, hey, I’m Griffin McElroy, your Dungeon Master, your best friend, and your announcer for this pilot episode. Ahem. [GRIFFIN clears his throat.] Grab your shields and ready your spell slots. Strap in your asses and… really, just strap in your asses. And, for the very first time, welcome to the animated version of… THE ADVENTURE ZONE!

[Title card and Mort Garson’s “Déjà Vu” plays. All my ideas went into dialogue, folks. Fan artists, this one’s all yours.]

[We pop back into the same scene as before.]

MAGNUS: Yeah, so, uh, like we were saying, before, uh, whatever that was, what we’re doing now is-

TAAKO [interrupting]: Hold on! We are not, I repeat, not doing some dumb recap where we explain this boring job... unless…

MAGNUS, MERLE, and GRIFFIN [all have gone laser eye meme]: UNLESS?

TAAKO [singing]: Flashback sequence!

[There’s a loud POP! as the scene shifts, and we’re now in your standard fantasy tavern. There’s a table with four chairs right in front of us, all of which are empty. The tavern acts as a backdrop behind that, illustrating just how fantasy this world is. We see humans and elves and dwarves yes, because we’ve already seen them, but also Gnomes and tieflings and haflings and orcs and Genasi and aarakocra (try spelling that one, folks ;) I’m sure that won’t come up later) and so on and so forth.

There’s another POP! as GRIFFIN’S window reappears in the upper right corner. He looks slightly ruffled.]

GRIFFIN [straightening his hair and glasses]: Wow, that is going to take some getting used to. Anyway, the boys should be here in a second, and-

[Three more pops as MAGNUS, TAAKO, and MERLE appear in three of the four seats at the table. MERLE lands upside down. He immediately starts struggling to right himself]

MAGNUS [looking at the empty chair and frowning]: Wait, what was the name of the guy we were meeting again? Gumdrop?

TAAKO: Hm… Gurgle? Guava? Gumbo?

MERLE [having finally righted himself]: No! My cousin, uh… um… oh, that’s right, Gundren!

[As MERLE says GUNDREN, another pop as GUNDREN pops into existence in the chair. He looks like if you put MERLE through a grinder, not like we’re gonna run into one of those in an episode or two, right, fellas?

Nasty boy that he is, GUNDREN lets out a grunt and then spits on the floor. People have to clean that, GUNDREN! This is why you- (SPOILERS REDACTED)- anyway.]

GUNDREN: So, like I was saying, boys. You take my wagon from here in Kindaspring down the road to Mandolin-

TAAKO: Oh, that’s what we’re calling it?

MERLE: I thought that was another TV show?

[Up in the corner, GRIFFIN shrugs.]

GUNDREN: Uh… yes? That’s… what it’s called? [GUNDREN looks suspiciously at them. It seems like he’d give the job to someone else in an instant, if literally anyone else would take the job. But magically, he’s stuck with these boys.] But, uh, you get my wagon and my goods to Mandolin, and I’ll let you in on the next job. And that job, boys… [GUNDREN laughs. It sounds like if you threw rocks in a blender.] That’s the kinda job that will be the last job you ever need to take.

MAGNUS [cheerfully]: Well, that sounds murdery!

[There’s a loud POP! and we’re back on the wagon again, all of our boys already in place.]

GRIFFIN [shrugging, smiling]: Guess you’re going to find out! Oh, and boys… let’s roll initiative.

#taz #taz balance #the adventure zone #mcelroy family #mcelboys #charm works #this is basically a glorified overly long shitpost and the level of editing that went into this reflects that #PLEASE HIRE ME MCELROYS

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simul16 · 3 years

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Somebody's Guide to Whatever This Place Is

Back in September of 2020, on the final day of the D&D Celebration online event, Ray Winninger, the then-newly-installed Executive Producer of D&D announced that three new campaign settings would be introduced into Fifth Edition D&D in 2021. Speculation over which 'classic' settings would be chosen was rampant, and nearly every old setting had folks who were willing to either predict that setting or at least express a desire for that setting to be one of the settings updated for 2021. (The article linked above suggested that Dark Sun, Spelljammer, and Greyhawk would be good choices, but again, this was more 'these are the settings I'd like to see' then 'these are the settings that are most likely to occur'.)

In the six months that have passed since then, we've gotten confirmation on two of those three settings. The first is Dragonlance, in the aftermath of the lawsuit brought by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman related to a new Dragonlance trilogy that was, in theory, going to be pocket veto-ed by WotC, but is now back on schedule to be published later this year.

The second was revealed in a recent product announcement: in May of 2021, a new setting book, Van Richten's Guide to Ravenloft, will be released. Few predicted Ravenloft would be one of the two settings Winninger referred to, as WotC had already released Curse of Strahd, a hard-cover re-imagining of the classic I6 Ravenloft module from AD&D days updated for Fifth Edition, and had at the same time allowed folks to update other parts of the Ravenloft setting to Fifth Edition via the DMs Guild. Now that the announcement is official, I'm filled with trepidation as to what WotC is going to do with the full campaign setting.

There are a number of things WotC could do with the setting that would make me at least appreciate if not love the new version of the setting, but I'm not holding out a great deal of hope that these things will actually happen. Nevertheless, I thought I'd note some of those things here as a preliminary 'wish list' of things that would make me happy about the re-imagined 5E Ravenloft, and more importantly, why.

Break up 'the Core' into Islands of Terror

Curiously, this is something we already know will actually happen in the 5E Ravenloft setting, thanks to information included as part of the announcement. Nevertheless, it's a change that has a number of more traditional Ravenloft fans upset.

"The Core" is a group of domains physically connected into a single giant land mass which can be navigated as any other continent on a campaign world might be, either via road, river, or what-have-you. Those who argue that the Core should remain do so under the presumption that, if you plan to use Ravenloft as a campaign setting, you need a way to migrate from one domain to another. There are some domains that aren't part of the Core, either in 'clusters' (smaller groups of related domains 'clustered' together into geographic units like the Amber Wastes or the Verdurous Lands, or as isolated 'islands of terror'. Since these other domains are separated from the Core by the Mists, they are at least in theory harder to get to; there are a few 'Mistways' which can be used to travel from one domain to a cluster or island or vice versa, but those Mistways are by their nature unreliable, resulting in anything from a small to an almost certain chance of not actually ending up where you intend to go. Meanwhile, simply marching down the Old Svalich Road from Barovia will ultimately and unerringly get you to the next domain along the road, unless Strahd chooses to close the borders of his domain, preventing your escape.

So why am I in favor of this change? Because it makes sense given the existing campaign canon. The last books to be published that actually defined and/or expanded the Ravenloft setting were published under license by Swords and Sorcery Studios back during Third Edition, specifically a series of Gazetteers with the conceit that they were written by a mysterious chronicler called 'S' at the behest of the lord of Darkon, Azalin Rex. Included in that chronicle was evidence that the lord of Falkovnia, one Vlad Drakov, had tired of being continually defeated in his attempts to conquer his domain neighbors (this is, in fact, part of Drakov's punishment as a darklord, that his military, supreme within his own domain, is powerless to project his authority outside it) and allied himself with the new Dukkar and de facto ruler of Invidia, Malocchio Aderre, to invade their mutual neighbor Borca. Whether this is simply accidental genius on Drakov's part, or whether he had puzzled out some aspect of his punishment and decided that an alliance with a power that wasn't subject to his personal curse might serve as a way around that curse wasn't made clear, but the underlying assumption was that given the relative military power of the domains in question, unless Borca's allies in the 'Treaty of Four Towers' came to its defense, Borca would not be able to survive the combined forces of both Falkovnia and Invidia and would fall. More to the point, nothing would prevent Malocchio, who is not a darklord, from entering Borca and removing that domain's darklord (or more accurately, twin darklords). The simplest way for the Dark Powers to enforce Drakov's curse and ensure that his mutual invasion with the Dukkar doesn't succeed, or at least results in such a huge cost that the victory likely won't be worth the price, is for the Dark Powers to close the borders around both Falkovnia and Borca; doing so would turn every passage from Falkovnia or Invidia into Borca into a Mistway, and even such a Mistway with 'excellent reliability' would cause the invading forces to be decimated -- 10% of all the creatures passing through the Misty Border would be re-directed to other locations and would thus be extremely unlikely to be able to contribute to the war effort. For an adventuring party, this is irritating, but for an army, where each different member of a unit is part of a larger structure, randomly removing 1 in 10 members of that army results in organizational chaos and disaster. Add in that communications between the army in Borca and its headquarters in Falkovnia also are now subject to the potential for Mist-led misdirection, and that Drakov, as a darklord himself, is unable to pass over the Misty Border at all, and Drakov's curse seems fairly easily enforced as a result.

But if the Dark Powers are going to isolate Falkovnia and Invidia, why not take the obvious next step and simply isolate every domain in the Core from every other domain? It only makes sense.

There is another reason why such a change makes sense, but it's more properly discussed as part of a larger idea:

Tie the changes to the Time of Unparalleled Darkness

Changes in D&D editions have often resulted in changes to D&D's associated campaign settings. The best example of this is actually the Forgotten Realms. When D&D moved from 1st to 2nd edition, the changes in the rules necessitated by this change were propagated to the Realms as part of a Realms-wide event, known as the Time of Troubles (or the Avatar Crisis), where the deities of the Realms were kicked out of their divine realms by the Overgod Ao and forced to dwell on Faerun in mortal forms. Some deities survived, while others didn't, which helped explain the changes in the world resulting from the changes in the D&D rules (the removal of assassins as a class option was justified by the death of the god of assassins during this time, for example). Similarly, when Third Edition was replaced by Fourth Edition D&D, the Realms was subjected to the Sundering, a worldwide disaster that unravelled the Weave, significantly modified the world's geography, and even posited a land swap between Toril and its twin sister world Abeir to explain the sudden appearance of dragonborn, which went from being an optional splatbook race in Third Edition to a core racial option in Fourth. (Nearly all of these changes were undone as part of the move from Fourth Edition to Fifth, but the Sundering still canonically happened in the Realms, continuing to support the changes in the setting that still needed to be justified by rules changes).

A similar thing occurred in Ravenloft, referred to alternately as the Grand Conjunction or the Great Upheaval (and referred to in even different ways in specific domains, such as in Sri Rajj, where it is called the "Rebirth of Kali"), and resulted in a reshuffling of the Core's domains, with some Islands of Terror becoming parts of the Core (Dominia), some parts of the Core becoming Islands of Terror (Bluetspur, G'Henna), some parts of the core being relocated (such as Markovia moving from a landlocked Core domain to an island in the Nocturnal Sea), and some domains being absorbed into other domains (Arak being absorbed into Darkon, Arkandale being absorbed into Verbrek, Dorvinia being merged into Borca, and Gundarak being split between Invidia and Barovia). PCs had the opportunity to participate in the lead-up to this event through a series of six adventures that represented the six parts of Hyskosa's Hexad, a prophecy from a past Dukkar that presaged massive change and destruction in Ravenloft. So in a sense, simply turning all of the Core's domains into Islands of Terror wouldn't necessarily be the most drastic change that's ever been made to the campaign's setting, but the past changes were at least tied to an in-game event that is both known and is significant to the domain's residents.

The Time of Unparalleled Darkness, another prophecy, though this one not from a Vistani seer but from a priest of the goddess of the Mists, already exists in Ravenloft as a future peril (at least it was in the future as of the current date of the setting while it was in the hands of Swords & Sorcery Studios); tying the 5E campaign changes to the Time of Unparalleled Darkness, and simultaneously advancing the campaign timeline past 775 BC (Barovian Calendar), the predicted year of the Time of Unparalleled Darkness, would further cement the event as part of existing Ravenloft lore, rather than making the changes seem arbitrary. This isn't to say that part 1 above (the breakup of the Core into Islands of Terror) has to be contemporaneous with the Time of Unparalleled Darkness -- in fact, a pretty good series of adventures, not unlike the Hyskosa's Hexad adventures, could likely be written as a prelude to the Time of Unparalleled Darkness, with the rising of the Mists occurring in an early adventure as part of the PCs' investigation into the joint Falkovnian/Invidian invasion of Borca and culminating in the event that results in more signficant changes to the domain.

De-emphasize the role of darklords in the setting

In reading about other folks' opinions on the upcoming Ravenloft book, it's a bit surprising to me how many of them are convinced that the 'point' of Ravenloft as a setting is to throw your PCs against the machinations and the will of the setting's various darklords, and I'll admit that Curse of Strahd, looked at simplistically, doesn't seem to go against this premise. Though much of what the PCs do in Curse of Strahd is only peripherally related to Strahd himself, the PCs can't actually leave Barovia without venturing into Castle Ravenloft and 'defeating' Strahd, which opens the way for them to escape. Because of this, a lot of folks who seem to be opposed to the idea of breaking up the Core seem to be basing their opposition on the idea that it would thus be harder for PCs to 'piss off' a darklord and then escape into a neighboring domain, where that darklord holds no sway. (This seems to ignore that most darklords of the Core have the power to close the borders of their domains, thus forcing irritating PCs to 'stay put' and receive their punishment for defying the darklord's wishes, but whatever.)

I happen to think that this is a fundamental misrepresentation of the role of the darklords in the Ravenloft setting, akin to someone believing that a Call of Cthulhu adventure isn't complete until and unless the characters have come face-to-face with one of the Great Old Ones, from which the adventure takes its flavor and inspiration.

To continue the comparison with Call of Cthulhu, the main conceit of that game is that the Great Old Ones are above humanity; so far so that not only can humanity not deal with the very existence of the Great Old Ones (any human who directly encounters one has their sanity shattered as a result), but that humanity is but a tiny speck against the long-term plans and goals of the Great Old Ones. The Great Old Ones don't hunt down and destroy those who defy them; at best, a Great Old One might wave away such irritations as we would wave at a gnat, but the real 'hunting', if it occurs at all, occurs by the cult (or cults) devoted to the Great Old One who take umbrage at their own part of the grand design being thwarted (even though, again, from the perspective of the Great Old One, it doesn't matter which of their irrelevant minions brings about their will, because they know their designs will ultimately come to fruition regardless). The role of PCs in Call of Cthulhu is not to destroy or even defeat a Great Old One, but to defeat a plan set in motion by the more mundane servants of a Great Old One, thus pushing doomsday off for another time, and for a later group of investigators to discover and (hopefully) thwart again.

This isn't to say that Ravenloft has to become the same game as Call of Cthulhu; most of the darklords in pre-5e Ravenloft were once mortal, so their motivations are not nearly as odd and inscrutable as the alien thought processes of the entities in the worlds of HP Lovecraft: the evils in a Gothic horror story are much more understandable and comprehensible than the evils of a cosmic horror story. I'd even argue that the classics of Gothic horror, on which a number of Ravenloft domains are based, are more akin to classical tragedies -- for example, the hubris of Victor Frankenstein in striving to create life causes him to build a monster and almost create a race of such monsters, and it costs him his own family. Victor Mordenheim's hubris is similar, and creates a similar, though slightly different tragedy. In this sense, one could create a Ravenloft domain based on the story of Oedipus and it would fit right in with the other tragic darklords of the setting. This kind of tragedy has a very different feel than the cosmic horror of Call of Cthulhu, and should feel different, though neither strictly fits within the existing structure of how stories are told in D&D.

The other thing that de-emphasizing darklords allows is for the focus of adventures to be put back onto those who fight the monsters rather than the monsters themselves. It's not coincidental or a surprise that the height of the setting's popularity was coupled with the most popular and well-known character unique to the setting (rather than either of the D&D adventures that preceded it): Dr. Rudolph Van Richten. Van Richten is rightly known for being a monster-hunter, yet never once does Van Richten defeat or even directly oppose a darklord; the only two times Van Richten (in pre-5e material) interacts with a darklord are once very early in his career, when the lich-king Azalin Rex helps Van Richten take his revenge on the Radanovich clan of Vistani for kidnapping his son Erasmus, who is turned into a vampire by Baron Metis, and later when Van Richten's stealthy intrusion into Castle Ravenloft while Strahd "sleeps" serves as the framing device for the self-serving version of Strahd's history related in "I, Strahd" to leak out into the Realms of Dread. Van Richten doesn't even defeat every enemy he comes across: for example, the fiend Drigor, whose serial possession of the Mandrigore family is responsible for the series of books known as The Mandrigorian, notably destroys all of Van Richten's adventuring companions, but leaves the Great Doctor himself alive to pass along the tale (as well as live with the error -- assuming that Drigor, the author of a centuries-long series of texts related to fiends and their relationship with the Lands of Mists, was lawful rather than chaotic -- that directly led to their deaths). Gothic heroes, after all, are frequently just as tragic if not more so than the villains they do battle with, and if they fail, as they sometimes do in such stories, it's that tragic flaw that is frequently the cause of their failure.

And as long as we're discussing Van Richten's tragic flaw...

Bring the setting's treatment of the Vistani more closely in line with their portrayal in Van Richten's Guide to the Vistani

When Chris Perkins set down to write his 'blood-soaked love letter to the Hickmans' that was Curse of Strahd, he largely left the Vistani as depicted by Tracy Hickman in that classic D&D module. This, understandably, was not considered a good move, as Hickman didn't even refer to the Vistani as the Vistani in that classic module -- they were 'gypsies' and served Strahd in an odd and inimical way which left them as representing many long-time stereotypes and prejudices of the actual Romani people. The reaction against that portrayal was one of a number of factors leading to last year's WotC announcement on Diversity and Dungeons & Dragons, and that WotC would be "working with a Romani consultant" to refocus their depiction of the Vistani to avoid these harmful and stereotypical assumptions. While the mention of the Romani consultant certainly helps them make their case that they are taking this task seriously when it comes to the Vistani, WotC already owns a much more nuanced view of the Vistani, if only they choose to make use of it.

To go back a moment to our previous item, Van Richten's tragic flaw is his sense of the rightness of his own actions, a tragic flaw that nevertheless doesn't expose itself until very late in the Great Doctor's career, when he finally comes to understand that his very first act as a monster-hunter, destroying the Radanoviches who were involved in kidnapping his son, caused him to be the target of a deadly Vistani curse. The twist is that the curse is not deadly to Van Richten himself, but to those who stand with him and whom he comes to care about, and it contributes to their destruction while leaving Van Richten himself alive to continue to spread woe just as he also brings hope. (See above for the tale of Van Richten versus Drigor both for another example of Van Richten's flaw as well as the operation of the curse.)

The story of how Van Richten comes to realize he is laboring under a Vistani curse, how he unwittingly cast a curse upon the Radanoviches as well, and how he and a Vistani whom he comes to know and befriend work to overcome their mutual curses forms the framing device for "Van Richten's Guide to the Vistani", written by David Wise, published by TSR in 1995, and inherited by WotC when they purchased TSR in 1998. Van Richten's Guide to the Vistani is one of my favorite game supplements of all time, for any game, and deserves to be remembered as more than just the supplement that provided rules to allow players to make full Vistani characters. The main reason why this supplement works so well (at least for me) is that the supplement humanizes the Vistani by having Van Richten travel with his new Vistani friend and living with different groups of Vistani, learning about them and the strange and wonderful (and terrible) things they can do.

No one doubts that there can be evil Vistani, just as there can be evil orcs, drow, and humans. The issue that some inelegantly fear will happen, though, is that rather than being portrayed as a complex culture of different views and perspectives, the Vistani will be 'Tolkienized' in much the same way as elves were within AD&D, made into a race that is strictly better than human in nearly every way. I don't believe that this is what is going to happen to the Vistani, however; if only because the old-school 'elves are awesome' perspective has already been unwound by the current design team in many ways (for example, by removing the racial-specific requirement to be a bladesinger). My concern is that the Vistani will become just another 'hat' that a PC can put on to look different than the default without actually having to be different from the default.

My biggest piece of evidence in favor of this approach is not the removal of culturally-specific items from each D&D 'race' (like bladesingers, which traditionally were elves, now coming from any race), but an argument made by a former administrator in the D&D Adventurer's League during the season in which Curse of Strahd was the feature hardcover, and in which all the associated AL adventures took place in the domain of Barovia. The first adventure in the series took place in the Forgotten Realms (the default setting for AL at the time), and described a family of wanderers from Barovia who physically resembled Faerun's version of a Romani-type culture: the Gur. It would make sense that typical residents of the Realms, unfamiliar with Ravenloft and their Vistani, would refer to this family as a curious tribe of Gur, since that's the thing they know. But this admin took the comparison a very large step farther, positing that every Romani-like or Traveler-like culture in any D&D campaign world was actually that world's version of the Vistani; in effect, positing the Vistani as a planar culture that simply goes by different names on different worlds. While this might be an interesting idea to posit with a new race of beings in D&D, my problem with this theory is that the Vistani are so closely tied to Ravenloft and iconic to that setting, that simply declaring that the Gur are 'Faerun's Vistani' is just as reductive and stereotypical as saying that the Gur are 'Faerun's Romani'. You're not solving the problem of problematic representation by claiming that every iteration of a real-world culture in fantasy is actually a copy-paste of a single view of that culture; if anything you're reinforcing the idea that any negative view of that culture in any setting is justified in all settings, simply due to the equating of that culture in one D&D world with the same culture on any other D&D world.

So the Vistani should remain unique to Ravenloft, in my view, and while a Romani consultant can certainly help with tweaking the portrayal of Vistani characters and the Vistani culture to be less overtly problematic, I don't see how it helps the Vistani retain their unique character that has helped them become such a well-known part of the Ravenloft campaign setting. More than just about every other work in D&D history, "Van Richten's Guide to the Vistani" actually does this, presenting the Vistani as a unique culture with its own drives, values, and heroes, while showing that the Vistani culture does not always agree with the 'default' cultures presented in other parts of the setting.

Perhaps I'll be pleasantly surprised on this topic, and the same designers who ultimately figured out that the alignment rules as presented in the Fifth Edition Players Handbook suggested that sexism was bad, but racism was surprisingly OK and decided to do something about it will take a similarly nuanced approach toward the Vistani in their new Ravenloft setting book. Unfortunately, I think a much more likely approach will be to do exactly what that AL admin thought was such a great idea; since they'll have gone to all the trouble to finally make 'good gypsies' for Ravenloft, they'll save themselves a lot of potential work by simply declaring that every Vistani-like culture in any other D&D setting is just the Vistani by another name, thus making every Romani-like or Traveler-like culture in D&D into the 'good gypsies' by default, erasing any question of cultural complexity or questionable flavor in the hope of being more palatable to a mainstream audience that wants to believe that their new Vistani character is just as good as the default, but doesn't want to be bothered to learn why.

#dnd ravenloft

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lairofsentinel · 4 years

Text

Another attempt to understand who is The Absolute

[Baldur’s Gate 3 Early Access, Spoilers]

MORE RECENT AND POLISHED IDEAS [HERE]

In Bg3 we have, right in the beginning.... a temple of Jergal. The first great item we get is a necklace that allows us to speak to death (which curiously, Gale doesn’t ask for). We also have this healer Undead that speaks of a He who foresaw this encounter. And in the loadscreens of the game, there is a suspicious line telling us about the Three Dead: Bhaal, Bane and Myrkul, who acquired godhood through Jergal....

Bhaal is an old friend we know for a while. Bhaal has been the big headache in bg1 and bg2. Myrkul is another well known god if you played Neverwinter 2, basically all the events in The Mask of the Betrayer was caused by him.... so... would this leave Bane as the next troublemaker?. Are we going to face Bane? or Shar? Who is the god behind all this tadpole-fuckery?

so I went to wiki-check some Bane-fact:

Bane is the evil and malicious greater deity of fear, hatred and tyranny. Preferring to plot and scheme, Bane rarely appears to act in a direct manner. His ultimate goal is to eventually control all of Faerûn.

He is also known as the Black Hand (Is it not the symbol of the Absolute? A kind of Hand with a dark face?)

From his dread plane of Banehold, Bane acted indirectly through worshipers and other agents to achieve his ultimate plan total domination of all Faerun. (It’s clear that domination and control is what he seeks)

Bane was once a mortal human who forged an alliance with two other mortal beings: Bhaal and Myrkul. Together, The Three Dead, arranged a pact: together they would conquer not just the world, but the heavens, becoming gods unto themselves. They targeted specifically the powerful god of death, Jergal, who was among the most powerful of Toril's deities at the time.

Bane, together with Bhaal and Myrkul, had Mystra as one of their most targeted enemies. (just to know that this Bane has something against Mystra too XD)

After the Spellplague, when Mystra was assassinated by Cyric and Shar, and the Weave collapsed for almost a decade, Bane escaped that event unscratched. In the century that followed, Bane's power increased only further and the god conquered the goblinoid pantheon, bringing Maglubiyet (the gobling in the cage isnide Selune’s Temple worshiped this one!) and Hruggek to heel before him. (Bane is too close to goblins, and maybe this could explain why there are so many true souls among them when they have nothing to do with Mind Flayers and Nautiloids)

I know it’s mega-super silly... but those tempting gloves of power... they cast Bane on you every time you hit (if you are not marked). They have the power of the Absolute... I know Larian, and I see this as a fucking joke on us. “Is it bane? or is it not? you won’t know until the very end” XD

I still think there is something more. There is Shar, here. Somewhere beyond Shadowheart.

We also saw that pretence of godhood in the Underdark where a redcap was impersonating “Bhaal” with a bad spelling xD “Booal” or something like that. I saw that ridiculous scene as a metaphor or foreshadowing in small escale. I smell that maybe some god is impersonating other, to control Faerum, and using these altered tadpoles to harvest their own spawn. Bane looks pretty fitting here.... but it’s too easy to see.... That can’t be the case.

Besides, the thing that annoys me is that The Absolute is female, but Bane is a masculine entity. This is the reason why I think a god impersonating other could be reasonable. The Goddess behind The Asbolute is using hints of Bane, to let us assume is Bane the great responsible... but she is another one. Maybe is it truly Shar? Shar is here, somewhere, and it’s hard to place her in a fitting role. Argh, I’m dying of curiosity.... a year and a half we must wait to solve this mystery? Oughhh. t.t