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shaykai · 6 months

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BG3 characters but it’s what Inscryption decks they would use (Spoilers for BG3)

Shadowheart uses a Magick deck Typically sticks to using only one color of Mox at a time in order to build resources- tends to favor Blue Mox. Used to have a Beast deck, but she doesn’t play with it much anymore. A Selune aligned Shadowheart does mix Beasts/Magick! She notably has a caged alpha card. A Shar aligned Shadowheart uses an Undead/Magick deck

Lae’zel uses a Beast deck Makes use of stacking Beast cards such as the Ants- has a firm belief that the best defense is a good offense. Late game Lae’zel also has Hydras and an Oroboros

Astarion uses an Undead deck He has several brittle cards that he’ll throw out while something like a Mummy Lord grows in the background, trying to keep his opponent busy while stronger cards grow on the side lines. Ascended Astarion has a Beast/Undead hybrid deck- mostly utilizes Goats, Cats, and Wolves from his Beast half- most of which have sigils to supply more blood or bones when sacrificed.

Wyll uses a Beast deck His deck is mostly Bird based to pass by his foe’s cards and attack them directly, though he does have a few Adders as well. A Devil-turned Wyll also utilizes Orange Mox cards alongside his Beasts.

Gale uses a Magick deck He’s very proud of his collection of rare Mox Master cards. He typically has a hybrid deck utilizing two of the three Mox colors, though he has been known to occasionally use all three at once through hybrid cards. Incredibly strategic in his use of sigils and resources- typically low on offense cards, but he’s chalked full of utility and can and will drag his opponents into card starvation

Karlach uses a Beast deck Notably has a few Undead cards from her time in the Hells, but not enough to call it a hybrid deck. She has several high cost hard hitting cards, like the Great White, Grizzly, and Moose, as well as several heavy defense cards (like the Tortoise & Mole Man). To try and balance out the high blood cost of her deck, she has several blood suppling cards- like the Squirrel Ball and a Black Goat.

Halsin uses a Beast/Magick deck He has a lot of high cost powerhouse cards like Grizzlies & a Urayuli, though he typically makes use of smaller cheaper creatures like Beavers and adolescent Wolves/Stags & Mantises. He also notably has a Squirrel Ball & tends to utilize Green Mox (but has been known to use the other two before)

Minthara uses a Tech/Undead deck Almost everything she has comes with a Spike Sigil. Makes good use of energy cards & stim builds, utilizing low cost Brittle cards to buy her time. She also has several dozen Bolt/Bone Hounds

Jaheira uses a Beast deck She makes use of movement based cards, particularly favoring Stags. Notably also has a collection of Mantis Gods

Minsc uses a Beast deck Boo chooses cards, Minsc plays them. Has a lot of defense based cards- like Beavers, Tortoises, and Mole Men- as well as a Grizzly that he says reminds him of Boo.

Orin uses an Undead/Beast deck All of her Beasts are for sacrificing/building up her Undead cards in a quick manner (almost always starts with her Beast cards before switching to Undead ones roughly halfway through the game) Very notably has a Ijiraq card as well as a few Amalgams.

Gortash uses a Tech deck He has a lot of trap cards to whittle down a careless opponent’s deck as well a notable amount of Sentry & Sniper cards. Also those terrible Explode Bots/Bomb Latchers. A lot of his cards are pretty delicate, but he’s not above leveling out the playing field by bombing all of it.

Ketheric uses an Undead/Beast deck Has several cards that give him resources upon death. He relies heavily on hard defenses and stacking attacks- has several Caged Alphas and a Long Elk. He has has a nasty habit of having a Spike Sigil on a lot of his cards, so getting past his defenses can be quite the task.

Bonus!

Durge uses a Beast deck Lots of Blood Cats and high blood cost cards in this deck. Notably also has a few Undead cards in the interest of not letting a resource their Beast’s make go to waste. (Has a few coyote cards that they lovingly refer to as their gnollies)

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littlejuicebox · 6 months

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Remember how it feels to have a heartbeat

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Chapter number: Six Themes: BG3, slow burn, original female character x astarion, dialogue heavy, canon adjacent behavior, angst, feelings realization, trauma, the slighest of smuts in this one Masterlist: Click here. Song inspiration: "Two Ghosts" - Harry Styles Notes: Don't do drugs, kids. :) I probably need to make some edits, and I will, but I wanted this up before the weekend and it's been a crazy work week. I wrote two different versions of this chapter and settled on something somewhere in between. The next chapter will prob be the one you're all waiting for.

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Astarion was ripped out of his trance by the Shar-worshipper before dawn; the rude awakening left him thoroughly perturbed. Shadowheart hadn’t allowed the vampire more than a quick breakfast of squirrel before she hauled the entire group out of camp, snapping orders every step of the way. Gods, he couldn’t wait until Wren was reinstated as group leader and the cleric could go back to being the ranger's unofficial second in command. The pale elf was certain this temporary change in leadership would cause a mutiny, led by him, if balance weren’t reinstated soon.

The bog was quiet when they began their journey toward the goblin camp; the last few fireflies bid their farewells with a twinkle of lights dotting the horizon. The pale elf brooded, lamenting the thought that the world was still asleep, and yet here they were, trudging through the mud to save some fool that got himself locked up in a goblin camp. Survival of the fittest would never win as long as the merry band of misfits insisted on being do-gooders... and the rogue was, much to his disappointment, always outvoted.

“Frankly, Shadowheart… it seems a waste of a lockpicking kit.” Astarion mumbled through a yawn, rubbing at his scarlet eyes, cursing himself for not going to bed sooner. The excitement of last night kept him up for longer than he'd intended; part of him had desired to crash back into Wren's tent and take her then and there. The other part sat frozen in place, unsure what his next move should be. She had taken the chess game he’d been playing and flipped the board, scattering its pieces about and leaving him at a loss. Over 200 years of life hadn’t quite prepared him for this.

Did he actually like this woman? Had she accidentally become more than a pawn in his chess game? If he went back into that tent, would he still just be toying with her... and what would come of that when they got to Baldur's Gate? Was he to introduce his new girlfriend to his vampire overlord and expect that they would be one big happy family? Gods, the entire thing was ridiculous, and the rogue knew he had more pressing matters at hand, like a damned parasite and an obsessed master, for instance... but all his thoughts contained the smell of strawberries and cinnamon. 'You really are an idiot spawn.'

“We spoke to Volo when we did our reconnaissance mission, while you were off playing bucket brigade with Karlach.” Shadowheart huffed, “If we can get him out alive, there is a chance he can restore Wren’s vision. He showed us a magic eye that he’d hidden from the goblins and he says he knows how to install it in Wren. Gale examined it; it’s legitimate.”

At this delicious piece of information, Astarion practically beamed. One step closer to getting his favorite companion back in action and ceasing the militant behavior of the shar-worshipper... this was the best news he'd had since he found himself able to walk in the sun. The pale elf dramatically draped his arm around Shadowheart and smiled. “Darling, I’m suddenly overcome with the urge to kiss you.”

“Please don’t.” The cleric grumbled, shrugging away from the vampire's touch and rolling her eyes up at the heavens. She was probably praying to Shar to smite the vampire where he stood. Or, at least to smite him after the lock on Volo's prison cell was broken. "I truly believe I would rather kiss a goblin."

Astarion sighed, pouting at the cleric. Everyone lacked humor when Wren wasn't around; it was so dreadfully boring. “If you insist, dear... but you don't know what you're missing."

The vampire picked up the pace with renewed interest in the plan. His strides became longer, and suddenly he was ahead of the rest of the group, ready to throw himself into the action. Once Wren was back in the game, they could get out of the bog and back into doing his favorite thing... drawing blood. The rogue spun his dagger between deft fingers, practically giddy as the first rays of sunlight burst into the sky. "I suppose it is quite a beautiful day for a jailbreak."

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In the mid-morning, Wren stirred from her sleep to discover a barren camp; to her disappointment, she was greeted by an overly chipper Gale and a sulking Lae'zel. The archer’s heart sank when she realized she would have to spend another day out of action and withstand being babysat by the Gith woman…. again. She had originally intended to pass time with target practice, but after a flurry of misaligned arrows the ranger quickly called it quits, too frustrated with herself to continue. It was painful to suddenly be so poor at a skill that had once been as natural to her as breathing. As she haphazardly shoved arrows back into her quiver, the half-elf inwardly chastised herself for her own stupidity and irrationality causing her to lose an eye and throw off her aim. ‘Damn the Gur and damn my own stupidity.’

“Darling, I’m home!” The vampire called as he tore through the tree line, the exclamation directed perhaps toward no one in particular, perhaps toward Wren. He was nearly skipping as he made his way to the center of camp, the rogue's jovial mood an odd juxtaposition to the dots of crimson splattered across his face. He gravitated to the half-elf woman and took a deep breath of humid bog air as he pulled a final arrow from the target and handed it to her, eyes twinkling with post-battle excitement. “Oh, how I adore the smell of spilt blood in the morning… and have I got quite the surprise for you, little bird.”

“Have WE got quite the surprise for you.” Shadowheart interjected, rolling her eyes at the vampire as Lae’zel sauntered over from her tent to undo the straps of the cleric's armor. “Don’t think I’ll let you run away with all the credit, Astarion. You merely picked the lock.”

Wren's attention turned from her quiver to the silver-haired elf as she looked him over for injury. He was in too good a mood to be that badly wounded, but she'd grown so used to having knowledge of his status during battle that the flecks of blood on his person unnerved her. The lack of control she'd experienced over the past few days was infuriating. This, paired with the piss-poor target practice, had soured the ranger's state of mind; she was in no mood for surprises or games. Instead, Wren crossed her arms, eyes narrowed. “You didn’t say anything when you left this morning.”

“My sweet, forgive me and my poor manners but your beloved Shar-worshipper left no time for such social graces this morning." Astarion responded with a good-natured eye roll, not fully sure why the half-elf was upset with him, but assuming it was because he'd left her tent so abruptly last night. He'd been nearly as upset with himself at the time, truth be told. The rogue used a small pout of his lips as an all-encompassing apology, hoping to smooth the beautiful little bird's ruffled feathers; he didn't particularly enjoy the feeling of not being in her favor. But, he was in far too good a mood after a successful jailbreak and a few severed goblins to really let it ruin him and shrugged off her glare. She would forgive him in mere moments, once she understood the gift they’d brought.

Karlach and Wyll now entered the camp, escorting an eccentric man who appeared so out of place in the wilds that Wren chuckled on the spot, forgetting all about her brief quarrel with the rogue. Volo made his way up to the half-elf woman and introduced himself, all pomp and circumstance. The bard made some off-color joke about the Gur having taken "an eye for an eye" literally and Astarion bristled, tongue ready to lash Volo for the offense. He was interrupted by a burst of laughter and was shocked to discover the noise had come from Wren.

'What an unpredictable, dark and twisted woman...' The vampire mused as he turned his attentions and assisted his campmates with preparations. His hands meticulously smoothed at the blanket Wyll draped over an oblong boulder. Shadowheart began piling various tools and tinctures onto the rock, slapping the vampire's hands away as he reached out to examine a particularly interesting vial.

Volo was explaining the magical eye and the installation process to Wren as the camp bustled around them. The little bird listened intently, eyebrows furrowed in a look between confusion and trepidation. She considered everything for a moment before shrugging, "Hells, not like I can be blinded twice in the same eye."

Astarion examined the boulder's set up suspiciously before turning to Wren, clapping his hands together in an impatient chop-chop. “Well, come on then, darling. Let’s give it a go.”

As the sharp tool made its way towards her eye, Wren began to panic, and grasped desperately at the bard's wrist. Shadowheart offered a calm emotions spell and the half-elf accepted, releasing Volo's arm as visions of squirrels and red eyes crinkling in laughter flooded her mind, wrapping her in a blanket of comfort.

At the little bird's spell-drunk request, Astarion scooted closer to the boulder and held her limp, drugged, hand, his gaze completely averted. Karlach settled on a boulder nearby and gave Astarion a knowing look, pointedly mouthing "your girl" before cackling at the eyeful of daggers the rogue shot her way. Everyone else hung much further back, interested in the results but unwilling to come close to the scene.

Volo’s “surgery” was quite a grotesque affair. Shadowheart, always the miracle-worker, despite her claims otherwise, did everything she could with drugs and spells to reduce the pain. Wren barely registered a dull throb as the bard scooped her necrotic eye out of its socket with a slimy pop. To everyone’s disappointment, the blue-clad man made an unsuccessful attempt to extract the wriggling parasite before he placed the magic eye in Wren’s barren socket.

“Welcome to the one-eyed club!” Wyll cheered, raising a glass of wine to the half-elf as she sat up, clutching the side of her head.

“So?! Don't leave us all in suspense, what’s the verdict?” Astarion asked, an edge to his voice that Wren couldn’t quite identify.

The ranger sat silent for a moment, turning her head to look about the camp. Her expression was vacant as she examined her surroundings, switching her focus from the faces of her friends to the edges of the camp, where small yellow marigolds dotted the tree line. She could see everything with exceptional clarity and turned to beam at the vampire that had been watching her with bated breath. "I think it was a success."

Half a week’s worth of stress melted from Astarion's face and turned him back into the playful, silver-haired rake. He practically glowed. “Wonderful news, darling! I was really hoping we wouldn’t have to slaughter another man in the middle of our camp. The clean up last time was quite awful, you know.”

The camp was alight with happiness as soon as the procedure was declared a success; Volo was thanked profusely and invited to spend the night before heading his own way. Everyone began chattering all at once about the information they'd gathered, Halsin's location within the camp, and all the ideas they had for breaking him free.

Wren declared herself fit for battle with a few perfectly placed arrows on the target that had seen only misfires earlier that same day. Hours rushed by as the group busied itself with preparations, all focused on getting closer to finding a way to rid themselves of the parasite. Astarion left to hunt as the sun began to kiss the horizon goodnight, but Wren noticed, with some sort of childlike embarrassment, that he'd returned to sit by her and read in relative silence as she ate her dinner and prepared a few more arrows for her quiver.

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After everyone called it an early evening, Wren lay awake in her tent, walking the tightrope between wakefulness and sleep. Her mind began to wander, and soon it drifted to the lustful events from the night prior. The sound of Astarion’s gasp when she’d touched his ear had ignited a fire inside her, the feeling of his lips on hers stoking the flames. The grip he’d had on her forearm caused her still sore layers of bone and muscle to radiate stabs of pain down her nerves and quelled the passion between them almost instantly. Before Wren could assure the vampire she'd been okay, the moment fizzled out and he was gone, leaving her a hot mess that she’d had to handle herself. The ranger silently cursed her bruises and the missed opportunity as she drifted to sleep, the embers of that fire still glowing within her psyche.

The familiar croaking of frogs and chirping of cicadas welcomed the half-elf as she rustled out of her bedroll a mere hour later, drenched in sweat. Had she experienced a nightmare or a memory? She couldn’t be sure. Much of the time after she'd married Kol was covered in a fuzzy film; the memories were a blur the woman couldn't ever pull from the fog. The flashes from her sleep, all violent jolts of lightening and screaming, left a pit in her stomach and a sudden, urgent need to escape the confines of her tent. The pre-battle jitters were surely getting to the ranger... she just needed to relax.

The little bird dug through her pack and pulled out both a pipe and small sachet of fragrant herbs she’d snatched from the Druid Grove. Seconds later she was stoking the final embers of the campfire, coaxing it back into a small flame. The stillness of camp and the hushed snores of her companions provided an odd sort of comfort; just a few puffs and she would head right back to bed.

Wren packed the pipe with the herbal mix, whispering a small thanks to Halsin and a promise to break him out of the goblin camp as a thank you. She lit the contents of the bowl and lifted the stem of the pipe to her lips, dragging a long, deep inhale of smoke into her lungs. Hazy rings of gray floated through the air as she exhaled and looked up towards the star-speckled sky.

“Couldn't sleep?"

His voice startled her; she’d nearly dropped the pipe. Wren was always remarkably quiet in her approach, but Astarion had her beat... he was silent. Deadly. She spun to look at the vampire; one eye that familiar shade of honey and one eye a shocking blue-green. His eyebrow arched, amusement playing at the edges of his mouth as he sauntered over to her. "I didn’t peg you as a smoker, little bird.”

Another drag off the pipe and the ranger shrugged as the comforting rush of warmth floated through her, the intoxicants flooding her system. “I’m entitled to a little fun before I march into a deathmatch, aren’t I? Blame Halsin and Nettie for leaving it out… or thank them, I suppose.”

Wren proffered the pipe to the rogue with a small wiggle. He took it from his female companion and inhaled as he sat down next to her, gaze focused on the night sky. The silence between them spread, warm and comfortable, a direct parallel to the sensation spreading throughout their psyches as the druidic herbs worked their magic. The half-elf turned to the vampire, head cocked as she analyzed his profile. She eyed, with some small measure of adoration, the straight bridge of his nose that turned into a perfect point, the soft curls that weaved around pointed ears, and the nasolabial folds that framed his near-perfect lips.

“Like what you see, darling?” The rogue taunted, a cocky smirk playing across his lips as he took another drag from the pipe and turned to meet her eyes with a lifted brow. He passed the pipe into waiting hands, locked into the spell of her gaze as she analyzed him through half-drooped lids, pupils blown wide.

“What color were your eyes before they changed?” Wren responded, her voice soft, almost sleepy.

“I… well, I don’t know. I can’t remember.” Astarion murmured, brows knitted together as he searched his memories; he hadn't thought about it in 200 years, and no one else had ever asked such a question. His heart dropped. The pale-elf shook his head and scoffed in frustration; his lips pulled back in a sneer. “I don’t know what my face looks like at all. I haven't seen my reflection since I was turned."

The ranger stared at him, part of her admiring, part of her pitying, but all of her fully doped. In truth, Astarion’s face looked like it had been carved out of marble by the gods. But the little bird knew from all his stories that the people he’d lured to Cazador had always seen the vampire as attractive. That had been his entire identity for over 200 years and his greatest weapon.

Wren knew she could tell her companion that he was beautiful... it was the objective truth. But her gut made her think that wasn’t the answer he truly wanted to hear. It was too one-dimensional, predictable, and easy; he would never ask, but he wanted something else. All pretense melted away as the glow of the medicinals lit her up inside and her freckled hand reached out to run a thin pointer finger down the bridge of Astarion's nose. The vampire snapped his head to look at her, face tensed, lip still slightly sneered, almost offended, mouth open to chastise her before she interrupted him, one finger covering his lips.

“You have a very straight nose bridge,” she murmured, before moving her finger to cross his upper lip. “Your top lip is just slightly larger than your bottom lip, and they both seem to be perpetually stuck in a smirk.”

Astarion relaxed, still confused but no longer offended, as her finger grazed along his face, tracing the contours of a visage he could no longer see. She continued to trace along his face, examining him intently. He tilted his chin up slightly, suddenly quite flattered by the amount of attention she bestowed upon him and, unbeknownst to himself, yearning for her touch. Wren brushed her hand along the elf's eyebrows and then over his eyes, causing his lids to flutter as she grazed against white eyelashes.

“Your hair is a beautiful silver-gray, like moonlight. Your eyes are a shade of deep crimson... like the wine you adore so much. And they are rather round when you aren’t busy glaring at or judging someone; they can be quite soft and portray all manner of emotions. I think they may be my favorite part of your face.” She murmured, pausing for just a moment before continuing, almost coy. “Save, perhaps…” She dragged her hand through his curls and then daintily pulled her finger up the helix of his ear, tracing the pointed pinna with the gentlest of touches. "Save perhaps this part right here."

She’d stolen Astarion's breath away with ease as her finger grazed against his ear. The pale elf felt that familiar flush of desire rise up again, spurred on by the fresh blood from his evening hunt. He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes, letting Wren trace circles along his ear. Their sensitivity had been enhanced by the powerful herbs running through his system and he basked in the thrilling sensation her touch sent through him.

“Darling, I’m not quite sure you know what that does to me.” He murmured, his voice just above a whisper but laced with excitement. His eyes snapped open when he heard Wren’s response, her lips skimming his ear, hot breath tickling him on the exhale.

“Oh, I do.” She whispered just before enveloping his ear in her mouth and shocking a gasp from the rogue, so similar to the one he'd uttered last night that it set her body aflame. “And I’m not as fragile as you think I am, either.”

At that tempting invitation, Astarion turned and crashed his lips into hers once more, desperate to drown in the familiar taste. Strawberries and smoke rings flooded his senses. Wren eagerly responded to his advances, her lips parting to welcome his tongue as he delved into her mouth, fraught with the desire to explore its depths. His hand found her hip, where he grasped as the kiss deepened, unleashing the tides of their mutual arousal.

Astarion broke away from the half-elf's lips and trailed kisses down her neck, just behind her ear, extracting a low, satisfied purr from the ranger. His hand walked the distance from her hip up to her chest before cupping the underside of her breast with long, pale fingers. The thin material of her chemise aided the rogue in finding the centrally located nub on her pert breasts. He teased Wren's nipple between thin, dexterous fingers and pulled a keening sound from her lips, the sound so deliciously tempting that his entire mind fixed itself on forcing that noise from her once more.

"Little bird..." The pale elf whispered, voice all gravel and lust as he continued his ministrations and the gentle kisses he placed along her neck, teeth just grazing his favorite spot where her pulse fluttered with excitement. "I could devour you right here and now, but perhaps we should make our way to your tent."

Wren pulled the rogue into another kiss before grabbing his hand and practically running to her tent, both of them half-stumbling in their intoxicated state. What further surprises did the two of them have in store for one another? The night was still young, and had much to tell.

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