#zevlor brings out the best in me i swear | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cinnasalmon · 23 days

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→ Zevlor SFW Alphabet

Various SFW relationship (mostly romantic, but some platonic too) headcanons, one letter at a time! Very long. Sorry not sorry. I have a lot of thoughts

NSFW Alphabet here !

→ A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Doting to the mf MAXIMUM. It's almost sickening. He's not super into PDA, but he will always have a hand on the small of his partner's back and be the first to open doors so he can hold it open for them. This has a risk of other couples in public to start arguing because “how come you're not like that with me?”

For real though he is so affectionate, and it's always the little things, too. Like if he's on his way back from the temple and a food cart is offering a free sample of something, he asks for another to bring to his sweetheart.

→ B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Mom/Dad/Parent friend. Overly responsible, always offering to help, and it's one thing when someone comes at him sideways—he can take the heat (begrudgingly)—but it's an entirely different thing when it's one of his buds. He has an extremely small friend circle, and he considers them family.

Friendship progression is slow and really only happens if he sees them regularly: a regular at the temple or they work together there, they're his neighbors, etc. He's got trust issues out the wazoo, though (thanks Avernus/Elturel). So be very, very patient.

→ C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

YES goodness gracious yes. He loves cuddling, or any kind of physical touch. Big spoon, little spoon, it does not matter to him so long as he's in physical contact with his partner.

Though, he prefers as much of his body flushed against theirs (the more skin-on-skin contact, the better); we're talking arms holding each other, legs tangled, heads buried in the other's, etc. If his partner is also a tiefling, their tails will be intertwined as much as possible. If his partner is a non-tiefling, his tail will be coiled around one of their legs.

→ D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

He's been wanting to settle down for decades. But, a Hellrider is for life. His career was always to be his priority: even if he had a family at home, even if his own life was in danger.

But the moment he can finally settle down, soldiering days behind him, you can bet he'll be pitching in happily to the household chores. He may not be the greatest cook, but he'll tease he can chop the hell out of a vegetable.

→ E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Oh this is a nightmare scenario for him. He'll exhaust every possible option of salvaging the relationship before resorting to this. Once he commits to his partner, he doesn't let go easily. But if it comes down to it, he'll plan it out and whip out the ‘ol “We need to talk.”

From being a commander in the past, he's not afraid of confrontation, but he'll still be gritting his teeth as he bites the bullet to end it.

→ F = Fiancé (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

As stated above, once he commits to his partner, he's locked in; he dates with marriage as the end goal. Whether he's been married before or not, at his age now, this is it. So, he'll take his time before deciding to pop the question. Buuut he doesn't wait forever, though. He's a classic romantic, so no games or leading someone on. If his partner reciprocates with the same enthusiasm? Well he'll be down on one knee in no time.

→ G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Paladins who swear to an oath of devotion follow a set of tenants, one of these is to aid others, protect the weak, and punish those who prey upon them (labeled under Compassion). A sturdy and strong hand to slay enemies should also be capable of being soothing and with great care to those the paladin is sworn to defend. Zevlor is no exception to this. Even if his oath is broken, it's still in his nature to be like this.

As far as emotions? Much as he may try to appear stoic and calm, he wears his emotion on his face. And despite having the flames of Hell sat on onyx for eyeballs, they show a lot. I personally love the headcanon that the flames will brighten or dim depending on his emotions and I will stand by that proudly.

→ H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

As stated before, physical touch is something this man wants at nearly all times. So it's no surprise he gives great hugs. They're so gentle and calming, and even if the person he's hugging is taller or bigger than him, they'll feel enveloped by his touch. And being a tiefling, his body temperature runs higher, so his hugs are nice and toasty.

He'll embrace his partner often, and he particularly loves hugs from behind (both giving and receiving). People hug from the front all the time, so coming up from the rear is quite a bit more intimate. He craves closeness in every sense of the word.

→ I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He'll want to say it much sooner than he finally does. This is sooo cheesy, but he'll be staring at the side or back of his partner, feeling that wave of nerves, butterflies in his stomach, and the swells in his chest, but those short little words are caught at the top of his throat. His partner will notice him and curiously ask, “What are you looking at?” and he will say, “Sorry, I… was drifting in thought,” until one day his partner will once again curiously ask with an accompanied chuckle, “What are you looking at?” to which he will blurt out “I love you.”

→ J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

This man will n e v e r admit he's jealous. But boy does it show. His words are short, blunt. He won't look his partner in the eye. They'll have to coax it out of him. Simply asking “Wait, are you jealous?” will not work. In fact, it will likely send him further into painfully obvious denial.

Since his oath and faith were broken and lost, his ego is um… quite fragile, moreso when it comes to things in his life he believes he doesn't deserve. Like his partner. Especially his partner.

→ K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

His kisses are so sweet your blood sugar levels will skyrocket.

So, so gentle and loving. He can certainly be rough when the time calls for it, but overall he's slow and even methodical a bit; he kisses like each one could be his last.

In public, he'll give a peck here and there, but at home? Showers his partner in kisses. Everywhere. It's one of the easiest and simplest ways to show how much he truly adores them.

He doesn't really have a preference where he likes to be kissed, but he blushes a bit and feels soft and mushy when it's anywhere on his face (especially cheeks, temples, and forehead) or any of his infernal features on his body. If his partner kisses the back of his hand, he'll freeze for a moment, then the bashfulness comes out.

→ L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He loves kids! I'd like to think that if asked what he would be if not a Hellrider, he would answer a schoolteacher (shout out to Early Access). He sees children as limitless potential with an insatiable curiosity; they are the future. And of course, he's always wanted children of his own, and perhaps a part of him still wants to try…!

→ M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Slow and easy. Decades of being a Hellrider waking up before dawn to report for duty? He is over it. Now he can finally take his time and savor the mornings.

If he's up before his partner and isn't helping out at the temple that day, he'll stick around and read a book until he hears them stirring awake. Once they're awake, it doesn't take much coaxing to get him back in bed.

If both end up sleeping in, they're not leaving that bed for at least an hour after they wake up. Just cuddling and chatting, enjoying each other's company. Afterwards, they always make breakfast together.

→ N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Evenings are typically relaxing. After dinner, he'll read or write a bit (he loves his poetry), have a glass of wine or two with his partner, or any other similar winding-down type of activity.

He has insomnia and frequent nightmares, and no matter how many nights his partner will be adamant to stay up with him, the warmth radiating from his body as well as the soothing baritones of his voice guarantee that will never happen.

→ O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He harbors a lot of secrets and stress within him. He's very wise, but oftentimes wisdom is formed from hardship. He's reluctant to share much aside from surface-level tidbits until the relationship matures and he feels safe and secure enough to let his guard down. Even then, he's definitely someone who will still reveal things about himself years into a relationship or friendship.

→ P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He has a temper for sure, especially if a soft spot was hit. That being said, he's also quick to calm himself. Being a leader—a leader in the military, at that—he cannot let himself get caught up in the heat of the moment; he has to catch himself before it gets to that point, even if his anger is justified (see: the confrontation with Aradin).

→ Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He's got a pretty good memory, but when it comes to his relationship? Almost nothing will need to be repeated to him. Hell, he'll write it down on scrap paper and tuck it in one of his journals if he has to.

If his partner works at a busy place in the city, he'll remember every co-worker his partner complains or raves about. Our man stays on top of the work drama: “Had a long day, darling? Was it that Galawyn again?”

→ R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

I think Zevlor's favorite moments in a relationship would be the little moments. Hearing his partner's fits of laughter, how peaceful they look asleep next to him, the way their eyes light up when they see a poster that their favorite traveling bard will be performing in town soon.

And of course, it goes without saying his all-time favorite moment would be the classics: the wedding day and/or the birth of their child!

→ S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

HAh this man is a guard dog. Even before they become a part of his oath, he's adamant to protect his person, his one and only. During the budding/honeymoon stage of the relationship this will be extremely obvious. Lots of, “Dear, please be careful with that,” or “Would you like me to accompany you?” As if they didn't personally kill the Chosen of the Dead Three along with a Netherbrain.

But for Zevlor to be the protected one? On the outside, he'll insist he's fine and that he can hold his own just fine, he's a grown man, etc. And he is right. But on the inside, he'll be so relieved to be tended to. So relieved, in fact, that he actually feels a bit guilty (but that's a whole other can of worms).

→ T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Oh he'll remember. He keeps track. Never will need to be reminded of something. He's someone who has that uncanny ability to bring his partner a random gift and they'll respond “How did you know I wanted this?!” and the bastard will shrug and smirk. He knows. He just knows.

→ U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

His biggest one is he will easily and nearly automatically put himself down at every opportunity. Early in the relationship it's to the point he doesn't even realize he's doing it until it's pointed out. He's always had this mindset to a degree, but even still, he was a much different person in Elturel as a Commander vs. now. The trauma from Avernus combined with the aftermath of being blamed for it (and then subsequently exiled), as well as the events of the Shadow Lands, all did a number on his psyche.

I'm also not gonna lie—he can be a little codependent, especially if the relationship is new. It's easy to fall down that slippery slope when you want to serve others, especially loved ones. He may occasionally have to be reminded he can be “selfish” and accept the fact his partner can do things for him that he doesn't need to reciprocate!

→ V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Not terribly concerned. Well, not terribly concerned unless his partner is young and/or considered attractive by others (though he will always believe they are the hottest in all the land), then he'll feel very self-conscious and in need of some validation and reassurance.

He does like to maintain good hygiene and prefers to wear simple, clean, and comfortable clothes.

→ W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He's a sappy romantic at his core, so once he finds his person, he will absolutely say they complete him.

While he had his comrades in the cavalry, all who were extremely close-knit and loyal to one another, they couldn't fill all his wants and needs. When they were able to take some leave, many of them had spouses and children waiting for them to come back home, and Zevlor had always lamented that.

→ X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

We got a nail biter over here! I recently saw this front-view of an idle animation as he stood over the map of Elturgard, and while it very well could be a generic idle animation not specific to him, imo, the shoe fits perfectly I'm afraid.

He holds his hand over his mouth somewhat nervously, and you could say he's just pondering but I don't care! He's biting his nails okay!!!

→ Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

In a partner: if they're non-committal. No guessing games, wishy-washy, flaky nonsense. However, he is willing to wait if they want to take it slow and work through some stuff (and he'll be happy to assist them in any way he can). He just doesn't want to be with someone who treats him as a backup or if he feels like they're just settling for him.

In general: I have 0 evidence for this but I think he doesn't like tight spaces. Claustrophobia, if you will. Perhaps it's a lack of an easy escape or is limited in his movements, but he haaaates it. Even being in a crowd makes him uneasy.

→ Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

After canon events, he takes naps frequently. All that stress and his nervous system stuck in survival mode for the past several months will catch up to him, and to try and recover, he'll feel sleepy a lot. Known to begin to drift to sleep while embracing his partner, even while standing (he will deny this if confronted).

He also snores. Not loudly by any means, but it's a dead giveaway that he actually made it into a nice, deep sleep, as he's normally a light sleeper and has some gnarly insomnia sometimes. Almost always falls asleep after his partner and wakes up before them in the morning.

———

If you made it this far congrats! Also I encourage you to fill out this alphabet too, for Zevlor or whoever!

#zevlor #bg3 zevlor #headcanons #>completes a sfw alphabet #>uses gif where he's covered in blood #>leave me alone ok #the questions are not color-coded in any way i just needed something to break up the otherwise gigantic wall of singular-colored text lmao

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dragonswithjetpacks · 3 years

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I finally finished the next chapter of Theurgist. I don't know why I was struggling so hard to finish it. I literally only needed one conversation to finish it. Either way! Here we go!

Theurgist

Chapter Six: The Trouble of Secrets

-dragonswithjetpacks

Read here on Ao3.

“Is that it? Down there?” Ferelith peered over the edge of the cliff, shouting behind her as the roaring of the waterfall drowned out her voice. “Not much of a sanctuary is it?”

The ruined stone nestled into the grove below were nothing but rocks to her as she searched the area for anything note-worthy. From what she gathered, it was an area designated to the druids and a sanctioned place for their ritual. Other than that, everything else seemed a makeshift bandaid toward any attempt to reconstruct the architecture of the original temple that once existed. The stonework that remained standing was impressive in itself. But it seemed overshadowed by the poor craftsmanship of the woodwork, similar to what the tiefling camp was built around. With a disappointed huff, she pulled herself away.

“Let’s take a look at the rest of the camp. I’d like to hear a few more things about the druids before we head down there.”

“You don’t think we should introduce ourselves?” Gale crossed his arms, examining her closely. “The tieflings mentioned a healer was among them.”

“Did they?” she raised her brow. “I believe anyone with potential was said to be missing.”

“Ah, but there was a brief word about an apprentice.”

“I’m not interested in a druid apprentice,” she almost snarled, a wrinkle forming on her nose.

“We’re all in need of assistance, here,” he became stern with a lowered brow. “I can’t imagine putting off this kind of information. What sort of vendetta do you have?”

“I don’t,” she said quickly with a shrug to hide her hesitance. “I simply feel this is a problem more complicated that requires further assistance. Far from what an apprentice could provide.”

“And you think we’ll find something different with the rumors of refugees?”

“I think the tieflings will be desperate enough to help in any way they can. Rather than throw ourselves at the mercy of those running everyone out of the grove, why don’t we lend an ear to the needy?”

“She might be right,” Astarion pulled at his belt. “People in desperation are rather chatty.”

“Or we could stop wasting time. We have the location we need marked on the map. Let us be done with this place,” Lae’zel added her piece.

Ferelith had not trusted a single word of information she had received thus far. Every possibility for a cure to her brain problem seemed ironically far-fetched. Given her circumstances were unusual, she did not know why the suggestion of an obscure solution seemed so unlikely. Still, the idea of a gith camp made her uneasy and the thought of a druid healer made her sick.

“I want to at least speak with Zevlor, the tiefling’s leader, once more,” she stepped past her comrades. “I’d like to get a better idea of what we’re walking into down there.”

The focus was originally meant for striding back through the camp. Instead, it was directed toward to small orange eyes that caused her to pause. They belonged to a tiefling boy, not much older than the ones training on the platform above. Behind him was a poorly made table filled with an array of what she could only imagine were crafted items.

“Going so soon?” he grinned. “I couldn’t help but overhear your troubles. I might have something that could help.”

“I doubt that,” she scoffed.

“Hang on, lady,” he held out his hands. “Hold out your hand. Let me show you something.”

The small red hands of the child were quick, she had to admit. But still, she could tell it was the sleight of his hands that made the ring appear from thin air. Between his fingers was a single tarnished ring.

“Go on. Take it. It’s lucky.”

Ferelith humored him, taking it into her grasp. Between two fingers, she held up to her eye-level and began to wonder what sort of nonsense she might find in it.

“Call it,” he nodded, holding up a coin. “Heads? Or tails?”

“Heads,” she answered firmly.

The coin was flipped into the air, landing square into the center of his palm. The coin sat face-up.

“Heads it is,” he said confidently. “See? That’s the kind of luck you need. And you can get it with one of my lucky rings. I’ve got plenty more where that came from. Real cheap, too. Interested?”

“These runes are terrible,” she said, looking down at the ring with hardly any interest in the coin at all. “They’re gibberish.”

“Hey! Not so loud,” he hissed at her, grabbing at her hands to pull them back down.

Ferelith dodged his desperate attempts, stepping backward and holding the ring up further.

“This… looks like a smiley face,” she squinted.

“Alright, alright,” he sighed. “You caught me. They’re not lucky rings. I’m just… trying to earn money for my family. My father left and my mother… she’s so sick.”

He was lying. She was certain of it. Some children would line up just outside the alleyway across her shop. That alleyway was the same she would use to navigate quickly within the lower district of Baldur’s Gate. It was a quick shortcut, an access point, and a good source of information. There were often she would leave her window open, listening to the shouts of some poor swindled soul calling out to catch a thief. The alleys were swarming with urchins and pickpockets. She knew their games. To avoid their wrath, she would bring them sweets or simply a loaf of bread to feed them for the night. It kept her in their favor, but she always knew what to look for.

“I wish I had better things to sell than… trinkets. But it’s all I have.”

Ferelith crossed her arms, sticking her bottom lip out with large eyes to mimic the child. For a moment, he thought it was empathy. But he was quickly corrected by a jesting grin as the corner of her mouth turned upward.

“I’m not buying it, kid,” she laughed.

“I, uh… don’t know what you mean.”

“This is a Tinker’s Trash… and a clumsy one at that.”

“You know that really hurts. I’m running an honest- wait. Okay, what’s a Tinker’s Trash?”

“It’s when a scammer offers the target a ‘magic’ object-”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded eagerly.

“-then rigs a game to gain the target’s trust to sell them trash.”

“Interesting,” he paused for a moment, “And I promise this isn’t a Tinker’s Trash scam.”

“Then what kind of scam is it?”

“Look, I swear. These rings are the real deal. I’m not running a scam.”

“Alright,” she looked down at the ring with the scratched fake runes.

The children in Baldur’s Gate were clever, much like the little fiend before her. But not all children were so lucky. The desperation of the camp reminded her of the harsh ways of living within the underbelly of large cities. There wasn’t always a place for children to go. Which meant even if the tieflings ever made it, some of the orphaned children wouldn’t last a second in the dirty streets of the lower district.

“Let’s see what else you have,” she nodded.

“You’re paying for that one, aren’t you?”

Ferelith grinned wickedly. “Consider this your first word of advice: don’t let the target hold the product for too long. Or else the swindler will be swindled. It’s a free sample, now.”

“I’m not- you know what… it’s fine. You’ll feel way more confident once you’ve seen the rest of my stock.”

The trinkets scattered about the table were arranged quite nicely considering it was all literal garbage. One ring she picked up was covered in ants. She turned it over in her hand. Then picked up another ring. The child next to her was excitedly describing their properties and some came with stories of how they came into his possession. Children were typically creatures Ferelith did not gain any joy from. This brat in particular, however, brought a cheeky grin to her face. She purchased three of the rings.

“You bought something,” he said looking down at the coins she placed in his hand. “Most everybody says it looks like junk and moves on.”

“What can I say? I like collecting junk,” she shrugged, hiding the hint of the smile.

“Well, it’s a pleasure doing business with you. If you have any further need, you know where I’ll be. Take care!”

Just before she turned, she caught the quick wink to another tiefling who lingered off to the side. He appeared very nervous and simply gave a slight wave as their eyes met. Feeling rather pleased with herself, she approached the others near the edge of the cliff. Astarion had a rather irritated look upon his face from what she could gather. Then again, the expression had not left from the moment they entered the camp. Ferelith did the best she could to avoid him but found it impossible as he quickly hovered over her.

“You’re joking right?” his voice was harsh in her ear.

“What is it, now?” she said, sliding one of the rings with rubbish runes onto her finger.

“You’re just going to let them rob you?”

“They didn’t rob me,” she rolled her eyes.

“You bought actual garbage with gold.”

“What would you have me do?” she seemed rather interested in his response.

“They’re children. You could easily take it back. It might teach them a lesson.”

“And what lesson is that?” her head turned, her nostrils flaring with a cold stare. “That the strong can take what they want? That shouldn’t lessen the idea that the weak can survive.”

“The strong take what they want because they’ve earned that right,” he lowered his brow.

“We were all weak, once,” she rolled another ring around the palm of her hand. “Luck is what granted us the opportunity to become stronger. The only thing the strong have properly earned is the gratitude to have made the right choice and boasting rights.”

“Luck?” he appeared baffled by her statement. “That has nothing to do with it, darling. It’s all about dedication to gain power. A proper tool of strength.”

“Strength means nothing if you don’t know how to use that power,” she retorted. “And that is maintained by learning to avoid weakness. Besides… there is a chance the brat might come in handy.”

“I can’t see how a vile devil spawn with an eye for trash could be of use.”

“Don’t be so cross,” she mocked him with a false look of defeat. “I got something for you, too.”

The ring flipped up with a toss of her thumb. And he caught it, looking down and seeing the same thing he saw before. A piece of metal scrapped together.

“Wonderful,” he looked at it. “What does it do?”

“It makes you really invisible,” she grinned, walking back toward the entrance of the grotto.

“I don’t need invisibility.”

“You sure?” she tilted her head. “I believe I recall a bottle of acid smashed on the back of you during the battle at the gate. You were quite stealthy then, weren’t you?”

“I hope the money you spent on this just to insult me was worth it,” he grumbled behind her, tucking the trinket into his pocket as he listened to her chuckle.

“I believe it was,” she glanced over her shoulder with a suggestive wink.

***************************************

Even after a day combing through the camp, Ferelith had found no healer. Plenty of leads that pointed her to one, but not a single healer in her current sights. Not one worth the risk, at any rate. All she had discovered was a camp full of unresolved tension with a burnt-out leader reader to snuff out his opponent with a sack of coin. Tempting as it may have been, she still considered the resolve to be attainable and wanted to avoid any further conflict that might jeopardize her chance of receiving a cure. Even with that setting as the main course for thought, there was still something juicier that caught the attention of her hunger named curiosity. It was the man she had met in the grove. The one who had dismissed her so quickly for assuming he had taken a pact as she had. Her thoughts fluttered back to the image of the cambion she saw, her wings stretched out to show her true form in all its beauty. Though the sight of it was but a glimpse, Ferelith was certain of what she had witnessed in his mind.

Slinging her pack off her shoulder and tossing it to the ground, she turned with the intention to approach him. He met her gaze as she grew near with a welcoming smile. He had been waiting all evening and expected she was eager to speak with him.

“Salutations,” he greeted her politely.

“Blade of the Frontiers,” she held out a hand, and he grasped it gently.

“Living legend, in the flesh,” he boasted with a good shake. “Slayer of specters. Killer of kobolds. The pride of Baldur’s Gate.”

“So they say,” she shook her head teasingly as he let go of her.

“Ah, so you’ve heard the stories?”

“I have,” her smile grew. “The wonderful tales that they are.”

“All true, I might add. Won’t be long before they’re telling new tales. Mind flayers, flying ships, dragon attacks- the legend grows!”

“Mind flayers and dragons are quite the stretch from kobolds,” she crossed her arms. “I assume you have an idea of how to handle this, then?”

“There’s an old saying I just made up,” he tossed his hand carelessly. “To fell a dragon, you must chop off its head.”

“I see,” she nodded slowly. “So... you have no idea.”

“Hold on,” he held up a hand. “These goblins are organized. It’s no hamhead pulling the strings. We slither through their camp and off their leaders, quick as crickets.”

“Take out the ones pulling the strings and the puppets have no one to follow. Not a bad plan, but I never imagined goblins would be the type to fall in line. Are you sure they’re as organized as you say?”

“Positive,” he sounded firm. “I’ve learned at least that much while defending the camp.”

“You said you were waiting for Halsin,” she stated. “Why risk your life for the tieflings?”

“Did you see those kids back at the grove? They should be chasing frogs, climbing trees. Not training for battles they can’t win. Those people look at me and they see a hero. Imagine how bad they’d feel if they were wrong.”

Dark thoughts weaved their way into her mind as she saw the selfish side of the pride of a hero. The downfall of the tieflings meant damage to his reputation. Then again, something about what he said was true. If it wasn’t, she would not be wearing a fake magic ring on her finger. And she would be a liar if she said she felt any different about them.

“It is an unfortunate situation.”

“I disagree,” he said firmly. “Fortune has brought us to their aid.”

Ferelith turned her head, eyeing him with distinct suspicion at the tone in his voice. It brought her back around to the sole purpose of why she had a desire to speak with him. But it also had made her question what he had seen when they crossed memories. If she had found the cambion, what had he discovered within her memories?

“Your eye,” she stated lightly while trying to sway the subject. “… it’s a bit unusual.”

“Now, now” he held out a hand to keep her at bay. “I always save the best stories for my closest friends and my cruelest enemies. Get to be one of those, and I’ll spill the whole jug.”

Her posture softened, but the intensity of her gaze never left.

“You get that, right? Spill the whole jug? Ugh- guess I’ll toss that one into the heap.”

Ferelith had already seen enough to know that there was something else to suspect of Wyll. This game he was playing by being coy was enough to keep her interest, but not enough to prevent her from becoming impatient. Her eyes were sharp and she leaned forward a bit with a knowing stare. She could see the grooves carved into his eye, much like stone. She had seen something like it before. Not recently, but during her time in Neverwinter, she had witnessed two colleagues exchanging them before setting off on a journey.

“It looks like a sending stone.”

Wyll threw himself into a fit of laughter. “A what now? Goodness, but it’s just a bit of rock- nothing so special, I assure you.”

The lifting spirits in his voice would have thrown anyone else off course. But Ferelith was keen to notice his jaw clench at the mention of the magic stone. He knew she was far too cunning to outsmart. She narrowed her eyes at his lies, a sign that she knew something of his secret. She would hold it… for now.

“If you say so,” she smiled.

It sounded far more sinister than it should. And he watched as her black hair swirled around her shoulder as she whipped around to leave him to his own bidding. His brow lowered as he glared at her back, watching as if he were about to see some demon rip from her spine. Just as she had seen what lie beneath his thoughts, he saw deep into her. It was a tall dark shadow with his hands placed upon her shoulders. He loomed over her, hovering like a heavy reminder of whatever deal they had made. Ferelith was never shy to admit she was a warlock. Yet he did note that there had been no mention of what her patron was. Or what sort of power she received.

Ferelith had reason to be concerned with what Wyll had seen. If she was correct in her assumption that they had exchanged knowledge of their patrons, and if the angered outburst had truly come from a darker place within, then she knew her passenger was still on board. It put her to ease, but the troubled thoughts remained as to why he remained silent. So silent, in fact, that she could not even feel him burrowing into the depths of her thoughts. Then, there was an idea that the worm in her had was so tangible, so heavy, that maybe his projected form was simply too light in comparison. The sudden realization was so profound that she felt the need to make note of it. To write it down along with all the other sort of information she gathered that day.

Rummaging through her bag she found the ink and quill she had been keeping. And with a sigh, she pulled out her books, one carefully at a time. Among them was a red book. She looked at it curiously. She did not remember this book. As she opened the pages, she noticed they were blank. She leaned forward to smell them. The book was new. And the outside smelled of leather and sweet cherry wood. It brought back a memory. And she knew it should have been there before, but it wasn't. This was a gift.

Her hand ran across the leather as she remembered the last face she saw before she was kidnapped. But then something occurred to her... what if it wasn't the last face. What if there were more memories that she was missing? She couldn't even remember how she was taken. All she could recall was stone. The cold numbing feeling through her head. And the blackness surrounding her vision. If she was receiving the gift that night, then she must have been taken on her way home. That was the only explanation from what she could gather.

She searched further into the back of her head, looking for the voice that usually appeared as a potential source for answers. It remained silent. Her gaze fell up to the sky, feeling a bit remorseful at the temporary loss of her inner companion. Still, she had the journal. And she was relieved she had something to remind her of herself. Her gaze shifting down, she wondered how her other companions had been captured. She had seen brief memories of them. But what if they, too, had part of their memory removed as she did. Her eyes fell onto Astarion and her heart jumped for a moment. It appeared he was feeling sentimental as well. The attraction she had felt for him reared its ugly head once again. He sat back in the grass, his legs kicked out as he looked into the sky. She wondered what it was that intrigued his thoughts. She could use the tadpole. But if anything was going to keep her patron at bay, it would be the exploitation of their newly arrived tag along. Instead, she stood up, tucking the journal into her pocket before making her way to the elf.

"It's quite a sight," he said as he felt her approach.

He did not turn his eyes away from the sky. And she noticed the pleased expression he wore. It suited him, but she felt it was out of character considering how smug his previous smirks had been.

"The stars, I mean," he clarified, finally meeting her gaze. "I could take or leave your chin."

He caught the hint of a smile, an indication he had picked up the teasing tone which matched that of her own during previous conversations. She hid it well and even glanced over her shoulder to confirm that Lae’zel was still too busy sharpening her sword to eavesdrop. The light from the fire reflected off her face and he could see the highlight of her cheekbones. As she turned back to face him, he held his tongue. He kept the sight of her for a moment before looking back up.

"Am I bothering you?"

"No," he said softly. "Just thinking... Reflecting on what tomorrow might bring. When we arrive at this... gith creche."

The use of his enunciation was unnecessary, though she still felt her fingers twitch at her side. She rubbed her fingertips against her thumb to hide the subtle notion, a reminder that what was tangible was far more real than what a voice could provide. His words felt fabricated. Yet, the way his mouth moved when he spoke was still so very enticing.

"Will we find out how to bring the worm under control? Will this little adventure of ours be over?"

"I imagine that is likely" she directed rather casually.

Astarion's face dropped as he drew his attention back to her face. It seemed as though she was not taunting him this time. He began to question her motive. Whatever she had back in Baldur’s Gate must have been far more suitable than whatever he had to offer. Why would she stay? Why would she risk her life more than she already had? What was it that she wanted to return to?

"A pity..." he frowned with a nod of endearment. "A great pity."

He sighed, sitting up to push his hands off the ground and onto his feet. He dusted them off onto his pants and she took the moment to admire his jagged profile while he remained occupied. As jagged as it may be, there were still features that brought softness to his face. For one, his eyes that he could make rather large at any given moment. And the way his hair curled perfectly around his pointed ears. A man so prominent, so smug, so proud... did not seem the type to have such playful curls. She acted as if nothing was humorous about them at all, however, when he looked her in the eyes again.

"I hate to disappoint you," she stated in a rush, "but I doubt you'd miss me that much."

"Of course I would," he proclaimed with his eyes fixated on hers. "You've been to the Hells and back! Survived the crash. Survived everything that's followed. I'm not easily impressed by people. But you're stronger than I gave you credit for."

"I didn't know I appeared to be so weak," she lowered her brow. "I've always been renowned to be rather impressive."

Ferelith brushed her hair from the side of her neck, placing her beauty further into the light of the fire when she turned her head. Her sullen eyes, high cheeks, pointed nose, pursed lips... they all illuminated before him. There was a dark presence to her, one he could not name. But the feeling of it alone was welcoming to him. He glared at her temple, wondering if he could tap into her thoughts without her noticing. But he was not willing to risk it. Instead, he found the nerves that ran through her skull... the pounding of her heart. He followed the sound to her neck, tense from their conversation... She was impressive, indeed.

"And aren't you just," he found himself muttering.

Beautifully frustrated with a thumping rhythm sounding before him as his own personal concerto. It made him wander away from camp. Away to places where he could take her beneath the trees under the cover of shadows. It was more than just taking her blood. It was taking her... all of her...

"Are you alright?"

Her voice brought him back in front of her. In front of the blasted campfire.

"Hmm?" he hummed as he regained himself. "Oh, uh, I was leagues away."

"You're... staring..." she was stuck between question and concern.

There was no point in telling lies any longer. He was, in fact, staring. Though... the reasons were a bit muddled, even in his own mind.

"Was I? I just..." he held his breath, still unsure of his intentions but knowing the hunger was now committed. "I just need to get some... air. Clear my head."

"That's not strange at all…"

There was an urge to dispute her rebuttal, but he stopped himself from saying another word. He would hate to end this moment poorly. One so beautiful as she looked at him from down her nose, her chin held upright as she smirked with amusement as she had cornered him into an awkward circumstance. She was enjoying this. Seeing him struggle. He made note of it as he stepped slightly backward, ready to leave before he endangered himself any further.

"I'll see you later, then," he bowed slightly. "I'm sure of it. Sleep tight."

"Right," she nodded. "Enjoy your air, Astarion."

"Yes," he mumbled under his breath. "My air..."

#bg3 #astarion #astarion fic #astarion x oc #astarion x mc #astarion x tav #astarion x ferelith #slow burn #ferelith #ferelith moonshade #ferelith writing tag

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