#tadfooled

Happy New Year's kiss :3

No.

Well, not for good. A couple years after the events of BG3, Dalamus returns to Menzoberranzan (accompanied and assisted by others) to steal away his son, Zektyrr, from House Strighym.

It is an extremely frightening and emotional mission. Still fresh from the clutches of Lolth, Dalamus will be going back into the spider's den, back to the very place responsible for two hundred years of trauma. To save a son who barely knows him, in order to prevent him from suffering the same trauma.

He does this by being disguised as the caretaker Spiraste, required to don the affect of a Lolthite once again. (Scenario subject to change)

He knows that, to Zektyrr, it will feel like he is being kidnapped from his home by a stranger. It will be scary, and confusing.

Thankfully, by then Dalamus will have a large group of friends and family willing to help this child adjust to the Surface and to being among people who care about his well-being. Zektyrr will be fine. And he will be loved.

Though Dalamus left Menzoberranzan behind, and eventually breaks free of the Lolthite cult-think, he is left with lasting trauma which will take decades to work through and may not ever be entirely resolved, only managed.

Especially right after denouncing Lolth, Dalamus deals with extreme dissonance and confusion. He feels like he has done something wrong. Something punishable. Something he should be punished for. Something he will be punished for. He "should" have died, not because he wants to, but because those whose words and desires were supposed to be absolute law to him said so. Every day he lives is a day he denies his Matron's wishes, and by extension, Lolth's wishes.

Dalamus deals with this lingering sense of danger, feeling unsafe in different ways: trusting individuals (even trusting himself), being worried about being "found out" as one of "the enemy," fearing one day he will be caught and punished in the name of Lolth for daring to abandon Her, etc. The feelings of anxiety or paranoia are not ever-present, but can surface at any time, frequently activated by unfamiliar or overwhelming situations, but even by small missteps or faux pas in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Thankfully, throughout the events of Baldur's Gate 3, he gains friends and family, a support system, people to help him cope with the transition from Underdark to Surface, and to teach him how to interact with his new environment, the rules of his new home.

He begins to measure the intensity of his reactions versus the objective reality of a situation, and training his emotional responses accordingly. He learns how to detect when his emotions are rising and becomes better at catching them before they reach an attack-level of intensity.

After denouncing Lolth, he enters a confused stage where he has difficulty with decision-making and personal identity. Without the strict rules of Lolth, he struggles with knowing what is right and wrong, allowed or disallowed, feeling caught in the middle, and may ask for reassurance. Initially, this takes the form of him asking a trusted person nearby "Am I alright?/Is this alright?", asking them to assure him he is safe, whether it be from himself, from others, or from Lolth, or that he has made a good or appropriate decision. Eventually he learns grounding techniques which he can use to be his own reassurance.

One thing that helps him greatly is routine. He sets up a jewelry shop on the Surface and begins making jewelry again. Several regular customers are Surfacers and find him, and he is assured he does not have to start from scratch, as they swear to spread the word of his new location (which is much easier and safer to get to).

Flow

Astarion

Glorea

@tadfooled

The sun peeks over the horizon, illuminating the aftermath of the Nautiloid crash for all to see--a gory crater within a cracked shell, split in half under its own weight after hitting a small ridge, like an egg crushed under foot. Ship viscera litters the ground in a perimeter the size of a small town. Slimes and acids pool underneath, soaking into the land. Their acrid stench mixes with the scent of burnt, rubbery flesh as flames lap at the wreckage and scorch the ground, embers traveling on the breeze like seeds to sprout fires elsewhere.

The fall from the ship, somehow, had not killed Dalamus, but as he returns to consciousness and perceives the aches across his body, he almost wishes it had. Red eyes open only to squint tightly against the glare of the sky overhead. The sky is blinding, the air shimmers with heat, and his nostrils fill with the scent of smoke and cooking flesh. Suffocating. Suffocating. He needs to find shade. He needs to find... His piwafwi. Where is his piwafwi?

He turns onto his side and a whimper escapes him before he can catch it. The fall has not killed him, but his back is screaming. Every other breath forces him to cough, and pain stabs at his lower spine with each dry retch as his body rejects the fetid air. Once his lungs reluctantly acclimate, Dalamus rolls onto his stomach with a groan, then pushes himself up onto hands and knees. Even the sand reflects sunlight to stab at his eyes--how do surface dwellers get anything done when it is so fucking bright?

The sand and sun are hot against his skin, but he spots his piwafwi a few feet away, caught precariously on a chunk of debris, flapping in the wind, at risk of being lifted away at any moment. Before he can even get his feet underneath him, an ear swivels left to hone in on nearby footsteps, the sound of sand crunching under boots, and his gaze follows.