#weaveshadows

the underground chamber had felt more like a treasure trove to celeste; from the moment astarion had gotten to lock undone and she had seen the massive shelves and piles of books lying around, she had been in a quiet frenzy, and more grateful than every that they had all aready agreed this was a good place to camp for the night. it had given her all the time she needed to wander between stacks, picking through various tomes, collecting anything that felt even mildly interesting enough... while most of the text was academic in nature, a few of the older histories had caught her attention. they were written like fables, old bedtime stories that just happened to be true, and some of them were even written by hand. she kept each and every one of those, the stack by her makeshift bed growing taller, until karlach had pointed out that there was only so much she could carry.

𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙿𝙰𝙽𝙸𝙾𝙽/𝚃𝙰𝚅 𝙰𝚂𝙺 𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃

Yes, she is (and a hopeless romantic at that)!

APPROVAL [GENERAL]:

being kind to animals and children

acts of bravery (but not the reckless kind)

comforting others

treating any Selûne idols or items with respect

APPROVAL [ACT I SPECIFICS]:

saving Arabelle and Mirkon

getting in between the tiefling and the caged goblin

deceiving Lae'zel's captors rather than attacking them

slapping Gale's hand (she laughs)

agreeing to help Astarion upon meeting him (she's naive)

comforting the hyena in its last moments before becoming a gnoll

PUNCHING ARADIN or letting Zevlor punch him

encouraging the children training at the grove

attacking the goblin camp (she's having war flashbacks and sees red, but will regret it afterward)

successful DC15 Persuasion check to calm her down against immediately attacking the goblin camp

DISAPPROVAL [GENERAL]:

being a dick in every sense of the word

pushing her to know about the scar on her neck before she's ready to tell you (if your approval is up enough by the time you rescue Halsin, she'll explain why she was so enraged at the goblin camp and tell you)

desecrating religious artefacts

pitting any of the party members against once another

DISAPPROVAL [ACT I SPECIFICS]:

siding with Minthara (she will leave. she cannot condone attacking the grove)

kicking the squirrel

pitting her against Shadowheart once you learn of her Shar worship

failed DC15 Persuasion check to calm her down against immediately attacking the goblin camp

beheading Karlach

@weaveshadows | asked: “you are sulking,” vespera says, without looking up from the still-beating heart in front of her. magic from the demon weave bleeds from her hands, its deep red and black hues complementing the viscera congealed there. she is slowly threading a haste spell through the muscle, keen to see its impact. however, she can barely think over orin’s boisterous pacing. “loudly.”

Orin froze where it stood, the cool, damp stone of Bhaal's temple felt oddly grounding in that moment. Its soul did not feel TETHERED to its flesh, the stale air was more homely than her meat and bones. It had grown MORE AND MORE accustomed to this sensation since Vespera's hush hushed meetings with the little tyrant became increasingly common. Each play date was a corpse, and the pile of ROTTING FLESH emmited an odor none could escape this late in their little game. But Orin felt the ABSENCE of her sister more than the others, the two were linked. Flesh to msucle, but the sinews and ligaments were becoming INCREASINGLY STRAINED. Soon they would severe permanently and the innards and crimson of ALL THEY BUILT would flow out, never to be recovered.

" Sulking ??? " she hissed, turning to SCOWL at her bloodkin. Her arms outstretched at their sides, raising a chin in defiance. " Would you PREFER that I bow before you ??? Lower myself so that even my forehead touches the muck and filth you float over ??? Sing your praises until my throat CLOSES so all I may do is choke bile as well as adorations for you ??? " Orin's arms dropped back to her sides and she slowly shook her head. JUST LIKE GORTASH, she was becoming just like him. It was MADDENING, especially so when it saw all swoon at their sibling's whim now. They ALL CRUMBLED before her, their throats had been cut deeply and their fleshbags collapsed before her as they choked on their sanguine supply.

of all of the people to liberate the nightsong, a sharran being among their ranks is certainly the very last thing the demigod expected. after centuries of enslavement by the lady of darkness, every ounce of her own once unbreakable will siphoned and replaced only by pain, a thing once curiously pleasurable quickly became her nightmare. her prison. no more pleasure, no more bliss, only darkness and agony. after her escape, shar sent armies of sharran cultists throughout faerûn to hunt her down, forcing the demigod to abandon the realms she adored so very much. she retaliated by growing her own army, her own cult— orders of werecats throughout faerûn would gather in packs, hunt and kill any sharran cultists on sight in sharress’ name during each and every full moon.

but as sharess looks upon this particular sharran by the name of shadowheart, her golden cat eyes are flooded with nothing but admiration. this one was to be a dark justiciar, the desire for that title, that respect given by their chosen deity, sharess can feel without even touching the elf that this meant more to them than anything else and yet— they quite literally threw the opportunity away, and for a direct descendant of selûne. why, shadowheart is more deserving of this blessing than anyone here.

@weaveshadows

A nod of his head as he touched her shoulder, brushing the hair away as he ran his fingers over the scars. Fascinated with the way they felt. It was different than his own, perhaps since they were burn scars rather than slash or stab wounds.

the reassurance is enough to make kit smile — small but genuine, the first smile she's had these past few hours. her duties as a god were important, she knew that better than anyone, but by the stars they could be exhausting, weighing on her heart. so unlike withers, who guided death as easily as breathing, and he didn't even breathe! how had her mother done this for so, so many years? perhaps a trip home might glean some answers.

but for now?

the admission makes the metalsmith pause. he blinks, slowly, hoping he had misheard cadence. but no — no, she had said such a thing. work gloves are tugged off, set alongside the rest of dammon's equipment on the table. work was done for the day, sunlight fading, merriment rising in the streets. dammon takes the prolonged silence as opportunity to clean his sace, to form his words in the best way possible. "I have seen badness, cadence. i have seen evil. before the Hells, after. even now, here, in baldurs gate. doing good things, doing bad things, no one can avoid doing both of those."