She/her - late 20s Mostly Baldur's Gate and Astarion. I sprinkle other stuff occasionally. AO3 Pinned Post Fic Masterlist Minors DNI! pfp by the amazingFloverale
Hello call me Coreene (same name in Ao3) and this is a little navigation post for this blog. My main is @core-ene and I will appear in likes, follows and asks as such.
For Love and Deepspace blog -> @huntercoreene
Feel free to send me asks or dms (about anything I shared both here and/or Ao3), I would be happy to chat!
All my writing is on my Ao3. My Ao3 is locked to the public due to the increases scraping of fanfiction for AI training. If you don't have an account you can't see my fics. I strongly suggest getting on the waitlist to get an account for Ao3 if you like reading fanfics. You're not gonna lose anything if you do.
I have plans to share my fics here as well but it's gonna take me a while. In the meantime, if you want to read them send me a dm and I'll send you a pdf file for it.
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I've got so much Asmodea lore in my head, and I do intend to put most of it into Bloodbang Chronicles or other fics at some point, but I've been working on that so slowly and for so long, that I don't know when I'll ever get around to finally completing the series. Some spoilers ahoy.
đĽ Basics
đĽName: Asmodea. Just Asmodea. Eventually Asmodea Ancunin.
đĽAlias: Asmodea is the alias, though Astarion calls her Oddie
đĽBackground: Charlatan. If we're talking class - bard and warlock.
đĽGender: Female
đĽSexuality: Bisexual
đĽPronouns: She/Her
đĽOther
đĽFamily: Asmodea is the daughter of an elven woman and an itinerant rashemi human man. Once Asmodea was born, the elven side of the family paid her father a hefty amount of gold to take Asmodea and leave, and to never disclose the details of her heritage. This is what she knows. (as at the latest chapter of Bloodbang Chronicles, that is)
Here is what she doesn't yet know:
The elven side of her family is bound to fey. It is somewhat of a familial curse, carried by the female line. The elves thought producing a half-elf might break the cycle. It did not. Likewise, when Asmodea's patron (whose name she does not know and whom she ended up nicknaming 'Fuckface') appeared in her mind at a time of dire need to offer a deal, she thought this happened by chance. It did not.
Anyway. As at the last chapter of Bloodbang Chronicles, she does not know her elven family. Her father is dead. She and Fuckface are besties.
đĽBirthplace: Myth Drannor. However her father brought her to Elversult as a baby, and that is where she grew up. She had a normal, happy childhood. When she hit her teenage years she was sent to a bard college in Berdusk. Shortly after that her father was killed. (unrelated to elves and fey)
đĽJob: After being kicked out of bard college at age 15 she took on a few odd jobs but couldn't hold on to any of them. She ended up becoming enamoured with a young half-elven man, who turned out to be a dickhead and a bandit. Asmodea ended up running with his band for the next 5 years.
After she cut ties with the bandits, she became a travelling bard for the next 15. She was never particularly good at that, but could get by. Then, cue the nautiloid and Fuckface's appearance.
After the events of the game she runs a series of taverns (most notably The Spotted Dick, featured in Legacy of Ash) and eventually opens a theatre (The Dancing Siren, featured in Bloodbang Chronicles) in Baldur's Gate.
She and Astarion dabble in various other 'import - export' ventures on the side, but we don't talk about that.
đĽPhobias/Fears: Wasps. Being at the mercy of shitty men. Accidentally getting a mouthful of curdled milk. Using Animal Speaking in the vicinity of an animal being slaughtered. Biting into a cookie only to realise that what she thought was chocolate is actually raisins.
đĽHobbies: The theatre was at one point a hobby and a passion, though over time it turned into more of an administrative nightmare (which she happily wrangles).
She journals and reads. She still writes music sometimes. She collects wine, spirits, illicit feywild substances, useful acquaintances and experiences. Sometimes she'll host an orgy as a little treat.
đĽMorals
đĽAlignment: Chaotic neutral - before embarking on any good or questionable deed, the foremost question is what's in it for her
đĽFlaws: She's impulsive and reckless. She largely disregards laws and consequences. She's selfish and hedonistic. She's a drunkard and a doper. She's a liar, a cheat and a thief. She's a terrible influence. Hell, she used to be a bandit. Her fey contract hinges on her providing entertainment to her patron, and she can be expected to act accordingly, prioritising that to her own and anyone else's detriment. She is ridiculously good at mind control magic and is not afraid to use it.
Honestly, she's an asshole and I'm not sure why anyone likes her.
đĽVirtues: Despite all of the above, she does get the occasional pang of guilt or compassion, and may try to right a past wrong. She is endlessly loyal, generous and forgiving with the people she identifies as her own. Her recklessness can be mistaken for bravery. Her stubbornness - for perseverance. She will refuse to give up even if common sense would dictate otherwise. She is charming. Funny. Contagiously sanguine. Understanding (though not necessarily caring). An absolute fucking pleasure to be around. She's creative, resourceful and innovative. Not afraid to take on responsibility. And she has a surprisingly good head on her shoulders for business and numbers, though her competitors would argue that's another flaw.
đĽThis Or That
Introvert/Ambivert/Extrovert, Organized/Disorganized - neither, has systems which are unfathomable to anyone but her, Closed-minded/Open-minded, Calm/Anxious/Restless, Disagreeable/In-Between/Agreeable, Patient/In-Between/Impatient, Outspoken/In-Between/Reserved, Leader/Follower/Flexible, Empathetic/In-Between/Apathetic, Optimist/Realist/Pessimist, Traditional/In-between/Modern, Hard-working/In-Between/Lazy
need everyone to know that the artist who created this iconic artwork:
is STILL creating wolf art TO THIS DAY. TEN YEARS LATER. proof that the world is beautiful. her username is wolfroad! you can find her art right here, and here are a few of her more recent pieces that I absolutely adore:
checked her page today and I think this might be because of everyone who saw this post and went to support her and show her art some love. the power of spotlighting an artist!! if you know an underappreciated artist, telling people about them could mean the world. [:
The Mass Effect Kink Meme a prompt meme for the Mass Effect games, is being imported to AO3! Read more at:
català ⢠dansk ⢠Deutsch ⢠ÎΝΝΡνΚκΏ ⢠English ⢠espaĂąol ⢠français ⢠italiano ⢠magyar ⢠Nederlands ⢠polski ⢠portuguĂŞs brasileiro ⢠portuguĂŞs europeu ⢠RomânÄ â˘ slovenĹĄÄina ⢠suomi ⢠svenska ⢠Tiáşżng Viáťt ⢠УкŃĐ°ŃĐ˝ŃŃка ⢠ä¸ć
A piece of conversation I found interesting during the confrontation in Cazador's Dungeon
Player: He'll be mine. And I'll be his.
Cazador Szarr: Cling to that if you must, but know it is a lie. He's mine.
Astarion: He's not wrong. There's always going to be a part of him in me.
The fact that Astarion agrees with Cazador makes me sad ngl
Companions telling Astarion they can see his scars
This is when Astarion is the player avatar and talks to Cazador about stealing the ritual. Cazador tells him that he cannot perfectly mimic his scars but the companions say they can see them (so they can help).
Cazador Szarr: The runes I carved into your flesh bind you and all seven thousand souls to the ritual. Complete it and those bearing the scars will be sacrificed - you included.
Narrator: *You can see from the glee in his face that he's telling the truth and he thinks you have no way forward. But then again, he didn't say whom the scars had to be carved into...*
Astarion: Then you can bear my runes and be sacrificed in my place.
Cazador Szarr: No. You do not have the skill. Your knife will slip. You will misremember a rune. A single mistake and you will be consumed.
Lae'zel: I can see your scars. The torment you felt... your mind and body at the mercy of another master...
Shadowheart: I can see your scars... all of them. I know what it's like to suffer like that, only I bear fewer reminders on my skin. devnote: quiet shock/empathy
Wyll: Hells. I see your scars - in full view.
Gale: Those scars... great pain's been visited upon you. I'm sorry. devnote: empathetic
Karlach: I can see the scars. No one should have to suffer like you suffered. No one.
Halsin: Your scars... I see them all. They tell a painful story.
Jaheira: My eyes are sharp enough to see you squirm, vampire lord. They can guide Astarion, too.
Minsc: Boo's eyes are sharper than your teeth, grave-lord. He will guide Astarion's blade. devnote: looking down on Cazador in contempt - and triumph at being able to help Astarion end him
Nightwarden Minthara: Your scars are exquisite, Astarion. A dangerous weapon, and a work of art. devnote: no sarcasm or any derogatory - she genuinely finds the scars aesthetically pleasing
Astarion: Enter your companion's mind and see the scars through their eyes.
Narrator: *Your minds join and your two selves become one. You can feel the knife in your hand, but also see the scars on your back. If you complete this ritual, there will be no atonement. Seven thousand of your own kind, dead by your hand. All but Cazador yourself.*
Companions seem a lot more sympathetic to Astarion when he's the avatar. Also interesting they are not against the ascension in this part of reactions.
They raise their concerns if Astarion (in this case the player avatar) decides to go with the ritual, though. Minthara and Shar path Shadowheart are the only ones who support his evil endeavours.
Astarion: Carve the symbols into his back.
Cazador Szarr: What are you doing? Don't - hrgh! devnote: Astarion steps behind Cazador, hunkers down, and starts to carve Argh... ARGH! devnote: Cazador tries to resist screaming, but quickly gives in as Astarion carves symbols into his back
Narrator: *The link between your minds fades and you're left looking at the fresh runes. Let's hope you copied them accurately...
Cazador Szarr: Ungrateful child. Wretched child... devnote: weakly - you just had your back cut to ribbons
Lae'zel: Tsk'va. You would sacrifice thousands of souls for your own power? Your hunger veers towards madness, Astarion.
Shar Path Shadowheart: Do it. Claim what's yours - and give him what he deserves. devnote: Resolved, encouraging. The 'him' refers to Cazador, Astarion's former master
Shadowheart: Don't do it, Astarion. Thousands will die unless you stay your hand. devnote: urging peace
Wyll: Astarion - please. No power is worth these prisoners' torment.
Gale: Leave it, Astarion. The butcher's bill is too steep, no matter what power it grants you.
Karlach: Astarion, no. This isn't you. It can't be. You can't sacrifice thousands for yourself. It just doesn't add up.
Halsin: Stay your hand, Astarion. To sacrifice so many is a tyrant's ambition.
Jaheira: Enough now, Astarion. There is only one life that needs taking here, and you have it in your grasp. devnote: note of caution = punishing Cazador is all well and good, but completing his ritual is not.
Minsc: Now you have had your fun. End the vampire, says Boo - and this foul magicking with him. devnote: Trying to rein Astarion in - torturing Cazador, a-okay. Using him in a dark ritual, no. 'foul magicking' = 'dark ritual'
Nightwarden Minthara: Claim your due, Astarion, no matter the cost. Kill them all.
What I find interesting here is that if Astarion carves the rune wrong, he could indeed end up being sacrificed instead so he is taking a big risk even if he can see the scars through the companions.
Another thing is after the inclusion of the companions, he has a choice again to not go through with the ritual. He can just simply kill him after torturing him by carving the runes on his back.
I also find it funny that Jaheira and Minsc are okay to let Astarion torture Cazador by carving the runes but they draw the line at dark ritual sacrifice, which is tbh fair
Astarion recalls scenes from his past as he receives a tarot reading of his love life. He draws the second card.
Pairings: Astarion x several original or known characters
Genre: Angst / Drama / Romance
Rating: Mature
Chapter word count: 1,640
Prologue | The Sun
Series Masterlist | AO3
This work is part of the Fate Spins Along Tarot collection by @bg3-fate-spins-along - please check out the other writers' and artists' works!
Updates twice per week
The Tower
Astarion turned over a card depicting what appeared to be a stone keep.
âA dungeon..?â he looked up at Asmodea, lifting a brow. âIs this some joke about me enjoying my captivity?â
âThe Tower,â she said. âAnd no. It signifies change or upheaval. âŚOften at the hands of a disaster, but not necessarily.â Astarion looked at the card more closely - indeed, the towerâs base was in flames, its spire was being struck by lightning. âThe outcome isnât necessarily bad, but it is fundamental. There is a collapse in life, beliefs, values⌠For something different to be built from the ground up.â Astarion didnât say anything, only studied the card, expressionless, and eventually Asmodea filled the silence. ââŚI suppose it does sound like your being turned, doesnât it?â
âYou said itâs supposed to signify a person,â Astarion spoke, quietly. âAnd itâs supposed to have something to do with love..?â
Asmodea cleared her throat, disrupting another silence. âBefore he turned you, was thereâŚâ she paused, searching for words. âWhen⌠How did⌠Hmm. Perhaps-â
Astarion understood what she was trying to ask, fumbling as she was in her search for delicate words. He grimaced and put an end to her struggles. âItâs not Cazador.â
âThatâs not what I meant! I thought maybe prior-â
âAnd no, he didnât beguile me before turning me either,â he interrupted. âThough he was involved in this⌠incident, yes. Very much so.â
For all the suffering the boy had inadvertently caused him, Astarion didnât even remember what he looked like.
His features blurred with so many othersâ, his name had long been lost to time as well. As with the previous card, it was mostly Astarionâs own sensations and thoughts that he recalled, most memories of the young man himself melting somewhere in the periphery. But as for Astarionâs own feelings and conclusions - they were imprinted in his mind. After all, heâd had an entire year to mull over the matter.
âIs it far?â
Blue. The eyes were blue. Wide open, full of excitement, while the heart beat so loud with trepidation that Astarion could hear it through the boyâs doublet.
âThe manor is just on the edge of the Upper City. Come.â
âIâve never been to-â whatever the young man Astarion had snared was about to say was cut short as he walked straight into a stack of crates that had been left in the alley by the tavern. Crashing sounds, as more and more items were upended and collapsed. Was there a wandering merchantâs cart? Laughter, from where the boy now lay on the ground amid the destruction he had just caused. A dog began barking nearby.
âWhat is wrong with you, canât you see where youâre going?!â Astarion couldnât help but laugh either.
âWell, as a matter of fact, no!â the boy tittered. âNo one bothers to illuminate these streets, the moon is hidden, and some of us canât see in the dark, sir elf!â
More barking, as every single mutt in the area was roused by its neighbour had pitched in to the cacophony. Someone shouting angrily nearby. The sound of approaching footsteps.
âCome on,â hissed Astarion.
âWhere are you, I canât see you!â the boy laughed, still flat on his ass on the ground. âGive me your hand!â
âYour hands are so cold.â They had finally stopped, the boy was breathing hard, his pulse sending a nail into Astarionâs own heart with every beat - one beat fewer remaining with each step they took toward the manor. âHere.â He brought his other hand up to cover Astarionâs, keeping it between both of his.
Warmth. Tenderness.
âIâll keep you warm.â
A blush. A timid smile.
Astarion couldnât take it anymore.
âI canât do this.â
A step back. His hand falling from the boyâs. Cold. The smile slipping. Hurt and confusion in those beautiful blue eyes.
âWh⌠Was it something I said..? Wait!â
âIâm sorry.â Astarion turned, walking away as fast as his feet could carry him.
âButâŚâ
âGo home!â
âAstarion!â
He ran.
He could make out the manorâs spires in the night sky. His legs were steadily taking him there. There was still time to find another mark, but he couldnât bear to speak to another living being, much less make the effort of seducing and luring them. He would come back empty-handed, and he knew what awaited him if he did that, again. And he knew that he couldnât. He couldnât do any of it. Damned no matter what. But he couldnât. He couldnât. He couldnât. He couldnât. He stopped. A twisting pain in his chest, a ringing in his ears, half mad with panic and gasping for air he did not need, he gave in to insanity and ran in the opposite direction.
He made it as far as Rivington before the dawn. It wouldnât be the first time heâd failed to return before sunrise, held back by some unpleasant circumstance. A single nightâs tardiness warranted punishment, but not yet a search.
The second dawn found Astarion cowering in the loft of a barn somewhere north of Baldurâs Gate. He had no idea where he was going. Perhaps he would make it all the way to Waterdeep, hiding by day, fleeing by night, and stow himself away on a ship bound⌠somewhere. Anywhere but Baldurâs Gate.
He spent the third day in a tomb beneath a cairn in the outskirts of the Fields of the Dead. By then he almost believed he could make it. Began trying to make hopeful plans, even. And come sunset, he was found by Cazador.
He remembered being dragged by his hair into a carriage. He remembered its every jolt and shake, he remembered the oppressive heat of the sun seeping in through its the blackout screens, and knowing that he would be punished tenfold for the discomfort this caused the master, who had taken the time to retrieve him personally. Was it Cazador who pointed this out or Astarion himself? He wasnât sure. He remembered babbling shamelessly until he was compelled to silence.
He remembered the silence on the way back to Baldurâs Gate, and how much he would rather have been berated. Anything but the dreadful, ominous silence.
He remembered arriving back in Baldurâs Gate, convinced that if Cazador had intended to kill him for his transgression, he would have simply thrown him out of the carriage at daytime. He remembered thinking that now he had survived the journey back, nothing Cazador would do could be as bad. He remembered finding out how wrong he was.
âI couldnât bear to look you in the eye, after all my failings. I fled in shame. I am not worthy! Iâm sorry. I will be better! I-â
âYou canât bear to look at me, boy?â
âIâŚâ
âThen youâve sealed your own fate, for I cannot stand to look at you either.â
Not even the sound of his own heartbeat to keep him company in the silence. He stopped breathing once he had given up on trying to claw his way out of the tomb - it only caused more pain and used up energy he did not have.
Eventually he began to hear things. Voices. The sound of the boyâs voice, mocking him. Some time after that came the visions - bright as day despite the total darkness of the tomb. The boy continued to taunt him, in person now. Astarion only watched and listened, impassively. He had no strength for anything else. In the end, he remembered wishing heâd brought the boy to Cazador after all. After that, he remembered only wishing for death.
He didnât remember being released. One day, he found himself chained naked in the torture chamber. The dim, flickering torchlight felt like shards of glass in his eyes. There were remnants of fur and gristle in his teeth. Aurelia poured cold water over him, tried to scrub grime from his skin. Her voice sounded warped and distant, as though coming from under water.
âAstarion! Astarion can you understand me? Look at me. Brother, you must get a hold of yourself. The Master bids you to head out tonight. If you fail to return with a mark, youâre going back in the tomb for another year. Astarion!â
It was as though nothing had ever happened. Astarion simply slipped back into the same routine. Cazador never acknowledged his punishment or its cessation. It was all meaningless. He was meaningless. Just another one of Cazadorâs possessions, to be stored away, forgotten in some dark corner until he should be so lucky as to have the Master deign to think of him again.
A lesson had been learned, however. Oh heâd tried to fill the fractures in his dignity - plastered over them with ill-timed jokes and overall impertinence, as though they could conceal the deep crevices, but the truth was - it was all childâs play. He didnât even remember the last time Cazador had compelled him, after his time in the tomb. There was no need. Heâd never disobeyed since.
âWhat happened..?â Asmodeaâs voice snapped Astarion out of his recollections.
âA cruel and unusual punishment,â he said, âfor something I never meant to get swept up in.â
âHmm, and this person, whoâs not Cazador, they were the catalyst?â
âYou could say that.â
Asmodea let out a quiet, self-satisfied sound. âSo the cards are telling the truth, then.â
âEven if you can find a way to make some loose connection between the Tower card and what I think it means, it wasnât love, it was a lesson learned about love.â said Astarion. âAnd I never let myself make the same stupid mistake again.â
âOh?â Asmodea raised a brow. âThe cards beg to differ - thereâs five more.â
âMust I?â he sighed.
âYes. Come on, letâs see more of your mistakes.â
~~~~~
Next part coming in a few days.
Thank you for reading! If you liked it, you can find more of my writing here. Leave a comment and you'll make my day. â¤
