[hamelnsrat]

A WRITING BLOG FOR REMY WEDLEDLE FROM LARIAN'S BALDUR'S GATE 3. follows back from @favoriteache.

full name: semara 'remy' wedledle age: lost track, forever 24 pronouns: she/they sexuality: bisexual species: deep gnome height: 3'5.5

facts:

remy never really felt at home in the underdark. the serious and cynical mood of her family made her feel out of place, and she soon decided her mission in life was to escape the mines to explore the world

armed with her flute, remy managed to reach what would later be known as baldur's gate, where she met the beautiful blaiseuse the coryphee... who decided that she needed someone to play some music while the rest of the spawns danced themselves to death

turned into a vampire spawn, she spent almost fifty years serving blaiseuse

when it became apparent that blaiseuse was going to die (read: it all went to shit, and the vampire was about to get herself killed), remy escaped through the sewers. terrified of going outside, she set up camp there.

she learned how to talk to rats during that time.

after multiple years of hiding, she decided that it was enough: she would go out! and she would finally live the adventure she had set out to live!

however nothing went to plan when she realized that 1. she couldn't exactly exist in the sun and 2. she hadn't spoken to humans in quite a while

she made some money working as entertainement in the different taverns of the city.

quite delusioned with her grand adventure, she took the decision to go back home, thinking life would be easier in a world of darkness. however, she never reached the underdark

instead, she met auntie ethel, who promised her a cure for vampirism.

of course, there was no cure, and yet again, she was being used to attract more innocent lives through tales of miracles. people would hear her songs in the taverns and would set out to discover for themselves whatever miracle she had sung about (the magic potion that makes someone fall in love! the great ring that will enhance your beauty! a mushroom to procreate a miracle baby!)

every night, auntie ethel would make her appear in a random tavern and before the first rays of the sun she would be transported back to the hag's home.

and it all went according to plan for a long, long, long time, until the nautiloid.

personality:

remy is a weird little person. in appearance, she looks as surly and sullen as the rest of her kind. but it doesn't take long to realize it's nothing more than an aesthetic (she seems very into the bg3 equivalent of goth culture <3)

she's a very flirty, amorous person. however, sadly for her, she isn't exactly enticing: she has two left feet, absolutely no self-control, and she isn't exactly the brighest lampshade of the neighborhood

the one thing she is good at is music. she wears a funny looking belt with her flutes attached to it, which she brandishes at every little inconvenience

though her singing is absolutely delightful, she has heard a fair amount of "shut up!!!!" because she has a bad habit of singing about. literally everything. all of the time

she isn't brave. actually, scratch that, she is a full-on coward. but she is loyal, and she will find a way to help, even if she has to run away screaming first

she was probably there when the saying "she lights up a room" was invented, and yes, it was about her

though she sings about her dreams of freedom and she seems to yearn for a grander life, it's also evident from her past adventures that she doesn't know what to do with herself. she isn't too sure about what it means to be separated from her community. even though she hasn't seen her family in literal centuries, and even though she hasn't been in the underdark for just as long, she's just like a rat without the rest of its mischief: unsure of her role, yearning for something more, unable to name it.

[hamelnsrat]

@darkdevour asked for a starter.

feet tapping the lacquered floor of a high-end tavern, it takes her a beat or two (ten, perhaps, if they are being honest with themselves-- and lately they are trying to be... there is only so much one can disregard about one's nature before it comes back to bite one's ass) before she turns to the horned devil. it's a bad idea, of course, but remy has grown rather fond of those-- they constitute, after all, most of the ideas she has.

"come on!", joined by a tug to the other's hand. remy's voice carries a bit of a whining edge to an otherwise rather melodic voice, as if they had been asking for hours (which, in their mind, is practically what was happening: it took so long to find the courage!) "the music is... a tad distateful, of course... and i'd do much better! first of all, i'd play the flute, not the lute, it's soooo old-fashioned..." a loud cackling sound, which comes from a twirling karlach, her hand safely held by wyll. remy's tangent is aborted immediately, turning their attention back to vasya. "--it's still music, though!!!! come dance. please?" she is practically bouncing on her seat from restrained excitement.

it has been, after all, such a long while since they have had the opportunity to do this: to dance & laugh while music plays, without the notes turning discordent. to enjoy music without the chords being translated into an ill-composed dirge by the magic coming out of her flute. bodies upon bodies sacrificed to the sound of her art. "please", they say, eyes big & dumb & absurdly hopeful.

[hamelnsrat]

@maurilyan asked for a starter.

the fruit's juice had glided down their wrist as they had bitten down-- half a moan escaping them when the first bit of sweet pulp had hit their palate. truly a glorious moment, if only the sound had not become a squeak just as quickly, because gale had taken one look at the thing she then held between their teeth, and had stated that it would take ten minutes (perhaps less, considering remy's size) for the drug's effects to begin.

so now here they were, leitha and her, sitting in remy's tent, while the latter is anxiously biting on their nails. the ticking of the clock is a loud, resounding reminder that sooner than later remy would start…. well, they don't know what, exactly, because she had started hyperventilating the second gale began listing all the possible effects, but surely she'd start doing something.

to lei, they ask, with a sweet sweet voice that begs for assent: "are you very sure you don't want to take a tiny bite as well?" the underlying tone of it is, of course, that remy would take a thousand bite just so a friend wouldn't alone experiencing such a thing. but then again, it is not like she had needed anyone at all to do it.

[carpenter-sab]

JENNA ORTEGA

attends the 83rd Annual Golden Globe Awards (January 11, 2026)

[hamelnsrat]

@mosvani said : ❛ we are all useless alone. so its good you're not alone. ❜

there's some sniffling she doesn't try to hide as anything else-- no point in doing so, when their big brown eyes are flooded & the tip of her nose is as cherry-kissed as the apples of her cheeks. they used to hide it, this sentimentality, as to warrant as little ire as possible from auntie ethel. blaiseuse was more benevolent in that aspect, willing to excuse remy's feelings (called it an artist's weakness, made it sound like the gods' had plied her with too many tears to distract from her talents). auntie ethel had loathed it with a passion that usually manifested itself with curses & peach-colored bruises. so in-between wardens, remy learned to adapt.

on the road, though, there is no one to chastize her for being too soft. remy failed at the one thing she ought to do, leading to a disastrous fight gale came out of with a sword at his side (astarion snickering that wizards truly cannot hold their own, only to end for his sentence to cut in half with a pained scoff of his own) others weren't much better-- all because she had been asked something she managed to fuck up. so she had left them, and she had sat under a tree, and she had started crying. as one does.

they do not look up to alanna, shame rather evidently plastered over their features. "i'm worse than useless." a whisper, an admission, something quite similar to a confession, if only it did not wear the sophisticated robe of a statement invented by someone else, adopted by sheer exposure. "perhaps it'd be better", remy hiccups with a cry, her knees hugged tighter against their torso, "if i were alone."

[by-aria-deactivated20260201]

" remy? "‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎they have a way about them, their voice melodic in it's naivety;‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎a way that they have learned to channel‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎(be it for grace or gore, ashlyn's not yet sure).‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎" would you like to wait at camp? "‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎her eye's dart from the back of the vampire's head to the stretch of mudded land out before them.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎nature curls in ashlyn's veins, ever since she was a little child running barefoot‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎–‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎silent by the spell her mother cast.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎the others in their compound always gave her a strange look, always uttered whispers of judgment for the little girl who could not talk‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎(who one day was kind and playing with daisies, and another, sat alone, isolated).‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎yes, nature had a way with ashlyn, and she with it, but not here.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎it's uneasy, overflowing with a discomfort that feels so familiar, and yet untraceable.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎" you don't have to confront her, or‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎...‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎you won't have to do it alone. "‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎/‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎@hamelnsrat .

[hamelnsrat]

would they like to stay at camp? that's a good question, one she hadn't thought of asking herself-- not used to having the choice, really, over whether her body is brought somewhere or not. difficult not to forget the pull of auntie ethel's magic pulling at their navel; forcing them into dark corners across the land, where they'd sing of miracles she has actually never been privy to. a look at the rotten land and remy finds she doesn't know, exactly, whether she wants to confront that part of her life or if she wants to take the easy way out-- a coward's move, surely, but have they ever been anything but?

"i don't know", she ends up saying, more breath than actual words, as she turns to the other: "does it. does make me weak if i can't confront her?", they look so small, then, almost child-like, with eyes too big for her face. "what if she gets me back?" going back to square one. freedom a taste in the back of her throat that haunts her, but that they can't place. because it has never quite been theirs to begin with.

[dcminions]

JENNA ORTEGA for GQ