CW: Inspired by âPhantom of the Operaâ for Halloween, Dub!con, stalking, body deformity, kidnapping, somnophilia, altar desecration
Summary: Merelind has beaten one god and lost her heart to another. She loses her heart ache for her wizard in cleansing the bloody stain of Bhaal from the Sword Coast. A mysterious ally grants her help, seeming to be everywhere, leaving her flowers and notes⌠until her Ghost or Angel or⌠God comes for her in the divine flesh.
đ¨ @marimosalad full nsfw on bsky
Ao3 link | orig in âHallozineâ | List
Cursing the heavens. Itâs how she had coped this last year. A year since the fall of the Absolute, a year since Merelind's most beloved left her, choosing godhood over her love. She hadn't even bothered to speak to him at that cute little gathering Withers called. Already that had been so long ago. So much more time now, alone. Time without him, her Wizard.
Gale⌠God of Ambition. Little had Merelind known it had been the ambition to leave her, as it had turned out. One reason to curse the heavens.Â
The other was the trail of blood and bodies left in her wake. Born of Bhaal's bloodline, she had rejected it. Thinking her life safe in the hands of her lover.
Now on her own, her life was back in the service of Bhaalâruining him and desecrating his unholy temples. Murdering his murderers and undoing his bloody work with blood. These were her new urges, the urge to cleanse the city and realm of her Fatherâs stain. One Bhaalist at a time, sometimes whole gatherings, she had purged them. And she cursed the heavens yet again as she did.Â
She descended into the well in the heart of Rivington. The mysterious note left on her windowsill still in her pocket, the details of a Bhaalist recruitment rite were written in its neatly scrawled hand.Â
She could swear it looked familiar, reminded Merelind of marginalia in the books she and Gale had read in his tent on those long nights⌠but what god would put pen to paper. Not for her sake, certainly.
The rope of the bucket in her hand, and Merelind slid down the well, boots sloshing in a puddle at the bottom.Â
A puddle of blood.Â
âWhat in the Nine Hells?â She muttered, seeing a neat stack of bodies laid out on the rock formations. Each one fried to a crisp, the scent all too familiar still from ⌠from her days fighting beside him. She huffed, recalling with embarasing precision how her Wizard of Waterdeep used to look casting Chain Lightning, how she loved the crackle and blue glow in his hands and eyes
"Fuck this," she cursed, ready to storm away when she spied a cluster of flowers.Â
Small and white and shaped like the stars. More caught her eye, that puddle of blood dotted with them. A sea of white stars, a strange reincarnation of the heavens themselves.Â
The stars shall be our bedâŚ
Vigorous, almost enough to give herself a headache, you shake her blond bun back and forth. Getting his fucking voice out of her fucking head. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
No. He was too mighty above her. Gods do not toy with mortals like her, no. Merelind was already elbow deep cleaning up the mess of her Father god. She didn't need her ex-lover too.
Nevertheless, she picked up the flowers anyway, putting them beside the strange note in her pocket. Her mind too muddled to ponder what this all could mean, and her skin crawled from just thinking so much about Gale.
One single white flower she kept in her hand, climbing out of the well. Slowly in the dark, she made her way to her lodgings. Still at the Elfsong. A creature of habit, it turns out she was.Â
Maybe it was because Alan gave her a good deal as a Hero of the Gate⌠maybe it was because she could close her eyes and dream of the Wizard in bed beside her, feel his warm breath on her neck, and see the soft purple glow of his Orb so easily in her dreams here.Â
Entering the smaller rented room, that only made her pine, to yearn harder for her lost lover.Â
And she cursed the heavens again.Â
He had been the one there at her side when she had faced Bhaal, shown her love, shown the the bed of stars, called her goddess. Then broke her heart on that dock as they watched the Netherbrain fall into the sea. As he chose divinity over love her.
Merelind climbed into bed, naked and sad, hoping she didn't dream of him. Knowing she would anyway.
Sometime in the dark, she felt something. Her sleep was too heavy to wake completely, like she was anchored in its tides, forbidden from stirring completely.
In this reverent silence before dawn, she felt a crackle of magic on her skin, tingling up her bare leg that stuck out from her covers. Like fingers, she thought, it felt almost like fingers. She tried to move to kick away the sensation⌠but she couldn't.
Couldn't move. Couldn't wake. At the mercy of this dream, this night visitor⌠and she gripped into her pillow harder to feel that prickling sensation slid up her thigh and around to the inside of her. A gasp, and those ghost fingers slid into her sex.
A dream. It was a dream. She sighed, convinced herself, it was a memory brought on by this old haunt and her day of hunting.
For she'd know Gale's fingers inside her anywhere.
A grunt, and she felt her legs being parted, moved by forces past her shut eyelids. There were no voices, no sounds, save the sticky wet thrust of fingers into her sex. That pressure, that crook, those lengths that knew just where all her nerves were to make her scream and burst on his handâŚ
Fuck, she missed this. It had been months since anything but her own hand explored thereâŚ
Your desire?
The words haunted the fog of her brain.
No rest for the wicked, my love..
A whine escaped Merelind's lips as her body rode the sensation, unbidden and unbridled. Her hips bucked in her sleep, her thighs soaking as she came from a tingling press against her clit. The rhythm was familiar, the ache, the stretch⌠it was as if no time had passed, as if he were exploring her to his heart's content, still in love with her.
Pleasure rode up her spine and twisted her body against the sheets. Hot and wet and unwilling.
Then there was nothing but cold around her.
Merelind sat up, her body her own, her eyes opened.
And the room was empty.
Come pale daylight, Merelind's vision blurred. Somehow despite the dreams, she had fallen back asleep. But as she rolled over in the bed, her hazy vision settled a patch of white⌠foral scented. Her hand gripped the sheet before reaching for the object.
Her fingers close around another Astral flower, another missive in that strange hand, flourishing and sharp and dangerously familiarâŚ
But gods do not have time to write.Â
She flipped the card. On the back, three words glared at her. Stormshore Tabernacle. Midnight.
Fuck, she cursed.
Not there, anywhere but there. The paper tore easily in her hands, a satisfying shredding sound as she let the scraps fall. Like rain from the heavens.
She sneered, that strange mix of yearning and hate in her belly as she looked out the window. She had slept the day away, the moon already high above as the city descended into dark.Â
It was inevitable, she supposed, errant Bhaalists pulling some sort of ambush where the rest of the godsâ altars rested. Including his. Galeâs.Â
She couldn't believe his name crossed her mind, but there he was. The memory of his blue, light-stricken face from months ago at the little reunion had her feeling sick. It was a vivid remembrance that crawled on her skiâthe feeling of his own Galerian Weave sizzling around his body.
That body, how she missed it. No. No, she clenches her fists as she gets dressed in her lightest armor, the light blue her favorite color, the leather light for movement and enchanted to keep her from those cute rusty assassin blades.
But her mind strayed back to the body she once had worshipped, each rise and patch of soft, dark hair knew by heart⌠until he left her on that dock, looking into the heavens. Alone.Â
An unwanted sob broke from her chest. No, she had better purpose than any god would give her. She had learned that lesson twice over now.
Abused by her Father. Rejected by her lover. Her fate would not lie in Elysium, nor with the divine nature of her blood. She'd work against it all, starting by stemming the slaughter of her Fatherâs temple.Â
Murdering the murderers still made Merelind a hero, after all.
If this note had any chance of being true, she had to go and rid the realms of these cultists. And this mysterious ghost of a helper had never been wrong before. She shivered, knowing better than to look too closely at the source of help.
That was a lesson from her days before when she had companions and love.
But those days were past. Merelind reminded herself. She was alone. And she had work to do.Â
Sheathing her blades at her hips, she trudged down the stairs to a packed tavern room at the Elfsong. Alan, chipper and jaded as usual, had her regular meal for supper all set out on the corner table. She inhaled, a nice plate of roastedâŚ
WaitâŚ.Â
Her hand shook to find another white star flower on the seat of her table.
Itâs five points sent an icy shiver down her spine. It smelled heavenly, she noticed, inhaling it with a shaking breath. That scent, it had plagued her dreams since returning to the Gate from her travels.
But who would know where she would take her meals, and who would know the identities of her targets, their coming and nefarious dealings?
Her head pounded, and not from her old urge headaches.
Something sang painfully in the air, a shocking tremor that stung her fingers. With a gasp, she dropped the flower to the sticky tavern floor.Â
But that feeling persisted. It crawled on her skin above the collar of her leather armor, making each hair rise to stand on end. It was sharp and quick, but Merelind glanced behind her shoulder, all the sharper and quicker. One red eye narrowed to scan the raukous, lively, drunk crowd.
A hood. Merelind spied one hooded figure in the rowdy crowd. That crackle surged for a second before vanished. The hooded figure and the uneasy sensation, they both disappeared as if they had never existed in the first place. Merelind shook her head⌠part of her needed to give chase, but her rumbling stomach had the final say. And besides, midnight wasn't too far off now. She sat and ate her roasted venison and mash.
One blue eye remained on the shifting sea of bodies. People came and went, drunks and diners and regulars and travelers⌠but no hooded men again.
By now, the night deepened until just about the darkest of it.Â
Almost a reverent silence that accompanies the peak of darknessâŚ
Those words echoed in her mind when she would be forced to be awake this late.
She leaned back in the corner of the tavern, her second glass of plum fizz in her hand that she would nurse all night.
It grew late, night on midnight. Merelind tossed some coin on the table and gathered herself. She put from her thoughts the other times she had been kept up in the Elfsong, her wizard always the cause.
Leaving the dank tavern, she inhaled the crisp night air. All in all, a perfect night, and her mind couldn't help but to wander back to that conjured vision of a perfect night.
Just in spite, She only looked straight ahead as she walk.
She didn't want the cradle of eternity now. She just wanted to clean away the bloody stain of Bhaal and to never think of the ambitions of any ehrstwhile wizard turned deity. He had asked her to be his Chosen once. Fool of a man. Probably thought she still loved him.
Gale.
Shit, she cursed as she walked into the streets of Baldur's Gate for the Tabernacle. She just had to go and think his name. Not a prayer, she assured herself. Nope. Not one of these. And besides, gods couldn't hear thoughts. Just prayers. Right?
Merelind cringed. She sneered.
But as if in answer, an icy breath huffed at the back of her neck. So quick and quiet, but decidedly chilling. Every hair set itself on end. "Who's there?" She called to the empty road. At this hour of night, the streets were usually still occupied if not full.
But not tonight. As if ordained, the street towards Basilsk Gate was empty. Not even a beggar. Eyes wide and heart thundering, Merelind forced her feet onward towards the imposing building.
Another cold wind caressed her cheek, lifting her chin. As if sighed by magical lips and a practiced tongue, she could taste her name whispered on that icy breath.
It made her feet hit the pavement and stone faster. Her heart pounded as she tried to outrun the icy breath. But she couldn't.
It drew closer, clinging like the crackle of static on her skin. It slid over her cheeks and down her spine.
"Almost there," Merelind assured herself, huffing as she ran in the dark to the Tabernacle. An army of crazed Bhaalists was nothing to this creeping feeling of eyes watching her from everywhere and nowhere at once. The sensual caress of magic only too reminiscent, and yet her mind reassured her "he" had greater ambitions.
"Ours for the takingâŚ"
The memories of those long nights, pouring over books on Karsus had long been banished. Why did they creep back inside her mind now?
Feet hurried, as if she could outrun her mind, her memory. And even as she increased her pace, she reached the door to Stormshore only to feel something softly crushed under her hurrying feet.
A bundle of flowers. The same. Always the starsâŚ
That rush of lightning surrounded her again, and she barely has time to grab the bundle of half-crushed flowers as she pushed the door open.
Plunged into darkness, she felt the door slam shut behind. And to make matters worse, that sting in the air only intensified in here. It gave her pause. Instantly, as if time stood still, Merelind recalled the same feeling in the same space with that lost Mage love.
"A channel of undiluted WeaveâŚ"
With he back to most of the sanctuaries in the room, she didn't even need to know the origin of the Weave and it's ambitious sting in the air.
"MerelindâŚ" her name wafted in the smoky darkness.
A silvery blue light flared in the dark.
The pulse of magic pulled her, beckoning her to turn around.
There he was, effigy in stone, her Wizard turned divine.
God of ambition.
Lips frowned, anguish and grief choked her heart. "God of useless diatribes, more like," she couldn't help but poke dark humored taunts at face that stared down at her. "Nice to have your stone lips silent for once, Gale."
But it was his name on her own tongue that only deepened her suffering and yet, somehow, made the magic in the air intensify and crawl like hands over her skin.
Her heart sank with th familiarity of that touch. Her belly ached and her eyes teared as the break in her heart reopened all over again.
Underfoot, she trampled itâA trail of white flowers leading right to his immaculately carved figure.
The figure flashed, the feeling of touch on her skin intensified. There was no stone, not anymore. There was the once-Wizard of Waterdeep in the silver and divine flesh. His bright glowing eyes settled on Merelind, glowing from under a deep dark hood. Only his plush lips smirked at her from under it, his bright silver bearded chin on display.
There were no Bhaalists. No blood for her to shed. It's justâŚ
"You," the word was out of her mouth before her lips could clamp it shut. "Gale."
His plush, silver lips curled into a satisfied smile. "My beloved, my Chosen," the crackle of power tickled in her ear as he spoke. Then that arrogant smile twisted harder. "A hand?" His voice echoed strangely in her pointed ear, and his answering laughter grated on her soul.
He reached out to her from above on his pedastle. And she had the grandest visions of cutting that hand off. Again. She smacked it instead for old time's sake, and Gale frowned. "Tut tut, Merelind. I am your God, your God of Ambition. Is this the gratitude I receive for being your angel, guarding you from risks to your precious mortal life as you undo the work of your Father?"
"You were my ghost. You are not my God, Gale. You never will be," she snapped at him, backing up as he descended, floating down the distance to land before her.
"This is not true, and you know it, my love. I am as I always have been, powerful, ambitious, and yours." His mouth grinned at her, hooded face, cloaked body drawing nearer as she retreated until her back ran against the large square altar at the heart of the Tabernacle. In that moment, the candles about the chamber flared to life, and she looked, barely breathing, to take in her surroundings.
The pulses of Galerian Weave only intensified as he closed in. His dark blue cloak brushed her, his body a breath away as he kept his head down. That dark hood concealing all but eyes and mouth. It unsettled her, so strange and yet familiar enough.
Like the face and voice that haunted her in her sleep, the one in her dreams when he came.
"I am your beloved wizard still, and you are my first devotee, my first follower, my Chosen." Those dark tones were sharp in her ear, but she did not push away, did not escape.
Subborn as ever, she defied this God. It was getting old, resisting Gods who wanted to control her.
"You are not he, you ceased to be the moment you left me on that dock." There, the truth. The same she had consoled herself with nightly since that golden, bloody sunset.
Gale paused, and even hooded, she could feel his expression shift into a thoughtful one, pensive and intelligent. One she had seen so often before on his handsome, tanned, and bearded face. "I loved you then as a man, and I love you now as a god." He insisted, a hand reaching out to her, to lift her chin as he often had in their kisses and caresses. "Let me prove it to you, that I am me, my love. Why else would I help you, leave your enemies decimated for you if I didn't love you? Why bring you here if I was insincere as to my intentions of being the man I was with all the new magic that I now command?"
Jerking her face from his touch, she pressed her lips hard as she looked at him. Her heart ached at the ways she had long craved something just like this. A reunion. A moment of closure far away from those ill-fated docks when he cleaved her heart in two, in favor of reforging the Crown alone.
Maybe this would silence those yearnings those old urges for her once-wizard, maybe this would⌠let her suck the ambitious venom from the wounds that had never closed.
Merelind gave him a single nod. "Very well, you have done much for me from the shadows," she replied looking into his concealed face. "Felling my foes, aiding me with information⌠The old you would have done as much, I suppose."
"The old me? My love, I am me, and I'll prove it to you." Gale replied, backing her against the cold stone of the high altar in the chamber's center. His hands reached for her, cradling her cheek in the electricity of his touch. "My chosen beloved, I'll show you." His silver eyes glinted from the shadows of his hood, his mouth descending to taste her lips.
Her hands moved by memory, gripped at his arms, his skin warm to the touch. It startled her, how very much the same he felt. A moan from her lips, and she pulled his lips to crush hers.
If she closed her eyes a moment, nothing had changed. No time had passed. No hearts broke, and no crowns were remade.
"The old ways, thenâŚ" he murmured as he pulled her against his body, his robes hiding nothing between them, especially not his clothed erection that stiffened the more he worked her mouth. More of his Weave shimmered around her, a chilling sensation on her skin as her clothes disappeared. It left her naked, just his hands on her skin.
His voice, his taste, his scent. Merelind kept her eyes closed, losing herself in the delusion of being with him.
"Gale," she sighed, tongue tangled with his most practiced one as it resumed the dance she had long banished from her mind.
"Yes, my love," the God in her arms murmursed turning her around, that gentle and commanding touch the same as it ever was. "Close your eyes a moment."
Those words that haunted at the shadows of her thoughts and dreams at night. They make her belly filp and clench, make her throat whimper. She obeyed as he turned her and bent her in two to rest her belly on the stone.
"Beautiful as you always have been," Gale's voice crooned against her ear. "You have no idea how long I have been waiting with nothing by my ambitions to touch you again, taste you, hear your sweet voice singing for me, my bard."
With those mismatched eyes of her closed, head against the cold, rough stone, she felt tears leak from her eyes. "You've been watching me, a ghost, an angel."
"Your God, waiting at the edge of his patience," Gale's voice rumbled. Gone was the rustle of all fabric between them, just the static touch of his body as it curved over hers. "At last you see sense and⌠aquiesce."
Her mouth stayed shut, breath rough in her nose, letting her body remember those old ways he used to love her, touch her, share his body with her. The familiar press of his cock between her folds made her whine, the long-lost pressure of his sex as he slips it inside stretched her out.
Cheek to the cold stone, his body blanketed her in the divine warmth of this form. Skin of flawless silver, Gale was searing to the touch, rippling with power as he moved inside her. That scent about him now was uncanny, unearthly. Gone was the sweat and musk of his beautiful tanned skin.
Warm and wet, that practiced tongue licked up the sweat that trickled from her temple his breath hissed in her ear, a strange hollow sound. She could only feel his lips, their warm wet fullness sucked and kissed a trail back to the nape of her neck
"That's it, my love," he whispered, lips to her skin. "How I've missed you, watched you⌠waited for you to return to me."
His beard still scored deliciously against her skin, his cheek pressed to the valley between her shoulder blades. Fast and deep, he rolled just right, just as he always used to, filling her to catch every little nerve inside her sex.
Everywhere his skin brushed her, her body zingdd with that ripple of his magic, his Weave. The orb pulsed behind her, little flares of white and silver light almost making her turn around.
But his hand at the back of her neck pushed her back down to the stone. "Close your eyes⌠a moment just a moment more, and it will be like old times, my love." He spoke though if it was to her or himself, Merelind couldn't tell. "Your heart, your soul, your devotion is mine againâŚ"
Before she could say another word to affirm or deny, his hands slide down her arms. Lightning raced in her veins, fire flooded in her belly, every nerve shaking as he wove his fingers into hers where they braced on the altar.
Merelind looked at his hand in hers, unable to lift her head as her climax built to the edge of its singleminded oblivion.
Gone was the tan of her mortal wizard. Now he glimmered in the flickering light, silver digits lace between her own, a metalic palm blanketed her small, freckled hand in a firm grip. A body honed by power and bent on his ambitions. Fingers interlaced, he pressed her harder into the altar. A god, a man, she was not sure which took her as an offering on his cock. Blinded in this position, she couldn't see him, but she knew by heart how close he was drawing now to his orgasm. The sensations in her and on her brought tears to her eyes.
"Gently, my chosen beloved." He murmured. "Let me into your heart again. I promise, I'll take your soul where you want to be." His words were beguiling, they lured her into her past. Eyes closed tightly, it might as well be night in his tent as she trembled under him in his bedroll, magic silencing them as she screamed his name to the heavens.
Heavens. Where he now dwelt.
Once again, her lips partted and she let out a cry. Her sex clenched, the realized fantasy of being with him again too good not to let blind her. Her noises echoed strangely against the stone at her face and the vaulted walls of the tabernacle. His hips snapped against her backside. His pace was unrelenting even through those demanding pulses of pleasure.
He claimed her, inside and out, the same stretch, same friction, the same tempo that sped now towards his own orgasm. It was inevitable. And worse, it stoked her pleasure the same as it ever did. Her body responded, squeezing in wet pulses as he tucked throfjt them. A trembling, hot, and screaming mess for him on his cock and down her thighs.
Against the unfeeling stone of the table, she game him as he desired. Her climax sparked through her with a force that made her head spin and her senses leave your body for the stars.
Eyes closed, it felt almost the same, her limp body lied on the altar spent and sated, just as it had in his bed a a hundred times in their days as lovers. And her whole being purred at her, even as he chased his bliss inside her walls, thanking her for the intimacy she'd denied herself since her once wizard had broken her heart.
"Gale," Merelind sighed, her mouth half pressed to the altar top under her.
"Merelind," he groaned, finishing at last with deep and rapid thrusts that shoved her feet off the ground. The loud, wet slaps sealed her choices with finality.
He was stilled inside her, cum leaking warm down her leg. His bristled face nuzzled the spans of her back. That's when it sliced through her haze of lustâ there was something not quite right. It felt⌠wrong. Different. Missing⌠something.
Her instincts once muted by lust and longing now flared to life, and they screamed at her. Something was wrong. She tried to stand, but he only pulled her up and locked her head facing forward with a hand to her chin.
"No, my love. Close your eyes but a momentâŚ"
"Why can't I see you?" The question left her lips, and the godly man sneered at it. She could feel his lips moving in a disgusted grimace in the soft curve of her neck.
"No need for questions beloved," he replied, his voice soothing and panting yet. "I'll care for you, my Chosen."
A death knell, a warning toll, his words rang through her, chilling all that lustful heat he had first conjured. "I am not your Chosen," she hissed. Always stronger. Always faster. She moved so quickly, her body honed from fighting cultists yet.
Even as a god, he was no match for her, born of Bhaal and trained a fighter. She was swift and sure, rounding on him, pulling his hood. Then, her blood ran ice cold.
Those lines of Karsite Curse wove across his face in disfiguring rifts. Bright and flashing, ugly and marring. One thick swatch of silver cut across his face, left to right, leaving nothing where his nose once was. The hood, the deception, the positioning, he was hiding his true nature all along. This. This once man now consumed by ambition, no more masking it from her. No more disguising his selfishness as love.
Ambition, be fucked.
She had to get out of here, every nerve in her elven body screamed at her.
"Couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?" Gale sneered. "Always willful, always haughty," he hissed. "And yet it was you I loved, the ambition to make you mine, to keep you, can't you accept it as your purpose?"
His question was lost on her, his hand seized tightly around her wrist as that touch captivated and spell bound her once more. "Gale, pleaseâŚ" she whined, not knowing for what she begged.
His distorted faces smiled, nevertheless, regardless of the ask. "Very well, my Chosen must learn her place anew. Your work on this plane is done." His fingers snapped in her face, and that was the last thing she saw.
Just the hum of his Weave cocooned her as he swept her in his arms. Bright shaft of light enclosed around them. Her mind yet fought for control against his magic, but it was greeted only by stillness and the hush of darkness.
His lips pressed against her ear as they lifted up to Elysium. "You'll be wonderful at my side, my chosen beloved. You could have seen all that Elysium had to give you this moment, if only you had simply closed your eyes one moment moreâŚ"
Hello! Iâm alive!! âď¸âď¸đĽđĽ
This infernal chibi was commissioned by @duckie19 𩶠thank you for this absolutely amazing prompt! I had so much fun with this lil fella đ
Hi, I saw on other platforms you had followed/interacted with some proship accounts and was wondering if you were proship yourself..? Because if you are could you please share that somewhere on your profiles? As me and many others who are uncomfortable with that stuff donât want it on our feeds and whatnot if we follow you and you interact :(
Hello! If youâve come to my blog youâd understand that I am a villain fucker and a big fan of canonically evil characters who do evil things in fictional universes â that is my whole reason for being in this fandom. I am unfortunately too old to really understand the nuances of this pro/anti-ship war as things are rarely that black and white, but I am not obligated to explain myself nor put myself into categories that other people have come up with with regards to ethical stances on fiction. Making a big deal out of people enjoying fictional villains is as old as time, but I will not apologize for wanting to fuck the devil in my own fictional fantasy world where I am hurting no one and my friends and followers are benefitting from seeing my artwork thatâs created from a place of love. Please feel free to unfollow me if this makes you feel uncomfortable.
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Behold: The Bellybutton Cutscene, in all it's glory.
I managed to figure out enough scripting to get Raphael to appear at Last Light even if Mol is no longer alive, including getting him to appear for the infamous post-Nightsong Bellybutton dialogue! I plan to release it as a mod once I get some bugs ironed out, and if possible with some other missing dialogue restored too.
He is absolutely scrunch't during this scene when the camera's not on him, btw.
It also restores the dialogue for if you raided the grove. He's into it.
