hi! I made a bg3 sideblog because I am weak-willed and easily sucked into the vortex. I post art and writing and talk about shit. delighted to meet you!
elder scrolls sideblog: @ehlnofay
i don't even think bg3 is subtle with how exploitative raphael is towards the people he makes contracts with. in the first meeting with him raphael basically tells the player that his whole modus operandi is waiting until people are so desperate they have no choice but to sign a contract with him. like if you refuse his "help" with the tadpole when he offers he gloats about how you'll come crawling back to him and are only delaying the inevitable. and the game also implies that mol was basically moments away from being experimented on by balzathar (you can find her eyepatch at his work station in the act 2 illithid colony and why else would that be there?) when she made the contract with raphael.
imo it's pretty clear that mol had no other choice and was facing not only death and experimentation but undeath, which in the forgotten realms setting is generally viewed as a really really horrible fate. the fact she was even able to keep her cool and negotiate a contract that still had a modicum of benefit for her and her friends is a testament to her character not a knock against it.
i've never played dragon age and don't know anything about it but what i do know is that that solas guy looks exactly like if astarion and wulbren bongle had a baby
every since i was a little creature i always knew i wanted to turn a dynamic that is often flanderised by fandom as a sexual relationship into a weird platonic thing
“Straighten your wrist,” says Silk, raising his eyebrows. Never tricky to tell what the sangster's thinking, mind-flayer tadpoles or no. “Rest your little finger on the soundboard.”
Karlach shifts her hands on the strings of his gittern. Easy as. “Like this?”
“Like that. And bend your thumb in, under your fingers, as though it’s hiding—yes.” Good enough, he’s thinking, skeptical. Ignot. She’s going to miss him. “With your hand held like that, you strum downwards with your thumb, and upwards with your fingers—"
“Fingerly.”
“Karlach.”
Downwards with her thumb. Upwards with her fingers. Painful squeeze in the combustion chambers of her heart. Her breath catches, jagged, on some loose fucking piston-crank in there; her hand jerks on the strings. Wounded twang from the gittern. Shit.
"Oh," says Silk, all solicitude for the dying. "I know this one." He clears his throat. "Umtumptuous Dror Ragzlin—"
"Stop, stop!" It hurts to laugh. Oh, well. She's not done laughing, yet. "Little bastard. Show me"—she turns away, coughs, spits the usual bloody black gunk in the canal—"show me again, hey? Like this?"
Downwards with her thumb, upwards with her fingers. Steady, girl. She plucks the strings with careful delight, one-two: hello, hello.
Two nights hence, the sorcerer exacts his revenge.
It is their final evening in the rambling riverside encampment; tomorrow, they will pack their bedrolls and split the group, seeking a path to the Gate and a cure for their wriggling worms. Tonight, they celebrate their small successes with the druids and refugees. Before the festivities commence, the wizard perches atop his nurse log and coils a short length of copper wire around his forefinger. “Not how I’d do it,” Frey muses facetiously in passing. Gale spares him an incredulous glance as he pockets the spring.
“You promised a lesson,” he says, skepticism shining through his voice. The citrine sun approaches the cradle of the horizon and casts his soft features in a golden-orange glow. Frey openly admires the view.
“I suppose I can spare a moment.” He stops short behind where Gale sits and sets aside, briefly, his detailed inventory. His tone borders on conspiratorial as he rests a hand on Gale’s shoulder and says, with great import, “What is your favorite cantrip?”
There is no other word for it: Gale scoffs. “Favorite cantrip? Why, that’s…” His protests founder as he glances over his shoulder at Frey, who smiles patiently. “I… I do rather enjoy casting illusions,” he offers.
“Perfect!” Frey settles back to watch, arms folded. “Let’s see it.”
Far be it from Gale of Waterdeep to forgo an opportunity to grandstand. Though he had hoped for a more structured approach to his first lesson in sorcery, he nonetheless plucks a bit of fleece from the inside of his robe’s pocket and draws a simple sigil in the air. The scrap goes up in a flash of violet, and a song spools from the brush around them—a clutch of clarionets, presently joined by a careful strumming of strings. There, a piccolo, as if their own Piper were ambling by, only backed by an entire orchestra—is that a harp? Gale smiles to himself, and so rapt is he in the piece’s gradual crescendo that he hardly feels the exhale of the sorcerer’s spell as it twines with his—and then the horns join the concerto.
They both know the piece, it seems. Gale closes his eyes, and he is in the plush seats of Cymbril Hall, waiting for the Waterdhavian Philharmonic to take the stage, and he reaches for his mother’s hand, only she is not his mother; she is a gnome with Frey’s dark curls and brown eyes, and she looks at him with all the love in the world. The magic around them wanes, and the music quietens—has it been sixty seconds already? Frey, having joined in the casting later, finishes the composition with a percussive flourish and the distant sound of applause.
“Well done, my wizard,” he says, and his hand finds Gale’s shoulder once more.
A channel has opened between them, and through it, Frey sends a whip stitch—a light erupts from his palm, and as it does, Gale feels a pleasant tingle at the base of his skull. Frey leans closer, as if sharing a secret, and the sensation uncoils down Gale’s spine all the way through his soles and into the earth. At the same moment that he becomes aware of the ground beneath his feet, color erupts in the air. Illusory monarchs and morphos whirl about their heads, and roseate petals cascade from above. “Is this…?”
Gale need not ask; he recognizes instantly the anarchic signature of one of Frey’s wild magic surges. Only, for the first time, he feels as Frey does in the moment—elated beyond belief. His body has become oddly buoyant; indeed, he feels as if he could fly. Frey bursts into tinkling laughter, and Gale cannot help laughing along.
“Lucky we got flutter-bys rather than flames, this time.” They both laugh harder, Frey with his full weight on Gale now.
The spell is only just fading, that precious seam unraveling, when Gale thinks to return Frey’s favor from their previous practice: he imagines, as clearly as if he’d done it a hundred times before, pulling the sorcerer close and kissing him. Frey’s face flushes, but he stands up straight, ever the poised scholar.
“How very cheeky,” he chides, unable to keep the smile from his lips nor his voice.
“You’re an excellent instructor,” Gale says, and he means it.
Frey has taken up his logbook once more and flips through it with great concentration. “I’m aware,” he responds, world-weary, then looks back at his wizard. “And, unsurprisingly, you are an admirable pupil.” It may be the most earnest compliment he’s ever given Gale. “Perhaps I’ll see you at the fête?”
A quip stills in Gale’s throat, and he can only watch, mute, as the sorcerer takes his leave. He ought to return to what he was doing, then.
in honour of the wonderful creations of yrre the sparkstruck, my second-favourite bg3 character who does not appear in the game even once
food I will always order:
ooh this is so broad... I think the one thing that I invariably order when it's available, over anything else, no matter what the other options are, is malai kofta. it is what I am getting anytime I go to an indian restaurant. if it is on the menu then nothing else is happening it's simply out of my hands
overused emoji:
☝️I am always agreeing. in my defence I am always speaking to people who are consistently correct
current favorite book/media/show:
I've gotten my baby brother into dimension 20 now that he's finally the age I was when I started watching it and I am having the time of my life rewatching old seasons with him.... so many plot twists I'd forgotten! and it's nice to share something I've enjoyed for so many years with him :)
last song on repeat:
not 100% sure but it's either florence + the machine's sympathy magic or mermicolion's rendition of ai vis lo lop. I enjoy the sparkly sounds and the shawm, respectively
last thing you hyperfixated on:
not a full hyperfixation but probably writing an essay. I got really into it and then crashed and didn't do anything for a week. it wasn't even good lmao I've just finished rewriting it dramatically
oddly specific thing that brings you joy:
dandelions!! when they're yellow. I think I started noticing them a couple years ago when I went to england, where they are HUGE, by the way, and I've been noticing and granted delight by them ever since :)
phone wallpaper:
the abstract blue look it came with. I never bothered to change it
what smell makes you happy:
when I was a kid I loved lemongrass. I'd pick it and scrunch it up in my hands given any opportunity. I should do that more, we have a big bush of it in the garden
morning, night, or other type of person:
probably morning? I find I get the most done when I start early. I've taken to posting up in the library by 8am to knock studying out of the way so all of the fun things can happen ASAP afterwards :)
what's your work/profession:
I work in before/after school care :) it's a treat, the kids I work with are great. I am also now technically a university student, but since it's a preparatory course that entails somewhat less than it would if I were doing a bachelor's
tagging back @maggacammara @sixteenstrikes @ervona @chavelah if you like! if not. well I have very little recourse to make you I don't know where anybody is
ellievsbear
yousharknotpass
annaxmalina
