Wed Bed Behead: Ulder Ravengard, Enver Gortash, Oskar Fevras. Assume this whole tadpole thing isn't happening, so you can't just kill Gortash for his Netherstone. And that Lady Jannath broke up with Oskar, so he's clear.
Incredible <3
7/10 don't want to answer, asking her which of three men she hardly knows she'd rather sleep with out of wedlock is incredibly vulgar and you should be Ashamed of yourself >:(
Anyway. Start of the game she would 100% be down to marry Ulder, the well respected grand duke with the strict moral code. Sadly, she's now heard more of Wyll's backstory and uhhh. Guy Who Turns His Back On His Son is kind of a massive turn off for her. She still doesn't want to actively kill him, because that'll make Wyll unhappy so. I guess she wouldn't hate setting her standards aside long enough to fuck Ulder.
The tadpoling and break up aren't really necessary. Antinua can't fucking stand Oskar. If he's still with Lady Jannath, killing him is honestly doing her a service. If they've broken up, Oskar's a penniless artist again so Antinua's hardly going to choose him over a man who comes with a ducal palace. Honestly, she probably dislikes Gortash less than she dislikes Oskar tbh. And again, he actually has somewhere for her to live!
there is no canon. in-game books can and will disagree aggressively with each other and your own experience of the plot. hell, the printed book that came with Redguard had "written" notes pointing out Imperial bullshit
cat people get high on moon sugar like its crack
there are 16 forms of cat person, from "kitty" to "Thundercat" to "cat with all the hair of its tribe braided into its coat as Leader of the Cats"
giants will fucking ragdoll you into the mountains
i mean you do start off the game with being executed. probably a niche fun fact but
there are 9 gods (FUCK YOU IMPERIAL TRAITORS, HAIL TALOS) (but fuck Ulfric too) and 16 daedric princes of Oblivion who can and will hand super powerful artifacts out like goddamn candy
1. What would your Tav’s greetings be (at different levels of approval)?
Low Approval: “You know, if you ever need anything…You should ask someone else for it.”
Neutral: “Come on, have a gander at me. I am magnificent.”
High Approval: “Well well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?...Eye.”
Romanced: “You’re back! I mean, of course you’re back. Why wouldn’t you be?”
15. Is your Tav more likely to fight/flight/freeze/fawn?
Fawn. Fawn. Fawn. Ezra's entire personality has been wired around people-pleasing to avoid abuse since basically the time he was able to talk, and in situations where he's genuinely afraid, he will try to placate whoever is threatening him out of self-preservation.
24. What does your Tav consider to be their own biggest character flaw?
Ezra thinks he's generally a reprehensible scumbag, but his biggest perceived character flaw is his inability to relate to people. His extreme sociability is a mask for the fact that he doesn't understand anyone on a personal level, and he's come to view all interactions as an elaborately choreographed routine. He's a liar at his core, and by forming relationships with anyone, he's deceiving them by default.
common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about
Okay so I don't have high hopes for the BG3 TV series, and I don't think it needs to exist at all, but also I'm tired of seeing, "well there's no hope for it because Larian isn't involved." Like… oh no, what are we going to do without the guys who didn't actually complete writing Act 3 of the game, keep rewriting things to appease the most annoying fans, and have a history of racism and consistantly ignoring the main black character? It's… again, I don't think it will be good, but I also don't think a project needs to have the original creators involved to make it worthwhile (otherwise, what's the point in ever writing fanfiction?)
your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores
I mean is it too obvious to say Wyll? And tbf I think he's being less ignored by fandom now than he used to be at least. But for every hardcore Wyll lover it still seems like there's someone out there who feels the need to go "well I just didn't find him that interesting, he's too underwritten and his backstory is too straightforward and he's just Too Nice," every time he gets mentioned. Wyll being a weirdo who comes out with some of the most absurd shit in the most straightforward voice, and also Wyll being a ruthlessly down to murder bad guys and do Righteous Violence all the time are both fucking slept on, and very sexy of him.
What’s one irrelevant detail about your character that will never come up in-game/writing/etc but you love anyway?
It's not "it will never come up" but I enjoy how much she loves reading, that she had a whole library, and that she is trying her best to rebuild it somewhat in BG3, despite her lack of House.
Also silly, fun, related fact that won't come up at all in canon: while making her library in Moonrise Towers in Sims 4 she immediately glomped onto these bookcases
Which was really fucking annoying for me because that is a Lot of empty shelf space that needs to be filled manually (despite none of the standing books I could find snapping to the higher shelf), while I have loads of pretty bookshelves I wouldn't have to do that with, but nope she really wanted these ones.
Anyway. I love how pretty her library is. It's my favourite room I've made in a long while and I'm glad she insisted on these stupid shelves.
She finds them shortly after they have set up camp for the evening.
There is an itch that grows beneath the surface of their skin when surrounded by too many people; it worsens, when the evening is too quiet, when they have nothing to focus on, no target onto which to project their restlessness. On her second night in their camp, Karlach had snuck up on them from behind and they had near gutted her for it -- had it not been for Zefira's intervention (and the leather straps of her clothing deflecting their shaking blade to twist harmlessly against her stomach) they would have felt blood hot as hellfire coat their hands.
Now, when they are not given a job to do, Labrys spends their time with something solid at their back. This evening they have found themselves in the ruins of an old stone structure not too far from their camp -- once a temple, going by the altar at the far end, although no trace remains of what god may once have been worshipped here -- leaning in the corner where two of the walls are still taller than they are. One hand holds a discarded piece of firewood, the other a makeshift knife they had liberated from a goblin a few days prior, and by the time the halfling priest seeks them out, they are halfway through attempting to carve a runic design into the surface of the wood.
"Come to pray?" she asks, tapping the back of her right hand.
Labrys frowns, gaze flitting to the symbol of bound hands clasped in prayer that adorns the back of their own hand, an image which still means nothing to them. They shake their head.
Zefira says nothing further, haloed in the golden light of the setting sun, bright enough to hurt their head. Seconds stretch out into minutes before they think to ask, "Have you?"
"Oh, no," she laughs, "I don't need a temple for my devotions. I'm here for you."
They narrow their eyes. Their blade sinks too deep into the wood -- too soft of a material, they think, irritated, wiggling the knife back and forth to work it free.
"Why."
Their voice is too flat to rightfully call it a question. A demand, perhaps, one to which the priest only smiles at their display of what Astarion describes as bad manners.
"I didn't get a chance to patch you up earlier," she says, "and I know you didn't ask Shadowheart when we stopped to camp. It must be hurting pretty bad by now. Let me take a look?"
To her credit, she does not try to approach them. She taps her fingers against the space just below her collarbone instead and they feel the pain they had been ignoring so successfully worm its way back to the front of their mind. The wood snaps in their hand and they hiss out a curse between their teeth, letting the two pieces fall uselessly to the stone floor.
"That is unnecessary," they grit out.
Zefira tuts, unimpressed. "Yes, alright, you're tough, you don't need anyone's help. Understood. Now that's out of the way, let me look at it, at least." When they open their mouth to tell her to leave them be she fixes them with a look and holds up a finger. "No, I'm not done, let me finish. I know you didn't pull that arrow out clean. I don't care if the pain is bearable, or whatever bullshit you were about to come out with -- if that wound gets infected, or if there's a fragment of that arrowhead still lodged in there, it'll impact your ability to swing a blade. Have you even washed it yet?"
They clench their hand tight around the handle of their knife, imagine burying the short blade in the hollow of her throat, holding her close as the lifeblood ebbs from her body. A twinge of pain lances down their arm. Their fingers twitch.
"Fine," they snap, stowing their knife. "Make it quick."
"I will take as long as I need to," she chides, and Labrys rolls their eyes. "Now, come over here, into the light. And sit down, how in the hells am I supposed to reach you up there?"
She leads them to the stone altar, the only remotely worthy place to sit amongst the debris, and clambers atop it, frowning up at them when they take too long to sit down. With them sat and her stood on the altar, Zefira is almost eye level with them -- their wound is easily accessible, from her position, but still she does not move to touch them.
"May I?" she asks instead, and Labrys frowns, unsure what her trick is here. She waits them out as the silence between them stretches out long enough to become what Wyll terms awkward and their frown only deepens.
"And if I say no?"
"Then I'll head back to camp and leave you to deal with it yourself, or ask myself or Shadowheart later. Now, I'd hope you're not foolish or stubborn enough to pick that option, but it's your choice."
They think about calling her bluff, telling her to go back and join the others and leave them be. But the wound is only small, and she would not have to touch them overmuch, and should she try anything all they would have to do is stand up to render her powerless.
"Fine," they say, voice clipped. "Do it."
She still does not touch them even as she peels the fabric of their tattered shirt back from where dried blood and sweat have stuck it to their skin, but Labrys watches her closely anyway as she inspects the wound. It is small and shallow, jagged only where they had been careless in ripping the arrowhead from their flesh amidst the red haze of battle, but it had not cut deep enough for them to consider it a problem beyond the odd pulse of pain that had troubled them throughout the course of the afternoon, easy enough to ignore in favour of their party's focus on exploration.
Zefira clucks her tongue and mutters something under her breath. When she lifts her other hand to hover over the wound a soft glow spills from the tip of her index finger that grows brighter as she moves it around the scabbing edges of the lesion.
"Right," she says. "I'm going to touch you now, and it's probably going to hurt. A little bit of that arrow broke off in your shoulder when you pulled it out, and we're gonna have to get that out of you before we can heal you up. Okay?"
We, she says, as if they have any say in what she does to them. But she does not move, not until they nod, not until they echo her okay and voice their consent.
It does not hurt so much as they thought it would. Her fingers are small and nimble and the shrapnel is not lodged too deep; beyond the initial instinctive tensing of their muscles when she braces her other hand on their shoulder to keep them steady, Labrys does not react as she digs into the wound to retrieve the last of the arrowhead from where it cuts into the fibres of their muscles.
"There," she says finally, dropping the tiny piece of metal into their palm. "Can't very well heal a wound while there's still something in there hurting you, can we? I thought I might have to patch you up the old fashioned way, but it's not as bad as I thought it was: I can heal it up for you now, whenever you're ready."
Labrys closes their fist around what is left of the arrowhead, small enough that they would have considered it insignificant. They nod once, and are grateful she does not make them voice it again -- she presses one hand to their bloody shoulder and clasps the coin around her neck with the other and they grit their teeth against the searing itch of regrowing skin, flesh knitting itself back together beneath the power of her touch.
There is an odd urge in the back of their mind to thank her as she sits down heavily on the altar beside them, but they squash it before it can take root, tightening their grip on the fragment of arrowhead until it cuts into their palm.
"Well," she says finally, when the silence has grown up around them like thick foliage to shade them from the last light of the setting sun, "I am starving. Shall we head back and see what delights Gale has managed to whip up for us tonight?"
They nod, slowly pushing themselves to their feet as Zefira drops to the floor from her perch on the edge of the altar and begins to head back towards the others. Her hands are still stained crimson: her fault, for following them out here, for insisting on helping them as if they are not already indebted to her enough. But it is still their blood doing the staining.
"There is a stream," they offer, hesitant, "a little way to the north. Not too far out of the way. For your hands."
She pauses long enough for them to catch up and smiles up at them. "I'll follow you, then," she says, and this evening, at least, it does not feel so much like a threat to have someone at their back.
9) Do they empathize with non-sentient things (dolls, plants, books…)?
not willingly, and not in a way they would recognise as empathy. they project...not personhood, exactly, onto their weapons, but something close to it (certainly closer than any degree of personhood they would allow themselves, at least). each of them is named after someone they once loved but have since forgotten: it's not a conscious decision, and they don't know why they choose the names that they do, just that they feel right. pre tadpole, their daggers are named after their parents, step siblings, and people who had an impact on them growing up; post tadpole, if they live long enough, they'll find themselves calling their twin scimitars Orin and Enver. they don't care about any other object, though, and they also work very hard to desensitise themselves from the idea of treating their weapons as anything more than useful tools
18) Kissing: tongue or no tongue?
no kissing, if they can help it -- it serves no purpose, and they don't understand the point of it, when mouths can be used for much better things, like biting. if they must kiss, no tongue, too much teeth. they are unused to and largely unskilled in the art lol
28) Would they date a fixer-upper?
they don't date, per se: they're coaxed or herded into some sort of situationship, and if their partner is lucky enough to still be breathing on the other side of it it's entirely up to them to figure out the logistics of domestication. Labrys is the stray cat that hisses at you if you get too close, but if you leave fresh food and water out for them every night you can one day pull a bait and switch and make them think it's their own idea to come inside out of the cold. so I guess the uno reverse card question is, how committed to the idea of dating them is the fixer-upper? because Labrys is going to be fighting them every step of the way 😂
i'm going to be coy and ask what "amberaxe luck" is ☺
ask me about my wips!
gee I wonder what this could be... ;)
She catches them watching and grins, unapologetic, holding up the purse for them to see her spoils.
"For luck," she winks, tossing them a single gold piece.
They still do not believe in luck. But the coin warms their pocket in spite of their distaste for it, and when they count their gold later that afternoon and come up one short of the asking price, they brush fingertips over the coin where it sits in their pocket like a prayer answered at long last and decide they do not need the healing potion after all.
