RenewedSentiments
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Tim jumped the short, gothic fence, landing as gracefully as he could with his still healing ribs. The journey here had been harder than he had thought, his body still so weak. He had had to be careful, though. He was avoiding two vigilantes and a crime lord. Not an easy group to stay away from.
Prior experience led him through the graves and grass, his path the same he had taken once before. His hands in his hoodie, he worried his thumb over the divots of the small object hidden there.
Finally, the stately, yet reserved, headstone appeared. He didn’t sit, this time, simply staring at words etched into marble.
HERE LIES JASON PETER TODD
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- Part 1 of Grave Diggers
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A small moment between Durge and Orin, set before the events of the game and before the forming of the Cult of the Absolute. In the Temple of Bhaal, two sisters have a conversation.
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"There is something here. In this room. It's watching us, I don't…" Merlin trailed off, his eyes going wide. There was a breeze on his neck. He looked upwards.
It was darkness, but it had form. Vaguely, the outline of a woman appeared in the writhing shadow. She crouched on the ceiling, eyes of pure void staring back at them. A twisted smile stretched across the face. She began reaching out a hand, dark magic building up in her grasp, pointing straight towards the group of huddled individuals.
There was no time. Merlin reacted instinctively. Arthur and the knights had looked to what had caught Merlin's attention and were shouting out battle formations. None of them were looking when Merlin released a spherical force of magic around him, pushing all of them away from where they had encircled him. They flew back, hitting the outer walls of the tunnel, as the dark energy blasted into Merlin. The stone floor was fracturing beneath the weight. Merlin had just a moment to look towards his friends, most struggling to orient themselves after the burst of magic that had spared them, before the earth caved, swallowing him whole.
[Abandoned Work! There will be no updates.]
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"I don't need a portrait, Astarian. I can see my reflection. Besides, it will be nice to have a portrait of someone I actually like in our lodgings. Those old human men don't brighten the room up like you would."
"Hold on, you want to get a portrait done of me? I didn't even want to help the man!"
"You don't want to help anyone Astarion."
"Well. Not everyone. I don't mind helping you. If I didn't you be dead in a ditch somewhere."
"Yes," she agreed, "You help me. And now I want to help you. You haven't seen your reflection in 200 years. I know you want to see what you look like again. So. I am going to wipe the bloodstains that you can't see off your face, you're going to grab your favorite outfit from camp, and we are going to get your portrait done."
Astarion was a bit stunned.
She smiled up at him, just a small thing that barely pulled up the sides of her lips. She often smiled at him like that. Like she was afraid of giving him more than he could handle. Or perhaps more than she could.
"Lean down. You're too tall."
"Yes, my tyrant of a lover," he said, a purr in his voice and a wetness to his eye that he wouldn't admit to under torture.
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“Monster hunter,” she says. “Have you ever hunted something that didn’t know it was a monster?”
He slows to a stop. She stops a little after, looking back at him, his youthful face, the deep scars that cut his cheek.
“Can’t say that I have,” he says after a beat. He's giving her question serious thought. The careful attention sends another shiver through her. “A monster is usually aware of what it is.”
Through the blood haze of dark nightmares and darker urges, Anara turns to a monster hunter to help her figure out exactly what kind of monster she is.
Bookmarked by RenewedSentiments
05 Jun 2026
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She doesn’t know, she doesn’t know what she doesn’t know, she might never know. What deity can she pray to to fill the holes in her brain and this empty, yawning cavity in her chest? What is the god she used to pray to doing now, watching her suffer but not lifting a divine finger to help?
In the darkness of the shadow-cursed lands, Anara tries on a few gods, a few friends, a few different ways to pray.
Series
- Part 3 of blue or black days
Bookmarked by RenewedSentiments
05 Jun 2026
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There is a story here that passes his lips in a hurry, a story of hubris, a story with a terrible ending. Her thumb brushes against his chest, catching the hair there, touching the burned skin from the trail of the orb, wondering whether in her shrouded other life, another man knelt before her like this and asked her to trust him.
In a hidden past and a hazy present, Anara meets a man with dark hair and dark ambition.
Series
- Part 1 of blue or black days
Bookmarked by RenewedSentiments
05 Jun 2026
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I Will Face The Gods and Walk Backwards Into Avernus by Goodluckdetective
Fandoms: Baldur's Gate (Video Games)
01 May 2024
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When her fellow amnesiac tells Shadowheart that they “hate all the Gods equally” she’s sure they must be lying.
By the time she finds them lecturing Gale about the Goddess of magic, it has become abundantly clear they they were not joking.
Or: the Dark Urge is the biggest God hater in Faerun.
Latest Chapter: The Dark Urges speaks to Jergal and Astarion reconsiders his stance on prayer.
Series
- Part 2 of Here There Be Monsters
Bookmarked by RenewedSentiments
05 Jun 2026
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He’d expected the pain. And the carnage. And the helplessness. But he hadn’t expected the shame: ever Bhaal’s puppet to the last, he was forced to bear witness to a macabre play of his crimes against the backdrop of his blooded eyelids. Because of course — of course — Bhaal would treat his prodigal son to one last nightmare, made all the more monstrous by its reality. Hundreds ended by his hand rendered little more than faces warped in shock and horror — for most, the only scrap of memory he’d ever have of them.
It turns out Bhaal does not take kindly to being told "no."
Series
- Part 2 of Polydipsia
Bookmarked by RenewedSentiments
05 Jun 2026