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gyldowen-draws · 1 month

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Tav Tuesday 2: Electric Boogaloo!

Welcome back to another Tav Tuesday! I had so much fun last week, I thought I would keep the ball rolling with another set of awesome Tavs (and one Durge lol). Here's this week's line-up:

Kader by @highblooddrumming | Staeve by @velnna Elyon by @irrevocably-delicious | The Dark Urge by TheListenerOfVoid on DA

Stay tuned next week for more cool Tavs! 😊

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sky-kiss · 4 months

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Listen, I don't care how self-indulgent this is lol I just want it on my dash.

#raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #oc: joi #i am a simple woman #and it is a tuesday #i need this #yes this is modded

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pursuitseternal · 2 months

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“Stealing:” the Raven and the Ascendant at it again in “Our Blood is Thicker”

(Ascended) Astarion x Cordehlia (Tav) | E | 4K

🎨 by @marimosalad full more NSFW ON X and below the cut

Summary: Returning home, Cordhelia gets her hands on Astarion’s old tunic. What better way to tease him, just like she used to… by stealing his stuff.

CW: busty!Cordy, the Raven and the Ascendant’s continuing journey, dirty talk, taunting, and praise, marriage bond flashback, floor riding smut.

Previous ch | ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 22… Stealing

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

“Love?” Cordehlia called as she trudged her way up the stairs of the Palace. Her hand left a few streaks of blood on the handrail as she climbed higher towards their chambers. She rolled her eyes as the new colors he had chosen for the Palace, intimidating darks and burning scarlets and burnished golds. Everything the world expected of the Vampire Ascendant as he made his new domain on the ashes of his former Master and tormentor.

She huffed through her nose. The Crimson Palace. Of course he’d take that literally.

Cordehlia couldn’t even look at the massive sprawling portraits of his face that dotted the place. She, more than anyone, knew his ego could rage if unchecked, shaking her head, she recalled all that dripping arrogance as the young lording of their people. Now add wealth, unparalleled power, and the title of Hero of the Gate…. Cordehlia sighed as she reached the master bedroom.

The sunset’s light poured into the room through the colored windows, a wash of blues and greens and goldens like the forests of their youth. For as bloodied as the rest of the Palace had been made, this… this was their sanctum. Their private retreat from the demands of power and expectation. A place where the Vampire Ascendant and his Consort were just… them. Walls, bedding, decor, it all was burnished in golds and colored in verdancy. Airy and light and simple. A breath of fresh forest air in the throes of the City.

“Astarion?” Cordehlia called once more, starting to unlace her bloodied black leather armor. Those Bhaalists had been easy. Too many to dispatch quickly, but easy. She slipped off each piece to set it carefully by the door. The blood collected and dried in the little carved feathers all along her armor. For as fearsome as she looked as the Raven, it sure was hell to clean after each night she went out. Fortunately they had servants now. A palace full.

Besides, he liked the way she looked in the armor he had bought her, when she was covered in black leather and cape, face half concealed beneath her new helm. His little harbinger of death, his own fierce Right Hand to work in the shadows.

The fall of the Netherbrain had only been a beginning, the rest of those tendrils… or tentacles… of the Dead Three’s power still needed dismantling. By day, they rebuilt the City, funding projects and attending galas, by night they crept in the dark to finish what had begun months before….

When they weren’t here, in this bedchamber, still making up for centuries apart from one another.

She smiled, still looking around the room for any traces he was home. But given the pristine cleanliness, the answer was a resounding negative. His meetings must have run late, she concluded, heading to the bathing chamber to draw a warm bath. Bhaalist blood, she had learned, tasted worse than it smelled, and she was eager to be free of it.

Today had been a special battle, one opportunity to try to cut the Bhaalists off at the root, and it had taken her nearly all day. As she sank into the warm and soapy water, she felt the tension leaving her muscled frame. A few moments to herself sounded like balm to her weariness. After all, if she truly needed him she could simply tug gently at that new bond that connected them mind to mind, not just soul to soul. No, for now, she could enjoy herself alone.

Maybe it was her lost in the scent of the perfumed soaps, of moss and sweet grass and wildflowers that wafted on the steam. Maybe it was her, lost as she wandered through her memories of times before, of their young, carefree and bloodless days.

Whatever it was, Cordehlia’s heart brimmed with nostalgia.

As the sun lowered, it slatted through the cool colored stained glass of their rooms, bathing her in a flood of green and blue light. Cordehlia smiled, remembering the mossy banks of their youth in the forests of the Yuirwood. So far away, and so long ago, she could feel the same longing for nature and the open air. The water had grown cold, the only sign of how long she had been soaking away the sweat and blood of her day. Stepping out carefully, she dried her cool and pale skin, heading into their bed chamber to find something comfortable for the evening.

She took a deep breath as she crossed their large chamber. Her hand ran over the leaves and scrollwork of the patterns on their wardrobes. For all the comforts she had at the tips of her fingers now, she missed those days on the road, fucking in his tent, falling in love with him all over again for the man he was now, the reflection of her own inner darkness made sharper inside him.

The door opened easily, her elegant gowns and lingerie hanging perfectly inside. Such finery. Too fine for her. She glanced at the bloodied leather armor across the room, grappling with that lingering pain in her heart at the darkness she was trying to use for good, for justice… for cleansing the City. Still, her heart longed to go back to simpler days, innocent days. She craved those moments when Astarion was with her, making her heal from that demanding darkness that was her nature.

Her hands searched the bottom of the wardrobe, a pile of their old clothing from their adventures on the road pushed into the darkest, furthest corner. Carefully, she fished out her old flowing tunic, the bell shaped sleeves still forever stained from dirt and blood and Illithid slime. The nostalgia was so great, her heart thrumming with the memories of joy and angst of it all. Another pale, stained linen shirt laid beside it.

Those ruffles, that deep v cut and lacing sent a thrill of recognition instantly to her heart, and her core. Soft as she remembered, she held the shirt in her hands, reverent almost, as she pressed it to her face. Breathing deeply, her heart thumped slowly but steadily with the rush of joy it gave her.

His. His shirt. Old and repaired countless times and eccentric. Just like him.

A tug of a smirk at her lips, and she settled it over her body. She had grown a little rounder, fuller, and curvier since their days on the road and in battle. Well-fed, cared for, adored, her curves strained against the narrow cuts of his shirt. Her breasts nearly poured out from that deep v of his collar. An embrace of his shirt all over her torso.

She smiled. Oh, he would be livid to see her in this, she smirked. Not that she liked irritating him or inciting him to be annoyed. She didn’t like doing that… she loved it.

Just as she was imagining that irritated furrow to his brow and his nasally and whiny voice, his near-silent footsteps climbed up the center stair. Her stomach leapt, oh, she would taunt him mercilessly in this. She glanced over her shoulder, impish as she bent down to rummage more in the bottom of their wardrobe. She made sure the hem of his shirt rested on the crest of her hips as she bent forward.

Giving him a sight to behold as he entered.

Reckless, mischievous, Cordehlia held her breath to savor the sounds of him. The click of the door, the sharp inhale into his undead lungs, the softer gritting of his teeth and racing of his pulse as he took in the display of his Bride as she presented herself so… lewdly. So perfectly.

“My…” he couldn't even get out a pet name without his voice cracking at the sight of her bent over like that. He could smell her bloodied, discarded armor beside him as he closed the door. “A successful raid against the Bhaalists, it would seem, my little Raven.”

Cordehlia smirked, her face the perfect picture of startled and breathless. Too perfect. “Oh, my love,” she turned completely around and stood strength, a hand on her heaving bosom as if she had to catch her breath. “I didn’t know you were home…”

His eyes narrowed, an irritated smirk on his thick and sensual lips. “Yes you did, my little minx,” he rasped. “You’re senses are too sharp for that excuse, they always were,” he grunted as he crossed to her. Crimson eyes scanned her body, taking in the sight of her shirt.

His shirt.

“Where did you find these old rags?” he purred, that privileged, judgmental tone cooling his voice as he crossed over towards her. His finger picked at the ruffles as if they offended him. “I’ve bought you dresses, exotic silks and shifts and gowns for the bedroom, and this…” he sneers a bit naughtily, “you pick my old shirt?”

“I did,” she smiled back, so haughty and taunting. “For as… nice as your gifts are…” she trailed off, making her eyes big and innocent and teary, “they just don’t smell or feel like you against my skin…”

His eyes dilated as he watched her hand against her skin, watching as she teased his shirt over her body. “It’s a little snug, however,” she chuckled, picking at the collar that her breasts were positively spilling out from.

All fangs and breath, he kissed her, consuming her. Hands clawed at those full and supple breasts she couldn’t stop mentioning. His fingers squeezed like a vice, a moment of aggression followed by long and sensuous caressing. Cordehlia groaned, arching against him, trying to lift the shift from her body.

“Ah, ah,” he tutted in mock chastisement. “You made your choice of apparel. And I must say, I might even look better on you than me, my love. But now, you’re going to have to live with the consequences of your choice.”

“You mean, getting fucked is the consequence of my choice, don’t you?”

Astarion only gave that low, reverberating chuckle. “Now, I liked the sight of you before, why don’t you bend over again, my bride, and I’ll give you what you were clearly seeking?”

She looked so innocent as she smiled up at him. As if she hadn’t just been bent over to taunt him, as if she hadn’t been caked in the blood of their enemies before that. “I don’t know what you mean, she replied so calmly. “I was just looking for a little something comfortable to slip into.” She tried to back away, eyes darting as he started to unfasted the clasps of his ornate jacket before it landed on the floor for him to step over. “You’ll never believe…” she smirked, impish as she backed up some more, “I thought it was my tunic, it felt so familiar until I put this old thing on.” Letting out a small giggle, she only smirked harder as he closed that distance she kept insisting on making.

His ravenous smirk only widened. “You always did like games of chase as a girl,” he replied, voice like gravel from his growing desire for her. “And you always were such a tease and a horrible liar.”

Cordehlia let out a giggle as she turned to dart away. But he was all the faster, too many decades of these same kinds of games to not know her every next little move. Swiftly and suddenly, her vision was filled with bright blues and greens of the stained glass windows as he caught her and pinned her tightly beneath him. “I think I’ve won, my darling,” he rasped in her ear, his body pressing against her back and his hands running up and down her bare legs.

“For now…” she purred as she pushed away from the window just a bit.

“How about, for now, you let me enjoy the sight of you in my shirt, you adorable thief,” he chuckled, a hand reaching around her waist, the other pinning her hands above her head and against the cool glass of the windows. The bare skin of his chest radiated heat, his temperature seeming to burn hotter the more his hand slunk over her belly, the more it teased the ancient fabric of his old shirt. “Little light fingered Cordehlia, always getting in trouble…”

She huffed a laugh, hiding the groan in her voice as his fingers found their way between her legs. “Usually getting caught because of something you made me do with you, little lordling.” He tried to lift her head away from the window, but his hand just squashed her harder, pressing her breasts against the cool glass harder, making her shiver where her skin touched it from the cut of his shirt.

“Now, now,” he groaned, grinding his hardened cock against her bare ass, “you got me into trouble just as much, from what I can recall.”

Cordehlia gave that low and musical laugh, her mirth broken by a few pants as his fingers determinedly sought out her clit. “From what I

remember, you loved it…”

Astarion hissed, his cock aching to be so confined, but that feeling and scent of her own arousal was too delicious to pull away from. Closing his eyes, he felt her mind, her memories tickling in his own brain, an invitation to join her. The blue and green light of the room faded from reality, the sun of the Yuirwood bathing their youthful faces as her memories came to life….

“You give that back!” Astarion’s voice called after her, that red-haired terror he loved to be around. Loved to be around… until she did something utterly irritating, like stealing his new book from his mother.

“I’m not going to break it,” she taunted back over her shoulder, her rosy lips turned in a teasing, impish grin. “Not like you need another book for your massive collection, Astarion, you spoiled brat.”

That made him grind his teeth and sprint all the faster after her. Reaching one hand, he caught the trailing ends of her hair, pulling her up short and making her tumble into the mossy forest floor.

“Fuck you!” Cordehlia hissed, barely breathing as the wind got knocked from her lungs. Astarion towered over her, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

“Doubly naughty,” his voice creaked from thirst and exertion. “Stealing my book,” he snatched it from her hands as she laid in the dirt, “and using such foul language for a she-elf of breeding.”

She sneered a smile, her fist landing at the back of his knee making him crumple to the dirt beside her. Swift and graceful, she pinned him down. “You’d think you would know, by your age, I am not just some she-elf of breeding…”

“By our age, you should know that it’s unbecoming and unattractive to steal things from your closest of friends. We aren’t just little elflings anymore.” He grunted, his face growing pink as he fought against her hands that braced his fists at his side, as he tried to throw her off from how she straddled him.

“You know I hate when you do this?” He spat.

“Do what?” Cordehlia pouted, holding on to him tightly. “When I beat you? When I outsmart you?” She taunted, reaching for the book from his side to flaunt it in his face.

“I hate when you pin me like this, like some little brat of a she-elf,” he grumbles. But Cordehlia only held on harder, pushing him to the earth more beneath her legs. She moved to toss the book away when…

“Astarion, is something the matter?” She looked at him, his eyes were dark, his face was flushed. “You don’t look right…” As she moved to set the book down, she felt something under her. “Something wrong with your stomach? You have a bump…”

He hissed and threw her off. “I said I don’t like it,” he grumbled, grabbing his book and holding it over his lower stomach. “Stop taking my things, Cordehlia, and maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll share them with you instead.” He sniffed and turned to stride away.

Her laughter broke the spell, their memories fading as the palace’s walls and colored windows took shape again. She rammed him backwards, sending Astarion flying most ungracefully to the carpet behind him. Sprawled out, he caught his breath, opening his eyes to see her feral, cunning leering face descend on him to pin him down. “Little did I know then just how much you actually loved when I was pressed against you,” she purred, sitting astride him the same as in the past, her hips grinding down on his confined cock, hands splayed on his bare chest.

He groaned under her, teeth bared and hands tight on her hips.

“Don’t look so cross with me,” she panted, grinding her slick folds on the velvet of his breeches. “How can you be angry when I look so adorable in my purloined shirt?”

“Because…” he grunted, “one, it’s my shirt, and two…” he slid his hands to the band of his trousers, forcing them down to let his cock finally free, “if I don’t do now what I wanted to do with you then, I’m afraid you’ll find me far worse off than… cross…” he smirks up at her, fangs glinting with mischief.

“Oh, you can be so much worse than cross,” Cordehlia teased, “spoiled for instance, annoying…” that smooth, hard skin of his cock pressed deliciously beneath her, and biting her lip, she tilted herself to catch it. Sinking on to it, groaning to be finally filled and satisfied to have him under her power.

Astarion bucked beneath her, a pleased, arrogant grin on his lips as his eyes closed. “Well, at least I’ve learned over the centuries how to play nicely with one person.”

“Ha! Barely,” Cordehlia scoffed as she slowed down on him. Sitting perfectly, frustratingly still, she teased his shirt on her body. Her strong and lithe fingers brushing her skin where her breasts pushed up through the cut of his collar. Lifting up its hem, she brought that ivory fabric to her face and breathed in deep. Astarion’s eyes went wide, dark and dilated as he watched her own pale belly and the curves of her breasts slowly come into view. Every breath she took, he could feel her muscles expand and relax around his cock. And then she sighed, “Still smells like you, my love. Like your salt and sweat and musk… like how you smelled after a long day of fighting and killing and…” she dropped the shirt and grinded on his length again suddenly, “fucking.”

He sat up with so much strength, wrapping her body in his arms, face nuzzled into her shoulder. His breath flowed over the crook of her neck, sending shivers to scatter down her spine. “Honestly, darling, now it smells like you… mouthwatering and fresh and fierce.” He smirked at her, slowly lifting his head to brush noses with his love. “And I think I like it better that way…”

Fangs sank gently into her neck, making Cordehlia buck erratically on his lap, the sudden movement making him pull away quickly with a snarl. Blood on his chin, dripping down her neck, he looked her over with lust-blown eyes. Lips pressed against his gently, her breath sweeter than meadowgrass as she slowly rode him. A steady tempo, a rocking of their union as she took her sweet time to buck on his cock. Craving every inch, every ridge and vein of him single her, she wanted to feel, to remind her that they had made it.

They had won.

Her undead heart palpitated in her chest, or maybe it was his own heart beating so hard beneath his ribs it resonated in her very bones. He bent in worship of her, giving her the very air from his lungs and blood from his veins to sustain her as they moved like water over rocks, so pure and fluid. Warm touch and strong fingers clung into her hair, tugging her head back, angling her mouth just right for his tongue to delve deep inside, to skate over her fangs and feast on her taste. Breath growing short, her aching muscles flooded with the need to finish, to chase that release he always, always gave. Arms hugged her tight, a gesture that was once so innocent between them now something so full-blooded and thick with heavy desire. Her own two arms, capable of so much violence and strength, clutched around his neck, pulling his mouth to fasten against her own.

The fading daylight bathed them in the softer blues and greens through the windows of the palace. It warmed their skin from without, even as the slow friction of their coupling warmed them quickly from within. His breath grew harsh and stilted, his teeth biting hard on themselves, jaw tight, and every muscle drawn tense; it was enough to shove Cordehlia into her own wave of climax in the same breath as him.

Her lungs burned as all the air disappeared, her aching muscles bunched and fluttered, all she could do was gasp to fill her empty lungs with air. Every breath was laden with his scent, ancient and familiar from his shirt caressing her body, and that all-too-familiar perfume of elegance, of citrus and herbs and brandy.

Catching her breath, she felt his head fall against her bosom, the Ascendant laid low as he caught a second wind cradled against his love’s body. “To bed?” he whispered softly. Drenched, Cordehlia slid off his lap, locking eyes with him as looked up at last.

His eyes might have been kohl-lined now and crimson, his teeth like weapons, and his back forever scared by his torment, but in the bath of blue-green light, he stole her breath. This mighty Ascendant, and yet still the same cocky elven boy who smirked, stealing her heart… he looked up at her with wide loving eyes.

Astarion, even more lithe and sleek since his ascension, stood and pulled his trousers all the way off. Without warning, he swept her in his arms, catching her back in his grip and her lips in his kiss. Their bed caught her as he slipped in beside her, on her, everywhere at once.

Attentive, lusty, and passionate—just as he always had been since he first laid claim to her heart, and then her body, and now her future. Finally.

The room darkened as the sun set, verdant greens and lush blues turning to black again as night fell outside their little haven of a bedroom. But they were far from finished.

Pants and sighs and the slaps of flesh filled their room for hours, but even the undead eventually end up collapsed in a pile of bliss. Resting her head on his chest, the pounding of his heart was her lullaby, that ancient pattern that had soothed her to sleep for years, and Cordehlia drifted off into sleep, still hugged tightly in his old shirt.

Hand in hand, he held her body, not just in his arms in their palace, but in their minds. In their dreams, he found her, bathed in the real soft greens of the Yuirwood. Her confident face looked at him with all the love she had preserved for him for centuries, her eyes a mix of silver and crimson, the oneness of who she had always been and who she was now. His bride, his beloved, and his Raven. Bringing her dream-lips against his, he could taste her breath again on his real tongue.

Lost in his touch, Cordehlia clung to his body and soul. For that moment, even among the dream-like trees, she could smell him, feel him, that boy that stole her and became her everything.

💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

Just a bit nsfw… so we post it here, by @marimosalad

Hope you loved these menaces 💞

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imagineitdearies · 5 months

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I am so curious about what is going through Cazador mind when the subject is Tyrus, cause wtf.

My theory is that friend his old master killed and then impaled Cazador for 11 years

Like, he's living viciously through Tyrus the fantasy that ok,maybe his friend wasn't able to rescue him,but he is alive and support him in this hell making everything a little bit better.But this projection is on a subconscious level.

For a moment due to the interactions with Amanita I thought hmmm Tyrus would be the perfect heir, obedient as fuck and not rebellious,and like he is the most like the other spawn that behaves like the family role that was imposed on him if you understand me? He behaves like a son.But again,Tyrus was made to be consumed.

And what is this family talk? Why is he so insistent on that..To be honest it's totally impractical, in the game until the last moments he was insistent on saying that he and the seven spawns are family , as if two seconds ago he wasn't saying that Astarion was made to be consumed, but ok,and it's not like when he lied saying that the seven would gain ascension out of pure cruelty, it's purely impractical no one believes they are family, there is no psychological horror on their part of torturing a sibling.

I think the motive that Cazador is so adamant of the family business is conected to why he transformed amanita and the way he treats Tyrus, anyway RIP Cazador you would have loved Freud.

But again I am probally wrong as fuck.

~Regarding my fic Perfect Slaughter (Astarion x Tav, Astarion backstory-centric)~

Hi anon!! Thanks so much for this question. Cazador had two very objective, practical reasons for turning Tyrus. One, as we know, was for Tyrus's promising necromantic talents. The second will get revealed at the end of part two!

But he also had a third, more....nebulous reason, and I think your conjecture is right on track. In my opinion, Cazador likes to see himself as a very caring, long-suffering, reasonable master. In comparison to his sire, Cazador would say he is benevolent and merciful. And in my fic at least, Vellioth was confirmed by Amanita as a relative of Cazador's, so his obsession with 'family' and enforcing the idea on his spawn (in a twisted, sick way) stems from his resentment of his actual family treating him so terribly. He's replaying his own trauma to some extent, except 'improving' upon it and being the one with all the power this time. I agree that there's some contradiction to calling his spawn family but also saying they are a consumable means to an end--but honestly I love that Cazador contradicts himself there. It shows just how fucked up his perception of what family is has become. Everything becomes about power and control to an abuser.

The Szarrs seem to turn at least one family member into a vampire per generation (see Amanita's journal about her family rites), so Cazador turning Amanita is the usual order of business. But turning her so young? I think this says a few things: 1) though he upheld family tradition, Cazador still had to have a little extra power over his 'heir,' 2) he found every other option from his family line too threatening, 3) on some level, he is attached to the idea of 'fatherhood' and influencing those he has power over, not just controlling them. Not that Amanita has turned out to be that easy to influence anyway 😂

Cazador's feelings about Tyrus are nearly as complicated as they are about Astarion. Tyrus potentially being the 'perfect son' for him is not far off--he's incredibly useful (no matter how Cazador downplays it) and outwardly respectful, he's thoughtful and careful besides being beautiful and young as all Cazador's spawn need to be. Tyrus's only flaw thus far is his weakness for Astarion, which....Cazador can relate to, let's be real lol. And as Tyrus has realized in the recent chapter, Cazador can now use their growing bond to better rein in Astarion and motivate Tyrus to work even harder for him. Unlike Vellioth, Cazador believes love can be useful. I think he'll forever resent his master for killing that friend, you're right, so he's always trying to toe that line: give just the right amount and type of fear and pain into his spawn so that they're easy to control, but not enough to make them angry and dangerous like he became.

Cazador would have felt VERY called out by Freud 😂

Thank you for this lovely ask, it was wonderful to write out these thoughts that have been mostly just bouncing around in my skull as I write Cazador in PS! In chapter 16, we'll get a little peek into Cazador's thoughts and motivations too, so watch out for that!

Happy holidays everyone 🥰🥰

#fic: perfect slaughter #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x tav #astarion #cazador szarr #bg3 headcanons #chapter 15 is either dropping tomorrow or Tuesday #just depends on when I get a chance to edit finally lol #but I couldn't resist answering this ask right away!! such a fascinating subject #ask me anything

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bardic-perdita · 29 days

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Tav Tuesdays: Quirky Questions

Feel free to share as an Ask Game, or reblog with your answers! All OCs, Tavs and Durges welcome!

How reliable is your Tav's sense of direction? Do they rely on maps, ask for directions, or get hopelessly lost?

If your Tav drinks alcohol, what would be their beverage of choice? Are they a tavern drinker or a grand ball attendee kind of person?

How quickly does your Tav learn names? Do they use nicknames to help remember (or cover up that they've forgotten)? Or is every person's name forever lodged in their memory after a single meeting?

What makes your Tav incandescently angry? What is the one thing somebody could say or do to truly make your Tav see red?

What is one character quirk that your Tav's companions would recognise and adore in them? Does your Tav know about this habit, and how do they feel about it?

#bg3 ask game #bg3 Tav #bg3 dark urge #bg3 Durge #Tav Tuesdays #these are the kinds of questions I ask about my OCs #maybe they might be fun for others too

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satanicsanity · 5 months

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Finally took a stab at playing Baldur's gate 3!! Got to act-2 after an... Embarrassing amount of gameplay hours, and I'm taking a break because my ass got burned out! TwT (still 10/10 game ABSOLUTELY glorious) 💕💕💕

However tonight I thought, fuck it! Why not show off my avatar/character?? Soooo...

Here he iss!! AHH LOOK AT HIM!!💕💕💕 Now if I can remember correctly they're a Tiefling Druid - which may be an unusual combination? BUT LOOK HOW COOL HE TURNED OUT! <3 also sorry for the low-quality pictures, I play on my computer and had to take the pictures from my phone!

Anyway just thought I'd share! But on other terms... I'm no stranger to being prideful when I'm blessed with good outcome in a game (which doesn't happen often at all)

Bonuses are one hell of a thing ~w~ also, it's no question... Yall know how I ended up here

I am not immune to pretty men with intense trauma 😔

(Edit: I know what the picture says, I'm at high level 5 in act-2 I assure, which still isn't... The best for the time I've put in I'll admit but I tried my best and hey at least it's not level 4 QwQ)

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 character #astarion #bg3 tav #I fucking love this game #but I gotta take a break otherwise I'll have a breakdown from the pressure of wanting to do everything in this game-#plus I just got entirely new classes coming this Tuesday and I gotta get my ass back to work #but still this game is a straight up drug I LOVE IT SO MUCH

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gyldowen-draws · 29 days

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Tav Tuesday: Tiefling Time!

This is a shout out to all the amazing teeth-lings here on tumblr! Your little guys are awesome 😊

Here's this week's lineup:

Halion by @bara-izu | Iorek by @maatdraws Caius by @narttart | Istelle by my partner!

I'm really enjoying this, so stay tuned next week for even more awesome Tavs!

#alt title for this week: gyldowen tries to draw horns #they look so cool #but are so hard to draw -_-#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate #baldurs gate fanart #bg3 tav #bg3 fanart #bg3 tie #oc artwork #artists on tumblr #tav tuesday!#my art #2024 #beans!

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lutethebodies · 1 month

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LTB Tav Tuesdays: Cannor Coth, the Lost Singer (Part 1)

Let's kick this off with my first Tav, based on the first character I made when jumping back into 5e after a ~30 year layoff from D&D. His name is a very loose translation of the Welsh canwr ar goll ("singer lost") or canwr cudd ("singer hidden"). I've spent more time with him than any of my other characters, so I'll try to keep this entry from running long and flesh out bio/backstory details in other posts this week, using the many surveys/memes/prompts on here. His short bio (stripped of all names/places) goes like this:

The bastard son of a disgraced army medic and a wayward noble lady, Cannor was raised in a rebel military camp far from his parents' native land. When his family was broken by that exile army's defeat, Cannor slowly clawed his way from obscurity to infamy, becoming a skilled singer and storyteller who dabbles in diplomacy when the money’s good and his ego is starved. Slightly over the hill but still antsy to be remembered, Cannor’s happiest when creating. Whether blowing blarney, keeping cool, or anything in between, he’s equally at home in lordly courts and tumbledown taverns. Cannor is a cultural sponge with nearly four decades’ worth of travel, soaking up language, accents, impressions, geography, history, and lore. As a younger man, he cultivated community wherever he went and made the world his home, but after being banished from his adopted home city years ago, he’s developed a deep desire for stability.

In 5e, I created Cannor circa late 2019 for my brother's homebrew campaign "Worlds of Aeos," a sailing/islands-based setting that eventually expanded well beyond that. Cannor was originally a College of Whispers bard, armed with a whip and dagger to finesse rather than fight, but as the campaign quickly became more violent and dangerous, I switched him to College of Swords. For a party that began as literally an "oops all bards" power trio (everyone, including the DM, had been in college bands), surviving to level 16 was no small feat. Cannor was effectively the frontman, a saber-wielding singer/storyteller and aspiring envoy who never got beyond the "spying and dirty tricks" bits of diplomacy school.

In BG3, I've run about five playthroughs with him: a FAFO original, a second to refine my playstyle, a third to be as completist as possible, a fourth with my other favorite Tavs as his hirelings, and a fifth that finally graduated from Explorer to Balanced. In each one he balances fights with finesse, taking full advantage of what a human swords bard can do and equip. BG3 rules allow him to be much less fragile than 5e, but I still sort of nerf him by sticking with light armor (the stylish +1/+2 studded leather, dyed black and summer green) and d6 scimitars instead of d8 rapiers/longswords (I wish there were whips in this game). He always romances Minthara, both because she's my favorite companion and because it actually works well with his old backstory (which I'll get into with another post).

For better and worse Cannor is my self-insert/running commentary on how poorly bards have been stereotyped by popular culture, because I hate the "useless fop" and "lecherous swine" bard tropes and I always have. I tried to subvert that a bit by creating a sort-of "spy who sings and strums" character—who leans more on "master of none" than "jack of all trades"—someone who's not utterly useless in a fight, but also not as combat-focused as, say, Gurney Halleck from Dune. It's probably not as original as I'd first thought, but it works for me and that's what matters.

In my own homebrew "Nua" campaign, Cannor was the DM-NPC and lore-dispenser (like Volo, but much less clichéd and much more able to defend himself) who accompanied my players' PCs through one region of the world I made. That worldbuilding was so compelling that I created my own cartography for it, and in 2022 self-published it as an atlas. In 2023 I used Cannor (and his career-killing habit of composing/performing original songs) as a frame for my own longtime music/lyric hobby, writing and recording seven of "his" songs using a mandocello. Thankfully I finished that project before BG3 ate my brain.

Anyway, since this post was much less about the character himself than what I've done with him, I'll add a much longer, story-like follow-up post soon, and I promise future Tav posts won't be so convoluted. But like I said, Cannor's my guy, so he gets special treatment. Part 2 is here.

#ltb tav tuesdays #bg3 #bg3 oc #bg3 ocs #cannor the lost #bg3 bard #bg3 tav #my ocs #my bg3 #my bg3 character #my bg3 ocs #Tav Tuesday

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itspomy · 9 months

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Saint Nicholas descends upon Faerûn, to give some baddies a holly jolly smashing. Hohoho

#baldurs gate 3 #tav tuesday #bg3 tav #gaming #crpg #santa claus

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venninova · 6 months

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Tav tuesday - My first character

Forest Gnome, Circle of the Moon Druid, Dark Urge

I knew nothing about the game, how is it played, who the characters are etc, so for my first tav I just made a character that I think is interesting. So he became a reclusive humanoid-avoiding nature lover. 🌿

After the cut there's more info and lots of pictures! Also spoiler warning, I'll mention some locations, events and other characters.

Yes he got hag-eyed early on. Which made me decide against Volo's surgery, he's only got one good eye left! 🙃 The eye gives +1 to intimidation so it wasn't too bad.

I was playing on tactician and was using the most useful armor & weapons I could find, even if they didn't properly suit my tavs look all the time. I think I tried every green dye there is haha.

I changed to using the camp clothing option when in Baldur's Gate. Also from roleplaying perspective, the companions definitely wanted to clean up and style him to fit in to the city better.

On the main team we had my druid, my friends tiefling paladin, Karlach and Astarion (also Scratch and the owlbear cub in camp ofc!).

More pictures ✨

And one more from the new epilogue

#tav tuesday #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 tav #bg3 #tav #gaming

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commander-krios · 6 months

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Teaser Tuesday

Not sure if this is a thing, but here is a sneak peek at my new Rolan x Tav fic (with special appearances by Lia and Cal)

“You were up early this morning.” Rolan glanced up from the coffee he was about to sip, raising his eyebrows as she and Cal slid onto the chairs across from him. Lia didn’t miss the calculated look in his eyes as he waited for her to follow up her statement. He already knew she was plotting something and was looking for confirmation before he unwittingly embarrassed himself. Which he would by the time she was finished with him. When she didn’t speak, he sighed and drank deeply of the cup, before setting it on the table in front of him. “Early?” He repeated, rolling his eyes and returning to the page of the opened book in his other hand. “It’s nearly ten in the morning.” “Oh, so that wasn’t you moaning in your room at the first sign of the sun?” Cal choked on his coffee, sending it out of his nose and onto the pristine burgundy tablecloth, leaving dark wet splotches behind. Rolan sighed, placing the book down to level a glare in her direction. “I don’t know what you’re implying. I hardly make any noise in the morning.” “Staying up all night. Keeping early hours. I’m sorry, Rolan, but the tower has made you a workaholic.” Lia flashed a grin at Cal before she spoke again. “And holding meetings so late? I saw one of your associates slinking out of the portal last night.” Rolan flushed and cleared his throat, lifting the book to pretend to read it again. “You’re imagining things.”

#teaser tuesday #my writing #tav x rolan

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