Book of the Bard

Book of the Bard

Vorwort

Wie ihr vielleicht gesehen habt, habe ich mich entschlossen meine alte Sammlung mal zu schließen, weil sie halt zum einen nicht mehr so wirklich reflektiert, was ich dieser Tage schreibe, zum anderen es auch eine reine Kurzgeschichtensammlung war, und ich in letzter Zeit doch auch immer wieder Lyrik verfasse. Und da kommt dann auch der Name dieser Sammlung rein, denn diese gibt einen guten Hinweis darauf, warum ich so viel dichte: Ich habe es aktuell stark mit den Barden in DnD. Meine Hauptfandoms, für die ich schreibe, sind Baldur's Gate 3, Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves, und weiterhin natürlich Castlevania. Und da mein Charakter aus BG3 ein Barde ist, und der Protagonist aus dem DnD Film sich auch als Barde zählen kann, brauchen diese Barden nun einmal Lieder zum singen. Und selbst wenn ich nicht lyrische Schrecken verursache, dann behandeln doch so viele meiner Geschichten dieser Tage die bardische Zunft. Also dachte ich, das Thema sollte dies reflektieren.

Über diese Sammlung

Wie bereits angedeutet: Diese Sammlung beinhaltet in erster Linie Kurzgeschichten, die in der Welt von DnD angesiedelt sind, sowie Songs, von denen auch einige direkten Bezug zum Weltenbau von DnD haben. Spezifisch schreibe ich hier in aller erster Linie zu folgenden Fandoms:

• Baldur's Gate 3 (mit sehr vielen Geschichten, die sich um meinen Tav und Astarion drehen)
• Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves (mit sehr viel Xedgin bezogenen Geschichten)
• Castlevania (Netflix)

Da ich meine Geschichten in erster Linie für Ao3 schreibe, sind die Geschichten und Lyriken alle auf Englisch verfasst. Das heißt, ihr solltet zumindest ein grundlegendes Verständnis für diese Sprache mitbringen. Nur damit ihr vorgewarnt seid

Den Forenregeln entsprechend halte ich mich an meine Jugendfreien Geschichten, wobei diese durchaus in einigen Fällen bis FSK16 hochgehen können. In dem Fall wird es aber im Vorwort der Geschichte vermerkt sein!

Ich wünsche euch viel Spaß!

Inhaltsverzeichnis

Coming soon...

No. 01

Ich dachte, wir fangen mit einem der Saufsongs an, die ich für das bardische Repertoire geschrieben habe. Einfach ein kleiner Song, den wahrscheinlich einige Barden in der Welt von DnD kennen dürften. Und ja, ich habe sehr viel Spaß daran, lustige Songs zu schreiben. Vielleicht ein wenig zu viel Spaß!

The Adventurer's Drinking Song

Lads and lassies come to me,

For I’m about to telling thee,

The tale of my adventurer’s life,

Before it all came down.

I started out a warrior,

The ones you know from storier,

Out to the world I took my sword,

It was a bad idea.

I came to Baldur’s Gate and thought,

Here’s where my first fight’s fought,

Soon though I got robbed,

That’s what I never thought.

Without my coin, without my sword,

No tavern I could now afford,

So on the streets I spent my life,

It soon was getting worse.

On the street a man took me,

Invited me with sudden glee,

To go out to the Serpent Hills,

And bring him back some loot.

A little group I found myself,

A dwarf, a hin and one half-elf,

So out the city gates we went,

And soon it all went wrong.

Not ten miles on the road were we,

When an owlbear we had got to flee.

It dismembered our elven friend,

And left us one man short.

“No worries,” we told ourselves,

“We’ll find ourselves another elf,”

But the elven lands we didn’t know,

And soon we would get lost.

You see our hin, she was a druid,

Funny, small, her nature fluid,

In the woods she found herself,

Drown into the quicksands.

So two of us only remained,

It looked not good, our outlook stained.

But on we went to Serpent Hills,

Until the highway men.

You see they set up camp along,

The streets that kept the merchants strong,

Soon they got my dear dwarven friend,

I did not know his name.

Out on the road I was alone,

When I met an olden crone,

I followed her to her old house,

Of course, it was a trap.

It should be said I did escape,

Without a sword, but with my cape,

Quickly have up adventuring,

Returned to the next town.

So night by night I will sit here,

Drink my ale and drink my beer,

And tell you stories of the old life,

Of adventure never found.

Don’t worry lads and lassies, though,

My fate was bleak, but I do know,

Not all adventure ends in dept,

Heroics still have their place.

For me still nothing remains,

But this nice beer and my old brains,

So be quite kind and offer me,

Just one little coin.

This is the story, it’s now the end,

My honor I did not defend.

I don’t need honor, just need beer,

And just another song.

And just another song.

No. 2

Heute teile ich eine kleine Drabblesammlung mit euch. Die Drabbles sind aus Astarions Perspektive und handeln davon, wie sich seine Einstellung zu Tav im Verlauf der ersten beiden Akte des Spiels langsam ändert. Praktisch kleine Momentaufnahmen, weil ich diese als Drabblesammlungen wirklich sehr gerne mag.

Falling

“I really do not mean any harm.” Those words were enough to convince Astarion that this man was an idiot. Who else would say something like that with a knife to their throat? Yet, in the same moment there was something happening to him. A flash. Pictures in his mind. His city. Baldur’s Gate. People he didn’t know. But then it was just gone.

“What was that?”

“The mind flayers,” the man said. “They… They put something into our heads. Tadpoles. We will become like them, if we don’t do anything about it.”

Astarion looked at him. He wasn’t lying.

The man, who had introduced himself as Tav, was a dim one. That much was clear. Despite their rather desperate situation, he was humming to himself as they set up camp. As if there was not a worry in the world. ‘Ignorance is a bliss.’ Astarion had heard that saying quite often, but he had never understood it until now. But yes, this man was ignorant and somehow it allowed him to so relaxed, while they all were looking forward to a rather grim end. A grim end, Astarion would rather not look forward to. Something, he had to escape.

“Let me heal you.” Those were the man’s words, as he came over to him. Worry showing in his eyes.

“Don’t you dare,” Astarion hissed, trying to move away, yet stumbling as his injured leg gave out under him. Stupid, fucking goblins. Somehow the tadpole was messing with his regeneration it seemed.

Once more the man hummed. He was a bard after all, summoning the magic with music. Astarion already braced himself against the pain of radiance, but instead… nothing. The wound was slowly closing up, as the man smiled at him.

“See?” He let go. “It’s all better now.”

A heartbeat. A strong heartbeat. Astarion could feel it with every sip he took from Tav. It was intoxicating, different from drinking from an animal. He could almost get lost in it, as the sweet and weirdly tangy blood seeped into his mouth. The accelerating heartbeat was so real, it almost felt as if it was his own. Then the man gently pressed against his shoulder.

“Hey. Hey,” he whispered. “That’s enough.” Another gentle push. “I don’t think I would survive anymore.”

It took some self-control to pull himself away from the man, but Astarion managed somehow. “Of course, darling.”

Astarion was trying to come up with a plan. He was free. For now he was free. Unless he sprouted tentacles, that was. He knew though, that his freedom would only last until Cazador found him, which meant he needed some protection. Protection and a plan. Because maybe, just maybe, this might allow him to finally be free. Kill Cazador. Kill him once and for all.

He wasn’t naïve. He knew he could not do it alone. He needed a protector. And for some asinine reason everyone seemed to listen to the dumb bard. Well, maybe it made it easier…

Watching Tav, Astarion could not help but wonder, whether the man really did not understand the possible lethality of their situation. Completely ignorant of the possibility of someone attacking them – or the annoyed gazes that Shar cleric was shooting him – the man was swimming in the river. Completely naked, while Astarion tried to make sense of that body. The man had scars other than the one in his face. And more notably, he had not quite the biological equipment that Astarion would have expected given that full red beard. Still, he would say nothing about it. He needed an ally.

“That’s a pity,” Tav muttered. “Because you are pretty to look at.”

Astarion had noticed that the man was quite flirtatious, but he was a bard after all. Good for Astarion, at least he hoped. “Oh, please. Tell me more about it.” He shot Tav a winning smile.

“Hmm. I like your eyes. There is something in them…”

“Please no poetic metaphors.”

“Alright, alright.” The man was chuckling at this. For a moment Astarion almost expected him to touch his face, but in the end he didn’t. “I still like them, though. You do have beautiful eyes.” He smiled gently.

Tav was sitting at the back of the druid grove next to that tiefling bard, singing with her. It seemed to help her, though Astarion did not quite get why that would concern them in any way or form. They had things to do – and a city to return to.

He could not help but wonder, what the man’s big plan was. Because nobody just went around helping everyone expecting nothing. Quite literally, given that so much the man had turned down so many rewards. It was so clear, that Tav was an idiot after all. A lucky idiot though.

It had been almost too easy to seduce the man in the end. Again, what had Astarion expected from a bard? A very silly bard, who had even offered up his neck during the act – not that it had changed much. Now the man was just sleeping there on the forest floor, once more seeming as if he had no care in the world. What a bloody idiot. And just like an idiot he had just fallen asleep here. Next to Astarion. Snoring happily, moving just a bit in his sleep. In a way, Astarion was jealous of this carelessness.

“Astarion. Astarion.” The voice pulled him from his nightmare, from the hold of his master. As he woke, he looked into the worried eyes of Tav hovering over him, hands on his shoulders. A touch, that Astarion could not bear.

He hissed, quickly skuttling away from the man.

What confused him most was the reaction the man gave. He lifted his hands, showing his palms. “It’s alright. Whatever it was… It can no longer touch you.”

“Only that he can,” Astarion muttered.

Worst of all it seemed, that the bard understood it. “Cazador?”

Astarion just nodded, still seeing his master.

It was not as if it was easy to understand the man. Astarion knew that Tav had been sleeping with Lae’zel a couple of times as well. Ironic, given that out of their little group of assorted misfits Astarion and her were probably the least like that wanna-be hero. But maybe he should rather think about why it was them sleeping with him. Well, Astarion knew why he was doing it, but her? He had to wonder. He just hoped she would not get into his way. Because he needed Tav’s loyalty. That was the one thing he cared about.

Tav was a strange man. He was a strange man indeed. Standing there, talking to a fucking mindflayer as if there was nothing at all disconcerting about that situation. But then again, he had also been the person who learned Astarion was a vampire and reacted by offering up his veins. A strange man. A stupid man. And yet, Astarion could not help but note that he liked that smile on the bard’s lips, while he was talking to that mindflayer. Tav had such a kind smile. A warm smile. The kind of smile that made one feel warm inside.

“How are you holding up?” With those words Tav sat down next to Astarion.

“Oh, I am just perfect, darling.” Astarion could not help but deflect as they were sitting here in this dark and cursed lands. “I mean, this is just perfect for my kind. A land cast in eternal shadow. Lovely, isn’t it?”

The truth was he hated it. He had enjoyed the sun so much, as he had been standing in it.

Tav sighed, but looked at him. “We will get rid of those shadows. Somehow. And then… you will see. I bet this place is beautiful.”

The atmosphere in camp was quite different, ever since they had come across these cursed lands. There was an ominous sense haunting all them. Those shadows – it was as if they were haunting them even within the comparative safety they had, as long as they stayed close to the fire.

Tav, though? Tav had started to sing each and every evening as they were in camp. He had a beautiful voice – though maybe that should be expected. Once again Astarion found himself getting lost in that voice, in the words of the song, in the melody. Just for a moment.

“You cannot sleep, can you?” Tav asked, as he sat down next to Astarion.

“Just so you know, I do not actually need to sleep. Not as an elf, not as a vampire for that matter.”

“I think you do.” Tav shrugged, looking at him. “Sleep just helps us… deal with things, you know? Like your mind can just come to terms with shit, when you sleep and such.”

“With shit, eh?” Astarion looked out into the shadows.

“With the bad things.” Tav paused for a moment. “And I understand there was a lot of bad stuff in your life.”

It seemed Astarion’s plan was working. Oh, it had not evaded his attention that Tav had tried to stay between Astarion and Raphael throughout their short encounter. A protector. A dumb, but courageous protector, who was so clearly willing to risk his own life and soul for Astarion. Who was willing to go against a possible devil just so Astarion could finally find out what exactly Cazador had done to him. It was the first step on his path to revenge.

Yes, Astarion’s plan was working quite well. So why was it, that somehow, he felt actually bad about this?

“You should eat, too,” Tav said, offering him a bowl of the stew that Gale had cooked them.

“I do not need to eat. It has no nourishment for me. So…” Astarion sighed. “You opening your veins is more than enough.”

“But it is warm. And the shadows are cold. You might need the warmth.”

Astarion wanted to object that he also could not freeze to death, but as he looked at the man and saw him smile, he just could not. Instead, without consciously deciding on it, he found himself returning that smile. An honest smile, just this once.

The bard should not be strong. He should not be. He was just a bard. Yet, it seemed as if he had a sixth or maybe seventh sense, almost predicting the cambion’s moves. While the demon hid himself with invisibility, it seemed just that Tav just knew where he would go, casting his spells accordingly. He was strong, wasn’t he? And in the end, he was doing this for him, right? For Astarion. He was risking his life – all of their lives – just for him. Oh, that silly bard. That silly, silly bard. Yet, Astarion could not help this feeling…

A hug. Not a kiss. Not anything more. Just a hug. That was the man’s reply to it all. It should not be special – Astarion had seen him hug other people before. And yet… He had not been hugged like that in… In truth he did not know how long. To understand this. To find he was not rejected.

Falling… Darn it all. He really was falling for this man, wasn’t he? Tav. That dumb, dumb bard, who still… Who still was the first person in centuries to actually care about Astarion. The first person to hug him like this.

Lying there, his head on the bard’s lap… It was weirdly comforting. Listening to the man sing was, too. Tav was singing, while his right hand was gently caressing Astarion’s hair. There was a certain peacefulness to it. They were two or maybe three days out from Baldur’s Gate now. Sooner or later, he would face Cazador again, and then… He sighed. But maybe it was going to be alright. Maybe, finally, they really were strong enough to face him. Just maybe… Maybe Astarion could finally be free – maybe he could have a life of his own. Cared for. Loved.

No. 3

Heute teile ich mal eine kürzere Geschichte zu Castlevania über Striga und Abel. Es sei dazu gesagt, dass ich Abel als stumm headcanon. Er kann normal hören, hat aber in seiner Form keine Stimmbänder, um wirklich Laute zu formen. Diese Geschichte spielt noch bevor sie für ihn eine eigene Form von Zeichensprache entwickeln.

Radiance

Striga had to admit, that those creatures were rather fascinating. Until her return to Styria, she had never really thought about them. Sure, she had tried to make calculations upon hearing Carmilla’s plan about their best uses on the battle field, but she had never thought much on their nature. And it was endlessly fascinating to her, how different they all were. Both when it came to their bodies that were ranging from almost humanoid to not human at all, as well as their intelligence and awareness. She had always assumed they were all just monsters, barely more than animals. But of course, she had not understood the concept back then. How the forgemasters literally drew human souls out of hell to plant them into bodies.

She wondered, if some of them had vampire souls as well. Most her life she had believed, that they did not have souls. But given what she had heard by now about the attempts to return Dracula to life… Well, if Dracula had been in hell back then, it stood to reason that he had had a soul. And if Dracula had a soul to move on, so had she.

It also meant that her dead sisters were both in hell right now. Because she was not giving into any illusion. Even sweet Lenore had done too many bad things to end her anywhere else. Best she could hope for was, that the little king was right and hell was in fact not eternal but just a punishment that ended at some point.

As the night had fallen – though some hints of red and purple were still lingering over the western horizon – she was sitting on the top floor of the southern tower again, watching the surrounding land and enjoying the night. Up here was one of the few places that were ever somewhat quiet, though she could still make out the conversation of the vampire guards on the castle wall.

It took her a moment to notice the night creature just floating above the castle, his skin shimmering silver in the light of the first stars. He did look like an angel.

Abel, Isaac had called him, and Striga had to wonder why. She was aware enough of the scripture having Abel as the son of Adam – and him getting killed by his brother. Something like that.

And sure, in a way the creature looked biblical.

Other than some creatures, Abel had not been gifted with the power of speech, though Striga was rather certain that he was capable of complex thought. She had seen him trying to gesture with people. Just simple gestures, but showing he was understanding when someone was speaking to him.

One really could think he was a fallen angel. But then again: She had by now seen actual fallen angels and in a way, they had looked way more monstrous than him.

Maybe he had noticed her gaze, as he turned his head now, before flapping his wings and flying down to her. Once more he was floating in front of her, once he had reached that top floor of the tower.

He gestured something and it took her a moment to understand.

“Yes,” she answered. “I have been watching you.”

She could only imagine how frustrating it had to be to not be able to communicate with the people around. And he was clearly trying to communicate.

“I just thought you kinda looked like a fallen angel,” she explained.

This got him to frown at her. And yes, he had to have the same thought that she had had just a moment before.

“Just not quite as creepy,” she explained and grinned. “At least your eyes are all in the head.”

He had five of those. Two sets instead of one, with an extra eye on his forehead. This extra eye made it kinda weird, as he frowned at her.

“Those fallen angels in Rome… They had those darn eyes everywhere, no?”

Abel shrugged at this and sighed. Another flap of his wing, and he flew into the tower, settling on the floor with his legs dangling down.

He sighed and if Striga was to take a guess he was somewhat frustrated.

“I just like messing with people a bit,” she defended herself. “Don’t take it too serious.”

He did not answer, obviously, just looking at her from the side. It made it hard for her to know what to reply to him. She still could not shake the feeling he was trying to say something – but she just did not know what.

“You do that often? Just… hovering in the sky?”

He hesitated before pointing towards the western horizon, making her guess for a long moment.

“During the sunset?”

He nodded. Then pointed towards the east.

“During the sunrise, too?”

He shrugged at this, closing four of his eyes.

“You like the sun?”

Still looking at her from that fifth eye of his, he nodded and almost gave something like a smile.

It made her chuckle. “A night creature that loves the sun.”

Once again he just shrugged, because it seemed like the kind of gesture not easily misunderstood. Striga, though, just sighed.

“It seems, that I really know little about your kind. I had always assumed you were something entirely different than what you are. Not monsters, but people, no?”

He opened his eyes again, nodding.

She smiled. “Well, here I am. Close to five hundred years old and learning new things about the world still.” She looked out to the landscape below, that was by now so familiar, to the sky above, that she had learned to navigate by.

It was really hard to imagine how much she had missed during her time just ruling with her sisters.

But here she was. Living among humans and monsters, right next to a creature that was neither demon, nor angel and still was clearly filled with the radiance of one.

The world was a strange place.

No. 4

Ich dachte mir, ich lade heute mal eine Geschichte zu DnD:HAT hoch. Diese eine kleine fluffige Geschichte, die ich für eine Challenge geschrieben habe. Mit dem Shipping Xedgin natürlich, weil die beiden halt wirklich gefesselt haben. Sie sind halt so niedlich zusammen. Auch in der Geschichte noch mit ein wenig Familiensachen rund um Kira. :)

Feels like Home

Xenk was unable to argue with their logic. Even he had to admit that he usually travelled less during the winter months. Usually, he would find a place to winter. Somewhere near wherever his quests might have taken him. Maybe he stayed at a Harpers’ stronghold, maybe he stayed with just a friendly old couple on their farm after having saved their sheep from a drake, or maybe he stayed with one of the elven courts after freeing their princess from a curse. At times he had wintered in the temples of his gods. He did not have a permanent winter home. He had no permanent home at all. He never needed one, right?

Yet, their horses were carrying them towards the fishing down of Targos, he noticed that both his companions were tensing up. Edgin and Kira were sharing those gazes, and Xenk could not quite make sense of them.

He still felt wrong accompanying them. Because it was their home, right? He could not just stay in their home. He could not intrude on them. But Edgin had insisted and now… Now it seemed that he would stay here.

He had been to Targos once before. It had to have been about forty years ago. So probably too long for even Edgin to have been alive back then. Or if he had been, he was just a toddler. Because in the end there was more than a century between them. It really seemed strange to him how the last year had played out. But here he was. Was it okay for him to be happy about it?

Maybe Edgin could sense him pondering. Maybe it was just, that he was awkward himself. He cleared his throat. “But you must have had some sort of home, right?” he continued their conversation from earlier.

“Not really. No. The closest things I ever had to a home was the halls of Torm in Baldur’s Gate. Before I ventured out to help the people in need. To…”

“To be a hero and such nonsense,” Edgin teased. Their horses were riding so close to each other, that their legs rubbed against each other. And it was a weird feeling. Just to feel someone else so close.

“Yeah,” Xenk muttered. “Such nonsense…”

“It sounds sad, though,” Kira said. “To not have a home. To not have…” She stopped, before she could say more.

Somehow even Xenk knew, what she meant. To not have family. Even after more than a hundred years, Xenk would be lying if he said, that he did not miss his parents. The only family he had ever had.

Once he had found his path in the light of Torm, he had never really thought about having a family again. And maybe…

Involuntarily he found himself touching his chest, as he realized his feelings. Maybe it was actually something he had wished for.

“Well, you gotta put up with us now for the winter,” Edgin said. “But it’s gonna be nice.”

Whenever Xenk had heard Edgin, Kira or even Holga Kilgore speak about the cottage, he had imagined something else. The place was a ruin. The front door was outright missing and there were several holes in the roof. Leaves had been blown inside and the spiders had made quite a comfortable living inside. Probably some mice, too.

“We… have not been here in a while,” Edgin admitted.

“Didn’t you ever… pay someone to keep things in order?” Xenk looked at the man.

“I didn’t get around to that with me and Holga in prison and all those nasty things. And Forge…”

Kira was quiet for a moment. “Forge said, it was too small of a home for us. That we deserved better. And that there was better living done in the cities.”

“Still wonder, whether that bastard had made his plan all along…” Edgin closed his eyes and exhaled for a moment. “Never mind. It does not make any difference now, does it?”

Xenk tried to smile at him. Because he still did not know the whole story of what had once happened with Forge Fitzwilliams. “I assume it does not, no.”

Edgin dismounted from his horse, before helping his daughter to do the same. Together they went into the place, while Xenk still paused. A home. Even if they had not been here in a while, this place had once been a home. A home to Holga Kilgore, Edgin and Kira. A home to Edgin and his now dead wife before that, too. A home for a family.

“Say, Xenk?” came Edgin’s voice from inside of the cottage.

“Yes?” Now Xenk dismounted as well, going over to that open door. “Do you happen to have any skills in fixing stuff?”

Nervously Xenk cleared his throat. “I… I have fixed some roofs before.” But he did not like to admit that he was not a master at this.

“We really should’ve brought Holga,” Kira pouted. “Holga could fix this!”

“Sweetie, Holga wanted to stay with Ceran. You know that.”

Kira sighed. “I know. But I don’t have to like it.”

This little family of theirs was still so charmingly strange to Xenk. Holga Kilgore was neither Kira’s mother—nor Edgin’s wife. Yet, to Kira she was closest thing to a mother, wasn’t she? But Holga Kilgore had decided to still spend the winter with her fiancé in Neverwinter. And Kira was not at all happy about it.

“I am pretty sure I can fix this,” Edgin finally decided, looking at the largest hole in the roof.

His daughter just looked at him. “Dad, if you try and fix it, you are just gonna fall through the roof.”

“I am capable of fixing a roof,” Edgin protested. “It is not that hard.”

Kira grumbled something, before going over to the kitchen corner of the cottage. “Also, we do need new pans and pots and… basically everything else.”

Edgin looked into those empty cupboards and sighed. “So, ‘everything else’ shall be provided.”

Just in time Xenk reached out to catch Edgin by his cape and prevent him from sliding off the roof. He was surprised to find himself chuckling at that. “Well, it was not a hole in the roof you almost fell through.”

Edgin’s eyes were glistening with humor and something softer, when he looked at him. “Obviously I did not fall.”

“Because I was there to catch you.”

“Because you were there to catch me,” Edgin agreed and leaned in for a kiss.

Even these days Xenk could feel his heart beat faster, when they kissed. Because it was such a strange, but warm feeling that would fill him. For a moment he even forgot about the roof and that hole they both tried to fix. They had spent several days cleaning the cottage, putting off those repairs, but in the end the last rainfall had convinced them to try.

“Any progress?” Kira’s voice asked from down at he front of the house, forcing both men to pry their eyes away from each other.

“It will get fixed, sweetie,” Edgin promised, taking that thatch they had both been trying to secure into the roof.

Xenk was still of the opinion that it would’ve probably been easier to repair a wooden roof. He had even done that some times. He had not done it well, but it turned out there was only so much you could do wrong when it came to putting a plate of wood over an opening and securing it. This… was more complicated.

“Yes, because I can see you working so hard on it!”

Xenk as almost certain that has been irony in her voice right there, though he was not sure.

“Well, excuse me for taking just a short break,” Edgin replied.

“How many of the holes have been fixes so far?” she inquired.

Weirdly enough Xenk was almost feeling ashamed. He was no carpenter, so it should not be expected of him to be able to do these repairs. But somehow, he wanted to be able to do it. For Edgin. For Kira, too. Because the girl was kind, was sweet, and it seemed she looked up to him.

Now she rolled her eyes at her father. “Well, make sure it is fixed by tomorrow. Miriam said it is gonna rain again.”

“We are already on it, sweetie,” Edgin promised and once more looked at those thatches they had taken up with them. Only when Kira had gone back into the house he looked at Xenk. “Somehow I have the feeling we have to find someone who knows how to do this.”

Xenk smiled and for once dared to lean over to kiss Edgin himself. “I am still surprised you know so little. I always believed that bards have all this bardic knowledge.”

“Well, even a bard is no magic dictionary or something. I just know… some stuff.”

“Just always the wrong things, right?” Xenk tried to tease.

And Edgin understood. “Yeah, kinda.” He grinned.

They had gotten help with the roof and somehow it had stopped leaking by the time the next storm came around. There were still a lot of repairs to be done in the home though—and the beds needed new mattresses before the winter started.

Right now they were rather stinky from standing around so long—and probably had collected some bugs as well. Though it was not those bugs that kept Xenk up at night. Rather it was those nightmares he would still wake from again and again. He never had been good with sleeping. Not since that day in Thaymount, when he had just been a child.

Edgin, meanwhile, was happily snoring next to him, as he awoke. This made Xenk smile, given that originally Edgin also had woken too often during the nights. But it had gotten better over those last couple of months.

Xenk also knew, that Edgin wanted him to wake him, when he had a nightmare. But Xenk would not get himself to do it. Not seeing this man sleep so softly next to him.

Instead Xenk got up carefully, sneaking out of the half-closed off room, only to find the cottage’s main room not empty. Instead there was Kira, sitting on the kitchen table, sipping on a mug of tea.

“Oh,” she said, as she saw him. She looked at her mug, sighed, then managed a smile. “Cannot sleep either?”

“I…” He paused. “I cannot sleep either,” he then confirmed.

“Want some tea?”

“Yes, thank you, Kira.” He smiled as well now, sitting down at the table opposite of her, as she filled another mug, pushing it over to him.

There was a heavy silence settling in between them. He knew there was a reason for her to be awake at this hour—just as there was a reason for him as well. But he did not know how to ask. And maybe she knew that. Because she seemed so weirdly able to read him often enough.

“I miss Holga,” she said. “I… I don’t get… No. I get it. I want her to have her fiancé and be happy and all of that. But… I want her here. Not hundreds of miles away in Neverwinter.” There was a single tear that she did not manage to blink away.

“I am certain, she wants you to be happy, though. And…” He felt strangely nervous about those next few words. “I… I am no Holga Kilgore, but… I can do my best of looking out for you, you know that, right?”

Her smile was surprisingly warm. “I know that.” She sighed, drinking another sip of the tea. “You know, Holga taught me how to fight. Do you think you could show me how to use a sword?”

“If… If Edgin is alright with it,” Xenk said. “Of course.” He, too, drank from the sweet berry tea.

“What about you?” Kira asked. “Why can’t you sleep?”

He considered this question a moment. “Nightmares. Just… nightmares.”

“This still frustrates me, you know?” Edgin muttered, as he tasted the stew.

Xenk frowned. “What exactly is it that is frustrating to you?”

“That you can cook!”

Now, this did not entirely make sense to Xenk, who just looked at the man. “Why is this frustrating to you, Edgin?”

“Because I…” The man grumbled. “I cannot. Still am horrible at it. And I have been a father for thirteen years—well, minus two that I spend in prison. And you…”

“I have had a century more than you to learn it.” Xenk hoped these words were conciliatory to the other man.

This got Edgin to grunt. “I guess…”

They were so far eating alone, as Kira had not come back from Miriam’s place so far.

“I can teach you, if you want,” Xenk offered.

“Xenk, buddy, so many people tried to teach me to cook. And nobody has ever managed. I doubt you will manage either.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Because everyone who tried to teach me got frustrated rather quickly. And then there would be arguments and then, suddenly, I would be banned from the kitchen.” He put his arms akimbo, though he did so with a laugh, clearly not taking as much offense in this, as he made it sound.

Xenk smiled, reaching out with one hand to beckon for his. And Edgin understood the gesture, putting his hand into Xenk’s. “Let me try,” Xenk said. “And I promise, I am not going to ban you from the kitchen.”

“By Tymora!” Edgin looked at him, making Xenk frown once again.

“What is it?”

“I think you just made a joke!”

Somehow it was more his surprise at this, that made Xenk chuckle. “I am not entirely incapable of humor.”

“Don’t ruin it with big words, please.”

“Big words?”

“Yes, you have a tendency to use those big words and that…”

The door to the cottage was opened and Kira came marching in. She sniffed the air and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank Tymora, Xenk has cooked.”

Edgin looked at her. “Well, thank you very much, young lady.”

“It is no secret, that you cannot cook, dad.”

“Xenk has offered to change this,” Edgin informed her, making her scoff.

“Good luck with this.”

Xenk watched her, as she went around the table to sit down next to her father. “I have head many thick-headed apprentices in my life, Kira. I think I can handle your father.”

“If you say so.” She filled her own bowl with stew and tore a bit of bread from the loaf to dip it into the stew. “Maybe we should teach you something as well.”

Not quire sure he understood this, he asked: “How do you mean?”

“You said you gonna teach me sword fighting. And you gonna teach my dad how to cook. There has to be something we can teach you.”

For a long moment, Xenk considered this, before he had an idea. “The songs. Can you teach those?”

It turned out that Xenk was not very good at singing. But somehow it seemed that neither Edgin nor Kira seemed to mind, as they were sitting on the bed, in which they for now had replaced the old hay filling with just some animal pelts.

It had started to snow to nights ago and the cottage had gotten rather cold during the nights. As such it was only sensible to conserve their body heat, as they were singing together, as firewood, too, had a price.

But they were singing. And they were laughing. Kira was sitting at the end of the bed, while Edgin had drawn Xenk close to him and somehow… Somehow Xenk had dared to lean onto the other man, who was still playing his lute.

“Kira,” he said, and the girl would sing the next verse, before they would sing the refrain together.

With “Xenk”, he got Xenk to sing the verse after, and both of them laughed with how bad it was. And somehow Xenk did not even mind. He was used to being admired for his skills in combat and tactics, but weirdly it was kinda fun to be bad at something. It as fun to be at a place where they could laugh together about how bad he was at it, too.

He did not have that before. A place where he could laugh with other people, where he would sing with them, where they would sit under the same blanket to preserve heat.

But he liked it. He liked to have someone close, whose touch he would yearn for. He liked to have Edgin here, to be able to turn his head and earn himself a kiss just by this simple act.

As Edgin played the finishing notes, Xenk found himself sighing, closing his eyes and just letting his whole weight sink against that other man.

“Everything alright there?” Edgin asked, making Xenk just smile.

For a moment he just allowed himself to take in those warm feelings. The feeling of being welcome here. The feeling of being loved. It still seemed somewhat unreal to him, that he could be not admired by someone, but loved.

“Xenk?” Even Kira joined her father in the worry now.

Xenk looked from one to the other. “It’s nothing. It’s… I think I am just figuring out what it is. What a home feels like.”

These words got not quite the reaction he had expected, as the two of them changed rather gloomy gazes. Only then did Edgin sigh, smile and kiss Xenk’s forehead. “Well… I would say we are both happy to be part of that, then.”

Kira looked at Xenk. “You really never had that?”

Slowly Xenk shook his head. “Not since the day…” He stopped. “It does not matter. I…” He suddenly felt like laughing. “I just had forgotten what it was like.”

Edgin cleared his throat, pulling him close. “I will make sure to remind you of it.”

Kira smiled. “Me, too.”

No. 5

So, ich dachte ich könnte mal wieder etwas hochladen und habe mich nach ein wenig Überlegen entschieden noch mal was zu BG3 zu nehmen - und passend zu Rusalka's Kommentar beim Thema "dummer Tav" zu bleiben.

Diese Geschichte greift etwas auf, was ich in Diskussionen schon einmal angemerkt habe: In meiner Variante überlebt Gortash, weil Tav eben Mitleid mit ihm hat. Technisch gesehen verhandelt Tav mit ihm: "Okay, du gibst uns den Stein und reparierst Karlachs Engine, dann lassen wir dich laufen", kann das am Ende aber nicht durchsetzen, weil Ravengard es nicht zulässt. Der Kompromiss ist dann: Gortash kommt unter Hausarrest, statt hingerichtet zu werden. Und hier setzt diese Geschichte an.

Cheesy Noodles

CW: Depression, Essstörungen, Semi-Explizite Mordfantasien

Someone was ringing the doorbell, though frankly Enver did not care. Someone would get it – or if not it did not make much of a difference. He would have loved to claim he was doing something interesting, but the truth was rather uninspiring. He had been staring at the same page of the same book for a good hour now.

Recently things had been rather meaningless. All of it. Every last bit. Every last hour.

Steps outside the sitting room door told him that indeed one of his three remaining staff was going to the main door, and he already could hear from the faint voices who his visitor was. He groaned. Maybe he should consider throwing himself out of the window after all.

A part of him wanted to just go and hide, but what little pride remained in him kept him from doing it. Instead, he put his feet on the table, at least pretending to read.

“How do you live like this?” That were the greeting words the man had for him. He was sniffing the air. “Has something died in here?”

The only thing that had died was Enver’s pride – and any ambition he had once held. He did not answer.

The man was not disturbed by the silence. He put down the bag he had been carrying, going over to the window to open the curtains, then the windows themselves, letting the icy winter air inside.

“Ah, this is better,” he announced.

“Have you come to gloat, to mother me, or to lose in chess once more?” Enver asked.

The man shot him a long look, then a smile. “Neither. I have come to cook for you.”

At this Enver could only scoff. “You what?”

“Well, I know you fired your cook,” the man replied. “And I also know that you have been eating rather badly lately.” His gaze went over Enver. “So, I am going to cook.”

More than anything the man angered Enver and it was hard to say which part of him was the most infuriating. Maybe that happy-go-lucky smile he was wearing. Maybe the fact that he was acting like a bloody mother. Not Enver’s mother, of course. Just… what one would expect a mother to act.

“What the fuck do you expect to get out of this?” It was not the first time that Enver asked that question.

And like every other time before the man answered: “Well, I do gather that there were not a lot of people nice to you. And maybe someday you might want to be nice in return.”

“I am no fucking child,” Enver growled, but the man seemed almost oblivious to any threat in his voice. Or maybe he just knew too well how little of a threat Enver was right now.

As such, the man ignored him. “I am going to be in the kitchen.” With that he picked up his bag again, before turning around once more. “Also, have you considered bathing?”

Enver’s reaction was almost instinctual as he raised the book to throw it after the man, who just caught it in the air and carefully put it down on the bookshelf. He sighed, before leaving the room.

Ever since their wonderful plan had failed and the Absolute was no more, there was one thing that Enver had learned about Tav Avariel. It was the same thing that accursed elven vampire had commented when Enver had given up: the man was an idiot. A complete and utter idiot. He seemed oblivious to most things in life – and clearly oblivious of the fact that Enver had imagined killing the man in so many gory ways, that even Orin would have been proud of, had that bitch lived. Avariel had made a point out of visiting him at least once every two weeks, most of the time to play chess and lose. He had not won a single time. Because that man was just too stupid for a game like that.

Yet, he came again. And again. As if to rub in the fact that an utter idiot had defeated Enver, had outwitted him in some miraculous way. Worst of all, Enver knew there was no way he could kill the man. Because the Fists were always watching him – and because that bloody idiot had apparently made friends with most of them.

Most of all, of course, because Bane had abandoned him. No god had use for someone, who had been outdone by an idiot like Avariel, clearly. No god had use for a man put under house arrest for the rest of his life.

Avariel had lied, of course. He had promised that nobody would know of the role Enver had played in the entire conspiracy. But there had been the tiny problem that Ravengard had been too aware of it – and that Avariel had saved Ravengard beforehand.

Fuck. Avariel might even have gone through with it. With the “no punishment” approach. But Ravengard had not accepted it. The house arrest – rather than prison or death – had been the compromise. And once half of his staff had been arrested for their part in the cult, while most of the other half had left…

Enver had his ill-begotten riches, of course. His mansion. His gold. He even held the title of Archduke, only that it was a bloody useless title now. People just… seemed to have moved on. Ignoring him. Not paying any further thought on him. As if he was completely, and utterly unimportant.

The thought alone just let the fury bubble up inside of him, as he kicked against the table in front of him, with the furniture groaning as it slit a few inches over the floor.

On top of all it was now bloody cold in the room – and closing the windows would mean to get up. He did not want to get up.

Bath! Ha!

Sure, he was vaguely aware that he had not bathed in about a week – he had not really counted the days, to be honest – but what difference did it make? It was not as if he had visitors apart from Avariel and Ravengard, and Enver could not care less what kind of an impression he left on them.

Fuck. It really was cold.

So, begrudgingly, he finally pushed himself up from the sofa he had been sitting on for the last three hours to go and close the windows.

He winced at the light outside, given it was late afternoon. While the sky was cloudy, the white snow cover of the city made everything appear oh-so much brighter. He growled at it, as if the snow cover would somehow be impressed by it.

Then he returned to the sofa, letting himself fall onto it, wincing as he caught a whiff of his own smell.

How fitting. He smelled about the same what a dead body smelled like. Maybe it was what the wanna-be hero had smelled. Enver knew the smell of dead bodies quite well after all. Oh, how much he would have loved to just go over to the man, rip out his heart and then take his body apart.

No. No. That would be too good. He should suffer. He deserved to suffer. It would be so much better to put him under a spell or poison to paralyze him and then slowly take him apart. Start by cutting off his fingers one by one. And his toes. And then his hands. Slowly working ones way through that body. Keeping him alive for long enough that he could suffer. Oh, Enver would love that. He would love to see that man suffer. It was what he deserved.

But of course, he could not do it. Of course, if he tried – or even if he succeeded – he would end up sentenced to death. Not that it really made much of a difference. This wasn’t life either, was it?

Given he had thrown his book, he did not even have something he could pretend to read. Well, technically there were several stacks and piles of books all around the sitting room floor, but he still could not reach either without getting up. And getting up seemed like too much of a bother. So he just sat there, staring at the fireplace. There was not even a fire going in it, because he had no wood left – and getting new one from the basement…

The cold was not that bad.

So, he sat there and stared and imagined so many beautiful ways in which he could kill Avariel.

Enver wasn’t sure how long it was for Avariel to return, but when he did, he sighed.

“I am serious, Gortash. You need to bathe. You smell as if you are rotting alive.”

“And that does concern you in what way?”

Another sigh. “I did not leave you alive for you to kill yourself through bad habits.”

“I doubt a lack of bathing has killed anyone,” Enver commented.

“I am rather sure it did,” Avariel replied. Then he shook his head. “I am going to send someone to make you a bath.”

“Fuck you,” Enver growled, but once again he was just ignored.

“Food will still take a bit of time.” With those words Avariel left the room once more.

Oh, how much Enver hated the man. He had thought he had hated other people before. He had hated Orin. He had hated his parents and Raphael for that matter. But his hate for this man was on a whole new level. He had been fine with someone else killing Orin – or Raphael for that matter. But this man… He wanted to be the one to kill him. Oh…

A knock on the sitting room door, as one of his remaining staff was standing there. Lash, a half-orc woman, with the kind of burly build to be expected from someone of her species. “Mr. Avariel said, that you wish to bathe.”

“I do not wish anything, other than to kill the man.”

The woman gave him a long stare, then shrugged. “The Fists will have you killed before you can do a single thing, saer.” She looked around the room. “And if you allow me to be fully honest with you, saer, I do agree with Mr. Avariel in so far, that you need a bath.”

“Well, I do not have asked you, have I?” Enver growled.

“If you allow me a bit of further honesty, saer: You are acting like a child.”

“You are aware that I can fire you, aren’t you?”

Lash scoffed at that. “You have three people left in your staff, saer. And you are utterly unable to take care of this house on your own.”

“I can build a machine to do it for me,” Enver countered.

“You have not built a single thing in four months. So, be so kind to follow me, saer. I will prepare a bath for you now.”

The world was a bloody crazy place full of bloody crazy people. Because it seemed that these days not even his fucking staff was afraid of him. Not even his staff, who knew what he had done, who knew of his role. Some had been disgusted, but nobody was afraid. Nobody was paying him bloody respect.

While Lash vanished out of the door, he just kept sitting there. It was not as if anyone could make him move.

He kicked the table again, pushing it a few inches further, before just falling back against the back of sofa.

Once more time was not important. All he knew was that Lash came back after a while, now seeming disgruntled. “Saer, I asked you to come with me.”

“And I said that I don’t care,” Enver replied.

“Stop being so childish, saer, I am begging you.”

“I don’t need my staff to accuse me of being childish,” he growled.

“It is much less an accusation than a statement of fact,” she replied, before adding: “Saer.”

“Well, I do not care.”

“But I do,” she said. “As your maid it is my job to take care of your needs. And right now, your need is to take a bath. Saer.”

“Right now, my need is to fucking kill someone.”

“No, it is not,” she said. “Now would you kindly stop being so difficult and just come with me, saer?”

He scoffed. Still, he had just barely enough self-awareness left to know she might be right. In all accounts, no less. As such he finally got up, grumbling in the process. “Fine.” Somehow that got her to smile.

“Wonderful. Now follow me.” And as if he did not know where his own bath room was located, she guided him upstairs and into the room, where the bath tub was already steaming and covered in just a bit of foam.

He shot the rather luxurious tub a long look. “Well, I do know how to bathe myself. You might go.”

Lash did not move.

“I said you might go.”

“If you allow me to be honest with you, saer. I doubt that if I leave you alone you will do anything but sit in that tub until the water is cold, saer.”

“In which case it is not going to be your concern.”

“But it is, saer. Now, do you need help undressing?”

***

All of this was fucking humiliating. All of it. Especially as everyone was treating him as if he was a child. But indeed the bloody half-orc did not allow him to do anything but properly bathe. She got him undressed – putting the dirty clothes away – and then made sure he got washed from head to toe, letting him soak between her rather harsh washing treatments. By the end of it, his skin was burning and red.

She got him fresh clothes, too, just shooting him a look as she put them there. “Can you get dressed yourself, saer?” The way she used the honorific was almost taunting. Fuck, why was she even still working for him?

“I think I will manage,” he said sardonically. “You are dismissed.”

She gave him a rather toothy smile. “Very well, saer.”

Worst of all, a good few of his old clothes were no longer fitting him. They were too tight, leaving him to wear a rather random assortment of things in which he would not be seen outside. Oh, wasn’t it good that he was not allowed outside either way?

He still could not quite see where he had gone wrong. Where the fuck had he messed up? The plan had been perfect. Put everyone into fear with the power of the Absolute and her army, while also playing himself up as the protector of Baldur’s Gate.

It was Orin’s and Kethric’s fault. Yes. It was their fault. Because Orin had killed Bhaal’s perfect creation. And because Kethric had been a fucking lunatic. Things would have ended differently, if the Dark Urge had lived. They had been someone reliable. Someone, who could have been trusted and who would not have messed up. Yes. Had they lived, things would have been very different. But Orin had killed them – and that had been the beginning of the fucking end, leading to a bloody fool to take it all apart.

He made sure to not look into the mirror, because he hated what he would see there. A fucking loser. Someone defeated. Defeated by maybe the dumbest man in all of Baldur’s Gate.

Said dumb man was smiling at him, as Enver got down the stairs. “You have good timing,” he said. “I am mostly finished. I guess you can go into the dining hall.”

“Have you at least the fucking decency to poison me?”

“I am afraid I don’t,” Avariel replied. “Just wait in the dining hall, alright?” With that he disappeared once again in the direction of the kitchen.

Enver would have liked nothing more than to ignore it, but as the tangy scent of something that very much smelled of cheese was spreading through the house, his stomach complained with a deep grumble. He admittedly did not remember when he had last eaten – or what he had eaten then for that matter.

“Fuck,” he found himself muttering. Well, he might as well eat what that dumb idiot had cooked up. It did not really matter. How much further could he sink, for that matter?

So he moved himself to the dining hall, which was much too big for a single person. It felt just a bit depressive to sit alone on the table, that was meant to have political discussions on.

When Avariel finally brought him a plate said plate was filled to the brim with what looked like a mixture of noodles, meat and a lot of cheese.

“What is this?” he asked.

“I call it Cheesy Noodles,” Avariel replied. “Not the healthiest thing, but… Well, people like it. So that’s something, right?”

“Can you even cook?” Enver asked.

“Well…” Avariel gave that stupid grin of his. “People keep saying that I am useless, unless it involves cheese. So…” He gestured towards the plate. “Lots of cheese.” Then he paused. “Just try it.”

Worst of all, Enver’s stomach was a traitor as well, giving a growl loud enough to be quite audible. So… He just gave in, taking a fork to impale some of the short noodles. Worst of all, he realized, as they met with his tongue... It was not even half-bad. And he was hungry. Very hungry. It took almost all his self-control to not just wolf down the plate like a wild animal.

He scoffed. “I guess everything is somewhat edible with enough cheese.” With that he impaled some more of the noodles – imagining to do the same with this man.

Avariel smiled, before disappearing into the kitchen again, just to return with a plate of his own.

Enver stared at him. “What are you doing?”

The question just got answered with a shrug. “My dad always said, that lonely meals were bad meals, even if you were to eat like a king.”

Another scoff. “You just have to rub it in, don’t you?”

“I do not want to rub anything in,” Avariel replied.

“Then why this? Why any of this?”

Avariel shrugged. “I told you at least a dozen times before.”

“What makes you think I would care to be…”

“I don’t care what you are,” Avariel said. “Look, I still think that if you put your mind to it, you probably could use all those machinations and what not for good. But for now…” Another shrug. “Knowing what I know, about the House of Hope, and your parents, and Raphael…” Avariel stopped in his words. “You are fucking evil. I know you are. I have seen the things you did in pursuit of something as fleeting as power. But… I also do understand that there were few people in your life, who ever were kind to you. So… I cannot bring anyone of those killed back. I cannot undo any hurt you did – or that Raphael and his torture master did to you. But I can do this. Be kind.” With those words he took his own fork and started to eat.