Stormarm00
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Summary
"Can you pick any pocket?" Gale asks, a plan coalescing in his mind.
"I am yet to find one safe from my wandering hands," Astarion answers, wandering those hands suggestively through the air. "Why?"
"Can you put things back in pockets?" Astarion looks at him, nonplussed.
"No, why would I want to do that?"Gale was one of the greatest stage illusionists of the Edwardian era, but now he spends his days debunking séances hoping to hear a message from his late partner, Mystra. When the mysterious medium Minthara, Queen of Spiders, invites him to the Estate Party at her country house, Gale cannot resist the chance to reveal her for what he believes her to be: a fraud.
Meanwhile, Astarion has an infernal secret and has spent decades isolating himself from humanity. But when a strange man in a cemetery piques his curiosity, he soon finds himself caught up in a scheme that he is certain will fail. By the time he realises the true danger to himself and to Gale, it is altogether too late.
Because what Gale does not know but Astarion knows all too well is that Minthara has friends in very low places who are not about to let meddling magicians get in their way.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 58,867
- Chapters:
- 14/25
- Collections:
- 1
- Comments:
- 33
- Kudos:
- 36
- Bookmarks:
- 11
- Hits:
- 788
Bookmarked by Stormarm00
11 Jan 2026
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"...What you need is a friend..."
Baldur's Gate is rebuilding, the companions are drifting back to their own lives, and Astarion is left with a victory he can't stand in the sunlight to enjoy. Elowen chooses not to move on. Instead, she walks the road with him as another traveling companion, sharing tents, watch shifts, and late-night honesty.
What follows isn't a grand prophetic quest, but a quieter, stubborn one: Elowen begins chasing half-whispers and forgotten lore about why the sun burns a vampire spawn who refused ascension. Ruins, odd priests, strange books, wrong questions in the wrong temples—little threads she calls "research" and he calls "madness," even as he continues to follow her lead.
Afterdawn is the stretch of road where nothing huge seems to happen from the outside: campfires, small jobs, detours, close calls, and two people circling something they have no words for yet. Underneath, Elowen is pulling on something old and bright and dangerous.
Eventually the thread catches and by the end, the road looks nothing like it did at the start.
Series
- Part 1 of the after
Bookmarked by Stormarm00
03 Dec 2025
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You remember him the way he was when you met, the way you watched him grow up. Your teenage years weren’t beautiful the way they’re supposed to be. You were awkward in your own body, thick and clumsy and unsure. Wyll, however, was always graceful. His limbs lengthened, his voice deepened, and all of it seemed to happen so smoothly, at just the right time. He was pretty and he was perfect. Neat and tidy next to your messy tangle of string.
But you’ve knitted yourself together over the years, and he’s frayed a bit. Now you’re sitting on a beach together, making each other laugh. Feeling comfortable, impossibly so, even as your heart sits high in your throat. Feeling seen and understood. Feeling…a lot of things. Too many, more than you can identify.
You find yourself wondering how it feels to be kissed kindly, by someone who laughs at your jokes and knows things about your father and thinks you’re smart. By someone who’s thought about it before, for all that it may have been years ago.
…
Really, what’s the worst that could happen?
Bookmarked by Stormarm00
03 Dec 2025
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1979. Thatcher, disco, punk and Dracula.
Gale, English Professor and gothic literature specialist, has got a new job in London and a new life to build. But who’s that punk he keeps seeing in his train carriage? And why are his eyes red?
Bookmarked by Stormarm00
03 Dec 2025
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The wind roared past his ears. He was facing the sky, he found. He reached upwards.
It was a clear night, the sky beset with glimmering stars upon stars upon stars. A tapestry of twinkling lights, all so much bigger than him. It was beautiful, familiar. Peaceful.
He closed his eyes. The night always did hold him gently.
I’d always wanted to fly, he thought, as the ground rushed up to meet him.
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A nameless amnesiac awakes in a crashing mindflayer ship, and a paladin is reborn in his wake. His head throbs, and his blood hums, but that's probably just the parasite eating his brain, right?
Now, if he could just explain the constant thrum for violence...
or,
My attempt at novelizing my durge run of bg3 ;)
Written to be accessible even if you've never played the game!!Bookmarked by Stormarm00
03 Dec 2025