House Rules

House Rules

And now for something completely different, lol. Here’s a Nine-Fingers character study I did for the BG3 Women’s Wrongs zine (it’s not my zine piece, that will be something else).

Rating: Mature for canon-typical violence Word Count: 1700

AO3 link

***

Today will be a heavy day. Not a bad one, not a long one. Heavy. The unique sort of heavy that comes with defending one’s legacy.

Nine-Fingers Keene flexes the remaining fingers of her hands and glances down at the missing pinky on her left. It’s no matter. She has done what needs to be done before. She will do it again.

The one-eyed man who took her finger when she was but a girl continues to live out his days blind and fingerless himself, plagued by drug-induced nightmares. But she is not ungenerous. He is fed and housed as he suffers his elven lifespan’s worth of terrors.

She clenches her fist. No one takes from Nine-Fingers and walks away unscathed.

Contrary to popular belief, violence is not typically Astele’s first choice. Avoiding it is how she keeps the Gate’s criminal machine in motion, how she maintains her empire under the heel of the Fist and the Harpers. What’s a bit of dirty dealing so long as a leash is kept on violent crime? Indiscriminate murder is messy, it’s chaotic. It’s a weakness. Dead people can’t be properly extorted, after all.

Imagine the creeping roots of her rage lighting up when she digs up the culprit behind the recent spree of serial killings and arson throughout the Lower City.

Nine-Fingers keeps her eyes on her communications, sifting through the recent letters on her desk. Without looking up, she addresses her bodyguard.

“Ferrona,” she says, voice even.

“Saer?” comes the automatic response from the female dwarf at her side.

Nine-Fingers picks up a sheet of parchment and shifts it to another pile. “Fetch Laurel and Gilly. We’ve business to discuss.”

The dwarf nods her head in acknowledgement of her order and leaves the room.

When she’s alone, Nine-Fingers removes the hand crossbow she keeps strapped under her desk and lays it out in plain view. Then she opens a drawer to retrieve several bolts and a vial. She rolls the vial between her palms, stirring up the contents inside, and pulls the cork. Unhurriedly, she dips each bolt in turn and lays them out.

Moments later, Ferrona returns with the requested Guild members. A beautiful young tiefling wizard, ambitious and brilliant. A dark-skinned half-elf wrapped in black leather, hood and mask obscuring her face. Both members of the Lady’s Court, Nine-Fingers’ personal inner circle.

Astele rises from her seat and puts her hands behind her back as she comes around to meet her confidants. Her eyes pass over them and land on Ferrona. Nine-Fingers gives her a nod.

“You may leave us,” she says. “This is a sensitive matter.”

Ferrona’s jaw clenches as if her instinct is to argue, but she does not dare. Though her purpose is protecting her guildmaster to the death, her charge is no helpless figurehead. The guard has her order. She leaves, the door creaking shut behind her.

“Gilly, if you wouldn’t mind keeping out curious ears?” Nine-Fingers says, addressing the ranger.

The leather-clad woman traces a rune in the air, murmuring a spell that silences the area closest to the doors. As she does, Nine-Fingers picks up her crossbow and bolts from the table, casual and calm as can be. She loads a bolt and turns, taking aim for the humanoid target dummy in the corner.

“Another blaze in the Lower City last night,” Nine-Fingers says. She fires a bolt and it pierces squarely through the dummy’s head. “The Fist are sniffing around. Our people were able to move the body before they got there this time, but tensions are wearing thin.”

She fires another bolt and it lands right next to the first.

“I fear we may be looking at a raid soon,” she says as she loads a third bolt, turning back to the others. She raises her head to look at them. “Don’t suppose either of you have good news for me?”

Immediately, Gilly’s eyes narrow. They shift in Laurel’s direction.

Laurel, on the other hand, smiles brightly and speaks, her voice like trilling birdsong. “There’s been a new lead just this morning, I heard. A little Lightfoot halfling who fancies himself a vigilante has been targeting people currently paying dues to The Guild. Trying to cut off sources of our funding or reroute them to his own cause, if I were to guess.”

Nine-Fingers lets the hand crossbow dangle from her fingers at her side. “A good guess it is,” she says. “Funny thing, though. A Lightfoot halfling stopped by my office earlier, and my, did he have such a story to tell. He suspected his partner was about to betray him.”

The expression on Laurel’s pretty face has barely gone from confidence to realization when Nine-Fingers aims her weapon at the floor and fires a bolt directly through the tiefling’s foot. It pierces clean through her cloth shoe and embeds itself into the worn wooden floorboards underneath.

Realization turns to pain, but before it can turn to an incantation, Nine-Fingers shoves her bodily in the chest so she falls over backward directly into the edge of Gilly’s Silence spell. Without a word and needing no order, Gilly immediately draws her short sword and points it at Laurel’s throat, a clear warning should she try to move. A display of loyalty her leader knew to expect.

No emotion clouds Nine-Fingers’ face as she sets the crossbow on the desk and peers down at Laurel. She squats so they’re at eye level and gives a disappointed sigh.

“Every primary school-aged magical brat knows how to cast a fire bolt,” she says. “So you can imagine my frustration trying to narrow down exactly which wizard was aiding that halfling arsehole in finding folk who keep us on payroll. Thank you very much for confirming it. He’s out testing the poison traps now.”

From the floor, Laurel gesticulates, clearly attempting speech, but the spell steals her voice.

“You’re very clever,” Nine-Fingers continues. “But you’re not that clever. Your first mistake was assuming working your way onto my Court would make me complacent. Your second was stealing from me. Your third was making an absurd bloody spectacle of the whole ordeal because you like to watch things burn.”

Nine-Fingers leans in closer, right to the edge of the spell.

“The Gate does not burn unless I will it,” she whispers.

Laurel struggles to pull her foot from where it's pinned, but her movements turn sluggish, her blinks heavy. She attempts a somatic spell and her hands refuse to make the correct shapes before they collapse onto the floor at her sides. Nine-Fingers waits until all her muscles give up on her, leaving her lying helpless on her back with her eyes full of loathing.

Astele flicks her hand at Gilly. “Drop the spell.”

Gilly does, waving the magic away in an instant.

Nine-Fingers wraps her hand around the bolt stuck through Laurel’s foot and yanks it out, throwing it aside. Laurel gurgles, incapable of forming words.

“Paralytic poisons do come in handy, don’t they?” Nine-Fingers stands and walks around the immobile woman, taking another vial from her belt and shaking its violently pink contents. She shows it to Laurel. “You know what this is? Of course you do. In lieu of a proper interview, I think we’ll just have a poke around.”

The guildmaster uncorks the Potion of Mind-Reading and throws it back, pocketing the empty vial. She maintains eye contact with the traitor and invades her mind, the concoction amplifying her ability to pry apart anyone’s secrets. Laurel resists – and does a good job of it, too – but Nine-Fingers’ will is stronger. Always has been, always will be. She can allow for nothing else.

The tiefling’s memories are flame and chaos, hubris and cruelty. So bright, so pretty, so talented. She thought it would give her the entire world. She thought it would win her control of The Guild, in time.

Nine-Fingers tuts aloud. “A pity, honestly, that such a rising star should fall. But some youthful mistakes are permanent, aren’t they, pet?”

She snaps her wrist and a hand dagger slips into her palm from a hidden holster along her arm. Nine-Fingers twirls it once and points it at the woman. “Magic was never my strong suit, you know. Seems that it’s no longer yours, either.”

Beyond the door in the great hall, thieves and assassins perk up at the sound of strangled screams, their eyes roaming to their leader’s chamber. When the screams go quiet and the door opens, no one pretends they weren’t listening in. Nine-Fingers stands in the open doorframe, wiping bright red blood from her hands with a handkerchief. She cleans her blade and wraps it all in a neat little package.

When she moves forward toward the railing to address her crew below, she nods at Ferrona and tilts her head back to the room. The guard answers the call immediately and exits a moment later leading a tiefling wizard bound by hands burned down to the bone, blood streaming from her disfigured mouth. Laurel tries to spit, but she can only drool. The smell of burnt flesh fills the air.

“Do not treat her fingers,” Nine-Fingers says over her shoulder. “They will heal as they are. The Temple of Ilmater will find shelter for this poor victim of the latest shakedown and arson.”

She reaches the balcony and tosses the bloodied package over the side so it falls in the mud below. As she places her hands on the railing, she watches a group of Guild denizens fight over it. The victor raises the package in the air and unfolds it to show the bloody hand dagger and a miserable lump of flesh – a wizard’s tongue.

All eyes are on Nine-Fingers. She lets the silence stretch.

“I am in the market for a new wizard,” she calls, her voice echoing throughout the Guild Hall. “Feel free to put forth a name. A finder’s fee for a successful appointment. Any attempt at trickery will cost an eye.”

There are murmurings throughout the space, a low buzz of fear and awe.

Nine-Fingers turns and walks back to her office, rubbing her thumb over the stump of her left pinky. The weight of leadership is heavy, but she bears it by choice.

As she passes Gilly, she says, “Inform your Fist contact that the issue has been rectified. There will be no more fires.” The ranger nods and takes her leave, silent as shadow. Word will spread by nightfall.

Astele turns once more to admire the empire she’s built. Then she shuts her door.

No one upsets her Guild’s order and keeps their tongue.

Kinktober Day 10 - Inappropriate use of mage hand

For every day of the month of October I will be posting a little snippet following prompts listed in this post. Most of these will not be full fics, but rather short snippets, set-ups, and, in a few cases, copied bits and pieces of fics I have already published. But, if there is a lot of interest and feedback on any of the snippets, they might just evolve into full fics, so keep that in mind.

Disclaimer: I know, I know, it's supposed to be sexy, but my fingers slipped and wrote comedy again instead... I'm sorry. Act 1.

“Squeeze it tighter… Tighter… Not that tight. …NOT THAT TIGHT, I SAID!”

For the past hour, mixed sounds of intermittent laughter and profanity spilled from Asmodea’s tent, where she had sequestered herself with Astarion. The rest of the group had gathered at the campfire, per what had turned into a nightly routine.

“This is your fault,” Lae’zel said to Gale. “What motive did you expect she had when she requested you teach her that spell?”

“She said she was going to use it to polish her dagger,” the wizard muttered, looking away. “…You’re right, I should have known better than to take that literally.”

“Gods!” Astarion’s aggrieved shouts continued. “Honestly, are you trying to yank it off?!”

“Perhaps you should place a sphere of silence over the tent - grant them a modicum of privacy,” Wyll suggested to Gale, shifting uncomfortably.

“Leave it,” said Shadowheart. “I’d rather know immediately in case medical assistance is required. And if they cared about privacy, or had any common decency, they would have taken themselves away from the camp.”

“How was I supposed to know it was going to be this hard?!” came an exclamation from Asmodea.

“…Well at least something is still hard after all that. That’s it. I’ve had enough.”

Some moments later, to the group’s amusement, a somewhat dishevelled Astarion burst out of the tent and headed back to his own, tucking his shirt in on the way. Asmodea followed not far behind him, with a spectral hand scurrying on its fingers across the ground after her.

“Aww, what if we try a different motion? It shouldn’t be difficult to make it thr-”

“No!” Astarion paused, squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, before turning back to her. “Figure out how to maneuver that thing properly first, then come see me.”

“How am I supposed to figure it out if I don’t have someone to practice with?!” To her disappointment, Astarion only shook his head and continued on his way. “Come on, just the tip!”

“How about I give you something to practice on, soldier?”

Asmodea paused and cocked her head at Karlach, thoughtfully. Astarion had also stopped dead in his tracks at Karlach’s suggestion, before swooping back to wrap an arm around Asmodea’s waist, and hastily leading her back to his tent, all whilst giving Karlach an ice-cold glare. The mage hand dissipated, forgotten.

“And now?” Wyll was the first to speak amid the group’s snickering. “Sphere of silence?”

“Sphere of silence,” Gale nodded, gesticulating to cast the spell.

My Kinktober masterlist and prompts post

Sun King

Bg3 commissions!

First Astarion makeup test!!

NGL I was super nervous about testing this one because visually Astarion is sooo out of my comfort zone! But I got excited after the wig styling worked better than I expected, and now I know I can do the makeup too!

Time to keep plugging on the actual costume build 👀

astarion: this party is the perfect opportunity to seduce our leader

adriannu, who started binge drinking six hours ago: HEY WHATS UP EVERYBODY I THINK DOGS SHOULD VOTE