Weeks of trudging through the unforgiving wilderness of Faerun and sleeping on lumpy bedrolls paired with the stress of being infected with illithid tadpoles had left you and your companions road-weary, to say the least. The intermittent battles with gnolls and goblins and giant spiders and various other foes certainly hadn’t been helping the morale in your pursuit to rid yourselves of the tadpoles, which - as far as you had gathered so far - were linked to a mysterious cult spearheaded by a sinister entity referred to by its followers as “The Absolute.”

So, when your party stumbled upon a modest village along your route to Baldur’s Gate - and more specifically a small inn and tavern- everyone was equal parts relieved and ecstatic at the promise of spirited libations and an actual bed to sleep in for a change.

You followed your companions into “The Tipsy Owlbear Tavern and Inn” feeling a little giddy at the prospect of being able to have a drink and unwind…and maybe steal a few moments with a certain pale elf.

You’d found yourself drawn to Astarion more and more lately. And it wasn’t just his undeniable good looks and dazzling charm. There was something beneath that rakish veneer that you saw glimpses of here and there that made you want to learn more. And as foolish as it made you feel…you hoped he’d let you. Still, you weren’t holding your breath.

“Careful, darling. You’re drinking that awfully fast,” purrs a familiar voice, startling you, and then Astarion slides into the stool next to you. “You wouldn’t want to get so drunk that someone has to carry you to bed before the night has even begun…though I suppose I would be willing to volunteer,” he grins over his goblet of wine.