bonefetti

[bonefetti]

That one Criminal Minds episode with the two serial killers sending notes to each other through the classified ads in the newspaper as they kill their own targets except it's Durge and Gortash taking out ads in the Baldur's Mouth Gazette before Gortash has control over what they print and they just send little notes to each other about a kill or a political move and it's just their little game after their initial private cipher letters.

[bonefetti]

People posting AI BG3 images suck so many ball-bags. Can't escape these talentless hacks.

*shovels more hand-drawn beauties onto my plate*

Learn to draw you dorks or pay someone to draw that art you want.

[bonefetti]

This is my first attempt at writing Durgetash. I don't have an ao3 account so I am posting this here. Hopefully someone out there likes it, but I just needed to put it out into the world because I can't stop thinking about these two little murdermayhemdorks.

Warning: light talk of violence

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Lord Enver Gortash. It made for quite a wonderfully posh sounding name. The title, of course, was self-appointed but that was a miniscule detail in the grand scheme of it all. Though it was surely a headache going through the proper channels to make it official, the only two crucial things needed were the sponsorship of some very key figures and coin in all the right pockets. 

By the time Gortash had reached his mid-20’s, he had acquired quite the supply of weapons to arm all of the Gate two times over. It had been no easy task but there had been one thing above all else that he had in spades, and that was charisma. He could charm the jewels off any nobility in the span of an evening with little trouble. Amassing wealth with ease, all the while silencing the competition through whatever means necessary. 

It was almost commendable. 

The only bowing and scraping I preferred was my quarry’s bones breaking and gutting their insides. 

To bask in their blood instead of approval, to dance with them until they were out of breath as their lungs were punctured with my blades. 

Over and over and over again in His name. 

One could say I had my moments of bloodlust so great, Orin would pout for days with jealousy over Father’s praise of me. I took extreme pleasure in gloating any chance I would get just to piss her off. 

To avoid His ire, I kept my approval of Bane’s chosen to myself. I don't think myself foolish enough to voice my praise of his methods, his own fierce lust for power near matching my own for bloodshed. 

It was almost impressive. 

My musings continued for a time, as I sat at the edge of my bed, carefully straightening and sharpening my tools. I had no trust in the city’s blacksmiths to care for my blades nor any faith in my fellow brethren in the temple. They were much too important and special to be parted from for even a minute. My style was different to Orin’s and I took pride in that. She fussed with the details too, too much. Though I suppose it mattered little in the end, the results were the same. Mindless slaughter had its place and time, but overall, I much preferred cold, calculated kills. In a way I found a reflection of myself in the Banite lord. 

It was almost comforting. 

“My lady most bloody, a letter has arrived for you from that chosen of Bane.” Scleritas Fel enunciated the last part with a faint disgust as he hobbled over to deliver the sealed scroll. Making his way up the stone steps, muttering to himself about the debris here and there along the way. 

“Ah, thank you. Is this the only correspondence?” Looking it over, suspicious of how small it seemed, I broke the seal and began to read. Gortash had not written for over a month, and I had assumed the next message would make up for the absence of communication. 

“Seems I was mistaken.” I murmured, taking note of the singular sentence in the center. 

I could feel the butler’s eyes on me as I cast myself into thought. “My lady-...” I stood suddenly, the whetstone and the steel rod clattering to the ground as I holstered my daggers back in their rightful spots upon my body. 

“I must go, Scleritas. Don't trouble yourself too much while I'm away. I shall be gone for a ten day, but I shall send word of my safe arrival. It seems the next part of our plan is underway.” I did not elaborate further, despite his protests. 

“Keep a little eye on Orin in the meantime.” I smiled slightly, opening a portal and stepping through, disappearing in an instant. 

Scleritas Fel sighed and began to tidy the room as best as he could, shaking his head at the state of everything. “What a disaster.” 

—----

Once my foot had made contact with the much warmer and drier stone floor, I knew precisely where the portal connected. There was always a slight variation that I unfortunately could not predict, which made me uneasy and raised my hackles at the chance of being caught unawares. Much like the Fist who stood there, surprised yet mostly unconcerned at my sudden appearance once they realized who it was. At least this portal was somewhat reasonable in its location. 

A stout, red haired dwarf looked over at me and nodded his head up the flight of stairs next to him. Ah, so the lord was in his chambers. 

I breezed past the guards without acknowledgement, knowing they cared little for the song and dance when it was in a private setting. 

I made my way silently up the twisting staircase to reach the landing. As much as I hated the din the Steel Watch made stomping around, it covered my movements quite nicely. 

The lavishness of his office was never unnoticed, from the rosewood furniture to the imported rugs stretching on for what seemed like miles. Despite the underground temple being my home, I did quite like the way the sunlight shone through the stained glass windows that both illuminated and gave a modicum of secrecy. I stopped for a moment to look up at the images detailed in the glass, watching the colors dance on my hand. The red from the roses in the motif looked particularly delightful and enticing as it rippled across my wrist, mixing with the dark veins that stood out against my skin. 

"It's a shame wherever you worship your god it's not feasible to have windows installed."

I turned with a look, one that did not seem altogether welcoming, but was ignored as Gortash strolled through the hall. 

"Not enough red for my taste, but then again, it might spruce up the place a bit. I doubt Father would approve." I put my hand down, and turned fully to face him. 

"Is it finally time? You were rather short-changed with your missive. I was beginning to think that an assassin had gotten to you."

"You're the only assassin in my life, dearest." Words dripped with artificial honey. 

Gortash outstretched his arms and motioned to follow him, remarking on his newest acquisitions of property along the way. 

I followed, glancing every now and then to his gestures but mostly uninterested. Worldly possessions hardly intrigued me, the teachings of Father always rang through. Death is the only gift, and everything else falls away into the void of oblivion. I did have some small daydreams of having a few comforts when I was younger, but it was folly to hold onto those once I began killing in the name of Bhaal and saw how temporary everything truly was. 

"...and that armoire was my latest commission. It cost a pretty sum of gold but it goes quite well with-..." 

Gods, he did like his knick-knacks. 

I suppose it wasn't fit for a tyrant to live like a pauper, but I would never admit aloud that I agreed with him on anything outside of the Plan. Not that it mattered much. Watching him grandstand made him a more beautiful target at the end of it all once everything was completed. Oh, how he would bleed so prettily on Father's altar. Gasping for breath as his life dripped from his open neck, helplessly clawing and eyes glassy with tears of pain. What a glorious sight it would be. My head buzzed in excitement at the thought, missing the sounds around me as I pictured the scene. 

"Are your ears filled with blood? I said have you eaten?" Gortash raised his voice to a shout, having had stopped his material rambling and had his hands upon his hips, a scowl present on his brow. 

I stretched my arms up and out in front of me, like an alley cat woken from a nap in the sun, knowing it would irk him. 

Taking my time to answer, I circled him. His eyes remained locked onto mine, not letting his guard down as I continued wordlessly stepping. His mouth twitched into a frown, and I breathed out a sound of approval. 

"I hadn't planned on lunch but if your lordship is offering."

"Enough."

I tilted my head at him to playfully acquiesce. I had stopped my pace right in front of him, taking note of his height. Although he was slightly taller, his figure was still a little imposing coupled with that ridiculous collar on his robes, he knew how to stand out in any room. 

Once I was still, his frown let up and he blinked slowly, gathering his temper. 

I could see he was trying so hard. Poor lordling. Orin would say that in such a sickly tone, I almost laughed at how it would draw his ire almost instantly. Oh how he hated Orin. It could have been any number of things, her insane fanaticism, her propensity to shape-shift into him to mock him. Gods, it was funny to hear her voice come out of that mouth of his. It would send him into a rage only Bane himself could match.  

"If you're quite finished being a brat, we have a long way to travel before we can rest again. We will be unable to stop once we reach the Shadow-cursed lands, so if you faint from hunger I will throw your body to the wretched creatures along the way." He motioned to sit at the table, groaning under piles of food, tureens and plates filled to the brim with food that I hadn't seen in years. Not since the House of Hope. 

"Where's the rest of the party?" I joked, pulling out a chair across from him at the far end, noting the empty chairs. 

"It will be just you and I this time, as I wanted to discuss the plan in confidence before we set out."

I pulled a leg off a carcass, fingertips greasy and warm, and began to gnaw at the meat much to the muted horror of the Banite fancyman. 

"I almost forget you are feral, the way you can almost behave in public but your table manners are extremely lacking." He picked up a knife and fork and made to begin slicing into the steak on his much fancier plate. 

In an instant, I was at his side, dagger pulled and poised above his meal. I leaned into him, my mouth close to his ear. "I could do a most excellent job slicing this for you, my lord." My lips connecting with his skin, words meted out carefully. My warm breath moving the hairs that fell by his cheek. 

His hand shot up, gripping the wrist holding the dagger, twisting until I hissed with pain. 

"That's quite enough of that as well. Your show of theatrics rivals my own, but you'd do well to not draw that blade so close to me, Bhaalspawn." His well manicured nails dug into my skin, hard enough to leave marks. I smiled, pulling back and admiring the red moons gracing my skin now. Far from domesticated, his words did hold truth. I was feral. Feral and free. I would never want to be caged or restrained. I'd fight tooth and knife to escape, even if it meant to the death. Putting away my dagger once more, I sauntered back to my chair, taking a handful of grapes with me. I squeezed them one by one into my mouth, letting the juices flow into my mouth, looking at Gortash while I savored the red fruit. 

His lidded eyes held my gaze, seemingly bored but still not looking away from my motions. "How does your food taste, milord?" Knowing full well his hands rested on the table, silverware abandoned. 

"It's quite cold, thanks to you. Perhaps I should have extended the invitation to Orin, then you might have actually been on your best behavior." He picked up his gold chalice and took a sip of wine, a wine I was not familiar with nor could afford. 

The last grape slipped out of my grip at his words and bounced off the table, rolling down to the middle floor beneath the table. I set my full attention on him. 

"Orin would bleed you and drink you like the wine in your cup. I'd hardly call that a contest for good behavior. Not that I haven't thought about it myself." I resumed picking at the meat that I had previously started on, but the appetite was lost at the mention of my kin. 

"Drinking my blood?" Gortash brought the cup to his lips and chuckled slightly. "Come now, you're far above a vampire's spawn." 

"Vampires drink to live, I live to drink. I do not subsist on it like some thing hiding in the dark, it's a blessing to anoint myself with my victims in His name. To bathe in it and be covered in a life once lived." 

"Perhaps this food was much too rich of a choice for you. I could have some viscera brought up from the kitchens. Maybe throw you a bone to set your teeth upon." 

"I am no animal to be given scraps. I am the child of a god and you'd do well to remember that, Banite." I spat, tossing the meat down onto the plate with a loud clatter. 

"Trust that I never let that slip my mind, oh flesh of Bhaal. But now that we have that out of the way, I wanted to discuss the schedule for our journey. It will take about three days from the Gate to reach Moonrise Tower, provided we don't run into trouble. I have been making arrangements with General Thorm over safe passage through the area and it looks like we have just about everything need to deliver the final stone so we can begin to execute our...-my- plan." He moved a few dishes to the side and began reading a parchment. My hunger returned in the silence so I plucked a few more fruits and rolls from the bowls before me and we ate in silence until it was time to set out. Gortash had mentioned that we would be traveling by rothe-drawn carriage, a dim prospect. I had wished for a quicker method of transport, but it seems like the Sharran-scarred lands were resistant to most magics and it would be fatal to end up anywhere a foot out of the line of safety. I heard from my brethren what happens to anyone not blessed by the light of Selune, when the darkness touches them and they lose themselves forever. 

It was something I did not wish to experience, despite my curiosity to see the effects and my impatience. 

"Have you had enough to eat? There won't be much in the way of anything edible while we make our way through. Everywhere has rotted for over a century, so I doubt you'd find anything amongst the stores." 

I nodded lost in thought, wondering about the state of the place we were traveling to. To see the influence of a lesser god physically manifested. 

"Excellent, now let us begin to make our way to history." He clapped his hands together and stood up with a flourish. 

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The roads near Baldur's Gate were well maintained and made for a smooth ride but as we ventured farther from the city, it was becoming increasingly apparent that it would only get rougher from here on out. Perhaps Gortash was a little too on the nose with his calling me an animal. I felt like one, in this ornate and pompous box, rumbling down the stone roads. I was on edge, but very tired. I took to polishing my daggers, as they had deserved to be shining and beautiful. It had been too long since they had been used and it was starting to pain me. I craved blood. Gortash sat on the opposite side from me, legs crossed with more of those boring plans draped across them. 

"Would you like to be let out to run around for a bit to cure you of your restlessness? Or will you cease your shifting so I can read in peace?" He glanced up, with a look of annoyance. I peered out at the landscape, sunset falling over the hills, setting them ablaze with an orange glow. It was almost as good as the glass windows of Wyrm's Crossing. "We are nearing the monastery?"

"Yes, we shall pass by it on the crossroads, but we will have it behind us by nightfall. I think a stop here would suffice before we enter Shar's territory." He reached out of the window and knocked on the top of the carriage twice, signaling a stop to the driver. 

I opened the door and leaned out, breathing in the air. It was sweet, like honeysuckle. There was so much flora here compared to the city, even with the parks. I almost retched in my mouth. 

"Not quite the...unique perfume of the sewers, is it? You know, I've always wondered how you do not reek of offal every time we meet. Simply astounding." He brushed some rather invisible dirt off his elaborate jacket, most likely the paranoia of being around me. Once the smell of the clean forest around us had finished its assault on my senses, I took the opportunity to stretch my legs and leap up onto a series of boulders overlooking the canyon below. I never really had left Baldur's Gate, save for the nearby towns. This is the farthest I've traveled from my temple, from Orin, a welcomed reprieve. The city I had called home felt smaller, the world itself opened before me and I wondered what else lay out there. I watched the sun sink further past the forest-covered mountains and wondered if I might ever set my sights on a view like this ever again. 

“It’s almost beautiful.”

Gortash looked up at me, barely noticing the surrounding nature. “Not quite as beautiful as your ability to maim, dear.” 

I held his gaze a little longer than was necessary, taking note of his features in the dying light, the way his brows were no longer knitted together. He looked younger in this moment, almost like his damned posters plastering the walls of the city at every turn. The savior of Baldur’s Gate, the Lord triumphant. I imagined this as his rare moment of respite from his meticulous planning and wondered if he ever grew tired of plotting world domination. I shook my head at the notion. It was as if I had asked myself if I ever felt sick of killing. Absolutely foolish. With that thought gone, I jumped down close to where he stood and began my trek back to the carriage. We were almost past the last bastion of safety and soon our voyage would be much more precarious once we switched to traversing the area on foot. 

Gortash had remained uncharacteristically quiet but I did not press him for conversation further, as it was barely a favorite pastime of mine outside of his company. He did enough of the talking for the both of us. I closed my eyes while remaining alert of my surroundings. I would not get much rest soon and it would be unwise to not take advantage of the opportunity now. I could feel him settle back into his seat, the rustle of parchment no longer audible. The carriage resumed along the dirt road, making quick work of the vista around us until it was lost in the dark. 

To Moonrise. 

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