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The Corpse Regards You, Lifelessly - Chapter 9

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64962646

Gortash was alone. 

He sat on his throne, looking at all the dead patriars he had dispatched a tenday ago when they had outlived their use and gagging as the smell of decay set in. It was rather fitting, ruling over an ocean of corpses. After all, he never did figure out how to tame the beast who was now drawing blood by the bucketful. His purpose was to be the Hand that held the leash wrapped round the world. Instead, his hands did little more than help the beast fulfill his destiny of eternal murder. Was this what he was made for? The beatings in the hells, the ill-fated deals, the dirty cocks he had to gag on, the endless meetings, the gossip, the betrayals, the clawing, the dying, the rising again; did it all just lead to… this?

He had allowed himself to suffer so much for the sake of his cause. A heavy thought sunk into his mind as he considered that each of these parts of his life were designed specifically to torture him. They all were said to have made him stronger. So why, with every passing day, did he feel weaker?

His grip on himself, now that he had been reborn into… whatever world this had turned out to be, was weakening. Sweaty palms were slipping from the top of a jagged cliff, and at the bottom lay the painful truth that Enver Flymm was truly made from nothing, for nothing. He was fated to this misery, a toy for others to play with and break. His parents, Raphael, Ketheric and Orin, Bane… Cyril… all of them viewed him as nothing more than the well-dressed trash he was. 

He was beyond useless, an illegitimate king of dead men he didn’t have the backbone to slay himself. Drowning in thoughts of love for someone who was barely capable of any emotion besides bloodlust and malice. He was a pile of ash and meat, to be put on display as Bane’s puppet; now discarded waste after his strings had been cut. 

He decided to take a walk. Cyril wouldn’t be back for a while, so he thought some time out of the stuffy fortress would do him good. The Archduke stepped outside, headed toward Rivington, and saw the red sun burning above him. Thick heat brought the stench of mass death to his nose. How much blood had gone into creating that scent? Distant screams still peppered the soundscape of the city as the Netherbrain’s army did its work. There were still a few signs of life in the outskirts of the town, however. Talking to someone, anyone (other than his mad murderous monster) could help him feel better, though finding them might prove a challenge.

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Dusted off my tiktok editing skills to bring you a treato from Cyril and Gortash! Spoilers for the evil ending scene!

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so at least the way I write him, Gortash has defo got ADHD and C-PTSD at the very least (the arguments over which cluster B personality disorder that man has could take days & would have very little therapeutic benefit as I guarantee he does not give a shit) and my Durge clearly has some kind of mood disorder involving weapons grade intrusive thoughts and has got to be somewhere on the spectrum (murder is just one of his special interests). As the saying goes, I support neurodivergent/disability rights!!!! just also neurodivergent wrongs 😌

God forbid mentally ill people have hobbies and fall in love and conspire to take over the world by starting a mind control death cult together jeeez

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Here's some more pics of my baby. I love my little murder prince.

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The Corpse Regards You, Lifelessly - Chapter 8: Run, Ravengard

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64962646

------Huge shout out to my lovely editor @thedarksilkpen for making this readable lol. you're the best i love you------

“I should have known you would be the death of us all. I was trying desperately to see the good in you. I wanted to forgive you for your past, but you have gone too far. I am through with your games!”

Cyril stared at him, expressionless and unblinking, and said nothing. Wyll flourished his sword at him, maintaining distance, but making his intentions known all the same. The tiefling did not react. He was unarmed and remained in a neutral, open position, showing no signs of defence.

“It is always about using people,” the warlock continued, “and never about what they need. Look what you did to Shadowheart. You didn’t allow her to learn about her past, just to continue down the dark path that led her to leave us for good. She became too strong, too much of a threat to you, and you exiled her!”

This appeal to Cyril’s guilt was not working. He refused to care. He was as bad as the devils, perhaps he was one. 

Wyll spoke again. “You gathered us together, said we could help each other find a cure, but you’ve given over to your urges time and again. How many have died because of you? Because of us? You have made us all monsters!”

He was met with more sickening silence. Righteous rage roiled in Wyll’s stomach. He was a monster hunter, he had promised to keep the Sword Coast safe, and he was failing miserably at it. Wyll gathered his courage. He had never killed someone he had spent so much time getting to know. The monsters he was used to hunting were clear-cut evil. There was no doubt that a demon needed to be put down, an ogre to be slain. It wasn’t until he met Karlach and Cyril that he realized good could be found in evil shapes, and villainy could be disguised behind such a charming creature.

“This ends now, foul beast! Your days of weaving lies and shedding blood are over. For the good of the Gate, and the good of Faerun, you will meet the sting of my blade, monster!” 

Cyril did not move, his glowing red eyes fixed on Wyll’s horned forehead. The Blade of Frontiers prepared for an attack, aiming the tip of his rapier at the tiefling’s heart, but the monster still did not even flinch. What was wrong with him? Had he accepted his fate? No, that couldn’t be. The beast wouldn’t know remorse if it hit him upside the head. Then what–?

“Esurio!”

Wyll’s blade had just begun to pierce through ridged skin, when he suddenly stopped, letting go of the curved hilt. He jumped back several feet as bone-chilling fear washed over every cell in his body. His eyes widened, his breath caught in his mouth. He was paralyzed. The monster gently picked up the rapier and toyed with it in his hands. He walked slowly toward Wyll, who felt compelled to run as far away as possible, but couldn’t will his legs to move.

The men stood face to face. Cyril had to look up slightly to meet Wyll's eyes, but he may as well have been a Hill Giant for how much power and intimidation he possessed as cold fear continued to eat at Wyll’s veins. For the first time since earlier that evening, the monster spoke, forcing the rapier into the Blade’s shaking hands. “Run. Run away and save your pathetic father. Run away from your little devil’s pact. Run, like you always have, little Ravengard. Run, until there is no one left to chase you. Run away before I catch you.”

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It just doesn't compute in my mind when people say Gort is "canonically unattractive" when he seems deliberately designed with traits that are clearly attractive to men-lovers.

Exposed cleavage with visible yet not unkempt body hair

Constant emphasis on his hands and hand movements

Canonically burly arms

Canonically perfumed and smells good

Big brown eyes

Full lips

High cheekbones

Voiced by Jason Isaacs

Gortash is clearly designed to be a conventionally attractive man with an evil black grease filter thrown on him to give him that fantasy villain edge. And the only people who would think he's ugly are people whose male beauty standard is exclusively smooth, unblemished, lean, and young (which the internet likes to refer to as twinks I suppose).

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Happy Pride!

Dances based on this meme. If Minthara did a butterfly knife routine on the float she'd be escorted off by security

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Part(1/2)

Most on this was done traditionally.

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Photo mode dump for attaching to my fic... Whichhhh you should check out https://archiveofourown.org/works/64962646

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Happy Pride!!!

-from Fuschia Vineshoot and Rodondo Logg

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This is so real.

One of the most bizarre experiences as a writer is trying to explain to people that the characters you love most, the characters you know deserve to be loved and pampered and taken care of... Yeah, those guys have to suffer THE WORST. The ones you love the most are required to go through the most soul-crushing experiences you can possibly imagine.

Because you love them so much.

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The Corpse Regards You, Lifelessly - Chapter 7

“Master Szarr, we understand that it has been quite some time since you have seen the sun, and would love for you to continue to do so, as it burns red in the sky in honor of my lover’s triumph. We would ask that if you wish to live out your ascendant undeath, you will not besmirch our good will as a matter of general courtesy.” He had such a beautiful way with words.

“But of course, gentlemen. I would not wish to incite the wrath of Bane and Bhaal by impugning on your moral fiber.” 

Cazador’s provocation set Cyril over the edge. He lunged at the vampire, grappling him by the neck from behind and putting his mouth right up against his pointed ear. “I do not give two bloody shits about Bane’s wrath, but if my unholy Father’s name comes out of your putrid mouth again, I will rip out your jaw and use it to-”

Gortash walked into his sightline and held up his hand to stop him. “My partner is simply trying to ask some questions. I politely request that you do not invoke powers that do not belong in this conversation.”

“So the Bhaalspawn has a mouth, but does it have teeth?” Cazador sneered. “Or has its handler filed them down so he doesn’t get bitten while it sucks his cock?”

“I WILL SHOW YOU TEETH, BLOOD-SLAVE!” Cyril’s eyes rolled red and he lost control. He opened his mouth as far as it would go and dug his teeth into the flesh of the decaying elf’s neck.

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I love the “tell the one about the man who married a drider!” line you get when volunteering Minthara at the circus, because she immediately gives the punchline “it was a beautiful webbing” and just accepts the fact that she is the funniest person you know

But not only that, the way it’s phrased with you referencing a specific joke and her immediately knowing what joke you’re referencing and the punchlines indicates that she had told you this joke at least once before.

It’s not just a random common joke, the way it’s phrased indicates that you both have some shared context for this joke and Minthara thinks it’s worth sharing.

So what this means is that Minthara likes to tell you bad drow puns/jokes during moments the game doesn’t show

So I’m imagining how many times Minthara has done something like sat down with the camp at night while eating a meal of 26 loaves of bread and 3 rotten apples, and begins telling an elaborate dark and twisted story about some fallen drow male who became infatuated with one of Lolth’s abominations, just to dead pan end it with “it was a beautiful webbing”

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This but it's the fic im writing lmaooo

auto suggest bewilders me

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Durge receives Stillmaker

headcanon still is it was a gift from Gortash and I'll die on that hill

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I wanted to make something about my two main bg3 tavs Diana the Fair, and Kieran the Foul.

Diana is a neutral good Sorcerer/Warlock, and Kieran is Chaotic Evil Fighter. (I actually got possessed by the creative demons, blacked out for three hours to make this) I wanted to make something that explained the differences in their choices and their lives to follow. I also wanted to try new techniques in Capcut!

I just think they're neat 🥹💕

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We will be absolute.