#dnd Duergar

[ezmereldasdirtybandana]

Figured that my current companion needed a new icon for our map. Skella be upon ye

[glinski007]

Promo vid for my Dnd Underdark enamel pins! This Kickstarter is now live and 51% backed! Wanna read more? Link in the video description!

[mooreaux]

A sketchy bust triplet for an anonymous commissioner of a super cool duergar dnd PC!

[oldschoolfrp]

Doors! Our greatest nemesis! (Dungeon 46, March/April 1994) "Deep in an ancient underground fortress, adventurers approach a magical portal to the Underdark. Scott Burdick paints this interlude in the search for "The Iron Orb of the Duergar,"" an AD&D adventure by Peter Åberg.

[nalem]

Alex was once a FOOL </3

[moonlitdesertdreams]

Downed

A/N: I got the cut scene of Astarion imitating Halsin in the middle of drafting a drabble, and this is the result. Please enjoy. Tags: Baldur's Gate 3, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x OC, Astarion x Half-drow!Reader, gender neutral reader, BG3, TDU!Reader, BG3 Astarion WARNINGS: hallucinations, canon-typical violence. Summary: You get hit by a fear spell while in the Underdark and hallucinate shadows in anticipation of fighting the Shadow Curse, Astarion is angry and it's all Halsin's fault. Apparently.

Word count: 1.6k+

(GIF Credit to @iplann)

All Astarion remembered was seeing you go down. 

It was an ambush by two rogue Duergar as you crept through the Underdark. Originally, the pair of you had been on an unimportant quest for you to retrieve some bioluminescent mushrooms to make lanterns; Astarion doesn’t understand the appeal but is also unable to say no to any of your requests. 

He regrets being a pushover at that moment, as it’s landed you both in this one.

After you fell, he had lunged across the field and sunk his teeth into the neck of the Duergar casting spells. He refuses to provide the sorcerer a painless death by draining, instead tearing at the flesh with his teeth. A sick gurgling echoes through the grassy hollow you’d been attacked in, and Astarion releases the dwarf. He stumbles for a moment, clutching at the missing area of flesh on his neck before falling face first into the grass. 

The other blue-skinned creature freezes at the realization they're fighting a vampire, and Astarion wastes exactly zero time thrusting a rapier directly into her heart.

The vampire instantly changes pace from attack to healing as he dashes towards you and leaves the bodies behind. You’re laid out a few metres away, curled into the fetal position and muttering nonsensical words into the humid air. A putrid green film coats your armor, and Astarion wrinkles his nose at the spell. 

“Tav, can you hear me?”

Your eyes find him, familiar but distant and darting about all over the cavern. Astarion recognizes the after effects of a Fear spell, and the Ray of Sickness’ grotesque slime. He was fairly certain the sorcerer had struck you with a bout of sickness while you were paralyzed by fear, hallucinating figures of great evil and unstoppable power. 

“...’starion?” 

“Fortunately for you, yes.” He quips, trying not to let his voice quiver. “If only I was a Cleric.”

Your eyes search his face, landing quickly on his mouth. Astarion freezes as you tense. “V-Vampire.”

His first instinct is to frown, concealing his fangs from your warped mental state. “All the better to keep you safe. Now come on, we need to make haste back to camp so our resident Cleric-”

You clutch at his collar, a wheeze escaping you. Your frenzied eyes have moved away from his fangs to something in the distance, apparently deciding he was less of a threat. “It’s coming. ‘Starion, please, please, get me out of here.”

Astarion recognizes the delusional panic lacing your voice and chooses to hush you softly instead of turning around. He’s determined not to feed the plague gnawing at your mind, and not to let it invade his. You’re the first thing that’s motivated him, loved him for two centuries and he is terrified to see you in such a state. Every other wound has been bandaged or healed shortly thereafter by Shadowheart, but this is different. He couldn’t cover this with gauze, and nothing in his repertoire includes healing of the mind. Rest and comfort will be the best cure for you. 

“It’s a spell, darling.” He coaxes you into looking back at him. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

There’s no stopping the feral gleam in your gaze and Astarion knows you need to get somewhere safe to rest, to be rid of this ailment. He ignores the stink of your gear and scoops you into his arms, immediately angered by the tremors wracking your body. Your arms wrap tight around his statuesque neck and shoulders. 

“They’re everywhere.” You whimper into his collar, pointing towards the Duergar’s bodies. 

Curiosity gets the best of him. “What’s everywhere?” 

“The sh-shadows.” You manage, fingers swiping through half-dried blood on his face. “They’re coming.”

Astarion curses Halsin under his breath. The camp’s talks of making it through the Shadow-Cursed lands had been a hot topic as of late, brought to them by Halsin’s tales of suffocating darkness and misery. It was true you had to navigate through them, but Astarion had his own qualms with wasting their time trying to fix it in order to please the Druid. Especially since said Druid had been eyeing you up as if he were starving each time you saunter across camp.

“There’s too many of your glowing mushrooms here to be any threatening shadows, dear.”

Astarion trudges further into the hollow, finding a small secluded cove to one side. It’s as if the Gods were anticipating someone making a camp out of it - the small opening is no more than a metre wide, and damp lichen hangs in wisps from overhead. Fungi of numerous colors and brightness glow around you both, and there’s a moment of worry that they've stumbled into a transportation circle. The last thing he needs is to be unwittingly thrust to the surface in the Hag’s putrid swamp or a Gnoll’s den. A few fleeting taps with his toes stir no magic in the foliage, and Astarion feels comfortable enough to set you down.

He digs through both your backpacks for supplies, coming up with two bedrolls and enough wood to stack for a half-ass campfire. It takes only a couple minutes  to get your outer layer of clothes off and your body settled on a bedroll before Astarion moves onto the fire. 

Dancing flames have your rapt attention when they spring up from the wood. “No shadows.”

The child-like tone you carry in your confusion tugs at Astarion’s dead heart. “Correct, my sweet. No shadows here. Just a vampire and a very, very confused monk.”

You seem to settle in between bouts of coughing. Astarion sheds his armor to lessen the smell of sickness and looks through his pack once again, coming up empty for any elixir to remedy your fear. He instead stands to peek out of your makeshift camp, confident that as you settle your condition may improve. 

“N-No!” You burst out into a fit as the vampire moves away, one hand clutching his boot. “You can’t leave me here.”

Any intention of looking out is forgotten as you begin to cry. Astarion hushes you like a scared animal, pulling the bed rolls together and joining you on the floor. He indulges you in a rare moment of gentility, pulling you into his side and whispering into your hair. These moments back at camp are rare, saved for when your mates are asleep or out of sight. 

It isn’t until you pull away from the crook of his neck that he notices your eyes are sharper, no longer darting about or hazed over with artificial fear. Despite this, tears still leak from them. 

“Tav? Are you all right?”

You sniff softly. “I’m so tired, Astarion. And I feel terrified… like something’s watching me. But something in me knows it’s not real.”

He nods, tongue running along his fangs. “Damned sorcerer that ambushed us struck you with a Fear spell.”

“I had a dream that we were near Moonrise Towers.” You flounder for a moment, “There were shadows everywhere.” 

“Not a dream, I’m afraid. More a hallucination than anything.” Astarion explains, “A real drag to bring along after the fight, you were.”

His teasing is welcome, chasing away the worst tendrils of darkness licking at your mind. “Cheeky… But I’ve never taken the blow from a Fear spell before. This is awful.”

Astarion can tell your mind is still fearful despite breaking through the confusion, parasite reaching out to his in flashes of white hot panic and terror. Your heart is racing, the ever-so-tempting vein in your neck throbbing in sync. It’s a juxtaposition against your determined face, trying so hard to remain strong. 

“Afraid so… I’ll be speaking with Halsin about his persistence in this shadow curse solution. No need for it to plague you like this. Especially seeing as we haven’t even trudged our way through the Underdark yet.” Astarion’s voice is sharp and surprisingly protective. 

“Astarion, I do feel obligated-”

“You should feel obligated to do nothing. You already play peacemaker for these morons, no need for them to dump all their hopes and dreams on you. Especially when your mind uses them to terrify you.”

A weak chuckle escapes you, and your fingers toy with the fabric of his undershirt. “I think the effects of the spell were to blame for my terror.”

“The effects of the spell are determined by the worries in your mind. In other words, the man of the forest can take them all elsewhere.”

You snort at his distaste towards Halsin, as it’s not the first time you’ve noticed. 

A particularly loud drip of water somewhere in the hollow causes you to jolt into Astarion, adrenaline still coursing like fire through your body. “Gods. How long am I going to feel like a mouse?”

Astarion grips you a little tighter, “Until you rest, most likely.”

“Are you going to meditate?” You ask, curling into his side. 

“I’ll be keeping watch. You need to sleep. Heal your mind from this wretched curse.” Astarion’s words are a little too aggressive, his own nervous mind still concerned for your wellbeing above all else. 

You’re familiar with the tone, and can only smile softly at the vampire’s inability to express concern without placing blame. Perhaps all this talk of a Shadow Curse had caused you to be plagued by such figures in the depths of the spell, but you don’t place blame on Halsin. 

Though, you were certain Astarion would never see it that way. 

He’s taken a moment to relax now, laying on his back with an arm behind his head. You’re curled into his side, one leg hooked over his. Astarion’s other hand traces patterns onto yours, lazy circles that lull your mind into a quiet sense of security. The terror subsides ever so slowly, intensity halved while lying in his arms. 

“Astarion?”

“Hm?” 

“I’m okay, you know.”

A huff answers, and a brief rush of words. “I’m still blaming the Druid.”

“Of course you are.”

_______________________________________

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[deeplord]

shes bored unless gale is talking

[plasmometer]

haha she plays dnd again

[wanderingswampbeast]

Long Post: Why I Don’t Like The Drow

I’ve been ranting about this to a friend on discord (a lot of points I make will come from him) but I’ve finally figured out what my issue with the drow is outside of inherently evil groups being dumb.

The drow are boring. Drow lore is less of a dive into a unique culture and more of a list of fucked up things they do. Like, I cannot name a single interesting aspect of typical drow society that does not directly involve murder, sexism, or slavery, or Lolth. And even then, most of those things are written about in an incredibly bland fashion with them.

The Drow don’t really have much depth to them, and are just kind of evil for evil’s sake (or “because Lolth said so”). They do slavery, but the only real purpose of doing slavery for them is “because Lolth said so”. It isn’t for cheap labor, it’s to be more evil. They betray each other purely because that’s what evil people do. They’re misandrist, not for any real societal reason, but because Lolth hates men. There’s none of what would make slavery an interesting topic or story element, no justification for why they should be allowed to commit one of the worst injustices possible, no real economic reason for it. They just do it because Lolth says they should, and from a writing perspective it hammers home the fact that they’re evil. They aren’t evil because they enslave and murder, they enslave and murder because they’re evil, if that makes any sense.

Them being written as comically evil as they are also hurts them from a worldbuilding perspective. They’re so reliant on slaves for menial labor that the lower class of their society struggle to get jobs. Drow culture so obsessed with betrayal and dumbass house wars that even when actively under attack from the outside they sabotage each other. They’re so decadent that their buildings are held up with magic and semi regularly collapse when a spell fails. To put it bluntly, drow society feels like one that should have collapsed in a few centuries, which, funnily enough, is way longer than D&D elves live.

Their culture being so monolithic also makes writing anything about them difficult. Every drow antagonist is going to have near identical motivations, methods, and ideologies as every other drow antagonist. Every drow protagonist is going to ultimately feel very similar to Drizzt, because leaving their fucked up society to become a do-gooder is such a common backstory element that they added a whole extra god just for doing that. In fact, you can divide 90% of drow characters from any official materials into these categories:

Manservant

Ambitious male, usually a wizard (5 bucks says he has long hair and a widow’s peak)

Dommy Mommy Warcrime Woman

Drizzt Do’Urden or one of his many duplicates

Self-loathing and/or resentful Drider

And finally, their existence almost purely to be humanoid enemies you can fight at nearly any levels is just kind of lazy. This is a problem that I have with the “evil races” of a lot of fantasy but having a group that’s evil by birth just feels like an excuse to not have to write actual motivations for your antagonists. It’s the difference between “go attack this camp of soldiers because they’re part of the SkullMurder army and their general wants to use our land to build a dread fortress” vs “go attack this camp of soldiers specifically because they’re drow/goblins/orcs/the dreaded peepee-poopoo folk”. Using stuff like this just feels like an excuse to not have to write an actual antagonist since it comes pre-written in the group’s lore. This has the side effect of whenever such a group is the antagonist of the plot, the players or audience know near exactly what to expect. The orc is here to conquer, the goblin is here to steal, and the drow is here to enslave or do some dark ritual.

I’ve legitimately heard people say “well if XYZ can’t be inherently evil anymore, who will we use as bad guys?” It’s very simple: whoever the fuck we want. Write an evil queen, or a scheming wizard, or an underground slave trade network. For God’s sake, anyone can be evil, you don’t need to tie that to a specific ethnic group and write it as “they’re just like that”. Write an actual character for your antagonist.

[ttrpg-smash-pass-vs]

The duergar! As a refresher, duergar are surly and dour dwarves. About 4-5 ft (1.2-1.5 m) tall, they're distrustful but loyal and hardworking. They live quiet lives working thier ass off but taking no pleasure from it, the closest thing to joy coming thier special interest hobbies. This particular one has become hybridized with a machine! Would you screw a drillbot cyborg fueled by pain? Seriously, it's fueled by pain somehow, slap them and they'll go faster.

[ruinunderdark]

The now hellish grand duke wedding a duergar caused quite a stir among the elites but this commisoned portrait by wyll's father says the Ravengaurd family cares not

[pitzypitzy]

Commissions Open for 2024.

Please DM if you're interested or have any questions thanks!

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Unlimited Slots for the rest

rbs are appreciated

(I'd love it if I get to draw your tavs btw 🥺)

[mizryk]

wlw mlm bullying

[i-plague-eater]

Made a picture with my DnD female duergar Buhra. Due to some circumstances, her settlement is culturally closer to classic dwarves rather than evil duergars. They don't do slavery, chosen honest hard work and cooperate with normal dwarves instead. Maybe more poor, but at least they're not forcing other races coming through the same pain as they did. They learned how to support each other and accept their horrible past. I'd say they're a bit arrogant about this fact.

Buhra is a slightly rude, greedy, dumb and alcohol-addict person who's also very into gambling. She can be grumpy, mean and swears a lot yet she isn't evil and really nice with kids and animals. She's a simple person from a numerous family and can be friendly enough with ordinary people who isn't mean to duergars and those who pays her well. Buhra is very strong despite her average height and very crafty when it comes to both hammer swinging and beer brewing.

[dailyadventureprompts]

I was thinking about Duergar after listening to Critical Role S1. I don’t care too much for the blatantly evil brush they used but I still want them to be antagonistic. Reading the Explore D&D article on them I took that and looked for inspiration. I thought a blend of the paranoid police state of Stalinist Russia with the political intrigue and back stabbing of imperial Rome. Vast underground cities of brutalist architecture. A culture of conformity, order and a nihilistic outlook. Atheist philosophy cults of the forge or other practical oriented ideologies. Power by any means is a virtue in this society so mages and warlocks are also prevalent. Holidays and celebrations are scheduled well choreographed events. Individuality is scorned. Even hair styles and clothing are limited and enforced by literal fashion police. Gulags are kept well stocked with routine purges of dissidents and a thriving slave trade. All this keeps their cities nearly impenetrable but also undercuts their expansion. Trade with the outside does exist but it’s extremely bureaucratic. They make FANTASTIC concrete.

Footnotes on Foes: Duergar

The problem with the grey dwarves is that they're a little too close to their surface world counterparts compared to the other underdark Wario fantasy races. There's a literal night and day difference between elves and drow , humans and grimlocks, and to a lesser extent gnomes and svirfneblin, but if you looked at surface dwarves (traditionalist, work in metal and stone, warriror culture) there's really nothing all that different about the Duergar other than a grabbag of magic powers and the Duergar being SUPER assholes all the time, while surface dwarves are only assholes some of the time.

I’ve tried a few different versions of the duergar in my writing including mercenary legions of migratory exiles hunting through the underdark looking to conquer territory, and willing collaborators and footsoldiers for illithid colonies, but I think this ask specifically gave me something cool to work with: A focus on Psionics is what ahould seperate the duergar from regular dwarves, with the totalitarian state described above ramped up to its fantasy world extreme by the fact that the secret police can read your mind, and if they can’t find evidence of thoughtcrime they can use mindfuckery to put it there.  The social conformity is seen as a way of detecting rebellious thoughts as if they were social contagion.

This also gives the grey dwarves a distinct aesthetic that is separate from vanilla dwarves: Crystals, be they shaped into weapons or architecture or floating about the heads of psionic casters, which goes to supplement their already textual psychic powers. As an added means of differentiating them, talk about how duergar metalwork is shit, soldiers wearing slave-foundry pig iron while their commanders wield elegantly carved sceptres of nightmare infused rock.

Also, just to have a bit of fun, have the duergar low-key anxious about the existence of the sky, to the point where many of them believe it's a myth made up to scare them as children.

Hooks:

Despite the draconian control they keep over their own populace, the rigors of living in a realm of ever shifting stone require the Duergar to utilize numerous means to secure the territories around their grim cities: Fortress outposts built to control passage in and out of their cavernous realms, psionicly propelled vessels of iron plate that prowl great tunnels like levitating battleships, treaties and client-state contracts with rival and subjugated creatures set up as buffers. Travelling through underdark controlled by duergar is a different sort of dangerous then normal travel in the below.

Escaping from prison before she could be lobotomized, a powerful psion has made it to the surface world with a gang of fellow thought-criminals, working as mercenaries using their unusual skills and eventually forming a rivalry with the party.

The earth writhes. A series of violent quakes cause damage in several cities across the kingdom, setting off numerous small disasters and the appearance of subterranean monsters that'll keep the party and the powers that be busy for weeks. When the cause is eventually determined, it's discovered that in a hunger for more pisonically charged crystals, a duergar warlord has awoken a primordial which now thrashes against its restraints and shakes the world as its pained excavation continues.

Art

[nalem]

We collectively don't make fun of Mystra enough.

My other BG3 comics