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pengychan · 6 months

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[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 7

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: M Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** The second half of this chapter was supposed to be about the kind of Bullshit only a party with a rogue and a bard can get into, but then the first half took over. So yeah, Astarion and Raphael will have to wait until the next chapter to get into Bullshit. Until then, have more existential crisis. Crisises. Chrysler. Crises. No I did not have to look up what the plural of crisis is. ***

“You know, I am not entirely sure Raphael was ever informed of the difference between sparring and attempted murder.”

Sitting just inside one of the tents they had set up on the lakeshore to keep away from the sun, Astarion shrugged. “I’m pretty sure that he knows the difference and chooses to ignore it. I do it all the time.”

“You’re remarkably unconcerned.”

“And you’re surprised?” Astarion clicked his tongue. “Wyll, you know as well as I do that my lovely idiot could tear him apart if they wanted. Raphael has literally no chance in all Hells to beat them. Durge is going so easy on him, it’s almost embarrassing.”

“Well,” Halsin intervened, briefly looking up from the duck he was whittling and giving the boiling pot of stew a stir, “they did say that the goal is to make sure he can hold his own before we head to Avernus. I suspect maiming him again would rather slow the progress.”

“Fair enough.”

A pause, and three pairs of eyes - well, two pairs, one single eye, and a sending stone - kept following the sparring match unfolding on a flat, rocky patch of land. It was painfully unbalanced, even with Durge going easy on Raphael. He seemed to know a variety of spells to cast, and his aim was improving, but he tried too hard to land a hit and quickly ran out of steam.

He makes mistakes when he’s angry, Hope had said, and that had not changed. The limitations of a human body, and a middle-aged one at that, were not helping. Raphael was clearly struggling with that, and he barely dodged an acid splash from Durge’s part that Astarion had seen coming from a mile away, with his eyes shut.

“I wouldn’t have thought he’d be able to fight at all, without his hellish powers,” Wyll commented, looking on through narrowed eyes. “Then again, Mephistopheles is considered the greatest wizard of all the Hells. Perhaps he learned from him.”

“Doubtful,” Halsin replied, scratching his chin. “I am certain you learned a great deal sparring with your father, but the Lord of the Eighth is not known for willingly sharing his knowledge. I doubt he’d make an exception even for his own offspring.”

“He’s a bard,” Astarion said, and shrugged when they turned to look at him. “Oh, I forget you two didn’t get the dubious pleasure to visit the House of Hope with us and Karlach. Trust me, he’s a bard if I’ve ever seen o--”

“Agh!”

Astarion trailed off, and they all looked back to see Raphael had slipped on an icy patch and fallen heavily on his back, groaning. It would have been the perfect moment to strike, but Durge was really holding back, so they allowed him a moment to recover… and then several more moments. But Raphael just lifted himself one knee and paused without getting up, panting. The spectacle was over, it seemed.

A bit of a shame, that: watching Raphael getting his ass handed to him time and time again was endlessly entertaining.

“That wasn’t too bad,” Durge said, much too generous in Astarion’s opinion, and stepped towards Raphael, lowering their staff. “You keep attacking in anger. That’s never a good ide--”

Raphael looked up sharply, lips curling in a sneer, and Durge didn’t get to finish the sentence. Raphael brought his hands together and, before anyone could react, pushed them out with a snarl. “Detono.”

The thunderwave caught Durge by surprise, and they had no chance to brace or try to avoid it. They were thrown back into the air, Mourning Frost falling from their grasp to clatter on the ground. They landed with a grunt, but there didn’t seem to have been much damage… until a moment later the ground Durge had landed on shimmered. Realization hit Astarion only a moment before fire erupted from the ground, engulfing Durge, and the roar of flames almost covered their startled cry.

Well, look at that. When had he cast a glyph of warding? How had none of them noticed?

“Durge!”

“You bastard--!”

Halsin and Wyll stood, ready to rush forward, not impeded at all by the risk of being turned to cinders by sunlight. They didn’t go far, though: Durge hadn’t been turned to cinders either - of course not, it would take much more than that - and stood, coughing, before lifting a hand.

“All fine,” they managed, and while it clearly wasn’t all fine, they weren’t too badly injured either. They groaned a little, went to pick up their staff, and turned to grin at Raphael, all fangs. “All right,” they conceded, just as Halsin went to heal them. “That was really good.”

Raphael snorted and stood slowly, carefully moving away from the icy patch on the ground. He cast a healing spell on himself before he replied, still scowling. “Not good enough,” he muttered. He reached to smooth down the blazer Durge had given him, after finding it wedged somewhere in their bag of holding. “Seeing how you got back up.”

“If it makes you feel any better, a god also failed to kill me.”

“The god killed you well enough. Another god made the unfortunate decision to bring you back.”

“You devils and your fixation for details,” Daurge sighed. “Thanks, Halsin - I’m fine, honest. I think that brings an end to this sparring match, though. Is the stew ready? I’m starving.”

Having already feasted on the blood of the boar who had so generously provided the meat for the stew, Astarion did not need to eat. Still, Durge settled right inside the tent with him to eat, while the other two saps sat right outside the entrance. Raphael, as he’d been doing since they’d departed Last Light Inn two nights earlier, took a bowl to his own tent some distance away. At least now it looked like a tent, rather than a sheet thrown haphazardly over some stick by someone who clearly had never set up a tent before.

“I think we should be there in another five days’ walk - I mean, nights’ walk,” Wyll was saying. “I’d hoped to be back quicker than this, but as long as Karlach is safe in the House of Hope, I’m sure she’ll understand. We do need supplies.”

Durge nodded. “Bit of a shame the portals are not working,” they said through a mouthful. “It seems none of those in Baldur’s Gate or even Rivington were left intact. It would have saved us a week. Still, that’s not too long a walk as long as we keep leaving at sundown. As soon as we’ve reached the Gate, we’ll head to the Devil’s Fee. We buy whatever we may need, get Helsik to open a portal to the House of Hope--”

“Do we even have enough money for her to do that again?” Halsin asked.

A pause, and four pairs of hands went to open as many pouches. Several pairs of eyes - three pairs, one eye, one sending stone - had a quick look at the gold inside. Another pause. Four throats were cleared.

“... In retrospect, I should have asked that earlier.”

“Well, perhaps she’ll accept to let us through in exchange for another artifact…”

“Maybe my father can be convinced to give us a loan…”

“We’ll figure something out when we get there. We usually do.” Astarion put down his pouch before he glanced outside the tent, and the others followed his gaze. Raphael had finished eating, clearly, and was closing the tend flap to sleep without a further word to anybody.

“... I think it would be best to keep him out of the House of Hope,” Wyll said. “Hope may not be-- I think she’s seen enough of him to last her several lifetimes. Even if he can no longer harm her, I don’t want her to endure his presence again for even a moment.”

Durge nodded, setting down the bowl. “Yes, I agree. She’s been through enough as is.”

“Counterpoint,” Astarion said. “He might have a stroke if he sees the changes she made to the place, which I bet are delightful. And that would be absolutely hilarious.”

Durge laughed. “My counterpoint to your counterpoint is that we need him alive to take us to the Sword of Zariel,” they said, and reached into the bag of holding. They rummaged a bit before pulling out something - the Spider Lyre they had taken from Nere’s body. They’d had no use for it in a long while, but then again they hadn’t had a bard in their party. Until now. “I’ll be right back,” they said, and left the tent to head towards Raphael, lyre in hand.

“... Projecting more than a little, aren’t they?” Halsin commented, and Astarion sighed.

“Yes, they seem to have made Raphael their pet project. I can’t say I’m all that surprised. They trusted me when it was an objectively stupid course of action. Mind you, they were severely brain damaged - and I’m not sure all that damage has healed just yet...”

Wyll frowned. “He’s a devil. A split soul doesn’t make him any less of a hellspawn.”

“They’re aware. And I’m sure you can guess what they’d answer to that.”

“Durge is a bhaalspawn no longer,” Wyll replied, and Astarion shook his head.

“... That’s what you two will never get, I’m afraid, but I do. Once a spawn, always a spawn,” he said, looking on as Durge stopped outside Raphael’s tent and left the lyre by the entrance.

“You’re free, Astarion,” Halsin spoke, his voice gentle. “You’re both free now, and it was a hard-won freedom. What someone else made you into doesn’t define you anymore.”

Ah, Halsin. Spoken like the sweet, sensible tree hugger he was. Astarion smiled faintly. “You’re not wrong, but that’s not what I’m talking about either. You can kill some parts of you, but you don’t get to erase them. You can only grow around it, or die trying.”

A brief silence as they watched Durge turn away from the tent and head back towards them. Behind them, the flap opened just enough for a hand to grab the lyre and take it in.

“Raphael might just choose to die rather than try,” Wyll finally muttered, and Astarion laughed.

“Entirely possible,” he conceded. “And who are we to tell him what to do?”

***

When the Chamberlain of Mephistar came to claim him on Mephistopheles’ behalf, Israfel was thirteen years of age and entirely unprepared.

Truth be told, over the past couple of years he’d found himself daydreaming of that day less and less. He’d even come to think, at a point, that he may be fine if no one came to take him to the Hells at all, if his father didn’t want him there. Among servants there was talk - in secret, theoretically, but they spoke much too loud - that Lord Rahirek may be considering making Israfel his heir. Until just a few years earlier, that would have been unthinkable.

“Of course Lord Starspire must have thought of it,” the kennel master had said with a shrug, during a conversation with the master-at-arms. “He’s got no kids of his own. The lad is all that’s left of his lady wife, and he’s a clever one. His lordship would have seen it a lot earlier, if he could stop sniveling over her grave for a minute and look past the horns.”

“He was grieving, you animal.”

“It’s been thirteen years. If the Hells don’t come to take him, and he’s good at whatever it is that lords do, why not make him next in line? He even looks like a human now. His Lordship should claim him as his own and be done with it.”

“It’s not that simple. Would other lords accept it, a half-fiend among their peers?”

“They wouldn't want to piss him off, that’s for sure. A good thing in my books.”

Israfel had snuck away unseen, and hadn’t mentioned the conversation he’d heard to anyone, but it was true that he was in his human form more often than not, and that Rahirek had started teaching him things about the land he lorded over. Not long after that conversation, he even took Israfel with him for a negotiation with the dwarven clans along the eastern peaks of the Starspire mountains, from which his family got its name.

“To show you how it’s done,” was all he had said, and Israfel had needed no convincing. He had never wandered far from the fort, and finding himself so high up had been exhilarating. He could turn his head and see so much, across Firedrake Bay and all the way down the Trade Way far beyond Starspire Fort, and south to Zazesspur where, to hear one of their dwarf guides, people wiped their asses with sheets of gold when they weren’t busy trying to kill each other. Israfel had stopped his mule and reached out; the city looked so small, he could blot it out when he closed his first. For a moment, he’d felt like a giant.

Then there had been the screech, so loud it hurt his ears, and something much bigger than him had swooped down on the caravan. Right afterwards, a man screamed. “Perytons!”

“Form a line! Protect Lord Starspire!”

What happened next would remain confused in Israfel’s memories, only brief flashes of clarity in the midst of chaos. He’d remember the giant eagle with the head of a fanged stag standing on top of a fallen, screaming man, trying to claw his heart out through the armor, threatening to gore anyone who came too close with its antlers. He’d remember a swipe of its wing knocking him off his mule onto the ground, a few feet away from the abyss, and he’d remember hitting his shoulder hard. He’d remember a scream - his name, someone screamed his name - and the beasts’ eyes on him, the fang bared. He’d remember lifting his arms to protect himself, and then…

Then he’d only remember heat, and screeches of pain echoing through the mountains. The peryton tried to take flight only to crash down again, screaming, its plumage on fire. Flames wreathed its antlers like they were dry wood, eyes melted out of its sockets from the heat. There was a rush to get out of the way, lest the beast’s dying throes knocked any of them off the side of the mountain; someone grabbed Israfel, too, pulled him to safety behind a boulder.

After that, he’d remember a furious heartbeat against his cheek, a hand pressing against his head and neck and then down his back, checking for injuries. Dimly, he realized he felt the weight of his horns again. When had he changed form? Had the others seen?

“Are you all right, boy? Were you hurt?”

Israfel had closed his eyes, listening to the last of the beast’s dying screeches over the man’s thumping heart. He’d willed himself to change back to his human form before he spoke. “No, sir,” he’d managed, and felt Lord Rahirek Starspire let out a long breath.

“Thank the Gods,” he whispered, and didn't let him go for what felt like a very, very long time. When they’d emerged, the danger gone, their dwarven guides had looked at him warily.

“‘Twas not normal fire that did the beast in,” one had muttered, looking back and forth between the smoldering corpse to Israfel. “Hellfire, ain’t it? And my old eyes work well enough to tell you got horns on your head a minute ago, lad. Could do with an explanation.”

Israfel had felt Rahirek’s hand on his shoulder. “Be grateful my ward felled the monster. He owes no explanation to you or anyone else,” he’d said, and that had been the end of it. With only two mules dead and one man injured, the journey had continued without further incident.

The travel back had been undisturbed as well. Rahirek had kept Israfel close, pointing at landmarks and cities. “It’s high time you visit the capital,” he had said halfway through their descent, with home within sight. “I’ll take you next spring, if you’re inclined to come with me.”

Israfel had been plenty inclined, but that didn’t matter: it was never to be. They had returned to the fort to a tense silence, pale faces and quiet servants. In the kennels, the dogs were subdued; it had been the master-at-arms to come tell them what was going on, but it was not needed. From the hall, faint but unmistakable, came the smell of sulfur.

“One Duke Barbas is here,” he had managed, unable to meet either of their eyes. Somewhere out of their line of sight, Nan was crying. “To take Israfel home.”

And that, love, was that.

***

“Love, please, give me that knife.”

The woman is crying, but it’s not her tears the boy’s eyes pause on. His gaze is fixed on the blood, red and rich, dripping onto the floorboards from her outstretched hands, cut to the bone from the attempts at stopping the knife. It mixes with the blood of her husband, who’s already dead on the floor and growing colder by the second.

He called him dad, until now. Until just hours ago, maybe minutes. Or it may have been days, he’s not sure. Time means nothing. Everything went red and then dark and he grabbed the knife, and then all was blood and meat. That’s all the man is now. He’s just meat and it all feels so right. It’s better this way. Better to die than to live in a world with him in it.

“Sweetheart, please. This isn’t you. We can fix this,” the woman calls out again, choking out words. “My little boy, listen to me.” A bloody hand rests on his cheek. She touched his face many, many times before. Sang him to sleep. Soothed him after bad dreams. Mom, he’s called her, ever since he learned to speak. He knows she is not, nor her husband was his father - they’re halflings, he is not - but it never mattered. It still doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters but the crimson filling the cracks between the floorboards and the smell of death and the fact that she’s wrong. This is him. This was always him.

She wants the knife.

He’ll give her the knife.

The blade sings through the air, slices through skin and muscle and cartilage like it’s nothing. She chokes on blood and her hands go through her throat, but cannot stem the flow. One last, wide-eyed look, then she falls on her face and doesn’t get up. The boy looks on, quiet, with the crimson hand still smeared on his face. Once the last of her life’s blood has flown, he turns to the door.

He’s not the only child they have taken in. There are others, too, his siblings, who will be home soon. They have names, but it’s not important now. The dead need no names.

He holds onto the knife, and waits.

***

“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t do that, don’t-- yes, that’s better. Breathe, possibly no frost breath if you can help it-- there. Good. You’re fine. Whatever you dreamed up, it’s not now. Do you understand me? Nod if you do. Or bite me, you have permission to bite this once.”

Face pressed against Astarion’s shoulder, Durge let out a long breath and nodded. “Yes,” they rasped. “I’m fine. It was just--”

“Nightmare, or memory?”

“Memory.”

“I see.”

They leaned back against the bedroll, and for a time they only listened to their own breathing, to the drumming of rain against the tent they were sharing. “Want to talk about it?” Astarion finally asked, a hand rubbing the back of their neck. Durge breathed out.

“It was the family that took me in. In Baldur’s Gate, when I was very young. They loved me. I had forgotten their faces.”

“And now you remembered them? Well, that is nice--”

“I butchered them all.”

“Ah. I do see why that may be an unpleasant recollection, then.”

“I killed my foster parents. I waited for the other children they had taken in to come home and slaughtered them all, put the bodies in a pile and stood there for hours, just - looking at them. I don’t remember what I was thinking. Only that I was… happy. Something had been sated.”

“The Urge.”

“Yes. I think that was the first time it came over me.”

“And now it’s gone. You really shouldn’t forget that bit, love. The Urge is gone, for good.”

Durge nodded, and shut their eyes. In the back of their mind, a voice rang out.

Young Master, precious fledgling, follow ever your heart. In time, your true family will find you.

“I can’t remember their names,” they murmured in the end.

“It wouldn’t do you any good--”

“I ended the entire family. I owe it to them, don’t I? To at least remember their names.”

“... Remember what Withers said? You can go through all the names once you’re dead. Until then, you can just live.” Astarion pulled back, and spoke again in a very questionable impression of Withers’ voice. “Greet the bloodless dawn, child of none.”

That, at least, made Durge chuckle. “That was terrible,” they said, then, “thank you.”

“Anytime, dear.” His hand rested on Durge’s face, where the woman’s had in the memory. “But do try to sound more impressed by my actorial skills. You hurt all three of my feelings.”

“There’s a third one?”

“Oh look, now you think you’re funny. It worked too well.”

Another chuckle, and Durge nuzzled against his hand briefly before they sat up. “... I’ll go for a walk. Clear my head some. I’ll be back soon.”

“Are you sure? Sounds like it’s pouring.”

“I’ve been covered in worse things than water.”

“You’ve been covered in better things, too.”

“Such as…?”

“Blood.” A pause. “That was probably not the right thing to say given the circumstances. But you know what I mean.”

Durge laughed, and kissed his head. “Yes,” they replied, stepping outside and breathing in the cool air, letting the rain run over their scales. It felt good, as though it was washing something foul away. “I know what you mean.”

***

Raphael woke to the sound of rain, and somebody’s grip on his face.

His eyes snapped open, but at first he saw very little. Until not too long ago, he could see in the dark just as well as he could on a bright day; now, the half-light inside a tent on a rainy day was dim enough to disorient him - but only for a moment. The hand holding his face had scales, and the red eyes looking down at him were awfully familiar.

“You-- what--” he began, only to trail off when the bhaalspawn tightened their grip on his face, the palm covering his mouth.

“Ah-ha, let’s not make too much noise.” They leaned in, baring their fangs in a grin, and Raphael froze. There were several responses that crossed his mind - all of them demanding they unhand him immediately, a few with a side serving of a firebolt to the face - but, just awake and disoriented, half trapped under the blankets, he voiced none of them. All that left him was a weak noise at the sudden jolt that went up his spine. The bhaalspawn’s grin turned to confusion for a moment, then amusement. They laughed, pulling away.

“Well well well, now that reaction was a surprise, my pet.”

Wait.

“What-- you--!” Raphael scrambled to sit up. Mortification turned to anger as he faced the creature, face burning, teeth clenched. “What manner of joke is this supposed to be!”

A chuckle, and then the being before him shifted, morphed, until Raphael was glaring at his own face as it was… before. Haarlep tilted their head and reached to flick his nose, snatching their hand back before he could slap it away. “And here I thought you couldn't surprise me anymore, little brat. Now, is it me or you’re not especially happy to see me?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Keeping an eye on you, of course. Fun as it was assisting in your escape from Mephistar, surely you didn’t think for a moment I organized the whole thing all by myself, did you? Truth be told, I believed you dead for months until the announcement you’d be devoured in spectacular fashion. Good thing your father seems to enjoy playing with his food almost as much as you do, huh? What a surprise it was. I’d done my mourning and it turns out it wasn’t necessary.”

Raphael scoffed. “Yes, I could feel just how much you mourned,” he snapped, “whoring my body out to anyone who asked.”

“Aaaah, yes. You did feel that, didn’t you?” Haarlep grinned again. “It was my most requested form, and many at court were willing to pay handsomely for it. I’d been released from my oath to you, after all. I’m sure you’ll understand. Did it provide some distraction from your misery?”

Very much unwilling to think back of anything he’d thought or felt while in the bowels of his father’s dungeons, Raphael smacked away the hand that had reached out to brush back his hair. “Don’t you touch me, incubus,” he snapped, “or you’ll find I still have teeth.”

“Ah, I certainly hope you do. You were not rescued out of kindness, you understand.”

Of course not; the notion was too ridiculous for any self-respecting devil to entertain. Something stirred in the back of Raphael’s mind, the memory of someone putting his own frail, aging mortal body between him and a danger, but he was quick to chase it away. That was the kind of sentimentality befitting a mortal, and regardless of his current situation he was no mortal. He had never been. If he still breathed, it was because someone wanted something from him. “Obviously,” he ground out.

“Your savior will expect you to do something in return. Don’t ask what,” Haarlep added the second Raphael opened his mouth. “I couldn’t tell you even if I knew all the details. My lips are sealed - from talking, that is - unless I’m given the direct order to tell you.”

“And who, pray tell, would have to give that order?”

“Your savior, of course.”

“Haarlep.”

A laugh. “Don’t get too cross with me, little brat,” they said. “I quite literally cannot speak the name or even give hints unless allowed. It’s a very stringent oath. You should have thought of doing something like that, come to think of it. Might have kept me from accidentally oversharing your little secrets, although I’m fairly sure it wouldn’t have done much to keep the little mouse and their companions away from the Orphic Hammer.”

“Accidentally,” Raphael snorted, tasting bile in his throat. “You’ve never once passed up a chance to push against my authority.”

“True, I thought it would be hilarious to see your face once you returned to find the hammer gone. I never imagined it would result in your demise. I suppose it’s a good thing for both of us that you’re not one to hold grudges,” they added, like they didn’t know that Raphael could hold grudges as tightly as Asmodeus held onto his throne.

Raphael glared, teeth clenched so tight his jaw hurt. “I ought to flay you alive.”

“You may try, pet. It wouldn’t be a long fight,” the incubus almost sing-sang. And they were right, of course. A mere human with a few cantrips has no hope to best a devil, let alone unarmed and unarmored. Raphael balled his hands in fists, resisted the temptation to still try wrapping them around Haarlep’s neck - his own neck - and scowled.

“Am I to believe that whoever it is you obey has no instructions whatsoever for me?”

“Not quite yet, but soon. For now, the lack of instructions means you’re on the right path, I suppose. Although you’ll need to be extremely cautious, back in the Hells. Mephistopheles will be furious the second he finds out you still live. He hates being fooled about as much as… well, you, or anyone for that matter. He’d stop at nothing to destroy you.”

Of course. Raphael would have expected nothing less. “Duly noted,” he said, coldly, pushing away the dread to focus on what little he knew. Whoever had saved him wanted him to return to the Hells; to what end, he couldn’t imagine. Was it all about killing Zariel? By extension, was this Mizora’s doing? It seemed unlikely. What influence would Mizora have in Cania?

Focused as he was trying to make a somewhat coherent picture out of the scraps of information he’d been handed, he didn’t notice Haarlep reaching out for him until their hand grabbed his chin and lifted his face. Their face-- his face, would it ever be his again?-- peered at him closely, a smile playing on their lips.

“Tell me the truth, sweetling,” they said, running a thumb across Raphael’s own lips. “Have you missed me? Thought of me?”

Raphael scowled, anger roiling in his chest and aching need in the pit of his stomach. It had been half a year without that indulgence, leaning back to feel pleasure and think of nothing anymore. He hated it. He hated Haarlep. He hated how much he needed it. “I thought of many ways I could kill you, if you’re inclined to hear them,” he spat, and Haarlep’s smile widened.

“Oh, you have missed me,” they crooned, and leaned in to claim his mouth. Raphael gripped the straps of their harness, not quite knowing whether he’d push them back or pull them closer - and then leaned back, taking Haarlep down on him. He felt the incubus smile against his lips, pressing him down on the bedroll. “I missed you, you know,” they whispered.

Until half a year ago, it was a sentence Raphael may have brushed off with a scoff and hardly a thought. Now it made something ache around the empty nothing where half of his soul had been, and he closed his eyes. “No,” he managed, his voice almost breaking. “You did not.”

Maybe they’re here to take what remains of my soul, he thought. Maybe I should let them. No soul must be better than a maimed one. At least those soulless dolls don’t have any notion of what befell them. What chances do I have to be whole again? I am at the whim of mortals who stabbed me in the back before.

A sigh. “Ah, you think so little of me,” Haarlep lamented, and bit his lower lip, barely a nip. “I have many new bodies for you to sample, if you’re so inclined. You seemed interested in the little mouse’s. Or would you rather have this form again? Your own body, for old times’ sake?”

Trying very hard not to think of the suggestion, Raphael shook his head and tightened his grip on Haarlep’s harness. “This,” he rasped, and Haarlep chuckled.

“You’re so wonderfully predictable,” they said, parting Raphael’s legs with a knee and kissing his neck, his jaw, so warm against his skin. “Open up for me, pet, and I’ll make it all better.”

Raphael closed his eyes, parted his lips, and for a time he thought of nothing.

***

While Durge hadn’t expected anything to happen at camp while they were away, returning to find no trace of unwelcome visitors - no Mizora showing up in a ring of hellfire waving a contract, no vampire spawn trying to drag Astarion away, no githyanki asking them to help overthrowing a space tyrant or trying really hard to kick their collective asses - was still kind of a relief.

Rain had stopped falling around the time they had decided to cut the walk short and head back. Evening was fast approaching, and soon enough it would be time to leave. As it turned out, they weren’t the only one awake: the flap of Raphael’s tent was open, and Raphael was crouching at the lakeshore, throwing water over his face and running his hands through his hair as though trying to scrub something away.

Durge paused, watching, as Raphael sat back on a rock and remained still, wet fingers in his hair, the heels of his hands pressed over his eyes. His shirt was open and rumpled, and he was drawing in long breaths. It looked like he was having-- well, a moment.

Maybe it would be best to get to their tent unnoticed, but Durge had never been really good at just doing what was best. Instead they stopped by the camp chest, grabbed a bottle of Arabellan Dry, and headed for the lakeshore. Raphael recoiled when they sat next to him, and turned to glare only to be presented with the bottle, cork already off.

“I don’t have a decanter or cups at hand,” Durge said. “You’ll have to drink from the bottle.”

Raphael looked at the label, and sniffed contemptuously. “This should be served at cellar temp--”

“I’ll guzzle it all down myself here and now if you finish that sentence.”

“Hmph.” The bottle was snatched from their hand, and Raphael took a long swig. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand - not at all, Durge thought, something he ever pictured him doing - and said nothing, looking pointedly away from them at a mountain range in the distance. There was a brief silence.

“Was the lyre to your liking?” Durge finally asked.

“It should prove adequate,” was the only reply they got. They followed Raphael’s gaze to see if there was actually something worth looking at, but they saw nothing. Only the mountains.

“... So,” Raphael finally spoke without turning. “The vampling let slip that it was you who took the Crown from Mephistopheles’ vault. You and Gortash. I should have known.”

Gortash. Thinking of the man didn’t come easy to Durge. They knew there had been something there, the closest they’d ever had to friendship before Orin unwittingly set them free, but it was only the faded shade of a sensation. A memory of a memory of something they may have dreamed up, once.

Durge didn’t want to remember more; they were afraid of what may turn up, of the being they were when they’d so admired the slaver who sold Karlach to the Hells and doomed so many others to worse fates yet. But they would not pretend it had never been so, either. Pretending felt like a luxury they had not earned.

“My favorite assassin,” Gortash had called them, and he had meant it. But they were no longer the person he’d known, not by a long shot. They had changed beyond recognition, and Enver Gortash had not.

“... I know Gortash lived in the House of Hope.”

A shrug. Dismissive. “For a time. He wasn’t my ward for very long. He found his way out annoyingly quickly, I have to say, although not before making some useful connections.”

“Why was he there?”

“He was sold to me. An overpriced brat if there ever was one.”

Durge scowled. “Why buy him in the first place?”

Another swig from the bottle. “I figured he had potential. And I was right, was I not? I have an eye for potential, you know I do, even if mortals are so prone to squandering it. I never bothered to try and take him back after he fled, but I’m pleased to know you put him down.”

“... Enver Gortash had to be stopped. Enver Flymm was a boy. The Hells are no place for a--”

“I paid for him, fair and square,” Raphael scoffed, and the indifference slipped. Suddenly, he looked angry. “For the full asking price his loving parents set, if you must know. If they didn’t want their boy to go to the Hells, they should not have handed him to a devil.”

“So why didn’t you bother?”

Raphael paused and blinked, taken aback, bottle in mid-air. “What?”

“You’d paid for him. Why didn’t you bother to take him back? You don’t strike me as someone willing to let an investment go. Unless he somehow became Bane’s Chosen the second he was out, what challenge would it have posed to you? Reclaiming a mortal boy?”

A sneer. “Maybe I was just curious to see how he’d burn himself out left on his own devices,” Raphael snapped, and took another swig from the bottle. He turned away. “I think we should consider this conversation over. Do not waste your breath or my time, unless it’s to beg forgiveness for your treachery. Or to tell me how you plan to recover the rest of my soul from Mephistopheles’ vaults.”

Durge sighed, and decided to let the matter drop. For now. “I do not recall the details of the heist in Mephistar,” they admitted. “But if I could steal the Crown then, I am sure I can get to your soul too.”

A hum, making it plain that Raphael very much failed to share that certainty, but he didn’t remark on it. He looked up at the setting sun instead, and so did Durge; it was turning the sky to-- blood -- fire, and it reflected on the lake’s still surface. In the distance, birds called.

“... What has become of the Crown?” Raphael finally asked, almost conversationally. Only the tenseness in his back betrayed how sore a subject that was.

“It came apart when we took down the Netherbrain. Gale was able to reforge it, and gave it to Mystra for safekeeping. She took the netherese orb out of his chest in exchange.” And, Durge knew, it had been the last interaction between them. As far as they were concerned, Gale was better off for it.

A snort. “Safekeeping, of course. As if gods are not wont to misuse power the same as everyone else,” was the response. One last swig, and Raphael passed the bottle over to Durge. They took it with a shrug.

“Who better to hold onto it than the goddess of all magic? It seemed the safest course of action.”

Raphael laughed, or at least he came remarkably close to it. “If you truly believe that,” he said with a wide gesture, tongue loosened by the wine, “then I have the most delightful bridge to sell you in Stygia.”

A snort, also not too far away from a laugh. “If after all this I’m still in the mood to invest in Baator’s infrastructure, I will let you know,” they said, and emptied the bottle in one gulp.

***

[Back to Chapter 6]

[On to Chapter 8]

[Back to Start]

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #the dark urge #raphael bg3 #astarion ancunin #halsin bg3 #wyll ravengard #haarlep bg3 #hell to pay

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 6 months

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I'll Be There

I thought I'd try my hand at writing my own OC in an attempt to grasp his character better. So far he's been trying to resist the urge to kill everything on sight but sometimes, especially when he's in stealth mode, he really wonders what would happen if he shot someone. And since he secretly craves physical contact he just wanted to hold hands with Gale but Gale took it the wrong way.

Summary: Astarion and Hayate (my male ranger fire dragonborn durge oc) learn to open up to each other.

Deep breath in, draw the bowstring back, hold it steady. Eye on the target, slowly exhale. Release.

His arrow finds its mark again, piercing through the gullet of the paladin leader and his cloak turns him invisible, its familiar tendrils coiling around him. His footsteps are soft and quick, gliding over the dirt with practised ease as he positions himself in the perfect spot. He lifts the longbow once more, battle calm washing over him and slots an arrow through another paladin’s gullet.

Without batting an eye at the blood that colours the ground crimson, he changes position once more. He doesn’t need to think anymore when hunting his prey, every movement has become muscle memory, ingrained in him for a reason that is out of his reach. He hates the haze that clouds his memories, hates the black that blots out the moments he tears into innocents, hates the euphoria that bubbles within his chest when blood spills all over a shocked face, but something about the thought of choosing who and what to slaughter sends thrills up his spine.

So he chases the feeling, hoping it will bring him closer to uncovering his memories despite the bile rising in his throat each time he looks at his bloodstained hands. How much blood has he spilled? How many innocents has he torn apart with his claws? How deep is the blood he is swimming in?

More importantly, what other vile acts has he committed?

The creature that claims to be his butler has dropped hints that he has committed the vilest of acts, but for what reason the butler refuses to elaborate. Something about being unable to interfere with his business or something, leaving him with an unscratchable itch in his mind.

“Hayate.” A quiet whisper snaps him out of his thoughts before they can drown him. Astarion. Of course the vampire would know where he was, invisibility couldn’t hide the smell of his blood. The vampire spawn shoots him a look of what seems like concern but he can’t quite place an emotion on the look before the vampire sneaks off to kill the trader before she can escape.

With a shake of his head, he pushes the thoughts out of his mind. A familiar yet unfamiliar voice echoes in his head, warning him against being distracted during a fight before disappearing just as quickly as it had appeared. Yet another mystery to solve, he thinks as he surveys the battlefield. A small part of him wants the memories to never be recovered, amnesia has been a good excuse for the atrocities he’s committed so far and something within him quivers in fear thinking about the need to take responsibility for all his actions.

Looking at his companions, he wonders if they will accept him for who he is when they find his missing memories with him. He watches from the sidelines as Gale heaves a sigh of relief once the battle ends as no one has died this time, Astarion rummages through the dead bodies for loot and Shadowheart scouts the area for any potential threats they might have missed.

“Are you alright Hayate? You seem out of sorts,” Gale taps him on the shoulder, startling the dragonborn who bares his teeth out of instinct. The wizard raises his hands in surrender and takes a step back, apologising.

“It’s alright, I’m the one who should be sorry for startling you,” Hayate shakes his head. “I’m feeling fine, how are you?”

“I’m quite alright, although I am concerned about you. I saw you space out in the middle of a fight,” Gale rightly points out, brown eyes searching the dragonborn’s heterochromatic gaze for hints of what is going on in his head.

“It’s nothing,” Hayate frowns, eyes narrowing. “We ought to sort through the loot before Astarion makes off with another enchanted dagger without any of us knowing again.”

The dragonborn forces a smile, hoping it will reassure the wizard and breathes out a small sigh of relief when said wizard nods and heads towards the bodies just as Astarion sneaks something into his pocket. A small squabble ensues but Hayate pays it no mind, he knows the two will sort it out by themselves with little to no bloodshed. If anything, it provides a spot of entertainment after the exhausting fight.

“Something is bothering you.” A female voice sounds from behind him. Hayate stops himself before he can let out a groan of annoyance and smiles through his teeth at Shadowheart.

“It’s nothing to worry about.” He really doesn’t feel like talking about his dark thoughts, it isn’t a pleasant topic in the first place and the urges already circle in his mind all the time, he doesn’t need them brought to the surface. Needing to talk about the tadpole wriggling in his brain is already exhausting enough, he would rather not add on to the number of issues he has shared about.

Shadowheart frowns at him but doesn’t press the matter further. She knows what it’s like to not want to share personal matters and it’s not her place to dig further. Astarion on the other hand, may be the only one who can reach the dragonborn. The two had become quite close ever since Astarion had revealed himself to be a vampire spawn, with Hayate going as far as to offer his blood every night to keep the vampire satiated and happy.

Then again Shadowheart wasn’t that surprised by how quickly they had bonded. Both enjoyed some bloodshed here and there, took delight in putting a surprise arrow through their enemies’ necks and had a knack for pickpocketing.

She makes her way towards the vampire and gestures at Hayate. Astarion raises an eyebrow at her, “so it’s my job now to poke my nose into our darling leader’s business?”

“You’re the one he talks the most to.”

“Have you ever considered it’s because I don’t glare at him all the time?” Astarion huffs dramatically but a flash of concern flickers across his eyes when he looks at the dragonborn standing off to the side, deep in thought.

Shadowheart rolls her eyes, “if you don’t talk to him I’ll tell Gale you stole the magical item Hayate was going to feed to him.”

“Excuse me darling, you’re the one who stole it in the first place. I was going to kindly give it to Gale like the gentleman I am but you took it before I could do anything!”

“As if. Now go and talk some sense into your dearest dragonborn,” Shadowheart gives the vampire a shove in Hayate’s direction, ignoring the little threats spewed as he stumbles forward. Astarion scowls at her but does as she says, only because if their leader was out of sorts the party wouldn’t quite hold itself together, and that wasn’t favourable for himself.

Yes, that’s the only reason why he was going out of his way to do this.

“Hello darling, I can’t help but notice you seem a little down,” Astarion purrs. “Perhaps I could do something about it?”

He leans in close, the smoky scent of the fire dragonborn filling his nose and prepares himself to feverishly slot his lips against the drgaonborn’s but Hayate pulls away with a hiss, heterochromatic eyes glowering with fury.

“Quit it!” Hayate snarls with such ferocity that Astarion instinctively flinches, quickly hopping back to put distance between him and Hayate. The dragonborn’s keen eyes don’t miss the flash of fear in the vampire’s ruby eyes and immediately his heart plummets.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” Hayate looks down at his feet, toe claws digging into the dirt. Yet another thing to add to his already long list of disgusting qualities.

Astarion lets out a hollow laugh, a practiced smile plastered on his face, “don’t you worry darling. Your teeth are just a little too sharp for my tastes, but it’s something I can work around.”

Hayate shakes his head, “just…leave me alone for a bit alright, Astarion? I promise you can still feed on me later tonight.”

“Then I’ll see you later in camp, darling. Don’t keep me waiting for too long.” Astarion winks, turning around to head back to the others.

Hayate lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding and sighs. Why did he always drive away those he wanted by his side? Had he never been taught to let others into his life? One more mystery to solve on top of the mountain of other mysteries he already had. At this point, Hayate was sure said mountain dwarfed him, and he was by no means a small dragonborn male.

“Let’s make camp and rest up,” he says once he’s gathered his thoughts enough to form a sentence that wouldn’t provoke anyone. The others nod, and go their separate ways to pitch their tents. Hayate can barely force himself to put together a shabby tent before collapsing onto his bedroll with a groan. His head throbs, his hands feel sticky and his throat feels dry. Should he tell Astarion he’s not feeling well tonight and apologise for being unable to make good on his promise?

His tent flap ruffles and said vampire peeks in, inviting himself into the tent when he sees the dragonborn lying on a bedroll with an arm draped over his face.

“There’s something you’re not telling me, darling.”

Hayate blearily rolls onto his side, facing away from Astarion who makes himself comfortable on the unoccupied side of the bedroll.

“Drop the matter already,” Hayate groans. Astarion neatly arranges the various items strewn about on the tent floor and carefully picks his way over to the dragonborn.

“I distinctly recall someone telling me that it’s not good to bottle one’s feelings up, especially the negative ones.”

“Screw off.”

“Well, that was a tad bit more polite than I expected.” Astarion lies down next to him, looking up at the ceiling of the tent. “I was waiting for you to start cussing me out.”

“Would you rather I do that?”

“Not really, but if it makes you feel better be my guest.”

In all honesty, Astarion has no idea what he’s doing. He’s just running through the motions he remembers Hayate doing when he felt trapped in his own mind, disgusted at his body, but if it worked for him it might just work for Hayate. The lack of a response from the dragonborn is a start, he decides, and sneaks a glance to make sure his lover is still there. He reaches over, gently tracing along the warm scales that line his lover’s bare arm from the elbow all the way to the clawtips, cautiously pressing his cold palm against Hayate’s warm scaly palm.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, we could always just lie like this,” he murmurs. “I don’t mind.”

Something sparks in Hayate’s eyes. Confusion, surprise then recognition. He intertwines his clawed fingers with Astarion’s long slender ones, giving Astarion’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I distinctly recall someone saying the exact same thing some time back.”

Astarion can’t help but smile when he sees the corners of Hayate’s lips quirk upwards but refrains from stealing any kisses, lest he crosses any boundaries. If Hayate wanted a kiss, he would have to initiate it, not Astarion.

Maybe it’s because of the quiet bliss that the night brings but for whatever reason, Hayate’s walls just come crumbling down at Astarion’s words. He lets out a heavy sigh, turning around to face the vampire, “are you sure you want to know?”

The resolute look in the vampire’s eyes tells Hayate everything he needs to know and his grip on the cold hand tightens.

“Would you still love me if I was the vilest creature in all of Faerun?”

“Come now, darling. How could you possibly be the vilest creature in all of Faerun? You wouldn’t have been able to recruit the do-gooder hero Wyll Ravengard if that was the case,” Astarion chuckles but quickly stops when he sees how serious Hayate is being.

“What makes you say that about yourself, darling?” He asks quietly, gently cupping Hayate’s cheek.

“I have…these urges…that call me to slaughter innocents, bathe in their blood, drink their misery.”

“I know, darling. You’ve told me this before and yet I still chose you.”

“No, it’s not just that.” Hayate growls, frustrated. “What you don’t know is that a part of me enjoys doing those, craves it even, and it scares me. I’m scared that I’m so messed up to the point where I’m beyond saving, and I don’t want to burden you with this, not when you’re already dealing with your own problems.”

“Darling, you could never burden me.” Astarion curses the lull of the peaceful night that softens him. The line between performance and genuineness blurs under the soft crackling of the campfire outside as he dances dangerously close to the edge, and falls right off as he stares into the sad heterochromatic eyes of the fire dragonborn. He plummets, but Hayate catches him, cushioning the fall.

Hayate dances his own dance as he loses himself in the dark ruby eyes of the vampire spawn. He doesn’t know if this night is just another performance, perfected by centuries of practise but he dives right in, trusting that Astarion will catch him as he falls.

“When we find out how much blood I’m swimming in, will you still be there by my side?” Hayate breathes out. His heart thunders, afraid of the two letter word that may fall from the vampire’s lips and squeezes his eyes shut, steeling himself for the worst but Astarion’s next words catch him off guard.

“Of course.”

Hayate cracks an eye open, checking that none of this was an illusion conjured by his deranged mind. The chill of the hand clasping his and the glint of the firelight outside reflected off the ruby irises looking at him with such softness are far too real to be an illusion. A dream perhaps but if all this is a dream, he doesn’t want it to end. Ever.

“Astarion…” His voice trails off. “I…”

A ‘thank you’ is all he can manage tonight, but it’s more than enough for Astarion who remains by his side for the remainder of the night, the promise of a meal long forgotten. Hayate lets the undead chill from the body of the vampire wash over him and warm his heart, burning away all his doubts for the night as sleep comes to claim his exhausted self. He swears he hears a soft whisper, a promise that the one he has bared his heart to will be there when he wakes but it just as well could be a trick conjured by his tired mind. Still though, Hayate holds onto the promise as he drifts off, for with it comes the prospect of a brighter future, a future where he no longer needs to feel alone.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion bg3 #astarion x durge #baldurs gate astarion #durgestarion #bg3 durge #durge oc #astarion x oc

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todderwodders · 10 months

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I awoke so for the durge questions 1,7,21 & 29 for starters >:)

Answering stuff about my durge!

1. What circumstances led to your Dark Urge becoming their Class/Subclass?

So The Urge's base class is urban ranger, with a gloomstalker subclass, with a rogue/executioner multiclass for flavor. I feel like executioner fits really well with Bhaalist doctrine, and is a natural extension of the hit hard and make it hurt philosophy The Urge personally lives by.

The Urge’s adoptive mother is the root of this build - she herself was a gloomstalker in the Underdark and very very good at what she did, which was primarily the hunting of exotic goods and beasts. Even after she married and moved topside, that funky little gnome lady never lost her taste for the hunt - The Urge’s clearest memory of their childhood pre tadpole is the thrill of watching their mother wipe out a pack of gnolls. They went on many hunts together, and she was proud of her little hunter - talented and fearless and uncomplaining despite the long hours of boredom as they stalked their prey.

Even after her death, her lessons rang true, and much of his mother’s philosophy on hunting, food, and making good on the resources available to you informed much of his future policies as a Bhaalist leader. The Urge is obsessed with the game, the hunt, the thrill of the kill and the one true victory it yields.

The Gloomstalker mantle is boosted by the rogue multiclass, but is far more essential to The Urge’s philosophy and worldview than anything else.

7. Did your Dark Urge recall any childhood memories? If yes, how do they feel about the revelations? If no, was it by choice or lack of options?

So in my canon, The Urge does recover most of their memories - even the ones of their childhood they had otherwise suppressed. This includes his birth name, which he had discarded upon the death of his adoptive family.

He remembers the full breadth of his parent’s influence, the life he could have lived. I have yet to decide on the exact memory, although it takes a more solid shape than his vague longing to ‘return to the house with the rose colored door.’ He abandoned his childhood home for the temple all by himself of course, he knows it’s address and who lives there now, but the longing for a place that his own mind and Bhaal actively suppressed was ingrained in him for so long, it became more dream than reality at some point.

Mostly though, he remembers his mother’s face, and her voice, her kind hand in his, and he, at 45, misses her like the very young child he was when he took her from this world.

21. What are 2-3 songs that your Dark Urge would relate to?

29. What advice would you give to your Dark Urge?

Maybe if you stopped thinking with your cunt you wouldn’t end up in these kinds of situations.

“Have power on this dark land to lighten it, and power on this dead world to make it live.”

#OMG HIIIII MUWITCH HIIIIIIIIIIIIIII #thank you so much for the ask 🥰#bg3 #the urge #the dark urge #ask game

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quenthel · 8 months

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Comprehensive info post abt my bg3 characters

Oxoth

Dragonborn Oathbreaker paladin, durge origin

Personality: Very reckless and stubborn. She's an intimidating presence because she is physically large and there is something intense about her, but she can be rather naive. A few people can really sway her, but they do so easily. She struggles for those people's approval after they earned her trust. She loves power and encourages those close to her to take what they deserve.

"Dark" path (canon): She gets seduced by the power her dad offers, so she turns into a mindflayer and dominates the world.

"Hero" path (non-canon): She leans into her own stubbornness and defies Bhaal, embraces her friends. Becomes a mindflayer anyway to achieve her love's (Lae'zel's) dreams. Lives out her life as Shadowheart's squid sweetheart.

Romance: Lae'zel seduces her very quickly bc shes a dragon. Then she falls for Shadowheart hard (she is her goth princess...) while fooling around with Lae'zel. Karlach gets her heart fixed and she helps her out w her intimacy issues a bit but they remain friends. Lae'zel slowly falls for her but they all decide to keep things as is while they are fighting the brain, and they will decide what to do about the situation later. (Canonically they all become her thralls, non-canonically Lae'zel leaves her bc she becomes a squid).

Her past: She used to be Bhaal's executioner. But she was always full of herself, believing herself to be Bhaal's favorite, so she never truly lost her individuality while in the cult. Gortash appealed to her sense of personal pride to get her on his side. Her relationship with Orin was very bad, because of said pride, and she was always outright dismissive of her and her talents. She got along pretty well with Ketheric tho, not enough for him to give a shit ofc. She treats Sceleritas like a beloved toy.

August

Half-elf (?) Wild Magic Sorcerer, durge origin

Personality: Deeply empathetic and sensitive to other people's pain. Knows something is wrong with him, and believes himself to be truly worthless. He is smart, calculating, and charming. Pays attention to people very closely, so most people like him. Prime example of a charismatic leader, since he is hiding his own pain and low self-esteem behind being overconfident about his magical abilities. Views himself not as a person, but as a tool for other people to use.

"Normal" path (canon): He wins over his own fear and defies Bhaal, tries very very hard to resist as much as he can, but he cant deny to enjoy indulging. He is like a recovering addict in that sense. He urges all his friends to abandon their gods or higher powers they would chain themselves to. Kills the brain!

"Bad" path (non-canon): As time goes on, his fear wins over, and he accepts his father's boon to become the slayer. He urges Gale to turn into a god, so he may save him from the fate that awaits him, and then imprisons himself after destroying the brain, where he slowly loses his mind. His lover becomes the God of Ambition and he becomes a feral thing, entirely consumed by the urge.

Romance: He falls for Gale fast, but takes it as a denial when he tells him to slow down because of his orb. Sleeps around with Astarion, but they agree to become friends when he realizes that this relationship is not something either of them want. He falls in love with Gale. When it becomes clear that he is to blame for everything that happened and Gale gets mad at him he thinks they are going to break up, so he sleeps with the Emperor, then he feels bad about it. Thankfully the Emperor is okay with it and they keep it as a secret. He marries Gale after the game.

His past: He struggled against his urges always, and Bhaal punished him always very heavily. Used to starve and hurt himself so he doesn't hurt and consume others, but eventually he gave in. He had a thing for Gortash because he appreciated his intellect, and he seemed like somebody who could keep himself safe from him. His relationship with Orin is complicated, because he wanted to save her always, but never truly understood her. Ketheric really hated him because he correctly identified him as the most capable of them all and as a threat. Sceleritas is like a mother and father to him, and he finds comfort in his presence, but he hates him for being the overbearing "eye" of his actual father.

#quenthel special #bg3 #mostly of this i talked abt on discord but i wanted to save it somewhere lol

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astarions-chosen · 8 months

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Promise, my Protector Aasimar PaliMonk (Oath of Vengeance + Way of Shadow) and the devil that tricked her into doing their bidding for the better part of 5 years. I've never named the devil, but she's a fallen angel like Zariel, but she fell not only from divinity but in power.

Her fall caused the destruction of Promise's home, and the calamity was so violent and chaotic that the injuries Promise sustained caused her to forget her former life. The devil disguised herself as her former Aasimar/angelic self, convincing Promise to become her assistant and essentially apprentice/student. She gave her the name Promise, as in the promise that she (Promise) would exact vengeance on those that destroyed her home and others like them. (The real "promise," though, was one the devil was making to herself, to corrupt Promise and use her as a weapon against her enemies while she recovered her strength.) The now-devil instilled Promise with the last of her divinity before succumbing to (really welcoming) the infernal, giving Promise many of the Paladin abilities she avoids using when she goes into hiding after discovering and escaping the devil's true nature.

After said discovery, Promise traded in her powerful Paladin weaponry that the devil had provided for a quarterstaff and some humble robes and made her way to the nearest town in hopes of blending in, only using her martial prowess for fear of her divine powers being tracked by the devil.

For BG3, she's the Durge, because of course, but instead of it being the usual instance of her being born under a killing moon, it's because her home was destroyed the night before a killing moon and she was "reborn" as Promise the next night. Whether that was intentional on the devil's part or not, I haven't decided. But wowie is Promise not going to react well to her dream guardian AT ALL.😅

#Baldurs Gate 3 #Durge #Aasimar #Protector Aasimar #Oath of Vengeance #Paladin #Way of Shadow #Monk

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allenmendezsr · 4 years

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– Joseph Bratcher, Mill Valley, CA

“I am 100% better, pain free and PF seems like a nightmare I woke up from.”

“Dear Emma, getting your system wrote the last chapter in my endless PF story. I’ve been to countless doctors, got sick from all the meds and yes, my feett HURT. The pain got so bad I had to take pills every 12 hours together with nausea med not to thow them up. It was BAD. I followed your system to the T and now I may possibly be the happiest person in Wisconsin. I am 100% better, pain free and PF seems like a nightmare I woke up from. Can’t thank you enough! Olivia”

– Olivia Fisher, UK

But who am I and why should you listen to me?

My name is Emma Eccles. I’m not a professional ad writer. But what I have to share with you is so important, I had to write you myself. So please bear with me a little.

In over three years of trials and many disappointments I have developed a fail-save system anyone can follow that not only relieves chronic foot pain…but permanently eliminates plantar fasciitis.

After hundreds of success stories I’m so sure that it will work for anyone…I am offering you a 60 days, full money back guarantee that it will cure your condition as well. Not only will your foot pain be a thing of the past, you will be completely healed and never ever suffer from plantar fasciitis again.

All you need to do is plug into this proven system so you know exactly what to do. You don’t have to think about anything. Just follow the simple plan and you will experience relief of your pain within days…in light cases as little as hours!

How It All Started

I was 40 years old and very busy. My job in a restaurant wasn’t always easy. And my kid needed her mom to take care of her. I had little time for myself but I never complained. I like being there for people.

I still remember that one Sunday morning. The day before had been crazy. It was a wedding party we served. Those are usually the worst. Now, don’t get me wrong…I love weddings just like the next person…but…serving those parties is madness. Lots of people, lots of orders, and they always last until the wee hours.

I was on my feet all day. Rushing back and forth between guests and kitchen. My feet were tired but I just pushed through as I always do. I ignored the mounting pain. I had a job to do.

The next day I woke up with a surprise. My feet still hurt.I did not think much of it. I was sure the pain would go away just like it always had. Little did I know…

I Was In For A Trip To Hell

The pain lessened by the evening. Everything seemed to be ok. Than came the next morning…and the pain was back. In fact it wasn’t just back. It got worse. I still wasn’t worried though. I still thought things would work themselves out.

It took a week for this bubble to burst. When the first thing you feel after getting up is pain… not once…not twice…but every day of the week you know something is WRONG. However I was as clueless as the next person about the cause. Maybe a heel spur, I thought.

I made an appointment with my doctor. Certainly this was easy to fix….just like all the other conditions I had until than. How wrong I was!

My doctor listened to my story. He seemed as clueless as me. So he sent me off to get some x-rays. The x-rays didn’t help him much. But that was not what he told me. He just said it wasn’t anything serious…no broken bones. I’d probably recover fast. I reminded him of my pain. He prescribed me Vioxx. Thanks God I did not stay on it…or I might be dead by now!

A week later I was back. No improvement. If I did not take the pills I was in pain. My doctor tried to calm me down. It would all work itself out. But I was having none of it. I’m on my feet all day. I need to get well…FAST…I told him. He sent me off to a specialist.

My next stop was a podiatrist. He gave me the diagnosis: plantar fasciitis. Didn’t mean anything to me. He advised night splinting my foot. The splint was so uncomfortable I could hardly sleep at night.

By Now I Had Hot Burning Pain All Day

The night splint didn’t do anything for me. I had switched to Ultram because the pain got worse…and my ankle had started to hurt as well. The podiatrist wasn’t much help. His advice was the usual: Rest your feet, do some stretching and you will get well soon. If it had been only that easy!

I couldn’t lie in bed all day. Who can? And those exercises hurt. In fact it was as though the pain would laugh at me. It wouldn’t let me go. Like a shadow it was following me everywhere I went. I was getting more and more desperate. In tears I begged my doctor for a cortisone shot. That ankle shot was the most gut wrenching pain ever…and that’s coming from someone who gave birth!

Still it seemed to be worth it…after the injection I was actually pain free. I felt like singing and dancing. However just 10 days later I had a rude awakening: The pain returned…and with all its might! Not only was I disappointed…I was devastated! In fact…

I was Ready To Cut My Foot Off

But before I went on a merry-go-round of doctors and specialists. My thinking was simple: There just had to be someone who could help me. I was ready to listen to anyone who seemed to be qualified to give me advice….and lots of people thought they were.

My experience was that pretty much everyone had something to say. If I had a dime for every advice on how to treat plantar fasciitis…I’d be sipping champagne at the beach by now! For months I followed one recommendation after the next…

Orthodics that cost me $400

Gel pads, cups, cushions, inserts, you name it

Reflexology

Reiki

Aromotherapy

Physiotherapy

Deep Heat Rubs

Nonsteriodal anti-inflamatory durgs (NSAIDs)

But NOTHING worked.

All my friends were already tired of hearing about the condition. So I went under the knife. The first night after the surgery was rough, no lying about that. No wonder. They had removed scar tissue from around my nerve, thinned my plantar fascia and even sawed off some bone spurs. It felt like it wasn’t too far from having my foot cut off.

I thought it a miracle when they put me off pain meds just three days later. The next 2 months I spent on crutches – using my foot was off limits. What followed were 2 more months in a boot and then physical therapy. Was it worth all that? Well…all those months during recovery I was pain free…but…

What Doctors Don’t Tell You

Now my story could be over right here. Another prime example of the miracles of modern medicine.I so wish it would have. No one talks about what that recovery really means. It’s almost like being a baby again. You can hardly move and when youdo …you are sloooow. Driving is out of the question. You either have someone who takes care of you…or you are screwed.

And don’t think this situation will be over in a heartbeat. It drags on for months…all the muscle on your legs disappear…and at the end of it…you basically need to learn to walk again. If you love sports it will break your heart.

By the time I had suffered from plantar fasciitis for over a year so I was ready to take it all…If only the pain would disappear! It seemed as though it had – so I did not complain. That came later.

A month after physical therapy I hit rock bottom. I was finally back on my feet…finally bening able to do what I wanted without asking for help…when I found myself back at square one. I woke up with the hot burning pain I was assured would never return.

There’s an ugly truth about plantar fasciitis surgery doctors don’t want you to know: The success rate can be as low as 30%. Even with a great specialist every 5th patient gets no relief whatsoever from surgery. Thinking about how none of the doctors ever bothered to mention this still makes my blood boil.

The plantar fasciitis operation is often called the last way out. However…all too ofen this way proves to be a dead end. Just imagine what you would tell your bank if they’d recommend a “save investment” that comes with a risk of 70% of losing all your money. If there’s a proven way to stop plantar fasciitis…surgery certainly is not it.

When Everything Fails

Now when the going gets tough – and it dosen’t get much tougher than being a “hopeless case”…suffering from pain all day every day…with no options left – most people give up. Just try to live with it. Because what can you do?

But I have never been a quitter and living with this horrible pain for the rest of my life simply wasn’t an option. Not for my own sake…and not for the sake of my daughter you needs a healthy mother to take care of her.

I needed to make a last ditch effort…start my own research – deep research that leaves no stone unturned. I was firing on all cylinders…went to all the forums I could find online…bought all the books about the subject…watched all the videos on YouTube…and even digged into those scientific articles you need to read three times and still understand only half of it.

I turned myself into a human guinea pig and nothing was too strange for me to try. Almost everything turned out to be a huge waste of my time and money. However some of the techniques seemed to help. It was a small glimpse of hope – enough to keep me going.

Light at the End of the Tunnel

I mixed together everything that brought results…combined it in all possible ways…and for the first time since my operation…my pain went away!

I had struck gold.

Something about the combination of rest periods, special taping and short series of light exercises brought that relief nothing else had.

I don’t think anyone who hasn’t suffered from plantar fasciitis can ever imagine what it feels like to stand on your feet…and not feel a hot, burning pain. It literally feels like being reborn.

What would you do if you escaped your misery? What would you do if your feet would finally be pain-free? For me it was catching up. I enjoyed all the things I had been missing the last years. Amazing!I

However…after some time I began to wonder…

Does this system work for anybody else?

I went back to the forums I used to visit and got in touch with other plantar fasciitis victims….asked around who was willing to follow in my footsteps and try the approach that had healed me. A lot of people raised their hand.

There was only one problem…I had no way of showing people what to do. Explaining even simple exercises in words is awfully complicated. And with a condition so serious you want to make certain you do the right thing.

I thus decided to make some brief videos for people to see what to do. A friend of mine produces videos for a living and I got him to help me out. Together we made 13 professional videos showing everything there is to do. I also wrote up a manual explaining the exact treatment plan.

I sent the entire package out to people for free… responded to all the questions they had. And they had a lot. The initial descriptions confused people. I had to rewrite them….again and again…until they made sense for everyone.

The questions got less and less…and instead…I started receiving feedback on the results. Glowing testimonials of average people that thought nothing could cure their plantar fasciitis…before they tried my system.

Here are just a few of the reports I received…and still receive…on an almost daily basis:

“Since I started your program…my pain is almost gone.”

“Dear Emma, I can’t thank you enough for you system! I suffered from pf for over a decade and I thought I had tried everything (not counting going under the knife). The only thing that kept that pain at bay was accupuncture which was costing me $50 a session. With the one session a week that was $200 a month and all for temporary relief. Since I started your program three weeks ago my pain is almost gone. I’m still in disbelief. I already saved over $100 on accupuncture and during these times that means a lot to me. Much love, Christal”

– Chrystal Smith

“Your system has succeeded where every doctor failed.”

“Hi, for the first time in the last 10 months I was no longer afraid to get out of bed. Usually I knew the hot, throbbing pain would await me once I set my heel down but not this time. Your system has succeeded where every doctor failed – not only treating but curing my plantar fasciitis. I’ll be forever grateful for this miracle. Yours truly, Steven”

– Steven Clegg

“…my pain is about 75% gone and I just started your program.”

“Emma, I started on your program a few days ago and I am already seeing significant improvements. Incredible! You know more about plantar fasciitis than all the doctors I have been to. Not only didn’t they know how to to help me, they belittled my pain, tried to pump me full of meds, diagnosed a stress fracture (x-rays prove otherwise) and even implied I was had a mental disorder! Now my pain is about 75% gone and I just started your program. I can’t thank you enough for sharing this information! Valery”

– Valery Martin

What most people commented on was how easy the system was to follow. Especially including trigger points into my approach had a huge impact in lessening and even eliminating the pain in just minutes.

Trigger points are small contraction knots in the muscles of the body. More and more research confirms that these knots can cause a variety of aches and pain in the body. Let me tell you why this matters to you…

What REALLY Causes Your Pain

If you have been to countless doctors and none was able to successfully treat your plantar fasciitis…you might actually not suffer from plantar fasciitis at all! Muscle contractions in certain areas of your body can cause pain that is easily mistaken for plantar fasciitis.

Despite the fact that these trigger points have been discovered more than 60 years ago many doctors are still completely in the dark about them. The good news is that you don’t even need a physician to treat pain triggered this way. Once you know how, you can be your own healer.

Let me show you the most important trigger point that can clear up light cases mistaken for plantar fasciitis in just minutes.

Pain from this trigger point shows itself in the following areas:

Heel

Calf

Back of the ankle

Sounds familiar?

The trigger point is located below your calf muscle, at the bottom of the Soleus muscle. You can easily find your Soleus when you lift your toes and pay attention which muscle in your leg contracts. The trigger point you are looking for is at the bottom of your calf muscle right in the middle of your lower leg.

If you put your hand on your lower leg with your middle finger touching your heel the point is roughly where your carpal bone makes contact with the leg. If you can not find it on your own, take a look at the pictures included in the FREE bonus guide that comes with the Plantar Fasciitis System.

Now simply put your finger on the point and press. You should feel slight pain. If you don’t feel anything, move your finger up and down until you found it. Massage it for half a minute with one of two fingers. Doing this repeatedly over the course of several days has the power to eliminate even stubborn pain.

Now in case that this might not work for you…don’t worry! This is just one of several trigger points explained and the use of trigger points is just one component of the complete Plantar Fasciitis System. Each component is designed to work with the other to create a synergetic healing effect that clears up even stubborn cases of plantar fasciitis.

“I love how simple yet structured your approach is.”

“Hey, your system did what even the $235.00 handmade German shoes I bought didn’t help to do: Having pain free feet all day. I love how simple yet structured your approach is. It’s truly is a SYSTEM that cure plantar fasciitis. Thanks for rescuing me! Martha”

– Martha Rowan

Warning! Do NOT Trust Any Guide Or Self-Proclaimed “Expert” Unless They Prove The Following 5 Things To You

I know there’s a ton of conflicting information out there what really works for healing plantar fasciitis. For this reason I want to give you 5 things you absolutely, positively must check before you trust anyone to give you advice:

There MUST be proven results! The most effective way to fast healing is to copy what’s already been proven to work. The Plantar Fasciitis System has already helped hundreds to cure their condition. More importantly people still write me every day thanking me for the miracle of relieving their foot pain…a pain they often suffered from for years. This is why I am so confident this system will work for you as well I offer a full, 100% money-back guarantee.

You MUST get a treatment plan from someone who knows what she’s talking about! Before trying any treatment, make sure it’s designed by someone who knows what plantar fasciitis means. Don’t fall for some book smart doctor that has never actually cured anyone and that might have last seen a case 30 years back in some textbook while he was studying. I have struggled myself for almost 3 years before I managed to cure my plantar fasciitis. During those years I have been to countless doctors. Most don’t have a clue how to help you. Most people I talked to tell me the exact same. My system cured me. It helped hundreds more. Please let me help you, too!

To save you suffering and frustration, you should exchange money for valuable information stops your pain — fast You know, I’ve learned over the years that it pays, many times over, to discover what others already know. This way you save a ton of time because you can completely eliminate the learning curve you need to go through when making the experience yourself. “Free” information you get from somewhere online are probably worth exactly what you pay for them. Not only don’t you know if they work, they could actually harm you. In the best case you waste your time and needlessly suffer for longer than you have to. Don’t do this to yourself and your feet! The Plantar Fasciitis System will get you pain-free as fast as humanly possible. And it’s easy to use.

The information MUST be up-to-date Research and medical discoveries never stop. Methods that used to be effective get out-dated faster and faster. You shouldn’t follow any advice that does not rely on the newest, cutting-edge science. I know this and I’m still active in all the forums. There isn’t a study about foot pain I don’t read. Nothing makes me happier than when I find a way to make the Plantar Fasciitis System more effective. Why? Because I know exactly what it feels like to suffer. And I don’t want that for anyone!

Most importantly, you must be able to trust the person that offers a cure

You know…I wrote the Plantar Fasciitis System to make sure you have a proven step-by-step guide to forever rid yourself of any foot pain. I want to give you a short-cut for rapid healing…worth at least 10 times the price of this system!

Here Are Just Some of the Secrets Revealed in this Course

Secret #1: The almost magical self-treatment that can erase plantar fasciitis pain in minutes – proven to work in 73% of all cases (p.15-16)

The “dirty secret” about what causes plantar fasciitis most doctors are too embarrassed to tell you (p.11)

Secret #3: Two amazingly effective, yet totally pain-free ways to stretch your plantar fascia…easy to do no matter how out of shape you are (p.17)

57-year-old Mary had no clue why her feet hurt. No doctor was able to tell her the reason. A quick glance on page 8 of the Plantar Fasciitis System manual finally gave her certainty. And easy-to-follow instructions on how to treat herself.

Secret #5: How to massage your plantar fasciitis away (p.39)

Sam, a sport enthusiast from Arkansas, was heart-broken when his doctor told him not to engage in any sports or exercise activity. In the manual he discovered 3 sports that are completely save to do even with acute plantar fasciitis. See for yourself. (p.42)

Secret #7: The fasted way to escape your burning heel pain…proven to work for over 60 years (p.3)

How normal is your plantar fasciitis? New medical study reveal surprising results (p.9)

Secret #9: The biggest mistake most people make with resting…and how to avoid it (p.10)

The 5 best stretching exercises…including the single best stretch for plantar fasciitis – according to a study in the Journal of Bone and Joint Surgery (p.18)

Secret #11: What does not cause plantar fasciitis – no matter what your doctor told you (p.11-12)

Pain during the night, pain in the morning, pain all day…how normal is your pain pattern? (p.90)

Secret #13: The one advice every doctor gives when treating plantar fasciitis that is right on the money (p.42)

How to attack your plantar fasciitis from 3 angles…guaranteeing a save and lasting treatment that bans it forever from your life (p.6)

Secret #15: 3 incredibly easy ways to bullet-proof feet…you can do them at home using common household objects as your “equipment” (p.31-38)

How likely are your friends and family to also suffer from plantar fasciitis? Discover the highest plantar fasciitis risk factor and what to do about it (p.12)

Secret #17: Nature’s counter-intuitive way to avoid injury…and how it helps you to look and feel more youthful(p.17)

Army study reveals highest risk factors for injuries – are you or your loved ones among the unlucky? (p.12)

Secret #19: The counter-intuitive plantar fasciitis treatment…proven to work for virtually anyone…even if your doctor has already give up on you (p.17)

Why the 3-angle approach trigger point therapy takes is THE best approach to treating any pain related condition (p.14)

Secret #21: 7 Proven methods that make your feet forever plantar fasciitis proof…even if surgery failed you (p.31-39)

How to save hundreds of $$$ on orthotics (p.43)

Secret #22: The surprising reason why more women suffer from plantar fasciitis and foot pain (p.44)

And more. A LOT more!

Why The Plantar Fasciitis Sytem Is Unlike Anything Else Out There

Reason #1: Fastest treatment

When you suffer from plantar fasciitis all you want is…get rid of the pain! This is why the Plantar Fasciitis System attacks the root of the pain from the very beginning. It relieves the muscle tightness…and short-circuits the nerve triggers that are responsible for your misery.

It works its magic in not just one way…but attacks the pain from multiple angles leaving it no other choice but to surrender. Like wheels in a clog every component works with the others to achieve the fastest pain relief humanly possible.

Reason #2: The only systematic way to treat plantar fasciitis…guaranteeing results

When dealing with a condition as severe and persistent as plantar fasciitis…a few “tips and tricks” won’t do the job.

If you think a guide with a few stretching exercises or some badly filmed practice you found on youtube will help you…you are in for an unpleasant surprise. Your plantar fasciitis won’t leave you that easy.

You need a proven, systematic approach that attacks and resolves the issue in all possible ways. For this reason the Plantar Fasciitis System is not just a collection of various exercises. It is a well thought-through, step-by-step manual that has already helped hundreds of people just like you to leave the pain behind.

In fact, I’m so sure that it will help YOU that I’m offering an unconditional full money-back guarantee. In the very unlikely case that you will not see rapid improvements and a lessening of your pain in just days I beg you to ask me for a full refund.

Reason #3: Clear, easy-to-follow explanations

The worst thing is looking for help…and getting confusing, unclear advice. Not with the Plantar Fasciitis System. Constant feedback from hundreds of users together with countless revisions have made sure everyone can understand and follow this treatment.

Even better: Not only do you receive a detailed, step-by-step plan including pictures…you also get 9 HD videos showing you exactly how the recommended exercises work. All you need to do is press “Play” and follow along. It couldn’t be easier.

Check Out What This Whole Revolutionary System Contains

The Plantar Fasciitis System

The Plantar Fasciitis System is the most complete, effective and FAST way to cure plantar fasciitis. I developed this system over years…based on my personal experience with plantar fasciitis.

Over the years the system has been constantly improved and shown its effectiveness on hundreds of people that suffered from foot pain.

The entire system contains a manual which gives you step-by-step explanations exactly on what to do…when to do it…and how to do it. All exercises are explained in simple English and come with clear pictures that show you how it should look.

But this is not all. To make 100% certain that you do everything right – and to make it easy for you – it also includes 9 videos…filmed in HD… demonstrating the exercises step by step…so you can easily follow along.

The Plantar Fasciitis System gets delivered digitally. This means in just minutes after you go ahead and click the button below you will get access to everything you need to escape your foot pain forever.

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crossdressingdeath · 11 months

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Gale: I've been threatened with the sharp end of a dagger before, but never with such a monster as Orin holding the blade. Gale: It certainly would have been a disappointment to spend so long resisting the instructions of my own god, only to die as the play thing of someone else's. Kyvir: Are you hurt? Did Orin harm you in any way? Gale: I'm not sure I'll ever truly recover from the embarrassment of falling for her tricks, but physically - I'm absolutely fine. Rather well rested, as a matter of fact. Gale: Whatever modicum of reason lurked in that warped mind of hers led her to spare me, rather than skewering my corpse over her temple door. Gale: I hope we never see Orin's like again. Mind flayers and Absolutists I can handle, but she was nothing but cruelty and carnage. Another whose god should go unworshipped.

Kyvir may have partnered with Gortash to start up the Absolute hoax and spent years as Bhaal's Chosen killing people in his name, but hey! At least he's not Orin!

I'm surprised Gale's not hurt, actually. I suppose Orin does have enough restraint to not immediately kill her hostage, at least... It's kind of funny with the way Durge can go "Oh, hostages? So amateur, I would've just killed them" when Orin first reveals the kidnapping. She's so mad about it and then she goes back to the temple and doesn't lay a finger on her hostage. Apparently Gale was basically just taking a nap! I can understand the "nothing but cruelty and carnage" description in general, but in this specific instance it seems a little mean. She just tied him to a table and let him sleep until the party showed up!

I love him commenting that it'd suck to die because of Bhaal after fighting Mystra the whole game, too. The gods all suck! We have to work together to kick all their asses so that none of us suffer an ironic death at the hands of one just after breaking free of another.

#bg3 #gale of waterdeep #orin the red

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crossdressingdeath · 11 months

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tav asks for kyvir: general 1, 4, 9. romance 1, 2, 12

(The Tav asks)

General:

1. Where can your Tav be recruited? Are they first encountered on the Nautiloid, or in the Nautiloid crash region? Or are they not recruitable until a later act? Kyvir would be on the nautiloid, out cold in front of a completely wrecked pod. If the player chooses to wake him up he'll lash out immediately, but (provided they don't attack him in return, in which case it becomes a fight) will quickly calm down and apologize for it and willingly join the group. If the player doesn't wake him/wakes him and attacks him he can be found in the Grove (yes, even if the player kills him. Don't worry about it), where a certain bard is mysteriously absent...

4. What sort of general actions raise or lower their approval? He generally approves of fucking with people; mischievous responses, playful lying, stuff like that. He'll also approve of demanding rewards for helping anyone outside their group and supporting the rest of the party without hesitation. And of course he approves of killing, but only if you can justify it; he disapproves of mindless slaughter, and after the Bhaalspawn reveal disapproves way way more of any suggestion that he ought to enjoy that sort of thing (it also pushes him closer to reclaiming his position as Bhaal's Chosen when that comes up, in case you were wondering). He also disapproves of having an opportunity for a good justified slaughter and not doing it. He in general disapproves of both kindness for kindness's sake and cruelty for cruelty's sake, although he approves of anything that helps birds.

9. Does your Tav have any escalating conflicts with one of the other companions, like Lae’zel and Shadowheart’s knife-fight? With Karlach, though only in act 3. I'm not entirely clear on how the "Oh yeah you were one of the originators of this whole plan" reveal would work with Durge as a companion, but Karlach takes it... understandably not well that Kyvir and Gortash were super close, and Kyvir takes her anger equally poorly because while he doesn't really remember Gortash he does instinctively know there was a reason he liked and trusted him so much. They come close to blows immediately after the inauguration and come close to killing each other after the death of Orin/Gortash (whichever comes first), with the details of the latter incident changing based on which Chosen dies first, whether the player is allied with Gortash and whether Kyvir is Bhaal's Chosen or not (if Orin died first), and even if the player successfully talks them down their previously close relationship never really recovers. Also, if you're romancing both of them then after the inauguration they will demand you choose between them.

Romance:

1. Is your Tav a romanceable character? Are there any specific requirements to romancing them? Yes, although he's gay as fuck so you have to be a guy. There's basically nothing you can do to lock off his romance (outside of romancing someone who isn't open to polyamory, obviously), this man is... uh, I think "desperate for affection" is the best way to put it.

2. Does your Tav need to be flirted with to start the romance, or will they approach the PC themselves if approval is high enough? He'll flirt a bit right from the start and will approach the PC basically as soon as he's at good approval as long as he hasn't been actively shot down. I repeat: desperate.

12. Free space! Share anything from your companion!Tav au! If the player chooses to call him a monster after the inauguration (perhaps in the confrontation with Karlach I mentioned) but doesn't kick him out of the party (which is of course an option), he'll be clearly heartbroken (although trying to hide it)... but approve.

#bg3 #kyvir #ask games #asks #caridinscross

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allenmendezsr · 4 years

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New - Plantar Fasciitis System - Pays 75% & Bonus

New Post has been published on https://autotraffixpro.app/allenmendezsr/new-plantar-fasciitis-system-pays-75-bonus/

New - Plantar Fasciitis System - Pays 75% & Bonus

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If you are suffering from plantar fasciitis this is the most important letter you will ever read.

Here is why: I will spill the beans about a method that has the power to completely eliminate foot pain in just minutes…and… all you need are your own hands.

What’s more…this is just one part of a holistic system that has already helped hundreds to cure plantar fasciitis for good.