#durge: i’d do it if you did it.

[wi1dshxpe]

my top ten list of things i headcanon durge and gortash did before having sex, kissing or admitting feelings like normal people includes: sleepovers where they voluntarily share a bed(as professionals do), platonic biting and commissioning nude portraits of one another

[rosys-fans-fics]

Gortash x Redeemed! Durge Netherbrain fight

I cannot tell you how sad I was when the brain killed Gortash! I spent so long trying to redeem my boyfriend and get him to forsake Bane as I did Bhaal only to have the brain go “lol no! Player input be damned!” So here’s what should have happened instead!

Instead of Gortash just hip bumping you out of the way and getting blasted, it should have been a hand off of the stones for him to do the final attack. Gortash has done this before, he knows how to do it, he actually remembers how to unlike us! You have him try to do the final attack only for the brain to mock him and be like “lol I was using you the whole time and I never respected you mortal!” This is such a good character moment for gortash, his whole life he’s been trying to become more powerful so he’ll never be someone’s slave or puppet again only to find out he was still being controlled this whole time. That should be part of his redemption, realizing that he was never in control and now needs to destroy what he thought his source of power was.

When the brain attacks him, we as the player should have the choice to save him! A simple 1. Let gortash handle this or 2. Step in and help. Should we leave him to take care of the mess he made or stand with our ally and boyfriend to stop the brain? If you don’t step in, gortash dies. But if you do, the prism creates like a mental shield or bubble around you and gortash. The brain then says, “I saw potential in you, Bhaalspawn, but your love for this mortal was always a failing of yours. You have forsaken your father, your destiny, for this weak human.” After that, you grab Gortash’s hand and are like “together?” And he says “together” to deliver the final attack. This would lower the dc check cause you have help!

Then big fight ensues. Defeat the brain, celebrate, and have a conversation with Gortash where you decide to rebuild the city not as tyrants or gods but as heroes. Gortash will also apologize to Karlach and offers to fix her heart! Karlach deserves a good ending and while she’s not forgiven Gortash for selling her, she isn’t going to kill him. She says, “if you fall back to your old slaving tyrannical ways, I’ll find you and end you.” And gortash is just like, “I’ll hold you to that!”

For a little epilogue I’d love for Gortash and Durge talk about how Bane will be coming soon for Gortash’s soul and that durge will stand with him when they fight Bane off. Then Gortash hugs you and says “you’ve always seen the best in me, I thank you for that. I love you for that”

[baldursgrave69]

Now We’re Even

Rating: NSFW - MATURE, MDNI

Pairing: Astarion x fem!durge (named)

Word count: 1.2k

Tags: MDNI, afab!durge, feelings, oral sex, public oral

While writing this I was listening to: Mine by Sleep Token

Find me on Ao3 here

Happy Valentine’s Day :’)

Also I’m sorry Gale

Agnes stood on the rooftop of the Elfsong Tavern, her eyes closed as she breathed in the cool evening air.

Something about watching the city as it slept felt familiar, it was the closest she got to feeling at home in Baldur’s Gate. Her long, black hair was down from her usual tight braid, it cascaded down her back and nearly reached past her backside. The rest of her party was taking a well deserved break in the tavern. She had slipped away, hopefully unnoticed, to spend some time beneath the stars.

While she didn’t really miss slumming it in the Wilds, Agnes did miss their old camps. It was nice to sleep in a bed for once, but nothing beat camping in the open, the crackling of the fire, the sounds of nature at night. Agnes let out a loud sigh, opening her eyes to look over the city.

“How did I know you’d be up here?” Astarion said from behind her, she hadn’t noticed him make his way up to the roof.

Agnes turned to him, a smile crossing her face. He came up to her, pressing a kiss to her lips as he wrapped his arms around her middle from behind. Agnes relaxed into his embrace, turning back to face the city.

“Something about being up here feels so familiar. I must have done this a lot. Before,” she said as he nuzzled his face into her neck.

“I like watching over the city, too,” he said. “Any time I had a free moment I would just stand in the moonlight and watch the city sleep,” he continued with a loud sigh.

“I wonder if we were ever looking at the city at the same time,” Agnes thought aloud.

Now that she knew who she was before, she wondered if they had ever crossed paths. Both she and Astarion stalked the city at night, looking for victims.

“Do you think we were ever in the same place?” Agnes asked, turning to face him.

Astarion’s expression dropped, his eyes darting to the ground. Agnes took a step back, studying his expression. He knew something.

“Astarion… what is it?” She asked cautiously as the vampire shifted under her gaze.

“Well,” he started, taking a step back. “Do you remember how, at the beginning, I could have sworn I knew you from somewhere?” He said, looking back up at her.

Agnes swallowed uncomfortably, she didn’t like where this was going.

“Oh, gods. Astarion what did you remember?” She said, watching him.

“There was a night at a tavern where I had been looking for victims for Cazador. I’d been watching this woman for an hour or so, trying to develop a strategy to lure her in,” Astarion stepped towards Agnes, extending his hand to hers.

She wavered for a moment before placing her hand in his.

“When I was ready, I walked over and sat by…” he trailed off, squeezing her hand.

“Oh no,” Agnes whispered, feeling sick to her stomach.

“I now know it was you. None of my usual flattery or flirtations worked on you, you were instantly combative,” he said with a chuckle.

Agnes looked at him with sad eyes, any interaction she had with him before the tadpole was surely not a good one.

“Did I hurt you” she asked, tears welling in her eyes.

“No, my dear. Though you did threaten to kill me,” he said, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. Agnes sighed, a half hearted chuckle escaping her lips.

“You held your dagger to my throat and told me if I moved you’d let me live,”

“That sounds right, honestly,” Agnes said.

“I refused to move. The way I saw it, you were giving me an out from centuries of torture,” he said, lacing his fingers with hers.

“Oh, Astarion,” Agnes said with a quiet gasp, leaning her forehead to his.

“You considered it, but then you pushed me out of the way. I don’t know what made you decide to spare me,” he said, pulling her closer

“I guess we’re even, then,” Agnes said, a grin on her face.

Astarion cocked his head to the side, unsure what she was talking about.

“I may not remember the first time we technically met, but I do remember the second time. And I remember you pulling me to the dirt and holding a dagger to my throat,” she said, her arms now wrapped around his neck.

“Hmm, while that is true, let’s not forget the night you spent tied up trying to slit my throat. Technically, you’ve threatened to kill me more times than I have you,” Astarion replied, his hands traveling down to her waist.

“How might we even it out, then?” Agnes asked, moving her face closer to his so their noses were touching.

“I could go for a little death. Figuratively speaking, of course, darling,” Astarion purred against her lips, pressing her body into his.

Agnes placed her hands on Astarion’s waist, spinning him around and pressing him against the railing of the balcony.

“That can be arranged,” she whispered, in his ear, her hand trailing down his waist to cup his half-hard cock.

Astarion moaned quietly as Agnes kissed his neck, palming his erection through his pants. His hands gripped the railing behind him as he let his head fall back. Agnes unlaced his trousers, wrenching them down to allow his length to spring free. She smiled, immediately sinking to her knees in from of him.

She looked up at Astarion, pumping his cock a few times with her hand before licking a stripe up the underside with a flat tongue. Astarion let out a groan as she took him into her mouth, her tongue swirling around his head. Agnes languidly bobbed her head on his cock, a hand trailing up under his shirt and rest on the taught muscles of his stomach. Astarion pulled the bottom of his shirt up, watching as Agnes swallowed around his length.

“Gods, you’re perfect,” growled, pushing his cock to the back of her throat. Agnes braced herself against his thighs, taking him as deep as she could.

“Shit, someone’s coming up,” Astarion hissed, hearing the latch to the rooftops entrance rattle.

Agnes quickly jumped up, turning her back to Astarion with his cock still in her hand

“Gods that door is heavy,” Gale grumbled, making his way up to the rooftop.

Astarion’s eyes widened as Agnes began pumping his length in her hand, slowly and languidly as Gale made his way towards them.

“Hi, Gale,” Agnes said with a smile as Astarion braced himself against the railing, trying to keep himself composed.

“Is everything alright? I noticed you two were missing from the festivities,” the wizard said, blissfully unaware of what he had just stumbled upon.

“Yes, of course. Everything’s fine, right Astarion?” Agnes said with a smirk, swiping her thumb over the head of his cock.

“Hah, yes we’re fine,” Astarion breathed, his knuckles white against the railing behind him.

“Very well then,” Gale said, narrowing his gaze at Astarion who was trying to stifle a moan.

“Goodbye, Gale,” Astarion said through gritted teeth, eyes widening at the wizard.

Gale looked at him in confusion for a moment before realization hit him.

“Aah, well I, uh, should be going then,” Gale said, quickly averting his gaze and scrambling down the hatch off of the rooftop.

Astarion wrapped a hand around Agnes’ middle, pulling her flush against him.

“Downstairs, now,” he growled against her neck.

[adaptacy]

If you are taking requests, I have a pairing that I do not ever see enough of: Gale x Durge. Specifically resisting the urge type Durge. Starved for content as I am, I’d be happy with whatever is written about the two. But I’d love something involving Durge nearly killing their lover or the reveal of Durge being one of the orchestrators of the Absolute plot. In game, those scenes feel far too underdeveloped.

Durge playthrough spoilers blow the cut (Shadow-cursed lands, Last Light Inn stuff. No act 3 spoilers)

so, I haven't gotten to that far into my durge playthru but I did get to the part where you try and kill your lover and to nobody's surprise that happened to be Gale!! i was actually kinda terrified that he was going to die bcs, in my defense, I did try to kill Isobel but Marcus or whatever-his-name-was got the last blow on her first and I was devastated that Gale was gonna have to pay the price for my low damage roll. in the end ofc it was worth it cause he tied my durge up and, I mean, who's gonna complain abt that??

ANYWAYS point is, yes, I agree, I wish that scene was more fleshed out too and I am more than happy to oblige and build on the scene that we were given! Also fun fact, I hadn't actually confirmed the relationship with Gale when this scene happened but the night directly after I tried to kill him he showed me his... 'tower'. And given how horny he gets watching tav/durge beat ppl up in the shadow cursed lands, i do not think that was a coincidence LMAO

No Sceleritas here cause I'm just gonna get to the good part :D — also durge here is gonna be sorta resisting the urge, but has more or less been allowing it to fester, just not embracing it.

Gorgeous was an understatement.

Busy days — waking hours occupied by wars, sight filled only with the flashes of spells and showers of blood — were all you knew. Nights were barely any break. Smiles were more common at camp, but given the near complete lack of smiles outside of camp, it wasn't saying much. There wasn't much time to be at camp, as the original mission to rid yourselves of the tadpoles grew messier and messier with every passing battle, and each matter was more pressing than the last.

You didn't mind, really. While you were just as eager to get the incubating creature out of your head as the rest of your group, each new quest and mission brought along with it the promise of bloodshed. Adrenaline. Victory. A momentary but exorbitantly satisfying quenching of your thirst for violence. A thirst you first found unsettling and terrifyingly unfamiliar.

When you first found yourself gazing down at the bloodied body of a stranger, dreaming of the torturous pain they must have felt when they met their fate, you were disgusted. Couldn't believe where your thoughts had wandered.

You'd fought it. Refrained from telling the others for fear of being ridiculed, or losing their trust, or scaring them. For a while, you'd fought it. But scarlet liquids, screams of terror, and slaughter had become your routine.

And gorgeous was an understatement.

Peace. Security. Naivete.

One knee bent, the other lazily stretched out, the bedroll barely containing the length of his body. One hand under his head, the other by his side. His eyes were closed, the soft hazel only ever plagued by a buried longing was hidden from you now. His hair spread over one arm and on the thin straw pillow beneath his head, more messy than he'd ever let it be seen while he was awake.

His right cheekbone had a bruise on it from where he'd hit himself with the butt of his staff while swinging it, and you recalled finding time to chuckle at his mistake in the middle of the battle. Being a few feet away, he'd heard it, and couldn't help but look over at you, his cheeks red from more than the blunt force, his mouth pulled back in an embarrassed smile. The moment of shame had earned him a punch to the side from his opponent moments before Astarion managed to stick them with his own blade, saving Gale from a worse fate.

Even down here, far from the surface, it was warm enough — perhaps from the fire that burned a mere two, maybe three, feet away — for Gale to concede and discard his shirt, resting more comfortably in a pair of indigo pants.

He had been honest about his appetites. His cravings. He was hardly hesitant about revealing that part of himself to you — fortunately, he was plenty aware of the consequences that would be wrought upon you, and the rest of the group, should he risk being unable to consume artifacts if he kept his secret.

Even Astarion, who's affliction was much closer to your own, was honest about his needs. It took a lot longer, and you're not sure how things would have gone over had you not woken up the night he planned to feast on you, but his admission did occur.

You were aware of the risks of your secret. You always yearned for more, even when you were positively drenched in crimson, when you'd been messy enough in your strikes that bathing in the river the following evening caused the water around you to be tainted a diluted red. Everything was temporary. Even the satisfaction derived from fights that left your weapon with such thick clumps of gore that Gale had to hold the shaft while you scrubbed away, as if the fight itself hadn't been taxing enough on your exhausted body.

Yet they all remained unaware. Some picked up on it better than others; Lae'zel's compliments, however shallow they often were, had picked up in frequency as you allowed your hunger to get the best of you, undoubtedly giving you some heartless upper hand against the foes forced to face off against your party. Karlach found you delightful, affectionately doting over you as you imitated her own battle-induced rages, though she didn't quite pick up on your lingering stares or mild smirks when your appetite had been satisfied.

Gale was the closest to discovering the truth. Unsurprising, given your mutual favoritism for one another. When you'd butchered Alfira, you'd been quick to blame wolves. Shadowheart, immediately discomforted at the mention, believed you without a second thought. Lae'zel had jumped to blame the Tiefling's lack of defense. Astarion seemed unbothered at best. The others were too busy mourning the bard's early demise to ask questions.

But he'd found you later, kneeling by the river, just before bed. 'A devastating misfortune she suffered. A sweet, innocent soul. Misfortune is perhaps the only apt term for the loss. Terribly curious, it is — To be so savagely slaughtered by beasts that aren't even native to these woods.'

You remembered freezing, fear flashing in a quick rush across your vision, knowing his eyes were on you, studying your reaction. He was so close. You'd agreed — 'an unfortunate fate indeed' — and he'd said goodnight.

Never again was it brought up. Never again was it questioned.

And gorgeous was an understatement.

That was, perhaps, the worst misfortune of all. He had such undying curiosity about the world, and yet that curiosity never reached you, or your intentions, or your past. Too trusting.

The camp was quiet. Crackling flames, distant whispers from the shadows hanging just beyond the light's reach, and his soft, patterned, blissful breathing. His chest rose and fell, so helplessly gentle.

His staff leaned up against a rock several feet away, alongside with everyone's weapons, save for Astarion, who preferred to keep his daggers close. Today had been no different from the rest; the battles had been taxing, only seeming to increase in difficulty the further you wandered into the shadows. He'd given it his all today, and it had been worth it, as you'd managed yet another day without losing any member of your party. As he'd explained it, the more of the weave he manipulated, the weaker his spells got — at least until he was able to rest.

He lay before you, undoubtedly sapped by the day's events. Defenseless.

And gorgeous was an understatement.

Three bruises. One on his cheekbone, one persistent discoloration that sat in the middle of the dark mark of the orb, and one on his side where he'd been assaulted by the undead in his moment of distraction. In a blink, your fingers grace the bruise on his side, and they tingle. Being fresh, the blemishes swirl a deep purple into his light skin, nearly matching the tint of his pants.

Purple was his best color, wasn't it?

The twitch of your fingertips sends a pulse through your body, and you taste an itch in the back of your throat. The tadpole squirms, you can feel its short wriggle behind your eye, but its control falters. Some other sensation warms your body, easing you into a malleable, thinning consciousness, and your gaze trails slowly, drunkenly, over his torso.

Three bruises. Clear, stuck to his skin like the stars he so fondly recalls. So far from the view of the sky, and yet you find a constellation still. Another blink, and your right leg has crossed over his waist. However forgotten your past is, it grants you a waking dream, as vivid as reality; Gale Dekarios, laying under you much like he was now, his pretty face littered with prettier bruises that dot all the way down to his shoulders, his neck red and swollen, branded by the picturesque imprint of hands.

Your hands.

And gorgeous is an understatement.

It's distinct. The pulse of his arteries, teasing the gift of blood beneath his skin, purring under your fingers as they push, your thumbs hitched underneath his jaw, pressuring the veins. Your own heart is thumping, encouraging your desires, urging you to indulge.

You've tasted vindication like this before. When you awoke to the spectacle of Alfira's maimed corpse, there was serenity like nothing you knew possible. It came underlined by pride, your work preciously appalling, and you relished the piece, the art macabre and perfect.

The sweeter the canvas, the finer the design.

Gale was nothing if not sweet.

"My — Hardly the sight I was expecting to wake to."

Another blink, and his bruises are gone, save for the contusion on his cheek. Absent are the inscriptions of your hands on his neck, and his hazel eyes are revealed to you once more. Though you don't remember moving it, your hand presses against the black circle on his chest, palm pining for his throat.

You're unable to move. Unable to control yourself. Unable to win back your own consciousness. Gale props himself up on his elbows. His heart rate has picked up, and yet you don't sense fear. The curiosity in his eyes is familiar. The quirk in his left eyebrow and the smirk playing on the corner of his mouth is not.

"I do assume you meant to wake me, eventually. No harm," he says, gaze narrowing, and your lack of a response makes him huff out a chuckle, or at least part of one, as it only lasts a beat. Your eyes are pinned to his throat, reaching to find the comfort of your imagination's lens again, but your dream has been interrupted. At last, your eyes meet his, and it's the hazel that causes the tadpole to squirm again, awakening your senses once more. Gale moves one of his hands to rest on your waist, and his head recoils ever so slightly. "You look uncomfortable. What's wrong?" He asks, and you're able to sense a less pleasant curiosity, but it's still free of fearful influence.

"I'm going to kill you. You have to stop me."

His eyes widen, and still, there is no fear. He doesn't believe you. "A rather twisted joke... Not one I find particularly humorous. Albeit, humor is subjective, although–"

"I killed Alfira. You're next. No time – you have to stop me," you huff, and your confession brings on a raging headache, unlike any pain you've ever felt before. You lean forward, teeth grit as you groan, and Gale squeezes your hip for a moment. Though the reverberations in your head are overwhelming at the least, you finally catch a hint of fear from the wizard, and you're thankful for it. At least a part of you is, though the beast that brings on your headache is only bubbling to a rage, furious that you would dare turn against your thoughts. You've not committed a betrayal against your own conscience, but instead, betrayed your destiny, refusing some urge that is larger than yourself.

With what little remaining control you have, you push yourself off of him, and he's quick to rise to his feet. Your eyes squeeze closed, fighting the unwelcome entity with the rest of your energy, though given your excursions earlier in the day, that energy is quickly dwindling. Your knees press to the dirt, the heels of your palms pressing to your temples as you keel over, an aggressive, roaring nausea plaguing your senses, soon joined by an even more violent malignity that rips into your control as though it means to test you.

You want him dead.

A wonderful bath his blood would provide — A marvelous crack his bones would sing — A remarkable terror he could feel. He will suffer.

There's a firm squeeze on your arms as they're yanked behind your back, and you writhe, fighting your cravings as they fight your containment. The hold is followed by a burning scrape on your wrists as they are hastily, and uncomfortably tightly, bound by rope. Your head swings, but Gale manages to pull back in time, his reflex causing his grip to falter, and you fall to your side, rolling towards his bedroll.

He frowns, eyebrows pinched inward and he kneels in place, a few paces away, reading the situation and assessing just how much of a threat you pose. Gale glances at where Shadowheart and Karlach lie, still miraculously sleeping soundly despite the struggle occurring no more than two yards from where they reside. His attention returns to you. "Easy. Should you retain any control, I merely request that you refrain from indulging in... whatever your intentions may have been. Greedy as it may be, an explanation certainly wouldn't hurt."

There's a command, conjuring as a sensation rather than a verbal declaration, and it rings through your entire body. You're unable to decipher the apparition's ambition, but your muscles act nonetheless. It fights — you fight — against the rope, and there's a flare of savage discontent when you're unable to free yourself. "You're better off as my prey! You will suffer a purgatory worse than any of the hells could manage," you bark, and your words are not your own. The control he speaks of is entirely silenced, leaving you an unwilling vessel, forced to submit to the will of your past.

"Not the answer I would have preferred, but an answer nonetheless. Yelling will only stir the others from their slumber, and I predict they won't be as understanding as yours truly. You should consider taking up a quieter tone," he advises, and you growl, forcing rashes into your wrists as you wage a war on your binds.

"I will spill your blood before this night is through!" You yell again, and Karlach shifts where she sleeps, stirring a flash of worry in his expression. "Wake them! I'll slaughter them all the same!"

Gale cringes, conflicted for only a moment before he overcomes his internal argument, and he quickly rushes to your side. You bite at him with a rabid ferocity, and he sits behind you, pulling your body closer to his own, even as you squirm and fight him. Shadowheart mumbles, bordering on the edge of lucidity, and Gale curses out a whispered "Godsdamn it." He huffs, irritated just as much as he is scared, and his palm presses to your mouth, his thumb keeping your jaw shut — or at least trying to keep it shut — as your head is pulled against his shoulder.

You mumble, fervently antagonizing him, your muffled words being split up only by the subtle flinching of your jaw as you attempt to bite at his hand, all to no avail. His grasp is tight, nearly rough, keeping you as restrained as possible, and he watches Karlach and Shadowheart with apprehensive dread, his focus painfully split between concern for you and fear of you.

Gale looks down at you, his expression firm and yet, against all odds and expectations, somehow understanding, even if it is incredibly mild. "I've seen you tear apart the most ferocious of beasts. Foes that would make Bhaal himself tremble. You always prevail. You must defeat this — whatever it is." He nods, but his encouragement is not what you want to hear; you thirst for his terror, you thirst for his pleading, you want to see him tremble. His tone softens, and he squeezes your jaw, almost tenderly. "I'm right here. No blood will be shed tonight. Fight to your heart's content; I will not give in. You cannot give in, either."

Your heart is all that remains of your better judgement, and it aches at his promise, though the guilt and appreciation is quickly whisked away by your burning rage, your need for violence. You persist, as does he, correcting your every shift, no matter how exhausted he grows. Certainly the most stern you've ever seen him — more disciplined than you knew he could be, but you have little room in your mind to process that. You despise the way that he cares, the fact that he is just gentle enough not to injure you as he restricts you, the understanding in his expression, the near nurturing tone he takes on.

Yet it's the affection that eventually subsides your bloodlust, willing it to retire, however angry it remains. Angry at the loss, angry at the incompetence, angry at the devotion. Devotion to the wrong subject. Gale wins, ultimately — and by some affiliation, so too do you. A temporary victory, you're well-aware, but even if it isn't permanent, your body becomes your own, your thoughts and feelings along with it.

Exhaustion is the first burden you bear upon your return, and Gale is hesitant to ease his grasp on you, but he takes the risk, and you can't muster the energy to move away from him. Your head pangs with a narrow pain, manifesting as a faint ringing in your ears, and your wrists sear with sharp bites from the fraying rope. His hand releases your mouth, shifting quickly to your shoulder as your torso threatens to fall over, your buried rancor having completely wasted away the last of your energy.

Gale sighs, his own muscles easing up as he inches backwards, allowing you to lean more comfortably, and with a bit more stability, against his chest. One of his arms stays displayed over your abdomen, quite possibly still a little worried you might lash out again, and you didn't blame him for exercising caution. You lean into him, mostly because you lack the energy to do much else, but also because you want him to understand that you are beyond appreciative. "I'm sorry," you mumble, your voice hoarse and barely above a whisper — barely audible at all, really.

"I know. You're okay. Rest now, you'll certainly require some form of rejuvenation if we intend on defeating Ketheric and... Well, repressing whatever it is that you find yourself cursed with. And I assure you, I do so unquestionably intend on assisting you with your affliction. After all, I'm quite fond of my vitals, and I've no interest in seeing them spilled." Gale's tone is almost lighthearted, but genuine still.

His arm releases you, and he guides you to rest your head in his lap, allowing you to experience a little more comfort. Your eyes close, and you fear sleep — you know the possible horrors you could cause when you're left defenseless against your bloodlust — but you feel it taking you nonetheless. Gale doesn't untie you, not yet anyways, and it provides the slightest of reassurances. Worst case scenario, you know that, should the urge take advantage of your rest, Gale will expect it this time.

"Perhaps a poor time for confessions," he begins, his hand brushing stray hairs from your face, "But I must admit, the notion of you becoming lost to that rage is not a concept I'm anywhere near comfortable with. Keeping my heart beating is one motivation, and a strong one at that — but I hope you understand that keeping you safe is also immensely important to me. In all honesty, I'm... not sure what I'd do without you. I worry enough witnessing your engagement in the violent affairs we do so often find ourselves tangling with." Gale pauses, and clears his throat, shifting nervously. "Apologies, pay me no mind — A little shaken up, I fear my feelings may be getting the best of me. Rest. We'll reconvene come morning."

[astarionposting]

hey!! Could you share your favourite tav's of others? I'd love to connect with other people who posts their tav's! Also thank you for your tutorial's, they helped me so much <3

Hello! I got a similar ask but about male tav’s as well, so I figured I’d post it all in one. I don’t really follow that many Tav-centred blogs, mostly Astarion/Halsin/Gale, BUT a lot of my lovely mutuals have some BEAUTIFUL Tavs and I’ve even had the privilege of being able to photograph and edit some sets of them! &lt;3

My lovely mutuals with their beautiful Tavs/Durges/OCS:

@vspin (I love her drow baby she is so beautiful I wanna give her a little smoochie smooch)

@cheekylittlepupp (BEAUTIFUL GORGEOUS GODDESS ANGELIC OC I am going to be doing some edits of her soon hehe)

@anderwelt (their OCs are so beautiful and unique, I had the pleasure of editing Ceres, but working my way towards editing Tae who is equally as cool and awesome and amazing)

@tadpole-apocalypse (so much beautiful artwork of their oc I luv Morgan sm)

@honeysulani (ALSO MAKES BEAUTIFUL SIMS IF U LIKE SIMS AS WELL)

@stinkrascal (pls pls look at their ocs i beg u they are all so beautiful and handsome)

@mercymaker (beautiful beautiful ocs AND incredible edits, just u have to see for urself ok??)

@asykriel (really hot and sexy male tav but I didn’t wanna say it out loud)

@narrayya (they make their own self-sculpted heads and they are absolutely gorgeous and ethereal and SO SOOOO UNIQUE)

@tugoslovenka (a gorgeous DRACONIC BLOODLINE drow lady and a new pretty pretty elf gal-also most badass names I’ve ever seen-I just steal mine from other video games 😭 )

@bhaalbaaby (many beautiful tavs, but I must say Penelope is my absolute favourite she is just so so soooo cute)

@julietvoid (NOW HER OCS ARE SO BABYGIRL I LOVE THEM THEY ARE AO BEAUTIFUL I JUST WANNA GIVE THEM SMOOCHES AND TWLL THEM HOW MUCH I LOVE THEM OK???)

@korcariiwitch (super fucking cool drow oc I love love LOVE)

@haarleps (i forgot to add but then remembered, VERY VERY BEAUTIFUL TAVS/OCS, especially Freyr also bc i am biased since that is freyja's-the goddess my tav's name was yoinked from-twin brother's name in norse mythology so i rlly like)

@malewife-mansplain-magus (this one is for the male oc anon- u just need to look like their ocs are just 👌👌chefs kiss ALSO INCREDIBLE AMAZING BEAUTIFUL ARTWORK I WAS LIKE WTF WHERE DID THAT MASTERPIECE OF GALE COME FROM ITS ONE OF MY FAV GALE FANARTS)

So there are probably so many more of my beloved mutuals that have incredible tavs/durges/ocs, I’m just really bad with my memory but I also tried to focus on those who (I think) post their ocs consistently 😭 so if I didn’t mention you and you are mainly a Tav/Durge/OC blog, PLEAAASE comment like I wanna see it and I also would love to share it for others to see &lt;;3

[maegalkarven]

I understand what you’re saying about the Chosen of the dead 3, but I think Orin and Gortash are in the same boat. She wasn’t part of the plan at all, she killed or tried to kill her sibling to actively be part of the plan. She wasn’t even Bhaal’s chosen, she forced into that position herself. And if her abuse is grounds for understanding, then I’d say Gortash’s abuse is too. Sold to a devil as a child and tortured for years until he escapes and he grasps at anything to be in control so no one can control / hurt him again. I think he’s a shit person that did shit things, but I do like the character. And I don’t think Orin’s abuse outweighs that of Gortash. Someone/something messed them both up really bad. Bhaal uses Orin’s bloodlust and trauma to get her to do what he wants, Bane uses Gortash’s fear and need for control to get him to do what he wants. Gortash isn’t more/less redeemable because he’s the smart one that put the plan together. Also being Bane’s chosen means if he fails, he’s tortured for eternity. After being tortured for years, I’d imagine he’d do quite literally anything to not end up there again. Either they’re both redeemable or they’re both not in my eyes at least. Ketheric is the most redeemable for sure, he started out with a decent reason at least.

Gortash is my absolute fav actually because of all the layers. He's a fucking onion.

"Trapped in narrative- escaping the narrative"wise Gortash is the only one who actively walks into His.

He could do anything he wanted after escaping Hells. He wasn't exactly chained up or forced to climb the ladder to world domination.

Back then he still had a choice, even if his mind, twisted and turned by being Raphael's captive, didn't want that choice. Because fear is a strong thing, fear can control person in the worst possible ways. I believe Gortash chose "be the worst ever so no one can hurt him again" road and narrative himself.

But he CHOSE it. (The same way, some might argue, Ketheric chose not letting Isobel go, but I think Ketheric simply wasn't able to let her go)

Orin is different because she didn't exactly force herself into the narrative; she had always been in the narrative. She was born into the narrative.

No Bhaalspawn is ever free and no Bhaalspawn is ever not Bhaal's tool. She would inevitably be put on Durge's path because Bhaal loves putting his children against each other and because only One Bhaalspawn can remain. She even tried to play by the rules and challenged Durge, who didn't take her seriously and refused.

Both Orin and Gortash are more tragic than Ketheric because they're broken children who can never let it go.

Gortash is willingly not letting it go while Orin is literally trapped in it (her family, her cult, Father Bhaal in her head).

Ketheric is someone who, if convinced he can actually redeem himself (and if Isobel is alive), would try it.

Orin can only be redeemed if you forcibly take her out of her cult and cut off Bhaal's influence getting DIRECTLY INTO HER MIND. (Bhaal doesn't really have children, only victims)

Orin could easily be on Durge's place, tadpoled and amnesiac. Tbh I feel like her losing memory is the only way she could ever break free because for her where was nothing but Cult and Bhaal. She wasn't allowed anything else. Confronted with the truth about her upbringing, she's horrified; she also had been punished by Bhaal before for disobedience, Bhaal commands her what to do and Bhaal literally strips her of her own will and body because this is what Bhaal does. But if we can claw her out of it, knock her memories away and cut Bhaal off? Then she has a chance.

That's pretty much the only way she can have it (there's a reason Jaheira calls her lost soul).

But Gortash would not want redemption because he was not forced into the path of tyranny. He chose it. He quite likes it up on the top. He's comfortable over there being the worst and selling people and giving explosives to children. The only thing better would be if he had someone to share his kingdom with, someone who gets his genius.

If put on the ground, he will try to climb right back again. He doesn't care about freeing himself because in his mind only on the very top is where he is free. This narrative not his cage, it's his castle, he build it and he's not giving it up.

That's why any attempt to actually "redeem" him would fail because he is Not Interested in That. He is interested in Power and Being the Biggest and Strongest. Also so ppl would love him, idk how he plans to balance it out with his tyranny, but he pretty much requires the gaping audience. Admire him, everyone.

I have several plots of dragging him off his high horse bc the other alternative is his death, but all these plots require things to be the way where he's actively stripped of power in some way or another bc only his own survival will make him somewhat cooperate on an equal level (one particular ally, durge or tav, but more often durge aside). He is not a team player. He pretends he is.

There are, sure, some AU salvations for him, but no redemption because He Genuinely Does Not Regret a Thing, nor will he.

Neither is Orin, but Orin is a broken doll with a god of murder in her head. She lost herself so long time ago no one even recalls it.

Gortash has himself because no one ever had him. He will do anything for his survival and this is why he does not want or require redeeming. Not dying from Netherbrain, that's another story. But he inevitably always serves his own interests first.

Orin fights for the awful love and approval of a cruel god, Ketheric's love for his daughter transcends her death.

Orin and Ketheric's narratives are two sides of the same coin.

"A child craving affection of a cruel parent" VS "parent doing unimaginable horrors bc of the love for their child."

Gortash is out of that particular narrative, his narrative is "There's No One But Me. Only I Matter. No one loved me so I will love me in excess. No one loved me so no one deserves my love".

It is an echo and awful influence of his tragic past, but it's something he actively chooses. He loves that narrative of his, even if it doesn't exactly fulfill him 100% (because it's lonely on the top. Because somewhere deep inside Enver Flymm still lives. Because he can't let Enver Flymm go no matter now pathetic that past self of his is).

His tragedy is of being lonely af and not admitting it/not having anyone to match him in his genius, but not his Tyrant Path. This one he chose for himself.

The thing is, of course gods use their Chosen ones. I think Gortash knows that, and I think he also actively uses Bane. He wears the coat protecting him from the fear and is a chosen of a Dread Lord. That's telling. He doesn't actually serve Bane, he serves himself and aligns himself with Bane for as long as it works for him.

[astarionslittlejuicebox]

A Little Confession (Part 1)

Author: @astarionslittlejuicebox

Imagine: Astarion has a confession for the reader, but is she ready for what he has to say? 

Pairing: Astarion x F!Durge!Reader

Trigger warnings: minor spoilers (Act 2), suggestive themes, language, mention of slavery, mention of manipulation 

Word Count: 932

Can we talk later? Astarion’s words echoed through (TAV’s name)’s head as she sat around the campfire with everyone that night at camp. Her heartbeat had increased slightly with increased anxiety as she wondered what the pale elf needed to talk about.

Had I done something wrong? She thought. Does he not want me anymore? Another voice said in the back of her mind. Shadowheart and Karlach kept sharing worried expressions as they took notice of (TAV’s name)’s unusual silence around the camp. Her usual chipper attitude was replaced with a much quieter version of their companion. The camp also noticed that a certain fanged companion of theirs was also absent from the campfire. No one decided to address the issue, and everyone went to their tents with a shared look of concern as they all said goodnight.

(TAV’s name) could feel her heart beating in her throat as she sat in her tent, and she tried to forcefully swallow it down as she stood up to walk to the pale elf’s tent. She focused on her breathing as she walked across camp to the familiar tent where the scent of rosemary and finely aged brandy lingered in the air. The (TAV’s race) tried to plant a small smile upon her lips as she reached Astarion’s tent. Upon hearing her soft footsteps approach, the pale elf himself swallowed and pulled back his tent flap. He noticed the fake smile on her face, and he felt his heartbreak a little. Astarion was just as nervous as she felt, if not more. 

“I’m glad you came.” He said softly. “Come in.” 

“Of course.” (TAV’s name) spoke softly then walked inside the elf’s tent. “Is something wrong?” She asked once Astarion let the tent flap fall back down. He bit his lip before he turned around to look at the (TAV’s eye color) eye that he had fallen in love with. He didn’t want to tell her this, but he knew that if they stood any chance at something real he needed to tell her this. Did that make this any easier on him? No, but the vampire spawn knew that (TAV’s name) was unlike anyone he’d ever known. Astarion looked down at the ground before he looked up at (TAV’s eye color) eyes. 

“I have a confession to make.” The look of concern in her eyes made Astarion feel even more awful about what he had to say.

“Oh, yes, I’m fine. I just…” The vampire spawn sighed. “…feel awful.” (TAV’s name)’s eyebrow raised on its own accord.

“Look, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan—seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me. It was easy—instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do was not fall for you.” (TAV’s name)’s eyes softened with a bit of hurt as Astarion spoke, but he had to continue his confession. “Which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart.”

“You—you’re incredible.” His voice was soft and full of emotion. “You deserve something real.” “(TAV’s name)’s (TAV’s eye color) eyes looked at the vampire spawn with so many emotions he couldn’t place a name to. “I want us to be something real.”

“So, the nights we spent together didn’t mean anything?” The hurt in (TAV’s race)’s voice broke the dead organ in the vampire spawn’s chest.

“Of course they did—that’s the problem! Or part of it.” He looked down before he looked back at (TAV’s name). “Being close to someone—any kind of intimacy—was something I performed to lure people back for that wretched vampire.” 

“Even though I know things between us are different, being with someone still feels…tainted. It still brings up these feelings of disgust and self-loathing.” Astarion’s face twisted in sadness. “I don’t know how else to be with someone. No matter how much I’d like to.” (TAV’s name) looked at him with soft, caring eyes.

“I care about you deeply.” Her words were softly spoken, but Astarion’s keen elf ears heard her.

“Really?” He whispered in surprise. (TAV’s race) stepped close to him and wrapped her slender arms around him. Astarion’s face showed the shock he felt as his arms stayed in the air beside him. As (TAV’s name)‘a arms tightened around him and she snuggled into the vampire spawn’s chest, Astarion slowly wrapped his arms around her. He could smell the sweet vanilla scent that wafted from her, and he rested his head against hers.

This is nice. The vampire thought to himself. As (TAV’s name) pulled away, Astarion couldn’t help but smile at the (TAV’s race).

“You…you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” A smile graced his lips. “Honestly, I have no idea what we’re doing or what comes next,” Astarion held out his hand, and (TAV’s name) placed her small delicate hand in his hand. “But I know this? This is nice.” He placed his hand over hers, and she gave him the warmest smile.

“Just tell me whatever it is that we need to do, or not do, to make you more comfortable with this. I promise you that I’m not going anywhere, and I’m going to be right by your side through it all.” Astarion swore he could see the love in her eyes, and he could almost feel his heartbeat at her words.

“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.” He said with a genuine smile. For the first time in forever, Astarion didn’t have to fake his words or actions—he could just be.

[fangsyouverymuch01]

"Astarion" "neutral" lol

I guess this has to do with my reblog about liking chaotic men and classifying Astarion as one??

Astarion is a complicated character and the player has a huge part in him either being chaotic neutral or evil. That being said, verbal persuasion can only do so much. The player can’t persuade him to be good aligned per say, because he isn’t.

What is chaotic neutral?

So according to dnd I found this:

- A chaotic neutral character is an individualist who follows their own heart and generally shirks rules and traditions. Although chaotic neutral characters promote the ideals of freedom, it is their own freedom that comes first; good and evil come second to their need to be free.”

- and “A wandering rogue who lived both by work for hire and petty theft was an example of a chaotic neutral character”

Here is what bdg 3 wiki writes about his character too:

- The player does not have to be "evil" to gain his approval, however — he approves when the player makes choices that support independence and autonomy, and when the player helps certain characters in need.

(Sounds very chaotic neutral to me)

- Here is a link to his entire character that follows his quest, approvals/disapprovals https://bg3.wiki/wiki/Astarion

Tav and Astarion

I’d say that spawn Astarion falls into the neutral alignment pretty clearly after his confession about his feelings for Tav, because he doesn’t have to do it. He gains nothing from Tav or the party when he confesses to being manipulative. But he does, because he cares and feels guilty for doing it. Astarions motives are rooted in fear of being enslaved again and he actively risks his life by confessing his feelings. Which is a very non evil thing to do and he does it because he wants to anyways. Here is the convo he has with Tav:

Astarion - Look, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan - seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you'd never turn on me. It was easy - instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do was not fall for you...which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart. You - … you’re incredible. You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.

Blood merchant

Throughout the game, Tav and the party challenges Astarions trauma mentality of “if there are good people, why did no one save me? Therefore, I justify to be selfish” by being kind for the sake of being kind. Which he remarks on. Here is one example of Tav allowing him to make his own decision about biting the blood merchant in act 2:

Astarion - I spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back for my Master. What I wanted, how I felt about what I was doing, it never mattered. You could have asked me to do the same - to throw myself at her, what I wanted be damned. But you didn’t. And I’m grateful.

Durge and Astarion

Bonus! If the player plays redemption Durge, Astarion is extremely supportive from day one. Which is also confirmed by Larian :). My favorite scene of this is when durge refuses to kill Isobel and is forced to kill the one they like most. After Astarion ties up durge, they have a conversation that is very sweet and unselfish of him to have considering that durge tries to off him hours ago. Here it is:

Tav – “I’m so worried about you. What if I get possessed again?”

Astarion – “I’m also worried about me, but I seem to somehow be worried about *you* more. You give me something to care for, and that’s worth the peril.”

Conclusion

So, combining all of these examples we see that Astarion is not evil, he acts out fear to be stripped of his autonomy again. The things he approves of are not driven by being good or evil, they are driven by his core charachetistic - to be free to choose what he likes/needs/wants. And the first thing that he chooses is Tav. He wants tav no matter if they are good or bad aligned, because he is not driven by either of those things.

This was a very long post and it could be an entire essay if I had all the time in the world. I hope this gave some insight into how I, and many others, view him. However, if you don’t that is totally fine as well.

/Matti

[psalacanthea]

WiP Wednesday

its tabletop night, so here, have this. I need to stop looking at it tho, must purge the durgetash brainrot for the night so I can try to murder my players effectively.

A little bit of my Durge Belladonna being a weird freak at Gortash, more of which can be found here on my AO3!

"Is she still alive, my dear Belladonna?”

Belladonna blinked, tilting her head to stare down at Enver.  He took the wine back from her hand, their fingers brushing.  Reflexively her hand withdrew the instant they touched.  Her attention drifted back to Lady Janneth, still lying sprawled on the bed, under the blanket.  Oh, he thought she’d–

“Why would I kill your toys?” she asked, attention drawn back to him as he sipped the wine.  Ugh, the hair.  Her eyes kept being drawn back, obsessively.  “It’s only a sleep spell.”

“Why would you follow me to my lover’s home, watch me bed her, and then sneak into the still-occupied bed to read her diary?  Every conclusion a sane man would draw from your actions would offend you deeply.”

“Then don’t say it,” she said blandly.

“Why did you follow me?” Enver was staring at her with the intensity of a man who expected eye contact.

What a pointless question.  “To see where you were going.”

“Why did you enter the room?”

“Again, to see where you were going.  And then I was eavesdropping.  While I was doing that, the door was closed, thus trapping me within. To answer your next three very pointed questions.”

“You can’t convince me that you don’t have a dozen ways you could have escaped, Belladonna.”

She shifted her weight, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs, table pressing into the back of her thigh. “You only use the name you made up for me this often when you’re truly annoyed.  I didn’t know you would care.  You’ve seen me have sex several times.”

“Depending on the definition of the word, that may not be entirely true.  In my mind, sex involves at least two willing participants.”

“Yes, the con man and the dupe.”

Enver laughed quietly, giving up the facade of being angry with her.  Yes, he was irritated, but she’d noticed he very rarely was angry.  At least not with her.  He reached for the other wine-stained glass, poured from a pitcher of water into it, swirled it until the wine had all turned the water pink.  Then he dumped it out on the floor.  “Your standards of behavior are not at all normal, my dear Bhaalspawn, did you know that?”

“What exactly is wrong with wanting to know where people are going?”  she inquired, wondering why he thought it was all right to pour water on the floor.  Was that what he meant by behavior standards?

He poured her clean water into the glass and offered it over, stem tucked between his fingers.  She accepted it, dipping her finger into the liquid and wiping off the rim.  It still didn’t feel clean even despite the lack of smudges, so she just held it.

He leaned forward in his chair, staring up at her with a critical air and a relaxed posture. “Anyone else would have stopped me in the street, said hello, and asked where I was off to.”

“That would be a waste of the man I’d killed three alleys over,” she said, glancing down as he leaned a little closer, chin on his hand.  And then she immediately averted her eyes before she was upset again. 

“Do you do this often?”

“Yes?  I must practice what I preach, after all, or I would not be much of a leader.  Much like yourself.  Following and watching people is an important part of being a successful killer.”  

“I meant to me, not– why won’t you look at me?”

“Your hair is a mess and it makes me want to scalp you,” she admitted without even a moment’s pause to consider if she’d offend him.  By now she knew he wouldn’t be.  

“Thank you for your self-control.  I’ll fix it right away.  Hold this for me.”

Puzzled, she extended her hand by rote, and he dropped something into it as he rose.  Heavy and still warm from his finger, the massive diamond ring he’d handed her was the one she’d watched Wisteria slide onto his finger.  It was shiny and all, she supposed.

“Why give this to me?”

“I wanted to see your reaction to it,” he replied with another chuckle, crossing the floor to what seemed to be a dressing table and a desk in one.  “You don’t care about such things, do you?”

“I’ve seen larger and shinier stones.  I usually give them to Orin to play with if they’re not worthy of the coffers. Children like toys." Though Orin was always terribly ungrateful for it; but that was a youngest child for you. Always yelling about not being your sibling and trying to stab you.  "I don’t handle money, that’s beneath me.  You seemed quite enamored of it.”

“Not of it, my dearest Belladonna.  Of what it is.  That ring is worth more than this entire house!”  He sounded quite satisfied.  Gloating was one of Enver’s biggest vices, she’d learned.  It didn’t bother her to be his audience for a bit of smugness, as she was quite often when he was feeling self-important.

And he was always feeling self-important.

[enduringmoth]

If it’s not too much to ask and if u weren’t already planning on it, I’d love to hear that secondary post about the consequences of the party’s actions regarding Durge’s reveal 👀👀 the first post rly resonated with me and honestly I’m a little obsessed with the idea of what drastic actions a redeemed!urge might take in the face of rejection,,, it was a rly interesting read nonetheless!

hello there!! i'm happy to talk a little more about it, absolutely! ^^

for those who didn't peep at the tags of my last post, in which i discussed how painful it must be to a seeking-redemption durge to be so heavily rejected by the party, i wrote in the tags:

this might not be exactly what you were looking for but i will do my best!

at the absolute least, i believe the minimum consequences of this interaction involve durge shutting down and withdrawing from most of the group. thinking in particular of my seeking-redemption durge, asha, she carries guilt interwoven with resentment -- she knows she has done wrong and that she deserves to bare the brunt of their rage, but she is also so furious with the idea that these people do not know how much she has done for them since waking up in that pod.

how many urges has she squashed? how many easy kills has she passed up on? does anyone other than gale (her romance interest) even begin to comprehend how painful it was to resist killing isobel, killing gale himself, and yet she did it anyway? because it was the right thing to do?

and yet here, when they all learn the truth -- durge included! they have fucking amnesia! -- it's almost like not a soul left there cares that they've clawed and fought and bled for the entire party at every point.

i think a lot about the dialogue durge has with astarion the morning after realizing they're a bhaalspawn. of all of the companions, he is the only person to realize something is wrong from minute one, and he asks about their sleep and their weights they carry. he then proceeds to empathize with durge, saying they are alike, and that he believes they will succeed.

and yet it seems no one else in the party feels the same, and that has to be agonizingly isolating for durge.

now, onto gortash.

at this point in act 3, the durge has (likely) found the prayer for forgiveness in balthazar's lab in act 2. this scrap of their past lets them know enver gortash was a source of tension in their following of bhaal, enough that they are begging for forgiveness from their father over their admiration and fondness for him.

for us durgetash enjoyers, this is a romantic entanglement. for those who do not see their relationship as romantic, it's still a clear platonic attachment for durge that shook their faith in bhaal's plans.

the people who have traveled with the durge for weeks are (seemingly) regretting that decision, and blaming them for things they cannot recall doing. enver gortash greets them like a friend, offers them a metaphorical and literal hand, reaching out to them when others are pulling away.

at minimum, it creates tension. gortash is "bad" and their party members are "good", right? certainly the durge cannot go on to support gortash in damning the world when that's the "wrong" thing to do -- right?

and yet.

if even those who the durge may have started to believe should be able to understand and accept them, due to having similar-enough struggles in their own past with domineering patrons/gods/masters -- if even they cannot understand, what hope is there for anyone else in the world besides enver gortash offering them that same acceptance?

why save a world that cannot and will not open its arms to you?

thusly, the next step is for the durge to minimum consider what gortash is offering. for me, the durge is most likely to kill orin before gortash anyway, so the first steps here are simple.

depending on how the party continues to respond, the wedge may deepen or back out. depending on how the durge continues to be exposed to enver gortash, they may be more drawn into him or pushed away.

another step up (or down, as it were) would involve who orin kidnaps. we know that she may take gale, halsin or lae'zel, or take the child, yenna.

a particularly bitter durge might let them die. why waste their breath on someone who could not find it in their heart to forgive them?

we proceed apace. i know it's (huge spoilers ahead) canon that gortash is slain by the netherbrain. but if we pretend that that can be avoided one way or another, i believe the second-to-most-nuclear option here is the durge taking over the world with gortash as he originally suggested. in turn, choosing to reject redemption (largely, considering they are still sparing gortash and bhaal wants everyone dead) purely because the party could not see them as redeemable.

(and let's not even get STARTED on how this would involve killing astarion too, the one party member who even got close to seeing her, because the pain drowned out his love too entirely.)

the most nuclear, of course, would be the durge deciding they could not even trust gortash, and instead killing him and embracing bhaal entirely, drowning the entire world in blood as bhaal would have wanted.

now, the bittersweet twist on all of this would be something of a happy ending with a redeemed gortash twist, as so many of us love. perhaps the wedge drives them closer to gortash, but along the way the party is able to prove their willingness to support and accept the durge. but now durge is tangled up in enver, and the only path forward, it seems, is to attempt to free both the chosen of bhaal and the chosen of bane from their masters.

(essentially the consequences of their semi-betrayal being that durge gets in too deep with gortash and they (read: karlach, mostly) have to accept that, but they all live happily ever after because the power of friendship yadda yadda-- my durgetash brain needs a crumb of fluff now and then.)

anyway, this is as disjointed as my sanity but i do hope you got some enjoyment out of it!

[tadfools]

i love your blog!! I have some friends I wanna recommend bg3 to, but I’m not sure how. How would you summarize the game for someone who doesn’t play video games? I wanna say it’s a game based on dnd where your main character gets infected by alien tadpoles, and you recruit friends to help you remove them from your head before you turn into a monster. But that doesn’t capture much of why bg3 is so great. So if you have time, I’d be curious to know how you’d summarize the game/entice people to play! Have a great night!

Aw well thank you deal listener!

Unfortunately, I'm insane, so I might not be the best person to go to for this. If you're explaining it to folks who have played dragon age origins or the first fable, then I'd say that it has the same heart as those two games. It's fun and has wonder etched into every part of it but knows when to tone it down for serious moments and does so masterfully.

The party you gather thought the story actually feel like people who have their own goals and storyline. Larian did a fantastic job on making it feel like all of you are the protagonist without overshadowing Tav/Durge (the player) just like it would be in a dnd campaign. There's even points where the player has the option to shut up and let their companions speak for themselves, and it doesn't feel forced at all.

I've been very bias with the dark urge (one of the origin options) so the storyline of nature vs nurture and overcoming (or relenting) to a life of violence is a whole rant I could go into

Another cool thing about BG3 is that you don't have to have a blank slate character that you figure out the past for (that's Tav which is a name you can change) You can play as the party's wizard, a man ambitious to a fault who begins the story desperately trying to win back the affections of his goddess, you can play as rouge who's the spawn of a cruel vampire lord who, depending on the choices you make, can either break free of the cycle of violence inflicted on him or feed into it. You can also romance these characters, you can also romance no one. Over the course of the story they can become your friends and your family or if you're playing an evil route, which you can 100% do, can be cast aside like pawns.

Baldur's Gate 3, to me, isn't the story of how a ragtag group of adventurers either save the world or doom it. It is a story of breaking free of cycles. Cycles of abuse, cycles of reverence, cycles of compliance. Or continuing them. That choice is up to you.

Also, it's beautiful and made by a team of dev's from a lesser known company who genuinely love what they created and cared about the quality of it over a set release date

(gifs made by @entreri congrats, your beautiful babies pop up in the first row of results if you google 'bg3 scenery gifs'. they make amazing gifs go check em out!)

Feel free to add onto this with your thoughts guys, I'd love to read them in the reblogs/tags, and they might be helpful for anon! xx

[ickadori]

++ 𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍

[cws] fem reader. durge reader. noncon oral. imprisonment -> aradin is your ‘pet’.

“Someone’ll come for me, and they’ll have your fuckin’ head when they do.”

“Who? Your dead comrades? I didn’t peg you as smart enough for necromancy, Aradin.” Your fingers smooth over soft silk, the fabric feeling foreign from your months spent in blood and grime crusted rags.

Finally making it to Baldur’s Gate after spending day after day in the wilds nearly brought you more joy than a fresh, messy kill did…nearly. Your first stop had been a proper clothing store rather than some merchant on the side of the road selling pillaged clothing, and your next had been to the Sorcerous Sundries, which had brought you to Aradin and his loathsome mouth.

And that’s how you found yourself here - deep underground in a forgotten haven that was in dire need of a few renovations.

“Even if you were capable enough to rise a dead army, they’d hardly prove themselves to be formidable against me.” The man, currently spellbound and unable to move from his spot on the bed, had seen firsthand the horrors you were capable of committing with barely any spent energy. “I think you know that more than anyone.” You twist and turn in the mirror, silently admiring the way the floor length gown flows with your movements.

“So? You’re just gonna keep me here in this fuckin’ pisshole, is that it? You godsdamned Bhaalist fucks.”

“Would you rather I keep you in a shallow grave?” You turn from the mirror and slowly make your way to the bed, eyes falling on the furious expression painted on his features. It’s the only emotion you’ve seen on him since the moment you met him screaming for help at the closed gates of the Grove, and while it does suit him well, you can’t help but think a more…agonized expression would do him better. “Because while I initially had other uses for you, I have no problem picking out your insides and hanging your corpse in the rafters.”

Sweat beads at his temples, and you raise a hand to smear the liquid into his skin, skin that has been meticulously cleaned and scrubbed by Sceleritas at your behest. Aradin snatches away from your touch, and your fingers are quick to slip into curly, dark locks and snatch them at the root. He hisses through clenched teeth, and your lips quirk at the corners at his pained look.

“Would you like that, Mr. Beno?” Your grip tightens and your stomach clenches, body flooding with that all too familiar rush of endorphins. “Would you like me to show you the true beauty of the human body?” The sudden urge to pull, pull, pull until his scalp separates from the rest of his body is ever strong. Your mouth pools with saliva as you imagine the mess; the blood, the hair, the sight of his skull that would undoubtedly call for you to cave it in and reveal what is hidden underneath - a delicacy.

Another day perhaps, you sigh. You have a different purpose for him today, a purpose that you’ve put off since you stepped -flew- off that damned ship. “Another time perhaps. Tonight, I’d like to indulge in something a little less bloody.” Your grip in his hair loosens, fingers combing through soft curls, and your fingers trail down to smooth over his eyebrows. “You really are quite handsome…” It’s a shame that his mouth frequently overshadows that fact.

Aradin watches with suspicious eyes, but otherwise keeps his mouth closed. You gather the bottom of your dress in your hands and lift it as you climb onto the bed to straddle his waist.

“Wh-” His voice cracks and he sneers at you. “What in the nine hells d’you think you’re doing?”

“Trying out my new pet.” You state, dress resting around your hips as you seat your bare sex on his skin. His flesh is hot, soft, muscles twitching and tensing underneath it, and you sigh as you rock against him. “It’d be in your best interest to try very hard to please your new owner, lest you end up at the end of my blade.”

You shuffle further up his body, hand spilling your dress higher to reveal yourself to him, and you watch as his adam’s apple bobs, tongue briefly darting out to wet his dry lips. He goes to say something but stops, and you don’t have to glance over your shoulder to know that his blood has run south. Men, such easy creatures.

You’re hovering over his face when he finally gets his voice back, but his insults and threats are quickly quieted as you lower your hips, slick pussy kissing against his lips and clit bumping against his nose.

“Now, pet, I do hope that you plan to keep that title.”

[baldursgrave69]

Hands

Listen folks, I have been trying to write this fic for two months and it's finally done.

Rating: NSFW - MATURE, MDNI

Pairing: Enver Gortash x fem!durge (named)

Word count: 2.1K

Tags: MDNI, afab!durge, unprotected sex, piv, vaginal fingering, feelings, oral sex,

While writing this I was listening to: Pork Soda by Glass Animals

Agnes sat with her hands folded in her lap, leaning back in her chair as Ketheric Thorm droned on about his plans to build an army for the Absolute. Enver Gortash sat across from her a quill in his hand as he jotted down notes on parchment. Every time Ketheric opened his mouth Agnes would immediately tune out, she couldn’t stand his tendency for verbosity when it wasn’t necessary, and the way he could go on a tangent for 30 minutes about a painfully specific frontline strategy.

Agnes looked around the room trying to find anything to distract her from the general’s droning. Her eyes landed on Enver’s hands, the golden gauntlet he often wore tapping against the table as his other hand continued to scribble on parchment. She always told him how much she hated the unnecessary, gaudy accessory he insisted on wearing. And she did. He always insisted on embellishments and accents on his clothing that Agnes didn’t feel were necessary. She did perfectly fine flashing a blade to get her way. But he insisted that sometimes it was better to simply “talk” to people rather than threatening them. And apparently appearance meant everything when “talking” was involved.

As Agnes eyed the man’s hands, she couldn’t help but think about what the cool metal of his gauntlet might feel like on her body, the sting of the metal against her bare skin would feel so delicious. She wondered how it might feel for him to wrap his hands around her throat, the tips of his gauntlets digging into her flesh as he squeezed.

Agnes felt heat rip through her, desire burning inside as she fantasized about what Enver might do if he knew she was having these thoughts about him. She could feel her pulse flutter, her face felt flushed and her body felt warm. Agnes bit her lip as she extended her foot, grazing it up Enver’s pant leg across from her. She watched his face, his even expression wavering ever so slightly as she ran her foot up his leg. She felt him rub his leg against hers as he asked Ketheric a question, his hand continuing to drum on the table.

Agnes watched his fingers tap the table, the voices of Enver and Ketheric a drone in the background as she imagined Enver Gortash pounding into her, his hand wrapped around her throat.

Agnes felt a kick under the table, her eyes shooting up to meet Enver’s who widened his gaze at her, subtly tilting his head in Ketheric’s direction.

“What?” She said without thinking, straightening up to look at the general. Ketheric pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, taking a deep breath before addressing Agnes.

“I was asking your thoughts. On all of this,” Ketheric said with a sigh, knowing very well Agnes had no idea what they had been talking about.

“Oh, right. I’d rather hear Gortash’s thoughts,” she redirected, looking in the Baneite’s direction.

“If you’d been listening, my dearest, you would have already heard my thoughts on the matter,” he said with a confident smile, nudging her foot with his. Agnes huffed, kicking his shin and standing from the table.

“I trust you will make the right decision, then. Are we done here?” Agnes grumbled, looking in Ketheric’s direction.

“Just be here tomorrow for our meeting,” Ketheric sighed, waving his hand at her to dismiss her. Agnes spun on her heel, exiting the room and heading for her office.

As Agnes made her way towards her office, she could hear the all too familiar click of Enver’s boots following her down the hall. She kept her pace steady and her head down, entering their shared work space and heading towards her desk. She heard the office door close and lock behind her, a smile crossing her face. Agnes braced her hands on her desk as he came up behind her. Her breath hitched as she felt Enver’s hand wrap around the column of her neck, the metal gauntlet digging into her flesh.

“You little brat, distracting me during our meeting” He growled, his tongue tracing the tip of her ear. Agnes leaned back against him, she could feel that he was already hard, his erection pressing against her ass. She let out a low chuckle, grinding against his crotch. Agnes felt him tighten his grip on her throat, his other hand sliding down her front and dipping into her pants. He pressed his fingers to her cunt, groaning at how wet she was.

“So wet already,” he hissed, biting down on her shoulder as he teased her entrance with his fingers.

“You can’t even make it through a meeting without wanting me to fuck you, can you?” He said, continuing his teasing causing Agnes to moan loudly.

“I just can’t stand listening to Ketheric. I had to keep my mind occupied somehow,” she breathed, his hand still wrapped around her throat.

“Don’t lie,” he growled, shoving two fingers inside her. Agnes yelped at the sudden sting of his fingers in her cunt, breathing heavily as he pistoned in and out of her.

“Is this what you wanted?” he whispered in her ear, his thumb rubbing her clit as he continued to fuck her with his fingers.

“Gods, yes,” she moaned, his fingers hitting that sweet spot inside of her that made her tremble. Enver squeezed her throat as he quickly pulled his fingers from inside her. Agnes groaned at the emptiness, needily grinding against him. Enver spun her around to face him, walking towards her and backing her up against her desk. He pried her mouth open, shoving his fingers inside.

“I want you to taste just how needy you are,” he growled as she swirled her tongue around his fingers, spit dribbling down her chin. With his other hand he dragged his fingers down her neck and chest, the cool metal scratching her skin.

Agnes took a deep breath as he removed his fingers from her mouth, the feeling of his hands touching her body was exhilarating, she craved his touch. She couldn’t help the smile on her face, she knew exactly what she was doing.

“You make it so easy for me to get what I want, Enver,” Agnes purred, hopping up onto the desk and wrapping her legs around his waist. She placed her arms around his neck, tangling her hands in his hair.

“You’re insufferable,” he huffed, pressing his lips to hers. Agnes pulled him closer with her legs as she kissed him, pushing her tongue into his mouth.

Enver dug his fingers into her, the sharp claws on his gauntlet ripping into her clothing. She moaned into his mouth at the sting of the metal against her skin. She could feel him break skin as he clawed at her, his teeth clacking against hers as he kissed her roughly.

“Clothes off, now,” he hissed as he pulled away, pointing at her with his gauntleted hand.

“Hah. Or what?” Agnes smirked, crossing her legs.

Enver wrapped his hand around Agnes’ neck, squeezing so that the metal claws dug into her skin. Her breath hitched as he pulled her closer, hovering his lips over hers.

“You distract me in an important meeting and then act like this? Who do you think you are?” He hissed, squeezing harder as he bit her lip. Agnes could feel blood drip from her mouth as Enver bit down harder.

Agnes let out a laugh, pulling away to press her fingers to her lips, feeling the blood begin to drip down her chin. She swiftly kneed Enver in the groin, causing him to fall to his knees before the bhaalspawn. She pulled a dagger out from behind her, toying with the dull edge of it.

“You forget who you’re messing with, Baneite,” she said as she tangled her free hand through the man’s dark, messy hair. Agnes pulled Enver’s head back so that he was looking up at her, pressing the dull edge of the dagger against the man’s neck.

“Now, be a good boy and I may give you what you want,” she said with a smile, leaning down and softly pressing her lips to his. Enver let out a huff, giving in and leaning into her kiss. Agnes threaded her hands into his hair, pulling him up onto his feet towards her. She hopped up on the desk, beckoning him towards her with her finger.

“You want my clothes off? Do it yourself,” she smirked, spreading her legs slightly and leaning back on her hands. Enver narrowed his gaze as he approached her, quickly tugging her shirt up and over her head. His eyes trailed her chest as he unhooked her bralette, allowing it to slide off of her shoulders. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers as he cupped her breast, his thumb rolling over her nipple. Agnes felt his thumbs hook into the band of her trousers and small clothes, yanking them down in a swift motion. He pulled away, sliding his hand down her leg and gently removing her pants and boots one leg at a time.

“Very good,” Agnes purred, watching Enver’s gaze darken as he looked her over. He rolled his eyes, closing the gap between them and leaning in to press his lips to hers.

“Ah ah,” she said with a tut, pushing him away from her. “Your turn,” Agnes smirked at Enver, gesturing for him to remove his clothing. He huffed at her, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You think you can just order me around like some dog?” His body betrayed his words as Agnes watched his erection strain against his trousers, his breathing heavy and gaze darkened.

“Yes,” she said, cocking her head to the side as she dragged her fingers through her folds, a moan escaping her lips. Enver watched as she traced circles on her clit, her head falling back as she pleasured herself.

“Hells below,” he breathed, a hand palming his hard cock through his pants. Agnes looked up at Enver, locking eyes with him as she pushed two fingers inside of her cunt, her breath hitching as she languidly fingered herself.

“Fuck it,” Enver hissed, hurriedly pulling his shirt up over his head and tossing it to the side. Agnes watched, continuing to piston her fingers in and out of her cunt as Enver quickly undressed, his length springing free from his pants. He kicked his trousers to the side, one hand pumping his impossibly hard cock as he walked towards her. Agnes groaned as she watched him spit into his hand, lubricating his length, resting his free hand on the desk.

“Let me fuck you,” Enver breathed, pressing his forehead to hears as he watched her fingers trace circles over her clit. “Please,” he added, bringing the head of his cock to her entrance, teasing her with the tip. Agnes bit her lip, nodding as she felt him nudge the head of his cock inside her. Enver slowly pushed himself inside of her, bring his gauntleted hand up to cup her face.

“You drive me mad,” he groaned, burying himself inside her. He could feel her tighten around him as he languidly fucked into her, grunts escaping from his lips.

“Gods,” Agnes moaned, her mouth hanging slightly open as he increased his pace, pulling her as close as he could with his free hand. Agnes brought her hands up to his neck, wrapping her arms around him as he fucked her. Enver brought his hand to her throat, wrapping around it and squeezing.

“Yes, please don’t stop,” Agnes breathed, his hips pounding against her. Agnes felt the air being punched from her lungs, growing dizzy from the bruising pace and his hand wrapped around her throat. She could feel waves of pleasure ripping through her as her orgasm rapidly approached with his cock pounding into her.

“Come for me Agnes, I know you can,” Enver growled, loosening the grip on her throat as he pressed his lips to hers. He pushed his tongue into her mouth, his thrust becoming more erratic as his own climax began to build. Agnes pulled away from the kiss, burying her head in the crook of his neck as she came, obscenities falling from her lips. Enver held her close, fucking her through her orgasm, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chased his own.

“Gods I- I’m,” Enver grunted, biting down on her shoulder as he spilled into her. Agnes could feel him throb inside of her, his teeth still buried in her neck. Enver pulled out of her, breathing heavily as he rested his hands on either side of her on the surface of the desk. Agnes smiled at him, caressing his cheek as she caught her breath.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Enver huffed, still trying to catch his breath.

“I hope so, my dear tyrant,” Agnes whispered against his lips.

[tantalizingtopi]

Perhaps, Part 1 of 2

Durge (Draela) x Gortash

Word count: 1248

NSFW - cw: blood, gore, death. Mildly unwanted/unwarranted sexual advances

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters portrayed in this writing, they are property of Baldur’s Gate 3 and Larian Studios

Gortash has defeated the merry band of travelers, and all that remains is his former lover. Despite all the steps she has taken against him, he can’t help but hold out for hope.

“You’ve been quite the little hero, haven’t you?” The words reverberate in my broken mind as my eyes swim, trying to focus on who or what was speaking. The more I rouse, the more my body screams in agony.

“Wha-?” I manage, it comes out as barely a whisper. I recognize the twin peaks I stare at now, my own knees, covered in blood and bruises and one jutting off at a painfully odd angle. Fearful, I try to wiggle my toes. They move, barely, painfully, agonizingly.

Two fingers slide under my chin and jerk my head upwards. I wince in response, seeing the dark haired man. The painful touch is replaced with an odd, soft caress against my jawline before he removes his hand. “You look at me when I talk to you, Drae.”

I shake with the effort of leaning back, my spine and ribs protesting. I remember now; I remember him calling me Drae. Affectionately. A series of images come flooding to me quickly, a montage of still shots. He was the first person to really see me, more than just an expert assassin, a bhaalspawn.

I work my tongue in my mouth with effort, the nerves in my face crying out in pain every time my jaw moves, telling me it’s at the very least dislocated. I fix my old lover with a glare, and with effort, spit a glob of curdled blood at his feet, watching his face with satisfaction as it briefly flashes with disgust.

He laughs. Not his usual haughty laugh, a full body laugh, complete with watery eyes and several snorts, which makes him laugh even harder. I find myself chuckling despite myself, if only for the absolute absurdity of the scene, but a small part of me wonders if I’ve well and truly lost the little bit of sanity I manage to hold onto.

“I was worried,” Gortash catches his breath. “That my Drae was truly lost, but I see her now. Maybe it’s just a spark, a flicker of a ghost, but it’s enough for me.”

He pauses expectantly. I say nothing. Every shallow breath I take is a thousand tiny daggers into my lungs.

“When I saw you in that goblin camp, I didn’t dare believe it was true. Not at first. My eyes were betraying me, you chatted with that drow. Through the scrying eye, I couldn’t let myself have that hope. I’d seen your body, mangled nearly beyond recognition. What that bitch did to you, I—“ he bites his lip and I hear his fists clench and unclench, the metal moving against itself.

He shakes his head and draws a calming breath. I say nothing.

“No matter, she’s dead and you’re here now,” he tears his eyes away from me just long enough to find the only other unbroken chair in the room, dragging it in front of me and straddling the back of it.

My vision swims to another lifetime, one in which the same scene is in front of me, but Gortash—no Enver— is resting shirtless, a goblet of wine in his hand. I sway my hips seductively in front of him while he watches with that look of absolute devotion on his face. ‘Come on, I promise it won’t hurt too much. I’ll kiss it to make it all better,’ I plead with him. I drag the tip of my blade enticingly down my body and watch with excitement as his eyes follow the movement. He groans in agony, and pleasure washes over me. I know I’ve won before he even says the words, ‘I can’t believe I’m going to let you do this.’ I grin and press my lips to his eagerly, the idea of making his flesh as mine forevermore almost as thrilling as the promise of another night of ecstasy with my lover that is sure to follow.

Gortash’s touch snaps me out of the reverie, jerking my head away from his palm and snarling, the movement reverberating down my spine, pure agony. How could I have ever loved this man? The sheer amount of terror and pain he’s caused. What he did to Karlach alone is unforgivable. The hurt and disappointment on his face pulls at my heartstrings though.

“I know you’ve taken another lover,” Gortash says softly, keeping his arm close to me, out of bite range but the gesture of longing to touch me doesn’t go unnoticed. “I never thought of all people though that it would be that pompous asshole— the Blade of the Frontiers he calls himself, what a twat.”

He snorts. “I don’t blame you, he’s charming in his own way, I suppose. Still a twat, though, even if he has you on his arm. You deserve better, Draela. You deserve more than a whelpling servant of a lowly cambion. Didn’t even have the intelligence to make a pact with someone who holds real power, a real devil.” He snorts again.

I say nothing. I had begged Wyll to stay at camp, begged him to stay there and if we didn’t return, to leave. I hadn’t wanted to worry about him during the battle, I wanted him safe. Our last conversation had been an argument over him staying behind, and our last kiss had been me desperately trying to convey to him how much I love him, while he only felt hurt and betrayed by my insistence.

And now, I’d never see him again. If he is dead, I don’t wish to continue on. I didn’t want to continue on when my father killed me, but Withers brought me back to finish this. But I can’t. In the end, I couldn’t defeat Gortash, and I refuse to go on trying if Wyll is dead. So sweet, so romantic, so completely opposite the monster that I was. He loved me despite everything I had done, accepted me as I am, fought for me when I couldn’t fight myself anymore.

I feel the rivulet of water streak down my cheek, and Gortash sees it. “Fuck, you’re not, crying, are you?”

I say nothing, not even bothering to try and blink away the tears. My vision is beginning to go spotty, and I feel the darkness starting to come for me again. I silently beg for it to claim me forever. My eyes focus on a bloody boot, the pool of blood it rests on starting to harden. Maybe Astarion?

“Ah ah ah,” Gortash clucks, reaching out to force my attention back on him. “You’re not going to be joining them, sweetheart. Not yet, anyway.”

I’m too weak to pull away from him again, letting his thumb skate over my lips. He sighs, his expression softening once more. He groans, “The things these lips can do to me should be illegal.”

My mouth tingles where he just touched, and I let my tongue taste the blood mixed with the saltiness of his hand. He sucks in his lip as he watches, and some sick part of me is pleased to see the effect I have on him even now. A sicker part of me is excited by it. I close my eyes. Just for a moment.

His thumb grazes my cheek before his fingers push my bloody hair behind my half-pointed ears. He keeps two of his fingers at my jawline, using them to keep my head from lolling. I hear wood on wood as the chair scrapes back, feel his lips press to mine.

[mightymizora]

Writing advice, please! With OC x Established Character (e.g Durge x Gortash) have you ever encountered the issue where you are planning for the characters to be attracted to one another but when they actually meet on paper, there's no chemistry? Do you have any tips on how to get past a situation like this or would you rather recommend not trying to force them together when it doesn't seem to come to them naturally?

Ohhh this is so interesting anon! I don’t think I’ve ever had this as such but I have had chemistry being unexpected in how it is expressed.

I would also say I usually start by building a character and seeing who they vibe with first, I rarely build a character for another character. I did build Manva to be a Durgetash character but also their chemistry ended up being odd too - they don’t ever fully resolve the tensions that are in place, and she has more traditionally satisfying relationships with other characters.

I’d say I’d look quite methodically at how they compliment and rub against each other to understand the character. You have to have a bit of both I think for chemistry. They can’t be too similar or there’s no friction and spark, and they can’t just hate each other. I’d potentially write this as a series of statements as a bit of a keystone. For example with my durgetash I would say:

He wants to own her as a perfect weapon, but she only serves her father

She wants to be intimate with him, but she cannot and will not trust his intentions and keeps herself for her mission

He wants to lavish her in affection and luxury, and she believes in humility and modesty

They both want to find comfort in each other, but they both know the risk of vulnerability

From there I can build this tension.

If it really isn’t happening though I wouldn’t push it. I’m always led by where the characters lead themselves and I think it creates more believable characters too.

[pengychan]

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 6

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.

*** Anyone who's ever played Neverwinter can probably guess where this is going. ***

Durge was no stranger to unpleasant welcomes.

There were many things they still couldn’t recall of their life as Bhaal’s Chosen, but it seemed quite likely that their arrival would be seldom welcomed by his victims. Then, of course, there had been more recent events that they remembered well; being caught in Jaheira’s vines right there at Last Light Inn was still, in their opinion, the worst welcome by far.

Until they opened the door to Raphael’s room to be greeted by a firebolt to the face.

“Ignis!”

Sonofabi--

Wyll was quicker to react than any of them; an instant before the firebolt made contact, before Durge could even move to counter, he’d grabbed their robes and pulled them down. The firebolt went right over their head, close enough it may have singed hair if they had any, and crashed against the opposite wall, causing several people downstairs to yell in alarm and more than a few to grab their weapons.

Well, look at that. The bastard could cast, after all. But he wasn’t getting a chance to do it again. 

“Dolor!”

Wyll’s blast shot forward in a beam of crackling energy, and Raphael had no time to even try  moving out of the way, or conjure up any kind of defense. The blast struck him and it would have knocked him back several feet, had he not been leaning against the wall. Instead, it just knocked back his head. Into the wall.

Hard.

Halsin stepped forward, lifting a hand to cast, but paused when Raphael promptly crumpled on the floor. He frowned and slowly lowered his hand, while Wyll leaned over the rails to let the people downstairs know that everything was in hand. 

“... He’s in no state to take on anyone in a fight,” Halsin muttered. “What got into him?”

“Not a clue,” Durge muttered, and stepped in, crouching next to Raphael’s still form. That he could cast was not overly surprising, but he thought the devil more clever than that, picking a fight he had absolutely no chance to win. He could be rash, yes, and overconfident, but never stupid… and this had been an astoundingly stupid decision. “If he wanted to try something, I’d have expected him to bide his ti--”

“Hello, love. I was awakened by the sound of-- oh, hi Wyll-- the sound of chaos, but it seems I missed all the fun. Seriously, did you keep him alive all this time only to end him without me?” Astarion sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m hurt.”

“He’s not dead,” Durge pointed out, turning Raphael on his back and cradling the back of his head in their hand. There didn’t seem to be skull fractures, at least, and he was breathing, if raggedly. That single firebolt must have taken a lot out of him; he probably couldn’t have cast another even without Wyll’s intervention.

“I suspect that’s going to change,” Astarion commented. “I bet someone went to fetch Aylin. You’ll need to be very convincing if you want him to keep that head attached to his neck for much longer.”

Ah, right. She was unlikely to take kindly to the fact he’d attacked them, and that he may very well have tried to attack Isobel if she’d been the one to step in. That was going to require some diplomacy, and definitely a compromise. It looked like Raphael would have to wave that cushy room goodbye. 

“... I’ll take him to one of the cells. Halsin, can you help me carry him downstairs? We lock him in, and then you heal him.”

“It sounds like a plan,” Halsin said, and stepped in to help, leaving Wyll to fill in Astarion on what exactly he was doing there.

***

It’s cold. 

Cold cold cold and it hates the cold, it’s shrouded in fire and somehow it’s still cold. The walls are made of ice but that’s not what bothers it. Something is cold inside, worse than ice, beneath the hellfire. A hole where something was, a lack of heat that’s unbearable and is never going away. Something is-- missing -- wrong and it hates and hates and hates and doesn’t know why. 

It hates it there. It doesn’t know where there is, only that it hates it and has to guard it, or else the cold will turn to pain and it hates that, too. It hates whoever put it there.

It doesn’t know who put him there.

It doesn’t know where it was before. What it was before. There was something. Someone. He was someone, they were someone and it’s all gone now. He is gone and it is all that remains, stalking hallways and rooms beneath vaulted ceilings. 

There are beings around, small and skittish, and it hates them and wants them gone, but it cannot harm them. Not unless they touch something they should not. They’re there to serve, same as it is, and if it kills one without reason or permission someone-- Barbas bastard oily bastard I’ll kill you -- will make it hurt.

It doesn’t realize it’s making a noise, a growl deep in its chest and chittering in the back of three skulls, but it does see the small souls working about the place turn, sees them back away, move to keep on their work at the farthest possible corner of the room. They disappear behind thick columns, behind doors.

Only one remains, unmoving before the flames. It has seen this soul before. Almost tore into it. But it did not because… because…

She steps forward, slowly. It can smell her fear, but she takes another step. “Israfel,” she speaks, quietly. “You know that name. He named you that. Did he keep you? Raise you?”

There is a stab of something in the back of its skulls, and one of its jaws clacks once, twice. Israfel. The sound of it, it’s heard it before. It doesn’t know when. But it heard it many times and there is the smell of a new book, the warmth of embers in a hearth, the clack of pieces placed on a lanceboard, the strings of a lyre, the taste of something-- almonds, always liked those almond sweets -- in its mouths. It’s warm as everything else is cold. It’s solace. It hurts. It wants it to stop. It wants more. But it’s gone and it can’t have it back, because-- your Lord father summons you, little duke -- it hurts-- time to join your kind -- and hurts and HURTS-- you’re loved here, promise your Nan you’ll remember that -- make it stop make it stop-- you’re but one of many whelps, the Lord of the Eighth shall see you when he wishes to -- make it STOP HURTING RIGHT NOW.

It steps back, chittering, shaking its heads, the flames within dimming, its knees bending. The soul who spoke the name pauses, staring, then steps closer, slowly. A hand reaches up and almost, almost touches its fused skulls. Almost.

She doesn’t. None may touch it, not if they value their life, and she steps away quickly, before anyone can see, leaving it alone in the middle of the room, shaking and growling, still so cold, a shriek coiling in its throat. It cannot let it out. It will hurt if it screams.

On another Plane, the missing half of its soul screams loud enough for both of them.

***

“Silvanus preserve us--”

“What the fuck .”

Durge wasn’t sure what they had expected Raphael to do once Halsin cast a healing spell on him and he regained consciousness; the fireball earlier had shown he was probably not in his best state of mind. They had sort of expected him to be unhappy about his current predicament, to strain against the robe binding his wrists. However, they had not expected him to scream and scream and scream, wordlessly, loud enough it must be tearing something in his throat. They and Halsin watched, taken aback, and he screamed again and twisted, eyes bloodshot, damn near foaming at the mouth, trying to throw himself at them. 

Did I look like this, when the Urge came and I almost killed Astarion?

The memory of that night was churning ice in their gut, and Durge chased it from their mind. Instead they lifted a hand and, with a quick gesture, cast to detect Raphael’s thoughts. They usually came in the form of words, but not always - Wulbren Bongle’s mind for one had shown only a column of fire reaching up into the skies - and this time, too, there were only images. 

Walls of ice, priceless artifacts protected by ancient magic-- Mephistopheles’ vaults, they were there there once, when they took the crown --and debtors at work cleaning, the smell of fear overpowering and yet dwarfed by hatred, all-encompassing, fueled by a continuous agony burning cold somewhere at the core of the being through whose eyes they are now looking. Multiple eyes, spaced unevenly, and all focused on a small figure. A word is uttered, a name; the empty coldness within turns into a void, pulling in all light, and everything explodes into pain. Of course it does. Two halves of the same soul will always cry out for one another.

“Get out of my head! Get out get out get out! ”

Raphael screamed again, and Durge was quick to sever the connection. They blinked, head spinning, to see that Raphael had slumped against the damp stone of the wall, trembling, breath coming in ragged gasps through clenched teeth. Halsin knelt beside him, and cast another healing spell; one more shaky breath and some of the tension seemed to leave Raphael’s body.

“Lay down,” Halsin spoke, voice even. “You’re safe here.”

Raphael made a choking noise that Durge could barely identify as a laugh. He opened his eyes, found Durge’s gaze, and sneered. “Why am I still alive, bhaalspawn?”

“There was no reason to kill you--”

“Keeping me for Mizora’s pet to finish, aren’t you?”

Durge looked at Halsin. Halsin looked at Durge. Both turned back to Raphael.

“... What?”

It was almost amazing, really, how quickly Raphael could revert to looking at them so haughtily, like he wasn’t a trembling mess only seconds earlier, screaming his lungs out. “You’re not as clever as you believe you are. You brought Wyll Ravengard to my room so he could end me himself. Tell me, what has my father promised him, or Mizora, in exchange for my head?”

Durge stared. “... Hold up. You think Wyll is here to kill you? Is that why you attacked?”

A glare. “I may be injured in body, but very much unlike yours, my mind is perfectly intact,” Raphael snapped. “I heard him thank you for your help with my own ears.”

Ah. Of course. Durge sighed, rubbing their forehead. “You imbecile," they groaned. “He wasn’t talking about you.”

Somehow, the insult seemed to cut deeper than the notion they had may be trying to kill him. “Don’t you dare mock me! I heard--”

“If we’d wanted you dead, you’d be dead. And against my better judgment, you still breathe.”

“What other devil would he come here expecting your help to ki--”

“Zariel.” Wyll’s voice rang out in the cellar, cutting him off, and Raphael blinked. 

They all turned to the entrance, where Wyll stood. He smiled weakly. “Hope you don't mind me joining you. Astarion stayed upstairs to smooth things over,” he said, and looked back at Raphael. From his part, Raphael was silent a moment or two before speaking again. 

“Zariel,” he repeated, as though trying out a foreign word on his tongue.

“Yes. Mizora said--”

“Mizora gave you the order to kill the archdevil of Avernus.”

“That’s the only Zariel I am aware of.”

Another pause, and finally a chuckle. Raphael shifted to sit more upright against the wall, and laughed. “What have you done,” he asked, the unpleasant smile still on his lips, “for Mizora to come up with such a delightfully creative way to sentence you to a most painful death?”

Well. That was not encouraging. “It is a mission I am bound to complete, or die trying,” was all Wyll replied, arms crossed over his chest. “Her reasons are irrelevant. I have to kill Zariel.”

“You truly hope you have the faintest chance to succeed?” Raphael chuckled again, like the thought alone was hilarious. “Haven’t you learned yet that hope is the greatest lie of all? Zariel will sup with your soul, Wyll Ravengard, and perhaps sample your liver on the side.”

All right, time to put an end to that. “You were keen to sup on our souls as well, and yet we defeated you,” Durge pointed out, only a touch pleased by the obvious annoyance that twisted Raphael’s features. “If we could beat you, certainly we have decent chances to defeat her. Or is she that much more powerful than you?”

A scowl. “Your puerile baiting will not change the facts,” Raphael bit out. “All the power I had I clawed for myself, you contemptible rat. She has been given command over forces beyond your measly comprehension by Asmodeus himself. You may have beaten me, but I almost had you, with naught but a few foot soldiers at my beck and call. She has legions to call upon. She has been fighting the Blood War far longer than you've lived. If you fight her, you shall perish. Of that, you can be certain.”

“That’s why I asked to speak with you as soon as they told me you were here,” Wyll spoke up, and approached the cell. “If there is a way to better our chances - anything to help us succeed - surely, you must know.”

A scoff. “And…?”

Halsin sighed. “I suppose there is little chance you’ll tell us out of the kindness of your heart.”

Raphael tilted his head. “I am glad to see I don’t need to explain the obvious to you. I suppose the next thing you’ll do is threaten to take my life for my refusal - very well. I will die here before I help you. But by all means, go ahead and try, all of you, to destroy Zariel.” He smiled. “Get yourselves killed, lose your souls to the archdevil of Avernus. I hope you’ll scream loudly, rat,” he added, the smile widening as he met Durge’s eyes. “So that even I can hear the melody of it, wherever I’ll be.”

Durge met his gaze and smiled back, all fangs. “I won’t kill you, Raphael. I’ll let the flow of time do it, day after day to the end of this mortal life. After that, I don’t know if there is a place anywhere for the mere half of a soul, but I suppose that’s for you to find out,” they said, and to their satisfaction, Raphael’s smile wavered. They stood. “... Or perhaps we will let Mizora know where to find you, to collect a reward for delivering you to your esteemed father. Either way, we are done here. Good luck and all that. Wyll, we’re ready to leave when--”

“Wait.” 

Raphael’s voice rang out a moment before Durge closed the cell’s door behind them. They turned to look at him over their shoulder. They were not surprised: matters of pride were always quick to turn into matters of price when no other options were left. Dealing with devils - this one devil in particular - had taught them that much.

“I believe,” they said, barely holding back a grin, “that this is the part where you make an offer.”

It was.

***

“So, I see you’ve been, uh… reading?”

“Oh, yes. A lot of books here - most of them evil, and I mean, evil evil. But I’m hoping to find out where my sister’s soul went.”

There was the slightest waver in Hope’s voice that would have made Karlach’s heart clench, if it hadn’t been a clinky machine running on oil and sheer spite in her chest cavity. Even so, there was a knot in her stomach. She did her best to ignore it and turned back to what had been Raphael’s archive. Most of the objects on display were gone, but the books and scrolls were still there - many scattered across a long table. 

“I see,” Karlach finally said, choosing not to remark on the fact Korrilla had been all right with Hope being held prisoner and subjected to endless nightmares for… Hells knew how long. She had brought it up once, and the look Hope had given her had kept her up at night. 

“She’s my sister,” she had said. “And she loved me, once. Love doesn’t just go away, does it? I don’t think it does. I must hope it doesn’t.”

There was nothing Karlach could say to that because well, had she not survived ten years in Avernus thanks to just that? The hope that she could escape someday? So in the end she bit her tongue, and asked something else. 

“Did you find out anything?”

Hope sighed, shaking her head. “No. Well, not yet. You see, she was bound to Raphael, right? Meaning her soul was his, once she-- once-- well, after she died. But then Raphael died before he could properly collect it and that doesn’t usually happen, you know. What happens to the souls belonging to a devil when the devil is gone before he can claim them?”

That was definitely not something Karlach had ever wondered. “That’s… a good question.”

“I find that out, and I find my sister. I think. I hope.” Hope gestured towards the scattered books. “So I’ve been trying to find out. The souls have been very nice. I asked them to please not come here so I can read, and they’re keeping out.”

“... I see,” Karlach muttered. Personally, she might have set the entire place on fire herself in Hope’s shoes, destroying everything her tormentor had ever owned, but the slim chance to find her sister again clearly meant too much to her, and she didn’t bring it up. But gods, she was bored. Wyll had been gone for days, and she’d had no news yet.

“Oh! Maybe we’ll find something that could help you defeat Zariel, too?”

… All right, that was a better plan than ‘set everything on fire and laugh over the smoldering remains’. It was a bit of a long shot, but it made at least some sense. Devils were a bunch of scheming bastards, always looking to stab one another in the back or at least someplace painful. They collected information about each other the way one would collect Talis cards, cataloging each and every weak point. If Raphael ever had information they could use against Zariel, then surely this was where she could find it.

Karlach had never been big on reading, but it wasn’t like she had anything else to do until Wyll returned with reinforcements. “That’s a great idea, really. Let’s get to it.”

“If I see something about Zariel, I yell. If you see anything on unclaimed souls, you yell. Deal?”

“Eugh, don’t use that word,” Karlach laughed, and turned to the closest shelves. Unlike many others, now empty, they were still filled with rows of books. “What about those? Have you looked there?”

Hope made a face. “Those are not books. They’re Raphael’s diaries going back a long time. But I’m not touching those.”

Considering the absolute bullshit she’d seen in the boudoir, Karlach could definitely understand why. Still - no pain, no gains. Or something like that. “Guess I’ll have to, then. At worst, I’ll get some extra mocking material about the dead bastard,” she muttered, and grabbed the closest diary.

***

“The Sword of Zariel?”

Sitting on the floor against the wall of a cell, hands tied behind his back and forced to look up at that gaggle of loathsome vagabonds, Raphael nodded. That was not precisely how he usually conducted negotiations, but he could bear it if it got him what he wanted. Then, of course, he’d kill each and every one of them.

“Exactly. If there is anything in the Nine Hells of Baator that can kill her, other than Asmodeus himself, it’s that sword.”

“Oh, of course. It sounds so very convenient.” The vampire spawn - when had he come downstairs? - scoffed, leaning against the bars. “A sword that can kill her, so very fittingly named after her.”

Really now? “Did the tadpole take a bite out of your brain before it was vaporized? It is named Sword of Zariel because it was Zariel’s sword, back when she was still a celestial. A Solar, to be exact, until her fall, when she lost it along with the hand that had been holding it. She is as powerful as an archdevil as she was then, but that sword? It can end her. I am certain of it.”

“And you just so happen to know where it is?” Wyll Ravengard asked, doubt etched in his features. Raphael met his gaze, lips curling. 

“Isn’t it a happy coincidence? The sword was taken by a Hellrider general and a hollyphant--”

“If you know where it is now, why haven’t you taken such a weapon for yourself?” The bhaalspawn crouched to look him in the eye. “Why hasn’t Zariel? Or your father, ever the collector?”

Ravengard blinked. “His father?”

“Mephistopheles,” the vampire spawn clarified. 

“... Huh. And here I thought I had to deal with a cumbersome family relation.”

Raphael elected to ignore them both, and met the bhaalspawn’s gaze. “There is power to that sword, one that protects it from devils - not that devils would manage to wield it even if they got to it. The sword is sentient, and will reject those it deems unworthy. Infernal beings are… unlikely to make the cut.”

“So even if we find it, there is no guarantee we may be able to wield it.”

“I agreed to tell you what can kill Zariel, and I can take you to where it is. Everything else is up to you. I’m not the one sworn to kill an archdevil - or die trying lest I become a lemure.”

Ravengard frowned. “Point taken, thank you,” he said, in a tone that indicated he was not thankful in the slightest. Raphael ignored him, like he ignored the vampling and the lumbering druid at the back. He kept his gaze fixed on the bhaalspawn, who finally, slowly, nodded. 

“Very well. That is fair enough,” they said, and stood. “We have an agreement. As soon as you’re able to travel, we’ll be off to Avernus.”

Astarion cleared his throat. “And, ah, how do we know he won’t turn on us the second we’re there? Because that's what I would do if I were a devil.”

“That’s what you would do regardless,” the druid pointed out, gaining himself a shrug. 

“My point stands.”

Raphael scoffed, making a mental note to kill the vampling first, possibly before the bhaalspawn’s eyes. “One could argue I’m the one taking the risk, considering your abysmal actions last time I offered you a perfectly good deal. I won’t pretend I wouldn’t love to slit your throats, but it would very much go against my interests. I want something in return if I’m to help you destroy Zariel, and you cannot give me a thing if you’re dead.”

“... The other half of your soul,” the rat spoke. “That’s your price, isn’t it?”

Raphael shrugged. “I wouldn’t say no to Mephistopheles’ head on a silver platter, if we truly get as far as killing one archdevil,” he said. “But first, yes. The other half of my soul.” Then, your lives. “Do we have a deal?”

They did.

***

“So, we’re all going to Hell. In the most literal sense, this time. It’s going to be an interesting experience, I’m sure. And I won’t have to worry about the sun, so that’s definitely a plus.”

“None of you is obliged to do this. I understand it is a lot to ask--”

“Wyll, darling, don’t be absurd. This idiot has already pledged their help and they are, quite regrettably, my idiot. I have to come along. They wouldn’t survive a day without me.”

“I am coming as well, if you’ll have me.”

“Halsin, this place needs you. And the children--”

“This place would still be cursed, and these children would be dead, if not for you. I could not live with myself if I didn’t help you now. They have Isobel and Dame Aylin to look after them in my absence, and-- you might just need a healer, after all.”

A sigh, and Wyll lifted his gaze from his ale to look back at them. “I’m more grateful than I can put into words. I would not have involved anybody else in what is my mission, if not for--”

“Karlach.”

“Yes. This is the best chance yet to win her freedom. I couldn’t live with myself if I failed her.”

“You won’t live at all if you fail, but let’s say I understand the sentiment. So, uh. Have you two, you know…?” Astarion leaned forward on the table, peering closely at Wyll’s face, grinning much too wide. From his part, Wyll pulled back, clearing his throat. 

“We have been fighting our way through Avernus-- and as she told you, we have made progress when it comes to her engine--”

“Oh, come now. Even you can’t be that pure of heart.”

“I… well… she is amazing, the most incredible woman I’ve ever met, but…” Wyll looked at the others, as though hoping one of them would bail him out of the conversation, only to be met with looks of very obvious interest. He groaned. “Listen, we’re fighting devils and demons and whatnot day in and day out. We’re covered in steaming blood and guts more often than not--”

“Sounds dreamy,” Astarion muttered, only half-jesting, gaining himself a snort.

“It’s not precisely the picture of romance, is it? No time for-- you know, a courtly dance, or--”

Durge chuckled. “That’s sweet, but she never struck me as someone for courtly dances.”

“Because she never got to try it,” Wyll said, leaning back against his seat. For some reason, he was utterly certain that everybody would love a slow dance if they ever gave it a try. “There are too many things she never got to experience, and I want to give her that chance. Even if she never looks at me that way.”

“You went to Hell with her. Seems plenty romantic to me.”

“That was the only right thing to do. I don’t want to use that to-- I don’t want her to think she owes me something for it. And--” he paused, and cleared his throat. “I, uh. I believe we’re getting sidetracked. We were discussing the mission.”

As much as they’d have loved to prod Wyll a bit further - Astarion, they could tell, was itching to do so - Durge could agree it was time they turned back to more pressing matters. “Very well. If Karlach is safe from Zariel as long as she’s in the House of Hope, I believe a detour to Baldur’s Gate is due before heading to Avernus. The Devil’s Fee was still standing, last we checked, and if there’s any place where we can find supplies to help us survive the Hells, that’s where we should look. The gods know we need all the supplies we can get.”

“And some reliable advice from Helsik, I suppose.”

Halsin laughed. “I assume we’re not trusting Raphael to be our only guide, then?” he asked, only to be met with variations of ‘Gods, no’ and ‘I can throw him farther than I can trust him’. There was some laughter, and a brief silence. In the end, it was Astarion who broke it. 

“... All right, since no one else is asking, I’ll bite - figuratively. Do you actually plan to help him take back the missing half of his soul?”

Durge shrugged. “If he holds his half of the bargain...”

“You’re aware that there is no infernal contract this time, yes? Just our word, mortals to mortal. Not having to face another archdevil for his soul after we do in Zariel would be rather nice. We can just… pretend to play along, and then ditch him. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

“We could,” Durge conceded. “And I have.”

“And…?”

“I suppose we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Until then,” they added, picking up their mug and looking down at the dark ale inside, “I’m rather curious to see what happens once the human half of his soul has had a chance to stretch its legs.”

***

“Ugh, what I’d give to kill that creep a couple more times!”

Karlach made a face, dropping yet another diary that was full of stupid long words, shitty poetry, shameless boasting, self-celebratory bullshit and endless lists of people Raphael had cheated out of their souls. All that, and no mention of anything she could use against Zariel.

Of course, the dead bastard couldn’t be useful for once. Karlach made a face, and pulled the last armful of diaries off the shelf in one swoop - causing something to clatter on the floor.

“Huh?” Karlach paused, and looked down. Shoved at the back of the shelf, behind what looked like the oldest diaries, there had been a wooden box. She picked it up, frowning, and blew some dust from it. It looked old, but was richly decorated with a motif she had never seen before. Some kind of… spire? Yes, it looked like a spire, reaching up in the skies to pierce a star. Weird. “Hope, come take a look!”

She did come take a look, popping out from behind a stupid tall pile of books she had been sorting through, but she stilled when her gaze fell on the box. She frowned and, to Karlach’s surprise, she took a step back. “... I don’t think I want to touch it,” she muttered. 

Karlach blinked. The box looked harmless enough, but… well, it belonged to a devil. And nothing connected to devils was ever harmless. Maybe something awful would jump out of it if she opened it. “Why? Does this feel evil evil, too?”

Hope frowned, and shook her head. “No. Not that. It’s the least evil thing in here, I think.”

“Oh,” Karlach said, almost disappointed. She was so bored, she’d have welcomed some kind of abomination to smack around. “Then what’s the issue?”

A shrug. “Sad,” was all she said. “It feels sad. I like it best when I’m not sad myself. But I don’t think it’s dangerous, if you want to open it.”

“Huh. I mean-- yeah, thanks for telling me,” Karlach muttered, and just to be on the safe side she took the box to the other side of the room before she opened it. As Hope had said, nothing evil came out of it, no abomination to smack around. Inside was a pendant with the same spire-and-star motif as the box, a book in a language she didn’t understand but was clearly not Infernal, a letter written in what seemed the same foreign language, the black King from a lanceboard set, and… a lyre? A weird assortment, that. Why had it been shoved back there, out of sight?

It feels sad, Hope had said, but Karlach couldn’t say she felt anything about it. She put the box down on the table, and picked up the pendant. She had only meant to look, but the thing opened with a click, revealing a miniature portrait inside. A human woman, it looked like. Dark hair, tan skin, dark eyes - something about the shape of those eyes, and the cheekbones…

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Karlach muttered, but of course once it clicked she couldn’t unsee it. There she was, the human woman who’d forfeited her life to bring a fucking devil into the world. Baby’s first kill, in the most literal sense of the word. Karlach sighed. Whatever she got in return, it can’t have been worth her life - or the evil she unleashed. The price of dealing with devils would always be too high.

“... Sorry, sis, but it was a bad trade if there ever was one,” she muttered, and let the pendant drop back into the box.

***

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