#named durge

[somethingyoirelated]

Two big softies having a sleepover. 🌙💤 This is the result of @bara-izu's Tav Halion ☀ and my Durge Lunaris having the same taste in "sleepwear". :D

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[bhaaldursgays]

had a few thoughts about Gortash courting Clira but he's not courting her he's furthering their plans

he makes sure she always has a place to hide in his home and his workshops, just because it's convenient you understand. Sure, she says she'll do fine with a hammock in a corner and a waterbasin but he makes sure she has a soft bed, crisp linen and a bath with a heater.

And they should have dinner, once or twice a week. No alliance lasts when weakened, it's only good habit, no he doesn't do it with his other allies why do you ask?

And of course, inviting her as his plus one is just to make it easier for her to get used to the life they'll lead once they're rulers, it's called thinking ahead.

And of course, when he sees a piece of jewelry that will look good on her he makes a big deal about buying it at the jewelers, to fuel the gossip of course. Lord Enver Gortash? Buying romantic gifts? The various patriars vying for his attention will smell blood in the water and be ready to throw anything at his feet to become the new favourite, it's called manipulation my dearest bhaalspawn now sit still so I can put the damn necklace on you

[thedragonagelesbian]

New Growth

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Pairing: Halsin/M!Custom Durge

Rating: T

Length: 4,388 words

Summary: "When is a monster not a monster? // Oh, when you love it." Even as the shadow curse begins to lift, a new horror awakens outside Moonrise Towers. Halsin finds it and helps it return to himself.

He takes a step back, but those eyes go wide, and Cyrus lashes out. Perhaps he only intends to grab Halsin’s arm, but the claws snag against his skin. Only for a second—no sooner does the blood well up than Cyrus recoils—yet the keratin cuts deep and wicked, slicing through soft tissue down to the bone with just a stray swipe. Grunting, Halsin cradles his arm to his chest and summons up a quick spell. Not enough to heal it, or even ease the pain, but it staunches the bleeding.

“Well…” Somehow he manages a dry laugh, even as his stomach churns with that same primal unease he felt in his bear form. He racks his mind for anything he’s encountered in his studies about monstrosities like this, but all he can muster up is that ancient sense of dread. Of predation. “I guess you don’t want me to leave, then?” Cyrus makes a chittering noise like a sob and presses himself as close to the tree as he can. “It’s alright. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

He also knows that Cyrus won’t accept this comfort yet. The specifics of what happened after Last Light fell are still a mystery to him, but he knows that Cyrus spent a week avoiding Wyll, that his guilt eats him down to his marrow, that there is no simple cure for an infection that deep. 

But Halsin is patient.

Read on Ao3

[mahiiimahiiii]

@lucien-lachance made a really banger durgetash fic so I couldn't resist doodling. I dunno if Tumblr will tiff with femme presenting nipple so we took precautions. Plus the yassified version! Please check out their fic it's below da cut!

[llamamamarisen92]

The Wolf and the Lion

Chapter 1 - A Wolf Snuck into the Lion’s Den

Chapter 2 Link:

https://www.tumblr.com/llamamamarisen92/760433510540541952/the-wolf-and-the-lion?source=share

Named Dark Urge

Pre-BG3 Dark Urge/Gortash Head Canon

Warning: Violence

Characters: Johim (Durge), Gortash, Orin, Sarovek

Word Count: 1,800ish

By: Jesh Llamas

Bored. He sat bored upon the throne of Bhaal. Long ago he had mastered his domain. Celebrated among those who thirsted for blood. Idols of the white dragon beginning to show up in homes of partriars who dabbled in cruelty and debauchery. For years he sat on this throne. Picking up the pieces of Sarovek's failure. Building something much more than a temple of murder. Growing an empire of his own designs in the name of his father. Divine blood flowing righteously through him.

Orin stood atop the altar chanting as wails of terror filled the ceremony hall. Hammers crashing down upon mighty drums. Building a cacophony of anguished horror in honor of Lord Bhaal. In honor of him. Johim Ba'elwyn, chief scion of the dread god. The last victim was stretched upon the stone slab. A high elven maiden who seemed no older than 40 years. Her eyes were beautiful. Hazel panic filled eyes danced in silent beseechment of him.

He stood up slowly, holding his hand in the air to stay Orin's blade. Unhurried as he walked down the dais stairs towards the terrified woman. A stalking lion making its way to a lamb tied to a spit. He stood above the woman now. Eyes softened as he placed a gentle hand on her cheek. For a moment the terror fled from her. Tears of relief flowing as he smiled gently down at her. He bent over brushing his lips against hers. An intimate lovers gesture. Little whimpers escaped her, body relaxing slightly. He chose that moment to dig his dagger deep into her heart. Watching her face as confusion and anguish were her last expressions. When the light in her eyes dimmed he thrust his bloodied fist into the air. Roaring as he transformed into the dread dragon's form. A trick he used to stir the worshipers into a zealous frenzy.

Orin was now kneeling on the ground bowing deeply. This was her role. Submission. His sister, the granddaughter of Sarovek showing obeisance to his rule. The graven crimson eyes of Bhaal flickering above him. A sign of pleasure from his divine father. He turned away from the crowd of worshipers. The echo of vile cheers followed him as he made his way to his private quarters. He made a few short commands to the sentries at his door. He did not wish to be disturbed for the rest of the evening.

Closing the door and turned back to his normal form. Handsome leonine features set upon sun-kissed skin. Thick red hair that fell like a river of blood down his shoulders and back. He had been alive for a thousand years, but he looked no older than thirty five. A benefit of being the spawn of a god he supposed. His beauty was a mark of his status as Bhaal's perfect scion.

Thankfully a basin had already been filled with water. He walked over to wash the blood off of his hands. Dully scanning the bowl as the blood washed off. How many times had he performed this ritual? It had become automatic. Hardly having to think about or calculate how proceedings would go. It was always the same. A fear stricken victim. A false sense of hope. And a crowd cheering at the illusion of a dragon.

When he was finished cleaning up he settled at his desk. A pile of letters filled with requests from various lords and ladies of the land. Desiring for support in this venture or that. Someone requesting to hire his assassin's blade. Another wishing for an intimidating presence. Some of them simply dinner invitations with the intention to keep in Bhaal's good graces. What better way to stay unmurdered than to appeal to Bhaal's charismatic and indomitable son.

Outside of the temple when he was representing Bhaal he was always the dragon. When he took over he had seen fit for the temple to present a more diplomatic face. To slither into the upper class and puppet the rulers of the land. It wasn't that hard. The good and great of the sword coast often debauched and thinly veiling their own personal evils.

Sifting through the letters until one of them finally caught his eye. It was sealed with the black mark of Bane. Raising his eyebrow in curiosity at the oil stained paper he unfolded it. Banites did not send appeals to Bhaal's temple. Their gods were similar and at times their objectives aligned. But their desire for the outcome of the world was very different. Their differences often landed in deadly quarrels between their respective cults.

His curiosity was peaked further a half smile curving his lips as he read the letter:

"Beautiful son of Bhaal." The letter was off to a good start. "How long will you sit upon your fathers throne. Growing stagnant in the shadow of your father's power. Surely one such as yourself craves more. I see the way you control the inner workings of your realm with an iron fist. But perhaps it is time to loosen your grip on the shadows and reach towards higher elevation. Not to simply sit contented as the son of a god, but to be in truth a god entirely of your own. Perhaps it is time to shed the dragon and instead become the lion."

His brow furrowed at that last line. Very few outside the temple were privy to his true form. And one did not simply step into the temple without very careful vetting. It served him well when he wanted to walk the city streets discreetly. Watching and listening for information from crowds of people that may prove useful. A salaciously whimsical smile masking the monster inside. Seducing his way into the beds of important men and women for a multitude of reasons all designed to further his kingdom.

The letter ended in a peculiar sign off.

"May we obtain absolute glory in the light of our own ambitions, Gortash."

Setting the letter down he puzzled out the words. The motives that may lay behind them. Getting up he walked towards a shelf of books on the gods of the realm. It was important to be studied on the entire pantheon and its histories. But Johim truly found pleasure in knowledge and was as devoted to his scholarly pursuits as he was to his brutal acts of worship. Constantly drinking up knowledge as if he was on the cusp of dying of thirst.

He selected a volume recounting phrases of power and declarations in the name of Bane. Searching for something within the text that matched up with the strange phrase. Banites were often ambitious, but the mechanical nature of their thinking often limited them. Frustration built as nothing jumped out at him as he flipped through the pages. He put down the book and sifted through his own knowledge for anything that may prove familiar.

A thought struck him and he walked back to the vast shelf of books. At the top was an old tome. It was a second hand recounting of the life and destruction of Karsus. The priceless book was given to him by a calamshite mage who enlisted him to personally slaughter a rival of his. Johim smiled a bit at the memory of Orin's rage when she found out her brother took on a contract for a book. Raging that it was beneath him to do anything for dingy worn out pages.

He flipped to a page near the end of the book reading the passage that came to his mind.

Karsus lay broken and bloody upon the floor of his own half constructed temple. Mortal once more, his life rapidly flitting out like a candle in the midst of a tempest. The failed child that would be a god grasped by the oppressive hand of Mephistopheles as he was dragged down into the depths of the hells.

He continued to read until he came to a final stanza on that same page. 

Karsus cried to the heavens in one final display of defiance, 'May I still obtain absolute glory in the light of mine own ambitions'.

It was famously the last words Karsus spoke before his kingdom and godhood was snuffed out. His artifacts were rumored to be kept in the volts of Mephistopheles himself. Karsus was an infamous figure in history. But not many outside a handful of powerful mages and perhaps clerics of Mystra were well read on the subject.

Suspicion filled him as he pondered how Gortash would not only know his true identity but also be keen enough to put in a reference to a rare passage about Karsus. But suspicion was also accompanied by a deep curiosity and the spark of a fire that had been simmering out at the monotony of his own success.

He sat back at his desk with the book in hand. Clearing a spot so that he may write a letter in response. He dipped a quill in ink and simply wrote:

"Ambition is what distinguishes between those who would remain mortal and those who would reach above the divine."

Another reference from the same book. He signed it, 'Your roaring lion'.

Eager to catch a glimpse of this Enver Gortash he donned a dark hooded robe as he walked through a door that led to a secret tunnel that connected to the docks of Baldur's gate. There was no address. Nothing to indicate where Gortash may be. No. But judging by the oil stains on the paper it was likely it came from the steel factory that sat next to the docks. He slipped into a dark corner waiting for any sign of the man that wrote to him. A group of artificers walked out of the factory gate. He perked up as one of them waved to a man in an ornate set of robes.

"Your ingenuity will cause you to outpace the Master Artificer in no time Gortash. Safe travels home."

Johim grinned as the young black haired man walked into the dark streets. Presumably to go home. Johim followed him quietly, keeping to the shadows. Gortash turned the corner onto a walkway that was lonely at this time of night. Taking the opportunity he quickly covered Gortash's mouth as he held his dagger to the man's back. Just enough pressure to warn him against calling for help.

"It seems a wolf has been playing in my den." He whispered softly into Gortash's ear. He sheathed his dagger and slid his response letter into one of Gortash's pockets. Before Gortash could respond or turn around, he slunk back into the shadows undetected.

Johim was all too ready to play whatever game this clever wolf was setting in front of him.

[ashenlavellan]

Shuffle your favorite playlist and post the first five songs that come up, then copy/paste this ask to your favorite mutuals! <3

The playlist is my most recently curated, albeit not released since it's still in the works and my favorite as of this moment - it will be my Durgetash playlist! ^.^ (My Durge's name is Deianeira)

"Abyss" - YUNGBLUD

this song is supposed to represent Deianeira during the events of BG3, where she is trying to resist her urges and is hoping that she won't ever lose control - except, there are few moments where she does and she feels like a monster to those around her. This is during the events of BG3, not pre-BG3 though...

"Slayer" - Bryce Savage

not only does it connect to her title as the "Slayer," but it's hinted/supposed to be from the POV of Enver Gortash. it's a dark, seductive song - especially with the verse:

"She said 'Break me - like you hate me" "I said 'slow down,' she said 'make me.'"

"Vore" - Sleep Token

the main inspiration for Deianeira/Enver's relationship - more in the metaphorical sense, minus a few scenes where Deianeira whispers sweet nothings of claiming his heart for her to consume, they secretly wish to consume the other whole where nothing is left for anyone else to claim.

"Bruises & Bitemarks" - Good with Grenades

most of their escapades are quite filthy and rough; sometimes, it's almost like a competition between them to see who will submit to the other's will and depravity. Deianeira can be quite vicious while Enver is more cunning.

"True Disaster" - Tove Lo

aware of their positions, both of them know it would be a tragedy to fall for one another and while they claim that they're not in love - they're hopeless for each other. some sort of beast within prevents Deianeira to seek out the comfort of another during BG3 and instead cries out -

that's not his voice,

that's not his flesh,

that's not him.

it's a disaster - from start to finish.

thanks for sending this ask my way - I had a blast listening to the playlist and listening to the songs in full as I typed this out! ^.^

[transparentkittenheart]

Inwas tagged for bg3weddingseason by @gale-force-storm

This is an Astarion x named Durge ramble. 💉💉💉

Astarion x Vienna

1: Weddings or something else?- What do the characters think about weddings or marriages? If not a wedding, would they acknowledge their relationship in a different kind of ceremony?

Vienna and Astarion were both discouraged from thinking about marriage, or really anything domestic. Astarion being a spawn under Cazador didn’t leave any room for anything but borderline delusional fantasy. Thoughts of being rescued and romanced were snuffed out within his first few decades of slavery.  At the same time Vienna being a Bhaal spawn meant that any marriage would be purely a power play, and even that wouldn’t be a necessary step in her life. Her fantasies were kept drenched in violence and gore, romance was hardly interesting to her.  

However, after the two of them are freed from their former masters, as well as their tadpoles these once ridiculous ideas don’t seem so ridiculous anymore. 

Astarion would be the first one to really consider a wedding. His pet names for Vienna are often in a possessive: My dear, my sweet, my love. To be completely honest there's a bit of selfishness in his mind. He wants Vienna all to himself, and he wants everyone else to know that. Being able to say “That's my wife.” is extremely appealing.

Of course Astarion has sweetness as well, he genuinely wants to see Vienna dressed so prettily. She's so beautiful already she would be a picture really, unreal; an ethereal hellion. She would deserve to experience a wedding, something that they were both denied as an option for both of their entire lives. 

Vienna doesn’t let herself consider it. She’s content with how things are. Her druidic philosophies tell her that most creatures don’t wed, and what is she but an exceptionally odd creature? Is someone like her even really deserving of something so domestic? Surely not. 

It's only when Astarion starts planting the idea that she begins to really give it thought. They pass by dress shops with wedding gowns in the windows. “Ah, don’t bother looking at that one my dear, it's tailored so poorly. Honestly, it must be someones sorry first attempt.” and “You would be such a treasure in that one don’t you think?” It’s anything but subtle, and all she can do is nervously nod or shug her shoulders.

It would take her a while for her to really feel comfortable with Astarions occasional pushes of imagination. Given enough time though, she gets excited to play these little games of his. “Which one of these do you think would look best with blood dripping down my neck?” As she motions towards the puncture wounds that have since become permanent scars from the constant use. Marriage is finally something she can envision. 

 

23: Honeymoon - Does the couple take a honeymoon anywhere?

The two of them are both from Baldur's Gate and despite both of their hardships they still love it there.

They do a lot of nightlife activities. Go to music shows, clubs, bars, fancy places to eat for Vienna (Astarion used to get jealous watching her eat, but he really enjoys it now.), Astarion cheats at gambling which they both find to be incredibly hilarious. The two of them aren’t able to leave the underdark very often so they make sure to stock up on luxury’s they both miss. Clothes shopping, specialty  soaps, lotions, food and tea items that are difficult to get. They also spend a lot of time at the beach or on a cliff side. Wherever they go, shenanigans follow. 

During the day the two of them rest, canoodle and generally laze about. Perhaps they get visits from their old companions. They definitely get too much room service to the annoyance of the employees. They don’t tip, and honestly the two of them look a little uncanny, wide eyed in the dark with curtains and blankets nailed over the windows. They give the staff the creeps, and the crew definitely draw straws to decide who needs to cater to the couple. 

Astarion unquestionably leaves the Underdark responsibilities to someone else for the next few weeks to the dismay of everyone. He gives them a sending stone and tells them to contact him if things get out of hand, but he immediately stuffs it in a drawer at the inn they’re staying at. If the stone gets too loud Vienna chucks it out the window and Astarion applauds her for it. “Ah, bravo my love, you certainly know how to respond to a cry for help.”

[manicpiscesdreamgorl]

The Urge

Just having made it to Rivington, Zar’riia faces her Urge again. Thankfully she doesn’t face it alone.

Tags: durgexastarion, named durge, hurt comfort.

Zar’riia tossed in her sleep, the Urge calling to her, beckoning her to kill. She needed to figure out how to get away from camp. She couldn’t bear the thought of hurting one of her companions, especially after the sleepless night she had been tied up after almost killing Astarion. She couldn’t do that to him again, and her stomach churned at the thought of killing any of the people she had come to love so dearly. She rolled quietly, untangling herself from the trancing embrace of Astarion, and stood to leave the tent. She had to clear her head; she had to control the Urge.

“Zar’riia?” Her lover’s voice was raspy. She stopped and turned to look at the pale elf, his curls a mess, his eyes bright and alert.

“Sh, love. Rest. I just need to clear my head,” she whispered, not daring to kneel or get close in case the Urge took control of her body.

“It's the Urge, isn’t it? It came back,” he said, standing up and looking her over. Her eyes were glassy, and her hands trembled violently.

“Yes. I need to walk. I need to get away from camp before it takes over,” she replied, her words soft but hurried.

“Darling, you have to tell me when this happens. We are a team, you and me. You can’t keep waiting until things get murderously bad—not just for my sake, for the others and yourself,” he said, his gaze softening at his dagger-happy lover.

“This isn't your burden, Astarion. It’s mine. I don’t want to hurt or scare you. The Urge is something I must carry the weight of alone,” her hands trembled as she anxiously fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve.

“Riia, you are not alone in this. I told you that before. You have helped me so much, shown me so much light; let me do the same for you,” he stared into her silvery-blue eyes as he talked. He could see she was still in control, but he did not know how long he had until the Urge overtook his sensitive, sweet, sometimes terrifying partner. He needed to do something soon, and letting his homicidal maniac walk around Rivington did not seem like a good idea.

“Fine,” she conceded. “I’m scared. This isn’t me. Please help.” Tears began welling in her eyes, and she blinked them away quickly.

“You’re right. This isn’t you. You can do this, darling. You can beat this. Come here; I kept some rope in our tent in case this happened again. The others do not have to see your shame if they wake up. We will ride this out together.”

She climbed back into his tent, and they had both begun to share since making their relationship official. Tears silently slipped down her pale purple cheeks. She had never cried in front of Astarion before, but everything felt so overwhelming. She was scared of herself, what her party was up against, and of losing everything she had built for herself.

Why was he being so nice to her? Didn’t he see she was a monster? Whoever she was before, the nautiloid scared her. She did not deserve the companionship and love those around her gave so freely. She tried so hard the past month to be good to change; after her murder of Alfira, she had vowed to overcome this. She promised to atone for her sins. But tonight, the burden of the Urge felt too heavy, too intense.

“Little love, what’s going on? Are you hurt?” Astarion asked, rushing to her side, oncoming homicidal tendencies be damned. Tears fell from her eyes, cascading down her cheeks like waterfalls. His heart crumbled watching his partner cry; he had never seen this side of Zar’riia. She looked terrified and more vulnerable than he had ever seen her.

“I am so scared. What if I ruin everything? I don’t even know who I was before the nautiloid. I know I was a horrible person to be cursed with this killing perversion. I am so scared of my past, and I feel like we are about to confront it head-on in the city. The Urge has been stronger since we left Reithwin,” she sobbed, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Zar’riia, you know I am the last person to judge you for anything you may have done in your past. I have done some…horrible things because Cazador used me to do his bidding. You have shown me it is possible to change and find the world's light. You have shown that you are capable of change. And whatever is waiting for you in the city, we will face it together. We are a team,” he said, wrapping her in a hug, as she had done after he met that vile drow blood merchant when he confessed his feelings and revealed more of his past. Urge be damned.

She cautiously wrapped her arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder. He held her until the sobs stopped racking her body, and she pulled away. Her eyes glazed over, her hands twitching, and her lips curled into a cruel sneer. The Urge had taken over his darling’s body.

Zar’riia’s mind filled with yellow bile, and her vision was blurred. Every fiber of her being screamed, ‘Kill. Kill. Kill. And kill again.’ Astarion grabbed the rope and quickly bound her hands and ankles together, lowering her to the ground as she snapped at him and spasmed, trying to break free of her bindings.

“You will get through this, Riia. You are stronger than this. Dawn will be here before you know it.” He whispered as he watched his mad love writhe and twitch on the floor.

Zar’riia tried to show she understood and was going to make it through, but she was spasming too violently, her teeth gnashing together, her mouth filling with blood as she accidentally bit her tongue. Her Urge spit the blood at him; she swore she would see his blood bloom over his white curls as she twitched.

He watched, not daring to get too close to her. He knew this was not her, but he was terrified that the sweet half-drow, who had just been sobbing in his embrace, so quickly turned into this bloodthirsty killer.

Hours passed as he watched his partner convulse and threaten him with all sorts of very imaginative, violent imagery. He sighed, grateful to have met her, but seeing her turn into a carrion creature broke his heart. It reminded him too much of his worst self. They needed to figure out how to save her, to control her Urge. They would both break their chains in the city. He hoped that he might convince her to stay with him after this brain business. But first, they both had to kill the demons that haunted them day and night.

Dawn finally arrived; pink and oranges painted the sky outside the tent as the sun rose. Astarion looked down at Zar’riia; she had stopped convulsing, and her silver eyes were bright and alert again. She sat stock still and silent as he cut her free. Her wrists and ankles were bloody from where she had struggled against her bindings. She rubbed her wrists and looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes again.

“I am so sorry,” she sobbed, her body aching and tired. Astarion once again wrapped her in an embrace, stroking her soft spider-silk hair and breathing in her scent. She melted into the hug, tears slipping down her cheeks as she held him tightly, scared to let him go. He did not say a word. He didn’t need to. He had her back, through her darkness, through everything, just as she did for him.

[astarionsbeloved]

a year or so later, after traveling extensively.

Astarion: (hand gently petting over Ny'fein's stomach while spooning, Ny'fein is falling asleep)

Ny'fein: .....

Astarion: You know

Ny'fein: (cutting him off).....no.

Astarion: (pouting, baby talk voice) you don't even know what I was going to say my love!

Ny'fein: (bemused) If staying with Halsin and his scores of children has awakened parental instincts in you, we can adopt one of Halsin's wards. We could adopt _ten_ of Halsin's wards.

Astarion: (pouting harder, whispering to himself mostly) but I stole a potion and everything. (louder, but hiding his face in Ny'fein's shoulder) You know, Withers made sure there's not a trace of bhaal left in you, you're just a normal drow now! It would be perfectly safe! A little dhampir to call our own....

Ny'fein: go to sleep Astarion.

[lazylittledragon]

one of those 'only wine in the camp supplies' nights [X]

[somethingyoirelated]

A different kind of love handles.

[uncropped on my twitter or patreon]

Twitter | Patreon | Pillowfort | Pixiv | Instagram

[frickerdoodle]

Mild act 2 Durge spoilies

My Dark Urge has been vehemently denying any thoughts of bloodlust to their companions and has hiddentheir evil deeds whenever possible (threw a certain body in the river and played dumb about where they went, for example) so imagine my shock when everyone knew about his deep dark secret after the most harrowing night of his life.

[bloodsuckingfiends]

Astarion who hugs you close to him, cheek resting on the top of your head, when he’s feeling particularly anxious or dissociative. Holding YOU, rather than the other way around comforts him for the fact that he’s not the one being restricted or held down, which sends his mind back to pre-tadpole times. Holding you to him is grounding, holds him in the present where he is safe, and loved, and cared for beyond his own belief.

[mahiiimahiiii]

Trancing 💫

Fem durge (named) x astarion x halsin

A/N: angst and fluff this time. My durge was heartbroken when their sibling kidnapped their boyfriend #2. Silly elf stuff, some angst as durge isn't really an elf, plus she's still considered a young elf. (100-300 yrs old)

Also according to forgotten realms lore, drow like to sleep more than trance. Unfortunately this bhaalspawn isn't getting much sleep.

Your eyes kept watch, scrutinizing every noise in the dark. Taught grip on your great sword, vision blurring in and out.

Your mouth tastes like bile, the pressure behind your eyes red-hot.

You received word from orin that halsin remained unharmed. A quill dipped in a followers blood held scribbles of the poor snoozing bear held in her grasp. You held a certain fondness for her art deep down.

poor sister...always fond of those softer than she.

Those souls not worthy to stand in her light

And how protective she was of you... To an extent.

"the tyrant means to tear us apart, you know I care for you sister." Her voice had echoed in the back of her head

You rubbed your eyes, focusing again on the blaze, ears twitching again. You hadn't noticed the quilt that shrouded your shoulders; or the hair soughing out of the bun you tied it back in.

Maybe just for a second. Perhaps...

Your visioned blurred to that of another.

Clambering out the guts of a sphinx, mouth tangy with the taste of copper. You licked your fingers clean, your belly full. Hair coated with thick chunky gore, skin stained maroon and ruby. Your skin was marred by bites and slightly pockmarked by acid. Delicious... Delicious.

You shook your heads sending the impending trance away. Feeling an exhaustion sink into your bones, you rubbed at your temples again. You jumped at the feeling of cool hands on the side of you shoulders, the warm presence of your lover knelt in front of you.

A look of something quizzical held in his eyes.

Have you slept?

The words shook in your head, his touch in your mind whisper quiet and soft. He withdrew, tracing the dark circles under your eyes. He tucked a strand of silvery hair behind your long ear.

"little knight, one cannot defend those whom they love without a little rest... Let me take care of you."

He had taken to several names, his knight, huntress, assassin, dearest moonshine, sweet spawn, and bhaal babe.

He cradles the cusp of your chin in his warm pale palm, his skin glittered like stars under the light of the moon.

Somewhere in the floor someone snored.

"come" he kissed the bridge of your nose lifting you to your heavy feet with just a word.

You settled in a bed away from gale. The beds near the window were often empty, as aylin and Isobel did their work under the light of the moon. He found yours, the same bear with little fangs and roughed up button eyes, made of soft red corderoy, tucked into your covers.

He pulled the thick quilt off of your shoulders, patting the bed for you to sit down.

"thank you." He hummed, "now let me take care of you..."

His fingers worked nimbly at your boot strings, and pulled them off quickly. He worked at the latches of your corset, you let out a deep sigh, oxygen sinking into your bones. He scurried off leaving you to sit and stare blankly at the wall. Astarion returned with a large night shirt and a brush. He helped you out of the rest of your clothes, kissing your shoulder blades.

He tugged it over your head, kissing at the tips of your ears. You settled at the edge of your bed again, as he uncorked a bottle, dabbing it into his hands and heating the oil between them. He pressed them to your lids, the oil itself smelt minty and flowery. He dragged his thumbs down, rubbing off the leftover khol on your lashes. His hands sparkled with the remnants of rouge and mica, he wiped them off on a face cloth. He dipped the other end in cool water, dabbing them at your cheeks. Your lovers tongue poked in between his lips in focus, wiping away the excess oils. He applied another oil onto his hands, the scent warm and nutty. The spawn rose combing his fingers throughout your silvery hair, applying the conditioner generously. He took the boar's hair brush and untangled the knots, settling his stance in between your legs.

You practically purred at his touch, one that he returned happily. Astarion felt a swell of pride that you would ever consider his presence as a safe or happy one. He tilted your chin tucking the loose strands of hair behind your ear. Finally, he kissed your nose, your cheekbones, and your eyelids, a satisfied sigh falling from the spawns lips.

"wait for me here, little love. I'll go grab some things from my bunk, and be with you in a moment." He slipped away to grab his softer night clothes and set his boots by his bunk.

You crawled back into the stark tight sheets of your made bed, you shivered, it hadn't been warmed for a while. You dragged the pillow to the edge facing the wall, curling up around the bear. Astarion returned, his cotton night shirt discarded as he crawled under the covers. He fluffed up his pillow settling into it with a 'whump'.

He exhaled, lashes lowered. His hands weaved around you, slotting in place like puzzle pieces. He stroked your lower sternum absentmindedly. "I wish I knew what ails you my love..."

"I'm just worried mostly. What orin did was a huge betrayal.to think I had fondness for her at some point is a bit sickening."

He hummed in acknowledgement "isn't that in bhaals nature?"

"yes" you sigh darkly "I should've known, if I stayed vigilant - if I was faster-if I was smarter I would've-" tears broke the surface of your eyes,the heaves of your sobs shook the small bed.

He squeezed you tight, gently shushing you. He rubbed circles into your back, nose pressed to the flush of your neck. "I'm sorry my love-"

The tears fell silently now as they wet your pillow in puddles.

Astarion pauses turning you over to look at him, he holds your head in your hands. "I think you are so brave. You are so bloody brilliant. I am so lucky... To have you... To hold you... Now until you depart- I am thankful as well, that won't be for a while... God's willing." He grins toothily at that last part. He kissed your tear stained cheeks, the tip of his tongue flitting out to catch the drops. "And he would've thought you were brave too..."

You sigh, pulling him into a tight embrace, "I know-" you whisper "I'm just worried."

"you have a lot on your plate- let's talk about something nice for once. Halsin mentioned something- I'm already too old for this ceremony- but you my love- are a ripe and young 150 years."

You rolled your eyes, "don't remind me- I'm a baby blah blah blah..."

"far from it!" He looks sympathetic, "what I'm saying is, you have the chance I don't have- an adult name"

"what's wrong with, the dark urge"

"everything, my sweet."

You frown at his giggles, before giving into his mirth. "I had another name in mind, it's simple and I like it's meaning."

"let's hear it then!" He props his head up.

"Wynne."

He raised his brow "that's it?"

"Lady Wynne of house Myzzirim. Has a ring- no?"

"I keep forgetting you're nobility- you are so... Uncouth."

"hmm... I wonder why, possibly- and hear me out- I could've grown up in a cult for most of my life? With no influence of drow culture? I mean I just found out most of my house is into merchantry."

"that slightly explains your shopping savy. It's amazing though, how drow culture finds a way."

"to be fair to you my love, most men are subservient to women within the bhaal cult. A lot of women are chosen or bhaalspawn."

"that is a fair point." His features were soft and languid. "Have you began... Seeing your memories?"

"little by little... I know their mine, but I'm not willing to accept that... They don't seem, like me. And I see this face- the archduke in a lot of them. And I should feels sick, I should feel horrible! Yet my heart is so light- it flowers under his gaze."

"and your past lives?"

"astarion- I don't think I have any. I am made of bhaals flesh. My memories are his, I am not eternal,I am doomed to damnation."

His eyes creased with concern "don't say that..."

"it's true - my flesh will be rendered and blood returned to his." Your eyes fill with deep despair squeezing them shut to avoid his gaze

"I don't believe that, and will refuse to- you'll return to me- time after time." He cradles your face again kissing your nose "you've bested the odds.. time after time- surely- the gods are willing to forgive your previous life... And we should consider it that! The dark urge died a gruesome death- and Wynne was reborn in their stead."

"will you call me that...?"

"Wynne?"

You nodded

"Wynne." He confirmed, "wynne-! My gorgeous moonbeam, my savior, my Wynne." Your new name sounded like a prayer on his lips, astarion beamed, cup filled with your love. "Now- as much as I know hope much you enjoy hearing me- especially now- I would love to shout your name from rafter to rooftop. You need your beauty sleep. I'll watch over you, we can come up with some sort of plan in the morning after you eat-"

"I'm craving humanoid meat again" you complain quietly

"that can be arranged then..." He pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. "You're allowed to tell me anything - no thoughts too small."

And for once he was right.

Your sleep as you often opted to do, remained deep and dreamless, the shifting of the comings and goings of the early morning risers eminent from the smell of coffee and cream sent by the dumbweighter.

What a joyous feeling being loved is.

[llamamamarisen92]

The Wolf and the Lion

Stand Alone - A Reunion Amongst Friends

Named Dark Urge

BG3 Dark Urge/Gortash Head Canon

Characters: Johim (Durge), Gortash, Karlach

Setting: The reunion conversation between Dark Urge and Gortash before he is crowned Archduke of Baldur’s Gate.

Word Count: 1,200ish

By: Jesh Llamas

Gortash watched as Johim walked through the coronation hall with his companions. Shocked to find the tiefling girl that used to work for him at his old friend's side. Though, perhaps the thing that took him aback the most was the glittering hatred in his eyes. Those amber eyes that used to look upon him with such softness. So much love. The words had never been spoken between them. But in a fashion they had been in love.

He saw how Johim made short work of Ketheric. Obliterating him and all those who stood against him at Moonrise. Ketheric and Orin were fools to underestimate him. They had pitted themselves against a true child of a god. A man near immortal. Obtaining the crown. Placing it upon the brain. Amassing an army at Moonrise in the first place. These were the plans worked out through he and Gortash's genius. The other two were simply violent idiots who could not see past their own simple desires.

So many nights spent dreaming of the day that face would appear again. Dreams of uniting once more and ruling as kings together. His mighty roaring lion would take him in his arms and make love to him until the deep ache of longing was soothed. But the man staring at him was no longer his lover.

This was a man prepared to rain down the wrath of all the heavens and hells upon him. The demon their enemies once faced. He watched as Johim turned to Karlach for a moment. Placing a gentle hand on her cheek as he whispered something to her. Gortash schooled his face to neutrality, lest anyone catch a hint of his heart ripping apart all over again. He smiled his politician's smile and approached the group with open arms.

"Ah! My favorite assassin at my side once again. Welcome home my friend!"

Karlach looked close to erupting. Johim gently squeezed her hand in his before letting go, calming her a bit. 

"And to think... Karlach. You traveled all this way with one of my nearest and dearest. It's nice to see you both again, dear."

Johim narrowed his eyes. "You are going to tell me everything you know before I rip that smug look right off your face."

Karlach was staring at Johim now, confused. "You... You know each other?"

"Very well. Come, let us go to my office for a moment to talk in private. I believe it is finally time to learn who you were before Orin's treachery left you a little... out of your mind."

They followed him upstairs. He could feel their eyes upon him. A stalking predator preparing for the right moment to strike.

Entering, he closed the door behind them. Turning around he walked right up to Johim. Standing face to face with him. Reaching out to gently lift the string of crimson pearls still strung upon his neck. A gift from Gortash from so many years ago. He examined them for a moment, then looked into his eyes one more time. Searching for any sign of the love they once shared. A moment of recognition. But there was nothing. His friend was dead and a stranger now stood before him.

He released the pearls and turned around. Ensuring his disappointment didn't come through as he spoke.

"Do you know how you got those?"

"I didn't come here to discuss jewellery."

"We were walking among the markets just outside of my cobbler shop."

Johim didn't respond. Gortash turned to face him again. He watched as Johim's fists were clenching and unclenching. Good. He was mad but he was listening.

"We were sitting on the floor of my loft going through old books. Gathering information on how to infiltrate the vaults of Mephistopheles. It was your idea, you know? To break in and steal the crown." Gortash's face turned thoughtful. Smiling a bit at the memory. "You were growing restless. Needing to stretch your legs a bit. We walked to a few stalls close by. You with your fiddle in hand."

There was still no recognition in Johim's face. But he believed what Gortash was saying. That was a start.

"The woman behind the jewelers stall requested a song. I swear she was about to faint with excitement when you smiled in her direction. Playing her song for her. Gods, the way people fell in love with you. At times I was jealous, but..." he stopped himself from admitting he was amongst them. "I mostly saw the potential of a great man who could be even greater. To see a man who everyone should fear be invited into their circles so readily. Of course they didn't really know who you were. But I did. I saw the way you danced expertly between both worlds with such grace. Such immeasurable ease."

"So I was a bard?" His eyebrow arched slightly.

"When you wanted to be. But you were so much more. An expert swordsman. World class assassin. A scholar. A sorcerer with no equal. The playful bard, the philosophical lion, and the dread dragon who slayed in Bhaal’s name." He picked up a statue of a white dragon-born and offered it to Johim.

He took it from Gortash trying to make sense of everything.

"I bought that set of pearls that day. Three strings to represent the three men you embodied. I gave them to you when we consum- when we sealed our partnership and began to turn our grand dreams into even grander realities."

How badly had Orin damaged him? Had he not even remembered his dragon form? The disguise he took on to conduct Bhaal's service.

"Ketheric is dead and you have his netherstone. We need all three to control the brain. I know a lot has changed." He glanced over at Karlach, stamping down his bitterness. "But we could create our alliance anew. Be partners again, ruling side by side as we always planned. To reap the fruits of your brilliant labor in spite of those who tried to keep you down. We wouldn't just be kings, Johim. But Gods. Gods in our own right free of doctrine. Free of your father, just as you always desired."

"I..." Johim's voice wavered. "It's a lot to take in. But if all of this is true you stood by and did nothing as I was being destroyed. How am I supposed to trust you?"

Because I would never betray you. He didn't speak the words out loud. Maintaining his air of professionalism. "Let me offer you proof as to why it would be wise to trust me. Wise to work with me again. There is a faceless one in your camp. Orin has infiltrated and now wears the face of one of your new comrades. Root her out and bring me her stone. Then we can take control of the brain once more and clean up the messes of lesser creatures."

Johim nodded thoughtfully, then smiled. “Then let us be Gods.”

Karlach clearly disagreed but she kept her thoughts to herself.

"Now, my friends. It's time we go down stairs and proceed with the ceremony. You now stand before the new Archduke of Baldur's Gate."

Also a little bonus blip of how I think it went when Durge/Johim got brained by Orin:

They beat each other black and blue. Fists landing mercilessly as Johim and Ketheric broke into a fight on the sanctum floor deep beneath Moonrise Tower. Gortash was not around to break the two men apart. Johim had made a passing remark about bedding Ketheric's daughter to show her what it was like to be in the presence of a proper man and Ketheric erupted. Johim wrapped his hand around Ketheric's throat and began to crush it.

"You may not be able to die, but I can flay you each day for eternity if I have to." He reached out his other hand as Ketheric was brought to his knees. "Orin, pass me one of Gortash's scalpels. Let's see what Myrkul's lap dog looks like without a face."

He waved his hand impatiently. But suddenly the world went still. Cold shock filled him as a blade sliced through the back of his skull. He let go of Ketheric's neck and fell to the floor gasping. Ketheric got up and yanked violently at Johim's hair.

"When you die, perhaps I will raise your corpse to play the role of court jester at my feet." He struck him one last time and the entire world went dark.

[ashenlavellan]

"Creatures of Flesh and Desire" - A brief Durgetash snippet

This snippet is for those of my readers that are +18 - if you are not... get off my page and posts. This is not for you.

This tiny snippet is of a past recollection between Deianeira/Enver Gortash - this story will be full-blown smut once it's finished.

Deianeira purposely ignored the shivers that crawled down her spine, recalling the night where she was bent over the railing above her with scraps of a servant’s uniform shoved into her mouth and the victims' blood staining her bare flesh. Especially when she felt the ghost of his lips trailing down her bloodied nape, between her tight shoulder blades, and the curvature of her bare arse.