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always loveee seeing such variety in Dark Urge character designs... like Bhaal is always on those old dress up games making Durges...

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Happy Pride Month! like me, Silver/Valreith is Pansexual.

This is one of the times that Bhaal actually shocked me. I honestly thought he would be upset that my Durge was dating Minthara. (Since no Bhaalspawn can be made from that pairing.) Nope! He was thrilled to add her to the family. He doesn't care who you bring home for dinner. You love them, that's all that matters. It was an oddly validating moment; I wasn't expecting to find in my embracing Durge playthrough. I love this game.

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First Meetings Sentences, Vol. 3

(Sentences for muses meeting for the first time. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"I'm beginning to find you quite interesting."

"I'm not going to have this conversation, least of all with someone I don't even know."

"How do you know where I live?"

"Who are you and why are you being so aggressive with me?"

"Do you always make this good of a first impression?"

"You don't say much, do you?"

"Oh good, I'm not the only one who's late!"

"I don't trust you. I can't trust you. I don't know who you are or where you come from."

"You have an interesting accent. Where are you from exactly?"

"Perhaps you'd like to know my name?"

"I got here by accident. How did you get here?"

"You're pretty cute, you know that?"

"Is small talk a way you deal with your anxiety?"

"It occurs to me that I don't know the first thing about you."

"I've been warned to watch out for women like you."

"Seeing as you let yourself in, forgive me if it's forwards to ask, but who the hell are you?"

"Who are you to tell me what to do?"

"You don't know me. You only know of me."

"How do you know that name? I haven't used that name in years!"

"Oh, hello! I know you, don't I?"

"You know, it is a little bit strange that we hardly know each other, right?"

"Hey, I immediately don't like you."

"I don't think we've ever been alone in a room together, have we?"

"Odd as it may seem, I don't feel you to be a stranger."

"I think your name is beautiful."

"You know that feeling you have that we've met before? It's the same with me."

"I was hoping we could talk a little business. Would you like some tea?"

"I'm not sure we've ever properly met."

"I didn't want us to meet like this."

"I hear you've been looking for me. I'm flattered."

"Hello! I love your work!"

"I have the strangest sense we've met before. Do you think that's possible? In another lifetime?"

"What are you doing sitting here all by yourself?"

"I've heard so much about you that I feel I almost know you."

"If you know so much about me, then perhaps you would like to say who you are?"

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I've spent more time in the character creator then actually playing the game at this point. This is my first resistant Druge run, and I'm still getting used to Gale being here.

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THE  EMPRESS:  A  sprawling  garden  in  full  bloom. - Durafein

The Urge within her twisted—it saw it too. She had hoped it wouldn’t notice, but that wasn’t how this worked. Silver came to rest against a stone half-wall, her gaze narrowing at the sprawling garden before her.

Specifically, at a patch of flowers nestled among the orchids and lilies was an interesting collection of very dangerous plants—plants she was sure would kill anyone on contact. The thought made the void within her smile.

There wasn’t even a gate to keep people away. This wasn’t a private garden. As far as she could tell, it was a public space. A park. Did no one see them?

Whoever had done this had chosen plants with beautiful flowers. It looked almost welcoming. But she knew them—and what they could do to a living person.

Why? Silver didn’t know. It was just one of those things she had an extensive knowledge of. Whoever she was before this was well versed in poisonous foliage for reasons she could not begin to fathom.

Someone had to have known this would kill people. There were too many in one spot. It felt deliberate. It was so horrifyingly efficient, so unassuming, so simple—it impressed both her and the Urge that scratched at her skeleton.

Leave it there, it whispered.

No. Something had to be done. Touching those flowers was not safe—fire was the only way she could think of.

Without a second thought that might make her hesitate, she summoned a flame into her hand. If she aimed right, she figured, she should be able to hit the deadly patch of flowers and miss all the people who were just trying to enjoy their afternoon.

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this is a social experiment reblog this if u were rping on tumblr before 2016

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ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴀᴛʜᴀʀꜱɪꜱ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅ?

For Silver tears

You've been holding it all in for so long, haven't you? It seems like there's no time, no space to fall apart. But you don't have to pretend to not be hurting. The tide of pain in you is cresting. Let it out. There's no judgement here.

For Valreith sleep

Tired, aren't you? That's okay -- it's been a long, long day. Can you even remember the last time you've had a nice rest, when you were truly at peace? How long have you been running on empty for, anyway? Please, sit, drink something warm, close your eyes. There will be time in the morning to do everything that needs to be done.

Tagged by: @darlingbardling

Tagging: @arcanistranger, @chainedbychoice, @awsheets, @luhnsilvars , and anyone who wants to give it a go.

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𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖚𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 @darlingbardling

Silver was the last to join the party. She wasn’t the most approachable person, so any communication was kept brief and to the point. Normally, that was enough to keep people at arm’s length—stopped them from getting too chatty. Apparently, Bree was immune to that.

Silver didn’t like getting close to adventuring parties. She never knew how it was going to end for them, knowing The Urge. Why bother getting to know them?

The others seemed so familiar with each other; she just assumed Bree was part of that in her own way, or at least in the know.

“They didn’t tell you?” She scraped her plate clean, gathering a final bite. “Purification. Some Lathander artifact got corrupted by Sharran magic. They’re trying to restore it.”

With the plate empty, she tossed her fork onto it, a deep sigh escaping her—almost content, even though she had room for more. She always had room for more.

“How much do you know about the ritual?" She pushed her plate away, done with it. A book caught her eye: Cobblers and Pies: Baked Beans Can Be Fun by Friar Cookpot. She'd reached for it.

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THE  MOON:  A  foggy  forest  path

𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐓  𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐃  𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄  𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

A thick fog rolled in with the early morning sun, covering the forest path in a warm white mist that rose too quickly and spread too fast. Silver watched the sunlight melt between the trees as she stabbed a steam Mephit in the mouth, quickly turning away to shield her face from the steam that burst out of its corpse. The sunrise was breathtaking.

This was one of those rare times when she and The Urge were in sync. This was pure bliss. Here, she could just let go—kill everything in sight—and there were plenty of Mephits to cleave through.

The job was easy enough on paper: find and kill the creatures hiding in the fog, locate the source, and collect its head. Easy. Should be done in time to still catch breakfast at the tavern.

…But then she saw how wide the fog spread, how many Mephitis were hunting between the trees. This was way more than she’d expected. What gave her pause made The Urge cackle with delight. In these moments, she knew to trust her Twitching Knife Hand. Sword and dagger in hand, she cleaved and stabbed her way into the steaming fog. There was a source—a wizard, a sorcerer, or maybe even hag,—she just had to cut her way to it, then drive her dagger into its heart.

The Urge purred at the thought of killing something that could bleed.

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Hi I'm alive! I've been a drunken pirate for a few days. I have so much writing to do, I'm so happy! Thank you all for interacting with my edgy girl.

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Another temple shot

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Silver watched the arrow vanish into the dark abyss. The dark was her hunting ground—but she’d never hunted in the Underdark. At least, she thinks she hasn’t.

Silver isn’t entirely sure of anything. Normally, if she had knowledge of something, it would come back to her—like a train of thought she’d lost and just recovered. Like the Nordiland worgata the goblins had, or the gnolls on the road. Both such beautiful creatures. One look at them, and she’d realized she had extensive knowledge of them.

But this darkness brought nothing back. Surely, she couldn’t forget a place so terrifyingly beautiful.

As much as she loved it here, danger was lurking—waiting for them to drop their guard. Silver knows when she’s being hunted; part of her reveled in the game of it all. But she got the feeling she wasn’t used to being on this side of it.

Far too excited to relax, she nodded. “We should take watch in twos while we’re down here.”

Forgoing sleep made the vile pit inside her purr with delight—which worried her, but not as much as whatever was lurking just beyond the veil of darkness. As long as she was well-fed, she should be able to keep her ticks under control.

Taking them up on the offer, Silver fetched her swords and joined the watch. Her weapons could use some maintenance. Scavenged from a corpse—she forgot which—the grip was too padded for her, and she’d nearly dropped them once or twice in battle. Something told her they’d see action soon. Best be ready.

Silence was fine with her—Gods know she hadn’t exactly been an open book on this journey. But silence might make the creatures think they could approach. Best make some noise.

She was horrible with names. And conversation. But worse with names. Not a lot was sticking in her memory these days.

“So,” she began rather awkwardly as she stripped the leather off the hilt of her sword, “I’ll just be honest. I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Can you feel that? the dark, it’s - hungry. Best watch the shadows.”

THEY ARE NO STRANGER to watching the shadows. remeria's gaze is already fixed upon the darkness, fingers idly sliding along an arrow they'd picked up in their travels.

above world, the darkness wouldn't feel so overbearing. it'd almost feel comforting, like being embraced in some sort of comforting hug. but that had been when the group was above ground. in the underdark, so close to the shadow-cursed lands, there's nothing very comforting about the blackness beyond their measly campfire. remeria hadn't been able to sleep much as a result, preferring to stand guard just on the edges of the light, peering into the abyssal black surrounding them.

"yeah," remeria says, barely moving their gaze over to their partner. "i don't like this area, it's too dark." they let the arrow slip from their fingers, making a small clatter as it hits the rocky ground they're standing on. they can't even remember where the arrow came from. probably from some goblins, or one of the deep folk.

it's not even the races they have to worry about. remeria has no idea what could be parading down here in the underdark. there's countless beings even deeper than even the drow. way too many beasts that wouldn't hesitate to kill on sight. if remeria were to tune their ears more closely with the surrounding area, they'd almost be certain they could hear distant, echo-y noises coming from somewhere. scuttling, maybe some hissing.

finally, they turn back to their party member. "you can't relax either?" they ask, trying to keep their voice steady. "you're welcome to join me over here. not much use trying to rest when ―like you said― the dark is hungry."

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「私は神にあなたに感谢の誕生である…」

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Her mind drifted back to the perfect stillness of that town. She loved abandoned spaces—void of life, of noise. Peaceful. Quiet. Still. Out of everything she could have found, she thought to herself as she watched Bree thumb through the pages.

Silver eyed the plate Bree had pushed back toward her like it might bite. The Urge inside her hissed, recoiling at the warmth in Bree’s voice. Her fingers tightened around the bread roll. She wanted to push the plate away again.

But she stopped herself.

"You're not wrong," she muttered, half-heartedly poking at the food. "But if I eat and you hit me with another pun, I will di- fill your lungs with every page in that book.”

Her cadence didn't change. She chuckled softly as if it was a joke; seemingly unaware of what she actually said and how she said it. The Urge seemed sated enough for her eat; and Silver decided she wasn’t going to question a gift and dug in.

Food was always her most demanding expense. No matter how much she ate she always felt peckish when full, and starving when hungry. “Should also stock up before we head out again."

𝄞𝄢 open starter ⭑.ᐟ {mutuals only}

BREE turns to yet another page in this godawful book: Pun Intended Vol. III by Theodore 'Chuckles' Farnsworth. The paperback is worn, the pages dog-eared and yellowed as if it's been read hundreds of times. ❛❛Okay, okay. You're going to love this one: 'What did the green grape say to the purple grape?' 'Breathe, you idiot!' Get it? ❜❜

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BG3 Dark Urge, non-exclusive, OC Friendly. Plays Resistant/Embracing Urge, & Pre Bg3 Dark Urge. Open to creating AU's and Crossovers.

Call me Rhea! I use she/her pronouns, I'm 33. My discord is open to mutuals upon request.

— C A R R D — G U I D E L I N E S — B I O — A B O U T — S T A R T E R S

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A snort of a chuckle escaped her mid-sip, surprising both Silver and the Urge that twisted in disgust inside her. The moment hit like a gut punch, forcing her to set her drink down and abandon the meal altogether.

"Hells, that one got me," she sighed, rubbing her face. "Ambushed by bad comedy."

The Urge coiled and seethed—puns always got her.

Silver had paid good coin for this food, and at this rate, it was going to be good coin wasted; she’d barely touched it. But she needed to eat something for everyone's sake. Grabbing the bread roll for herself, she shoved the rest of the plate to the center of the table.

Her smirk lingered as she glanced at Bree. "Where did you even find that cursed book?"

𝄞𝄢 open starter ⭑.ᐟ {mutuals only}

BREE turns to yet another page in this godawful book: Pun Intended Vol. III by Theodore 'Chuckles' Farnsworth. The paperback is worn, the pages dog-eared and yellowed as if it's been read hundreds of times. ❛❛Okay, okay. You're going to love this one: 'What did the green grape say to the purple grape?' 'Breathe, you idiot!' Get it? ❜❜

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𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖍𝖎𝖒 𝖒𝖔𝖘𝖙 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕭𝖊𝖘𝖙

True devotion is the willing obliteration of the self. Death. To want to give in to something so completely—so absolutely—can be comforting. This is what her Father God demanded, total surrender. In return, He would grant her freedom from choice. But such a surrender must be given freely. She may just be a piece of Him, but she was still herself. Her desires would diverge at points, and there was nothing He could do about that. It wasn’t enough that He made her form him. He needed proof of her devotion. If she loved anything, she had to prove she loved her Father God more. Her connection to Him was the only connection that mattered.

— The tune was pretty. It stopped her dead—arrested her, captivated her with a rhythm that quieted the Urges. Catchy and playful, and the lyrics a rhyme she would never forget. She hid in the trees, watching as the bard worked out his song.

Valreith is five years old. She loves music and stories. What child doesn’t?

The few times Sceleritas brought her into the city, she listened to the bards play their songs and tell their stories. Enraptured, she’d huddle up with the other kids, hanging on the bard’s every word. Sceleritas would promise stories if she stopped her tantrums and behaved.

She wasn’t behaving now.

There was a task she was ignoring, and it wasn’t long before her loyal butler came to remind her of it.

The wretched creature appeared—but he was too slow today. Her Father God stepped in for a proper correction, twisting her up inside, dropping her to her knees, seized in pain so searing she couldn’t scream. Paralyzed in torment at her butler’s feet.

“Oh, Little Mistress. You know better.” Sceleritas ’s voice wormed into her mind, warm and sweet.

“Be grateful, for your Father God is giving you a chance to repent. He is showing mercy, for he loves you most and best.”

The pain subsided enough for her to move, to gasp and cry out. Scarlatas offered his hand, helped her upright. But it wasn’t his hand she was holding.

The bard had noticed her and rushed over to help a child he assumed must have fallen out of the tree.

“Show your gratitude,” Sceleritas guided her, a gentle voice just above the Urge.

“You love your Father most and best.”

Valreith held the lute the same way the bard did. But it was too big for her, and it fit awkwardly in her arms. Her fingers were too slick with blood, she couldn't hold the strings down down properly. They kept sliding on the fingerboard; rubbing the pads of her fingers raw. But she was too high on the murder blessing to notice the pain.

Val wanted to play the way the bard did. She could hear the song in her head, but the lute wasn’t working for her, and it was starting to really frustrate her. Sceleritas showered his young mistress with praise for her kill, but she wasn’t paying attention.

She wanted the lute to work, but it wouldn't play for her.

Frustrated, She decided to kill it too. Smashing the useless thing into pieces.

But the strings were fun. They worked, but not like they did for the bard. They cut flesh like knives, only slower. That made the Urge inside her smile.

The blessing was fading, it always left her feeling tired afterwards. Sceleritas scooped her up for a story, and perhaps a little nap. She’d earned that much. This was a fine kill, after all.

She played with the string, dragging it along Sceleritas’s arm while he told her a story about a Bhaalspawn that was half dragon.

—

The song was about a river at night.

She could see it in her mind’s eye, almost taste the stale river air. The melody was soft and soothing, and the lyrics brought this world to life.

Focus.

She recentered herself.

Valreith is seventeen now.

She was not at the theater to enjoy the music. Her target was easy enough to find—the kill only earning a tingle of a blessing. Though this kill would serve a purpose, It wasn’t worth her time. Any blood pervert could have done it. Why bring out the one he loved best and most?

She was halfway through the kill when she realized this murder was not why she was here. It was a test.

She smiled to herself. Valreith always felt so smart when she figured out what her Father God wanted on her own.

It was the bard. He wanted proof of her love, of her devotion.

“You know I love you most and best,” she whispered.

She never hesitated when His blade hungered. She’s put down her pets for Him time and time again. Even though she loved them—every gnoll, every spider, every wolf—but she loved her Father God so much more.

Val explained this as best she could as she ripped the strings off the bard’s violin. Riding high off the blessing, she couldn’t feel them cutting into her fingers as she pulled them free of their tunning pegs.

She would show her Father God just how much she loved Him. This bard would make a fine shrine. — She was starving. And the weaker she became, the stronger the Urges grew. The Urge was unpredictable, and in this state, she barely had the reins. Going into town was a risk.

Silver doesn’t know how old she is.

Just that the people she was traveling with are dead. She’s not entirely sure why—but she knows, deep in her bones, that she did it. And that she enjoyed every last second of it.

They’d completed a job together, and now there was payment to collect. With nothing else to do, she turned in the bounty. Few questions were asked; the bounty was a deadly one, so casualties were expected.

Maybe she was just the lucky one. She was always the lucky one.

Adventuring kept the Urge sated. If she was lucky, it was satisfied with clearing out bandits and goblins. If that wasn’t enough, well—she was surrounded by skilled fighters. Maybe one of them would be strong enough to stop her.

It hadn’t happened yet.

Coin in hand, she bought herself a feast—lest the Urge win again. Full and aimless, she lingered in the tavern, debating whether she should risk an extra drink or two.

A bard was tuning their lute on stage. It wasn’t long before the room filled with jovial, soulful music. Sometimes, music made her itch inside—The Urge would twist and coil at the sound. But she was full, and well rested. She could swallow the Urge’s disgust.

Her ear perked up as the song swelled, drowning out the Urge that always nipped at the edges of her mind. No grisly thoughts. No flashes of carnage.

If she closed her eyes and focused, it was just her—only her—and this beautiful song. The Urge was muffled, bitterly pouting in some far-off corner of her mind.

This calm… it felt forbidden.