#ch: enver gortash

[hartsvale]

The Chosen of Bane | Enver Gortash — [ 6 / ∞ ]

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3edit #bg3edits #lord enver gortash #enver gortash #type: gifs #game: baldur's gate 3 #ch: enver gortash #mine: edits #mine: gortash

[envergortitwindow]

Enver Gortash/Dark Urge Rhyleth

#baldur's gate 3 #durgetash #otp: rhyleth x enver #otp: enver x rhyleth #the dark urge #enver gortash #oc: rhyleth arkenmtor #du: rhyleth arkenmtor #ch: enver gortash

[wiltf]

🔞 durge / gortash. that one letter about lady jannath taking out her family heirloom got me good.

at the rustle of the curtains, gortash affixes an expectant smile to his face. pleasant and most of all, a face of least resistance, despite the way he watches the silhouette trace the edge of the bed. it would not surprise him if such a woman as lady jannath were to return far earlier than intended. after all, one would only hunt for so long in the city for a painter before returning to retire for the day.

yet the shadow disappears as quickly as it arrived with but a whisper of air. reforming now, with the light of an afternoon sun hiding the form. but it could only hide so much, as gortash’s sigh was punctuated with disapproval. “my dear, we both know the outcome should you be found in here.”

unsurprisingly, he was met with a gasp that no doubt intended to mock the delicate sensibilities of upper crust ladies. widened eyes and a hand covering her mouth, shoulders drawn in. all at odds with the way she crossed to the edge of the bed, in nothing more than a rather heavily jewelled necklace. one that gortash could only hook a finger through, all but dragging her down to eye level.

“and?” amma prompts, as she adjusts to the position, caging him against perfectly plumped pillows and silken sheets. her nails greet the headboard, and gortash was not ignorant to note how she had dug in, daring to crack the wood.

so gortash holds up his other hand; the one carrying the coveted ring.

amma’s reaction is a delight to behold, as those eyes are lost in the jannath’s heirloom. releasing his hold on her, it is a strange notion to watch his fellow dead kin kneel so delicately, pulling the ring from his hand, and sliding it onto her own. holding it up into the sun, not unlike all the other debutantes gortash had watched over the years. how they preened in groups, gossiping with their painted faces and colourful dresses. such passing beauty, wrapped up in the glittering stones.

it would be an amusement to see if amma could move into a society such as that. for her eyes harden and her smile sharpens, wickedly, as she turns her attention back onto him. still that sparkle, one that seemed to pin him as only something to consume, but it was lacking that familiar edge. burning now, something else.

“if i had known that a ring was enough to wet your cunt, amma, i would have thought of this earlier.”

outstretched hand, and amma drops it onto his palm. not denying his statement, settling for pushing herself up, to move to the other side of the room. leave him, to his unfortunately abandoned journals and statements, while she rifled through drawers. shuffling things from side to side, in a manner not unlike the most careful gentleman thief. clearly on a mission, not wishing to give away that she had touched lady jannath’s intimates.

however, gortash was not so ignorant to know what she was looking for, when her knuckles rap along the bottom of drawers, as if trying to find the seal. so, he calls from where he still sat, if only to end amma’s suffering: “i will not ask what you are searching for, but if only because it is in the base of the wardrobe.”

a snort is his answer, as amma closes those drawers, pausing only to decorate herself with more jewels that did not belong to her. perfume sprayed, followed by a gag at one that he was quite fond of himself, before she was crouched before the wardrobe gortash had spoken of. idle taps, no doubt finding that false bottom, and she pries it open.

“what a dirty lady, that jannath is! i would ask who worked the leather, but—”

amma pauses, rustling giving way to her standing. holding in her hand that phallic shape gortash had grown familiar with, the other tightening straps at her hips and thighs. her eager movements give way to sloppy work, one that is still fastening and re-fastening in various places while she walks back over.

not to him, but to the mirror that had yet to be moved from it’s rather useful position. at the edge of the bed, across from him. those fingers of hers seem to work along the leather and wood, twitching tail giving amma away when they disappear underneath. slick fingers, idle thoughts.

“i have oft wondered what it would be like to have a cock. it is not simply enough to change shape into another, as i am limited in choice… but…” turning, to take in her profile. firm hand along the base. “well, perhaps i would like a cock to fuck you with.”

gortash snorts at such a statement, returning to his papers without so much as a look her way again. “after watching you fumble to wear such an instrument, i would not allow you to fuck me with it.”

“even if i were to beg? plead?”

“even if you were to beseech, my dear.”

amma’s laughter tinkles not unlike lady jannath’s. half hidden behind a coy hand, betraying the erotic display that moves towards him. nails drag along the wood, drawing a sound that was so purposeful in bringing a shiver about his spine. gortash persists in his penmanship, with another letter to lavish praise upon the weapons dealer — who too had managed to bring them one step closer to the vault. a pause, and he pulls away from the paper at an ‘e’ as amma slips onto the bed beside him once more.

a charming thought of sending her along, disguised as him, to properly thank the dealer would be entertainment for all involved. of course, there were concerns of an outcome, which had gortash arrange a day for personal thanks instead.

only so much bloodlust that could be contained, between the two of them, and he was oft better at holding his in.

“my calendar is filling up far too quickly,” he murmurs, once he signs off. picks up another, reviewing whatever he had begun before she had arrived, and continuing.

if she reads at his shoulder, amma does not speak up. partially sprawled, with an idle hand that moves up and down the wooden cock. gortash would ask where her mind truly sat, as the frown deepens. was she too, going through the steps? diabolists and plans and a crown, that waited for them in the hells? it was not enough to simply ponder, to question what it was that had her chew the inside of her mouth and frown until words no doubt blurred on paper. gortash was sure to find something to distract the child of bhaal until they were to truly descend, were that the perfect course of action.

however, he so deeply wished to crack that mind open, to understand but also to limit. horror and ichor lingered at his shoulder like a hapless maiden, and gortash had spoken with lord bane at lengths about bhaal’s unpredictable, insatiable daughter.

yet amma finally speaks, with a tinge of those qualities which made her voice sickly sweet. “it smells like you.”

and gortash returns the knowing smirk with his own, almost thankful at the way her mind seemed to twist away. amma lets out a low whistle — appreciative, suggestive. her hands on him and lips at his throat. biting, scratching, bleeding. left hand holding the letters out the way, as he could only afford to rewrite so many.

play the game, of turning in and out. of placing a gentle hand at the base of her tail, where her spine curves, until those teeth sink in too deep. until gortash can return the favour, nails digging into that tender spot, stage left. enough to coax a groan out of amma’s mouth, one that was bloody and sweet. sheet thrown back, writing tools scattered, and his thigh welcomes the heat from her.

new friction, with the leather straps that were between the two of them as well. were it not for the way amma had a handful of his hair, drawing his neck back further and further, gortash may have thought those gears of her mind were turning towards it. ever present threat of death that hung between them, as she ravaged throat and clavicle in a way he had learned to find delicious, until she pulled back.

removing the wooden cock from the straps, amma decidedly props herself beside him on lady jannath’s bed, breasts against his arm. passes the tip between lips and teeth and blood, tongue laving away not unlike how she treated his own cock more than once, until she was sufficiently pleased. and, without that flair for showmanship he had anticipated, amma presses the tip against her cunt, eyes turned downwards, pushing it in.

amma’s sharp inhale against his skin ran cold. gooseflesh rising, as her wrist moved at a controlled speed. as if it would leave him to run cold, when gortash can only encourage those lips to widen, pressing two fingers into her mouth. tongue that works around the digits, never quite letting her mouth shut, as sharp teeth threaten to snap and crack. as gortash’s own cock can only throb at the hard swallow, choke, groan, flurry of noises that leaves her as he presses his fingers in deeper. knees that buckle, heels that dig in, her own hands pressing that delightful wooden cock deeper into herself.

yet gortash cannot give her the satisfaction. frees his fingers from her mouth, despite the teeth that want to hold him. spit-slick grip on his own cock, now, maintaining that heady gaze. fingers slipping further south, to press into an already tender area from lady jannath’s ministrations hours prior. eyes do not move, as if they were only playing a game, of who could hold on the longer here. of who was the stronger, the more willing, the brash.

it gave him an odd sense of satisfaction to find himself the loser.

as at that moment, amma gives him a breathless enver, greeting him in a way that no one else could quite manage. twisting the rules, into her own battlefield, where gortash reacts. replaces her hand with his, as he is on her. sliding the wooden cock free from her cunt, back in place at the straps between her hips. if amma was to complain, he silences her once more, fingers, spittle, his own groan. stretching and lifting and gortash sits over her.

amma, amma, the bhaalist daughter. decayed and decaying and in a bed neither of them owned. sharp nails and sharper teeth, both that draw blood with only a brief touch. this would not be so easy to explain, later, as silken sheets are carrying the gentle rivets that spring from his thighs, yet. gortash does not consider his excuse, not just yet. not when he holds amma in place, and sinks onto wood with a rush of air.

takes his pleasure from her. she is merely a mounting frame for him to ride, with how gortash holds her down. amma may keen and whine, under the thin veil of deceptiveness, as she curls her tail around his cock. begs him, please, enver enver my sweet lord flymm. the name falls from her lips, and nothing amma does is for half measures — she knows to grin, as gortash finds her throat, her own hand wrapping around his.

gortash does not have enough of a mind to hold her at the precipice. can only lean his weight forward, until those breaths comes to a wheeze. where that grin begins to slip, and those eyes of amma’s almost lose their wonder. where they begin to allow fear to set in.

mouths his name as he comes. undone, over her. it hurts, almost, as gortash strokes himself until every part of him simply wanted to pack up and leave. yet amma’s sharp inhale begs him to continue, bruised skin and the lightest touch of lips along the curve of his jaw. at the sparkle, corner of his eye, as she had rescued the ring from the bedside table. laves her tongue over the stone, holds the metal between her teeth.

gortash raises himself from the wooden cock at her hips. kneeling over her, and one day the sight of amma splayed beneath him may do something other than stoke the fire in him. today was not that day, and when had the previous ones ever been either? gortash does not ask himself that, as he does not go to remove the straps on her legs. pushes in, two fingers, sinking into her cunt with a pace that even impressed himself.

“you had better not damage that setting, amma,” he says, voice level. rearranges himself, better angle for his wrist, and amma is moving her hips to meet his fingers. so earnest, fucking herself on his hand. “lady jannath would be most displeased.”

were he to perhaps let her breathe, to not push her through another orgasm, amma might’ve responded. gortash would not have been so fascinated, in how those teeth almost pass through the metal like it was merely bread — meat — and not an heirloom that was their most prized bargaining piece. amma does not scream or claw her way through the sensitivity, even as she arches and drives back into the pillows, hand on him, hand on herself.

only when gortash relieves the ring from it’s position between her lips, does amma speak.

“that ring was on your finger when you touched the lady’s nethers, wasn’t it?” a laugh, open mouthed kisses to the hands that hold her face. “i always was amazed at how she managed to satisfy you, but i understand now.”

licks her lips, licks his fingers clean. amma’s eyes follow the ring as it finds it’s perfect place on his finger once more. as it glides through the air, meeting her cheek. it stings, of course it does, but that groan was not for solely for pain, nor pleasure. a mixture of both, that has her burn for him once more.

“return that necklace to its owner, amma, lest we both be suspected.”

and gortash sits up. slow movements to the edge of the bed, even slower steps to where a basin sat, towel still damp, water no longer warm. wiping himself down, gortash is aware of the way she moves, dropping the straps and wooden phallus with far too much noise. necklace in her hands, as she stands behind him, draping it over his skin.

in the mirror, it does not look unlike a gilded collar.

“be careful, o’banite mine… for it would not take much to bring you to heel, if i so desired.”

amma’s kiss between the blades of his shoulders was so deliberately tender, so gentle, that he does not catch the necklace as it falls. slips at the edge of the basin, the garnet sinking into the cold like a watery red eye — keeping him still, until that rush of magic was deep in his bones. and amma flew away, into the gate’s skyline,

leaving him empty handed, but having yet to deter the curl in his lip, as gortash laughs to himself.

#bg3 #oc: amma #ch: enver gortash #post: fanfic

[mxrvelouscreations]

‘i brought you some medicine for your cold.’ @little-tyrant-gortash

@little-tyrant-gortash

Draken sniffed a little as Enver appeared, a slight grumble following when he mentioned that he had brought them some medicine. Getting sick wasn't something they were all that used to and so, it had completely wiped them out. Luckily for them, Enver just happened to be the best person to look after them. "What is it?" They asked, curious as to what concoctions the other may have that could make them well again.

#little tyrant gortash #ch: enver gortash

[illbringthechaosmagic]

"...what??" || @little-tyrant-gortash

@little-tyrant-gortash

It had been as much of a shock to her as it now was to him. Wanda hadn't been entirely sure, despite a few of the symptoms having already shown up. She had consulted with one of the doctors in private and they had been the one to confirm that she was indeed pregnant. As soon as she had the confirmation, she had rushed to Gortash, a mix of emotions running through her.

"We're with child," she repeated, her hands fidgeting with her dress sleeves. "Are you... are you not excited? What are your thoughts?"

#little tyrant gortash #ch: enver gortash #pregnancy tw

[shepardcommander]

#a self indulgent durgetash board because reasons #bg3 #durgetash #the dark urge #ch: safiya bowen #enver gortash #ch: enver gortash #I'll make a not so nice once later

[gortash]

— how close is close enough?

#Do Not Perceive Me #i am being so so incredibly normal about them #ch: zarali #x: careful fear and dead devotion #baldur's gate / #bg3 / #bg3 spoilers / #enver gortash #mine* #bg3*

[travelbystarlight]

Kinda fucked up I can't romance him when they literally look at each other like that.

#larian let me romance gortash challenge #I am chomping and biting and begging #bg3 #enver gortash #gortash x tav #ship: cage and songbird #ch: briallen lamarel

[thecosmicsleep]

been thinking about the way things go down for a durge who is trying to be better, make better choices, and...

She doesn't want to lose Gortash. She can't lose Gortash. He's the only one who's ever seen all of her and still cared about her. She knows this, even if she can't remember it.

So, she begs him. Begs, and pleads, and nearly bursts into tears as she whispers, "Don't make me, don't make me." Showing her soft underbelly when she knows she probably shouldn't. Knows he probably sees it as weakness; liability.

But she can't help it. She's just so fucking done with it all, with fighting against a world that hates her. That has always hated her. Done with fighting in the name of something that has always just seen her as a pawn, to be used and discarded.

Just... give her the last Netherstone. Or better yet, just change his mind; help her stop the brain, she pleads. The plan is a lost cause after Orin destroyed her, anyway, from what she could glean from her surprise talk with the brain at Moonrise.

Please.

And yet, he doesn't. When he's gone, she falls to her knees. Distraught. Despairing. She does nothing but stare at his corpse while Karlach rages about her own mortality, about the absurdity that his death could mean something to anyone.

But she's well and truly alone now. The one person who has seen all of her and never flinched, not once, is gone. Abandoned by the god she dedicated her entire life to because she didn't want to do things exactly as He dictated. A silly little plaything, a dull and broken tool. Held at a distance by the connections she's made in her confused, winding path back home.

Enver could never be mistaken as a particularly warm man, but the world is still colder for his loss.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #the dark urge #enver gortash #durgetash #goretash #ch: ether #my writing

[cedarw00d-the-fourth]

So I've made like 3 posts about my durgetash fic BUT I am done with chapter one so I need to make this poll

note: chapter 1 and 2 are just exposition.

#if anyone chooses ch.2 i will be concerned #why do you want exposition over story #anyways #bg3 #enver gortash #durgetash #baldurs gate 3 #dark urge #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 gortash #writing #cedar rambles

[astarionmademewriteit]

Ch. 2: My Forbidden Lover

MDNI. 18+ ONLY. Blank bios will be blocked.

Enver Gortash x f!Durge (pre-tadpole)

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 3.4k

Tags: Pure smut; Oral (female receiving); Face fucking; Dom/sub dynamic; Bondage; PIV rough sex; Blood kink; Cum Play; Praise and degradation kink; Bodily harm (in a sexual context); Orgasm denial (kinda? But not exactly); Choking; Biting; Durgetash is switch-coded; Subby Gortash; Minor jealousy; Brief mention of Astarion's background with non-consentual sex; Really graphic depictions of sex.

Summary: After having come to an agreement with Astarion and plotting to kill Cazador, the dark urge goes home with her lover Gortash where they engage in filthy sex.

A/N: Please refer to the first chapter to set the scene. This is pre-tadpole days where the Dark Urge has an established relationship with Gortash and befriends Astarion while he is still in the clutches of Cazador. The story will follow her eventual amnesia and Illithid kidnapping where she will fall for Astarion, who doesn't reveal the fact that he knew her from before the Nautiloid crash.

I meant for this chapter to spill over into the next day when Durge meets up with Astarion, but I'm a simp for Durgetash and it just got away from me. Please enjoy!

Ch. 1 | AO3

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵

We walk through the brisk night air, the stars spatter the sky–holding their ancient secrets close. I hook my arm through Gortash’s as we stroll through the streets. We are sporadically approached by admirers of Enver, offering their gratitude for all he has done for the city.

“I assume our new friend was receptive to your requests?” Enver murmurs once we catch a moment alone.

“He’ll warm to the idea. He is understandably terrified of Cazador,” I stroke his broad arms, contemplating my conversation with Astarion, “I sweetened the deal. In return for information, I promised to provide him with blood and a victim for Cazador. I assume that won’t be a difficult request to fulfill.”

Enver nods, “We can supply him with a thrall. They should comply willingly,” He stops and moves to face me, “As for the blood, dear assassin?” His question does little to hide the concern underpinning his tone.

“Enver, you wound me,” I close the little distance between us, pressing my body flush against his, “I have access to plenty of blood. Why are you concerned?” I cock an eyebrow, waiting for him to confess.

He chuckles darkly, recognizing my playful banter, “I do not relish the idea of sharing you. Especially your delectable blood,” he lines the column of my throat with gentle nips at my flesh, “I would hope that was just reserved for me,” he growls.

I run my fingers through his dark hair, pulling away to look into his eyes, “You have the exclusive privilege of spilling my blood, Enver,” I place a small kiss on the corner of his mouth, “In any case, Astarion and I are kindred spirits. I recognize myself in him,” I contemplated the thinly-veiled terror that he had tried hard to mask, but I recognized it for what it was immediately. His volatile environment wrangled him into submission, and he was forced to do things that I believe he was unwilling to do–completely severed from his own autonomy.

It was similar to my condition, although I still had the freedom to make choices–choices that Astarion was completely robbed of. It was my hope that our new agreement would help him regain some of his autonomy, no matter how little–even if it was to my advantage, at least for now. I felt a small pang of guilt, wondering if he felt used in other ways instead. I would have to ask him tomorrow.

“Indeed,” Enver agrees after a moment, “But, do not lose sight of the grand design, my love. We are no heroes”

A smile plays on my lips, “If I didn’t know better Enver, I would think you were jealous,” I hook my arm through his once again and we begin our tread back to his waiting palace.

Once we are safely inside the confines of his home I rest on the edge of Enver’s desk while he writes correspondence and runs through the list of powerful targets that threaten our plans. Next on our list was the beloved Duke Ravenguard–he could be a powerful asset should we enthrall him with an Illithid tadpole. I offer to send Orin, my bloodkin, to complete the task so that we may focus on other things.

“That’s enough work for tonight, my dear,” I caress his cheek with the back of my knuckles and he watches me with a darkened expression. I lift myself from his ornate mahogany desk and move towards Enver who still sits in his chair. I turn and sit on his lap, peering over my shoulder and watching him expectantly.

He sweeps my hair to one shoulder and slowly begins to pull the zipper down the back of the evening gown I wore to Cazador’s ball–taking great care to ensure the delicate fabric does not catch in the zipper.

I stand and let the soft fabric slip from my shoulders until the garment pools at my feet. His eyes rake over my exposed body, drinking in my frame with hungry eyes. I drive the heel of one of my shoes into his chest, waiting patiently as he nimbly unbuckles the straps around my ankle. He places small kisses up the calf of my leg, nipping at my flesh–hungry to taste me.

I kick off my heel and repeat the same gesture with my other foot. He glides his hand up my calf to my inner thigh, digging the claws of his gold filigree gloves into my flesh. His hard grasp dimples my flesh until he draws blood and a sigh escapes my lips. He places small kisses along my inner thigh as he works to unbuckle my shoe.

Once I have discarded my shoe, I watch him with eager eyes as he works his way towards my upper thigh, savoring the way his lips feel as they bite and suck at my flesh–tasting my blood. I intertwine my fingers through his dark hair, willing him to focus his attention at the apex of my thighs.

His agonizing slow pace up my inner thigh has me growing impatient, “Enver,” I growl in warning, tightening my grip on his hair until a satisfied groan falls from his lips.

“Far be it from me to keep my favorite assassin waiting,” he murmurs before swiping his tongue up the seam of my dripping cunt. I instinctively pull at his hair more aggressively as he tongues and sucks at my sensitive clit. My legs immediately begin to shake as pleasure undulates through my body.

Enver repositions my leg until it is resting on his shoulder, providing him with a new devastating angle that practically sends me into a frenzy. I hold his head against my aching cunt and throw my head back as I hear his stifled breathing. “Be a good boy for me, Enver,” I growl, “You may only draw breath once I’ve been satisfied, or you can suffocate. Whichever comes first.”

He moans as he slips his tongue into my slick entrance, nosing my clit in the process. His warm tongue fucking me expertly until I’m panting uncontrollably. He hums into my pussy, sending tantalizing vibrations straight to my core.

He hooks his arm around my thigh, pulling me closer as he hungrily services me–his golden filigree claws drawing more blood as they dig deliciously into my flesh. The pain brings me such pleasure that I can feel myself building to a dizzying crescendo.

Enver continues to drag his tongue in slow concentric circles around my clit, sucking and nipping at it until I’m losing myself–spiraling into an intense climax that has me writhing underneath his tongue. I grind myself against his face–his stubble adding another layer of overwhelming sensations that has me coming undone just for him. He growls against me as I drag my sensitive cunt against his face, relishing the way I use him for my pleasure.

Once I’ve come down from my orgasm, Enver pulls away–his face gleaming with my slick. I pull him up by the collar of his robe, and we collide into a feral kiss. The taste of my arousal and the coppery aftertaste of blood fills my mouth as our tongues slide against one another.

I finger at his robes, clumsily unlacing the clothes that separate me from his flesh. He assists me in removing his clothes, our lips crashing back together with a ferocity that could buckle my knees. I push him hard until he is falling on the bed behind him, my eyes scanning his exposed flesh, devouring him completely. I circle the bed before grabbing his wrist and binding them to the bedpost with barbed wire that cuts deeply into the exposed flesh beneath his golden lattice gloves. I repeat the gesture with his other wrist, and watch as blood flows freely from his wrists–dripping down his arms in crimson rivulets. I drag my tongue up his arm, drinking in the taste of his life-essence, and ecstasy thrums through my body at his flavor.

“You taste so good, my love,” I murmur before making my way to the foot of the bed and crawling up his body until I’m straddling his waist.

“It’s all for you, my assassin,” he croaks, his voice gravelly and thick with lust.

I drag my nose up his throat, sucking and kissing at his salty skin. I sink my teeth into the soft flesh where his neck meets his broad shoulders, and Enver cries out in pleasure as blood rushes to the surface. I can practically hear his heart beating against his ribcage as blood fills my mouth–his wrists pulled taut against his restraints, causing more blood to flow freely from his veins.

“I love when you bleed for me, Enver,” I growl into his ear. His heavy panting rings like music through the bedroom, and I savor the way his body writhes impatiently beneath me, “You’re doing so well,” I praise, which only spurs his need to be inside me.

“Please,” he whispers, begging to feel my cunt wrapped around his leaking cock.

“Oh, Enver,” I whisper seductively, cupping his face with my hand, “How I love to watch you squirm.” I line myself up with his throbbing cock, already leaking with pre-cum.

His swollen head immediately stretches me wide open, and I cannot stop the moan that falls from my lips as he fills me completely. Enver whimpers beneath me as my pussy slides down his length at an agonizingly slow pace until I am sitting flush against him. I clench around him instinctively, forcing another moan to escape his lips.

I lean over and crush my lips to his as I begin to rock my hips seductively against him. I bite hard into his lip, drawing more of his sensational blood–relishing the coppery taste as it fills my senses completely. My nails dig into his hairy chest and welts immediately begin to form, marking him as mine.

I lift myself up and begin riding him slowly, savoring the way his cock spears into me–threatening to split me in two. I clench my pussy around his length every time his cock withdraws from me, effectively massaging his swollen head.

“Gods below,” he moans underneath me, “You’re so perfect, my dear assassin.” He instinctively bucks his hips, brushing against my cervix and causing me to cry out in shock. He drags his cock slowly out of me before forcefully thrusting back inside, hitting my sweet spot with agonizing precision. The barbed wire confining his wrists continues to pull blood from his flesh, painting him like a beautiful masterpiece.

I lean back, propping myself on his thighs as I continue to ride him relentlessly–allowing him to watch as he pierces me with his throbbing member. My arousal rings like a symphony throughout the room, only spurring me to ride him harder. My nails dig into his thighs, bringing more blood to the surface. I watch as his body slowly trickles with blood and images of our own demise flit through my mind.

I knew I wanted to keep him until fate intervened and I was forced to kill him and myself in Bhaal’s name. It would be incredibly beautiful, slicing his flesh open until he had been drained of blood completely. I would die a beautiful death next to my lover–and I would be free of the carnage I was meant to exact on this world. And it would all be by his side.

As the images flit through my mind, my desperation becomes more prominent. I can feel myself nearing the edge of no return. My body begins to quiver as he continues to meet me thrust for thrust until I am exploding into a tantalizing climax–falling over the edge into a depth of pleasure that I could only ever experience with Enver.

His name falls from my lips and echoes throughout the room like a haunted hymn as he coaxes the pleasure from my body. Enver’s breathing becomes ragged and I can tell he is chasing his own release. I cannot help the sadistic tendencies that wash through my body in moments like these.

I wrap a shaky hand around his throat as I continue to ride him with newfound ferocity born from my own ecstasy. He watches me with a dark expression as he nears his own climax, biting at his bruised bottom lip as I apply pressure to his throat, cutting off his blood flow momentarily.

His eyes roll into the back of his head and a dangerous smirk plays on my lips when I think about how desperate he sounds. Just when he is on the verge of climax, I pull myself off him completely and watch as thick ropes of cum spill from him and onto his stomach. He bucks his hips desperately searching for any kind of friction that will ride him through his climax–to no avail.

I release my grip from his neck and he eyes me with unfiltered frustration when he realizes the game I’m playing. His wrists are pulled taut against the barbed wire–the metal digging into his flesh as he struggles against them, desperate for some satisfaction as his hollow orgasm washes through him.

He lets out an animalistic growl as I remove myself from the bed, a dark grin gracing my features as I watch him struggle. “Oh, Enver,” I chuckle sadistically, “You never learn, do you?” I inch towards a bar cart and pick up an expensive decanter, leisurely pouring myself a glass of rich dark liquor. I seat myself in his chair, and watch as he grows more desperate by the minute.

“Please, my love,” he eyes me with wild anguish, pulling against his restraints harder than before–ignoring the stinging pain that travels through his arms. I cross my legs and lean back, taking another sip of the strong liquor. It burns my throat as it goes down, and the satisfaction I feel as I watch him squirm is delectable. My body welcomes the warmth of a roaring fire nearby and I sit and watch as he fights against his restraints–admiring the way his crimson blood paints his flesh.

“Gods, you look so pathetic, Enver,” I chuckle, “It’s utterly adorable.” I throw back the rest of the liquor–it’s rich burn soothing my throat and it’s warmth washing through my body completely.

Enver has settled down slightly, but I can tell he has found no satisfaction in his climax–just as I had hoped. “My beloved assassin, this hardly seems fair,” he grumbles–his voice perfectly diplomatic.

“When have you known me to play fair, my love,” I shoot back playfully, gripping the arms of the chair, “Besides, I’ve decided that you haven’t begged nearly enough for my liking.”

He glares at me from the bed, and a satisfied smile pulls at my lips as I wait patiently for him to convince me that he deserves his own fulfillment. Plea after plea begins to spill from his lips, his body continuing to fight against his restraints as he grows more and more desperate. I tap my foot impatiently as he continues to beg.

It isn’t until a tear of frustration falls from his eye do I stand, effectively quieting his supplications as he watches me closely. I move to the foot of the bed and crawl over him once again, and I can hear as his breath catches in the back of his throat. I drag my tongue across his stomach, licking up his spent–savoring its unique taste. I smack my lips when I’m done and note that Enver is hard once again as he watches me clean up the mess he made.

I pull away from the bed and move to release him from his restraints–kissing his wrists and sucking the blood that paints his skin in a rich crimson. I repeat the gesture once again with his other wrist. As soon as he is free from his constraints, he charges forward, pouncing on me like a wild, untamed animal.

“My turn,” Enver growls in my ear as he tangles his rough fingers into my hair and pulls back hard until I’m looking up at his looming form. He forces me across the room and throws me into the edge of his desk, the hard wood digging into my hips deliciously.

I whimper under his hardened touch as he bends me over his desk and presses my face into the desk with aggressive strength. He forces himself inside me without a moment to lose, desperate to feel my wet cunt wrap around his cock once again.

He begins a punishing pace, rutting his hips into me with unrelenting force that causes uncontrolled moans to fall from my lips. He places a large, rough hand on my waist and forces me down, causing me to arch my back until he is hitting my sensitive spot over and over again.

The force with which he fucks me into his desk causes papers to fall from the table top–teetering to the floor. Ink splatters across his desk as it tips over with every thrust. My cries rip through the air as he spears himself into me, allowing his frustrations to spill over into his movements.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he growls as he slams into me–the desk digging painfully into my flesh with every cant of his hips. I dig my nails into the desk, trying to steady myself, but it is useless as he continues to abuse my dripping pussy.

The force of his hips slamming into me sends me over the edge once again and I cry out with unfiltered ecstasy as I fall from grace–my orgasm rocking through my body causing my cunt to spasm wildly around his length.

“There you go, my dear assassin,” He growls, “Just like that, baby.” He talks me through my climax, and the rush of adrenaline courses through my body as his claws dig into my flesh, bringing blood to the surface.

I whine underneath him as he uses me for his own pleasure–our roles effectively reversed in a matter of minutes. His breath grows ragged as he watches his arousal spear into me over and over again with such force that I fear the desk will tip over.

Once I’ve recovered from my orgasm, I feel his thrusts becoming sloppier as he chases his own, deserved release. “Cum for me, Enver,” I beg as his breath grows heavy with ecstasy. He thrusts into me violently a few more times before he is spilling into me–his cock spasming wildly inside me as he cries out my name. He whimpers out a string of expletives as he is awarded with his own pleasure.

He leans over me, his body flush against mine as he continues to fuck through his orgasm–savoring the feeling he was so cruelly denied just minutes earlier. I moan loudly, his name falling from my lips like a prayer of devotion until he finally stills inside me.

We catch our breath, neither of us daring to move until we have regained our strength. Enver chuckles darkly above me before pulling out of me completely. I whine at his sudden absence but gather myself as much as possible. I will my shaky legs to move back to the bar cart and pour us both a drink while Enver rests in his chair, sweat dripping down his dark features.

I offer him a glass before curling into his lap and nuzzling into his shoulder, noting the dried blood streaks that mar his body. I bite back a satisfied smile as I replay the events of tonight in my mind.

After a moment, Enver sighs, “We have made a mess of things, my dear,” he ruffles my hair with a rough hand before chuckling under his breath. “I think a warm bath is in order.” I nod my head in agreement, suddenly too tired to speak. “We have a great many things to accomplish tomorrow, my lovely assassin.” He throws back his drink and polishes off his glass in a few large gulps.

I wrap an arm around his waist as I continue to nurse my drink–memorizing the way his body feels against mine. I laugh to myself, realizing that I could never forget how his body feels against mine. I turn my thoughts to what lies ahead, already calculating more plans for the grand design.

I couldn't imagine doing this without him–My forbidden lover.

#bg3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #Durgetash #durgetash fanfic #durgetash fic #enver gortash fic #enver gortash x dark urge #enver gortash smut #enver gortash #gortash smut #dark urge x gortash #gortash x durge #Gortash x f!durge #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x f!tav #Gortash #bg3 gortash #lord gortash #Gortash x female durge #dark urge #bg3 fic

[hartsvale]

His eyes are pools of shadow with torchlight gleaming at their dark shores. When he looks at you, cool water sluices into your lungs. Here, drowning is sweet. Here, you forget yourself, and you desperately breathe in more.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3edit #enver gortash #lord enver gortash #type: gifs #game: baldur's gate 3 #ch: enver gortash #mine: edits #[ narrator voice ] if he's a tyrant - why is he so fucking cute?

[envergortitwindow]

I headcanon Enver as Turkish adjacent/equivalent for Toril. If I take the fact that his father has a very English sounding name aside, I assume that his mother's family is from Calimsham which is the closest equivalent that we get to Turkey in the Forgotten Realms. I was just thinking of having Enver use Turkish language dirty-talk in my writings of him and my Dark Urge, Rhyleth.

#baldur's gate 3 #enver gortash #enver gortash headcanons #the dark urge #durgetash #otp: the tyrant of gold and black and his mad dog #otp: enver x rhyleth #otp: rhyleth x enver #the dark urge x enver gortash #enver gortash x the dark urge #ch: enver gortash #ch: enver flymm

[wiltf]

🔞 durge / gortash. murder, sex, blood.

“my, my… lord gortash, filling the mouth of an elven maid? the scandal!”

with a flick of his wrist, gortash lowered the papers he had been perusing, noting that where a raven once sat at his desk, was now his dashing assassin. and the maid, who had pulled her lips from his cock, turned as well, at the voice.

clicking his tongue, a tap on the top of the maid’s head brought her back around, before he turned his eyes back. “you were correct in assuming the perks to such a position as this, my lady. who would i be to deny myself access to them?”

devilish smile, slow and careful walk across the stone. not a sound, those supple leathers truly a great gift no doubt, until the chosen of bhaal finds herself beside him. close, that he may feel the heat and iron that no doubt still burned within her, her arm stretched along the back of the lounge, fingers curling in the hair at the base of his neck.

“i take it you have—ah—finished that little job i gave you?”

those nails, sending the slightest shudder through him. gortash lays those papers to the side, eyes meeting hers, wondering if that red rim had grown since. “of course, my lord.” toothy smile, far too pleased with herself. “ready for the next step, however…”

a look down, at the maid. the slow bobbing of her head. “some things may need to reach their climax before we enact that part.”

her fingers never release from the base of his neck, but gortash watches as she leans down. free hand stroking the swell of the maid’s cheek. “what is your name, sweetling? and what brought you to your knees today?”

gortash nods sharply when the maid looks up to him. “melina, milady. and—” another look, this time far deeper, more pervasive. something he had no mind for. “and, i offered myself—”

“truly? enver, you cad, you did not mention that you had such darling maidens ready to be plucked and bruised.”

it is his turn, for his fingers to wind themselves into her hair. a short, sharp tug, combined with the way he grinds her name through his teeth. “amma.” take heed to the warning, despite the way her eyes sparkled at such handling.

amma does not free herself from his grasp. instead, her attention turns back to melina, and there is that knife-edge smile, wavering either way. “lord gortash prefers a little teeth, dear thing.” and at the gasp, as melina does not find gortash dismissing the idea, amma’s nails dig into her cheeks, forcing her jaw open.

and there it is, the barest brush against the underside of his cock. hard ridges of teeth, perfectly angled, not near as sharply defined as amma’s. grazing over them, regardless, and those pinched cheeks forming a tight, wet hole. amma leads the maid’s head, back and forth, in an agonisingly slow pace. melina, meanwhile, was breathing in quick, short bursts, hot against his lower gut. gortash does not meet her gaze, no matter how much her eyes spoke for her. instead, he holds amma’s, winding through the clear thoughts and feelings to catch how her tail disappears under the maid’s dress.

jerky inhale. a tongue that flexes and muscles move in response, trying wetly to react to amma and her devious tail. moaned mouthful, around his cock, that sounds oddly like: “m—milady—”

“shh, little one, i could smell you long before i entered the room. no doubt lord gortash would love to sink into such wet loins, hm? what do you think, enver?”

no time left for him to answer, as gortash finally releases his grip from amma’s hair. an action she returns in kind, before she encourages melina to move back, dark half moons on her cheeks that colour as she stands before him now. a swish, and tail frees from under those skirts, shiny end. a wipe along the back, before amma moves behind the poor maid.

gortash can hear her, as she speaks into the elf’s ears. sweet nothings, a few comments about his cock thrown in there for good measure. thin hands bunch the front of her skirt, as melina moans at amma’s mouth, following the ridge of her ear. skilful hands, that unbutton her shirt and find their way inside. a blush that spills down her pale chest, and gortash knew that such heat was likely only a few minutes from finding its way outwards.

he could only hope this time, perhaps, it would not end on his shoes.

shirt discarded, followed swiftly by the skirt. a simple band, underwear and stockings was all melina stood in, as she stepped deliberately out of her shoes. but it is when amma circles her, teasing away the last few scraps of material that may have given the maid some essence of virtue, gortash’s hand finds his cock. slack grasp, but moving up and down his spit-slick shaft. waiting, for the inevitable.

“oh, enver,” amma is rather wistful, as she traces patterns down the maid’s bare chest, towards the soft curls between her thighs. “you really should share more often, you know? it has been so long since—”

melina gasps, her hand grasping at amma’s arm. an action which does nothing more than have that smile twist into a smirk, hard and hot flash to her eyes. “—well, that.”

“apologies for not inviting you sooner. should this arise again, i will make sure to send you a missive.” with a roll of his eyes, gortash tightens his grip.

it was not entirely within amma’s nature to continue this. nor for him to play the honeypot. and here he sits, assessing, reassessing, while she bats his hand away, encouraging the maid forward again. shaky thighs as amma removes her hand, and knees that find purchase on the lounge either side of his. gortash would not deny pleasures of the flesh, but this plan was beginning to escape him, and that,

that wouldn’t do, even as the maid takes him with a moan of his name.

hands behind her back, tied with whatever remained of her stockings. amma encouraged the arching of her back, pert nipples meeting the air, and continual way in which melina rode his cock. gortash rests his arms along the back of the lounge, and can only savour the way amma plays with her food — skilled fingers against melina’s clitoris, working her in ways that have her convulse and call his name, fighting against the arms that hold her now.

against that hand, that finds her throat. a shame, gortash sighs, as he holds melina’s hips in hand, thrusting up to meet her erratic movements. i quite liked this one, he groans, as amma leans over the gasping maid, to press her lips against his. swallowing all manner of lurid noises. never letting go, as those half moons may match her cheeks, yet they grow deeper, uglier.

“i shall buy you a new one,” amma laughs, and laughs and laughs. all while melina twitches and strains and comes.

once more, as amma’s fingers do not let up. pushing her over the edge until gortash can admit he followed. wet grunt against amma’s cheek, as he murmurs for her to finish it. to let that throat go, and melina falls from his lap with a cry. struggling, against her bindings once more, as those marks on her throat continue to bleed. shivers along her skin, and it could have been the cold stone, or it could have been that realisation, as amma stalked forward.

“oh, sweet melina, the absolute need to work on seduction…”

“w-what?”

a solid kick with her boot, has melina hunch over with a cry. an indication that the next act would take place, which has gortash grunt, tucking himself back into his pants, and move to stand. “amma, the next guard rounds will begin.” and he steps over melina, despite her confusion and plea, to where his pipe sat. “you only have a few minutes.”

“more than enough time, to satisfy myself in more ways than one.”

“wa—wait, please, i don’t understand—milord?!”

“you were an absolute assassin, sent to undermine my power, of course.” deep drag, as amma pulls a short knife from her boot. “the forgiving fool i am, allowed you to attend to my quarters… where you planned to kill me.”

“no no nononono! lord gortash, i would never—”

“we know. but who would question the facts.”

the knife slides through the bindings, and melina goes to push amma away. to fight and scream and plead. defensive wounds, that end with a gurgle, and the shimmer of the lock at the door still holding so not a peep may leave. long inhale, before smoke leaves his lips when amma was done.

“i meant to ask, enver, if i should have dressed her before this,” amma muses, her knife drawing across the skirt, cleaning both sides. “but i do love to watch you talk your way out of these things.”

“your uncanny fondness for a silver tongue may be your undoing yet, my dear chosen. for you know if i were to fall now, i will drag you to the hells with me.”

amma laughs again, all light and airy. soft steps over the body and blood, to take the pipe from his lips. “and when you talk to me like that, all i can think about is shoving that mouth between my thighs and riding you from dusk till dawn.”

her turn to inhale deeply, only to purposely blow the smoke into his face. “but you would not sink to such a lowly task, would you, enver? would not lick and suck and fuck me, even if i begged?”

between two fingers, she holds the pipe back out to him, softly against his lips. gortash parts his mouth, taking it between his teeth, and away from her. only to hold it with his own hand, one last draw, before throwing it to the wayside. ash splays, and with a kick, the side table follows. “what has brought on this particular strain of yours, amma? last i recall, you said—”

“‘no’,” and with a clatter of books to follow, amma pushes him back into the small bookshelf. hard enough that shelving digs into his skin. “i deeply regret my wording, my dear lord gortash. i was not myself that night.”

gortash walks her backwards now, towards his desk. one that once sat pristine, but books and ink clatter, thrown to the floor. papers flutter slowly, as if time itself had slowed down, and then he smells it. sees it, all around them, with a click of amma’s fingers.

other corpses now filled the room, reminiscent of an ambush. arrows buried and necks splayed open. where gortash had thrown ink pots, they now stained black alongside that dark red. the faces were not known to him, nor would he expect them to be. not when he spies the symbol — their symbol — cast onto the wall.

“you always have had that certain attention to detail i deeply appreciate.”

“they will not be able to speak to anyone after death, as well. i made sure of it.”

when gortash touches her face, it is not with affection. an understanding? of course, with that vile and bloody way they had both decided to rule. amma’s eyes all but glitter a horrid red, as he traces lines to where her horns protrude, to hold on tightly, and pull it back. the hiss in response was glorious, as was the exposure of neck. of the way his teeth cut in now, feeling the throb of a pulse under his tongue as he laves his way down.

“we are long past the timeframe i gave you, my dearest. we cannot afford to continue.”

at her long suffering sigh, amma unties the front of her pants, fingers sinking under material before he could argue. “oh, you wound me. but allow me just one more moment, to imagine this was you.”

quick fingers, covered partway by the confines of her pants. a lurid enough detail, that gortash does not admit to enjoying, while he simply watches — such a performance, one that was overly reminiscent of a maiden or two. bitten lips and fluttering eyelashes, that earns amma a scowl, before she dissolves into a laugh. not interrupting the steady rhythm of her hand, nor the wet sounds that fill the space between them, as the maiden gives way to the glower and grin.

“would you like me to—s—sigh—your name, enver, like all those little worms do? to imagine you, as i allow another to fill me?”

and that moan catches in her throat, as her hips rock, trying to free herself from the constraint of her pants. “enver, my sweet, slaving chosen, my ri—ah—right and left hand… do you dream of me, as you fuck all those simpering whores? as they fuck you?”

gortash finds her lips and it is not a kiss, so much as biting and pulling. tugging at her lips and hoping that those violent eyes might close. they do not, as she meets his aggression with her own, bruising and bleeding. harder on her fingers, riding until perhaps they were beginning to cramp. but amma had yet to notice, not as she has that blade in her hand once more, and the final act began.

a soft gasp, from gortash, has her moan. far too loudly, longly, longingly. knife sinking through flesh like butter, careful not to find anything that may cause him to expire too soon. but her cunt could only throb at the thought, as she frees the blade, as red begins to bloom, as her next target was the arm that still held her horn.

short, sharp, and gortash breathes so heavily through his nose. bowed towards her, as amma presses her thighs together. harder now. so close. a few more delicate cuts, here, there, as if she were an artist signing off. and oh, when she held that knife against his neck, do the stars burst behind her eyelids, as she can only continue to drag fingers over far too sensitive flesh.

it is his name she calls. against him, as she drew his blood. gortash focuses on. breathing. blinking. unable to forget just what it was like to have even the smallest knick on his skin sing like the fires of the nine hells. and it twists, into pleasure, in all the ways gortash knew it shouldn’t, as he shakes, and frees her hand from the wet folds he could not see. as gortash licked and sucked at those fingers, tasting her.

“do it.”

amma’s moan almost drowned out the sound of metal sliding through the junction of his neck and shoulder. and amma was so careful, so precise, yet gortash could only taste blood in his mouth, hand immediately pressing against the wound when she pulled free.

“by the dead three, enver, if i did not want to kill you, i would take you now.”

the heady flush could only match the blood that left his skin, no doubt. enough that she dips a finger into the wound at his side, despite his inhale. licks the digit, before that tongue of hers found his cheek, following to his temple. teasing at lines of sweat, to his ear, as those teeth bite and tug. as those hands continue to hold him up, easing him back until the ground came up to meet him with a grunt.

“do not tempt me with your silence, or with bane as my witness, there may not be much left for them to find.”

gortash meets her eye, and does not find the threat there. just that hunger, deep and pervasive, that seemed to turn him inside out. it would lick and suck and eat every part of him, were he to allow her even a moment, so gortash did what he had only perfected: ordered her, with a tilt of his head to the door. last step, and it would do more than cement the remaining steps of his plan.

with him, as the sacrificial lamb, and the absolute as a target.

amma bows, deeply, before her hands form those familiar signs. a break, as if the storms seemed to suddenly rise, blowing open the doors. screaming fills the hallway, chiming in with calls of his name, the familiar sounds of chainmail rustling. disappearing just as quickly at it seemed to have been pulled in through that wind tunnel, as amma moves to the window.

“do not forget, lord gortash, that i demand at very personal tour of your new offices.”

he does not speak, but cannot help the curl of his lip, as a raven takes flight. an exit that gives way to new entrants, who call for him. yet gortash does not answer, fingers loosening just a fraction on the wounds, to allow blood to flow.

to cause that panic and for those cries to reach him. worry and concern and the telltale fear, as enver gortash was stabbed and alive, beneath the symbol of the absolute. what a perfectly painful plan.

#bg3 #bg3 spoilers #oc: amma #ch: enver gortash #dark urge spoilers #post: fanfic

[sankttealeaf]

POLITICAL AFFAIRS

in an attempt to boost his chance at becoming grand duke, Gortash hires on extra help managing his social media presence. this will be the worst mistake of his career.

[or: a modern durgetash au featuring politician gortash and social media influencer durge (named durge, it's rue hehe)]

CH.1: death threats mean nothing when you’re a politician (it’s part of the job)

If he had known that building up a dedicated audience to secure his place as Grand Duke of Baldur’s Gate would be this time consuming, Enver Gortash wouldn't have bothered going about it the legal way. Everything involves photos and posting and sharing and liking and engaging and it all goes over his head. Even now as he sits at his desk in his office he wonders what’s the point of it all? Those who’ll vote for him will do so and if he needs to commit a little bit of voter fraud to win, who cares? Does it matter? Apparently so. It’s time consuming - he has better things to do than check his posts are performing well.

[image of: Enver Gortash standing in front of a banner declaring his run for Grand Duke]  @EnverGortash: As your future Grand Duke, my main goal is to listen to YOUR voice. Baldur’s Gate will be united under my rule! 40 likes, 11 comments, 2 shares.

CONTINUE ON AO3

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #enver gortash #the dark urge #durgetash #the dark urge x enver gortash #; tealeaf's writing

[latent-sense-of-loyalty]

Ch. I

Word Count:3637

Masterlist ¤ AO3 ¤ Ko-Fi

~

CW: Graphic depictions of violence

AN: I'm ferally excited to begin sharing this with everyone. The idea has been in my head for a long while and now I get to put it out there! Big big thank you to @enterthedreams for proofing and just being generally amazing.

If you wish to be updated for future chapters, let me know, and I'll add you to the tags! Now, enjoy!!

“Resignedly beneath the sky

The melancholy waters lie.

So blend the turrets and shadows there

That all seem pendulous in air,

While from a proud tower in the town

Death looks gigantically down.”

-”The City in the Sea”

Edgar Allen Poe

Tendrils of smoke pooled from his mouth and nose, dancing around him. The next was a breath mixed with the midnight sea breeze, carried away towards the distant ships of the harbor. With the sounds of the old ships groaning at the docks, the occasional shout and laugh of the late night stragglers, it was almost as if the smoke had some kind of harmony to dance to. A fleeting one, as the next breeze whisked it away into the far unknown of the city. 

The Gate always seemed so different at night. 

If one were to excuse the robberies, murders, and other unsavory activities that seemed to thrive at this time, it was almost beautiful. But maybe, to him at least, that was part of the splendor of it all. The unclean, the unsavory, it all had its appeal, he supposed. He was like that once, and he was nothing if not charismatic.

The sound of metal on stone broke him out of his thoughts, heavy steps making their way towards him from one of the alleys. It was the scent that really tipped Enver off first: a suffocating mixture of rot and dust. With another pull from his pipe, he emptied the contents into the inky black void of ocean beneath him, watching the ash dissipate and sink. 

For a moment, he could see the bodies he had placed in that very same spot. Vacant eyes staring up at him as they sank below. Hundreds of unspoken curses, each one paving the path closer to his ambitions. 

“Honestly, you’d think one of your station would at least have the common decency to bathe” The lord turned up his nose as he finally faced Ketheric, his cane leisurely staying at his side. “At the very least, it wouldn’t kill you.” 

He only received a huff from the cloaked figure. The Man strode up beside him, taking a moment to take in the ocean air before he removed his hood. The silver of his hair and beard seemed to illuminate from the moonlight above. Out here, he almost seemed alive. 

Almost. 

“The last person I would think about taking any kind of advice from is you, upstart.” The timbre of his voice reverberated inside Enver’s chest. Even in monotone, that voice still commanded power. Authority. It made even Enver shiver. They stood together for another long pause of silence, the tension growing quite palpable. “This could have been much more efficient if we had this meeting at Moonrise, or even in your...fine abode, Gortash.” 

There was something about the way Ketheric spoke his name that just irritated Enver. Like he was talking down to some child, in lieu of the fastest growing political powers in this city. 

“Unfortunately, we are still in a position where we need to be concerned about the walls listening to us. Besides, anyone that passes by here will either be too drunk to understand what we are discussing, or will be dead before sunrise.” Gortash waved his hand dismissively to the general, twirling his cane just so he had something to do with his hands. 

Under normal circumstances, Enver usually was far more in control and composed with these kinds of situations. Yet the general just unsettled him to no end. Was it the aura of undead? The separation of age? Or did he just see the Lord of Bones in those dead, lifeless eyes?

Ketheric simply raised a brow, looking the other up and down.

“So tell me, old friend, how does this new lease on life that your gracious lord gifted you feel?” Enver straightened his back a little. If the General was going to inspect him, might as well give the old man a show. 

The general scoffed at the assumption of friendship, wanting nothing more than to take that irritating smirk off of the lord's face. 

“He sees I still have a vital part to play. My devotion to him will not sway. I am his  justice -” The speech was quickly cut off by the lord’s snickering beside him as he balanced himself on the cane. 

“Gods, and I thought I was the one with the potential for grandstanding.” The scowl on the old man's face elicited another snicker. “Truly, Ketheric. If this whole general business doesn't work out for you, I'm sure you'd have a wonderful time in the world of politics.” Gortash motioned to Thorm with a flourish. “The Baldurian's, at least, would love you.” 

“Unlike you, Gortash, I did not have to scheme my way into power.” 

“No, only betray your greatest values. A few times, if I’m not mistaken.” The way Ketheric tensed tipped Enver off that he was indeed on thin ice. 

“Do not worry though, I'm sure most of us have surely had our own moments of weakness. Besides, with recent potential investments, I'm sure most would look over your past mistakes.” 

“How reassuring.” Sarcasm dripped like rotted ichor from his mouth. “You have quite the amount of confidence for one that is relying on a lot of… potentials.” Ketheric looked out to the ocean again before his eyes went back to Gortash, much more serious. “I'm not here to play silly political games with you, Gortash, and I'm sure our predecessors would agree. Now why have you asked me here.” 

“We haven’t  been chosen on a whim, dear General.” It was Enver’s turn to change his tone. “To save you the speech, it is time for a centuries old pact be reignited. With recent events taking place, we now have the greatest chance we could be gifted for absolute domination… and it starts with what is below your home.” The look of befuddlement on Ketheric's face was enough to quell any remaining nervousness Gorthash had felt. 

“I've devised a plan-” 

The sound of gurgling took the words from his mouth, both staring back into the alley. The golden eye, illuminated by brilliant crimson steel, froze Gortash in his place. Even Ketheric stood straighter. Slowly, they saw the crimson blade make their way from the stranger’s throat to his groin, body spasming in its death throes. 

All the while, Gortash stared into those brilliant liquid gold eyes, the stare almost searing into his brain. The grotesque sound of the man's entrails slipping onto the wet stone below, followed by the body, could only make the General shake his head. 

Slow, wet steps came towards them as the moonlight illuminated her face. Gortash had only met her a handful of times, yet the sight still made his throat tighten.

Ketheric was the first to regain composure, clearing his throat. Those eyes went to the General before she removed her hood. Her hair was damp, black strands clinging to olive skin. 

“A pleasure… to finally meet Myrkul’s chosen.” The Bhaalspawn inspected Ketheric, the look in her eyes flickering between predatory and admiration. 

When those same eyes landed on Gortash, they quickly changed to annoyance. 

“Lovely to see you again, my dear.” It took everything within Enver to hide his indignation. 

Just seeing how she smirked at his feeble attempt to gain some kind of control filled him with a silent rage. Judging by how her smirk grew, he was not surprised if she could smell it on him. 

“Never expected one of your kind to be so…” Ketheric was almost at a loss for words, the woman seizing the bit.

“Eloquent? Civilized? Lucid?” The Bhaalspawn circled around the man like a vulture, the image almost making Gortash laugh. “Oh, don’t fret, you're exactly how I expected one chosen by Myrkul to be. Dead, covered in the dust of his former life.”

Now that made Enver laugh. The two looked at him as he did his best to cover it with a cough. 

The tension was palpable for a few moments, all three waiting for the other to make a move. The Bhaalspawn cleaned her blade on her cloak, staring back at the body wistfully before sheathing the blade. The look on Gortash’s face tipped her off that he was less than impressed with the spectacle. 

“What?” She grabbed the body from the alley, dragging it so it could slip off the pier into the water below. “I was doing you a favor.” The three just silently watched the horrified face sink below before Gortash cleared his throat. 

“Well, “Gortash said, clapping his hands, “since we are all introduced now, I feel it is time to speak of why we’re truly -” The woman was quick to step in front of Gortash, smirking as he stumbled on the words. 

“Yes, the plan that I came up with that you so graciously tried to take the credit for.” She sneered at the lord, gold eyes brimming with irritation. “But you might as well finish what you started.”

“I would if the interruptions would cease,” Enver hissed. 

Ketheric rolled his eyes at the immature display. With a shrug from the Bhaalspawn, Gortash continued. 

“As you’re both well aware, we have all been chosen for a purpose, and it seems that our lord's have decided it best that we all work towards the same goal. Just as in the past, we continue the Pact of the Dead Three.” There was little reaction from Gortash’s compatriots, steeling himself before continuing.

“After some... collaboration,” His eyes flicker to the woman, “It seems a perfect plan has been laid out before us. All that stops us is our willingness to work together and take it..” Enver raises his hand, clenching it into a fist. The others could not help but roll their eyes, waiting for him to get on with the rest. 

“General, it seems that you hold one of the key figures to this plan, right beneath the very stone of your home.” 

The gleam of joy in Enver’s eyes was undeniable as he watched the General go through the stages of confusion to disbelief. 

“To even entertain the thought of any of us somehow using, let alone convincing, an Elder Brain, not to mention the colony surrounding it to work with the Dead Three? I see that Bane has chosen a man on a suicide wish.” Ketheric shook his head, scoffing at the mere notion that the three of them stood a chance against such a creature. 

“Hear him out.” She nodded for Gortash to continue. The spawn stepping in to support Gortash was enough to make Ketheric pause in shock for a moment. “Trust me, it is worth the risk.” 

“Thank you.” Even Enver was a little surprised at her sudden change in behavior. Shrugging it off, he kept going. “I agree, Ketheric, it would be a foolish endeavor for us to even try convincing the creature. But, what if we had means to control it?” 

The lord’s trademark smirk grew wider, which in turn made the General’s frown deepen. “Unless you have suddenly become the greatest archwizard of all time, I highly doubt it. This is becoming a waste of time -”

“The Crown of Karsus.” The Bhaalspawn looked directly at Ketheric now, gold eyes alight. “We may not be able to convince it, but we can bring it to heel and make it obey us.” 

Restless, the spawn began pacing back and forth, her eyes still trained on the General at all times. 

“Tell me, child of Bhaal,”  Ketheric arched a brow, his stare condescending as the girl laughed,  “How is it you know of such an artifact? Is that common knowledge around your circles?”

“Honestly, do you think of me as an untrained rabid dog?” Venom dripped from her tone, Gortash noticing her fingers twitch for just a moment. “I do know my fair amount of history, thank you. My father made sure I was born with a proper brain.” 

He almost considered stopping her if she were to lunge at the other’s throat. 

Almost. 

“Anyways, the plan is relatively simple.” Enver took the lead in conversation again. “We get the crown, place it on the Elder Brain, and use it to create an army worth the names of our lords.” Ketheric was quick to wave his hand dismissively. 

“If it does actually exist, how do we expect to find it?” The smile on the spawn’s lips grew, rocking on her feet a little. 

“We already know where it is located. It seems that after the fall of Netheril, Mephistopheles himself claimed possession. Now it remains sealed in his vault in Cania.”

“And how did that information fall in your hands?” The General stood much straighter now, that dismissive look now shifted to one of trepid curiosity. 

“My father showed it to me.” The toe of her boot scuffed itself on the cobblestone as she looked down. “In a dream.” 

Gortash couldn't stop himself from pinching the bridge of his nose. The bark of laughter that escaped Ketheric made the two of them jump. It was not a sound they ever expected to hear from him, making it much more unsettling. 

“So, that’s what we’re basing this entire plan? Dreams?” He motioned between the two of them, eager for some kind of answer. 

“Oh? I would think you would be the last to turn your nose up at a divine gift from your lord.” She got closer to Ketheric, staring up at him with a dangerous glint in her eyes. “Or are you really that unappreciative? Does Myrkul know? I'm sure he would be quick to resurrect another’s decayed carcass to do his work.” 

The General swallowed the lump in his throat, eliciting a larger smile from the spawn. 

“Either way,” she went on, turning her back to Ketheric and pacing back closer to Gortash. “Bhaal has shown us exactly where to go. Now, all that is left is to get there and get the crown.” 

Shaking his head, Ketheric let out another chuckle, this entire plan reaching levels of absurdity. “So what you’re saying is that the three of us make our way to the eighth layer of the hells, and perform one of, if not the most, ridiculous heist of all time.” 

“Exactly.” Both Gortash and the spawn agreed at the same time, giving each other a put off look before making the space between them slightly larger. 

“There has to be more to this than what you're saying. This can’t be it. Say we actually manage to steal the crown, how do we even control the Elder Brain?” Ketheric’s voice was tense, eyes kept flashing between disbelievement and genuine curiosity, his head tilting to the side. 

“There seem to be three foci that resonate with the crown itself. Using these three stones, we can control whoever, or whatever wears the crown. Convenient, for us.” Gortash said, shrugging his shoulders. “With that control, we can use the illithids to infect others with the parasite. With enough infected, who is there to stop our masters?” 

Gortash felt the muscles tense in his throat at the word. The spawn could see him tense, quickly flitting her eyes away before she was noticed. 

“Besides,” she spoke, motioning towards Ketheric. “You will be staying here. There is a different plan for you in all this.” 

Ketheric was taken aback, confused at the possible implications. “Are you saying I am not capable of such a heist?”

“Well we certainly wouldn't want one of your age and accomplishment to be over exerting themselves now, would we?” The glares Gortash received not just from the General, but from the Spawn made him put his hands up in feigned surrender. “Easy now, merely a joke. But in all honesty, we find that there is much more important work for you to do up here.”

“Such as?” Ketheric raised his brow.

“Even with my followers, we do not have the proper numbers to stage an invasion on the illithid colony.” The girl tried her best to keep her tone strong. Ketheric noticed the uneasiness in her voice. “If we are to have a chance at getting the crown on that brain, we need a big enough army to pose a distraction. Keep its attention away from us. Which is where you come in.” She motioned to the general, taking a deep breath before she continued. 

“We need you to raise a number of undead. Canon fodder, to throw at those squids until we can secure the crown on its head. So, while the upstart and I are gone –” She could not help but smirk as he hissed a breath through his nose. “--you will be building this army. I will have my sister, Orin, bring some cultists to you at Moonrise to… procure necessary ingredients, let's say.” The unsure look in Ketheric’s eyes fed into her anxiety, but she had to have some faith. “Don't worry, I'll make sure she is kept on a proper leash for you.” 

“Not the only one who needs it…” Gortash mumbled under his breath. 

She did not look back to him, but he could see the Bhaalspawn tighten her hand into a white knuckled fist, blood slowly blooming from her nails. 

“And what is your way to actually get into Cania? Not exactly a short distance to travel for the two of you.” Ketheric questioned, his eyes darting between the two. 

Gortash was the one to speak before the spawn.

“That, General, is what I am just completing. An old contact of mine has the means to make a temporary portal between here, and Cania. With that supplies, once we reach the vault, we can easily teleport the crown straight to your door. No sense in lugging such a heavy thing back.”  

The spawn jumped in after. “We will travel to the eighth layer by the barge on the Styx. Both the upstart and I have been able to procure a fair amount of Soul Coins. I'm sure Charon wouldn't mind giving us the lift.” 

There was another long pause between the three Chosen. Each looked between each other for some kind of affirmation. It wasn't until they started hearing faint birdsong that they were snapped out of their contemplation, all three looking into the horizon, now starting to show signs of morning bleeding in. 

“I will not go against the plan set in motion by our masters.” Ketheric’s voice was tense, yet firm. “If this is what we must do to see their grand design come to fruition, who are we to object?” 

Adjusting his cloak, he covered his head with the hood, readying his departure. 

“Wonderful!” Gortash clapped his hands together, his face positively radiating with cheer. “My business with this colleague shouldn't take too long, so I would expect us to see each other again within the week, at your humble abode.” Enver motioned to Ketheric  “We will bring those cultists in tow, best to get an early start on that army.”

Giving Gortash the slightest nod of the head, Ketheric turned his attention to the Bhaalspawn, her face calm. 

“Praise be the Dead Three,” she said quietly, bowing her head as Kethric turned on his heel, disappearing into the shadows. 

“Well, as enjoyable as your company is, I am a busy man with many things -” Enver was cut off by a crimson blade, the tip poking into his throat. 

“I am surprised, upstart, that you would take credit for this plan so quickly.” Her golden eyes burned with curiosity as she looked him up and down. The spawn stepped closer, forcing Gortash to put his back to the wall. “Interesting that you would omit how it was me who brought this to you.”

Her eyes narrowed as a small smile grew on her lips. Enver tried to mirror the expression, yet his own wavered in nervousness. 

“As the one who perfected the plot, I felt it was only right.” He knew he was treading on thin ice, the woman easily able to end him here and now. 

But both knew, there would be no other replacement capable of fulfilling this heist. Taking another step closer, the spawns face was mere inches from Enver’s, their breaths mixing. He was surprised how hers faintly smelt of mint. 

“Well, it is a good thing I am understanding. The credit is yours.” Her voice was menacingly quiet. “Now, if the plan fails spectacularly… our Three Lords know exactly who to direct their disappointment and rage at.” With a slight flick, the blade tip was removed from his throat, not without making the slightest incision on his adams apple. The woman’s eyes flickered to the blood beginning to bloom. “By the way…” 

Her hand reached out towards their right, her hand twisting and emanating a red glow. From the shadows, another figure slowly walked out, their eyes glowing the same hue that resonated around the spawn’s hand. Gortash quickly made out the emblem of the Guild on his chest, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

“Your throat, cut it to the bone.” The spawn hissed to the spy. 

The spy slowly took out their dagger, and after a brief pause, began cutting into their throat. Like a saw, the man cut left and right, blood pouring to the stone as their jugular was brutally torn apart. The smile never left the girl's face as, after another few seconds, the body collapsed before them, knife stuck in the guild member’s throat. 

“That is yet another favour. Be careful, lordling. Would hate Arden to not be around for your death.” Turning away, the woman stepped on the body, eliciting another hiss of blood to spurt towards Enver as he watched her walk into the shadows, quickly disappearing. 

It was when she was out of sight that Gortash realized two things: First, his heart was pounding in his chest, ears filled with each throbbing pulse. 

 The second: His lungs shrieked for air that had been denied them since the moment she nicked him.

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Tags: @theannoyingurge @enterthedreams @rivthewriter

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