#or might just say fuck it we bhaal

[nrvcntr]

obliterated my durge run by aggroing the fists in wyrm’s crossing making everyone including the coronation aggro’d

i have managed to kill gortash and now have like six steel watchers to deal with

sorry gondians sorry wyll sorry wyll’s dad sorry durgetash dialogue

#rip #my durge run has been a bit messy #she has been so good until now but im writing it up as her struggling with the urge #or might just say fuck it we bhaal #im already thinkin abt my next run #forest gnome druid gf for wyll?? mayhaps #trouple in my mind with karlach?? delicious

[fruk-choosing-a-username]

I NEED TO TALK ABOUT THIS

to make a long fucking story short my friends and i are doing a presentation thing soon and mines on durgetash

i was editing a video of gortash's inauguration scene with durge and noticed something

im sorry??? but the way he pauses and looks away after you say "what kind of partnership do you have in mind"?????

AND HAS THE MOST PATHETIC SAD EYES EVER?

"what kind of partnership do i have in mind? wdym we were in love :("

now granted, he does the same thing when playing as tav. but maybe durge was still the original chosen of bhaal and worked with gortash in a tav playthrough, but if you play as tav durge is actually dead and its just orin in their place. so he would still remember them and miss them

i might be reaching here but..... COME ON

#and you cant tell me he makes that face bc of ketheric and orin #MAYBE because hes worried about his plan falling apart #but im delulu and im choosing to believe this <3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #enver gortash #bg3 gortash #the dark urge #bg3 durge #durgetash #durge x gortash

[animentality]

I got sad because I realized that the only good relationship that Dark Urge and Gortash had was with each other.

Gortash got sold by his parents, was abused in hell, barely escaped, and then spent the rest of his life plotting and scheming and refusing to get close to anyone, ultimately even selling another child he took in to the same nightmarish life he'd once escaped from.

Dark Urge was forced to kill their foster family by Bhaal, and then went to a Bhaal temple, where they might've been worshipped, but I highly doubt that the murder cult weirdos really thought of them as a person, and not just an object of worship. It is awful lonely up on that bloody pedestal. Plus the way they beg Bhaal for forgiveness for liking Gortash makes me suspect that it's never happened before.

And then I hold my little heart in my hands and weep for the two of them.

Because I know gortash is a piece of shit who refuses to break the cycle of abuse. And I know the dark urge has murdered a shit ton of people and enjoyed it too.

But...but...your honor ...I still feel sympathy.

I still felt sadness in the house of hope, when that asshole admitted he used to beat Gortash black and blue for fun.

I still felt grief when I read dark urge's letter to their god for ADMIRING someone.

For caring about a person.

And then I found out that dark urge had been living a normal life until they killed their foster parents.

You can say that dark urge enjoyed it, but I just don't think that's the case.

Baldur's Gate 3 has some laughably evil villains but there is nuance. There is humanity in most of the characters, good, evil, and morally gray. Even big baddies. Ketheric Thorm notably has a rather sad backstory full of grief, loneliness, and love turned to madness, Gortash was broken as a child by parents who shattered his ability to care for anyone but himself, and even Orin, if you confront her about Sarevok's relationship to her mother, can even be seen as a tragic figure. Like what the fuck, her own mom tried to kill her as an offering to bhaal.

Maybe all bhaalspawn are laughably one dimensional villains with absolutely no human traits to them, but that's just fucked.

One of my favorite themes is how everyone is a slave to the gods, their playthings, their disposal tools.

Poor Ketheric Thorm said it best when he said that we're just copper pieces to be traded, that we might have beaten him, but the gods beat him first.

He's so right, man. Most if not all the companions are slaves to Gods and devils.

Dark Urge was a slave to Bhaal, just a means to an end, a sharpened blade pressed against the world's throat, and Gortash was the plaything of devils, traded away by parents who didn't care about him, a powerless little boy who'd grow up to be a tyrannical power hungry despot.

I choose to believe they recognized each other. They worked together initially because they had their own agendas, and were doing their usual song and dance of manipulating others, but the more time they spent together, the more they actually liked each other.

They were genuinely friends, or lovers, and it's sickening and it's driving me mad, and it's all so sad.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #ketheric thorm #dark urge #enver gortash #goretash #durgetash

[shiranui7]

I'll make a man out of you (Bg3 version)

Lae'zel:Let's get down to business

             To defeat the Brain

             Is this my new party?

             Mother Gith, the pain!

          We're infected by those ruthless Ghaiks

             But you can bet before we're through

             Ishtiks I have a cure just for you!

            Deep inside the forest,

            Shadow lands begin

            Once you find your lantern

            Kill the Thorms and win!

            You're a reckless, gay and horny lot

            And I'm sick of your dark urge

    Somehow I'll reach the Gate thanks to you!

Astarion: I'm never gonna catch my breath!

Karlach: goodbye y'all my heart said screw me!

Gale: oh I was a fool in school for skipping gym!

Emperor: this girl's gonna stab my back!

Durge: Hope she doesn't see the true me

Shadowheart: Now I really wish that I learned how to swim

Vampire Elf:

You must be swift, less annoying and lethal 

Wizard man:

Unleash the force of a great typhoon

Warlock man:

Just Eldritch Blast all those monsters harder

Fierce as the war between Shar and Selune!

Lae'zel: Ketheric, Gortash, Orin

              We must kill tonight

              Max your every status

              And you might survive

              You're so gentle for

              A Bhaal's spawn

              So.. OH SHIT! Is that thing you?

              How could I know a Slayer's in you?

Bear man:

Just wet the enemy and hit with lightning

Goth priestess:

Say fuck you Shar and accept Selune!

Red soldier:

You have the strength of a raging fire

Be furious and we'll bring them to their doom!

#bg3 #lae'zel #durge #astarion #gale dekarios #halsin #wyll ravengard #shadowheart #karlach #emperor bg3 #mulan #bg3 meme #modified song

[randomfanner]

So, some more thoughts for the Orin gets Tadpoled AU, notably her relations with the other party.

General Headcanons - uses the fact she is a shapeshifter to hide she is a doppelgänger because Shadowheart pointed out the fact she looks just a tad bit suspicious, however when she is around the party she doesn't bother. She does use these abilities to get around pretty effectively (such as transforming into a Drow to get past the goblins and other good skips like that) and will transform to fit in(she changes into a tiefling around the tiefling, human around the druids, etc)

Violence is an answer however other people in the party teach her there are other ways.... and when people like Gale and Shadowheart begin to give her praise for being more crafty and cunning with her way of dealing with problems, well, why wouldn't she do what they like?

Whenever the urge pops pop she is very loud about it. "I SHALL TRIM THAT MEAT STUB FOR YOU" "WAIT STOP HER P L E A S E" and someone(notably Shadowheart) is able to stop her from doing something stupid. She gets better control and has to deal with the urge in general less than the Durge. (Astarion pouts whenever she is stopped)

She uses nicknames for everyone.

Lae'zel (Wondrous Blood-soaked Warrior) - Other than the fact Orin is pretty openly unhinged they get along pretty damn well. Lae'zel admires how good Orin is at killing, Orin admires how good Lae'zel is at killing. Plus Orin very much enjoys when Lae'zel gives her praise. When they get to the Creche though, Orin is not having a good time and begins to have some flashbacks to the temple of Bhaal especially during the trainee scene and may be pretty reactive which does cause some problems for the two of them, but after things are finished there Orin does her best to comfort Lae'zel for losing her anchor.

Shadowheart (Beloved Cleric) - Shadowheart and Orin are amnesia buddies. I also feel Orin freed Shadowheart from the nautiloid because the more allies the less lonely the better! Shadowheart isn't sure what to make of this gremlin who borders on almost murder, and ends up being Orin's voice of reason most of the time. Now this is just for me, but Shadowheart x Orin romance. Goth GFs who have family issues (that family just being a fucking cult) and need to find a place to belong and sense of being, so why not do that together? Plus we see Orin's hair, she does it herself probably, Shadowheart and Orin braid train.

Gale (Wizard) - Orin nearly cuts Gale's hand off and is barely stopped by Shadowheart, so it is uh, a bit of a rocky relationship at first. However Gale is willing to forgive and keep an eye on their new unhinged doppelgänger friend. I do think Gale wants to study Orin because how often are you traveling with such an adept shapeshifter? Orin of course adores the attention and answers any questions she can and they end up bonding over that. Orin has no problem parting with magical trinkets for the wizard and wishes to fight Mystra herself. Orin also finds herself very much enjoying his cooking considering she can't remember ever having suck well made food in her entire life.

Astarion (Bloodsucker) - Orin ends up doing good things to get approval from the two people she met and bonded with first, thus Astarion being a bitch about it gets him a look of distain from Orin. Besides, Orin being a rogue he is not needed in the party. However Orin has no qualms about his wish for blood and he is free to fill his thirst whenever he wishes.... Plus Astarion does enjoy the fucking wild things Orin tends to say.

Wyll (Fiery Blade) - You know Wyll is a bit freaked out at first with Orin for well, obvious reasons however when it is clear she is going to cause... notably less problems then one might expect, they end up getting along pretty well. Orin I think would enjoy his dramatics and listening to stories and begins to take cues from him when weaving her own tales. When he teaches her how to dance it is quite fun and she may get a bit too into it, however I can only see them being bros mostly because Orin is still yelling about draining people dry.

Karlach (Heated Axe that cuts enemies like butter) - I think these two loons get along so fucking well, Orin will use Karlach as a spring board once her engine is fixed to dive bomb enemies well Karlach will slaughter them from the front. When Orin hears of this 'Gortash' she makes note that they shall split him and wear his enthralls as a wondrous scarf, which Karlach is totally behind. Orin also keeps bringing Karlach hearts because "if the issue is someone took yours, surely it can be replaced. I will find as many hearts as needed to fix your problem" (Orin is not ready for the fact Karlach is dying because the two of them are besties)

@bhaalstemple I think you need this.

#orin the red #bg3 orin #tadpole orin au #karlach #gale #wyll #shadowheart #shadowheart x orin #astarion #lae'zel #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur gate iii

[thelikesoffinn]

"In a thousand years, when I've all but forgotten how to love yet again, you'll flit back into my heart and I'll weep, wondering what happened to my mad love."

This is what Astarion says to Durge, if you choose Bhaal and remain as his most promising spawn - and we easily notice the following:

Astarion does not believe he'll ever love again after Tav/Durge is gone. He is fully convinced this is his only love, and after it's gone, he'll forget how to love once more.

And that is heartbreaking - and worrying - on so many accounts.

Like, let's remove all bhaalisms from the equation and just look at Astarion and Tav.

Astarion is a vampire spawn. He's not aging or dying naturally. Unless something or someone kills him, he's going to live.

Tav is not. They're alive and will age and die somewhere between the ages of 80 and 750 - depending on what race you picked, of course.

How horrible must that feel? How horrible must this man feel whenever he looks at tav, especially once they start to mature a little more? How painful must it be to stare at someone and be fully aware that the end is inevitable and that nothing you do will ever change that? That one day, their vitality will fade to nothing, and you'll be left behind to mourn them all on your own?

How painful must that be, for a man so convinced that this person will be his one and only love?

Sure, it's the price of immortality.

Blessed with life that lasts endlessly, cursed to watch those you love wither and die.

And cruel as that may be, most immortals are aware of it and have their own ways of learning to live with it. But let's be honest here, Astarion is a wreck, and he probably could not handle it at all.

The man never cared for anyone before, as he mentions himself. The only thing important to him has always been his own arse and nothing else. And now he will inevitably be faced with the death of the first person he gives a shit about.

Honestly, I can see him become aware of it at some point - not immediately. It's too early to be reminded of it just yet - and completely loosing it.

The poor guy will probably break out on a quest to find ways to make Tav immortal as well. From finding a vampire to turn them ("Don't be silly, my dear. We can just kill your master like we killed Cazador!"), to talking them into becoming a lich ("Well, why not? Surely there's a way around turning all gaunt and skeletal - we merely have to find it."), to moving to the astral plane or whatever other crazy plan he could come up with.

(And honestly, I say fuck it. My durge girlie will likely agree to becoming a vampire spawn once he asks, danger be damned. She'll not be responsible for breaking him once again. Might as well get the old team back together and kill yet another vampire master so that she can be free.)

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate #baldurs gate #bg3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #astarion romance

[y-rhywbeth2]

Is it ever revealed what Gortash got out of trading Karlach to Zariel? I’d assume it would be related to some sort of mechanical know-how he’s an artificer in my heart even if the game doesn’t really have that class option but also. My hc is that it’s directly related to him becoming Bane’s Chosen. The gods were picking their Chosen around this time, I think, and it would make sense that betraying a subordinate that trusts you with their life to a miserable existence of serving a tyrannical hell queen, in exchange for ambition serving power, would make Bane very happy. I could just be behind on my game lore, but I’m less familiar with how Gortash came around to Bane worship than I am with Durge/Orin (though those are rather obvious) and Ketheric.

Now that I’m typing this, I’m also confused about the mindflayer colony underneath Moonrise. How long has it been there? Did the Dead Three Chosen put it there intentionally, or was it just there and the Dead Three had a lightbulb moment? “Fellas, I know we’ve been plotting this world domination thing, and it’s just occurred to me that Shar has a guy whose house is overrun with Mindflayers. Should I dig him up?” -Myrkul in the groupchat

The fact that the Emperor/Balduran went there and was turned into a mindflayer really really muddies the timeline for me. Honestly, making the Emperor Balduran fucks up a lot of things, lore wise.

I'm pretty sure it's said somewhere that he got the schematics for the infernal engines, such as those in her chest, which he used to build the Steel Watchers. Not sure if that's in my head though. I don't think the game ever mentioned how Gortash converted to Bane, and information we might find on it isn't exactly reliable because the man's autobiographical notes are out of sync with other in-game information we find on the chosen, so anything he says should be taken with a grain of salt as half-truths and self-PR.

-

I don't think the colony has been directly under Moonrise for very long, though if you overlaid a map of Faerûn and the Lowerdark they might be in similar spots geographically (10-ish miles away, vertically).

Illithid primarily live in the Lowerdark; 10+ miles beneath the earth in conditions that are utterly inhospitable to most forms of life, including humanoids, half-way into the Shadowfell, in a lot of places, and would largely traumatise you beyond functioning if it didn't kill you. Small outposts occur in the Middledark, 3-10 miles down. You can find illithid in the Upperdark (extending from between the surface and the Middledark), but this region is mostly a trading zone, not really inhabited by the Underdark races in a settlement capacity. It's also the layer from which slave-taking raids are sent, which might account for Balduran. Maybe.

So the illithid colony moving into the Upperdark and building a colony directly under Moonrise is kinda weird. I guess there are some really good sea caves under that building because illithids hate the surface and the sun so much.

In a divine capacity, illithid are Ilsensine's domain, the Dead Three don't have a lot of sway here (and mind flayers don't often go in for religion - especially not for the gods of thralls.) If any of the Three had the idea to use mind flayers though, I'd expect it to be Bane (they're closest to his domain in theme).

I have genuinely no idea what's happening here, I don't think this much thought went into it. I would assume it works like this: Gortash and Durge eventually settled on "mind flayers" during the world domination brainstorming sessions (before or after acquiring the Crown of Karsus, who can say... Who even told them that existed, again? Was it mentioned in some texts somewhere? Were the Dead Three aware of it (Bhaal being Netherse, Bane having worked there)) And then they'd have to go deep beneath the earth - possibly all the way into the Lowerdark - somehow not die to a million hazards, get into an illithid city without dying or being enslaved, and then convince an Elder Brain to join the plan. Then the colony starts climbing upwards, as per the plan, and migrates to the Upperdark under Moonrise. Being situated over the sea, sea caves down there might provide a suitable environment for them (they need damn, dark, briny caves).

-

"Suprirse! Balduran is your mind flayer "ally"!" does feel a bit thrown in.

I'm still a bit surprised by the decision to make Balduran an elf, which could be canon to be fair, I've never seen anything on the guy, but I have always pictured him as human considering his namesake city is very much a human Tethyrian/Chondathan settlement. The elves were more populous back then, but the settlement was founded by humans and they very much do dominate and have for a while.

#asks #long post

[theultimatepielord]

A long and angry rant about Sarevok's inclusion in bg3.

As a big fan of the first two Baldur's gate games, I am very angry about Sarevok's inclusion in bg3, and it feels like they just abandoned everything about his character to be like "ooh, cool cameo, remember the other games?" (Which were better fight me). Major spoilers for all 3 baldur's gate games.

First question: why is he still alive? The events of BG2 ToB were in 1369 DR, and Sarevok was already in his twenties, per the Forgotten Realms wiki (this is reasonably accurate to bg1/2) , and bg3 takes place in 1492/maybe93 DR, which makes him at least 142 years old. Bhaalspawn age slower than normal mortals, so this could make sense EXCEPT SAREVOK DOESN'T HAVE BHAALSPAWN POWERS, as his Bhaalspawn abilities weren't restored when he was resurrected by Abdel at the start of Throne of Bhaal. So first off, he should be dead by old age, and resurrection magic generally doesn't work after death by old age (since it would in-universe make the acquisition of immortality completely trivial for anyone wealthy). Already a gaping plothole, but sure let's progress through anyways.

So storywise, you find him as the justice in charge of the initiation of the Bhaalist cult headed by Orin. This immediately raises a question: WHY THE FUCK IS SAREVOK RUNNING A CULT FOR SOMEONE ELSE?

You might say, "why wouldn't a Bhaalspawn be working for a cult of Bhaal?", well, here are some good reasons.

Sarevok never worshipped his father. His cult during bg1 was dedicated to making HIM the new Lord of Murder, and his massive ego and intense selfishness kinda precluded him ever working for someone else's aims.

Sarevok ended his time with Abdel as a Chaotic Good character attempting to find redemption for his time as a murderer (this isn't guaranteed, the player can not redeem him, but his entry on the Forgotten Realms wiki implies that he is canonically redeemed, and it's significantly more in character for Abdel (also CG) to help him find redemption)

During the events of ToB he regards his non-Abdel/Imoen siblings with scorn and resentment, and is not interested in supporting any future lords of murder, save perhaps the one nice enough to resurrect him.

Not only that, he shows deference to Bhaal, the father he never cared for, and proof of his failure, after Orin kills her mother/his daughter.

"Ok but it was for his daughter/granddaughter, surely that changes the equation"

First off Sarevok didn't really care for his close family, as he either manipulates Abdel and company into killing his adoptive father Rieltar or just does it himself and frames Abdel. Either way, the murder of his adoptive father is a critical part of his plan. He also kills Winski Perorate, his beloved tutor who told him he was a Bhaalspawn for helping him escape the Grand Dukes + Flaming Fist + Abdel crew instead of helping fight. A minor transgression to kill someone close to you over. He also tosses aside the love of his life, Tamoko, to pursue godhood. His evil side does not care for ANYONE. And his good side sure as hell wouldn't react to Bhaal declaring his daughter/granddaughter his Chosen by supporting them.

Which brings us to the final plothole: who the hell is Helen(Orin's mother/Sarevok's daughter)'s mother?

It really should be a doppelganger, given that Changelings can be the offspring of a doppelganger and a human, giving Orin changeling blood, which makes sense on the surface level given Sarevok's army of doppelgangers in bg1. Except throughout bg1 Sarevok is in a relationship (initially with Tamoko, and then later Cythandria), and changelings live as long as humans, which creates the same issue of bg1 being over 120 years ago. This means that Sarevok went doppelganger-fucking at some point in his ceaseless tortured post-bg2 wanderings and then opted to settle down and raise the offspring despite canonically never falling in love again after Tamoko.

Even if Helen were not a doppelganger, and Orin's father was, we still hit the issue of Sarevok needing to conceive her almost certainly with either Tamoko or Cythandria 120 years before the events of bg3, so either Orin's ancient or Helen was ancient when she birthed her. Neither really makes sense.

NOT ONLY THAT, if Sarevok WAS supportive of his daughter's scheming, why the hell is Orin just Gortash's mad dog? Sarevok's a consummate schemer, a relentless power-seeker with as much similarity to Bane as to Bhaal. Why the hell was he ok with Gortash taking prime position? Why didn't he ever teach his daughter subtlety or politics? Even if Orin kills Gortash, she couldn't hold Baldur's Gate. What the hell?

I don't think Larian asked any of these questions, I think they just wanted callbacks to bg1 so they tossed in the main villain because he's a recognizable helmet and name. And to top it all off they recast him. The most iconic VA performance from bg1 gets recast. Original VA Kevin Michael Richardson is still active and still does video games, with no major controversies near as I can tell. I can forgive not bringing back Heidi Shanon (retired for 20 years) and Jim Cummings (accused of sexual abuse), but come the fuck on with not bringing back KMR.

#bg3 spoilers #bg3 #sarevok #sarevok anchev #bg2 spoilers #bg1 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate spoilers #baldur's gate

[asteriasfallingstarsandtears]

Not tagging this because I don't really want to contribute to the general discourse, but man, I am annoyed at the letter change. I've seen people be like oh but it looks better and fine, whatever, glad you do, but it doesn't change it takes away the nuance in a character that already has so fucking little in a game that he's supposed to be one of the three last antagonists of the game.

What was wrong with those letter beyond one single typo? Why did they need to change? Why could these new letters not be added in in addition to these existing letters.

Act 3 is a fucking disaster as is, Orin and Gortash get so little screen time, and what they do get, you can tell the actors are giving it their all. Besides that, we have a few scattered notes that give us backstory that are all optional and easily missed. If you don't go to the House of Hope and talk with the dwarf and find like one? Note, you don't find out that Gortash was sold to the Hells and was tortured daily. If you don't find his parents, you don't get the details of why he was sold and how his parents fucking despised him as a child.

Orin is likewise the same, you do have to face Sarevok to get the amulet to get into the Temple, but unless you go into his office, you won't learn before the Temple that Orin and Helena were victims of their father's abuse. If you don't use talk with the dead on Helena you miss out on a lot of how she gave everything to Sarevok and Bhaal only to be deemed as nothing more than a womb to be filled and a sacrifice to her God.

You have to find this note or talk with Helena to confront Orin and make her question what happened and force Bhaal's hand and see just how bad the abuse and trauma of Orin and by extension Durge and every Bhaalspawn mentioned in the game has undergone for Bhaal.

You have to undergo very specific actions in very specific orders to unlock memories for Durge and a number of notes just do not exist in the game if you are not playing the Durge, or are replaced by other notes that do not tell the story of Orin, Durge and the Temple of Bhaal.

Orin gets more attention given to her stuff than Gortash ever does. You cannot confront Gortash with your knowledge. There's hardly anything for you to do with him with the information you can gather.

So taking away from an already barebones character frankly (ha) sucks.

And before anyone tried to say something, no, this is not me excusing anyone's actions, they did what they did, they're all serial killers, slavers, and worse. Whatever, it's a game, they're very clearly Bad(tm), but they're also very interesting characters who have their stories squandered.

If you can't understand why this bothers someone, imagine your favourite character being rewritten for the worse post game and think about how much that would suck for your enjoyment of the character.

Might delete later, but wanted to express my feelings and thoughts on the matter.

[blackjackkent]

So. Circus combat!

We have four enemy combatants - our clown friend, plus the two dangerous animal handlers and the blink dog, whose name is Bitey Buddy and is probably about to live up to it.

I have a feeling the displacer beast might have been joining too if Hector hadn't busted the lock on its cage earlier.

Karlach immediately rages and oneshots one of the handlers, because she is MAD pissed about her boyfriend being put on display and treated like that by Absolutist thugs at what was supposed to be a fun time, and, uh...

I guess we could have guessed that, in retrospect. >.<

There are a bunch of cowering civilians hanging around. One of them comments, "I always knew I'd die at a circus," which really makes me wonder WHY THE HELL SHE IS HERE. XD

Interestingly, because they're doppelgangers, they aren't counted as humanoid, which means Hold Person doesn't work (my standard go-to crowd-control in a big fight). Hold Monster, presumably, would but only Gale has that and he is not here.

I had Jaheira turn into a saber-tooth tiger though which was badass.

Shoutout to this random bugbear named Fyodor who decided to join in the fight on our side! He missed every single attack he made during the fight but I respect him for trying.

Karlach then got the kill on the second handler as well, in a way that feels like it must be a glitch. She used Pommel Strike after missing her second attack, and despite it saying it does 1d4 damage and a potential stun, it instead knocked off all 14 of the handler's remaining hit points and killed him.

Go figure.

At this point Dribbles killed a fucking civilian with his first attack, so now Hector is PISSED. He and the others all just gathered around Dribbles and beat the everloving shit out of him.

Get his ass.

"A doppelganger," Shadowheart comments thoughtfully after the fight is over. "At least we didn't kill a real clown in front of an audience."

The lead doppelganger is carrying this note on him:

The He in question, I assume, is Bhaal, and this was all orchestrated by Orin. The Tribunal is curious though. Not sure what that's referring to.

Hector is REALLY unsettled by this whole experience. In the course of this day he has had sharp reminders of Karlach's determination to die free, as well as the fact that literally anyone he talks to going forward could potentially be a shapeshifter in disguise. All that on top of the fact that he just feels incredibly overwhelmed by the whole circus experience, even the "normal" parts.

I think there's a bit more to explore in this area and we'll finish looking around tomorrow, but for now, Hector needs a long rest in a big way.

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle #holy mackerel what a day :P

[aboxofcereales]

I won’t be able to play the game until august 8, so here’s a list of things I’d like to see and theories that I believe will be proven right at the full launch of Baldur’s Gate III.

warning: contains spoiler based on last panel from hell of July 7 and datamining + bunch of misspellings

Think it’s pretty obvious but the three chosen of the Absolute are in one way or another connected to the Dead Three: Ketheric Thorm - Myrkul, Enver Gortash - Bane, Orin the Red - Bhaal

(might be wrong but) Larian did confirm some time ago - the Mindflayers won’t be the Big Bad. To my mind undoubtedly the Dead Three will play a significant role, but I also think that Shar, Vlaakith and someone from Avernus will be involved (Zariel maybe?)

To add the last, somehow Astarion’s scar, Mizora, Rafael and Karlach are tied together

Withers’ question and our answer is some foreshadowing and is gonna bite us on the neck later on

Withers is Jergal

Seluna might be the reason why his helping us

Daisy is not what we think they are, not just personification of the parasite

* I’m not sure how much of seduction narrative has been left, but I think it would be fun to see Daisy to take a form of our LI or vise verse at some point

Raphael’s interest in the brainworms is due to netheres magic

Lorroakan, the wizard of Ramazith's tower, is Edwin Odesseiron

There’s something very dark about Gale, not in the way “don’t trust the wizards”, but in way we’ll learn that he way more sinister than he makes himself seem. But I doubt that he’ll betray (if we play our cards right) though. Let me make him my bff

To add to that, when we first meet him, he says that he’s in need of a archemage, later we learn that he also need to consume the weave… can he consume it from the living creatures?

Gale’s relationship with Halaster Blackcloak. WHY THE FUCK DID HE LEFT TARA IN HIS CARE?!

And the heartbreaking ending Crystal was talking about? That’s Gale’s one. Mark my words

Shadowheart is not her real name, duh, hope we get to know the real one

I don’t think Shadowheart is brainwashed cleric of Selune, most likely she chose freely to join the Night Church due to loss at young age, previously worshiping Selune

Her strange magic is Selune-ish, I think

Would really like to see Viconia in the Shadowheart’s hideout in the city

The Temple of Shar, Ketheric and those Shar worshipers will be key in making Shadowheart rethink her devotion (and our previous decision ofc)

Astarion was a nasty person before he become a vampire spawn, pretty sure that his abuse of his position is what got him in Cazador’s grip

There’s got to be one ending where he turns Tav into his own vampire spawn

Not sure how much the changes in Wyll character will affect this, but… even though it’s seems that Mizora is no longer captured by goblins, I hope there some specific interactions with her if we follow Wyll romance

Wyll is part of the Eltan family

WHATS WITH HIS EYE BEING A QUEST OBJECT??

Really wish we’ll learn about companies families: I want to meet Wyll’s father, to learn about Gale’s parents, to help Shadowheart remember her family, to learn about Astarion’s past, to know their last names and etc. Let me know theirs ages, Larian!

Also, Larian, my dear, give Wyll and Gale their unique armor

The artifact will cure us

I really wish there’s some reference to Honor Among Thieves, as they both take place around late 15th century

If Zevlor is Absolute’s servant, I really hope there’ll be a horrible way to make him pay

Auntie Ethel loot is cursed

#bg3 #baldur’s gate iii #baldur’s gate 3 #had a few more but I either forgot or they had to do with wyll pre-rewrite #might edit later #and add smt

[animentality]

Your post about dark urge dying twice is interesting and I agree that denying daddy bhaal at the temple and being resurrected right after is a let down. Anyways, playing a good Durge who never says anything mean/weird feels to me a lot like tav+ which is disappointing, not a lot of durge specific lines there to choose from. Best experience I have had with The Dark Urge is antihero, who chooses bhaal at the temple but does the right thing at the end and destroys the brain and kills themself, you get a nice chat with Withers after game and it feels a way better than what a happened at the temple, while still not being as good as it could be. Let's all hope that Larian fixes act3 eventually <3

See, that's the thing that really annoys me.

The Dark Urge to me is just far more interesting than Tav, who is by design, a blank slate so that you can make them who you want them to be.

And I get that's the fun of DND and BG3.

I just wish they had bothered to give this ORIGIN CHARACTER any of the same amount of depth for the other origins.

Which is not to say that they really have as much depth as they should, Astarion aside, but let's not get into that.

It's just odd to me that the Dark Urge really only has three extra scenes, and everything else is just edgy lines and biting off a toe or an arm here and there.

The pre-amnesia dark urge is FASCINATING to me, but we barely see anything from them.

That's why I was so obsessed with the Prayer of Forgiveness. It's an inkling that there was something to the Dark Urge more than just slaughter, and there's only ONE line in it that does so.

I KNOW I know it's an RPG and it's not trying to tell a story, so much as letting you tell yours.

I just personally find the Dark Urge way more interesting than the Tavs i see out there, and YES, I'm SORRY.

not all of yours OCs are going to be intensely interesting to me.

But the Dark Urge as an origin?

I find them interesting.

I like edgy characters who choose to let their edginess go, and begin the journey of becoming more open and human.

And I simply don't CARE for oh here's someone's hero OC who is a hero, and fucks all these hot people.

You can play the game that way, I don't care. I just personally...wish BG3 had given the Dark Urge specifically more depth.

The Tavs can be boring if they want.

Just, the Dark Urge should not be available as an Origin, if they weren't going to actually give them a well developed and open origin.

You can keep it a secret up until the end, but even when you find out you're bhaalspawn...you're just bhaalspawn.

and nothing else. nothing about your past beside a hasty line or two about it.

plus once you kill orin, it ceases to matter. there is no impact on the story if you choose to be a good dark urge. you are essentially just a tav.

the dark urge also was overhyped for what it was. Everyone is out here saying they're scared to try the dark urge because they might kill their companions - that's a joke.

You have to option to do so ONCE and your entire camp kills you, giving you an immediate game over.

Plus, save scumming.

It's really not that hard.

The Dark Urge really should be a harder option. They should have to wisdom roll for more choices, forced to ACTUALLY grapple with the desire to torture, maim, and kill.

Then your sacrifice would mean even more in the end, because you are tired of hurting people you don't want to hurt.

But alas.

I need to just be happy with what I have, so.

I'm done complaining, I'll go back to talking about burying my face in Gortash's tits again...

#dark urge #baldurs gate 3 #bg3

[gopped]

so… remember when I said I wanted to create the most 2015 out of character most cringe fanfic about durgetash and I had that pole asking if I should actually write it (as well as some actual serious durgetash which I will.) well…. I did it. Any bad use of grammar/ spelling are 100% on purpose, this is not a serious fic aka please don’t think this is how I actually write.

enjoy 984 words of pure torture.

Hey my name is The Dark Urge but everyone calls me Durge for short. I’m really poggers and epic because I was born from the blood of Bhaal, yeah Bhaals my dad, suck on that posers. I have ivory-white scales and eyes the color of blood being splashed on the deepest of rubies. And I’m a storm sorcerer, studying to do magic is for losers! Plus I have this super cool slayer form that literally makes me so badass. As the true spawn of Bhaal you could say I have it all, I have a whole cult at my beck and call, all the different corpses I can eat… but there’s one thing I don’t have yet. There’s this one guy….. The chosen of Bane, we made like this pact thing that says I can’t harm him but it never said I couldn’t fuck him. And by the gods I will. I want him to be my shmoopie snuggluffagus cutie pookie patootie pudding muffin, but my dad is like a total buzz kill so I have to apologize for even thinking about putting a ring on that. Anyways his names Enver Gortash but he prefers for me to call him Enver because we’re close like that and I’m special and all that fun stuff. Plus I’m so much better that the depressed pile of dust and bones we also have to work with, ugh he’s such a boomer.

So here I am walking into Moonrise Towers so we can start discussing our super foolproof evil plans for how to take over the world. My super platform docs stomp against the stone steps to enter the tower, I glare at a few of the various subjects of other cults, idk which ones though, all I know is they’re not as cool as I am. Their probably posers and preps for all I know. But again, I don’t care. I make my grand entrance into the throne like room, doves flying behind me as light shines behind me, I’m just that important to like the world and stuff. I whip off my super cool angular anime sunglasses and I look around the room I see my pookie schmookie goth fantasy man boo-boo bear sugar goober standing off to the side and I see the old decaying grandpa corpse sitting on the big chair at the end of the room. Ugh, he’s the worst, and not even in a fun way, he won’t shut up about how his daughter doesn’t want to talk to him anymore and how he’s literally only here because of her, like how boring can a backstory get? He begins to speak. “Ah how nice of you to finally join us, you’re over an hour late.” He grumbles out, I swear theres like a moth living where his brain should be doesn’t he know that you have to be fashionably late? “Umm yeah.” I say, “that’s the point, what kind of nerd actually shows up on time.” I say rolling my perfect blood red eyes, making sure I show my sharp teeth as I scoff at him for extra effect. “Whatever, let’s just start the meeting already.” The reanimated corpse groans out, bones cracking as he repositions himself in his high chair. I cross my arms over my chest because I’m mysterious and awesome as the guy begins to speak, I don’t pay attention my sister is probably around here somewhere I’ll just ask her for the spark notes version. Gods I want to kill someone. Like I don’t have to, but I’m bored and it’s something I enjoy doing. Then I notice something in the corner of the room, while the old man goes on and on I go and investigate, the something I noticed was a cultist, not one of mine of course, they knew better. Upon further inspection, they don’t even seem to be a cultist, their robes look homemade with no reference to what they’re even supposed to be wearing. And they seem to be snooping around too, ugh it’s probably some Harper spy or something. Well, might as well get my kill count up while I’m here I guess… I approach them and before they could even begin to utter an excuse I shove my dagger in their mouth, dragging it against the roof of their mouth and tongue and pushing it down their throat. I watch with glee as the fear in their eyes gets worse as they start to choke on their own blood. I wiggle my blade, making the gashes in their mouth wider as I do so. I could stop there, but where’s the fun in that? I pull my dagger out to watch them cough and sputter out their own blood, uselessly clawing at their throat. Ugh, what a poser, I bet that even before I did that they wouldn’t be able to name 3 MCR songs.. I shove the spy onto the ground as they look up at me almost pleading with their eyes. Ugh it’s disgusting. So I take my dagger and I begin to hit them, it’s at this point I notice that the boring guy stopped speaking and the room was silent except for the occasional blood gurgle. I pull out the persons intestines and that’s when Gorts and my eyes meet across the room. It’s like so romantic like I swear someone casted like stop time or something… him and his pepsi dark eyes… I tuck some of the blood around my tympanum, gods he’s like so hot. Like the hottest I’ve seen in my 40 years of dreadful existence. Then he walks over to me and my heart goes doki doki he knees beside me on the other side of the now corpse and we start making out. No lips no tongue, all teeth. And then we took control of the netherbrain and got married.

The end.

#durgetash #durge x gortash #I don’t want this on my ao3 account so I’m only posting it here #A tumblr exclusive if you will. #It was just as painful to write as it is to read. #I had to make it 2 paragraphs bc tumblr yelled at me.

[feminurge]

gods this might require a longer explanation but i do want to say this: i do not necessarily see the bhaalspawns as siblings. there are two reasons for that: first being my headcanons concerning orin (that i play @violenthunt) and second being my interpretation of the bhaal cult and bhaal himself. more will be said under the read more.

however, i am absolutely willing to tweak my canon depending on your interpretation (if you also play a durge) because i don't want to make anyone uncomfortable!

ORIN.

this is the wrong blog for this but it does make sense to include it here. the whole idea of bhaalspawns as siblings is reinforced by orin's tendency to call them slaughterkin, bloodkin and other fun nicknames. orin doing that makes sense in terms of them being a changeling. she does not truly have a race or a community to default back to. all they have is the cult + the bhaalspawns that somehow share that divine part with her. i like the idea of changelings not having a true form, their features being mostly faded and lacking details. so truly all orin has that resemble a family... are the bhaalists and more specifically the bhaalspawns, who share that part of divinity and that desire for bloodshed. it does fit with orin's desperate desire to be valued by bhaal, to be seen. she has no face, no origin (she killed her own mother, only because she wanted to murder her on order of her incestuous father), all she has is bhaal, and those he chose. those, like her, that he deemed valuable.

and that's without taking into account orin's actual parents. orin's birth is proof that bhaalspawns are not literally children of bhaal, and are instead children who received bhaal's attention through some act or situation. because while sarevok isn't above incest, it would make no sense for orin to call bhaal father when. logistically speaking he is her grandfather. that participates in my idea that bhaalspawns aren't fathered they are selected.

BHAAL & HIS CULT.

bhaalspawns aren't as much made as they are claimed. we all know volo's propensity to lie but i do like his explanation of it, being "it is said the children of bhaal are claimed throughout their sleep, ever-disturbed by visions of a life of bloodshed and terror." i completely reject the idea that bhaal took a living form and went around to fuck, zeus-style. if anything, it completely goes against what he represents as a god. bhaal is death, and violence, and annihilation. he is quite literally the act of making nothing, of taking what is to destroy it, of inflicting pain and drawing blood. i like the idea of him choosing random children either for political reasons or simply because he foresaw a future that he wanted to erase or feed, depending on what made sense for his own plans. that makes it all the more terrifying : you do not know how the god of murder chooses his children, only that he does, and that once he has set his plan in motion, there is so little you can do to escape it.

also that would make the durge 'unspecial', in some ways, for the durge is made directly from the body of bhaal. it wasn't born. and while there are a thousand ways to interpret it, i do prefer the idea of bhaalspawns being children inflicted with dreams and visions from such a young age it seems they were born evil, rather than children fathered by a god who somehow manage to escape their own nature. the part of bhaal that is in them is simply these visions, these urges. it is godly it is terrifying but it is also something you can fight against and escape (if you are strong enough) because it is only nurture. the durge can't escape it just as easily because they were made for a specific reason, and it takes heroic levels of strength to escape your fate. (the fun fact about ishtar is that she rarely gets to escape fate, for she has none. she is a witness. even in bg3 : amnesia makes her a witness to a fate that was set in motions days, weeks, months before. all she can do is play the game and hope the dice lands. she knows there is no game. she knows the gods are laughing at their little hopes and dreams.)

philosophically speaking i don't like the idea that evil could be something you're born with, rather than something taught. especially in a roleplaying (dnd-rp i mean) setting. and especially in comparison with dhufeainnewedd's character : while there are universes where she is somewhat good. & there are others where she is somewhat evil. (it all depends on who helped her and who raised her and who wronged her) .... in every verse she is "born" evil, she is born cursed, she is meant to be the thing that destroys the universe. sometimes she gets to fight it, something she does not. the point is that she is "special" because her nature is so, so explicit in what she is meant to be. and that is the tragic aspect of her character. she is special because no matter what she does, she cannot escape what she is. even when she does not want it to be who she is.

in bg3, that is also what makes her special as the durge. she was made from bhaal himself. she was Born to be evil and terrible and the cataclysm that would destroy it all. while all seemed confident she could fight it, because bhaalspawns usually can (nurture, not nature. they are plagued with visions but they can fight through), istar did not get that chance. because she is made from rotten wood. because every step she has taken has been imbued with bhaal's rancid breath. because the moment she had the opportunity to fight it, bhaal called her home.

#biting my fingers because none of it is coming out the way i want to but #i need it to be somewhere on this blog until i can write something more coherent #meta.

[tieflingtareon]

There's Nothing Wrong Contemplating Gods (You're in the wind, I'm in the water)

[A 'My Love, Are You the Devil' prequel]

Chapter 2 | Words: 9k

Summary: "The past is lost to you. Let me clear up some mysteries, then. We share so much history." The history between Tir'yal, Child of Bhaal, and Enver, the Chosen of Bane explained in a non-linear format.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51625999/chapters/130498312

"You idiot! I told you to refrain from drawing, fuck, attention!" Everything ached and burned. He wasn't sure he could keep up like this. He panted out another heating spell, begging the biting cold to leave his skin. Even inside the vault, the air felt like pure ice.

"How was I supposed to know there was a magical alarm? You're the wizard!"

"Artificer! My study in magic does not make me a wizard. It's different - and you know it!" He couldn't continue this argument for Hells sake, not with cornugons and gelugons on their tail. He should have known Mephistopheles would have guards inside his vault too, rather than just outside it. He was not willing to admit it might have been him that set off the alarm, and not the other, holding the strap of his satchel tight as they ran.

"Deny it all you want, you're a wizard as much as you're artificer."

"Can we save this conversation for later?!" He was going to kill him. Conjure a storm and shock some sense into him.

"We just have to make it to the portal - keep going!" Tir'yal grabbed his arm when he stumbled and Enver glared with fury fiercer than the Nine Hells, hating that his one major weakness was in it's worst condition in the Cania, the layer of Hell that was supernaturally freezing. He gritted through the pain in his right knee and continued to run, the pain shocking through his leg with every collision of his foot to the floor. He couldn't remember it ever hurting this badly, not since it was fresh, Bane's tight shadowy hand holding his shattered kneecap together as he rammed through the portal that would lead him out of the House of Hope. The one that had threatened to swallow him whole into it's yawning void if not for Bane's intervention.

He wouldn't have made it home if not for that divine miracle, if Bane hadn't held his weak, broken body together.

Enver cursed as he staggered, refusing to lose his pace. He looked over his shoulder behind them and cursed, casting out a red whip of energy, curling it around a pillar and pulling with all his strength, barely keeping on his feet as it toppled down. The bridge above that led to endless, endless shelves began to descend.

"Go!" Tir'yal yanked the back of his robes hard and he stumbled to follow, picking back up the pace as the bridge collapsed, the impact rumbling through the ground.

"That should slow them down."

"We better hope Meph-y doesn't know who we are, or else he'll kill us for wrecking his prized collection."

"Pissing off devils is a hobby of mine. Wouldn't be the first time I've escaped one either." Enver smirked, trying to ignore the pain in his leg even as it started to grow unbearable. He squinted into the distance and relief soared through him. "There! The portal! At least she kept her word."

"You paid enough gold to open a portal into every realm, I'd hope she'd honour her word." Tir'yal huffed out a sharp laugh, the constant sprint even starting to wane on him as they rushed up the steep stairs. The portal was precariously placed, closer to the ceiling than the ground, and he hissed out an infernal curse at the inconvenience, shocking a breathless laugh from Enver.

"You kiss your Father with that mouth, Tir'yal?"

"I'd say I kiss yours, but I don't want either of us to loose our lunch." The tiefling sped up and launched himself up towards the edge of the portal, the instinct ingrained in him from nights of jumping roof to roof, stalking targets. Sometimes, you had to trust fate, and pull yourself up over the ledge of your obstacles. He grunted as he lifted himself up and over the edge, the first sight before him being Helsik who was keeping the portal open, attempting to contain the coin of Mammon that was shaking violently.

"Be quick! Something's fighting the ritual - I can't keep it contained much longer."

"What do you mean? En- my partner isn't through yet."

"Do you have what you came for?"

"What?" Tir'yal looked down at his satchel, opening it up. The crown and all three stones were packed inside. "What does that matter?"

"Because if your partner doesn't make it through in the next thirty seconds, he's not coming back at all." Helsik warned, grunting as the coin continued to fight her magic that kept it in place for the gateway. Tir'yal turned back to the portal, seconds ticking by like hours. Enver had been right behind him. Why wasn't he there?

Enver watched Tir'yal disappear from the portal and leapt for the edge himself, only to fall short. He swore as he landed, knee buckling under his weight and sending him crumbling to the floor, catching himself on his hands and knees. The cold was beginning to seep past his cloak again and he hissed out another warming charm through his armour, wishing it would hold up better against the Cania's subzero temperatures. He forced himself back up and jumped again, fingertips barely skimming the portals edge. The tiefling had the advantage of height on his side, the bastard.

Panic set in quickly despite the usually calm facade he wore, turning back towards the creatures that were only getting closer. He had to keep his head about him. Gods, why did he change his robes out? For protection from the cold? He could bear frostbite better than a fucking anxiety attack.

"Tir'yal!" He called, voice hoarse and tight, staring up above at the swirling mass of orange and black. He couldn't hear him. Why did he think he'd be able to? Tir'yal couldn't hear him, but he knew who could. He closed his eyes and called upon his faith, holding his trembling hand up, palm to the world, mimicking the symbol inked onto the skin of his back. Let Bane smell his fear; it would only draw him closer, only strengthen his power.

Fear him always, and make others fear him even more than you do. He feared Bane less than devils, if he was honest.

"Hear me, Dark One. Hear me, Lord of Darkness, hear your Chosen!" He called - begged. All he needed was a little more power, a little more energy, that divine intervention he offered him the first time he escaped the Hells. He needed his hand to give him the boost to crawl his own way out. That's all he had ever needed of his God - a helping hand to escape his nightmares.

"Bane?" He opened his eyes, his lungs breathing in nothing but icy mist. Where was the burn? The smoke? Where was his God? He looked up and could see the portal was waning. No. No, they couldn't be closing it. Why was it faltering? There had to be a reason. Was Mephistopheles interfering with the ritual circle? Tir'yal would never betray him like that, that had to be it.

Wouldn't he? His chest tightened painfully, straining for air that didn't seem to want to come. He felt hot yet freezing, his sweat like frost on his skin. He was dying. No, he wasn't dying, he wasn't, he just needed to breathe, to think - but his body felt like it was dying. It always felt like deaths cold hand wrapped around his throat.

"Hear me!" He yelled, silence the only response to his plea. "Bane...Bane, please." He couldn't abandon him, could he? He was important, they needed him, Bane needed him to get the crown-

He reached for his satchel and blanched. He didn't have the crown. Shit. He had grabbed that book in the same moment Tir’yal had reached for the crown and it’s stones. He’d been drawn to the title, his love of forbidden literature overriding his reason for a single damning moment. He had been blinded enough to not even notice the magic field surrounding both items, a mistake he rarely made. He'd entrusted the crown to the bard without even thinking, knowing at least one of them would carry it out.

Is that why Bane didn't answer him now? Because he left the crown and the stones in the Bhaalspawns hands? Was he- did he overestimate his useful to his Lord? Of course, he had. He was an idiot, begging for his intervention, his help. Adding to his debts. He was burdening Bane, making him use his own power on him when he could simply make another Chosen. A more competent one who didn't allow themselves to be trapped in the Hells twice. One made for battle rather than paperwork and invention.

He failed him. There was no use for him now, not while Tir'yal held the crown. Bane had always liked him - the Bhaalspawn with potential to rule the world with his admirable self control and intelligence, even with his lacking social skills. Murder was a key part of war, a usual happenstance when a tyrant took their rightful place upon a throne.

But no, Enver had brought him into his world somewhat, hadn't he? Tir'yal had attended more than half a dozen parties, two dozen dinners as his plus one - he was decently well versed in people now, even if he disliked them. He was perfect, if Bane intended to steal the Bhaal's heir from under the Gods nose. Even if he didn't, he was invaluable to the plan, and another Chosen could always be named once he was gone.

He was going to die. Abandoned in the Hells for a second time. This was his nightmares made a reality, but instead of the sweltering heat of the dungeons in the House of Hope, he was wrapped in the freezing cold of Cania.

"Someone..." His voice came out small, afraid as he pulled out his bow and an arrow, aiming it towards the incoming hoard. He wouldn't die without a fight, or allow himself to be at the heel of another devil. He’d rather forfeit his own life first, even if it was the biggest disgrace he could imagine. But he felt like a child again. Like he was still that frightened, whimpering Flymm boy cowering before that damn gnome. The useless son of cobblers with a mind too bright and a mouth too smart for his own good. Adults never liked how mouthy he was.

"Save me." A hand tore through the portal, like a God reaching down from the Heavens, extending it's hand to Enver. He sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wide before a voice followed.

"Hurry!" Tir'yal barked and Enver clapped his cold fingers around the tieflings forearm, jumping and hooking his fingers onto the edge of the portal as the man hauled him upwards. Tir'yals scooped him up around his waist as he pushed himself up to the surface, dragging him out of the portal and rolling them both away from it as the coin gave a crackle and shattered into shards, Helsik throwing herself away from it. The portal collapsed into itself with a roar of flames that left scorch marks on the ground.

For a moment, all was silent, Enver's ears ringing as his heart thundered against his ribs, wide eyes focused on the ceiling above.

He almost died. He had been waiting for Bane's black hand to rip him from the Hells, and instead, it had been Tir'yals. The spawn of a God reached for him before his own deity. Where had Bane gone? Had he really abandoned him? Had he deserved it for seeking knowledge before power? He’d always thought they were one in the same…

Perhaps his true failing had been letting the other escape with the crown without thinking of the consequences. What would have happened, had Tir’yal not reached back into the Hells for him?

"Are you alright?" Tir'yals hand burned against the frozen skin of his cheek and he flinched away, sitting up and sucking in a deep breath before letting it out, arms resting on his knees. His right throbbed, hot and fierce, but his previous panic had left him too drained to give it much attention.

"You could have left me." Why hadn't he? He was risking his neck, reaching into a dying portal that could have disappeared at any second. Would have costed him his dominant arm, that was for certain. What would the Unholy Assassin of Bhaal do without his skilled hands?

"It would be a waste to let that genius mind of yours die with you." Tir'yal stated like it was a simple fact, common sense, as he shifted, getting back onto his feet and offering his hand to the other man. "You're far too important to be killed just yet."

Enver laughed weakly at his response, running a hand through his hair. Of course. He was far too important to the plan. They needed three wielders after all. Tir'yal couldn't stand anyone else; he barely cared for Ketheric’s correspondences, which Enver dealt with himself, even if the Bhaalspawn read the letters over his shoulder and gave three word responses for him to pen down so he seemed involved. What ever would he do if he lost the only decent conversationalist in the Sword Coast that entertained his bloody desires?

Tir'yal would never be Banite material. He didn't care to talk to people enough to be any good at politics, at networking. That's why he needed him. It's why they needed each other. He didn't like to bloody his own hands or keep to the shadows, desiring the spotlight, and Tir'yal preferred to make deadly symphonies within the darkness, and didn't like talking to idiots and fools, which most noblemen were.

It was a special sort of harmony that rarely came to people like themselves.

He looked at the hand offered to him and took it, grunting as he stood, his knee threatening to buckle. He forced his weight to his left leg, able to breathe a little easier now that he was off it. He could feel Tir'yals eyes on him as he extended his thanks to Helsik and offered her another hundred gold from his pouch for the damages, wishing her luck.

"I hope you never come back." She stated bluntly and Enver laughed.

"Oh, I never forget helpful ladies like yourself. Should I ever need your lovely services again, I'll be sure to make it worth more than gold." He bowed his head to her, a charming smile on his lips. "If you desire another means of payment, of course."

"No thanks. I'd rather fuck a Blibberbang. Exits back where you came from." Enver laughed heartily at her retort, not taking offence in the slightest. He wouldn't have minded entertaining her for a night, she was quite beautiful even if not his personal type, but he could tell when another truly wasn't interested.

"Until we meet again, dear diabolist." Enver made towards the stairs, limping slightly even if he tried to disguise it. He'd left his cane in his chambers, not even thinking he might need it after their heist. He braced himself for the descent, gripping the railing to his right when Tir'yals arm was offered to him.

"You're in pain. It's flaring up, isn't it?"

"Perhaps a bit." He didn't take his arm, and Tir'yal didn't lower it.

"Take it, or I'll carry you back." It almost sounded like a threat. Enver chuckled.

"A tempting offer, but I'll pass. For both of our sake's." Enver would not be carted about like a sack of potatoes again, or Gods forbidden, carried like a damsel. He had handled more than his fair share of pain in life, endured countless injuries during his days with the Heapside Reavers, and he could endure this too. He did it on the daily. With reluctance, he took Tir'yals arm, using the man as a crutch as they made their way down the steps, sweat threatening to bead on his forehead as he reached the bottom. It was far too warm in Baldur's Gate to be wearing so many layers. He untied his cloaked and threw it over one arm with a sigh, allowing Tir'yal to lead them out of the Devil's Fee.

"Well...I told you so."

"Hm?" Tir'yal hummed inquisitively.

"She got us into the vault. Into the Eighth Layer."

"Ah, right. You're quite petty, you know that?"

Enver scoffed.

"Petty? I was right, I should be allowed to say so."

"You were right. You usually are." Tir'yal relented and the Banite smirked.

"It's always nice to hear it."

"You're a genius inventor and strategist."

"Oh, now I'm starting to wonder if you want something from me." Enver chuckled warmly. "Do go on. You're never usually this forthright with the compliments, my friend."

"Am I not?" Tir'yal mused in a monotonous voice. "Maybe I think it more than I say it. I apologise. You're brilliant, and you should know it."

"I do." Enver smiled smugly. It was nice to hear someone say it though. The chill on his skin was starting to melt away as they walked. "You're quite fond of my mind, it seems. Anything else?" He teased.

Tir'yal never seemed to fluster when he attempted to charm him, if only for fun, since he enjoyed flirting. It was good to keep up practice so he didn't lose his touch with the fair ladies and gents in the Upper City, but after that night at the Featherstone Estate a month ago...

"...You look like shit most of the time." Tir'yal said bluntly and Enver scowled, only glaring a little. Not what he'd been hoping for. The man had a brick for a brain when it came to noticing one wanted something from him that wasn't murder. A compliment would have been nice.

"Thank you. Just what I wanted to hear. You're as charming as ever." As charming as a dead, rotted fish.

"But you look nice when you're asleep."

"...Tir'yal, my dearest, oldest friend, that is the most unsettling thing anyone as ever said to me. I hope you know that." It didn't stop the smile that curled onto his lips. "You watch me sleep?"

"Only sometimes. You forget to blow out the candle on your desk a lot, so I visit on my nights out to make sure you haven't burned your office down. You look nicer in the dark."

"If you didn't have darkvision, I'd take that as an insult."

"Good thing I do then." Tir'yal smiled ever so slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. "How's your knee?"

Enver's brows jumped up in surprise. He was still limping, but he'd actually forgotten about the pain for a blissful minute.

"Better. The cold tends to agitate old wounds. Humans aren't nearly as sturdy as you fiend-blooded folk, I'm afraid."

"I'm intimately aware of the limits of the human body, as well as various other races. You're right, humans aren't as sturdy, but I'd argue that should you not go into shock first, you humans are frighteningly resistant to torture." Tir'yal managed to make his horrifying experiments and discoveries sound intelligent rather than mad, and Enver admired that about him.

"Fascinating." He indulged with a hum. "If you have plans to test my resistance to torture, Tir'yal, don't bother. I doubt you could break me." Others had tried, and failed. If a decade with a devil could not drive him to insanity, nothing could. Tir'yal looked down at him, a small smile on his lips but eyes intense. Like he was already imagining it. Breaking him.

"I sure could try though." His low voice made it sound like a promise. "I think you'd be pretty as a corpse either way. Prettier than when you sleep."

Tir'yal lowered his arm suddenly and wrapped it around the Banite as a group of rowdy children ran past them, almost bumping the man if not for the tiefling drawing him closer.

"How are you getting the third stone to Myrkul's Chosen?" He queried into his ear, his hot breath tickling the cold tips of his ear, returning his arm to the man a moment later. Enver took a second to take it again, needing a moment to adjust the sudden topic change, looking back at the children running off in the distance from over his shoulder. He didn’t want to look at the tieflings face, at those eyes of his - or perhaps he didn’t want him to see his own.

"Ketheric has agreed to meet us outside the Church of Bane, seeing as he cannot come to the fortress without questions raised, and your own temple is forbidden to outsiders. We certainly can't risk some pigeon losing something so valuable either. So he will make the journey over once he receives letter of our success. I imagine he'll arrive in no more than a tenday."

"If that's so," Tir'yal opened the satchel and pulled out a single stone, tucking it away into his own pocket before passing the crown and the other two stones over to Enver. He had plans for the dark stone in his pocket, so he'd need it for now. He would return it later. "I'll leave these with you."

"Would it not be more secure in your very secret, oh-so-hidden temple?" Enver mused and Tir'yal huffed out through his nose, dragging his tongue his canines and sucking them.

"I know it will ease your mind if it's in your possession." There was an unspoken sentiment in his words that Enver struggled to interpret. Did he have the notion that Enver did not trust him with the items that would bring about their grand plan? That he didn't trust him in general? As long as he had his stone, it did not matter, he supposed. He had to know Enver would not forsake their plans though, not ever. The plan was so much bigger than them. He knew the crown was safe with the Bhaalspawn. Tir'yal had come to trust him long ago, and his trust came with a certain level of loyalty above most others.

Enver looked at the satchel offered to him. The hand holding it had pulled him out of the Hells. This man, this Bhaalspawn, had answered his prayer when even Bane had become silent. The same man who pulled him out of Hells, who spent weeks brainstorming and planning and visiting connections with him, who was helping him walk back to his fortress when his leg was failing him...thought he didn't trust him.

He shouldn't. He shouldn't trust anybody. He hadn't even been able to trust his own parents, for Heavens sake.

But when he looked up at Tir'yal, he felt much like that boy again. That Flymm child who presented him with his first pair of boots, made of cheap metal, but to him, it contained all his efforts. He'd tried to make boots worthy of a knight, worthy of his first friend.

His friend, blunt and coarse, but still taller and stronger than all the other boys around them. An outcast like himself, a tiefling in a family of elves. Intimidating enough to scare off the children who taunted the cobblers son. That boy had distracted merchants and noblemen alike for him while he picked their pockets. He had ruffled his hair while admiring sharp and shiny weapons, always letting him keep the gold coin and metals for himself.

He had looked at him, truly looked, and his face hadn't twisted into something sour like everyone else's had. He hadn't scowled when he spoke, didn't jump to tell him to shut up. Nobody had liked him, even as a child. Not even his own parents. It was like everyone could tell the moment they met him that he would leave a bitter taste on their tongue. He was always the ungrateful child, selfish and hateful. With parents like his, what did they expect? An angel? No. He was the strange, mouthy Flymm boy who knew he was far ahead of his peers and always would be. Who knew he deserved greater things, had greater ambitions than his own useless parents, and knew he could have it once he was no longer a child, bound by their will.

He had always looked down upon others, knowing one day he'd be above them, and that he'd make them pay for trying to control him, for trying to dim the brilliance within his mind. Except for him. It always came back to him. To Tir'yal. His oldest friend. The only one who genuinely liked him, back then, and even now. He was special in the way that he couldn't bore him with idle chatter, yet also indulged in late night conversation about everything from his latest read to his plans for the city. He may be adviser now, his genius ignored by the grand Ulder Ravenguard, but that would change soon.

The only one who seemed to care about what he had to say, who praised his genius, was Tir'yal. His only...equal - in all things. He was the closest thing to a real friend that one could get in the political world. Thankfully, Tir'yal wasn't a part of that world. He had no interest in it.

"Keep it." He said softly, pushing the satchel back towards him. If the roles were reversed, if he were anyone else, he’d probably call him a fool for giving him all the working parts to the grand plan, think him weak and spineless, but he did not doubt Tir’yals loyalty to their partnership in the slightest. Not after today. Perhaps he was the weak one between them. Too weak to get himself out of his own predicaments, to walk alone in the world, always needing a crutch; a helping hand.

"I might lose it amongst the clutter of my workshop if I'm not careful." He jested, looking ahead. "It'll be safer with you."

Tir'yal was quiet a long moment, staring down at the satchel holding the crown and the stones to control it. So much power at their fingertips...and the Bane's Chosen was allowing him to hold it. To keep it safe. Perhaps he believed this extension of temporary trust would deepen their alliance, making him less likely to betray him. Tir'yal knew he wouldn't though. The stain on his soul, the humane part of him that couldn't be bled or cut out, cared far too deeply for the Chosen of his Father's sworn foe to ever betray him.

He wondered if Enver would ever see the beauty in the destruction he would bring upon this world. The destruction Bhaal yearned for. If he'd be a part of it, willing and pliant beneath his blade.

When the plan succeeded, and everyone was finally gone, the world reduced to nothing, he would kill the Banite himself. He felt in his bones that that was his right. Nobody else could be the last sight in those dark eyes, could draw out that last, sweet sound of pain he craved to hear, those darling reflexive tears that came as one choked on their own blood. That was reserved for him, and him alone. To be the final two souls on Toril...He wanted his last breath to mingle with Enver's, for his wounds to bleed to his, to mix the very essence of their life force into one bloody pool beneath them as the world came to an end in his Father's name.

To kill and be killed by his oldest and closest companion - to die together - was his greatest desire. It wasn't exactly allowed, but it wasn't forbidden either. As long as he died moments after Enver, would he not still be following his Father's command to be the last soul alive? Though, to wish for Enver to sink his own blade into his skin had to be a sin.

It only seemed fair that Enver's life would be his to take regardless, his final sacrifice in the name of his Father. He couldn't imagine sharing the honour of death with anyone else, the honour of mutual homicide. Sharing the beauty of dying by a loved ones hand, and walking into the City of Judgement together, it's final visitors.

"I will take care of it." He looked down at the limping Banite and smiled softly. He wanted to feel that crushing wave of grief and euphoria all at once as he perished, as they both did, and he would only have it by Enver's hand. He would only achieve it through the tyrants death.

I will take care of you, until it's time to snuff out the light in your eyes.

****

Enver yawned as he called his hammer closer, grasping the handle of it and pulling the metal from the heat to rest on his bench, readjusting his grip before he slamming the flat end down upon the molten steel.

He'd been so busy recently with paperwork and the grand plan that he'd barely had any time to himself to focus on his own projects. He preferred his workshop to his office, if he was honest. Nobody to disturb him here, and the chance to shed his robes. The aches in his body where easier to ignore when he was wrapped up in the heat of the room, intensely focused on moulding metal and tightening bolts with his hands. It was better than focusing on other things. Like Bane's silence. He was awaiting answers from his God, but Bane always did enjoy taking his time to respond to his questions.

He could have given this up, the life of a labour, but it was in his blood, to create. He felt restless when his hands weren't busy, and this skill of his benefited the empire he wanted to build. He didn't have much skill in the Arts, but this was his form of art. Taking steel and turning it into something better, something stronger.

That was what he was born to do. To bring out the true potential of everything he touched. This was his domain, and he moulded the materials given to him into whatever he wished.

Like a God.

He blew out a heavy breath as he dropped his hammer aside and dunked the project into cold water, the sizzle and steam making him smile. It quickly fell when he heard the door creak, turning to greet the only person who would dare enter his workshop. Not even fellow Banite's chanced disturbing him when they 'needed' him, waiting until he returned to his fortress to speak to him. The traps he left outside the workshop probably contributed to their avoidance.

"Do tell me you didn't break my traps again."

"Okay. I didn't break your traps. I simply...disarmed them." Tir'yal assured, looking away. Enver sighed and picked up a rag to wipe the sweat from his hands and face.

"So you broke them."

"Make a way for them to be disarmed without breaking, and it wouldn't happen." Tir'yal shrugged, tail giving a sharp flick behind him before he pulled out a small vial of moulted green liquid. He tossed it towards the other, and a black mage hand appeared to catch it, placing it in the Banite's waiting hand.

"I think I'll make them self destructive instead." He quipped, only mildly annoyed. A bit of tinkering and they'd be good as new. It would take him less than an hour to fix the dozen he had out there. He looked down at the vial and scoffed, placing it aside. He could keep trying, but he would never drink it. Not in front of him at least.

Tir'yal was right about one thing. He was petty.

"I'm always up for a challenge." Tir'yal crossed his arms as he dragged his gaze over the other, Enver's white undershirt clinging to his back with sweat, his apron coming off with a quick tug of the tie at the base of his spine, the artificer slipping the neck strap off over his head. He wrapped the apron up in a bundle and tossed it onto the table, leaning back against his work bench to ease the weigh off his knee. It was feeling better, but he knew he needed to be cautious, or the next few days would be hell. He couldn't afford to be seen limping about when Ketheric came to visit. He needed to appear at his strongest, lest the Chosen of Myrkul get the wrong idea about this alliance of theirs and try to betray them.

Weakness was not an option. Not when everything was finally coming together. The book he stole from the vaults still sat in his satchel, tossed onto the mattress he sometimes crashed on after a long night of bending metal to his will. He intended to read it later, when he wasn't so antsy.

"Did you come for idle conversation, my friend, or...?" Enver quirked a brow, an easy smile on his lips. A smile was the most discreet weapon you could wield in the world of the elite. He'd learned that as a young man, that a disarming smile and an alluring promise could wrap just about anyone up in your web.

"I brought you a gift." His smile faltered, eyes widened ever so slightly before he smiled once more, a touch more genuine.

"Is that so? Something...bloody?"

"Not this time." Tir'yal looked amused, but beneath that, was a hint of...Was he nervous? What exactly had he gotten him?

The tiefling reached into his bag and pulled out a black box, tied with a single red ribbon. Enver quirked a brow, reaching out to take it from the other.

"How nice. You shouldn't have. A box?" He jested, simply to annoy the Bhaalspawn.

"Gods, you're incorrigible. Open it before I decide to put your head in the box for my Father." Enver laughed, a hand falling upon his breast as if he was aghast at his threat.

"I'm far too important for you to kill just yet, dear. You'd miss my brilliant mind, remember? Imagine if the only people you had to talk to was Orin and that butler of yours? That would be more agonising than any torture you could conjure up." He smirked, dreading the very idea.

"You're not wrong. Life would be rather dull without you." Tir'yals smiled, eyes dipping from the tinkerer to the box and nodding to it. "Open it." He couldn't stand to wait much longer. He was considering slicing his own skin off to escape it.

Enver huffed softly, shaking his head. He hadn't had many gifts given to him over the course of his life, especially with no warning. Usually, there was a reason behind it, or an expectation to provide something back. Tir'yal did him a favour by killing his opponents, his enemies, and he supposed that one could call that a gift, but it wasn't. It was a favour, a transaction between two people who benefited from the others skills.

He untied the red ribbon and set it behind him on the bench, opening the lid and tucking it beneath the box as he peered inside. He frowned, wiping his palm on his trousers to rid it of any sweat or grime before he reached in and picked up a piece of gold. He twisted it in the light. It looked damn well real, in the shape of an ring with a pointed end. The old habit from his Heapside days came out as he brought it to his mouth and bit down. It softened beneath his teeth but still held up decently, biting back ever so slightly. It wasn't pure gold, but it was definitely made up of a high percentage of the material.

"It isn't for eating, I'm afraid. If you're hungry, I can always pop out and bring something back." Tir'yal looked amused. "There's more."

"I can see that." Enver's eyes ran along the golden gauntlets in the box, the miscellaneous rings likely a part of the ensemble. He placed the box down on the table and picked up one gauntlet, looking over the craftsmanship. It was beautiful, for an amateur, he noted. It looked like something a painter would create, artistic in design, rather something a forger would make for the desire of protecting one's flesh.

"The craftsmanship is sloppy, but I'll admit, the design is intriguing. Did you steal it from one of your victims? An artist dabbling in metalwork?" He chuckled, turning back to the Bhaalspawn who wouldn't meet his gaze, tail wrapped around his ankle in a strange gesture of meekness. Perhaps even embarrassment. Whatever was he embarrassed about? Because Enver guessed it was stolen? He knew the man didn't exactly care for material possessions like gold, he only wore half-decent attire because of his insistence. He was Bhaal's Prince after all, he couldn't run around dressed like a seaman or a traveller who wore the same three outfits continuously; most of which had bloodstains.

"I don't mind if it's stolen, Tir'yal-"

"I made it." Tir'yal cut him off, eyes still to the ground as he crossed his arms once more. "It took a couple of tries, but you're right. I'm an artist. I'm not a skilled craftsmen like yourself."

Enver's eyes widened, surprised. He'd made it? Himself? When? When had he even learnt how to do so? From watching him all these months? From the books on his shelves? Did he learn purely from trial and error? How long had he been working on this, for him? Did he take the gold from his victims to make them? So many questions, but he wasn't sure which one to voice first. He could have easily made it with steel, he did not need to be so extravagant in his gift-giving, making it from gold. Hells, he wore silver as a staple, not gold.

He looked down at the gauntlets and picked up the other arm, admiring the details closer now. It was definitely the work of artistry, but there was promise in the shape, the security of it's latches. Over all, it was well made. Not the same level of his work, but he couldn't expect everybody to be perfect after only a few attempts. To take on a such a large project as his first attempt though...it was admirable.

"It will need a proper polish. Perhaps some shaping to make sure it fits just right. But..." He smiled, a hint of pride in his eyes. "It is beautiful. You did a fine job, for someone who hasn't done this kind of work before." He smoothed his thumb over the gauntlet and looked up at the tiefling, meeting his eyes.

"Thank you." It was rare for him genuinely mean those words.

"There's one more thing." Tir'yal nodded to the box and Enver frowned, looking back at it and reaching for the hand piece.

"This?" The moment he spoke, he noticed it. A deep purple stone embedded in the gauntlet. He could feel the magic radiating off it, and he let out a soft laugh of wonder. They're been apart a few short hours after all.

"We'll need to keep them close, to keep control of the brain, once we've secured the Crown onto the creature." Tir'yal approached to stand before him, pulling out his favoured dagger. The blade gifted to him when he became his Father's Chosen. In the circular cross guard of his dagger was his own stone, blood red like a ruby. He flicked his eyes up to look at Enver who was focused on his blade and the gauntlet in his hand. He took in his features greedily, always feeling the need to commit his expressions to memory.

There was so many faces the human only revealed around him, and the desire to know all of them felt far stronger than his Urge had ever been.

"You really went to all that effort when I could have done it myself...why?" Enver met the Bhaalspawn's eerie eyes and Tir'yal hummed softly, thoughtful and a touch surprised that he would even ask. It felt obvious to him.

"It's a gift. Not just between allies...but between friends." Tir'yal tucked his blade away and took the hand piece into his own, keeping the artificers hand held out as he slipped it onto him, reaching down for the arm piece and latching that on too, gentle with his ministrations and making sure not to pinch flesh between metal or his own claws. Enver stood still, watching the tiefling closely as the man adorned him in his craft, eyes focused on the task, tail swaying softly behind him. The only thing to be heard in the room was the gentle clicks of the latches and the burning of coals from the furnace.

"Why gold? I imagine steel would have been the obvious choice. It would have matched me better, don't you think?" He mused, his voice not giving away the quivering and creaking in his heart. He liked to think of it as just another machine he was constantly improving, constantly fixing. The cold, steel heart in his chest was made to pump blood through his body, and that was it. If it began to fail, he tightened the bolts of the valves, shutting out unwanted emotions, and if the cogs began to turn faster and faster, threatening to overheat, he reached inside and halted their manic spinning himself.

He had excellent self control. Especially over his heart.

"Steel is a part of my life's work." Tir'yal simply smiled at his words, slipping the talon-like rings onto his fingers, making sure they were in their rightful place.

"You may adorn yourself in shades of white and grey, in the darkest blacks - and I may wish to see you painted in red, but gold..." Tir'yal tapped the sharp point of the man's talons with his own claw. Now they matched. "Gold is your colour. If you did not bleed crimson like every other mortal man, I would think you bled molten gold."

Enver stared up at the man as the Bhaalspawn reached up and gently tugged the silver bead from his thin braid, looking at it between his claws before tossing it into the box and pulling out a small golden cylinder. He took the woven strands of hair and slipped it into it's rightful place on the end, squeezing gently to tighten it before letting the cool metal swing softly against his cheek. Enver, for the first time in a long time, felt at a loss for words.

"...I rarely hear you speak so poetically."

"I'm still a bard, even if I'm a rather quiet one. I enjoy all kinds of art, poetry included."

"I suppose poetry is in your blood."

"And gold is in yours." Tir'yal smiled, an uncharacteristically soft thing on the intimidating Bhaalspawns face. It quickly faded though, the man taking a step back and closing his eyes with a pained expression, hand coming to his temple.

"Sorry, I..." He trailed off before his jaw flexed, teeth clenched. "Father's calling me." Enver watched Tir'yal cautiously. He only ever got headaches when Bhaal wanted blood, and lots of it. Recently, they'd become a lot more frequent. He sometimes wondered if Bhaal was displeased with Tir'yal for some reason, the way he tested his obedience and self control as of recent.

"Go. You have terror to rain upon the streets. I have things to make. I'll see you soon, I'm sure." Enver stepped back, but did not turn his back to Tir'yal. Something in his gut told him that was not a good idea tonight.

"Yes, I...Goodnight, Enver." Tir'yal was quick to leave, closing the door behind him. Enver watched the door closely for a few long moments, waiting to see if he'd come back. He knew Bhaal didn't like him, even before he was Bane's Chosen. He half suspected that Bhaal would have discarded him through Tir'yal long ago if not for the current alliance forged between the Dead Three. It had been in the works for so time, from what he knew, kept between the Gods.

He took a seat with a soft groan, tilting his head back and staring at the ceiling before he looked down at the gauntlets. This was the first gift he'd been given in a long time without doing something in return first, or feeling the need to make up for it somehow. They really were beautiful, even if they needed a couple touch ups.

He smiled to himself. Tir'yal had even made sure to leave one hand free of rings, should he need it, for his writing no doubt. He was ambidextrous, so either hand would have sufficed, but he did appreciate that the hand left free of adornments was the hand he used for his cane. Given his right knee was injured, he often held his cane in his left to keep the weight off it. Having rings and a hand piece biting into his hand all the time while using it would grate on his nerves.

He sat there for a long while, simply admiring the orange glow from the furnace against the golden hand piece. When the firelight hit the purple stone embedded in the gauntlet, it looked magical, just like he imagined it would when they finally got to use it to enslave the elder brain. His musings were halted by the feeling of a dark shadow behind him, a familiar taste of ash in the back of his throat. He swallowed and closed his eyes, focusing in on the presence.

"Bane. You didn't answer my call."

'Indeed. I even smelt your fear. You did not call only for me, Young Tyrant.'

"Why didn't you speak up? Was it a test? Is that it?" He couldn't understand.

'Of sorts. Not a test for you, but for him.'

"For..." Him? "For Tir'yal? Why are you testing him? He's not yours to test." He was not his God.

'A lust for blood can just as easily be converted to a lust for power. For is murder not proof enough of power over another? Is it not a victory one relishes in?'

"I suppose...I still don't understand, why didn't you step in? Did I fail you, Bane? Was that punishment for not securing the Crown myself?" He ached for answers.

'I do not need to punish you when I know you punish yourself enough for your mistakes.' Bane's laughter echoed inside his skull, and it reminded him on old smoker mixed with a young brute. 'I wanted to test the Bhaalspawns loyalties.'

"And what did you conclude from your test?"

'It wanes.' Enver swallowed, throat bobbing as he slowly opened his eyes, the shadow of his God hanging upon his frame like a weighted blanket. It made him feel both claustrophic yet secure.

"How so?"

'You know the plan, my Chosen. One does not stoke fear by reaping his own fields, but by burning his foe's. With the Crown now in reach, and the elder brain near, we only draw closer to our goal. As long as mortals and immortals vie for sharper blades and louder voices, I am strengthened. I need not anything else. The Bhaalspawn shows promise; and loyalty to whoever shows him a sliver of affection.'

"You're speaking without saying anything." It irked him.

'You're listening without hearing, child. Remember who I am. Who made you what you are.' Enver felt the urge to cough, but refused. It felt like there was smoke in his lungs. Bane's anger tasted like burnt rubber.

"He won't ever betray his Father, if that's what you're trying to say. He comes when he calls. He worships him as deeply as I worship you, Dark One."

'Because you're smart, Young Tyrant. You benefit from our alliance, from worshipping me, and you understand what you could lose, intimately, should you fail your God. You know you would be nothing but an urchin dead in the street without me. And that would be your kindest fate. You would still be a prisoner in a cell, and your soul eventually, eternally tied to that devil, had I not blessed you all those years ago.'

Enver clenched his teeth. He did know that. He knew that far too well.

"Tir'yal loves his Father. He won't ever abandon him."

'We both know love is not what keeps him there. Love does not exist for wretched creatures like him, for spawns of murder. Bhaal is home. Bhaal is all he has, and he made it that way for a reason. You are the wrench in the cogs of his favoured child. His Prince.'

"Are you saying...Tir'yal would leave Bhaal for me?"

'The Bhaalspawn would reject the call of his Father for you. Steady his blade for you. Create rather than destroy for you. His only friend, his only equal, one of the few things he can call his. He may not leave his Father, but you have more sway here than you realise, Young Tyrant.'

"Equal to the spawn of a God? It would be high praise if it wasn't Bhaals." Enver mused, looking down at the gauntlet. Tir'yal was a bard, to create was simply a part of him, as much as his ability to destroy. This meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.

'He believes you his equal. His closest companion. And you believe him your equal in turn, do you not?'

Enver's eyes widened, the reply stuck in his throat.

"I...I believe him to be above the others in my circle. Useful. Loyal to our alliance, and our partnership. I consider him...a friend, if you will. A trustworthy one, if I dared to believe in the notion. Does that anger you, my Lord?"

'No. As long as you stay one step ahead of Bhaal's Prince, I will allow you to keep him as your...'equal'.'

"You will?" He didn't mean to sound so surprised.

'I've had my share of dalliances, Young Tyrant. Amorous connections can spur the most fruitful of alliances, and the strongest of loyalties. Look how far you've come already, manipulating bodies and hearts alike.'

The way he put it made Enver feel a sliver of disgust. He did not regret the past. He refused to entertain the very idea. Every sweet word he whispered into a superiors ear, every touch he relinquished to another, was of his own volition, and only drew him closer to his goals. Even before Tir'yal, he was clawing his way up the ladder, and he would not feel disgust for anything he did to get this far in life. Some of the greatest kings in history had come from nothing.

'Mortals and immortals alike covet to possess more than material goods. They wish to monopolise lovers, to own hearts, minds and bodies. He already consider you his. You are his to kill, to hurt and maim, in his mind. That is the closest thing to 'love' a Bhaalspawn can manage. Allow him to believe he has your heart, and leash his. Get him feeding from your hand, our hand, and the Prince of Bhaal will be the crown jewel in our empire.'

Enver rubbed the sweat from his upper lip, rubbing his nose with a soft sigh as he looked at the gauntlets. He fiddled with the latch idly, contemplating his answer. Despite doing so a million times before, he did not wish to toy with his closest companions heart. He would not insult his intelligence but initiating a fools play with him.

"Whether our connection is amorous of not, our alliance is strong, and it will benefit of our goals, as well as the kingdom I will build in your name, Dark One."

'I await the day the you sit upon the throne of this world, my Chosen. I only hope you choose someone worthy to witness our glory firsthand.'

His presence faded to nothing, and Enver sat there, staring at the intricate designs in encasing his forearm. Bane had not been satisfied with his answer, but he left anyway. Like he knew Enver would eventually concede to his order. Like he knew the union of his Chosen and the Bhaalspawn was inevitable.

He scrubbed a hand down his face and pushed his hair back, standing from his chair to grab the plate of metal from the water, tossing it back into the furnace with a scowl.

“I could only look at you.” Glowing eyes full of heat filled his mind.

Enver banished the memory from the forefront of his mind and unlatched his gauntlets, slipping them off and placing them back in the box, the gold bead dangling in the corner of his vision. He picked up his hammer and squeezed the handle. He needed to remove the restless energy from his bones.

He couldn't help but think Bane a touch foolish. If he would not abandon the God who saved him, why would Tir'yal abandon the very God who created him?

He grabbed his tongs, shifting through the coals and snatching the metal once more, tossing it onto the bench. Lust was not enough to tear a devoted son from his Father. Misguide him, maybe, but nothing more.

His steel heart was not willing to offer any more to the Bhaalspawn than the trust he already extended. After all, love was not for wretched creatures like them. The closest thing to love that they could offer was reserved for their Gods. And his love for Bane..well, love and fear were intimately intertwined, weren't they?

You are his to kill - that is the closest thing to 'love' a Bhaalspawn can manage.

The closest thing to love he could manage as a Banite, was to conquer. To own. Bane was right. Mortal and immortal men alike desired to covet more than wealth and property. He was no different.

Tir'yal was his, regardless of what 'love' they had for each other.

Nothing could change that.

#durgetash #male durge #durge #the dark urge #enver gortash #gortash

[maegalkarven]

"What happens now?"

Nemo has spent unimaginable amount of time staring at his father's skull, its eyes unlit. Was he watching still? Did he see Nemo brought back to life by the forces the man himself did not understand? Or did he no longer care?

And just who exactly was Withers?

"Milord?"

It took a tentative touch to his shoulder for the man to finally turn around. And there they were, the damned, bloodied fools of his father's unholy assassins. The best of the best, the worst of the worst.

Staring at him like sheep brought to the slaughter.

"Yes?" It took all of his composure to simply shake the hand off and not break it; but composure was something he had a long good time of practicing.

And without the urge it was almost...easy. Almost like violence was something he didn't have to perform anymore.

"What will happen now?" Asked the girl, and Bhaal beneath, how didn't he notice how young they all are? None of the assassins looked older than forty and it said something about this whole business. Probably something very unsavory.

Nemo took a deep, steadying breath.

"Now," his voice echoed from the walls, multiplying it in a rather menacing manner. "You will renounce my father. You will lay down your weapons and your faith and will do no more of his bidding. Either you walk out of this godless or-" and at that he sent a glare more suited to be accompanied by a knife than by simple words. Seven hells, words were hard. "You will not walk out of it."

"Are..." another assasin raised a voice. "Are you asking us to forsake Bhaal?"

"Yes."

"And the alternative is..?"

"Joining his ranks on the other plane, of course," Nemo smiled his best, 'charming' smile. "But you all should be ready for that, everyone who kills should be ready to meet their own death. Or are you the cowardly kind?"

"So you will just kill us?" Oh, they argue now. Stupid lot. "As simple as that?"

"As simple as that," he gestured back at where whatever the fuck was left of his sister dearest lay. "Just like her. Though, I suspect, you'd throw less of a fuss over it. Or will you?"

"But we did everything Bhaal asked of us!" Another of his bunch of stupid idiots complained. "Everything you asked of us! And you will just...discard us?"

Of course he will. Did they not realize what kind of place it was, what kind of a "family"? Murder was what they did, all of them.

Him - more than the others.

"If, notice the emphasis, you do not reject Bhaal. But tear him out of your hearts - and you can walk out of this alive."

"And what about our contracts?"

That actually made him pause.

"Your...what now?"

The girl, the brave foolish girl who dared to touch him, spoke.

"Our murder contracts, you know, the ones we earn our wages from?"

They earned their wages? No, scratch that, they had wages?

He was sure he would not be able to forget that.

"Remind me for a moment, what's the deal with these," he winced. "Contracts?"

"Well...People ask us to kill someone," the girl shrugged. "We kill the target and get paid for that. Don't you remember? You set up the whole deal, said murders won't pay for our food unless we do something about it. And we did something about it," she grinned, obviously proud of "the whole deal."

"It was such a smart thing to do too, Lady Orin would never! All she wanted us to do is to perform the murders...fancily."

"By playing her corpse-dollies, I see."

Someone snickered. The girl frowned.

"Something like that. We had to run the operation in secret, but what else we were supposed to do?" She gestured around wildly. "The temple might provide us shelter, but the food? And what of our families? Some of us have children, you know, parents. Who will support them?"

Alright, now this was becoming weird.

"You're saying you've killed people...to feed your families?"

"I have a pet," someone from the crowd shouted. "It's an alligator and let me tell you, providing for this thing is costly."

"You have a pet alligator?"

"Yes," the man stepped closer. "His name is Minty, you've met him! Said he's a mighty beast and what I'd better feed him the corpses of my victims, that'd save the costs."

Despite his best judgment Nemo could feel a smirk crawl up his lips and firmly settle there.

A pet alligator Misty. Ridiculous.

There was a bunch of freaks and weirdos standing in front of him.

But again, wasn't he the same as them? A blade made of flesh, a man knowing how to take life and little else.

Maybe something could be salvaged here yet.

Maybe.

"Alright," the sigh he let out didn't feel forced, yet there was some anticipation too. Murder was familiar. Murder what brought money was...prospective. "Show me these contracts."

#bg3 #bg3 spoilers #dark urge #bg3 durge #durge spoilers #durge #the cult of bhaal #or is it? #fanfic #drabble #the idea grew out of a thought about how the fuck do assasins provide themselves #like they can steal stuff from their victim's bodies but would it be enough? #also I'm sure there are a lot of people in baldurs gate and beyond wishing for someone to be gone and willing to pay for it #and unholy assasins have to kill someone every tenday. so! I believe Durge could come up with a plan to manage it #this is idea for my new durge's ending where he ends up kind of reforming the cult of bhaal into godless assassins guild #sure every death adds to bhaal's flock/power/etc #but someone already wants the target dead and if not them when someone else will do the job #why deny it and the money it brings? #it's a well-established scheme already #dark urge: nemo #the new hero gets brainstabbed! #this one is a less amnesiac and more “what are feelings?” Orin hit the different part of the brain #emotions who only confusion