#I didn't sleep like at all last night so I am also eepy

[somegrumpynerd]

Sssshhhh the stars are eepy

[milktian]

"was I sweet once?"

a little thing based on that one dialogue in the Blighted Village that keeps killing me internally. This is my first time writing for bg3 like ever, so apologies if Shadowheart + Wyll at the end seem out of character. I haven't figured out how to properly write their voices yet (which is also why I haven't really expanded on that section.

♡ the durge is not a specified race, gender, or class, so go nuts with imagining it lmao.

♡ wrote it with the context being after you meet kagha + before you get to the goblin camp

♡ it is very short; at the time of posting, it's 3:30am for me and I am eepy so I didn't wanna do something that was like,,,, 1000-2000 words. Maybe if I get enough motivation lmao

• • • • • • •

You stare down at the chalk, idling tracing your eyes over the unsteady squares and crooked numbers. It's almost faded now, covered in grime and dust and whatever else the goblins left in their wake when they raided. It… saddens you, you think.

Yet, the very image of it – that childhood innocence persevering, even if only by the skin of its teeth, despite everything. It sticks. It sticks and refuses to let go. Refuses to remove the claws it has dug into your neck, so deep you can taste the iron.

Or maybe that's the goblin blood splattered over your face. It's probably that.

Initially, you hadn't planned to wipe out the goblins, but you found yourself… restless. It was all too easy to sneak out or camp at night and slowly, tenderly, cut the throats of the intruders as they slept. They hadn't even bothered to put up a night watch; it was as though they were taunting you, as you walked through the village gates, dagger in hand, and nothing but the sound of sweet whispers in your head. After you crossed that threshold, you were gone.

And when you came back – soaked in blood and feeling more alive than you had in weeks – you were staring at the ground. At the hopscotch.

Did you used to play this, when you were younger? Did you have friends you ran around with, giggling and laughing and playing? Were they kind? Were you kind? You hoped you were kind. You hoped that whatever you are now was a product of the tadpole, or a sick joke played by a god.

What of your parents? Did they care for you, give you candies and toys? Idly, you remember the sight of a Teddy bear held by one of the tiefling children back in the grove, and wonder if you had such a thing when you were young.

Staring up at the sky, you took in a deep breath, a heavy weight settling in your chest. Gripping the dagger tight – the steel now stained with so much blood, you were sure the blade would forever be tinted red – you stashed it back on your belt, and headed back to camp.

• • • • • • •

“Looks like something tore through the goblins here,” was the first thing Shadowheart said when you walked into the Blighted Village. Your hand twitches by your side, “Let's hope whatever it was is long gone.”

Wyll hummed, tentatively poking at one of the corpses with his rapier before turning it over to examine the damage, “Such deep cuts… I'd be tempted to say a wild bear at best, and a gnoll at worst.”

“We should keep moving,” It was a struggle to keep your voice from shaking. Whether from excitement or fear… you didn't know, “In case it comes back.”

“Are you faring well?” Wyll set a hand on your shoulder, shaking you out of your stupor.

“You do look rather pale.”

“I'm fine, Shadowheart,” You replied, shrugging Wyll's hand off. You moved forward, passing over the hopscotch you saw last night, “Just didn't sleep well. That's all.”

That's all.