#and her symmetry with my durge is killing me

[stillsimpingforaymeric]

I thought I was going to be a karlach-wife but oh my god Minthara

[othwyn]

It's been a long time since I've written anything, and I wrote this at 5am, so please forgive me.

(Spoilers again)

(My MC isn't Durge in-game but it makes me want to start one with him)

"Othwyn... I need to speak with you. Privately."

Her words were sharp, but her voice cracked with sincerity. The druid looked up from the plants he was tending around his tent, a shiver running down his spine. Shadowheart's grip on his soul was built from both fear and adoration in equal measure. The horrible voices from his cursed subconscious murmured.

You care for her. Perhaps you even love her by now. What have you done? What did you do?

He approached, his arms stiff on either side of himself, as if he was fighting between three impossible forces. And he was. "Is this not private enough for you?" He attempted a smile, feigning ignorance of the entire situation.

"Don't be coy," she interjected. She regretted the tone immediately as his face fell, but she steeled her resolve. She lowered her voice to a hushed scolding whisper. "I showed you a secret memory. You know well of my fear of wolves, you felt as I did. You know my memory as if it were your own. I gave that to you. You may shapeshift into any animal you wish, and yet this morning you chose the object of my most intimate fear." A hint of betrayal and sadness washed over her face. "Why would you do that?"

His knees buckled for a moment and he touched her shoulders, then held her cheeks in his hands. "My gods, I... I didn't think! I'm so sorry," he stammered, searching for the words. "It was an act of instinct, I needed the advantages of that form, I-"

She leaned into his touch for a moment and closed her eyes. "Please. Never do it again." Her brow furrowed and she glared at him through her moonstone green eyes, glazed with exhaustion. She's supposed to be upset with him, but it's hard to resist his comforting presence. He really didn't mean-... no. This needs never to happen again. "I cannot face combat and childhood trauma both at once. At least... not from you." She took his hands from her face and pushed them back against his chest. "We will speak no more of this. Good night." She hurriedly marched back to her tent and closed the curtain. She would be alone in her nightly prayers.

Othwyn rubbed his hands where her fingers were just moments before. His warm infernal skin was still cool where she had touched him.

You know how to make the shame go away. Snuff out the source.

You love her.

You love her.

You love her.

You fucking fool. Destroy her before she can can do the same to you.

The Butler's hideous visage, both seen and not, breathed hot against his pointed ear. "You know the deed that must be done. You know what I am here to ask. It's happened before..." a wicked smile cracked his chapped lips, icepick teeth shining in the starlight. "This kill would earn great favor, but... poetic symmetry would be even more pleasing. Milord... make her nightmares come true. Realize the artistic vision we've painted...." A crackling hiss marked his exit, like embers doused.

The druid's horned brow dripped with sweat. He had to get away from camp. Trembling with adrenaline, he bolted for the forest, shoes forgotten. His feet slammed hard into every thorn and root, bleeding with a desperate plea to carry him as far away as possible. His eyes squeezed shut, he didn't see the cliff. Feeling the rocky border at the last moment, he skidded to a stop, stones popping down into the steep ravine. It got eerily quiet in that moment. He knelt down on his hands and knees, pressing his face against the cold craggy ground. There were no creatures stirring, no natural nightly symphony of which he was so fond. It was as if Shar herself had joined forces with whatever was plaguing him, to get back at her lost lamb. Indeed, this night was as dark as she wanted every night and day to be. Shar's perfect dream. But he would not go quietly, to the Urge or to any dark goddess. A pain shot through him, shaking him to his core. It was unnatural. It was as if his body was being rended apart and rebuilt. A spell he did not mean to cast, a spell he did not want to cast. An abomination, a blaspheme unto the Oak Father, an unwilling wildshape. He cried out into the silence, paralyzed in muscle fatigue. He couldn't hold it back. His cries turned to howls as his body beamed with the light of the Weave, convulsing in torment more gnoll-like than wolf-like. His movements were forced, like a meat puppet he clamored through the underbrush back to the camp.

Shadowheart laid under a shimmering blanket of darkness, taking note of strange black clouds above. She left her tent out of weakness, a secret hope Othwyn would come lie next to the extinguished campfire with her. His stammered apology, the horror at his own oversight, she knew it was true. She bristled with resentment again. He's enchanted her somehow. She's trusted him alone out of everyone she can remember. She abandoned her mission, her life's purpose. Shar. And he silently encouraged her. The fucking asshole trusted her to burn her own bridges. She sighed... that was an unfair thought. She knows in her soul that sparing the Nightsong was what needed to be done. Her true moral duty, not a lie by the literal goddess of secrecy and pain. No god good, evil, or otherwise, was going to tell her what the truth was anymore. That was her choice, not his. But if it weren't for him... her thoughts trailed off into a pool of sleep.

Crack.

She rolled onto her feet in one swift motion, dagger already drawn. The camp did not stir. "Who goes there? Man, beast, or mindflayer?"

Not ten feet from her in the abyss, two familiar pale green tiefling eyes stared back at her like a storm on the horizon. The familiarity gave way to confusion as the shape took form in her vision. Four legs, tail, sharp ears and snout, fangs gleaming in a frightening pant. Her shattered memory echoed in her mind painfully. Like a spell, it froze her in place and she could barely think, let alone breathe. The grinning mouth of the beast leveled itself with her face and licked her scarred chin. Hot tears welled up in her eyes. "So it is you...." The tears threatened to spill over, but she had not cried in so long; to cry over this seemed a disgusting waste to her now. Was this some kind of sick joke? What devil would joke like that? Did she truly know him at all? Even knowing it was him did not make her feel anything less like a scared girl in the woods.

The terror and fury in her eyes loosened the grip of the Urge. He screamed inside his head, grasping at the edges of her mind with their neural link. Please let me in. Please see my plight, the inner horror at my body's possession. Please.

She let his mind take hers, to feel as he felt, his mind, the memories and the present, that alien intimacy. She needed him to have some kind of excuse. She was still frozen in fear, with his fangs dangerously close to her. His bright white bottom canines grazed her neck with each humid breath. She saw the truth. It was more horrible than any other scenario she had conjured. The druid she shared camp with for months now, whom she trusted with her life, was cursed by forces far more malicious and twisted than she feared Shar was. This whole time he had been fighting the urge to kill anybody and everybody he met, and actively fought his body for nonviolent solutions at nearly every opportunity. He had barely even killed Absolutists. This thing was forcing him against his very nature. He was gentle and charismatic and brilliant to her. This thing was not him. She knew if she hurt him in this form, he would turn back unharmed. She just. Had. To. Move.

He too was frozen in fear. A stalemate, it would seem. If he faltered, he would lose control and close his jaws around her throat. He felt like a half-tripped trap. Something had to give in.

Thud.

The thunk of her dagger into his neck reverberated in her wrist. Blood spouted as she pulled it out, a wrenching gasp through his torn throat sucked it in with a sickening gurgle. He was relieved, but even still felt fear. No matter how many times you die in wildshape, it never feels safe. You always worry one day perhaps it will still be your throat that was slit. He dropped his guard. The Urge snapped his jaws shut in the chaos of blood, blade, and fang. He felt something between his teeth and begged for it not to be a single hair on Shadowheart's head. Then the pain came. It was her hand, still holding the dagger. Her own blood beaded on her knuckles and forearm, caught in a vice, but victorious. The soft glow of the spell surged and then faded. Othwyn stood before her with blood splashed on his chest, entirely uninjured. The Urge, spoiled for its want of sick "poetry", quieted itself. No fun in raw murder tonight. He collapsed in the dirt and openly wept. She felt the absence of the urge in his mind. She dropped the dagger and grabbed him by his horns, lifting his head up to meet her gaze. He could not explain it to her any more than linking their minds had. She knew everything he did, and she was sure of it. She had to kill his wolf form in a way, to free him. If only for tonight. Now it was just the two of them again.

"I hurt you..." he mumbled an incantation and kissed her arm, the wounds closing into dark scabs. She knelt down with him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I've felt so much worse from lesser foes. You've never hurt me on purpose." She pressed her forehead against his. "I forgive you. For everything. You've had so much on your mind, I had no idea. You've done so much for me... I'm going to be right here for you. Now and always, as I said before." She gave him a small but stern headbutt. "But no more secrets. From either of us. I've kept enough, and so have you."

Othwyn's tears didn't stop streaming down his face. "I turn myself into that which haunts your dreams, attack you, and you just forgive me? Just like that?" His stomach turned with guilt.

"NONE of that was you. You are the victim of a horrible curse. I've done so many things in the service of Shar that now disturb me, I cannot blame myself for them all. And you are certainly more innocent than I. If you blame yourself for this... how could you forgive my past honestly?" Their eyes met, pale green like fireflies in the darkness.

"I concede my point then..." he whispered. "Thank you."

"There is no need for thanks. We're partners. We have enough to fear from the rest of the world," she put her hands in his. "I am not afraid of you."

"I am afraid of mysel-" she silenced him with her lips.

"No more of that. I've told you, it isn't you. The first distinction we make is between you and the curse." She kissed him again to quiet any reply. "Now go to sleep, before I decide I can't let you."

He dried his eyes and sniffed a bit. "You make me feel strong when I am at my weakest in front of you." They helped each other up and embraced for a short moment.

"You are so very strong, I don't know what our merry band would do without you." She buried her face in his mane of red hair. "But... I am tying you up tonight, just in case."

He raised an eyebrow and couldn't stifle a wry smile. "Is this going to be an every night thing?"

"If you're good. Or, I suppose especially if you're bad," she laughed, pulling some rope from her pack. "Now turn around."

Baldur's Gate 3 ACT II Dark Urge spoilers

I said this to my wife before bed and she just looked at me like WTF is wrong with you

(But like...if any fic writers would pick this up... I'd read it 👀)