#astarion hits different as the dark urge

[imageingrunge]

this is perhaps the sweetest moment ive ever had with him

[umabbas]

"I'd rather be the only dark power inside your body, if it's all the same to you."

[maegalkarven]

Obsessed with how Gortash in "Empty Prayers" AU fits in with the team.

He is a failed chosen of god, as well as Gale, Shadowheart, Nemo and somewhat even Lae'zel.

He is the war criminal type with a really cool class/subclass. He has (bad) history with Karlach and Wyll (due to kidnapping of his father) and (good) history with Nemo.

The party of Gale, Nemo, Gortash and Astarion is pretty much "bad and/or questionable decisions" bingo. They can not be allowed to go out exploring like that because things will go badly (for everyone else involved).

He wants to rule the world, but doesn't have the means to anymore + his former patron god WILL torture him endlessly if he dies, so he cannot die.

He WILL have to learn to rely on other people bc not only he doesn't have a choice in that, but his own survival is closely linked to how well he'll adjust to the new reality.

He probably tries to avoid sleeping or sleeps as little as possible at first because he doesn't trust anyone in the camp but Nemo, and Nemo is kind of the reason of his downfall, so it's complicated.

Nemo has to convince him to sleep and stay guard for him because Enver lowering his defenses amidst strangers and enemies? Absolutely not.

The awful adjustment from being at the top of the world to being at the end of the food chain (again). The determination to climb back no matter what.

The fact what he wears his coat at all times bc without he is vulnerable to fear and that won't go.

Bonus point: Bane not answering his prayers and abandoning him while Bhaal tries to claim Nemo over and over again.

The "my god left me" VS "your god can't leave you alone". Hating Nemo for still having his god's attention, pitying Nemo because Bhaal is the last god you want to be acknowledged by.

[bloodlust-1]

︶꒦꒷ A Night of Blood ꒷꒦︶

Astarion x fem Tav — 18+ Explicit

Summary: Tav finds herself in a dangerous situation, completely taken over until Astarion saves her. Astarion would do anything for her. He’d Kill for her.

T/W: blood, death, assault, nudity, angst

Note: my first post here, and I plan on writing up more stories like this. So stay tuned to those. Hope you give it a read <3

The latest Astarion fic (Ballroom dance)

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

As the temperature drops, the cold night of the bustling city of Baldurs Gate took on a different character. One that was serene and uncomfortably dark. Ever since the victory of defeating the elder brain, the urge for crime decreased and most foul play was done in the shadows. Which was the Perfect time for trouble in the streets, one that Tav was unlucky to be in.

She usually never traveled alone, especially at night because Astarion was always by her side. The relationship between the two grew stronger after the fall of the Elder brain. The elf was learning to love life, love Tav, and…to love himself. However old habits die hard, Astarion was still extremely possessive over her, and it hurt his ego a bit that Tav felt safe to walk the streets alone at night after a drink with the girls at the tavern. 

The contrast between the stillness of the night and the movement of the city can be quite captivating. Tav bundled up in warm clothing, her breath visible in the chilly air. The city lights casted a soft glow on the streets, creating an ethereal atmosphere. The sound of distant laughter and occasional footsteps echoed through the empty streets, adding to the sense of solitude. The distant banter of drunken orcs, elves, and drows of all kinds of races filled empty spaces of the streets. 

As Tav walked her way home she noticed the beauty of her surroundings that she overlooked during the busy daytime hours. The architecture of buildings stands out against the dark sky, their details illuminated by streetlights. The thought of Tav’s adventures and the history she made with her new found friends and companion. Her heart fluttered on the walk home. 

All too deep in her memories of first meeting Astarion, a shiver runs down her spine. Tav becomes all too aware of her surroundings and her senses become heightened as she looks behind her shoulder for danger lurking nearby. Her surroundings showed no signs of danger, but her senses spiraled all too familiar with fear. 

Tav began walking quicker, then her breathing became quicker, and the only thought was to fight back, “Who ever is there I will fucking ripe your throat out!” She turned back to the ally and pulled out a pocket knife. 

A pair of glowing red eyes sparkled in the shadows. Never did it break eye contact, they didn’t even blink before a masculine voices chimes out, “And here I thought this was going to be easy.” 

A man’s body emerged from a dark shadow and the light perfect hit his face. An elf, one that you never seen before. His eye color was nothing but a hint that he was a vampire. He was much bigger in stature to Tav, and his black hair flopped over his face. 

“A vampire. What a lovely surprise. If you hadn’t caught me a little tipsy I would’ve been had your blood spilled on the floor.” Tav sarcastically chimed yet there was still a hint of intimidation in her voice. She meant what she said, but anyone would be a fool to challenge her, the hero of baldurs gate. 

Tav kept her composure, knife in hand, and furrowed her eyebrows, “I think it would be best if you walk away and find yourself a nice animal to feed on outside the gate.” 

“But that wouldn’t be a challenge, now would it? The hunter and the prey— the adrenaline rush of getting your next meal. I wouldn’t expect a mere mortal like you to understand.” He took in a deep breath and took a step closer to Tav. 

She took a step back, “I warn you now…You don’t know who you are fucking with.” 

“Oh! But I think I do— the hero, the beauty of Baldurs Gate, you know people can’t stop gossiping about you. How a beauty can fight against such a force. I didn’t believe it until I saw you for myself. How the rumors don’t compare to you in person..and how soft your skin looks. How it exciting it would be to see your lovely neck.” He tilted his head and his stare become uncomfortably…sensual? 

What a vampire thing to say. She went through this already with Astarion but never did he make Tav feel like a piece of meat. “Okay, cut the shit. I don’t want to spoil my night so let’s make an agreement to part ways and never see each other again.” 

He started to walk closer to her so much so that she could see his cold breaths in the air. How calmly he was breathing compared to Tav’s made the hair on her arms stand. Her fight or flight kicked in and she took one good swipe at his face. 

“AGHH!” The vampire grabbed his cheek, the blood flowed between his fingers like oil, “You bitch!” He used the weight of his shoulders to push Tav onto the floor, causing her to drop her knife. 

The struggle began. The vampire pounced on her limp body, holding her hands over her head on the cold concrete floor. His eyes glowed in lust, maybe for something more than blood. 

Tav screamed and struggled under his grasp, but he was much larger in size and the only person she thought of was Astarion. 

Tav cried out Astarion’s name. A plea, the sound of sadness rasped from her throat and a single tear rolled down her face. Her voiced echoed the walls yet no one came. 

His attention became suddenly pleased, “Astarion— is it? Oh where is he now…? I know he’s been sleezing around with you. How unfortunate it wasn’t me.” A wicked laughter left the unknown man’s lips. Tav kicked and squirmed, attempting to push him off. 

“I am going to enjoy this more if you keep this up…I might even make you a spawn of my own.” his voice like pins and needles from the stone tone. 

Tav could feel the heat of his breath as his lips got closer and closer to the side of her neck. She closed her eyes so tightly, just anticipating the sharp sensation of fangs. 

Suddenly, a noise of a grunts mixed with slicing filled the ally. It was Astarion stabbing the back of her attacker. It was a sight she only seen when Astarion killed Cazador. The pure rage in Astarion’s eyes was chilling, his face was splattered with foreign blood. Astarion let out a scream each time his knife pulled out of his back. Each stab caused more blood to spill on Tav until the body became limp and fell over to its side. Lifeless. 

Both Tav and Astarion hyperventilating, clouds huffed out their mouth. Astarion reached out for Tav and picked her up bridal style,”Gods! Are you hurt!?” He was frantic and Tav couldn’t help but feel guilty. Pure hurt from his voice piecered her heart. A tone she wished to never hear again the day he killed Cazador. 

“I-I’m not hurt…” her voice was shakened. Clearly she was frightened from the encounter considering she was stripped of her weapon. How things would’ve been different if Astarion didn’t show up. 

“We’re leaving now.” He clutched her body and brought Tav to their home. He was quiet on the journey there. Tav wasn’t sure if he was mad, sad, or scared. Maybe all. All she could do was bask in the comfort of his protection. 

Astarion placed Tav on her feet, “What in the hells were you thinking?! This is why I fear you being out there alone! I know all too well of what lurks the shadows, looking for a pretty little snack to sink my teeth in!” He rubbed his temples to reduce his stress. His loud tone hit Tav like a ton of bricks. To hear him yelling so harshly, but she knew it was only out of concern.

Astarion let out a long single sigh, ”I’m going to make a bath for you, you’re covered in blood.” He reached over for a towel and handed it to her. “Meet me there when you’ve settled in.” 

Tav got undressed and went over to the bathing room. Astarion was already inside the tub and when she caught his eyes, he reached out his hand for her to join. His facial expression were softer now. 

She dropped her towel to the ground, but she couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t even break eye contact with her. Usually he’d awe at Tav’s naked body, but not this time. He was more concerned with her well being. 

“That’s it..one foot at a time..” His voice gentle, he guided her in the warm water and started to clean her stained skin. His hands washed Tav’s skin as if she were fine china. Each stroke was filled with care and love. 

“Turn around, love.” He whispered and she did exactly that. Tav turned her back to him as he cleaned her skin. It smelled of fresh floral and vanilla. Tav admits, he was talented in perfumery. 

Then, she felt arms wrap around her body, his head rested against her shoulder as he planted a kiss on her neck, “I’m sorry I yelled at you…I’ll try not to be so— hostile. Next time please let me know a time so I could come get you.” 

She nodded her head. Tav knew he was being sincere. She also felt Terrible for proving him right. It was stupid of her and now she felt like the biggest burden to him.

“I’m so sorry I thought I could take him on myself. I swear I almost had him. He was just…so big and it was hard to shake him off and I —“

Astarion cut her off with a gentle squeeze, “You don’t have to explain yourself. Just be grateful you have a wonderful vampire spawn that could find your sweet scent anywhere in this city.” 

“I suppose I do.” She placed her hands over his and squeezed them. 

A peaceful silence filled the room and she couldn’t help but replay the sight of that vampire slumped dead next to her body. It was intense, scary, and surreal. Tav then thought of a question that had popped up. 

“Star..?” 

“Yes my love?” 

“Why haven’t you turn me into a vampire yet?” She held her breath to this question. It felt like a sensitive topic but she couldn’t help but remember that the vampire wanted to turn her back there. 

Astarion’s body went tense. He slowly peeled his body away from her back and turned her shoulders to look at him, “I fell in love with everything you are. I love that your blood runs warm, the way you make me feel alive. To take away these things I love about you. Not even to selfishly make you understand a curse like mine. We are perfectly different and I couldn’t bring myself to turn you. Not unless it’s something we truly compromise on, but that feels unnecessary now..” 

“Wow…I didn’t know you felt like that.” Tav couldn’t help but feel her lips tug into a smile. “That’s was so sweet, I can’t wait to tell our future kids about this.” She joked in hopes she’d get a reaction. And that she did. 

His eyes widened,”Ah! Dear, don’t you think that’s for the very, very, VERY, far distant long time away future? I mean look at me, I can’t walk to streets without getting stares, imagine walking the streets with a baby strapped to my chest! Hah! I can’t imagine that.” He finished by flicking water at Tav with a pouty expression. 

It made her giggle, she knows he’s trying his hardest to warm up to feeling loving emotions. He didn’t even see himself as a good person, and there’s no way he’d see himself as a good dad any time soon. He needed time to figure out what he wants in life, and Tav was going to be there every step of the way. 

Tav hooked her arms around his neck. She planted a passionate kiss on his lips. The kiss was soft at first, loving with every push of their lips. It grew more intense and her warm tongue twirled against his cold one. The temperature difference between their bodies was intoxicating. It was thrilling and made their hearts race. 

Astarion pulled away between kisses, “I can hear..feel your heart beating.” he grabbed Tav’s thighs and pulled them on top of his groin.

She could feel his hard shaft press against her stomach as they sloppily kisses each other. Small moans and grunts filled the room as Astarion teased, groped, and rubbed every part of her body. 

Tav ran her fingers through his white curls and tugged his hair into her palms. His eyes sparkled in hunger and Tav spotted him staring at her neck in awe. 

“Why don’t you—“ she pulled her hair away from the nape of her neck,”bite me..” 

Her offer brought a smile to his face. He brushed his fingers over her neck, tickling her skin. Her skin crawled in goose bumps, but it felt amazingly sensitive. 

His movement were so gentle yet sensual. Astarion placed a trail of kisses against her skin. A shiver ran up her back and his shaft twitched in excitement with every squirm she made under his control. 

His fangs grazed over her neck. He loved the way she surrendered her body for him. Astarion Never had control, and this new found control over Tav was so addicting. He pressed his fangs into her skin. A wince of pleasure left her lips and they both held each other harder now. The pain and pleasure was all too exciting and Tav started to drop her head. Astarion clutched a hand full of her hair and pulled her head back to expose her neck even more. 

His jaw clenched, his mouth filled with the sweet slick of blood. His body instantly rejuvenated itself. Whenever Tav was so kind to give blood it was when Astarion was at his peak of strength, dexterity, and energy. 

“You’re perfect every single time.” He growled. He placed his hands over her hips as he licked up the trail of blood over her collar bones. 

“Mph..” Tav winced but the Icy sensation of Astarion’s tongue was an experience she was all too familiar with. 

Astarion pulled away, “I really don’t want to hurt you.. but I hope I live 1,000 more years with you so I can continue to keep doing this. You were my first ever taste of human blood, and you’ll be my last.” A hint of authority left his lips. It was loving yet firm, he was telling her she was his, forever. 

Tav sank her head into his chest. Astarion was possessive, yes but…She didn’t mind it all at despite the little red flags. Apart of her always wanted to be needed and cherished, and Astarion was giving all that to her. 

She let out a sigh,” I love you.” 

Astarion twirled a piece of her hair between his fingers. He stared up at the ceiling. Accepting what his life is now and not for what it was with Cazador. The sense of family that didn’t want to spill his blood was something…new. Refreshing even. “Till death do us part, my sun. I love you forever.” 

Any thoughts? Comment 👇🏼 I love to engage !

[meanbossart]

LORE ASK COMPILATION: "Still not banging Halsin, Squid Games, Sun King, Failing at love quizzes, Bottoms, Tops, and Cats" Edition

He didn't, Halsin wasnt around for act 3, too busy healing land and saving ghost children or something!

THANK YOU/I'M SORRY, I'm surprised there isn't more Bhaalist Dark Urge/Spawn Astarion stuff out there. Don't get me wrong, I love a good evil power couple, but who can resist the good ol'heartbreak of a vicious unending cycle brought on by your own senselessness!

That wasn't something I was interested in previously just because acquiring the slayer form isn't part of his canon, but I've been looking at enough fromsoft games' monster designs that I might be a little inspired to try LOL

Also I am just a fan of the canon design and never before thought it needed altering. But I'll let it cook ;)

God damn it.

DU drow was VERY antagonizing towards the emperor since the moment he dropped the facade, which made the attempt ESPECIALLY hilarious - that poor guy is so, so lonely.

I don't recall the exact wording in-game, but once the emperor took his shiny squid pecs out and shot his shot, DU drow recoiled and called him disgusting. After having the visions of Stelmane forced upon him to make whatever baffling point the emperor was trying to make, DU drow smugly asserted that he had finally let the mask slip and their very terrible date ended with the Emperor enforcing their reluctant need for one another, for the time being.

In-prose, that would honestly be pretty much it. DU drow would have reacted with absolute revulsion at the prospect of being hit on by a mindflayer, and taken the Emperor's (miscalculated) moment of lashed-out vulnerability as a win - as proof that he was exactly as duplicitous as he always assumed the Emperor to be.

I can assure everyone that I am as entertained by the thought as the rest of you and it is in the cards for future art, I just have... So many prompts... I have at least 5 different mini-comics I want to make, BESIDES singular pieces, BESIDES the fanfic... I wish I had more time and more hands.

But DU drow's unlikely semi-success as a parental figure is hilarious to me. I think about it constantly.

I haven't entertained that thought much because its antithetical to DU drow's character. Whether "good" or evil, he wouldn't allow Astarion to ascend because of his fear of no longer being needed and his reluctance to watch his partner be consumed by out-sourced power and changed into something he despises. Realistically, in a world where Astarion is allowed to ascend they could only break up and inevitably kill each other soon after.

That said, I am fascinated by the Sun King and the implications that path has for his character. So far that is an arc that I can only really see Astarion taking on alone, though - that might change in the future, might not. We'll see!

IF I CAN MAKE IT NOT ENTIRELY MISERABLE, I JUST MIGHT.

He got 2 out of 3 questions wrong - which is to say he was way too honest and Astarion didn't like that.

Except for the "when is he the happiest" question, which he correctly answered with "when he's neck deep in gore".

This is not even a lore-embelishment, this is actually how that scene went for me and I cackled about it for ages.

He would love to get tied up for old-times' sake. I doubt he knows much about fancy knots but Astarion might (though I might be in a minority that doubts his enforced "sex life" was actually that interesting at all.)

Thank you so much!

You are mostly correct. Bhaalist drow, both pre and post tadpole would be much more keen on the idea of having people around who fulfill their every desire - EXCEPT for killing. That is a joy they take on for themselves.

"Canon" DU drow values his independence a lot, on the other hand. He's neutral on the idea of slavery (what a sentence) and wouldn't be opposed to temporary servicing, but the idea of having someone around waiting for orders doesn't attract him at all, or at least would get on his nerves quick. He much preffers to do things himself and makes sure that other people see how much he does not need assistance.

The answer is yes, basically LOL.

DU drow both adores and despises Sceleritas presence and he doesn't know why. It very much reflects the type of relationship they used to have prior to DU drow's memory loss, and it's one of those things that he has conflicting feelings about but not any context for them.

I sadly doubt that the boys would become parents during Shadowheart's lifetime (it's for the best, they have a lot of work to do before I would trust them not to drop a baby), but honestly she strikes me as really liking kids as long as she doesn't have to, well, have them LOL.

And thank you so much for enjoying them and humoring me!

I think it is less about bottoming-topping and more about enjoying a more submissive role during sex, as well as in other scenarios. He believes that giving control away is, in a way, a show of devotion that goes both ways - his own for the willingness to do so, and his partner's for not taking advantage of it despite his wanting them to do so.

With one-night-stands (which he occasionally had pre-tadpole) he would still bottom without any of the submissiveness. This is because he didn't have the capacity to understand what it was about bottoming that attracted him, and led him to feeling constantly unfulfilled and frustrated (he just isn't build for no-strings-attatched type of arrangements, lol.)

This means that he really could operate either way depending on the partner as long as he got that fix of docility, whether it be from the bottom or top.

I think of Astarion as being similarly versatile but leaning more in the opposite direction when it comes to power-dynamics - though it being less about dominance itself and more about being pampered and catered to - and, of course, getting to do what he wants. Though he's willing to try most things a partner is particularly enthusiastic for just to see how he feels about it.

That said with DU drow he does prefer to top for a plethora of reasons.

I didn't have this piece of lore thought-up at the time, but I should have made them look like the lady he lost his virginity to.

Him and Astarion were gobbling those things up until the emperor reveal, then they both quit it cold-turkey after DU drow stomped the astral-tadpole dead (and back then you didn't have to roll any dice to do it, because otherwise we would have weird veiny DU drow to deal with for sure because he would NOT have suceeded that save.)

DU drow's feelings towards animals is a constant in every iteration of his character. They are organic little pieces of art wandering about the world that act upon their own laws and regulations, ones which humanoids aren't privy to - except for when they intrude into that world through magic and try to understand it through their overly-complicated systems and concepts. If a cat made the temple it's home, it can stay.

[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

Forever, mine

Pairing: Astarion x reader.

Warnings: Dark themes, Angst, Concubine!Reader, Yandere! possessive, obsessive Astarion, Forced relationship, One-sided love, Gore, Murder, Bloodsucking, Turning. Part 1.

Summary: You should've known you'll always be his.

You sighed softly as you stared out of the window, the burning star above brought beautiful rays of sunlight into the dark bed chamber. Happy, and gleefully birds of all kinds chirped to a love song of their own.

You wonder what that was like.

To be happy and free.

You were weighed down by his arm laying on your hip as he slept so peacefully while you wallowed in self-pity and misery. Rustling of the slik sheets told you that the day would be another torture. "Good morning, my darling treasure." Astarion's smooth and elegant voice greeted you, a little tired rasp enlaced within. You turned around to face him, a practiced smile playing on your lips, "Good morning, my love." You greeted in return, swallowing down the rising venom as you called him your love, a pet name he rained hell to be called.

He will never be your love.

nevertheless, you melted as you looked into your master's crimson eyes, Love, and obsession swirled around in his iris like rippling wine as he looked into your own, his normally pristine white curls a mess, and his pale skin seemed to sparkle in the light of the sun, and the soft yet smug smile he wears, he looked like an angel. immersed by his beauty, you didn't feel his tender touch upon your forearm till he spoke "As much as I want to stay in bed, and cuddle you into my arms. We have work to do." Astarion sighed dramatically, running his fingers through his hair, and gave you a wink before sliding out the bed.

The throne room was a glorious sight, ceiling high above your head, a story painted of love, betrayal, and vengeance embosom in the round walls. Shining gold and marbled white beams run down to the smooth wooden floors. A rose gold arch separated the thrones from the rest of the ballroom, maroon with dark patterned curtains drape to the sides, showcasing the vampire Lord and you on your thrones. Astarion held none back on his. Different shades of gold, black, and red designed his large throne while yours was a bit smaller and with only colors of silver and white.

You fought back the urge to roll your eyes as another devoted follower praised and stroked Astarion's ego before moving on to her problem as others lined up behind her, waiting for their turn. Your butt began to ache as you sat for what must have been hours. Since Astarion had learned of Soren, your day started and ended with him, your old chamber was now one of the many guest rooms as your stuff was moved into your master's chamber. You rarely were able to leave his side.

It was getting harder and harder to sit still, harder to blur Astarion and his loyal subjects out. Laying your cheek on your hand you looked around, looking for anything to keep your attention until you spotted a familiar man, frantically waving at the entrance of the ballroom. Soran! You quickly looked to your right, your master was still focused on his task to notice your reaction.

You cleared your throat.

Astarion head turned slightly to you, holding his hand up, effectively silencing the blubbering woman. "Yes, my treasure?" He finally looked at you, his crimson orbs filled with happiness."I must excuse myself," you stood up and feigned a desperate look, "Nature is calling me." Astarion stared at you with an unreadable expression before he simply dismissed you with a wave of his hand and returned his attention to the woman.

As you walked down the small stairs and out of the ballroom, you grabbed Soran's arm and both of you ran down the halls, almost unable to contain the laughter bubbling in your throats. Finally, you reached the vast, colorful garden and your backs hit the grassy ground.

"You're positively insane! He could have seen you!" you laughed as Soran crawled on top of you.

"No one can keep me from you," he grinned, his teal eyes putting the sky's blue shade to shame. Everything in the world felt right when you were with him. The birds chirped a special song just for you, and the fragile breeze carried the sweet scent of the flowers around you. The light from above beamed down on Soran's back, and it seemed like a halo appeared on his head. He's an angel, and he is yours. You talked about everything and anything, time flew by before you could stop it.

"My lady!!" Lyra shouted, out of nowhere, her long blonde hair flowing behind her as she rushed to you, "My lady." She repeated after taking in a few shakily breaths, her forest greens finally looked up at you, and a glint passed through her eyes and then the look of panic settled in. "What is it, Lyra?" You spoke calmly, hoping it helped her. "Master Astarion calls for you! He wants to throw a ball and he said he aides your expertise." She said frantically, pulling you up and began to drag you away. You got one last glance at Soran as you were dragged pass the corner.

"What do you think of this, treasure?" Astarion hummed, holding up some (f/c) fabrics, his movement was nonchalant yet still elegant. You tilted your head slightly, eyeing the individual pieces, and then pointed to the darker shade of the color and he handed the satin to the seamstress. "What is this ball about?" You asked with a falsely happy smile, your arm hooked on his as you both moved on to the next set of items. "You'll simply have to wait to find out, curious little minx." He purred mischievously.

The ballroom was splendiferously decorated, with colors of (f/cs), and your master's colors involved some of the decorations. The floors were polished to perfection, and the lights made it seem like a magical dream. Your gown swept the dancefloor as you were guided and twirled along by Astarion and before you could stop it, a genuine smile graced your lips. "You look exquisite." Astarion smiled back as he twirled you once more and finished off by dipping you. The crowd that was watching applauded, the music stopped for a bit then played another song. "There is something I must ask you." He said seriously, despite his tone and intense eyes he gently moved a stray hair behind your ear.

You watched him get one knee, frozen in place, and eyes widened as he pulled a ring that must of been crafted by the hand of a god, out of his pocket. "My treasure..I haven't always been the best of lovers. I was torn by my past, clinging to the first person I loved in all my 200 years of living. I thought you could be just a replacement but you were more. You made my cold, dead heart feel alive once again. Will you marry me?" He asked, but you both know he wasn't asking, if he truly was too, he'd do it behind doors. he wanted an audience, a guarantee that you'd say yes unless you wanted to face his wrath like never before. You did the only you could do, "Yes!" You smiled and your eyes began to water as the ladies and noble clapped, some laughing heartily thinking this was all a romantic display, and your tears were of joy. How wrong they are.

The click of your heels and tge sniffling of poorly hidden tears echoed through the elongated halls of the palace as you rushed to the servant headquarters. You had to find Soran and leave this place while you could.

Something felt off when you reached his room, it was too eerie, and as you opened the door time slowed down as you took in the view before you. The furniture was knocked over and broken. Pieces of flesh, blood, and bone spread across the walls and floors, and in the middle of it was Astarion. Dripping in the crimson liquid, his pale hands dyed red and coated in ripped bits of flesh, his steamed-to-perfection garments rustled and soaked in the same red that lingered in his hair, on his face, lips, and hands.

"Ah, there she is, the woman of the hour. We were wondering when you'd show up," Astarion chuckled sinisterly, kicking the body he stood above. The mangled form turned more your way, and horror flooded your veins with ice. Soran.

"You truly figured I wouldn't know of your treacherous actions? Treasure I thought you knew me." Astarion sneered, stepping over Soran. You step back. "Astarion, please I-" You tried to find anything to say, yet words failed you because, for the first time in a while, you were terrified.

Astarion shushed you gently as he continued to back you up against the wall, "Nothing you can say will save you pet." His fingers gripped your locks and pulled your head to the side, exposing your neck. "M-master! Please, don't" you begged, one hand struggling to release your hair from his grip and the other pushing against his chest, it made no difference. "You will be mine, for eternity." His pearly fangs pierced your skin, every gulp of blood he swallowed, your life slipped away from you. Just as you gave into the darkness, a warm, iron-tasting fluid dripped into your mouth.

You never should have taken his hand.

Taglist: @horizonstride, @xxmaddhatter39xx

[lynnlovesthestars]

The veil.- Intro

Astarion x OC ( @wisterialynn )

Genre: reverse isekai.

Synopsis: Astarion falls in love with whoever is hiding behind the veil, and it hits him so hard that he can't forget him. Not even when Lynn starts a new save.

AN: hello this is the prologue of the reverse isekai story I've been working on for a while.. It's supposed to be a lighthearted story, mostly fluff and crack, low on drama, but low-key healing since both oc and Astarion have plenty of trauma. Basically domestic ff.

Also I think I will add some of the renders I made of Lynn and Astarion as I publish the chapters since I have so many - and are so cute.

Taglist: @spacebarbarianweird @sessils @roguishcat

Lynn couldn't help it. When something caught his mind, it was hard to pull him away, so when a new game came out and he downloaded it, he knew he was up for sleepless nights.

It was a breath of fresh air in his monotonous and grey life. It had been ages since he allowed himself to feel something that was not sadness or anger. He sat in front of his screen and he came to life.

He didn't speak much in his day, neither with peers or family since he distanced himself from his roots, moving to a different town, focusing on his work, but once he was knees deep in his little and silly game? He'd comment, talk, sass even, he truly came out of his shell.

It was something Astarion had grown to adore, from the moment Lynn had first loaded his game, and Astarion felt something.. different. He felt out of place to say the least.

Gale blamed the necromancy of Thay, saying it probably connected him with something deeper, just like he was connected to his netherese orb, but Astarion knew it was something different.

And once he was freed of Cazador as well, he couldn't believe his ears.

Astarion could feel that connection becoming deeper, the veil between the two coming closer and thinner.

As he fell for his Tav, he couldn't help but fell harder for him. For his witty comments, his giggles at Astarion's compliment, his humming as he worked and forgot his side of the connection on- aka his PC.

Astarion had heard everything, every comment for the elf, every sob he let out in front of the screen, and god only knows what other sounds coming from Lynn.

Only when Lynn started his second run Astarion became gloomy. The attentions he was so used to receive shifted, Tavgliatelle- or whatever name he gave his character that time- was different, so focused on Karlach.

It didn't mean Astarion couldn't hear Lynn, how he still commented on Astarion, how despite everything he was trying to resist the urge to romance him again. Astarion understood it was just a loop, the more he'd spend time at camp, the more he'd trying and break free of the loop, the more he'd fall for the person at the other side of the screen.

He prayed.

He attempted magic.

He tried to find that small door that could lead him to his lover, until he did find it.

Lynn wanted to say he loved Astarion a normal amount, just like how you love your favourite character, but there was something different.

Astarion had touched him differently than any other, he felt his chest clench, hurt, for a bundle of pixels, he had empathized so much with him. Astarion understood Lynn and Lynn understood Astarion. And yet whatever his heart was hatching was meant to stay there, just within him and his head. In his daydreams and his sweetest nights.

"Lynn?" A rough hand gently pressed against his back as the figure hidden in the dark kneeled next to him. "Love, let's move to the bed" The voice cooed as he gently lifted Lynn from his chair, admiring for a moment his features while they were enlightened only by the light of the screen.

Astarion was glad his vampiric strength didn't get lost, as he carried the man to the bed.

He couldn't help but admire how he laid peacefully. The serious smirk he had when he was hunched over the desk, was replaced with a soft smile as if he knew who was gently sliding under the cotton sheet with him, as if he knew whose arms were wrapping around his middle, as if he knew who cradled him to his chest.

His soulmate.

-

Astarion's fingertips gently grazed the exposed back, the new feeling spreading all over his body as everything was so new, so real.

All his life no man or woman he had bedded or kissed awoke in him what the man in his grasp was doing without effort.

"My sweet sweet love" He whispered as he kissed the man's temple gently, trying his best not to stir him awake.

He had truly made it, he had crossed the veil that separated him from his love, and now he was laying against his chest, soundly asleep.

The sigh that escaped the other's lips said it all, how peaceful he felt despite being unaware. Astarion liked to imagine that Lynn was feeling safe in his grasp as if his body knew he was being held and protected by him.

-

The man stirred awake, his body aching from the day before, hissing as he tried to turn, while his body was stiff from sleep.

"There there, sunshine" Astarion cooed as he gently guided him back to lay in his arms. "You need rest"

"I do.." Lynn hummed as his hand gently reached for Astarion's cheek to rest there.

It took him a moment to realize he was not alone, tangled to the cold yet oddly familiar body.

"What the fuck" Lynn jumped up on his seat, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes, as if the Astarion laying in his bed was just a remainder of his dream, still stuck in the inside of his eyes.

"Good morning to you too, darling" Astarion chuckled as he gently caressed him. "I suppose that's human's way of saying 'oh my god Astarion, it's so nice to finally hold you" He teased as if sitting in Lynn's bedroom was normal, as if he didn't come from a game, but simply from his window.

"You can't be-" Lynn placed his hand on Astarion's cheek, trying to gauge at reality, only to be met with the cold skin again.

"I very much am, love" The vampire nodded smirking proudly as he brushed back his hair with his fingers.

"I'm still dreaming, that's it" The human couldn't help but shake his head in disbelief, as if that could erase the pungent smell of bergamot that suddenly enveloped his room.

"No, you are awake" Astarion quipped smiling and itching to move closer to shut him up with his lips.

"Astarion you are not real" Lynn said out loud, spelling each word slowly.

"I'm clearly here aren't I" He asked raising an eyebrow.

"Astarion don't be an idiot" Lynn shook his head one step away from facepalming himself.

"What if you are the one not real" Astarion clapped his hands together as if that was his gotcha moment.

"Don't start this" the human, still skeptical crossed his arms together, yet before he could completely close them, Astarion grasped at his wrist and bit the soft flesh.

The sweet taste of his blood awoke something in him, the way it slowly went down his throat thick and warm, made him dizzy but most of all left him breathless for the other man.

"That felt real" Lynn sighed as he pulled away his wrist, massaging where Astarion's lips were a second prior. That was real.

Astarion laid back for a moment, trying his best to contain the euphoria spilling from his every pore, he had a taste of divinity. Completely different from the taste of blood he was used to.

The way it ran through his body, it was real.

"I was trapped in that thing, god knows for how long, I am just a poor vampire in need of a cuddle" He admitted as he caught his breath and opened his arms to invite Lynn in.

"That's it I'm going out of my mind"

Astarion groaned. "IM GOING OUT OF MY MIND CAUSE YOU HAVE NOT HUGGED ME YET"

[y-rhywbeth2]

So glancing between the original games and the third - again - and thinking about the difference between the feral and Chosen bad endings and how I'm going to interpret them in my own canon. BG3 lore is irrelevant to me from now on I'm entering the phase where I'm assimilating my playthrough into my own Realms canon.

Also, Durge appears to be soulless. I am aware of the way the game treats Durge as though they have a soul, but BG3 makes strange choices where lore doesn't match up all the damn time. Astarion is clinically dead but the rest mechanics still need food. BG3 talks like Wyll is a devil, and they definitely don't have mortal souls. Dark Urge identity crises and complicated relationship with personhood, how I love thee.

Major BG2 spoilers, so I'll put that under a cut just in case anybody would like to play those games blind.

I noticed this a while back, but Durge's situation is reminiscent of a soulless Bhaalspawn. When their soul - the portion of them that is "them" and not entirely Bhaal - is removed they start displaying the same symptoms and slipping into what is basically the feral ending, judging by Imoen's behaviour:

"Who-who... who is that? Keep back... Keep back! [...] Who is Imoen? I don't know that name. I don't know that name! She's not here! [...] Get away from me! I'll... I'll kill you! I'll rip your eyes from your filthy faces! Do not tempt my wrath! Do not... I... she's not here. I do not know that... name. [...] I see... yes... I see... She's not here... Someone else will come..."

We have dizzy spells and risks of blackouts (otherwise known as Bhaal threatening to take over):

"Your step falters, your vision spins, and you feel something is very wrong. For an instant you are conscious of nothing but the rushing of your blood."

Bhaal literally just assuming direct control rather than flooding you with the urge to murder. Also pain caused by said attempt at taking control:

"A shock of pain passes through your body, and you feel you mind slipping away, forced aside by the darkness within." - "Your blood cools, and mind and body are reunited under your control. Your will had faltered, and the essence of Bhaal was there to take advantage. The void where your soul once was overflowed with murderous fury, the mark of a deity that no longer exists. The taint of Bhaal has affected you differently than Imoen, reacting with your strength of will. You will eventually lose yourself unless your stolen soul is restored. A fate, as they say, worse than death." - "The madness fades, and the essence retreats, but if this continues you will lose not only yourself , but also everything you hold dear. The uncertainty of your condition has obviously worried those you travel with. The quest is treacherous enough without having to worry about what you might do."

Most Bhaalspawn have mortal lineage and were left to develop their own identities until they hit adulthood and Bhaal decided it was time to start pushing them into killing each other as part of the resurrection plan. Their souls are explicitly divine in nature, but they had time and freedom to develop those souls. Each demigod is a potential fledgling god.

The soul and the conscious mind aren't the same thing, so personality and decision making can continue but the emotions and personhood are... not quite there, only the echoes of it. It's been compared to wearing a mask and acting out a part in a play, rather than actually living as that person.

Durge it seems was engineered from the very beginning so that they would never have that chance. Created directly from Bhaal, with no other parent (let alone a mortal one) to dilute him; Bhaal started forcing their hand to kill from a far younger age (before puberty) rather than waiting for them to reach adulthood. and Sceleritas was following them closely ensuring that people would be around to have "accidents", like Alfira.

But it's also notable that Bhaal doesn't just want a puppet, he needs a Bhaalspawn with the drive and power to be his avatar. He somehow needs Durge blindly loyal and lacking in independence but also in possession of "strength of will" to be worthy of/able to house and use his power.

It seems that Durge does not have a soul the way their siblings do, all they have to resist Bhaal with is their mind and sheer willpower. If they disappoint Bhaal then he will simply assume control - something he can do any time he likes. Over the course of BG3 they start developing something like their own soul - judging by the way Bhaal and Sceleritas are still in touch and seemingly testing them, I can only assume this is actually according to plan; Durge is supposed to cultivate a spark of their own divine soul over the journey (and also get tadpoled and help Bhaal take over the Netherbrain and thralls through them, as Sceleritas kind of mentions).

If they fail then Bhaal goes for the feral ending; they go into the "Imoen" category where they're not worthy of his attention and he just uses Durge as a puppet.

Mystra can't force mortals to become her Chosen, they must consent, so possibly that rule applies to Bhaal too? I don't know, but it explains why Bhaal needs them to accept. If they resist then they're clearly strong enough to be worthy but wilful enough that Bhaal decides the risk of that spark of a soul is too great a risk to him and his plans and tries to destroy it but fails because it's too late, and Jergal cuts this fledgling divine soul free.

If they accept becoming Chosen then they are agreeing to be imbued with a fragment of Bhaal's divine essence. Bhaal gets what he wants and merges it with another fragment of his divine essence, presumably setting the stage for him to become a full deity walking the face Toril through Durge's/his body. The fledgling spark of individual is lost in Bhaal when the two fuse; the threat of the resist ending isn't present, because that spark is gone, so if you defy him again he just takes over and we get the punishment ending.

[tacogoats]

I'm a big whore for the durgetash dynamic that kinda mirrors an astarion/durge one; where Gortash has to look at this strange person wearing their lover's face with another man - offering the same softened words they would for him on his own nightmare-ridden nights. The same gentle touch that he needed on those tear-laden days where he really wondered if they could even pull all they had wanted to off. Tenderness once only reserved for him after all he had been through in the House of Hope.

It infuriates him. He is jealous. That was for him.

But also it elates him because deep down they are still them afterall.

I really adore the 'they're going to kill each other with their fucked up idea of love they dance around constantly that is Not Normal People Love' flavour but the 'actually they really did have tender moments and sat around genuinely doting on one another' is somewhat spicier considering just who it is. You have two absolutely heinous, garbage people who genuinely, tenderly love and treasure each other.

Dark Urge is fiercely protective of Gortash and vice versa - they bring out the humanity in one another despite being Chosen of evil Gods. Gortash has night terrors after the days of being raised in the House of Hope; he fears that one day he will be whisked away and thrust back into that nightmare - the Dark Urge struggles with sleep anyway, and is always there when Gortash wakes to comfort him.

The Urge despises the loss of control and how they have been a slave to their father's cursed bloodlust - but Gortash is there once the rage subsides, a soothing voice and soft touch against their quaking, bloodsoaked hands.

In my own canon for my Dark Urge Veren, I had wanted the team-up to go a bit differently for Gortash. While he still definitely does die at the Netherbrain (rip bozo), Veren demands Gortash stay at camp with the rest of them partly because he needs to know his past and getting close to the man is the only way, but he also phrases it as them sticking close means Orin will have a harder time picking them off.

Gortash agrees but witnesses the other vampire spawn attack to abduct Astarion - and while Veren does rush to check on Gortash, his priority is always Astarion.

They compliment each other in battle. Just like he and Gortash did once. They move in tandem, they make up for each other's weaknesses, and Veren rages the moment Astarion takes a hit.

It pisses him off and he almost calls it off then and there until Veren rushes over and shows him genuine fear for his safety once the threat is over.

And then it clicks - his Veren is still in there and he will get him back by any means necessary.

(Unfortunately it doesn't work out for Gortash! Oops.)

[shera-dnd]

Once again trying to talk about Themes™ and probably just saying the obvious again BUT

Baldur's Gate 3 is a game about freedom of choice, both mechanically and thematically

Not in the "Your choices matter! (not really)" way most game market themselves on

But in a "The fact you can choose matters" way that is much spicier.

Like that's literally the core driving point of the plot. You shouldn't be able to choose, you shouldn't be free, but you are and now it's up to you to fight to maintain that freedom, and decide for yourself what to do with it

(funnily enough this is also why this game doesn't hit my trigger, because all the mind control is completely opt in)

And every single companion reinforces that in one way or another.

Gale freeing himself from his past and choosing who he wants to be now, without Mystra.

Astarion killing Cazador and stopping generations of abuse in their vampiric line

Karlach escaping Zariel and choosing to make the most of the life she still has

Wyll breaking his contract with Mizora so he can choose for himself what he fights for

Lae'zel and Shadowheart both unlearning years of indoctrination at the hands of their messed up cults

And if you're playing Dark Urge you get to reinforce this again with your conflict about trying to determine for yourself who you want to be, when every fiber of your being demands that you be a monster

It's not even just the main characters. Like how often do you get sent on quests to free people who have been imprisoned or enslaved.

Volo, Halsin, the deep gnomes, the tieflings, Aylin, Volo again, Minsc, Orpheus, even Hope itself

Hell, one of the main bad guys is the chosen champion of the God of Tyranny and is using a magical mind control mcguffin to control a giant magical mind control GIGA BRAIN!

I guess that's why it feels so obvious. Every last bit of this game is used to forward this theme of freedom vs control, but it's this consistent reinforcement that makes it so good for me

And then of course this all comes to a grand conclusion towards the ending. My own feelings about the ending's execution and the parts I felt were a bit... lackluster, can wait for a different day

But thematically speaking they managed to end with a real bang, and it's all thanks to the narration

Because whatever decision you make, that woman sells it. No matter what you want your ending to be, she will fucking deliver it in just as triumphant a way as any other

BG3 doesn't want you to leave the game thinking "did I make the right choice?" it wants you to feel like whatever you choose WAS the right choice for you

I literally had my character turn into a squid and them kill themself and she still managed to make that a glorious moment to finalize my story on.

"After so many deaths in the name of your father, this one is just for you"

(god so many lines from the durge playthrough have my brain in a vice grip)

And speaking of daddy dearest, the only endings that come across as being bad, are the ones where you surrender your freedom.

When you surrender to the Absolute, when you do as Bhaal commands you, when you give the crown to Raphael

The entire game is one giant conflict between your freedom to self determine vs more powerful beings and their drive to take absolute control

And so the only way for your story to end "badly" is if you surrender to those powers and give up

...so yeah... that's all I got

Baldur's Gate 3 is a good game

Could use some work here and there, and my nitpicks could make their own needlessly long post, but it's still really good

Go play it

[bharv]

How does it not make sense with the mindflayers being connected to the dead three? I’ve seen a couple of people reference some kind of disconnect here but I genuinely do not get it. Like it seems to me that that was the general plan all along? I know the story went through a few drafts with different iterations of chosen and how they were involved in various parts of the plot, but from what I’ve seen as someone who’s played since reasonably early access and watched literally every data mining video that existed it seems “the dead three are using mind flayers for some kind of nefarious plot” was like. The entire original concept of the game. I’m genuinely so confused at what I’m missing.

It’s not that it doesn’t make sense - it does! - it’s the cinematic at the start where the nautiloid courses through Baldur’s Gate that makes less sense.

I personally think that two things were true of early, early drafts:

1. They planned to tie the main plot less completely to the chosen of the dead three and for it to be one of a few vying factions that you could ally with through the game (including the hells via potential companion Mizora, the Gith, Cazador, and allying with the mindflayers by coming closer to Daisy who is your tadpole trying to manipulate you)

2. The Dark Urge would have been an origin character style tie in to that part of the story

In the early cinematic we see the Nautiloid coursing through a city and picking up LOADS of people. We saw the impact of that too in the early version of navigating the nautiloid - and it would have made sense from what people were saying that the city they hit was Baldur’s Gate. This would allow the chosen to potentially see their opening to consolidate power - Gortash through rising from the ashes, Orin and the Bhaalists in the cut raid on the Githyanki creche to find the artefact, Ketheric through razing the surrounds.

The main thing is we don’t see or hear ANYTHING about a super disruptive raid on the Gate. We would hear about it! If they’re picking up random people it makes sense they’d snatch Astarion (though it does seem to be daylight so that too is. Strange) but come the full draft that doesn’t seem to be the case. Everybody except Gale and Astarion either got on that ship purposefully for a mission or is powerful enough to warrant being a chosen mark to me.

But I think they kind of realised by full release that the nautiloid is kind of. A weird starting point actually given where we ended up with character relationships etc but they were already a bit wedded to it 😂

[evilwy]

(2/3)

And so, it's time for fun facts about Rentz:

(I apologize in advance for any typos or mistakes, I'm dyslexic, thanks for understanding)

🔗 He is left-handed.

🔗 A skilled warrior, uses a glaive in battle. Prefers open confrontation, is good at hand-to-hand combat. Rentz is the type of person who gives names to his weapons.

🔗 He is silent and sullen most of the time. Extremely emotionless and talks very little. Rentz used to obeying and doesn't jump the gun. In the past, he was different and in moments of weakness over temptation, this is showing especially strongly.

🔗 Side effect of amnesia is that Rentz doesn't recognize his face or body. The face seems wrong and alien to him, but at the same time strangely chained to himself.

🔗 Rentz can move his ears, for example, when he is angry, scared or excited. His reactions are more similar to animals. He hisses when someone pisses him off and Rentz wants to shut them up. He hears better than people and has a highly developed sense of smell, the skills of a ranger allow him to be extremely inconspicuous.

🔗 Some of the ritual scars he carved by himself, some by his bhaalist friends, as a sign of submission. They cover most of his body and periodically ache, reminding him of the past.

🔗 In his ministry of Bhaal, he was a torture master, his style of killing is based on torture and slow killing.

🔗 He has an urge to eat his victims.

🔗 He lost his right eye when he murdered Alfira and now has an implant there. (Astarion gave it to him when they're relationship became more decent). The original eye color is dark emerald, and the whites are heavily bloodshot, so the implant looks creepy.

🔗 Rentz is also a cleric and a healer. His knowledge, for the most part, is built around where to hit for sure, and where to make it so much worse. But he heals well, knows a lot of herbs, can brew potions and cast healing spells.

🔗 Despite his bloody habits, Rentz is clean and even squeamish.

🔗 He's a good lover and will never do anything that will make his partner/s uncomfortable.

🔗 From the moment he wakes up on Nautiloid, he is tormented by bloody hallucinations and the dead appear in his dreams. Because of this, he often cannot sleep.

🔗 He is quite charismatic, but more in intimidating way.

And all art, I managed to make with him

Til'em (dark haired) belongs to amazing @virgil-630

[speckledfiction]

I haven't been posting about it much, but my Astarion time travel fic just hit a very fun chapter, so I thought I'd post about it.

Do you like:

Time loop stories?

Having to deal with losing a happy ending and starting over?

The dark urge imagined as a companion character whose personal quest is causing everyone a lot of headaches?

Mysterious plotting, villains being villains, and the sinking feeling that no matter how much you know, the future is always terrifying?

A female Tav who is gnc and very strong and reliable, maybe to her own and everyone else's detriment?

A story that balances romance with plotting and develops Astarion's relationships with all the main characters?

If any of that sounds interesting, maybe this snipet will tempt you further:

Astarion had gone numb again, over the course of a day in which everything happened as it had before. There was a gristly, leaden quality to repetition. The same smells, the same sounds, the same repeated incidents. Astarion picked a bottle of wine and saw his own hand in his mind, reaching down for the same bottle. It wasn't going to taste good, even though it was the best available option. He skulked around his tent, watching Tav and brooding. He felt pushed out of place again, caught in the space between the glass of the mirror and its silvered back, in the minute area where reflection existed. Tav was more solemn than last time, her smile a little less easy. Every so often her eyes flickered over to Durge, but Wyll and Karlach had taken it on themselves to be friendly guards, and were sitting with the dragonborn. It was, Astarion thought, probably an improvement for Wyll, who had spent the first version of the party brooding alone. 

Would Tav come and talk to him tonight? She had spoken to him first, last time. He was so exhausted from all these comparisons, so tired of micro-analysing every little difference. Tav left the refugees, and walked over to Halsin. As always, they looked good together, of a height, with a similar solemn and kind energy about them. Halsin put a hand on her shoulder at one point, and Astarion thought that if he had to watch her spend the night with anyone else, Halsin would be the least painful choice. But she left with a bow that didn't suggest any promise of future intimacy. 

He wondered, as Tav moved around, whether he wanted tonight to go as it had the first time. For all his conversation with Wyll, Astarion still wasn't sure in his heart what the best way to proceed was. He felt muddled and muddy, torn between the instinct that he ought to repeat what he had done before for the sake of the plan, the want to be intimate with Tav simply because he liked it, the contrasting desire to try something different just to see what would happen, and the worry that he owed it to himself or her or something not to take the easy way out and go straight to sex. It was a miserable knot of contradictions, and he could not find a way out of them. 

[abyssalaerlocke]

Durgified

Alright, making a new masterlist of headcanons for what it would be like if different characters were the Dark Urge

Tadfools (they're all Bhaalspawn together)

Multiverse The Story

Gale

Karlach

Shadowheart

Astarion

Gortash

You can follow this post for updates

Or hit the bell below 🔔

This stuff should all be tagged with #get durged now

[pengychan]

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 7

Illustration (and art in the chapter) by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: M Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** The second half of this chapter was supposed to be about the kind of Bullshit only a party with a rogue and a bard can get into, but then the first half took over. So yeah, Astarion and Raphael will have to wait until the next chapter to get into Bullshit. Until then, have more existential crisis. Crisises. Chrysler. Crises. No I did not have to look up what the plural of crisis is. ***

“You know, I am not entirely sure Raphael was ever informed of the difference between sparring and attempted murder.”

Sitting just inside one of the tents they had set up on the lakeshore to keep away from the sun, Astarion shrugged. “I’m pretty sure that he knows the difference and chooses to ignore it. I do it all the time.”

“You’re remarkably unconcerned.”

“And you’re surprised?” Astarion clicked his tongue. “Wyll, you know as well as I do that my lovely idiot could tear him apart if they wanted. Raphael has literally no chance in all Hells to beat them. Durge is going so easy on him, it’s almost embarrassing.”

“Well,” Halsin intervened, briefly looking up from the duck he was whittling and giving the boiling pot of stew a stir, “they did say that the goal is to make sure he can hold his own before we head to Avernus. I suspect maiming him again would rather slow the progress.”

“Fair enough.”

A pause, and three pairs of eyes - well, two pairs, one single eye, and a sending stone - kept following the sparring match unfolding on a flat, rocky patch of land. It was painfully unbalanced, even with Durge going easy on Raphael. He seemed to know a variety of spells to cast, and his aim was improving, but he tried too hard to land a hit and quickly ran out of steam. 

He makes mistakes when he’s angry, Hope had said, and that had not changed. The limitations of a human body, and a middle-aged one at that, were not helping. Raphael was clearly struggling with that, and he barely dodged an acid splash from Durge’s part that Astarion had seen coming from a mile away, with his eyes shut.

“I wouldn’t have thought he’d be able to fight at all, without his hellish powers,” Wyll commented, looking on through narrowed eyes. “Then again, Mephistopheles is considered the greatest wizard of all the Hells. Perhaps he learned from him.”

“Doubtful,” Halsin replied, scratching his chin. “I am certain you learned a great deal sparring with your father, but the Lord of the Eighth is not known for willingly sharing his knowledge. I doubt he’d make an exception even for his own offspring.”

“He’s a bard,” Astarion said, and shrugged when they turned to look at him. “Oh, I forget you two didn’t get the dubious pleasure to visit the House of Hope with us and Karlach. Trust me, he’s a bard if I’ve ever seen o--”

“Agh!”

Astarion trailed off, and they all looked back to see Raphael had slipped on an icy patch and fallen heavily on his back, groaning. It would have been the perfect moment to strike, but Durge was really holding back, so they allowed him a moment to recover… and then several more moments. But Raphael just lifted himself one knee and paused without getting up, panting. The spectacle was over, it seemed. 

A bit of a shame, that: watching Raphael getting his ass handed to him time and time again was endlessly entertaining.

“That wasn’t too bad,” Durge said, much too generous in Astarion’s opinion, and stepped towards Raphael, lowering their staff. “You keep attacking in anger. That’s never a good ide--”

Raphael looked up sharply, lips curling in a sneer, and Durge didn’t get to finish the sentence. Raphael brought his hands together and, before anyone could react, pushed them out with a snarl. “Detono.”

The thunderwave caught Durge by surprise, and they had no chance to brace or try to avoid it. They were thrown back into the air, Mourning Frost falling from their grasp to clatter on the ground. They landed with a grunt, but there didn’t seem to have been much damage… until a moment later the ground Durge had landed on shimmered. Realization hit Astarion only a moment before fire erupted from the ground, engulfing Durge, and the roar of flames almost covered their startled cry.

Well, look at that. When had he cast a glyph of warding? How had none of them noticed?

“Durge!”

“You bastard--!”

Halsin and Wyll stood, ready to rush forward, not impeded at all by the risk of being turned to cinders by sunlight. They didn’t go far, though: Durge hadn’t been turned to cinders either - of course not, it would take much more than that - and stood, coughing, before lifting a hand. 

“All fine,” they managed, and while it clearly wasn’t all fine, they weren’t too badly injured either. They groaned a little, went to pick up their staff, and turned to grin at Raphael, all fangs. “All right,” they conceded, just as Halsin went to heal them. “That was really good.”

Raphael snorted and stood slowly, carefully moving away from the icy patch on the ground. He cast a healing spell on himself before he replied, still scowling. “Not good enough,” he muttered. He reached to smooth down the blazer Durge had given him, after finding it wedged somewhere in their bag of holding. “Seeing how you got back up.”

“If it makes you feel any better, a god also failed to kill me.”

“The god killed you well enough. Another god made the unfortunate decision to bring you back.”

“You devils and your fixation for details,” Daurge sighed. “Thanks, Halsin - I’m fine, honest. I think that brings an end to this sparring match, though. Is the stew ready? I’m starving.”

Having already feasted on the blood of the boar who had so generously provided the meat for the stew, Astarion did not need to eat. Still, Durge settled right inside the tent with him to eat, while the other two saps sat right outside the entrance. Raphael, as he’d been doing since they’d departed Last Light Inn two nights earlier, took a bowl to his own tent some distance away. At least now it looked like a tent, rather than a sheet thrown haphazardly over some stick by someone who clearly had never set up a tent before.

“I think we should be there in another five days’ walk - I mean, nights’ walk,” Wyll was saying. “I’d hoped to be back quicker than this, but as long as Karlach is safe in the House of Hope, I’m sure she’ll understand. We do need supplies.”

Durge nodded. “Bit of a shame the portals are not working,” they said through a mouthful. “It seems none of those in Baldur’s Gate or even Rivington were left intact. It would have saved us a week. Still, that’s not too long a walk as long as we keep leaving at sundown. As soon as we’ve reached the Gate, we’ll head to the Devil’s Fee. We buy whatever we may need, get Helsik to open a portal to the House of Hope--”

“Do we even have enough money for her to do that again?” Halsin asked.

A pause, and four pairs of hands went to open as many pouches. Several pairs of eyes - three pairs, one eye, one sending stone - had a quick look at the gold inside. Another pause. Four throats were cleared. 

“... In retrospect, I should have asked that earlier.”

“Well, perhaps she’ll accept to let us through in exchange for another artifact…”

“Maybe my father can be convinced to give us a loan…”

“We’ll figure something out when we get there. We usually do.” Astarion put down his pouch before he glanced outside the tent, and the others followed his gaze. Raphael had finished eating, clearly, and was closing the tend flap to sleep without a further word to anybody. 

“... I think it would be best to keep him out of the House of Hope,” Wyll said. “Hope may not be-- I think she’s seen enough of him to last her several lifetimes. Even if he can no longer harm her, I don’t want her to endure his presence again for even a moment.”

Durge nodded, setting down the bowl. “Yes, I agree. She’s been through enough as is.”

“Counterpoint,” Astarion said. “He might have a stroke if he sees the changes she made to the place, which I bet are delightful. And that would be absolutely hilarious.”

Durge laughed. “My counterpoint to your counterpoint is that we need him alive to take us to the Sword of Zariel,” they said, and reached into the bag of holding. They rummaged a bit before pulling out something - the Spider Lyre they had taken from Nere’s body. They’d had no use for it in a long while, but then again they hadn’t had a bard in their party. Until now. “I’ll be right back,” they said, and left the tent to head towards Raphael, lyre in hand. 

“... Projecting more than a little, aren’t they?” Halsin commented, and Astarion sighed. 

“Yes, they seem to have made Raphael their pet project. I can’t say I’m all that surprised. They trusted me when it was an objectively stupid course of action. Mind you, they were severely brain damaged - and I’m not sure all that damage has healed just yet...”

Wyll frowned. “He’s a devil. A split soul doesn’t make him any less of a hellspawn.”

“They’re aware. And I’m sure you can guess what they’d answer to that.”

“Durge is a bhaalspawn no longer,” Wyll replied, and Astarion shook his head.

“... That’s what you two will never get, I’m afraid, but I do. Once a spawn, always a spawn,”  he said, looking on as Durge stopped outside Raphael’s tent and left the lyre by the entrance.

“You’re free, Astarion,” Halsin spoke, his voice gentle. “You’re both free now, and it was a hard-won freedom. What someone else made you into doesn’t define you anymore.”

Ah, Halsin. Spoken like the sweet, sensible tree hugger he was. Astarion smiled faintly. “You’re not wrong, but that’s not what I’m talking about either. You can kill some parts of you, but you don’t get to erase them. You can only grow around it, or die trying.”

A brief silence as they watched Durge turn away from the tent and head back towards them. Behind them, the flap opened just enough for a hand to grab the lyre and take it in.

“Raphael might just choose to die rather than try,” Wyll finally muttered, and Astarion laughed.

“Entirely possible,” he conceded. “And who are we to tell him what to do?”

***

When the Chamberlain of Mephistar came to claim him on Mephistopheles’ behalf, Israfel was thirteen years of age and entirely unprepared. 

Truth be told, over the past couple of years he’d found himself daydreaming of that day less and less. He’d even come to think, at a point, that he may be fine if no one came to take him to the Hells at all, if his father didn’t want him there. Among servants there was talk - in secret, theoretically, but they spoke much too loud - that Lord Rahirek may be considering making Israfel his heir. Until just a few years earlier, that would have been unthinkable. 

“Of course Lord Starspire must have thought of it,” the kennel master had said with a shrug, during a conversation with the master-at-arms. “He’s got no kids of his own. The lad is all that’s left of his lady wife, and he’s a clever one. His lordship would have seen it a lot earlier, if he could stop sniveling over her grave for a minute and look past the horns.”

“He was grieving, you animal.”

“It’s been thirteen years. If the Hells don’t come to take him, and he’s good at whatever it is that lords do, why not make him next in line? He even looks like a human now. His Lordship should claim him as his own and be done with it.”

“It’s not that simple. Would other lords accept it, a half-fiend among their peers?”

“They wouldn't want to piss him off, that’s for sure. A good thing in my books.”

Israfel had snuck away unseen, and hadn’t mentioned the conversation he’d heard to anyone, but it was true that he was in his human form more often than not, and that Rahirek had started teaching him things about the land he lorded over. Not long after that conversation, he even took Israfel with him for a negotiation with the dwarven clans along the eastern peaks of the Starspire mountains, from which his family got its name.

“To show you how it’s done,” was all he had said, and Israfel had needed no convincing. He had never wandered far from the fort, and finding himself so high up had been exhilarating. He could turn his head and see so much, across Firedrake Bay and all the way down the Trade Way far beyond Starspire Fort, and south to Zazesspur where, to hear one of their dwarf guides, people wiped their asses with sheets of gold when they weren’t busy trying to kill each other. Israfel had stopped his mule and reached out; the city looked so small, he could blot it out when he closed his first. For a moment, he’d felt like a giant.

Then there had been the screech, so loud it hurt his ears, and something much bigger than him had swooped down on the caravan. Right afterwards, a man screamed. “Perytons!”

“Form a line! Protect Lord Starspire!”

What happened next would remain confused in Israfel’s memories, only brief flashes of clarity in the midst of chaos. He’d remember the giant eagle with the head of a fanged stag standing on top of a fallen, screaming man, trying to claw his heart out through the armor, threatening to gore anyone who came too close with its antlers. He’d remember a swipe of its wing knocking him off his mule onto the ground, a few feet away from the abyss, and he’d remember hitting his shoulder hard. He’d remember a scream - his name, someone screamed his name - and the beasts’ eyes on him, the fang bared. He’d remember lifting his arms to protect himself, and then…

Then he’d only remember heat, and screeches of pain echoing through the mountains. The peryton tried to take flight only to crash down again, screaming, its plumage on fire. Flames wreathed its antlers like they were dry wood, eyes melted out of its sockets from the heat. There was a rush to get out of the way, lest the beast’s dying throes knocked any of them off the side of the mountain; someone grabbed Israfel, too, pulled him to safety behind a boulder.

After that, he’d remember a furious heartbeat against his cheek, a hand pressing against his head and neck and then down his back, checking for injuries. Dimly, he realized he felt the weight of his horns again. When had he changed form? Had the others seen? 

“Are you all right, boy? Were you hurt?”

Israfel had closed his eyes, listening to the last of the beast’s dying screeches over the man’s thumping heart. He’d willed himself to change back to his human form before he spoke. “No, sir,” he’d managed, and felt Lord Rahirek Starspire let out a long breath. 

“Thank the Gods,” he whispered, and didn't let him go for what felt like a very, very long time. When they’d emerged, the danger gone, their dwarven guides had looked at him warily. 

“‘Twas not normal fire that did the beast in,” one had muttered, looking back and forth between the smoldering corpse to Israfel. “Hellfire, ain’t it? And my old eyes work well enough to tell you got horns on your head a minute ago, lad. Could do with an explanation.”

Israfel had felt Rahirek’s hand on his shoulder. “Be grateful my ward felled the monster. He owes no explanation to you or anyone else,” he’d said, and that had been the end of it. With only two mules dead and one man injured, the journey had continued without further incident.

The travel back had been undisturbed as well. Rahirek had kept Israfel close, pointing at landmarks and cities. “It’s high time you visit the capital,” he had said halfway through their descent, with home within sight. “I’ll take you next spring, if you’re inclined to come with me.”

Israfel had been plenty inclined, but that didn’t matter: it was never to be. They had returned to the fort to a tense silence, pale faces and quiet servants. In the kennels, the dogs were subdued; it had been the master-at-arms to come tell them what was going on, but it was not needed. From the hall, faint but unmistakable, came the smell of sulfur.

“One Duke Barbas is here,” he had managed, unable to meet either of their eyes. Somewhere out of their line of sight, Nan was crying. “To take Israfel home.”

And that, love, was that.

***

“Love, please, give me that knife.”

The woman is crying, but it’s not her tears the boy’s eyes pause on. His gaze is fixed on the blood, red and rich, dripping onto the floorboards from her outstretched hands, cut to the bone from the attempts at stopping the knife. It mixes with the blood of her husband, who’s already dead on the floor and growing colder by the second. 

He called him dad, until now. Until just hours ago, maybe minutes. Or it may have been days, he’s not sure. Time means nothing. Everything went red and then dark and he grabbed the knife, and then all was blood and meat. That’s all the man is now. He’s just meat and it all feels so right. It’s better this way. Better to die than to live in a world with him in it.

“Sweetheart, please. This isn’t you. We can fix this,” the woman calls out again, choking out words. “My little boy, listen to me.” A bloody hand rests on his cheek. She touched his face many, many times before. Sang him to sleep. Soothed him after bad dreams. Mom, he’s called her, ever since he learned to speak. He knows she is not, nor her husband was his father - they’re halflings, he is not - but it never mattered. It still doesn’t matter. 

Nothing matters but the crimson filling the cracks between the floorboards and the smell of death and the fact that she’s wrong. This is him. This was always him.

She wants the knife.

He’ll give her the knife. 

The blade sings through the air, slices through skin and muscle and cartilage like it’s nothing. She chokes on blood and her hands go through her throat, but cannot stem the flow. One last, wide-eyed look, then she falls on her face and doesn’t get up. The boy looks on, quiet, with the crimson hand still smeared on his face. Once the last of her life’s blood has flown, he turns to the door.

He’s not the only child they have taken in. There are others, too, his siblings, who will be home soon. They have names, but it’s not important now. The dead need no names.

He holds onto the knife, and waits.

***

“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t do that, don’t-- yes, that’s better. Breathe, possibly no frost breath if you can help it-- there. Good. You’re fine. Whatever you dreamed up, it’s not now. Do you understand me? Nod if you do. Or bite me, you have permission to bite this once.”

Face pressed against Astarion’s shoulder, Durge let out a long breath and nodded. “Yes,” they rasped. “I’m fine. It was just--”

“Nightmare, or memory?”

“Memory.”

“I see.”

They leaned back against the bedroll, and for a time they only listened to their own breathing, to the drumming of rain against the tent they were sharing. “Want to talk about it?” Astarion finally asked, a hand rubbing the back of their neck. Durge breathed out. 

“It was the family that took me in. In Baldur’s Gate, when I was very young. They loved me. I had forgotten their faces.”

“And now you remembered them? Well, that is nice--”

“I butchered them all.”

“Ah. I do see why that may be an unpleasant recollection, then.”

“I killed my foster parents. I waited for the other children they had taken in to come home and slaughtered them all, put the bodies in a pile and stood there for hours, just - looking at them. I don’t remember what I was thinking. Only that I was… happy. Something had been sated.”

“The Urge.”

“Yes. I think that was the first time it came over me.”

“And now it’s gone. You really shouldn’t forget that bit, love. The Urge is gone, for good.”

Durge nodded, and shut their eyes. In the back of their mind, a voice rang out. 

Young Master, precious fledgling, follow ever your heart. In time, your true family will find you.

“I can’t remember their names,” they murmured in the end.

“It wouldn’t do you any good--”

“I ended the entire family. I owe it to them, don’t I? To at least remember their names.”

“... Remember what Withers said? You can go through all the names once you’re dead. Until then, you can just live.” Astarion pulled back, and spoke again in a very questionable impression of Withers’ voice. “Greet the bloodless dawn, child of none.”

That, at least, made Durge chuckle. “That was terrible,” they said, then, “thank you.”

“Anytime, dear.” His hand rested on Durge’s face, where the woman’s had in the memory. “But do try to sound more impressed by my actorial skills. You hurt all three of my feelings.”

“There’s a third one?”

“Oh look, now you think you’re funny. It worked too well.”

Another chuckle, and Durge nuzzled against his hand briefly before they sat up. “... I’ll go for a walk. Clear my head some. I’ll be back soon.”

“Are you sure? Sounds like it’s pouring.”

“I’ve been covered in worse things than water.”

“You’ve been covered in better things, too.”

“Such as…?”

“Blood.” A pause. “That was probably not the right thing to say given the circumstances. But you know what I mean.”

Durge laughed, and kissed his head. “Yes,” they replied, stepping outside and breathing in the cool air, letting the rain run over their scales. It felt good, as though it was washing something foul away. “I know what you mean.”

***

Raphael woke to the sound of rain, and somebody’s grip on his face.

His eyes snapped open, but at first he saw very little. Until not too long ago, he could see in the dark just as well as he could on a bright day; now, the half-light inside a tent on a rainy day was dim enough to disorient him - but only for a moment. The hand holding his face had scales, and the red eyes looking down at him were awfully familiar. 

“You-- what--” he began, only to trail off when the bhaalspawn tightened their grip on his face, the palm covering his mouth. 

“Ah-ha, let’s not make too much noise.” They leaned in, baring their fangs in a grin, and Raphael froze. There were several responses that crossed his mind - all of them demanding they unhand him immediately, a few with a side serving of a firebolt to the face - but, just awake and disoriented, half trapped under the blankets, he voiced none of them. All that left him was a weak noise at the sudden jolt that went up his spine. The bhaalspawn’s grin turned to confusion for a moment, then amusement. They laughed, pulling away. 

“Well well well, now that reaction was a surprise, my pet.”

Wait. 

“What-- you--!” Raphael scrambled to sit up. Mortification turned to anger as he faced the creature, face burning, teeth clenched. “What manner of joke is this supposed to be!”

A chuckle, and then the being before him shifted, morphed, until Raphael was glaring at his own face as it was… before. Haarlep tilted their head and reached to flick his nose, snatching their hand back before he could slap it away. “And here I thought you couldn't surprise me anymore, little brat. Now, is it me or you’re not especially happy to see me?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Keeping an eye on you, of course. Fun as it was assisting in your escape from Mephistar, surely you didn’t think for a moment I organized the whole thing all by myself, did you? Truth be told, I believed you dead for months until the announcement you’d be devoured in spectacular fashion. Good thing your father seems to enjoy playing with his food almost as much as you do, huh? What a surprise it was. I’d done my mourning and it turns out it wasn’t necessary.”

Raphael scoffed. “Yes, I could feel just how much you mourned,” he snapped, “whoring my body out to anyone who asked.”

“Aaaah, yes. You did feel that, didn’t you?” Haarlep grinned again. “It was my most requested form, and many at court were willing to pay handsomely for it. I’d been released from my oath to you, after all. I’m sure you’ll understand. Did it provide some distraction from your misery?”

Very much unwilling to think back of anything he’d thought or felt while in the bowels of his father’s dungeons, Raphael smacked away the hand that had reached out to brush back his hair. “Don’t you touch me, incubus,” he snapped, “or you’ll find I still have teeth.”

“Ah, I certainly hope you do. You were not rescued out of kindness, you understand.”

Of course not; the notion was too ridiculous for any self-respecting devil to entertain. Something stirred in the back of Raphael’s mind, the memory of someone putting his own frail, aging mortal body between him and a danger, but he was quick to chase it away. That was the kind of sentimentality befitting a mortal, and regardless of his current situation he was no mortal. He had never been. If he still breathed, it was because someone wanted something from him. “Obviously,” he ground out.

“Your savior will expect you to do something in return. Don’t ask what,” Haarlep added the second Raphael opened his mouth. “I couldn’t tell you even if I knew all the details. My lips are sealed - from talking, that is - unless I’m given the direct order to tell you.”

“And who, pray tell, would have to give that order?”

“Your savior, of course.”

“Haarlep.”

A laugh. “Don’t get too cross with me, little brat,” they said. “I quite literally cannot speak the name or even give hints unless allowed. It’s a very stringent oath. You should have thought of doing something like that, come to think of it. Might have kept me from accidentally oversharing your little secrets, although I’m fairly sure it wouldn’t have done much to keep the little mouse and their companions away from the Orphic Hammer.”

“Accidentally,” Raphael snorted, tasting bile in his throat. “You’ve never once passed up a chance to push against my authority.”

“True, I thought it would be hilarious to see your face once you returned to find the hammer gone. I never imagined it would result in your demise. I suppose it’s a good thing for both of us that you’re not one to hold grudges,” they added, like they didn’t know that Raphael could hold grudges as tightly as Asmodeus held onto his throne. 

Raphael glared, teeth clenched so tight his jaw hurt. “I ought to flay you alive.”

“You may try, pet. It wouldn’t be a long fight,” the incubus almost sing-sang. And they were right, of course. A mere human with a few cantrips has no hope to best a devil, let alone unarmed and unarmored. Raphael balled his hands in fists, resisted the temptation to still try wrapping them around Haarlep’s neck - his own neck - and scowled. 

“Am I to believe that whoever it is you obey has no instructions whatsoever for me?” 

“Not quite yet, but soon. For now, the lack of instructions means you’re on the right path, I suppose. Although you’ll need to be extremely cautious, back in the Hells. Mephistopheles will be furious the second he finds out you still live. He hates being fooled about as much as… well, you, or anyone for that matter. He’d stop at nothing to destroy you.”

Of course. Raphael would have expected nothing less. “Duly noted,” he said, coldly, pushing away the dread to focus on what little he knew. Whoever had saved him wanted him to return to the Hells; to what end, he couldn’t imagine. Was it all about killing Zariel? By extension, was this Mizora’s doing? It seemed unlikely. What influence would Mizora have in Cania?

Focused as he was trying to make a somewhat coherent picture out of the scraps of information he’d been handed, he didn’t notice Haarlep reaching out for him until their hand grabbed his chin and lifted his face. Their face-- his face, would it ever be his again?-- peered at him closely, a smile playing on their lips.

“Tell me the truth, sweetling,” they said, running a thumb across Raphael’s own lips. “Have you missed me? Thought of me?”

Raphael scowled, anger roiling in his chest and aching need in the pit of his stomach. It had been half a year without that indulgence, leaning back to feel pleasure and think of nothing anymore. He hated it. He hated Haarlep. He hated how much he needed it. “I thought of many ways I could kill you, if you’re inclined to hear them,” he spat, and Haarlep’s smile widened. 

“Oh, you have missed me,” they crooned, and leaned in to claim his mouth. Raphael gripped the straps of their harness, not quite knowing whether he’d push them back or pull them closer - and then leaned back, taking Haarlep down on him. He felt the incubus smile against his lips, pressing him down on the bedroll. “I missed you, you know,” they whispered. 

Until half a year ago, it was a sentence Raphael may have brushed off with a scoff and hardly a thought. Now it made something ache around the empty nothing where half of his soul had been, and he closed his eyes. “No,” he managed, his voice almost breaking. “You did not.”

Maybe they’re here to take what remains of my soul, he thought. Maybe I should let them. No soul must be better than a maimed one. At least those soulless dolls don’t have any notion of what befell them. What chances do I have to be whole again? I am at the whim of mortals who stabbed me in the back before.

A sigh. “Ah, you think so little of me,” Haarlep lamented, and bit his lower lip, barely a nip. “I have many new bodies for you to sample, if you’re so inclined. You seemed interested in the little mouse’s. Or would you rather have this form again? Your own body, for old times’ sake?”

Trying very hard not to think of the suggestion, Raphael shook his head and tightened his grip on Haarlep’s harness. “This,” he rasped, and Haarlep chuckled. 

“You’re so wonderfully predictable,” they said, parting Raphael’s legs with a knee and kissing his neck, his jaw, so warm against his skin. “Open up for me, pet, and I’ll make it all better.”

Raphael closed his eyes, parted his lips, and for a time he thought of nothing.

***

While Durge hadn’t expected anything to happen at camp while they were away, returning to find no trace of unwelcome visitors - no Mizora showing up in a ring of hellfire waving a contract, no vampire spawn trying to drag Astarion away, no githyanki asking them to help overthrowing a space tyrant or trying really hard to kick their collective asses - was still kind of a relief. 

Rain had stopped falling around the time they had decided to cut the walk short and head back. Evening was fast approaching, and soon enough it would be time to leave. As it turned out, they weren’t the only one awake: the flap of Raphael’s tent was open, and Raphael was crouching at the lakeshore, throwing water over his face and running his hands through his hair as though trying to scrub something away. 

Durge paused, watching, as Raphael sat back on a rock and remained still, wet fingers in his hair, the heels of his hands pressed over his eyes. His shirt was open and rumpled, and he was drawing in long breaths. It looked like he was having-- well, a moment. 

Maybe it would be best to get to their tent unnoticed, but Durge had never been really good at just doing what was best. Instead they stopped by the camp chest, grabbed a bottle of Arabellan Dry, and headed for the lakeshore. Raphael recoiled when they sat next to him, and turned to glare only to be presented with the bottle, cork already off.

“I don’t have a decanter or cups at hand,” Durge said. “You’ll have to drink from the bottle.”

Raphael looked at the label, and sniffed contemptuously. “This should be served at cellar temp--”

“I’ll guzzle it all down myself here and now if you finish that sentence.”

“Hmph.”  The bottle was snatched from their hand, and Raphael took a long swig. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand - not at all, Durge thought, something he ever pictured him doing - and said nothing, looking pointedly away from them at a mountain range in the distance. There was a brief silence.

“Was the lyre to your liking?” Durge finally asked. 

“It should prove adequate,” was the only reply they got. They followed Raphael’s gaze to see if there was actually something worth looking at, but they saw nothing. Only the mountains.

“... So,” Raphael finally spoke without turning. “The vampling let slip that it was you who took the Crown from Mephistopheles’ vault. You and Gortash. I should have known.”

Gortash. Thinking of the man didn’t come easy to Durge. They knew there had been something there, the closest they’d ever had to friendship before Orin unwittingly set them free, but it was only the faded shade of a sensation. A memory of a memory of something they may have dreamed up, once.

Durge didn’t want to remember more; they were afraid of what may turn up, of the being they were when they’d so admired the slaver who sold Karlach to the Hells and doomed so many others to worse fates yet. But they would not pretend it had never been so, either. Pretending felt like a luxury they had not earned. 

“My favorite assassin,” Gortash had called them, and he had meant it. But they were no longer the person he’d known, not by a long shot. They had changed beyond recognition, and Enver Gortash had not.

“... I know Gortash lived in the House of Hope.”

A shrug. Dismissive. “For a time. He wasn’t my ward for very long. He found his way out annoyingly quickly, I have to say, although not before making some useful connections.”

“Why was he there?”

“He was sold to me. An overpriced brat if there ever was one.”

Durge scowled. “Why buy him in the first place?”

Another swig from the bottle. “I figured he had potential. And I was right, was I not? I have an eye for potential, you know I do, even if mortals are so prone to squandering it. I never bothered to try and take him back after he fled, but I’m pleased to know you put him down.”

“... Enver Gortash had to be stopped. Enver Flymm was a boy. The Hells are no place for a--”

“I paid for him, fair and square,” Raphael scoffed, and the indifference slipped. Suddenly, he looked angry. “For the full asking price his loving parents set, if you must know. If they didn’t want their boy to go to the Hells, they should not have handed him to a devil.”

“So why didn’t you bother?”

Raphael paused and blinked, taken aback, bottle in mid-air. “What?”

“You’d paid for him. Why didn’t you bother to take him back? You don’t strike me as someone willing to let an investment go. Unless he somehow became Bane’s Chosen the second he was out, what challenge would it have posed to you? Reclaiming a mortal boy?”

A sneer. “Maybe I was just curious to see how he’d burn himself out left on his own devices,” Raphael snapped, and took another swig from the bottle. He turned away. “I think we should consider this conversation over. Do not waste your breath or my time, unless it’s to beg forgiveness for your treachery. Or to tell me how you plan to recover the rest of my soul from Mephistopheles’ vaults.”

Durge sighed, and decided to let the matter drop. For now. “I do not recall the details of the heist in Mephistar,” they admitted. “But if I could steal the Crown then, I am sure I can get to your soul too.”

A hum, making it plain that Raphael very much failed to share that certainty, but he didn’t remark on it. He looked up at the setting sun instead, and so did Durge; it was turning the sky to-- blood -- fire, and it reflected on the lake’s still surface. In the distance, birds called.

“... What has become of the Crown?” Raphael finally asked, almost conversationally. Only the tenseness in his back betrayed how sore a subject that was.

“It came apart when we took down the Netherbrain. Gale was able to reforge it, and gave it to Mystra for safekeeping. She took the netherese orb out of his chest in exchange.” And, Durge knew, it had been the last interaction between them. As far as they were concerned, Gale was better off for it.

A snort. “Safekeeping, of course. As if gods are not wont to misuse power the same as everyone else,” was the response. One last swig, and Raphael passed the bottle over to Durge. They took it with a shrug.

“Who better to hold onto it than the goddess of all magic? It seemed the safest course of action.”

Raphael laughed, or at least he came remarkably close to it. “If you truly believe that,” he said with a wide gesture, tongue loosened by the wine, “then I have the most delightful bridge to sell you in Stygia.”

A snort, also not too far away from a laugh. “If after all this I’m still in the mood to invest in Baator’s infrastructure, I will let you know,” they said, and emptied the bottle in one gulp.

***

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[tadfools]

Ding!

The 7th chapter ofThe One That Got a Thay: A Guide on Breaking Free of Your Dread Father and Removing Illithid Parasites is out on AO3 for your reading pleasure right here!

Thank you guys for almost 4,000 hit on my little retelling of bg3 with my dark urge in the first month of it being published, I'm so happy folks like it so far!

As always there's a bit under the cut

The realization hit her like a sudden tumble into the river, “I could show you it.” Tavaris said.

“What?” Astarion’s eyes widened, the lens he was transfixed with forgotten, “How?” He asked, leaning forward.

“Well, its nothing on the scale that Gale can do with his duplicates,” Tavaris fidgeted somewhat. Had the air around them been this quiet all evening? “I don’t know- or I presume remember, enough for there to be much color and it won’t last nearly as long… but I can make a bust of you. If you’d like?”

“Why did we play that little game if you could just conjure up my reflection in the first place!?” Despite the exasperated way he once more flung his hands in the air, Astarion was smiling. Joy setting into him. It was an emotion he wore well, Tavaris would do anything to hold it there a little bit longer.

“The other day you said I was no fun and it hurt my feelings?” She shrugged, “Do you want to see it or not?” Tavaris stilled herself, growing serious as she thought back to when she first saw her own reflection after waking. She didn’t recognize the drow looking back at her then, “It might be painful.” She added.

“Painful?” Astarion raised an eyebrow, “Oh my darling, I’ve gone through far worse than just looking at a bit of magic. Go on then,” He gestured to her, “What are you waiting for?”

Tavaris took a deep breath and nodded. Her closed fist now extended between them. As she released the air in her lungs, she unfurled her hand. In the last few days, she had formed maps for lost tieflings leading back to the grove and made a swirl of butterflies to lull one of their children to sleep. She could to better though… Had done worse.

The average peasant of Baldur’s Gate couldn’t tell the difference between schools of magic. Illusion could very easily be misconstrued for divination. A mutilated parent could be forced to see their child in a far worse state within her hands. A promise laughed out as she showed a plaything exactly what was to become of their entrails in the coming hours.

A spark of red formed in her palm, the color all her illusions thus far had been. Astarion deserved more than that though. She didn’t want the first time in two hundred years he saw himself for him to be bathed in the shade of blood he had been surrounded by for so long.

Tavaris’ hand twitched, the swirl of red changing to a brilliant gold, the color of the rising sun, as the illusion began to take shape. Was the sun any different than the little starts dotted around realmspace?