#between her and bhaal is forever cut

[littlegalerion]

Some little tid bits about Dragonborn lore that hit hard for my Dark Urge Dragonborn:

Clan means everything. This is referenced so many times in dialogue options for a dragonborn player. I always have Moon choose it, but in a sarcastic or dreadful way. Her only sense of "clan" is Bhaal's cult, most likely a deeply seeded notion given to her by her mother. Even her own mother would have chosen the cult over her, and Moon is aware of this. Always was. It wouldn't surprise me if Moon eventually killed her, either out of personal pleasure or as an act of offering towards Bhaal- maybe both.

I like to think Moon was raised on a twisted version of this. That she was taught all her "playthings" were to be "respected". Given her druid class, she was always directed at how predators treated their prey- a meaningful hunt. But again, with a cultist twist on it. All of Moon's victims were a boon to her father, so all held meaning. All deserved her utmost attention and time. Though most probably wished she had just ended it quickly...

This has always been my canon for Harvest Moon from the start:

She was always desperate for approval from Bhaal, conditioned to desire it more than anything else in her life. She was born for the sole purpose of pleasing him, a faithful child, and if she fell short in any way, she was a waste of resources and time.

When the events of the betrayl of the Dark Urge took place, and she ended up with a tadpole plus amnesia, for the first time, Moon has that conditioning shoved aside. She was actually allowed to think for herself and what she wanted. Sure, Moon still felt the conditioning affects- hence the "urges"- but she was at last an individual. A very smart individual. One that quickly began to enjoy her newfound freedom.

This is all VERY against how Moon was raised. She was taught to always safeguard her emotions, always prove calm, collected, and precisely emote nothing unless in the act of happily slicing through a victim. Such strong shows of emotion could either be used against her or be undesirable to her father, in which case she would be rightfully punished.

All her life, Moon has been fighting against her own nature. Very ironic, as she'd, as an adult, take on the druid class.

A very small thing, but Moon does have a tail, and she does get a lot of looks from other dragonborn for it. One more thing that separated her from her kin throughout her upbringing, I suppose.

[trappedinafantasy37]

"Weeeh! I wanna recruit Minthara on a good playthrough! Weeeh! I don't like the ultimatum and want to keep both Minthara and Halsin! Weeeh! I wanna make Minthara good! Weeeh! I don't want Minthara to break up with me!" Minthara deserves more content but none of these things are at all what she needs or deserves. No, these are all things that you want for yourself, but do absolutely nothing for her. This is one of the biggest L's in the game and it will forever enrage me because I just know it will never happen.

Minthara deserves to confront Orin like all the other companions do with their abusers. She deserves to scream and yell at Orin. She deserves to cut at her the same way Orin did, make her bleed and scream in pain. Minthara deserves to torture Orin, just as she did her in the mind flayer colony. Minthara deserves the right to roll up to the Temple of Bhaal and beat the shit out of Orin with her bare hands. Leave Orin begging for mercy in which Minthara will not even give her a drop. To slam Orin down on that altar and slice her throat, offer her up as a sacrifice to the father she is so blindly devoted to.

And yes, Minthara would be afraid. She would be TERRIFIED. Despite how strong and powerful Minthara is, she is also the only one afraid of Orin. Unlike Ketheric, or Gortash, or Sarevok, she is the only one who fully acknowledges just how dangerous Orin actually is and does not underestimate her. She will walk down into that temple, intending to duel Orin with a massive disadvantage because she is terrified.

Minthara choked when seeing Orin again in the mind flayer colony. She choked when seeing Orin as an imposter, throwing her deep into the ocean of paranoia and fear. And she is so entrenched in paranoia that it actually becomes palpable to everyone around her, even you. She describes herself as paranoid, but this is the first that you actually see how paranoid she is. And she choked again when Orin kidnapped someone in camp, making her feel inadequate, making a mockery of her for being unable to protect one of her own. And every day that passes, the more and more likely that the victim is going to die and she has doubts on their survival.

At every possible avenue in which Minthara could have done something or said something about Orin, she froze in place with fear. But she's had enough. She cannot be afraid of Orin forever and she doesn't want to be. One way or another, Orin has to die and she wants to get over that fear. She needs to know that Orin is dead, for herself.

This would also make the alurlssrin confession all the more impactful. She wants to tell you that she loves you in the best way that she can because of the very high likelihood that she will never have another chance to do so. She would beg you to come with her as you give her the courage. She has the courage to face her fears and confront her tormentor, because she knows she has you in her corner. If you have the courage to stand up to the very gods themselves, then she can stand up to Orin. Romanced or not, your presence alone is enough to give her the strength to do something she would otherwise be too terrified to do.

Minthara deserves the honor to solo duel Orin in a fight to the death. Minthara deserves the right to achieve vengeance for herself. No, I do not care that this confrontation would conflict with a Durge playthrough. In fact, it would provide a phenomenal source of some interesting, and toxic, drama between Durge and Minthara. Especially if they're in a relationship. This also does not mean that Minthara killing Orin instead of Durge would not have its consequences (because it most certainly will). Even if Minthara does not fight Orin, it would be so much better if Minthara was just given the fucking chance to yell at Orin like all the other companions in their personal quests.

[moonselune]

Hello 👋🏻😊

I'm the anon who requested the jealous Minthara scene after Wyll asked reader for a dance, and I must say, it was superb and absolutely brilliant *chef’s kiss* 😘

May I request a scene with Minthara and a female durge reader where Minthara gradually becomes cold and distant? Eventually she breaks up with the reader because the reader rejected Bhaal, a choice Minthara views as foolish because she believes that by doing so, the reader has become weak and unworthy to stand by her side as she returns to conquer the Underdark.

There’s no light at the end of the tunnel on this one. Though I would like to believe that Minthara will come to regret this eventually and try to make amends but it will be too late.

Ty!

OooOOoo so angsty oof - and thank you so much!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara x Durge | No More

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The relationship between you and Minthara had always been a tempestuous one—intense, passionate, but built on a foundation of shared ambition and a thirst for power. When you first met her, she was like a force of nature—fierce, unyielding, and driven by the same hunger for conquest that had once burned in you. Together, you made a formidable pair, each feeding off the other’s strength as you cut through enemies and forged your path through blood and darkness. But everything began to change after you made a choice that would alter the course of your fate forever: rejecting Bhaal.

Minthara had been quiet when you first made your decision, her amber eyes unreadable as she listened to you explain why you could no longer follow the god of murder. You had chosen to turn away from the dark path that had been laid out before you, seeking redemption, or perhaps simply a different kind of power—one not rooted in endless bloodshed. You knew Minthara wouldn’t approve, but you hoped she would understand. After all, wasn’t your strength still there? Wasn’t your love for her unwavering, despite the shift in your allegiance?

At first, nothing seemed to change between you. She didn’t voice her displeasure, and while her gaze had grown more critical, she remained by your side. But as the days wore on, you started to feel the subtle distance creeping in between you two. Minthara no longer sought you out in battle as she once had; her praises, once sharp and filled with admiration, became few and far between. She stopped lingering beside you after skirmishes, her touch no longer seeking yours in the quiet moments when the world fell still.

It was the nights that hurt the most. Where once she would slip into your tent, her body pressed close to yours as the fires of both combat and passion cooled, now she slept alone, claiming it was for focus, to keep her mind sharp for the battles ahead. At first, you accepted it, telling yourself that this was just a phase, that her coldness was temporary, a reflection of her own internal conflict.

But the distance only grew.

Her once fierce gaze, which had always burned with intensity when it fell upon you, now barely glanced your way. You felt like a shadow in her presence, a reminder of a choice she viewed as weakness. Conversations became brief and impersonal. Her once-commanding voice, so vibrant in your ear, became clipped, laced with disappointment she didn’t bother to hide. When you tried to reach out, to ask her what was wrong, she would merely shrug, deflecting your concerns with vague words about focusing on the future, on her mission.

You knew it was coming—the final blow—but nothing could have prepared you for the moment it finally landed.

The two of you stood in the shadows of your camp, the campfire’s flickering light casting long, wavering shadows across her face. She looked regal, even in her silence, a picture of strength and cold beauty as she stared at you with those piercing amber eyes. But where once you had felt a fire of affection there, now you felt only ice.

“I cannot continue this,” Minthara said, her voice sharp and emotionless, like the crack of a whip. "You are not who I thought you were."

The words hit you like a physical blow. You blinked, your breath catching in your throat. "Minthara… what are you saying?"

She met your gaze then, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of regret behind her cold exterior, but it was gone just as quickly, replaced by the hard mask of a warrior—of a conqueror.

“You rejected Bhaal,” she said, her tone almost accusing. “You turned your back on the very power that gave you strength, the power that made you worthy of standing beside me.”

“I turned my back on endless slaughter,” you countered, your voice barely concealing the hurt. “I chose a different path, one that didn’t involve mindless murder, Minthara. That doesn’t make me weak.”

She shook her head, her expression unyielding. “It does. You had the chance to embrace power, to ascend beyond your limits, and you turned away from it. You’ve made yourself soft, weak… unworthy.”

Her words cut deep, but you couldn’t let her see how much they hurt. You straightened your back, meeting her gaze with defiance. "So that's it then? Because I didn’t give in to Bhaal’s madness, you’re just going to walk away? After everything we’ve been through?"

Minthara’s face remained impassive, her arms crossed over her chest. “You were once someone I could rely on, someone I could see standing beside me as I conquered the Underdark. But you are no longer that person. You’ve chosen a path of mercy, and that is a path I will not follow. I need strength at my side, not weakness.”

For a moment, the air between you was thick with tension, neither of you speaking. You could feel the weight of her words pressing down on you, suffocating the love you had once shared, choking the bond that had once been so strong. There was no more passion in her eyes, no more admiration. All you saw was cold, ruthless judgment.

“If you cannot stand with me,” she said, her voice final, “then you will not stand with me at all.”

With that, she turned away, leaving you standing alone, the firelight casting long shadows over your figure. You stood there, frozen, the weight of her rejection sinking in.

For days after, the emptiness gnawed at you. The love you had shared, the passion, all of it felt like a cruel dream, one that had slipped through your fingers the moment you had chosen to turn away from Bhaal. But as time passed, the ache began to dull. You found strength in the path you had chosen, in the choices you had made. You surrounded yourself with new allies, rebuilt your purpose, and thrived without her.

And though you would sometimes think back to Minthara, to the sharpness of her words, the coldness in her eyes, you came to realize that you didn’t need her to define your strength. You had chosen a different kind of power—one that didn’t rely on the brutal, merciless ideals that she held so dear. You found peace in your decision, and as the years went on, you thrived, free from the shadows of your past.

Rumors reached your ears eventually, whispers of Minthara’s victories in the Underdark, of her conquest and her rise to power. But those rumors were always tinged with something darker—a loneliness that clung to her, a coldness that had only grown in your absence. You imagined, sometimes, that she regretted what she had done, that she had come to realize that power wasn’t everything, that she had thrown away something precious.

But by then, it was too late.

You had moved on. Thriving, stronger than ever, without her.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Silly minthy, hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[maleficore]

How many references of the same damn character can I make before I get bored?

Yes.

Some design and related rambles below because I'm in A Mood

There's uhh, selfharm mentions in there on top of the typical Durge shit. Just in case anyone needs a heads up.

I keep tweaking his design every time I draw him, but I think I'm decently happy with it now? It's mainly the burn scar that has been annoying me because I both want it to unique but still somewhat fit the game texture..

I wish I knew how to mess with texture maps to make him custom ones so that all the scars in game match The Lore, but ughh learning that is way too much work.

The scar run down so far:

THE BURN SCAR is a souvenir from Cania. It covers almost the entire upper left half of his body, but on his arm it ends abruptly at the elbow because the explosion that caused it took off his whole forearm so the limb is "brand new" and therefore, scarless.

Yes, he can regrow limbs like an axolotl. However here, I think healing magic was involved too. Just because of how extensive the damage was. I'm imagining his forearm blown off and what's left of his arm charred nearly to the bone. Same with his face, his cheek was definitely gone. An absolutely terrifying image and one that's for sure seared into Gortash's brain forever.

THE VIVISECTION SCAR is Kressa's work of course, but its shape is pretty atypical for how most of the fandom does Durge's scars. The arms of the Y incision don't extend towards his shoulders and go underneath his pectorals instead. It's mostly because his organs have fuck all to do with the tadpole Kressa was studying so I headcanon those experiments to have been done purely for sexual gratification, not scientific at all. Which makes cracking open his ribcage feel like too much of a hassle to me, she can still get in there for a rummage through his stomach after all.

THE SMALL STOMACH AND CHEST SCARS are all stab wounds. I like to think they would've healed fully long ago, but Ezra subconsciously keeps that from happening because they're like mementos to him. It was... a religious/masochism thing between him and Helena. A tad messed up, but he liked her a lot okay.

THE THIGH SCARS are self inflicted. Some are cuts, some poor, frenzied attempts at flaying the skin off to maximise the pain. They start to fade and heal post tadpole because he forgot about the habit thanks to the orinbotomy, but he used to pretty much selfharm his emotions away. Sad? Pain. Affectionate? Pain. Guilty? Nothing some more pain can't fix! It started in his youth when selfharm was his only way to get some clarity of mind when the Urge started to muddy his thoughts and it escalated from there to using it for everything.

THE HAND SCAR is also of the self inflicted kind, but that one is really old. He was around 12 when he stabbed his hand out of fear that if he didn't use the knife he was given to hurt himself, he was going to cause harm to someone else. It was pretty soon after killing his foster parents so the panic was understandable, got him banned from the kitchen for years tho. The scar never faded completely because he was really weak and sickly as a kid due to not feeding the Urge, which messed with his healing abilities (amongst other things) making it stick.

THE HEART SCAR is an another old one. It's from the wound he was killed with when he transformed into the Slayer for the first time. It's symbolic and one of those scars that don't heal because he doesn't want them to. It marks the death of the person he was before Bhaal and serves as a reminder of that whole event. The paladin who killed him (a close friend and mentor actually so that's fun) ran him straight through with a sword so there's a matching scar on his back too.

Those have all pretty much always been there and the only change is the lore of the stab wound scars, though. I just felt like talking about them because I like giving those things A Story.

And since I'm already babbling, I also added some stuff!

He didn't use to have his nails painted post nautiloid, but I had the bright idea of Shadowheart seeing the remnants of chipped off nail polish and because of that offering to do them for him at some point. Probably not until act 3 when they finally reach civilization, but still!

I once mentioned in passing that he collects rings and never implemented that into his design, but here it is now! It's mostly a case of him feeling like he should wear a ring out of habit and ending up going a bit ham with it.

Old wedding band mark :) only sticks around for a bit post nautiloid and eventually disappears, but I still included it anyway for the angst. You understand.

One day I'll do a proper colour reference and decent art of his clothing to go with it, but this will do for now. I just love him so much, he can fit so much lore on him and it's driving me a bit crazy. My beloved hairy bastard man.

[blushing-blushy]

SPOILERS FOR THE DARK URGE

Astarion x Durge Tav (unnamed female character - referred to as she)

Freaking huge spoilers for the Dark Urge storyline. As in I lay it all out. I wrote this thinking about what Tav's reaction might be to learning the truth, because it doesn't get into it much in game.

Oh and this is one sad sad sad hurt/ barely any comfort fic.

-.-.-.-

The dead things we carry

After Tav finds out what she is, she tries the easy way out. Astarion won't let her.

The sounds of blood spilling and bones cracking and the screams of pain and rage begin to fade around her.

“Don’t bring me back,” she gasps with her last breath, watching the horror and dawning fury on Astarion’s face before her vision blurs and fades away. Please, is the last thought that comes from her wrecked mind. Please.

-.-.-.-.-

She comes to. She comes to. At first there is nothing but confusion. It’s not like it’s the first time she’s been revived. But it takes longer for her to gather her thoughts, and when she at last realizes that she’s capable of thought and reason, anger and despair flood through her, perhaps a mirror of the last glimpse of Astarion’s face.

She snaps her eyes open and sits up. She can sit up, she realizes as well, since revivify heals as well as enlivens. And speak of the devil, but if it isn’t Astarion sitting on a chair next to her, eyes on her. There is no expression on his face. He’s just… watching.

A flush of anger is rising up her body, spreading like fire through her limbs, nerves singing with betrayal. She had asked.

“How dare you,” she whispers tightly. “How dare you bring me back. I asked-”

“Yes, you did.” Astarion’s voice is toneless, and she thinks she’s never seen him so closed off. No smirk, no attitude at all.

"And I brought you back anyway. Will you hate me? Leave forever? Make it so that you might have died anyway?”

She just looks at him, and he gazes back. Finally she drops her eyes and notices his hands hanging between his knees. They’re bloody, as if he’s been hitting something. There’s blood around his fingernails, the skin torn around the nails as though he’s been biting them.

“Why?” He asks simply, and she looks back up at him. “I’ve done my hating for tonight. I’ve done my raging and my yelling and my fear and the rest of it all. So now I’m only left wondering. Why? That certainly wasn’t a split second decision, was it?”

She sighs and lays back down, the anger ebbing away. Well, it would have been a conversation they would have needed to have anyway. Death had just been the easy way out. The coward’s way.

“You know what’s been happening to me,” she says and waits for him to nod before continuing. “Well, I know why now. I… remembered. And when I tell you, you will understand. Maybe you’ll let me die next time. Maybe you’ll kill me yourself. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised.”

There’s finally an expression on his face. Abject fear. Fear of what she’s about to say. She laughs weakly.

“Yeah, it’s bad.” She takes a breath and plunges ahead. “I am the one who orchestrated all of this. I planned the cult and created the Absolute. I brought the Dead Three’s Chosen together to control it. I am the scion of the god of murder, Bhaal. Bhaalspawn. I was plucked from my home seven years ago and became murder incarnate, sacrificing and killing without purpose or plan simply to appease him. And because I wanted to. My earlier life is still murky, but I think I was sired by Bhaal to a Tiefling woman whom he discarded, and I was born to her. She cut off my horns and tail and tried to make me as human as possible to keep me from the life I eventually found.

“When I killed a man who was raping me, she left me. She must have seen that I enjoyed it far more than I should have for simple self-defense. Then I found my way… home. To the temple. And took control. And would have the whole world worship as I made my way through it, ending everything in the name of my dread father.

“So, in the end, this is all because of me. And my hubris, my blood-thirsty desire to kill. To kill everyone and everything.”

She’s crying, but she can’t feel the tears sliding down her face. All she can focus on is the pattern of threads on the tent above her.

“Astarion,” she says at last, turning to face him. She can’t begin to parse out what he’s thinking. “You did all those terrible things because you were forced to. Because you were literally incapable of not doing them, and because of what would happen if you didn’t.”

She looks away and sighs again. “But I did all those terrible things because I wanted to.”

After a beat of silence, she sits up, letting the thick blanket pool in her lap. Her fingers lay limply upon it. She’s so, so tired. “So you see why I don’t want to live. I don’t deserve to. I can’t ever make penance for what I did. And since the urges and raging desire has started to rear it’s awful head again, I don’t even know if I could resist long enough to even try to make up for it. It is honestly the best and most sensible thing to let me die or kill me. Now do you understand?”

She can’t look at him now. Can’t face the judgement on his face.

She’s not even surprised when he stands and leaves. Laying back down, she closes her eyes and lets the tears come. Maybe later she can go off and do it herself. Far enough away no one could find her body.

The tent flaps open again and Astarion comes back in. She sits back up at once, brows furrowing. He’s holding a water jug and one of those chipped clay mugs Karlach had found.

There are tear tracks on his face and he looks utterly heart-broken. Of course. He fell in love with a monster. More of a monster than he would ever imagine himself to be.

“Drink,” he says roughly, holding out the mug.

She takes it automatically and sips it, still looking at him. He closes his eyes as more tears fall, and wipes them away angrily.

As she opens her mouth to continue, he holds up a hand. “No, my turn now. And you will sit and listen, my dear. You owe me enough to allow me to answer and have something to say.”

She sits back and nods, waiting. Her heart is hammering in her chest. She doesn’t know if she can handle his reaction, whatever it’s going to be.

“I have been tortured for more of my lifetimes than I can count. I have been flayed and broken and scarred again and again in that place. You saw, you read. I was almost always out of my mind with fear. Every time I went out to bring someone back. Everytime I did or said something I knew would bring me impossible pain. But I have never, ever-” his voice chokes up against the words, and he scrubs his eyes quickly and clears his throat. “Ever,” he continues,” been so frightened as I was when you died. And when you asked me not to…”

He leans forward and grabs her hands roughly, squeezing them hard enough she can feel her bones grinding together.

“You asked me to kill you,” he whispers. “‘Don’t bring me back.’ That means let you die. That means that I have the option to do so and wouldn’t. That means killing you. And you’re as good as asking me to do the same now. Kill you?”

He lets go and stands abruptly, pulling wildly at his hair. “Kill you?” He repeats, his voice becoming shrill. “I love you, godsdammit. I have for much longer than I care to admit. Than I could allow myself to realize. And you want me to end you, to do that to you, to myself? I’ll be selfish until the sun burns out and make sure you never die. You can’t die.”

He’s shouting now, and she wants to shush him in case everyone else hears, but she’s too tired to really care.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers instead. No more tears will come. She’s been scoured clean.

Astarion drops to his knees beside her bed, reaching for her hand again. She lets him take it and he grips it, gently this time.

“I won’t do it,” he says softly, but the resolve in his voice is steel. “And you can’t make me. And if I have to tie you up forever to make sure you don’t - you don’t… end it yourself, I will. That’s a threat, my dear.”

She can’t say anything. Not to that and not when he lifts her hand and turns it to press a featherlight kiss to her palm.

“Ok.” Her voice is small, barely there. “Then what do I do? Please tell me what to do. I don’t want to die.”

The admission comes from so deep down it wrenches out of her, and she wails. “I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die! I don’t want to.” She’s sobbing loudly, great shuddering cries, and the pain is too much to bear. Astarion bends over her as she curls into a fetal position, cradling her in his arms.

“We’ll deal with this,” he says, gently shushing her. “We’ll figure it out. He won’t have you. He won’t win. I told you that, and I meant it. Hells, darling, if you could make a dead heart come back to life, you can defeat this.”

“How?”

He kisses the top of her head gently from where she’s still curled. “I don’t know, but you aren’t alone. And we will. I promise.”

I love you.

I love you.

[thewingedbaron]

Lord Enver Gortash- Underestimated

A worm has crawled into my brain and will not release me until I write more of these. (Check out my Ketheric Post if you haven't seen it) Enjoy a little confrontation between everyone's least favorite hot topic shopper and the Dark Urge.

Warning: Depictions of Violence, Emotional Manipulation, and Body Horror.

Enjoy :)

Lord Enver Gortash glanced up with annoyance as the door to his lavish office softly clicked shut. He was terribly busy, the stack of reports on his desk had become ever growing since those bothersome annoyances had entered the city. Reports seemed to fly in every few minutes detailing strange disturbances and happenings about the lower city. Gortash had shut himself away in his office hours ago with orders to not be disturbed, though it seemed the bumbling idiots of the Flaming Fist couldn’t even manage that. 

Gortash’s annoyance evaporated as his eyes landed on the figure standing before the door. 

“I was hoping we would get the chance to speak alone.” He smiled as he glanced back down at the reports on his desk, appearing unconcerned by the intruder. “I’m not offended that it's taken you so long. You’ve been quite busy since you’ve gotten back. But I knew you couldn’t stay away forever.” 

The figure in the doorway said nothing. Gortash could feel the familiar heat of their eyes on him, sizing him up like a cut of meat. The back of his neck prickled as a small shiver of fear wormed down his spine. Oh how he had missed this little game of theirs. The threat of murder had always made their relationship so… exhilarating. 

“I must admit, I was surprised when you turned up with those hangers-on. Less surprised when I discovered you murdered Ketheric. I would have done the old man in myself, had you not gotten to it first.” Gortash’s smile widened as he scratched a note on a report. “No matter, the important thing is we control two of the nether stones. Have you considered my proposition? You must be itching to get your hands on Orin and reclaim your rightful place as the Chosen of Bhaal. None of us could have ever imagined her to be so ambitious, but I doubt she will prove a difficult obstacle for someone of your prowess.” 

Still his old lover said nothing. The Lord of Baldur’s Gate felt a flash of annoyance. When they had appeared at his coronation, he had seen a new side of the beast of Bhaal. The same murderous flame still burned in their eyes, but they had changed. It was tempered. Controlled. Like it had once been under his thumb. 

He had intended to relish in the challenge of dominating this new beast. Not so long ago, they had hung off his arm and rested in his bed. Conquering the Chosen of Bhaal had been no easy feat, but it had been an entertaining one. He’d wrapped them so tightly around his finger they’d been delighted to spill blood as much in his name as in their murderous father’s. But eventually, even that had bored him. So fixated was his pop that they had not foreseen Orin’s betrayal. They had fallen, and Gortash had moved on to more interesting toys. 

But when they entered his celebration of power with their flame rekindled, Gortash had rejoiced. He was free to manipulate and steer the Bhaalspawn once more. Through them, he would control all three nether stones and rid himself of Orin, who was so annoyingly resistant to his charms. 

Yet now they stood in his chambers once more. Silent. Staring dumbly at him as if he were not even there. Perhaps Orin’s betrayal had stolen more than their memories. 

“Come now lover, you must say-” 

As if finally responding to his voice, the figure dashed forward. A grin spread across Gortash’s lips as he opened his arms to embrace them before a white hot pain slashed across his throat. His eye caught the glint of a blade and a spray of blood as the Bhaalspawn stepped beyond his embrace. He tried to call out, but realized he could not speak. With rising horror, he clutched at the wound trying to stem the sudden flow of blood. It was less than he expected. The wound had been shallow, just deep enough to sever his vocal chords. Unbidden tears streamed down his face as Gortash tried to scream. 

Suddenly, the Bhaalspawn’s face was a mere inch from his own, their breath hot on his face. The flame in their eyes had reached a roaring crescendo as Gortash realized his miscalculation. 

“I have taken something most precious from you, tyrant.” Each word whispered like a searing kiss upon his face. “I wish I could take the light from your eyes, and the thoughts from your mind, but I have promised your life to another… as you once did.” 

Gortash’s eyes widened in panic as a second figure moved into view. Large, looming, a giant by any definition. Their skin was pitted with old scars and burns, a broken horn sat upon their brow. Lord Enver Gortash could not beg for mercy, for he had none in his blackened heart. 

[swashbucklcr]

(imperitvs) - It had been about a week since Osian was rescuted from Orin's clutches. He had been trapped within the Temple of Bhaal for days - mostly kept unconcious. Though the short times he had been woken up, it was with his hands flattened and mouth gagged to prevent him from trying to cast spells. Though it was not enough to stop him from screaming as the tortures began. Before the darkness of unconcious came again, he would tear up wondering what monstrosity he would wake to next...

And so, despite being rescused by the group and everyone ensuring he was tended to and brought back to health - he found it so difficult to trance and rest. His eyes closing only brought anxieties; recalls of Orin's actions as well as her words.

Laying in his bed at the Elfsong, he found himself balling his hands into fists and opening them back up in a repeated action - as if to remind himself they were not pressed down flat and he could easily sit up. But it didn't seem to be enough to ease his mind.

Silently, to not disturb the others, he walked to Finn's bed with a book in hand. It wasn't too late at night for others to be asleep, just relaxing after a hard day. Osian, a newfound comfort and confidence around the human, helped himself to the corner of the bed, sitting up in the corner so he had the wall to support him as well.

"I don't want to talk about it, but I am so tired. Yet I can't sleep. So...please...just for a moment..." His eyes were downcast, ashamed.

@imperitvs | reclaiming their throne as angst lord

Finn's mind churned as he tried to find the right approach to comfort Osian. His talent for cutting others down with words was unmatched, but building someone up? That was a different challenge altogether. He didn't want to overwhelm Osian with excessive care and concern, but seeing the elf clenching and unclenching his fists repeatedly tugged at his heart. Finn had no intention of sleeping until Osian was ready to rest, determined not to let the man he loved suffer alone.

Finn moved aside, giving Osian enough room to settle into the corner. He wanted to ease into comforting him, letting Osian find his own comfort first. Once Osian was nestled in, Finn closed his book gently and turned to face him, striving not to show pity or rage. Though he was still furious—at Orin, at the camp for allowing the infiltration, and mostly at himself—he tried to keep those emotions in check.

He recalled the night he found out about Osian's torment. It was a miracle he didn't destroy everything in the tavern in his rage and terror. He'd been willing to give up everything to bring Osian back, and his friends had to calm him down when he attempted to sneak out to fight Orin alone. The days it took him to find the temple and slay Orin would haunt him forever.

"Not going to say a word then. Well, not about that," Finn said, crawling over the bed to join Osian's side. They had nothing official between them, yet Finn had shown his love and care in countless ways, and Osian had returned it.

Instead of speaking further, he tenderly took the book from Osian's hands and intertwined their fingers. "Look up, I want to see that face of yours," he said softly, gently hooking a finger under Osian's chin, allowing him to raise his head if he wished. "Do you want to rest, or should we get the fuck out of here and breathe in some shitty city air?"

[dullweapons]

bhaalspawn! ayrin is still cursed with the ' forever a child ' thing btw . in the picture i posted before he is well into his adult age , probably close or a touch older than astarion ( ~230 ) . what happened in bg3 verse was that his father , lamatar , was a hag while his mother , dawn , was a wood elf . dawn lamented over the fact her baby was growing up & wished he could be her little baby forever ⸻ lamatar decided he could make her wish come true & made a deal with his wife to keep their child young .

ayrin was frozen in time at the age of 12 , never to grow up . when he is 16 he learns of the spell & murders them both in a fit of rage / bloodlust . ( he was still doing the terrible things little ayrin did in base backstory . ie ; hurting other kids , killing animals , ect but he hadn't killed a person before . ) he fled the bloodsoaked house & lived on the streets of baldur's gate before meeting sceleritas fel several years later⸻ who was shocked to see the chosen of bhaal be so small & doubled checked his calendar . ayrin explained the situation & his rage that killing the hag did not break the curse .

that was when they figured out how to steal skin & wear it like a new pair of clothes . dark magic that would again , curse him with a hunger for flesh .

ayrin hunted to find a man who looked enough like him but all the features he desperately wanted : tall , muscles , handsome , some body hair ⸻ the markings of adulthood . the half wood elf ; gallo cadell , would do nicely . fortunate that he visited baldur's gate when ayrin needed a new face .

with a new face & a new name , he look his place as bhaal's chosen . every now & then he will use his true face . mostly for amusement .

during bg3 : ray has no memory , thus cannot change between the two faces . one night during a long rest he will hallucinate & see ayrin before him . the voice is the same as the voice in his head that tells him to do the terrible acts of violence . at first , he tries to block it out ( saving the teiflings ) but often fails ( cut gales hand off ) as the party gets to act 2 , ayrin is in control more than ray & rages when he sees orin .

ps : i know hags are an all female race . hes just transgender now lol

pps : he sees orin is a changeling & loses his ever loving mind like " YOU FUCKING CHEATER I HAD TO FLAY THIS SKIN TO WEAR IT . " he is also kinda jealous of astarion being turned when he was older & looks like a adult ( elves are viewed as mature at 100 so technically he's a baby , emotionally speaking , but like he's an adult physically speaking . ) but ayrin was forced to be a child forever .

[tactyl-ymon]

DnD session write up - Rituals and Recompense

Alright, another dnd session down and another woeful amount of notes I was too immersed to expand on while the game was going on, which is coming back to bite me in the arse months later when I’m writing this. Strap in friends, this one is a doozy about 3 months in the making and my drama loving arse wanted to wring as much closure out of this as I could.

We pick up after a hard won fight against a supercharged hag, everyone alive but some worse off than others. Drackuss, our dragonborn paladin noticed that Eridol the gnome cleric was staring off into the distance, having a panic attack and clutching the very fresh near death blow that he suffered at the hands of a mind controlled Drackuss not 15 seconds ago. He approaches Eridol and I have to make a wisdom save, which I fail horribly. In Eridol’s panicked mind, Drackuss is coming to finish him off again, he needs to protect himself now while he can. Subconsciously, Eridol casts Spiritual Guardians to keep Drackuss at bay. Drackuss takes this as Eridol being mind controlled and as Drackuss is want to do, kept coming at him. I make my second wisdom save and Eridol comes back to his senses, immediately drops the spell, apologises to Drackuss and walks down stairs to deal with a large-ish pile of bodies in another room while everyone finishes up with what they need before a long rest. The rogues gallery, aka Emmi and Veiraen go to town picking over the remains of an assassin that had killed Veiraen a few sessions back (he got better) and nearly killed Emmi more times than is really necessary. They get some nice poison for their troubles. Merla, the Halfling barbarian was gloating about she took down not 1, not 2, but 3 of the big bads and honestly she deserves it, no one would have been alive if she hadn’t curbstomped the majority of baddies between us and the BBEG. Ivellios our elven wizard had disappeared at some point either during the fight or directly after, scattered to the winds to be an NPC until further notice. Our sorcerer npc, Core and Drackuss are inspecting a circular dias in the room emblazoned with 3 very distinct religious symbols for fantasy Cthulu, Bhaal - the god of murder and Yurtris – joint god of death and disease. Drackuss wanting to gain insight on the dias, prays to his god for guidance and information and this goes about as well as can be expected when you pray in an evil temple adorned with the symbols of multiple evil gods. A save is asked for and thank whatever gods you follow Drackuss succeeds because the alternative was his alignment flips and I’ll be honest I don’t think anyone could really take him even if we weren’t all emotionally drained and near dead. Everyone except Core and Eridol trek back to a central room and sets up camp for the night, Core and Eridol forgo a nights sleep, Eridol to take care of the pile of bodies and prepare them for burial with gentle repose and making a list of descriptions to give to the townsfolk to identify the dead. Core to try and talk to Eridol about the frankly worrisome behaviour he’s been showing recently but doesn’t really get a response. While sleeping, Drackuss receives a vision from his god, Lendys. In a previous vision, he had been given a choice of paths to take, one leading towards familiarity and faith, the other towards power and ruination. Drackuss had chosen the path of power and now as he looks around he sees the mangles corpses of his friends and travelling companions. Everyone wakes up and the trek back to town begins, Eridol carrying the corpse of the small celestial half orc child that was taken for the hags sacrifice, no one really talking about everything that happened because if nothing else, we’re all emotionally stable adventurers who know when to talk about our problems. We make it the 8 hours back to town with the majority of the group splitting off to buy a cart and provisions to travel back to the capital city we’re staying in while Core and Eridol go to take the childs long dead body back to his family for closure. We get there and have a heartfelt discussion with the mother who declines Eridols offer to talk to her son one last time and asks them to leave with the body so the parents can grieve in peace. While we begin walking back to town to find a graveyard the scene cuts back to the rest of the crew, now with rations, transportation and Merla and Eridols dogs in tow with Drackuss sitting down to meditate aka rolling on his occasional wild magic table and this rat bastard rolled the holy grail on the massively expanded wild magic table he and the DM agreed on. He opens his eyes and finds a small, floating candle with a note around it “Make a wish and blow me out” the note says. Feeling a sense of immense guilt over what happened, Drackuss clears his mind and blows out the candle. Seeing no immediate effect, he thinks maybe it was a hallucination. Cue Eridol screaming in the distance, because the PREVIOUSLY DECAPITATED CHILD starts twitching and wriggling in the makeshift wrappings Eridol had bound him in, this causes him to drop the body and panic casting destroy undead because this was not the plan, sweet babies this was so not what was supposed to happen. Eridol is screaming, Core is screaming, the kid is weirdly not screaming. It’s chaos because even in a world of magic and gods decapitation is usually a forever thing, neither of us know what happened and we get in touch with everyone else because someone’s got to know what happened. Drackuss mentions seeing a candle but Eridol and Core are barely paying attention because a literal miracle just happened and the dawning realisation that they now have to turn around and march back to the grieving parents we just devastated and go “Hey, you know how your kid was dead? Well, he got better. Ok, have fun” and then we can never come back to this town, so we both decide to just accept it and run. We end the session travelling back to the capital city, sun at our backs and a bottle of very expensive wine with Eridol and Merla camping outside of town for a few days because of the whole “Merla is technically wanted for murder” thing while Drackuss heads off to the main temple in the city and the rogues head back to the share house with the dogs.