#its dark urge hours

[moron-rights]

Me, wishing there was more egg related content (with my durge)

[im-smart-i-swear]

kuron voice do i look like i was born yesterday

[a-drama-addict]

finally sharing my durge <3 meet freyja (she/her) everyone

[manicpixie-tieflingboyfriend]

okay okay okay so early morning pain/comfort

Aerdir has to go the the Temple to properly reject Bhaal and take down Orin, Gortash had mentioned she infiltrated the camp but none of his companions went missing? Maybe he lied.

But he didn't, she infiltrated it another way, through knowing Aerdir's deepest wound to plunge a knife into.

They walk into Bhaal's temple, he's ready to deal with her bullshit, reject Bhaal, be done with this nonsense. Halsin and the others come to a halt in front of him, Halsin pointedly stops Aerdir's advance, turns to him begs him to turn back so they can fight Orin and he can deal with Bhaal after, and while Aerdir is confused and trying to get around the lot of them he hears it.

Zevlor's agonizing scream.

He'd know it anywhere.

Not even the brick wall that is Halsin and Karlach can keep Aerdir's fury filled self calm after that, Orin cackling like a deranged beast, "Do you hear, bloodkin?! Do you hear that sweet, terrified song?! He's sung so sweet so far, it's even better now he knows his heart has found him! He can watch as it stops beating before he dies!"

Aerdir is all fury, his mind's eye red, ash, blood and meat as he breaks out of their hold and witnesses with his own eyes Orin driving a dagger into Zevlor's thigh for what looks like the tenth or so time, and all Zevlor screams is for Aerdir to run.

But he doesn't, he's not about to turn tail now, not after everything.

He kills Orin.

He rejects Bhaal.

He dies.

But when he gets reborn, cleaved back into his body, Zevlor is right there, bloodied wounds bandaged and healing, still alive.

They're both alive, for what it's worth.

It takes a while. After the elderbrain, even, for them to be afforded any time at all.

But a day comes when Aerdir is more himself than ever, and Zevlor is waiting, and everything is quiet and peaceful, and every single touch thereafter is as treasured as they would have been before, just with a lot less fear now.

[fenori]

the chokehold this man and game have on me

[bellandeano]

i'm understanding why people love their tavs so much now. love to introduce ya'll to my durge he's called cecil & he's pink <3 one drawn in act 1 and one in act 3

[emahriel]

i need to finish this playthrough before modding my game i need to finish this playthrough before making some new characters i need to finish my playth

[clericofkelemvor]

Dateile got a lil makeover and i wrote a ficlet to go with it. Spoilers for dark urge stuff and act 1 + content warning for imagery of gore, explicit thoughts of harming companions, and general bloodlust-induced thoughts. now with ao3 link

Dateile woke with a start, gasping for air. Immediately she knew her fever had broken - she was covered in sweat, her clothes sticking uncomfortably to her body, but lucid, almost painfully so.

No one else was awake. Even Wyll, who had volunteered to take watch, was slumped over in a fitful sleep, sitting by the dying embers of the fire. Dateile shivered when she realized they barely gave off any warmth, reminded of the chill of the spiders' cavern.

She dragged herself into a standing position and ambled over to the fire, her joints stiff and painful. She added a log from the pile next to it and blew over the embers, making them glow a little hard, then poked them with her dagger to try and get a spark going. The red coals seemed to whisper to her, begging her to take them to Wyll's face and burn it off, but she gritted her teeth and ignored it.

She got a small flame going eventually, and the log started to crackle gently. She sat back, staring at it. Her body was itching with dried sweat and tingling with a desire for violence, for screams and entrails. She curled her hands in fists and sat on them, trying to remember her dream instead.

It came all too easily. The tall human woman - who seemed so strangely familiar - telling her she had stopped the ceremorphosis, that she needed her help, that her urges would doom them all. Dateile could still smell her, dried herbs and sweat, still feel her pulse beneath her fingers when she'd helped her up.

Surely it was only a vivid dream. Right? Yes, she had been in bad shape before the dream - and when Lae'zel had said it was the beginning of their transformation, so grimly sure, Dateile had known it was true. And yes, now here she was, unchanged and unharmed, as the woman in her dream had promised. But it could have been only a dream - a way for her subconcious to process the illness. Maybe it hadn't been ceremorphosis at all. After all, she'd dreamed of much worse, weirder things.

Ripped out tongues and peeled skin flashed in her mind, and her hands twitched violently. Dateile closed her eyes tight, trying to banish the images, but in their stead Alfira came to mind - sweet, gentle, trusting Alfira, who had played for her the first song she could remember, who she had murdered without even waking, whose corpse she had savaged with pleasure she could still feel upon waking up with bloody hands.

Dateile stood up and walked to the edge of camp, one foot in front of the other. She had to make it purposeful, because if she did not focus, if she did not put all of her willpower in every step, she knew she would run back to the fire, and her hands would find one of her companions, and would kill them. Terror was forming a scream at the back of her throat, but the rest of her body begged for savagery, bloodlust thrumming harder and harder in her veins with every heartbeat.

She made it to a stalagmite as tall as she was, surrounded by a smattering of smaller ones in a circle, and slumped over at its foot, pushing her back into it as if the slimy stickiness of it could keep her here. At least she didn't have her eyes on the camp and its occupants anymore; the images her mind tried to form became more vague, concepts of impersonal wounds and memories of blood rather than scenes of Shadowheart or Gale being beautifully, thoroughly gutted in the dark.

"Fuck this. Fuck this, fuck this, fuck this." Dateile hissed between her teeth. Her vision narrowed, clouded by a sanguine haze. She needed to hurt something, someone, or she would kill one of her friends again. But stones didn't bleed, and it would take much too long to chip at one. She buried her hands in her hair and pulled as hard as she could, but the pain barely helped. She shook her head violently, hoping to make herself too dizzy to think, but it did not work as well. Her long braid swung into view and them away again, the read threads barely visible in the lowlight almost reminding her of-

Blood. The thought was single-minded, frantic, and she gripped the braid and squeezed. It didn't hurt, and it did not bleed, but the way the hair gave way under her fingers, from a thick strand into a thousand fragile filaments, echoed in away that made her blood hum in satisfaction. Like a limb she had cut once, sliver by sliver, slow enough to enjoy the way the muscle fell apart.

She grabbed her dagger and applied it, just as slow, to the end of her braid. The blade was a little dulled by use, but it made it better - more resistance. It didn't bleed, but Dateile could trick herself in remembering the way she'd killed others instead - goblins and humans and gnolls recently, fresh in her mind, and combined with the sensation it was enough. She took the weapon to her hair again, just a little further up from where she'd cut, and applied strength, closing her eyes and conjuring images of warm, exposed flesh. It was easy, so easy, and she did it again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again

[sunriseovergotham]

i didnt start crying or hyperventilating so was it REALLY a panic attack

[problemcore]

i miss this game already

[kamisatoayato]

i beat baldurs gate 3

[moron-rights]

just a guy caught between his two white haired pals, what can i say

[totalshockwaves]

me discovering the clown face makeup in BG3: oh boy is my playthrough gonna be improved

[mads-agenda]

if you cast detect thoughts on Luce, the only thing you hear is Summoning the Muse by Dead Can Dance, and it IS raining

[phantomdecibel]

hella terrible not being able to pace :((

[big-bhaals]

a SUPER loose attempt at making my tav match how he looks in my head. mostly the shadow over the eyes. the hat looks terrible and i am gonna really work on it so it looks. not terrible.