#nightwarden minthara x dark urge

[adaptacy]

The General Drow's Celebration {1/2}

Pairing: General!Minthara x Durge!AFAB!Reader

{Part 2}

Warnings/Tags: !!NSFW!! MDNI. BG3 Act II Heavy Spoilers. Minthara is, uh, evil. Exhibitionism, minor foodplay, bloodplay sorta (but its not either of yours), straight-up murder (also not either of you), general cultish things. Mention of poison. Part 1 doesn't include the actual smut but it will happen in part 2! Which I'll finish writing... eventually. Some Drow/Undercommon terms are used, I'm not super familiar I just looked shit up, there's a glossary thingy at the end. :)

Word Count: 3.4k

“Pitiful display. Bold of you to slight me so poorly. Your loyal fleet has been charged on account of your mistakes. Each throat slit. Yours is next.”

“Please, Nightwarden, you do not–”

“Silence,” she cuts back, crossing one of her legs over the other, her stern gaze intimidating even if it wasn’t backed by a history of bloodshed. “Abysmal absence of respect. Treacherous.”

“Shall we admit them to the cells?”

The drow snickers, waving her hand in a quick snap. “A waste that would be. We need the space for more valuable criminals. Slaughter the underling,” she commands, and the executioner raises the blade, but her palm lifts, and the order is paused. “No. Throw them to the shadows. Let them fend against the forsaken.”

“As you command, General,” the man replies, dipping his head and gathering up the chains that bind the betrayer’s wrists, dragging the pleading goblin out of the hall. 

At last, it is empty. The line of criminals, cultists, and true souls sorted through. Another day comes to an end with the drow on the throne, another day bearing the late Ketheric’s title, wielding his power, and fate spins along as it should, weaving her pristine web of influence. 

“General,” you hum, taking the opportunity to sit on the stone arm of her claimed throne, and she turns her head to look at you, a proud, passionate fire behind her eyes.

“Glorious, isn’t it, my love?” Minthara raises her hand and her slender fingers dance on your chin, feigning a gentle touch before she grips it, her thumb pressing into your jaw as she yanks you closer, her fanged grin growing. “Do you wish to taste the power?”

You smile in return, holding her gaze until she eyes your lips, the pride in the red of her eye soon joined by a similarly hued lust. You stay quiet for a few extra moments before finally responding. “I would like nothing more.”

Her tongue runs over her bottom lip before she pulls you closer, the kiss teasingly tender, and she breaks it in an instant. “Drink it in. My power is yours, dark one. Together, we reign.”

 You inch forward, attempting to meet her lips again, but her grip grows more firm, and she forces you to remain stationary. “Nobody else is here,” you whisper, glancing between her lips and her eyes, and her gaze lifts to yours as she smirks.

“Precisely. How shall I lay claim to my property without an audience? You are too exquisite to be concealed,” she whispers, her words catching on your lips, her breath only serving to tease you further. You feel the faint sting of her poison, and it only drives you to deepen your yearning. “Tonight, we will feast. A new age of True Souls shall be celebrated. And I will claim you before our guests. You will be desired by all, but earned only by me. My slayer. My pet. My oloth.”

“He would be proud,” you praise, inching closer to her with your body, though your head remains still. 

“I’m inclined to agree. A shame his sacrifice was a necessity. As is the cycle of hierarchy,” she states, releasing your chin, but pulling her own head away before you have a chance to take advantage of the freedom of movement. “We will coddle a new generation of warriors. Not with affection, but dedication. Swaddle them in viscera and nurse them to victory.”

“We’ll raise a force of blood-bringers,” you agree, and Minthara smirks, huffing out an amused exhale.

“Blood-bringers. A marvelous title for a marvelous army.” The drow presses her palms to the stone arms and pushes herself up, standing before the empty room. “Sine Thelids, we will be.” You feel an uncanny itch in your palms, and you shift uncomfortably. Your tadpole squirms, and Minthara lowers her head, sensing your edge. “Control, my slayer. We will march soon. The world will be ours – all thralls along with it. You will have your vengeance, and I shall have mine. Havoc will come to Orin, but it is the blood-bringers she will fear.” 

“We will claim her life,” you second, standing up as well and joining her side, watching her as she looks over the empty throne room. Many times, she’s been seated off to the side. Only ever gazing at the throne that Ketheric so often sat in. With your help, however, her placement had changed. Rightfully, she had taken his power, his lead, just as you had helped her take his life. Ketheric was the first to fall, but he would not be the last. 

“They shall bow to us. Each and every one. Extinguish their lives, and ignite their influence. We will be almighty,” she purrs, her chin tilting up ever so slightly, red eyes scanning the room one final time before she turns back to you, and holds out her hand. “Come. We must prepare for the banquet.” 

It came as no surprise that Minthara had already planned an outfit for you; she had a plan for the banquet, and she intended to follow it through perfectly. That required your cooperation, even in the slightest of details. You weren’t complaining – it was a fine choice she’d made. Less surprising still was the nature of the clothing. 

A personally tailored leather clasp for a neck piece, attaching to a particularly revealing shirt, cut with a wide triangle down the middle of your torso, leaving little to the imagination. You didn’t mind. Chances are, nothing would be left to the imagination by the end of the gathering, so you were going to take what you could get. 

You clean yourself up of any lingering grime from the day, enjoying a short but relaxing bath before dressing yourself up in the clothes she had prescribed to you. Once you’re sure that you’re ready, you make your way downstairs to the audience hall, where Minthara waits at the bottom of the stairs, her hand offered to you as you approach. 

It would be an understatement to say that suppressing a smile was difficult – pitted against her appearance, your physical display of enjoyment was far out of your control. Minthara was the type to look good in anything, though she usually stuck to her usual dark drow armor and her black, rigid evening clothes. 

Tonight, however, was special. Her outfit reflected that in a way that almost took you by surprise. 

Both of you were well-aware of the possibility of an attack. Not an attack on Moonrise, not an attack on The Absolute, but an attack on Minthara – with Ketheric the unkillable now, against all odds, gone and dead, there was sure to be turmoil between the higher ranking members of the cult. Minthara had been the one to dethrone him, to rob him of his power and his breath, and thus she had claimed his authority. 

Not everyone was so willing to allow such an opportunity to slip out of their grasp. Z’rell had been taken care of even before Ketheric, as she posed the most significant threat. A few others, too – mostly those who had previously disrespected Minthara, made to pay their dues in the light of her new title. 

Tonight, she would feast with potential enemies. Betrayers. She may feast with attempted assassinations, and it was unlikely the night would sail without bloodshed. 

You did not expect a full suit of armor, but you had expected something more protective than the clothing she had decided upon. Her upper arms and shoulders were well-guarded with black leather shells, attaching to an equally thick leather that ran down her sides, though where defense mattered most – her abdomen, the simplest and most lethal place to strike – her purple skin was left revealed to the world. 

Her legs were wrapped comfortably in black pants, and you know immediately that this is not an oversight on her part. Hardly so. It is a test. An offering – an opportunity for her silent enemies, her weakest spot left vulnerable to their hunger for power, a surefire bait. Minthara had not forgotten about her endangerment. She embraced it. Welcomed it. Challenged it.

“It fits,” she states, smirking as you take her hand in your own and step carefully down the final few steps, allowing her to drink in your appearance just as you had soaked in hers. “A good thing. I wish no harm upon our tailor – I have already removed his tongue, but I suspect he may need his fingers to continue his work. A troublesome ordeal seeking out a new tailor would prove,” she chuckles. 

You turn to face her, and she takes your other hand as well, her red eyes judging your expression. “You look nice as well, General,” you praise, not bothering to hide your wandering gaze as you trail over her chest, the bra piece more than familiar to you. You dare to lift a finger, pulling your hand from hers, and snake it under the band over her sternum, pulling it down ever so slightly, your temptation getting the best of you. 

Her slender fingers trace up your wrist, wrapping around and pulling your hand up to her mouth, pressing her lips to the back of it. “We shall be objects of desire tonight. Some may see vulnerability. It is in that liability we find our strength. Neither harm nor pleasure shall be brought upon you unless it is by my hand. That is an assurance.”

“They worship our power. Soon, our bodies alongside it, yes?” You ask, and Minthara smirks again, giving your hand another kiss. 

“Our power. Our lethality. Our bodies. And we will worship one another.” At last, she releases your hand, and it returns to your side, though she still holds the other one. Gently – hardly afraid of losing you, or allowing you opportunity to slip away, for she knows you are hers, and she is yours. It is for that same reason that you don’t tighten your grip around her fingers. There is ample security and assurance without the need for a strong hold. Her gaze shifts to large wooden double doors, where light shines through the crack at the bottom. “Our squadron awaits. Ah,” – Minthara tilts her head – “Our blood-bringers.” 

Providing a controlled nod in response, she leads you into the banquet hall, the table already arranged with the offerings of a feast, and ‘True Souls’ line the longer sides of the table, and at the head there are two empty chairs. Empty, that is, until Minthara guides you towards them, and you take a seat at one while she stands in front of the one beside you, releasing your hand in order to address the group. 

You know everyone stationed at the table, though you aren’t quite familiar with all of them. You know each person’s name, but not everyone’s current rank, or how they served Ketheric during his reign. Those who you do immediately recognize consist of The Warden, who’s standing remains unchanged, the halfling Linsella, who has been granted an increase in authority, with Minthara permitting her reign over verified prisoners and hostages, allowing her to convert said captives as she pleases. Sitting two seats to your left is the skilled spy Marcus, who you recall once yearned to be the right-hand of the late general. As far as you’re aware, he has remained a mere spy, but high in the ranks nonetheless. 

“A waste of precious time it would be, were I to spare words of mourning for Thorm,” Minthara announces, all eyes pinned on her, save for yours. “He served well, but he serves no more. I plan no delegation over the loss. We move forward, as the Absolute commands,” she continues, and the True Souls each dip their heads, murmuring out quiet agreements; ‘In Her name.’

She does well to hide the truth. You have always admired her, both for her prevalence in battle and her combined willingness and capability to achieve further power where she sees possibility. Few manage to look past morals as she does, few are as earnestly eager as she is with their dreams. 

Her faith was crushed, the truth revealed in ways that would desecrate any other’s ambition, had they been in her shoes. Alas, she is Minthara of house Baenre, and she seizes opportunity the moment it presents itself. With one stone in her grasp, and an oblivious, willing army at her disposal, she poses a far larger threat to the other chosen than they may have ever thought possible. 

“You sit in his throne,” A man speaks up, two chairs to your left – Marcus, the spy, “You serve his meals, you command his troops, and yet you disrespect his name wholly.” He speaks with a growl, and dares to rise, making his intentions clear to the room, his target included. 

Minthara pulls her torso back, and she meets his eye, her palms resting flat on the table. No longer hidden beneath the table, a greatclub is grasped tightly in his right hand, his knuckles tinted white from the tension in his hold. “Ketheric disrespected his name to far greater lengths than I would ever have the words to manage. And so creatively, too,” she chuckles, her tone brimming with clear-cut confidence, and although you attempt to reassure yourself, you feel your heart skip a beat, momentarily silently fearing for her safety. You see no daggers, no means of defense on her person, and yet she smiles all the same. 

Marcus scoffs, grimacing, leaning towards the drow, the fire in his eyes fueled entirely by resentment. “Attempt no trickery by mouth – Our General wanted you disposed of, and I intend to carry out his orders as my final judgment by the Absolute.” 

“Pathetic. Loyalty to a dead man serves no greater purpose – only a grave.” Minthara sneers, her next words joined by a tone of stable, smooth mockery, “Do you expect him to rise again? Fulfill his wishes, and his head will roll back onto the neck I severed it from? The Absolute has already judged you well and true. I’m afraid your devotion is tardy. Had you served him so faithfully while his corpse was animate, perhaps he may have led a longer rule. Alas, I shall reward your allegiance, and reunite you with your Bossk.”

Marcus’ scowl pulls wrinkles in his forehead, his arm twitching – the split-second jerk being movement enough to warn Minthara of his next move. He charges, raising his greatclub, eyes pinning a target on her skull. You’re not granted a chance to so much as flinch before Minthara retrieves a dagger from its place in a sheath attached to the bottom of the table, raising her arm as the blade is precisely swiped across the man’s throat, spraying the immediate area in his blood. 

That immediate area being you, Minthara, the two True Souls sitting closest, and part of the prepared meal on the table. 

The spy’s body falls with a final gurgle, and Minthara spins her blade to capture it in a firmer grip, her blood-kin gaze serving a silent order to the stunned audience. “Rath’arg. Do any other false believers wish to challenge me? To take my head would be a grant of my authority. Do strike now, daring lambs, for tonight I am willing to grant mercy and bestow quick deaths upon traitors.”

Her breath is steady – she is not tense, but firm, and the True Souls exchange glances with one another, each and every one remaining silent and submissive. Though her fine attire is splattered with the blood of a betrayer, she remains unphased. True to her mission, allowing no room for distractions, nor for doubt. 

When she is assured, she sets her dagger on the table beside her, and she dips her head. “Very well. Feast, warriors, for we need our strength. In Her name,” she states, her eyes closing for only a moment. 

“In Her name,” the party recites, beginning to indulge themselves in the food less affected by the close death, but Minthara turns instead to you, her own personal repast, free from the intermingling of her underlings. The True souls speak, quietly, amongst one other – discussing the Absolute, the rise of their new General, and similar such topics. 

Her bloodied purple hand is offered to you, and you accept, rising from your seat at her physical request. Few eyes are drawn to you, for the time being – you don’t bother to take count, to truly decipher how many pay attention to your activities. Minthara pulls you closer, her free hand cradling your jaw and wiping Marcus’ blood from your lips, allowing her to kiss you without risking a taste of the coward. For a short moment, the contact is broken, and her nose brushes with yours, gaze intense with a roused lust from the bloodshed. “However intense our reign may become, however great our influence grows, know that at the center of my drive is where you lie. You are mine, as I am yours. We are bound as one – in body, in soul, in power.” There’s a pause in which you make an attempt to reconnect your lips, but she pulls back, her mouth instead moving towards your ear, her tone lowering to a whisper, ensuring only you may receive her message. “Bow as we may to the Absolute, pray as we may to their lies, you are my true quar'valsharess. My deity, and mine alone.”

Knowing how much she risks by admitting that in a room full of the Absolute’s followers, however quiet of an admission it was, is more than enough to make your heart flutter, stomach pleasantly uneased by a disturbance of butterflies. You pivot as a hand on your hip guides you to press your back against the edge of the table, and the dishes behind you are pushed aside, likely much to the dismay of the nearest True Souls. Minthara’s lips trail over your lightly bloodied neck, no longer caring whether or not the blood invades her taste, merely enjoying the flavor of her success on your skin. 

While she delivers no verbal commands or physical guidance, you understand her intentions well enough to assist her in carrying them out. So, you lift yourself onto your ankles and hop just enough to steady yourself on the table, immediately finding that she invades the space between your legs, bringing her hips closer to yours. Her kisses continue to trail down, littering every available space that her selected clothing allows her to access. Hands run along your sides, caressing over the full length twice before they linger on the sliver of skin between the top and bottom pieces of your outfit. When her mouth reaches that section as well, your leather pants are dragged downward, shedding her territory of protection, vulnerable to her touch – to her command. 

When they bunch at your knees, thighs against the wooden table, your only means of defense being your thin, weak layer of underwear, Minthara pauses, standing up straight once more. A hand presses to your chest, pushing you backwards, though your hips remain stationary – you lay back, displayed across the bloodied feast as if you were one with it. All eyes are on you, now, but Minthara’s attention is the only attention that matters to you. Even if you don’t threaten to disobey or refuse, her palm is firm on your chest, forcing you to keep position. 

“True Souls,” she addresses, instantly gaining the room’s undivided interest. “Speak my title.”

“General Minthara,” the audience replies, and her smirk grows, revealing flashes of her hungry teeth. 

Louder, she repeats; “Speak my title.”

“General Minthara!”

Her hand slides up your body, finding purchase around your throat, and she meets your gaze, her prideful smile meant entirely for you. “Tonight, we celebrate two deaths. The death of Late General Thorm, and the death of The Nightwarden. Indulge in the wine and feast as you deem fit – a rebirth occurs this evening. A rebirth of values. A rebirth of power. A rebirth of The Absolute.” Her gaze lifts, meeting the intrigued smiles of her soldiers. “Hear the testament of my reign – straight from the voice of darkness,” Minthara chuckles, eyes drawn once more to you. “Speak my title, dear oloth.” 

With a lustful smile, you oblige; “General Minthara.” 

“General Minthara,” she agrees, leaning over the table to meet your lips, hand tightening around your throat, robbing you of breath in the two ways she knows best. 

(1) Oloth – Darkness (Drow) (2) Sine Thelid – Great Conqueror (Undercommon) (3) Bossk – Lord (Undercommon) (4) Rath’arg – Coward (Drow) (5) Quar’valsharess – Goddess (Drow)

[kittyseesall]

This game already knows I'm going to romance Minthara in my duo run before I even raid the grove for her LOL. I literally met her that day in the game, and Ruby (my durge) is like, "That's the one bestie, marrying her" 😭. Ruby is just me fr fr

[trappedinafantasy37]

Let's goooo! My AO3 account got activated and I can finally share my Minthara fanfiction that I've been working on for weeks! It'll take me a few days to upload the first few chapters cause I got a lot planned. Gotta do some proof reading cause I'm not the best writer. But, I'm so excited! I finally have a story that I really want to share with the world!

[wastelandkatze]

"Tonight, I wanted this... for myself."

[jojea]

'Cause you see heaven in hell, how many times will my love make you bleed?

[kittyseesall]

Playing more of my duo run with Minthara over the weekend, I one-shot Myrkul and Orin (well one round, but to me, it felt like one shot lmao) in one day 😂 so that was fun. Here are some screenshots I took of Ruby and Minthara. Need more Minthara screenshots because she is now wearing Ketherics armor.

[kittyseesall]

I finally got to the end of my evil durge playthrough. Well, one of the endings, at least. I still plan on doing two more endings with her, I just need a breather from it lol.

For someone that is so "evil" aka my durge Visha, she sure has the softest eyes when it comes to Minthara. Which ya know, I feel that 😆.

On a different note, I wish there were more dialogue options in the game when you become Bhaals Chosen. Minthara and the rest of the companions barely talked about it. It was kind of frustrating.

This was a big moment in the game, and they were like nah give each companion a dialogue option about what you did and diss you for it. Which is super weird when you are doing an evil run. Maybe I am being too picky or whatever 🤷. Anyways I enjoyed the evil playthrough, but I probably won't be doing another one for a little while. I need a breather, lol

[trappedinafantasy37]

Alrighty. After proof reading and editing for the past two days, I have finally posted the first few chapters of my Minthara fanfic. I’m super excited about it. I’ve never been much of a writer, but Baldur’s Gate has given me an inspiration that I never knew I had. I plan for this to be a bit of a long story. I do plan to update somewhat regularly, but I make no promises.

[kittyseesall]

I have been wanting to post my durge for a while now, but I didn't have the time to do so before. Visha is such a babe, I can't 😩💕. This is my first evil playthrough as the Dark Urge and holy shit, I have been enjoying it lol. Also, I'm romancing Minthara as well in this playthrough, I love her so much asdfghjkl

Here are some screenshots without the helmet on. I used a head mod that resembles Orin's for the story 🥺. I have so many feelings on Visha, and I might write some headcanons about them soon, when I have the time.

[trappedinafantasy37]

Aight, got two more chapters for ya'll. I intend to start updating semi-frequently and I'm working on a schedule. I currently have the entirety of Act 2 written out so I need to workshop Act 3 and the transition I have planned between the two acts. Enjoy!

[trappedinafantasy37]

Alrighty, Chapter 5 has been posted. It's a little bit uneventful as it just details Minthara and the team arriving to Last Light and her getting settled in. But, I should be getting more chapters posted this weekend (but no promises). Enjoy!

[trappedinafantasy37]

Aight, Chapter 8 has been updated. I think I figured out a decent schedule for updates, which means an extra treat gets released today.

[h-doodles]

HI AND HELLO I AM BACK FROM THE DEPTHS AND IM HERE TO MEOW SO LOUD ABOUT THIS SPIN OFF INSTEAD BC WOUGH HHHHHHHHHHH I LOVE EVIL I LOVE EVIL WOMEN I SUPPORT WOMENS RIGHTS BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY WOMEN'S WRONGS

(toxic'd yuri'd it up in here @trappedinafantasy37 and im LIVING so bad im eating it [while crying as the shards of glass go down my throat but hey. i wholeheartedly accept the pain of the angst of the evil path we could've had......)

ANYWAY DAEDRA AAAAAAAA HELLO HI HIIIIII HI HELLO girl ur so unhinged but in a very sane way (that is on the opposite spectrum of TBFFTG) and like. wow thats so sexy. who said that.

OK BUT oof. yeah fr pre-worm Daedra IS such a prick but u know what. pre-worm Daedra and pre-worm Helene (Haelfryn) would get along so well methinks.

moving on—

*chuckling nervously* hehe, minthy's in danger...

and damn girl, Minthara really calculated the risks but damn she is BAD at math help helpppppp

ALSO HI HELLO I LOVE RELIGIOUS TRAUMA I SLURP THAT UP SO QUICK AND SO SO FAST HI AND HELLO DID YOU KNOW YOU JUST EXPLODED MY HEART IN PIECES (i mean every fic update does in so many ways but. wow. just wow.)????? WELL NOW YOU DO

anyways AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA thank yew for this update im SO sat and im SO fed today! mwah <3

Aight, new chapter for I Want This One (AO3) → Chapter 3: Lessons Learned

Minthara has been locked in Moonrise Tower for days. That is until the drow who tortured her arrives to take her on a field trip.

Just a bit of a heads up, Minthara gets a little tortured and mistreated once again. Pre-worm Daedra is a fucking prick. I love her so much.

Enjoy!

[adaptacy]

The General Drow's Celebration {2/2}

Pairing: General!Minthara x Durge!AFAB!Reader

{Part 1}

Warnings/Tags: NSFW! Pure smut this time. Knifeplay, bloodplay, consensual poisoning, exhibitionism, the slightest hints of foodplay, etc.

Word Count: 2.4k

Her hand slides up your body, finding purchase around your throat, and she meets your gaze, her prideful smile meant entirely for you. “Tonight, we celebrate two deaths. The death of Late General Thorm, and the death of The Nightwarden. Indulge in the wine and feast as you deem fit – a rebirth occurs this evening. A rebirth of values. A rebirth of power. A rebirth of The Absolute.” Her gaze lifts, meeting the intrigued smiles of her soldiers. “Hear the testament of my reign – straight from the voice of darkness,” Minthara chuckles, eyes drawn once more to you. “Speak my title, dear oloth.” 

With a lustful smile, you oblige; “General Minthara.” 

“General Minthara,” she agrees, leaning over the table to meet your lips, hand tightening around your throat, robbing you of breath in the two ways she knows best. Her other hand is placed on one of your knees, fingers tracing the inside of your leg and tugging outward, creating a little more room between your leg and her waist. Her hand disappears, and it’s only sensible for you to immediately miss it, especially when she’s forced to break the kiss, leaving the two of you to catch your breaths. She stays close, her voice low and steady as she makes a command; “Swallow.”

Without question or hesitation, you do as she asks. Immediately, there is a stinging present, starting at your lips, washing over your tongue and down your throat. Some tart bitterness that you’d subtracted from her mouth – you know both from experience and from the faded glisten on her lips, a mixture of your spit and the poison, some custom concoction made only for the two of you to share. The taste fades as your mouth borders on the edge of brimming numbness, your throat tight, and before long you feel it lull you into a state of light-headedness. She’d increased the dosage for the occasion, and you were, slowly, building an immunity to it, but tonight was a test of many things. A test of her guild’s loyalty, a test of her power, and a test of your constitution. 

“Stay awake, my love. You will not want to miss what follows. You are far more entertaining to please when you are conscious. Your attentiveness shall be rewarded in full.” Her coos are accompanied by a snicker, and you nod in understanding, in a silent promise to obey her every request – her every demand. Your efforts to fight the artificial weariness in your head are pushed to the forefront of your priorities, and you keep your eyes strictly on Minthara, relying on her to be your point of focus, to keep you grounded and awake. 

The kiss is resumed, and you allow yourself to close your eyes, very quickly regretting that choice as it makes the urge to drift off significantly stronger. So, instead, you force them open just in time to catch the glint on the blade of her bloodied dagger, lifted from the table and venturing towards your thighs. The chill meets your skin with the flat length of the weapon, though her hand rises enough to slant the dagger and poke the sharp point into your skin. Had your mouth been free, you certainly would’ve been forced to give some small hiss of discomfort, but you’re thankful for her lip’s presence working as a preventative. 

The point is drawn down, and then curves inward, and then is drawn out again – soon, there’s five slightly curved lines of blood on your thigh, but she’s not yet done. Two lines in the middle are what it takes to complete it, and the pinching pain serves as an assistant in keeping you awake, making you grateful for the branding in more ways than one. Despite not being able to see her work, the web design imprinted on your thigh is a perfect recreation of the mark that she bears on her own skin. Minthara pulls out of the kiss, and you release her with a quiet whine, your mind too preoccupied with the challenge of staying awake to bother splitting your attention to prevent your own natural pleading. 

Fortunately, the general doesn’t seem to mind – in fact, she grins, raising an eyebrow and tilting her head at you, as if surprised by your minor show of desperation. “Poison caught your tongue, dark one? Oh, do indulge me; what is it that you crave?” She asks, an unusual curiosity admitted in her tone. 

Well, there’s only one answer for that question. It’s a simple one. “You.”

“Me?” She clarifies, and you nod – sleepily, thanks entirely to the effects of the barely diluted poison, though you suppose your confusion isn’t helping. “What about me? Which part of me do you desire? My hands? My tongue? My blade, perhaps?” Her hand releases some of the tension around your throat, tracing your arteries under her fingers until she cradles your jaw, angling your head upwards as she awaits her answer. Her thumb crosses your lower lip, wiping it clean of lingering poison, though it has no effect on what you already ingested. 

Again, the question isn’t a difficult one, even in your faded state. “All of you, my General,” you elaborate, your eyes trailing down towards the hand that wields the dagger, but a tug on your chin is enough for your gaze to snap back onto the drow. 

“Do not get distracted, xi’hum. I have trained you better. We have an audience tonight – do behave. You fight the poison well. It seems you are adapting to the taste,” she praises, her thumb tucking into your mouth, and you blink up at her, staying quiet as she seems to be directing. “As you have so willingly consumed my gift to you, it is only just that I feast upon you in return. After all, a banquet is only complete with a meal. And a meal, I shall have.”

It’s not entirely clear if the butterflies in your stomach are due to your excitement or the poison beginning to digest, but either way, they’re a pleasant and welcome sensation, and Minthara is quick to catch onto the smile that they bring across your lips. Her thumb pulls away from your mouth and glides down to the very bottom of your stomach, her palm located just under your belly button as it presses you into the table, earning a momentary squirm from you. Once you settle, she leans down, her other hand firmly holding your marked thigh, and once she’s close enough, her tongue sweeps over the wound, collecting the spilled blood. Her eyes close in order to truly savor the taste, and her hand squeezes, pushing out as much blood as possible. 

Perhaps due to your light-headedness, or maybe just how much she seems to be enjoying it, the feeling is strangely pleasant – despite what your short whine may lead the audience to believe, the warmth of her tongue over the cuts is oddly comforting, even if it is joined by the faintest of irritated stings. You don’t see a world in which it would be possible to not let your mind drift, anticipation and elation curling into a fantasy of what is sure to soon play out, once Minthara deems you desperate enough to earn the gift of her mouth’s company on your core. Unfortunately, that time hasn’t come, and dreaming of it only makes you squirm with expected neediness. Minthara reminds you of her plans with a soothing, yet firm, “Patience, dark one.” 

And patient you are – as patient as one can be when they’re displayed so lovingly over a table of prying eyes, teased by the expertly dangerous (and expertly attractive) General Minthara, left powerless until she permits further pleasure. Every movement of hers is a carefully planned test, either of your obedience or your control; meticulous, gentle trailing of the tip of her dagger over your underwear, enough to tease what’s beneath without so much as catching a single thread of the fabric. She trails kisses up and across your thighs, her lips claiming every inch except the place that so terribly needs her attention. 

The flat width of the blade presses against the length of your underwear, and you flinch just barely, earning a ‘tsk’ of disapproval from Minthara. You fall still once more, finally letting your eyes squeeze closed, your head tilting back as you try to divide your focus between fighting the poison and fighting your reflexes. You feel an unfamiliar, trivial chill brought on by the removal of cover, and you lift your head in time to catch Minthara pulling your underwear away from your skin with her knife, slicing it on the blade in a quick tug. Her eyes meet yours, and the point of her weapon presses against your throat, tilting your chin up towards her. “Tell me, my love. Who is it that controls you? Who is it that you belong to?”

“You, General Minthara.” 

She chuckles, drawing the edge under your chin, enough to cause a scratch without spilling any blood. “What a good girl.” Her praise is followed by the removal of the blade against your skin, and she sets it aside, instead pulling up her chair and placing her hands on the outside of your thighs, tugging you a little bit closer to the edge of the table. Your knees hang on her shoulders, and soon her hands slide up to hold your hips, thumbs pressing bruises into the soft skin they rest on. “Sing my name as I command, and pleasure shall be yours,” she promises, kissing your thigh once more. 

Your head falls back once more, and she only allows you to lay in wait for a few seconds before her tongue runs over your folds with the same meticulous precision that she exercised when tasting your mark. Your ankles lock where they rest on her back, trying to pull her in closer, but she only chuckles at your attempt, the near purr against your skin sending a shiver up your spine. Though she’s hardly even begun, you feel all of the anticipation paying off, your high standards miraculously met, and you hum out “General,” in an effort to earn further pleasure. 

Minthara obliges, letting her tongue bathe your clit, the movements nothing short of loving despite how intensely violent and unapologetically rough she could be, though that side of her is still ever-present, especially as she runs her teeth over your clit, threatening to introduce a pinch amongst the pleasure. 

Partially in an effort to avoid facing the attention of the surrounding True Souls, you close your eyes, which also causes all of your attention to be drawn to the sensations between your legs. Just in time, Minthara pulls her tongue back, drawing a long line from the lowest point of your entrance up to your clit, still teasing you before she takes it any further. Her nails aren’t quite as willing to remain on the surface, however, and an accidental squirm earns you eight pricks where her fingers hold your skin, her thumbs settling on merely pressuring their spots. It takes a lot to subdue a whine, though the pain is slight in comparison to the carving of her blade. 

Your ankles thump – gently, nearly disguised as a flinch – against her back, and she chuckles against your skin, refusing to continue just yet. At least, until you sing out a “Please, General” of desperation, to which she replies by finally moving forward, slipping her tongue into you as a form of affirmation. This is hardly the first time the two of you have been in this position, but it never fails to overwhelm you – in all the best ways, of course. 

There’s a tingle on your skin, no doubt a side-effect of the sting of poison, though the slight traces still remaining on her lips are hardly enough for any actual damage or irritation to set in. Just a tingle, enough to prick your skin without genuine danger. Of course, that’s not to say the rest of the dosage wasn’t still in effect, as your eyes felt heavy even despite them being closed. Fortunately, with Minthara lapping up everything your insides had to offer, you were far from at risk of falling asleep. 

Your hands reach down, one holding Minthara’s arm, her grip on your hips tightening in acknowledgement, and the other pushes against her head, encouraging her as best you can without being able to move your hips much. She lets go of your body with one hand, instead her fingers wrap around your arm, keeping it in place. Minthara moves with your eager pushes, and you can feel her smile against your skin, buried beneath the stimulation provided by her tongue. 

It doesn’t take much, or very long – she’s fantastic at giving speeches and winning people over with her words, but it’s hardly the only thing her tongue is gifted at – before you feel yourself approaching the very edge of pleasure itself. You do as she demanded; singing out her title, begging your General for release, and as promised, she doesn’t let up. Every swipe or curl of her tongue is a carefully planned one, completely unraveling your dignity, revealing your desperation before her, and before her devoted followers. 

Your legs tense, pulling her closer and locking her between your thighs, hips rolling as you hit your release, your pitiful whines met with a sinister chuckle from the drow. Once you settle back, you feel her stand and force your legs to unclasp, and you open your eyes to meet hers, her glare simultaneously satisfied and yet still hungry. Your hands fall to your sides, and she leans down, gripping your chin and narrowing her eyes at you. 

“You obeyed. A magnificent show, my darling. Perhaps it will not be your final performance. Certainly not for my eyes,” she praises, pulling your head up enough to capture your lips in a kiss, and your already weakened body isn’t able to do much but melt in her hold, mumbling mindlessly against her mouth. You feel a second hand on your waist once more, and you’re pulled to sit up, your legs locking around her hips. The kiss breaks, and she glances around at the audience, contemplating something before she speaks. “Finish your meal as you wish. There is excess wine in the kitchen. Your general must finish a banquet of her own.” 

Those around you either snicker or mumble understandings as Minthara moves her hand from your throat to your waist, lifting you off of the table. Immediately, you wrap your arms around her shoulders and lean into her, allowing her to carry you off, letting your high fade in the journey back up to your quarters.

[h-doodles]

AND NOW THAT I'M HERE LET ME JUST. LET ME JUST.

whatbif i screamed. what if i cried. GIRL. I NEED TO HUG MINTHARA RIGHT THE FUCK NOW WOIAGHH HH HGHH GHHHHHHHHHH

Aight, new chapter for To Be Free From the Gods → Chapter 34: A Gentle Caress

The elves have finally finished up their investigation and visit Sharess Caress to share the findings with the Investigator. While in the brothel, the team decides to split up for their own interesting set of encounters.

Enjoy!

[h-doodles]

SHAKING SOBBING SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP VIOLENTLY HACKING

and if i said ow. and we aren't even in the confrontation chapter yet. OW.

Aight, new chapter for To Be Free From the Gods → Chapter 42: Divine Inheritance

Some point in the middle of the night, Daedra snuck out of the mansion and has yet to return. Minthara and Shadowheart make it their days mission to run around the city to find the ranger before she goes too far.

Enjoy!