#oh you're the child of Bhaal?

[allconsumingrot]

One of the funniest (likely unintentional) timeline fuck-ups in BG3, in my opinion, is the implication that Gortash just... straight-up lied about being the Chosen of Bane when he first met Durge.

In Memoir Notes with Recent Addenda, Gortash writes this:

- The Bhaalspawn and I work together on a heist from the House of Wonders and, discovering common goals, forge an alliance. - In dreams, the Bhaalspawn and I are visited by Bhaal and Bane, who name us their Chosen and command us to seek out and ally with Ketheric Thorm, the Chosen of Myrkul.

Since the rest of the notes all seem to be written in chronological order, we can assume that they became their gods' Chosen at some point after their first meeting.

However, the book you find in Durge's old room, describing the aforementioned museum heist, has these two lines:

I shall savage the museum's guards fighting along with this Chosen of Bane...

and

...it will be the perfect test of this supposed Chosen's mettle in combat.

Durge refers to Gortash as the Chosen of Bane, even though — according to Gortash's own timeline — he wouldn't have been Chosen yet.

Is it just a minor mistake by the game writers/developers? Probably.

Is it hilarious to imagine Gortash lying about being the Chosen of Bane, all to impress some Bhaalspawn he just met? Absolutely.

[meanbossart]

Ask Compilation: Blondes, feet, bowl-cut guardian lady.

He did not, they never had sex. But he was in love with her.

For sure. I think she struck him more like a teenager with the black hair and bangs, after the change (both visual and in attitude) she became a far more mature AND attractive person in his eyes.

PFFT, well, if you're saying they meet ALL of the criteria, I assume you mean both in looks and personality and hence be damn near his soulmate. DU drow could overlook weird feet (and a lot of other things, actually) if he were in love with the person in question. He would probably gently request they take better care of them, though.

Nothing special there, I'm afraid! He just has human-like skin - perhaps a little on the oily side but completely within the bounds of normality.

He runs a little hot, if that's anything. Oh! His hair is shockingly soft.

Correct! DU drow only (arguably) looks like a drow. He doesn't have their usual bone structure, height, or associated magical proclivities. He has some dark vision but its nowhere near as good as a drow's either.

I don't necessarily think all Bhaalspawn are the same way, but the Dark Urge IS quite different from the previous game's iterations. DU isn't simply Bhaal's child conceived with a partner, he's a piece of the god that supposedly slobbed off and grew legs and a face, pretty much. So yes, I do think that the Dark Urge at least is it's own unique thing.

The reason why he looks like a drow, is because he was placed in the Underdark upon creation. The metaphor I always use here is that if you place something infantile in a biome that is alien to it, it may try to adapt to it's environment to survive as it develops, to different degrees of success. This is why DU drow looks the way he does.

[MORE UNDER THE CUT]

You're welcome!

I've received a few snippets here that you can find through the #gift art tag! There is also the fic I'm in the process of writing called A Novel Experience on AO3.

It was just something I was compelled to do when I first drew him! The facial scars felt like they should lead into something else so I just made up a pattern on the spot, minus a tiny tweak here or there, it has stuck basically unchanged. All and any lore relating to the scars came later.

I get a lot of sweet messages but "thanks for your man's penis size" has to be one of my favorites. Thank you!

HELLO!

Thank you so much for the kind message! And that sounds like a fun dream, I love that your Tav got jealous of the attention ASTARION was receiving instead of mad that he had to share in the first place LOL

DU drow is desperately monogamous. He doesn't care what other people do with their lives but he's very much a "one and done" kind of person.

He would be willingly to participate in a threeway/have group sex with a partner, assuming the rules and regulations of said encounter were laid out clearly before or at least mutually understood between them. He would never want to see these people again after the fact though.

She does not, naturally I had no idea that this character was going to turn into anything when i made him, so I just... Made a lady. And since she was supposed to be a "guardian" I gave her a Joan of Arc type of look.

I've occasionally thought about changing this, but... Y'know, sometimes you don't need lore to be that in-depth, LOL.

The emperor gave everyone else a nondescript hottie he assumed they would trust, DU drow just got the same treatment. She's not even DU drow's type but definitely someone he would be compelled to take seriously yet not feel threatened by - so ultimately, her design does make sense.

---

That's all I have the energy for tonight folks, as always thank you for the many encouraging and sweet messages you send me, I'm sorry I can't reply to all of them! 😭

Have yourselves a great week!

[the-timid-birb]

imagine, if you will,

Durge, after having refused his father and clawed back from the dead thanks to Jergal, finally free, casting Speak With Dead on Gortash's body in the Astral plane. Bane answers, all polite and cheery "oh you're looking for him? Sorry, he's already getting punished for failing.“

Durge: Okay, well, can I revive him so we try again?

Bane: that's not how this works :)

Durge: ......... I'll make you a deal. I'll convert to you if you give his soul back .

Bane: ... the. prodigal child of Bhaal. Made of his own flesh. Who then refused his gifts. Killed his entire cult in BG. Wants to serve me? in exchange for this loser? holy fUCKING SHIT DEAL THAT'S GONNA BE SO FUCKING FUNNY TO RUB IN BHAAL'S FACE, I'M IN

[y-rhywbeth2]

Still got BG2 Bhaal on the brain; particularly the bits where he likes to point out to his "favourite" children that they're demigods born of murder and don't/can't belong with the mere mortals. Usually in tandem with trying to coax them to be a good child and do what they're told by telling them they're special and powerful.

Oh, and the bits were he goes "you could protect your loved ones/"the weak" with divine power, you know..."

"Life... is strength. This is not to be contested; it seems logical enough. You live; and you affect your world. But is it what you need? You are... different... inside. [...] You are born of murder, the very essence of that which takes life."

"Why do you submit to the flesh, when death is bred in your bones? Follow, and receive the gift you are owed by the blood in your veins. Follow, if only to protect the weak that fell because of you."

And, obviously, we see it in BG3.

"Special, yes, special, aren't you? Ssh, don't fight it. You know what you need to do. Take up that knife, do what you do best. Easy as breathing. You'll feel better after."

"See? You are worse than everyone else. Filthy hierophant of the broken and damned. [...] The illithid tide can be broken by you."

"...you can't help but be a prodigy spree-killer. It's in your perfect nature."

A lot of the undertones I'm picking up on are the same ones you get from Sceleritas: "You don't belong with normal people, you're Other and you're better. Normal people will never love you. But Father loves you. Father will give you presents and keep you safe - if you're a good child."

I don't know, I just enjoy the flavouring of Durge internalising the idea that they're fundamentally bad, alien and only Bhaal can ever love them. Adds reasons to pick the Chosen ending - especially the concept that maybe you can keep your friends safe while you destroy the world - kill them last and then yourself, the last living beings. It's a horrific ending and utterly cruel to them, but cults don't encourage thinking skills and Chosen of Bhaal Durge isn't exactly the healthiest person around. The feral ending is even more tragic, and it can make the resist ending more complicated than "yay, I'm free" (yes, my heavily brainwashed Durge is thrilled that daddy doesn't love him any more(!))

-

Companions: "Your father tortures and kills you in dream visions. Repeatedly."

Durge: "Gods don't think like mortals. Father is the Lord of Murder; that's his love language."

Companions: "..."

(One thousand years therapy for the spawn of murder.)

[monsterlimbs]

BG3 did incredible at making the bad guys so incredibly sympathetic/empathetic honestly. Coming from someone who is so so so so insanely justice oriented, I feel BAD for all the villains and bad people in the game. I think they deserve better. I already made a post on Orin a second ago so now we're doing all the big bads because she reminded me how funny it is, for me who's so set on justice to be like "free my girl! she's not a good person or innocent I just think she deserves better" lol. So we're doing Gort's post!!!!!!!!!

Gortash was a normal child born to a poor family who couldn't handle it and, FREQUENTLY, told him he was a nasty child for being... a child. For sure he was being neglected, not just in the way of lack of food due to no money, but also socially so. So he turned to creating toys (productive instead of destructive!!!! good boy!) and they were... pissed? Oh, and remember, this little boy for sure had no friends so his only comfort was tinkering with scraps leftover from whatever projects his parents worked on in the shop.

And then, they sold Gortash to a fucking devil for some money (that hardly even did shit for them, imagine how angry he was to return and he saw them living the same life they led when he was a child, after HE was sent to HELL, so THEY could have a BETTER life and they didn't even fucking do that.) and he had to live his childhood in Hell, in constant abuse. How many gods do you think he prayed to, begging for freedom? And in this world, the gods are DEFINITIVELY real and listening, so how many gods do you think ignored him? Ignored an abused, sniffling child in the Hells, who up until this point has done nothing wrong and only wants to be safe, loved, and in a place he gets to tinker with some toys?

Whether you hate the man he became or not, just for a moment think of the child he was. Always told he was too bitchy and whiney for being a normal child, then sold to a devil, sent to Hell, abused to the point I honestly think it's a miracle he survived, ignored by tens of gods.

And then, he still had the strength to GET FREE, and find Bane, who made him even stronger. Made it so that HE'D never be the victim again. Made it so that he could not only never be the victim again, but that he'd thrive. That he'd be on top of the world.

Then he meets Durge, who I honestly believe to be his first friend (he, for sure, had no friends in his parents' home, and everyone in Raphael's House of Hope was either sentenced to do something weird, hated him, or just generally not his pal). And I also believe this to be vice versa as well. Durge has kinda been forced to kill everyone he loves, but Gortash, Gortash he CAN'T kill, because for once, Bhaal sees a man that's important to his own plan, sees a man that he can let Durge befriend because it's better for the plan. So they become friends, and I for sure believe that they were both manipulating each in the beginning but actually became REAL friends eventually (maybe even always manipulating each other, but in a mutual, "I see what you're doing and I raise your mild manipulation to major manipulation" back and forth, almost playful way). And they totally fucked, but I'm trying to be kinda unbiased here, so whether they were more than fuck buddies or not is not important here, but they WERE friends in my opinion. Not even in my opinion, it's fact, "He did miss this" is a legit quote from the narrator after succeeded an insight check. They respected each other, saw each other in ways they saw no other, because no other was so fucked up and evil that he could go "I killed a man yesterday" and be responded to in kind. Anyone else, and their stomach would turn. But they've found their other half in a way, a man of mental strength, self control (...ish), and general respectability. Someone they can both rant to without judgement! Truly, who else would listen to these two men rant about what they've done, WITHOUT setting the guards on them? Also, Durge was formidable and had Gortash's same goals so he liked that. Durge also knew to keep personal things and business separate, so even if he and Gortash had arguments and such outside of The Plan™, they managed to keep it under the table and focus on The Plan when important and Gortash liked that even more.

But this post is supposed to be less about Durge so anyway, then Ketheric's added to the mix and Ketheric doesn't share their ideals so much but when he's being kept busy, he's at least a good work dog in Gortash's eyes. The Plan's all coming together now, and Gortash is busy and stressed no doubt, but he's no one's victim, the world is in his hands, and he has a friend! It's perfect.

And then his friend disappears, and Durge's annoying little sister replaces him. But he knows to keep personal stuff and business stuff separated, so he tolerates her, binds her blades, and has to shoulder a bit more of the plan now (do you really think Orin is willing to be civil at all and talk through details of the plane with Gortash like Durge would? She's doing her part of the plan well and scaring the sheep into Gortash's protection BUT she's not going above and beyond like I think Durge did, so he's left to his own devices to sort through shit.)

And now!!! His buddy's back!!!!!! THANK GOD YOU'RE BACK DURGE I MISSED YOU I mean hello now you can kill your stupid little annoying sister and- why do you have a certain tiefling with you. dear god you're consorting with peasants Durge. you were so strong and cool before what are you DOING buddy. Even funnier if Durge is romantically involved w Karlach and adores her, because I PUT HER IN HELL AND NOW MY PRECIOUS LITTLE FRIEND IS KISSING HER WHEN THEY SHOULD BE KISSING ME I mean when they should be focusing on The Plan™. Even, even, even funnier if Durge is total resist and refuses to make a plan with Gort, because he totally thinks they're going to come to their senses eventually, and instead they just. kill him. At one point, he even says "No. You have to stop her. Do it! Now!", because he still believes Durge is on his side and would totally stop Karlach. After all, why wouldn't they when they "share so much history"?

But also, if they're a resist Durge but still w the plan... he's happy for them. Imo, ACTUALLY happy for them. He's like "oh you left your father? wonderful! now you don't have any master or urges to bind you and we can finally focus on getting that damned netherbrain back in our hands!" but he's cool w embraced durge too. because either way, as long as you have a pact w him, he's safe in his mind w you and he's happy you're taking over the brain with him. And he's totally willing to share his kingdom w you. In fact, he WANTS to rule together as kings, which in Bane's rulebook is the first bad thing ever. He's being a BAD Banite, just because he's kinda lonely and wants someone to rule w in my opinion. But not just anyone, someone Cool™ and probably evil so he can be like "my slaves over there are being so annoying" and then have his buddy respond w sympathy. ....Sympathy for him, not the slaves. Which. Is fucking awful and I'm glad he's not real for that fact. But anyway

If you follow through w the pact, and reach the boat and everything, he lets you hit him once funnily enough. And he responds so childishly, by kicking you back! It's so funny to me

And briefly off topic, but I believe he's so childish because the way he grew up sort of stunted his maturity. Like, he's smart enough and charismatic enough that he can put on a good face for the public eye, but the second alone he's biting his pillow, having massive tantrums when shit goes sideways, having his guards sentenced to death if they stare at him weirdly, essentially doing everything an angry child would when they've been "wronged" in their eyes

Now back to topic, you reach the brain and it immediately fucking kills him. For a man so set on being in control, no longer being anyone's victim, finally being free to do what he wants... it's ironic he dies in this way. And though he's, for sure, a completely fucked up dude, it's a little bit sad to me honestly.

[bhaalsbabe]

Not all gifts are appreciated

Pairing: pre-tadpole gn!Durge x Enver Gortash

Word count: ~700

Summary/warnings: my thoughts on how the rule of "not meddling with each other's business" came to be; MDNI, mentions of killing, brief gore description, suggestive at the end, Durge origin spoilers

Perfect, you thought to yourself as you arranged a corpse in front of Gortash's desk. You made it sit upright, you made sure it could be seen right from the door that it's missing the mandible. The rest of the body was covered in cuts of various sizes from when you toyed with it, the dried blood proof that they were done when the old man still breathed. You were proud of your handiwork as per usual and you couldn't wait for Gortash to see it too. You paced around the small office, unable to hold back your excitement. When your sharp senses heard approaching footsteps, you could discern from the walking pattern that it's the recipient of your gift. You stopped pacing, pulling yourself together to look more like the Chosen of Bhaal people usually got to see. With bated breath, you waited for the door to open.

"What's th-" Gortash stopped, looking at the corpse in shock, then at the smiling you.

"I've brought you a gift!" You exclaimed, still smiling. "You said he was too much of a hassle, and how you wished he would just stop babbling and die already. Well - he won't be a problem now. See-" You nudged the exposed mouth with your foot, the head rolling to the side as you disturbed the precarious balance. "He won't be able to speak anymore, ever! Aren't you happy?" You beamed at him, like a child showing a picture they've drawn to their parent.

Gortash's perfect facade disappeared as his face contorted in anger. "Happy? You fucking IDIOT! I almost had him sign the deal. Do you have any idea how long it took me to convince old Irlentree to make me his main supplier?!" He raised his voice, still holding a bit of control over his emotions even if he was beyond pissed at the moment. "I had a feeling you might have been the one behind his disappearance but I thought - hoped - you were smarter than that." He rubbed his face in frustration. "And to bring his corpse to MY office too, have you finally lost your mind? This could easily incriminate me and ruin my entire life's work!" He walked towards you menacingly, staring daggers at your face.

You just shrugged it off, however. "Oh stop being so dramatic. I can move lifeless bodies between various locations without being seen." You wrapped your arm around his burly shoulders, bringing him closer to you. "Just tell me a name and I'll make sure they're the one getting framed for this murder. An assassination on the head of a noble house is nothing new, you wouldn't believe how often we get contracts like that. So, calm down, Enver, hm?" You kissed his lips softly, making him focus on you and your body instead of the anger your actions caused him. He tried to push you away, weakly and half-heartedly, before relenting and accepting your advances. You smiled, pulling away after a minute or two of kissing. You patted his head affectionately. "There you go~"

"Let's set up a new rule though. If we are to work together, we won't meddle in each other's businesses anymore. You'll leave the politics to me while I'll leave the cult's dealings to you." You just nodded, clearly not really listening or taking his words to heart, instead you leaned in to kiss him again but he stopped you, pressing his fingers to your lips. "I'm serious. No more murders of my potential business partners, no matter how helpful you think you're being. If I need such service, you're the first one I'll go to and then we'll talk. Understood?" He used his commanding voice at you and you had to control yourself to not grin. He was just so adorable, how he thought he had power over you when you could easily slit his throat before he could even realise what's happening. And yet you decided to cooperate. He pulled his hand away to let you speak.

"I understand." You agreed, your hand coming to play with his messy black hair. "Now let's figure out what to do with this old geezer and then you can reward me for my hard work, hm~?"

He snorted and chucked, shaking his head in disbelief. He let his hands brush over your hips, squeezing them teasingly, before letting you go. "Fine. I already have a few ideas for both."

[daemon-in-my-head]

OK but actually, Bhaals/Durges plans aren't that stupid?

I mean, Bhaal doesn't care what happens to those souls. Murders empower him, so Durge killing everyone does work in his favour. Also lots of dead people would sway Myrkul towards him all while pissing off Bane which is always a W in Bhaals book.

But if everyone's dead what about Bhaals Power? Well dear reader, you're in luck because Scel confirms Durge gets to keep their consort. Bhaal does not want an apocalypse, he wants a world built to his liking. Aka; filled with Bhaalspawn brought to you by yours truly. An army of homemade homicidal maniacs essentially. The kind that goes backstabbing as a fun little hobby.

Now for Durge, it makes sense they comply too. Not only does Durge thrive for self-destruction and actively longs for their own obliteration, probably cuz of the whole child of murder bit, they also tried to keep someone save. From the god of murder. Who controls them. The easiest fucking way to do that is by ensuring their target of safekeeping has a purpose, and if there's only oh so many people alive every last soul becomes valuable. Durge can literally hold the world and Bhaals power hostage in that case. Also, once again, Bhaal kinda sorta controls Durge to a frightening degree. So if Durge wants to play it safe they need to comply until the scales are tipped in their favour.

It's a fucked up game of chicken between a God of death and his rebellious offspring. Also, they did want to kill Gorty last, so.... That's the perfect way yk. Incredibly fucked up and dehumanising, but actually not such a stupid plan.

Also no "foreign" souls = no power for other gods. And if the world is inhabited by only Bhaalspawn who continue to murder each other + praise Bhaal its kinda a cheat code for him growing exponentially powerful. And depending on how many hoops ur thoughts jump thru; Bhaals Power = Durges Power. Especially in an embraced ending since Durge kind of surrenders their personhood and "humanity" to become closer to Bhaal.

[crossdressingdeath]

Kyvir: You travelled with Bhaalspawn before, didn't you? What do you know of them? Minsc: Ahh, Boo has an inkling that this is not the question you mean to ask. I saw some hint of things when our minds mushed together - but Jaheira confirmed it for me. Minsc: You are of the same blood as our old friend: a Bhaalspawn, and as close to Minsc as if they were his own kin. Minsc: That makes Minsc your uncle. Kyvir: That's all you have to say? You're not worried what my blood might turn me into? Minsc: A curious question. Are a child and his father always alike? Minsc: Take Minsc! He does not have a clear memory of the face of his father, but he does remember tugging on the thick, red whiskers that sprang from his chin. Minsc: A beard for the ages! Boo could have nested there happily through even the harshest of Rashemen winters. Minsc: Now - look closely at Minsc, and what do you see? Kyvir: You don't have a beard. Minsc: Correct! There are more whiskers on Boo's tiny face than on the mighty chin of Minsc! Minsc: If Minsc did not inherit the flaming red hair of his mother, or the bushy red beard of his father, why would the spawn of Bhaal inherit his wickedness? Kyvir: Thank you. It's nice not having to justify myself for once. Minsc: Minsc is not here to judge - that is a thing for hamsters and hathrans alone.

Oh, this is very sweet. Especially with how Durge's first response to learning that Jaheira wants them to track down Minsc and realizing that he's an enemy of Bhaal can be "Minsc of Rashemen, the guy who hunts Bhaalspawn?" Being able to establish that worry in their mind only to meet Minsc and have him immediately say "No, your father doesn't decide who you are and I'm not going to judge you on the grounds of your blood" when the topic comes up is fantastic. I also love how Jaheira clearly wasn't worried about Minsc taking it badly for a second, since old friend or no I think that if she expected him to respond poorly she wouldn't have told him, at least not without talking to Durge first. It's also nice to know that the mind link from the tadpoles does give away them being Bhaalspawn, at least to someone who'd know what signs to watch out for; I did wonder if that would be the case.

Also! I love how Durge initially tries to sidestep around what they want to ask only for Minsc to immediately grasp what their actual point is, both for how tidily it establishes Durge being nervous about raising the subject with him (when if you choose to tell the earlier party members about it you just tell them outright that you're Bhaalspawn and don't dance around it at all) and how neatly Minsc cuts to the chase in order to assure them that he's not going to judge them for it. It's a bit strange that he says his connection to Gorion's Ward makes him Durge's uncle, since that would imply a connection to Bhaal rather than one of Durge's half-siblings, but that immediate insistence that they were Minsc's family and that makes Durge Minsc's family is incredibly sweet. Both because of the way he doesn't hesitate for a second to say it and because of how he clearly still thinks the world of Gorion's Ward (although that second one will probably be more effective when I've played the first two games). Minsc's metaphor also isn't really the greatest (divine blood coursing through your veins and pushing you to kill isn't exactly the same thing as your dad's beard inheritance-wise), but it's so clearly well-intentioned that it still works.

And it's also very fun how Durge can thank him for not making them justify themselves at all. While the rest of the group's concerns do come from a place of genuine care and worry for Durge and it's very fair that they all feel the need to say "You have to fight Bhaal" since that is a very pressing issue at the point in the story where it comes up, I can definitely see Durge being relieved to have one person learn they're Bhaalspawn and respond with essentially "That's okay." Minsc doesn't need to be reassured that they're going to fight Bhaal's influence, because a) he has plenty of experience with Bhaalspawn doing just that and so isn't as worried as people without that experience would be and b) Jaheira presumably wouldn't be travelling with them if she didn't trust them to make the right choice. Minsc also connects them to Gorion's Ward first, which is a fun touch; instead of saying they've got the blood of an evil god, he's saying that Durge has the same blood as a hero. It's just so good, I love him.

[blackjackkent]

"I know you're there, Godey," Astarion snaps, rounding on the skeleton as they enter the kennel. "Stop skulking and show yourself."

"You always were sharp, little one," Godey rasps. The skeleton's voice is low and gravelly and full of deep, mocking disdain. "Sharp enough to cut yourself."

Astarion's expression has gone tight and hard with a mixture of anger and fear; the only time Rakha can recall seeing him look similar is when Oblodra tried to get him to drink her blood, weeks ago now. "It's taking everything I have," he hisses, "not to grind your rotten carcass to dust."

"Don't be mad at Godey, child," the skeleton purrs, taunting. "I only did my job. Only kept you in line."

"You tortured us," Astarion says, and there's a subtle catch in his voice. "For days at a time."

"Oh, yes!" Godey cries gleefully. "And you sang so sweetly for me! None of the others screamed like you did." It leans forward, turning to leer eagerly at Rakha. "But you're home now. And you brought me a treat, eh? A new friend for Godey?"

Rakha does not respond for a moment.

She does not like this place. It is damp and cold and smells of blood, and it reminds her too much of the Temple of Bhaal. Cazador's aim, of course, is not murder but control and power, but nevertheless the words here resonate too closely to the person she was before her memory loss, the person the beast still wanted her to be. Torturer. Sadist. Killer.

In Godey she sees all the worst things she has been and tried to escape, and she hears the brutal cruelty directed towards Astarion. And she and Astarion are not friends - not the way she is with people like Wyll and Lae'zel - but he is part of the tight knot of people that have made her who she is now.

It makes her stomach turn with a complicated burst of emotion - anger and indignation and self-loathing all muddled and mixed.

Attack.

With a sudden swift motion, she pulls one of the staves from her back and brings it crashing down on Godey's head.

"Oh, yes!" the skeleton shrieks with a maniacal laugh, recoiling from the blow. "Fight Godey! Spill your blood on his kennel's floor."

-----

In spite of Godey's confidence, the fight doesn't last long and Godey doesn't get a single hit in. Astarion shatters him apart with an arrow from the shadows while Rakha and Minsc distract him.

Astarion bends down to search the 'dead' thing with an expression of preoccupied distaste, and after a little while, Rakha shifts against the wall to settle into his line of view and gives him a cautious, questioning look.

For a moment, Astarion seems as if he wants to avoid her gaze - but then he sighs and shrugs. "So this is it," he says, half to Rakha, half to himself. "I'm home." He lifts his head and looks around at the filthy room, the hallway outside, then up through the ceiling towards the passageways above. "Two centuries walking these halls, and I've never once seen the ballroom door locked."

His eyes go hard. "Cazador doesn't want anything going wrong tonight."

Rakha's lips twitch in a slight, dry smile. Cazador is going to be disappointed.

"Are the servants charmed?" she asks. "Like the guards in the tower?"

"Oh, no," Astarion says bitterly. "It's much worse than that. They're fanatics, here of their own free will and utterly devoted to Cazador. Each one came to our door and begged to be given his 'eternal gift.' They're sure he'll turn them if they serve him well enough." His lip curls. "You'd almost feel sorry for the poor deluded souls. But they're idiots who brought this upon themselves - so don't."

Rakha nods at this. It's a bit of a relief to hear, in truth. She was glad not to have to kill the charmed people outside, who seemed outside their own control for the most part, but there is no way they're going to get to Cazador without spilling some blood. And she may not take the same joy in it as used to, but the lesson from Lae'zel still holds - attack with purpose.

"What's it like being back?" she asks.

Astarion smiles faintly. "It does feel strange, breaking into your own home. Especially if murder's on your mind." He gives her a narrow, thoughtful look for a moment. "Then again, this is hardly the strangest thing we've done together. Although it could be the most satisfying."

Is he thinking, she wonders, of her recent showdown with Orin. Another former 'home' they walked into, with murder the aim. The difference, of course, is that Rakha remembered nothing of whatever torment she had experienced - or inflicted - in that place, where as Astarion, she is sure, remembers every bit of his.

But it is the same thing, in the end, isn't it? He needs to break the chains binding him to his past, just as she did.

She looks at him steadily for a moment. "Are you sure about this?" she asks. "You don't have to face him."

But she says it because she knows the answer, and because he knows it as well.

"Oh, I've never been less sure of anything," Astarion says. And for a moment some of the cocky facade seems to drop away, and he looks directly into Rakha's eyes. "But if I don't face him now, I never will. I'll spend the rest of my life running, watching the shadows, never feeling... safe." He swallows, squares his shoulders. "No. This has to happen. Here and now."

Rakha nods. Yes. She remembers that feeling too. The moment on the threshold of Bhaal's temple, knowing that there was no way out, no hope of peace, if she did not go forward. It is the most she and Astarion have understood each other in a long time.

And she can see Astarion recoil abruptly from the moment of connection, too. He grins again suddenly, that savage look back in his eyes. "Also, there's the small matter of all that power I can steal from the bastard," he adds sharply. "So that'll be nice."

[inkyquince]

>> since you're writing bg3... 🌹

JIDOSAJIDASJISDA

WELL, YOU'RE JUST IN TIME ACTUALLY. A little something from a past gortash x reader with your current LI being a wee bit pissy about it. THIS HAS BG3 SPOILERS ABOUT THE DARK URGE ORIGIN AND GENERAL PLOT.

Carefully, with just a little Guidance, you crept into his mind, making sure not to alert the dark eyed Chosen of your actions. As per usual, the stream of consciousness came quickly, running like a stream past you, only able to catch a few strands of thought. 

Orin is too uncontrollable. This one never let me down. Oh, yes, how I liked you. Liked you so. I wonder if they taste as they did before, with blood on their tongue. Nothing that a little bit of wine helps to sweeten. The first taste is always the most memorable. You didn’t have the time of day for me at first, did you? The chosen of Bhaal, his favorite spawn, but I changed that. Now, if that glaring little shit would go find a shit house to glare at, I could invite you back to those chambers we enjoyed so much, to properly celebrate my new Dukedom. Not even the Sharess' Caress’s whores were able to scratch that itch you started- 

You quickly slipped back out, almost embarrassed with how the bastard saw you. Who you used to be… Maybe someone you still were.

There's way more to come... So I'm gonna share a wee snippet from Astarion's section too...

“No, no.” The elf gave a long suffering sigh, as if your… “Ex” appearing was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. “You have a type, darling. Dangerous. Excellently dressed. Though, I do say that I have the better hair by a mile, and that’s being polite.” 

You couldn’t help but smile. When you two first met, his bitchiness made it impossible to please him, but since then it had become extremely endearing. At least now you knew you were saddled with him for life, and it was more entertaining to listen to him aggravate people. 

The elf drank in your smile lazily before stretching out. 

“Interesting couple of days. You nearly kill me, then you proclaim that you're Bhaal’s favorite child.” He mulled over, tapping his chin with a perfectly manicured finger. “Then worst of all, you drag me to meet your lover. I’ve had fun being a homewrecker before, but the other partner never really knew it was me who lured them out of the marriage bed and into the grave.” 

[bajablast666]

25 & 26 for Kaethan? c:

I’m so curious about his feelings for Kelrath— esp since it seems Kelrath’s.. infatuation with him is purely because of the Urge, rather than Kaethan as a person? Poor bb 🥺

oh I'm SO excited to answer these for Kaethan thank you so much! You're absolutely right too, in my 2 durges canon Kelrath has a small amount of ... we'll call it affection??? for Kaethan (but more like the kind a teacher has for a student or charge) mostly because he sees a lot of similarities between his own situation when he was younger (before he found out he was Bhaalspawn) and Kaethan's situation. He also has some amount of pride in Kaethan succeeding and following his training (but that starts to twist into something else and fall to madness later on in the story). Modern au Kelrath absolutely only is infatuated with the urge and it has nothing to do with Kaethan as a person at all. But ANYWAY on to your actual questions:

25. What does your OC love most, and what would they do to keep it?

These two answers are going to go hand in hand lol but Kaethan is obsessed and in love with Kelrath. Kaethan did not have a good childhood; his mother left when he was very young and he was raised by a drunk and abusive father working at his tavern in canon, and his roadside motel in modern au. Kaethan very much wears his heart on his sleeve and tries very hard (often to his own detriment) to please people in his life, even if the person he's trying to please doesn't give a shit about him. With his father and mother, any bid for attention or affection was met with rebuke, coldness, or violence. In both AUs the plot shifts when Kaethan's father attempts to kill him. Kelrath, who had been essentially hunting Kaethan at the time, saves him from his father, beating the man within an inch of his life and then presents Kaethan with a dagger to strike the final blow. That one moment changes everything: Kaethan kills his father and leaves with Kelrath. To quote a line in my fic for canon: "The teen’s eyes rose to meet Kelrath’s; there was emotion there that Kelrath could only guess at, but he recognized part of it at least: a desperate need for safety, for approval. One father figure gone, the desire for another." In canon, Kaethan is much younger than he is in modern au, probably about 14 (in modern he's in his 20s). He sees Kelrath as a mentor initially but over the years he starts developing a crush which turns into outright obsession. He lives and breathes to please Kelrath, to succeed in his training as a killer and to further Kelrath's goals. He would harm himself or kill himself even for the tiniest scrap of Kelrath's attention. In truth, Keathan never really cared about Bhaal, the one he worshiped was Kelrath.

26. Has your OC ever had unrequited feelings of any kind for someone?

OH BOY Kaethan's story in canon is LITERALLY all about his unrequited love for Kelrath. There are several instances where Kaethan fails to pass one of Kelrath's tests, or does something that disappoints him and Kaethan absolutely loses it, harming himself or others to take out his frustration at not living up to Kelrath's standards. I think I might share one of those scenes later tonight because it's the easiest way to express what I mean about this lol. In canon Kaethan often feels strangled by these feelings especially in his late teens and early 20s at the height of reaching his sexual maturity. A child's need for affection and approval twisting into something more perverse: wanting to be the object of Kelrath's desire. He's especially (and toxically) jealous of the kind of equal standing that Gortash has with Kelrath as well and hates the man for that reason. In modern au, the unrequited piece isn't as ever present because they establish that sexual relationship very early (they sleep together the night before they kill Kaethan's father) and Kaethan believes that affection is there, but anytime he isn't the sole object of Kelrath's attention or anytime Kelrath's attention is divided, those feelings start to rise in Kaethan. Kelrath uses this to his advantage often, trying to bring out the Urge.

[llamamamarisen92]

Burning out of Love

I love the idea of a durge who is entirely smitten by Karlach

Like this man LAUGHS and FLIRTS as he slays people. He makes ridiculous jokes as if he was just sitting in a coffee shop when he thrusts a dagger.

But when he sees Karlach he becomes incredibly soft and loving just with a glance from her. Like he's only doing good things because it makes her smile.

Warning: Language/Violence

He spun wildly in the air, sword thrust high above his head. Gortash readied for the blow, prepared to take down his old friend.

Johim grinned wildly as his sword struck down before Gortash could get his shields up. Gortash called upon Bane and felt the dark tendrils of his patron god taking over his consciousness.

Leaning his forehead against Gortash's he whispered ferociously.

"If you're going to hide behind your god I'll be sure to take you both out swiftly." Pressing a kiss to his cheek before thrusting his sword into Gortash's belly.

Gortash was no longer there. Bane's black hand grasped onto Johim's arm stopping his thrust.

"Child of Bhaal. It's a shame you turned your back on us. Oh, how I would have delighted in stealing you away for myself. A god among men."

How cocky the gods were. But he was a slayer of gods. And he would slay every single one of them if it meant stopping what he started.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Karlach moving in to land a blow. A dark force blasted her into the wall and all of Johim's fury came barreling to the surface.

There was no finesse. No insolent beauty to his movements anymore. He slashed wildly and unrelentingly at Gortash. A tiger being held up to the face of an unprepared hunter.

After a time Johim was covered in Gortash's blood and he breathed heavily over the dead Banite.

Searching the room for the spot where Karlach was he deflated. She sat curled in the corner crying. All ferocity left him as he rushed to her side.

"He's dead. And he's no fucking sorrier than he was before." He brushed at her cheek and she pulled away. "What's the point? I'm still going to die. I'm still dying!"

"We can figure this out, it's not over yet." He soothed.

"He stole my heart, my heart that was given to me by my mother. And all of this. The pain. The suffering. The loneliness… oh the fucking loneliness for ten years because my friend sold me to the devil!" She pushed him away and got up. But he persisted and held on to her hand.

"Whatever happens we are in this together, right to the very end."

He stood there, taking the heat of all her fury.

"You're going to go on living, dancing, eating, making fucking love all night." Her voice broke. "It's not fucking fair."

The thought of losing her after all this devastated him. She interrupted him before he could declare how if she died he would die with her. How he only ever wanted her.

"I need to go back to camp for a bit. Yell at the stars of whatever." Her sad smile set his heart beating faster. "Thanks for listening, love you."

She walked off and he turned to Gale and Astarion searching for any hint of an idea they may have.

"Karlach has precious little time left to her, we would do best not to waste it." Gale placed a knowing hand on Johim's shoulder.

He wouldn't let her die. Johim would find another way even if it meant selling his own soul to a thousand devils. Karlach was going to live.

[cedarw00div]

For Lythe and Gortash! 2, 3, 13, and 15, perhaps? If you're up for it!

Note- This is pre-absolute/pre-mephistopheles heist, when they start working with Ketheric that's when the relationship switches over to. not lovers but a sceret third thing.

questions here

2- What was their inciting incident for their relationship as enemies? Who was the primary instigator, if there was one?

Lythe actually kind of started it because I do imagine Gortash joining the Cult of Bane around the same time as Lythe began to change her methods in killing to seduction, so for a good few years she killed off Banites(and other nobles). The main inciting incident, though, was when they first met again, and Gortash threatened to kill Lythe with the silver weapons he made for monster hunters.

3- Do they respect each other?

At first? Oh dear god, no. Lythe mocked Gortash's position in the cult of Bane, not knowing his worship was fake, and Gortash thought she was too feral. When they realize they know each other, then they kind of get respect for each other. It's only when they go to the museum to heist that Lythe does grow some respect for Gortash, and then it all goes downhill from there.

13- How does this impact their relationships with their respective allies/friends/lovers?

For Gortash, not much, because he doesn't outright talk about his enemy being a bhaalspawn. He keeps it hidden away, only saying he's hunting the werewolf terrorizing Baldur's Gate.

For Lythe, it's a giant weight on her shoulders because Sarevok and Sceleritas both are pressuring her to kill Gortash and sacrifice his corpse to Bhaal as an offering. It also affects her relationship with Orin because she spends a lot more time focusing on how to take out this stupid Banite that she forgets about her own sister(who is around a child/teen at this time, idk, I hc Orin to at least be in her 20's and Lythe is 26 when this starts and is 43 by the time BG3 happens)

15- How does their conflict shape who they are as people?

Lythe becomes more...hostile. More aggressive, more observant, because she wants Gortash dead. She wants to find a way to kill him but he always is able to maneuver her attempts, and also she has to deal with Karlach.

Gortash becomes more and more cunning as time goes on, planning five steps ahead to avoid Lythe and eventually catch her and tame her.

[asharaks]

tagged by @bladesmitten MWAH<3

gonna tag @ikarons @fllagellant @vampireposter @baronmpontmercy :3 doing this for tia obviously obviously<3

Rules: If you're tagged, make a new post with links to music and/or lyrics describing the following:

An event that defines your character's past: Shake Off Your Flesh - The Huntress & The Holder of Hands. As leader of the cult of Bhaal, they had a very real sense of themself as a non-physical being; they really did conceptualise themself as something more, as the literal Child of God, their physical form both a blessing and a tether.

How your character sees themselves: Cassandra - Florence & the Machine. They are the prophet of a god they hate, clawing for faith and belief in a world that doesn't trust them. and who would i be without a florence song on a playlist.

How others view them: The Wolf - PHILDEL. Scary, vengeful, doomed - Tiavyn gets a lot of mixed reactions so picking a single song for this is tough:( but this one Fucks and i think the quietly angry vibe fits well.

Their closest relationship (platonic or romantic): It Will Come Back - Hozier. Thee quintessential tiawyll song - their desperation for love, their view of themself as a monster, begging for scraps, their fear of hurting him and him extending them kindness all the same...yeah

A major fight scene: Bare Grace Misery - Nightwish. I just love the Doomed energy of this song, the like....resignation in the lyrics with the manic energy.

End credits song: A Life All Mine - The Gathering. I just love this song: Tia's worked so hard to become what they are, and it's involved a lot of hurt. They've fought for their life, as it is, and they're not giving it up easily.

The Huntress & the Holder of Hands - Shake Off Your Flesh

But the sky is falling down With death and fire and rage Lord, let this fear subside That I might hear your name That the skin won't burn And the world won't drive Me from all I hold Floating safe inside

Florence & the Machine - Cassandra

Oh, drunken gods of slaughter You know I've always been your favourite daughter

Phildel - The Wolf

You were a wolf in the night to fetch me back The wishes I've made are too vicious to tell Everyone knows I am going to hell…

Hozier - It Will Come Back

I know who I am when I'm alone I'm something else when I see you You don't understand, you should never know How easy you are to need

Nightwish - Bare Grace Misery

There's no such priest That can pray me to heaven When done with me Forget if you think I feel ashamed A wild thing Never felt sorry for anything

The Gathering - A Life All Mine

We might be dogs astray No running line will hold us So rather kick and kill me I'll be butchered all the same

[tieflingtareon]

There's Nothing Wrong Contemplating Gods (You're in the wind, I'm in the water)

[A 'My Love, Are You the Devil' prequel]

Chapter 1 | Words: 4.1k

Summary: "The past is lost to you. Let me clear up some mysteries, then. We share so much history." The history between Tir'yal, Child of Bhaal, and Enver, the Chosen of Bane explained in a non-linear format.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51625999/chapters/130498312

Tir’yal circled the desk slowly, his dagger dragging across the edge of the wood ever so lightly. Enver was late. Again. He’d been absent for several days now, and it was beginning to grate on his nerves.

He wasn’t sure when he started to expect letters. Coded or otherwise. Usually coded. Enver was well studied in the art of languages, just as he was well studied in most things. Machinery, magic, politics — there wasn’t anything that man couldn’t learn to do with his mind or hands. It was…admirable. Tir’yal rarely met anyone who was on his level when it came to intellect. Enver always provided stimulating conversation, even on topics Tir’yal did not care for.

It had been a tenday since he had a decent conversation with another soul, and it was making him irritated. Irritation made him more prone to slicing throats to shut up dimwitted fools. Enver praised him for his self control, but it was held on a fine leash at all times when it came to any other but him, and Father, of course.

“Oh Vile Master, you’ve been brooding far too long! Shouldn’t you be out there, striking fear into the hearts of mortal men?” Sceleritas appeared at his side with a tut of disapproval. Such a mouthful of a name for a butler. Tir'yal usually just called him 'Fel'. “Your Father thinks you have been wasting too much time in the office of Bane’s worshipper this season. You could be out in the street, wetting your blade, continuing your experiments. Oh, your lovely experiments - your pickling methods are quite divine." He laughed.

“I’m waiting for him to arrive. Experiments can wait. It’s unlike him to be absent from his office for so many days.”

“Perhaps you should take it as a sign, Milord…?” Fel offered and Tir’yal glared down at the butler with murderous intent, making the butler chuckle. “Oh please, Young Master, be reasonable. Your Father only ever asks blood and worship of you. Surely you can spare him a single night? You've been distracted, slacking, but we can get you back on the path of shameless barbarity in no time!"

Tir’yal rumbled a growl low in his chest but considered it.

“Find out where Enver is hiding, and I will spill enough blood tonight to make up for the nights I have been absent to Father’s call. Will that satisfy?"

“You know he does not like when you bargain like that, Milord.” Fel sighed, but Tir’yal already knew he’d relent to his wishes. He was his butler after all, even if Bhaal created him, his purpose was the serve his son. “A nasty habit you’ve gained since meeting that Banite.”

“It is a skill most useful. I’d be a fool to say otherwise.” Tir’yal quirked a brow, waiting for Fel to give in. The butler sighed and popped away, leaving Tir’yal alone to wait on his return. He used his dagger to clean the grime from beneath his claws. He hoped Father was not too disgruntled with him. He did intend to keep his word, but he knew he’d be in no mood for bloodshed if he didn’t have answers. Enver never remained far from reach, and to have his contact limited in such a way without any warning…It bugged him.

After a few minutes, Fel returned, giving a gracious bow.

“Bane’s Lordling resides within his God’s temple, to the east of here.” He informed and Tir’yal frowned.

“And what was he doing?”

“I’m afraid I cannot say. I am not permitted to enter the grounds of another God, Milord. All I know is that his stink lingers there." Fel pulled a face like he'd smelt something disgusting. His butler always did have a sensitive nose, remarking on the foul stench of many.

“I see…Thank you, Fel. Take leave.” Tir’yal slotted his dagger away and made for the window.

“Where are you going, Master?”

“To visit the temple of Bane.” Tir’yal answered, shutting the window sharply behind him as Fel started up with his worrying babble about Father being displeased. It was obvious to him that the only way he’d get in contact with Enver is if he went to the temple himself. Father may not like it, but if he’d learnt anything from his partnership with Enver, it was that connections mattered in the real world. Keeping connections strong was key to successful alliances.

Not that he had many of those. He didn’t have use for many others. Enver was an exception. He provided him with easy kills, and Tir’yal provided him with an extra step on his ladder of dead and ‘missing’ persons to the top. Ever since their first heist together, he knew he could trust Enver as far as he could throw him, which was far enough to be out of range of a thunderwave, so it was good enough for him.

Tir'yal remembered very little past the age of ten, but after the first heist and a few cups of wine to celebrate, Enver had told him they'd once been good friends as children. He figured that alone was good enough reason to ally themselves together. He may be okay with killing those he cared for, but he doubted Enver would betray him given their past. Not without good reason at least. Humans were sentimental like that, and Enver wasn't stupid. Enver knew they had a good alliance going. They were both useful to each other, and they benefited from working together.

Tir’yal had never been to the temple of Bane before. His own home, his own temple, was locked far out of reach of others. Not even Enver knew it’s location. Tir’yal only knew the location of Bane’s because he followed the man once before to the place. Enver himself rarely made an appearance in the building from his knowledge, so to be there now struck him as strange. Had he been there for past tenday, hidden from the world?

He looked at the temple hidden in the side of the mountain and walked up to the steps without hesitation, despite the baneguards outside. One looked ready to draw it's blade before it paused. Tir'yal tilted his head at the skeleton.

"Yes?" He waited to see if the creature would strike, but it didn't, instead stepping aside for him to proceed inside. He wondered if that was by Enver's order. The creatures may have been raised by the clerics of Bane, but they seemed to take orders from Enver, and by extension Bane, these days. Though, he was no adventurer or scavenger, and maybe they knew that. Maybe that made him an exception to the ones they'd usually skewer.

He continued inside with his head held high, surveying the hallway. He doubted any of the worshippers there would halt the infamous son of Bhaal either. He received a strange look from one clergy, and a small glare from another the deeper he went, but as he predicted, nobody stopped him. Perhaps they knew he would not hesitate to cut them down. Well…he might. These were Enver’s fellow cultists after all. Would he take offence if he reacted in self defence? Was it truly self defence if he knew he could kill them with ease?

He turned to a worshipper in a dark robe and held the hilt of his sheathed dagger, tilting his head at them.

“Where does Lord Gortash reside?”

“You are not welcome in the Dark One’s temple, Bhaalspawn.” The woman looked at him from beneath her hood, eyes as dark as coal and her face covered in ink. “You may wonder, but you are not owed answers. The child of a slave is still bound by the same chains.”

Tir’yals stared down at her and smiled even as white hot rage burned inside him.

“If you ever insult my Father like that again, I’ll flay the skin and muscle from your bones.” He did not need to snarl or growl to get his threat across. The ice in his voice and the smile on his lips was enough. “I’ll take your tongue and feed it to you, extract your innards and hang them from the torches in your halls to honour my creator. I’ll only ask once more. Where is your most faithful? Do be quick. I don’t typically give third chances. Though, I’m happy to give you more if you allow me to take a finger and toe every time you fail to provide information.”

The woman was silent a long moment, her face hidden by her hood, her hand wrapped around the hilt of her own sword. Tir’yals patience was growing thin, the Urge stirring with ravenous hunger, clicking his dagger free as he heard footsteps. Familiar ones he had long ago imprinted to his memory.

“Why...what a surprise.” Enver clapped his hands together, genuinely looking a little caught off guard. He hadn’t been expecting him. “Child of Bhaal, standing before me in the Dark One’s temple. Have you finally come to swear your allegiance to the more powerful God?” Enver chuckled and Tir’yal huffed, stowing his blade away and glaring at the cloaked woman.

“My Father’s power rivals Banes own. Do not insult me by asking such a question.” His eyes ran over his figure. His white and silver robes had been replaced with an outfit as pitch black as a moonless night, lacking embellishments. The pleated robe remained untied, the pants likely an expensive leather from what Tir'yal knew of the man, his black shirt draping over his frame and open wide at the collar, the cloth looking like a delicate chiffon a nobleman would wear to bed. He looked both comfortable yet dressed up all at once, his dark hair tied back from his face, the short ponytail curling around one side of his neck, and a single dark silver bead hanging from a thin braid. That annoying long yet short part that couldn't stay with the rest of the ponytail or match with the length of his bangs.

“We can leave that debate for another day.” Enver mused and patted his back. “Come, come, I was just on my way to the prayer hall.” He guided the Bhaalspawn along with a hand on his back, cane clinking against the stone floors. His knee must have been acting up, to use it in front of his fellow cultists. It was colder in the temple than in his office. Enver treated his cane like decoration on the days he had to go into public with it, but more often than not, he left it in his office or chambers and bore the pain of the old injury with a calm smile.

“What in the Nine Hells brought you here, Tir’yal?” Enver asked, voice softer now, more inquisitive. Less boastful when it was just the two of them. He liked hearing the difference between the way Enver spoke with him and with everybody else. “I’d think your Father would rather hang you than let you step a foot into this temple.”

“I made a bargain.”

“Oh?” He sounded intrigued.

“I’ll kill some extra people in his name tonight. To appease him.”

“He is easily appeased, that Father of yours.” Enver drawled as they entered a dimly lit room. The artificer conjured up a small flame on the tip of his finger and lit a few more candles, the orange glow of them illuminating the shiny coat of the black gauntlet.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Tir’yal stated bluntly and Enver’s eyebrows raised, but did not jump. Like he was expecting his words.

“Now, why ever would you think that?” Enver blew out the flame on his finger and stared at him with dark, murky eyes, waiting for him to respond.

“…You haven’t sent a single letter to me in a tenday. You haven’t been in your office in the evenings, like you usually are.”

“Has your sister really bored you that much in my absence that you had to come here?” Enver smoothed his fingers over the table and rubbed away the faint layer of dust on his skin with a purse of his lips. Somebody was slacking. “Alas, it's my duty to keep a watchful eye over this place. Make sure it’s tidy. Keep it orderly.”

“Orin is Orin. I need not get into that." Tir'yal suppressed an eye roll. "Duty or not, you are never out of reach. I don’t like it when you disappear so suddenly, without a word. Should something happen, we need to remain informed.”

“Dearest, if you missed me, you can just say so.” Enver smirked.

"Have you been here this whole time?" Tir'yal ignored his flirtatious commentary. He'd seen him use the same line on plenty of noble men and women before, and he would not allow it to get beneath his skin.

"Ah, well...not the entire time, but yes. I've been...called here, I suppose. Bane has not yet told me why, but all we can do as the faithful of Gods is have patience. Heed their calls and wait for their commands." Enver pursed his lips. "Though, the space here for my work is tediously small in comparison to my office, or my workshop."

He waved the compliant off, like it didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things.

“Come. Come close. Fill me in on your eventual tenday without my company while I pray.”

“I shouldn’t be here to begin with. I serve my creator, my Father, not Bane.” To stand in front of another God's altar was blasphemous enough. He was only glad Fel couldn't follow him inside and keep his prying eye on him for Father.

“What difference does it make if you aren’t the one praying? Bane may not be your God, but he is mine, and you are encroaching on time that is reserved for him.” Enver scowled, not taking kindly to Tir'yals flippancy in his Lord's temple. “You’re already here anyway, against your Father’s wishes. Usually I do not mind praying in my office, but I worked hard to build this temple up from the rubble it once was in this city. You can go, or you can stand and wait. Neither are of concern to me.”

Enver huffed and with the help of his cane, he came to kneel before the altar without buckling, placing the cane in front of him and folding his hands over in his lap, eyes falling shut. He bowed his head to the black gauntlet, promptly ignoring the other. Anyone else wouldn't dare turn their back to a Bhaalspawn, but he knew Tir'yal well enough that he could keep his compulsions in check. For the most part, unlike his darling sister, Orin.

Tir'yals lip twitched, the urge to snarl back barely repressed. He supposed Enver was right. He usually was. It was hard for a literal genius to be wrong. He huffed softly and leaned back against the wall by the door, watching the other.

Bane's altar was different to Bhaal's. There was no sacrificial slab, nor blood or gore...the room was fairly pristine actually. No clutter. Even with all the offerings on the table before Enver, it was organised. Something he knew the man instinctively wasn't from what he'd seen in his office and workshop. His eyes wandered along the walls, the grand statue behind the gauntlet of the one who once made a servant of his own Father.

Bhaal knew making allies after his resurrection was necessary, but he didn't have to like it. His Father reminded him often of how much he disliked the Banite he kept as company, even if he was useful to them, and would continue to be. Tir'yal could feel it, the restlessness in his Father as of recent. He wasn't one to question him, but he was curious to what Bhaal was planning. He rarely kept secrets from him, or so he liked to think. Father loved him, much more than any other of his children, and he loved him back with ferocity, even when he forced his hand with the Urge.

Tir'yal did not dislike murder, but there was...he supposed he didn't like purposeless murder, even if he enjoyed the gore. Which was ironic, given who he was. His compulsions. Murder needed a reason, and Enver gladly provided reasons when he gave him his targets, but Tir'yal also liked to feel things when he murdered. Not his Father's bloodlust or the cultists cold detachment, or Gods forbidden the maniacal joy Orin derived from it. There was so much more satisfaction in killing those who invoked rage in him, who made it feel like more than an itch scratched, like the first time.

There had been reason for his first true massacre. Bhaal's love. An expression of devotion to his creator, who could have taken back what he gave in an instant. There had been feelings when he did sunk his blade into flesh, intense, soul crushing feelings that made the deaths mean so much more. The grief he felt, mixed with the desperate worship had felt addictive. Nothing had ever compared to that, as much as he tried to replicate it. Nothing could compare to watching the light leave the eyes of his parents who raised him from infancy, or the blood-choked sobs from his brothers lips upon the altar. The betrayal that he had felt from them and even himself. Bitter and sweet all at once.

Their deaths had been necessary to start over, to become Bhaals. His family had tried to change him, to shame him for his compulsions, for his true nature, even as they repeated how much they loved him, how much they cared. And he had cared too, in his own way...but the only one who would accept the true him was Bhaal. His real Father.

The grief had been worth the unconditional love of his creator.

So he gave in. Sure, there were times he refused to kill, but that was because of his own weaknesses. He lived as a human too long before he accepted his true destiny, and Father said it left a stain on his soul. But that he could cover it with blood and let it be forgotten beneath the viscera of others. So when he weakened, when he failed, those were the times he paid his penance in blood. Often his own. He was happy to give it, to cover the stains of humanity on his soul, to try and cut and bleed it out of himself. All in the efforts to be Bhaal's favoured son.

And he was. He was Father's, made of his blood and divine essence. There was nowhere else he could go, no one else he could be. Bhaal was everything, and he belonged to him. His purpose was to be his, his executioner, his slayer, his blade - his heir.

It was the greatest honour that could be bestowed upon him.

His eyes fell to Enver as the man raised his head and turned his cheek to his shoulder, his eyes not focused on the other, but to the darkness of the room. The glow of the candles caressed his features, and Tir'yal admired the curling and flickering shadows across the humans face.

"He's near. Can you feel it?" Enver tilted his chin up, dark eyes clashing with the glowing eyes of his companion. "He’s getting closer every day, speaking to me more and more clearly, rather than in whispers." Enver's eyes shone in the low light, enraptured by the heavy presence cloaking his shoulders, unseen but known. Bane was with them, with him.

"My peers think him a distant god, but I know better. He and I have a connection like no other.” He turned back towards the gauntlet and bowed his head, using his cane to help him stand back up, back straight and head held high. Tir'yals tail gave a small flick as he approached slowly. Cautious. The air in the room had changed, now that it was brought to his attention.

“A decade of worship...and not once has he truly left me." Enver smiled. "I knew one day he'd reward my efforts in his name." The candlelight warped, flicking wildly as Tir'yal came to stand beside the other, eyeing the statue wearily. Enver did not seem concerned in the slightest even as the shadows of the room seemed to bleed further towards them, towards the tinkerer. Tir'yal gripped the hilt of his blade tighter on instinct.

"Don’t you feel it too?" Enver's smile only grew wider, his grin crinkling the bags beneath his eyes. A bitingly cold breeze past over Tir'yal and he sucked in a sharp breath, Enver's robe rustling as the man exhaled out a cloud of mist. "The presence of our Gods are getting stronger each day. They feed off our work in their name. And we only help them grow stronger.”

The flames of the candles extinguished with a gust, leaving them in pitch black. Enver laughed, warm and full bodied.

"Tonight. Tonight, I think we reap the benefits of our labours." Enver whispered an incantation, the blue dancing lights coming from his palm enveloped in shadows, turning it a dark grey colour. Enver's eyes shone, and Tir'yal was certain he would be the only one who would ever see pure elation on the artificers face. There was fascination in his eyes, something he only held for his precious machines.

Enver's hand flexed and with a crackle, the twirling lights becoming laced with golden accents.

"Tonight, we become more than servants to our Gods." Enver looked up at him and Tir'yal couldn't help but stare. Enver looked otherworldly, caressed by the golden flickers of his spell. "I have no doubts your Father awaits. You should go to him."

Enver extinguished the light with a flick of his wrist and took Tir'yals arm, acting as the lead between them towards the door, but Tir'yal knew he was the only one who could actually see in the darkness, guiding the man out of the main prayer room.

Beneath torch light, Enver looked even more windswept, hair messy and robe near slipping from one shoulder. He could see in his eyes that he was much too preoccupied mentally to even notice. Tir'yal pinched the seam and righted the robe before stepping away from him, Enver's attention coming back to him.

"Go. I will see you tomorrow, in my office. I imagine we'll have much to discuss. I have a good feeling."

"If you say so..." Tir'yal hesitated before turning his back to the Banite, his claws rapping against the hilt of his dagger. He found his way back to the front entrance of the temple and made his way down the steps, Fel appearing before him.

"Oh Master, you stink!" The butler complained. "Like smoke and burning metal. I knew telling you where Bane's faithful was was an awful idea." He tutted. "You didn't even come out with any blood on you!"

"I think I'm ready to spill some though. Thank you, Fel." Tir'yal smiled and looked back at the temple. Something about tonight was special. Enver was certain about it.

Tir'yal would be a fool to believe the man wrong.

He smiled, mind stuck replaying the look of elation on the Banite's face, the warm fingers curled around his bicep, the near see-through material of his bed shirt, soft against his skin. It felt only right to kill the first dark haired man he saw, relishing in the warm blood as it poured over his hand, his blade, twisting it in a sharp turn of his wrist before pulling out half way, thrusting it back in deeper.

The choked cry from the man made his skin burn, but it wasn't quite the right note he'd been hoping for. He'd have to find someone else to finish the melody in his mind, to satisfy the tune he was creating as he spilt blood and hummed all the while, waiting for just that perfect pitch that would scratch the itch.

He didn't find it that night before he retired to his chambers, still painted in crimson. He thought maybe he'd find it in his dreams. Yet, all he found was a haze of red, his Father's presence wrapping around him, clinging to his skin.

"My Son," He whispered, calling him closer to sink into the pool of red, to let it envelop him. Growing louder as Tir'yal walked into his bloody embrace. "My Chosen."

When he opened his eyes the next morning, the first words on his lips were a reverent whisper of his Father's name.

But his first thought was of Enver Gortash, Bane's Chosen.

[theurgic-necromancer]

Wizards are not exactly known for their physical strength and sturdiness. You are no exception. On the other hand, as the oldest living child of Bhaal, you're much tougher than the average wizard.

Which is how you're still conscious even after a minotaur came barreling into you. The wind's been knocked out of you, and you're fairly sure you've either gotten slashed or else you hit the ground hard enough to break skin. You reach for your side and feel something slick and wet. When you pull your hand away, you can see traces of your blood all over it. Yep, you're definitely bleeding.

You stagger to your feet and take stock of the situation. The minotaur has cut you and Astarion off from the rest of the group. Zia, Shadowheart, and Karlach are doing their best to avoid the minotaur's wild axe swings and piercing horns. Astarion is visibly irritated at being caught out in the open with little to hide behind. He shoots an arrow into the minotaur's back, then dashes towards the nearby stone formation to hide behind it. The minotaur rips the offending arrow out of its back. It turns and slams its axe down where Zia was just standing a moment ago.

There's a surging in your blood, a feeling like something trying to claw its way out of you. For a moment you can't breathe, and you're not sure if it's from getting the wind knocked out of you, or from the thing in your blood trying to exert control. Either way, you find yourself coughing and choking as you struggle to maintain control. Everything hurts. Your head is swimming.

You manage to shake it off enough to blast the minotaur in the back with a few Magic Missiles. It swings at you. You're not fast enough. The axe catches your arm and you're sent staggering back, clutching the bleeding gash. You feel a soothing calm fall over you, like a quiet evening. Shadowheart's cast a healing spell, and you feel some of your injuries knitting together.

You don't have time to shout a thank you before the second minotaur slams into your back and knocks you out.

You awaken back at camp, with at least half the party hovering over you. Shadowheart and Zia are both busily pouring their healing magics into you. You can tell without opening your eyes just from how their respective magic feels. Shadowheart's like the calm of a nice evening, Zia's like the feel of a long-forgotten lullaby.

It's Zia who notices you stir first. "Oh thank the gods he's awake."

"You alright, soldier?" Karlach says, leaning over to get a good look at your face. You can see the worry writ large across hers.

"I feel like I got run over by something, but otherwise I think so," you reply. You grimace from the lingering pain of mended bones. You're fairly certain you might have broken a rib, but the healing magic seems to have fixed that.

"Try two minotaurs," Zia says.

"Two?" you repeat incredulously.

"It's a miracle you're still alive," Shadowheart points out.

"From the way you were splayed out on the ground I was worried you weren't," Zia says. "By the way... why in all the hells is your blood black?"

You blink. "You just noticed?"

"Unless you've been secretly bleeding without us noticing, yes," Shadowheart says. You know she's lying—about herself, at least. You still remember the way she'd stared at your bleeding head after the crash. The look of confusion and vague horror that flashed across her face before she... simply healed you and moved on.

"Surely Astarion noticed, at least," you say, shoving yourself into a sitting position.

There's a pause. You glance at Astarion to see him pointedly looking away.

"You literally drank it," you say.

"It was dark!" Astarion protests. "And—Well—You know as well as I that darkvision isn't exactly good at distinguishing color."

You catch Lae'zel grimacing and shaking her head in exasperation out of the corner of your eye. You honestly feel about the same way as she does.

"Well, now you know: I have weird-colored blood." You shrug, hoping that no one will press the issue.

"I presume it has something to do with your necromantic studies?" Gale chimes in.

The guess surprises you, but you're not going to bother correcting him. "Something like that, yeah." You hold up a decidedly not injured hand. "Kind of neat, don't you think?"

"Not the word I would have used," Shadowheart says.

"It's fascinating," Gale says. Zia's expression says she also finds it intriguing.

"Hm... Now that has me curious," Astarion muses. "How does everyone else's blood compare to yours?"

"Well, mine probably tastes like his," Zia casually tosses out. You shoot her a look. Before anyone can ask the obvious follow-up she adds, "It turns out we're related. He's like my great-great-uncle or something."

"I suppose that would lead to some similarities," Astarion says. You quietly breathe a sigh of relief. Shadowheart glances between you and Zia. You don't need the tadpole to sense that she knows what that connection means.

"I'd offer a sip of my blood as a potential point of comparison," Gale says, "but I fear my... condition—" He gestures towards his chest, where the Netherse orb lies, "—might possibly taint the results."

"Such a shame, that," Astarion says. "I imagine your blood would taste like a finely-aged wine."

"Thank you?" Gale sounds bemused.

"If you so much as look at any of us as prey, vampire..." Lae'zel warns.

Astarion waves a hand dismissively. "It's just idle musing, darling, I'm not actually going to bite anyone here. Unless anyone wants to volunteer~"

"Maybe after I've recovered a bit from getting flattened by a pair of minotaurs," you say, absentmindedly rubbing at your neck.

"That would be for the best, I'd say," Shadowheart chimes in. "You were out cold far longer than I would have expected."

"I... was?" You blink in confusion.

"Yes, even after we'd brought you back from the brink you wouldn't wake up," she says.

"It's why we ended up dragging you back to camp," Zia adds. "Figured it would be better to fuss over you somewhere safe rather than risk a third minotaur showing up."

"...Huh," you say. That's certainly weird.

"You feeling alright, by the way?" Karlach pipes up. "Head's not hurting or nothing?"

"I'm fine, all things considered." You shrug. "Still a little achy from getting run over, but otherwise..."

"That's a relief," Karlach says, visibly relaxing. "Next time, don't wander off so far. Made it way too easy for those two big lugs to separate our group and prevent us from getting to you."

"Yeah, noted," you say. "You'd think I'd know better by now, but apparently not."