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ineadhyn · 10 months ago

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Mizora x Gortash

It occured to me that I never shared this magnificent work of mine where I imagined Mizora and Gortash in a room, trashtalking Tav whilst they wait for them to return from looting every crate in the whole city.

Read it here or below

Or dare to read the extended nsfw version here

It had been a while since Archduke Enver Gortash had entered a pub. There had been nights, in his earlier years, far before the days of the Archduke or even the Lord, that he spent drinking and amusing himself, though he had always found more fulfillment in scheming and tinkering. Now, of course, it would be madness to just walk into the Elfsong by and as himself. So, Lord Enver Gortash had renounced all gold applications on his clothes and wore a hooded cloak. It was unusual to not be the most fashionable person in the city, but it brought back fond memories of his weapon dealer days. Nobody recognized him as he parted the crowd, except for a servant girl that caught a glimpse of his face and dropped a plate. A faint smile appeared on Gortash’s face as he moved past her, making his way to the stairs that led to the upper floor. No one paid attention to him. He knew the party of adventurers had taken rooms in the Elfsong. The whole city talked about it. And also about that nobody had seen them in two days after he’d sent them after Orin. What calmed his mind was that if Orin had killed them, she would not have been able to shut up about it. She would have woken him up by sitting on his bed presumably, telling him all the gory details and licking her blade. Then she would have tried to kill him. Gortash sighed. How much he’d preferred the other Bhaalspawn. But they were dead, nothing to do about it. At this very moment they laid rotting in Orin’s sleep chamber, if he could trust his spies. Gortash pulled his mind back to the present. It was rude to let him, the Archduke and chosen of Bane, wait and he demanded to know why. It was time he took matters into his own hands. Gortash stopped in front of the wooden door and listened. Not a sound. Maybe they truly weren’t home. Well, that wouldn’t stop him. As a villain he was used to standing around, sometimes posing for hours until the heroes arrived and he could turn around dramatically. It was tedious, but never lost its effect. If they weren’t there, he would wait. And perhaps they’d left some clues he could investigate.

Gortash found the door locked, but he had his ways. His fingers fumbled a tool out of his pocket that faintly resembled a key, only it had multiple endings that could be swapped by pressing tiny triggers. Gortash slid it into the lock where it adapted its shape and turned it. The door swung open without a sound. Time to slide back the pathetic hood that probably messed up his carefully styled hair. As he entered, closing the door behind him, he looked around, maybe there was a mirror, but - The large room was not empty. A woman stood there. In fact that was not quite right. A devil stood there. A cambion. Due to unfortunate circumstances Gortash had found himself familiar with devils and their kind. The women that tracked him with bright eyes had red slicked back hair, four horns, giant wings and a perfectly sculpted body, accentuated by a slit in her dress that reached down to her navel and displayed her round tits. Of course. Devils were always so vain.

“Ts Ts”, she said. Her voice was high and unpleasant. “Isn’t that the Archduke himself, breaking and entering on a quiet afternoon. How naughty.” Gortash did not react to her words. Instead he walked over to her. “Forgive my manners, but who are you exactly?” He wiggled the fingers of his hand, so she could notice the Netherstone on his glove. She knew he had no need to fear her. “It seems you haven’t introduced yourself.” “Correct.” The devil answered. Her glance wandered up and down on him and for a moment he wished he wore his regular fancy attire. Anyways, he still looked splendid as always. “I haven’t. I am Mizora.” “Zariel’s.” “Correct again.” Mizora flashed a false smile. “Mmmh… I wouldn’t walk over these part of the floorboards if I were you.” Gortash was smart enough to stop in his tracks. He looked down. “Is that oil?” "Again, correct. Eager to get the full score I see.” “Why is there oil on the floor?” “Why are you wearing a hood?” Gortash slid it back immediately. “Because breaking and entering, as you phrased, is better done unrecognized as an archduke. Answer me now.” “You think you can command me?” Mizora tilted her head. “How sweet.” Then she rolled her eyes, showing something like genuine annoyance. “One day it’s oil, the other grease. Worst has been poison, though I am mostly immune to that. Still, it stinks.” Gortash narrowed his eyes. “They throw stuff at you?” “Why yes. The party thinks it is exceedingly funny to tease the devil. Some days I’ve to clean myself a dozen times. They say it’s what I get for gracing them with my presence.” “And you still stay?” Gortash tilted his head. Interesting. “Of course I do.” Mizora raised her chin. “I said I’ll keep an eye on my pet and his friends. What they do is only a minor inconvenience. I control hell's magic.” Speaking these words, red flames covered her right hand for a moment. “Your pet?” Gortash queried. “The warlock with the horns. My doing, by the way.” Gortash nodded in recognition. “There’s also one of my former watchdogs in the group. The tiefling.” “Ah, yes. You were the one who sold her to Zariel.” Now the approval came from Mizora. “A dog understands the yank of a leash and the hand of its master, but once they think they’re free they go feral. I am here to assure this will not happen with mine.” “Funny, my words exactly. Tell me now, what else do you know about the group?” “Everything.” Mizora started moving towards Gortash in small steps. “Too much one could say, even for my taste. But it is amusing -” A small scream, a flutter of wings and the magnificent devil hit the floor boards cursing in infernal so vile that Gortash, who knew the language, didn’t understand half of it. Or perhaps he was distracted by the sight of Mizora on her back right before his feet. He could barely contain his schadenfreude. “Every time!” Mizora grumbled, then raised her hand towards Gortash in a demand. Gortash made a note in his head and reached out to help her up, regretting it just a moment later, because it was covered in oil. Mizora came to her feet, shaking herself like a wet dog for a moment, then letting go of him and sending a shiver of hellfire over her form to clean herself. Too bad, the slick film had looked quite nice on her purple skin. And by nice Gortash meant degrading. “What have we been talking about?” “What are they doing?” Gortash repeated his question. “I could tell you.” “You know it?” “I put a little sending stone in my pet's eye socket so I always know what they are up to.” “Tell me then.” “Hmmm.” Mizora tilted her head. “What could you offer me in return?” “Ha”, said Gortash. “Do you take me for a fool? Making a deal with a devil, because I'm bored? “Ts”, countered the devil. “Disappointing.” “Just like you.” “What a high horse you sit on,” Mizora commented. She had crossed the oily plains and instead made her way to one of the red and white beds, seating herself. “You forget I saw everything the group did. So …” She looked at him with an expression Gortash didn’t like at all. “I know about the little detour they took in your palace.”

Shit. Gortash would have rather concealed he’d also fallen victim to the adventurer’s shenanigans. ‘Shenanigans’ might not do the situation justice. Gortash had invited them to his coronation and, despite seeing the tiefling, all went according to plan. Only when he returned to his chambers did he find that, whilst he had been busy talking to the patriars and signing papers, he had been robbed. Stripped bare to the last crate of spare torches. Gortash had no clue how they’d managed to trick their way into every single chamber and less how they’d managed to walk away with half his house in their pockets. He grunted. “Yes.” Mizora smiled, crossing her legs. “It’s the pale elf, you know. Sneaky little pup. And wait until you know why they leave you waiting.” “You are going to tell me now?” “I am feeling generous. And I feel I might have met a kindred spirit.” If Gortash hadn’t known devils, he would have taken her smile for a real one. “At this very moment”, Mizora continued, staring into nothing for a second, “they are in the temple of Bhaal.” “Still? I sent them there two days ago!” “Oh, they only arrived this morning. Don’t you want to sit with me?” She patted the fabric next to her. Gortash sighed internally, but it seemed like he would be here a while. So might as well. He carefully avoided the oil and accepted her invitation, keeping a cautious distance. “As I said, they arrived today. Their leader, Tav, found themselves distracted by a bunch of sad zombies they’d decided to help, searching through every single house on their way and Gale’s cat eating pigeons.” “What?” Gortash needed a moment to process. “All of that is deemed more important than getting the nether brain back under control? There are earthquakes happening. And what is that nonsense about someone's cat? Is that why my letters never arrive?” Mizora shrugged, as amused by his anger as he’d been when she slipped. “And what exactly are they doing now? Is Orin dead? I guess so, because the brain seems even more destabilized, but -” “She is.” Mizora’s tail flicked. “And this very moment our mighty hero is searching every nook and cranny of Bhaal's temple. If you’ve ever been there you might remember it’s quite spacious.” At this point Gortash just groaned as an answer. He barely dared to ask and did it anyway. He was no coward. “What for?” “Ohhh.” The sound was full of pity. “As far as I can tell, for the purpose of collecting every rotten carrot that may be hiding in a vase.” Gortash placed his face in his hands.

He should have known. He really should have known by now. How excited he had been to finally meet the group of adventurers he’d heard so much about, just a few days ago, and then - Gortash recalled that morning vividly. He stood on a balcony of Wyrmbridge and watched an eager person stack every chest and chair in Rivington in front of the gates, climbing up and down the ever growing tower like a mad squirrel. That they fell more than once and spilled blood on his cobblestones didn't stop them. Tav. The whole group was … special to say the least, but their leader was the worst. He should have known. One of his guards had approached. "Lord, are you sure we shouldn't intervene? They might give the refugees ideas." Back then Gortash had just waved it off. "You keep the rest out. That’s what I pay you for, but let this one continue. I want to see if this works." Maybe he had been intrigued by the creative engineering. Maybe it almost made up for the fact that after successfully climbing the Wyrmbridge, the group let him wait two whole days till they joined his coronation. Why do I always have to wait for them? Again the guard approached. "Do you wish for us to get them, archduke? Just say the word. It will be the easiest task." "I wish I could, but you know the protocol. And I'd rather not lose guards to a party that has already obliterated true soul Nere and Raphael himself." Gortash had killed the annoying man a little later. As the nobles of Baldur’s Gate grew impatient, he ordered them to be murdered, too. Little did it help. Tav and their gang were again on their own mission of solving every problem this city had, no matter how trivial. Gortash must have made a sound because Mizora reacted.

“Na na”, she cooed. He got a grip on himself before she could pat his back or worse. “Look now. I spy with my little eye that they are finally leaving the temple. They’ll be back soon.” “Are you sure about that?” “It might take them till the evening.” Mizora leaned to the side of the bed and opened a chest next to it casually. “Ah, yes, full of garlic. They are obsessed with garlic. Is this a mortal thing?” “I guess that at least is normal. Although it explains the smell.” “They’ll be back for dinner. That’s when they make a child serve 14 cloves of this garlic, a lemon and a full crate of Chultan Fireswill.” “I take it back. I take everything back. This is not what mortals do. This is -” He broke off. There were no words anymore. Finally he sighed. “Although this explains a lot.” This was the very moment Gortash scrapped all his plans of forming an alliance. Sure he would pretend to - and then kill them. Someone needed to. Kill them before they lay eggs or something. Kill them with fire. “I saw that look,” Mizora remarked. “You want to kill them.” “And what if I do?” “I guess, I’ll watch.” She reclined slowly. “Save me the pup.”

#mizora bg3 #lord gortash #silly fic #my work #tav shaming #loot goblin shaming #rancid vibes

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shadowofwar-goober · 2 years ago

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The Shaman and the Bard- Ch.7 Sold

In the end, he wasn't worth anything at all...

Warnings: Uruks are Bought and Sold, Heartbreak

xxx

‘Visitors…?’ Hûra has never had any visitors before. Neither has his camp, as far as he could remember. Who could possibly want to come here, of all places and wish to see him, of all uruks?

His eyes were heavy from being awoken from an unrestful sleep. The captain made him smooth down his messy hair and fix his clothing to a more ‘appropriate’ standard. Hûra didn’t exactly understand what he meant, but after making sure everything was on relatively straight the captain grunted ‘good enough’. What surprised him the most, though, was when the captain snapped for him to ‘get his shit’ once more as he stood ready to be led to these ‘visitors’.

“I told you to get your shit, so get it!” Hûra was nearly knocked off his feet as the captain shoved him into action. Surprise turned into fear, but Hûra did as was asked of him.

All he had to his name were the sickles the quartermaster used as a punishment and the bow the smith gave him in order to be left alone in peace. Hûra didn’t have the proper equipment to hold his weapons as he walked, so he used his belt to hang the sickles by their blades and he shouldered his long bow over his shoulder. He didn’t walk proudly with his head held high. Hûra stared at the back of the captain’s heels as he shuffled behind him, uncertain of what was to become of him.

“Keep your mouth shut and don’t speak, got it?” The captain doesn’t spare a glance at Hûra as they continue to walk.

“Ye-”

“Don’t speak! Just do. Stupid glob…” He growled under his breath. Hûra set his jaw and focused on breathing through his nose. Whoever was here, the captain’s on edge. Fear was changing into terror and, for a brief moment, running away seemed like an appealing idea.

Stupid… Stupid! He would never make it…

“They’re in here.” The captain gestured towards a large tent used by all the captains for… Hûra didn’t really know what. They can bugger one another for all he cares… He took a step past the captain that stood still, then yelped in surprise as his tunic’s collar was grabbed and his back was slammed against the cave wall.

“Listen here, you little shrakh!” The older uruk was nose to nose with Hûra, who instinctively shrank away and collapsed in on himself. Disgust and anger flared in his gut as he immediately became small and submissive, but what else was he to do? He’s trapped.

“If you have any sense in that empty hole you call a head-” Hûra winced and screwed his eyes shut as a finger was jabbed into his temple.

“-you won’t fuck this up for us!” ‘Us’? Hûra allows one eye to crack open just a bit. The captain was staring a hole straight through him.

“Shut the fuck up, stand up straight, and let us answer any questions. Got it?!” Hot, sour breath hit Hûra’s nose. He nodded, biting the inside of his cheek as he shrank further and further into himself.

Release was a relief. Hûra hardly had a moment to shake off the fear he felt before he was shoved forward so hard he nearly tripped on his own feet. He was pushed again and through the loose tent flap.

The candle light was dim but still harsh on his eyes. He quickly shut his eyes, but quickly opened them when, with one last shove from behind, he really did almost fall flat on his face. The captain grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him in front of four uruks he didn’t recognize, both from their dress and their scents.

“So this is the lad we’ve heard so much about.”

Instantly, Hûra recoiled. He did not like the sound of that uruk’s voice. It was soft spoken but it was not gentle. He had the impression that it was genuine, for some reason. He couldn’t place exactly why, but he felt endangered as the four strangers eyed him up. ‘Stand up straight’- no, he can’t. Everything in his being is screaming for him to be low and hope they wouldn’t find what they were looking for. Looking for…

What are they looking for?

“Yes… this is the-” His elders stared at him for a moment. Hûra shrank down even further, which prompted the hand that had a hold of a neck to squeeze and shake him into standing upright.

“...boy.” They had not a single, positive thing to say about him. It hurt far more than it had any right to. One of the strangers stepped forward, stopping within arm’s reach of him and began to look him over.

Now that he has a better look… Hûra still didn’t recognize their garbs. It was black, yes, but they weren’t part of the Dark tribe. The motifs on their armour was strange and eye-catching. Bones…? They weren’t Feral, he was almost certain of that. They smelled of incense and some other kinds of herbs he didn’t recognize that burned his nose and made his eyes water.

Hûra flinched as a hand outreached towards his face. The strange uruk ignored it and grasped hold of his face, turning it from side to side. His eyes lingered on Hûra’s and he nearly looked away as a feeling of unease pulled at the back of his mind. Seemingly satisfied, he releases his face and then picks up the pup’s hands in order to observe them.

Hûra didn’t know what he was looking for. It was weird being touched and ever weirder that everyone was completely silent all the while. He was staring down at his hands, not noticing the stranger had stopped examining them and was, instead, looking at his face. Hûra nearly choked when their eyes met.

“How much?” Hûra blinked, confused. He couldn’t look away- he was scared to. What if something happened when he did? Would he be punished? Killed? Was he being asked this question? Or was it directed to the other captains?

“Seriously? Take ‘im. It’s no skin off our backs.” Armour shifted as if shrugged. Hûra’s stomach dropped and he started to feel faint.

“What about three kegs of grog?” Hûra started to pull his hands away as fingertips tickled against the calloused flesh of his underhand. His breath caught in his throat and his eyes went wide. A captain scoffed.

“We ain’t gonna say no.” The grip on his hands became firm and Hûra was subtly pulled forward. He shook his head and turned to look over his shoulder.

Their faces held nothing as they traded him off like a commodity. Like a piece of equipment. A thing. Hûra knew this happened all the time- this is Mordor, after all- and it could happen to anyone, any time, and at any place. He wasn’t wanted here. He didn’t want to even be here, but when faced with the reality he was about to be sold and that he was being sold to them?

Hûra began to cry.

His captains- His previous captains scoffed and rolled their eyes as Hûra tried to turn and face them. He was being pulled forward, against his will, and when ‘he’s your problem now’ was said it broke it heart.

He thought he had fully shed the feelings and attachments he had towards this awful place filled with awful uruks that didn’t care about him in the slightest. He was wrong. Hûra nearly became hysterical as he was exchanged for grog- only three kegs of grog- and he called out for his captain.

Nothing. Not even a glance was spared at him. Hûra lost any fight that was brewing inside of him. They didn’t want him. They never wanted him and that was that. Nothing he could have ever done would have made them change their minds. He could have brought them the head of an elven king, of the steward of Gondor or any other man filth and they still wouldn’t see him as anything other than a waste of resources, time, and potential. Hûra’s shoulders sagged, defeated and heavy with disappointment and anguish. An added weight to his shoulder made him look to his side, vision blurry with tears.

“Do not despair, my boy. The likes of them could never understand those of our standing.” The voice was gentle, different from the other ones that gave him reason to panic and fear. Hûra flinched as a hand dabbed away his tears with the sleeve of a robe. He blinked and furrowed his brows.

“W-What…?” His shoulder was squeezed.

“It is painful now, but soon you’ll realize you were destined to leave this place. You are meant for far greater things, Hûra.”

What? He- He said his name…? He… said his name?! When was the last time he heard his name being spoken?! Hûra couldn’t remember… His heart jumped and his knees felt weak. But it was different this time. It wasn’t fear that consumed him, no, this was so much lighter. Warmer… He doesn’t remember ever feeling like this before!

All he could do was nod. Still blinking away his tears and sniffling like a newborn pup. He wasn’t reprimanded for crying. They let him trudge along at his pace…. They even let him ride a caragor! Hûra’s never had the opportunity to do so before… He was complimented, told he was a natural rider. Hûra wasn’t sure if he could take such niceties directed towards him and him alone.

He didn’t know where they were going, but they said it was far from Cirith Ungol. Hûra was relieved. He hated this place and he was certain when he thought that if he never saw this place ever again, he would die a happy uruk. This place was in the mountains, with white peaks and little settlements that dotted throughout the mountain passes. There was only one major fortress there, too, which was surprising, but, then again… Hûra has never heard of this place before.

Seregost…

@space-arsonist, @sinick, @elvenmoans, @boozy-dwarf, @dirtymeanuruk

#lotr #middle earth shadow of mordor #middle earth shadow of war #uruk hai #uruk ocs #my ocs #some upsetting themes #uruks are bought and sold #rancid vibes #going from the Dark tribe to the Mystics

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