#thalamra vanthampur

[defira85]

Not All That Glitters: The Golden Reign of Gortash

Day 6: Alternative Universe/Dealer's Choice

It was dark, and the stone under his feet was cold; he might have thought himself to be underground, in a cave perhaps, if the floor had not been so even, and his bare feet could feel the seams of flagstones. A tiled room, of sorts. A dungeon?

Had he gone from a cell in Avernus to a cell in Toril?

"Hello?" he called out, and he told himself that the crack in his voice was simply the lingering remnants of puberty, and not at all a sign of fear. He was Enver Gortash, survivor of Avernus, and he did not show fear.

He heard the sound of a boot scraping across the stone.

"Who's there?" he demanded, his voice slightly higher pitched than the first query. "Show yourself."

"My my, you are quite the spitfire, aren't you," came a voice from the shadows. There was a scratching sound, a match drawn against the coarse striking paper on the matchbox, and a small flare of orange light made him blink and squint as he tried to make out the features of the person before him. The match was lowered towards a lamp, and as the oiled wick took hold of the flickering flame, the cramped stone cell was filled with a warm orange glow that did nothing to offer comfort.

He was well and truly sick of the glow from a flame.

Read Day Six here, and subscribe to catch the final chapter coming soon!

This chapter was inspired by @the0verboss and their very cool concept for Day 6, with Enver as the Chosen of Bhaal. After he did an absolutely incredible trampy fashionista Enver based on the outfit in one of my chapters, I really wanted to reciprocate somehow, so this is partially for him!

[bharv]

Will you maybe share your Lady Vanthampur HC? 👀👉👈

I can't believe I never got to this in my mad Gortweek posting! But she featured or was name checked at least three times.

So I think (?) from the module she has a bathing house over a temple to the cult of the dead three in Heapside. The cult sprung up after the sundering when the worship of the three ceased to be a formal religion - most Mykulites started worshiping Kelemvor, most Banites went to Cyric, and most Bhaalists grew the fuck up did too - but there were small pockets of hangers-on that kept the faith alive. And because she is the master of the Drains and Underways she truly knows the whole network.

And she's pledged to Zariel, which is also interesting! Unlike Gortash who is a business partner and Wyll who is sort of pledged to Zariel by proxy, Thal is a full on fucking devil worshipper for power. Was she part of the brokering of Gortash's initial relationship with Zariel? She almost certainly knew of his connection to the hells, even if I go back-and-forth on her knowing he's the High Imperceptor of Bane.

But my main HC is that she is fucking no-nonsense, absolute wall of a woman, who shares Gortash's absolute distain for the Patriars and is in a race to the top against him. I would have LOVED her fingerprints to be all over BG3, but alas, it wasn't to be. I reckon her and Helsik regularly share a tipple, that she knows everything about the Bhaalists, whom she works closely with, and that if there's one thing she hates more than ridiculous snobbery... it's a bloody law-man like Ulder.

[plinchy]

One of my players said something last weekend and I'm still recovering.

[anderstrevelyan]

Have you ever wondered exactly what's going on with all the dead bodies in the Wyrm's Rock audience hall, if you leave and come back after Gortash's coronation?

I did some in-game research while working on a fic recently, and in the name of sparing anyone else from having to lay all this out, too—here's a list of the victims, and some notes-based educated guessing on Gortash's motivation here.

(Beyond Iron Counsul Nuff's summary in the screenshot above: "My lord requires a clear path to his magnificent future. We cut away the troublesome bramble.")

Lord Petric Amber

Lord Amber's Bodyguard

Lady Ailis Belt

Lady Haeril Birch

Baron Callem Bormul

Lady Alia Durinbold

Lady Durinbold's Bodyguard

Lady Durinbold's Attendant

Lord Sarken Eomane

Admiral Peil Hullhollyn

Lady Winstra Hullhollyn

Lord Raylen Jannath

Lord Jannath's Bodyguard

Duke Dillard Portyr

Lord Portyr's Attendant

Lord Portyr's Bodyguard

Lady Beatrice Provoss

Lord Myer Ravenshade

Lady Silifrey Sashenstar

Lord Rugger Shattershield

Lord Shattershield's Bodyguard

Lord Shattershield's Attendant

Lord Milton Tillerturn

Lord Randolf Vammas

Lady Madeline Whitburn

9 Unnamed Patriars

First I'll note that not everyone you see lingering after the coronation ends up dead: I could talk to Lady Eshvelt Guthmere, Lady Ruth Linnacker, and Lady Freida Oberon, and their bodies aren't present in the hall later.

It also doesn't seem to be connected to vocalizing support for Gortash or not—you can overhear Portyr and Shattershield challenging him in the ambient dialogue after the coronation, but when you walk around and talk to everyone else the only one who has anything negative to say is Silifrey Sashenstar. Everyone else on the list above sings Gortash's praises.

So, here's what I think it is!

In the corner of the audience hall, you can find this note:

The Parliament of Peers is the body that's responsible for electing new dukes, and they held a formal vote to raise Gortash as Archduke and dissolve their own political body. Note the numbers: there's 23 members.

So who are these members? Up in Gortash's study, you can find this note discussing bribing, blackmailing, and threatening members of the Peers, which gives us the names of eight:

Five of these eight end up dead in the audience hall (Portyr, Jannath, Whitburn, Sashenstar, and Eomane).

As for the three Peers listed who don't end up in dead in the hall—Lady Ruth Linnacker, Lord Hir Rillyn, and Lady Haeril Vanthampur—let's look to this note:

Gortash has leverage against Ruth Linnacker through the abduction of her granddaughter, and I don't think it's unfair to assume Hir Rillyn and Haeril Vanthampur are similarly under Gortash's control, whether tadpoled or blackmailed (this is the one big assumption I had to make—bear with me!).

The other two with non-murderous leverage against them in the note above do end up dead, but I think there's some added context: I imagine Raylen Jannath is the husband of Wisteria Jannath, who Gortash canonically had an affair with (maybe it's personal? Maybe Raylen didn't care enough about the leverage of his own affair, if he knew she'd had one too?). For Portyr, there's the following in Gortash's study, noting he considers him a threat that shouldn't be underestimated, so he may not have wanted to stop at threats:

The inclusion of Portyr on the list of eight Peers could imply that the other three dukes are members of the Parliament of Peers, too. There's a book in Franc Peartree's house about the current state of who the dukes are, which I don't have my own screenshot of, but here's the relevant text from the wiki:

We know Belynne Stelmane is dead as part of the Bhaalist plot. Ulder Ravengard is tadpoled. The fourth duke was Thalamra Vanthampur, who's dead. They were waiting to replace her until Ravengard was found or confirmed gone—and Gortash was given this seat.

So, back to the original list of people murdered after the coronation. I bolded the names of those who aren't seemingly collateral damage (the bodyguards and attendants, and the unnamed patriars): there's 17.

17 killed after the coronation

Plus three Peers controlled through blackmail or other means

Plus Duke Stelmane and Duke Ravengard, dead and tadpoled respectively

That adds up to 22.

Add in Gortash's own vote, which he would have from taking (Thalamra) Vanthampur's seat, and you get 23.

The same number as the members of the Parliament of Peers.

Gortash didn't just orchestrate the Peers naming him the city's first Archduke, and he didn't just influence them to dissolve the political body that could vote another duke in. He made sure the individuals were destroyed, too.

[infiniteanalemma]

Nobility in Baldur's Gate

Edited to add: I never expected my silly, niche post to get as much attention as it has! I'm giving you all forehead smooches! 😚💋 I've gone through to clean up some things up as I've found new information. I also added a list of nobility that I've found in game and other sources to the end of the post. Thanks, y'all! I'm glad I'm not the only one to wonder about this stuff. Good stuff in the reblogs, too!

Baldur's Gate has dug itself deep in my brain, so I apologize to my poor mutuals who didn't follow me for BG3 content getting this onslaught of posts. Please bear with me until my hyperfixation wears off. 🙏

Now, I'll admit up front that I'm no expert in DnD lore*, so if I get things wrong, please feel free to correct me or just add in stuff I may have missed. I'm going off of what I've found in-game and my Google Fu skills.

That said, I do know enough about DnD to remember that Baldur's Gate nobility are called patriars, and that there are only a relative handful of actual patriar families. I was thinking about my "canon" Tav, Velassa, and her background in BG3. She's a modified OC that I plunked in-game during Early Access, so I made her a noble. It was just part of her existing character that I didn't think too deeply about. It was only after I starting playing that it occurred to me to wonder what exactly "a noble" is to a native Baldurian.

That got me digging a little more into the current state of the Baldurian nobility as of BG3. I don't know who--if anyone--needs or wants this, but I put this together for myself and decided to share it for anyone else who might be interested. I realize that this is probably pretty niche and it's rambly and long af, so I'll put it under a cut.

So, for starters, here's a list of all the patriar families, including "fallen" houses that are barely hanging on: Belt, Bormul, Caldwell, Dlusker, Durinbold, Eltan, Eomane, Exeltis, Gist, Guthmere, Hhune, Hlath, Hullhollyn, Irlentree, Jannath, Jhasso, Linnacker, Miyar, Nurthammas, Oathoon, Oberon, Portyr, Provoss, Ravenshade, Rillyn, Sashenstar, Shattershield, Silvershield, Tillerturn, Vammas, Vannath, Vanthampur, and Whitburn

From what I've gathered, Exeltis, Provoss and Ravenshade are all more-or-less destitute. Also, the Szarr family (Cazador's family) were patriars, but were believed to be entirely wiped out. No living descendants makes them a dead house, rather literally. 😏 (No, I'm not sorry.)

Now, we learn that Wyll's father is Ulder Ravengard, the Grand Duke. This brings us to the first point: There are four Dukes, known as the Council of Four, and the Grand Duke's job is to be the tie-breaker.

Traditionally, one of the Dukes is also the highest ranked officer of the Flaming Fist--that's Ravengard, who was a Fist promoted up through the ranks. Wyll tells us that his father was born lower class, and quite a few of the patriars seem to scorn him for that. The other Dukes are Belynne Stelmane, Dillard Portyr (more on him later) and Thalamra Vanthampur (more on her later, too). Of the four, two are patriars: Portyr and Vanthampur. We don't know much about Stelmane's past, except that she was a brilliant businesswoman, politician and--as we find out later--member of the Knights of the Shield. Apparently, you can't buy your way into the patriars, but maybe you can buy your way into being a Duke.

Skipping ahead a bit, when the player shows up to Gortash's coronation, there are a group of mostly patriars sitting in the boxes leading up to the front of the room. I'm listing them by seating arrangement, with box 1 and 2 being the left and right closest to Gortash, and 3 and 4 being farthest. (I don't know what, if anything, the seating arrangements imply. The second box has eight people, compared to four for all the rest.)

Lady Ailis Belt, Baron Callem Bormul, Lord Rugger Shattershield**, and Lady Alia Durinbold**

Lady Ruth Linnacker, Lord Sarken Eomane, Lady Freida Oberon, Lord Raylen Jannath, Lord Myer Ravenshade**, Lady Madeline Whitburn, Lady Beatrice Provoss, and Duke Dillard Portyr

Lady Winstra Hullhollyn, Admiral Peil Hullhollyn, Lord Randolph Vammas, and Lady Eshvelt Guthmere

Lord Milon Tillerturn, Lady Silifrey Sashenstar, Lord Petric Amber**, and Lady Haeril Birch**

Here's some pictures of the nobles sitting together. (Sorry for the terrible quality! I slapped it together for my own reference. 🙈)

The characters marked by ** aren't human, which is interesting because the information I found said all the patriar familes are human except the Shattershields. Myer Ravenshade is listed as human if you examine him, but he has a dwarf model. That might be a mistake, but I'm including him anyway. Alia Durinbold, from a presumably human patriar family, is a wood elf. Again, this could be a mistake, but unless Larian winds up changing it, it could mean that interracial marriages that once may have been looked down on are now becoming more acceptable. Petric Amber is also a wood elf, and Haeril Birch is a high elf.

Those last two are interesting because they are the only ones in the boxes who aren't patriars. If not for them, I'd have assumed the coronation was simply a demonstration for the patriars alone. Their inclusion means this is something else.

Digging around, my conclusion is that all the listed people are members of the Parliament of Peers--a 50 person advisory party to the Council of Four. However, what I found says that it's pretty rare for all 50 to attend meetings, and the usual group is between 20-30. There are exactly 20 named individuals listed, plus a group of unnamed "patriars" standing at the front.

Here they are, for what it's worth:

One thing I noticed here is that most of those listed here are Lord/Lady, but there are three other titles: Duke, Baron and Admiral. I've already talked about the Dukes. Looking into the patriars, the Hullhollyn family are notable for having a fleet of ships, so it makes sense that one of them would be an Admiral. That leaves the Baron.

I couldn't find anything about what it means to be a baron in Baldur's Gate. Going on real-world peerages, a baron/ess is generally the lowest "rank" of nobility. Basically, it's someone who was an official landowner (usually of an "important" bit of land) under the feudal system. Well and good, I suppose, but presumably all the Lords and Ladies of the patriars own land within the city. This particular Baron is also a patriar, but given that one doesn't need to be a patriar to become a Duke (normally a higher peer than a baron), that may not mean anything.

(Apparently, the term "Duke" was originally meant somewhat jokingly. That said, it still carries the weight of a title even if not the conventional one.) We don't see any other titles between Duke and Baron, so what does that mean?

This isn't canon, but my assumption is that it means the Baron owns important land outside of the city. This would make sense for Baron Bormul, given that the Bormul family apparently have investments in silver mines and vineyards. Assuming they own the mines/vineyards, that may make those lands "important" enough to the city for their owner to earn a title. Alternately, the Bormul family also has counterparts in Amn, so maybe baron is an Amnian title that got passed along. That's getting a bit far afield for me, though. 🤷‍♀️

Anyway, among the group at the coronation, pretty much everyone supports Gortash becoming Archduke, with the exception of Lady Sashenstar (an old woman who really isn't too impressed with this commoner) and Duke Portyr, who expresses some hesitation at the whole thing.

Duke Portyr is interesting here. Except for Ravengard (who is thralled and conducting the ceremony), Portyr is the only Duke present. Now, Stelmane is already dead, so that explains her absence. Vanthampur is also missing, which is interesting. Portyr first, though: he was Grand Duke before Ravengard. He's the one who re-instituted (Edited: and originally created!) the Parliament of Peers to make the day-to-day decisions of running the city, and ceded the title of Grand Duke to Ravengard. He's described as being conflict-averse, so it makes sense that he'd go along with Gortash's coronation, even though he's clearly unhappy about it. Also, the current leader of the Fists is also a Portyr, likely still Liara Portyr, the Duke's niece and Ravengard's second-in-command.

Thalamra Vanthampur is an interesting character, too. She's the head of the Vanthampur family, and part of the Descent into Avernus story. Apparently, she's the one who got Ravengard to go to Elturel before it sank to the Hells, intending to take his place as Grand Duke. From what I read, she also conspired with the Dead Three's cults to murder people in a bid to discredit the Flaming Fist. (The murdery bits were undoubtedly left to Bhaal's cult.) We never do find out anything about Thalamra Vanthampur in this game (I assume that's probably cut content). (Edited: She is mentioned in one of the in-game texts as having been killed, which was one of the possible outcomes of Descent into Avernus. Larian chose that as their canon, just like the fate of Elturel and Zariel.)

The only Vanthampur we do meet is Carnelia Vanthampur, who is in the Guildhall and describes herself as "a peer of the Parliament". She's willing to work with either the Guild or the Zhentarim. Nervously of course. Also interesting is that, on the Bloodstained Parchment hit list, is a Varri Vanthampur, whose gravestone you can find in Candulhallow's Tombstones shop, reading: "Varri Vanthampur. Unwanted in life, welcomed in death."

Interesting, hm?

Also on that hit list is Fridrik Hhune. The Hhunes apparently have links to the Knights of the Shield, from what I looked up--the same group the Emperor led with Stelmane. The only Hhunes we meet in-game are Blaise and Gheris Hhune, two of the werewolves in Cazador's ballroom who are brothers according to the dev notes. With them is another werewolf of a different patriar family, Duver Rillyn. This suggests Cazador has been going after members of patriar families, which sort of fits with what we know about his plans. We really don't find anything else out about them except that they consider Cazador to be their master and Astarion says they're new.

We also can talk to a Flaming Fist who mentions that Hurlbut Hhune is the father of Henrietta Hhune, who used to be secretly engaged to the Fist in question, only for her father to decide to arrange her to marry fellow patriar Derque Rillyn, who the Fist describes as "a major arsehole."

That conversation is interesting for a few reasons. For one, it tells you that arranged marriages within the patriar are a thing. Also, this Fist is a Manip (essentially a Sergeant) who can't ask the other Fists for help because "the Fists don't mess with wealthy patriars, they've got the Watch to back them up." That's aligned with what Devella can also tell you: "There are patriars on the murder target list. I'm oathbound to secure them first, so I'll be heading to the Upper City next." If you say that the Fist should protect everyone: "Not from around here, are you? We're in Baldur's Gate - this is just how things work."

This brings me back to my original issue: what is a Baldurian noble? The patriars are canonically nobles, of course, and they're undoubtedly seen as the "most important" of the nobility. From there, it's not much of a stretch to say that anyone who has earned the title of Duke is now a noble, even if they aren't patriars. I'd go so far as to say anyone on the Parliament of Peers (and their family by association) is a noble^, given that non-patriars Petric Amber and Haeril Birch are considered Lord and Lady. The information I found about that is that there are approximately twelve non-patriar members. If Amber and Birch are two of them, that leaves another unnamed 10.

^Edited: Looking at the dates, I realized that the Parliament of Peers is a very recent change to Baldurian governance. Duke Portyr originally created it after the three other Dukes on the Council of Four were assassinated. It was clearly meant as a temporary measure, but my guess is that the patriars liked having more official say. Not to mention the non-patriars who managed to get a seat. This has all happened within even the youngest of Tav/Urges' lifetimes.

Personally, I'd also assume that branch families of the patriars probably also count as nobility. By branch family, I mean those that marry out of the main line but whose ancestry stems from a patriar family. From what I've seen by naming conventions, Baldur's Gate seems to use patronmyic lineage--ancestry is generally passed to the sons, and wives take their husband's surname. So, if a daughter marries out of the family, she'd no longer be a part of her father's family lineage, but still would be considered nobility. These branch families likely still maintain powerful influence and connections from marrying into wealth, which would make them a good political/financial choice of marriage alliance, despite no longer having the main branch patriar family name. These families are also probably the ones most likely to find a place on the Parliament, too, but likely have to jockey for position if their "representative" dies (or otherwise leaves) and a new opening in the Parliament is created.

If you've read this far, as a treat you can have some crappy close-up portraits of the nobles at Gortash's coronation, grouped together in their respective boxes. 😚

* For what it's worth, I'd count myself as a casual DnD player. I have some knowledge of DnD--I've played BG1 and 2, Planescape: Torment, along with some general cultural osmosis. I've had friends who played the tabletop version, but for one reason or another, I've never played it myself.

[strawberrypinky]

fire and ice. [gortash x tav] - part one [of tyranny and chaos]

Enver had rarely been wrong about people throughout his rise to power, yet Elodie Liardon was the gift that kept on giving. She was his equal in every way & he would go through to great lengths to ensure she'd be at his side when the world became his.

Unfortunately for him, she wasn't as easily convinced.

A/N: I think it goes without saying that I don't support or endorse anything Gortash does in this story. He's a terrible person & evil. That said, he's hot & this is also my first time writing a villain as the main character - I am not yet sure where this story is going to head in certain aspects. The warnings are subject to change, so make sure to check them out as this story progresses. This story may feature non con down the line. Also, I'm not an expert in DnD lore – a lot of this is based on my own research & interpretations & I'm taking a few creative liberties with this story, e.g. the Council of Four. Canonically, the Council of Four consist of Ulder Ravengard (Wyll's father), Dillard Portyr, Belynne Stelmane and Thalamra Vanthampur. For the sake of this story, Vanthampur is replaced with Thamior Liardon aka our heroine's father. The age difference between Elodie and Enver is fairly large. She is about Wyll's age when the canon events start (24), whereas I headcanon Enver to be around 40 years old. This chapter takes place about five years before the canon events, making Elodie 19 and Enver 35. You can also read this story on Archive of Our Own This chapter serves as an introduction to both Elodie and Enver. Shoutout to @gufu-vire for giving me some serious dialogue inspiration & supporting this messy project from the start 💕 And of course shoutout to my platonic soulmate @legacygirlingreen. I couldn't do any of this without you girl 💕 Word Count: 7k

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine

Ordinarily, Enver enjoyed the splendour of the Upper City and the extravaganza of what the night brought. 

It wasn't that he particularly cared for exuberant soirees or merriment among the Patriars and Lords of Baldur's Gate, but because the ceaseless inebriation meant they all became cursory - revealing their Achilles Heel to Enver on a silver platter.

All that was left to do for him was shoot and observe as they crumpled beneath their fragmented invulnerability. 

He had long learned not to underestimate the value of thinly veiled threats and carefully curated negotiations. Enver's upbringing in Avernus had ensured at least that much. It had been a miserable existence at best, though the unyielding fists of Nubaldin and the narcissistic ornery of Raphael were better described as castigatory crucifixion, and for the longest time, he had been sure he'd succumb to it. The bloodied and blazing wastelands of Avernus were scarcely the sight any sane being would wish to wake up to, but for a near decade, Enver had been greeted by rivulets of lava and barren hills whenever he had opened his eyes to the unending torment of the House of Hope and while the lavish grandeur of Raphael's home would forever outshine most of the Patriars estates, it could never hide the insanity that transpired within its walls. An existence surrounded by infernal creatures was a fickle thing, rarely monotonous as the days had bled into one. Sleep had been a scarce rarity to come by as screams of tortured souls and beggars and the everlasting sonorousness of the Blood War penetrated even into the dungeons of the paradoxical House of Hope. It was madness incarnate, and Enver would nearly count himself as fortunate not to have gone mad.

Yet, in his most forlorn and reticent moments, there was a mocking voice in his head, a reminder that the abject terrors of Avernus had rendered him just as mad and just as hateful. His mother would have likely argued he had always been a hateful little wretch, having loathed his entire existence from the second he had taken his first breath after the agonising three-day labour he had "put her through".  Perhaps she had been right. He was so very full of it. 

Enver came to think of his hatred as his strength, his source of being and the flame that drove him forward - A testament to his unwavering determination and resilience.

When he had escaped Avernus, coughing up sulfur and ash, it was hatred which drove his acts. For as much as his hatred had grown like a malignant tumour in Raphael's clutches, it had been useless until his eyes flickered over the poverty-stricken streets of the Lower City. 

His hatred proved incredibly useful when he was penniless, toiling under the Zhentarim's thumb. It was a thankless venture, but it kept him off the streets.At the very least, it also provided a start to more extraordinary things. 

And it was his hatred which fuelled his Lord, the one God who deigned to answer when all others had long forsaken him. 

His mother once worshipped Gond and while his father never expressed favour for any of them, Enver had espied prayer to Waukeen more than once. Enver cared for neither. He hadn't cared for any of them – until Bane.

His God had sensed his hatred, strengthened it, and it served him exceptionally. For all their faults and arrogance, the Zhentarim had chosen their patron correctly. Bane was wholly malevolent —  hatred incarnate. Enver had long understood that the weak were culled and ruled by the strong, and Bane only strengthened Enver's resolve to establish his rightful place as the mighty. He had pledged to never be weak again. To never feel fear as he had when his parents had sold him, but to make others fear his might alone. He had pledged to never be the snotty, heaving child again, fearfully wailing for his parents as Nubaldin's fist hit him over and over again. Gone was the child Enver Flymm.

Through Bane, Enver Gortash was born.

And through him, Enver Gortash would rise like a phoenix from the ashes until the world was his, and his subjects would tremble in fear of his God as they were destined to be.

With Bane, it had been almost frighteningly easy to oust the Zhentarim from the weapon market to take control over the entirety of the Chinonthar Valley black market, but his hatred demanded more with each passing second. No matter which ventures Enver took upon, he succeeded – his loathing endless and his greed all-consuming. 

Perhaps in another life, Enver would have felt fulfilled, escaping from the Hells.

Perhaps in another life, he would have been content with leading the weapons trade.

In this life, he knew he'd never be. Sated, perhaps, when all bowed before his glorious might. But certainly never satisfied. 

The gentility of Baldur's Gate understood him well enough, even if they buried it deep beneath false charity and fascicle philanthropy. Beneath the masks they had carefully curated, they were all as spiteful as him. They all craved control over one another to assert themselves as the leaders they had made themselves out to be. Extravagant soirees, glittering jewels and extortionate gossip defined their haughty measuring of dicks. It was an ecosystem in and of itself, one which was all too easy to mould once the first step had been taken. It had taken a few years of sweet-talking, of extorting and of fucking them, but Enver was nothing if not patient. He was one of them now, and hardly anything else mattered but the next step. It was why he attended these lavish parties in the first place, even when his mood had been sour for the better part of the day.

The bitch queen's waveservants had distracted his sailors, and while Enver knew they hadn't half of his wits, he had expected they could think with their smooth brains instead of their minuscule dicks. A mistake on his part, really. As a result of their inadequacy his cargo had been seized and half his posse incarcerated. Far from uncommon in his line of work, but it was troublesome just the same. 

After an entire day of  negotiating  for their (undeserved) freedom, Enver had half a mind to drown himself in Arabellan Dry. Unfortunately for him, it was the night of  The Breaking,  and his attendance was crucial.  The Rah of Baldur's Gate was rarely  ever  found in a gathering this grand,  and it provided ample opportunity for Enver to further his ambitions.  

The moment he stepped through the grand, gilded doors of High Hall, he was enveloped by a cacophony of drunken laughter and chattering. The glittering melody of an orchestra filled the halls, a sickeningly joyous melody commemorating the arrival of spring. The air was perfumed with a fragrant blend of expensive cologne and plum prosecco. Enver had wrinkled his nose in distaste. The awful concoction was a true scourge these days. He could only hope some Baldur's Grape was available, too. Otherwise, this would be an arduous night.

There was a faint and underlying mustiness to the halls, the gallery illuminated by twinkling chandeliers casting an ethereal glow over the old halls. The decor was befitting the occasion — elegant pieces of silver and sage adorn the room's tables, ceilings, and elaborate mouldings. The flower arrangements were fragrant and intricate, likely having cost a fortune. It was opulent, borderline garish – utterly characteristic of the Upper City and its residents.

It was within this opulence Enver first saw her.

He had spent the better part of the night speaking to associates and... investors in his business ventures – a dance or two with a lady of noble birth in between. Their coquettish smiles were charming, though their personalities were as bland as a slice of stale bread. Enver never understood how some could be that dull and daft when they had endless funds at their disposal. If he were a better person, he'd pity them. Alas, he drowned his exasperation instead. He was far from drunk, but at the very least, the endless yapping had become tolerable.

His eyes wandered over the crowds, most delightfully inebriated, as Sir Provoss chewed his ear off about some venture Enver was invested in. He hardly listened; the Provoss family was near destitute and of no value to him. Within the sea of people, he noticed a glimpse of something silvery and shimmering, a horde of young ladies not far as they looked in the same direction and gossiped animatedly. Their gazes were full of disdain and haughtiness. Enver knew that hatred well - he had been on the receiving end of it long enough himself. His insatiable curiosity propelled him forward as he observed the rare display of disdain from the young noblewomen. With a quick excuse, he approached to catch a glimpse of a young elven woman standing beside Duke Dillard Portyr. The older man appeared to be engaged in a lively conversation with her.

Enver's first thought was that she was magnificent. Beautiful. Alluring.

Silvery locks had been intricately swept up in an updo, with carefully coiled curls framing her delicate features as they gleamed in the light. Her face, petite and exquisitely angular, was adorned with elegantly high cheekbones that gracefully complemented her ivory skin. Shell-pink lips were curled into a pleasant smile, and her eyes were such a striking green that Enver was almost disarmed for a second as he glanced at them. She wasn't tall, but she held herself with a regality Enver had scarcely seen from the most noble houses of Baldur's Gate.

It was easy to see why she was regarded with such disdain. These noblewomen who regarded her with such disdain could only hope to mimic a fraction of her beauty and breathtaking allure.

A pearly gown draped elegantly against her small figure; the delicate and intricate stitching along the hem only further enhanced her beauty. A Debutante, Enver noted. Rich by the looks of it, too.

A sly grin placed itself on his face.

Young, naive and likely wealthy beyond measure – Exactly the kind of woman he could play for a fool before he played her family for funds. It was a game he had played often. For all their money and education, these noblewomen all succumbed to the lie of love far too quickly. Disgracing might have been cruel, but their families were all too keen to pay hush money, so at least they'd appear virginal.

"Duke Portyr," Enver spieled, his voice full of false enthusiasm.

The Duke and the young woman beside him turned their faces to him.

"Sir Gortash," Portyr greeted him equally enthusiastically. He was the one Duke on the Council Enver had always been able to wrap around his finger. The man was anything but a genius. Ravengard had always dismissed him and Stelmane... well, whenever she was coherent enough to conduct meaningful business, she seemed to tolerate Enver, though apparently her business interests were in conflict with his.

The last of them, Duke Liardon, Enver had met merely three times. The man was reclusive, though popular and reminded Enver of the worst times of his life.

Enver quickly shook the memory of their first meeting from his mind. He could not afford to falter now.

"Wonderful to see you tonight," Enver cleared his throat.

"Likewise, likewise, my boy. Enjoying yourself?"

Enver internally rolled his eyes. He was not a boy. He was a Lord, an inventor, a trader - an instrument of tyranny. Yet he said, "Of course", with a smile on his face.

"Why, have you met Lady Elodie yet?" the demented Duke suddenly said, turning to the side as he pointed towards the true object of Enver's attention. The young woman looked at him intently, her gaze sharp and calculating. She was focused. Vigilant. Beneath her pleasant smile, she was assessing him as much as he had assessed her.

A surprise, albeit a pleasant one.

"I have not," Enver answered, his eyes not leaving hers.

The young woman held out her hand, as polite company would, and Enver placed a chaste kiss upon it.

"A pleasure to meet you, Lady Elodie."

"The pleasure is all mine, Sir Gortash." Her voice was gentle and as delicate and airy as she appeared. A melodic lilt, carried like a breeze - warm and kind. And yet there was a measurement to her words, a precise calculation, each word enunciated as precise as they were rhythmic.

"You see, Elodie, Sir Gortash is an excellent man for business," Duke Portyr spoke. "Most excellent, in fact."

"I'm certain he is," Elodie spoke, her vigilant eyes not leaving Envers. "Weaponry, I'm guessing?"

Enver had to swallow his astonishment. Whoever she was, she was far more keen than he had expected.

"Among other things," Enver confirmed with a nod. He did not appreciate her control, but her intelligence? Perhaps that was even more intriguing than her beauty. He could respect it even, but control? He would always love that above all.

"May I have your next dance?" He asked. A young debutante should be easily swayed by flirtatious advances, no matter how intelligent.

"I would be delighted."

"Excellent."

As genteel as ever, Enver held out his arm for her to take, her nimble fingers settling in the crook of his arm as he led her to the grand dancefloor. A lively waltz was playing, the cadence of the song joyful as people danced the night away around the odd couple. Enver could see various men glancing his way, their eyes full of envy. It made him smile deviously. A blind eunuch would probably still get a boner with a woman like that – she was oh so ravishing. And he had gotten her first. Jealousy was, in Enver's humble opinion, second to only hatred. If they envied him and what he had, they would hate him too. And in hatred, they'd bow to him and his Lord.

"Are you new to Baldur's Gate, Lady Elodie?" Enver asked as the pair began to waltz among the rest. "Forgive me if I am being bold, but a woman with your beauty would have long caught my eye."

She laughed - an earnest but musical sound. A blush placed itself on her cheeks.

As expected, Enver thought. The noblewomen all fell to the same folly.

"I was born in the Gate, Sir Gortash. I was... fortunate enough to travel Toril for a while. I returned recently."

"Indeed?" A well-travelled woman - certainly explained why she seemed far more educated than the rest of the lot. "Have you been enjoying your return to the city then?"

"Just so," she smiled at him as they spun around. His hand was firmly placed on her waist as he led her, warmth seeping through to his fingers. So close to her, he could smell her, and it was as exquisite as the rest of her. Luxurious notes of bergamot, freesia and mandarin assaulted his senses, with something sweet simmering beneath. Jasmine, perhaps? Whatever soap she used, it must have been expensive. Whoever her family was, they must have been at the top of the food chain.

"Though I hardly believe you asked me to dance to ask me about the Gate."

"You're quite perceptive, aren't you?"

"Just so," she grinned again, mischief flickering behind her eyes. "Or perhaps I have met your sort before."

Enver could not help the indignant snort that escaped him. No matter what she may have seen on her travels, he would bet his entire estate that she had never come across a soul like his.

"And what sort would that be, hm?" Enver teased. "I am but a partiar with a penchant for weaponry."

"Are you trying to insult your own intelligence or mine?" she quipped with a teasing lilt to her voice. "Your garments alone tell me you crave to be accepted as their own, and the shadows under your eyes are deep enough to let me know you hardly sleep. I don't suppose you call yourself an inventor too?"

Enver blinked in surprise, his mind failing him for a second as they continued to dance. This was a first. Never once before had he met a woman so stunningly beautiful and equally intelligent. A lethal combination if there ever was one. It was disarming.

"My garments?" he slowly spoke after a while. He wore something of equal luxury as she did - a bespoke suit, tailored to perfection of obsidian colour and embroidered with fine golden thread.

"You are compensating," she stated with a matter-of-fact voice. "It's a fine quality ensemble, but the embroidery is borderline garish. A man who grew up with abundant wealth would hardly wear this. You worked yourself to the wealth you have. I can only assume this means you are exceptionally smart as well."

If he hadn't been so impressed, Enver would have been livid. How dare you? He wanted to shout. He wasn't compensating. He had earned his right to wear finery, and he would be damned if he did not make full use of it. Instead, he only gave her a strained, near-mocking laugh. After all, she had correctly assumed he was smart.

"My my. You are full of surprises, aren't you?"

"I'd like to think so."

"Right then. Let me return the favour," Enver offered.

"By all means."

He resumed his assessment of her. The gears in his mind turned endlessly, solving endless puzzles as they presented themselves to him. She had surprised him tonight, a mistake he would not make again. Enver knew people - understood them and their wants before they understood themselves. An ability which had served him well. Her gaze, beneath the smile, remained calculating, a mask to conceal something deeper. She was a problem waiting to be solved, and Enver guessed no one ever had. His mind could fixate on problems like that — anything, really — and not let go. Controlling one element of the world meant a step closer to whole tyranny. It meant his certain keep from ruin. A bad habit, perhaps, that blinded him to other things that could harm him. A tendency towards obsession was hardwired into his brain and would have likely been his undoing if he hadn't learned to outsmart it.

"You crave to be known," Enver ventured to guess. Her breath hitched almost imperceivably, and Enver smirked. His gut had never failed him.

"You know you are beautiful. That men desire you. But you want to be known for who you are rather than your body. You crave for someone to uncover the deepest parts of your soul," his voice had reduced to a mere whisper now, blowing in her ear. "You want more, Elodie. Whether that someone is a challenge or an equal."

She blinked at him, her cheeks flushing now. Enver was sure that if he had placed a hand on her chest, he could have felt her heart beating erratically. She might have him figured out, but two could play that game. They had created a strange tableau that night in the ballroom: nefarious man, enigmatic woman, lavishly grandiose ballroom. It suggested a tale that could only end in tragedy or ruin, but Enver had always defied destiny. They could be good for each other.

"I can see why you are such a success," she chuckled, almost nervously.

"I simply exercise control in all things, Lady Elodie."

"Hm, one might think that's borderline tyrannical," she mused.

To a normal person, that might have been an insult, but to a man like Enver, who worshipped at the feet of Bane, it possibly was the best compliment he'd ever get.

"Perhaps," Enver chuckled. "But it serves me well."

"Careful, Sir Gortash," Elodie quipped. "You almost sound like a Banite."

Perceptive little thing, Enver wanted to laugh. He almost wished to inflict penance upon himself for having underestimated her so severely. She was beautiful, sure. But what worth held beauty in a woman if there were no brains to match? At best, she'd be a nice fuck, but never an equal or better yet - a wife. Enver would never dare to sully his line with offspring from a daft hussy - not that Bane would allow him to, either. His God demanded perfection; Elodie might just have been that. She was, quite frankly, up to his standards. Perhaps the woman in his arms wasn't vicious or hateful like him, but she was machiavellian and astute, qualities Enver knew Bane valued.

He tried to imagine her clad in obsidian silk or the deepest emerald wool money could buy, warped in Bane's embrace, and Enver decided he liked it. She suited his God, was possibly even worthy of his blessing if she could understand the tranquillity his tyranny would bring and follow in his name. Enver wagered she could, especially if someone could convince her of its worth and who better to convince her than him? Enver silently wondered how big of a challenge she would be, for her innate craving to be known was something he could give her better than any other man ever could, yet she did not appear as a woman who liked to be tamed. The longer Enver held her, the more he recognised that beneath the elegance and allure, there was something wild and untamable - something feral.

She could be his equal in tyranny - an invaluable asset.

"Bane is a God like any other, Lady Elodie. He rewards those willing to make sacrifices in the name of power. Sacrifices which not everyone will make." Enver mused. Her immediate face of contempt amused him. "You're not a fan, I take it?"

"Hardly," she pursed her lips. "I fail to see both the value and the right in tyranny."

"A strong word for what some might consider the natural order. The weak have always been ruled by the strong few."

"And yet nothing constitutes that right," Elodie countered, devotion in her eyes. "None have the right to decide another's fate or to enact punishment, no matter if by the hand of a God or the sheer circumstance of fortune. Nothing does."

Altruism - how much Enver detested it. He supposed it was a marker of her young age, for no matter how well-travelled she was, her brain would lack in experience and instead make up for it in idealism and heroism. He supposed he had thought like that himself once before Nubaldin and Raphael had beat it out of him until nothing but hate and the certainty that absolutism would always rule those too feeble for it. There would always be a power above them, ruling with an iron fist. Enver had long understood it was better to be that power, to wield it, instead of succumbing to it.

He was confident Elodie would learn that lesson, too.

"And how would you propose to rule chaos then, hm?"

"Chaos?" Her voice did not hide her incredulity.

"Chaos," Enver confirmed. "No control, no law, no gods, no government at all. Where do you go from there? What sort of agreement is necessary if everyone is to live in peace? What social contract is needed so that everyone is taken care of?"

She mulled over it for a while, the gears in her head turning as the pair spun around the ballroom. She seemed to genuinely consider his question, though Enver did not know where her mind strayed. Would it come to the same conclusion he had long accepted? That in chaos, each mortal, with their own individual agenda, could only cause friction, conflict and war? Humanity was a flaw, and in the chaos of Avernus was the first time he saw it undressed. In turmoil, civilisation disappeared; every august manner and act was stripped away in the blink of an eye. Chaos would always reveal everything a person was - that humanity's greatest flaw was humanity itself. A peaceful existence could only exist if they bowed to a collective agenda - his agenda, preferably - and when finally they'd bow to him in fear, perhaps they might find a semblance of peace.

"You are a curious man, Sir Gortash," Elodie hummed after a while. "I don't think I have ever met an enigma such as you."

"I will take that as a compliment," Enver chuckled as he spun her around once again.

The melody of the song came to its grand finale, every couple spinning as they prepared for it to end. Glittering twirls and heaving breaths accompanied the soaring crescendo before, after long, the orchestra had quieted, and each couple bowed and curtsied in respect before either gathering themselves for another dance or leaving the floor altogether. Enver gently led Elodie away, hoping to perhaps continue their conversation over some wine. It was rare a person caught his interest beyond business - the last was a Bhaalspawn and he still wasn't entirely sure how much he could trust them. After all, their masters were not only at odds, but they had been created for nothing but slaughter, and Enver wasn't asinine enough to pretend he was the exception.

"It's getting rather late," Eloide mused.

"You've yet to answer my question," Enver mentioned with faux casualty, though internally, he was burning with curiosity.

"Delayed gratification is not denial, Sir Gortash," a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "I shall bid you good night."

Gracefully, she spun around, shimmering in the glowing light before she disappeared into the crowds, leaving Enver Gortash speechless for perhaps the first time in his life.

The second time Enver saw Elodie, it had been in the same corridors of High Hall, though the decor had long been removed, and the orchestra was no longer enchanting Patriars. Parliament was supposed to be in session later that day, and Enver had been summoned by Duke Portyr to discuss further commerce strategies as the Tymanther-Unther War continued to disrupt the trade between the nations. It was a tiresome issue, and if someone would have asked him his opinion, Enver would have bombed the Tymanthan armies a long time ago. The old empire of Unther was far from his favourite places in Faerûn, but their gold and iron were unfortunately far too valuable to lose in the long run.

Alas, Duke Ravengard had outright rejected to provide any militia, which had upped the price of metals exponentially - much to Enver's ire.

Porytr was a dimwitted oaf he had always been able to control, but unfortunately, the Duke was simply that. A Duke. The commander of the Flaming Fist on his side would have been much preferable for Enver, but it was merely a matter of time before Ravengard perished, whether that be in battle or due to an uprising among the Gate's citizens. Gorion's Ward, the hero who had saved the realm from Bhaal once, had not been spared - a mere commander of the Flaming Fist was replaced within a breath. Enver had considered assassination more than once; the Bhaalspawn turned his personal assassin would have been more than up for it, possibly even knelt at his feet for allowing such carnage and chaos to be sown. However, Bhaal and Bane's truce was fragile enough - further straining their relationship by using Bhaal's greatest design would have been an insult to the deity Enver was not keen to make. He had made a great deal of enemies; he did not need to add the God of Murder to the list.

As Enver sashayed around the Ducal Palace piano tunes accompanied his steps. Curious, he thought. There was nary a day the pianos were used, unless the halls were used for lavish parties and as far as Enver knew, there were none held anytime soon. As his luck would have it the sound carried itself from somewhere near the ducal offices, thus Enver indulged his curiosity and followed the melody as it carried itself through the musty halls.

He was both bewildered and pleased when he saw Elodie again.

The young woman had hardly left his mind in the aftermath of the Breaking, and yet not a single person had spotted her since. Enver had half a mind to ask Porytr for the young maiden's full name, for the oaf seemed to at least know who she was, which could not be said the rest of the Partriars. She was a complete mystery, and mysteries had, regrettably, a way of driving people utterly mad. No matter how well Enver tried to outsmart his own humanity, he, too, fell folly to the same desire of uncovering the truth.

He observed her for a while; watched as her nimble fingers glided over the piano keys. He had recognised the tune then - a Cormanthyran hymn from times long ago, first come into creation as the Seven Citadels' War had ended and Elves had rejoiced of peace returning to their lands. Enver did not know the name, for the Elvish tongue was foreign to him, but he knew of it as an Ode to Freedom, heroism and eventual triumph as people came together to be good. Enver silently wondered if she had known he would be there or if she had chosen the piece by chance (even if he did not believe that himself).

"You are full of surprises, Lady Elodie," Enver revealed his presence as the final note echoed within the halls.

If she had been beautiful in the dim and glimmering light of the Breaking, Enver supposed she was ethereal as the sun illuminated her skin and her hair, cascading down in gentle waves to the middle of her back shimmered in the golden light.

"Oloth elgg ssussun," the elvish sounded like a prayer spilt from her lips. "Have you any idea what that means, Sir Gortash?"

"I'm afraid I speak no elvish," he divulged, curiously awaiting where this conversation would lead.

"Darkness drowns out light," she smiled as she turned to face him. "You asked how I would govern chaos."

So she had not forgotten - Enver was almost giddy as he awaited her answer with feigned lassitude. He had damn near longed to hear her answer after she had disappeared from his clutches.

"I have indeed," he chuckled.

"My mother saw the piano as a means to control the chaos in me," the young woman began to muse. "She had hoped that dexterous fingers would curb the less dexterous approach I had to... other things."

The gears in Enver's mind began turning rapidly again as he assessed the vexing smile on her lips. She was toying with him, possibly even enjoying laying out the puzzle pieces to her innermost self. He could venture to guess what she was; the feral nature that had always simmered just beneath was the answer all along.

"You're a Sorcerer, aren't you?"

She nodded in confirmation, her smile widening a fraction on her face.

"My parents were rather frightened when I set fire to my maid's skirts at the mere age of eight," a small chuckle escaped her. "I was uncontrolled. Chaos incarnate, one might say. And you know what only amplified the chaos?"

"I suppose you are about to enlighten me." He was intrigued now, clinging onto her words as if each and every one was vitally important.

"Control. The more my parents tried to control it - the further they tried to suppress what I was - the worse the chaos became. People are a lot like that, you know?" she hummed appreciatively, head somewhere between there and the clouds. She was staring into nowhere, a faraway look in her eyes as if remembering times long past. Enver supposed she did.

"Either way," she sighed after a few seconds, "control, tyranny, is not the answer to ensure peace."

"Then what is?" Enver asked, slowly stepping closer. He wasn't entirely sure why he had asked - he knew full well he would neither approve the answer nor even think it sensical. But, perhaps, she had been just impressive enough for him to bother and young enough to believe he could influence her. Change her. For all the men and women he had bedded, betrayed and deceived, none had ever offered a semblance of a challenge or semi-equal wit, and it was both pleasant and addicting to have it in her.

"There isn't a need to govern chaos, much less to suppress it," she smiled gently. "There is beauty in it, and it is part of us human beings as much as it is of our greatest problems and most eloquent solutions."

Enver suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and laugh in her face. There was no beauty in chaos or much less revelry, and while he agreed that chaos was innately human, he would never dare describe it as beautiful. Chaos did not provide any eloquent solutions but caused endless problems, which in turn only caused suffering. Her youthful, altruistic nature was nearly adorable - how delightful it would be for him to turn it around. He did savour a challenge, after all.

"I see," Enver nodded. "So your idea of a government is for it to do nothing."

"No," Elodie frowned. "Besides, you -"

Their conversation was cut short as the grand oak doors leading to the ducal offices opened, and Duke Portyr and Duke Liardon stepped out with grim looks and hastened steps. Whatever previous meetings they had been in - and Enver assumed it was trade-related, as most things were these days - it likely wasn't fruitful or congenial, which meant he would have to amplify his charms if he wanted to convince the oaf Portyr of the vision he held for the Tymanther-Unther War. He scrutinised the two men as they prattled in hushed voices, tension clear on their faces as both looked near furious at the other, the vexation bubbling just beneath the surface. A peculiar sight, Enver noted, yet he continued to observe, hoping the already visible tension would translate itself into something further - as it always threatened to.

From the handful of encounters Enver had with Duke Thamior Liardon, he had gathered that the man was as stoic as can be, deep brown eyes constantly assessing and calculating as he carefully observed those around him. For an elf, the man was rather tall and imposing, and while his rather charitable ventures made him a somewhat popular fellow among Baldurians, Duke Liardon was possibly the single person in this plane Enver could never quite make sense of. He knew the Duke had engaged in ignoble dealings and immoral trades, the man's history strangely interwoven with Enver's own and yet neither had ever mentioned it to the other. To know of the truth, to be conscious of another reality while dancing around carefully constructed tales had created a strange diorama between the men who otherwise did not engage with each other, though Enver anticipated the day he finally put Duke Liardon in his rightful place.

To repudiate morality while laying claim to it was one thing, though Enver did not care for liars. But a man who dealt with devils, no matter how beloved a politician, was no man he would protect when he inevitably rose above them. It was yet another process of arduous and ultimate subtlety in his ambition, his destiny, to be absolute.

"Papa," the girl next to him cleared her throat before she took assured steps towards Duke Liardon.

The two Dukes finally ceased their conversation, quick, easy and strained smiles placing themselves on their faces as Elodie approached them. Papa? Enver wondered for a brief second, though he wished to self-flagellate himself when he finally saw it. Of course - how could he have not seen it before?

He had felt the presence of nobility, understood she was wealthy beyond most people's means - she even looked like him. It was uncanny now that the girl stood in front of her father.

Enver Gortash, nee Flymm, rarely ever got excited, but that particular moment was something else entirely. Enver watched with sharp eyes as perhaps the most significant opportunity in his life arose - a culmination of years of hard work, careful planning and, in this case, sheer dumb luck.

Elodie - no longer an elusive noblewoman but the daughter of a Duke.

"Duke Portyr, Duke Liardon," Enver greeted the men. "How wonderful to see you."

"Likewise, Gortash," Thamior nodded curtly, his voice clipped as he mustered Enver. "I wasn't aware we were expecting company in the ducal offices today."

"I invited him," Portyr retorted. "We were to discuss some ... commerce strategies."

"Ah," the elven Duke nodded. "I see."

"I wasn't aware you were active in the political landscape, Sir Gortash," Elodie cut in, a curious look on her face as she retrenched this new information.

Before Enver could answer her, her father cut in, an incredulous "You know him?" spilling from the collected Duke's lips. It was the first time Enver had seen the barest hint of emotion on the man's face. He stored that information away immediately. Knowing the Achilles Heel of another was always valuable, particularly for a Duke who shamelessly bargained with infernal beings without so much as an ounce of contrition. Not that Enver was any better.

"We met at the Breaking," Enver explained with a small nod.

"I actually introduced them," Portyr exclaimed happily. "They were rather dashing on the dancefloor if I do say so myself." Enver nearly snorted as he glanced at the barest hint of displeasure and ire on Thamior Liardon's face. Achilles Heel, indeed.

"I wasn't aware matchmaking was an area of your expertise, Dillard."

The Duke laughed dismissively, the sound echoing through the grand halls of the ancient halls. "Your daughter has grown up," he remarked with a hint of both condescension and amusement.

Enver was confident he would have been privy to a fight between the Dukes then and there had Elodie not intervened with a chagrin giggle.

"Be that as it may, Mama has asked you to join her at Figaro's before the council is in session later today. Something along the lines of your doublet needing to be fixed?"  

The Duke begrudgingly complied, uttering a quick "Until later" before he scurried towards the exit, a chamberlain and guard rushing to follow him before Enver was left in the company of Elodie and Duke Portyr, who conveniently excused himself with a cheeky wink. Enver carefully quelled the instinct to be overzealous, opting instead to maintain his characteristic veneer of stoicism. However, beneath his near-impenetrable façade, the prospect of engaging with her further was a discrete thrill, an emotion as perplexing as it was involuntary.

"I see my father is no votary of yours," Elodie broke the silence.

Enver barked out a laugh. If only she knew. Her father was a man shrouded in more secrecy than most Baldurian's would ever know, hardly the paragon of justice some had made him out to be and even less the devout Lathander disciple his Cleric wife had allegedly turned him into. But if they had all accepted the lie, Thamior Liardon had imposed on them – if all his records and annals told the same tale – the lies passed into the narrative and became truth. It was yet another testament to humanity's flaws, for most could be made to accept the most flagrant violations of reality, simply swallowing everything they were given without a second thought. How much they could thrive under leadership like his...

"We do not see eye to eye," Enver cryptically replied after a while. One day, he would use the lack of her knowledge against her, but in that singular moment, it had been far more sensical to omit the truth in favour of her trust.

"I'm not surprised," Elodie mused. "He's no fan of control."

"A sentiment you see to share," Enver retorted.

"I do," she nodded resolutely. "Control and power are not a means, Sir Gortash. They are an end. Tyranny itself is deeply rooted in the chaos you desperately seek to eliminate."

"I beg to differ."

"Do you?" Elodie tilted her head. "One does not establish tyranny in order to safeguard people from chaos; one sows it to establish tyranny. Sarevok himself used chaos as a means to establish his own."

"Sarevok was a Bhaalspawn," Enver interjected, befuddled. "Bhaal's scions never sought anything but conflict. It was quite literally bred into them." - and still was, he nearly said, but the girl likely lived under the belief that any Bhaalspawn had long perished.

"And yet he sowed enough chaos to nearly be crowned a Duke of this city, which would have enabled his own tyrannical rule and end in Bhaal's name." She hummed for a second as if deep in thought. "Faith is both an anchor and an excellent catalyst for indoctrination, you know."

"Aren't your parents known Lathander worshippers?" Enver asked incredulously. Such words were hardly those of a faithful.

"I am too," Elodie confessed. "And yet my point stands. How often have wars been fought in the names of gods, if only to establish something purportedly better? How often has faith been used to establish means of control, yet only chaos was left in its wake?"

Clever as she was, Enver had begun to see her point, though he certainly did not agree with her conclusion. While Sarevok's folly had been nought but chaos and destruction, it was hardly reflective of faith but more a reflection of the god. A god such as his Lord Bane would bring eternal peace, though yes, also fear, yet the brief struggle would culminate in peace if only people would see and bend to the whim of his dreaded Lord. Obedience alone was not enough unless there was suffering for a brief second in which human minds were torn apart and put together again in the shapes of his own choosing.

Enver surmised, with a grin, that Elodie was correct.

Chaos was, if only briefly, a vital aspect to assured peace and if a collective god would sow it upon all until they bend to his will - an imposture of manufactured chaos, which may have been unreal yet vitally important. His mind twisted and turned endlessly, rapidly altering and revising as Enver realised just how useful chaos could be if only treaded with trepidation, contempt, adulation, and orgiastic triumph.

"I see your point," he eventually grinned. "After all, the faithful will do anything in the name of their god."

[rinwellisathing]

Question about OC Sentry!

You mentioned in a previous post-tadpole he was going to try to save Gortash from Bane - how do you think he tries to do this? Do any of the companions from BG3 help him with this quest?

So Sentry and Astarion travel together for a while and they also return to burn down Cazador's palace, but not before Sentry loots a few books. Astarion also still has Necromancy of Thay which Sentry gifted him and they still have the books they found in Withers' crypt. Sentry also finds some gifts he received from Thalamra Vanthampur when he, Enver, and Ketheric made a deal with her prior to Descent Into Avernus and with all these resources, Sentry begins to plan. The final addition is a strange tome that reeks of the hells which is snuck into Sentry's books by Enver's personal assistant (who in my stories is a woman named Valda Everett with her own agenda and reasons to want her old boss back)

With all this, Sentry begins planning a necromantic ritual which would return Enver as something akin to a lich. None of his friends or partners are aware he's doing this, although Rolan, Gale, and Jaina are suspicious of some of the questions he's been asking them and Isobel does note that when Sentry and Halsin helped her and Isobel clean up Moonrise, some of her father's and Balthazar's old things went missing.

When he brings Enver back, though, he still isn't free of Bane and that will require help from someone higher up, this is where Valda steps back into the picture. Her patron, Glasya, wants Enver to serve her and create her own sort of steel watchers for the Blood War. But also, the demon lord Grazz't is interested in stealing a plaything away from Bane to prove his own power and if Sentry could be taken along with Enver, all the better as he would enjoy a pet Bhaalspawn.

Sentry doesn't like either idea and intends to beg Withers or Ilmater for help, but he isn't sure either one would be willing/able. It's a complicated desperate ploy from a lovestruck young man all in all.

Thank you for asking!

[fetabathwater]

so is amma a changeling/dopplerganger? or is she actually a tiefling? and like how old is she did she study away was she always in the cult like sorry im really interested in her... bewitched me body and soul etc

okay i rambled and took like 4 days to answer this so UNDER THE CUT

she is a tieflingggggg and that's what she's sticking with! if/when she does 'change shape' or w/e its a uhhh . spell. i forgot the name of it. disguise shape spell LMAO. but its only got a handful of variations compared to like. the mask of the shapeshifter yknow. okay so my like concept of amma and the winding water is that when "amity the first" is sent to investigate some like bhaalist pop up, bc its been a while since theyve been active but hey you cant trust a bhaalist. the first however convinces these like weeping devoted weirdo bhaalists that shes one of them, dives into the water and retrieves a babe from the like long dead watery remains of bhaal, but it's not really a child. like just some sort of . ok im losing words i was gonna say jellybean LOL but like equivalent of holding a very warm piece of light in hand. like divinity. and it's the weirdest thing for the first because bhaal literally wrecked personal havoc for a good few hundred years, pre and post death, and he's technically still dead by this point too when like they shouldn't be finding anymore spawn really popping up (or at least ones with enough divinity to warrant watching over in case of death and then resurrection of father dearest). but the divinity is warm and small and sweet, nothing like what the first had experienced with the crisis. and when the first like breaks through the surface of the river with a child pulled from bhaal's remains, it more than anything puts a good amount of fear back into them.

because the gods are Very Real, still, apparently, despite the spellplague and troubles causing all kinds of havoc around them. the first gets to the shore with this child who is not a child but is all at once, just a formation of river remains, bone, blood, weeds.

but this not-child opens its eyes and looks at her and as it grows, the first starts to notice it resembles her. not completely, there are some things that even the weirdness but also lack of magic can't replace when someone is created from their father's bones. yet horns grow, and a tail, and the child is a tiefling, by all accounts. the child is kind of hers.

as for like. how amma gets Educated™ and shizz, raised by the first and primistresses. introduced to maiming biting killing etc. definitely comes into her magic girl moment early as well, divine soul and all that (but evul!). amma is a weird quiet kid, takes well to like. everything outside the bhaalist attempts to foster their perfect little bhaalspawn considering it failed the last few times. attends like idk random ass colleges or like academies for one yr or smth. just randomly appears in the back of a class, learns, leaves. i would think it would be hilarious if she was at blackstaff academy in neverwinter and gale was there too at some point LMAO like lets start that rivalry off early. as far as like 'adopted' by another family goes, that did happen kind of, but she was also introduced to other bhaalist peers like torlin silvershield (who assisted with bringing back bhaal rip to gorions ward ig), thalamra vanthampur (funded the dead three when elturel was pulled into the hells), nysene eomane, rillyn family and other mostly devil worshipping families because its baldurs gate. you can throw a stone and like not 3ft from you hit someone who rly shouldnt worship a dang devil or god like.

granted she's not living this upper city lifestyle - these people are coming to the lower city, her domain. not an assassin for hire, but like, easy to bait and intrigue. is Known™ to some people but like do they want to know about her? probably not. especially when they see her collection of preserved. idk. eyeballs? spleens? choose a body part?

but amma is mostly just idling her and studying and picking up skills around the place, doing some sightseeing, maybe some unfortunate stabbing. the first kind of does try to get her into like. a family or two while amma is a wee child but there are uncontrollable urges and then combined with the blend of a child's emotional reaction and sharp objects and loud noises, it just becomes best for this kid to not be fostered. THERE WERE GOOD TIMES but there were also more bad than good. which is unfortunate and the first adds it to a long list of regrets. but amma pretty much starts going to these places and doing these things in her teens, well until what she remembers as like her late 20s early 30s, before returning to the temple of bhaal in baldurs gate. taking over. you come to me on the day of my daughter's wedding (has no daughter). freshly slaughtered class blood all over her and then like takes control of the bhaalist temple.

fucks around. finds out. in her downtime honestly still finds herself picking up books and whatever - debates attending lectures and the like at public forums. goes to a museum. looks at the sculptures. uses one for a weapon. moves on. culture !

[thespacelizard]

How (not) To Meet His Mother

@fluffbruary day 24! this is the loosest i have ever interpreted any prompt, but it still technically counts!

also i have to put 90% of it under a cut because it is a little bit spicy, as the kids say. up on AO3 here.

In which Adanessa Vidrid is introduced to Duke Vanthampur.

“This is not why I thought you wanted me to come here,” Adanessa gasped.

“Why else would I entice you to Vanthampur Villa?”

Amrik continued the trail of his mouth along the inside of Adanessa’s scaled thigh. He’d grown used to that unique feature now, the delicate pale-green snakeskin that wrapped her legs, her hips, her sex.

“To irritate your mother.”

“You want to talk about my mother right now?”

In response, she grabbed his hair and pushed his head deeper into the junction of her thighs. He laughed, and slid his tongue through her wetness. She let out an encouraging moan, arching her hips up to meet him, and for all she was stone and strange magic, here she was as much a woman as any. Amrik loved the taste of her, made sweeter by the sheer strength in the thighs that wrapped about his shoulders.

There was just something about a woman who could kill him that set his pulse racing.

“Gods,” Adanessa hissed. Her snakes, free of their cloaking hood and veil, chorused their agreement. Amrik grinned; he knew he was performing well when the serpents joined in. He circled his tongue and Adanessa’s grip on his hair tightened. “If you don’t get something inside me in the next five seconds, I’ll—”

Amrik’s door thudded open.

“Amrik, do you have the papers on—good gods, boy, your door has a lock for a reason!” said Thalamra Vanthampur.

Amrik froze. Adanessa grabbed for her veil. Thalamra sighed.

“I’ve told you before not to bring your floozies to the house,” she said.

Amrik ground his teeth. Sculpt her, Adanessa, I won’t lose sleep over it. He turned, making certain to angle his body to keep Adanessa concealed as she tugged her hood into place, snakes tangling in their rush to conceal their presence. By some twist of fortune’s favour, he was still half-dressed—he’d been too preoccupied getting Adanessa out of her clothes to bother with his own.

“I’m entitled to have guests,” he said. “And you might knock.”

“Watch your tone, boy.” Thalamra’s eyes flicked behind him as a set of cool arms draped about his shoulders.

“How lovely to finally meet you, Duke Vanthampur,” Adanessa purred. The gilt edges of her veil brushed Amrik’s cheek. Out of the corner of his eye, he could just make out the amused golden curve of her lips. “I’ve heard so very much about you.”

“And what are you supposed to be?”

“I’m an artist.”

Amrik was close enough that he heard the faint, amused hiss of Adanessa’s snakes. Thalamra scoffed.

“An artist,” she repeated flatly. Her hard gaze shifted back to Amrik. “We have work to do. Meet me in the parlour.”

She slammed the door so hard on the way out that it shook the frame. Amrik blew out a breath. Adanessa drew off her veil once more and sprawled put across the bed.

“So that’s the indomitable Duke Vanthampur.”

Amrik arched an eyebrow at her. “An artist?”

“I am a sculptor.” Amusement flickered at the corners of her mouth. “Lock the door—you have unfinished business to conclude before you attend the Duke.”

He did as he was bid, and by the time he returned to her, he had finally shed the last of his clothes. She spread her legs at the touch of his hand, slid her fingers back into his hair—he grinned as she pushed him down.

“Now then, my dear,” he said, looking up at her from between her thighs. He ran his tongue over his lip. “Where were we?”

[bharv]

*gasp* Did someone say Thalamra Vanthampur headcanons?? If I may;

She absolutely had a hand in at least one of her husbands' deaths out of the three. As soon as she had her perfect heir and back-up, she didn't have any use for being married anymore.

While she's built up her son, Amrik, as the heir to the Vanthampur legacy, she does not trust him to handle anything she's built, and knows that he's a spineless coward (hence why the players in the module can find him running a loan shark operation out of the Low Lantern. He can't touch any of mother's toys, so he settles for being a big fish in a puddle).

I waffle on whether her worship of Zariel is genuine in any way before her death and transformation into a devil, but I think she was at least genuine in her belief that Zariel is the most competent ruler Avernus would get, and decided to bet on the winning horse/angel. If nothing else, she thought it would give her a favourable position in Zariel's court when she delivered Baldur's Gate to the Archdevil, much like Elturel.

You're SO RIGHT for all of this I completely completely agree! I don't view her as motivated sexually at all lmao husbands served their purpose and then were OUT OF THERE. And yeah Amrik is the best of the bunch eh but I agree, he's nothing on his mother.

And yeah I wonder if the support of Zariel is partially genuine admiration. I always go back and forth on this. On the one hand, it's worshipping a devil lol, but despite what we learn in BG3 about Zariel there's like... there's a LOT of potential there I feel, that a woman like Thal might really admire?

[anderstrevelyan]

I’m interested in your theory of what Gortash was a counsellor of? Or what department of high ranking official of the city he was working for?

Oooh thank you for the opportunity to talk about Baldurian politics 🙏 (somehow this developed footnotes) (and got really long, whoops)

I don't think I'm settled on who initially hired him—it could be one of the five officers of the city* who typically hire bureaucrats, or a duke (since it seems Florrick works primarily with Ravengard and the Fist).

I think most likely would be Earl Namorran (the Harbormaster circa 1482) or Thalamra Vanthampur** (either while she was Master of Drains and Underways or after becoming a duke), though I do picture some leeway in who the counsellors advise once they're in place, more about where their advice is needed than necessarily being tied to a particular area.

(I was trying to source back where I got that impression, and I think it's Wyll describing Gortash as trying to be an advisor to "the peers" in general:)

(He's thinking back to 1485 and before, when he still lived in the Gate—the "bit player" part became less true the closer you get to 1492, I imagine, especially with the narrator line that attributes the title counsellor to Gortash describing him as having considerable influence on industry and politics)

Some areas I could see Gortash being a fit to advise on would be a) weaponry (but we know the Watch marshal is skeptical of his ideas in 1492, and Ulder Ravengard certainly doesn't like his advice, so I can't picture him spending much time advising the Watch or the Fist despite any overtures), b) the flow of goods in and out of the city, and c) technology.

(Technology is why I'm imagining Vanthampur as a possible entrypoint: the drains and underways porfolio is prestigious because it's so technically demanding in a way that's beyond most patriars.)

And speaking of technology, personally I see him working a lot with the Gondians and the ways they interface with the city!

After Duke Torlin Silvershield's death, the high artificer of Gond becomes Andar Beech, who oversaw the temple's day-to-day under Silvershield and was critical of his involvement in politics—so I think that leaves an opening for someone outside of Gond's church to step in and do some of that liaising. Because the city really, really cares about the Gondians—they maintain those giant cranes that move all the goods at the docks and keep trade flowing, relevant to Namorran's work, and they repair plumbing in patriars' homes, relevant to Vanthampur's—and I could see him advising parliament and the dukes on how they might best get more use out of the Gondians and their inventions. (While at the same time using them as jumping-off points for his own.)

We know the Gondians likely had a lot of secret projects going on (I don't have a link, but the rumour's from Descent into Avernus!), and Gortash eventually takes their Foundry through fraud and blackmail, so I can picture him using his role as counsellor to twist his way in to learn more for leverage and to start to legitimize a partnership between him and the Gondians in the public's eye: setting himself up to take direct, forceful control like we see him having in 1492.

-----

*those five officer positions being: Harbormaster, High Constable and Master of Walls, Master of Drains and Underways, Master of Cobbles, and the Purse Master, per Murder in Baldur's Gate

**Follower-of-Zariel and owner-of-a-bathhouse-that-by-1492-has-a-bane-bhaal-and-mrykul-temple-under-it Thalamra Vanthampur!

[adorablebanite]

I'm lowkey obsessed with Thalamra Vanthampur, and I feel like she has the potential for one of the best backstories (like Gortash)

[jblockman1]

LAST WEEK ON SLAP HER BALD HEAD SUNDAY

We enter the Tomb of the Hell Riders and suddenly Jubat(Rogue) and Cara(Warlock) start acting strange

As we tiptoe around we get some exposition about Olanthius from ghosts in the tomb

"Free us, Know Him, his books know the Way"

Jubat and Cara respectively lead us to two rooms hidden in the tomb where the names of the dead are inscribed to bind them here to Avernus - along with some fancy (CUSTOM!) magic items for the both of them.

We find the last secret with a bunch of journals - all of which we read and get the gist of Olanthius' story

Zariel's rage is what led to her fall, and Olanthius tried to escape the fate that befell Harumon by falling upon his own sword. Unfortunately, he was simply resurrected and bound into Zariel's service anyways.

By the time we finish reading, Olanthius has returned. And with a few well placed words we convince him to help us.

He can't do much against Zariel, being bound to her service and all, but he says that he can show us the way to the sword if we find a way to distract Zariel.

He mentions that the Hammer she caries belongs to some Giant Demon Lord, chained up on the other side of Avernus. He tells us there's a Hell Gate nearby we can use to get there.

We pile into our war machine and zoom through the Hell Gate, arriving at our destination.

A chain devil stands in our way, and we engage in combat

His hellhounds give us a little bit of trouble, but we deal with them somewhat quickly

...Until suddenly another devil arises over the horizon

Thalamra Vanthampur (Also known as Grandma(Derogatory)) flies in to finish us off.

With her fancy new sword, Cara manages to engage her in combat and sever her head from her shoulders.

Thalamra Vanthampur finally falls dead, and we approach the Demon Lord

He cries out for us to bring him his hammer, to free him.

Altiar (Barb/Blood Hunter) goes up to his chains and says, "You want your hammer? go get it" and smashes the chains.

The Demon Lord turns into a cloud and a giant storm hangs over Avernus.

We head back to Olanthius, and he promises to take us to the Scab - the resting place of the Sword of Zariel.

LIKE TO SLAP HER BALD HEAD REBLOG TO SLAP HER BALD HEAD (You will die)

[plinchy]

Baldur's Gate: Descent Into Avernus -- Congrats on level 4!

Spoilers below for anyone that hasn't ran or played through the campaign:

My party of 4 brought two of the vanthampurs to the villa and destroyed the helmed horror in Thalamra's study. It took 3 of the members to surround the helmed horror in the corner of the room and the artificer (far right in picture) had his fire breath potion and managed to chunk SIGNIFICANT amounts of health off of it, eventually killing it in the 6th-7th round. They deserved the level up.

[bharv]

Thalamra Vanthampur not being a part of Gortash's backstory (or indeed Karlach's or Wyll's) is such a weird oversight by Larian, man.

She works for Zariel, she was the one that got Ulder swallowed up in Elturel because she wanted to become Grand Duke, she's been fucking around with the Cult of the Dead Three (which must really mean the Bhaalists) to try and discredit the Flaming Fist. There's literally no way she's not a part of at least Gortash and Wyll's story.

[clarissaexplainingitall]

wait hang on, just realized something VERY cool that i was probably supposed to get sooner

(spoilers for descent into avernus below)

(my players don’t read yet...... you are not there yet)

just realized they set up the duke and her sons as like, human counterparts to the deities of the cults that are majorly at play in the campaign, and if you INCLUDE ye olde Zodge, you’ve got em all:

Duke Vanthampur is obviously Zariel, she’s in control of the situation, she’s buff, and she’s the one providing the opportunity for the dead three to strike w/in Baldur’s Gate (and enabling Tiamat, even as she undermines her). Her past, rising from servitude to nobility, also speaks to Zariel associations, even without the devil worship.

Mortlock is Bane. He’s Lawful Evil, he runs some operations from behind the scenes, but like Bane during the time of troubles, he gets fucking murked by the others. Just like Zariel couldn’t abide the celestial host in the OG lore because of their Overwhelming Lawfulness, so too can Thalamra not abide Mortlock among her sons. 

Amrik, while TECHNICALLY Lawful Evil (wizards why must you turn this house into lies.... anyone with poison hand signals is absolutely not lawful), is absolutely fucking Bhaal. He’s charismatic, he totally fucks, he’s a loan shark (big chaos and fear energy, plus he gets to kill people who default), and he’s the one calling hits on not ONLY his brother but I think it’s implied he’s commanding some of the cult’s hits too? He has The Authority to just call up the Bhaal assassins and be like “kill,” and he poisons people on the reg. Like Bhaal in this city, he’s the real face of the brothers.

Thurstwell, while also TECHNICALLY Lawful Evil (again with the lies) is, like Mortlock, willing to turn on his mother, but unlike Mortlock, if and ONLY if it will serve him, making him feel very neutral. His necromancer-ish vibes lend him nicely to Myrkul, along with his INT focus and preoccupation with espionage and puzzle-solving rather than with shenanigans or self-preservation.

Zodge......like Tiamat is trying to stage a fuckin coup of a formerly lawful-adjacent organization by impressing his boss real good.... but also likes to kill people because he’s a dick. He guards a fuckin.... gate. Flaming Fist. ***Headless*** Flaming Fist, because that’s even funnier, instead of the five heads thing.

This was definitely on purpose.