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vspin · 1 year ago

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On Act 3 and the lack of companion reactivity and dialogue.

So, I officially hit 400 hours on BG3 yesterday (no lifing it lmao) and I've been thinking about some things I wish Larian would improve or wish that they had implemented. A big thing that comes to mind is how much companion reactivity and dialogue abruptly stops in Act 3.

Act 1 really shines with companion reactivity. They always have something to say to the MC, to NPCs, or even to each other! I love the interaction after you use your ilithid powers for the first time and it's a 4 way conversation between everyone.

Then we get to Act 3 and there's such huge drop-off. Some big offenses:

Very little reaction to quests and locations. When I killed Raphael I only got comments from Astarion and Gale! Seriously?? We just survived a trip to the Hells! This happens with multiple quests

Blank faces when Durge is killed by Bhaal.

Camp is lifeless. Everyone just stands in front of their bed, There are no interactions.

In my playthrough, the Emporer admitted to my Tav he was manipulating her and didn't really care. It was bummer I couldn't talk to the other tadpole gang about it.

I remember coming across a Druid in the city. He was trying to heal a tree. So I went back and grabbed Halsin because he was complaining no one in the city cared about nature or balance. So I thought surely, he would have an interaction here! Nope, nothing!

As soon as you finish a companion's personal quest that is basically the end of your interactions with them; even if you romance them.

What I'd like to see: (Disclaimer: Just my opinions. I have no expectation of any of this being added to the game)

More camp interaction between companions. Jahiera and Minsc had a great example of this. Let there be a quick cutscene of Minsc and Halsin arm wrestling. Shadowheart, Karlach, and Astarion drinking wine. Anything. DA:I did a great job at this. It seemed like anytime I approached someone for dialogue they were in the middle of an interaction with someone else. Or events like the card game. It brought a lot of life into the party.

More random city encounters. They did a good job with Karlach; she has interactions with the steel watcher and her friend Fitz. Would have been cool to have some of those with Wyll, maybe he meets another noble or a flaming fist and has to deal with their shock of seeing him as a devil. Or with Gale in Sorcerous Sundries (he is a famous wizard after all!). Astarion mentions he needs to keep a low profile in the taverns; what if someone called him out!

More reactions to story events.

Expand on romances a bit more. We don't need it to be a dating sim but if you finish your LI's quest early on get used to just asking for small pecks and that's it. I would like to see more romance-specific dialogue for quest reactions.

And Finally:

We needed all companions at the final battle. Everyone should have been at the main keep before confronting the brain. You should have had your final conversations with them before you all potentially die in battle. DA:O style. A passionate kiss with your LI (not a tiny little peck lmao). This was a huge exclusion.

Anyway, these are my thoughts on the matter. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

#bg3 #bg3 spoilers #astarion #bg3 tav #baldur's gate 3 #astarion romance #shadowheart #lae'zel #wyll ravengard #gale of waterdeep #halsin #bg3 critical #bg3 mine

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magerightsmagefights · 11 months ago

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I know people tend to forget Wyll a lot in this fandom (I wonder why. What Could Possibly Be Different. Can you spot the difference?/s) but I'm genuinely surprised at the lack of Durge x Wyll content. Especially if you're going Redeemed, there's that inherent flavor of "My lover cannot know the truth, I am horrible and they would hate me, they would be correct to hate me." And with Wyll it's just... so juicy, he's so pure and shining, and Durge is so filled with filth and misery that there's barely a person left underneath.

Idk, as a femme romance reader I've spent so many years reading the "love redeems" arc where a FMC plays beauty to an MMC beast, in every genre, medium, budget, etc. I'm not here to yuck anyone's yum, but beauty and the beast as a story structure has never done it for me.

until it's reversed, apparently, because Wyll as the beauty to Durge's beast needs to be injected directly into my veins like yesterday. All the other companions are good and sweet, don't get me wrong, but their reactions are coded like 'i accept you,' where Wyll to me comes off much more as 'we will heal you.' He doesn't have any funny little quips about you trying to bite him, no innuendos, no "I Will Put You Down" a la Laezel, he's just... so good, and he believes in your inherent goodness, he so easily sees "you" and "your urges" as wholly seperate entities he would step between if he could.

Speaking of which!! The coronation scene, when everyone finds out you're Bhaalspawn? I never see anyone talking about Wyll's reaction compared to other companions getting angry (even Dark Shadowheart will yell at you) because Wyll seems to be the ONLY PERSON who immediately separates you(the person he knows) from you(the person you used to be). Astarion isn't angry, he even appreciates your scheme freeing him from Cazador, but he also kinda falls into the whole "I will talk to you as if you are the exact same person who did these things, this is Your True Nature and I feel positive about it."

Wyll's reaction feels like the only one saying "You WERE that," instead of "You ARE that." It also feels like the only one that kinda-sorta acknowledges Durge's actual amnesia, because he doesn't treat this revelation like a betrayal the way the other "good" companions do. They be saying "The real evil was hiding within our ranks all along" like wym hiding? Durge didn't know either, how tf they supposed to tell you?

Wyll doesn't even blink. Once he knows what you are, his No.1 priority is reassuring YOU about it. The fact you're Bhaalspawn isn't a betrayal; it's a Horrible Burden and he's sorry you have to bear it, but there have been others like you who were good, who overcame, and your blood isn't who you are. His first instinct is to offer hope, to reassure you that there's a way out, he believes so hard that your urges are a defeatable enemy and he's ready to fight them with you.

(I also fall into the Durge And Gortash Fucked camp, and I cannot overstate the tastiness of Durge waltzing into the coronation of their ex, the Worst Man Alive, while bringing along their new boyfriend, the Best Man Alive)

Idk, I've just never engaged in a romance where I played the part of the Beast. As much as people rag on pure, princely archetypes, I don't actually see them that often. I genuinely don't remember the last time I read/saw a male lead behave like Wyll, but I've seen plenty of Astarions, Fenrises, Rhysands, etc. Romance loves a fixable MMC, but so rarely an MMC who wants to do the fixing.

Anyway. Justice for Wyll or whatever. I can only cross my fingers that future DLC will include more romance content, because we all deserve to have a Beauty for our Beast sometimes.

#bg3 spoilers #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate spoilers #the dark urge #bg3 durge #durge bg3 #wyll ravengard #wyll x durge #bg3 wyll #baldurs gate wyll #durgewyll

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y-rhywbeth2 · 1 year ago

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Gods and Clergy: Bhaal (OBSOLETE)

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

I did an updated and much longer version here; this one is significantly less detailed and lacking.

I'm in a Durge and Orin mood, so we're getting the full details on Bhaal and his priesthood now. Fun fact, did you know the Dark Urge couldn't even die without Daddy's permission?

Featuring:

Intro: Do you realise this cult is basically a crime syndicate supported by the rich and powerful?

Priests: Hierarchy. Responsibilities. Murder. I rather like the ceremonial regalia, personally.

Deathstalkers: Teleporting! Killing people with your mind! Unlimited ressurections courtesy of Bhaal!! And yet more crazy shit!

Bhaal: Kitten thinks of nothing but murder all day. Also mortal backstory and the Slayer is absolutely nothing like the games depict it

Right then, "Bhaal awaits thee," and blah.

"Make all folk fear Bhaal. Let your killings be especially elegant, or grisly, or seem easy so that those observing them are awed or terrified. Tell folk that gold proffered to the church can make the Lord of Murder overlook them for today." - Bhaal's Dogma

Unsurprisingly for an ex-assassin, Bhaal is the patron god of assassins. Assassins, mercenaries, bounty hunters who aren't bringing their quarry in alive and, presumably, executioners all tend to send a prayer to Bhaal for success. Faithful were called Bhaalyn in the East and Bhaalists in the West. As BG3 takes place in Western Faerûn we'll use the latter.

Amongst these assassin worshippers we find the oh-so healthy individuals for whom killing is more than a job. These killers who regard their murders as a "pastime and a duty" join the clergy.

That said, Bhaalists do not murder indiscriminately. The taking of another life is a holy act, a lot of thought and planning goes into both the kill itself as well as what impact the death may have upon the world. Once the target is slain, they are to smear the victim's blood over their hands and draw Bhaal's symbol by the body with it. If Bhaal is pleased then the blood will vanish.

Bhaal supports and encourages his followers attaining wealth and comfort (it's a good hook to draw them in, and it makes him look good if his followers are successful, and more importantly: money is power, provides a shield against repercussions when caught, and opens doors), and in exchange for their worship his priest-assassins receive the priest spells and administer to the lay worshippers, who benefit second-hand. The assassins have an easier time killing people and getting rich and Bhaal profits from more prayer and death. A win for everyone (who didn't die in the process).

Bhaalist temples historically have spent their time founding and sponsoring guilds of assassins and thieves, including infamous organisations such as the Shadow Thieves of Amn. These guilds survived their patron's death, and while they were mostly businesses throughout the years of Bhaal's death many still paid homage (although there was some confusion involving his replacement, Cyric) and have presumably resumed worship. There's a massive old temple still functioning over in Thay; the Tower of Swift Death, and the assassins work closely with the Red Wizards who rule the country.

Bhaalists have no tolerance for rival guilds and organisations not following Bhaal (which would make them independent of their control) and will eliminate them. They will also root out anybody in the area that will attempt to oppose or otherwise interfere in their business and ensure they have freedom to go about their jobs/worship.

Their other job is to ensure the church has a steady income. They terrorise the commoners into paying tithes in exchange for safety from being sacrificed this tenday (a protection racket, basically) while leaving "economically and socially important individuals live unharmed." I mean, the peasantry have far less enemies to assassinate and gold to spend, so. Plus the rich and powerful are brilliant at turning a blind eye to crime when it benefits them, as well as making sure the evidence never sees the light of day - know which side your bread is buttered on, and all. Baldur's Gate has no law against the worship of Bhaal. Why do you think the original temple exists, after all? Bhaalists actively seek out and sway such potential patrons who would be... amenable to sponsoring and protecting their technically-legal church and its not so-legal activities in exchange for their services.

Urban temples of Bhaal are usually dark, subterranean affairs built under the city streets, containing countless branching tombs that are home to the bodies of the clergy's victims - said victims are usually wandering around down there as restless undead.

Bhaal's clergy can be recognised as Bhaalists by their ceremonial robes - full body robes of black or deep purple with a deep cowl. The robes will be randomly and violently streaked with flashes of violet. Their entire face is fully obscured by a black veil, to both hide their identity and make it appear as though the hood is empty for the intimidation factor.

The leader of the church - and thus all of the temples - in a region is the High Primate/Primistress, who can be identified by a red belt/sash they wear over their robes and the fancy curved ceremonial dagger that marks them as a high ranking priest and a specialty priest known as a Deathstalker - more about them in a moment.

High Primates spent much of their time planning the proper strategies of manipulating nearby rulers, inhabitants, and organizations into the deeds and behaviour that the Bhaalyn desired.

The head of a single temple is a Primate or Primistress. The Primate is directly served by the First Deaths, who in turn can call upon a council of the nine most senior clergy; the Cowled Deaths. Below them were the regular priests, who were known collectively as the Deathdealers and are referred to by the title Slaying Hand. A Bhaalist rises in the ranks by hunting and ritually killing a target with nothing but their bare hands, which they will then report to a higher ranking priest who will confirm that they are being truthful. If they are then there's a party, and a ritual sacrifice is held to celebrate.

When on a job they dress in black - in the form that suits whatever their preferred method of killing in. Leather armour, mage robes, whatever.

Bhaalists pray to their god before sleep. In the temple the entire congregation comes together to pray in a formal ceremony called "Day's Farewell"). Bhaalists are also to pray before setting out on a murder.

Bhaalists only observe one holy day. It's the Feast of the Moon, a continent-wide holiday for honouring the dead and honouring one's ancestors. Bhaalists have their own spin on it where they remember dead Bhaalists and celebrate with stories of murder to honour them.

All Bhaalists are to commit a murder every tenday at midnight, should they be unable to fulfil this duty then they are to kill two people in place of the one who should've died that day. Before the victim dies, the murderer is to ensure that they know their killer and that they died as a sacrifice to the God of Death; "Bhaal awaits thee, Bhaal embraces thee, none escape Bhaal."

The specialty priests of Bhaal, those who dedicate their devotion and worship no god other than him, are the Deathstalkers.

One does not have to be a cleric to join the ranks, though the majority are. Rogues, rangers, barbarians and fighters are the most common, but all classes make an appearance (and most are multiclassed clerics)

To become a Deathstalker one must have murdered sixteen sapient creatures in sixteen different methods with sixteen different weapons. This presumably is also the rite of passage to becoming a member of the Brethren of the Keen Strike - an order of Bhaalist assassins to which all Deathstalkers belong.

Distressingly for people who aren't Bhaalist, Bhaal's Deathstalkers regained their Bhaalist abilities around 1372 DR, following the end of the Bhaalspawn Crisis, and resumed their duties, spreading death and terror in his name as they worked to bring him back to full power. The most popular argument for how the priests of a dead deity were getting their spells is that another god - likely Cyric, was granting them spells disguised as Bhaal. However, in the wake of the Bhaalspawn Crisis and the wave of fear felt towards Bhaal that resulted (which counts as prayer), the rumour mill became very fond of the idea that, despite how the crisis ended, Bhaal had still managed to resurrect at least some scrap of himself through that fear and the God of Murder was haunting the Realms once more.

The various abilities Bhaal gifts to his Deathstalkers include the following:

[From 3.5e] The ability to identify key weaknesses in a target by studying them for only a few moments, killing them in a single strike. They are also supernaturally good at stabbing people with their ceremonial daggers.

[3.5e] The ability to tap into the hatred of a person, stoking it into homicidal rage and direct it at another person who they will kill in a mindless bloody rage (also called the Urge to Slay, an ability Bhaal himself has)

[3.5e] Bhaal's own inability to just fucking stay dead - a Deathstalker Bhaal doesn't want dead will come back to life an hour after it is killed, with a single hit point left. During the time prior to resurrection they are an actual corpse.

[2e] They can point at a person, sending necrotic energy coursing through them and causing them significant damage, agony and possibly death.

[2e] They can inflict severe wounds on a person just by thinking it.

[2e] They can teleport! A Deathstalker can teleport themselves (and other people, if they're powerful enough) to the Throne of Blood and from there they can teleport to anywhere on Toril that isn't protected by warding magic. Bhaal won't do anything to protect Deathstalkers while they're in the Lower Planes - if you're strong enough to get yourself here, you're strong enough to get yourself out.

[2e] They can affect the emotions of those around them, reversing whatever emotions an individual is feeling towards them into its polar opposite.

[2e] They can accelerate the entropic aging process of objects.

Bhaal himself is "violent, cruel and hateful at all times." Being in the presence of the living fills him with an overwhelming urge to kill and destroy. He presents himself as either on the verge of a violent rampage or cold and ruthlessly calculating depending on which suits the occasion best. A Lawful Evil deity, his domain is the Throne of Blood in the first layer of the Lower Plane of Gehenna (Khalas), part of Bane's domain (Banehold). Hilariously, not a single Baldurs Gate game has got this right. BG2:SoA claimed it was the Hells, BG2:ToB changed to the Abyss and, for some reason, BG3 has put it in the Grey Wastes.

Bhaal served Bane, and was in turn served by Loviatar (goddess of pain) and Talona (goddess of disease).

His holy symbol is the Circle of Tears; clue in the name, it's a skull surrounded by teardrops of blood forming a circle.

Bhaal rarely manifested in avatar form. When he did, his main avatar in urban areas was the Slayer, which was not a four armed scaly monster:

"The Slayer look[s] like a corpse with a feral face, [bloodless] skin, and deep lacerations that endlessly [weep] black ichor that vanish[es] before it strikes anything."

It makes no noise at all when it moves. it can talk (its softly spoken and sounds creepy). It can levitate at will and summon floating daggers made of bone, that appeared and disappeared at will. They would cause any living flesh they hit to wither and die. Creatures slain this way would rise again as zombies under its control - or have its skeleton shattered into more bone daggers. Enough of these daggers form an area-of-effect; a wall made of a flurry of sharp shards of bone that would trap the soul of anyone they killed. Oh, yeah, and the Slayer can also inflict the overwhelming urge to murder everyone around you on the people around it.

Bhaal's other avatar was the Ravager, which was mostly an angry 30-foot tall giant with horns.

While in either avatar form, Bhaal also had the ability to create any form of undead loyal to him by touching a corpse (greater undead like vampires would be free once they'd completed whatever task he'd assigned them). He could also immediately destroy any undead, turning them to dust at a touch. Bhaal cannot be harmed by the undead.

Rather than using his avatars, Bhaal usually just manifested as a pair of flying undead hands that can shoot bone daggers at people. Or a laughing human skull trailing teardrops. Both these manifestations are capable of speech, casting darkness and driving everybody into a mindless bloodthirsty rampage - you might have noticed he really loves this trick.

He also invented his own undead monsters, the Harrla of Hate. Harrla are invisible creatures, which if you use magic to see them appear like human shaped wavering impressions. Guess what they do?? If you guessed "fill people with a sense of overpowering hatred and drive people into committing homicide" get yourself a fucking cookie!! (This isn't said anywhere in canon, but Bhaal has less imagination than a chunk of rock, I swear to god...)

According to one version of the story; in life Bhaal was a Netherese mortal wizard named Tharlagaunt Bale. He was one of a few hand picked by Jergal to bear a fragment of the god's divinity and raised from a young age to serve him (a Chosen, basically). Hilariously, one of the others was Karsus. These Chosen were promised godhood for their service as they set about performing a ritual to increase Jergal's waning power and make him one of the most powerful deities. Karsus chose to try and make himself a god instead and blew up the Weave, destroying Netheril and the plan and killing all of his coworkers except Bale.

Bale got a job as an assassin, changed the spelling to Bhaal and dropped his first name, teamed up with a bitter ex-slave with no name except the title "Bane of the Ancients" and a necromancer prince called Myrkul Bey al-Kursi.

His other backstory features him as Arabhal; the spymaster and chief assassin of the Netherese City of Rdiuz, and an ally of Bane. The two became unwitting paws of Jergal, who directed them through nightmares to do his bidding and slay various primordial divinities who threatened his plans.

Regardless of backstory, they all grabbed more divinity by killing an ancient god (also Bane's ex-master) and then he went knocking on his old boss' door for that godhood he was promised (Jergal at this point had embraced depression and just went "yeah, whatever, have it. Idgaf, I'm retiring." Or was manipulating them into becoming his divine pawns. There's more than one take on this story.) and Bhaal walked off the god of murder.

He learned of a prophecy predicting he would die when his stupid ex-travelling companions would decide to piss of Ao who would then kick all the gods out and make them mortal, and Bhaal then decided to sleep with what seems to be at least 25% of Faerûn to produce kids who would hold fragments of himself so that they could all fight to the death and he could resurrect himself afterwards. He was killed by the soon-to-be-god Cyric not far from Baldur's Gate during the Time of Troubles. Cyric proceeded to take his job, and there was a huge fight between Bhaalists who converted and those who didn't and the converts killed all the holdouts.

The rest of the backstory is basically just the original Baldur's Gate games.

#Durge is basically a crime boss #Also; Bhaal please have more than one fucking idea for once in your fucking miserable life I AM BEGGING YOU #long post

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meanbossart · 5 months ago

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so uh stop reading aaaabout here if you care about spoilers for the original baldur's gate games (no idea if you have/planned on playing em just wanna be safe) but ANYWAY in 2 you can choose to split your soul with Sarevok to bring him back to life and, if you choose to play it that way, give him a second chance. i'm not going to subject you to my Sarevok rants because lord knows you did not ask but i find that concept really really interesting especially in relation to Durge and Orin so after way too much rambling here's my question. what would DU Drow do in that kinda situation? i know post-tadpole he doesn't really hold any warm feelings towards Orin (if you could count whatever he had going on before as "warm" lol) but would any part of him want to give her a shot at living her own life without Bhaal's influence?

oh my god this got way too long i am. so sorry

I've been thinking about this one for a while. Honestly it's a really sweet concept for them.

I think if DU drow were to somehow find out about what he did to Orin over the years (the pressuring, the low-key harassment, how utterly obsessed he was with her, how, unbeknownst to himself, he played a part in making her worse and actively helped her erase more and more parts of herself) he would be a little horrified with himself. Not immediately, perhaps not outwardly, but he'd get a little grossed out feeling in his gut and a churning that is at it's worst whenever he looks at Astarion.

It's only really because of Astarion that he learned what the hell love with boundaries is. He started off by trying to cross them, only to be humbled when his urges wouldn't let him fulfill any carnal desires in the first place and forcing him to appreciate the comfort in Astarion's company alone, without the sexual factor, and in turn coming to understand that that's not even what he wanted in the first place. Then, through learning about his past experiences, he'd grow to abhor the very concept and take slow incremental steps to fix that within himself. He realizes that if he had done the same with Orin, their situation could have been very different - or it could have not. Either way, he never had the self-awareness to try.

You know the scene in Cazador's dungeon? Where you meet up with the caged spawn and you have the option to confront Astarion about it when he lacks the empathy towards them? About how, in another life, that could have been you? Perhaps there would be something similar here. Where DU drow tries to justify his past-self's actions and Astarion holds a very ugly mirror of himself up to his face - if I say no, if I ever change my mind, is this what you're going to do to me?

That hypothetical would make him sick.

So yes. I think in that situation where he has a slightly fuller picture, he would find it nothing but fair to share a little bit of his soul with Orin so she has a second shot at life - It's basically what she did for him, after all.

#ask #du drow lore #orin the red #du drow and astarion

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darlingdekarios · 11 months ago

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soothe this soul.

RATING: mature [canon themes] — LENGTH: 2,976 — Gale x DarkUrge [gn!reader]

CONTENT: hurt/comfort, trauma, set during act I after the goblin camp before adventuring onward, fluff [gentle touching, hand holding], self-harm, Gale talking Durge through big feelings, canon-accurate dark urge memory loss, mentions of corpses/blood, no pronouns used but reader is described as having nails/claws

Gale offers you peace in a moment of darkness.

Quiet is what you needed tonight - you'd decided that hours ago, practically the moment the day had started. Still not managing to get a complete night of sleep and increasingly unable to silence the depraved thoughts in your mind, just an hour beside the water of this camp before the adventure continued on tomorrow would have done you some good.

At least that was the conclusion you'd come to for yourself. Fate seemed to have other plans for your time, however.

Or perhaps it was the will of one singular man.

“I have noticed you often skip over introductions…”

There was something soothing about his voice that even you were not immune too, his gentle nature balancing your violent one like cool waters on a raging flame. If it was going to be anyone interrupting your alone time now, it was befitting to be him, at least. If it had been anyone else, who knows what the consequences could've been.

“Please, not now.”

Your voice was marred with the kind of pain he was familiar with - ever-present, unignorable. Spoken through gritted teeth, your lack of patience was evident in every syllable. He'd never tell you he pitied you, but that didn't make the statement true.

“Forgive my insistence…” his dulcet tone filled your ears like the flow of a river, sustaining and forever. If his words could replace the urges perhaps some of your problems would subside. “But if not now, then when? We can all tell you’re avoiding something. Wyll and I agree that -“

“It is wonderful to hear I am the topic of camp gossip."

“It’s not like that,” you didn't know previously that one human could sound so believable - so honest. Though some of your other companions had taken him hiding his condition as a lie you never had, understanding his reasoning and trusting him through it all. You had no reason not to trust him now. “We care. For you. I care for you a great deal. I see how it…whatever it is…wounds you and festers at your soul each time we are somewhere new.”

“What is your point?”

The defense mechanism like a rose's thorns - if they didn't get close enough they couldn't be hurt, and your sharp demeanor was without a doubt a way of keeping everyone far enough away from you to keep their blood from spilling.

Gale, with increasing insistence of late, seemed determined to feel the softness you could offer too - he could see it in the depths of your eyes, just within his reach. He'd not stop until he earned the chance to be delicate with you.

“That I want to know you,” even now he was so delicate - had anyone ever been so with you before? “That I want to help.”

You could've drowned in the pools of sincerity in his eyes.

It had been hard to hide Alfira, and even harder since not to come clean to Gale - with each passing moment it was increasingly difficult to ignore the new urge that had formed within your being, a new desire that influenced your decisions. You craved something you were almost certain was new - connection - and you yearned for it with him.

Honesty was the first step - in these things, it always was. With Gale, you were fortunate to have seen in the darkness that festered within him when he allowed you a glimpse at the Orb, feeling the familiarity of a deep abyss. Though you were quite certain the darkness within you was much worse, much more primal and instinctual in ways he could never be, it was some comfort that he could look at you like this now - sweating, shaking, and neglecting to give his words a fitting response - and hardly bat an eye.

But how long would that be the case if you opted for complete honesty, and at this point could you even stop it? If allowing him to see into the void was inevitable, why deny what came closer with each tick of a clock?

A deep breath prepared your lungs for speaking truths into the night that you wished to keep buried in the depths of your wretched, dark heart.

“You've heard me introduce myself as The Dark Urge. That is all I can remember of myself. I crave murder and death and…corpses. Piles of my victims bruised and bloody displayed like a museum…crimson pools running warm then cold…"

Your words trailed as you clenched your eyelids tight, your nails beginning to dig into the tops of your thighs, seeking the focus that sharp pain would bring - so deep that blood quickly began to paint the tips of your fingers and your thighs.

You often felt Gale's bravery was to be commended, far more than it was by your companions. He'd never seen combat, never needed to face violence head on and take it for what it was. And yet, despite his inexperience he was still fearless with you, one of his gentle hands reaching out to lightly rest atop your shoulder.

Taken off guard your nails stopped their assault on your own skin, eyes wide as your puzzled face met his - patient, understanding, eyes soft and lips pressed into a thoughtful line as he awaited you to fully return to yourself.

"But though my mind is overrun with voids and seldom dreams up more than pools of blood…I want to be more than that. I think I am more than that…or that I once was, perhaps.”

It felt wrong to speak against the Urges, like you were lying to yourself and pretending to be someone your instincts proved you weren't, but it was the truth - it was you, no matter how deep within you had to pull it from. Gale, no stranger to darkness within and the chasm of emotions it could construct in one's heart, recognized how hard it must be for you to be vulnerable - after all, he had been in that very position merely days ago.

“I think you’re more than that already, despite everything. And if you disagree then we shall work together to make you see yourself the way I do."

Every sentence he spoke was saturated in a promise renewed with each word. You could feel the pull of your eyebrows coming together tighter, an expression that would do nothing to aid the headache that raged within your skull, but the only one your face could settle on as you pondered what you'd done to deserve such a kindness.

If you did even deserve it.

"I’ll help you. Through any urge along the way, say the word and I am at your side."

You remained utterly speechless under the power of his words, your expression still every bit as pained and puzzled than it had been when he first interrupted your time alone. What bravery it took - the same echoed now as his hand covered yours atop one of your thighs, the warmth seeping into you, wrapping you like a blanket during shock.

A quiet sigh passed your lips, defeated and communicating so much more than what your words could. A gentle squeeze to your hand, the softening of his eyes - you'd not be surprised if this was some sort of spell, if you didn't know better.

“I just don’t know how many more people I can introduce myself to this way,” as you finally met his eyes in full he was struck by the sight of tears sparkling in your eyes, the façade abandoned allowing him to hear the shake to your voice as your breathing picked up. “You apologized for your improper introduction, yet it is I who can’t even remember something as fundamental as my name. I know I have one, I can feel the echo of it in my mind…but it's just not there. Or perhaps I was a monster never deserving of one.”

For all of your companions' issues, Gale knew that what you faced was unlike anything any of them could relate to. Being unable to remember something as basic as your name and only experiencing your past in bloody glimpses of wicked memories - there was nothing he could say, so instead he listened.

"And I worry that I will hurt one of you," each word pained you more than the last, each one adding to the risk that he would leave - that he would come to his senses and see you for what you were. He certainly seemed to be trying, judging by the intensity with which he continued to gaze into your eyes. "That I'll hurt…you, Gale. I don't want to hurt you."

Sympathy - feelings of pity or sorrow for someone else's misfortune. You could see it filling his eyes as he squeezed your hand again, moving closer without hesitation so his free hand could raise to your face. He caught a freshly falling tear with his thumb, a delicate touch you recoiled from, your eyes wild with question and panic for a moment before they glazed over, warming under his touch though you remained so frozen you weren't breathing.

Sympathy was joined by patience and hope in his eyes, and he waited, hoping. Unimposing and unintimidating, free of judgment - willing to be so until you gave a sign to be anything otherwise.

A stiff nod was good enough.

His hand cupped your cheek fully, the feeling of your skin against his always enough to bring the softest of smiles to his face, no matter how fleeting it was. Cherishing the new feeling for a moment he did little more than that beyond the gentle stroke of his thumb across your cheek for several moments.

No monster he had read of melted so under the touch of a human - leaning into his touch further, you continued to prove he was right about you.

"We all have monsters inside of us. That doesn't mean it's who we are," admittedly, it was hard for even him to find the right words right now - particularly with his focus on you, the warmth of your skin against his hand, the way your jaw was unclenching and your features calming. A quick glance confirmed you no longer clutched your leg, and for a moment your hands were not shaking - because of him. "And it's not who I think you are. No matter what your name is, no matter who you once were: I see you."

A sentiment echoed in your mind - had you ever been cared for like this? Whatever the truth to that question was, you could feel how addicting it could be to be soothed by him.

“You must be tired,” it was a lazy - and obvious - interruption, a distraction from falling much further into his delicate grasp, parts of your mind still fighting against vulnerability, an instinct that had probably always been within you not to trust trying to set you on edge again. “I don’t want to keep you from rest.”

If he was aware of the hint you dropped in trying to return yourself to solitude, he opted to ignore it - not out of disrespect for your wishes but in hope you'd change your mind, hoping his presence could offer an enticing alternative.

If offering his presence to you would bring you any amount of comfort, he had to try. If it meant he'd have to bashfully ask Shadowheart for healing before sleep found him - so be it.

“Your company is well worth a little less sleep,” he desperately hoped you wouldn't mind that he was trying to lighten the mood - when your features curled into the slightest smile, he decided it was actually what you needed. Whatever you needed of him, whenever you needed it. How funny his very soul had adopted that new mantra so fast. “Or a lot, depending on the evening’s activities. I'd be grateful to enjoy your company a while longer, if mine isn't unwanted."

Your smile spread a bit more, cheeks heating up over his flirtations, your heart fluttering faster in your chest as you avoided his gaze briefly, taking the steady breath your lungs had been begging for, repeating it once more for measure. He matched the second with you - just another way to show he was here with you, supporting you.

Even still, you could only nod your response for fear of the words that may leave your mouth if you opened it.

The thing about Gale - the thing that made it more near impossible with each day he displayed it - was that as much as he loved to tell you what he could offer you he loved to show you even more, even if it meant sitting in complete silence for the next couple of hours. The time passed calmly with him beside you like this, offering you a pillar of strength to lean yourself upon in both a figurative and literal sense, his warm hold irresistible.

He accepted you leaning your head against his shoulder as quietly as you offered it, wordlessly deepening the embrace by wrapping an arm around you. If that was all that was offered you'd not hear a complaint from him, the gentle affection more than enough to fill his stomach with butterflies and heart with what he hesitated to call love.

When one of your hands lifted to rest on his thigh, the hesitation was gone. Love - at its most basic definition, an intense feeling of deep affection. How could he even attempt to describe the way he felt toward you with any other word, not yet finding one in the many books throughout his life that would describe the feeling nestled in his chest as sufficiently.

The sun sparkling against the water turned to stars dancing across its surface instead, the noise of your companions behind you fading as what was clearly hours passed. Your eyes had been closed for a while now, so long that you didn't notice - or at least didn't move - when Wyll had approached with food, unknowing that Gale silently waved him off.

There would be food in the morning, his stomach could wait if that was the sacrifice for your comfort. Comfort which he hated to disrupt - though after a while, the hard ground was far too unkind to his aching joints.

"Are you ready to try for some rest?"

Your eyes opened and you twisted your head to look behind you, at the very companions who were now settling onto their own bedrolls or into their tents for the night. Even in the dim light he could see the trepidation in your face, sense the tension thickening the air around you again.

How desperately he wished to resolve it, offering the only solution his heart could think of before his mind could catch up.

"Perhaps alone tonight…in my tent, beside me?"

The Wizard of Waterdeep blushed the moment the proposition left his mouth, and you'd fallen for him all over again. You nodded, and in that moment gave him everything he needed as a thank you from you.

You were both exhausted, so the motions of returning to Gale's tent blurred together - he stood first, offering his hand to you and pulling you to your feet, hand staying in yours as you walked through camp. He shot Astarion a look of warning when the Pale Elf raised his eyebrow when you walked past, entering Gale's tent without a word.

Explanations would certainly be expected in the morning, a fact made clear by the vampire's expression as Gale collected your bedroll before joining you in the solitude of his tent, closing the flap to separate the two of you for a while. Soon enough, you'd both found what felt at least a little like a word that made you both feel sick for profoundly different reasons - home - as you lay beside one another.

It was a longing gaze - you were desperate to hold his eyes in the hopes you'd see them tonight in your dreams rather than debauched things you hoped weren't memories, while he was desperate to memorize your face as he remained ever-aware of the looming apocalypse in his own chest.

A pair of your hands met between your bodies, his resting atop yours, calming the subtle and ever-present shake. Thumb brushing against your knuckles, he lulled you back into a subdued state, happily indulging you when you asked him to tell you a bedtime story from Waterdeep.

Though he spoke, he was the one to drift off first, blissfully so beside you. No matter how safe it felt to be beside Gale, no matter how much warmth filled every bone in your body - sleep would still avoid you for a while yet, and you'd be left with your thoughts and his sleeping form.

As the night continued to grow darker, as would your heart — if you even had one — and mind. It was dangerous to tempt nature like this, a steak dangled on a stick before a wolf. He would make the prettiest corpse - his own blood would paint his skin like the fine canvas it was and you'd view it as the exhibit it was, art in a museum entirely curated for you. How beautiful he would look, how sublime, how utterly delicious…

Ultimately, the urge to see him lying beneath you as a beautiful, wide-eyed body was quieter than the urge to see his eyes honey in the fire and the tousle of his morning hair as he passed you breakfast, expression eager to see your reaction to a meal prepared by him. You'd sooner remove your own hands before you used them to hurt him.

Seeing his chest rise and fall as he slept tonight and hearing the ring of his laughter tomorrow was worth far more than anything your sick mind tried to force you to see.

masterlist. baldur's gate III masterlist.

#gale dekarios #gale bg3 #gale x dark urge #gale x durge #gale fanfic #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #gale x reader #gale dekarios x reader #gale dekarios x dark urge #gale dekarios fanfiction

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oliverr-gardenn · 4 months ago

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canon/default Durge headcanons because im bored out of my mind (and im definitely not projecting onto him):

- He definitely has some sort of an anxiety disorder.

I mean his father is literally the GOD of murder and you're telling me he WOULDN'T be on fight or flight mode 24/7???

- Migraines. He sometimes would have to go find a dark and quiet place to rest in the forest when he got migraines because the camp was just too noisy. However I do think his headaches got more bearable when he was cured of his urges.

- Yeah he's got high charisma, but that doesn't mean he doesn't avoid social interactions like the plague. He knows how to get people to do what he wants (thanks to him being a former cult leader lol) but he would much rather not have to talk to people, especially strangers. Some jokes go completely over his head and he didn't even understand when some of his companions were hitting on him.

- He has a sweet tooth. I dont have any way to explain this one other than the fact that i just think he would really enjoy a good cheesecake.

- Since he's a white dragonborn he probably really enjoys sunbathing. He loves hugging his warmblooded friends both because of the intimacy and how good warmth feels on his cold scales.

- He's a sucker for terrible jokes. This man is NOT funny at all. Back when he was Bhaal's chosen he'd say these really edgy and corny things as a way to "intimidate" people and if he wasn't already scary looking, no one would take him seriously.

Gortash certainly didn't find his empty threats intimidating at all. "Oh you're going to cut me open, spill out my insides and make me watch as you make spaghetti out of my intestines? Very cute"

- Resting grumpy face. He can never really express his emotions. He would be having the time of his life and all you'd ever see is a straight face. He sometimes has to remind himself to do facial expressions. He's also quite embarrassed about his goofy smile.

His lack of expressions lead to a lot of problems with his companions back in the day.

- Insomnia. He literally can't fall asleep on his own and needs to be put to sleep via magic. He also suffers from nightmares and often wakes up multiple times at night. His past haunts him even after escaping from Bhaal's grip.

#im so fucking obsessed with him and hes not even really a character #canon dark urge #durge #bg3 durge #durge bg3 #bg3 dark urge #durge headcanons #default durge #default dark urge

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thehistoriccemetery · 10 months ago

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Minthara’s New Dialogue

I’m pissed about Minthara’s new dialogue when Durge chooses to deny Bhaal, and I’m making it everyone problem.

Anyway, here’s Wonderwall.

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Minthara stood outside the door to Durge’s new room at the Elfsong Tavern. Up until that night, they’d been sharing the room that now belonged only to Minthara.

It was late, but she’d found herself completely unable to relax. She didn’t sleep, but even her attempts to trance were only filled with regret of what had happened the previous day. Durge, lying dead on an alter of Bhaal before her. The rage that clawed its way up her throat. The way that rage shot out of her when Durge’s body had come back to life.

Her words had been cruel; hypocritical, even. But even that did not explain the regret and remorse that plagued her now. She didn’t know why, but it possessed her entire being. She was able to think of nothing else but that moment, played over and over in her mind.

She had never been one to hand out apologies. Even when she knew she was in the wrong she never sought to “make it right”. Why should she care if someone was pissed with her? Everyone in her life had been disposable. Everyone except Durge.

That is why, she supposed, she had come in the dead of night to darken her former lover’s doorstep.

She lightly tapped the door with two knuckles before cracking it open to checking to see if Durge was still awake.

They were, as she suspected they would be. Sleep was a rarity for them even on the best of days. Minthara stepped into the room without awaiting further invitation.

“What do you want? Have you come to berate me further?” The words came like a spit of acid. “Perhaps you have come to cull the weakest soldier from your ranks. Well I think I’ve had quite enough of your commentary for one day. Leave me.”

Minthara stood, rigid and unmoving. She has expected nothing short of fury from Durge, and yet she was still taken off guard.

“I have come to offer an apology,” she swallowed. “My behavior today was unacceptable, regardless of the circumstances and for that I apologize.”

Durge laughed. “When Scratch gets into the camp supplies and eats all the salami, it is ‘unacceptable behavior.’ What you have done to today is nothing short of monstrous.”

Minthara shifted slightly. She didn’t have a response prepared.

Durge broke the silence. “I thought you, of all people would understand. A deserter of both the spider queen and the absolute who found her power in godlessness. A lost child of House Baenre, the most powerful house in the underdark. And yet you see fit to lecture me about inheritance and power that I failed to collect at the cost of my own freedom. I thought maybe after all the nights you spent with me, sobbing against my urge to spill your blood you might understand why I must be rid of him. But I see now you’d rather have me a powerful slave than as I am.”

The room was silent again. Durge did not look at her, settling instead for continuing to arrange the room that would now belong to them alone.

“You know, perhaps if it had just been an unjustified outburst, I could have forgiven you. I could have looked past the hypocrisy, the accusations that defying my father made weak and unworthy,” they spoke again. “Perhaps if you had only called me stupid and weak, we could be allies once more. But you couldn’t stop there, could you? You couldn’t just insult what you perceived to be a lack of power, you had to make me feel used. As if this entire relationship was purely a tactical ruse.”

Minthara’s mouth worked faster than her mind. Before she could even think it through she blurted, “even now you cannot deny what a powerful force we were together.”

The words made Tav snap their head around to look Minthara in the eyes. “Don’t you dare try and dismiss my feelings with talk of strategy. I will not deny I was that I was drawn to you for the same reason you were drawn to me: because I thought you a powerful ally. But I do not share my bed with people just because they are ‘powerful allies.’ I do not learn about their favorite dishes and go out of my way to gather rare ingredients. I do not black out my own windows just so our home can be an oasis of darkness in this all too bright world. I do not rub their back and whisper sweet words to them as I hold them through nightmares. And I sure as hell don’t risk my own life in 1 on 1 duels with my own sister just for the sliver of hope that they could walk through this world a little less scared!” Durge’s eyes brimmed with tears and their bottom lip quivered. “You were so much more than a ‘powerful ally’ to me, Minthara. I did not love you because you were a matron of house Baenre. I did not love you because you were on the council of the dead three. I did not love you for the power I sought to gain from you. I loved you because you were my Minthara. My love for you may not have been a force that would save the world, but it did not make it less real or important. Power is not the only thing worth having. I would have gladly died by your side if it meant I could do so knowing that you loved me as I have loved you. If death was the only place we could be together, my dedication to you would not have faltered.”

Minthara stood in shock. She couldn’t not bring herself to move for fear that she may collapse onto the floor in a pathetic pile of tears.

“You will go to bed alone tonight, the bed we once shared, and you will sleep by yourself. And when you long for the comforts of home, you will not wake to find arrangements of mushrooms at your bedside. When forgotten moments of the past creep into your mind, and you reach for someone to hold you, you will find nothing but empty air. You will be alone and you will find it is not my ‘power’ that you truly miss.”

#I know deep in my heart she loves durge regardless of their choices #I’m gonna stay pissed about it #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 tav #bg3 minthara #minthara #minthara x tav #minthara x durge #bg3 durge #durge #dark urge #bg3 dark urge #minthara baenre #minthara x dark urge #bg3 spoilers

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daemon-in-my-head · 8 months ago

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Past Life Dark Urge Asks - 9th Edition:

OK but how does Durge actually view relationships and romance?

What does their room look like? Describe it to me. Neat? Messy? Organised mess where everything has its place?

What's their favourite spot to hang out at after a long day of temple managing and murdering in Father's name? Is it by the altar, their desk, a certain someone's office or by the docks?

Gorion's Ward was a hero and a Bhaalspawn that defied Bhaal. But they're also a powerful person who rose far above many, as well as the reason Sarevok once returned. What does Durge think of them? Is he an idol or a villain to them? When did their view of them change or do they perhaps even feel pity for the sibling which had been led astray?

Durge loves efficient killing, but what was their one little indulgence whenever they did it? I don't mean getting loot, keeping trinkets. Did they perhaps draw out the hunt or play with the mouse unfortunate enough to fall into their trap?

There's this funny bit that Durge refused to clean themselves, but is it true for yours? Did they indeed always carry the scent of entrails or did they bathe regularly? After all, Bhaals Scion has a reputation to uphold.

Speaking of Water, Baldur's Gate is a Port City. What did Durge think of the sea? Did they long to sail or do they prefer solid ground beneath their feet? Did they feel any connection, or was it just a body of water, perfect to drown some innocent souls?

Durge is clearly a skilled master of their craft, but would they ever consider taking an apprentice? Perhaps they already did? Or would they absolutely detest those who yet lack skill and prefer they attain it on their own?

Orin makes for a great spy and even the Bhaalist Temple relies on intelligence to survive and operate more efficiently. Did Durge ever try to help out Orin in attempts to gather intel? What was it like? Did they charm their way into hearts and minds, or did they rely on the thing they did best, a skillful killing?

Bhaalspawn are pretty similar to Aasimar in every aspect, well except that Aasimar are children of celestials and good aligned powers while Bhaalspawn hail from the Lord of Murder. What did Durge think of their goody-two-shoes counterparts?

Bhaal is widely hated or feared, as are Bhaalspawn, but what does Durge think about that notion? Would they hunt down anyone who dares speak I'll of their father, or could they not care any less? Do they perhaps revel in that fear and hatred?

If Durge knew they'd lose all their memories in the future, what would they think? Would they weep for their treasured moments or perhaps even feel delighted about forgetting a dreaded past?

Name a personality trait of theirs which is, in theory, something great, but they've taken it to such extremes it became something negative.

How is Durge handling failure? Do they handle it at all or do they just refuse to acknowledge any?

Would Past Life Durge like for their life's story to be told and remembered? Why or why not? In what way would they have liked it to be remembered?

In general, how does your Durge cope with stress, life, and the things that happened? How did it affect them? Are there any lasting effects from an outburst once?

On a scale of 1 to 10, how easily does your Durge snap? 1 being the world could end, and they'd barely be mildly inconvenienced, and 10 being somebody looks funny in their direction, and the next minute, they're in a nasty brawl.

What is their favorite spell? It doesn't have to be one they themselves know or learned. Just a spell they think is neat, handy, cool, etc.

If there happened to be a street fair in the Gate, would they attend? Yes or no, who would they go with, what would it be like visiting one of those with them?

Bhaal was a netherese arcanist. Does Durge, considering they're made from Bhaals flesh, consider themselves to be netherese? Have they ever thought about these things or do they simply not care?

I totally forgot I had these I'm sorry lmao. They've been rotting away in my drafts the whole time.

#bg3 #bg3 spoilers #durge #dark urge #bg3 durge #daemons ask game #dark urge ask game #durge ask game #bg3 ask game #ask game

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graveyardcuddles · 11 months ago

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There's this post I saw on here about how if the player turns Shadowheart over to the Sharans, the rest of the party should all turn on you. I completely agree, and I think they should also mutiny against Tav/Durge if they tell Orin to just go ahead and kill the party member she takes hostage. Act 3 feels like the act where everyone in the group should care about each other the most and yet it's the act where they arguably feel most disconnected from one another. And this is all probably a symptom of the overall lack of reactions and responses to major events in Act 3 from the companions in general.

But another similar example that drives me insane is how, if you ascend Astarion and then immediately turn on him and side with the Gur, ALL of the companions will just be like "Nice work taking out the trash, team. Job well done. Another vampire lord vanquished, " without so much as a hint of emotion after you betray him, gang up on him and KILL HIM?? As if they hadn't spent weeks and possibly months traveling with Astarion, getting to know him, bonding with him, ect. As if they hadn't just all stood there and let him complete the ritual. But the moment Paladin Karen and the Gur show up, they just abandon all that over what? Some vague ideal of "evil is evil black and white no nuace" nonsense? (which is even more ridiculous if some of the other companions are evil like DJ Shadowheart or Minthara).

The only companion with a reasonable reaction is Halsin, who correctly points out you should have tried harder to stop the ascension rather than betray Astarion and kill him after it happened. I understand that not all of the companions have the best relationship with him. And I understand all of them very much disapprove of him ascending. So I don't expect the whole party to mutiny over this particular decision. But the fact that they ALL uniformly turn on him so quickly for these people they don't even know is disappointing. There should have realistically been some pushback/objections. Or at least some guilt and sadness and reflection over the fact that they all just had to kill their former traveling companion/friend that THEY allowed to become this threat they felt warranted putting down.

It feels like it should be an incredibly tragic and cathartic moment, and it just falls spectacularly flat. I tried to rationalize their reactions as just part of the shitty lack of responses the companions all generally have in Act 3. But at least with Shadowheart and the hostage situation with Orin the companions will still be ANGRY at you and express their disaproval. Whereas here it really comes off like they just don't give a shit about Astarion and never really did. It's depressing.

I feel like it unintentionally and very sadly lends validation to the idea that what Astarion says about no one else being like Tav/Durge. No one else will look out for him. No one else will have that same kindness for him. No one has a heart like them. I don't actually agree with this notion. I think based on the good epilogue for his spawn ending he's definitely capable of making friends and genuine human connections. But Tav/Durge HAS to come first. They have to be the example that shows him how.

Also why I can't stop repeatedly romancing him. Astarion needs Tav/Durge arguably more than any other companion. He has nothing and no one else.

#also don't come for me for calling the gur lady a karen lmao #i understand the gur have every right to be angry i just don't like her okay?#she's a monday morning quarterback #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 act 3 spoilers #bg3 astarion #astarion #baulders gate 3 #ascended astarion #astarion ancunin

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scuttlingcrab · 6 months ago

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Can you pls do a Durge x Raphael after their first kill at the camp? Would LOVE to see what you do with him in that situation. ;)

Thank you for this, Anon! I’ve gotten a few Durge prompts that I hope to fulfil this month, as I’m finally making my way through playing The Dark Urge for the first time! (This run is Durge resisting the Urge, haha) Hopefully by the time they release the new endings in September, I’ll go fully evil. One thing though.. I am OBSESSING over Minthara… so I’m hoping to start writing some fics focused on her real soon because MAMA MIA!

Summary: After Raphael witnesses Tav committing a gruesome murder, he begins plotting how he could use their vulnerability, and lack of memory, to his advantage.

Notes: Warnings for violence.

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

In the Dark of the Night

(Image via red-dead-sakharine)

Raphael spent another night at Tav's camp, lurking from the comfort of the treeline as he watched them eagerly, playing with his fingers in anticipation for what he hoped would be a bloody spectacle. He failed to keep count of how many nights he stood there, spying on them since their first encounter at the Druid Grove.

Far too many at this point, embarrassing even for a Devil’s standards.

He obviously had other imperative things to be getting on with, he would never be able to succeed in uniting the Hells by simply dawdling about and waiting for things to fall in his lap. Though much to his chagrin, being present at that wretched mortal camp slid to the top of his priority list. Even more than his infernal duties and all the discarded contracts that piled up the longer Raphael bid his time. He could practically feel the mounting pressures digging into his shoulders, his knees buckling from the weight of it all.

Then there was the Crown of Karsus, always that damned Crown with Raphael. Since the fall of Netheril, he had been swept away by the promises of glory, of dethroning Asmodeus and occupying his seat of power in Nessus.

The wounds of that fiasco, of letting his father get the best of him, never fully healed. The mistakes played repeatedly in his memory. Over and over. As a lesson and as a punishment.

Raphael cursed all three of the Chosen for wasting the relic’s true potential on an Elder Brain, thinking that alone would aid their plights for total domination. The crime of the millennia. Those damned imbeciles! By the Gods, Raphael laughed, cried, and raged at the notion when he first heard Gortash had succeeded in breaking into Mephistopheles' vault, stealing the one and only artefact he had ever desired.

It would all spectacularly blow up in their faces soon enough. The Crown’s earth shattering waves, its raw power, could be felt even in his House of Hope as the strength intensified, the doomsday clock proceeding with its countdown. Raphael would be there, watching their work crumble at their fingertips, witnessing firsthand the Chosen's faces warping in horror at their doomed fates.

Despite everything, unseen forces still managed to push Raphael in the direction of those foolish mortals again and again, and towards one individual in particular. The Devil had watched each companion closely, but his obsession grew with Tav. No magic or potion could dislodge them from his waking thoughts in the days after the Nautiloid crash, or rid them from invading his dreams.

In truth, the other companions were dull, uninspiring, and Raphael quickly discarded them like a worthless piece of garbage. Of course, he could use their souls, he would never say no to that, but he had no interest in going out of his way to secure a deal when Tav offered him so much more.

At their first meeting, Raphael instantly recognised the rotting strength of Bhaal oozing from Tav, his nose twisting in repulsion from the memories the smell elicited. Yet something was different about them, unlike the other Bhaalspawn he had come in contact with. He couldn’t quite place it at first until he focused on their visage. Their skin was pale and their eyes bloodshot, flashing nervously around the room, as if they heard voices scratching against their skull.

When was the last time Tav killed, truly? Made a glorious sacrifice in the name of Bhaal? He had never seen someone suffer such a withdrawal or resist Bhaal’s murderous temptations. They could only go on for so long until something snapped, satisfying their urge, and quieting their God.

Something big was brewing and Raphael wasn’t going to miss a moment.

Raphael peeked his head through some bushes as he gave the camp another once over, his eyes darting to Tav near the campfire. They still remained lying on their bedroll, sleeping soundlessly.

Without notice, Raphael’s skin prickled and he stiffened, holding on to the nearest tree trunk as his chest spasmed. His upper body continued to be yanked forwards in an abrupt, and rather rude, summons.

“Korrilla…” Raphael hissed.

He clenched his jaw in anticipation, loud drumming filling his ears as he flickered in between the forest at the campsite and his House of Hope. The two locations could not have been more different, the contrast assaulting his senses. Images of Korrilla filled his vision as he was pulled further from the mortal plane. She stood in his central chamber, arms crossed and impatiently tapping her feet.

“You are late for a meeting, Master.” Korrilla warned, her voice rattling through his head.

“I am busy.” Raphael growled, practically tearing the final syllable apart in his mouth.

“I can keep them waiting for only so long before they will start asking questions… I do not want to hear your complaints when they retreat back into their Iron Tower.” Korrilla raised an eyebrow as a final plea.

Raphael paused as the pair engaged in a staring contest.

“Very well. Tell Dispater I will be with him shortly. I am willing to forfeit a few more souls to appease him, that should be an effective enough apology for the Archdevil. I will join you once I am finished with this prospective client.”

With that, Raphael viciously snapped his fingers, cutting off any further communication with the Warlock.

Raphael groaned, removing his hand from the tree. The wood was scorched, leaving a deep charred imprint where he had grasped it. His fingertips still sizzled and he blew on them, hoping to cool himself down. Let the Lord of Dis wait. This was far more pressing. He rubbed his temples, blinking away the rest of the discomfort from the summons, the world around him finally stilling.

He peeked through the bushes again and gasped, his heart dropping to his stomach. Tav was no longer sleeping, but stood tall. They were speaking to a bright-eyed Tiefling named Alfira, who had only just joined the camp. The other companions around the campfire, Shadowheart, Astarion, and Karlach, remained lost in their dreams, undisturbed by whatever conversation the pair were having.

Raphael’s scalp tingled as goosebumps ran down his spine and across his arms. And he had nearly missed it! He held his breath, remaining frozen in place, on the off chance Tav might hear his quickening heartbeat.

Alfira smiled at Tav, looking at them with adoration and warmth, seeming to have an overall pleasant exchange. As she talked, Tav reached for the dagger at their belt, slowly unsheathing it. They aimed it at the Tiefling’s throat, unmoving as their knuckles grew whiter from squeezing the hilt. Alfira jumped back, arms out wide in shock. She laughed nervously, eyes dancing between the dagger and Tav.

The poor thing...

Raphael barely saw it, the movement was smooth, swift, and clean; faster than lightning, but the damage was done before Alfira could even register what happened. Within seconds, her eyes grew in terror, nearly bulging from her head as a cut appeared across her throat. She held onto the wound as blood began to gush through her fingers, quickly soaking her dress. She opened her mouth, attempting to call out for help, for anyone, but she never had a chance to utter another word. Alfira collapsed, falling onto her back. Tav lunged at her, as if caught in a trance. Their stabs were deep and personal, and seemingly never-ending. They somehow found a new spot to dig their dagger in again and again long after Alfira expired.

Blood rushed to Raphael’s head, his ears pounding like war drums as Tav began gutting the Tiefling. They proceeded to use the gore spilling from Alfira to paint the markings of Bhaal around the corpse.

So the deed was done. It all happened in a matter of minutes, but to Raphael it felt like hours had passed as he observed from the shadows. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from the scene, they sparkled with curiosity and acclaim for the sheer skill of the murder. And for the possibilities that awaited him.

With the dagger back in its sheath, Tav stood as still as a statue, their arms outstretched, basking in the kill.

Raphael took a deep breath, running his hands through his hair. The second act was about to begin.

He would need to compose himself before making a grand entrance, otherwise it would scare Tav away. His usual flair for theatrics might not suit their tastes on this occasion; he needed to ease their nerves, guide them back from the spell they were under and use that to his advantage.

Snap!

Raphael teleported behind Tav, sitting casually on one of the massive boulders next to the campfire.

“You are quite the artist.” Raphael began, crossing his arms in front of him. “I should applaud you, but I’d risk waking the others.”

Tav twirled around, drawing their dagger at his sudden appearance. Recognition flickered in Tav’s eyes and the weapon staggered for a split second as they nearly lowered it, but they quickly changed their mind. They took a step towards Raphael, the dagger aimed at his heart.

Raphael raised his hands as an act of surrender, he wouldn't dare trigger another murderous episode so soon. Though, he let that thought remain… wondering if they would go so far as to massacre their entire camp?

“I must admit, I was rather taken by your commitment and overall execution. The nature of your work always piqued my interests. Although I don’t think I could ever stomach something such as…” Raphael tilted his head towards the corpse. “Truly, it was an honour getting to see a master perform such barbarity in the flesh.”

Raphael rose from the boulder, giving his deepest bow as a sign of respect.

Tav turned around, only just realising the body behind them. They backed away from it, dropping the dagger as their hands trembled.

“I… huh? No. No! W-what is going on? What is the meaning of this? Is this one of your cruel jokes, Devil?”

“A joke? Hah!” Raphael promptly covered his mouth as the laughter escaped his lips. He looked around the camp cautiously, waiting for at least one of the companions to stir, but they all remained asleep.

He resumed, in a quieter, hushed tone.

“No, no, my murderous friend, there is no blood on my hands. See?” Raphael twirled his digits, taking a moment to admire his nails amid the glowing campfire. “Look carefully, the evidence is all around you.”

Tav’s head dropped to their hands, their eyes deepening with dread as they took in all the blood. They desperately tried to wipe away the evidence on their trousers, their nightshirt… but it remained stuck to their skin. They fell to their knees, grabbing their head and pulling at their hair.

“Oh Gods… NO! I-I don’t know… no…I… it makes no sense, I was only…”

Shadowheart stirred in the sleeping bag next to Tav. Warily, Raphael raised his index finger to his lips.

“Hush now, else you’ll rouse the entire camp. I don’t imagine you’d find that very helpful.”

“This is all a nightmare. Yes. A nightmare. This whole thing, it’s not real. No. Nothing is real. You’re not real. I’ll wake up and everything will be back to normal. That’s it. You’re OK. You’re OK…”

Tav folded into a ball, holding on to their knees as they rocked back and forth, muttering nonsense. Raphael titled his head, his face a mask of serenity but his eyes burned, radiating with excitement.

“Do you have no memory of… ?” Raphael pointed towards the corpse.

Tav shook their head, staring coldly at Alfira’s body.

“I… I don’t remember anything. Nothing. Not from tonight or before that fucking crash. I barely know who I am. It’s like I never existed.”

Tav’s face curled with distaste at the situation, their eyes glazing over in resignation. Countless opportunities flooded towards Raphael like a dam bursting, nearly knocking him over. Oh, the things he could do with this newfound knowledge, how he could shape and mould Tav as he saw fit. How utterly delicious.

All he had to do was snap his fingers and their memory would be restored… It was that easy. But the truth would destroy them. They weren’t ready to learn what they were, what they were capable of. They’d self-destruct, surely. Dooming all his future plans, the thousands of years he spent planning, scheming. No, it was not a gamble he was willing to take. Not yet.

“Perhaps I can be of service then?”

Tav slowly looked up at Raphael, their eyes concentrating on him.

“You’re unfortunately too late.”

“My, we give up easily. The body. Allow me to dispose of it for you.”

Tav opened their mouth, their forehead scrunching.

“I don–”

Raphael raised his hand dramatically above him, cutting their words short as he prepared his thumb and middle finger.

Snap!

Alfira’s body disappeared in a flurry of sparks. Tav jumped back, suppressing a scream at the sudden fiery display.

“I’ll give you this one for free. And mind you, this is entirely an altruistic act. I don’t ever want to hear you or any other mortal say a Devil can’t be sympathetic again.”

“Why…?”

Tav’s eyes filled with tears as they looked away from Raphael, shaking their head in confusion. In denial. The Devil kneeled down, placing a comforting hand on their shoulder, squeezing it lightly. He allowed his fingers to soak up the warmth from Tav, leaving his hand to rest on their body for perhaps a second too long.

“Merely a taste of what’s to come, of what I can offer you in the days ahead. The next one will come at a price however, which we can negotiate in due time.”

“And my memory…?” Tav sniffed, their eyes locking with Raphael’s.

"It will return. You might not want to know who you really are, in the end. But when you’re ready, I will find you. I’ll be watching.”

Raphael stood up, patting away the dirt from his knees.

“Oh, I’d wash the blood off your hands if I were you. And maybe get rid of that little shrine to Bhaal while you’re at it. Your companions will be asking questions in the morning and you don’t want to cause any more suspicion.”

Snap!

A flaming portal appeared behind Raphael, leading straight to his Chamber of Egress.

He made one final flourishing bow to Tav, before turning away from them and walking through the gateway.

"Oh, the fun we’ll have." Raphael whispered, humming a tune as he disappeared. "Together, we’ll paint the town red."

#bg3 raphael #raphael the cambion #baldurs gate 3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael baldur's gate 3 #the dark urge #raphael x durge #bg3

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pinkberrytea · 3 months ago

Text

All About Your Tav/Durge and Their Romantic Interest

Tysm for the tag @xxnashiraxx! 🥹🫶✨

Your Tav/Durge's Name and Their Partner:

Mavka & Astarion❣️

Tell Us About Your Character - Anything at All!

I’ve talked about Mav extensively before, so I’m copying and pasting her character summary from this post. More in-depth information can also be found here, here, here, here and here!

Mavka is a Bhaalspawn, product of a foul ritual wherein borrowing the power of the archdevil Mephistopheles to sire a creature born from his own gore, the evil god would crush a fey creature, from whose bones and innards mixed with his blood, a child would come to be—a child born from murder. She was not Bhaal’s first solo venture, although her older Dragonborn sibling bore a purer lineage, for Bhaal was able to conceive him with no external aid. The sole purpose of her existence was to be bred by her brother, and thus, it was decided that she would be raised by a mortal family until her coming of age—that is, until she first bled. Left on the doorstep of a human patriar known for his feverish adoration of Tyr, one of Bhaal’s enemies, she was taken in by him for he saw in her an opportunity to cleanse the rot, raising a devilish child into a devout woman. As she matured into a young girl, however, his obsession with her grew, and with it, the resentment of her foster mother and sisters. Physically and mentally abused on a daily basis, completely isolated and with not a single friend to call her own, she was primed for the Urge; the moment she gave up on living was the moment when her true father would convince her to give herself to him. And thus, on the day of her 13th birthday, with the blood of her menarch running down her thighs, Bhaal would use her as a flesh puppet to take the lives of all members of her foster family as she helplessly watched, a pitiful passenger inside her own body.

Personality-wise, she is quiet and soft-spoken, a little gloomy, but gentle and kind. Her past molded her into a needy, clingy individual, who is willing to submit to others in whatever way to quench her thirst for kinship; self-loathing to a fault, she voluntarily waives control to anyone who will ask, for she trusts herself not with anything. She is constantly scared of being left behind, and thus, will do anything she can to please those around her, her pathetic desperation often translating into selfishness. There is, however, a silly, girlish side to her, and she enjoys bantering with her friends and making them smile. She loves animals and children, although her sometimes worrying naïveté does make her an easy target for the likes of Mol. Also, when it comes to domestic tasks, her skills are appalling, but no one with a heart would ever tell her that as she sweetly bats her eyelashes at them while offering a plate of the most vile thing you can think of.

What Do They Enjoy Doing Together?

One of Astarion’s hobbies is dollying Mav up, brushing her hair and grooming her, but more than anything, they love bathing together; he’ll have her sit in-between his legs and wash her gently, scrubbing her back and shoulders, her tummy, and then letting his fingers wander further down—their pads will be pruney by the time they get out.

The two also like taking random naps in the afternoon or early evening. She’ll usually lay with her ear pressed to his chest so she can hear his heartbeat or lack thereof, though they’re also partial to spooning! Sometimes they’ll both be naked, sometimes only she will, sometimes they’ll both be clothed—what hardly ever changes is the fact that he’ll typically take the opportunity to sink his fangs into her neck.

Before bed, their favorite past time is just hanging out in silence by the hearth, enjoying each other’s company. He’ll rest his head on her lap, drinking from her wrist as she reads a book; or maybe she’ll be the one snuggling up to him as he does some paperwork (if ascended) or patches up one of her pieces of clothing (if not). When either fall asleep, the one still awake will softly stroke the other’s hair, kiss their forehead and watch as they dream, warm and safe in the arms of their lover.

What's Something Your Character's Partner Loves About Them?

Astarion is addicted to Mav’s scent and taste; regardless of whether or not he has ascended, he’ll make a habit of feeding on her almost exclusively. That aside, he likes how expressive she is with her tail, and also the freckles speckling the bridge of her nose—they’re like sweet little secrets, only really visible once one gets close enough. Where it pertains to who she is as a person, he loves that she makes him feel needed; she gives him purpose. Additionally, he loves how trusting and kind she is, to him specifically. Last but not least, he thinks her clumsiness and general awkwardness are adorable; it makes her delightfully reactive to his teasing.

Their Life After Baldur's Gate?

If Astarion hasn’t ascended, then the spawn will be gone and they’ll be out and about looking for a way for him to be in the sun. While they do eventually settle down once he comes to terms with his condition and accepts it as part of who he is, this realization doesn’t come to him immediately. Throughout their travels, he takes jobs as a mercenary for hire to get by, though he typically won’t feed on his victims—she becomes his own personal blood bag, which does take its toll on her health, yet their relationship was always one where she’d give and he’d take, an arrangement both are content with regardless of the path taken. Though it’s not the most comfortable life, it’s a happy one, and he still tries to pamper her to his best ability where he can, “borrowing” pretty trinkets and jewelry for her as gifts.

If he has ascended, they’ll have thus moved into a completely refurbished Crimson Palace, she as his darling consort. He takes it upon himself to cater to her every desire and spoil her rotten, showering her with luxuries. While she’s less than thrilled about contending with his ever growing lust for power, spending eternity by his side is all she could have ever hoped for; Astarion knows she is wary of his dark ambitions, so he tries to shield her from it all, even if that’s not always possible. The hypocrisy of her reticence is not lost on her, but she’s past the point of denying her own self-serving nature—she accepts the burden of their shared guilt, gladly giving up her life for his. As inherently complex and codependent as their bond may be, it is undeniably a bond of love.

Something Your Tav/Durge Loves About Their Partner?

Mav thinks Astarion is extraordinarily strong for still holding onto his zest for life despite everything he’s been through. She admires him greatly, being a survivor herself. Of course she also thinks he is hauntingly handsome, but what attracts her to him is how devilishly charming he is; how he moves, how he talks, how he looks at her. Truth be told, she loves everything about him—every line on his face, every freckle on his skin; his curly hair, his bright red eyes, his dangerously sharp fangs, his cute pointy ears. What makes him a vampire, what makes him an elf—his light, his darkness.

Something That Your Character and Their Partner Both Hate (about anything):

Whenever those around them pretend to understand their relationship or try to imply it being something that it’s not—whether he has ascended or not, Mav loves Astarion deeply, and he loves her back. She is his home, he is hers, and while they’re well aware outsiders will never appreciate the full extent of their adoration for one another, neither enjoy being lectured or patronized about how they feel.

No pressure tags ✨ @locallegume, @bardic-inspo, @starryjuicebox, @kalmiaphlox, @nyx-knox, @astarionancuntnin, @bananasfosterparent, @ashlynnaska, @zekeen, @judasiskariot, @cryptidcryptic, @khywren, @honeybee-bard, @sniickerdoodles and @angelicgaming1007!

#personal #tag game #oc: mavka #tysm for the tag!! 🙏✨❣️#mavstarion

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