NO MAKER MADE ME.

no god will give me my purity back.

[envernus]

NO AMOUNT OF ORCHESTRATED CLASS IS EVER GOING TO HIDE THE FACT THAT YOU'RE DOOMED TO BE ALONE.

meet the man that survived hell and its devil, and came back worse than he ever was. crime, propaganda, sickening charisma, authoritarianism &. religious hoaxes, oh my! #envernus, a private &. highly selective enver gortash of baldur's gate 3, now canon removed &. crossover focused. unaffiliated with and removed from the rpc. does not often follow first. a study by vanto, 31, he / they. byf below the cut.

YOU'RE A FRAUD. YOU'RE A MAN - MADE MONSTER. SO QUICK TO BLAME, AND SO DESPERATE TO ESCAPE CONSEQUENCE.

 CARRD.   HEADCANONS.   PROMPTS.   BLOGROLL.

read my rules. 2026 is the year i recover from all the bullshit i've had lobbed at me for two years now, so i'm stepping back socially. i stick to tumblr ims, i do not give out my discord. communicate with me, be honest with me as well as yourself. if i sound jaded, it's because i am but i'm trying my best. if you recognize this url and believe the shit that was said about me, good for you; leave me the fuck alone, let me write this fucker in peace.

coloring psd: a combination of my own work and heart desire by cali/sources. icon border: minimalist border 004 by aria/psds.

[zaratustran-a-deactivated202605]

" i aim to please. no less. "

with undue certainty the wolf is bid welcome, and he enters with naught a whisper of sound, sliding the latch to bolt closed the window behind him. he had a trained eye for finer things, even if he rarely indulged himself. the life of a speaker ran parallel to that of the anchorite; there was simply no room for the material in his own. it looks good on gortash though, doesn't it ?? the jewelry and all the gold — the rug beneath his boots worth that of his own weight in septims, if not more. this kind of opulence suggests enver could want for nothing, and ( as lucien had observed in many men like him ) it is for this reason he suspects enver must have everything. far from him to condemn. lay low the tyrants and all, only the tyrants tended to pay.

if anything, he revels like a blood-drunk dog in the wake of this bureaucrat's cruelty.

" a florist ?? " it carries on a low chuckle, his head cocked to the side just so as he stood statue still. " mean spirited, wouldn't you agree ?? even for you. " yet his words ( try as he might to hide it ) still drip with an uncomfortable excitement. a brewing anxiousness, mustered in every hound the breath before it were allowed to hunt. " of course. death does not discriminate and neither do i — thy will be done but do indulge me. what sin has our poor botanist committed to secure such an ending ?? "

[envernus]

" it's hardly as innocent as all that. " gortash leaves his seat but leans against his desk, facing @zaratustran, hands braced against the rich mahogany wood. " this poor florist happens to be a key player in a very rapidly growing enterprise that i have somewhat of a stake in. our dear lady silana deals in lethal poisons and black market ingredients, the sort even the best would have trouble getting their hands on, and she's playing two different collectives expertly, too, credit where it's due. word also has it there's plenty that want her dead, but nobody has mustered the courage or stupidity to do it yet. which is where i come in. with her gone, the supply chain falls apart and i get to watch this entire thing implode: accusations, infighting, you name it because who would actually go ahead and get the dark brotherhood involved? this leads to a power vacuum and ... well, the rest is history. "

surely lucien has heard tales such as this one time and time again. political and criminal rivals vying for power, for one more inch of control over uncharted territory, and a hawk - eyed schemer coming to exploit the weaknesses everyone else has yet to spot. at the very least, the brotherhood is never sated.

" i could have done it myself without sending for you and yours, but then i heard whispers about the black sacrament being potentially invoked. i thought i would indulge them all. "

[envernus]

for all the city's dangers, it is at times far more preferable to meet out in the open than inside any of its establishments or within its myriad back alleys and secret passages. [ the undercellar comes to mind, for one, but gortash would much rather leave such a labyrinthine location for serious and air - tight business. ] he doesn't pick the upper city or even his residence, the highly secure artificer's hell that it is, and he certainly doesn't reach out through letter or secret missive that might reach xyra at an inconvenient time of day. no, he doesn't leave that to chance. busy man though he is, enver gortash tracks those he wants down himself, fed clues and information through those that still keep their ears to the cobblestones in his stead and on his payroll.

he finds xyra at elfsong. somehow, it's fitting to find her in the taproom, sat in front of the fireplace and likely contemplating the ... predicament that now takes her away from him. were enver someone else, regret would have darkened his heart's doorstep. no such luck, to everyone's misfortune. there is something, however, that does trickle in like oil through a fuel line. it's a bittersweetness he wishes he could feed the fire.

" unpleasant business, isn't it, " he says by way of announcing himself, taking the stool next to her, " to only be able to go so far before i catch up. xyra, xyra. what's stopping you from leaping? "

@decaeys, ft. xyra (plotted).

[envernus]

a tyrant's grip must be one of cool, unforgiving, and intricately realised steel. it cannot budge, cannot falter, no matter the pressure, and its fingertips must deeply pierce those who would struggle against it.

#ENVERNUS. the fraud, the criminal, the man - made monster, the black hand of bane. enver gortash of baldur's gate 3. rebooted in 2026. extremely crossover friendly, headcanon based, divorced from the rpc.

[edensbite]

what eden calls fortuitous is a wretched curse, a disastrous blight, upon the world around her. she likes to think of their meeting as a something divined by fate, ordained by the gods, so alike as their souls are. a different verse of understanding, a prayer whispered into the marrow of their bones, a hymn that promises scores of blood and a kingdom at their feet. eden is no fool. she knew from the start, long before her name was even an afterthought within the gate's riffraff and common peasants and merchants, exactly who gortash was. the power he had even then, it curled like smoke, dream-like; her hands were covetous, just as they are now as they tenderly hold his hand while she eyes the blue veins running down his wrist with avarice and hunger darkening her eyes.

eden can only imagine what he might taste like, a man so rich with power, influence, status. men like him are always like the sweetest wine, so much more delicious when their blood curdles with shock from their fear. but as her eyes drift up to meet his gaze, eden does not see fear. a calmness, something eager. she hears his beating heart drumming like a hammer in his chest, his blood roaring in his veins the closer her lips get to his skin. " if i didn't know any better, i'd say you've done this before, " eden murmurs, grinning as her lips brush softly against his wrist. " have you? "

her tongue wets his skin and her razorblade fangs elongate. a moment passes, and they sink into his flesh like a summer-ripened fruit. blood spurts into her mouth, flooding over her tongue as her teeth pierce his vein, eyes fluttering shut. eden possessively draws his arm closer and, cradling it to her chest with her grip tight upon him, groaning softly as the warmth of his blood washes down her throat, through her chest in a deluge. her eyes snap open after a few beats, the soft pastel-pink irises now burning like bright blood moons. if she didn't know any better, eden doesn't know if she could stop herself — she doesn't want to stop. but she forces him free from her lips when she sees his laboring breaths, pressing a final kiss upon the wound at his wrist. " this is more dangerous than i thought. i almost didn't stop. "

@envernus would like to be bitten by eden ( sc ).

[envernus]

has he bled before? plenty. has he been taken from? far more times than he's able to count but these spheres have never overlapped in such a way. it's fortunate then that he gives off that appearance, that the icy confidence he projects extends even to being fed upon like ripened fruit. there's trepidation, of course, and if his knowledge of blood - drinkers still remains accurate, eden will be able to tell. no fear, never fear; gortash has trained that response to blink out of existence the moment its signs begin to show. his serenity remains even as eden's tongue primes the point of contact on his wrist before her teeth sink into his flesh and he feels blood start to leave him.

when eden cradles his arm to his chest with the eagerness of a starved predator, it takes particular self - control not to react in self - defence; he's prepared for it, of course, a crossbow bolt now held between his fingers after near - magical sleight of hand. he's only bled like this once, and it was mixing with water and an agony so intense it nearly killed him. eden continues to drink, eyes carmine like the blood she draws into her body, and that's when that mere seconds - long sensation of pleasant light - headedness begins to enclose around his consciousness. that could prove trouble. enver's lips part, and his breathing slows and deepens as mask of stoic calm finally slips.

that's when eden stops, fangs retracting from his flesh, and presses her lips against the bite marks in a gesture that, from anyone else, would have felt like gratitude. gortash reaches for the small square of cloth he'd set aside earlier and presses it against his skin and still, in spite of the energy eden's taken from him, he smiles. " oh, trust me, you would have. " it's not even a thinly - veiled threat, considering enver is never unarmed or without means, but rather a simple truth. he steals a peek at the bite marks: they're but two pinpricks, thankfully. " now, is this when you ask me if i'm curious about what my blood tastes like? "

[edenmemes]

misc poetry sentence starters

❝  one gets so used to one’s own horrors, one forgets how they must seem to other people.  ❞ ❝  you remind me what love lives in this skin.  ❞ ❝  you are the most phantom-like of all; you are a mere dream.  ❞ ❝  i’m not telling you a story so much as a shipwreck—the places floating, finally legible.  ❞ ❝  the world was made so we can find each other in it.  ❞ ❝  the night isn’t dark; the world is dark. stay with me a little longer.  ❞ ❝  i want you desperately. i want your strength and your softness, your hands, all of you.  ❞ ❝  is that too much to expect? that i would name the stars for you?  ❞ ❝  against your cheek my hand is warm and full of tenderness.  ❞ ❝  the world grows green again when you smile.  ❞ ❝  your share of pains would fill a sea.  ❞ ❝  i’m so stuck on the ‘was’ of people.  ❞ ❝  what i love in you is your power of loving, a bit wild, a bit primitive, but absolute.  ❞ ❝  i like figuring you out. you are so human and puzzling.  ❞ ❝  the unwillingness to try is worse than any failure.  ❞ ❝  you wanted happiness. i can’t blame you for that.  ❞ ❝  i did violence to my own heart.  ❞ ❝  i don’t know how to stay tender with this much blood in my mouth.  ❞ ❝  like a magpie, i am a scavenger of shiny things: fairy tales and dead languages.  ❞ ❝  and here you come with a shield for a heart and a sword for a tongue.  ❞ ❝  you kiss the back of my legs and i want to cry.    only the sun has come this close, only the sun.  ❞ ❝  sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof you’ve been ruined.  ❞ ❝  when will it cease, this monstrous rage of yours?  ❞ ❝  i will plant my hands in the garden. i will grow, i know, i know.  ❞ ❝  i had it all and i want it back again.  ❞ ❝  i don’t care about anyone, and the feeling is quite obviously mutual.  ❞ ❝  we are two reflections that cross swords with each other.  ❞ ❝  as for me, i am a watercolour. i wash off.  ❞ ❝  do you dare send me away as though you were were waiting for something better?  ❞ ❝  my dear, you are in danger of being burned by your own flame.  ❞ ❝  i am three oceans away from my soul.  ❞ ❝  you, occasionally, glimmer with a light i’ve never seen before. it frightens me.  ❞ ❝  i went to sleep last night so i could see you.  ❞ ❝  even the eyes of gods must adjust to light. even gods have gods.  ❞ ❝  how much can you change and get away with it, before you turn into someone else, before it’s some kind of murder?  ❞ ❝  it does me no good to be good to me now.  ❞ ❝  i may look alright, but if you were to look more closely you wouldn’t find a single healthy bit in me.  ❞ ❝  i must clothe myself in other worlds.  ❞ ❝  suffering is the privilege of those who feel.  ❞ ❝  sorry about the blood in your mouth. i wish it was mine.  ❞ ❝  the vigor, the fire, that enables you to love and create. when you lose that, you’ve lost everything.  ❞ ❝  i can be bold, because i have you with me always.  ❞ ❝  you are shaking fists and trembling teeth. i know: you did not mean to be cruel. that does not mean you were kind.  ❞ ❝  not that i want to be a god or a hero, just to change into a tree,  grow for ages, not hurt anyone.  ❞ ❝  i laughed today. for a second i was unhaunted.  ❞ ❝  you are sunlight through a window, which i stand in, warmed.  ❞ ❝  there’s something electric in your blood.  ❞ ❝  you say you are broken,   but broken mirrors like you create the most beautiful patterns of light.  ❞ ❝  time doesn’t obey our commands.  ❞ ❝  i love you quite passionately, and with a touch of tragedy.  ❞ ❝  to feel anything deranges you. to be seen feeling anything strips you naked.  ❞ ❝  i love you — like a storm bursts overhead — i must confess it; all the more fiercely because you burn and bite.  ❞ ❝  and i have seen rivers, not unlike you, that failed to find their way back.  ❞ ❝  i am less a god now that you’ve touched me.  ❞ ❝  your words are gentle; but my blood runs cold to think what plots you may be nursing deep within your heart.  ❞ ❝  you said i killed you — haunt me then.  ❞ ❝  your soul is frail and solemn, loyal and spring-like.  ❞ ❝  you look like you’ve eaten the sun, like you drank so much sunlight you’re drowning in it.  ❞ ❝  strangeness is a necessary ingredient in beauty.  ❞ ❝  you will hear thunder and remember me.  ❞ ❝  ever think it’s possible for us to be happy?  ❞ ❝  and i would wonder across all the deserts of this world, even after death, to search for you.  ❞ ❝  since we’re bound to be something, why not together?  ❞ ❝  i am ashes were once i was fire.  ❞ ❝  this mouth will destroy you the moment you mistake it for something soft, for something that is yours.  ❞ ❝  it’s no easy thing to bear, the weight of sweetness.  ❞ ❝  kill the light! i’d rather wallow in the dark.  ❞ ❝  i have thought of you often since the darkness.  ❞ ❝  with your presence the sun becomes irrelevant.  ❞ ❝  there is no god left in this skin. there’s just the ash. just the ash.  ❞ ❝  open your eyes, look more sharply, see me as i am.  ❞ ❝  what the hell is tragedy? i am.  ❞ ❝  i’ve got a lot of feeling for you. you’re kind.  ❞ ❝  how beautiful it is, how beautiful, that glow before the stars break.  ❞ ❝  so much to do today: kill memory, kill pain, turn heart into a stone, and yet prepare to live again.  ❞ ❝  i am myself. that is not enough.  ❞ ❝  i may be mad, god-seized, but i will stand outside my madness.  ❞ ❝  my power, which to me is still a curse —  ❞ ❝  ocean sea with its caressing swell; it has so often cooled my heart.  ❞ ❝  do you bathe in perfume, and dry yourself in light?  ❞ ❝  i like you; your eyes are full of language.  ❞ ❝  let me tell you what i do know.    i am more than one thing and not all of those things are good.  ❞ ❝  you are the cause and the cure — both.  ❞ ❝  i have kisses for the back of your neck.  ❞ ❝  your beautiful glance is unbearably cruel.  ❞ ❝  we might meet again, someday between dreams at dawn.  ❞ ❝  suffering is a terrible fire; it either purifies or destroys.  ❞ ❝  lately it hurts more to imagine you are a stranger rather than a destroyer.  ❞ ❝  and i say to myself: a moon will rise from my darkness.  ❞ ❝  since you walked out on me, i’m getting lovelier by the hour. i glow like a corpse in the dark.  ❞ ❝  i will not whine. i will obey and be forever still.  ❞ ❝  you move like the moon.  ❞ ❝  my eyes ache with the weight of unshed tears.  ❞ ❝  in your eyes, the fires of twilight.  ❞ ❝  do not haunt my soul; i have done well forgetting you.  ❞ ❝  i am no one. i cannot love. it’s in my blood.  ❞ ❝  you’re wearing your armor to protect your heart. who can blame you? it only makes sense in a world like this one.  ❞ ❝  you are not real. you are a dream of a dream.  ❞ ❝  there are so many things i’m not allowed to tell you.  ❞ ❝  i am indeed a shameless, evil-minded and abominable creature.  ❞ ❝  come this evening — i am eager for stars.  ❞ ❝  i am on fire with that soft sound you make, in uttering my name.  ❞ ❝  i want you mostly in the morning when my soul is weak from dreaming.  ❞ ❝  to me you are the desert and the sea; everything secretive.  ❞ ❝  i thought i was wounded to the core but i was only bruised.  ❞ ❝  it is a dead heart. it is inside of me. it is a stranger.  ❞ ❝  i live — but i’m mutilated.  ❞ ❝  if there is a light then i am going to swallow it.    if there is a god then i’m going to make him cry.  ❞ ❝  i am condemned to be a saint or a monster: unable to be the one, unwilling to be the other.  ❞ ❝  you will open your wounds and make them a garden.  ❞ ❝  i come home — and i feel like a ghost returning its haunt.  ❞ ❝  i planted roses, but without you they were thorns.  ❞ ❝  everything inside me is in revolt.  ❞ ❝  how this darkness soaks me through and through.  ❞ ❝  give me my robe, put on my crown; i have immortal longings in me.  ❞ ❝  say something dangerous like i love you.  ❞ ❝  listen, are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?  ❞ ❝  in times of crisis, we must decide again and again whom we love.  ❞ ❝  breathe the scent of little, earthly things. let the twilight touch you.  ❞ ❝  my heart is just like the ocean, has storm and calm and tides.  ❞ ❝  you became for me a sacred being, not to be touched save in adoring thoughts.  ❞ ❝  gods are stubborn. so am i.  ❞ ❝  is it better to out-monster the monster or to be quietly devoured?  ❞ ❝  there’s something soft in me. i killed it and it’s rotting.  ❞ ❝  beware. beware. there is a tenderness.  ❞ ❝  half gods are worshipped in wine and flowers. real gods require blood.  ❞ ❝  i’m alive. like a wound, a flower in the flesh, the path of aching blood is open within me.  ❞ ❝  you dangle on the leash of your own longing; your need grows teeth.  ❞ ❝  i have it in me…to scare myself with my own desert places.  ❞ ❝  my mouth still houses century-old magic.     in my ears i hear a ringing and singing and no god.  ❞ ❝  keep talking. i’ll keep walking toward the sound of your voice.  ❞ ❝  i’m full of poetry now. rot and poetry. rotten poetry.  ❞ ❝  this skin is sick with loneliness.  ❞ ❝  memories are sharp. they bite. i have spent most of my life trying to grow a thicker skin just to make sure i would not bleed out whenever i felt those teeth scrape up against me.  ❞ ❝  i wonder if i will ever find a language to speak of the things that haunt me the most.  ❞ ❝  after fury, what do you do with the remains?  ❞ ❝  come on, dance with me. the earth is spinning. we can’t just stand on it.  ❞ ❝  let’s admit, without apology, what we do together.  ❞ ❝  try to find the right place for yourself. if you can’t find it, at least dream of it.  ❞ ❝  it takes grace to remain kind in cruel situations.  ❞ ❝  i am too full of life to be half-loved.  ❞ ❝  today you want nothing because wanting comes too close to feeling.  ❞ ❝  there’s nothing more terrible, more alluring, more mysterious than love.  ❞ ❝  heavenly wine and roses seem to whisper to me when you smile.  ❞ ❝  my soul is devoutly and wholly under your spell.  ❞ ❝  will you see the human in my being?  ❞ ❝  if i had a flower for every time i thought of you…i could walk through my garden forever.  ❞ ❝  part broken part whole, you begin again.  ❞ ❝  i don’t know if love’s a feeling. sometimes i think it’s a matter of seeing. seeing you.  ❞ ❝  i wonder which will get you killed faster, your loyalty or your stubbornness?  ❞ ❝  whether you come as a lover or an exeutioner, i am ready to receive you.  ❞ ❝  i think i understand your longing. it looks so much like mine.  ❞ ❝  i’ve had so many knives stuck into me. when they hand me a flower, i can’t quite make out what it is.  ❞ ❝  i like the sea: we understand one another. it is always yearning, sighing for something it cannot have; so am i.  ❞ ❝  do i not live? badly, i know, but i live.  ❞ ❝  something of you stuck with me. a splinter.  ❞ ❝  i clung to your hands so that something human might exist in the chaos.  ❞ ❝  sometimes i shut my eyes, and shut my heart towards you, and try hard to forget you because you grieve me so, but you’ll never go away. oh you never will.  ❞ ❝  my golden love, if only you knew, what precious honey you are for me.  ❞ ❝  i had an old wound once, but it is healing.  ❞ ❝  always this in-betweenness, this almost, this it might be that…  ❞ ❝  when i close my eyes, i see you. when i open my eyes i want to see you.  ❞ ❝  dark as it is — you see, that little flickering, is the light of my soul.  ❞ ❝  am i a monster or is this what it means to be a person?  ❞ ❝  i am talking about evil. it blooms. it eats. it grins.  ❞ ❝  sapphires are those eyes of yours, ravishingly sweet.  ❞

[cuntlike]

on the first dawn after the fire that destroyed eryri, she had imagined being in such a position: ruling over the full horizon. utterly and completely in control. she had imagined it with such vivacity for the next decade that she had spelled it into reality. it had been a source of pride, in the early days. now, presented with all the horrible ways in which she had succeeded, she felt… weary. a bit out of place. like a loose screw in a terrific machine that was bhaal's temple. it was, she knew, a byproduct of being at the top: each day, she was faced with more assassination attempts than she frankly knew what to do with, forevery loose pawn considered themselves a contender from a warm throne. and such a situation was bound to take a toll. she did enjoy the killing part of it, though. a bit mindless, like it used to be when it had been about survival rather than ambition. it felt nice. like using your legs after a long while sitting down.

this morning, she had killed a gaunt little dragonborn that looked terribly similar to her dear khairos, and she had since been faced with the hilarious thought that whoever had sent it (read: orin) wanted her to feel bad about that death. istar, of course, was not the type of monster to get sentimental over one's demise, but she still felt a bit somber about having to destroy lookalikes of her familiar. she would kill anything that breathed at her wrong, and that truth was a fact that would not budge under any circumstance, but it still felt wrong-- to kill something that, in the right light, looked exactly like her most prized companion.

there was a time she had destroyed an entire city for such a slight. which brought her to this particular thought, that had been bothering her for a while: she, once again, wondered if it would not be better to raze bhaal's temple entirely. a clean plate, for a clean start. but then again, orin was a competent monster, and the plans they had did need to be enacted by such monsters. was that what it meant, to be on the throne? a hand forced by ambition. no other way to enact one's will and, therefore, trapped. she did not like it. she wanted to gnaw at the metaphorical shackles at her wrists. she, for one moment, considered if anyone was gaining from her growing frustration-- if someone was to blame for it. but in the end she knew that bhaal's ambition ought to be hers, and that bhaal's hunger for blood was hers, and that there was nothing left to do but endure until she could, like her father, feed herself upon the deaths of million.

that was the crux of why she was sitting in silence in enver gortash's drawing room: she was agitated, and angry, and contemplating which step would bring them closer to completion, for she was getting impatient, and she knew that orin was getting closer to figuring out a way to truly be a nuisance. hands on the back of her seat had her looking away from the fire, but not toward whoever was near: she knew that perfume, and she had been somewhat aware of a presence. it was rather difficult to make bhaal's chosen jump: even if the shadows welcomed you, they still spoke to her in hushed tones. at his words, she sighed. she was an easy book to read here-- perhaps a consequence of not being one at home. she always had to protect herself in the temple: assassination attempts notwithstanding, everyone was staring at her as if she was bound to falter. blood begot blood, and murderers were hungry creatures that would never settle for anything. that meant that whoever was in charge would only remain so until someone else, hungrier and scrappier, cut off their hands to hold the scepter themselves. there would be no peace-- not until she had the power of the absolute on her side.

but within gortash's home, she could lower her shoulders. he would not betray her yet. he was an intelligent individual-- he knew their plan was sound-- he would not chase another ally unless she gave him a reason to. that meant she could relax for a few minutes. it meant that when he asked what he could do to distract her, wih that tone of his, she knew it was not a ploy to divert her from a potential knife in her back. she lked that about him too: that he was willing to meet her halfway. dropped shoulders for her, dropped theatrics for him. they met each other, curiously so, in the middle. "orin is growing bold," she told him, and though her tone was fairly flat, it was easy to read the amused barbs in the lilt of her voice: how it was both amusing and absolutely aggravating that orin thought she could best her. "i should be thinking of ways to retaliate. i'm sure you're full of good ideas." she leaned back in the seat, eyes toward the ceiling to catch the edge of enver's form. "i'd love to hear them."

[envernus]

" should you? " he wouldn't dare mock her plight nor goad her temper, which is why he counters with a casual question almost immediately. gortash knows what it's like to be taunted into retaliation but after many lessons learned, he now takes that particular environment apart like a chemical reaction. a fire needs a fuel source, oxygen and heat; take away any of those three, and the fire either dies or never starts at all. orin is playing with two of them and is goading istar into providing that third element, the one that could lead to the razing of bhaal's temple at the hands of a single woman. it could lead to worse, too. not that he'd ever underestimate istar but for all the contempt he's grown to show orin, he knows both sisters to be undeniably dangerous.

and orin is toying with istar like a young artificer with a bomb. needless to say, it bears careful diffusing.

his hands slip away from the back of istar's seat and he lowers himself onto the chair directly opposite hers, shoulders drooping almost imperceptibly. " orin has the temperament of a child, bold in that she believes she can get away with it. sadly i'm of two minds belay that, i'm of several minds. the first, you do nothing; fires can't start if fuel is missing, and right now she wants you to said fuel. sparks that don't catch inevitably flicker out. caveat: orin's bhaalspawn, and that could take ages. gods only know how vigorous the both of you are ... but that's why it shouldn't be a problem. "

a pause. gortash fidgets with the ring on his pinky finger, turning it around slowly like a thief waiting for the click of the combination lock. " second, you retaliate with exponentially more disquieting offences. i can't imagine anything that angers orin more than murder for murder's sake. no art, no pizzazz, no message: death because it's what your master wants. and third "

he looks to istar now. his next suggestion, ready upon his tongue like a loaded bullet, almost gives him pause. almost. " third, you eliminate the problem outright. " enver spreads his hands in lieu of a shrug. " but it's easy for me to say: i'm mortal - born and an only child. to you, orin is family ... even if bhaal is nowhere near as sentimental. "

[loveridden1999]

one thing you should know about me is that i condone violence

[edensbite]

it is not often that some unfortunate soul has the audacity to dream above their station; even rarer still is someone gods-blessed within that lot to battle against the odds and come out unscathed for the better. and though it seems like a lucky twist of fate, more often than not, those blessed remain cursed — everything comes with a price. she was not always lady eden, the night's maiden, lady of fortune. once upon a time, she was but a peasant girl, a humble farmer's daughter who always dreamed of the great cities of faerûn. quick-witted and sharp-tongued, and equally vicious with a blade, emika made quick work of the most seasoned gamblers amongst merchants and traders and drunkards at bustling taverns. but emika dreamed too big, flew too high and far too close to the burning surface of the sun — for that, she paid with her life. foolish, stupid, starstruck, and blinded by what she thought was love, she'd been charmed by a beast. now here she is, a beast in her own right.

she kept busy over the century, growing, nurturing, feeding until she was strong enough to be in control as she buried the seeds and the roots of what would be her empire. her own world, one that could not be taken. busier now, now that she's been making the rounds to ensure the gilded names with the most coveted titles took notice of her. her power, her might. eden is thoughtful and always ten steps ahead, everything a careful machination of her own making; she has to slip a small smile in spite of herself, wry, hidden behind a lace-gloved hand as her eyes flicker up from beneath a half-lidded gaze. enver gortash, right on time.

eden clutches a crystalline carafe to her chest, eyeing a vintage upon a shelf she thinks she might pair it with to bring home before turning to fully face gortash. " extremely, " she primly replies. " it's quite comfortable here. this market has the loveliest wines. do you have a favorite? " pausing, she reaches for the bottle she'd been admiring and turns it in her palm, feigning a close examination when it's one of a dozen she already owns. " perhaps you'd like to share one with me. "

[envernus]

oh but she knows exactly how to play, and it's nothing short of delightful. though lower city - born and hells - raised, the patience gortash has developed over the years has birthed in him a certain fondness for the precarious game of control and survival the upper city plays with itself. manipulation knows no bounds, questionable acts and the knowledge of them both flow like wine onto bottomless cups, and a single word can cut as easily as a knife to the throat. luckily for gortash, he's the owner of many, many knives and though he may not wield all of them himself, he has the power to make it happen. he can practically imagine eden sharpening hers even as she looks at him, the examination of the wine bottle in her hand clearly broadcast as an act. it figures. this is the wide, after all, and even though it's hardly at its busiest, one's conduct must still hold.

" you must have tried it by now, surely, " gortash begins, procuring ten gold pieces from a pocket to buy the bottle he'll either share with eden or take home, " but i'm fond of a good bottle of barrel - aged callidyrran. oaky, with just the right hint of spice. elven vintners are certainly something else. "

a distant bell rings seven in the evening and draws his attention away: no doubt the bailiff will be around to enforce the dismantling of the stalls and further assignments come the morning. he looks to eden again and decides to go on the offensive; if she's as virtuous as she's shown herself to be so far, she'll meet him halfway or perhaps all the way. " and if you'd accept company tonight, i'd be delighted to share this bottle with you. as a gesture of friendship. "

she'll laugh, think him a bit too bold, but she won't underestimate him. good. let her.

[envernus]

good timezone fellas, i said i don't do starter calls; however, i'm feeling like getting some writing out this week so it's time to bite a small bullet: one like = one starter based around/using a meme from my prompt tag! multis are highly encouraged to specify, please and thank you -- and if the plotting bug bites you, my ims are very much open for discussion.

[envernus]

for all his years spent in the lowest parts of the lower city itself, he's never once found anything that might lead him to locating the temple dedicated to bhaal. he's made it his business to know the undercellar like the back of his hand and still, the temple remains unreachable, a lair hidden beneath the cloak of invisibility called ignorance. he imagines it like a maw, stretched impossibly open so as to engulf the entirety of baldur's gate and periodically fed by murder and violence often wrought by istar and orin's hands. maws happen to have teeth, and with those it's chewed on and spat out istar far more often than it ought to be normal. though she neither crawls nor drags her feet away from the depths of her haunt on account of her dignity, istar still wears exhaustion like a second skin. she moults whenever gortash gives her shelter.

it's one of those days today. they would have met anywhere else if it wasn't for orin and her shapeshifting so they trade the lower city for gortash's drawing room. his residence is discreet, at a twilight point between the outrageously luxurious and suitably practical, but most importantly it's quiet. it's a place to trade the scent of blood and rust for that of a burning hearth.

she's sat by the fire and is as silent as the room around her. enver rests his hands on the back of her seat, an attempt at gently alerting her to his presence. he's no assassin himself, but his own tendency to walk silently is a habit with decades of life. " you seemed a million miles away just then. " his tone abandons all theatrics. " need me to keep your mind busy, and if so with what? "

@cuntlike / @favoriteache, sc.

[suntamer]

And Ketheric — do try not to sulk. You're supposed to be the fearsome General, come to conquer the city. And I am the hero that will save it.

[envernus]

a tyrant's grip must be one of cool, unforgiving, and intricately realised steel. it cannot budge, cannot falter, no matter the pressure, and its fingertips must deeply pierce those who would struggle against it.

#ENVERNUS. the fraud, the criminal, the man - made monster, the black hand of bane. enver gortash of baldur's gate 3. rebooted in 2026. extremely crossover friendly, headcanon based, divorced from the rpc.

[envernus]

information is as valuable as gold, perhaps even more so in some occasions, and with the help of an ever - expanding network, gortash is becoming more and more proficient in its trade. up top, beyond the ringed wall that separates aristocrats from everyone else, a new socialite is making rounds and drawing considerable attention to herself. the lady eden, as addressed by the gobsmacked young men and contemptuous ladies of many a family, shows a marked disinterest in abiding by long - established and often unspoken rules. in the eyes of the gate's elite, that makes her unpopular; in the eyes of someone of similar inclination, that makes her an opportunity. another foothold, another finger in another pie as people like to say. to gortash, she's a business venture because he won't ever be as naive as to think that anyone that barrels her way into the upper class is interested in playing nice.

the first time he sees eden is at the hall of wonders, and while it's from a distance, gortash is savvy enough to know she wears deceit and thinly veiled tolerance as she humors the company she keeps. later that evening, she's at the birthday party - turned - gambler's den of duke hlath. and when he hears from lady harbreeze that eden often meanders the market stalls of the wide during the late evening, that sounds like the perfect time and place for an intercept.

he finds eden browsing a winemaker's stall with great interest; he might just have to compensate that plump old baker for such accurate information. " if it isn't the latest player in the upper class game. i'd bid you welcome, but i'm most tempted to ask: feeling at home yet? "

@edensbite, sc.

[bladewarde]

Laera makes no earnest effort to move from her spot. Not only is Duke Hlath within her reach, but it offers an ideal vantage of everyone swirling and gliding around her. She takes special care to note Caldwell — another person at least in acquaintance with Gortash. The information they had on him was nothing sensational or scandalous; an ambitious ladder climber that liked to fancy himself equal to a patriar, but he damn well may be something close.

Her eyes shift to him. The way he stares at her unnerves her, but she knows his type; has dealt with many Gortash's, the ones that like to slither around, draped in finery, studded with jewels and drenched in perfumes, waiting for their moment. They're the sort that are usually blind to the company they keep, Guild company, but Gortash, not so. He's wise to her and the Guild's game; however, the game they're playing now has no evident end but the objective, at least, is clear.

❝ Fine. ❞ Acquiescing with a grunt, she throws a passing glance over her shoulder. Hlath is busy arse kissing to notice — or care — that she's been left unattended. Laera doesn't walk beside him, choosing instead to remain a half pace back. ❝ 'M surprised you know anything about me. 'Opefully all good things. Don't know much about you, though. ❞

A server passes by with finger foods, and another with a tray stacked with crystal glasses sprinkled with gold dust; she can smell the brandy as they walk by. On the far end of the hall, a cluster of patriars gather, marveling at a painting the length of eight grown men. ❝ You don't seem like someone who cares much about art. But there's lots of people to share your name with. I'm guessing Irlentree sent you an invitation. Personally. She must be kind. ❞

[envernus]

it's a smart move, keeping a small distance between them; were he in laera's shoes, he would have done the same. for the sake of self - preservation, if nothing else. already, gortash turns to regale her with an approving look. " you guessed correctly, " he intones, voice almost sing - song. " it was indeed duke irlentree that invited me here, though in the same way you also correctly suspect, it wasn't for any particular affinity towards art. call it a covert business venture, preceded by mutual favours. "

he takes note of the gathered guests, be they patriars or otherwise. the silvershields, jannaths and the ravenshades have all attended the auction, and only two of these families being present make some kind of financial and mercantile sense. it doesn't matter: as long as they pay him no mind, he'll stay out of their reach.

" there, two more things you know about me. meanwhile, i hear you've made yourself efficient as part of the guild and if memory serves, you haven't been in the city for all that long. " gortash pauses by a half open window, but still turns his back to the wall to survey the hall. blind spots, always accounted for. " protection is your area of expertise, am i right? "

[wreathcrowns]

❝ You are a smart man, Enver Gortash. ❞  It turned the cogwheels inside the General's undead mind, caused an uncoiling of tightly held restraint, and a smirk to finally bloom while Gortash defends his position. It would take more than a petty task to bring a Banite down, but Ketheric was not displeased by these proceedings which increased his knowledge.  ❝ Does not hurt me to try. ❞  what can, these days?

The task of usurping Gortash's agency now simmered in the back of his mind, but in the present there was another shared interest at hand.

❝ She has been quite successful for my sake. ❞  speaking of this, Ketheric leaned back, uncannily languid in the embrace of his armour. He was certainly pleased by loyalty and accomplishment.  ❝ The toxin freezes one's blood, turns liquid warmth into cold marble, slowly and painfully. Easy to transport, reassemble, and augmented as necessary. ❞  His is the lord of cruelest deaths, and this poison seeped into the abhorrent desire to overpower those he came in contact with, causing agony within them, long and suffering.

There were so many benefits to the freezing of blood, too. Less of a mess, less of a loss, for one. And for two, deter a certain Bhaalist from preying on what belonged to Ketheric — and that was all who yet drew breath, they belonged to him, in due time.

Now, in front of him was also one who is alive and breathing, so blood red eyes bore into Gortash, trying to picture if it was possible for the man to be quiet, to be still.  ❝ Those who are not worthy of being our servants will be committed to the toxin, and be added to our army. ❞  my servant, my army. Ultimately, all soulless ones will benefit Ketheric Thorm's mission.

[envernus]

he doesn't immediately grace thorm with an answer, instead looking up just in time to meet the general's eyes. gortash can only speculate as to what's going through the man's mind but since the topic of conversation is a blood - freezing poison ... well, as it's often said in the lower city, it won't happen so tough luck.

" don't let your imagination run get away from you, general: when i die, it won't be because of any poison, " he says quietly, matter - of - factly, and with the utmost confidence. as he stands again, ready to tackle the matter of the malfunctioning archive interface, gortash examines the base, having to kneel to check the underside of the workbench. he has to suppress a shiver as soon as his knee touches the floor, the simultaneously hard but supple matter from which the illithid colony is woven. more often than not, gortash hardly minds it: there are far worse sensations with which to assault the senses, but now he's keenly aware of the pulsing that reverberates though the floor. there's certainly nothing like hearing a second heartbeat in the background, on the edge of his awareness, forever cursed with alien bradycardia.

the noise and the illithid surroundings thankfully don't distract him. he spots his problem after a lightning - fast inspection, and it takes an amateurish level of adjustment to finally fit the interface needle into its guiding tracks correctly. it says much as to gortash's own recent and amateurish mistake during assembly, but it'll prove a problem no longer. the next mind they insert and the next head they mount as its vessel should communicate with one another seamlessly. " and i wouldn't dismiss the unworthy so soon, if i'm to be entirely candid, " he offers next, straightening to full height. " i don't know if you've heard it said, but one man's garbage is another one's treasure. any miscreants that don't meet your standards could still be useful ... unless there's truly no hope for them. there are only so many lives we can discard until we're left wanting for able bodies. "

[zaratustran-a-deactivated202605]

@envernus // yapped for a starter

he lounged against the window's edge, lingering across the sill unhurried and loose-limbed. "who knows, enver, " the shadow purrs — it is a shadow, nothing but a mass of black in the rough likeness of a man. only the jawline visible beneath its hood. "maybe i'm here for you tonight; i might make it to the guard downstairs in six seconds. seven perhaps. could you, i wonder. something to think about. "

still, lucien makes no move to fully enter nor to exit the other's master bedroom; rather he stays put, though respectfully awaiting due summons. no matter the excitement which haunts his tone ( one that often preempted violence on the better nights ), there is no mistake as to why the speaker is here. it was not the first time, nor would it be the last. enver gortash's pockets ran deeper than most; his willingness to abandon ethical consideration was equally distinguished. this suits them both well.

"dear child, how might i be of service. "

[envernus]

it's an all too familiar voice, the one that startles him enough to drive a scratch through the parchment. well, that's another letter to redact again either later or in the morning, when he's sure he won't wake with the speaker's languid tones threatening his nerves. gortash sets the ink back into the well and half turns in his chair, eyes fixed upon the shadowy mass that calls himself a man lazing about on his windowsill. with the window cracked open, the nightly breeze brings with it the scent of rust, gloomily mixed in with that of food and woodsmoke. enver smiles as though he were greeting an old friend, never mind the not so subtle threat and complete guarantee that one day, the death he's so efficiently paid for will come to take him too.

" punctual as ever, " he offers, gesturing for lucien to cross the threshold from one world to the other. this room welcomes killers easily now that a killer itself inhabits it every night. " i need you and yours' particular skillset: sending messages, and the subtle kind. how much would you ask of me for the life of a florist? " and with negotiation, he paves the way for questions should lucien have any. " you can come in; the rug won't spontaneously combust, you know. "