Gale notes his first musings of liking the leader of their group.
From the Journal of Gale of Waterdeep
‘The leader of our merry little band has piqued my interest. She thanks me for every meal I throw together, and genuinely shows an interest in how I perfect a meal. How she presents her findings for supplies each day is adorable, with a flourish and an apologetic smile. I have been pouring over Cooking for Joy in my tent in the evenings to make sure I can produce quality meals for the group, if only for her commentary on the dish and the delight on her face as she eats.
‘We’ve been through so much in such a brief amount of time, and I’ve grown to trust her. So much so that today I shared some information about my condition. I wish to develop more trust and companionship, however, before I relay the entire sordid ordeal to her. Hopefully by then I can prove my usefulness to her and the rest of our party and they won’t despise me for the monster this orb makes me.
‘Still though, the threat I pose to them is never far from my mind. As our group begins to grow and I get to know each one more and more I worry about what this will mean for me. I have pushed so many away for the better part of two years. But for the first time since the onset of my condition, I feel some elation, particularly when I’m speaking with her. I find myself watching her as she interacts with others, as we move through the wilds, as she battles.
‘Alas, I am merely deluding myself, for we have a most dire situation in our hands and allowing one’s fantasies to take flight is dangerous in the most auspicious of circumstances, let alone in less favorable times. And even if I were to imagine something more, there are far better options for her in camp alone than myself. I am content in being her friend and by her side, for anything more and I simply cannot provide for her at this time, as much as I would like to. Still though, my fantasies take the shape of her more often than that of Mystra as of late.’
So the lyrics of this is shameless rip off of the song Private Eyes by Hall and Oates. The rest of it is a discourse with a watchful eye that is following a tadpoled bard durge throughout their journey.
Enjoy!
‘I see you, and you see me
‘Watching me blow through your line
‘While I’m setting the scene
‘Oh boy, you’ve got to know
‘What my knife overlooks
‘My senses will pick up instead
‘When I’m searching for truth
‘I can’t escape your
‘Scrying eyes
‘You’re watching me
‘You see my every move
‘Scrying eyes
‘You’re watching me
‘Scrying eyes
‘You’re watching me watching
‘Me watching me watching me
‘I play with swords I play with spells
‘I’ll cast them around but that ain’t enough
‘Cause boy you’re gonna know
‘If I’m playing your game or deceiving you
‘Don’t know why but I’m hurting inside
‘I don’t wanna escape your
‘Scrying eyes
‘You’re watching me
‘You see my every move
‘Scrying eyes
‘You’re watching me
‘Scrying eyes
‘You’re watching me watching
‘Me watching me watching me
‘Why do you hide behind the eye
‘You’re a spy but I’m on your side you see
‘I can’t hide behind a disguise
‘You’ll still know me
‘I look into your
‘Scrying eyes
‘You’re watching me
‘You see my every move
‘Scrying eyes
‘You’re watching me
‘Scrying eyes
‘You’re watching me watching
‘Me watching me watching me
‘Scrying eyes
‘You’re watching me
‘You see my every move
‘Scrying eyes
‘You’re watching me
‘Scrying eyes
‘You’re watching me
‘Scrying eyes
‘You’re watching me
‘You see my every move
‘Scrying eyes
‘You’re watching me
‘Scrying eyes
‘You’re watching me’
I finish my song and look up at my one man audience.
“That was absolutely awful,” Astarion says. “Please never play that again.”
I shake my head in disbelief, “I worked all day on that.”
“Well, maybe you should be working on something better, a song about me, for instance,” he grins. “Just a suggestion darling.”
I look out into the night, sensing the ever present watcher. I imagine locking eyes with them, imagine they heard every word of my song, and believe they know I’ve found them out. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right, now come here would you?” Astarion crooks his finger at me and I lean towards him, letting him kiss me.
He pulls away and looks at me thoughtfully. “You know, I find most bards extremely annoying but you really don’t play half bad.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
He stands, looking down at me. “As you should dear. Are you coming or not?”
“I’ll meet you back at camp,” I say. “I just want to play a little more before I come back.”
“Suit yourself.” I watch his retreating figure for a moment before turning back to the darkness.
“I don’t know why you’re so intent on following me around, but I know you’re there,” I say, trying to see the orb I know is just beyond my view. I wait a few moments, but nothing happens. I crook my finger at the shadows, beckoning it closer. “Are you as drawn to me as I am to you?”
Someone is watching, someone has been watching. It wasn’t right away, but since the goblin camp, someone has been watching. Not the guardian, although I think he listens in on everything. Whomever that is, it is not the same as the person in the orb. I run my fingers over the strings of my lute, picking them a little. I close my eyes, leaning against the rock behind me, sighing. I play a tune, a melody for a song I believe I once knew but have long forgotten. I think about the man I saw in the vision with the goblin priestess. He is often on my mind, often in the background, though I am not sure why.
I open my eyes and see the purple ball staring at me, openly watching me now. It’s so close, I could almost swing my lute and knock it out of the sky. I push my instrument to the ground and lean towards it, holding my hand out as if to touch it. It moves ever so slightly closer. “Is it you? The man that haunts me?”
It looms closer as if in response. I tip my frame closer to it and my fingers skim the underside, cool to the touch and smooth as glass. It shudders a little at the feeling but doesn’t rescind, and I cup it in my hands, settling back against the rock with it. The eye shifts inside its case and a ghost of a memory of plans to make these come to me, so faintly. Did I read them in a book? I wince as I try to recall more, but nothing comes. The eye shifts over me, as if assessing me for signs of injury.
“I’m okay, physically at least. I seem to have misplaced myself, however,” I talk to the ball in my hand, treating it as if it were a friend, not a stalking eyeball in the night. “I can’t remember much of anything from before the nautiloid.”
The orb seems to shiver with understanding. I let it go and it rights itself, it’s eye everwatching. I smile at it before gently batting it away from me. “It’s time for bed, and probably you too. Whatever or whoever you are.”
I feel the eye on me as I stand and collect my things, stretching before heading back to camp. I don’t know if the damn thing can hear me or not, or who is even watching, the Absolute? But I feel better having talked with it, even if the conversation was one-sided. At the very least, they’ve been made aware that I know they’re there.
Disclaimer: characters belong to Larian studios and Baldur’s Gate 3
The Dark Urge ponders forgiveness whilst slaying their business partner’s competition. Durgetash implied a tiny bit, but not much. This takes place pre-tadpole and early on in their partnership.
Forgiveness. Very rarely have I had the need to extend this to others, yet I find myself contemplating the theme more and more in recent days. As the leader of the temple, I must balance forgiveness with punishment, and carry out father’s orders as well as cull too much knowledge of the existence of us outside of our circle. Small whispers and rumblings have always existed, but they must never be more than that. We are too small at this time and with the right force could be swept into the abyss again.
Sarevok. He has spent the last years lollygagging, spinning his daughters around for his own amusement, enjoying the lavish praise they give him. Helena is gone now, a trophy in Orin’s quarters, but Orin remains, her devotion to Sarevok despicable. For his part, his neediness to maintain some semblance of power further disgraces himself and by extension, father. His only redeeming quality is his willingness to defer to my judgment and respect my position.
Orin is a puerile nuisance, her open displays of mutilation lack foresight and will put us in jeopardy if she does not contain herself. I send her away as often as I can to commit acts in Bhaal’s name, and so far my sibling has not strayed from my direction, although she is vocal about it. She relishes in the maiming and the flesh, the romanticism of the aftermath, not in the act of killing— the murder itself. Still, I try to remember leniency and allow her to indulge within reason.
Sceleritas Fel, my devoted butler. He does not receive forgiveness, he does not deserve forgiveness. He exists only to serve and please me and by extension my father. He revives anew despite my killing him many times over. He sates my knife hand and my urges when I must exercise restraint for the greater purpose. He is, however, an annoying windbag and I often must slip away in order to conduct business. A quick few slashes and he is incapacitated for a time, which is infinitely helpful.
But what about myself? I am not sure I deserve the same leniency as I give Orin, the same grace I extend to Sarevok. I am born from Bhaal and Bhaal alone, yet I struggle. Father will show his displeasure if I resist the depraved urges he bestows on me, and sometimes I will no longer inhabit my own body, killing without any recollection of the event. Sometimes he will visit me in my sleep, torturing me in my dreams if I have not fulfilled his desire. I do not always relish in a kill, sometimes guilt will take me just as much as these compulsions. It has always been like this, this occasional pain where only pleasure should exist. I wish to put voice to this, to ask if it is the same for others. But to speak aloud would be a sin most condemning. I cannot falter, as without my father’s blessing, I would not exist. I must obey him, to the best of my ability.
I finish cutting down the three men, leaving them to drown in the shallows. Smugglers for the Knights of the Shield, these three in particular had a nasty habit of being too rough with the women they paid for. I watch them flail, a grin playing on my features. There is something, particularly satisfying, about watching someone drown. Especially in water that they could easily get out of, if they still had the ability to.
When they stop moving, I wipe their blood from my blade on my dark cloth pants, the waves of pleasure in witness their peril that I feel is akin to a devout experience and I know my father is pleased with my sacrifice tonight. Perhaps I didn’t need forgiveness after all.
Disclaimer: all characters belong to Larian Studios and Baldur’s Gate 3
Gale discusses his other camp mates and the addition of Scratch. The camp celebrates a little with some libations they picked up on their most recent pilfering. Gale shares an intimate moment.
‘An unexpected companion has arrived in our midst, and whilst I know Tara would not be the most pleased with the situation, Scratch has boosted morale considerably. Even Astarion has taken a shine to him, although he would rather be staked than admit it I’m sure. I caught him giving the stray chunks of bread he had in his pouch and petting him when he thought no one was looking.
‘Talia spoke with Scratch and stated that he is grateful to be with us and while he misses his master, he is glad to have found friends in us. The poor postman had been attacked by gnolls and succumbed to his injuries. Dangers lurk around every bend it seems, and the sheer amount of blood we’ve seen makes me feel as if I really have been sealed away from the world for too long.
‘Although the perils are much greater than I would’ve expected, we haven’t turned into mindflayers yet, so that is something to be grateful for. Whatever the reason for it may be, the artifact that seems to be the reason for it, although the device is a mystery to us all. It has left Shadowheart and seems to have chosen its master in Talia, perhaps because she seems the most levelheaded of us all. Who would’ve ever thought that this eccentric group of so many personalities would ever work so well together without the tadpole binding our fates.
‘We’ve all quickly assumed roles around the camp to make ourselves useful. I do the cooking most nights, while Shadowheart and Talia handle ministrations, providing healing. Astarion is rather adept with a needle and quickly repairs any clothing that needs it, as well as stitching cuts. Lae’zel masterfully sharpens our equipment, with Karlach and Wyll working synchronously to repair and clean armor. We all take turns entertaining one another, our lives so rich and diverse that there is never a shortage of stories and songs. Talia is a gifted musician and can usually pick up the tune of a song if one of us hums a few bars, much to the delight of Karlach, who is an extremely enthusiastic singer. Our ears are slightly less enthusiastic, but I do admire her exuberance.
‘Today’s pilfered provisions provided ample libations, and the mood of the camp was raucous, and it seems our companions have begun to pair off, although it’s too early to hypothesize on what types of couplings those will end up being. For example, Shadowheart and Astarion enjoy whispering about the others, their snideness a fount of joy for them both. Talia flutters between all of us, a welcome addition to any group, but tonight as we all began to settle down and seperating from the larger group, I noticed Talia slip off alone, a bottle in her hand.
‘I fretted about following her, unsure if I should follow her to check in, or if perhaps someone else would. When it became apparent that no one else had noticed her disappearance, I surmised someone should at least check in on her, as she would not hesitate to do the same. I found her hugging her knees with her head on her forearms, the bottle she had taken with her loosely in her hand. I took another step towards her and her head snapped up, her hand swiping quickly at her eyes. She smiled at me, gesturing for me to come and sit with her.
‘I acquiesced and when I was next to her, a respectable distance away, she offered me her drink. Not wanting to be rude, I took it, taking a tentative sip. The frostkiss ale was cold on my tongue, but warm as it went down, and I almost commented on her good taste as her body pressed up against mine, her head nestling into my shoulder. I began to ask her if she was okay but she shushed me, asking me to just hold her for a few minutes.
‘I pulled her into me, and she moved between my legs to push closer, tucking her head against my chest, against this blasted orb. Her arms wrapped around me, clutching me as if I were the only thing keeping her on the plane. I held her to me, the heat of her body warming me in ways I didn’t even know I needed. As selfish as it is to admit, I needed our embrace just as much as she seemed to in that moment. I can scarcely recall the last time I had held another creature in my arms like that, that wasn’t Tara or my goddess, and even then, it didn’t feel as intimate as this did.
‘We remained in that position for some time, and when she finally pulled away, she told me that she had felt a little overwhelmed, and thanked me for being there for her. She settled in next me, our bodies touching casually, as if we both didn’t quite want to end the contact. I asked her if she wanted to talk about anything, and she brought up our moment in the weave, my face burning at the memory of her fantasy of kissing me. I thanked the gods that it was dark and that she would hopefully not notice.
‘Had I thought about it any more than that night, she wanted to know, her brilliant blue eyes watching my face. I had stumbled over my response, telling her that of course I had, but that it had surprised me, in a pleasant way. She drank from the bottle and handed it to me, and I followed her lead, as I would follow her nearly anywhere. When the finish came away from my lips, hers met mine, her lips soft and tentative. Looking back, I should’ve perceived this was where the evening was quickly heading to, but unfortunately, I was so startled that I did nothing. I scarcely kissed her back, let alone progressed the situation forward, and the kiss ended quickly.
‘She apologized, turning away from me. Fearing that I had forever ruined whatever small chance I had for something more with her, I took Tara’s advice and seized the opportunity, taking Talia’s face in my hands and kissing her fervently. Her enthusiasm matched mine and we relished in one another until I sent the half full bottle skittering across the rock and we both pulled away sheepishly. We ended the evening there, walking back to camp with our fingers laced in one another’s. Before we got within eye line, she turned towards me and thanked me for the evening, leaning up to give me another gentle kiss. She told me that I was “just what she needed” this evening. We entered the camp apart from one another, the others asleep or nearly so. Scratch wagged his tail in response to our homecoming, and went to follow Talia as she went to bed.
‘I lay here penning this, my mind now fretting over what she possibly could have meant, what tomorrow may bring, and when I can hold her again. I long to do it even now, she fits me so perfectly. It’s a near-foreign concept to me, envisioning what it would be like to sleep with her in my arms, to hear her heartbeat and her breathing, with equal enthusiasm as I imagine making love to her. This anticipatory feeling is akin to nothing else on this planet, and I vow to treasure it as much as I possibly can.’
Disclaimer: characters belong to Larian Studios and Baldur’s Gate 3
The Dark Urge discovers an intruder in their private oasis during a blizzard.
I’m longing for my bitter cold winter storms and wanted to pen a little something with two characters that live rent free in my brain. Enjoy!
The white comes in droves, the wind whipping the minuscule crystals into a raging silent blindness. Markings of those who may have ventured out into the abyss vanish almost as quickly as they appear. The streets of the city are devoid of any life as I make my way home, having quickly found my own place away from the temple so that I am not always consumed by my work, worship and surroundings.
Nothing special, a small one room house just barely in the outer city. Sceleritas had a fit when he discovered where I had been spending a fair share of my evenings. He had fretted, “Milady, this shack is so beneath your status, what will the others think of their vile leader if they knew you were staying here?”
I had slid my knife beneath his throat. “Then you will make sure they don’t find out, won’t you? You will stay away from this place, or I will cast you off.”
He had not returned for fear my threat may not be idle, and no one had mentioned my little hideaway. I had secured a more prominent residence in the Upper City as well, for dealings and clout. But my dirty little hole in the outer city is special. My little secret. Well, one of my little secrets.
So when I see the soft glow of the fire through the white, lashing out at the cold through the cracks in the doorframe, I stop short, electric alarm streaking down my spine. Someone unwanted in my space. My sacred space. Fury clamps down around my throat, my hand reaching into the folds of my cloak to pluck my knife from its strap. Flashes of beautiful blood spattering in the white snow, the heat of it melting into the white leaving behind stains that none will find until spring gnaw at my vision.
I fling open the door, intent on murderous happenings, only to freeze my blade centimeters from my partner's neck. He smiles. “I thought you might come here tonight.”
Maim, kill, destroy, murder, your spot your sacred spot your safe place violated, kill him kill him kill him! Do it now do it do it! My urge demands of me. My hand trembles, urging me to dig in, my heart screaming at me to stop. My eyes widen in fear as I fight against my nature, against what I know is best. I shudder out a noise akin to a displacer beast in agony.
His fingers wrap against my shaking wrist, pulling it away from his throat, where I can almost see his pulse thumping. His eyebrow quirks skyward as he watches my expression, his remaining neutral, if not almost pleased. He takes his other hand and pries my little finger from the handle and jerks it backwards, forcing the dagger to fall to the floor, sticking into the wood. He immediately laces his fingers with mine, quelling the shake, and bringing it to its original position, he presses his lips to the back of my hand, a flirtatious grin on his face.
A shuddering breath I didn’t realize I was holding escapes my lips, and I feel my body relax slightly, having been successful at defying the urges within. For now. I let this man lead me further into my own home, closing the door against the white sheets of snow behind us. “How did you find this place?”
“It’s merely good business sense to be aware of any and all assets my partner possesses,” his dark eyes lock onto my pale ones. “And anything that may possess them. I’m trusting you’re feeling… better now?”
“I am,” feeling the heat from the hearth beginning to warm the chill from my bones. “You are incredibly foolish, coming here, surprising me. If I don’t slay you, your dimwittedness will.”
He chuckles as he begins to put more wood into the fire, stirring errant sparks. “You find me just as brilliant as I find you.”
“That is the harshest insult I think I’ve ever received. You wound me, Gortash.”
His laughter booms throughout the small home, warming me more than the fire ever could. He finishes tending the fire and stands up, closer to me than before. He plucks at the hem of my cloak, his voice dropping lower. “Let’s get you out of these wet clothes.”
My tongue is suddenly thick and unmoving in my mouth, and all I can do is nod imperceptibly, dropping my gaze slightly. I move to pull the length of fabric from around my neck, but his fingers beat me to it, his hands skimming over my shoulders as he lets the cloak pool on the floor at my feet. He clucks his tongue. “These are wet too, just how long were you out in this weather dear?”
“I—“ My sentence dies in my mouth as he takes two fingers and pushes an errant strand of hair from my face, then trails them down my neck, running them along the collar of my top, feather light against the top of my breasts. He lets them drift down farther, hooking them into the top of my corset and pulling me forward, closer to him.
My eyes catch his again, deep dark pools of desire reflecting my image back at me. In a flash, our lips find one another, the months of coiled tension releasing. We make quick work of one another’s clothing, and his hands grab at my thighs, hauling me up and around him as he brings me to the small bed tucked in the corner. He drops me onto it, himself following right behind, hands and mouth marauding my skin, setting me aflame.
The unrelenting onslaught of his tongue against me has me shattering to pieces beneath him, and when he finally slots his hips against mine, I dig my nails into his back, earning a groan from him. He moves ruthlessly against me, pinning me between him and the mattress. I sink my teeth into his shoulder, attempting to drown my cry of pleasure with his flesh.
“Fuck,” he snarls, twisting a hand in my hair and jerking my face to his, his lips bruising my own. He bites my lower lip and metallic taste blooms over my tongue, and we come apart together.
Outside, the snow continues to fall, wrapping around the one room home, blanketing our indiscretion. Tomorrow I know we will have to face what we have just done, but tonight, tonight I let Enver Gortash hold me close and whisper sweet nothings into my ear as I drift off, completely relaxed for the first time in recent memory.
Disclaimer: characters are owned by Larian Studios and Baldur’s Gate 3
Gale reflects on his Moment of Magic with Talia, and his relationship with Magic and that of his goddess, Mystra.
Enjoy!
From the Journal of Gale of Waterdeep, #3
‘Tonight Talia found me at camp whilst I was conjuring the image of Mystra, contemplating what twists of fate had brought me to my current predicament. Mystra is my goddess, despite her rejection of me, she is magic and all I’ve ever known. But yet, tonight while I beheld her image, she seemed to hold less allure. Perhaps it is because I am so taken by another, or perhaps it is that I feel so disconnected from my goddess and the weave at this moment, given that the tadpole has further stripped me from the wizard I was before I stumbled on my path to greatness.
‘Talia startled me initially when she approached, so graceful and quiet are her movements, no doubt a result of her countless hours spent in the forests and in animal forms. I tried to explain, rather poorly looking back, what Mystra means to me, what magic means to me, and she seemed to understand. I felt that it would be better to show her, and she agreed to let me teach her how to connect with the Weave. We walked through each step slowly, and she followed my instructions seamlessly. While she possesses her own form of magic, this was something new and wonderful to her. I could see it on her face, the excitement and joy when we channeled the weave together.
‘The closeness I felt to her in that moment was blissful. In retrospect I should have warned her to be on guard, for she does not have the same familiarity with magic as I, and her thoughts and feelings rushed at me in our moment of connection, much more than what the tadpole allows. And by the Weave she imagined kissing me in that moment! I cannot recall a time where I’ve been more startled to discover something so wonderful, so unforeseen. To think, she feels similarly as I do, despite much better candidates for her affection in this very camp.
‘Her face flushed slightly when she realized, and I tried to reassure her, knowing that my shock had allowed my own feelings to flow to her as well. The moment slipped away and the weave parted from us. My own thoughts on the subject were so overwhelming, combined with the feeling of loss when a person disconnects from the Weave, that I ended our evening there, thanking her for letting me share a piece of myself with her, a moment of magic.
‘She appeared startled by the abruptness of the ending and thanked me in turn, leaving to go back to the campfire, where Wyll and Karlach were swapping stories and laughter. I tried to read a book I pilfered from the abandoned village we explored today after slaying some goblins, but I couldn’t focus, my thoughts trailing back to what I imagined she was thinking. I heard her peel of laughter after a while, and comforted myself in the knowledge that she was able to regroup after our interaction. Talia is so resilient, able to keep a smile close at hand and an innate ability to read the situation and always say the right thing.
‘I must finally admit to myself that my feelings about her are very much not a passing fancy. She has marked my heart in a way that I didn’t dare believe another ever could again. I can’t help but worry that I’m a passing fancy for her, especially with the ease at which she connects with everyone around her. She is a beacon in the darkness and we are all light-starved insects reaching for her glance. I know I am the least deserving of her glow, yet she has bestowed it upon me. How can one not be drawn to her? Not bask in her presence, drown themselves in her blue eyes? I know I am now hopeless in regards to her, and will gladly accept any and all she may ask and offer.’
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Larian Studios and Baldur’s Gate 3
Gale reflects on an evening with Talia, in which he talked about Tara. This is pre-weave scene
From the Journal of Gale of Waterdeep
‘I am being foolish, I know. But tonight, the way the campfire shimmered in her eyes as she listened to Karlach’s story about, well I can’t remember at this moment because I was admittedly too busy watching our leader. I am no artist, at least when it comes to mediums outside of the weave, but I would paint her features a thousand times over. I was merely content to listen in and enjoy watching her interact with our other companions, but when Karlach decided to leave us, Talia turned her full attention to me and asked if I would like to join her on a walk.
‘And how could I possibly refuse her offer, especially when she was looking at me so earnestly? I threw another few pieces of wood onto the fire and followed her to the top of the small waterfall near our camp. She sat down on the edge and motioned for me to join her. Already this far into the venture and feeling quite foolish, I obliged, sitting a respectable distance apart from her.
‘I believe she does truly have a genuine interest in me, in all of our merry little band, as she asked me many questions about my life in Waterdeep. I told her about Tara, and mentioned how I missed her and hoped she was getting along without me. She wanted to know what I missed most, aside from my conversations with Tara, and I told her I missed stroking her fur and how she would curl up next to me.
‘I was going on, I’m certain, when the clatter of glass on stone made me pause. Here was Talia in her cat shape, having dropped a bottle of speak with animals next to me. She mewed softly and swished her tail, as if asking for my permission to approach. I was so baffled by her desire to comfort me that I didn’t even think to cast the spell on me and drank the potion.
‘She asked if it was okay, if I wanted to pet her, how she could make me more comfortable, as if she wasn’t the one providing the support. I had no other choice but to accept her offering, and she put her paw tentatively on my thigh. I brushed my fingers tentatively against her head between her ears, feeling her soft fur, so much like my dear Tara. She sighed against my touch, her purr a salve against my desolation. She pulled herself up into my lap and curled up, telling me that it felt nice.
‘I asked her if she had ever been pet before, and she regaled me with a couple of stories of children in the small village she grew up in and how they would beg her to change shape so they could play with her. How a creature could be so full of goodness, I’ll never know. Our conversation dwindled as I pet her, and I blushed when I realized she had fallen asleep in my lap. I did my best to stay still, letting her rest, remaining in the same position far longer than I should have. I shifted ever so slightly and she stretched in my lap, exposing her torso which I stroked before I realized what, and who, I was petting. She cracked her emerald green feline eyes open and looked up at me, but said nothing. I began to apologize when she cut me off, apologizing herself for falling asleep.
‘She stood in my lap and stretched briefly against me, her claws gently digging into my flesh before hopping off, changing form behind me. I scrambled to my feet, wishing to at least collect my thoughts and properly apologize for being so forward. As we walked the brief distance back to camp, Talia thanked me for the evening with a smile, ever so gracious, and we parted ways near the fire, where she paused to put some more wood on before going to her own tent. She sleeps now, I’m sure, whilst I pen this, unable to sleep for my own thoughts race now. I never dared to dream of having such an intimate moment with her, and yet when I was given the opportunity, I clearly overstepped.
‘She brings out the best in everyone in camp and always has something positive to say, even when the day’s events haven’t gone as smoothly as expected. I am grateful for the amount of time she gives me, when everyone else needs so much of her. I can only hope that I didn’t add to her hardships, and even a small part of me wishes that perhaps she was able to relax even slightly in our shared space. However, I can’t help but let my more baser thoughts of the idea of such an exquisite creature being in my lap, in a form that was all of her own. Why do I torture myself so?’
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are Larian Studios and Baldur’s Gate 3
I jolt awake with a gasp, adrenaline pulsing through my veins. “I said you weren’t going anywhere, love.”
Gortash grins, relaxing in the chair in front of me. Thanks to the scroll of revivify that he used, the sparkling dust of it now mixing in with body fluids on the floor, I’m feeling less variable. My friends, no my family, are still dead though, and my heart feels like it’s been cleaved in two. I see Astarion’s—yes definitely Astarion—form on the ground, his red eyes open but vacant, as I test my fingers, pressing each one to my thumb as I rove my eyes around the archduke’s office.
“Eyes on me, Draela, spare your softened heart the pain of it. I tried, didn’t I? They’re literally all over the floor though, poor little spawn.” Gortash’s own gaze flickers to Astarion. “You two bonded over that, I suppose. By freeing him from his master, it gave you the courage to face your own, didn’t it?”
“Fuck you,” I growl. Gortash flinches like I’d just slapped him.
“Okay, you’re right, that was a little harsh. I’m sorry sweetheart, I know they meant a lot to you. Their loss is regrettable. But we can’t have them messing up our grand plan, can we? Really, I’m giving myself too much credit, this was your brainchild afterall, I just helped make it a reality,” his dark eyes hold mine, and I can’t detect a hint of deceit. Did he truly wish they could be spared?
I try not to allow myself to hope, but it takes root anyway. Karlach, Astarion, and Shadowheart are gone now, but what of the others? Will Gortash just lock them away?
“Drae, while I can just take the two netherstones from you, I truly don’t want to do this alone. I mean, I can of course, but it was always supposed to be you and I ruling, and I still want you by my side, despite all your efforts to derail our destiny.” As he speaks, he stands and slowly walks around me.
“Me as the Archduke, and you as my duchess.” He places his hands on my shoulders, gently on the one that is clearly out of place, his breath curling against my ear. “I still want you, and I know you want me too.”
A shiver of excitement coarses through me, and I feel the same way I felt eating the dead spider. No, this is much more than that. His soft chuckle against my flesh, his finger trailing down my neck. Gods what is wrong with me? His teeth graze my ear and a soft moan falls out of my lips before I can stifle it.
His touch trails down my skin, following nearly the same path as my blade had all those months ago. His deft fingers slide inside my battered armor and brush against my nipples, already hardened and needy for his touch. My body betrays me, arcing towards his hands, begging for more. Pathetic that I am, I nearly whimper. His breath in my ear again, his voice a husky growl, “there’s my girl. I’ve missed this body.”
He ghosts his fingers over them again, and this time I can’t bite back the whine. He sucks in a breath, clearly enjoying himself. He strokes my breasts, getting nearer and nearer to their awaiting peaks, and I feel like I may explode. He finally relents and his skilled fingers work my nipples over as I cry out in pleasure. “That’s right, that’s my girl, you do remember.”
He drives me swiftly to the edge pinching and squeezing and touching my nipples in a way only he could. In a way only a familiar lover could. “Cry out my name, sweetheart, and cum for me.”
“En-ver!” I cry, my pussy throbbing as I orgasm, able to fight my dark urges but helpless to his commands. He promptly moves away from me, but not before slipping a hand down my trousers and a finger between my folds, just barely grazing my clit before pulling it out, causing me to gasp in pleasure. Sticky and glistening, he comes back around me before he puts his finger in his mouth and gives his own moan of pleasure.
“I tell you, Drae, there is nothing on this plane that tastes as good as you do,” Gortash says, winking at me as he flips his chair around to sit properly, his erection evident. “I would taste you morning noon and night if I could.”
I bite my lip, staring at the bulge in his pants. He notices and his grin widens. “Oh? Do you want this?”
He gestures, I nod. My hands twitch against the bindings that hold them.
“How do I trust you though? You’ve lied to me, tried to kill me—not for the first time but this time you were really serious—and now you want me to give something to you? You want me to fuck you, to make you see stars as you come apart around me, over and over again?”
This is lunacy. I am bruised, wounded, broken. I should be mourning the loss of three members of my found family. I should be trying to kill the man before me, but all I want right now is his length inside of me. I have gone completely mad.
And he has too, or he is incredibly foolish. Who the hells wants to have the person who has attempted and successfully destroyed his plans to be by their side? Worse, to be their lover? I drag my eyes along his form to meet his. “You’re foolish if you do, but that won’t stop you. It’s never stopped you before.”
“That’s true,” he says, adjusting himself. “I only seem to be reckless and foolish when it comes to you, though. You bring everything out in me, good and bad.”
He leans towards me again, pulling a small tube from his pocket. He begins to fiddle with it and I watch with interest as the artificer moves with technical precision. “You’ve taught me a lot over the last couple of years, did you know? Some valuable life lessons, especially when dealing with that bitch sister of yours. One of those being, always have a contingency plan so you can get the drop on your enemy. It’s why I was so surprised to see you— well, gone.”
“I don’t remember,” I say. He nods.
“In the interest of full transparency, this tube contains a concentrated dose of both antimagic as well as a paralyzing agent that allows you to move but unable to get away, as very much exertion will completely tire you out. You will be fully healed, but your strength completely sapped. Should you agree to it, I’ll inject you with it and we can safely engage in whatever we please.” He taps the tube and a needle slides out, ready to strike.
“And if I refuse?”
He grimaces. “Love is a terrible burden, Draela, one that I had hoped to never have to experience. But here I am. I can’t bring myself to kill you, I can’t let you go. I won’t let you kill yourself. I was lost without you, going through the motions because what else could I do? I hate everyone, hated Orin, all these stupid weak minded and weak willed people. It was the only emotion I had left. Anger and hatred, rule the world and make everyone suffer the way I suffered without you. Seeing you, knowing you were out there, knowing you would eventually come back to me, changed or not, no matter your goal, gave me purpose again. If you refuse, I will inject you anyway, and you will never be far from my presence. I don’t just want you, Drae, I know now that I need you. I am yours and you are mine.”
He leans back and lifts his shirt, showing me the mark I left on him so many moons ago. A part of me longs to trace my fingers over that mark, trace my tongue along its white lines. Reforge it if it fades. I feel fresh tears welling in my eyes and close them to keep them from falling. “What about them?”
Gortash is quiet, and I open my eyes again to find him looking thoughtfully at the bodies of my friends. “The only way to keep them alive is to give them the same fate. Otherwise they pose too much of a threat.”
“Is this injection reversible? Will you ever trust me enough to give me myself back?”
“Hypothetically, yes it is reversible. I haven’t tried to make a cure.” He shrugs. “I was too busy trying to perfect a way to keep you.”
“You promise you’ll figure out a way to reverse it?” His gaze holds mine, his expression earnest.
“My love, I want nothing more than to trust you. I want nothing more than to know you’re with me, fully and willingly.”
“I agree.” He nearly tips my chair over as he crashes his lips to mine, the words barely out of my mouth. I feel the sting as he plunges the needle into my neck, the effects of his concoction kicking in almost instantaneously as the light I had conjured in my palm fizzles out.
His knife makes quick work of my bindings and he is hauling me up to him, wrapping my legs around him and moving us to his desk. In one sweeping motion he clears off and roughly sets me down, his lips never leaving mine. My fingers fumbled at the lacings of his trousers but he rips them down, his shaft finally released. I stroke him and he groans, pulling away to tear off my own clothes.
He forces himself inside and I gasp, grabbing at his jacket and pulling him closer to me. I bite at his lower lip and he growls, pulling himself almost completely out before slamming into me again. He pushes me against the desk and bends over me, worshiping my skin with his mouth as I move to meet his hips with mine. My hands find purchase under his shirt and my nails dig lightly into his back and he groans in pleasure, his pace quickening.
I wrap my legs around him as the pressure builds, urging him on. He brings his face to mine, kissing along my jawline, then my lips. “Look at me.”
My eyes find his dark orbs as his fingers brush my hair away from my face. He nuzzles his nose to mine, parting his lips to say something but then thinking better of it, he buries his face in my neck biting me instead. I gasp in surprise and scrape my nails down his back before digging them into his ass.
“Fuck, Drae,” he groans. “Cum for me right… now.”
I cry out, my body instantly complying, clenching around him. He raises himself up and keeps going, throwing one of my legs over his shoulder. Every thrust is another crashing wave and when he drags his teeth against my calf, his name falls from my lips like a plea.
“That’s my good girl, say my name and cum for me again.” He roughly grabs my ass and sinks the metal of his gauntlet into my flesh.
“Enver! Oh gods, Enver!” I spasm around him and he hisses in pleasure, slowing as I struggle to catch my breath.
He pulls out and I hear my wetness drip onto the floor in the silence. I whine at the emptiness, at him not cumming himself. “Shh shh shh.”
He leans over to kiss me, his fingers already teasing my folds. “Don’t worry darling, I’m not through with you. Far from it.”
He buries his face between my legs, working me over with his tongue and his fingers, his nose rubbing up against my clit when his tongue plunges inside, and his fingers replacing his tongue when he rolls it against my clit instead. “Cum on my tongue, sweetheart, let me taste how much you want me.”
I come apart again, my fingers in his hair as I grind against his face. His own pleasurable groans escape his lips as he tastes me. He pulls away momentarily, probably to catch his own breath, once again working his fingers against me and I can’t take it anymore. “Please, Enver.”
His face registers surprise. “Please,” his voice is husky, filled with wanting, but the word sounds as if it’s foreign to him. “Please, what?”
His fingers rub against my g spot and I moan in delicious agony. “Please, Enver, I need you.”
I must imagine the heat creep on his cheeks as he barks “Turn around.”
He grabs me before I can begin to respond, his hands rough as he spins me around and presses me against the desk. My feet can barely keep me upright but it’s no matter for him. A sharp sting as he slaps my ass before rubbing the spot gently. A flash of a flash of a memory of me telling him that his softness in bed disgusted me early on in our relationship; in my old life. He pushes my legs further apart, while pulling my hips to him, grinding himself against me before slowly, agonizingly slowly, easing into me. I sigh, delighting in the satisfaction of being filled by him.
He begins slow, steadily increasing his speed. “You cum when I tell you, alright? You can take it, I know you can.”
As he thrusts hard and fast, his fingers twist in my hair, pulling my head back and to the side so he can see my face. I rock my hips to meet his and his hand resonates against my ass. He pushes me gently down against the desk, my head still turned so he can see me. He groans, closing his eyes for a moment. “Gods, you’re exquisite.”
I push back against him and he growls, moving even faster as his grip on my hips tightens. Just as it is reaching its crescendo, he curses and pulls out. I collapse against the desk, my legs weak. He helps me back onto the desk, turning me again and coaxing me even further onto it, his body following mine. I gaze up at him, taking in his features. The face of evil, the face of a man I once loved, the face of a stranger. His voice is low, “I need to see you.”
I nod, and he rocks himself into me again, lowering himself onto his forearms so he can be close. He kisses me, and my lips part to let his tongue in. His hand cups my breast, his fingers playing with me, teasing my flesh. I moan against his lips and his pace picks up. He pulls his mouth from me as the pressure builds and stares at me. I do my best to keep my eyes on his, but my vision is hazy with lust. His fingers dip down to stroke me. “Enver—“
“Now, cum now,” his groans and I call out his name again as I break into a million pieces with him. He calls out mine like a prayer on his lips.
“Mmmm,” I purr against his neck a few minutes later, pressing my lips to it. I feel deliciously, completely full. He rests above me, his frame against mine but still maintaining some resistance to crushing me against him and the desk. He twitches still inside of me, and I run my tongue against his collarbone. He twitches again and this time I playfully move in response, earning a growl from Gortash. He gently lifts himself off of me and slowly pulls out of me as he climbs off the desk. I watch as he looks at the mess he made with satisfaction. I struggle to stretch my legs out and together, my muscles aching from tension and release.
“Don’t move,” he says, wagging a finger at me before he disappears for a moment. I turn my head towards the bodies of my friends, knowing they’d be absolutely horrified if they had witnessed the scene that had played out mere feet from where they’d been slain. My stomach twists and nausea overwhelms me and I have to turn away, rolling over to my side to face away from them. Gortash returns with bowl and a towel.
“What are you—?” I begin as he shushes me again.
Gently, he eases me onto my back once more and parts my legs. I throw my arm over my eyes, suddenly self conscious with the way he is looking at my pussy. He runs a finger gently down my folds, making me gasp as I spasm. I listen as he wets the towel and wrings it out, carefully pressing it against me and cleaning me. The water is warm, and the gesture is so intimate, I want to recoil from him, lash out. Instead, I bite my lip and let him continue.
When he is done, he scoops me up into his arms and carries me to his private quarters. He sits me on the bed and rubs his hands together, a gesture I recall he would do when he was extremely nervous. “I had a few things made for you, and if you don’t like them, we can find something else. I want you to be comfortable and dressed in only the best.”
He opens the closet, and I take in the dozen or so pieces, each exuding status and wealth. A memory of pink satin, stained in blood, my fingers feeling the fabric between my fingers and vowing to dress more elegantly. I move to the clothes, admiring each in turn, noting the dark color scheme, with the exception of two, one predominantly teal. I take it down and Gortash offers to help me into it. I accept, first pulling on the matching undergarments, feeling his gaze on me. He helps me step into the dress and then makes quick work of the lacing, keeping the bodice form fitting and flattering without sacrificing breathing and mobility.
“Enver, I’m not going anywhere, you do know that?” I ask, watching him in the mirror as he finishes lacing.
His gaze meets mine in the mirror, hurt flashing across his features. “I just want to make sure you’re really you, is all. You’re so different from the Draela I fell in love with; yet so much of you is the same. Orin tried many times to trick me into believing she was you.”
I turn, one hand in the hair at the nape of his neck, the other against his cheek. He leans into my touch as I rub small circles into the base of his scalp. “I’m not the same, that’s true. Orin made sure of that when she made mincemeat of my brain. But I’d like to think that I’m someone a bit better, someone out from my father’s thumb.”
He takes me hand and presses a kiss to my palm. “So far, I like what I see.”
————
That evening, I lay in his bed, tucked into his side, plotting. I feel his chest rise and fall, tell that he is sleeping and sleeping soundly, probably the first truly sound sleep he’s had in awhile by how quickly he was able to relax. Whatever he injected me with, he trusts it will be enough to keep him safe. He isn’t the only one with ‘lotions and potions’ as that hag would say.
“Enver?” I rise onto my elbow, looking at him, and his arm around me tightens for a moment. This seems to stir him awake and he pulls me on top of him, his arms wrapped around me and pushes a kiss to the top of my head.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs into my hair.
“If you could have just one of your desires, what would it be?”
“You,” he says without hesitation. “Without you, I’m nothing.”
“You’re sweet,” I say, earning a chuckle from him.
“Or stupid,” he says as I lift my head to look at him. He opens his eyes and meets mine in the darkness. “What are you plotting, my virago?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.” We assess one another for a moment, before he laughs again, shaking his head. “You know what? I don’t even care. End me if you must, just promise me that your face will be the last I see. Grant me that, at least. Let me die by your hands.”
“If it comes to that,” I press my lips to his, and he returns the kiss eagerly. “But you should know by now, there’s always another way.”
He holds me to him, languidly moving his mouth against mine. “A million ways to murder me, you mean? You’ve told me in great detail.”
I wait for the desire to come, to have to fight myself to stay present, but nothing comes. I grin against his lips. “I have no desire to describe your end to you.”
He pulls away. “Truly?”
“If I can reject and be rejected by my god, perhaps…”
“Hush,” he snaps, fear shining in his eyes. He further quiets me by crushing his lips to mine, roughly positioning my legs around him, his arousal pressing against me.
Later, spent from being lost in one another, I begin to drift off, nestled against him. He shifts me gently as he places a hand behind his head, pulling me closer to him with his other. He waits to see if I stir, and when I don’t, he lets out a slow breath. “Perhaps.”
Disclaimer: characters are not mine, but Larian Studios for Baldur’s Gate 3
A Bhaalist Tradition (I just made up), one gives the person who has impacted them the most in the last year the heart of one who has slighted them or otherwise caused them grief. Claret had done just that last winter solstice, and her business partner had thrown it away, disgusted. She won’t make the same mistake again.
Claret watches the snow fall outside from her position at the Elfsong tavern, having taken the corner table for herself to drown her sorrows. She had nearly forgotten about last solstice and how she had declared her interest in her business partner, only to find her token of adoration in the garbage, and him annoyed at her for bringing him ‘gory tokens’ when she could just tell him who she killed if he needed to know about it.
She takes another long pull of her ale, knowing that trying to drink her sorrows will amount to nothing. She had taken care to carve out the heart of that man who had dared speak ill of the subject of her affection, how carefully she had removed it, cleaned it, and put it in the perfect packaging.
A Bhaalist tradition, one cuts the heart out of someone who has wronged the creature who has most impacted their life since the last solstice. Lovers give them to one another. This year, Claret is going to give her heart to Ghislev, who has agreed to become the undead Farslayer to further protect the temple. Due to the cult's growing influence in the city, more and more people are trying to find the temple, and security needs to be increased. Ghislev has proven himself to be both worthy of Bhaal and worthy of the honor. He only has asked to have one last winter solstice to be with his lover and to slay the one that has caused them the most grief.
If Claret were crueler, she would’ve picked his lover to be the sacrifice for Ghislev, as he is clearly causing Ghislev grief. Instead, she has killed his cousin, who had spoken out against the cult. She has the heart in her satchel, cleaned and fermenting in a jar with a white satin ribbon that had been soaked in the cousin’s blood. Claret finishes her drink, looking out once more to the heavy flakes. She pulls her cloak on and stands, only to feel a small tug at her side.
“Ma’m, this is for you,” the young errand boy says, holding out a folded note. She takes it and slips the child two silvers which he quickly pockets and bows, before rushing away. Claret unfolds the note and see the neat, tight encrypted lettering of the Banite.
‘Will I see you for Solstice? I have something for you.’
She sneers, crumpling the note. She had planned on stopping by his place for a quick romp after giving Ghislev his heart. But now she wonders if she should give him the satisfaction of seeing her. After all, their last meeting had left a bad taste in her mouth. They weren’t exclusive or anything, and they hadn’t ever vowed to be anything more than business partners, but having him cut her off early so he could go whisper sweet nothings in some patriars ear still hurt her. She didn’t like the way he made her feel in those moments, didn’t know how to handle herself. Their non-relationship was the closest she had ever come to anything remotely long term, previous affairs always ended bloody in one way or another and were exceptionally short-lived.
She leaves the tavern, heading to Ghislev’s home, still unsure of what she would do following her visit with the future farslayer. The streets, earlier bustling with people are nearly empty, save for a few souls hurrying through the storm to their destinations and those unlucky enough to have nowhere else to go but the streets. Still, there were fires in alleyways for those undesirables, and perhaps a few would be fortunate enough to breathe their last breath for Bhaal, as was common for those without someone to give a heart to their god instead.
The snow crunches in under her boots as she nears the small home in which Ghislev shared with his lover. Gods, Claret hates his lover, an arrogant sniveling little man who constantly ridicules Ghislev. She reaches the door and knocks, hearing voices inside.
The door swings open and the snooty face of the high elf gazes down at her. “Oh, it’s you.”
“I just need to see Ghislev for a few moments, Daevin,” Claret says, brushing past him. She didn’t make a habit of social calls, but she had visited them many times, taking a special interest in Ghislev, as he was one of her first recruits when she had first arrived in Baldur’s Gate.
Ghislev turns from the fire to look at her, confusion passing on his face. “Is everything okay?”
“No, things aren’t okay,” Daevin scowls, “you’re interrupting our solstice.”
Claret’s eyes flash, and she has to stifle her urge to sacrifice Daevin to her father right now. She grits her teeth and vows to end him once Ghislev is stationed as farslayer. Her voice comes quiet and low, “Care, Daevin.”
Daevin’s face pales and he says nothing more, but still holds his posture. Claret removes the jar from her satchel and presents it to Ghislev, bowing slightly. Ghislev bows as he takes it, “For me!”
“For you on the night of the most shadow. Your cousin shall not cause harm to you again,” Claret says. “I shall leave you to relish yourself in the night, for all too soon the dawn will come.”
“Thank you, my Lady,” Ghislev says, bowing deeply again to her. Claret brings her hood up and steps around Darvin, pausing for just a moment to lock eyes with the elf, watching as he trembles before she whirls out into the night once more.
Claret finds herself in front of Gortash’s workshop, her mind still not made up if she should see him or not. She shifts on her feet, the cold beginning to seep into her boots. She sighs, turning to go when the door swings open to reveal her business partner, “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to come.”
He beckons her inside and she hesitates for a moment before giving in and going inside. The workshop is warm and welcoming, and Enver helps her out of her cloak. He hangs it near the hearth as she takes in the space around her with surprise. The hearth’s fire glows brightly, two glasses and a bottle of wine sit on his cleared off workbench along with some meats and cheeses, there is even a scent of cinnamon and cranberries in the air. She eyes him warily, “are you expecting someone?”
“Only you, my murderous beauty,” Enver purrs. She laughs.
“You cleaned this all for me? How long did that take?”
He grins. “Longer than I’d like to admit, if I’m being honest. I wanted to make the longest night special for you— for us. I know how special it is to you, now.”
“It’s just another night, another silly holiday, Enver.”
The smuggler rolls his eyes. “Don’t be flippant, it’s unbecoming.”
“Much about me is unbecoming, which is why you don’t find me mingling in high society all that often,” Claret replies, a grin on her lips.
“Don’t tell me you still upset about the other night,” Enver replies.
“I came here, didn’t I?”
Enver opens the drawer to his workstation and pulls out two ornately wrapped packages and sets them in front of her. “I was planning on giving these to you later, but perhaps it’s best I do this now.”
Claret eyes the boxes in front of her, hearing a soft metallic sound coming from the smaller one, but makes no move to open them. She occasionally gave small trinkets to her business partner, usually tokens from the people she had eliminated on his behalf as per their agreement, but never had he returned the gesture. His acknowledgment of their dealings have been grander gestures, such as torture racks of her ancestors which were now proudly on display in the temple. “What are these?”
“They’re gifts, Claret. For you,” Gortash’s smile doesn’t meet his anxious gaze. “Just open them.”
Claret’s fingers shake slightly as she pulls at the golden ribbon on the first box, the bow unwinding easily. She lifts off the lid and stares inside. “Enver?”
She pulls the glass case from the box and looks at the organ suspended in the middle. He gives her a small smile. “I wasn’t aware of the custom last year, and didn’t know the significance. This is the heart of the man who hit your little urchin girl last tenday in the park. I only hope it begins to make up for the way I mishandled your gesture.”
Claret’s eyes water as she smiles. She had went to find the man and couldn’t. She often gave coins and baubles to the urchins that hung around the park she frequently busked at for a brief escape from the temple. She was self taught and not particularly good, knowing only a small handful of songs, but the street children would dance and play about when she performed and it made her feel like she was doing something nice for them. “Thank you.”
“Open the other one,” he encourages.
She picks up the smaller box and opens it, pulling out a chain from which hangs a tiny metal heart, the intricate device moving—no, she realizes, beating— as if it were a real heart. Enver steps closer and takes the box from her hand, pulling her palm up to rest on his heart. She feels his heartbeat at the same rhythm of the one on the chain. “What is—“
“Claret,” Enver says quickly, his pulse beginning to race under her touch, “you have my heart. I know that our relationship is unorthodox and far from ideal, and that it may be our downfall in the end, but you are the only person I have ever given my heart to, the only person I will ever give it to.”
She presses her lips to his. “Blessed Solstice, Enver.”
Disclaimer: all characters are owned by Larian Studios and Baldur’s Gate 3.
Post events of Baldur’s Gate 3. Dark Urge has settled into a more peaceful way of life, but is still troubled by her past.
Just a quick little something with a different character pairing.
The wilds have become home to me over the last few months, particularly as we continue to work to revitalize the lands surrounding moonrise towers. The shadows have lifted but there is still much to do and sunrise to sunset is spent toiling away most days. I enjoy it, as it keeps me busy and doesn’t allow for the intrusive thoughts to take root during the waking hours. And if I’ve had an especially exhausting day, I can slip into a blissful dreamless state free from what haunts me.
But many nights I’m jolted awake in a panic, heart racing and blood pounding in my ears. Sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe and I gasp and cough, clutching at my throat. Sometimes I’m screaming and I don’t even realize it. My poor love never leaves my side during these moments, instead holding me and comforting me with his presence. I often wonder why he stays with me, doesn’t at least rest elsewhere, with so many other burdens on his shoulders. I hadn’t thought I’d ever be yet another thing he has to carry.
Even though my father does not have his hold on me any longer, my mind still continues to try and make due with the fragments from my past, connecting pieces together that may or may not fit. How long have I lived, how many times have I been slain, how many methods of torture did I inflict and endure? How many times did I awake, even in the short time with Kressa, twisted and broken beyond recognition? I feel so very near madness all the time, standing on the precipice and looking over into the abyss, feeling the rock cracking beneath my feet.
Right now, however, those feet carry me further from the settlement, farther into the wilds. I long to train, to practice the very things that keep me safe, keep me sane, the movements and incantations that are as much a part of me as my flesh. Lately, the only magic I’ve been able to use are healing spells and little tricks to entertain the many children who we look after. While my sinister compulsions no longer drive me, the desire to utilize my more destructive abilities has only grown in the light of domestication.
I find a small clearing and begin to put myself through the paces, my body responding instinctively to the imagined stimuli, my spells ricocheting off the stones and absorbing into the ground harmlessly and my blades twist, slicing through the air in a fever pitch reserved for droves of opponents. I train until beads of sweat roll down my spine, until my breath comes in hard bursts. I train with every weapon in my arsenal, from daggers to quarterstaffs, shortbows to hand crossbows. I fight as hard against the imagined foes as I did the Githyanki warriors.
My hands on my knees as I try to steady my breathing and slow my heartbeat, I sense something watching me, the familiar tingle of alertness running through my person. I stay still, trying to figure out where the creature is without raising suspicion, casting a furtive glance around but unable to notice anything that stands out. I pick up the staff on the ground in front of my feet and slowly rise. While the shadow curse has been lifted, some of the creatures still remain, although there haven't been any recent reports.
I feel the ground shift beneath me and before I can react, vines spring up and grip me, holding me in place. Panic threatens to bubble up inside me as I rub my fingers together to create a flame. I speak the incantation and push it to the vines, “Ignis!”
The vines char, but continue to make quick work of me, rushing up my legs and back, coiling tightly around me. I fight to keep my arms free but this is no regular entanglement and soon I’m immobilized completely. I thrash against the plant, stilling only when I hear the chuckle behind me. “I am pleased, my heart.”
My lover stands before me, smiling down at me even as his spell holds me fast. I glare back at him, but feel my own smile dancing across my lips, try as I might to keep myself in check. He palms my cheek, brushing his thumb over the cut in my eyebrow. “Your battle hard edges have begun to soften, I see.”
“That’s not a good thing, what if we are needed again?” I nearly whine my frustration at him.
“Then we will cut down a few lesser foes first, of course. And it is a good thing, only a few short months ago and you would have driven a blade through my heart before you could even see who I was walking up on you like this.”
The vines begin to loosen and I twist out of them, moving away from their grasp. “I fail to see the upside of me not having done that, and also why you were unhinged enough to see how I would react.”
“It means you feel comfortable and safe, and able to let your guard down. I hoped I would be a familiar enough presence that I could get close enough without you noticing me. You are growing and changing, continuing to defy your birthright and find your true self.”
“Well, I was True Soul so it only makes sense I would find my True Self.”
Halsin’s booming laugh is a balm on my irritation. Standing next to him I feel like he could shield me from anything wicked that may come our way. He is a comfort to me even just within eyesight. I begin to pick up the various weapons and other items I had brought with me, and he frowns. “I hope I did not interrupt your training.”
“No, I was done for today anyway. I need to go hunting and find something before the day ends, I promised Okta,” I say, beginning to take my leather armor off.
I feel his gaze on me, the hunger and need wafting off of him as I strip, but I keep my eyes down, knowing if I were to look at him there would be nothing for me to present to the elderly tiefling.
“You know, I can think of more than one way to use that spell,” Halsin’s voice takes on a husky edge and I can’t help myself. I catch his gaze and smile in nothing but my underclothes.
Disclaimer: Characters are belonging to Larian Studios and Baldur’s Gate 3
Pretadpole. Moonrise Towers, a meeting of the Dead Three’s Chosen. Mild tension as the plan continues.
Enjoy ~
“I still fail to see why you insist on animity, Draela,” Kethric begins, leaning over the table towards me. “It’s not doing you any favors.”
I laugh. “It’s easier for me to keep them in line if they don’t know what purpose I serve, if they remain at a distance and fearful.”
“And they should fear you,” Enver agrees readily.
Ketheric shakes his head. “But how do you expect them to continue to revere you as they should, without knowing how pivotal of a role you play?”
I lean back, steepling my fingers together and take a deep breath. I try to remember that we are only a couple of months from the beginning of the end. Yet I am so tired. I cast my eyes to Enver, watching as he works his fingers against his palm, clearly fighting the stiffness in them from all of his correspondence. He will have to take his leave soon to return to Baldur’s Gate and I am itching to join him, torn between feeling like I need to be here to keep the elder brain functioning properly as well as Kethric’s little minions in check and taking care of temple matters as well as causing further panic in the name of the Absolute. The Banite catches my eyes and smiles guiltily, stilling his hand.
“I prefer some intrigue and mystery, old man. Besides, I doubt your own followers would feel comfortable knowing they remain a heartbeat from death in my presence. I work best in the shadows, and that’s where I will remain.”
“For now, my dear. But you will need to embrace the light at least a little when the time comes for us to rule together,” The tyrant gently reminds me.
“I think we are both looking forward to you taking the centerstage with us as your counterparts, Gortash,” Kethric is quick to respond, and I nod. Kethric has always been a reluctant participant in our partnership, more so since Myrkul brought back his daughter who is disgusted by him. I try to find empathy for him but I simply don’t have it in me. Only an old fool would expect his daughter, whose faith is so strong in an opposing god, to be grateful to be by his side and join him. Especially after all these years she’s lost.
Gortash lets loose one of his famous political smiles, the smile that charms dozens and dozens of elites, and strikes fear in many more. I say very little else for the rest of the meeting as the two hash out intricate details over and over again. The same things we have discussed a hundred times over, with only the tiniest variants that change nothing.
I have been struggling to sleep lately, tucked up in small quarters. Kethric had offered to move Balthazar out of his hole for me, but contrary to popular belief, I prefer sleeping in clean quarters and without the stench of the undead flooding my nostrils. My father visits me while I sleep, visions of a future of rivers of blood and gore, carcasses of the dead piled like mountains on his altar, for him. He wishes for quicker progress, but we are stalled for the time while we track a new lead on something that may prove to be our undoing if we cannot locate it.
I watch my lover as he talks, gesticulating as he goes. I think about what those hands, those fingers, can do to me. What mine can do to him. Suddenly I find myself standing, my hand on his shoulder, freezing him mid-sentence. He looks up at me, concerned. I blink down at him, equally as surprised. I quickly catch myself and turn towards our third. “I think we are done for now, Kethric. That will be all.”
“But—“ Kethric begins, and my grip tightens on Gortash’s shoulder.
“You heard the lady, Kethric. We can continue in the morning. It’s late,” Gortash crosses himself, putting his hand on mine.
Kethric stands, fixing me with a glare. “Fine. But this—“ he gestures to the two of us, “needs to not interfere with our plans.”
“It’s just sex old man,” I retort to his back. “I have told you before I can assist in finding you a suitable replacement if you are interested.”
“I’m not.” He opens the door to leave, looking back at us once more, “you’re both being foolish.”
Kethric’s words echo in my head long after he is gone, long after Enver and I have exhausted ourselves with one another. I lay tucked into my lover’s side, listening to him sleep soundly, longing for that sleep myself, wondering just how foolish I truly am.
From the Journal of Unknown, found in the Underdark
Gortash x Dark Urge (post tadpole)
Word count: 269
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters, they are property of Larian Studios and Baldur’s Gate 3.
Durge has a dream about their former life, and someone who was a part of it.
‘These thoughts, flutterings of violence, images flashing in my mind to things I must have done, people I must have known, places I must have been. They come so fast and so furiously, and leave me sick and miserable.
‘I had a dream last night, and it wasn’t the dream tiefling protector. It was only flashes of memories, something stirring within, something my brain is trying to connect. Dark hair and dark eyes, a tower looming up to the sky, a featherlight touch from calloused hands, a kiss stolen in the night. Death and destruction all around us while we held each other close. Schematics for giant monstrous metal beings, wrinkled as we made love on a desk. Blood being tasted by me from a wound on his chest, his smile twinged with concern as I bandaged my own injuries. Glittering metal fingers. Infernal creatures laid to rest by my blade. Laughter and joy amongst the terrible scene.
‘My heart races just thinking about that man, but along with the excitement comes a tremendous amount of guilt, feelings of loss and confusion. I must have done something terrible to him, to feel the guilt and pain that I do.
‘But who was he, and why do I feel compelled to maim and murder the ones I care the most for? I feel I need to repent for something, if only I knew what and to whom I needed to repent to. Still though, those dark eyes have haunted me since waking. I long to get lost in them once more.’
Disclaimer: All characters owned by Larian Studios and Baldur’s Gate 3
A quick little something between Durge and Kethric at Moonrise, shortly before the plot of bg3. Tensions are already brewing, and Durge is doing their best to keep the peace. Enjoy!
As always, I appreciate any and all feedback.
“We really couldn’t do this without you, Kethric,” I croon, smiling at the older man as I lean against the table. He rolls his eyes and huffs.
“You need to keep your pet Banite on a better leash then.”
I drive the tip of my knife into the wood, the smile disappearing. He doesn’t react. “Kethric, sweet senile Kethric, we both know who is at fault here and it’s not the Banite. Your necromancer has crossed a boundary, again. I suggest you have more than just a talk with him before he ends up in so many pieces even he can’t put himself together again.”
Kethric’s eyes narrow, his distaste evident. “Fine. I’ll take care of Balthazar. Now if that’s everything, I’ll take my leave.”
He pushes his chair back with force as he stands up. He turns to walk away from me. “Oh, and Kethric?”
“What, Bhaalspawn?” He turns back.
My face twists into a sinister smile. “If you or your little pets step out of line again, I’ll free that bitch myself and let her handle you.”
“H-how do you know about that? Who else knows?” Kethric’s face pales.
“Not to worry bonelord, I have no interest in exposing your dirty little secrets to anyone. You know I’ve done arguably worse. I want you to be happy old man. We need this to work. But we cannot allow our underlings to overstep and pursue their own interests and ambitions, you understand?” I pull the knife out of the table and place it into my belt loop, flashing the old man my palms.
He holds my gaze for a moment, assessing me before nodding. “Fine. In the interest of quelling ambitious underlings, I’d recommend keeping an eye on your sister. She’s a liability and we both know it.”
I laugh. “Don’t worry about Orin, I am always careful when it comes to my blood thirsty family, my friend.”
“I hope so.” I watch his retreating form, a slightly uneasy feeling settling over me.
NSFW - cw: blood, gore, death. Mildly unwanted/unwarranted sexual advances
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters portrayed in this writing, they are property of Baldur’s Gate 3 and Larian Studios
Gortash has defeated the merry band of travelers, and all that remains is his former lover. Despite all the steps she has taken against him, he can’t help but hold out for hope.
“You’ve been quite the little hero, haven’t you?” The words reverberate in my broken mind as my eyes swim, trying to focus on who or what was speaking. The more I rouse, the more my body screams in agony.
“Wha-?” I manage, it comes out as barely a whisper. I recognize the twin peaks I stare at now, my own knees, covered in blood and bruises and one jutting off at a painfully odd angle. Fearful, I try to wiggle my toes. They move, barely, painfully, agonizingly.
Two fingers slide under my chin and jerk my head upwards. I wince in response, seeing the dark haired man. The painful touch is replaced with an odd, soft caress against my jawline before he removes his hand. “You look at me when I talk to you, Drae.”
I shake with the effort of leaning back, my spine and ribs protesting. I remember now; I remember him calling me Drae. Affectionately. A series of images come flooding to me quickly, a montage of still shots. He was the first person to really see me, more than just an expert assassin, a bhaalspawn.
I work my tongue in my mouth with effort, the nerves in my face crying out in pain every time my jaw moves, telling me it’s at the very least dislocated. I fix my old lover with a glare, and with effort, spit a glob of curdled blood at his feet, watching his face with satisfaction as it briefly flashes with disgust.
He laughs. Not his usual haughty laugh, a full body laugh, complete with watery eyes and several snorts, which makes him laugh even harder. I find myself chuckling despite myself, if only for the absolute absurdity of the scene, but a small part of me wonders if I’ve well and truly lost the little bit of sanity I manage to hold onto.
“I was worried,” Gortash catches his breath. “That my Drae was truly lost, but I see her now. Maybe it’s just a spark, a flicker of a ghost, but it’s enough for me.”
He pauses expectantly. I say nothing. Every shallow breath I take is a thousand tiny daggers into my lungs.
“When I saw you in that goblin camp, I didn’t dare believe it was true. Not at first. My eyes were betraying me, you chatted with that drow. Through the scrying eye, I couldn’t let myself have that hope. I’d seen your body, mangled nearly beyond recognition. What that bitch did to you, I—“ he bites his lip and I hear his fists clench and unclench, the metal moving against itself.
He shakes his head and draws a calming breath. I say nothing.
“No matter, she’s dead and you’re here now,” he tears his eyes away from me just long enough to find the only other unbroken chair in the room, dragging it in front of me and straddling the back of it.
My vision swims to another lifetime, one in which the same scene is in front of me, but Gortash—no Enver— is resting shirtless, a goblet of wine in his hand. I sway my hips seductively in front of him while he watches with that look of absolute devotion on his face. ‘Come on, I promise it won’t hurt too much. I’ll kiss it to make it all better,’ I plead with him. I drag the tip of my blade enticingly down my body and watch with excitement as his eyes follow the movement. He groans in agony, and pleasure washes over me. I know I’ve won before he even says the words, ‘I can’t believe I’m going to let you do this.’ I grin and press my lips to his eagerly, the idea of making his flesh as mine forevermore almost as thrilling as the promise of another night of ecstasy with my lover that is sure to follow.
Gortash’s touch snaps me out of the reverie, jerking my head away from his palm and snarling, the movement reverberating down my spine, pure agony. How could I have ever loved this man? The sheer amount of terror and pain he’s caused. What he did to Karlach alone is unforgivable. The hurt and disappointment on his face pulls at my heartstrings though.
“I know you’ve taken another lover,” Gortash says softly, keeping his arm close to me, out of bite range but the gesture of longing to touch me doesn’t go unnoticed. “I never thought of all people though that it would be that pompous asshole— the Blade of the Frontiers he calls himself, what a twat.”
He snorts. “I don’t blame you, he’s charming in his own way, I suppose. Still a twat, though, even if he has you on his arm. You deserve better, Draela. You deserve more than a whelpling servant of a lowly cambion. Didn’t even have the intelligence to make a pact with someone who holds real power, a real devil.” He snorts again.
I say nothing. I had begged Wyll to stay at camp, begged him to stay there and if we didn’t return, to leave. I hadn’t wanted to worry about him during the battle, I wanted him safe. Our last conversation had been an argument over him staying behind, and our last kiss had been me desperately trying to convey to him how much I love him, while he only felt hurt and betrayed by my insistence.
And now, I’d never see him again. If he is dead, I don’t wish to continue on. I didn’t want to continue on when my father killed me, but Withers brought me back to finish this. But I can’t. In the end, I couldn’t defeat Gortash, and I refuse to go on trying if Wyll is dead. So sweet, so romantic, so completely opposite the monster that I was. He loved me despite everything I had done, accepted me as I am, fought for me when I couldn’t fight myself anymore.
I feel the rivulet of water streak down my cheek, and Gortash sees it. “Fuck, you’re not, crying, are you?”
I say nothing, not even bothering to try and blink away the tears. My vision is beginning to go spotty, and I feel the darkness starting to come for me again. I silently beg for it to claim me forever. My eyes focus on a bloody boot, the pool of blood it rests on starting to harden. Maybe Astarion?
“Ah ah ah,” Gortash clucks, reaching out to force my attention back on him. “You’re not going to be joining them, sweetheart. Not yet, anyway.”
I’m too weak to pull away from him again, letting his thumb skate over my lips. He sighs, his expression softening once more. He groans, “The things these lips can do to me should be illegal.”
My mouth tingles where he just touched, and I let my tongue taste the blood mixed with the saltiness of his hand. He sucks in his lip as he watches, and some sick part of me is pleased to see the effect I have on him even now. A sicker part of me is excited by it. I close my eyes. Just for a moment.
His thumb grazes my cheek before his fingers push my bloody hair behind my half-pointed ears. He keeps two of his fingers at my jawline, using them to keep my head from lolling. I hear wood on wood as the chair scrapes back, feel his lips press to mine.
