#bjk plays bg3 durge
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Ch'k'l ghaik Vlaakith m'zath'ak!
Can you feel it crawling through you? Tendrils squirming in your chest, gripping your heart, piercing your belly? Your bones popping, your flesh swelling?
I can. I see it in you. I feel it in me. We are lost.
I will be quick with my blade. First you. Then the others.
Then myself.
#bjk plays bg3 durge#rakha the dark urge#giffing bg3#lae'zel#durge#lae'zel bg3#laezel#bg3 lae'zel#i have come to the decision that i love all the writing and VA in this scene a lot#to no one's surprise#real pain to color tho XD
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A drabble dedicated to @rhysintherain because this has been living rent-free in my head since I posted yesterday about Rakha and Lae'zel going to shake down Zorru:
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Karlach settles into camp quickly. She has spent a lot of time on the move as part of Zariel's army, and part of being a soldier is being able to make herself comfortable in any random bit of space big enough for a kip. Hells - having her own tent and space around it is practically palatial compared to the bunkroom full of cambions that was her primary resting place in Avernus.
Almost the first thing she does as soon as she's got her tent set up is sprawl out on the ground and stretch her arms and legs out as far as they'll go in all directions and let the sun beat down on her. It's not really home, not quite yet, but it's close. This is the happiest she's been in a long time.
She's halfway to dozing off for a comfortable nap when she realizes Rakha has wandered back and is just...standing there, staring at her.
Karlach opens one eye and peers up at the half-orc curiously. "Can I help you?"
She's already learning that her new friend is kind of a strange one, even without what she's been told about the other woman's memory loss and intrusive murder thoughts. Rakha doesn't always seem to know how to talk, and certainly not what normal conversation sounds like; she just says things, blunt and clipped, without concern for niceties. And she blinks just slightly too little, which makes her steady gaze a smidgen unnerving.
"I have a question," she says.
"Oh?" Karlach sits up slowly into a cross-legged position, jerks her head to indicate Rakha should sit down. "Well, let's hear it, then."
Rakha does not sit - does not, in fact, move at all. "Your race. Is it tiefling or teeth-ling?" she asks, with the same level of gravity she might have brought to ripping Karlach's head off.
Karlach blinks rapidly. "Sorry, what?"
"You are like those in the grove. The refugees," Rakha says. It's not a question, merely a collection of facts gathered for appraisal. "Gale called you tieflings, after we killed two rescuing Lae'zel. Lae'zel, however, pronounced it teeth-lings." She squints at Karlach intently. "I require your clarification."
"Oh." It's not really fair to laugh - and really, Karlach's amusement isn't at Rakha's lack of knowledge. It's the incredible seriousness of the demand, as if this question lies on par with all the unanswered ones about the worms in their heads. "Well, I can understand the confusion," she says, keeping her expression serious with an extreme effort of will.
"Yes." Rakha folds her arms. "Lae'zel would not mislead me, I think," she adds pensively after a slight pause. "She guided me from the nautiloid. She speaks with knowledge and without pretense."
"And Gale doesn't?" Karlach grins crookedly.
Rakha's expression twists with something like confusion. "I do not understand Gale," she admits slowly. "He knows much I wish to learn. But I feel foolish when he speaks."
"Too many words," Karlach agrees commiseratingly.
"Yes."
Well, it's almost an act of kindness, then, if that's how she feels about it, Karlach thinks to herself. A morale boost for her friendship with Lae'zel. It'd be doing her a favor.
But really, it's just the fact that it's the first time she's had the opportunity to do something funny in almost a decade, and she's not emotionally strong enough to resist that temptation.
"Well, I can tell you for certain, it's definitely teeth-ling," she says, serious as a funeral. "Lae'zel was right on top of it."
Rakha nods gravely. "Ah. Excellent." A pause. "Thank you."
She turns and walks away. Karlach crawls at once into her tent, curls into her bedroll, stuffs the pillow in her mouth, and howls with laughter.
-----
"This is your doing, isn't it?" Gale asks her several days later.
"No idea what you're talking about," Karlach says around a mouthful of the camp's latest attempt at "stew". It's a particularly unimpressive attempt tonight; the vast majority is carrots, and the rest is a very uninspiring cut of meat that is uncomfortably grey. And yet, somehow, it's still better than anything Zariel ever fed her.
"Rakha called Zevlor a teeth-ling to his face this afternoon."
Karlach lets out strangled giggle. "Oh, my gods. Seriously?" She drops her spoon back into her bowl with a clatter and gives him her full attention. "Tell me everything. What did his face look like?"
"Even my prodigious powers of description fail me on the subject. I think we may count ourselves lucky that he was too perplexed to be offended," Gale says dryly. "But most significantly to the point, any attempts to correct her afterwards have come to naught. She claimed that you were responsible for this particular crime against pronunciation and considered the matter irrevocably closed."
"Hmph," Karlach says cheerfully. "It was Lae'zel who came up with it. I just confirmed it."
He rolls his eyes. "You're enjoying this linguistic catastrophe, aren't you?"
"Listen, Gale - she's not hurting anyone, and the last time I had a little stupid harmless fun was 1481. Give me a break."
#bjk plays bg3 durge#rakha the dark urge#rhysintherain#bg3 drabble#bg3 fic#dark urge#karlach#bg3 camp life#durge
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Random little Durge moment I've been bouncing around in my head for a bit...
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Wyll pokes his head out of his tent curiously and can't immediately place the sound. Everything else around their current campsite is natural, gentle - the soft babble of a nearby mountain brook, the brush of wind through the trees. Incongruous, then, is this new sound - of a sharp, atonal twanging at irregular intervals.
Rakha is seated at the edge of the cliff where the camp is placed. Her back is to him, but he can see the head and base of a lute sticking out on either sides of her body. Her head is bowed with an air of intense concentration.
Another sharp twang splits the air.
"Is that Alfira's?" Wyll asks gently, moving over to her side and looking out over the mountain vista below.
Rakha grunts noncommittally. She plucks at the lowest string and listens to its resonance, how it echoes back off the stone face opposite them.
"Have you been carrying that all this while?" He lowers himself to the ground next to her, crossing his legs.
Another grunt, a pause, and then, "Yes." Another pause. "It was the only thing I left intact."
He nods slowly and says nothing further, but listens as she slowly plucks out various notes on the instrument. There's no structure to it; she seems to be analyzing the way the notes shift based on where she places her fingers, but it's certainly not melodic in any fashion.
"Do you know how?" she asks him abruptly, after several minutes of this have gone by.
"I did, once," Wyll says with a slight smile. "My father saw to it all the courtly skills were in good showing - dueling, dancing, music. I never did get much of a knack for it, though. And after seven years, I doubt much has stuck around." He tilts his head. "Do you... want to learn?" he asks cautiously.
She shrugs, twangs out another note. "I did not want to kill her, Wyll," she says.
The hairpin turn of the conversation makes him blink. "So you've said."
"No, I--" She pauses, makes a noise of frustration. "All the others, there was something of me. Some... anger, or fear. Even the squirrel in the grove. I was awake, at least."
"But not Alfira."
"Alfira... my body killed her while I slept." Some complicated emotion works across her face. "I find... the more I travel, the more you teach me... the more it troubles me."
He feels a little flicker of warmth despite the brutality of the subject matter. For everything that she struggles with - and there's a lot of it - she listens to him, she internalizes everything he says, rather as he listened to his father and stored away each bit of wisdom as it trickled down to him. There is a trust in that - in both directions.
"And that's why you're playing her lute?" he asks slowly.
Rakha runs her fingers high up on the fretboard, pulls the highest string and listens to it squeak. "It doesn't bring her back," she says to herself.
Not quite an answer, but close enough. "When we get to the city... there are people who can teach you." He smiles slightly again. "Perhaps I'll pick it up again myself."
A long, long pause. She strums her fingers along the lute from top to bottom, playing out a sharply dissonant chord that makes his teeth ache. "Perhaps."
#bjk plays bg3 durge#rakha the dark urge#durgewyll#wylldurge#durge x wyll#wyll x durge#durge#bg3 durge#bg3 drabble#bg3 fic#bg3 fanfic#my writing#wyll ravengard#bg3#baldur's gate 3#rakha has been carrying around alfira's lute in her inventory for weeks now#purely bc i intended to write this at some point XD#it occurs to me that zenjestrr was suggesting a possible late-game build for rakha involving levels in bard#which didn't actually affect my plan to write this at all but does tie in nicely now that i think about it
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As Rakha slowly comes back to herself in the wake of the zaith'isk explosion, she is dimly aware that the ghustil is screaming with rage.
"SHKA'KETH!"
And then Lae'zel's answering scream, shakier and weaker than usual and trembling with fury. "What madness is this? The zaith'isk nearly destroyed me! I AM GITHYANKI! I WILL NOT BE GHAIK!"
"My life's work. Gone..." the ghustil whispers hoarsely as Rakha clambers unsteadily to her feet. The doctor seems barely to notice Lae'zel's pain or her anger - her attention is all for the shattered piece of machinery at their feet.
She rounds suddenly on them, her eyes fixing on Lae'zel with sudden intensity. "And yet she lives - and so does her parasite."
Narrator: [INSIGHT] Her voice cuts with a fanatical edge - an obsession bordering on mania. If there's a chance the parasite lives, she wants it.
It's not hard to guess the doctor's thoughts. She knew the machine would kill. Her concern was never for Lae'zel or Rakha's survival - only for what she might learn. And now that disinterest is colored by rage.
She has betrayed them, and because her betrayal failed, she is dangerous.
Pathetic creature, says the beast in Rakha's head. We will do as we promised. We will tear out your throat.
"Your zaith'isk tried to kill Lae'zel," she says, her voice cold as ice. "And failed."
At her side, Wyll shifts uncomfortably. He knows that tone. So does Shadowheart, although she seems to be only half-listening; her eyes are fixed on Lae'zel, a bit of healing magic drifting from her fingertips but unspent, as she has nowhere to direct it. The damage done here lies within.
"The zaith'isk does not fail," the doctor hisses angrily. "The only variable in this experience was you - and your parasite! And I will uncover how this happened."
She is as hot as Rakha is cold - incandescent with fury at her neat little plan falling to pieces. Rakha almost reaches out and takes her by the throat then and there, but before she can do so, the doctor pushes past her and out into the hallway. "Wait here. I will gather my tools."
And then she's gone, and they are left alone with the smoking ruins of the zaith'isk and Lae'zel's cry of abject despair.
"No. It can't be. It can't! THIS WAS MY RIGHT!"
----
Rakha does not expect Lae'zel to want to speak to her. The tension between them has been harsh and cold for a week or more now, and all by Lae'zel's choice; Rakha has no reason to expect a conversation in the wake of such terrible disappointment would go well. So she says nothing, but moves over to examine the empty husk of the deadly machine.
To her surprise, though, Lae'zel stands beside her and speaks in a low mutter.
"I followed protocol," she says hoarsely. "I kept to my faith. Yet the zaith'isk might have killed me."
It is a plea for comfort, reassurance, understanding. Rakha says nothing. What can she say? This was the plan from the beginning, a plan based on Lae'zel's absolute, unshakable confidence - and the plan did not work. There is no cleansing to be had here. The worms still sit in their skulls.
Receiving no response, Lae'zel stares down balefully at the remains of the machine and then scowls tightly, fumbling for an explanation. "The ghustil tampered with it. Traitor - and there may be more still! This must be why the Inquisitor's come."
Rakha can hear shades of her own manner of speech in Lae'zel's words in this moment of strain - the accumulation of fact and fact and fact. It would be touching, perhaps, in some other scenario where the young gith's conclusion was not utterly wrong.
"The zaith'isk is supposed to kill you," she says flatly. "I saw it for myself."
"A deception," Lae'zel snaps. "Proof of the doctor's manipulations. The queen does not mislead Gith's children!" She turns away sharply. "Now hurry. We must go to the ch'r'ai and inform him of the doctor's sedition."
Rakha watches her go with an unreadable expression. She wants to believe, even now, that Lae'zel could be right, that this was a traitorous act by the doctor that could not have been anticipated. But deep down, she knows it is not true. Lae'zel was wrong. They have always been walking towards a death trap, because Lae'zel believed things that were not true.
What other wrong things has Rakha believed because of Lae'zel's confidence? Has she also been wrong to trust Wyll? To trust Karlach?
Rage simmers in her chest, undirected, formless - a rage born of humiliation and pain and deep fear mixing with the beast's everpresent hunger. The doctor dies first. And then we will speak to this Inquisitor. And if I am right, and this place was always a trap, then Y'llek's halls will run red with its own blood.
#bjk plays bg3 durge#rakha the dark urge#oh dear lol#will be interesting to see how/if rakha and lae'zel's friendship survives this whole situation#for now i must sleep#(poor lae'zel. she wasn't really close with hector at this point but at least he was a bit more stable and willing to listen)#(rakha is not exactly a good person to have in your corner in a moment of emotional upheaval)#(yet at least)
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At some point I will have to try going to talk to W'wargaz before going to the ghustil, because I imagine that changes things at least a little, but for right now, Rakha doesn't care overly much about the Inquisitor. She is here following Lae'zel, and Lae'zel is here for the zaith'isk. And then they will be cleansed and can move on to more interesting matters - matters of vengeance rather than survival.
There's a painting of Vlaakith hung on the wall of the corridor leading to the ghustil.
Narrator: This imposing portrait depicts a powerful githyanki warrior, undeniably regal in her mien.
"Vlaakith herself," Lae'zel murmurs. "She is both the sun that blinds us and the void that contains us. Praise be."
Once again Rakha wonders - in the old life that she has no memory of, did she once also feel such fervor for a god? Is there some god that watches her still and judges her movements?
The portrait is marked with a strange bit of graffiti - a swirling marking of what seems like a fireball in flight. Deliberately drawn, certainly - but nothing Rakha can place. She considers asking Lae'zel. But Lae'zel's thoughts are elsewhere, in the Astral Plane she one day hopes to see.
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OK, for realsies this time (maybe?), a few more explorational highlights from the grove area, and then we're off in the direction of the goblin camp, because Rakha craves goblin blood and answers and it seems the most likely place to get both. (After not being able to hurt Mizora, Sceleritas, OR Raphael, she's feeling very pent up and not in the fun way.)
Rescued Mirkon from the harpies on the beach! We didn't do this with Hector last time. In this case, I suspect it was definitely Wyll who originally encouraged Rakha to go down and see if the kid was okay. ("Your favorite drownings all take place in shallow water," the Narrator helpfully informs us. "Just a slice of the ankle tendons...") She also got completely hypnotized by the harpies as well, because it occurred to me that (to her recollection) she has never heard music of any kind before, let alone music that beautiful - and not only that, but it quieted the Urge.
Lae'zel (I assume) snaps her out of it. And once Rakha figures out what's going on and that something else was taking control of the inside of her head, she got MAD. This fight didn't go particularly well for anyone except Lae'zel, who rocked an absolutely brutal crit on one of the harpies, but Rakha got to expend some frustration on all of them with some applications of Burning Hands, which made her feel overall a little calmer.
We got a Folk Hero inspiration for Wyll for helping the kid out. Gale was also pleased, although I think Rakha cares about that somewhat less.
Hit level 3! Rakha now has more spell slots and can (with sorcery points) cast an action spell as a bonus action. More fire!
Chatted with Volo. Rakha, after her recent interactions with Sceleritas and Raphael, absolutely got jumpscared by him greeting her as "my good friend!" until she realizes Volo is just Like That. She's also utterly baffled when he asks her for information on the goblin battle and then deliberately writes down falsehoods instead. ("A mythweaver," Lae'zel says disdainfully. "This man has no respect for truth.") He does confirm what she's picked up about the presence of the Absolute cult, though - and indicates that the goblins are also part of it, although it's hard to tell whether she should believe him.
Stopped down to see Mol since Mirkon said we should. It was not a particularly exciting conversation, but contact has been made which will be relevant later. Rakha definitely looks at the kids differently than she does the adults in the area, mostly because of Wyll's influence and his story of how he became the Blade of Frontiers.
Checked in with the two tiefling guards in the back corner room, one of whom is threatening to shoot a caged goblin prisoner in revenge for her dead brother. Unsurprisingly, Rakha did nothing to stop this. ("Your mind wanders," points out the Narrator, in the soft, cold drawl she uses for the Dark Urge's specific thoughts. "If the crossbow bolt shot through her mouth, would she taste the metal before she died?")
Stand back and admire the guard's overflowing hate.
She waits and watches while the guard's crossbow bolt slams directly between the prisoner's eyes. Interestingly - Wyll approved of her choice.
Interacting with the squirrel above the main grove was uh. Sure something.
Narrator: This squirrel might be the single most adorable creature you can recall in all your stunted memory! It would be ever so twee if it were climbing a tree.
And then Rakha got this weird grin on her face and hauled off with a kick; there was an explosion of blood and the squirrel's dead body landed in the upper branches of the tree nearby.
"Terrific," says Lae'zel (presumably while Gale and Wyll look on in complete horror). "If I'm ever harangued by a rodent, I know who to call for."
Narrator: You stare at the body before you. You have no idea what just happened.
Rakha feels the beast in her head settle, its recent frustration soothed by this spilling of an innocent creature's blood. She remembers the deep, crunching impact of her boot and a deep shiver rolls through her whole body.
"My body moved without my command," she mutters hoarsely. "I couldn't control it."
The others don't respond. What is there to say?
Narrator: The swirling bile cauldron of your brain is cooking up a poison stew - served and seasoned by that venomous butler.
#bjk plays bg3 durge#rakha the dark urge#well that escalated quickly and upsettingly at the end there o.o;#i feel like that's going to be a regular durge experience
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Wellp we've encountered our first instance of Maybe We WON'T Take That Particular Dark Urge Option:
Let's put that back I think. [slams F6 hastily]
#bjk plays bg3 durge#rakha the dark urge#it said FANTASIZE dammit XD#i guess i should have known better#depending on how it serves her story i *might* be open to some bad endings for some npcs at rakha's hands#but i would like all the companions to remain intact pls
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@morganaseren replied to this post:
Huh. Y'know, I actually never had Lae'zel in the device first because I thought she got a permanent debuff for doing so.
She does. :( Or, well, she can, in the same way that the player character can if they are in the zaith'isk.
As with the PC version, passing or failing the two checks in the dialogue determines which (if any) debuffs she gets. In this case, she got an intelligence debuff because Rakha failed the first check ([WISDOM] Call on your parasite. Show Lae'zel what she stands to lose.)
She passed the second check ([PERSUASION] "I've seen the truth, Lae'zel... This device doesn't cure. It kills."); had she failed, Lae'zel would have also gotten a WIS debuff:
Looking through the full dialogue tree, there are also paths that could have led to a CON debuff as well.
I believe these are the same three debuffs you can get as the PC.
#themoreyouknow :D
#bjk plays bg3 durge#rakha the dark urge#morganaseren#don't mind me just indulging myself with the dialogue files again#luckily lae'zel is wearing the headpiece that sets her int to 18 no matter what so she literally doesn't notice a difference XD
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Well. This is new.
I hit a long rest, expecting to have Mizora pop up and exact Wyll's penance, and instead ALFIRA showed up. What?
"I'm so glad I found-- wait!" she yelps, presumably in response to Rakha surging out of sleep at this unexpected intrusion with all the calm and subtlety of a house on fire. The bard stumbles backwards out of reach, her eyes wide. "I'm Alfira - a bard from the grove!" she squeaks, terrified. "I don't mean any harm!"
It is only Wyll's hand on her shoulder, arresting her forward movement, that keeps Rakha from getting her hands around the interloper's throat and squeezing. She was in the midst of yet another series of terrible, bloodsoaked dreams, the steady march of corpses through her mind; she still feels only half-conscious, feral and rattled, the beast ready to take control at the slightest slip. "State your purpose," she growls hoarsely, "or die."
"Wait. Wait!" Alfira says hastily. "I'm not your enemy! Quite the opposite, in fact." She looks at Rakha with an incredible earnestness, squaring her shoulders. "You're all anyone talks about in the grove. Hearing all you've done inspired me. I want to join you - to fight by yours side. I want to help people, as you've helped us."
(A/N: WHAT? Is this a Durge thing? I've never seen this scene before.)
Rakha stares at her. It is one thing for her to ally with the others who are infected as she is, who share a common purpose and insight. But this perplexing fragile creature offers her nothing. Bard. It means little, but she can tell that Alfira is no fighter at a glance - at least not as Rakha respects the term. Her clothes are colorful, impractical. There is a dagger at her hip but it is dulled with little sign of use.
And her words... I want to help people as you've helped us. What has Rakha done to earn that appraisal? She killed the goblins in the attack on the grove, perhaps, but that was an act of survival and bloodthirst. That the teeth-lings survived was happenstance, a mere side-effect, not the main cause. This Alfira comes here with a blind idealism, not practicality or use.
"No," she says bluntly. "I have no time for weaklings."
To her surprise, Alfira doesn't flinch under her glare, but sets her jaw and stares back stubbornly. "But I can fight!" she insists. "I won't hold you back, I swear it."
Irritation surges in Rakha's head; the beast growls. But Wyll's low voice cuts through, soft behind her. "She seeks a safe haven," he points out quietly. "What sort of earsgang would refuse it?"
And Rakha hesitates.
Does Wyll see something here that she does not? Gale is nodding too, and Karlach some distance off. What do they see worth keeping here? There is no bond of the worm between them and Alfira, no use in her knife and certainly not in the musical instrument strapped to her back.
The most Rakha can say is that Alfira is no danger. And Wyll and Karlach and Gale want her to stay.
Alfira can see her wavering. "Please-- oh, please!" the bard says eagerly.
"Fine," Rakha mutters curtly, awash with baffled frustration.
"Yes!" Alfira bounces excitedly on the balls of her feet, her fists raised in the air in triumph. "Thank you! You won't regret it! I won't let you down, I promise," she says earnestly to Rakha's back. The half-orc is already stalking away, angry and confused for reasons she can't articulate, her fists clenched with the effort not to turn back and throttle the girl.
#bjk plays bg3 durge#rakha the dark urge#EXCUSE ME WHAT#what is this#what is going on#why didn't hector get to have a bard buddy#i am confusion
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Rakha is extremely interested in getting back out on the road to help Wyll with the Karlach situation, but her slight deference to Lae'zel's opinion of the right course leads them to thoroughly explore the tiefling camp first in search of the fellow named Zorru who, supposedly, saw githyanki presence in the area.
They find him hunched up leaning against a wall near the training floor, looking around with a sort of rattled aspect. He jumps when Rakha approaches, and then his eyes lock on Lae'zel and his deep red skin goes pale.
"B-by Mordai's eyes," he stammers with visible panic. "Another one." He stretches out a hand placatingly. "My friend's blood not enough? Come to rip me open too?"
Yes-- sings the beast in Rakha's head. Rip and tear and shred his guts and wrap them around his neck and spill enough blood for him and his friend both--
She remains very still but her eyes glint intensely as Lae'zel speaks. Lae'zel has plans. The boy has information. He must not die yet.
"In Creche K'liir," Lae'zel says, staring the young tiefling down imperiously, "a formal greeting begins with a bow."
Zorru's eyes widen and he looks pleadingly at Rakha, apparently having the mistaken impression that she might be a comparative voice of reason. "I-is this monster with you?"
Rakha says nothing, just stares the frightened boy down.
[HALF-ORC] Give the tiefling a menacing glare.
Zorru swallows nervously. All the blood rushes back into his face, suffusing it with red, and he makes an awkward bow as Lae'zel's eyes shoot daggers through him.
"Lower," Lae'zel snaps coolly.
An impatient rumble sounds at the back of Rakha's throat. This is not information. This is an expression of dominance on Lae'zel's part. Humiliation. A waste of time, just as the conversation with Ethel was.
Best it be over with quickly. And perhaps the boy will disobey, she thinks, unbidden, the beast stirring eagerly, and Lae'zel will judge it prudent to use the blade--
[HALF-ORC] "On your knees," she growls. "She won't say it again."
The tiefling's expression twists, as if he is about to cry. He sinks to his knees, his head bowed, his hands trembling with fear.
Lae'zel makes a soft noise of satisfaction. "You saw another gith," she demands. "Where?"
"On the road to Baldur's Gate," Zorru stammers nervously. "Near the mountain pass." His voice cracks; his eyes have fixed on the point of Lae'zel's enormous greatsword where it shows behind her hip. "Saw us 'fore we saw it. Jammed its b-blade through Yul's belly, straight to the other side."
Rakha's eyes half-close and her breath draws inward suddenly, ragged; the mental image sends heat through her own gut. The blood would have poured from such a wound like a waterfall... Flame crackles at her fingertips and then fades.
"No twisting?" Lae'zel murmurs, taunting. "Kin must have been in a hurry."
The boy flinches. Lae'zel, unmoved, reaches over and yanks at the map sticking out of Rakha's pack, shoves it into Zorru's hands. "The map. Show me."
There is a long, awkward silence while Zorru obediently scribbles on the map, circling the pass to the west and marking the path along the Risen Road. Then Lae'zel snatches the paper back from him and stuffs it away again.
"Up," she says curtly. "You can keep your innards."
Pity... murmurs the beast, and Rakha watches Zorru walk off and feels a squirm of frustration somewhere in the back of her mind.
Wyll has been watching this little power play unfold in silence. His expression is difficult to read - he might be dismayed or somewhat impressed. "By the dead gods," he murmurs. "Are all gith so brutal?"
Lae'zel shoots him a look that is equally complex - a mix of disdain and amusement. "Brutal?" she quips in return. "Blood still flows through his own veins. I was positively gentle."
-----
"The locals prove compliant," she adds almost conversationally to Rakha, squinting at the scribbles Zorru placed on the map. "A useful trait."
Rakha nods vaguely. She is still settling down from the images of death that the whole conversation left her with, and her voice is a smidge hoarse. "What comes next?"
Lae'zel shrugs. "The teeth-ling was clear. If there are githyanki west of here, that must be our objective. Purification cannot wait."
Tiefling. Rakha has already learned that much. But she has little grounds on which to begin a habit of correcting Lae'zel on matters where she holds very little more information. She shrugs off the mispronunciation, focuses on the other information. "What do you mean, 'purification'?" she demands.
"The creche holds the zaith'isk," Lae'zel says. "It will cleanse us of the parasite." An almost imperceptible hesitation, then: "By covenant I can say no more."
Rakha raises an eyebrow. By covenant I can say no more.
Perhaps this is truth. But she files the phrase away nevertheless, because she suspects that it is one that might prove useful to her as well - a quick answer for those moments when she is asked about something she does not understand, and does not wish to look a fool.
#bjk plays bg3 durge#rakha the dark urge#heh i still plan to have rakha romance wyll ultimately#but i'm pretty sure there's a non-zero chance she and lae'zel might bang before that happens#especially if lae'zel keeps talking about twisting blades in people's bellies like that#everyone here is very well-adjusted#10/10 no notes
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Everyone has Comments(tm) about Rakha having slurped the tadpole.
Rakha's whole current party (Shadowheart, Lae'zel, and Wyll) are NOT happy about it:
"It was bad enough having just one of those tadpoles forced upon us. I can scarcely believe you actually inflicted another on yourself..."
"Kaincha! No good will come of devouring a ghaik worm, no matter what you might think."
"Gone gods - watching you consume that tadpole was more disgusting than the tadpole itself."
Rakha feels a little like she's in that meme of the people yelling at the cat at the dinner table.
(This really is kind of stressful for her because Lae'zel and Wyll are the people whose opinion she trust most generally, and she's going against them because of the Dream Guardian. It's also kind of funny bc I am starting to suspect Lae'zel and Wyll might have a smidge of unspoken competition going on, since Lae'zel seems to have caught some kinda feelings for Rakha and Wyll seems to be starting to connect with her too. But they are most DEFINITELY allied in thinking she's being a dumbass right now. :P )
Gale and Astarion are a little more chill about the whole thing:
"Well, no tentacles yet. I suppose we can consider that a success."
"Come on then, don't leave me in suspense. How are you feeling? No errant tentacles? No sudden cravings for a more cerebral diet?"
"No signs of ceremorphosis taking effect, if that's your concern."
"I was rather more curious to know what benefits the tadpole might have bestowed, but no doubt the benefits of your change in diet will become apparent soon enough."
But of course the most interesting was Karlach's, which also blindsided me with feels:
"You really did it, huh? Not worried about adding more illithid into the mix? Well, what can I say. You look fine. Smell fine. Seem fine. If you got a little boost from the tadpole, who am I to begrudge you."
(Me, watching this: Aw, Karlach is such a sweetheart and I love her so mu-- wait. Why does she look so sad?)
"In fact... got any going spare?"
"If I did, would you accept it?"
"You know, I think I would. Bit surprising, but I'm starting to see the silver lining of this whole parasite situation."
She sounds SO sad saying this, you guys. :( I'm fucked up realizing she's thinking about this all the way back here at the beginning. Fuck.
Rakha gave her a worm. (In dialogue, at least; I didn't actually have one left to give her.)
"Thanks, soldier. I'll use it well. Promise."
😭Weh.
#bjk plays bg3 durge#rakha the dark urge#karlach not even in my party and still managing to break my heart out of nowhere
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Rakha gropes her way back to her bedroll, feverish, half-blind. The limited confidence with which she convinced Lae'zel not to kill her seems to be bleeding out, moment by moment. She is more acutely aware with each passing second that the worm is, in fact, taking control.
She is no stranger to restless nights, but for once tonight it is not the dreams of blood that have her twitching in her bedroll, but something far worse and more immediate. She drifts into delirious half-sleep, sweating and anxious and lost and infuriatingly helpless.
And she wakes... elsewhere.
She is conscious first of the chill. The air in camp was humid and warm, with a gentle breeze blowing between the tents, but here (wherever here is), there is no wind at all, and the temperature is at least twenty degrees cooler. The half-moon light around the goblin camp has been replaced by a suffusing pale blue glow that presses through Rakha's closed eyelids.
A voice, unfamiliar and soft, speaks almost next to her ear.
"I came just in time. You are transforming."
Rakha jumps, her eyes flashing open. She snaps her head to the side with all of her remaining strength, and looks up into the gentle gaze of a woman she has never seen before.
(A/N: One of the little joys of this game, I have found, is that this scene comes just late enough in Act 1 for you to have likely forgotten exactly what you did with the guardian's face during character creation. XD So then it gets to be a fun surprise! In this case, good job, past Roz. She's pretty!)
She's slender and pale. Pointed ears like Shadowheart's poke from under waves of thick auburn hair. Her face bears tattoos similar to the ones Rakha herself carries on her own face. And she is glowing all over with a power Rakha has never seen before. The air around her is thick with it.
She reaches out and rests the tips of her fingers against Rakha's cheek. And with that touch, the power flows down along her arm and into Rakha's skin, through her face and into her skull. And where the power passes... the pain eases.
Rakha groans softly. For a moment she focuses inward, feeling the fever ebb away, the ache in her hands and her chest starting to fade. The worm, as if lulled by some unheard sound, rests dormant in her temple. The beast, worn by the last few hours' torment, sits quiescent as well.
The sense of unexpected peace is absolute. She is still. She is calm.
She sits up slowly, turning her attention back to the stranger who has - it seems - saved her.
This is a dream, she decides after a moment's thought. The calm is real, but this place is not. It is the first dream she has had that did not smell of blood. The first to bring her face to face with someone living.
Is it possible that this woman is the source of those dreams? The face of the dark urge that has already driven her so many times?
No. The beast still sleeps. This is something else, someone else, a new touch inside her head.
The thought makes her shiver uncomfortably. "Back off," she mutters gruffly. "I have enough crawling around in my head already."
The woman draws back at once; her touch on Rakha's arm pulls away and she stands up. "Combative," she says, with a slow smile and a hint of amusement. "Good. You'll need to be."
She extends a hand. "Don't worry. You will not become a mind flayer. Not while I'm around. I'll protect you."
Rakha feels the dark urge stir drowsily in her head, the automatic instinct to lash out.
Imagine hacking the grabby paw off.
Narrator: Though the thought crosses your mind, it doesn't hold you, doesn't devour you, as your thoughts too often can.
Somehow that realization is more unnerving even than the close brush with ceremorphosis. The beast's everpresent background growl has been a constant since the moment she awoke. Everywhere except here...
The woman looks at her with a slight, sad smile - as if she knows exactly where Rakha's thoughts have gone. "Your compulsions will doom us all, if you do not work to stop them," she says gently. It is the softest, warmest voice Rakha has ever heard. "I can help."
Rakha reaches up cautiously and takes the woman's hand, lets herself be guided up onto her feet.
For the first time she properly looks around and registers the dreamscape she is inhabiting. At first glance, it appears to be some sort of garden courtyard, a stone circle surrounded by tall, grand columns and lined with grass and plants of all sorts.
And beyond it... is an infinite space. They are floating in a sea of stars, among many other smaller floating rocks and some much larger ones. And the Weave...
Gods... it's beautiful...
In her waking life, she sees the fabric of magic everywhere, a prismatic ripple underlaying the very skin of the world. But here... it is much stronger, a heavy, undulating texture of hues beyond naming, so thick she could reach out and bury herself within it even in the blank and empty parts of the air. It presses on her skin, not quite solid and not quite liquid, a comforting warmth like a blanket wrapped around her.
"We haven't much time," the strange visitor says, bringing Rakha sharply back to herself. "So listen closely. There is great potential within you. It comes from that parasite. Your instinct is to resist the power it gives, but you must accept it, nurture it. I will keep it from consuming you - but for the sake of both of us, you must learn to wield it."
Rakha listens quietly. Her mind feels sharper, clearer than it has been in days, pulling together all the threads of this strange new development and weaving them together.
The visitor is here for the parasite. She knows about the beast, but that is not her primary concern - the tadpole and its transformation is.
The visitor does not want the worm to consume her - but she agrees that the powers it offers, of control and domination, are valuable.
She knows Rakha, too. That much is clear. She would not know about the compulsions, otherwise. And the tattoos... something connects them. Something reaching back into the abyss of her memory. That much is obvious.
A million questions surge to the forefront of her mind, every answer she has craved since the moment she woke up. But the visitor is not finished.
She gestures out into the starscape, and as Rakha follows the gesture her gaze comes to focus on an even more baffling sight - an enormous, skull-like form drifting among the other stones of that infinite sea. Around it, small forms of different-colored light weave and twist, striking out against each other with bursts of energy.
Gods. What is that?
"A fight for the fate of Faerun," the visitor says calmly, answering the question Rakha did not speak aloud. "A fight we are losing - for now. You can change that, but only if you embrace your potential."
Rakha's eyes narrow. We? She opens her mouth to ask a question - and then is cut off again by a low hum of energy that can be nothing other than a rising explosion.
The woman's face twists in something like a wordless curse. "I have to go," she mutters. "The enemy is closing in." A pause; her hand rests just for a moment on Rakha's shoulder. "I will be back."
Back where? Rakha wants to demand. Where are we? WHO ARE YOU?
But the blast surges up around them, and the woman's hands flash out, shielding them both and knocking Rakha backwards as her vision fades to white.
Wake now. You'll feel better. I promise...
-----
Rakha wakes, sitting bolt upright in her bunk. Her fingers press involuntarily to her face-- there are no tentacles, no changes at all. The fever has broken and her skin is cool. The threat has passed.
It was a dream, certainly - but it was also real. The visitor saved them - for despite her assertions to Lae'zel, they were surely on the edge of transforming. And if the visitor spoke true, she is also fighting some greater war. And she knows something about Rakha, about the compulsions of the dark urge.
"Fuck," she says with deep feeling, leaning her elbows on her knees and groaning. This was hard enough already without another new face in the mix.
And already, back in the waking world, she can feel the beast stirring again in her mind. We should have killed her. Should have ripped her apart when she offered her hand. We do not need her help or her touch or her war.
But she has answers... she must, she reminds herself firmly. We need to know what they are.
#bjk plays bg3 durge#rakha the dark urge#i fkn love the guardian XD#and all other related characters :P
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Visited the necromancer's hideout under the apothecary shop in the Blighted Village.
The fight with the skeletons in the front entryway was the usual pain. They were VERY efficient about all coming out of their caskets. The funniest part of the fight was that Rakha's wild magic surge gave her the completely useless ability to speak with animals for the duration of the fight. (There were no animals anywhere in the vicinity.)
Rakha's half-orc ability to come back with one hit point the first time she goes down is doing a lot of work for her squishy self at present.
The skeletons are unsatisfying for her to kill, though. They have no blood and they are, on some level, already dead. The beast shows little interest at their violence and no pleasure at their death.
We got some sorcerer-specific stuff while trying to pass the enchanted mirror guarding the main lab.
"Speak your name."
Narrator: An enchanted mirror. Raw magic leashed to a bauble. Almost sad.
Rakha can see the way the Weave undulates over the surface of the mirror, bound into its very matter. The face that peers out of it ripples with prismatic light.
[SORCERER][ARCANA] Try to sense the magic tamed within the mirror.
Narrator: The magic is old and wavering, but you recognize it. The mirror is a thinking lock, hiding some secret. It seems some vain wizard took living magic and twisted it into a forgotten curio.
I'm intrigued by the implication here that Rakha is on some level offended by magic being used for less than sufficiently grand purposes. This is a little ironic given that her purposes for it mostly involve killing anyone who gets in her way. But it also makes a certain amount of sense - her ability to see and sense the Weave was her first (and in a lot of ways still her only) exposure to beauty or wonder in this strange mystery world she's been dropped into; to see it not treated with the proper respect is... grating.
Perhaps the wizard remains within... murmurs the beast, and he can be punished for it...
She doubts it, given the evident age and utter silence of the place. But it is possible.
We also have another option here which is uniquely interesting in Rakha's case:
Examine your appearance.
The narrator's response is funny:
Narrator: You do your best to wipe the dirt from your face and look presentable. Adventuring is murder on one's wardrobe, though.
However, leaving aside the "magic mirror" in camp for appearance adjustments (which I tend to think of as a meta thing and not actually there), Rakha has to her recollection never seen her own face until this moment.
It's not a bad face, she doesn't think. Evenly proportioned, sturdy, serious. Scarred oddly. She wonders where that came from. An orc, Gale said - or half-orc, at least - hence the tusks. And the burning, muted rage in her eyes, never quite gone even when the beast is quiet.
----
"Thoughts?" Wyll asks with a slight grin.
"You asked me what I saw when I looked at you," she says slowly, not looking away from the mirror. "And I told you."
He nods slightly. "You did."
"What do you see in me?"
He quirks an eyebrow up slowly. "A mystery," he says.
She snorts softly. "I knew that already."
He offers a slight smile. "I see someone broken and rebuilding. As I am. As we all are." He folds his arms, watching her thoughtfully. "I don't have the answer you're looking for. I wish I did."
"I know."
----
"Speak your name," repeats the mirror.
Rakha repeats a name she pulled from an old book near the mirror. "Ilyn Toth."
At once, the face goes red in warning. "My master is no filthy half-breed. You are not Ilyn Toth. If you are his ally, step forward and declare it."
"Uh-oh," she hears Gale murmur in a sing-song tone from behind her.
Rakha's jaw sets. White flares at the corners of her vision. This is her own rage, though, not the beast; there is no blood to be spilled here. But she is being mocked. She remembers the last person to call her half-breed - and the satisfying crunch of his jaw under her fist.
[INTIMIDATION] "Open, or I'll smash you to pieces," she snarls. "Bad luck be damned."
Narrator: There is a pause as those glass eyes take you in. Then...
The mirror slides open soundlessly, opening a passage to the lab beyond.
#bjk plays bg3 durge#rakha the dark urge#mostly just character flavor here lol#bjk writes her own party banter
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Further pondering a little on the intended Rakha/Wyll romance arc and how Wyll is apparently a super-romantic, and am definitely picturing that Lilo and Stich meme of "Please send me an angel, the nicest angel you have" followed by Rakha crashing through the wall like the Kool-Aid man while on fire and covered in blood.
#bjk plays bg3 durge#rakha the dark urge#rakha has definitely already identified his opinion as Important for reasons she can't quite define yet#more specifically it's the fact that he is the person in the group most sharply different from her#and has introduced the concept of altruism to her worldview where it didn't exist before#that line about him seeing her “carrying her own light” changed her brain chemistry more deeply than i expected#wyllmance#bg3 durge
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Rakha didn't really like Aradin anyway but he doesn't do himself any favors when she nudges him out of unconsciousness with her boot toe.
"First I damn near die at the hands of goblins," he growls as he clambers unsteadily back to his feet.
"Then I get sucker-punched by a *bloody half-breed.*"
Rakha has no context for this statement in and of itself, but his tone makes it obvious that it's an insult. Her eyes narrow with immediate anger and her fists clench, fully ready to strike again - and finish the job this time - but he's already moving, darting out of her reach and towards the grove's gate.
"I'm done with this hellhole," he snaps over his shoulder.
-----
Lae'zel scowls, watching the man walk away. "Is'tark," she mutters. "A disagreeable man. Little loss to this place, or to us."
"Half-breed." Rakha sounds out the term slowly. "What did he mean?"
Gale shoots her a look sideways. Rakha is interesting in this way; she has little timidity in asking questions, regardless of their potential import. She simply asks, almost without inflection, adding another fact and another fact and another fact in the hope they will all eventually build up to a cohesive picture.
"Well, he was being a tosser, fundamentally," he says mildly after a short pause. "But I suppose he meant that you're clearly not a full orc. One of your parents was... something else. Hard to say what, really; orc blood has a certain strength, phenotypically."
Rakha has no idea what that means, but nods vaguely. "Ah."
"Rather like our friend Shadowheart." He jerks a head to indicate the cleric. "Half-elven, but you see the elven characteristics take a strong precedence."
"Thanks ever so for describing me like a specimen on a dissection table," Shadowheart says sardonically. She glances at Rakha. "He meant he thought you were lesser," she says matter-of-factly. "The specifics don't matter."
"Shortsighted as well as cowardly," Lae'zel says coolly. "Your punch was too good for him."
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Progressing down towards the monastery, Rakha is accosted by... [drumroll] ... THIS ASSHOLE.
Esther's conversation with Rakha was pretty hilarious given who she is talking to.
"A friendly face! Oh, you are a sweet, sweet blessing, my dear."
"I knew you were a learned soul the moment I set eyes on you!"
"Surely a person with your charm and worldliness..."
Pictured: The least friendly, least learned, least charming, and least worldly person Esther has ever laid eyes on.
The ironic thing is that there is a scenario under which Rakha might have agreed to help Esther. When the beast isn't controlling her, Rakha is deeply interested in answers, anything that tells her more about the world and how it works; had Esther phrased herself a little more subtly, there are potential worlds where she could have made Rakha believe this was a good idea.
However, Esther made the single most critical error it's possible to make while talking to Rakha the Dark Urge - she was a dick to Lae'zel.
"Perhaps you could help me, then? I may not be welcome there but surely a person with your charm and worldliness could get into the creche. And once inside, you could simply... purloin an egg."
"Steal one of Gith's own? I will slit your throat for even suggesting it."
"I am not talking to you."
This is pretty much the nail in her coffin - bolstered by the fact that Lae'zel has just explicitly confirmed that this woman should die.
"You'll be well-compensated of course," Esther finishes with an oily smile. "Just bring me an egg."
"My friend is right," Rakha says bluntly. "What you suggest is revolting and you need to die."
(Really, I don't think Rakha cares much about the egg suggestion one way or another. She just doesn't like this woman for being a dick about Lae'zel and her people. And the beast in her head is hungry.)
Lae'zel, when she says this, gets the most EXCITED expression i have ever seen on her face.
"Finally! Hta'zith!"
"I knew I was right about you beasts."
Get fucked, Esther. Against her better judgment, I think Rakha lets the beast go and enjoys this one.
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