#did she go back to the Temple of Bhaal and tell everyone? did they laugh | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

y-rhywbeth2 · 5 months

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I know we sickos all love the tragic memory of Durge killing their parents as a child, but honestly - as a lover of interpreting Durge as a tragic eldricht horror cuckoo/changeling creature - my favourite memory is baby Durge playing tag with the other children in a "time before Bhaal".

They're being gentle with their friends, but the narration explicitly describes them as hunting and compares them to a predator. If Durge pities their child self the narration just goes: "Mayhaps that child was already a murderer." "Oh, sorry, did you think this was a happy memory?" asks the game before it points and laughs at your naivete.

You pair that with the little cuckoo killing their foster parents and it's very much like somebody took in a baby predator. Sure, it hasn't grown into its claws and aggression but then we reach the starting point of puberty and suddenly the once cuddly baby is a danger to everyone around it.

Oh, except that apparently there's a chance that Durge was already killing things as a baby!

We know they were aware of Sceleritas following them around when they were young, occasionally talking to them as he does in the dead family memory - even if he hadn't presented himself yet. Even if he doesn't always speak, did Durge grow up seeing him out of the corner of their eye?

The fun thing about Durge is that we get to make our own character out of the scraps we're given, so all of it is up to us to decide for our own characters/playthroughs.

I interpret Durge as being like the Bhaalspawn we meet in Throne of Bhaal, Gavid, and the 3.5e tieflings - they've always known they were different. Always had dark urges and whispers in their mind, coming from the essence in their blood.

Kids have accidents around them, pets go missing. Maybe they have black outs, maybe they're aware but can't stop (small children aren't exactly masters of impulse control). We know from a later memory that Durge feels self-hatred regarding their urges, so presumably they learnt enough to know this is wrong and feel guilt. Do they still feel pain and nausea if they resist? I'm going to assume for my own take that since they got the Urge back then, they did.

I wonder if their family ever took them to wizards and clerics, trying to find out if their child was cursed?

Then that family dies. Violently. Graphically. Another tragic accident taking place around the twitchy weird kid who sees monsters and hears voices.

If you play paladin then the Oathbreaker Knight tells you that you've broken your oath multiple times, so I assume that these disasters didn't stop happening.

And judging from the fact that they showed uncharacteristic compassion to a homeless person at the peak of their "I'm such an evil bastard villains like Elder Brains and the God of Tyranny are impressed" era, I think that Durge ended up homeless themselves at some point between losing their parents and joining the temple (I'm also pretty sure that's the period of their life the cannibalism memory happened in).

And then they "came of age" (I recall the age of majority being 15 in the Realms at some point, but can't find that anywhere so don't take my word for it) and Sceleritas introduces himself, and it's time for a family history lesson that explains everything and Orin gets a sibling she absolutely never wanted, ever - put that thing back in the ditch it came from, so help me.

#this is “still not shutting up about Durge” hours #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #durge #the dark urge #long post

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mythrae · 7 months

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An Appalling Ally

Summary: Orin the Red reveals to Lord Enver Gortash how she got rid of her competition as Bhaal's Chosen.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: 18+ (minors do not interact), discussion of graphic depictions of violence, non-consensual, incest, also some light smut

Author's Notes:

Not beta'd so please be kind

Thank you to everyone who read the first part! 🫶🏻🥹✨ love u

Please pay attention to warnings I listed, I know these topics can be very triggering!

Click to read Part One here!

Click to read on AO3 here!

“WHAT IN THE NINE HELLS DID YOU DO TO HER?”

Lord Enver Gortash stood and banged his fists on his wooden desk, knocking over his wine-filled chalice. The deep red liquid bled on the table and spilled to the floor, dripping on the feet of Orin the Red. She stood patiently, a grotesque smile stretched across her face.

She had summoned herself to his study, upsetting his guards as she broke into Wyrm's Crossing late in the evening under the guise of a fan-girl, seeking the soon-to-be Archduke's affections. When he had invited her in, hoping for a little amusement from the halfling, she had transformed in front of him, showing her true self — and her true intentions for gaining an audience with him.

“I told you, Little Tyrant. I simply got rid of her.” She replied with a smirk. “And so I am here to fulfill my duties as Bhaal’s newest chosen, including helping you and Ketheric enslave the Elder Brain with the Crown of Karsus.”

He reached over his desk and grabbed the changeling’s shoulders. “Mythrae has been missing for days, Orin. Where is she?” He shouted at the woman in front of him, his fingernails digging into her pale, marbled skin.

“Now now, no need to get so hasty!” She laughed, shrugging his hands off and flashing her ring of teleportation to him. “If things get too out of hand, I have my grandfather's gift, hm? So let’s try and be more… civil, shall we?”

His face turned to stone as he sat back in his seat. He knew he had to take control of his temper, or the little minx would be out of his grasp. He already detested her, from what Mythrae has spoken of her sister, but actually working with her sounded abhorrent to the Chosen of Bane.

But how else was he going to find his betrothed?

"Speak, Orin. Tell me where she is."

“Oh, but that would be no fun, wouldn’t it?” She asked, placing her hands on the table. “It would be more thrilling for me to show you instead.”

The stench of death and blood filled Gortash’s nostrils as she leaned in close to him, her blackened lips dangerously close to his own. Her eyes, fully white, looked at him like a piece of meat, asking to be devoured by her alone.

Gods, what a truly vile creature.

He waved his hand at her, reclining back in his chair and opening the space between them. “Fine, have it your way. Show me what happened.”

“With pleasure.” She sneered. “I’ll put on quite a show for you, Enver.”

“Don’t call me that.” He nearly spat. “It’s Lord Gortash to you.”

“Whatever you say, Little Lordling.”

Orin's body started to transform, the sound of her bones cracking and skin shifting making Gortash feel uneasy. She was truly a lover of the macabre and grotesque, and loved putting on quite a disgusting show whenever she morphed herself. Before long, he saw she had become a reflection of himself.

"Remember that letter you wrote to her? After the two of you stole the Crown of Karsus?" She asked, his own voice filling his study.

Gortash nodded. Yes, he remembered. It was the last correspondence he had with Mythrae.

"Well, what you had written was very lovely, but I had to make some... changes, you see. Put my own spin on it." His reflection, controlled by Orin herself, paced around his desk as he spoke.

"What did you tell her?"

"There was no way I could get her alone up here," she gestured out to the window behind Gortash, the city still alive so late in the night, "so I told her to meet me — or I guess, you — in the Temple of Bhaal. Oh, and she looked rather ravishing. Of course, she would if she was planning on seeing her betrothed..."

So she knows, he thought to himself, and that's why she's acting this way.

"My dearest kin looked too exquisite, you see," Orin continued, "I just couldn't keep my hands to myself."

The tyrant's stone face quickly changed to one of worry. “What… what did you do to her?”

“Patience, patience, patience, boy!” Orin growled at him, “Now, where was I…”

Enver’s composure with the changeling was wearing thin, his fingers anxiously tapping on his desk while straightening out his back.

“Ah, yes! When I had Mythrae all to myself at the Temple of Bhaal. If only her guard was higher, hm? She wouldn't have been such an easy whore for me."

“You did not…” He started, struggling to find the words he wanted to say.

“Oh, yes I did!” She cut him off before he found his voice. "And you should have heard her cries for help, they were quite lovely!”

He watched as his reflection reached for their head, the sick sound of cracking neck bones pounding against his eardrums, and now his lover stood before him.

“Gortash, no! Please, stop! It hurts!” He heard Mythrae’s voice leaving the changeling's lips.

He could feel his anger boiling through his entire body as the sound of her voice filled his thoughts.

“Enough of this!" He yelled, his tapping fingers now balling into a fist. "Tell me where she is!”

“What, you don’t want to hear more about how you deflowered her?” Orin teased, taking her arms and pushing everything off of Gortash's desk. She laid her body — Mythrae's body — on top of it, lying back like she was relaxing in a field of flowers.

“How I plucked all her petals using your body, like a child to a daisy," she reached up and pulled at the air with her fingers, "pluck, pluck, pluck, until I made a mess of her? The audience truly loved the show!"

"I wish to hear of no such horrendous things. I only want to know where Mythrae is." He repeated his request, doing all that he could to hold back his rage for the Bhaalspawn.

"Oh, if only you could have seen her face, Gortash." She drabbled on, ignoring him. "The look of betrayal she gave me when I had her trapped on Bhaal's altar, how her face contorted in pain when I first ent-"

"What happened to her? Out with it!"

“And when I could use her no more, after she was spent," Orin pulled out a short sword, tainted dark red, "I took my very favorite blade, and sliced her head right open!”

Gortash froze in his seat, processing the words she spoke.

Did Orin... kill her?

"Oh, and her blood was so warm as I felt it spill out of her skull. Delicious indeed. A moment I will cherish with my very favorite blood-kin!"

He still was at a complete loss for words, staring at Mythrae's form lying in front of him.

"... though it is a shame, really." She tutted while toying with her blade. "She was no true Chosen if she was able to let you in and distract herself from her real purpose. I will not be as easily swayed, Lord Gortash." Her skin began to shift once more, the changeling back in her original form as she sat up on his desk, spreading her legs wide open for him.

In some grotesque form of seduction, she placed the blade of her short sword in between her legs and rubbed it against her armored mound. Gortash watched as her fingers tightened around the hilt as she moaned dramatically, getting off from the pressure on her arousal, as well as the eyes of the dark haired man watching her.

Vile, wretched woman.

"As if I would ever bed with someone like you." He uttered as he looked away, disgusted at the slightest thought of touching her skin in any sort intimate way.

"I have my ways, Little Tyrant." She hissed in disapproval, turning away from him and sliding her body off his desk. "If I could take your pretty little wife all to myself, I can take you, too."

In that moment, Lord Enver Gortash lost all control.

“Fuck you, Orin." His words were filled with poison, "You are no true Chosen of Bhaal. You’re an imposter!”

“Angry, are we?" Orin laughed, licking the essence of her arousal off her blade. "Be careful now, for we need to work together. Unless you think that I should become the Archduchess? You and I would have so much fun together."

In a fit of rage, Gortash reached for chalice on the floor and threw it at the dastardly changeling. Before the glass left his hands, Orin already had her fingers wrapped around her ring, and he heard the glass shattering into pieces against the wall.

With a displeased sigh, he fell back in his chair, still in shock of it all. Being forced to work with Orin the Red. His future as the Archduke potentially at risk. His woman, his love, his equal stolen from him.

He didn’t even know if she was alive, though he assumed if Orin got her hands on her, she was as good as gone.

He filled his head with thoughts of her, in much happier times. The first time he saw her, when he had completely bewitched him by her looks alone. When they kissed for the first time, right in his office. When he first told her that he loved her, the way her eyes sparkled — one red and one grey — as she repeated his words back to him. That night when they looked over Baldur's Gate as he slid the ring on her finger, when she had promised herself to him.

They were supposed to rule together. They were supposed to have a family together. But now, it was as good as gone.

Gortash was not a crying man. Being a politician, he kept most of his emotions locked away. And even then, he never liked to shed tears, for he felt it was a sign of weakness in a man.

Tonight, he cried. Oh, hells, he cried.

Tomorrow, it would be back to business as usual. He had a plan, after all, and although he needed the help of Orin the Red, he intended to follow through. He would not become a failure like so many others before him.

But for now, he wept in his chair as the new moon rose above the city, mourning the loss of his one true love.

#some angst for your Saturday night :)#enver gortash #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #mythrae's oc #orin the red #the dark urge #the dark urge spoilers #bg3 dark urge #dark urge spoilers #dark urge #mythrae writes

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truly-sincerely · 3 months

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Dark Star Falling (part 5 of ?)

“You can’t even be cross with me. My brain’s a wreck and it’s not like you know where Bhaal’s temple is either,” Darling’s voice cuts thru the silence without warning. He turns in his chair to look at them but they’re already on the other side of the table from him, pulling a different chair out. The guards all stand stock still, waiting for his command.

“You look–”

“Yeah, I know,” they wipe at the blood spatter on their face with an equally bloody glove, but it’s already dry. “We just got back from Avernus. Anyway, I actually did find the temple, I just don’t know how to get inside yet. I know where to go to get inside, but then something came up and one thing led to another…”

“Where’s your friend?,” he asks.

“Rifling thru the pockets of the dead patriars in your throne room,” they reply. Astarion is at the Elfsong, complaining about getting briefly killed by a devil to anyone who will listen, but Gortash doesn’t need to know that.

“I seem to recall you saying you wouldn’t return empty-handed.” Darling tosses a helmet onto the table. Gortash raises an eyebrow, “That’s not a netherstone.”

“It’s a souvenir,” they say with a smirk. He picks it up and turns it over in his hands. Darling swings their feet up onto his desk, heels crumpling a map of Baldur’s Gate. They are wearing different boots than their first late night visit. Some other fashionable changes, as well, but it’s clear that they want him to notice the boots.

The helmet and the boots are from a matching set. He knows, because the boots were in his footlocker until recently, and the helmet was, as far as he knew, still where the boots should’ve been before he’d stolen them a long time ago. In fact, those exact boots had been indispensable in his original escape from that place. Did Darling know? They hadn’t known before they lost their memory, so how could they now? But watching them, he can tell from their demeanor that they do. It hangs in the air for a moment.

“You went to the House of Hope. Impressive, of course, but not what you ought to be spending your limited time on.” He tosses the helmet back. “Wouldn’t your immense talents be better spent saving the sword coast from the impending rampage of our naughty elder brain?”

“I’m on a journey of self-discovery. What’s the point of saving the sword coast if I lose myself in the process.”

“Since when are you a poet?”

“I’m a bard, Enver.” For a moment he can’t breathe, hearing his name from their lips. He manages to smother the feeling as they continue, “There was this sweet girl in the druids’ grove. A tiefling like me. She played the lute and we played together and I tapped into the weave and I’ve been doing psychic damage to everyone I meet ever since. Don’t give me that look. I’m still a killer. My talents are still immense.”

“You were a paladin of Bhaal,” he offers.

“No kidding,” they flare their nostrils and laugh. A different laugh, or, has he ever even heard them laugh before? “I get the impression I was a hammer and all of my problems were nails.”

“You were magnificent.”

“I still am,” they say, their mouth pulling to the side. Their gaze drifts to the arbalest on the table. His stays on them. “I was scared at first, and angry. I had to learn how to talk to people. I needed different skills. After the lobotomy. After the worm. With a different… partner. Partners. So now I’m a poet.”

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#dark star falling #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #durgetash #durge #gortash #probably gonna continue this scene #I had to restart the house of hope cuz Raphael was kicking my ass too hard and I need Gale #but then I started writing during a break #and here we are #I was like is this IC for gortash usually he does a lot more talking #but then I remembered that in game I am a blankslate protagonist who can't have real opinions about things #so in private #Darling kind of rolls over Gortash and I'm okay with that #did some edits on feb1

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