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shoddynomenclature · 2 months

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Minthara’s New Dialogue

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

Anyway, here’s Wonderwall.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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sorcerous-caress · 7 months

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Dead men's thrones | Minthara

[ Dark content, descriptions of gore, choking, smut, gender ambiguous reader, after moonrise fight]

[ dark urge Reader ]

In a way, you thought, this scene did look familiar.

The same cold stone walls unburdened by the soft lighting of the candle flames, the same rows of wooden pews lining up from the entrance. Several gods had come and gone long ago, giving a resemblance of a purpose to the cathedral and religious imagery that Ketheric adorned his throne room with.

It was exactly like the first day you took a step here, the first time you really saw her truly desperate, the way they relished in breaking her. Sadistic hearts beating at the sight of a powerful drow woman almost falling to her knees.

There was nothing you wanted to do more than to bathe in their blood at that moment, only then will whatever filth they dragged Minthara into be cleansed.

And yet, when you look at her in this moment, the stone throne does suit her much more than it did for Ketheric.

Adjusting your position on her lap, you took a good look at the very put together women below you. She was whole again. It was you who pulled her over the edge, you who's path was littered with the corpses of both the innocent and the guilty, sacrifices for her sake. Be it innocent tieflings or the chosen of Myrkul.

Wrapping your arms around her neck, you leaned into her even more. Wanting to feel more of her, smell more and taste more.

With a slow drag of your tongue against the side of her neck, you bit down on the spider web tattoo that marked it. And to think you almost gave in to the urge to snap her neck back during your first time together.

Minthara's hand took a hold of the nape of your neck, pushing you further into her as if to encourage you to bite deeper.

She never shied away from your teeth or claws, in fact she seemed delighted. Maybe because she knew even a feral dog will stay loyal to their mistress. Or maybe it was the pleasure she took in disciplining you, getting you to obey and behave, but only to her.

Power and authority suited her, it was in her blood from the moment she was born as a possible matron for the Baerne house. It's so deeply engraved inside her that it might as well be a part of her.

She thinks she is incomplete without it, and so you'd gather all the power in the world at her feet like any loyal dog should.

Pulling away from her neck, you met her crimson eyes with your hunger filled ones. Moving your hips against her thighs, wanting her to touch you, finger you, fuck you, choke you, stab you and even murder you right here and now. To your holes filled brain, every option seemed even more arousing than the last.

You were burning too hot, the primal urge inside you tearing at the seams of your brain and threatening to pour out in a parade of gore and sex.

Maybe she sensed that, she was always exceptionally good at reading people, too good at seeing through you.

The same hand on your nape guided you back to her, anchoring you amidst the raging river of bloodlust just like you anchored her amidst that storm in her brain merely a few weeks ago.

Her delicate lips met yours, slowly giving you a taste of what's to come. She took her time as she kissed you with deep passion, a controlled calm pace to match your hungry desperate one.

Your noises echoed through the empty room, the two of you were the only souls left in the entire tower.

The more she kissed you the quieter these voices became, the calmer the river's stream turned. How expertly she stole the lead from you and made you melt on her lap, how the taste of her lips will be the only thing you'd be able to remember on your deathbed.

Would she be next to you then? Or will her toll come before yours.

You hoped that the thought of death stealing you away from her would fill her with jealousy, that the envy at seeing her favourite pet be taken would be enough to convince her to take your life herself.

A shiver ran up your spine at the idea, heat pooling between your legs as you kept seeking relief with your movement on her lap. If you had no choice but to go out, then parting with this world through her hands was your catharsis.

Her other hand spread your legs on top of her even more, fingers pressing against your lower stomach and slightly pushing your needy insides against each other. Trailing lower and lower at an agonising pace, feather light touches teasing you and toying with you.

It was getting harder to contain yourself, leaking through your clothes and dripping against the stone seat of the throne. Each of your legs were hooked on an armrest to keep you open for her.

Yes, this was definitely a much better use for this throne than whatever Ketheric was doing with it. It was meant for Minthara to sit on as she made a leaking mess out of you, one that'd surely stain it.

Part of you would kill to see the look on his face now, alas corpses weren't known for being very animated.

But maybe if you hadn't killed him so fast, dragging him in front of his own throne as he watched the mad dog and their mistress indulge in various acts of blasphemy.

Tainting the paladin's holy room of prayer and worship.

Your cum and his guts, that was the perfect decoration this room was missing.

Breaking the kiss, Minthara eyed your clothes before looking at you expectantly. Removing yourself from her lap as you stood up, you stripped off everything that might get in her way, completely naked and defenceless as you sat back on her lap.

Her own clothes and leather armour were freshly out of battle, blood covering it and latching onto your skin the more you pressed your naked body to her.

It was intoxicating.

A satisfied smile painted her lips at your obedience. Her hands start feeling up your body, squeezing your thighs, feeling the inside of your hips, teasing the sides below your waist.

She was focused on you, eyes memorising every curve and blemish on your skin.

Reaching your chest, she toyed with your nipples and squeezed, making them even more sensitive the longer she went on.

Arching your back, your hands trembled with each flick and pull. Breath getting heavier as she unravelled you completely with a simple fondling to your chest.

More wetness collected onto the stone below, maybe if she leaned over and bit them you'd actually finish completely untouched.

But her hands retracted, leaving you a panting mess, much to her satisfaction and amusement

She was getting off on this, you knew, nothing got her pussy wetter than her power over you. Nothing made her ache more than having you naked at her mercy while she held the end of the leash to your collar.

Electric pleasure shot through you as you felt her touch between your spread legs, her hand soaking in your mess as it moved against you.

You moved your hips to meet her rhythm, grinding against her hand.

Nothing else mattered in that moment, nothing but the way pure pleasure numbed your brain and quieted your thoughts. Her fingers felt just right as they soothed the fire in your core.

You felt like you never wanted her to stop, even after you become an overstimulated sensitive mumbling mess, even if Bhaal himself came through these doors right now, you wouldn't want her to stop. Gods be damned.

The sound of your obscene moaning filled the room, not a grain of shame in your mind as you let Minthara know how much you enjoyed this.

You were getting closer.

You were getting closer and she is still fully clothed.

You were getting closer and the fresh dead bodies awaited just outside, in the halls.

You were getting closer and there was still a tadpole in your brain, squirming and threatening to burst tentacles through your skull at any given second.

You were getting closer and the shadow curse still loomed outside these walls, threatening to swallow the two of you and marking this throne as your gravestone.

You were getting closer and still can't fucking remember anything besides your own cursed name since the second you awoke on top that damn ship.

Her hand sped up, your vision blurred.

The holes in your brain, who did it, who the fuck did this to you.

Your moans got louder.

You're almost there, pain and pleasure mixing together, intoxicating agony, the white flames from the depths of Stygia itself bubbling through your veins as the burning ice of Cania bled down your throat and spread through your lungs.

Her other hand took a hold of your throat, never stopping her relentless pace.

You're going to cave their skulls in, you're going to peel off their flesh and sew it back on. You'll drown them in a puddle of their own piss and blood, you'll pluck out their eyes and force them to swallow it. You'll stomp out their face until none of their features are recognisable anymore. You'll perform all kinds of vivisections on them as they watch their organs extracted before choking them with their own colon.

There's a burning in your lungs, you're out of air.

Her grip on your throat tightens.

You've never felt greater pleasure before.

With a final stutter to your hips, your orgasm sparks through you like an explosion, tensing every muscle in your body as it sets it on fire, melting your bones and blackening your vision.

Minthara releases your throat.

Her wet fingers press against your lips, after you regain your breath, covered in your own cum.

You lick them clean, tasting yourself mixed with traces of blood.

Guiding you by the nape again, she kisses you softly. Putting you back together after completely tearing you apart, making you whole again in her embrace.

#♡minthara #minthara x reader #bg3 x reader #minthara baenre #♡Smut #bg3 smut #smut #♡angst #angst #tw dark content #tw graphic #tw choking #♡dark content #Dark urge reader #♡Durge reader #Minthara x dark urge

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adaptacy · 4 months

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The General Drow's Celebration {1/2}

Pairing: General!Minthara x Durge!AFAB!Reader

{Part 2}

Warnings/Tags: !!NSFW!! MDNI. BG3 Act II Heavy Spoilers. Minthara is, uh, evil. Exhibitionism, minor foodplay, bloodplay sorta (but its not either of yours), straight-up murder (also not either of you), general cultish things. Mention of poison. Part 1 doesn't include the actual smut but it will happen in part 2! Which I'll finish writing... eventually. Some Drow/Undercommon terms are used, I'm not super familiar I just looked shit up, there's a glossary thingy at the end. :)

Word Count: 3.4k

“Pitiful display. Bold of you to slight me so poorly. Your loyal fleet has been charged on account of your mistakes. Each throat slit. Yours is next.”

“Please, Nightwarden, you do not–”

“Silence,” she cuts back, crossing one of her legs over the other, her stern gaze intimidating even if it wasn’t backed by a history of bloodshed. “Abysmal absence of respect. Treacherous.”

“Shall we admit them to the cells?”

The drow snickers, waving her hand in a quick snap. “A waste that would be. We need the space for more valuable criminals. Slaughter the underling,” she commands, and the executioner raises the blade, but her palm lifts, and the order is paused. “No. Throw them to the shadows. Let them fend against the forsaken.”

“As you command, General,” the man replies, dipping his head and gathering up the chains that bind the betrayer’s wrists, dragging the pleading goblin out of the hall.

At last, it is empty. The line of criminals, cultists, and true souls sorted through. Another day comes to an end with the drow on the throne, another day bearing the late Ketheric’s title, wielding his power, and fate spins along as it should, weaving her pristine web of influence.

“General,” you hum, taking the opportunity to sit on the stone arm of her claimed throne, and she turns her head to look at you, a proud, passionate fire behind her eyes.

“Glorious, isn’t it, my love?” Minthara raises her hand and her slender fingers dance on your chin, feigning a gentle touch before she grips it, her thumb pressing into your jaw as she yanks you closer, her fanged grin growing. “Do you wish to taste the power?”

You smile in return, holding her gaze until she eyes your lips, the pride in the red of her eye soon joined by a similarly hued lust. You stay quiet for a few extra moments before finally responding. “I would like nothing more.”

Her tongue runs over her bottom lip before she pulls you closer, the kiss teasingly tender, and she breaks it in an instant. “Drink it in. My power is yours, dark one. Together, we reign.”

You inch forward, attempting to meet her lips again, but her grip grows more firm, and she forces you to remain stationary. “Nobody else is here,” you whisper, glancing between her lips and her eyes, and her gaze lifts to yours as she smirks.

“Precisely. How shall I lay claim to my property without an audience? You are too exquisite to be concealed,” she whispers, her words catching on your lips, her breath only serving to tease you further. You feel the faint sting of her poison, and it only drives you to deepen your yearning. “Tonight, we will feast. A new age of True Souls shall be celebrated. And I will claim you before our guests. You will be desired by all, but earned only by me. My slayer. My pet. My oloth.”

“He would be proud,” you praise, inching closer to her with your body, though your head remains still.

“I’m inclined to agree. A shame his sacrifice was a necessity. As is the cycle of hierarchy,” she states, releasing your chin, but pulling her own head away before you have a chance to take advantage of the freedom of movement. “We will coddle a new generation of warriors. Not with affection, but dedication. Swaddle them in viscera and nurse them to victory.”

“We’ll raise a force of blood-bringers,” you agree, and Minthara smirks, huffing out an amused exhale.

“Blood-bringers. A marvelous title for a marvelous army.” The drow presses her palms to the stone arms and pushes herself up, standing before the empty room. “Sine Thelids, we will be.” You feel an uncanny itch in your palms, and you shift uncomfortably. Your tadpole squirms, and Minthara lowers her head, sensing your edge. “Control, my slayer. We will march soon. The world will be ours – all thralls along with it. You will have your vengeance, and I shall have mine. Havoc will come to Orin, but it is the blood-bringers she will fear.”

“We will claim her life,” you second, standing up as well and joining her side, watching her as she looks over the empty throne room. Many times, she’s been seated off to the side. Only ever gazing at the throne that Ketheric so often sat in. With your help, however, her placement had changed. Rightfully, she had taken his power, his lead, just as you had helped her take his life. Ketheric was the first to fall, but he would not be the last.

“They shall bow to us. Each and every one. Extinguish their lives, and ignite their influence. We will be almighty,” she purrs, her chin tilting up ever so slightly, red eyes scanning the room one final time before she turns back to you, and holds out her hand. “Come. We must prepare for the banquet.”

It came as no surprise that Minthara had already planned an outfit for you; she had a plan for the banquet, and she intended to follow it through perfectly. That required your cooperation, even in the slightest of details. You weren’t complaining – it was a fine choice she’d made. Less surprising still was the nature of the clothing.

A personally tailored leather clasp for a neck piece, attaching to a particularly revealing shirt, cut with a wide triangle down the middle of your torso, leaving little to the imagination. You didn’t mind. Chances are, nothing would be left to the imagination by the end of the gathering, so you were going to take what you could get.

You clean yourself up of any lingering grime from the day, enjoying a short but relaxing bath before dressing yourself up in the clothes she had prescribed to you. Once you’re sure that you’re ready, you make your way downstairs to the audience hall, where Minthara waits at the bottom of the stairs, her hand offered to you as you approach.

It would be an understatement to say that suppressing a smile was difficult – pitted against her appearance, your physical display of enjoyment was far out of your control. Minthara was the type to look good in anything, though she usually stuck to her usual dark drow armor and her black, rigid evening clothes.

Tonight, however, was special. Her outfit reflected that in a way that almost took you by surprise.

Both of you were well-aware of the possibility of an attack. Not an attack on Moonrise, not an attack on The Absolute, but an attack on Minthara – with Ketheric the unkillable now, against all odds, gone and dead, there was sure to be turmoil between the higher ranking members of the cult. Minthara had been the one to dethrone him, to rob him of his power and his breath, and thus she had claimed his authority.

Not everyone was so willing to allow such an opportunity to slip out of their grasp. Z’rell had been taken care of even before Ketheric, as she posed the most significant threat. A few others, too – mostly those who had previously disrespected Minthara, made to pay their dues in the light of her new title.

Tonight, she would feast with potential enemies. Betrayers. She may feast with attempted assassinations, and it was unlikely the night would sail without bloodshed.

You did not expect a full suit of armor, but you had expected something more protective than the clothing she had decided upon. Her upper arms and shoulders were well-guarded with black leather shells, attaching to an equally thick leather that ran down her sides, though where defense mattered most – her abdomen, the simplest and most lethal place to strike – her purple skin was left revealed to the world.

Her legs were wrapped comfortably in black pants, and you know immediately that this is not an oversight on her part. Hardly so. It is a test. An offering – an opportunity for her silent enemies, her weakest spot left vulnerable to their hunger for power, a surefire bait. Minthara had not forgotten about her endangerment. She embraced it. Welcomed it. Challenged it.

“It fits,” she states, smirking as you take her hand in your own and step carefully down the final few steps, allowing her to drink in your appearance just as you had soaked in hers. “A good thing. I wish no harm upon our tailor – I have already removed his tongue, but I suspect he may need his fingers to continue his work. A troublesome ordeal seeking out a new tailor would prove,” she chuckles.

You turn to face her, and she takes your other hand as well, her red eyes judging your expression. “You look nice as well, General,” you praise, not bothering to hide your wandering gaze as you trail over her chest, the bra piece more than familiar to you. You dare to lift a finger, pulling your hand from hers, and snake it under the band over her sternum, pulling it down ever so slightly, your temptation getting the best of you.

Her slender fingers trace up your wrist, wrapping around and pulling your hand up to her mouth, pressing her lips to the back of it. “We shall be objects of desire tonight. Some may see vulnerability. It is in that liability we find our strength. Neither harm nor pleasure shall be brought upon you unless it is by my hand. That is an assurance.”

“They worship our power. Soon, our bodies alongside it, yes?” You ask, and Minthara smirks again, giving your hand another kiss.

“Our power. Our lethality. Our bodies. And we will worship one another.” At last, she releases your hand, and it returns to your side, though she still holds the other one. Gently – hardly afraid of losing you, or allowing you opportunity to slip away, for she knows you are hers, and she is yours. It is for that same reason that you don’t tighten your grip around her fingers. There is ample security and assurance without the need for a strong hold. Her gaze shifts to large wooden double doors, where light shines through the crack at the bottom. “Our squadron awaits. Ah,” – Minthara tilts her head – “Our blood-bringers.”

Providing a controlled nod in response, she leads you into the banquet hall, the table already arranged with the offerings of a feast, and ‘True Souls’ line the longer sides of the table, and at the head there are two empty chairs. Empty, that is, until Minthara guides you towards them, and you take a seat at one while she stands in front of the one beside you, releasing your hand in order to address the group.

You know everyone stationed at the table, though you aren’t quite familiar with all of them. You know each person’s name, but not everyone’s current rank, or how they served Ketheric during his reign. Those who you do immediately recognize consist of The Warden, who’s standing remains unchanged, the halfling Linsella, who has been granted an increase in authority, with Minthara permitting her reign over verified prisoners and hostages, allowing her to convert said captives as she pleases. Sitting two seats to your left is the skilled spy Marcus, who you recall once yearned to be the right-hand of the late general. As far as you’re aware, he has remained a mere spy, but high in the ranks nonetheless.

“A waste of precious time it would be, were I to spare words of mourning for Thorm,” Minthara announces, all eyes pinned on her, save for yours. “He served well, but he serves no more. I plan no delegation over the loss. We move forward, as the Absolute commands,” she continues, and the True Souls each dip their heads, murmuring out quiet agreements; ‘In Her name.’

She does well to hide the truth. You have always admired her, both for her prevalence in battle and her combined willingness and capability to achieve further power where she sees possibility. Few manage to look past morals as she does, few are as earnestly eager as she is with their dreams.

Her faith was crushed, the truth revealed in ways that would desecrate any other’s ambition, had they been in her shoes. Alas, she is Minthara of house Baenre, and she seizes opportunity the moment it presents itself. With one stone in her grasp, and an oblivious, willing army at her disposal, she poses a far larger threat to the other chosen than they may have ever thought possible.

“You sit in his throne,” A man speaks up, two chairs to your left – Marcus, the spy, “You serve his meals, you command his troops, and yet you disrespect his name wholly.” He speaks with a growl, and dares to rise, making his intentions clear to the room, his target included.

Minthara pulls her torso back, and she meets his eye, her palms resting flat on the table. No longer hidden beneath the table, a greatclub is grasped tightly in his right hand, his knuckles tinted white from the tension in his hold. “Ketheric disrespected his name to far greater lengths than I would ever have the words to manage. And so creatively, too,” she chuckles, her tone brimming with clear-cut confidence, and although you attempt to reassure yourself, you feel your heart skip a beat, momentarily silently fearing for her safety. You see no daggers, no means of defense on her person, and yet she smiles all the same.

Marcus scoffs, grimacing, leaning towards the drow, the fire in his eyes fueled entirely by resentment. “Attempt no trickery by mouth – Our General wanted you disposed of, and I intend to carry out his orders as my final judgment by the Absolute.”

“Pathetic. Loyalty to a dead man serves no greater purpose – only a grave.” Minthara sneers, her next words joined by a tone of stable, smooth mockery, “Do you expect him to rise again? Fulfill his wishes, and his head will roll back onto the neck I severed it from? The Absolute has already judged you well and true. I’m afraid your devotion is tardy. Had you served him so faithfully while his corpse was animate, perhaps he may have led a longer rule. Alas, I shall reward your allegiance, and reunite you with your Bossk.”

Marcus’ scowl pulls wrinkles in his forehead, his arm twitching – the split-second jerk being movement enough to warn Minthara of his next move. He charges, raising his greatclub, eyes pinning a target on her skull. You’re not granted a chance to so much as flinch before Minthara retrieves a dagger from its place in a sheath attached to the bottom of the table, raising her arm as the blade is precisely swiped across the man’s throat, spraying the immediate area in his blood.

That immediate area being you, Minthara, the two True Souls sitting closest, and part of the prepared meal on the table.

The spy’s body falls with a final gurgle, and Minthara spins her blade to capture it in a firmer grip, her blood-kin gaze serving a silent order to the stunned audience. “Rath’arg. Do any other false believers wish to challenge me? To take my head would be a grant of my authority. Do strike now, daring lambs, for tonight I am willing to grant mercy and bestow quick deaths upon traitors.”

Her breath is steady – she is not tense, but firm, and the True Souls exchange glances with one another, each and every one remaining silent and submissive. Though her fine attire is splattered with the blood of a betrayer, she remains unphased. True to her mission, allowing no room for distractions, nor for doubt.

When she is assured, she sets her dagger on the table beside her, and she dips her head. “Very well. Feast, warriors, for we need our strength. In Her name,” she states, her eyes closing for only a moment.

“In Her name,” the party recites, beginning to indulge themselves in the food less affected by the close death, but Minthara turns instead to you, her own personal repast, free from the intermingling of her underlings. The True souls speak, quietly, amongst one other – discussing the Absolute, the rise of their new General, and similar such topics.

Her bloodied purple hand is offered to you, and you accept, rising from your seat at her physical request. Few eyes are drawn to you, for the time being – you don’t bother to take count, to truly decipher how many pay attention to your activities. Minthara pulls you closer, her free hand cradling your jaw and wiping Marcus’ blood from your lips, allowing her to kiss you without risking a taste of the coward. For a short moment, the contact is broken, and her nose brushes with yours, gaze intense with a roused lust from the bloodshed. “However intense our reign may become, however great our influence grows, know that at the center of my drive is where you lie. You are mine, as I am yours. We are bound as one – in body, in soul, in power.” There’s a pause in which you make an attempt to reconnect your lips, but she pulls back, her mouth instead moving towards your ear, her tone lowering to a whisper, ensuring only you may receive her message. “Bow as we may to the Absolute, pray as we may to their lies, you are my true quar'valsharess. My deity, and mine alone.”

Knowing how much she risks by admitting that in a room full of the Absolute’s followers, however quiet of an admission it was, is more than enough to make your heart flutter, stomach pleasantly uneased by a disturbance of butterflies. You pivot as a hand on your hip guides you to press your back against the edge of the table, and the dishes behind you are pushed aside, likely much to the dismay of the nearest True Souls. Minthara’s lips trail over your lightly bloodied neck, no longer caring whether or not the blood invades her taste, merely enjoying the flavor of her success on your skin.

While she delivers no verbal commands or physical guidance, you understand her intentions well enough to assist her in carrying them out. So, you lift yourself onto your ankles and hop just enough to steady yourself on the table, immediately finding that she invades the space between your legs, bringing her hips closer to yours. Her kisses continue to trail down, littering every available space that her selected clothing allows her to access. Hands run along your sides, caressing over the full length twice before they linger on the sliver of skin between the top and bottom pieces of your outfit. When her mouth reaches that section as well, your leather pants are dragged downward, shedding her territory of protection, vulnerable to her touch – to her command.

When they bunch at your knees, thighs against the wooden table, your only means of defense being your thin, weak layer of underwear, Minthara pauses, standing up straight once more. A hand presses to your chest, pushing you backwards, though your hips remain stationary – you lay back, displayed across the bloodied feast as if you were one with it. All eyes are on you, now, but Minthara’s attention is the only attention that matters to you. Even if you don’t threaten to disobey or refuse, her palm is firm on your chest, forcing you to keep position.

“True Souls,” she addresses, instantly gaining the room’s undivided interest. “Speak my title.”

“General Minthara,” the audience replies, and her smirk grows, revealing flashes of her hungry teeth.

Louder, she repeats; “Speak my title.”

“General Minthara!”

Her hand slides up your body, finding purchase around your throat, and she meets your gaze, her prideful smile meant entirely for you. “Tonight, we celebrate two deaths. The death of Late General Thorm, and the death of The Nightwarden. Indulge in the wine and feast as you deem fit – a rebirth occurs this evening. A rebirth of values. A rebirth of power. A rebirth of The Absolute.” Her gaze lifts, meeting the intrigued smiles of her soldiers. “Hear the testament of my reign – straight from the voice of darkness,” Minthara chuckles, eyes drawn once more to you. “Speak my title, dear oloth.”

With a lustful smile, you oblige; “General Minthara.”

“General Minthara,” she agrees, leaning over the table to meet your lips, hand tightening around your throat, robbing you of breath in the two ways she knows best.

(1) Oloth – Darkness (Drow) (2) Sine Thelid – Great Conqueror (Undercommon) (3) Bossk – Lord (Undercommon) (4) Rath’arg – Coward (Drow) (5) Quar’valsharess – Goddess (Drow)

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