#durgetash behavior

[plaidpyjamas]

thinking about that handler/guard dog trope post w/ durgetash

durge is happily and proudly gortash's attack/guard dog, to the point where they occasionally wear a muzzle and it's not just like, any muzzle, it's fancy. intricate metalwork - all gold, ofc - straps made of the softest leather

#durgetash #durge #gortash #something about durge only wearing it to big fancy important events the two of them attend together #a warning to stay away but also #a reminder to durge to /behave/ #sighs dreamily #i just have a thing for the unapologetic guard dog character i guess #i want to Be Them yknow #ugh and if durge wore a collar and leash?? #ONLY gortash is allowed to even TOUCH durge's leash #they HAVE killed people for that #they're insane i love them both #durgetash behavior

[wi1dshxpe]

durge and orin being siblings has to be the best thing that ever happened to bhaal. i just know their fighting for daddy’s approval would immediately outshine any criticism they had of him. like orin is sad she killed the girl she was seeing because it was getting too serious and goes to durge for support. durge gives a solid twenty seconds of reassurance before lying about how that has never happened to them before. orin backtracks and changes her story because it was actually awesome and poetic, really! durge calls her out. the entire thing turns into a petty verbal slap fight before they can even think about how much it sucks they can’t/aren’t allowed to maintain meaningful relationships. another time durge casually laments they never have time for hobbies. orin says she doesn’t need hobbies, murder is her entire life, durge calls art her hobby, orin calls her art worship, somehow sceleritas ends up stabbed. basically the two of them successfully pivot from a valid complaint to “look dad i love murder, dad, dad, look dad i’m better at murder than my sibling.” every time any crappy aspect of being a bhaalspawn comes up

#dark urge #durge #orin #orin the red #durgetash is the best thing to ever happen to orin bc even though it makes her want to rip her skin off it gives her a genuine foot up #over durge behavior wise #not to take away all of durge and orins autonomy #or likee whatever but i genuinely think their loyalty to their father/grandfather depends on them just never questioning whether or not #they’re happy

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

Eternity

We were not meant to be partnered in this life.

I stand here with your blood dripping from my blade, watching the light fade from your eyes.

You reach for me.

Of course you do.

It is not Karlach you look at in your final moments, for all she wishes she had been the one to take your life.

If it were anyone else, I would have let her.

I wish you were anyone else.

You smile at me, and you think it is your last moment.

“I'm glad it was you,” you whisper, and slip away.

It is not the end.

Although there are other battles we will partake in, other paths to walk upon, mine shines clear before me.

We were not meant to be together. Not in this life.

The next, however, is unknown.

Bane cannot have you. I know what he wishes. You were sworn to him first, but you are mine.

I will chase you into the endless beyond, and make your soul eternal.

Gale has set the path, all I need do is follow.

He shall take the crown.

I shall take my father's head.

I will wrest you from Bane, and find you again, and again, and again.

We were not meant to be with each other in this time.

But I shall love you the same.

As a Grand Duke.

As a farmer boy.

As a baker.

As a mercenary.

As a teacher.

No matter the form, the gender, it was you who tangled your life so effortlessly with mine, and in doing so, became the stardust that spirals throughout my universe.

We were meant to be together.

Before there were Three, there were two.

And so we shall be again.

#durgetash #YES this is durgetash #this is exactly the sort of obsessive toxic soulmate behavior I expect from those two #also the idea that Durge would become a god just to keep Gortash #bg3 #my writing #enver gortash

[gamerkitten]

Still trying to figure out who Lorelai was pre-tadpole and landing on highly charismatic and charming but cruel as all fuck under the surface. Obviously she's a killer, duh she's Bhaal's Chosen, but the way she goes about it is devious as fuck.

Looks wise, she's a beautiful high elf. Delicate, fragile even.(LOL)

So thanks to the halo effect, no one ever sees her coming. She can seduce or charm her victims into following her to some secluded place or allowing her into their homes(a favorite ploy of hers is to play the damsel in distress. " oh please help me, I was attacked and just managed to get away!") and then strike when their guard is down.

Obviously, it doesn't matter who she kills; it's all meat to Bhall, but she prefers to target the wealthy and then help herself to dresses and jewels before vanishing into the night.

Which brings me to the topic of everyone's favorite tyrant.

She meets Gortash at a party, hunting for her latest mark. He catches her notice when she sees him schmoozing his way around the room. He notices that she's been tailing him all night and that the earrings she's wearing are a pair he bought for an older lady he was trying to charm into investing in his business ventures;that is until said lady was brutally butchered in her sitting room one night.

He calls her out, more annoyed than anything else, and then tries to strike a weapons deal with her in the same conversation. She doesn't deny her crime, and agrees to meet the next day to discuss business.

They are ridiculous and awful and I love them.

#durgetash #Lorelai #enver gortash #honestly they deserve each other #unhinged behavior

[bhaalschosen]

pre-amnesia during the Villain Days sloane had a basement room in gortash's estate in the upper city that she used whenever she wanted to stay in the area for a while. it looked fairly normal but as i mentioned she kept all sorts of weird bhaalist shit stashed in there. she also frequently let herself into his house without asking.

they wrote back and forth to each other a lot and it became an eternal game where she'd hide her letters in increasingly weird locations around his house. he had to use his brain to puzzle out the location of each one, often hinted at by something in the previous letter, and she had to use her rogue skills to dodge all his security so she could hide them without him finding out.

she'd also never use doors, when she needed to move around the house she'd climb, go through windows, or run around inside the walls like a weirdo

#sloane/gortash #durgetash #completely normal behavior from some completely normal folks of course.

[animentality]

you know what hurts worse than gortash admiring durge so much only for durge to forget him? the fact that it was mutual. durge admits in the prayer for forgiveness note that they admire gortash but in that note they were trying to reassure bhaal they would stick to the plan and kill him and then themselves, but what if.. they were lying? what if their devotion to total slaughter was shaken, and they had started thinking about a life with gortash?

the chosen of bhaal is supposed to devote their entire being to bhaal’s will and then die happily upon his altar, but durge found gortash, and found an equal. someone to lie for. someone to live for.

but of course that change in their behavior, that life changing admiration that neither of them could hide or deny, would be durge’s fall from grace. orin noticed. how could she not? they were hardly subtle. and finally she had an opening, a nick in the armor she could use to usurp her sibling. they had a weakness in the shape of enver gortash.

Listen anon, the idea that the Dark Urge might've had misgivings about their role as the Chosen of Bhaal and the Scion of Bhaal HAUNTS me.

This is why durgetash appeals to me so much.

It humanizes the Dark Urge SO MUCH. It makes them a real fucking person and not just some edgelord murder hobo. It gives them fucking depth.

The idea that Orin was only able to kill them because she used their affection for Gortash against them? Fucking brilliant. It was their loyalty to Gortash that made her resentful, and it was that same loyalty that would be their downfall.

The notion that perhaps they actually LET her kill them because they knew Gortash could handle her, in the way he could never handle killing them? Also fucking brilliant. They died to save him...only to come back, and deliver the killing blow themselves.

It's fucking Shakespearan, anon!!!

The dramatic irony is so fucking brilliant that I could froth about it for days!!!

URGH.

They'll never confirm these things though. And that's fine.

I'm smarter than everyone. I know what's good.

And THAT's good.

DURGETASH. But OUR durgetash, not theirs. The durgetash we hold in our bleeding palms.

And yes.

The dramatic irony of...we didn't know two vicious creatures could find something so soft within us. We weren't made for it. We didn't know what to do with it, so we tore it apart with our teeth. And then we didn't even get to mourn the loss together.

Only one remembers. The other isn't aware that they've lost something.

And that is more heart breaking than simply losing a beautiful thing.

#enver gortash #dark urge #durgetash

[wild-magic-oops]

I find the idea of Durge subverting expectations (both in looks and behavior) very interesting, and combined with the intelligence that is hinted in canon, and him inheriting Bhaal's love of money and that translating into having a thing of luxury as well, my take on a durgetash first meeting is that they met during a high society party that Durge killed and lied his way into and it was him who realized that Gortash was a banite while Gortash thought he'd just be getting his dick wet later by the flirty noble who spent the night making fun of fellow high society peers with Gortash.

Durge ofc had planned on killing Gortash near the end of the party, but he kept postponing getting him alone and doing that bc he was actually having fun talking to Gortash and now he doesn't feel like killing him anymore oops

#durgetash #the dark urge #durge #enver gortash #gortash #bg3 #my posts #gortash really seems to think highly of durge's intelligence #gotta give him a reason haha #this is highkey my backstory for lucas #I still haven't decided tho #me posting my extremely unpopular take lmao

[psalacanthea]

WiP Wednesday

its tabletop night, so here, have this. I need to stop looking at it tho, must purge the durgetash brainrot for the night so I can try to murder my players effectively.

A little bit of my Durge Belladonna being a weird freak at Gortash, more of which can be found here on my AO3!

"Is she still alive, my dear Belladonna?”

Belladonna blinked, tilting her head to stare down at Enver.  He took the wine back from her hand, their fingers brushing.  Reflexively her hand withdrew the instant they touched.  Her attention drifted back to Lady Janneth, still lying sprawled on the bed, under the blanket.  Oh, he thought she’d–

“Why would I kill your toys?” she asked, attention drawn back to him as he sipped the wine.  Ugh, the hair.  Her eyes kept being drawn back, obsessively.  “It’s only a sleep spell.”

“Why would you follow me to my lover’s home, watch me bed her, and then sneak into the still-occupied bed to read her diary?  Every conclusion a sane man would draw from your actions would offend you deeply.”

“Then don’t say it,” she said blandly.

“Why did you follow me?” Enver was staring at her with the intensity of a man who expected eye contact.

What a pointless question.  “To see where you were going.”

“Why did you enter the room?”

“Again, to see where you were going.  And then I was eavesdropping.  While I was doing that, the door was closed, thus trapping me within. To answer your next three very pointed questions.”

“You can’t convince me that you don’t have a dozen ways you could have escaped, Belladonna.”

She shifted her weight, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs, table pressing into the back of her thigh. “You only use the name you made up for me this often when you’re truly annoyed.  I didn’t know you would care.  You’ve seen me have sex several times.”

“Depending on the definition of the word, that may not be entirely true.  In my mind, sex involves at least two willing participants.”

“Yes, the con man and the dupe.”

Enver laughed quietly, giving up the facade of being angry with her.  Yes, he was irritated, but she’d noticed he very rarely was angry.  At least not with her.  He reached for the other wine-stained glass, poured from a pitcher of water into it, swirled it until the wine had all turned the water pink.  Then he dumped it out on the floor.  “Your standards of behavior are not at all normal, my dear Bhaalspawn, did you know that?”

“What exactly is wrong with wanting to know where people are going?”  she inquired, wondering why he thought it was all right to pour water on the floor.  Was that what he meant by behavior standards?

He poured her clean water into the glass and offered it over, stem tucked between his fingers.  She accepted it, dipping her finger into the liquid and wiping off the rim.  It still didn’t feel clean even despite the lack of smudges, so she just held it.

He leaned forward in his chair, staring up at her with a critical air and a relaxed posture. “Anyone else would have stopped me in the street, said hello, and asked where I was off to.”

“That would be a waste of the man I’d killed three alleys over,” she said, glancing down as he leaned a little closer, chin on his hand.  And then she immediately averted her eyes before she was upset again. 

“Do you do this often?”

“Yes?  I must practice what I preach, after all, or I would not be much of a leader.  Much like yourself.  Following and watching people is an important part of being a successful killer.”  

“I meant to me, not– why won’t you look at me?”

“Your hair is a mess and it makes me want to scalp you,” she admitted without even a moment’s pause to consider if she’d offend him.  By now she knew he wouldn’t be.  

“Thank you for your self-control.  I’ll fix it right away.  Hold this for me.”

Puzzled, she extended her hand by rote, and he dropped something into it as he rose.  Heavy and still warm from his finger, the massive diamond ring he’d handed her was the one she’d watched Wisteria slide onto his finger.  It was shiny and all, she supposed.

“Why give this to me?”

“I wanted to see your reaction to it,” he replied with another chuckle, crossing the floor to what seemed to be a dressing table and a desk in one.  “You don’t care about such things, do you?”

“I’ve seen larger and shinier stones.  I usually give them to Orin to play with if they’re not worthy of the coffers. Children like toys." Though Orin was always terribly ungrateful for it; but that was a youngest child for you. Always yelling about not being your sibling and trying to stab you.  "I don’t handle money, that’s beneath me.  You seemed quite enamored of it.”

“Not of it, my dearest Belladonna.  Of what it is.  That ring is worth more than this entire house!”  He sounded quite satisfied.  Gloating was one of Enver’s biggest vices, she’d learned.  It didn’t bother her to be his audience for a bit of smugness, as she was quite often when he was feeling self-important.

And he was always feeling self-important.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #wip wednesday #durgetash #durge x gortash #durge: Belladonna #weirdest little freak ever stands over you invisible while you fuck #and yet you still want her #who's the freak here gort

[fkitwebhaal]

Fic: Violence Forgiving Steel

Ship: The Dark Urge/Enver Gortash and The Dark Urge/Haarlep but it's not the focus.

Fandom: BG3

Warnings: non graphic rape/non-con, non graphic dubious consent, self destructive behavior, suicidal thoughts

Rating: M

AO3

Summary: 

"In the end, it’s a nightmare that makes you decide to leave." After Gortash tells the party who the Dark Urge truly is, the Dark Urge leaves the party in the middle of the night. That doesn't mean they abandon the promises they made their friends. Or the Dark Urge goes on a one sorcerer mission to right their wrongs and save their friends from the shadows. Its goes both better and worse than expected.

Notes:

See those warnings. I am not fucking around with those warnings. Nothing is graphic but if you see anything there and go “I don’t know” maybe skip this one. This is pure angst and one squid joke.

The Durgetash here is entirely dubious consent.

Fic is below the cut!

In the end, it’s a nightmare that makes you decide to leave. Everything else, the day you’ve had, the revelations you’ve heard, are just added reasons to go.

You put your tent farther from the others to rest the night after you’re revealed to be behind the absolute plot. Your lover doesn’t ask to share your bedroll tonight and you’re afraid to ask if it’s because they know you want the alone time or if they’ve decided you're not worth sharing a bedroll with. When you dream, it is of blood covered hands and your companions scattered around you in pieces like Alfira. 

You wake up choking on a scream, the image of a collection of severed fingers in your hand making you feel nauseous. Every second you stay in camp, you are a threat to them all. You’ve known this for awhile, how could you not, but until today you’d been able to tell yourself that the companionship your friends enjoyed was more of an asset than the risk you posed. 

Now, after shouts about your past betrayal, that argument seems flimsy. 

You start packing as you think out a plan. It’s ludicrous, and will likely end in your death, but you’re not sure if that’s such a bad outcome. Gortash wants you to be his partner again, and while you refused him, should you fake a change of heart, he might trust you enough to let some information slip. You doubt it would be easy, he’s not a complete moron, but his delight in seeing you again is an emotion you can exploit and you are quite the talented actor. 

If you pull off playing turncoat for just a day, you could learn the location Wyll’s father, maybe even break him out yourself. Maybe you could even scope out the fortress for storming it layer, sabotaging some of the traps that are sure to lie in wait. 

And then, once that was done, you could see about helping your companions other issues. Many of them are hurting from issues you caused and the rest you promised to aid when you made it to the city. There is no need for you to break that promise, even should you not be physically at their side.

An elaborate plan forms in your head. Given what Gortash said hours earlier, you used to be quite talented at those. Hopefully the worm in your head and the injury that put it there haven’t reduced your capacity for scheming that much. 

With the plan sketched out in your mind, there’s one important aspect you need to test first. So you mentally reach out to the man who has watched you this entire journey and poke gently.

“Yes ?” The Emperor’s voice echoes in your mind. 

You have a hunch he’s been manipulating you this whole time. It’s not a new suspicion, you’ve suspected since Moonrise, but it’s solidified in the wake of his true appearance. He had appeared to you as a blue tiefling, familiar in a way that didn’t provoke the horror like your other memories. You are not so naive to think that was a coincidence. 

Now that you know what you are, you know the advantages to hiding your fangs and claws among the flocks of sheep. 

Thankfully, you’re a talented manipulator yourself. The Emperor might think he pulls your strings but you now know enough about him to pull back. 

“ The prism will hold as long as we both stay in the city ?” You ask mentally as you pack the last of your supplies. He takes a moment to reply and you wonder if it’s because he’s actually thinking through your answer, or that he wants you to. 

“ Yes, but removing yourself from your companions is unwise .”

“ They don’t trust me anymore .” You think to how Karlach raged at you, tears clinging to her cheeks, how Lae’zel sneered at you like she hasn’t since the first day of the crash. Hopefully those memories will suffice to mask your true feelings on the matter: that you still trust them, that you are leaving to offer them peace. “ If I work on my own, we can solve this faster. But you can’t tell them where I am.”

There is no reply. You go for the killing blow, the string you think the Emperor is most susceptible to being pulled by. “ You’re the only one I can still trust.”

That’s what he wants most. Your devotion. You offer it up to him on a silver platter and hope he doesn’t see the knife behind your back.

“I will do as you ask.” You nod, throwing the last of your supplies into your bag and think that his willingness to believe you is the more convincing of the pretense of his soul than anything he’s told you. 

Digging your hand into your bag, you pull out 300 gold. It’s a small chunk from the party funds but you do feel a little guilty about taking it.  But if you want to pull this off, you’re going to need some help, and while Wither’s is cheap, you doubt he’ll give you a massive discount for hiring in bulk.

The last thing you do before packing up your tent is writing a few letters. The first is to the party as a whole, explaining you are not abandoning their cause but seeking to aid them. That you know you betrayed them, and you will make it right, if it’s the last thing you do. That your absence is intended as start of that penance, not cowardice. 

That you refuse to make them rest with the person who put them through all of this. 

The other two letters you write to Wyll and Astarion respectively. Both of them responded to your revelations with empathy, though it’s empathy you couldn’t help but second guess given Wyll’s tendency to put his feelings last and Astarion’s situation possibly making him reluctant to tell you how he truly feels. However, you write neither of your letters because of their reactions. 

For Wyll, it is to stay his hand while you recover the Duke. You can guess what Mizora has planned, it’s not hard to guess, and you will damn yourself before you allow him to damn himself again for a man who cast him aside. 

For Astarion, it’s a reminder of a promise you made him, one you have no intention of failing. You will see Cazador dead when Astarion decides to confront him. As soon as he casts a sending scroll your way (which you ensure to leave for him), you will be waiting in Cazador’s halls to fight beside him. Even if he doesn’t believe you. 

With that thought, you leave your tent and begin to pack it up. Within the hour, you have left Withers your letters and hired yourself three souls of the dearly departed to aid you in what’s to come. He tries to talk you out of it, but when he realizes you can be swayed, he accepts the messages and promises to deliver them. 

You take only one look back at camp before you walk out into the dark of night.

______

Withers’ ghosts are not good company. They don’t talk at all, merely phantom warriors who follow your every command. It’s a loyalty that churns your stomach. 

Sadly, you do need them. If you wish to accomplish anything, you will need help. This whole plan of yours partially relies on Gortash thinking you without allies. So when you arrive at the fortress, you leave them far outside the gate, each with their own instructions on how to proceed. 

Inside the fortress, you request an audience with the new Grand Duke. You get one and when you make it up the stairs to the hall, you find yourself in the aftermath of a bloodbath. All the nobility from earlier are slain where they once stood, blood spilling out upon the floor like the tide coming in. The blood staining the swords of the Steel Watch makes it obvious who the culprit is. However, not all of them are dead yet, having hid for safety. When they spot you, they run out of their hiding place, making their way towards the stairs. They must think you an ally, given the tense words you exchanged earlier in front of the crowd. As the two run at you, you know what you have to do if you want to pull off this con.

You’ve murdered so many people. Two more should be nothing. But when your lightning bolt runs them both throw, their eyes growing wide from the shock, the smell of burnt hair filling the room, you still want to crawl in a hole and die.

“I see you remain as deadly as ever, old friend,” Gortash says, eyeing you as he walks down the hall. He claps slow, like a man does when he sees an impressive trick and you despise him so. “But I thought I said I didn’t wish to see your face again until you provided me the stone.”

“The situation changed; your little display of my history has left me without a place to stay. And since you proposed we become allies, I decided it was best to ask for your generous hospitality.”

He shakes his head. “Ah, I see. Follow me to my office.” 

When you get up there, you tell him the story you concocted. The revelation of you being Bhalspawn and behind the absolute was too much. They couldn’t bring themselves to kill you, but they couldn’t have you stay either. Out of allies, you have crawled back to Gortash’s door in order to forge a new alliance; he leaves your former friends alone and you will help him defeat Orin and give him the stone.

It’s a tough act to sell. You do your best to appear reluctant to be there, devastated by your friends betrayal enough to still care for their safety, but furious enough at their reaction to be willing to team with their enemy. The key is to appear just the right amount of vulnerable that he’ll think that he is manipulating you and not the other way around. 

Gortash worships the God of control. You hope to give him the illusion of controlling you to keep him distracted should the Duke still be in the fortress and in need of rescue. 

You don’t think he buys it entirely but you suspect he wants to. He eyes you up and down slowly; appraising, before he leans back on his desk. 

“Is all of our arrangement back in place or just the business one?” He asks smiling, and you think it’s intended as warm even though it makes your skin crawl. “I understand you remember little of our previous arrangement, so please disregard should you not be interested. I know you’ve been through a lot today and partially on my account.”

You suspected as much about your relationship, but you’d been hoping to be proven wrong. This is partiality a test and you know it; he wants to see if you’ll do something your allies would never approve of. If you refuse him, you can still pull this off, absolutely. There’s absolutely an angle here to go here of mutual mistrust, and you can pull this off even with it in play. But if you spread your legs, you can play up a different tale: that you are so wrecked and ruined by what you were and how your friends have treated you, that you’re willing to fall to your knees at a scrap of kindness. Plus, you can probably get him to leave his office alone. 

You already know which you’re going to pick.

“And if I’m interested?” You say, trying to sound unsure and a bit conflicted. “Only for fun, nothing else.”

Gortash walks past you, and whispers in your ear. 

You shudder. You hope he mistakes it as lust, but if he takes it as the disgust it truly is, you’re sure that wouldn’t be a turn off for him. 

“Then take what you want.”

Pushing the thought away of sweet kisses you shared mere days ago with someone who held your hand and saw you despite your urges, you grab Gortash’s collar and pull him in for a kiss that’s mostly teeth. 

(You hope Karlach doesn’t hate you for this, for giving your body to a man who put her in chains, regardless of your ulterior motives. You hope Astarion doesn’t hate you for this, for offering yourself up freely to be used when you have the opportunity to say no). 

While you “entertain” your old friend, you keep your mind focused on anything else but what you know is happening under his nose. One of your ghosts, pretending to be one of Gortash’s right hand men, is figuring out where the Duke is located from some loose lipped Banites. Another is checking the top floor and Gortash’s office for traps and, should everything go to plan, sabotaging them just enough so they’ll fail quickly without being obviously disarmed. The last is in charge of making a map of the fortress with all the secret entrances and exists they can find. You plan to copy it to send to your friends, Gortash might restrict their access now that you are not among their number. The original you plan to keep to yourself; once Gortash wises up to what you’re up to, you too will need other means of entry. 

After, when he’s asleep, you throw back on your robes and look out the window. It takes ten minutes, but eventually the raven summoned by one of your hirlings flies by with a red and green ribbon around its leg. It’s a code you agreed on beforehand. The red ribbon tells you the Duke is no longer being held in the fortress. The green tells you the other tasks you assigned are complete.

You look over your shoulder at Gortash. You could try to kill him now, but all his guards are outside. You’re not so foolish to think you can take them all on, including the Steel Watch. You’ll just have to trust Karlach and the rest will get the job done better than you ever could.

With that, you misty step into the roof of the fortress that you can see from the window, cast feather fall on yourself and jump off the edge to meet your fellow ghosts on the shore.

____

You lose one of your ghosts freeing everyone from the Iron Throne, along with some of the Gondians. 

All things considered, you did a far better job than you could have hoped. But the death of some of the Gondians sting regardless, especially remembering Gortash’s words over the com. If you had your friends with you, you could have probably saved them all. 

But if you had your friends with you, there would be no way you could know all this within 4 hours. They would have never approved your plan to use yourself as a lure to bait Gortash into a trap.

The Emperor expands his protection to the Duke with little prodding which is nice. When the man recovers himself,  he asks about who you are and you don’t think much about your answer. 

“I’m a friend of your son.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. It never occurred to you that Wyll’s name would inspire any reaction other than awe or happiness. An apprehensive scowl crossed the Duke’s face, and he looks to you like you told him you had a poisonous snake for him. 

“That doesn’t provide me much reassurance.”

You really shouldn’t snap at him. Wyll will be mad at you later for it, you know this, and you don’t really want to upset him. But you are tired, freezing from dirty water and running on fitful sleep. So, you hope Wyll might forgive you when you cast hold person on his father to hiss right in his face. 

“Listen,” you hiss and you can hear the growl of the Urge in your tone, the beast that insists you tear this man limb from limb despite all the effort you made just to save him. “Your son has done far more for this city than you could ever dream of. It’s only out of regard for him that you’re not drowning in a watery grave. So I suggest you pay fucking attention to what I’m about to show you.” And with that, you throw the memories Wyll showed you of his deal straight into the Duke’s head, taking no care to soften up the harsher bits like roaring pain of a lost eye, or the despair when the one person Wyll trusted to aid him slammed a door in his face. 

When you release  him from hold person he doesn’t even try to attack you back. He just steps back and collapses into one of the submarine chairs and you turn away from him before you give into the temptation to flood his mind with some of the horrors you have locked away. 

You walk the Duke back to camp yourself, not willing to risk Gortash or Mizora appearing and spoiling your work. When the camp is in sight, you turn invisible and tell the Duke to head forward without you. You watch as he enters and the camp erupts into chaos, Wyll running at his father to touch his shoulder, ensure that he’s real. When the man looks up to look in the darkness of the night, you take that as your cue to depart and tell yourself he wasn’t looking for you.

____

The book isn’t hard to get, all things considered. You do injure yourself quite a bit getting through the traps, but the ghosts help enough to ensure you make it in the first place. 

You steal a scroll of find familiar while you’re there, conjuring an owl. It feels a bit risky to strap the records you’ve stolen to a bird along with some of the rarer spell scrolls you found, but you can mentally follow the bird until it reaches its destination, so you decide it’s not a terrible idea. 

You include a note too, scribbled down on the back of some parchment you found in the vaults. 

“Do what you may but remember: I prefer Gale Dekarios over any God. I think the world would agree with me.”

You watch as the bird flies to Gale, who the owl locates investigating a murder outside the temple of the open hand. It drops the contents of its package into Gale’s awaiting arms and then goes to perch on Astarion’s hair, deciding his curls look the most comfortable. 

Gale opens the package and inhales a sharp breath as he takes in the contents. To your surprise, he doesn’t instantly go to pour over the contents of the book or the scrolls and instead reaches for your note first. You watch as he reads over the words, once, then twice, before he inhales softly. When he looks up to your owl, his mouth is formed to say the first syllables of your name. 

You break the connection at once and dismiss the familiar before summoning the owl in front of you. It chirps once, irritated to be moved from Astarion’s curls, and you wait for it to complete its tirade before it jumps back on your shoulder. 

____

You don’t get the sending from Astarion when he goes to confront Cazador. You can guess why: if he asks and you don’t show, then he has to deal with another person letting him down. If he doesn’t ask, he can keep the hope you would have shown had your known.

Thankfully, you know the bastard pretty well by now. The owl familiar is a dedicated snitch and when it sees the gang heading out toward Cazador’s manor, it reports back to you dutifully. 

When you make it to the manor, they’ve already started their invasion and you follow the trail of bodies to an elevator that leads deep below. Seeing the party up ahead speaking to someone behind what looks like a cell, you tuck into a side room as to not be noticed. In that side room, as you hear a story from a skull, and read notes on the nature of vampires, you feel almost sick with dread. You don’t like the pieces of this puzzle you have started to put together. 

When you hear the doors open to the ritual chamber, you drink a potion of greater invisibility on yourself (thank you Lorekan for your generous unwilling donation) and follow in the shadows. You take in the cages upon cages of spawn with dawning horror, hating you are here in the shadows rather than at Astairon’s side. Stepping into the grand chamber, you look forth just in time to see Cazador teleport Astarion across the circle into magical restraints just like the rest of his fellow spawn. 

You don’t think. You twin daylight and dimension door despite your exhaustion from the last few days. The daylight you cast right in Cazador’s stupid staff, causing him to drop it as he screeches away from the beam. The dimension door you cast on yourself so you appear, still invisible, right in front of Astarion.

You work at his bindings. He seems to notice and flinches, clearly afraid of invisible hands and you mentally prob his tadpole just enough so he knows it’s you. With that, he relaxes somewhat, and looks down and to the right, a few inches off from where you’re actually located. 

“So you meant it,” he whispers, a disbelieving smile on his face. “You really intend to help me.”

The awe in his voice hurts, but you know it’s deserved. He has every reason to doubt you, despite the letter that you left. Not because of anything you’ve done but because of his own history, that has taught him hope is for fools and burns harsher than the sun when it turns. You wish you could tell him that you’d never leave him to Cazador, he could have spat and raged at you for what you were and you’d still be in this dusty tomb because no one should experience what he’s gone through. That none of your friends deserve any of this. 

But you don’t have time for that. So instead you break the last of his bindings and step back. Infuse your voice with enough confidence that you hope he can believe in it. 

“Like I would miss killing Cazador.”

When he’s freed, he rushes into the fight, daggers in hand. You join as well, using your invisibility to your advantage as you thunderwave Cazador’s minions off of his poorly designed platform. Karlach shouts your name, excited, but you force yourself not to pay her too much mind.

When the last of the minions has fallen, you cast regular invisibility on yourself before the greater version wares off. You head towards the stairs and watch as Astarion stands over his tormentor, requesting that Shadowheart, Karlach or Lae’zel show him an image of his back. They all refuse and he turns his gaze towards the platform where he last saw your thunderwave. You know what he’s asking you.

So you send him three thoughts via the tadpole, the first two being memories. The first is what you learned from the skull and papers in Cazador’s quarters, about what happened to the souls of true vampires, how he might be falling into a cycle. You then send him the image of his back, the cruel contract marked there, should he decide to carve it into Cazador’s flesh. Lastly, you send him your own words, and hope they still hold weight. 

“You can be more than he made you.”

You can hear him saying something as he loops over Cazador and then he starts stabbing widely, ambitions of ascending vanishing with every stab. With that sight, you make your exit, though you do send him a picture of the waiting Gur in the elevator as you leave it so he knows what awaits him. 

Later, as you take a rest in an abandoned slum, you hear a voice in your head. A sending spell. The voice that echoes in your mind is not that of your companions who know how to cast the spell, but instead Astarion. He must have found a scroll of it. 

“You’re more than what he made you too. Come home.”

You curl your knees to your chest and bury your face into your robes. They smell like sewer and shit. You wish desperately that you were back at camp, back home, where you could check on Astarion after the day he had and then Wyll could give you advice for getting smells out of fabric. The desire pulls at your gut to reply, to tell him that he used the word home, that you are so proud of him. 

Thank the Gods you’re so used to resisting your urges by now. Otherwise, you might have caved.

_____

“Am I allowed to tell the others of your status? They are badgering me.”

You’re knee deep is sewer water and half of your robes are covered in grease. The headache you’ve had for the last two days makes you hiss whenever you pass a torch. The last thing you want to deal with is his royal squidness. 

“You can’t tell them where I am.”

“I know that,” he sounds rather irate and wow, they must really be bothering him if they’ve gotten under his skin. “They merely wish to know if you’re alive. They found your attempt to access the foundry.”

Ah, right. That had gone poorly: the Watcher’s had spotted you before you could even enter the first floor and you barely got away with all your limbs intact. The whole affair cost you another one of your ghosts, at large amount of blood, and a good deal of healing potions. It served you right for thinking you could take on something that required brute force with clever spell work. 

“Are they alright?”

“I am not a messenger pigeon. But you did not answer my question.”

You figure they have to be mostly alright if they’re able to pester the Emperor. You tell him he can inform them of your status and continue to muck through the sewers, to locate your father’s stupid murder tribunal. 

One dead holyphant later, you emerge from the sewers to find the foundry nothing but smoke and rubble. You almost cheer in the middle of the lower city.

_____

You get a sending from Gortash the same day he dies. The fact he bothered at all catches you by surprise. 

At the time, you’re trying to figure out how to free Orpheus, which has mostly been an exercise in frustration. Figuring out how to smash whatever bindings that cage the prince is beyond your knowledge base. You’re halfway through another useless tome you bribed the shopkeep to let you skim without buying when Gortash’s voice echoes in your mind. 

“I’ll see you in Avernus, traitor.”

You look up, convinced for a moment he’s bothered to leave his tower behind to hunt you down. But the bookstore is empty save your friendly ghosts and the shopkeep. 

You don’t have to think long about your reply.

“Looking forward to it, old friend.”

You don’t know if he heard your reply before Karlach slays him, but Gods you hope he did.

______

You make an effort to steal the hammer by yourself.

The contract Raphael offered you was tempting (he tracked you down in an alley somehow)but you know giving the demon the crown is far too risky. This entire solo endeavor you’ve embarked upon is about cleaning up your messes, not creating more. So you take the portal to Raphel’s gaudy excuse for a house and try not to scream when you learn you can’t gain the hammer without Raphael coming to call.

You can’t win a fight with a cambion by yourself with only one ghost to help you. So instead, you decide to at least map the place for threats so you can send it their way. A scouting mission is better than nothing.

That’s how you find the Incubus. You stop dead in your tracks when you see Harleep on the bed, and for a horrible moment, you think Raphael is not only home, but dressed to psychologically scar you. When you learn they are an incubus it’s a relief until they make you an offer. 

“We play a game and I’ll tell you the passcode. You’ll have more fun if you lose.”

You’re not bad at games. This could be a way to help your companions. “Alright on one stipulation: you tell my friends the code instead.”

The incubus agrees. You get naked as requested, and it isn’t until they ask what form you’d prefer that you realize this game Harleep wants to play is not naked poker. The realization makes you feel rather stupid. You blame the lack of sleep, compounded exhaustion, hunger and unhealed injuries for the oversight. 

You could back out, this you know. Orpheus’ fate is not something you’re to blame for, one of the few things your past self did not ruin. But Lae’zel turned on her God, her people, partially because she believed in your word. You trust her with your life. The idea of letting her down is physically upsetting. 

You suppose you could fight and torture him for the information. That’s an option. But you are tired, and worn weary, and you’ve already used your flesh as a bartering chip for information with Gortash, so what’s one more time? 

(It’s not like you care about your own fate anyway).

You keep your soul in the end, but barely. When it’s done and you’re picking up your clothes from the floor, you realize you have another request. 

“Can you not tell my friends what I did to get the passcode?”

The incubus looks like you now, wearing that same stupid harness. It makes your skin crawl seeing the outfit on your body. They shake their head and click their tongue.

“Not in our original terms and conditions, I’m afraid.” And with that he vanishes.

You have not bothered to bathe properly since this all started given your limited funds, but when you leave Avernus, you spend some coin on a bathhouse. As you wash, you try not to pay much mind to the bruises left by clawed hands.

 It’s far easier said than done. 

_____

Finding the cloister of Shar is easy, in the end. All you had to do was look lost and depressed in a disguise among the refugees and you had a location by the end of the day. The House of Grief is such a Shar name your eyes could roll out of your skull. 

You’re not quite sure how to best help Shadowheart while not overriding her ability to make her own choices. You’d sneak in behind the party again like you did with Astarion, but you’re almost positive one of them has see invisibility cast on themselves at all times, so that’s no longer an option. And you don’t have the ability or the desire to lay waste to the place without Shadowheart’s input. 

(A part of you is aware how ridiculous you’re being. They clearly want you back, you get multiple sendings each night asking you to return. Your excuse that your distance is for their sake only relies on your nightly fits as the sole piece of evidence in its favor. The real reason you’re still staying away gnaws at you when you let your mind drift. The person who left them is not the person you are now. You were Bhalspawn then too, sure, but you hadn’t cozied up to Gortash and killed someone to gain his trust. That version of you had not strangled a hollyphant to death, nor had that version of you written off some Godians as an acceptable loss. The person you were merely days ago was someone dumb enough to get sucked into a deal with an incubus of all things.

Your distance now is entirely out of fear that you will return and they will hate what you become in your absence).

In the end, you decide on three things to aid them. The first is information on how to find the house: they probably have it already, but it can’t hurt to add. The second is what is left of your gold, placed in a backpack along with any supplies that aren’t absolutely necessary. You give the backpack to Bex at the refugee camp and she promises to deliver it, though not before she comments on your sickly appearance.

The last thing you do is the both the easiest and the hardest. It’s physically easy, all you have to do it go to the Stormshore Tabernacle. But hard part is what you intend to do when you arrive. 

You stand in front of the Selune shrine, chewing at your lower lip. You are not one for the Gods, you’ve professed to loathe them on the regular, and to make yourself supplicant for one feels like licking the ground. But Selune had saved Shadowheart back in the Shadowed realms, she had granted Shadowheart her new powers and abilities and for that, you can force yourself to kneel. 

“Please aid and guide my friend Shadowheart into the House of Grief,” you say, hating how this position of prayer feels familiar. “Assist her in her quest to find what the Lady of Sorrows has taken from her. See her allies protected and unharmed amongst the shadows.”

You light some incense with a cantrip and leave an offering with the bit of gold you saved for the occasion. You’re not sure if the Goddess hears you, but you have to hope. When your last ghost arrives to tell you that they spotted your companions heading for the cloister, you finally break your prayer and stretch out the ache in your shoulders.

Shadowheart is going to confront her former God. It is about time you did the same. 

____

You lose your last ghost in the stupid trial to enter the damned temple. It’s not a total surprise, you knew you’d be outnumbered, but it hurts all the same to see your last mimicry of companionship go up in smoke.

You’ve felt alone all the time but it isn’t until you stand among the bodies of Bhaal’s faithful that you truly are alone in reality. 

You have to take a rest after the fight which you find obnoxious. It can’t be helped though: with your fitful sleep and busy days, you’re burning on fumes. On the off chance you manage to survive your fathers temple, you’re going to sleep on the first horizontal space you find. Ideally for at least a day. 

For now, you pull out your journal as your body recovers and write down some thoughts, should this go poorly in a multitude of ways. Notes to your friends apologizing for what you’ve done when you regret it, and apologizing for the pain you caused when you don’t. Various thoughts on things you couldn’t find solutions for, leads that Karlach might want to consider for her engine, ideas on how Astarion can still feel the sun. A thank you letter for being a friend to a monster.

You leave the journal on the floor outside the temple doors. Your bastard of a Butler is waiting for you and you resist the urge to shock him when he gleefully addresses you. 

“Welcome home!” He crows, little hands pulling at your robes as if to straighten them.

Home. What a farce. Your home is on the surface among a smartass vampire, an ex-cultist, a former chosen, a lost warrior, a kind devil and a tiefling who’s heart burns brighter than the engine in her chest. But you don’t say any of that. Instead, you enter through the doors.

_____

When Orin transforms, it really sinks in how fucked you are. 

It’s not a total surprise, but you’d been hoping you’d have at least a shot of coming out of this alive. If you haven’t been running yourself ragged over the last few days, you probably would have one; you’re a talented caster despite your magic’s tendency to act up. But you’ve run your well dry, and you know it, so as you try to dodge blows and strike back, you know you’re only buying time.

You hope they won’t hang your body up like decor after she wins. Your companions will likely bury you properly should that come to pass, but you’d like to save them the experience of having to un-skewer your corpse. 

You try to dodge another swipe but trip in the process, landing flat on your ass. the Slayer looms above you and in that brief second, you wince, waiting for the final strike to come. 

You’re convinced you’re dreaming when instead of your head being severed from your shoulders, three eldrich blasts hit Orin right in the chest pushing her away from you. Maybe you’ve gotten such little sleep you’ve started hallucinating.

Gale appearing via a dimension door with Shadowheart in tow is what convinces you this is real. You can only stare as Gale casts globe of invunerbily over you three, saving you all from another slice from Orin’s claws. Shadowheart reaches her hand down to tap your forehead and you feel days old wounds close along with your new ones. When you look up at her, her hand is outstretched towards you, and her eyes are wet.

“You’re so stupid,” she says, voice thick. “When we get out of here, I’m going to scream at you for hours.”

An arrow flies past the globe and you turn your head to see Astarion, Karlach and Lae’zel carving their way through the assembled Bhaalists on the stairs. Karlach shoots you a grin, and Lae’zel gives you a nod when they spot you. When Astarion spots you, he looks relieved for a moment before he yells in your direction. 

“Get up you imbicile. Do you think you can win this fight from the floor!”

A smile pulls at your face. You turn back to Shadowheart and take her hand, letting her pull you to your feet. You’re still exhausted after the week you’ve had, but now that your friends are here, you feel reenergixed almost. Your magic swells in you and you turn your gaze to Orin and the symbol of your father carved into the stone behind her.

Your real home has come to claim you. Bhaal’s blood may run through your veins but your real family stands next to you ready to fend him off.

When you cast shatter towards the slayer and her allies, you expand the range just enough that the stone carving of Bhaal’s symbol in the rock cracks with the spell right down the middle. 

#baldur's gate three fic #baldur's gate 3 fic #the dark urge #Durge #Iz writes

[casmourde]

long rant about bg3 and people's weird behavior towards larian

Larian's continued support of their game and their community has given some people genuine brain rot. We were lucky to even get bug fixes post-release (I'm a cyberpunk 2077 fan), and they were both kind and creative enough to give us a FREE epilogue and add FREE content, but the community at large has taken this kindness and changed it into something entirely different and really unhealthy. Every time Larian updates us on patches and bug fixes, there are hundreds of comments demanding Larian "add" new content, "fix" characters, "fix" relationships, and I'm just baffled by how entitled this is. Do you guys know how video games work? You know you used to just get a video game once and that was it. If you bought a video game you bought a finished product. With more and more patch-based games becoming popular (stuff like Fortnite, Overwatch, Stardew, Genshin, etc), we're starting to see this design model bleed into triple a titles, which is fine (I'm not a big fan personally but I enjoy a lot of these types of games anyway), but it's giving people a really weird, backwards attitude about BG3. At this point I question whether those people actually enjoy the game they played or not. They demand so many changes and edits to characters that I find it hard to believe they even like those characters at all, and would much rather live in their world of headcanon and fanfiction (which, again, is fine) -- but at some point we have to acknowledge that BG3 was made BY Larian. The things you see as flaws in character's stories are canonical, put there by Larian for a specific reason. If you go under every post and demand they "fix" Wyll, I think there's a good chance you need to sit back and wonder if maybe Wyll is just like that. Because he is. That is who he is in the game's text. That is his story. If you don't like it, then by all means discuss what you would change, but it's unfair to belittle Larian for the story that THEY GAVE YOU. This is not to say there isn't a conversation to be had about Black characters in gaming being given really boring, lackluster stories, because that is 100% a noticeable trend (Preston Garvey from Fallout 4 comes to mind). This attitude also unfortunately extends to Gortash fans, and I know I'm kind of shooting myself in the foot here, but I want to discuss it lmao. I liked Gortash "before it was cool" you could say, back when the game dropped and it was gross to think he was attractive, et cetera (this is not something to be bragging about i know), and now that it's been kind of normalized to like him, Gortash fans are getting really invasive and, to put it bluntly, annoying. They whine like children in Larian's comments sections and on their own accounts about how Larian is so "unfair" to Gortash/Durgetash, how they are purposely removing Gortash content from the game to mess with us, etc. Once again, Larian cannot physically be "unfair" about a character THAT THEY LITERALLY MADE THEMSELVES. THEY choose what content to put in THEIR game. The Gortash that is in the game is the Gortash that they decided to put there. Nobody is hiding anything from you, nobody is hurting you, you're not special or different, there is no anti-Gortash agenda. If you can't engage with the canon content that Larian gives us, then I suggest that, for your own health, you move on. Gortash is my favorite character in BG3 because of what Larian did with him, not because of what he could potentially be if Larian bowed down to all of us and gave us everything we wanted. "Gortash romance when" NEVER!!!! And that's the fun bit!!!! We can all go crazy imagining what it would be like and we can make fan communities and fanfictions and art and it's awesome! Speculation and headcanon are awesome! Just stop expecting developers to cater to your every whim! It's unfair and will end up with you being sorely disappointed! Enjoy what they gave us and change it to fit your fantasy! If you like a thing, engage with it, play it, thank the people who gave it to us. Don't pester it to change.

#If you don't like what they gave us maybe you just don't like the thing. Sorry! #i hit word limit #anyway dont take any of this too seriously it is just pixels in a video game #just had to scream into the void. this post isnt about anyone in particular either #just. have fun with game and be nice to the kind diligent and talented people who gave it to us #its one of the best stories ive ever interacted with and its sad to see people demand it change so much. i wish they had never changed #anything at all tbh. but thats just me

[recents]

idk like i know it was last month but the durgetash fanservice just fuckin broke me man. would be one thing if they had done a nod to it in in a way that felt true to the characters but they did it like the way durgetash fans want gortash to be. if that makes sense. i just dont think artists should be rewarding that behavior from fans and given bg3’s success i think it sets the worst precedent imaginable for games going forward

#bgtag

[plaidpyjamas]

ripping and tearing and chewing on gortash stabbing impaling running him through

#he's my stress relief toy he's my chewtoy he's my wife #gortash #durgetash behavior #i'm painting pretty little pictures on the floor and walls with his blood #that he so nicely coughed up for me <3

[silvertonguedcharlatan]

Some personal highlights from patch 6 notes with limited commentary:

GAME CHANGER !!!!!!!!

LIFE CHANGING !!!!!!

Durgetash nation rise up

Good thing this will never happen on my watch 🫡🫡🫡🫡

GOOD.

I love behaviors

I am afraid

I love my guy oathbreaker knight, oathbreaker knight gals where are we?

Obvious improvement, almost unforgivable oversight

Maybe I will blow him up just to see it I’d hate for all that hard work to go to waste

#patch 6 #the group hide is like crack to me #my machinations are machinating

[plaidpyjamas]

i think holding a knife to gortash's throat would fix me

#gortash #durgetash behavior #lmao that should be my gorty thirst tag #fjalwe been having a Bad Day i just want to be held by gorty while i threaten him #sighs wistfully

[animentality]

Can I just say as a lesbian with a lesbian Durge - when it comes to Gortash I imagine that she and him were absolutely inseparable besties. They absolutely meant the world to each other and loved each other, but platonically. I still love them and the insane ride or die bestfriendship dynamic I imagine for them. And then I also have a gay dude Durge, the default dragonborn, and I ship him with Gortash. So, two Durges, two timelines, two perfectly valid interpretations of the relationship based on in-game evidence, and zero issues. It is really not that difficult!

(People might as well complain “what about my lesbian Tav” in response to all the Astarion/Tav shipping like. Lol. So I don’t understand how anyone is trying to make the relative popularity of Durgetash amongst people with gay or bi Durges a point of general contention tbh. More likely someone is just annoyed by the ship but couldn’t just say that and had to make up discourse about it.)

Anyway, the elephant in the room is this. Won’t someone PLEASE think of the poor straight man Durges? Forced into homosexuality with Gortash, by all 10 Durgetash shippers on the internet??? How will they ever recover?????

ANON, you hit the nail on the head.

They just don't like Gortash. And I don't CARE. I know most people DON'T.

None of my friends get it at ALL. But they're still my friends.

I think Dark Urge fans are just in smaller supply than regular Tavs, so you take Dark Urge content wherever you can...and it just so happens, that Durgetash fans are highly active.

And they're just disgruntled because they want us to obsess with THEIR OCs, like bro, come on now.

We all get to play with our own OCs here. The Dark Urge is just an origin.

No one said your lesbian Durge had to do anything. No one ever put a gun to your head and said, love Enver.

Imagine your OC kissing him.

Ugh. I hate Twitter discourse.

It's a bunch of "unpopular take but-" and then followed by the most popular take in existence.

No one but a small fringe group of lunatics likes Gortash.

Just leave us alone and chill the fuck out.

Go attack Astarion girlies for making tav a straight woman every time.

Also, anon, about your lesbian durge...that's the beauty of durgetash.

It's subtle in the game, so if you want to pretend they weren't hooking up...then they weren't hooking up.

It's literally so subtle, most people just don't notice it.

All you have to acknowledge is, they once worked together.

You don't have to imagine them banging if you don't want to.

They could, simply be, simply roommates.

So I don't get the hand wringing and the pearl clutching.

The game is soooo milquetoast on confirming canon behaviors from both the dark urge and tav anyway, that you could straight up headcanon just about anything, and have it make sense.

in fact, i wish durgetash WAS more prominent, so as you said, the majority straight male audience of bg3 who plays the dark urge would be forced to confront their character being a little bicurious, lmao.

#baldurs gate 3 #dark urge #enver gortash #writing #durgetash

[animentality]

Ohhhhhhh you were a dbd player! No lie I’m right there with you. I wonder what the dbd player / Durgetash enjoyer Venn diagram looks like. Who did you main?

I used to main Bill as a survivor and Deathslinger as killer because I love undead gay cowboys.

but I tilted out of that game.

being a killer was unpleasant because I used to get bullied by survivors and then being a survivor sucked because I'd get tunneled or camped by killers.

also a lot of the game entirely depends on the people you playing with not being total pricks and the game does absolutely nothing to counter shitty player behavior.

I had a friend who used to drive me insane because they used to say well as unfun as it is being tunneled and camped, it's a legitimate way to play the game :)

there's no reason to punish them for playing horribly. in fact they should be rewarded.

and it was like yeah.. ok... so dead by daylight is a piece of shit game where you are encouraged to make it as unfun for other people as possible.

sounds like the game only psychopaths would play.

I am uninstalling.

I haven't played it in ages and I doubt I will again.

I'd rather play an fps. at least I can defend myself and hunt other people at the same time.

anyway though.

the actual story is kind of fun and the use of killers and survivors from other ips was cool, bullshit mechanics aside.

I admit that when they added the xenomorph and Chucky, I thought about returning.

but it would take the wayrider from outlast to actually bring me back.