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dalish-spectre · 3 years

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Trust the abyss - a Baldur's Gate 3 backstory. Ch. 4 Haunting riffs of a vazhan-do pierced the air accompanied by the sharp vocals of a deathsinger – drow bards whose vocals could command the undead if they so chose.

Tonight, however, this vocalist was entertaining rowdy crowds of guards from the various noble houses of Menzoberranzan at a tavern located on the fringes of the bazaar.

It was called the Jewel Box and Dinin had never been anywhere like it before.

He had never been this drunk before either.

Kelzt and Masryn had insisted on dragging him out of House Darketh’s perimeters and into the noisy crowded streets of the heart of the spider city.

Before House Do’Urden fell, the former elder-boy had only visited the bazaar on rare occasions when his Matron Mother had required him to. He had never been permitted to drink. Even after joining Bregan D’aerthe, he had only ever indulged in a few drinks with the band’s leader Jarlaxle. He preferred to keep his mind sharp and sober but going undercover as a guard within Darketh, his first mission as a houseless rogue, he was expected to play the part.

It would be suspicious if he refused to drink with the two guards that had decided to befriend him.

He didn’t know how much algae ale they’d be able to polish back.

So here he was, five ales deep, being dragged into a brothel by two drow he hardly knew.

“Don’t scowl so much, Dinyrr, you’ll scare the whores away,” laughed Kelzt as they’d stepped through the door. “I’d say a brush with death is a perfect reason to wet one’s blade somewhere other than the belly of a hook horror.”

Masryn chortled from beside him. “Maybe that’s what he wants – have you ever been to a whorehouse before? I’ve heard Gracklestugh has several.”

“I’ve no need of whorehouses,” Dinin replied coolly as they took a seat at a stalagmite table, the alcohol softened the usual edge of his voice.

Kelzt’s own laugh reverberated through the cavern as he motioned a serving slave over.

“We’ll take a bottle of sul-paga here,” he said to an older dwarven woman who had been around long enough to not bother flashing her eyes in an alluring manner. She simply nodded and wandered back towards the bar.

The Jewel Box was filled with tables made of stalagmites, twisting upwards with slate tops. Stone benches on either side accommodated guests who wanted to sit.

It was lit by faerie fire, candles and glowing blue fungi wound its way around various stalactites that protruded down from the ceiling giving the place a very ethereal feel.

Kelzt rubbed his hands together as he looked around the room.

“We got here just in time,” he said. “Narbondel has only just died and that means the artists will be coming down soon.”

Dinin cocked an eyebrow.

“Artists?” He tried not to roll his eyes. “Why are they called artists?”

Masryn snorted.

“Why do you think? They are trained in the arts of sexual pleasure,” the young drow emphasized the first part of the word for effect, waggling his white brows up and down.

Dinin ran his fingers through his shoulder-length hair anxiously. He needed another drink.

His hopes were soon answered as the dwarven woman returned with three glasses and a large bottle of sul-paga.

The crisp, distilled scent of the alcohol pricked the hairs up on the back of his neck as he watched Kelzt pour the clear liquid into his cup.

Masryn drank his own glass deeply, scrunching his face up. Dinin had only drank wine when he lived in House Do’Urden and he tried desperately not to make a face as the sul-paga burned his throat on the way down.

Sputtering, he wiped a gloved hand across his lips.

Kelzt watched the two younger drow, mirth shining in his dark red eyes as he casually sipped his own drink.

“Ah, youth rushes into everything – sul paga is to sip lads, it is made of the finest sul roots this side of the Underdark.”

The music took a frantic toll as the singer began the first verses of the beginning of Tornan’s Guts – a common song in Menzoberrazan though Dinin was not familiar with the words.

Chants and hymns to Lloth were all he knew of music. He found his foot tapping to the rhythm of the vahzan-do while a table next to them burst out singing loudly and offkey.

O’ Tornan was a great warrior indeed

The greatest warrior did Menzoberranzan ever see

A bell rang out above the singing, Dinin followed Masryn and Kelzt’s gaze at it shifted towards a staircase at the back of the room.

He took another swig of sul-paga as he watched silk-clad figures make their way down the stairs and mingle with the tables.

Much to Dinin’s dismay, his scowl did not in fact keep the whores away.

A surface elf slave with long red hair twined her way over to their table and sat down beside Masryn.

The last time he had been this close to a surface elf, he had inadvertently witnessed his family’s doom as his brother failed to please Lloth by killing one.

She spoke Undercommon quite well, he supposed, but he could not bring himself to find her attractive.

Masryn however had fallen under the enchantment of her tinkling laughter. She clutched a glass of dark liquor in one hand and used the other to brush away a strand of hair from the younger drow’s face.

“I personally don’t understand the appeal,” said Kelzt, watching the surface elf lead Masryn from the table. “Our young friend however appears to have a liking for pale flesh albeit a sadistic pleasure – here, anything goes as long as you don’t mark their faces.

It’s a pleasure house yes but it’s also a place where men are freely allowed to take out any emotion on a female.”

Dinin scoffed, “Surface females don’t matter.”

“Aye but it’s not just surface females here – there are drow ones as well, low-cast but drow,” Kelzt replied. “Master Dro pays a pretty penny to the council to keep the place in operation.”

The older drow explained how he thought the Matron Mother’s figured if there was a place the common guards could blow off steam it would make them more pliable.

“I’ve heard from our weapons master himself that Matron of Darketh pays the tab here for us idiots to keep us in line,” he continued. “If keeping me in line means all the paga and ale I can drink and a warm place to lay my cock then I’m all for it.”

“I could think of worse things I suppose,” Dinin swirled the clear liquid in his glass pensively. He watched a human female take off her top across the room with mild interest. Peals of laughter rang out from behind their table as a slender male drow clothed in a silk robe poured wine down a guard’s throat.

“It appears they cater to all tastes here,” He shifted in his seat to face Kelzt again. The alcohol was making his face warm or was it the atmosphere which was becoming slowly more debaucherous.

Kelzt nodded his head and took another drink.

He stole a priestess’s virginity

The scandalous line of Tornan’s Guts rang out above the din. Some of the crowd cheered and Dinin glanced over his shoulder, fearing the sting of a snake-headed whip.

Feeling none, the tension in his shoulders released. Old habits died hard.

For this Lloth could not forget

Tornan would have to pay his debt

She put a toll upon his soul

Kelzt had begun to sing along, periodically punching the air with the hand holding his glass, grinning.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Dinin’s lip as he watched the merrymaking a scene quite unfamiliar to him.

“Don’t you find it kind of funny that we’re singing a song about a man who was killed for defiling a woman at a place where men come to defile women?” Dinin asked, raising his voice over the chaos.

Kelzt laughed.

“The irony is not lost on me, young one.”

Suddenly a young male slid in between the two of them.

“Why Kelzt, I thought you had forgotten me,” the newcomer’s voice was smooth. His head was shaved on either side leaving a disheveled white strip of hair – black orbs for eyes that glittered in the candlelight of the table.

Dinin begrudgingly shifted to make room for Kelzt’s friend. The boy had a pleasing enough face and a cocky air about him.

“Ah, Naxir, how could I forget about you, you bring an old warrior so much joy,” Kelzt slid his arm around the younger drow.

“Such sweet words,” Naxir laughed and turned to fix Dinin in his stare. “Hello, who is this treat? Will he be joining us this evening?”

Kelzt laughed and shook his head while Dinin felt his cheeks burn. It had been sometime since he had indulged in the carnal pleasures of flesh and while Naxir was attractive, the thought of seeing the older soldier rutting didn’t interest him at all.

“I think I’ll pass this time,” he poured himself another drink and let his gaze wander as he halfheartedly listened to the old warrior flirt with the handsome young drow.

Tornan’s Guts had ended, and the bard seemed to be taking the crowd in the direction of a sensual macabre tune.

A familiar laugh rang out and Dinin noticed Taztar, the patrol leader of his squad, sitting two tables to the side of them with some other guards from House Darketh.

A slender figure in a short, flowing red dress was gyrating before them, unbound hair illuminated by faerie fire.

“Come closer, girl,” he heard Taztar growl and watched as the girl obeyed. Her skin was not as dark as Dinin’s and as she moved closer to the candlelit table, he could tell her hair was a dark silvery colour.

Suddenly one of the guards’ arms shot out and poured a mug of ale over her head. “Get out of here half-breed, you can tell Dro that I want the real drow tonight.”

Laughter exploded from the table as Taztar said, “We all want a real drow tonight lads.”

Dinin watched intently as the girl’s hand clenched at her side, the shocked look on her face quickly replaced by anger and she swung her fist, a soft thud as it connected with the guard’s face. Just as quickly as it happened, Taztar reached out and grabbed the girls arm and pulled her in roughly.

He couldn’t make out what the patrol leader said before shoving the girl backwards.

Impressed, he watched as she strode toward his table, delicate brows furrowed as she fought to keep a smile on her face.

As she passed, he found himself drawn to her – her delicate features belaying the scowl she was trying not to show.

He watched her enter a door near the back and come back out again with a white-haired female drow. They parted and for a moment he watched the new girl saunter over to Taztar’s table.

It was then he realized that Kelzt and his friend had left him alone. At least they had left him the bottle, but he cursed as he went to pour himself a drink.

What in the hells was he going to do now, wait for them to finish rutting?

Sipping his drink, he glanced about for the girl with the dark hair again when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

He was mortified to see it was her.

“You’re staring at me.” Her voice was terse. “Do you see something that you like?”

Her arms were crossed causing the curves of her breast to peek up from the low cut of her dress.

“Yes – I mean, no, I’m not here to …” His words caught on his tongue as she glared at him.

She rolled her eyes. “That’s what they all say at first.”

“Well, I can guarantee you that I’m not like they,” he said. “And I’m not here looking for sex.”

“Let me guess, you probably have no problem picking up women – or men, whichever you prefer,” the girl sat down beside him and propped her cheek up with her hand.

Her eyes swept him up and down, assessing him. He leaned back in his seat fixing her with his own cool stare.

“Whichever I prefer depends on many things – why did you punch that guard, surely you’re lucky to not be injured,” he asked, truly curious.

To his surprise, she laughed, a strange melodic chuckle that made him want to laugh with her though he knew not why – probably the blasted sul-paga Kelzt had fed him.

Still he poured himself and the girl a glass.

“Hrazzra is an idiot, he comes here every tenday, my master hates him, but he likes Taztar’s money,” the girl paused, accepting the glass of liquor. “Besides, Taztar will make me pay for it later but it’s nothing I haven’t felt before.

“The trick is to make yourself numb and you don’t feel anything anymore.”

She emptied the glass with one smooth gulp without making a face. Dinin followed suit but was unable to keep the look of disgust off his face over the taste of the alcohol.

The girl laughed again.

“I prefer the taste of mushroom wine if I’m being perfectly honest,” he chuckled. “This stuff tastes like how the cleaners smell.”

“Mushroom wine – you have rich tastes for a common soldier.”

The alcohol had loosened his guard and he cursed himself inwardly.

“I have only been so fortunate that my former master would allow me wine after a victory in the slave pits of Graklestugh,” he attempted damage control, and briefly explained his backstory to the girl who watched his eyes intently as he told of how he was fortunate to be sold to House Darketh of Menzoberranzan.

“Well, former melee master of Gracklestugh, I bet I can find us some mushroom wine, stay where you are.”

The music remained at a mournful pace as she picked her way through the crowd towards the bar where the older dwarven lady polished the too-smooth slate.

It had been hours since Narbondel died and the number of patrons in the bar seemed to be getting less and less.

Dinin looked over to see that another surface elf had joined the white-haired drow girl at the patrol leader’s table. Only Taztar and two other soldiers remained and were tossing coins at the girls as they writhed on one another atop the stalagmite table.

“Noril and Alunira are very beautiful aren’t they,” Dinin almost jumped as the girl whispered in his ear, sitting back down beside him.

He turned to look at her and noticed she was grinning holding two large bottles of mushroom wine.

“I don’t have any fancy glasses, ussta zhennu sargitlan, but this is not a fancy place, we could drink it right from the bottle if we wished.” To emphasize her point, she uncorked a bottle and drank deeply, a little drip of liquid glowed green as it spilled from the corner of her lips.

He tried to hide the grin as she playfully called him my great warrior in high drow. For a slave, she was brazen and he found he liked talking to her.

“High drow, that’s an awfully rich language for a common slave,” he said, taking a swig of the wine, feeling almost sacrilegious drinking it straight from the bottle.

Her laugh was infectious as she snagged the bottle back from him, raising her eyebrows and cocking her head to the side.

She brought the tip of the bottle playfully to her lips before drinking then leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

“Maybe we both have … secrets,” her lips grazed his earlobe as she pulled away and offered him the wine coyly.

Flustered but intrigued, he changed the topic to mushroom wine and how it wasn’t as noble a drink as one might think as it was fermented from the most common fungi but as he was trying to cover up that the wine was made from mushrooms that had never seen any form of light, it was a highly arduous process, and she was nodding as if she believed him even though her eyes told him she didn’t, Taztar stumbled over to their table.

His breath reeked of ale.

“Ah, Dinyrr, I never expected to see you here – I didn’t know the house paid for slave soldiers to drink and fuck,” he slurred as he stood over them. “I see you’ve met my girl – Tavari – she may be a half-bred but she’s quite beautiful to look at.”

He gruffly grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to look up at him. Her gaze steeled over.

“Yes patrol leader, she’s quite nice,” Dinin forced himself to play his part, as this common man’s lesser when he could easily slice out Taztar’s tongue and present it to Jarlaxle.

“Indeed she is and I think she’s quite done talking with you – it’s time for her to repay her folly in punching Hrazzra, don’t you think?

"We’ll take that extra bottle of mushroom wine as well, Tavari will need the extra help tonight.”

He made a show of knocking over the almost empty bottle they had been sharing. Dinin ground his teeth.

“Come girl,” he wrenched her up from her seat. Her face paled in the candlelight, she looked disheartened.

Suddenly, Dinin rose from his seat and grabbed Taztar by the shoulder.

“The girl stays with me,” he said, the alcohol he consumed wouldn’t allow the slight of this mere man – this third patrol leader of the 35th house of Menzoberranzan taking away his enjoyment.

The bard, whose interest had been piqued by the exchange began to play a new tune he had been commissioned to write. A song that would surely get the males blood up as it told the tale of the destruction of a noble house.

The fall of House Do’Urden.

Taztar laughed and shrugged off Dinin’s hand.

“I’ll have you killed,” he sneered, not letting go of the girl’s wrist.

As the singer began to sing of Lloth forsaking a once ancient and noble house, Dinin noticed the words of the song, speaking of Zin-Carla, Malice’s folly and a wayward son.

“The girl is with me tonight,” he growled., stepping in front of of the solider.

“Are you stupid? Did you hear what I said – I’ll have you killed and if not, the weapons master will have you sacrificed to Lloth for breaking the chain of command,” Taztar replied, dropping the girl’s hand and clenching his own into a fist.

Their faces were inches from each other, Dinin breathed heavily, egged on by the song.

“You’re nothing – you worthless,” Taztar’s slew of insults were cut short by the crack of Dinin’s fist against his jaw.

The thicker drow swung back catching Dinin in the lip, splitting it open. He tried to grab Dinin but the former master of melee magthere’s reflexes were quick as he swept to the side. He wasn’t a fist fighter as some were but his swift blows fueled by alcohol and rage were enough to fell the shorter drow to the ground.

The bard remained impassive and kept singing. Those left sitting around the tables cheered and promptly resumed drinking. Dinin’s heart was pounding. How dare there be a song about the fall of Do’Urden. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes for a moment. He had potentially blown his cover for his mission. What would Jarlaxle do to him? He opened his eyes to see the girl, whose name was Tavari, stand up from kneeling over the prone form of Taztar. Her fingertips looked for a second as if they had glowed.

“Come with me,” she said, picking up the bottle of wine from the ground.

She grabbed his hand, he jolted back to reality at the physical touch.

“Taztar won’t remember anything,” she assured him as she led him up the stairs. “But, let’s get out of here before Master Dro sees him on the floor.”

“You really knocked him out,” the girl giggled as she led him past rooms filled with moans. He followed her down a dark windowless hallway, lit sporadically by candles.

She opened the door to the last room on the left, lit a candle – did she use a match? Dinin wasn’t sure. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off and the alcohol was beginning to make him feel a little nauseous.

“Thank you for what you did back there, by the way, Taztar is awful, I hate him,” she crossed her legs as she sat down on the bed.

“I can assure you from working with him that I hate him as well. He allowed half of our latest patrol to be slaughtered by hook horrors,” Dinin replied, sitting beside the girl on the thin mattress. “We haven’t properly introduced ourselves, my name is Din-in-yrrr.” He almost stumbled out his real name. “Dinyrr, it’s Dinyrr. My apologies, I don’t usually drink this much.” He was embarrassed to note that he was almost slurring his own words.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Din-nin-yrr, my name is Tavari and I am always drunk,” the girl chuckled but the laugh didn’t reach her eyes.

“Just Dinyrr is fine, and you shouldn’t drink so much, it’s not good for the mind. A mind like yours is only diminished by liquor,” he sloppily scolded her.

“That’s very sweet,” she replied. “Now, you have me up here – you said I’m yours tonight, what would you wish of me?”

She began to slide off the thin red fabric that barely covered her lithe form, but Dinin stopped her muttering shhh.

“You don’t need to do that,” he said. “Let’s just finish this troublesome bottle of wine.”

He helped pull the dress back over her head. The girl, Tavari looked shocked then laughed, deep from her soul, her eyes gleaming in the candlelight. He couldn’t help but join her – he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so much.

“What do you want to just talk?” She asked playfully. “I’ve never had a man nor woman ever buy me just to talk. It’s not normal.”

“I’m not normal,” he replied slurrishly, with a grin passing her back the bottle of wine.

She nodded her agreement.

“What do you want to talk about?” She shifted closer to him, propping her cheek on her hand as she had earlier that night.

“Memories,” he replied, looking out the window, the streets of the bazaar were quiet this deep into Narbondel’s death.

“Good or bad,” she asked.

“Are there such things as good memories?” He countered, turning to look back at her again with a wry smile.

“Not really,” she shrugged.

They continued to pass the bottle back and forth, each sharing their own cryptic stories, edging towards truths they could never share with one another.

The last thing Dinin’s half-blurred vision noted as the two laid facing each other on the threadbare mattress was the colour of her eyes as Narbondel’s first light filtered through the small window.

Orange, like the flame of a candle. https://archiveofourown.org/works/33301066/chapters/84017953

#forgotten realms #baldur's gate 3 #fanfic #menzoberranzan #mc: tavari #drow ocs #half drow #am writing #writer #fanfiction #tw: violence #dinin do’urden #drow #long post #trust the abyss #these two ...#be living rent free in my head

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