#or durge was made from a collection of bhaalspawn corpses

[mymreaderlibrary]

Do you think Durge likes gnolls because they too were made/ born from a corpse?

#listen like we don’t know the exacts of durge’s birth but conceptually what if just hear me out what if #either durge was born through the uncovering of bhaal’s corpse using some sort of unholy ritual to form a new life #or durge was made from a collection of bhaalspawn corpses #I assume durge was a child at some point due to certain references in game and their foster family #but I think that’d be extra creepy to see a child get formed out a bunch of bloody or rotten bodies #durge is so nastay but I’m willing to pull through being grossed out cause I like their story #besides I feel bhaal would need a way to have his bloodline be so strong so using his childrens corpses or even his own… that could work #and im not saying n3cr0 stuff btw im saying like some weird blood ritual type shit #casting evil spells and whatever the fuck #maybe bursting out of a corpse was what durge did too #thus gnolls are their besties cause like ‘omg me too!!!!!’ #gnolls #speaks #my writing #mw #bg3 #durge #the dark urge #dark urge #bg3 durge #gn durge

[randomfanner]

How Would it Feel?

TW: Violence, lots and lot of violence because it is Durge.

Plot: The Dark Urge begins to fantasize about killing the tyrant whom has created their glorious plan.

Calax does not appreciate it.

The tyrant and his grand plan of tyranny, orchasted with the help of a Bhaalspawn. An utterly ridiculous prospect made into truth. 

Bane and his collection of Banites was never looked favorably upon by any of the Bhaalists. Despite the fact the dead three had been a trio that took on the powers of Jergal, there was never any sense of comradery between the gods it seemed. At least never something stable enough to function long term.

Why would they continue working together? The three had gotten what they all wished for, godhood. Their partnership was as good as finished once their mutual goal had been reached.  

Calax’s back was pressed against the wall near his desk, watching as Gortash fiddled with documents that Calax didn’t nor did he have any interest in understanding. Gortash’s job was to be the iron fist, the one who would run the ins and outs of daily life in the new emperor he planned on forging. The one to pass laws that would benefit the both of them and keep the frontline of power.

Calax had his role of course, and it was not in some fancy office, decorated with fine and soft silks of glorious royal purple hue. It was not in the realm of gold and silver and copper that would decorate the tyrant as he paraded himself to the adoring public. It was not in strategy halls or law meetings, swaying those who fell for sweet words.

Calax’s role was to be steeped in the blood of their enemies, of those who would pose a threat to their empire. Sowing the seeds of chaos that would blossom into the flowers of prosperity, much like how Ketheric would do the same for the fear. All of the pieces to be arranged by Gortash to follow his grand design.

Calax watched him, the mastermind of their plan. He had played his part in every way. Coming up with how and having the resources to execute the plan. Soon their Illithid empire would span across all of Faerūn and it was thanks to him that it was at all possible.

It was going so perfectly smoothly in fact, Gortash may not even be needed anymore.

How would it feel, Calax wondered? That wonderful brain crushed under his fingers, the gray matter crushing from his hand. Ripping that silvered tongue from his throat, shredding the thing that had charmed many including the child of Bhaal. To hold the beating heart in his fingers, crushing it as his warm blood gushed out from his fingers.

“Is there something you needed, Calax?” Gortash didn’t even look up from his work as he asked the question.

Calax’s hand stopped in the air. It took the tiefling a moment to process what he had been doing. Calax took a step back as he pulled his hand back towards his body.  “... It is nothing,” Calax muttered.

Shit. 

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

“If you are certain,” Gortash said as he picked up a pen, beginning a reply to one of the letters without a care in the world. 

Calax sucked in a breath as he walked around the desk. “I am going out.”

“Shall I see you later?” Gortash asked. 

“Mmmm,” maybe, maybe not. Calax wasn’t sure what the answer was as his bare feet moved from the hard and cold wood to the soft carpet in the center of the office. Calax pushed open the wooden door and shut it behind him before he rested his entire body against the door. 

Calax put a hand over his face and moved it back, running over his curved horns and into his dark hair, forever stained red. His urges had been quiet towards the tyrant this far. Of course the thought of spilling his blood had come to mind from time to time, but only flickers in bigger thoughts. Ripping through a conference of Banites that Gortash was leading, devouring the corpses of nobles at a ball Gortash attended, removing the heads of citizens when he walked behind Gortash in public.

The two of them as they lay on the altar of Bhaal, their lives fading in union as they both went to the murder lord.

It had yet to be simply the wish to rip Lord Enver Gortash to shreds.

Calax shook his head as he moved off the door and began to march through the halls, letting his mind focus on that. Other people, the screams of horror and the color of their blood. The constant red that would flow from them.

That would flow from Enver Gortash once he ripped him apart limb by limb.

No.

Calax couldn’t kill him. He was the key to their empire. To the way they would rule the world together. 

Gortash was the key in the bloody mess of the world Calax would bring once he had control of the Elder Brain. The last thing Gortash sees being the way the earth burned all due to his wonderful planning, all for Lord Bhaal. The anguish as his perfectly crafted empire became nothing more than dust due to the assassin he had brought along to fulfill the plan. 

Calax looked down in front of him as he snapped out of his fantasy.

Underneath him was a maid. He hadn’t even noticed how he ripped her head off when he was lost in thought. Calax sucked in a breath through his nose as he stood up. Someone else would clean it up when they found it. 

He needed out of these finely decorated halls. 

He needed to dye the streets red.

If he stated the craving for flesh, perhaps he would be spared the thoughts of ruining Gortash’s plan. Of ruining Gortash. 

Father would spare him, after all the tyrant was still useful.

At least for now. And surely Calax could find more ways the tyrant could be useful for spilling blood. Bane still lived despite the existence of Bhaal, the dead three always found use for the others eventually. 

Calax would just have to do the same for Gortash.

Surely.  

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur gate iii #durgetash #enver gortash #lord gortash #the dark urge #gortash x durge