Doomtryst | Astarion x Durge

Chapter 9: Blood of My Blood

Chapter 9: Blood of My Blood

Under the vastness of Baldur's Gate lies an intricate network of tunnels, caverns, both natural and man-made, an underworld hidden from the eyes of all. As there is life above, there is death below. With this in mind, the earliest Bhaalists of the day carved a massive Temple into the stone of the Undercity below. A temple in devotion to the Lord of Murder and it is said that before every stone was placed to build it, a sacrifice was made. Thousands of souls were offered to Bhaal, some of the most devoted even offering themselves. The workers, it was said, befell to an illness in which they drank only blood and craved carnal depravities, akin to a vampiric disease. These creatures later became guardians of this sacred unholy underground, goblin-like, impish, and under the influence of Bhaal himself. Oftentimes, they would lure in victims, slaughtering so many, that a large fountain and pool was built to contain the blood.

When Bhaal himself walked the mortal plane, he came to Baldur's Gate, sitting atop his throne, made out of the decaying flesh and skulls of those he had recently slain. The throne however was still living, moans and pain erupted as he sat upon them, alive but undead all at once, his victims were helpless, their souls bound to the lord for eternity.

Murder, seemingly a simple act of taking another's life, rarely satisfied Bhaal unless it held ritualistic symbolism, demanding that the life taken had inherent value. Despite the misconception that Bhaal did not cherish life, he, in fact, mandated his followers to engage in elaborate and scheming acts of slaughter. According to Bhaal, murder was not only blessed and holy, but it also bestowed immeasurable value upon life when one was the perpetrator. Tonight, Seraphina was ushered into the Undercity, veiled and cloaked in a black robe, her face obscured as she glimpsed only the outlines of figures through the fabric. Her eyes, however, glowed ethereally and unnaturally as she sat upon a metal throne, carried by servants using a seat crafted from humanoid bones in the Temple of Bhaal.

The Black Mass had already begun, the priests and priestesses of Bhaal began to hum a hymn as battle drums began to ceremonially play. Seraphina held her head up high, her gloved hands firmly placed on two skulls. Her fellow Bhaalists looked up at her in awe, for she was Daughter of Bhaal, and many suspected she was the favorite child of his, making this occasion extremely special. Inside, she was nervous, she did not want to kill the man who she had seen as a father for most of her life, she felt distaste for the depravity she wanted to commit. She spent the last night she had with him, watching the stars above in his tower. Olred was excited to be slain by her, he called it a great honor.

The desperation in his eyes etched into her mind, he wanted to die, to be free, she thought. What better way than to die at the hands of the woman he called ''daughter?'' Seraphina was so afraid, she was afraid of the Urges. Normally she could control herself fairly well, but at this moment she was unsure. If she gave into the Urges, she would feel mighty, powerful, and assert herself as the Dread Daughter. Yet if she did not, perhaps Olred would not die, perhaps she would avoid the carnage that would follow. It was appealing to her, truly. Yet although she wanted to have hope, she knew if she did not give into the Urges now, Bhaal would not only look down upon her in disdain, but that his wrath would be so heavy that he would likely use the Urges within her to slaughter the city.

More lives would be lost...

She thought, and they would be lost without her consent. She likely would not have any idea of control for the Urges would itch and itch, she would not be able to resist the scratching of flesh.

As she was sunken in thought, the hum began to grow louder and a dark mystic chant began to echo off the walls of the temple in a way that one could not escape the sounds. It was coming from all directions, the wailing, the crying.