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Orella was beginning to get angry. The party argued around her, the ambient sounds of Elfsong’s busy tavern chattering below. The source of their tension lay next to her on the plush velveteen chaise; a handwritten, personally addressed invitation from the Archduke himself. The foreign shape of her name embellished in fine black ink stared mockingly back at her. Precious little memory lingered in her mangled brain. Shapes of gore, shades of red, and the finely looped name that graced the parchment next to her.
“Lady Orella,
I am pleased to hear of your return to Baldur’s Gate. As you can imagine, there’s much to discuss. I’d like to formally extend an invitation to Wyrm’s Rock this coming-”
It went on about details about the coronation and meeting place, tone scathingly familiar, but the most incriminating thing about it was the flowery signature, signed horrifyingly as, “ Yours ever, Archduke Enver Gortash.”
This, of course, had erupted the party into scandal. The pragmatic few; Shadowheart, Astarion, and Orella herself- argued that any information was worth gathering. If the Archduke knew about her past, if he was willing to help them against Orin, it was worth answering the summon. Karlach raged against them, voice raised with fury. They should put him down now. He was not worth trusting, and if they allied with him they were against her. Lae’zel agreed a dead snake could not strike. Wyll stood with them, anger for his father simmering thinly beneath the surface. Halsin and Jaheira did not involve themselves much - Orella had gotten them here; they owed her a bit of trust, and Halsin in particular was not going to stop her from seeking out anything about her past. Minsc stood with Jaheira.
That left Gale, who’d been uncharacteristically silent. It was wise - he was the last person she wished to hear from. They had been…close. Lovers, maybe something more. But when Mystra had demanded Gale’s life for forgiveness, when he’d bent immediately again to her will, the two had clashed terribly. Orella could not understand Gale offering his neck again to an unforgiving leash. The dark urges that drove her to near madness and bridled her freedom were not unlike the Orb that settled hungrily in the wizard’s chest. He’d been patient with her - kind in a way that she was unfamiliar with. He matched her sharp intellect, and explored her curiosity for the Weave. He’d listened when she confessed the fear she held for the madness that lay deep in her being, past the fog of amnesia addled further by the tadpole. She’d wanted nothing more than for freedom. When Gale seemed resigned to relinquishing his, she could not forgive it. They’d parted against Gale’s wishes, and the tension hung thickly in camp ever since.
A chair shattered into splinters as Karlach’s rage grew further. It was a betrayal, Orella knew, no way around it. To consider even something as small as a meeting with Gortash was another knife in the tiefling’s back. But deeper than that, she knew that the familiar tone of the letter unsettled Karlach. Why was her ally well known with the man that sold her to the Hells? Who was she, really, to the chosen of Bane? How deep was her involvement in this whole mess? She could see it on other’s faces too - Wyll, Halsin, Jaheira. And she couldn’t give them an answer. She could just leave it there - refuse the offer, soothe the party, accept the loss of a fragment of her past. It must be a terrible thing anyway if the macerated memories that surfaced on occasion were any indication. Her clawed hands flexed involuntarily, shredding the soft fabric beneath them. NO! Something inside of her screamed. It was hers - her memory, her right . Why should she surrender anything that belonged to her?
“Enough!” she snarled. She rose suddenly from the chaise, the party’s chattering quickly cut down to a whisper. Orella was usually cold to a fault - it was rare to see her anger so plain. Even Karlach’s flames died down somewhat.
“I showed this to you to be honest, but let us make one thing clear - I am not asking,” she hissed. “I have fought with you, I have bled with you, and now that I have a chance to regain something lost - you’d deny it to me?” The pale tiefling whirled on Karlach. “You? You who I gave the favor of trust at our first meeting - when I slayed your enemies without question? You, for whom I labored to gather the metals of the Hells to fix your ailing heart?” Karlach bared her teeth, but no words left her mouth, and her flames lowered further. Orella turned to Wyll.
“And you? Who parlayed to free you from your contract?” she asked. Wyll grimaced and turned away. Orella looked around, disgust rising in her throat. “Have I earned so little goodwill as to be assumed a traitor as the first sniff of my muddy past? Do I not deserve a little trust? Is it not my right, after this long journey with you all - to seek out something for myself?” The party was quiet now. Lae’zel shrugged passively, but did not raise an argument against the tiefling. Karlach and Wyll looked down, shame growing in their eyes. No one answered for a long while until-
“Are you sure this is not best left to the past?” Gale said. His brows pinched together, the corners of his mouth downturned. “You’re not who you were. What use is chasing this lead, and where does it take you after?”
Orella’s hands clenched, her sharp nails digging into the soft flesh of her palm. A dirty, traitorous part of her agreed. The parts of her past that had surfaced were ugly, horrible things. Horror was too soft a word for the coherent pieces of memory. What might this be but another leash - a chain to a nature that was beyond her choice or control? But…there was something more, something different hidden in the strokes of ink. It wasn’t a promise of latent bloodlust - but a peek, a slight suggestion of the person she might’ve been, not the deeds she might've done. To her that was worth everything.
“I don’t know,” she said. “But I intend to seek it out, regardless.” She turned to the rest of her party, voice even and calm. “I’m going to seek an audience with the Archduke. If you cannot stomach that, you’ll find it wise to be absent when I return.” With that, she slung her bow over her shoulder and left, not a glance spared for the wizard who looked lingeringly on.
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Evening was creeping into Baldur’s Gate, the last golden rays of sun blocked by the foreboding shadow of Wyrm’s Rock. She had hoped this city would shock her into clarity- bring a flood of memories back and restore her to wholeness; or, at least, whatever version of whole she was before. But there had been nothing. The crumbs of Moonrise had led to precious little in the city. The click of her leather-soled boots echoed on the cobblestone paths. Nearly no one lingered in the streets at this time - merchants closed up shop under the menacing eye of the Steelwatch, large metal guardians that seemed to track the tiefling’s moments towards the fortress. Orella pulled up her hood, raising the mask to her nose to conceal the lower half of her face. She could nearly disappear in the growing shadows, but she kept her pace deliberate and let their eyeless gazes linger.
The invitation had called for her to join him in the main foyer. But as she approached, she felt her path stray away from the main doors. She hesitated for a moment before activating her cloak, slipping into the darkness and away from the door guard. If the Steelwatchers saw her, they did nothing to intercept. Her pulse picked up speed as she navigated around the bulk of the fortress, feet finding forgotten footholds and scaling to the upper floors. A thrill rose in her chest in spite of herself. She was right - there was something here she knew. A brisk wind cut through her leathers. She was about to reach the precipice when a terrible quake seized the stone. Roaring thunder shook the earth. Her claws scraped against the crest of the balcony as she searched for desperate purchase. The fall would shatter her legs, if it didn’t outright kill her, and she’d left her scrolls of featherfall at the Elfsong. Her tail lashed wildly for balance. As her grasp slipped, a great silhouette of black appeared at the edge of the platform. The dying rays of sun glinted off his golden accoutrements, blinding his face. A flash of light and the earth was still, Netherstone shimmering in the evening dim.
“What comes skittering up my walls at this hour? A rat in the dark?” he clicked his gauntlet against the stone railing. He leaned over, reaching a hand down in offering to the nothing below. “Far be it from me to leave such a pitiful thing in such peril” she could hear the smug grin in his voice.
He stepped back as a knife lodged into the stone with a sharp screech, the invisibility spell flickering away. Pale yellow eyes gleamed into the dark, creased eyes of the man.
“Ah, not a rat at all. Something much, much nastier,” he said. A sickening smile split his face. “Hello, dearest.”
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“I’d watch your familiar tongue, lest you lose it, Banite,” the tiefling said. Forgoing his outstretched hand, she wrenched her knife from the stone. The Archduke chuckled.
“But of course. Forgive me,” he stepped aside. “Please, join me. Since you’ve come…so far,” he the corner of his mouth twisted into a smile, glancing down at the steep ascent. Orella said nothing, sheathing her knife as way of acceptance. She padded silently past him into the room. It was less grand than one would expect, though not by much. Rich velvet-red curtains lined the floor-to-ceiling windows. Intricately woven rugs adorned the cool stone floor. Imposing portraits lined the walls - all of the man himself. An opulent bed of scarlet and gold loomed at the far wall. Nearer, deluxe wooden bookshelves circled an austerely carved desk. Candles burned in the low light, painting everything in severe angles. Did she know this place? The path was second nature, but standing in it now…she couldn’t say. The balcony doors closed with a soft thud. She half-turned, unwilling to leave a stranger at her back, but not wanting her observation of the man to be obvious. She circled the desk, idly scanning over the papers. Gortash left her to her exploration and walked instead over to a rich oak cabinet, pulling out a bottle of wine and two glasses. The cork’s pop echoed off the cold walls.
“I was hoping you’d join me for the coronation,” he said. “Though, I wasn’t counting on it. You never were one for public appearances. I suppose it was too much to hope that you’d take the front door. I’m relieved then that I neglected to post a watcher on the veranda, since old habits die hard.” The tannic aroma of the wine filled the chamber.
Orella ground her teeth but did not address him. It sat unwell in her marrow, the advantages of the man before her. All the cards and none the reason to share. She wanted to question him, to peel the answers from his wicked tongue, to ground tacks into his gilded fingers and cut and cut and cut until-she breathed deeply through her nose and pinched her eyes shut. The urge would not interrupt the chance she had now. Blood could come later, if he proved unsatisfactory. There was something else too, dancing at the edge of memory, something about the man himself. But she wasn’t ready to lay her vulnerability plainly - let her feel him out more, see if he offered anything that jogged her bloody memory.
“I’ve had more pressing issues than the squabble of Balduran politics,” she said.
“I can imagine,” he held a wineglass aloft in offering. Orella flicked her tail, and then sat at his desk. The corner of his mouth twitched. “A natural consequence of your victory over Thorm, I’m afraid.” He crossed the room slowly, hands plain in front of him, and set a glass down on the opposite side of the desk from where the woman sat. His movements were obvious and deliberate - he knew her well enough, at least, to know that sudden movements could trigger a nasty drive in her to pursue. With his now free hand, he tapped the wrist of the hand that bore the netherstone.
“It takes all three to control it, you know. Without Thorm’s, it’s become vexingly willful. The quakes-well, I don’t have to explain their severity to you,” an amused expression crossed his dark features. “If nobody steps in soon, it’ll free itself from the authority of the crown.”
“Something that nobody, at least I assume, wants,” she said. She made no move for the wine, but this close she could smell the sweat on the man’s skin. The thick musk of his leather coat mixed with the heady perfume of the wine. What was this feeling creeping up its way up her spine?
“Hardly. If we’re lucky, we’d become slaves in the Grand Design. If we’re not, well..” he trailed off, leaning over the desk. “How long do you think that prism will protect you?”
She didn’t answer, instead taking the time to observe the man closely. She’d caught glimpses of him at Moonrise and…there had been something she tamped down, a feeling chased away in haste. It lingered beneath the surface now, pushed aside by the muddled gap of memory. For a preening tyrant he looked rather unkempt up close. Age was starting to wear his face. If she guessed, he was likely somewhere in his thirties. Stubble lined his jaw. The shirt beneath his coat that plunged down his chest was mis-laced. Careless. Messy. Dark circles lined his black eyes - eyes that watched the tiefling’s moves carefully, like he might find a piece to the puzzle he couldn’t quite put together. Though it was…unpleasant, she felt that his face was a familiar one. But how?
“Is that a threat, Lord Gortash?” She rose slowly. It didn’t feel like one, but there was something she was missing. She was growing uncomfortably warm under her cloak and leathers, torches popping and crackling on the walls. She pulled down her mask, pretending not to notice how the man’s eyes flicked briefly down at her mouth. Her clawed nails grazed over the smooth grain of the desk as she circled around to where the man stood, settling around the delicate stem of the glass. She swirled the red ichor idly in her hand.
“A promise, my dear, if we sit by and do nothing,” he watched her for a moment and then took a pointed sip of his glass. “An expensive vintage. Poisoning you would do me precious little good at this point, hm? I believe we still have a need for each other,” he said. The statement rattled around in her brain, hairs rising on her arm.
“Do we? How do I fit into the Archduke’s plans, I wonder? Ah, with a parasite in my eye, it seems,” she sneered. The man grimaced. He closed their diminishing gap further, pausing only when the tiefling’s spare hand tightened its grip on her dagger. A mere foot or so separated them. Close enough that she could see the faintest throb of his pulse in his neck - close enough that if he knew her well, he’d have just enough time to counter her dagger plunging into it. But he wasn’t looking at the hand hidden beneath her cloak. Cocky, foolish, or something else altogether? He was looking at her - confidence betrayed only by a hairline furrow in his brow. Something she’d said hadn’t played into his script - she’d missed the joke he’d thought they were in on together.
“That wasn’t my doing,” he spat with venom, which took her aback. They were, at this moment, diametrically opposed. But he was angry at her condition. That was interesting. He recovered smoothly, his face a placating mask of manners.
“As far as them being my plans? You don’t give yourself enough credit,” he took another drink of his glass, and she watched a drop slither its way down his neck. Unexpected heat rose in her core, her tongue flicking against the back of her teeth. “Orin made a mess of things, but now that you’ve returned, we can remake our partnership anew. My favorite assassin, how glad I am to have you returned to my side,” he uttered the last part low, the usual grandeur set aside to whisper this conspiracy just to her.
He raised a hand then to the hood of her cloak. She stilled, jaw working to make sense of the feelings that muddied her mind. He didn't hesitate, tugging it down so it fell away from her head. Silvery flaxen hair pooled around her shoulders and stuck to her damp forehead. The rational part of her that she’d developed over the course of her journey screamed at her to move, to step away from this honeyed snake, to flee the foolish feelings that were unfolding themselves in her throat. But something darker and older held her there. Something that found it perfectly normal for his fingers to undo the clasps of her cloak, letting it spill off her shoulders and into a soft pile around her feet. Anyone else would’ve lost their hands by now. Why was she letting him do this? What was he to her? Dear, dearest, favorite assassin. She thought she’d come here for clues. A terrible realization began to dawn on her, that her instincts may have led her here for something far, far worse.
“Who am I to you?” she hissed through her teeth. Her head swam with the implications so far. Gortash set his glass down, one hand propped on the desk as pushed into her space, imposing and formidable form cutting off any easy exit. His other hand lingered on her collar, moving to cuff the back of her neck softly. In that moment she felt a hum rumble its way from his chest, pleased at finally having cornered her in.
“My dear, have you not figured it out? Very well, allow me to remind you,” he purred. With a jerk he pulled her head forward and crashed his lips to hers.
Orella choked from the onslaught, the sudden possessive capture of her mouth in the man’s. Up close his scent was deliciously suffocating - leather and smoke and faint oils. His gilded gauntlet dug into the back of her neck, pressing into the soft skin at the base of her skull. His tongue was rich and bitter from the wine. It slithered over her lower lip and caressed the tips of her canines, dominating, demanding. The resistance in her clamped jaw only seemed to excite him further as he clutched her hair and pulled her head back so he could push further into her mouth. Sensations, more than memories, dragged their invisible claws down her consciousness. The familiar aroma of her favorite wine. The taste of sweat as her tongue lashed up his neck. Skin breaking under her nails, the groan it clawed out of him. The sharp pain of pale hair pulled back like a bridle as he drove her into that opulent red bed. It was too much- too fast. The world spun as her hip collided with the desk. She heard glass shatter on stone, but all she could see, all she could feel, was him. He boxed her in, swallowing the light in the room. She gasped in pain as he yanked at the hair gathered in his hand - a mistake, as he pushed hungrily into her open mouth. He was smothering - an oppressive cloud of smoke in the shape of a man intent on consuming her whole. She swallowed the taste of his tongue on hers, the heavy breath he panted into her mouth. Her body flushed hot under his assault, sweat pooling into the cleave of her breasts, tail lashing with frenetic energy. She had to stop this before she lost what was left of her mind. She bit down hard on his lower lip - canines sinking into the soft flesh. He hissed out a groan, but the coppery taste of blood intermingled with their spit only seemed to spur him on. He pressed her, forcing her back onto the desk, arms locked tight like a cell on either side. Papers flew off the desk as her tail lashed out for balance, hooking a leg around his waist to catch herself from falling. The movement brought their hips near together, and she could feel the length of him hardening against her inner thigh. Hells below, what was she doing? Parts of her brain - once unknown to her, now renewed - screeched with glee. It sang that this was right, that her fledgling morality that recoiled from his touch even as her body leaned into it, was useless and bland. His hot blood coated her tongue, still under assault from his own. Every breath was Gortash. Every inch of his body clung to hers like a child clutching their favorite toy - unwilling to share. One of his hands, the one with the netherstone embedded in the gauntlet, traced brazenly up her chest to slice at the straps holding her leather breastplate in place. It clattered to the ground, leaving the loose fabric of her undershirt behind. She’d hadn’t time to protest before his touch was upon her. He slipped a hand under her shirt, caressing the ridges of her ribs to the soft underside of her breast, and slipped out a sigh that was far too fond for the violence of the scene before them.
Orella’s mind stuttered to catch up to the conclusion her body had drawn. Gortash was drawing slow circles around her nipple with his thumb, the other hand brushing down her spine and coming to grip into the soft flesh of her hip, still annoyingly beyond his reach in her breaches. She choked on the clotted blood in her throat, and finally the man relented long enough for her to gasp in a breath. Red-tinged spittle dripped down her chin to the hollows of her collarbone. Sweat plastered her hair around the bases of her horns and stuck her blouse uncomfortably to her greenish skin. Why was she letting him do this? Her mind ran from the answer her body had so willingly set out for her. Gortash gripped into her thigh just tightly enough to hurt, keeping her planted exactly where he wanted her. Though his movements were slow, the tone was clear. She was where he wanted her, and that was where she ought to stay. He pressed his nose to her hair and breathed deep. Sticky blood matted her hair where his lips met her crown. His arousal pressed uncomfortably into her inner thigh - a threat or a promise, she couldn’t tell. With the man before her she felt that they were one and the same.
“You,” she panted and licked the spit from her lips, “-haven’t answered my question.” The man chuckled but didn’t bother meeting her gaze, pressing a kiss into her hair that felt more a brand than a mark of affection.
“I believe I have. Whether or not you like the answer isn’t my concern. Though I assure you-” he lowered himself, planting one hand on her thigh while the other squeezed her breast, earning a hiss from the tiefling. “-that you most certainly do like it. Otherwise I would've found myself with your blade embedded in me long ago.” His gaze levelled with hers, black and unyielding. It left no space for questioning. But this battle of wills had only begun, and he’d just given her a great idea.
“You have no idea what I like,” she said. “I hate wine, for one.” She licked a spot of blood off her chin, savoring the metallic taste. Gortash drew closer, his tongue lapping slowly at a spot she had missed before drawing back. A perverse shiver ran through her spine. He bared his teeth in what she supposed was a smile.
“Liar.” He called the bluff with certainty. A single word that implied much more. If lying wouldn’t get her far, then maybe this intensity could be manipulated in another manner.
“Says…my ally? My friend? My ill-suited bedmate? It may be that you have the wrong woman, my lord. Save your tongue for more productive matters, like giving me a real answer,” she scoffed and turned her head away. Gortash seized her chin, cool metal pressing bitterly into her skin.
“You will not turn away from me. And you will not insult me by reducing us to some animal weakness turned distraction,” his voice thundered from deep in his chest. Us . It sparked the same sick fondness that his letter did.
“I don’t remember-”
“ Liar ,” he growled. Fluttering candlelight cast baleful shadows across his visage. “Our plan, yes, I do believe that was lost to you. Orin said as much. You not seeking me out as soon as your wretched, bloodsoaked self entered the city was evidence enough. But do not lie to me now, darling, that your body does not recognize mine, even if your mind simpers away from you.”
His hot breath fell upon hers. The flamelight of the room seemed to breathe in time with the tyrant. She hated that he was right, that she’d been drawn to him since catching that damned glimpse at Moonrise. That, for the first time in a long time, familiarity beyond blood or gore warmed her flesh. Their bodies fit together as a key into a lock, a hand into a hand. Another thing beyond her understanding or control. Orella cursed the feeling. Too fucking much was out of her control in this insipid, crawling world. She would not satisfy her body before her mind. Her brows raised themselves in facsimile of indifference.
“Do you think you’re the only one who’s tempted me since I awoke? If you do know me as you claim, you should know I’m more animal than most,” she said. “It may be that I’m a weak, deviant thing. Perhaps my better judgement is failing me again.”
Gortash flared his nostrils. For supposed amnesia, it was second nature to work him past his charming facade. His grip dropped from her chin to her neck. He squeezed lightly - enough to make the intake of breath a labor. Cold metal digging into the delicate skin of her neck, he pushed until her back collided with the wooden desk, his oppressive form looming over the lithe tiefling beneath him. She suffocated the moan that threatened to slip past her purplish lips.
“Your time away has made you intractable. If you insist on playing this game, I will teach you a lesson. Luckily, my dear, I’m a most benevolent teacher,” he tightened his grip around her throat fractionally. His hips pressed down onto hers, arousal throbbing through his trousers. “I’ll drive the answer into that crowded skull of yours until there’s no room left to doubt who you are to me.”
Gods , she wanted it. Let her leave this query to the man before her, let the answers marked into her flesh suffice. Especially as his mouth found its way to the shell of her ear, lips grazing over the sensitive skin. Her vision blurred as the grip on her throat gave no mercy.
“Surrender yourself to me, Bhaalspawn, and I’ll give you all the answers you could want. I’ll even forgive you for dirtying yourself with another while lost to me. I’m nothing if not forgiving,” he murmured thickly, releasing her throat. Orella gasped in a breath. Her chest shuddered as she breathed deep, the sweet flood of oxygen dizzying. He watched her intently, a pure force of focus. Perfect . Her hand clenched around the hilt of her knife.
“For your sake, I hope that’s true,” she whispered. “My apologies in advance.”
The dagger slammed into the wooden table with a sick thunk, pinning the Archduke’s hand to the desk as she slammed her horns into the bridge of his nose. Gortash, to his credit, stifled his shout enough to keep from alerting the guards below. She wrenched him around, pivoting from the leg she still had wrapped around his waist, his back colliding into the wood with force. One knee pressed harshly into the man’s crotch as she raised her offhanded dagger to his throat. Gortash spat a curse, blood trickling from between his eyes where her horn had caught the thin skin. His eyes simmered with ire and…was that excitement? His rough treatment had done little to soften the bulge beneath her knee.
“I will give you a truth, Lord Gortash, so that you might hear how one sounds and be able to imitate it in kind. I awoke a handful of months ago to inky blackness and a thirst for slaughter so great that I kill in my sleep, and an unwelcome parasite squirming through the holes in my wretched brain. I’ve searched for a cure until I was dragged back into this godsforsaken city that knows me, but I’ve forgotten it. Tenday after I arrived to Baldur's Gate, a letter with nauseatingly familiar tone asked for me by name. My truth is I came not just for answers, but because at Moonrise you intrigued me in a way that turns my stomach and muddies my sense.”
“I need you to answer this question very, very carefully. I can’t say if I would’ve killed you before, or if we had some sort of pact that spared you from the consequence of your foolish conduct. But I can assure you that as I stand before you now, I have no such obligation,” her voice was cool, detached. She pushed her blade a whisper into the flesh of his neck, just enough for a drop of blood to form on the edge. “Who am I to you that I hesitate still?”
The wrath left his eyes for but a moment, flicking between hers in some shade of fervent warmth. Whether this confession was true or part of her game, he couldn't say. But forcing it out of the tightlipped Bhaalspawn was victory enough. This evening would end as he wanted it to. Whether she knew it or not, he had won long ago.
“My deepest vexation, for one. But you always have been. Not impossible, as Orin is. She had no foresight, no vision like you. You’ve always had more control than her,” he flexed his free hand but made no movement to free himself. “But Bhaalspawn aren’t known for their ease of nature, I suppose.” He hissed as she pressed down on his crotch.
“Evade the answer again and I’ll send you to your god tonight, Banite,” she hissed. The revelation of her perverse bloodline was still fresh. She thought she’d figured out the broad strokes at Moonrise. Why her blood sang for slaughter, why her freshly gestated morality sickened her stomach. She didn’t know if Orin was a true sister or not - if she’d had a family before, she doubted they were around now. Blood-kin. Bhaalspawn. If she knew the whole picture, of where her flesh had truly come from, she’d have sought Orin out first.
“This line of questioning is tiresome,” he sighed. “Let’s say I can’t produce an answer you find satisfactory. Are you going to drive that knife through my throat? Kill me and take your chances with Orin? I believe you’ll find she’s much less…let us say, agreeable, than I am. I’m your only option, dear. You’ve shown your hand.”
Orella considered. For all of her urges, for her seething dislike of his flippant refusal to answer her, she found herself oddly reluctant to slit his throat. That was shocking enough. And from what she’d seen of Orin the Red...It was likely true that any chance of an answer would die with the man before her. So where did that leave her? What leverage did she have? She pulled her blade away from the man’s throat in mock defeat. A pleased expression crossed his face.
“Perhaps you’re right. How could I expect Bane’s chosen to bend to something as paltry as simple violence? Your will is a credit to your master.”
She licked the blood slowly off the knife, watching how his eyes caught on her tongue. She smiled, and then slashed quickly at his chest. He lurched back only to find his skin unharmed, the tatters of his shirt falling away from his chest. He snapped his hungry gaze back to the tiefling, who fingered slowly at the lacing of her own blouse, undoing the top eyelets to let it fall partially open.
“Let me revise my offer. You give me an answer I find satisfactory, Banite, and I’ll make sure that satisfaction is returned in kind. If you continue your insipid circling then I’ll take your disinterest to heart,” she guided his uninjured hand to her chest, letting his fingers graze over the warm flesh.
“Hmm,” he contemplated, massaging her breast. She let her head loll, sighing into his touch. His speared hand flexed on the desk beside him. “Your mind is a mangled, troublesome thing. Always has been. Your body I know I can soothe. What happens if I refuse to give you an answer?”
“I was hoping you’d ask."
She climbed onto the desk, knees on either side of his lap until she straddled the rigid length beneath her. His jaw flexed, the only tell of his otherwise even countenance. She pitied the human momentarily. The tiefling could smell his excitement clear as day, sweat and salt mixing with the bitter scent of precum leaking into his trousers.
“If you refuse, Lord Gortash-” her lips whispered across the shell of his ear, “then I leave. Gone into the night with you as just another forgotten piece of my past. If you ever see me again, it’ll be when I rend your netherstone from your cold hands.” Her sharp nails tapped the gauntlet over her heart, the sound ringing softly in the empty chamber. His hand stilled. He pulled back and fixed her with a dominating gaze - probing for any weakness, any lie. His expression hardened when he found none. She called his bluff that same way he’d called hers - with certainty that, beneath all the cat and mouse, he didn’t want to let her go. The room was quiet save for their breathing for a long moment. He clicked his tongue and relented, his uninjured hand coming up to brush an errant strand of hair behind her pointed ear.
“Very well. Ours is a long tale. How far back would you like me to go?” he asked. She placed a light kiss on his inner wrist as an early reward. His thumb brushed over her cheek before settling his hand on the small of her back, gentle but firm. As if to say, do not go far .
“Why don’t you start from the beginning? I’m starting to quite enjoy our time together,” she said, wrenching the embedded dagger suddenly from the flesh of his hand. He groaned through his teeth.
“I’m glad, darling. I’ll be sure to repay you in kind,” he growled. “As far as you who are - It was you and I who hatched the plot of the Absolute, many years ago in this very city. But we were partners long before that. Back when I first devoted myself to Bane, and you were but a whisper of fear in the dark.”
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His recollection ended with what he knew; that she’d gone to Moonrise with Orin to check on the progress there. Orella never made it back, and the temple of Bhaal had a new high priestess. Though she couldn’t remember, it tasted familiar, the bile of indignation and latent rage hot in her throat.
“You should’ve crushed her throat beneath your boots,” she muttered. But even as she did, her blood screeched in protest. Orin would be hers and hers alone . “Or did I matter little to you?”
“Don’t be dramatic. That’s your sister’s flaw, not yours,” he chided. He handed her his abandoned wineglass, this time less of an offer than an insistence. Fine. He’d played her game. She’d uphold her end. She drank deeply, draining the glass as her tension began to coil in her stomach. It was rich and sour, but left a strange aftertaste on her tongue. His hands began to work at the few strings left lacing her blouse closed, pulling each one slowly, savoring each inch of skin that revealed itself to him. “We had an agreement not to meddle in each other's affairs. She came to us as Bhaal’s Chosen. We are but servants to our lords.”
The last binding fell away, cloth slipping off the tiefling’s shoulders to lay her chest bare before him. Tender pinkish nipples hardened in the cool air. Her arms fell over his shoulders automatically - following paths they had set before. She worked his coat off distractedly. Golden-tipped hands caressed her plush hips, bringing her bare chest to his own. He was warm, pleasantly so, and she let herself lean into the heat. He watched her closely, contemplating the absent look on her face. Delicate brows pinched together, fangs poking lightly out from her downturned mouth. Numbness settled on her tongue. Her mind raced with everything the man had told her; even as she wished for something different, her gut told her that it had been wholly true. There was no mistake, no alternative she could hide behind. She was and had always been a monster. Oh gods, what would the party think? Their ally was the Bhaalspawn that had concocted a plan to end the world, strip them of their souls…and then what? Domination? There was something she was missing, she was sure, but he couldn’t have known what her true plans were. She felt they were much more sinister, somewhere deep in her bloody heart. Nausea broiled in her stomach. Flashes of memory had come and gone while he’d spoken, but they flew at her now, sudden and too sharp in her mind; the bitter cold of Mephistar, the fatty taste of human meat, the all-encompassing voice of Bhaal. Sick scenes of perverted slaughter. Was that feeling…guilt? Or hunger? Faint echoes of memory stabbed and stabbed at her mind, a terrible pain building behind her eyes. It was overwhelming and yet not enough - the heavy bulk of it still beyond her. A puzzle missing its center, only the edges giving a clue of what the full picture must be. Orella groaned at the sudden tempest in her mind, the chaos manifesting outward in shockwaves of electricity through her body. Her tadpole screeched and writhed. This was…this was something more than his story triggered. Her mouth tingled from the dregs of his drink. She gripped into Gortash’s shoulders, control and consciousness fighting against her. Memory and the miasma of amnesia raged like a wildfire and the smoke around it. Briefly, she recalled Shadowheart’s jarring recollection after she’d given her the noblestalk. This rapid flood of sensation seemed similar.
“What did-” she hissed in pain, shocks of white bursting behind her eyes. Words slipped away from her, the surrounding chamber blurring in and out of sight. The only thing keeping her grounded was the solid mass beneath her, his clawed hand running up and down her spine.
“As I said, your mind is a troublesome thing, especially when it runs away from you,” Gortash growled against her neck. Teeth pressed into the thin skin above her jugular, the warm wetness of his tongue sliding over the soft indents left behind. “It’s why you found yourself in my bed in the first place. Don’t you remember?” As he spoke, memory assaulted the space behind her eyes, conjured by his touch and the strange sharp taste on her tongue.
Madness. Madness and the hysteria in her bones as it flayed her alive. Something had tipped the scales in the Urge’s favor. She’d left a wake of blood in the streets, instinct pushing her towards where she knew he’d be. She was running, towards, or away?
He flipped them then, catching the tiefling before she slammed into the desk. His hands slithered into her waistband, ripping her trousers off in one brutal movement. She gasped but couldn’t move, her limbs locked in the paralysis of remembrance. Her head hung limply over the edge of the desk, strands of pale flaxen hair brushing over the floorboards.
A knife in the throat of a black-handed guard. Claws on wood, scraping like an animal caught in the walls. He’d opened the door and observed the scene with equal parts amusement and trepidation - had his ally finally snapped?
“My, what comes skittering in my halls at this hour?”
“Gortash,” his name came out strangled, like two voices fought for use of her tongue. Her yellow eyes were crazed and glowed with violence, blood vessels bursting in the sclera.
“Priestess. You look…unwell.” Blood coated her arms up to the elbows and dripped down her chin. He almost pitied the soul unlucky enough to meet their end at her mangled mouth. Her fingers twitched involuntarily, tail lashing wildly back and forth. This was not the aloof and disciplined assassin he’d come to know - this creature before him was murder made flesh, the hot tang of blood and viscera seething in her breath. But what gave him true pause was her strange expression. Beyond the savagery, there was something else in the turbulent storm in her eyes- something that crawled coldly up his spine. Fear.
“Need.” She dropped the guard and staggered forward. Gortash took a step back, white-knuckling the knife concealed behind his back.
“Need what, dear friend?” he’d kept his tone easy. But he was no fool - he stood face to face with a predator, and he had no idea what it wanted from him. Frantic claws clutched the fine black fabric of his shirt, her wild eyes boring into his own. He’d seen the Urge before, seen her slip into her master’s favorite killer like it was a second skin. But this was different. Something was wrong. He pressed his dagger to the soft of her abdomen, right above her kidney- but she didn’t so much as flinch.
Orella’s eyes moved rapidly behind their lids. Gortash took the time to pragmatically map out the body before him - every new scar, every familiar bony ridge, every barely visible freckle. He pressed his mouth to her neck, her collarbone, the crest of her hips. Teeth sank into her soft flesh as he sucked dark bruises into her pale green skin. Branding her breasts, her ribs, her thighs. He plucked off one of his gauntlets so that his fingers were free to slide between her legs. It pleased him to see the wetness that had built up already, despite her resistance earlier. She twitched as the first digit slid over her sensitive folds into the slick warmth of her core.
She jerked him forward and sank her wicked fangs into his shoulder. Gortash bit down his shout, teeth gritted in pain. Her tail wrapped around his thigh as she pulled him down, the pair crashing into the floor, the tiefling pinning him beneath her like he weighed little. He raised his dagger to plunge it into her chest before she could tear out his throat. But to his surprise, she released his flesh from her teeth, running a tongue softly over the puncture wounds. A soft sound crawled from her throat. She licked and lapped up his neck to his lower lip, twitching hands pulling at his waistband.
“I need-,” she hissed low, jerking her head back and forth like she could shake out the madness in her blood. “You. Please.”
Her body shivered as he added another finger, beckoning up into the hot flesh of her cunt. His teeth nipped at her inner thigh, licking and sucking until the blood pooled purple and blue under her skin. He kissed down onto her soft mound, lapping a tongue around the workings of his fingers. A slight tremble in her thighs were the only sign of her struggle against the haze that had locked her out of her body and into the past. He pulled out his fingers briefly to let his tongue press into her heat. Vaguely she heard him moan into her cunt, appeased for the moment by sweet relief of her taste. He fucked her zealously with his tongue, replaced by the fervid pumping of his fingers only when he wanted to lavish attention to her clit. A coil of energy rose up her spine, her fingers twitching and gripping into the wood as the rest of her body lay limp at his mercy.
In their time working together, he’d never heard that word leave her lips. Gortash reeled to make sense of it - his usually cold ally writhed warm above him, the metallic taste of blood hot on his tongue as she pulled him into a feral imitation of a kiss. Teeth clacked against fangs, tongues lashing over the other. Her hips ground greedily at the building arousal in his trousers, pressure deliciously rough.This was madness. She’d certainly kill him at the end of this frenzy. But if she didn’t…maybe an opportunity had fallen into his lap. The priestess was always distant despite his disarming charm. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he did this to gain advantage. But the creature above him was no bored noble. She was far more dangerous, the feeling she incited far more electric. He hesitated for a moment - before dropping his dagger and fisting his hand into her hair. She moaned keenly into his mouth. Heat rose in his stomach in spite of himself - he’d never heard such a sweet sound from the tiefling. She worked quickly at him; rending his shirt and clawing off his trousers before he’d time to free her from her own dressings. His thick cock sprang free from its bindings. She jerked her tattered dress down enough to bring his hands to her breasts as her tail coiled around his thigh, keeping him pinned beneath her. A groan tore itself from his chest as she pulled up her skirt to drag the length of his cock against her hot, wet slit. He thought maybe this could be a pleasurable partnership indeed.
Arousal built in Orella hard and fast, the workings of the man above her dueted with the memory of his body under hers in the past. Her body twitched frantically now; desperate gasps pulling themselves from the depths of her throat as Gortash added another finger to his assault. His lips clamped over her sensitive clit and sucked, sending shocks of pleasure up her spine through her ragdoll body.
Whatever logical rationale had spurred Gortash on was quickly forgotten as the tiefling sunk onto the length of him in one brutal movement, cock slick with the wetness soaking through her folds. He threw his head back in pleasure, the sudden pressure and heat of her tight cunt overwhelming. She hissed at the size of him, the uncomfortable stretch as she drove him into the hilt. She paused there for a moment; madness held briefly at bay by the thrill of skin on her own. He glanced up to take in the creature before him. Her mouth was parted slightly as she panted, blood and his spit dripping from her chin, tongue flicking up to press into her fangs. Sweat glistened on her long neck down to her full, heavy breasts that Gortash held in his hands. Her wild hair tumbled down her back, freed from the usual braided bounds he had caught glimpses of through her cloak. Her eyes were shut in the image of peacefulness - whatever cacophony in her mind that had led her here was blissfully quiet for the first time in days. She cracked them open just a touch to fix the human beneath her with a gaze that was equal parts calm and hunger, and he thought she might’ve smiled before raising herself up to ride his cock back down into her. She fucked him brutal and fast - hips driving down the length of him deep as she could go. Blood and slick dripped down her cunt onto her thighs. Gortash reveled in the sweet, painful cries that strangled their way out of her throat. It sparked a fire in him - the Chosen of Bhaal reduced to whimpering upon his cock. He gripped onto her hips and thrusted up into her as she sank down, spearing bruises into the deep flesh of her core - the sick slapping of skin on skin echoing off his office walls. His lingering fear turned to pleasure, the taboo feeling of being deep in the Bhaalist’s cunt deliciously wrong. He could see the glassy eyes of his dead guard in the corner of his vision, the pale face locked in perpetual terror, the ribbons of his throat shredded into a crimson pool that clung stickily to the man’s back. A consequence of being lesser. Gortash wouldn’t fall to the Bhaalist’s hands; he’d leave her shaking in his.
The tiefling above had her head thrown back in abandon as she rode him, frenzy of a different kind stuttering her movements and flushing her lovely face. He brought a hand to circle her clit roughly as the claws on his chest dug into the skin in desperation. The room stunk of blood and sex, depraved stains seeping into the grain of the floor. The priestess moaned and gasped in pathetic mewls as he worked her up to crescendo. He clenched his jaw against his own release, trying to time it so he could pull out and spill over her stomach instead. But as she reached her peak she arched into him and cried out a name- his name, desperate and wrong and perfect on her lips - and he lost whatever semblance of sense he had to the pleasure of ruining her thoroughly. Gortash groaned against the grit of his teeth and drove his cock to the hilt to spill hot, thick ropes of his seed inside of her, hips stuttering to fuck his load deep into the heat of her core. He’d regret this, certainly, but for now his fearsome ally trembled weakly on his length, filled to bursting as his cum slithered down her thighs. His - marked and perfectly spoiled.
Vision returned to Orella with the shock of her near peaking pleasure. She tried to move with little success, the only evidence of her effort a small squeeze of her thighs that did little against the force of Gortash pinning them apart. His golden gauntlet dug harshly into her thigh at the mild resistance, the bare hand fucking her to her release. She lifted her head just enough to lock eyes with the man as he sucked just right at her clit, nose covered in her mess and eyes heavy with lust- and that was it. She came violently onto his mouth, back arching and a pathetic cry ripping itself from her throat. Gortash hummed his approval into her tender pussy, licking the slick that slipped from her. She keened and whined as the aftershocks pulsed through her limp body, nerves jittery with overstimulation as the man continued to lick and kiss at her, fingers pulling out tortuously slow.
“Ss-“ she slurred, tongue still thick in her mouth. “Mmn..”
“What was that dear? I don’t believe I heard you,” he purred, nose brushing painfully against her overstimulated clit. Her body jerked again, disobedient, beyond her control.
“Whhnn” she tried. “Wh-ine.” Cool air wafted uncomfortably over her core as he pulled away. Her pulse throbbed in her ears. Vaguely she heard the unbuckling of his belt.
“Ah, yes. I told you it was a good vintage. It pained me to taint it with that concoction, but I think it was well worth it, yes?” He dragged her forward so her hips met his, her head now supported by the desk instead of hanging haphazardly over its edge. “You must tell me. What did you remember?”
The fog of the drug hung heavy in her mind, laced with the lingering buzz of her orgasm, but the memory he’d sparked was clear enough. She had sought him out first - as a last effort, an alternative to something far worse than just debasing herself with him. But the man in that memory and the one here, the one who called her dearest , and darling …she considered the looming reality that something had grown between them that went far beyond just sex. She recalled the look on his face when they first reunited - certainty, smugness…relief. The disdain when she used his title. The hand pressed into the small of her back, like he wouldn’t allow her to slip away a second time. Who was she to him? He’d said ally, partner, equal . The unspoken part expressed in the way he’d pressed his lips to her hair; the way he’d driven his tongue into her like a man starved. Now she had to face the more damning question; who was he to her?
His expression hardened as she gave him no answer. She imagined that perhaps he thought his drug had failed, that she was as much a stranger as when she first set foot in the city. But her thoughts took time to untangle themselves, especially when blurred by sex and the bitter lingering of his spiked wine. She propped herself up with effort, groggy limbs relearning their movement. The last ebbs of her release passed warmly over her, a pink flush on her cheeks from her body’s efforts. Her thighs still trembled. Gortash watched her closely, the mess of her glistening on his face. He was stroking himself languidly, running the head of his cock over the slick of her release.She shivered and took in the sight of him in return; the broadness of his chest, the messy nest of his choppy hair, the black pit of his eyes. Pale scars peppered his shoulders and neck where her teeth had found purchase over years and years. She grasped the implication beneath the scarring; all the times he’d bare his throat to her cannibal mouth, all the times she passed his jugular by. A ruinous emotion close to affection rose in her throat. Acceptance and horror came at all once; she had, as he said, missed him.
“I remember blood,” she answered at last. “I…remember your flesh beneath mine. Lowly and disgusting. Heresy.”
Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, “I remember the feel of your heartbeat beneath my hands.”
He stared at her with an expression she couldn't quite define. He paused the stroke of his cock. She moved forward an inch, just enough to wrap her hand around his shaft. Her pumps were slow and jerky - his own fault with whatever he’d dosed her with, but he leaned into her all the same. Black eyes locked onto hers, waiting for some trick, some show of violence. Pride bloomed in his chest as he registered the semblance of recognition on her flushed face. Finally, finally . Satisfaction spread across his dark features. He released her pinned thighs, a hand coming to brush her messed hair down softly behind her head.
“Yes. You made a fine mess of my men,” he wrapped his gilded hand over hers, guiding her movements, squeezing her hand just a little harder. “I was certain that evening would end with your teeth in my throat.”
“Mm,” she sighed, eyes settling closed as memories whispered softly behind her eyes, the pain replaced by afterglow. “I had need of you then.”
She squeezed his shaft roughly on the upstroke, earning a low moan from the man. Her nose traced the shape of his jaw, breathing in the heavy musk of him, sliding up his cheek and into his hair. He lavished her attention like it was his right, sliding a hand down to cup the plush roundness of her ass as the other helped her pump him up and down. Tension coiled in her shoulders slipped away in spite of herself. She tried and failed to muster anger for the liberties taken with her body - she’d done much the same to him before, lifetimes ago. And whether she’d admit it or not - he’d saved her from a worse fate that night. The exact details were lost, drowned in the murk of her amnesia, but there was the feeling of a sinister threat. She recalled there was great pressure for Bhaalspawn to spread their Father’s blood. It was almost heresy that, as head of his temple, she hadn’t. Something had threatened her, had demanded the use of her body for spawn; who or what, she couldn’t remember. But the evidence of their first tumultuous night, salty and thick down her thighs, had kept it at bay. Though she couldn’t recall whether it was by intention or luck that his seed had not taken. In the dark, a forgotten, animal part of her wanted him to try again. She shivered as his cock twitched in her hand.
“You’ve need of me now,” he murmured thickly in her ear. “You’ve always needed me, poor thing. How hard it must’ve been when your body ached for mine but knew not how to sate itself. What pale imitations did you seek out, I wonder?” His tone was easy, but it carried the sharp edge of blackest jealousy. His guiding hand forced hers down, guiding the head of his cock to her entrance. “I’ve always been at your service, my dear. Say what you know I want to hear, and I’ll give you what you’ve been desperately missing.”
A test. If she crossed this line, she didn’t know if there was any coming back to the person she’d become after waking up on the Nautiloid. But the memory of him in her bones was strong as his will, the desire to be reunited as a blade longing for a heart. What sort of sick affection they shared, she couldn’t quite put into words. But here in the confines of his embrace, she knew a simple fact. He was hers and she was his; a chain not easily broken, pulled from both sides. She slipped the head of his cock up and down her slit, coating him in the mess of her release. Swollen lips brushed against his own as her eyes met his.
“I need you,” she whispered. A triumphant grin broke across his face, victory and pride burning ardently in his black eyes.
“There you are,” he smiled. “It would be my pleasure, dearest.”
He pushed in slowly, almost reverently, savoring every inch of her warmth. His approach was deliberate; he dragged into her like he was carving his initials into her flesh. Stuttering breaths tinged with the desperation of want pulled themselves from the tiefling. She sighed them onto his lips, letting her eyes flutter close, surrendering finally to the command of his touch. The feeling of fullness sent heat curling in her lower abdomen, where Gortash pressed a hand to feel where the length of him sat within her.
“Do you feel that?” His voice drew hoarsely from his throat. “The bliss of wholeness. How your body fits perfectly to mine.”
Seated to the hilt, he stayed traitorously still and enjoyed the frustrated twitches of the tiefling’s hips as she tried to gain an ounce of friction.
“Ah ah,” he tutted as she ground against him, planting his hands on her hips to keep her still.
“Taking your time?” Her thighs quivered lightly, the stretch of him new and familiar all at once. Her mouth twitched up at the corners. “Is this your way of punishing me?”
“Re-educating, not punishing. You’re more resistant to pain than most. In fact, you’re rather fond of it. The issue is, how do I assure my lessons stick in that moth-eaten head of yours?”
He lifted her from the desk, her legs clamping around his waist at the sudden loss of support. His hands dug greedily into her ass to keep the length of him planted within her as he maneuvered them so her back landed softly against the wall. He pulled out slowly - an agonizing drag - and then thrust suddenly into her in one brutal move. Her back collided with the wall with the unexpected force of him, her head snapping against the stone. She choked out a painful gasp as her vision swam, the ache throbbing up from the base of her skull.
“I did promise to repay your actions this evening in kind, and I intend on being thorough,” he purred into her ear. “Brutalizing you in the first round would be rather poor of me, don’t you think?” She could hear the smirk in his tone.
Gortash stayed still within her until the pain passed, her yellow eyes narrowing at his shameless toying. He chuckled into the crook of her neck, pressing warm kisses on the cusp of her jaw in way of apology. He pulled out partially before thrusting into her again, firm but without malice. The man’s hips rocked steadily into hers, unhurried in his pace.
“Have you always been a fool, or did I forget that too?” Her voice came out lower than she intended, the feel of him rocking into her warming her body. Every thrust brought the slide of smooth stone over her skin.
“The only foolish thing I’ve done was let a Bhaalspawn into my bedchambers. Twice in your memory, a thousand times in mine,” he said. He quickened to a more vigorous pace, his hips snapping hers against the wall. She bit her lip down against her needy whimpers. One of her hands tangled itself in his hair, desperate for purchase.
“Mm-hah!” She gasped as her ass bounced against the stone, clawed gauntlet digging into the plush skin. Heat coiled in her abdomen as his cock pumped into the sensitive flesh of her cunt. “Never thought t-to fuck something easier? Less-fuck!” she hissed through her teeth. Short, strangled gasps fluttered from her chest as arousal coiled in her belly. “Less dangerous?”
“Speaking from experience?” He panted hotly now, his chest heaving as he drove into her. “Picked the nearest warm body to sate yourself? Or, I guess it might’ve been cold too, knowing you.”
His grip tightened incrementally, a possessive edge sharp in his words. His pace quickened to a relentless pounding - each thrust into her cunt his brand in her flesh. She tightened reflexively around him, pulling a rough groan from his throat. Gods - he felt so good. The heat of him, the force of him, it pulsed hotly though her trembling body.
“Is th-that jealousy?” she managed. Any thoughts of Gale were far from her mind, but apparently not from his. Did that one slip of her brief affair really affect him so deeply?
“Jealousy is for simpering fools,” he grunted. His hips stuttered briefly, the flex of his jaw hinting at his building release. “You’ve no match but me. I’m intent on reminding you of that, however necessary.” She cried out as he hit her sensitive spot, pleasure shooting through her spine.
“Fuck! Don’t- oh gods, don’t stop” she gritted through her teeth, head thrown back against the wall. His gaze was fixed to her now, taking in every inch of her writhing before him. Sweat slithered down her neck into the cleave of her breasts that bounced in time with his thrusts. Bruises bloomed on her skin from where he’d marked her. He committed the sight to memory; the differences, the similarities. What version of her she’d be now, he couldn't say. Nor could he particularly care as the sound of her needy whines sang in his ears. A perfect sound from a perfect creature, made for him and him alone. She was back in his hands, difficult as ever. The rest would surely follow.
“Good girl,” he growled. “Taking me, begging for me. Gods, I’ve missed you.”
She could feel bruises building on her hips where he gripped her, the slam of his hips against hers stuttering out of rhythm as he neared his peak. Sense fought its way through the muddle of her well-fucked brain; she’d hadn’t taken anything in preparation for this - the wizard had cast something to prevent any accidents when they’d been together, but it had been some time. If she didn’t stop him now-
“I-,” she panted. Her claws gripped into his shoulder to push him back- but he drove into her without pause. Pleasure lashed up her spine. She felt her control slipping, each thrust bringing her closer to ecstasy.
“Wait, Enver-!”
A rough gasp strangled its way from his throat as he came, pinning her to the wall to fill her. She cried out as he pumped into her - each throb of his cock spilling his hot seed deep within her cunt. Soft curses broke from her mouth as the man fucked her through his release. The ground of his hips was sweet and rough against her clit, rocking in broken rhythm. Delicious friction and his strained moan at his overstimulation in her ear pushed her over the edge. She clenched onto him, milking the last drops of his release as her orgasm came hot and fast as his own, washing over her in pulsing waves. He choked whispered praise in her ear as his hips stuttered to a stop, his arms shaking with the effort of keeping her aloft.
Lucidity returned to her slowly, her thighs quaking around his waist. Distantly she felt him pull out slow, his cock dragging against her sensitive walls. His arms swept under her legs so she rested comfortably against his chest, carrying her in shaky steps to the rich bed. Plush velvet kissed her back as he laid her down. His hands traced the sides of her hips, pressing hungry kisses to the bruises there. He traced his way up from the vee of her hips, lips brushing over the ridges of her ribs to the peak of her breasts, up finally to her neck. His weight settled on the bed beside her as he kissed her slowing pulse lazily, content in the mess made of her for the moment. His mouth met hers at last. She shuddered into the kiss as she felt his spend leaking thickly out of her onto the bed, her mind working to piece itself back together. Gortash pulled away to gaze over her once more. His dark eyes simmered with triumph, and something very nearly close to affection.
“Just as you were,” he pressed another hot kiss to her neck. “Perfect.”
Before she could react his hands guided her hips towards him, rolling her gingerly so her stomach laid against the bed. She groaned in annoyance, heat flaring suddenly in her abdomen as she felt the length of him press against her ass, still rigid despite their exertions.
“What are you doing?” she asked, the words sticking hungrily in her traitorous throat. A kiss pressed itself between her shoulder blades, mild and chaste in comparison to the hot grind of his cock against her thighs.
“Did you think we were done?” he asked, amusement plain in his voice. She turned to glare at him before his hand pressed down on her neck, pushing her face down to the bed and keeping her still. She hissed through her teeth. “I promised I’d be thorough, dear. You’re to remain here until I say otherwise.”
That was as much warning as she got before he entered her suddenly, cock sliding through the mess into her sensitive core. Her moan was muffled by her face pressed into the sheets, her tail curling to sit neatly on her back as he rocked into her steadily.
“My name sounds so good on your lips, don’t agree”?
His hips clapped against her ass in a steady rhythm. The sick wet sound of his cock pumping into her cunt filled the chamber. A small voice in her head cursed her for surrendering to him so easily. But the louder roar in her ears, the one that clawed its way to the surface when he’d fucked her the first time, sang with glee. She was where she ought to be, as he’d said. Her body took him gladly.
“Let’s see if I can pull it from you again.”
—————————————————————
Their bodies panted heavily next to each other, sticky with sweat and spend in the dim, flickering torchlight. Fresh scars decorated the man’s back, lines where dagger-sharp claws had raked into him. Bruises peppered the tieflings body; the most damning on her hip and neck, where the silhouette of fingerprints were plain to see. A collar branded into her skin with all the affection the tyrant had to give. Her thighs were stained with him - his refusal to waste himself anywhere but within her meant she was heavy with the fullness of it - the potential consequences whispering in the far corners of her mind.
Shame and satisfaction mingled nauseatingly in her stomach. By her estimation, morning was but a handful of hours away. The party would be wondering what became of her when she didn’t return; could they even guess the depths of her depravity? How could they see this as anything other than a betrayal? She’d gone so far beyond just seeking an answer; she’d given herself willingly to an animal of her past, despite all the times she’d tried to remove herself from the worst hazy flashes of it. Who would she be now - the person that she’d grown to be in her travels, or the person who’d found their equal in the black tyrant beside them? She pulled herself up to sit on the edge of the bed, her limbs heavy with exhaustion. It would’ve been fine if she could write this off as just sex. She tried to, initially, when she lay in the quiet of the room. But the warmth of his breath lingered on her lips, and as she pressed her fingers to her mouth she felt an echo of sorrow at the thought of a final parting. Whatever monster he’d claimed she was in the past had a soft spot between her ribs like the rest - and he’d settled in it as a worm settles in the hollow of an apple. Did he know? Could he have guessed at the depth of affection held by the Bhaalspawn, so great it persisted past the loss of everything but her name and its ache? Or had she kept it from him? Her fingers laced together as she pressed her forehead to them, trying to untangle her thoughts from the feelings that rose from her muddy past. The man beside her was wretched - he’d sold Karlach into slavery and he’d infected Wyll’s father to wrench his city from him in service of Bane. That was barely the surface. And whatever she’d been was far, far worse. The chosen of the murder god, the head of his temple. Slaughter hummed quietly in her blood, slumbering under the facade of morality she’d tried so desperately to foster. Two paths split before her, one incompatible with the other. She’d have to decide soon which one to take, the reckoning of her past bearing down upon her with the force of the Absolute itself. A whisper of fear slithered quietly up her ribs; the looming eventuality that both of these paths ended with him dead at her hands. Perhaps she had no choice after all.
Bane’s Chosen watched her quietly in the dark. She felt the bed shift as he settled next to her, an arm wrapping around her waist. The bliss of their reunion colored him sentimental. His whispered devotions in the heat of the moment had lingered in the tangle of her mind. She could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat as his chest settled warmly against her back. The tyrant pressed a kiss that was far too soft to be anything but fond to her shoulder, and her chest clenched in spite of herself. She turned to glimpse him in the low light. Dark bags lined the rim of his black eyes, exhaustion of another sort long etched into the wear of his face. His thumb circled idly on her hip, and for the first time she could sense that the right words were beyond him. Clarity came to her slowly, unfolding itself in the gentle press of his lips to her crown, the way he avoided her gaze for the first time since they’d met again. It was hard to identify uncertainty in a man sculpted from will itself. But here it was, plain in the silence that stretched between them.
“You look tired, Enver,” she said quietly. Her thumb brushed over the haggard lines beneath his eye. He caught her hand in his, pressing a kiss to the palm as he leaned into her touch. A thin smile ghosted over his lips.
“Educating you is a tiring task,” he chuckled dryly. Then, when she didn’t reply, he added, “your…absence left me with quite a lot of work. Nothing I couldn’t handle, of course. Who better to orchestrate our plan than myself? I won’t say it didn’t take its toll. But that’s in the past now that you're back at my side. You and I knew we could only stand against the world united.”
There it was - the question he was unwilling to ask phrased in the unwavering certainty of a tyrant. Would she stay at his side? Of course she would, she always had, and he willed it so. But as the quiet lingered between them, she could see it gnaw at the edges of his confidence. She had changed whether he’d acknowledged it or not. They’d been allies in the past because she willed it, lovers when she’d sought it. As much as he postured with authority, Orella was a force that knew no mortal master. He could beg, he could seduce, he could threaten. But it ate him alive that whether she stayed or left him behind was no choice but hers. She couldn’t give him the answer he wanted, not yet. There was too much missing, too many questions that not even he knew the answer to. Those answers would come from Orin, a vengeance that her blood sang in prayer for. But tonight, this new version of her could give him something that her past version couldn’t; mercy.
“Must be a personal flaw. Such worry hasn’t touched my face. Human fragility, perhaps?” Her mouth curled into a smile, the man’s thick brows shooting up in disbelief. He hadn’t known her to be the joking kind in the past, but the corners of his mouth twitched up in spite of himself.
“Who poisoned your tongue with such inanity?” he tutted. “It doesn’t suit such a terrifying creature.” But he permitted the diversion, letting the edge of his tension slip away to her idle conversation. She leaned against the headboard and pulled him to rest in her lap, sharp claws scratching gently at his scalp. He sighed as his head settled onto her thighs.
“Consider it your doing, my fearsome sense scrambled by your weathered hands,” she said. He didn’t grace her prodding with a response, instead lavishing in the pleasurable workings of her fingers over his scalp. One hand rested on her knee, the other settled comfortably on his chest. She flicked her tail to brush over his collarbone, letting him massage the pointed tip between his calloused fingers. A strange intimacy settled between them; unfamiliar but warm, neither willing to give it a name nor break its strange spell.
“I wonder what price you intend to put on this,” he murmured. His eyes were half-lidded, the softness of her thighs luring him into sleep. She wondered if that was the chain of what they’d been before - the rigid confines of what she’d take, what he’d expect in return, and vice versa. A bleak outlook, but she understood the practicality behind it.
“I’m sure whatever I ask, the Archduke can afford,” she said. She shifted uncomfortably as a thick string of his seed trickled out of her, the sensation bringing back a sharp reminder of more pressing matters. “Actually, I need a potion. Or a spell. For the mess you made of me,” she clicked her tongue. His brows furrowed together in the effort of focusing, his eyes all but closed as she brushed his hair away from his forehead.
“Ah.” He was silent for a long time, and she thought maybe he’d slipped into slumber. But the hand that idled on her knee reached back instead to trace a long, thin scar that stretched the length of her lower abdomen, knowing it even with his eyes closed. It was jagged and mean, but the tiefling had many scars, and thought little of the one that sat only inches above her sex.
“You’re unlikely to need it. I’ve attempted to sow my seed within you many times, and I’ve been unsuccessful thus far,” he yawned. “Not that I intend to cease my trying. You’d look so lovely, swollen and sick with my heir. I couldn’t imagine a more terrifying creature than one produced by us. But I suspect you disagreed, and left me this instead.” His finger brushed over the raised edges of the scar before retreating back to her knee. His eyes were closed now, the slight crease between them the only suggestion of a far buried sorrow at what might’ve been.
Her hands stilled. He’d implied it so casually, her murder of their child. A hand pressed to her stomach, trying desperately to recall the origins of the scar. No memories came. Just an old, faded sensation of desperation. He peeled open an eye to watch her curiously.
“When-“ she started.
“After our first night, all those years ago,” he answered quietly. “You disappeared for weeks. No reason, no contact. And when I finally did see you again, I didn’t know what had happened for even longer. You didn’t touch me for so long that I was certain you’d never do so again. When I finally had you in my hands, you’d had that blemish across your skin.”
She raked across the gaping abyss of memory, but nothing came. No sense of satisfaction, nor sorrow.
“Did- were you certain…” the words were lost to her. She didn’t even know what she wanted to ask. For a moment, only their breathing filled the silence as Gortash searched her face, skepticism playing across his. She had thrown him off again, diverted from his script. Something akin to tenderness crept into his features for the strange creature before him.
“No,” he admitted after a long while. “I never knew if it was a coincidence or not - I suspect I’ll never know now, whether or not you cut the evidence of us out of you. Or even whether or not it had taken in the first place. But I’ve always had my suspicions. It would not be beyond your realm of cruelty.” His eyes settled closed again, his hand settling the tip of her tail over his heart.
She sat back in disbelief. What horrible things they must’ve inflicted on each other over the years if this was just a small part of it. But something nagged at her - was his ego getting in the way of the truth? Surely she would’ve held it over his head. Orella sighed heavily and closed her eyes. Another question in the long queue. Whatever the truth was; whether she had cut away his only heir or something else entirely; it was in the past, and this part she wasn’t keen to uncover.
She looked down at the man content in her lap, the relaxation of encroaching sleep softening the lines of his face. Carefully, she slipped out from under him, settling his head on a pillow. He wrapped an arm over her waist as she settled on the bed beside him. His voice came out deceptively groggy, but she could sense the tension in his body. To the end, Gortash was an effective liar. She couldn’t deny that fondness fluttered in her chest at his resting form, but their dance was far from over, and she needed to buy herself time to sort her own thoughts out. But tonight, maybe she’d allow a glimpse of humanity to color her actions.
“Planning on slipping away?” he asked without opening his eyes.
“What would you do if I was?” she let her head fall onto the pillow beside his, tail wrapping lightly over his hip. “Call in your metal guards? Strap me to the bed?”
“I quite like the sound of it. I don’t need to use such drastic measures though. You’d come slinking back before the day was through. It’s inevitable.”
He declared it with the same certainty that colored the rest of his speech. In the dark, Orella’s mouth twisted into a private smile.
Liar , she thought. If he was so certain, he wouldn’t have been pretending to fall asleep beside her, just to see what she’d do.
“I don’t know about that. However, I wouldn’t worry yourself over it,” she sighed into the pillow. “I have business to discuss with you in the morning.”
His energy shifted slightly - the tension uncoiling itself to the aura of assuredness.
“An alliance then?” he pulled her closer, his hand tracing idly up her spine.
“If your offer is tempting enough,” she said. Maybe an alliance wasn’t a bad idea. Orin was a powerful enemy, and the brain needed to be dealt with one way or another. But more than that - somewhere deep in her ribs under the game she played with him now- was the soft, strangled part of her that wasn’t ready to see him as her enemy.
“Whatever is in my power to give, ask and it shall be yours,” his lips met hers, the two of them entwined in their warm bed of lies. Her hand rested on his cheek, thumb brushing over the rough stubble.
“And Enver,” she savored his name, unsure in the coming days of whether or not it’d ever fall from her lips again. “I think I really have missed you.” A last truth, a moment of humanity from the Bhaalspawn beside him, answered by the man in kind.
“As have I, dearest.”