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@artfacere
ART·FACERE { latin: art, to make. artifice: clever or cunning devices used to deceive others. }
             i. DISGUISE          ii. SLAUGHTERKIN          iii. GAMES
independent and private interpretation of Orin the Red from Baldur's Gate 3. twenty-one+ only. canon-typical, triggering content will be untagged throughout.
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Out of reach
@macabrehunter astarion, the vampire spawn, for an unplotted starter.
"Astarion." The cleric's voice a low, commanding whisper ... cradled by the dark ( false bravado in the absence of self ). Lunar gaze catching the vampire spawn in dark mirrors; a reflection she shares naught of beyond a wary stare. "I wondered if we might talk a moment? In private."
Orin had been meticulous in her prowling. Her Bhaal-sanctioned stalking. What a curious party of merry little misfits her prodigal bloodkin had collected! Little, lost sheep all bleating for blood and vengeance. What misguided beasties. All sauntering their way to the slaughterhouse led by none other than their chosen leader their very own Judas goat.
Bhaal rattles thick in his skull. Voice commanding, consuming all thought and drowning out his own.
KILL THEM. KILL THEM ALL. THEY TOOK YOUR BROTHER'S LIFE. YOU TAKE ALL OF THEIRS.
In truth? He doesn’t know what brother these poor bastards killed. (How many did he have now?) All he knows—? His Father is angry, blood thirsty. One whispered word to Orin and she's just as ravenous for it; maybe worse.
His head swims with the need to slaughter and he aches down to his bones with it. It makes his teeth throb, his fingers twitch, head thrumming. Reos can barely focus on anything other than the lives he takes for Bhaal. Cutting down elf after elf, painting the streets in their blood until it’s a river through cobblestone. Orin having already pranced off to their Temple ahead— overlooking the town.
Orin’s dabbling in the gory arts is lost on the elder bhaalspawn. Bhaal wants death in numbers, he doesn’t care how it’s done, doesn’t care for show— nor does he care for the sick displays she leaves behind. Yet… their father doesn’t seem to dissuade her either. Reos finds it fucking obnoxious and a waste of time.
When he’s sure all of them are dead, he heads into the Temple. Blood soaked, riding the high of Bhaal’s blessing for his wicked deeds. Every life slaughtered in the name of Bhaal— brother avenged. Another city devoured by Bhaal’s whims.
Reos follows the blood trail, the decapitated heads like petals littered along a path for a lover. Heat courses through his veins, cock already hard and leaking against the fabric of his trousers. Bhaal’s wish for him to breed after such a numerous slaughter. Near delirious high poisoning his veins. Reos does his best to ignore it.
He steps inside and Orin bows dramatically, grip swinging to snatch a goblet from one straggler. A lone elf. She cuts his throat and he gurgles; she shamelessly fills the goblet to the brim with the spray of blood that pulses from his artery. Slicked in his blood, her smile sharp enough to kill.
“You fucking left half the city behind because you wanted the gods damned Temple,” Reos’ hand reaches out and he snatches her braid, careful of the jewelry within. He twists it around his fist and tugs her closer by the grip on her hair. “I was doing what Father asked for.”
She offers the goblet— “I should kill you here for defying Him— defying me.” Reos snarls, pulling her by the braid toward the fountain that’s centered in the Temple. Its waters already run red, yet he knocks her blood filled goblet into it.
"You sound jealous when you speak of the lordling, slaughterkin." Reos sneers, shoving her head down to the thick, bloody waters. "Since you want a drink so fucking bad," he presses her into it face first for a moment, curling her over the edge of the fountain. Reos lets her struggle against his body, thick muscle holding her in place, drowning her in the blood of their sacrifices.
Somewhere... he can hear Bhaal laughing.
Jerking her head back up again, letting her gasp for breath. Braid still coiled around his bloodied fist. "What was that? You're sorry you defied your Prince?"
Her weight shifts. Lackadaisical and bored as Reos prattles on about what he thinks Bhaal desires. As if her blasphemous work within another god's temple had not so pleased him. Had not proffered her the very same offering he bestowed upon his so called Chosen . She saw it in the glaze of emerald greens, laced with blood-lust, and the ache of his cock, tented against his trousers.
"Don't be jealous, brother mine." Coyly purred despite the roll of her eyes ( fading from sky blue to undead white between one sip and the next ). "Or is this to be your confessional?" Head canting with a sickening crack - ! "Surely, despite your extracurriculars ... you did not fail our Father, afterall?" Corpse-kissed lips twisting into a cruel smile that reaches her eyes. Coquettish smile daring to linger even as her slaughterkin's hand coiled amidst bloodied locks like a leash. "Father asked for blood." Drawn closer, closer, and closer still as she extends her offering in a show of uncharacteristically patient wait. "Or did you forget as all yours flooded south? Filthy cock yearning to slip-slide inside that little lordling of yours?"
She doesn't deign to give him any sound of pain. Of discomfort. Only the sibling-like screeches demanding him to release her. Clawed digits raking at his wrist with a warning. "Ungrateful! Boorish bother of a brother!" She refuses him what he wishes: the proper acknowledgement of anything other than a blood bond. Stripping him of due titles: Chosen. Prophet of the End.
It would neither be the first, nor the last that she'd defy him .
Even as the goblet's easily struck from her grasp. Clattering as it hits the edge of the fountain and sinks into the thick of the crimson waters within. Snarling fury and roaring madness. "Filthy, pig-headed oaf! You defy him with your blasphemy! Or tell me, does the lordling grow fat with child!?" Forcefully curled over the fountain. Body writhing against Reos' own in protestation. The last one she's afforded before she sees red and only red —- .
Thrashing amongst the best of them. Body violently shifting — bleeding between shapes, sizes, and colors — as she spasms and squirms. Futile beneath the grip of her elder. Inhaling deep upon a muted scream as bubbles flowed to the surface around her skull before consequences flood her lungs. Choking beneath his filthy palm. Her lungs on fire until he finally lifts her head and grants her the luxury of air.
Coughing and sputtering. Wheezing as blood drips from her face and is forcefully exhaled from her mouth and nose alike. Eyes squeezed shut as she bruised his wrist. She thinks not of an apology, but rather of the blade she knows to be at his hip. Afterall, Bhaal would not see his daughter slaughtered. Would not see his future Chosen dead in a forsaken fountain! Palms groping blindly until one anchors upon the handle. Drawn quick, and slicing quicker. Blade tossed aside - gone to them both. Dexterous hand instead forcing its way inside the open wound. Groping and pulling as it slicked within wet heat. "Defied? Defiled. Is there -- a difference?" Cackle cut short as she choked. Head forced back as she leveled a maddening stare with his own. Like brother, like sister.
@macabrehunter reos, the prophet of the end, for an unplotted starter.
Orin's laughter cut sharper than any blade through the silence of the deep, lonesome dark. The sickly squelch of blood made loud beneath bare feet as she pranced through the slaughterhouse to a song of rattling bones and spliced sinew .
Oh! How the gore, gore, gore galore sang to her! Blood racing hot through her veins as her arms coiled around herself in a self-soothing embrace of a job well done... Bhaal's Blessing her reward for the massacre. Orchestrated alongside her slaughterkin. Even as she found his work to be - lacking. Barren of the finery of a playful titter accompanying a deadly disembowelment. The careful coordination of heaps of flesh and decapitated skulls into place to lead any unfortunate souls come to witness the end of this little soirée to their masterpiece.
A bittersweet sigh. It would have to do.
An arm swung low in an over-exaggerated bow as Reos finally joined her — flesh blanching to it's natural ivory and crimson swirls — to snatch a goblet from a deadman's hand. A final dirge sang, like music to their ears, as the last throat was cut by Bhaal's unholy blade. Shameless as she brutalized the gilded edge of the cup flush to the hemorrhaging artery ... the elf's lifeblood filling it to the brim and then some. Generously overflowing down bruised hands and staining slender arms. A bounty all it's own as she swirled her prize once, twice. A faux offering made to her kin before a shrill laugh pierced his pointy ears. Prancing off, just beyond reach, to drink deeply from her stolen prize.
"Whatever took you so long, slaughterkin?" Dark lips pulled into a mocking pout. "Such long nights with that little lordling dulling your blade and your mind?" And, yet? All the same? Did she offer the goblet to her brother and overseer. Expectant in the usual manner of a younger sibling deigning to share.
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Orin🩸
PLAYING THE GAME. Beneath the mask is just another helpless, lost, little lamb to the slaughter.
They hail her as Orin the Red. Bhaalspawn. Daughter of the previously failed Chosen: Sarevok and Helena Anchev. In a game of being last of her line? She is playing for keeps. And, with the Dark Urge's plan turned upon it's head? And their own with a pretty, litte hole carved out of it, fashioned by Bhaal's own blade, for an illithid worm? It'd be easy to think she might just be winning.
name: Orin Anchev title: Orin the Red, Bhaal's Chosen gender: agender (she/they or form dependent) orientation: grayromantic bisexual, female leaning build: ectomorph, form dependent height: 5'6" eye color: white hair color: blonde
race: changeling class: rogue/fighter multiclass alignment: chaotic evil
「 verse: before the fall 」 Orin serves the Temple beneath the guidance of the Dark Urge.
「 verse: the chosen one 」 Orin fell the Dark Urge and has ascended as the new Chosen of Bhaal.
「 verse: fallen from grace 」 companion au where Orin swaps places with the Dark Urge and joins the party.
