death becomes her.

an indepedent, private, selective roleplay blog for an original interpretation of the dark urge from baldur's gate 3. written by billy / seth / joe. major spoilers ahead, please read rules before interacting. mains: @palespawn.

the room is silent. her heart is loud, loud, loud. there's only a distant drip. blood hitting the floor, running down at her feet. she isn't entirely there, she is hunger, she is a blade. it is rare, where the violence isn't a decision. where she is only instrument. she turns, corpses laid about. she isn't an assassin there is a lack of elegance in the results but not in her poise.

dahlya turns to look at him, eyes almost red. a ghost. a mirage. the blade is neatly tucked away, and she licks her lips clean. "there. problem solved." no more guards inconveniencing her, them. this moment between the two. "-now let's talk."

then she feels a disgusting crawling sensation. disdain suddenly in her eyes. it is only her and @cuntlike in the room in the abandoned temple, a trail of mangled bodies surrounding them. "what are you staring at?" impatient, bratty but utterly scared. "is there something on my face?"

Dahlya has been acting suspicious enough to make Bernard question his companion. He really, truthfully did not want to feel that way. But so did he not want to leave a murderer in their midst. Her wittiness was lacking, she was fumbling just a tiny bit. Perhaps only a normal reaction to waking up to a dead tiefling at camp.

    ❝A word, Dahl. ❞    The helmite announced while walking towards his kin. Shoulders remaining broad  –  something intimidating  –  then again, voice level to keep her from getting even weirder than she already is. Not waiting for approval, he pushed the start of their conversation.

     ❝ Don't have to tell you how dangerous it is if we just ignore the elephant in the room, so I'll ask you again in private. No crowd. Did you see anything out of place  –  hear anything out of place  –  last night   ?   Goblins  &  gnolls hardly cause that kind of . . . ❞    The paladin waved a hand through the air, leaving the rest of his sentence open to interpretation.

     ❝ You should not cover anyone, if you know more. Situation's serious. ❞

all dahlya can see is the gore and carnage in her hands. another tiefling, gutted. ripped at the seams, unraveled in such a grotesque way. it made her sick when she came to. it makes her sick now. her tails is wagging lightly, in an attempt to calm down. bernard's like a fucking tree, spans over the horizon. clouds everything in sight, something animal in her wants to claw her hair out. but then she simply finds a stray lock of her hair and pretends to busy herself with it.

she only meets his eyes when he starts, gets going even. she pushes her lips together. enough to get the mask on, lie, lie, lie, lie her way out. "i didn't. i am not." she starts, short. sweet. "-i'm simply frazzled." she waves the entire thing off. bites her inner cheek. "it just. snapped a memory of mine into place, is all. you know how i can't remember a bloody thing. and this morning, seeing her. like that. it's." beautiful, divine, so worth the effort spent for the blood to be weaved in such a graceful manner, death of the utmost violence bestowed only by the most sacred of killers. "-too much. i can appreciate a good planned assassination, you know but this isn't that. i don't know what this is. i don't know who could have done something like this." perhaps a lie could go in hand with a truth? she is disturbed, not remorseful, no not entirely. this satiated a hunger deep within her.

"you have to believe me." it's pathetic, it's a low blow, tail curled on her own leg then. looking up at him, pleading. treacherous little thing what have you lowered yourself to? you should be able to kill, wipe them off, drink their blood and taste their flesh.

her heart is rabbitting in her chest, such an unknown feeling for animal used to the hunt. images pass through her head, her hand on her chest. holding. astarion seems to be guarding over her. and he's alive, very much. so is the rest of the party. these terrors loop and torment her. the violence isn't what disturbs her but rather who they are directed at.

her teeth used to tearing down flesh, blood sweet and warm at the edges of her lips.

violet eyes, turn to him as he speaks. her breathe jagged. her only constant, the only light. even as things have shifted between them, this unknowable unspeakable thing. "yes." it's quiet. she does not know who sends these visions to her. they drive her mad, make her feel ill. "-i feel sick." she says outloud, too scared and weak to reach out for him. but she craves the touch. her tail wraps around herself in his tent. his eyes look alive, red and deep and that calms her down only slightly.