murder

ㅤㅤI'LL BE YOUR GUARD DOG , YOUR BLOOD HOUND ! INDEPENDENT " the dark urge " , of baldur's gate three: as written by north. ALL FOLLOWERS must be 18+ to follow and interact, heavy religious themes will be present, as well as MATURE CONTENT. affiliated w/ ! rarely follows first.

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ㅤㅤㅤWHAT IS HE ... IF NOT SOMETHING OF CHILDREN'S NIGHTMARES? acrid 𝖞𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖘 draw streaks and lines across his vision, fading more and more as seconds span into minutes, & the other male appears with far more clarity to balefire than he had only moments prior. as awareness comes back to 𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓫𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓼, SO TOO DO THE MEMORIES THEY HOLD— his jaw spasming from the hours he had spent snarling like no more than a dog, desperate for a chunk of flesh. he could feel it in his wrists, the ties which had kept him bound for the night. and in his teeth, the 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖋𝖚𝖑 ache of grinding.

WITH THE PHYSICAL ECHOES OF THE NIGHT BEFORE, the mental come flooding back before he can even begin to 𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓮𝓵𝓭 himself against their onslaught. bale grimaces, hands still bound behind his back, tugging in a futile attempt to reach for his own head; to hold it as if he could hold back the headache forming behind his eyes.

but as he lays on his side, useless to the world, he suffers under the full brunt of last night's events; wishing to the world they weren't true, but 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖌 in his heart that they were.

ㅤㅤㅤFINGERS FLEX: ONCE, TWICE, THRICE ! in his hand rests a great sword, 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖎𝖊𝖉 blade and all. at his thigh a smaller blade that had yet to leave it's sheath, but was lined with different red colored jewels in it's hilt, rests; each cut jagged and sharp like even holding the knife MIGHT RESULT IN INJURY. he doesn't know where it had come from, only that he'd awoken with it, yet as he stands there ( still as 𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓷𝓮 ) the urge to take the blade and drive it into the surrendered man's skull, echo in loud vibrations.

the visions he is seeing, the red that is staining his mind ... balefire wasn't afraid even when he'd awoken upon the nautiloid ( practically a new born babe )— but this? this scared him. the joy, the excitement, the glee. murder, kill, but maim first; MAKE THE MAN SCREAM !

balefire stands as still as a statue, nearly unreadable, save to one particular soul who could perhaps see beyond the stone cold exterior the oathbreaker wore. for it is his pale hand THAT RESTS UPON THE BHAAL SPAWN'S SHOULDER, and it is his that anchors him when the fear attempts to wash away rationality.

murder, kill, maim. murder, kill, maim. murder, kill, maim.

slowly the voices quiet, the rush lighting his veins with adrenaline fueled sanguine halting.

‎‎‎‎ ‎ " go, now ... "