Reactions to Durge getting lost in the sauce during a battle
Warnings : Dark Urge storyline spoilers !! visceral descriptions of gore, blood, just general human suffering and pain. Minsc and Jaheira being added is purely platonic.
A/n : I still haven't finished my durge playthrough but I'm loving it so much. Astarion being romanced by durge is just canon like the interactions are amazingly written. I love Orin so much more now she's really just irredeemable but in a way where you feel so horrible for her because of her backstory. UGHH I LOVE THIS GAME
Characters : Astarion, Shadowheart, Gale, Karlach, Lae'zel, Minthara, Haslin, Raphael, Jaheira, Minsc, Rolan, Gortash
Astarion watches as you just completely desecrate a corpse with an almost scholarly fascination. Limbs flying, skin tearing, blood everywhere, and you’re just staring on with a sharpness to your eyes, watching every shiver of pain, every twist of agony you elicit from your victi- enemies. Enemies.
Subtly, a smile of pleasure curls to your lips as you twist a guy’s head in a way it definitely shouldn’t twist.
"My dear, you really do know how to put on a show!" He claps, a ruby red of just pure and utter delught swirling in his eyes, "The way that spine cracked? Exquisite. And the scream? A bit drawn-out, but it had character."
He leans in, lowering his voice with a smirk. "All that to protect little old me?" He reached out, smearing a drop of blood that landed on your cheek and licking it off his thumb with a little hum of delight," Darling, I'm honoured."
He's kind of turned on. But only kind of.
Not that he'd admit it to your cute face.
Shadowheart watches, aghast, as you brutalize some poor fool—ripping off limbs, carving symbols into their chest for fun. She's even more horrified when she hears the light chuckle that falls from your lips as you do it, pinching the bridge of her nose as yet another body part hits the ground with a sickening thump.
"Do you… have to do all of that?" she asks, pretty green eyes squeezed shut like she’s trying to erase the image from her mind. "Like, really. Was any of that necessary?"
When you shrug and tell her, "It’s art, Shadowheart," she lets out the longest, most exhausted sigh known to mortals. One would think she's dealing with a child and not the person she unfortunately, foolishly fell in love with.
"Thank the Gods that you love me. I don't think I would appreciate you using my intestines as a necklace." she mutters, stepping over a severed head with a grimace and ignoring when you laugh out an amused 'but that sounds romantic!'
Gale barely has time to process what just happened. One moment, you’re fighting. The next? There’s viscera everywhere. He watches as you rip a man’s jaw clean off before beating another guy to death with it.
His face goes pale. "Oh my gods."
He swallows, looking from the carnage to you, who are just beaming with satisfaction, like a cat who had brought a bird to their owner.
You were cute, at least. He'd admit that much. But also... what the fuck?
"You know, there’s a certain… efficiency to combat. A finesse. A subtlety." He gestures vaguely to the massacred corpses, a displeased frown etched to his lips. "This? This is not that."
When you ask if he’s impressed, he clears his throat, "I’m... something." he mutters, deciding he’s just not going to look at the rivers of blood pooling at your feet.
Karlach was cheering you on at first—because, hey, battle’s fun! But then you start sculpting with intestines and rearranging body parts like a twisted art piece, crushing heads with your bare hands like it was nothing, and she slowly lowers her weapons.
You turn to her, absolutely dripping in blood, eyes gleaming with an unhinged joy, "Did you see that?! The way his head popped like a zit?!" You cackle," funniest shit I've ever seen!"
Karlach forces a grin. "Haha… Hells yeah! That was… a thing you did!"
She pats your shoulder (hesitantly, because wow, that’s a lot of organs just... covering you), "Uh… y’know, if you ever wanna, like, talk about stuff—just saying! No judgment! Totally normal to, uh… enjoy your work no matter how bloody it gets!"
She loves you with all her mechanical heart but she's definitely gonna have a few nightmares.
At least you'll be there to scare them away!
Lae’zel stands there, arms crossed, watching you brutalize an enemy into an unrecognizable pulp. You rip a guy’s throat out with your teeth, and she just nods approvingly.
"Efficient," she comments.
You stab a man so many times that it’s unclear where his torso ends and his legs begin. She raises an eyebrow. "A bit excessive."
Finally, you tear out someone’s heart and crush it in your bare hands, laughing as their blood splatters across your face. Lae’zel blinks.
"... I want you." she says simply.
Wyll watches in abject horror as you pulverize a man into paste. There’s nothing left. Just chunks.
"Gods above!" he yells, visibly shaken. "What in the Nine Hells was that?"
You wipe some stray blood from your cheek and raise a brow at him like he was overreacting, "Just some creative problem-solving."
"Creative—?!" He rubs his temples, taking a deep breath. "Look, I know you’ve got… impulses… but we could try, I don’t know, leaving people with their limbs attached?"
When you respond with, "Why? They weren’t using them well enough," he just walks away, shaking his head and muttering 'how am I in love with you.'
He needs a drink. Maybe a godsdamned priest.
Preferably not a Bhaalist priest.
Minthara watches as you brutalize an enemy beyond recognition, her expression unreadable. The slimy sounds of organs being played with. The gross thuds of limbs dropping from being torn off. You finish your grotesque display, turning to her expectantly.
She steps forward, her voice dangerously low. "That," she murmurs, "was magnificent."
A smirk tugs at her lips as she looks over the carnage. "A true artist," she purrs. Then, she leans in, lowering her voice so only you can hear:
"Next time, let me join in. I love a good partnered project."
Halsin is visibly struggling. He’s seen nature’s brutality—seen beasts devour their prey, seen the circle of life in all its rawness. But this? This is excessive.
You stand proudly amid the wreckage of what were once people, now just a pathetic meat pile of limbs and organs, wiping the blood off your hands like it’s just another day. Halsin exhales, rubbing his temples.
"Violence is sometimes necessary," he says, "but must you… revel in it?"
You just grin. "It’s fun."
He gives you the most disapproving dad stare possible, "You and I," he mutters, "are going to have a long talk about balance."
Raphael watches with rapt attention as you utterly annihilate your enemies. Like it was some grotesque stageplay.
Blood fountains, bones splinter, and you don’t just kill—you obliterate.
As the last body falls, you look over and see him giving you a slow, deliberate golf clap.
"My, my," he purrs, stepping closer. "You, my dear, are a symphony of destruction." His grin is all teeth. "Have you considered putting such… passion to better use?"
You raise an eyebrow," You offering me a job?"
He chuckles, eyes gleaming. "I’m saying, my sweet, that I do so love a person who enjoys their work." He winks. "Offering a job? No. A place next to me on a vastly comfortable throne? Yes."
Rolan was ready to be impressed. But then you turned a fight into a goddamn horror show, and now he’s just staring.
"What in the name of Mystra’s left tit was that?!" he exclaims, gesturing wildly at the pile of human confetti you just created.
He rubs his face. "That was not enthusiasm. That was anatomical experimentation. That was gleeful carnage."
A pause. Then he crosses his arms, eyes narrowing in scholarly thought, "why in the hells do I find it so hot??"
Gortash observes, arms crossed, as you pulverize an enemy into an unrecognizable pile of gore. Blood drips from your fingertips as you step back to admire your handiwork—organs strewn about, bones shattered, a severed head still twitching.
There’s a beat of silence. Then, he exhales sharply through his nose, a chuckle.
"You always did have a flair for the dramatic," he muses, sounding almost… fond. His eyes flicker over the carnage before returning to you, sharp and calculating,"No hesitation. No mercy. Just raw, brutal efficiency."
He steps forward, voice lowering, amusement curling at the edges, "If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to impress me."
When you give him an irratted expression—blood still smeared across your lips—he grins slyly, slow and knowing. "Ah, but that’s the thing, isn’t it? You don’t even have to try."
He looks over the battlefield, a mixture of admiration and something else lurking beneath the surface—nostalgia, maybe? Pride?
"This? This is the monster I remember." His smirk widens and he leaned close to your face, thumb brushing over the blood splattered on your bottom lip, "And oh, how I have missed them."
The man watches as you annihilate an enemy in the most grotesque, unnecessarily brutal way possible. Limbs flying, blood everywhere, a head soaring through the air like it’s auditioning for a circus act. He blinks. Once. Twice. Then looks down at Boo.
"Boo, avert your tiny eyes!" He quickly cups the little hamster in his massive hands.
When the carnage finally settles, he peers at you with an expression torn between admiration and slight concern,"You fight with the strength of a berserker and the creativity of a very enthusiastic butcher!" He pats you on the back—hard enough to nearly knock the wind out of you, "It is good! But maybe… less good for keeping friends with weak stomachs!"
Then he grins. "But do not worry! Boo and I have seen worse. Probably." he frowns," Maybe." Then he shakes his head, giving you an apologetic look," Actually, no, we have not, but that is what makes adventure exciting!"
Watches you rip through an enemy like a rabid beast. There’s nothing left intact by the time you’re finished—just bits and pieces, flung in every direction like you got bored and decided to redecorate with viscera.
She slowly raises an eyebrow, scolding and preparing herself to lecture you, arms crossed, waiting for you to be done. When you finally turn to her, grinning, she sighs.
"Are you finished, or do you need to desecrate the remains a little longer?" She gestures to the raining blood, "Perhaps a little interpretive dance in the entrails?"
You just shrug. "They deserved it."
Jaheira pinches the bridge of her nose. "I am far too old for this." Then she mutters something about "damn bloodthirsty children" and starts walking away—because if she stands there any longer, she might have to tell you off for battlefield inefficiency.
But as she leaves, she throws one last glance over her shoulder and smirks,"Next time? Try to at least leave a body for looting. Otherwise, what’s the point?"
What an unbothered queen.
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