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It’s the night of the summer solstice when the Dark Urge finds himself laid out on a picnic blanket, watching the falling stars and floating lanterns, lazily trailing up into the sky from the celebrating city below. Decades in Baldur’s Gate, and he had never celebrated the Selunite holiday nor seen their habits. Yet, he allowed himself to get dragged into observing from afar, convinced by a certain Banite leader; it would be culturally relevant to gain knowledge of the people’s practices if Nox wished to gain social power throughout the city. All excuses, but a fine bottle of wine and promises that they would watch from a safe distance so not to be confused with participating in such sacrilegious practices, and unbidden to himself, Nox is laying back and relaxing next to a man who should certainly be his enemy.
“Tell me of your greatest secret.”
Nox laughs softly. Somehow, in the dark warmth of the night, raising his voice to speaking volume felt as though it would break the peace that had fallen over them. His voice is low and soft, only above a whisper, “Has all that status gone to your head, lordling, to make demands of me?”
“Very well,” Enver says, sarcasm dripping from his voice “What is your greatest secret, oh prodigious scion of Bhaal?”
Nox lets himself grin at that; the mockery that would get followers in his temple killed felt somehow more intimate than any amount of reverence. He felt normal, almost. “That is a large ask. Of course, if we are playing this game, I will ask the same of you.”
“I am ready to answer that, unless you would rather concede to me now.”
“You would like that.” Nox huffs. He lets the silence hang between them while he turns the question over in his head. There was always the possibility of deception, but somehow cheating made the game feel meaningless. Instead, there’s something freeing about honesty. He justifies it, telling himself the Banite will not judge him the way Bhaalists would. He will not have consequences with Enver in the way he would if he were to allow a Bhaalist to get this close. And the closer the two get, the more vulnerable the Banites become to Bhaal’s great plan. Whether that is true or not will wait for another day.
Once he makes up his mind, Nox turns his head to gaze upon the tyrant. Gortash’s eyes are already on him, errant strands of dark hair fallen into his face and only the slightest sliver of moonlight reflected back in the deepest of green pools.
“I trained as a paladin for a year in Neverwinter.”
“Oh?”
“I- The essence of Bhaal is intertwined in my soul, yet I once thought I could- should run from my destiny. I was young, had only been in the temple for a few years. To know what I am was overwhelming and comforting all at once, but I didn’t wish for Bhaal’s plan nor the Urge. I thought I could stop it as if all the holy water in Toril could cleanse me.” Nox chuckles, a bittersweet sound in his throat, “So, I ran and took up a meaningless oath to a meaningless god.”
“And did it quiet your Urges?” Enver’s voice is sincere, no hint of judgement lingers as he turns to face Nox, propping himself up on one elbow. He’s too close, and the Dark Urge should consider if this information could be held against him, if the Banite seeks to control or manipulate him, but he doesn’t- hasn’t been lately.
“The oath and the training both helped at first. I learned to stifle it, and if I found myself in brawls with the outer city low life, no one asked when they went missing.”
Gortash chuckles, equal parts amusement and interest in his voice, “Fascinating, to control such a thing.”
“It didn’t last long.” Nox frowns. “I didn’t heed my father’s call enough. I went too far, was too weak. I got attached. All the things a weapon of Bhaal should not do.” Gortash grimaces, but Nox pays him no mind, “I was nearly at the end of my training when it happened.”
Nox stares out into the stars above for a long time while the images dance behind his eyes. Seering pain, flashes of red, ringing in his ears, then nothing until he came to drenched in the blood of his allies and enemies alike. Every teacher, every peer, the first boy he kissed, the only people he called friends, all of them torn to shreds by him, forced into his slayer form without an ounce of control over his actions. His stomach churns in both abject horror and excitement at the imagery.
It was not the murder itself as much as the loss of control which haunted him- to be unable to choose his marks, or spare them for that matter, to know no matter how far he ran, his father could not be escaped. The Dark Urge was not made for companionship or free will. It was not a lesson he soon forgot. And he had not entertained such frivolity since, at least, not to the same extent.
He’s only pulled out of the thought with the feeling of a warm hand on his bicep as Gortash gives him a slight squeeze. Nox’s cheeks warm as he startles, realizing he surely let his mask slip even farther than intended amidst the already vulnerable topic. He clears his throat, and does his best to shrug flippantly, “I slaughtered the convent, and now the profane place lies in rubble. It was nothing but a foolish mistake of youth.”
“I had not meant to upset you.” Enver says, earning a vicious glare from Nox, to which he puts up his hand in fake surrender, “Not that the Chosen of Bhaal is ever upset, but I had rather thought you would divulge to me the status of your slayer form.”
“You know-?” Nox hisses, but of course Enver Gortash knows even the sacred, hidden things of the world, “Why wouldn’t you just ask about that, you asshole?!”
Gortash chuckles at Nox’s indignation, settling with a soft smile Nox has seen only in rare moments like this when it is just the two of them, no performativity for gods and man alike. “No matter, I admire your tenacity. You may find your restraint a disappointment to your god, but alas, I find it a driving power to fulfill greater goals than your predecessors.”
Those kinds of words are not offered to the Dark Urge. His father’s followers may idolize him, but they don’t know him. And Saverok and Orin, his bloodline, look only for weaknesses. No, praise is not something he’s used to, and it makes his head feel nearly light to imagine his greatest weaknesses could be worth anything. That anyone could see worth in his wretched being- No, it’s just a foul trick. Enver always manipulates with honeyed words, and if Nox were stronger, he would already have a retort in hand. Instead, he stares at the tyrant for a moment, purposefully ignoring the way his heart feels like it’s in his throat and his tail squeezes around his own clenching fist, every part of his body looking for something to anchor himself in the moment.
When words won’t come out, Gortash leans impossibly closer until Nox can see the red glow of his own eyes reflected in Gortash’s. “It’s called a compliment, Bhaalspawn. You’re supposed to say, ‘thank you’,”
Nox grits his teeth and shoves Gortash back, the tyrant falling onto his back with a light thump, an evil laugh escaping his lips “Shut the fuck up and tell me your story, Enver. And if it isn’t good enough, I’m going to kill you in your sleep.”
“Such an embarrassing way to die,” the tyrant sighs, “Though, I suppose at least I could say I had a Bhaalspawn in my bed at the time of death.”
“That’s it, I’m killing you now,” Nox growls at him, lunging to wrap his hand around the lordling’s throat when Gortash catches his wrist in time to hold him back. They struggle for a moment, each pushing for control. There’s a dagger on his hip, but they both know the assassin isn’t truly trying. Below him, Enver grins and chuckles, and Nox, for once, does not wish to spill blood- at least, not all the tyrant’s blood. A scrape and a bruise would suffice.
Gortash grins at him, “Come now, don’t you want to hear my answer? Afterall, I was going to tell you about how I was raised by an archdevil.”
The fight is instantly over as Nox quickly sits back onto his knees, and the lordling smiles all the wider for it. Like a curious cat, Nox tilts his head to the side, his tail flicking back and forth as he evaluates the sincerity of the statement. “A literal devil?”
Enver nods, “You’re interested, are you not?”
“Fine,” he grumbles, settling back into his spot next to Gortash, “but no promises you get to live afterward.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, my dearest friend.”