A/N: Some NSFW action near the end of the chapter, but not between Solas and Durge... yet. ;) Don't let the coupling at the end of the chapter discourage you from reading onto the next chapter. It's really a one-off that I used to establish parts of my Durge's personality.
I hope you enjoy this monster of a story that just wouldn't let me be until I started working on it. I'd love to hear your thoughts.
As Solas stirred from his slumber, the world around him felt oddly unfamiliar. His senses slowly awakened, his mind grappling with the disorienting sensation of transition. Faint candlelight danced upon the cold stone walls of the chamber, and the scent of arcane energies hung in the air.
With a gasp, Solas pushed himself upright, his muscles protesting against the weight of his own body. He blinked, trying to dispel the haze that clouded his vision. Where was he? How long had he slept?
As his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit surroundings, he realized he was in an ancient chamber adorned with indecipherable symbols of magic. The air hummed with latent energy, and the ground beneath him felt cold and damp. Solas reached out, his fingertips tracing the worn carvings etched into the stones.
Memories flooded his mind—of Arlathan, the whispers of spirits, and the struggles that led to his spell. But this... this was something entirely different. The magic of the chamber resonated with a power he couldn't quite comprehend. The weave of time had shifted, and Solas found himself standing at the nexus of past and present, a bridge between worlds unknown.
Pushing himself to his feet, Solas stepped forward, his heart pounding with a mixture of trepidation and excitement. What manner of world lay beyond these ancient walls? What secrets waited to be unearthed in the city that thrived outside?
With each step, the magical nexus began to fade, its arcane energies dissipating into the air. Solas paused, his gaze lingering on the threshold between the forgotten and the familiar. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the journey ahead.
And then, amidst the eerie silence, he heard a voice—a whisper in the shadows, soft and enigmatic. Turning towards its source, he beheld a figure cloaked in mystery, her eyes shimmering with arcane knowledge.
"Welcome, traveler," she said, her voice echoing into the ethereal realm. "To a city on the edge of chaos, where the threads of destiny are woven with both magic and peril. Baldur's Gate."
Solas stepped through the portal alone, the woman's voice accompanying him telepathically. He didn't know how to feel about that, but he continued on, determined to explore this new world he found himself in. As he stepped through the portal, he was met with a sight both awe-inspiring and bewildering. Tall spires and medieval architecture adorned the cityscape. The streets were alive with the hustle and bustle of a thriving metropolis, and the distant glow of arcane lanterns illuminated the night. But amidst the medieval charm, there was a palpable tension in the air. Solas observed armored figures patrolling the streets, and the echoes of distant roars hinted at creatures not of his world. This was no ordinary time in Thedas. He had no idea where he was, in fact. Suppressing his bewilderment, he pressed on into the night.
As he walked through the streets of Baldur's Gate, he encountered a diversity of beings unlike anything he had seen before.
Elves, some with appearances so different from what he was used to, crossed his path. Their features were diverse, their attire varied, but their presence unmistakable. Solas couldn't help but question whether he was truly awake or caught in some elaborate dream woven by the Fade.
Dwarves, sturdy and resolute, went about their business, their movements deliberate and purposeful. Among them, Solas noticed smaller individuals, their nimble fingers tinkering with contraptions and gadgets. The voice in his mind whispered that they were gnomes, masters of invention and innovation.
Humans bustled through the streets, their voices mingling with the sounds of commerce and conversation. Solas observed their varied expressions, their hopes and fears etched upon their faces. In many ways, they reminded him of the people of Thedas, resilient in the face of adversity.
The Dragonborn, in particular, drew his attention. Their scales shimmered with a myriad of colors, and their voices carried an air of command. He couldn't help but marvel at the acceptance of such extraordinary beings within the fabric of everyday life.
Solas stumbled into the narrow confines of an alleyway, seeking respite from the overwhelming assault on his senses by the cacophony of his new surroundings. His mind raced with a torrent of questions, each one a dagger of uncertainty plunging into the depths of his consciousness. What had happened to him? What had brought him here, to this unfamiliar realm? And most hauntingly, what had become of Thedas?
His fingers fumbled anxiously at the bag slung across his shoulders, seeking solace in the familiar weight of the orb nestled within. The precious artifact, a remnant of his past, offered a fleeting sense of reassurance amidst the chaos that engulfed him.
As his hand delved into the depths of the bag, his fingers brushed against the smooth surface of the orb, and a sigh of relief escaped his lips. But his respite was short-lived.
A shadow loomed over him, shattering the fragile veil of tranquility that had momentarily enveloped him. Solas tensed, his senses sharpening as he turned to face the approaching figures—four armed men, their eyes glinting with malice, their presence an ominous portent of danger.
They emerged from the depths of the alley, their movements fluid and calculated, their weapons gleaming in the dim light. Solas' heart quickened with a mixture of apprehension and resolve, his mind racing to unravel the enigma of their intent.
"Looks like we've got ourselves a lost traveler, boys," one of the men sneered, his voice laced with contempt. "And it seems he's stumbled into our little slice of paradise."
Solas tightened his grip on the orb, his gaze flickering with a glimmer of defiance. He may be out of his depth in this unfamiliar realm, but he refused to surrender to the whims of fate without a fight.
"What do you want?" Solas' voice rang out, edged with a steely resolve that belied the uncertainty swirling within him.
The leader of the group, a burly figure with green skin and fangs protruding upward from his lower lip, stepped forward, his features twisted into a predatory grin.
"What do we want?" he chuckled, the sound dripping with mockery. "We want whatever valuables you've got on you, fancy elf. And we're not afraid to take 'em by force if we have to."
Solas' jaw clenched, his mind racing as he weighed his options. He may be a stranger in this land, but he refused to relinquish the only tether to his past—the orb that bore the shattered remnants of Thedas and the brunt of his power.
He felt the familiar thrum of magic within him, yet its flow felt constrained, as if the very essence of his power had been tempered by the unfamiliar currents of this realm. The voice, ever present in his mind, offered guidance—a whispered reassurance amidst the chaos that threatened to consume him.
"Magic works a little differently here," the voice murmured, its cadence soothing yet resolute. "Feel the weave, embrace it, and the rest should proceed naturally for one such as yourself."
Drawing upon the depths of his being, Solas closed his eyes and surrendered to the ebb and flow of the arcane energies that surrounded him. He reached out, a conduit between the realms of possibility and reality, and summoned forth a surge of power—a mind blast that rippled through the fabric of existence, propelling the assailants back several meters with a force born of determination and desperation.
As the dust settled and the echoes of the confrontation faded into the ether, Solas' gaze fell upon a newcomer—a hooded figure whose silhouette cut through the darkness with a grace that spoke of skill and intent. With deft movements, she dispatched the remaining attackers, her blade flashing like a beacon of defiance amidst the shadows.
Once the threat had been neutralized, the figure approached Solas, her hood falling away to reveal smooth blue-gray skin and a smattering of freckles that danced across her cheeks and nose like constellations in the night sky. Her eyes, a light gray that mirrored the depths of the ocean, bore into his own with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. Raven-black hair was gathered neatly in a long fish-tail braid.
For a moment, Solas found himself captivated by the enigmatic presence before him, his senses heightened by the lingering tendrils of adrenaline that coursed through his veins. The voice, ever vigilant in its observation, spoke once more, its tone tinged with intrigue.
"A drow... interesting," it murmured, its words a whisper of secrets yet to be unveiled. "I have intervened far beyond what I intended. Farewell for now, traveler."
Solas shook his head, the echoes of the mysterious voice fading away.
The blue-gray-skinned woman approached Solas with an effortless grace, her cloak stained with the remnants of the confrontation. Her eyes, like a tempest trapped within, regarded him with a mix of curiosity and a hint of mischief. Solas, despite his centuries of existence, found himself momentarily captivated by her beauty, acknowledging internally that he had never seen such a striking woman in all his years.
With an arched brow, she stopped a few paces away, her daggers glinting in the dim light as she wiped them clean on her blood-red cloak.
She spoke, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. "What do we have here?" Her gaze lingered on Solas, assessing him with a keen eye. "A sorcerer, it seems. A long way from home, are we?"
Solas, cautious yet intrigued, met her gaze evenly. "I find myself in unfamiliar territory, yes. And you, who are you, and why did you come to my aid?"
Arabella tilted her head, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Names aren't always necessary, but you may call me Arabella," she replied, her tone tinged with mystery. "As for why I helped you, let's just say I have a knack for being in the right place at the right time. Or perhaps, the wrong place, depending on your perspective."
"I am Solas. Would you... be willing to show me around the city?" he asked, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability. "I find myself in need of guidance, and your knowledge of Baldur's Gate would be invaluable." He felt a twinge of surprise at his ability to recall the city's name on demand.
Arabella regarded him with a thoughtful expression, her eyes assessing him with a keen insight. After a moment's consideration, a playful smile graced her lips.
"I'd be happy to show you around, Solas," she replied, her tone warm and inviting. "In fact, I know just the place where you can stay for the night. Follow me."
Solas nodded, a sense of relief flooding through him at her willingness to assist him. As they navigated the labyrinthine streets of the Lower City together, Arabella led him through closing markets, winding alleyways, and hidden passages known only to the city's most seasoned inhabitants.
With each step, Solas found himself drawn further into the tapestry of Arabella's world, her presence a guiding light amidst the shadows that lurked at every corner. He couldn't help but marvel at the ease with which she moved through the city, her knowledge of its secrets a testament to her resourcefulness and resilience.
As they reached their destination, Arabella turned to Solas with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Here we are," she said, gesturing towards an elaborately designed building tucked away in a secluded corner of the city. "This is where you'll be staying for the night."
Arabella observed Solas' reaction with keen interest, noting the flicker of surprise that danced across his features as he took in the anything but modest building before them. As she watched him closely, she sensed the questions lingering unspoken in his mind, the curiosity that sparked within him like a flame in the darkness.
She waited for him to speak, to voice the questions that hung heavy in the air between them. But Solas remained silent, his expression a mask of contemplation as he absorbed some undisclosed piece of information.
With a gentle smile, Arabella broke the silence, her voice soft yet resolute. "Yes, this is my home," she admitted, her words carrying a weight of honesty that mirrored the openness of her gaze. "I hope you find it to your liking."
Solas nodded, unable to find the words to express the myriad of emotions swirling within him. He couldn't help but wonder why this mysterious stranger—a drow?—would welcome another stranger into her home without hesitation or reservation.
Yet, as he watched Arabella, a sense of reassurance washed over him, a silent acknowledgment of her charisma and charm. He knew, based on the way she fought in that alleyway, that she was more than capable of handling herself in a world where danger lurked around every corner.
Setting aside his reservations, Solas allowed himself to be drawn into the allure of her enigmatic presence. There was something about her—a spark of defiance, a glimmer of mischief—that intrigued him beyond reason, beckoning him to unravel the mysteries that lay hidden within the depths of her being.
He stepped into Arabella's ornately designed home, feeling a shiver run down his spine as the gaze of gargoyle statues greeted him like silent sentinels. Dark energy seemed to linger around the abode, casting shadows that danced along the walls.
As he followed her inside, he couldn't help but take in the darkly decorated interior—the blood-red curtains, the black furnishings, all enveloped in an earthy musk that seemed to seep into his very being, stirring something primal within him.
Arabella caught his perplexed expression and laughed throatily, her amusement echoing through the dimly lit halls. With a gentle touch, she took his hand and led him through the labyrinthine corridors, showing him to his accommodations.
Solas swallowed dryly, feeling the weight of the night's events bearing down on him. The unfamiliarity of his surroundings, coupled with Arabella's mysterious aura, left him feeling disoriented and overwhelmed.
"My butler will be by shortly to assist you with anything you might need," Arabella said, her gray eyes studying his face with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. As she made to leave the room, she turned to look over her shoulder at him.
"Oh, please don't attack the butler," she added casually, her tone betraying a hint of amusement. "He's ugly, but harmless. Most of the time, anyway. I'll be back later this evening."
With that, Arabella disappeared into the shadows, leaving Solas alone with his thoughts in the dark embrace of her home. As he settled into his temporary sanctuary, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to her—and to this place—than met the eye. And as the night stretched on, he knew that the mysteries of Baldur's Gate were far from being unraveled.
Arabella's steps echoed softly against the cobblestones as she stalked through the shadowed streets of the Lower City, her hood drawn low to conceal her features. Though she knew her Deathstalker Mantle betrayed her presence to those who dared to cross her path, she found solace in the embrace of darkness, where whispers of fear danced like phantoms in the night.
As she approached Wyrm Rock's Prison, she melted into the shadows, her movements fluid and silent as she navigated the labyrinthine corridors, evading the vigilant gaze of the Steel Watch that patrolled the fortress' perimeter and interior.
Enver Gortash, awaited her in his study, a formidable figure with power and influence that rivaled the darkness itself. Arabella's lips curled into a knowing smile as she entered the room, her gaze meeting his with a hint of challenge.
Gortash loomed over his desk, his demeanor a facade of authority and control as he surveyed the chaos of scrolls and parchments scattered before him. Her presence elicited a reaction—a mixture of annoyance and amusement—as he met her gaze with a grin of his own.
She approached his desk with purpose, sweeping aside the clutter with a casual disregard for order. Gortash's glare bore into her, a silent warning that went unheeded as she arched a brow in defiance.
"Not in the mood for games tonight, my dear," he remarked, his voice dripping with condescension as he turned and poured himself a glass of Turmishan wine, the amber liquid swirling in the dim light of the study.
Arabella's smile remained unchanged, a mask of indifference that belied the storm of emotions raging within her. For beneath the facade of civility lay a web of deceit and intrigue, where alliances shifted like shadows in the night, and loyalty was a currency traded only by those willing to embrace the darkness that lurked within their souls.
As she leaned back on Gortash's desk, her gaze laced with seduction and defiance, Arabella knew the power she wielded over him—how her allure could cause even the most steadfast of men to dance upon the edge of temptation.
But Gortash, the Lord of Tyranny's chosen, harbored desires far darker and more insatiable than she could fathom. Beneath his facade of control lay a hunger for dominance that eclipsed even her own.
As she beckoned him closer with a seductive look, a silent challenge hung between them, a battle of wills that simmered beneath the surface of their shared desires.
The Banite's gaze burned with a hunger all his own, a hunger born of shadows and secrets that whispered of darker truths yet to be revealed. Tonight, he would remind Arabella of the depths of his power, of the darkness that dwelled within his soul.
With a forceful motion, he closed the distance between them, his lips crashing against hers in a tempest of desire and defiance. In that moment, their kiss became a battleground—a clash of wills and desires that threatened to consume them both.
As their passions ignited like flames in the night, they found themselves locked in a dance of dominance and submission. He pulled her hair back mercilessly, his teeth and hot tongue scraping down the length of her neck.
Arabella growled in pleasure, the feel of his bruising kisses and nips eliciting a heady moan as she ground her hips against his hardening length. She ran her nails along the length of his back, her spiked rings tearing his shirt, down to his skin. He growled into her neck, biting her shoulder so hard he broke the delicate skin beneath his teeth.
"Mmm," she hummed, laughing as she leaned back and out of his arms. "Let's get to it, shall we? You know why I'm really here."
His eyes glinted lustfully in the dimly lit room. Running his hands up the sides of her thighs, he pulled her pants down forcefully, causing her to chuckle darkly. The sound of her laughter, mocking, yet playful, irked him. He pulled her hair again, his mouth covering hers in a bruising kiss as his tongue forced its way into her mouth.
She threw her head back in pleasure at the feel of his fingers sliding between her wet folds. His lips resumed their assault on her neck, making his way down her stomach as he ripped her shirt open, the sound of buttons hitting the stone floor echoing in the chamber.
She moaned at the heightened sense of reckless abandon he always stirred within her. This was not love. There was no affection. This was domination, a heady and illicit battle of wills that culminated in a satisfying climax for both of them. Sometimes.
Locking her ankles behind his back, Arabella drove her hips toward his face, and a loud moan tore through her at the feel of his hot tongue on her warm slickness. His growls against her moist and sensitive skin deepened her need for release. Her fingers laced in his hair, tugging harshly but also pulling him in closer, her hips bucking into the pressure of his mouth in a heated dance.
Feeling her arousal heighten, Gortash pulled his mouth away, smirking at the look of disappointment on her face. He travelled up the length of her body, his hand holding his hardened length, firmly stroking it as he bent over her breasts, his tongue swirling around her nipple before nipping at it gently.
"Is this what you came here for?" he rasped into her ear, pressing himself against her folds.
Squeezing her thighs around his waist, Arabella redistributed their weight as she maneuvered herself to be positioned on top of him. His back lay flat against his desk, and he watched through her a mixture of desire and irritation.
"No," she said, crawling up his body, positioning her hips over his face as she straddled his head. "This is."
She pressed her wet heat against his open mouth, grinding onto his tongue. Her hips rocked back and forth, her moans growing wilder as the intensity of her looming orgasm encroached.
His fingers dug into her the flesh of her buttocks, his nails surely drawing blood at his relentless grip. Feeling her body quiver over his tongue, he lapped at her hungrily, letting the waves of her climax wash over her. His eyes remained trained on her face, the soft O shape of her mouth as she let out a long, lurid moan causing his loins to pulse wantonly.
Sated, Arabella crawled off him gracefully, quickly righting what was left of her clothing.
He grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her to him and leaned in to kiss her. She recoiled, an unreadable expression on her face, as she pulled her mantle over her shoulders.
"I got what I came for," she smirked. "I'm sure you'll find something useful to do with that," she said coyly, eyeing his engorged sign of arousal.
"Ta-ta, dear." Arabella crept up onto the open window's ledge, not sparing him another glance as she leapt into the shadows.
Gortash growled in frustration, a rounded fist slamming into the desk beneath him. Angrily, he grabbed his length and began stroking himself hurriedly, his eyes closing and reveling in the images of her naked body beneath him, opening herself to his will as he dominated her; something she would never truly allow him to do. As his climax tore through him, he let out a strangled cry, cursing as his seed ran limply down his hands.
And as the echoes of their forbidden embrace faded into the night, the shadows whispered secrets of a darkness that knew no bounds—a darkness that hungered for redemption and revenge in equal measure.
Solas stood in the dimly lit foyer of Arabella's home, his gaze fixed upon the strange creature that stood before him. Sceleritas Fel, as he introduced himself, bore little resemblance to any being Solas had encountered in his journeys through Thedas and beyond.
With a practiced restraint, Solas withheld his natural reaction, refusing to betray the unease that churned within him at the sight of the creature's grotesque visage. In his mind, he couldn't help but draw parallels to the horrific creations of Ghilan'nain, the elven goddess of transformation—a comparison that sent a shiver down his spine.
Sceleritas Fel's voice cut through the silence like a discordant melody, its pitch reminiscent of a court jester's jests. Solas listened quietly as the creature offered to have a warm bath prepared for him, a gesture of hospitality that contrasted sharply with his unsettling appearance.
Despite his reservations, Solas nodded in agreement, his weariness weighing heavily upon him as the late hour pressed on. The promise of respite, however fleeting, offered a semblance of solace amidst the chaos that surrounded him.
As Sceleritas Fel led him through the labyrinthine corridors of Arabella's home, Solas couldn't shake the feeling of being watched—a sensation that lingered like a ghost in the shadows, haunting his every step.
And as he sank into the warmth of the bath, fatigue washing over him like a gentle tide, Solas found himself pondering the mysteries that lay hidden within Arabella's domain—a realm of shadows and secrets that beckoned him into the depths of the unknown.