Larian Studios Forums Baldur's Gate III Baldur's Gate III - General Forever Beyond: A BG Fic

There are those who spend their entire lives seeking. Some for treasure, or glory, or power; for those there is never any satisfaction. Those that are wiser are aware that what they truly seek after is something far more intangible; a fleeting feeling, or a place they glimpsed once in a dream as a child. The seeking may never end, but in striving to reach there perhaps they may once again see a glimpse.

The Vortigan - the last survivor of a hardy tribe - lived the life of a warrior. It was a simple life. Pure. Roaming the realms in search of ever stronger foes; orcs, vampires, dragons, demigods, all had fallen to his blade. And yet, his many victories brought him no satisfaction.

His journey brought him to the halls of Nargrim, The Immortal Dwarf King. Before his stone throne, as the golden statues of ancestors watched on, their axes clashed; the king in his ornate armor, and the barbarian - near seven-feet of rippling, glistening, muscle - sparks searing his skin as he wore just a fur cloak, boots, and bracers, to protect him. He required nothing more, knowing that those with no respect for death made for poor warriors. They became foolhardy. Sloppy. Easy to kill.

Vortigan did not know if that was what the bards would call irony. Just that, as with every enemy before, the king fell to his knees, blood spurting from the stump of his neck as his body slumped and his head rolled. A man of few words, Vortigan disdainfully grunted his respects, heaving his greataxe to begin the long walk to the gargantuan doors that led outside.

“Fool,” Nargrim rasped, “I cannot die.” The Vortigan turned, heavy shoulders hunched, to see that ‘immortal’ was not just a ridiculous self-given nickname. The body had found its head, holding it aloft over the neck, veins and muscles and other tissues worming and coiling, reattaching themselves. With a slurp the head pulled down, the skin resealing around his throat, and the hall echoed with manic laughter, “you see? The soothsayers were right! I will be king in perpetuity!”
“Hm,” Vortigan tersely nodded, stroking his narrow beard as he considered things.

“So long as even the smallest piece of me remains, I will keep returning, and you will tire. You simply cannot win. I, AM, INVINCI-”

His deliberations over, Vortigan launched himself back across the hall in a single bound, fist flattening and splattering the dwarf king’s nose. When Nargrim came around he found himself in chains being dragged deep into the bowels of his own fortress. Still he cackled, “you think you can keep me chained? Best you surrender now, lest you incur my true wrath!”

“Hmmm,” Vortigan grumbled.

“It is my destiny to rule all! Always! And you - you and all the traitors that hired you will suffer the death of a million worms!”

“Hm-hm.”

Had the king from his throne taken more of an interest in how anything in his kingdom got made, he might have realized sooner where they were going. As it was, it was only as the cast was being closed over him that his pupils filled his irises and his voice trembled from within, “w-wait! I-I can get you anything you want! Coin? Jewels? Wives? Any lass in the kingdom - she’s yours!”

It was pathetic, how the self-proclaimed mighty always begged in the end. The pleas were soon drowned out, first by the creaking and grinding of turning valves, then by the hissing and bubbling of molten gold pouring into the cast. The king’s agonized screams became a faint gargle, then finally silence save the crepitation of cooling metal.

Later, a new statue stood in the hall. The Vortigan placed a crown upon the head whose face would be twisted in terror for the next million years, then stood back to raise a toast. “Nargrim. King, in perpetuity.”

He took his tankard to the throne, and there lounged as an elderly dwarf inspected the statue, knocking it with a tiny hammer. “I suppose, theoretically, he might get out. Eventually. But I guess that makes him the future world’s problem. If there even still is a world by then. No, I’m going to call that job done. I’ll fetch your reward, if you like. Or you can just keep the statue?”

Vortigan’s nose creased as he shook his head.

“Right, so… excuse me,” the dwarf bowed, hurrying away to leave The Vortigan alone with his black robed watchers.

One of them, a human woman, grinned ecstatically, chest heaving as she knelt by the throne. “Another victory, my lord!”

“Of course I won,” he frowned, “I always win.”

She craned her neck as if basking in his radiance, “perhaps you’d care to celebrate?”

He swung around, mountain-gray eyes looking down into hers. Slowly, his finger traced across her cheek, and then around her neck to undo the bun of her long brown hair. She closed her eyes, waiting. Then the tankard smashed upon the ground and his hand snapped around her throat, using only a fraction of his strength to close off the air to her lungs. A fraction more would have crushed it. He growled before pushing her away, “find me an opponent actually worth my time.”