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Ralko wouldn’t normally be interested in propositioning such a dull, grim-faced man whose temperament was so antithetical to his own.
But he’d come to Moonrise, to speak with the elder brain and witness the mindflayer colony himself, in all its glory.
He’d walked in and ordered people around, made unreasonable demands, harassed and terrified anyone who looked at him the wrong way. Ketheric could’ve put a stop to it, but he hadn’t, for some reason. Perhaps it was simply amusement or apathy, but Ralko had free reign of the fortress.
He’d taken full advantage of the fact. Enjoyed bossing people around and intimidating the Absolutists. Demanded to be treated like a god.
Then, just because he wanted to see just how far he could push Ketheric Thorm, he broke into his bedroom one morning.
It was easy for him, as in another life, before he’d been the Chosen of Bhaal, he’d been a simple criminal and rogue.
He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. A highly personal and embarrassing diary, perhaps? Plans to betray the Chosen Three, as if they did not all know they were planning on betraying one another in the end? Some dirty nude paintings of his dead wife?
Ralko didn’t know or care. He tore through the room, looking for goodies, but there wasn’t much, aside from an obnoxious little mimic that he’d had to kill, its great tongue lolling out all over the floor as he passed over it.
In the end, he’d tired of his investigation, and considered going back to his room.
But then, as he was turning to leave, he noticed Ketheric Thorm’s bed. He hadn’t given it much thought before, but right now, it was oddly compelling, and he was feeling like a nice little nap. He’d crawled under his covers in his filthy clothes, stained with all manners of unspeakable muck, curling up on his side, as he always had.
When he’d awoken, it was to the loud slam of a door.
He’d writhed in the blankets for a moment, having completely forgotten where he was, after a few weeks of traveling by foot and being unused to beds, probably looking foolish as he wiggled his way out.
Ketheric Thorm had crossed the threshold, a displeased scowl on his face.
But there was something else too. Something colder, sharper than Ralko was accustomed to seeing on the old man’s face.
"You know that I was once a father, Chosen of Bhaal," he said. "I am not easily phased by childish antics."
Ralko stared at him blankly, neither amused, nor offended.
"Once a father,’" he said mockingly. "Do any of your children still speak with you?"
But Ketheric didn’t respond to the bait.
He walked right by Ralko, ignoring him as though he was an irksome spider. Beginning the meticulous practice of stripping off his powerful armor.
"Not like you use this bed for anything," the Bhaalspawn said mulishly. "Sleep or otherwise."
"Are you planning on staying?" Ketheric asked. "Or do I have to throw you out?"
"I’d love for you to try," Ralko said, smiling faintly.
"You think so highly of yourself, strutting around Moonrise, terrifying my underlings, as if their respect were worth more than the dirt and guts currently sticking to my heel," Ketheric said. "But the Chosen of Bhaal would do well to learn some humility, lest he find himself humbled and on his knees."
Ralko blinked, something curling in his gut. Ketheric Thorm did not intimidate him, but perhaps there was something charming about his cold derision. Gortash was like a bag of hot air. Intelligent, but ambitious too, hellbent on revenge, nursing old wounds that he refused to admit still ailed him, late at night, when he was fucking Ralko with an almost elemental ferocity, a force of nature, divining wrath upon the unfaithful. It was nice to burn, though, sometimes, to feel the scalding heat, burrowing within your skin, dangerously close to doing permanent damage, and scourging a person from within.
But the burn of a freezing cold icicle, jammed into your throat, or into your heart...
Ralko shivered involuntarily.
Ketheric Thorm noticed.
His eyes narrowed, some of the tension in his face easing in favor of guarded curiosity.
"Did you speak with the brain?" he asked.
Ralko nodded.
"She’s fascinating," he said. "Her madness is indistinguishable from genius."
"I see why you get along," Ketheric noted.
Ralko raised an eyebrow.
"Was that a compliment?"
"I don’t care to play games," the immortal general said flatly. "Your plan to enslave an illithid elder brain was pure madness. But it was also brilliant, and not something that anyone other than you could’ve pulled off."
"Gortash helped," Ralko said dryly, but Ketheric scoffed.
"Men like him are a dime a dozen in Baldur’s Gate. You could thrust your hands in any old filthy river and catch yourself the same trout."
Ralko felt a flicker of amusement and a flicker of irritation. He was amused that Ketheric thought more highly of him than their ally. He was also irritated, because Gortash had been far more instrumental in their plan than Ketheric. And Ketheric might be involved, but it was still
plan. His and Gortash’s.
Still, he smiled.
He didn’t mind being flattered.
"You two were close before you became Chosen, weren’t you?" Ketheric said.
Ralko shrugged.
"We knew each other."
"Is that why you are his consort now?"
Ralko’s eyes narrowed.
"I have been alive for a very long time," Thorm said. "And neither of you has a subtle bone in your body. It was actually rather embarrassing, watching you two throw yourselves at one another. It was quite apparent to me that the both of you lack any experience in such matters."
Ralko’s face must’ve been comical, because Thorm was smiling slightly.
"It reminded me of when I was young...although I already felt you two were balancing the scale in your favor, being thick as thieves and the originators of the plan."
Ralko said sharply. "I would betray him same as you if it suited my interests."
"Well I suppose that’s a comfort," Ketheric said, smiling rather distantly. He was approaching the bed rather slowly, almost nonchalantly, but without the air of someone who thought he was being subtle. Ralko didn’t move, neither encouraging him, nor rejecting him, just staring at him appraisingly.
"I apologize," Ketheric said suddenly.
Ralko’s eyes widened against his will. He was shocked to hear an apology from the general, but he was more surprised to find that he was apparently in need of an apology.
"Calling you his consort was childish of me; I respect you far more than that."
"Gortash amuses me, and he’s useful. Nothing more," Ralko said flatly. "You have nothing to fear from our alliance...as long as you remain...useful."
He wasn’t a subtle man, as Ketheric Thorm had pointed out.
He had moved over in the bed slightly, drawing back the cover, eyes dark, slightly closed, staring at the old man with all of his normal intensity, but with far more intent than general malice.
No one should ever ask him why he did it. He wasn’t sure why.
Because he thought it might amuse him. Because he thought Ketheric Thorm might be older than the people he usually went for, but he wasn’t so bad looking. Because he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone thinking he belonged to Enver Gortash. And because perhaps, he could assuage the worries of his father, uneasy about the nature of his alliance with Enver Gortash specifically, afraid that he might be getting too attached.
Things moved as quickly as a rock tumbling into the river. Ralko was surprised by how fast the general was; he wasn’t expecting so much energy from an old man. He was on top of him as soon as Ralko had offered, fully stripped of his silly armor. Ralko sort of expected to lead the charge on this, maybe ride his dick until it snapped or the old man died of a heart attack, but he found himself thrust down against the sheets, breathing in his overpowering smell. He was oddly cold, and perhaps that was the immortality, his breath like a chilly wind on his face, but he felt good on top of Ralko, solid and domineering, his hands on his throat.
The Bhaalspawn’s mouth split open into a wicked grin, amused and thrilled to be at his mercy.
"You masochistic
the older man murmured, and Ralko’s throat rumbled as he laughed as best he could with pressure on his windpipe. The general voice in bed, really?
"Is this why you’ve been strutting about my fortress, harassing my foot soldiers, and murdering anyone you take a fancy to? You think I didn’t notice that?" Ketheric demanded, his hand squeezing tighter around Ralko’s throat. The assassin sneered as he let go of his throat to let him speak.
"I left the organs in your favorite toy’s bedroom," Ralko said, voice hoarse, but still disdainful. "If I wanted to hide something from you, you’d never find it."
"Was that your intention all along? Trying to aggravate me, get my attention, just so you could seduce me?"
"You have always had a higher estimation of yourself than is warranted," Ralko said coldly, fingernails digging into Ketheric’s arm warningly. "If you believe I came here and have acted the way I have because I was simply trying to get your attention, then you’re more foolish than I already thought."
Ketheric’s mouth twitched, like he was about to smile. Odd.
"I don’t suppose we all can be as clever as yourself and
Ralko didn’t care to hear his name on Ketheric’s lips. He lurched upwards so they were chest to chest, and boldly grasped at his cock through his pants. The old man grunted, pressing him back down with his full weight. But he let out a small hiss of pain as Ralko squeezed him hard, fingers sinking into the soft lump of his cock.
"Mind your manners,
Ralko hissed as Ketheric’s arm snuck down too, grasping at his cock with the same tightness. But unlike the older man, he began to pant, tears welling in his eyes, a ferocious, rabid feeling in his warm throat, rising up and boiling his insides.
"You little deviant," Ketheric murmured as Ralko let go of him, his head hitting the pillow as he fell back and groaned. He snuck his hand under the thin fabric of his underwear and the man shivered as he felt his cold fingers touching his bare skin, his nerves set on fire, electricity coursing through him from their point of contact, his stomach tight, muscles clenched. The general was rough with him, tugging on his cock with an abrasive cruelty, but he just twitched, overstimulated and wracked with both pain and pleasure. He was holding onto him far too tightly, but if his fist had been any looser, Ralko might’ve ripped his dick off. "Of course pain would appeal to you, child of Bhaal. You are nothing more than your father’s vessel, after all."
The Chosen of Bhaal let out a sigh of relief, and disappointment, as he let go. His vision was edged with red, previously white, coming down from the high of having a sensitive part of him grabbed so harshly.
Ketheric was getting up. Ralko opened his eyes, about to snarl something in annoyance, but he relaxed as he saw he was returning with a jar.
"I take it you don’t want me to spend too much time on this?"
The Bhaalspawn smiled, all teeth, a snarl, begging to be put in his place, or to tear out the throat of a man who was not capable of it. Ketheric Thorm was on thin ice. One wrong move, and he might cause serious damage.
Thorm might be immortal, but Ralko would see if that included reattaching or re-growing a dick that was shredded to pieces and tossed out the window, into the harbor.
But he soon found himself gasping, maybe even purring, as Ketheric Thorm lived up to his expectations. He was as domineering and merciless as he was in battle, barely lubing up his fingers with the material in the jar, before pressing into Ralko’s body. The Bhaalspawn couldn’t help his gasp, and it felt like blasphemy as something unpleasant jolted in his lower half. A pain unlike the pleasure of punishment, and more like humiliation.
But how often did he indulge in pain anyway? Maybe humiliation was his punishment, one he could bear with less dignity and grace. Maybe his penance came in the form of degradation, and Ketheric Thorm was his past, come to remind him that it could not be pushed away forever.
Ralko made a noise embarrassingly close to a whimper as the old man managed to slide a third finger into him, stabbing at his insides more intimately than any knife. He met his eyes, unable to resist his judgment. But the usual haughty arrogance was missing from the wizened face of the general, just focus, this steely determination, as though he was leading his troops on the battlefield.
He looked at Ralko as though he was a fortress to be taken and conquered. The Bhaalspawn liked it, even though he knew he shouldn’t. Even though it was profane and wicked and blasphemous.
When Thorm withdrew his fingers, and replaced them with his cock, pushing in without giving him time to adjust, it felt even worse. Ralko made an even more pathetic sound, almost like a yelp, not quite a howl, his arms wrapped around Thorm’s body, trying to claw into his back, but having difficulty through the fabric of his undershirt. Damn Thorm, for being mostly fully dressed, while he was mostly naked, but he hadn’t insisted.
This was hardly an intimate affair.
Ralko hissed in his ear as he began moving, painfully, agonizingly, wrapping his legs around the old man’s waist, and locking his ankles behind him as he clung to him. He was a large man, powerful and energetic for a geezer. Ralko wondered if he was imagining someone else as he fucked into his body, if he was seeing his dear old wife or that dead daughter he was so obsessed with. Maybe neither, because he was fucking with a fury, borderline fanaticism.
As Ralko groaned, blood pooling beneath him, into the fine silk sheets, he considered that maybe Ketheric was just punishing him. All those days, embittered and cold, grieving the wife that died long ago, and a daughter, brought back, but despising every fiber of his being. Now, all he had was his evil, scheming plans to serve his god, Myrkul. Now, all he had was the Dead Three, the Chosen of the gods of death, and he hated the both of them. He wouldn’t fuck Gortash, Ralko was reasonably sure, and vice versa, but he could fuck the chosen of Bhaal.
Maybe it even felt like a victory. Bhaal knew this pathetic bastard could use a victory that wasn’t handed to him by his superiors.
Although, Ralko smiled, grimacing really through the pain, Thorm was, even in this matter, quite short-sighted and foolish. This victory was still being handed to him by a superior.
Bhaal above and below, his cock felt nice. It wasn’t the largest Ralko had ever felt, or held in his hand, but he wasn’t bad. What it lacked in length it made up for in girth.
Ralko almost snickered to himself, thinking about penises, and the many he’d cut off, the few that he’d fucked, with the victim still alive, and the select few he’d allowed to remain attached to their person.
Then, he let out a sound remarkably close to a scream as Ketheric stabbed something inside of him that sent a jolt of both pain and pleasure shooting through his spine, and to the rest of his body. He’d never felt so used before; the old man treated him like a toy, barely even looking at him, sad old eyes far away, face concentrating on something only he could see.
Ralko winced, but he was smiling too. He’d feel this for the rest of the day. He’d be hurting into the night, maybe walking a little funny. How...pitiful.
And how amusing to him personally.
As Ketheric stabbed with greater precision at his weak spot, his vulnerability, Ralko couldn’t contain himself anymore. He let noises spill from his throat, unbecoming and undignified; if there was anyone close to Ketheric Thorm’s door, they would have no doubts about what was happening within. But he didn’t care.
All he cared about was the release he’d been careening towards the moment his own blood had stained Ketheric Thorm’s sheets.
Thorm, sensing he was close, seized his cock again, and squeezed it tight once more. With a brutal twist of his hand, he stabbed once more at Ralko’s prostate, and that was enough.
The Bhaalspawn howled like a wounded dog, unable to hold it back as Thorm let him cum, entire body seizing, his entrance clenching even tighter around his intrusion. The general’s hand fell bruisingly onto his hip, holding him in place with his weight and strength as he chased his own release, their skin slapping in an almost sickening parody of intimacy, more like the beating of a war drum.
Ralko hissed at the overstimulation, the raw feeling of it all, but he didn’t move, just let the man continue, until he felt the general’s spend flooding his insides with a warm gush. Then, he panted, aching and bleeding, barely able to breathe.
But he was completely taken off guard as the older man bent down and laid a gentle kiss on his forehead. His beard tickled Ralko’s face, almost making him sneeze. It was an unexpected gesture, almost unbearably sweet, and the Chosen of Bhaal recoiled, suddenly horrified.
(Bhaal was always watching.)

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