Nahbi

To make strong the force of the Body, to become one with Heaven in defense of the weak and the defenseless—this is truly li [rightness under heaven].
_{—a precept of the Path of Enlightenment that inspired the Way of the Open Hand.}

Once upon a time, not unlike a cuckoo chick left in the nest of another bird, the child of murder grew strong and healthy. While they eventually succumbed to the siren song of their Father's voice, unbeknownst to all in heaven and earth, one day they again would find unconditional love like that offered to him in his old nesthome—and that would change them forever.

...Unfortunately it would not be enough to stop some of their stranger issues, but it would make some dent at least!

 

Biography

Act I

He wakes standing on a Nautiloid ship, covered in blood and uncertain if it another’s or his own. Though aware that the Illithid ship around him is burning, he stands frozen, unable to recall who he is or how he got there. The longer he struggles trying to recount anything, the swifter intrusive thoughts fill his mind, begging for murder and a sea of blood. And then, before they can swallow him whole, a panicked Drow rushes into the room—

And yet, rather than attack, in a blinding show of kindness, they grab Nahbi by the arm and run.

With several others fleeing the ship as well, they make for the helm and jump dimensions before the failing Nautiloid can collide with anything truly life-ending.

He wakes on a beach. Peering into rippling waters, he sees brassy scales and horns. He is a Dragonborn.

Act II

Not yet in the Shadowlands, he wakes at sunrise, his head full of memories, half-clouded with the violence he has wrought in the world and of the violence promised to him—written in his very being. He remembers his father—born of the man-God’s dead flesh. He remembers his sworn purpose—to wring the life from the world, and once silenced, to fall himself. There is…little else. When his stomach growls, the scent of breakfast as it curls through the early-morning camp calls to him. The shock falls away swiftly, and genuinely, he finds he cannot care.

Nahbi is a Bhaalspawn, the rightful Chosen of the God of Murder...and after shouting it to the party at the top of his lungs, announces abruptly that he'd like to eat.

Act III

In Baldur's Gate, too much information fills him too fast, his mind threatening to overwhelm like the banks of a flooding river. And not simply a part of Bhaal given life, he one of the two initially responsible for the fabrication and creation of the Absolute. He learns that to his foster parents, he was a beloved child who fought back against the dark urges inside him. And when Orin returns to steal Mal out from under his nose, where once within him lay the desire to follow along to see how things would turn out, it becomes a possessive and furious inferno as he decides once and for all that he has chosen his family and she and hers are not among them.

Unfortunately, effectively spitting in the face of a deity after killing his chosen is frowned upon, and it gets Nahbi's ass damn near obliterated. It's fine though. Withers has him covered.

 

Friends and Family

Found Family

Found as an infant, Nahbi was raised with overflowing love.

"No one else could care for you. Gods know they tried. You were a mean thing, biting and clawing—but we saw something else. Afterward...you'd cry, squalling and fussing like you'd had the fright of your life. Something was scaring you, something we couldn't see or feel. Knowing that, we couldn't turn you away. You saw something dark in the world that made you fight like your life depended on it, but you tried your best every waking moment. You were such a good child."
_{-Nahbi's mother under the influence of the Speak with Dead spell, Act III}

Almost all was well, but voices plagued him, begging for violence. To try and silence them, he kept busy. If not helping his parents and neighbors, little Nahbi often found himself at Garmult's House of Mastery, pleased by the sights and sounds of others sparring. Small, harmless, and curious as hell, he caught the eye of a band of monks, displaced from their temple, far to the north. They took interest in the little nosy dragon and allowed him to shadow their training, but eventually he began communicating things—confiding that he heared voices and saw violent visions. Naturally, the monks told his parents.

Confronted, young Nahbi was heartbroken, fearful that he'd done something wrong. But his parents insisted otherwise, thanking him for being a good boy who made good friends. From there, he was formally invited to join the monks as a student for their stay in the city, and to help him quiet the bad thoughts.

He love them all, dearly. And for a time, the urge was buried under strength of spirit, peace of mind, and indominance of will. But even trained, a child can only do so much. Eventually, something inside snapped. His childhood home was found splattered in the blood of his parents and the sweet little boy, though missing in the aftermath, was presumed dead.

Bhaal & Associates

Newly awoken to his true father's cause, but shattereed in mind, Nahbi stumbled through the city for several years, half-feral as he tore a trail of violence through the backstreets of the Lower City and her satellite settlements outside the walls. Eventually, taken in by Sceleritas Fel, he ascends quickly through their ranks with his drive and skills, earning his birthright title in full. After Orin's betrayal however, bereft of his memories, he finds Fel unsightly, untrustworthy, and just a bit obnoxious.

Once regaining his memories, but resolute to continue on his new path, Nabi's relationship with Fel and Bhaal both can be summed up eloquently as: "Fuck you and die."

Gortash, however, is a trickier subject for the Bhaalspawn. Where once they were confidantes and lovers, as his memories return, Nahbi claims to feel nothing for Enver, spare for something akin to regret.

"It is not regret. I do not feel regret. However, I...certainly do not feel proud in hindsight. He is greasy."
_{-Nahbi's deep denial when questioned about the nature of his relationship with Gortash, Act III}

The issue at heart is that prior to the Nautiloid crash, there was no true love in Nahbi's live. There was fear of him, respect of his rank, there was pleasure shared through a willing body and adoration—but not love, platonic or otherwise. In that time before the crash, Enver was the closest thing he had to it. Even after the man's death, something hides deep within Nahbi. He does not speak its name, nor does he grieve—not openly at least. He does however take Enver's hand from the scene of his murder, stowing it away in the bottom of a bag used specifically for gore, touched by no other in their group. When alone, he consumes it whole.

Mal

In a moment marked by destruction and uncertainty, where one could easily accept a stranger turning on them, instead, when Mal laid eyes on Nahbi, he granted the other the benefit of the doubt and granted him compassion. To a mind nearly broken, teetering between lessons learned in childhood, and an adulthood built on decaying bodies, Mal, without hesitation, tipped the scales for Nahbi toward a new future. From then on, Mal became a staple of his life and a fixation he is never truly able to explain.

Avery

Rather than seeing one another and mutually understanding thay they are both meant to kill and acting in tandem, on sight, Avery triggers a borderline violent response from Nahbi, not unlike a dog on a chain snarling at the stray coming too close to its yard. Most of the time, this urge is supressed, but sometimes the group catches Avery and Nahbi chasing each other around camp on all fours, brawling over cuts of meat. It's...something.

Romance - Mal, Astarion, Halsin

This strange relationship was born on the back of seduction and so, so many misunderstandings.

 

Behavior and Other Horrors

Beliefs

Nahbi is a broad and winding series of dueling natures. If be believes himself correct, he is extremely self-assured, no matter how ludicrous his ideals sound. However, if less than studied on a particular subject, will treat it passively, waving his ignorance proudly; He doesn’t know, he doesn’t particularly care, and thus someone else can deal with the problem lest he step in and treat the issue like Alexander armed to solve the Gordian knot.

He is aware that gods exist, butcares nothing for them. As beings that require worship to hone their power, what’s stronger than someone who rejects their authority? Sunderings of gods are not unknown; if they will fight, they can bleed and they can die. Gods are nothing.

Murder to him, even in his earliest state in Act I, is no less natural than birth. Man is not infallible and thus, someone among them will always fall to their vices. And what of accidents? What of righteous acts of revenge? Murder is still murder. While unfortunate in most cases, it simply is.

Vocal Tics

After enduring prolonged defilement at the hands of Kressa Bonedaughter, Nahbi’s speech pattern is riddled with pauses and jerking stops and starts—like for a moment, the words he seeks simply do not exist in his mind and he must wait for their return. For the most part, he speaks without contractions and in short sentences. This floundering doesn’t appear to bother him in any way.

Tainted Blood

Before Nahbi can recount who he is, the compulsions to harm and maim others are simply...annoyances. Perhaps a side effect of Kressa's obsessive experiments of him or perhaps a tenet taught to him by the monks to pursue inner peace by, Nahbi finds it difficult not just to connect and empathize with struggles of others, but to connect with his own inner voice. He feels lost, but not in a hopeless and fearful way. The world's secrets exist to reveal themselves, and thus, logically, he feels that eventually anything truly important will rise up, given time and patience.

For the time being, he knows little more than the people around him and the spaces they share. He delights in the warmth of the morning dirt and the shine of the midnight stars. In those moments, the urge is little more than an unwanted party begging for attention. If he wanted to kill someone so badly, Nahbi reasons, he would do it because he wanted to—not because someone told him to.

Because of that, when he comes to his senses, howling and frothing spouted curses as Astarion and Mal peel him from the bloodied, battered, but still breathing Alfira, he recognizes something is terribly wrong with him. He understands he has nearly killed the poor girl, but struggles to fathom why. He didn't choose it. How did it come to pass? For the first time he can remember, Nahbi knows a shade of fear.

The urge rises again later and he wakes to his hands clamped around Mal's neck. With the help of their traveling party, Nahbi is restrained, struggling through the night as he lapses in and out of waking consciousness. In Act III, he finally learns that succumbing to the urge is NOT inevitable, and that he's been fighting against it—successfully in some cases, since he was born. Despite the fear of acting under the influence of another, when he rejects his father's legacy and drained of unholy blood, even death and rebirth do not stop a strange feeling of restlessness and territorialism from welling up in Nahbi. Bhaal's blood and gifts are his by right to use as he sees fit. No longer a fragile child, but an accomplished warrior and leader, he refuses his reborn life as it stands.

Post-Act III, with the help of their team's holy healers, Shadowheart and Grim—as well as the exhausted and entirely fed-up former deity, Withers, the group takes advantage of the large amounts of uncomfortably kinky sex Nahbi has had with Mal and Astarion, and forces them to reguritate and expel every drop of his blood consumed by the pair. With it, a potion—effectively a backdoor into Bhaal's strength, is crafted. Nahbi, in his hubris, chugs it. Though not as powerful as previously, with tampering care of Selune and Tyr, Nahbi regains access to his Slayer form. Often after than, when he has nothing better to do, he can be found scampering happily on all sixes and spiting his father's name as he commits atrocities of niceness upon the countryside.

Choosing a Weapon

Upon the Nautiloid, when forced to fight in their charge on the helm, seeing bladed weapons strewn around him, an urge rose within to take up these arms and cut and gut and slash and bleed everything that moved. He is escaping, he reminded himself—these clawing urges could not be allowed to overwhelm him. The greatest chance of success lay in numbers—the more than could overwhelm the enemy, the better. But he needed a means to contribute...

Not quite a memory, a thought crossed his mind as he spied a lifeless body, dressed in tattered bloody clothes; he tore it bare, wrapping strips around his hands and between his fingers. He could not tell you what prompted him join the advance on the helm with palm thrusted outward, but his strikes were true. A monk had joined the escapee's party.

On the road later, he maintained a healthy distance from most weapons. Unsure why such violence plagued his mind, he found himself more at east without the temptation. He would fight with, at most, a quarterstaff, or more often, with nothing but his fists.

Trophies and Collections

Nahbi is a goddamn hoarder.

BG3 Gameplay

Tadpoles

If you don't keep your Tadpoles in your inventory, or use them immediately, Nahbi will consume them without prompting.

 

Notable Quotes

“Change is coming. I do not know what that means for me. I watch the stars because I do not know if the next person I become will appreciate them the same. It would be a shame if they didn't. But it is a possibility they won't. After all, does a butterfly remember the taste of a leaf? Do those memories remain even after its brain liquifies within its chrysalis? With wings unfurled, does it yearn all the same though it cannot consume it, or does it think only for nectar? Does it remember at all? Whatever I become, I become. Change is nature. Is inevitable. Mountains rise and fall. Gods and men bleed and die. And I will return to what I was before that ship carried me away.”
_{— to Mal, mid-Act I.}

“YOUR BALLS ARE STUPID!”
_{— to Astarion, midcoitus, post-endgame.}

 

Trivia

• Nahbi’s gender identity is…mostly vague. “He” fits fine and, but largely, he simply is, with no strong feelings on the subject. However, after meditating at length with the Myconids and learning more about their culture, he rushes back to camp one day with the jubilant news that he’s discovered not only that they have over twenty thousand sexes, but also one that he feels describes him to a “T”. Begging Mal to join him in a spore-induced mind meld to explain it all, he notes that it’s “only somewhere in the six thousand range”.
• Nahbi has a set of functional nictitating membranes and can blink them in each eye, as well as his normal eyelids, independantly. This does not stop him from licking his eyes if they're ever irritated.

 

Gallery