Chapter Text
"I was going to say that that drink I promised would have to wait," Rugan tells you upon your arrival, drink in hand. "We were going to be moving out, but it looks like Zarys might have changed her mind."
The hideout has been a flurry of activity ever since your group's arrival, Zhentarim all around hard at work setting up for their seemingly impending departure.
Zarys looks less than amused as she approaches. "I haven't changed my mind. Would be stupid to try and clear out while this place is still crawling with Fist. We'd just be begging to get caught." Annoyed as she sounds, she still grabs a bottle of Ithbank off the table. "Don't you dare overdo it tonight, or I'll make you regret it tomorrow morning."
Rugan waves her off before his attention shifts back to you, the same smile still on his face. You can't help but wonder how much of that smile is really for you.
"Seems you timed your arrival well," he says, turning to pour another cup of whatever red he was already drinking. "Glad you got here before we turned this place to rubble."
"Or before the Fist got here."
"Aye, that too." A whoop and a holler echo from deeper in the cave as Rugan lets out a chuckle, holding the cup out for you to take. "Rowdy bunch, aren't they? If you're not too busy saving anyone else's sorry asses, you should stay for the evening at least. Seems like it'll be a good time."
Behind you, the rest of your merry band all have disparate opinions at the thought of partying with the Zhentarim for a night: Lae'zel thinks this to be yet another unnecessary diversion, a distraction from the true goal of reaching a crèche, something Shadowheart promptly counters if only to disagree with her on principle. From there, the dominoes fall in favor of a party, with Wyll insisting that just one night of fun might not hurt, that-- if anything-- it'll be good for morale, and Astarion heartily agreeing, noting that it's the least the Zhentarim can do to compensate the group for the rescue.
Never mind the actual compensation already sitting in your bag. It pays to be a friend of the family, it would seem.
"I think we can pencil it into our busy schedules," you tell Rugan, matching his smile with ease. "Maybe."
He chuckles. "Seems I really am lucky."
Maybe that smile is for you after all.
"So, I took a look around, and... I'm pretty sure this is the only bed in this place."
Half the Zhentarim and most of your party are deep in the wine by the time you find Rugan again, having turned a bed-- the only bed, it should be noted-- into a makeshift sofa.
"Well-spotted." A brief nod at the space beside him is all it takes for you to accept his invitation to sit, making yourself comfortable. "Having a good time?"
"As good a time as any." For now, you think. The evening could certainly be spiced up with a bit of murder... or maybe even something slightly less titillating and more family-friendly. "Drunk people aren't very fun to be around when you're sober, so I've been trying to catch up." Holding up your own bottle of Ashaba Dusk, you nod at him.
"They been asking you to babysit them?"
"Nothing like that. Just... been exploring the place. It's a shame it'll be blown up by tomorrow night."
Rugan grins. "Find anything interesting?"
In truth, he's hard to read. It almost looks like he wants you to have been poking around the place, being the clever lass he seems to think you are.
Two sips into your wine, and you can't help but think that maybe you do want to be that clever lass, regardless of whatever consequences might follow.
You shrug. "What about you? How's your evening going?"
"Believe it or not, my night just improved." He lets the statement linger between you for a moment before throwing you a smile.
"Should I be reading into you waiting for me on a bed?"
"Only if you want to, lass."
Well.
Maybe you do want to.
Then again, looking around now... it hardly strikes you as the most private of places. Just a few steps away, Brem is still teasing Garias with the promise of art museums and pretty, colorful paintings of birds. Not far from them, Zarys is doing some teasing of her own, something about Olly's inability to pronounce Zhentarim.
"Does anyone actually sleep here?"
"Doubt it. Maybe once upon a time, when we just had a rotation of lookouts to watch over this place, but... not anymore. Too public."
As logical as that sounds, you didn't see any bedrolls over the course of your exploration of the place.
Your confusion must be visible on your face, Rugan letting out a chuckle as his hand moves to your shoulder. "Come on. I'll give you the grand tour."
"So, what happens when one of you drunken louts trips and falls on these explosives?"
"We all die a fiery death, naturally."
Not exactly how you thought you'd go out, but it doesn't sound all bad, really. "Exciting."
"Wouldn't be too worried. None of the booze is near here, and Vol runs a pretty tight ship. Might want her to run it a little less tight right now, though." The last few words are muttered as if mostly to himself, Rugan's hand once again finding your shoulder to lead you. You're admittedly not too used to other people leading you, but you never know-- it might make for a nice change of pace.
You usher any lingering thoughts of dismemberment out of your mind.
"Vol was looking for you earlier," Rugan tells one of the other Zhent. "But if I were you, I'd just take the evening off. Let someone else take over dogsitting duty and have a drink."
The man briefly stops sizing you up to turn his attention upon Rugan. "How do I know that I can trust her?"
"Relax, she's with me." Seamlessly, wordlessly, his arm finds its way around your waist. His fingers run over your back along the way, the feeling making you shiver. "I'll keep an eye on her, make sure she keeps those pretty little fingers to herself."
It's obvious the other guy is less than convinced. Even so, the promise of a drink is evidently too tempting to pass up, and he tosses Rugan a key.
"Anything goes missing, I'm telling Zarys it's on your ass."
Nearby, one of the dogs-- or is it wolves?-- cocks a curious brow before going right back to sleep.
"Don't mind Jarg," Rugan says once you're alone again. "He gets like that sometimes."
You blink. "Jarg? His name is Jarg? That's a noise, not a name."
"Wrong name to be focused on anyway, lass. Though I'm sure we can turn mine into a noise by the end of the evening."
It occurs to you that his hand is still around your waist. You decide that you don't mind it being there too terribly.
"Come on. We should have more privacy over in here."
He leads you to what looks like a small cell door, the room beyond housing a small treasure of petty baubles and trinkets. The arm around your waist disappears long enough for him to unlock the door and step back.
"After you."
For what more than likely was a prison cell at some point, the room is surprisingly large, housing fine furniture and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. At the center of the room sits a rug featuring the Zhentarim insignia.
They're not exactly subtle.
"Well, this is cozy. Love what you've done with the place." Moving to lean against the desk, you let your legs stretch out ahead of you. "So. Come here often?"
"Not nearly often enough, if you can believe it." The door remains notably unlocked, Rugan pocketing the key once more. "Don't exactly make a habit of bedding my would-be rescuers, if only because I don't usually need rescuing."
Another furtive glance out the cell door follows.
"Should be private enough," he mutters to himself before returning his attention to you. "Could be that I entirely misjudged the situation of course. Far be it from me to make that decision for you. Door's open if you want it." The smug little smile that comes over his face knows exactly what it's doing.
"Honestly, I'm more worried about you. Bad things happen when I..." You pull a face. There's no elegant way to put this.
"Look, I don't scare easy. Seen my fair share of blood and guts, so whatever you want to dish up, it can't be as bad as that."
No, it'd be worse. Much, much worse.
Rugan might not have meant much by his blood and guts comment, but it feels more or less on the money.
You shrug. "Door's open if you want it."
The chuckle that leaves him goes straight to your abdomen and then lower still. "Now why would I throw away a perfectly good opportunity to thank you properly."
It's not a question. As if to accompany the statement, his leg slips between yours.
Close, closer.
His fingertips caress your cheek, feather-light, but the touch doesn't stay gentle for long: fingernails run into your hair as he leans in to kiss you, hard.
The taste of wine on his tongue as his mouth opens to yours is minimal enough that you know none of his words have come from a bottle. A perfectly sober evening would have yielded the same result, even if it might not have allowed for this level of privacy.
So you decide to be glad for it. A happy accident.
Nothing about Rugan's movements feel accidental however, each one instead seeming more deliberate than the last. His free hand-- the one not currently buried in your hair-- finds its own preoccupation in undoing the lacing of your top. The other meanwhile allows the tips of his fingers to draw circles on your scalp as if determined to give a particularly satisfying massage.
He certainly does seem to be succeeding in that endeavor.
It's all the encouragement you need to put your own hands to good use too. So often have they wrought death and destruction to untold masses of people (why? why, why--) that it only seems fair to put them to better use here tonight. The Urge within balks at this decision, one to cause pleasure instead of pain, and you promptly push it aside.
Deft fingers dip beneath Rugan's collar as the other hand moves lower to work on his laces, skirting over the fabric covering all his more intimate places.
The groan that leaves him feels like a reward in itself, Rugan's mouth leaving yours to venture lower-- over your jawline, down your neck, finding a pulsepoint and sucking--
Your head falls back and to the side, evidently determined to give him all the space on your neck he might wish access to.
Which, as it turns out, is quite a lot. Rugan is a greedy kisser, stopping only after you're certain that he's left a hickey, and even then it's only so he might keep claiming different parts of your skin with his mouth.
The lacing covering your chest comes undone, and you're forced to temporarily stop touching him as he shifts lower, low enough to capture one of your nipples with his mouth, his hand cupping your other breast.
It wouldn't do to leave it entirely unattended, not in the least.
Shouts sound from outside, followed by what unfortunately might be singing. Distant enough that it ameliorates the worry of an impending discovery at least.
Drawing back, Rugan looks up at you with a smile. It's one you've seen more than a few times by now, just bordering on a smirk but smug enough that you can't help but want to kiss it off his lips. Not that he's unaware-- far from it.
"You're quite good at keeping quiet."
"You don't look very happy about it."
"Learning my tells already?" The smile widens. "It might be just what you're like. But that's not good enough for me."
As if to prove his point, his hands keep working your pants off you.
"Though I do wish we had more time," he mutters, quickly divesting you of any remaining fabric covering between your legs.
True to his words, he doesn't waste any more time: just like that, you feel yourself being moved to the edge of the desk, legs lifted up and over his shoulders, and then--
Oh.
Licking up, he stops only upon reaching your clit, eagerly burying his face between your legs. Whatever he's doing between your legs-- like a fluttering almost, tongue moving quickly-- it's very good.
Maybe he feels like he has something to prove, on account of how good you supposedly are at staying silent, but even so, there's no need to go overboard.
Not that you're about to complain.
Pushing the heel of your hand between your teeth, you suppress a moan. As though it's a contest now. Or maybe you just like what he's doing and don't want him to stop.
Either way, Rugan catches on quick, reaching up to grab hold of your wrist-- first one, then the other.
His hands are large enough-- gods below-- that he easily consolidates both of your wrists in one hand, comfortably holding on.
You're fairly certain that you're far more used to being the one restraining people, but this, admittedly, isn't all too bad.
Drawing back, Rugan clicks his tongue. "Bad girl. What did I just say about letting me hear you?"
"You actually didn't s-- oh--"
He's back between your legs naught but a second later, somehow redoubling his efforts in that moment. As though entirely determined to hear you yield.
"Well," he says, drawing back with that same infuriatingly smug grin, "I'm saying it now. No harm in a little noise."
Two fingers slide inside of you without warning, Rugan watching your face as if to gauge your reaction.
He doesn't need to watch. It's good.
It's very, very good, enough to make an intrusive thought rise and promptly disappear again: when was the last time someone had their fingers in you?
A laugh leaves you, half of a breathy whimper, and you find that you're smiling. Isn't he supposed to be going down on you right now?
"Don't stop."
"Say please."
Oh, that smug bastard.
"Let's say I do. What do I get out of this?"
"You get to come, lass."
Smug, smug bastard.
His fingers are still inside you, unmoving. He's on his knees, and that picture alone could probably get you off already.
But you'd need your hands, and he has those restrained. Which is unfortunately doing quite a bit for you, more than you'd expected.
"Fine. Please repay me for saving your life."
"That's better," Rugan says, and decides to take pity on you.
His tongue returns to your clit, hummingbird quick in its flutter against it while his fingers thrust in and out of you, curling up each and every time.
This man knows what he's doing, and it's utterly infuriating.
Keep him, the Urge says. And then destroy him.
You're just about to come when the sound of talking and footsteps stills both of you, eyes flitting over to the door.
"Fuck," Rugan mutters under his breath, pulling back and patting your ass before rising. "Seems we need more privacy after all. Grab your clothes and follow me."
Zhentarim, as it turns out, are quite good at evading capture. Even from each other.
You're led outside the room and straight through a wall-- or rather, what should have been a wall and had looked entirely like a wall. Clever.
"You afraid of heights?" he asks, unlocking a winch of some kind.
"Depends. Why?"
"May as well hold on to me all the same," he says, climbing onto the elevator platform and drawing you close. "Though it is a rather nice view."
He's not wrong. The Underdark reveals itself to the two of you bit by bit with your descent, revealing bioluminescence all around.
"Come here often?" you ask again upon your arrival, the storeroom all around you more than speaking for itself.
"Not if I can help it. Avoid it at all costs, usually... hazard pay might be good, but not good enough for me to risk life and limb. Zarys prefers it, naturally. Half-convinced she just insists on those routes just to torment me."
Looking around, you throw him a slightly skeptical look.
"We were going to fuck here, right?"
"Don't worry," he says, all confidence as he moves closer to you. If it's false confidence, you certainly can't tell. "You're safe here with me."
"Well," you say, and bite your tongue to keep from saying the first thought that pops into your head.
I can't promise the same.
"Now... where were we?"
Your pants are unceremoniously dropped to the floor once more before you pull him into another kiss and taste yourself on his tongue. There wasn't enough of this before. Kissing him is nice. It would be a shame to skip straight to the finish line.
Rugan seems to agree. His hands find your ass to squeeze before lifting you up and onto one of the many crates down here. For a split second, you assume that he'll go right back to work, on his knees and determined to make you scream for him-- but then his hands seem to take their time, one of them running patterns up your spine while the other finds your clit.
His tongue brushes against yours. You resist the urge to bite down and claim it for yourself.
That brief flare-up of possessiveness is not good. The Urge stirs within you, and you push it aside, determined to focus instead on the feeling of Rugan's thumb between your legs.
Too slow and not enough.
A leg wraps around his waist to draw him closer as if to signal your impatience, yet it does naught but make him chuckle against your lips.
He's still smiling when he pulls back to look at you, his thumb still moving just as agonizingly slowly. The other hand makes its way around to your front to pinch your nipple. "Was there something you wanted?"
Your lip juts out almost involuntarily. "You made me say please."
"I know. It was very satisfying."
He pinches your clit, and you bite back a noise as you squirm. He can earn those noises when he decides to be nice.
"Last I checked, you were doing this to make up for me saving your life."
Rugan chuckles, the sound coming from low in his throat. It's an unfairly pleasant sound, and you resist the urge to sink your teeth into his neck. "I'll make you come," he says, looking altogether far too smug. "But we've got a lot more privacy now. May as well take our time."
Tilting your chin up, he recaptures your lips, his thumb slowly picking up speed as it moves over your clit.
Once more, you squirm. Another chuckle leaves Rugan as he leaves your lips to kiss a path up to your temple and then further, his breath caressing the shell of your ear. "Don't have to stop after just one."
Well.
You can hardly argue with that logic.
Rugan catches your earlobe between his teeth, two fingers pressing inside of you. His thumb is still teasing you, but he seems to be taking some measure of pity on you and speeding up accordingly.
The Urge bristles at the thought. Pity. You don't need anyone's pity. It's pathetic.
But then, Rugan curls his fingers inside of you and the Urge is temporarily, miraculously forgotten as your hips buck up, wanting more.
"Do that again." It's a statement, not a question.
"Aren't we demanding?" For a moment, you worry that he's about to deny you once again, but then he continues. "But I suppose you've earned at least one. Just want to hear you make one of those lovely little noises again first."
His fingers seem determined to make good on that wish, thumb moving faster as his fingers pump in and out of you, coaxing you ever-closer to a peak. It's a damn good thing there's no one else here. It sounds nothing if not wet.
Not that that's enough for him. Rugan wants you to make noises.
The Underdark is a harrowing place for most souls. But then, yours isn't like most. If your moans end up drawing any interesting creatures to try and kill the two of you, so be it.
"What sort of noises do you-- want to hear, exactly?"
"If you have to ask, I'm not doing my job right."
Leaning in to you, Rugan sinks his teeth into your neck and curls his fingers. Not enough to break the skin, just enough to make you offer up two noises, no less-- a gasp and a whimper, one tumbling after the other-- as you suddenly feel a full-body orgasm run through you.
You're still panting an eternity later, gasping for breath as you come back down to earth. Like all that damn teasing actually did something.
Not that you can be sure. It's not as though you've been getting frisky with anyone else since getting off the nautiloid. And everything that came before...
You shake the thought free, noting that Rugan is no longer between your legs. Instead, he's cracking open a crate to pull out a bedroll.
"Might as well get comfortable for round two," he says by way of explanation as he lays it out on the floor.
Right. There's going to be a round two.
"Never let it be said that I leave a debt unpaid."
You decide not to point out the obvious. Zarys has already compensated you plenty, but Rugan knows that seeing as he was right beside you when it happened. So either he wants to do this, or he feels personally indebted.
You hope it's the former, though you can't quite pinpoint why.
Hopping off the crate, you make your way over to the bedroll, a quizzical look coming over your features as you look up at him. "When do I get to suck you off?"
The Urge wants to do a whole lot more than that, but you shuffle the offending thoughts aside as you make yourself comfortable, Rugan following shortly after.
"Wouldn't be much of a repayment if I made you do any work, now would it?"
"Even if it's something I want to do?"
The smug smile returns as he moves between your legs. "Then we'll leave it as something to look forward to... next time we meet."
Under normal circumstances you might think that he simply isn't that into you. But judging by the considerable bulge straining against the front of his breeches, you rather doubt that's the case.
Of course, that's when he lifts your legs over his shoulders and allows himself to return to the task at hand: making you forget how to think altogether.
Your hand finds its way into his hair, no doubt mussing up that perfect manbun of his.
Something tells you he doesn't particularly care right now, his thumb back on your clit as his tongue dips between your folds as if to fuck you with it.
Gods above.
It must have drawn some kind of noise out of you, because you can feel Rugan chuckling against you. He's grinning when he draws back, looking entirely too satisfied with himself.
"Is that all it took? I would have done it sooner if I'd known."
Not that he gloats for long. His tongue is back inside you a mere moment later, and this time you feel the noise leave your throat.
It's not a rising tide, just a tidal wave, crashing all at once instead of rolling through your entire body, and for a split second the Urge is silent.
There's only you, Rugan, and the infinite wellspring of pleasure between you.
"Can't say I expected that. Not complaining, mind."
You allow your eyes to open just far enough to catch a glimpse of him, a small smile playing on his features.
"And I wasn't even done." He chuckles. "But if you're too tired..."
Reaching forward, you allow your fingers to reclaim their hold on his hair. "Don't you dare."
"That eager, eh? I'll take that as a compliment."
His fingers find their way back inside of you, slowly fucking in and out while he watches your face. However reluctant you might be to let him go, you release your hold on his hair.
"You should. I can't remember any orgasms I've had that were that good."
"Now you're just trying to butter me up, lass. Not to worry, I wasn't planning on stopping. Enjoying myself far too much."
"No, I'm serious. I don't remember anything before a few days ago. So I may as well be a virgin as far as either of us is concerned."
You are almost definitely not a virgin. You can't be entirely sure, but you're pretty damn sure about that one.
Still, that reveal is enough to still Rugan's hand as he stares at you through new eyes.
"You sure about this, lass?"
There's plenty of things you're not sure about. This isn't one of them.
"Enthusiastically sure, yeah."
If anything, you're trying to be a little less enthusiastic about it. Bad things usually come from your excitement. Rugan's good company. You like him. You're also all alone with him. No one would know if you were to turn him into ribbons.
Now is not the time to be overthinking things.
"This is pretty much the first time my mind's been clear since I woke up without a memory. When your tongue's on me, I mean. Or in me; I'm not picky."
"So, what you're saying is that I'm trying to top myself from here on out." He seems to consider it for a moment. "Interesting."
"Well," you start, pushing aside thoughts of two Rugans to get freaky with. How did Gale duplicate himself again? "Yes."
Any lingering concern shifts into thorough amusement. "Certainly never been with anyone like you before. All right. I'll take good care of you."
His words are all the warning you get before his tongue is back on your clit, your whole body bucking up and toward his mouth to demand more.
He seems to get the idea, but this time he's far more forgiving of your desires, fingers slowly moving again in time with the flutter of his tongue on your clit.
Hummingbird quick, just as before.
It feels rather as though your body is primed and ready for another peak this time around after the two preceding. An expectation, almost, of more to come.
You're not complaining. It feels like your body is singing, and you're not thinking about blood and guts at all.
In fact, you’re not thinking about much of anything aside from the present moment.
One leg wraps around Rugan's shoulder, the other pressing a heel into his back to urge him closer. What you really wish you could do is bury your fingernails in his back.
But then, there's apparently time for that yet. There will be a next time.
Rugan's gaze meets yours as he suckles on your clit, fingers curling inside you in the way you just learned is perfect for your body specifically. It's impressive just how quickly he's adapted. A Zhent thing or a Rugan thing, you can't be sure.
Then again, you doubt Jarg would eat pussy this well, let alone learning your tells in under an hour and using them to his advantage.
His tongue is fast enough in its ministrations that for a split second, you think you're about to come.
And then he stops. Slows down.
"Rugan--"
"Mm?" he asks, face still buried between your legs, mouth still entirely occupied.
You don't much care. He's being a fucking tease.
"I'm not saying please again, I don't care what you say."
If it's possible, he slows down even further. You're about to make your feelings known once more when he suddenly changes tactics, speeding up again and making you gasp.
Your fingers find their way into the bedroll beside your head, grabbing hold of it as your hips jerk toward him.
Close, so close--
He slows down again, and for a moment, you feel like you might cry. Until he returns to his previous pace again, edging you. Relentlessly.
Like an asshole.
"Let-- let me--" A keening whimper leaves you as you feel him flatten his tongue against your clit, your body suddenly moving of its own accord. Drawn tight like a bowstring before being released all at once, relief coursing through every part of your body as you feel yourself come.
Nothing hurts anymore. There's no death or destruction here, only bliss.
"Easy now," you hear Rugan say an eternity later. He sounds miles away, but when you open your eyes, he's right beside you. "Thought you'd passed out for a moment there. Glad to see you're still with me."
"Do you often kill your sexual partners?"
That earns you a smile. "Not usually, no. But you're a pretty unique case yourself."
"You're sure you won't let me suck you off?"
"Tell you what. If that isn't enough motivation to come look me up sometime, I'll sweeten the pot."
Sitting up, you watch as he goes over to a small trunk, deftly opening it. Sweetening the pot is, of course, an entirely unnecessary thing to do. Which means that he either just wants to do this, or he thinks it necessary.
And you really doubt he'd think so little of himself or that tongue of his.
"Here," he says after returning a moment later with a small box. "A clever lass like you would do well in the Zhentarim. But this is a big find that Zarys doesn't know about yet. And if I keep it on me, she absolutely will. So what do you say we sell it ourselves once we make it to Baldur's Gate? I know a fence there who'll take it off our hands, and nobody will be the wiser." Tossing you the box, he smiles. "The Elfsong's my local. Look me up once you're in the city." A beat follows. "Don't you dare try to cut me out of the deal though."
"And miss the chance for a repeat performance? Absolutely not."
It doesn't take you long to open the mysterious box to be delivered to Baldur's Gate.
While the rest of the group is getting slowly acclimated to the Underdark (following a nasty run-in with a bulette), you feel far more at home than expected. Perhaps your little excursion with Rugan did you good.
You find a quiet spot to yourself in camp, crossing your legs and turning your attention upon the box in your hands.
No one around. No one to ask intrusive questions that they don't want the answers to, not that they know better. Where did you get that? What is it? That better not be yet another artifact belonging to my kin.
You bloody well hope not. The last thing you need is to wake up to another blade at Lae'zel's throat.
It would be nice if Rugan were here. It's not the first time you've had that thought, not by a long shot, but even so, it sits there, unspoken and gathering dust on your tongue. He would take your mind off things, no doubt.
Including this box, for that matter.
It turns out to be a puzzle box of some sort. Slide this panel there, the other here-- and some brain work. That one is harder. Your mind is so filled with holes it's a miracle you can accomplish much of anything, let alone all you manage to do in a day.
You hope that isn't the tadpole keeping you going. That would be a damn shame.
The last panel finally slides aside, giving way to... another, smaller box.
Thankfully for your sanity, this one isn't a puzzle at all, but simply structured like a gift box. The lid is easy to remove, slid off its base in one fluid motion to reveal... a ring?
Must be a pretty valuable ring for Rugan to want to keep it from Zarys this badly. Badly enough to trust you to take it to Baldur's Gate and not cut him out of the deal in the process.
Turning it over in your fingers, you note its peculiarities: three aquamarine stones sitting within a stylized design of a sun. Four red stones featured in the next ring. Patterning around the edges.
Normally you'd ask Gale, but... Rugan is trusting you with this. It would be a shame to betray that trust.
Even if you couldn't be guaranteed not to do so with anyone else.
You stow it away for the time being, resolving to look into its properties before long.
As far as you know, Dammon and Arron don't have any scrolls of Identify in their possession, and neither does Blurg. Attuning to the ring feels too risky-- there are enough items that can only be used once or can only be attuned to by one person that it's not a chance you particularly want to take.
And you're not about to ask Rolan about it, smug bastard that he is.
Besides, Rugan feels rather like your own dirty little secret, a personal and private thing not meant for anyone else.
So you keep your ear to the ground. Ask subtle questions. Look through any book you happen to come across.
You finally strike gold in the Arcane Tower in the Underdark.
It makes sense, of course. Formerly owned and operated by a magical scholar-- and a member of the Society of Brilliance, at that-- it seems only logical that Lenore might well have books on rare and valuable magical items.
"You guys go on ahead, I'll be right there," you end up telling the others, urging them to go on ahead to take the elevator up.
In truth, you're not sure how honest your words are bound to be as you light one of the small sconces beside you. These bookshelves are vast.
Then again, you have a good feeling about this one.
Blowing some of the dust off the shelf, you pull out the first book.
A fucking ring of three wishes.
That absolute madman has been carting around a ring of three wishes behind his swordhar's back.
Does he know what it is? You may not know him exceptionally well, but instinct-- and that spark in his eyes when he handed it to you-- says yes.
So he has a death wish. That's exciting.
Why would he trust you with it, anyway? Granted, yes, he is a member of the Zhentarim. Chances are, you're the most trustworthy person he's met in recent memory.
But even so, you're a lunatic. You could well use this ring for all sorts of things. It's Wish, yes, and thus bound to be a fickle mistress at best, but still. Endless riches? Freedom from the Urge? A whole cache of other rings of three wishes, most likely stolen from a now very angry collector?
All with their own unique consequences, no doubt.
How much money might such an item sell for in Baldur's Gate? Far less than what you could wish for, no?
Then again, maybe it's a test. A question of trust.
The opposite is just as likely: are you the sort of sucker who wouldn't use a ring of three wishes for your own, selfish reasons?
Either way, it intrigues you.
And so you decide to pocket it again.