Chapter Text
Blood. It clings to my memories like an unwelcome shadow, staining every corner of my past with its relentless grip. It seeps into my dreams, turning them into crimson-hued nightmares.
When I awoke on the beach, the world was a blur of light and shadow. My head throbbed with a dull, insistent pain, my thoughts were tangled in a black web. I staggered to my feet amidst the wreckage, feeling the jagged whisper of the Dark Urge curling around my mind like smoke. Vengeance, it whispered. Find whoever did this to you and make them pay.
I don’t know how I ended up on that Nautiloid ship hurtling through the Hells. Everything before that moment was a black hole, save for my heritage and the insatiable need to kill. My blood sang with it, an ever-present symphony of violence and death.
Days turned into weeks as I traversed unfamiliar lands with a group of misfits, each of us harboring a mindflayer tadpole in our brains. We sought a healer, desperate to avoid the monstrous transformation awaiting us. Yet, despite the urgency, none of us turned. None of us even got sick.
The Dark Urge manifested, as it always does. The first victim was a bard named Alfira who stumbled into our camp one night. She sought shelter and purpose, a place to belong. Her eyes were full of hope as she strummed her lute, offering songs in exchange for a spot by our fire. By morning- she was nothing more than a puddle of gore. My knife-hand twitched with the memory of stabbing her repeatedly, the act of murder a dark, intoxicating dance. Each thrust of the blade was both agony and ecstasy, a release from the torment of the Urge.
I disposed of the evidence meticulously and spun a tale for my companions—a wild boar had rampaged through the camp, leaving poor Alfira defenseless. The lie came naturally to me, slipping easily from my lips when her absence was noticed at dawn. I pointed to the torn ground, the scattered belongings, the bloodied remains of her lute.
Most of them believed me, or at least accepted the story without question. A few cast wary glances, suspicion lingering in their eyes, but no one dared to voice their doubts, except for Astarion. The vampire gave me a knowing look, I wasn’t sure what to make of it. The wild boar story was plausible enough, and in these dangerous lands, such tragedies were not uncommon. We buried what little remained of her belongings, a silent tribute to the bard who had sought solace among us and found only death.
Later that day, Astarion approached me with a casual indifference that belied the weight of his words.
"I really don't care if you killed the bard or not," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. His eyes glinted with a peculiar light, a mixture of amusement and something darker.
His words hung in the air, heavy and charged. For a moment, I considered denying everything, spinning another web of lies. But Astarion’s expression told me that any such attempt would be futile. He knew. Somehow, he knew.
I told him I simply did what I had to.
"Spare me the justifications," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "We all have our demons. Some of us just wear them on our sleeves more than others."
"You should be more careful," he continued, "Drawing too much attention to yourself will only make things harder for both of us. We have a common goal, after all. Let's not jeopardize it with unnecessary risks."
I nodded, understanding the unspoken agreement between us. Astarion wasn't my ally, not truly, but he wasn't my enemy either. We were bound by a mutual understanding, an unspoken pact forged in the fires of our respective bloodlusts.
"Noted," I said simply, and told him I would be more discreet next time.
As we continued our journey, my urge to kill remained a constant companion. It whispered to me in the dead of night, clawed at my sanity during quiet moments. I found myself watching my companions closely, wondering which of them might be next. Who would be the easiest to silence? Who would be the most satisfying to destroy?
Yet, beneath the Urge, there was a growing curiosity about our predicament. Why hadn’t we turned into mindflayers? What was the purpose of the tadpoles writhing in our brains? And who was behind this twisted experiment?
The answers eluded me, but I vowed to uncover the truth. Whoever orchestrated this would face the full fury of Bhaal’s prodigy.