Chpt 10. The Longest Night
Trigger Warning: Murder, Graphic Descriptions of Dismemberment, Ritualistic Sacrifice, Talking to Bone Daddy.
As we approach the camp we see Gale, his feet kicked up, and his nose in a book. He catches my eye and snaps the book shut, dashing over to me, "We have a visitor." He nods toward the river.
I see a boat turned over on the bank and a wraith seems to be haunting the shore. "What is it? Have you spoken to it yet?"
His arms are folded, thoughtful, "Yes. He says he's here to assist. If we are in need of resurrections, of all things, he can provide assistance. He didn't divulge much else to me, I suggest you speak to him yourself."
"Resurrections? Suspiciously generous of him."
Gale catches my concern, "Indeed. I suggest you speak to him yourself. Maybe he'll be more inclined to open up to you."
I give Gales shoulder a reassuring squeeze and walk toward the specter. It is dressed in tattered purple robes, draping from his skeletal body. His bones encased in withered, greying skin, and his skull is adorned in age-worn bands of gold. He is muttering something to himself. "How much doth a soul weigh?"
I dip my head respectfully as I approach, "I hear you have come to our camp to help?"
He turns his attention to me, stoic and measured, "In a sense, yes."
I get an air of ancient magic from him. I feel something familiar, the tendrils of death itself, but he holds no malice. He is death as a simple eventuality.
"I hath come as an arbiter of thine destiny, but not in a sense to interfere with what is predestined. Instead, I offer intervention in such matters of life and death."
A glimmer of hope, it seems, but I need more than that, "You are here to bring us back to ourselves if the tadpole takes us?"
"No." He is holding a book and carefully opens it as if consulting it regarding his own power. "If such a time comes where you or thine companions perish, I can mend the threads between soul and body. True resurrection in the face of an unforeseen demise."
I give a curt shake of my head, not certain if I understand, "Unforeseen? So, you're an arbiter of our destiny who can bring us back if we die before our time, so to speak?"
"Correct."
"Can't you simply tell us our destiny so we can follow the right path, instead of fumbling around in the dark like we have?"
"No."
Rules. Entities with such fantastic powers leashed by Ao, God of Gods. Selfish bastard. I lean into him, watching his face, trying to take in the feeling of his power. He gives off a vague resonance that feels closer to my own, "So who are you? You feel familiar to me."
"I am merely a scribe. Here to render my services if thy needeth me. That is all you need to know."
I take a breath and my eyes soften, then bow my head in gratitude, "Your assistance is welcome, friend. What should I call you?" I have no energy to argue, what he is offering is invaluable, and I honestly just want dinner and my bedroll.
A slight smile plays at the corner of his ancient mouth, "Withers."
"Thank you, Withers." If I feel the need to probe him further, I'll do so another time.
I walk back to the fire and lay out my bedroll, taking off my cloak and sitting down. Gale has begun preparing the meal for us, he has cabbage, carrots and potatoes laid out from our rations. He's boiling water, and the soft bubbling sound fills the air with the comforting promise of a meal.
My stomach aches, I only started feeling hungry after seeing him toss the vegetables in the pot, "You're cooking again tonight, don't you think we should take turns?"
Gale looks offended, "Do you not like my cooking?"
"No, no, it's not that. I just don't want to burden you with a task you didn't ask for."
He waves his hand dismissively, "If it's all the same to you, I enjoy cooking. It helps me relax at the end of the day."
I'm glad to know he's got something to keep him at ease. Last thing we need is a jumpy wizard in our camp. We already have a vampire, a Githyanki, a Sharran cleric, and whatever the hells I am. Gale is the only normal one here as far as I can tell. "I won't argue with you then. Thank you for cooking for us."
Gale smiles as he tosses a fist full of herbs into the soup, and warms another pan on the flame, cooking a few links of our rationed sausage.
Lae'zel sits across from me, she's already changed into her leisure wear, and she's looking a little more relaxed despite the events of today.
"Lae'zel, what do you know of the prism?"
She looks up at me, surprised by my question, but straightens her back with dignity, "I know it is an ancient relic of my people. Whatever power it holds comes from the might of the Githyanki. No doubt a tool to fight against the ghaik invaders. This is why it protects us. We must take it to a creche. Once we are purified by the Zaith'isk, we will have no use for it anymore. I will return it, in the name of Queen Vlaakith."
She seems certain in her opinions, but she doesn't seem to really know what it is. Shadowheart comes up to the fire and sits next to me, "What are you two talking about?"
"I thought this would be the perfect time to talk about the prism."
She suddenly looks uncomfortable, "Ah. I see." She glances over at Lae'zel, "And? Do you have any information that can enlighten us on the thing?"
Lae'zel scowls, "I know it must be important to my people. Such relics are powerful tools, and with the prism's ability to shield our minds, I must return it to Queen Vlaakith."
Shadowheart laughs, "And risk having us all turn? I knew you were foolish, but I didn't think you were that dense."
Lae'zel bristles and I quickly intervene, "As Lae'zel was pointing out, if this Zaith'isk can purify us, we won't need the prism anymore. What harm would it be to just let her take it at that point?"
She breathes in through her nose, "You remember when I told you I had my own obligations? Well, I was one of a group of Sharrans that were sent on a mission to retrieve it. It's of great interest to my cloister, and I am the last survivor of this mission. I will return it to The Mother Superior, as she commanded. I will not have the others die in vain simply because I couldn't handle one stubborn Gith." She glares at Lae'zel. The static between the two of them is palpable.
Gale lifts a brow, "Shar? You're Sharran? She's not exactly in good standing with my goddess, Mystra." He says it with less concern than he probably should for a devotee.
Mystra is the goddess of the weave, she answers the call of every incantation and bends the weave to their will. She's a powerful goddess and one highly revered by Wizards for obvious reasons. As I watch Gale, I finally notice him looking paler than usual. I've been fighting a headache as well, so maybe it's the tadpole, but the dark circles under his eyes make him look far worse off than I am. He finally starts spooning the soup into bowls for us and handing one to each of us.
As Shadowheart takes her bowl she nods to him, "Well, I hope my worship doesn't cause strife between us. We should be able to find mutual peace given our shared condition."
Gale rolls his eyes, a gentle yet inadvertent snort escapes him, "Whatever troubles Mystra might have with one goddess, or another, are less than my concern." He sounds disdainful, and he speaks about Mystra in a familiar tone. More so than any normal acolyte.
Astarion finally joins us, dressed in a pompous ruffled shirt and casual slacks. "Forget about your goddesses, I want to address this Prism business. Shadowheart, we're kind of at your mercy with this. What are we supposed to do when it comes time for you to return it to your cloister? Just become thralls? I'm not a fan of that prospect."
He's right, we have Lae'zel wanting to take it to Vlaakith, and Shadowheart wanting to bring it to Shar. My mind drifts off into my favorite solution to every problem. Kill them. I will do anything I need to, to avoid becoming a thrall to The Absolute. "Astarion makes a good point. We don't even know what the damn thing is. I'm not going to let it go if it means dooming the rest of us."
Shadowheart's face twists into concern.
I gauge her expression, "Bring it here for me. Let's have a look at it."
She is surprisingly obedient and walks back to her tent, returning swiftly with the prism. I push her further, holding out my hand, "May I?"
Her face reflects a mixture of emotions, "You can try. It doesn't like everybody."
As she gently places it in my hand, I feel the heat coming off it. "What do you mean?"
"It seems to be conscious. Like it chooses who can touch it. Why it lets me handle it is a mystery, but I'm grateful it picked me."
I get a hint of sulfur as I carefully turn it in my hand, "Is this infernal?"
She watches me, like she's waiting for it to jump out of my hands, "What makes you say that?"
I hold it up to her, "The smell of it, the weight of it. The iron plates were likely forged in one of the nine hells."
She takes it back from me, looking at it intently, "Benefits of being a Tiefling no doubt."
I give her a toothy grin, "Our instincts are sharp when it comes to the hells."
We suddenly hear footsteps approaching our camp. I quickly stand and turn to see Alfira, a sigh of relief washes over her face, "Thank gods, I've found you! I was worried I was too late."
"Alfira? What's going on? Do you have urgent news from the grove?" She followed us through a goblin infested wilderness to be here; I assume the cauldron of pressure between the Tieflings and Druids finally boiled over. My mind dances with beautiful images of the slaughtered hollow, there's no way the refugees could stand up to the druids. Life can be so wretched, sometimes.
"I thought about your offer and realized that if I cared at all about the people in the grove, I should try to help in any way I can. I was hoping your offer still stands."
My spirit lifts, I'm glad she chose to accept my offer. Besides, since losing her teacher she is correct in assuming she won't gain much experience sitting behind idling away the hours in the grove working on that ridiculous song.
I usher her in, "Of course! Please! Take my seat by the fire. Gale's prepared a hearty soup. There's a spot by the riverbank where you can wash up if you need. Pitch your tent anywhere you see fit."
Alfira doesn't hide her giddy smile. She sets her things down and gets acquainted with the others.
The headache I had been fighting feels like it's trying to split my skull open. I try not to wince, but I take that as a sign to have an early night. Something has been stirring inside of me, growing louder, shriller. That crackling sensation has been strangely relentless, and I am on edge. On top of all of that, my lack of self-control today has me concerned. Have I always been this reckless? I hate it. Lae'zel was right when she said I needed more discipline.
I place my cool palm on my face and then turn to everyone, "I'll be turning in early, enjoy your evening."
Alfira looks a little crestfallen, "You can't stay up? Just for a little bit?"
I smile feebly at her. It feels good to be wanted, "We can catch up tomorrow. I'm actually not feeling well tonight."
Shadowheart stands, "You're sick? Do you want me to do anything for you?"
I laugh, but wince a little bit, "You do too much for me. I appreciate it, truly. Some rest should be more than enough. I'll speak to you all tomorrow."
At that I collect my bedroll and find a more secluded spot to sleep. I hear them chatting with Alfira, content with the little crew I've collected for myself. Competent, effective, loyal fighters. We aren't a perfect team yet, but with a bard to lighten their spirits, it should help ease the stress of our long days. The thought fills me with satisfaction as I am lulled to sleep, as if called by a higher power. My soul falling into a darkened realm and I find myself surrounded by an ocean of bodies, the fragrance of blood fills my senses. Once again, a single word resonates in my mind. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood.
I wake with a start. I'm standing. I feel the night air brushing past me, and my hands are cold. I look at them, turning them over, trying to make sense of what I am seeing. It only takes me a moment to realize they are covered in blood.
The night seems darker and quieter than normal. I focus on the image behind them. A body on the ground. Alfira. I see neck contusions likely caused by strangulation, and chaotic lacerations smattering her body. There is no rhyme or reason to them, and there are so many. Her eyes are ruptured, likely gouged out and- what the hells am I doing? What the hells did I do?! I feel a panic rise within me. I killed her, there's no question about it, but I blacked out and killed her. How the hells am I supposed to travel with anyone after this? How the hells am I going to survive in my current state with these people. How am I going to survive without the prism?
A pang of anxiety rattles me to my core. I'd have to kill them all-I... I don't want to. I need to find another way. I need to figure out why I've done this so I can make it stop. Whatever curse has come over me, whatever damage has been done to my head, I need to find a way to pacify it before I lose them all. Lose myself.
My chest lurches. I frantically look around camp and everyone is still asleep. Everyone except for the wraith, Withers. My heart is in my throat. I stumble over to him, the blood sticky and drying on my skin. I begin to gibber quietly to him, "You have to bring her back! Bring her back for me, Withers. Please!"
Withers stares at me, unmoved by my desperation, "Vash... I know of thine urges. Thine desires for her hath become her undoing."
I am staggered by his words, and I lower my voice further as I lean into him, "You know of my urges? And you just stood around and watched me kill her? Why the hells didn't you stop me?" I feel my soul reeling inside of me, it's a strange sensation. Like there is something, instead of nothing... There's no other way to describe it. My frustration rises with the skeleton. There is a fix to this, he needs to fix this, "It doesn't matter. Bring her back! You said that's why you are here, so do it!"
He has the audacity to continue existing in my presence, calm, and stalwart, "In matters such as this, I cannot intervene. The bard will be left to the peace of eternity, where your urge will hunt her no more."
I continue muttering under my breath, through my anger is evident, "The peace of... you said you were here to resurrect us! The first time I ask you to do anything, you're telling me you won't do it. Then what good are you!?"
Withers patiently clarifies, "I am here to intervene on any unforeseen demise."
My frown deepens, "So what you're telling me is that this was some sort of sick destiny? Why?"
Withers watches me but does not speak.
I am trying to be quiet but the obstinance of this talking carcass is wearing me down, "Why!?"
He remains silent, but gestures back toward Alfira's body.
Watching him, I follow his gesture and turn back to her. Then I see it. A symbol written in blood painted beneath her body. I walk back to her and track the lines before the image floods my mind with conviction. The symbol of Bhaal, Lord of Murder. Crude, but it seems so clear to me. Six daggers, a circle of blood, and Alfira in the middle. I look around and see my dagger in the dirt next to her. I slowly bend down and pick it up, holding it in my hand. It's cold. Who knows how long I've been standing here before I came to.
I am a Paladin of Bhaal. The whispers, the hunger, the sadistic joy. Every death, an offering to the Lord Father. My heart begins to pound in my chest. I am truly becoming myself again. This is my purpose. My duty. To serve Lord Bhaal.
This revelation comes with massive implications, though. If the others found out who my god is, it may not be forgivable. Shadowhearts devotion to Shar is one thing, but there is a difference between The Lady of Loss and The Lord of Murder. Especially since I've just killed someone in camp of all places. How could they ever trust me after this? I need to get rid of the body. The thrill begins to fade into the background as my heart is filled with a hollowness once more. My face falls and I feel nothing once again.
I begin:
- Scoop the blood and flecks of flesh into a camp bucket, toss detritus in to the river.
- Collect fishnet and several meters of rope.
- Gather her body, tucking the tail under my arm so it doesn't drag, being mindful not to tip the gore onto the ground.
- Dust away symbol with foot, leave no trace.
- Carry body down the riverbank to find a proper disposal sight.
Carrying her in the soft sand of the shore makes my legs burn and my shoulders ache; the moonlight beating down on me, a witness to my depravity. My mind begins to drift, shifting focus from the pain. If what Withers says is true, then her murder was an inevitability; her name was written on my heart, and she always belonged to me. It was His will. This isn't just a random murder; this was a ritualistic killing. A claiming of my place in Lord Bhaal's shadow, where I always belonged.
I find an adequate place to stop; a broad pad of soft dirt protruding into the river, disrupting the evenness of the meandering shoreline. I gently place her down and carefully cut off her clothes with my dagger before beginning to dismember her. Yet another profane activity that feels like second nature. I start with cutting the skin around her joints, my eyes scanning her figure, plotting out the butchery. I am roused by the feeling of her stiff skin beneath my fingers. There's nothing stopping you... The voice is quiet, not the forceful appeal to my violent heart that usually haunts me. I ignore it, I don't want to indulge in any more degeneracy tonight. Especially with her. I've done her enough harm already. It wasn't supposed to be like this. My heart is suddenly in my throat, the hollowness that protects me slips away and I feel a sensation that I absolutely hate.
I remain focused, slicing through sinew and muscle, breaking the limbs apart and neatly pile them on the fishnet laid out on the shore. Once finished, I sit cross legged with Alfira's head in my lap. I look at her face, broken and torn, her eye sockets ooze with blood and jelly. Beautiful. Hopeful. Innocent. I don't feel numb, Gods do I wish I did. I feel cold, and pain crackles in my throat. I gently stroke her blood matted hair. How could I let something like this happen? Why would Lord Bhaal demand her as a sacrifice? I don't understand. Maybe it's not for me to understand, but I feel a wrenching in my chest all the same. I wanted her. If I had known, I would have gladly chosen someone else. So many useless Tieflings to pick from. That woman with the crossbow would have been perfect. More than perfect, deserving. Danis is equally useless, sickeningly naive. Innocent. Hopeful. His only value is tending to a wife with a half decent head on her shoulders. That's more than I can say for Alfira.
I abruptly laugh at my musing, clutching her skull. A terrible joke, but needed.
The feelings subside and the comfort of my hollow heart returns. I shave her head and place her hair in a pile on her clothes. Once done, I smash her skull between two rocks until it's nothing but teeth, bone fragments, and brain matter. Fresh bones are a lot softer and more flexible, so it takes a greater effort to pulverize. Her horns remain and I place them on the pile of body parts, along with one of the large stones, before lashing the profane parcel together with the rope. I drag it into the river and drop her at a satisfactory depth, before swimming back.
I gather some dry wood and start a fire. I remove the bard's bells before throwing her clothes into the flames, along with her hair with ignites and vanishes in a flourish. Nothing but the pungent smell of burnt keratin remains. I toss the bells one-by-one into the depths of the river to settle with her body. As I make the motion to toss the last one, I hesitate, then look at it. I think about her sad song, her hope, her unrequited love, her want to help, her excitement. I've taken it from her, it belongs to me. I pull out my dagger and wedge it between the slits of the bell, prying it open to shake out the pellet so it no longer sings. I bend it back into place as best as I can and place the silent bell in my pocket.
My eyes track the flowing river. All is quiet, clean, and calm. The air is cool, I can hear the tittering of frogs, the snapping twigs of some wild nocturnal creatures off in the distance. I close my eyes and breathe, my shoulders relaxing and my headache gone, tempered, but I'm exhausted. Grateful for the moment of peace, I finally make my way back to camp. Bhaal, Lord of Murder. I will explore what this means in the coming days. I look forward to the power this revelation will bring me. My God. My master. I am his sword to be wielded in his name. His tool to be used. A strange pang of unease grips me and infects my placid heart. To my disappointment I begin to hear the songbirds waking. I look down at my filthy, blood-soaked clothes. Despite my swim in the river, I am still stained, and gods knows what I smell like. I arrive back at camp only to accept that I have one more thing to do, and I will not be getting any more sleep tonight.