Trigger Warning: Graphic Descriptions of Violence and Killing, Strangulation, Vivisection, Dismemberment, Scenes Involving Corpses and Playing with Corpses, Choking the Snake.

As we enter the chamber, I see two druids interrogating a small tiefling girl. They are holding her at bay with a Death Viper as they pass judgement for her supposed crime.

That familiar crackling in my back is accompanied by voices, enticing my thoughts to wander into darker prospects.

A girl, whose only crime was petty theft, brought low by crazed druids. I shudder at the notion. The look in her eyes as the hope vanishes would be worth triggering the catalyst for rebellion. The redoubt would become a slaughterhouse behind the very walls meant to protect the people within.

Bodies.

Everywhere.

How glorious.

The words of the mother break through the wistful daydream. Out of the good of my heart.

Why does such a noble declaration feel like heresy to me?

"Hm." I glance at the woman who is chastising the girl. "You must be Kagha. You asked to speak with me?"

She waves me off. "Yes, yes. I will speak with you in a moment." She looms over the girl with a toothless menace. "What do you have to say for yourself, hellspawn?"

The tiefling girl has shrunken so far into herself that she's almost disappeared. "I'm sorry! Truly!"

The woman scoffs. "So ungrateful for the help we've offered. You've overstayed your welcome; letting you go will only serve to show theft of our sacred idol is merely a trifle. This deserves a strong hand of judgement."

The snake hisses into the girl's ear, an active threat to her life if she runs.

A spectacle. One that is wasting my precious time. I look at the other druid, standing stoic. Silent. He's wearing an antlered headdress and the garbs of a high-ranking druid. "And you endorse this?"

She looks at me sharply. "He does!" Her eyes go wide as she finally sees me. "Another tiefling. Another refugee, no doubt! Good. Stay put, devil."

"Devil?" My patience has hit its limit with this bitch.

In a blink, I snatch the snake's throat. Yet another thing that feels like second nature. I've dealt with Death Vipers before. It desperately wraps its body around my arm, the tip of its tail quivering in futility.

"Villain!" Kagha quickly unleashes her scimitars, but as she postures, I catch a glint of doubt in her eyes.

"You deal with petty crimes like a spoiled toddler. You're wasting time bullying children. If she was clever enough to steal your sacred idol, then the fault lies with you. Punishing her isn't going to make up for your failures."

Her expression twists into indignant rage. "How dare you!"

I ignore her tantrum and turn to the girl. I am stern but steady. "Go back to your parents, they're waiting for you just outside the sanctuary. If I hear you tried to come back, I'll deal with you myself."

The girl nods, tears streaming down her face. She quickly scurries out without a moment's hesitation.

Kagha watches, stunned, before regaining a hint of composure. "I invite you here to speak to me about the matter of the refugees, and you disrespect me in front of my own circle!"

My voice rises, carrying through the chamber, pointed and commanding. "I give respect to those who've earned it. You've proven yourself an ineffectual leader with this bit of theater. There are things we waste our time on; this is not one of them."

She takes a step back; her face twisted in disdain. I hold out the snake, offering it back to Kagha. The only thing that is broken is its pride.

Kagha reaches out. "Teela..." The snake quickly slithers from my hand to hers. "I must protect my people. I cannot have urchins flooding into the ritual area while the Rite of Thorns is underway."

"You've created a desperate situation, and desperate people act out when they have nothing left to lose. It's so bad, you have children defending their parents." I look for any hint of recognition to my point, but the only thing behind her eyes is a strange stubborn zealotry that I can't seem to place. Common in people who don't have much of a personality, they tend to fill the void with radicalism.

She quickly gets a knowing glint in her eyes. "Someone needs to give them hope. Is it not a paladin's duty to protect the weak and meager? Speak to Zevlor. Tell him you will help lead the outlanders away from here. They are your kin after all. One way or another, they will be gone before final prayer."

The threat is clear. She's willing to kill them all if it means completing the Rite of Thorns.

A fantastically stupid plan.

She has conveniently positioned herself to be the most imminent threat to their survival. My fingers twitch as the thought of her eviscerated corpse flashes in my eyes. A distinct smell fills me, though it's a sensation born only of latent memories.

Why the fuck am I like this?

I try to dismiss the crude thoughts and remain focused. "I am looking for your healer, Nettie."

Kagha gestures eagerly toward a chamber door. "She's in the library. If you are injured, she can help. Seek her aid if you need. As long as you and the outlanders go."

I give a short polite nod and follow Kagha's direction.

I know full well it should be my duty as a Paladin to protect these people. Solve these problems. It's the right thing to do, out of the good of my heart. Despite my efforts, my good heart hasn't found two shits to give. I keep going through the motions, waiting for it to happen.

I wonder if it ever will.

We enter a chamber that is clearly an infirmary. Stone beds line the walls, and I hear a cauldron bubbling, brewing a potion that permeates the air with a pungent, earthy fragrance. Standing by one of the beds is a dwarf woman hovering over an injured bluejay.

She gives me a brief acknowledgment but remains fixated on the bird. With a short incantation, she sends a pulse of blue light through it. A healing touch. The bluejay's injuries are mended but it lies on the table exhausted.

"Are you Nettie, the druids' healer?"

She glances in my direction but is still tending to the bird. "What is it that I could help you with?"

"Healing, of course, and soon." My impatience is hard to mask, but I maintain my civility.

She notes the desperation in my voice and finally turns her attention to me. She scans me, thoughtful... or skeptical. "Tell me what's been ailing you, and I'll do my best."

"What do you know of illithid tadpoles?"

The look of concern that crosses her face is not hidden by her steady voice. "...why do you ask?"

I grimace, gesturing to my eye. "I think I may be infected, but I've shown no signs of ceremorphosis. I'm seeking intervention before the damned thing decides to turn me."

"I see. I suspect it's no coincidence that you've found me now. Come, let's go to my chambers so I can have a closer look at you." She walks over to a stone wall, and with a spark of magic from a circlet adorning her head, the wall opens. "Head on inside."

I step through as she follows behind. Before my companions can join us the door closes behind me. I am suddenly alert and watch as Nettie rummages around on her desk. She's quiet for a while and then finally turns to me, a branch of thorns in her hand.

"It's a shame you got me and not Master Halsin. He'd have your tadpole out like that, but I still know how I can help. Before I cure you, though, I have a few questions."

"I don't exactly have time to wax poetic about my condition, I don't know what's delaying my transformation, but I'd rather not risk giving this thing any more time to kill me."

"I know! I know you must be desperate, but this is important."

"Nothing is more important to me than a cure. If you have it, I will answer any question you want after the tadpole is gone."

Nettie scowls, tapping her finger on the prickled branch. "How did you pick up the parasite?"

"Do you intend to cure me or not?" My ire is no longer masked. "If you're going to kill me then let's get on with it." I swiftly point to a pungent corpse laid out on a far table. "You can lay me out, like you've done with that one. The drow behind you isn't exactly masking your intentions."

Aside from the familiar acrid smell of death, the corpse has something else: the distinct scent of piss and iron. He had been infected too, and his parasite is sitting preserved in a vessel on her desk.

Quick as lightning, Nettie lunges at me with the branch.

I snatch her wrist, lifting her up and squeezing until she drops the thorns. My eyes are flat as I look into her panicked face. I feel her feet kicking frantically as she reaches up, picking at my hand, trying to get me to relent.

"Uch! Let me go! You've made your point!" Her pleading is edged with frustration.

She looks at me and frustration quickly bleeds into a growing fear. "Let me go! Please!"

My heart begins to race as pleasure washes over me. The fear in her eyes...

She begins frantically chanting, trying to cast a spell.

I snap my hand around her throat. "No speaking."

The voice that hisses from my lips is someone else. A hungry man, awakened, demanding satisfaction.

I crush with a vise grip, letting go of her arm. She claws at my hand in desperation, chest heaving as the privilege of breathing is taken away. I savor the feeling of her neck compressing with the graduating pressure.

Her swelling tongue protrudes from her mouth; teeth cutting into it, causing blood to sputter from her mouth. The smell of her blood feeds the desire for satisfaction, but it's not just a hunger for violence, but true hunger.

I've eaten dwarf before.

My mouth begins to water as she ebbs ever closer to the peace of death.

Thyroid cartilage collapses.

Hyoid bone snaps.

Skull shifts; I think her atlas just separated from the occipital bone.

Pop. Pop. Crack. Crunch.

At last, her body goes limp.

I waste no time pushing the corpse of the drow onto the ground and laying Nettie's body out. Pulling out my dagger, I cut away her clothes and begin to carve into her hip.

My eyes are dilated. I am in my element.

Her leg is quickly amputated from her torso, and I begin to butcher her thigh into manageable portions. I pick a few choice pieces and neatly wrap them in a cloth cut from her trousers. I tuck the parcel into my cloak pocket. The lingering pieces of meat tempt me. With the fleeting comfort of a memory regained, I indulge myself and eat a piece. I savor it, deeply, as I listen to the silence of the chamber.

I breathe.

Now what?

I still have the damn tadpole in my skull.

I take the circlet from Nettie's ruined head and look around the library.

I don't know how I'm going to explain the literal blood on my hands. The prospect of facing my new companions is far from ideal. I spot a stone wall with the same grooves as the entryway to this library. With luck, it's another door. I cast a spark of magic from the circlet, and sure enough, it opens. Praise Tymora. I peer inside to see a corridor, booby trapped with a gaseous vent in the floor. There is a door at the far end, hopefully it's a way out, unseen.

I make a move to leave, but hesitate. A pulsating sensation urges me to take the tadpole on Nettie's desk. It comes from within myself but is a notion born outside of my own will. I heed the desire and grab the illithid specimen.

Nettie's body is then tossed onto the vent, and I snap a flame into my hand, lighting the gas on fire.

Her body begins to blister, pop, and sizzle. The smoke from her cooked corpse reaches my nostrils, and my shoulders relax. A sweet craving. I look forward to indulging later. For now, I need to focus.

With another spark of magic, I close the door behind me.

Humid and silent, I see boxes and barrels stacked up along the cavern walls. A storage area.

I'm startled by the chatter of goblins up ahead. I duck down and creep forward to see them scattered throughout the cavern.

Before me is a drop off, approximately five to six meters down. Three goblins are on the ground below, mingling lazily. I notice an archer sitting at eye level with me, just behind a few rocks.

So far, she hasn't spotted me. I scan the rest of the cave.

There are several tall and imposing statues of various animal totems with glowing red eyes, likely guarding the passage. The one nearest to me is facing a leaking barrel of oil. The ground where the goblins are mingling is thick with mud and juts out a little over ten meters before dropping off into a river below.

Cutting the throat of the archer was no issue. I grab her bow and quickly aim a shot at one of the goblin trackers below. The arrow hits him square in the chest, and he drops, motionless. The Sharp-Eye and Warrior look up at me, but I've caught them off guard. Another shot, and I hit the Sharp-Eye in the shoulder.

I quickly retreat from the ledge before hearing them climbing the cliff face toward me. I run forward, pressing my advantage, and loose another shot that hits the Sharp-Eye in her belly. She tumbles from the ledge, landing on the rocks below.

The Warrior finally clears the ledge and begins to charge, his axe held high. I take a step back, then turn and run.

The goblin laughs. "Run, you cunt! You ain't going to get very f—"

The stone guardian triggers as I pass, a bolt of heat striking the oil barrel just as the goblin runs beneath it. Flames engulf him in an instant.

I receive a light misting of burning fumes on the edge of my cloak, but I'm able to stamp it out quickly.

The goblin's screams are shrill, painful, and desperate as he burns. Skin blistering and sloughing away.

I watch patiently as he begins to gasp for air. His throat, I'm sure, is blistered from the heat, but with every inhale, his lungs are being scorched and filled with fluid. It satisfies me to know that he's dying slowly, not from burning on the outside, but from drowning in his own body.

The smells, the sounds, the sight, a choreography of death, and I am the conductor.

Blessed by another anchor of satisfaction, I walk up to the glowing pressure plates and disarm the guardians. Walking down the muddy path to the two goblin corpses on the lower level, I notice the body of a halfling, nearly hidden, caked in mud. I reach down and touch his neck.

Alive.

Why did the goblins keep him alive?

I put a hand on its shoulder, and, with a pulse of blue light, I heal him enough to rouse him. He slowly sits up, groaning and holding his head.

"Th-thank you, Ser! You have my gratitude! I thought I was a goner!"

I give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You had me worried! When I saw the goblins, I thought the worst."

He looks down. "I know, this is my fault really, they followed me in here. I nearly put the whole grove at risk."

My face falls in solidarity. "Don't be too hard on yourself, it can be frightening when you're outnumbered."

A small smile crosses his face, comforted. "True. Who do I owe the grace of my rescue?"

"Vash Neel. And you?"

He gives a heavy exhale. "Findal."

"What did the goblins want with you, Findal? They could have killed you, but they didn't. Why?"

He gives a shrug. "They kept going on about trying to find some weapon that we had. It must be important because they were very persistent. I honestly can't think of anything we might have that they would want so badly. I told them the only weapons here are the ones that the—" He pauses as I watch him. "—tieflings brought."

"Of course, we are born to be easy scapegoats for incompetent people, after all."

He holds his hands up, "My apologies. I honestly didn't know what else to say!" He clambers to his feet. "But I must tell the others, they have to know the grove has been compromised."

I stop him. "One more thing."

He turns back, looking at me eagerly.

I quickly snatch his ankle and drag him toward me, pulling out my dagger.

Fear. I want to see his fear. He gives it to me so freely.

"I cannot have any witnesses that I passed through here."

"W-what?" His voice is shaking; his raw nerves are in tatters.

"How would you like to die? I can honor you by giving you the choice, at the very least."

His breath becomes heavy. "H-HELP!!!"

I plant my dagger through his eye. Quick. Merciful for having offered me such kindness.

When he falls still, I gently pick him up and toss him into the river. I kneel by the water and clean myself up before finally heading out.

As I emerge from the hidden tunnel, I find myself on the dusty trail that leads to the ivy gate of the redoubt.

I pause for a moment to get my bearings, but hear panicked voices coming from around a bend. I step down the narrow trail to find two humans hovering over an injured dwarf.

I couldn't possibly. I'm so full.

I approach them, and the moment the woman sees me, she becomes guarded.

"Don't come any closer! This is none of your affair!"

I gesture to the dying man. "He's injured; I may be able to help."

"Don't you dare lay a finger on him!" Her threats drip with uncertainty.

I hear a weak wheeze coming from the dying dwarf.

"Waaaiiit."

In a rush, he links his mind to mine. Similar to the others, but this time it's more controlled. He knows what he's doing. He has a tadpole and is using it to speak to me. He tells me the names of the two humans — Andrick and Brynna. His voice echoes in desperation, begging me to protect them. He names me a True Soul, whatever the hells that is. Sounds quite lofty.

His connection is brief and feeble, but the message is received. He finally turns to the others. "He is a True Soul. Mind him!" His dying breath.

Brynna shifts her demeanor to one of reverence and remorse. "You're a True Soul? Forgive me! I was merely protecting my brother!" She lowers her head, not looking me in the eye.

I roll my shoulders back, taking on the air of someone who's earned this newfound respect. "Your esteem is noted. Now tell me, what is a True Soul?"

Andrick has yet to speak, but he's eyeing me warily.

Brynna answers like a dutiful student. "The True Souls speak with the voice of The Absolute. Once the Absolute takes her place as the Most High, you—the True Souls—will rule."

"Deferential enough to warrant my grace. I will look past your previous transgression. What are you doing out in these wilds?"

Andrick finally speaks. "We were instructed to look for fugitives that survived that crash. The Absolute wants them found at any cost."

My tail begins to sway as I process this. "Do you know what the Absolute wants with these survivors?"

Andrick answers with confidence. "They have a weapon that is of great interest to her. We were instructed to bring the survivors back, dead or alive."

"How many survivors have you found so far?"

They look at each other and Andrick responds with an air of shame. "None, True Soul. To be honest, I don't know how anyone could have survived that crash, but the True Souls who sent us on this mission insist there have been several. We thought it was going to be an easy mission." He shakes his head. "I fear I underestimated what the Absolute was asking of us. Forgive me, but I swear I won't stop until each one of them is found!"

I walk up to him, and he lowers his gaze respectfully, my tone is grave as I stare down at him. "Shameful you would consider yourself fit for such a task. We cannot afford failure when it comes to duties such as this. Who sent you on this mission?"

"True Soul Minthara. She's stationed at the goblin camp just north of here, past the abandoned village, in an old Temple of Selûne." Andrick gestures toward the path.

My eyes track the trail headed north. "What other True Souls are stationed at this camp?"

Brynna is more than happy to interject, eager to please me. "True Soul Dror Ragzlin, and Priestess Gut. Other than that, it's mostly just goblins."

These cultists form a curious menagerie. Zevlor's assumption seems correct. They are organizing multiple factions.

"Return to the camp. I'm taking it upon myself to find the survivors."

Andrick grows anxious and pushes back. "But this is our duty! With all due respect, True Soul, I request you give us more time to prove ourselves."

I watch him, desperately trying to ingratiate himself to me, but all I hear is sniveling. It's getting on my nerves.

"Andrick."

He looks up and meets my eye.

What happens next is sudden and instinctual.

My hand on the back of his head.

My dagger buried deep into his throat.

I pull until it cleaves out the side of his neck.

He collapses, and Brynna screams as she watches another brother die before her eyes.

I point my dagger at her and step forward with rancor. "If you can't obey a simple order, then what good are you?!"

She looks at me, wide eyed. "P-Please!!! Andrick was a fool to question your command! I swear I'll return to the camp! I'll report to Minthara and let her know you're searching for the survivors!"

I am seething with bloodlust.

I just want to watch her die.

I need to feel it again. The moment they go limp and their eyes grow cold.

Just one more time.

I tuck my dagger away, arming myself with my greatsword. I take a swing at her, the desire to split her in half is overwhelming.

She dodges my strike and then reflexively hits me with a command: Halt.

I instantly freeze and she shrieks with nerves. "I'm sorry-I'm sorry-I'm sorry, True Soul!" She looks upon her dead brothers and looks back at me. Disbelief and abject fear plagues her face.

She bolts, headed toward the goblin camp.

Gone.

I stand helpless for what feels like an eternity. Eventually, I feel its hold fading, and I ease back into control of my body. No doubt she will be reporting all of this to True Soul Minthara.

I need to get to the goblin camp, but I need an ally. An ally like Sazza.

I sheath my sword and walk back over to the two bodies. I begin rummaging through their pockets before feeling that same pulsating sensation I felt in Nettie's chamber. The tadpole behind the True Souls eye.

I don't know what use it could be, but the yearning is almost as strong as my bloodlust.

Busy work. Satisfying so many yearnings.

I plant my boot on the man's head and fish out the tadpole from behind his eye. I preserve it with Nettie's worm and wipe my hands of the ordeal.

I head back, having much to report to my new companions. I'm just grateful to have stumbled across these details. They feel promising. Hopefully, we can better understand our condition and getting us closer to a cure.

Gods willing.