Trigger Warnings: Graphic violence, gore, body horror, cannibalistic imagery, torture-adjacent violence, religious desecration, psychic intrusion.

Goblin' those toes, Playing with Squid Corpses.

Mayhem.

Yes, I think that's the perfect word to describe a goblin camp.

We step into an overgrown marbled courtyard filled with mud and piss. The stench of goblin is almost intolerable, but there's nothing to be done about it now.

In the middle of the courtyard is a makeshift stage placed on top of a crumbled foundation. A man—who I think might be a bard—is standing aloft, spouting bad poetry. The goblins are bewitched by his rantings, so I leave them in peace.

Sazza is nowhere to be seen.

Shadowheart quietly scans the ancient sanctuary courtyard as the crumbling statues of Selûne loom overhead.

"Disgusting idolatry."

The words are only a murmur.

I can't help but wonder: a dark and pragmatic cleric with memory loss, and a disdain for Selûne. Shadowheart truly is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.

A goblin grabs my attention. He's standing on a makeshift dais, four steps up from a captive audience, loudly boasting. "Crushed his hand I did! Wasn't able to cast those blue sparks after that!"

The other goblins gawk and cheer and one calls out in comradery. "You got another one, Crusher!"

We approach the dais, and when Crusher spots me, he begins to posture. "Another straggler come to bask in the light of the Absolute?"

"I'm looking for the one in charge."

Crusher laughs. "The Absolute is in charge of this tribe! She's been bringing in all sorts, and she's changed the rules."

His smirk is dripping with ego. "So, if you're looking to play nice, you gotta show me some respect, horn head."

He nods to his foot. "Go on, kiss my foot."

I glance at the audience of goblins as they watch me expectantly before turning to his foot. Bare, bejeweled, and baked in piss mud.

Lae'zel mutters to me, "Don't you dare grovel before this creature."

Astarion grabs my arm like a devil on my shoulder. "No no—definitely grovel. I have to see this."

I grin, having been given permission to be a degenerate.

"Forgive me Crusher, where were my manners?"

I theatrically get to my knees before him, bending down to kiss his foot. As my mouth reaches his stumpy, stinking feet, I snap up his big toe and bite to break. His toe pops and crunches between my teeth; gristle, cartilage, and gamy toe meat slip-slide and are torn asunder in my jaws.

Crusher screams and tries to pull away but falls backwards like a trapped animal.

As the toe breaks away, I swallow it. Forever lost to my profane appetite.

"My toe! My fucking toe!"

Crusher reaches for his foot impulsively but hesitates, unwilling to touch the tender wound.

Wiping the blood from my beard, I stand over him. "Stop your sniveling and kiss my foot."

Crusher is gasping at the pain but jumps at my order, feebly rolling onto his knees. He crawls down the steps of the dais before finally making it to me and presses his mouth to my boot. Then he throws himself onto the step behind him, clutching his shirt, trying to catch his breath.

"There! I—I kissed it!" He drops his head against the edge of the step, exhausted.

"Crusher."

I place my boot on his chest, pinning him to the edge of the masonry. He grabs at me and winces from the pressure as I lean down. I track the panic in his eyes. "Where is the one in charge?"

Crusher lifts a shaking hand and points to the door leading into the temple. "Inside, you can find them in there." He grimaces once again.

I nod my head in gratitude. "Thank you. That's all I wanted."

I slam my boot down on top of him. I can feel his spine snap against the corner of the step.

Blood erupting from his mouth, spattering me lightly. His eyes wide and filled with terror as he tries to make noises, but all that comes out are grunts and gargles.

Paralyzed. Probably dying... probably. I've definitely broken some ribs and punctured a lung or two. Ruptured stomach? Damaged diaphragm? Who knows without an autopsy.

Looks like he's having a bitch of a time breathing.

I look down at Crusher's gawking audience as they fall silent. No laughter. No jeering. Only breath.

My tone is even as I address them. "As True Souls, you will address us with the respect we are due."

Wide eyed and muttering, they back away—some more quickly than others.

Astarion claps gleefully. "Bravo! Good show! Who needs Sazza when you have homicidal tendencies?"

We share an amused glance before making our way to the inner sanctum. The sounds of Crusher's labored breath fading into the drunken chaos of the camp behind us.

As we enter the Temple of Selûne, Shadowheart walks close by my side. I notice the wariness in her eyes and place a hand on her back. “Do you want to head back to camp? This shouldn't take too long. We should be fine on our own.”

She blinks at the offer. "No. I appreciate the offer, but do not confuse my caution for fear. If it's all the same with you, I'd rather stay for your sake. Let's get our business done and be out of here."

I glance around the vestibule and see goblin sentries standing overhead, ready to strike if given the cue. We near the far end where Sazza sits, waiting. My fingers tighten at her back as I lean down. "Good. Then stay close."

"Boss! You made it!" She gestures to us. "Come on in. Priestess Gut is just inside, but I bet you'll be wanting to speak to the Drow."

Sazza waves off the guards as we enter the main hall.

It's an ancient stone temple with looming statues of cloaked figures at all four corners of the chamber.

At the center is a makeshift platform with a branding station. The smell of burning goblin flesh permeates the air, as an ornately decorated booyagh presses the hot iron into the palm of a fellow goblin.

Priestess Gut.

The crackle of skin and the screams of the supplicant send shivers down my spine. She catches our eye and quickly shoves the suffering goblin aside.

"Get out of here, scrap! We've got some real True Souls in our midst!"

She closes her eyes tight and pushes herself into my mind, rifling through my thoughts like a clumsy urchin digging in a trash bin.

Faltering images blink into my mind of a man in dark hair with a smooth voice and easy smile. The cunt. His awkward swagger exudes the air of tenuous authority that subverts any natural charisma he might actually possess. It's embarrassing. Before I get a chance to gather how I might know him, she rips herself from my mind.

"Bloody hells!"

She's quiet as I stare down at her.

"I can see why the Absolute sent you. You've got a rare skill, don't you? Killin'. Seems you've been busy doin' Her work." She waggles her little goblin finger at me. "And on top of that, you've got a little worm problem in your skull. No doubt She wanted me to cure you."

My gaze sharpens. "Problem? You have the same worm as me."

Gut scoffs. "I ain't got no worm in my head, but I got a solution for you. First things first, you gotta get branded." She rolls the hot iron in the flames to be sure it's ready.

The symbol of the brand is the mark of the Absolute. "If anyone has doubts you follow the Absolute, show them this. Give me your hand." She lifts the iron and reaches for my palm.

I stare at her, weighing the choice. This will make it easier to move within the cult but could cause issues if I need to work with the opposition. Who would be easier, or safer, to bargain with?

Removing my bracer and handwrap, I kneel, holding out my hand. She quickly presses the iron into my calloused palm. The searing pain of the cauterization surges through me in waves of erotic pleasure. The scent of my own burning flesh is intoxicating. The smoke laps at my nostrils like a frightened specter trying to crawl back inside me.

She pulls away, and a low moan quietly slips from my lips. I visibly shudder from the final ripple of euphoria, my tail giving a heavy lash behind me.

I look at my palm and see the brand, imbued with magic, glowing with a red light that projects the symbol above my palm. The damaged subcutaneous tissue knits back together almost instantly. I flex my fingers, then begin to wrap my hand and slide my bracer back into place.

She smiles with approval. "Now that that's done, let's speak in private. This way to my quarters. We don't want these scabs listening in on True Soul business."

I look down at Sazza, straightening my cloak. "I'll find you when we're done. Stay close until we get back."

She gives a nod. "You got it, Boss. I ain't goin' nowhere!"

I follow Gut, with the others trailing behind.

Astarion slides up next to me, lacing his arm through mine. "Sooo, you got branded. How did you like it? It seemed to be a full-body experience for you."

The mischief in his eye is telling. He wants something.

"Have you come to pester me about it? I'm not going to pretend I didn't enjoy it. Far be it from me to insult your perception."

He casually looks at his fingernails. "Yes, I am very perceptive, darling." He turns his eyes back to me with a toss of his perfectly coiffed hair. "So — did you orgasm, or are you just edging right now?"

There are moments where he seems more punchable than others. "Have I told you how annoying you are?"

He laughs and leans into me. "You know you love it."

"Love being badgered about my state of arousal... was there something you actually wanted?"

He playfully rolls his eyes. "I just wanted to get to know you better. Though, I am at a disadvantage, given your convenient amnesia."

"...I wouldn't call it convenient."

"You were able to interrogate me, but I'm relegated to having to play pick-up-sticks with your personality. Hardly seems fair."

He makes a good point.

Right now, my behavior is the only thing defining who I am. Things like 'paladin' and 'masochist' aren't exactly a personality.

"Do you want me to keep you posted on any new revelations? Or did you have something else in mind?"

Priestess Gut's shrill voice cuts through our conversation. "In here and close the door behind you. We don't want any eavesdroppers."

Priestess Gut enters first and takes her place by a low wooden table. She leans against it, her silhouette flickering in the light of several smoldering candles. I observe her quietly as the others file in. Her casual confidence may be masking something more sinister.

The moment I hear the door close, I speak. "What do you know about the worm in my head?"

The buttery grin she gives me is a caricature of hospitality. "I know you need to get that thing out of you, and I've got the cure. But I can't do it with an audience. The rest of you, clear out!"

I subtly shift my gaze to Astarion, who had been looming near the altar of candles. He locks eyes with me at the same time and purses his lips.

My eyes land back on her. "There's nothing else you can tell me? How do you intend to extract it?"

"The Absolute has blessed me with skilled hands. You just leave those details to me."

I close my eyes and exhale before kneeling in front of her, meeting her at her level. "I need you to be very careful with the next thing you say."

Gut looks uneasy and takes a step back.

I give her an encouraging nod, hoping to elicit the truth. Or maybe I'm just hoping she'll tell me the truth I want to hear. "Do you actually know how to remove it?"

She holds my stare like a stubborn child and subtly fidgets. "Of course. I can tell you ain't no scab. You're special." She lifts herself from the table and gestures to her chest in reverence. "You've been blessed, just like me. Paise Her name! I'm just here to help one of our own."

My eyes glide across her before I glance at Astarion once more. "I see, how very generous of you."

A nod is all it takes.

Her throat opens and a warm waterfall of blood coats the front of her body like a burial shroud.

Gut collapses quickly as Astarion cleans the blood from his dagger. I stand, watching her die.

She begins convulsing on the ground. Her eyes are empty; she's just a twitching husk at this point.

I stomp on her head and begin sifting through her cranial tissues to find her worm.

"These things are so fascinating." I hold it up for the others to see. "Little nightmares that sit comfortably at the center of our world."

I hear Shadowheart retch softly and I glance over at her. "Are you okay?"

She holds a curled finger to her mouth. "Yes, I'm fine. Carry on." She takes her time to compose herself.

Astarion recoils. "Don't play with it. Good Gods, I can practically hear it squealing."

I pull a vial from my cloak and bottle the thing before flipping through Gut's effects. I collect a few Absolutist trinkets and some keys. She isn't harboring anything spectacular.

With my foot, I nudge her ruined body into a wide crack in the floor. It vanishes into an endless darkness without a sound.

We never hear it land.

Making our way back we find Sazza milling about, sticking close to the branding station.

"Boss! How did it go?" Her tone of excitement is reflected in the eyes of the other goblins she'd been speaking with.

"My business is private, Sazza. Don't overstep. Priestess Gut will be busy in her chambers for some time. Be sure not to disturb her."

The goblins nod an acknowledgement and Sazza holds up her hands in deference. "Apologies! Won't happen again." She lowers her hands and looks at the others before turning back to me. "What's next on the list? Ready to meet the Drow?"

"Yes, we're ready. Lead the way."

She beckons us to follow her deeper into the temple.

We hear chanting coming from a ceremonial chamber at the very back of the temple. As we walk up a short flight of stairs, we see the stone floor of the temple has broken away in several places, exposing a caged off cell beneath. Two large spiders are housed below; their cage littered with bones of all kinds. Clearly a sacrificial dumping ground to these creatures. The drow is likely lolth sworn if they are harboring spiders in such a way. Although why they would still have affinity for the Spider Queen is a mystery if they are a brainwashed True Soul like Gut. Maybe it's just a cultural love for spiders? Who knows. I look toward the back of the temple, and through a row of stone columns I see a large battle worn hob goblin standing on a dais surrounded by dancing goblins. It seems they are doing some sort of ritual around a corpse. I lean down and touch Sazza's shoulder, "Who is that?"

Sazza beams with pride, "That's Dror Ragzlin! He's a mighty warrior and another True Soul. Him, Priestess Gut, and the drow Minthara are the True Souls that run this camp. We were blessed to have three, but now we have you, too! We must be some kind of special tribe to be favored by her in this way."

"What is Ragzlin doing?"

"True Soul Ragzlin found that dead squid on the beach. He's trying to raise it so he can find out where it came from. Says it may help us find the weapon, help us find who survived the crash."

My hair stands on end, and I immediately blow past her toward Ragzlin.

Startled Sazza calls after me, "Boss, I don't think we should interrupt!"

I ignore her and approach the ritual, trying to get a closer look at the illithid corpse on the ground. It's silver blood leaks from its chest. Shit. I watch Ragzlin as he clumsily tries to raise the illithid from the dead, but it mercifully fails.

Ragzlin finally catches my eye, and I feel his voice surge into my mind. "Can you talk to this dead squiddy?"

I connect with him, and the overwhelming taste of booze and bile fills my throat, it's sickening and almost unbearable. Ragzil quickly pulls himself from my mind and recoils, "A True Soul Devil." He eyes me warily, "You've got some interesting thoughts floatin' around in your head. Nothing short of what I would expect from your kind. Just goes to show all the rumors are true, you don't think about nothin' but killing."

"Beautiful, isn't it? Stay out of my fucking head if it's going to be an issue." I'm grateful I don't have to taste his vomitus hangover anymore. "Putting on a show for the tribe?"

Ragzlin points at the illithid on the ground, "I bet anything this squid saw who survived. It wasn't just killed by the crash like the rest, it was killed by someone. Whoever was snooping around has to know where the weapon is."

Astarion grabs my arm, hissing into my ear, "This is your fuck up you know. I'm not helping you out of it."

I push him off me and whisper. "We're both just as dead if I don't fix this, now be quiet."

I look at the mind flayer corpse and suddenly get a surge of anxiety from Shadowheart, she knows the weapon they seek is the prism. I reach back out to her subtle and soothing, caressing her mind into ease. If she can stay focused, she won't give anything away.

I look back to Ragzlin. "I can make this a hell of a lot easier for you. I killed the squid." Ragzlin looks at me for a moment and sizes me up, posturing arrogantly. I raise my hand at him dismissively, "I was sent by the Absolute on the very same mission. I reached it long before your scouting parties had a chance to rummage through the wreckage."

Ragzlin lowers himself. "You were sent from Moonrise?"

The name seems sickeningly familiar, but the notions don't clue me into what he means, fuck, time to roll the dice. "Yes, I witnessed the crash that very night. I was headed here to help with your search but was redirected to the crash for obvious reasons."

Ragzlin's eyes go wide, and a look of frustration clouds his expression, "Why did you kill the squid then, did you see the survivors, and what about the weapon?" His questions are incessant but understandable.

"The squid tried to attack me; it gave me no choice. Afterward I raised it and spoke to it myself, that's why you're having trouble, it has nothing more to say. I can tell you it didn't have the answers we're looking for."

Ragzlin snorts and looks at the squid as his anger rises. He climbs down from the dais only to pick up the mind flayer and throw it into the spider pit screaming, "Useless!" He turns and points at me, "Go report to Minthara! Tell her everything you've found. She's probably right, the survivors ran off to hide in that gods forsaken druid's grove. Maybe YOU can find the damned place!"

"Right away." At that I turn and leave.

Astarion looks back at Ragzlin as he sits on a makeshift throne decorating the dais like the little goblin king he is, "I will never believe a damned word you say ever again. That was silken and diabolical."

I snort, "You know how to play the game just as well as I do. Don't pretend you're innocent."

"What do you mean? I've been nothing but forth coming and honest. Come on, it's not like I'm Shadowheart, keeper of the least obvious secrets I've ever seen."

I chuckle quietly to him, "You've picked up on her too?"

"Don't insult me by assuming I couldn't see it. 'I'm not going to tell you anything about myself except that I'm a dark cleric who hates Selûne.' She practically smells like a dark justiciar."

Dark Justiciars. The elite warriors of the Goddess Shar. We quietly laugh between each other like a couple of gossiping schoolboys, making our way back to Sazza. Still, my thoughts drift to the possibilities. If she is a Cleric of Shar then perhaps she can channel her goddess and allow me to explore Shar's power. Shar could possibly be the one who powers me as well. I need Shadowheart to admit her devotional allegiance though. The odds her god is anyone else is slim. I need to look for an opportunity to speak to her about the matter without jeopardizing her trust in me.