Chapter Text
Sorcha gazed at the empty air where Orin had been, then ran back into the main room, fingers dripping with blood, shaking, unsure if it was anger, fear or grief.
"Sorcha? Whatever has happened?" asked Halsin. Wyll and Karlach crowded behind him, alert to any threat. Her knees gave out suddenly and she collapsed onto the floor, gasping to breathe through her wails. Halsin frowned momentarily before casting Calm Emotions on her, the soothing spell allowing her to catch her breath.
"Orin. Shaped as Astarion. I killed him, then he changed into Orin. She's got him captive, she'll murder him unless we kill Gortash for her."
"You killed him? What do you mean, you killed him?" asked Wyll, cautiously.
"What did Fangs do to deserve that?" wondered Karlach.
Sorcha could only shake her head mutely. Shadowheart came over, checking her neck for wounds before stepping back. "Do you want to show me, rather than talk? Through the tadpole perhaps?" the cleric suggested.
Taking a deep breath, Sorcha pushed the events of the last hour towards Shadowheart, hearing her gasp in shock.
Shadowheart gave the others a quick summary and Sorcha watched mutely as her friends sprang into action, kicking off camp clothes and rearming.
"We'll get him back, Sparks, don't you worry!" said Karlach as she pulled her armour back on.
"I'm out of magic so I'll stay behind, along with Wyll," suggested Shadowheart. "We can make sure everything stays secure here." The cleric gave Sorcha a quick hug before running to fetch Sorcha's equipment from her room.
"You saved Minsc and now Minsc and Boo will kick the buttocks of evil to save your pointy little friend!" the ranger said, beaming.
Candulhallow's Tombstones was tucked away in an alley behind the Elfsong and appeared deserted. They slipped inside, as stealthily as a huge group could, moving to a room at the far end, but could find no obvious way down. Letting her irritation surface, Sorcha began ripping things off the wall, eventually finding a button hidden behind a painting. On pressing it, a bookcase slid aside to reveal another door, daubed with Bhaal's symbol in what was no doubt blood.
Sorcha spoke the pass phrase she had found in the note, "Sicarius" and the door swung open, revealing a wooden staircase leading downwards.
She was about to head down when Halsin put a hand on her shoulder. "Let me?"
The druid wildshaped into a rat and sped off to reconnoitre, reappearing only a minute later.
"There's a trifecta of undead, death knights I think, guarding a grand entrance door. We can assume that the tribunal is inside. I shall shape back into a rat and loiter at that entrance in case you need to retreat, so I can save my magic for healing," Halsin suggested.
Leaving Halsin to guard the rear, the other six moved towards the undead guards. The central guard stepped up to Sorcha, reciting "Present me well from gifts thine own, or I shall rend thy flesh from bone."
"How charming. I killed to be here, look!" She pulled one of the hands from her bag and gave a jaunty wave to the knight. The doors creaked open and the knight stood aside as the party walked down into a cavernous chamber. Sorcha could have mistaken it for a church, with pews and an altar, were it not for the blood and gore which seemed to decorate every surface. She quickly called up Nimbus and had him sneak around the side of the room.
In a blood-drenched circle at the far end of the hall, Sorcha could see three people, a drow, an elf and a human, perhaps sendings with the way the figures wavered? Above them, seated on a throne, was a man whose presence sparked dread in the pit of her stomach. Sarevok, the Bhaalist who almost brought the Gate to ruin a century ago.
"You gaze upon Murder's progeny, child," said Sarevok, a deep grating voice that spoke of old blood and pain.
The three figures intoned phrases in reverence.
"His most ill-trusted zealots," said the elf.
"HIS FAITHFUL DEPARTED," bellowed the human.
"Prodigal servants, each returned to do his bidding eternally," explained the drow.
Sorcha's chest constricted in fear. Failed Bhaaalspawn. Devella was right. Not just an imitator, but Sarevok himself. She quashed the fear, clinging to the reminder that Jaheira had already beaten this man once.
"This is the court of the Dread Lord's tribunal. I am its custodian. Here come those who seek to transcend - the would-be Unholy Assassins of Bhaal," Sarvok intoned.
Sarevok gazed down at them, gaze dagger-sharp. "But these are not aspirants. You have brought a traitor into our midst. The Harper worm... the abdicating hero...
Jaheira cut him off. "Sarevok, Bhaal's least favourite son. Still tied to daddy's apron strings, I see," she sneered.
The history they shared may be long gone, but the hatred between them still burns as bright as ever.
"What purpose do you have in bringing this heretic to the court of Bhaal?" Sarevok demanded.
Sorcha ignored him and turned to look at the Harper. "Would you like to kill the old man, Jaheira, or shall I?"
Jaheira shrugged. "You get to my age, you have already done everything. Be my guest."
Sarevok snarled. "Your hubris will be your undoing, as it was once mine. Only this time Bhaal will have his offering - by my hand!"
Sorcha hoped that Gale had cast Arcane Lock on the doors behind her, as they'd discussed en route, but couldn't spare the time to look.
Minsc immediately shot a lightning arrow at the central of the three women, Boo chittering excitedly on his shoulder. Jaheira threw Sleet Storm across the dais, causing Sarevok and one of the women to slip. Sorcha saw Sarevok making the starting gesture for one of the Power Word incantations and immediately cast Counterspell. Not worth taking chances with that one, even if it's only pain or stun.
Karlach and Lae'zel charged towards the front, ready to repel any who escaped the ice. Lightning arced from behind her as Gale threw Chain Lightning at the assembled Bhaalists. Nimbus appeared beside the prone woman and tangled her in shadow vines.
The human woman cast what looked like a warding spell onto Sarevok as Karlach flung her hammer towards him. The hammer hit and the woman fell to the ground, knocked prone and bleeding, leaving Sarevok unhurt. Lae'zel struck her as she lay there, severing an arm before finishing with a cleaving blow to the chest. The figure vanished, a red mist weaving its way back to Sarevok, causing him to temporarily glow brightly.
Sorcha cast Silence, as the elf tried and failed to Counterspell. Minsc distracted the drow with a hail of arrows, but Sarevok leapt towards Jaheira, greatsword raised to smite his old enemy. The blow landed, dropping Jaheira to her knees with a groan. He raised his sword once more, intending to maim her further, only to give an anguished howl as a vicious killing beast burrowed through the gap in his helmet, using his pointy claws to best advantage.
Karlach's arm flashed in rage once more and her hammer knocked Sarevok to the ground. Sorcha was sure she just saw Boo streak away from him with an eyeball in his teeth. Jaheira staggered to her feet, casting a healing spell upon herself before wildshaping to her panther form and launching herself at the drow's throat.
As Sorcha saw Sarevok try to regain his feet, fury overtook her and she channelled all her remaining magic into a Disintegrate spell shouting "Spuma Moriendi" just as Gale intoned "Fulgor" to shoot lightning into the failed Bhaalspawn. The body crumpled in a heap, leaving only bones. Lae'zel hauled the horned helmet from the charred skull of Sarevok, tossing it to Karlach before starting to strip his armour.
Karlach turned to Jaheira, helmet in hand, and bowed lavishly, offering it to her.
"Aw, cub, thank you, but I feel it will look far more suitable upon your head," Jaheira said. Sorcha could swear she saw a tear in the corner of the old Harper's eye, but would never put herself in danger by mentioning it.
Instead, she moved towards one of the doors at the side of the chamber. "Tear this place apart - we need to find Astarion!" she ordered.
The first door led to some cells, all empty. Sorcha searched them anyway, looking for any sign that Astarion might have been there, but the blood stains were old and bronzed. Another door led to Sarevok's office. Rummaging through the desk, Sorcha found something that she immediately wished she hadn't read.
"Ugh, look at this," she choked out. Gale picked the page from her hand and started to read.
"The blood of Bhaal must never be wasted, only multiplied. I knew it from the moment of her birth and every day thereafter. I watched the babe become a woman - Helena, my shapeshifting beauty, my daughter, and Bhaal's waiting womb. In her I planted my Lord's seed and thus did we beget the blood-lamb Orin…"
Gale dropped the page as if burnt, revulsion plain across his face.
"This does not surprise me," Jaheira said, face twisted up. Sarevok was always a strange one and Orin has more than a little of his madness, plain to see."
Karlach and Lae'zel caught up to them, Karlach waving a map in her hand. It gave directions to the Bhaal temple, buried deep in the Undercity, with a door hidden within the sewers. Lae'zel also had a key, which worked to open the other door. An overwhelming blood stench hit Sorcha's nose as the door opened to reveal a large pool of blood, and the hollyphant, Valeria, chained to its rim.
Sorcha couldn't help but laugh at the scene - the investigator who had sworn there was no Bhaal plot, chained, ready for murder by a group of Bhaalists.
She strode up to the celestial. "So, no Bhaal plot then?" she asked demurely.
"Set me free at once!" the hollyphant demanded
"Oh no, wouldn't want to be a busybody after all! It's the job of the Watch to deal with this sort of thing. Civilians shouldn't get involved," she quoted.
No one was there to snigger at her sarcasm, which left her feeling somewhat adrift. However, in the absence of their usual picklock, Gale cast Knock on the chains.
Shuddering, the hollyphant said "Look. Thanks for freeing me so quickly. Those chains were starting to chafe. Though I do wish you'd figured this all out before. Well. At least it's over now," Valeria said, without the slightest apology for her earlier behaviour.
"It's nowhere near over," Sorcha growled. "And I didn't do it for you. I did it to gain access to Orin."
"Oh. Well. I'd call you rude, but I have the misfortune of owing you my life. You gave these reprobates a proper seeing to. You clearly have what I don't. Courage. Insight. Heroism."
Sorcha gave a hollow laugh. "Revenge and spite more like."
She was drained, and there was still no sign of Astarion in these blood soaked halls, but she recognised the exhaustion on her comrade's faces.
"A wizard's quite worthless with a tired mind. Sleep beckons, and I would follow," Gale said, yawning.
"I know that you want to rush over to the temple, cub, but you also need to rest if we're to stand a chance at defeating the Bhaalspawn. We all need to rest."
Sorcha hated how right they were. She didn't want to face her empty bed and the misery that constantly threatened to overwhelm her, but allowed the others to pull her back to their rooms. Thankfully the Elfsong was only a couple of streets away from Candulhallow's shop. More than a few of her companions were wincing as they climbed the stairs, before collapsing onto the plushy sofas in their rooms.
Alone, the darkness pulled her towards the pit. Could she volunteer to be a Steel Watcher, she idly wondered, scrape out her heart and leave her as just an efficient automaton? That was how she had to be, if she was going to get through this.
Karlach stuck her head round the corner, before sitting on the edge of the bed and giving her a hug.
"Can I ask you something , Karlach?"
"Sure, anything soldier."
"How do you do it? How do you keep going, day after day, hour after hour, knowing what was done to you, what you've been through? How do you still see the joy in life?" Tears bubbled up, a wellspring of pain beneath the mask she tried to wear.
"I keep trying to lie down and give up, but Karlach just won't let me! I guess that stupid drive to keep going is what made me survive the last ten years. Not sure it's a blessing, but there we are." Karlach gave a little snort of resignation.
"I'm just so tired. Tired of hoping, only to have that squashed like a bug underfoot, again and again," Sorcha mumbled through the tears, hurt and misery tumbling out through the cracks in her facade.
"You know, soldier, I've always thought I was fearless. Never scared of a fight, of the future. But knowing I'm dying has taught me so much. There's no courage in fearlessness. There's courage in being fucking terrified, but still going forward. Still being grateful. Still trying. Even through the tears."
Karlach reached for Sorcha's hand, squeezing it tight.
"So if I can promise you one thing, it's this: We're going to save this city. Together. Even if it's going to be the last thing I do. You're a goddamned hero, soldier, and so am I. Now, get some rest and we'll save Mister Pointyface tomorrow."
Karlach swapped out with Halsin, who sat beside Sorcha , making sure that she ate, even if it was only a bit of bread and fruit. "Can I offer you a sleep potion once more, little bird? You'll need to be well rested for whatever tomorrow brings." He held the flask out and she accepted gratefully, curling up in front of the fire with a blanket around her before downing it and slipping into blessed unconsciousness.
Following the map, they headed down into the depths of the sewers.
The floor was daubed with ancient blood as they neared the place marked on the map. A gigantic door barred the way. A black miasma drifted lazily across the door. Sorcha could feel an uncomfortable prickling behind her eyes as she approached.
"Careful, Sorcha," Gale warned. "That door is emitting some old, deathly magic."
"A new vessel brimming with blood darkens Bhaal's door.Do you have proof of your faith to our lord?" a voice creaked, dripping with ancient malice, seemingly issuing from the door itself.
Sorcha tried not to sound fearful as she declared, "I have an Amulet of Bhaal - let me pass, door."
A surrussus issued from the door. "You hold proof of faith - but to hold and deserve are different. How have you proven yourself in the Dread Lord's eyes?"
"I slaughtered your damn murder tribunal, door. Now let me in!" she shouted.
"Unorthodox - but a show of faith nonetheless. Walk in blood." With the sound of a thousand dessicated corpses rising from their tombs, the door slowly creaked open.
Corpses were strung up along the way, the least festive Simril decorations Sorcha had ever seen. Bleak stone, a roughly hewn roadway and towering granite edifices. The roadway led down past the hollow eyes of the surrounding buildings, no scrap of cover anywhere. A true killing zone.
With the entire cavern wreathed in shadows, Sorcha couldn't make out anything beyond the vaguest hints of movement, so she dug in her pack for a moment, coming up with one scroll and one elixir of Darkvision. Downing the potion, she passed the scroll to Gale. The surroundings, while still dim, brightened significantly, enabling her to note at least fifteen silent Bhaalists lining the walls. Atop the highest wall she noticed one begin to chant, something partially familiar about the gestures.
Gale gasped beside her. "They're casting Power Word Kill! Everyone, we must take that one out before he reaches the end or we're all lost."
That was why she recognised it; the similarities with her old Power Word Pain spell back from when she was in Yartar rang alarm bells. Sorcha quickly grabbed hold of Lae'zel and cast Dimension Door, teleporting them as far as she could towards the chanting menace. Lae'zel leapt across, cleaving into the mage, but he seemed to shake it off. Gale grabbed hold of Karlach and also teleported, aiming for lower down the vast stone walkway. The tiefling hefted her hammer at the chanting Bhaalist, knocking him prone but not distracting him from casting.
Wyll cast Misty Step up to the top of a crag, landing behind three more Bhaalists and managing to Thunderwave two of killers into the chasm below.
Jaheira and Shadowheart were still too far from the main threat, but then Sorcha saw Jaheira wildshape into her owlbear form, pausing for Shadowheart to climb on before making a stupendous leap across the cavern, almost knocking Gale off the ledge. Shadowheart was casting the moment she slid from the owlbear's back, a simple radiant blast which hit but failed to damage the mage.
The Bhaalist wizard continued chanting as he teleported down to the base of the building, but Gale was ready for him, targeting him with a stream of six magic missiles. Sorcha couldn't see, but surely some of those must have hit?
Lae'zel charged downwards and out of view, and Sorcha decided to follow - at least while she was within the building none of the other Bhaalists had line of sight on her. Gale, Karlach, Shadowheart and Jaheira were being targeted from the windows high above, a miscellany of ranged attacks that looked to sting.
Karlach charged forward, and Sorcha suddenly saw the figure of the mage fly past and crash face first into the stone at the owlbear's feet. Jaheira leapt directly on him, swiping with those vicious claws until he stilled, silent. Now there was just the other fourteen bloody murderers to destroy.
Shadowheart threw lightning at three of those who were leaning from the window, hitting them, but they did not retailiate. Silently, each Bhaalist turned and left the cavern; the way was clear.
They stood in the empty cavern, looking around at the grisly buildings. The silence was heavy, a leaden blanket covering them, making them want to whisper even though they appeared to be alone. An iron banded door led into the depths of the Undercity proper.
"Ugh, I had hoped to never visit this charming place again," grumbled Jaheira, back in her own skin.
"It seems very on theme," Shadowheart griped, looking at the ruined city below them. Crumbling stone stairs, drenched in ancient bloodstains, skulls, piles of bones, flickering torchlight and an air of mould and dust. Sorcha could see why Jaheira wasn't glad to be back.
Ruined houses lined the stairs, as if this had once been the home of some peoples. It must surely be older than the Gate itself?
As she passed one of the statues it suddenly said "The Lord of Murder will perish… but in his place will rise a score of mortal progeny." The voice grated, old stones dragging across each other, full of triumph and malice.
"As if this place needed to get any more creepy," said Karlach with a shudder.
"Chaos will be sewn from their passage," said the next statue.
Jaheira gave an angry roar and pushed that statue over, letting it tumble into the chasm below. "They are quoting prophecies, from Alaundo. And I have already lived through those events. I see no need to hear about them again."
A towering door, metal shaped in Bhaal's likeness, blocked their way. Sorcha held up the amulet once more and they opened with an ominous squeal, as if all the fiends of the hells were running their claws down a chalkboard at once.
The charming architecture continued. Pools of blood surrounded stone altars, grimed with body fluids. Her bile rose at the thought of what this stench would be doing to Astarion. Stone steps swept downwards towards a central circle, surrounded with chanting Bhaalists Another altar in the centre, and chained to it a bloodied lump that was once a vampire. Orin was leaning over, absorbed in her work, tongue poking out as she carved something into his leg.
Their potion-fuelled, battle-hardened, well-oiled machine did not give Orin the chance to even speak before she was pinned with a Hold Monster spell and pummelled with a barrage of Magic Missiles from Gale, followed by his devastating Artistry of War spell. I'm so glad we managed to steal that scroll, even if I haven't the skill to learn it myself.
Sorcha and Wyll both cast Chain Lightning, taking out most of the chanting acolytes and Lae'zel ran forward, swinging her greatsword, yelling "Hta'zith!" as she sliced through Orin's neck, nearly cleaving her head from her shoulders.
As Orin fell, dissolving into a pool of gore, the rest of the Bhaalists attacked. One appeared behind Sorcha and drove a dagger directly into her lower back, causing her to crumple from the pain. Karlach roared in fury and tossed that one into the chasm, screaming "Go meet your God, fucker!"
Sorcha crawled to the stone altar, paying no mind to her own grievous wounds, leaving Gale and Wyll to remove the last few Bhaalists. Her hands were shaking in her attempt to unlock the chains that bound Astarion. Shadowheart was right behind her, hands already glowing with blue light as she invoked the healing power of Selune.
Lae'zel took one look at the vampire's extensive wounds, muttering "G'lyck" before holding a dagger to her wrist, carefully cutting until the blood welled up, dripping it into Astarion's mouth. Wyll took the dagger from her and did the same. Gale had examined Orin's corpse and walked up to Sorcha, handing her a key along with the shapeshifter's Netherstone.
Chains finally removed, a moment of indrawn breath rippled across all of them before Astarion opened an eye and weakly lifted his head. He shuddered as he viewed the mess his body had become, even as the donated blood washed over him and began the task of mending the flesh.
Astarion croaked, trying to speak as his parched vocal cords absorbed the blood. "You came for me, after all that I've done?"
All Sorcha could do was sob, helplessly reliving the moment that she had tried to wipe him from the face of Faerûn.
He lifted a trembling hand, weaving fingers into her gore-drenched hair, murmuring "Shush, it's alright, it's alright, love." How can he be the one offering comfort here? She tried to kill him. Ah, but he didn't know that, did he?
"I thought I'd lost you!" she bawled, holding tightly to his forearm, one of the few places not badly mutilated. The dam holding back all the fear of the last days had broken, washing away the fragile barriers in a torrent of grief as Astarion crooned wordlessly against her. After an age of sorrow he lifted her head, looking into her eyes with concern.
"Little love, shush, time to stop crying. I'm alright, only sore, Shadowheart and Jaheira have fixed me up. Soon I'll be just as devastingly handsome as before!"
Jaheira gave a pained cry of "It never stops, does it, vampire?" followed by a groan of disbelief and Sorcha gave a tiny smile in spite of herself, before dissolving into sobs once more.
For the briefest of moments, the raw and battered substance of her heart was somehow bathed in relief and comfort at the Harper's wry sarcasm.
She couldn't stop the hiccuping cries that flew uninvited from her mouth as she shed agonies of torment, the torture she'd wreaked upon her ravaged mind over the last three (was it really only three?) days. Snot streaked her face, puddling below her onto the rank, blood drenched stone.
Astarion lifted her head with one weak hand and grimaced at the strings of mucus tethering her to the altar. "Ugh, not your most attractive apprearance, darling, but I still love you nonetheless!" he said with a tiny chuckle.
Sorcha burst into uncontrollable sobs again, unsure now if it was pain or relief or merely the tantrum of an exhausted toddler.
Jaheira leaned over, holding a hankerchief and wiping away the worst from Sorcha's swollen face and eyes. Ah, I'm a toddler then. But whatever.
Sorcha dragged herself up, onto her knees, wincing from the wound in her back.
"You're hurt!" The anguish in Astarion's voice scared her more than the pain.
"Sorry cub, I'm out of healing," Jaheira said with a grimace, indicating back at Astarion.
"Me too," apologised Shadowheart.
A cold, wet feeling splashed across her back, followed by a certain amount of relief. Karlach waved an empty vial of healing potion at her.
"Don't you worry, Mama K's got you!" Karlach said, clapping Sorcha on the shoulder. Sorcha winced from the downwards pressure. "Oops, sorry, soldier!" the tiefling said apologetically.
Sorcha cautiously walked down the stone stairs, into what looked to be Orin's room. Astarion clung to her elbow as if reluctant to let her out of his sight. Rose petals - no, blood drops - were scattered copiously across the floor. Decorative pools of blood and piles of skulls flanked a four poster bed. Bodies were dotted around the room - a mutilated imp lay to one side, an ancient corpse strung up on the other.
On the central dais, next to the bed, was a ritual circle drawn in blood, and a body arranged within it. Sorcha moved closer, intending to loot the corpse. It looked to be a human female, red hair, pale skin, paler blue eyes staring blindly into her face. She could almost see the child that had once threatened to rub kobold shit into her hair.
Sorcha sat down abruptly, staring at the remains of Eike, her little foster sister, wearing Bhaal's symbols. The familial bonds had never been strong; time had worn them away to a nubbin, but this was not expected.
Astarion had been rummaging in the chests and desks of this room, but now he noticed her sat there, staring.
"What is it, love?" he asked gently. How can he be so kind, mere moments after almost being a sacrifice to Bhaal?
She struggled to manage much in the way of words, her brain didn't have a clue what it wanted to say. She gestured blindly towards the corpse. "Eike. Sister."
He obviously didn't know what to say either, but then a look of realisation crossed his face and he dug into his pack, turfing out all the things he had only just collected, coming up with an embossed red book.
"Here, look at this," Astarion insisted, placing the tome in her hands.
Sorcha opened it and read the words sloppily scrawled in red…
"Oh Eike, my stupid slaughter kin. How many thousands will you mutilate before you learn to make their blood spill worthy of Father's altar? You deceive your god with these mindless flayings, and our temple, no, my temple, decays because of it. The favourite of Bhaal must be one worthy of his name, one who serves only him.
Your lowly dalliance with the Baneite is a distraction, one that I mean to use. I will cut the brain meat from your skull and fill it with one of your little wormy toys. And then I will restore this temple, atop your festering corpse."
"Kin? What? I don't understand… " Sorcha said, casting panicked glances around her. How could Eike be kin to Orin?
Sorcha looked over at the pile of discarded books that Astarion had searched through, something had caught her eye. She began pulling out a thick, time-worn book. The green fabric cover had a simple drawing of a cat on it. The book fell open to the front page, where a childish scrawl proclaimed it to be 'Eikes dyree so keep out Sucka!'
It's almost full, an entire life's worth of scribblings. The last page, far more legible that the first, reads "Little sister, whatever are we going to do with you? Bhaal will never care that you waste your time posing your corpse-dollies. At the end of the day, all Father wants is death in droves, death in numbers.
You plan, you plot, and you waste His time. You kill beautifully, Orin, but you do not understand Lord Bhaal.
Perhaps it is a failing of your diluted blood as a mere grandchild, a corruption from Sarevok's failed line. I am his sole living pureblood heir, that is why I am his Chosen."
Sorcha tumbled backwards, aghast. She'd read that book Volo had given her. It had said that Bhaalspawn were placed like a cuckoo in a nest, brought up in families until nightmares forced their urges to take over. How had she not seen it? Her entire world fractured at once.
Shadowheart moved closer, looking in disgust at the decorated corpse. "What was your sister doing here? Was this some other game of Orin's?"
"Sorcha, I'm so sorry, to go through all this and be greeted with this death at the end must really cut deep," said Wyll gravely.
"No," she said. "It doesn't cut deep. But I've just realised that I've tortured myself for decades over a godsdamned lie. And that certainly stings."
Sorcha looked around at the worried faces of her friends. "My foster sister was a Bhaalspawn. She was the one who murdered my foster parents, forced me to flee the Gate, endure all I did. And she did it all because of spite."
Shadowheart laid a hand on her arm. "Do you want me to cast Speak with Dead? Do you need answers that only she can give?
Sorcha nodded mutely, and watched as a sickly glow infused the cleric's eyes, reaching through her outstretched hand to encompass Eike's body.
"Do you know me?" she asked.
A hideous cackle issued from the corpse. "Prissy big sister, Sorcha Slack-Pants, Saff's dirty girlfriend!"
"Were you truly Bhaal's Chosen?" Sorcha asked flatly, ignoring her own urge to fling insults back.
"Born for it, born to revel in the most glorious blood and gore, all for Him. Drown the planes in bloody glory! Until Orin, bitch queen usurper, hollowed out my brain meat and squashed a worm in there."
Disgust overtook her. Eike was tadpoled, she could have been one of these companions, could have murdered them all in their beds.
"Why did you kill our parents?"
"Father wanted blood, so much blood, drown you all in blood. I made such pretty patterns with mother's entrails, flowers and stars and juicy bits"
Sorcha struggled to keep it together, to ask the needful questions. "Why set the house on fire?"
A maniacal giggle. "Serve you right, worg-face. Everyone knew you were the firebug. Thought you'd swing for it for sure and I would be free to bask in Father's glories."
Sorcha turned away briefly, before whirling back to face the corpse, a howl of rage pouring from her throat. She streamed fire from her hands, burning up her one time sister until only charred bones remained.
"Let's get the hells out of here."
The remaining Bhaalists ignored the group as they variously stomped and staggered out of the profane temple, crawling back through the Undercity, primordial beings yearning for the promise of light.
Sorcha all but fell through the double doors in the Elfsong, refusing to let go of Astarion yet utterly incapable of holding either of them upright. Karlach hoisted her up, into the tiefling's sturdy arms, while Wyll, on seeing Astarion staggering, put an arm around him and hoisted him up the stairs.
Halsin ran over as the group crashed into their rooms, the glow of healing magic already burgeoning between his hands.
"Astarion first,"Sorcha managed to groan, seeing the druid aiming for her.
"Sorcha first," whispered Astarion.
"Both of you, shut the hells up and let Halsin do his stuff," snipped Shadowheart, collapsing onto a couch with a heavy groan.
Sorcha felt her injuries start to knit, edges drawing together as she writhed with discomfort. Halsin then turned to Astarion. "Can I touch you?" he asked, and when Astarion gave a feeble nod, the druid poured a stronger spell across the myriad of deep gashes that remained after the intial repairs.
Minsc bounded up, Boo squeaking on his shoulder. "Yes, Boo, puny, brave Astarion needs our help! I will give strong Rashemaar blood to fortify our friend so that we may have more adventures together!" He made a bold cut in a straight line across one forearm and let blood drip into the vampire's mouth.
Minsc beamed as he moved to bandage the cut. "Now the courage of our lands flows through you too, and Sorcha can be your Wychlaran!"
"She's not so old as that Ranger," Jaheira chuckled. "Have a care that she does not incinerate you for your insults!" Minsc frowned, opening his mouth in rebuttal but Jaheira reached up and placed a finger across his lips. "Leave well enough alone, lest you dig yourself a pit," she laughed.
Switch to present tense
In their room, finally alone with Astarion, Sorcha feels unaccountably nervous. They've not really resolved anything since the conversation back in Bloomridge, and she's still torn over what she feels. It seems traitorous to dismiss her mother's fate, yet if the last two days have shown her anything, it is that she cannot choose to be without him.
Astarion sits in the armchair, legs folded underneath him, devoid of his mask of snark, waiting for her to speak. Sorcha doesn't have a clue where to start. How to explain what's going on in my head, and especially how things have changed over the last couple of days?
"I don't know where to begin," she began. "When did Orin even take you?"
"The last thing I remember before the temple, I was sitting alone on the roof of the Elfsong, listening to you crying in the room below and not daring to interrupt," Astarion said sadly. "Then I mostly drifted through the things Orin was doing - it wasn't new, none of it. The real pain was from not knowing if anyone would come for me. I really didn't expect it, you see, given what I had done to you."
The starkness of that last statement broke her again, and her heart cramps sharply in sympathy, the tears starting to fall once more. She feels utterly wretched.
Sorcha sits on the bed, knees drawn up, arms wrapped tightly around them. "I need to tell you what happened then, while Orin was playing at being you." She pauses, still struggling to find the words, not wanting to confess. But he confessed, didn't he? Even though he thought it could cost his life.
"The next morning, we headed to the Guildhall. Minsc had said that the Zhentarim were going to attack, so we meant to warn Nine-Fingers," Sorcha began. "But when we got there, the attack was already underway, so we joined in to aid the guild. You (or rather not-you) were being weird though, licking blood off your knife and generally acting strange. I honestly thought that you had decided to cut your losses and stop wasting time being nice to me."
Astarion's face fell at that, his fingers plucking listlessly at the fabric of his breeches.
"In the middle of the fight, I looked across the room because white hair caught my eye, I thought it was you, just for a moment, before I looked harder and saw it was Xilona." Sorcha spat out the end of the sentence, hate still strong.
"Oh hells," breathed Astarion. "She wasn't dead?"
"Not only alive, but still with the Zhentarim. I got so mad at the sight of her, I just teleported beside her and cast Disintegrate directly on her head." Sorcha felt a little uncomfortable admitting such a total loss of control. But then again, there was worse than that to come.
Astarion managed a tiny smile. "Honestly, I wish I had seen that! Richly deserved as far as I'm concerned."
Sorcha sighed. "So, I was rather upset, to say the least. Karlach helped me up, carried me really, I was so drained from that casting. You were nowhere to be seen, only reappearing once we got back to the Elfsong, and I was so drained I just grabbed a bowl of something and headed to our room."
She really didn't want to continue. The joy of getting Astarion back was tempered by the leaden lump of guilt in her chest.
"So then… " She choked back a sob.
"What? What is it?" Astarion asked with concern.
"You came into the room… leapt onto the bed and started undressing… no asking how I was or if I wanted company. I shoved you off the bed, angry at the lack of concern or consent." Sorcha knew she was digging fingernails into her thighs, trying to contain the anguish of reliving this. She heard Astarion move, pad over to stand beside her, gently unhooking her nails from the flesh.
No more than a whisper, "You said something sarcastic about was I still sobbing over my mother, called me pathetic… "
"Hells," he breathed in horror.
"I still had that dagger you gave me. I had just had enough. I'm so sorry." Sorcha pushed a fist into her mouth, biting down, trying to keep it all in. But I have to tell him, no matter what.
"I stabbed you in the heart. I'm so so sorry… " She flung herself into the pillow, keening out her pain, unable to stop or to breathe, certain that this was the end of everything. Cool arms wrapped around her, holding her close, murmuring words she couldn't quite catch.
She heard the door burst open, at least two pairs of feet. Raising her head slightly, she saw Shadowheart, Wyll looking over her shoulder, coming to make sure that she was safe.
"I'm alright, but thank you for checking," Sorcha said through the tears. She expected a sarcastic comment or two, but Shadowheart merely nodded and closed the door once more.
Astarion tried to smooth back the strands of hair which were glued to her face, eventually huffing out some frustration and fetching a washcloth to clean her up.
"My love, all you did was stab Orin, and she's certainly not worth crying over," he said. Astarion wrapped his arms around her once more and she sagged against him. "I think we both need to rest. Do you want me somewhere else?"
The thought of him leaving was sharp and unpleasant. "Stay. Please?" she said. "I need you beside me, need to know that nightmare is over."
Astarion helped her out of her outer clothes before stripping to his own smallclothes, and climbed into the bed beside her. "Can I kiss you?" he asked, rubbing his face in her hair as if he werea cat.
Sorcha tilted her face up towards him, letting the softness of his lips chase away the worst of the terror. He peppered her lips and face with tiny kisses. She held him tightly, wanting to burrow inside him for safety. I might finally manage to sleep.