The Prodigal Child
Content Warning:
Summary:
Finding a decent camping site in Baldur's Gate has been a challenge. Calling it decent may be pushing it a bit. Poor Halsin has been miserable ever since they step into the city, especially so as the group begin to set up camp. It is not the beautiful riverside campsite they had before. Alecto misses it, too. Being able to jump into the water after a long, bloody day would have been sublime. Jump into the water here, and they may just melt into sludge.
It all feels too familiar; the crowded cobblestone streets, the smell of fresh bread in the morning, angry shouts and hearty laughter booms in concert... the ideal hunting ground.
Alecto takes a deep breath and nuzzles further into Astarion's neck, trying to chase away the urge. The vampire simply tightens his arms around them, his eyes still scanning the book in his hand. Sleep is a luxury, one that Alecto can only dream of. All that is waiting for them each night are nightmares of violence and blood, but tonight the dream feels different. They wake up on stone floor, in the dank and dark of somewhere unknown and familiar. The smell of blood lingers in the stale air intermingling with the heady scent of incense.
"And so returns my prodigal child," a deep voice echoes, so sickeningly familiar.
Alecto spins around and finds a man sitting on the altar, the shadow of a skull etched on in stone looms behind him. Steel grey eyes stares back and holds their gaze. Every instinct tells them to run, but the urge to kneel before him is even stronger. His bearded face smirks as he sits up straight, a dagger with blood red blade in hand.
"Who are you?" Alecto takes a step back, muscles coiled and ready to retaliate at any given moment.
The man clicks his tongue and stands up. He toys with the blade, deftly spinning it around in his hand. "That is no way to greet your father, not after you reject every chance I gave you to return to my good graces."
The urge screams. Their head begin to pound with a familiar pain that make them sick to their stomach. Blood... blood blood blood blood blood. Flashes of incomprehensible memories floods their mind, but the pain is too much for them to piece it all together. Bloodies hands, a drow slumped on the floor in a pool of his own blood, and a desperate guttural scream etches in their mind. They double over and retch.
A large hand pulls them back up by the throat and hold them in place. They glare back at him, growling and reaching for the dagger. He simply pull it back and tuts at them.
"If you want it back, you will have to earn it," he reprimands them.
If they want it back?
Yes. The blade is theirs. They can feel the weight of the blade in their hand as they toy with it, spinning it around with deadly precision. It was a gift. They were on their knees, pleading for forgiveness from this very same man.
Forgive me, father. Please.... I am of your blood... and I will serve.
They remember the emptiness in their heart and the weight in their limbs, their tear stained face resting against his leg. Lost and pathetic, undeserving of his grace.
"Enough with the tantrums. Now..." He lifts them off the ground as if they were nothing but feathers. Alecto pulls at his hands, but his grip is a vice around their throat. "It's time to come home."
"No... Not this time," they croak, still resisting despite the futility. The god rolls his eyes.
"Orin really made a mess of you, didn't she?" He scoffs. "Well, she made a mess of everything. And you were careless, child. I expected better of you."
"Let me go," they continue to fight, now clawing at his hand but he does not budge, not even with his blood under their nails.
He sighs and squeezed, sending Alecto into a panic.
"You will remember. You will return to finish what you began in my name," he growls in their ear. "You are death, destruction made flesh to drown the world in blood. That is your nature. Your purpose. Every life that you touch will perish."
That is you. The bringer of death. The chosen of Bhaal. His most beloved child.
It is time to return home.
