Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

No, you can't take back the damage you've done
Afraid of what you might become
A man or a monster

-Man or a Monster, by Sam Tinnesz

The night was devoid of moonlight, as the month’s new moon had finally arrived. Shadows everywhere were longer, darker, hungrier than usual, and the world seemed colder and less inviting for anyone who isn’t a monster on the hunt. 

Perfect conditions for a high Elf vampire like myself, seeking prey.

I may be on a hunt of my own, but…I’m no monster. Well, technically speaking I am a vampire spawn, and I am a Rogue Assassin, yes, but I try to make sure my actions are not wicked or evil. Or at least not too evil, since there’s still plenty of gray areas and morality can be…situational. But I do try to do more good than bad; I use my stealth and speed to hunt other monsters, to rid Baldurs Gate of the things plaguing its innocent civilians. The city is my home.

My home is worth protecting. 

I’m not saying I’m the paragon of virtue or anything, I certainly don’t worry overmuch about details like collateral damage or the legality of vigilante activity, but I do like to think I’m one of the good guys. And on that particular night, my prey was especially vile, brutal, and sadistic.

As I approached the last known location of the repugnant thing I hunted, I heard a muffled scream get cut short, and the clatter of something knocked over in the next alley. A stray cat fled, gray-furred tail bottle-brush thick with fear. Narrowing my eyes and running my fingers through a few of my white curls, tucking them back under my hood, I crept forward, towards the source of the commotion. 

The beast I sought was surely lurking within the deepest black-shadowed alley, underneath a pedestrian overpass of stone under the moonless sky. If I wasn’t a high Elf with moderate Darkvision, I doubt I could have seen my hand in front of my face!

Creeping close to the stone wall, I heard two beings struggling before they came into view, one gurgling and choking on blood from a torn-out throat…the other, growling like a rabid dog around a mouthful of the other man’s flesh. I took in the grisly sight: a wood Elf dressed in nobleman’s clothes, blood pouring from a dozen wounds, his elegant periwinkle lace-trimmed shirt ripped open as the thing killing him slashed his belly open, clawing into his guts forcefully and brutally. The Elf feebly tried to push away his assailant, without success…I watched as he tried to gouge his attacker’s eyes, only for the thing to bite off most of his fingers, swallowing them whole.

Crouching over him was a bloodthirsty snarling brute that was once a Drow warrior, heavily freckled and nearly nude, with red eyes and white wings, fangs red with the man’s blood, frantically clawing at the dying man’s body and feasting on his flesh. He had gauntlets and greaves, and a small heart-protector breastplate, but other than a skirt-like sarong he was bare. I sighed as I watched the nobleman’s blood splatter, spurting rhythmically from severed arteries, flowing in thick rivulets down to the grate leading to the Undercity as his heart was ripped unceremoniously out through the crater that was his abdomen, his intestines already pulled out and cast aside. The man sputtered and died, his sightless eyes rolling to stare into the starless sky, the heavens hidden by thick black clouds. 

My grip on the shortsword named Crimson Mischief tightened as I watched the wood Elf’s corpse being rent asunder, the murderous beast shifting from killing mode to feasting on the still-bleeding carcass. Settling in, he ate the disembodied heart in large, barely-chewed pieces before tearing into the corpse again, consuming various other organs as if starving. 

I do my best to rid this city of monsters. Narrowing my eyes, I watched closely, remaining hidden. 

The thing is…looks can be deceiving. 

The wood Elf? A Baldurian noble who used his considerable wealth, power, and influence to repeatedly cover up the fact that he routinely abused young boys under the guise of training them as squires. The child who came forward, exposing his crimes? This piece of trash pedophile paid a mob to intimidate both the child and the boy’s family to keep them from pursuing charges. He’d even made a generous donation to the Baldurs Mouth Gazette to keep it out of the papers.

The nobleman lying on the ally street being devoured was the monster I had been hunting.

The creature that got to him before I did? That would be my beloved boyfriend, a Paladin and War Priest named Olor It’itan, who was also a vampire spawn, and also a monster hunter. Although…he’d been taken with a touch of insanity on that night. Plagued by Bhaal’s dark urge once years before, he’d done incredibly violent things without even meaning to, and although that was long resolved, it seemed that another murderous madness had taken hold when he’d been turned into a vampire spawn. 

By killing this despicable predator, Olor was protecting the children of the city. The part about eating him alive before snacking on his still-beating heart was less heroic but it doesn’t pay to be choosy. 

I remained silent, still, merely observing as my sweet, darling Olor ravenously consumed as much flesh as his belly could hold. His vampiric hunger seemed to have been warped by his heritage as a Bhaalspawn, although in the six months we’d been together after he was turned, he’d only completely lost it like that twice before. 

Going utterly insane three times in six months isn’t too a bad ratio, I guess. It’s one of those context things…is three a lot? Depends! Coins? No. Lapses of insanity that only brutal murder and cannibalism can resolve? That’s a definite…maybe.

Near silence fell again, interrupted only occasionally by the ripping of meat and the occasional low growl as Olor fed.

The scent of blood permeated the air.

It was difficult, watching the love of my life trying to cope with his sanguine hunger manifesting so strangely. I felt a wave of guilt, since it was my fault Olor was turned into a vampire spawn; I got him involved in a hunt, trying to help him improve his life, and he ended up dead for my troubles. He’d reassured me several times that he didn’t blame me, and he was ever so grateful that I’d freed him by killing the vampire lord who turned him, but…still. 

Watching him licking blood and bits of meat off his arms like a satisfied man-eating tiger, I couldn’t help but pity him. I did this to him, inadvertently perhaps, but the fact remains that Olor would not be in the thrall of this violent insanity if I hadn’t put him in harm’s way.

The winged man I loved stood, shaking his head to clear the sticky red fluid out of his eyes, the patter of blood flung from his face and jaws reaching my pointy ears. I knew his Darkvision was much greater than mine simply by virtue of him being a Drow, but in this crazed state, he’d be unlikely to spot me if I simply held still and stayed hidden. 

Olor flexed his wings, stretching them and straightening his blood-splattered primary feathers, each one extending like a finger on a hand being spread. I was flooded with worry; if Olor flew away, he could find another victim to devour before I could stop him, and I knew he’d prefer not to consume the innocent. I might have to disable his wings to keep him grounded…not an ideal prospect, because while I am faster and more nimble, he’s a hell of a lot stronger than I.

To my relief, it would seem that he was just stretching, as his next action was to fold both wings tightly to his back. 

As he stalked out of the alley, he stepped so close that one of the feathers of his nearest wing brushed my arm. I held my breath, waiting, observing him closely. 

My concern was both for his potential victims…but also him. I hated the thought of him hurt. 

Our relationship had been delayed, so technically while I’ve known him for almost six years, we’d only dated half a year…and by dated I mean we basically moved in together, resumed fucking, adopted a kid and a cat, and spend every night and day practically joined at the hip. 

It was actually nice, though. We had a little family, a home, and our daughter Yenna had a soup business. It felt oddly comfortable. Happy, even. I loved it, all of it, and we’d settled into a lovely routine together.

It had made me see things differently. Value things differently. Lately I’d even been considering what the future holds for us all…and I’d also realized what we were still missing. 

I didn’t know when, or how, but I was planning on asking Olor to marry me. 

Slinking from one shadow to another, I cautiously followed the crazed, bloodied Drow as he stalked towards another alley, hunting for more people to kill. I was fervently hoping he’d find the next street empty, devoid of potential victims…otherwise, I’d be obligated to try and stop him. 

Catching one of his greaves on a loose cobblestone, Olor stumbled, staggering almost as if drunk. The smooth, predatory way he walked faded as he became increasingly unsteady, fumble-footed, almost weak in the knees. 

I watched as my partner resumed walking, before stumbling again; that time nothing had caught his feet, and he didn’t fully recover his balance like he did before. With a thud, Olor hit the ground like a drunk who’d been cut off for the night. I approached, cautious and wary, as he shook his head again, no longer wearing a vicious and focused expression; he looked dazed and confused, all savagery gone from his ruby eyes…well, most of it anyway.

As I stepped into view, the winged Drow looked up at me from where he sat, then at his own bloodsoaked hands. With a miserable, resigned tone, he asked flatly, “What did I do?”

I felt the guilt of knowing it was my fault he was like this welling up inside me at the sight of his sad, tired expression and drooping, blood-splattered wings. I did this to him. Not directly, but…if I hadn’t pushed him to team up with me, he never would have been turned. He’d still be alive if it wasn’t for me.

“It’s okay, darling,” I crooned reassuringly as I knelt beside him. “You found our target before I did and…well. Let’s just say the youth of our fine city are safer, now.” I did my best to offer a kind smile, hiding my blameworthiness. 

“Safe from him maybe,” the Drow muttered quietly, leaving the rest unsaid. We both knew what he’d do to a child or, hells, anyone or anything when in the thrall of hunger-madness. 

With a sigh, I offered the Paladin a hand to help him up, not worried about the blood on his palms since any blood rubbed off on me would be almost impossible to see in the dark on my black leather armor. Olor hesitated for a moment, then allowed me to assist him. Coming out of a spell of chaotic insanity can be taxing, mentally and physically; the Drow looked a little wobbly but otherwise okay.

“Come on,” I said, keeping ahold of his hand, “let’s get you home, my sweet. We can-“ I was cut off by Olor suddenly gagging, then collapsing to his hands and knees, retching violently. Oh, right, I mused. Vampires can’t eat anything solid and we definitely shouldn’t try, because the results are…unpleasant. I did my best to keep his hair out of the torrent of flesh as he vomited the contents of his stomach, the rancid stench of raw organs and meat temporarily overpowering even the smell of blood. Every time the regurgitation of Elf chunks seemed to taper off, another violent gagging would bring up even more; I winced and rubbed Olor’s back with my spare hand to try and soothe him while still keeping his hair out of the way as he choked while bringing up the fingers he’d bitten off.

Panting with exertion, Olor finally seemed to’ve finished purging himself of his victim’s devoured remains; looking up at me with dreary eyes, my beloved mumbled, “I want to go home.” 

Gods, I thought as he took my hand again and tottered to his feet once more, he looks positively wretched. I did this to him. Nodding, I tucked a lock of the Drow’s hair behind an ear, replying tenderly, “I know.” 

Wiping at the gore still dripping from his chin, Olor muttered quietly, “There’s an old fountain one street over, abbil, I can rinse some of this off on the way.” I nodded, glad the piecemeal armor he wore would easily wash clean…though I wasn’t so certain of the fate his short sarong would have. 

Lacking the smooth, predatory stalk from earlier, Olor headed rather unsteadily for the fountain. I glanced down at the puddle of rapist-chunks, noticing a very expensive looking gold ring still attached to one of the fingers my lover had temporarily eaten. My hands were already wet with blood, so I didn’t hesitate to pluck the jewelry off the thrown-up digit, though I did frown upon finding the stone it should have held absent. Likely it was located somewhere in the pool of gore at my feet, but my willingness to handle cannibal-emesis is limited. 

And yes, I’m pretty sure an under Elf eating a wood Elf is still considered cannibalism. Probably.

Pocketing the ring, I hurried to catch up to my partner, who’d already begun doing his best to clean himself. The water had rapidly turned opaque from the blood he’d scrubbed from his skin and armor.

Locating a small bucket nearby, I used one of the clean spouts to fill it, then began pouring it over the red-splattered feathers of my dear lover; I had come to adore his wings, and while they were beautiful with red-on-white, I knew that moment wasn’t the time to mention it. Not bothering to be too precious, I used my fingers to try and clean his plumage, knowing I could simply preen any split vanes later. First thing’s first after all. Pulling the sarong off and dunking it the water, Olor growled softly at how stubbornly the bloodstains clung to the once silver and white cloth. 

Glancing at the sky while wringing out his ruined clothing, Olor asked, “What time is it, hon?” 

I drew a deep breath, then admitted, “Closer to dawn than I’d like. You…well.” I cleared my throat a bit as he retied the wet and stained sarong around his waist, and offered a sanitized version of the truth: “When confronted, our target assailed you with one of those rockets from Felogyr’s Fireworks, and the flash of light gave him a chance to run…and it also, ehh…served to incite your…I’ll call it a fit. You chased him across half the district before cornering him, love.” I didn’t hide the hint of admiration for his tenacity.

Nodding, Olor gestured to me to lead, and without a word he followed me back towards our little home. 

We’d purchased the old Candulhallow’s Tombstones shop, converting the former Bhaalian Murder Tribunal into a nice little lair for ourselves. The shop had been renamed Yenna’s Flavors of the Deep, and our daughter was already an acclaimed and financial success. Turns out there’s plenty of people who enjoy exotic, authentic fare from the Underdark, as well as many of it’s denizens living on the surface who miss the taste of home. Even though she was still a teenager, our Yenna had a talent for cooking, and her joy and zeal meant that she was also beloved by the locals…hells, there was even talk of the Gazette doing a feature on rare cuisine and using Yenna’s Flavors of the Deep as the main topic of the article. 

I’m not entirely certain it’s a healthy parenting situation, an Elf and Drow vampire couple raising an orphaned human, but…we would definitely try our best for her.

The sky was far lighter than I’d have liked; the clouds had begun to rapidly break apart as the wind picked up over the Sea of Swords, and the ever-increasing brightness tamed the longest and harshest shadows, eliminating their weaker brethren entirely. We were definitely cutting it close that night…or rather that morning, I suppose. 

Olor hissed like an irate wildcat as a shaft of light through a hole in a fence hit his shoulder, and I felt self-reproach at the sight. I’d denied him the sun, letting him be taken prisoner by a vampire lord. My culpability was palpable as I watched Olor carefully duck under the shaft of burning light before slinking further up the street. 

Not far now, I thought. Almost home. 

The street we live on is more alley than anything, and the surrounding buildings are several stories tall, meaning we don’t actually get much direct sunlight except for about an hour a day, when the noon sun glares down at us like heat from a spyglass aimed at ants. And from that one weird gap between two buildings, there’s always a nasty shaft of light there, I’ve burned myself walking through it a few times more than I’d care to admit.

The shop was recently repainted, and Yenna had chosen purple and blue for most of the décor; in keeping with the Underdark-theme, we’d procured some lanterns and lighting from the world below to further drive home the nature of our little culinary establishment. I felt a wave of relief at the sight, the soup cart Yenna took to sell in nearby courtyards and parks was already near the entryway. The small red ox lying on a bed of straw while waiting for the day’s work gave us a curious look as Olor and I headed for the door. If you looked closely, you could see far more intelligence in that bovine’s eyes than in most humans, if I’m honest, but he said nothing as Olor wearily climbed the stairs. 

“Darling?” I called to Olor as I patted the strange ox affectionately, saying, “Go ahead and get washed, love, I’ll help Yenna pack for the day.” Frowning, Olor opened his mouth to protest, but I cut him off, adding, “You did all the hard work out there tonight, so go and bathe, I’ll be along shortly.”

I heard Yenna and Olor greet one another; the kid wasn’t phased at all by the Drow’s sordid appearance and wouldn’t even think to question it. She’d been taken prisoner by Olor’s crazy and inbred sister years ago, held hostage in the literal temple of Bhaal, and she’d seen us all at our worst, and still didn’t fear us…a testament to her resiliency or a signal of budding psychosis? Time would tell, I felt sure of it. 

Slipping into the building, I watched Olor pull the lid off of one of Yenna’s silver pots, a rush of steam erupting as soon as it was lifted. The Drow leaned in, slowly inhaling the scent, savoring it. Food of his culture, just another pleasure denied to him by our shared sanguine curse. 

I hadn’t shed tears in quite a while, but…I felt my eyes stinging, thinking about everything our masters took from us simply by making-no, turning us, and seeing Olor missing out on the things he once enjoyed was almost physically painful. I squeezed my eyes shut as the odor of whatever gods-awful sin against nature that was in that soup pot washed over me, and the tears fell freely from the burning spices assaulting me.

“Hells, darling!” I snapped, waving a hand in front of me to clear the air, my efforts in vain, “What is that fetid slop?! It smells awful!” I propped the door open, both to make it easier to carry out the day’s provisions and to remove that disgusting stench.

“Pie filling for tomorrow night,” Olor said with a grin, “takes a while to cook the intestines until they’re just right, you don’t want to add the cubed testicles until the ribboned intestines are almost done. Like noodles made of meat.” I frowned at him, unsure if I needed to ask the obvious; apparently understanding my unspoken query, Olor chuckled, “No, ussta che, I am not even remotely joking about the ingredients.”

Lifting a box full of earthen delivery jars for Yenna’s Soup To You delivery program, I sneered in disgust at the pot and it’s foul contents, grumbling, “Must be the staple of the destitute in Menzoberranzan slums, I suppose.” 

Olor turned and smirked at me, shaking his head and murmuring, “Oh no, this was the good stuff. Like, banquets attended by house matrons. This is fancy fancy cuisine.” His smile faded a little, voice distant as he added to no one in particular, “Minthara and I promised ourselves we’d host a banquet once House Baenre fell…I was so looking forward to trying this.”

Yenna brushed past me, and scolded Olor cheerily, “Don’t get blood in the soup! If you want to smell it some more, go take a bath first!” He giggled and tried to dodge as Yenna threw a dish towel at him, followed by a spatula; the deep Elf yowled in faux-pain as the spatula bounced harmlessly off his arm. Olor beamed and as soon as Yenna had turned back to one of the bubbling pots, he threw an old oven mitt at her and bolted, fleeing the scene of his crime immediately. Yenna laughed and shook her head, then grinned at me. “Hi Astarion! You were both out so late, was starting to think you’d gotten lost!”

I smiled at her but didn’t reply as I carried the box out to the cart, my mind in turmoil. 

Once the crate of soup jugs was safely stowed, I turned back toward the shop, and hesitated. One of the pedestrians walking along the alley looked awfully farmilar…but unfamiliar, too. He caught me looking, but instead of irritability at being observed, he smiled widely and walked towards me, all but shouting, “Astarion! Brother, is that you?!”

My eyes widened as I finally realized who this was: Petras, one of Cazador’s other spawn! But gods, how he’d changed! His hair was longer, his skin wasn’t pale any more and he instead was sporting a rich tan, and his eyes…his eyes were green. He didn’t even hesitate, walking directly through that one indomitable shaft of light that peeks between two adjacent buildings, and no harm befell him. He walked right through the beam of sun’s light as if it was nothing. Impossible!!

“I was hoping I would find you,” the not-so-pale Petras said with delight, “I wanted to be the one to bring you the good news! Lathander has named a new Chosen to represent him, and he’s blessed him with the power to cure vampirism!”

Chapter Text

Not 'For you I would die' but 'For you I live'
Of course, we'll be together
Before this, before that...

- Miyavi, Itoshii Hito (Beloved One)

I scoffed at the very idea of a cure for vampirism, but I couldn’t deny what I was seeing with my own undead eyes. Apparently I must have looked as incredulous as I felt, because Petras laughed and spread his arms wide; I backed up a step, wary of what he would do.

“Hug me, brother!” He said with an exuberant grin. “Feel my warmth, my beating heart! Know the truth…I’ve been cured!” I didn’t need to hug him to sense he was living…mortal. Could it be possible? To stand in the sun again…feel the warmth and light once more. And Olor! I could undo this misery I’ve caused him, give him his life back in a very literal sense!

Stepping back a little, I said with wonder in my voice, “How is this possible? How did you become cured? You of all people?!” Oops, I probably should have left off that last bit. 

Petras laughed and began reaching into his vest, and I tensed, waiting for him to withdraw a weapon, certain of ill intent. But instead…he pulled an amulet of gold and glittering amber gems into view, worn about the neck. The symbol of Lathander shone brightly in the dim, indirect light.

“You know how gods will name mortal Chosen ones to enact their will?” He asked, beaming. I curtly nodded once but didn’t return the smile, since the chosen of every god I’ve ever met had been an irredeemable arsehole. “Well,” he continued, unprompted, “Lathander has named a new Chosen, a Paladin, and has blessed him with the ability to cure the undead! His promise is that he will cure you, if you will but worship Lathander the rest of your life. It was incredible…I’m sworn to secrecy to his methods, but, by Lathander’s radiance, the man is truly compassionate. He doesn’t want us destroyed, he wants us to be whole once more, cured of our deaths and sanguine hungers.” Sighing in bliss, Petras spread his arms wider, looking like a priest on a pulpit. 

Before he could resume speaking, I snapped, “That sounds awfully rehearsed, brother, so let’s cut to the chase. What’s the catch?” I watched Yenna loading another crate out of the corner of my eye, oblivious to the potential danger; however, Zlorb was on his feet and watching closely, chewing his cud slowly and menacingly. I could trust him to intervene if needed.

“No catch,” Petras declared, smiling even wider. “All you have to do is go to him, and Lathander’s Chosen will channel the Morninglord’s divine energy into your body, purging you of death’s icy embrace.” He patted my arm and it was all I could do not to flinch away from his touch. I did have to admit, his hands were…warm. He continued rather hastily, “I don’t have time to give you more details, I’ve a meeting with someone named Thrumbo that I’m already late for. Shall we meet after dusk? The Elfsong, perhaps?”

I nodded dourly and turned away, resuming hauling the day’s fare for sale from the kitchen to the cart. 

Barely noticing Yenna hugging me with a quick exclamation of thanks, I felt my suspicion and pragmatism in an all out war with my longing for my life back. For our lives back. It felt cruel, being given a short time in the sun when carrying a literal mind flayer worm in my brain, knowing that the moment I was purged of it, I would lose the light all over again.

Twice, I’d had the sun taken from me. To have it returned once and for all, if Lathander would actually do it…could it even be possible? 

I waved automatically to Yenna as she walked beside the ox and cart, on her way to sell food for the morning. She’d return late morning for the lunch fare, and then again for the evening supplies, just as she did three days every week. Checking to make sure all burners were closed and everything was set for later in the day, I tried to hold onto my suspicion. If it sounds too good to be true, then it usually is. But I had seen the proof myself, with my own eyes.

Another factor began tipping the scales in my mind was Olor. What it would mean to be able to undo what was done to him, to finally absolve myself! I gave Myshka a hello pat as I slid through the secret panel leading to the hidden lair beneath the building.

We’d converted the Bhaalist Murder Tribunal into a very suitable little home base. Yenna and I had even done some decorating with tapestries, art, and area rugs to give it a slightly less somber appearance, and you could almost forget this was where they baptized Bhaal’s Unholy Assassins in literal pools of blood! Almost.

I dragged my feet a bit as I headed for our little suite, unsure what to think or what to tell Olor. Doesn’t he deserve to know? But what if it isn’t real and I’d gone and gotten his hopes up for nothing? 

We’d originally intended to use Sarevok’s old office as a bedroom, but an early onset of madness in Olor changed our plans a little. Instead, we knocked down a wall between two prison cells, making one large suite that could be securely locked. That way he could be kept restrained if necessary, for the safety of the innocents of Baldurs Gate, and to protect him from himself. 

I could smell the honeysuckle and goat’s milk soap we used the moment I opened the door, and I could hear the faint sloshing of a sponge being wrung out. Peering behind the ornate wooden folding screen, I beheld Olor in our bathtub, water steaming hot, wings submerged and soaking the blood off his plumage while he scrubbed his hands and arms clean. He glanced at me and smiled contentedly, murmuring, “Warm.” I felt another sting of regret, knowing his body no longer held living heat.

Our bodies were cold as ice, always.

“Let me guess,” I chuckled, “Yenna figured our tardiness merited the assumption one or both of us might require their hygiene be attended to and boiled a shit-ton of water to have ready for our return?” Olor nodded as I stepped forward and began kneading the man’s heavily freckled shoulders.

“I love it when you talk fancy to me, ussta che,” he said softly and adoringly whilst smiling at me upside down. 

He caught one of my hands in his own, his fingers mottled white and purple-gray; gently prising my hand off his shoulder, he brought my knuckles to his lips, kissing and nuzzling my fingers. I used my spare hand to very lightly roll the edge of his ear between my thumb and index finger, slowly drawing them to the tip while I decided to delay the decision on telling Olor until I learned more. I’d meet with Petras, and try to get a feel for whether or not it was a scam; that way if it seemed false, he’d never have to know.

I left Olor to bathe, walking across the room while unbuckling my leather armor, hanging each piece as I doffed it, my thoughts racing. I waited while he drained, then refilled the tub before taking my turn…I barely remembered the bath, so preoccupied with concern over this potential cure. 

Olor took to reading an old, tattered book about flensing Firbolgs while I reviewed some notes on requests for our help. We’d been discovered by the populace by simple virtue of the worst people in Baldurs Gate being obviously eliminated one by one, and often when all other options for justice had been exhausted. People naturally understood that someone was out there slaughtering those who most certainly deserved it, and eventually one of them made a specific request of us, posting fliers all over Heapside addressed to the ‘Gate Fixers,’ begging us to investigate a corrupt city official. Soon, a wall underneath the Blushing Mermaid’s bow had become a ‘help wanted’ board asking or the ‘Gate Fixers’ for ‘odd jobs,’ where people put up notes describing the worst of the worst. Some obviously don’t rise to the degree of meriting our involvement, such as the lady who leaves signs up every week about wishing her mother-in-law a screaming death for including her dog in her will, and if I’m honest I hope Buster sues her for slander for calling him a mongerel.

But we also got legitimate requests as well. Usually people who fall through the cracks, those who have been hurt or wronged, who’ve suffered, while the beasts who victimized them not only go unpunished, but often attain increased popularity or wealth at the expense of those they harm. We do our due diligence to make sure we are taking down legitimate monsters, too. Every third night or so we would stop by the humorously dubbed ‘help wanted’ board, looking to see if there were any new ones that seemed to have some promise. I’d make notes, then we’d investigate later. 

I wondered if the city would celebrate us as heroes if they knew the vigilante ‘Gate Fixers’ were a pair of vampires.

Eventually fatigue overcame our pursuits and we retired for the day. I was able to trance immediately, but it was interrupted half a dozen times over the first hour or two by Olor jostling the bed as he struggled and thrashed in his sleep. It’s disturbing enough seeing an Elf of any sort sleeping, but seeing a sleeping deep Elf having a nightmare is absolutely awful. Olor was sleeping comfortably and peacefully by the time I ended my trance, and I raised an eyebrow at the contrast to his restlessness earlier until I noticed he’d dug out and summarily drained an entire bottle of laudanum. He didn’t often turn to it, thank the gods, but once in a while when he simply couldn’t rest, he’d partake. I hated that.

Probably more unconscious than necessarily sleeping, Olor was still completely out by dusk. I doubted he’d be in a state of psychosis upon awakening but…no need to take risks. I locked the iron-barred cell door to our suite as I left, just in case.

The sun hadn’t completely finished diving into the Sea of Swords before I left for the Elfsong; all I had done was wait for the shadows to get long enough to not actively fry me. As soon as I was inside, I scoured the room for Petras. 

White hot envy twisted in my guts when I spotted him, devouring a chunk of roast beef with carrots, potatoes, and cabbage, half his tankard of ale already gone. I missed eating food.

I approached the man cautiously, still not fully trusting that there wasn’t some hidden agenda or catch to it all. Petras didn’t even seem to notice me until I was by his side, however, so engrossed in his meal he acted startled when I sat opposite of him.

“Glad you came, brother!” He announced around a mouthful of potato. “I was grateful you killed Cazador and freed us all, so when I heard you might be back in the city, I hoped I’d run into you sooner than later!” I eyed him warily as he quickly finished his meal, then began speaking: “Lathander has a new Chosen, his name is Jacisvaust Dronilnricmitne and he decided to take a more compassionate approach to undead persons. Obviously Lathander has an issue with any corpse who still walks around, but Jacisvaust decided to solve the problem in a newer, kinder way, and also bring more people into the worship of the blessed Morninglord!” He paused to take a sip of ale before continuing, “He believes that since most of us who were turned into vampires or zombies had it done to us against our will, that killing us is punishing victims, not saving the world from monsters.”

“You…you aren’t lying,” I said with surprise; I’d known him a century, and Petras was a terrible liar at baseline. Between the obvious fact that he was mortal again and his insistence on this new Lathander-blessed Chosen one being legit, I had no option but to believe he was telling the truth. 

Hope blossomed within me. To feel the warmth of the sun on my skin, to enjoy my favorite foods, to be free from the incessant hunger…gods, it would be worth any risk.

Petras and I shared a few pleasantries, catching each other up somewhat, although I kept most of my private life, well, private. Even so, we parted ways as…well, maybe not friends exactly, but not as enemies or rivals. 

It would be a journey of a few days at least to reach the temple that this Jacisvaust Dronilnricmitne was operating out of, and that in and of itself poses challenges, as even basic travel can be difficult for vampires. I didn’t immediately return to the shop, instead opting to take a walk and process everything. 

The possibility of a cure would change the course of our lives, and for the better. True, we would lose our immortality, but I’m a high Elf and Olor, a Drow, so we’d have centuries together at least. I didn’t absolutely love the idea of worshipping Lathander; I’d prayed to every god I knew of for deliverance from Cazador and none ever answered, the Morninglord included, but if he could help me now it would make up for neglecting me before.

Olor might think differently, I considered with a frown as I walked up a slow incline, the stone beneath my feet losing the last of it’s warmth from the day’s long gone sunlight. As a literal Cleric and Paladin of Ghaunadaur, a god of slime and outcasts, Olor’s faith was important to him; to accept the cure promised by Lathander and his Chosen, my lover would have to forsake his slimy slug-looking deity. 

Would he be willing to convert? I almost feared the answer. Worse, if not…what would that do to us, as us?

Lost in thought, I paused, looking around with a sense of momentary disorientation. I’d walked much farther than I’d intended to, and should definitely have headed back home…but I found myself rooted to the spot, staring up at the shop I’d wandered to the doorway of: the Glitter Gala, the best jewelry shop in the lower city. I pulled the ring I’d found in the puddle of Elf flesh Olor had vomited from my pocket, picking at the dried blood where the stone should have been, admiring the delicate gold engravings. It was a lovely thing, even with the gem missing. 

On impulse, I walked into the shop, heading straight for the counter and the proprietor, a kind lady in her senior years who spent all day every day expressing her delight in the beauty of anything shiny. Although she’d been packing up the shop for the night, she greeted me warmly, saying, “Good eve, saer! You look like you are in need of something with a little bit of dazzle, add some sparkle to your ensemble!”

“Oh no, no thank you,” I hastily replied, setting the ring on the counter. “I’m actually looking to have this thoroughly cleaned and fitted with a new stone, if you please.” I tried not to read too much into her expression as she noted the bits of blood stuck in some of the designs and I did try to explain, adding a little white lie: “Our pet ate it and threw it up, along with a raw steak. We think the stone was lost while it was temporarily inside our…dog.”

Satisfied by that explanation for some reason, she nodded and smiled, picking it up and asking, “Did you have a preference for the stone, saer?” 

“No,” I admitted, “But I’d like to have it be something…a little nice, if possible. I’m going to be asking my partner to marry me and, well, I thought this an ideal ring for such an occasion. Even if it has been in a puddle of meat-vomit.”

The woman’s eyes widened and she nearly bubbled over in delight. “An engagement ring? Why didn’t you say so?!” She pulled several little velvet trays out from under the counter, filled with glittering stones of every cut and kind. “I should like to add some smaller stones along the edges if you please,” she chirped happily, “engagement rings are my favorite!”

“Do you have anything that’s red? Darker than a ruby, I mean,” I murmured, squinting at the trays of jewels. “He loves very dark red things.”

“For an engagement ring?” She asked, face apoplectic. “Oh no, no no no. You just leave it to me! When do you need it, kind saer?” She beamed at me while plucking several small square diamonds out of the corner of one tray, then began peering at opals of some kind while pulling out another tray of pearls of every size, color, and variety. I perked up at that, as Olor did so love pearls.

“Well, here’s the thing,” I said as I leaned in to admire the pearls, especially those that looked almost iridescent. “We have a trip I’m hoping to take together…I’m not sure when to ask him exactly, but I’d love to pop the question to him on our journey and, well, hopefully we can leave tomorrow night. How quickly can it be finished?”

“I will have to charge a little extra for a rush job,” she said with a sigh, then beamed at me, “but as luck would have it I’ve got no other orders due anytime soon and I drank way too much coffee to sleep so I can have this ready for you within a few hours, if you like! Just promise you’ll come back to me for your wedding bands when he says yes!”

“If he says yes,” I muttered, then pointed at a beautiful, nearly spherical pinkish-white pearl with an iridescent shine to it. “That one is beautiful,” I said softly, looking from the ring in her fingers to the large pearl, then eyeing the ring’s empty gold socket. “Will it fit?” I asked with one eyebrow raised.

“I can make almost anything you like fit in this one!” She said with an ear to ear grin. “A few diamond chips on either side and it’ll be the perfect engagement ring! That pearl was sold to me as being a magical talisman, but I’m pretty sure they lied about its providence as it seems utterly mundane. It is beautiful though!”

We settled on a fair price and I left the ring with her; I summoned my raven to hang back and wait, knowing the sleek black familiar would carry the ring to me safely once the shop’s proprietor finished the upgrades. 

As I slowly walked home, I let my mind wander, fantasizing about what our lives could be like, or would be like…trips to the theater in daytime, or basking in the sun on an afternoon picnic. The mundane seemed so fanciful. To be married in the bright sunshine of midday, and how lovely it could all be! I imagined what that first sunrise together would be like…and it hit me all of a sudden, that would be the perfect moment to propose.

The beginning of the rest of our lives, together. A literal new beginning.

A blissful first day.

I could see it in my mind’s eye, both of us overlooking the sea, watching the sun setting together. I couldn’t remember what most things even taste like, but I seemed to remember how much I enjoyed strawberries. Wouldn’t it be lovely to find out what strawberries taste like again? 

Once home, I left one of the shop windows open and the door to our secret lair propped open a little to permit the raven entry, then I headed downstairs to give Olor the good news of a cure. 

I found him still locked in our suite, stretched out in bed and blinking blearily at a stack of papers, clearly still feeling the effects of the opiates he’d dosed himself with and sipping at some steaming hot tea with a shaking hand. He didn’t look up when I entered, but he did say in a cheerful tone, “Vendui, ussta che.” I don’t speak Drow but I’ve known Olor long enough to know that basically means, hello lover. I smiled and sat on the edge of the bed, peering at the papers he was looking at, murmuring, “Good evening my dear, what’s all that?”

“Recipes I got for Yenna from Ched Nasad but some of the ingredients are toxic to people who are not used to them,” he said with a sigh, then stretched a bit and yawned before continuing, “I’m trying to think of alternate ingredients she could use that would make them safe for surface people to eat that also will taste good.” He yawned again and reached for my hand, smiling. “Do we have plans tonight, honey? Or do you want to stay in?”

Squeezing his hand, I shook my head and replied, “No plans to go anywhere, but…we need to talk. I ran into Petras and he had some interesting information.”

“Petras, the dumbass vampire spawn who tried hitting on me? The iblith who believed Cazador would free him?” the Paladin said with an incredulous eyebrow raised. “That Petras?”

“Yes, that dumbass,” I conceded. “But…darling, he has changed.” I opened my mouth to speak but froze, unsure how to even say it. A cure still seemed so ridiculous. Seeing me hesitate, the smile disappeared from Olor’s face and he sat up, scooting closer with worry in his eyes; with a little trepidation, I explained. “Petras has been to see the new Chosen of Lathander, and…he’s been cured of vampirism. There’s a cure, love. This new Chosen fellow, he’s offering to end all undead but not by destroying us…by letting us live again,” I said, the excitement I felt at the prospect bleeding into my voice. “I know what this could do for our lives, what this would mean for us. Crossing running water, walking into homes, eating and drinking again, seeing the sun again…” I closed my eyes, trying to remember the feel of sunlight on my face. “We’d be free of the hunger, you’d like that wouldn’t you?” I asked hopefully, opening my eyes to gaze into his, willing him to see it, too, as I added, “It would be so lovely. We wouldn’t be trapped in the shadows and the night…we’d truly be free.”

Olor looked stunned, but the more I spoke the more eager he looked, especially when I mentioned freedom from sanguine thirst. Or whatever the hells you call whatever the hells it became when the poor Bhaalspawn got turned. “Think of it,” I whispered longingly, “Think of what we could do. Gods, just a mundane picnic in the park on a sunny summer afternoon would be heavenly. Wine and strawberries and anything else we’d fancy to enjoy.”

“Gods yes! That would be incredible,” he murmured. Nodding rapidly, eyes intense, Olor grinned lopsidedly and gripped my hand again, voice soft but eager, “We should go! Where is this Chosen? How quickly could we get there? By Ghaunadaur’s eye, the sooner the better, right?”

Shit.

“There’s a catch,” I said carefully, “In order to be cured, we must…convert. Worship only Lathander.” I watched anxiously as Olor’s smile faded and he grew very, very quiet as the weight of what I’d just said hit him. This was, of course, my worry…imploring a literal Priest to forsake his deity is asking an awful lot. Chewing his lip, Olor looked away, reluctant. 

Before I could try to sway him, though, he shook his head, then nodded, stuttering nervously, “That…it’s hard, but…that’ll be hard, but it’s worth it.” He winced, and I knew it was disquiet from a sense of blasphemy as he declared, “I’ll do it. I will renounce Ghaunadaur and worship Lathander, if he can cure us.”

Relief spread like wildfire throughout my mind, and I leaned in to kiss Olor’s cheek. He still looked pensive over his religious quandary but he smiled and nuzzled me anyways, musing, “What do we tell Yenna?”

“If it turns out to be a scam,” I said with a rueful shrug, “I don’t think I want her hopes up. Maybe we just go and see, then surprise her midday at her soup cart upon our return if it works? We should see if Jaheira is available to stay over, though, just in case. And we will need to rent a carriage if we can afford it unless you feel like walking…it’s at least a two day journey with a horse and carriage so I expect a fair bit longer on foot.”

Pulling a face, Olor shook his head. “No, I’d rather not walk across the whole fucking Sword Coast right now. And as for the carriage and horse…I have an idea, abbil. We’ll stop at the knackers on the way to the livery to rent that carriage. Just trust me,” he said with a wicked grin. 

My reply was cut off by the raucous cawing of my raven familar as she soared into the lair, a little velvet bag tied around her neck. Olor looked at the bird curiously but said nothing, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for me to use her to carry messages back and forth. I quickly pocketed the little velvet-wrapped engagement ring, not even daring to look at it, before quickly scrawling a note to Jaheira and offering it to the raven. She pecked irritably at my arm but obligingly took the message and left to deliver it once I told her who to seek.

Since we kept no secrets from each other, my darling didn’t even question the delivery. Good.

I watched Olor beginning to gather up his armor and select a polearm for the next night’s journey and suddenly felt a sense of peace and calm. We’d be free, soon, and I’d take back everything I lost to Cazador. I smiled as he selected an ornate halberd, acquired after raiding the estate of the vampire lord he’d been turned by for valuables. Hey, we do have overhead, after all. 

I also knew without a doubt that my first act after being cured would be to stand in the full majesty of the sun…but the second thing I’d like to do was buy a full length mirror. 

And maybe a second one, I mused, to affix to our bedroom ceiling.

Chapter Text

I just wanted you to know

That this is me trying

At least I'm trying

-This Is Me Trying, by Taylor Swift

“You really can’t tell us where you are going or why?” Jaheira asked quietly as we watched Yenna hugging Olor farewell from the doorway of the lair. She’d already hugged me goodbye, as well as hugging Jaheira a warm hello.

We hug a lot in this family for some reason. I admit I’d learned to like it.

I smiled at the teenager and spoke just as softly back to older half-Elf, insuring the youth wouldn’t hear us, explaining, “No, I just know…well, look. All I can say is that when we return, Olor and I will be different people. Different for the whole rest of our lives. You’ll see.” She raised an eyebrow but didn’t pry further as Yenna walked over, picking up Myshka as she did so.

“Don’t worry, Astarion,” the red-haired youth announced, “Jaheira and I will be just fine! I’m going to be busy anyway, let’s just say someone is gonna be experimenting with waterdhavian pie crusts this week!” She hugged the fluffy white cat in her arms, who simply purred in reply. For a moment I remembered her previous kitty, a little orange thing whose name I’d forgotten…Olor’s sister had kidnapped Yenna then fed the cat to him as a sick joke, and he’d sworn me to secrecy that it had been delicious.

Both the elderly Druid and the odd-eyed teen waved as my partner and I headed for the local knackers outside the city proper, presumably to try and buy some old nag who’d otherwise be destined for chicken feed and glue. Humming under his breath in good humor, Olor seemed so very happy.

Thank gods for that.

Baldur’s Gate has a longstanding rule against any animals larger than a peacock being allowed within city limits, so the closest knacker was out in Rivington; our unusual ox had earned an exemption to the rule for leading a charge against a dragon in the battle to defeat the Netherbrain, but then again he technically wasn’t even really an ox.

Soon, the streets went from clean-swept stone to hard packed clay and dirt as we crossed through Wyrm’s Rock and headed for the livestock district.

The stench of rancid blood and rendered carcasses filled my nose as we entered the slaughter yard at the end of the road, blood and carcass fluids pouring down a gutter cut into the stone floor, flowing from somewhere deeper within the building and down a large drain that led directly into the Chionthar river. Olor approached the yard’s foreman while I walked down the street to the livery to rent a carriage…or rather, a coach, since we’d be spending daytimes within it and I definitely wanted something enclosed.

It would indeed be an unfortunate outcome if we were roasted alive by the sun while en route to be cured of vampirism by the sun god’s Chosen. Ironic, but unfortunate nonetheless.

I’d only just finished bartering over the price of an old black and red Brougham coach in disrepair but fully functional when I saw my Drow lover approaching, followed by a starved, limping nag; she was a ruddy bay so dark as to look almost black unless you inspected her. All skin and bones, cracked hooves dragging with each step, her head held low and dripping blood and saliva from her drooping lips…poor old thing looked positively awful. I frowned, disgusted at the sight of the wretched beast, and said with a hint of exasperation, “I don’t think that sad looking bag of bones will survive even half the journey there, much less all the way there and then back here.”

“Look closer,” Olor all but sang, gesturing to the pathetic looking horse as if revealing something extraordinary. I scowled but obligingly peered more closely at the scrawny, ugly old horse.

Hollow, lifeless eyes stared back at me…the horse was already dead. Upon even closer inspection, I could tell she’d probably been dead for a few days.

I occasionally forgot that he could raise the dead, since Olor did it so rarely. One of the benefits of being an Oathbreaker Paladin.

As Olor harnessed the undead horse, I realized that might be a problem. Most Paladins have a big problem with Oathbreakers, and Petras did say Lathander’s new chosen was a Paladin. I tried to push those concerns out of my mind, a bridge to cross when we would arrive at it.

Unlike our trip across the Sword Coast when battling the cult of the Absolute, the trip to the Temple of the Morninglord’s Chosen just beyond Crownsdale was a straight road, with limited traffic in the direction we were headed. Most were merchants, driving wagons of supplies or produce towards the Gate.

Our stumbling nag did raise a few eyebrows, but thankfully nobody stopped us to inquire. Olor took to talking to and petting the shambling horse corpse, naming her Elghiny'l'rr, and it reminded me of how he spoke to and acted towards our cat, Myshka. For all his brutality, the Paladin had a tender side, too.

Apparently even dead animals were worthy of his affection.

The journey was…blissfully uneventful.

The temple was atop a small hill, with a winding spiral path that looped all the way ‘round several times to the building itself. Each yurt was home to one of the monks who served under the Chosen; it was almost disturbing since each domicile was exactly the same, right down to the decorations. We approached on foot and the silence was also unsettling, broken only by the occasional tinkling sound of hanging glass suncatchers clinking together in the cool night breeze. Even the sounds of crickets were absent.

I’d been told the temple was small when we’d stopped to ask directions the first night, so I was not surprised to see that it was only a little larger than the Stormshore Tabernacle. What did surprise me was the elegance. The square building was entirely white and gold, gleaming gray-laced white marble with actual real gilding, alcoves on each side and at the back hosting a fifteen foot tall statue of Lathander, with a stained glass window of the rising sun behind each one. I took notice of the symbology; usually Lathander is depicted crushing an undead being or at least a skull under one foot, but here, that was absent. Interesting.

The doorway’s extravagance outshone the other temple walls. A massive rose-shaped stained glass window of the sun high in the sky in all it’s glory, elegant Elven script inlaid with real gold professing adoration for the fiery ball of radiance in the daytime sky, as well as prayers for banishment of darkness and despair. The window was roughly twelve to thirteen meters in diameter and directly over a pair of huge gilded oak doors. At each side was another stained glass window, from nearly the ground to the height of the rose-shaped one, and each depicting Lathander offering a blessing to a kneeling skeletal warrior. I felt a surge of hope, as if I hadn’t allowed myself to fully believe that there was a cure for us undead until that moment.

The doorway faced East, and I could only imagine the beauty of the first rays of morning sunlight hitting the brightly colored stained glass, surely sending sparkling pools of color inside in every shade of red, yellow, and orange.

It felt like proof that this was real. The cure was real.

I couldn’t wait to bask in the light of the sun again. I turned to Olor and found him slowly inhaling the night air, looking pensive. Before I could ask, he announced calmly and matter-of-factly, “I smell death.” For a moment I paused, and focused on my senses, as usually I could make out anything obvious especially if there was blood involved, but all I could detect was the usual smells you’d expect from a small town. I must have given my Drow lover an odd look because he shrugged and added, “It smells good to me, but it’s there. Not here though. Below.”

After a moment waiting for him to extrapolate and him simply looking around obliviously, I prompted, “…below where?” I spread my arms wide, frowning.

Olor shrugged and scratched at the edge of one of his ears, murmuring dismissively, “It’s people, underneath. People decomposition smells different than like…a carcass of a deer or whatever. You know?” I nodded, frowning, since that wasn’t an actual explanation. He added, “Like the mountain is built on a pile of corpses.”

“Well, I’d hardly call this little hill a mountain, darling,” I chided, “And I don’t smell it. Doesn’t mean I don’t believe you,” I added quickly, “but perhaps there is an innocent explanation, like maybe a crypt underneath. What do Lathander’s worshippers do for funerals anyways? Maybe they just…put them somewhere?”

Shrugging again, Olor gazed up at the temple in awe.

Two large braziers blazed on either side of the doorway, casting long and ominous shadows further away but lighting the entrance area in warm welcome. As we approached, the doors began to open of their own accord, the hinges well oiled and silent as they swung wide.

Standing in the entrance of the Temple of the Morninglord’s Chosen was the Chosen of the Morninglord himself: a Dragonborn with scales as glittering gold as the gilding on his very fine temple. I tried not to read too much into the fact that he was wearing shining gold plate armor to match his scales, his red and orange cloth tabard devoid of wrinkles or stains.

The man looked utterly pristine.

I could sense more than see Olor fidgeting slightly, so I took the initiative to step closer, prepared to introduce us, but the Chosen addressed us instead: “Be welcome and be blessed by our great god, Lathander! I am Jacisvaust Dronilnricmitne, Chosen of the Morninglord, and may you enjoy the warmth of his embrace at dawn!”

Since we hadn’t expected him to literally greet us at the door, my Drow lover and I merely stared a moment, before I managed to compose myself. Bowing slightly, I answered, “Greetings, master Jacisvaust, my name is-“

“You will speak your name to the morrow’s rising sun, and not a moment before,” the gleaming Paladin announced with a firm nod and eye-crinkling smile. “That is why you are here, vampire, isn’t it?”

Nodding in understanding and agreement, I stepped cautiously forward, followed by Olor. The Dragonborn moved aside, bowing low as he ushered us into the temple; I could hear him murmuring a cheerful prayer under his breath in the language of the Dragons.

The inside of the temple was just as extravagant as the outside, gleaming white marble and an almost gaudy amount of gilding. The vaulted ceiling held murals of the Morninglord and scenes of various types that must make sense to the worshippers, but I recognized none of the characters depicted. The walls were similarly adorned with tapestries overwhelmed with red, yellow, and orange, each one featuring a scene of Jacisvaust performing a Laying On Of Hands to a different kind of undead, with Lathander standing over them and watching in approval. Even the floor was grandiose, with geometric patterns of white marble, huge slabs of red jasper, and even more gold. The middle of the floor held a large, slightly raised circle of stone, roughly thirty or forty feet around, and the center held a basin of some kind of sparkly satin fluid, as if someone mixed diamond dust into water. No, not water…something slightly more viscous.

Jacisvaust smiled more widely as he noted my curious gaze, answering before I could ask, “The baptismal pool. Coated in Lathander’s divine tears, you will be reborn.”

Olor whispered, “I wonder what it tastes-“

Cutting my partner off before he could finish that sentence, I nodded affirmatively and declared, “We wish to be cured. And…we will be very grateful for it, too.”

His smile became infected with sympathy as he led us toward a massive stone altar surrounded by dozens of white candles. “I take it you were turned against your will? Most of your kind are, I suppose.”

“Yes, and no,” I replied softly, Olor silent and once again jittering a bit with anxiety. “Both of us…well. Driven to death’s door, then…ushered through. I was alive enough to be tricked into it…my beloved here, he wasn’t even asked.” I watched as the golden Paladin pulled a heavy tome from a small case nearly hidden behind the altar, the cover made of bejeweled white leather with golden clasps.

As he began using some kind of magical gestures to unlock the book, he directed a question at Olor without looking up. “And when did you break your Oath? Before or…after?” I felt my silent, dead guts clench, already knowing the answer and fear over the Dragonborn’s reaction gripping me. I gave the winged Drow a tiny, single nod.

“Before,” he confessed, his befreckled face wrinkling with grief. “I…did something wrong. Killed someone, I think.” Olor shuffled his feet a little, murmuring, “I cut off someone’s hand…but I didn’t really mean to. I just thought about it and…it happened.”

“I’m going to need details,” Jacisvaust said softly but intently, “for purification of the body and soul must be all, or none. You must be absolved.”

To my surprise, Olor became very specific as he explained, “I’m Bhaal’s son…but I disinherited myself. Before I knew what I was, I…found a guy stuck in a portal, his hand sticking out, and I cut it off. I didn’t really mean to.” My surprise more than doubled as he continued: “I did a lot of things I maybe didn’t like or want to do, though. I don’t remember much. But I don’t and won’t worship Bhaal, I reject him.”

The Dragonborn’s eyes widened. “By the blazing sun, you aren’t the Paladin who defeated the Netherbrain, are you? I heard of you,” he said with a look of curiosity, “but by the Morninglord, you don’t look anything like your statue.”

“Godsdamn that stupid thing,” I blurted irately. “Grand Duke Asshole has a vendetta against my beloved. He did that on purpose.” I left off the part about how Olor had butchered Ravenguard’s son, instigating the human’s hatred.

Bowing his head low, right fist clenched and pressed over his heart, the Dragonborn Paladin spoke with a voice wavering with sympathy as he regarded us with kind, sad eyes. “I thank you both for your honesty. Many who come before me believe they can hide their sins, but you are both wise, for I can only absolve you if truth has taken hold of your hearts. Truly, you are worthy of the blessed cure for your undeaths.” Opening the massive codex, and moving to stand before the altar but facing us, he spoke with authority and purpose: “Are you prepared to cast aside the bitter cold of your graves and step once more into the warmth of Lathander’s embrace?”

My mind flooded with fractal memories, centuries of abuse and torment heaped upon me by Cazador’s cruelty, his sadism and malice. My own screams reverberated through my thoughts as flashbacks of decades suffering in the kennels rushed to engulf me, Godey’s bare, grinning skull leering at me endlessly. I was swept up into a vortex of my longtime despair, of the helplessness I felt. More than anything, I felt all too keenly the pain of everything Cazador had taken from me…not just freedom and choice, but things like food and drink. My reflection in a mirror. The ability to cross rivers.

Most of all, though, I missed the sun.

My eyes squeezed closed as tears threatened to spill from them, swept up in the abyss of loss, until I felt a slender, long-fingered hand tentatively slide within my own. Olor, seeking reassurance. I opened my eyes, releasing a single teardrop in the process; I felt it creep slowly down my cheek as I turned to the stipled-skinned Drow.

“Come on, Angel Tits,” I whispered, “Let’s do this. Together.”

The best revenge against Cazador I could dream of would be to get my godsdamn life back.