Chapter Text
The tiefling wakes with a start. Where is he? Who is he? There’s a hissing noise as the lid of whatever he is in opens, and he stumbles out into a world of red. His head throbs as he steadies his feet. Some memories flash over his vision, a tentacled creature in front of him, a clawed hand reaching out with a wriggling creature held in its grip. A wave of nausea hits him, gods, that thing was put in his eye. Is that why his mind feels so muddled? He takes a few breaths, fighting to calm himself. Another thing flits to the forefront of his mind,
“My name is Carrion,” he speaks aloud. The roughness of his voice shocks him, and he shudders as he remembers something else. It is not so much a memory as a feeling. There is a darkness within him, crying out for destruction. Scrubbing a hand over his beard in frustration he pushes that feeling as far down within himself as he can. Now is not the time to fall into crazed desires. He must ascertain where he is and how to escape.
He casts his gaze over the area before him. There’s a dead one of those creatures sprawled on the floor, something in him sparks in recognition. A mindflayer, this is a mindflayer. A sinking feeling overtakes him as he realises the nature of what has happened. Something deep within his ruined mind sparks, he knows what the creature inserted into his brain is. A mindflayer parasite, if it stays where it is... He shakes his head, he needs to focus on the here and now, not worry about what may happen should he escape this place.
Carrion moves to the door of the chamber he’s in. The door opens with an unpleasant squelching sound that has the dark part of him sitting to attention. It sounds like ripping flesh. He doesn’t want to examine how he knows what that sounds like. Moving cautiously forward he can’t shake the feeling that he’s missing something. Or someone. There’s an empty void at his side where he feels someone should be, he keeps instinctively looking for them. Whoever they may be, though he cannot bring any vision of them to mind, they must be important for him to feel their loss so keenly. He hopes they are somewhere safe, and not sharing in his current fate. Though part of him wishes he were not alone in this place.
A voice calls out, soft and lilting,
“We are here! Help us!” Against his better judgement Carrion goes to the voice. It’s a brain, sitting in the skull of an elf. Following its guidance he pulls it from the skull it’s set in, freezing with it held in his hands. He wants to rip and tear at it. Fill it with holes to match his own ruined mind. The creature is defenceless as it is now. It would be so easy to twist it, to destroy it as he is destroyed. He fights the urge down and places the brain on the floor, watching with disgusted interest as it sprouts legs. It jumps in place,
“Friend! We must get to the helm!” He can’t help but smile at the thing. It may be a product of the mindflayers, but it’s oddly sweet in a way,
“What can I call you?” He finds himself asking,
“We are Us! We must get to the helm friend! At the helm we are needed!”
“Lead on then,” Carrion directs. He’s wary of following the creature, but the helm is likely where he needs to go in order to find a way off this thing. They’re jumped almost the moment they go outside. A green woman vaults over them, she’s wielding a large sword. Carrion tenses, ready to defend himself. She starts speaking then breaks off as a shard of pain goes through both their minds. Carrion sees flashes of her memories and then the connection is gone,
“You,” she lowers her sword,
“You are no thrall,” her eyes examine him and Us before she makes a tutting noise through her teeth,
“Come, if we are to survive we must escape. I know of a way to have these ghaik tadpoles removed,” she gestures at Us,
“So long as that creature thinks we are thralls it shall not attack us,” she turns away from Carrion, and starts to walk off with no further word,
“Wait. What’s your name?” She makes that tutting sound again, clearly annoyed,
“This is hardly the time for introductions Istik,” she spits the word, malice lacing her tone. Carrion tilts his head, and she looks like she wants to eviscerate him for a moment before relenting,
“Fine. I am Lae’zel of Creche K’liir. Now be done dawdling, we must move forward,” Carrion introduces himself in turn, and she makes no acknowledgement of him speaking.
They fight their way forward. There are imps that fling fire at them as they make their way. Through a stroke of luck their aim is truly poor, and they manage to dispatch them with no injuries,
“You prove surprisingly adequate in battle,” Carrion chokes a laugh at the backhanded compliment. It tickles something in his mind, a vague memory of someone being similar when they first met. He frowns at the woman’s back, trying to force his mind to remember. All it does is make his headache throb painfully. One thing he knows, however, is that she is not the person who he’s missing.
The ship shakes more and more as they progress and Lae’zel spits insults at him at he rips the door of a pod open, freeing another woman who was trapped within. He shakes his head, recentering himself as electricity runs over his skin. Lae’zel is hissing some venom he can’t parse at his side, and the woman who was trapped has stumbled out of the pod to her knees. Once the shocks have stopped he leans in to help her up, only to hiss in pain as their minds connect, memories being shared against either of their wills.
The moment ends and the woman stands. Her eyes flicker to Lae’zel at Carrion’s side, wariness is plain to see on her face,
“You keep dangerous company,”
“Dangerous company is what you need in a fight,” he quips back. A ghost of a smile appears on her face before she turns and takes something out of the pod. It’s a strange-looking, many sided object. Carrion wants to ask about it but decides it’s best left until later,
“I’m Carrion,” he says as the three move as one towards where the slight tugging in their heads is coming from, the intellect devourer following them diligently. She tilts her head in acknowledgement,
“Shadowheart.”
The helm is chaos. There are imps everywhere and the floor is scattered with all types of corpses. There’s a mindflayer battling a devil, its eyes flicker to the group, and it speaks into their minds,
“Thralls, leave the devil to me. Get to the transponder,” it makes Carrion feel slightly nauseous, but he goes along with the creature’s desires for now. The way the ship is starting to tilt is enough to show that their intervention there is desperately needed. The intellect devourer, Us, makes a chittering sound of delight before taking off as fast as its legs can go. It launches itself at an imp that was close to them, killing it with a swipe of claws. Carrion spares a glance to the women at his sides, and the three nod at each other in agreement, moving as fast as they dare across the helm of the careening ship.
They have to fight more creatures of the hells along the way, more imps and things that look like boar. In a moment of what Carrion can assume is madness Shadowheart barks a spell at the devil, causing it to drop the flaming sword it carried. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth Carrion snags it as they dash past, it should prove useful if they survive this.
As they come up to the transponder the ship lurches, a reptilian head pushes through a hole torn in the side of the vessel. A red dragon, a childish thrill runs through him at the sight of the creature which is quickly replaced with fear as fire spews from its mouth. They dive out of its path, sliding across the floor as the ship tips dangerously. Carrion manages to snag the edge of the transponder console as he slides past, stopping with a forceful jolt of his shoulder. Desperately, he claws his fingers into its craggy surface and crawls up. Finally, his fingers make contact with the tentacles there and with a strange humming sound they’re no longer in the hells. He cannot relish this minor victory, a piece of debris connects with his temple, and everything goes black.
Carrion wakes with a start for the second time that day. His headache is worse, and he groans as he rolls over. There’s a gritty feeling on his skin. Peeling his eyes open he can see that he’s on a thin strip of beach, the gritty feeling is sand. Steeling himself, he pushes to his feet, hissing through gritted teeth as several aches and pains make themselves known. His hand instinctively reaches to his side, looking for someone who isn’t there. His heart squeezes, he had hoped that once he had escaped the illithid ship his memories would return. Instead his mind is still frustratingly blank, it hurts that he keeps looking for someone who isn’t with him. Perhaps it’s better he doesn’t remember, maybe they died on that ship and knowing would hurt more.
Blinking away sudden tears he looks along the beach. Corpses litter the sand. In curiosity he examines one, the hot sun has made it start to smell already. Unbidden, a smile pulls at his mouth, and he draws away from the corpse quickly. He pushes that feeling of almost joy away, disgusted. There is something unknown and unspeakable living within his heart, he has no plans of letting it take control of him.
Shadowheart is further along the beach. She can’t remember anything after falling either. Just waking up on the beach. They also quickly establish that neither of them have any idea where they are. They’re getting ready to move forward, to seek out a healer to help them, when a cautious hand on his elbow stops Carrion short,
“Thank you. For helping me,” Shadowheart’s voice is sincere,
“You could have left me in that pod, saved your own skin, but you didn’t. For that I’m grateful,”
“I couldn’t just leave you there. I would hope if I had been in the same situation someone would have helped me,” Shadowheart draws her hand away, she looks vaguely uncomfortable. Carrion decides not to pry.
They find some useful items on their path. They also, after doing a bit of climbing to avoid a group of intellect devourers that will no doubt be hostile, find an aggressively swirling portal on the cliff face. Curious, Carrion touches it and yelps when it shocks him. Both he and Shadowheart jump, taking a step back as a hand thrusts out from the swirling purple mass,
“A hand! Anyone?” Calls a voice from the portal. Dark thoughts rise in Carrion’s mind, a red haze playing at the corners of his vision. The thoughts demand that he hack off this hand, teach whoever is on the other side what a foolish idea it is to stick your hands where you can’t see. The spray of blood would be fantastic, how they would scream- Carrion shakes his head, forcing the urges back. His temples throb and he feels vaguely nauseous, but he succeeds in grasping the hand and tugging instead of dismembering the person on the other side. A man comes flying out of the rock, no worse for wear by the tiefling’s hand.
Carrion’s mind screams murder he takes deep breaths to control himself,
“Hello!” the man exclaims brightly, unaware of the danger he’s in,
“I’m Gale of Waterdeep,” he looks over Shadowheart and Carrion and makes a sound of recognition,
“I saw you back on the nautiloid did I not? You also received a rather unwelcome addition in the ocular region,” Carrion grimaces, the visual pulling him out of swirling, violent, thoughts,
“I don’t think I could have put it worse myself,” the man, Gale, launches into a long spiel about turning into a mindflayer that he half listens to. He catches that the man’s a wizard, and that he asks if either of them have any experience with this kind of thing,
“I can heal, but not like this,” Shadowheart responds sombrely. The tiefling shakes his head and speaks, voice dark,
“I can only offer a cure in terms of a swift end. Healing is beyond me,” His new companions look perturbed, but he doesn’t see their faces. Instead his head is tilted slightly, he can almost hear the ghost of a laugh at his bluntness. The ache in his chest yawns wide. A cough grabs his attention once more,
“Well, before you think me most ungrateful, I offer you a sincere thank you for pulling me out of that stone,” Carrion forces a smile. Bolstered, they deal with the intellect devourers and gain a new person in their band. An elf who initially introduces himself with a blade to Carrion’s throat. He threw him off easily, which had clearly rattled the man. Once again Carrion’s mind melded with that of another due to the tadpole. The other man’s mind is dark, it causes something in him to ease a little. He’s not the person Carrion is missing, but there’s a few similarities that his ruined mind can sense. As the elf, Astarion, immediately slips into banter with the other members of their rag-tag group Carrion’s mind can’t help but dance with images of what a perfect, pretty corpse he would make. He fights back a shiver.
They find Lae’zel again, much to Shadowheart’s very vocal displeasure. He has to ignore the gith speaking threats against him directly into his brain as he negotiates with the two tieflings that had captured her. They agree to let him deal with her, and once they’re gone he shoots out the bottom of the cage she’s hanging in with his crossbow. A part of him is disappointed that she lands so lightly on her feet,
“We must find a creche to be cured of these ghaik parasites. My captors spoke of another, Zorru, who had seen my kin. We must interrogate him on their whereabouts,” Carrion just sighs, tired. He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off his worsening headache. His companions start to bicker around him and the visions of violence he’s cursed with start to feel more appealing by the minute. Finally his temper rears its head,
“Enough!” He spits. They all fall silent, he takes a few calming breaths then gestures to the sky,
“It’s getting late, we’ve all had a very trying day. I don’t know about the rest of you, or particularly care if I’m being honest, but I am tired. We’re making camp then we can worry about everything in the morning,” there are grumbles of agreement. Lae’zel puts up a token protest, but is silenced by a glare from Carrion.
There’s still some grumbling as they find a good spot to camp, but the volume is low enough that Carrion doesn’t comment. His head throbs, the headache he awoke with seems to have only got worse. He hopes it’s just the stress and not anything to do with the tadpole. They manage to salvage some bedrolls on their search. There’s abandoned camps strewn all around the area, and they find a few things for a half decent evening meal as well. Setting up camp is a hasty thing, a fire is built, and they lay their bedrolls around it for warmth. Everyone drifts apart across the clearing they found, finding their own things to do until it’s time to bed down for the night.
Carrion shakes his head, they may not be together long, but it’s still a good idea to get to know one another a little. Guided by the slight comfort he feels around the man, he approaches Astarion first,
“You look a little lost,” he says to the elf with a chuckle. Astarion gestures around them,
“Well I’m not used to all this. I’m accustomed to the night in the city. This is all decidedly rather new. I need time to process”
“Hopefully you won’t have to get too accustomed to it,” Astarion just hums a vague agreement in response. He doesn’t seem to register Carrion’s words fully,
“I doubt I’ll sleep for a while. I’ll keep watch,” the tiefling examines Astarion for a moment before deciding that it’s better to not pry for now,
“Alright. I’ll certainly feel safer with you to watch over my rest,” his tone is teasing and the elf smiles a little in response,
“Sweet dreams darling,” Carrion blinks at the endearment but doesn’t comment. Taking it as a gentle dismissal he leaves the elf to his brooding. Shadowheart is practically glaring a hole into him, very clearly wanting to speak on something, so he approaches her next,
“What were you talking about?” Her tone is sharp, demanding. It sets Carrion on the defence immediately,
“What do you mean?”
“You and the pale fellow. You were talking just now,”
“We were just discussing our next steps,” he raises his hands in a calming gesture. This is a sharp change in her mood from earlier,
“I see. I’d be careful with that one if I were you,”
“Why?” She looks at him as if he’s stupid,
“I’m not sure I’d trust someone who drew a knife on me the moment we met,” Carrion tilts his head. Is that not a normal thing to do? His memories are still not there, but Astarion’s actions earlier had felt familiar. He expresses his confusion to her,
“Normal? Of course it’s not normal behaviour to attack someone without warning like that,” Carrion hums and thanks her before moving away. He misses the look she aims at him as he goes, one of slight horror and no small amount of confusion of her own.
He doesn’t approach Lae’zel. She’s sat sharpening her sword, and when she hears his footsteps she pins him with a glare that would make a lesser man run. As it is, he raises his hands in surrender and backs away. Finally, he makes his way to Gale, who is warming his hands in front of the fire,
“Go to hell,” he stops in his tracks, did the wizard just?
“And a good evening to you too,” Gale laughs, turning to look at him,
“You’re a good sport. I was just thinking, the phrase ‘go to hell’ a trivial thing, said often enough as an off hand remark,” Carrion tilts his head, wondering where this is going,
“But now... we’ve seen hell. It’s real and not a trivial thing at all,”
“What’s on your mind Gale?” the tiefling asks, wondering where the wizard is going with this. He seems to have a deep sadness, and a weariness, about him,
“All this,” he gestures vaguely with his hands,
“Used to be abstracts. Theoretical interests that I read about in books. Now we have mindflayer tadpoles in our heads, that’s not abstract,” Carrion can’t help but place a hand on the other man’s shoulder in an attempt at comfort. The man winces and Carrion loosens his grip, clearly he needs to re-learn his strength. Another thing this loss of memory has taken from him,
“Yeah, we’re in deep sh*t,” Gale snorts a laugh,
“That’s one way of putting it,” he laughs a little again then shakes his head,
“Get some rest, I’ll wake you up bright and early with as decent a breakfast as I can manage with what we’ve managed to scrounge,” Carrion releases him and does a quick look around the perimeter of their camp. Double-checking that nothing has crept up on them whilst they were all distracted. Satisfied, he finally settles down into his bedroll. He thinks of the loss he feels. The feeling of missing someone. He hopes that he will remember them in the days to come.
It takes a while for Carrion to fall asleep, and when he does his dreams are filled with blood.
