Masterminds

Dear bhaalist

The warning from Sceleritas is vital. Whatever Orin is scheming, it must not be overlooked - especially now. But along that unmistakable red vision, you got a chunk of what you most longed for: your memories.

Partially lost and now restored, they brought back the contemptible pervert you feared. The creature you repudiated at first is nothing but you. Yourself, alone - a terrible heritage running through your veins.

One might call it a curse, others a blessing, but one thing is clear: you were no empty-headed cultist driven by fanatism. No. You were destined for more. To be a master - a cruel torment wrought upon bhaalists. And how you cherished their dreadful faithfulness. Your stubborn hunger to dig everything in that mass of flesh is stopped by a headache, thwarting you from pushing further into the now-filled void for the moment.

First, you have to prioritize dealing with the Chosen.

Preferably, Orin. Her games have not changed at all since you two were young: sneaking, deceiving, as usual. Of the three, she is the most physically difficult, given her swift abilities and technique with a dagger - snake-like, one might say. Gortash would be next. The man is like a puppeteer - getting too close might trigger his creations. But if your silver tongue still is as efficient as it used to be, you might convince him.

*grunt*

Another migraine strikes fiercely, making your mind wriggle like a worm. It lashes out under the fort. It brings more flavour, a small vision of your frolickings.

Dozens of flayed victims; the peculiar flavour of your kin or dwarf; countless hunts as a tribute to Bhaal; twisted games here and there; and many, many more horrible acts that it's best not to reveal. Though, even if you regaled in such pastimes, you were a master of brilliance - of cunning, and whenever you pleased, of charm. No person could see behind that easy smile you used to make. Nobody could smell the foul stench of blood and guts you so much revelled in. And it was... Dull.

But there is a person who always admired more than your cruelty... He who saw your true worth: your mind. After so long of being looked up to solely for your crude tortures, it was so refreshing - so consoling - to find a friend, someone to share this undesirable journey through life. Unable to uncover who, you still feel he is near, wishing to meet him again. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You restrain your pain with your eyes focused on the present. There is nothing else to do but infiltrate this ceremony while your companions wander Rivington merrily. They won't know you recovered what you lost, that you remembered who you are, not yet. Doubt is a luxury nobody can allow right now, much less after knowing the shapeshifter is trying to split the party.

But setting foot in that hall is beyond dangerous - dare you say, suicide. Much more knowing the Steel Watch(s) are aware of your transgressions. Maybe it would be best to find a gap somewhere else - there must be some blindspot in such a massive place. So, you would soon find yourself looking for weak spots in the structure.

Regardless of your cautious proclivity, Gortash has been tracking every move you make - very much aware of your intentions. He saw how you got in a trance momentarily, almost falling to the floor, albeit not concerned - as he recalls how you used to have migraines now and then. Yet he saw a glint. As your eyes looked up at the sky, then forward, he glimpsed what could be a seed of hope: his old friend.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

What is surprising is their tolerance - most abnormal. They had the chance to kill you at camp while sleeping - the little you can, though - but nothing. There were no signs of trespassing. It's as if they are at war between them. And that could prove leverage if done correctly.