Chapter Text
You are the knife I turn inside myself;
that is love.
That, my dear, is love.
***
Running into Mizora on the way to Gortash’s Coronation was as surprising as it was unpleasant, the mood tense as everyone contemplated what her sudden appearance might mean for Wyll and his father. Surely no good could come from her interference, especially so soon after Francesca had managed to negotiate Wyll’s freedom from their pact. She tried to catch Wyll’s gaze as they headed up the stairwell, but he seemed determined to keep his expression neutral, staring blankly ahead. Francesca would have to try and speak to him when the Coronation was over, adamant not to let her best friend suffer the threat hanging over his head alone.
However, now was not the time for that as they reached the gaudy Audience hall and all eyes turned to them. Francesca cursed herself for forgetting that this was a high society event and silently wished she had thought to tell everyone to dress up. In their armor and traveling clothes they stood out like a sore thumb.
In the center of the room stood Lord Gortash in a ridiculously posh black coat decorated by what must be a small fortune’s worth of golden embellishments. As he turned toward them, Francesca carefully took in the emotions briefly flickering across his face when his gaze caught on Karlach before shifting to her. He seemed taken aback by the tall red Tiefling entering his coronation, something close to fear flashing in his eyes before he quickly composed himself. When his gaze caught Francesca’s he seemed to be struggling to keep a myriad of emotions hidden behind a calm demeanor, and though she couldn’t decipher any of them, the look in his eyes made her stomach turn and dread filled her at the realization, that he knew her.
She probably should have expected it, after so many people at Moonrise seemed to be familiar with her and her clear history with both Ketheric and Orin but she had been trying so hard not to think about who she used to be, that the possibility of Gortash being another person from her previous life had never even crossed her mind.
“Adrielle. My sweet confidant, how lovely of you to attend my coronation, and side by side with my former bodyguard no less.”, mirth sparkled in his dark eyes, as though he was telling some clever joke, “You know, I nearly didn’t believe it when our mutual friend told me you were back in the city”.
Adrielle? Was that her name?
It couldn’t be. She was Francesca, right? That was the one thing she had been sure to know about herself, the single aspect of herself she had clung to since the Nautiloid.
But there was no doubt about who Gortash was addressing, as he pierced her with a look of utter glee. The sheer fondness he regaled her with made her want to be sick, wondering what horrors she must have caused to make a monster like him enjoy her company. Behind her, she felt Karlach tense as her fiery gaze seemed to try to burn a hole through her back.
“You know this fucker?!”, her voice was both incredulous and agitated, making Francesca wince at the reminder of her current predicament.
I swear I had no Idea. I promise whatever our previous involvement was, this changes nothing, you will get your revenge, and we’re gonna kill this asshole as soon as possible.
Karlach seemed to relax slightly as Francesca’s reassurance sounded in her mind, but her hand was still twitching towards the ax on her back and her stance remained ready for a fight.
“Oh, I’d forgotten — Your memories are a bit scrambled, aren’t they? Your sister told me you took quite a blow to the head.”, Gortash’s tone made it clear that he had forgotten nothing, their whole interaction was just an elaborate performance to remain vague in front of so many witnesses.
“To think you and Karlach traveled together all this time, and she hadn’t the faintest you were one of my nearest and dearest.”
For a moment Francesca wasn’t sure whether she should be focusing on the flirtatious smirk on the man’s face or the way her friend’s rage was boiling over behind her, making the temperature at her back rise several degrees. Though after months of traveling side by side, the choice was easy - her friends would always take priority, no matter how overwhelmed she felt by the revelations thrown at her by the pompous man in front of them.
Don’t antagonize him. We can’t win a fight in here. I swear on everything I care about, no matter what he meant to the person I used to be, all he is to me now is an asshole who hurt my friend. If I can make him think I’m on his side, he won’t expect us when we attack. With that sort of advantage, he’ll be dead before the end of the week. Trust me on this, Karla. Please.
Anger and suspicion pressed against her mind before Karlach huffed in frustration.
Fine. But you better not fuck me over, or I swear you will join your old buddy in hell.
Reassured that Karlach would not attack Gortash in front of half the city, Francesca put on a slightly teasing smile, trying to appear as fond of the bastard in front of her as she could manage.
“Of course, my Lord. I wouldn’t dare to miss such a momentous occasion. Don’t worry about my traveling companion, I promise her temper is perfectly under control.”, Francesca kept her voice sickly sweet, attempting to give him the same conspiratorial look he had shot at her. If she could convince Gortash to trust her, it would give them a huge advantage in the battles to come. Being able to focus on Orin without having to hide from Gortash’s Steel Watch would be an invaluable asset. The last thing they wanted was for the two chosen to reforge their alliance when confronted with a common enemy. While Francesca was sure that defeating them was possible, especially after their victory against Ketheric, there was no way they could face both of them at the same time. Not to mention the forces they each commanded, a Bhaalist cult backed by Banites and giant metal automatons was not something she’d like to face in battle if it could be avoided.
Gortash looked entirely too pleased by her answer, inviting her to speak to him in a more private setting after the ceremony had concluded. While that was precisely what she had hoped for she could practically feel the disapproval radiating off most of her companions, making her throat constrict with guilt. Still, she managed to keep her tone light and her expression pleasant as she promised to take him up on the Invitation before herding their group towards some free seats near the back of the audience hall.
Gale’s hand carefully reached for Francesca’s when he sat down beside her, his mind intertwining with hers hesitantly.
Are you alright my love?
His voice sounded concerned and sweet in her head, though she couldn’t help but notice that it carried a certain edge with it.
I don’t know. This is a lot to take in and I’m sure there will be even more unpleasant revelations by the end of the evening. But if we can get him to trust us, we’ll have the Element of surprise on our side. We can’t pass up a chance like that. So… I guess, I’ll be all right for as long as I need to be and deal with the fallout when we get back.
Even to herself, she sounded exhausted and on edge. Gale squeezed her hand briefly and Francesca once again wondered how someone as kind as him could ever choose to care about a mess like her. She squeezed his hand back and shot him a brief look of appreciation before straightening her posture and moving her attention back to the Black Hand of Bane.
As Gortash made his speech about the future of Baldurs Gate his eyes kept wandering to her, as if he was trying to reassure himself she was still there to witness his moment of triumph. Francesca let a slight smirk curl the corner of her mouth, making sure that Gortash caught her pleased expression, as she gave him her rapt attention.
She was so focused on trying to gain Gortash’s favor, that she almost missed Wyll suddenly turning stiff in the seat beside her. Subtly glancing towards him, she was alarmed to see pure terror take over his expression. Francesca followed his gaze to Duke Ravenguard, who had just entered the Audience Hall from a door directly behind Gortash. As soon as she noticed the man he began to speak, his voice a monotonous drawl as he recounted Gortash’s various ‘Achievements’ and announced him the first Arch Duke of Baldurs Gate.
This just went from bad to worse. With the patrolling steel watch, the flaming fist, the patriars’ bodyguards, and no doubt dozens of Banites keeping their watchful eyes on the coronation, there would be no chance for them to free Wyll’s father, whose fate now hung in the balance. Now that the man had made Gortash Arch Duke, he might have lost his value as a living prisoner. Their chances to rescue Ulder Ravenguard were sinking fast with every passing moment.
Of course, Gortash might have further plans to use the formerly respectable man’s influence, but she and Mizora both knew that Wyll would never gamble with his father’s life. There was no doubt in Francesca’s mind, that Mizora thought this was her chance to get Wyll back in her clutches, but as long as she was herself, she would never allow that vile woman to touch her best friend again. Gaining Gortash’s favor was more vital than ever. If she could get him to trust her enough to let her influence his schemes she might just manage to save both the Duke and Wyll’s soul.
As the newly crowned Arch Duke rose in front of Ravenguard, the entire Audience hall erupted in applause. Francesca swallowed the bile rising in her throat, steeling herself before doing either the dumbest or most genius thing she could have thought of.
Catching Gortash’s gaze once more, she looked slightly up at him through her lashes and pierced him with a look of untamed desire. The subtle twitch of his lips and the blood rising to his cheeks told her he had understood perfectly. A part of her was utterly horrified at the confirmation that she had interpreted his attention correctly, but she pushed it far back into the darkest corner of her mind. This was not the time to let her feelings rule her. She had a better chance now than she could have possibly imagined - that man wanted her, and if she was to get what she needed from him, she’d have to play her part perfectly.
Francesca kept to the back of the festivities, letting Gortash mingle with the attending nobles for an appropriate amount of time, before telling the rest of her group to stay back and keep an eye out for trouble. She was met with anger and suspicion from Karlach as well as doubt and concern from most of the others. She offered to let everyone in possession of a tadpole watch her confrontation with Gortash through her eyes and handed Jaheira a scroll of mind reading. After a bit more convincing, everyone agreed it would be best to give her a chance to try and get any advantage she could, before resorting back to violence.
Jaheira caught her forearm right before she could turn to leave, warning her to be cautious and to be prepared for the Urge to flare up during the upcoming walk down memory lane. Francesca gave a sharp nod before making her way across the room toward the man who currently held more power over her than he knew. As soon as he noticed her approach, he dismissed the persistent older lady he was speaking to, turning toward her with a smile.
“I believe congratulations are in order. Though I can’t say I’m surprised, you’ve always been an ambitious man, Enver.” Francesca kept her tone light and teasing, but leaned slightly into the man’s space, making sure to keep an edge of want in her gaze.
There was an unexpectedly desperate hope in Gortash’s expression at the sound of his name coming from her lips. “Seems like Orin exaggerated when she told me you don’t even remember your own name.” Francesca was taken off guard by the relief clear on his face, especially after the perfect composure he had kept all evening.
“You can’t be too surprised that Orin would exaggerate her glorious victory over me at least a little bit.” her tone dripped with disgust that wasn’t entirely fake as she talked about her blood-kin. “Though I will admit, my mind is not quite what it used to be. …Shall we go discuss this somewhere a bit more private?”
She sharpened her gaze, making it clear that was not a suggestion before offering the newly crowned Arch Duke her arm, waiting for him to lead her somewhere a bit more secluded.
He hooked their elbows together elegantly, nicking her side with his clawed gauntlet in a way that was entirely too subtle to be an accident. He gave her a vindictive grin and led them to a door right behind his new ‘throne’. “You know I could never refuse you when you ask me so sweetly my dear.”
The bile in her throat threatened to rise again as their previous dynamic became a bit clearer in her mind; He was enjoying this. He had nicked her not as punishment for her order, but as a show of approval, he was rewarding her with pain, and the violent desperate beast inside her purred with something almost close to affection. She supposed it wasn’t unexpected, but the way her body reacted to his touch still made her want to crawl out of her skin.
Eventually, they reached a lavish room at the top of the winding stairs Gortash had led her to. Pompously decorated bookshelves lined the walls, and a comfortable-looking reading bench stood in one corner covered in deep red velvet. Against the opposite wall stood a grand hardwood desk that was completely covered in papers, books, and scrolls. The mess made something in the back of her mind flare up in familiar exasperation.
Gortash released her arm and strolled casually over to the red rècamiere and draped his body artfully over the armrest. As she followed his movements with her eyes, her gaze caught on the edge of a lavish bed, half hidden behind a fancy folding screen. Dread filled her as her mind wandered to where gaining Gortash’s ‘trust’ might lead her. Briefly considering how far she’d be willing to go, to guarantee Wyll’s freedom.
Gortash laughed at the expression taking over her face, seemingly misinterpreting it as eagerness.
“Don’t worry, my dear, we’ll have more than enough time for that later. I was hoping we could catch up on what has happened since your unfortunate departure.”, his eyes darkened slightly, his mocking tone shifting to a low drawl, “Though I can’t say I’d mind if you’d rather reunite in a different way”, his brow raised deviously, he barely managed to put a neutral expression back on his face, not quite hiding the desire in his dark eyes.
Francesca carefully kept her face blank and took a second to steel her voice before answering.
“I’m not here to entertain you Enver. I have a few too many …gaps in my memory, fill them, and this might not end with my knife in your chest.”
The threatening persona seemed to have been the right choice, considering how Gortash’s eyes lit up with glee and a slight smirk curled his lip.
“Oh my, you are but a shell of your old self my sweet monstrosity. That might be the tamest way you’ve ever threatened me”, he patted the soft cushion next to him, “Come here, sit.”
A snarl slipped from her lips at the commanding tone, before she could catch herself. His grin only widened, giving him the distinct look of a kid rediscovering their favorite toy.
She huffed in annoyance, before reluctantly sitting down on the far end of the soft bench, carefully making sure no part of her was touching him. Still, the rècamiere was barely big enough for two people and she felt the heat of Gortash’s body much closer to her own than she would have liked.
“What would you like to know, my precious beast?”, his hand slid closer to her, reverently trailing up her arm, regarding her with an intensity that made her shiver.
“Who are you to me, Enver Gortash? The memories I have and the way my body recalls your touch… give me a vague idea, but I have to admit I don’t recall any specifics”, Francesca kept her tone demanding and sultry, despite the terror filling her veins. Whoever she used to be clearly wasn’t the type to be insecure.
That seemed to catch the man off guard, searching her gaze for something. “That’s not a simple question to answer… I was never entirely sure what you thought of me.”, a brief melancholy flit through his eyes, startling Francesca. She didn’t know what she had expected — maybe a reluctant alliance or some shared pleasure. But it seemed like Gortash had harbored some genuine feelings for her old self.
Something deep inside of her preened at the thought.
“However, I can tell you the nature of our involvement. Would you rather I start at the beginning, or do you prefer a summary of our greatest achievements?”, his knee was now firmly pressed against her own, his arm sliding around her lower back. The Urge snarled with anger, demanding her to punish the man for daring to touch Bhaal’s flesh, but she vehemently pushed it back down.
“Tell me everything you know. Start at how we met.”, her answer came out clipped and commanding, but the shiver of desire running through the grand duke’s body reaffirmed her chosen strategy to be correct once more.
“I should leash you for using such a tone with me. But I’m glad to see you’re still the same untamed animal, barely clinging to sanity by will and wit alone.”, his tone was full of both disgust and admiration. His hand on her back wandered lower, its position now entirely inappropriate for polite company.
“You never told me how long you’d been in the city before I took notice of you, but I believe your rule of Bhaal’s Cult started years before I even became a Lord. You were always surprisingly subtle in your rule of the city, operating from the shadows and killing only those who would not be missed.”, he wet his lips before continuing, an awed reverence hanging over his words.
“Not even the Harpers knew of your presence for at least a decade. But eventually, you got restless. The half-dead beggars and scoundrels didn’t satiate your hunger as well as they used to. You got bold. I heard about the wild beast lurking in the city’s shadows from some Zhent traders. Apparently, you had cut quite the bloody gash into their ranks.”, his eyes sparkled with grim humor, his other hand reaching out to brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“I found you in an alley in the upper city, it was the darkest hour of the night and you were kneeling on the corpse of Lady Youjin. I had gotten her to sign an agreement to sponsor my arms trade just that morning, but despite the inconvenience her demise caused me, I cared for nothing but you. Your eyes were glowing bright red, your whole body dripping with the scattered remains of your poor victim. The way you licked the gore off your bloody blade was utterly mesmerizing”, his voice grew quieter, filled with awed desire as he continued to wax poetic about their first encounter. His hand had stayed on her cheek, tilting her head up before languidly trailing his lips down her neck.
Francesca couldn’t manage to facilitate any sort of reaction to his speech, too busy trying to keep down the urge to throw up while simultaneously battling with the Urge to tear out Gortash’s throat with her teeth. He chuckled at her clear struggle to keep her composure before continuing.
“You almost killed me that night, for daring to interrupt your sacrifice. You hunted me through half the city before I managed to make you lose my trail. I had never felt the thrill of being someone’s prey like that before. I couldn’t get you out of my head for weeks — the feeling of dread when I was running, fully aware that you were faster, hearing your panting breath behind me — It almost drove me mad.”
Francesca felt his breath trailing over her ear, his voice now nothing but a sensual whisper.
“Looking for something that had nearly ended me was foolish, but you were so wild and violent, I needed to have you — to tame Bhaal’s deadliest creation.”, he trailed back down to her neck, indulgently sinking his blunt teeth into her throat, tearing through her flesh with violent reverence as he bit out a small chunk of skin.
A sharp pain shot through her, but to her horror it wasn’t the only sensation overwhelming her. Pleasure lit up her nerves in waves, her Urge growling low in the back of her throat, before lunging at Enver, catching his mouth with hers and sinking her razor-sharp fangs deep into his lip in retaliation. Blood streamed down her neck, mixing with the trickle of crimson dripping from his lips. The iron taste filling her mouth was nothing short of divine and the sharp sting of her wounds made shivers run down her spine. This man belonged to her and if he didn’t stop her, she might just devour him whole.
The tadpole squirmed in her head as a wave of anger crashed against her mind, Francesca’s senses returned to her with a crash, as she shoved Gortash away from her, scrambling back on the red rècamiere, which darkened with every drop of blood soaking into its smooth velvet fabric.
“Stop.”, her voice was breathless, her limbs shaking as her brain failed to come up with anything she could say to turn the conversation in a direction that would give her back some control.
Gortash regarded her with his death-black eyes, taking in her state of disarray, before twisting his bleeding lips in a self-assured smile.
“You’re as intoxicating as the day I lost you… Don’t worry, I will try to contain myself better.”, his breathing was heavy as he restored the space between them, shifting back against the scarlet red armrest before he continued on like nothing had happened.
“I never did manage to tame you, though I think I’ve come to appreciate you in all your savage glory. It took five more encounters before you stopped attacking me on sight. Your own inability to kill me drove you just as wild as your predatory nature did me.”, his eyes were glowing with that terrible hungry fondness again, a sharp smile curling his lips upward.
“We found we had quite a bit in common and though our Gods didn’t appreciate our fascination, as soon as you came up with this brilliant plot, they changed their minds rather quickly. We were going to rule the world.”, Francesca’s breath caught in her throat as the realization of her place in the absolute plot caught up to her.
“While I do pride myself on my sense of strategy, I have to admit, I simply lacked the vile creativity necessary to think up such a scheme. Together we were unstoppable. You offered the raw brutality to complete my calculating cruelty, making even General Ketheric Thorm fear our combined strength. We stole the crown right out from under Mephistopheles’ nose and orchestrated the retrieval of a priceless gith’yanki artifact from the lich queen’s personal belongings. But even after all that it only took a jealous sibling to throw a wrench in our plot.”, Gortash huffed in disdain, “Your sister is an unhinged lunatic and the absolute bane of my existence, and I think we can agree that she needs to be dealt with.”
Francesca wasn’t sure what to think, her mind a cacophony of voices. She couldn’t tell which thoughts were hers, which were her urges, and which were echoes of someone Gortash remembered so fondly. The squirming of the nasty tadpole in her brain didn’t help either, only adding to the already far too many occupants of her mind.
She had to get back control, or the raging storm inside her brain would tear her apart and destroy everything she had grown to be since the Nautiloid. Desperate to cling to control, she severed the connection to her companions, kicking out at least a few of the intrusions to her senses. Still, Francesca felt like she was drowning. Or being drowned - by her Urge, or her former self, she wasn’t sure.
Exhaustion almost overwhelmed her, as she put every ounce of will she had left into forcing Francesca back into the forefront of her being, desperately struggling to gain back control over her body. As soon as she managed to do as much as to cause her fingers to twitch, she pulled a small blade from her sleeve and violently dragged it over her forearm.
Just as it had been so many times before, the pain and blood distracted the Urge within her, just long enough to let her shove it back down into the farthest corner of her being. When her brain finally caught up, she immediately snapped back up, dread filling her as her eyes found Gortash’s shocked face.
Francesca had messed up. The blood soaking into her pants, somehow deepening the black color of the cloth, felt freezing against her skin. Adrielle had been Bhaal’s perfect weapon, his to wield however it pleased him. Though she couldn’t remember much of her past, there was suddenly no doubt in her mind, that Adrielle never would have dared to defy her father so directly.
Judging by the sudden suspicion Gortash regarded her with, he knew it too.
“Perhaps Orin didn’t exaggerate in her last report… You are different.”, Gortash tilted his head as he regarded her with suspicion. Still, he reached down his hand, offering to pull her up.
Without thinking, Francesca took the outstretched hand, regret filling her immediately as his expression morphed from calculating curiosity to grim disappointment.
He pulled her to her feet, motioning her to sit back down, his cold gaze never once straying from her face.
“I have missed you in your absence. I’ll say, I much preferred working with you over your wretched little sister. Tell me, how did she manage to defeat you?”, his tone was icy, mistrust shining in his void-black eyes. He was testing her, giving her one last shot to prove she still was the person he had missed.
Francesca would have been endlessly grateful for the chance to fix her stumble if she had any idea as to what sort of reaction he was looking for now.
She took a hopefully subtle breath before answering, nervous at the way he was studying her face. “I don’t remember the specifics, all I know is that she stabbed me in the back like a coward.”, she winced internally at her weak delivery, praying Gortash wouldn’t catch the way her voice had wavered, the way she knew her answer bore no resemblance to how Adrielle used to speak.
The frigid anger radiating off the duke let her know, she’d been discovered. Gortash had seen through her act.
“I figured she couldn’t have beat you directly. Letting you do all the planning and scheming, only to swoop in to replace you right as things were getting fun. That sounds just like her.”, he smirked cruelly, “Still, I did think you’d be expecting it. Seems like I put too much faith in you.”
The beast in her chest snarled wildly at his comment, wanting to peel the pretty flesh from his blackened bones. But Francesca was prepared for it - knowing she’d lose more than she could afford if she let the Urge gain any more control, she firmly pushed it back into submission.
A look of despondency crossed Gortash’s expression and Francesca cursed herself as she realized she had just failed the final part of his test. He had been counting on the bared teeth and wild violence of her Urge; had been hoping for it.
“You aren’t Adrielle at all, are you? Though you’re trying to act like you are.”, a distinct sense of loss lowered his tone.
Francesca’s blood froze - her attempt at deception had failed. She thought she’d been smart, to catch the meaning in his looks, to understand their past relationship with barely any information, but he had seen through her ruse because she didn’t think past her first conclusion and resisted where she needed to give in. If Wyll lost his father because of her cowardice and stupidity, she would never forgive herself. There must still be some way to salvage the situation, to gain the upper hand again.
She reigned in the shock in her expression and replaced it with the first thing she could think of - annoyance. “Don’t be a bitch about it, Enver. I at least remember enough about you to know you’d do the exact same thing if you were in my place. I woke up on that Nautiloid with nothing”, she caught his eyes with a piercing glare, a small sliver of hope lighting up again as she formed a new strategy, cursing her mind for being so stubbornly foggy. “Though considering everything I’ve learned since then, I doubt I’d need you to take over the absolute, at least not with the complete mess you’ve made of it since Orin stabbed me in the back.”, she was surprised to actually feel a deep sense of betrayal in the part of her heart that had quietly recognized him as Enver.
The moment of real emotion did not remain unnoticed as Gortash grabbed her chin and roughly yanked her around to face him fully.
“You are still in there.”, that visceral desperate hope was back in his eyes, making Francesca flinch, her jaw still held tightly in his grip. Her chest ached and her head was pounding as if someone was trying to beat down the walls of her skull from within it. With a feeling like a damn was breaking in her head, Francesca, the remnants of Adrielle and the Monster flooded into each other, blurring the lines of where one ended and the other began. Suddenly she was just a mix of terror, desperation, misery, and untamed wrath, covered in crimson.
“I don’t know who I am.”, her voice was a lot shakier than she expected and horror cursed through her when she noticed her eyes were welling up with tears. She was losing herself, losing Francesca.
“You’re my Adrielle. My favorite Assassin, my agony and my salvation. Please, Darling, come back to me.”, all pretense was gone, leaving behind something raw and desperate. Something inside her wanted nothing more than to dig her claws into his chest and sink her teeth into his bleeding, beating heart.
In a single rapid movement, Enver used his grip on her chin to press her head into the fabric behind her, swinging his legs over hers and straddling her hips, effectively restraining her. Before she could react at all, he shoved his lips against hers, forcing her into a violent kiss. Painful flashes of memories shot through her mind, nothing staying long enough to make sense of, completely overwhelming her with the flood of images. Her body was reacting on its own, both trying to pull Enver closer and trying to push him off. Her nails tore at his forearms ripping a low moan from his throat, stifled by her lips still moving against his. The last flicker of herself was hanging on by a thread, desperately trying to force her body back under her control.
Gortash’s tongue pushed into her mouth and Francesca took it as an opportunity to bite down violently. She felt the flesh tear between her teeth, as she nearly severed the appendage. Gortash used his still tight grip on her jaw, to pull it downward, forcing her to release him. However, despite the blood quickly filling his mouth he didn’t seem too bothered, continuing to straddle her hips, a clear bulge pressing against her crotch. He was still into this. She had almost bitten off his tongue and he enjoyed it. Desperately she jabbed her knuckles toward the pressure points on his neck, which should render him immobile, but he was prepared and grabbed both of her wrists, shoving her down flat on her back and restraining her arms over her head. Another moan sounded through the room and she had never felt as ashamed as she did when she realized it was her own. No matter how much Francesca hated what was happening, the Urge loved it. Pure depraved violence, terror, and lust - everything Bhaal could ever want from his chosen. Her body was not hers, had never been hers and it would savor every second of her agony.
For a moment she thought about simply giving in, letting the Urge take over completely, letting it enjoy her pain and hiding in the farthest, darkest corner of her mind, never to be seen again.
A sharp mental tug snapped her out of her hopelessness, panic shooting through her as she double-checked if she had actually severed the tadpole connection. But her tadpole was still, no one even trying to reach out and no one tapped into her thoughts.
Francesca wracked her brain for what it could have been, temporarily forgetting her current predicament until Gortash shoved his mouth back onto hers, harshly digging his teeth into her lip, letting their blood mix together. He took both her wrists into his left hand, easily wrapping his long fingers around her thin joints. Dread and embarrassment filled her when she realized she couldn’t even break free from the taller man when he was only using a single hand to restrain her. The Urge delighted in her helplessness, gleefully cackling in the back of her mind.
Gortash used his now free hand to slowly trail up her inner thigh, drawing another unwilling moan from her mouth, that he greedily swallowed up with another messy kiss.
Francesca was shocked back to attention, as another tug cursed through her mind, and she suddenly remembered allowing Jaheira to use detect thoughts on her so that she wouldn’t be left in the dark, despite her lack of a tadpole. Horror cursed through her at the realization, that while she had successfully severed the tadpole connection, Jaheira was still privy to every single thought shooting through her mind.
Desperately she tried to force Jaheira out of her head, renewing her efforts to fight off Gortash, not daring to imagine what Jaheira would think of her now, as she witnessed every moment of her pain. The Harper immediately retreated from her thoughts when she realized Francesca was trying to kick her out. Despite the relief at not having the closest thing she had to a mother witnessing her weakness, being so acutely aware of how utterly alone she was almost made her despair.
In here it was just her and her monster facing a man she wanted to get as far away from as possible, while her Urge was fantasizing about crawling into his skin and building a shelter from his bones.
Tears were streaming down her face as Gortash continued unperturbed, sliding down her clothes and shoving a bony finger inside of her. She wondered if her struggle was pointless anyway, just like her struggle to fight the urge. Sooner or later she would slip up and the beast both within and without would devour her whole.
But she couldn’t give in, not yet. Not while Jahira knew what was happening, not while Gale loved her, not while her friends were depending on her to fix the carnage she had caused.
With another surge of adrenaline, she pulled her hands from Gortash’s grasp, using his ego and distraction to overpower him despite his physical strength somehow far surpassing her own. As soon as her hands were free, she jabbed her knuckles, lightning fast, against the pressure point on his neck, this time effectively paralyzing the man.
As quickly as she could, she scrambled out from underneath him, pulling a vial of Karabasan’s gift from her pocket as she did. Her stun only worked for a moment and she needed more than that to get back down to the audience hall and hopefully manage to blend into the crowd there.
Dipping her sharp nails into the vial, she lost no time before stabbing them into Gortash’s neck, forcing the poison into his bloodstream and praying it would be a high enough dose to allow her escape.
Already halfway out of the room, she finally managed to pull her clothes back on, turning her ungraceful stumble into a full sprint. On her way back down to the door at the bottom of the staircase, she tried her best to smooth out her appearance, wiping the blood from her face and neck with her sleeve, and pulling her robe closed in a way that concealed most of the scarlet spots that stained it. Reaching one hand toward the door handle she used her other to clumsily smooth her hair back into a somewhat acceptable state, before yanking the door open with so much force, that she almost ripped it off its hinges.
She had no idea what her friends would think of her now. Still, when her gaze landed on them being held back by about a dozen Banites and Flaming Fist, Jaheira currently restrained by one as she repeatedly thwacked her staff over another’s head, she couldn’t find it in herself to care. Francesca would get them all back to camp unharmed, no matter their opinion of her. They could hate her as much as they wanted, as long as they’d be alive to do so.
“We gotta go! Get out of the fortress, if you get separated, keep. running. We’ll meet back up at camp!”, Francesca yelled frantically as she cast darkness on both the Banites and her Companions. She jumped straight into the inky black cloud, fully utilizing her magical darkvision to help everyone get away from the Gauntlets of Bane and slipping an invisibility potion into the hands of everybody who couldn’t cast the spell themselves.
They all dispersed in different directions, trying to shake their followers by thinning their ranks and hoping none of them had Francesca’s ability to see through invisibility. Francesca halted for long enough to see all her friends’ shimmering forms slipping through different exit routes and making sure none of them were being followed. Just as she made to turn around though, the door to Gortash’s private chamber crashed open once more, the man stumbling through and directly locking eyes with her. Her mind turned blank for a moment, desperately trying to think of something, before recalling how much her memory - both literal and physical, had seemed to enjoy his violence. This was normal for them, wasn’t it?
Deciding now was as good a time as any to test her theory, she slipped her emotionless mask back on, appearing as unbothered as possible, before giving him a slight smirk and a mocking little wave, turning around and dashing out of the fortress. She didn’t dare to let her eyes linger on him, but even at the short glimpse she caught of his face as she swiveled around, she could swear she saw his expression soften, whispering something almost in reverence.
She refused to acknowledge the little voice inside her telling her the word he’d said was her name. Adrielle.
***
Getting out of Wyrms Rock was no issue, the darkness, invisibility, and general commotion had given all of them more than enough cover to slip away. Francesca had lost sight of the rest as soon as they had slipped out of the audience hall, but considering that there didn’t seem to be any Flaming Fist or Steel-Watchers actively looking for them and she couldn’t see any signs of a nearby struggle, she’d just have to assume they were alright.
As soon as she was sure no one was following her or currently trying to kill someone she cared about, she slipped into a dark empty alleyway, dropping her invisibility and vomiting behind an empty crate.
She had to get her shit back together right now. She could freak out and pity herself when the chosen were dead and the elder brain was defeated. Or when she was dead, which seemed more and more likely to happen first. Still, she had to keep it together as long as she could, needed to help as many people as possible as long as she was still Francesca.
It wouldn’t make up for any of the terror and pain she had caused - could never fix anything, but maybe she could at least prevent the end of the world and give the survivors of her horrific scheme a chance to rebuild.
Francesca closed her eyes for a moment, envisioning every unwanted thing inside of her that was threatening to spill out. With a deep breath, she let her Ki flow against it, forcing it back into herself and sealing up her mind behind it. An icy numbness cursed through her, freezing the tidal wave of emotions, memories, and urges threatening to drown her. She wasn’t sure how long that would hold but in her current state, she couldn’t find the strength to care.
Cleaning herself up a bit better than earlier, she started the trek towards camp, keeping an eye out for any of her companions. She wasn’t quite sure how long she had been standing in that alley, but it probably took a lot more time than any of the others had needed to get back.
They would be waiting for her.
She had no idea what she was going to say to them, wondering if it’d be possible to simply sneak into her tent, avoiding them altogether.
That line of thought became unnecessary as soon as Francesca neared the entrance to their campsite. Angry voices filled the air, getting closer with every step she took. A frigid cold crept down her limbs, making them feel stiff. Her fingers started tingling as though she had shoved them into ice water and a blurry haze crept over her vision.
Francesca had barely made it through the arch marking the entrance to the abandoned farmland they had been occupying when Shadowheart spotted her.
Before Francesca could do or say anything, Shadowheart was already barreling down the path toward her, spitting vitriol the whole way.
“You better have a real good fucking excuse for this!”, the unbridled rage in her expression made Francesca flinch back, she had never seen her that angry before. Not at her, not at Lae’zel, not even at Shar after finding out about her past. The sheer contempt in her voice made the frozen tidal wave in her mind crack, just a bit.
"You decide to just omit the fact that you created the absolute? And then you decide to cozy up to your old lover, and you still think you can just walk on in here like nothing changed??"
Francesca was stunned, not able to form a single thought, just standing there, gaping and silent. The rest of the party made their way down toward them as Shadowheart was waiting impatiently for her to say something. Defend herself. Apologize. Anything.
No words left her mouth, her mind frozen and her lips feeling like they had been sealed shut.
At her distinct lack of a reaction, Karlach’s anger boiled over as well, looking at her like she was the most disgusting thing she’d ever been forced to lay her eyes upon.
“You’re seriously not even going to apologize? After everything we’ve been through? You just, what? Think you can leave us in the dust and throw in your lot with Gortash!? Was I seriously stupid enough to fall for that AGAIN?! DO I JUST BLINDLY TRUST EVERY EVIL BASTARD RUNNING AROUND, TELLING ME THEY CARE ABOUT ME?!”, Francesca could barely hear Karlach’s voice over the sound of static droning in her ears, not able to process the utter fury twisting her friend’s face.
“FUCK YOU, SOLDIER! AND FUCK EVERY FUCKING THING I EVER SAID TO YOU! YOU KNOW I ACTUALLY THOUGHT YOU WERE GENUINE, WITH YOUR WHOLE MEMORY LOSS ‘I WANNA BE BETTER’ BULLSHIT.”, angry tears streamed down Karlach’s face as she regaled Francesca with a look of such utter betrayal, that she would have preferred it if the Tiefling had simply gutted her with her battle ax instead.
“YOU KNOW WHAT I THINK? I THINK YOU BARELY EVEN KNOW HOW TO ACT LIKE YOU’RE A PERSON! YOU JUST DON’T GET IT. YOU’LL NEVER GET IT.”, Karlach looked like she wasn’t sure if she should punch her or lop her head off before she just deflated, all fight seeping out of her, leaving nothing but resignation behind.
“Fuck, maybe that’s not even your fault. Maybe you were just born like that. You were literally created by the God of Murder to cause as much misery as possible. You’re not even capable of being sorry.”, Karlach huffed in disdain, before turning away from Francesca.
“I guess I’ll have to tolerate you until this whole Elderbrain business is dealt with. But that doesn’t mean I have to forgive you. Don’t fucking talk to me again. I’m done with you.”, with that she stalked off toward her tent, leaving a trail of smoldering footprints behind her.
Francesca stood still, exactly in the same spot as she had been when Shadowheart spotted her, and for a moment no one said a word.
Eventually, Wyll cleared his throat awkwardly, “I think it might be best for everyone to cool off a bit before we discuss this any further. How about we all tuck in for the night?”
Astarion, Lae’zel, and Minthara cleared off almost instantly, clearly happy to be done with the whole ordeal as quickly as possible. Shadowheart merely shot Wyll a glare, before forcefully ramming against Francesca’s shoulder on her way to her own tent.
Still feeling completely lost, Francesca made the mistake of catching Gale’s gaze, looking for any sort of understanding or maybe even comfort from the one person who had always treated her with nothing but kindness, sticking to her side as though it was the only place he wanted to be.
She couldn’t decipher the look in his eyes as he regarded her frozen form.
“I think you’ve said and done more than enough. Leave me be.”, his words were icy and carried a finality with them that made the last remnants of her composure shatter.
Gale left her there, tugging Wyll with him toward their respective lodgings. He slipped through the entrance of the Indigo tent he had shared with her for the past month, without so much as a single glance back.
Francesca barely managed to close the doors of the old Barn behind her, before breaking down in ugly heaving sobs.
***
This was it, wasn’t it? The point of no return. It was almost funny to realize that she had already passed it before she even recalled her first memory. Gale had told her once she was all he could ever need. How stupid of her to actually believe he meant it.
She thought he had seen the beast inside of her, had seen her violent heart, and loved her regardless. But knowing now, his reaction to being confronted with the irrefutable truth, it was clear that he had only seen what he wanted to see. She couldn’t blame him. She deserved his hatred, deserved everyone’s hatred. She had been naive to ever truly believe she could deny a god. Blasphemous to even want to. She was his spawn. His creation. He would not have created her with the power to defy him.
Back in the Pod, she had denied the first name that came to her. The Dark Urge. It had felt wrong. If she had remembered Adrielle back then, would it have felt right? Thinking back, she wasn’t sure if Francesca had felt right. She had no idea where the name even came from. Had her broken bleeding brain made it up? Perhaps she had recalled the name of her last victim and had simply taken it as her own like she took everything else. Like it was her birthright.
Maybe it was.
Maybe Francesca was nothing more than a dream, created by a mangled brain and shaped by the group of desperate survivors that had found her.
She thought that she might just be whatever he saw in her. When he had seen a savior, she had fought to match his image, when he had seen a lover, she gave him every desperate scrap of love she could find within herself. Now he saw a monster and somehow she was sure, that meant a monster was all she’d ever be.
Only a fool or a maniac would think it possible to defeat their own nature.
Francesca must have been both.
The distant sound of voices reached her ears from the campfire, some of the others, probably debating whether she was tame enough to keep around until they fought the elder brain. A familiar red haze invaded her mind when she imagined them, distracted by their quarrel, unaware that she could cut down half of them before they even had the chance to draw a weapon. Still so unguarded despite the Killer in their midst.
The quiet, lonely specter of Francesca tried to fight the haze, desperate not to harm the people who had gifted her a brief glimpse of freedom.
The monster mocked her for it, laughed at the poor thing that wasn’t even sure it was real. How pathetic, to refuse the power that could be grasped so easily. How stupid, not to see, that their ‘friends’ were nothing more than insects that needed to be crushed in their father’s name. Francesca was simply too weak to cleanse the world. The Urge would destroy her and soak the earth with blood.
Realization slowly formed in Francesca’s thoughts - this was her end.
She could agree now, that resistance was futile, could admit that she was never real to begin with. She could hide away from the horrors of the world and deny that she could have saved it. She could give up and fade into nothing.
Or she could deny the Urge one last time. She could become real enough, for just a moment, to save the people she loved, who would get a chance to save the rest of the world. She could destroy this vessel of Bhaal and drag everything that clung to this wretched rotten body with her down to whatever hell their father had prepared for those who refused him.
Her mind made up and the Urge still gleeful in its ignorance, she pulled the knife from her sleeve and slit her throat in a single quick slash.
Divine wrath crashed through her body as blood began to pour out of her neck making Francesca stagger with its force.
Still, as she listened to the beast inside rage on, she felt a grim satisfaction bloom in her chest. If she could kill the beast, she must have been real and the people she loved would never need to fear her again. She would be allowed to be herself, for just a single moment.
As she was lying there on the cold earth, choking, blood quickly pooling around her head as her life drained away, she felt only peace.
Her last breaths escaped her as she recalled a strangely familiar face, a small frail kid with nearly translucent pale skin, pink eyes, and two little tufts of white hair tied on either side of their smiling face. It took her a moment to realize it was hers, younger, unscarred, and happy.
Behind them stood a family of Drow, an older woman with a stern but kind face, a man with a supporting grip on the woman’s waist, and two children, about her age, beaming with pride. A single tear slipped from her eye as she tried to hold on to the image of what she knew to be her family. Hers. Not the Urge’s, not Bhaal’s, just hers.
Maybe they were waiting for her, waiting in whatever space had opened for her in death. They would understand that she tried to save them and open their arms in forgiveness. In her dream, there was the soft light of dawn shining on a girl with strong arms and a kind face. Her skin was the color of the Evergreens standing firm on the mountainside, her eyes glowing with hope and happiness.
She wanted nothing more than to reach for her, reach for all of them, knowing in her heart that those were the people she had loved the most. The people she had damned the moment they met her. As though any god could hear her last desperate wish, she prayed that death would be kind. Prayed that she was separate enough from Bhaal to be granted a sanctuary far from him and his terror. That at least in death she’d be allowed to rest.
But no god would ever listen to a ruined thing like her.
Dread crept through her veins like ice, as the vision of her family faded to black, and a freezing void swallowed her whole.