Chapter Text
Bhaal still had use for her. Her mind was shattered, but the body that Bhaal crafted was as virile and fertile as ever.
Fern was a defiant child, but failed to break her chains. The brain was long since gone, but the hero that destroyed it was a broken shell. There were no more thoughts in her head, only an instinctual drive to kill and breed…and these were indulged. For years she kept chained in depths of Bhaal's temple: a constant parade of mates of every imaginable type, her only respite came when she was brought a live meal to kill. Father would make his army: dozens birthed herself and countless more than she sired.
However, this would not be her home forever. The was a half-drow with dark hair who visited often, sometimes for unholy coitus but more often she would simply…visit. She would sit and comb the mats from Fern's hair, or rub her growing belly, or watch and cheer with glee as she killed and ate her meal. Fern understood little, but knew in her heart that she did not deserve such tenderness, she was being punished, but she did not know what for or why.
Fern didn't realize she was being liberated. All she felt was a nauseating wave of panic when the half-drow who had been so gentle wrapped her roughly in a heavy blanket and carried her away. She fought until every muscle burned with exhaustion while the half-drow traveled with her, far out of the city and to some unknown place. This wasn't how it was meant to be.
She would not be contained so easily, but when she broke free and ran as far and as fast as she could, She was panicked and alone in a swamp that seemed vaguely familiar. This place stank of decay, and every creature was nasty and bitey, but it could become her new how. There was no shortage of slimy little animals to eat, and Fern had become like an animal herself. She had no need for clothes or shelter, and when the time came she would birth the little creature right on the ground.
However, she was not alone. There was no trace of her companion, but there was another: an old human woman who lurked in the shadows. Frogs and snails had not been enough to satisfy her voracious appetite, and she had only her hand to sate her lust. Fern growled. The old woman would do nicely on both counts, but every time she rushed toward her the old blood bag vanished and left Fern confused and frustrated.
She would have the old blood bag. Every night she collapsed on the ground exhausted and longing to fill the old woman with seed, to break her neck with her bare hands, and to feast upon her flesh. In Fern's dreams she was a willing, eager sacrifice who spread her legs and presented her frail neck while she spoke kind words. Fern could not recall kind words.