Chapter Text
The Nightsong was not an artifact, but instead the Aasimar daughter of Selune, Dame Aylin. She was also free, flying off and away to enact revenge on the now-mortal Ketheric. Ugh. His name felt a thousand times worse after meeting him than before. He knows Morbius. He knows who Morbius was , how he acted, what he did. Maybe he’s changed, maybe he hasn’t. Out of all of the people Morbius has met so far, Ketheric would be the only one who could tell him.
And yet he didn’t. He rubbed it in. Such a thought made his blood boil as the party ventured to Last Light Inn to check on everybody.
Isobel stood outside, asking about Dame Aylin. Besides her, there were only a few other people. Weak as ever. If her blessing were to fade, if Morbius were to take her down while she was still hurt– why hadn’t she healed? It would be so easy to shoot her down.
It was. Before Morbius knew it, he shot two arrows into her, killing her. Why hadn’t she healed? It was all too easy. And the consequence wasn’t that bad, besides, perhaps, losing Dammon and the few others that had stuck behind.
They fought the shadow-cursed residents and vines and the only challenging thing afterward was forgiving himself. Why did he do that?
He stared at the remains of Isobel, glancing around at the rest of the dead. There were no quips, no words that could lighten the mood or cover this up. Isobel died by his hand and everyone was there to watch. He talked to her as though it were just another day then shot her. Twice.
Usually, this sight would bring him joy. Usually the arrows poking out of corpses and scorch marks from fireballs and slashes and rips and tears and blood would lighten his day. Instead, like the rest of this land, he was ruined.
The disappointment of his companions, while understandable, did little to help raise his spirits.
“We’re going back to camp,” Morbius said in a reserved voice. He sighed as he kept his gaze leveled on Isobel, away from everyone else. “Then we’re going to Moonrise towers to kill Ketheric.”
His tent was a quaint space, but space enough for him to think. He didn’t have anything to decorate the inside besides a small collection of handaxes gently placed upon a shrine and the shiny trinkets he placed upon a table. Morbius sat on his bedroll, staring up at the dark fabric encasing him. The stars, although they felt a little duller, still sparkled through. He could make out faint constellations, quietly naming the ones he remembered before…
“Knock knock?” Gale’s hushed voice felt louder than canonfire, causing Morbius to jump. “I hope it isn’t a bad time, I just want to talk. About today.”
He gulped. “Come in.”
Gale sat himself on the bedroll across from Morbius with his legs crossed. His hands rested on his knees. His hands. Morbius forced his gaze back onto Gale’s face. His frown. His slightly furrowed eyebrows. Sheer disappointment in his eyes made Morbius feel as though he ought to have left Gale just to spare him of this painful moment.
“We need to find a cure.”
“For the tadpole?”
“You know what for.” Gale’s arms moved behind his form, holding himself up as he continued staring at Morbius. “Are you sure you don’t remember when it started? Where?”
“I have no memories from before the Nautiloid. You could even check.” He opened his mind, inviting Gale in. “Though I’m not sure you’d like what you can find.”
“Usually I would be against this, but…” Gale looked away before returning eye contact and placing a hand on Morbius’. “If it’s the only way for me to understand you better, and you truly are okay with it…”
If I weren’t okay with it, you’d know. Morbius thoughts flowed into Gales’ mind along with a dream scenario of pinning him down and using one of the displayed handaxes. Two. Three. Four. Five. Turning Gale into a muddled mesh of red meat.
“Was that a hint of arousal? ” Gale quirked an eyebrow as he spoke out loud. “While I wouldn’t be against something like that, perhaps we could tone it down?”
Morbius rolled his eyes.
Utilizing the tadpole, he was able to show Gale the first body he found leaving the Nautiloid. He could show him the various thoughts and moments afterward, from his perspective. The impulses and urges that flooded his mind, the compulsions forcing his hand toward combat. The sweet joy that followed while he looted the bodies.
Before Gale could say anything, he showed their moment together. All those nights ago, the magic trick. The peace of mind, the silence.
“That was the first time I’d ever felt like that,” Morbius confessed. “As though I were better than the thoughts that linger and flood my mind, the fantasies that spill out into reality before I can put them out.”
“You are better than that. I’d have hoped you knew that by now.”
“Then why did I kill Isobel?” His voice began to rise. “For a moment, I thought I was free– that I could resist! I didn’t kill her and I didn’t kill you, but then… She was weak . ‘It would be so easy…’ And it was almost too easy. Her bruises turned red with blood as my arrows pierced her pale skin! Instead of pure ecstasy as I tore apart this supposed safe haven, I felt pure guilt !” Morbius shot up and raced for one of his handaxes. “Maybe–” he glanced at Gale. “Maybe–” he lowered his hands and sat in front of his shrine. “Maybe…” He stared at the dried blood baring unfamiliar ritualistic symbols. His heartbeat slowed and his voice was silenced. Gale sat beside him, cautiously resting his hand upon his shoulder.
“Guilt is a good start.” The two stared into each other's eyes. “You know I’m not one without my blunders. Without my failures. I can help you if you give me the chance. We just need to figure out something to prevent… this from happening again.” Morbius nodded. “You seemed to have stopped yourself from doing something just now. That could be a good place to start.”
“After listening to the urges, it’s easier. They’re more background noise than anything else, building up until they explode…”
“We killed plenty in the Gauntlet of Shar– even those clones of ourselves in one of those trials we were helping Shadowheart with. That wasn’t enough to stop you from slaying Isobel?”
Morbius held his gaze on Gale, taking in his face. “The rats.” He watched it turn to confusion before he explained. “I was going to kill the rats after promising to spare them, but they disappeared.”
“So… you killed Isobel because you couldn’t kill a bunch of rats? Were you perhaps an exterminator or a cat before the Nautiloid?” Gale asked, a slight smile on his face. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll take this seriously. This is of utmost importance to me.”
Morbius returned the smile. “It’s fine. I think I’ll be able to get through this. Once we kill Ketheric, we’ll be going to Baldur’s Gate.”
“Now, I trust you when you say you think you can ‘get through this,’ but I do want to stress that when we’re at Baldur’s Gate there’s going to be numerous citizens and guards who will not be too keen to see you killing anyone.”
“Well, I obviously wouldn’t do it out in daylight, there’s plenty of dark and dingy alleyways…”
“ Morbius! ” Gale scolded.
“Joking.” He smiled. “I think I can go to sleep now. Thank you for believing in me.”
“Maybe…” Gale glanced around as though there would be anyone else inside the tent. “Maybe I could stick around? Make sure you don’t have any more midnight surprises?”
“I’ll be fine.” Morbius waved him off. “I’m sure you’d be more comfortable in your tent, anyways, all things considered…” He motioned towards the handaxes.
“If you say so.”
Morbius was, in fact, not fine. He kept tossing and turning, unable to sleep.
“Hello?” Sceleritas Fel. Morbius groaned in response. “Come now, Master, you musn’t be so rude. I’ve got quite the gift for you.” Morbius crawled out of his tent. Sceleritas Fel looking him up and down, hobbling around to get a full view. “How wonderfully messy you look, sire. I’m sure you know father is proud of you coming to your senses and offing that nasty cleric.”
“It was not of my own will.”
“Sure it was, don’t be humble, m’lord. You knew she was weak, so weak… Why, she could have healed herself if she didn’t want to die. She was practically asking for it!”
“Just tell me what I’ve earned.” Maybe it was worth it? Probably not.
“I know you’ll love this…” Sceleritas Fel rubbed his hands together. They glowed as he performed a simple gesture, fading as he backed away to give Morbius space.
The ground then glowed beneath Morbius, his control over his body lost as wickedness filled him. Darkness filled his mind and soul as his bones quickly shifted, flesh and blood growing out of him as he unleashed The Slayer.
“Such a strapping young behemoth!”
Morbius felt awful. He did the only thing he could think to do– swipe . It was a quick death and a quicker return as the adoring butler reformed himself of blood.
After a few swipes, Sceleritas Fel had to take his leave. Morbius stood in this form, alone in the night. For a moment, it felt right. He then thought of what everyone else would think of it and shuddered. Perhaps it would be for the best if this gift goes unused.
Morbius went through the wicked detransformation, feeling the extended blood and flesh rip from his form and disappear elsewhere as his bones shifted back into place.
At least it was easier for him to sleep. He fell on top of his bedroll and closed his eyes, at last falling into a dreamless sleep.