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“I know better than to stop you, but just because a floorboard is loose doesn’t mean you have to go digging around under it,” Astarion grumbled.
Karlach laughed at that, just a little too loudly for how small of a room they were in. Astarion winced at the sound and turned his head — and the ears attached to it — slightly away from her. “At least you don’t have to breathe in all the dust it’s kicking up.”
A hum of agreement answered her as Shadowheart tried to clear away some of the dust on the floor so she could sit. “I just wanted to make sure they didn’t trip on the wood but I’ve a feeling we’ll be here a while.”
Despite being mere feet away, their words passed over Durge without really registering. From the moment they had set foot in this building something had felt… wrong. Wrong and so familiar. The same feeling that crawled up their spine any time they tread the same paths that they had before all this business with the mind flayers and the absolute. Back when they were still themself. Back when they were someone completely different.
It had become a sixth sense, all too common for what it was. That creeping feeling knew when they had history somewhere before they had found any evidence. And there often was evidence. A ring that fit perfectly, marks gouged into wood that aligned perfectly with their claws, a note beside a body that described fearing eyes in the night that shown the same color as their own.
It was tempting to rely on that feeling, to push away the disgust, the horror, at finding evidence of your own history that you didn’t remember. But despite the horrors attributed to their past, there was something inside them screaming for more; more horrors, more history, more, more, more. Smoke and ash and blood and screams and-
Durge let out a long sigh, the dust blowing away from them catching in a ray of light pouring in through the window. No. There was no more. Not now. Just silence and dust. They would stay in the present, not live in the past.
“No need to get all huffy about it. I was only teasing,” Astarion said, though the words once again failed to reach Durge for at that moment, their hand brushed against leather.
A little more digging and investigation revealed a book. When he pulled it up and into sight, Karlach took a step closer. “Huh, looks like there was something in there after all!”
“I was hoping for a bag of gold but, sure. A book. That’s lovely. Surely that’s worth all this trouble.”
Durge’s tail flicked in irritation at that one. It was harmless teasing. Not worth getting in a fuss over. But nevertheless it had pulled them back out of their own world. They were not alone here.
“Go ahead to camp, then, if waiting is so tiresome.” It was less of a suggestion and more of an order. There was no bite to the words, no attempt at intimidation, but the meaning was clear.
Karlach butted in before Astarion could respond. “Was that directed at all of us, or just Fangs here?”
Durge snorted and attempted to force a smile. “I won’t be long. Go rest.”
Karlach nodded and stretched. “Alright but don’t take too long or someone might just nab you dinner ‘fore you can get to it.” The smile that came to Durge with the understanding that that someone was almost certainly going to be Karlach herself was more genuine than the one they’d had a moment before.
Shadowheart and Astarion were slower to leave. They held each others gaze for several moments before Astarion finally nodded and turned to the door. “Well, if you insist. But don’t come crying to me later about how you had to lug all this junk home yourself.” He wouldn’t have helped anyways.
And then it was just Durge and Shadowheart. Neither spoke right away as she brushed the dust from her shins and loaded her backpack for the travel back.
Durge did the same, quietly puzzling out how to fit everything into their pack as easily as possible. They wondered if they had always been such a packrat.
When Shadowheart spoke, it didn’t feel like the silence was being shattered. Her voice as always was quiet, planned. “Do you think that book is what you’ve been looking for here?”
The question caught them off guard, even if the voice itself hadn’t. Their hands stilled for just a moment before they regained their composure. “I haven’t been looking for anything. Just… exploring.” The moment the word left their mouth, they wondered if they should have used another word. Looting perhaps? Scavenging?
Shadowheart nodded, white braid falling across her shoulder to hang along her chest. “Exploring…” She latched her bag but left it sitting on the floor as she straightened her back. “I’ll not pry — I owe you that much — but there is little to be gained from chasing ghosts. They can be more dangerous than they appear.” She didn’t have to remind them how they knew. They had been to the House of Grief together. No more needed to be said.
And so they said nothing. Shadowheart didn’t wait for a response. She slung her bag over her shoulder and left, leaving behind a silence that was louder than her words.
Without commanding their hands to do so, they found themselves holding the book again. The design on the front, the weight of it, the smell of the ink, it was all familiar. And as they opened in, they were greeted by their own familiar scrawl. The words on the page whispered to them, an itch in the back of their mind. Still, they could not put it down.
The words seemed to beg them to remember. “Remember who you are,” they seemed to whisper. “Remember who you will be again.”
It was a strange thing, to be haunted by one’s own past, Durge thought. A smile once again came to their lips as they struggled to remain in the moment. It was an even stranger thing, to be haunted by the present as well.
The book tumbled to the floor, forgotten as the edges of their vision turned red. They hoped that they would be lucky enough that no one was nearby for them to hurt. They hoped they were lucky enough that someone was.