Work Text:
Her hands were brushing through the long hair while she hummed slightly. Her butler Sceleritas was busy helping to decorate the temple for the Feast of the Moon this night. It would be her first Feast of the Moon in the temple, only a few months after she first had arrived. She had been ready then, ready for the task that was bestowed on her.
"Your singing is awful, makes me want to tear a liver out of someone," Orin complained. Achlys sighed, used to Orins foul moods now. Saverok had come in her room a few moments before, praising Achlys for her murder spree yesterday. Two families in the Outer City, lambs waiting for the slaughter. Her divine power had flowed through her, the first time where she had felt in control when she slaughtered. Not the raw hysteria and brutality of her Urges, but more like a divine angel of Death.
"You did well yesterday as well, I like the intestine art that you made for this evening," she replied. A bit of tension escaped from Orins shoulders.
The first months she arrived they had been like fire and oil. Orin was enraged with her arrival, Achlys was overwhelmed. Saverok had been unimpressed when a lanky, starved seventeen year old was paraded through the temple by Sceleritas Fel. The purest Bhaalspawn just a spring of a girl? A daughter? Expectations on her shoulders that felt heavier than the entire world, all the eyes of the Church on her. Orin had been vicious, not wanting to address her or even wanting to look in her direction. It was for the best, she was better of alone anyways.
But one night she had been out for the slaughter, stalking her way through the streets. Orin had followed her, thinking that Achlys didn't notice. She had. If Orin wanted to see what she was capable of, that was her decision.
She killed a family that night, she always gravitated towards families. The fear in the eyes of the mother as she tore her dagger through the children, how the light already left their eyes then. The bravado of the fathers, that instinctual drive to protect when she nipped that fire out of them. She had picked up the body of the father and cracked open his skull.
"I know that you're there Orin," she had said. Orin had appeared through the window, looking at the scene at her feet. Blood, so much blood. Guts spilled and faces etched in pain. She was covered in blood, felt it dripping from her fingers as she tried to get his brain out of his skull. Maybe she could see what it was like, how people loved. Like his brain could give her the answers. She had looked up, Orin staring at her. They were only teens, staring at each other.
"Is this enough for you?" she had asked.
"Yes."
It was her fifth Feast of the Moon now, the first one she would lead as High Priestess. She was standing in front of the altar, the gaze of her Father rooted on her.
"Orin, do you think that the decapitated heads are too tacky or do they add a bit of a grotesque vibe to the function?" Orin came up to her side, a position that felt natural to the both of them. Her sister, her bloodkin.
"They'll instill a beautiful sense of fear into the paladin, I can't wait until they realize the moment that it's the faces from some of their own order. The ritual shall be horrifying." The footsteps of Saverok rumbled through the temple, his face wrought in displeasure. Her brother, the one who fought tooth and nail to keep the practices to stay the same as when he had been in charge. Not open to any changes in leadership. His disapproval seeping through every word and movement towards her.
"Achlys, a word." She turned towards him, keeping her face blank. Let him stew in his own disdain, it didn't matter to her. His word mattered to her, her Father's. The divine commands that he gave. She was merely the vessel for His will. His weapon unleashed on the world. To go against her was to go against Father. A lesson that Saverok needed to learn.
"Brother, what seems to be your concern?" Orin started to fidget with her braid, knowing the concern already. They all knew, it was open in front of them all. A mere performance of dominance.
"I was informed of you decision regarding making Orin your right hand. While I applaud you both getting more familiar with each other, I do worry that some values might be left behind with two unexperienced Bhaalspawn taking such high positions." Oh, how the sting of being tossed aside must feel. To feel like your own failures finally caught up to you, to be discarded away to a station so beneath your status. To be replaced with your own daughter, the person that he had underestimated. She hadn't, she saw the potential in Orin.
"Do you doubt the decisions that were made with Father?" She strode closer to him.
"Do you doubt his own flesh and blood wouldn't be capable to make the right decisions?"
"Do you doubt Father, brother?" The Eyes of their Father glowing bright red behind her, the blessing of Him. Her divine purpose. Her own red eyes piercing in his, a reminder of her purpose. Magic blooming from between her hands, the smell of death following.
"I don't doubt Father," Saverok admitted, his defeat written on his face. It would be good if he was locked away at the Murder Tribunal with the Echo's for company.
"That is what I thought, brother."
The smell of the temple welcomed her home that morning, the preparations of her tenth Feast of the Moon. Bones and guts were lugged throughout the temple, a stark difference from where she had been. A corpse with rearranged organs caught her eye, the handiwork of Orin. She would allow it for this event, if she only did it then. It had been a tense discussion hanging between them. She had braided Orins hair again yesterday evening while instructing her again to focus more on the amount of kills instead of how she could display them. Father cared more for the numbers than the art now. Preferred to have the precision that she held with her divine magic rather than the mess of Orin.
As she descended the stairs, Orin was sitting in front of the altar. In prayer? Trying to talk with Father? She knew that Father didn't speak to Orin as much as to her. But he didn't punish Orin like he punished her. She could feel it in her bones that her actions last night would warrant another punishment again. Orin looked up when she approached her.
"You went missing after the sermon," Orin remarked almost casually. But the tone was more pointed. They both knew well enough where she had been.
"I didn't know that anyone would miss me." A bold lie, there was always someone who required to speak with her. Always someone who wanted to ask the Chosen, pulled in every direction until she felt stretched beyond belief. No longer a person, only a title. To be used, to be taken from. Was it not like that for every women? To give pieces of yourself away until it felt like there was nothing left? Until you were faced that you had poured so much of yourself into something that there wasn't any you left. She had become the Chosen, nobody would see the person Achlys anymore. She was a symbol now.
"I did miss you. I can still smell him." Her mind wandered over to just a few hours ago when she was lying on Gortash his chest. He saw her. Not just the Chosen but her. Complimented her on her wit and intelligence, not just her divine magic. He wanted her, not just the illusion that she projected sometimes. The ruthless assassin, the one who stoked fear into their hearts.
"We had to discuss plans, it's not like that Orin. I already told you so." Another lie.
"The Banite is a slight, he's not worthy of your time," Orin proclaimed sharply. A call for attention perhaps? Maybe she needed to give Orin more attention, maybe incorporate her into her plans more. She could do that, that wasn't too big of a burden.
"Let's get ready Orin, I'll let you braid my hair."