Alex stood beside the brine pool, his hand submerged in the viscous liquid. Tendrils of flesh unfurled from his arm, twisting and writhing like serpents. The grotesque tendrils plunged into the depths of the pools, hunting, searching, until they found their prey—every last tadpole. One by one, they were consumed, devoured by the hungry mass of tendrils that retracted into Alex's arm, leaving the pool barren, its vile contents eradicated.
Meanwhile, on the edge of the room, Gale’s eyes were drawn to a cluster of barrels near the brine pool, their lids painted with the unmistakable symbol of a squid. His curiosity piqued, Gale approached, noticing a weathered journal lying open atop one of the barrels. With a cautious glance, he picked it up and began to read, his brow furrowing as the words sank in.
"Dictated to Scribe Yanthus by Enver Gortash," Gale read, skimming the lines that followed.
The further he read, the more his hands trembled. His face went pale as he continued.
“Ceremorphosis,” Gale read , his voice tinged with disbelief and dread. “The transformation of a humanoid into a mind flayer, typically completed in less than a tenday, has been altered by the Crown of Karsus. Our enhanced tadpoles place the host in a state of suspended ceremorphosis, where they are susceptible to the telepathic control of the Absolute…”
His voice trailed off, his heart pounding in his chest. His eyes widened in horror as the words on the page revealed the full scope of the plan. "The host's servility feels natural… subconscious… the perfect puppet."
Without thinking, Gale’s voice erupted, loud and panicked.
“They have the Crown of Karsus!?”
The words echoed in the chamber, bouncing off the walls. His shout cut through the air like a knife, drawing everyone's attention. Alex, who had just finished consuming the last of the tadpoles, turned sharply toward him.
"The Crown of Karsus?" Alex asked. The words seemed familiar, despite being sure it was the first time he had heard about it.
Gale turned to face him. “The Crown of Karsus,” he began, his voice steadying but still trembling with urgency. “An ancient and powerful artifact, crafted by the arcanist Karsus. It allowed him to wield magic independent from the Weave—magic so powerful that he used it in a desperate attempt to supplant Mystryl, the goddess of magic, and become a god himself.”
The others were silent, their expressions a mixture of confusion and concern as Gale continued, his voice low but intense. “Karsus succeeded… briefly. But his folly, his arrogance, caused the fall of the entire Netherese empire in mere moments. The crown was believed to have been destroyed by Mystryl herself.” He paused, his eyes locking with Alex’s, the gravity of his words heavy in the air. “But it seems the crown survived. And now Gortash has it.”
The room felt colder, the weight of this revelation settling like a heavy fog over them.
Before anyone could respond, Karlach growled, her voice filled with barely-contained rage. “What about the journal you just read, Gale?” Her voice was rough, like stones grinding together, as she stared at the barrels with the squid symbols, her nostrils flaring.
Gale, still holding the journal, flipped it open again and he began to read aloud, his voice filled with grim finality. “Enver Gortash has used the elder brain to fulfill his ambitions. The enhanced tadpoles… they’re his way of controlling the minds of countless hosts. The Absolute’s influence is made subtle, almost undetectable, creating an army of willing thralls.”
"That explains why the tadpole were incredibly resilient to any kind of treatment . " Halsin mused in his elf from .
“I knew he was a piece of shit, but this?” Karlach snarled, her fiery heart flaring as her skin flickered with red-hot flames. Her fists clenched, knuckles white, her entire body trembling with the effort of holding back her rage. “I can't wait to cave his skull in.”
Jaheira, in her owl bear form, slowly shifted back to her elven form, her expression unreadable as she absorbed Karlach's fury. She approached cautiously, her tone neutral but edged with curiosity. “You know Gortash?”
Karlach’s flames flared more intensely for a moment, a reflection of her inner turmoil. “I worked for him,” she admitted, her voice thick with bitterness. “Before I was dragged into Avernus, I did some work for him. I was young. Desperate. Gortash’s pay was good, and back then, that’s all I cared about.” Her voice cracked slightly, shame creeping in as she spoke.
Jaheira didn’t push further. She understood better than most that some stories were best left buried, at least for now.
Zevlor, standing near the edge of the group, spoke up, his tone grave. “Who exactly is this Gortash you’re all talking about?”
Wyll answered, his voice cold and full of contempt. “Gortash is a weapons merchant and slaver. He sold infernal iron weapons throughout the Chionthar Valley, making a name for himself by toppling black market leaders. The Zhentarim, the Knights of the Shield… he took them all down.” His eyes darkened as old memories resurfaced. “He became a so-called ‘strategic advisor’ to the lords of Baldur's Gate, but my father, Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard, saw him for what he really was—a scheming, power-hungry snake.”
Astarion, who had been quiet until now, scoffed, his eyes distant and dreamy as he recalled nights of debauchery. “His parties, though… the finest I’ve ever attended. Opulence beyond reason.” He smiled faintly, the memory tinged with a dark, sarcastic pleasure.
The group fell silent for a moment, the reality of their situation sinking in. Gortash, now in possession of an elder brain, and worse, the Crown of Karsus.
Shadowheart’s voice broke the silence, soft but heavy with dread. “We have an elder brain, controlled by a tyrant, wearing one of the most powerful magical artifacts in history.” She shook her head, her gaze distant, as if trying to grasp the full magnitude of what lay ahead.
____________
The tunnel was dimly lit, shadows dancing along the walls as the group made their way deeper . The stench of decay hung thick in the air, every breath heavy with the oppressive weight of the place. Suddenly, Alex raised his hand, halting the party in their tracks. His eyes narrowed, his senses reaching out far beyond the tangible world.
"We’re heading to the barracks," Alex said, his voice low but certain. "There are four followers of Myrkul ahead... and Tav. We’ll find him there."
His words hung in the air like a dark omen. Alex could already feel the minds of the four followers. But there was something else—something erratic. A presence that shifted between the consciousness of an animal and that of a sentient being, flickering like a candle in a storm. It was Tav.
Before they could react, dark spikes erupted from the ground like the fangs of a beast, impaling the followers of Myrkul before they could even draw breath to scream. Their bodies hung limply from the spikes, blood pooling at their feet, their deaths swift and merciless.
Aylin, her radiant wings glowing faintly in the dark, turned to Alex with a mixture of awe and apprehension. "Those spikes… are they your doing?" she asked, her voice soft but filled with curiosity.
Alex nodded. Without hesitation, he approached the bodies and began to consume them, their memories flooding into his mind like a torrent. He saw flashes of their experiments, of their twisted work on Tav, and fragments of Tav’s own past—a life now shattered beyond recognition.
As the last of the memories settled into Alex’s mind, a voice echoed from the far side of the chamber. It was filled with desperation, ragged and hoarse.
"Let me out!"
The group turned in unison, their hearts sinking as they laid eyes on the figure behind the grates. It was Tav, but not the Tav they once knew. His face was gaunt, eyes wild with a mix of terror and madness. His clothes were no more than blood-soaked rags, hanging loosely on his skeletal frame. Behind him, the room was a grotesque display of mutilation—piles of bodies, some savagely torn apart by claws and teeth, others ripped asunder by sheer brute strength. It was a scene from a nightmare.
Tav’s expression shifted violently, from fear to something feral. His hands clutched the bone grates that imprisoned him, his claws scratching at the bars like a rabid animal. His voice was erratic, his words incoherent, switching between pleas for mercy and threats of violence.
"Don’t let me out," he begged, his voice shaking with fear. "Let me out!" His eyes darted from face to face, panic rising. "Please, save me!" But then, his voice darkened, dripping with malice. "I’m gonna kill you all." He clawed at his own face, tearing at his scales until blood began to drip down his cheeks. "No… no… they’re my friends… my prey…" His voice wavered, switching between two personas, one desperate for salvation and the other consumed by bloodlust.
The group stood frozen, the horror of Tav's condition too much to bear. Alfira, had gone pale, her entire body trembling as if the weight of Tav's madness had struck her down. Memories her subconsciousness had kept sealed , resurfaced. Her lips quivered, eyes rolling back as her legs gave out beneath her. Lakkrissa was quick to catch her, pulling her into an embrace.
Stolen novel; please report.
Gale, his face grim, whispered, “What… what happened to him?” His voice was thick with disbelief. “He’s completely deranged.”
"They must have done something terrible to his mind," Lae’zel spat, her eyes narrowing with disgust. "There’s no saving him. Kill him and end his suffering."
Zevlor's gaze was locked on the half-dragon, a torrent of memories flooding his mind. He could still remember the day they met, right after the bloody battle at the grove’s gate. Back then, he had seen something different in him, a man of quiet strength, one who had shown him compassion when so few others had.
They had spoken of hope, of finding a way through the darkness that enveloped them all. But now, that gentle man was gone, consumed by whatever monstrous power had taken hold. What stood before Zevlor was not the ally he had once known, but a wild, feral creature.
His heart ached, as though torn apart by the transformation before his eyes. The man's noble features were now contorted with rage and madness, his eyes that once reflected wisdom now gleamed with an animalistic fury. The Zevlor who had believed in the goodness within him felt an unbearable grief. How could it have come to this?
Shadowheart, shook her head slowly, her face twisted with concern. “Isn’t there some way to save him? We can’t just kill him.”
"Gale," Alex called, his voice sharp with urgency. "Go to the room behind that door. There’s a journal on the bed and a note on the desk. Bring them here."
Without hesitation, Gale sprinted across the chamber. He returned moments later, clutching the journal and note in his hands. His face was pale, the stench of the room thick around him.
"Read the journal first," Alex instructed, his tone leaving no room for delay.
Gale cleared his throat and began to read aloud, his voice steady but growing colder with each word.
"Experiments on the First One – Day Four:
I have noted a fluid leakage from the oral cavity and have ascertained the cause. Due to the unusual method of parasitic insertion, the secretions of the creature within are leaking out, rather than being absorbed by the brain, as we have noted in other thralls. The parasite feeds on the host’s brain-matter itself. I have collected a sample of ear fluid.
Day Five:
Vivisection day today. Showed no sign of pain as I unraveled the long intestine, but instead grabbed the organ as if it were a rope, reaching to strangle me with it. The strength is gone from its arms, however. Had to thread the guts back into the body. Will try again another day."
"Now the note," Alex urged, his voice harder now.
Gale unfolded the note, his eyes scanning the page quickly before reading it aloud.
"I have seen a thousand ears. Some twitch when the worm burrows in. The worm takes longer if the hole isn’t cleaned. I torch them with an ear candle. Dull work. I’m tired of ears. I’m tired of creating thralls. I need a new subject—one Balthazar doesn’t know of. A creature of exceptional will, capable of keeping fragments of its mind despite the parasite. We need to know why."
"The experiment they’re talking about… it’s Tav." Alex added.
The realization hit the group like a hammer. Tav had been subjected to horrors beyond their darkest imaginations. He was no longer the man they once knew, but a broken vessel, torn between sanity and madness, a victim of some nightmarish experiment.
Shadowheart’s eyes shimmered with tears, her voice barely a whisper. “What… what do we do?”
Tav, still clawing at the bone grates, let out a guttural snarl, his bloodied face twisted with anguish. "Let me out!"
But no one moved.
Alex's gaze drifted toward the figure locked behind the bone grates—Tav, the albino half-dragon, his once proud form now reduced to a feral shell of the man he had been. As Alex began to speak, the weight of the truth settled over the group, thick as a storm cloud ready to burst.
"Tav isn’t just any ordinary person," Alex said, his voice low and unflinching, his words like a blade cutting through the tension in the air. "He’s the Dark Urge—a Bhaalspawn. But unlike the others who were born, Tav wasn’t. He was made. Bhaal, in his twisted pursuit of murder and death, created Tav from a piece of his own dead flesh. And in that flesh, he wove murder itself—the Urge. It runs in Tav’s blood, not as a choice, but as a curse. From the moment he came into existence, it was inevitable. He was created to kill."
'Just like me' Alex thought remembering for what purpose he had been created .
As Alex spoke, Tav’s form shifted in the cell, his hands clinging to the bars, eyes wild and distant. The flickering torchlight cast shadows across his scaled skin, highlighting the terrible toll his dark past had taken on him.
"He was taken in by a poor couple in Baldur’s Gate," Alex continued, his voice tinged with an almost mournful tone. "For a time, Tav had what you could call a normal life. They treated him as their own, gave him love, a home. But it wasn’t enough. The Urge—it was always there, simmering beneath the surface. One day, it took control. Tav murdered them—his foster parents, the only people who ever showed him kindness. They didn’t stand a chance."
The group stood frozen in place, the shock palpable in their eyes. Zevlor’s gaze never wavered, his heart aching as he remembered the half-dragon who once stood at the gates of the grove. He had been so calm back then, so collected.
Alex’s voice hardened as he continued. "Eventually, Tav returned to the Cult of Bhaal. He rose through the ranks, becoming the leader of the cult. His purpose was clear—end all life in existence for his father, Bhaal. Tav pledged himself fully, and in doing so, he became something far worse than a murderer. He became a weapon. A force designed to wipe out everything."
Tav’s growling echoed through the chamber, his claws scraping against the bars as though trying to tear his way out. His eyes flickered between fear and rage, a war waging within his very soul.
Karlach clenched her fists, her flames rising and falling with her barely-contained anger.
Alex glanced at Karlach. "Gortash," he said, spitting the name as though it left a bad taste in his mouth. "He found Tav after reestablishing the worship of Bane. They shared a vision—both of them men with dark pasts, both of them willing to sacrifice anything for power. They made an alliance. Bhaal and Bane visited them in their dreams, commanding them to join forces with Ketheric Thorm, the Chosen of Myrkul. Together, the three of them planned to steal the Crown of Karsus, an artifact of unimaginable power."
Gale’s breath hitched as Alex mentioned the Crown, but he stayed silent, listening intently.
"They succeeded," Alex said darkly. "With the Crown in their hands, they used it to enslave the elder brain beneath Moonrise Towers. Tav, Gortash, and Ketheric—they wanted an army of mind flayers, soulless creatures they could control. Tav intended to use that army to fulfill his blood oath to Bhaal. He was going to wipe out all life."
Wyll’s face tightened, the weight of Tav’s twisted fate sinking in. "And then what?" he asked, barely able to keep the revulsion from his voice.
"Once Tav had killed everyone, he planned to end his own life as the final sacrifice to his father. He would be the last living creature, and his death would be the crowning moment of Bhaal’s plan."
The air was suffocating now, thick with dread and disbelief. Tav growled low from behind the bars.
"But it didn’t end there," Alex said, his voice barely a whisper now. "Orin the Red—Tav’s own sister—betrayed him. Jealous of the favor Bhaal had shown Tav, she attacked him, driving a dagger deep into his skull and infecting him with a tadpole. It destroyed his memories, piece by piece, leaving him as the first True Soul. His mind shattered, his past erased. ."
Shadowheart’s hands instinctively tightened, her face pale as Alex’s words sank in.
"That’s when Kressa Bonedaughter found him," Alex said. "She was fascinated by his ability to resist the elder brain’s control. She cut him open, over and over, trying to understand what made him different, what made him capable of defying the brain’s influence. Day after day, she dissected him and put him back together. And all the while, Tav could do nothing but try to tear himself apart or kill everyone around him."
Karlach’s flames flared higher, her rage barely contained. "How did he ended on the nautiloid?"
"Maghtew Budj couldn’t watch his wife’s obsession consume her any longer." Alex explained " He arranged for Tav to be sent away, . That’s how he ended up on the Nautiloid Ship—no memory of who he was, no memory of the blood that had stained his hands. But the Urge… it’s still there. It’s part of him. It always will be."
As Alex’s words hung in the air, the group was left reeling. Tav—the man they had traveled with, fought beside—wasn’t just a victim of circumstance. He was the Dark Urge, a being crafted by Bhaal himself, destined for murder, created to destroy.
Astarion's lips twisted into a dark smirk, though there was no humor in his eyes. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, and let out a low, bitter laugh. “Well, isn't that rich?” he sneered. “I always suspected there was something deliciously twisted about Tav, but this... this takes the cake.” His red eyes flickered over Tav’s feral form. " Destined to murder the world... How quaint."
But behind the sarcasm, there was a flicker of something else—compassion, perhaps.
Gale’s face paled as Alex’s explanation unfolded. He stood rooted to the spot, his fingers absently tracing the edges of his robes, mind racing with the implications of what he'd just learned. “The Crown of Karsus... Bhaalspawn... an elder brain,” he muttered, as if trying to wrap his brilliant mind around it all. “This is more than just some dark secret. Tav is... was... the architect of a plan to destroy everything. Even with his memories gone, what remains? Can a person so deeply entwined with Bhaal’s will truly escape it?”
Gale’s brow furrowed as he glanced at Tav, the once sorcerer now reduced to an animalistic state. The tragedy of it all struck him deeply, and for a moment, he felt the weight of the world’s fragility pressing down on him.
Shadowheart’s eyes widened in shock. Her thoughts raced, conflicting emotions battling within her. “Bhaal’s child,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “All this time, we’ve been walking with a creation of Bhaal...”
She shook her head, the weight of the revelation crushing her. On one hand, Tav had fought beside them, saved lives, shown flashes of humanity and heroism. But on the other hand, the Dark Urge was written into his very being, part of him in a way she couldn’t ignore.
“Is he beyond saving?” she asked quietly, almost to herself. “Or is there still something of the man we know left inside him?”
The fury in Karlach was instant, flames bursting to life around her as she took a menacing step toward Tav’s cell. Her hands clenched into fists, as she glared at the half-dragon. “That bastard!” she snarled, her voice a low growl. “You mean to tell me that all this time, we’ve been side by side with someone who was planning to wipe out everything? Everyone? All for that bloody Bhaal?!”
Her anger was palpable, a wildfire barely contained. But behind it, there was pain. Tav had been her comrade, someone she had trusted,. The betrayal cut deep.
Wyll, stood in silence for a long moment, his jaw clenched tight. His hands twitched as though reaching for his sword, but he held himself back. “Bhaal’s chosen,” he finally said, his voice dark and laced with a hint of sorrow. “All this time, I thought we were fighting monsters. And now... to learn one of us—Tav, of all people—was at the center of it all.”
He took a deep breath, shaking his head. “I swore to protect Baldur’s Gate, to stand against any force that would threaten the innocent. But this... how can I fight this?”
There was no hatred in Wyll’s voice, only the heavy burden of responsibility.
Halsin’s face remained calm, but his eyes betrayed his sorrow. The druid had spent his life protecting life in all its forms, and the idea that Tav had once sought to destroy it all—no matter how unwillingly—gnawed at him. “Tav is a child of Bhaal,” Halsin said, his voice measured. “But even a child born of darkness can find their way to the light. I’ve seen creatures cursed by nature fight against their instincts, fight for something better.”
He stepped closer to the group, his gaze resting on Tav’s wild, desperate form. “I won’t believe that his fate is sealed, not while he’s still breathing. There is still hope—if we can find a way to reach him.”
Jaheira’s expression was one of grim resolve, her eyes hard as stone as she looked at Tav. “I’ve lived long enough to know that some people are born into darkness,” she said, her voice flat. “However, we cannot let sentimentality cloud our judgment. If there is no way to bring him back... we must be prepared to do what is necessary.”