Chapter Text
Chapter 4: Red Poppies
Balehrys POV
After breakfast at camp, Balehrys led the group on a long trek along the forest to search for a nearby settlement. The lush greenery and occasional encounters with some wildlife were a welcome sight for Balehrys. He quietly takes in the serene silence of the forest as his companions’ banters behind him fade into a blur.
“Did you hear that? Someone’s yelling” Astarion tensed, his ears picking up noise from a relatively far-off distance. Balehrys then listened closely; he heard faint noises, but not enough to be discernible. He looked over the pale elf with a bit of curiosity.
“The f*ck did he hear?” Balehrys raised his brow.
Shadowheart and Gale seemed to share the same curious look he wore, and Astarion did not appreciate the sudden attention on him.
“ Don’t look at me like that. I just have a sharp hearing. What’s the big deal? It’s not something unusual, don’t you think?” Astarion huffed defensively; his entire stance became guarded.
“I suppose, but I do not remember having pointy elven ears would give one such advantage,” Gale answered, curiosity written on his face. Shadowheart hummed in agreement, and Astarion scoffed.
“But you did hear it, right?” he asked, not wanting to speak further.
“I did, but we need to get closer to know where it’s coming from,” Balehrys said, deciding not to prod Astarion any further about his sensitive hearing. He’ll get to that part should it become more suspicious.
They all marched deeper into the forest. The faint noises grew more apparent as they followed a dirt road that led to a tall wooden gate. Balehrys realized it was a desperate call for help. The group hid behind a rock as they watched the scene unfold, not wanting to alarm the tiefling guards.
“We must proceed cautiously. The gate appears heavily guarded by tieflings, and they seem unusually tense,” Shadowheart cautioned, her gaze fixed on the tiefling sentinel perched atop the gate.
“But why?” Balehrys pondered aloud.
Three figures were screaming desperately at the front of the gates, begging the tiefling atop the gate to open it before goblins reached them. The tiefling looked furious and equally distressed at the prospect of a goblin horde approaching the settlement.
Just as the situation's urgency became apparent, a horde of goblins emerged from the forest's shadows, converging on the gate with alarming speed. A goblin arrow found its mark on a tiefling, and a man emerged from the top of the gate, smoothly descending the rock face to engage the goblins below.
“We’re going to help them, right? We must,” Gale asked, sounding hopeful even, as he looked up to Balehrys for an answer.
“Yes, we will, but I did not sign up to be the one making the decisions for this lot,” Balehrys thought
“Yes,” he answered and looked over at Shadowheart and Astarion, checking for any opposition to his decision.
“Eh, I hate getting covered in goblin guts, but it’s your call, not mine,” Astarion said dismissively.
“These tieflings may have a healer around; I suppose it's wise to be in their good graces by helping out,” Shadowheart expressed;
It’s decided, then. The group moved stealthily to get a bit closer to the ongoing battle. Balehrys signaled for the group to halt, his eyes scanning the horde for any weakness they could easily exploit. Then memories flickered in his mind—flashes of chaos, the smell of blood, and the cries of the wounded. He shook his head, focusing on the present.
“Of course, my f*cking brain decides to remember sh*t like this in the most inconvenient of times”
“The goblins are unaware of our presence behind their group; we can easily catch them off guard with our position” he started, pushing the memories aside. He quickly gave them a quick run-through of how they would ambush the horde. The plan was simple: take the goblins by surprise from behind, hit them hard, and eliminate the threat swiftly.
Shadowheart moved up beside him, her expression grim. "Ready?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her eyes filled with determination as she readied herself for their ambush.
“It’s a rather pleasant sight,” he absently noted, finding himself drawn to her evergreen eyes.
“What?” she asked, a hint of annoyance in her voice.
“Stay focused, you wretch,” he chided himself for even entertaining such irrelevant thought.
Balehrys nodded, "Ready."
Astarion, unsheathed his silver daggers and slipped into the dense underbrush, moving silently toward the other flank of the goblin horde. Gale prepared his spells, his hands already glowing with arcane energy.
With a final nod, Balehrys gave the signal. The group moved as one, converging on the unsuspecting goblins. Astarion struck first, his daggers finding the throat of a goblin archer. Gale unleashed a fireball into the heart of the horde, igniting a few goblins caught in the blast.
In a swift motion, Balehrys dashed past a goblin archer. His greatsword arched towards the back of its neck, cleanly slicing through the goblin’s flesh. Beside him, Shadowheart charged in, her flail swinging with deadly precision. In an instant, the rest of the horde turned their attention to their party, surprised and rattled at the sudden assault.
“Just as expected,” Balehrys mused with satisfaction.
The three adventurers, the tieflings, and the warlock seized the welcome distraction and pushed harder against the horde.
As the chaos unfolded before the gates, the forest became a battleground ablaze with arrows flying back and forth, clashes of blades echoing through the trees, and the crackling of Gale's spells finding their targets.
A goblin charged at Balehrys, its crude axe raised high. Balehrys blocked the strike with his greatsword, the force of the blow reverberating through his arm. With a swift counter, he drove his sword through the goblin's chest, the creature collapsing with a gurgled scream as its flesh began to slowly wither from the necrotic damage that seeped through Balehrys’s blade.
Amid it all, Balehrys felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins, a familiar sensation of exhilaration as his greatsword cleaved through goblin flesh with ruthless precision. Each swing and strike felt natural to him as if he had been born for battle and chaos.
Dark urges stirred within him, relishing in the bloodshed he wrought upon the forest floor as he continued to gut the worg before him, ignoring the sharp claw that gashed over his forearm.
Shadowheart was at his side, her movements fluid and precise as she disposed of a few more enemies. She could see the wound on his arm, her eyes briefly meeting his own. Before she could say anything, Balehrys swiftly withdrew himself away from the cleric, knowing all too well that she would attempt to heal his wound.
She shouldn’t waste her healing magic on him. The wound felt nothing. Balehrys was so high in the combat that the wound did not make him feel anything at all.
The familiar feeling brought him a new piece of his fragmented memories. Images flashed in his mind; he recalled being a part of a holy war, fellow paladins and clerics of Tyr charging together, bloodied blades raised as they faced the enemies of their god. The entire battlefield was littered with broken corpses and debris, and their backdrop was tall plumes of fire. It was a distant memory that easily slipped away just as quickly as it came to him, leaving him no time to reflect on it further as he was distracted by shedding goblin blood.
“Had he been in a war? Which war is it? Who were they fighting? Why was there even a war? How did he survive? Was he a deserter, or did he refuse to kill an enemy? Is that why he broke his Oath?”
Balehrys growled in frustration at the sh*t ton of questions that once more flooded his f*cked up brain. His mind is now in a constant battle of wanting to remember, and the sick need to kill more goblins he can get his hands on. He swung his sword in a wide arc, cutting down two more goblins, their blood coating his blade in deep red.
In the heat of combat, Balehrys succumbed to the sick satisfaction of battle, fighting to keep his expression stern and focused, concealing the dark glee bubbling within him. But at this moment, he allowed himself to indulge a little in his darker impulses, knowing there would be no judgment for dispatching a horde of goblins, for cutting one in ribbons or gutting them open. Even his former oath would have sanctioned such slaughter.
“They are all dying for me. All of them,” Balehrys thought as he brutally lobbed off a goblin’s limb, his screams a sick melody to his ears.
Astarion appeared on his right flank, his daggers dripping with blood. "Having fun , are we?" he quipped, a wicked grin on his face as he dispatched another goblin.
Balehrys clenched his jaw, the jab shook him out of his brief bloodlust. The damned elf seemed to notice his sick enjoyment in making these bastards bleed.
“ Don’t mind me. Just stay focused,” Balehrys ordered as he parried another strike. Astarion shrugged before dashing towards another goblin.
Behind him, Gale's spells rained down upon the goblins, bolts of fire and lightning wreaking havoc. The wizard's eyes were alight with concentration, his hands moving in intricate patterns as he cast his spells.
The goblin horde was thinning; their numbers were no match for the coordinated assault. A bugbear chared at the paladin, its club raised to deliver a punishing blow. Balehrys met the bugbear’s charge, their weapons clashing with a resounding clang. Balehrys felt the wound in his arm finally ache and the pressure in his head resurfacing once more, another headache he would have to endure. He channeled that pain into his strikes, each one more ferocious than the last.
The bugbear staggered back, its defenses crumbling. With a final, mighty swing, Balehrys severed its head, the body collapsing in a heap. He stood there, panting, the echoes of the entire battle ringing in his ears, along with the echoes of the memories that were relentlessly slipping in and out of his damaged mind.
The once formidable goblin horde now lay scattered across the forest floor, reduced to lifeless heaps of broken flesh and spilled blood. Yet, even as the scent of death filled his senses, Balehrys found himself haunted by his darker desires, a relentless chorus urging him to seek out more carnage.
“More, more, more!” the whispers echoed in his mind, their childlike glee unsettling in the aftermath of battle. He wanted to smile like a madman and taste the blood that covered his blade.
“You sick bastard,” Balehrys cursed himself, doing everything he could to contain his sick glee before he did anything he might regret.
Desperate to silence the voices, Balehrys closed his eyes and sought refuge elsewhere, anywhere away from the bloodlust that threatened to consume him once more. Another headache threatened to start in his throbbing head as he fought his internal battles.
Perching himself upon a sturdy boulder, Balehrys watched as his companions tended to their wounds, the rhythmic sound of their efforts providing a welcome distraction. He gently placed his bloodied greatsword beside him, ignoring the light aches from his injuries. Despite sustaining a few cuts himself and a slightly severe wound from the word on his forearm, he knew they were nothing he couldn't heal in due time.
Balehrys believed the healing supplies they gathered would be much better given to his companions instead of wasting them on his vile self.
His gaze soon fell on Shadowheart, his eyes tracing the lines of her face, the way her brow furrowed in concentration, the soft glow of her magic reflecting in her eyes.
Shadowheart moved with practiced efficiency, her hands glowing with divine light as she healed the injured. She knelt beside Astarion, who had taken a nasty slash to his side. Her touch was gentle, yet firm, her concentration unwavering.
He observed the intensity in her light green eyes, the determination etched into the tight line of her lips as she scolded their companion. Despite the firmness of her voice, there was that softness to it again, a calming melody that momentarily eased the turmoil in his mind.
“Just like her soft ‘Thank you’ on the beach,” he remembered. The sound never left his ears,
But then, an ugly thought intruded upon his mind, a vile whisper that twisted his perceptions.
“Her screams of pain must sound even more beautiful, like a dark tune,” it taunted, a manifestation of his depravity. With a shake of his head, Balehrys forcefully pushed the thought aside, unwilling to entertain such twisted fantasies any longer.
As much as he dislikes the Sharran woman, he knows she has done nothing so far that would deserve being subject to this mad urge of his.
The ache in his head became more challenging to ignore, and he shut his eyes to ease the discomfort.
“Are you feeling well, my friend?”
Balehrys felt tension fill his entire body, his hands quickly hovered over the hilt of his greatsword. His gaze snapped toward the source of the disturbance, eyes narrowing, only to see the Gale with his hands raised as a gesture of peace.
“Easy there, friend,” Gale started, “My, rather jumpy are we?”
With a heavy sigh, Balehrys withdrew his hands from his greatsword. He discreetly put his hand over the other, attempting to hide his trembling hands.
Balehrys was so distracted by his mind that he did not notice the wizard beside him. Gale looked at the paladin with a slight concern, and Balehrys shifted at the attention.
“I’m fine. Do not worry about me,” Balehrys stated, looking down at his feet.
Gale suggested, “You could ask Shadowheart for some healing should you need one. That gash the worg left on your arm looks bad.”
The paladin shook his head at the suggestion. The very idea of it brings a form of dread in him.
“No, I can heal myself just fine later,” he answered. Balehrys is doubtful himself; he had been trying to do it since their first night in camp and has slowly realized that healing magic is not his best talent. He can try to find himself a few needles and catgut to stitch himself later on, perhaps once they find a nearby settlement.
Gale did not seem convinced either, and he looked like he was chewing over whether to say anything. Or rather how to say it.
“The cleric is exceptionally talented in patching others up. I’ve witnessed it myself. I find it quite counterproductive that you would deny yourself any treatment from her.”
“I am well aware and do not doubt her capabilities at all,” he answered evenly.
“And yet you still refuse,” Gale continued, “Is it because of petty pride? Or the idea that you will owe something to Shadowheart that disturbs you so?”
Balehrys offered no reply to the wizard. Everyone in their party harbors secrets of their own, save for Lae’zel, he believes. And he also knew that each of them had been sizing up each other one way or another. Gale, undoubtedly, would have already noticed the animosity between him and the cleric.
“I will not pretend to know whatever caused the rift between you and Shadowheart, nor would I pry for the reason why. But I must advise that keeping your injuries from our resident healer would not be in our best interests, especially since you are our elected leader.”
He never even knew why he was forced upon that bloody role, as if they all agreed to elect him as one.
“ A horrible decision, actually, to make me the leader of this lot. And here I take it you are the ever-wise adviser of our band of misfits? “ Balehrys asked, his tone lighter, and Gale shook his head, a light laugh escaped his lips.
“Ah, if you knew my story, you’d think twice about putting me in that role. Intelligence and wisdom are quite different, after all. I’d be more suited to be our jester,” the wizard answered with an empty chuckle, and Balehrys noted a slight sadness in his voice.
“Don’t sell yourself short. Better you than Astarion, I suppose. The first advice I might get from the f*cker is to rob a random passerby blind,” Balehrys chuckled, his mismatched eyes pointing at Astarion, who made a dramatic gesture of his arms. Balehrys could only assume he was complaining about something. At the same time, Shadowheart, surprisingly, listened patiently beside him as she healed the rogue.
Gale seemed to agree, as he shook his head in amusem*nt.
“Well, we’ll see about that then. If you think I’m wise enough for the role, then I’ll indulge you, my friend,” Gale yielded, “And I cannot stress it enough: you’d better seek Shadowheart for healing sooner or later, regardless of your feelings for our cleric. It won’t do all of us any favors if you’re in bad shape”
Balehrys remained silent before letting out a sigh.
“Only in the time that I would need it desperately”
“I suppose that’s better than a no,” Gale then gave Balehrys a friendly pat as he moved to leave. Balehrys almost flinched at the contact, yet managed to keep a straight face, disliking the idea of getting touched despite its harmless intentions.
This aversion to being touched was an odd trait he had recently discovered about himself. He had no qualms about offering his own touch to others, yet recoiled at the thought of receiving it from another. This realization had fully hit him when Shadowheart attempted to heal him that evening after they left the abandoned temple. This discomfort, combined with his evident mistrust of Shadowheart, was one of the main reasons he could not allow himself to be healed by the cleric. It was a truth he could not simply admit to anyone.
He brushed off his thoughts from the unwelcome gesture, as Gale continued,
“I also strongly advise you to work on your relationship with our companion. We can’t have you both hostile all the time. It’s bad enough that she and Lae’zel are already at odds. Perhaps she could find a friend in you,” the wizard said with a curious smile, much to Balehrys’s confusion.
“Now that, I can’t promise fully. What the f*ck is that grin about? And be friends? Shadowheart would probably crush the very idea of it the moment I tried to offer it. Not that I would anyway,” Balehrys thought.
His eyes once more wandered to the cleric, who was now busy cleaning off any dirt on her person as she seemed to be finished with healing the rogue, finding himself absently studying the subtle movements of her slender hands, the expression on her face-
And he immediately withdrew his eyes away from the Sharran. He knew where these thoughts would linger if his eyes stayed longer on her: the damned dark urges of his would want to tear her open just to study her further to indulge this sick curiosity towards the cleric.
“Does her insides look just as beautiful as her outer skin?” a question from his mind slipped free from its darkest corner.
Balehrys clenched his jaw and turned away. A much-needed distance from the Sharran seems to be a wise choice for now.
