Astrophel Ancunín
'Kill them all! Kill everyone! Kill them now! Blood! Flesh! Death!'
A knock interrupted the voices in Astrophel’s head.
He lifted it from his hands, calming his breathing as he stood from his desk. An elven woman walked in before he could answer, dressed in a silk plum-colored dress. “Good evening, Your Honor,” Silvia greeted, curtseying.
“Good evening, madam,” he replied, bowing his head slightly.
“Are you ready for the ball tonight?” she asked, sidling up. He grimaced. The ball. “Did you forget?”
“No,” he muttered. “I have important paperwork I need to finish.”
She touched her palm to his cheek, nudging him to look her in the eyes. “Take a moment to yourself. You deserve it,” she said softly.
A familiar scent under the flowery perfume wafted up his nose as she leaned in close for a kiss. He stopped her, murmuring, “What did you do to Silvia, sibling?”
The gentle expression immediately twisted into a vile smirk. “Well, sibling. You’ll just have to look. I’m sure her sweet stench will give away her hiding spot soon,” Orin sneered, reverting to her ghastly pale form.
He curled a lip, knowing it was just another one of her loathsome games. “Get out. I have things to do,” he muttered.
She giggled as she placed a dagger blade under his chin. He didn’t flinch. “Our father is demanding more corpses,” she hissed.
“I know,” he grumbled. “I will be getting more by tomorrow. That is what I was doing before your intrusion.”
She huffed, lowering the blade, but never lost the smirk. “If I didn’t, nothing would get done. I will see you at the temple tomorrow. Don’t be late,” she jeered, changing back into Silvia’s form and tucked the blade into her outfit. In a flurry of silk, she bustled out, slamming the door behind her.
He kicked his chair, ignoring the pain running up his toes through his boot. Annoyed he reacted, he situated the chair into place and sat, leaning his head back. The shadows of the ceiling flickered from the candlelight’s motion he caused with his movements. He felt so tired tonight. He always did when fighting off the urges, which always strengthened toward the Days of Sacrifice.
Another knock had him bristle, but the voice on the other side settled him. “Astrophel? You in there?” He walked to the door and opened it. A gnome looked up, her blue eyes bright. Concern showed through when she saw him. “What did she do now?” she asked, glaring, but the anger wasn’t at him.
“Merely being herself,” he muttered and allowed Taramel in.
“Is that why I saw Silvia leaving?” she asked.
“Yes. She killed Silvia,” he sighed.
She tensed then scowled at the door. “Damned bitch,” she spat then patted his leg. “I tried to come as soon as I could. The recruits were being cheeky.” He crouched down and she mussed his hair. “You look tired. You need to go to bed. The Day of Sacrifices is tomorrow.”
He scoffed, brushing his hair back into place. “I can’t. I have too much to do,” he mumbled.
She looked at the study’s desk then walked over as he straightened his stance. She kicked off her boots then climbed into his chair and looked over the paperwork. He leaned on the chair headrest, letting her sort. She stacked cases into neat piles, easiest to most complicated. As he watched, his vision began tunneling. 'Kill! Another pretty corpse! A corpse for your beloved vile father!' He blew an exasperated breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Astrophel.” He blinked, glimpsing her eyeing him. “You need to rest. These will wait,” she stated.
He couldn’t argue that time. “Alright,” he murmured. She hopped down and put her boots back on as he doused candles. They left the study, so he placed an arcane lock on the door. Then the pair journeyed to his lavish bedroom.
“Have you eaten anything?” she asked as he shed his tunic.
“I managed a light meal. Have you?” he asked, tossing his tunic over the headrest of the small dining table’s chair.
“I did, just barely,” she chortled, removing her own clothes.
He smiled, knowing how busy she tended to be, and offered his hand. She accepted it, walking up a short set of stairs onto the bed. He knee-walked on the mattress after her then laid down, holding the sheets up. She pressed her back against his chest and he lowered the sheets onto them both. Her hot body felt wonderful against his, her skin smooth. He didn’t want any other intimacy. He was only happy to have her as company and not be alone. He glided his fingers up and down her torso, his eyelids low as he began sinking toward reverie. 'Perhaps I should sleep…no, not with being so near the day.' Her fingers intertwined with his, grounding him in the present. He hugged her and kissed the top of her scalp. The smell of lilac filled his nostrils, relaxing him further until he finally went into reverie.
Knocking then the heady scent of blood brought him to consciousness.
He opened his eyes and discovered a naked human woman covered in blood under him, her eyes devoid of life, her throat slit, pieces of her flesh gone. He gasped, dropping the blade as he scrambled back. He gritted his teeth as he sat on his legs, hanging his head. “Shit,” he hissed, grasping his knees.
Another knock occurred then Taramel’s voice asked, “Astrophel? Are you aware?”
He let out his breath. “Yes,” he said loud enough.
She walked in, closing the door before pausing when he spat blood on the sheets. “You clean up. I’ll put her and the sheets down the hatch,” she said.
He appreciated her not asking how he felt. 'She knows.' “Thank you,” he murmured and crawled out of bed to the bathing room. He wanted to purge, but his stomach wouldn’t let him. He lounged in the bath instead, staring out the window with hardly a thought as the heated blood-red water soothed him. 'Kill! Murder! Rain down death!' “Piles of corpses,” he murmured. The images in his mind grew vivid enough to see on the glass, mountains of flesh and bones towering over what was left of Baldur’s Gate, the sky pouring blood rain, fresh bodies laying on the streets in pools of blood, their eyes reminding him of the woman he found in his bed. His fingers curled when he began remembering the sensation of the blade cutting the woman’s throat, carving her flesh off, then the feeling of her flesh as he bit down---He shook his head. “Stop it!” He fumed as he picked at the flesh between his long canines.
“Ah, my vile master,” a voice said, reminding him of nails on a chalkboard. He ignored Sceleritas as the infernal creature continued beside the tub. “You did magnificent work on that poor disgusting woman. I thoroughly enjoyed watching you bathe in her hot blood while you had your fun.” Astrophel internally cringed, hating the butler even more every time the monster described what Astrophel unwillingly did. “Your father is becoming a little impatient that you have not sent more sacrifices. You do not seem as eager to appease him as of late."
“I’m planning on gathering prisoners from Athkatla. Magistrate Yorgoth and Magistrate Ella are getting the necessary paperwork completed for the transfer,” Astrophel muttered.
“How dreadfully wonderful! I will inform him at once! Oooohoohoo! I cannot wait to see the results!” Sceleritas cackled then disappeared.
Astrophel noticed Taramel watching from the door. “The little shit was here, wasn’t he?” she asked, strolling over.
“He was. Always with the nagging,” he grumbled, rubbing an eye.
She picked up a glass bottle on a table by the tub and poured soap onto his blood-stained white hair. They didn’t speak as she massaged the bubbling liquid onto his scalp. He hummed contentment, reclining his head closer. She drained the tub and refilled it with fresh water, returning to sudsing his hair clean. Knocking at the bedroom door had him growl irritation. “I’ll get it,” she said, wiping her hands on a hand towel.
“Thank you,” he mumbled. She left as he quickly washed the soap out of his hair. She spoke to a servant, something about a visitor, then she dismissed the servant and returned. “It’s not a good time for visitors.”
“Apparently, this visitor knows about your heritage,” she said, worry behind her frown.
He paused. “They do?” he asked then snatched a nearby towel, dried himself and his hair. “Shit! No one should know!”
“Perhaps they’re a follower of your father and he told this person to seek you out,” she reasoned.
“Maybe. But Sceleritas would have informed me if my father needed me,” he muttered, racing into the bedroom and throwing on clothes already set out.
“Astrophel.” He halted and glanced over his shoulder. “Take your time. If something comes up, the guards will deal with them. Alright?” she said, her placid voice placating some of his worries.
“Alright,” he sighed. She exited, so he dressed in ordinary clothes and made his way down to the parlor. A man in a long gold-embroidered black coat gazed at a portrait of Astrophel posed in front of a red curtain, dressed in his court robes. The man turned when Astrophel cleared his throat. His scruffy face made him look dirty, the large tuft of black hair on his head reminding Astrophel of a bird nest. Smiling, his beady black eyes made Astrophel uncomfortable. “I am Magistrate Astrophel Ancunín. You wanted to see me.”
“I did. My name is Enver Gortash. I take it I haven’t come to power yet, if you don’t know who I am,” the man said, fiddling with his gold and black cane.
“Obviously not. I know a majority of the patriars and politicians. I don’t know of you,” Astrophel said, hands behind his back.
“I assumed so. I am not from this universe, so this universe’s Gortash could well be dead for all I know,” the man mused.
“Pardon? You’re not from this universe?” Astrophel asked, resisting a snort of amusement.
“Not at all. The universe I’m from, I and two others have control of what is called an Elder Brain. Well, now only two control the Brain. One of ours was killed, a Chosen of Bhaal,” Enver said, smirking when Astrophel narrowed his eyes.
“I’m not in the mood for stories. Not from people who know of my heritage,” Astrophel growled.
“You remind me of my late ally and friend,” Enver chuckled. “I can give you proof, if that’s what you need. Or would you like an explanation first?”
“Obviously I need an explanation,” Astrophel stated.
“Very well,” Enver said and sat in a seat. Astrophel sat in another seat and listened as Enver began telling a wild tale about Bane, Bhaal, and Myrkul gathering three Chosen for a grand plan, having the Chosen steal a crown of Netherese magic, capture an Elder Brain, and control it with Netherese stones while building a cult around it, calling it the Absolute. “The Orin of my universe killed the Chosen of Bhaal, who I trusted far more than Ketheric or Orin. I thought it best to find another true Chosen of Bhaal. I used the Netherese power to come here and discovered you.” Astrophel didn’t know what to make of the entire tale. 'The Dead Three can’t stand each other. How is this possible?' Enver brought out a red dagger, a matching stone glowing in the center. “I was able to hide this away from Orin after she killed the Chosen of Bhaal. It’s called Bloodthirst. It was meant for a true Bhaal Chosen to wield. It can help control the Nether Brain. I offer this to you.”
“Oooohoohoo! Your father would greatly enjoy seeing what carnage that would cause,” Sceleritas cackled beside Astrophel.
'Shit!' Astrophel thought dismally.
