From the moment the party met Kressa Bonedaughter in the mind flayer colony, the moment Astarion recognized the smell of Lucien's blood, he should’ve known he wasn’t as innocent as he liked to pretend. These Urges he fought so hard to suppress—they weren’t new, and he's NEVER been in control. There had been a lifetime before this one where he hadn’t fought them at all. Where thought bled into impulse, and impulse into action, without so much as a pause to question it.
Has your body ever really been your own?
He thought of everything: The parents who’d taken him in, murdered by his own hands, the ones he never wanted to hurt. How that butler of his didn't seem surprised he was resisting. The blackouts between simple thoughts and completed acts of violence. The whispers that weren’t quite his thoughts but still carried his voice. And yet, the plan, the deceit of the Absolute, the manipulation of faith, that had been him. Entirely him.
Lucien sat by the waterline, the night quiet except for the soft strum of his guitar. He only ever played when he was alone. Or thought he was. Footsteps broke the stillness. He froze mid-chord. A shadow crossed the silver reflection of the water.
He glanced over his shoulder, eyes catching on the figure behind him. ❝ . . . Seems my audience has arrived. I'm sure you heard my role has shifted from hero to villain. ❞ He murmured with flat humor.
OPEN STARTER: BACK AT CAMP, AFTER DISCOVERING HE WAS THE MASTERMIND BEHIND THE ABSOLUTE FROM GORTASH.