#;the soul (carlisle) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wexhappyxfew · 5 months ago

Note

Okay these prompts were so good. It was so hard to decide. After much thought, I humbly present to you “Don’t ever leave my sight again” for Annie and Brady? I feel like the scene you’ve set up for them in the camp, this would really fit for them, but of course only if you think so!

HELLO SWEET ANON!!! thank you so so much for this annie x brady prompt is was an absolute delight and treat to write!! the annie x brady storyline for me has just been continously building and it offered me the opportunity to write their reunion in the stalag and it was a JOY!!!!! i really fueled it with so many heartfelt emotions and i just truly hope you enjoy. writing this made me immensely happy and filled with a lot of emotions, so truly, THANK YOU!!!!i can definitely agree that the camp set up a *perfect* opportunity. and to everyone - here it is! THANK YOU AGAIN!! PLEASE ENJOY!!! <33333

gone to the earth

(a/n): ITS THE ANNIE X BRADY REUNION PIECE YALL. COME AND ENJOYYYYY!!!! let's just say this has been sitting around in bits and pieces for a WHILE and this prompt absolutely gave me every inkling of an opportunity to write the reunion and to say the least, it came out exactly as i was hoping, with the energy i was hoping to portray. i sincerely hope you all enjoy - annie and brady are so special to me as characters and in their connection to one another and i hope to have done them justice for this piece especially; please enjoy!! (also: annie you are so real for thinking of brady in the way you do).

The drainage of color from what must've been a once bright and shining landscape was utterly depleting. The gray sky above hung like a heavy tapestry, fighting to keep whatever light that could've been shining in, out, and the sight of the camp, with its rows of bunk houses, and barbed wire crawling up the sides of the borders were enough to make her shiver.

The unknown was enough to make any person uncomfortable to any sort of relevant extent - especially in wartime. War seemed to bring out all the possibilities of uncertainty and the unknown, and it seemed to be staring her in the face with this camp.

As she struggled to keep up behind the few USAAF POW pilots who were in front of her, she could see the clouded outlines of POWs currently inside the camps, their faces smudged with dirt and grime, hair under beanies and crusher caps, heavy coats and jump gear still strapped up on them with their boots covered in crusted mud and clay.

Squinting her eyes, she could see the looks on a few of their faces as the convoy neared; enough grief, numbness and exhaustion to last a lifetime. A look that might never disappear.

Annie had been limping ever since they were sent marching this direction, the shove on the ground a few days prior, only to be hauled up by her twisted shoulder and dragged on the ground until she could get her footing, had left her feeling limp like a rag doll, her body nearly giving out under the weight. Her entire form ached from exhaustion, lack of food and water, and having spent the last few nights, ever since jumping out of that B-17, almost entirely awake, for fear of someone attacking her as she tried to sleep.

She couldn't trust a soul as far as she could throw them; she was in enemy territory now, in Germany. She was in a place so few seemed to make it out alive in, where they could have her head in seconds and do whatever they pleased with her. Because to them, she was their enemy. Recognizing that would forever feel like a punch to the gut.

Two nights ago when she'd shoved herself in the corner of the room they'd been keeping her in, she'd crafted a makeshift sling to keep her shoulder in place, the ache deep and slightly dulled now by the time she was moving more. Her body couldn't seem to figure out where to place the pain - her heart or her body and she was almost regretting letting herself worry as she had.

Where were Bessie, Kennedy and Margie?

Conditions like herself or worse?

Would they run into the others who were downed?

Or were they dead, gone to the Earth like a last fleeting resource and expense of the war that they were all expected to pay?

An air-raid siren seemed to open up the second the gates to the camp were shoved apart from one another, the immediate rush of pilots inside the camps, flushing themselves against the wiring and metal caging about the borders, their fingers latching onto the sides, immediately yelling out to familiar faces in the crowd, once lost but now found.

Annie lifted her head as the calling out continued, in an almost last-resort hope that somehow in all of this, someone from the 100th was here and alive and well. A desperation latched onto her, the sudden want to see someone from the 100th overwhelming her being as she looked from side to side, keeping herself in line as she continued walking forward towards the second set of gates.

"Annie! Annie Bradshaw!"

The sound of her name mixed in the swirl of other names being yelled, with cheers and call outs, made her suddenly locked up with more emotions than she thought she'd feel.

"Annie Bradshaw! Here! Annie!"

Turning her head to her left, through the crowd of pilots clinging onto the barbed wire, she saw the smiling face of Bucky Egan appear through the crowd, pressing up against the wire and watching her, calling out her name once more as she limped closer with the group.

A certain look in his eye was enough to make her freeze up for a moment - a split second of 'Why are you here? You shouldn't be here? You should be back in Thorpe Abbotts'. And then a mix of 'I am glad you're here and nowhere else now that you're in Nazi Germany'. Suddenly her mind raced - Bucky had gone down with Brady.

Her Brady.

"Bucky!" she called back, weakly, picking up her limping pace forward as she did so, watching that grin grow onto Bucky's face again as he watched her.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he called out to her as the group continued to move forward towards the second gates, and the yelling grew louder and more invigorated, "You should be back in the sky!" She watched him, trying to get her response strung together into a well-thought out sentences and came back with nothing but a puff of air as the realization of just what the last few days of life had been like for her.

From the plane and the flak, to dropping out, being on the run, lost and slightly terrified out of her mind, to captured, in interrogation, lacking sleep and any source of food to here. And she was here. She'd made it here. And Bucky Egan was right there. Some members of the 100th had made it.

Annie tracked Bucky until she'd gotten through the second set of gates - people immediately started coming forward, helping some who were dragging along others who couldn't walk, along with greeting friends and fellow pilots. Something cathartic about it all hit her as she turned and watched Bucky come right towards her before anything.

Maybe in another lifetime, she would've knocked his lights out, but standing here now, the only thing she could grasp onto was the boys from the 100th. Bucky pulled her into his arms quickly, the hug short, but meaningful enough that tears entered her vision at the feel of him right there. Pulling back, Bucky held her at arms length and stared at her long and hard, like trying to figure out what to say and why she was here.

"Bradshaw…." he started, but she just shook her head.

"Your eye." she managed out, catching the blues and blacks mixing around his eye that had evidently been wiped clean of what blood and grime had been there, "Are you okay?"

"Hell, Bradshaw, I should be asking you that," he said in a slightly strained and choked voice, "what the hell happened to you?" What the hell did happen to her? She could barely even get her facts straight of the last few days, let alone talk about it. All of it. The bad, the ugly, the horrid.

"Did any of the others make it….?" she asked him, the sudden realization of her, Silver Bullets' pilot standing there, smacking him in the face, "Kennedy, Bessie and Margie. They split up Silver Bullets, we were losing crews left and right and with a whole lot of new replacements, they needed vets to step in. We all went down somewhere over near Berlin. Did they….? And….and your guys? Anyone?" Bucky watched her for a moment, his gaze both pensive and thick, as if trying to put the pieces together while dissecting her all at once, this shell of a girl, a half-made used-to-be pilot who was now in shambles in front of him, downed and trapped.

"Let me take you back to barracks." Bucky said both calmly and assertively, "Get you some food and water, too." He gave her an extra-long stare. "And a blanket, you're shaking, Bradshaw."

For a split second, she was almost ready to argue back, meeting his gaze, holding up that strong front she had built up the last few days when she'd been alone and struggling to survive under the watchful eyes of the Germans. But now, despite the conditions, this was someone from the 100th, someone from the place she'd started to think of as 'home' and she knew she had to trust him. That opening her mouth would only do more in this moment than was even needed.

"Okay." she said quietly, letting him turn and wrap his arm over her shoulder, his hold on her tighter and more confident than she had ever experienced. Like a sudden need to protect and guard - and if it didn't give her an indication of what she was stepping into, she didn't know what would.

Something in the way he walked, with her tucked into his side, like he didn't want to let on that it was her beside him, a female pilot on her lonesome, there in his protective and caged side. But there was something about the way he didn't talk that scared her.

Bucky Egan was always talking - he practically never even came up for air. So the fact he wasn't talking, wasn't even making a mention of her previous questions and had digressed immediately to discussing going back to the 'barracks' made a small pit form in her stomach enough to make her feel slightly sick.

They came upon barracks with two wooden doors, to which Bucky released his hold on her a bit, leaping up to pull open the doors for her and letting her inside. It smelled musty, like dampened wood and cigarette smoke, along with charcoal and death, and there was enough of a bitter tinge to the air for her to shiver as Bucky came to her side again to lead her down the long hall.

"We're just right in here…." Bucky started to say as he pointed to a doorway that led to a small room, lined with bunks on all sides, half of a table peeking out in the center of the room and a potbelly stove going in the corner. A few people sat around the table - she saw a pair of feet at the edge of one bunk and a head on another.

Annie slowly moved forward into the room and it was almost like a light had been turned on with how quickly heads seemed to turn towards the threshold she had just stepped over.

"Annie?"

"Lieutenant Bradshaw!"

"Bradshaw?"

"What the hell you doing here, Bradshaw?"

Immediately, she was rushed by a hug from someone she couldn't quite find the head to, but then the person pulled back and she was met with the brightly smiling face and shiny eyes of Bessie Carlisle, who was staring at her like she were starstruck.

"Annie Bradshaw, how'd I know you'd find your way back to us?" she whispered quietly, reaching up her hands to softly cradle Annie's head, holding her gently with that smile of hers. Annie met Bessie's gaze, the sudden realization that she had her navigator back, alive and well and very much here, in front of her, and couldn't help but pull Bessie into another hug, filled with relief, joy and a whole swirl of emotion.

"Didn't think I'd live to see the day." Annie opened her eyes as Bessie pulled back and there coming towards her was Kennedy Farley, a slight limp to her walk but a smile on her face and it was enough for Annie to completely disregard the salute Kennedy was about to perform and pulled Kennedy right into her arms. She held onto her like some sort of lifeline as Kennedy's arms immediately went to latch right around Annie right back, the two girls holding each other with tears in their eyes.

"I'm so glad you're here," Annie whispered quietly into her flash of ginger hair, pulling back to look up at her face, "you're both okay?" Annie looked from Kennedy to Bessie who both nodded, before glancing sidelong at one another.

"Margie never showed." Bessie started, "Yet." Annie's gut sank a bit as she looked between both their sets of eyes again and nodded, before looking back to Bucky, who stood by, watching with a solemn look written on his face, enough to hide, but enough to tell at the same time.

Looking back, around Bessie and Kennedy, she was met with DeMarco and Murphy and Hambone, along with Buck and a few unfamiliar faces that didn't exactly hit her memory. There were hugs, there was some laughter, there were even some warming gazes that made her feel more content than she had been in days. But something in her gut was ticking like a clock as she pulled back from DeMarco's warm hug.

"Did Captain Brady make it?" she asked aloud, her voice sounding hollow and strained as she felt her mind turn to turmoil - Bucky was here, he'd gone down with Brady, so how could Brady not also be here right now?

"He did." Buck said almost immediately, "Murph, go get him. He's been out getting some food with a few of our guys for a while now." From the moment she'd heard the words 'He did' fall from Buck's lips, her entire body seemed to freeze up just at that thought. Brady was here and he was in this camp and he was alive. A bubble of relief grew inside her stomach at the mere thought of him. He was alive and here. Murphy hurried out of the bunk room leaving the place in a disarray of a mix between new arrival and long-lost friend.

"Well," Bessie said stepping forward and making way to wrap a blanket around Annie's shoulders, "let's get you situated with some soup and water, huh? No doubt you haven't eaten anything of substance lately."

"Thanks, Bes," Annie said as the navigator helped her settle into a chair with that leg of hers, wrapping the blanket more comfortably over her shoulders and letting her for once sit down. Annie couldn't remember the last time she'd been properly sat down and felt both safe and comfortable that wasn't Silver Bullets.

"It's not much," Kennedy said coming over from Hambone where a bit of soup had been scooped into a plate, "just what we could find. Potato soup."

"It's perfect." Annie said, her eyes slightly widen in hunger as the bowl was placed in front of her, along with a metal spoon, "God, I can't even remember the last I put food in my mouth."

"You want water?" Bucky asked moving towards some of the canteens stacked against the stove as she nodded.

"Thank you all," she said as she took the water canteen from Bucky and sipped the water thoughtfully, "you don't know how happy I am to know you're all here." Annie looked around the room at the people who meant more to her than anything right now, their faces bringing an immense amount of comfort to her trembling form, their presence enough to make her feel safe enough to eat and drink.

"We're happy you're here, too," Bessie said, exchanging glances with a few others around the room, her voice dipping into something broken and lodged with emotion, "worried us when you didn't show. We didn't even know if you'd show. At all."

"Me either." Annie managed out, her throat feeling as if a piece of bread was lodged inside and she couldn't get her words out.

A beat of silence seemed to eclipse them as Annie tasted her first bit of the soup, which was quickly followed by her taking in a larger bit of soup, savoring the watery broth and the stiff potatoes.

But it was food and it was damn-near luxurious to take in right now when her stomach had been empty for days. Her mind was moving a thousand miles a minute though, stomach twisted in anticipation in seeing Brady after all those weeks, after Francis had broken the news.

Francis. Francis Montez.

Annie's heart fell at the realization of just what situation they were in with Francis experiencing the loss of another pilot; another Birdie.

A frenzy of footsteps echoed out from the hallway into the bunk room, a chatter of low voices following, causing heads to turn from the bunk room to the threshold.

As Annie looked up in that moment, there around the corner, stopping to freeze in the doorway was John Brady.

The first thing she took in about him with her spoon half-raised to her chattering and chapped lips, was his eyes, so intently focused on her own, the mixed hues of blue with gray flecks holding her own, his gaze so fixed on her own, she didn't realize that the spoon of soup was falling out of her hands, knocking against the table as it clattered to the ground.

His hair was in his eyes, stranded and hanging over his forehead, parted more down the middle, something she'd only seen from him when they'd been out at the officers' club or when they woke up side by side that one time all those weeks ago. His overcoat was clinging to his body, his boots caked in dirt, his hands filled with, presumably, sacks of the food he'd been scrounging and his entire frame facing her.

"Annie."

The second her name had fallen from his lips, that strong semblance she'd built for herself had quickly fallen in a matter of seconds. She'd stood, with the blanket falling from her shoulders and practically, between a mix of stumbling and limping, launched herself into his arms, meeting him halfway between where he'd been standing and she'd been sat.

Maybe launch wasn't the entire right word, but whatever it was, their arms were locked around one another in a way she couldn't even describe in her mind, her hands reaching up into his hair, trying to hold him as close as physically possible, his own hands tracing up and down her back, lingering on her exposed neckline as he held her there. Her eyes were welled with tears as she felt his hand moving up and down her back in that familiar and comforting, synchronized motion.

It made her think of that last time they'd seen each other - side by side in her cot, his hand rubbing her back as she had curled under the covers and wished him good night. A fateful 'stay safe' lingering on her lips.

Somewhere near her neck was his face, breathing her in, his lips brushing her sensitive skin sending goosebumps across her entire body, suddenly aching for him in more ways than were possible, longing for his hands to be on her longer, tucked up under her shirt, pressing against her cold skin, warming her up and keeping her safe.

"Let's give them a minute…." Annie heard Kennedy briefly say from somewhere behind her, a few muffled voices in response, a few coughs following as feet shuffled out of the room, to God knows where. For a moment, all that mattered to her was that Brady was in her arms at this very minute and safe.

Slowly, they peeled apart from one another, like cracking at a piece of stone to split open, arms still very much wrapped up in one another, their faces still close to each other when they finally locked eyes again, slightly breathless and pink in the cheeks, neither saying a word beyond staring right at one another like it'd be the last time. Annie couldn't help but let a hand crawl to his cheek, her heart pounding inside her chest as she brushed her thumb over his skin, feeling a part of him she hadn't dared to touch back before his plane had gone down. When she'd been scared. Fearful. Locked away.

"You're here." he whispered out, his voice so delicate she was sure she could lose it right there in his warm embrace, "Annie, you're here."

"I am." she said quietly back, continuing to brush his cheek gently, her thumb tracing underneath his eyes that had sunken into his face a bit, yet not dimming that look in his eyes that made her want to burrow right under his arm to hide. A sudden sense of boldness struck her as she stood there, drinking in the sight of him and his face and that look in his eye that made her feel slightly insane and swallowed.

"I can't tell you how much I missed you," she managed out quietly, "after hearing you and Bucky went down….I….." Brady softly cupped her cheek from the other side and offered one of his classic lopsided grins and watched her, eyes painfully brimming with an emotion that hit her in the heart, as she felt the tears build up in her eyes and a sob escape her lips. Her hand came back from his head to instinctively cover her mouth as she squeezed her eyes shut.

"It's okay now," Brady said with a small smile that quivered at the corners of his lips, "you're okay." Annie felt a small whimper escape her lips as she cracked open her eyes and looked to him again, reaching out her hand again to let her fingers dance over the scar above his eyebrow.

"Look at you," she whispered softly, her voice hoarse and filled with a quiet serenity in a way that she didn't quite expect, "did they hurt you?" Brady shook his head gently and continued to rub his hands on her back.

"Don't you worry about me, I'm fine," he whispered, "I'm worried about you." He let his finger dote on her cheek on the bruise from where the ground had met her when she'd passed out. "What about this?"

"I passed out after their interrogation, I'm fine though, really," she said quietly, her voice still strained as she tried to wrangle her emotions in a way she could speak, "I missed you so much." Hearing those words fall from her lips again without so much as a question to repeat those words made her heart ache as she stood in front of him, having him there in her arms.

"I missed you, too, little birdie," he whispered back, a nickname that made her insides twist, before he was pulling her closer to himself, "shit, you're freezing."

"It's cold out." she managed out back with a small smile, to which the corners of his lips grew upwards into that glorious grin of his - the one she'd yearned for and missed day in and day out, all those sleepless nights, staring at the ceiling, wondering where he'd been, what he'd been doing, if he was alive. Something that ate at her core and thrived on the very fact she was worried over someone she would've never met if she never became command pilot of Silver Bullets. If Birdie had never lost her life. The world worked in ways she would never understand nor comprehend. She felt lucky to even know him. Be here with him. Know John Brady for the man and leader he was.

"Have you eaten anything?" he asked her quietly, his eyes darting over her shoulder towards her bowl and water canteen, "Here." Slowly, his hands traveled from her back to her hands on his cheeks and he slowly led her back over towards the bench, lowering her down gently, before reaching down to grab her fallen blanket and spoon.

In a matter of seconds, he was pulling the blanket over her shoulders and wrapping his own arm around her form, his palms rushing up and down the blanket over her shoulders and forearms in an attempt to warm her up. Even in a moment of being again in one another's presence, he couldn't help but take to doing what he did best. And that was care for her when she could hardly care for herself.

"I didn't mean to make you drop your spoon." he said as his gentle movements up and down her arms made her feel warmer than she had in days. She slowly looked up at him with a smile, catching his gaze under the softly lit light above them.

"Just seeing you there, I could've cared less about a spoon on the floor or not." she whispered quietly to him, her eyes holding his. Staring at him, his warmth and her own minimal bit combined, she couldn't help but reach out with her cold hand to cup his cheek again, his firm facade melting at the touch of her embrace there on his cheek again. Tears lingered at the corners of her eyes again as she stared at him, feeling this, all of this around her.

"I thought you were dead." she admitted, her voice sounding weirdly distant from herself as she spoke, "When they told me. About your plane. I thought you were dead. I just….I didn't want you to ever leave my sight again after that." His grip tightened on her as his hand wandered up to her cheek to wipe at that stray tear that struggled to leave her eyes. "And after everything just, sitting here with you….." Her words failed her as they watched one another, her heart pounding at the feel of his hand there on her cheek, cradling a part of her that no one had touched in any way beyond caring for the sick and wounded.

Annie watched his eyes explore her face, seeing the new parts of her that he'd miss in the time they'd been separated, his grip close and tight, like letting her go would make her disappear.

A part of her lingered closer, her eyes darting down to his softly parted lips, the stubble appearing on his cheeks, those strands of hair in his eyes that made her fingers want to start at his chin and dance their way up and across his face to tuck them back from his blue orbs.

An ache built inside her as she softly moved to cradle his face tighter, his head tilting as she felt herself inch closer, his palm pressed against her own cheek as their noses brushed and their eyes closed.

Every part of her was begging for him to come closer, to touch her, to feel her, to pull her as close as physically possible and let her know this was real and they were sitting here side by side. Because one hour ago this was far from the reality and a painful lie of life. But now, she was sat here with him and he was inches from her and she wanted him right there, hands in her hair, across her skin. Her nose brushed his again as a siren suddenly pitched out across the camp, Annie's eyes flashing open in an instance as she looked up from Brady's face and towards the window - an air-raid.

There was one at the other camp too, in the middle of the night, where she'd been curled in a ball on the stiff cot, staring up at the moonlight as the siren went off, over and over throughout the two hour expanse. Her body had shook with each distant bomb drop and in this moment she felt her body freeze, her mind draw blank as footsteps rushed inside the room and voices eclipsed her mind.

"Alright, everyone remain calm." Buck called out to the people of the room rushing in, Annie briefly meeting Bessie and Kennedy's tired gazes from the doorway, "No doubt they're bombing Berlin, or close enough to it to where we can hear it."

"Just stay calm." Bucky said, leaning up against one of the barracks, glancing out the window with a distant look in his eyes, "Those fucking bastards are probably getting what they deserve."

With silence falling around the room, the sudden realization of the spoon in Annie's hand, she looked back to Brady who was watching her with that quiet look still, that soft yearning and gentle touch she wanted to be wrapped in again.

Where his lips had almost touched her own - they'd been as close as their noses brushing - had it almost been more?

Would she have kissed him then and there, and allowed his lips to press against her own, letting herself become undone with his touch, now back beside him?

Her mind raced and her hurt thumped in her chest as her body felt the warmest it had been in days as Brady's hand reached down to pull her free hand into his lap, fingers tracing the delicate parts of her skin, over her knuckles and over each curve and nail. It was enough to make her insides feel funny and she focused her best on taking in more water and potato soup as everyone sat around in the room, the air-raid siren went off and Brady's fingers traced her own.

In a different time and place, she wasn't sat in a POW camp with an air-raid siren going off - she was in a little blue house, on the front porch, staring at the blue skies and the beautiful world around them without war. She was in a different world that wasn't her current reality.

Glancing over towards Brady, she held his gaze as the air-raid siren continued to drone and his hand continued to trace against her skin.

For a moment, she thought in her mind - she had wanted him to kiss her.

Right then and there, side by side, lips inches from one another in that tiny bunk room.

But all she could do was stare at him and plead for another moment where she got to stare at those blue eyes in a world like this.

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blackjackkent · 1 year ago

Text

"Ah. The interloper..." The man's voice is a harsh basso growl; he looks up slowly from whatever strange experiments he is conducting on the bloodsoaked table in front of him. He's heavyset and imposing, with pale blue skin - not human, Hector suspects, but maybe tiefling judging by the glow of his eyes? His skin is scored with deep marks of some indeterminate sigil on both his face and chest, spattering the blue with red smears of blood.

He surveys Hector appraisingly, gaze sweeping him from head to foot. "And in one piece as well. Not an entirely unpromising specimen, for one naturally-born." He blinks thoughtfully, his head tilting to one side as if scenting something unexpected on the wind. "Though it's not all natural, is it? A touch of the divine... most curious, for a True Soul..."

Hector stiffens warily. Naturally born? It's already clear that this man, whoever he is, has dabbled in necromancy - even if it weren't obvious from the reconstituted soldiers they encountered outside, it would be obvious now from the group of servant ghouls pacing this chamber and the hulking, skull-faced behemoth standing in the corner.

But is he implying that he himself is undead?

And the crack about Selune's blessing on them, the moniker of "True Soul"...this man knows far more about them than they do about him, and that makes Hector tremendously uncomfortable. But they are not being outright attacked, and that's something at this point.

"Naturally-born?" he says carefully. "That's a strange thing to hold against someone."

"Not so," the man says smoothly with a dismissive shrug. "Womb births are such *imprecise* things... There's always room for improvement when it comes to the flesh. My creations..." He gestures at the enormous creature standing at his back. "...are more than a sum of their parts."

Hector's gaze follows the gesture, taking in the shambling skeletons walking the room. "Your creations?" he says. "Mindless undead minions, from what I've seen." He can't help a slight grimace of distaste.

The man smiles broadly, his glowing eyes shining with something that might be exuberance - or madness. "They are mere sketches compared to my masterwork!" he barks. "That would leave you in awe, should you be fortunate enough to bear witness."

That I sincerely doubt, Hector thinks sardonically. "Who *are* you?" he demands, feeling suddenly extremely tired. Around every corner in this horrible wasteland, some new madman...

The stranger's expression hardens abruptly. "You are a True Soul," he snaps. "There is no excuse for you to not recognize your betters."

Hector feels an unpleasant squirm behind his eye and winces. Of course - this is the first test, then. He knew he would be forced into this deception upon arrival at Moonrise, but he did not expect it here. I am a True Soul, he reminds himself firmly. At least as far as this fellow is concerned.

"But never mind," the man goes on airily. "Your potential may outweigh your ignorance. I am Balthazar - Chief Advisor to General Thorm, and entrusted with a mission of utmost importance. Do you know what is at stake here?"

He fixes Hector with a piercing gaze, and Hector feels a chill run through his marrow. Based on what Jaheira said, Thorm is the leader of the Absolutists, which means this Balthazar is their second-in-command. They have wandered into an extremely dangerous situation without realizing it.

Balthazar... he's heard that name before.

[MONK][HISTORY] You're sure you've read of a notable Balthazar before... But where?

Narrator: You remember an ancient scroll rescued from an Amkethran monastery. It spoke of Balthazar, the monastic order's leader. Specifically, it recorded his death.

"Balthazar," Hector says, warming a little to the discussion as it shifts back into his own area of knowledge. "I heard of a monk by that name once. He died a long time ago."

"Oh, him?" Balthazar scoffs. "Yes, I decided to take his name for myself - after taking his rib bones. Suits me better, I think." His expression hardens. "But enough idle chatter. Keep to the matter at hand. You do know what's at stake here, yes?"

(A/N: Eyyy, BG2 reference! Shoutout to @rhysintherain for making this connection before I did; I totally forgot the character in BG2 was named Balthazar. :D Seems as if, at least for the moment, we're meant to believe this is not him, though.)

This is a delicate moment; to reveal his ignorance might be to shatter open the whole fragile deception, but they need information desperately. "Enlighten me," Hector says, doing his best impression of an unconcerned, even bored listener.

"There is a relic here," Balthazar intones, his voice taking on a religious, fanatical edge. "One which General Thorm desires. No - *needs.* I will retrieve it for him."

He leans forward over the stone slab in front of him; a sharp scent of blood cuts the air as he nears Hector's face. "And you will help me. Ignorant you may be, but you've shown some prowess in scouting and combat by making it this far."

Narrator: This necromancer has Ketheric's trust. Helping him could be just what you need to gain access to the man himself.

All of Hector's self-discipline is required to keep him from wrinkling his nose in disgust - both at the smell and the task ahead of him. "So you need my help," he says evenly. "What would I have to do?"

"I do not *need* you, or your help," the necromancer snaps disdainfully. "But you are here in spite of that, so I may as well make use of you." He gestures past Hector towards the hallway from which he came. "The relic is close, but the way is barred and Shar's dead are...uncooperative." He scowls. "Clear the path for me - by blade, cunning, or whatever it takes. I will remain here until you have succeeded - or fallen."

"I'd trust this gasbag about as far as I can throw him - which isn't far," Shadowheart mutters sardonically. "But perhaps better to play along, for now."

For once, Hector and Shadowheart's views on the situation are precisely aligned.

"What exactly will you be doing while I'm out risking myself?" Hector asks, still attempting to maintain an air of casual disinterest.

Balthazar smirks. "My creations need tending to - not that it's any of your concern." He gestures down at the table, which is spread with an array of blood-soaked bones.

"This one's broken," he says with some relish. "He once tormented me as a youth, lifetimes ago. Now he serves me - forever. No rest for you, Mikan...not until I am satisfied."

Hector is starting to feel faintly ill. "I'll see what I can do," he mutters hoarsely, and begins to back out of the room.