#i cannot fkn wait for act 2 with rakha lol

[blackjackkent]

The other reason Rakha probably didn't kill Omeluum is she has been super distracted by the idea of going to find the noblestalk ever since Derryth mentioned it had memory-restoring powers. So our last bit of business before heading off to Grymforge is to go find that.

She asks Derryth more about the mushroom, of course, because she has no idea what it looks like or how to find it. Derryth absolutely gives some askance looks at Glut tagging along behind during the whole process.

Equipped with the necessary knowledge, Rakha remembers having seen a mushroom of the type back where they found Baelen. Ironic, given that Derryth is so angry at Baelen for not having found it, and it was right nearby. Works out well for Rakha, though, who has every intention of using it herself rather than letting Derryth take it.

"I'm not sure about this," Shadowheart says doubtfully. "We've seen these things go off. This seems like a fine recipe for a tremendous explosion."

"You say that like Rakha is deterred by tremendous explosions," Wyll points out under his breath with a flash of a grin.

"I'm just saying... as the one who will undoubtedly have to heal you up afterwards, I want it noted that I lodged a formal objection."

Rakha doesn't respond, but twists a hand, mutters a few words under her breath, and vanishes.

As she appears on the other side of the cavern, the entire place immediately erupts in bibberbang fumes. Baelen's torch, still burning somewhere within, catches them alight at once, and there is a tremendous, rattling explosion of flame in all directions.

Slowly, the fumes and the flames fade from the peak of the explosion, revealing Rakha huddled against the wall, her body hunched over, protecting the small purple mushroom she is holding. Her robes are singed and her back and head terribly burnt... but the noblestalk is intact.

Shadowheart sighs. "What did I tell you?" she says to no one in particular.

-----

(A/N: Hilariously, there's no option to ungroup Glut or move it to track a different person, so it casually burbled into the mushroom field after Rakha, helped everything get set off, and took about 50% of its health in damage.)

Several healing spells later, Rakha leans against the wall of the cavern and looks at the mushroom in her hand. It has no smell at first, but where her fingernails have punctured its skin, it emits a medicinal smell, something like the healing potions they carry in their packs. It's a deep purple color, spongy to the touch. Unthreatening.

So why does she suddenly feel so uneasy? The eagerness has drained away suddenly, leaving only a vague feeling of dread.

Wyll watches her. "You don't have to eat it if you don't want to, you know," he says gently.

She grips her fist around the mushroom suddenly; its skin splits as it cracks in half and that medicinal smell fills the cavern, cloying and overwhelming. She stuffs the mushroom into her mouth and feels its bitter taste sizzle on her tongue....

Narrator: As you choke down the acrid mushroom, a memory embraces your unlovable carcass...

She can see nothing, hear nothing, for a few long terrible moments. And then her vision clears. She is not in the cavern. She has no companions. She is alone. She has always been alone. She works best alone...

Narrator: You see a grand collection - shelves of jarred floating pickled organs neatly labeled. Taxidermied beasts and men, elegantly displayed from your killings. A study no doubt arranged neatly by your gentleman's gentlegoblin.

No - not quite alone. Sceleritas is there, wriggling at her elbow as he always does, a novice, a puppy, eager to please but unstudied in the craft of slaughter...

Narrator: As you and your butler perform a vivisection, Sceleritas' claw slips, calipers cutting the aorta of the living, screaming victim...

Precision; she has always demanded precision. A clarity of vision, to take apart the carcass piece by piece in a rising crescendo of agony-- there is a rhythm to it, an artistry. She is a virtuoso, a master beyond mastery. And Sceleritas always falls short in his fumbling attempts to support her.

She watches the blood pour over her hands from the ripped artery, hot and pulsing, smells the iron life fading from the body. Yet another failure. She will not tolerate it.

Drown the butler in the victim's open bladder-cavity.

Narrator: His tears mingle in with the golden fountain.

Narrator: As the memory begins to clear away, one thing is certain - the Butler lies not about his past service.

-----

"Rakha? RAKHA!"

Rakha's vision clears, and she finds herself crouching amid the bibberbang ashes, hunched over, breathing hard. One of her fists is clenched, grinding into the dirt, forcing an invisible head downward, downward.

Wyll has a hand on her shoulder. His voice is in her ear, worried, insistent. "Rakha, d'you hear me?"

She loosens her fist sharply, stands up and backs away. She is trembling all over, her eyes squeezed shut. The image of the vivisected victim lingers, and the sound of Sceleritas's garbled screams as she punished him for failure.

And most clearly of all, the memory of her own thoughts - hard and cold as ever, but with the weight of a lifetime of cruel memory behind them. Already the sense of history is slipping away again, back into blankness... but the memory of that icy cruelty remains, like a frozen blade shoved into her spine.

Who am I? *What* am I? she thinks unsteadily. Where was that place? What did I do there? And why?

"Rakha, are you all right?" Wyll asks. He steps carefully into her field of vision, and she can see the deep concern in his eyes.

Wordlessly she shakes her head. The beast in her head uncurls itself slowly and laughs, and for the first time she hears her own voice in its laughter.