Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the creators and respective copyright holders of Neverwinter Nights 2: Mask of the Betrayer.
Author's Notes: I always thought the effects of the spirit-eater curse in MotB were severely under-dramatised - and even though I'm biased because I'm a real drama queen, come on, just think about it - a curse that is described to feel like an addiction and will inevitably drive you mad and kill you? That would screw anyone up. In this short fic I've tried to explore both the physical and psychological implications of such a predicament. It's up to you to tell me whether all the angst is effective or just plain annoying. :D
This fic is three chapters long, with the third being nearly finished. Whether or not and how fast I'll put the next chapters up will depend on the feedback for this one, so don't be shy. :D
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The nights were the worst.
During the day, there was always too much to do to worry about something as carnal as her desires. Every new heartbeat was one earned through blood and sweat; fighting, running and leaping through more loopholes to get to their destination. During the day, there was always something more urgent on her mind. During the day, it was easy to distract herself; she could curb her hunger until it lay still and dormant, up to the point where she could almost pretend she wasn't cursed. During the day, she could look at Okku or any of the humongous elementals Safiya and Gann were so fond of summoning and not think of the luscious, vibrant stream of spirit energy flowing just beneath the surface, waiting to be tapped.
During the day.
"Kaelyn, would you spar with me?"
The half-Celestial hesitated, considering her request. "Of course," she replied a moment later, her voice clear and brisk. She rose, the feathery wings flapping momentarily to preserve her balance, and Dree did likewise, unsheathing her scimitar. She strode out of the camp, Kaelyn following behind. Safiya acknowledged their departure with a weary nod – as it had quickly become apparent, she wasn't well accustomed to travelling on foot from dawn till dusk – and Okku grumbled something about not making too much of a ruckus lest it attract more hostile spirits. Gann just stared on into the flames of the campfire, briefly throwing her a silent, thoughtful glance. The gods only knew what occupied the shaman's mind – he could be conversing with the tongues of flame dancing in the cinders for all she could tell.
In the dim afterglow of the evening, Kaelyn's figure was like a pale ghost dancing from shadow to shadow before her as they traded blows. The sky turned black, with only the thin slice of the new moon peeking through the clouds, but Dree had long learned she needn't hold back for her opponent's benefit – the half-Celestial's night sight was a match for her own.
Even with her muscles sore from the day's challenges, Dree hammered and slashed away at Kaelyn's defences until she was gasping for breath, cold sweat running down her face. She didn't care that she made zillions of mistakes in a state like this, providing opening after opening; all that mattered was getting battered up as much as possible. Kaelyn was panting too, but still had her bearings. The cleric had endurance, Dree had to give her that, and she was all too glad for it, otherwise she would've been reduced to attempting to wrestle Okku to the ground to wear herself out, and she doubted broken bones would help her sleep any more than her 'affliction' already did.
The nights were always the worst. Where, during the day, she thought she had her hunger under control, whenever the time came for her body to relax, it would surge up past the retreating chains of her will, consuming her mind until she could think of nothing else. Even as every inch of her being cried out for rest, the hunger would claw at her from inside, urging her to jump to her feet and hurl herself at the nearest source of spirit energy she could find... Okku's presence, his strength and willpower so soothing in the daytime, would become an itch at the edge of her consciousness, and even Gann, with the veil of spirits surrounding him like a cloak, would be little more than another beacon of temptation – and not in the way the insufferable charmer might've liked to think.
At first, Dree had attempted to get the better of her affliction, trying to will the hunger to give away... She'd spent many tiresome nights listening to her own breath and the crackle of fire, her eyes screwed shut and her mind struggling to still the images and impulses flooding her thoughts so that she could finally get some rest.
She'd doze for a time, until the hunger jerked her back to alertness, and then she'd need to fight against it to keep herself still. Either way, eventually exhaustion would overcome her, but her sleep would hardly be a restful one. Shadows of the conflict that should have claimed her life still plagued her in her dreams; it had all been too much, too soon, and far too fast for her to follow. She had surfaced from the lingering nightmare of the struggle against the King of Shadows into a different one, in which, in an ironic stroke of fate, she had become the hated abomination. And even as she tried to suppress those worries in favour of the challenges of the present, not a moment passed when she didn't wonder what had happened to her old companions, who'd followed her willingly – and, it now seemed, without a single good reason – to a battle that only she and perhaps the warlock had needed to attend.
Awaking in that barrow, still worn from the recent struggle, without a single clue of what had happened... Dree often wondered if her fate had ever been her own.
"You can barely stand," Kaelyn remarked, her voice calm and soothing like a cool breeze. "I daresay you've had enough for today."
Looking up into the cleric's pale face from where she was kneeling on the ground, having tripped and lost her balance, Dree gave a breathless nod and accepted Kaelyn's outstretched hand, letting herself be pulled back to her feet.
"Thank you," she muttered as she shuffled along back to their camp, the tip of her scimitar trailing in the dust. Kaelyn simply nodded, forgoing comment as they settled back to their places to clean their weapons with what little energy they still had left.
And so it came down to this. Each evening, Dree would find some way to beat herself to a point of exhaustion when she was ready to drop dead. Usually Kaelyn provided that opportunity, being the most skilled in the use of melee weapons. Otherwise, she'd go searching for something warm and lively to eat for dinner, mostly letting Gann or Okku tag along. Both used those times to good advantage to educate her in the ways of the land and especially the spirits; you'd think she didn't have those on her mind enough. And with both, she had the distinct impression that they were handling her with kiddie gloves, as if afraid to set her off... a not completely unfounded fear, it would seem. With Okku, it went unsaid that any moment the spirit-eater inside her could take control and sink itself into him. It was a conscious risk, part of his oath, and not something that needed to be discussed or vocally acknowledged. Gann, on the other hand, had traded his flirtatious attitude in favour of a more cautious one. Ever since her hunger had been uncovered at the gates of Mulsantir, he'd grown more distant, treating her with something akin to fascinated awe - when he wasn't making another snide comment about her improvisational problem-solving abilties, that is.
Afterwards, she'd curl up on her bedroll and shut the rest of the world out for the sake of a restful, dreamless night – not that she often had the luck. Once the numbness of exhaustion passed, the hunger made her rest ridiculously easy to disturb, and just as hard to reclaim. Often she'd find herself roused back to alertness hours before dawn, the sheer physical weariness no longer profound enough and the hunger as strong as ever. All too often, she'd resort to watching the stars while waiting for the next day to begin, during which the lack of sleep made her hell to deal with.
It wasn't doing her looks any favours either, she knew she was a complete mess. Not that she didn't have more vital things to worry about – like the curse that would inevitably kill her should she tarry in finding its unheard-of cure for too long – but that one time when she'd passed a mirror at the Veil had been shocking nevertheless. There was still some part of her that was the naïve swamp girl, the one who would sometimes refrain from escaping into the wild during certain festivities in the hope that maybe, just maybe, one of the boys would get drunk enough to see past the horns and the ashen skin.
She'd hardly recognised herself that time back at the Veil – her eyes were dull and sunken, the skin seemed stretched taut over her protruding cheekbones, and a few scars she'd earned for her troubles as the Knight-Captain didn't help, either. Her face had taken a rather sickly cast to it – she actually looked more like a zombie than anything remotely infernal.
And yes, there was still a tiny part in her that wasn't too world-weary to indulge in vanity and secretly crave attention, and that part seethed at how haggard her looks had become, even if it was only for the benefit of the sole member of their motley band who was both male and humanoid.
Sinking into her bedroll with a grunt of relief, Dree shot a glance at the hagspawn. He was taking the first watch and was sitting with his back to her, staring into the night. Dree squinted at him for a moment, then slid down, sighing as she let the overwhelming urge to sleep trickle in.
She briefly wondered if she would ever figure the shaman out. Once she'd gotten over the narcissistic bravado, his blatant honesty and occasional verbal bouts with her actually tended to prove quite enjoyable. On the other hand, it always seemed so hard to tell whether he was serious or a facade of mocking sarcasm; whenever she thought she'd uncovered another layer of his personality, yet another mask was waiting beyond. And though comradeship should have been bringing them closer together, Dree felt like she knew Gann even less than back when she'd persuaded him to join her for the benefit of his own freedom.
He was... intriguing, to say the least. Handsome, too, and, desperate as she was, she wouldn't have thought twice about seizing the opportunity when such arose, no matter his true personality... Yet there was a certain tone to him that she couldn't quite put her finger on - something about the paradox of his self-mockery and his arrogant confidence, perhaps - one that reminded her unnervingly of Bishop, and that worked better in regards of discouraging any advances than buckets of cold water possibly could.
Stopping that trail of thought before her mind could launch another trip into the land of painful memories, Dree screwed her eyes shut and prayed to whatever gods were listening to be easy on her sleep. Resolving to think optimistically, she welcomed the night; every new evening meant another day survived, and every new dawn brought her closer to the ultimate resolution.
Whatever that might be.