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BG3: opening section of the Gaila fic (in which Gaila does not appear)
Because I feel like it, basically. As I said in the post title, Gaila isn't even in this section—but Mystra feelings still are!
It feels like there should be a warning for the canonical opening of the BG3 story (though it's hard to imagine the fic being interesting to anyone without the context of the game), so, hmm, cw for canon body horror (but not the worst canon body horror...)
[The Parasite]
Larissa didn’t scream. Some of the others did, especially as their turns came, but she could only stare in horror at their suffering. At the mind flayer.
A mind flayer! Here, right here! Some small part of her thought she should take the opportunity to study it as closely as she could, examine it for any details she might learn, anything that would advance her temple’s knowledge of these creatures. If she survived, she’d be respected beyond her wildest imaginings among the temple sages. And in better circumstances, her goddess would surely approve of illuminating a great mystery.
But Larissa would not survive—not as the faithful priestess of Mystra she had been for two decades. Not as herself. She knew that. Larissa had studied too much, for too long, not to realize what was happening before her eyes. The fleshy, wriggling, vicious-looking tadpoles the mind flayer kept drawing from the pool at the center of the room: she had seen them in books, though never before in reality. They were parasites that would turn those infected into mind flayers themselves. The process was said to be agonizing. Ceremorphosis. After Larissa’s years of service in the temple, this was what awaited her.
The woman in the pod beside Larissa’s howled as the parasite slid from the mind flayer’s long nails into her eye socket, and disappeared.
In another moment, that would be Larissa. She shuddered in her own pod, struggling to stay upright. How long had she been here? Did the temple know? Did Mystra herself know?
The mind flayer turned away from the howling woman, and levitated itself over to the pool. The creature extended its gaunt, claw-like fingers towards the pool, selecting another tadpole. Larissa shuddered, her breath coming impossibly quickly.
Yes, of course Mystra knew. How could she not? Larissa must have wronged her somehow, failed or offended her. Now her life would end in agony because of it—worse than end.
Forgive me, she thought desperately. Holy Mystra, please just let me die. Whatever I did, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.
The mind flayer floated back from the pool to the circle of pods, to Larissa’s.
I still don’t know. Please, please—
She received no words in reply, no impression of Mystra’s face. Yet, as ever, she felt a flicker of peace—the peace that almost always accompanied Larissa’s prayers to her goddess, the sense of Mystra’s grace and crackling power. What did it mean? Was she going to be spared after all?
That hope died almost before it could form. The pod opened—the mind flayer looked down at her with its tiny orange eyes, tentacles writhing—the tadpole in its hand came nearer and nearer—
I am Larissa, priestess of Mystra, she thought desperately, as if her final memories might somehow remain to her after. I am forty-six years old, half-elven, a sage of the temple in Baldur’s Gate. I am—Mystra preserve me—
The tadpole squeezed against her eye, the pressure grotesque and painful. Larissa made a small choking sound, struggling to breathe against the force of the pain and her own terror. Then, with a final squeeze past her eye, the parasite slid into her head.
No. Gods, no.
Larissa looked blearily up at the mind flayer, too stunned even to recoil from it. The pod closed once more, and though she could see through it—could still see—could—she couldn’t stand—
The world slipped away.
It feels like there should be a warning for the canonical opening of the BG3 story (though it's hard to imagine the fic being interesting to anyone without the context of the game), so, hmm, cw for canon body horror (but not the worst canon body horror...)
[The Parasite]
Larissa didn’t scream. Some of the others did, especially as their turns came, but she could only stare in horror at their suffering. At the mind flayer.
A mind flayer! Here, right here! Some small part of her thought she should take the opportunity to study it as closely as she could, examine it for any details she might learn, anything that would advance her temple’s knowledge of these creatures. If she survived, she’d be respected beyond her wildest imaginings among the temple sages. And in better circumstances, her goddess would surely approve of illuminating a great mystery.
But Larissa would not survive—not as the faithful priestess of Mystra she had been for two decades. Not as herself. She knew that. Larissa had studied too much, for too long, not to realize what was happening before her eyes. The fleshy, wriggling, vicious-looking tadpoles the mind flayer kept drawing from the pool at the center of the room: she had seen them in books, though never before in reality. They were parasites that would turn those infected into mind flayers themselves. The process was said to be agonizing. Ceremorphosis. After Larissa’s years of service in the temple, this was what awaited her.
The woman in the pod beside Larissa’s howled as the parasite slid from the mind flayer’s long nails into her eye socket, and disappeared.
In another moment, that would be Larissa. She shuddered in her own pod, struggling to stay upright. How long had she been here? Did the temple know? Did Mystra herself know?
The mind flayer turned away from the howling woman, and levitated itself over to the pool. The creature extended its gaunt, claw-like fingers towards the pool, selecting another tadpole. Larissa shuddered, her breath coming impossibly quickly.
Yes, of course Mystra knew. How could she not? Larissa must have wronged her somehow, failed or offended her. Now her life would end in agony because of it—worse than end.
Forgive me, she thought desperately. Holy Mystra, please just let me die. Whatever I did, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.
The mind flayer floated back from the pool to the circle of pods, to Larissa’s.
I still don’t know. Please, please—
She received no words in reply, no impression of Mystra’s face. Yet, as ever, she felt a flicker of peace—the peace that almost always accompanied Larissa’s prayers to her goddess, the sense of Mystra’s grace and crackling power. What did it mean? Was she going to be spared after all?
That hope died almost before it could form. The pod opened—the mind flayer looked down at her with its tiny orange eyes, tentacles writhing—the tadpole in its hand came nearer and nearer—
I am Larissa, priestess of Mystra, she thought desperately, as if her final memories might somehow remain to her after. I am forty-six years old, half-elven, a sage of the temple in Baldur’s Gate. I am—Mystra preserve me—
The tadpole squeezed against her eye, the pressure grotesque and painful. Larissa made a small choking sound, struggling to breathe against the force of the pain and her own terror. Then, with a final squeeze past her eye, the parasite slid into her head.
No. Gods, no.
Larissa looked blearily up at the mind flayer, too stunned even to recoil from it. The pod closed once more, and though she could see through it—could still see—could—she couldn’t stand—
The world slipped away.