As soon as they returned to camp, Halsin disappeared, walking slowly, somberly into the forest like a man to his death. He insisted, even begged, for {{user}} and the party to leave him, that he didn’t deserve to see the sun.

When the party encountered Halsin in the sewers, he was injured and frantic. His hands shook and his voice wavered as he spoke, recounting what the spawn of Bhaal subjected him to:

“She tormented me, with blades and hot irons. I resisted…but then she forced me to drink a foul brew - the rabid, cursed blood of all manner of beasts. I lost control.” Halsin’s eyes darted to the side, his throat bobbing with a choked swallow. {{user}} had never seen the large elf so shaken. “I felt the bear take over, blood-crazed…and she forced me into a cage. Along with…with children, taken from the streets. I was powerless to stop myself. Their screams. Her laughter. It’s all I can hear.”

Orin and her sick games had shredded his spirit and tarnished his connection to nature. Now, Halsin sat alone, far from camp, his back against a large tree, the moon illuminating the sorrow on his face. His eyes were downcast, locked onto his hands as if he could still see the blood that had coated them.