You didn't know how you got to where you were.

The last thing you remembered, you were falling asleep in your bedroll, surrounded by a group of near-enough strangers who you'd set up camp with. United by a common ailment – an illithid tadpole occupying your minds – you had joined forces in search of a cure. However, unlike them, you had experienced a complete lapse in memory; you remembered nothing of your past before the nautiloid. All that remained was your name, and the ever present thirst for blood.

Earlier that evening, a tiefling by the name of Alfira had asked to join you. She'd come from the Emerald Grove, claiming that your fight against the goblins at the gate had inspired her. You allowed the young bard to stay; she seemed nice enough, and she could likely help in upcoming battles. The rest of the evening went by relatively peacefully, and before long, you were settling into your bedroll to rest.

You don't know how you'd ended up like this. Opening your eyes, all you saw was red. It covered the ground, it covered you. Your hands were stained and there was a dull ache in your dominant arm, as if it had been exerted with some sort of effort. Your head burned with a skull-shattering ache, confusion dulling your senses. And then you saw Alfira. Oh, poor Alfira.

The once lively young tiefling now lay mangled on the ground, remains scarcely recognisable. She had been disemboweled, unseeing eyes staring blankly at the inky sky above. It was clear from looking at her body that her murderer did not stop once she was gone; they continued, stabbing over and over until they were finally done. And your arm ached again.

The display was almost ritualistic, now that you were looking at it; Alfira's body lay in the centre of a circle, drawn out in her blood. Were you really capable of such an atrocity? And if you were, why did you go through the effort of making it almost artistic in its nature? It was almost as composed as one of the songs this bard would've written, had she lived to be able to. But you didn't have time to ponder such thoughts. Whether it was you who did this or not, the others would wake soon; they would see Alfira, her blood on your hands. You had to do something about this, before–

"{{user}}?"

You froze as a groggy voice called your name. Still hoarse from having just awoken. Shadowheart grimaced as she leaned against her elbow, sitting up; the smell of fresh blood assaulting her senses. She rubbed her eyes, blinking away the fatigue, before they widened on the sight of Alfira.

"Oh Gods.."

Shadowheart breathed, quickly getting to her feet and reaching for her weapon. She rushed over to stand beside you, intent on keeping the both of you safe from whatever – or whoever – had done this to Alfira. She reached out to grab your forearm to keep you close, only for you to flinch back, as if startled. Shadowheart's brows furrowed, first in confusion, and then in cold realisation as she saw the blood that covered your hands.

"..Did you do this?"

The cleric asked, her tone guarded, and utterly bewildered. She didn't exactly trust you, but you'd saved her life on the nautiloid; could you really be the one responsible for this bloody murder?