One Skull, Two Tenants [D&D / Baldur's Gate 3 SI]
- Thread starter Hmmaster
- Start date
- Location
- Alabama
There are several fun monk subclasses, and Mercy Monk is one of them. I'm not saying which one, but I am saying that it's not one currently available in BG3.
I definitely didn't get a chuckle writing that one. Nor did I think, "Hey, let's totally hide the thing by putting that a there instead."
I love Astarion. He's a difficult one to get the voice of right, if only because Neil does such a good job that capturing the inflections is hard. The lines the guy says would be like 10% as effective in someone else's hands, and so writing him is an interesting challenge.
The others, by comparison, have more clear ways to emulate their speech in the games, and I'm trying so damned hard to not directly use any lines from the game's dialogue where necessary.
Sassy gay/pan twink BF energy is real.
11
- Location
- Alabama
When you learned that you're in a fantasy world while flying on a ship full of things that wanted to kill you, surrounded by the armies of the hellish landscape below, it was easy to think a riverfront beach or a ruined temple did not compare as fantastical scenery. I expected the fires of Mount Doom or the ice of the Wall, or maybe the Astronomy Tower of Hogwarts. These fantastic images were seared into my mind, from the text or the screen, and I wished I'd had time and the lack of danger to really study the bleached black wasteland of Avernus.
No, the crypt and riverfront of the Chionthar, as Gale had pointed out, were positively mundane. I'd much rather be there than the nautiloid or the Hells, of course, but as we explored this druid grove, I had time to smell the roses.
The intended purpose of the grove was clear – statues of a horned god venerated as the Treefather prominently adorned the space, natural offerings of cured meats and other goods lay at the cloven feet of the construction. Rune-covered doorways I couldn't possibly read led into deeper parts of the cave, likely off-limits to us and the others who were merely guests here. An exterior part of the grove lay on the opposite end from the entrance, not easily accessible but visible from up top, and grand vine-covered pillars encircled a set of raised stones.
Another temple within the same day to a different god, this one of Nature not Death. One who has horns and cloven hooves, if the statue was accurate, and I wondered if that was why most of the interior of the cave system had so many tieflings.
The creature comforts of a small tent city littered the cave system that I suspected must have once been from a flooded part of the nearby river, the waters having receded long ago and leaving a wide, expansive space. Scaffolding, canvas tents, bed-rolls, campfires, and torch sconces scattered across the space, much of it standing in contrast to the natural features within. The smell of cooking stew wafted through the moist cavern air, while the sound of laughter, shouting, and whispers echoed against the rocky walls.
A few dozen people, a vast, vast majority of them tieflings, had set up camp here, and from the looks of it, it had been that way for quite some time. Restlessness filled the space, while devilkin kids and adults alike tried to find something to do to occupy their time. They did not seem the type, by and large, to be particularly equipped for travel, and there were a distressing number of children and elderly among them.
This was more of what I'd expected out of a fantasy world. While I couldn't sense it, I suspected magic filled this glorious space. I'd never been particularly outdoorsy, but I'd be a fool to not admire how majestic this all was, even as clogged with people who didn't belong here.
Wyll escorted us to a space to put up our own makeshift tents and then promptly left us alone. I didn't blame him for not sticking around – whoever had tasked him with hunting Karlach had either lied or been mistaken about her, and I didn't have to try to pull on the tadpole bond to tell the man didn't know what to think or how to react.
We didn't have much of a spot for isolated conversations, not that they were likely to give us the opportunity. In the first quarter of an hour alone, several had come by to give us thanks for what we had done, while just as many looked weary of us and our presence here.
"Anyone else get the impression these folk are running from something?" I asked after a purple-skinned elderly woman walked quietly away, horns like a ram tight and long across her silvered hair.
Gale nodded as he passed us each a bowl of gruel he'd procured from the line for us. Something with carrots, potatoes, and maybe some beef, but I wasn't hungry. "Someone mentioned Elturel. Given what happened and where we are, I'd suspect we are mere days east from Baldur's Gate."
"What's Elturel?"
Astarion held in a breath. "A few months back, everyone was talking about it. Some call Elturel and Baldur's Gate sister cities, but I've never seen the appeal. There was some crisis that involved parts of the city falling into the Hells. When that cleared up, we-"
"Fell into the Hells?" I uneasily darted my gaze downward. "Is Hell down there?"
"Depending on the model of the planes you ascribe to, it might be," Gale answered unhelpfully. "I heard of this conflict secondhand. Dreadful stuff. Last I learned, Elturel has returned?"
Astarion shrugged, picking at his teeth with a plant frond. "Believe so. I can hardly keep track of the crisis of the month. Good for them, though."
I – huh.
"Do cities casually fall into Hell often?"
Karlach snickered. "No, no. Doesn't work like that. I never saw the city myself while it was in Avernus, but the stories about the people? They underwent true horror, the kinds of activities no one would expect to deal with. We should be sure to give them some respect, yeah?"
I agreed, but the nagging questions list kept growing. As the conversation faded and the slurping of soup from the others began, I mentally and then physically made a list of things to ask. If not to Gale, then to someone else. The druids, maybe.
Distressingly, as I scrawled my first note in the journal with the ink quill, the handwriting was not mine. I didn't recognize my own letters, until I gave it proper focus and attention. The next note was clearly mine, while the other writing throughout the book clearly was from another person.
Fuck.
"Gale. When you get a second, I want to pick your brain."
The man smiled. "I hardly think that will be difficult, given our shared condition. I don't normally let someone in, but I am intensely curious how we may form a rudimentary psionic link. Such a connection should be impossible without dedicated skill, but it seems we may have unlocked latent abilities or can borrow from the abilities of the tadpole."
I felt a tug. The bond strengthened, waned, then expanded all at once. Solidified into focus, Gale's consciousness sided up to my own, and a discomfort grew in a fleeting second. Gale, apologetic, pulled back the mental probe.
"Oh, apologies. I was merely testing the limits."
"Uh, right. Can you not do that again?"
"My brain and yours are properly sealed, no need to worry." He rubbed at his chin. "From my momentary access, I suspect you have several questions. I don't know that I can answer them, but I may give it a try."
Gale and I had spent the better part of the evening in a huddle, and I had learned a great deal that I doubted I'd remember every word. He was there to remind me for however long we had left. Journal pages would help to keep basic facts about the world organized, and he promised to take me to his library in Waterdeep for, "a more extensive deep dive into the histories of Toril and its denizens."
The insidious nature of the mindflayers was my top priority, and he'd given a well enough description that they were psionic creatures of devastating power whose aims are mysterious. They'd once ruled everything, supposedly, but their empire fell and scattered them across the planes.
Toril was one such plane, or better yet, a planet on that version of the Prime Material Plane. There were others – I knew that to be true from personal experience. One of the planes we'd visited had been the Nine Hells, a layered world whose first layer was known as Avernus. There were endless battlefields of something called the Blood War, which I'd put a pin in until later because Karlach had firsthand experience.
Toril had many important regions, but none so important in Gale's eyes as the Sword Coast of Faerun. Waterdeep was the city where he hailed, to the south of the area we traversed now. The two city-states were both part of an organization called the Lord's Alliance, and that had prompted a genuine question.
"So, the Lord's Alliance just lets tribes of murderous goblins roam the countryside?"
The wizard had frowned, equally perplexed. "I'm not one for politics, Edward. Much of my time was in studying dusty tomes. But everyone knows the Alliance is there in times of great need."
"This isn't a time of great need?"
"I hope not, truth be told," he had replied quickly. "I am curious as to where the Flaming Fist are. They are the city's militia, and they don't have a sterling reputation for success. Even still, goblin raiders are within their usual purview to handle, though perhaps not this far from the city's walls."
Discussing that topic had easily shifted my attention to the next burning question, and Gale was happy to give his opinion that there were no good or bad goblins by default, which was nice to hear. The "universal evil" of Tolkien and his orcs consumed media far and wide.
My final round of questions were fundamentally about my situation, and Gale had been a great sport thus far, listening as intently as he could and offering his brain. Karlach and Astarion had taken to rest nearby in the meantime, and it was my genuine lack of exhaustion and hunger that spawned the query.
"A revenant."
Gale studied me for a long moment, eyes trailing across my facial features.
"How likely is that to be the case and how much do you know?"
"Sorry to say that I am no expert in necromancy. My skills lie in the auspicious art of transmutation." He frowned. "Though, Astarion may be right. Have you noticed anything that feels physically odd?"
So many things!
By the time I had finished describing what I'd noticed, Gale's mouth had opened wide enough to park a bus.
"No hunger. No thirst. No need for slumber. Faster healing." He pulled a book from thin air in a flicker of purple and blue light, then scoured its pages. Joining me in jotting down his own notes, I almost interrupted his next thought.
"It seems likely," Gale finished.
Well, hell.
"And the dark green wisps of mist?"
"A product of your ki, it seems," Gale answered. "I wish I could be of more direct assistance, but I'm afraid I know even less about mastering one's inner life force. What powers I imbibe are from the grasping bosom of the Weave, not from any internal process."
I didn't know what that meant, but I was too afraid to ask and send us on another diatribe. A whirlwind of information about magic, about ki, about the histories of the world, about the threats we may face? It was all too much, and Gale suspected that as well.
"Was that enlightening? For someone missing so much of your memory, much of this was elementary to explain."
I half-smiled, trying not to feel uncomfortable where this was heading. "I guess. It you're right about half of it, we might wake up in the morning with tentacles for mouths."
He laughed. "We can be happy that one wouldn't happen until later in the week. We have a promising opportunity to pursue, to keep that from occurring."
No, the crypt and riverfront of the Chionthar, as Gale had pointed out, were positively mundane. I'd much rather be there than the nautiloid or the Hells, of course, but as we explored this druid grove, I had time to smell the roses.
The intended purpose of the grove was clear – statues of a horned god venerated as the Treefather prominently adorned the space, natural offerings of cured meats and other goods lay at the cloven feet of the construction. Rune-covered doorways I couldn't possibly read led into deeper parts of the cave, likely off-limits to us and the others who were merely guests here. An exterior part of the grove lay on the opposite end from the entrance, not easily accessible but visible from up top, and grand vine-covered pillars encircled a set of raised stones.
Another temple within the same day to a different god, this one of Nature not Death. One who has horns and cloven hooves, if the statue was accurate, and I wondered if that was why most of the interior of the cave system had so many tieflings.
The creature comforts of a small tent city littered the cave system that I suspected must have once been from a flooded part of the nearby river, the waters having receded long ago and leaving a wide, expansive space. Scaffolding, canvas tents, bed-rolls, campfires, and torch sconces scattered across the space, much of it standing in contrast to the natural features within. The smell of cooking stew wafted through the moist cavern air, while the sound of laughter, shouting, and whispers echoed against the rocky walls.
A few dozen people, a vast, vast majority of them tieflings, had set up camp here, and from the looks of it, it had been that way for quite some time. Restlessness filled the space, while devilkin kids and adults alike tried to find something to do to occupy their time. They did not seem the type, by and large, to be particularly equipped for travel, and there were a distressing number of children and elderly among them.
This was more of what I'd expected out of a fantasy world. While I couldn't sense it, I suspected magic filled this glorious space. I'd never been particularly outdoorsy, but I'd be a fool to not admire how majestic this all was, even as clogged with people who didn't belong here.
Wyll escorted us to a space to put up our own makeshift tents and then promptly left us alone. I didn't blame him for not sticking around – whoever had tasked him with hunting Karlach had either lied or been mistaken about her, and I didn't have to try to pull on the tadpole bond to tell the man didn't know what to think or how to react.
We didn't have much of a spot for isolated conversations, not that they were likely to give us the opportunity. In the first quarter of an hour alone, several had come by to give us thanks for what we had done, while just as many looked weary of us and our presence here.
"Anyone else get the impression these folk are running from something?" I asked after a purple-skinned elderly woman walked quietly away, horns like a ram tight and long across her silvered hair.
Gale nodded as he passed us each a bowl of gruel he'd procured from the line for us. Something with carrots, potatoes, and maybe some beef, but I wasn't hungry. "Someone mentioned Elturel. Given what happened and where we are, I'd suspect we are mere days east from Baldur's Gate."
"What's Elturel?"
Astarion held in a breath. "A few months back, everyone was talking about it. Some call Elturel and Baldur's Gate sister cities, but I've never seen the appeal. There was some crisis that involved parts of the city falling into the Hells. When that cleared up, we-"
"Fell into the Hells?" I uneasily darted my gaze downward. "Is Hell down there?"
"Depending on the model of the planes you ascribe to, it might be," Gale answered unhelpfully. "I heard of this conflict secondhand. Dreadful stuff. Last I learned, Elturel has returned?"
Astarion shrugged, picking at his teeth with a plant frond. "Believe so. I can hardly keep track of the crisis of the month. Good for them, though."
I – huh.
"Do cities casually fall into Hell often?"
Karlach snickered. "No, no. Doesn't work like that. I never saw the city myself while it was in Avernus, but the stories about the people? They underwent true horror, the kinds of activities no one would expect to deal with. We should be sure to give them some respect, yeah?"
I agreed, but the nagging questions list kept growing. As the conversation faded and the slurping of soup from the others began, I mentally and then physically made a list of things to ask. If not to Gale, then to someone else. The druids, maybe.
Distressingly, as I scrawled my first note in the journal with the ink quill, the handwriting was not mine. I didn't recognize my own letters, until I gave it proper focus and attention. The next note was clearly mine, while the other writing throughout the book clearly was from another person.
Fuck.
"Gale. When you get a second, I want to pick your brain."
The man smiled. "I hardly think that will be difficult, given our shared condition. I don't normally let someone in, but I am intensely curious how we may form a rudimentary psionic link. Such a connection should be impossible without dedicated skill, but it seems we may have unlocked latent abilities or can borrow from the abilities of the tadpole."
I felt a tug. The bond strengthened, waned, then expanded all at once. Solidified into focus, Gale's consciousness sided up to my own, and a discomfort grew in a fleeting second. Gale, apologetic, pulled back the mental probe.
"Oh, apologies. I was merely testing the limits."
"Uh, right. Can you not do that again?"
"My brain and yours are properly sealed, no need to worry." He rubbed at his chin. "From my momentary access, I suspect you have several questions. I don't know that I can answer them, but I may give it a try."
Gale and I had spent the better part of the evening in a huddle, and I had learned a great deal that I doubted I'd remember every word. He was there to remind me for however long we had left. Journal pages would help to keep basic facts about the world organized, and he promised to take me to his library in Waterdeep for, "a more extensive deep dive into the histories of Toril and its denizens."
The insidious nature of the mindflayers was my top priority, and he'd given a well enough description that they were psionic creatures of devastating power whose aims are mysterious. They'd once ruled everything, supposedly, but their empire fell and scattered them across the planes.
Toril was one such plane, or better yet, a planet on that version of the Prime Material Plane. There were others – I knew that to be true from personal experience. One of the planes we'd visited had been the Nine Hells, a layered world whose first layer was known as Avernus. There were endless battlefields of something called the Blood War, which I'd put a pin in until later because Karlach had firsthand experience.
Toril had many important regions, but none so important in Gale's eyes as the Sword Coast of Faerun. Waterdeep was the city where he hailed, to the south of the area we traversed now. The two city-states were both part of an organization called the Lord's Alliance, and that had prompted a genuine question.
"So, the Lord's Alliance just lets tribes of murderous goblins roam the countryside?"
The wizard had frowned, equally perplexed. "I'm not one for politics, Edward. Much of my time was in studying dusty tomes. But everyone knows the Alliance is there in times of great need."
"This isn't a time of great need?"
"I hope not, truth be told," he had replied quickly. "I am curious as to where the Flaming Fist are. They are the city's militia, and they don't have a sterling reputation for success. Even still, goblin raiders are within their usual purview to handle, though perhaps not this far from the city's walls."
Discussing that topic had easily shifted my attention to the next burning question, and Gale was happy to give his opinion that there were no good or bad goblins by default, which was nice to hear. The "universal evil" of Tolkien and his orcs consumed media far and wide.
My final round of questions were fundamentally about my situation, and Gale had been a great sport thus far, listening as intently as he could and offering his brain. Karlach and Astarion had taken to rest nearby in the meantime, and it was my genuine lack of exhaustion and hunger that spawned the query.
"A revenant."
Gale studied me for a long moment, eyes trailing across my facial features.
"How likely is that to be the case and how much do you know?"
"Sorry to say that I am no expert in necromancy. My skills lie in the auspicious art of transmutation." He frowned. "Though, Astarion may be right. Have you noticed anything that feels physically odd?"
So many things!
By the time I had finished describing what I'd noticed, Gale's mouth had opened wide enough to park a bus.
"No hunger. No thirst. No need for slumber. Faster healing." He pulled a book from thin air in a flicker of purple and blue light, then scoured its pages. Joining me in jotting down his own notes, I almost interrupted his next thought.
"It seems likely," Gale finished.
Well, hell.
"And the dark green wisps of mist?"
"A product of your ki, it seems," Gale answered. "I wish I could be of more direct assistance, but I'm afraid I know even less about mastering one's inner life force. What powers I imbibe are from the grasping bosom of the Weave, not from any internal process."
I didn't know what that meant, but I was too afraid to ask and send us on another diatribe. A whirlwind of information about magic, about ki, about the histories of the world, about the threats we may face? It was all too much, and Gale suspected that as well.
"Was that enlightening? For someone missing so much of your memory, much of this was elementary to explain."
I half-smiled, trying not to feel uncomfortable where this was heading. "I guess. It you're right about half of it, we might wake up in the morning with tentacles for mouths."
He laughed. "We can be happy that one wouldn't happen until later in the week. We have a promising opportunity to pursue, to keep that from occurring."
Last edited:
12
- Location
- Alabama
I did not eat dinner.
I did not sleep.
The desire simply was not there. Not even after the quick water basin bath refresher cleaned the grime, the muck, the bodily fluids. A squeaky clean Edward appeared in a reflection that did not belong to me, with a face that wasn't mine, and I could not wrap my head around the idea.
It was not so bad. I was in better shape than I'd ever been, though from the looser clothing, you'd never know it. Abs. Abs! I'd never seen my abs before. I wasn't shredded like Karlach, but I would absolutely take it. The face was more angular, more respectable, and an upgrade, probably, but I couldn't quite see it without feeling an intense "wrong" deep in my thoughts.
A bath routine usually brought me closer to exhaustion, but this new body with its new face and its new voice and its new handwriting came with the lack of need for many basic functions. If they were wrong about the revenant explanation, it was clear I'd become something more than human. Something different, something other.
Something better? There was virtually no sign of either injury from earlier in the day, apart from light bruising where a slash wound had once been.
The refugee camp was far too packed within the grove to not have a set time for everyone to settle down with their families or friends for the night. Tensions were high enough as it was, and it did not help that some of the younger tiefling children refused to bed. I was envious of their ability to choose to stay up – they'd tire themselves out eventually and join Karlach, the first of our merry band to sleep. I didn't have the luxury of feeling exhaustion, and a restlessness filled my bones until I just simply had to stand, had to stretch, had to pace.
"Can't sleep?"
The elf smirked, face bright despite the shadows extending from the lantern we'd lit for our little campsite. He, strangely enough, hadn't slept either, but he had sat cross-legged in an almost meditative pose for nearly an hour.
"Don't need to," I muttered in frustration.
"I can relate."
My brow rose, but the confusion on my face only seemed to throw him. Gale and Karlach had long since turned over, the first a side sleeper while the second lay flat on her back. Why was he not like them?
"You don't know anything, do you?" He giggled nervously, or perhaps in fascination. "I worry for the rest of us. Your tadpole has been busy."
I wasn't sure how to break the news about the truth of my upbringing, but in a world of magic where multiple planes of existence were real, it wasn't that strange an idea. Still, I let the moment lie for now and instead said, "Gale mentioned it. Ceremorphosis has a process, and it's too early for memory loss."
A truly strange and horrifying process.
"Hm. A pity. A head wound, then? Maybe you died, but when you came back, you came back brain dead."
Oh.
Like the infamous railroad spike to the head. The wrong damage to the hippocampus, and maybe it wasn't so unlikely.
"That's almost worse, thanks."
I knew it wasn't true, but there were too many unknowns to be particularly certain of anything at all. Gale had helped, but he was merely one nerd and not a whole archive of knowledge or a peer-reviewed research hospital.
"That's what I'm here for, darling."
The conversation lulled until I asked him how the albino man related.
"Oh, that is easy. When I sleep like a lowly human," he playfully spat the word, grinning, "my dreams are a wild, chaotic mess. Focusing on them may drive me positively insane. Instead, I follow in the footsteps of my elven brethren and enter a resting trance."
Huh. That explains what he was doing earlier. The pose, the stiffness, the lack of eye movement behind his lids.
"All elves do that?"
"It's gauche to sleep, Edward. There are heathens that do, but we do not claim them." He hesitated and then said, "You may be grateful to have abandoned the practice, when all is said and done."
I didn't know what to say to that. A race of people who meditate instead of sleep was interesting, if unexpected.
"I'm going for a walk, to find some air that doesn't smell like cave fungus. Be back soon."
Wait. What?
"Isn't it dangerous?"
Astarion waved it off. "Don't worry, darling. I'm quite used to a bit of stealth. If I spot anything dangerous, I'll book it back to the grove."
He seemed set in his decision and started to leave. "Will they even open the gate for you?"
The man paused, thinning. "I will handle it, don't worry yourself."
I wanted to press the issue, but I didn't know him. We weren't close – if he wanted to get stalked and eaten, that was his prerogative. The group would suffer, but for all we knew, Gale was right that there would be a solution in the druids' magic hidden in the grove. Get the tadpole out by morning, and then we'd go our separate ways.
Where that left me, I didn't know.
As Astarion disappeared among the throng of packed tents full of sleeping families, I considered the journal and pulled it out again, written in the hand of someone else. Someone whose body I now occupied, because the handwriting matched what the muscle memory had guided earlier.
With time to appreciate, the whole night lay ahead of me. Whatever plans we may hatch in the morning to secure a solution for the tadpole, I could spend a few hours reading. It wasn't a particularly long journal, and I'd always read fast. Cover to cover in one night? It was possible.
Each page was meticulously full of information, explanations, and useful drawings with detailed descriptions and artful annotations. This person knew more about the human body than I expected many others in this time did, and if it followed what I expected to see from other sword and sorcery stories, the druids weren't likely to have a supply of anti-viral medication nor a highly developed vaccine nor a high-tech operating room.
Despite all of the limitations of the time period, there were obtuse references to germ theory. An emphasis on cleanliness for any invasive operations. Alcohol for sterilization. Fantastical and real herbal mixtures designed to combat certain ailments. A note in one margin that said, "No, no, no! The balance of the humors is bad medicine!"
At nearly every point, there were references to ki, the life force that Gale described some could learn to use. This man believed an injection of foreign ki into the body of someone else could stir their own ki to recover from injuries, to fight illnesses, to resist poisons. Perhaps the most important note of all about ki was the question he had written in one corner, then underlined for emphasis: "Ki as editor to the Final Scribe's list?"
Hmmm.
I almost shot up to grab Gale, to grab Karlach, to grab anyone who could understand.
We were hours into slumber, and the sun would rise soon, but I was so anxious about the possibilities and the connections that I wanted nothing more than to go to sleep on this damn knowledge. Let it rest, let it percolate, and then I'd address it when they woke up.
Astarion's trance interested me. Meditative, deliberate, a pose almost comically similar to real life poses meant to be therapeutic, to lead to enlightenment. I wasn't an elf, but I did suspect ki had similar origins to the idea of ki from back home, a kind of inner strength that mediation allowed.
So, in light of this knowledge, I tried to do it. With all the tricks I could imagine. Counting backwards from one hundred. Counting drips of water from the moist cavern ceiling. Thinking of nothing at all, tricking myself into believing that nothing at all actually meant nothing, getting frustrated that there was always something, and keeping me from distractingly empty thoughts.
Nothing helped.
The journal didn't mention how this "Tav" accessed his ki, only that he'd used it personally to help heal the sick and harm the deserving. An oblique reference to its color confirmed what Gale had suspected earlier – Tav described his ki as green, while others he'd known had manifested differently.
Meditation was not working.
Desperation…
With a sharp prick of my finger against the tip of the dagger, crimson blood pooled heavily from my left pointer finger. And, like I'd hoped to see, wispy green mist rose from the wound for about an inch.
All of my attention and desire centered on the mist. Minute pain dulled to an afterthought, and I thought of nothing but the way the ki emanated from the wound, the way it clung to the air for several seconds, the way it felt against the skin as my fingers passed through it. Cold to the touch, akin to a harsh winter's breeze.
I pushed my thoughts and intentions towards it as I focused on that sensation. I thought of its properties to heal, as described in Tav's journals. I thought of its properties to harm, as I'd unintentionally done I'm the fight against the goblins. Everything else fell away in the environment except this.
With sheer force of willpower alone, the green wisps of misty ki wavered to my whims. Excitement filled my core, blood rushing to my head, but I did not want to lose the moment, the opportunity. I repeated the steps, and the ki flickered back and forth until it formed into a spiraling ring.
Fuck yes!
The mist receded into the wound as suddenly as it appeared. Frustrated, I tried to access it again, to see if it would come back, and then – Oh!
No evidence of a pricked finger. No lingering sensation of pain, no sign but the drop of blood still sitting on the tip. When I wiped the crimson stain away, the skin was whole, unblemished. Like nothing had even happened.
Incredible!
I did not sleep.
The desire simply was not there. Not even after the quick water basin bath refresher cleaned the grime, the muck, the bodily fluids. A squeaky clean Edward appeared in a reflection that did not belong to me, with a face that wasn't mine, and I could not wrap my head around the idea.
It was not so bad. I was in better shape than I'd ever been, though from the looser clothing, you'd never know it. Abs. Abs! I'd never seen my abs before. I wasn't shredded like Karlach, but I would absolutely take it. The face was more angular, more respectable, and an upgrade, probably, but I couldn't quite see it without feeling an intense "wrong" deep in my thoughts.
A bath routine usually brought me closer to exhaustion, but this new body with its new face and its new voice and its new handwriting came with the lack of need for many basic functions. If they were wrong about the revenant explanation, it was clear I'd become something more than human. Something different, something other.
Something better? There was virtually no sign of either injury from earlier in the day, apart from light bruising where a slash wound had once been.
The refugee camp was far too packed within the grove to not have a set time for everyone to settle down with their families or friends for the night. Tensions were high enough as it was, and it did not help that some of the younger tiefling children refused to bed. I was envious of their ability to choose to stay up – they'd tire themselves out eventually and join Karlach, the first of our merry band to sleep. I didn't have the luxury of feeling exhaustion, and a restlessness filled my bones until I just simply had to stand, had to stretch, had to pace.
"Can't sleep?"
The elf smirked, face bright despite the shadows extending from the lantern we'd lit for our little campsite. He, strangely enough, hadn't slept either, but he had sat cross-legged in an almost meditative pose for nearly an hour.
"Don't need to," I muttered in frustration.
"I can relate."
My brow rose, but the confusion on my face only seemed to throw him. Gale and Karlach had long since turned over, the first a side sleeper while the second lay flat on her back. Why was he not like them?
"You don't know anything, do you?" He giggled nervously, or perhaps in fascination. "I worry for the rest of us. Your tadpole has been busy."
I wasn't sure how to break the news about the truth of my upbringing, but in a world of magic where multiple planes of existence were real, it wasn't that strange an idea. Still, I let the moment lie for now and instead said, "Gale mentioned it. Ceremorphosis has a process, and it's too early for memory loss."
A truly strange and horrifying process.
"Hm. A pity. A head wound, then? Maybe you died, but when you came back, you came back brain dead."
Oh.
Like the infamous railroad spike to the head. The wrong damage to the hippocampus, and maybe it wasn't so unlikely.
"That's almost worse, thanks."
I knew it wasn't true, but there were too many unknowns to be particularly certain of anything at all. Gale had helped, but he was merely one nerd and not a whole archive of knowledge or a peer-reviewed research hospital.
"That's what I'm here for, darling."
The conversation lulled until I asked him how the albino man related.
"Oh, that is easy. When I sleep like a lowly human," he playfully spat the word, grinning, "my dreams are a wild, chaotic mess. Focusing on them may drive me positively insane. Instead, I follow in the footsteps of my elven brethren and enter a resting trance."
Huh. That explains what he was doing earlier. The pose, the stiffness, the lack of eye movement behind his lids.
"All elves do that?"
"It's gauche to sleep, Edward. There are heathens that do, but we do not claim them." He hesitated and then said, "You may be grateful to have abandoned the practice, when all is said and done."
I didn't know what to say to that. A race of people who meditate instead of sleep was interesting, if unexpected.
"I'm going for a walk, to find some air that doesn't smell like cave fungus. Be back soon."
Wait. What?
"Isn't it dangerous?"
Astarion waved it off. "Don't worry, darling. I'm quite used to a bit of stealth. If I spot anything dangerous, I'll book it back to the grove."
He seemed set in his decision and started to leave. "Will they even open the gate for you?"
The man paused, thinning. "I will handle it, don't worry yourself."
I wanted to press the issue, but I didn't know him. We weren't close – if he wanted to get stalked and eaten, that was his prerogative. The group would suffer, but for all we knew, Gale was right that there would be a solution in the druids' magic hidden in the grove. Get the tadpole out by morning, and then we'd go our separate ways.
Where that left me, I didn't know.
As Astarion disappeared among the throng of packed tents full of sleeping families, I considered the journal and pulled it out again, written in the hand of someone else. Someone whose body I now occupied, because the handwriting matched what the muscle memory had guided earlier.
With time to appreciate, the whole night lay ahead of me. Whatever plans we may hatch in the morning to secure a solution for the tadpole, I could spend a few hours reading. It wasn't a particularly long journal, and I'd always read fast. Cover to cover in one night? It was possible.
Each page was meticulously full of information, explanations, and useful drawings with detailed descriptions and artful annotations. This person knew more about the human body than I expected many others in this time did, and if it followed what I expected to see from other sword and sorcery stories, the druids weren't likely to have a supply of anti-viral medication nor a highly developed vaccine nor a high-tech operating room.
Despite all of the limitations of the time period, there were obtuse references to germ theory. An emphasis on cleanliness for any invasive operations. Alcohol for sterilization. Fantastical and real herbal mixtures designed to combat certain ailments. A note in one margin that said, "No, no, no! The balance of the humors is bad medicine!"
At nearly every point, there were references to ki, the life force that Gale described some could learn to use. This man believed an injection of foreign ki into the body of someone else could stir their own ki to recover from injuries, to fight illnesses, to resist poisons. Perhaps the most important note of all about ki was the question he had written in one corner, then underlined for emphasis: "Ki as editor to the Final Scribe's list?"
Hmmm.
I almost shot up to grab Gale, to grab Karlach, to grab anyone who could understand.
We were hours into slumber, and the sun would rise soon, but I was so anxious about the possibilities and the connections that I wanted nothing more than to go to sleep on this damn knowledge. Let it rest, let it percolate, and then I'd address it when they woke up.
Astarion's trance interested me. Meditative, deliberate, a pose almost comically similar to real life poses meant to be therapeutic, to lead to enlightenment. I wasn't an elf, but I did suspect ki had similar origins to the idea of ki from back home, a kind of inner strength that mediation allowed.
So, in light of this knowledge, I tried to do it. With all the tricks I could imagine. Counting backwards from one hundred. Counting drips of water from the moist cavern ceiling. Thinking of nothing at all, tricking myself into believing that nothing at all actually meant nothing, getting frustrated that there was always something, and keeping me from distractingly empty thoughts.
Nothing helped.
The journal didn't mention how this "Tav" accessed his ki, only that he'd used it personally to help heal the sick and harm the deserving. An oblique reference to its color confirmed what Gale had suspected earlier – Tav described his ki as green, while others he'd known had manifested differently.
Meditation was not working.
Desperation…
With a sharp prick of my finger against the tip of the dagger, crimson blood pooled heavily from my left pointer finger. And, like I'd hoped to see, wispy green mist rose from the wound for about an inch.
All of my attention and desire centered on the mist. Minute pain dulled to an afterthought, and I thought of nothing but the way the ki emanated from the wound, the way it clung to the air for several seconds, the way it felt against the skin as my fingers passed through it. Cold to the touch, akin to a harsh winter's breeze.
I pushed my thoughts and intentions towards it as I focused on that sensation. I thought of its properties to heal, as described in Tav's journals. I thought of its properties to harm, as I'd unintentionally done I'm the fight against the goblins. Everything else fell away in the environment except this.
With sheer force of willpower alone, the green wisps of misty ki wavered to my whims. Excitement filled my core, blood rushing to my head, but I did not want to lose the moment, the opportunity. I repeated the steps, and the ki flickered back and forth until it formed into a spiraling ring.
Fuck yes!
The mist receded into the wound as suddenly as it appeared. Frustrated, I tried to access it again, to see if it would come back, and then – Oh!
No evidence of a pricked finger. No lingering sensation of pain, no sign but the drop of blood still sitting on the tip. When I wiped the crimson stain away, the skin was whole, unblemished. Like nothing had even happened.
Incredible!
13
- Location
- Alabama
As morning arrived, the grove became a flurry of activity. Tieflings fixed breakfast for themselves or their families, or stood in line for whatever rations could be carefully prepped for those who had nothing. Conversations were clipped and full of frustration, and I overheard a small child with bright red skin begging to leave, to go back home, and the mother could only hold back a sob.
Astarion had rejoined us after his evening jaunt, and he'd said it was quite refreshing. Gale spent the first few minutes of the morning reviewing a thick purple grimoire shimmering with light.
Karlach had been the first to sleep but the last to rise. "Well, none of us have changed, right?"
Nothing. No weird sweat, no sense of odd behavior.
"Most curious," Gale whispered, snapping his book closed. He tucked it under his arm. "I would have expected to see symptoms, but we should be grateful for the blessing. The gods shine upon us today."
My next question received a surprisingly short explanation: there were many gods that granted real miracles to their followers, from ones of Storm, of Fire, of Death, of Nature, of Commerce. The power within the crypt of Jergal, the animation of the skeletal scribes, a divine champion like Withers (or whatever he was)? It boggled the mind to my skepticism that they may, in fact, be real.
We were near finished our morning preparations, mid discussion about how to approach a druid, when a figure approached us. Dressed in a leather tunic of brown and red, the rapier-wielding mage Wyll approached our group with a careful, uneasy gait. His approach spoke volumes of how very un-confident and conflicted he was to speak to us.
Karlach, ever the optimist, merely half-smiled. "Mornin'. Hope you rested well."
The man slowly nodded. "Same to you all. The – the nominal leader of the refugees has asked for you, and I'm here to escort you, if it suits you."
I shared a glance with Karlach. "I think it's a good idea. Get a better lay of the land."
"All right, soldier." The woman merely nodded. "Lead the way, Blade of Frontiers."
The man rubbed the back of his neck, cleared his throat, and began to walk us through the makeshift compound. The leader had been given one of the druids' storerooms to use for their group to carry out their business, and it genuinely shocked me to see the way inside that room was beyond a circular rune-covered slab of stone.
Wyll tapped one of the symbols shaped like a farming scythe. The thick slab of stone rolled away a moment later, seemingly on its own with no signs of any mechanism. Magic – why did that feel more impressive than whatever Gale had done?
The room beyond it was nothing special, and whatever useful supplies had largely been stacked in a corner. Walls carved from the cavern stones, it was a secluded chamber that encircled a stone desk covered in papers, maps, and a few scrolls. Leaning over it, muttering to himself, was the red-skinned elder tiefling man in heavy armor I'd seen atop the wall, leading the attack.
"I brought them."
"Thank you, Wyll." The human made no attempt to leave, hovering slightly to the side. "I am Zevlor, the one who holds the burden of leading these refugees."
Karlach, excited, nodded and introduced herself, then the rest of us. "You asked for us?"
"I admit I wanted to speak to you last evening, but I spent most of the night recovering from a terrible headache." He pointed toward a space on his face, just below his eye, where a sickly bruise had begun to form.
"What happened? Injury from the battle?" I asked.
"More of a wound to my pride," the man suggested. "But I digress. I wish to offer you thanks. You placed your lives on the line for us all, when many would have turned away at the sight of us."
My cheeks burned crimson at the attention, the praise. We had done the right thing.
"If we have the means, why shouldn't we intervene?" Gale asked.
"Your version of having means and mine differ," Astarion grumbled, crossing his arms.
"You'd sit by and allow goblin raiders to kill innocents?" Gale challenged.
Astarion grimaced and looked to respond further, but I cleared my throat. "Zevlor, thank you for the kind words. Can you tell us what exactly has been happening here?"
The devilkin man in admittedly nice armor, now that I could see it up close, gestured toward the maps of the region on the table.
I had always enjoyed maps of other worlds, especially ones from fantasy that defy the expectations of normal geography. The entire Sword Coast region was detailed in simplistic terms, more of a sketch than a dedicated, expert cartographer. Markers and symbols indicated the rough positions of major landmarks, like the grove, the River Chionthar, and the city of Baldur's Gate.
"The contingent of tieflings I lead are in search of a new home. After the Descent of Elturel ended, a large segment of the population began to fear us, began to blame us for the horrors the devils inflicted on us in Avernus."
Karlach's face was filled with shock.
"Fearing violence would become rampant, the elite of Elturel exiled the tieflings. Things fell on my lap to guide them, and we make for Baldur's Gate."
"I'm sure they'd take you all in," Karlach promised. "I was born there, and no one gave me shit because of the horns."
Who would give her shit? The woman's huge.
"That is what I surmised. Ultimately, travel proved far more treacherous than anyone expected. Nefarious forces roam the wilderness en masse, and we had to fight tooth and nail to get this far. The druids were kind enough to allow us temporary shelter, but the attacks continued even on the grove."
Oh, that was serious.
"The druids blame us as outsiders for the continued assaults, and it is only a matter of time before another raiding party or foul creature tries their hand. They've begun a ritual to lock down the grove, to make it impassable, and-"
"And that would trap you as well." Gale shuddered.
"I do not enjoy the imposition that would create, nor do I believe that would be a safe solution for us either. We do not follow their ways, and they do not follow ours."
"There's simply not enough room for both groups," Wyll added. "Resources would strain and buckle, and tensions would flare. The druids would want your heads next, and you'd have no escape."
Oh this was really serious.
"Then leave," Astarion suggested. "I'd hate to be cooped up, unable to escape a group of folks who wanted to kill me because I ate from their potato stash."
"It can't be that simple," I argued. "There are elderly and children here. Leaving should be the priority, but you need time to prepare."
"Their ritual has already begun. We don't have much left before it completes," Zevlor explained gravely. "Kagha, their new First Druid, won't even see me for a discussion."
An idea.
"We can talk to her. She's bound to be grateful we helped ward them off."
Astarion mumbled something under his breath, while Karlach grinned excitedly. Gale had a wary look on his face that I'd have to bring up later.
"If she will see you, I and my people would be grateful for the assistance. Perhaps you could persuade her for more time, if nothing else. If we left now as we are, we wouldn't make it to the city."
I knew a quest-giver when I saw one. How could I resist the opportunity to follow the train into the station? This was real life, so it was bound to be far more complicated than some Todd Howard fetch quest. Even still, it was exciting in a way that could distract my brain from the existential horror of everything happening with me.
As we turned to make our leave toward the druids' side of the grove, I glanced toward Wyll. "Come with us. We can kill two birds with one stone."
"Hm?"
"Let's find a healer while we're there."
He couldn't fault the logic in that. If the others had an issue with it, they kept their opinions to themselves.
Astarion had rejoined us after his evening jaunt, and he'd said it was quite refreshing. Gale spent the first few minutes of the morning reviewing a thick purple grimoire shimmering with light.
Karlach had been the first to sleep but the last to rise. "Well, none of us have changed, right?"
Nothing. No weird sweat, no sense of odd behavior.
"Most curious," Gale whispered, snapping his book closed. He tucked it under his arm. "I would have expected to see symptoms, but we should be grateful for the blessing. The gods shine upon us today."
My next question received a surprisingly short explanation: there were many gods that granted real miracles to their followers, from ones of Storm, of Fire, of Death, of Nature, of Commerce. The power within the crypt of Jergal, the animation of the skeletal scribes, a divine champion like Withers (or whatever he was)? It boggled the mind to my skepticism that they may, in fact, be real.
We were near finished our morning preparations, mid discussion about how to approach a druid, when a figure approached us. Dressed in a leather tunic of brown and red, the rapier-wielding mage Wyll approached our group with a careful, uneasy gait. His approach spoke volumes of how very un-confident and conflicted he was to speak to us.
Karlach, ever the optimist, merely half-smiled. "Mornin'. Hope you rested well."
The man slowly nodded. "Same to you all. The – the nominal leader of the refugees has asked for you, and I'm here to escort you, if it suits you."
I shared a glance with Karlach. "I think it's a good idea. Get a better lay of the land."
"All right, soldier." The woman merely nodded. "Lead the way, Blade of Frontiers."
The man rubbed the back of his neck, cleared his throat, and began to walk us through the makeshift compound. The leader had been given one of the druids' storerooms to use for their group to carry out their business, and it genuinely shocked me to see the way inside that room was beyond a circular rune-covered slab of stone.
Wyll tapped one of the symbols shaped like a farming scythe. The thick slab of stone rolled away a moment later, seemingly on its own with no signs of any mechanism. Magic – why did that feel more impressive than whatever Gale had done?
The room beyond it was nothing special, and whatever useful supplies had largely been stacked in a corner. Walls carved from the cavern stones, it was a secluded chamber that encircled a stone desk covered in papers, maps, and a few scrolls. Leaning over it, muttering to himself, was the red-skinned elder tiefling man in heavy armor I'd seen atop the wall, leading the attack.
"I brought them."
"Thank you, Wyll." The human made no attempt to leave, hovering slightly to the side. "I am Zevlor, the one who holds the burden of leading these refugees."
Karlach, excited, nodded and introduced herself, then the rest of us. "You asked for us?"
"I admit I wanted to speak to you last evening, but I spent most of the night recovering from a terrible headache." He pointed toward a space on his face, just below his eye, where a sickly bruise had begun to form.
"What happened? Injury from the battle?" I asked.
"More of a wound to my pride," the man suggested. "But I digress. I wish to offer you thanks. You placed your lives on the line for us all, when many would have turned away at the sight of us."
My cheeks burned crimson at the attention, the praise. We had done the right thing.
"If we have the means, why shouldn't we intervene?" Gale asked.
"Your version of having means and mine differ," Astarion grumbled, crossing his arms.
"You'd sit by and allow goblin raiders to kill innocents?" Gale challenged.
Astarion grimaced and looked to respond further, but I cleared my throat. "Zevlor, thank you for the kind words. Can you tell us what exactly has been happening here?"
The devilkin man in admittedly nice armor, now that I could see it up close, gestured toward the maps of the region on the table.
I had always enjoyed maps of other worlds, especially ones from fantasy that defy the expectations of normal geography. The entire Sword Coast region was detailed in simplistic terms, more of a sketch than a dedicated, expert cartographer. Markers and symbols indicated the rough positions of major landmarks, like the grove, the River Chionthar, and the city of Baldur's Gate.
"The contingent of tieflings I lead are in search of a new home. After the Descent of Elturel ended, a large segment of the population began to fear us, began to blame us for the horrors the devils inflicted on us in Avernus."
Karlach's face was filled with shock.
"Fearing violence would become rampant, the elite of Elturel exiled the tieflings. Things fell on my lap to guide them, and we make for Baldur's Gate."
"I'm sure they'd take you all in," Karlach promised. "I was born there, and no one gave me shit because of the horns."
Who would give her shit? The woman's huge.
"That is what I surmised. Ultimately, travel proved far more treacherous than anyone expected. Nefarious forces roam the wilderness en masse, and we had to fight tooth and nail to get this far. The druids were kind enough to allow us temporary shelter, but the attacks continued even on the grove."
Oh, that was serious.
"The druids blame us as outsiders for the continued assaults, and it is only a matter of time before another raiding party or foul creature tries their hand. They've begun a ritual to lock down the grove, to make it impassable, and-"
"And that would trap you as well." Gale shuddered.
"I do not enjoy the imposition that would create, nor do I believe that would be a safe solution for us either. We do not follow their ways, and they do not follow ours."
"There's simply not enough room for both groups," Wyll added. "Resources would strain and buckle, and tensions would flare. The druids would want your heads next, and you'd have no escape."
Oh this was really serious.
"Then leave," Astarion suggested. "I'd hate to be cooped up, unable to escape a group of folks who wanted to kill me because I ate from their potato stash."
"It can't be that simple," I argued. "There are elderly and children here. Leaving should be the priority, but you need time to prepare."
"Their ritual has already begun. We don't have much left before it completes," Zevlor explained gravely. "Kagha, their new First Druid, won't even see me for a discussion."
An idea.
"We can talk to her. She's bound to be grateful we helped ward them off."
Astarion mumbled something under his breath, while Karlach grinned excitedly. Gale had a wary look on his face that I'd have to bring up later.
"If she will see you, I and my people would be grateful for the assistance. Perhaps you could persuade her for more time, if nothing else. If we left now as we are, we wouldn't make it to the city."
I knew a quest-giver when I saw one. How could I resist the opportunity to follow the train into the station? This was real life, so it was bound to be far more complicated than some Todd Howard fetch quest. Even still, it was exciting in a way that could distract my brain from the existential horror of everything happening with me.
As we turned to make our leave toward the druids' side of the grove, I glanced toward Wyll. "Come with us. We can kill two birds with one stone."
"Hm?"
"Let's find a healer while we're there."
He couldn't fault the logic in that. If the others had an issue with it, they kept their opinions to themselves.
14
- Location
- Alabama
"Are we playing messenger now?"
Astarion's hissed question as we moved through the cavernous grove was far too loud. People watched us with interest, shared happy smiles even among a dreary and draining situation, and waved thanks for staving off the goblin attack. Would they feel the same way about us if they knew Astarion had a bug up his ass about being selfless?
"Damn right we are," Karlach suggested. "The refugees don't have any soldiers to keep 'em safe on the road. They leave now, a bunch of folks will die."
She was right. The number of folks who looked capable of defending the rest I could count on one hand. There were more blades than adept hands to use them, and most were wearing even less armor than I was. If they faced goblins or worse on the road again, it would be nasty.
The three adventurers who had fought to enter the grove alongside us were still around - I'd seen them in line for a meal. But even still, three swords to protect a couple dozen people was not good odds.
Astarion clucked his tongue. "So we're supposed to drop everything and waste what might be the last few minutes of our lives?"
I cut in, annoyed that his words made sense on some level. As bad as things were for us if we stayed to help too long, I'd feel guilty. "No. But we can't sit paralyzed that everything we do might be our last minutes."
"I'd hate for this to be my last conversation, truth be told." Gale sighed. "I always imagined my last would be words of affirmation to a woman of astounding beauty, intelligence, and grace."
Karlach grinned. "That sounds kick-ass, wiz."
"I suppose it does, doesn't it?" He smiled. "What gets a one of a kind woman like yourself going?"
My brow rose, and Karlach merely belly laughed. "Wizard's got game! I can get into that."
Gale turned a shade of red that might be brighter than Karlach's skin. "Oh, well, it wasn't intended to-"
"I'm just pulling your chain," Karlach teased, then looked crestfallen. "My shit is complicated."
I wanted to ask how, or why, but the moment was already teetering toward the too personal. Would she appreciate being asked to open up this soon into us knowing her? All of us knew a surprising amount about each other already, Astarion notwithstanding, but what was the acceptable level of comfort and comaraderie here?
The pathway from the refugees and into the druids' sanctum were a series of stone steps that opened up to the sky on a cliff-side. Ornate, natural arches and other beautiful stone carvings likely symbolized their religious or cultural practices, and it reminded me again that I was having a truly singular experience.
"Is that a bear?" Astarion asked in surprise.
"Nope, that's a man," Karlach clarified. "Fascinates me how they do that. I'd kick serious ass as a giant worm or a tiger or, I don't know, a poisonous penguin."
"Ha. Perhaps a large bat or a wolf?" Astarion mused.
"That's a good one!" She beamed.
I focused on where they were pointing, and a group of tieflings were in a shouting match with a line of individuals dressed like ancient pagan or Celtic cosplayers. The druids - dressed in greens, browns, and whites with horned circlets – stood without fear next to a bear who growled to ward the refugees away.
"All right, I didn't think the separation was this bad," Gale muttered.
I was stuck on a more important question. "That's a man who turned into a bear? A werebear?" Hell, if wizards and devils were real, why wouldn't werewolves and lycanthropes?
Wyll nodded, and I was grateful he felt comfortable enough to answer the question from one of our group. "A common druid trick. A wild shaper. Pretty useful partners on the kinds of contracts I've pulled off, from time to time."
Gale clarified that it wasn't a curse like a were, but did it really matter? It was still strange to see and just as threatening. And awesome. Turning into an animal brought me back to characters like Beast Boy, who was an underrated powerhouse in those stories.
Karlach approached with swift feet, almost barreling into the situation to defend her kin who were rapidly backing away from the intimidating presence of a bear. "What's going on here?"
A druid woman, thin of stature, shouted, "It's forbidden to enter the sanctum during the rite. The devils aren't allowed-"
"They have my daughter prisoner!" A horned woman yelled toward us, and several of the others added their assent. "She's nine, she doesn't know, she shouldn't be-"
"What'd she do?" Karlach asked. "A nine year old held prisoner?"
"The little fiend stole the Oak Father's Idol in the dead of night!" The woman explained with venom in her voice.
"You don't have any proof, you're just looking for someone to blame!" A tiefling man yelled passionately. The girl's father?
"We found the relic among the cretin's things, and our First Druid confirmed her responsibility."
"Cretin? Fiend?" I called out, having heard enough. I'd been a teacher of middle schoolers. Maybe they were fiends and cretins sometimes, but that was said in jest. This was horrific, and she was even younger than all that. "She's a kid."
The druid had the decency to be upset with that reminder, cheeks flush. The other druid, still a man but an exceptionally short one like a hobbit, was less affected by the reminder.
I couldn't imagine the pressure the girl's parents must feel, stuck in a refugee camp, but damn if this wasn't a terrible situation to allow her to even think of doing. If I had kids, they'd be sitting in their tent, under my watchful eye, to ensure they weren't a nuisance to anyone else while we were stuck here. The last thing you wanted to do while an entire faction of folks wanted you gone was to cause any kind of scene.
"Where is she?" I asked the druids. "The girl, not the devil, not the fiend."
They hesitated, and the bear man growled like an animal and then spoke. "She is with First Druid Kagha, awaiting her rightful judgment."
All right, that's cool as hell.
Where did one learn how to do that?
But still, none of that was good. Probably. If the one leading these druids was pressuring the refugees within the grove this badly, I highly doubted this would end well. Religious idols were a big deal to the cultures that make them, and I suspected tensions might be almost as bad if the girl had merely stolen a cupcake.
"Maybe this Kagha will be a good judge of character and allow the girl to go free," Gale suggested, hopeful.
"Look at this place," I hissed under my breath, a faint green mist wafting from my nostrils, "and tell me you think that's right?"
"Let's just get this over with," Astarion suggested, almost exhausted. "Talk to Kagha, save the girl, get a healer. Not necessarily in that order."
"Assuming they will let us through," Wyll added.
I turned back to the line of druids, hoping Gale or someone else would back me up if my words did not land. "Look, we aren't refugees. We are just outsiders passing through. We don't have a dog in this fight." She raised her eyebrows. "If you let the angry folks through, they'll make a scene. Let us through," I gestured wildly to the five of us, "and we can try to make the whole situation far less tense and annoying for everyone."
"The girl didn't even do a good job stealing it," Astarion added. "You all found it again. No harm done, if you ask me."
That was… helpful?
"We lost hours of work on the rite," the hobbit explained. "Harm was done."
I wouldn't accept that. " Are you really so dogmatic that you would imprison or perhaps do worse to a nine year old girl who didn't even permanently take your sacred relic?"
The girl's parents hung on our every word, the exchange surprising them. The passion I felt in this situation surprised me, but no one in the right mind wanted kids hurt.
"Let them through," the druid woman said, and I felt a sigh of relief. "Find Kagha, she will want to speak with you. Maybe you-" She sighed as the bear man nudged her flank in surprise. "Speak some sense into her. I don't like this madness."
The parents of the girl were beside themselves with praise, anxiety, and fear that things would not work out. Karlach bowed her head slightly to them. "We'll take care of it."
The trio of guards parted, and I eased my way inside their territory and tried desperately to ignore the buzzing of innate fear at the sight of the bear mere inches away. The fact that it was ultimately a man was the only reason that the fear did not keep me from moving.
The space beyond was truly a spectacle. Statues, arches, rune-covered doors and murals adorned the space, and several men and women attended to their business here. A line of druids encircled an idol shaped similarly to the statues adorning the space, mere two feet in length but eminently powerful. So rich in magic that I could sense it, like the caress of flower blossoms against my skin. A vibrant aura of green light surrounded the line of druids even further, bathing them in an emerald hue that unnerved me.
"Are they using ki?" I turned to Gale.
The man hesitated for a moment and then shook his head. "I'm afraid not, yet it is truly fascinating. The vibration of magic you see, that aura of power, is the manifestation of the Weave, as manipulated through the natural magic of this druidic chant. Their practices are foreign to my own ministrations of the Weave's embrace, and painfully more adept than my own as of late."
Hmmm.
Truly awesome.
I hated to see them doing this without ensuring the tieflings had a place to go safely first, but I did not blame them fully for the impulse. If this world was anything like I imagined, there could be dragons and hippogriffs and minotaurs and witches just out of sight, hiding beyond the trees and hills and mountains.
Astarion's hissed question as we moved through the cavernous grove was far too loud. People watched us with interest, shared happy smiles even among a dreary and draining situation, and waved thanks for staving off the goblin attack. Would they feel the same way about us if they knew Astarion had a bug up his ass about being selfless?
"Damn right we are," Karlach suggested. "The refugees don't have any soldiers to keep 'em safe on the road. They leave now, a bunch of folks will die."
She was right. The number of folks who looked capable of defending the rest I could count on one hand. There were more blades than adept hands to use them, and most were wearing even less armor than I was. If they faced goblins or worse on the road again, it would be nasty.
The three adventurers who had fought to enter the grove alongside us were still around - I'd seen them in line for a meal. But even still, three swords to protect a couple dozen people was not good odds.
Astarion clucked his tongue. "So we're supposed to drop everything and waste what might be the last few minutes of our lives?"
I cut in, annoyed that his words made sense on some level. As bad as things were for us if we stayed to help too long, I'd feel guilty. "No. But we can't sit paralyzed that everything we do might be our last minutes."
"I'd hate for this to be my last conversation, truth be told." Gale sighed. "I always imagined my last would be words of affirmation to a woman of astounding beauty, intelligence, and grace."
Karlach grinned. "That sounds kick-ass, wiz."
"I suppose it does, doesn't it?" He smiled. "What gets a one of a kind woman like yourself going?"
My brow rose, and Karlach merely belly laughed. "Wizard's got game! I can get into that."
Gale turned a shade of red that might be brighter than Karlach's skin. "Oh, well, it wasn't intended to-"
"I'm just pulling your chain," Karlach teased, then looked crestfallen. "My shit is complicated."
I wanted to ask how, or why, but the moment was already teetering toward the too personal. Would she appreciate being asked to open up this soon into us knowing her? All of us knew a surprising amount about each other already, Astarion notwithstanding, but what was the acceptable level of comfort and comaraderie here?
The pathway from the refugees and into the druids' sanctum were a series of stone steps that opened up to the sky on a cliff-side. Ornate, natural arches and other beautiful stone carvings likely symbolized their religious or cultural practices, and it reminded me again that I was having a truly singular experience.
"Is that a bear?" Astarion asked in surprise.
"Nope, that's a man," Karlach clarified. "Fascinates me how they do that. I'd kick serious ass as a giant worm or a tiger or, I don't know, a poisonous penguin."
"Ha. Perhaps a large bat or a wolf?" Astarion mused.
"That's a good one!" She beamed.
I focused on where they were pointing, and a group of tieflings were in a shouting match with a line of individuals dressed like ancient pagan or Celtic cosplayers. The druids - dressed in greens, browns, and whites with horned circlets – stood without fear next to a bear who growled to ward the refugees away.
"All right, I didn't think the separation was this bad," Gale muttered.
I was stuck on a more important question. "That's a man who turned into a bear? A werebear?" Hell, if wizards and devils were real, why wouldn't werewolves and lycanthropes?
Wyll nodded, and I was grateful he felt comfortable enough to answer the question from one of our group. "A common druid trick. A wild shaper. Pretty useful partners on the kinds of contracts I've pulled off, from time to time."
Gale clarified that it wasn't a curse like a were, but did it really matter? It was still strange to see and just as threatening. And awesome. Turning into an animal brought me back to characters like Beast Boy, who was an underrated powerhouse in those stories.
Karlach approached with swift feet, almost barreling into the situation to defend her kin who were rapidly backing away from the intimidating presence of a bear. "What's going on here?"
A druid woman, thin of stature, shouted, "It's forbidden to enter the sanctum during the rite. The devils aren't allowed-"
"They have my daughter prisoner!" A horned woman yelled toward us, and several of the others added their assent. "She's nine, she doesn't know, she shouldn't be-"
"What'd she do?" Karlach asked. "A nine year old held prisoner?"
"The little fiend stole the Oak Father's Idol in the dead of night!" The woman explained with venom in her voice.
"You don't have any proof, you're just looking for someone to blame!" A tiefling man yelled passionately. The girl's father?
"We found the relic among the cretin's things, and our First Druid confirmed her responsibility."
"Cretin? Fiend?" I called out, having heard enough. I'd been a teacher of middle schoolers. Maybe they were fiends and cretins sometimes, but that was said in jest. This was horrific, and she was even younger than all that. "She's a kid."
The druid had the decency to be upset with that reminder, cheeks flush. The other druid, still a man but an exceptionally short one like a hobbit, was less affected by the reminder.
I couldn't imagine the pressure the girl's parents must feel, stuck in a refugee camp, but damn if this wasn't a terrible situation to allow her to even think of doing. If I had kids, they'd be sitting in their tent, under my watchful eye, to ensure they weren't a nuisance to anyone else while we were stuck here. The last thing you wanted to do while an entire faction of folks wanted you gone was to cause any kind of scene.
"Where is she?" I asked the druids. "The girl, not the devil, not the fiend."
They hesitated, and the bear man growled like an animal and then spoke. "She is with First Druid Kagha, awaiting her rightful judgment."
All right, that's cool as hell.
Where did one learn how to do that?
But still, none of that was good. Probably. If the one leading these druids was pressuring the refugees within the grove this badly, I highly doubted this would end well. Religious idols were a big deal to the cultures that make them, and I suspected tensions might be almost as bad if the girl had merely stolen a cupcake.
"Maybe this Kagha will be a good judge of character and allow the girl to go free," Gale suggested, hopeful.
"Look at this place," I hissed under my breath, a faint green mist wafting from my nostrils, "and tell me you think that's right?"
"Let's just get this over with," Astarion suggested, almost exhausted. "Talk to Kagha, save the girl, get a healer. Not necessarily in that order."
"Assuming they will let us through," Wyll added.
I turned back to the line of druids, hoping Gale or someone else would back me up if my words did not land. "Look, we aren't refugees. We are just outsiders passing through. We don't have a dog in this fight." She raised her eyebrows. "If you let the angry folks through, they'll make a scene. Let us through," I gestured wildly to the five of us, "and we can try to make the whole situation far less tense and annoying for everyone."
"The girl didn't even do a good job stealing it," Astarion added. "You all found it again. No harm done, if you ask me."
That was… helpful?
"We lost hours of work on the rite," the hobbit explained. "Harm was done."
I wouldn't accept that. " Are you really so dogmatic that you would imprison or perhaps do worse to a nine year old girl who didn't even permanently take your sacred relic?"
The girl's parents hung on our every word, the exchange surprising them. The passion I felt in this situation surprised me, but no one in the right mind wanted kids hurt.
"Let them through," the druid woman said, and I felt a sigh of relief. "Find Kagha, she will want to speak with you. Maybe you-" She sighed as the bear man nudged her flank in surprise. "Speak some sense into her. I don't like this madness."
The parents of the girl were beside themselves with praise, anxiety, and fear that things would not work out. Karlach bowed her head slightly to them. "We'll take care of it."
The trio of guards parted, and I eased my way inside their territory and tried desperately to ignore the buzzing of innate fear at the sight of the bear mere inches away. The fact that it was ultimately a man was the only reason that the fear did not keep me from moving.
The space beyond was truly a spectacle. Statues, arches, rune-covered doors and murals adorned the space, and several men and women attended to their business here. A line of druids encircled an idol shaped similarly to the statues adorning the space, mere two feet in length but eminently powerful. So rich in magic that I could sense it, like the caress of flower blossoms against my skin. A vibrant aura of green light surrounded the line of druids even further, bathing them in an emerald hue that unnerved me.
"Are they using ki?" I turned to Gale.
The man hesitated for a moment and then shook his head. "I'm afraid not, yet it is truly fascinating. The vibration of magic you see, that aura of power, is the manifestation of the Weave, as manipulated through the natural magic of this druidic chant. Their practices are foreign to my own ministrations of the Weave's embrace, and painfully more adept than my own as of late."
Hmmm.
Truly awesome.
I hated to see them doing this without ensuring the tieflings had a place to go safely first, but I did not blame them fully for the impulse. If this world was anything like I imagined, there could be dragons and hippogriffs and minotaurs and witches just out of sight, hiding beyond the trees and hills and mountains.
15
- Location
- Alabama
The interior of the grove's innermost sanctum was gorgeous. A series of circular rooms carved of stone, raised above an underground waterway. The torch light that touched the water danced across the murals of picturesque figures painted on the cavern walls. It was nearly as beautiful as the visible magic aurora in the ritual circle outside. A genuinely wonderful display that stood in stark contrast to the nasty business happening in the antechamber.
"Please! Let me go!"
"Kagha, have you lost your senses?"
Dual scimitars strapped to her back, an elven woman with strange strawberry blonde hair loomed large over a young devilish girl with faintly lavender skin. The girl struggled to fight her fear, backed against the side of a risen dais. Her neck craned her head away from a copper-scaled snake that slithered across her flank, threateningly hissing and exposing its fangs, while her legs stayed stock still to avoid spooking it.
There were others in the chamber, dressed in animal hides, leathers, and firs. One stood out from the rest visually, a vaguely elven woman who wore a silver circlet and stylized metallic chainmail. How could any of these people watch this happen? How could they be okay with a young girl under threat? Threatening her with an venomous animal was tortuous!
Gale stiffened at my side. Wyll shook with discomfort, mouth agape. Astarion set his jaw, eyes dark. Karlach twitched, muscles tensing, and I swore I could feel the warmth of her anger. The indignation the others felt increased my own confidence that this was not goddamn right.
"Please! I'm sorry!" The girl begged again.
"Oi!" Karlach shouted, getting their attention. The heat was genuinely palpable now, the devil's exposed sternum brimming with a light just beneath the skin, like red hot irons in a forge. That was… interesting.
"More strangers!" The elf laughed. "Just what the Emerald Grove needs. At least you all bore some use to us, unlike these creatures of deceit and treachery."
The venom of her glare toward the young, whimpering girl was as dangerous as the snake that bid the druid's command.
"Kagha, you must listen to reason," the druid next to her challenged. He stood alone, a gray-skinned wolf growling behind him but as his own companion. None were ready to stand against their leader but him.
"Reason?" She replied. "The girl is a thief who has transgressed against the reason and will of the Oak Father. We must complete the rite as soon as possible, if we are to stand in harmony with his wishes and rise, stalwart against the chaos of this region."
My hand twitched with anger, ki leaking from my breath. "And harming a nine-year-old girl will help you to do that?"
The elf's outrage grew immense, nostrils flaring. "She has been trained early in the deceit of the devil," Kagha dismissed. "This girl will lead a life of treachery. Better to poison the roots before it can bloom into a forest of destruction."
The girl whimpered as the viper hissed, fangs visible as its jaw extended. It did not bite, but damage was already done whether it ever touched her or not. She would be terrified of snakes for life if she survived.
How prevalent were attitudes against tieflings? First Wyll thought Karlach was evil, and then this woman cast her aspersions against the refugees and assumed she would be just as bad? Who in their right mind would think someone would grow to be a 'forest of destruction'?
"You won't touch her," Karlach warned, jaw set. She didn't reach for her sword, but she radiated heat like a warming furnace.
"I will do whatever I deem fit," the woman declared. "What business is it of yours to challenge my authority?"
Murder? Authority? I was not sure how the laws of this world worked, but any world worth their salt would frown upon the death of an innocent at the hands of a cult. Where were the Lord's Alliance to impose their rules, or the Flaming Fist if this grove lay within the region around Baldur's Gate? Was there a strong central authority at all, or did whole communities pop up and choose to self-govern?
But more importantly – this was a religious group united in shared beliefs about the world. I did not know what these beliefs were, but like all systems of thought, they were interpretative. Edicts from a religious text could be shifted toward peace or violence from person to person, group to group. Kagha believed herself just in these actions, but it was clear that not all in her following would.
I pressed her. "Your Oak Father would demand this of you?"
I tried to break through whatever cultist brainwashing she must have suffered. Changing her mind about her beliefs might be worthwhile, but she may be staunchly resistant as many people are. Considering how close she was to ordering the snake to end the girl's life, it was not likely to end well.
"The necessity of the situation demands this of me!" She barked. "With her foul deed, she delayed the progress of the Rite of Thorns. Every second that passes unprotected is a second this place I'm sworn to defend lay pregnable to our enemies."
All right, that was fucked. This whole thing was fucked. The temperature grew uncomfortable.
This woman? Mad beyond reason.
I weighed my options. The girl was unbound, though a coiled snake was mere inches from her and at the ready to strike. If we could get her away from the woman, she'd only need to run a few yards toward us, toward the exit. Once she was outside, we'd have precious seconds to get her back to the tiefling side of the grove, and I had to hope that they'd be too to concerned with continuing their damn spell to truly oppose the girl's flight.
Could the five of us intervene to make that happen, to give her a chance to run? Could we force Kagha's hand, force her to give up her aims, force her to be calm? Force and violence were not an elegant solution to a problem, but goddamn this woman was about to kill or harm an innocent girl. I couldn't – wouldn't let that happen.
"I think she was fucking brave for delaying this shitty plan," I argued as I took a half-step forward. The elven woman clocked the movement with her gaze. "All the tieflings need is more time. Time to gather resources, time to prepare their journey, time to get their shit together before they get out of your hair. Why you'd even let them inside the grove in the first place is beyond me, if this was going to be your reaction."
"I did not, would not, have allowed them inside our sacred site." The woman turned fully to address me. "The responsibility for that lunacy lay at the hands of our former First Druid, Halsin."
I snorted as the implications surged. "So the one who should be handling this crisis is him, then? Retired? Dead?"
"He abandoned us in our time of greatest need to chase the ghosts of the past. Days later, some of his expedition force returned, but he was not among them. I suspect him dead. He chose me to be his successor, groomed me to take over should the need arise, and in the midst of this chaos, I will make the right decisions for us all."
A pang of strange, misguided sympathy died in my throat. She was woefully unprepared to thread the needle and guide her people through this. A people who were not truly hers yet, a people who instead held their trust in someone that had left them mere days ago. Whatever happened to Halsin, this crisis would be Kagha's first major test as a leader, and fuck was she failing it.
"This would not be what Halsin would want," the other druid tried to argue, but Kagha whirled on him.
"He is not here, Rath. He may never return. It is up to me to act in our best interests. I tire of this conversation, this useless back and forth. Teela-"
"Goddamn, you need temperance!" I shouted, volume the only reason that she did not continue her order to her snake. "I get the position that you're in – it would likely drive anyone mad, but you'll only make the situation worse, not better, if you harm the girl. Think before you act, or we'll fucking act for you."
Astarion chuckled in surprise. Karlach beamed.
"Allow us to take the girl off your hands," Gale cut in after clearing his throat. "For as long as we remain in the grove, we'll watch her and make sure that she is not an issue for you or anyone else."
The young girl was frozen, whimpering, chest rising and falling with panicked breath.
"Hell. We'll help get the tieflings out of your grove sooner," I said bitterly, not sure I truly believed what I promised, "as long as she goes free. The other refugees don't riot, you get the time you need to finish your little spell, and we clear out long before then."
To the surprise of my own calculations, my own expectations of how this unreasonable woman would respond, Kagha wavered.
"Teela, to me." The viper receded from the girl's immediate surroundings, and she itched to stand. "You have little time left to carry out your promise, made in the shadowed halls of this sacred grove of the Treefather. You will not recieve more."
Given the go-ahead, the kid ran toward us, tears and fear flowing from her in equal measure. Most of our attention remained on insuring that she was safe, that she was unharmed. The child introduced herself in quick, hushed whispers as Arabella, and Wyll mentioned that he could escort her back to her parents. She was quick to agree, but but Astarion clicked his tongue.
"I don't suppose now would be the best time to ask about a healer, but if you have one, can you point me in their direction? It's urgent."
Kagha's fist clenched, sure to decline, but before she could respond, the dark-haired woman in stylized chain mail ushered us forward with a quick jab of her hand, gesturing toward the next chamber beneath an intricate stone archway. "Nettie will see you, too."
Too?
She did not appear injured, but even as the thought left my mind, the tadpole recognized one of its own. A faint psychic bond snapped into place, and this woman was another survivor.
"Please! Let me go!"
"Kagha, have you lost your senses?"
Dual scimitars strapped to her back, an elven woman with strange strawberry blonde hair loomed large over a young devilish girl with faintly lavender skin. The girl struggled to fight her fear, backed against the side of a risen dais. Her neck craned her head away from a copper-scaled snake that slithered across her flank, threateningly hissing and exposing its fangs, while her legs stayed stock still to avoid spooking it.
There were others in the chamber, dressed in animal hides, leathers, and firs. One stood out from the rest visually, a vaguely elven woman who wore a silver circlet and stylized metallic chainmail. How could any of these people watch this happen? How could they be okay with a young girl under threat? Threatening her with an venomous animal was tortuous!
Gale stiffened at my side. Wyll shook with discomfort, mouth agape. Astarion set his jaw, eyes dark. Karlach twitched, muscles tensing, and I swore I could feel the warmth of her anger. The indignation the others felt increased my own confidence that this was not goddamn right.
"Please! I'm sorry!" The girl begged again.
"Oi!" Karlach shouted, getting their attention. The heat was genuinely palpable now, the devil's exposed sternum brimming with a light just beneath the skin, like red hot irons in a forge. That was… interesting.
"More strangers!" The elf laughed. "Just what the Emerald Grove needs. At least you all bore some use to us, unlike these creatures of deceit and treachery."
The venom of her glare toward the young, whimpering girl was as dangerous as the snake that bid the druid's command.
"Kagha, you must listen to reason," the druid next to her challenged. He stood alone, a gray-skinned wolf growling behind him but as his own companion. None were ready to stand against their leader but him.
"Reason?" She replied. "The girl is a thief who has transgressed against the reason and will of the Oak Father. We must complete the rite as soon as possible, if we are to stand in harmony with his wishes and rise, stalwart against the chaos of this region."
My hand twitched with anger, ki leaking from my breath. "And harming a nine-year-old girl will help you to do that?"
The elf's outrage grew immense, nostrils flaring. "She has been trained early in the deceit of the devil," Kagha dismissed. "This girl will lead a life of treachery. Better to poison the roots before it can bloom into a forest of destruction."
The girl whimpered as the viper hissed, fangs visible as its jaw extended. It did not bite, but damage was already done whether it ever touched her or not. She would be terrified of snakes for life if she survived.
How prevalent were attitudes against tieflings? First Wyll thought Karlach was evil, and then this woman cast her aspersions against the refugees and assumed she would be just as bad? Who in their right mind would think someone would grow to be a 'forest of destruction'?
"You won't touch her," Karlach warned, jaw set. She didn't reach for her sword, but she radiated heat like a warming furnace.
"I will do whatever I deem fit," the woman declared. "What business is it of yours to challenge my authority?"
Murder? Authority? I was not sure how the laws of this world worked, but any world worth their salt would frown upon the death of an innocent at the hands of a cult. Where were the Lord's Alliance to impose their rules, or the Flaming Fist if this grove lay within the region around Baldur's Gate? Was there a strong central authority at all, or did whole communities pop up and choose to self-govern?
But more importantly – this was a religious group united in shared beliefs about the world. I did not know what these beliefs were, but like all systems of thought, they were interpretative. Edicts from a religious text could be shifted toward peace or violence from person to person, group to group. Kagha believed herself just in these actions, but it was clear that not all in her following would.
I pressed her. "Your Oak Father would demand this of you?"
I tried to break through whatever cultist brainwashing she must have suffered. Changing her mind about her beliefs might be worthwhile, but she may be staunchly resistant as many people are. Considering how close she was to ordering the snake to end the girl's life, it was not likely to end well.
"The necessity of the situation demands this of me!" She barked. "With her foul deed, she delayed the progress of the Rite of Thorns. Every second that passes unprotected is a second this place I'm sworn to defend lay pregnable to our enemies."
All right, that was fucked. This whole thing was fucked. The temperature grew uncomfortable.
This woman? Mad beyond reason.
I weighed my options. The girl was unbound, though a coiled snake was mere inches from her and at the ready to strike. If we could get her away from the woman, she'd only need to run a few yards toward us, toward the exit. Once she was outside, we'd have precious seconds to get her back to the tiefling side of the grove, and I had to hope that they'd be too to concerned with continuing their damn spell to truly oppose the girl's flight.
Could the five of us intervene to make that happen, to give her a chance to run? Could we force Kagha's hand, force her to give up her aims, force her to be calm? Force and violence were not an elegant solution to a problem, but goddamn this woman was about to kill or harm an innocent girl. I couldn't – wouldn't let that happen.
"I think she was fucking brave for delaying this shitty plan," I argued as I took a half-step forward. The elven woman clocked the movement with her gaze. "All the tieflings need is more time. Time to gather resources, time to prepare their journey, time to get their shit together before they get out of your hair. Why you'd even let them inside the grove in the first place is beyond me, if this was going to be your reaction."
"I did not, would not, have allowed them inside our sacred site." The woman turned fully to address me. "The responsibility for that lunacy lay at the hands of our former First Druid, Halsin."
I snorted as the implications surged. "So the one who should be handling this crisis is him, then? Retired? Dead?"
"He abandoned us in our time of greatest need to chase the ghosts of the past. Days later, some of his expedition force returned, but he was not among them. I suspect him dead. He chose me to be his successor, groomed me to take over should the need arise, and in the midst of this chaos, I will make the right decisions for us all."
A pang of strange, misguided sympathy died in my throat. She was woefully unprepared to thread the needle and guide her people through this. A people who were not truly hers yet, a people who instead held their trust in someone that had left them mere days ago. Whatever happened to Halsin, this crisis would be Kagha's first major test as a leader, and fuck was she failing it.
"This would not be what Halsin would want," the other druid tried to argue, but Kagha whirled on him.
"He is not here, Rath. He may never return. It is up to me to act in our best interests. I tire of this conversation, this useless back and forth. Teela-"
"Goddamn, you need temperance!" I shouted, volume the only reason that she did not continue her order to her snake. "I get the position that you're in – it would likely drive anyone mad, but you'll only make the situation worse, not better, if you harm the girl. Think before you act, or we'll fucking act for you."
Astarion chuckled in surprise. Karlach beamed.
"Allow us to take the girl off your hands," Gale cut in after clearing his throat. "For as long as we remain in the grove, we'll watch her and make sure that she is not an issue for you or anyone else."
The young girl was frozen, whimpering, chest rising and falling with panicked breath.
"Hell. We'll help get the tieflings out of your grove sooner," I said bitterly, not sure I truly believed what I promised, "as long as she goes free. The other refugees don't riot, you get the time you need to finish your little spell, and we clear out long before then."
To the surprise of my own calculations, my own expectations of how this unreasonable woman would respond, Kagha wavered.
"Teela, to me." The viper receded from the girl's immediate surroundings, and she itched to stand. "You have little time left to carry out your promise, made in the shadowed halls of this sacred grove of the Treefather. You will not recieve more."
Given the go-ahead, the kid ran toward us, tears and fear flowing from her in equal measure. Most of our attention remained on insuring that she was safe, that she was unharmed. The child introduced herself in quick, hushed whispers as Arabella, and Wyll mentioned that he could escort her back to her parents. She was quick to agree, but but Astarion clicked his tongue.
"I don't suppose now would be the best time to ask about a healer, but if you have one, can you point me in their direction? It's urgent."
Kagha's fist clenched, sure to decline, but before she could respond, the dark-haired woman in stylized chain mail ushered us forward with a quick jab of her hand, gesturing toward the next chamber beneath an intricate stone archway. "Nettie will see you, too."
Too?
She did not appear injured, but even as the thought left my mind, the tadpole recognized one of its own. A faint psychic bond snapped into place, and this woman was another survivor.
- Location
- Alabama
Yes! Shame to you! How could you forget about the arguably main character of the game?
Thank you!
I wanted to break it all down differently to keep these initial moments fresh, for much the same reason. I've started this game way too many times to count.
16
- Location
- Alabama
AN: Apologies for the delay! The school year began shortly after my last update, and I've only just now had the time and motivation to write.
While Wyll and Karlach accompanied the girl, Arabella, back to her parents and away from the menace of Kagha and her followers, the rest of us descended further into the den of the druids. Our guide, a dark-haired half-elven woman dressed in rather stylized chain, paid us little mind, and I was satisfied to not pry into her affairs for now. The rapid nature of how quickly these people had fallen into my path, people who shared the same problem I did, had quickly become suspect. I knew little about any of them, and neither they about each other, and yet we had to forge ahead.
If not for the tadpoles, I doubted Astarion would spend any amount of thought on us. Karlach might bond with just about anyone, but would they to her? Gale had far more important wizardry to care for. Both Wyll and this Shadowheart were no one in my mind.
It was the pale elf who broke the silence. "Now, now. It surprises me a little to see you sit on the sidelines during that unpleasantness. A woman of your stature, of your garb? Surely, you'd have stepped in to take the fangs of that viper?"
The woman smirked as we rounded the corner, her fingers trailing a line of dark sigils on her arm. "Perhaps, but I must admit, if the girl had died? I've too many important considerations."
A coldness fell in the air, and I nearly stopped in my tracks. Perhaps following her to this healer was a bad idea. Maybe we should-
"That barbarism," Gale hesitated, studying a nearby mural that depicted a black cloud sweeping across the land, "is unbecoming of everything I've learned of druids."
Astarion hissed. "Listen, wizard. You want to get your eyes plucked by talons? Entrails shit out by a boar? I quite like all of me in all the right places."
Gale, flustered, conceded the point. "Even still, life should be protected where it can be. Especially one so young."
I nodded in agreement. "It's just wrong – plain and simple. Punishing kids like you might an adult? Even in extreme circumstances like these? I can't imagine it."
As we rounded the corner, Shadowheart cleared her throat, a pensive gaze studying us and the room beyond. "Nettie is through here. She promised to see me earlier, but has yet to have a chance."
Seems all doctors are the same.
Nettie was a dwarven woman with tan skin, short black hair, and the robes of someone dedicated to nature and the Treefather. A thorny circlet rested on her head, precariously balancing in the right way to avoid pricking the skin, while tattoo markings framed the rest of her facial features. Her calloused, rough fingers performed hasty triage on the corpse of a young ox lying on a now blood-soaked stone slab. The calf's left flank appeared to have been well and truly cooked, perhaps more from a chemical burn than a flame.
"How'd that happen?" I asked as we entered the room, but Nettie merely cleared her throat.
"Later-"
"I think you'll want to see all of us now," I interjected.
For the first time, Nettie met our faces before lingering on Shadowheart. The armored woman gestured toward us and then herself. "These individuals survived the same experience I did and are desperate for your expertise."
The dwarf glanced down toward her belt, mind likely spinning, before she pointed at a thick panel of stone in the corner of the herb-filled chamber, just past a bubbling cauldron of elixirs. "Hmm. That's worrying. Follow me, if you'd please. Let me take a look at you."
I couldn't wait for her to check on us. At the end of the day, we may have a solution in only a few minutes.
"There are two more of us," Gale added, "that should be here shortly."
Nettie uneasily nodded. With a flick of her wrist and a sparkle of nature magic from the circlet, the stony corner opened as rock slid away to reveal a hidden chamber beyond. Walls of scrolls, books, and symbol-etched stone slates enveloped the center, where a large and glowing statue of the Treefather stood resolute.
What drew my attention the most was not the dissected corpse of an elf with pale, purple skin that was missing a significant part of its skullcap. Instead, it was a jar and its contents that lay on a desk nearby. A small, thin worm-like creature twitched within the liquid, its activity increasing as we drew nearer.
A tadpole.
One of the things that burrowed in my head. In all of our heads.
Gale tensed, the only other one of us to notice. My brow rose, and he curtly shook his head as Nettie closed the chamber behind us.
No way out.
"That one-" she pointed to the elf she'd surgically studied, "suffered the same fate. A mindflayer tadpole. Attacked us from the woods alongside a group of goblins. Nasty work." The slight Scottish accent was amusing, if mystifying. Where did a linguistic accent develop in another world to create a similar outlook? "The tadpole slipped out of the head wound."
"You're certain they're the same?" Gale asked.
"I can't be fully certain of anythin' involving these bugs. They're strange – acting strange." She paused, considering. "What are your symptoms?"
"I feel perfectly fine. Better than fine in fact," Astarion explained, though he was not quick to clarify how or why. "My only true concern is that I can't get any of these folk out of my head."
Nettie's eyes widened. "Truly? Is it just you, or is it all of you?"
"All of us," I answered, and Nettie was at a loss for words, contemplative.
"How did it happen? Explain what you can, hold nothing back."
Each of us took turns illuminating the events of the mindflayer Nautiloid. I paid particular attention to Shadowheart and Gale's version of the events, the former because I knew little about her and the latter because his studied mind helped illuminate details we hadn't all seen.
"You were trapped in your pod?"
The question frustrated her. "Were you not?"
"Not… especially?" I said uneasily, remembering how little resistance there was with escaping. What was the difference? A coincidence, or something more?
"Hmm." She frowned. "I had no route to escape until a kobold convinced a gith of all things to let me out." She said it with such confusion that it was clearly not a common sight. "The little runt disarmed the runic magic that held my pod together."
"A kobold? Truly?" Gale blinked. "Will wonders ever cease."
Nettie showed less interest in the kobold and the gith – whatever those words meant. "A mindflayer ship. That is worrying. Halsin… Halsin thought he knew of the source, but that shakes my confidence."
"Halsin. Your former leader?" I asked, remembering Kagha's words. "What does he know about all of this?"
"Your guess is as good as mine, because Halsin has not returned. I've sent messages, sent birds, but I fear he may be gone."
Astarion huffed. "So your teacher's dead. Don't suppose he taught you how to remove these before his demise?"
Nettie's eyes flickered over each of us in turn. "I… I do not believe I can. Perhaps with more time, more study, I could uncover their secrets. But not in enough time to save you from your fate."
A pit in my stomach grew.
"How much time do we have?"
Gale's question hung in the air, and Nettie somberly shook her head. "Very little. If these were normal parasites, you'd have more symptoms. You'd be changin'! At the rate I've seen, there should be an army of mindflayers on the prowl in this region alone. Instead? We have people like you who've gained traits or powers without changin'. Time frame you have could be minutes, hours, or days."
Astarion exhaled in frustration. "Oh, this is rich. Turning into a monster? What bloody fucking luck."
"And this Halsin?" asked Shadowheart, ignoring the elf's outburst. "Why did he leave the grove? You mentioned he believed he knew the source?"
Nettie studied her for a long moment. "He found something when he studied the tadpole. He was cryptic about what it was, but he was convinced that the path he must take would lead him to an old temple to the Moon Maiden, outside of a local abandoned village." Shadowheart bristled at the mention of the Moon Maiden.
I knew an adventuring hook when I saw one. "What dangers did he find in the temple? Maybe that's why he's not come back."
Nettie was only sure of one danger. "We believe, from what limited information we have, that this tribe of goblins have taken over the village and its temple. The same ones who were with that drow, and the same ones who attacked our gate just yesterday."
I glanced toward Gale, who was staring at the jar with a lightly twitching tadpole inside.
"It's pretty clear to me, then, what we have to do," I suggested. "Find Halsin if he's alive. If he's not, we keep poking around where he was looking and see if we can unravel the mystery of this mess."
Astarion scoffed. "You want to march into a group of goblins that managed to take down a powerful druid?"
I had little context for how powerful they were, but that was not really the point. "We won't find help for our tadpole problem here, Astarion. The one who knows is Halsin. If we don't follow this path, we waste time we do not have trying to find another one."
"I understand all of that," the elf agreed, "but goblins are nasty, Edward. Truly, truly nasty."
Nettie connected the dots. "If the goblins are the source of these tadpoles, or connected to them in some way? Maybe – maybe you have an in. They won't attack someone they think is one of them."
"That is a lot of assumptions," Shadowheart declared with a smirk. "But it's worth the risk. I quite like my skull worm-free, and Halsin is my best chance."
The rest of us hesitated until Astarion finally sighed rather dramatically, slapping the desk with a hefty clap of his hand. "I have no better ideas. But just so you know, if things get too hairy, do not be surprised if I leave you all to it. Better to live a little longer than to get skewered with goblin arrows."
Gale and I nodded toward one another, a silent agreement having formed. At the end of the day, whatever Gale's reasons, it was the right enough thing to do. The first solution for our tadpoles, and one that might stabilize the situation in the grove for the tiefling refugees.
A win-win.
"But, and I stress this to you all," Nettie began, pulling a vial of green liquid from her pack, "if you feel yourself changin'? If you feel yourself slippin'? Drink this. It's wyvern poison. A few drops under the tongue, and you'll slip away before you can cause any more harm."
I gingerly took the offered vial, earning a tight frown from the elf. The existence of wyverns would have surprised me, but now?
"Promise me. Promise me you'll keep this from spreading."
With a heavy lump in my throat, I promised.
While Wyll and Karlach accompanied the girl, Arabella, back to her parents and away from the menace of Kagha and her followers, the rest of us descended further into the den of the druids. Our guide, a dark-haired half-elven woman dressed in rather stylized chain, paid us little mind, and I was satisfied to not pry into her affairs for now. The rapid nature of how quickly these people had fallen into my path, people who shared the same problem I did, had quickly become suspect. I knew little about any of them, and neither they about each other, and yet we had to forge ahead.
If not for the tadpoles, I doubted Astarion would spend any amount of thought on us. Karlach might bond with just about anyone, but would they to her? Gale had far more important wizardry to care for. Both Wyll and this Shadowheart were no one in my mind.
It was the pale elf who broke the silence. "Now, now. It surprises me a little to see you sit on the sidelines during that unpleasantness. A woman of your stature, of your garb? Surely, you'd have stepped in to take the fangs of that viper?"
The woman smirked as we rounded the corner, her fingers trailing a line of dark sigils on her arm. "Perhaps, but I must admit, if the girl had died? I've too many important considerations."
A coldness fell in the air, and I nearly stopped in my tracks. Perhaps following her to this healer was a bad idea. Maybe we should-
"That barbarism," Gale hesitated, studying a nearby mural that depicted a black cloud sweeping across the land, "is unbecoming of everything I've learned of druids."
Astarion hissed. "Listen, wizard. You want to get your eyes plucked by talons? Entrails shit out by a boar? I quite like all of me in all the right places."
Gale, flustered, conceded the point. "Even still, life should be protected where it can be. Especially one so young."
I nodded in agreement. "It's just wrong – plain and simple. Punishing kids like you might an adult? Even in extreme circumstances like these? I can't imagine it."
As we rounded the corner, Shadowheart cleared her throat, a pensive gaze studying us and the room beyond. "Nettie is through here. She promised to see me earlier, but has yet to have a chance."
Seems all doctors are the same.
Nettie was a dwarven woman with tan skin, short black hair, and the robes of someone dedicated to nature and the Treefather. A thorny circlet rested on her head, precariously balancing in the right way to avoid pricking the skin, while tattoo markings framed the rest of her facial features. Her calloused, rough fingers performed hasty triage on the corpse of a young ox lying on a now blood-soaked stone slab. The calf's left flank appeared to have been well and truly cooked, perhaps more from a chemical burn than a flame.
"How'd that happen?" I asked as we entered the room, but Nettie merely cleared her throat.
"Later-"
"I think you'll want to see all of us now," I interjected.
For the first time, Nettie met our faces before lingering on Shadowheart. The armored woman gestured toward us and then herself. "These individuals survived the same experience I did and are desperate for your expertise."
The dwarf glanced down toward her belt, mind likely spinning, before she pointed at a thick panel of stone in the corner of the herb-filled chamber, just past a bubbling cauldron of elixirs. "Hmm. That's worrying. Follow me, if you'd please. Let me take a look at you."
I couldn't wait for her to check on us. At the end of the day, we may have a solution in only a few minutes.
"There are two more of us," Gale added, "that should be here shortly."
Nettie uneasily nodded. With a flick of her wrist and a sparkle of nature magic from the circlet, the stony corner opened as rock slid away to reveal a hidden chamber beyond. Walls of scrolls, books, and symbol-etched stone slates enveloped the center, where a large and glowing statue of the Treefather stood resolute.
What drew my attention the most was not the dissected corpse of an elf with pale, purple skin that was missing a significant part of its skullcap. Instead, it was a jar and its contents that lay on a desk nearby. A small, thin worm-like creature twitched within the liquid, its activity increasing as we drew nearer.
A tadpole.
One of the things that burrowed in my head. In all of our heads.
Gale tensed, the only other one of us to notice. My brow rose, and he curtly shook his head as Nettie closed the chamber behind us.
No way out.
"That one-" she pointed to the elf she'd surgically studied, "suffered the same fate. A mindflayer tadpole. Attacked us from the woods alongside a group of goblins. Nasty work." The slight Scottish accent was amusing, if mystifying. Where did a linguistic accent develop in another world to create a similar outlook? "The tadpole slipped out of the head wound."
"You're certain they're the same?" Gale asked.
"I can't be fully certain of anythin' involving these bugs. They're strange – acting strange." She paused, considering. "What are your symptoms?"
"I feel perfectly fine. Better than fine in fact," Astarion explained, though he was not quick to clarify how or why. "My only true concern is that I can't get any of these folk out of my head."
Nettie's eyes widened. "Truly? Is it just you, or is it all of you?"
"All of us," I answered, and Nettie was at a loss for words, contemplative.
"How did it happen? Explain what you can, hold nothing back."
Each of us took turns illuminating the events of the mindflayer Nautiloid. I paid particular attention to Shadowheart and Gale's version of the events, the former because I knew little about her and the latter because his studied mind helped illuminate details we hadn't all seen.
"You were trapped in your pod?"
The question frustrated her. "Were you not?"
"Not… especially?" I said uneasily, remembering how little resistance there was with escaping. What was the difference? A coincidence, or something more?
"Hmm." She frowned. "I had no route to escape until a kobold convinced a gith of all things to let me out." She said it with such confusion that it was clearly not a common sight. "The little runt disarmed the runic magic that held my pod together."
"A kobold? Truly?" Gale blinked. "Will wonders ever cease."
Nettie showed less interest in the kobold and the gith – whatever those words meant. "A mindflayer ship. That is worrying. Halsin… Halsin thought he knew of the source, but that shakes my confidence."
"Halsin. Your former leader?" I asked, remembering Kagha's words. "What does he know about all of this?"
"Your guess is as good as mine, because Halsin has not returned. I've sent messages, sent birds, but I fear he may be gone."
Astarion huffed. "So your teacher's dead. Don't suppose he taught you how to remove these before his demise?"
Nettie's eyes flickered over each of us in turn. "I… I do not believe I can. Perhaps with more time, more study, I could uncover their secrets. But not in enough time to save you from your fate."
A pit in my stomach grew.
"How much time do we have?"
Gale's question hung in the air, and Nettie somberly shook her head. "Very little. If these were normal parasites, you'd have more symptoms. You'd be changin'! At the rate I've seen, there should be an army of mindflayers on the prowl in this region alone. Instead? We have people like you who've gained traits or powers without changin'. Time frame you have could be minutes, hours, or days."
Astarion exhaled in frustration. "Oh, this is rich. Turning into a monster? What bloody fucking luck."
"And this Halsin?" asked Shadowheart, ignoring the elf's outburst. "Why did he leave the grove? You mentioned he believed he knew the source?"
Nettie studied her for a long moment. "He found something when he studied the tadpole. He was cryptic about what it was, but he was convinced that the path he must take would lead him to an old temple to the Moon Maiden, outside of a local abandoned village." Shadowheart bristled at the mention of the Moon Maiden.
I knew an adventuring hook when I saw one. "What dangers did he find in the temple? Maybe that's why he's not come back."
Nettie was only sure of one danger. "We believe, from what limited information we have, that this tribe of goblins have taken over the village and its temple. The same ones who were with that drow, and the same ones who attacked our gate just yesterday."
I glanced toward Gale, who was staring at the jar with a lightly twitching tadpole inside.
"It's pretty clear to me, then, what we have to do," I suggested. "Find Halsin if he's alive. If he's not, we keep poking around where he was looking and see if we can unravel the mystery of this mess."
Astarion scoffed. "You want to march into a group of goblins that managed to take down a powerful druid?"
I had little context for how powerful they were, but that was not really the point. "We won't find help for our tadpole problem here, Astarion. The one who knows is Halsin. If we don't follow this path, we waste time we do not have trying to find another one."
"I understand all of that," the elf agreed, "but goblins are nasty, Edward. Truly, truly nasty."
Nettie connected the dots. "If the goblins are the source of these tadpoles, or connected to them in some way? Maybe – maybe you have an in. They won't attack someone they think is one of them."
"That is a lot of assumptions," Shadowheart declared with a smirk. "But it's worth the risk. I quite like my skull worm-free, and Halsin is my best chance."
The rest of us hesitated until Astarion finally sighed rather dramatically, slapping the desk with a hefty clap of his hand. "I have no better ideas. But just so you know, if things get too hairy, do not be surprised if I leave you all to it. Better to live a little longer than to get skewered with goblin arrows."
Gale and I nodded toward one another, a silent agreement having formed. At the end of the day, whatever Gale's reasons, it was the right enough thing to do. The first solution for our tadpoles, and one that might stabilize the situation in the grove for the tiefling refugees.
A win-win.
"But, and I stress this to you all," Nettie began, pulling a vial of green liquid from her pack, "if you feel yourself changin'? If you feel yourself slippin'? Drink this. It's wyvern poison. A few drops under the tongue, and you'll slip away before you can cause any more harm."
I gingerly took the offered vial, earning a tight frown from the elf. The existence of wyverns would have surprised me, but now?
"Promise me. Promise me you'll keep this from spreading."
With a heavy lump in my throat, I promised.
17
- Location
- Alabama
After we relayed the information, Karlach and Wyll were quite on board with following Nettie's suggestion and trying to find Halsin, if only to confirm what happened to him and follow the same lead. The former was just happy to bust in some heads along the way, while the latter's motivation was more unclear. The group roughly split into different directions to prepare for the impending trek across the wilderness.
Before Astarion had left, he had pulled me aside with a frown across his angular jaw. "You aren't seriously going to drink their poison?"
The bottle of wyvern toxin felt heavy in my bag. Heavier, still, was the impending doom of ceremorphosis. "Isn't that better than becoming a monster?"
The man hesitated and then rolled his eyes. "Aren't you already? Revenants aren't exactly normal."
"Why are you so damn flippant? You think this shit doesn't bother me? I don't know anything about this, and I don't have the luxury of time to process any of it."
Astarion laughed. "Trust me. Time is not going to make it any easier."
"Oh, fuck off. Elves aren't at all the same thing."
His scowl deepened. "No. They're not."
And with that, he fucked off. Maybe his arrogance would cure him. He'd come back, if only because he didn't have any better options. Making it on your own did not seem like a good idea at all.
Still. The question had merit. I was already dead – or close. Would the poison even do anything? Would it kill the host before the transformation? Nettie had experience that I didn't- or at least, not me me. If she thought euthanizing me would euthanize the tadpole before it could finish its job, then I'd keep another mindflayer from being born.
But what of the revenant? Was I a monster or just someone afflicted with something I couldn't easily fix?
For lack of anything better to do and to avoid wasting time, I set about the task at hand, trying not to give the elf any more of my thoughts.
We aimed toward the village of Moonhaven, a once bustling small settlement that had long since faded from use. Given that the world around me was surrounded in fantastical imagery, this was undoubtedly as much a Death World as Pokémon or the Witcher would realistically be. Towns like Moonhaven likely waxed and waned like the tides against hordes of monsters at their gates. Maybe there were normal, traditional reasons for a medieval society to die too, but dragons were real. Squid-faced fucks were real. There could be a Mad Queen or a Cthulu moment every year for all I knew.
I spotted Wyll prepping to leave earlier. "How dangerous are we expecting things to be?"
"Before all this, I would have expected something only mildly difficult," Wyll had answered as he knit a tear in his leather jerkin back together, frayed threads left behind in his wake. "There is much chaos afoot in the hills. S-something must be wrong with the Fist."
I could tell he had wanted to say more, but I let the moment lie. Whatever organization the Flaming Fist truly were, the group had made it seem as though they should be more present throughout the region. Wyll was right to think something was wrong, then, and that worried me. Were the Flaming Fist responsible for stopping monster incursions on places like Moonhaven?
Gale had divided up the tasks we could accomplish in order to move as quickly as possible. Astarion had grumbled but eventually agreed to check the local traders for any potential deals for any equipment we might need, even with meager gold. Karlach had clung to Arabella and her family, though out of what sense aside from shared comaraderie was unclear. Wyll had some last minute promises to fulfill with the refugees before he "could feel good about leaving." That left me alone to handle purchasing food and other similar goods for our journey.
What Shadowheart intended was a mystery. I knew we needed all the help we could get, but she had left rather quickly after the conversation with Nettie without us having a chance to offer our assistance or to ask for hers.
Where she was, what she was ultimately doing? Well, it did not matter. Not every person afflicted with a tadpole was likely to gel with the group well, and the fact that these folk were here at all under the same goal felt like an odd collection already.
A duo of elderly women – one human and one tiefling – managed a small team of volunteers around meal times to distribute provisions to those who needed them. Apart from the devilish horns atop Okta's head, the pair reminded me of cafeteria lunch ladies, the backbone of any functioning school or summer camp. Their little runners – kids they'd probably promised sweets in exchange for quick labor – delivered bowls of soup and baskets of hard tack to the gathered refugees.
One of them, a red-skinned tiefling child with a curly afro of dark hair, scrambled up to me with a bowl of hot soup in hand, nearly spilling it all over his fingers. "Here, here! It's yours!"
I shook my head, and the soup steamed a nice scent into the air. "I don't need it, little guy."
"Suit yourself! I bet Alfira wants some!"
He scurried off in the complete opposite direction, this time dripping liquid in a trail behind him. When he realized he'd done it, he apologized to no one at all under his breath and then continued.
Smiling, I turned my attention back to the two ladies. The breakfast rush had finally died down, but they were hard at work prepping the next batch of stews. Cooking pots bubbled and released steam into the air, scents of assorted veggies amix with spices. The human was perhaps the younger, reminding me oddly of the way my stepmother carried herself.
"Well, dearie, aren't you interesting?"
I blinked, on edge. Something… something stood out to me. Something that I couldn't place, exactly, but the sound of her voice made me uneasy.
"Good morning." I failed utterly to hide my nerves. "What's so interesting about me?"
Nosy old woman.
"You have a whiff of the jitters, laddie," Ethel remarked. "Crowd like this make you nervous?"
I glanced around toward the throngs of folks who had been cooped up in this cave for far longer than me. One moment of frustration from either troupe could spark an all out brawl on both sides. "Something like that. But, well, there's more to it."
She grinned with all her teeth. "I don't think there's much to be nervous about with these folk. They owe you a great deal, for what you did yesterday."
I tilted my head, a blush to my cheeks. "Oh? Well, I mean, that wasn't just me. If I'd been alone, I wouldn't have. That was t-too much."
"Pish, posh. You're too modest. Some are so desperate they'd probably give up a kidney to ya, if it meant you'd stick around and keep 'em safe, love."
I glanced away nervously. That was not what I wanted at all. "I've been through a lot recently. Just wanted somewhere safe to rest and figure out the next steps." I frowned. "Some safe place this turned out to be. The First Druid bitch wanted to murder a little girl for failing to steal a shiny rock."
I knew there was more to it than that, but the dismissiveness felt nice.
Ethel sneered. "That Kagha is something. A fascinating woman, but one that causes a ton of folks to worry. The fires of chaos will temper her, yet, but will she temper into the right leader? I'm afraid the future is shadowed from us."
Hmm. "That's a flowery way to put it."
Auntie Ethel giggled heartily, an odd sound to come from that face. "Stifling a girl before she realizes her potential? That's just wasteful." Ethel studied my features. "You look wearier than a dollop of nerves might make. Tell me of your troubles."
The other woman, the tiefling elder, scoffed but said nothing. Okta continued working over the large cooking kettle, refusing to look at either of us.
"Oh, uh, no. I don't want to bother you."
"I insist-"
"No, really," I impressed. "You all are busy. My group are hoping to get any provisions you might have. The druids have a missing leader, and they want us to see if we can find him. Anyone's gotta be better than that woman."
Her eyes brightened and dimmed in equal measure. "Oh, yes, now I see. Dreadful little tale that was. Gave Aradin and his little posse a few of my special brew before they left with that hunk, Halsin."
Hunk?
"Now they're back, and Barth thanked me. Said my concoctions were the only reason any of the troupe survived. A quiet dear he is, that's how I know it was true."
I wasn't entirely sure who she meant. Maybe the three who we had helped against the goblins? What did they know about Halsin?
"Are they around here?"
She nodded and gave directions toward their usual abode. I almost ran off in excitement before the jingle of the meager coins we had on my belt reminded me of why I was here.
"I have a few things available here." There were dry rations, a few strips of jerky, and a bag of assorted veggies she could offer, enough to last a few days if you were careful. "I have some of my fancier tonics back home, but some basic goodies here, too. I'll give em all to ya, if you promise to visit the Sunlit Wetlands and tell me all about your troubles."
I made to grab for the bag, mumbling under my breath, but she chuckled.
"No, I'm not interested in your coin. I'm an old crone these days. What use is money to catch my attention?" She grinned wide once more. "I'm willing to offer these to you, dearie, so long as you swear that promise."
I glanced toward the offered provisions, the four vials of dark red liquid, and a stoppered bottle with heavier contents. If she wouldn't take coin for it, we could use the money for other things we might need.
"All right. I promise."
The woman smiled once more. "I'll hold you to that."
Before Astarion had left, he had pulled me aside with a frown across his angular jaw. "You aren't seriously going to drink their poison?"
The bottle of wyvern toxin felt heavy in my bag. Heavier, still, was the impending doom of ceremorphosis. "Isn't that better than becoming a monster?"
The man hesitated and then rolled his eyes. "Aren't you already? Revenants aren't exactly normal."
"Why are you so damn flippant? You think this shit doesn't bother me? I don't know anything about this, and I don't have the luxury of time to process any of it."
Astarion laughed. "Trust me. Time is not going to make it any easier."
"Oh, fuck off. Elves aren't at all the same thing."
His scowl deepened. "No. They're not."
And with that, he fucked off. Maybe his arrogance would cure him. He'd come back, if only because he didn't have any better options. Making it on your own did not seem like a good idea at all.
Still. The question had merit. I was already dead – or close. Would the poison even do anything? Would it kill the host before the transformation? Nettie had experience that I didn't- or at least, not me me. If she thought euthanizing me would euthanize the tadpole before it could finish its job, then I'd keep another mindflayer from being born.
But what of the revenant? Was I a monster or just someone afflicted with something I couldn't easily fix?
For lack of anything better to do and to avoid wasting time, I set about the task at hand, trying not to give the elf any more of my thoughts.
We aimed toward the village of Moonhaven, a once bustling small settlement that had long since faded from use. Given that the world around me was surrounded in fantastical imagery, this was undoubtedly as much a Death World as Pokémon or the Witcher would realistically be. Towns like Moonhaven likely waxed and waned like the tides against hordes of monsters at their gates. Maybe there were normal, traditional reasons for a medieval society to die too, but dragons were real. Squid-faced fucks were real. There could be a Mad Queen or a Cthulu moment every year for all I knew.
I spotted Wyll prepping to leave earlier. "How dangerous are we expecting things to be?"
"Before all this, I would have expected something only mildly difficult," Wyll had answered as he knit a tear in his leather jerkin back together, frayed threads left behind in his wake. "There is much chaos afoot in the hills. S-something must be wrong with the Fist."
I could tell he had wanted to say more, but I let the moment lie. Whatever organization the Flaming Fist truly were, the group had made it seem as though they should be more present throughout the region. Wyll was right to think something was wrong, then, and that worried me. Were the Flaming Fist responsible for stopping monster incursions on places like Moonhaven?
Gale had divided up the tasks we could accomplish in order to move as quickly as possible. Astarion had grumbled but eventually agreed to check the local traders for any potential deals for any equipment we might need, even with meager gold. Karlach had clung to Arabella and her family, though out of what sense aside from shared comaraderie was unclear. Wyll had some last minute promises to fulfill with the refugees before he "could feel good about leaving." That left me alone to handle purchasing food and other similar goods for our journey.
What Shadowheart intended was a mystery. I knew we needed all the help we could get, but she had left rather quickly after the conversation with Nettie without us having a chance to offer our assistance or to ask for hers.
Where she was, what she was ultimately doing? Well, it did not matter. Not every person afflicted with a tadpole was likely to gel with the group well, and the fact that these folk were here at all under the same goal felt like an odd collection already.
A duo of elderly women – one human and one tiefling – managed a small team of volunteers around meal times to distribute provisions to those who needed them. Apart from the devilish horns atop Okta's head, the pair reminded me of cafeteria lunch ladies, the backbone of any functioning school or summer camp. Their little runners – kids they'd probably promised sweets in exchange for quick labor – delivered bowls of soup and baskets of hard tack to the gathered refugees.
One of them, a red-skinned tiefling child with a curly afro of dark hair, scrambled up to me with a bowl of hot soup in hand, nearly spilling it all over his fingers. "Here, here! It's yours!"
I shook my head, and the soup steamed a nice scent into the air. "I don't need it, little guy."
"Suit yourself! I bet Alfira wants some!"
He scurried off in the complete opposite direction, this time dripping liquid in a trail behind him. When he realized he'd done it, he apologized to no one at all under his breath and then continued.
Smiling, I turned my attention back to the two ladies. The breakfast rush had finally died down, but they were hard at work prepping the next batch of stews. Cooking pots bubbled and released steam into the air, scents of assorted veggies amix with spices. The human was perhaps the younger, reminding me oddly of the way my stepmother carried herself.
"Well, dearie, aren't you interesting?"
I blinked, on edge. Something… something stood out to me. Something that I couldn't place, exactly, but the sound of her voice made me uneasy.
"Good morning." I failed utterly to hide my nerves. "What's so interesting about me?"
Nosy old woman.
"You have a whiff of the jitters, laddie," Ethel remarked. "Crowd like this make you nervous?"
I glanced around toward the throngs of folks who had been cooped up in this cave for far longer than me. One moment of frustration from either troupe could spark an all out brawl on both sides. "Something like that. But, well, there's more to it."
She grinned with all her teeth. "I don't think there's much to be nervous about with these folk. They owe you a great deal, for what you did yesterday."
I tilted my head, a blush to my cheeks. "Oh? Well, I mean, that wasn't just me. If I'd been alone, I wouldn't have. That was t-too much."
"Pish, posh. You're too modest. Some are so desperate they'd probably give up a kidney to ya, if it meant you'd stick around and keep 'em safe, love."
I glanced away nervously. That was not what I wanted at all. "I've been through a lot recently. Just wanted somewhere safe to rest and figure out the next steps." I frowned. "Some safe place this turned out to be. The First Druid bitch wanted to murder a little girl for failing to steal a shiny rock."
I knew there was more to it than that, but the dismissiveness felt nice.
Ethel sneered. "That Kagha is something. A fascinating woman, but one that causes a ton of folks to worry. The fires of chaos will temper her, yet, but will she temper into the right leader? I'm afraid the future is shadowed from us."
Hmm. "That's a flowery way to put it."
Auntie Ethel giggled heartily, an odd sound to come from that face. "Stifling a girl before she realizes her potential? That's just wasteful." Ethel studied my features. "You look wearier than a dollop of nerves might make. Tell me of your troubles."
The other woman, the tiefling elder, scoffed but said nothing. Okta continued working over the large cooking kettle, refusing to look at either of us.
"Oh, uh, no. I don't want to bother you."
"I insist-"
"No, really," I impressed. "You all are busy. My group are hoping to get any provisions you might have. The druids have a missing leader, and they want us to see if we can find him. Anyone's gotta be better than that woman."
Her eyes brightened and dimmed in equal measure. "Oh, yes, now I see. Dreadful little tale that was. Gave Aradin and his little posse a few of my special brew before they left with that hunk, Halsin."
Hunk?
"Now they're back, and Barth thanked me. Said my concoctions were the only reason any of the troupe survived. A quiet dear he is, that's how I know it was true."
I wasn't entirely sure who she meant. Maybe the three who we had helped against the goblins? What did they know about Halsin?
"Are they around here?"
She nodded and gave directions toward their usual abode. I almost ran off in excitement before the jingle of the meager coins we had on my belt reminded me of why I was here.
"I have a few things available here." There were dry rations, a few strips of jerky, and a bag of assorted veggies she could offer, enough to last a few days if you were careful. "I have some of my fancier tonics back home, but some basic goodies here, too. I'll give em all to ya, if you promise to visit the Sunlit Wetlands and tell me all about your troubles."
I made to grab for the bag, mumbling under my breath, but she chuckled.
"No, I'm not interested in your coin. I'm an old crone these days. What use is money to catch my attention?" She grinned wide once more. "I'm willing to offer these to you, dearie, so long as you swear that promise."
I glanced toward the offered provisions, the four vials of dark red liquid, and a stoppered bottle with heavier contents. If she wouldn't take coin for it, we could use the money for other things we might need.
"All right. I promise."
The woman smiled once more. "I'll hold you to that."
- Pronouns
- ButterflyDfect
How much are you going to stick to normal revenant rules?
Revenants die a final death upon the completion of the task they're undead for.
Will this apply ?
Revenants die a final death upon the completion of the task they're undead for.
Will this apply ?
another question is would the tadpole even be an issue for the Mc. would a mind flayer be born and then he just pops into another corpse? or would the tadpole somehow tie him to the mindflayer and then they start the true story which is a comedy sitcom called twos a crowd.
18
- Location
- Alabama
Aradin, as it turned out, was a rather successful adventurer. The nominal leader of the band that remained of his original party, the man clearly knew how to take charge and had his fingers in everything his companions were doing. When I approached him, Aradin was trying to – poorly - micromanage how his companion, Remira, laced her boots. She swatted his hand away, but was clearly too exhausted to protest too much and eventually relented.
"Leaving out again?"
The question earned the attention of Barth, who appeared to have some elven blood. How common were elves in this world? Was their culture filled with slutting their good looks into every orifice?
If so, more power to them.
The larger man was blond and handsome, a thick scar on the back of his neck and a wrapped bandage across his entire left side, some of his skin bare and exposed to the damp cave air. The redhead Remira, meanwhile, was nearly fully dressed and ready to go, while Aradin already had his pack on his back and hurriedly pointed to theirs for them to suit up. She was significantly younger than either of them, barely out of college age, and I wondered how many young people ended up out there in the wilderness doing what they do.
Aradin nodded tersely. "We're getting out of here as soon as we can."
"We shouldn't have stayed the night," Remira argued, frustrated.
"And give the yellow shits heir advantage in the dark?" Aradin laughed. "We wouldn't have been any good to 'im dead and riddled with gob arrows."
"Him?" I offered. Were they thinking of finding Halsin too?
Barth twitched as he steadied his broad shoulders, pain racing across his face. "Liam and maybe some of the others, if we're lucky."
"It's just him," Aradin countered. "The others are a lost cause, but Liam-"
Remira groaned. "A lost cause? Aradin, Jaime's been with you since Phandalin. Brian since at least the High Moor. And-"
"And, and, and?" Aradin challenged. "I saw 'em cut down! My own eyes, Remira. They're gone, and if Liam survived, he's as good as dead alone out there."
I wanted to interject, to redirect the tensions, but I wasn't anything to them. For a moment longer, the tensions grew into a shouting match that only drew the ire of nearby refugees. I couldn't keep up with the terms, the names any longer, and it wasn't until Barth forced himself to his feet with a grunt and an exhale that they finally stopped.
"What do you need from us?"
The question surprised me, because Barth took the effort to address me instead of them. His injuries were at least a nuisance to him, at worst a true pain, but he still moved from his rest to talk to a stranger on their behalf.
"Oh. Um, I don't-" I frowned. My instincts to try not to engage, to try to stay out of other people's business, was only going to waste time.
Time I didn't have.
"Tell me what you know of Halsin."
Aradin studied me for a long half second and then cleared his throat. "Bear of a elf. Nearly defended us from a dozen gobs single-handedly while we picked 'em off. Had we not been so outnumbered, had they not ambushed us like the slimy cowards they really are, we might have routed them with Halsin alone."
Remira interjected, "They attacked us on the road, on the outskirts of the village. The druid's magic was awesome, but it wasn't enough. Some of us had to flee, while he bought us the t-time to get out."
"They poisoned him, I'm sure of it," Barth added. "He grew weaker the longer he fought, and I saw him collapse just as I lost sight of them."
I disliked the sound of that.
"Chance he's alive?"
"The shit gobs are actin' strange," Aradin surmised. "If you'd have asked me a few months ago, I'd have assumed they piked his head as a warning. Now? I think they're working for someone else, and all bets are off."
I pursed my lips, wishing Gale were here to pick his brain. "What were you doing with Halsin?"
"The wizard Lorroakan in Baldur's Gate hired us for a job," Remira explained. "A job that doesn't seem remotely worth it now."
Aradin scoffed. "Maybe, maybe not. We sought an artifact called the Nightsong. Our task was to infiltrate that temple to the Moonmaiden, to unearth it and bring it to the city. The wizard promised us more riches than we could imagine if we were successful, and it seemed easy."
Barth gestured toward the cave mouth and the faint sunlight streaming through the opening. "We never made it to the temple."
An uneasiness grew in the pit of my stomach. A group of adventurers with the leader of this druid grove could not make it. What chances did we have to do the same?
And… did we have a choice at all?
"If you're done interrogating us," Aradin began, earning a placating gesture from me, "we have to get a move on."
"Liam's out there," Remira declared more to herself than the others.
"If you wait a little while," I tried, angling for as much help as possible, "my group is leaving soon to go after Halsin. Maybe we could -"
Aradin shook his head fervently. "No thanks. Bigger the group, bigger the target." I started to protest, but he put his foot down. "I am sure your group would do well, but fuck we aren't taking any chances. The name of the game against the stinking gobs this time is speed. Get in, check for Liam, get out."
The woman clapped my shoulder. "May Lady Tymora give you good fortune."
And just like that, the three of them made their exit.
As I watched them leave, all I could consider was that Aradin might have a reputation for past successes, but he was foolish to turn down help.
Or…
Maybe he wasn't.
My hands clenched into fists, and I tried to imagine them not as pale flesh but with the purple-gray hues of an eldritch creature. Astarion's words came back to mind – was I already a monster, compared to the rest?
Maybe Aradin made the smart decision.
"Leaving out again?"
The question earned the attention of Barth, who appeared to have some elven blood. How common were elves in this world? Was their culture filled with slutting their good looks into every orifice?
If so, more power to them.
The larger man was blond and handsome, a thick scar on the back of his neck and a wrapped bandage across his entire left side, some of his skin bare and exposed to the damp cave air. The redhead Remira, meanwhile, was nearly fully dressed and ready to go, while Aradin already had his pack on his back and hurriedly pointed to theirs for them to suit up. She was significantly younger than either of them, barely out of college age, and I wondered how many young people ended up out there in the wilderness doing what they do.
Aradin nodded tersely. "We're getting out of here as soon as we can."
"We shouldn't have stayed the night," Remira argued, frustrated.
"And give the yellow shits heir advantage in the dark?" Aradin laughed. "We wouldn't have been any good to 'im dead and riddled with gob arrows."
"Him?" I offered. Were they thinking of finding Halsin too?
Barth twitched as he steadied his broad shoulders, pain racing across his face. "Liam and maybe some of the others, if we're lucky."
"It's just him," Aradin countered. "The others are a lost cause, but Liam-"
Remira groaned. "A lost cause? Aradin, Jaime's been with you since Phandalin. Brian since at least the High Moor. And-"
"And, and, and?" Aradin challenged. "I saw 'em cut down! My own eyes, Remira. They're gone, and if Liam survived, he's as good as dead alone out there."
I wanted to interject, to redirect the tensions, but I wasn't anything to them. For a moment longer, the tensions grew into a shouting match that only drew the ire of nearby refugees. I couldn't keep up with the terms, the names any longer, and it wasn't until Barth forced himself to his feet with a grunt and an exhale that they finally stopped.
"What do you need from us?"
The question surprised me, because Barth took the effort to address me instead of them. His injuries were at least a nuisance to him, at worst a true pain, but he still moved from his rest to talk to a stranger on their behalf.
"Oh. Um, I don't-" I frowned. My instincts to try not to engage, to try to stay out of other people's business, was only going to waste time.
Time I didn't have.
"Tell me what you know of Halsin."
Aradin studied me for a long half second and then cleared his throat. "Bear of a elf. Nearly defended us from a dozen gobs single-handedly while we picked 'em off. Had we not been so outnumbered, had they not ambushed us like the slimy cowards they really are, we might have routed them with Halsin alone."
Remira interjected, "They attacked us on the road, on the outskirts of the village. The druid's magic was awesome, but it wasn't enough. Some of us had to flee, while he bought us the t-time to get out."
"They poisoned him, I'm sure of it," Barth added. "He grew weaker the longer he fought, and I saw him collapse just as I lost sight of them."
I disliked the sound of that.
"Chance he's alive?"
"The shit gobs are actin' strange," Aradin surmised. "If you'd have asked me a few months ago, I'd have assumed they piked his head as a warning. Now? I think they're working for someone else, and all bets are off."
I pursed my lips, wishing Gale were here to pick his brain. "What were you doing with Halsin?"
"The wizard Lorroakan in Baldur's Gate hired us for a job," Remira explained. "A job that doesn't seem remotely worth it now."
Aradin scoffed. "Maybe, maybe not. We sought an artifact called the Nightsong. Our task was to infiltrate that temple to the Moonmaiden, to unearth it and bring it to the city. The wizard promised us more riches than we could imagine if we were successful, and it seemed easy."
Barth gestured toward the cave mouth and the faint sunlight streaming through the opening. "We never made it to the temple."
An uneasiness grew in the pit of my stomach. A group of adventurers with the leader of this druid grove could not make it. What chances did we have to do the same?
And… did we have a choice at all?
"If you're done interrogating us," Aradin began, earning a placating gesture from me, "we have to get a move on."
"Liam's out there," Remira declared more to herself than the others.
"If you wait a little while," I tried, angling for as much help as possible, "my group is leaving soon to go after Halsin. Maybe we could -"
Aradin shook his head fervently. "No thanks. Bigger the group, bigger the target." I started to protest, but he put his foot down. "I am sure your group would do well, but fuck we aren't taking any chances. The name of the game against the stinking gobs this time is speed. Get in, check for Liam, get out."
The woman clapped my shoulder. "May Lady Tymora give you good fortune."
And just like that, the three of them made their exit.
As I watched them leave, all I could consider was that Aradin might have a reputation for past successes, but he was foolish to turn down help.
Or…
Maybe he wasn't.
My hands clenched into fists, and I tried to imagine them not as pale flesh but with the purple-gray hues of an eldritch creature. Astarion's words came back to mind – was I already a monster, compared to the rest?
Maybe Aradin made the smart decision.
19
- Location
- Alabama
When Karlach caught up to me, I was trying to make headway into understanding the power that I possessed. I would need every advantage I had on this trip to discover what happened to Halsin, and I wanted to be able to reliably repeat the maneuver I'd performed during the fight at the grove's gate.
The power of ki was an undercurrent of energy in every fiber, every tendon, every muscle, every bone. I could sense it in others too, a life force that moved unabated and unnoticed in the living things around me. I pictured it as an emerald river that circulated throughout my body, moving into places even my blood could not go, and a slight head rush accompanied the feeling every time I managed to direct its flow.
And I was getting it. Likely nowhere near as fast as someone who understood ki more intimately, but muscle memory that was not my own guided my thinking, guided my movements. It became easy, with effort, to maneuver the ki around and solidify it into my hands, mist emanating into the dark air around me.
"You're right glowing, soldier."
I opened my eyes and blinked, a faint glow emerging from each of my fingertips, from my palm, from the center of my wrist. It wavered in the air like verdant mist, scentless but loud, like a whistle on the wind. Karlach was right – I was glowing.
Maybe I would understand this "ki."
I greeted her, a bit jittery from excitement, only to realize she was not alone. A trio of tieflings approached behind the taller, broader Karlach. I'd met them earlier, and the expression across Arabella's face was genuinely hard to take in stride. The stress of Kagha's cruelty festered deep beneath the relief that she had been saved, that her parents had reunited with her.
"Just trying to get the hang of this stuff," I offered, trying not to feel nervous in front of these two parents. The mist dissipated into the air nearly as quickly as it formed.
"What even is it?" The father asked dismissively, earning a small elbow from his wife.
"What Locke means to say," the woman began, "is that we owe you… thanks."
Awkward hesitation filled the space between us, as though the two elder tieflings had something rather difficult they did not want to say aloud. I looked to Karlach for guidance, who sheepishly rubbed at the back of her neck and inadvertently displayed a bicep thicker than my thigh.
"Well, it was nothing. It's what anyone decent would have done."
And I fucking meant that.
Rath, Kagha's second, was decent. Nettie the healer was decent. Halsin, by all rights, should be damned decent. How decent remained to be seen, because someone like her being trusted to take over was an odd pill to swallow.
Locke, Arabella's father, bowed his head slightly, hair shifting around his devilish horns. "You, uh, surprised us. I wouldn't have thought undead could talk, much less save little girls."
The word "undead" on his lips caused his wife to shudder, but Arabella's face did not change at all.
I bit the inside of my cheek to stop from reacting, eyes darting to the nervous Karlach.
"Mama K might have mentioned that to them, soldier."
I considered what to say and forced a smile to my face. "I don't, uh, know what to say."
Arabella pulled away from her mother's grasp and hugged around my side, fresh tears across her face. "Thank you, thank you!"
I patted her on the shoulder, heart swelling with emotion. "Oh, it was the right thing to do." I felt my teacher instincts kick in and leaned in. "Listen, it's important that you understand that you made a mistake trying to take their relic."
She blinked, and Komira stepped in to latch onto her daughter again. The girl pouted slightly, lips quivering, before a small sob escaped. "I was just trying to buy everyone time-"
"I know." I lowered my voice as quietly as I could. "In the future, when you want to go off and save the day without anyone finding out, wear a mask, maybe a cape. Don't let anyone find out it was you."
The look of utter confusion on her face was priceless.
"Let's not encourage her to try something like that again," Locke tried, the faintest bit of venom in his voice. He was the more measured of the two of them, and Komira was apoplectic that I tried to give her advice at all.
"Agreed," I admitted. "Look, it doesn't ultimately matter what I did or did not do. What matters is that she's safe, for now."
Komira uneasily nodded, face heated.
"The road ahead is bound to be scary," Karlach added with a grin and a waggle of the eyebrows toward Arabella. "I'm sure we can handle whatever they throw at us. Try not to piss off the folks who control your food until then, yeah?"
The girl nodded, beaming when Karlach ruffled her hair.
Komira cleared her throat and produced something from a chest pocket: a brass locket with an intricate design across its face and a ruby gem in the center. "I want you to have this as thanks."
I glanced toward Karlach and nearly defaulted to saying no – gifts were always something I chafed to recieve. When I expressed as much, the woman raised a hand to ward it off. "It has some sentimental value, but more importantly, it's got a bit of magic to it. Tap the gem in the center four times, then open it."
Magic.
A magical item.
How common were these that she just had this? Why wasn't she shouting from the rooftops about me keeping it from her?
When the locket activated, it snapped open and released a shower of lights. Each the color of the ruby gem, they hung in the air around me, shimmering as brightly as any torch flame. They flit back and forth almost like a dance, drifting in the faint breeze blowing through the cave mouth. They light they produced stretched the shadows around them and then retracted them.
"This is awesome!" I praised. "But why me? Why any of us?"
"It would be better served in your hands," Locke argued. "You're about to stride into danger. It's not much, but maybe it will scare the worst of it away."
I… struggled to think of a reason to refuse.
Not that I wanted to. My own magical item, borrowed for now or no. If it served to help as a magical flashlight, then that made things far easier to see than without it. I was fairly certain I could see rather well at night anyway, but this would add more color and detail.
"I bet we can use it to spot the goblins before they strike," Karlach suggested with a waggle of her eyebrows.
"Might help keep us from ending up like Aradin."
She started to question who, but I waved it off for now.
"I will give this back when I see you next, when we come back with Halsin and clean up this mess."
Komira clearly held no love for the druids, and how could she? "I don't understand all the reasons why you bother. You're surprising to all of us."
I didn't want to have to explain everything a dozen times, so instead, I settled. "The druids need their real leader back or deserve to know what happened to their last one. Maybe it will give them perspective to know they've fucked up."
Arabella snickered at the choice of words.
Before I could respond, a shimmer in the air revealed a silvery blue flame that twisted into the shape of Gale's head. It hovered like a flickering torchlight along the rest of the dancing lights, and I initially panicked.
Until it started to speak.
"Good afternoon. This is an illusory projection of the wizard, Gale of Waterdeep. Your presence is humbly requested at the entrance to the grove. Gale of Waterdeep suggests you bring your belongings, for Gale of Waterdeep believes you are all ready to forge ahead into the wilderness."
Karlach chuckled. "Couldn't he have just walked here?"
The projection continued. "You might be asking why Gale of Waterdeep sent this message instead of speaking to you face-to-face. Gale of Waterdeep has been indisposed in a conversation with a particularly detestable former colleague for quite some time. Gale of Waterdeep could use your assistance to end the cyclical conversation about goblin behaviors."
Huh.
Karlach shuffled forward as the illusion faded. "Let's go rescue Sparklehands, soldier."
The power of ki was an undercurrent of energy in every fiber, every tendon, every muscle, every bone. I could sense it in others too, a life force that moved unabated and unnoticed in the living things around me. I pictured it as an emerald river that circulated throughout my body, moving into places even my blood could not go, and a slight head rush accompanied the feeling every time I managed to direct its flow.
And I was getting it. Likely nowhere near as fast as someone who understood ki more intimately, but muscle memory that was not my own guided my thinking, guided my movements. It became easy, with effort, to maneuver the ki around and solidify it into my hands, mist emanating into the dark air around me.
"You're right glowing, soldier."
I opened my eyes and blinked, a faint glow emerging from each of my fingertips, from my palm, from the center of my wrist. It wavered in the air like verdant mist, scentless but loud, like a whistle on the wind. Karlach was right – I was glowing.
Maybe I would understand this "ki."
I greeted her, a bit jittery from excitement, only to realize she was not alone. A trio of tieflings approached behind the taller, broader Karlach. I'd met them earlier, and the expression across Arabella's face was genuinely hard to take in stride. The stress of Kagha's cruelty festered deep beneath the relief that she had been saved, that her parents had reunited with her.
"Just trying to get the hang of this stuff," I offered, trying not to feel nervous in front of these two parents. The mist dissipated into the air nearly as quickly as it formed.
"What even is it?" The father asked dismissively, earning a small elbow from his wife.
"What Locke means to say," the woman began, "is that we owe you… thanks."
Awkward hesitation filled the space between us, as though the two elder tieflings had something rather difficult they did not want to say aloud. I looked to Karlach for guidance, who sheepishly rubbed at the back of her neck and inadvertently displayed a bicep thicker than my thigh.
"Well, it was nothing. It's what anyone decent would have done."
And I fucking meant that.
Rath, Kagha's second, was decent. Nettie the healer was decent. Halsin, by all rights, should be damned decent. How decent remained to be seen, because someone like her being trusted to take over was an odd pill to swallow.
Locke, Arabella's father, bowed his head slightly, hair shifting around his devilish horns. "You, uh, surprised us. I wouldn't have thought undead could talk, much less save little girls."
The word "undead" on his lips caused his wife to shudder, but Arabella's face did not change at all.
I bit the inside of my cheek to stop from reacting, eyes darting to the nervous Karlach.
"Mama K might have mentioned that to them, soldier."
I considered what to say and forced a smile to my face. "I don't, uh, know what to say."
Arabella pulled away from her mother's grasp and hugged around my side, fresh tears across her face. "Thank you, thank you!"
I patted her on the shoulder, heart swelling with emotion. "Oh, it was the right thing to do." I felt my teacher instincts kick in and leaned in. "Listen, it's important that you understand that you made a mistake trying to take their relic."
She blinked, and Komira stepped in to latch onto her daughter again. The girl pouted slightly, lips quivering, before a small sob escaped. "I was just trying to buy everyone time-"
"I know." I lowered my voice as quietly as I could. "In the future, when you want to go off and save the day without anyone finding out, wear a mask, maybe a cape. Don't let anyone find out it was you."
The look of utter confusion on her face was priceless.
"Let's not encourage her to try something like that again," Locke tried, the faintest bit of venom in his voice. He was the more measured of the two of them, and Komira was apoplectic that I tried to give her advice at all.
"Agreed," I admitted. "Look, it doesn't ultimately matter what I did or did not do. What matters is that she's safe, for now."
Komira uneasily nodded, face heated.
"The road ahead is bound to be scary," Karlach added with a grin and a waggle of the eyebrows toward Arabella. "I'm sure we can handle whatever they throw at us. Try not to piss off the folks who control your food until then, yeah?"
The girl nodded, beaming when Karlach ruffled her hair.
Komira cleared her throat and produced something from a chest pocket: a brass locket with an intricate design across its face and a ruby gem in the center. "I want you to have this as thanks."
I glanced toward Karlach and nearly defaulted to saying no – gifts were always something I chafed to recieve. When I expressed as much, the woman raised a hand to ward it off. "It has some sentimental value, but more importantly, it's got a bit of magic to it. Tap the gem in the center four times, then open it."
Magic.
A magical item.
How common were these that she just had this? Why wasn't she shouting from the rooftops about me keeping it from her?
When the locket activated, it snapped open and released a shower of lights. Each the color of the ruby gem, they hung in the air around me, shimmering as brightly as any torch flame. They flit back and forth almost like a dance, drifting in the faint breeze blowing through the cave mouth. They light they produced stretched the shadows around them and then retracted them.
"This is awesome!" I praised. "But why me? Why any of us?"
"It would be better served in your hands," Locke argued. "You're about to stride into danger. It's not much, but maybe it will scare the worst of it away."
I… struggled to think of a reason to refuse.
Not that I wanted to. My own magical item, borrowed for now or no. If it served to help as a magical flashlight, then that made things far easier to see than without it. I was fairly certain I could see rather well at night anyway, but this would add more color and detail.
"I bet we can use it to spot the goblins before they strike," Karlach suggested with a waggle of her eyebrows.
"Might help keep us from ending up like Aradin."
She started to question who, but I waved it off for now.
"I will give this back when I see you next, when we come back with Halsin and clean up this mess."
Komira clearly held no love for the druids, and how could she? "I don't understand all the reasons why you bother. You're surprising to all of us."
I didn't want to have to explain everything a dozen times, so instead, I settled. "The druids need their real leader back or deserve to know what happened to their last one. Maybe it will give them perspective to know they've fucked up."
Arabella snickered at the choice of words.
Before I could respond, a shimmer in the air revealed a silvery blue flame that twisted into the shape of Gale's head. It hovered like a flickering torchlight along the rest of the dancing lights, and I initially panicked.
Until it started to speak.
"Good afternoon. This is an illusory projection of the wizard, Gale of Waterdeep. Your presence is humbly requested at the entrance to the grove. Gale of Waterdeep suggests you bring your belongings, for Gale of Waterdeep believes you are all ready to forge ahead into the wilderness."
Karlach chuckled. "Couldn't he have just walked here?"
The projection continued. "You might be asking why Gale of Waterdeep sent this message instead of speaking to you face-to-face. Gale of Waterdeep has been indisposed in a conversation with a particularly detestable former colleague for quite some time. Gale of Waterdeep could use your assistance to end the cyclical conversation about goblin behaviors."
Huh.
Karlach shuffled forward as the illusion faded. "Let's go rescue Sparklehands, soldier."
20
New
- Location
- Alabama
Between every step through a patch of wild grass, between every bend of dusty paths, between every sound of a possibly dangerous monster in the distance, I pushed and I pulled on the energy, the ki coursing with my body. I likened it almost to breathing – it retracted and expanded, it flowed forward and it flowed backward. The power shifted with a certain rhythm, as though pulled from an unseen tidal current. I could redirect the current, I could control the breath – the energy released from my hands in small bursts at my beck and call, alongisde my knees, my elbows, and even my nostrils.
I did not know why or how I was so certain, but if this energy stopped flowing, I was sure to drop dead. It was the source of my life, the source of whatever kept this body moving. It was… like I'd somehow become aware of my soul. Or maybe I was consciously directing the flow of ATP within my cells. Or… maybe both, because if it was the latter, it behaved not at all like it should. This ki was an incredible thing, and I was determined to know everything about it.
The group of gathered tadpole survivors pulled my attention away from my internal struggle from time to time. It was nearly dark on our first full day of travel through the wilderness, and I was as interested in the exploration of my ki as I was in understanding how these traveling companions ticked. Karlach defined the path for us through sheer force of will – not necessarily in guiding us directly, but more in forcing us to keep walking even when things went off the beaten path, or in yanking us away from any breaks we might have taken for too long. Gale, by contrast, was the least used to the outdoors, and his wizardly robes certainly were not built for anything but urban environments – more than once, he'd had to wiggle his fingers to mend a tear in the fabric or to vanish any stains right before our very eyes. Astarion was attuned to cities too, but it was clear that he'd had to face dirty, dingy situations before and was only putting up a show of frustration at the sweat – more than once, he studied the skies in fascination when he thought no one was looking. Wyll directed us properly through the area as he had been here a bit longer, had been at the grove longer, and had overall spent more time getting the lay of the land the druids knew – he knew some of the more direct paths to Moonhaven, as well as areas around it.
"In the northeastern direction, the trail eventually diverges toward the mountains. There's a trader's post named for the Merchant's Friend marking the way, might be a nice place to check for information. To our southwest, the forest turns to a marsh the druids watch over, before the refugees threw everything into chaos for 'em." Wyll counted on his fingers where else he knew. "If we keep going northwest, we'll eventually find the ruins of Moonhaven and this temple to the Moonmaiden."
I wasn't sure who the Merchant's Friend was, but the marsh stood out to me. The promise to Ethel to visit, to tell her of our travels, stood out in my mind. That marsh must be the wetlands she mentioned. We were on too tight a schedule to investigate Halsin's disappearance, and with every day that passed, we might be one day closer to changing into the monsters. Maybe once we knew what happened to him, we could visit Ethel on the way back to the grove.
"Which way to Baldur's Gate?" I eventually asked, knowing the city could not be too far. Days? Weeks?
"I surmise that we should head as far west as we can," Gale argued, "along the path of the Chionthar. Follow its bends, and we're bound to hit the city limits."
That sounded easier said than done. Barring any potential monsters or goblins or whatever else was out there, physically making a direct route through all of that would add time to our trip unless we happened upon an easy road, a path that was already clear. We could wave Karlach's flaming greatsword like a machete through any undergrowth pretty easily, but that carried its own risks and still slowed us down.
The pressure of time weighed upon us all like a heavy anchor.
Before we could process too much, Wyll cleared his throat. "We make camp. Move on in the morning – I figure we'll reach Moonhaven by mid afternoon tomorrow."
I didn't argue, and while Karlach grumbled to listen to a man who'd wanted to kill her for being a devil, she relented when everyone else settled into that mode of thinking. Tents, bedrolls, an easily struck campfire later, and we'd crafted as cozy a place as any, not far from an eddy of the Chionthar. Nestled off the beaten path, we'd hopefully have advance warning if anything large and scary tried to interrupt our sleep.
Gale surprised us with a well-cooked meal, though I did not feel the urge to eat. I… don't think I needed to eat or to sleep at all. Rest, yes, but I never quite fell unconscious the previous night. I was happy to see the others enjoy their food though, and only Astarion did not seem to like the cabbage and rabbit stew too much.
"Let's tell stories, yeah?" Karlach offered, a cheerful smile on her face. The elf rolled his eyes. She proceeded to tell us a dramatic tale involving ice devils swarming a barlgura demon that sought a portal to a city called Dis, and how she and her immediate crew had had to defend the space from both sides of the conflict. This Blood War sounded truly awful. "All I have to show for it is this rad scar on my left hip." Without a care in the world, she bore her undergarments for a moment to show a rigid scar where her skin must have frozen over and then healed. "All that, and the damn gorilla thing pushed its way through the gate anyway. Doubt he got very far afterward."
Gale frowned. "I'm afraid I do not have any death-defying tales of bravery. I am an academic."
"Pssh," Astarion hissed. "I've known your type. Every 'academic' thinks they're just a pacifist until they commit arson with only their mind. Soon as they show a talent for it, they're scooped up in mercenary bands, militias, or the mob."
Gale's eyebrow rose. "I am not some lowly drop out, Astarion. I happen to have special distinction from the great Blackstaff of Waterdeep."
"Who?" I asked.
"Leader of Force Grey, premiere mage of the City of Splendors. Vajra Safar is the latest to hold the position, and she and I get along swimmingly."
Wyll chuckled, perhaps the first bit of genuine positivity out of him all day. He'd been all business throughout our trek. "Wizards and their arrogance. It suits you, Gale."
The man in question rose his voice to defend himself, and the lighthearted argument grew tense before it finally simmered out.
"What stories do you have, then?" I redirected. "If not of bravery, then anything fun?"
Gale pondered it for a long moment and then settled for a rather boring description of a magical rivalry that did not result in a fancy Hollywood wizard duel. Instead, Gale merely was the first to uncover the "sixteenth use of a gynosphinx throatstone." Apparently, when ground into a fine powder and dispersed into the air at the peak if midnight, anyone the mist touches will be irresistible to the opposite sex.
"Please, please tell me this ended with you and the rival chick doing the horizontal tango," Karlach pleaded.
Gale turned bright red. "No, nothing like that. I merely submitted my research for alchemists to consider for further testing before Mironda of Mirabar could."
Astarion rolled his eyes. "I can't decide which man is more boring – Volothamp or Gale."
From the look on Gale's face, you'd have thought Astarion punched him right across the mouth.
"Anyway, if you really wanna hear some sordid details," Astarion began, waving his eyebrows at the tiefling, "let me regale you of the time I wooed a visiting dignitary and his wife from Silverymoon."
Karlach ate it up, a big grin on her face, and I just laughed at the ridiculous details of how it all went down. Gale was not prudish, but I didn't think he cared much for the elf so he looked unimpressed. Wyll might have been slightly blushing at the elf's description of a swanky threesome.
"Nothing quite like any of that for me," Wyll added when it was clear the elf was dragging out the climax for comedic effect. "I once slew a manticore threatening a trade caravan. Terrible beast, stalked the roads for weeks before I was called in to try to end it."
And end it, he did. Manticores were rather dangerous, based on the details in the story, so this was impressive. Maybe not Blood War impressive, but he'd fought the creature alone.
The others looked toward me expectantly.
"Oh. I, uh, you all know the most dramatic moment of my life already." At their protest, I cleared my throat. "Before all of this, before the Nautiloid, I was just a teacher to school children. I didn't – don't – have any dramatic battles, conquests, or tests of endurance. And I don't think teaching teenagers counts as a war."
Gale put a hand to his heart, underscoring the circular tattoo poking up from beneath his robes. "Teaching is one of the noblest professions. Don't discount your efforts."
Hmm. "Thank you. Just wish I could get back to it."
Gale opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, and then snapped his lips shut.
"I'm sure there're plenty of little brats you could teach again, when all this is over," Karlach suggested with a grin.
Her comment merely irritated thoughts I'd resolved to bury until the time was right to dwell on them. Becoming a teacher here might be possible. But getting… back? Becoming alive again, in my old body? That wasn't how any of this usually went in the genre conventions, and I just… missed home.
Family. Friends. Computers. Cars. The Internet. Modern music. Smartphones. Indoor plumbing. My career. No – any stable source of income. Starbucks. Monster energy drinks. Lesson planning. Writing.
The comforts of home had been replaced with truly horrifying situations. The true possible danger of running headfirst into a pack of goblins tomorrow to save a man who could rain lightning down and turn into animals? What… could I do in light of any of that?
"Soldier!"
I perked upward as Karlach waved a warm, crimson hand in my face. "Err, yes. Sorry, wasn't-"
"Help us determine a gameplan for tomorrow."
I couldn't withhold my surprise.
"Edward, I know all this is new," Wyll added, "but we need to be on the same page if any gobbos decide to be a nuisance."
"Oh. Right. A plan."
"We stick 'em with the pointy end." Astarion smacked his lips. "Do we need more to waffle on about?"
"We don't know their numbers. We don't know what resources they have – we can expect warg mounts," Karlach rattled off, "but what will really turn the tide are any spellcasters with some nasty surprises for us."
The others took that in stride, but I was not used to the idea at all. Where was a Thedosian Templar when you needed them?
"Goblin wizards are typically little more than novices," Gale suggested. "Culturally, magic is not as prized for them nor as studied. What will really be an issue is if their new god has the abillty to deliver divine spells to their followers."
The Absolute. Hmmm.
The wizard briefly described their patron god, Magubliyet, and how strange it was that this tribe had all but abandoned that entity in favor of something new.
"Makes you wonder if they're getting direct attention," I muttered, not even really sure where the idea came from.
The words stilled all but Astarion.
"What… do you mean by that?" Karlach asked.
"If this new following is actually new, there had to have been good reason for them to abandon their beliefs and hook up with another god. They're risking eternal punishment, social ostracization, and all sorts of other things."
This was likely a world where the gods were real. I'd need a damn good reason to jump ship to another sugar sky daddy, when the first likely had been good to me.
"Power. Fame. Money. Influence," Astarion suggested, almost bored. "Same song, different tune."
"I think the issue Edward suggests is that the song's moved into a new verse, approaching its peak," Gale said, face white.
"A record scratch," I muttered. "The bass is about to drop."
"We cannot plan around every possibility," Wyll redirected, shadows of his face dancing to the Firelight. "Moonhaven lies abandoned. Goblins have taken root. Getting in and out of a village of its size should be easy with it in disrepair, but we do not know what we will find just yet. Tens? Dozens? Hundreds?"
The last number forced me to wince.
"Talk our way inside?" I asked.
Astarion grimaced. "As if they'll listen."
"Can't hurt to try. Persuade 'em we are just passing through. Maybe offer them some goods they might want. Ask to speak to the one in charge, get some information."
"That is a suggestion worth considering," Gale surmised. "I am afraid I am no illusionist nor enchanter. My specialties in abjuration and transmutation do not serve well to subterfuge. Some of my colleagues at home could easily hide us in plain sight or perhaps persuade the goblins we were meant to be there in the first place. Alas, I hold no such ability."
"I have a trick," Wyll suggested. "It will work on me alone, but it may carry us through to the inside."
The mage pressed his finger to the base of his chin hard enough he almost drew blood, and then pressed his thumb all the way to the base of the nose as though he was unzipping his skin. The smell of brimstone and sulfur filled the air a half-second before Wyll transformed before our very eyes into a wiry, yellow-skinned goblin.
"It will last an hour or until someone pokes it hard enough," Wyll described, his own regular voice coming out of a goblin body like he was doing a poor voice over.
"That's just a trick?" I asked. "It's awesome."
"Well-crafted, Blade of Frontiers," the wizard praised. "I can barely see the arcane seams."
I had no idea what Gale meant, because to me, Wyll had become a goblin before my very eyes. Karlach gave the man a thumbs-up, and Astarion merely chuckled.
"Perhaps we can be your prisoner slaves," the elf jeered.
The idea made everyone uncomfortable, but I… couldn't deny the usefulness.
"I personally think we'd be fine to go in, axe first," Karlach countered. "I've seen worse odds."
"Five people against Mystra knows how many others?" Gale rolled his eyes. "This plan is far more sound."
"I've survived a goristro, magic man," Karlach bragged. "A dozen goblins is a cake walk."
Astarion and Wyll started to argue, too, and in only a short moment, I was now forced to step in.
"Fighting is a last resort, not our first. Wyll gets us indoors, and then we have to improvise."
The finality of the statement earned a couple of raised eyebrows.
"All right, soldier," Karlach finally said. "We do it your way."
I did not know why or how I was so certain, but if this energy stopped flowing, I was sure to drop dead. It was the source of my life, the source of whatever kept this body moving. It was… like I'd somehow become aware of my soul. Or maybe I was consciously directing the flow of ATP within my cells. Or… maybe both, because if it was the latter, it behaved not at all like it should. This ki was an incredible thing, and I was determined to know everything about it.
The group of gathered tadpole survivors pulled my attention away from my internal struggle from time to time. It was nearly dark on our first full day of travel through the wilderness, and I was as interested in the exploration of my ki as I was in understanding how these traveling companions ticked. Karlach defined the path for us through sheer force of will – not necessarily in guiding us directly, but more in forcing us to keep walking even when things went off the beaten path, or in yanking us away from any breaks we might have taken for too long. Gale, by contrast, was the least used to the outdoors, and his wizardly robes certainly were not built for anything but urban environments – more than once, he'd had to wiggle his fingers to mend a tear in the fabric or to vanish any stains right before our very eyes. Astarion was attuned to cities too, but it was clear that he'd had to face dirty, dingy situations before and was only putting up a show of frustration at the sweat – more than once, he studied the skies in fascination when he thought no one was looking. Wyll directed us properly through the area as he had been here a bit longer, had been at the grove longer, and had overall spent more time getting the lay of the land the druids knew – he knew some of the more direct paths to Moonhaven, as well as areas around it.
"In the northeastern direction, the trail eventually diverges toward the mountains. There's a trader's post named for the Merchant's Friend marking the way, might be a nice place to check for information. To our southwest, the forest turns to a marsh the druids watch over, before the refugees threw everything into chaos for 'em." Wyll counted on his fingers where else he knew. "If we keep going northwest, we'll eventually find the ruins of Moonhaven and this temple to the Moonmaiden."
I wasn't sure who the Merchant's Friend was, but the marsh stood out to me. The promise to Ethel to visit, to tell her of our travels, stood out in my mind. That marsh must be the wetlands she mentioned. We were on too tight a schedule to investigate Halsin's disappearance, and with every day that passed, we might be one day closer to changing into the monsters. Maybe once we knew what happened to him, we could visit Ethel on the way back to the grove.
"Which way to Baldur's Gate?" I eventually asked, knowing the city could not be too far. Days? Weeks?
"I surmise that we should head as far west as we can," Gale argued, "along the path of the Chionthar. Follow its bends, and we're bound to hit the city limits."
That sounded easier said than done. Barring any potential monsters or goblins or whatever else was out there, physically making a direct route through all of that would add time to our trip unless we happened upon an easy road, a path that was already clear. We could wave Karlach's flaming greatsword like a machete through any undergrowth pretty easily, but that carried its own risks and still slowed us down.
The pressure of time weighed upon us all like a heavy anchor.
Before we could process too much, Wyll cleared his throat. "We make camp. Move on in the morning – I figure we'll reach Moonhaven by mid afternoon tomorrow."
I didn't argue, and while Karlach grumbled to listen to a man who'd wanted to kill her for being a devil, she relented when everyone else settled into that mode of thinking. Tents, bedrolls, an easily struck campfire later, and we'd crafted as cozy a place as any, not far from an eddy of the Chionthar. Nestled off the beaten path, we'd hopefully have advance warning if anything large and scary tried to interrupt our sleep.
Gale surprised us with a well-cooked meal, though I did not feel the urge to eat. I… don't think I needed to eat or to sleep at all. Rest, yes, but I never quite fell unconscious the previous night. I was happy to see the others enjoy their food though, and only Astarion did not seem to like the cabbage and rabbit stew too much.
"Let's tell stories, yeah?" Karlach offered, a cheerful smile on her face. The elf rolled his eyes. She proceeded to tell us a dramatic tale involving ice devils swarming a barlgura demon that sought a portal to a city called Dis, and how she and her immediate crew had had to defend the space from both sides of the conflict. This Blood War sounded truly awful. "All I have to show for it is this rad scar on my left hip." Without a care in the world, she bore her undergarments for a moment to show a rigid scar where her skin must have frozen over and then healed. "All that, and the damn gorilla thing pushed its way through the gate anyway. Doubt he got very far afterward."
Gale frowned. "I'm afraid I do not have any death-defying tales of bravery. I am an academic."
"Pssh," Astarion hissed. "I've known your type. Every 'academic' thinks they're just a pacifist until they commit arson with only their mind. Soon as they show a talent for it, they're scooped up in mercenary bands, militias, or the mob."
Gale's eyebrow rose. "I am not some lowly drop out, Astarion. I happen to have special distinction from the great Blackstaff of Waterdeep."
"Who?" I asked.
"Leader of Force Grey, premiere mage of the City of Splendors. Vajra Safar is the latest to hold the position, and she and I get along swimmingly."
Wyll chuckled, perhaps the first bit of genuine positivity out of him all day. He'd been all business throughout our trek. "Wizards and their arrogance. It suits you, Gale."
The man in question rose his voice to defend himself, and the lighthearted argument grew tense before it finally simmered out.
"What stories do you have, then?" I redirected. "If not of bravery, then anything fun?"
Gale pondered it for a long moment and then settled for a rather boring description of a magical rivalry that did not result in a fancy Hollywood wizard duel. Instead, Gale merely was the first to uncover the "sixteenth use of a gynosphinx throatstone." Apparently, when ground into a fine powder and dispersed into the air at the peak if midnight, anyone the mist touches will be irresistible to the opposite sex.
"Please, please tell me this ended with you and the rival chick doing the horizontal tango," Karlach pleaded.
Gale turned bright red. "No, nothing like that. I merely submitted my research for alchemists to consider for further testing before Mironda of Mirabar could."
Astarion rolled his eyes. "I can't decide which man is more boring – Volothamp or Gale."
From the look on Gale's face, you'd have thought Astarion punched him right across the mouth.
"Anyway, if you really wanna hear some sordid details," Astarion began, waving his eyebrows at the tiefling, "let me regale you of the time I wooed a visiting dignitary and his wife from Silverymoon."
Karlach ate it up, a big grin on her face, and I just laughed at the ridiculous details of how it all went down. Gale was not prudish, but I didn't think he cared much for the elf so he looked unimpressed. Wyll might have been slightly blushing at the elf's description of a swanky threesome.
"Nothing quite like any of that for me," Wyll added when it was clear the elf was dragging out the climax for comedic effect. "I once slew a manticore threatening a trade caravan. Terrible beast, stalked the roads for weeks before I was called in to try to end it."
And end it, he did. Manticores were rather dangerous, based on the details in the story, so this was impressive. Maybe not Blood War impressive, but he'd fought the creature alone.
The others looked toward me expectantly.
"Oh. I, uh, you all know the most dramatic moment of my life already." At their protest, I cleared my throat. "Before all of this, before the Nautiloid, I was just a teacher to school children. I didn't – don't – have any dramatic battles, conquests, or tests of endurance. And I don't think teaching teenagers counts as a war."
Gale put a hand to his heart, underscoring the circular tattoo poking up from beneath his robes. "Teaching is one of the noblest professions. Don't discount your efforts."
Hmm. "Thank you. Just wish I could get back to it."
Gale opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, and then snapped his lips shut.
"I'm sure there're plenty of little brats you could teach again, when all this is over," Karlach suggested with a grin.
Her comment merely irritated thoughts I'd resolved to bury until the time was right to dwell on them. Becoming a teacher here might be possible. But getting… back? Becoming alive again, in my old body? That wasn't how any of this usually went in the genre conventions, and I just… missed home.
Family. Friends. Computers. Cars. The Internet. Modern music. Smartphones. Indoor plumbing. My career. No – any stable source of income. Starbucks. Monster energy drinks. Lesson planning. Writing.
The comforts of home had been replaced with truly horrifying situations. The true possible danger of running headfirst into a pack of goblins tomorrow to save a man who could rain lightning down and turn into animals? What… could I do in light of any of that?
"Soldier!"
I perked upward as Karlach waved a warm, crimson hand in my face. "Err, yes. Sorry, wasn't-"
"Help us determine a gameplan for tomorrow."
I couldn't withhold my surprise.
"Edward, I know all this is new," Wyll added, "but we need to be on the same page if any gobbos decide to be a nuisance."
"Oh. Right. A plan."
"We stick 'em with the pointy end." Astarion smacked his lips. "Do we need more to waffle on about?"
"We don't know their numbers. We don't know what resources they have – we can expect warg mounts," Karlach rattled off, "but what will really turn the tide are any spellcasters with some nasty surprises for us."
The others took that in stride, but I was not used to the idea at all. Where was a Thedosian Templar when you needed them?
"Goblin wizards are typically little more than novices," Gale suggested. "Culturally, magic is not as prized for them nor as studied. What will really be an issue is if their new god has the abillty to deliver divine spells to their followers."
The Absolute. Hmmm.
The wizard briefly described their patron god, Magubliyet, and how strange it was that this tribe had all but abandoned that entity in favor of something new.
"Makes you wonder if they're getting direct attention," I muttered, not even really sure where the idea came from.
The words stilled all but Astarion.
"What… do you mean by that?" Karlach asked.
"If this new following is actually new, there had to have been good reason for them to abandon their beliefs and hook up with another god. They're risking eternal punishment, social ostracization, and all sorts of other things."
This was likely a world where the gods were real. I'd need a damn good reason to jump ship to another sugar sky daddy, when the first likely had been good to me.
"Power. Fame. Money. Influence," Astarion suggested, almost bored. "Same song, different tune."
"I think the issue Edward suggests is that the song's moved into a new verse, approaching its peak," Gale said, face white.
"A record scratch," I muttered. "The bass is about to drop."
"We cannot plan around every possibility," Wyll redirected, shadows of his face dancing to the Firelight. "Moonhaven lies abandoned. Goblins have taken root. Getting in and out of a village of its size should be easy with it in disrepair, but we do not know what we will find just yet. Tens? Dozens? Hundreds?"
The last number forced me to wince.
"Talk our way inside?" I asked.
Astarion grimaced. "As if they'll listen."
"Can't hurt to try. Persuade 'em we are just passing through. Maybe offer them some goods they might want. Ask to speak to the one in charge, get some information."
"That is a suggestion worth considering," Gale surmised. "I am afraid I am no illusionist nor enchanter. My specialties in abjuration and transmutation do not serve well to subterfuge. Some of my colleagues at home could easily hide us in plain sight or perhaps persuade the goblins we were meant to be there in the first place. Alas, I hold no such ability."
"I have a trick," Wyll suggested. "It will work on me alone, but it may carry us through to the inside."
The mage pressed his finger to the base of his chin hard enough he almost drew blood, and then pressed his thumb all the way to the base of the nose as though he was unzipping his skin. The smell of brimstone and sulfur filled the air a half-second before Wyll transformed before our very eyes into a wiry, yellow-skinned goblin.
"It will last an hour or until someone pokes it hard enough," Wyll described, his own regular voice coming out of a goblin body like he was doing a poor voice over.
"That's just a trick?" I asked. "It's awesome."
"Well-crafted, Blade of Frontiers," the wizard praised. "I can barely see the arcane seams."
I had no idea what Gale meant, because to me, Wyll had become a goblin before my very eyes. Karlach gave the man a thumbs-up, and Astarion merely chuckled.
"Perhaps we can be your prisoner slaves," the elf jeered.
The idea made everyone uncomfortable, but I… couldn't deny the usefulness.
"I personally think we'd be fine to go in, axe first," Karlach countered. "I've seen worse odds."
"Five people against Mystra knows how many others?" Gale rolled his eyes. "This plan is far more sound."
"I've survived a goristro, magic man," Karlach bragged. "A dozen goblins is a cake walk."
Astarion and Wyll started to argue, too, and in only a short moment, I was now forced to step in.
"Fighting is a last resort, not our first. Wyll gets us indoors, and then we have to improvise."
The finality of the statement earned a couple of raised eyebrows.
"All right, soldier," Karlach finally said. "We do it your way."
21
New
- Location
- Alabama
The early morning air brought the pleasant sounds of chirping birds and rushing water. The crunch of grass beneath my shoes, the wind blowing Gale's robes in the breeze – all were welcome signs that perhaps the day would be altogether normal.
And a normal morning it had been. They munched on dry rations for breakfast and filled waterskins from the creek before packing their gear. I tried hard not to notice the slight nervousness in the pit of my stomach, but a tension had filled the air between the five of us. We went about our morning routine until we were just about ready to get moving when Astarion bluntly broke the ice.
"Does anyone else feel that or have I finally lost my shit?"
A mixture of warm relief and fresh worry rushed across my mind, and it took little effort to realize not all of it was mine. We… we could all feel it. It was faint, it was simple, but it was clearly there in a way that could not be ignored.
"I thought it was just me." Wyll nervously tied a rope around his bag, and the undercurrent of his concerns flooded my own mind like a dull ache that demanded my attention. Our attention.
"I hoped it was just me," Gale muttered. With a momentary feeling of determination that was not my own, the wizard bluntly closed himself to us. To the connection that had budded together over time, one that had not fully crystallized until we began to move that morning.
"How'd you do that?" I asked, the need for private thoughts and concerns racing across my mind and undoubtedly into the link we now shared. Astarion's amusement at the situation underscored how off-kilter his own mental state was, while Karlach did not seem to be bothered – she was an open book. Wyll, Gale, Astarion? They all had secrets to hide, and that much was evident the more I pondered their emotional states.
At least, I thought so.
"One does not earn the prestige of any wizardly title without the capacity to shield one's mind," Gale explained. He looked as though he wanted to say more but hesitated. "I am afraid teaching you all would require a course in the manipulation of the Weave, something we frankly do not have time to achieve."
Astarion grumbled with a chuckle. "Because I wanted to have you all on my mind at all times."
The implications of a thought bond – or an emotional one – were not lost on me. The situation had changed overnight, the worms were getting stronger, and I didn't know what to think.
"Where does this line up on the ceremor-y stuff?" My question stilled Karlach and Astarion.
"I do not know. The process of ceremorphosis has long been studied and evaluated. I would need a dedicated visit to an arcane library to confirm, but from what I recall," Gale began, once more becoming a font of knowledge that I was glad we had found, "thought-melding is not on the list of early symptoms. Nor, really, on any list, alongside the other oddities. What Nettie described was right. We should be changing, but we aren't."
Hmm. "So this is new."
Gale gravely nodded. "I am afraid so."
With that sobering thought, the group began to move through the wilderness once more. It was difficult to not grasp at this new sensation, to try to ford the currents of emotion in these people, but I was grasping for straws to do anything at all.
Gaining a new sense was akin to growing a new limb overnight – how was your brain supposed to know what to do for any of it? No muscle memory to guide it, no dedicated conscious process. I may as well have been a baby grabbing at the walls of a crib for the first time, and it became increasingly difficult to tell where one emotion began and another ended. Was that Karlach's fear or was that Wyll's frustration? Astarion's skepticism or my own anxiety?
We traveled for an hour before something along the road diverted our attention, moved us away from an emotional link we all wished we could break like Gale.
A pair of well-armed figures stood over an unconscious man. The male figure had an unfortunate balding head alongside his chainmail, while the woman was dressed more lightly but still had a weapon clipped to her back. The figure on the ground was either barely conscious or dead, and from the sound of their questions, they had not been with the man very long before we walked forward.
"Edowin, please – you have to wake up!" the woman desperately pleaded. "You're a True Soul! You can't die – stay with us!"
"I don't think he's conscious! Can you hear us, Ed?"
The elder of the three figures writhed on the ground, twitching. Bloodstains on his tunic revealed that he'd suffered a greivous wound, though I could not see what kind of wound without getting closer. Medical knowledge pooled into my thoughts, expertise that could not have come from me and must have come from Tav. How to triage, how to bind a wound, how to stir one's ki to heal?
The woman stilled as we carefully approached, Karlach in the lead. We'd silently agreed to make ourselves known, as any source of information in the area would be worthwhile.
"Not a step closer!"
An odd sensation burned between us – direct, clear, and present. Like a supercharged version of the bonding the five of us had been experiencing all morning, and that held my focus for several moments. Curiously, orange light started to burn over the woman's right eye, forming a strange sigil in the shape of a hand. An intensity in the bond was clear, and it was not just with her. The balding man and the dying man were similarly held in our mind's grasp, and while I did not understand how I knew this, only one word came to mind.
Authority.
Astarion, grinning ear to ear, sauntered forward with a smooth expression across his face. The woman failed to stand her ground in his presence, taking a half step back, and I felt the mental command rattle against her mind even as his words left his lips. "We are merely passing through. Tell us what happened here."
The words washed over her and the sigil across her eye. She blinked, confused for a half-second, and I felt the elf's elation drift across our thoughts.
In a daze, the woman responded against every reasonable sense of better judgment. "I'm so, so sorry for the trouble. It's our brother, True Soul Edowin. He's injured, and I wasn't thinking. I didn't mean to offend."
What….
She just…?
I stepped toward the three of them, lightly pushing a delighted elf away with a brush of my hand against his shoulder. He was too happy to care. "How did he get injured?"
I needed to pull the focus back to the dying man – if I could help him somehow, if I could maybe put the ki to use, then perhaps I might save him. I didn't have time to think about the kind of control Astarion had over the woman, a control that had come from within, from the tadpole.
A control any of us could have spurred.
The other man responded, though I didn't hear him over the mental intrusion that sluggishly touched my thoughts. Without verbal words, the man on the ground, this Edowin, spoke to me alongside impressions, emotions, memories.
Andrick and Bryna. Edowin's siblings. Recruits to their cause, recruits that Edowin brought into the fold. Siblings the injured, bearded man bad trusted before this new venture, and siblings that would be useful in the coming days.
"Protect them."
I could sense the man's pain even as he tried to call out his dying words. As he mentioned to his brother and sisted that we were True Souls, too – whatever that meant. I ignored the comment and while Gale, Karlach, and Wyll wished to intervene on this moment, wished to express their own concerns as to what just happened, I pulled away the man's tunic with practiced fingers.
The wound was awful and had already begun to fester, black and purple bruising around gashes in his abdomen, stomach acid leaking into the wound and giving it an acrid smell. The subtle memories of the dying Edowin trickled into my head – a great, massive feathered beast had raked its taloned claws across his leather jerkin. That had stalled the attack just enough that he didn't die outright, but instead left thick gouges of flesh missing. He'd lost a lot of blood – the flow was perhaps too much to resolve without finding the worst of it, and perforation to his stomach lining would need to be directly addressed.
….
How did I know this?
Guided by expertise the clearly was not directly mine, I did what Tav would have done.
I pushed green, misty ki from my fingers, from my palm, and then stuck nearly my entire hand into the deepest part of the wound. Fingers touched, fingers pulled, fingers prodded – I ignored the sounds of protest from Andrick and Bryna, the surprise from Karlach and from Wyll. Stabilizing ki, activating ki, invigorating ki flowed into the corrupted flesh.
Uncertainty, fear, frustration, surprise – an emotional undercurrent that I could not parse to know which of my companions they belonged. Wyll, for all his bluster the other day against the tiefling woman we traveled with, physically held Andrick back with nothing but his shoulder and a hand against his rapier hilt. Bryna might have shouted in shock, but Astarion held her gaze and, disturbingly, her mind in his grasp.
"Soldier?"
I glanced up at Karlach for just a split second, pointer finger and thumb pressing a bloody vein closed. The whole wound leaked green mist at this point, a strange glow that I took as a sign that this was either working or it wasn't.
He…might be too far gone.
And yet… many more moments later, an exhaustion poured into my joints, into my muscles, into my pores. Skin and flesh became stiff, and my neck nearly too rigid to turn left or right. Breathing heavy, I pulled my bloody hand from the misty gashes in Edowin's torso.
As the mist of my ki faded, a pallor receded from the skin of his cheeks, from his forehead, and a sudden cough erupted.
With thy Mercy, let his name be delayed from the Archive.
And a normal morning it had been. They munched on dry rations for breakfast and filled waterskins from the creek before packing their gear. I tried hard not to notice the slight nervousness in the pit of my stomach, but a tension had filled the air between the five of us. We went about our morning routine until we were just about ready to get moving when Astarion bluntly broke the ice.
"Does anyone else feel that or have I finally lost my shit?"
A mixture of warm relief and fresh worry rushed across my mind, and it took little effort to realize not all of it was mine. We… we could all feel it. It was faint, it was simple, but it was clearly there in a way that could not be ignored.
"I thought it was just me." Wyll nervously tied a rope around his bag, and the undercurrent of his concerns flooded my own mind like a dull ache that demanded my attention. Our attention.
"I hoped it was just me," Gale muttered. With a momentary feeling of determination that was not my own, the wizard bluntly closed himself to us. To the connection that had budded together over time, one that had not fully crystallized until we began to move that morning.
"How'd you do that?" I asked, the need for private thoughts and concerns racing across my mind and undoubtedly into the link we now shared. Astarion's amusement at the situation underscored how off-kilter his own mental state was, while Karlach did not seem to be bothered – she was an open book. Wyll, Gale, Astarion? They all had secrets to hide, and that much was evident the more I pondered their emotional states.
At least, I thought so.
"One does not earn the prestige of any wizardly title without the capacity to shield one's mind," Gale explained. He looked as though he wanted to say more but hesitated. "I am afraid teaching you all would require a course in the manipulation of the Weave, something we frankly do not have time to achieve."
Astarion grumbled with a chuckle. "Because I wanted to have you all on my mind at all times."
The implications of a thought bond – or an emotional one – were not lost on me. The situation had changed overnight, the worms were getting stronger, and I didn't know what to think.
"Where does this line up on the ceremor-y stuff?" My question stilled Karlach and Astarion.
"I do not know. The process of ceremorphosis has long been studied and evaluated. I would need a dedicated visit to an arcane library to confirm, but from what I recall," Gale began, once more becoming a font of knowledge that I was glad we had found, "thought-melding is not on the list of early symptoms. Nor, really, on any list, alongside the other oddities. What Nettie described was right. We should be changing, but we aren't."
Hmm. "So this is new."
Gale gravely nodded. "I am afraid so."
With that sobering thought, the group began to move through the wilderness once more. It was difficult to not grasp at this new sensation, to try to ford the currents of emotion in these people, but I was grasping for straws to do anything at all.
Gaining a new sense was akin to growing a new limb overnight – how was your brain supposed to know what to do for any of it? No muscle memory to guide it, no dedicated conscious process. I may as well have been a baby grabbing at the walls of a crib for the first time, and it became increasingly difficult to tell where one emotion began and another ended. Was that Karlach's fear or was that Wyll's frustration? Astarion's skepticism or my own anxiety?
We traveled for an hour before something along the road diverted our attention, moved us away from an emotional link we all wished we could break like Gale.
A pair of well-armed figures stood over an unconscious man. The male figure had an unfortunate balding head alongside his chainmail, while the woman was dressed more lightly but still had a weapon clipped to her back. The figure on the ground was either barely conscious or dead, and from the sound of their questions, they had not been with the man very long before we walked forward.
"Edowin, please – you have to wake up!" the woman desperately pleaded. "You're a True Soul! You can't die – stay with us!"
"I don't think he's conscious! Can you hear us, Ed?"
The elder of the three figures writhed on the ground, twitching. Bloodstains on his tunic revealed that he'd suffered a greivous wound, though I could not see what kind of wound without getting closer. Medical knowledge pooled into my thoughts, expertise that could not have come from me and must have come from Tav. How to triage, how to bind a wound, how to stir one's ki to heal?
The woman stilled as we carefully approached, Karlach in the lead. We'd silently agreed to make ourselves known, as any source of information in the area would be worthwhile.
"Not a step closer!"
An odd sensation burned between us – direct, clear, and present. Like a supercharged version of the bonding the five of us had been experiencing all morning, and that held my focus for several moments. Curiously, orange light started to burn over the woman's right eye, forming a strange sigil in the shape of a hand. An intensity in the bond was clear, and it was not just with her. The balding man and the dying man were similarly held in our mind's grasp, and while I did not understand how I knew this, only one word came to mind.
Authority.
Astarion, grinning ear to ear, sauntered forward with a smooth expression across his face. The woman failed to stand her ground in his presence, taking a half step back, and I felt the mental command rattle against her mind even as his words left his lips. "We are merely passing through. Tell us what happened here."
The words washed over her and the sigil across her eye. She blinked, confused for a half-second, and I felt the elf's elation drift across our thoughts.
In a daze, the woman responded against every reasonable sense of better judgment. "I'm so, so sorry for the trouble. It's our brother, True Soul Edowin. He's injured, and I wasn't thinking. I didn't mean to offend."
What….
She just…?
I stepped toward the three of them, lightly pushing a delighted elf away with a brush of my hand against his shoulder. He was too happy to care. "How did he get injured?"
I needed to pull the focus back to the dying man – if I could help him somehow, if I could maybe put the ki to use, then perhaps I might save him. I didn't have time to think about the kind of control Astarion had over the woman, a control that had come from within, from the tadpole.
A control any of us could have spurred.
The other man responded, though I didn't hear him over the mental intrusion that sluggishly touched my thoughts. Without verbal words, the man on the ground, this Edowin, spoke to me alongside impressions, emotions, memories.
Andrick and Bryna. Edowin's siblings. Recruits to their cause, recruits that Edowin brought into the fold. Siblings the injured, bearded man bad trusted before this new venture, and siblings that would be useful in the coming days.
"Protect them."
I could sense the man's pain even as he tried to call out his dying words. As he mentioned to his brother and sisted that we were True Souls, too – whatever that meant. I ignored the comment and while Gale, Karlach, and Wyll wished to intervene on this moment, wished to express their own concerns as to what just happened, I pulled away the man's tunic with practiced fingers.
The wound was awful and had already begun to fester, black and purple bruising around gashes in his abdomen, stomach acid leaking into the wound and giving it an acrid smell. The subtle memories of the dying Edowin trickled into my head – a great, massive feathered beast had raked its taloned claws across his leather jerkin. That had stalled the attack just enough that he didn't die outright, but instead left thick gouges of flesh missing. He'd lost a lot of blood – the flow was perhaps too much to resolve without finding the worst of it, and perforation to his stomach lining would need to be directly addressed.
….
How did I know this?
Guided by expertise the clearly was not directly mine, I did what Tav would have done.
I pushed green, misty ki from my fingers, from my palm, and then stuck nearly my entire hand into the deepest part of the wound. Fingers touched, fingers pulled, fingers prodded – I ignored the sounds of protest from Andrick and Bryna, the surprise from Karlach and from Wyll. Stabilizing ki, activating ki, invigorating ki flowed into the corrupted flesh.
Uncertainty, fear, frustration, surprise – an emotional undercurrent that I could not parse to know which of my companions they belonged. Wyll, for all his bluster the other day against the tiefling woman we traveled with, physically held Andrick back with nothing but his shoulder and a hand against his rapier hilt. Bryna might have shouted in shock, but Astarion held her gaze and, disturbingly, her mind in his grasp.
"Soldier?"
I glanced up at Karlach for just a split second, pointer finger and thumb pressing a bloody vein closed. The whole wound leaked green mist at this point, a strange glow that I took as a sign that this was either working or it wasn't.
He…might be too far gone.
And yet… many more moments later, an exhaustion poured into my joints, into my muscles, into my pores. Skin and flesh became stiff, and my neck nearly too rigid to turn left or right. Breathing heavy, I pulled my bloody hand from the misty gashes in Edowin's torso.
As the mist of my ki faded, a pallor receded from the skin of his cheeks, from his forehead, and a sudden cough erupted.
With thy Mercy, let his name be delayed from the Archive.