“But I was their enemy. I was the princess of Shar, the daughter of a goddess who slaughtered their children. You've... You've chosen the wrong messenger. H-how can I even speak to these people?”
A little piece of something I’m writing. Self-serving fanfiction never hurt anyone, after all. I hope you all enjoy and be sure to alert me of any spelling errors lol
A faith-shattered Cleric of Shar and son of the God of Murder cross the Basilisk Gate, their fates intertwined with those of every Baldurian. An unending menagerie of horrors from this world and beyond brood with the knowledge that soon, they will finally have the opportunity to enact unspeakable violence on every living creature in this city.
Yet, amidst the looming chaos and present danger to their lives, a frost-haired paladin torn between bloodline and oath and a verdant-eyed cleric whose crumbling conviction tests the limits of her perseverance find themselves before an altar, itself tucked neatly in the corner of a bustling church.
“Welcome, welcome, the Stormshore Tabernacle opens itself to the faithful and faithless alike,” a priest calls to the pair from the side street, ushering them in and offering entrance to the adjacent temple.
“I could not but help notice an, aura, emanating from your person,” the priest says, gesturing to the larger-than-life paladin, whose battle-tested armor bears but the slightest glow of some deity’s presence.
Fearing the worst, that a simple priest could’ve not only identified the ravenous, homicidal presence lurking within himself, the man goes to turn away. Though he had attempted to embrace Selûne and her power through his Oath of Devotion to the goddess, his fear of his father’s wrath placed along a very precarious tightrope. Every urge within himself, both good and malfeasant, sought to leave posthaste, if not for a mysterious feeling to plant his feet into the dirt and pivot to face the seemingly miniaturized man in clerical robes.
“What do you mean, saer?” The paladin asks.
“Why, it was only apparent to me through my that I felt a familiar, well, feeling as you walked past. Are you sworn to a particular deity young man?”
Knowing the truth deep within himself, that it was Bhaal who had laid claim over his mind and body, the paladin’s unease had begun to grow and mature.
It was this unease that that his companion, a fellow half-elf with a wider knowledge on the gods of the realm, also sensed.
“He’s simply been recently blessed, I’m afraid,” the cleric spoke up. “We made a pass through the Open Hand Temple only earlier this morning, and are eager find ourselves some lodging after a long day’s trek through the city.”
Shifting to continue their journey on foot, the cleric almost pushes the paladin down the road, deeper into the city, when the priest speaks up once more.
“I see, and which particular god’s favor were you seeking?”
Shadowheart’s training in the cloister, specifically her ability to lie so easily, had its advantages, but backing up a lie proved rather difficult in this singular instance.
“S-“ the cleric bits her tongue, habitual mental reminders of her loyalty to Lady Shar almost slipped through her mouth. She pauses, recovering her speech to address the priest.
“Selûne, our Lady of Silver,” she spits out. Although her resolve in Shar had been broken, she had not quite accepted her sister, and was hesitant to put her faith in anyone but herself.
Well, anyone but herself and her paladin companion.
“Ah, I had thought so, the Moonmaiden’s resplendent light shines brightly even as we approach midday it seems,” the priest says.
The paladin and cleric have no idea what he is talking about, but maybe a hint of Selûne’s light dusted off onto the pair after having her daughter, Aylin, so close by as of late.
“You must come inside, I beg of you, for an offering to Selûne will assist you once more as you continue your journey,” the priest says. “Please, I insist.”
Choosing rather to rip the metaphorical bandage off and be on their way as soon as possible, the recalling companions begrudgingly step inside the tabernacle, and after a brief scan, locate the Sulûnite shrine off to their left.
“I shall leave you to your prayers and offerings, feel free to ask any questions you may have,” the priest says before turning to exit the church once more, presumably, to lure more unsuspecting travelers inside to haggle them for tithes and offerings.
“We can leave as soon as you’re ready,” the paladin says. “I’m sure Selûne, despite my oath, would not mind us leaving to continue our errands.”
“Just a moment,” the cleric responded. “I… I have something I have to ask.”
“I’m an open book, what would you like to know?”
“Apologies, not from you, I mean,” the cleric says, glancing past the hulking suit of armor and eyeing the stone statue of the Moonmaiden.
“Ah,” the paladin says. “Please, take your time. I’ll be right here with you.”
Shadowheart steps forward, with every inch closer she creeps to the statue, a tangible power, no, presence becomes more apparent.
She finally finds herself with her hands against the cold stone slab, a parchment scroll rolled neatly upon it, with inscriptions describing the nature of the goddess’s blessings.
A note, seemingly scribbled by one of her patrons, lies unfolded upon the alter. “Let those who are lost seek the Lady of Silver’s light for guidance,” it reads.
“Guidance, huh,” the cleric scoffs.
She take a moment. Then another. She looks the statue up and down. She looks at the others inside the church. A mother and her young son, who tugs at her skirt amid cries of boredom as the woman converses with a priest.
She glances out a nearby window, seeing a bird building a nest, while a second bird, perhaps a mate, brings a stick to add to the fledgling abode.
She glances back at the paladin, who offers a half-smile of reassurance. Her heart flutters ever slightly, and she cranes her head back up at the statue of Selûne once again.
“I’m sure you know of me by now, and I’m grateful, if that’s even the word, for not smiting this former Sharran the moment I approached your statue.
She almost chuckles to herself. Almost. She continues on.
“I’m not sure if I have any faith let in me, but…” she trails off.
She grapples with her thoughts and emotions. Her anger at Shar and Mother Superior. For lying to her, abusing her, keeping her parents tucked away all while she was their obedient servant. Her fear of the unknown and their present threat of the Absolute. Her contentedness she feels around the campfire she feels as Gale attempts a joke, or while Wyll waxes on about poetry, or while Astarion or Lae’zel threaten to silence the young Ravengard by force.
She feels the sorrow of a life lost, but also, the hope for a life yet to be held. The love of her paladin companion, and the love he holds for her. She looks back at him, sneaking a glance while he stares off into the distance.
“I know I’ve hurt people,” she says. “You’re people, most likely, but probably other people too. I’m probably not the person you would’ve expected to stop here, but I wanted to… talk.”
She takes another moment to gather her thoughts. The last time she spoke to a god was after sparing Aylin’s life. She still feels the burning scourge of Shar’s wrath from when she attempted to leave the Shadowfell.
“I’m sorry, for calling you a Moon bitch,” she lets out. “And… for the things I said of your abandoned temple all those weeks ago, although I hope our slaying of the goblins occupying it at the time made up for it somehow.”
She realizes she’s probably gone on long enough. Shar would expect, no, demand her to get to the point immediately, but she imagines Selûne is more forgiving.
“But I just want to ask you, to protect him,” she finally mutters under her breath, hoping the paladin is just out of earshot. “Watch over him. Guide him from danger and help him against his father, and maybe, when this is all over, when I’ve found my parents, when this tadpole is out of my head, I’ll come back here, and we can talk more. I promise.”
When she’d pray to Shar for guidance, she felt nothing in response. Just the cold absence she’d grown accustomed to back in her cloister. Her mind was suddenly assaulted by a lost memory, one likely decades old. She’s younger, not quite a child, but not yet an adult. She’s tucked away in a dark corner. The painful contorting of her face as tears slipped and streamed down her face. She couldn’t remember why she was crying. She never really was sure why she cried so often, only that she did.
She was equally unsure as what to expect from her brief prayer to Selûne, but as she unclasped her fingers and lifted her hands from the altar, she could almost feel a light hum, as if in acknowledgment.
“Does that mean you can hear me?” Shadowheart asks herself silently.
Just then, she feels movement behind her. She quickly reaches for her holstered blade she kept neatly along her waist. It makes only a brief slide out of its sheathe when a hand grabs her forearm, stopping her from wielding the thin blade to its fullest extent.
Her eyes finally catch up to her hand’s excitement, but instead of a threat, she catches the paladin, her paladin, at near eye level. Slight hunched over as to be able to reach for her dagger, he’s brought himself only a few inches in front of her face. Their eyes catch, they linger for just a moment.
Green eyes angle slightly upward, gazing directly into the soft bluish-grey ones belonging to the paladin. The cleric’s furrowed brow tenses, then relaxes. Her grip on the knife’s hilt falters as she lets out an exhaustive breath.
“It’s ok, it’s just me,” he says. “I didn’t mean to startle you, I was only trying to check on you.”
“Unlike yourself, I’m not the oathmaking type.”
Shadowheart ensures her belongings are tucked away, and takes another look at the altar before turning to leave. As she looks up at the paladin, she extends her hand to him. He takes it, but glances at her with a puzzled look.
“What’s this for?” he asks.
“Nothing, just wanted to say thank you for stopping in with me,” she says with a slight smile on her face.
As she smiles up at him, she feels that small hum once again. She realizes it isn’t coming from the altar, but rather from the paladin himself. Standing inside, shielded from the intense sunlight, she even notices a silvery glow coming from his skin and armor.
“Do you think Selûne approves of… this?”
“I mean, you are her devoted knight,” she says. “The sword-arm of the Lady of Silver, and I’m just her rival sister’s latest reject. I may not be an enemy, but still…”
“I think Selûne knows your situation, but if you’re asking me personally, I think it wouldn’t be a stretch to say she’s rather fond of us, you in particular.”
“What makes you say that?”
The paladin looks her up and down, then smirks.
“Give me a moment,” he says.
Immediately, he goes to the altar and kneels. After a few minutes, he finally rises and turns back to face the cleric.
“I think Selûne has something she wants to show you.”
The pair take off, snaking through streets and alleys, gliding through shops, stalls and citizenry as they make their way to the shoreline. The days events and other errands spanned hours, and now the sun has just begun to dip into the horizon.
“We’ve gone far enough, where are you taking me?” the cleric demanded.
“It’s just up ahead,” he responds. “I saw it as we arrived into the Lower City. I don’t know quite how to explain it, but I felt it calling to me then, and even more once we left the tabernacle.”
A few minutes of walking more and finally the paladin stops before an old watchtower, its stone foundation cracked and timber beams splintered. It almost seemed a miracle unto itself it still stood, but no Flaming Fist can be seen manning it, so perhaps its relative unimportance to city defense could explain the neglect.
“You dragged me all the way out here to gawk at an old tower?” Shadowheart asks.
“Not just any old tower, this old thing used to scan the sword coast for pirate raids back when the city was in its infancy,” the paladin said.
“I never took you for a Baldurian historian,” she retorts.
“Well I may have embellished it slightly, but what else could a single watch tower on the beach be used for?”
An audible groan escapes the cleric’s mouth as she finds a sandless spot to sit in. The little granules of sand always find ways to creep into her armor. She still remembers after their escape from the nautiloid being woken by the paladin on the beach. It took her days to finally knock all the said out of her chainmail and plate armor.
“So what are we here for then?”
“I think we need to wait for nightfall.”
“Surely we must return to our camp”
The paladin stops, looks down at the sand, then up again at the sky before locking eyes with the cleric once more.
“We need to wait for the sun to set, Shadowheart.”
Another groan from the cleric sounds.
“Fine, but you owe me dinner, and not any of Gale’s cooking.”
A short hour later, if even, and darkness had enveloped the coast.
As if waiting for the curtain of sunlight to fall and the orchestra to announce her arrival, the moon finally shines brilliantly. Of course, it had still been there in the waning hours of daylight. Shadowheart had noticed it along their walk, and felt like it was staring down at her the entire time it took for them to walk to the beach.
“Is it alright if I pray for a moment?” the paladin asks.
“You don’t need to ask me to fulfill the vows of your Oath, you know,” she says back. “Just make it quick I’m starving.”
The paladin kneels into the sand, burying his poleyns into the sand as he clasped his gauntleted hands together. A moment passes, then another. The cleric gets a feeling she should join the man in the sand, as much as she would rather not.
Eventually, after briefly grappling with her inner turmoil, she relents to herself and joins the paladin in prayer. She doesn’t say anything, but just sits silently and bows her head in reverence.
“Is something supposed to be happening?” she asks after she believes enough time has passed.
“Not exactly, but it doesn’t hurt to enjoy a moment of peace after all.”
She sits there a moment longer, she thinks of how the time spent along the shore could be better spent searching for her parents, or finding ways to defeat the Dark Urge within the paladin, but she does not want to rush her companion.
Suddenly, the paladin collapses onto the sand. He begins to convulse just as Shadowheart begins to reach for him. Simultaneously, the cleric’s wound flares up in a brilliant purple flash. Both of their gods seem to be punishing them for attempting to seek a release elsewhere as the cleric grips her hand tightly. Pain envelops her entire body. Her mind immediately falls to the darkest places. She imagines her paladin succumbing to his bloody compulsions. She fears at any moment, while she lay writhing in pain, he could turn on her and indulge in her crimson gore. Surely he wouldn’t, not after everything, would he?
The paladin, feeling his consciousness ebb as the Dark Urge within himself flows forward, looks at his cleric companion. He feels remorse. He knows what is happening. It happened before, that night at the campfire shortly after defeating Ketheric Thorm. His failure to his father regains Isobel had not gone unnoticed, and the patron god of murder sought recompense in the form of another cleric, his lover, Shadowheart.
Then, he had only a moment to wake the sleeping cleric and warn her, urging her to tie him down and allow him to ride out the dangerous impulses that consumed his flesh and mind. Once the darkness had slipped away, and his sanity returned, they spoke of the future. He promised her to do everything possible to rid himself of the curse, and made her promise to end him if it came to it.
He made her promise, no matter how difficult, to put him down to protect herself. Surely she sees now that Bhall’s power had finally overwhelmed him. There’s was no warning this time. There was no time, no safety net. This was it.
He is afraid to die. He is even more afraid have put thee cleric into this position. But even as she herself grapples with the torment wrought by her own deity, he can see her fighting her own urge to give in. He sees her try with all her might to reach out to him to help him in some way.
No, wishful thinking. Surely she must be trying to drag herself closer to plunge a dagger into his chest. To rip out his malformed heart and put an end to the blood of Bhaal for good. But still, he lays there on the ground, still convulsing, still afraid. He wants to live, not only out of selfish desire, but also to be there for anything she could desire. Surely she wouldn’t, not after everything, would she?
Finally, as the torturous experience reached its violent crescendo, a bright flash envelops the two lost souls on the beach. As if on cue, the paladin’s bloodlust and cleric’s distress end in an instant. The pair lock eyes, and then gaze at the source of the brilliant light, and find it coming from the moon itself.
Despite all odds, the lunar blessing had briefly cast off the pair’s shackles. The paladin is the first to break the silence.
“Are you alright?” he asks the cleric, between ragged breaths. “I… felt Bhaal’s power coursing through my veins. He called upon my to take up his mantle once more and… I was afraid I would’ve been unable to stop it.”
Shadowheart looks at the large man now lying prostrate on the beach, drippings of sweat forming on his brow and an exhaustive weakness ever present on his face.
“I’m… alright, I think,” she says. The pain is gone, albeit I’m still a bit numb. What just happened?”
“I don’t know,” the paladin responds. “I was praying for… well, it’s not important. But let’s just say I was asking for some protection when the Urge overcame me. It seems like Bhaal, and evidently Shar too, were trying to nip any possible preventative protection in the bud before they lost an ounce of control over the two of us.”
“You were asking for protection, from Shar?”
Shadowheart can feel the puzzled look on her own face as she asks the question.
“Why would he need protection from Shar? she asks herself “He’s already sworn himself to the Moonmaiden. If anyone between the two of us needed to be protected from her it’d be…”
“You weren’t asking Selûne to protect you, were you?” she says, finally piecing it together.
“I mean, I was asking for myself. Hoping perhaps she could shield me from some of Bhaal’s influence,” he says. “But yes, I was also asking her to help you, too.”
She’s almost flattered, but flattery gives way to embarrassment. She remembers her own prayer only earlier that day, when she had asked Selûne to protect the man now laying before her.
“Well, I appreciate the sentiment, but I can take care of myself you know.”
“I know you can, but it doesn’t hurt to ask for a little help from a friend.”
“Selûne and I aren’t exactly friends you know.”
“You did spare her daughter’s life,” the paladin says. “Maybe she’s getting even with you?”
“You think the gods care enough about us mortals to stoop as low as to intervene in such a small, petty way?”
She sees the paladin’s neutral face slowly drop into a subtle frown, and sees his eyes lock onto the wound on her hand. Touché.
“Point taken,” the cleric says.
After a moment of silence, the two just stare at one another, taking in each other’s bodies in the pale moonlight. The paladin takes the first step forward, then another, and another until he’s now right in front of Shadowheart. He has a full head on her at least, but somehow the size difference between them shrinks even more as she pulls his hands toward her, then grabs his neck to pull down the face of the man she loves so much.
Stopping just before their lips collide into one another, Shadowheart lets out a shallow breath and looks down at their boots in the sand.
She looks back up and the near-full moon resting omnipotently in the sky above, its reflection shimmering along the waves that crash into the shoreline. She wonder why a god she had been sworn enemies with only weeks prior had offered her a hand in friendship. Perhaps the paladin’s explanation, as payback for not murdering Aylin, made the most sense. But then again, gods had always been fickle in that way.
Maybe it’s best she not question the goodwill of a stranger this one time.
She looks back up at the paladin, her paladin, and as cliché as it is, her knight in shining armor, and smiles.
“Well, considering you’re on better speaking terms with your goddess than I, could you give me my thanks?”
“I’m sure she knows,” the paladin chuckles.
“Well, im glad for her answering my prayer, at least,” Shadowheart says.
The cleric realizes her words only after the paladin’s query.
“Oh… I meant, I was only saying—“
“Come on, spit it out,” the paladin demands with a knowing smile.
“Earlier, inside the Stormshore Tabernacle… I asked her to keep you safe, alright…” Shadowheart says, her words drifting off.
“Ugh, if you want me to repeat myself you’d have better luck asking Lae’zel to give The Emperor a kiss.”
“It’s just very sweet of you to do, Shadowheart,” he replies back. “Although please, don’t feel like you owe it to me to confer in my Lady of Silver, unless you’re willing that is.”
“I only do what I’m willing to do,” she says. “But, it felt nice, having a deity not make demands before offering my a gift, for once.”
“All she wants from you is for you to be happy, Shadowheart,” the paladin says.
Hands still intertwined, the cleric gazes up at her paladin.
The two share a kiss underneath a moonlit sky.