BG3 Owns My Soul

Helene was most disappointed to have spent so little time in their new garden, glorious as it was. It was the garden she had always dreamed of, with huge trees surrounding the edges of it, a brook babbling sweetly, a beehive and even a shepherd’s hut nestled in a corner. She had hoped to spend warm those summer evenings laid on the grass in front of the hut, listening to her bees, while Gale read beside her; but as summer slowly began to fade, she had not managed to do so once, exchanging lazy and romantic sunsets for grafting with sandpaper, filler, and paintbrush.

Perhaps now, she hoped, as autumn drifted in she might at least find time to settle in front of the little log-stove in the hut, wrapped in blankets. Though she may have to take her school marking with her, while Gale graded his university essays… Work on the house had slowed, exchanged instead for the usual flurry of September schoolwork.

Helene was surprised one evening in late September to find Gale waiting for her return home with dinner not yet prepared, as it usually was on days when she was at work. He had that telltale glint in his chocolate brown eyes as he met her in the hallway, which suggested he had some scheme in mind. With a suspicious expression, Helene allowed herself to be lead to the garden, down the long and winding path, to the very furthest corner where the shepherd’s hut stood. She was surprised to find the side doors of the hut open, the tiny table laid with a cloth, a vase full of sunflowers, and a number of plates and dishes filled with food neatly set out upon it.

“You’ve been working too hard, αγάπη μου,” Gale murmured, pressing a tender kiss beneath Helene’s ear, as he stood behind her, his arms around her waist. “So have I, for that matter,” he chuckled, his bearded face nuzzling into her sensitive skin. He waited tentatively for her reply, preparing for arguments that she had far too much to do to waste an evening picnicking with her husband.

“We do deserve a break,” Helene conceded in a sigh, letting her head tilt into Gale’s, his nose rubbing the shell of her ear. She felt him relax around her, and he too let out a quiet sigh of relief. Grinning, he lead her to the long cushioned bench behind the table, proudly pointing out the various dishes which held many of her favourite foods. Gale had spared no effort, thoughtfully selecting and preparing things which held meaning or memory: the baklava served at their wedding; the spanakopita recipe Helene’s μπαμπάς had shared with Gale when they were first together; htipiti with extra chillies, even though he always found it too spicy that way; every morsel was a love letter, written with care to his beloved wife.

They nestled into one another on the bench, one of Gale’s arms draped over Helene’s shoulder, pulling her into his chest, while with the other hand he plucked tidbits from the feast before them and lifted them to her lips. She giggled the first time he did this, and the sound felt as if it went through his skin, beneath his ribs, and reverberated around his chest. He loved to hear that sweet little sound, even if at times it became more of a snort; the happiness of his love was music to his ears even when it resembled a barnyard animal. Gale’s fingers lingered on Helene’s lips as she accepted the proffered morsel.

“The hand that feeds is the hand that’s loved,” he chuckled, as Helene pulled said hand to her mouth and kissed the back of his fingers.

“You don’t need to feed me for me to love you, especially with these magical hands, ψυχή μου,” she purred, turning to throw a teasing look up at him from beneath her eyelashes. The look made Gale certain that those hands might be made use of in other ways too, later that evening. But first, food, and well-earned rest were in order; they might need the energy.

They lay there for a long time in the late-September sun, feasting. On the picnic, yes, but on the comfort of being entirely at peace together too. The sounds of wind in the trees, the hum of bees, and the rushing of water in the brook nearby were soothing, a balm to tired bodies, while the closeness between them worked the same magic on their souls.

When the pair had eaten their fill they remained in blissful silence, watching the light on the horizon turn from gold to orange to pink, before finally the sky dimmed to inky blue, then black. Helene let her head slip from Gale’s shoulder to his chest, the slow thump of his heartbeat beneath her ear lulling her into a barely-awake doze.

I see his pain when he does not believe I’m looking, on those chilly nights where the group sits apart, where each of us is lost within our own thoughts and prayers. He denies my healing spells, speaks not of what ails him, but I’ve seen the subtle grimace that passes over him with each spell cast. I’ve heard the whispered prayers from his faithful lips. Did he do something to wrong you? Why do you not answer his calls?

Sorry. It is wrong of me to ask such things. I’m sure there are good reasons, ones I must stay vigilant for as we travel. Maybe he is not all he appears to be. The party, after all, is a peculiar arrangement of fellows, all of us brought together by luck, or destiny. I cannot be sure which. We all look to survive this, but even if we do not, I know we will simply be welcomed into your embrace, become a fragment of your woven silk in the winds, a part of the cosmos at your beck and call.

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25, Eleasis

Dearest Mystra,

Today the image of you was displayed before me, so much more beautiful than the statues in the temples. Gale held you within his palm as you have held us before, children of your creation. With your permission, we sought each other within the Weave. We shared in our hopes and dreams of the future. I apologise if my own urges regarding him were out of line, but there is something captivating about him, a warmth, a hope I fail to ignore. Maybe it is your touch that I feel through him, your magic that is binding us together.

I thank you for bringing him into my life.

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3, Elient

Dearest Mystra,

Today Gale spoke of your shared past, of a love both in body and soul, one I could never have imagined until he showed me it for himself. The corridor, the book, the blackened Weave that haunts his soul, the deafening silence to his prayers. He loved you. I feel he still does. His heart is so full to bursting with his devotion, not just to the Weave, not just to magic, but to you.

I’m trying to understand why he must suffer as he does. You are the Goddess, after all. You must have your reasoning. And yet I cannot help but think maybe his punishment does not fit the crime. As a cleric, am I not meant to forgive people for their past actions? Should I follow a love for you, or a love…

Apologies, I am still shaken by the events. Right now, he sleeps, at peace after another artefact sacrificed. I will watch over him, for that I know is what you would want of me even if you do not voice it. I have my faith in you and always will.

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20, Elient

Dear Mystra,

Do my prayers reach you? Did Lenore’s? We came across her tower today abandoned within the Underdark. The church’s teachings lay amongst the once loved ruins. Your words, our devotions. Letters stated she left for a meeting in the city, but it is spoken that she never reached it as intended. The wizards uttered of someone called Tarquin being involved, but I dare not ask further, especially to Gale, who seems most troubled by the environment here.

The other clerics spoke of Lenore at the temple long ago; it was almost a name I had forgotten. Word has it she was rather odd in nature and yet I’ve come to notice that the most interesting usually are. Gale, for example, is one most unusual with his mannerisms and ability to talk at length, but it is with those traits I see why you came to love him so.

The Sussur trees cause him much discomfort, but I fear it is a distant memory that haunts him more. An empty tower with no owner, frayed pages never to be read from again, poems lost to time. “The silence stretches on – I’m all alone.” Why this resonates with me so, I am not sure, but something stirs within me; questions I’m unsure I wish to know the answers to, unspoken doubts and fears that linger in those ruins.

But it is the silence that is most troubling within forgotten walls, during nights where the skies are clouded over grey. I feel you with me, as does Gale, and yet you are like that of a departed loved one to us, always watching from the shadows but unable to answer even when we need you most.

Please, my Goddess, come out from those shadows.

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29, Elient

Mystra,

Another of your chosen graced our camp today. He came with your wisdom, your words, as both me and Gale have been dreaming of for so long to hear. But he must have been mistaken. You wish for Gale to die? No, not just die, but to sacrifice himself, to become nothing but stardust to save us all. Is there no better way? Is there no other way?

I am your servant. Perhaps I could take his place, face our enemies in his stead so that he may return home to Waterdeep. He speaks so fondly of it and to think that he might never return… To his mother, to his dearest Tara of which he has told me much about. Is it right that someone as pure as him should die for a mistake of which he has suffered with for over a year? A mistake which I feel you…

You stay in silence until we beg, until we plead, and then these are your words. Is it not enough to follow your teachings, to spread the word of your love, to keep the balance of the Weave as you command? Is love and devotion not enough for the gods? Are we not enough?

“Be a moon unto yourself. Even the waves of fate can break upon the shores of will.” Advice from your own chosen. But that is a thought for another night, one where emotions are not running so high.

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4, Marpenoth

I do not feel it right to say your name in prayer as I have before. I fear my faith in you has dimmed like that of the conjured stars I lay beneath. Stars that I’m afraid I will never look upon again after hearing Gale’s words, after seeing his heart breaking as he showed me all he has lost. The musty smell of books untouched within his tower, the sunset over the harbour with its salted sea breeze.

When I followed him into the Weave those long nights ago, I felt but a trace of his despair. Last night, however, bonding in the way gods do, I experienced it all, each fragment, like grains of sand passing through an hourglass, instantaneous and yet gradually, before my very eyes. I witnessed all you did to him, the promises, the eternity, and then the silence. Feeling his body joined with mine was like that of a dream, a prayer answered, a moment of devotion like no other.

And as I think back to my devotion to you, I wonder if we are to blame for being so foolish, but then we are but mortals. Is it not because of our fragile existence that we strive for more, and that you, as gods, should protect us from ourselves? I struggle to understand your reasoning that you would offer us power, guidance, love, just to hurt us in the way you do. Are the gods just as we mortals are: fickle, playing games with those we feel are beneath us?

If that is so, then I wonder if my life has not been but one lie after another, a life dedicated to someone who is no more ‘good’ than the storm that destroys the home or the weed that smothers the flower.

For another night, we survive, not by your strength, but by our own and I question: Was I wrong to have followed you?

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28, Marpenoth

Mystra,

The power of a god held in Gale’s hands. A god with a mortal conscience, a mortal heart. And yet somehow, I fear that will not happen. Your own teachings tell us of how the gods perceive things, each in their own domain with their own rules to follow. If Gale were to ascend, I fear it would be his humanity that would be his undoing, his hurt that bleeds through into his words, his need to be better, his ambition. So many gods were once mortals themselves, yourself included, as the stories go. Did you change? Would you have punished him, abandoned him, if you were still mortal?

Today he finally stood before you. I know not of what you both discussed, but he has seemed lighter since. There is a glow within his eyes I have seen only a few times before, the flicker of hope now a raging fire within. He went on to show me of what godhood could offer, of astral seas and a peace I have rarely ever known, and yet still the doubts I’ve held in recent weeks echo within my mind. I’d told him to seek your forgiveness. After all, you are the Goddess I’ve devoted my life to, but I do not know if this is what he did, if it is what he wanted to do, after he spoke of his intentions with the crown.

My faith may be shaken, but I will continue to stand by him. Not in your honour as you would wish, but because I believe in the words your chosen once told us. I will be those shores on which the waves will break. I will guide him in the right direction just as I strived to in the beginning. Call it naivety, call it the fickleness of mortal fragility. All I know is I love him, just as the man he is.

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15, Uktar

Dearest Mystra,

I say this prayer as a thank you and I can only hope that you accept my words, even if I know you will continue not to answer me. You showed me how the gods could be: surprisingly selfish, ambitious, childish, resentful…human. By your punishing of Gale, I saw what would happen if he took the crown and became a god. How he’d lose all that which he is: all his warmth, his hope, his heart.

You reminded me of mortal failings, but also the strength we have when we support each other rather than relying on a higher power. You reminded me why I became a cleric in the first place, to help people, to see the good in them, to forgive them where no others can.

And so, again, I thank you. For letting him go, for finally forgiving him. I know you will always be with both of us, Weave touched moments binding us all together as one for eternity, but I also know we are no longer prisoners to your will, no longer striving for your approval or your love. I only hope that with your patience and wisdom, you come to understand my actions.