#adaventure.

As fingertip grazed against the shell of her ear, it snapped, then twitched. Deliciously sensitive and just as adorable as one might expect. A shame the little hiss-machine it’s attached to was more prone to bite than purr. With an animalistic bat of her hand, she paws him away, eyes narrowed and lips curled into a scowl.

“It is not fascinating, Gale. It’s humiliating. Gods, if the others saw me in such a state …” She’d never live to hear the end of it. It was so laughably easy to envision their reactions. Karlach’s bark of raucous laughter, Lae’zel’s sneering dry wit, Astarion’s scathing bite of condescension. It’d haunt her ‘till her last, dying breath, and if she needed to grab Gale by the short-hairs and force a solution out of him, so be it. She'd finally have a proper reason to demonstrate traditional Sharran torture methods.

With lingering patience, she waited for him to verbally assess the situation, rattling off potential causes, and it felt as if he had a solid guess on what might’ve been the magical trigger for all this mess. Only … no antidote was propositioned. Why wasn’t he fixing this right now.

“Alright, so, I’ve been … critterfied, as you put it. Does your knowledge of such a thing include how to reverse what’s been done? If you dare to suggest I remain this way forever, I will plunge a fork straight up your —”

A quirk of her tail. She didn’t finish her sentence, regaining control over fluctuating emotions with a chest-deep sigh. Whatever she had ingested, it felt as if it was throwing her emotional regulation off its axis. Feelings were intensive, and there was much heavier effort on her behalf to preserve reason.

The Blade of Frontiers. Famous in his name, in his reputation, and apparently, in his compassion.

She sheltered a great deal of respect for him, despite how little she showed it. He was the very picture of the fabled hero. Determined, confident, firm in his integrity and wise beyond his years. When granting advice, he always seemed to strike that balance between optimism and honesty. Always fighting for a brighter future, but weathered enough to know idealism couldn't get you everywhere.

He gave guidance that he earned the right to give. Through grit and bloodshed and now, through even the loss of his own humanity. She knew they were not platitudes, but she felt smothered all the same.

"My feelings have done nothing but hold me back." Spoken like a true Sharran. "I am in full control, and I'll not have you lecture me as if I am not." Her skin was itching. She crossed the room, gathering documents in her hands, reading words on parchment but absorbing none of it. They were plans, of some sort. Conspiratorial letters, desperate attempts to reclaim the prism that she herself possessed. She wasn't able to gather much more than that.

(Because I'm curious. Any muse is fine!)

No, this isn't a disaster. It's not impending death or the sprouting of gruesome tentacles from her mouth. It isn't exactly worth the trouble of kicking up dirt or screaming the top of her head off. It's nothing more than a simple mistake. Her organization is usually so thorough, so carefully labelled and precisely categorized, but the past couple weeks had pushed her to both physical and mental limits, for the cleric, and for everyone else. A misstep here and there was to be expected. In fact, it was to be planned and accounted for.

She didn't exactly expect something like this, though.

The only person she trusts enough to fix this is Gale. They aren't friends. Hells, she barely recognizes him as an acquaintance. But, whether she'll admit it or not, he's a damn fine wizard, well-known throughout Waterdeep, and across the further reaches of the Sword Coast. His acclaim certainly precedes him, and she needs a sharp mind and someone intimately attuned to the arcane.

Forgoing basic manners, Shadowheart bursts her way into his tent. It was cracked open to allow a slight breeze, so she hoped to not catch him in the midst of anything unpleasant. Luck throws her a bone, and she finds him nose-deep in the spine of a book, gently aged and thicker than his arm, no doubt filled with esoteric information detailing the linguistic components of illusory spells, or some other such nonsense. Reading time is over, and she will not allow him to ignore her.

"Gale. You need to help me." Shadowheart leaves no room for argument. "What in the Hells is wrong with me."

It might take a second for him to realize what she's blathering on about, but it wouldn't take long. Springing out of her scalp are two pointed cat ears. Triangular, fluffy, and definitely, unequivocally real. Finer muscles flick and swivel, fully functional and ranged with movement. Not so bad, probably a quick fix.

Then there's a swish of something just past her shoulder, and things complicate. Cat ears, and a cat tail. Long, sleek, and tipped in white. It's frizzed up, all hairs standing on their very ends. There's even the barest hissing quality edged across her voice; she's a feline infuriated.

"I swear I took the right potion," Just something to ebb her splitting headache and patch up a few cuts along her leg. "but something must've gotten mixed up, or — things got misplaced, I don't know."

A pause as she takes another breath, then exasperation.

YIPPEE. im running around in circles. having her be consistently in-character with the source material is my biggest hope and fear... i do think i've injected a bit of difference in her but i hope that at the end of the day, it's still HER. it's still shadowheart. i love how imperfect she is, and i love diving into it in my writing!! it definitely changes and shifts the more you do it. it's so fun!! once you get your feet under you it's easier to get a good start :D

"I was not afraid."

Her hands still feel like they're trembling. His voice is drowned out, muffled by the throbbing of blood behind her ears and the drumming of a restless heart. Shadowheart cannot even bear the weight of his gaze. The softness of it may seek to break her.

How was she supposed to know these damnable gith knew how to tame wolves? Of all the rotten creatures they could have faced. It had to be wolves.

"Don't coddle me, Wyll. You know just as well as I that fear is nothing but a weakness." Where she comes from, weakness is not tolerated. She was forged to be dauntless. Unflinching.

Hesitation is a stain on her Dark Lady's name.