#sarrtie

Looking like a drowned rat, you take a moment to stretch out your sore and bruised muscles, wincing a bit in the process. A deep ache had settled into your bones, and your entire body had felt fatigued to the point a mild nausea curled in your gut, sitting there threateningly, but never acting up. As your clothes shift, you can feel each tiny grit of sand that managed to find its way into your clothes from your most recent tumble into the river. Grimacing at the unpleasant feeling, you see the equally water-logged and miserable Astarion speedwalk away, beelining straight to his tent.

Not in the mood to catch a magic cold—or would it be a space cold considering it’s a different planet?— you follow suit, heading to your own tent to get changed. You have to keep yourself from wretching with each step you take, the awful feeling of the wet socks sticking to your feet and trying to squeeze their way between your toes making you queasy.

The inside of your tent was such a welcome sight, the interior already starting to feel like a safe space for you. It even housed sets of nice, dry clothes for you to wear!

Sadly, as your Earth clothes were in need of both a wash and a small bit of a repair, you’re stuck with a spare set of clothes that you could only describe as giving off renaissance festival peasant vibes.

You reach for the fastenings of your armor, lethargically undoing each one. Your strained muscles whine and complain as you lift the set up and over your head, the material much heavier now that it was soaked through. Combined with the overwhelming sleepiness, for a moment you even consider just leaving it on and passing out like that. But you would severely regret that probably a few hours later. So, fighting against the sheep urging you to count them in your brain, your suffering continues. Armor fully removed, you drop it off to the side, the heavy material landing with a wet plap. You immediately kick off your boots and shimmy your socks off, the material leaving your feet with a quiet squelch. The underclothes are quick to follow suit, the wet material clinging to your skin as you peel it off. 

Despite having been so recently thoroughly soaked, it seems the water didn’t do much in terms of washing the grime off you. Or maybe it did, but there was just so much on you that even the remains are this excessive. Filth covers your skin like the most unappetizing mockery of Neapolitan ice cream you’ve ever seen, the pale river sand, swamp mud, and scabs paired with blood stains creating a swirl of off-white, brown, and red. Oh, and would you look at that? They were kind enough to mix in some fruit for free in the form of bruises littering your skin practically everywhere you look.

Gross.

There’s no way you’re putting on clean clothes before you wash up. But you need clothes in order to walk around camp and find wherever the bath is— surely somebody set one up, right?

Your eyes slowly drift back over to the heavy pile of foreboding doom that darkens the ground around it with its vile presence. Your face tightens in disdain as you reluctantly reach down and grab the wet, muddy, and bloody underclothes you had just taken off, grumbling all the while. With a deep-set grimace, you pull the mushy clothes back on, the clamminess raising goosebumps across your skin, face tightening as you cringe. It’s downright awful in every single way. The boots go back on as well, but not the socks.

The socks stay off.

‘Yes homo,’ your brainrotted mind oh-so-helpfully supplies.

« I’m sorry, what? »

‘You know, “it’s not gay if the socks are on” and all that.’

« …Your world is a fascinating place. »

Clean pair of clothes in hand, plus a pair of sandals that were your size but you wouldn’t dare hike in, you grab the towel from your whore bath you thankfully had the foresight to hang up so that it was dry now, along with the small bar of soap— your personal godsend. Still looking like a swamp wretch, you hasten out of your tent, ready to find a bath and thinking about nothing besides the need to feel properly clean again. Scanning the area, you don’t see a bath anywhere, but you do see Astarion strolling in the direction of Shadowheart’s tent with a towel— he’s headed to take a bath too! But wait, if he’s going to take a bath, that means you can’t take a bath, which also means you’ll be stuck in these god-awful clothes until he’s done and he seems like the type to like long baths.

No. 

Nuh-uh, there’s no way you’re letting him take a bath first.

You break out into an earnest sprint, running straight towards him, your legs moving the fastest they ever have. Hearing your quick approach, he looks over his shoulder, then quickly sidesteps to dodge your charging form, his expression a blur of confusion and surprise as you rush past him with a speed unparalleled. 

”Sorry smeller boy, aliens first!”

You don’t spare him a glance, too busy searching for your quarry– and you spot it: a circular wooden tub slightly raised off the ground, half hidden behind a drawn makeshift curtain. You hear the sound of gradually quickening footsteps behind you. He had caught on to your plan, but he was too late; You had already made it to the tub and slapped your free hand down on the rim, crying out a triumphant cheer. You look over and give him a smarmy grin, your eyes creasing as your smile widens at the sight of him absolutely miffed.

”What can I say? Sucks to suck.”

His eyes narrow. “You’re lucky I can’t understand you. But if that’s how you’re going to be, fine then. Good luck filling the tub on your own.”

Your smug face falls flat. You slowly turn and look over. Sure enough, the tub is empty.

’Of course it’s empty— who would leave dirty bath water to sit around all day? Good job, me. Am I stuck doing barrel rolling now? Is that it? Or do I have to give up my dibs so that Astarion will help me after his turn?’

Your jaw clenches as you deliberate what would be worse: doing physical labor while wearing the mud suit, or sitting around and waiting for who knows how long before Astarion finishes his turn and then helps you do manual labor to fill the tub for your turn.

« My dear warlock… need I remind you that you are a warlock? »

’…Oh my god, you’re right.’

Smirk returning to your face, you confidently place your things down on the tub’s bath-side table: an old crate. You hold out your arms and summon your violin, magically clean of all previous muck. You raise an eyebrow, challenging him to poke holes in your plan again.

Foolish Smeller Boy clicks his tongue. “Fine, fine, you’ve made your point; go enjoy your bath. Just make sure to fill it up again with some clean water once you’re done.” He grumbles, trudging away, absolutely pouting the entire time— you didn’t even need to see his face to tell.

“You know what, I will enjoy it; thank you so much for the well wishes,” your smug look never left your face. This was fun— dishing stuff out at him for a change. 

You merrily make your way back to the dreaded river, so excited that you barely register the uncomfortable feeling of your wet feet pressing down on the equally wet insoles of your clown boots every step of the way. With a cheery tune on your violin, you float an entire 125 cubic feet(~3.5 cubic meters) of water back to the wash basin like a pied piper but for liquids. The Liquid Piper. No, that’s stupid. But it could also be the name of a Metal Gear character… Still sounds stupid though. Forget it, you’re not calling yourself that. Argument won, even though it wasn’t even an argument in the first place, you happily continue your song as you come to a stop right in front of the tub, direct the water to hover over it and–

You look down at the tub.

You look back up at the water.

That’s… that’s a lot of water. Way too much water. You did not realize just how much water actually fit in a five foot cube. You slowly start to siphon bits of water away from the main blob, adding it to the tub until it is mostly full, your bowing slowing to a stop.

…That wasn’t even ten percent of the volume you had gathered.

You very inconspicuously and nonchalantly turn your back to the woods and pick up your tune again. With a stressed upbow, the giant blob of water gets thrown into the woods. You flinch as you hear the large, wet plop with the trailing putter-patter of stray droplets afterwards. An accident surely– how could you have even conceivably known what happened to all that water? It’s not like you were looking at it. No, no, you couldn’t possibly know. But, regardless of how it could have happened in the first place, your problem was solved.

Finally.

It’s bath time.

Violin tucked beneath an arm, you untether the curtain, stretching it out far enough until you're happy with the acceptable amount of privacy it gives you. Out of habit, you dip your hand in the water to check the temperature and are promptly reminded of the fact that you’re out camping in a medieval fantasy time period (plus magic and artificer-created magical machines but that’s besides the point). The water you’re supposed to bath in is freezing. You could heat it up with some fire magic, as you’re finally getting used to the fact that you have magic and are finally remembering that you can use it, but… well… all your fire magic is also vile. 

‘You know, me… thinking about it now… I don’t actually know what vile damage is. A subsection of necrotic maybe?’

You squint at the tub, debating. On one hand, potentially dangerous. On the other hand, a hot bath sounds really nice right now.

…

Yeah, you’ll take that risk for a hot bath.

You’re sure it’s fine, at least fine for you. You know… since it came out of you. The whole “it’s my own germs, so it’s okay” but for magic. That’s how that works. Definitely. Settled on your answer, you play a fitting tune, deciding Sephiroth’s theme was definitely the right choice here(you just had the song stuck in your head, but nobody needs to know that was the reason), as you fire bolt after bolt of vile flames into the water until you could see steam slowly but steadily rising out of it. Sure the water may look like you put a charcoal bath bomb in it, what with the wisps of black flowing in lazy circles, never quite reaching a homogenous state, but it’s hot water and you couldn’t have been happier. Who knows, maybe vile water simply has exfoliating properties.

After getting in the bath, you get a nice soapy lather going and manage to scrub a lot of the dirt off you, the feeling of your skin finally earning freedom absolutely rejuvenating. But now you’re sitting in dirty water and it’s kinda gross. The water once clear with ribbons of semi-transparent black was now a cloudy brownish color. But wait, oh foolish worrier– You have waterbending powers now that you have not forgotten about! And with said remembrance, a brilliant idea blooms in your mind. You stand up in the tub, shivering a little as your bare skin meets the cool evening air, the chill reminding you that the dry world is the enemy and you would much rather stay in the wet world. You resummon your violin and command the water to move with your song once again, this time lifting about three quarters of the water, completely free of impurities, out of the tub, leaving all the muck behind. The cloudy and slightly thick and grainy water rests at the bottom of the tub now, and expertly with your foot, you unplug the drain, letting it all seep out and drip onto the ground. Re-affixing the plug, you carefully guide the clean hot water (still ignoring the fact that it looks like a squid inked in it) back into the tub, spirit away your instrument once more, and sit down with a content sigh.

The wet world is truly a good place to be.

The silence is strange, though. If you were alone and indoors, you might’ve started listening to music, perhaps singing along or at least humming. But you weren’t. So you stay quiet. You almost begin to doze off, but the creeping chill beginning to penetrate the water keeps you just shy of the edge of unconsciousness. The heat had dissipated sooner than you’d have liked, the liquid having had its entire volume get lifted out of the tub to be exposed to the cold air probably didn’t help, and you take that as your cue to get out since there is somebody else waiting to use the bath. You try and fail to suppress a shiver as the water completely drains out after pulling the drain plug again. Not wanting to step out onto the ground to dirty your newly cleaned feet, you awkwardly towel yourself off while still in the tub, pulling on your clothes once you were sufficiently dry. It’s not until you’re in your peasant outfit that you awkwardly maneuver yourself out of the tub, feet landing on top of your sandals. Deciding to not be stupid and pull the balancing act of the century, you twist to sit on the crate before pulling your sandals on all the way.

Finally, you feel like a human being again.

You quickly discard said newly regained humanity to become a discount ghost from a Spirit Halloween, draping the damp, off-white towel over your head, not wanting it to touch the filthy pile of clothes plus boots bundled in your arms. You leisurely pull back the curtain and head towards Astarion’s tent, a content rhythm to your footsteps.

“What took you so long? How long does it take you to get washed up?”

He spots you as soon as you leave the protection of the curtain. Needing your hands to respond, you wait until you’re close enough and drop the pile of clothes on the ground — they were already dirty, what’s a little more?

“Oh, I’m so sorry lord Preminger,” You muster up an exaggeratingly potent dose of sarcasm in your words. [As you know, I am an esteemed noble of great renown and require ample time to maintain my flawless skin.] {Performance = 10, success}

“Oh ha, ha, very nice. While you were having the time of your life, I was stuck waiting so long my clothes are practically dry now!”

They weren’t. You tell at a glance that though they weren’t dripping, they were still wet enough to cling to him.

[Oh, quit being a baby. It wasn’t that long… right?]

He crosses his arms.

[Alright, alright, I’m sorry. I’ll go get you some fresh water.]

One freshly refilled tub later, while Astarion is busy with his own rejuvenation ceremony, you’re stuck with your own predicament in the form of two dirty piles of clothes: you gotta do laundry. But you’re tired! You don’t wanna do laundry? But you know you have to if you don’t want the stains to set. You also have to clean your weird padded armor, and you have no idea if you can wash it in the same way as regular clothes. Probably not, but it’s not like you’re going to be using this set of armor forever, right? So it’s fine to be a bit rough with this second-hand armor Tav got from who knows where– actually, she probably pried it off the dead body of someone she killed in cold blood– and that’s enough of that line of thought! You’ll just wash it like normal. Yeah. 

…Wait, there’s no washing machine here.

Oh, god, you’re gonna have to do laundry by hand!

With a groan, you gather up the clothes you dropped by Astarion’s tent, then also the armor and earth clothes waiting for you back at your tent. Your hunched, dejected figure lugs the heavy pile over to the river, the mass of sandy rags landing in a wet heat on the sand as you drop it. Still not in the mood to wash it, you start with doing the bare minimum: you take an article of clothing, hold it in the river, and hope the current washes away most of the grime.

‘This sucks and it’s boring.’

However long you held it in the current was probably long enough. You take it out and toss it onto the lonely discarded vessel of your shield-boat, a better alternative than putting the clothes back on the beach. You repeat this with each article of clothing and armor, even the boots. At the end you're left with a pile of semi-dirty clothes. Now they were just stained rather than caked with grime.

‘Why can’t shape water also move other types of liquids? It would make this whole thing so much easier because then I could just take the stains out with the water as I moved it.’

And like Professor Layton when he solves a puzzle, you’re bathed in an imaginary spotlight as your very tired mind comes up with the best idea you’ve ever had.

‘Why would I need a washing machine when I can become the washing machine?!’

Your spark of inspiration surges you into action, and before you know it, you’ve managed to roll up an empty barrel next to the trees where someone had stung up a clothes line. The boat-shield quickly joins it, as you decided pushing it around was both easier and dryer than picking up the pile of soaking wet clothes. You start dumping the clothes into the empty barrel one by one until you get to your Earth clothes. Your pants have a bloody rip in the leg from when that arrow grazed you outside the grove. The armor and underclothes you didn’t care too much about and could be haphazardly thrown about, but your precious clothes from home? That you very much did care about. It was one of your few connections to home. Plus, as an added bonus, they were comfy as hell. Luckily, with nobody else around to see, you could easily take a miniscule amount of salt for yourself. I mean, it’s not like anybody said that salt was precious here and that you couldn’t take any for personal use. Besides, it wasn’t even that much. It was just for a tiny section of your pant leg. One salt paste made, applied, and left to sit for fifteen minutes later, you magic over some river water into your barrel, using some of the excess to rinse the salt paste off, only slight hints of blood left. 

‘But wait, I should probably sew up the rip first, shouldn’t I? I may not be an expert, but I think just throwing it as is in the washing machine could potentially make it worse… Astaroth, you wouldn’t happen to be able to magic a tiny sewing kit into my pocket right now, would you?’

« No, I’m afraid not. »

‘Why nooooot? You could do it with my other things!’

« Ah, if you recall, we have already been over this. »

‘We have?’

« Yes. We have. Those are things I have been able to provide for you due to having a large enough excess of mana. At the moment, I do not have such reserves, especially after I forced your “level up” early. »

‘Wait, you forced it? You can do that?’

« Yes, but it can be highly dangerous if we try it again later on, as the gaps in power between stages are so much greater. It is also the reason why you feel so fatigued– your body was not yet ready to handle it, plus you did not have the leisure of an overnight rest as you did with your previous growths. »

“Heeguuugghghh,” you grumble from the back of your throat. ‘I don’t wanna go searching through all the unorganized camp shit to find a needle and thread! I’m tired! I wanna go to bed! I wanna go home!’ You whine in your head, the childish desire to throw a tantrum sounding more and more like a good idea as the day grows late.

« Well, perhaps the one behind you can help with your clothing predicament. »

‘Behind me–’ Sure enough, you turn around, and there’s Astarion in perfectly clean, dry clothes. You’re too tired to get startled this time. He opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off by showing him your damaged pant leg and mime out a sewing motion. “Needle? Thread? Danish butter cookie tin filled with sewing supplies?”

The look he gives you is something you would almost call empathetic if you didn’t know any better. You don’t have time to dwell on it before he leaves and comes back with a very well organized small sewing kit filled with an assortment of colored threads.

“Wow, you're really prepared. Do you rip off your sleeves to show off your muscles surprisingly often, or are you just clumsy?” Rhetoric in nature, you’re not expecting an answer, nor do you get one for obvious reasons.

You roll up your delightfully flouncy sleeves, take a seat on the dry half of the transport shield, and get to work after your valiant struggle to thread the needle. That Preminger bastard was probably enjoying seeing you struggle, but you managed to pull it off in the end.

“So, what’s the deal with this?” Astarion lightly kicks the full barrel. “Are you planning to pickle your clothes?”

You look up from your stitching to lock eyes with his smarmy ones. “Ha, ha, very clever.” [No, I’m washing them,] you carefully sign, very aware of the needle in your hand.

He gives you a look. “You do know that just letting your clothes soak won’t remove stains completely, right?”

[You’ll see. Just gimme a minute to finish fixing this,] you turn your attention back to repair work. 

You get a few more stitches in, almost done at this point, but you’ve been feeling his burning gaze boring into you, and you can’t take it anymore. With a sigh, you place your work on your lap and look up at him, seeing his gaze fixed towards your lap.

“Can I help you?”

Shaking his head subtly, like he was trying to get out of his own thoughts— you’re very familiar with the gesture, having done it plenty of times yourself, Astarion speaks, “Ahem, your, uh, your needlework. It’s downright abysmal.”

You move the clothes and needle to one hand to free up your other, which you use to tug the wood woad arm off the shield, using the stiff hand to point and wave at Astarion. “Well if you have such a problem with it, why don’t you do it?” Annoyed and tired, you thrust the clothes and needle towards him.

He gives a petulant sigh, able to understand your expressions, tones, and gestures surprisingly well enough to pick up what you’re putting down, and takes the objects from you. Nudging your foot with his own, you get the silent message and stand up, letting him take your spot. Crossing your arms, pointer stick sticking up, you watch as he gets to work, quickly and professionally stitching up the tear until you could barely tell it was there in the first place. You had to admit when you’ve been beat; he was much better at this than you were.

“See now? This is proper needlework,” he hands it back.

You had to give credit where credit was due. [Okay, I admit it, you’re pretty good at this. Thanks.] You felt a bit sheepish, not used to having interactions with him that fell on the more genuine and vulnerable side, the dynamic you’ve built with him so far having been nothing but banter and milk annoyance. {Performance adv. = 18, success} 

Seemingly not having expected that from you, Astarion is stunned for a moment before he speaks, “Right, well, of course. How could I possibly stand by and watch when your skills were so poor that all your work would become undone as soon as you next tried to wear it?”

‘Ah, he’s afraid of genuine connections. That paired with the whole vampire aesthetic– it’s like I’m looking at my teenage self,’ you find yourself smiling warmly.

He awkwardly purses his lips, eyes darting about, seemingly not sure what to do with this side of you. 

‘Aw, and look at that, he’s not used to people accepting him for who he is either! He’s so used to any friendships amounting to keeping each other at a slight distance and never getting closer than slightly barbed sarcastic banter.’ You hold the stick out towards him, placing a reassuring wood woad hand on his shoulder. “I used to be just like you, you know. So don’t worry, I know what it’s like. I’ll be your friend.”

As if time had stopped, the world freezes to a complete stand still and takes on a muted hue. A large, ashen hand descends, red marker in hand. Upon the white border of the photograph it writes: “The beginning of a deep misunderstanding, circa 1492 DR.” The photograph is then placed within a scrapbook on a page that looks akin to a character profile in a game. About to put on the cap, the hands pause, then change their mind. The marker comes down again. Off to the side, it writes two words with an arrow pointing towards the warlock. The album closes.

Color returns to the world and time resumes, the written words “My Idiot” nowhere to be seen in the realm that exists in reality.

[Now then, you wanted to see what I was going to do with this barrel, yes? Watch this.] {Performance = 12, success} Finally, your Earth pants join their compatriots in the barrel. Crumbling up a small chunk of bar soap into pieces as small as you could feasibly get them, you toss the soap pebbles into the barrel. After dipping your hands in the water to rinse off any residue, you fit the lid on the barrel. “Behold, a humble washing machine.” You smack the lid of the barrel like an enthusiastic car salesman and your makeshift machine has no choice but to obey the laws of an Earthling’s percussive maintenance and start working. You hear the water begin to churn, and very quickly it turns violent, the lid starting to rattle. Just as quickly, you start to panic and drop the arm, because without the locking mechanism of a modern washing machine, this was quickly turning into a blender situation. Not trusting the strength of your arms in your current state, you opt for the next best thing and hop on top, seating yourself directly on the lid.  It does the job. It’s not all that strange of a feeling, being not so different from a car on a dirt road.

“So. That’s supposed to help launder your clothes?”

[Sure is.]

“Right, well,” he looks at your shaking perch skeptically, “to each their own.”

[Trust me, this is so much better than using one of those washboards that are better off being used as instruments.] {Performance = 16, success}

“Whatever you say; but speaking of instruments, why are you so intent on using one as a focus when you clearly don’t need it?”

You look at him like he’s crazy, your expression very confused as you tilt your head to the side. [What are you talking about?}

His mouth opens, looking right back at you in pure disbelief. “You’re joking right?”

[N-No?]

“Then what are you doing right now?” He gestures to the barrel with open palms. “And what about that entire ordeal we had out in the swamp?!” He points out towards the river. “You didn’t even seem to remember the fact that you had a focus as soon as we were on the water.”

The dialup tone can be heard in your mind as your brain starts putting together the pieces of the ages five and up jigsaw puzzle made up of today’s memories. “...huh?” As soon as you realize what you’re doing and begin to question how you’re doing it, the magic stops, the washing cycle coming to a halt. 

‘Wait, shit, no, hold on don’t stop! I can’t be expected to have to play my violin the entire time the wash is going!’ You quickly hunch over in your seat to bang your fists on the sides of the barrel, hoping and praying that it starts up again. When that doesn’t work, you decide to actually flex your exhausted brain muscles and try a different approach: you attempt to channel that same feeling of magic you felt from your instrument but with your hands this time. Biting your lip and furrowing your brow, you begin to rub the barrel like a cartoon character does their belly after a satisfying meal, or how an evil royal vizier would do to a genie’s lamp, recalling that same feeling of magic flowing through you. To nobody’s surprise except your own, that works, and the water begins to churn once more, causing you to let out a sigh of relief. 

“Woah, I can actually do it...” you whisper to yourself in a mixture of awe and disbelief. Turns out, when you take the time to actually think about how to solve a predicament after brute forcing a solution to the problem fails, things can actually be easily resolved! A revolutionary line of thought! Well, now you know that at the very least when it comes to cantrips, you have enough stability and control to cast it freehand. You’re a bit too nervous to try it out with your first-level burning hands spell. If you messed up, there could be some pretty bad repercussions. Either way, neat!

‘Does this mean I can have lethal finger guns since I can just shoot firebolts with my hands now?’

When you look up from your barrel now that the mishap was fixed, you see Astarion’s gaze is focused on your forearms once more. ’…Why is he staring at me— or, well, my arms? Did I get something weird on me?’ You raise your arms to inspect them, Astarion’s eyes following the movement automatically, like a cat watching a toy, ready to pounce. You move your arms left. His eyes follow. You move them right. They follow again. You squeeze your mouth shut, stifling a choked laugh that threatens to leave you. But seriously, upon taking a closer look at your arms, you could easily say they looked like absolute dogshit. You know, as opposed to dog-great. After having taken your bath, all the mud and blood was washed away, leaving your nasty wounds from the mud imp’s claws on full display. They… weren’t pretty. The scratches were pretty wide, but thankfully not so deep enough to look like those edgy claw mark decals certain people put on their walls and things. And ow, fuck, now that you can see them, you can feel them, and they really fucking hurt, the sting turning into an almost burning pain.

[Eugh, yeah, no, I’m fine, don’t worry. Looks worse than it actually is.] {Performance = 11, success}

He blinks and clears his throat. “But why are you just leaving it? We have enough healing potions at our disposal since Gale’s recently taken up an interest in campfire alchemy with all the reagents Tav’s been relentlessly gathering.”

“...oh.”

Though you had started getting used to having magic, it seems the trade off was completely forgetting about the potions and alchemy this world had to offer. 

[Would you mind fetching a potion for me? I’d go get one myself, but,] you tap the barrel, [I’m busy quite literally holding down the fort.] {Performance = 14, success}, {Persuasion = natural 20, critical success}

“Alright, alright, since you’re so busy breaking in your new throne, I guess I could help your noble countenance out. After all, you wouldn’t want to accidentally dirty your flawless skin, would you?” He acquiesces, but not before throwing some of your earlier banter back at you, resettling into your usual dynamic.

Playing the part of the stuck up noble, you wave him off, which he replies with a mocking bow before turning on his heel and leaving to go fetch the classic Kool-Aid colored potion. Left to your own devices, you quickly find yourself bored again.

{Constitution saving throw = 17, success}

{Constitution saving throw = 12, success}

{Constitution saving throw = 4, failure}

{Constitution saving throw = 11, success}

{Constitution saving throw = 8, failure}

{Constitution saving throw = 9, failure}

{Constitution saving throw = 5, failure}*

Without even realizing it, your hand had undone the clasp of your belt pouch and had taken out your phone, going through the repetitive motion of unlocking it. You mindlessly swipe across your screen, idly looking through your games and apps like one does when gazing over a pantry when in a snacky mood, but with the nearest cell tower being on the opposite side of the universe, there wasn’t much entertainment to be found. Just like the pantry, there was nary a delectable treat to be found. Then being oh-so,very-helpful, your screen reads a swipe as a tap on one of the icons. 

The screen goes blank. You can do nothing but watch.

A disembodied voice echoes in the distant recesses of your mind.

‘Why are all my limbs frozen?’

’Why can’t I move my eyes?’

’Why can’t I move my mouth? Is this an internal dialogue?’

’I can’t see the end of the horizon.’

”Se~ga~”

”Hatsune Miku?!”

Being an online game, you weren’t expecting it to work, but apparently your phone had its very own sorcery attached to it as you hear Hatsune Miku herself sing the Sega logo jingle as the rhythm game begins to load.  Before you know it, you’re on the home screen, the game practically begging you to play it.

’Well… if it’s just one song… No! No, no; what am I thinking?’ You come to your senses as your thumb hovers over the song selection, ‘I can’t waste precious battery life on this!’ You hurriedly exit out of the game, fully powering off your phone once more, wanting to save as much energy as possible.

”’Hot soony me koo?’ Is that what you call that thing in your hands?”

You jerk in surprise, fumbling with your phone, luckily getting a good grip on it before it could fall to the hard ground and break. Clutching it tight to your chest, both hands gripping it tightly like a clawed vice, you look up to see Astarion staring at the innocuous object in your hands, eyebrow raised. You feel your neck break out in a cold sweat.

”Oh, uh, um you know, just a… a painting done on a shiny flat rock,” Your hand subtly shifts to cover up the very-much-not-this-era-artstyle of your phonecase. “A rock I use to practice my magic on, like that light spell I definitely have.”

“Okay?” With a cushion tucked beneath one arm, the hand on his other, occupied with healing potion, the neck hooked between his middle and index fingers, and a small book pinched between the other three digits, raises to do nothing but accentuate his deadpan stare, “And that means?” He holds out his full hand towards you, taking a step back once you slide the bottle free from his knuckles.

[Don’t worry about it. Just a memento from home.] {Performance = 16, success; Deception = 15, success}

“Right, well, enjoy your… whatever-koo. I on the other hand will be having a better time with this,” he shakes the book.

You tuck your phone between your thighs to free up both hands, allowing you to uncork the healing potion with a pop and pour it on your wounds, flesh knitting together smoothly and without a scar in seconds.

“Okay, first of all, her name is Hatsune Miku. Second of all, this is not Hatsune Miku; this is my phone.” Cork still clutched in your hand, you point to your phone. “Phooooone.” You pop the cork back in the bottle and lean far to the side, reaching down the barrel as far as possible before releasing the bottle, the glass hitting the ground softly. “And third of all,” you sit up and point to his book, eyebrow raised inquisitively “Whuzzat?”

“This,” he raises the book with both hands, “is the reason we made that short detour to the large willow.” 

You lean forward, staring at him with large, disbelieving eyes. [You mean to tell me we went through all that bullSHITTERY for a BOOK?!] {Performance adv. = 16, success}

”Well, yes! And, seeing as I got what I was looking for and we’re both in one piece, I think it was well worth it.”

[Well? You gonna tell me what is soooo special about that book that we had to risk our lives for it or not?] {Performance, adv. = 4, failure}

”Hey, hey, alright, I know, it was a bit risky, but trust me. I’m pretty sure we just got our hands on some delectable blackmail. And if we’re lucky, it’s of the salacious variety.”

Your eyes widen. “See, now I’m interested!” [Hurry up and read it then!]

”Don’t worry, I was just about to start,” he nudges a crate closer to you with his foot before placing the cushion he was carrying on top. He sits with practiced grace, legs crossing in almost mocking elegance. “Now, let’s see what pretty secrets that druid has been hiding~” He cracks the book open.

It’s silent.

He flips a page.

That motherfucker was keeping the secrets all to himself!

“Yo.” A bit miffed, you stretch your leg out all the way, which is just barely enough to be able to nudge his leg with your foot.

”Hmm?” He looks up at you, giving you that same smarmy grin you gave him earlier.

Oh, he was dishing out some very much NOT rightly deserved payback. The audacity of this man. You give him an annoyed glare in response.

“Fine, fine, looks like I’ll be doing some charity work for the illiterate tonight.”

“Ha-ha-ha, you’re so funny, ha-ha-ha– now shut up and read,” you nudge him again, a bit more forcefully.

You could read common when assisted by whatever translation magic your patron installed in you, but he was right. On your own, you couldn’t read jack shit when it came to their weird fairy language.

“Alright, but I’m warning you: from what I’ve read so far, this is certainly something.” He flips the page back to the beginning. “Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? Ahem:”

*A small bird flies through your window and lands on the table next to your bed, a small note tied to its foot. You take the note and unfurl it. It says: ‘Hey girl. You up?’*

Your mouth is slightly agape, eyes squinted, body leaned forward in confused disbelief.

“Oh, by the way, it looks like this was written by two people taking turns, as it’s formatted in small chunks of text in two different handwritings. Here’s the second person’s continuation:”

*Confused, but intrigued by this strange bird and even stranger note. I grab my own quill and write on the back of the paper.* ‘Yes, I still find myself awake, but… who might you be?’ *tucks hair behind ear before tying the note back to the bird’s leg*

You raise a hand to cover your open mouth. ‘Oh my god, is this what I think it is?’

“And now the first writer gives their reply:”

*Before you can tie the note, the bird suddenly transforms, revealing that it was no bird, but actually a handsome halfling druid in wildshape. His long, luscious brown hair flows behind him. He grabs the paper from your hands, fingers gently brushing across your skin. He reads what you wrote, then meets your eyes over the edge of the parchment.* ‘Me? I’m archdruid Aelis.’ *he whispers, sensually.*

Astarion switches his voice pitch, using a lower voice for the first writer, and a higher voice for the second writer.

*The elven woman gasps and takes a step back, hands pressed to her chest.* ‘An archdruid from another grove? What could someone so handsome and powerful possibly be doing here so late at night?’ *I think to myself that he couldn’t possibly be here to see me, Kagha. Afterall, I was only Second Druid of the grove.*

*The handsome man chuckles and hops down from the window sill. He takes your hand and places a kiss on the back of it, murmuring against your milky skin.* ‘Why am I here? Why, I’m here for you, my dear Kagha.’ *He gazes up at you with sultry, dark eyes.*

‘Holy shit, I think it is!’

*She gasps as your lips meet her knuckles, cheeks turning the same shade as her hair.* ‘An Archdruid as important as you kn-knows my name? And you’re here… for me?’ *I ask, batting my eyelashes, feeling bashful.*

‘This is an erotic roleplay journal!’

*Bites my lip seductively* ‘Ever since I first saw you, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.’ *laces my fingers with yours and tugs you closer, but I’m unable to control my strength  in my excitement, my muscular arms catching you as you trip and fall, your bountiful bosom breasting boobily into my manly chest.*

You press a hand flat to your sternum, face contorting into an open-mouthed grimace as you practically wretch. “Ohhhh, god! Heugh, please, no!”

Astarion is grinning, eyes alit with mirth. He’s having the time of his life.

*Only in my nightclothes, I can feel your firm muscles press against my hardening peaks. I gasp, my hand grabbing onto your shoulders to brace myself.* ‘Oh! I’m so sorry, Lord Aelis. I’m afraid I get clumsy when I’m n-nervous.’ *bites lip, looks up at you with doe eyes.*

*my equine meat staff stirs in my britches* ‘There’s no need to be so nervous.’ *I use my rugged hand to tilt your chin up to meet my gaze as I lean in* ‘Tonight is all about you.’ *I lean in all the way, pressing my lips to yours. You gasp in surprise and I take that opportunity to slip my tongue in your hot cavern, our tongues battling for dominance.*

“Ahhh! Astarion, please, I’m begging you! No more; it hurts!”

Astarion grins widely, eyes full of sadistic glee.

That night, the painful cries of a dying pterodactyl could be heard in the depths of a forest in a magical land.

*The sun would be rising soon, and the handsome man could not stay. He left out the window of the magnificent woman’s room, leaving nothing in his wake but the sound of his galloping abs riding off into the moonless night.*

“Oh. That seems to be the end of it,” Astarion sounded almost disappointed as he turned another page. 

You couldn’t feel anything at this point, your soul thoroughly beaten down to an unrecognizeable pulp. The awful live audiobook reading had gone on for so long that night had fallen by the time it was over. You weren’t sure when it had switched over from the daytime, but it was dark now. Time was a manmade construct and you were in no state to comprehend it.

“Oh, wait a minute. There’s something on the next page.”

And just like that, you took another two kidney punches to your emotional well-being, mental state fracturing under the psychic bludgeoning damage.

“It seems like these are regular correspondences:”

‘Kagha, if you wish as much as I do for our story and relationship to be manifest in the real world, you must invoke the Rite of Thorns.’

“Then she talks about how she will do it, then he congratulates her, tells her that once it’s done the grove will be the Shadow Druids’ domain and they can be together forever, blah, blah, blah.” He snaps the book shut and stands in a single, fluid motion, giving a satisfying stretch. He looks at your crumpled form on the ground, not an ounce of pity or empathy to be found. When the wash cycle finished ages ago, so too did the last bastion holding yourself up crumble, your body having slipped down the barrel like slime, hands clawing at the rim to hold you up as you writhed in pain as he refused to stop narrating the awful ERP. Of course, without any breaks, that left you in your current miserable state: limply sprawled across the grass.

“Hah~ that was a most wonderful use of my time,” he grins, tucking the book beneath his arm and grabbing his cushion with the other. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I do believe it’s time for my beauty sleep.”

As he turns and leaves you, the rest of the party finally returns to camp, all of them magically blessed with the skill of perfect timing, having missed all of the torture you had gone through. Many of them give Astarion a strange look as he passes by, completely beside himself with amusement, his grin wider and more cheerful than most of them had ever seen before, a stark contrast to your emaciated form looking like you had the lifeforce sucked out of you via a corkscrew kiss. 

”What happened to you two?” Karlach asks, genuinely concerned for you.

‘Oh no.’ Your head whips up to look at her with pleading eyes. ‘No, Karlach, please no! You don’t know what you’ve unleashed!’ “Why-y-y- would you saaay thaaaaa-aha-ah-a-aat!?” You manage to croak out in an almost sobbing whine.

Astarion pauses, turns to her, eyes creased mischievously.

‘No! He’s gonna read it again! Please, any gods who are out there, put me out of my misery!’

“I would love to regale you with this thrilling work I’ve found, but I fear our resident musician may just pass on to the afterlife from sheer excitement if I do so tonight,” Astarion, in an unprecedented show of kindness, turns down the opportunity to make your existence a living hell.

You look at him with teary eyes. ‘Oh my god… he’s being nice? To me?’ Your lip wobbles, almost brought to grateful tears. “Best buddy…!”

“We’ll just have to save it for breakfast tomorrow instead.”

“Best…buddy?” The heart charm of the BFF friendship bracelet you were imagining in your mind cracks in half, never to be repaired. 

Smeller Boy practically skips away as Karlach gives you a pitying look. You bury your face in your hands and curl up into a ball on your side.

After giving yourself enough time for the angel and devil on your shoulder to repair your destroyed mental state enough for there to be something concrete and aware enough for them to even attempt to influence, you push yourself up from the ground with shaky limbs. Your hands crawl up the sides of the barrel until your fingers find purchase on the rim of the barrel, knuckles curling to brace yourself on it as you pull yourself up to your feet. With a little help from the water, you manage to pry off the barrel lid. Reaching your arms in the cold, soapy, slightly dirty water, you pull out your now-clean clothes.Not giving two shits anymore, you simply magically fling the water out into the woods with a flick of your wrist. Repeating the same motion but at your clothes allowed you to suck the moisture out of them, leaving them nice and dry. If you weren’t so thoroughly exhausted in every way imaginable, you would have applauded your genius and how well you were adjusting to having magic. With heavy footsteps,you trudge back to your tent, wanting nothing more than to finally get some goddamn sleep. Clothes tossed in a heap on a crate in your tent that you haphazardly pushed everything else off of, you collapse face first into your bedroll. The last thing you hear is someone asking around if anyone knew why there was a brand new pond in the woods by Shadowheart’s tent.

« WAKE UP ALREADY, DAMN YOU! »

Your eyes snap open at the booming voice of your patron, adrenaline coursing through you as you expect to witness another murder. Instead, you’re met with two nocturnal eyes hovering over your form, the tapetum lucidum reflecting bewitching shades of teal and gold straight into your soul.

“...Shit.”

*I had seven con saves stacked up (for those who haven’t read notes/forgotten/in case I’m crazy and never mentioned it before, each time I, as the author, look at my phone for more than 5 minutes during writing time, I add a con save to a pile, then at an opportune time, I make our warlock roll them all at once to see if they pull out their phone and how bad the aftermath will be. They have beat a 10)

Also, Hah, yes, I am all powerful! I have worked up the courage to respond to your lovely comments! Suuuure, some of them may have been months late, but I did it! Eventually.

Next Chapter>

Tav crosses her arms. “It’s safer for you at the grove,” her voice remains even as she speaks.

“True, but I’m a bard, remember! I want to do more than sing about other people’s adventures. I want to make my own stories, and I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather share that with.”

Something in Tav’s demeanor shifts, her shoulders relaxing, but you’re not sure what it means. It’s hard to read her with her back turned to you. “You can stay– for now. Let’s see how you fare.”

‘Ah, shit,’ you slowly start to move away from the campfire. ‘I can’t risk her forcing me into another duet! I gotta get outta here!’

“Really?” Alfira almost looks like she doesn’t believe it. “Oh, this is wonderful!” She claps her hands once.

Her voice grows quieter as you manage to sneak away unnoticed. Too preoccupied with getting out of there, you took the route immediately behind you, which happened to be the way to Shadowheart’s tent. Well, shit. This path would only lead straight back to the campfire. ‘Well, no turning back now.’ You keep walking and spot Shadowheart: She was sitting outside her tent, kneeling in seiza, eyes closed. Perhaps she was meditating? Maybe she’d let you join her until Alfira settled down for the night and you wouldn’t have to worry about any impromptu performances. You walk up to her, but she doesn’t notice you, not even when you’re right next to her. That or she’s ignoring you.

“Um,” you start, about to get her attention, but that was apparently all you needed to do as she jumps and jerks away from you, hand landing on the hilt of her weapon.

“Oh, it’s only you,” she breathes out, relaxing and returning to her original position. “Can I… help you?”

[You mind if I join you for a bit? I’ll be quiet, promise.]  {Performance = 11, success}, {Persuasion = 10, failure}.

“Sorry, but I’m in the middle of my night prayers, and it’s something best done in solitude.”

[Oh… okay then, I’ll leave you be.]  Feeling a bit dejected, you walk past her, circling back to camp.

‘How did I end up in a group where half the people don’t even want to try to make friends?’

You stick to the forest’s edge surrounding the camp, avoiding the campfire where Alfira sat, playing her lute. Sometime during your brief absence, Karlach had wandered back to the fire, happily listening to Alfira’s lute. Luckily they seemed too preoccupied with having fun to notice you. It’s nice to see them happy, but even the thought of joining them makes you tired.

Yeah, you really want time away from everyone.

You pass by your tent– while it is your own space, there’s still the chance someone could come looking for you there. You just need somewhere you won’t be disturbed, a place where you can relax a bit. You walk along the river bank, stopping a minute’s walk from camp when you find a large, relatively smooth rock near the water’s edge. It’s quiet here– quiet and lonely; just how you like it. You brush off any dirt, pebbles, and other debris and take a seat, back facing the river. You carefully pry off your oversized boots and socks, grimacing when you see the massive blisters on your soles. You should probably wrap those once you’re back. Ignoring them for now, you swivel to face the river then lower your legs into the gentle stream, the water reaching up to your shins, sighing in relief as the cold water soothes your aching feet.

You slowly lean back, farther and farther until your back is flush with the rock, letting yourself fully relax against it as you look up at the stars. It’s a beautiful sight, especially in this world mostly free of light pollution, but…they’re different here, no planets or constellations you recognize. These stars are not your stars. This moon is not your moon. The sight stirs a cold feeling in your gut: it’s so off putting, so intrinsically wrong when the moon you’re looking for is not there, having been replaced with another.

You want to be under your moon again.

You’re not sure how long you laid there, gazing up into the empty mass of space—At some point, you no longer saw the night sky, instead looking through it into the nothingness— but your feet growing numb was probably a good sign that you had spent time long enough. You almost reluctantly pull out your feet, soles carefully planted on the rock and knees pointed up to the stars. Surely you could stay here a bit longer for your feet to dry? Being on your own felt normal, and in a world where nothing was normal, you feared this was the best you were going to get. 

The night critters here don’t sound like the ones back home either. They sound similar enough that you can tell they’re frogs and crickets, but their patterns and pitches aren’t your home’s.

‘…It’s noisier here.’

You can’t tell if it’s brighter or darker.

Your feet dried a long time ago.

‘…I should probably head back now, shouldn’t I?’

You feel dirty. You want to take a shower, a bath, something.

You slowly, reluctantly, push yourself up then pull your socks and boots back on, not bothering to lace them up. You look down into the gently flowing water of the river, the distorted reflection of the unfamiliar silvery moon staring back at you.

You walk away.

By the time you get back, the camp is empty of any waking members, save for Calcifaust who was on night watch. You give him a nod in place of a hello which he returns.

[Am I on watch tonight?]

”No, just me, Astarion, Tav, and Alfira tonight.”

[Cool.]

You look at your tent. The thought of stuffing your grimy body into your bedroll almost makes you grimace. 

You weren’t ready to bathe in the river; both because it would be a freezing cold river filled with fish and who knows what else and because you didn’t really know anybody well enough to wake them and ask them to stand guard while you washed up.

‘Whore bath time it is then.’

Instead of heading straight to your tent, you make for the communal chest, or the Chest of Many Things, as you like to call it, among many other names, all of which you did not yet know, where everyone tosses in random things they(namely Tav) found but don’t need. The junk drawer of chests, you could say. You manage to find a bucket, a small towel, a washcloth, and about a quarter of a bar of soap.

A quick trip to the river to fill up your bucket is made and back to your tent you go, spoils in hand. It’s dark inside, the light of the campfire seeping through the cloth not nearly enough. With a sigh, you place your things down and grab the lute from your pack just to pluck out a weak firebolt to light a candle before you lean the instrument against your pack again.

Your shoes are kicked off into the corner as you change out of your armor and dirty earthling clothes— you’d been wearing those for what, three days now? You’ll have to wash them soon— and prepare this world’s equivalent of cheap pajamas: slightly scratchy linen clothes.

Your homely clothes are carefully folded and placed atop an empty crate you had managed to wrangle into your tent to use as a nightstand.

And so you begin the insoles process of washing: washcloth, water, soap, washcloth, water— until you feel clean enough to be considered a person again, but it’s not really enough like this, nothing relaxing about it at all— and then you dry off and slip on the pajamas.

You shove the basin to a corner to be dealt with tomorrow. You’re tired enough as it is. You haphazardly lower yourself to your bedroll with a thump, staring blankly at the tent wall. Sometimes it looks closer than it actually is. Sometimes it looks as far away as it should be. Sometimes you see two of them blurring together. And sometimes, like tonight, you don’t even register the fact you’re looking at anything at all.

« Knock, knock… are you fine if I come in, or would you like some more time to yourself? »

You say nothing, but you don’t shut him out: a silent invitation. He takes it.

« I… I got you something. I don’t know if it will help you but… well, I hope it does. »

You push the feeling of curiosity towards him in place of a question.

« It’s in your pocket. Go on, take a look. »

You reach into your  pocket— these pants have no pockets.

« Your other clothes, the ones from your world. »

Not bothering to get up, you reach and stretch your body until your hand is able to reach your bag, tugging it just close enough to  reach inside  to grasp onto your neatly folded comfy pants and pull them out enough to stick your hand into their pocket. You feel rubbery strings brush against your fingertips. You clutch. Pull. They leave their soft confines with no resistance. You open your fingers and see your prize in your palm: wired earbuds. Pre-tangled. Lovingly used.

« I know how much you’ve been missing your home, so I thought that perhaps with these you’d have a chance to listen to your music. Maybe it’ll help you feel more at ease to have something familiar. »

You have to resist the urge to reply like that kid who got an avocado for Christmas. ’…Thank you. Really, I mean it. This is… this is a great gift.’ You think with sincerity, pressing your fists tight against your chest, hands clenched tight around the mess of wires. You did appreciate it, really, but come on, man, how did he manage to tangle them this badly? You remember them being very much not tangled back home. What, did they go through the Gordian Knot dimension when he teleported them?

You pull your phone out of its own confines and plug in the earbuds before powering it on. 76%. Surprisingly high, but you’re not one to look a gift horse in the mouth; it was worth it to keep it completely powered off. Battery saver on and brightness turned all the way down, you navigate to your downloaded songs and hit one at random. You don’t care which one it is; you just want a taste of home.

And a taste of home you get, so sweet you could cry were you not so mentally and emotionally exhausted and empty. You know this song well; how could you not? It was your most recent obsession back home that you felt compelled to download it as soon as possible. Your eyes slip shut as you listen, focusing on your little slice of Earth. 

And all too soon it’s over, a different piece taking its place. You want to keep listening, but you know better. You have a limited amount of battery and you can’t afford to fall asleep and let it deplete. You exit the app and fully power your phone down, then stow both it and the earbuds into a small pouch. You blow out the candle. In the dark of your tent you slide into your bedroll and drift into a dreamless slumber.

« Wake up!»

It’s dark. It’s dark save for the one side of the tent, the canvas dimly lit by flickering flames you can’t see. Even then, it’s still hard to see. You start to reach up to rub the sleep from your eyes.

‘Mmmnn… Astaroth? What’s—’

« Don’t move. Don’t make a sound. Keep your breathing relaxed and steady. »

You freeze, laying your arm back down slowly.

‘Astaroth, what’s going on? You’re starting to scare me.’

« Just stay still! Things will be dangerous tonight and I cannot risk you being caught unawares! »

‘Okay! Okay. I’m staying still. Now please, just tell me what’s going on! If you’re panicking, I’m gonna start panicking pretty soon too!’

« …There’s going to be a murder tonight in your camp. I do not foresee you being the victim, but if you were to leave your tent, you would no doubt face the same fate. I will not risk such a thing happening to you. »

‘A murd- what do you mean there’s going to be a murder tonight?!’

« You seem to forget that I preside over foresight and prophecies. I foresaw such an event happening tonight. »

‘Haaaah… how lovely.’

You mentally sneer to yourself. Just your luck that in the one place you’re supposed to feel safe a murder would take place.

‘So what exactly did you see? There’s gotta be more to your divination than just “a murder,” right?’

« …I am not sure if I should reveal more to you. »

‘What? Why not?’

« I can already tell you’re frightened; do not try to pretend that you are not— as much as you are attuned to my emotions, I am able to discern yours. I do not wish to frighten you further. »

’…My mans, I would at least like to be prepared. Just tell me the prophecy. Hell, having a false sense of security in the form of some knowledge might even help me calm down a bit, so stop holding out on me.’

« Very well. Ahem. Hands of midnight besprent with the glimmer of stars that doth shine above in the darkened slick that cloaks the flesh, dost move with a chaos yet a certain precision. The stars endure, a fresh draught of dark liquid doth cover any stains which had begun to wither. The wellspring of life’s water they gather from doth swell into a pool beneath, the source draining swift as thought itself. Dripping hands scoop and dip for more to then besprinkle the ground, tracing a circle— a sigil— with the fading essence ‘til the offering complete, the once maelstrom of hues now but one: a glossy deep crimson. »

{Intelligence check, disadvantage = 12, failure}.

‘…What? What does any of that even mean?’

« It is as I said. »

‘… I’m too tired for this. Why are prophecies always so open for interpretation?’

« That is the nature of things, I’m afraid. »

‘What kind of bullshit excuse is that?’

« It is the truth. This is as forthright as I am able to be without it being considered to be needlessly interfering with the natural order of the world. »

’But you seemed to have been able to do it just fine when you were directing me in battle!’

« That was a very different set of circumstances and some semantics and loopholes which we do not have the luxury to get into now allowed me to act as such then. It is different now. »

’So, you’re telling me that the whole “plausibility” thing I see in manhwa actually applies here?’

« I’m not sure what this means. A moment please… »

Still a bit dumbfounded, you wait for all of ten seconds before he speaks again.

« Ah, yes, based on your mental definition of this term, it is a close enough approximation if it helps you understand. »

’As long as this story doesn’t end up playing out like one of those constellation manhwas, we’ll be fine… hopefully.’

« Yes, hopefully, indeed. »

‘So, what now? We just wait here and witness a murder happen?’

« ”Witness?” No, no, you are going to stay right here. You will not leave this tent, you will not even glance outside it! You are going to lay there and not move. »

’So just listen to a murder then?’

« … unfortunately, yes. »

’And I just have to sit there and not react or anything?’

« Correct. »

’Alright then… wonderful.’

Not daring to move, you lay there in silence. Well, silent outwardly. Your mind has a hard time resting, running through all the possible scenarios it can conjure where something goes wrong and you end up dead or worse. Images of a bloody hand slipping into your tent and lifting the flap to reveal an equally bloody figure invades your thoughts and you screw your eyes shut, trying to pull yourself away.

’Okay, that’s enough. This isn’t a horror movie where they’re out to kill everyone indiscriminately. Think happy thoughts, or well, anything else really.’

You take a slow, deep breath, staying as silent as you can.

And you’re back to music. A slow, wordless melody that encapsulates a calm, relaxing night; something you desperately wish you had. The imaginary sound plays in your head, so serene.

« This is quite pleasant. »

’Yeah. Yeah, it is. It’s the night music from a game I like back home.’

« You have specific music for your games played at night? How fascinating. I did not expect for such calm music to be the choice for games. »

You frown in confusion, then realize that the only games he probably knows of are sports or cards and whatnot.

’That’s right; you don’t know what video games are, do you?’

« I must admit, I do not, though I have come across the term in your vernacular. »

‘God, how do I explain video games?’

You hum and haw in your head, trying to think of a good way to explain games, let alone computers.

’Um, they’re like magic paintings that move and do things with your input, but there’s no magic?’

As if you could tell he was going to ask a follow up question, you cut him off.

‘You know what, just find some of the footage in my brain when you have a chance; there’s plenty of it. It would be easier to show you then explain it to you.’

As you grow drowsier by the minute, the music in your thoughts begins to repeat and skip in places, your tired mind unable to remain aware enough to perform linearly. Your blinks become slower and slower until the time your eyes spend closed is longer than when they’re open.

« They’re moving. »

You feel a wave of  adrenaline push through you, bringing your mind back to wakeful awareness.

The murder was happening.

You strain your ears for any sounds signaling the murder was up and about, but you hear nothing of the sort. It’s all soft crackling fire, gentle babbling brook, and the animal nightlife of whatever nocturnal critters Faerun had. 

The sleepy soundscape is interrupted by a thunk. Then shuffling. Then a nauseating squelch. Then silence. The silence continued for what felt like hours but couldn’t have been more than a few seconds in reality before the sounds made by a person returned. It’s all squelches and shunks and splashes and drags and sopping plaps and wet rips and it goes on and on and on and then all too suddenly it stops.

And then a rhythmic pattern of something heavy dragging through the dirt, then stopping. Then dragging. Then stopping. Then dragging. Then nothing.

It’s only now that the dragging is gone that you finally realize the forest critters had also gone silent long before— or was it just you couldn’t hear anything anymore over the sound of your blood in your ears, pumped by frantic heart in accelerated beats, but no, it couldn’t be that, you can still hear the fire, right? Yes… Yes, you can still hear the crackling embers and the echoing wet gashunks and now there’s footsteps accompanying them; is someone there? Yes, they are, and they’re getting louder. Are they coming for you? Did they realize you heard everything? They must know, why else would they be getting so close and now what do you do, what do I do? What do I do, what can I do? They’re coming! They’re almost here. Just a few more steps and they’ll be here to open my tent and find me awake and then they’ll kill me and nobody will hear me dying and-

« DORMIS! »

You wake up.

You see the ceiling of your tent. The canvas is bright and you can see the small splotches of water stains decorating it in tiny blooms from years prior. You turn your head to the side. The intensity of the brightness is no longer dependent on the whims of the flickering flames you still cannot see. The sun’s up. It’s daytime.

And then you begin to recall why you’re so focused on it being daytime. You’re still alive; but someone else isn’t.

You can hear the wildlife again, the songs of birds and insects mixing together as if to say “It’s morning; time to wake up.”

You take a deep breath to steady yourself. It’s shaky, in and out. The night has passed, and you are still alive. You almost instantly regret it at the odors that assault your nose: blood and cooked meat— cooked pork. Your stomach churns with nausea. You turn to lay on your left, hoping to abate the discomfort somewhat.

You feel the gentle caress of warm hands, or rather, it would be more accurate to say you feel the intention of someone wanting to do so.

« Are you alright? »

Before you can respond, he continues.

« No, I know you’re not, but based on your memories, it seemed customary to ask first, even though I already knew the answer. I don’t even have to feel your emotions to tell that you’re not in good shape. »

’No, no, I’m alright. I’m fine, really.’

« You are most certainly not. You don’t have to try and placate me, especially not by lying, so please don’t try to lie to me again. »

You stay silent at that, unable to refute him after having been so easily caught.

’It’s… it is over now, though, right? It’s safe to leave the tent?

« Yes, it is. He immediately reassures you. «You are safe now. It is all over. »

’…I think… I think I’m going to stay inside… just for a bit longer.’

« Take all the time you need, young one. I’ll be here, should you need me. »

Still on your side, you curl up into a ball and wrap the blanket around you tightly. You don’t feel secure. You pull the covers up further, tucking your face into your cocoon until only your eyes remain uncovered.

’Yeah… Just for a bit more.’ You reassure yourself.

For once, your mind is quiet, the shock having overwhelmed the rest of your thoughts, forcing them to submit to silence. There are no thoughts. No feelings. Just emptiness. You feel so empty, so hollow. 

Nothingness. Just silence.

You break it. 

‘I don’t remember falling asleep… You used magic on me, didn’t you?’

« I did. I feared you would have remained in that panicked state had I not done so. »

’You try to pull the blanket around you even tighter, but you were already clutching it impossibly close to yourself. You settle with pulling it fully over your head instead, staring at the fabric, coarser than you were used to back home, as the events of the night are brought to the forefront of your mind: what you heard, what you knew was happening but a mere few meters away from your tent.

’So now there’s a cold-blooded murderer in our camp and one of our party members is dead.’

You screw your eyes shut.

’I don’t want to go outside.’

« I know… I know. »

Minutes pass by in the quiet of your tent as the world outside gradually gets noisier as more of your companions wake and start their day.

Despite how comfortable the shared quiet is between just you and Astaroth, you know you can’t stay like this forever. This world is cruel in a different way than your own, or at least in a different way than you’re used to. Your day-to-day worries have shifted drastically in your new profession of looting the corpses of both your aggressors and strangers who have long since passed. You haven’t had the time to process the change, but you’re pretty sure you’re not a big fan so far. 

You don’t want to brave this world, but you know you must if you wish to survive— if you wish to return home. 

That thought is sobering. You have to get home. You’ve left precious people and pets and things behind. You have to pull yourself together enough to keep moving, at least just enough for now. Just enough is better than nothing, so just enough will do.

You slowly sit up and move to sit cross-legged, pushing your blanket fully off you. You straighten your back, eyes still closed, but gently, not clenched tightly. You take a deep breath. In…2…3…4, hold…2…3…4, out…2…3…4. You open your eyes, looking at your hands resting in your lap. You tilt your head back, looking at the canvas ceiling of your tent. It’s still bright. Maybe even brighter than before.

‘You sure I can’t convince you to tell me who killed who?’

« The prophecy already stated as such, and I can say no more on how you decide to interpret it. Either way, I’m sure once you step outside, the answer will become clear to you. »

‘I’ll be honest, I can barely recall what “the prophecy” even said. I was a bit preoccupied with panicking. Can you at least tell it to me again?’

« I’m loath to do so. Are you positive you will be able to act the same way around them after realizing the truth? They cannot know that you know, and a sudden shift in your demeanor would give it away. I feel it would be best for you to realize after you’ve already interacted with them so that you can adjust to your newfound knowledge accordingly. »

’I— that—that’s not how that works, you know.’

« I feel as though when you are already in a rhythm, you tend to stick with it despite what happens, which is what led me to this conclusion. But if you so wish, I will relay it to you again if you are sure you will not give away you know of their activities. »

‘I’m not sure, if I’m being honest. I feel like the only options I have are 1) be wary of just the killer, or 2) be wary of everybody. Either way, I’m still paranoid.’

« Well, I don’t see the harm in being wary of everyone. You could do with some more caution in this world. »

‘Fair, but I don’t want to have to be wary of the people I’m practically entrusting with my life. I want to be able to trust them.’

« …I suppose it would be difficult to trust someone you’re wary of. »

‘Yeah, no shit. So— think you can tell me who they are?’

« Unfortunately, I have already made my decision and have expressed as such. There is a reason why prophecies are the way that they are. Besides, I believe in your abilities and can assure you that you will realize who it is sooner rather than later. »

‘Fine. I’ll leave it alone, I guess.’

Pushing yourself up, you hesitantly step to the flap of your tent, hand stalling at the strings holding the fabric. ‘I’m really not looking forward to this.’ Another deep breath. In…hold…out… You steel yourself and put on a neutral expression then untie the fastenings. The flap is raised and you exit your tent. The sunlight is blinding and you have to squint for a brief second as your eyes adjust. You look around at the camp and… everything is normal. Lae’zel is practicing her swings, Astarion is reading a book under the sun, and Tav is cooking over the fire.

The smell of blood is stronger out here; your nose wrinkles on instinct. You make your way over to the campfire, the smell or iron growing more pungent with each step. Miss GBA looks up from the meat she’s roasting— chunks skewered on sticks planted mostly upright in the ground around the firepit— her face shifting into a sympathetic smile.

”Apologies for the odor and the mess. I’m afraid I’m not an expert when it comes to butchery,” she explains as she gestures behind her.

Your eyes follow the movement and widen as you see the mess behind her: blood. Blood everywhere in pools and streaks, accompanied by a medium-sized boar that’s been haphazardly butchered. {Insight: 17+2=19, success}

Your eyes dart back to Default Gameboy Advance. She’s smiling so kindly with her mouth, but it does not reach her eyes— no, swirling within those pale eyes is something smug, almost mirthful. Your mind rushes back to the cryptic words that were whispered in the recesses of your mind. And everything clicks into place. It’s her. Tav killed somebody. She killed one of the few people you were starting to get to know— perhaps someone who could have even been a future friend. {Constitution saving throw: 9-1=8, failure}

You feel your face grow cold and clammy as the blood drains from it, sweat beading at the back of your neck. You also suddenly feel the need to reevaluate if you should be giving silly nicknames to these people in your head. What if it slips out and Tav suddenly decides that you’re next?

”You alright? You’re not looking too good,” Tav says, her eyebrows furrowing in a concern that you can tell is all a facade.

[Yeah, fine. Just not the best with… animal mutilation.]  {Deception = 9+3=12, ???}

“I promise it won’t be as messy next time,” she sheepishly says, rubbing the back of her neck. “Well, the meat will be done cooking in a bit. I’d say—” she dislodges one of the skewers from the ground, turning it while inspecting it before placing it back, the other side now facing the fire—“five, ten minutes more?”

[I think I’m good.] You quickly deflect. [Not exactly in the mood for meat this morning. I have an inkling that it won’t stay down for long.] {Performance = 13+1=14, success}

”I’m starting to think those druids have rubbed off on you. You sure you aren’t one of them?” She teases.

[Ha, ha, very funny. My stomach is just telling me it doesn’t want meat today, that’s all.] {Performance  = 16, success}

”Are you sure? You and Astarion best learn to eat our commoner food soon, lest you starve by being such picky eaters that you refuse to eat.”

You feel a pang of worry gnaw at you. ‘Astarion still hasn’t eaten? It’s been at least two days since he’s eaten anything, plus we’ve been doing some pretty rigorous exercise… well, rigorous for me, that is. I hope he’s okay.’

[I mean, I’m still gonna eat, just not… meat.] {Performance = 11, success}

”Well, food’s in the same place as yesterday. Just don’t tear through it like a starved bear.”

’Yeah, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that. I don’t even have an appetite for anything, but I know I have to eat if I want to keep up my strength.’

[Duly noted.]

You look at the cooking meat once again and are reminded of the fact that the smell of cooked pork is supposedly scarily similar to the smell of human meat. 

You don’t want to risk finding out if they taste the same as well.

You furrow your eyebrows in an almost-wince at your own thoughts as you turn away, opting to find something notably not meat in the food stores instead. You rifle through the food packs and find what looks like an apple— hopefully the apples here taste the same as they do back home. You take it to the river to rinse it of any dirt or debris, then bring it to your lips to take a bite. It’s good, all things considered. Better than a red delicious, at least.

You take a seat on a rock and turn to watch the rest of your camp bustle about as you chew. Cowabunger and Preminger haven’t switched up what they were doing before, your eyes moving to observe the others. The Reject’s messing with some magic in his hands, Calcifaust’s inspecting his rapier, Karlach has since bounced up to Tav after you left to animatedly talk to her, and Shadowheart seems to be sorting through her belongings. Your fears ease with each soul you see alive and well. And then you remember Alfira. That’s right, she joined you all last night. You look around, but don’t see her.

’Oh… she must be dead.’

You take another bite of your apple, slower this time. Your thoughts are only solidified when Tav calls everyone to eat, causing everyone, save you and Astarion, to gather around the campfire to grab a skewer. You have to look away as they all dig in, your mind conjuring unwanted images of human teeth digging into purple flesh.

Your eyes instead fall on Astarion, who is once again not joining the others in their meal. His gaze is pointed on Tav enthusiastically biting into her share of meat, his eyes oddly intense and lips pursed shut. You aren’t close enough to identify what emotion his eyes hold, but two thoughts come to mind: either one, he’s just hungry despite refusing to eat, or two, he also knows what happened last night.

Another bite. The juice drips from the apple to your palm.

Perhaps it is selfish of you, but you find yourself hoping that he was also a witness to the murder. If another person knows, that means there’s one more person who would be prepared in case Tav turns her bloodlust against your group once more. You don’t dare ask him, though. If it turns out he doesn’t know, or worse, he’s in on it, you fear what his reaction could be. After all, he seemed to be one who enjoyed killing things from his little quips here and there. You almost shudder at the thought. You can’t imagine ever enjoying that sight– that sensation– of killing someone.

You turn away from it all and take another bite. Before long, there’s nothing left but the core and the sticky residue on your skin.

You can’t be antisocial forever, you suppose. With an internal sigh, you stand. Holding the core by the stem in your clean hand, you rinse your sticky hand in the river. Step by step, you approach with a leisurely gait, but relaxed is the furthest from what you feel. You toss the core into the fire and take a seat on a log near Karlach, who had long finished her first skewer and was almost done with a second. As your skin begins to heat up considerably, you surmise that maybe it wasn’t the best idea to put yourself between the literal walking furnace and the campfire, but you don’t get up— that would seem rude.

“We’ve gathered quite a few leads already,” Tav addresses you all. “But we’re on a pressing time limit; we don’t really have the time to explore every option. Since it looks like Alfira decided not to join us after all, seeing as I couldn’t find her when it was time for her watch, there are eight of us; I think we should split up and scout out our options, then commit to the most promising one.” She flicks her wood skewer into the fire. “We have the gith sighting in the northwest, Halsin at the goblin camp somewhere to the west, and Auntie Ethel’s place in the southwest.”

You cock your head and eyebrow in confusion. [Who?]

”Ah, allow me to explain. Auntie Ethel is an alchemist of sorts I met last night at the Tiefling camp. She offered to help us be rid of the tadpoles.”

You nod in understanding. ‘That’s right, they got alchemy here. You know, I really should’ve realized this sooner since we’ve been using potions and stuff.’

”We can split into two groups of three, and one group of two. Lae’zel and Karlach are the brawniest of us, so they’ll each be in one of the two groups of three, and we can divide the three-person groups from there. As for the group of two, I want the stealthier ones to group up and go investigate Ethel. I don’t trust her words very much. Meaning you two,” Tav points to you and Astarion, “will be going to the south.”

You look behind you because surely she’s actually pointing at somebody else; she couldn’t possibly mean—  there’s nobody behind you. You snap your head to her and give her an incredulous look before pointing to yourself. [ME?! You’re talking about me?]

“You have shown to be pretty good at sneaking up on people,” Shadowheart adds.

[Not on purpose though!] Your head snaps to look at them, eyes wide and brow furrowed upwards in disbelief that they also think this is a good idea.

”That’s even better! That means even if you let down your guard, you’ll have a better chance at going unnoticed than most. Guys like that were always the hardest to hunt down.” Karlach oh-so-kindly makes Tav’s idea seem even more credible.

You look at Tav, pleadingly, anxiety be damned. [You cannot be serious.]

”For small scouting missions, while it is better to have one person than two, we are trying to up our overall survivability. I don’t want anybody off on their own; it’s too dangerous since we don’t know when these tadpoles will decide to act up.”

’Ah, the buddy system.’ Your eyes dart around the group, but everybody else seems to agree with her. You sigh and rest your chin in your hands, elbows propped against your knees. [Fine.] ‘But don’t blame me when the clap of my ass cheeks alerts the guards. And I better be allowed to stay behind at camp tomorrow. My feet need a break.’ [I’m gonna go get ready or something.] You push yourself off the log, hands shoved into your pockets as you trudge over to your tent.

”Oh, come now, I know you can’t hate me that much, darling.” Astarion quips as you walk past him.

You don’t bother stopping; you just give him a deadpan look for the second you spend passing him by. You barge into your tent and start to grumpily kick off your shoes then change into your under armor.

”I don’t know how to stealth, what is Tav—no, everybody— thinking?!” You grumble under your breath. “Why can’t I just watch over camp instead? Then the super stealthy one doesn’t need to worry about squishy old me and I get to rest my feet! It’s perfect, brilliant even! But nooooo, we have to stick together in tiny groups!” You pull your armor over your head and fasten it. “At least get me some proper hiking shoes that fit me first before forcing me to do this. Do you know how hard it is to sneak when your shoes are bigger than you’re used to? I’m gonna be tripping on everything!” Your shoes are pulled back on, your eyes glaring at them the whole time.

You look at your bulky pack and narrow your eyes. Yeah, you probably shouldn’t be taking that for a stealth mission. Your journal, phone, and a healing potion are stuffed into your pouches— wherever they’ll fit, really. You take a step forward and trip over nothing, causing you to scramble to find your footing again. Luckily, you don’t fall. You glare down at your feet again.

”…stupid fucking clown shoes.”

(The alternative chapter title was "Clown Shoes Under a Foreign Moon")

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Also, hey. If you wanna be on the taglist, I'm doing that now. Lemme know.

”Alright. Everyone remembers their assignments?”

You look up from the map at the sound of Alfira’s killer’s cold and level voice, seeing that everyone had gathered in the meantime. Nods and words of affirmation circle around in response to her general check.

”Good. Let’s move out.”

Without a word of complaint, not that you would have had a chance to get one in if you could find the courage to speak up, everyone moves to leave camp, walking past your standing form. Your shoulders slump in time with your sigh as you roll the map back up.

’I really don’t wanna do this. Everyone knows that splitting the party is the number one cause of total party kills in D&D. Ugh, I can’t believe I can’t even muster the courage to fight back any more than just that little bit, and it’s my literal life on the line. Brain, why do you detest me so?’

’Because that would mean standing up to a murderer with a track record of killing off their own party members.’

With a deep breath in, you straighten out and stretch, getting a satisfying crack out of your spine, then square your shoulders. ‘Thinking about it, we make a valid point. Let’s take this time to relax while being far away from Tav. I don’t wanna imagine how I’d end up if I was stuck alone with her and she decided to kill me… based on those sounds and the leftover blood—’

 ”Are you coming, or what? We don’t have all day you know.”

You jolt upright at the voice coming from behind you, back ramrod straight. You spin on your heel to face whoever had the bright idea of sneaking up on you, your other foot taking a step back to balance yourself. There, in all his glory, stood a slightly miffed Astarion. It seems that as he was stuck being your partner, dearest Preminger had stayed behind, presumably waiting for you. Your free hand raises to occupy itself with the back of your neck, fingers drumming against your skin nervously.

[Sorry.] You avert your gaze to the ground, then tilt your head towards the exit. [Shall we, then?]

You see him cross his arms in your periphery. “Just try to keep up, will you? I’m not exactly thrilled about this whole arrangement either.” 

You step to the side to make room for him as he steps forward, quickly passing you to take the lead. You fall into step behind him, your first few steps spent getting into the rhythm of walking with your open-concept shoes. It isn’t too difficult to acclimate to, seeing as you’ve already had practice from the day before, but it’s still annoying. It really only started getting in the way once you started paying attention to it… huh. Maybe you should stop paying it so much mind. 

Not that you could anymore, now that you’re thinking about it. All you have to do is think of something else long enough to forget about it and you’ll be all set.

The path out of camp, if you could call it a path, was an animal trail through the woods for a short distance, couldn’t have been more than two minutes of walking, that eventually opened up to a man-made dirt path.

’Ok, now then, which way is south?’ You look to the sky to see which direction the sun was rising from, when a thought makes you pause: ‘Wait, this is a different world, right? Does the sun even rise from the east here?’

Luckily, you don’t have to worry for long since your very helpful partner who makes up for your lack of Faeruian common sense chooses to make a left to head down the path.

’Guess that way is south? Or maybe west? I don’t know, I’ll just trust he knows where we’re going.’

’Wait.’

Your gaze falls to the obnoxiously prevalent rolled up parchment held loosely in your hand. ‘I have the map. Astarion probably needs this, doesn’t he? Oh, but he’s already going, shit, I missed my window… ah, um… come on, you just need to give it to him. I know that, but I just got on his nerves! And we hadn’t even started walking yet when I did that! What if this makes it worse?! But what if he gets even more annoyed if we don’t give it to him and he finds out we had it the whole time?! Fuck it! Just give it to him!’

And so you give it to him… in the plans you're making in your head, that is; plans on how you’re going to give it to him. You make three routes to go along depending on his reaction.

After at least five minutes of giving him sidelong glances and hyping yourself up, you clench your fists and shuffle closer.

‘C’mon, it’s no big deal. Just get it over with already.’

“Hey, um, Astarion…?” You quietly speak up to get his attention. [Don’t you need this?] You poke his arm with the rolled up map.

He jerks his arm away, recoiling a bit. His face scrunches in a little scowl. “Why are you doing that?”

You unroll the paper once again and show it to him. [It’s the map. Don’t you need this?]

He relaxes, shoulders dropping slightly, and takes it from you, studying it.

”Hmm, it’s better than nothing, all things considered,” his gaze flickers between the map and your surroundings now that you’re out of camp. “Looks like we’ll be heading… somewhere over there.” He sweeps his arm across his field of view, starting  maybe ten degrees right from the direction you’re heading, all the way to about sixty degrees further to the right, you’d estimate.

You raise your eyebrow.

”Look, we don’t really have much to work with here, seeing as Tav circled this entire area,” he flicks the map with the back of his hand in a way that reminds you of a certain red-suited prosecutor and blue-suited lawyer who are definitely into each other. 

[Fair enough,] you shrug.

Not too soon after going further down the road in what you presume is probably south-ish, you turn off onto a side trail on the right that you could maybe fit a car on if your car was on the slimmer side.

He glances between the map and the tree line to the left a couple times before ultimately folding the map and pocketing it.

’…huh? He’s putting it away? Right after I worked so hard it was to muster up enough courage to give it to him?! Am I Sisyphus? Is that my name now? It must be, surely, since for him to not even feel the need to bother with the map I so painstakingly endeavored to provide; it must be naught but the universe slighting my very existence!’ Your inner voice, that is to say, you, laments in dejection in a very justified and not overly dramatic way.

”Don’t worry, we won’t get lost without that scrap.”

You look up from his pocket, which he must have caught you staring at, to his face. Taking your silence for inquisitiveness, he continues.

”I mean, we don’t quite need it and its meager details when all we have to do is go along the outskirts of the ship.” He tilts his head towards the left, southern tree line. 

Sure enough, above the canopy, you can still see some faint billows of dark smoke and the bony, structural appendages that were most likely the frame and foundation of the nautiloid still towering above the tree tops.

’Oh. Right. The crash is a pretty obvious landmark, isn’t it? Can’t believe it’s still burning.’

The conversation, if it even was one in the first place, simply halts after that, no words being said or gestures being made. The silence is nice. You’ll gladly take any moments of peace and quiet you can get. If only you were back home as well. Perhaps then you would’ve been able to relax. A web of melancholy seems to spread out from your chest. It’s familiar in the way it tries to cling and dull everything else.

It’s dangerous.

You move on.

Perhaps if you keep telling yourself that, it’ll become the truth.

You pinch the skin of your underarm near the tricep and the sharp pain pulls you out of the shallow beginnings of a spiral.

You’re back for now, out of the mind muck and listen to the forest to keep yourself from falling back in. A blend of noises both familiar and not reach your ears, and you find your own form of entertainment in trying to guess what the creatures that made those sounds might look like. And sooner than you’d like, you’re faced with the…opportunity to maybe see those creatures for yourself.

At first you guys had stuck to the beaten paths, but apparently those weren’t good enough or something because at a curve, instead of turning to follow the trail, Astarion just kept going forward, straight past the treeline and into the undergrowth.

Your steps stutter into a pause.

“Hurry up if you don’t want to be left behind,” he throws out, not even bothering to slow down, barely giving you the courtesy of looking over his shoulder to briefly make eye-contact.

‘…Yeah, fuck it, whatever. The hypotenuse is the shortest path or something.’

You follow after him, the leaf litter and sticks crunching beneath your feet as you enter.

A few paces in front of you,Monsieur Preminger stops dead in his tracks and sighs. You stop behind him, blinking owlishly as he turns and runs a hand through his hair, eyebrows slightly pinched.

[What’s up? Why’d we stop? You just said to hurry up.]

”Are you trying to alert the entire forest to your presence? What part of needing to be stealthy did you not understand?”

’Huh? Why was he annoyed? Did stepping on some leaves really irritate him this much?’

[But… it’s not stealthing time yet?] {Performance = 12, success}

”Well, we may not be there just yet, but have you thought about the possibility that sometimes other people and other things travel between locations? Or perhaps you have also forgotten that there are beings who exist other than ourselves who may be hostile towards us, like, oh, I don’t know, some rogue mindflayers? There’s only the two of us right now, and, no offense, but you don’t seem the most apt at being able to defend yourself, so I’d rather us not alert any unsavory groups of our presence.”

”Oh…” You trail off. He was completely right. Without the rest of the group, namely the tanks, to keep you and your very much squishy, fleshy, very much not-literally-strong-as-steel body safe, you would need to be careful.

”Understand now? Good. Be more careful from now on.”

He turns and carries on, not even waiting for an answer from you. Even with all this foliage, his footsteps are completely silent. Or at least so quiet that you can’t hear it above the bugs, birds, and wind. It seems no matter where you are, you’ll never be free of cicadas, or cicada-adjacent insectoids, as you can hear those buzzing patterns around you.

You try to imitate him, keeping your steps light, like you normally would when sneaking about, but you’re nowhere near as good. Foot forward, heel down first, light pressure to heavy pressure, then slowly lower the rest of your foot down in a roll, heel to toe, shifting and adjusting if you meet resistance or feel a twig. You repeat and repeat as best as you can and yet you still manage to snap sticks and crush dried leaves in somehow the loudest and most obnoxious fashion.

You hear a sigh and look up to see Astarion a few paces ahead, having made much more progress as your strides slowed significantly when you tried to switch into stealth mode. Now facing you, you catch his eyes staring pointedly at your feet.

“I don’t know why Tav thought you were even remotely good at this.”

Your eyes narrow, lips pushing up in a slightly offended pout as you stand up straight.

[Well sorry. I’m used to sneaking around in buildings, not in the great outdoors.] {Performance = 18, success}

”I can tell. Your movements are all wrong for this type of terrain: lots of uneven ground and things that snap and crunch underfoot.”

[Then by all means, enlighten me, or great master of outdoor stealthing.] You cross your arms, weight shifting to one foot. {Performance = 14, success}

He puts a hand on one hip and gestures to your feet with the other. “You keep putting your weight down on your heels first. You have to step softly with the outside of your foot, then gently let the ball fall, followed by the heel. That way, you can easily pivot or even move before you step on something.”

“…huh.” ‘That’s actually pretty insightful.’ You look down, watching your feet as you attempt to do as he said, taking your first step forward. It’s a bit awkward at first, not being used to putting your weight on just the outside edge of your feet, but it does seem like you’re being quieter. At least, you think. You are being quieter, right?

And so you take a second step. And then a third. 

’Just one foot in front of the other, but different.’

And you keep going.

”It’s passable now, at least.”

You finally take your eyes off your feet and look up. Astarion was much closer than you remember. You had crossed the difference without realizing; if he hadn’t spoken up you might have just walked right into him, and he definitely would not have appreciated that.

[You know what, I’ll take good enough! C’s get degrees, after all.] {Performance = 13, failure}.

“Right, well, good. As for that second half… hm… whatever that means, I hope it doesn’t matter since I’m not even going to bother.” He turns and pushes aside a low branch, moving on. “Now let’s see if you can keep it up.”

So concentrated on your own steps, you only notice it once it’s too late— and by notice it, you mean getting whipped in the chest by a tree branch, the same tree branch Astarion had pushed out of his way and hadn’t even bothered to continue to hold back for you. You glare at the branch and then at him.

”Oh, and don’t forget you need to be aware of your surroundings; don’t just stare at the ground the whole time.” He says with a shitty, smarmy, little smirk that you wish you could wack off his face with the very same branch.

”You know, you kinda suck ass.” You don’t even bother trying to hide your tone.

He shrugs off what he surely must have known was an insult and continues on all while you mutter curses in your head as you push the branch aside yourself and follow after him, slowly getting into the rhythm of walking in a new way without looking. You’d already done it once today with big shoes, so now you can surely do big shoes but different, right?

Surprisingly enough, you’re quieter for the most part. Sometimes you lose balance on the uneven ground, your weight-bearing foot slipping a bit, and you find your moving foot falling heavier than intended in turn, but overall, your footsteps blend in more with the natural ambience than you were expecting.

But alas, confidence turns into hubris and comes to smite all eventually. And for you, that happened to have been two seconds ago, when your foot— more precisely, your stupid clown shoe— got caught under a gnarled root and you tipped forward. And now here you are, on your stomach, splayed out on the ground in a position that perhaps only a cat would find comfortable. You can clearly hear Astarion laughing through his fingers, obviously not trying very hard to stifle it.

”Oh, yes, very stealthy now, aren’t you?” He lowers his hand and snarks once he manages to calm down enough.

”Fuck you,” You flip him off first, then push yourself up to your feet. Clearly, one of these was much more important.

Brushing the dirt and rogue leaves off your armor, you grumble a bit, then turn your gaze to Preminger to glare a little. [Alright, you’ve had your fun; quit your giggling. Now, can we get moving again?] {Performance = 17, success}

Never dropping that smug look, he shrugs a little, eyebrows raised in amusement, and turns on his heel. You begrudgingly follow.

Luckily, the next few hours of your not-so-leisurely hike through the forest are uneventful. At least, you think it was a few hours. It was hard to tell the time without a phone or watch to rely on, and the sun’s position was obscured by the tree canopy, so you couldn't rely on that either, but you’d been walking stealthily for so long that it couldn’t have possibly been for less than three hours! Right? Right. Now all you can do is make sure the peacefulness stays peaceful as best you can. You had already tripped twice today and you weren’t looking to make it thrice.

But, disasters come in threes, as they say, so you weren’t going to keep your hopes up on that front.

The uneventfulness of everything did give you time to look at the woods as they were. The trees all seemed to be around the same age and fairly young, in terms of a tree’s lifespan. Perhaps this area was heavily deforested and replanted in the past, or maybe a wildfire burned everything to ash? That or Astarion had kept you close to the outskirts of the forest the entire time, but your basic, home-grown human eyes weren’t really good enough to be able to tell that.

There wasn’t as much wildlife as you were expecting though. They probably all fled after the nautiloid crash— the quake of the impact joined the smell of smoke and fire must have scared much of the fauna off. Before long, you reach the edge of the woods. Well, not so much the edge than a dirt path that cut through the woods. The canopy was thinner here and you could see the sun. It certainly looked higher in the sky, but where did it start again? Oh well– doesn’t matter. How much time passed is how much time you decide must have passed, and you say it’s been at least three— no, four— hours. As you step out of the treeline and onto the road, you look both ways out of habit, but instead of a car, you spot a big lump of… something down the way a bit.

You’re curious. You want to investigate. You pinch Astarion’s sleeve and tug as you already start walking over.

”What are you— are you seriously trying to wander off now?”

You’re already five strides away by the time he speaks, too intrigued to heed any sense of danger you apparently don’t have right now.

[Follow me], you casually beckon him to follow.

As you get closer, you can tell it’s something hairy, a mammal of some sort. Then you see the snout and the tusks. It’s a big boar. A huge boar, dead. You knew pigs were big, but were wild boars normally this big, or was it a Faerunian species of giant boar? As you get right up next to it, you poke it with your foot— once, then twice more, just to make sure. No movement.

‘Yup, it’s dead. But why is it just… out here? It doesn’t look like it’s been in a fight, and I don’t think it died from old age? How can you tell if a pig looks old? Maybe if they look like they have little muscle mass, baggy skin, and bony legs? I know I just made that up, but let’s go with that—it’s how I imagine old things to look. Or maybe that’s just how cartoons have influenced my perception? Either way, if I base my assumptions on that, I don’t think this pig is old. Hmm…’

Staring at the boar in thought, you hear footsteps come up next to you, “Why are you staring at some pig? It’s dead, so who cares?”

You don’t bother to look over, in fact, you didn’t even register his words, too absorbed in your deductions to care enough.

‘It’s been left here, completely untouched… Perhaps it was done by people hunting for sport? Yeah, that makes sense. If they were hunting for sport, there’s a chance they didn’t bring enough people with them to be able to carry this huge thing– I bet it weighs a ton! But I don’t think most people here have enough time on their hands to be hunting for sport. Fantasy is like medieval/renaissance times but with magic, right? Commoners wouldn’t do this kind of thing—leaving their dinner out to rot without so much as harvesting even a sliver of meat, so maybe there’s a noble out here? But really? Here? In the middle of nowhere? Hunting after a nautiloid crash? …wait a second, it all makes sense! Some young noble with too big of an ego decided to come hunt a weakened mindflayer in order to brag about it! That’s totally the kind of thing the villainous ex-fiance would do in those romance fantasy isekai stories to impress his new girl! But that would mean that there are inexperienced hunters out here right now, hunting for sport, with their quarry being something bipedal that’s vaguely humanoid in shape. You know, like us.’

Wait.

Uh-oh.

‘What if they see us through the foliage and shoot first, ask questions later? How do you keep safe? We don’t have high-visibility clo–’ You flinch, practically leaping to the left. Something poked your arm!

Your head snaps to your right and you see the perpetrator: Astarion had poked you with the map!

“Are you done with your dangerous past-time of getting lost in your thoughts yet?”

[Well-]

“Good. Now come on. Gawking at every piece of carrion we find won’t help us in fixing these brain-worms.”

[What? No, wait, hear me out for a second!] {Performance = 15, success}. ‘Sure, I might not have actually properly examined the corpse in full, nor do I know enough about butchering or dead animals to really tell what happened here– True crime media only goes into so much detail about human victims, which probably isn’t even applicable to animals, now that I think about it, so I don’t have much, if anything, to go on– but still! It could be dangerous.’

“Do you seriously want to waste more time on this? It’s already dead!”

[No, listen, I think there’re some amateur hunters out there. We should be careful.] {Performance=19, success}.

“All the more reason we shouldn’t stick around then. Now, are we done here?” He fidgets impatiently.

‘Wow, he’s just going to take my word for it? I didn’t expect him to start trusting me so easily. Neat!’ [Yup, guess I’m done.]

“Good. Now try not to get sidetracked and go off on your own again.” He turns on the ball of his foot with a speed and balance you’d expect from a ballerina, and marches off into the next half of the woods.

« …I would suggest you don’t trust him so easily. »

Your eyes widen in surprise, caught off guard, but not enough to make your steps falter as you step into the underbrush behind Astarion.

‘Oh, hey Astaroth. Surprised me there; you’ve been pretty quiet today, but, uh, why do you say that?’

« You don’t truly believe he’s the type to take your words for granted without some explanation from you, do you? You can clearly tell he was nervous and jumpy. He knows something you don’t. »

You glance to the side. ‘...Yeah, he did seem pretty anxious, didn’t he? You’re probably right, but… but nothing good will come of doubting my companions right now. Sewing doubt within a group is one of the quickest ways to ensure its downfall, and I’m not in a position where I can risk that. So I’ll pretend to play ignorant and keep telling myself not to doubt. I’m sure that if whatever he’s hiding would jeopardize our lives, he would mention it. Nothing good will come from pressuring him.’

« I’m not sure whether to call you naive or insightful, but I will trust your judgement. Just be wary. »

‘...you know what, I’ll take it.’

After a short, mostly quiet trek through this side of the woods, Astarion pauses in front of you. You sidle up next to him to see what made him stop. It’s a slope. It’s not a vertical drop, but it’s still steep enough where if you took a wrong step, you’d probably end up tumbling down to the bottom like a mii who failed their ski jump in wii fit. Minus the bit where they turn into a giant snowball. Since there’s no snow. Unless there’s weird, invisible, warm-weather magical snow here. Nah, there’s no way. As you’re busy trying to calculate a safe route down, Astarion’s already begun. Not wanting to be left behind, you stop thinking and go for it, not wanting to get left behind. Using roots as steps and tree trunks and low branches as hand rails to get you down, you begin to hear shouting as you get closer to the bottom. You look around for Astarion but somehow, in the minute you took your eyes off him in favor of making sure you didn’t take a mean tumble down the slope, you had lost him. 

‘Stupid elves and their dumb eyes and their dumb feet, able to sneak off without making sound and stuff; where the hell did he go?’

Keeping your disgruntled groan to yourself, you focus on getting down the rest of the hill in one piece. You weren’t doing a very good job at staying quiet though, but it didn’t seem to matter as whoever was by the bottom was shouting too loud to make out your little leaf crunches and twig snaps.

What you weren’t expecting was for the forest to immediately thin out as soon as you were at the base of the slope, leaving you completely exposed and in the eyesight of said loud individuals. And as arguing people tend to do when they’re losing, they bring in other parties to back them up.

“You there, dearie, I’ve seen you back at the grove, haven’t I? Won’t you talk some sense into these lads?” An old woman you have definitely never spoken to or seen before singles you out for the sole purpose of throwing you into the depths of pure misery.

“Oh, no, I, um, uh…” You fumble out, not really knowing how to communicate, forgetting your charades because you were suddenly put on the spot. How were you supposed to know this lady would just decide to drag you into her argument?

“You! You know this hag?” One of the two men speaks, the argument having taken a pause for all three participants to focus their attention on you.

“What? No, no I, um, aaaah fuck.” You gulp and squeeze your eyes shut in a quick reset. [No.] You shake your head, hoping you get your point across. {Persuasion=11, failure}.

He narrows his eyes. He doesn’t believe you. “You best stay out of this if you don’t want to be gutted where you stand. We’re getting Mayrina back, whether you stand in our way or not.”

You throw your hands up in surrender, taking a step back. The men’s expressions don’t change, still on guard, but the old lady’s face sours.

“Why aren’t you just downright useless,” the old woman spits out. “When you or your friends come knocking at my door, you’d best have your heads bowed with an apology at the ready,” she sneers, before her tone suddenly goes light and cheery again. “Bye-bye now!” And she vanishes, leaving nothing but a ripple of what looks like glitching color filters behind her.

You blink dumbfounded, not sure what happened. The men, who were looking so tense just a moment ago, curse and then run out into the wetlands, which you just now noticed were there, opposite of the woods you came out of.

“...What the fuck just happened?”

“So, now we’re dealing with a hag too?”

You flinch and whip around, a motion that you’ve seemingly been doing a lot recently, seeing Preminger now coming up next to you.

[Bitch, where the fuck were you?] {Performance=12, success}

“Well, you seemed to have been handling yourself just fine, so I didn’t feel a need to reveal myself just yet. Afterall, surprise attacks tend to be more effective.”

“... I don’t know what I expected from you.” [But, nevermind that, that old woman! She just– poofed! Vanished! Went up in smoke!] You waved your arms around animatedly, in grand gestures of poofing. {Performance=13, success}

“Yes, and that all but solidified that fact that she’s a hag.”

‘What does being an old woman have to do with– oooooh, right. This is D&D. Hags, like the creature. Like Baba Yaga who lives in the furnace in the basement. Right.’ [Right…right,] you nod along. [I guess this is the place we’re scouting then.] {Performance=19, success}.

“Certainly seems that way, doesn’t it? Just be wary of traps. Hags only tend to be friendly on the outside, and that’s when they want to make a deal with you. There’s probably all sorts of nasty things afoot to deter unwanted guests.”

[Well, then, by all means, please continue to take the lead.] {Performance=14, success}.

He didn't seem amused, but he didn’t argue either, so that’s a win in your book. Finally moving away from the treeline, you both head to where the two arguing men had run off into the wetlands. You paused at the water’s edge. It was picturesque and quite beautiful, with short foot bridges scattered between the small islands, you suppose you’d call them, with some sheep roaming about, but there was something just… off. As if it wasn’t quite real.

« I’m surprised you noticed. »

‘Huh? Noticed what?’

« That it’s not real, but an illusion. »

‘Wait, I was right?’

« Yes? Is that not why you felt as such? »

‘Well, I mean, it just gave off the same off-putting vibe that it isn’t quite right, like how AI images or videos do. For instance, now that I know I’m not crazy and take a closer look… there,’ Your gaze turns to a tree surrounded by some foliage on one of the islands, or more specifically, the shadow it casts. ‘If you look at the shadow, you can see how it doesn’t quite add up, both in terms of the shape and the direction it’s being cast in, in comparison to the sun. Or when you look at the reflections on the water’s surface, when it ripples, the reflections don’t refract correctly. They move with the water, as if it was a film floating on top of it.’

And as that thought finishes, the wetlands begin to shimmer, and like a wave crashing over a beach, the illusion recedes, leaving a putrid swamp in its place. While it isn’t pretty in the same way as the illusion was, it’s got that fun, eerie, bog-witch vibe; the perfect place for Halloween activities. Except for the smell. The smell was awful, as if the water itself was rotting. You scrunch your nose in disgust.

“So, looking at a dead pig was fine, but some sheep is where you draw the line?”

[No, look closer. It’s an–] You pause, not sure how to mime “illusion.” You point to the shadows and kick the water at the reflections. [It’s all fake.] {Performance=20, success}

You watch as he scans the area, eyes widening a fraction, quickly followed by his nose scrunching as his face twists in disgust. You guess that he probably just saw the illusion melt away, just as you did.

“I shouldn’t be surprised that the hag lives in a stinking swamp. Just our luck we were the ones stuck trudging through a place like this. At least we’ll probably have a fairly easy time navigating through– those men weren’t very careful about covering their tracks.”

You follow his line of sight to see the very obvious trail of two sets of muddy footprints heading into the swamp.

[Guess we’ll follow them?] You cross your arms, head tilted towards the swamp. {Performance= natural 1, critical failure}.

“Are you stupid? What, do you think they’re just going to do the scouting for us and come back and tell us their results? They seemed ill prepared to deal with a hag, so they’ll probably end up dead if they get too close to the hag’s lair. So, what we are going to do is follow their trail until we find their corpses, look around a bit to find the lair, and then come back.”

You pull a Lin Beifong, face scrunching, one arm still crossed and the other thrown up. [My guy, that is quite literally what I just suggested we do!] {Performance = 3, failure}.

“What is so hard to understand about that? Look, I get that this scouting thing may be new to you and your ‘rich blood,’ but I didn’t think you’d lack such basic comprehension skills.”

You throw your both hands up in defeat. [Fuck it! Whatever! I’m done trying to correct you. Let’s just go.] {Performance = 5, failure}

“What, are you upset that you’re not getting your way and have to dirty your precious hand-me-down shoes in a swamp?”

You drag your hands down your face. ‘This is so fucking annoying.’ You sigh and hang your head. [Please, let’s just go.] {Performance = natural 20, critical success.}

Astarion looked smug, crossing his arms satisfied, because he won an argument that wasn’t even a fucking argument in the first place. “All right, if you’re sure you’re done, then follow me.”

And so you both follow the tracks into the ominous swamp. The sheep that were walking around before are no longer sheep; instead they’re these weird gnome things with red Link hats. When one notices you staring, it baas at you. Like a sheep. Out of habit, you baa back.

“Baa! Yeah, that’s what you sound like.” You say, talking to it as if it were a whining cat.

Astarion looks at you funny. You just shrug. You move on, the creature non-the-wiser to the fact that neither of you saw it as a sheep.

You trek through shallow, cloudy water and muddy banks, following the clumsy footprints of two people consumed by rage and desperation. An arm blocks your way.

“Look, there’s blood on the next mound.”

Sure enough, there’s blood stains intermingled with the food prints on the shore of the little island opposite of yours.

“There’s probably traps in the water.”

‘...You know, when I imagine D&D traps, I think of pitfalls, and tripwires, and pressure plates and stuff, but this feels more like bear trap vibes. It’s really breaking my immersion.’ You unhook your staff from where it was strapped to your back and step around his arm. [I’m gonna do some poking.] {Performance = 10, success}, {Persuasion = natural 20, critical success}.

“Just don’t end up maiming yourself. If I have to be stuck carrying you all the way back, I will be sure to make it as miserable an experience as possible,” he acquiesces.

You step forward until you’re at the waters edge, and start poking around with the stick. Nothing snaps shut around it, but you do knock against some hard things. You switch to sweeping the staff through the water, hearing dull clunks whenever you hit something. They don’t sound or feel like rocks, so you try nudging them, and with a bit of force, they come loose enough to be easily pushed out of the way. Some of them you end up pushing to shallower areas, and they breach the water a bit, revealing their true form: just masses of vertical spikes, not too unlike those spike strips police use to deflate tires, except these were most certainly not meant for tires. You grimace at the thought of what may have happened if you stepped on one of those. 

You slowly wade through the water, inch by inch, pushing them all away. You release the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding once you reach the other side. You hear a small hum of approval as Preminger follows after, probably the closest you’ll get to a non-backhanded compliment from him. It’s not long until you reach a point where the land is no longer half-submerged, the terrain simply climbing too high. On the shore of which, is, as Preminger had predicted, the freshly deceased bodies of the two men.

“Ah, there, up the hill. Luckily, this hag doesn’t seem to be trying to hide her hut, seeing as she’s built a path straight towards it,” He points towards a dirt path with patches of stairs that lead up to a hut that looks like it would not be able to house anyone in the winter, what with all the gaps in its roof and walls. 

‘Well, that looks as much like a hag’s place as any. Can’t imagine anyone else wanting to live in a rotting place like that.’

Astarion pulls out the map, squinting at it. You wordlessly pull a pencil out of the pouch that you stuffed your notebook into, holding it out for him.

“What? Oh, that… is actually helpful. Looks like you can manage to make yourself useful sometimes.” He takes it and makes a mark on the map before handing it back to you. “Now then, we’ve gotten what we’ve come here for. Let’s get back; I’m sure you're just as inclined as I am to fight a hag with just the two of us, which is to say, not at all.”

“Yup, right on the money.” You nod in agreement.

Luckily, it’s easy to trace your way back, seeing as there were now four sets of muddy footprints to follow. Plus, you don’t have to worry about traps and the like since you had already very professionally and skillfully disarmed the spike strips earlier. A little farther than the halfway point to the edge of the swamp, Preminger perks up, his eyes glimmering with a spark of familiarity and curiosity.

“Actually, since we’re already here, there’s something I’d like to check out.”

[Really? You seemed awfully eager to leave only a few minutes ago.] ‘I’d also really like to leave. This place isn’t the worst thing I’ve smelled, but the longer I spend here, the higher up on the list it gets. {Performance = 17, success}

“Let’s just say I got a tip that there’s something interesting over there,” he looks to a large willow tree looming at the edge of the swamp, where the land completely gives way to nothing but water.

‘Well… since it’s on the way back, I guess it couldn’t hurt.’ [Sure, why not. Let’s just not take too long, okay?] {Performance = 3, failure}.

“Well, I understood that you agreed, at least, so let’s leave it at that.”

This is probably the most excited you’ve seen him all day. It is a bit slow going, as you have to reroute onto untraversed paths and look out for traps, but not too long overall. The sun is still high in the sky– probably the early afternoon by now. And then you’re there at the tree, the land very close to water level around it, even below it at points, most of the land surrounding the tree having a muddy consistency as a result. There’s nothing around, so you’re not really sure what’s up, but you follow Astarion as he gets right up next to the trunk anyway.

He begins scrutinizing it, feeling around the bark, much like a scooby-doo character would feel around a bookcase until they found that off-colored book that triggered a secret door mechanism. He makes a satisfied “aha!” and you can only assume he found his version of the trigger-book in the version of a piece of bark he pried off. And then he pulled out… a book? You honestly were not expecting that. Just as he goes to open it, you hear bubbling, creaking and screeching come from behind you. You spin around to see these mud-imp things and two treant/ent looking creatures rising from the ground and gnarled roots respectively. The imps almost ooze out of the mud with a wet schluck, emerging as if they and the ground were once one. A very familiar word falls out of your mouths simultaneously.

“Shit.” 

“Shit.”

Next Chapter >

Yeah, maybe you should go about cleaning your wounds before drinking healing potions from now on.

“Whew, fixed me right up, that did. Now, let’s go rip some heads off,” she cracks her neck.

You all naturally fall into step behind Tav and Karlach, the latter showing the way to where she last saw the paladins.

“I thought we were going to see some real sparks fly between Wyll and Karlach,” Astarion practically pouts, an action he seems to enjoy doing, as he strides alongside you near the back of the group. “It’s almost a pity things ended so amicably; Seeing those two duke it out would be fun.”

[True, but maybe not when we have imminent death looming above us, or well, in us, in the form of a mindflayer tadpole, you know.] {Performance = 14, Failure}.

“Oh, I wasn’t expecting you to be so interested in seeing some blood shed between them.”

“...” ‘Remember, me, this is the price we pay. Going non-verbal means misunderstandings will arise. They’ll figure it out eventually. Just be patient. We need to milk this for as long as possible. Don’t give in to the urge. You’re fine, we’re fine, this is fine.’

Karlach casually puts her hands behind her head and looks at Wyll over her shoulder, but not falling out of step with Tav. “So, Wyll,” she starts, “now that we’ve made peace, how about we get to know each other properly. What’s your story?”

“Not so much a story as a pantomime,” Calcifaust’s face twists in a scowl as he looks down at his feet, unable to meet Karlach’s eyes. “And I’ve played my part all too poorly.”

’Wait a sec, now I have to come up with a nickname for Karlach, too!

Tav, much like Karlach, also looks over her shoulder at Wyll. “Someone set you on Karlach’s tail. I’d like to know more about your ‘source’,” she practically demands, the words harsher than her tone revealed.

“I would too. Go on, Wyll” Karlach encouraged. “We’re listening. Who sicced you on me?” Her expression was light, but there was something darker in her eyes.

’Why did we do this to ourself? All because we wanted to call Lae’zel Cowabunger, we then felt like we needed to give everyone a nickname for the sake of fairness, but look where that’s gotten us: having to think way too hard to come up with good nicknames! How many of them are actually good or make any sense?’

“You’re not the only one who’s had a villain’s knife held to your throat, Karlach,” Calcifaust says, a bit on edge, now raising his gaze to meet hers.

’Tav’s is subpar at best, and Gale’s is because we got mad at him, which we still haven’t forgiven him for, and for good reason too.’

“You make it sound like a harvester devil’s coming for you, Wyll.”

“You’re closer than you know. One night soon when we make camp, the veil will be lifted and I’ll face my penance.”

“Penance?” Tav asks warily. “Should I be worried?”

“You’re not in any danger, I promise,” he quickly assures, putting up both hands. “I can’t say the same about me.”

“Seeing how easily he was tricked, I can’t say I’m too keen on believing we won’t be affected by whatever “penance” this is he’s talking about,” Preminger mutters next to you.

[You know… you have a point. Welp, looks like we won’t be getting quality sleep anytime soon.] {Performance = 5, failure}.

“If you feel like taking your chances, be my guest. Just don’t drag me into it when something goes wrong.

‘...Patience is my middle name. We can handle all these little understandings, right, me?’

‘Right!’

’Now about Karlach’s nickname…’

A few minutes and a fruitless nickname-brainstorming endeavor later, a looming stone bridge comes into view, standing at least two stories above you, one side leading to a period-typical building constructed of stone and wood.

“That’s the tollhouse,” Karlach pointed to the building in question. “C’mon, climbing the ladder is better than going the long way round.” She doesn’t even finish speaking before she’s already marching over to your right where you can see a ladder propped up against the stone cliff and leading to some wooden platforms. 

“Then up we go,” Tav decides and adjusts her path to follow.

Being at the back of the pack and a few paces away from everyone else, Astarion goes unnoticed as with a swift and smooth motion, reaches down into some shallow foliage and straightens back up just as quickly. You, having stuck towards the back with him, raise your eyebrow at him. He grins as he reveals what he had found: a key.

“Looks like somebody was careless,” he says while pocketing the key.

[Good luck finding whatever lock it belongs to.]  {Performance = Natural 20, Critical Success}.

“I’m willing to bet this is either a key to the toll house, or a key to something inside we aren’t meant to find,” a knowing and smug look darted across Astarion’s features as he trained on the toll house.

[If you’re sure.]  {Performance = 17, Success}.

“Most definitely.”

Tav begins to climb the ladder without hesitation, everyone else following close behind. Everyone except you that is. You eye it warily. It’s a wooden ladder, the rungs of which being held to the poles with mere scraps of rope. 

‘OSHA definitely doesn’t exist here, does it?’

« What’s an ‘OSHA’? »

‘Occupational Safety and Health Administration. An organization that basically makes sure workplaces aren’t designed to kill people, since, you know, evil layers aren’t exactly commonplace back home.’

« Hmm… I can’t say I’m too familiar with an organization of that sort here, but I must admit that I am not the most up-to-date with Faerûn’s current ‘Health and Safety’ affairs. »

‘If it does exist here, I’d assume it would only be in large cities. I can’t imagine any wizards with the ability to teleport would reduce themselves to being civil servants.’

« Wizards do tend to be quite proud, yes. Proud and devoted to their research that ends up killing them as often as you think. »

With a sigh, you grab onto the rungs of the ladder and begin to hoist yourself up. You didn’t have much of a choice if you didn’t want to be separated from the others and risk getting killed by who knows what may be lurking around. It held everyone else up just fine, so it should be able to hold you as well, right? 

One nervous climb later, you learn that the world isn’t out to kill you via ladder, or at least not this ladder, as you make it to the top where everyone else was waiting, safe and sound. You still don’t think you’ll end up trusting any of Faerûn’s ladders anytime soon. Hopefully you’ll never have to if you’re lucky.

“I think I can hear those bastards inside,” Karlach says with a deep anger, almost a growl, as soon as you join them. Having waited long enough, she power walks over, heading up the steps leading to the wooden patio. You all follow behind her, and soon enough you also begin to hear the voices of two people conversing, though they were too muffled to tell what they were saying. Karlach barely stops herself from bursting in once she reaches the front door, where the voices are loudest. She looks to Tav as if to ask for permission first, but regardless of Tav’s answer, it was clear Karlach was going to go in anyways. As if there was any other choice, Default GBA nods at her. She smiles wide, a creeping mania filling her eyes at the same time she pulls her battleaxe off her back, holding it in both hands as she kicks open the door. Her head swivels left and right before her attention lands on the first person she sees: a human man standing behind a desk whose eyes dart to your group in surprise. She marches inside, her smile gaining that same tone of mania as her eyes.

“Please- no more! Leave us in peace and we shall leave you in kind,” he pleads as your party approaches behind Karlach.

“Cut the crap, Anders. I know what you are,” Karlach spits out, her grin quickly dropping into a scowl.

“Don’t let her hurt us,” he quickly turns to Tav and continues to plead, “please, we just want to go home.”

You feel a flash of anger pulse through you and you falter.

« This man works for an archdevil. Don’t let his words fool you. »

‘...Lovely.’

Tav’s eyes narrow at him. “You don’t fear Karlach; you want to kill her on Zariel’s behalf,” she accuses him.

‘Huh. Looks like Tav picked up on it too, somehow. Or she’s just freakishly good at reading people. Couldn’t be me. That or she’s making stuff up and throwing around wild accusations.

“Ha!” He throws back his head to spit out a humorless laugh before locking eyes with Tav, but this time with a glare. “I never was good at playing the coward,” his demeanor immediately shifts from the worried, whimpering sod to something greedy and aggressive. “There is no beast here or in the Hells I fear; not with Her Ladyship’s protection. Least of all this dog.” He nods towards Karlach.

‘This fucker is practically begging her to chop his dick off.’

“You’d do well to reconsider your alliance with this animal,” he continues to insult Karlach, who you notice is struggling to control her temper, her flames licking at her skin as she grinds her teeth. “She destroys all she touches. Useful in the Blood War; frighteningly dangerous anywhere else.” He turns to address Karlach directly, “Rage all you want, Karlach. Burn with the might of the Hells. Zariel will find you; she will bring you home in pieces, and your little friends will have to watch. Unless we feed you their eyeballs first.”

“Avernus was never my home,” Karlach snarls, her flames  burning with furious vigor. “It was my prison. I’m free now, AND I’M NEVER! GOING! BACK!” She roars out the last words, a blazing inferno engulfing her in a physical embodiment of her fury.

With a warcry fueled with pure rage, she raises her axe above her head, the fire traveling from her fingertips to lace the iron as she swings its heavy weight downwards into the desk, splintering it in two, with just the very end of the axe’s blade cutting into the smarmy man’s shoulder. He cries out in pain, instinctively taking a step back. Undeterred, she rips her weapon out of the wooden remains and charges forward, swinging her axe in a sidesweep, but the man parries with his zweihander. It seems he wasn’t ready to face Karlach’s rage-infused strength, as the weight of her attack caused him to stumble back, right into Lae’zel’s thirsty blade, her skillful hands thrusting its end into his flesh right above the shoulderblade.

Fwip!

You blink, then stumble back a few steps as you realize an arrow had whizzed right past your face, embedding itself into the far wall. Snapping your head to the right, you see a small archer and remember that now is not the time to be watching two strong women practically pulverize a man to death. You hear the unintelligible shouts of latin from the spellcasters, definitely Gale, but you’re not sure who else, while the two long-eared melee lovers are quick to close the distance with the archer, leaving only you to fumble with thin air as you summon your focus into physicality. 

A loud buzzing sound travels across the room behind you with another cry of pain coming from the man simultaneously, both sounds only adding to the cacophony of noise filling the room: a mess of shouts, the clashing of metal, and the fizzing of magic, for lack of any other term to call the sound spells seem to make as they form, the air vibrating at from the gathering energy. The smell of ozone filling the room shortly afterwards tells you all you need to know about what happened. By the time your instrument is up and ready for some spell slinger, the archer had already fled through a doorway, crouching behind what filled the once empty space: identical quadruplets. Or, well, mostly identically if you ignore the fact that three of them were shimmering with a blue glow. With four human shields in front of her, the archer seems to be pretty comfortable with taking pot shots at whoever she fancies, which, at the moment, is thankfully not you. You don’t bother looking to see who was the unfortunate choice, since taking your eyes off her would definitely make you a very enticing next target.

Bow up on the strings, you play out your classic eldritch blast on an entirely new tune. Now, you could have tried out your groovy new spell, but, if your implanted knowledge is to be believed, that shoots out in a cone and would hit– one… two… three…– at least three of your companions. So, eldritch blast it is. You may be turning into a one-trick pony, but at least you’re a reliable one?

Ah.

It seems the mii channel theme was your muse this day, as decided by your hands and fingers that seemed to only be dexterous when it came to music. Your magic, having no choice but to share your taste in music, responds in kind, the familiar blue energy of your spell firing off in a straight, precise line to hit the halation-free quadruplet square in the chest. She stumbles back with a grunt, her three smurf-like doppelgängers mirroring her movements with such high precision that idol groups could only dream of achieving.

Tav and Astarion go in for a tag-team hit, dagger and staff hitting two of the blue clones, each one bursting in a puff of glittering smoke.

’Oh, are we supposed to go for the clones first?’

Anger at losing half of her barbershop quartet, the remaining two point towards the air, and with a shout of ‘non movere!’ two beams of purple light shoot from their outstretched index finger, conjoining into one and shooting past you, presumably at someone behind you, before quickly fizzling out.

You smell ozone again as an arc of lighting flies over your head, hitting the last of the blue woman group, leaving only the blue-less mage behind. You hear Tav cry out in pain and stagger back, revealing the cause: an arrow embedded into the front of her left arm. The space left behind by her momentary retreat is filled with a familiar ball of energy, though red instead of your blue. The blast knocks into the mage’s skull, her head knocked into a permanent tilt as you hear the telltale ‘snap’ of her neck, loud even amongst the sounds of battle. She falls to the ground, dead, her hands still tightly gripping the quarterstaff she didn’t even swing. Almost as if on cue, you hear Karlach’s enraged shout come from behind you, followed by a man’s quickly cut-off scream. 

No longer having any cover now that three of their meatshields disappeared and the last was dead on the ground, all eyes turn towards the archer. 

You see Lae’zel’s back come into view.

Come into view from above you, that is.

’Did she jump over me? She’s really living up to her green-ness, playing leapfrog.’

She lands right at the doorway, and the halfling, having probably expected that as much as you did, which is to say not at all, is too slow to react before Lae’zel rushes them to ram the pommel of her sword into their head hard. The halfling’s eyelids flicker, thoroughly dazed, unable to even recognize what was about to happen to them. Blood drips from their mouth and they look down to see Lae’zel’s burning sword lodged deep into their stomach. The sword is swung to the side, moving the body with it before it slips from their abdomen and the carcass falls to the ground. 

After what couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds of noise and chaos, all was still and silent once again. In its wake walked a fuming Karlach, whose flames began to burn even hotter as she looked over the corpses, so hot the others were forced to take a step back as she neared, lest they risk getting burned.

“Fuck them. Fuck Zariel,” Karlach snarls, pausing over the corpse of the the last of the barbershop quartet, greataxe clutched tightly in both hands in a white-knuckle grip. “I won’t go back. I’m never going back. And if any of mummy’s little friends want to pick up where the others left off… they’ll find nothing but a pile of ash.”

“Easy Karlach,” Tav tries to calm her, and most importantly her flames, down. “Those flames are getting big.”

“Not big enough. Now get out before you get hurt. Now!” She yells the last word as she turns around and slams her axe into some boxes, the heat and flames of her body spreading to her weapon and the area around her, lighting any flammable surface she nears.

‘Don’t need to tell me twice,’ you spin on your heel and practically run out the door you came, descending the porch steps and jogging across the packed dirt and stone until you’re a good few meters away from the burning building, the others not far behind. 

‘I’ve never played Doom, but I feel like now would be a good time for the Doom soundtrack to play.’ You all watch as smoke and flames fill the building and spill out the windows, that one song from Doom you don’t know the name of playing in your head all the while. You hear Karlach’s yells of rage and her axe smashing things to bits.

‘Speaking of, I wonder if we could get Doom to play on a magical projection-slash-hologram type of thing here. I mean, I’m sure someone can; those people back home got Doom to play on anything they could think of.’

« This music I’m hearing in your head right now… it’s quite different from what I’ve heard from you so far. »

‘Yeah, it’s not what I typically listen to on a day-to-day basis, but nothing fits a raging Karlach better than this.’

« Yes, it does fit her quite well, doesn’t it? »

By the time Karlach walks out of the building a few minutes later, the music in your head has switched to an amalgamation of JRPG battle music, having been unable to get much farther in the doom song in your head without it looping the first part over and over. Karlach’s axe is slung over her shoulders, wrists resting on its shaft on either side of her head.. “Phew,” she lets out a satisfied breath. “Had to let off a little steam after facing off with those ignots.”

‘Ignots? What’s that mean?’

« It’s an insult of sorts. Just think of it as a term that fits her vernacular better than ‘idiots.’ »

‘Yeah, that sounds right.’

“Granted the fire’s lasting a little longer than it should,” Karlach stows her axe on her back and looks at her still blazing arms. “How do I look?”  She looks back to Tav.

‘Hot as hell.’

« Your puns are awful. »

‘Awww, thank you!’

« …that wasn’t a compliment. »

‘I know, but I’ll be taking that as one, thank you very much. If you get to use kaomojis, then it’s only right that every once in a while I get to make a bad pun.’

“Like you should’ve melted a long time ago. How can you stand it?” Tav asks, concerned.

“Honey, I could go all night,” she gives a suggestive grin.

You almost playfully swoon at the nickname, even though it wasn’t directed at you. ‘Oh no, my only weakness! Strong women using pet names!’

« That doesn’t seem correct, especially considering what you told me about yourself before. Based on your memories, it looks like your weaknesses are of a different variety. For example: » He begins to read off some things, his tone becoming more and more confused as he continues. « Some “good fucking food,” or “head scritches from your best friend” or “reader-insert fanfiction with-” »

‘WOAH-KAY, I think that’s enough, I get it, yep. Plenty of other weaknesses. Now don’t out me on my questionable tastes out of the blue. I am not ready for that conversation.’ 

« But there’s so much more on this list, like this “Rule Thirty-“ »

’NO! NOPE! No-hoh, I am stopping you right there, right now!’

« Very well, I won’t press it further. But I will be looking into what this “reader-insert fanfiction” is. »

‘Wait, Astaroth, no–!... Agh, whatever. Fine. Just. Don’t judge.’

« My dear, though it was brief, I was a god for some time. It could be argued that it was my literal job to judge others. »

‘Yeah, but you aren’t one now so no judging.’ You quickly backtrack once you realize you may have said something quite offensive to him. ‘Wait, fuck, sorry, I mean– I-’

« It’s alright, I know you did not say such out of maliciousness. Besides, that was a very long time ago… » he trails off and a moment of silence lingers. « Though I suppose you’re right. Do not fret, I will not judge you for your interests. »

‘Okay, okay, go have your fun.’ You mentally wave him off to do his memory exploration, or perhaps excavation would be a more apt term for it, seeing as he’ll probably have to dig through heaps of useless knowledge and brain rot before finding anything of use. 

“Hear that?” Karlach thumps her chest a couple times, the sound of it starting to whirr like a machine bringing your attention back to the material world. “Infernal engine for a heart. Lets me burn as hot as the Hells. Seems to be running in overdrive since I left Avernus. Won’t be seeing my mechanic anytime soon, so I’ll just make the most of the extra heat. Just don’t get too close ‘til I’ve found a way to calm it down.”

“How the hells did you get an infernal engine for a heart?” Tav stared at her incredulously.

“High pain tolerance. And a dynamic duo of truly shitty bosses,” she grimaced and briefly broke eye contact. With a roll of her shoulders she looked up again and bore a smile. “But it’s a bit early in the game to be getting into tragic backstories. Let’s save the scar-show for later, after we’ve worked up an appetite for tragedy. Meanwhile, I’ll need to find someone who can tune up my engine sooner rather than later. Believe me when I say this thing is hot. The first time I faced down those ‘paladins,’ they let slip there was an infernal mechanic in the area. A tiefling. He might be able to stabilize things - if I can find him.”

“Wonder if they meant Dammon— he’s a tiefling weaponsmith we met earlier.”

’We did?’

“A weaponsmith, huh? Not sure if it’s the guy, but I’d love to find out. A tune-up would do this rusty heart a world of good.”

“Why don’t you take a second to finish cooling down? While you do that, some of the others and I can loot whatever’s left of this place.” ‘What do you mean we’re gonna loot this place?! That is a burning building! Do these people not know how dangerous that is?!’

Karlach grins sheepishly, only now getting a good look at the actual damage she’s caused. “I guess I’ll be keepin’ watch, then?”

Tav nods. “Along with anyone not coming with me.”

You immediately raise your hand, [Me!] ‘I’d rather not go exploring smoldering buildings that could collapse at any moment, thank you.’

”Astarion, we’ll probably need your skills, so you’re coming with me.”

”I suppose I wouldn’t mind too terribly,” he nonchalantly agrees, though you’re pretty sure he’s just looking to pocket stuff for himself, based on what you saw earlier.

”I must admit I’m curious about what we may find in this place,” Gale begins. “You wouldn’t mind if I were to join you as well, would you?”

”More hands to carry more things are always welcome,” she agrees. “Speaking of more hands, Lae’zel, would you come along too? We would do well with your strength and prowess, should there be any more enemies lurking about.”

”Very well. My sword has not tasted enough blood today,” Lae’zel says as she crosses her arms.

”I think I’ll be staying with the group with noticeably less gith, thank you,” Shadowheart states, her glare meeting Lae’zel’s.

”I’ll stay out here too. I’m worried the stench of blood and cooked flesh may attract some unsavory sorts,” Wyll narrows his eyes as he glances at the smoking building.

Now that he’s pointed it out, you could in fact catch faint whiffs of burnt flesh and cooked meat. Whatever bodies and food were left inside as Karlach raged were likely scorched to black bits by now.

”That’s everyone decided then. Let’s go check things out before the good stuff gets too charred, shall we?” Tav leads her looting group into the fiery house with confidence.

’How are they all so laid-back about this? Have they no concern? It is a literal burning building! These people did not grow up with educational safety videos or assemblies and it shows.’

Your sound-of-mind companions who aren’t trying to play firefighter find various things to sit on a safe distance from the building: Wyll a crate, Shadowheart an overturned barrel, and Karlach a non-flammable boulder, the creeping bits of moss and vines curling away from her heat as she does so. You find your own crate free of refuse and pull it over towards the group who had already assembled their seats around Karlach’s boulder. 

You quickly switch to pulling it as you find the pulling strained your arms quite a bit more than you were expecting. After being halted by a third rock in the way, you switch to rolling it, the planes clunking against the ground each time it falls. There’s a reason they don’t make wheels square. You get your crate as close to Karlach as possible without it seeming weird before taking a seat yourself, slightly angling your damp back towards her. Hopefully, the close proximity to Karlach’s high heat will help your clothes dry the rest of the way.

It’s silent for barely a minute before Karlach breaks it, “Well it seems like we’ve got nothing to do so why don’t we get to know each other a bit, have some light-hearted fun, yeah? I’ve been dying to have a chat with some normal people.”

‘Not sure if I’d call us “normal” per se, but I would argue that just makes us even more fun.’ [Anything specific you wanna talk about?]  {Performance = 9, Success}

“Ooh, hold on, hold on! Let me think of something good. It’s been so long since I was up here I’ve almost forgotten what it was like to talk to people,” Karlach taps her chin in thought before she perks up. “Oh, this should be a fun one! You’re a bard, right? What’s the worst audience or performance you’ve ever had?”

‘Well, technically, I was never a bard, but whatever.’ [So, about that. I’m not actually a bard.] {Performance = 16, Success}

She blinks, looking a bit surprised. “You’re not a bard? An aspiring one then?”

You shake your head.

”No? Then…” Her eyes light up as she comes to a conclusion. “Waiiiiiit, you play in one of those fancy groups that perform for those noble parties, don’t you? Yeah, a consort!”

’I mean, I guess that’s close enough to an orchestra. Do they even have full-sized orchestras here? Seems unlikely. It has been awhile since I played in any orchestra, but it wouldn’t necessarily be a lie to say that is something I do. ’

[Yeah, that.]

”Haha, I knew it! C’mon, then— tell us the nitty gritty details!”

You didn’t even have to sign anything, the confusion on your face doing enough of the talking for you.

”Oh, don’t act confused; I’m sure you’ve seen something interesting at those parties,” she goaded, grinning widely.

‘Shit. I don’t know any! I was too busy having social anxiety to notice if there was anything going on! I-I, uh, um, fuck, what happens at fancy balls? I really only have knowledge of what happens at them from un-credible sources like regency isekai manga— wait a sec.’

“Okay, so—“ [There was this teenage noble boy.] {Performance = 9, failure}

“Looks like it’s Mama K’s time to shine,” Karlach cracks her knuckles and leans forward. “While it may not be on the same level as my fightin’, I’m pretty damn good at charades.” Her eyes lock onto you. “King? Prince? Duke?”

[Go smaller. Teenage boy duke.] {Adv. Performance = 13, success}

“Oh, young noble heir?” She clenches her fist in victory when you nod your head in confirmation.

“Wow, you’re actually trying to figure out what they’re saying?” Shadowheart asks, a bit impressed and incredulous. “Impressive tenacity on your part.”

“Hey, now, can you really blame me? I’m staving for mundane stories from up here. Now both of you join in. It’s always more fun with more people.” While the three of them were looking at you before, the other two are staring a bit more intently, making you feel a fraction more nervous. How big that fraction is, well, you were just going to ignore that.

[He was betrothed to some other noble family’s daughter.] {Adv. Performance = 6, failure}

“Yes, a young noble heir, you’ve mentioned,” Shadowheart says blandly.

[No, this is another one. Two young heirs betrothed to each other.] {Adv. Performance = 4, failure.]

“A young heir who was missing a finger?” Wyll guessed. 

You shake your head no. ‘Wait, is marriage signified by rings on the ring finger here? Uhhhhh I don’t know. Maybe that’s what’s throwing them off?’

[Two of them. Boy and girl. Contract. Hold Hands.] {Adv. Performance = 19, success}

“Oh oh oh! Two young heirs who are engaged!” Karlach excitedly exclaims, having figured it out.

[But, the boy fell in love with a commoner girl.] {Adv. Performance = 9, failure}

“They loved each other, but it was sad that they did? Is this a tragedy?” Wyll missed the mark again.

[Boy loved poor girl, not fiance.] {Adv. Performance = 7, failure}

“Was it a marriage for money? Was one of the families so poor they were at risk of ruin?” Shadowheart asked, starting to get into the game.

[Adultery.] {Adv. Performance = 18, success}

“No, the boy was seeing someone behind his fiance’s back,” Karlach explains aloud.

“That does happen fairly often with arranged marriages,” Wyll supplements, not all that surprised.

[Yes, I know, very cliche story, but here’s where it gets good. Instead of doing literally anything that was at least just a little bit sensible, he instead brings his commoner lover to the ball that his family was hosting. You know, one that his fiance was pretty much obligated to come to.] {Adv. Performance = 19, success}.

“No.” Karlach leans forward, lips parted in an open-mouthed grin.

[And of course, his fiance is there to see him escorting another girl– a commoner.] {Adv. Performance = Dirty 20, success}.

Wyll visibly winces, “I’d imagine that became the latest gossip for weeks to come.”

[Oho, just you wait; we’re not done yet. It gets worse. In front of all these noble families, he renounces his fiance,] {Adv. Performance = 16, success} you get a dramatic gasp out of Karlach, [says he is annulling his engagement to her,] {Adv. Performance = 17, success} Wyll brings a hand up to his forehead, [and then presents his commoner lover to the entire crowd as his new fiance.] {Adv. Performance = 7, failure}.

”Hold on, can you repeat that last part?” Shadowheart asks, more interested in the short story than she was letting on.

[He declared he was gonna marry the peasant girl.] {Adv. Performance = 14, success}

”That poor kid didn’t have a clue what was about to happen to him, did he?” Calcifaust sighs.

[That gala ended right there and then as his parents dragged him to one of the parlors while his now ex-fiancé’s family followed.] {Adv. Performance = Dirty 20, success}

There was a pause, and after you didn’t continue, Karlach eagerly tried to get more out of you. “Don’t leave us hanging like that; what happened next?”

[Sadly, this happened right before I was kidnapped by the nautiloid, so I don’t have any updates to the story.] {Adv. Performance = 18, success.}

“A bit of a disappointing ending,” Shadowheart just about pouted, though nowhere nearly as dramatically as Astarion tended to.

“Well, my turn then!” Karlack practically leaps out of her rocky seat.

‘Huh?’

“Now, what am I?” Karlach scrunches her face and puts both hands in front of her mouth before wiggling her fingers. “Bluegghhh,” she growls, giving herself her own sound effects.

You and Wyll can’t help but let out a little chuckle at her antics. Even Shadowheart’s lips lift in a little smile. Seeing as you couldn’t really participate as you would just end up mirroring her movements, you watch the others try and figure it out.

“Are you a mindflayer?” Wyll asks

“Haha, yes!” Karlach excitedly drops her charade to point at Wyll.

“However could I forget the frightening growl of a mindflayer: bluegh?” Shadowheart teases.

“Aw, c’mon, you’ve got to admit they kind of look like they’d make that noise!”

You all pass the time watching Karlach do a mix of very good and very bad charades as the sun continues to fall lower and lower in the sky. At some point, she had managed to convince Wyll to join in for a few rounds, but had no luck with Shadowheart. The last round ended with Wyll somehow correctly guessing that Karlach pointing her two index fingers out from her mouth and flicking her head around was her imitating a boar, a thunk followed by voices coming from the tollhouse signaling play time was over.

You turn your head towards the noise and watch the missing half of your party funnel out of the still-open doorway.

“You’re back!” Karlach bounds over to meet the group halfway. “Find anything interesting?”

“We got a good number of things we can sell for a decent profit,” Tav starts, “but we also got some weaponry. Speaking of– Lae’zel, I think you’ll be able to get good use out of this sword.” She hands the sword the faux-paladin was wielding against you all not even an hour earlier.

”A decent prize. Very well. I accept.” Lae’zel switches out her flaming sword she got aboard the Nautiloid with the new broadsword with a slight golden sheen.

”Karlach, I think the flaming sword will suit you quite well,” Tav grabs the sword from Lae’zel and hands it over to Karlach,

”Oh, yeah, now we’re talking!” She gives it a few test swings before sheathing it with a big grin on her face. “I’m going to have a lot of fun using this!”

Following Lae’zel’s actions, Karlach relinquishes her original battle axe to Tav who immediately takes it and stashes it in her seemingly bottomless pack. You really shouldn’t be surprised as you see its entire form sink into the pack, the end of the handle disappearing without even the slightest of flourishes. Tav must have a bag of holding or some Mary Poppins-esque bag considering that the battle axe was much longer than the height of the pack. 

“It’s starting to get late,” Gale points out, looking towards the orange sky. The sun had fallen low, quite close to the horizon. It was getting late into the evening now, and it wouldn’t be long before it grew dark. “It would probably be best for us to make for camp.”

‘Finally! No more walking! I was not made for all this intense hiking and fighting. I’m pretty sure my feet are covered in blisters, and my “boot too big for me gotdamn feet” probably aren’t helping. What I wouldn’t give for my comfy shoes right now.’

“Let’s make way then,” hearing nobody object to The Squad Reject, GBA-Palette turns to head back the way you all came.

You ready your trusty Gandalf stick and walk with them, grimacing when you come across that same river. Your clothes are practically dry now, and you do not want to get wet again. You see Astarion flash you a mocking smirk as he nimbly jumps across. You scrunch your face in a little scowl. Watching everyone else gracefully jump across, even Gale, which was just as surprising this time as the last, you deign to not jump and instead tap the bottom of the river with your staff, making sure there weren’t any uneven rocks it could slip on once you planted it.

You were going to vault it.

Sure, you had never done pole vaulting before with a stick that was not made for pole vaulting, but surely it would be fine.

You hear a scoff behind you and yelp as someone suddenly grabs you by your waist and lifts you. You don’t have time to do much but scream as you’re suddenly thrown across the river and stumble into Tav who quickly braces you by your shoulders. You hear the scuff of shoes next to you and see Cowabunger righting herself after her jump. She gives you a narrow look before moving on, paying you no more mind. She must have not wanted a repeat of last time and decided it would be faster to just throw you.

You… Kind of appreciate it? You would have preferred a warning though. Feeling hands come out of nowhere to tightly grip your sides scared the shit out of you. She didn’t even do a “1, 2, 3, whee!”

The walk back is mostly quiet, or rather, no conversations were loud enough to pull you out of your idle thoughts that consumed your mind. With your attention drawn to little observations like “Those berries look like raspberries from back home; Wonder if they taste the same,” to things and thoughts such as “I wonder if I could trick any of these people to play fifty-two pick-up,” you aren’t actually sure if the walk back was quiet. Hopefully, if anything was discussed, it wasn’t too important. Either way, nobody tried to grab your attention, it seems. So you’re sure it’s fine.

You all pass by where the three cultists, including the dead one, were when you passed by just hours earlier when Karlach slows, but doesn’t stop. “You said the grove was that way, wasn’t it?” she asks, pointing towards the northeast.

“Yes, and we’re quite close, if my memory is to be believed,” Gale answers her.

“Are they keeping watch from over there too, then?” She points towards a short butte a little to the southeast. A small plume of smoke, a campfire-sized stream, rises from its top. The color is faint, not nearly as dark as the smoke from the nautiloid. 

“Not as far as I’m aware,” Wyll narrows his eyes at the smoke, concerned. “We should check it out. There was a goblin scouting party at the grove’s entrance not too long ago; I’m worried there may be some remnants up there.”

‘Ugggh, no, please, not another fight! I’m so fucking tired and my feet hurt and I wanna sit down!’ Your feet were crying out with each step and your muscles were starting to ache now, well, not that they weren’t already, but now that you were paying attention they hurt worse.

You approach the butte yet see no signs of life at the top save for the smoke. One by one, the others start scaling the rockface as if it were no big deal.

‘I’m sorry, what? Since when were they all rock climbers with impressive grip strength?’ You looked at them in disbelief before warily trailing your gaze to the uneven and sharp layers of caprock. ‘Do I have to climb that too? Without any safety equipment?’ You shift your weight from foot to foot and your eyes dart around, looking for a safer way up, your uneasiness rolling off you in waves, but apparently not in potent enough amounts for anybody to notice. ‘Fuck man, I don’t wanna climb up there! No, that does it, I’m done with the exercise! I’m going to stay down here and I’m going to be happy and perfectly fine alone.’ You clench your fists, then relax them and extend your fingers, then clench again, over and over, the cycle growing quicker as more and more of your teammates make it up while you’re left behind. You clench your teeth and tilt your head back, your lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed up. You run your fingers through your hair and squeeze your eyes shut as you take a steadying breath. 

“Haaaah… shit.” 

You don’t want to be left behind. 

You look at the rockface again and shake your hands out. You don’t have much of a choice. You wipe your hands on your leathers and step up to the craggy surface.

‘You’ll be fine. Like you always are. You’ve survived eldritch aliens multiple times already, this is nothing. Yeah… yeah, this is nothing.’

Slowly, you begin to climb. Right hand. Left foot. Left hand. Right foot. Right hand. Left foot… You don’t look around you. You keep your eyes focused on the rocks and finding good places to grab onto and sturdy footholes. The ledges are sharp and thin, most no more than four centimeters deep into the cliff face. As you go to grab onto another ridge, you see a hand reach down and grasp your arm. You don’t think twice before tightly grasping onto their forearm in turn, letting them hoist you up. You’re pulled up quickly and smile at Wyll, the one the arm belonged to. Standing to full height, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, gently rubbing the jagged indents left by the user-unfriendly rock climbing wall out of your fingers.

You walk forward, towards the peak of the butte, where a wooden ladder leads to a built wooden platform. 

You just had to jinx it by hoping you wouldn’t have to climb another rickety ladder, didn’t you? 

‘Guess I should be glad it’s a ladder instead of having to do barehanded cliff climbing again.’ You quietly, though begrudgingly, thank whoever conveniently left the ladder here even though if you had it your way, you wouldn’t be climbing anything at all. With your loitering, you end up being the last person up the ladder as well, climbing up to a wooden platform.

Taking a good few steps away from the edge, you notice everyone else’s slightly solemn yet more-so confused faces. Following their gazes, you’re met with the campfire and its resident: a skeleton lying face down. Whoever this skeleton was has been long dead, yet the fire is burning. Why is it burning? Surely, if someone had been here and lit the fire recently, they’d have at least moved the skeleton or left some kind of traces of having been here, but there was nothing. No traces of anybody.

‘...I don’t know what’s going on, but I am not vibing with this.’

“My, my-”

You whip around as you hear a deep, masculine voice come from behind you. Where there was once nothing but the edge of the platform just a moment ago, there was now a man standing there. How had he managed to sneak up on not just you, but your entire party? It should have been impossible- surely you would have heard him climbing up or seen him below you whenever you were double checking your footing! And yet somehow there he stands, with brown, slicked back hair, and a nobleman’s shirt consisting of patterned blue and red fabric with gold accents and embroidery.

“-what manner of place is this?” The man casually approaches and you instinctively take a step back, merging into the crowd of your companions. He stops and lets his gaze trace over each of you, one by one, sizing you all up before ultimately ending on Tav, her expression neutral but wary. “A path to redemption, or a road to damnation? Hard to say, for your journey is just beginning.”

It seems that everyone, not just you, is tense this time around, having not noticed the man before his sudden approach either. Most have their hands near or on their weapons, ready to pull them out if need be. A foul smell wafts by and you scrunch your nose involuntarily. It’s a mix of sweat and sulfur - specifically that eggy sulfur scent. You feel the beginnings of annoyance twitching to life in the back of your mind, but you’re not sure why.

“What would suit the occasion? The words to a lullaby, perhaps?” The man continues, making direct eye contact with your favorite purple woman. “The mouse smiled brightly: it outfoxed the cat! Then down came the claw,” he mimes a cat claw and you almost expect him to go ‘rawr,’ but he doesn’t, “and that, love, was that. They do know how to write them in Cormyr, don’t they? Well met. I am Raphael. Very much at your service.” He bows with a flourish.

Anger- an intense, unbridled rage- a fury unlike any other crashes over you with the strength of a tsunami at the sight of this man, as if his presence alone was enough to incur the wrath of ten thousand suns all localized within the confines of your feeble mortal body. Your hands flex at your sides, fingers tensed and stretched, ready to claw at him. You see red. Your vision is filled with nothing but him in a haze of red.

You want to kill him. 

You have to kill him.

“Now, whatever did I say to receive such hostility?” Raphael’s eyes fix themselves on you and narrow as a slight sneer graces his lips. Lips pursing shut, he turns back to Tav. “You should teach your friend here to contain their bloodlust better.”

So enveloped in anger and the foreign desire to kill mixed with your fear from feeling such unfamiliar emotions, you barely notice that the others, who were already tense at the sudden appearance of the stranger, have taken a step away from you, their weapons partially drawn. They’re all staring at you with wide eyes, a mix of confused and cautious expressions facing you, as if you were the one about to attack them.

You’re scared. You’ve experienced this before and know what’s happening. It’s Astaroth. But it’s so intense and all-consuming and nowhere near as intense as you’ve felt it before and you’re scared- Terrified. But so, so angry- pure vitriol awaiting to escape your lips, hands aching to grab at him and pull, pull, pull until you rend flesh from bone– THWAM! —You hear a loud slam, almost like a door slamming shut and then it’s gone. You blink as the fiery wrath boiling your blood reduces to a simmering annoyance once more, the bloodlust ebbing with it. The haze lifts, the world no longer stained red at the edges of your vision. The vacuum left in the place of anger is quickly filled by your fear flooding in.

This… thing masquerading as a man is a devil. 

A step back.

A staff held tightly in both hands.

The need to kill is gone, but the desperation to protect yourself from it is with you, tensing your muscles, as if trying to make you guess if you’re about to fight, flee, or freeze.

You’re not sure which one will happen, but you hope it’s the second.

”Now, that wasn’t so hard was it?” Raphael practically taunts and you feel the annoyance writhing and bubbling in the depths of your chest.

Your tunnel vision on Raphael gone, you can now see just what expression the other had. Emotions of all sorts blend together on everyone’s faces, but they’re all pointed towards you. Tav almost gives you a glare, her eyes darkening in a way that you know means she’ll want an explanation later.

 “Let’s see, where was I? Ah, yes-” He smiles at all of you, but his grin seems more hostile towards you in particular. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. It’s not everyday one meets such a cavalier sinner as yourself,” he directs the comment to Tav. “A true, bloody pleasure.”

‘Is there some kinda subtext I’m missing here?’

“And who do I have the pleasure of meeting? The mouse or the cat?” Tav asks, her voice even and attention solely focused back on the stranger, not acknowledging the weird sinner comment.

“Neither. The fox, rather, hiding in a word: a silent observer- about to break the silence. Of course, what I have to say merits some privacy- as well as some more… let’s call it refinement.” He says a bit haughtily. “Since this quaint little scene is decidedly too middle-of-nowhere for my tastes, I believe a relocation is in order. Shall we?”

You’re blinded by a flash of bright light and white embers. You feel your fear rise again, ‘Were we just flashbanged? Do they even have flashbangs here?!’ You don’t see or hear anything, so that’s gotta be it, right? And flashbangs never end well. Before the light can fade, you’re hit by the smell. It’s a familiar smell, the one of brimstone, of sulfur dioxide, the acrid smell of a match when struck, but it’s much more potent; you can smell nothing besides it with each breath you take. And then the brightness fades and your eyes adjust. You aren’t outside under the vast blue sky anymore. 

It’s ornate. Ornate and decorative and red. It’s a doorless room, having large archways leading to halls on opposite sides instead, and a tall ceiling, easily two stories tall, maybe more. A parlor of sorts, perhaps? A round table is in front of you, piled with a large array of plates and indulgent food, a gluttonous temptation. Behind you is a fireplace with a large portrait hung above it of a devil with a likeness near identical to Raphael. The others are here as well, disoriented and confused, looking around, not quite frantically, but you’re sure they would become aggressive or panicked with one more push.

Not you though. No, you’re already feeling panicked as you realize where you are. You’re in the same realm the nautiloid was in when you woke up on it. 

‘You know… I think getting isekai’d to the hells just once is more than enough for a lifetime. So why the fuck am I back here again in the same goddamn week when I’m not even dead yet?!’

« That vile filth! How DARE! How dare such a contemptible, squalid being pull you into its domain! »

With Astaroth’s words you feel another wave of intense anger flood into you, but the amount doesn’t feel as sudden and overwhelming, feeling more like a steady stream from a faucet rather than a tidal wave crashing into you.

‘That man is a devil?! Oh no, is he here because we stole their flaming sword? Oh, god, oh fuck this is really bad!’ Any of his anger is quickly becoming surmounted by your own panic as you register just what he said. The mixing of panic and anger is a strange feeling, one you’re certainly not used to, but now is hardly the time to analyze it.

« Of course he’s a devil! Did you just now realize?! You must quickly put up your protections and abjure him! »

‘You can’t use fancy words when I’m panicking– I don’t know what “abjure” means!’

« Your spell! You have protection from good and evil at your disposal, so use it! »

You pay almost no mind to how his words were harsher than you were used to hearing from him, instead just obeying his demand. You reach out your hands, summoning your violin, grasping its neck once it appears and pulling it close to your body. You hold it like a guitar and just pluck it, forgoing the bow completely. You feel a wave of cool energy wrap around you as you cast said spell, focusing the intent on protecting you from whatever side of the spectrum this man of smugness incarnate leaned towards . The spell is accompanied by a soft yellow glow on your skin that soon disappears as soon as the magic takes effect.

”There.”

You whip around at the voice of Raphael behind you again. You’re starting to see a pattern here and you are not very keen on it continuing.

”Middle-of-somewhere.”

You hear the scrapings of metal as the rest of your acquaintances unsheathed their weapons, all none too happy at being forcefully teleported, especially since the last time it happened you all ended up with cephalopod larvae in your brains.

He tuts at you all, turning up his nose. “No need for that crude cutlery of yours. As you can see, I am amply provisioned,” he remarks in what you suspect is his own way of saying he’ll overlook your group’s aggressive response just this once. How very Victorian Noble-like of him. “This is the House of Hope,” he grandly gestures to the structure you’re in. “Where the tired come to rest and the famished come to feed- lavishly.” He waves towards the table, bringing your attention back to the vast amount of food laid out. “Go on. Partake. Enjoy your supper. After all,” he pauses, smirking, “it might just be your last.”

’He literally just said our journey was just beginning, didn’t he? And now he’s threatening us? What kind of fucking guy…” Your thoughts trail off. You weren’t going to partake in this. You’re not sure how things work here, but you know your Earth mythology and you weren’t about to eat any food from what was essentially the underworld.

”I’m getting tired of your games,” Tav glares at him, not relaxing her stance in the slightest.

”Fair enough,” he shrugs before raising a hand and snapping his fingers. 

A blazing inferno bursts forth from the ground beneath him, a tunnel of white-orange flames obscuring him with a roar. As quickly as the fire came it left, leaving behind a man you recognize: The man in the portrait hung above the fireplace. Though calling him a man would be wrong. What stands before you is a devil: Curved horns, leather wings, and skin a candy apple red.

Any fear you harbored is completely overpowered by the boiling fury of a scorned demon when you see Raphael in his true form, a feeling that is becoming more familiar to you than you would have liked. 

« You know what. I’ve changed my mind. You’re not going to fake flirt with this slime of daddy issues incarnate. Knowing this filth, he’d actually enjoy being on the receiving end of what your line is suggesting. »

You feel a bubble of amusement rise in your chest despite the heavy anger. ‘Heheh… piss drinker.’

« Aye, a piss drinker who dragged you into the hells and deserves to perish. »

“What’s better than a devil you don’t know?” Raphael continues his theatrics slowly walking closer to Tave. She doesn’t react, save for her grip tightening on her staff. He’s now practically shoulder to shoulder with her, leaning down close to her ear, meeting her glare out of the corner of his eyes. “A devil you do.” He steps past her fully while straightening back to full height. He idly walks around the room, circling your group and the table. “Am I a friend? Potentially. An adversary? Conceivably.” He ponders and answers his own questions, maintaining that unworried gait until he pauses in front of the fireplace after his lap, facing you all once more. “But a saviour? That’s for certain.” He grins toothily. 

‘A savior?! Who does this cum stain think he is?!’

“I don’t care what you are,” Tav remains stoic. “I care what you want.”

“Oh, a mere trifle. How dear is one’s soul, really?” He speaks as if discussing something as inconsequential as the weather, a much lighter weight than the one you had with that mummy in the crypt. “A rhetorical question, of course, but let me venture an answer.” He gestures to his forehead. “It’s worth very little with a tadpole in your head.” He shrugs a little, giving the party a false pitying look that makes your face twist in disgust. “One skull, two tenants, and no solution in sight. I could fix it all like that,” he snaps his fingers.

Tav’s expression doesn’t change. “I need to think this over.”

”Take all the time you need,” he says, sounding unbothered. “But make up your mind before you’re counting down with tentacles. Try to cure yourself, shop around: beg, borrow, and steal.” His grin turns sharp with dark amusement, tone following suit. “And when hope has been whittled down to the very marrow of despair- that’s when you’ll come knocking on my door.” His grin widens, making you feel unsettled underneath the fury roiling beneath your skin. “Hope. Haha! Such a tease~”

’Danganronpa sounding ass, thinking he’s all fancy and smart; just fall over dead already!’

 “And say I do want to take this deal,” Tav says, and you wouldn’t be surprised if your neck cracked with the speed at which you turned to look at her incredulously. “How would I find you?”

What was she saying? You thought you could trust her! How could she? How dare she?!

“I’ll be around, watching you squirm like a tadpole through a nice juicy brain,” Raphael wiggles his fingers practically tauntingly. “All those pretty little symptoms: sundering skin, dissolving guts… they haven’t manifested yet, have they? One might say you’re a paragon of luck. I’ll be there when it runs out, little actor.”

And with that same flashbang-like whiteness, you’re blinded for a moment then find you’re right back where you were before you were dragged down into the hells: on top of the butte. You still feel like steam is coming out of your ears with how hot your fury is burning in your bones.

“What was that about?” You hear Tav ask, but it’s only after a moment of silence,no one answering her, do you then turn to look at her and notice her gaze on you. The question was directed at you.

[What was what?] You raise an eyebrow at her, your body still tense.

She raises an eyebrow in turn, unimpressed. “That bloodlust you exerted when he first appeared. I’ve never felt something like that from you before.”

[I just… I really don't like devils, okay? I’d rather not get into it.] {Performance = 19, success}, {Deception = 5, failure}. Your anger and irritation is still bubbling, and you can barely keep yourself from snapping at Tav and her insistent questioning.

Tav crosses her arms, her eyes narrowing. “All right, but how did you know he was a devil before he revealed his true form?”

[Because he smelled like one.] {Performance = 18, success}.

Tav’s face turns thoughtful. “You can… smell devils?”

[Yes, I can, now can we stop talking about this already? I already said I don’t want to talk about it.] {Performance = natural 1, critical failure}. You grit your teeth in frustration.

“I didn’t get anything after the ‘yes.’ Want to try that again?” Tav asks, voice not giving away any emotions.

“Aah, fuck this!” Your hands go to your head and tug at your hair. “Just, fucking, give me a goddamn minute, I’m gonna go cool off.” You start to walk back towards the ladder when you hear a couple footsteps behind you. You whip around and glare at Karlach who had started to follow you. “DON’T! Follow! Me.” Your voice gets a little lower and quieter as you speak, then you remember they can’t understand you. [Don’t follow me,] you quickly sign out as best you can, movements rough. {Performance = 18, success}.

Karlach slows, lowering her outstretched hand, worried.

“Pity we didn’t get to see them let loose,” you barely hear Astarion comment. “I think it’d be very fun to see them turn something into a bloody pulp.” He pauses for a moment before seeming to come up with a great idea. “Say, how long do you think we can keep them this angry?”

You hear some  reprimands directed to Astarion, but you’re already headed down the ladder and walk over to the edge of the cliff you had previously scaled up. Now that you’re away from everything your emotions begin to settle. Deep breaths. In and out. They’re shaky at best, a shuddering sound giving away your quivering as you sit down, legs dangling off the edge. You put your face in your hands. What happened to you? You shudder, thinking back on how you acted. You’ve never been like that before, never really let so much anger reveal itself on the surface for so long. You knew it wasn’t your anger, but the way it had overwhelmed everything else about you was terrifying. It’s like you as yourself weren’t even there anymore. Just a fake imitation of your body made of a physical manifestation of anger. You wrap your arms around yourself, nails shallowly digging into your biceps through the leather armor, trying desperately to ground yourself as the fury quickly evaporated from your system like water evaporating on a hot skillet, leaving you with nothing but your lingering terror and the newly rising anxiety as your think about how you must have looked to everyone else with your very not-you behaviour. You hunch over, forehead resting against your knees. {Constitution saving throw = natural 20, critical success}.

“Just what have I gotten myself into?” You whisper into your pants.

« …Are you alright, little one? »

You chuckle mirthlessly, shaking your head. “What d’you think?” You practically growl out.

Silence.

“Fuck, sorry that–” You sigh. “No… no, I’m not.” You sit up just enough to not have your face buried in your face, but still mostly hunched over. You thread the ends of your fingers into your hair as your forehead rests against the bottom of your palms, elbows braced against your knees. ‘Listen, Astaroth, can I… I need to be alone right now…Can you come back in like… an hour or two? I need some time by myself.’

« I… » You hear a long breath, not quite a sigh, but close. « Very well. » You hear the echoing sound of a door opening. « For what it is worth, I apologize for what you went through. » You hear the mind door, as you’ve decided to call it, close with an echoing click.

It’s quiet again.

Quiet how it was before all this started, from when you were back home, not having to risk your life each waking moment.

You’re alone. Alone with your thoughts. Alone with nothing but time. And things start to flood back into you: all those memories from the past, what, two days? All that trauma you’ve pushed to the back of your mind to process later has released itself from its filing cabinet to instead rest at the forefront of your mind to try and get you to process it right now, which is something you’re decidedly not ready to look at yet. 

The absence of anyone who shares your language is palpable now. It’s harder to use humor to cope with nobody to laugh at your stupid jokes. With that unhealthy coping skill no longer an option you, out of habit, reach for your next one. [Constitution saving throw: 8, failure}.

You fumble up into your armor, roughly reaching and grasping at your belt pouch beneath it until you’re rewarded with the drawstring coming loose enough for you to pull out your phone. The screen lights up at the motion– 83%, it reads. With no internet, doom scrolling isn’t much of an option to keep you distracted, but you still have your precious music. Your free hand goes to your other pocket, but your earbuds aren’t there. ‘Oh… that’s right.’ You aren’t a heathen who just plays their music out in public without headphones on, so your phone gets roughly stuffed back in the pouch infrustration as you feel your eyes start to sting with unshed tears. 

‘This shitty world. Why couldn’t I have ended up anywhere else? But nooooo, I had to be stuck here– a place that won’t even grant me the simplest pleasures of civilized life!’

You bring your legs up and hug them to your chest, tucking your mouth against your knees. 

“I hate this place. I wanna go home.”

You gently start to rock yourself side to side in beat with the slow tempo as you quietly hum to yourself. Truthfully, it wasn’t even humming. It was more so a breathy whisper you kept isolated in the back of your throat, never to be released to the air of the world around you.

Your rocking slows to a stop as the song in your head fades out. Whether that’s how the song ended or if you simply can’t remember the ending is something you can’t muster up enough energy to care. Your head isn’t clear, but you don’t really have the time to afford a full cleansing. It’s better than before though, so it will have to do. You think back on Raphael’s words with a bit more rational thought now, but take it with a grain of salt. You know you can’t trust devils. They’re masters of manipulation and creating unfair contracts that benefit them the most. What sticks out the most though, are his words of hope and the irony of it that only  you are aware of.

“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here… Feels very fitting for me, doesn’t it?”

The crunches of a single pair of footsteps come up from behind you. You don’t bother turning around. You hear them grunt as they lower themselves to sit beside you. The heat coming from them gives away that it was Karlach, who apparently decided to follow you anyway after a couple minutes.

“You doing alright, soldier?”

[Yeah, I’m fine.] {Deception = 16, success}.

“Yeah, I suppose we’re both as fine as we can be after being taken into the hells by a devil with the snap of his fingers. If I see him again, I’ll ring. His. neck.” Karlach’s wrath taints her words, practically matching how you had also felt just moments prior. “I’ve dealt with my fair share of devils, and I know exactly how you feel. I wouldn’t be caught dead getting along with one of them. They’re all the same: trying to lure us into a game they know we can’t win. Glad you seem to be on the same page of not playing it either.”

You give her a half hearted smile, nodding in agreement.

“Say, have you ever killed a devil before?”

You shake your head.

“Then allow me to share some advice on the best way to kill some,” she grins toothily. “It all depends on the type. Ice devils hate an inferno, but that’s an easy one. Orthons love projectiles; what they don’t love is getting their bombs lobbed right back in their faces.” She mimes tossing something away. “Demons, on the other hand– every demon is absolutely singular. You can’t ever think you’ve got ‘em typed out. Sharp instincts, sharp weapons, and a knack for improvisation– That’s the only way to survive ‘em, heh.”

‘Demons, huh? Wonder if having a pact with one gives me a free pass if I ever come across another… probably not.’

“You feelin’ well enough to get movin’ yet?” She asks, genuinely concerned for you. “I know you’ve all got a camp set up nearby, and I’m sure some rest would do us wonders after all that.”

[Yeah, some rest sounds pretty nice right now… Okay, yeah, let’s get moving.] {Performance = 4, failure}. You stand up from your spot and Karlach looks at you in surprise. You raise an eyebrow at her, confused by her reaction.

“Oh, I thought you–” she glances out at the path below. “Nevermind.”

You hold out a hand to help her up. She smiles sadly.

“Very kind of you soldier, but I wouldn’t want to melt your skin off, so I’ll have to decline.” She pushes herself up to her own feet, declining your hand.

‘Oh, right. Forgot about that.’

She turns and waves, and you follow her gaze to see the rest of your party standing at the bottom of the ladder, having been waiting for you. Your cheeks flush in embarrassment at having been the reason your trip back to camp was being held up.

“All good now?” Tav asks.

You nod in affirmation.

“Good. Let’s keep moving. The sun’s setting and we have at most an hour before it grows dark.”

You all descend back the way you came, and you go down the cliff last so that if you fell, somebody would hopefully catch you. Once at the bottom, you take a deep breath to center yourself. Even though you were going down this time, it was still just as scary as before, if not a bit more. You feel a pat on your back and look to your left to see Garquaad with a reassuring smile. Whether it was about the cliff scaling or the freak out you had with Raphael you couldn’t be sure, but you appreciated it all the same. Not enough to forgive him for the stunt he pulled at the grove, but enough to make you a teeny bit less upset with him.

As you reach the grove, the party splits in two: Default-GBA and Calcifaust accompany Karlach, who you still haven’t come up with a good nickname for, to get her engine looked at by the blacksmith, Shadowheart tagging along with them to gain as much distance from Cowabunger as possible, while the rest of you head back to camp. The walk is mostly quiet, everyone feeling quite tired after such an eventful day, and once back at camp you find yourself volunteering to make dinner, not wanting to be disturbed too much by the others. You rifle through your food supplies, nothing quite in mind for what to cook just yet. There’s a variety of vegetables and fruits, along with two large beef sausages that you manage to find before you stumble across two small red peppers. Intrigued, you bring it to your nose and smell. You feel the slightest bit of irritation, confirming what you have is a slightly spicy pepper.

‘Fuck it, we’re doing improv chili con carne.’

You get to work on dicing up the tomatoes first, adding them to the pot as soon as you can in order to cook them down into a sauce. You didn’t find any beans, which makes sense as you weren’t expecting anyone to have found some wild tin cans rolling about, so you would have to make do without them. You then cut up the peppers in the smallest pieces you could possibly make and add them to your simmering tomatoes. Once your tomatoes start looking pretty soft, a chopped onion and two sliced then quartered sausage get added. You thoroughly stir in small bursts, going for as long as you can before it’s too hot and you have to pull back, making sure to crush the tomatoes into more of a pulp whenever you can. You aren’t sure how much time has passed, but the sun had already set once you deemed the chili done. With a metal hook, you carefully remove the pot from the fire, setting it down on a fairly flat stone nearby. 

“Food’s done!” You call out, looking up from your work.

 The others look at you, confused.  ‘Right, language barrier.’ You point at your pot and mime eating– then they all seem to understand. You notice Tav and the other three had also returned to camp at some point while you were cooking, but you weren’t sure when. One by one, they stop what they’re doing, and get ready to head on over. You grab a stack of bowls and spoons from the communal supplies and set them down next to the pot before grabbing your own and scooping out your own serving. You take a seat on a log that someone had rolled up to sit near the campfire and dig into your meal as you watch everyone else grab their own. You shovel a spoonful into your mouth and hum, satisfied. It wasn’t perfect, but it was more than enough to have something taste a bit like home. 

You watch the others eye it a bit warily, looking at the unfamiliar meal, probably seeming like a red, lumpy stew to them. Seeing you happily eating it seemed to assuage their nerves somewhat. They eat and seem happy enough with your cooking to finish their bowls, some even going for seconds. It makes you smile knowing that they all enjoyed it. All except Astarion that is. You look at him over your bowl with worry. It’s been at least two days since he’s eaten anything, and that can’t be good. You add your empty bowl and spoon to the pile of other dirty dishes that began to accumulate for Gale to later prestidigitate the mess away once everyone was done.

As soon as she finishes her meal, Karlach sits in front of the fire and leans back, looking up at the stars. She starts to giggle, then lets out a full blown laugh filled with joy. Astarion peers up from his book, a bit peeved at having his attention drawn away.

“What’s so funny?” He asks. “You haven’t got some laughing curse, have you?”

“It’s really hitting me now that I made it out of Avernus. It’s incredible!” She exclaims with a wide smile, throwing her hands skywards. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen the stars. I’ve almost forgotten what they look like.”

“All right, just keep it down,” he scowls a bit before turning back to his book. “We’re conspicuous enough without your,” he waves a hand, looking for the right word, “hyena call, and I for one don’t want to be disturbed by gnolls in the middle of the night thinking you’re one of them.”

Most of the others have gone back to their tents after dinner, save for you, Tav and Wyll, who remain by the fire. You look up as you hear the very light footsteps of somebody sneaking. Your eyes widen in curiosity as you see a tiefling entering your camp, coming up behind Tav– a tiefling you recognize at that: Alfira.

“Lae’zel, I understand your eagerness to go, but we should still hear what everyone else has to say,” FD tries to placate her. “There is also a chance they were a scout, so the crèche may not be in that direction. The more information we have on the surrounding area, the easier time we’ll have pinpointing its exact location.”

Cowabunger crosses her arms and scowls. “I am loath to admit it, but your words have sense in them. Very well. We shall do things your way.”

“All right,” FD smiles and walks over to a nearby crate, still wearing that ugly robe, the rest of you following. There she spreads open a map on the crate’s surface, an area to the far northwest circled in charcoal. “This-” she points to the circle “-is where Zorru spotted the githyanki. And here-” she points to an area south of the githyanki sighting “-is where the adventurers were attacked by goblins and the First Druid, Halsin, was captured. It seems the reason the adventurers were headed that way in the first place was to find a treasure called the “Nightsong” that’s hidden in the temple located near there. A wizard in Balder’s Gate is willing to pay a great sum to whoever retrieves it for them. What’s everyone else found out?”

“There’s a pack of gnolls also to the northeast, and their numbers seem to be quite substantial,” Farquhar Reject states your group’s findings. “I think it’s safe to say there’s at least twenty of them last seen in this area,” he points to an area northwest of the grove, closer than where the githyanki was spotted. “We also heard a small bit about some ruins to the south that might be occupied, but we didn’t get a chance to ask exactly where that was.”

Calcifaust points to an area a short distance south of the grove. “That’s probably around here. We found out there have been sightings around here of multiple people unaffiliated with the grove, but we’re not sure how many. The ruins are where they are probably camping out. I want to investigate as soon as possible. I’m not comfortable having others so close to the grove without knowing if they’re hostile or not, especially when there’s a chance that devil could be there. There’s also a harpy nest near the beach you can reach by going north through the part of the grove the druids are currently occupying, but as long as we don’t approach, we should be fine.”

“We have three options then: northeast, east, and south,” FD gestured to the three areas discussed on the map. “Where shall we head?”

“We head northeast to where the other of my kind was spotted. We need to head to the crèche for purification!” The resident resolute reptilian—amphibian? Platypus? Whatever Lae’zel was— put her foot down.

Calcyfausty shook his head. “That area is a day's walk from here, and there’s no guarantee they’re even still there. I’d like to check out the ruins south of here before anything else. It would be remiss of us if we were to go elsewhere while a potential threat lurks near the grove.”

“We should probably head to the temple where the goblins have gathered sooner rather than later. The likelihood of the First Druid’s survival falls with each passing day, assuming they’re still alive,” Great Wizard Gargle Fargle of the Stargle Squargle offers his opinion. “That group of goblins we fought was most likely a scouting party of some sort. More are bound to come poking their noses around soon once they realize their allies won’t be returning. Best to get the jump on them than the other way around.”

“I’m for the temple and goblin camp,” Tav begins. “Since we gave our word to rescue Halsin, along with the fact he may be able to cure us of our tadpoles, I think we should head there first.”

“Now that you’ve brought it to mind, I believe I’ve had my fill of that awful goblins stench, and on the other hand, musty decrepit ruins aren’t all that appealing to me,” Preminger grimaces. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but I think I’d rather take my chances with the gith.”

“I’d rather not,” Shadowheart scowls at the thought of agreeing with Cowabunger. “The ruins are nearby and might have something useful in them.”

It’s a three-way tie. Two votes for each option. Their gazes fall on the tiebreaker: you. 

You point to yourself, [Me? Really? The person with decision paralysis has to make the choice?] {Performance = 17, Success}.

“We’re at an impasse and you’re the only one left to vote,” FD places all the weight on you. “So, where do you think we should go? Which reminds me, if you have anything else to add, now or in the future,” she reaches into her pack and pulls out a book and a charcoal pencil wrapped in cloth, “you can try to write them down to communicate.”

You take them gratefully and open the book to show nothing but blank pages: a notebook. Or journal, whichever you prefer. The thought is sweet, even though you know writing things down won’t help. ‘I guess it’s up to me then.’ You look at the map and bring your hand to your mouth in thought. ‘If we were to go towards the githyanki, we’d also have to be prepared to fight through gnolls. If we don’t know the numbers of the people in the ruins, it could be dangerous, but there’s probably fewer than twenty if there’s only been minimal sightings… Since this is D&D, It’d probably be better to go there for exp to get strong enough to take on the larger amounts of enemies. Plus, it’s close to camp where we can rest if there’s more of them than expected and we need a safe place to take a breather.’ You quickly write down your reasonings for going to the southern ruins, minus the bit about exp, and show it to the others.

’If I’m being honest though, the other two places look like they’re a long ways away and I really don’t want to have to fight for my life after being made to walk for miles. Who knows how this map is scaled?’

You already knew they wouldn’t be literate in your language, but watching their faces twist in confusion was a bit funny. Besides, even on the off chance someone recognized the letters of the English alphabet, your mix of cursive and print in handwriting shitty enough to confuse a native reader(AKA yourself since you can’t read your own notes half the time) would throw them off any trails.

Garquaalomieu’s expression untwists from confusion to one of realization. “Perhaps I had it the other way around. It’s not that you've lost the ability to speak Common, but that you’ve gained the ability to understand it.” His eyes flicker from your notes to you, full of intrigue.

‘Hey, look at that, you’re actually being smart for once and have learned how to read the situation! How adorable.Not like I even want to tell them the actual truth so let’s go with that.’ You nod your head and give a thumbs up.

“These tadpoles are truly out of the ordinary. In a different circumstance they would make quite the interesting study.”

“Either way, none of us can read this, so can you point to where you decided on?” FD asks, steering the conversation back on track.

You point to the southern ruins.

“It’s decided then. Let’s stock up and prepare, then head out.”

A huff of annoyance from Cowabunger was the only complaint from the group, relieving the pressure you felt of being stuck with the ultimate choice of where to go. Calcifaust volunteered to get more supplies, seeing as he was already acquainted with the traders in the grove. Tav, being in charge of inventory and distribution, went with him.

‘What am I supposed to do now?’ You thought as you watched the two of them leave, the rest of the party staying nearby, but not striking up conversation with each other. You look at your hands, one occupied with a book and pencil, the other a lute. ‘I should be able to fit the lute in my bag even if its neck is sticking out, right?’ You place down your things on the now map-less crate, followed by your bag. Your bag was empty save for your tent and bedroll, which luckily could both be attached to the outside of the bag anyway. You carefully place your lute in the pack in a way that will allow the neck to stick out without preventing the tent-bundled-bedroll from being attachable. Your notebook and pencil are stuffed into your pants’ empty front pocket, just big enough to fit both items. 

‘Whoever designed these pants, I love you.’

“What, are you not going to pass the time with another one of your incredible tunes?”

You jump at the sudden voice and turn around to see Astarion in all his glorious Preminger-likeness, much closer than you were expecting. ‘Why is he so good at sneaking up on people? Normally that’s my job.’

Narrowing your eyes in a pseudo-glare, you wrap your hand around the neck of your gifted lute. [Have you already forgotten the chord I played for you? I can make you suffer again. Don’t tempt me.] {Intimidation = 11, Success}.

“I was only joking. It's not like I want to hear that horrid noise again,” he quickly backpedals. “But you must admit it’s strange that you carry around an instrument, two now, and take every opportunity to not play them. With the way you avoid attention rather than attract it, it makes sense you can’t be a bard: you’d be awful at it.”

Your gaze sharpens to a full glare. You make no movements. Just stare. ‘He’s doing this because he’s bored and wants a reaction out of you. Don’t give the bastard the satisfaction.’ You turn around and start affixing your bedroll to your pack. 

“Oh, pushed a few buttons, did I? What, do you have some dark or embarrassing secret you’re binding on why your path to barddom was ruined?”

’You know what. Fuck taking the high road.’ You begin to pull the lute back out of the bag.

“Alright, alright, I know when to not press any further. I’ll leave you to whatever dull things you do to occupy your time.” Disappointed at your lack of a fun reaction, Astarion frowns with a quiet “hmph” and walks away.

You turn and watch him approach his next victim, who looks to be FSSR, as you hoist your pack onto your shoulders. A single thought crosses your mind at the sight of his stupid back: ‘I wish I had tape so I could stick a note to his back that says “cuck me.”’

Calcifaust and FD returned a few minutes later and passed out their spoils to the others. FD, you see, is wearing a different outfit now, one that is all black. It is, quite clearly, a major improvement. ‘Wait, that means I have to come up with a new nickname now! Uugghhhh it’s so haaarrrdddd! Why can’t you just be more like Lae’zel and make it obvious what your nickname should be?’

Since Tav can’t hear your bemoaning about her in your brain, she happily provides you with two healing potions, which you store in an easily accessible area of your bag, plus a torch. Like an honest to god unlit fire stick you’d find in ancient tombs as movies would have you believe. 

“Here, you should also change into this,” Tav hands you a set of padded armor, much like Wyll’s, except dyed blue instead of red. She also hands you a set of plain clothes that she explains are meant for you to wear under the armor to prevent chafing. 

[Cool. So, uh, where should I change?]

Donned in your newly acquired set of uncomfortable clothes and armor that you practically had to fist fight before you could properly equip it, you rejoin the rest of the group after doing your best to quickly rinse the blood stain out of your pants from home. You got most of it out with some cold water, luckily only leaving the faintest traces so you could only spot it if you were actively looking for it. Your notebook is stowed away in your pack, your new pants’ pockets not large enough for it, and by that you mean it has no pockets–stupid period-typical inconvenience– but you were able to fit a small belt pouch under your armor that was big enough for your phone to fit, so it sits safely tucked away. 

“Everyone ready to head out?” Tav’s question receives affirmations from everyone and a nod from you. “Then let’s get moving.”

The wooden gate separating the grove from the outside world doesn’t budge right up until you’re close enough to touch it, and it closes as soon as the tiefling handling the winch confirms your entire group has left. Everyone walks in mostly silence, with one or two quips here and there, but everybody is focused on keeping an eye out for any unwelcome travelers. It’s boring and you find yourself reaching for your phone multiple times right before you stop yourself each time.

‘Am I really that dependent on instant gratification? I really do just reach for my phone when I’m bored, don’t I?’ In an attempt to help keep sticky fingers from reaching for the alien device, you grasp the straps of your pack. Hopefully, keeping your hands even somewhat occupied will help prevent any slip-ups. ‘Just, think about something- anything- else. Like what Tav’s new nickname is going to be. Purple people eater is too obvious an unoriginal, so let’s just get that idea out of the way right now.’ 

Unfortunately, you’re coming up blank. Your head, so empty, decides to fill itself with something besides ideas: lo fi hip hop beats to come up with nicknames to. You let the melody from your memories flow into your head. Your footsteps are quick to move in sync with the imaginary beat, your head soon subtly bobbing along too.

And then it happens. The thing you know will always happen but can never prevent it: The melody gets stuck at that one part where it loops endlessly in your mind and you can’t move on. You’re stuck. The only way to get unstuck is to listen to it, but you can’t. You’d need to use your phone. Not even the gods know when you’ll escape the loop.

‘...Astaroth, you’re so lucky you’re not here right now to experience this torture- this curse I’ve been burdened with…If you can hear this, for your own wellbeing, don’t come back yet. You will regret it. You don’t have to suffer with me.’

Once more, you pass the remnants of the wooden cage Cowabunger was suspended in but a day ago. The sight does nothing to inspire you. No, you simply can do nothing but bear with the looping music to your best ability.

Oblivious to your suffering, everyone continued onward towards some gray stone pillars you just barely caught a glimpse of before Tav came to a sudden halt and crouched, then motioned for everyone to do the same. She slowly inches forward and beckons your group of misfits to follow. {Stealth = 19, Success}.

You stay near the back of the crowd and watch as Tav peers around the stone and underbrush. She lifts up her hand and raises four fingers.

‘Four? As in there’s four people over there or she wants four people to back her up? Or maybe go in four seconds? Wait, no, it’s been a few seconds and she’s not counting down.’ 

Supposedly deeming it safe, she stands out of the crouch and waves her arm in a sweep to signal the rest of you to stand and follow. That’s what you gather as that’s seemingly what everyone else does. Naturally, you follow suit. She strides into the stone ruins with confidence. 

‘You know, in this light, she’s the same color as a standard Gameboy Advance.’

A short man, probably a gnome by his looks if you’re getting your D&D knowledge right, standing on a stone half-wall comes into view as you pass the stone pillars of the ruins. The half wall overlooks a substantial drop to a staircase leading towards a door to the ruins, and an identical wall across from that with a human standing guard there. The construction of the ruins makes it feel like a canyon with stairs instead of a river running through it. 

The gnome whips around when he hears your group approaching, “You! Not another step, hear me? Boss! Got company up here,” He calls out to his left, where you can see a human and another gnome down a flight of stairs, standing near a statue.

‘Oh my god, he’s a classic goon-slash-grunt. Never thought I’d see one in real life.’

Immediately taking notice, the two of them clamber up the stairs until the other gnome stands in front of Tav, “What’s this then–trying to creep around us and loot the crypt? Not happening. Or is it the ship you’re after? Don’t matter either way–it’s ours, all of it.”

“Your loud words hide fear, confusion. Looting that ship will bring you no peace,” Tav states with a steadfast authority you weren’t expecting. “Naught but death awaits those who dare try their luck with the wreckage.”

’Look at you, sounding like a sage in a classic JRPG. Yeah, you’re gonna be called Default Gameboy Advance from now on.’

“Well, uh, in that case… C’mon you lot, no point in gettin’ killed. Second worm gets the cheese, an’ all…” The gnome quickly acquiesces, his bravado having vanished to leave naught but nervousness.

“Uh, second mouse gets the cheese, no?” The human man corrects him.

“Nobody’s getting any damn cheese! Now move it!”

The four people, looters you guess, are quick to scurry off.

“It would have been quicker to kill them,” Cowabunger comments once they’re out of earshot.

“Maybe, but we need to conserve our energy,” Tav, or Default GBA, explains. “If the devil Karlach is in the crypt, we’ll have an intense battle to fight. The less strength we waste, the better.”

“This devil best put up a good fight, if nothing else, to be worth the time we are wasting.”

D-GBA leads your group down the stairs, around the crumbling area in front of the statue the boss-man and goons were loitering around earlier, and down the next flight of stairs through the manmade canyon, stopping in front of the heavy-looking door. She puts her ear up to the door for a moment. You watch her eyes narrow before she takes out her staff and pulls away from the door to over at the rest of the group. You watch as the others around you pull out their weapons.

‘Oh, uh, okay,’ still not used to your powers, you fumble a bit as you summon your violin and bow into your hands and get in ready-position.

Slowly, Tav reaches for and grabs the door ring. She pulls it taught, careful to not cause the metal to grind against each other and make any loud noises. With a step back she yanks on it. It doesn’t budge. She pushes at the door. Doesn’t budge. Locked. She opens her mouth to speak but another voice cuts her off before she can begin.

“That you, Gimblebock?” A muffled voice echoes through the door. “Everything all right out there?”

“Gimblebock triggered some trap,” Tav improvises, voice frantic but her expression says otherwise. “He needs help- now!”

“I told him it wasn’t safe out there. Get inside, and I’ll rustle up some bandages…”

You hear the click of the door being unlocked. Tav nods to the rest of you and opens the door. You all step inside. Hearing more footsteps than he was expecting, the man who unlocked the door turns around.

He takes a step back, “Who the hells?” Torch in hand, he quickly brandishes his sword with the other. “You’re dead!”

Tav is quick to rush in and strike him with her new quarterstaff she picked up from one of the merchants in the grove. As he stumbles from the impact, you clumsily place all four fingers down on the e-string and screech out a note, firing an eldritch blast at him. {Attack Roll = 17, Hit}, {Force Damage = 3}. He staggers, but doesn’t fall. With a snarling face he rushes towards Tav but doesn’t get very far when Astarion appears behind him and sinks a dagger into the side of his neck. He uses the blade to basically flick the man to the ground as he removes the dagger. You watch as the man sputters and gurgles on the floor, blood oozing from his wound in a steady stream and dripping from his mouth whenever it opens. He stops moving. He’s not conscious, but he’s still alive– the blood is still pulsing out of him, his heart still beating, working to pump blood and keep its body alive if only the blood wouldn’t gush out of the wound with each contraction. It won’t be long before he’s dead.

You look away, taking in a deep breath through your mouth as you try to push down the nausea rising in your gut. ‘Inhale… One… two… three… exhale…’ You breathe out through your nose, slow and controlled. ‘Seeing somebody dying is way worse than seeing a body that’s already dead.’ You carefully step around the soon-to-be-new-dead-body and down the half-flight of stairs.

« Would some good news help? »

‘Oh, hi… You know, when you said you were going away for a bit to recharge your powers or something, I was expecting longer than half a day.’

« I had initially thought so as well. As of yet, I’m not sure if it’s a side effect of the tadpole, that your body is used to a magic-less realm, or perhaps even something else entirely, but you’re gaining power incredibly quickly. Your body seems to absorb the traces of what you refer to as mana in the world around you, including the runoff of spells that have been cast not just by you, but by others as well. Not only is it strange that you absorb it, but you are absorbing it at an unprecedented rate. »

‘So I’m a mana vacuum? Does this mean I can just keep absorbing and never run out of magic? That’s pretty broken.’

« Broken is an apt term for it, but not in the way you’re using it. At the moment, your body isn’t able to accommodate such high amounts of mana. I’ve been siphoning the excess as it enters you for your own safety, but it has turned out to be enough to allow us to converse freely without depleting any energy. In fact, your intake is high enough where I’m still gaining a fractional amount as we speak. Minuscule, but it is still a net gain. »

‘“For my own safety?” What would’ve happened if you weren’t taking the excess?’

« Much like water, it would travel through you like a river and find the path of least resistance where it could escape. If you don’t consciously let the mana out of you, it will erode at the weakest point until it makes an opening to escape from. Based on your memories, I think an appropriate analogy is to think of your body as a balloon and mana as the air getting pumped into it. After a while, you would burst. »

Your eyes widen. ‘...Fun.’ You mentally grimace with a little bit of terror. You really didn’t want to inflate to death.

« On a lighter note, you’ve grown stronger and have new abilities! You should also be able to freely summon and dismiss your instrument as many times as you wish. Such is the good news I previously mentioned. »

‘Ooooh, a level up? Perfect timing! Now I don’t have time to think about things too deeply and have an existential crisis!’

« …We're going to have a talk later because I am very worried for your mental health, but yes, you have gained an incremental increase in power, to put it in more defined terms, or a “level up” as you call it. »

‘You don’t need to worry about my mental health; I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with worse.’

« … » Astaroth spoke no words, but the silence that felt like a leveling stare said enough.

‘...ugh, fine, we’ll talk about feelings and unpack this at camp.’

« Good. »

‘Soooo, what are those shiny new abilities you mentioned?’

He sighs softly, « Since you’ve given your word, I suppose we can change the topic now. I have granted you a new invocation and spell. You can now read all writing and can cast the spell Illusory Script. The spell, while active, will allow the intended meaning of whatever you write to be understandable by any parties you choose. »

‘So it will auto-translate my writing? Cool, I’ll make sure they don’t know I can do this for as long as possible, but–’ you interject before Astaroth can say anything– ‘I’ll make sure to use it when necessary. I won’t let my anxiety be the reason my party members get hurt. So, thank you, Astaroth. Really.’

« Don’t worry; I won’t push you on the matter. In the meantime, I’ll be working on getting us a gift. »

‘Ooooooh, a gift? What is it?’

« That’s for me to know, and you to be surprised with. »

‘Awww, c’mooooon, just a hint?’

« Nope. »

‘Booooo! ‘

« Just go have fun exploring and watch out for traps. »

‘Fiiiiiine… Let’s listen to some music tonight.’ You smile. ‘Well, listen or mentally listen. I’m sure my brain can remember at least one song in full.’

« I’d like nothing more. »

‘Soooo, since it seems like you’ll be sticking around, that means you’ll go back to being my personal secret agent in my ear and guiding me in fights again, right?’

« It would probably be best if I do not. »

‘...what do you mean “it’d probably be best if you don’t,” I think the best option is, oh, you know, me not dying!’

« Yes, and that is the reason why I will not be. It would be dangerous to let you grow dependent on it. A time may very well come again when our connection is severed and you must endure on your own for a time. You must hone your instincts and battlesense now so that you can form a firm foundation. »

‘That… hahhhh, yeah, yeah, that makes a lot of sense.’

« I appreciate how quick you are to see reason. »

With the mental conversation reaching a good stopping point and the fact you’ve distracted yourself enough to forget about the now-probably-dead-body, you tune back into your surroundings, seeing everyone carefully rummaging through the boxes and other storage containers scattered about. To the left is a nondescript wooden door. Straight in front of you is a long dining table with food and drinks left on it, a fireplace in the wall behind the head of it. The walls are wood in some places and stone in others. Your gaze is attracted to a metal plaque hanging crookedly on the wall to your right. Shadowheart and Tav are standing near it, looking at it as well. You approach to get a better look. She looks at you out of the corner of her eye when you stop next to her.

“Who do you think these prayers are for?” She asks absently, not truly expecting any answer. “Normally the patron god is obvious– not here.”

You run your fingers across the words and suppress a flinch as the letters on the plaque tremble and warp beneath your fingertips until they reassemble themselves into English: 

“Hear my words as they might be your last. Be careful.” 

‘Ominous… wait a minute— how did that—‘

« Ah, it seems I had forgotten to mention as you are not yet used to this. An additional effect of the language comprehension module I integrated into your brain is how it applies to written words. Should you trace a language I know with your fingers, the module will translate it. It is a form of illusion magic that will cause you to see your own script in its place. »

‘What do I do if I can’t reach it?’

« Sufffer, I suppose. »

’Gee, thanks.’

You shrug in response to Shadowheart. You don’t know enough about the Faerûnian deities to know if these words are a catchphrase of sorts for one of them, but you weren’t about to expend a spell slot to ask. ‘Still, no matter how I look at it, this doesn’t read like a prayer.’

“It’s a dead tongue, by the look of it. It’ll be too hard to identify the deity without knowing the language,” Tav states. “Whoever worshipped here must be long gone, though, so in the end it doesn’t matter much,” She walks away after a small shrug of her own, off to investigate the rest of the room.

‘Wait, a dead tongue? But I can read it now… Holy shit, I am an archaeologist’s wet dream. Or philologist? Archaeological philologist? Ah, whatever.’

Tav soon gathered everyone together to approach the door across the room from the plaque after everyone had rifled through the supplies and grabbed what they deemed necessary to take. “Everyone ready to keep going?” A round of nods ran through the group. “Good. Let’s move.” Tav approached the door, and just like before, she put her ear up to it and listened. Her eyes glanced over to Astarion. “How good are you with the bow?” she whispered.

“Very,” Astarion whispered back with a smirk as he pulled out his bow and notched an arrow.

“Alright, everyone else, back up and get low.” 

The rest of us did as told, everyone in a crouch with only Tav and Astarion near the door. With a nod from him, Tave pulled the lever on the wall and the door swung open. Astarion took aim, pulled back and fired, all within the span of a high crouch jump.

‘Oh, he’s a rogue! Yeah that makes sense. Sneak attack damage is crazy good.’

“How’d you get past Andorn?!” the human woman Astarion had shot cried out after letting out an awful scream of pain. She didn’t get to say much before Gale hit her with a glacies and Tav rushed her and struck with her staff. As quickly as the fight had started, it was over. 

The threat gone, everyone raised from their sneaking poses and took a look around the room. To the left there was a door that was opened after Tav did her routine check. There wasn’t much inside but there was some sunlight that leaked through the gaps in the ceiling. To the right of the main room was a door with neither lock nor handle. You gave it a slight push, but it didn’t move. The last door, on the far wall across from where you entered, was the group’s next target. Tav didn’t even need to put her ear up against it; you could hear the loud conversation happening as you neared. Perhaps that was why they hadn’t come running— with how loud they were, they wouldn’t have been able to hear their comrade’s scream.  Nobody needed to be told to ready their weapons this time. 

Astarion took to the front with Tav again. As soon as she pushed open the door, he loosed the arrow on the first person he saw. Everyone rushed into the room after the first shot, taking advantage of the surprise attack. Tav rushed the man Astarion hit, striking him in the stomach with a jab as soon as he turned around to face your group. Cowabunger leapt down the flight of stairs and sprinted to the left towards a duergar, you think they’re called, or dvergr maybe, hitting them with a mean downwards slash of her flame-wreathed blade she must have picked up from the fiend on the nautilus. 

You began to play the melody of the song you had stuck in your head earlier and took aim at the already wounded man in your direct line of sight. Another eldritch blast fired from your instrument. {Attack Roll = 6, Miss}. The man, seeing your magic projectile, ducks, the blast going past him and into the floor. The Starsquad Reject fires a glacies towards someone on the right– you glance over and see a tall man, but afford him no more time than that. Calcifaust runs down the stairs and throws his momentum into a lunge towards the man you missed, stabbing him in the chest with a rapier. The enemy falls to the ground, incapacitated. Or dead. You can’t really tell from here. Shadowheart moves closer to the action, but stays out of direct contact, ready to sling healing spells at whoever needs them.

Target down, Wyll moves to the right and does something the man The FSSR had hit. You’re not sure what, but they suddenly look fatigued. GBA runs towards the back where a human in robes readies her quarterstaff behind a statue of a robed figure. Astarion darts towards the duergar Lae’zel is in combat with, flanking them. He stabs them from behind with his dagger, and they fall  to the ground as soon as it is removed. Tav makes a strike against the figure in the back, who retaliates with a burst of ice, the sharp spikes cutting into her. You’re now six seconds into your song and you’re able to fire off another blast, so you turn your gaze to the man Wyll fatigued, hoping that with their ailment they’ll be easier to hit. Apparently, that’s not how it works. {Attack Roll = 6, Miss}. Your face scrunches into an annoyed scowl as you miss again.

Gale’s ignis hits the man you missed in the face, causing him to cry out and not notice Wyll in time before he’s stabbed with a rapier. Shadowheart moves close enough to help Tav with a healing word as Cowabunger dashes around the right of the statue and pulls out her bow, firing an arrow at the mage engaged with Tav, Preminger in quick pursuit. The man, after shaking off the two consecutive attacks, releases a thunderous warcry and slams his spiked club down on Wyll, the blow forcing him to the ground, but he’s quick to roll away and get back up on his feet, thrusting at the man again. It pierces through his chest, and he falls to the ground dead as Wyll pulls the blade out of him. Astarion, having sprinted towards the mage alongside Lae’zel, was quick to rush in with another stab as soon as Lae’zel’s arrow hit its mark. The mage’s cry is silenced as Tav finishes her off with a brutal blow to the head with her staff.

Another round of everyone looting bodies and chests occurred, you sticking to looking in the chests only. A ghastly shriek that did not sound like it could have been made by any human throat accompanied by rapidly clicking metal resounded through the chamber, causing you to flinch and look up from the sadly empty chest. 

“Wonder what that did,” you looked over to D-GBA when she spoke, seeing her hand on a metal pull bar held in the jaws of a humanoid skull. Morbid.

“The sound came from the last room we were in,” Gale remarked. 

[I’ll go check it out], you mime. {Performance = 20, Success}. ‘I’ll gladly take a room with one body over one with four.’

“All right, any of you don’t feel like looting go with them,” Tav says as she looks at the others. “Otherwise, help me clear the room.”

Shadowheart and Astarion end up joining you, neither of them interested in rifling through the bookshelves in search of any magic scrolls or potential hidden passages after they finished looting the corpses. 

You don’t hesitate to leave the room, eager to escape the stench of iron growing more pungent by the minute. As soon as you crossed through the doorway, you didn’t have to go far to see the change: the immovable door was now open. Curious, you head in and see an altar devoid of anything except candles, two more headless statues and a tapestry hanging on the far wall where another door resides. 

‘It’s just an airlock, or well, a vestibule, technically. Kinda disappointing, not gonna lie.’

You decided you’d better do what Tav had been doing and put your ear up to the closed door. [Nothing,] you shake your head and lean your back against the door. [Guess we wait, then?] {Performance Roll = Natural 20, critical success}.

“I’ll go let them know what we’ve found, I suppose,” Shadowheart exits the room, leaving just you and Astarion.

 It’s silent, the two of you just waiting. Astarion starts flipping his dagger into the air and catching it out of boredom, the action making you tense each time it falls. One wrong move and he could lose his fingers. You really wanna say something to help diffuse your own anxiety over it, either get him to stop or at least reassure you that it would be fine, but with you unable to talk and him being the type of person who would tease or belittle you for your worry, you weren’t really going to chance speaking up. Even if you were getting more and more anxious each time he caught the dagger, only to flick it upwards again. 

‘But (y/n),’ your mentally exhausted mind pipes up, ‘what if we spoke anyway?‘

‘But I don’t want to talk, that’s like, our whole thing? Because, you know, social anxiety plus language barrier?’ You reply to yourself.

‘Okay but hear me out. If we do, it could help us calm down since it would be funny to see the bastard man so confused. Could be fun. Also, since he can’t understand us: no repercussions for what we say.’

‘You make a convincing argument, (y/n).’

‘Thank you, (y/n).’

“So, I, uh… heard you had twelve terabytes of pornography.”

“...” Astarion stops playing with his stabbing instrument and turns to look at you, not amused.

‘Why the hell d’you open with that of all things?!’

‘I don’t know! I panicked! I said the first part and my brain filled in the rest because “hehe funny reference” and it accidentally slipped out before I could stop it! Besides, you said this is a no repercussions discussion; I’m sure everything will be fine. Just be glad it wasn’t the Mississippi pick up line.’

‘Mmm, fair…’

« The “Mississippi pick up line?” Also, I’ve been meaning to ask: why do you simulate conversations with yourself in your thoughts? »

‘Oh no.’

“I hope you’re not using the fact that I don’t understand whatever it is that you're saying to say something foul to my face,” Astarion pulls you from your mind conversation.

[No, no no no, that’s not it, don’t worry.] ‘I mean, I’m not lying. He is trying to ask if I’m insulting him, right? Yeah.’

The room falls to silence again. He’s looking at you. He raises an eyebrow. Oh, he’s looking at you since he’s expecting further explanation!

[Nevermind. It’s not important,] you wave it off. {Persuasion = 10, success}

He seems to accept it, and goes back to lazily tossing his dagger with an ease that doesn’t make you any less uneasy.

« So, would you like to start with Mississippi or why you were talking to yourself the same way you talk to me? »

‘I’ll have you know that having conversations with yourself in your head is very normal where I come from, thank you very much.’

« I suppose I’ll take your word for it; I don’t know too much about your world nowadays. But why’d you say “oh no” when I asked about that “Mississippi–” »

‘Oh, hey, you know, now that I’m thinking about it, I had a few questions I wanted to ask you: You Wyll a Fiend’s Puppet?” What’s that?’

« …Put simply, someone who’s made a pact with a fiend. That one in particular reeks of cambion. »

‘You can tell what type of devil they made a pact with just by their smell?’

« Yes? Oh, right, I had forgotten. Mortals like yourself don’t have a sense of smell as acute as demons such as myself and the like. »

‘Wait, so, since I made a pact with you, does that mean I smell like you?’

« Only when you channel my powers or cast magic. For a brief moment, you will smell of brimstone. »

‘Brimstone, huh? I thought that was more of a ‘hells and devils’ thing, not an abyssal demon thing. Well, actually, we don’t really distinguish between devils and demons back home, but I know it’s different here.’

« While normally you would be correct, I don’t quite have a smell anymore other than brimstone and burnt flesh, since, well, you know. In fact, if any were to notice the smell, they would probably assume you’ve made a pact with a devil rather than me. Outside of that though, no mortals should be able to tell you’ve made a pact since most gods or patrons who would notice do not actively converse to their patrons as we do. »

I pursed my lips, reminded of the suffering Astaroth must be going through. ‘Well, I suppose smelling like a freshly struck match isn’t so bad. In fact, I kinda like the smell’** 

« (っ´▽｀)っ » You feel Astaroth’s desire to fondly tussle your hair. « Now, about the Missi– »

‘ALSO, I don’t know if you saw but when we mindmelded with Wyll, I din’t feel your hatred when we saw the devil woman. Is it because you weren’t around?’

« …You are partially correct. While it is true that when I am not connected with you, you will not feel my hatred for fiends, but when it comes to viewing memories, I cannot discern what the truth is. Mortal memories are easily swayed and distorted. What he believes to be the truth may not be. Memories influenced heavily by emotion cannot be trusted. »

‘That’s true. If someone tries hard enough, they can gaslight themselves to the point of misremembering something and being convinced that the memory they altered themselves is the truth.’

« ”Gaslight?” That is a term I am unfamiliar with. I must study your vernacular more. »

‘One of the three “g’s”: Gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss. Handy terms to know. Oh, and you can’t forget the fourth horseman of the apocalypse: Gamer.’

« I have a feeling you made that last one up. »

‘Sure did. But in my experience, anybody who unironically calls themself a gamer is typically somebody you wanna avoid.’

« Now, I believe I’ve answered your questions and spent long enough allowing you to avoid my own. What is this “Mississippi pick up line?” »

‘ Hahh….. Fine. Okay, so pickup lines. They’re a form of flirting that takes the structure of a question followed by the reason why you asked. For example: Are you from Tennessee? Because you’re the only ten I see. That one probably doesn’t make sense since you don’t have cultural context, but you get the point. That’s the structure. Now, Mississippi is a place from my world. And, ugh, I can’t believe I’m saying this to my patron, but the line goes like this: Are you from Mississippi? ‘Cause you’re the only miss whose piss I’d sippy.’

« …That was vile. »

‘...I know, and I’m deeply ashamed by how funny I find it.’

« I’ll forgive you if you say that to the next devil we come across. »

‘Bet.’

« That was merely a jest, but now I’m looking forward to it. Make sure you have Illusory Script ready to go. »

‘...Well fuck me, I guess. But I keep my promises, so I guess I’m doing it.’

You then remember that the next devil you’ll probably come across will be Karlach. You know. The really handsome brain lady.

‘Oh no, she’s going to hate me! And I was so ready to pretend-flirt with her by saying Johnny Bravo lines in my head, but now I’m doomed to make her feel disgusted by meeee-hee-hee-heeeee!’ You sob in your mind. ‘But they say you are what you eat and since I haven’t been eating pussy, that means I ain’t one. I said I’d do it, so I’ll do it, goddammit. Even if I will cry while doing it… but, uh, any chance I can change your mind?’

« I don’t care who or what you’re attracted to, but please, no. devils. Also, no. You’re not getting out of this that easily. »

‘Well, hey, I got good news for you: there’s no need to worry about that! I don’t really do that whole… attraction thing. I can appreciate beauty, sure, but I’m about as attracted to people as I am to a scenic view. You look at it and say ‘wow, how pretty!’ and that’s it. Besides, even if I was, it’s not like I was gonna get anywhere with her when that’s what I’ll have to drop on her. What I mean to say it, don’t worry, while I may low-key be a monster fucker, it only applies when they’re not real.’

« You are a fascinating person, you know that? »

‘Thank you, I know.’

« Ah, it  would seem we are out of time. A shame; I was hoping to ask you about this “monster fucker” identity, as I am to believe that your world is for the most part absent of monsters. »

‘Ah, yeah, a shame.’

The rest of the party walks in as soon as you finish that thought, spoils of gold coins, weapons, and some low-level spell scrolls filling their packs. After checking the door for noises on the other side, Tav leads the way through the door into the next room: a large, open chamber.

“A crypt,” Lae’zel observes. “What riches might it contain?”

‘Oh no, are we gonna have to fight a necromancer? Everyone knows necromancers love to hang out in crypts.’

The room has two sets of large double doors on the left and right walls, parallel to each other. Your party goes through the door on the right. There is very conspicuous sarcophagus in the center of the room, and a few against the walls as well.

“A trap,” Astarion points out once he nears it. “Someone doesn’t like visitors.”

“Can you disarm it?” Tav asks.

“Who do you take me for? Of course I can.”

As he works on that, the rest of the group rifles through the other sarcophagi, which are thankfully not trapped. This room, like the others, is quickly looted, the only things of note being a magical spear given to Shadowheart, an old key, and a strange black coin that’s oddly cold to the touch. There’s also another door, locked until it isn’t by Astarion’s deft hands, which leads back to the beach Tav and Shadowheart woke up on. With nothing more to find there, the group goes back to the previous room and approaches the other doors. 

After hearing no sound, Default GBA tests the key taken from the sarcophagus, which thankfully unlocks the door. It’s yet another open-concept room with an underground version of a sunken courtyard in the center with a large stature identical to the ones you’ve seen throughout the crypt, except this time with a head.

“Look at that!” The Farquaad Star Squad Reject, whose name is really getting too long to say every time, exclaims once he sees the statue. “Jergal, the Scribe of the Dead. This chapel must be ancient.”

‘Guess nobody worships him anymore, then?’

« Correct. He stepped down from his seat of godhood more than a millennium ago. »

‘Oh wow, then yeah, this place is old.’

“Armed scribes- but no sign of a struggle,” Tav mutters as you all pass by some clothed skeletons lying about while you walk through the room.

“The bones are intact,” Cowabunger comments. “Would not scavengers have disturbed them?”

‘Oh yeah, there was definitely a necromancer here before. I guess they’re not anymore?’

The wall on the right has collapsed, allowing some outside light to leak through, but it seems to lead to a cave that was likely carved out by the river running through it. You all head to the left, where the only door, besides the one you came through, stands. This one is luckily unlocked. There are more sarcophagi within the room, inside one you found another of those cold, black coins. Against the same wall as the door is a stone shelf upon which a book with a massive metal lock resides.

‘What kind of diary has secrets bad enough to warrant that kind of lock?’ You think, as you pick it up. It feels weird in a way that’s hard to describe. It’s like when you start getting close to something that has a lot of static electricity, that hair-raising feeling, but it does not shock you as you touch it, nor does your hair stand on end. ‘Whatever it is, it’s gotta be juicy.’ You fiddle with and tug on the lock and it doesn’t budge. ‘Seriously? A thousand years later and you’re still keeping your secrets? How dedicated are you to your job that you haven’t rusted into nothingness already?’

“Would you mind if I took a look at that?” You turn to see Gale next to you, looking at the book. “There’s some magic involved in that book, so I’d love to take a look. Can probably nudge the lock open with some magic of my own as well.”

[Knock yourself out,] you hand him the book.

One wizardly hand motion later and the lock clicks and the book practically bursts open, as if it was eager for its secrets to be devoured. You hover next to Gale and lightly trace your finger over the page, watching as the words morph themselves into letters you recognize. The words, however, even once settled, don’t make sense to you. 

“They’re names,” The Reject explains, seeing your confusion. “These pages are recording gods, entire pantheons even, that have dwindled, died or have even been reborn. I reckon this record was kept up-to-date right until this temple was abandoned. What a fascinating tome.”

‘Huh. Neat.’

And then you’re back to exploring the main chamber. Down the steps and into the courtyard you go, where you spot another skeleton and a plaque at the base of the giant statue. The words read the same as the first one you read in the very first room. The words carved into the stone scroll the statue is holding are the same as well. More stairs sit on either side of the statue, both seemingly lead to nothing. On the left side though, atop the stairs along a pillar on the wall, you spy a button.

‘Oh no. The irresistible urge is encompassing me. Oooh, that button is so tempting.’ You quickly climb the stairs and stand in front of the button, barely keeping your impulsive want to press it at bay. ‘But what if pressing it turns me into a crab that can’t give precise answers?’

“Tav!” You call out, gaining her attention. You point to the button. [Can I?] {Persuasion = 7, Failure}.

“Hold on, let me take a look,” She climbs up the stairs and stands next to you, looking at the button. “Well, I don’t see anything else,” she says, glancing around. “And it doesn’t seem to be trapped either.”

[OK.] You press the button.

The section of the wall to the left underneath the arched bevelling slides away, but as it does, you begin to hear ominous gasps of breath resound from the rest of the room. You and the rest of the party, all huddled on or around the staircase since they came to see what you had shouted for, look back. The skeletons become animate, rising from their collapsed positions, their bodies coated in the sickly green glow of necromantic magic.

“Hells, they’ve woken!” Gameboy Advance yells as she and everyone else readies their weapons.

“Let them come,” Shadowheart says, a fierce determination in her voice. “The darkness can be to our advantage.”

‘Girly, what do you mean?! I can’t see shit in the dark! And brightness probably wouldn’t matter to these guys either way since they just so happen to not have eyes! You know, since they’re literally nothing but bones!’

Tav rushes forward into the courtyard and a whip of water sprouts forth from her arm, like an honest to god water bender, grabbing onto the skeleton in between the opposing staircases of where you stood and pulling it until it is within melee range of her. Astarion is able to quickly flank it and hit it with a devastating sneak attack with his dagger, but it isn't enough for it to go down. Probably because stabbing isn’t the most effective on bones. Your eldritch blast hasn’t been kind to you today, so you switch towards the other cantrip you have: a Vile Fire Bolt. You ready your violin and begin playing {Attack Roll = 15, Hit}. {Fire Damage = 4, Vile Damage = 3}. The skeleton collapses into a pile of bones, some of them crumbling to dust. On the mezzanine surrounding the courtyard, another skeleton stands near the brazier, almost directly behind where the one you just took down originally stood. Gale shouts tormentum and three red bolts fly from his hand, all leaving behind Akira-esque light trails before hitting the skeleton. As a squishy wizard, he understandably shuffles over and ducks behind the short tree standing next to the statue.

A skeleton standing near the door where the book of dead gods was found rips a scroll and a cloud of dense fog forms on the stairs where you were standing, obscuring your vision in the haze, along with some of the others presumably, but you weren’t really paying attention to where they stood before, and now you couldn’t see even a foot in front of you. You think there’s at least two of your companions nearby as you hear multiple sets of footsteps run forwards. You hear a chant followed by a blast when suddenly the fog dissipates. You look to the right and see Calcifaust himself up on the mezzanine, facing the downed skeletal mage. He must have shot his own magic and defeated it, dispelling the magic. Lae’zel and Shadowheart ran forwards and up the other flight of stairs, approaching the skeleton Gale had hit.

Almost predictably, two of the remaining skeletons pulled out ancient looking scrolls from the robes, tearing them, plunging your companions into a thick fog once more. You can only see Tav who gets hit by an icy ray from a different necromancer pawn, everyone else obscured from view. Tav ran towards where the ice spell came from but stops as she notices a different skeleton passing by the stairs to the right, instead deciding to stop in her tracks to hurl a streak of fire from her staff at it, causing it to collapse in a burst of flames. A section of fog dissipates immediately afterwards, revealing Lae’zel and Shadowheart. With that one out of the way, you can only see the one who hurt Gameboy Girl. Trying to get a better angle, you descend into the courtyard, taking the stairs two at a time, your bowing turning into a natural staccato at the movement. Skirting round the edge of the fog, you aim at the frost-wielding skeleton and shoot another bolt of vile flames. {Attack Roll = 23, Hit}. {Fire damage = 3, Vile damage = 2}. You hear a battle cry from within the cloud followed by a dull clang, the last of the fog fading to nothing. Now able to see, Astarion and Gale turn their attention towards the frost skeleton you hit, Preminger firing an arrow while The FSSR sends his own blue beam at it. Both hit their mark and the skeleton goes down. Shadowheart charges forward with her new spear and thrusts into the skeleton Lae’zel clashed with, taking it down.

The threat neutralized, your party gathers back up in the courtyard and heads towards the wall that opened up after everyone is checked over for injuries. There’s a chest just begging to be opened in the room that is otherwise decorated with some pots and vases, benches, and a single fancy sarcophagus surrounded by unlit candles.

“A lot of effort to hide one sarcophagus,” Tav comments.

As Tav loots the chest, you approach the sarcophagus and notice a plaque on the ground at its base. You kneel to trace your finger over it, the letters shifting into a readable scrawl: 

“Here lies the Guardian of Tombs. Through knowledge comes atonement.”

‘...Is this the necromancer?’

Tav, finished with taking the valuables from the chest, walks past you and right up to the sarcophagus. She barely touches it before it begins to move on its own, sliding towards the back wall away from you. It moves slowly until an emaciated hand shoots up and grabs the edge, causing you to flinch back in surprise. With a swift flick of its arm, the heavy lid made of stone is practically flung off with a force you were not expecting.

‘Holy shit, I did not sign up for mummy brutes. That arm has no muscles on it; where did it get that strength?!’ You quickly back up some more.

A mummy, dressed in tattered robes, loose bandages, and gold refinery limply raises into the air. Its bones creak as its head raises and its eyes open. Arms outstretched, he floats towards your group. Everyone else backs up, but nowhere near as far as you, as it lands in front of what was supposed to be its final resting place and walks forward with steady strides as soon as its feet touch the ground.

“So he has spoken, and so thou standest before me. Right as always,” the mummy speaks before pausing in front of Tav. Its voice is rough and masculine with an odd whispering echo surrounding every word. “What a curious way to awaken. Now I have a question for thee: what is the worth of a single mortal’s life?”

“‘So he has spoken?’ What ‘he’ are you talking about?” Tav asks.

“An arbiter of certain matters. But that is not important now. Wilt thou answer my question?”

“Yes. Ask away.”

“So I ask again: what is the worth of a single mortal life?”

“Mortal lives are not ‘single’. They are part of a great whole- a path to enlightenment.”

“Few strive for such balance. Fewer still achieve it. Very well. I am satisfied.” He looks over at you, locking eyes.

You purse your lips and break eye contact. ‘Why is he looking at me?’

“I was not expecting to meet one of you in this age. Curious indeed. We have met and I know thy faces. We will see each other again at the proper time and place. Farewell.”

Your eyes widen and you look back at him. You open your mouth to ask just what he was talking about before he speaks again, cutting you off before you even had a chance to speak.

“We have nothing more to discuss. Continue on thy way, as if I were not here. I must attend this place, after so many years away. We will see each other again soon.”

“You seem very certain of that. How?” Tav asks, glancing between the two of you.

“The mechanics of fate would be difficult to explain to one such as thyself. Regardless, it will occur.” And just like that, he walks off, ignoring any other protests or words spoken by the others.

Tav looks at you. “Do you know what he meant by ‘one of you’?” 

You shrug. He could’ve meant where you’re from, your patron, or any number of things.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter too much–that skeleton was being too cryptic for my tastes: no straight answers at all. Well, since we’ve cleared out this place, let’s take a short rest. It’s been a long few hours, so everyone take some time to treat your bruises and organize your gains. Get ready to move in half an hour.”

The group breaks, most preferring to leave the musty room you were in, all except you, that is. Though it didn’t smell the best, it was pretty comfortable in all other ways. You take a seat on one of the benches. It’s covered in dust. Nevermind, this place wasn’t really comfortable at all. You stand up and leisurely make your way out of the room just like the others, opting to idly pace around.

‘Astaroth, do you know anything about whatever that was?’

« They were hopefully just talking about me. I think that mummy, as you referred to it as, is an avatar or manifestation of Jergal. He might have been able to sense I am your patron, and seeing as I perished many millennia ago, most would not expect my presence anywhere. Otherwise, it was a comment about your otherworldly heritage. »

‘Isn’t that, y’know, kind of bad that he knows about either you or me?’

« As he has remained silent about whatever he knows, I don’t believe we have anything to worry about. »

‘That’s a relief.’

« Yes. Yes, it is indeed. »

True to her word, half an hour later, Tav rounds everyone up and leads you through the entryway into the cave made by the collapsed wall. There must have been a door there at some point, seeing as around a column of stone was a lever that lowered a ladder. You all climb up the ladder and through a trapdoor, leading to the outside cliff of the crypt.

Once everyone is out, Tav starts forward again. “Well, we’ve cleared out the crypt of any threats, but no Karlach was to be found. For now, let’s head back to the grove and go west. We can decide if we go further west or north as we get closer to the points on the map.”

‘Aw, what? We have to do even more? I’m already exhausted– I’m not used to all this rigorous hiking mixed with life-or-death combat.’

Nobody else was complaining though, so you stayed silent. The walk through the greenery is silent for at most two minutes before someone speaks, probably having felt the need to fill the silence. 

“So,” Preminger, as true to his character, starts looking at Cowabunger, “You know about these parasites. Will we survive them?”

“Only if my people extract them,” she replies. “The only other cure is the blade.”

“Okay. Wonderful.”

‘...I almost forgot I had one of those things in my head and now I can’t stop thinking about it and I swear I can feel it squirm, blegh. I’m gonna be sick if I think about it any longer. Quick, think of something stupid-we’re great at that. Um… we know it takes a lot of slaps to cook a chicken, however, with my shiny new vile burning hands spell, would it only take one slap? Or would it take more?’

You all reach the entrance to the grove in fifteen minutes' time, your mind trying to run calculations of how long it would take to cook that hypothetical chicken but failing. Without a chemistry mathematical formulas cheat sheet or a defined average temperature your spell would run at, there was no way you’d be able to figure it out. D-GBA gives a nod to the lookouts as you pass by, waving her hand dismissively to let them know you weren’t looking to enter. They nod back in acknowledgement while your party continues west. Not a minute later does Calcifaust stop you in your tracks and points out footprints heading seemingly into the cliff.

“Tracks like these puncture the soil across the Sword Coast: Goblins, of course.”

‘Into the cliff? What, do we have ghost goblins now?’ You step forward and examine the vine-covered cliff face. {Investigation = 21, Success}. It’s another of those sliding stone doorways you saw in the grove. You easily locate the activation mechanism in the form of a hidden button along the frame and press it, lowering the door. [Voila.]

You peer into the doorway to see an earthy tunnel, a mix of natural and manmade. There’s some other natural light pouring in from the ceiling deeper in, but you can’t make out too much besides that and two other ominous sources of light: a pinprick of glowing red and a faint glow of blue light. [So. Are we going in?]

“There are at least four sets of goblin prints,” Wyll states, examining the cave as he walks up next to you. “Seeing how close it is to the grove, there’s a good chance these goblins know where it is. I don’t see any prints exiting at least. That means we can still intercept them and make sure the grove’s location isn’t leaked to their camp.”

“As long as that means we get to go kill something, a little chase wouldn’t hurt too much,” Astarion smirks.

“Chk,” Lae’zel scowls. “Goblins are hardly worth fighting.”

“Let’s go,” Tav decides. “If we wipe them out now, we can avoid a possible pincer attack later if they end up taking the same path as us after they leave.”

You and Tav front the group, slowly sneaking in as the others follow suit. The tunnel slightly curves to the right, and a few meters into it, you can already see the cavern it widens out into. Your eyes adjust to the dim light fairly quickly, thankfully. Once they do, you can see a large, ivory statue of a bird of prey, an eagle or hawk, or something of the like. They eyes of which you notice are the source of the red light you could just barely make out from the entrance. You’re also able to notice something else: voices.

“Glowing eyes are rarely a good sign,” Tav whispers, pointing towards the statue and drawing everyone’s attention to it. “It’s probably a trap; best be careful- Astarion, you up for another round of disarming? You seem to be good at it.”

“Well, glowing-eyed statues aren’t exactly my forte, especially when we have company,” he flicks his head in the direction the voices are coming from.

You sneak a few steps forward to get a wider view of the area, ‘there’s usually some clues of how to solve these puzzles in places like this.’ A few meters in front of the statue lies a natural stone column with an unnatural white stone panel, matching the bird statue in make and tone, with a glowing blue symbol, the source of the blue glow you saw. You nudge Tav and point to the panel. 

[That looks like a button, doesn’t it? If we push it, it could disarm whatever trap that statue is.] {Persuasion = 8, Success}

“It’s worth a shot,” she says. “We can’t throw something at it or shoot it if we don’t want to draw the attention of those voices’ owners, goblins, presumably. We need somebody who is quick and quiet to press it and abscond.”

Everyone looks at Astarion.

“I suppose I am quite talented in those aspects. Very well, if you insist, but if you’re wrong about this,” he briefly narrows his eyes at you.

In a split second, he’s gone, already three meters ahead in a silent dash. He runs with noiseless steps, body low to the ground. In three seconds he had crossed over to the pillar and placed his hand on the panel, pushing it in. As he does, both the blue light of the panel and the red light of the statue's eyes are snuffed out. As quickly as he crossed that distance the first time he did again on his way back: a round trip in six seconds flat.

“Hmph, easy.” He gloats. “Also, I took a small glance around. There is a goblin right around the corner, but I didn’t see where the other ones were. Also, as thanks, I’ll be taking whatever gold those goblins have on them.”

Miss D-GBA sighs. “Fine. It looks like we’ll be in for a fight either way, so no time like the present. Let’s go,” Tav leads you around the bend until the goblin comes into view. Tav flicks her hand forward. [Go.]

Astarion makes the first move, darting up to the goblin and stabbing it from behind. It lets out a guttural shriek that dies out quickly as it dies. The other goblins, who you can now see on the floor level with the bottom of the cliff, notice the sudden attackers and reach for their weapons. They don’t have time to do much when Tav, who was right behind Astarion, uses some sort of air cannon spell, a strong gust shooting from her hands, forcing two of the three goblins back a few meters and knocking them off balance. She scales down the cliff using the stone shelves, some of which look like they were carved out. Astarion is quick to follow behind her.

Your violin is resummoned and readied. You approach the edge of the cliff and find your target: a goblin archer further right than the other two. You start your new song with a Vile Fire Bolt. {Attack Roll = 11, Miss}. The goblin ducks, the attack whizzing over its head. 

“Glacies,” Gale, having come up to the cliff edge, stands left of you and shoots out an icy beam hitting the goblin furthest away. Glancing that way, you also notice a man lying on the floor, unconscious, surrounded by the goblins.

With so few enemies and seemingly everyone else having good luck, the fight is soon over after a handful of latin phrases from the spell casters plus Cowabunger and Preminger quickly finishing off the stumbling goblins who were hit by Tav’s airbending.

With your only living company now being an unconscious man, everyone sheathes their weapons, your violin absorbed back into its pocket dimension. The party goes to rejoin Tav, who is checking on said man on the lower level. You however, see a couple of crates to your right next to a standing torch that look like the perfect place to take a break. Your stamina is not like the others’, and that short rest in the crypt was nowhere near long enough to soothe your aching legs. There was no way were going to climb down the giant stone steps only to have to climb back up here. Not when those crates keep drawing your eye; they’re at the perfect height too. You can’t resist the temptation and take a seat. {Contested Roll: Perception = 18 vs. Habit = 17, Success}. Your hand reaches for your pocket out of habit, but you notice before you pull your phone out and move your hand away. ‘I gotta break that habit.’ 

You close your eyes and stretch in an attempt to soothe your sore body somewhat. You crack your spine with a satisfying pop and relax your muscles. You open your eyes and see Astarion, walking right in front of you. You almost jumped; you didn’t hear him at all. He passes by you, walking into the dark alcove to your left.

Curious, you follow him up the roughly hewn stone steps, clearly man-made compared to the rest of the cavern. It was unexpectedly dark, and you could barely make out Astarion kneeling down in front of some large mass, the details of which you couldn’t make out. You take a step forward to get a better look at what he’s doing.

He whips around and you briefly see a glint of metal in his hand, his entire body tense, as if preparing to lunge at a moment’s notice. “Oh, it’s just you,” he says, his hand moving back, pushing what you now realize is a dagger back into its sheath. 

[Whatcha doin?] You ask, trying to ignore how close you came to getting stabbed by him. You don’t like how this seems to be becoming a daily occurrence. {Performance = 20, Success}.

“Taking my reward, obviously,” he gestures towards the dark mass behind him.

‘Reward? But the goblins were down there?’ You lean forward and squint, and you can just make out the true form of that mass: a chest. ‘Ooooh, fun.’ [So, what are we looking at here?] {Performance = Natural 20, Critical Success}.

“A very considerate setup of traps and locks I’ll have to get through,” he replies, pulling out the respective toolkits to undo each. 

[Won’t it be hard with how dark it is? Here let me–] You almost reach for your pocket again- ‘not grab my phone,’ [let me get you some light.] {Performance = 12, failure}. Astarion doesn’t acknowledge you as you turn back and leave the alcove. You take out your torch and head over to the standing torch that was near the boxes you sat on earlier. You light yours with the flame and head back over to Astarion, who had already begun fiddling with the trapped chest without you.

He doesn’t glance over at you, despite the sudden increase in light, too focused on the chest. You watch him work, his fingers turning his tools slowly and precisely, his hands steady, never shaking. 

‘...He’s got some pretty hands. I wonder what nail polish would look best on him. Probably red.’

One minute and two clicks later, the chest is disarmed and unlocked. He pops open the lid and you step forward to take a look, your torch illuminating the insides. There’s a twisted staff and a small pile of gold coins.

“Better than nothing,” he says as he pockets the gold. He grabs and takes a look at the staff and frowns.

[Tav could probably use it.] {Performance = 3, failure}.

“It was locked in a trapped chest, so it’s probably at least somewhat valuable. Maybe we could sell it off somewhere. It looks nature-y enough for druids to be interested in it; though it might belong to the druids here, so we’ll have to sell it elsewhere. Here, hold onto it,” he passes it to you. “It’s not like you have to carry around your instrument anywhere because of your magic, so you should be fine carrying this around instead.”

[I mean, I guess I could use it as a walking stick.] {Performance = 15, success}. You grab it and tap the base against the ground a couple times, just because it felt right. ‘I kinda feel like Gandalf. Fuck yeah.’

“Yes, well, have fun with that.”

As you both step back out into the main area of the cave, you see the others reach the top of the cliff, climbing up to the same level you are on.

“There you both are,” Tav comments upon seeing you. “There are two more doors leading into the grove, and we’ve confirmed there are no other goblins about. After drinking a healing potion, the man was just fine and returned to the grove. What do you have there?” She looks at your Gandalf staff.

[A big stick. Wanna take a look?] You hold it out to her.

She grabs it and tilts it back and forth as she examines it, her eyes briefly glowing. “Interesting. Looks like it’s been enchanted to entangle creatures it hits. I prefer the staff I’m using now, so we should probably sell this one when we get the chance. Unless you want it, Gale?” 

“I–” He cuts himself off, clearing his throat. “I can't really say I’m planning to get close enough to anything to hit it.”

Satisfied with his answer, Tav hands it back to you. “Find anything else?”

“No, only that,” Astarion answered before you could.

‘Oh, he’s pocketing the gold. I mean, that is classic rogue behavior.’ You go along with it and nod. {Deception (with advantage) = 16, success}.

Sidetracking adventure over, you all make your way back towards the entrance and continue westwards towards your original destination. You squint once you leave the cave, having to readjust to the bright outside sunlight. You quickly glance at the sky, noting the sun’s position. It’s definitely late-afternoon by now. You quickly come across a fork in the road: the main path continues west, but a smaller path breaks off to the north.

Tav’s attention snaps towards the northern path. “People up ahead. Something’s wrong.” 

You focus for a second and hear the voices Tav must have noticed. And on the northbound path you go. You soon see the source of the voices: Two humans hovering over an injured dwarf lying on the ground.

“You’re a True Soul,” the woman says to the dwarf. “You can’t die. Please stay with us.”

“I don’t think he’s conscious,” the man says. “Can you hear us, Ed?”

Tav boldly approached, the human woman’s attention shifting from the dwarf to Tav, and then towards your group as a whole. “You!” She holds out her hand in a warding motion. “Not a step closer.” She glares at your group when suddenly you see a glowing red mark over her right eye suddenly appear, only to disappear from view just as quickly.

‘...Um… okay?’

Tav glances down at the fatally injured dwarf, then looks back at the woman, her eyebrows raising in a worried manner. “His wounds look deep. I might be able to help.”

“He’s hurt badly. An owlbear got him deep. If there’s anything you can do…” The human man pleads, too desperate to be wary.

“I’m watching you,” the woman allows Tav to approach, but her eyes never relax from their glare.

Tav kneels down next to the dwarf and locks eyes with him. They’re silent for a few seconds before the dwarf speaks.

“She is a True Soul. Mind her. She will- she- she…” His words lose their strength as he runs out of breath and fully goes limp. He’s dead.

“Edowin,” The human man collapses to his knees. “Ed! Please!”

“He’s with the Absolute now,” the woman’s gaze turns sorrowful, no longer focused on Tav or your party. “You’re…” Her gaze remains soft as it goes back to Tav. “You’re a True Soul. Edowin, our brother- he was chosen. Like you. Do you have orders for us? We were reporting to Edowin.”

Tav raises from her kneeling position and looks her straight in the eye, “Why are you out here? The wilderness is dangerous.”

“We know that all too well, ma’am, but… the Absolute sent us here.”

“We’re looking for fugitives,” the man explains. “Survivors from that ship that crashed over yonder.”

‘Wait, do they mean us?’

“We don’t know what they look like, but anyone who survived that crash is bound to be injured. That’s enough to get us started. The Absolute wants them found at any cost.”

“True Soul?”

“What…? Are you… are you testing us?” The man asks, taken aback. Tav remains stoic, giving no indication of her intentions.

“A True Soul-” The woman begins- “like you- has been chosen by the Absolute. You speak with Her voice. Your words are Her command. She grants you the power to enforce Her will. And when the time comes, the True Souls- you- will rule.”

“Oh, I like these two,” Astarion whispers next to you. “All zeal and no brains.”

[These two reek of cult.] {Performance = 19, Success}.

“Yes, but is it really a problem when we’re on the receiving end of their devotion?”

[Well, I’ve got anxiety, so… yeah, it’s not for me. You do you, though.] {Performance = 7, Failure}.

He frowns at you and crosses his arms. “It’s not like you’re a paladin who swore an oath to get rid of all cults or something, so don’t ruin it for me. I’m intent on milking this for all its worth.”

‘Not what I meant, but sure, go off, I guess.’

“A crude summary,” Tav lightly berates the woman. “You have more to learn of our faith, novice.”

“I’m sorry, True Soul,” she immediately concedes. “I… only repeated what I thought I knew. It seems the Absolute still has a great deal to teach me.”

“Perhaps you can be of help to make up for it- I’m looking for the druid Halsin.”

“I apologize, but I don’t know any druids.”

“Very well. Now for your orders: Return for now. Forget the owlbear. You’re still alive- so go.”

“And just… leave Ed?” The man looks torn between following Tav’s orders and avenging the dwarf. “I suppose… I suppose he’d want us to go on- find a way to honor his sacrifice.”

“May the Absolute guide us,” the woman says in place of a farewell before the two of them travel down the northbound path.

As soon as they’re out of earshot, Tav speaks, “They spoke of the Absolute- same as that goblin, Sazza. Curious.”

“Seems as though the Absolute’s attracting followers from all kinds of places,” Lae’zel comments.

Tav approaches the corpse and flinches. Her head and arms jerk awkwardly, as if she was fighting against her body’s movement. When her left arm raises, the body does too. You take a step back in surprise.

‘Holy shit, she’s got telekinesis!’

Her hand snaps shut into a fist as the dead dwarf’s neck snaps in a clean break and a tadpole crawls out of his eye. You grimace in disgust. The tadpole floats over to Tav and lands in her hand. As soon as it makes contact, Tav’s body relaxes and the corpse drops to the ground. She stares at it as she evens out her labored breathing, then stashes the tadpole away.

“Umm…” [Why are you holding onto that instead of, oh, you know, killing it]? {Performance = 4, Failure}.

“Don’t worry, it’s in safe hands,” she reassures, mistaking your question for a statement of worry.

[No, that’s not what I-] a frustrated sigh escapes your mouth. [Nevermind].

“Well, thankfully those two weren’t being very careful and left clear tracks. If we’re lucky, we can follow them back to their base,” Tav turns towards the way the pair went and waves for everyone to follow. “Come on. We should cover as much ground as possible.”

The trail slopes downward and twists to the left, leading  towards a river. You notice a coffin sitting in the middle of the river, propped up against some rocks.

‘Why is there a coffin here?’

The river here is shallow and Tav leads you all across. You glance at the coffin as you pass it and are relieved to see it empty save for a wooden spoon, for some reason. ‘Must have been a real impressive spoon back in the day to have earned itself a human-sized coffin.’ A massive cave entrance looms on the other side of the river, an animal-made path leading to its maw.

“Owlbear tracks,” Tav informs the group. “Best not go inside- its nest is probably there.”

Instead, a natural ramp of dirt and stone shelves to the left leads upwards, out of the river bed. The footprints lead that way too. The first stone step is taller than half your body, and you grunt as you pull yourself up, your muscles complaining at the strain. The path evens out once the ground is level with the area on the other side of the river where you met the three cultists. The tracks head left, but a dog’s bark sounds out from the right, diverting your attention.

‘Is that a pupper I hear?’ Nobody can stop you from going to meet that dog. “Tav,” you get her attention. [Dog! That way! We gotta go!] {Persuasion = 20, Success}.

“A short detour wouldn’t hurt, I suppose,” she acquiesced to your request. “Lead the way, then.”

You take off in the direction of the barking. It’s not long before you smell iron-blood. A sadly familiar scent now. ‘Oh no, please be okay, mystery dog!' You follow the footpath around a decently sized tree and some small boulders to see two things: a white dog and a very bloody corpse. As you approach, the dog growls at you, standing in front of the corpse protectively. You stop and kneel down before the dog.

“Hey there, pupper. It’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The dog doesn’t relax at your words. It only barks and growls some more. Tav, now beside you, leans to the side and squints.

“It’s alright, Scratch. we’re not going to hurt you,” she says. At the mention of its name, the dog, Scratch, relaxes and begins wagging his tail and whines. He looks over to the corpse and barks a couple times.

You can’t resist the urge and reach out to pet him. He lets you for a bit, but ducks out of it to whimper next to the corpse. He doesn’t want to leave the dead man’s side. You reach out your hand in an offer for if he wants more pets. He sniffs at you, but doesn’t do more. 

“When you’re ready, you can follow our scent back to camp,” Tav tells Scratch. Whether the dog understood or not, only time will tell.

“Is that smoke?” As you were about to go back to the trail, Shadowheart turned your attention to the north.

Small pillars of smoke could be seen in the near sky, as if a bunch of small campfires had been lit close together. Or, more likely, there was a building on fire.

“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, and where there’s fire, there’s Karlach,” Wyll spits out the devil’s name. “We have to go stop her before she wreaks havoc!”

He doesn’t let anyone get a word in before he’s dashing to the north. 

‘Impulsive idiot! Give my legs a break! Have you never heard of a forest fire?’

Everyone is quick to catch up to him, except you. You’re stuck in the rear, body tired and muscles complaining. You’re quick to come across a river blocking your path, but that isn’t nearly enough to dissuade Beacon of Justice, Calcifaust! With no hesitation, he jumps from stone to submerged stone to make it across. Though nowhere near as gung-ho as he was, everyone else starts to jump across, leaving only you on the other side. You lifted your walking stick so that it wouldn’t touch the water and made your way to the edge of the boulder, wading into the submerged section, leaving you in ankle deep water. The gap looked to be about a meter. ‘I’m sure I can at least jump that far, right?’ You take a few steps back to get a running start. You charge and leap. {Athletics = 9, Failure}. Your foot lands on the opposing submerged boulder on the other side. You’ve made it! That is, until your foot slips and you fall backwards, into the water. A hand is quick to enclose around your forearm and yanks you back up, but not before your entire backside hits the river, leaving you business in the front, pity party in the back.

“Do not slow us down, istik,” Cowabunger reprimands you as she lets go of your arm, having been the one to catch you.

[Sorry.] {Performance = 13, Success}.

“There’s a blood trail along the river bank,” Selfish Calcifaust, already meters ahead of you, points out.

You climb up even more rocks to get on the same level as him, though he’s already started moving, leading the party to where the trail of blood goes, his eagerness blinding him to caution. The river bank trail is soon headed off by a cliff and instead continues across the river via a fallen log for a bridge. That’s when you see her. The stunning woman whose visage your tadpole downloaded from Wyll’s brain straight into yours.

‘She’s here in person. She won’t disappear like smoke in the wind this time. I can stare all I want!’ She’s beautiful and looks strong enough to break you in half with her thighs alone. You’re enthralled and could stare all day if she didn’t mind. 

It all comes crashing down as you remember your deal with your patron. ‘Nooooooo, I completely forgot! Aww, man. Well, a deal’s a deal.” You balance your stick against your shoulder and get ready to summon your instrument to cast Illusory Script.

« You’re lucky. » Astaroth’s voice halts your movements. « She’s just a tiefling, not a devil. You don’t have to use your pick up line on her. »

‘Oh thank fuck!’ You practically sag in relief, grabbing back onto your staff with both hands.

You watch as Wyll and Tav cross the log and approach the tiefling woman, who does seem to be the source of the smoke. Afterall, she’s completely engulfed in flames, now crouching down and hunched over, head clutched in her hands, back facing you. She looks like she’s in extreme pain.

“One horn. The stink of Avernus. Advocatus diaboli,” Wyll says as he stands over her curled form.

“Well I’ll be godsdamned,” she looks over her shoulder at him. “The Blade of Frontiers. Thought I’d shaken you for good. That’ll teach me to underestimate you.” The flames coming from her sputter out, leaving only small bits leaking out of her skin and licking her fingertips as she stands up to look Wyll in the eye.

‘...Tieflings don’t normally secrete fire from their pores, right?’

« No, they normally do not. »

‘Well, I guess that just makes her even more hot, don’t you think?’

« …You know what. Just for that awful pun, I think you should still use that spell for her. Don’t worry, you don’t need to say that vile line, but with how much you’ve been, how do you say it? Simping? For her? I get that you’re not interested in her that way, but how about you just flirt with her anyways? You know, for science? »

‘What? I can’t do that! I’ve never flirted with anyone before! She’ll get the wrong idea because flirting with someone typically means you’re interested in them! Do you know how awfully awkward that’ll make things?! Because I do! I’ll never be able to speak to her again!’

« …Pft…Heh… Haha… hahhaha! » Astaroth tries to stifle his laughter, but he fails in the end.

‘Hey! Shut up! My anxiety isn’t my fault!’

« Sorry-ha - sorry, you’re just very fun to tease and I haven’t had a chance to banter like this in a long time. »

‘You’re lucky I like you,’ you’re quiet for a moment, then sigh. ‘But, I suppose there is something I can say to her. Not gonna use a spell though. It’ll be embarrassing if she understands me.’

« Oh? You’ll truly indulge me in some fun shenanigans? Like one of those sitcom things your world has? »

‘Yes, just like one of those sitcom things. But this is the only time, okay? It’s not happening again.’

« Eh, we’ll see about that. »

‘What was that?’

« Oh, nothing. ੧(o˘◡˘o) »

‘...If I had eyes in my mind, I would be giving you a light glare right now.’

“You’re the devil we’ve been hunting: Karlach, right?” Tav joins the tense conversation between hunter and not-actually-a-devil quarry.

“Bloody right,” Karlach confirms. “An honor to be chased by the Blade of Frontiers, but- agh!” She’s cut off by the pain of the tadpole acting up, her memories being shared with you.

It’s an intense, fiery heat, mirrored in the images of the hells flowing into you. You see armies of demons, a landscape of fire and blood, her red hands holding a great axe, tearing through body after body of the foes coming towards her.

« The Blood War. » Astaroth explains, his voice leaving a residual emptiness, the tone of someone who has been emotionally and mentally exhausted to the point of numbness. « A war between demons and devils that has been ongoing for eons. »

Karlach shakes her head as she’s freed from the tadpole’s sudden activeness, “What was that?”

“Evidence. Proof that you’re a devil, a gladiator in the archdevil Zariel’s army,” Calcifaust pulls out his rapier and points it at her, already getting into a battle-ready stance.

“I can explain, but it’s a whole situation. If you would just hear me out-” Karlach is cut off by her tadpole connecting with everyone else’s again.

You see her slicing through devils this time, not demons. She’s frantic, looking for a way out. She’s just a victim.

“She’s trying to trick us,” Wyll says. “Don’t believe her lies.”

“You saw the truth. I never wanted to serve Zariel. I was enlisted in her army against my will. Forced to fight, and fight I did.” Karlach’s eyes turn sad and pleading. “When I saw an opportunity to get away, I took it. I’m finally home- or near it, anyway.”

“You served her,” Wyll remains adamant on his position. “That’s enough to damn you.”

‘Woah, hey, let’s slow down a bit. This is sounding a whole lot like victim blaming and we’re not into that.’

“Stand down, Wyll,” Default GBA places a hand on his arm, enticing him to lower his sword. “You saw what I saw.”

He turns to Tav, not relaxing just yet. “You don’t know what you're saying! You’re asking me to trust a devil!”

“Gods, you’re stubborn. Karlach’s not a devil, and you know it.”

“Listen to some sense, now,” Karlach adds. “I don’t want this to end badly for either of us. You know monsters, right? Better than anyone. Look into my eyes. Can’t you see I’m not what you think?”

His face scrunches, having been met with the truth but not wanting to believe it. “Shit,” He curses as he puts his blade away. “You really are no devil, are you? I’ve… I’ve been deceived.”

Karlach sighs out a breath of relief, “Thank the gods. Thought I was going to have to take your head.”

“You would have died in the attempt. But- there have been enough threats today.”

“Truce then, hey?”

“Aye. Truce.”

Karlach addresses the rest of your party, now that the tension has diffused. “I’m Karlach- but you already knew that. And you are…?”

Everyone states their names one at a time. You do as well, but add a little more. You were gonna put on a show for your patron by voicing aloud those Johnny Bravo lines.

“Mama warned me about women like you… I was hoping she was right”

Karlach looks at you confused, “Sorry soldier, but I won’t be able to remember all that.”

Tav introduces you in your stead, telling Karlach your name. “They can’t speak Common though, so I hope you're good at charades.”

“You can’t speak Common? Not everyday you meet someone like that. Either way, well met. Nice to meet some friendlies around here. It’s been tough going so far. I may not be a devil, but I can put the Blade’s reputation to work. How would you feel about helping me kill some evil bastards? A little background, if your moral compass needs something to point at: You already know I fought in the Blood War. I was good. Really good. Turns out I’ve got a knack for killing demons. That made me a valuable asset. Zariel- the archdevil herself- made me as her personal attack dog. I played along until I could get the fuck out of there, but devils don’t like to lose their assets. Zariel liked it so little, she sent a bunch of goons, so-called ‘Paladins of Tyr,’ to take me back. Problem is, I’m not going.”

“Let’s send them back where they came from,” Tav accepts Karlach’s proposal.

“Fuck yes. They cornered me outside the tollhouse just up the hill. Doubt they’ve gone far after the scorching I gave ‘em. Then we can work on evicting this parasite and take Faerûn by the short hairs. Sound good?”

“She’s almost as scary as you, Lae’zel,” Astarion comments with a smirk. “So naturally she gets my vote.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Tav agrees.

“I’d hug you if it wouldn’t scorch your skin off,” Karlach grins brightly. “Phew, I’m getting all het up. Let’s make tracks!”

We’re doing contested rolls to see if our protag is aware of their habitual action of taking out their phone when they're bored. It’s a perception roll vs. a straight roll. Whenever I, as the author, stop writing and habitually reach for my phone for no good reason, I’m going to roll some dice. Be prepared, our protagonist could be found out at any time.

[Okay]. You pull your hand back inside and sigh, ‘I’m still gonna have to get used to hearing your voice in my head.’

« Of course. Might I suggest preparing some charaded excuses for why you’re so jumpy in the meantime? »

‘...You just wanna laugh at my own expense, don’t you.’

« Guilty as charged. » You feel fondness through your shared mental bond. « On another note, I should let you know that I won’t be able to be as active a presence in your mind for a while. »

‘What? Why?’

« I siphoned most of my power towards contacting you, the rest now towards channeling into you to provide you with powers and abilities– which reminds me, since you’ve become a bit more acclimated to magic, I’ve deemed it safe enough to grant you with some new spells. » 

New information seeps into your brain– more powerful spells, though limited in their uses.

« Having a constant presence across planes drains a fair bit of what little energy I have left, and my reserves have now almost been depleted. I’ll still be watching over you and will answer should you need me, but I will not be reaching out to you first;I must preserve my strength for now. In the meantime, I shall be working on more translation spellcraft for you. »

‘..It’s because you went and summoned my phone, isn’t it?’ You pout.

« Eh, perhaps. » He huffs amusedly. « Don’t worry, I will be able to consistently speak with you like this again in due time. You’ll know when my powers have sufficiently recharged. »

‘Yeah, because you’ll pop into my head out of nowhere and scare the living shit out of me.’

He laughs– a genuine, full-bodied laugh. « Can you blame me when your reactions are so entertaining? I believe you could liken it to one of those “sitcoms” your world enjoys. »

Your pout depends, playfully this time instead of with sadness. ‘You sound like my friends when they convince me to play a horror game.’

« You will be alright, young one. Besides, you now have quite the company around you. Some ‘snacks,’ I believe you’d call them, if my updated lexicon is to be believed? »

You sputter and feel your face lightly flush. ‘Astaroth! You can’t just hit me with that out of nowhere! God, that’s so embarrassing, especially since you’re not saying it ironically’ you bury your face in your hands.

He chuckles in mirth. « I jest, I jest. Though, truly, it would not hurt to gain the trust of some capable companions. »

‘I know, I know, but talking –well, interacting, since I can’t actually talk to them –with people is scary,’ you “say” as you lift your face from your palms.

« I know, my dear. I know. I must go now, but I promise that should you truly have need of me, I will answer. »

‘Okay… see– or uh, talk–no, think?-- to you later, then?’

Even though you can’t see him, you can still sense his warm smile. « Yes, I’ll talk to you later. Oh! And don’t forget, this means I won’t be able to guide you in combat anymore. »

‘...Huh?’

« …Well, bye! »

‘Wait, no–’

His presence fades, the comforting warmth you’ve already gotten used to leaving along with him. The void left by him is instead filled with the feeling of the tadpole churning in your head, more prominent now than ever. Astaroth’s presence either overrode the tadpole’s, or he was actively preventing you from feeling it. It’s uncomfortable, like the barest beginnings of a headache that won’t go away, but you can deal with it. You’ve dealt with worse pains. You really wish you had some pain killers though.

Yawning, you stretch out your sore limbs before crawling out of your tent. The only ones who seem to be awake, or are outside of their tents at the very least, are Tav/FD, Lae’zel/Cowabunger, and Astarion/Preminger. 

“Good morning, (y/n)!” Tav smiles her customer service smile at you as soon as you leave your tent.

[Morning], you wave back with your own tired customer smile on your face. Your stomach growls loudly, clearly audible as FD giggles a bit.

“Ah, the food is in the pack next to my tent. If you want to get started on breakfast, feel free! I’ll join you after I wake and check up on the others.” She walks off in the direction of Shadowheart’s tent.

You walk over to Tav’s tent, going straight for the pack sitting outside. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got.’ Kneeling down in front of the beige pack, you first pull out a very fragrant purple pouch; you would get a headache if you tried to distinguish all the different smells. ‘Okay, herb and spice pouch. I’ll look inside that later.’ You rifle through what little variety of provisions you have. ‘Cheese, bread, meat, more cheese, apples, mint? I think? Smells like it. I’ll move that to the herb bag. Mushrooms, carrots, alcohol, more bread, more apples… wow, we are really lacking variety. I guess I’ll look through the herbs and spices. Hopefully I’ll find something that’ll go well with anything we have. I’m thinking rosemary could be good. Slap that on a sandwich with some cheese– ooh that does sound good.

You move your attention back towards the smaller pouch and rifle through it. You pull out a stalk of something with spiky leaves. ‘Oh hey, I know this! It’s mugwort! I think? Or a mugwort look-alike? One way to find out.’ Staying true to the stereotypical tired mind who just woke up, you don’t think before acting. You pluck a leaf off the stem and place it on your tongue…and immediately remove it, sticking out your tongue in disgust and shaking your head. ‘Blegh, ew, yuck. Yep. That’s mugwort. Bitter and gross. Not using that. Maybe I’ll put it in some tea if I feel like dreaming.’

You hear a muffled snicker come from behind you. Turning around, you see Preminger, hand over his mouth, looking very amused. Ignoring him, you turn back to the spice bag and pull out the next thing. You pause. It’s a leafy plant with drooping purple flowers. You recognize this one –how could you not? 

“...Who the fuck put belladonna in the spice bag?!” You whisper to yourself, incredulously. ‘I can’t use any of this stuff! It could all be contaminated! Shit, I gotta go wash out my mouth,’ you stand and speed walk over to the water’s edge, trying not to draw too much attention.

You kneel at the edge and scoop up some water in your hands. You bring it to your lips and fill your mouth, swishing it around before spitting it out. You repeat this a few times for good measure, rubbing at your tongue to make sure there’s no trace of anything left over.

When you walk back over, you see FD back at her tent, looking confused at the mugwort and belladonna you pulled out. You make your way over and poke Tav in the arm. She looks at you. You pick up the belladonna and gesture to it, [why in the nine hells you have here was there poison in the spice bag?]

“Belladonna? Were you the one who… Please don’t tell me you were planning on cooking with that,” Tav’s tone went from confused to scared and concerned.

[What? No!] You look at her weird. ‘Why would I want to do that?’ You gesture between the dangerous plant and the spice bag. [I’m asking why it was in the spice bag.]

“Yeah, it belongs in the alchemy pouch,” Tav states what she knows to be obvious. “Was it mixed in with the food?” She begins to look more frightened.

[No! No.] You shake your head. ‘Wait…Alchemy pouch?’ You look at her blankly, feeling like an idiot. “...Oh.”

You hear more laughter, louder this time. Astarion wasn’t even trying to hide it.

“I believe they thought there was food in the pouch,” Astarion inputs, slightly clearing up the confusion. “You should have seen their face when they put mugwort in their mouth.”

Tav looks at you in disbelief, “Why would you look for ingredients in the alchemy pouch?”

[I thought there were spices in there!] You rub your fingers together, as if sprinkling salt on something. {Performance = 4, Failure}.

“Gods, I really wish I could understand you; I really haven’t a clue what you’re trying to say.”

You sigh. ‘This is getting us nowhere. Let’s just say I’m stupid and call it a day.’ You tap at your skull then shake your head, [I wasn’t thinking because I’m an idiot.] {Performance = natural 1, critical failure}.

Tav suddenly becomes guarded. “Are you saying your mind and thoughts are fading? That the tadpole is already influencing you?”

At the mention of the tadpole, Lae’zel’s gaze halts her sword maintenance in favor of wielding it and turns to you with a glare.

You rapidly shake your head, [No! No, that’s not it either!] You flail around with your arms a bit, trying to figure out how to better explain. You give up. You groan and drag your hand down your face. You wave her off, [Just…forget it. Doesn’t matter anymore.]

Tav’s stance relaxes, “Well, I’m glad to hear you aren’t transforming already.” She turns to rifle through the provisions pack. “Hmm, we don’t have much, do we? Guess we’ll have to settle for meat and cheese sandwiches.”

You and tav work on slicing the baguettes, cheeses, and meats, assembling a sandwich for each party member. Luckily, breakfast was uneventful after your embarrassing performance. The only bad part was that the bread was tough and the sandwich was just bland in general.

‘We need to buy some spices and seasonings, especially salt, as soon as we get the chance.’

Shortly after everything gets cleaned up, courtesy of Gale’s prestidigitation, further solidifying his role as a magic roomba but for dishes, everyone begins to pack up their tents and belongings, getting ready to head out. You feel like your eyes bulge out of your head as you see things that definitely should not all fit in their packs go in one by one. Are they all bags of holding? How big are they on the inside? Could you fit a coat rack in them? Like Mary Poppins? That would be fun. Then you’d just need an umbrella enchanted with featherfall. Or fly? Would that even be possible? Probably? Maybe? Did umbrellas even exist here? As in ones for rain, not parasols for sunlight. Umbrellas don’t really scream ‘high fantasy’ so who knows if they have them here. They probably do, just not as good as Earth ones. You go to your own tent and start to take it down but not without glaring at the accursed sticks holding it up. You hadn’t forgotten the stunts they pulled when you were setting them up the night before.

“Everyone ready to head out?” Tav, the de facto leader, asks everyone. 

Nods and affirmations are shared among the group, all ready to leave the campsite. With no objections, she leads the group back the way you came from the day before, intent on continuing up the path near where Roomba and Cowabunger were found.

“It’s quite unfortunate the tadpole has robbed us of our abilities,” Gale began, breaking the silence after a few minutes since leaving camp. He turned to you, “If it hadn’t, I’d have been able to cast ‘comprehend languages’ or ‘tongues.’ Then we would be able to have a proper conversation together.”

[Yes, unfortunate indeed,] you nodded. ‘Except not really because having an excuse to not talk to people is amazing.’

“I take it you’re from overseas, then?” Shadowheart asked, gesturing to your entirety.

You nod. [Sure, let’s go with that].

“Seeing as there’s not much else to do, how about we continue our guessing game?” FD suggested. “I don’t know much about lands outside of Faerûn, so I am quite curious about yours.” 

You internally groan. ‘I thought we could finally forget about that, because I can’t-slash-won’t tell any of you the truth.’ You look at Tav, blankly. [How? We already know charades aren’t gonna get us anywhere.] ‘Nevermind the fact that this is a different planet and signs or gestures that are familiar to me can mean something entirely different to all of you.’

“Hmm…” Tav holds her chin in thought, “Since it’ll be hard to guess a specific name, we can try the cultural route, as in objects, gestures, customs and the like from your home. Based on those, one of us might be able to pinpoint where you’re from.”

[Be my guest.] ‘Good fucking luck guessing outer space, not like I was even gonna tell you that. Though, I don’t know anything about the overseas culture on Toril so oh fucking well. Guess I’ll do what I do best: bullshit my way through this. Maybe if I just confuse them they’ll drop it.’

You place your hands in front of you and mime typing on a keyboard. [Typing is an essential skill where I’m from.]

“Piano?”

‘Well, not what I was going for, but we do have that.’ [Yes, we have pianos.]

“Well, it seems our friend here is of some social importance afterall,” Astarion chimed in.

“Huh?” You tilt your head, a bit puzzled.

“Darling, everyone knows that only the rich can afford pianos, let alone learn to play them.”

‘Riiiight, this is like medieval times stuff. I forgot about that.’

“Oh!” Tav’s eyes light up like she just came to a realization. “Were you trying to say that you could play us something from your hometown?”

You go to refute but she doesn’t give you a chance.

“You have your viol, yes? I’m sure you can use that instead of a piano.”

You deadpan. [I don’t know if you’re aware, but there’s a reason marching orchestra isn’t a thing. Also I’m clumsy and this terrain is very uneven and my music could alert any beings nearby that there’s a group of idiots dumb enough to give away their location wandering about. Also, if I was going to play a piano piece on my violin we’d be left without the entire bass section of the song, so it’ll sound sad and disappointing]. You had given up on accurately gesturing anything halfway through, settling for frustrated and exasperated hand movements. ‘Also no thanks, I hate giving solo performances in front of other people. I’m either in an orchestra or playing to myself alone in my room.’

It seems nobody understood, as you were expecting. But you pretty clearly got the point across that you weren’t going to play for them.

Tav sighs, disappointed. “Fine, I’ll leave it be for now. Next time we make camp though, I’d really like to hear you play.”

You relax a bit at that. ‘Thank fuck. How the hell am I supposed to give a personal solo performance to a group of strangers I’m gonna be stuck with for who knows how long? I’ll tell you how: by not giving them one. Let’s see how long I can put it off until they completely forget about it.’

Not interested in having to converse anymore, you instead turn to admiring your surroundings. Despite the less than ideal situation you’re in, it's actually quite beautiful here. The embers from the crash have died down over the past day, the air now clear of smoke and smog. It’s refreshing. You’re not sure if you’ve ever smelled such clean air before. The flora around you is vibrant, sharing many characteristics with the greenery you’re familiar with on Earth. And then there’s the foreign species. Different colors and patterns, shapes and structures; there are similarities, but definitely different from what you know. 

‘It’s probably best to be cautious around these plants,’ you surmise. ‘Who knows which ones are dangerous, especially towards an alien human… Oh shit, am I gonna have to worry about illnesses and diseases? …Fuck it, whatever. They got magic and I have Astaroth so I’m sure it’ll be fine.’

Your group approaches some familiar scenery: it's the same area where you found Lae’zel suspended in a cage. Walking past it, you notice some stonework through the natural rock archway. The remains of some type of abandoned stone building lies past, and you can see more crumbling walls behind it, hinting at an even larger structure awaiting to be explored. 

You poke at Tav’s arm to get her attention, [Look, there’s some ruins over there].

“Hmm, interesting… I would like to check it out, but I doubt there’s a cure for the tadpoles in there. Probably best to avoid it for now, just in case.”

[Fair point].

Ignoring the ruins that your curiosity is just begging to explore, you all continue uphill, entering unexplored territory. Cresting above the top of the hill, the land flattens out, your muscles thankful for the reprieve from the uphill climbing. 

FD halts in her tracks, all of you following suit. “I hear shouting up ahead.”

Not one to waste time, she quickly moves ahead, skirting around a large rock formation, not dissimilar to the small rocky outcrop you woke up on. She soon stops in her tracks, and as you round the edge of the formation, you see why: There are three humans standing in front of a vine-covered wooden wall built into the cliff face further ahead, shouting at a tiefling standing atop the cliff.

“Open the bloody gate!” One of the human men shouts.

“Nobody gets in. Zevlor’s orders,” the tiefling replies.

“That pack of goblins will be on us any second!”

Another tiefling, older than the other, judging by his looks, comes up next to the tiefling who shouted before, “What’s going on?”

The same human man continues to shout, getting angrier each time, “Goblins are on our tail. Open the gate, Zevlor. Now.”

“You led goblins here? Where is the Druid?”

“Please! There’s no time!”

You hear some commotion from your left and see a horde of short creatures, all with olive-green skin tones, like green green skin, accompanied by semi-hairless beasts. They looked almost like wolves but their faces were too… wrong. There was no distinction between the skull and the snout: It was all just one piece, rectangular in shape, almost like a bull terrier’s facial structure.

“By the Nine Hells,” the older Tiefling, Zevlor, if you heard correctly, exclaims as he sees the horde approach. “Open the gate!”

You watch the other tiefling that had first responded to the humans turn towards a contraption which had what seemed to be a ship’s wheel attached. He grabbed said wheel and began turning it, the gate, which you had just assumed to be a wall at first, started to lift from the ground. It doesn’t last long as an arrow from the creatures, goblins, flies through the air, striking the tiefling in the chest. As he falls to the ground, the gate begins to close as well.

“Kanon! No!” Zevlor cries out.

As the gate starts to fall shut, the three humans rush to grab it and keep it from closing, but it’s weight is too much, and they have no choice but to release it and watch it fall, leaving no space between it and the ground.

“Shit,” the angry human curses. “Form a line!”

The goblins rush forward to begin melee combat with the three humans. It doesn’t take long for Tav to rush forward, intent to enter the fray, the other tieflings upon the cliff also begin to ready their crossbows. A human man, not part of the three by the gate, jumps down from the cliff, landing in front of a goblin.

“Damnable roach. Provoke the blade–” he stabs the goblin through the chest with a rapier, killing it instantly, then practically flicks the now corpse off his blade “–and suffer its sting.”

You feel an inexplicable distaste for the man who seems to be on your side, all things considered. You furrow your brows slightly in confusion.

« Be wary; he is a fiend’s puppet. »

‘A fiend’s– wait, I thought you said you weren’t going to be around?’

No response.

‘Oh, so that’s how it is? If you can hear me, you better explain after this!’

Now in the throes of battle, the melee attackers in your party rush forward, following Tav’s lead. Lae’zel, the most enthusiastic, proves her prowess as a true Cowabunger by immediately swinging her greatsword down on the nearest goblin as Tav runs forward to another one, delivering a series of staff strikes and unarmed blows to it. You lose sight of Astarion, but Shadowheart also moves forward, shield and healing spells at the ready. Gale stays back with you, preparing to fire spells himself.

You hold your hands out to summon your fiddle and bow, only now realizing you don’t exactly know how, “Bamf! Please, I need you! Exist!” They appear in your hands, and you immediately bring them to your shoulder and strings respectively. 

Stress.

So much stress.

This is your first battle where you’ll actually have to fight. 

And now you don’t have an other-worldly being’s clairvoyance to help you.

No time to think, only do. 

So you cope the only way you know how to in high-stress situations: you make it a joke.

You whip out that song you learned years ago as a meme that will forever be ingrained into you in both regular and muscle memory. 

‘My friends would be so disappointed in me if they could see me now, but I know they’d do the same thing. I miss those dumb fucks.’

D0, D0, A3, A0.

The years it has lived as a meme have, despite its intensity, altered your brain to find the song quite amusing.

Megalo-fucking-vania.

Yeah, no, you’re still disappointed in yourself.

Along with the first note flew an eldritch blast from your instrument, hitting the goblin archer that had clambered up to the top of the rock formation next to you. {Attack Roll = 20, Critical Hit}, {Force Damage = 12}.

The goblin staggers back a few steps, looking quite hurt, but still standing. Their attention now on you, they ready their bow, aiming to fire at you. You keep playing, hoping for another eldritch blast to come out, but to no avail.

‘Fuck, fucK, fuCK FUCK– quick, gazelle maneuvers, go!’ 

You try your best to zigzag about, but it is much more difficult to do while playing an instrument. Just as you take a step to the left, the goblin releases the arrow, lodging itself into the ground behind you after grazing your leg, leaving a sizable gash. 

‘National Geographic, you fucking liars! This doesn’t help at all! I know I’m not a gazelle but I’m just as terrified as one right now!’ You hissed at the sting, but you never stopped playing, even as the notes screeched and came out wrong. You could not afford to lose momentum. 

Your perseverance is rewarded when but a second later you feel the familiar gathering of energy as you fling another eldritch blast at the archer, though your forced spiccato, courtesy of your graceful movements, makes your notes come out a bit wonky. This one, perhaps due to your dodgy performance, goes high, arcing over the goblin’s head. {Attack Roll = 9, Miss}.

‘Shit.’

As the goblin reaches to ready another arrow, you skirt back around the outcrop, losing sight of the archer, hoping they’ll also lose sight of you. Classic “I can’t see you, you can’t see me” logic that definitely applies here. You don’t bother trying to hide, afterall, your music would immediately give away your location. You instead switch targets to another goblin in combat with the human who had jumped down. This time, when your attack goes off, it hits the far goblin and knocks them to the ground. They don’t get back up. {Attack Roll = 17, Hit}, {Force Damage = 8}. 

The man looks at you and gives a short nod of appreciation before setting his sights on another enemy to go after. An arrow shoots into the ground in front of you from above, the shock making your bowing stutter. You look up and see the goblin archer you were aiming at before now standing on the outcrop directly above you, eyes glaring into your own. You leap away and move your bow harshly, ignoring any mistakes you make. Now’s not the time to worry about intonation. This time, your attack hits them right between the eyes. They’re flung backwards and don’t reappear. Another dead. {Attack Roll = 15, Hit}, (Force Damage = 5}.

The battlefield is a cacophony of steel meeting steel, battle cries, screams of anguish, and your frantic melody.

“Guaaagh!” 

You jump and spin around when you hear a gurgling cry behind you. You aim the scroll of your violin towards them, but quickly halt your bow when you’re met with Astarion pulling a dagger out of the neck of a goblin that had snuck up behind you.

“Careful now,” he playfully chides. “I’d hate to see you lose that darling neck of yours so soon.”

You purse your lips, but don’t say or do anything, still staring wide-eyed. ‘Says the man who was planning on holding a knife to said neck when we first met.’ 

The sounds of the battle around you begin to die out, the fight finally over.

Things were… much harder this way. Without a convenient voice in your head who was actively predicting the enemies moves, you had become so much more vulnerable. If Astarion hadn’t been there…

‘I might have died…’

‘I… I-I don’t…’

“I don’t want to die here…” you quietly whisper to yourself, staring at the smears of blood streaked across the clearing, lumps of beings which were once sentient laying motionless in the dirt. You decide that now is a good time to do some cloud gazing.

Muttering a small poof under your breath, you let your violin vanish back into whatever storage dimension it now called home. You pause, realizing your mistake. You can only summon and dismiss it once per day. A wash of panic floods over you, before you remember the whole “new power” information injection you got that morning. You’re fine, you can summon it again. Your shoulders slacked, relaxing.

“That was the last of them,” you hear Zevlor from atop the cliff, reaffirming the fact that the battle was over. “Inside–all of you. More may follow. Open the gate!”

This time, the gate is able to fully open. The three humans who were yelling before, all dressed in matching green outfits, are quick to get inside, followed by the darker skinned man who had nodded at you during the fight. 

Thoroughly drained, you trail after Preminger, who you should maybe give the grace of dropping the nickname since he saved you, but based on your past experiences, he’d probably earn himself a new one soon enough. Your eyes don’t drift from his back as you walk, not until you rejoin the rest of your party in front of the gate, any and all viscera behind you and out of sight.

“Everyone all right?” Tav checks up on everyone, handing out healing potions to everyone in your group who needs one, yourself included. Your leg still stings, even more so without the adrenaline. It’s bleeding a decent amount, the fabric of your precious Terran clothes growing dark and damp around it. You’re going to have to get some new clothes so you can wash it out before the blood fully sets. Making a mental note to get some needles and thread to repair it later, you uncork the small bottle and take a quick whiff. It’s a sweet smell, almost fruity, but not quite. You shrug and down it. That sweet aroma is also seen in its flavor, along with an earthy bitter undertone that lingered in your mouth afterwards. That part wasn’t so pleasant.

FD starts speaking to Shadowheart about something, but you don’t hear it, busy with your own thoughts.

‘Why the fuck did I play megalovania? Why am I such a disappointment? It’s a great song, honestly, but… it kinda makes me feel like your average angsty teen on tumblr.’

Still wallowing in your own shame and despair, Tav turns and heads into the fort, the rest of your group following her.

Magic Roomba falls into step beside you, “Are you all right? You’re looking quite a bit more dour than before. Are you not used to combat? If this is about your performance in the fight, I can assure you, you did quite well and pulled your own weight; no need to worry.”

‘Wait, did I really do that badly in the fight that he felt the need to reassure me? I wasn’t even thinking about that… aw man this day just got worse.’

“Oh, I also noticed that song you were playing. I don’t believe I’ve heard any melodies like that before; is it a style unique to your hometown?”

“…Is there a good place to kill myself around here?”

Gale squints and tilts his head, “pardon?”

You wave him off. [Nevermind, it’s nothing.]

‘C’mon me, it’s okay. Nobody here knows. You don’t have to wallow in shame,’ you attempt to comfort yourself before another thought pops into your head. ‘But, on the other hand,  If I focus on my own shame I won’t have to unpack all these other distressing emotions I got from my newly found trauma of committing murder! …Both options are pretty bad, aren’t they…’

“There are children here, you fool!” A very angry and very loud voice distracts you from your thoughts enough to keep you from going down either path of wallowing.

‘Oooh, drama~ Looks like I don’t need to worry about introspection anymore! If only I had some popcorn…’

“We was running… for our lives.” 

Miss FD leads your entourage up to the heated argument happening between a tiefling you remember shouting from atop the gate and one of the humans who was stranded outside with all of you.

“You led them straight to us, and you let them take the druid, too. Unbelievable!” The tiefling continues to yell, paying your party no mind.

“One fight just ended, and now you’re picking another? Relax,” Tav tries to diffuse the argument, classic fake smile in place.

‘Oh yeah, Tav was definitely in customer service. Looks like they also get de-escalation training here.’

“Tell that to the dead at the gate,” the tiefling responds to Tav, no longer yelling but just as upset.

“Shut it, horns,” the human leans forward, face slightly scrunched in a pseudo-snarl. “I’d be lying dead next to the goblins if you’d stalled any longer.”

“My duty is to this camp.”

“God forbid you risk your precious tail. But I shouldn’t be surprised. Foulbloods ain’t known for courage.”

You flinch away, taken aback. ‘Yo, I don’t have to be from here to recognize that was a slur. Uncloseted racists, huh…yeesh.’ 

You see the tiefling’s eyes narrow, expression going dark. He raises a fist and slugs him, hitting him directly in the temple. The human falls to the ground, unconscious.

‘Nice,’ You nod in approval at his actions. ‘Fuck racists. Or would it be specists? Speciecist? Ah, who cares. Same difference. Still, though. Not cool.’ 

The tiefling sighs and shakes out his fist. “Enough. The goblins have found us. No doubt, the beasts will be back. We need to pack up and leave. Immediately,” he commanded, words directed towards the other tieflings in the camp. He crosses his arms and gives the unconscious human another look of disdain. “Seems his skull isn’t as thick as I thought,” he says to himself.

“Now that’s settled,” he looks up, locking eyes with Tav, “I wouldn’t have looked to a drow for help, but I’m grateful all the same. I’m Zevlor.”

‘Aw, come on, man! You’ve got discrimination in you too? I know that in D&D lore, drows aren’t looked upon favorably, but I was hoping for better since nobody in our party seemed to mind.’

“I’m Tav,” she replies, unfazed. You feel a bit sad, thinking that maybe Tav has had no choice but to get used to it.

“Well met. I should warn you– visitors are no longer welcome in this grove,” Zevlor cautions. “Whatever your business, I’d see to it quickly– the druids are forcing everyone out. This attack will only strengthen their resolve.”

“Why are they forcing you out?”

“There have been several attacks by different monsters. The druids blame us ‘outsiders’ for drawing them here. Nobody’s welcome anymore. They’ve started a ritual to cut the grove off from the world outside. We can’t stay, but we’ll be slaughtered if we leave- we’re no fighters.”

“So, what even brought you all here in the first place?”

“We’re refugees from Elturel– we took shelter here after gnolls attacked us on the road. We were bound for Baldur’s Gate, and it was too late to turn back. Elturel had no place for tieflings after the Descent.”

‘I have no idea what they’re talking about now. Elturel? Descent? Maybe it was one of those fancy cities but it fell? Oh, maybe there was a heist done by a group of tieflings who made off with the anti-gravity magic engine and caused the city to fall? Yeah, that would make sense then.’

“Hmm, if your people survived that, they’ll survive anything.”

‘Yeah, an entire city crashing into the ground would be pretty devastating, wouldn’t it? Lots of deaths and injuries no doubt. If that’s the case, then it sounds like this conversation is about to take a dark turn, and I already have enough shit to worry about right now. I wanna know so bad because I’m too curious for my own good, but I know that I’ve got a raging guilt complex that’ll make me worry about them way too much if I find out what happened… Step away, (y/n), just step away. You’re in a land of monsters and magic where you know practically nothing; you can’t afford to worry about others.’ 

Steeling your resolve, you step away, the group not noticing your departure as you were already lingering towards the back. Behind you and to your right, you spot a comfortable-looking shaded area across a log bridge. Devoid of any people, it looks like the perfect place for you to take a break, because now that your adrenaline rush is over, you can feel the exhaustion setting in. You quietly walk over, your years of practice of silencing your footsteps coming in handy to stay out of anyone’s notice. The large lone tree that stood near the cliff’s edge looked quite inviting, something you could lean your back against.

‘Astaroth? You there, bud? I’d really like it if you could explain why you showed up like a severe weather alert then immediately ghosted me.’

Still no response.

‘Is that man really that dangerous that Astaroth had to interrupt his rest to warn me?’

You’re just a few steps away from the tree now, fully ready to take a moment to rest and breathe– and by that you mean go into a thought spiral of anxiety wondering what could have caused your patron to be so wary. What you were not expecting was for a squirrel to lunge at you and bite at your toes, preventing your spiral from even beginning. At least, it was biting at where it thought your toes were. Since your newly acquired boots were too big, your feet didn’t reach that far. You squeak and try to shake the creature off your foot while maintaining your balance. Thankfully, it quickly let go, so you took a step back, watching as it stanced up.

“Are even the squirrels out to kill me? Why are you like this, Faerûn?”

“I was so interested to see what our little bard-who’s-not-a-bard was up to, sneaking away like that, but I wasn’t expecting to see you in a fight with a squirrel of all things.”

You whip your head around to see Astarion. ‘I don’t think I like being the one who is getting snuck up on.’

“Oh, don’t mind me–I’d much rather see how this plays out, especially since it seems the squirrel is winning,” he crosses his arms, smirking at you.

You pout and deadpan. ‘You know. I was really about to let the whole nickname thing go, but you know what? You make a pretty convincing argument for why I shouldn’t.’

“Oh, fine, fine– you’re no fun. There’s an apprentice healer in the grove and our fearless leader thinks we should go see them,” he says as he begins inspecting his nails. “Not that they’ll actually be able to do anything about these worms, but I suppose any information could be useful.” 

He turns around, a silent cue to follow him. You do so, fully turning your back to the squirrel who thankfully doesn’t give chase. You find Tav and the rest waiting for your return, making you feel a bit bad for being the reason for the delay.

“There you are,” Tav says with that same smile on her face, “Let’s all go meet that healer, shall we?”

You passed by a group of three tieflings arguing over whether they should leave or stay. Using her expert de-escalation skills, Tav said naught but one sentence to them: “To leave is a heavy choice– it will weigh on whatever path you walk next.” And just like that, they were convinced to stay and ceased arguing. You can’t help but wonder why she stepped in– was it perhaps just an automatic response, as if out of habit? Or maybe she’s just a goody-two-shoes? ‘Well, doesn’t matter, I guess.’

A few meters ahead was a small training ground with children wielding swords against dummies made of wood and cloth. Instructing them was the man who had jumped down from the wall during the fight with the goblins: the fiend’s puppet. Your steps slow, lingering towards the back, ready to  flee if need be. You weren’t a character in a horror movie who doesn’t know how to heed warnings. Better to be careful than not. As the man notices you all approaching, he gives the child he’s currently helping a bit of encouragement before turning to face FD.

“Well met. The Blade of Frontiers at your–” his introduction is cut short as you’re connected to his tadpole, much like how it was when you met Preminger.

The distaste is forgotten as you see a wasteland, ravaged by flames and countless battles. There’s yelling and the clashing of metal. All is chaos and blood, and then you see her: She’s tall and muscular–red skin, one curled horn, and lit ablaze, though the flames do not hurt her. Her black hair with streaks of red– whether it’s dyed or just an illusion from the fire, you can’t tell– is styled asymmetrically, half her hair shaved, the other half falling over the side of her head without any gel to hold it up. She turns to the side and you catch a glimpse of her face.

‘Hello, 911 emergency? There’s a handsome girl in my brain.’

And then it’s over. The connection is severed and the woman's visage is gone.

‘Wait, no, come back, I wasn’t done staring!’

“Hells’ great fires– you were on the ship,” he looked at you all in realization after the memory sharing ended.

“Yes– and we both carry parasites,” Tav replies, voice carrying a slight grim undertone.

“Mm, doomed to shed our skin and become illithid, or so the stories go, but we haven’t sprouted any tentacles– not yet, anyway. Could just be good luck. I’m not so…”

He’s cut off again as the mind link resurfaces and you see her again. ‘Whoohoo! Pretty lady! She’s back!’ This time however, it’s not as pleasant as you feel the man’s emotions towards her: she’s evil incarnate. His emotions stir the beginnings of nausea in your gut. His emotions don’t meld well within you, unlike Astaroth’s. You don’t like it. This connection is shorter than the last, and she’s gone once more, bringing relief as the man’s emotions are gone with it. ‘Yep, that checks out… another villain who’s super hot– literally this time.’

“Shit,” he blurts out, “you saw her: advocatus diaboli.

‘...why did that translate into latin?’

“Her name is Karlach. An archdevil’s soldier I swore on my good eye to kill. I tracked her through the Hells to the mind flayer ship, but the damned illithids infected me before I could end her. She’s out there now, preying on the innocent. If I don't kill her, she’ll leave behind nothing but a trail of corpses.”

“Well, we’re looking for a cure to this infection. I’d imagine you’d also be interested in getting cured, so I suggest we partner up,” FD offers.

“Chk! A worthy ally, perhaps, but I’ll waste no time chasing devils while a tadpole feasts on our skulls,” Cowabunger inputs, unclear if she’s on board with the idea of him joining the party or not.

“I’ve seen your people in battle,” the man follows up. “I reckon you are no mere warriors, but a godsdamned army. I’d be a fool to let you turn your back. Pledge me your talents, and I’ll pledge you mine.”

Lae’zel responds with another “chk.”

“I’ll presume that’s githyanki for ‘yes.’ Now let’s move.”

Shadowheart huffs amusedly, “The famous Blade of Frontiers, in the flesh. Clever, this hero act you’ve got going.”

“Hero, blade– names strangers gave me. My friends call me Wyll.”

“Excellent. If we ever become friends, I’ll know what to call you.”

You can feel your eyes open comically wide. ‘Holy shit, Shadowheart, that was kinda brutal.’

“I’m Tav. These are Lae’zel, Shadowheart, (y/n), Gale, and Astarion.”

You nod your head in greeting.

“Pleasure to meet you all,” Wyll smiles. Unlike Tav, his smile is genuine.

‘Holy shit, a genuine nice person. First one of those I’ve met in a while.’

“I hope you don’t mind accompanying us to see the healer first,” FD comments. “We are already here after all.”

“By all means,” Wyll acquiesces. “I’m also not too keen on the idea of becoming a mind flayer.”

As Wyll begins to take the lead with Tav next to him, you wonder if the reason you weren’t filled with hatred at the sight of the devil woman was because your patron wasn’t present. Guess you’ll just have to ask him when he returns.

You’re all led down some stone steps, Tav and Wyll still heading the party: FD for being the de facto leader and Wyll for already knowing the layout of the grove. At the bottom of the stairs is a crowd of tieflings facing off against a few steadfast druids.

“Let my daughter go right now!” One of the tieflings yells. She’s enraged and worried to the point that she sounds as if she might begin to cry.

“She’s a thief, hellspawn, and you will wait for Kagha’s judgement. Now get back.” The druid is unyielding in her reply.

‘What is up with these people and being racist towards tieflings? Typical time period racism I guess? Either way, I gotta come up with yet another nickname.’

“Argh, let me through, mragreshem, or I’ll rip your damned throat out!” The same tiefling as before takes a few steps closer towards the druids.

‘I guess Fiend Puppet is an option, but that doesn’t really roll off the tongue, nor is it funny. Nor do I know the full implications of what the moniker means. Maybe he’s just in a super toxic relationship? Well, probably not, but you never know.’

One of said druids lets out a guttural roar as they shapeshift into a bear, effectively forcing the tieflings back.

‘...I completely forgot that it’s normal for people to shapeshift here… well, turning into a bear is definitely an effective intimidation tactic. I would take notes except for the fact that I’m not a shapeshifter.’

With the tieflings no longer blocking the stairs, Tav steps down. The now-bear growls in attempts to discourage your party’s approach.

“You! Step back,” the druid who was warning the tiefling before had now turned her attention to Tav. “We’ll not tolerate drow in here.”

‘Wyll seems like one of those storybook hero types, like a generic prince charming with one-liners that were meant to be cool but aren’t.’

Tav smiles that wide smile of hers with concealed irritation. “We were told we could find a healer here. We’ll be brief, so please allow us through.”

“Keep back. Force my hand, and I’ll show you its claws.”

‘Come to think of it, do I know any of the names of those types of characters? They're typically pretty bland so I don’t really care too much about them.’

“A moment, Jeorna,” the last of the three druids speaks up, gesturing for Jeorna to lean down and listen as he whispers in her ear.

‘He feels like the kind of guy whose drink of choice is milk.’

“What…? Why would she allow one of them? I… I suppose so, yes.” She leans back up and glares at Tav. “You– apparently Kagha wants to see you. Go ahead.” As Tav starts to walk past, Jeorna speaks again, making Tav pause briefly, “A word of warning. One wrong move and every single animal here will tear you apart.”

“I wouldn’t dream of doing you any wrong, don’t worry,” she replies, never losing her wide smile before she continues with her normal pace.

‘Calcifaust.’

‘I’m sorry, me, I hate to interrupt, but Calcifaust?’

‘Yeah, calcium because he drinks milk and Faust because he took a Faustian bargain!’

‘You know what, it’s fun to say, so we’ll just go with that.’

You follow Tav past the druids, looking at the strange sight of what was obviously a ritual going on in the center of the area: druids chanting and channeling their magic into a small statue on a pedestal.

‘This feels very cultish… I don’t know if I want any part in this.’ You all walk towards a patterned stone wall, which automatically lowers as you approach. ‘Huh… how uncharacteristically modern of them.’

The first thing you notice as you enter is just how much cooler it is inside, pleasantly so at that. Cool and dark, but not too humid despite the pools below: a perfect place to relax, especially if you can find a small nook to be alone in. The potential peace of this place is kept at bay by the cries of a terrified child, however.

“Please, I’m sorry!”

As you go down the stairs, you come across the sight of a woman and a man on either side of a frightened tiefling child. And on the stone table behind her is–

‘It’s a baby!’ A snake, a viper judging by its head's structure, slithers up behind the girl, silently threatening her. ‘Dangerous, yes, but gods do I want to pet it, but I know I can’t, oh, this is torture.’

“This is madness Kagha. She’s just a-” The man standing next to the child protests but is cut off.

“A what, Rath? A thief? A poison? A threat?” The woman, Kagha, you presume, stands firm, unaffected by his words. “I will imprison the devil, and I will cast out every stranger.”

“Pardon, I dare not presume, but I must ask: What’s this girl’s actual crime?” Tav steps forward and asks, warily eyeing the viper.

“Girl? You mean parasite,” Kagha spits out. “She eats our food, drinks our water, then steals our most holy idol in thanks!”

‘...I mean, it’s more of a competitive symbiotic relationship rather than a parasitic one, unless they need to idol to survive; if that’s the case, then yes it’d be parasitic, but seeing as they’re all still alive after the kid stole it, I doubt that’s the case.’

“Rath, lock her up,” Kagha commands. “She remains here until the rite is complete.” She leans down to eye level with the tiefling child, “And keep still, devil. Teela is restless.”

The snake hisses in response, baring its fangs.

‘Oh my god, Teela is such a cute name… I know, not the time, not the place, but come on, it’s a relatively tame venomous snake, who knows if I’ll ever get a chance to safely pet a venomous reptile other than now?’

“Come, Kagha,” Rath tries to dissuade her, “We took back the idol. Surely–”

“Do it,” she cuts him off, leaving no room for negotiation.

There’s a brief second of silence before FD speaks again, “You’ve proven your authority. Proving your mercy as well may help keep things quiet for a while.”

Kagha looks at Tav, a thoughtful expression coating her features, considering Tav’s words. “Fair words.” She turns back to the tiefling, “Child, take to the others word of my grace.” She then glances back to Teela, “Ssifisv– Teela, to me.”

The snake obeys, slithering away from the child and towards Kagha. As soon as the snake is far enough away, the child makes a break for it, rushing past your party and out the door you had just entered. You turn your body to the side to dodge the kid as she nearly shoulder checks you in order to get out. 

Shadowheart winces and jerks back as the child passes her, cradling her hand. “Ngh… it hurts…” she mutters under her breath.

‘See? That’s why I moved out of the way. Looks like Shadowheart wasn’t as lucky.’

“Thank you , Kagha,” Rath says, thoroughly relieved. “Master Halsin would–”

“Halsin isn’t here. Keep his name off your tongue, lest Teela pierce it.”

Rath backs off, moving to sit down instead as Kagha approaches you all, her gaze fixed on Tav. “A deep elf in our grove, on this day. A sign, or rather, a gift.”

‘...I’m sorry, what?’ You were expecting a much harsher welcome from Kagha, considering the druid guard you had just met was so hostile to Tav for being a drow.

“Who better to understand a watchful broodmother than a beloved child of Lolth?”

Tav’s eyes narrow in distaste, her smile faltering. “I have no love for the Queen of Spiders.”

“Indeed?” Kagha takes it in stride, not bothered by the fact she may have just severely offended Tav, if you believe your own observations. “But you do exhibit a talent for self-preservation. A viper bares her fangs defending her brood. Is it not her nature to strike at invaders?” FD doesn’t give her a response. “No matter. I took back the Idol of Silvanus and the rite has resumed. We will seal the grove. Free from harm. Free of intruders.”

“This rite must be born of powerful magic.”

“The Rite of Thorns. It is the Treefather’s gift, that none come to harm. When we speak the final prayer, the Great Vine will sprout forth. The grove will be cloaked in bramble and thorn. No one enters, no one leaves. Sanctuary. None of this can happen while we are infested by outlanders. Silvanus demands that we choke them out.”

‘Um, I may not know much about druidcraft, but choking people out doesn’t sound very druid-y. Aren’t they supposed to be all “one with nature” and stuff?’

Tav just gives a nod to Kagha, whether it was one of agreement or just acknowledgement, well… you really hope it’s the latter.

With a small but satisfied grin, Kagha walks off to one of the inner chambers, Teela in tow. Your eyes watch Teela, a bit disappointed you didn’t get a chance to pet it.

Once she’s out of earshot, Roomba boy can no longer hold back his distaste, “That woman has more venom in her heart than a snake in its fangs, but at least the child is safe. What is youth if not a time to be forgiven for one’s transgressions?”

Tav nods, “I’m glad we intervened. Things could have gotten quite complicated otherwise.”

“Couldn’t agree more. The girl wasn’t innocent, but that doesn’t mean she was guilty.”

FD then looks at Shadowheart, concerned– no doubt she also heard her hiss of pain earlier.

“I know that look– you’re wondering why I was in pain before. Let’s just clear the air about that now,” Shadowheart says with a sigh. “It’s just an old wound that hurts me from time to time. Nothing to be concerned about. It’s nothing to do with the tadpoles at least, in case your imagination is in danger of getting away from you. It’s just…something I have to live with. It always passes quickly though, so I can manage.” 

“All right. Just make sure to tell us if it’s bothering you too much,” Tav says, still mildly concerned. “Nothing good comes from ignoring pain for too long.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

With no one else besides Rath around to ask for directions to the healer, FD approaches him.

“You did well to speak up for the girl,” Rath thanks as he notices your party approaching him. “That snake is fickle. A tragedy prevented.”

“That Kagha seems dangerous,” Tav comments.

‘Oh, thank goodness. Looks like I don’t need to worry about her agreeing with what Kagha said.’

“Well seen. Well spotted. We’ve let a snake replace our leader.”

“Kagha seems happy to rule the roost. Your real leader is Halsin, I’m guessing?”

“Aye. Perhaps goblin-caught, perhaps dead now. He’d set… Mistress Kagha back in line,” his face scrunched in disdain when he used Kagha’s new title. “Hold her to task. Stop this damned ritual. More will die if the rite is finished. So many more, sent into a world gone mad…” He ends with a solemn tone and expression.

“My condolences. I’m afraid I’ve no time for pleasantries though. I heard there was a healer here, Nettie, I believe. Could we meet her?”

“Ah, I see. You will find her deeper in the caves,” Rath points towards a nearby stone archway. “Though not as skilled as Master Halsin, she will be able to patch you up just fine.”

“This Halsin is a skilled healer then?”

“The best the grove has to offer.”

“If no one’s looking for Halsin, I could do it,” Tav offers.

‘Wait, what? I mean, yeah that’s probably what I would have done, but can’t you, oh, I don’t know, ask for our input first since your “I” definitely means “we?”’

“Would you? I would give anything to see Halsin return  home.”

“No need to fret. I’ll find him.”

“Silvanus’ blessings upon you, and my gratitude as well. Halsin is an elf with the presence of a bear. He left west, with the adventurers. You won’t mistake the First Druid for anyone else.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. I wish you good fortune enough that he may return on his own,” she says, receiving a nod in response from Rath.

Walking past him and under the archway, you end up in a round chamber, where you can see a dwarf fussing over an injured bluejay. Tav walks up and pauses in front of them.

“I see you. Just give me a moment,” the dwarven woman says. FD remains silent, waiting. “Vis medicatrix…” The dwarf chants, white strands of magic leaving her hands and surrounding the bird, which stands up. “There. It’s up to her now. Life or death. Now, what–” she cuts herself off as she sees Tav for the first time. “Drow. Last time I saw one of you folk, he tried to slit me open. I hope you’re more agreeable.”

“Where did you see another drow?” Tav asks, curious.

“That’s neither here nor there,” she brushes off the question. “Look, you obviously want something. What is it?”

“Healing. Looks like I came to the right person.”

“I do what I can. For most folks, that’s enough. Come here. Let’s have a look at you.” Tav leans down so that she’s eye-level with who you presume to be Nettie. “You seem healthy enough. A bit tired ‘round the eyes, maybe.”

“Tired is a bit of an understatement.” Tav pauses for a moment, opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “To keep it brief, something crawled into my eye.”

“Crawled in? Some sort of bug or–wait…” she takes a step back. “Did it look like a tadpole? But from your worst nightmare? All slime, teeth, and tentacles?”

“You know of them? Can you help me?”

“I–I’ll do what I can. Follow me. I might be able to help.” She turns around, gesturing for your party to follow. “We need to be quick. This way.”

She leads you to another stone door, which you did not realize was such until it too lowered like the one at the entrance. This chamber is smaller, with statues of wolves decorated with glowing blue markings. There are two stone tables to the left: one holds candles and what looks to be medicinal plants and substances, and the other is being used as a final resting place for a dead drow.

‘This looks like an offering site where you would try to summon the two wolves inside of you.’ You try to distract yourself with a silly thought as you keep your gaze away from the corpse.

“Don’t worry about him on the table. I’m not in the habit of killing drow,” Nettie explains. “He attacked Master Halsin and I in the woods, leading a pack of goblins. Tadpole crawled out of his head soon after.”

“He and I have the same kind of parasite?” Tav asks, seemingly unbothered by her dead kin.

“Seems so. Gave Master Halsin a right start. It’s why he joined the adventurers on their expedition. To find out what was happening. A pity you got me instead of him. He understands these things– studied them. Still, we have two options.” She pulls out a thorny stick, holding it in her hand. Her arm is lax but her grip is tight.

“What’s that plant? Will it help?”

Nettie shifts her weight. “It might, but first things first. Tell me about your symptoms– have you noticed anything strange happening?” 

Tav’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “It ‘might’? What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m telling you everything you need to know. Believe me on that.”

‘“Everything we need to know,” huh? That’s a red flag if I’ve ever heard one.’ You glance around you, making sure there’s nobody hiding nearby and that the stone door is still open. You go to lean against the wall, trying to stay casual. You don’t trust this, and having your back facing an open doorway is a bad idea.

“I want to help you,” Nettie continues, “but I can’t unless you work with me. So, has anything unusual happened to you?”

“I can merge my mind with anyone else that’s infected,” Tav says, ending on a downwards intonation, implying that that’s all, not about to offer up any other information.

“Victims can identify each other? Not that the others know they’re victims, of course. How’d you pick up the parasite? Halsin was desperate to find where all this was happening.”

“Look, are you going to cure me or not?”

“I’m trying to help you, but I need to be sure. So tell me, where'd you get that thing?”

“I don’t know, I just woke up with it.”

“All right. I suppose that makes things easier. Give me your arm, please.”

Tav hesitates, then slowly holds out her arm. Nettie grabs Tav’s arm and quickly pierces her with the stick’s thorns.

“There. Be careful. Your legs’ll probably give out first.”

With narrowed eyes, Tav reaches to grab the branch from her, but Nettie steps out of her immediate reach.

“It’s too late. It’s already in your system. I’m truly, truly sorry. For what it’s worth, the poison is painless. It’ll be like going to sleep.”

“You poisoned me huh?” Tav scoffed, not sounding all too surprised. “Heh, should’ve known…” Her face fell to a scowl as she gazed at her pricked arm.

“Please, try to relax. This doesn’t have to be hard.”

“Is there an antidote?” Tav flickered her eyes up to Nettie.

“You can’t have it. I can’t risk you turning– you’d kill us all.”

She turned her head to face Nettie fully. “Give. Me. The. Antidote.”

“I won’t. I can’t.”

“But I don’t have symptoms– I’m not changing.”

Nettie fidgets, her face squinched in reluctance. A few seconds of what you assume is a mental debate later, she relents. “Gods above. It’s a risk, but maybe you deserve a chance…” She sighs, “All right. Master Halsin did say the drow’s tadpole was dormant. Maybe yours is too.” She places the branch down and instead pulls out a bottle filled with a radioactive-green liquid. “Now, this is a vial of wyvern poison. It’s quick and painless. Swear to me you’ll swallow it if you feel any symptoms.”

“All right. Hand it over.”

“Swear it.”

“...I swear.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that but… thank you. Here,” she hands Tav the poison. “And here’s the antidote. Do not mix those two up.” Tav takes it and pops the cork off, wasting no time before she starts drinking. “I’ve spent my life treating folk and never once saw a mind flayer infection. Then suddenly there’s dozens of you– maybe more. Master Halsin and I were tracking them, studying them, trying to figure out what the hells was going on, because you should all be changing; there should be a small army of mind flayers out there! But you’re not. Weird powers aside, you seem perfectly normal.”

FD wipes her mouth with her arm once she finishes off the antidote. “Cure aside, you must’ve learned something from studying them, at least.”

“For one, that thing in your head is like nothing we’ve ever seen from mind flayers. It’s one of their worms, for sure, but this one gives you powers– telepathic connections– and it doesn’t turn you into one of them. Not yet, anyhow.”

“You said you were tracking other victims. Did they change?”

“Hard to say, but there’s a lot we don’t know. Infected– folks like you– have been converging on an old temple of Selûne, and I’ve no idea why. When Master Halsin heard the adventurers were heading that way, he saw a chance to get answers. Joined on the spot. Whatever he found there, he didn’t  make it back.”

“You think he’s still alive?

“I think so. I hope so. I’ve sent birds to find him, but they can’t get close without goblins trying to shoot them down. You though? You’re one of them–technically speaking I mean; they won’t kill someone carrying their parasite. If you can find Halsin and get him out of there, we can discover what he learned, and perhaps he can save your life. How’s that sound?”

“You’re sure he can cure me?”

“I can’t make any promises. This is like nothing we’ve seen before, but I know this for sure: master Halsin is the only one close to understanding these things. He’s your best bet to survive. Otherwise, that vial’s your only option.”

“Well, we’ve already offered to look for him when we were talking to Rath.”

“You did? Well why didn’t you say something sooner.”

“You never gave me the chance.”

“I… Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry. And thank you. It would mean everything to the grove. To me. I wish I could tell you what happened out there, but those adventurers were the only witnesses, and they’re long gone. All I can say for sure is they all went to the old temple of Selûne and Master Halsin didn’t make it back. Good luck out there, and if things start to go bad, remember the vial. Remember your oath.” With that, Nettie leaves the room, going back to tending to the now-healed bird.

“I can’t believe she poisoned you, tried to put you down like a dying dog without as much as a whisper of consent!” Angry Roomba exclaims after the stone door rises shut behind Nettie.

“It was one hell of a surprise, but Nettie came around.”

“Yes– against her will, without rhyme or reason! How dare she snuff out life with as much thought as snuffing out a bloody candle?”

You look at Gale, concerned. You might not have known him for long, but you’d have never expected just how livid he sounded. 

“Are you all right, Gale?” Tav asked him. Looks like she feels the same way as you.

“Yes…Yes, I am,” he tries to calm himself down, and it works for the most part, but you can still hear that underlying anger when he continues, “It’s just that– had it been me…had it been…” He trails off, and you can see a faint trace of fear in his eyes that vanishes as quickly as it appeared. “But you handled it, and you handled it well! As for myself, I could quite do with a tumbler full of Waterdeep Whiskey. Anyway, we live. For the moment. How about we go find that chap Halsin little miss Poison Ivy mentioned? With a bit of luck, he has the means to offer us a cure rather than a coffin.” And just like that, he’s back to his upbeat self. 

‘I know trauma when I see it, and that man definitely has trauma.’

“Chk, I knew this would lead to nowhere,” Cowabunger, fed up, stops them from even considering continuing their conversation. “The only cure is to have the tadpoles removed by my people. We must find this ‘Zorru’ those ‘teeth-lings’ spoke of and get answers.”

You quickly cover your mouth and stifle yourself after you realize you let out an involuntary chuckle at hearing Lae’zel say ‘teeth-ling.’ Cowabunger crosses her arms and rolls her eyes after Tav corrects her mispronunciation.

“They saw one of my people. That means a crèche is nearby.”

“How about we split up?” Tav offers. “Three groups: one to find Zorru, one to ask around for information on Karlach, and the last for any other information on the area.”

Nobody felt any need to object so you sorted yourselves into groups: Team Totally Tubular Half of TMNT, consisting of Cowabunger and FD, Team One Full Edgelord consisting of Calcifaust for edgy on the inside and Shadowheart for edgy on the outside, and finally Team Comedy Relief made up of you, Preminger, and Magic Roomba. Yes, you came up with the team names yourself, and no, none of them are aware they have team names. Tav had split up the teams and gave brief explanations for why with such confidence behind her words that nobody refused: Tav would have the best chance of convincing Lae’zel if something went wrong, Shadowheart would be able to be more harsh when Wyll could not, and Gale and Astarion would probably have the best chance at communicating with you at the moment, so the groups were decided on those premises. Also because Gale is less likely to rub people the wrong way than Astarion. 

You glance at Preminger out of the corner of your eye. ‘I’ve only known this man for one day and I can already tell he’s a bastard, in a sort of likable sense,’ you think to yourself, grateful that you won’t have to manage Astarion by yourself, since you’re essentially mute. 

The groups split off after you get back to the surface, out in the sun. Your team, the best team, stays behind in this area of the grove while the other two groups head back towards the tiefling camp.

“Ugh, this is going to be so boring,” Astarion whines.

You mime patting him on the back, not wanting to touch without permission. [There, there, I’m sure it won’t be all that bad.]

“Hmm, perhaps it’ll be more entertaining if you do the talking,” he smirks at you. “Yes, I’d say that sounds quite amusing.”

“Wow, very funny– come up with that idea all by yourself?“ you deadpan. Hopefully they’ll at least understand your unamused tone. “Sure, let’s have the essentially mute one do the conversing when we have to others perfectly capable of speech; I’m sure that’ll go perfectly well indeed with the two of you playing interpreter.”

“I think I’m with them on this one, Astarion, assuming they’re saying that we should probably do the talking,” Agreeable Roomba says, looking to you for confirmation, grinning when you nod at him.

“Neither of you are any fun at all,” Preminger pouts like the sad Victorian gossip he is.

‘Sorry man, but my social anxiety has returned now that the adrenaline is gone, so I’m back to being way too scared of people.’ [Oh well].

“Fine, fine. I guess we’ll just have to be boring for now.” His face scrunched with an even deeper pout as he crossed his arms.

“Wonderful. Let’s get started, shall we?” Gale says, looking around the clearing for someone who isn’t busy chanting.

There were really only three or so druids who were free, so you all started with them. Unfortunately, none of them had much to say besides their distaste for either outsiders or comments on the ritual underway. Your next target was a rather eccentric man dressed in blue and talking with a bear. Normally, this wouldn’t be so odd in a druid grove, except for the fact that he looked extremely out of place.

“Oh! Why hello,” the boisterous man clad in blue exclaimed as soon as Inquisitive Roomba walked up, not giving Gale a chance to even greet him. “You were the ones with the drow, weren’t you? I must say, I was quite surprised when I first saw them here, of all places. It’s rare to come across one of them above ground, you know. Rare and intriguing on a day already packed with intrigue!”

Gale opened his mouth to speak but the man kept talking, leaving no room for interruption. “You were at the gates just now too, no? When the goblins came? You saw them up close? A few questions, if you please. There’s no overstating my interest.” 

“Would you answer some of ours in return?” Gale extends an offer.

“But of course! Now, then: How would you describe that particular batch of goblins? Size? Nature? Distinguishing qualities?”

You start to check out of the conversation as Gale begins to give an exact and detailed description of the goblins, just as you would expect from a scholar trying to show off how smart they were. 

‘Yeah, I don’t really think I need to know about the color variations in goblins.’ Out of habit, you reach for your phone, but catch yourself before you bring it out. ‘Ah. Right. I can’t do that here.’ You turn your gaze to the bear, watching as it sleepily lumbers around, idly sniffing around, probably for food. You rock and bounce on your feet in time with a little tune playing in your head, your mind supplementing your idle waiting with its own version of elevator music.

“I do believe it’s our turn to ask some questions of you now, yes?” Gale asks, his answering time finished. Ah, it’s time to check back into reality.

“Go right ahead,” Volo says, tucking away his journal and quill.

“I was hoping you could tell us a bit about the area, what to expect, places of interest, unusual occurrences, so on and so forth.”

“Of course there’s that ship that just crashed, but I doubt you need me to tell you about that; it was practically impossible to miss. There’s also some old ruins south of here– I’m almost positive I heard a bit of a commotion coming from it when I passed by. I’m afraid I’ve not seen much else besides that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I really must be on my way to the goblin camp. Until we meet again!” And just like that he left, not allowing any follow up questions to be asked.

“Well, he was certainly a character,” Preminger of all people mutters. 

‘And you’re not?’ You cross your arms and raise an eyebrow at him– music. You freeze. It’s not the music in your head, it's coming from around here somewhere. You can faintly hear some singing and the plucking of a stringed instrument. Your head snaps to the side towards the direction it's coming from.

“(Y/n)? Is something the matter?” Gale looks at you with a mix of intrigue and concern.

You point in the direction of the music and hum the melody you’ve heard repeat a few times.

Astarion grumbles, “We are not going over there. That singing is downright awful.”

You shrug. [Up to you guys.] ‘Not like I’ll ever suggest we talk to people; my anxiety isn’t called a disorder for nothing.’

“Oh, I’m sure you’re just exaggerating,” Gale says. “The more information we have, the better, so why not at least ask?”

You follow behind Determined Roomba as he begins to head in the direction you pointed to. Astarion huffs in annoyance, but ultimately doesn’t stray from the group; he still frowns the entire way, though. Soon, you’re close enough to actually clearly make out the singing of a woman. Her singing is… admittedly not the best to your ears, but definitely not as awful as Astarion was making it out to be. Who knows, maybe it’s a stylistic thing that you’re just not used to since you’re an alien. For all you know, she could be an expert singer and that’s just how it’s supposed to sound. Plus, considering your taste in music sometimes, you’re really not in a place to judge others. Sometimes you just have to listen to Delfina Plaza but it never starts.

“Dance upon the stars tonight. Smile and pain will fade away. Words of mine will change–no. Become–ugh.” A blue-purple tiefling– it was hard to tell exactly what shade her skin leaned towards was in the spotty shade she sat beneath– was singing alongside her lute on top of a small rocky hill overlooking the grove, performing for a couple of critters. Her singing was warbly at points, as if she were trying to hold back tears.

‘Is she trying to adjust the length of the melody to let her fit in more syllables? No wonder it sounds like she’s struggling.’

“Change? No. Damn it!”

“Are you all right?” Concerned Roomba asked her as your terrible trio strode up to her, understandably worried as she both looked and sounded one more failed lyrical attempt away from throwing her lute to the ground.

“No. I’m moments away from a grisly death…at the hands of this bloody song. I can’t… nothing fits, you know?”

“Well, luckily for you, we happen to have a bard in our party. Perhaps they’ll be able to be of some help?” Gale nods towards you.

You stare at the Evil Roomba of a man wide eyed. ‘That fucking traitor is throwing me under the bus?! Oh that does it, you’re getting a worse nickname. You’ve lost the privilege of being named after a loveable household robot.’

“Oh, yes, I’m sure our bard would love to help,” Astarion gives you a smirk, knowing fully well that you are, in fact, not a bard.

Your eyes dart between the two of them who oh-so-kindly made her your problem. You flip them both off. ‘...You fucking assholes.’ [Fuck you guys.]

“Hm. It can’t hurt. I have her– I have an extra lute, if you want?”

You make no move to help, but Preminger oh-so-kindly nudges (Read: pushes) you forward. You give him a glare over your shoulder, to which he only smiles smugly at, his face reminding you of a satisfied cat who just pushed something off of a ledge.

She holds out the lute for you to grab, “I’m Alfira.”

“(y/n).” You awkwardly pick up the lute and hold it like a guitar. ‘I don’t know how to play the lute.’ You look over the lute you were handed. ‘Four strings, early medieval-style, huh? I wonder if–’ You pluck each open string. “G-D-A-G? Well, I suppose it’s close enough to a violin, even if some of the strings are an octave off. Guess I can shoddily transpose. Lemme just–’ you turn the peg of the second G down to an E and strum them once more. ‘There we go. Nice and familiar-ish.’

Taking your little note test as you ready to begin, Alfira brings her own lute into ready position, “I’ll start from the beginning. We’ll take it slow.”

Dance upon the stars tonight. 

Smile and pain will fade away. 

‘Abwpfft–ah shit we’re already goin’! Well, I don’t know chords so you’re gettin’ some single-note pizzicato!’ 

You start plucking at the strings, sticking to open notes since you don’t know how fretboards are set up for lutes. Guess you’re stuck doing the harmony, which you are A-OK with. Despite your anxiety, you pluck them confidently, because if you don’t play with confidence, it’ll sound like shit no matter what.*

Alfira smiles, encouraged by your playing. She continues.

Word of mine will turn to ash. 

When you call the last light down. 

‘Why am I the only one playing? Why aren’t you playing your lute with me?!’ You continue to play, though Alfira just holds her lute while she sings, not bothering to play it. ‘I can’t just play the same four notes forever! I was planning on watching where you placed your fingers so I can mimic it but nooooo you only want to sing. Well don’t blame me if this doesn’t work,’ you place your fingers down onto the second fret of the A string and thank god it was in key.

Moon reminds me of your grace. 

All the love I can’t repay. 

Rest and know that I will pray. 

Farewell, my dear old friend.

As Alfira trails off, so does your playing. ‘I’m free! Finally!’

Alfira places her lute to the side as she starts to cry. “Sorry.”

‘Heeuugghhhhh that was the most painful thing of my life— oh, I feel sick.’

You see Gale begin to fret with a slight panic as she starts to cry. You flash him a weak grin with a hint of smugness. ‘You gotta do damage control now because I can’t talk. Serves you right for throwing me under the bus.’

“Don’t worry. Cry as much as you need,” Gale placates her, giving no sign of having noticed your self-satisfied expression.

‘That’s right you Farquaad Star Squad Reject, take some responsibility for your actions and chat it up.’

“Heh. She’d have said the same thing,” she sniffled, wiping the tears from her eyes. “That’s the first time I’ve played since Lihala died. My teacher. She was playing her lute. We…didn’t hear the gnolls coming. There was so much blood. I–I can still smell it.”

“Well, you’ve come up with a fine tribute to her.”

“Lihala said that’s why eulogies were important. They were for the living as well as the dead. I’d forgotten what it was like: that itch to perfect a song. Keep the lute. Please. You’ve earned it. The Weeping Dawn will be my gift to Lihala. I’ve a long way to go, but thank you. I…I needed this.”

‘...Guess I’ve got a lute now… where am I supposed to put this?’

“If you don’t mind my asking, where did your group run into the gnolls?” Reject Farquaad asks.

“Northeast of here. If you’re going that way, be careful,” Alfira warns.

The pompous coward thanked her for the information and turned around, nodding at you and Astarion to follow him back towards the way we came, leaving Alfira to her own devices.

‘I feel like we watched her go through the five stages of grief all within the span of five minutes and I was forced to play therapist for all of it.’

“See? Now we know there are gnolls about,” Garquaad says, looking satisfied that we got useful information despite Preminger’s initial reluctance to approach Alfira.

Said other jerk crosses his arms and looks to the side, away from Garquaad. “Fine, I suppose this wasn’t too useless of an endeavor.”

“And, our bard received a gift as well!” The loser reject looks at you with a smile.

Your face remains cold as you tune the E back up to a G. You place your fingers at the sixth fret of the first G, the fifth fret of the D string, and fifth fret of the A string, but leave the last string open: C#-G-C#-G. You lift your right hand and strike down across all the strings. Both members of team traitor grimace at the awful tritone chord you made.

“Good gods, what is wrong with you?” Astarion asks incredulously, covering his ears.

You cross your arms as best you can while holding the lute and puff out your cheeks. [You made me do an impromptu duet! With an instrument I don’t even know how to play!] {Performance = 11, Success}

‘That was an awful experience, forcing me to do a public performance! The two of them deserve to be at the mercy of the diabolus in musica at the very least.’

“My apologies,” Failquaad sheepishly apologizes, as he should, “all the bards I’ve ever come across usually jump at the chance to perform, so I assumed you’d be the same.”

[No, I hate public performances.]{Performance = 15, Success} [Also, not a bard.] {Performance = 7, Failure}

The Fallen Starquaad scratches his head in confusion, “Forgive me for being confused, but why go down the path of a bard if you don’t enjoy performing?”

You throw your head back with a dramatic groan. ‘How many more times am I going to have to explain this?’ Bringing your head back down, you take a breath to calm yourself before trying again. [I am not a bard.] {Performance = 5, Failure}

Again, he just looks at you in confusion, not understanding.

You turn to Astarion with wide, urging eyes and jerk your head towards The Reject. [Can you just tell him? I’m sick of this game.] {Persuasion = 9, Success}

“Well, it was starting to lose its amusement, so, all right,” Preminger accepts and finally explains, “We had a little conversation yesterday and, turns out, they’re not a bard.”

“Truly?” The man who probably couldn’t even pull off tights looks at you, intrigued. “But you use an instrument as an arcane focus, do you not?”

[Well, yes, but… I don’t know. Not a bard, though. Remember that.]

“Hmm, that’s quite interesting, isn’t it? Would you mind if I asked some questions? I’m very curious,” he looks at you with intrigue sparkling in his eyes.

[Um, maybe later.] ‘Really don’t want to discuss it though. I need to keep Astaroth a secret.’

“Perhaps we’ll have a chance when we next make camp.”

[Yeah, sure, sounds great.] ‘Please forget by the time we set up camp.'

“There doesn’t seem to be many other people to talk to, so shall we meet up with the others and see if they’ve had any luck?”

You didn’t have any reason to object and Astarion seemed glad to get as far away from Alfira’s music as possible, readily agreeing. And so, your comedic-trio-who-had-a-falling-out–and-will-no-longer-be-touring started heading back towards the stairs leading up into the tiefling camp half of the grove.

‘…Okay, for real though, where am I gonna put this lute?’

*Best advice I’ve ever gotten from my conductor. Play with confidence. Even if you’re not, play as if you are. Someone who’s playing confidently but hitting the wrong notes will always sound better than somebody who is hitting all the correct notes but playing meekly. 

**If you ever wondered what brimstone smells like, it is that slightly sweet, smoky, and acrid smell when a match is first struck, not the eggy smell of straight up sulfur. While brimstone does mean sulfur, the smell of brimstone refers to the acrid odor of sulfur dioxide.

If you smell burnt matches in your house and you have not been constantly striking matches, there is a good chance that something in your house has started to burn, such as the insulation. Please call emergency services if you smell sulfur dioxide. Don’t just go “huh. Brimstone. Neat!” like I did. 

Fun fact, when I first started writing this chapter all the way back in…*checks notes*...January 2024… the name of this chapter was “Is this foreshadowing or a red herring?” but now, 7 months later, I cannot remember why.

No longer perfectly harmonized. But it was a necessary sacrifice, not to mention kind of fun. You’d always loved the solo in Danse Macabre with how the violin was purposefully out of tune to create that haunting tritone, the diabolus of music, if you wanted to be edgy about it. And if you were playing along with an orchestra that could fill in the rest of the chord since you can’t really play a full chord on one violin, but who needs them when you’ve got a perfectly good phone!

You pulled up the song on your phone as you stood up and let it begin to play as you readied your violin on your shoulder, bow in hand. 

…you put your bow down.

You clicked on the wrong one. After selecting the one you had been practicing to before, you readied yourself once again, took a deep breath, and put your bow to the strings. With a confident pull, you began, playing along with the music. You swayed along to your playing, letting the natural movement aid in your pushes and pulls with the bow. Or was it the other way around? You could never really tell, the music always taking a hold of you and causing your body to move whenever you performed or simply listened. Only when you were alone though. You’d never let someone else see you perform a solo, no way in hell.

You played the final note and stood there, letting the tone ring out while relishing in the satisfying aftermath of a piece well-played. With a content grin you gently moved the violin off your shoulder.

« T’was a lovely performance. »

“Holy shit– what the fuck!” You flinched, startled at hearing a disembodied masculine voice in your head, instinctively tightening your grip on your violin and bow, afraid of dropping them, pulling them tightly to your chest, spinning on your foot to see nobody behind you– looking left and right and back again and still nobody!

‘...am I being haunted?’

“…Thank you? I suppose?” You answered, nervous and uncertain. If the ghost was being friendly, then sure! You’d play along! You don’t really have the means to deal with a ghost that could talk to you at the moment so you had to put on your extrovert camouflage (which was about as effective as an inquisitive teen’s survival rate in a horror movie) and hoped to keep the ghost friendly so that it didn’t pull a fast one on you and steal your bones and by that you mean posses your body and do embarrassing things and have people upload it to the internet and go viral as that weird person who did something embarrassing in public and then have that haunt you for the rest of your life! Though you couldn’t really hide the fact that you were understandably confused and  just a bit freaked out at the situation, which the ghost may or may not have picked up on, but you’re just going to go with it being a friendly ghost and definitely not that you were doing a shit job at hiding your fear.

« Ah, yes, one should introduce themselves when first meeting an other,» the voice, low and smooth, spoke in dulcet tones. «Thou mayst calleth this one Astaroth. A pleasure to make thine acquaintance. »

‘Astaroth? That sounds… familiar…’ you squinted at the air in front of you as if that would magically help you see this ghost who was probably not a ghost based on the name they gave.

« Ah, I am glad. I hadst known there wouldst be a chance thou hast heard mine name before, though I didst not dare hope of having such luck, » the voice responded to your thoughts, because apparently your inner monologue was now a soliloquy for demons! « If thou art willing, there is a request I wouldst ask of thee. »

“Wait, wait a minute,” you backpedaled. “Look, buddy, I have no idea what’s going on. Am I going crazy? I must be. I’m hearing a voice in my head and talking to myself.” You laughed because what else were you going to do? Not act like a person in a movie would when you’re trying to come off as a quote unquote ‘normal person’ to this demon-ghost dude? Like, yeah, sure, you talk to yourself all the time; that’s normal. For you, anyway. But this guy who speaks in old-timey Shakespearian would probably think you’re a weirdo and would then possess your body so they could ‘besmirch your family name’ or whatever petty things medieval demons did for revenge.

…actually, demons supposedly do stuff with souls don’t they? Or do they actually? You had your little foray into demonology once, but who knows if any of that was true. Maybe they were just some really cool guys who had horns and the old men didn’t like that so they wrote propaganda or something– ‘wait, fuck, I’m in the middle of a conversation–’

“O-Ok, (y/n), no more late-night horror for you—you know it always gives you nightmares, and now they’ve started seeping into the land of the living since you’re sleep deprived.” You say, totally acting like an absolutely normal person who is definitely not a character in a badly written horror movie.

« I assure thee, thou art of good health, thy mind included, » they spoke again, intent on dissipating your perfect facade. Were they onto you? « I only ask of thee to first hear mine plea. »

“…Fuck it, whatever. Go ahead.” You sat down, violin hugged tight to your chest. You were getting tired of masking, and since they could apparently hear your inner monologue, they had probably figured out by now that you were faking it, if your bad acting wasn’t already a dead giveaway, so you might as well let this whole thing play out.

You’re a bit disappointed in your bad acting though. You had prepared and meticulously calculated and acted out so many scenarios that your anxiety-riddled mind came up with, so many worse case scenarios, and had practiced in your head how you would react to them. You had practiced practically everything except for getting haunted by a friendly demon who has a request for you. You always seem to freeze up when it matters most.

A sigh of slight disappointment, though not malicious, came from the voice, « ‘Twould seem thou still hast thy doubts, yet I thank thee all the same, » a pause… and then they speak again, « I am knownst as Astaroth, a demon lord of the Abyss. I have cometh to thee in search of aid for thou hast magickal potential untapped and untampered, and thou hast not been influenced by an other entity. »

“Okay, maou* stuff, classic anime, gotcha,” you nodded, playing along with whatever Astaroth said.

« I knoweth not what thou speakest of, but mineself senseths no hostility, so I shall taketh thy words as positive. »

“Cool.” You cross your legs and wait, but he doesn’t continue. ‘Fuck, do I have to be an active participant?’ You clear your throat. “So, what didja wanna ask me?”

« I require’st thine aid in—Zshaa!»  They interrupted themselves mid-sentence with a surprised and desperate shout, a sound reminiscent of a crash of a violent wave.

The air in front of you rippled and you froze, a scream stuck in your throat as the space in front of you tore open to reveal a velvety black.  

‘Oh god, I’ve insulted the abyss demon by engaging in the conversation and now he’s going to eat me! He’s gonna eat me and I’m not even into vore!’

‘This is why we don’t try to act like an extrovert, me!’ You spit at yourself with venom in your pronoun.

‘Well I’m sorry, other me!’ You remind yourself that as one person, me, myself, and I all refer to you. ‘What were we supposed to do? Just bare our entire soul the ghost-demon lord, who is a stranger I might add, as if we were close friends? NO! What? No!’

‘Yeah, no, you’re right. We’re right. That was the best choice. Maybe we’ll like getting vored more than we think?’ Your mind supplies with a hopefully, shaky tone of someone who didn’t believe their own words.

You give an unimpressed look at yourself with your imaginary eyes in your mind.

‘Yeah, no, I realized how stupid that sounded as soon as I thought it.’

« Quick—! » The voice was barely able to shout out a single syllable before it was abruptly cut off at the same time a giant tentacle emerged from the dimensional rip. You pressed yourself against the back of your chair and opened your mouth to scream as it shot towards you.

“UwaAAAHHH! Not vore! That’s not vore! That is decidedly not vore! I don’t wanna be a hentai protagonist; No–!”

Everything went dark.

You awoke to the feeling of your mind being pulled at, an unnatural force compelling you to wake. It was a sensation unlike anything you had experienced before. It felt as if your brain got whiplashed while your body held still, with a pinpoint headache forming at the center of your forehead.

‘If this is what it feels like to open your third eye, then I think I’d like to close it. I can do without being able to see fae.’

This was your first thought as you were forced to consciousness, your eyelids flickering open, lacking the usual heaviness felt when being woken up.

‘…why is there a person-sized Cthulhu in front of me? And why aren’t they green?’

Your second thought was about this strange creature in front of you, slate-purple in color with four tentacles in place of a mouth. ‘Wait, is Cthulhu even supposed to be green? I guess I just always assumed. Maybe they’re not.’ You watched in morbid curiosity as the Cthulhu-minor, as opposed to Cthulhu-major, raised its four-digit hand and reached out towards you.

‘Is Cthulhu asking for an E.T. moment? Are they saying it was okay that I mistook them for having been green this whole time and we’re trying to bond over an accepted apology for an apology I never made? Well, far be it from me to deny him… that is what they do in E.T. though, right? I dunno, I’ve never actually seen the movie. I’m pretty sure it’s the touching fingers thing like that renaissance piece.’

You tried to raise your hand, but found it trapped underneath something. Attempting to look down and see what held your hand hostage was met with failure as your head was suddenly snapped back up to face the creature head on. You tried to look around in a bit of a panic, not understanding why your body was being pulled around, but you couldn’t move your head– your eyes darted to and fro to compensate, but you couldn’t see much besides the creature. That panic increased tenfold as you watched the Cthulhu hold up a pale, fleshy, leech-like creature and slowly bring it towards your face. You tried to back up against the odd-textured surface behind you—solid in some places and squishy in others.

‘Ew, ew, ew, ew, gross, gross, gross, gross!’

 You tried to close your eyes, but they wouldn’t listen to you. They were being held open as the undulating invertebrate came closer, closing in on your eye.  You could see it clearly: tentacles sprouting from what you could only call its lips, serrated teeth forming a circle within its mouth, a high-pitched screech growing louder as it came nearer. You couldn’t tell if the screech was from it or if it was from you. Frozen in place, you could only watch as it leapt forward, grasping your eye.

You can’t recall what happened after that, now finding yourself spread out on the ground in such a way you wouldn’t have been surprised if there was a chalk outline around you, the beginnings of a migraine forming behind your eyes. You sit up slowly, legs bent and splayed to your sides, hand resting on the floor in front of you. You stare ahead blankly, looking but not truly seeing what’s in front of you, your vision not focusing, not that you even tried to do so yet. Your mind was still busy waiting for its own dial-up tone to end so that you could reconnect to your thoughts. You sit there in silence, minutes passing by, all sounds around you muffled to complete unintelligibility. 

“…What the fuck,” you shakily whisper, but no one was around to hear it.

Your senses slowly come back to you, letting you begin to process all the stimuli assaulting you. It was warm—hot— sweltering in the dimly lit room, like the most uncomfortable sauna ever made. The sound of roaring wind, explosions, and actual roaring of some kind of creatures can be heard through the walls, interrupted by rumbling roars and quick, intermittent explosions. The walls and floors are all slightly squishy and sometimes they pulse a little bit, as if it were alive and breathing like some kind of creature.

« …ng one? Young one, art thou able to hear mine voice? » You hear the warm voice of Astaroth, the only thing that’s at least slightly familiar right now.

“Astaroth?” You weakly ask. “Is that you? Wha-what’s going on? Am I dead? Or am I alive but currently vored? Or maybe about to come to the horrifying truth that I’ve become a hentai protagonist– namely the woman’s role in a tentacle monster episode?”

You hear a sigh filled with relief and guilt pass through your mind. « With great shame, I must apologize to thee, young one, » his voice is low, sad, and filled with utmost remorse. « ’Twould appear that mine defenses were lacking, for a nautiloid breached mine channel and hadst used it to taketh thee. Thou art in a different realm, connected to a material world far removed from thine own. »

“I’m what?” ‘A different realm? A material world? What the fuck is happening? Oh dear lord I got isekai’d to a tentacle hentai world, didn’t I?! Nope! NO! I don’t wanna!’ You glance over the dark room you find yourself in, trying to discern what exactly happened. You see your violin and bow scattered across the floor, both close enough for you to reach over and grab. You hold your instrument close and move your legs to sit criss-cross as Astaroth continues to speak.

« …I am truly sorry, young one. More needs be discussed betwixt us, yet that must wait for a later time. I senseth the approach of three beings whose intentions I knoweth not. » He pauses for a brief second before taking on a serious tone, not unlike one of a commander. 

« Unto thee I swear this: For as long as thou art willing, I shall protect thee as I can until the time hast come when thou mayst pact with mineself. On mine name and on mine honor, I commit to this oath. » His tone then returns to a much softer one, gentler than anything else you’ve heard from him. « ’Tis mine own fault thou art in this predicament. I shall aid thee. Thou wilt not be bound to fulfill mine request, though I hope thou shalt consider it once there is time laid before us to allowest conversation. »

“I—I still don’t really know what’s going on, but thank you, Astaroth,” you can feel yourself begin to smile, “I’ll put my trust in you.” The brief thought that you might be feeling the beginnings of some kind of stockholm syndrome passed through your head, but you quickly pushed it away. ‘I need all the help I can get right now. We can think about all that emotional unpacking and critical thinking or whatever later.’

You feel a gentle warmth bloom throughout your body, starting at your sternum. This warmth is pleasant despite the boiling air of the room trying its hardest to steam you like a pork bun.

« Of course, young one. Now be on thy guard. The three of whomst I hadst spoken of have arrived. »

You nod and stand up on shaky legs with the constitution of a newborn fawn, the ground also very warm beneath your sock-clad feet; it seems your kidnappers weren’t kind enough to get you some shoes. Afterall, you weren’t a heathen who wore shoes around their house, so naturally you weren’t wearing any when you were kidnapped. Now you seem like the dumb one. Maybe those mud-trackers were onto something, always prepared for aliens to invade at any time.

 ‘Okay… You can do this, (y/n). You’ve got a demon lord in your corner, and a….’ You look at your violin you were clutching close to your chest by its neck in one hand and bow in the other. ‘A pokey stick…’ you adjust your grip to  hold your bow like a rapier. “...and a,” you wince, “a bludgeoning weapon…“ You flip your grip on your precious delicate instrument to hold it like a club. It hurts your soul in an indescribable way, but if you have to do it, you will… will you have enough guts to hurt your beloved? …OH well, guess you’ll find out when–if! If the time comes. Your bow, on the other hand, isn’t as important, much more easily replaceable. While you really don’t want to damage it, if it means you can poke that squid-face’s eye out with it, then so be it.

Across the room, the sphincter-like portal opens by twisting apart from the center. The motion and sound of it combined with its design made you want to retch. ‘Oh fuck that’s disgusting and is only further proving that I might have been right with the vore theory…’ You pause. That door plus the surprisingly fleshy interior of the room make it feel like you’re inside something that is very much alive. ‘Wait… was I actually vored?! what the fuck, fate? I was joking!’  More light filtered in as the door fully opened, just enough so you could clearly see the finer details of your surroundings. Three humanoid figures entered, weapons drawn—well, one of them just held their fists up but to each their own. 

Then, you get a good look at them.

By the gods, they were beautiful. 

Three gorgeous femme figures: A pale one with dark hair tied high in a long braid, one red-haired and green-skinned with black markings, not human but you shouldn’t be surprised after seeing a Cthulhu-type creature earlier, and finally a purple elf with hair white as snow,  hanging down her back in a thick braid, the length great enough to reach the back of her knees.

‘A generic “evil-ified” elf version of Snow White, huh? Normally I wouldn’t complain but that washed-out blue and yellow outfit she’s wearing is awful.’

Your appreciation (and unappreciation for the outfit) is sadly cut short when they point their weapons, or fists, courtesy of the goth Disney teen’s OC, at you. Violin and bow still held tightly, you immediately give up on the notion of fighting and raise your hands to the sides of your head: the universal sign of surrendering, or at least you hope it will translate as such in this different realm. Then the purple elf speaks. It’s a language unknown to you, its syllables filled with as many consonants as seemingly possible, including sounds you aren’t even sure your mouth can make. To be fair, it’s a bit hard to hear with the constant roaring of whatever else is happening on the other side of the wall. You stare, eyes wide open and flickering between the three of them.

“Uhhhhh…”

 « Ah, yes, I hadst almost forgotten. This may feeleth a bit strange to thee, but it shall allow for you to understand the tongues of this world and its realms, to an extent, » Astaroth said, though it seemed the people in front of you couldn’t hear his voice, or they at least made no indication of hearing him. You feel a gentle touch to your temples, that same comfortable warmth you felt earlier spreading throughout your head and easing the small migraine to nothingness.

You see the elf, who you’ve now unfortunately nicknamed Fashion Disaster, open her mouth again before you flinch at a sharp pain in your mind in the same place as the migraine you had just been relieved of. You see flashes of one of those tentacled beings putting a leech in the green one’s eye before floating over to do the same to you. A shiver crawls up your spine, the sight predictably giving you the heebie-jeebies. ‘Eugh, gross.’  Yeah, that is you from a third person perspective! Oh wow, you looked exhausted. Did you look that exhausted when you were at home? No, surely not! Right? Right. …But wait, that means that weird leech thing was inside your head!  Great, so not only were you vored, you had something with sharp teeth stuck in your head! Well, either way, these aren’t your memories, so maybe you should focus on that now. You open your eyes, not realizing you had even closed them, and see all the women clutching their heads, wincing in the same way you are.

“Looks like you’re in the same boat as us,” Fashion Disaster says, seemingly trying to smile, though it ends up looking more like a grimace. 

Your eyes widen a bit, amazed that you can understand her. You can still hear her speaking that odd language, but it is almost like it’s being automatically translated in your head with about a one second delay, you want to say.

“First things first, we need to get to the helm to get off this ship,” she continues. “You should join us. We infected should stick together, don’t you think?” She smiles kindly at you.

“Chk! We cannot afford to pick up any more strays, istik!” The green one, sounding very annoyed, directs her gaze to the Fashion Disaster.

‘Ah, so she’s green for a reason– grumpy like the Grinch and Shrek. Now which one do we call her?’

“More allies means more firepower, right?” Fashion Disaster tries to placate her.

‘Maybe we call her Oscar? Like the grouch? Or maybe Perry the Platypus at Home. Discount Perry for short.’

“Hmph. This one looks pitiful. If they fall behind we leave them. I have no interest in the weak,” she turns around after spewing some harsh words at you. “We have no time to waste. We must get to the bridge now!”

‘...You know what. I was gonna go with Grave Digger, but just for that I’m calling her Raphael since he’s the worst turtle of the bunch and some day I’m gonna trick her into unironically saying “cowabunga” in everyday sentences. Wait, no better idea, let’s call her Cowabunger. Hell yeah, me, we are so good at nicknames.’’

As the green one starts to walk out of the room, Fashion Disaster(FD) smiles sheepishly at you while the ravenette, who shall henceforth be known as Hot Topic Wannabe, stares at you, appraising you, with arms crossed. 

“Ah, don’t mind Lae’zel,” FD says, “I’m sure she just stressed. We don’t want to get left behind, so let’s get going, yeah?”

“Oh, uh sure. Yeah,” you clumsily agree and step towards her.

She gives you a confused look but shrugs it off in favor of following the one you now know as Lae’zel, but are still going to call Cowabunger. Hot Topic Wannabe eyes you one last time before joining her. You quickly fall into step beside them, the three of you trailing behind Cowabunger.

« Looks like you’re able to understand them now. I am most glad. » Astaroth speaks in what you presume to be his native tongue. His language is beautiful, sounding like softly droning ocean waves. « I’m afraid I was unable to, for a lack of a better term, import the ability to speak these languages into your mind. It is much more difficult to implant such finite muscle memory paired alongside their respective reverse-translation routes. » He hummed in thought, « This will take some time for me to formulate but I will grant you the ability to speak common as soon as possible. »

‘Ok, cool, but a quick question. Why did your speech pattern suddenly change?’ You ask him. You weren’t really paying that much attention to what he was saying in favor of adjusting to the sudden change in grammar.

« I’m a bit embarrassed to say this but my knowledge of your language is a bit outdated. fHow I spoke to you is the most recent knowledge of your tongue I have, » he explains, sounding a tad sheepish. « If you would allow me to look into your mind, I could begin to compile an updated vernacular. »

‘As long as it doesn’t hurt, then sure, knock yourself out.’

« Thank you. Hopefully this will help quicken my composition process to allow you to speak freely. But for now, I’ve been seeing that drow stealing glances at you. » You turn your head to see what he’s talking about and sure enough FD’s looking at you, and you end up meeting the drow’s eyes. « I’ll leave you to speak, or well, listen to your new companion. Fret not, though, I’ll be here should you need me. »

…Yeah, looking at her now, you really should have put two and two together to realize she’s a drow. Let’s just say you didn’t want to assume it wasn’t just some super elaborate cosplay. Yeah, perfect.

Locking gazes with the drow seemed to be all the permission she needed to strike up a conversation with you. “Well, I think some introductions are in order. As I said before, that’s Lae’zel,” she pointed to Cowabunger. “The quiet one is Shadowheart,” she gestures towards HT Wannabe this time, “and you can call me Tav.” She smiles at you, “and what about you? What’s your name?”

“…(y/n).” It’s just your name, so you shouldn’t need to rely on a translator, right?

“Huh, never heard that one before,” Tav taps her bottom lip once. “Exotic! I like it!”

Tav was very… upbeat considering the whole ‘getting vored from both inside and out’ situation and had been using a friendly tone you know all too well. How could you not recognize it when you had perfected that same tone and had been using it for years? Even across worlds and in an alien language, the customer service voice is always the same.

“Silence your mindless chatter!” Cowabunger shuts down your introductions, sadly not with her signature hearty cry of ‘cowabunga’. “The bridge is just up ahead.”

*maou: Japanese demon king/demon lord. A classic character you’ll find in lots of Japanese media. Hello, yes, hi, it’s me, an avid consumer of isekai.

Speech key:

« Astaroth »

(“Tadpole talk”)

‘Thoughts’ - can be to self or Astaroth, depending on context

“Spoken aloud”

[Approximate sign language]