Tov - Trying_to_do_good - Baldur's Gate (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1: Chapter One

Chapter Text

“To shreds you say?” The words echo from the space I seem to occupy. I am nothing but a blue, shimmering glow, floating benignly before a seated illithid.

The sunless sky of an alien universe around me is brightly lit with an untold number of galaxies and stars. We are both perched upon a giant bone fragment, a once living asteroid, floating quietly amidst the infinities.

The seated illithid regards me with interest, a novel enrichment that has been tossed into its enclosure. Its wet, purple eyes seem to calculate every possible topic of conversation available to us before inclining its head slightly.

“Yes. To shreds, I'm afraid. It was strange to see celestials tear at the flesh of a mortal so wildly. It's a wonder that your soul was still intact to rescue at all.” It says curiously. It slowly stands to its full height, as if a sudden movement might blow me away. Its tentacles undulate calmly in the silence of vast space. “Do you remember what you had done to invoke the ire of such a… diverse group of divine beings?”

My soul flickers like a flame while I think, dimming and brightening, but never fading.

“Not that I know of? I honestly didn't even know that multiple gods existed at all. Could that have been what upset them?” I ask.

Before it can answer, I continue my string of questions: “Am I dead? Is this Purgatory?” My voice sounds hollow and distant. It's strange.

There is silence between us as the creature considers my words.

“I am unfamiliar with this term. What we stand in now is the Astral Plane. And what you are, currently, is a disembodied soul.”

“Multiple Gods and the Astral Plane ?” I repeat absently. “That all sounds familiar. It reminds me of a game I used to play…” I try to focus, to remember the game, but a lifetime of memories captures my attention instead. It’s all too overwhelming to comprehend, like being frozen by electricity as it burns and suffocates you.

I want to move. With just this thought, my soul is quickly sent to hover to and fro around the edges of the asteroid, ‘pacing’, as I juggle and sort through my out-of-order memories.

“Game?” the word comes out grating and dangerous, as if the tentacled figure were insulted.

Not that I have to worry about the creature being a danger to me. With no body attached to the physical world, I don’t even feel the chill of this perpetual night, let alone the fear of insulting an illithid.

What threat was murder to someone possibly dead, anyway?

I pay it no mind, and retreat into my memories, trying to slow and speed through them, putting them in order from start to… finish?

The illithid slows the twisting of its tentacles and switches its conversation style.

“Let us introduce ourselves.” it says smoothly, mimicking a human-like charm. “I have been called the Emperor in the past, and I quite like this title. What shall I call you, my friend?”

The Emperor? The Emperor? I rotate myself to absorb the entire scene that I have found myself in. Gods. The Astral Plane. The Emperor. All clues point to me being inside of a particular video game that I had played a long time ago when I was- wait. How old am I? What year is it?

“So… I'm dead, or maybe I’m dying?” I say flatly, trying to think through the situation logically. I might have wept at the realization of being dead if I’d had any eyes to cry from. “Hm… But I still don’t know why I’m here . Here here, you know? Do you know how it happened? Do you know where my family is? Can I get back to them from this place?”

I'm sure this flurry of questions is standard when one realizes they're dead, or dying. But even so, I can't help but ask, even if it is to a videogame character. Although, it is odd that it is this particular character that I am speaking to, of all of the ones available in the game.

The Emperor continues to regard me stoically, unmoved by the intensity of my worry.

It tries another approach. “Was there any pain, as the divine beings pulled you apart?” It asks curiously.

I feel disgust at the thought of my poor old body being shredded to pieces. Why would the Emperor ask me something like that? What would it matter if I were to say yes or no? I mean, I don't know if the answer is yes or no, but that's hardly the point.

I search my memories, hoping to sift out the most recent ones. Honestly, despite the mystery of my life's end, I feel like this is the most lucid I’ve been in years.

“I don't-I don't think so.” I say with great patience. “The last thing I truly remember is… coughing? A lot of coughing. It f*cking hurt. But then, it didn't. Could that be how I died?”

“It is… a possibility,” The Emperor concedes as it floats over to me. “but not a certainty. The next logical question would be: how was your body abducted in the first place?”

I'd shrug my shoulders if I had any. I wait for the mindflayer to continue but the Emperor is like a statue to my wordless thought. I suppose it can't understand the body language of a bodyless soul.

“I’ve no idea.” I reply.

An untold amount of time passes between us as silence wraps itself around our different forms. We are both withdrawn deep into our thoughts and memories, meditating.

“Perhaps, you can find out.” the Emperor suggests seductively, startling me from my recollections.

“I can help you find answers.” it says. “But I'd need your help in return.”

Oh boy. I remember this part. Making deals with the Emperor always came with strings, plus a nefarious hidden ulterior motive.

“Sorry. I can't help you.” I declare, retreating back into myself, going back to replaying and organizing my memories of living. Warmth, comfort, and laughter seem to echo across my lifetime. They are preferable company.

Silence and time passes between us like a dirge. The Emperor is the first to start another conversation.

“It might be possible to return you to your own world.” it says thoughtfully. “You'd only need to piece your old body back together, in order to make the journey.”

“But you said,” I say, pulling myself out of my soul mind. “that my body was torn to shreds.”

Facial features of mind flayers are hard to read, but the Emperor looks terribly pleased.

“It would be a simple act of putting the pieces back together, in the correct order. Like solving a puzzle.” it cajoles.

I huff. I’m not sure if souls can huff, but I do so anyway.

“That's not how bodies, or puzzles, work.” I say flippantly. I know about human anatomy, extensively. And I know about the Emperor, extensively. It would say anything and everything to accomplish its own self serving goals.

“Perhaps not in your world.” The Emperor relents. “But in this universe, almost nothing is impossible. In fact, it is quite likely that the divine beings that tore your flesh apart will still have the pieces with them. Preserved for their own purposes, of course.”

Oof. My one weakness: a thorough knowledge of in-game lore. I am unable to tell if this information is a lie, or not.

And… I can't help but be tempted. The thought of going home , and once again partaking in all the joys that my old life had to offer, instead of being stuck here, alone, with the Emperor.

What harm could it do to just hear the mind flayer’s pitch?

“And for your help, what would you want in return?” I say tentatively. “I have no money, influence, or power to pay you with.”

The Emperor looks away from me, stroking its tentacles as if it were a beard. “I cannot leave this part of the Astral Plane.” it starts, dramatically portraying itself as a captive hero. “but you can. If I help you leave this place, then I'd like you to investigate a mysterious illithid colony that serves an abnormal ruler.”

“An elder brain.” I correct absently.

The Emperor stiffens. Its tentacles begin to coil manically.

Oh. sh*t. I shouldn't have said that. I should not have said that. Revealing that I know any details of this story is probably a bad thing.

“Precisely.” The mindflayer says quietly, dangerously. “If you can infiltrate the colony and uncover the source of the mysterious power that this Elder Brain possesses, I can provide you with a temporary body in which to traverse the material plane and find your original form.”

The Emperor makes both of these tasks sound so simple. And perhaps, in its advanced mind, they are. But I have my doubts. I say so out loud and move to dismiss his offer again.

"The Elder Brain could bring death and destruction upon the entirety of Faerun, my home.” the Emperor continues, slathering my soul with guilt. “You would be saving not just my life, but that of every soul, both young and old, in our entire world. You would be a Hero.”

Oh f*ck. That's a LOT of pressure.

And it's not like I'm necessarily needed to stop the Elder Brain. There's already a whole team of people written out to save the realm. The Emperor already has them picked out, or it will soon enough. Plus, there’s no way I could possibly aid them in any way. I'd be, at best, a side character, or at worst, a liability. I could never forgive myself if someone got hurt because I was stupid enough to try and help.

“I am no ‘Hero’.” I scoff. “And those guys will be just fine without me.”

I retreat back into my memories of the game. I can see it now, everyone traveling the Sword Coast, fighting, f*cking, and having a proper fantasy adventure before saving the world in their own unique way.

“Is that what this ‘Game’ has shown you?” The Emperor inquires. Its violet, violent eyes glaring at my soul. “Is there absolutely nothing that could go wrong?”

I refocus on the mindflayer, and hesitate.

There's actually a lot that could go wrong during this adventure. People could get hurt, or worse; people I like or had learned to love in this universe could die .

That doesn't sit right with me. If I am able, I should do everything in my power to protect them, right?

Then again, this is the Emperor. Its own goals would only align with mine for so long. If I make a deal with it now, when will it eventually betray me? Could it betray me? I already know how to beat it from the game. But I guess, knowing and doing are two entirely different things.

The logical question should be: could I actually improve this world if I agree to join it, even temporarily?

There are so many benefits and drawbacks to a decision like this. I wish that I could write up a pros and cons list!

The light that I emit spasms with conflict.

“Time is short.” The Emperor presses. “There are only so many bodies available to me. If you choose to join me, now is the moment.”

I don’t know what to do. This feels wrong.

The Emperor whirls around, holding its clawed hands to its head as psionic energy warps the very space around its skull. “It has begun.The first casualties of this war have already occured. You must choose to join me. NOW!” It urges loudly.

“sh*t!” I shout. My soul flickers and flashes as I panic. I'm no good at dealing with timed decisions! My wife knows that better than anyone!

“Alright, fine! Fine! I'll look into the Elder Brain.” I cry, flitting about the Emperor desperately. “Just help me bring about the best ending and get me my body back!”

The Emperor slows its movements, concentrating on something outside of the Astral Plane.

“I can offer you the body of a powerful human wizard. He might be the best for bringing about this ‘best ending’.” the Emperor suggests, curling a clawed hand near its exposed brain. “Or perhaps a prized Githyanki fighter?”

Is it… is it talking about Gale and Lae'zel?

“Absolutely f*cking not!” I shout, coming to hover as close as possible to the Emperor’s tentacled face. “I will not take the body of any of the companions you've already chosen. Not ever!”

The Emperor leans its head back, as if to look down on me, before shifting its focus inward again.

“What about someone tall and strong?” I ramble, hovering towards the space where its ear should be. “People respect the authority of tall and strong people! Or a gnome? Everyone likes gnomes!”

“You can have an adult male, or an adult female.” the Emperor snaps, its patience gone.

I hesitate once more, quivering and flickering like a bomb.

“Can you- can you guarantee that I'm not hurting anyone by taking this body?” I ask desperately.

The Emperor groans, as if in physical pain. From talking with me, or from concentrating on the material plane, it’s hard to say.

“Any body that you use has had its ceremorphosis partially arrested, the soul is already gone. Now, you must choose. Will you join me? Or will you watch the Sword Coast burn?”

I twist in agitation. Feelings of guilt and the weight of responsibility threaten to crush the light that I seem to produce.

“Female.” I say finally. “I want to be a girl.”

Chapter 2: Chapter Two

Chapter Text

Without ceremony, the Emperor shoves my soul through a crack in the Astral Plane. The contrast of being able to perceive the light of a thousand galaxies in all directions, to experiencing intense, pitch black darkness is a shock. It feels like I’ve been thrown into a sack.

Then within that darkness, I start to feel.

I feel the edges of my new body as it is rattled about in a mind flayer pod. I feel the unnerving warmth of illithid technology holding me in place no matter how much I struggle. I feel the caustic fumes of burning metal and alien fluids in my throat and it makes me cough. Smoke stings my eyes as I open them to a world both foreign and familiar to me.

I am on an alien vessel, soaring through the skies. There is a hole in the wall of the ship, and the head of a great red dragon is slithering inside. It hisses out a stream of noxious gas and sets it ablaze, lighting up a pool of illithid parasites in the center of the room. The pool explodes.

The rattling of the ship evolves into an uncontrolled shuddering, and suddenly the dragon retreats, disappearing into the white sky. In a dizzying flash, the blizzard outside is replaced with blood-red clouds smelling of sulfur and brimstone.

The explosion of the pool has broken the restraints of my pod. All I have to do is twist and I’ll be free.

There’s a desperate grunt from across the room and my heart stops. Lae’zel of creche K’liir frees herself from her own mind flayer pod and drops to the floor. She is shaken. And angry.

She stumbles and crawls to the hole in the ship. Her face is shocked at the pure chaos and malice that seems to permeate the air itself here. The shock is forcefully swept from her face, replaced with the mask of battle. She snarls, trying to force strength and energy back into her limbs. She turns and trots away, exiting through a sphincter in the opposite wall, never sparing a thought to look back for other survivors in the room.

That’s fine by me. I wouldn’t know what to do if she had seen me anyway. I’m still getting used to feeling again. My body, while new to me, feels really new. The stiffness and pains I remember from my old life aren’t here anymore. It's… different.

I struggle fiercely against my restraints and, like Lae’zel, I break free and fall to the ground.

I gasp as I hit the floor, a fresh pain to experience. I try to stand quickly and wobble on my feet. Everything is different. My strength is gone. I’m taller and somehow smaller than how I used to be, and everything around me feels menacing.

Fear stiffens my limbs, keeping me from falling over as screams of the armies of the damned cry out from the giant hole in the wall. If I want to not-die, I need to move. I force one foot forward. Then the other.

I have to start the Game. I have to make sure everyone gets their best ending.

My skull seems to burst with pressure as my parasite begins to vibrate.

“Welcome to Faerun.” the voice of the Emperor says against my brain. “I will do what I can to aid you from the Astral Plane, but you must keep your knowledge of your ‘Game’ a secret. I cannot protect you if someone here were to take advantage of your foreknowledge.”

I press a hand to my forehead, trying to relieve the pressure. “Fine.” I grit out.

With the verbal agreement sealed, my parasite stills and the presence of the Emperor slips away from my mind.

Another explosion, and I stumble to the ground. I look up and find myself staring into the broken pod that had been next to mine. A charred corpse is frozen mid scream inside. Looking around the room, I note a terrifying stillness amongst all of the other pods.

There are no other survivors here.

An unknown meal churns in my stomach and chills run down my back. I need to leave this place. I follow Lae’zel’s path and the sphincter opens wetly, like a perverse automatic door. A vast empty laboratory lies before me. The entire opposite wall is missing and the smell of an open, fleshy wound assaults my nostrils.

What was I supposed to do in here again?

I walk forward, trying to orient myself. A short, ugly corpse lying on a table nearby startles me. It’s an abducted goblin. I know I’m supposed to loot it, but I can’t bring myself to walk any closer to its foul, warty body. It smells like it’s still warm.

I trudge forward. Glittering metal tablets on a desk nearby catch my eye. The language is unreadable to me. I reach out absently and touch the glowing lines of a tablet. Instantly, information floods my senses and I gasp. Everything written on the tablet is now written in my mind, permanently. A fancy trick, if it wasn’t so terribly invasive.

Against the rumble of the chaos outside, a small child’s voice cries out within the great hall. I whip my head around, panicked.

Another survivor? I don’t remember that in the game! But if they need my help, obviously I have to go to them, that’s why I’m here!

“Hello? I’m-I’m here! Where are you?” I shout in an unfamiliar voice. I cough, rubbing my thin throat with an uncallused hand. This body feels dangerously untrained.

The voice cries out again from a floor higher up. I jog along the edge of the second story, searching for access. I find two options: a platform with an orange globe sticking up from the ground that sits attractively in the center of the room, and an actively burning pile of rubble that slopes gently upwards near the hole in the side of the nautiloid. I try the platform first.

I poke, press, and squeeze the globe, but the platform never moves. Is it broken? I clench my fist and punch the globe with all of my strength. Instead of moving or breaking it, my wrist and elbow bend awkwardly. f*ck. I am weaker than weak.

“Help us!” The voice calls again.

Frantically, I jog to the burning rubble and try picking my way through the diced chunks of ship. Bits of my exposed flesh are singed as I scramble my way up to the second floor.

Panting, I look around for movement. “I’m here! I can help you.” I yell, waving my arm up for anyone to see me. Everything is still. My eyes pick out another body in the eerie glow of the ship, limp against a reclined seat. Was I too late?

“We are here.” The child says from the seat.

Oh. It’s them. Or should I say, it’s ‘Us’. I remember Us now; a trapped fledgling intellect-devourer, that a player could choose to help or abandon on their way through the ship.

Us always helped me when I played the game, and in this new world, it would be nice to have an ally right off the bat. I approach the body optimistically.

“We are here, and we need your help.” Us repeats urgently. I can see it now, a massive brain squirming against the confines of a dead man’s skull.

It is revolting. My body shivers and bile builds at the back of my throat. Every muscle in my body rejects helping this thing. It wants to flee.

“Please. Free Us.” Us asks again, gently, innocently.

I grimace and swallow my nausea. Us needs my help, and I can help them. I just need to do it, even if it feels terribly wrong.

I step forward and reach into the head, carefully separating the membrane of Us from the inner skull. Like removing the skin from a chicken for dinner.

The bulbous brain pops free and rests for a moment in my hands. Winner winner, chicken dinner.

I place Us on the ground as carefully and as quickly as I can. I wipe the blood and mucus from my hands onto my grimy pants. This body was nearing its limit of gore tolerance. I don’t know what would happen if I were to surpass it. Would I lose control of it completely, I wonder?

Convulsing on the ground, Us grows four clawed legs and five antennae. It thanks me and repeats familiar directions. “We need to go to the helm because the helm is where we are needed!” It was almost cute, despite being what it was.

I turn to make my way to the helm, but Us keeps crying. Requesting help to go to the helm. That’s odd. Doesn’t it know that that’s what I want to do? Can't it read my thoughts? Do I have to say it outloud?

“Let’s go to the helm together.” I say with my new voice.

Us practically prances on its squat legs, and follows closely as we make our way down the broken, burning incline to the first floor.

I have to exit through the gaping hole in the wall now. I look down on Avernus, and I see tiny bodies moving against the dark red ground from over a thousand feet up. They look like bugs from up here. There’s another quake on the ship and I can barely keep my balance. The thought of falling from this height freezes my legs to the spot.

Us questions my hesitation, encourages me to keep moving, keeps calling me ‘friend’ over and over again. I can't let it down. I focus on the intellect devourer, on how its gnarled alien claws crawl across the floor. I take similarly small steps in order to move forward.

We make our way slowly along the outside of the ship, climbing organic webbing and skirting more burning debris.

There’s a roar from the sky and a dragon shoots past. The air pounds against me like wakes against the shore. I look up against the pressure and see the shine of silver armor and green skin soaring above me. A githyanki warrior has spotted me, and is coming to attack.

When they land, a familiar face glares at me. Despite her previous weakness, Lae’zel raises a steel longsword to my throat with ease. Her yellow eyes are frenzied, and her face curves into a malicious grin. Every inch of her is unearthly, hostile, and tense.

She is magnificent.

“Hta’zith, thrall!” She screams, her grip tightening around her sword. She is about to strike a killing blow, but the space around us bends, and something deep within my skull begins to squirm.

We both groan in pain as our parasites aggressively wriggle, communicating by mentally rubbing against one another. Lae’zel’s memories are thrust, uninvited, into my brain. They are overwhelming to experience.

She had been out on patrol when an ancient mind flayer ship had appeared and captured her. A cowardly ghaik had then infected her with a fatal parasite, the worst possible death imaginable to her people. Her only goal now, before her life became forfeit, was to kill as many ghaik and their thralls as possible.

In her eyes, I had been one such thrall.

“You. You are infected, but you are no thrall.” Lae’zel breathes, lowering her sword.

The ship shudders beneath our feet and the roar of the creatures of Avernus fills our ears. Us excitedly encourages Lae’zel to join our party, for we are all needed at the helm.

“This creature believes us to be allies. Good. We can use that.” Lae’zel says, looking to an opening in the side of the ship. “We must leave this place. The helm is our only chance for escape. Hurry!”

She leads us into the belly of the ship.

Our path is immediately interrupted by three flying imps, feasting on the bodies of mind flayers and abducted citizens alike.

“Kill them quickly, istik!” Lae’zel shouts, taking aim at the nearest imp.

I remember this scene. I know what I need to do to win this battle and how I must do it. Unfortunately, I can’t move an inch.

In this moment, I am made painfully aware of how very unprepared this body is; it came with no weapons, no armor, not even claws like Us to defend itself with.

In any form of combat, I’m f*cked.

An imp locks its glowing eyes with me and screeches. Adrenaline courses through me. There’s only one thing I can do.

I run, dodging the imp’s claws as it chases me around the hall.

“This is no time to toy with your enemy!” Lae’zel calls, making her first kill before moving on to a second.

“I don’t know how to fight!” I yell back, panting and gasping as I run for dear life.

Lae’zel curses in frustration. Guilt racks my heart. More than anything, I hadn’t wanted to be a burden to these characters, and right off the bat I’m already weighing them down.

“Friend! Does Friend need help from Us?” I hear from across the room.

I had forgotten about our intellect-devourer ally. “Yes!” I cry, kicking myself for my panic induced stupidity. “Yes, use your claws on this imp!” I pivot, nearly slipping in a mysterious fluid that might have been blood. I run towards Us, the flying imp right on my heels.

Us and Lae’zel each make quick work of their individual enemies. The hall is finally quiet, cleared of all its Hellish enemies.

I am gasping for air as we regroup.

Lae’zel scowls at my form and takes the lead to leave the hall. If we hadn't been in such a hurry, she might have had more time to be disgusted with me.

Our exit is through another sphincter. The room we enter is in a central, undamaged part of the ship. It’s quieter in here, creepier. We walk forward slowly, taking in the glow of illithid technology against clouded, empty mind flayer pods.

Well, almost empty.

There, at the edge of the circle, is someone banging on the inside of their pod, yelling with all of their might.

I run past a few exposed and unresponsive bodies to stand before the pod, trying to catch a glimpse of who was inside. A woman with a high black braid and a scar running from her ear to her nose is breathless when I stand before her.

“Get me out of here!” She cries. Shadowheart’s wild green eyes look down at me, desperately hoping that I will stop and help.

“We have no time for stragglers. We must get to the helm.” Lae’zel advises from beside me.

I turn to look at my companion, taken aback. I know that her militaristic training is all that she has to rely on right now, but experiencing her abrasive lack of compassion is… haunting.

“Please! Don’t leave me!” Shadowheart begs, slamming her hand against the pod’s window again.

I can’t stand it. I’m off like a shot.

The last thing I can hear is Shadowheart shouting, “Wait! The control panel-!”

I already know about the control panel. I can’t control it without the… the something that goes in it. What was it called again? It’s in another room, that much I remember.

I race through a sphincter and find myself in another chamber filled with mind flayer pods. Bodies litter the floor in here as well. The sight never fails to fill me with dread and send a shiver up my spine.

I pick my way past another occupied pod and search for a desk at the back of the room. The ‘something’ that I need to free Shadowheart is sitting out plainly for me to steal.

I grab it and swivel to race back to my trapped companion. I run head first into Lae'zel instead. Either I had been too lost in my own thoughts to hear her, or her footsteps were as silent as the grave.

“Sorry!” I gasp, patting first my head then the armor that it had run into.

Lae'zel regards me coldly. “What are you doing, istik?” She asks, nodding to the device in my hand.

“It's-” I start, “It's to open the pod with Sh… with that girl.”

Whoops. Can't reveal that I know too much about our situation.

I clamp my mouth shut and jog around her, back to the other room. I don't have to see her face to know that Lae'zel disapproves of my actions. I can feel it in her silence as she follows behind me.

I make it to the control panel, panting, and stick the device into a corresponding divot. The device and the panel light up and await my instruction. My tadpole responds to the organic machine with a purr.

I can feel an automatic suggestion from the machine fill my mind, the most commonly used order: ‘Instant Ceremorphosis’. I shake my head and push back with my own desperate orders: ‘Open Pod’.

The machine responds readily. With a click and a loud hiss, the lid of Shadowheart's pod opens.

Dramatically, Shadowheart slumps forward and begins to fall.

I remember this part! I rush forward to catch her, but the burden of her thick armor coupled with my weak body forces me to buckle beneath her weight. We crumple to the ground. Still, she seems to be safe and unharmed.

I sigh with relief.

Shadowheart pushes herself up from my chest and stares at me, confused.

She stands first and flicks leftover slime from her hands.

“Thank you.” She says holding out an arm for me. “I didn’t think you’d be coming back.”

I take her forearm and, with surprising strength, she pulls me to my feet.

“I’m Shadowheart. Cleric.” she says in a challenging but cordial manner.

I smile openly at her. Her gratitude at being freed is nothing compared to the gratitude I feel at being able to successfully free her. Amidst the chaos of the day, I feel the slightest tinge of relief.

A hard, thin tentacle nudges at my leg.

“Oh, this is Us.” I say, remembering my manners and gesturing to the short intellect-devourer. “And this is Lae’zel.” I add, holding out my hand to the silent gith.

“And I’m-” Oh, sh*t. What name do I use?

I forgot to plan for this! Do I use my old name? Do I use this body’s name? What even is this body’s name? f*ck, I don’t know! I’m panicking. Does it even matter what name I use?! I just need to say something, anything! It's too suspicious to hesitate on your own name!

“Uh… Tov.” I stammer.

sh*t. I combined my old name and this world’s classic ‘original player’ name. Would that even work?

“You keep dangerous company, Tov.” Shadowheart notes, bypassing my stresses and crossing her arms defiantly at Lae’zel.

Oh, that’s right, Shadowheart had just survived a confrontation with the githyanki when she was captured. No wonder she’s uncomfortable.

I sigh with relief.

“Lae’zel is a fighter and she’s super strong.” I say confidently, trying to soothe the group's rising tension. “We’re trying to-” I look down at Us, as it listens intently to our conversation. “-to get to the helm.”

Us trills with excitement.

I look between Shadowheart and Lae’zel with a smile. They no longer see me, and continue to size one another up.

“Come, we are leaving.” Lae’zel says briskly, shrugging off the glare from our newest companion.

“Who put you in charge?” Shadowheart sneers, brandishing her tone like a weapon.

Lae’zel curls her lip in disgust, uncertain of how exactly she wants to kill the elf before her. The ship falls away from our feet before catching itself again, knocking everyone and everything about.

“Save it for later!” I shout shakily. “Us, take us to the helm!”

The walking brain waggles, undisturbed by the increasing failures of the ship. It leads us from the room with childish enthusiasm. The other two members of our party continue to bicker.

Along the way, Us passes an upright healing pod. It’s glowing blue, a sign that it can still be used.

I stop to examine the machine. The controls of the machine undulate patiently, awaiting instruction.

I want it to heal all of us, but I don’t know how to activate it. I can’t stand the thought of my companions being even the slightest bit injured, so I keep messing with the machine, ignoring Us’s plea to continue to the helm. My parasite throws an unbidden psionic order at the machine and a bright blue light flashes from the pod. Instantly, all of the burns and bruises that I had acquired from the day are erased. I look back and see Shadowheart and Lae’zel quizzically stretching their arms and legs as well.

It worked! I have no idea how it worked, but it did! Lae’zel glances suspiciously at me.

Oops. Should I not have stopped at a machine? Did I give away a clue that I had foreknowledge of these events?

Well, it's no harm done. Quite the opposite, in fact. Just have to remember to be more careful with my actions in the future.

I purse my lips and focus on the ground as we continue forward, reenergized.

Us confidently leads our party to the helm, its clicking trill increasing as we reach the final sphincter.

When it wetly opens, the chaos of the Hells awaits us.

Mind flayers are engaged in battle with fiends, imps, and Hellboars. Both sides are suffering devastating losses.

“Thrall.” A hollow voice calls to us. We all grimace at the source of the voice, a nearby illithid. It points to the controls of the helm. “We must escape from this place.” It commands. “Go to the control panel.”

On that we can all agree.

A fiend brandishes a fiery weapon and attacks the commanding illithid, shouting threats at his Hellish army. Screams seem to redouble within the great hall.

I need to move, but I’m not. Or really, I can’t. Every muscle in my new body is frozen in fear.

There is a battlecry from behind me, and I am knocked off balance as Lae’zel brushes past, sword trained on a nearby imp.

“Flagra!” Shadowheart shouts, sending a guiding bolt at a charging Hellboar. Both adventurers soon become consumed with fighting the army of the Hells. Us scampers forward, calling for me to join them.

I can’t fail them, any of them. I need to help them in any way that I can!

“Stick together!” I cry over the din of the battle.

I trip, stumble, and run after Us, swerving about the helm in a serpentine manner, avoiding fights and staying out of range of any possible confrontation. It is by sheer cowardice and foresight that I make it to the controls without a scratch. I can’t tell if my companions were even able to follow behind me or not.

It is only when I am finally before the mass of writhing tentacles that serve as the nautiloid's controls, that I realize that I have no idea how to control the ship.

Is there anyone available for me to ask? Us, or Lae’zel maybe?

I look up to search for help, but a dreadful vision of deja vu fills my view instead. Another red dragon is snaking its head into the nautiloid before me, its eyes searching for something to burn.

I panic, grabbing at a random top and bottom tentacle and clasp them together.

Provoked by my sudden movement, the dragon roars, hissing out its flammable gas before lighting it on fire.

The blast knocks me back and plucks the two combined tentacles like a harp string, activating the ship's teleportation feature.

Everyone is lurched backwards as the nautiloid hurdles through a shapeless space. My party is lost amidst the chaos.

Will they be alright? I need to stop this thing!

Adrenaline and fear give me the strength to crawl forward and reach out to untangle the combined tentacles. I send out a silent prayer to no one that I’m lucky enough to spit us out in Faerun.

The spaceless teleportation is replaced by a turbulent stop and restart of the ship’s failing engines.

Lurching back and forth within the helm, I am battered against the floor, walls, and ceiling. I finally slam against a nearby hole in the ship. An illithid stares at me from the other side. I know this moment. I know something painful is about to happen, but I can't move my body.

From out of nowhere, a loose metallic fragment of the ship slams into my head, pushing me out into the sky, and soon I'm falling, falling, falling.

It doesn't feel like falling after a moment. In fact, it doesn't feel like anything at all. The limits of my new body must have been reached. I am spent, body and soul, unable to open my eyes.

That is, until I abruptly stop mere arm lengths from the ground. I open my eyes to look around and see dark, upside down mountains and a sandy beach. I am dropped awkwardly and am finally allowed to rest in the calm nothingness of sleep.

Chapter 3: Chapter Three

Chapter Text

The Emperor bids me welcome. I open my eyes to find myself lying not on a beach, but on the illithid’s hidden asteroid in the Astral Plane. I rub my face with my hand and freeze, my heart racing wildly. Instead of a blue shimmering soul, l now see my own, new, imperfect hand. It seems that even while dreaming, I am bound to the confines of this new body. It’s scary, and f*cking shocking.

I sit up cautiously, clutching my chest, trying to calm my out of control heartbeat. The bone fragment has been redecorated. It looks almost like an ethereal garden, with flowers growing up ionic columns of a romantic stone gazebo and gold filigree glinting around multiple archways. The entire asteroid, itself, has been tilted to get the most beautiful angle of the stars. Everything looks just as it had in the game.

Even the Emperor seems to have an extra shine, both on its armor and its mucosal skin. The gleam in its eyes invites me to comment on the changes.

I do not. All I can do is shiver. Not from the cold, but from the absolutely f*cking terrifying realization that everything I had done was real.

The last time I had been here, I had been a bodyless soul, lazily perusing the memories of my past life, and speaking abstractly with an old video game character.

Now, I was alive again; flesh and blood, just like the mind flayer before me. This dangerous, manipulative, ally of a mind flayer.

The Emperor’s tentacles undulate thoughtfully as I stare. “Please, join me, Tov.” It says opening its claws to the gazebo.

I am compelled by well-rehearsed social niceties to accept. I stand and walk stiffly past the illithid. I sit delicately on the edge of a sheltered bench, overlooking the endless starry sky. The Emperor takes a seat next to me. I am as still as the stone seat itself, unable to even look at the powerful being beside me.

“Such an interesting name, ‘Tov’.” The Emperor comments. “You were panicked when asked about it by the cleric. I take it that this is not your real name?”

I shake my head, still unable to properly address the Emperor. Being alive in this world seems to bring about nothing but a never ending onslaught of terror. It's hard enough to function in this new body, let alone speak.

The Emperor is silent, but seems pleased at finally being able to physically see me, at being able to read me; every dart of my eyes, every involuntary twitch of my new muscles, every shaky breath I take. Its eyes seem to delight in my shivering new form. It reaches out psionically to my parasite, indulging in an additional, more intimate form of communication with my body.

I am clothed, but I feel as though I have been laid bare.

‘It's un-bare-able’, I think to myself.

A corner of my mouth twitches up.

The Emperor takes note of this. Its own face, like that of a malignant octopus and just as equally hard to interpret, looks like it's actually frowning.

Before I can comment on this, the Emperor bids me well wishes for the next day.

“I will see you tomorrow night.” It promises, and with a flick of its claws my dream body is thrust once more from the Astral Prism into complete darkness.

—

I gasp awake.

Everything is bright, sharp, and heavy. My head pounds and aches. I reach up tentatively and touch a tender bruise on my temple, my hand pulls away with a mixture of fresh blood, sand, and crusty old blood. I don't remember seeing this in the game? I thought I was supposed to wake up clean and refreshed after every long rest?

The skin underneath my blood catches my eye in the morning light. I hold up my new hands to the sky. They're darker than my old body’s hands, and… blue? Am I hypoxic, or was this normal for this body?

I breathe deeply and cough. My whole body is battered and bruised. I feel like a punchline.

“What’s black and blue, and red all over?” I croak. “Me, apparently.”

There's a burning smell, choking out the fresh, early morning air. I look up, up, up and see the smoldering remains of the nautiloid. Despite being half destroyed, it's bigger up close than I could have ever imagined it to be. I feel infinitely smaller looking at it, and so terribly, terribly alone, even with the Emperor watching me through the parasite in my skull.

I groan as I struggle to stand. I can't tell if I'm having a hard time controlling this body because it’s not mine, or if it was this weak and uncoordinated to begin with. Are my legs shaking from exhaustion, or from terror?

I dust myself off and look my new self over, taking stock of my only worldly possessions; a gray, long sleeve tunic, brown pants, a leather belt, mismatched leather arm bracers, and well-worn, laced, knee-high boots, all decorated with splashes of dried blood and gore from the fight and flight of yesterday. All of me smells of sweat, nautiloid goo, and sulfur.

To complete my utter lack of aesthetic, I have no weapons, supplies, or money on me. I suppose the game would have called me an ‘abducted commoner’. Someone usually found already dead, with nothing to loot. Someone not even worth thinking about.

I bang on my chest, grab at my arms, and smack my legs. I wince at the dull prodding, and frown at what I feel. Every appendage feels wrong, as if grown and made for someone else.

I trace and catalog my injuries, and feel out my body’s face and chosen hair style. The hair is braided against half of my head, with the other swathe of hair hanging loose and clinging to my sticky face. I twist the loose hair between my fingers and see that it is a pale gray. I touch my brow, my nose, my mouth, my teeth, my chin, my ears. It's all so different! Compared to my old body, every single part of this body is squishier, smoother, and sharper. Especially the ears.

There's also an unpleasant feeling in the pit of my stomach. Guilt. I feel nauseously guilty. Like a squatter hiding in the house of a dead person. I can’t help but wonder whose body this used to be and what kind of life they’d had before they'd been abducted. Did they also have a lovely wife and home waiting for them at the end of this adventure?

I sigh and walk awkwardly to the water's edge. “Let’s just see what we’re working with, kiddo.” I say, dryly. I try to catch a glimpse of my reflection in the water, but the ripples reflect only sunlight and a shadowy silhouette back.

I try to swallow my disappointment but my mouth and throat are dry and coated with smoke. Goddamn, I am thirsty. When was the last time this body had been watered? Where can I even get clean water around here?

I stare out over the estuary. “Water water everywhere but not a drop to drink.” I murmur. I don't even remember which author had said that, but it's awfully fitting for the situation.

Unfortunately, another natural problem occurs to me with a familiar and painful ache. My bladder is full. Full to bursting.

f*ck. There aren’t any toilets or bushes around for that sort of thing either! I'm just exposed out on a f*cking beach!

Exposed and deeply ashamed. Ashamed at having to pee. Ashamed that I’m so weak and already injured this early on in the game. Ashamed at how inadequately prepared l am for this entire adventure. Ashamed at how poorly I remember this game in the first place. And on top of it all, I'm ashamed at being ashamed. I was the one who had chosen to come here, I was the one to take this soulless body for myself, shouldn’t I try to live its life as intentionally as I can? Try to use it to make this world a better and safer place for the characters that I love, and not spend my time cowering and being ashamed?

The answer is, obviously, yes.

So why do I feel like all of this is a mistake?

Oh f*ck. What if I'm just a character in someone else's story? What if someone is writing down every single thing I say and do and think as I say or do or think it? What if someone is out there watching me, the way I used to watch this world through my screen?

I hate that idea. And I hate the idea of someone writing or reading about me peeing out in the open too! But I can't not pee the entire time that I'm here. That feels physically impossible…

I shake my head at these inceptuous thoughts.

I can only handle one layer of problems at a time, so I just need to pick a problem to work on and stick to it.

I rub my face with my hands, and every movement feels sticky and crusty. A cool summer breeze blows past, and also reminds me of how badly I smell.

“Let’s handle what we can handle right now.” I groan, slapping my face encouragingly.

It’s still early in the morning, I should have a moment to myself before I need to move forward to progress the game.

I awkwardly undo the laces of my arm bracers and boots, and throw anything that I have that’s leather onto the sand.

Whoa! My feet are blue too! So strange!

I compare my dark blue hands to my dark blue feet with awe.

f*cking wild, man.

l wobble as I straighten up, still wiggling my fingers and toes in wonder. I step forward and wade into the cold murky waters of the ravaged beach, breathe deeply, and drop below the surface with a muffled scream. The cold is a familiar sensation to my soul, and the chill helps to ground me to this alien body even more. I breach the surface, teeth chattering, and start gingerly scrubbing my face free of sand, ash, and blood, taking care around the cuts and bruises on my temple. I dunk my head once more and massage my scalp. It feels nice to be free of the grime, sweat, and gore that had been clinging to me. I lean back and relax onto my heels, floating quietly for a moment.

While lying back, my bladder finally reaches its limit and, with an awkward glance around, I pee into the water. I swim away from the spot in a slow arch, rubbing at the crotch of my pants. Then I start scratching at the armpits of my shirt and scrubbing at the various stains and dried chunks that had been left on my clothes by a wide variety of now-dead creatures. It’s an odd moment of washing; like using the toilet, taking a bath, and doing the laundry all at the same time, but without the desired result of actually being fully clean at the end of it.

“This is why you don't drink from strange water, kids.” I say with false gravitas. “You have no idea who's peed in it recently.”

I bark out a fake laugh before slowly sliding back onto dry land. I flick my absurd blue feet like a cat, trying to dry them before shoving them back into my boots.

With the sun higher in the sky now, I know it’s time to get moving to find Shadowheart.

When I used to play this game, that's always the first thing I had to do first. So, by the game's logic, if I wanted to bring about the ‘best endings’ for my favorite characters, then I just needed to try to progress through the story in the way that had been laid out for me. Easy peasy.

The word ‘easy’ gives me pause, and a question starts to burn into my meager confidence: ‘What level was this adventure going to be?’

The pit of my stomach drops at this thought. There had been, essentially, three levels of difficulty to play the game at; easy, medium, and hard. Is that something that can be translated into reality? Would everything be easy peasy, lemon squeezy for me? Or would this temporary life be difficult difficult, lemony difficult? sh*t. I have no idea, and I don’t have enough time to find out right now!

I take a deep breath and let it out unsteadily, clenching my fists to stop them from trembling. I can't keep putting this off by worrying or second guessing myself. I have to START.

Let's f*cking do this.

I shake out the excess water from my clothes, boxer shuffle in the sand for a brief moment, and take off in the game's classic character jog.

It turns out, distances are a lot farther to travel in person, and I am immediately out of breath. The area, while quiet and fully illuminated, is also a lot scarier in person, especially when I know that intellect devourers and goblins are sniffing about. I slow my pace to a brisk walk, trying to quiet my gasps for air.

After a while, a conspicuous black braid and familiar armor catches my eye in the shadows of the nautiloid. The Emperor must have made it easy for me to find Shadowheart, and by extension, the Astral Prism, and by extension of that extension, itself.

Clever.

When I approach her, an unfamiliar sight greets me. Shadowheart is lying crumpled beneath the arch of one of the nautiloid’s giant tentacles, unmoving. Her face is more beaten, bloodied, and pale than I ever remember it being in the game.

My heart stops.

This wasn’t like the game at all! Did things change because I had intervened? Is this the result of some twisted butterfly effect? Is she dead? If she’s dead, I don’t know how to bring her back! I don’t have ANYTHING that can help her yet!

I drop to my knees at her side and yell out her name, jostling her shoulder. I brush the hair from her face, touch her cheeks, reach for her neck, and fumble for a pulse. Under a coat of dried, sandy blood, I feel a warm and steady heart beat.

Gently, gently, I start patting her cheek, calling out her name again. Unhelpful tears start prickling at my eyes.

After the most worrisome moments imaginable, Shadowheart gasps awake. With a hard cough, she marks the air and shouts out in an ancient language. Her arms glow blue, her open wounds seal shut, and her bruises fade. Real magic at work is unparalleled to see in person and I can’t help but stare. Shadowheart has transformed herself from a nearly comatose patient to a fighting ready soldier in mere seconds.

She is extraordinary.

Her wild green eyes find mine again. She recognizes my face and immediately starts talking freely to me. It is a familiar conversation that I'd heard from the game many times. We stand up as she recalls what has happened to us so far and I relax at the nostalgic sound of her voice. Things seem to be progressing as they should be.

Then, she pauses, waiting for me to speak, and I have no idea what I’m supposed to say. I can't even remember what my options used to be. In my silence, Shadowheart, the secret Sharran, catalogs every conceivable detail about me, as if measuring my worth on appearances alone.

Too bad for her, I’m not worth much.

Then she asks something new. She says words that I'd never heard her say before, which is disorienting for a variety of reasons.

“Why are you wet?” She asks, gesturing at all of me.

I reach for my shirt, my face, my hair, self conscious.

Of course there's more talking in person! How could there not be? I’m going to have to improvise, but I have to be as natural and ordinary as possible, while also making sure we stay on track with the events of the game. I also have to make sure that I don’t come off as too crazy, or l could drive the companions away and towards their own demise, and I absolutely cannot let that happen to these beloved characters, these friends, these strangers. All I have to do is be. Normal.

“Fell.” I stammer at last. “In... Water.” I cover a blush with my hand.

It really is difficult controlling this new body with my old soul. I cough, and look around at the ravaged beach. I ask Shadowheart where we are, and she admits she doesn't know. With one last, suspicious arch of her eyebrow, she suggests we stick together while we sort out our tadpole situation.

Thank goodness, I stuck the landing!

“Let’s stock up on supplies before we move on.” Shadowheart suggests briskly.

Ah right, now we have to scavenge for supplies from the ravaged beach. Or more specifically, from the dead bodies on the ravaged beach...

I've never touched a dead body before. It's a grim, nauseating prospect, but I can't not do it. We need the supplies to survive.

Thankfully, Shadowheart says nothing to me as she begins looting. Focusing on her own task, or perhaps her own mission, instead of me.

Am I so trustworthy to her already? Hm, probably not. More likely, l look so green and inexperienced that she doesn't feel threatened by me in any way, shape, or form. Well, that’s fine too, I guess.

I try opening a few intact crates that are scattered about and am rewarded with a minor victory; a large glass bottle of clear and, hopefully, clean water! I uncork it and drink greedily. Some of the water drips down my chin and dampens my shirt.

This is the first and, without a doubt, the tastiest thing I’ve ever had in this world.

I gasp in relief and look over to find Shadowheart staring at me from beside a dead fisherman’s mangled body with a strange look on her face.

Did she want me to help her loot the bodies instead?

I look away and groan.

I really, really didn’t want to have to do that. But the first dead civilian is always the hardest to loot, I suppose.

My heartbeat thunders in my ears and I hold my breath as I hover over the first corpse. My body is physically repulsed at the idea of touching the dead, and my soul can’t stop thinking about how the dead can be so easily brought back to life in this world. But, despite my fears, I have to loot it anyway.

I find that by focusing on the dead person’s clothes and their pockets, instead of their very still, gray faces, I can make quick work of looting them.

Just don’t look at their faces!

Time passes and I lose track of how many bodies I loot. There had been a lot more people killed by the nautiloid crash than I remember.

After hours of exploring and looting, the nauseating work is finally done. Shadowheart and I reconvene by a hole near the ship, each shouldering a newly acquired and bulging backpack. Shadowheart states that she wants to find an expert healer next, to remove the tadpoles from our brains. To do that, we must first leave the ravaged beach.

I am already exhausted, but I know that to leave the beach we’ll have to possibly engage in a fight. Unfortunately, I have no way of explaining this to Shadowheart without seeming insane.

I begin to quiver at the thought of another fight, and I shift on my feet. Unable to contain myself, I set my pack on the ground.

“What’s wrong?” Shadowheart asks, her feet pointed down the beach, in the direction of an unforeseen dead end.

I hesitate, deliberating about what I should and shouldn't say.

“I think that way’s blocked. We should go through the ship instead.” I say, trying not to stammer.

This is where Shadowheart’s trust in me ends. She comments about how maybe I couldn't find a path around, but she most certainly could. She looks me up and down as I continue to tremble, and drops her bag at my feet, telling me to ‘wait here and watch our supplies’. She turns and begins her inevitably fruitless search for another path forward.

I stay put and I worry.

In the game, I could always try sneaking past the upcoming enemies. But this would involve actually being able to see where the targets were looking and then avoiding those areas. I don’t know how to do that here! Playing the game and actually being in the game is such a chaotic and confusing mixture of experiences that I want to punch something with my frustration.

“Ugh. Shadowheart is gonna be back soon.” I whisper worriedly. “And then we’ll have to go through the ship. And inside there’ll be enemies that’ll attack us. Attack her. f*ck me!”

I fidget and grind my boots in the sand.

I need to prepare myself. If I know that I can’t sneak past an enemy, I need to figure out how I’m going to fight them instead, I can’t just run away from them. Again.

I open our packs and go over what weapons we have available. I pull out a light crossbow with interest. “It'd be nice to keep all fighting at a distance.” I murmur to myself. I notch an arrow uncertainly into the arrow-shaped indentation on the crossbow and take aim at a rock in the sand a dozen paces away. I shoot.

And miss terribly.

I try again. And again. And again.

Terrible each time.

My other options for a weapon are either a small craftsman's hammer or a curved short sword, called a scimitar, I think.

I pick up the scimitar shakily. It feels heavy and unwieldy in my hands, and my wrists feel like they might snap under the weight. “Anything is better than nothing, I guess.” I recite out loud.

“Are you talking to yourself?” Shadowheart asks, trudging back towards me from across the beach.

I laugh awkwardly, hiding a blush. “Just-just doing some inventory.” I lie, trying to stow the scimitar in my belt.

Unimpressed, Shadowheart finally relents to having to cross through the ship, as all other paths are either locked or blocked. I nod seriously, and clench my hands to hide my building terror. Shadowheart takes up her backpack and together, we head into the burning wreckage of the nautiloid.

Walking along the path that I vaguely remember from the game is a lot different in person. My memories of this place consist of an assured original or origin character running forward, straight backed and confident no matter what was happening. Whether it was to explore or to fight, my character always took me where I wanted to go, with me looking down on them from above, like an invisible bird.

But now, everything is closer; more in your face, more dangerous, more terrifying.

The steps I take forward aren’t light and confident, they are heavy and unbalanced. The scimitar in my hand makes my arms ache, and fear has shut down a lot of my higher thinking. Was it because this was the body of a commoner instead of an adventurer? Or was this the result of a mismatch of my soul and this foreign body? I barely had any information on it, or any connection to it at all. I have no idea what its limits or specialties are, hell, I didn’t even know what race it is. Who knows if it can handle all that I’m going to ask of it while I’m here?

A clicking screech echoes amidst the shattered hall, interrupting my thoughts and worries. Three intellect devourers target us and charge. Shadowheart pulls out her shield and mace, and I level my shaky scimitar.

Shadowheart begins the fight by killing the first devourer with a single, shouted magical attack. With a determined huff, she prepares to block another angry brain with her shield.

I run ungainly towards the brain targeting my companion and hack at it with my short sword. It dodges my attacks and slashes successfully at my abdomen. I cry out in pain and step away with major slashes and a sprained wrist.

Not heroic at all.

The creature aims once more for Shadowheart, but I throw my entire body into stabbing at the center of its little body. The scimitar slides through the soft, gray matter with distressing ease. The dying brain psionically screams before falling limp against the ground. I pant shakily, trying to hold down the vomit in my throat.

The last intellect devourer, forgotten until now, leaps for my exposed back. Shadowheart steps forward and brings her mace down with one sickly, wet thud. The battle has come to an end and the hall is once more filled with the quiet sound of burning nautiloid.

I immediately fall to my knees, dizzy. Bright, warm red blood gushes and stains my clothes and the ground beneath me. My shirt and abdomen are shredded to ribbons.

“Tov? Are you injured? Let me see.” Shadowheart orders.

I can barely stay sitting up, the shock and the pain of my injuries are battling for my consciousness. Shadowheart kneels beside me, putting one hand gently on my shoulder and the other delicately above the deep slashes on my belly. My breath hitches as my muscles threaten to give out.

“Healing’s on the way.” I hear her say softly.

Shadowheart speaks familiar words and I am awash in a blue light. It seems that all healing magic in Faerun is bright and dazzling. I can feel my blood vessels reconnect, my muscles mend, and my skin stitch itself back together.

I pant and double over Shadowheart’s comforting hand with relief. She kindly holds still while I recover in her arms.

With one final gulping breath, I look up at my healer, giving her my most grateful smile. “Thank you.” I whisper. “Your magic is extraordinary.”

Does it matter if she sees how relieved I am? How charmed I am? Is it suspicious to be so inexperienced with magic in this world? f*ck it, I’m too tired to worry about any of that. I'm just happy that I’m no longer bleeding to death.

We stand, wipe down our weapons, pull ourselves together, and make our way slowly through the ship, emerging out the other side as the sun is starting to set.

Shadowheart insists we stop and make camp. Logical, given how disheveled I am; dried blood everywhere, my shirt torn to shreds, shivering despite the warm afternoon sun. I, on the other hand, insist we walk a bit further. She can't know that Astarion is nearby and needs to be found, but I do.

“We need to find out about these tadpoles as soon as possible, right?” I lie, trudging slowly up a cliffside trail.Shadowheart frowns at my determination, but doesn’t seem to want to argue with me. Technically, she was the one to heal me. Her power should be more than enough to keep me going for just a bit longer.

Chapter 4: Chapter Four

Chapter Text

We find Astarion, our well-dressed and dashing pale elf, crouching behind some bushes along the cliff’s trail. He is already in character, acting like a proper abducted noble for us; weak, snobbish, and scared.

I greet him and offer this ‘fellow abductee’ my aid, much to Shadowheart's chagrin. Astarion lies smoothly about seeing ‘one of those brain things' hiding in the bushes, and I let him, as is part of the script. He then requests that I kill it for him.

Ho boy.

I take a deep breath and awkwardly pull out my scimitar. Even though I know it's a common wild boar hiding in the bushes, it's still a boar. Still perfectly capable of goring me to death.

I stamp my feet loudly as I approach the thicket, careful to leave an escape route available for the poor beast. Sound erupts as the scared animal dashes from its hiding spot, running as fast as it can down the cliffs in a flurry of dust and squeals. I angrily let out the breath I'd been holding. I really did hate jump scares.

Before I can turn around, the dashing elf is at my back with a knife to my throat, wrestling me to the ground. Shadowheart raises her hand and wraps it in green magic, ready to strike. Despite having less strength than all of the girls in the game, Astarion holds me easily to his chest as the perfect hostage. The difference in our power makes my stomach clench with anxiety.

He speaks in hushed tones, interrogating and threatening me with a sweet sad*stic smile on his face. I hold the palm of my hand out to Shadowheart, hoping she won't attack him. He squeezes my body to be still, but I tremble once too violently and the rogue’s knife bites deep into my throat. I wince, and he tuts at me.

Our tadpoles choose this moment to wiggle against our skulls and commune with one another. While he's distracted, I extract myself from his grip and stand warrily between him and Shadowheart, using a hand to put pressure on my newest injury.

Visions of our separate experiences on the nautiloid flash through our minds. Astarion keeps his knife between us as he continues his interrogation, asking about what had just happened and what we knew of the tadpoles in our brains. When I tell him everything he’s supposed to know in this moment, he laughs bitterly at his luck. Convinced enough not to be actively hostile, Astarion theatrically rehides his dagger, and deigns to listen about our quest for a cure.

With a glare at the rogue, Shadowheart mumbles archaically and switches the type of magic flowing through her hand. She reaches out behind me and touches my neck, gently pushing my bloody hand out of her way. It stings at first, but then I can feel the bleeding stop and my skin practically zip back together again.

“This is Shadowheart the cleric, and I'm... Tov.” I say, standing aside for us to speak more candidly with each other.

“Astarion.” The pale elf replies.

I invite him to travel with us and to help us find a cure, as is expected of me. He co*cks an eyebrow and looks both Shadowheart and I over. I see his eyes appreciate the cleric's confident stance, her well picked armor, and her gorey mace. When he glances at me, his eyes rake me over with disdain and pity, lingering on the bloody shreds of my shirt and my sticky red hand.

His gaze makes my stomach twist into knots, and I shiver. I wonder if he’s hungry already?

He sighs quickly, and puts on a well practiced, seductive smile. “Let's go together then, I was prepared to go it alone, but perhaps it’s better to stick with the herd!” He says with false enthusiasm.

I raise my own smile to my face like a shield, and I turn to Shadowheart and tell her that we should keep going. She sarcastically applauds my spirit, but tells me that we’re making camp instead.

My face falls. I wish we could go farther, gather more companions and forward the plot. Gale is still stuck in magical portal limbo. Lae'zel is either wandering through the woods or already caught up in a primitive goblin trap. And Wyll and Karlach are… God knows where, this early on in the game…

But the sun is setting prettily over the water and Shadowheart insists we find somewhere to camp because ‘some of us needed to rest’ and ‘there could be monsters prowling in the dark’.

Astarion makes no comment at the latter remark, and I almost want to laugh. It’s not like he’s doing a very good job at hiding his vampirism. One good look at him and almost anyone could tell what he was. But it’s best to let him reveal his secrets in his own time, so I rub my hand over my mouth to cover a smile.

Shadowheart picks a spot to camp that isn’t familiar to me. I guess there would be a lot of unfamiliar camping spots in the future, as is the nature of traveling long distances. I understand this, in theory, but it’s still strange to see in person. There’s no quiet beach, no fallen logs to sit on, no old stone building with a magic mirror to see yourself in…

“Sometimes,” I quote quietly to myself, remembering an old Western I used to love to watch. “you just gotta roll with what life throws at you.”

I don't know much about true wilderness camping, but I do know how to gather firewood. We don't have a proper ax yet, so the larger logs necessary for a long lasting fire need to either be small enough to split with the hand ax or salvaged from wood scraps.

I drop my pack by a tree and pull out a dusty old shirt that I'd found in a crate. While Shadowheart and Astarion set up their tents, I head out to gather the wood and kindling. Venturing further and further out in the cover of darkness, l also find a nice sheltered place to change and have a pee.

There was, and would be, a lot more peeing outdoors than I had expected. Maybe it would have been better if I had chosen a body with a penis, for convenience, instead of… Well, too late now, I suppose.

After a few trips back and forth to camp, Shadowheart comments that I’ve gathered enough wood.

“I’m glad someone can lend a hand when needed.” She remarks, building a stone barrier around a teepee of my gathered wood.

Astarion, sharp eared and vain, lights the campfire with a spell from across the clearing, before turning his attention back to arranging his tent.

Amazing! Magic is too, too cool!

My eyes shine as I watch the flames dance and eat my wood offerings. I retrieve my pack from the nearby tree and unroll some bedding that we’d looted from the beach. I arrange it in front of the fire, just like I'd seen in the game, and sit down with a relieved groan.

Shadowheart rummages through her own pack and divides some camp rations for the three of us. I take mine gratefully, while Astarion, for obvious reasons, isn't interested. As Shadowheart continues to dig in her pack, I take his share and hide it away for later. When Shadowheart finally pulls out a bottle of wine and sets about to uncorking it, then Astarion is interested, offering her free advice on how to properly open any bottle without the need of a corkscrew.

I look over the fire at them, a shadow of a smile on my lips. For a moment, we seem like three proper adventurers around a campfire, quietly enjoying a respite at the end of a long day.

The food and the rest energize me, physically and emotionally. Memories of my old life are finally given enough strength to flicker and flash before my soul's eyes.

Tears well up and silently start falling on my face. Astarion glances over at me and crinkles his nose, a disdainful frown curling his lips. Shadowheart pours herself a heavy glass of wine before wordlessly handing me the opened bottle.

I blink at the bottle. It would be better to not risk losing my senses while on this adventure, or the companions might start to regret following me. Or worse, they might try to travel on their own if they sense any weakness from me. They will die if they travel alone.

I hadn't had alcohol in my old body anyway, so it's easy enough to politely decline the wine.

I wipe at my cheeks and announce that I'd go get more water instead. I crawl to my feet and leave to fill a large empty glass bottle in a nearby river.

It would be a laborious process: I needed to fill the bottle, bring it back, boil the water and let it cool before it would fit for consumption. Drinking any questionable water in this unknown body was a risk, and I couldn’t afford to take any risks just yet… then again, drinking anything at all would mean that I'd just have to go back out into the dark woods to pee again.

I can feel something in my belly. A bad, disgusting, familiar feeling that I'd known all too well in my old life. A feeling that I'd felt on and off ever since opening these new eyes for the first time on the nautiloid: Cowardice. I was being a coward.

Should I even worry about drinking alcohol or polluted water at a time like this? There are, and would be, so many other, bigger issues to deal with over the next few weeks. Months even!

Or would it be idiotic not to worry about the littlest of details in this high stakes adventure?

I have no idea how quickly or carefully I should be taking things while working towards the ‘best endings’ for my companions, but in this quiet moment, alone in the woods, trying to simply survive, I feel like I’m lost and slogging through a dark mire; struggling, sinking, about to drown…

f*ck.

I am alone. In this world, and in my quest. Everything that I had once had available to me; my money, my skills, the strength of my own body, was all gone. Everyone who could have assisted me, or advised me, or who had ever even known me, was gone. All that’s left of me are my scrambled and faded memories, tucked away in a stolen, soulless body.

I missed my wife. I missed my pets. I missed my home! I needed to hurry up to get back to my old life again!

Wait a minute. Which pets were waiting for me at home again?

I blink and think for a moment, as I carefully walk around an overgrown thicket of brambles.

We, my wife and I, had had a lot of pets over our years together. Some had passed away, and then we'd always adopted new ones to fill up our small… apartment? House? House or apartment? Where were we living when my body had been taken again?

I stumble over an exposed tree root, and awkwardly catch myself from falling.

How did I even die in my old world? When did l even die? This body feels so young, yet I know that I didn't die young. But I couldn't remember my exact age either…

The river gurgles softly when I arrive and I try, distractedly, to find a spot free of tall reeds and fill up my bottle.

Where were shreds of my old body anyway, I wonder? When could I, when should I, even start searching for them? What would I find? Bits of rotting flesh and bone, or tangible pieces of me that I can put back together again?

I slip in some mud along the riverbank and with a yelp fall into the dark, thigh high water below, getting my shoes and pants wet. Groaning, I glance around. No one had been around to see me, at least.

The darkness of the night is my curtain against prying eyes. I could get away with robbery or murder under the cover of night, but instead I decide to take off my boots and pants and try to properly scrub off the mud and gore that’s caked onto the fabric. To make things even, I take off my shirt and underclothes next and start washing them as well, distracting my hands and my mind with more chores. After some time, I wring out my clothes and hang them all up on some nearby, low branches. While they dry, I splash and scrub at my face and body with cold river water, trying to feel clean again.

When I’ve finished, my worrisome anxieties start bubbling up in my mind once more. I groan while I shiver in the moonlight.

“I don't have time to be distracted by my own personal quest and the details it entails,” I scold to myself. “I need to focus on my companions. That’s why I’m here, first and foremost. Tomorrow: we will ‘find’ Gale. Then Lae'zel. Oh, and I needed to kill an illithid that is trapped under some rubble when we cross through the nautiloid again…”

Mustn’t forget the murder.

I slap and rub my cheeks, solidifying the plan in my mind. I redress in my slightly clean, slightly damp, clothes and with my full bottle of water in hand, I hurry back to camp and our warm campfire.

Shadowheart is praying in her tent and Astarion is grooming and fiddling with his day time clothes when I return.

They are both stunningly gorgeous, even in casual attire. It makes my back crawl with shame to even be in the same space as them. They are the beloved characters that l had admired through a screen from years ago somehow made real. They are strong, serious, and clever, imperfectly perfect in a hundred different ways, and I was just… small. And damp. I didn't really want to intrude on the camp, but I had to be present in order to keep them safe from what was to come their way. Despite my insecurities, I have to move forward.

When I step into the light of the fire, the atmosphere feels charged, intense.

Campers are in tents, after all.

I cough.

Good ol’ dad jokes, funny in any lifetime.

I see a reflective light as I pass Astarion’s tent to boil my hard earned water. He has, somehow, already acquired a large and ornate hand mirror.

I’d really love to have a look at it. I’m curious as to what this new body looks like, after all. Unfortunately, I have to get over being starstruck by my fellow party members in order to ask to borrow it. My fingers twitch with indecision. I agonize inwardly, as I set a looted kettle onto some embers of the fire and pour my water inside.

If I can’t talk to them, then there's literally nothing else to do, except go to bed. And I wouldn't dare go to sleep before these two. I can't place why, but sleeping somehow also feels like a weakness that can be used against me here.

I take a deep breath, stand, and tentatively make my way over to Astarion.

“Done crying?” He asks, pretending to primp in the reflection of his mirror.

I touch my now dry cheek and stutter. Trying to make small talk, I ask about his life before the nautiloid crash. He lies. Familiar lies about being a magistrate in Baldur's Gate. My mind wanders to my memories of this moment from the game.

“You seem distracted.” he says, half offended, half curious.

I blush. I forget that I haven't heard these lies in this body yet. Talking in real life means being present and engaged with the people involved. And it comes with questions and remarks that I might not know how to respond to. Which is why I need to FOCUS.

I'm more nervous now, and I stammer and laugh awkwardly.

“Could l,” l ask finally, “have a look at myself in your mirror?”

His eyes narrow just a touch. Perhaps he's angry about sharing his things, or maybe he's jealous that he can't truly look at himself in his mirror. But, under the facade of being a magistrate, and allies to boot, he ceremoniously offers the mirror to me. Temporarily.

The reflection I see is startling to me.

I am a shockingly dark blue creature, with bright shining silver eyes. My hair is pale gray, and a mess. It had started out in a half eclipsed style with two tight braids flattened against the right side of my head, but now it was a wet, wild tangle. I tuck the hair behind my slightly pointed ear.

“Hm. Apparently not.” Astarion drawls, casually examining his fingernails.

I glance up at him and I feel the dam break from my eyes, tears running down both cheeks again. I refocus on the mirror again and blink my odd, shiny, gray eyes. They are like silver light reflecting on two, shallow, muddy puddles.

f*ck. I hadn't known how sad simply looking at my new reflection would make me.

“My hair,” I lie, clearing my throat, “is awful.”

Astarion raises his eyebrows in agreement.

“Do you”, I ask, “know how to fix it? Someone else-”, feelings of guilt, shame, and thievery flash in my chest, “someone else did this for me.” I gesture to my head.

“I don't have the time.” Astarion sniffs, holding out his hand for the mirror.

I blush at the rejection, but still thank him for the use of his mirror.

I walk back to my boiling water and flop onto my bedroll. I spend the next few moments trying to clumsily comb through my gray hair and redo the braids myself.

Shadowheart is fidgeting from her secluded tent. She looks anxious and tense as well.

I suppose a good leader is meant to project calm and confidence in order to keep the rest of their party calm. I can’t seem to do either, and instead I just seem to agitate everyone around me.

The kettle bubbles furiously at me as well. I sigh and give up on the hair.

Shadowheart finally sneaks over, her curiosity getting the better of her, when I pull the kettle from the fire to cool.

“What were you two talking about?” She asks as casually as she can.

Forced friendliness? That’s not like her. Oh right, I forgot that she’s still undercover.

I smile at the realization, but Shadowheart takes it uncomfortably. I wave my hand at myself to try and diffuse the situation.

“I borrowed his mirror.” I say, patting my head. “But I don't know how to fix my hair, like how it was before.”

Shadowheart weighs the possibility of me lying to her, her eyes stoic and calculating, but the wildness of my hair and my overall naivety must have convinced her to believe my line. Still, she seems dissatisfied and decides to work on me further.

“I can braid.” She says, flicking her own hair over her shoulder.

“Could you show me how?” I ask, pushing my uneasiness aside. Shadowheart smiles down at me patiently, a lethal glint in her eyes. I can almost feel her clinically collecting my trust for her own purposes.

She settles in next to me and begins to work on my head. Even though she’s the Shadowheart, God’s favorite princess and the most interesting girl in the world, it’s soothing, having someone be so close, like I could be less afraid of the world now that there's at least one side of my body being shielded from it.

Silence has always made me uncomfortable, so I fill the moment by asking her what she thinks of everything that's happened to us so far. This triggers a familiar tangent from Shadowheart. She is sarcastic, and a little bitter, but otherwise she talks openly about her opinions of the infection, the nautiloid, the crash, and of her distrust of githyanki. Some people might find her rude, but l am grateful for the one-sided conversation, even if it’s only purpose is to influence and deceive me. The less talking I do, in my opinion, the less likely I am to f*ck up an interaction.

Plus, her voice is simply a delight to listen to.

“There. Finished.” She says somewhat proudly. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind my pointed ear.

I am amazed that she’s done so fast!I touch my head again and it feels… off.

I smile politely and say, “Thank you, I'll go have a look at it.”

I stand and walk back to Astarion’s tent. The dashing vampirelooks up from a salvaged book and laughs heartily in my face.

I ask for his mirror again, and he gives it over as a joke, eyes filled with mirth as he expects me to be distraught at my reflection. Shadowheart is frowning deeply at the two of us.

The mirror reflects what I already know: the braids are poor and unlike what they had been before. But I smile at them anyway. At least she had been willing to try, even for selfish reasons. I thank Astarion again and return his mirror.

“You're grateful…” Astarion says indignantly. “For that?”

I pat at my head to push the braids down a bit more and smile, questioningly. “I think it’s nice?” I offer quietly.

I leave him, confused and repulsed, to rejoin Shadowheart by the campfire. My water is cooled, so I refill my bottle and take a long pull. It tastes terrible, compared to everything available in my old world, but it’s deeply satisfying nonetheless. I offer my hard earned drink to Shadowheart, who takes a small, polite sip before handing it back.

I sit with her, smiling, tentatively tapping my fingers on the bottle as I mentally check off all of the good things that have happened to me this evening; I've had food, water, a wash, I was nearly dry, and I’d had a normal conversation with not one but TWO companions… Look at me go!

The air in camp somehow feels… lighter.

Shadowheart and I have a few more moments of polite conversation before we hear a book snap shut. Astarion stalks over to the fire, a haughty frown on his face, and then insults the braids on my head and the braider.

I stare up at him, wide-eyed, unsure of what to do. Shadowheart quips back at him, fighting with underhanded comments as if they were weapons.

He remarks snidely that ‘apparently my standards are too low, if I were willing to put up with any old hamfisted zealot that offers to touch me’. Shadowheart, secure in her manipulation of me, says nothing to the bait. Astarion can see it on her face. Her confidence. Her arrogance.

He wants to destroy it.

“Oh, give it here.” He snaps.

He squats, turning my head to the side and undoes the braids quickly and expertly.

Shadowheart and he immediately start bickering, sounding almost like siblings, or old frenemies.

I am shielded from the new world on two sides now, and it brings an unexpected levity to my heart. It feels so warm in the camp now. Comfortable. Silly. Familiar.

As Astarion keeps repositioning my head, his perfectly manicured fingers brush against my skin, tickling my scalp. It triggers a memory from my old life: Cozy evenings spent with my loved ones, genuine conversations, bad jokes, and lots and lots of laughter. I had worked so hard, in my old life, to make things silly and fun, to keep my house and life warm and comfortable. It's nice to feel that way again, even for just a fleeting moment.

The memories relax my mind and body. For the first time since I had woken up on the nautiloid, my stomach doesn’t feel like it’s in knots.

“And that is how it's done.” Astarion declares confidently. He takes my hand in his and has me feel the tight braids against my head with my own fingertips. “Much better now isn’t it, darling?” he says smoothly. The competitive tone in his voice is replaced with his phony seduction timbre once more.

He and Shadowheart are both terrible manipulators, even when they try to be terribly manipulative. It’s cute. I smile gratefully and thank them both for their hard work. If they had been looking at me, they might have seen an extra shine in my eyes, but as it was, they couldn’t take their eyes off of each other.

Shadowheart takes my statement and argues that my gratitude was insincere, while Astarion rebuffs her, telling her to look carefully at the difference in the quality of their craftsmanship. They can’t come to an agreement, and I can’t properly side with either of them to their satisfaction, so the two braiding competitors huff back to their tents and hide within.

As silence descends upon the camp, the night truly comes alive with a cacophony of nature’s music. Crickets chirp, frogs sing, the wind blows softly through early summer leaves, and our fire crackles a soothing lullaby for my weary soul.

I drink more of my water and crawl into my bed roll, exhausted, but calmer.

‘Maybe,’ I think to myself, ‘Maybe I can do this.’

I don't even feel my eyes close as my consciousness slips from the mortal realm.

—

The Astral Plane flashes bright to my dream eyes. A startling contrast from the comforting darkness of sleep.

I have been made to wake, sitting up in the gazebo. The Emperor stands to its full illithid height at the edge of the floating garden.

“Gale and Lae'zel?” It says. A statement, not a question.

I am immediately put on edge. Of course it had heard me. Can’t keep secrets from your body’s very own brain worm, I guess.

I clear my throat. “You are still protecting them, aren't you?” I ask, my heart beating faster. The garden around me, the flowers, the stone gazebo, the shine of gold, are all illusions meant to charm and disarm me. The Emperor wants to extract more information from me. It wants to give me a false sense of security.

Of everyone trying to manipulate me and use me in this world, the Emperor is the most subtle, and the most persistent. As a soulless mind flayer, all it has left are its own ambitions and selfish desires. If nothing else, I need to remember just one thing from the game: DO NOT TRUST THEM.

The Emperor turns to assess my reactions and reaches out gently to communicate with my tadpole. Maybe it had felt my heart speed up, or maybe it had felt the uncomfortable dryness of my throat, or maybe it wanted to understand the endless anxiety throbbing in my brain and it wanted to ferret out the reason why. Whatever its purpose, my tadpole squirms and purrs at the attention, giving up all the information it has to share to the illithid. I grimace at the alien feeling, and grating seconds turn into unpleasant minutes.

Still, the Emperor looked unsatisfied.

There is something in its careful exploration of my mind and the searching look in its violet gaze that gives me pause. It’s as if it can’t find what it’s looking for.

“Do not think that l have so little faith in you, as to keep others under my protection.” It explains.

“Your mannerisms and speech patterns are as alien to me as mine are to you. Your actions seem unplanned, and you put yourself in a rather high number of dangerous situations. You have foreknowledge of these events, thanks to this ‘game’, yet fear and uncertainty radiate through your new body, constantly. So yes,” It answers at last, “I do have others still shielded from the abnormal Elder Brain, in case you are in need of support.”

“The Absolute.” I correct, absently.

The tentacles on the Emperor’s face twist quizzically. “Indeed.” It relents.

“They must serve a great purpose, these companions,” It ventures further, “for you to be so concerned.”

It was right, but I felt like I was being led through the conversation. Like I was being interrogated, but with charm. Surely it knew why I wanted to find them? Why I cared so much about them? Hadn't it gotten that information from my tadpole? Surely it knew the whole story of the game as thoroughly as I did by now? But what if…

What if the Emperor didn’t know?

“I think,” I start slowly, testing my unfounded theory. “it would be best if your plans didn't include me from here on out.”

The Emperor’s eyes harden. There is impatience and rage behind its unblinking stare.

Oh my god. It had no idea what I was going to say next! No idea what I was thinking! My thoughts were my own, tucked away in my soul, not in this body's brain! It only knew that I knew about Gale and Lae’zel because I had said their names out loud by the river!

“We had a deal.” It restates dangerously, tentacles rigidly convulsing against its chest.

“What I mean by that,” l say breathlessly, backtracking, “ls that you should go about with the plan you already had in place before I came along; where you protected this group from mind control and ceremorphosis for your own goal.”

The illithid does not move, and says nothing to my explanation. As much as the Emperor can't read me, I have just as much trouble reading it. This partnership is going to be a million little headaches, I just know it. But at least I have a little advantage hidden in my back pocket! It makes me want to smile, but I need to keep my cards close to my chest.

“Things have to happen in a certain order so that l can know what's going to happen next.” I continue, trying to sound as logical as possible. “If events vary too greatly, then the timeline might be too unpredictable for me to make a difference. So that’s why, l think, I need you to just… continue with your plans, as if I'm not here.”

The Emperor considers my words and turns away. As if accepting them, hopefully.

This is the most advantageous I have felt since first appearing in this universe. Is this the turning point? Will everything start going my way from now on?

“So it's Shadowheart, Astarion, Gale, Lae'zel, Wyll, Karlach... and me. Under your protection, so far.” I add, tempting the illithid to verbally agree to my terms.

“You mentioned just Gale and Lae'zel in your plans for tomorrow.” The Emperor says, opening its clawed hand as if to invite me to stand next to it. “Why not rescue all of them, Wyll and Karlach included, in one fell swoop?”

“I’d like to, but I'm not...,” I pause in my wording and sigh “I’m not strong enough or fast enough to get to them by tomorrow.” I admit. “They're… pretty far away.”

I wander to the edge of the asteroid and look down at a depressing sight. There is a battle below around a giant, floating skull. It is bright and colorful, but the Emperor has cast some sort of spell on the scene, hiding the true faces of its allies and its enemies. Predictable behavior on its part at this stage, I guess, which is a comfort in its own way.

“Honestly, this world is a lot bigger and a lot harder than anything I've ever had to deal with before. I'm not used to this much... hiking.” I say conspiratorially.

My words are meant to lighten the mood, but l can't tell if it does.

“What can I do to aid you,” It offers, attempting a friendly rapport, “so that our collective freedoms might be returned?”

‘Freedom’ is a funny word coming from the Emperor, as the illithid is currently holding a githyanki prince hostage right before my very eyes. His underhanded, manipulative wording sparks a flame in me.

“I'd like it if you'd protect anyone from the Absolute that I asked, without question.” I say boldly. I know there are more companions that will need protection, companions that the Emperor will NOT want to help in the future. Best to prep the mind flayer now so that there won't be a big fight about it later on.

“I meant,” it counters smoothly, “information about this world that could help you navigate it more easily, and hopefully, more efficiently.”

It's got me there. The Emperor knows more of this world, and the big picture as a whole, thanks to its multiple lifetimes of adventuring. And I'm just... me. Barely a player in my old world, barely a person in this world.

It gives me an idea for my upcoming nights with my companions, but for now I press the illithid further.

“Please. I mean it. There are some people you won't want to save in the future. But they are important, even if you can't see it now.”

“Then help me to see it.” It retorts, turning to me, fixing me with a harmless, charming stare.

I start to tremble. I am afraid again.

It wants more. What terrible things would it do to me in order to extract more information from me if I don't pretend to fall for its charms now? What if the ‘more’ that I give it isn’t enough? The Emperor is taller, stronger, and smarter, it has every advantage in the world over me. I could be captured here, imprisoned here, tortured here for eternity, and no one would know. No one would come to help me.

“If I tell you,” I say, covering my face with my hands to help hide the lie, “then you might act in a way that changes the course of events… that will lead to our victory.”

I tease it with success to sweeten the deal. Please let it work.

The Emperor wants to push back, to correct the logic in my arguments to charm me the answers it seeks out of me, but it doesn't. “Try a mace or a hammer.” It says instead.

I glance wide-eyed up at its tentacled face.

“For the upcoming illithid you must kill. Archery takes consistent effort to get right. Perhaps try to practice with the crossbow at the start and end of the day to improve. But for a dying illithid? A swift strike to the skull is all you truly need.”

Comradery. That's the route the Emperor has chosen. Oh f*ck. That's the best route!

“Thank you.” I breathe sincerely, quivering with relief. The mind flayer nods amiably before flicking a claw at me, and I am thrust into darkness once more.

Chapter 5: Chapter Five

Chapter Text

I wake, already sitting up in my bedroll. Scooping at the ground with my hand. There's dirt under my nails.

Well that's… odd.

The sky is a glowing pink and the stars have faded from sight, morning must be coming soon. I dust off my hands, get up, and stoke the gray, sleeping embers of our campfire.

Playing with fire is fun! I'm sure it'll get old soon enough, but for now, it still sparks joy.

I shiver as I squat over coals, trying to breathe life into the ashes. Is it the morning chill, or the fear of the upcoming day that causes me to shake? Let’s blame the temperature.

When the fire is properly crackling again, I take a triumphant swig at the last of my clean water, hoping it will help settle my nerves.

My body is sore and sluggish as I stand and start to get ready for the day. I make it down to the river to retrieve more water to boil, brush my teeth with a bit of charcoal, and have a private pee behind an old tree.

Astarion is up early when I return, or perhaps he just pretends to sleep in his sleep? Does he actually rest at night, I wonder?

He walks over as I work around the fire, and inspects the side of my head. He congratulates himself on a job well done and holds his head up higher for me to thank him again. Behind an aura of nonchalance and superiority, he chooses to continue to chat with me while facing the rising sun.

He smiles more and his comments become funnier as the warm morning rays caress his pale skin. This is the first time that dawn has touched him in two hundred years. My heart flutters at the sight. I feel so happy for him, and… it's nice to see his hidden joy up close. He deserves to walk in the warmth of the sun again.

Shadowheart, for all her seriousness, is a late riser. I wonder if it's because she stays up late to enjoy the night with her goddess, Shar.

While we wait for her, I decide to take this moment to practice some archery with my crossbow. Loathsome as it is to take advice from the Emperor, it is good advice to practice if I want to get better at something…

I struggle to load my arrows and my arms shake when I take aim at a nearby tree. This delights Astarion to no end and he assures me that ‘today will be a good day’.

After a while, Shadowheart, without my notice, joins Astarion in joking and jeering at my attempts at archery.

She speaks loudly, as I trudge back and forth to retrieve my arrows, about packing up camp to make our way towards Baldur's Gate.

My eyes dart to her. I want to scream that we can't go to the city yet. That we have to do other things in the area first; gather companions, rescue people, and fight lots and lots of different kinds of baddies. But I have no idea if this is the moment to argue with her or not. Conversations about future events, and planning for those events, need to happen organically, or I'll come off as either suspicious or insane.

Astarion is my godsend as he argues that we should explore the area and find an expert healer for our tadpole problem instead.

They compromise and agree to pack up camp, scout the area a bit more to figure out our location, and then set up camp again on our way towards a healer that can be found on our way to Baldur's Gate.

This buys me another day, at least. Another day before I have to break the news that we'll be staying in this area a lot longer than they’ll want to. Long enough to defeat a whole horde of goblins, gnolls, drow, and ogres, at least.

My archery continues to be terrible, and my muscles begin trembling from the exercise. That’s as good enough a reason as any to stop for the day.

At the dying fire, I gnaw at some rations that Shadowheart distributes to me. Astarion waves his away saying he'd already eaten because ‘some of us had gotten up at an appropriate hour’. This sparks a new back and forth between the two, but I can’t sense any real venom behind their words. I squirrel away the extra rations in my pack again.

We leave to go ‘scout’.

My mind buzzes with distant bird’s-eye view memories of where we need to go and what we need to do. We reach another hole in the smoldering nautiloid and I pale as I recognize it.

I clear my throat and say that ‘we’ll need to go through the ship again in order to move forward’. Shadowheart glares at the wreckage of the alien vessel, pulls out her mace, and encourages me to pull out my scimitar.

We re-enter the nautiloid, prepared for battle. Small, persistent, fires still burn here and there, and putrid caustic fluids drip from the ship’s large, slashed arteries. Our path leads us to a large open hall, with piles and piles of illithid debris. My breakfast feels like lead in my stomach.

Soon we will find something alive under this debris. Soon, I will have to kill a downed creature.

I see the illithid pinned under some rubble before the others, but say nothing. Maybe I can avoid killing it if I don’t look at it.

As soon as I think this, Shadowheart perceptively alerts us of the injured mind flayer and warns us to be careful. Astarion, on the other hand, decides he wants to interrogate the wretched thing. They both look at me, the tie breaker of the group. Avoid it, or talk to it? I purse my lips and take a deep breath.

“It won’t willingly talk to us.” I say glumly. “We need to kill it… and hide its body.” This could be the illithid that could give us trouble with the goblin horde in the future. Getting rid of it now might benefit us more than it won't.

Astarion and Shadowheart both seem to approve and move forward to dispatch of the creature. I hold out my hands, fearfully, and they stop. This is a possible permanent death moment. I can’t let my companions risk their lives over something as small as this.

After a moment of consideration, I ask to borrow Shadowheart’s mace, and we trade weapons. Without talking to the creature, I step within attack range and raise my weapon to smash its head in.

Instantly, it sets a psionic charm on me and my body is no longer mine to control. Waves of compassion and love for the illithid are poured over my brain, freezing me in place. My parasite insists that I would be happy to help the creature, happy to submit to it, happy to feed it my brain.

My soul, thrust out of my body’s brain and floating somewhere in the back of the skull, knows I need to kill the mind flayer, but my body feels the most revolting, tender loyalty towards the dying thing.

Nothing else matters but caring for it right now. The other two potential meals are shouting at me from behind.

Someone shoves me, distracting both me and the illithid. With its concentration broken, I bring the mace down to its tentacled head like a spring loaded trap. Its body twitches and I lift the mace and slam it down over and over again until the twitching stops. The head is obliterated. Brain matter and liquid are sprayed over my pants, shirt, and face, and I'm panting with effort.

I hated all of that. The charm, the loss of control, the killing. It makes me feel sick.

“Your eyes went dark there for a moment, darling.” Astarion murmurs from behind me.

As I glance back, l see that his clothes are completely unspoiled. I must have been his gore poncho in the splash zone. I am unsure of how to act under his scrutiny, so I plaster a weak smile to my face, like a shield.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize, “I'm… I’m not used to this.”

My body unclenches itself, one muscle at a time, and I offer Shadowheart her mace back. She declines.

“It's customary to clean a borrowed weapon before returning it up here.” She sniffs.

The comment is unnerving. Did she know that I wasn't from around here? How could she tell??

I glance at the mace in my dark blue hand and realize that, thankfully, Shadowheart was just being racist against drow.

That's a relief.

I turn back to the dead illithid. I don't have the strength or the constitution to hide the remains of the mind flayer’s body.

“I guess it can't talk without a head.” I say dryly.

We decide to press on, coming out of the other side of the ship, mostly, unscathed. Dead goblins litter the ground next to the ship, making me jump. We loot them.

Seeing the fantastical anatomy of a goblin up close is fascinating, and would have been much more engaging to study had I been in my old world. But as it is, they stink to the high heavens and their glares, even in death, are unnerving.

Past the pile of dead goblins is a trail that leads to the ancient sigil where Gale is trapped. I head in that direction. Shadowheart and Astarion follow without comment. We hear the chaos of the magic before we see it. The malfunctioning sigil is a swirling mass of black and purple static. It’s intimidating and Shadowheart warns me against interacting with it. Astarion, on the other hand, says to touch it just to see what happens.

I need to save Gale, I know this, mentally. But physically, my body wants to recoil and avoid the portal entirely. Magic, itself, is dangerous and powerful, not something for someone like me.

But, I push past my unease, and reach in through the gaseous black purple form until my hand brushes against… more static? Magic feels unlike anything I've ever touched before and I have no other words to describe it.

I feel the life of a person within the sigil and instantly Gale is made aware of my presence as well. With an electric shock, my arm is forced out of the portal and a hand reaches out and a familiar voice asks for help.

The sight of this disembodied, waving hand is calming and funny. I easily remember what the best course of action is in this situation:

I slap his hand.

“Correction, I could use a helping hand.” Gale, exasperated, explains patiently. The silliness. The predictability. The relief of knowing that I'm on the right path… It all makes me laugh.

And laugh and laugh and laugh. Shadowheart and Astarion exchange glances. They must be wondering if someone has cursed me with Tasha's hideous laughter.

I continue giggling while I grab the wizard’s hand. I put a foot up on a rock and try pulling him out with a tug. Then a harder tug. The effort it takes is astonishing! My body is much lighter and weaker than my old one, and it’s frustrating that all of the strength that I’d built up over a lifetime is no longer available to me.

Channeling that frustration, I grunt angrily, put both feet up on the rock, and yank with all of my strength.

Gale comes flying out and lands solidly on top of me

Flustered, he apologizes profusely and professes that he is terribly grateful for the assistance.

He truly is quite handsome up close: perfect laugh lines around his eyes, perfectly windswept hair with streaks of silver interwoven amidst the soft mocha strands, his perfectly charming smile…

He laughs politely as I stare at him, and stands with a bit of fuss, holding his hand out to assist me up. He introduces himself as Gale of Waterdeep and then asks if we are fellow ‘infectees’. At our collective silence, he continues, uninterrupted, recounting his time on the nautiloid, how he had gotten stuck in the ancient sigil, recites what he knows of ceremorphosis, and finally asks for the opportunity of possibly joining our party to find a healer.

l, of course, invite him to join us. His friendliness and sincerity are addictive to bask in. Shadowheart and Astarion turn up their noses at our party’s addition, but otherwise do not protest. We all have tadpoles afterall, so there's no real reason to say no.

Oh man, if they don't like adding Gale to our party, they are gonna hate the next person I invite to camp with us…

As the wizard expresses his gratitude again and speaks of his observations of the area, I open up my pack and offer him a helping of rations and some of my water. He smiles at the gesture, even if the offering is below the standards of his previous lifestyle.

We continue on with our journey, gaining supplies and getting our bearings amongst the rocky shores and the increasingly wooded inland trails.

I steer us away from the ruins of an old church. That could be a later endeavor. If at all.

Logically, why would l want to have a god hanging around my camp? Even if it is a super useful death god. Gods, goddesses, and the divine have not been kind to in this universe, so I’d like to avoid them whenever possible.

We reach Lae'zel’s location by late afternoon.

Goddamn. It took for-f*cking-ever to get to her. I’m already exhausted, and we still had to navigate an NPC conversation that could lead to a fight, maybe have a fight, and then hike to find a secure place to set up camp for the night!

This game is a lot more exercise than I remember…

I look over at the other companions. Even Gale is less winded than l am, much to my chagrin.

There are two tieflings debating the caged githyanki’s fate on the trail ahead. They have their backs turned to us. We are given the opportunity to sneak up on them and attack them from behind, call out to them, or avoid the interaction entirely.

Shadowheart and Astarion decide to change course, and start to quietly sneak away along a different trail. They are uninterested in saving Lae'zel. Gale, as a go-with-the flow sort of wizard these days, follows the confident duo.

I step forward without them, readying myself for a solo conversation. As long as my persuasion is high enough, I shouldn’t need to involve the others at all.

“What the Hells are you doing!?” Shadowheart hisses from down the trail, hidden behind some rocks and bushes.

The tieflings turn at my loud and labored approach, and ask me my business.

Lae'zel, as loath as she is to use her parasite, reaches out telepathically and commands me to get her down from the trap by any means necessary. She threatens me with the dangers of ceremorphosis and offers to lead me to a cure if I assist her.

I frown at the squirm of my tadpole in my skull. I am, of course, going to get her down, but not by ANY means possible. Not everything had to be handled with violence.

I hail to the tieflings and warn them that I'd just passed a bunch of dead goblins on my way here. I emphasize that I was heading away from the direction of the ship crash and that they should do the same.

“Just leave the… the githyanki behind, and let the goblins deal with her.” I say, trying to keep the desperation from my voice.

This was it. The first test of my persuasion abilities with NPC’s.

Please, please, please let them believe me. Please, please, please let them just leave!

Thankfully, I am sweaty, covered in gore, and stuttering. The tieflings are more than inclined to believe my story and agree to leave the gith to be dealt with by goblins.

Before they leave, I remember that I need to ask them if there is a healer in the area.

Looking me up and down, the tieflings smile pityingly and tell me that there’s a healer at the grove that they are staying at. Some druid named Nettie.

I thank them profusely for their advice and wave as they retreat.

They leave at a brisk trot and encourage me to avoid any goblins I come across in the future.

Once they are out of earshot, Lae'zel commands me to free her from the trap. Gale, Shadowheart, and Astarion come out from hiding on the trail, and all of our parasites squirm in collective communication.

Even when it's revealed that Lae'zel is not a threat to us, no one moves to help her. Shadowheart and Astarion look at me, disgusted.

With an apologetic smile, I remind them of my archery skills and ask one of them to shoot out the bottom of the trap for me. They smile smuggishly but then sigh at the effort of freeing Lae'zel. Gale politely observes us all, taking notes of how we interact with one another.

It’s Astarion who steps forward and throws a fireball at the hinges of the trap, burning the simple wood and ropes in a single shot. Lae'zel drops to the ground like a cat.

She stands to her full height, angry and beautiful. She rages and lectures us about ceremorphosis and the dangers of the mind flayer parasites, then commands us to help her find a creche to be purified.

It's comforting how well Lae'zel says all of her familiar lines from the game, even if she is growling at us as she says them. She may come off as mean, but she’s scared, and she channels her fear into anger and action. I could learn a lot from her example.

I rummage through my pack and pull out the last of my uneaten rations and offer them to her. She eats the small meal quickly and ravenously. I give over my water next and tell her that our next step is making camp somewhere safe.

Everyone but Gale complains about this plan. Shadowheart doesn't want a gith to journey with us, or to know where we sleep, Astarion wants to go out and kill something before we stop for the night, and Lae'zel wants to continue the journey to find her creche immediately.

I listen tiredly to their complaints and then suggest we collect more supplies along the way to the grove and set up our camp near there, and we could always hunt something around dusk ‘when prey is more likely to be active’.

I get strange looks from everyone, as if they're cataloging the things that l say and do for later examination, but I walk past them, following the sparsely wooded trail the tieflings had taken. Their scrutiny doesn’t faze me right now because the effort of walking anywhere is taking all of my energy and concentration. The only thing that unites the group after a while are quips and jokes about how slowly I walk.

We don't make it to the grove by sundown. Due in large part to me.

Lae'zel finds a secluded clearing fairly far from any trail and tells us we are camping there. No one but Shadowheart complains about this, and we all begin unpacking. Gale's magic proves to be an invaluable asset, as it decreases the amount of time and effort it takes to set up camp.

I'm so grateful to him in this moment, and to all magic itself really, that I want to cry.

Lae'zel is still impatient and angry after her tent is erected, so I ask if she would be willing to go hunting with Astarion. Astarion huffs at the addition of company, but takes delight in seeing that Lae'zel also does not want to hunt with him. With a chk, Lae'zel shoulders a githyanki crossbow and sweeps her eyes across the camp, her gaze landing on me. She seems terribly underwhelmed.

It's embarrassing to be under such scrutinization after I've pushed myself so hard today. But l get it.

Off they go.

Shadowheart comes over to me to restart the conversation about her disapproval of letting a gith join our camp. I understand that these chats are her attempt to manipulate me into distrusting Lae'zel, which will inevitably prove to be fruitless and unnecessary, but still, it's nice to have such a beloved character talk to me at all. Shadowheart can talk to me as much as she wants, even if it’s sh*t talking.

After a while, when she asks if I agree with her opinions, I reassure her that we're doing everything we can to get rid of the parasites before parting ways, and that I'll be careful not to depend on Lae'zel for anything important.

She searches my eyes and nods when she detects ‘truth’ in my answers. She smiles sweetly, comments about how intelligent I seem, and returns to her tent to pray.

I rub my head with a quiet groan and turn to the task of collecting kindling and firewood. I think gathering wood will probably be my main role in the group.

When Shadowheart deems I've collected enough again, I stop and reassess what else needs to be done.

Everyone has a tent set up, just like in the game. I wonder if I should try to construct one as well? I have the supplies, technically.

To make conversation while I awkwardly build my tent, I ask Shadowheart about what she thinks we will find in the grove, what she knows of druids, and if she's excited to meet this healer, Nettie.

She's happy to chat about her opinions on such things, and throws in a dig about how a githyanki creche is just as likely to kill us as it is to help us.

With his tent finished and the firewood prepped, Gale pleasantly starts the campfire and sets up a pot with cut vegetables and freshly picked herbs to boil.

Genuinely curious, l ask if he's planning to add the meat that Lae'zel and Astarion hunt to the pot or if he’ll roast it separately.

He explains his basic plan for dinner if we have just the pot of vegetables or if we get some meat, and what possibilities he could create with different animal subjects.

It's so close to a normal conversation that I'd have at home that l want to weep.

There’s a pause in Gale’s speech. He’s just… staring at me.

“Are you alright? I can exclude the meat from your bowl if you’re a vegetarian?” He asks gently.

What? Why? I love eating meat!

I blink in bewilderment. Oh sh*t. I’m crying. Again. I almost want to laugh at my consistency. Maybe my main role will be crying by the campfire.

“I… just miss home.” I admit truthfully. Gale has a genial sincerity about him that l don't feel like lying to.

With that the wizard takes verbal flight, talking about his city of Waterdeep, the home he has for himself there, and the comforts and companies that are available to him that he'd be happy to show us once we're free of our parasites.

His speech is fascinating, but my watery face makes me self conscious. Yet, I can't leave while he offers this soothing distraction to comfort me. I wipe my eyes and smile politely through the one sided conversation. Eventually his descriptions sneak in one too many brags about his life, which prompts Shadowheart to make a snarky comment.

The second his attention is diverted, l pull out a large empty bottle and head towards a source of water. Need me some Clean Water, even if my legs are dying.

The river feels like it's on the other side of the world, but eventually I find it. There's a small gap in the trees hugging the shoreline and I bend carefully to fill my bottle to the brim without falling in.

I bring my prize back to camp to present to Gale for boiling. He makes a comment on his appreciation for cleanliness and makes room on the campfire for a kettle to boil.

Shadowheart has returned to praying outside of her tent.

Looking at my own empty and poorly constructed tent is a little embarrassing. There are no books, no personal effects, just looted items, crude weapons, and a bedroll that l had scavenged from the dead. My eyes catch on Shadowheart’s dirtied mace.

I have no idea how to clean a weapon, but I need to do my best to return the mace properly. Being beholden to others doesn't feel any better in this body than it did in my old one.

Ugh. My old body. My old life! I remember being so happy and content back then. I was lucky, comfortable, and cozy. I had worked hard to build such a nice life. And I remembered sharing that warmth with others. Sharing it with my wife and our family...

It feels like I'm probably crying again. I pull out a rag from my pack and take the mace back down to the water. When would the sadness stop, I wonder?

When I reach the river, I take off my shoes and roll up my pants at the shore and wade in. The cold helps focus me more on the present.

I dip the mace into the water and try to soak the dried blood and viscera a bit to make it easier to scrub off. Then I scrub and scrub, nicking my knuckles and fingers, adding fresh blood to the spots I'd actually been able to clean. It's slow and disgusting work, but not without its reward of mind numbing silence.

Music would be nice to have actually. Unlike in the game, the day had been filled with lots and lots of silence.

I hum a familiar tune to myself. This new voice isn't terrible. Higher, and smoother without effort. But still unfamiliar and strange. Too bad I had a poor memory and no musical inclination in my past life. If I couldn't remember the words or tune, then the song was most certainly lost to me forever in this new world.

“Chk.”

I whirl around, rag half raised, to see Lae'zel glaring down at me and Astarion snickering behind her. They have three dead squirrels between them.

“If l had been an enemy, you would have been dead at the end of your first note.” Lae'zel chastises. “I had wondered who would be stupid enough to be drowning and singing in open water. Why am I not surprised to find it you, istik?"

So. Embarrassing.

Lae'zel turns and stalks through the woods towards camp. Astarion stands for one more moment, as if to memorize the pathetic figure of their leader in the water with a rag raised high in the air before following her without a sound.

I swish my blood off of Shadowheart’s weapon and slog my way back up to camp, my face burning.

The camp has some hushed chatter as l return. Lae'zel and Gale are preparing the meat by the fire, Gale is doing most of the talking, while Shadowheart and Astarion are hiding snickers behind polite hands, Astarion is doing most of the talking.

I awkwardly walk over to Shadowheart and hold out the mace for her. She's gracious enough to take it, after hearing of how hard I had worked to clean it for her, l suppose.

She even casts magic over the open cuts on my hands, which, thankfully, also closes the blisters on my feet. Did she mean to do that or is healing magic just indiscriminate? Magic sure is strange and enigmatic. As is Shadowheart.

I say ‘thank you’ and retreat to the fire.

Gale has set my kettle aside to cool. I refill my glass bottle and drink the lukewarm water greedily. It tastes like old metal and campfire.

With fresh meat at last, Gale decides to roast the bodies of the squirrels separately, but add their skulls to the boiling vegetables to make a soup.

Waste not, want not, l think with a frown. The look on Astarion and Shadowheart’s face makes me feel a little easier in my own disgust at the prospect of squirrel-brain stew.

While Gale is cooking, Astarion and Lae'zel go to work at arranging and cataloging our camp items. Shadowheart works at oiling her de-blooded mace, and with firewood stacked high next to my bedroll, l realize that I have the horrifying opportunity to chat individually with each of my companions, just like in the game.

Nope. Too much too soon.

I retreat to my tent instead and blankly pull out the crossbow. ‘Practice in the morning and evening’, the Emperor had said. Whether he is watching or not, is manipulating me or not, he did have much more adventuring experience than I did. A lot more. So, as much as I hated how he was going to treat the people that l care about in the future, his advice here and now, is worth heeding.

I go to the camp's edge, away from the group, and try to shoot at a tree. My arms are shaky and my legs are sore, but l still I try.

I miss. Then miss again. Then one glances off the edge of the trunk. Then another arrow hits WAY too high. Another miss...

I trudge to retrieve my arrows. I can feel a set of eyes on me. Maybe it was my self consciousness nibbling away at my efforts.

Or maybe it was Lae'zel standing rigidly where l had been shooting.

She chk’s and hisses at my attempts and holds out her hand to inspect my weapon. She takes in its weight and shape and holds out a hand for an arrow. I hand her one and she inspects it against the faint light of the campfire.

She co*cks, loads, aims, and shoots so smoothly and effortlessly that l don't even see the arrow hit the center of the targeted tree, just at chest height.

In disgust, she complains about my inadequacies and shoves the crossbow back at me. Instead of taking it, I hold out another arrow to her, transfixed. With a hard glint in her narrow eyes, Lae’zel reloads, slowly, allowing me to drink in her every motion. I stare openly at her, trying to memorize the pattern.

co*ck. Load. Aim. And Fire.

Another 'chest' wound into the unsuspecting tree.

I want to hand her another arrow but she shoves the crossbow fully into my hands and stalks back to the fire, muttering in her native tongue.

In a slow, clumsy pantomime, l recreate her motions. co*ck, load, aim.

Deep breath. Deep breath. DEEP BREATH.

And fire.

Crotch shot, at best. But center!

I let out a yelp of delight. I repeat the motions, fire again and again, all low, but all hitting the tree in some way. If my legs weren't made of jelly, I would have jumped into the air in triumph.

When my arms finally shake too badly to aim properly, l stop and retrieve my arrows. The two that Lae'zel had shot are stuck deep in the tree, almost too difficult to remove.

She's so much better than me that it's hard to look at her.

Gale announces to the group that ‘the feast is fit to be fed’ and we all wander to the fire to come and eat. Eating with everyone feels surreal. And warm. Gale is a genius cook. Even with squirrel-brain stew.

Oh god. These people are so much better than me in every way. It makes my back crawl to be in their presence.

Lae'zel finishes first and stands to declare a plan: at first light we will go to the grove, obtain directions to her creche, and then move forward towards purification. Shadowheart naturally disagrees with moving on and points out that we should be looking for the healer at the grove instead. The one named Nettie.

They squabble back and forth for a moment before looking around the group for support. I glance away. I do not want to get involved. They have to work out their own plans for themselves. I can't interject just yet with what l know, or I'll look crazy.

Gale suggests we try the nearest answer first, Nettie, who will be at the grove with the person who has information on Lae'zel’s creche.

Lae'zel can't argue with his logic but insists that wasting time at the grove will only lead towards inevitable ceremorphosis.

The wooden dinnerware piles up. The hunters, and Shadowheart, depart for their tents, and Gale begins placing leftover squirrel bones in the pot to stew overnight.

Dishes are on me, l guess. Gale, god bless him, has soap in his supplies and l borrow it gratefully.

I take the soap, dishes, another 'clean' rag, and a stolen candle down to my little spot by the water.

My brain groans and protests at the non stop and tedious assault of boring survival moments. Training, planning, cooking, boiling water, finding places to go to the bathroom, doing the dishes…

It's like doing all of the boring chores of my old life, but harder, and with the threat of multiple deaths at the back of my mind at all times. I wash the bowls and cutlery in mind numbed silence.

Dishes f*cking cleaned. f*ck. I. am. Exhausted.

Every bit of me feels sticky and gritty. And after washing the dishes with Gale’s soap, I can tell that I stink too.

I scan the darkness around my spot with extra care, and strip.

The air is cool here and after stepping into the water, my skin puckers at the cold. Ugh. I do not care for being exposed out here, especially in chilly dark water.

“Indoor plumbing, heated water... I didn't think I took you for granted in my old life, but I just want you to know: how much l loved you then, and how much l miss you now!” I whisper into the night.

I scrub, lather, then dunk into the dark foreboding water. Under the surface, I shake all of the soap and grime away from me.

I can't get over the fear that something in the water will jump out to get me, so I slog back to the shore and press down some reeds to sit down and drip dry on.

Shivering, I use my hands to scrape off as much excess water as l can, blue hands on blue skin.

This body certainly looks… different. It could use a few more meals in it, but otherwise it looks healthy enough. It sure gets cold and sad pretty easily though.

But then again, being wet, naked, and alone would probably make anyone feel sorry for themselves. In fact, I can already feel more tears starting to prick at my eyes again.

Alone in the night in this strange universe once more, l let myself mourn for all that I’ve lost. After I am dry enough, l put my clothes back on and go over my list of things to do for tomorrow. Not out loud this time. Since the Emperor is always listening, l guess.

Goblin fight, meet Wyll, talk to Zevlor and the tieflings, visit Kahga, then speak with Nettie.

Or should it be; goblin fight, Wyll, Zevlor, talk to the tiefling with info on the githyanki creche, then Kahga, then Nettie? And we'll need to trade for supplies too at some point…

Oh god, and there's the assassination attempt too! I have to stop that.

So goblin fight, Zevlor, assassination attempt stopping, Wyll, tiefling with info on the creche, Kahga, then Nettie.

Damn, I forgot to put in time to trade again.

f*ck.

Is it possible to do all of this in one day?

Questions and my list of things to do at the grove race through my mind as l trudge back up to camp. I proudly hand Gale the clean dishes and return his soap. Then I unroll my bedroll by the fire.

Warming up, becoming dry, and drinking my clean water aren't anywhere near how comfortable and cozy l used to be, but it's still a small sliver of joy amidst the exhausting chaos of this new world.

“Who is to be the first to stand sentry?” Lae'zel asks roughly, stepping forward in her black, strappy, camp clothes.

Damn, she is gorgeous. Gale, at least, has the good sense to be in properly comfortable clothes for the night, but even then his face is, unfortunately, still distractingly handsome. Being surrounded by beautiful, talented people makes my role in keeping them alive and safe seem unbelievably unnecessary.

“Would you…” I ask tiredly. “like a shift tonight?”

“Ghaik and goblins freely roam your forests and yet you ask for my willingness to participate as a sentinel?” She asks, insulted. She is, and would continue to be, hard to talk to for a while l suppose.

I want to tell her that we won't be attacked in camp by goblins or mindflayers. But l can't explain to her why.

A thought occurs to me as I hold my tongue. l realize that I can't guarantee that we won't be attacked. Having people enter our camp uninvited isn't something that will be uncommon, but I just wouldn’t expect it to happen yet. Will everything still stay the same as in the game, or will it all be different thanks to me being here, mucking about with the timeline of events?

Who the f*ck knows at this point?

“Focus!” Lae'zel snaps. There's a note in her tone. Anger, yes, but fear too. What's happened? Why is she fearful? Am l f*cking up, rolling critical failures in this conversation?

Everyone is watching us.

“I'll..." l honestly couldn't stay up any longer, I could feel this body screaming like a fussy child, soon to no longer be well behaved in public.

"I think Shadowheart should take the first shift, watch,” l correct. “Then you could take over. Then I'll… finish out the night?"

“You think?” Lae'zel orders.

Jesus Christ. It was like she was dragging me towards the leadership role by tooth and nail. If she wanted to give direction, she should just be the leader, not me.

But l get it. I can see it, kind of. Of the companions available, l am the only one, at the moment, with some form of connection, some influence over everyone, and if Lae’zel could convince me of anything, then the others would likely follow along. It's sound logic for her. Dangerous for me though. How much should I actually stand out in this world to achieve the ‘best ending’? How much could l actually influence the outcomes of day to day events if everything has a predetermined fate? Should I be the bold leader of our party, personally handling every interaction or altercation, or should I just help from the sidelines?

It’s impossible to say.

“Yes. I think that's the plan'' l stammer, irritated. I look over at Astarion and Shadowheart near the vampire’s tent for her consent. Gale looks with me and Lae'zel follows suit.

“Fine.” Shadowheart answers, raising her head in acknowledgement at my request

Astarion shrugs and uncorks a hidden bottle of wine. Gale, looking interested in having a nightcap, saunters up to the bar that is Astarion's tent.

“I'll take the first watch tomorrow night then.” He promises with a small bow, while producing a simple goblet with his mage hand from his tent.

Satisfied, and yet still unhappy, Lae'zel returns to her tent to sharpen her weapons and rest.

I drop onto my bedding next to the fire. Stress and exhaustion make my arms heavy as I try to comb my fingers through my damp hair.

White strands come loose and tangle around the webbing of my hands. l wiggle them off and throw them into the fire. These small, realistic moments are things I wouldn't have thought would happen in a fantasy world. I thought life here would be all; strategic planning, action, drama, and romance, but it’s a lot bigger and quieter here than I had expected. The smell of burnt hair makes my nose crinkle.

I make a part on my head and try braiding it in the way that Astarion had done the night before.

God, I'm so tired, my arms shake at this little bit of effort. There's no hiding my weakness, no privacy anywhere, really, and barely any warmth to be felt at all… It’s just me, fumbling about in front of the campfire at simple things like arranging sentry duty and grooming.

The plaits I make are loose and askewed. I undo them and lay down on my side. From the ground, I try to redo the braids, resting but also working.

Without a sound, Shadowheart is at my back, chastising me for letting the gith speak to me like that. Telling me that we shouldn't trust her, that she wouldn't sleep at all knowing that it was Lae'zel watching our backs in the early morning hours, that githyanki are more likely to slit our throats at the earliest opportunity than look out for us.

She says all these terrible, manipulative things while kneeling down and batting my hands away, taking my hair in her hands and redoing my work. She carefully, while continuing on her tirade, makes two neater and tighter braids close to my head, an improvement of her work from the night before.

It was electrifying and soothing to finally be given a moment to fully relax for the day.

“You also cry too much.” Shadowheart points out. “It's unbecoming.”

I close my eyes, the ghost of a bitter smile on my lips. My eyes do feel wet again.

“Do l?” I murmur thickly. Darkness feels like a sweet numbing blanket being wrapped around me.

I have no idea how much time passes with us by the fire. But I do feel Shadowheart eventually finish and stand.

“Thank you.” I croak, falling back on familiar politeness.

There is no response.

Chapter 6: Chapter Six

Chapter Text

Without ceremony, l am back in the Astral Plane, lying on the ground, the Emperor is sitting next to me.

Its eyes are unfocused, its guard is down. It is simulating a trusting moment between us, leaving itself exposed while also being close to me.

If it was going to be busy, it should have just left me to sleep.

“Fighting the Absolute or the honor guard?” I ask, crankily

Immediately its eyes turn and focus on me. These manipulation tactics would work better if it would remember that I knew most of the major plot points of this adventure. Not that I've come off as intelligent, or even slightly clever, to the Emperor during our nightly meetings.

“Both.” it says evenly, “I am surrounded by never-ending waves of battle here, both mentally and physically.”

I know it's a play to my soft heart, but it works nonetheless. I hate seeing things struggle when I am involved.

“How do you have any strength left?” I ask, squeezing my hands into fists. The aches and pains of reality are not present here and the only fatigue I feel is mental. The Emperor watches me impassively.

“You have all these fights,” l continue, “you make all these plans, you snatch my soul from these gods scavenging my body, and you protect us from the Absolute... don't you need food or rest? What happens if your strength runs out, from bringing me here?” I demand, rambling at this point, verbally vomiting to vent my stresses.

There is a soft, muffled collision from beyond the asteroid's garden. The Emperor does not turn to look at it.

“The honor guard supplies me of my meals.” It says at last.

“Oh that's nice of them, but why would they...?”

It takes a moment for a vision of the githyanki honor guard sitting around a table and sharing a meal with the Emperor, to dissipate into the reality of a mind flayer, flaying the minds of the honor guard to sate its hunger.

I'm an idiot.

I roll my eyes at myself.

If the Emperor could smile, this would have been a moment to do so.

“As far as You go, souls are easier to slip into and out of the Astral Plane than bodies.”

“Bodies are heavy.” I agree, half joking.

“Yes…”

The Emperor can no longer stand on ceremony, and reaches out for a report from my tadpole. It's uncomfortable and violating, but the parasite insists that it's enjoyable, like talking to your oldest and dearest friend.

“It would be nice if you could laugh at my jokes.” I grit out, trying to distract myself from the unpleasant feeling.

“You have been practicing with the crossbow.” the illithid states pleasantly. It almost sounds like a compliment

“Trying to.” l grumble.

“I could pretend to laugh,” it continues, “if you ever decide to tell a joke.”

Now that makes me want to laugh. I'd told a bunch of jokes already and to me they'd all been hilarious. Either the Emperor didn't think they were funny, or it just didn't catch them when they came by, due to… cultural differences.

“No no, I just- I just use humor to cover up when I'm feeling uncomfortable.” I explain, waving at the air between us, trying to cut the tadpole connection.

The Emperor looks from my face to the stars.

“If you would prefer to perceive me in another form, I can easily oblige.” it offers.

“No please!” I raise my voice, catching its attention. “l prefer to look at you, like this. It's- It's different from anything I've seen before but it feels more…” I search for the right word, “sincere.”

The Emperor double checks my body language to assess whether l, myself, am being sincere. Then it moves on.

“What will you do tomorrow?” it asks coyly.

I shift in my spot. “We have to go to the Emerald Grove.” I begin, sinking into a comfortable vision of what l need to do next. “There will be a battle at the gate; goblins, that follow the Absolute. I don't know how much help I'll be, but Wyll is going to fight for the tieflings guarding the gate, so that'll make things easier.”

I continue the plan for the day, detailing events l want to be involved in, leaving wiggle room for how long it could take to accomplish each task. The Emperor doesn't move, but its tentacles writhe in an almost ecstatic motion.

I can feel it. I am being ‘Useful’, at least to the Emperor. It feels almost comforting, yet nauseating at the same time.

“Do you,” I ask, pushing past my discomfort, “have any advice? For the plan?”

More advice from an expert in adventuring wouldn't go amiss.

The Emperor considers my retelling of the events that are to happen tomorrow, stroking its tentacles as if it were a beard.

“You should not prioritize foiling the assassination attempt.” It states at last.

My eyes flash at the mind flayer in rage. Finally, a moment of letting my guard down and this is its response? To push me towards letting a refugee die? This thing definitely couldn't read my mind because that is just something l am NOT willing to do.

“You should also stay out of the goblin fight, let your companions go without you in this upcoming battle. You still need a hand weapon that you are proficient with, and at the very least some light armor.” the Emperor meets my glare level headedly, “you can't even defend yourself as it is, let alone others.”

I hate it. I hate that it's right about me. And I hate the way it says everything to me. I am nothing in the face of the illithid’s cold, infallible intelligence, and I f*cking HATE it.

—

Before I can bite its head off, I am thrust back in my new body. A body that's standing outside the edge of camp.

Why was l standing? Was l sleepwalking? Does this body sleepwalk?

“Speak.” A harsh voice demands from the dark. Lae'zel is circling quietly around the back of the tents. Eyes trained on me.

I rub my face and squeeze my cheeks trying to wake up a bit more.

“I'm-” I croak, my throat dry, “I'm ready. To take over the watch.” I lie groggily.

Lae'zel regards me with suspicion. She must have seen me rise, must have watched me walk around, but she chooses to say nothing about it. Maybe I haven't done anything worth being suspicious of yet?

She turns her back to me and picks her way back to her tent.

I rub my eyes and assess the situation. The sky is dark and heavy and the embers of the fire are the lowest they can be before snuffing out. And my feet are bare, and dirty.

Did I do this while I was talking to the Emperor? That’s… weird.

I return my aching body to my bedroll and try to quietly revive the fire. I drink my little water and l warm my little feet, trying to find comfort in the coldest and darkest part of the night. Despite my uncomfortable seat, it feels like I'm going to fall asleep sitting up if l stay by the fire.

Putting on some shoes this time, l slowly circle the camp, like a good sentry, then make my way to the shore to begin the process of making my day’s worth of drinking water.

When l return, before I reenter the circle of light of the camp, l see the faintest outline of Astarion creeping out of his tent. I wait for him to sneak into the dark entirely before coming back to the fire.

He must be off to go hunting. Poor fellow, l hope he succeeds.

I sit by the fire, put the kettle on to boil, and drowsily wait for the sun to rise.

Astarion comes back, hours later, and wakes me from my sitting stupor by the fire. Helpful as it is, so that Lae'zel doesn't catch me slacking, it is a trade-off so that he can tease me in place of her lecturing. The sky rumbles with not so distant thunder.

“I'm going to guess that you were a rich girl, before all of this.” He says, waving at the general vicinity.

I stare at him stupidly, fearfully.

“Before we were abducted, that is.” He clarifies with a smile. “You don't give off the air of someone who has ever done a day's worth of manual labor, or has had to stay up late into the night working in their entire life.” He laughs.

I laugh too, much to his quizzical look.

“I wish l had been!” I agree. And it's true. Life would have been so much easier in my old world if l had been so rich that I hadn't needed to work.

Our banter tempts Gale out of his tent and he joins us with a dramatic stretch and an engaging smile. We all languish in a light chat about fantasies of living richly instead of camping on the run; the difference in the food, the entertainment, the comforts! We all sigh dreamily.

After a moment, Gale shrugs good naturedly and begins to reheat last night's squirrel stew.

After donning her armor, Lae'zel reluctantly joins us for breakfast. She makes no comment about my sentry skills or my late night walk.

While we wait for Shadowheart to wake, l take out my crossbow to practice on the tree again.

Somehow, I'm bad again? My arms are solidly sore, and walking back and forth to retrieve the missed arrows makes my brain go numb. When I look back, I see Astarion betting against me with Gale, and Lae'zel is glaring at me from the corner of her eye. I turn around with a blush and slow down, breathing through my shots.

Slowing down definitely helps.

I'm jolted from my concentration when the first raindrop hits me. Then a lot of rain drops start to hit me.

The companions shrink back to their tents. From the doorway of her tent, Lae'zel scouts the sky, as if measuring how long the rain might last. She doesn't come to an agreeable answer and grimaces.

Gale continues warming the stew from his tent, using his mage hand to stir the pot through the rising white smoke of the dying fire.

I stow my weapon and drag my bedroll into my tent as quickly as l can.

“How long do you think this will last?” I yell over to Lae'zel, pointing to the sky.

With a frown and unbroken eye contact, she begins to remove her armor.

The blood drains from my face.

My plans! My day! What about the goblin attack?

I glance quickly around the camp and grab the firewood that I'd gathered and begin hastily stuffing it into my tent as well. If it rains for too long, then we won't have anything dry for later.

With an aggravated yelp, I tuck myself into the fully packed tent.

The rain is steady and chilly, but soothing. I remember loving days like this in my old life, spending them curled up indoors, warm and dry.

This is, decidedly, not cozy in the slightest. The tent is cramped, the air is damp, l was hungry, isolated, and impatient! Surely the goblin attack wouldn't happen in the rain, right? I'd never seen any event happen during inclement weather. Though I suppose there is no weather to be had in the Underdark or in the Shadowfell…

There is mud sometimes, l remember, which makes the terrain difficult to walk through. Is this the preamble to those events? Did l have more time to prepare?

Anxious, anxious, anxious, uncertainty!

And boredom.

There is literally nothing to do in my tent. I'm tired, yes, but what if sleeping takes me right back to the Astral Plane? What if the Emperor is mad that my predictions hadn't come true??

I watch as Gale's mage hand carries the reheated stew back to his tent. He ladles out steaming portions into clean bowls and slips a spoon into each.

“The stew to break your fast is prepared at last!” He yells across the camp. Everyone, except for Astarion, pokes their head out of their tent. Shadowheart does so rather sleepily.

Gale sends a bowl using mage hand over to me. Then it returns and takes one to Lae'zel, then Shadowheart.

“Astarion? You hungry?” Gale calls. The tent is unresponsive.

Gale shrugs and keeps the bowl for himself.

We dig in separately, but together.

Remembering my manners l yell out, “Thank you, Gale. It's delicious.” The food really is quite good. Probably it’s the fats from the brains.

Gale smiles, genuinely. He always was terribly sweet at the beginning, before all of the horrors.

Remembering my thoughts from the Astral Plane, I get an idea. I call to Gale and gesture from me to him in a silent query. He agrees with a broad sweeping of his arm to his tent.

Walking quickly with my bowl, I hunker in under Gale's tent and shake myself free of raindrops and nerves.

“I'm not from around here,” l begin sheepishly, lying and telling the truth at the same time. “And I'm not very educated on some of the... common cultural knowledge of the area.”

I try to face Gale honestly, but it's hard to look at such a beloved, and beautiful, person in the eye.

“Could you tell me what l should know about druids, their ways, and their healing powers?” I ask.

Gale is delighted at the request. He begins with an 'Ah ha!' before launching into a full collegiate lesson on different types of magics, sources of these magics, and applications of different levels of magics.

It is fascinating and confusing to listen to, and l try to engage where l can so that I don't come off as fully ignorant.

Our question and answer lecture helps paint a picture for me of the magics of this world. It also helps me understand this universe’s mechanics a little, but then leaves me with a lot more questions than answers as l try to use the puzzle pieces of magic to fill the void of science and technology that l had known from my old world.

It feels like early afternoon when we finally come to a lull in our conversation. The rain still hasn't stopped. It is just as steady and seductive as it had been when it started earlier that morning. Gale could probably continue on with his lessons into the night, but my legs and ass are starting to fall asleep, and my mind is slipping too.

I excuse myself from Gales' tent and steal away to my own to rest. In it, l realize l need to pee.

Ugh. So much peeing in the woods...

Before heading into the woods for a quick pee break, I stop by each of my companion's tents to check in on them. Shadowheart looks surprised, but flattered that l would ask how she's doing. Lae'zel says I should be resting while l can and to report any feelings of sickness or ceremorphosis immediately. Astarion tells me 'not now.'

Even with the abundance of tree cover in camp and in the forest, I'm still fairly wet by the time l finally run back into my tent.

Wet and chilled.

I close my tent, and in the cramped dark space I try and fail at lighting my candle. I give up on it and set it to the side. With some maneuvering, I'm able to take off all of my wet clothes and hang them near the opening flap of my tent to dry.

I crawl, shivering, into my bedroll. The inside is dry at least, and I hunker down for a little rainy day nap. I'm not religious, but l pray that I don't have to visit the Emperor during this short rest.

—

I wake to my clothes falling from the tent flap.

Someone has crept inside.

This. Is. A. Literal. Nightmare. Of. Mine.

The rain hasn't stopped, and so the outside dusk is even darker than usual.

With the refreshing nap and the coursing adrenaline, this is the most energized I've felt since waking up on the nautiloid. I bolt up and grab for my nearest weapon. A piece of firewood, apparently.

“sh*t.” Astarion freezes just inside the tent flap. There's no mistaking his voice or the outline of his wavy hair and pointed ears. He must also see me, with his vampiric eyes, and my unbecoming terror.

“It's me.” He whispers hastily, closing my tent from inquisitive eyes. I flounder around for my candle and hold it out between us. A barrier and a peace offering.

After a moment's hesitation, he lights the candle with a bit of magic. His pale face and red eyes are haggard against the single flickering light.

Oh. It's this moment.

He's come to feed off of me.

I hadn't expected it to happen so soon, or during the day. Then again, with the rain and hunting with Lae’zel, he hasn't been able to go out to feed alone in a while. I guess he must not have caught anything to drain during the night either.

“It's not what you think.” He begins, carefully plastering an endearing and sympathetic mask to his face.

“C-could you hand me my shirt before you start?” I stammer in a hushed whisper, trying to project confidence.

“Start what?” He asks, picking the still damp tunic up off the ground.

“Start... explaining why you're in here.” I reply, pulling the shirt on, attempting to sound smooth.

His whole conversation about being a vampire spawn and needing a tiny spot of blood from me then plays out very much like that in the game, but he pauses at the end, annoyed.

“Could you give me some sort of sign that you're listening, and can actually understand what I'm saying?” He asks, exasperated.

“What?”

“I've said this before, you know, sometimes your eyes will go dark, like… you're not all there.” He drawls, touching his head, trying to be insulting while also begging me for a drink of my blood.

What an odd thing to say. Though I suppose l should be more present in these moments.

I nod and agree to giving him a thumbs up from now on. I practice once for him and he sarcastically says ‘perfect’. I also agree to letting him have some of my blood, but only enough so that he can hunt and fight better. His eyes dance in the candle light.

“Could you bring back whatever you hunt for us afterwards? To butcher?” I ask, thinking of my own next meal.

Waste not, want not.

Astarion would have likely agreed to anything I had asked of him in this moment. He seems to physically vibrate with excitement for a warm and willing humanoid meal.

His first, ever.

I’m also excited for him to have his first proper meal. In theory, at least. Smiling devilishly, the vampire gestures for me to lie down, telling me to get more comfortable. My insides reject this act wholeheartedly. This was a possible death moment! I could die if l don't have the proper strength or high enough persuasion to stop him, and dying… doesn't sound fun. But it’s for Astarion. I have to at least try!

I lean down on my elbow, but my stomach ties into knots. I try to lay down again, but my body starts to tremble slightly. Then violently.

“I- I'm sorry.” I say, trying to play it off. “Don't know what came over me...”

I take multiple deep, steading breaths, but still I cannot move. I am at an impasse. I know what I want to do, but I just can't seem to make my body do what l ask. It continues to tremble as I consider my options.

“Ah. Um, could we start with this, instead?” I ask quietly, holding out my wrist. “I've… I’ve never done this before.”

My face feels hot, and l hope that he can't see how ashamed I am. “I trust you, Astarion, I do, but I guess I just don't feel very… safe right now.'

He is deflated, slightly, but still smiling. “Of course, darling. Whatever you need to feel comfortable.”

l shiver as he says this. I feel adoration at his emphasis of the word ‘darling’, and then fear as his gleaming white teeth, opening wide, sink into my wrist. The pain is sharp, but something about a vampire's mouth numbs the wound as he begins to drink deeply.

‘It probably has something to do with their saliva’, I think, trying to distract myself. ‘Like Earth's vampire bats’.

This type of blood letting is slower than drinking from the neck, and at the first hint of dizziness, I grab onto Astarion's shirt and ask him to stop. He groans like a dog, his desire for more blatantly obvious. With a final, desperate lick that makes my knotted stomach flutter, he sighs and lets go.

He thanks me, saying that ‘this is a gift’, what I'd just given him. He rummages through his back pocket and pulls out a handkerchief and wraps it around my wrist, while I watch hazily.

Finally, he reaches out and quickly fixes my braids with a delicate touch. He gives one last, characteristic smirk, then he slips out of the tent just as quietly as he'd arrived.

I blink slowly at the closed tent flap.

I really need to rehydrate after losing so much blood... and my bottle is full thanks to the preparations of past me. Go past me! Hopefully the rain will stop before tomorrow so l could refill it again.

I lie back on my bedroll to rest, my heart pounding. Another possible death avoided! I feel worse for wear, but at least Astarion will be in good form if we make it to the goblin battle tomorrow. I shiver at the thought then sigh deeply, wishing desperately for an end to this rain.

It is the full evening when the drizzle finally stops and we can all come out to stretch our legs again.

There is mud everywhere.

Astarion saunters back into camp, claiming he needs help bringing back a boar from 'hunting'. Lae'zel, eager to move and take action, follows him into the woods to retrieve it.

When they drag it back, Lae'zel processes the boar with an expert hand, much to my fascination and delight.

Her skills are impressive and her knowledge of alien, at least to her, anatomy is praise worthy. I say as much when she begins to carefully separate the hide from the meat. She agrees that she is very impressive. I smile and continue my enthusiastic observation as she breaks down the carcass.

My dry firewood is then pulled out and used to roast our bountiful supper.

Around the fire, Gale recounts what lessons he and l had covered in the morning to the group. He endeavors to continue his lessons through the evening, having written down his summaries on loose leaf parchment for me to 'peruse at my leisure'. He even encourages the group to add their own personal experiences to help in my education. I smile at his consideration and skim the elegantly cramped, handwritten notes.

The others can hardly believe how little l know about Faerun. Thankfully, they all need to take advantage of me in some way or another, so they are patient with me. Lae'zel speaks of her own theoretical knowledge of Faerunian magic that she had gleaned from the K’liir library, and Shadowheart coyly hints at magic bestowed to clerics from their respective god/goddesses of worship, conveniently leaving out her own patron.

At the end if dinner, I'm in charge of dishes again, and Gale, true to his word, takes the first watch. Astarion says he'll take the early hours. And I agree to take the last watch again.

I try my hand at archery practice after washing the dishes. But the progress is minimal, if at all. I can almost hear Lae'zel grinding her teeth at my incompetence.

Before crawling into my bedroll for the night, l check in with everyone individually one last time.

They all have the same concerns of the lack of ceremorphosis symptoms we all seem to be showing.

That's good. Not for them, of course, but for me. It's predictable. A sign that I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing in this world.

As I step away from my last companion, I contemplate everything that had happened today; the chats, the practice, Astarion revealing his vampirism, the nap. Honestly, this has probably been the nicest day I've had in this world so far. Consensual blood loss and a sleep without dreaming of the Emperor? #Winning.

Lae'zel stops me before l head to my tent to lay down for a few hours.

“Your stamina is severely lacking.” She states.

“Yup.” I reply instantly.

We stare at each other in silence.

Did she expect me to argue? I'm basically an infant compared to her. Plus, I’d had a VAMPIRE feed off of me today. I’m not exactly the paragon of health and fitness at the moment.

“You can barely outpace a newborn spawn at the moment.” She continues.

Wow. Did she use her tadpole just now? That was spot on.

“To correct this, you shall begin running for 5000 paces before breaking your morning fast and 5000 paces before eating your evening meal.” she states, looking down her economical nose at me.

“What.”

“I cannot afford to have someone so weak as you fight beside me, istik.” She snaps. “You are a weakness that our enemies will exploit. You have no strength and no magic to speak of. You are in no position to debate with me.” She says, holding up her arm to stop any rebuttal. Her skin is like polished stone and the muscles beneath like braided metal cables. I really had no room to argue.

“Recover what strength you can tonight. Tomorrow you must be finished with your training before we head to this ‘druid's grove'.” With that she turns and heads back to her tent to work at stretching the butchered boar’s skin over a makeshift tanning rack.

I had avoided a death today, but I am still going to die.

Defeated, I slog back to my tent and take off my muddy boots, huffing and muttering about running stupid paces as I crawl into my bed roll.

—

The Astral Plane feels as bright as the dawn to my eyes.

The Emperor is walking slowly around the perimeter of the asteroid, seeming to check its defenses and to look contemptibly out over the giant skull that houses Orpheus.

“Your predictions for the day were wrong.” It says, its voice dangerously flat.

I squirm. Some events had occurred that l hadn't mentioned yet, but that hardly counts in hindsight.

“I didn’t know it would rain today. I'd never seen a thunderstorm in Faerun before, or in my memories from the game…” I explain hastily, gesturing vaguely all around me. “Time skips around and stops more when you're actually here- experiencing the story.”

Silence wraps around us, and I realize that I am meant to explain myself further.

“The story I know, of this adventure, of your world entirely, was made by hundreds of people working thousands of hours to make details and actions and events that take hours and hours to experience and learn…” l babble. I have no idea if I'm explaining this well to the illithid, or if I'm just rambling at this point.

“I don't think the creators had the time to make precipitation between major events… Or maybe I just don’t remember it. It’s been a long time since I’ve even thought about this world!”

The Emperor turns, its tentacles undulating slowly, as if it were deep in thought. It reaches out psionically for my tadpole’s ‘daily report'. It feels like I'm being tattled on.

Satisfied with the report, the Emperor moves on with our conversation.

“Do you expect the goblin raiders to attack tomorrow?” It asks patiently.

I feel like I am an employee being reprimanded by their supervisor.

“As long as it's sunny, I think so. I only ever remember them attacking when I was nearby and it was sunny, and the ground was partly muddy.” I assure it, hiding behind a shrug. “I don't remember any other clearer details than those.”

After a pause, the Emperor changes the subject.

“Tell me more of how you came to learn of our world.” It says, performatively curious. “Spare no details.”

Spare no details, it says? Alright then, Buckaroo.

“Well… it all started when my wife told me about a game that she'd gotten for me…”

We spend an unknowable amount of time having a mostly one sided conversation about the concept of Dungeons and Dragons and videogames.

I blink once, and open my eyes to the trunk of a tree. It is the middle of the night, and Astarion is saying the word 'Tov' over and over again from behind me.

I am kneeling in the dirt, some steps outside of camp. Barefoot, again. Maybe l should just start sleeping with my shoes on? There's a rogue’s mushroom in front of me and l pick it, making it look like that was my intention all along, and I give Astarion a thumbs up. His frown is deep, but he doesn't inquire further. He then tells me it's my turn for the watch.

Another morning of watching darkness for hours on end... Fun.

I walk back to camp, sit, and stoke the fire, adding a few more small logs to fight the morning chill and dry my feet.

After a while, I go to put my damp boots on and walk the perimeter of the camp, slipping in the mud once or twice. With no sign of danger present, I carefully walk down to the shore to begin my water making ritual. The river is higher and dirtier than before, thanks to the rain, but otherwise there is no change in my laborious and monotonous chore.

While I am on sentry duty, I sit, stand, squat, and pace around the camp until, at last, light starts to peak out over the horizon.

Oh good god. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. Today was the day!

Chapter 7: Chapter Seven

Chapter Text

I am anxious and antsy. Even if Lae'zel had not ordered me to start running to strengthen my body, l might have run to the nautiloid and back just to burn away this nervous energy.

As soon as I can see through the woods, l change into my day clothes and take off, clumsily jogging through brambles and animal trails. Counting and recounting hundreds of steps in a gasping voice.

When I finally circle back to camp, Gale, the saint, has breakfast started.

I. Am. Starving. I drink deeply from my water, and am about to sit down to chat with him, when Lae'zel steps forward and pulls out my own crossbow from her back, pointing it at me.

I freeze. I don’t remember her attempting to kill anyone but Shadowheart in the game.

“You are little more than an egg, immature in body and mind apparently.” She says lowly, sounding dangerously exasperated. “You know not when your enemies will strike, yet you traipse about the wood, unarmed.” Her voice and eyes are hard. “You must always take a weapon with you, lest you be cut down before you can warn us of an upcoming attack.”

I am humiliated. I can feel my face flush with color. She's right, of course. I’d forgotten to fully prepare for the day. I stammer out an apologize for my mistake, and hold out my hand to reclaim my weapon. Instead Lae'zel clicks her tongue and jerks her head at the tree that I have been using as target practice.

I groan at the unspoken order.

Yeah, I deserve this. In the party’s eyes, I am a walking liability, at least until l prove that l have some skill to help keep them alive.

I trudge to my tree and begin my newest ritual of co*cking, loading, aiming, shooting, and retrieving arrows.

When l hear Shadowheart and Lae'zel arguing again, l know it's time to stop and eat, then get ready to head out.

Gale is kind enough to offer to stay behind and guard the camp.

He's so thoughtful that I want to die. I have to remember to pick him up a magical item when we visit the trader later!

Despite my morning exercise, I'm antsy as hell on the trail. I can vaguely remember seeing these paths on the game map in my mind's eye, but the intricate details of experiencing these trails in person is overwhelming. I begin to fret about getting lost.

Plus l have no idea when the goblins will attack the grove. All I know is that it was usually triggered when I approached the grove’s gate. But now- who knows??

I lead the group, hurrying us along towards our destination without telling everyone why we needed to hurry. Lae'zel approves.

Astarion makes more than one comment on what direction we are headed in, and Shadowheart keeps someone between her and Lae’ael at all times.

After a time, we hear shouting in the distance. It’s the human adventurers crying for help. This is it! This is the moment! If I hadn't hurried us along, we wouldn't have made it in time! Does this mean we could have somehow been earlier or later to this scene?

We stop at a crook in the trail and wait. My heart thunders in my chest as my companions cooly take in the situation from the shouted exposition between the adventurers below and the tieflings above.

Then a goblin horn blows from across the clearing.

There is a mad scramble to open the gate, but it’s too late. With sickening clarity, I see the tiefling opening the gate be shot through with arrows.

Kanon, I think his name was Kanon.

Guilt shackles itself to me. If we had gotten here earlier, would l have been able to save him? Could I have prevented this fight from happening if we had just been here early enough to let in the adventurers?

I am shaken from my thoughts when someone jumps down dramatically from the gate. They lay out a cheesy, heroic line while stabbing a goblin through the heart with a smile on their face.

It’s Wyll! The Blade of Frontiers, safe and sound!

Listening to his first words in person is amazing. His introduction comes out very smooth and cool, and I can see how his charismatic heroism has charmed not just the Sword Coast, but many people in my own world as well. It certainly doesn't hurt that he is extremely handsome, swooping in like a knight in shining armor to save the day right before my very eyes.

I turn to my group expectantly. They are still hidden, and are quite unaffected by the drama unfolding in front of us. Would they not intervene of their own accord?

“They need help.” I say, gesturing to the gate. No one moves or seems interested in joining the fray.

“I am going to help. Y’all can stay here.” I state forcefully, pulling out my scimitar.

Lae'zel's frown deepens. At the prospect of helping the humans, or at the prospect of me trying to help the humans is hard to say. Either way, she brandishes her sword and prepares for battle. Shadowheart, unwilling, or unable, to let Lae'zel do anything with me alone, pulls out her own shield and mace. Astarion, ever unmoved by most things not concerning him, politely palms his daggers. Under his facade, there's a malicious and hungry glint in his eyes.

They look like a proper gallant group of adventurers, but something about their preparations fills me with guilt. I know in my heart that they can handle themselves, I know this, but… but they could still get hurt. Like legitimately hurt! And l just can't let that happen. Not if l can help it. If they’re going to fight, maybe it would be better if they knew just a little bit of what they should expect out there… just enough to keep them safe.

With the scimitar shaking in my hands, l whisper to my party desperately before we charge out: “There will be archers on the high rocks, and worgs and a bugbear leading the raiding party, with multiple buyaag in the back. Be careful!!”

My insides twist at revealing this insight, but I channel this anxiety into a run.

My party exchanges a glance before joining the charge.

Everyone immediately out paces me. Astarion falls to the left to handle the archers, Lae'zel runs full speed for the bugbear at the front, and Shadowheart stands before me and casts her magic at one of the buyaag.

The absolute chaos of battle! The noise! The yelling! The screaming! The bright lights and shuddering ground! What do l do? Where is the best place to start? I'm not even sure where I’m supposed to go!

The human adventurers are holding their own, now that Lae'zel is supporting them. She gracefully cuts through the surprised bugbear and worgs as if they are nothing. Astarion, up on the cliffs, is smiling maniacally, his beautiful face covered in blood. Did he already get to have a secret snack from the archers? Wyll and Shadowheart naturally find each other on the battlefield and work together with their long range attacks, as if dancing with their different magics.

I creep along the outskirts of the battle, my back to the high walls, searching for a fight to help with.

Then, amidst the battle, there he is; a single goblin, unengaged with anyone else. Zevlor is sounding the war horn to rally everyone on our side and the tide of the battle is turning, but this goblin cares not. He has me in his sights. And he is smiling.

I can feel him pressuring me backwards. Swinging his own scimitar expertly to guide me away from the fray, cutting off any help.

Goddammit. I am trembling, and he looks like he can smell my fear. It f*cking excites him!

My feet slip on the muddy ground, and the goblin makes a sad*stic swipe at my legs, slashing deep through my thigh muscle. I limp, and then fall. The gash bleeds but I can't feel it yet. Is it due to shock? Adrenaline?

He's laughing at me now, that horrible goblin. I’m at eye level with him, and to my horror, I can see that his dick is hard. No wonder goblins love fighting so much.

f*cking disgusting.

I keep my shaking scimitar up, my last line of defense. He takes an arrogant stab past my weapon and sinks his rusty blade through my shoulder. This I can feel. And it makes me f*cking scream.

He laughs in delight. This arrogance leaves me a moment’s opening and I bring my weapon down, splitting open his fat, warty nose. His hand reaches for his bleeding face and I roar as I ram my weapon through his belly.

Gut wounds, I just remembered, take the longest to die from.

With an enraged war cry, the goblin right hooks my face and pulls the blade free from his abdomen. I look up at him fearfully from the ground.

At least his dick isn't hard any more.

A glowing red magical missile flies through the air, slamming and burning through the goblin’s back. He is dead before he even hits the ground.

I look up to see Wyll giving me a heroic smile and a nod before going back to the battle.

The rest of the goblin raiding party falls to our combined forces shortly after, and there is a coalescence of our groups as everyone takes stock of their comrades and limbs.

I just need a moment to breathe before getting up. Just a small moment before I join them. I use my good arm to try and hold my sliced leg muscle together, to staunch the bleeding. Sweat pours off my body, but a chill settles itself in my stomach.

“Definitely shock.” I grunt logically to myself.

Astarion finds me first. He is similarly covered in blood, but probably not his own, judging by his immaculate posture. “Such a waste.” He tuts at my wounds. His presence lures Shadowheart and Lae'zel over. Each of them lecture and chastise me in their own ways.

Shadowheart uses healing magic to stop my bleeding, but she's used up her number of spells for the time already in the battle. We'll need to find Nettie to finish the job.

My itinerary for the day will have to be switched around, apparently. Not that I could complain with my poor, sliced up new body.

Wyll has called for the gate to be opened and everyone is hurrying inside. Including one lone goblin prisoner.

I ask Astarion to loot the bodies before he joins us inside.

He is surprised by my request, but approves.

It would be really nice if l could walk confidently into the grove by myself. But my injured body literally couldn't even stand, let alone walk. I ask Lae'zel for a hand.

She wrinkles her short nose at me, but relents. Shadowheart disapproves.

Lae'zel’s muscles are like steel and her steps don't falter when she pulls me up and I lean heavily on her.

“Your muscles are like steel.” I repeat out loud, trying to break the tense silence as we walk under the gate. She glances at me and her chest, ever so slightly, puffs out, but her expression never changes from disgust.

Zevlor and the adventurers are arguing deeper inside the grove. I'm supposed to go talk with them and diffuse the upcoming fight, so I nod towards them, trying to direct Lae'zel to where I wanted to go.

My mind feels hazy from pain, bloodloss, and the jumble of memories of this moment.

Wasn't there something else l was supposed to do before I talked to Zevlor? Or something l WASN'T supposed to do?

My brain is working slowly. Have l lost a lot of blood, or does losing even a little blood cause slow thinking? Maybe I'm just dumb? Forgetful, at the very least.

God, I hate being forgetful. Hate it. HATE it.

Hate it? Hate? Hate…

Oh f*ck. The assassination attempt! Oh god! What if I was supposed to be there already? What if it was happening right now? What if I'm already too late, like with Kanon at the gate??

Adrenaline courses through me again. So empowering. I whirl around, looking for a path that l know leads up to the cliff where the fight would take place.

The girls are alarmed and confused as l take off wildly but slowly, up an unknown trail.

“Tov? Where are you going?” “What are you doing, istik?” They ask simultaneously.

“Hurry!!” I yell, my voice cracking, dry from screaming in the battle. None of the tieflings hear my yelling, everyone is off licking their wounds.

Lae'zel and Shadowheart follow at a befuddled distance as l limp up a steep hill.

“Gotta hurry. Have to make it! She'll die if l don't!” I say hoarsely, spurring my injured body forward.

I can see the crest of the hill.

There she is! The pink tiefling girl. She is looking down at the remains of the battle below, just beside her telescope, unaware that an assassin bugbear is creeping up behind her, his poison blade pointed out.

I fall and race forward on my three good-ish limbs. Why were Shadowheart and Lae'zel so far behind me!?

The bugbear doesn't see me crawling on the ground, and when I'm almost on him, I pull my bum leg forward to push off into a reckless tackle.

He is surprised as I hit him squarely in his stomach.

I'm light, but the angle and the shock have given me an advantage that l didn't think that I'd get.

We tumble backwards off the edge of the cliff together. The bugbear wildly stabs at my side with his blade before he slams against the ground and l land harshly on top of him.

Surprised, injured, and stunned, the bugbear lies still beneath me.

I scrabble on top of him, searching for anything heavy with my free hand.

A rock fills it perfectly.

I lift it up and slam it against his hairy temple. His eyes become glazed as I slam it down again. And again. And again.

“I don't want to see his eyes at all,’ l think wildly. ‘I want them covered! Gone. Not looking at me anymore. I don't want him to get up and look at me ever, ever, ever again!’

Mania.

Then, unsurprisingly, depression.

I'm tired now. Sluggish, and splashed all over with blood and gore.

Shadowheart is yelling at me and climbing down from the side of the cliff. Lae'zel jumps down from the crest easily and assesses the situation with a cool head.

I want to get off of the bugbear, but I can't move my legs an inch. The adrenaline's gone, and my wounds have reopened. Or maybe the poison is starting to hit me?

Lae'zel grabs the back of my shirt, like the scruff of a puppy, and pulls me up. The dagger in my side rips open my shirt as it stays securely lodged in my flesh.

Shadowheart reaches us and shoves a potion into my mouth. It tastes awful, but l am absolutely dying of thirst.

Or maybe just dying.

Lae'zel is convinced to carry me. Her expression is hard, as always, but still, l am gathered carefully into her arms, knife left solidly in my kidney.

She turns to jump back up the hill.

“Where... you going?” I slur. Oh dear, that poison is fast.

She's admonishing me now. Then she and Shadowheart argue about something. Their words are gargled and muffled, but in the haze, I hear Shadowheart say the word ‘Nettie’.

“Nettie's that way.” I say, laying my head in the direction of the deep grove.

They stare at me.

“Jump down on… wooden lift near sleeping bear. Left. Into a stone door. Down, down, down steps, over wet floor. She's with a blue jay.” I ramble.

“Your words are nonsense.” Lae'zel shushes, her voice exasperated and confused.

I am f*ckED UP. I do not care about looking insane right now. They asked where Nettie was and I told them. Can't l just rest now?

“Don't fall asleep.” Shadowheart warns, squeezing my wounded shoulder to rouse me.

I hiss and my eyes prickle. Where was my old life, with my lovely, un-stabbed body?

Lae'zel turns away from the cliff, l assume to follow my stellar directions, and then l feel like I'm falling, falling, falling.

It's the steep jump down to the deep grove. It makes Lae'zel grunt in pain at the landing. A couple of druids gather around to warn us to leave, but waver at the sight of me. Did l really look that bad?

Lae'zel is about to push past them, but I knock weakly on her armor. I think we should wait.

Some sympathetic soul runs to fetch Nettie. Lae'zel watches them go and shifts uncomfortably near a snoring bear.

Nettie comes. Someone is whispering to the others about the goblin attack at the gate. Nettie leads us to her ward; through a stone door, down some steps, and over wet floors...

I am deposited on a cold stone slab with a dirty fur covering and stripped to my under clothes. If I could feel anything but creeping numbness in this situation, it would be embarrassment.

Nettie is quickly checking me all over, pressing my wounds, checking my eyes, mouth, fingers and toes, talking at me, and asking Lae'zel questions.

It’s all very… relaxing.

Don't fall asleep, l remind myself.

Then Nettie lays a comforting hand on my shoulder and I look over at her kind, round face. She's such a soft soul. Just like in the game. Then very quickly, she rips the assassin's knife from my side and a high pitched scream tears from my throat.

Lae'zel quickly presses an aggravated hand over my mouth.

“Do not embarrass yourself, istik.” She seethes.

I grab at her wrist to draw strength from her as Nettie sticks her finger into the stab wound in my side and stretches it open.

My face is wet. I hope that it's from blood for once instead of tears.

The healer removes her reddened hand, rubbing the remnants of blood and poison between her fingers. Deftly, she pulls out a pouch, dumps fine dust into her hand, and blows the mysterious powder into my abnormally oozing wound. Then, she begins to chant. A magic, different from Gale's or Shadowheart’s, rises up from the ground and onto my body. Gale talked about this just last night. Wild magic, right?

All of my wounds seal shut and the comforting numbness of the poison gives way to the grating pain of flesh regeneration.

I’m screaming, but l hold Lae'zels hand to my mouth to smother the cries.

Finally the magic stops and my muscles relax.

Lae'zel removes her hand and huffs at me.

I'm chilled now and crusty all over with blood. My blood. The bugbear's blood. That goblin's noxious blood… oh.

Oh god. I'm going to be sick. I lean up and reach out wildly for something to cover my mouth. The nearest thing is my bloodied and tattered shirt on the floor. I stumble down, grab it, and vomit into its folds.

The vomit is green, black, and red. Is this where poison goes after being healed by magic? I have no idea.

I just feel so, so ashamed. Why did this have to happen in front of Lae'zel, of all people? The companion least tolerant of weakness! Why did I have to be almost naked for all of this?!

I hide behind the stone bed and curl up into myself, pressing my head to my arms, panting.

As the healing magic spreads a calm over my body and my mind begins to clear, l begin to make out snippets of conversations happening behind me.

Shadowheart has made it inside. She is going to stay with me while Lae'zel endeavors to investigate the body of the rogue bugbear that had snuck inside the grove. Nettie is being informed of the goblin battle that had just taken place outside and Kagha has been alerted of our participation in it.

We were all being summoned immediately.

Ugh. I’ve just made a big mess of a BUNCH of predestined events. Now, everything was happening so quickly around me, and out of order to boot! Why did l even come to this universe? Why did l think I could help??

Someone is approaching me.

It's Nettie. She's come around the stone slab and is touching my arm again.

I flinch, half expecting her to pull another knife out of me. Slowly, she pulls the old animal fur off of the stone bed to cover my shoulders, muttering generic comforts and taking away my ruined shirt.

I couldn't be more grateful to her, or for the dirty animal skin, for that matter.

She disappears and returns with a carafe of lukewarm water. I sip gingerly, and rub my forehead, trying to take deep, calming breaths.

Then, my time for recuperation is up. We are to report to the new first druid, Kagha.

I’m terribly stiff and still barely clothed, not heroic at all, but I stand anyway.

This wasn't an event that l thought I'd have to tackle yet, but…

What if they had Arabella?

I needed to go check, just to be sure.

Shadowheart protests, and logically tells me to sit while she goes to speak with the first druid instead. I grab her hand before she has the chance to walk away. I would love nothing more than to let someone else handle this chaos, to let the dice roll without regard to consequence. But… I can't.

I squeeze Shadowheart’s hand and gently steal myself before pulling her along.

We make our way out of Nettie’s ward and into the hall with the tiefling girl, the bigoted druids, the giant wolf, the aggressive snake, and her equally aggressive Mistress.

I f*cking HATE snakes. Hated them in my world, and I hate them here. They make my skin crawl and I really wish I wasn't barefoot for this interaction. I should have gotten dressed before coming out.

The druid, Rath, is arguing with Kagha about the fate of the child thief, Arabella. Arabella, for her part, is apologizing profusely but to no avail.

The snake hisses at Arabella, silencing her. Shadowheart whimpers as her hand flashes with pain.

There is a pause in the deliberations, and everyone turns to look back at us.

“Well look who's back on their feet. The 'goblin slayer'.” Kagha says mockingly.

We must have passed them when Lae'zel had been carrying me. Not a strong first impression. I blink away the shame and look meaningfully at Arabella, then at Kagha.

“You've shown that you are very mighty in catching her.” I say hoarsely, trying to refocus the conversation. I wonder if they could see me shivering inside of my animal skin cloak.

“Now show your druids that you can be merciful too. It's the right balance to have. For… for nature.” I say lamely. I can't remember the exact argument to have with her, but I'm pretty sure this is the gist of it.

Kagha regards me contemptuously, but Rath jumps in and really sells it. He agrees to seeing her in a more favorable and authoritative light if she could prove that she could be merciful as well as strong.

The great cavern is silent as we collectively hold our breath.

After a moment's consideration, Kagha smiles venomously at Arabella and directs her to take word to the other tieflings of the new first druid’s mercy. The young girl flees as soon as the pit viper holding her hostage slithers away.

There is a slight relaxation of tension and the council disperses. Kagha and her snake slither up to me.

I shiver more violently inside of the animal skin. I glance at Shadowheart for support, but she is trembling just as violently as she stares at the large wolf prowling the hall.

My stomach hurts. If I were stronger, braver, could I have made her feel safe right now?

Kagha is talking at me and her snake is glaring unblinkingly up at me. They both look about ready to strike.

Kagha wants the refugees out.

“I agree the refugees shouldn't stay here.” I reply honestly.

Kagha is taken aback with my agreeable attitude.

“Since they saw you fight the goblins, offer to escort them to Baldur's Gate. We are sealing off the grove soon.” She says mysteriously. l don't need her coy hints, I already know what her plan is, so I don’t ask any further questions.

“I'll escort them,” l say instead, “but give me some time to convince them.”

She gives me as long as it takes to set up the ritual.

Hopefully that takes a few days, at least, because that's how long l want to sleep for.

We are dismissed and I move to walk back to Nettie’s ward.

Shadowheart doesn't follow me. She is frozen in place.

I'm too tired and shell shocked to talk to her about her fear of wolves right now, so I step around to stand between her and the object of her fear.

I catch and hold her gaze. Her face is conflicted with a multitude of extreme emotions, and she can’t seem to stop trembling. I pull her mind away from the wolf, open my makeshift cloak, and wrap my arms around her shoulders. Without a word, I tug and we walk back to Nettie's ward together.

I let go when we are safely hidden away from prying eyes and I sit tenderly on the hard stone bed. I am sore all over and my mind is numb.

What am I supposed to do now? The timeline I had planned out is all messed up and my party is scattered all around the grove.

I swallow thickly and use the animal hide to clumsily wipe at the sticky blood and dirt that streaks down my cheeks.

Without a sound, Shadowheart steps in front of me. She has a clean rag in her hand and she uses the carafe of water that I’d forgotten about to wet it. What was she doing?

I stare dumbly up at her, taking in her softened features as if from a distance; her dramatic black hair is still neatly plaited, and the rounded angle of her scared cheek is stubbornly set. Her gentled, animated green eyes are scanning my own face in return. I wonder what I looked like to her right now?

She takes the damp rag and drags it roughly across my cheek, scrubbing at extra crusty spots.

“I’m not terribly fond of wolves.” She states, rewetting the rag and continuing to wash my bloodied face.

Is she… taking care of me? Why?

“I’m not terribly fond of snakes.” I respond weakly, unable to look away. She stares down her nose at me, flicking between each of my eyes, as if looking for something sarcastic or scheming. She then holds out her hand, silently commanding me to present my own.

I place my blue hand in hers and she continues wiping the blood and gore away from my palm and fingers in silence. I let her.

Quietly, as if I might break the spell, I whisper, “Thank you, Shadowheart.”

She hums in response.

When I’m clean enough for her standards, she steps away, telling me to get dressed so that we can rejoin the others.

I find my slashed pants and leathers, but no shirt.

“Poison melted through the fabric.” Nettie says, coming over from a wicker basket. “Gonna have to burn it.”

She hands me a clean shirt. I look around for a place to change, but there's no privacy anywhere.

I flush, embarrassment compounded by the embarrassment of being embarrassed, and turn to pull on my pants, boots, and new shirt.

The new shirt is actually an old shirt. A really old shirt. But the clean fabric feels divine on my skin.

I lace the boots and arm bracers awkwardly into place and turn to find Nettie holding out a large leather vest to me.

Armor. Real armor.

“S'the least I can do after you helped save the grove.” Nettie says. There's a bit of a warm static to the vest, an aura that brightens then hides when I take it from her.

Magic. It's magic armor. And someone's just GIVING it to me!

Shadowheart says I cry a lot, so I do my best to thank Nettie without shedding the tears in my eyes.

Putting it on is awkward and Shadowheart has to intervene to help me buckle it on, criticizing me as she does about how I know so little of such things. There's no venom behind her words.

Lae'zel returns as soon as I am fully dressed, with Astarion in tow, muttering about ‘primitive people’ and ‘their primitive ways’.

I sit and rest on the bed, drinking more of Nettie’s water, as my companions recount everything they had done since the goblin battle, measuring their strengths and resources and taking stock of their inventories. Lae’zel shows off the loot procured from the bugbear: a myriad of poison crafting supplies and more knives. “Clearly an assassin. But for what purpose?”

I know its purpose, but I don't have the time or the energy to look for the tiefling target. I really just want to go back to camp, to our campfire, to my warm uncomfortable bedroll, and sleep.

Astarion shows off his loot as well. Mostly gold, having already sold the cheap goblin weapons to the trader at the front of the grove.

I'll have to remember to take him with me when we need to stock up later. Hopefully he'll share the gold.

As the conversation continues, at the retelling of the bugbear assassination attempt, Astarion raises his eyebrows in surprise, and turns to look at me.

At the retelling of finding Nettie in the deep grove, Shadowheart turns to look at me as well.

At the retelling of saving Arabella from Kagha, it's Laezel's cue to turn to me.

Everyone is staring at me. With incredulous suspicion, yes, but hopefully, a little respect too. I wouldn't turn down a bit of admiration for being stabbed and poisoned today.

I look away from their stares and rub the bottom edge of my new armor, embarrassed, relieved, and oh so wary. What was to come next, I wonder?

“We need to ask the teeth-lings where a creche can be found.” Lae'zel points out finally, standing to her full height, an invitation for us to join her.

“No. We need to talk to the healer first. About our little passengers. “ Shadowheart corrects, holding a finger to her head.

Oh lord. Nettie's conversation is going to be a whole big thing… We're already here, l know, but I had almost just died. I really just wanted to go back to camp and sleep for the rest of the day. Or week.

But if we were to get Lae'zel’s information now, then she would want to head off to the creche immediately, and we currently did not have enough evidence to convince her to stay with us, even if I know that it’s not safe for her to go out alone.

Uuuuuuugh.

Well, no one's life is immediately in danger anymore. So really it's just about what's convenient for us. Right?

I think slowly over my memories of the major, life threatening, quests that the grove had to offer.

We had taken care of the goblins, the assassination attempt, we had saved Arabella, which had been a surprise, but we’d handled it. There were no other attacks happening in the grove, at least. Right?

Well there was the ‘harpy attack’ still. Not technically in the grove, of course, just past it. But there's no way the kid would have gone out TODAY to rob them. Right?

… Right?

Crap.

If we go THAT way, l'll have soooo much more to deal with than what I had been planning on dealing with today.

And there's no guarantee that he actually went... right?

Right?!

f*ck. Stupid f*cking guilty conscience.

Chapter 8: Chapter Eight

Chapter Text

Shadowheart is halfway towards summoning Nettie to ask about our tadpole infection, Lae'zel is practically out the door ready to find the poor tiefling who knew where to find her creche, or maybe threaten every refugee in the grove until she ferreted him out, and Astarion, the wretched little thief, is quietly pocketing a potion out of eyeline of the druids while we are all distracted.

“Um!” I call out, catching everyone's attention. “Let's take a short break- short rest , near the refugee’s cook.” I correct quickly.

No one cares for this suggestion, and they argue amongst themselves about every other possible option available to us.

I finish Nettie’s water and rub my leg. There's a large hole in my pants from where the goblin had slashed me. I’ll need to remember to sew that up later.

The complaints stop while I'm distracted, and no one wants to look at me.

“ Chk .” “Fine.” “Always having to slow down.” They all say at once, reluctantly agreeing to my suggestion.

They must be hungry. That probably accounts for their fussiness.

We say our thanks and farewells to Nettie and make our way out of the deep grove, passing whispering druids and unimpressed animals. There's even the famous writer, Volothamp Geddarm, in a corner. He is distracted by his interview with a bear at the moment, and I am perfectly fine with not talking to him.

We come upon Arabella and her scolding parents on the stone stairs that lead to the caves. They reach out with grateful smiles to thank the drow that had saved their daughter from imprisonment.

I glance around, as none of the companions I've recruited yet are drow.

Oh wait. They mean me.

Arabella smiles and gives her thanks to her ‘Naked Savior’.

I blush terribly. “I wasn't naked!” I hiss, holding a finger to my mouth. “I had a cloak on!”

“Don't worry,” she continues loudly, “talking to the new first druid without any pants on just makes you EXTRA brave!” Arabella beams cheekily. Her parents are shocked at her behavior, and at mine.

I groan in embarrassment and cover my face. Astarion delights in the exchange and Shadowheart tries poorly to hide a laugh. Lae'zel, uninterested in the gratitudes, is already moving up the stairs.

I don't have the stomach to talk to any more tieflings.

We walk past more refugees, who are anxiously packing and whispering amongst themselves. Then we catch a whiff of the camp cook's cauldron from deeper down in the caves and head in that direction. Food and sitting are just what you need for a proper ‘Short Rest’.

We pass by Mol’s kids, the ones who pickpocket their customers while selling 'lucky' rings, and they give me an idea.

On our way further in, I know we’re going to pass by Doni, who’s guarding ‘the Dragon's Lair’.

Maybe… it would be better to just ask him if they’re going to rob the harpy's nest today? Just in case.

I trail to the back of the group and sneak over to the little red tiefling.

“Doni.'” I whisper, leaning in.

He grunts at me.

“Doni, l know about the Dragon's Lair.”

There's no need to worry about him blabbing, so there’s no need to hold back with my foreknowledge.

Doni stares right past me, but seems to be giving me his full attention.

“Doni, did Mol tell Mirkon to rob the harpy’s nest today?”

The boy doesn't respond, but he also doesn't turn away either.

“Doni, the harpies are going to… to trick Mirkon if he goes down there today.” I say. Small lies of an uglier truth. “Is Mirkon down there, right now , Doni?” I press insistently.

Doni sways on his feet, as if judging the weight of revealing his mighty guild's plots, over the possibility of helping a friend in need. Then, to my horror, he grunts. In an affirmative way.

sh*t.

sh*t. sh*t. sh*t.

I turn and run to catch up to my party.

Shadowheart and Lae'zel are being given gruel by the camp cook while Astarion is leaning poetically in the shadow of a giant stalagmite.

I speed walk up to them, grabbing their attention with the wild look on my face.

“I AM GOING FOR A WALK.” I say in the most meaningful way possible.

Astarion stands with interest, while Shadowheart squints with incomprehension. At my sudden panic, or at the disbelief of having more work to do? It's hard to say.

Lae'zel gages the look in my eye before she downs as much gruel as she can in one breath. She then stands straighter and flexes her shoulders.

My heart pounds excitedly at the sight; my strong and capable companions, refreshed and ready to do battle once more. But there's a prominent, throbbing, ache in my newly healed leg, side, and shoulder, and at least four harpies waiting for us. f*ck, I really wish Gale were here. We could really use more backup…

Well, we did technically have some backup nearby...

Technically.

My insides twist as I remember the age old wisdom of “the worst they can say is ‘no’”. It’s bullsh*t advice, but I’m not really in a position to turn my nose up at begging right now.

I walk quickly past the camp cook and the demure Auntie Ethel. The disguised hag is not a ‘now’ sort of problem.

Up a ladder. UGH. Climbing a ladder in this poor abused body… And down a wooden walkway to the training grounds.

Wyll is there, mentoring a few kids in swordsmanship. He is currently sparring with a discouraged little Umi.

Awww. I really liked this cut scene! It's a shame that I’ll miss it, but I really need to skip it!

I raise my hand to call out to him from the shade of the cave, “Um!”

Then I remember we haven't been introduced yet. He doesn't know me. What do I call him, a man who thinks that we're strangers? Would he be suspicious? Would he still help me if someone like me asked?

“Blade?” I call out, embarrassed. “Blade of the Frontiers?”

Wyll turns with an easy smile.

“Just ‘Blade of Frontiers’, my friend.” He corrects graciously, then his eyebrows raise in delightful recognition.

“Ah, our fellow goblin slayers! Please allow me to thank and applaud you for your fortunate timing!” He shouts grandly, inviting the children to rest and cheer.

What a thing to do, what a thing to say.

He's going to continue, but our tadpoles connect roughly with one another. He and l both clutch at our heads.

“You- you were on the nautiloid?” He asks incredulously, looking from me to the rest of my party. There’s a nodding amongst my group.

“Yes, yes.” I say, brushing past that. '”My name's... Tov. And l need your help. Please. Can you come with us?”

My companions shift uncomfortably behind me, they’re confused by my unprompted anxiety and preparations.

“Well met, Tov. Some call me the Blade of Frontiers, but my friends call me Wyll. I'm afraid l can't travel with you at the moment, even if there weren't goblins and drow threatening this grove and these refugees. For you see, I am sworn to hunt and slay a devil with a single curled horn that has been set loose upon the Sword Coast. Tadpole or no, that is my number one priority.” He says apologetically.

There's a flash from his mind via the parasite.

I can see through Wyll’s one good eye; he is running through the battlefields of Avernus, chasing after her , the flaming devil with a single curled horn, advocatus diaboli : Karlach.

“No, no, l don't mean… nevermind that right now.” I say, waving the air, trying to clear my mind and explain myself in a totally NOT crazy way.

“There's a little tiefling boy missing from the grove. He went to the shore and he's… l think, he's in trouble. Will you come and help us? Please?”

I am DESPERATE to get moving. I'm exhausted, yes, but the anxiety of a child being slaughtered is the kind of thing that really perks you up in the afternoon.

Wyll looks from me to my companions, assessing our little group with a frown. Not very convincing, as far as do-gooders go. The other three have a… heartless presence about them. The look of desperation on my face must be what stirs some conflict in the Blade, because he does not immediately turn my request down.

“I- I promise to help you find who you're looking for afterwards.” I swear honestly, anxious for him to agree.

He smiles gently. “Well, I'd never turn down a helping hand. Nor should l not help when someone in need asks for aid. Who are you looking for?”

“One of Mol's kids.”

“Ah. That makes sense.” He concedes. “They're a tenacious little gang. I wonder what little get-rich-quick scheme they were trying to pull this time…” Wyll waves a farewell hand to Umi and steps in to join our party.

With Wyll finally added to our team, l turn and begin to poorly jog back down the cave trail. I'm huffing and sweating after the first three steps. I lead our group through the cave and past the chanting druids in the deep grove.

“What now?” Astarion asks when our group is out of earshot of any tieflings or druids. I can't answer immediately, my throat is too dry from gasping.

“H-harpies!” I wheeze, my calves burning. “Little... boy... charmed!” I take a left on a trail that leads to the winding cliffs overlooking the harpy’s beach, and groan as my stomach cramps from exertion.

Lae'zel was right to put me to running paces for training. I SUCK at this. This body has no stamina whatsoever.

“Enough!” the gith on my mind hisses, easily striding forward and grabbing my shoulder with an iron grip.

She whirls me around with embarrassing ease. The group looks on at us with interest, while Wyll hangs back to get a read of the situation.

“ Enough .” she repeats. “Where did you hear of this, istik ?!”

I'm gasping at her, wide eyed and sweating. My feet, sore as they are, keep moving to turn towards the path we need to take, but, unfortunately, I am very easily held in place.

“You say you are ignorant of this Sword Coast, yet you know of goblin raider’s pack composition?” Lae’zel rants baring her teeth at me. “You have no physical capabilities in any capacity, yet you attempt to find and foil an en route assassination attempt?! You claim to have no education in magic or druidic culture, yet you navigate this ‘sacred grove’ as if it were your own? And now…” She seethes, “ Now you speak of harpies and spawn kidnappings after drowsing in poison until mere moments ago?!”

Oof. She has a point. I am definitely NOT doing a good job of hiding my foreknowledge of these events.

“I will have your explanation before you take another step, or you will not have my sword, she'lak .” Lae'zel growls, giving me one last threatening squeeze before pulling away and crossing her arms in a demanding manner.

Oh god. I don't have time for this! What if we're too late? Every moment we're HERE is one less moment we're THERE, helping the kid! I don't want to chance it, l can't chance it!

I've caught my breath. But my heart is still beating wildly. I look around the group for support, but everyone's face shows the same rapt interest in my response.

Do l lie? What do I lie about? How much do l lie? Just a little, or a lot? Should I take a chance in telling them the truth…?

" Don't tell them ." The voice of the emperor echoes in my skull. " They aren't ready to believe you yet ." I hold two fingers to my temple as it speaks to me, grimacing.

I can't tell if the illithid is trying to isolate me or is accurately assessing the situation. Either way, I’ll have to do as it says.

The group watches me struggle suspiciously.

“It's… it's the tadpole.” I half-lie, recomposing myself. A look of disgust crosses Lae’zel’s face.

“Please! We have to save the boy. It's important!” I lie again, glancing back towards the cliffside trails that lead to the beach.

Lae'zel glares hard at me, trying to read me in minute, militaristic ways.

“I expect a better answer from you, after this battle is finished.” She declares, nodding her head for me to lead on.

f*cking fantastic. I turn fully and begin jogging again. Everyone keeps pace with me at a brisk walk.

There! I see him! On the trail ahead, not yet at the water edge, it’s Mirkon, with his curly mop of brown hair! We're not too late! In fact, we're early! Oh thank f*cking god.

“Hey!” I call out. Mirkon turns and crouches in a defensive position.

I catch up to him, gasping for breath.

“Mol…” I whisper furiously, coming up with a lie on the fly, hoping the others don't hear me. “Mol says to come back to the Dragon's Lair.”

Mirkon is suspicious but gives me his serious consideration.

“She got a tip that the harpies don't have any gold, just animal bones, not worth robbin'.” I pant.

My persuasion must get really high when I'm desperate, because Mirkon flees back up the trail to the grove with a string of affirmative words that might be considered a sentence.

Thank. f*cking. God. I didn't even need Wyll for this! Or anyone really. Ha! Take that fate!

I follow Mirkon with my eyes as he runs back up the cliffs, smiling. I feel so, so good right now. I did it! I helped!

I'm sweating and stiff, but oh so happy. What a win! I had always hated fighting those harpies in the game. They always charmed someone in my party, taking them out of the fight, and then I’d have to battle them in the water terrain, which was always such a slog…

I wipe my brow and turn back to my party, ecstatic. The group looks collectively confused and disappointed in me. I must look like the boy who cried wolf. Or harpy, in this case. But who cares? I prevented a death!

A laugh chokes out of me, and a few happy tears break free from the dam of my eyes. Before Wyll can ask, Astarion leans over and says, “She does this a lot. Best to ignore it.”

There’s another reassuring, almost pitying smile from Wyll before he decides to return to the grove.

I'd love to follow him. Really I would. But my body decides to take a moment to go down by the beach.

I don't know why I'm walking to the beach, but everything feels so good right now, I don’t even question it. My mind is busy replaying my memories of the game and my body feels so relaxed and peaceful. Maybe we can move onto other things I wanted to accomplish at the grove now. Or maybe I'll just dip my feet in the water for a bit while I'm down here. It’ll be fine to relax a little…

“ IGNIS !”

A fire bolt is rocketing through the sky from behind me, and it clips the wing of a singing harpy on a nearby cliff.

Oh f*ck.

What's happening? Where am l?

Eldritch blasts come next.

Then a guiding bolt.

I can't run from the harpy. Can't turn my head. Can't move my body at all.

What…? Oh f*ck. It was me that got charmed! Goddamnit.

f*ckin’ rookie mistake.

A fire arrow streaks across the sky lodging sickeningly into the center of the singing harpy's chest.

Silence, as if a white noise machine has been turned off. I can move the body again!

Instantly, l reach for my crossbow and search the rocks for the remaining harpies.

With a quick glance down, I realize that I'm calf deep in salt water on slippery slabs of stone. It's not wise for me to move yet.

The others, still on the beach, look up to the cliffs as well.

“Three more!” I shout to them, before a second harpy begins its song. Control of my temporary body is lost to me once more.

From my comfortable, dreamy haze, l can see my companions fighting on shore. The last two harpies have flown down to fight them hand-to-claw from the front and rear, making my party’s long range attacks nearly useless. They look like they’re shouting, whether for spells or out of anger, I cannot say.

My view is slowly changed as my body turns to behold the most beautiful and primal creature I've ever seen. She is all I see, she is all I can hear. My body starts taking careful steps towards her.

A golden light surrounds me and the image of the angelic beauty in front of me melts into a feathered winged horror, with pointed teeth and deadly claws, bared and ready to rip me apart.

Was that a Protection of Good and Evil spell? Was it from Shadowheart?

I raise my crossbow and, in a panic, shoot at the harpy.

It hits her thigh and she screams in pain and anger.

With her song now useless, the harpy screeches and charges at me, intent on procuring a meal, or at the very least, a vengeful kill.

Trying to tap into muscle memory, I pull out another arrow.

co*ck. Load. Aim. And Fire!

Gut shot. My second one today too. f*ck me.

The harpy doesn't even attempt to claw at me. Instead she uses her mass to knock me off of my feet and hold me under the shallow water, clutching at the arrow in her stomach.

Water floods my nose and mouth. I know I'm supposed to hold my breath, to not blow precious air out as sea water floods my mouth and nose, but panic is in charge of my brain right now.

The feathered creature starts stepping on me with her full weight and jumps slightly, trying to crush and drown me at the same time. I can vaguely make out her face, sneering at me from beyond the surface.

I try squeezing at her leg, to push her off or make her recoil. But there is a giant, disadvantageous, difference in strength between us.

I'm running out of blood oxygen. I know I'm going to choke soon. Everyone is busy! No one is coming to save me.

I reach down for something, ANYTHING on my person to fight back with, and a loose arrow fills my hand.

Every vulnerable part of the harpy is far away from me and my vision is starting to go dark. I feint a left hook out of the water and the harpy leans down to bite my hand. I let her, and her sharp teeth sink into my flesh, latching on with terrifying ease. I pull myself up with all of my strength, and use my other hand to slam a single arrow into her temple.

Slowly, her leg slips off of me, a brief respite, but then the rest of her body collapses onto mine, pinning me under the water.

The position is awkward, and I'm out of air. I'm going to drown.

It hurts.

It hurts so goddamn much to drown. Every single nerve burns from my chest outwards to the very tips of my fingers and toes. And then… numbness. After the pain of not-breathing slips away, my mind starts to think more clearly, as if I'm just a soul again, floating away from my useless, drowned body.

Maybe the Emperor could put my soul in a different body after this. One that's in great shape and has fast reflexes already built in. Who's tall, and smart, and charismatic, and who knows how to use magic. That'd be nice.

Also, fun fact, darkness and death are super comfortable! Maybe this is why the people of this world worship Shar. It's such a nice, numbing feeling, to die. Quite addictive.

Drowning, if I recall correctly, is a very painful process at first, and then very peaceful. I've gone through the pain part, and now I get to enjoy the peace. As long as no one wakes me up, I won't have to feel any more pain ever again. Which sounds pretty nice actually…

There's a hard slap to my back. Then another. And another.

My lungs vomit up muddy sea water, and pain, light, and feeling start returning to every inch of my body. Coughing and breathing are an agonizing relief.

I realize that I'm not in the water anymore. I’m on the beach and, from her dripping hands, it must have been Lae'zel who had pulled me out from under the harpy.

Goddammit. Her approval of me must be so very low by now. Getting stabbed and then being drowned were not great ways to make yourself popular amongst the githyanki.

The bright sun is dipping into the trees, a sign of late afternoon.

Someone is talking to me. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to sit up, floundering.

Wyll is beside me, lending a supportive hand to my back.

“Hells. That was...” he hesitates, trying to find the right words.

“M’sorry! l know, I'm sorry.” I choke out, spitting and rubbing my chest, trying to force strength back into my legs to stand.

“That was so brave .” He finishes, earnestly looking at my face.

“So stupid .” I correct. “I got charmed, and then drowned . Not. Brave.” Each word is punctuated with a cough. No one argues against my statement.

Wyll stands and offers me a hand up.

“It sounds like you did it to save a child.” He muses. “However you came to learn about this, you took action to protect someone weaker than you, at the risk of your own life. That, to me, is worth calling brave.”

I take his hand, coughing and groaning as l stand up.

Wyll's words can be as flowery as he wants, but I know the truth. I'm just a weak fool who couldn't live with myself if people had died when l could have helped them. Fear of guilt is not true altruism, it’s selfish .

I lean unto me knees, trying to catch my breath.

f*ck. l ACHE. And I'm so f*cking tired. Can we camp just here tonight? Can we have someone pick up Gale and bring all of our stuff to the cliffs and just sleep by the sea for the rest of the adventure?

“Can we camp here tonight?” I say out loud, too tired to filter my thoughts. There's a glance by everyone at the dead, bloody harpies on the ground nearby.

I hadn't noticed them.

“We'll take a short rest up in the grove.'” Shadowheart reassures me, gesturing towards the trail. I groan, looking up at the hill.

This walk was going to be Hell. Literally.

If I haven't mucked up the timeline too badly, then what’s waiting for us at the top of the hill is a literal devil, coming to offer us a deal.

I cannot stress enough how tired I am. But even the fatigue of battling goblins, bugbears, and harpies isn't strong enough to dampen the fear l have of meeting Him.

Raphael.

A devil. A divine torturer. A Master of souls.

What if he knew what I was? What if he tried to rip my old soul from this new body? To keep me here forever? What if he tried to take me to his prison, to stand next to Hope, to be tortured for all of eternity? I wasn’t as strong as little Hope. I would break! Easily and quickly!

No! No, no. Raphael sh ould just be fishing right now. Watching, waiting, baiting his lines for us. Patiently biding his time until one of us takes a bite. Ready to catch and devour us whole.

Ugh. Please don't make me go up there. Please don't make me do this!

But there's nothing for it though. There are no other paths that lead out of the grove. No other means of escape. No magical portal to camp. The best l can do is limit the damage that he can do to us when we finally come face to face.

My feet are dragging as we begin our ascent. My body starts to tremble soon enough, not from the cold sea water or my sopping wet clothes, but from the antici-

Pation.

It’s not noticeable at first, but it progressively becomes more aggressive as the walk continues. No one comments on my newest symptom.

The ascent itself feels oppressive. Everyone keeps stealing glances back at me as l, the slowest member of the group, bring up the rear. Wyll politely passes the leisurely hike talking with the others. Exchanging names, back stories, what each person had been doing before and after the nautiloid crash, and what we were currently doing to rid ourselves of the tadpoles.

From my view at the back, it looks like the girls find him utterly charming, but unrealistically idealistic. This includes Astarion. The Blade expresses interest in seeing our camp and meeting our wizard, Gale. He says he will uphold his promise to join us, now that we've agreed to help him hunt a devil.

Funny thing to say. Considering who we're about to have dinner with.

We reach the end of the trail, and like the star of a Broadway show, at the peak of the hill and expectation, Raphael hits his mark perfectly in a flash of orange, sulfuric brilliance. He is in the form of a rich, handsome man. His voice, more gravitas and alluring than the game could ever capture, recites his cat, mouse, and fox lullaby.

I am frozen, shaking from the inside out, hoping beyond hope that he will address someone else, anyone else in the group. But no. His eyes find me, the runt at the back of the pack. The odd one out.

With a snap of his fingers, he takes us to the Hells, to his House of Hope. The smell and screams of the damned are overwhelming.

Raphael continues with his performance, sympathizing with us about the tadpoles in our brains, hinting at our impending deaths, and even offers us a final meal as a treat. He gestures towards the otherworldly spread sarcastically.

Oh god. Oh. Oh god...

The food! There is fresh baked bread, right there on the table! Stolen, or offered up from a different client, no doubt, since there was never a kitchen to explore in the game. But there it is; staring up at me, innocently, from a silver platter.

I really want that bread. I remember how comforting it was in my old life. Warm, crusty, soft, and pleasantly filling. Maybe with butter or honey melting into it…

I'm not even hungry, thanks to the fear. I just really want to hold that familiar object in my hands until all of the bad things go away.

When Raphael offers, I start quietly filling my plate. He pauses, a curious eyebrow co*cked, then approves of my actions with an evil laugh. Everyone else does not. The devil takes my distracted motions as consent to continue, and transforms into his true- horned, winged, and most dangerous self.

Wyll is righteously furious at the sight of a devil and demands for us all to be ‘returned home at once’. Astarion, like a provoked chihuahua, is barking at anything and everything that will listen, unsure if he should palm his daggers or not. The girls are silent, but hunched over as if ready to draw their weapons.

The devil continues to lay his trap, offering us a solution to our mind flayer parasites. He even tells us to try and shop around for another cure, ‘to beg, borrow, and steal until we’ve exhausted every possibility’. He is confident that we won't find anyone else but him that can help us.

His speech is almost comforting with how familiar it is. With a detached stare, I put a warm roll in my mouth, letting the crust rest on my tongue. The bread is sweet, delicious, and nostalgic. l can't help but savor it as I bite, chew, and swallow the yeasty offering.

It feels awful in my stomach.

The others, once they catch sight of me, are dumbfounded. There's a quick glance by everyone at Raphael and then back to me, as I take another bite.

I swallow dryly.

“We'll find another way.’” I say to the mighty devil, my voice stupidly small. “I still have hope.”

It's a silly, underhanded comment, but fear and food have shut down a lot of my higher thinking.

Raphael’s smile does not waver, and he snaps his fingers in the air. Another covered silver platter appears in his outstretched hand.

“Perhaps I can lay the foundation for a partnership of goodwill between you and I.” He says mysteriously. “To Us .” he says seductively.

He lowers the platter in my direction and waits impossibly still for me to make a move. Everyone turns to watch me as I step cautiously slump forward. Curious as to what other foods he thinks he can tempt me with, and fearful as to what would happen to us if I were to say ‘No’, I lift the cover of the silver platter.

And immediately drop it in horror.

On the platter, atop a white silken handkerchief is a pale, shriveled, and bloodied human hand. One of the fingers is decorated with a wedding ring.

My wedding ring.

“Tov? What is it?!” Someone asks from behind me.

My eyes flash up to Raphael’s. His smile hasn’t changed, and it seems like he is looking at me; through my temporary body, past the mind flayer parasite, and directly at me , the other worlder.

M soul reels, and I try to sift through my memories of the game and what information I have that can connect Raphael to my severed hand. What could he possibly want with it??

“What is this?” I choke out, my new body trembling from head to toe.

“A gift .” The devil says with a soothing tone.

I know he’s trying to tempt me, trying to bait me, hook me, and reel me in on his line. But every single piece of my entire soul wants to reach out and steal that hand.

It was mine .

Remember, remember, remember, I repeat to myself. DO NOT TRUST THEM.

“No. Thank you.” I say thickly.

Raphael frowns for the briefest of moments before laying out his arm dramatically, as if awaiting other demands that he can graciously, and performatively, attend to.

Ever the perfect host.

“I want to go back to camp now, please.” I whisper.

Raphael smiles without letting it touch his eyes.

The deal has been presented, the hook has been baited, as it were, and with a snap of his fingers, we are transported back to the center of our camp in a flash of sparks and sulfur. A beguiling act of good faith.

Chapter 9: Chapter Nine

Chapter Text

Gale, our glorious camp guardian, is up in arms at our sudden arrival; taking in our figures, our faces, and perhaps even our magical aura before asking what in the Hells we had gotten up to.

Shadowheart and our congenial new party member, Wyll, breathlessly and angrily fill Gale in on our mysterious devil encounter. When the tale is told, everyone is complaining and questioning about why the f*ck a f*cking devil has come to call upon us in the first place!

Raphael has placed me directly in front of our campfire. The plate of food that I had taken is gone, the cheap bastard, but the bitten roll remains, a reminder of our First Encounter. I toss the bread bitterly into the fire.

It’s now toast.

When I look up from the flames, I realize that Gale has been an absolute saint while we were gone today. In the romantic light of the setting sun, l can see the changes he's made around the camp:

There's fresh firewood, dry and stacked high under a secure tarp. Large logs had been found, and now neatly encompass the campfire where steaming, tantalizing pork stew is bubbling in a cauldron. Even my glass bottle of water is full and corked with, presumably, post-boiled water beside the fire. Just the way I like it. The ground has also been dried, new flowers and grass are blooming, and the whole camp just has a much tidier look about it. Even without the Weave, Gale is pure magic.

My eyes return to the flames of the campfire and I can't look away. This is where I've wanted to be ALL day.

I step over to a vacant seat and flop to the ground, leaning back heavily against an even heavier log. I groan and my feet throb. I might just fall asleep sitting up right here. My body is f*cking SORE. Even with all of the healing potions and the magic and the short rests, there is still a stiffness and pain from running around all day that persists as a phantom ache.

But that social anxiety though… It strengthens me in an awful, terrible way. I manage to stay awake, monitoring everyone's body language from the corner of my eye, keeping my ears open to what is said and what is unsaid. Were they going to talk to me about today? If they do, will it be now or later? Would they just ignore me?

Did they see the hand?

Lae'zel peels off first, heading for her tent and unbuckling her armor along the way. Astarion follows suit soon after, shrugging off his outer jacket with a theatrical player's sigh.

Wyll and Gale greet one another and get along immediately, thanks to their arsenal of well trained, social niceties. Gale introduces himself and offers food, drink, and rest, while Wyll introduces himself and explains that he's been invited to join the party on the condition that we help him in his pursuit of a wily and dangerous devil that is threatening the Sword Coast.

Wily. ‘Wile E. Coyote.’ I think drowsily to myself. It makes the corner of my mouth twitch up.

It's like listening to nobility in the wilderness, the two of them. They're silly and their language is flowery, but respectful. I'm so grateful that they're here, safe and, currently, sound.

Gale is the first to address me, stepping into the circle of the warm campfire to hand me a cup. He then takes my bottle of water and pours me a drink, like a seasoned bartender.

“So tell me.” He asks, “What's on your mind?'”

No judgment, no pressure. Just genuine interest. He doesn't mention the devil, the holes in my clothes, or the strong, rank smell of the sea and sulfur that wafts from me. He is the paragon of politeness and it squeezes my heart to be able to speak with him.

“I'm just…” I start, but my throat closes.

There's so much to say. Where do I even start?

“I just… wanted to say thank you.” I admit honestly. Being honest, especially with Gale, feels like the warmth of basking in the sun. Talking with him lightens my heart, and it twists me up inside to have to lie to him. It’s better for me to speak in truths with our wizard, even if they are off topic truths.

I look away from him and gesture broadly to the fire, the logs, the camp. “Everything you've done here today, it's just wonderful, Gale. And I'm really grateful. So, thank you.” I put my hand to my chin and gesture from me to him.

He smiles and the corners of his eyes crinkle charmingly. He looks proper chuffed at my appreciation as his mage hand carries over a few bowls and spoons to us. He portions out a helping of stew into one of the bowls and the mage hand carries it down to me. I catch it and the warmth weighs nicely in my hands.

I murmur more thanks and spoon out a tentative bite, my stomach is still leadened from Raphael's duplicitous bread. The stew needs more salt. And other seasonings and aromatics to be considered good. But it's delicious all the same.

Tears come in exchange for the food, as if activated by nourishment and warmth. Gale politely busies himself with filling more bowls as my eyes shine in the firelight.

There's a small 'aha' from Wyll as he takes a seat beside the fire, accepting a magically hovering bowl. His eyes slide smoothly away from my inquiring, watery glance, probably remembering what Astarion had said earlier today about me.

Earlier... ‘Earlier’ can refer to any number of things that have transpired so far.

f*ck. What a f*cking day.

I eat my food a little more somberly, the tears slowing, but not stopping.

I am really, really happy that I'm not dead. There were a lot of opportunities for that today, but I made it through, somehow.

I look up to survey the camp, our camp, in all of its glory. The sky is pink and purple, with clouds burning orange from the setting sun. The tents pitched around the camp are full and decorated with personalized flair. Our supplies are well stocked and our bodies are whole and free. Despite the fear, the pain, and the gut wrenching anxiety of existing in this universe, having this small moment, with all of my companions coming to a safe campfire to eat warm delicious food, is an indescribable relief and it fills me to the brim with gratitude.

The only person brave enough to sit on the log that I'm leaning against is Shadowheart. Brave, or perhaps still putting up a friendly charade, I can't tell. I sniff away my tears, or at least will them to pause, amidst company. Lae'zel lets out a soft Chk at me before focusing on her food.

“So.” Gale says with forced cheerfulness after everyone is served. “How was the grove?”

A loaded question. There is an understood consensus amongst the group, and everyone turns or glances at me without a word.

Right. How else would the companions know about the day while they were back at camp? Someone has to tell them.

'”Um. Well.” I start, clearing my throat.

This is awkward. What happened first again?

“There was… a goblin attack. Which we handled.” I add hurriedly, to keep Gale from being concerned. He raises his eyebrows.

“Then we fought a bugbear that had snuck inside the grove. I got a bit poisoned. But Nettie, we found Nettie the Healer by the way, she fixed me up. We didn’t have time to ask her about the tadpoles, but I’m sure we can do that tomorrow…”

There is silence. No one adds any further details to my story, so I continue.

“Um, we also met Wyll, as you know. The Blade of Frontiers. And he has agreed to help us. Again thank you, Wyll.” I say, laying my hand on my heart and giving Wyll the tiniest nod.

“Oh? With our cerebral problem?” Gale asks secretly, wiggling his fingers at his head.

“What? Ah, no, he has… Well he was, turns out, also on the Nautiloid and has a tadpole of his own.”

Gale turns to Wyll with a broad, pitying smile. “Welcome to our little tadpole party. The invitation strictly requires a cerebral parasite, I’m afraid.” He jokes graciously.

Wyll bows from his seat sarcastically, “It's an honor.”

He looks back at me, waiting for me to continue.

“And then…” I say, trying to organize my memories, “ Then we fought some harpies. And won...”

“Obviously.” Astarion scoffs.

“... then a devil, named Raphael, showed up. And offered to take our tadpoles out. For a price, of course.”

'Of course.' was echoed around the circle.

“And then… he popped us back here.”

Silence

“Just like that?” Gale asks, skeptically.

“Just like that.” I affirm. I glance around at everyone's reactions, my face feels hot at the intense attention. I focus back on my bowl and eat my stew.

“Is that it?” Astarion asks, outraged.

I am a deer caught in headlights, staring wide eyed over at him.

“Are you an actual imbecile, or are you just absolute sh*t at telling stories?!”

This prompts a laugh out of Shadowheart from behind me.

“Well, Astarion, since you seem so keen to share, what details would you like to add?” Gale asks, trying to sound stern. It's clear that he wants more information than what I've given, but he is politely letting my story stand on its own.

With that Astarion gives the most dramatic retelling of the day, in excruciatingly, accurate detail from his point of view, pulling in the others every now and again to fill in the blanks when he had been absent.

It was Me leading the surprise counter attack on the goblins. Me tackling a bugbear assassin down a cliff and being stabbed and poisoned. Me defending a tiefling child from imprisonment from the new head druid, NAKED. Me recruiting Wyll to our party to save ANOTHER tiefling child. Me accurately predicting a harpy attack, then killing a harpy while drowning. Me eating, unbothered, from a Devil's table and bringing us back to camp in an instant... me. Me. ME.

This was all too much. The way they spoke of me, it almost sounded like l was competent. Clumsy and slow, yes, but suspiciously close to heroic? That doesn't sound right.

Oh. They don't know… They haven’t figured out that I’m a fake yet. That I have foreknowledge that lets me know what’s going to happen and where, and even then I still almost f*ck up every one of my rescue attempts. They don't know that out of everyone in this whole f*cking world that is trying to bind, manipulate, and control them, that l am their biggest abuser. Of course it looks heroic if they think I’m doing all of this spontaneously. It's because they Don't Know.

Yet.

What would they think if they ever knew the truth?

“Stop it!” I shout suddenly, holding out a hand as Wyll and Astarion try to embellish more of their stories. It's all too much to handle.

The group turns to me, their faces expectant. This is ALSO too much for me to handle.

“I... l wasn't naked.” I correct weakly.

The whole group laughs. Even Lae'zel’s mouth twitches up unexpectedly. It's nice to hear them laugh. A comfortable laugh. Perhaps this is the first time everyone has been this comfortable with each other on the journey so far.

Wyll and Astarion go on with their stories without me. Gale's mage hand brings out a hidden bottle of wine and begins filling the various cups and goblets of the group.

I can't be here anymore. This isn't for me. This jovial atmosphere, this comradery. This PRAISE.

I rise quietly, joints and muscles protesting, gather everyone’s dishes and retreat to my tent for some soap and a change of clothes.

With a glance at the fire, l see all of my beloved companions amiably chatting and sharing a drink together. Well, not all of them just yet. But we're getting there.

I steal away through the woods for a pee before I start the wash. I wander further out this time to find a different, more sheltered spot to bathe.

“f*cking dishes. f*cking laundry. Tying and loosening all these f*cking laces on these f*cking clothes multiple times a day, takes so much f*cking time…” I mutter to myself, cursing extravagantly to ease my anxieties. Complaining about something within my control feels more productive than complaining about all the things that are outside of my control at the moment.

At the river, I lay out my leathers on the bank, roll up my sleeves, and begin washing the day’s worth of bowls and cutlery. “You'd think I'd be done with water for the day, eh?” I mumble manically, almost losing a spoon to the dark water in my haste.

When everything is reasonably clean, I set the dishes back on the bank and strip, gathering each article of clothing in my arms. I walk out deeper into the water and begin soaping and scrubbing my clothes, trying to dig out the worst of the stains while not aggravating the rips and holes in the fabrics any further.

I rinse them, wring them, and lay them out next to the leathers.

Finally, I unbraid my hair.

The moon is rising and it is surprisingly bright out. The dark waters of the river shimmer in the pale light, and daring frogs start croaking flirtatiously in the silence. I step deeper into the river up to my crotch and pause, shivering. I clutch my arms over my chest against the chill, then a faint, pale mark catches my attention. I open my arms and look down, even on the blue gray skin of this body, I can make out different degrees of pale scaring sprinkled about.

Had those always been there? I guess l hadn't really assessed this body in minute detail before. It felt impolite and invasive.

The big puffy line along my side was definitely from the bugbear today, I can almost feel the knife stuck solidly in my kidney. There was a lighter, straight line across my thigh and a bumpy scar on my shoulder, must be from when that horrible goblin had attacked me. My knuckles and feet are also speckled with marks, like stars shining in the night sky. Those… l couldn't tell if they'd been there before or not.

I poke at my abdomen. I’m thinner than I’d ever been in my past life. I should really try to start eating more, if for no other reason than to build up some muscle and endurance for the journey ahead. The only other similarity I can seem to find on this body with my old one, besides the obvious ‘two eyes, one mouth, ect’, is that we both have ‘innie’ belly buttons.

“At least there’s that.” I joke, poking at my navel.

I splash at my exposed flesh then grab my soap and begin to lather and scrub, trying to get all of the dirt, blood, and maybe even the new scars to wash off as well. I rub at my face aggressively, then take the bar of soap and rub it directly on my head. I can't see it, but the crustiness I feel could either be dried salt or dried blood. There is no way to tell which. I throw the bar of soap awkwardly back to the shore, then, walking deeper into the inky darkness of the river, I take a deep breath, and sink. The water sends chills up my spine and I shake out my hair underwater like a mermaid.

I resurface and lean back to float, my teeth chattering.

I remember this floating feeling from when l was a kid. I'd always loved swimming. That really was the closest to being a mermaid in my world.

“A little mermaid, if you will.” I whisper in a silly voice. “Unda da sea.”

I briefly think of the comfort of old childhood movies and decide to replicate the classic hair-out-of-water scene.

It'd be funny, and I could really use a laugh after today.

I breathe deeply, sink, and lean forward. I come up, shoulders first, then lift my head up quickly, forcing my hair up and out to create an arc with the cold river water shimmering out into the night air.

It is very silly, and I chuckle and splash about in delight.

A Chk comes from the trees along the riverbank and I freeze.

Turning my head slowly, my eyes search the woods for the outline of a body that l know is there.

Lae'zel’s yellow eyes are staring out at me from the darkness. She takes a step forward into the moonlight, her arms crossed.

I sink up to my chin in the water. I had just made a fuss about not being naked at camp, and here l was: naked for all to see.

Lae'zel holds my gaze for a moment more before deciding to speak.

“You owe me an explanation, istik.” She says, lifting her chin to look further down on me. “A better explanation than before.”

I had honestly forgotten about that.

I stammer and wipe dripping water from my eyes, glancing miserably at the shore where my clothes are drying. I hold my arms to my chest, even though I'm pretty sure she can't see under the water's surface.

Shadowheart, unable to contain herself any longer, melts out of the night beside the gith with the chuckle, “l think we all would.” She adds with a coy smirk.

“f*cking sh*t!” I jolt back, nearly jumping out of my skin. '”Are all of you watching me bathe right now?!”

Lae'zel looks unconcerned. It's unclear if she and Shadowheart had come to get me and, incidentally, startle me together. But it’s perhaps the least hostile they had been together so far. A silver lining in this awkward moment.

“No.” Shadowheart laughs, “but l can go fetch the men if you'd like an audience.”

I groan and sink into the water and scream. Loud bubbles rush past my pointed ears.

I pause after l use up all my breath and dunk under a bit more to push my hair back. I try to smooth my face into calmness as I resurface.

“I will… be back in a moment.” I say with a monotone drawl.

Shadowheart smiles sweetly and melts back into the darkness.

Lae'zel stands still, searching my face. With no answers found, she rolls her eyes and disappears as well.

When l can't hear them any more, I crawl out of the water, muttering sullenly about bathrooms and privacy.

There, by my leathers, is my crossbow.

Dammit. Was this a hint that l should practice tonight or was it because I had forgotten to bring the damn thing with me in the first place?

Impossible to say. But l am too exhausted to even pretend to want to practice

I dress, still wet, retie all of my f*cking laces again, shoulder my crossbow, gather the dishes, and trudge back to camp.

The atmosphere is still merry as l hover just outside the circle of tents. I can hear Shadowheart retelling the funny story of startling me by the water.

I really don't want to move forward. I want them to stay in this happy moment without me. I don’t want to be forced to lie to them about my foreknowledge. Of course, fighting and nearly dying today was bad, but this upcoming conversation, with its possibility of messing up multiple future timelines, feels much much worse.

Everyone seems content to travel together, but they could all just as easily leave at any point of their own free will if l say or do something wrong. And my persuasion skills... hell my ability to even talk here, is sh*t, as Astarion had so kindly pointed out earlier.

I close my eyes to center myself.

f*ck. I just want to go to sleep. In the game l could rest whenever l was even the slightest bit tired. But actually being in this world is nothing but a nonstop onslaught of fighting for my life and barely keeping up with the basics of living. This must be hard mode. And ‘Act 1’ was supposed to be like the tutorial level!

I’m f*cking f*cked.

Lae’zel and Shadowheart have retaken their spots by the fire, completing the picturesque view of a proper party at the end of a long day of adventuring. It was like I was back in my old world, on the outside of this warm bubble, looking in. I didn't belong with them, but l stepped forward anyway.

I stop by my tent to hang my wet clothes and stash my weapon before setting the dishes by Gale’s tent and awkwardly retaking my spot on the ground next to Shadowheart. The chatter fades away and everyone turns to me.

What do l say now?

I glance at Lae'zel, the original inquisitor, for direction. She is looking down at me. Her face... is not as hard as it had been before, maybe that's a good sign?

“How much foresight does this parasite allow you to perceive, istik?” She asks bluntly.

I feel like I've been knocked sideways. “What?'” I ask, wide eyed.

“You reported that it was the parasite that gives you this information of future events.” She restates with an even tone, watching my face for every muscle twitch.

Oh right, l had said that...

I look up and away, trying to remember what my train of thought had been earlier.

“To be fair,” Wyll says, filling the uncomfortable silence, "the event that was predicted was to happen to a child, not to her, the Predictor. Not exactly fulfilling the terms of a prophetic vision.”

“It's close enough.” Astarion dismisses sharply. “Someone still got charmed and was attacked by harpies. How else could she have even known about it in the first place, if not through the parasite?” He glances over at me, inviting me to correct his remark or agree with him.

“You do act rather odd.” Shadowheart chimes in from behind me. “You profess your inadequacies with an unusual vigor, yet you've put yourself into multiple perilous situations for people you don't even know.” She pauses before adding, “Myself included.”

I can't stand to be scrutinized like this. Recognized like this. It makes my back crawl with guilt.

”It's- it’s the parasite.” I repeat the lie, reaffirming it, making it real. “I couldn’t do this before l woke up on the nautiloid…”

Do I look like I’m lying? How do I make this sound convincing? By mixing in some truth?

“... and it's only sometimes, not an all the time sort of thing,” l begin, waving my hand to dispel any reliability in my ‘predictions’. “Sometimes, I- l see things from, like, a third person's point of view, like I’m looking down on things or events. But not all of those things come true.”

They're all staring intently at me, enraptured. I purse my lips and stare at the nonjudgmental fire instead.

“I can't control it.” I lie. “Or understand when or where things are going to happen.” Lies lies lies. “And l can't tell if it makes a difference if l know what's coming or not.” Oh, that one is actually true.

“Hmm.” Gale hums, drawing our attention. “That doesn't sound like something within the realm of capability of illithid parasites. Anything involving the ‘Prophetic’ is usually arcane or divine in origin.”

Lae'zel nods sagely.

Oh no. This can’t be good.

“Did you know that l would pull a knife on you?” Astarion interrupts.

Oh lord. What? My brow furrows at his question.

“When we first met?” He elaborates.

This is what this guy cares about right now? f*ck. Would it be better to tell the truth or lie about something as small as that??

“Uh…”I blink, trying to remember every possible detail of that interaction from the game. My thoughts race, trying to think of any future events that might be affected by revealing a little bit of truth here.

“Ah-ha!” Astarion shouts pointing accusingly at me. “You did, didn't you?!” He says, smiling. It’s toothy, and unnerving.

I'm flushed now. There's no use trying to deny it, I guess. They can all see the truth on my face.

I purse my lips and nod.

“You're a kinky little thing, aren't you.” He purrs, before continuing. “You all saw what just happened didn't you?” He asks, looking around the group with delight.

“What… am l looking for?” Wyll, our newest member, turns from face to face, unable to grasp Astarion’s revelation. No one else seems to get it either. Myself included.

“There's a little tic, you see.” Astarion says, dramatically getting up and practically pirouetting towards me. He reaches out and tilts up my chin with one hand and holds one of my eyes open with the other.

“Hold still now, darling.”

I'm wide eyed and frozen. What the f*ck is happening right now? I should shake him off and redirect and control the conversation, but the little f*cker just called me ‘darling’, what choice did I have but to comply?

“Did you know that Lae'zel and Shadowheart were going to find you by the water tonight?” He questions, ruby eyes shining in the firelight

I stare up at him, searching for his intent.

“No...?” I answer truthfully.

Astarion nods, looks to the group, and then back. “Now darling, think of that lovely little harpy attack from earlier.” He continues.

My memories of that terrible fight flash with fear, fangs, and feathers across my mind. I try to sift through all of them for what he could possibly be searching for…

“No, no.” He corrects, redirecting my attention again. “Not what actually happened today. Think of your Vision. Think of what you thought was going to happen, with the tiefling child.”

I know it's not a good idea to follow Astarion's directions, it can only lead to my lies being exposed. But goddamn, it's so nice to have him talk so sweetly to me. Plus, his voice is absolutely hypnotic. With just a simple instruction I've already pulled my old memories to the surface of my mind. I'd played through the harpy attack on Mirkon countless times in my old life. And l always played to save the child.

“There. You see it now, yes?” He says excitedly, flourishing to the group.

I blink. Glancing around at everyone, l see the revelation of Astarion's trick on their faces. What had happened? What was the trick?

“Do you not know what's happening?” Wyll asks sympathetically. Apparently, even the new guy can see something in me that l don't know about.

I shake my head, still in Astarion’s grip, searching around the campfire for confirmation before looking back up at the rogue. He is clearly patting himself on his back, but he throws me a bone and lets go of my head and pats my cheek.

“Like I said before,” he says, “your eyes go dark sometimes; the silver in your iris fades to a pitless brown. It's happened both times that you've gotten charmed…”

Ugh, embarrassing that it's happened more than once...

“... and sometimes it happens in the middle of a conversation with you.” He chastises, looking meaningfully at me. “I had just assumed you were an idiot. But it turns out…” He gestures grandiously at me. “...that we have ourselves a little ‘canary in the duergar mine’, as it were.” He purrs, grinning malevolently down at me.

Oh. God. f*cking. Dammit.

I grab at my face and look over my shoulder at Shadowheart. Her face is neutral but her eyes are calculating. Scary.

“P-please give me a mirror!” I demand, pointing at Astarion, my heart racing. He is too proud of himself to move, and goes on to retell each instance he’s noticed this change in me to the rest of the companions. It makes me groan.

Gale is kind enough to send his mage hand to fetch Astarion's hand mirror for me while the rest of the group is contemplative.

“Is this change caused by the parasite, or by some form of magic on this plane?” Lae'zel asks levelly.

“Oh, l’ve no idea.” Astarion says dismissively, returning to his seat by the fire. “All l know is this: sometimes the light goes out from the eyes of our little canary, and not once have l, myself, had a vision of the future. Have any of you?”

There's a murmuring around the circle as my companions compare their tadpole experiences.

When the mirror is placed in my hand, l turn so that it can catch the fire light. My hair is wild and my face is panicked.

Breathe. Be calm. At least, look calm in front of the others. Okay, now how did he do it again?

I gaze directly into my silver eyes, not uncommon in this world if memory serves me right.

Now, what do l think of to 'make them go dark'? Think of the video game again?

I picture the beginning of the game as clearly as I can and then…

Nothing happens.

My heart is racing. This body has an unexpected quirk and l have no idea how to control it. If anyone and everyone can figure this little trick out then they might find out.... l don't know... more? Other stuff? Everything? Is that bad? If it is, how bad would it be??

My eyes don't change, no matter how intensely l stare at them.

“Ugh!” I say, dropping the mirror to my lap. I can't control it! f*ck. The f*cking frustration l feel! I thought l knew what kind of conversation l was walking into tonight, but no. Goddammit. WHAT THE f*ck IS THIS sh*t? What does it all even mean?!

‘Well, at least you didn't lie about that part, I guess. Woo-hoo, you’re not as big of a liar as you thought you were…’ I think caustically to myself.

Gale, bless him, has garnered the group's attention with the histories of prophecies and prophets in Faerun... Thank god he is as charismatic as he is long winded.

I glance back at the mirror, at the girl who stares back. She looks sullen and afraid. I touch her cheek then pat at her hair, and try to look kindly at the poor little creature. I start running my fingers through the wild, pale gray strands.

‘I can't control much, but l can at least control this.’ l think stubbornly.

There's a gentle touch to my shoulder and my head whips around.

Shadowheart is looking down at me, eyebrow co*cked. She reaches over to my hair and gently presses my hands down. Then she begins untangling and organizing my head for me. I slump, and look down at the fire, defeated.

Guess I can't even control this...

Shadowheart is on the wrong side of me to do the correct braiding so I tilt myself towards her to accommodate.

It's uncomfortable, and my back aches for a million different reasons, so I lean over a little further to adjust. The movement makes my head brush against Shadowheart’s thigh.

Oh no. That is WAY too intimate.

I move to straighten up, but Shadowheart presses my head down to her leg as she starts separating the plaits.

f*ck. What was I supposed to do in this situation?!

She says nothing to me but raises her voice to make a comment about past religious prophets to Gale, her hands never stopping. Gale takes this information and shoots off onto another tangent. He is eloquent and educational, and so, so verbose.

While he speaks, everyone listens, freeing me from their questioning. It feels almost like... like I've made it through? Like I've finished the conversation and I'm free? Free to feel all the stresses, aches, and pains of the past few days all over. Free to let myself unwind and be exposed in front of everyone. Free to breathe, to be vulnerable.

To be sleepy.

My shoulders sag. My neck sags. My eyes sag...

Without the feeling of any eyes on me, I start to drift away. I feel no expectations. No visibility. Just the sweet, creeping tendrils of warm exhaustion, lulling all of my muscles to sleep. I feel... safe.

Vaguely, l hear the conversation continue on without me, more wine being poured, more debates of what to do going forward.

Did l fall asleep? Did l dream of Astarion threatening to wake me up so he could ask me more questions? Did l dream of the chorus of ‘No's that answered him? Did he take his mirror back without disturbing me?

Shadowheart shifts her leg and l open my eyes. The fire has burned low and the moon is high.

“We're not sure why you sleep next to the fire at night. But your bedroll has been pulled out for you.” She murmurs.

Looking over, l see the bedroll against the warm glow of the fire. It looks so cozy and comfortable...

I straighten. My neck aches from the awkward angle it had been left in. How long had we been there?

I can hear the soft rustling of footsteps in the grass around camp; different tents were being opened and closed, quiet words were being exchanged behind muffled canvas.

I pat Shadowheart's knee absently, an acknowledgment and a thank you. I never was very good at dealing with things when l was sleepy.

“M’sorry.” I mumble. She must have been just as equally uncomfortable with me lying against her for so long, but was gracious enough not to say anything.

I crawl to my bedroll and collapse, too tired to burrow under the cover, wrapping myself into the curve of the fire for warmth instead. Shadowheart stands, then steps forward to kneel beside me.

“Do you know of the Goddess Shar?” She whispers intensely for my ears alone.

“Mhm.” I reply instantly.

There's a pause. “Do you know about me… and my Lady Shar?” She asks, dropping her voice even lower.

“Mhm.” I reply again, not even opening my eyes.

“And you’re not afraid? Of my Lady? Of me?” her whispers sound surprised and contemplative.

“MmMm.” l hum. This is not when I thought I'd be having this chat with Shadowheart, but I'm too bone tired to elaborate or soothe her suspicions about her religious affiliations.

There’s a pause. “Tov.” She warns, and then there’s a small pressure on my throat. She has a small blade pressed against my windpipe. In my haze, I pull away lazily. Shadowheart gently wraps my hair in her hands to hold me still.

“Tov, do you know of my mission for Lady Shar, why I’m out here, and why I have to return to Baldur’s Gate?” Her whispers take on a frantic edge, but I still don’t open my eyes. Too tired to lie or hide my foreknowledge.

“Mhm.” I breathe.

Shadowheart grips at my hair indecisively. It feels almost like a head pat, and I nuzzle into her palm with a sigh.

“Are you… are you going to interfere with my mission, or try to stop me?” She asks, tightening her grip on my head and her blade.

I use the last of my strength to move my hand up to pat the blade against my throat considerately. “MmMm.”

There is no sound or movement but that of the crackling campfire and my even breathing. Eventually the blade and the hand slip away into the night.

Chapter 10: Chapter Ten

Chapter Text

When I open my eyes, I am in the Astral Plane.

With a groan l sit up. The Emperor is facing away from me, looking out at the stars.

I just want to have one night where l don't have to come here and talk to this creature. After the day I'd just had, after all the sh*t I’d just gone through, after f*cking up and stumbling through a myriad of important in game events, after seeing my own hand on a silver platter… l just really wanted a break.

“ I told you,” It says without turning around, “not to stop the assassination. ”

What did this mind flayer just f*cking say to me just now??

“Oh, what the f*ck , man.” I groan out loud. Seems my dream body isn't as tired as my real body.

“Like I'm NOT going to help people when l know l can help them! f*ck…!”

Cursing is empowering

“God... goddammit… You son of a bitch. You goddamn son of a bitch. What the actual sh*t, you goddamn, motherf*cking, bast....

—

I open my eyes to a damp chill in the night air.

Did the Emperor really just pull my soul into the Astral Plane to do THAT? Tell me 'I told you so'??

My body, thankfully, is still on the ground, only just starting to sit up. I roll over to crawl under the fur cover of my bedroll and warm back up.

Please don’t let me go back to the Astral Plane. Please, please, please, please, please!

When l close my eyes this time, l don't go back to the Emperor.

It's much, much worse.

I go back to my old couch. My soft, overstuffed, L-shaped couch.

I am surrounded by pillows and blankets and comfort and warmth . When I pull up one of the blankets, a white, wire haired terrier is curled up underneath. My little old man. My heart breaks and beats faster, as if I'm going to lose him. I can't see her in the dream, but l know my wife is there too, on the other end of that couch, equally covered with pets. Equally happy.

My heart. It breaks. I am broken. I miss her. I miss them. But they’re… They’re…

Rain drops startle me awake. I’m sitting up again and the air is thick with cold humidity. Adrenaline pumps through me as l jump up, grab my pillow and the edge of my bedroll and drag it into my small crappy tent.

This must be why no one else sleeps next to the open campfire. Being caught in inclement weather, especially when you are sleeping is unpleasant. I guess they just did it in the game to show who was in your party.

As I settle stiffly into my tent, I try to get my bearings. I can't tell what time it is but it feels like the time of the third shift. Third watch . sh*t. I'll never get used to speaking like they do in this universe.

Dawn should break in a couple of hours. Do I risk going back to sleep? I rub my hands to my damp eyes. I'm so f*cking tired, but sleeping is such a f*cking gamble. I growl in frustration. More tears come, unbidden. Shedding for my lost dog, my lost wife, my lost life.

I don't even know if l got to say goodbye to them. I don't even remember how all of this happened in the first place! It's not fair! My family won't understand why I'm not coming home! They won't know that I'm trying to get back to them! What’s going to happen to them?

The rain falls more heavily, drowning out the sounds of the woods and, hopefully, the sound of my sobs as l mourn the life that I'd been taken from.

I lie down, deciding to try and sleep for the rest of the night.

The rain is softer in the morning, but there isn't a single break in the clouds as far as the eye can see. It looks like it'll be another day at camp.

Astarion had, generously, shared his tent with Wyll the night before, but he looks relieved as Wyll prepares to head back to the grove to pack up his own supplies and move his things to our camp. Lae'zel decides to go with him to get information on the location of the other githyanki creche. I don't know if it will work out for her or not, since it was only ever sunny when she asked the tiefling in the game, but that's no reason to tell her not to go. I watch them pack up from the comforts of the ground of my open tent.

Gale is wishing them well, and he then offers both of them water repellent cloaks for the journey.

Where the f*ck...? Did he just have those this whole time or did he make them recently?

I want to ask him, but I'm nervous to interact with any of the companions again. A lot had happened yesterday, and l don't know how they'll treat me. Or how they'll want to be treated by me in return.

Wyll looks out across the camp and catches my eye. He raises his hand in greeting and flashes an easy, charming smile. He is so casually handsome, it makes my stomach hurt. I crack a small smile in return and wave back.

Lae'zel, following the Blade’s gaze, looks over at me and co*cks her head back at me as well; a greeting. Lae'zel never hides how she feels about anything. She's abrasive and stubborn, but honest. I nod back to her in response, smiling, and also give her a little wave. If she's okay with me, then l have nothing to worry about from her.

With that, they're off. The rain almost immediately increases to cover their retreating backs.

Gale's tent is still open, so I get up and duck under the rain to catch him before it closes. I have to pee, and one of those water repellent cloaks would be very, very nice to have.

“Don't forget to take a weapon out there, for your defense.” He teases as he magics an ordinary cloak to be water repellant. I laugh and steal back to my tent to acquiesce, awkwardly shoving the crossbow under my new cloak.

The waterproof cloak works like a charm. After a peaceful bathroom break, I take the long way back to camp and stop to practice shooting at a tree with my crossbow for a bit. The motions are less unwieldy now, but my fingers still fumble when I try to increase my speed. My accuracy and precision still leave something to be desired, but there is a… slight improvement.

When l return to camp, l don't have the stomach to properly check in with Gale, Astarion, and Shadowheart yet, so I try to tiptoe back to my tent.

Just outside the entrance to my tent, there is a sack with a day's worth of rations inside.

It's so sweet, l want to die.

I crawl into my tent and nibble on a dry breakfast, staring out at the rain.

Bored, bored, bored. While there wasn't enough time in the day yesterday, today seems to stretch on for an eternity. I still have so much to do at the grove too! Not to mention we have to go meet Karlach and help her with Zariel’s fake paladins soon. AND infiltrate the goblin camp…

Ugh, poor Karlach. She's free from Avernus, yes, but right now she's out there fighting on her own. In the rain, no less. It must be miserable being cold, wet, and alone. Well, not cold, but at least wet and alone, while fighting off enemies left and right. I wish I could help her.

Wait.

Why couldn't I just go get her, right now ?

All of the things l want to do at the grove should only happen when the sun's out. So by that logic, as long as it's raining, l shouldn't miss out on anything important! Sure there are gnolls and goblins on the road, but l know how to avoid them. And if l can recruit Karlach then we can all be together again! Well, for the first time here, in this world, that is.

This is a brilliant idea.

Rain has basically become my ally in this world, giving me the opportunity and breathing room to accomplish so many more of my goals. I've got a rain cloak, my weapon, my snacks, and the map in my head. I'm good to go! It shouldn't even take that long to get to her if a bunch of events are put on hold due to the rain.

I dress properly, pulling tight all of my f*cking laces, pack my bottle of water in with the rations, and lower my hood. I even turn over one of the sheets of paper that Gale had given me and write with the burnt wick of my candle: ‘Be back soon', just in case anyone comes looking for me later. I am ready to face the day!

I walk casually out of camp, as if I'm going for another pee break, and meander through the woods to the main path.

Once on the trail, l start trotting, giddy with my cleverness, and super excited to meet the Karlach in person. I'm gasping and panting almost immediately. I want to slow to a brisk walk, but I really should try to keep to the paces that Lae’zel has set for me.

It takes a while to pass by the cliffs that house the hidden harper stash, then another long while before I come to a familiar fork in the road. I choose to take the right trail through to the forest. The one less traveled by.

I slow down and am tentative as l pass by the spot where we're supposed to meet a ‘True Soul’ for the first time. No one's there, thankfully.

Yet. I shudder as I think of what will come to pass in the future at this spot.

I choose to take the back way to the blighted village, forgoing the bridge and crossing the river on foot instead. The river is much harder to cross than l remember, but l make it through without any real issue. I also have to walk past the owlbear cave, a trade off from possibly interacting with the goblins occupying the village. Hopefully, the mother owlbear is as keen to avoid the rain as everyone else seems to be.

She must be full of goblin prey because when l pass by the cave, there's nothing but the echo of rainfall within. Nonetheless, I crawl up a series of ledges as quickly and quietly as possible.

Suddenly, there's a sound in the forest. The sound of movement.

Oh god. Oh f*ck. Who could it be? No one's supposed to be out here! I thought l could avoid any fighting today. I thought l could handle this alone. f*ck!

I'm panicking. I’m not thinking straight anymore. It’s fight or flight or freeze, and I can’t afford to freeze.

I whirl my head around and dive off of the trail. I try to quietly hide underneath a nearby raspberry bush, tucking in all of my limbs, out of sight and hopefully out of mind. My pants and armor are soaked and muddy as I press my belly down into the earth like a beast of prey.

The crashing in the forest grows louder. Then, a flash of white crosses the trail. It's a dog! Wait. It's Scratch!!

I’m about to get up and call to him in relief, but then a human walks into view. His human. Alive.

My brain freezes. What do l do? Do l let them pass by? Should I call out to them and tell them to avoid gnolls in the future? What are they doing out here anyway, there isn't even a proper house for miles? What if Scratch's master is with the cult of the Absolute?

No no. Why would Scratch’s master be killed by gnolls if he was with the Absolute?

Oh. Oh no.

Scratch is sniffing the air. He’s venturing closer and closer to my hiding spot.

If he catches me what would l say? Why am I questioning myself? The right thing to do would be to stand up and warn Scratch's master that there are gnolls in the area. Am I afraid it will mess with the timeline too much? Would it even matter, in the grand scheme of things, if Scratch got to stay with his friend?

Am I still hiding under the bush because, deep down, l want to have Scratch for myself? Because it's how I'm ‘supposed’ to play the game?

The human passes by my raspberry bush. He whistles and Scratch takes off.

I got away with it. So why do l feel so… bad?

I stand before l fully understand my feelings, and turn to watch the duo walk away, blissfully ignorant of the horrors they will one day face.

I step onto the trail and run after them. I try to wipe the mud from my armor, but it just smears. Oh well.

“Hey! Hey there!” I call out, waving them down. The man turns, a serrated, hunting knife held up at his side. Scratch crouches low and growls.

I'm panting as l hold up my hands and push off my hood.

“Sorry, sorry! Just wanted to tell you that there's lots of packs of goblins and gnolls roaming around right now.”

The man takes me in, a scrawny, muddy, half soaked drow.

“Aye.” He says cautiously.

We stare at each other.

“Here. In this area.” I warn again, gesturing to the forest.

“Aye.” He answers.

That's it? Is this all a living, soon to be dead, NPC can say?

“Well. Y'all should be more careful around here, then.”

The man glances around the woods, down at Scratch, then back at me.

“Aye.” He says again, unmoving.

What else is there for me to do? I half turn towards the opposite direction.

“Well… okay then. Bye!” I say, side-stepping backwards a bit, making sure that neither of them try to follow me.

I jog off down the trail and into the forest once more, my muscles protesting with each stride.

I don't know if l helped at all, but l feel better knowing that I'd done it.

“Bad things feel bad, and good things feel good.” I mutter to myself in a sing-song voice.

The tricky part is coming up now. The blighted village is built up on a hill, with a high stone wall protecting it. An old, crumbling, high stone wall.

From my memory, there was a small mudslide that had opened up a bit of the wall somewhere at the back of the ‘lover’s barn’. Just had to find it somewhere in the forest.

And not get caught by goblins. Or their worgs. Or the gnolls. Or the bugbears. Or the ogres.

I'd actually forgotten about some of those honestly.

It's a bit late to worry about it now, especially when I stumble upon the mudslide soon enough.

Now the next problem: I can't jump and clear it, that's for sure. This body has some hard facts attached to it. One, it has blue skin. Two, it has pale hair. And three, it is NOT athletic.

But! If l were willing to sacrifice some pride, which to be honest I don't have much of anyway, then crawling up the rocks and mud made this challenge perfectly doable. Plus my clothes were already muddy anyway. So that's one less thing to worry about.

I flip my cloak out of the way and begin.

I climb, crawl, slide, pause, and crawl some more up the hill until I reach the bottom of the village wall.

I stick my head up at the crest and sneak a peak around. No one is out in the rain but me.

Nonetheless, l crouch low and hug the inner wall as l skirt the outside corner of the village.

At the barred barn doors, I pause and scan the treeless road. This is a spot where the Absolute’s goblin forces might be camping.

No one is out. At least, no one that l can see, and with this rain, hopefully, no one can see me either.

“Slow is smooth, and smooth is fast.” I whisper to myself.

I scurry along the road, throwing in a bit of zigging and zagging just in case anyone tries to shoot at me.

I reach the broken bridge in almost no time at all. My spirits, high all day despite the rain, finally dampen slightly.

There is no way I'm going to make the jump between the bridge halves.

How were all the characters able to make such long jumps? Were they all Olympians?

Unfortunately for me, the path on the other side is how I reach where I'm supposed to find Karlach, so I need to try. I’ve come too far to turn back now.

I practice my long jump a bit further back on my half of the bridge and I find that I definitely wouldn't make the jump, even if my life depended on it. There's nothing for it, I'm going to have to climb down the cliffs on this side of the bridge to cross the river.

Luckily, the rain is starting to lighten a bit.

Must be a sign that I'm on the right path!

Looking to the other side, I can see the ledges and hand holds in the cliffs that lead to the ravine below. I check each side of my half of the bridge and pick the least steep cliff to replicate the process.

The river is even higher and muddier now, l note distantly. Must be from all of the rain. I turn my back to the river and drop to all fours, hugging the cliff face. I crawl down the first few arm lengths, trying to keep a three point hold at all times. That's what you're supposed to do when you're rock-climbing right?

The first time I slip, I scrabble and catch myself on some tough weeds with deep roots. I pause and sigh with relief and gratitude, my blood pressure rising. When I glance down, I see that I'm still only about a quarter of the way down to the ravine.

Man, this would be so much easier if l could jump or fly. Can we have scrolls or spells for that yet? Maybe this is why we weren't meant to scale down this side of the river. I'll have to remember this the next time we have to cross this bridge...

When I slip a second time, there's nothing to catch me, no weeds, no handholds, just a smooth cliff face that slopes sharply downwards as I'm left clawing at frictionless stone walls.

Oh right!

I just remembered something else that's important to know: it doesn't have to be during an event in the game, I can die at any time out here, for any reason. Just like in my old world.

f*ck.

A sudden outcrop bangs my leg up and out with a sickening snap, bouncing me violently towards the center of the engorged river. My screams of fear and pain are swallowed up by the rapids.

I'm fairly certain my leg is broken. Or my ankle? Or my foot? It's hard to tell which as I try to use my other appendages to keep my head above the surface of the raging river waters. My pack and cloak are weighing me down as l bob, ricochet, flail, and sink over and over again. I want to scream for help. And maybe l am, but I can't hear anything over the roar of the river.

When was this going to end? Why couldn't I make it to shore? Is this what they mean when they talk about being ‘swept away by a current’?

Oh.

Isn't there also a waterfall? At the end, right after the log that we cross to find Karlach? I'm pretty sure there is… That’s gonna be a son of bitch to fall from. Is that how I’m going to die?

Wait! The log! I just have to be out of the water enough to catch myself on it!

I try to turn my body to flow with the river. Boulders and debris bang into me, trying to knock me unconscious. Then, l see it. The log. It's coming up fast. Laid out like a finish line. There aren't any branches to grasp, so I'm going to have to wrap my arms around the trunk, or not at all.

With a last ditch effort of strength, I half kick out of the water and throw my arms at the trunk with all my might.

I slam hard against the tree, but the wet wood starts to slip from my grasp. I only truly catch the log by the very tips of my fingers as the river continues to try and sweep me away.

I can't die here! I can't fail . What if the bad things happen to all of my companions when I'm gone? What if they don't get their ‘best endings’???

I scream out in frustration, my fingers feel like they're about to break.

“Please, no!!” I cry before the raging river swallows me up. There's nothing more I can do, the wet log slips from my grasp.

I'm going to be swept away. Erased. I am lost.

My arm burns as a great hand clutches my elbow. There's a brief and aggressive yank upwards, and suddenly my view is familiar: I am up in the sky like a bird, looking down at the world that l had loved so much in my past life.

Looking down, and then coming down.

Fast.

I had been thrown from the middle of the river and was soon going to land on an isolated little island only accessible by that slippery log.

I crash with a hard thud and a sickening crack where my leg should be. An encore crack to the original musical crack from falling off the cliff before. I can't scream, the wind is knocked out of me, but the overwhelming pain makes me dizzy.

“Look alive, soldier!” a familiar voice commands.

Oh f*ck. I turn my head towards the sound.

Karlach is running towards me. Fire and steam literally pouring off of her as the rain starts to increase again. I struggle to sit up, gasping, and look past her figure. Behind her are two archers, dressed smartly in expensive, but bloodied armor. They shoot at her. They shoot AT her. They shoot at HER.

How f*ckING dare they.

I fumble to pull out my crossbow. I co*ck, load, and aim from my spot on the ground. I'm shaking. I hate it, but I have to wait for the archers to get closer before l can fire at them and hope to make a hit.

Karlach takes one step onto the island and swivels to slice an arrow mid air with her ax.

Oh lord, she's so f*cking cool.

“Steady on there, soldier! Pick your shot and breathe through it.” She shouts encouragingly.

Picking my shot. Picking. My. Shot.

The fake paladins have made it to the opposite bank now. Looking between Karlach and l, they square their feet and notch more arrows.

Breathe.

I fire first. At the click of my crossbow, Karlach throws her great ax as hard as she can.

She decapitates one of the archers. My arrow glances off the breastplate of the other. My best shot, ever, defeated by effective armor.

I reload and re-aim, slightly higher than before as a return-fire arrow zips past my ear.

Breath through it… Fire.

My second arrow buries itself into the poor f*cker’s throat. It's a sickening victory.

“f*ck yeah!” Karlach roars, clenching her fists in victory. Her fire is burning hot, and even the pouring rain can't douse the flames.

She's beautiful.

Despite this numbing feeling coiling up my leg, l feel so, so happy and relieved that she's alright. My only true regret is that l should have gotten here sooner. I sag with relief, and it hurts.

Then, she’s turning towards me, looking at me, seeing me, and furrowing her brow with worry. My heart stops. I can't breathe.

“sh*t.” She whispers.

She jogs over and kneels down beside me. I try to scoot back, but my leg shoots pain straight into my skull and I cry out weakly. I'm shivering, from the cold and from the loss of adrenaline. I didn't realize how poorly I was until Karlach’s engine starts to warm me up. It's almost cozy, given the circ*mstances.

Using the barest of touches and the very tips of her finger nails, Karlach assesses my off kilter leg. It's hard to see her face through the steam and rain as it falls, and hopefully it makes it equally hard to see my flushed face. She smells of blood, rain, sweat, and metal.

Finally, she twitches her mouth to one side, thinking. She rises and runs across the log again.

My source of heat now gone, my body seems to physically protest, beginning to shake more violently, compounding the pain of other injuries on my body.

Is that a good or bad thing to feel?

Across the way, I see Karlach rifling through the bodies of the archers. She kicks each of them into the river when she’s done, to be washed away. Out of sight, out of mind.

That could have been me, if she hadn't saved me. f*ck, she’s so cool.

I can't tell how long she's gone for, but she returns in a cloud of heat and light with her bloodied great ax and two crate boards in hand.

She drops the boards beside my leg. Hope she doesn't have to chop it off, l think distantly. Then I say so out loud and she barks out a laugh.

“Maybe!” She replies. Her smile makes my heart thunder in my chest. She goes for a pack, her pack I guess, hidden in some nearby bushes, and gingerly pulls out a familiar red potion. She sets it next to the planks of wood, along with a few long rags.

She's kneeling again. Her bright orange eyes are searching for focus within my own.

“Alright, soldier, I'm gonna have to set your leg now. It's in a bad way. In a couple of spots. It's gonna hurt like the Hells, but it has to be done. This…” she says pointing to the potion. “... is for after. You have to nod or say something to show me that you understand, yeah?”

I want to nod for her, and in my haze, I think I even manage to do so.

“Right, let's go go go.” She says, more to herself than to me. Psyching herself up maybe?

She breathes deeply, and then takes a board in each hand. She presses one to my inner thigh and the other at an acute angle with my hip.

I think that normally those boards are supposed to be parallel.

She soon makes them parallel, in one swift and decisive motion. There's the sound of crunching bones between the boards. And then crushing pain.

I scream.

My hands fly to my mouth and I sob loudly into them. It hurts soooo much. Why does healing in this world have to be so painful?

“l know, soldier, I know.” Karlach coos. She's tying the boards together on either side of my leg now.

My gut hurts from screaming at the pain.

In seconds that feel like hours, Karlach's bright orange hand flashes in front of my eyes, waving for my attention.

“Here you go. Just like l promised.” She says, uncorking the potion.

I let go of my mouth and reach out shakily to take the bottle from her.

She pulls back a bit. With a nod at my shaking hand, she clarifies. “This is the only one we've got, you see, and you'll need to drink every bitty little drop to hold this whole leg together, alright?”

I'm not sure what she means, but l give her a shaky thumbs up anyway. She nods, holding the bottle carefully to my mouth.

The healing potion is warm going down, probably because she was the one holding it. It feels like heaven, and I do as she says and drink every bitty drop. My pain is cooled under the effects of the potion, and I can feel my bones partly fusing back together beneath my skin. I sigh, grateful that the rain has washed away my tears before Karlach can see them.

“Thank you.” l croak, smiling at her, relieved and, mostly, whole.

She smiles back and it's dazzling.

“Ah no worries. I'm just right grateful you helped me pick off those so-called Paladins of Tyr pricks.” She says, nodding to the other side of the river. “I'm Karlach by the way. I'd shake your hand, soldier, but I might burn it off if l did.” She says holding up her glowing and slightly on fire hands.

“I'm… Tov.” I say shyly.

She must expect me to have more questions for her but l don't. I just continue to sit, in the rain and mud, smiling up at her like a fool.

She coughs awkwardly.

“So, Tov. How'd you end up in a flooded river? Do you have any people nearby that are looking for you, that can help you?”

Oh right. My party. My goal. My plans!

A light flickers in my brain and l slowly start to think logically once more.

How do l invite Karlach to camp again? I know she has to fight the quote paladins of Tyr unquote, before she joins us permanently. But she also has to have her face-to-face with Wyll at some point. Also, also, even if l did invite her to join my companions, l still needed to guide us back through the blighted village where there were goblins, worgs, bugbears, and ogres milling about. Which is tough when one of your legs is broken. Not impossible, I'm sure, but it would take some thought, and we were running out of daylight.

I'm shivering again as l look down the river and over the waterfall. It's late afternoon. There's no way my group hasn't discovered I'm gone yet.

What if they get mad? sh*t, there's absolutely no way they wouldn't be mad.

I groan and rub my face trying to focus on the present.

“Tov…” Karlach starts, trying to address my struggles. Her sentence is interrupted as a stabbing pain resonates in both of our skulls. Our parasites take this moment to recognize and communicate with each other, exchanging our memories as if they were greetings.

“Hells, you were on the nautiloid too?” Karlach asks, shocked. Then she breaks into a smokey smile.

“S'nice to know I'm not alone with Jr. out here.” She jokes pointing to her skull.

I laugh. She's funny. I’d forgotten how much joy she brought me from the game. God, it feels so good to talk to her.

She smiles down at me, seemingly delighted at making a broken little thing like me laugh.

“‘I need to get back to my camp.” I admit, with a smile. “Can you help me?”

Oh sh*t. Was I asking for help? It's nerve wracking to ask for help, or ask for anything really in this world. But with Karlach, it feels like she would sincerely give me anything and everything I could ever ask for at any given time.

Still, l should really make it worth her while.

“There’s some good food there, should be hot too! And there're other people who survived the nautiloid there too. We're like, a little tadpole party.” I try to say lightly, as I struggle to stand up, leaning heavily on my one good leg.

Karlach stands too, towering almost two full heads above me. She looks back up the hill across the river with a frown, then back at me and my sorry state with an even sadder frown.

I frown too. She doesn't look like she wants to come with me.

“You don't have to, of course!” I say holding my hand out. “I-l just wanted to invite you since… I thought… You might-”

Maybe it's too soon. Maybe I wasn't supposed to find her yet. I was wrong, the rain isn't my ally. I shouldn't be here, I shouldn’t have come.

“You know what? I'll just head back now.” I backtrack, with a stiff smile. “It was- it was nice to meet you, Karlach! Have a good day.” I wave awkwardly and swivel in place searching for a quick exit, looking around at anything but her.

I'm blushing. All of my plans, all of my speeches, all of my memories of this conversation, of our first meeting, have vanished from my brain. l am, quite literally, looking up at, my most favorite person in this whole wide world, and I am blowing it.

Her frown deepens and she sighs, defeated.

“Come off it, Tov. I'm not gonna let you walk back to your camp by yourself. Look at you! You can barely stand!” She gestures to all of me. She has a point. But I would do absolutely anything to please her right now. Including leave, broken leg or no.

“Now where's this camp of yours with all these lovely tadpoled companions?” She says with a smile, putting her hands on her hips.

Every word out of her mouth makes me giddy. It's my turn to sigh deeply and groan, rubbing my face to suppress the urge to squeal and geek out on her.

I point over the waterfall and through the forest.

“What were you doing up river then?” Karlach asks, pointing her thumb towards the faraway broken bridge. She stoops to stash her few supplies into her pack.

I freeze. I can't tell her that I was upriver trying to get to her. That would be too creepy.

“There're… goblins and gnolls on the road.” l half lie. “I tried to climb down a cliff to avoid them and fell in.”

“Hm.” She ponders.

Oh god, does she not believe me?

She breaks off a long branch from a nearby tree and pulls off the protruding twigs. She measures it to my height, breaks off a bit more of the tapered end, then hands me the finished walking stick.

“You've got a funny way of talking.” She says finally.

“What?!” My hand flies to my lips.

She grins, “Yeah. I can't place your accent but it sounds quite queer!”

I squeak indignantly, and she laughs at my reaction. I laugh too.

“Well to me, your accent sounds quite queer.” l counter, pointing up at her.

“Nah, mate, this is how you sound when you're from the outer city of Baldur's Gate!”

Our conversation feels so… easy. In spite of the rain, the pain, and the daunting hike before us, I am elated.

Chapter 11: Chapter Eleven

Chapter Text

Karlach, pragmatically, decides to take a shortcut to camp. Which involves repelling down the nearby waterfall. Well, lowering me down the waterfall and then repelling the rest of the way herself. The rain makes me worry for her safety, but the barbarian ties the rope in surprisingly intricate knots and scales down with ease.

It's the first time I’ve seen rope actually being used in this world, from this life and my last one. Who knew it could be so useful?

At the bottom, l split some slightly soggy rations with her and then point us in the direction we need to go through the forest.

Karlach can't carry me or lend me an arm, thanks to her malfunctioning engine, but she slows down immensely to match my hobbling pace as we make our way back to camp.

Along the way, I keep gravitating towards her, a literal walking heat lamp, and she politely lets me.

We chat about what she had done after the nautiloid crash and about the phony Paladins of Tyr. I tell her that I'd love to help her take care of them, asking no follow up questions about why they were hunting her in the first place. She seems glad for the team up, even though it's just me and my broken leg offering.

I lead us casually along the trails, no longer concerned about being seen and confident now that I had a party member with me again.

As darkness starts to descend, the rain eases and then stops entirely; a trade off of difficulties in the confines of the wild forest. Along the way, l get the genius idea of tying a torch to my walking stick to brighten the path. Karlach helpfully lights my new invention.

“Efficiency and teamwork.” l proclaim proudly, making her laugh.

As we get closer to camp, l remember that I need to break some tough news to her.

“Karlach. I have some… tough news.” I say, too tired, chilled, and aching to be subtle at this point.

She slows even further, giving me her full attention. Her grip on her ax tightening ever so slightly.

“There's someone at camp who knows you. His name's Wyll. The Blade of Frontiers? Have you heard of him? He was sent out to… to hunt you too.” I stumble over my words, but I don't slow my hobbling stride. I keep my eyes on the trail, trying to project my good intent.

Karlach frowns, almost sympathetically, unable to predict what I might say next.

“I was hoping you would-” I struggle with my wording. How do l want to say this next part? “...well, I just… I-l don't want you to kill him. When you meet him. Please.”

She searches my face, then laughs loudly.

“Hells, soldier! I thought you were gonna say you were leading me into a trap!”

I whip my head around to her. “What!?”

She continues to chuckle. A cold breeze, and her laughter, flow through me and I shiver. Karlach smiles down at me and holds her arm out and hovers it around my shoulders. Warming me in more ways than one.

“No! I would never…” I mutter, shaking my head in disbelief.

It's no use trying to explain my thought process to her, so I press forward.

“I just mean, Wyll, the Blade, he's going to be… confrontational. At first.” I stammer. “I don't want you to take it personally, though. He's a really nice guy. He's just got the wrong idea, that’s all. And once he meets you, he'll see that you're…” l glance up at her and she catches my eye expectantly.

“...also nice.” I finish hurriedly. Hopefully the darkness hides my face. This is all becoming a bit too much for me.

I want to move on to something else. Anything else.

“And there's also Gale.” I continue, looking away, “At the camp. He's a wizard and a real blessing. He's so nice, and smart. And he's been the one doing all of the cooking for us! You’ll love it, last night we had the best pork stew. And then there's Lae'zel and Astarion. They go out hunting and they bring us back tasty things, like wild boar, for Gale to cook. I don't know how, but it's always delicious! And Lae'zel’s a githyanki. She's super strong but also kind and nice and straightforward. And Astarion's a v… a very spicy person. But he's also…”

“Nice?” Karlach fills in.

I laugh at my flustered descriptions, with their stupid lack of adjectives.

“Yeah. He is. He doesn't want you to know about it though, so keep it to yourself. And last is Shadowheart! She's our healer. She heals us with magic and kills bad guys!” I say breathlessly. This is a much easier topic to talk about. It's effortless to gush about my beloved companions.

“Oh yeah? Come across a lot of baddies since the nautiloid crash?” Karlach asks, keeping the conversation flowing.

I shrug awkwardly with one shoulder. “Sort of? It's hard to explain, because there's a whole bunch of different things that've happened to us.”

I want to explain more but I'm panting from talking and limping.

“Yeah, l understand that all too well.” Karlach says ruefully. “But it's nice to have friends help you sort it all out, eh?”

My face burns at the thought.

“Oh, l would for sure be dead without them, but I wouldn't call us friends. Just… people traveling together. With tadpoles.” That doesn't feel right to say.

“Ugh, no, that's not right! What l mean is… I just don't think they want to be friends with someone like me.”

Karlach ‘mhm's while looking out into the dark woods.

“Like, they're all so cool and talented!” I say, exasperated.

Oh no, I'm dumping my insecurities onto my favorite character and l can't stop.

“And, and everyone is terribly kind. I just wish l was… just- I wish I wasn’t… Well. I'm just me.” I say with a pained smile.

I need to stop talking.

Karlach lowers her arm, and stops. l look up at her panicked.

Did l scare her away?

No… She's looking out into the darkness, her back is straighter and the grip on her ax is tighter.

“Karlach?” I ask, looking past her into the woods. “What is it?”

There's a glint of armor beside a tree; Lae'zel has her bow trained on Karlach. They are both deadly silent.

“Wait!! Lae'zel! Wait!” I yell, hobbling to put myself between her and Karlach. If Karlach could touch people, she might have grabbed my shoulder to stop me.

Lae'zel, thankfully, lowers her bow.

What was she doing all the way out here? Hunting?

The githyanki takes in my leg, my walking stick, the impressive, battle ready stance that Karlach has behind me, and chks. She puts her fingers to her mouth and gives a short whistle.

There's the subtlest sound of the sucking of a pair of shoes in mud and branches moving from farther up on the other side of the trail. We all turn our heads as it gets closer.

”Where the HELLS have you been?!” A shout comes from the shadows. Astarion soon enters the circle of light, his pale face is livid.

“Astarion?” I gasp worriedly. I don't know what to do. My heart is beating at an incredible speed, but my thoughts have slowed to a crawl.

Astarion looks me up and down with a sneer, then at Karlach, then back at me. “HELLS. Do you know? Do you know? How… How… HOW??” He is so irate he can't even finish his sentence. He shakes his finger accusingly at me for a moment, then marches off down the trail back to camp.

Lae'zel steps onto the trail as well, her gate is smooth as she shoulders her bow. Unlike Astarion, her steps through the mud are careful and silent. She turns and begins the hike back to camp ahead of us, no questions asked.

I bow my head and clutch my torch-staff to my face, letting out a humiliated groan.

Karlach laughs loudly while stretching her arms.

“Spicy and kind, eh?” She asks, hovering her arm around my shoulders again.

I cover my face with my hand as we begin the final trudge.

I don't want to go back to camp any more. I really don't want to deal with this upcoming lecture. If Astarion's reaction is any indication, everyone is mad.

But I promised Karlach a warm meal. And I cannot ignore how cold, tired, and hungry I am. The prospect of food, warm clothes, and my bed are too tempting to avoid going back.

The rest of the walk feels like a dreary slog, no matter how many tangents Karlach goes off on.

When we finally arrive, the atmosphere is tense.

I know campers are in tents, but this is ridiculous…

Wyll stands first, his eyes blazing. Not at me, but at Karlach. She takes it in stride, thankfully.

He points at her one curled horn, calls her names, and starts to accuse her of all manner of terrible things.

“Wyll, stop! This is Karlach. She saved me.’” I interject, gesturing up at her.

“What was it this time, might I ask?” Astarion drawls from beside the fire. He is sullen and smoldering.

This is it. The mixing of two different lies for two different purposes.

“I- I was running and… I fell into a river…” I say, genuinely embarrassed. “Karlach pulled me out and she set my leg for me.” I place my stinted leg forward slightly, proving the validity of my story.

No one responds.

“I also… invited her to join us. She's got a tadpole too. If you wanna…?” I point to my head and waggle my fingers.

Wyll, with some reluctance, presses his mind forward, searching. He wants me to be wrong, needs Karlach to be a villain, for the sake of his own soul.

It's sad to see it every time, but even with my foreknowledge l could never have saved Wyll from his fate without killing Karlach. And with this body, killing giant veteran barbarian tiefling would have been an impossible task, even if l had wanted to.

After the visions of Karlach escaping from Avernus have passed between everyone via the parasites, Wyll is distraught. Thankfully, he and Karlach connect and commiserate together very quickly. It helps that they're both so honest and upfront with each other. I can see why they could be considered the sweetest couple in the group. It’s nice to see their first true meeting in person.

My memories and day dreams are cut short as Astarion verbally brushes them aside to zero in on me.

“‘Be back soon’? ‘Be back soon’?!” He says tightly, his passive aggressive tone barely contained. “Did you write this??” He demands, holding up my scribbled note, crinkled as if it had been crushed and then smoothed out again.

I'm dumbstruck. “

Yes?”

Astarion is frozen in anger. Then he melts into disgust.

“Your handwriting is atrocious.” He says icily. “We thought you'd been kidnapped! This looks like a kidnapper wrote this!”

“I- I'm sorry. All I had was a candle.” I stammer weakly.

Karlach, bless her, doubles over laughing while pointing at my note.

“A candle!” she cries out.

The tense silence of the others is finally broken by a collective slapping of foreheads.

“So you went out…” Shadowheart summarizes, exasperated, and not looking at me. “without telling anyone…”

“l left a note.” l murmur.

“...fell into a river. Had to be rescued. And then invited your rescuer, who happens to have a parasite as well, back to camp? Is that what you're saying?” She finishes impatiently.

I suck in my lips. This story sounds bad, but it's better than the truth.

“Yes.” I say decisively.

“Is that really the best defense you’ve got?” Shadowheart says with a groan. The bite in her words almost sounds like it comes from a place of worry, not anger. Almost. “No. I took my crossbow for my defense.”

l say, pulling my weapon out from my cloak.

Lae'zel huffs. Her last bit of interest in the conversation is gone. She adjourns to her tent, unbuckling her armor as she walks.

Gale then steps forward and suggests we all take a break to change out of our wet clothes and settle in.

“We can finish the conversation over dinner.” He states, the barest hint of a furrow in his brow.

“I could go for a good meal.” Karlach agrees. Gale smiles up at the giant, flaming tiefling and ushers her to a spot where she can set up her tent.

It's good to see her fitting in already, but there's a murderous look in Astarion’s and Shadowheart’s eyes that has me very concerned.

But that can all wait until after dinner though. I am starving.

I hobble towards my tent, leaning heavily on my poorly crafted torch-staff.

The note in Astarion's hand is crumpled again, and he begins a heated, whispered conversation with Shadowheart. She nods along, her mouth in a thin line. They split up, and as they walk away I notice that mud is streaked all the way up to their knees.

How long had they been out looking for me? I… I should try to apologize to them some more. Later. After dinner, of course.

I'm slower than everyone else, for an obvious reason, and I only get around to shrugging off my cloak, pack, and crossbow before they're all circling the campfire and filling their bowls.

I CANNOT wait to eat. Every inch of me is wet, cold, sore, and crying out for nourishment.

I limp over to the fire to receive and devour my dinner. Gale passes my bowl to Karlach, who hands it to me. I dig in and nearly weep with happiness. It's delicious, as always.

Karlach is the main speaker during the meal. Her boisterous energy infects the tense camp with joy, despite my seemingly unforgivable transgressions. When her story reaches the part where she has to rescue me from the river, I groan softly and blush. I bow my head and am about to ask for another helping of dinner, when Astarion reprimands me.

“Ah ah ah.” He says lightly, signaling to Shadowheart with a flick of his blood red eyes. “You have something more pressing to do.”

Shadowheart pulls out a small packet of unmarked paper, a quill, and what I assume would be an ink vial. From beside his seat, Astarion pulls out a plank of wood, reminiscent of a clipboard from back home.

“‘Be back soon’ is not a proper letter, darling.” Astarion tuts venomously. “Do it better.” He demands.

He and Shadowheart take my bowl and pile their supplies into my lap.

This is… humiliating… in so many ways. No one else is commenting on this confusing assignment though. Gale and Wyll have no sympathy in their eyes and they keep their attention purposely trained on Karlach. Our newest member is still distracted with dinner, having already finished her second helping of stew and is going in for a third, while Lae'zel seems to have mentally checked-out, and is staring contemplatively at the fire.

With an awkward glance between Astarion and Shadowheart, I hunch over and begin to slowly arrange my supplies.

Writing in ink with a quill is a skill. One that l do not have. The ink scratches and blots as l quickly rewrite ‘be back soon’ on the first bit of paper.

“No. You have to address it to whom you're speaking to, darling.”’ Astarion says with a venomous smile.

I rewrite it:

‘Dear Astarion, Shadowheart, Gale, Wyll, and Lae'zel,

Be back soon.

Love…’ I hesitate on the name.

‘Love, Tov.’

I hold it out for Astarion’s approval.

He frowns at the chicken scratch, but the format seems to fit his criteria.

“Good.” He says seductively. “Now, do it again.’”

Is this some form of punishment? I glance at Shadowheart, who makes no move to help me. Karlach guffaws from her seat, she and Wyll were half talking, half watching the show. Gale is politely ignoring my plight.

I do it again and show it to Astarion. “Again.” He says.

I sneeze. I'm still in my wet clothes, and I really just want to go to bed.

“Oh, no, no, no!” Astarion quips. “You don't get to play the sick card!” He snaps his fingers at Shadowheart, then points to me.

With a meaningful pause, Shadowheart forces me to look at her, unmoving.

Finally, she marks the air and casts a healing spell on me.

My leg feels fine again! The scrapes and bruises all over my body vanish, and the chill l was starting to feel in my chest dries up. Magic is so cool, and confusing. I stare at my now healed body then look up at Shadowheart in wonder.

Astarion snaps at me to get my attention once more.

“Again!” He says, pointing to my sheets. I do it again.

Thinking on it now, with a clear head and an unbroken body, this is actually a much better punishment than getting a lecture from everyone.

I sit hunched over my board for a long time, writing and rewriting the same lines over and over again, Astarion never tiring from making his demands and corrections, Shadowheart content to watch me suffer as she warms her feet by the fire.

Finally, it is Gale who snaps at us, telling us to do something else or leave. He is irritated in a way that I hadn't seen in person yet.

But it isn't unfamiliar.

I need to change.

The boards binding my leg are no longer needed, so I attempt to pull them off. Karlach’s knots, it turns out, are top tier, and she eventually has to lean over to cut them off for me.

The boards and the rags are then thrown into the fire.

I walk stiffly to my tent, bending and unbending my unbroken legs.

Now I have to untie all these f*ckING LACES. The process is slow, and at the end, I sit and pull out a clean rag to wipe my leather armor free of as much mud as l can. Sitting in my tent is seductively relaxing, and I really don't want to get up again. I just want to curl up and sleep and sleep and sleep. But l can't do that yet. I have things to do and amends to make.

The camp is quieter when I come back out. Gale and Astarion have retired for the night and Karlach is chatting softly with Wyll and the girls as she sets up her tent. Even from here, l can see that she's effortlessly charmed the rest of our companions. Her addition is a bright light amidst the gray slog of the day.

I’m glad I had gone out to find her. It was worth it.

I continue on and stop by Gale's tent first.

There's nothing to knock on, so I say it outloud instead.

“Knock, knock.” Gale opens his tent and frowns at me, his patience nearly spent.

I don't want to bother him, but l know that he needs help.

“Hey, Gale,” l say softly. “I'm sorry about today.” I hold out my leather armor, a peace offering in more ways than one. It glows with a soft static, as if it can feel itself transferring owners again.

Gale distantly looks at the armor, then back at me and I freeze.

“Is.. is this enough?” I ask in a horrified whisper. I hadn't had time to get him something better when I was last at the grove. Should l have gone back with Wyll this morning to get more magical items? Should l have done grove things today instead of going to get Karlach??

Oh god. Oh sh*t. Oh f*ck.

Gals squeezes his eyes shut, and a multitude of thoughts and emotions flash across his face. He finally smooths his brow and opens his eyes with a gentle, practiced smile.

“Yes. This is more than enough. Thank you, Tov.” He says, taking the offering from my hands. My heart flutters with relief.

It's bittersweet to be giving away my first and only bit of armor. But for these characters… These beloved companions… I would give them so much more, for so much less.

With just a bit of ceremony, Gale holds the armor to his chest and the tattoo over his heart glows. The armor, with its trace amounts of the Weave, loses its substance before disappearing entirely.

“Ah!” Gale gasps, the light of his old self returning to his eyes. “Thank you! Sincerely! Good Gods. I know you are not surprised, but l can not express to you enough how much of a relief this is.” He says holding his hand to his chest.

With his energy restored, he launches into a volley of questions.

“How did you-? Are you not concerned, then, with…? When did-? Do you even understand the magnitude of…?” He keeps starting and stopping his questions and gesturing back and forth between us, not leaving me space to answer any of them.

I smile back in response.

Exhaustion must be written from my head to my toes because Gale lets me leave after only a few more comments, compliments, and criticisms of my brash naiveté, and my promise to not wander off alone again.

I sigh and walk to the campfire to warm up a bit before my next apology. While I knew going to Gale's tent would take the longest, going to Astarion’s tent would be the hardest for me. He was always the last companion to approve of me in the game, and after everything that had happened today, I'm not even sure if he'll want to see me at all tonight. But I have to try, nonetheless.

I walk over tentatively and say ‘knock knock’ outside of his tent. He doesn't respond.

“Astarion,” I call in quietly. “I'm sorry about today. I didn't mean for…” l stop. There is no point in apologizing for my intentions. Intentions mean almost nothing after the action has been taken. I need to apologize for how my actions have caused him distress, or not at all.

I sigh. “I'm sorry, Astarion. For worrying you. You can feed off me tonight, if you want.” I whisper the last part as quietly as possible.

There's a creak inside of the tent. Astarion opens the entrance flap just enough to reveal his face. He holds it nearly closed, clearly not inviting me in. He looks down at me, scrutinizing me and finding me lacking.

“Fine.” He says in the most disgusted, yet agreeable tone that one could manage. “After,” he stipulates, “everyone else is asleep.”

With that he pulls his tent closed, and I am dismissed.

Looking back around the camp, everyone but Wyll and Karlach have retired to their tents.

I guess my apology to Shadowheart is next, since her tent happens to be closer. Upon my arrival, she is haughty and passive aggressive, with barbed comments and veiled criticisms. I'm too tired to verbally spar with her, so I pull her into a tight hug, apologize as sincerely as I can, and thank her for worrying about me. She spits more venom, but doesn't pull away. I linger a moment with her wrapped in my embrace before moving on.

I trudge over to Lae'zel's tent last. She is sitting cross-legged and polishing her silver plated armor, already having cleaned the mud away with an expert hand. “

Speak.” She says. The familiar greeting soothes my soul, but makes me worry that I'll mess up yet another social interaction with her.

“I… took my weapon with me. Today.” I report, monitoring her reactions with a wary eye. She continues polishing, uninterested.

“It was good advice, from you, from before.” I stammer. “I had to use it, and it came in handy.”

“And did you slay your foes?” She asks, still polishing.

Foes… is a generous word.

“Yeah.” I say dishearteningly, remembering the sickening feeling in my stomach after my arrow had pierced the archer’s neck.

Lae'zel pauses and finally glances up at me.

“Do you know how to find the githyanki creche, istik?”

The question knocks me sideways. Where did that come from? What had happened to her at the grove today?

My initial answer is, of course, yes. But thinking about it, there might be days and days of roads and trails that were never described in the game. If left to me alone, I might get us all hopelessly lost.

“I…” I try to focus on how best to describe this to her gap in my foreknowledge. “I know which direction to go? And what it looks like when we get there. Sort of? But l have no idea where the creche is on a map.”

Her yellow eyes narrow and seem to stare through to my very soul. Impatient but satisfied in some way with what she sees, Lae'zel grunts non committedly and returns to the task at hand. I think no disapproval will probably be the best I can hope for at this moment and I leave before l can mess anything else up.

Wyll and Karlach have moved from her tent and are now chatting by the fire. Wyll has been gracious enough to open a bottle of wine for them to share. After being enemies until just a couple of hours ago, they already look like the best of mates. It warms my heart to see them together at last.

I come to stand awkwardly beside them, waiting for an opening to apologize and say goodnight.

“Tov! Please, come join us.” Wyll says with his handsome charming smile, gesturing grandly for me to sit and offering the bottle for me to take.

Social niceties dictate that l accept, but my body viciously rejects the prospect of sitting and chatting with these beautiful little angel babies. Am l too tired or too starstruck? It’s hard to say.

I hold up my hands and hide behind a smile instead.

“No, no. I just wanted to apologize for… today.” I say sheepishly. “I'm sorry l worried all of you.”

Karlach chuckles and after a beat Wyll joins her. The tiefling starts retelling the story of how she found me in the river again, and I have to steal away from their company in embarrassment.

“Goodnight!” I shout back at the fire.

I crawl into my tent and straight into my bedroll.

I have no idea when Astarion will come around, with some of our companions still drinking and chatting by the fire, but I plan to nestle down in the comfort of my own bedroll and nap until he arrives.

—

The instant l close my eyes, my dream eyes open to find the Emperor staring at me from beneath the gazebo in the Astral Plane. I’m lying on the ground in the exact same position I had been in when I’d fallen asleep.

The illithid’s elbows are on its knees and its hands are folded in front of its…. chin.

I throw an arm over my eyes and groan.

The Emperor reaches out and checks in with my parasite. Taking an extra moment to rub my brain in a grating manner before ending the psionic connection.

We are silent.

“I'm beginning to think that your soul might do less damage if it were to stay here with me.” It says, almost threateningly.

I groan louder.

“I know!” I yell. “I know… I’m… sorry.” I can't say that l don't agree with its assessment, but if l do, the creature might actually make it happen.

“None of your actions seem to line up with our priorities.” It continues. “You abuse the body that was painstakingly given to you, barely keeping it alive. Your predictions have been vague and unhelpful to our goal, and yet you reveal this ONE advantage, the only one I remind you, that you have in this world, to your companions at the slightest hint of provocation…”

It sounds like it's angry at me, or wants to fire me.

“Give me a sign. Any sign,” It says, “that your actions are leading towards this ‘best ending’ you promised. Or better yet…” It stands and glides ominously towards me.

“Give me a reason to continue cooperating with you at all.” Its eyes are hard, filling with the one emotion that it still has left as a mind flayer; self interest.

Oh lord. I can't move. Is this psionic force, or psychological terror?

The mindflayer leans down, bringing us face-to-tentacled face. Its violet pearl-like eyes searching mine.

My entire being rejects this closeness, but all I can do is clench my teeth. I am unable to breathe or look away.

“I'm… trying my best…” I grit out.

The top tentacles of its face begin to slowly creep up my dream body, not a real threat, but still horrifying to feel for my soul.

“...it's just the first act! I'm getting everything done right now that I’m supposed to, l swear…!” My terror gives me the strength to ramble and close my eyes against the vision before me.

Suddenly it stops. The fear, the wandering tentacles. All of it.

For a moment, the sound of the Emperor standing is the only noise in the Astral Plane.

I crack an eye open to see the powerful creature looking down at me, calculating.

“How many acts are there?” It asks, seemingly satisfied with the results of its interrogation.

My heart is racing and my body is still unable to move. Though, this might just be from my own personal weakness.

I don't know if I should answer this question. But then again, what harm could it do?

“Th- three.” I whisper.

Chapter 12: Chapter Twelve

Chapter Text

I blink and the stars of the Astral Plane are gone.

Instead it's dark and I'm in my tent, staring up at Astarion.

He has me pinned by the shoulders to my bedroll. There's a single candle lit, highlighting his pale figure. Had I had that lit before?

“Wake up, damn you!” the vampire whispers fiercely, his face nearly manic.

I grab at his arms, inhaling sharply, gasping, trying to wake up faster.

He loosens his grip, searching my eyes for consciousness.

“Ast-Astarion? What’s wrong?” I gasp.

Why is he in my tent? What’s happening?

Oh, right. He's come to feed off of me. But, my neck feels unbitten, and he looks almost concerned? Is he hesitating for some reason?

He allows me to sit up fully and get my bearings. My body is sore, but it feels the slightest bit rested. Probably the best I'll feel after I get blood drained tonight.

“What did you see?” He asks suddenly, gripping my shoulder again.

I shake my head, trying to sort out when l should be telling lies and when l should be telling truths.

“Did l say something? While l was sleeping?” I ask instead, rubbing my temple.

“That was sleeping?” He counters.

I stare at him dumbly, unsure of what he means.

“You tried walking out of camp again,” he explains tightly, gesturing outside and then to my head, “only this time, the lights were all off upstairs. You didn't have a candle, you didn't respond to when I called for you, didn't even wake up when I pushed you! I had to lead you here by the hand just to get you back in here!”

“Oh, god.” I say covering my face. “Did anyone else see me?”

He looks insulted.

“I told you I'd come to you when everyone else was asleep. Do you think l want the entire camp to know of my true nature?!” He whispers furiously.

He's got a point.

I stare at my hands, then at my feet. They’re… clean? And there's a pile of muddy rags by the entrance? Those weren't there before.

It's a small courtesy, to take the effort to keep someone else's tent clean. A kind one.

I pull my legs to my chest, disgusted with myself. I can’t ignore this irregularity anymore. Apparently this body just does whatever it wants without my consent whenever the Emperor takes me to the Astral Prism, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

I feel insane, lonely, and defeated.

The Emperor has literally just threatened to take this body away from me, to imprison me if I don’t start acting right, and this body seems like it can exist just fine without my soul in it. I guess I already knew that souls weren't a necessity for living in this world, since the Emperor doesn’t need one.

f*ck me.

And f*ck the f*cking Emperor.

Goddammit. The Emperor is a terrifying monster. I knew this, going into our deal, but the relentless monitoring and threatening late night sessions have really started to wear on my soul. And what if I mess up again? What if the Emperor takes me back to the Astral Prism and never lets me leave?

I grab at my head as all these thoughts and questions flood my mind.

Astarion continues to stare at me. Taking in my every muscle movement, every breath, every pulse of my veins, expertly reading the fear that is radiating from my body.

“What. Did. You. See.” he restates firmly, as if answering that question will solve the problem at hand.

My throat closes. I can't think of failing these people, these friends, these loved ones. I can't think of losing my one chance of saving everyone and then… and then getting to go home at the end.

My eyes well up. Damn them.

Astarion is rigid. Concern written on his face. For me or for himself?

Probably himself.

I lean forward and hide my head in my hands. I don't want him to see my face anymore.

After a moment of silent tears and holding my breath, I answer him.

“It's not about you.” I say wetly. “It's… it's me. I'm just… having a hard time. Doing things.”

I know we don't have time for a sob session. I promised him food, and we need him strong for whatever tomorrow brings. I'm just tired and frightened, and feeling sorry for myself at the moment. That’s all.

I move my head to his shoulder and expose my neck for him.

“You can eat now. Thank you for bringing me back. I'm sorry again… for bothering you.” I say in a small voice.

I wait tensely for the sharp, brief pain and the sinking of his teeth. But Astarion doesn't bite. Instead, he pushes me back, our faces uncomfortably close, his red eyes searching mine. He's trying to read me again.

Unsatisfied with what he finds, he uses his tadpole. The invading wave makes me wince, but it's much more gentle than when the Emperor had done it earlier, like that of a master thief picking through the pockets of a tourist.

Astarion is searching through the folds of this brain for its most recent memories, searching for any thoughts or premonitions involving the name ‘Astarion’ or the word ‘Vampire’.

Fortunately, he finds nothing. Not even a hint of my foreknowledge is available to him, tucked away nicely within the bounds of my soul, and not laid out in the brain of this body.

Thankfully, this body isn't weighed down by memories of a life before the nautiloid. There’s really not much going on in this brain either, aside from the almost constant bombardment of fear and weariness. Astarion seems surprised.

His eyes flick to me, almost apologetic, and his beautiful face wrinkles with a deep frown.

I wonder if he’s just as uncomfortable with looking at me as l am at having him stare.

He pulls me back to his shoulder, and places his arms awkwardly around either side of me, in a… hug?

He's hugging me?

Immediately, l feel shame, sorrow, and a fresh onslaught of tears. It feels so damn painful and good to be comforted.

I reach out and hug him back, letting my tears fall softly into his tenderly cared for blouse.

I don't understand what's wrong with me. I don't know why I’m so weak, or why this body cries so much. Everything I seem to do is unheroic, backwards, and wrong. It feels awful to be so needy all the time. I want to contribute, or make my existence have meaning, I need to do something before I f*cking scream. I want to be f*cking useful to these companions, dammit!

I expose my neck again and press it into Astarion's mouth, offering the only true possession I have in this world.

He doesn't resist it a second time.

His nose nuzzles into the muscle of my neck, searching for a thick vein hidden within. He inhales at the perfect spot and bites.

The pain is clarifying. My self loathing finally dies down, but the tears don't ever seem to dry.

I let him drink and drink and drink. Our embrace never faltering. Until at last my arms go numb and slip from his back.

He stops at this movement, his hooded eyes trying to refocus. He carefully, and thoroughly licks at the bite, making me shiver, before pushing me away to assess my condition. I hate his concern.

“Well, look who's still here.” He drawls, flicking between each of my eyes before wiping his hand over his mouth and licking it clean.

I sniff and hum grumpily in response. I'm in no mood for his teasing. I'm cried-out, chilled, and have almost no strength left in my body.

Astarion has his practiced smug smile back in place, but he takes the time to gently lay me back down onto my pillow.

My heart is beating wildly again, trying to oxygenate my body with less blood than what it's used to. My mind swims and I can barely stay focused as Astarion pretends to fuss.

“Thank you for the meal, darling.” He jokes again, teasing at his hair before covering me with the fur blanket. He mockingly tucks me in, chuckling at my cranky frown, then he leans over and snuffs out the candle.

As he opens the tent flap, I reach out to grab his attention one last time. He pauses at my efforts, silhouetted by the moonlight from the night sky.

“I'm sorry.” I whisper.

I'm sorry for a lot of things. For just now, for today. For my weaknesses, for my never ending tears, for making the camp worry all the time... I'm supposed to be here to help them, but all I seem to do is mess things up. I want them to know that I’m trying my best, and that I’m sorry that it’s not better.

Astarion gazes down at me and thinks sincerely for a moment, then he reaches back and shakes the tips of my outstretched hand.

“Apology accepted.” He murmurs, and then he leaves without a sound.

I melt into my bedroll. I don't even remember falling asleep.

But l do feel the Pain. The deep, aching pain that jolts me from my sleep a few hours later.

My bones feel like they're shifting, my skin feels like it's about to break apart, my skull, I’m sure, is about to burst. It feels like tentacles are wriggling within every inch of my body.

So this is ceremorphosis. This is what the Emperor is protecting us from. Threatening us with.

I want to groan. To moan. To scream away the pain. But I can't. I can't let her hear me. I have to stay hidden. I have to be still. I can't let Lae'zel find me. This is a death moment! If I can't convince her to stay her hand amidst these symptoms, I WILL die tonight.

I want to fight the pain, to shrink into my bedroll and disappear, but then the nausea comes, churning up my insides and squeezing my dinner in my belly and up to my throat. I can't hide that. The sound, the smell, the evidence… I have to get away. Quickly. Quietly. So that all those pointed ears won't hear me run!

I don't put on my shoes when I leave my tent, on purpose this time, and I try to soft step around to the back, hunched over, before nearly fleeing into the wet woods.

Try to get farther away, try to get there faster! Try to…!

I can't. My blood pressure is too low and my body is too f*cking weak. I drop to my knees and empty my stomach behind a thick tree. The pain is relentless, pounding through every inch of my body, through every single fiber, down to every cell I possess.

My head is yanked up by my pale hair. I meet Lae'zel's hardened stare, and l feel her cold dagger pressed against my throat.

“You are changing.” She states, almost regretfully.

I close my eyes, kicking myself. She must have been the one on sentry duty.

I remember this scene from the game. I remember what l have to do. What I have to say. But l have no idea how persuasive l am, how persuasive I could be in this state. This would have been so much easier if I knew how to control my tadpole. Maybe then I could get through to Lae’zel without the risk of dying…

“It's not ceremorphosis.” I grit, my belly writhing like it's filled with worms.

“Lies!” Lae'zel spits softly. “I see it in you. I feel it on me!”

Her dagger bites at my neck. There's no vampire saliva to numb the burn.

“I will make it fast, Tov. First you. Then the others... Karlach will be a true waste of raw talent, but it must be done. Then when it is done and the camp is silent, l will end myself, just as Vlaakith has decreed.” She recites cooly.

“You will NOT die!!” I nearly yell, raising my voice and my head, my eyes blazing.

I meet Lae'zel's eyes with a surprising conviction, and an unmistakable rage.

She hesitates.

I need to kill her indecision before she chooses to kill me.

“You…” I state clearly. “... Lae'zel of creche K'liir. Will NOT die. Not here. Not now.” My spit tastes like blood. “You will claim a silver sword. And you will ride a red dragon. And you will fly amongst the stars.”

Lae'zel stares into my eyes, hypnotized.

“Is this the future that you see?” She whispers, betraying the youthful innocence that she tries to hide.

I scrunch up my face, seething.

“I will MAKE it your future.” I growl.

We stare at one another, at a crossroads. She studies me, rolling my words around in her mind like a gourmand with a bite of alien food.

Her grip loosens on my head. She lets her dagger hang to her side.

“I will stay my blade until morning.” She decides. With that statement, she disappears into the night, a presence I could feel neither coming nor going.

I survived another death moment.

I'd feel triumphant if my muscles weren't about to crawl through the pores of my skin.

God, I hope that l didn't reveal too much. Again. Maybe the Emperor is right about me… The f*cking Emperor. The only reprieve I will get is if that manipulative mind flayer decides to stop the ceremorphosis. And since I've been… the way that I've been… I don't know when, or even if, it will stop it.

There's nothing left in my stomach and nothing more I can do but wait until morning.

Hunched over, l nearly crawl back to my bedroll and collapse.

—

The smell of high humidity and campfire smoke wakes me. The sound of clinking armor and hushed good morning conversations forces me to rise.

My hand, still a blue-gray drow's hand, reaches for the tent entrance. A quick flick reveals the brightest and most glorious of mornings.

I really slept in this time, didn't l? Guess the pain of possible ceremorphosis really takes a lot out of you.

Every inch of me feels so, so sore. I should really stop hoping that long rests will mean that I am fully recovered from my injuries from the day before. That’s not how it worked in my old world, so why would it work like that here?

I close the tent flap with a sigh.

I undress clumsily and comb at my hair. I am, at best, slightly refreshed, but still stinking of yesterday’s chaos.

I pull on my day clothes with a clumsy stiffness, wincing when coarse fabric rubs against my neck. I hope the tunic covers the bite indents I can feel on my throat and the shallow matching knife knick that is barely scabbed over.

I briefly consider hiding and eating the rest of my rations from yesterday in the safety of my tent. Would that be too cowardly, or would that be appropriate, given the circ*mstances?

I compromise and sit drinking the last of my water for a few quiet moments before leaving my tent to refill it. I have to turn around immediately to retrieve my crossbow before going back to my little ritual.

I'll never learn, apparently.

The path down to the water is muddy but the rays of sunshine through the trees are dazzling. It's magical to watch as I pee from behind a tree.

When I crouch by the river to fill my bottle, the tranquility of the morning fills me with a calm silence. Cool mist rises softly from the water and a series of songbirds flirt in the surrounding trees. This could not be a more beautiful day, nor could it be a more obvious sign that l was meant to go to the grove today.

As I walk back up to camp, I have trouble looking anyone in the eye.

“Just boil your water and eat your breakfast, that's all you have to worry about right now.” l chant quietly to myself, trying to settle my nerves.

The kettle is available and l fill it and set it to boil above the warm flames. All that's left is more waiting. Waiting for my clean water, and waiting for the others to get ready.

In my old life, watching water boil is considered the most boring task in existence, on par with watching paint dry and grass grow. But now it's the only thing in the world that I want to focus on. I lean my head into my hands as the flames melt away and memories of the game start popping up inside my brain.

Last night should have been the first time that everyone got to meet the Emperor. They will have lots of opinions about it, I'm sure. Will I have to talk to them all about it?

My mental list of things to do today is incredibly long, not including going around and discussing the ‘dream visitor’ with each of the companions. Should I arrange each quest line or task by degree of difficulty, or by proximity to where l would be? What needs to be done first, what can be put on hold, and what could be skipped entirely?

First, I know we need to help Lae'zel find the tiefling who knows the location of the nearest creche. We can also find Dammon today, I guess. But we didn't have any infernal iron yet, so he can't really do anything for Karlach at the moment. Unless of course, we needed to meet him now so that he could begin designing the plans for Karlach’s tune up later? We could definitely skip being awarded a soul coin from that one tiefling who had almost been assassinated. I’d honestly rather forget about that whole quest, plus I never used a soul coin in the game anyway, so no loss there. I also want to try to free Sazza the goblin today, but that could wait until the end of the trip…

My head is spinning already. I really needed to hydrate.

And where is everyone?

I look up and around to find that there is a loose congregation around Gale's tent. They all seem to be discussing something concerning.

Must be talking about the Emperor. A ‘mysterious savior’ to them at the moment, the mind flayer will soon make itself a much bigger part of their lives in the coming weeks. I hope that the illithid has not openly threatened any of the companions yet. It's not a pleasant experience, that's for sure.

The group's actions and backsides are all fascinating to watch. I don't remember them talking amongst themselves at camp in the game before, but this is the real world, so they must do it sometimes, if not all the time, right? Camp would be really boring if they only talked to me the whole time.

I will admit though, it does feel a bit isolating to be on the outside looking in. Not that l need to be in the circle for this conversation, since I already know what their conversation will consist of.

The kettle rattles loudly at me, and after a while I pull it off of the fire and pour it into my glass bottle.

Breakfast is a tantalizing reheated stew, bubbling gently in a cauldron next to the kettle. Since the companions are occupied, I'm sure they won't mind if I helped myself, and took my meal in my tent.

I pluck a clean bowl from atop a nearby log and scoop out a serving. I pause, and scoop out a second serving. A little treat for surviving the night.

Okay, now what was l planning to do today again?

Crap.

It's all jumbled up in my head.

I set my food and water inside of my tent and stand with my hands on my hips.

I need to make a to-do list. There’s no way I can keep everything that we need to do organized in my head. And thanks to Astarion and Shadowheart, I have the means to write one down!

I sit with a solid pumph on my bedroll, shoveling some food into my mouth and organizing my blank parchment, quill, and ink bottle before me.

I begin writing down anything and everything that could possibly be done at the druid’s grove, no matter how small. Then I number each necessary task by level of priority and rewrite the list with the order it should be done in.

After a short time I have a sizable list of tasks that could be done today, and it looks like it'll take just about all day to accomplish. Who knows if any of the plot will still be intact for some of these quests, but l have to try any way.

If l don't try, then what's the f*cking point?

“Alright, I can't put this off any longer. We need to head out.” I whisper to myself, folding up my list. “Let's f*cking go.”

Thankfully, when I step outside, the group has moved from Gale’s tent to the campfire and they are now eating their breakfast. I take my bowl and my folded list, and prepare for another possibly disastrous social interaction.

My presence brings a slight hush to the circle that sends chills up my back.

I feel the need to fill the silence, and I raise a smile to my face like a shield.

“So! When are we going back to the grove?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant.

They all stare levelly at me, then at each other.

What was that look for? What do they want from me? Was I supposed to give them orders instead of choices? Did we have something else that we were supposed to do today?

At my quizzical look, Gale takes the lead. “Well, Tov, do we need to go to the grove, or do you simply want to go to the grove today?”

‘Want’? Like l have a choice?

I stare at him, dumbfounded, squeezing the list more tightly in my hand.

Wait. Are they asking this because they don't want to go with me back to the grove?

Has the second worst fate of my adventure come to fruition? That I’m considered insane and now they don't want to travel with me anymore?

Oh god-f*cking-dammit.

I have to play it cool. I have to win them all over with how normal I am.

“I… I just have some chores to do. At the grove.” I answer honestly. It feels like everyone believes that this is a lie.

Karlach is the one to finally break the silence with a slap to her knees, “Alright. Let's march then, soldier.” she says with a smile, standing to attention.

f*ck, she's beautiful. She's like the sun, and the dread l feel in this world is just so much more f*cking bearable around her.

The others seem to take initiative from us. Me, the direction and Karlach, the motivation. Everyone finishes eating and starts to get ready to go.

Wait. Everyone? No one is staying at camp?

I do a quick headcount, and sure enough, everyone is dressing for a day of adventure.

Astarion, already dressed to impress, comes over and checks my head and neck from all angles. Frowning, he quickly adjusts my tunic and braids my hair. I let my mind wander as he fusses.

Who would watch over the camp? I want to ask. But they all seem so sure of themselves, maybe they know something that I don't when it comes to camping and leaving our stuff unsupervised? I guess the game only ever allowed teams of four to travel around to make the game more strategic? Or maybe it was too complicated to code for more than four adventurers at a time? I don’t know enough about code, or strategy, to make a conclusive hypothesis.

I honestly have no idea how things will work out with all of us going out at once, but I don't have a good enough reason to make anyone in particular stay behind, so I guess we’re all going to the grove. Plus, the look on their faces, and the speeches they used to give me whenever I had to ask them to stay behind in the game always hurt my heart. This'll be easier on the soul, I suppose.

Finally, everyone is ready. It is time to march.

I gesture for Wyll to lead the way.

Off we go!

In the wrong direction. Wait. Why were we going this way? This isn't the way to the grove. Are we taking the scenic route for some reason?

I look over at Lae'zel to gauge how concerned I should be. She seems unconcerned with this new path. She had just gone to the grove yesterday, so she should know best.

As I look around at each companion, everyone's eyes seem to slide away from mine.

What was going on? Were they charmed? Is this what happens to them when the plot gets f*cked with??

We walk and walk and walk. My thoughts and worries gaining momentum with each passing moment.

We're headed in the opposite direction of the grove, towards the old church.

BUT WHY??? Is this some sort of bug?? Can that even happen in the real world?

I'm panicking. I stop walking just before the crumbling old stone structure comes into view. Everyone else slows and stops as well, chatting softly amongst themselves but still not looking directly at me.

“What's happening right now? I thought we were going to the grove? You know this isn't the grove, right? Are y’all okay? Are you charmed?” I blurt out, unable to pick a train of thought to follow.

Karlach can stand it no longer and a muffled laugh escapes her mouth.

It feels like the spell on the group is broken. Everyone relaxes and seems more themselves than before.

“Tov, after a little discussion this morning.” Gale starts patiently, as my head whips around from face to face, “we think that it might be imperative to…” he hesitates on his wording. “To level you up a bit, as it were…”

I slowly turn my head to him and stare.

“What.” I say flatly.

Everyone in the group, save for Lae'zel, starts to smile or laugh at my reaction.

“... so!” Gale continues with flair, “We have decided to really put you through the paces with a good old fashioned dungeon dive!” His smile is wide and he seems downright pleased with himself.

Wyll steps forward and points down the trail. “I've heard some rumors on my journey that adventurers were having trouble collecting the treasure from this old ruin.”

He flashes his handsome smile. “I wouldn't have suggested it if l didn't truly believe that you could handle yourself in there.” He says encouragingly.

I am shocked. I can't look away from Wyll's stupid, dumb, beautiful face.

“She'lak.” I whisper accusingly. At this, Lae'zel breathes sharply out of her nose and turns away.

“There's no reason to be afraid.” Shadowheart says, nudging me with her elbow. “I'll mend any injury you could possibly acquire.”

“And we'll step in if you need us.” Karlach adds smiling, looking to Gale for confirmation. He nods wisely.

I am out of my element. Why were they all so calm… and UNITED??

“But… my chores? My list…?” I say weakly, gesturing back in the direction of the grove.

“Your list is garbage.” Astarion says, handing me a familiar, folded piece of parchment. He must have pickpocketed that from me? When??

“It's really just a bunch of social calls and trading opportunities.” He finishes, flicking imaginary dirt from his fingers.

My face is bright purple. Sure, exploring the old church is technically a quest. But they didn't know that! They don't know that there are other things we can be- should be doing to fulfill their own quests for the day!

I want to tell at them, to tell them we don't have time to do this stupid side quest. God. Of all the things I thought I would have to do today, this didn't even make the first draft of my list!

But the way they're all looking at me… they’re expectant … and friendly?

How was I supposed to burst their bubble? How was I supposed to argue with them?

Uuuuuuugh.

“Why are y'all okay with spending your day in a dungeon?” I ask, exasperated. “My list includes…”

Whoops. Can't tell them it involves them and their secret sh*t. I clamp my mouth shut and wave my hands up, down, and around instead.

“You'll gain valuable experience in adventuring.” Wyll tempts. “And it gives all of us a chance to work as a team.” He pats Shadowheart and Gale on the shoulders.

“And let's not forget this valuable treasure everyone is searching for…” Astarion adds, practically drooling.

Wow, give a guy a little blood and he's ready to take on the world for unknown treasure.

Shadowheart and Karlach smile sweetly at me, trying to quietly soothe any doubts that I might have.

Uuuuggghhh!

“Uuuugggghhhhhh! FINE!” I say rubbing my forehead. “Fine.”

There's a physical ripple of excitement as the group starts to move forward and begin the old church quest line.

I breathe deeply to center myself. I know the layout of the dungeon, I know what to expect inside, I know what lies at the end. If we can just get through this quickly, we can still make it to the grove by the late afternoon.

First is…

“Oi!”

Right, first is the adventurers trying to break into the ruins…

A halfling tries talking to the first person they see, Gale, but the stupid wizard waves me over excitedly without a word.

I'm supposed to deal with this asshole? There are, like, three other adventurers scattered around just itching to fight us, and the only thing that can stop them are my persuasion skills!

We're f*cked.

The halfling sizes me up, laying claim to the ruins and to the crashed nautiloid ship.

How do I want to handle this?

I fill my mind with visions of the mindflayer invasion, of the upcoming onslaught of the Absolute's army, of the memory of tentacles crawling beneath my skin.

I step up to him and drop to my knees.

“That ship is filled with monsters and horrors.” I say in a raspy voice. I don't break eye contact with him as l lean in. “They are coming for us all. Run. While you still can.”

I don't blink, l don't move. I am exposed before him and ripe for the slaughter. But I've put mania into my eyes, and as the halfling searches my face for traces of a lie, he is easily caught by my trap.

“...let's get out of here.” He grumbles, making excuses to his party. They argue about idioms as they grab what they can and run.

I wait until the echoes of their footsteps are gone before l stand.

“Well, that was…” Astarion purrs, eyebrow half co*cked, “... almost impressive.”

“There is only one thing that can be done on one's knees that is impressive.” Lae'zel corrects, her arms crossed. “That is not it.”

Shadowheart rolls her eyes and gags while Karlach laughs and laughs. I'm glad someone's having fun at least.

I walk quickly around the creeping vines, past the diminished statue of an unworshipped god, and up some stone steps to the hidden trail between the church and the sea.

My party follows.

“Ah, a bit of advice for dungeons,” Gale calls out from the back, “It is best to start at the entrance. Which…”

I come to a cliff’s edge and turn around to take awkward steps down onto some heavy vines that form a semi-sturdy ladder.

“...you seem to have passed!” he calls from the top.

“Look...” I call back up to him from the bottom. “If we have to be here, then we are getting this done as quickly as possible.”

I hold up my little to-do list and shake it at him. “I had a plan!”

More indignant at having to climb on vines than anything, Gale is the last one to reach the bottom and follow after me. We continue walking until we reach the end of the trail.

I loot a skeleton before finding a lever hidden amongst some overgrown weeds. Once pulled, it opens a trapdoor covered by sand and soil. We can hear a triggered ladder fall into the darkness below. I shiver at the darkness, but I climb down first.

When we enter the cave below, each companion has a little comment about the sanctuary that we were disturbing.

It's Shadowheart who correctly identifies Jergal, scribe of the dead, as the God that this church had been dedicated to.

We spread out as we explore the sanctum at leisure. Gale and Shadowheart speak of Jergal and his lore with Wyll, while Astarion and Lae'zel look for anything of utility to be found along the walls and amongst the pews.

I ask Karlach for a torch and a light, which she obliges.

I'm looking for the ornately dressed skeletons that I know are scattered about the crypt. Along the way, I light as many candles as I can.

I'm not terribly fond of darkness, especially when I know that it will soon be filled with aggressive, undead skeletons.

Along the way. I find the first skeleton and hesitate. Then I keep on hesitating. I need to loot the pile of bones, so that it's not a threat to us later, but I am physically repulsed by it.

“What's the story here?” Karlach asks, looking down, her cheerfulness calming my nerves.

“I've gotta loot this guy.” I say, my eyes never leaving the skeleton’s empty eye sockets.

Just the knowledge that he WILL come back to life in a few moments freezes my muscles with fear.

“You already looted a skelly today.” Karlach reminds me. “What's one more?”

“Yeah… it's just…” I feel the pressure to keep moving forward, but I balk at it, “...different.”

Jumpscares. That’s what I realize I'm waiting for. The jumpscare. I f*cking hate jumpscares. Even when I know they're coming.

In the silence, Karlach searches my face and tilts her head to the side. “I could hold what you loot if that'll make you feel better, soldier.” she says helpfully.

I look back up at her, my eyes shining with gratitude. Any sort of support right now feels like a blessing.

“Just watch out for sparks!” She says with a grin, holding up her flaming hands.

This precious cinnamon bun is gonna be the death of me.

“Okay…” I say, taking strength from the warmth that is Karlach.

I loot the first skeleton.

There is definitely a difference in structure between this one and the one topside. Maybe that's how you know it's gonna come back as an undead…

I make my way around the crypt, Karlach following close behind as I hand her everything that l pick up.

We loot an ornate treasure chest hidden behind a brazier and I call Shadowheart over and toss her a glowing amulet that we'd found inside.

She makes a small noise in surprise. “Do you know what this is??” She asks excitedly.

I shrug.

“This is the amulet of lost voices.” She explains.

There is no recognition on my face.

“It allows the wearer to speak with the dead.” She explains further, looking for excitement in my eyes.

“Okay.” I say.

“It’s a rare find. Aren’t you, I don’t know, the least bit interested in it? Of speaking to the dead?”

“I don't want to speak to the dead.” I say with a repulsed frown.

“Why??”

“Because I don't like the dead!”

“I found a button!” Astarion shouts from near Jergal's statue.

“DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH IT!!” I shout back.

This garners everyone's attention. It makes me self-conscious. But I'm still not ready to fight the undead just yet so there's nothing that can be done about it.

With everyone on alert, I call Gale over to check something out.

He and Karlach follow me into a little dormitory attached to the crypt and I pick my way through the ruins until I find a hidden magical ledger with all the names of past and current gods locked within.

“Could you use this?” I ask Gale. I have no use for it personally, so I hand it to him.

He tries to feign impassive, teacher-like energy, but his love of knowledge and puzzles is too strong to hide his intrigue. His delight is cute to see in person.

Karlach and I leave him to unlocking and decoding the book.

The part of the crypt that I've been dreading is up next. Thankfully, I have a really big party with me to help me with the upcoming fight.

I can do this. We can do this.

I hand Karlach the torch, and I walk up to the little alcove where Astarion had discovered the secret button.

“Okay, everyone!” I call out to my wandering companies. They turn or lean over to see me better. “We're about to have a fight!”

I press the button.

“Don't forget!” Gale shouts distractedly from the dormitory doorway. “Tov is here to gain valuable fighting experience! No interference unless absolutely necessary!”

“WHAT!?” I yell back.

The button has already sunk into the wall and has opened a secret door. Green light is sent out, activating all of the skeletons that I've just looted with lich green magic.

The rattling of bones fills the crypt.

I pull out my scimitar. Wyll holds out a hand to stop Lae'zel from readying her sword.

“You've got this, soldier!” Karlach cheers.

“This is my nightmare!!” I scream as skeletons start taking up positions against us.

The nearest skeleton isn't a fighter, so I climb up a low wall to try taking it down first. I raise my scimitar and strike at its chest.

It takes a small chip in the rib bones, but the skeleton doesn't fall. This is the weakest skeleton here and I've barely made a dent in it.

The bones shriek at me and a cold ray of frost blasts me backwards. I squeal even though the damage is minimal. Magic as an attack is still so surprising and foreign to me.

I slip slightly on the ice that's formed on the ground. I need to move. I side step to run forward unimpeded, striking wildly at the skeleton. I swat and break away its hands first, then its arms, then finally its head. The green light from its eye sockets fades.

Was I screaming the whole time? It feels like I was screaming the whole time.

Well, that's one down at least.

I look around and find some of the others engaged with more skeletons. Unfortunately, they're all using defensive and evasive maneuvers, not attackiing at all.

“Oh come on!” I shout incredulously.

Using my scimitar is going to take for-f*cking-ever. I need to rethink my attack strategy.

I run towards Shadowheart shouting her name. “Mace! Please!”

She pushes a skeleton away with her shield and Astarion kicks its legs out to topple it. She hands me her mace and I trade her my scimitar.

An unfair trade for her, but apparently they're ‘not supposed to interfere’, so she's fine.

I bring the mace down onto the prone skeleton. It doesn't die at first, so I continue beating it over and over until it moves no more.

I look up to smile triumphantly at Shadowheart and Astarion, but then a bony punch to my cheek knocks me off my feet.

“Watch your left side, Soldier!” Karlach calls.

Great advice in hindsight…

“Watch your backside too!” Shadowheart yells as another skeleton tries to ambush me.

“sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, sh*t!” I shout, scrambling to stay on my feet. The skeletons are reaching out, their crooked smiles yawning at me.

I take this moment to make a strategic and tactical retreat, gasping in fear and exertion as I run.

“Is this part of ‘the plan’?” Astarion laughs as I'm fleeing.

“Put these dead back in the ground already, istik!” Lae'zel groans with impatience, blocking an unarmed strike.

Another ray of frost. This time I slip on the ice that forms underfoot.

But so do the other skeletons following me.

The victory will go to the fighter who can stand up first.

Thankfully, it's me.

I stand, like Bambi on a frozen lake, and swing at the heads of the skeletons. A macabre hockey practice.

They do not rise again.

I whirl to look around. There's a collective pointing by my party at the final skeleton.

It's found a two handed hammer and is charging at me.

It swings the heavy thing and I swing to counter. The sound of metal striking metal fills the sactuary.

There're cheers by a few companions at the clash. It sounds like some have come closer to watch.

This skeleton is the fighter, the strongest one, the one with the most hit points. It adjusts its grip on the hammer and swings up, knocking Shadowheart's mace from my hands.

I need to put some distance between us. Just enough to give me time to pull out my crossbow and shoot it.

I disengage and hop backwards, reaching for the crossbow on my back.

There's a change in momentum of the fight. I’ve gotten too far away, and the skeleton loses interest in me.

Time seems to slow as the walking pile of bones turns towards a distracted Gale, its hammer readied.

f*ck. No.

I pull out my crossbow, but I don't have time to load an arrow. The skeleton already has the hammer pulled back.

With a mixture of ingenuity and fear, I also pull my crossbow back and slam it into the skeleton’s skull, breaking its face and my weapon.

The skull's jaw bone falls off.

In response, the skeleton uses a reaction to line me up and bring its hammer down, breaking my shoulder, collarbone, and multiple ribs.

The pain blinds me and I cry out in agony.

It's my turn, but I can barely put a thought together, and I have no weapons left. The only thing in my hand is the broken support of my poor crossbow.

That'll have to do. I fumble it in my one working hand and stab it up through the jaw-less skull.

The eyes go dark and the bones fall apart beneath the impaled head.

I stand for a moment, heaving.

I drop the improvised stake and skull, and slump onto a nearby stone pew.

Shadowheart is on me in an instant, healing magic flowing from her hands, a worried but congratulatory look on her face.

My bones knit back together and my torn muscles are zippered back into place. My face, I hadn't realized, is also relieved of some swelling and small cuts.

Karlach slaps the pew's back, a substitute for slapping my own back, I suppose.

“You did great, soldier! I knew you would. Took'em out just like you did that fake Paladin of Tyr!”

I feel angry and irritated. But I can't take it out on her.

Gale comes over next, then Wyll, they’re both also congratulatory. I want to take my anger out on them, but that's also unfair. Still panting, I take a small moment to touch Gale's arm and squeeze, making sure he's really whole and alright.

Apparently, the fear of my companions getting hurt outweighs my fear of the undead.

Even so, I'm still mad. I stand and shake off the crowd, feeling my blood pressure rising. I just wanted to leave, I wanted to follow my list! But now we have to go ‘find’ Withers in his stupid f*cking hidden tomb.

I look down at the nearby pile of bones with a stake through the skull. I hated it with a fierce bias. I loot its hammer, my blood giving the head a nice red shine. The skeletons' hand bones fall away, loose and frail, just like the one top side. It wouldn't be getting back up to fight again.

I make my way to the open secret door. The others are distracted by discussing what they thought of the fight, but I couldn't give two sh*ts about it.

There are candles already lit inside the small room. ‘But why though?’, I think sardonically.

Standing before Withers’ tomb, even as angry as I am, gives me pause. I am about to meet a God. A GOD. Odd, considering I'm an atheist.

Did Withers know how to find my old body, I wonder? Did he know which gods brought me here and devoured my meat and bones? Did he know that my soul was inside of someone else's body? Will there be consequences for my actions?

My heart races and sweat forms on my back. Worry, fear, and anxiety start to replace my anger.

But I don't have time to question this moment. If Withers is going to join us or not, punish me or not, then that's on him. I couldn't stop it even if I wanted to.

I touch his sarcophagus, unsure of how this next part is supposed work. The muffled sound of hand slapping the inside lid of his coffin makes me jump. f*cking jumpscares.

With strength and power unknowable, the shriveled husk of a person wrapped in rags and gold pushes the stone lid to the side and emerges.

Withers is impressive, his ancient skin merely wrinkled after watching millenia after millenia of this world pass by, his mind and humor still intact.

His lost nose does make my skin crawl though.

He looks at me, and I hold my breath, waiting for him to reveal how much he understands of my situation.

“I know thee…” he says with a squint and a frown. “We have met upon the crossroads, not of this plane.”

My heart is thundering in my chest. Is it me thatvhe's met before, or the original soul of this body? I open my mouth to ask.

He holds up a large, creaking hand, “It matters not.”

“Tell me,” he continues, “what is the worth of a single mortal soul?”

I don't remember the answers from the game. Would he accept a regular response from me, a foreigner to this universe?

“Everything.” I say, my voice breaking slightly from my nervousness. “Everything and nothing.”

Withers considers me, and nods, repeating his lines of balance and fate.

Funny coming from him, because I don't believe in Gods and I don't believe in fate.

A thought occurs to me. Was this really all we were going to talk about? Did he really not know about my situation, or did he just not care because he had no investment in it?

That’s… irritating.

We nod in respect to one another as he passes to assess his old home before making off for our camp.

“Oi! Tov! You've missed one!” Karlach yells from outside.

“He's alright!” I yell back.

I look at Withers’ empty tomb. I also feel empty inside. And tired. This really feels like such a waste of a day.

Technically, the quest is over and I could breathe easier. We could even head to the grove now, make it there by early afternoon. I could still accomplish a lot on my list.

I flex my once broken shoulder. Magic. f*cking wild, man.

When I step back out of the small room, the group is muttering amongst themselves, watching Withers shuffle around the sanctum.

I slap my thighs, “Okay, ready to go?” I ask with false cheer. Everyone takes a beat to consider my decision to spare the skeleton man, but then stretches a bit and starts walking towards the crypt door.

“The exit is this way.” I state weakly. Pointing through the sanctum to the cave with the ladder.

Please don't say what I think you're going to say. Please don't say it, please don't say it, please don't say it…

“We can't leave without exploring the rest of the dungeon!” Wyll says happily.

Mother f*cker.

Chapter 13: Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Text

I clamp my mouth shut while I scream quietly in frustration.

The others have already walked through the crypt door and are heading towards the rest of the dungeon. I follow them stiffly, my mind slowly recalling what else there is to do in this abandoned place. We come to a foyer with two shut doors in different directions, and everyone stops to consider which direction to go.

I remember now: one door leads to an ambush of dungeon diving adventurers and the other leads to a room full of sarcophagi and traps.

I don't stop to chat with the group, I keep walking. I'd rather do the room with the many traps than fight those poor scavenging adventurers through the other door. They were an obstacle in the game to overcome that taught players how to fight in turn-based combat, but here and now, they’re just people trying to make a living. I hope that we don't have to face them at all, I’d rather they live full happy lives, far, far away from me instead.

"We'll come back to this one shall we?" Wyll asks politely.

"No." I say flatly.

With a glance at each other and then a shrug, the companions follow behind. When we enter the trapped room, a couple of their interests peak; the ornate sarcophagus looks positively ripe for looting.

“There're a bunch of traps in here.” I warn, letting my pack down to rummage through. I pull out a trap disarm kit and hand it to Astarion without a second thought. I pause and pull out my water as well. Chugging it leisurely while I wait.

Astarion, trying to play off his rogue ability, asks what he’s supposed to do with the kit.

“Disarm the traps?” I say, furrowing my brow. “I don't know how to do it.” It seems that the more tired I get, the less nervous I am when talking to everyone.

“Ah!” Says Gale with enthusiasm from behind me, “another opportunity to learn a valuable skill!”

Astarion, despite wanting to hide his abilities, smiles smugly at being recognized as the professional that he is.

I really don't want to take the time to learn a new skill right now, and am preparing to turn it down, but Shadowheart holds up her hand.

“Wait, before that, what skills do you have, Tov? Besides the powers of the tadpole?”

The others turn and appreciate Shadowheart's question.

“And,” Wyll adds on, “are there any skills you'd like to learn while we're here?”

Karlach, not paying attention to the conversation, is occupying her time in the background by dancing. Gale, noticing the lull in the adventure, breaks out the rations reserved for a short rest and passes them around.

I sigh introspectively, and consider the questions. Usually the classes, and subsequent skills, I'd learn in the game as a ‘Tav’ are sort of… predetermined. There’s the illusion of choice, of course, but the characters I had played were always already at least adept in their class. Then again, Tavs always came with powers, weapons, and basic equipment whenever I played the game. This body, on the other hand, was a blank slate when I was put into it.

So how does one choose a class or gain skills as an novice adult adventurer in this world? As a level zero, if you will. Where do you start? Does picking a class focus what skills you train in or do you start acquiring skills and determine what class you qualify for from there?I have no base to start from and rub my chin thinking.

I look around at the seasoned adventurers, warriors, and survivors before me. I have the opportunity to lie about myself here, to embellish my skills and hide my foreknowledge amongst the lie of having innate talent, but where would that really get me in the long run? What harm could come from actually revealing a little bit about Me?

“I… have no idea if I have any skill.” I answer truthfully. “I've always been sort of… average? Common. A cog in the machine.”

I can't look at them. If they are disappointed in my answer, I don't want to know. I stare at the stone columns of the room instead. Before they can dig into my past, though, I turn the tables on them.

How the turn tables.

“How did y'all choose your specialities?”

Karlach snorts. “Y'all?”

“Yeah, slang for ‘You all’.” I say with a small smile, motioning to the group.

“Where'd you learn that?” She questions, biting into a bit of a dried sausage link.

Whoops. Leaving openings for talking about my old life is, probably, a no no. I clear my throat.

“Here and there.” I say, politely declining to answer. “How'd you choose to be a… barbarian?”

Wait, do they know what class they are? f*ck, I hope so.

“Naturally inclined!” Karlach says stretching out to her full height and width. Everyone drinks in her fiery, muscular form, some with more appreciation than others. “And I'll tell you all about it after we take down those damned phony Paladin's of Tyr.” She says finishing her rations with a wink and a smile.

“Ha! I'd say you and I have the same innate prowess but in different subjects!” Gale says with a laugh. “I was a prodigal wizard from an early age, you see.” He says proudly. He then recounts his years of study, qualifications, and many accolades in the wizardly field.

I smile at the two of them. They are so certain of their talents, and after so many decades of effort, both willing and unwilling, it shines through for everyone to see. Unrealistic for someone in my position, but still lovely to see for such beloved people.

My eyes slide over to Lae'zel. I already know her story, but I love hearing her speak of her history. She frowns at my subtle invitation, but speaks anyway.

“Vlaakith had me born to be the strongest and most loyal warrior from my clutch in creche K’liir.” She says without doubt or hesitation. “It is through years of training and countless victories in battle that I have carved out the very ideal image of a Githyanki Fighter that you see before you.” Others roll their eyes at her arrogance, but I can't look away. Her sincerity and strength are inspiring to see.

“Serving a queen can lead to a life of frivolous and fruitless pursuit.” Shadowheart adds snidely.

At the insult, Lae'zel threatens her with dubiously survivable violence.

“If you dedicate yourself to a God or Goddess, instead,” Shadowheart continues unimpressed. “then your body and soul can be fulfilled by fighting for a righteous cause, in both life and death.”

As much as I love Shadowheart's voice, I can't help but frown at the idea of dedicating myself to a god. Especially one that might have stolen my body from my universe and let it be ripped to shreds in this one.

“What? You're making a face.” Shadowheart says, pointing at me.

Everyone turns their head to see if their classes have caught my interest at all.

“I'm just…” I start, unable to be confrontational, but also unwilling to go back on telling the truth in this converation.

‘Don't give away your past. And don’t give away the future.’ I repeat to myself. My only two boundaries.

“I just don't like to be beholden to… things.” I scratch the lobe of my pointed ear. “Goddesses, royalty, devils… I don't really want them messing with my life… anymore than they already have, I guess.”

It's a slight on at least half of my companion's situation, but I'd like to make myself very clear about my position early on, instead of having anyone try to recruit me along the journey. Anything requiring faith, obligation, or legally binding contracts is going to prevent me from possibly returning home after all.

I give a sideway glance at each of the companions that this applies to. They are all insulted.

How could you say something so controversial yet so brave?

But then, what is left after eliminating all of the classes that involve those stipulations? Barbarian, Bard, Fighter, Ranger, Rogue? Two of those also involve athleticism which this body is… not great at.

So, bard, ranger, or rogue?

I pose this question to the group. “How does one become a bard, a ranger, or a rogue? Maybe I could try being one of those.”

Astarion stifles a laugh. Insulting I had been, insulted I now was. He hands me the trap disarmament kit and insists I try to disarm one of the traps I had identified.

I straighten. No one else moves to join me.

As careful as I am to approach the nearest trap, and as much time as I take to study and undo the triggers, the trap still goes off in my face.

With my arms covered in grease, Astarion insists I try another one over his laughter. ‘One failure is bad luck, after all’ he says.

The second trap blows up like the first, only this time it lights my greased arms on fire. It would be almost funny, if it weren’t so terrifying.

After smothering the flames, Shadowheart is kind enough to heal my wounds for me as I come back to the group to finish the short rest.

Astarion, more smug than ever, then suggests I leave ‘being a devilishly handsome rogue to the professionals’.

“So how does one become a bard or a ranger?” I ask, more humble than before.

Gale and Wyll excitedly discuss the assets and abilities of both.

“Yes, but how do I pick? Where do I start?” I press.

“Try giving us a whistle.” Karlach suggests, thoughtfully. “Every bard and ranger I know can at least whistle.”

Oh! I never could whistle in my old body! Maybe this one will have this minor skill!

I put my lips together and blow. Nothing comes out. I try putting two fingers to my mouth, and blow again, still nothing. Each attempt is worse than the last as my frustration gets the better of me.

The group laughs.

“You really meant it when you said you hadn’t any skills.” Shadowheart says, jokingly.

“Yes!” I say, exasperated. “I do try to say things that I mean!”

‘... when I can.’ I add quietly.

“Can you really predict the future then?” Karlach asks, curiously. I look over at her with raised eyebrows.

Oh. They must have filled her in on my lie.

“Well obviously not, darling.” Astarion responds far too quickly for my comfort level. “Otherwise she would've been wise to today's little adventure.”

I blink. He’s right. “Is that why we're here today?” I ask, unable to believe what I’m hearing.

Looking around the group, with eyes sliding away from mine once more, I realize that the anxiety and the injuries that I had sustained today had been a well laid out experiment by my companions. And I had fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.

It’s embarrassing, insulting, and degrading how long it took for me to catch on. My heart begins to race and my face flushes with anger. I had enough of these weird, testing trust exercises with the Emperor, I didn't need it from this lot too!

“Look…” I begin, trying to maintain my composure.

I need to explain to them the intricacies of having foreknowledge, and that even when one knows what can happen in the future, it doesn’t mean one could bring about or stop certain events or outcomes from happening. I need to explain all of this, in a calm and rational manner, to this group of… manipulative little sh*ts.

Everyone’s eyes are on me. They’re trying to read me. Study me. Search for the light in my eyes…

Nope. I need to walk away. I am too agitated and aggravated at them, and my mind is too frazzled to have a coherent conversation with these wee f*ckers.

“I-” I stand up, hotly. “I need a moment.”

I walk past the traps that I knew were lying in the walkways of the tomb, and I find and click the secret button on a stone column to disarm all of the room’s traps. I know I'm not supposed to come off as too knowledgeable in front of everyone, but I am way too overwhelmed.

They had used me in a way that I hadn’t expected! They had found a way to do something different, and they had used it AGAINST me.

Trickery, manipulation, subterfuge… I wasn't good at dealing with any of that!

Maybe the Emperor was right, maybe I shouldn't have let on that I knew anything! Maybe I should have let these companions get hurt, like they’re supposed to. Maybe it would be better if I had just stayed in the Astral Plane and conspired with the Emperor from afar. Maybe I should just reveal the different endings available to everyone and then leave them to it!

Still fuming, I continue walking towards the opposite side of the room. I pull the secret lever to open the back door and leave the dungeon. Sunshine and fresh sea air wash over me as I walk out onto the familiar sight of the ravaged beach.

What do I do now? I’m too worked up to stop. I turn to the murky waters of the estuary, set my jaw, and march towards the waves. I struggle to unlace and take off one boot, and then the other, and toss them aside. I wade into the dirty salt water up to my knees, trying to anchor myself with the cold, to think more clearly.

Maybe I should just leave the party? Forge my own path, and work towards my own goal. The main group has gotten together already, and through their own choices and actions they should be able to make their way to Baldur's gate, to the final battle with the Absolute, without me. They don't need me to keep them alive. They’re perfectly capable of surviving without me. And helping them won't get me any closer to getting my old body back, so what's the point of staying? What's the point of trying to influence their predetermined fates? Why partner with people who are just going to manipulate me for their own design when it benefits me in no way?

The murky waves offer no answers.

I have no idea how long I stand there, but I am startled from my angry thoughts by a soft splashing coming towards me from the beach.

“You are not a warrior.” A grating, husky voice says from behind me.

Lae'zel, her boots also removed, walks forward against the shallow waves to stand beside me.

I sigh. “I know, Lae'zel.”

After a beat, she continues.

“While you may be, as you say, a cog, you strike me as a more erudite cog, one more suited for libraries than the frontlines.”

I rub my hands over my eyes. “I wish that were true, Lae'zel.” I murmur.

Being smart or clever, or hell even familiar with D&D in general, would definitely make everything here so much easier. As it is, the only thing I have are distant memories of a video game that I used to love to play.

The cold water laps languidly at my legs and I shiver.

The stoic githyanki says nothing further and continues to watch me.

I growl in frustration under her scrutiny, rubbing the bridge of my nose.

Why was she next to me? To study me more? What more could she possibly get out of me from here?

“What do you want, Lae’zel?”

“You are vexed.” She replies calmly.

“It's not like you care.” I grumble.

“What does it matter if I care?”

I open my eyes to look crossly at her. This is the second time today that someone has dismissed my worries.

It is unpleasant.

She stares back at me, undaunted and glorious in the light of the sun.

“Whether or not I care,” She says, “whether I choose to listen, stay, or go, it does not matter. Whatever feelings I, or anyone else has, does not matter. What matters is the action that you take with whatever abilities that you possess.”

I roll my eyes at her and blush,embarrassed. Being confronted with wisdom as direct as Lae'zel’s is always hard to take in.

“You are a civilian, thrust into an unprecedented situation.” She continues.

I turn back, wide eyed. That is a surprisingly accurate assessment of my situation.

“When one is a part of any group, we must each know the full scope of our skills. Testing you in such a deceptive manner is not the standard protocol of the githyanki,” I suppose that’s as much of an apology as I would get from her. “but if you are to make it to a creche to be purged of your parasite, you must first be able to survive the journey. That is what I had hoped bringing you to this dungeon would help accomplish.”

Lae'zel is nothing if not practical, and, secretly, so terribly kind. Unfortunately, she still acts as if she is at risk of ceremorphosis. I want to laugh cruelly at her naivety. I forget how little she knows this early on. But I know better than to laugh at her fear. Ceremorphosis is a real threat and is the worst thing, in her mind, that could happen to her at the moment. If I were to try and comfort her and tell her that there were bigger problems for her to face than just the tadpole, she would at best, not believe me, and at worst, she might try to kill me for blasphemy.

And that’s not even counting on the Emperor learning that he doesn't have a leash to yank us on.

I have to let it go.

I purse my mouth and hum at her, my eyes drifting back to the estuary. Her logic, with the information that she has, is sound enough.

“Can I tell you a story?” I ask unexpectedly.

Lae'zel stands rigidly, challenging me. “Speak to me then, look me in the eye, if you must say anything at all.”

This is a hard ask, but for Lae’zel, and really for any of my companions, I would do it.

I glance at her. Her yellow eyes flash like steel in the sun.

“It's a story about an oracle who was cursed to never be believed when she spoke her prophecies.” I begin, an abridged version of a much longer tale. “She tried to warn her people of their bad fates. But she had to watch as the people who depended on her scoffed and walked blindly towards their tragedies. But when she said nothing, she was accused of letting the tragedies happen on purpose!”

I twist my toes in the wet sand.

“So I have two questions for you.” I say, trying to alternate between looking into Lae'zel's eyes, and at her hair, and at her neck. “If you were this cursed prophet, would you try to speak, even if no one would listen to you? Would you try to act, even if fate was going to spin along with or without your action?”

As bad as Lae'zel is at analogies, she is nice enough to consider my queries for a breath before answering.

“Action is always the correct course to follow.” She says assuredly.

I blink at her advice. I should remember that she is still technically young by githyanki standards, and that her emotional and moral standards have been shaped by an undying lich queen's tyrannical rule for her entire life. Not the best fountain of inspirational advice to drink from, but in this moment, I am desperate for direction of any kind.

I turn and kick angrily at the sea, letting out a yell of frustration and a string of curses, before covering my face.

Lae’zel says nothing, but she doesn’t leave either.

“Okay.” I say finally. “Okay. Let's go back.”

Even if I can't say it outloud, even if it's hard to accept, I need to remind myself over and over again that I am alone. Alone, and solely responsible for saving myself and this party from the twisted fates that could befall them, whether they ask me to or not.

We walk back from the sea together. In the distance, I can see some of our other party members hovering in the dungeon's doorway.

“Everything all right?” Gale calls curiously.

I pick up my boots, trudge over to him, and sit on the stone steps to redress, thinking of my response.

“In the future,” I say tightly. “if you want to know more about what it is that I can predict or not predict, just ASK ME. I didn't think I was so unapproachable that we’d have to go through all of… this.” I gesture angrily back at the dungeon.

I stand and make meaningful eye contact with everyone around. “Tonight, we are having a BIG group talk. About everyone. It's better that we each get all of our quirks out in the open before moving forward.” There's a collective paling of the group, but their privacy became forfeit when they decided to f*ck with me.

I walk through the doorway and back into the dungeon. I spy Astarion and Karlach in a corner, having looted all of the sarcophagi available. Karlach has found a soul coin and is excitedly explaining how it works to our pale vampire. She sees me walking past and nods her head.

“Where we off to then?” She asks, pocketing the loot.

We? Does she mean me? Is anyone really willing to follow me at this point?

“Camp.” I answer, picking up my pack and my new bloodied hammer from our pile of supplies.

I am done with this place. I am ready to f*cking leave.

I don't even turn around or wait for the others. I bypass the door with the scavenging adventurers and back into Wither’s dank crypt. The skeleton god has already disappeared. Up the secret ladder I go, up the hidden trail, past the crumbling ruins of the old church… Were there noises of the others behind me? I am too tired and bitter to look back. Instead, my mind wanders darkly as I hike the familiar trail back to camp.

I had thought that throwing myself into helping the others in this adventure would give me purpose. Give my existence in this universe meaning. Why else was I brought here? Why else would things align so perfectly for just one soul to be picked up by the Emperor while the Astral Prism was hurtling across the planes on a lone nautiloid? Why else was there a soulless body available for me to inhabit at the exact moment I accepted the deal with the Emperor? For the timing of this entire f*cking adventure to work out in my favor? For the plot? For a good story?

That can't be right. There HAS to be more to it. This can't be some vanity reincarnation story.

For one: I wouldn't even want to be a protagonist in this kind of story! Everything in this universe is hard and painful, and lonely!

For two: I had had such a comfortable life back in my universe! It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t hell either. I wouldn’t leave it willingly, surely!

And for three: I was, for all intents and purposes, as average as average could be! I bring nothing new and nothing interesting to the table. So why was I here? What had happened to me in my universe that would have landed me in THIS universe?

Ugh. My head is bursting with questions and theories, and I really needed to write them all down. I needed to organize my thoughts.

I needed to make another f*cking list!

But I can't. The Emperor might see the details of the game if I write it down or say it outloud. I have to keep it all; my thoughts, concerns, conjectures, and whatever else I can think of or remember, locked away in the ever shifting sands of my own mind.

I’m f*cked.

Camp comes into view soon enough.

Unfortunately, the warm early summer sun is still high in the clear blue sky. It really is too early to pack it in for the day, even with the looming ‘big talk’ I threatened everyone with earlier.

Indecision halts my pace, and I turn around to gauge what my next move should be. Behind me, I find that every single companion has followed me. They’re scattered along the trail, chatting quietly or trading supplies amongst themselves.

And when they look at me, no one’s eyes slide away from mine.

They had followed me. They had listened to me.

My heart… it feel like it’s going to burst.

“I'm-” My voice breaks slightly, and I clear my throat to project more clearly. “I’m going to the grove! Come with, if you need anything.”

Astarion is the only one to break away and try to walk back to camp. Wyll and Gale surround him and firmly usher him forward despite his protests.

“Lead on!” They say.

Chapter 14: Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Text

We’re finally going to the grove again!

I’m so excited. My body feels like it’s physically vibrating. Something I did had worked. The companions had listened to me. I’m… making a real difference.

I’m so jittery with excitement that I try to jog the entire way to the grove. Everyone else keeps pace with me at a brisk walk. Karlach even cheers me on as they pass me by while going up a slight incline.

What a weird day it's been. Trying to level up? Trying to work as a team? Were the companions just lying completely to me to experiment with my foreknowledge? Or did they actually want to get something out of the day with me?

Well, we had gotten some loot. And we had recruited a death god that could resurrect us at any point in our journey, which is helpful, I guess.

But still, the main goal of the dungeon dive feels like it had been the f*cking experiment…

Ugh. That experiment!

I don’t think I’ll be able to get over how angry I am about it anytime soon. Not only did their experiment make my list of things to do today so much longer, it also felt like the companions had all just collectively agreed to f*ck with me! What’s up with that? I don’t remember them doing that in the game??

Well what if I put them to the test as well? See how they like it. What if I ask my companions to help me out with my list? Would they do it? Would things still work out for the best if I wasn't there to coordinate? Could I just direct them all from a distance and have everything still work out? Well, there’s only one way to find out. Maybe today's the day for experimentation all around, ya little f*ckers.

I arrive last to the vine covered portcullis, gasping and exhausted.

“Hey, Gale?” I pant, while a couple of guards are called to open the gate for us.

The whole group, not just Gale, turn their attentions towards me.

Good thing I’m already flushed and sweaty from the run up here.

I pull out my folded, now slightly bloody, to-do list. Opening it up, I scan my page and mentally check off what needs to be done and what needs to be bought. I hum and rub my mouth as I start grouping tasks by what each companion might be able, or in some cases willing, to tackle for me.

“Could you and… um…” Now how do I want to divide up the troops to tackle my list? “...Astarion, go to two of the traders here, and resupply our weaponry and camp supplies?”

I hope I’m using the right words to describe the things I want them to buy. I’m still not up to date on what lingo the kids are using these days.

“Two traders?” Astarion tuts.

“Yeah, the one up front with the druid halfling and the one with Mol’s kids.” I say, gesturing towards a trail that winds into the caves that lead down into the deep grove. “I’d like to leave the smithy and Auntie Ethel’s for later… Oh, and also, don’t…” I look up at sweet, trusting Gale and hesitate, then I turn to Astarion instead. “... don’t let the kids pickpocket Gale.”

Gale protests while the group laughs at different decibels. Astarion appraises Gale from the top of his pretty head to his fancy boots, smiling.

“Please?” I ask again, dragging Astarion’s attention back to my request.

“Oh, fine. If I must.” He drawls.

Success! I clench my fist in mock victory.

The gate has opened completely and we walk in together, more a team than ever before. I wander closer to the Blade of Frontiers next.

“Wyll? Could you please talk to Zevlor about the tension between the refugees and the druids?”

Wyll takes a breath, as if to explain the divided side’s tensions to me, an outsider to the situation, but I hold up a hand to stop him.

“Oh, I don’t actually need to know what you already know, I just need Zevlor to make a request to have us talk to Kagha on his behalf.” I say distractedly, mentally checking off another task.

The Blade’s face darkens at my cold explanation.

Oh sh*t. I did not handle this request well.

Failure.

I’ll have to work on how I handle the distribution of my foreknowledge in the future. At the very least, my persuasion skills need to increase. Shooting a 1:1 success and failure so far.

Sensing his rising tension, Karlach pushes into view, trying to diffuse the air between us.

“Anything I can do to help out here, soldier?” She asks cheerfully. Her instincts for emotional turmoil and how to handle herself and others is astounding.

Wyll and I glance up at her bright and calming smile, but then I see Zevlor out of the corner of my eye, climbing down a ladder to come talk to us. I look back at Wyll, searching his eyes for some sign of confirmation that he’ll follow my directions. Still frowning, he gives a curt nod upwards and breaks away from the group. His gait is stiff as he goes over to meet with the refugee leader.

I’ll have to work on my relationship with Wyll more thoroughly in the future. He’s sincerely sweet and charming, and I hate the thought of ever letting him down.

I linger and watch him interact with the tiefling for a moment longer.

Zevlor has a bruise around his eye. The human adventurer must have given him a pounding because I hadn’t been there to intervene after the goblin attack.

I had chosen a life over a fight, and that’s a trade I can live with. I know this, but I still wince at the results of my choice. If I had been stronger or faster, I might not have had to choose between the two events in the first place.

I can almost read his lips as he converses with Wyll and tells him of his woes. I turn before either man catches me staring.

The group continues along, one member short. I wander closer to Karlach to ask her for a more personal request.

“Down there,” I say pointing to the left hand fork in the caves. “Is another entrance to the grove, it’s really high up. I can’t make the jump up there, but could-?”

“Say no more, soldier!” Karlach confirms brightly, and begins taking large strides away with confidence and grace.

“Wait wait!” I cry, patting my body in a panic, searching my pockets and pack. I pull out ten gold pieces from a hidden pouch and hold it out for Karlach to take.

“When you hop up there, make a bet with the tiefling guarding the entrance. Bet on the positive.” I whisper hurriedly.

Karlach opens her large hand and I drop in the gold, feeling the slight heat that always radiates from her skin. It makes my heart warm as well.

“Is this a big part of the future? Is this gonna help change the world?” She asks excitedly.

I freeze wide eyed at her, feeling guilty. This doesn’t really affect our lives, or help us defeat the Absolute in any way, shape, or form… honestly, I just want to make sure two of my favorite refugees have a nice future together in Bauldur’s Gate.

“Ha! Your eyes changed! It does have something to do with the future!” Karlach cries, pointing at my face, delighted.

f*ck. She’s sharp.

I blush, holding a finger to my mouth.

“Okay, okay! It changes… someone’s world. A little bit. Just- just don’t give too much away, alright?” I cover my mouth and look away, ashamed, hiding my bright face as best as I can.

“Can do, soldier.” Karlach says, motioning the affirmative before trotting off.

“And meet us at the smith’s forge when you’re done!” I call after her. She waves without looking back, her hips and tail swinging expertly in a practiced jog. The rest of us follow her with our eyes for a moment, before we walk down the other trail into the caves.

Gale and Astarion make their first stop at the druid trader, and I give one final look at Astarion to watch after Gale. Astarion rolls his eyes, but gives the barest tilt of his head in agreement.

We pass by the oxen, large, shaggy, red beef crosses, by the look of them, and Shadowheart comments about how one of them is looking at her funny.

“Your perception is really good!” I tell her with a smile. I know that the companions’ perception is always fairly good in the game, but seeing it first hand is always surprising. Especially when I, apparently, can’t perceive sh*t.

“Are we going to do anything about it?” She asks suspiciously.

I shrug. “Nah, it’s not going to bother us if we don’t bother it.” I say dismissively.

Shadowheart and Lae’zel glance at each other, then give the ox one final reproachful look before following me deeper into the caves.

I glance briefly at Doni and give the boy a small wave. Hopefully he hadn't gotten into too much trouble for helping me out the other day. It’d be nice if their gang isn’t too mad at me for foiling their ‘stealing-from-a-harpy-nest’ plan, but since Mirkon hadn’t seen the harpies, I doubt they’d understand how close he’d been to real danger.

Oh well, no time to worry about that now.

We amble down to a makeshift storage building, and a tiefling yells at Lae’zel for being a githyanki and at me for being a drow.

That must be our guy with information about the creche.

Lae’zel crowds him against the storage building with me backing her up, and Shadowheart backing me up.

The man shrinks back against the wall, eyes darting about the populated cavern. No one comes to support him.

Lae’zel tells him to bow when greeting someone new. Payback for his previous insults, and the tiefling, for some reason, looks to me to defend him. I have no sympathy for someone biased against one of my companions, so I let Lae’zel continue to pressure him.

Once on his knees, he willingly points out the location of Lae’zel’s creche on a map. She dismisses him with a hiss and he flees. She approves of me leaving the conversation to her, while Shadowheart, unfortunately, disapproves of me for the same reason.

In my old world, I would have thanked the man for his time, or shown my gratitude in some way, but I’m too tired for niceties. I really am no good at dealing with things when I'm sleepy, but at least that's one more task completed.

I sigh and rub my forehead. Lae'zel, in comparison, seems to have physically expanded, standing straighter, head held higher at finally having a definitive direction to travel for her purification. It's nice to see her so excited, honestly. I like it when my friends are happy.

Over the din of the refugees packing, trading, and soliciting in the open caves, my ears prick up at the familiar grunt of pain that comes from jumping down from too high of a ledge.

Karlach must be done with making the bet. I guess we'll make our way over to Dammon’s smithy next.

Lae'zel is kind enough to fill the short walk with her idea of a plan of action, now that we finally know where to find a crèche. We are, in her mind, leaving to pack up camp immediately and will begin running nonstop until we arrive at the crèche. Once there, we will break down the door of the resident ghustil, demand access to the zaith’isk, and be purified in an instant.

It's a nice plan, and it’s even nicer to have someone else do the planning for a moment, even if it's unrealistic.

Karlach is buzzing when we regroup at the smithy. She leans her head down to my level, her whispers barely contained.

“You were right!” She says almost breathlessly. “There was the cutest little tiefling sitting up at a guard post, where you said they’d be. And they wanted to bet exactly, exactly ten gold. How in the Hells do you do it?” Karlach’s bright eyes shimmer like fireworks, and my stomach flips over on itself.

It's my turn to cough awkwardly and look down. I readjust my leather bracers, feeling warm and guilty. I swallow the mix of emotions and raise a smile to my face.

“If you think she's cute…” I say, trying to segue smoothly, “then you're going to love the smith that's here.”

I lead us up to Dammon.

As soon as we introduce ourselves, Dammon is instantly drawn to Karlach, his nose and ears trained on her chest. Karlach is absolutely ecstatic at ‘running into’ an infernal smith here in the grove.

I think it's still too early for us to have a Potion or Scroll of Fly, but Karlach seems to be walking on air as she and Dammon converse about the details of her mechanical heart. The unspoken, or perhaps buried, anxieties and burdens that she must have had ever since returning to the Sword Coast with an engine for a heart seem to have lifted from her shoulders. At least temporarily.

The inevitable requirement of sourcing infernal iron comes up, and Karlach spins around to us for a map that Dammon can mark.

I hold out my hand to Lae'zel who, with the greatest of reluctance, holds out her map to have yet another tiefling mark upon it.

Dammon draws a small ‘O’ around the blighted village that we'd skirted around just yesterday. Karlach's eyes blaze with intensity and confidence. I'm fairly certain she has no idea where the village is in relation to the grove, so she probably won't run off without us.

Lae’zel snatches the map back and delicately stores it in a secure pouch on her belt. Karlach returns to eagerly chatting with Dammon about his ideas and plans for her engine. She looks happy. It's different from how Lae’zel had looked when she was happy just a moment ago, but they both seem to radiate with relief and joy, in their own ways.

It’s rewarding to see.

This peaceful moment is brief, as Shadowheart can’t help but to verbally poke at our githyanki companion. She half jokes, half subtly interrogates the gith about what we should expect at the crèche. They exchange words as if trading blows with one another, purposefully and unpurposefully threatening and vexing each other.

It’s cute. I wonder if they’ll get together while I’m here? Back in my day they were a pretty popular ship.

I smile at the memories I had of them.

Now that the cave is no longer echoing with Dammon’s metallic hammering, I pick out a familiar argument amongst the bustling tieflings. A trio of siblings are debating, rather loudly, on whether they should stay and defend the grove, or take their chances out on the road, alone.

Another ‘social call’ for me to attend to, as Astarion had put it this morning.

I slink away from the smithy and approach the small group of tieflings, listening to them intently. Lia is so passionate and fierce about doing the morally right thing, while Rolan is as obstinate and steadfast about doing what is right for their family, and poor Cal is just trying to mediate the entire conversation, unsuccessfully.

It’s such a treat to see them in person. They are like my own thoughts on handling any situation in this world personified.

At the height of their argument, Lia swivels around and searches for someone else, anyone else, to weigh in on the matter. Her eyes land on me.

This is it. This entire family’s survival depends on how well I handle a simple social interaction.

I step into the fold of their conversation and Lia explains their debate to me. I open my mouth to agree with her, that they should stay and fight with the other tieflings, but before I can make a sound, Rolan dismisses me and my opinion. He explains to his siblings that drow are part of the problem with the grove and insists that it is a fool’s mission to stay after the druids had already let me in. Lia’s eyes blaze at the prejudice, but I can see by the slope of Cal’s shoulders that he agrees with his brother. It's two against one.

“We are leaving.” Rolan restates firmly, allowing no room for further argument. He pushes past me to usher his siblings along.

“N-No!” I stutter out, aghast at not even getting a chance to argue my point and dreading what could happen to them if I were to fail now. “You can’t leave! You have to stay. To… to help your kin!”

Lia resists moving the longest, but Rolan has a firm hand on her arm. He makes a meaningful look at my hair, my face, my ears. With a co*ck of his eyebrow he encourages Lia to do the same. They all finally turn their backs to me, my mouth still gaping, and begin walking towards the cave exit.

f*cking racism! It was stupid in my world, and it’s stupid in this world too. If they die out there, then at least their racist ideas will die with them!

I blink. That’s not right. Why would I even think that?

“Action.” I whisper encouragingly to myself. “Take action.”

“Wait!” I yell, dashing forward to block their path. “E-everyone knows that sticking to a bigger group helps you go farther than traveling alone!” I try to advise wisely.

Rolan, unimpressed, steps around me. I block him, again, arms outstretched.

“And the roads are too dangerous right now! There are goblins and gnolls and worgs and ogres out there!” I plead. I am scrambling now, frantically trying to remember what specific phrase was used to convince the trio to stay in the game.

“Out of the way.” Rolan warns, his nose upturned. “My family is safest when they are with me, and it has become evident that this grove is compromised, in more ways than one.”

“You’ll-!” I want to tell them that they’ll die, that it is guaranteed that they’ll never make it to Baldur’s Gate if they leave now. But forcing this knowledge onto them will only push them further away. They don’t know me, they don’t have any reason to trust me, they can’t know what I know. What am I supposed to do?

I'm panicking.

“What’s this now?” Gale’s authoritative voice demands from behind me. I turn my head, never lowering my arms. Gale, Astarion, and Wyll are standing at my back, loaded down with new and heavy packs. A ‘lucky’ ring shines on one of Gale’s fingers.

“Not to worry, sir.” Rolan says with a flourish. He recognizes Gale as a peer in the wizarding community, and is immediately amiable. “Just packing up to leave. I suggest you do the same before more goblin raiders or fungus-eaters arrive.”

The men stiffen in varying degrees.

Weird.

I look quizzically back to Rolan, but the flash of approaching githyanki armor catches my eye.

Oh no.

If we box them in, they might flee the grove even faster!

“You’ll… you’ll be a hero if you stay!” I blurt out, flying by the seat of my pants now. “To the other tieflings, and to the druids too.” This catches Rolan’s ear, and he deigns to look down at me.

“We,” I cajole, holding my hands out to my companions. “could really use your help. And-and what’s the point of having magic, and weapons, if you’re not going to use them?” I withdraw my arms, trying to lay the request out as sensibly as possible.

“Exactly, Rolan!” Lia exclaims, coming forward to stand beside me. “We can help, and we should help. It’s the right thing to do.”

“We talking about staying at the grove?” Karlach’s friendly and familiar voice asks from above Rolan’s head. “I’m looking forward to smashing a couple of goblin heads myself. From what I hear, this lot’s already taken down a few raiders without me!”

Rolan looks up at Karlach’s shining face. Her easy confidence, and charming smile, are infectious. He doesn’t seem to see the sour glares of Lae’zel and Shadowheart from behind her.

The reluctant wizard finally sighs. “Fine. If you two want to risk your tails for a lost cause, be my guest. I’ll be here, waiting to save you when things get too tough.”

“Thank you, Rolan!” Lia says jumping at his consent. It’s her turn to usher her brothers along, cleverly maneuvering them back towards the camp cook. Cal leans over to me and softly says his thanks as he is hurried along.

Lord. That was too close.

My heart is beating wildly. I should take my own advice and learn to stick with my companions instead of going off on my own in the future. It's only thanks to them that I succeeded at all this time around.

“You alright there, soldier?” Karlach asks, a furrow on her brow, just between her horns. The other, more empathetic, members of our party all have a pitying look in their eye. What for, I wonder? We won the interaction?

“Ha!” I laugh, my face splitting into a wide smile, forgetting their concern almost instantly.

In my giddiness, I hold up my hand for a high five. Karlach does not mimic the motion. “Do this!” I insist excitedly, holding my hand up higher. She hesitates, flames flickering from her fingertips.

“Don’t worry, I have a trick.” I confide in her quickly. She smiles crookedly and holds up her hand, no doubt expecting me to pantomime the action with her, without contact.

Instead, I wind up and slap through her hand as hard as I can, making contact for less than a second.The sound echoes through the cave, and I laugh enthusiastically. I am high on anxiety and relief. “Strong work, soldier!” I exclaim brightly, holding up my hand once more. My group forms a loose circle, and Gale is kind enough to hold up his hand as well.

I slap his hand with vigor. “Hell yeah!”

Shadowheart follows Gale’s lead, and I happily slap her hand too. “Good job!” I say with enthusiasm. Wyll is next. Astarion and Lae’zel recoil at the idea of being touched so casually, so I skip them and I return to smiling at Karlach.

“Alright!” I say, setting my hands on my hips in a proud manner. “Let's go visit Nettie again.” I motion for the group to follow.

Karlach stays put and stares at her hand for another moment, an unreadable expression on her face.

Chapter 15: Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Text

I walk on, relieved at our success.

We've set the trio of tiefling siblings up for success in the future Acts, we've initiated quest lines for both the druids and the tieflings, we've restocked our supplies, and we still have time to see Nettie! What a day!

The walk to the deep grove is long, but it feels lighter. Sure, there’s another high stakes social interaction coming up, but having my group with me makes the task seem so much more doable!

‘Hm. My group? What happened to being alone in this universe?’ I think apprehensively.

Along the way, Gale recounts his shopping escapades to the group, while Astarion hides a snicker behind his hand. Lae’zel takes a notable interest in the acquired arrows and trail rations and demands to have Astarion’s pack to test the quality of the inventory more thoroughly. They fall to the back of the herd as they critique what had been available for sale. Wyll wanders closer to me and leans down to curtly pass along Zevlor’s predictable request to speak to the new First Druid on the refugee’s behalf.

“Don’t worry about him.” I say in an equally low voice. “Kagha’s already asked me to talk to him on the druid’s behalf. Now, they’re both just waiting for us to talk to the other! Ha! Should buy us some time, and a bit of peace, to fix this before any more fights break out.”

I think over my plan, and decide to put in an extra disclaimer as a precaution. “Just… don’t let either of them see us until then.” I warn.

Wyll looks down at me, his eyebrows raised. Then, very slowly, his devilish smile returns to his face. “You’re more clever than what I’ve given you credit for.” He admits, his good eye searching my face for offense.

I shrug at him. How could I be insulted for being judged correctly?

“This apology is late in coming, but I do regret being cross with you before.” He says with honest regret. “And for leading you astray this morning. The intention was noble, but I understand that I've made a grave error in judgment. Such behavior is unbecoming of the Blade.”

His sincerity feels like a punch to the gut. It’s nice that he no longer disapproves of me, but I have no idea how to handle an apology, much less a compliment, from a real life hero such as he.

In response, I raise a smile to my face like a shield and tell him ‘no worries.’

We reach the bottom of the stone steps and I take a moment to stare at the ritual.

The druids are enthusiastically praying to their idol, their wild magic dying the air itself an emerald green and eliciting a foreboding foresty scent. The intensity of their spell should strike fear into my heart, but I’m feeling far too pleased to be scared of them.

My eyes linger on their efforts as we continue forward.

They can pray all they want, for all I care, but I’m doing everything in my power to make sure that they don't even get to use their dumb spell.

Blissfully unaware of my counterproductive efforts, the druids continue their stupid ritual and let us pass unaccosted. Before we enter the intricately carved stone door to descend into the council rooms and the healer’s ward, the shine of gold from a nearby blue jay’s nest distracts Astarion. Feigning a similar interest, Shadowheart stoically follows the rogue. If I were a gambler, I’d bet money that she’s avoiding the possibility of running into that great wolf lurking in the council hall.

I say nothing of their departure as the rest of our party heads inside.

We find Rath and Kagha standing near the druidic library, still debating one another aggressively, despite Rath’s previous vow for cooperation.

Good. Lets me hide behind the crowd of our group as we pass by.

We greet Nettie in her ward while she is tending to another injured bird. She hails to Lae’zel and I, and I politely introduce the rest of our party to her.

Nettie seems a bit overwhelmed, but she still smiles and asks us how we've been faring. She really is such a kind soul.

Then she asks me to strip and take a seat so that she can reexamine my injuries.

Oh sh*t. Do they not have doctor/patient confidentiality here??

She’s been so kind to me, so I’d love to comply with her request, but it’s too f*cking embarrassing! Remembering and revealing my previous failures and weaknesses, in front of my companions of all people, is enough to bring a bright blush to my cheeks.

“M-maybe later, Nettie?” I hint, instinctively covering the slash in my pants with my hand. I haven't had time to fix that yet. “I actually have a different question, for you, as a healer.”

“Oh aye?” She asks curiously. I take a deep breath and hold it, struggling as to where to begin.

In the game, the best way to deal with Nettie is to just be honest with her. Unfortunately, my version of ‘honest’ always comes off as a sort of… dishonest in this world. Does that mean my charisma is really low or is it my persuasion? Maybe it's both. f*ck me, I guess.

“I was…” I begin. “…infected with an illithid tadpole. A few days ago.” Nettie gasps. The group tenses, warily watching the healer’s negative reaction.

I hold up my hands to Nettie for peace. I have to make sure that a fight doesn't break out. That’d make everything we had to do in the grove much harder to deal with.

Now, just what do I have to say to her again?

“It happened on a mindflayer ship, the one that crashed nearby.” I recount as calmly as I can. “I don’t have any other symptoms, besides some headaches and psionic powers.”

Nettie’s eyes burn into my own, searching for signs of the mind flayer parasite. She’s looking for any changes in me. I can almost see her memories of the day of the goblin attack flash behind her eyes.

She purses her lips. “And your companions…?” She asks, turning a suspicious eye to the rest of the party.

“They- they’re very worried!” I say hurriedly, recapturing the healer’s attention. “But they haven’t seen any signs that I’ve been changing.” I emphasize, holding a hand to my heart.

The others, save Lae’zel, follow my lead and nod. Nettie pauses, then shakes her head sympathetically and turns to think more on the matter.

“I… might be able to help you.” She says hesitantly. “Follow me.”

With a wave of her hand, her wild magic opens a secret stone door from one of the walls of the ward. She gestures for me to follow, but holds up a hand to the others.

“I’d still like to look over your other injuries, if you don’t mind.” She states gently. “It’ll only take a moment, but unless you want an audience I suggest this lot waits out here.” She points my companions towards the other end of the ward.

I must not look very healthy. I guess vampiric blood loss, threats of ceremorphosis, and strenuous fights with the undead tends to do that to people. I touch my neck in embarrassment.

Well, dealing with Nettie one-on-one might be for the best. Her upcoming conversation and rescue request always came with mixed approvals from the group. As long as she never reaches for that deadly thorned branch on Halsin’s laboratory bench, I shouldn't have anything to worry about.

With a warm face and a weak smile, I wave at my party, conveying that I'd be alright by myself

Nettie magics the stone door closed with a flick of her wrist and in an instant it looks like a wall once more. She sighs and leads me deeper into the secret lab. I jump when I notice a large mass on a nearby table.

“f*ck!” I yelp.

There’s another body on the slab. It’s the dead drow that Nettie and Halsin had been studying before he'd left with the adventurers. I'd forgotten about it.

A slight hint of decay wafts over from the body, and I turn my head in disgust. I hold a hand to my racing heart as Nettie apologizes and points me towards an empty slab.

An unforeseen force starts to squirm against my skull when I pass by the body, as if my tadpole is pulling on my brain like a grotesque dog on a leash.

“There’s a parasite over there.” the grating voice of the Emperor says in my mind.

I can’t physically respond, but I do my best to convey that I know that already. If not from the game, then from the little f*cker moving around in my head.

“Take it.” the Emperor orders, not addressing my attempts at a response.

I sit down heavily on the slab, holding my head in my hand. I had been put through the wringer for most of the day and it was nice to finally be able to sit down for a bit.

I say as much to Nettie, thanking her softly for her hospitality.

She gives me a pained smile, and offers to make me a drink. I hold out my hand to refuse, but then the little angel says the most magical phrase in her entire druidic vocabulary:

“Would you like some tea?”

My soul practically screams with want.

“Goddamnit, I would love some tea.” I say thirstily. “Yes, please, Nettie.”

Nettie nods and puts a small kettle on over a primitive bunsen burner.

“Let's check you over then, while we wait.” she suggests, pulling a short stool up to my slab.

I awkwardly undo all of the f*cking laces of my clothes and pull them off. I lay them at the foot of the slab and resume sitting, trying my best to be a good patient. I shiver slightly as my warmth is sapped by the stone. Sitting in a damp cave in my underclothes doesn’t seem like the best way to carry out an exam on a sick patient, but then again, I’m not the expert here.

Without even having to chant, Nettie sets her hand aglow and holds it to my face. She asks me to follow a series of familiar instructions; open my mouth, turn so she can see inside my ears, follow her finger with my eyes; look up, look down, look side to side. She also touches my neck, just under my jaw.

I can see her raise her eyebrow at the fresh bite mark near my shoulder and the shallow slice mirrored on the other side but she asks nothing of it.

Her practiced hand then checks my pulse, while examining my nails and pressing on each of my fingers in the necessary, short silence.

The kettle rattles on its stand. Nettie lets me go and pats the bed, an invitation to lie down.

‘Why stand when you can sit, why sit when you can lie down?’ I think to myself with a smile, remembering this fun mantra from my school days.

“I’m sorry that you’ve got me instead of Master Halsin. He’s the real healer here, not me. I’m still apprenticing at the moment.” Nettie says apologetically, extinguishing the bunsen burner and moving the kettle. “Master Halsin is the one most knowledgeable of infected folk here…”

She goes on with a speech very similar to what I remembered from the game, pulling a few bunches of leaves off from a nearby herb hanger and tying them together with a long stem as she talks. She pops the bundle into the kettle and walks back to me, moving her stool to accommodate the next part of the exam.

“We’ll just let that brew a bit.” She murmurs. Her eyes and fingers sweep across my body, prodding and stretching at the scars that she had healed over herself. The ghost of the weapons that had pierced me seem to linger within the scars, and I squirm under her touch.

She then lays her head on my stomach.

Ugh, too intimate, too embarrassing! Is the medical technology in this world really so primitive??

She moves up to my chest and tells me to take a deep breath, her ear to my lungs. I follow her instructions, keeping my eyes on the stalactites reaching down from the ceiling.

“You need more fluids.” She says at last, straightening to her full height. “And meat. I haven't met a lot of half-drow in my time, but I'd say you're a bit underweight.”

A half-drow? Is that what I am? Aren't they hated by every other race, including other drow? Of f*cking course that’s the body I’m in. Why not, at this point, right?

I chuckle dryly at my luck and sit up.

Nettie casts a bit of wild magic that takes away the sting on both sides of my neck. She then steps down from her stool and returns to the kettle.

“Besides that, and your infection, you seem perfectly healthy. And perfectly normal…” She says, puzzled as she pours the tea with a shaky hand.

I rub my forehead once more and stand. With a groan, I stiffly pull on my clothes. An ache in my body persists despite Nettie’s healing. It probably comes from anxious exhaustion, and from sleeping on the ground every night.

‘Perfectly healthy’ indeed.

Before I can get to tying up all of my f*cking laces, Nettie returns with two piping hot mugs, and gives one to me. It warms my hands and the steam smells reminiscent of peppermint. I sit down to fully savor and appreciate it. How long has it been since I’ve had a proper cuppa? I blow on the surface before taking a satisfying sip. It tastes like a warm hug.

After watching me indulge, Nettie goes on with her observations of my anatomy and the information that she and Halsin had gathered on the people infected with parasites recently.

When she pauses, I reiterate that I, and my group, would like to find a cure for my tadpole infection as soon as possible.

ASAP, if you will.

Nettie insists that my only chance would be with the First Druid, Master Halsin, the expert in healing and mind flayers. The First Druid who is, regrettably, missing at the moment. I take a long pull on my tea before offering to find the druid Halsin for her, in the Selunite temple occupied by a goblin horde, no problem.

No problemo.

Nettie stares at me, then gives a quick, unconvinced glance at my meager body and my newly acquired scars.

“I’ll… I’ll ask my party if we can go look for Halsin. Together.” I counteroffer, taking another swallow of my drink. “They’re really good. At doing things. I mean. My companions. Like, so good. At doing all of the things. They’re all really… strong. And-and smart…” I say goofily, thinking of my attractive companions, they're stunning figures flashing in my mind's eye. I take another sip of my tea.

“I think you’ve had enough.” Nettie says anxiously, carefully extracting the mug from my loose grip. “Are you absolutely sure that you’re not changing? That you want to help us?” She asks, shaking my knee.

“Pfft. Yeah. Abs-solutely.” I slur. I try to give the healer a confident smile.

With a final, desperate look, Nettie sighs. “Alright. I’m going to have to trust you. I don’t have much choice. But I am going to trust you. You’re probably the only one here that is willing and able to leave the grove right now to search for Master Halsin.”

“Why… are my arms sooo heavy?” I say, flopping my limbs about. Nettie gives me a guilty look.

She and her face tattoos looks very silly from all the way up here.

“I couldn’t risk you transforming.” Nettie explains, pulling a black vial from her belt. “You’d be a danger to everyone in the grove, including your friends.” She uncorks the vial and puts it between my hands, pushing it to my mouth. “This’ll counteract the poison, drink it up and you’ll feel better.”

“Friendsss?” I say in disbelief, sniffing at the medicine. It smells vile. I cringe and seal my mouth shut. I’d rather drink my super delicious peppermint tea instead. I want to fight it, but Nettie tilts the noxious liquid into my mouth and urges me to swallow.

A loud scraping of stone against stone startles me, and the rest of the antidote spills to the floor. Nettie and I look over to see Astarion in the entryway, kneeling in front of the group, a lock picking kit held midair.

‘How could that possibly work?’ I wonder distantly. My body feels heavy but my mind feels light, nearly floating away in the tense silence. I give in to the tea's seductive comfort and slump onto the stone slab.

“Hey! What’re you doing?!” Someone shouts.

Nettie backs off, hands raised, calmly recounting the situation to the group. She tells them about Halsin and his expertise, of my agreement to help find him, and of my current condition.

I give the group a floppy thumbs up from my horizontal position.

“She’s taken some medicine that’ll make her… a wee bit sleepy. It should wear off in a few hours or so.” She reassures them. “Here. Take this wyvern poison with you, if she starts transforming into a mind flayer, give it to her, and make sure she takes it. Immediately.”

There's another tense moment of silence before Nettie is brushed to the side and bodies are surrounding me. Big ones, bright ones, nice smelling ones... People are talking all around me, possibly even to me. Someone shakes my shoulders. Someone reaches out with their parasite to gleen what they can from my stupor.

They don't get much as my parasite stays blissfully still in my head.

f*ck. I’m so tired, even my parasite is sleepy.

A pair of pale hands reach out and tie up all of my f*cking laces for me. Someone puts a water skin to my mouth and tells me to drink. It tastes warm. A hand grips my chin, eyes are searching mine for lucidity. I lean into the hand and hum. It feels nice to be so still and content for a moment.

“GET THE PARASITE.” A slap of a voice says in my mind. I sluggishly try to wake up.

Someone is urging me to stand. I sit up with assistance, but I can’t remember how to talk to my legs. I droop over the side of the stone slab instead. There is a grumble in my ear.

Rough, strong arms scoop me up. It’s comfortable and familiar. I feel like I’ve been here before. I lay my head against the cool metal of a breastplate and sigh.

“Enough of this place. We shall return to camp and begin packing at once. We have a long journey ahead before we reach the creche.” the faraway voice of Lae’zel commands. Not waiting for argument or agreement, she begins taking swift strides to the exit of the secret lab.

“Hold on now, the closer option for possible tadpole extradition is this Master Halsin fellow!” Gale argues, keeping pace with the gith. I hear other footsteps following behind us.

“I’d prefer facing a few goblins than trying to enter gith’s stronghold.” Shadowheart adds snidely.

A debate breaks out amongst the group. It seems to last for an eternity as I drowse within the increasing darkness of drug induced sedation. It’s like a lullaby; birds singing, wind blowing in the trees, and my companions arguing about their life threatening parasites amongst themselves.

Throughout the walk, Lae’zel’s grip on me never falters. I’m never jostled too harshly, or hit with stray tree branches. I know that a githyanki hates seeing weakness like this, but I can’t help but indulge in it. It feels nice. Safe.

Maybe if Lae’zel could have someone hold her the way that she holds me, she wouldn’t want to recoil from such displeasing things like vulnerability and comfort.

I relax further into her arms, and let out the smallest sigh of appreciation. This security, this solace, and this soft rhythmic pace are enough to finally push me over the edge into a deep and embracing sleep.

—

The Astral Plane twinkles before my dream body. The Emperor is standing at the edge of the asteroid, watching the battle below. A dead githyanki with a hollowed out skull lies at its feet.

“It is understandable that you would want to save the refugees at the grove, admirable even.” It says with an excess of patience. Its skin seems to have a fresh shine of mucus to it. “But this self-indulgence will only slow you down. You do not have the luxury of saving every lost soul that steps before you. You must focus on obtaining more information on the Cult of the Absolute. Go to the desecrated selunite temple and follow the trail from there.”

The Emperor turns its great head to look back at me. “And you did not obtain the parasite from the drow, as I had advised.”

‘Advised’ is a funny word, but I know better than to smile.

“I can just get it the next time we’re at the grove. Or along the way to the temple…” I say, thinking of the game, trying to recount the number of tadpoles that are available for the taking. “There’ll be more.” I reassure the irritated illithid.

“You will absorb its power.” The Emperor orders. “This will help you in the upcoming battles you shall face.”

I don’t respond.

Its great head of tentacles turns dangerously to hear my confirmation.

“Unless.” It says. “You think one of your other companions would be more suited to wield the power of the tadpoles instead?”

A query or a threat?

“N-no.” I say, casting my eyes down. “I’ll do it.”

I could never force them to do something so terrible, and ultimately, so unnecessary.

“Excellent.”

Chapter 16: Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Text

I open my eyes to the interior of my tent. The entrance flap is pinned up, and I can distinctly hear the campfire crackling outside and the crickets singing. The air is heavy with the scent of an old verdant forest cooling after a long sunny day.

It's the perfect summer evening, but I can’t enjoy it. Every interaction with the Emperor leaves my stomach riddled with anxious knots and my mind with unanswerable questions; am I working fast enough? Am I doing things well enough? What have I messed up this time? Did I make the right choice in coming here?

As I sit up sluggishly, it feels like every joint in my body pops. Every movement is stiff and delayed, but my mind, for a moment at least, is clear.

Looking down, I see that I am still in my day clothes. Lae’zel must have dumped me straight onto my bedroll. Even my boots are still on.

When I move to leave my tent, I find that I am hobbled. Reaching down, I can feel that my boot laces have been tied together.

What is this, a prank? Aren’t we a little old for that?

I start picking at the easy knot.

“Oh.” I peep. This is actually a brilliantly simple solution to my sleepwalking problem.

I can’t help but smile. I wonder which of the companions had thought this up? It could have been any of them, honestly; Gale, with his big smart wizard brain, or Shadowheart with her expertise in tying people up… Whoever it had been, I’m going to go right up to them, pat them on the shoulder, and tell them; ‘I’m proud of you, Champ.’

When I finally step out of my little tent, I can see that the stars are beginning to shine through the darkened blue blanket of the sky and a pink sunset is fading into the horizon.

Karlach and Gale are seated around the golden campfire. Gale is peeling vegetables, and telling an animated story while Karlach is smiling and joking with him. Shadowheart is praying outside of her tent just beyond the light of the fire. She must be very well trained in the art of prayer, because the bark of Karlach’s laughter doesn’t disturb her in the slightest. The other tents appear empty.

I stretch and twist to pop my back, an old habit, before joining the campfire.

“Hey, soldier! Nice nap?” Karlach waves to a free log.

I sit and Gale immediately, and excitedly, retells the events and actions that had occurred after Nettie had closed the stone wall on them earlier that afternoon. He asks what I remember during that time and I cough sheepishly. I mention the beginnings of the debate on what our next course of action should be, and he and Karlach both roll their eyes. Gale is exasperated at the logical fallacies in Lae’zel’s plan and intricately explains his own rationale, while Karlach seems tired of argument in general, and says so, loudly.

I smile at both of them. Hearing the Brain and the Heart of the group talk with one another is delightful.

“What do you think, Tov?” Gale asks at the end of his rant. “What should our next course of action be; traveling to the Githyanki Creche or rescuing this druid ‘Halsin’?”

I glance away.

No one is going to like it, but my plan of action will actually include rescuing Halsin and traveling to the creche. They'll find all that out later, though.

“Well, I already promised Nettie I’d look for Halsin...” I say hesitantly. “But, let’s talk about that with the others.” I look around at the empty tents expectantly.

“Hunting.” Gale says, pointing vaguely out into the woods with a peeled carrot.

I smile.

Just thinking about Gale’s squirrel stew makes my stomach audibly growl.

Without addressing the sound, Gale slips the carrot into my hand, pulls out another one to peel, and makes a smooth segue into what he hopes the others will bring back and what he’ll cook if they do. I love this topic of conversation and happily add my opinions on the matter. The carrot is delicious, and gone immediately.

Karlach gives me a quick, soft whistle while Gale talks of different cuts of meat, and holds up a secret dried sausage link.

Her sincerity keeps me smiling, but I glance pointedly, guiltily at Gale’s growing cauldron of vegetables. Easily reading my look, she twists the sausage in half and takes a bite of her half with a wink.

My stomach flips.

I take the remainder delicately from her flickering fingers and nibble on it, commenting to Gale about the amount of garlic that he has in the pot.

It needs to be more.

The sausage is salty, warm, and delicious.

Gale quiets for a moment before he broaches the next topic. “At the risk of sounding profoundly rude, I must ask; how did Nettie poison you? Could you not foresee it coming?” He asks while pulling out, peeling, and finely chopping an additional bulb of garlic.

I wipe my hands on my pants awkwardly.

“And why did you slap my hand earlier? You nearly scared the tail off me, doing something that dangerous! You feeling a bit reckless today?” Karlach adds, curiosity bubbling on her face.

I smile tiredly at the giant tiefling. Honestly, I’d rather answer her questions first. Incorporating lies and lore to my ‘foreknowledge’ for the group is still hard for me to do.

I think for a moment, then rise and move to stand in front of the barbarian.

“Here, hold out your hands, palms down. Just above mine.” I say, holding out my own hands, facing up.

Karlach frowns, and I can see that she wants to argue with me.

“It’s part of the trick, I promise.” I reassure her.

After a second of hesitation, she does as I say, her great clawed, calloused hands hovering steadily above my soft blue hands. I catch her gaze and we stare deeply into each other’s eyes. The bright orange fire of her blazing irises, with their black cat-like pupils, searches my face and my own eyes curiously. They are bewitching. I remember them so vividly from my youth. Her stare, her smile, her laugh, her joy… she always made me unreasonably happy back then, and to see her now is indescribable.

Karlach’s gaze is confused as I stare at her, and then it softens. She smiles back at me, almost shyly.

SLAP

My fingers smack the top of Karlach’s hands for the briefest of moments before returning to underneath hers once more.

“Hey!” Karlach shouts looking down, surprised.

“It’s a game. Try not to get hit.” I explain with a half hearted jeer.

“But-”

SLAP

“Alright, seriously, Tov. You could get severely bur-”

SLAP

Despite getting smacked gently on the hands, Karlach returns to the position above my own each time.

“Okay, soldier. You asked for it.” She says, straightening her back and rolling her shoulders. Her gaze intensifies, watching my every movement for a tick.

I feign another slap and she moves her hands away.

“Ope. You flinched, that means I get a free slap.” I explain, nodding for her to hold her hands out for her penance.

With a snort, Karlach levels her great hands over mine once more, and I quickly smack them before returning stoically to my position. I rub my fingers together, testing to see if they’ve gotten too hot yet, before flattening them again. Karlach doesn’t budge this time.

“There is the thinnest layer of air surrounding my skin.” I paraphrase, recalling my collegiate and professional education. “It takes a second for that air to change temperature, maybe even two seconds if it’s a drastic change.” I twitch my hands, and Karlach flinches again.

“That means you can touch the coldest liquid, or even super hot magma for the briefest moment before the temperature of the air changes or moves, and you start to burn.” I take a deep breath and slap her outstretched hands quickly. I come away with no injury once more.

“And that’s something you learned from the parasite?” Gale asks, his mage hand bringing over a large jug of water to pour into the cauldron of vegetables.

“No, it’s from an old job.” I say offhandedly. “And… it was actually pretty odd, with Nettie today.”

I shift on my feet. Karlach tilts her head without breaking eye contact. She is determined not to be fooled again.

“I thought if she was going to attack me, she would use a weapon, one that was on a bench next to that dead drow. But she didn't, she did something… unexpected.”

“So,” Gale says levelily, “one can deduce then, that the parasite only shows you one future at a time when it comes to this ‘foresight’?” Gale looks like he's mentally adding another note to my parasitic anomaly, trying to pin down the intricacies of my foreknowledge.

“Well. No. It’s more like; I know that there’re multiple likely outcomes if you, or I, make certain choices. But how well we execute those choices, if we make them at all… that’s when things get murky, I guess.” I furrow my brow, trying to explain the game's dynamics in generic terms. “But with Nettie today. I honestly had no idea she would slip something into my tea. I was just so excited to have a cuppa, I didn't even consider it.”

Karlach snorts through her nose. “Sounds like any normal moment really, you have a choice and you make it and then you gotta live with it.” She begins simply. “Really, Tov, you should be more on guard a…”

SLAP

Karlach groans and laughs at the same time. She'd gotten distracted by talking, but it looks like she’s having fun.

“But Nettie’s a healer and an herbalist, one suspicious of you because you had told her that you have a tadpole in your skull.” Gale presses. “You weren’t the least bit concerned about the possibility of being poisoned?”

Ouch. He has a point. I close my eyes at the emotional damage.

“I- I guess I just thought… it would go the way I saw in my head?” I offer lamely.

There’s a soft scoff from behind me as Shadowheart steps into the light, done praying for now, I suppose.

“You have tricks on how to touch extremely hot and cold things, but you can’t conceive of the idea that someone might slip something into your drink?” She asks, incredulously.

SLAP

It’s perfect timing for me, as Karlach is distracted by Shadowheart’s deliciously tight, night-time camp clothes.

“You little imp!”

“Respect your elders.” I say with a crooked smile.

“You’re younger than I am!”

“I’m an old soul.” I joke secretively, moving to slap her hands once more. She pulls them away too quickly for me to hit them this time.

“Ha!”

“You’ve bested me.” I sigh dramatically, smiling distantly at the sarcastic submissiveness.

“Is that how you win?” She asks, deflating slightly at the end of the game.

“Usually, I'd be on top of you now, and you'd try to slap me, but you’re too hot for me to be on top.” I say absently. I swing up and double tap Karlach’s palms as a polite ‘good game’ gesture.

I turn back to Shadowheart guiltily. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I didn’t think Nettie’d poison me. I guess, I’ve never been a person that people would want to poison before. It's… new.”

I glance around guiltily and find that the trio are looking at me with the strangest expressions on their faces.

Their approval of me must be actively decreasing because of my naivety. Or maybe I’ve come off as insincere? Or maybe I was being rude, culturally, in some way? I really have no idea, but their scrutiny makes me uncomfortable.

“I’ll… try to be more vigilant, I promise.” I mutter, touching my hair self consciously. It’s greasy. Embarrassing, but also the perfect excuse to leave for a while.

“I’m going to go wash up.” I say, raising a smile to my face like a shield. “I’m sorry for worrying y’all. Again.”

I scurry to my tent, gather up my supplies, including my new bloody hammer, and flee to a quiet, secluded, and far away spot to bathe. The trio continue to watch me intently as I leave.

The moon has barely risen, giving the stars an extra shine to them as I pick my way through the forest. After collecting multiple days worth of blood and sweat on my skin, the dark chilly river is a welcome sight.

“Let's test out a new washing up ritual:” I say distractedly to myself, filling the lonely silence. “First fill up my stupid water bottle, undo all the f*cking laces, place the leathers on the shore, clean my fun new weapon, scrub, lather, rinse, wring out, and hang up m’day clothes, then undo the braids, scrub and lather this head and body, throw the soap back onto the bank, wade out into deeper waters, rinse, dunk, and finally; float. Your reward for all of your hard work today will be a nice, cold float...”

Humming old tunes, I work my way through the routine. I make it all the way up to ‘throwing the soap onto the bank’, before something goes awry.

It’s a poor throw, thanks to the slippery soap, and the bar hits someone in the darkness. They let out a quiet and indignant curse, startling me.

I am too far from my weapon to grab it, so the best course of action for me is to retreat into the water.

Unfortunately, my retreat looked a lot like screaming ‘SONOFABITCH!’, slipping, splashing, and then scrambling to the middle of the river, instead of the calm retreat of a strategic tactician. If this had been an actual enemy hunting in the woods, I would have been killed immediately.

As it is, Shadowheart covers a laugh amidst the trees before letting out a defeated sigh.

She steps forward so that I can see her properly in the faint glow of the moonlight; dark shining hair, with pale pink skin exposed beneath tight black Sharran leather.

We stare at one another in silence.

I hold up my hand from beneath the water in a universal ‘what the f*ck’ position.

“Sorry, didn't mean to disturb you.” Shadowheart says smoothly. “I was out for a walk and I heard humming. Should have known it was you.” She chuckles and smiles sweetly at me.

She's polite enough to avoid looking lower than my neck, but there's something odd about her gaze.

“Well. Thank you… for checking in.” I say pointedly, crossing my arms more tightly over my chest.

Shadowheart crosses her own arms and continues to smile. She even bats her eyelashes in a pretty way, but that odd look in her eye continues to bother me.

“Did you want to take a bath here? Because I can leave.” I offer, pointing away with my thumb.

“Don't stop on my account.” She says flippantly, co*cking a flawless eyebrow up.

Brain error.

What is she doing?

“I'll be out in a second, if you want to head back first.” I say, insistently.

“If you're heading back to camp, I'd be perfectly happy to join you.” Shadowheart all but purrs.

I squint at her, and she meets my stare with the perfect mask of Sharran seduction.

“What’s… going on?” I ask, scowling. I glance around the tree line and up and down the river. “Are you really Shadowheart? Because you're acting too much like a pervert to be the real Shadowheart.”

This breaks the cleric’s well practiced face of lust and desire. She scoffs, before putting a hand to her temple and rubbing her forehead.

“Can't you tell that I'm flirting with you?” She asks in a more naturally snobbish tone.

“That's… a way of flirting.” I counter, still on guard. “But it’s not your way of flirting.”

“And how would you know how I'd flirt?” she asks half heartedly.

I look away and gulp. I had seen Shadowheart flirt and fall in love with hundreds of different types of people from my old world. In fact, I'd seen every single one of my companions find a dedicated lover, sometimes with other Tav’s, sometimes with each other. It’s a big part of their ‘best ending’, in my opinion.

But whatever this was, it was definitely something nefarious, not romantic.

“What's happening, Shadowheart? Are you okay?” I ask again gently, standing up higher in the water. I sincerely search her eyes for some hint or clue as to what she is doing.

Something unexpected is happening again, and if my companions were in danger, I needed to fix it. Immediately.

Shadowheart meets my gaze and is silent for a moment. Then she closes her eyes and sighs, and then the sigh turns into a low groan. She holds her hands to her lips as if in prayer.

“We… have decided,” Shadowheart explains slowly, carefully, “That it would be in our best interest if we… were to travel in pairs, for the duration of our journey.”

I narrow my eyes at her. When had they decided this? I know that this is a good idea, especially for what is to come in ‘Act 3’, but something feels off.

The open tent, the tied shoelaces, Shadowheart coincidentally running into me while I'm alone. It feels almost like…

“Are you… you're babysitting me?” I stutter indignantly.

Shadowheart places her hands on her hips, hiding her darkening cheeks with a scowl.

“I could go get one of the men, if you would prefer.” She threatens.

“NO! No, No. I-I’d rather have you.” I say, sinking deeper into the chilly water.

We return to our tense silence. Shadowheart settles herself against a tree, politely looking into the forest instead of at the river, and me.

Why were they doing this?! This wasn't a part of the game. When at camp, the companions were supposed to leave each other alone for the most part!

I turn my back to her, numbly, aggressively scrubbing at my body under the water, thinking darkly, my mind poisoning my body with hot, angry thoughts.

“Was this Gale’s idea?” I shout over to her. “Because of what happened with Nettie today?”

She does not answer.

“Or Astarion’s? Can’t risk having anything happen to your little Canary, huh!?” I yell bitterly.

Nothing.

I dunk my head to scrub at my hair. I can feel indignant tears washing away with the gentle flow of the river. Being young, emotional, and inexperienced is dumb. I remember being a headstrong, hotblooded youth; it had caused a lot more heartache than was ever necessary.

I resurface and look over at Shadowheart with a deep frown. I don’t feel like floating any more.

The burn of self consciousness is dwarfed by the rage I feel at the group's non-consensual decision, and I march out of the river, fully exposed, and come face to face with the half elf, my fists clenched at my side.

“Whatever the reason is, it is unnecessary!” I growl as menacingly as I can.

Shadowheart looks at me with an even glare, seemingly unaffected, but the stiffness in her posture reveals that she is, at the very least, a little bit uncomfortable.

Good.

I hold my finger up to her.

“We have a lot to worry about out here, but chaperoning me while I’m out taking a sh*t in the woods should not be one of them. I am the one that will protect you, understand?” I demand angrily.

Shadowheart makes the briefest of pointed glances down at my thin, wet, naked body.

She does not look convinced.

I grit and bare my teeth.

“I will talk about this later, Shadowheart. With all of you. Now, go back to camp. We’re going to have a big discussion with everyone tonight, and we will straighten all of this out, together.” I say lowly. I stand taller, crowd into her space, and point back towards camp.

I'm so close to her that I can feel the warmth of her exposed skin radiate onto my own. She looks like she's going to ignore me, like everything I’ve just demanded is unreasonable, given who I am and what has happened to me thus far. But the hardness of my glare pushes her to roll her eyes and shift uncomfortably.

“This is for the best, Tov.” She says softly, stubbornly.

I slowly and firmly grip her shoulder and force her to look at me. Shadowheart could easily throw me, or kill me with a touch, but she doesn’t.

“No.” I say with clear eyes, “It isn't.”

We stare at each other for an electric moment, green eyes on bright silver.

“Go back to camp, Shadowheart. I'll be there in a minute.”

I turn away from her, expecting her to, if nothing else, respect my desire for privacy and hide better in the shadows.

I hear her make purposefully loud footsteps as she retreats in the direction of the camp.

I grumble and kick at some grass.

This day of unexpected events must be the result of my own inability to be a proper Tav! Now everyone is treating me like a child or an invalid.

I will not tolerate this type of treatment. Not again! I had hated it in my old world, and I would hate it here too.

I rant and fume as memories of people treating me like I was frail, useless, and forgetful flash in my mind.

I am so much more than what they gave me credit for! I was strong! I was reliable! My wife knew how dependable I was! As did my family and my friends, before…

My mind stops, no more memories come to the surface. Before what? What had happened to me? I don't remember anything after the ‘before’.

I kick at the grass again, but the wind is knocked from my sails. With great deliberation and half lost in thought, I dress in my night clothes, barely tying any of the f*cking laces together, gather up my belongings, equip my hammer to my back, and trudge gloomily back to camp.

We had a lot to talk about tonight.

When I arrive at the edge of the circle of our tents, I listen to the voices of those that were by the fire. It sounded like the hunting party had returned. I skulk around behind their backs until I reach my own little tent. Nearly leaping inside, I busy myself with hanging up my day clothes and uselessly rearranging my few belongings, pointedly ignoring my companions.

In my fussing, I come across some leftover blank papers from this morning.

f*ck, it felt like forever ago when I had made a list of what I was going to do today. So much more had happened than I could have ever predicted or written down.

Still angry, I pull out the quill and inkpot and flatten a piece of paper against my thigh. What do I want to write? Another To-Do list? Points to argue for tonight's ‘big talk’? An outline of what this whole adventure would entail? Which actions that I needed to perform, perfectly, from moment to moment, day by day, from now until ‘The End’?

My wet quill hovers over the parchment. A whirlwind of ideas and memories rages in my mind; everything is out of order, f*cked up, and a mess. Just like me.

I gently put the tip to the paper.

“My Dear C,” I write carefully, lovingly.

My wife and I had exchanged letters with each other ever since we’d first gotten together. The frequency always drastically increasing whenever we missed one another. I remember writing a lot of letters at the beginning of our relationship, and a lot at the end, to her. Old habits die hard, I guess.

I write down a string of curse words and explain to her what had happened to me today, with the word ‘f*ck’ wedged into nearly every sentence. I run out of room on the paper, so I end the scratchy, blotty letter with many X’s and many O’s, a small heart, and with the words: “Always Yours, from Me to C.”

The smell of roasting meat tempts me to glance over at the campfire. Everyone is gathering, resting, and waiting to eat. It’s time for me to join them.

Chapter 17: Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Text

I take a deep breath to settle my nerves. I can’t continue sulking in my tent, like a petulant child. I have to move forward. I need to take action.

I grab my water that needs boiling, crumple up my sloppy letter, and walk out to take my place on an empty log around the campfire. I toss the ball of paper into the flames, before taking a seat. Shadowheart watches me from under hooded eyes as she sips from her goblet.

As if the group can sense our tension, Gale begins ladling stew into bowls and carving cooked portions of the unidentifiable meat from the makeshift spit on top. Wyll, as soon as everyone has their serving, addresses the elephant in the camp.

“Let’s talk.” He says cordially, his good eye turning to me. Everyone follows suit and turns to look at me as well.

It’s uncomfortable, and I want to snap at all of them, but lashing out won’t solve the issues that I have at the moment.

“Let’s eat.” I declare in response, shoving a steaming bite of meat into my mouth. Everything usually goes over better if I have something in my belly.

“Thank the Gods!” Karlach groans, digging into her bowl with zeal. Everyone but Astarion follows suit. He pours himself more wine and sips from his goblet with a downward curl to his lips.

I can’t be sure that it had been Gale that had suggested our new ‘buddy system’, but the way I angrily hand him my water to boil suggests that I do somehow blame him for it, at least a little bit.

When everyone has eaten their first serving of stew, I set my bowl down and stand. I take a deep breath, put my hands on my hips, and survey the group, disappointment written on my face like a school teacher with naughty children.

Where do I even start?

My gaze lands on Lae’zel, the most direct member of our party. Maybe I should take a page from her book for this interaction.

“So.” I say, gathering everyone’s full attention, “You wanted to see what I was capable of today...” I begin, frowning bitterly, “Well, you could have just asked, but, what’s done is done.”

Gale and Wyll open their mouths to protest, but I hold my hand up to them. Hopefully the look in my eye is enough to silence them until I finish my speech.

I gesture to the group. “I hear that there was also a vote to adopt a new ‘at-least-two-party-members-are-together-at-a-time’ system…”

“No, no, it’s just that someone has to be with you at all times, Tov.” Karlach says helpfully with a mouthful of stew in her cheek.

The human and elf members of the party whirl on her. “Thank you, Karlach.” Someone whispers sarcastically.

“Oh, sorry.” she whispers back.

I rub my temple, pursing my lips. “No honey, it’s alright. I think it’s a good idea, for all of us.” I say to the surprise of the group. They turn to look at me again.

“There will come a time, don’t ask me when,” I preface, “that having a buddy with you will be… extremely useful.”

“What are you doing?” The Emperor’s voice explodes in my head. I turn around to cover a painful grimace. “This much is fine.” I whisper aggressively, pushing back on my tadpole as much as I mentally can.

I spin around to face my companions again, their predatory eyes have sharpened, watching my every minute movement. I raise my smile, like a shield, to my face and laugh awkwardly.

“So. Let’s just keep doing that: if you go somewhere, go with a buddy.” There is an agreement amongst half of the group and I stare hard at the other half.

“Put to a vote, all in favor, say ‘aye’.” I say smoothly.

It slowly comes out to a four vs. three vote, with the majority of votes in favor of the ‘buddy system’. Shadowheart, Astarion, and Lae’zel all roll their eyes in disapproval.

“And that’s how you properly make a group decision.” I say saltily, clapping my hands once and moving quickly past their reluctance. “Next: there was something that Lae’zel,” I say, pointing to the githyanki, “said earlier, that I really liked. The summary of it being that we should all get to know each other’s strengths and weaknesses going forward.”

Shadowheart makes a face in Lae’zel’s direction.

“I think,” I continue with a long, suffering smile, “that this is great advice. So, I would like all of us to go around and talk about our strengths and weaknesses, and maybe if applicable, any danger that might be following us.”

There is an uncomfortable shifting and side eyeing amongst the group. If I put this new topic of conversation to a vote, no one would side with me on this.

“Please bear in mind that this is to help us succeed in finding a cure for our tadpoles.” I say encouragingly.

No one volunteers to speak up.

“How about I go first:” I start, my heart racing. “I… have no memory of having a life in Faerun before I woke up on the nautiloid.” A truthful statement.

Everyone goes deadly still.

“So: if you’re wondering why I don’t have any common knowledge of this world, or any natural self preservation instincts, or I’m being just plain stupid… that is probably the answer to your question.” I fidget, trying to keep my tone light. “In summation: y’all know just as much about ‘Tov’ as I do. I am… a person, with no memory of my life as a ‘half-drow’, walking around with a mind flayer parasite in my skull, and I can sometimes know what will happen in the future.”

This last outburst is as truthful as I can be with them at the moment, and nothing I’ve said is technically a lie. I wonder if the Emperor is rubbing off on me.

“Well…” Astarion drawls, unsure of how to respond to my little speech. “that does make some sense. Certainly, explains a lot.” There is a slow nodding of heads around the campfire.

“I would also,” I amend quickly, “like it if y’all could speak more plainly and directly to me from here on out. I’m not a mind reader after all.” I pause, and bark out a dry laugh.

“Well, I mean, I guess we’re all technically mind readers here. But I would still prefer it if you just spoke with me, instead of…” I wiggle my fingers at my head, “Whatever this is.”

I smile at my pun, and the rest of the group considers my request with serious faces. Gale opens his mouth to speak.

“Now. Questions can be asked after everyone has had a turn. So who’s next?” I interrupt, looking around the group.

No one moves. Hands begin to busy themselves and all eyes seem to slide past me.

Then, a great sulfuric smell, like that of a dying man’s fart, fills the air and a crackling oozing sound reaches our ears. We all turn to see a black pitfall throwing hot, orange Hellsfire appear on the ground in a small, open space in the camp. A figure covered in oily darkness slowly rises from the pit.

Great, bat-like wings open, breaching the darkness surrounding the figure. A tightly composed, sultry looking devil stretches her form as she takes in the sight of our camp.

Mizora.

f*ck.

I had forgotten about her.

“Hello, pup.” She says smartly to Wyll, a dark glint in her eyes.

The entire camp erupts into chaos. Those unfamiliar with the devil put weapons into their hands and stand back, prepared to surround her in the event of a fight. Wyll and Karlach stand slowly, sizing up their unwanted acquaintance.

“sh*t, sh*t, sh*t! f*ck.” I whisper, grabbing my head in a panic.

Mizora, ignoring our scrambling, starts reciting her speech to Wyll, beginning with some of the specific details of his contract that force him to hunt Karlach at the command of his patron; her. She drags out this tortuous conversation, savoring every malicious word, while Wyll defends his decision not to kill Karlach, proudly and without hesitation. Irritated with his insubordination, Mizora tugs at an invisible leash on Wyll, forcing him to stumble forward.

Karlach curses at Mizora in clever ways, that might have been funny if I wasn't panicking.

While they're all talking, I frantically try to remember the details of Wyll’s contract from my old life. I only have a few moments to try to save Wyll from his fate, and I've never been able to do so in the game before. But now that I'm here, in the flesh, maybe there’s a loophole that I can exploit!

I twist and turn wildly, looking around for something, anything that I can use. A stray, untied lace from my arm bracer catches my eye. I pull at the loose leather bracer in a panic, and search the camp for something to draw with. A small branch that is only half burnt and sticking slightly out from the fire will have to do. I grab it and drop to the ground, the hot stick scalding my hand as I burn and press an image into the leather of my bracer.

“Karlach!” I whisper desperately.

The tiefling tears her eyes away from Mizora as I hold the wanton attire out for her to take. She hesitates, confused.

“Take it!” I cry. She delicately takes and holds the end of the bracer between her flaming fingers. The flames of her engine lick at the leather, but otherwise do not melt or burn through it.

“M-Mizora!” I call, standing in the face of yet another cambion from the Hells. I inch forward to stand between her and Wyll, shaking from head to toe. All eyes are on me.

My throat is dry and I gulp. “K-karlach doesn’t fit the requirements of the contract, so Wyll didn't disobey you.”

Mizora arches a perfectly manicured eyebrow at me. “I can assure you, little flea, that Karlach does indeed fit the bill: Clause G, Section Nine; ‘Targets shall be limited to the infernal, the demonic, the heartless, and the soulless.’” She flicks a co*cky smile at our tiefling.

“Haven’t you noticed anything amiss with your newest stray?” She asks, briefly waving a finger at her chest.

“But Karlach does have a heart. Look.” I stammer. I stiffly point at our tiefling with my bracer-less arm.

Karlach glances at the leather in her hand, squints at the sloppy image indented in the hide, and lets out a short huff of laughter. She strides over to stand beside me in front of Wyll. Mizora, her finger still outstretched, taps it impatiently.

Karlach holds up the bracer and points at the crude looking heart that is drawn on it. “Looks like a ‘heart’, to me, Miz.” She says with a dangerous smile.

Mizora, not to be out done, smiles back just as venomously. “Let me see that mess.” She says, stretching out an elegant hand.

“I-if it counts as a heart, then you can’t have it!” I say, holding my arm in front of Karlach. The heat from her engine is burning hot, but I continue to shake. “And if it counts, then Wyll didn’t break his contract.”

I stand between the devil and my companions, sweating, shivering, and waiting anxiously to see if this loophole could be used; a tiny defense in the face of fate’s immovable, preordained destruction.

The pause between us grows into a long, silent moment, as if Mizora is reciting the entirety of Wyll’s pact over and over in her mind.

“Is that the Great Devil, Mizora?” Karlach heckles, “Undone by her own contract? What’s the matter, didn’t put enough footnotes in the margins?”

If my body hadn't been shaking so violently, I might have laughed.

“Where’d you get the heart, Karlach? Surely it isn’t yours; so small, so black, so shriveled. It hardly suits you, poor thing.” Mizora says with an acidic smile.

Karlach’s face darkens as she returns the insult. “Oh you know me, as soon as I get to the Sword Coast, people can’t stop throwing their hearts at me!”

Mizora breaks and cackles long and hard at this.

When she finally catches her breath, she wipes an invisible tear from her eye. “Dear Sister, surely you know that that little leathery thing doesn’t count as a heart. I just couldn’t help but tease you!”

I back up and reach out blindly until I can grasp Wyll’s vest. If all else fails, I can be an anchor for him to the material plane, keeping him from sinking through the nine layers of the Hells alone.

“Pup, you have one last chance to kill Karlach, or I really shall get quite cross with you.” Mizora restates, the thinnest razor of a smile on her face.

Everyone hesitates, waiting to see what Wyll is going to do.

With a glare, Wyll stands up straighter. “No, Mizora, I will not kill the innocent.” he declares.

Karlach startles at his declaration, and looks like she could cry. Mizora continues to smile.

“Alright, pet. If you insist…” She says lightly, holding up her fingers as if to snap them.

“Sh-she has my heart!” I confess, gripping Wyll tighter, trying to work out a backup loophole.

If at first you don’t succeed, try, try, try again.

“What?”

“Karlach. She- I… I love her. She has a piece of my heart.” I say as clearly as I can. “She’s not heartless. Wyll hasn’t broken his contract.”

Silence.

Mizora’s icy eyes rake me over, unable to determine if I’m trying to be clever or am just extremely stupid. Either way, she can’t detect a hint of a lie within my statement. Her eyes turn inward as if her focus has been interrupted or she is listening to an unknown command.

“Well aren’t you a fool as much as a tart, little flea.” She hisses lowly.

“Mizora!” Wyll yells.

The demon flashes a devilishly charming smile at her warlock. “Oh, Wyll! I just wanted what was best for you. If you had broken your contract, I could have taken care of your pesky, little parasite for you. Alas.” She sighs with a maidenly shrug.

“Godsdammit, Mizora. If you wanted to cure me, then just do it!” Wyll groans, pressing forward against my hand.

“Ah, ah, pupster. Rules are rules.” She arches her arm around her and a portal to the Hells opens beneath her. “Do keep struggling though. I’d hate to see you die before the big finale. Oh, and Karlach.” She says sickly sweet. “Zariel sends her regards.” Karlach bares her teeth and nearly growls.

“Until next time, pup.” She says, waving at us with the air of someone who had won the interaction. Putrid black magic wraps around her and she is swallowed up once more by the portal.

Silence and a cool breeze descends on our camp.

Astarion mutters a sarcastic comment to break the tension. Shadowheart quips back, and Lae’zel curses in githyanki. Gale, ever the polite wizard, fills the air with empty words, using them like magic to dispel the Hellish atmosphere that Mizora had wrought upon us.

My muscles unclench one by one, and soon, I’m relaxed enough to fall to my knees, lean over, and vomit.

“Oh, hey now, soldier!” Karlach comforts uncertainly, squatting down beside me. She can’t touch me, and instead rubs the arm bracer between her thumbs anxiously.

I spit up the last of my dinner, and gasp for air. “She-” I rasp.

Wyll puts his hand on my back and leans in to hear me, concern etched in every line on his face.

“She smells awful.” I croak, swallowing another wave of nausea.

Karlach bursts out laughing, and pats the ground in place of patting me. “Yeah, yeah. They all do. You’re alright, you’re alright.” She coos.

I groan, holding one arm to my stomach. With the other, I reach for Wyll. I grasp his bicep and my hand slowly crawls up to his shoulder, to his neck, and over his jaw. I look up at him; his face is still perfectly human, his skin still smooth save for the scars from his past adventures, his smell, like woodfire and spice, is still the same, and his forehead…

I trace my hand up further and rub my thumb over the section of his head that would have sprouted horns had I not absolutely bullsh*tted my way through that conversation with his patron just now.

I rub and rub, trying to erase the memory I had of his curved horns and darkened eye.

Was this real? Did I actually help him? Had I actually succeeded against a demon?

“Tov. What you did just now…” Wyll says thickly, taking my hand from his forehead and holding it gently in his own. He chokes up and looks at me like a kicked puppy. I can see where Mizora had gotten his nickname.

“I know, I know.” I say with a gray smile. “It was stupid.”

“Why?” He asks simply.

I wipe my mouth on my sleeve and briefly touch my temple. “Bad future.” I reply hoarsely.

He searches my face, and returns a dashing half smile to his own. He stands first, offering his other hand to help me up.

Behind us, Karlach is kindly kicking dirt over my regurgitated dinner.

I am returned to my log at the campfire, and each companion hesitantly retakes their seat. Astarion offers me a glass of wine, which I wave away. Instead, I pick up the kettle of post boiled water and sip and swirl the water in my mouth before swallowing. It tastes like stew and stomach acid. I shudder at the relief it brings me. I sip down more, and lean over to fill my lungs with the campfire, the forest, and the cool summer evening once more. My head is no longer clear and is starting to cloud over from the sudden drop of adrenaline in my body.

“What should I do with this?” Karlach asks, holding up my leather arm bracer.

“Um… I think you should keep it.” I say groggily. “But maybe cut that bit out? Just keep the little heart part tucked on you somewhere?”

I try to think as I look over the vast expanse of tight flesh that is Karlach.

The safest place would be in a pocket, or down her…

I shake my head.

Really, I need to figure out a more permanent solution for her and Wyll. Had it been my stupid little drawing that had spooked Mizora tonight, or the heartfelt confession? It’s impossible to say unless I take one of the loopholes away. Which would be bad.

“Maybe,” I say, staring at Karlach’s red and black forearm, “you could get a tattoo of a heart somewhere. Then you wouldn’t need that little scrap on you.”

“Hm.” she says, looking from me to the bracer.

Astarion comes forward with one of his sharpest daggers to cut the leather down to a manageable size. As they work, Astarion slicing and Karlach keeping a careful hold on the scrap with the heart, I turn back to the group, focusing on Wyll.

“So.” I start, lamely. “As I was saying. From before. I think we should all go over our strengths and-and weaknesses, our goals and who might be after us now that we’re ‘lost’ in the woods.”

“Now?!” Someone asks incredulously.

I rub my temple and nod. “No time like the present.” I say tiredly.

Chapter 18: Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Text

Everyone shifts on their logs around the campfire again, but they seem a bit more amiable about our ‘big talk’ after coming together to support Wyll. It’s the warlock, himself, that decides to speak first.

“As you just saw; I, the Blade of Frontiers, am a warlock who’s powers come from the cambion, Mizora.” he says reluctantly. “I can’t say how I first entered into a contract with her, nor can I speak the terms of the contract out loud without her permission. Just know that I was in a desperate situation, and I chose the lesser of two evils to…” His mouth magically closes shut. He must have gotten too close to speaking of his history with his patron. He clears his throat in rebellion.

“Yeah, I know Mizora.” Karlach pipes up from beside Astarion. “She’s a part of the archdevil Zariel’s inner circle. She’s a right bitch and a sore loser. I expect we haven’t seen the last of her.”The little scrap of leather is free and the rest of the bracer is discarded. Karlach pulls out a little vial from a hidden pouch at her waist and dabs a clear oil over the lopsided heart before tucking it gently into her breast band. Just over where her actual heart would have been.

Switching topics, Wyll goes on to speak of his latest assignment, to hunt down a rogue advocatus diaboli, named ‘Karlach’, that had escaped to the Sword Coast and would bring it to absolute ruin if he didn't intervene. Karlach gives a fond chuckle at the story, as if it were a happy memory from long ago.

With an embarrassed cough, Wyll finishes his summation by speaking of how the parasite has weakened him considerably from his true strength and that he had hoped that by finding a way to remove the tadpole, along with saving his life, he could return to his full strength as the Blade of Frontiers, protector of the Sword Coast once more.

I know that there is more to his backstory than just this, but it doesn’t feel important to dig past what he’s already given us at the moment.

I turn my eyes to our resident tiefling, catching her thoughtful gaze, and nodding for her to take her turn in this impromptu sharing circle.

“I had hoped we’d take down those phony Paladin’s of Tyr before I talked about this.” She says casually, scratching the back of her head. I wave my hand over my shoulder. They would be a later problem.

“We’ll get to them, eventually.” I say reassuringly.

With a hooked smile, Karlach lays out how she had been sold to an archdevil by her old boss, experimented on, had her heart replaced by infernal machinery, and how she had spent the last ten years working for Zariel, waiting for her chance to escape.

“And it worked! Sort of...” She says, uncomfortable with talking about the downsides of her newfound freedom. “The old ticker is giving me fits though. That infernal smith Dammon, nice bloke by the way, says he ought to be able to fix it. Just need some infernal iron and I’ll be ship shape again. But, I think if I don’t, I might… blow up? At least, that’s what it feels like anyway. Oh, and just like Wyll, I’m a bit strength drained thanks to this wiggly fella.” She jokes, masking her discomfort with humor.

Wyll and Gale are polite enough to smile at her practiced goofiness, and I turn my tired eyes to Gale next.

When he catches my stare, the wizard's face darkens with despair, his eyes searching my own for mercy. I blink slowly at him, like a trusting cat, and wait for him to take his turn.

With a skeptical, but friendly, humph, Gale launches into the lengthy and dramatic exposition that is his backstory. Starting with his early-aged genius and talent with the Weave, to his unhealthy relationship with the goddess of magic herself, Mystra, his youthful quest and his hubris, his failure, and finally his fall from Mystra’s grace. He speaks respectfully of his punishment, the never ending pit of hunger that lives in his chest now, the Orb, and, at the end, he gracefully thanks me for the bit of Weave that he’d gotten from me.

“Really,” He says, pulling out a pink ring from a pouch at his belt. “It’s best to just show you all what needs to happen to prevent an unprecedented disaster from occurring.”

He holds the ring to his chest and the circular tattoo over his heart that stretches up to his cheek lights up. The ring, with its trace amounts of Weave, loses its substance before disappearing entirely, just like my armor had before.

There is silence as everyone takes in the knowledge of yet another walking bomb living at their camp. Our wizard and barbarian lock eyes for a moment and nod respectfully at the other. Gale, refreshed after paying tribute to his hunger, flicks his hand in the air and uses his mage hand to bring out a wash bucket to start on the dishes. We all pass our bowls and cutlery to the bucket.

I stand and add more wood to the fire before slumping down with my back to my log. We were just over halfway through our ‘big talk’, and we still hadn’t gotten to our more secretive party members yet.

“Lae’zel.” I say, taking another sip of water. “Speak.”

With a look of disgust, Lae’zel fixes me with unbroken eye contact, “I have been quite clear of my intentions from the beginning, istik. The only cure for the ghaik parasite is located in a githyanki creche. Now that we have the location in our possession, there is no reason to stay in this place another second. We should leave at once. When we are cleansed, we shall no longer have need to travel together. We will be rid of these tadpoles and of each other.”

“A tempting proposition.” Shadowheart mutters from her side of the fire.

“Thank you, Lae’zel.” I say, unfazed. “Next?”

“Wait, that’s it?!” Astarion asks, indignant.

Lae’zel, looking pleased with the efficiency of her interrogation, turns to address the group. “We shall pack up camp and leave at first light.”

The rest of the party balks at this order.

“Oh, that’s not what I meant.” I say firmly, eyes still on Lae’zel. I am running out of energy. The usual timidness and politeness that I arm myself with is fading.

“Then why do we delay?!” She rounds on me with an impatient glare.

“We can ask questions at the end.” I say, waving a hand dismissively.

“No.” Lae’zel hisses, baring both sets of her canines. “You will answer now.”

I immediately think about lying to her, of placating her like a fussy child.

But I pause at the flash of raw emotion on her face. Lae’zel is an extremely knowledgeable warrior, stranded on a remote planet, infected, weakened, and with no support. Alone.

I should be all too familiar with how it feels to be a lonely alien in this universe. Hadn’t I just thrown my own tantrum over the group’s secret decision of handling me? Is it really fair to turn around and do the same to Lae’zel just because she's abrasive and I’m tired?

I rub my eyes and press on the bridge of my nose before fixing our githyanki with uninterrupted eye contact, just as she had requested earlier today. I switch to thinking about honest reasons for why we can’t leave this area just yet and why she should stick with us, despite having the map to the creche already in hand. I search my distant memories as quickly as my exhausted brain can go. Which isn't very fast.

As my focus turns inward, the tension in Lae’zel’s body freezes. Her face melts from anger into a fearful reverence.

A silence overtakes the group. In it, Astarion sneaks up to my side and snaps his fingers in front of my face. I flinch and huff at him, annoyed. As I blink, the group lets out a collective breath.

At my scowl, Astarion points to his own, red eyes. “You were gone again, little Canary.” He says lightly.

I hold a retort on my tongue, before letting out a sigh.

What is it with this world and their excess of nicknames?

“Lae’zel, I’m sorry,” I say, refocusing back on her. “To answer your question-”

She holds up her hand to stop me.

“I do not want to know.” She states, curtly.

My eyebrows shoot up. “Really?” I squeak, surprised.

“It is better that I do not know.” She explains, crossing her arms over her chest.

A disbelieving but grateful smile ghosts my lips. “Yeah. You’re right.” I say encouragingly.

“Chk. I am always right.” She agrees, her eyes focusing on the fire.

I let out a huff of laughter, and then turn to Astarion expectantly.

“Next?” I say with a gesture up to him.

“Oh I’m far too busy, darling, ask Shadowheart instead.” He dismisses, sitting on my log and taking my head in his hands. Out of nowhere, he produces a fine comb and begins detangling my wild pale gray hair. I try looking back at him to argue, but he turns and holds my head in our cleric's direction.

I purse my lips at Shadowheart. I am still angry about catching her in the act of ‘babysitting’ me. But to validate that I didn’t need a ‘sitter’, I first needed to be the bigger person and let it go.

It’d be much, much more satisfying to be petty and childish, but life’s not fair, I suppose.

“Shadowheart.” I say, trying to keep any sourness from leaking into my words. “What would you feel comfortable with sharing with the group?”

“I’d rather not share anything at all, if it’s all the same to you.” She replies instantly, coldly.

Before I can groan out my frustration, the rest of the companions pile onto her, giving her a hard time about her stubbornness, encouraging her to participate, and offering to reveal more of their own secrets to make her feel more comfortable.

With my head still pointed in her direction, I see the effect of their efforts on her. She scowls, ignores, softens, quips, and eventually smiles. I see her physically thaw in the embrace of our companions, and I can’t help but feel guilty.

I should be more patient with her. With all of them, really. They’ve all been traumatized in some way or another, and snapping at them or brushing them aside wasn’t going to help them. And isn’t that why I came? To help? Plus this adventure is only going to get harder for them from here on out. Their old wounds are either going to be violently reopened or they are going to receive newer, deeper emotional injuries soon enough.

“This world makes healing hurt.” I say quietly to myself.

“What’s that, darling?” Astarion asks, his nimble fingers scratching a soothing pattern down my scalp as he starts on my braids.

“Nothing.” I say dismissively

“Alright, alright!” Shadowheart shouts with false aggravation to the group. She looks over at me, and I try to give her the warmest smile my wary body can muster.

She sits up straighter and sighs delicately.

“I worship the Goddess of Darkness and Loss, Lady Shar.” She begins. “I was on a mission for my Lady, when I was abducted.”

“Like Tov,” She says, gracefully gesturing to me. “I don’t have all of my memories, though I still have enough left to at least take care of myself. Unlike some.”

I breathe quickly out of my nose. She's more charming to me when she's most herself: a sarcastic princess. Astarion gives me a pat on the head as he finishes his work.

“As an act of faith,” Shadowheart continues, “I willingly had some of my memories erased to protect my Lady’s secrets. If I return to Baldur’s Gate, I will be rewarded with geting them back. I just have to get there -alive- as soon as possible. Which is why I’d like to get this little tadpole out, hopefully, before I sprout tentacles.” She adds sarcastically.

I note that Shadowheart is careful about selecting what truths she reveals to the group. Not that I’m one to talk, but it’s interesting to hear what she deems worthy of revealing about herself at this stage.

“Thank you, Shadowheart.” I say, hiding a smile while glancing away from her impassively pleased face.

I’m really looking forward to seeing her grow on this adventure. Her ‘best ending’ is one of my favorites.

I turn to Astarion, the last companion to speak, and wait for him to take his turn. He ignores my expectant look.

Instead, he brushes his fingers against my braids, over my pointed ear, and down my jaw. He holds my chin gently as he smiles down at me.

“Perfection.” He breathes seductively. It elicits the expected shiver down my spine.

He’s stalling and I want to laugh at his attempt at being manipulative.

“What the f*ck is that?” Karlach shouts. Looking over at our tiefling, we see her pointing at a trail leading into camp. I pull out of Astarion’s grasp and crane my head. It takes a moment for me to hear, and then see, what she’s spotted in the darkness.

“Oh.” I say in tired recognition. “That’s just Withers. He’s going to be hanging out here for a while.”

The walking pile of bones, bandages, and gold shuffles into camp. He spares none of us a glance or a thought, and instead begins patrolling the camp, stopping every now and then to magic an improvement or two.

I can feel the questions that everyone wants to ask buzz in my mind.

“I… I can’t say why he wants to join us, he just does. He’s pretty useful though; he can bring people back to life if we fall in battle, or can arrange to have hirelings join us. For a price, of course.” I say, trying to remember the god’s speeches from the game.

“Hold on.” Astarion asks skeptically. “We’re supposed to believe that this walking mummy, that shows up in the middle of the night no less, has no ill intentions or ulterior motives whatsoever?”

I raise my eyebrows tiredly at the vampire. Is this really the most impossible-to-believe reveal of the night for him?

“You can go up and talk to Withers if you want to get to know him better. Not that he’ll always answer your questions.” I explain, following the skeleton’s meanderings with foggy curiosity.

Memories of his role in camp bubble up to the surface of my mind, and with them, questions. I don’t even know if his powers could extend to me, the wayward soul. Could I be brought back to this life if I were to die here? This isn’t my original body, so could he put me back if I were separated from it? What would happen to me if he couldn’t? Would I just go back to being a disembodied soul if I died?

A thought strikes me like a bolt of lightning, and I sit up straighter on the ground. Could he cleave my soul back together if I found my original body again?!

I’d have to ask him! And I would, as soon as I could talk to him alone! Would it be okay to ask? What if the Emperor hears me? Does it matter if it does? Would it try to stop me? Part of our deal was that I could search for my original body while I was here, but what if it interferes with the Emperor’s own request?

Questions start bouncing around in my exhausted mind and my eyes blaze with intensity as I turn to Astarion.

“You’re the last one. Go.” I pressure him impatiently.

The vampire spawn lets one last, futile query die on his lips, still pointing at the walking skeleton, before he recovers.

“What, no gratitude?” He says putting his hands on his hips, his eyes flicking to my head.

My heart sinks at the thought of being impolite, but in a second I can see that he’s still just stalling.

I'm too tired for this bullsh*t.

“I’m sorry, honey. Yes. Thank you. You’re wonderful. Amazing. Now. GO.” I rush, shaking his knee condescendingly.

Astarion cannot and will not be rushed, and he makes a great show of shrugging his shoulders, putting his comb away, and complaining about ‘youths these days’.

“I’m just a simple magistrate, from Baldur’s Gate.” He says elusively.

I nudge his legs with the sharp end of my elbow and glare up at him.

He cracks an eyelid down at me.

“Or I was.” He says dramatically. “Before I was turned into a… a vampire spawn nearly 200 years ago.”

No one bats an eye at his big reveal. He almost looks disappointed.

“The tadpole has also taken away a touch of my strength. But in exchange, it’s given me some unexpected gifts.” He says, widening his theatrical smile. “As you have seen, unlike other vampire spawn, I can walk in the sun, cross rivers, and even enter homes without permission.”

His eyes twinkle. “It’s all been quite fun.”

Lae’zel scoffs at him in disdain, his use of the parasite being quite offensive to her people's dogma.

“And any one from your past we should worry about…?” I ask, leading him along.

“Not at all.” He lies smoothly.

I sigh at him. I know he’s lying, and eventually everyone else will too. But I suppose it won’t hurt anyone if they don’t know about his master, Cazador, just yet.

I shake my head and stand. Astarion has the faintest narrowing of his scarlet eyes as he watches me try to leave.

“Well, thank you everyone! This has been really good. I- I appreciate all of you coming together tonight and… I hope this helps. Good night!” I clap my hands distractedly. I only have eyes for Withers.

“Wait!” Gale orders politely.

I freeze with my feet pointed in Withers’ direction. There's a rustling in Gale's tent and another mage hand emerges carrying a bulky, wrapped parcel.

“I know that you weren’t too pleased with our new…erm… tandem arrangement. But I would like to be very clear: I- we,” He says, gesturing to the group, “think that our chances for survival greatly increase with you in our party.”

With varying enthusiasm, the group nods in agreement.

The mage hand gently shoves the large parcel into my arms and I droop under the weight. Gale gestures once to unsummon the hand, and then twice to encourage me to open it.

I look suspiciously around at the group before kneeling, setting the cumbersome thing down and opening it.

Inside is a set of deep brown, lightweight leather armor, a nondescript dagger, a light crossbow, and one simple healing potion.

The cheapest and the most basic of equipment that any common adventurer is supposed to start out with.

I stare at the trove, unmoving.

In the silence, Gale clears his throat. “Had we known that you would need new gloves as well, we would have bought some at the grove. But alas...”

There's a graceful snort from Astarion. “We can always steal some later. That’s how I got all of our gold back from that spineless druid. And then some.” He mutters quietly with a smug smile.

“You what?!” Gale rounds on the vampire with shock. There’s a lighthearted chuckle amongst the group, but they all continue to side eye me.

I am frozen.

My heart is thundering in my chest. My indignant anger and unending anxiety mix together into a murky tidal wave of guilt, trepidation, and gratitude. The entire mixture shines in my eyes and then bursts. I can’t stop it, or slow it down. I hold my breath to keep any unbecoming sobs from escaping my throat.

Every time, every time, I think I have a clear idea of how these characters will react or what I want to do with them, they seem to do something so truly and obnoxiously unexpected, it knocks me off my feet. I can’t stand it. It’s all too much. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve them.

I carefully rewrap the parcel and gather it into my arms. I stand, not taking my eyes off of my gift, turn on my heel, and hurriedly start shuffling into the woods.

“Where are you going?” Someone calls.

“Pee!” I yell pack, nearly choking on the single syllable.

I pick my way quickly through the dark woods, my legs taking me as far away as possible before I need to suck in more breath. I gasp and a sob rattles my chest. I stop to hide behind a tree and hold a hand to my mouth. I sink under the weight of the parcel and sit crying into the darkness.

It’s stupid that something this basic is all it takes to break me. How weak and unheroic.

But what else could I do? These beloved characters had been thinking of me ALL day; they had trained with me, they had gotten me new equipment, they taken care of me when I’d been poisoned, and now they’re telling me that they think that I could actually help them survive; that they wanted me with them? Me?

I can't help but to cry.

I have no idea how long I sit in the darkness, but I let myself go, unrestrained and uninterrupted. After a time, I run out of energy to keep sobbing. Wringing out the last of my tears to get my breath under control again, I dry my face on my sleeve and try to stifle any hiccups.

It sure is easy to be emotional when you’re young.

I awkwardly rearrange the parcel in my arms and stand back up, leaning heavily against the tree. With one final, steading breath, I step forward and make my way back to camp.

At the edge of the circle of tents, I take one last moment to clean myself up. Everyone has dispersed to take a nightcap of their choosing in their respective tents.

After getting to know one another so intimately and so quickly today, I suppose they all needed some solitude to reflect.

I spot Withers standing harmlessly at the other end of the camp, alone. No one has taken this moment to talk to him in person, so he is available for a quiet, and private, chat about any burning questions that anyone might have.

I shift the heavy parcel in my tired arms.

I’ll… talk to my companions first. Properly thank them for everything they've given me. I can always talk to Withers later.

Chapter 19: Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Text

I slink to my own tent first and set my new kit quietly, reverently, next to my bedroll.

Keeping to the shadows, I make my way over to Gale’s luxurious tent. He is sitting on a comfortable pillow and alternating between reading a hovering tome and writing in a blank journal. I stand quietly, out of the way, unsure of how to present myself. Gale, having great intuition or high perception, finishes his thoughts in his journal and looks up at me with an engaging and gentle smile.

I have to work fast before I lose my nerve; I sink to my knees, careful to keep my dirty boots off of Gale’s nice camp rug, and scoot over to wrap the wizard in a great big hug.

“Thank you, Gale. For everything.” I mutter, hiding my face in his shoulder. I grip him hard with my meager strength in order to express the depth of my gratitude. Despite the ups and downs of my day with him, he really has been a solid companion and friend to me.

Gale uses his free arm to hug me back. His steady embrace and his clean, soft musk envelops and calms me. He is, after all of his years of trauma and heartache, a Good Man. I might not be able to say it out loud right now, but I am prepared to do horrible, terrible, wicked things to make sure he gets his best ending.

I give him one last desperate squeeze before scooting back to the dirt and fleeing to Wyll’s tent without a backwards glance to our wizard. The Blade of Frontiers is awake and waiting for me.

“Well met, Tov.” He greets, his tone familiar and friendly. I suck in my breath and hold my tongue at the sight of his handsome and expectant face. It’s embarrassing how he can look at me with such sincere gratitude.

“May I…” I ask with a sore voice, touching my fingers to my temple. “... your head…?” I can’t express all of the thoughts and words that come to my mind when I look at him, so I gesture at his hairline instead.

“Oh? Yes, if you’d like?” Wyll answers, graciously leaning down as if giving a courtly bow. I reach out and caress my thumb over the spot where horns could have grown on his brow. His skin is so smooth and supple. He is still so young, a baby really, yet he has fought so many battles, sacrificed so much, and has already saved so many people. I hope that I have the strength that this adventure requires to keep him safe until he can achieve his best ending.

I purse my lips, thinking of my own weaknesses and flaws with bitter disappointment.

I need to work harder to overcome the worst of me.

“Thank you, Wyll. For believing in me.” I croak. With one final caress, I step back. I feel my eyes start to get misty again, so I give him a similarly respectful, yet awkward bow, and flee once more to the next closest tent; Lae'zel’s.

The githyanki is sharpening a weapon on her whetstone. The familiar and irritating sound makes me smile uncomfortably. She is aware of my presence, and probably has been since the moment I had reentered camp. She lifts the weapon, and waits for me to speak, her yellow eyes gleaming in the light of the campfire. Lae’zel has, literally and metaphorically, carried me through most of my trials today. I have no idea how to give her my thanks, at least in any way that she would accept, but I want to try.

I place my hand over my heart and dip my head for her. I look back up and stare at her, unblinking. She searches my eyes for deception or malicious intent, and finding neither, she lifts her own head in acknowledgement.

I smile from pointy ear to pointy ear.

I walk away from her, confident and dizzingly happy. Any one-on-one interaction with Lae’zel that doesn’t end in disapproval is a win in my book.

Astarion is next, and he is standing outside of his tent and reading a book. A benefit of his tent having so many mirrors is that any candlelight around is reflected and amplified enough to make a decent incandescent glow. The perfect reading light.

I stand before him expectantly, and he pointedly ignores me. I wonder if he knows what I’ve come to do.

I scuff my boot to make noise to garner his attention, but he continues to read. Looking down while trying to think of another icebreaker, I examine my leather boots.

“Were you the one that tied my boot laces together?” I ask.

Astarion can’t stop his eyes from stealing a quick glance at my feet.

Got him.

I try, unsuccessfully, to smother a smile.

He rolls his eyes and snaps his book shut before tossing it aside.

“Of course I was. Who else could it have been?” He says with a bored expression.

“Ha!” I say with a knowing laugh. “I’m proud of you, Astarion.”

Astartion looks like an agitated feline, his frown deepening with my apparent approval.

“Thank you.” I continue. “For taking care of me. You’re terribly clever and sweet, and I appreciate you for how smart and kind you are.” With each compliment, Astarion stiffens and twists his body into a sillier position, as if trying to physically dodge my words.

“Can I hug you?” I ask, more desperate to express my thanks than to spare him the discomfort of my gratitude.

“Now why would either of us want that?” He says icily. He really is like a cat, biting at anyone that shows him even the slightest bit of unexpected affection.

“It’s your reward, for tying such an easily pickable knot.” I joke. He hasn’t retreated or said no, so I step forward and wrap my arms around his high waist.

He recoils slightly, but does not push me away.

“I’ll make sure to never do it again, darling.” He threatens. When I do not pull away or deepen the hug, he lightly encircles his arms around my shoulders and gives me a comradic pat. With his next breath, he sputters out more ideas of how to tie increasingly intricate knots the next time I sleep.

It has the desired effect and I gag at his threats with an exasperated smile. I let him go and leave him to ramble. I hope he knows that despite all of the bites he gives out, he is still very much loved. I’ll have to work on showing that to him from here on out.

“Good night, Astarion.” I say tiredly, giving him a small wave.

Still indignant, the vampire mutters a valediction and speaks of going out to hunt a boar or a bear to wash away the saccharine taste in his mouth.

When I walk by Karlach’s tent, she is sitting just outside on a looted blanket, drinking and staring up at the stars. I wave to her as I pass. Startled, she toasts the air to me and waves back. Out of reflex, I wind up my hand for a high five and slap through hers with a satisfying clap. We both let out a breath of laughter before I continue on my way.

My last stop is Shadowheart’s slightly isolated tent. The ‘mysterious’ artifact is sitting out on a low table and she is staring at it over a goblet of wine. I take a deep breath and sit down next to her, quiet and chastened. She spares me a sideways glance before tipping her cup first into her mouth and then at the artifact.

“Do you understand that thing?” She asks moodily.

After a beat, I decide to humor her. “Not really, no.” I say honestly with a half shrug.

She looks at me, Sharran interrogation techniques flitting behind her green eyes. I meet her gaze, trying to impress how honest I’m trying to be with her.

“Can you open it?” She asks, resting her goblet between her legs.

“Nope.” I say with a shake of my head.

“So what’s so damned special about it?!” She cries, exasperated. “It can’t be nothing. Too many bodies have piled up trying to get to the wretched thing!”

I look at the artifact and consider her plight; how hard she must have worked over these last few weeks and how many people she must have killed to acquire and secure this mysterious item. It truly is nauseating to think of how many bodies have been stacked up at this artifact’s feet.

“All I know,” I offer vaguely, “is that you need to keep it close.”

Shadowheart examines my features closely, as if trying to solve a riddle out of my straightforward advice. She huffs and mutters the word ‘obviously’, under her breath.

I lean over and nudge her shoulder with my own.

“I came over here to thank you, by the way.” I say, redirecting the conversation.

It’s Shadowheart’s turn to be vague and nonplussed by our new topic.

“For what?” She asks, dismissively.

“You.” I say, struggling to find the right words to express everything that’s on my mind. “You’re always looking out for me, and I haven’t appreciated it properly. I’m… I’m sorry I got mad earlier. You’re a good person, and I was being childish. So…” I hesitantly lean over and wrap my arms around her shoulders in a sideways hug, laying my head on her shoulder.

“Thank you.” I say tiredly, sincerely.

Shadowheart scoffs, but after a moment, she pats my elbow awkwardly. Her wounded hand lights up in a flash of bright purple magic and she hisses in pain. We both stiffen, waiting for the other to recoil. When I don’t let go, Shadowheart sighs and deflates. She leans her cheek against the crown of my head.

“I’m not a good person.” She mumbles, clenching and unclenching her hand.

“Hm.” I reply.

She might not believe it herself, and her goddess Shar would hate to know this, but I know that Shadowheart is capable of great love and charity. She'll get to see it for herself, hopefully, in the not so distant future. Not that I'll always be around when it happens, of course.

I give her one final squeeze before standing up and retreating to my tent.

I hide away for a while, arranging and rearranging my clothes and armor for the upcoming day. Like laying out my outfit for the first day of school.

The camp slowly darkens, the campfire goes unfed and candles are snuffed out, and finally settles into silence. The cool night soon comes alive with fireflies and crickets, singing their little hearts out for a mate.

As tired as I am, I can't seem to fall asleep. I’m bored and cranky, and I just want to talk to Withers without someone overhearing us. Plus, I definitely don't want to go back to the Astral Plane just yet. What new orders or threats would the Emperor have waiting for me this time?

I fidget and turn over on my bedroll. I just can't seem to get comfortable. With a small moan, I gather up Gale's loose leaf notes on magic and take them to the campfire to peruse.

I know that at least one companion is still up for sentry duty, and baby-sitting duty I guess, so I can’t talk to Withers just yet. All I have to do is figure out who it is and where they are, then I can carve out a secret moment to speak with the incognito death god.

I grab a couple of small logs for the campfire and stoke up the flames for a bit more lighting. While I fuss around the fire, a small glimmer of red shines from a pack near the camp’s cauldron.

Apples.

f*ck, I’d forgotten that I hadn't been able to digest my dinner tonight!

My stomach growls at the sight and I sneak over to pick out a ruby fruit without disturbing the others.

I munch quietly on my ill gotten goods and settle in next to the fire to read through Gale's notes.

The snack and the notes are quickly devoured, and I tiptoe back over to the pack of supplies to steal another apple. I keep an eye out for some form of movement, but I still can't figure out who's on sentry duty. Soft snores echo throughout the camp, but besides that my only company seems to be the singing insects.

I eat my second apple more slowly, savoring its sweet flavor and abundant juices. I lose myself to the flickering light of the fire for a while, going over what I want to ask Withers first and what I should ask next, depending on his first first answer.

There’s still no sign of movement amidst the tents, or even amongst the trees encircling the camp.

There is no point in staying up any later if I can’t have a private conversation with the death god. With a sigh, I stand and stretch stiffly. Before heading to bed, I need to search for a spot to pee. I quietly meander out of camp and into the forest, taking the least noisy trail, so as not to disturb my companions.

It is so odd that no one is around to stand watch! But maybe now that we have Withers around, no one needs to stay up anyway. Does he even require sleep? He had been sleeping for a long time. Can he just choose not to sleep now? Is that how it works?

I’m so absorbed in my questions and memories that I don’t notice the muffled sounds of grunting and moaning until I stumble upon a moonlit clearing with two bodies wrestling in the middle.

The bodies belong to a pale, gleaming Astarion and an olivine, brown-speckled Lae’zel, and, for some reason, they're both completely naked.

I let out a small yelp when my brain finally registers what I’m looking at: my two companions in the throes of a night of passion.

They both glance at me, unashamed. Astarion has the good grace to slow down to allow us to speak comfortably, while Lae’zel, unabashed, continues her pace, locking her hooded gaze with mine.

“Join us, or leave, istik. I’ve no interest for idle conversation.” She moans huskily.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Astarion says, slightly drunk and slightly out of breath, “I wouldn’t mind if she wanted to watch.”

I clap my hands over my eyes in embarrassment, “Ah, no! Sorry to intrude!” I squeak, before turning blindly to flee the scene.

I immediately trip over a tree root.

I rise, still covering my eyes, and bump into multiple trees and trip over an unfortunate amount of vines as I make my escape. In shock, I find a faraway spot to pee and gag slightly at my luck for this evening.

As I finally stumble back into camp, I am struck with the realization of why I had seen no movement for most of the night.

“Good for them.” I whisper in a silly, old New Englander accent.

I remember hearing about the different couplings of the companions along the journey to Baldur’s Gate, but seeing it first hand is not something I had been interested in experiencing.

These kids can do whatever, or whomever, they want, more power to them, it’s part of what makes the whole adventure bearable, and leads to their eventual ‘best ending’. But that doesn’t mean I want to see the intimate details, though!

Unbidden, the images of Lae’zel and Astarion locked together in a mix of limbs and sweaty flash in my mind. I shudder in embarrassment.

Put off from speaking to anyone, including Withers, for the rest of the night, I crawl into my own cramped tent to go to sleep. With a quick drop, careful not to disturb tomorrow’s new outfit, I lie face down in my pillow, hoping to smother my thoughts and my mixed up memories.

Thankfully, and regretfully, I merely doze for the rest of the night.

When the stars fade from the sky and the sun starts to lighten the horizon, I rise stiffly and dress carefully in my new armor. I go about my morning water making ritual, tripping only slightly in the shaded forest on my return trip.

While the kettle is left to boil, I take my new crossbow to a tree and try to practice shooting again.

Lae’zel, fresh and without a hint of lethargy from her night time activities, comes over after a while to watch and correct my form. It’s hard to look at her after our last conversation, but I cover up my embarrassment with more target practice. When I hear the other companions start to rouse in their tents, I tell Lae’zel that I’m going to run my paces before breakfast.

With a twitch of her mouth, Lae’zel informs me that she will oversee my efforts.

Oh right, I can’t be left alone anymore.

I roll my eyes, but otherwise stow my long range weapon on my back and shake out my limbs, ready to set out.

I start running too fast and am gasping with exertion after we’re only just out of sight of the camp. Lae’zel tells me to control my breathing and to tuck in my elbows more. Under her abrasive scrutiny, I lose track of the first couple of hundred paces and have to start over.

I am nearly drowning in sweat when we return to camp. Lae’zel, who never so much as increased her breathing throughout the whole run, sighs deeply at my morning’s efforts.

The bright sunshine is dazzling in camp, and when I take a spot around the campfire there seems to be an extra shine to everyone’s armor and weaponry. My own leather vest and cheap weapons seem dull in contrast, but I can’t help but puff up with pride at my new attire.

Shadowheart hands me my post-boiled water, and I drink from the bottle greedily. Unlike Lae’zel’s blunt assessments, our Sharran critiques my exercises and efforts with jokes and pitying smiles. Genial Gale is kind enough to give me an extra full bowl of breakfast, perhaps as encouragement for me, but more likely to help replace the meal that I’d lost the night before. I avoid eye contact with Astarion and Lae’zel as best I can, blushing everytime they speak to the group or to each other.

Everyone seems… more team-like than before. It’s surprising.

In the moment, it’s nice, comfortable, but an alarm dings dully in the back of my mind: surprises lead to deviation in the plot. Watch out.

I look away from our circle and notice that Withers is taking in the beautiful morning with quiet meditation at the far edge of the camp. I glance back at my companions and count to make sure I could see everyone. All six are accounted for, and are occupied with eating and chatting with one another.

It’s a perfect opportunity to chat with Withers.

I slowly and quietly meander away from the fire, my empty bowl in hand. I remember a solid piece of advice from my old life; ‘walk, don’t run, from predators. It only attracts their attention’. And so I walk with incredible deliberation over to the death god. He hails to me with his familiar greeting, and asks if I require anything of him.

Falling on well practiced hospitality, I decline his offer of ‘reviving fallen companions, changing classes, or recruiting hirelings’, and ask instead if he needs anything; food, drink, or a seat. He also declines my services and then his eyes slide past me to once again meditate inwardly, his preferred way to pass the time, I suppose.

I clear my throat to reclaim his attention once more.

“Actually,” I say. “I’d like to ask you some questions.” The skeleton man looks down at me, but neither affirms nor discourages my intentions, so I press forward.

“You said you knew me- when we first met.” I say, “Was I a half-drow when we first met, or was I a…”

I lower my voice so that even I can barely hear the next words that escape my lips. “A human?”

Withers squints at me, as if mentally turning back the clock and rewatching all of our interactions in his mind’s eye.

After a time, I realize that he is not going to answer me.

I snort in disgruntlement.

“Okay, how about this: if I were to die here in this world, would you be able to revive me? Like, could you put this body back together with my soul?” I ask more generically.

Nothing.

Behind me, my companions are starting to get restless, and I can feel my private moment with the god growing short.

In desperation, I pose my final question, the most important one to my personal mission; “If I were to present, say, another body, or pieces of another body to you, could you cleave my soul back together with that body instead of this one?”

Underneath his timeless wrinkles, Withers purses his lips at my question, and still he says nothing.

“Tov! Where are we going today?” Gale calls from the campfire circle.

I turn my head away from the god slowly, and try to yell back over my shoulder. My throat is tight and I cough once to clear it. “Who all’s coming?” I ask.

“Why, the entire camp, I believe.” Gale answers, with a myriad of murmurs of agreement.

I look back up at Withers, a final appeal for some form of answer from him. He regards me coolly, and seems content to keep his silence. Perhaps he doesn't know the answers to my questions.

I straighten up at his unobliging demeanor, and stick out my chest in my new armor. If nothing else, this is just another affirmation for my atheism. If a Being is not omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent, then they are not truly a god. And, so far, nothing I’ve come across in my lifetimes has ever been able to embody all three. Whatever Withers is, he is not a Being worth calling a god.

With a final scowl, I turn back to rejoin my party as we prepare to depart for the day.

Chapter 20: Chapter Twenty

Chapter Text

Gale and Lae’zel are consulting her map, pointing at conflicting paths to take for their respective destinations.

“Tov, please tell our gith compatriot that it is more sensible to seek the nearest cure for our illithid predicament, the druid Halsin, than it is to spend nearly a tenday walking to the nearest githyanki creche.” Gale says, exasperated.

“I do not need to be told where the nearest cure is, wizard. I already know where it is. We need only prepare ourselves for the journey.” Lae’zel sneers in return.

I stare at the map as the group argues amongst themselves over what to do for the day. I vowed I would be stronger, kinder, and more patient with everyone last night, and already I feel as if I am being tested.

I eye the nearest settlement, the Blighted Village, on the map. A nameless collection of buildings more than anything. Memories of this route in the game float in my mind. I remember that there were a few people to save along the way there, plus there was a hidden stash of infernal metal in the old blacksmith’s basem*nt that we could collect.

“We should head here.” I say, pointing at the village on the map. Gale and Lae’zel both protest, as it is not nearly as far as they had wanted to go today. But it’s the fairest compromise, since both of their destinations were in this direction anyway. As I turn away from their grumblings and start packing my backpack, I notice that they aren't exactly questioning or arguing against my advice, just venting their frustrations at the pace.

It’s time to start the day.

Karlach and Gale lead the group and I bring up the rear as we hike along the same path that I had used to retrieve our barbarian tiefling just days prior. It feels like a thousand different things have happened since then, and I replay them all in my mind over and over as we walk, trying to keep things sorted from what has already been done, what we can skip, and what still needs to be done.

Shadowheart hisses to grab the group’s attention. “There are goblin tracks over there. Leading into the side of that mountain.” She says pointing at a small game trail that intersects with our well traveled path.

I look over and see muddy footprints amidst some grasses and bushes leading to a hidden carved stone door. I remember this cave being a bitch to fight in, with heavy mud and nearly unavoidable traps, but there’s also an unconscious, captive druid in there that we might be able to save.

I have no choice but to save him, of course, in spite of my poor history of fighting against goblins. I steel myself and with a nod, I start to follow the tracks.

“Wait! I hear voices up ahead!” Karlach calls from the front of the group.

I freeze.

We need to go save the man in the cave as soon as possible. Who knows if the goblins will keep him alive for much longer? But I also need to take the lead on the upcoming interaction with the dying True Soul on the trail up ahead. If I’m not there, the Emperor might convince one of my unsuspecting companions to absorb another mindflayer parasite.

Which event am I supposed to pick?

Astarion snaps his fingers in front of my face and I flinch. I shake my head and blink at him, giving him an uncertain thumbs up.

“What now?” He asks, curiously. I look past him and see that the entire party is staring at me. I shrink under the attention and cast a forlorn look at the stone face of the mountain.

As much as it guts me to send them into a fight alone, I have to split us up and send a rescue party into the cave so that I can deal with the True Soul up ahead. I’ll also need to divulge more of my foreknowledge in order to keep them safe in my absence. I clench my fists around the straps of my pack and try to distance myself from my weak, sentimentalities.

“Astarion, I need you and… Lae’zel, Wyll, and Shadowheart to follow the goblin tracks.” I say, sinking into my old tactician frame of mind. “There are traps in the cave that can be disarmed by removing glowing stone tablets on the walls. Disarm the traps, kill the goblins, and save their prisoner. Please.”

I set my pack down and pull out my one healing potion and hold it out for Shadowheart to take. She pushes it away and flicks her braid over her shoulder before asking sardonically if I truly believed that she couldn’t handle a simple healing spell this early in the morning.

I hesitate at not being able to give away a healing backup to the group, but nod slightly, appreciatively at her, then at Wyll. I flick my eyes tentatively at Astarion and Lae’zel. Their night together flashes in my mind, and it makes me blush. Astarion can’t help but frown. At being left out of half of the day's entertainment or at my hesitation, it’s hard to say.

“There’s also treasure… and supplies in the cave, take whatever you want after you win.” I say, sweetening the pot for the two more egoistic members of this rescue party, and they both nod with varying enthusiasm. The new offense group breaks off to follow the goblin tracks without another word.

“And put the tablets back when you’re done, please!” I call quietly. Wyll is the only one kind enough to turn around and nod his confirmation at my request.

With one last regretful groan, I take a breath and sigh deeply, rounding on my remaining companions.

“Okay... It’s-it’s going to be weird up there.” I say weakly, pointing towards the trail with the distant, distraught shouting. “I’d prefer it if y’all would stay here, honestly.”

Gale and Karlach exchange a glance, before crossing their arms over their chests. A clear refusal.

I almost laugh. They’re both so sweet, it makes my stomach cramp with guilt.

“Alright, alright. We’ll all go, just don’t…” I hesitate, touching my finger to my lips in contemplation. “Don’t get too close.”

We continue on our hike, following the desperate voices into the forest. We come upon the three crying Cult of the Absolute siblings. The two humans are yelling at their dying brother, a downed dwarf who is almost entirely covered in blood. The meager rags that his younger brother and sister hold to his bleeding wounds are soaked through.

When they see us, the woman snarls at me, tears running down her face. I hold up my hands for peace and quickly dig out my one healing potion and hold it out for her to take. She snatches the potion and pours it over the worst of the wounds of the dwarf. The bleeding doesn’t stop, so she throws the bottle in exasperation and goes back to holding rags over the deep gashes.

The dying dwarf opens his eyes to look at me and connects his tadpole with mine in a last ditch effort to communicate. My parasite squirms in delight as it sends a pleasurable shiver down my spine. Instantly, I know of the sibling’s mission and of how an owlbear had attacked them. The dwarf impresses his desperate desire to keep his family safe and begs me to take care of them.

I hate the Cult of the Absolute and all of its members, but this man's desperation brings tears to my eyes.

“She- s’a True Soul!” He gasps. “Mind her! She- she…” With his last breath spent, the dwarf's body finally goes limp. The balding man cries out his brother’s name before breaking down into sobs.

As the two cultists mourn, tears fall on my own cheeks as well, as I ache for my own family in a way that steals the strength from my body.

At last, the sister stands, her hands bloody and the dripping rags still clenched tightly in her fists. “Do you have any orders for us, True Soul? We had been taking our orders from Ed… Edowin…” She says pressing her mouth into a firm frown to smother her sadness.

I am unable to speak through my own tears.

Gale steps forward, too curious to stay silent any longer. He asks the pair questions about ‘True Souls’ and their orders. Seeing my own inability to speak, the infected brother and sister are all too happy to reveal that they were members of the Cult of the Absolute, that they had been sent out on a mission to retrieve a mysterious artifact, and that they’d been attacked by an owlbear mother. Gale absorbs this information like a dry sponge in water. The wizard wisely reaches out via our tadpole connection to inquire if we should reveal ourselves to this cult.

I scowl at the connection and the question, before wiping the back of my hand against my wet cheeks.

“You can’t fight an owlbear on your own.” I chide the siblings, stepping forward to present myself as the authority they should look to. “Go back to the temple and wait for m-my orders there.”

“But Ed said…”

I glower at them, too tired and wrung out to listen to their protests. Whether they obeyed me because of the tadpole in my skull or because I looked like a drow, it’s hard to say.

“Yes, True Soul.” They say in unison. The woman gives a salute to me before striding confidently in the opposite direction of the forest. The man hesitates, then he leans down and kisses the brow of his departed brother, stands stiffly, gives us a bow, and flees after his sister.

Stunned silence descends on our party.

Gale tries to break it, ready to chatter about what we had just learned but I hold up my finger.

It occurs to me now that the mental connection that I had had with the dwarf hasn’t been severed yet. The hostless tadpole is still communicating with my own, and to my horror, I can almost feel the parasite crawling out of the skull of its dead host.

“Take it.” the Emperor says in my mind. “It could prove useful in the fights ahead.”

I kneel before the body, and the Emperor uses its psionic powers to lift the squirming tadpole into the air. It wants to force it into my face, but I encircle the parasite with my fingers. The tiny, slimy movements make my skin crawl.

I can’t take it in front of my companions. It’ll break their trust in me. I think to the mindflayer. I’ll put it in a bottle for later.

I rummage for a vessel to store the worm in. My spent potion bottle is all that’s available. The Emperor stalls at forcing the tadpole into anything but my eyeball, but my fear at its discordance seems to please the illithid enough to encourage its cooperation.

“Fill the bottle to the brim with water.” It says, before its presence vanishes from my mind. I quickly fish out my own water bottle to make a tiny aquarium for our unwelcome guest and the parasite crawls obediently inside. It makes me nauseous, thinking about absorbing the grotesque little thing later, but I have no choice but to comply. If I want to spare my companions of this fate, I need to fill my brain with every mind flayer worm we come across.

I cork and store the used bottle carefully in my pack, bitter at this unfair trade. With a sigh, I stand up and turn to look at a wide eyed Gale and Karlach. They both bombard me with questions about the new tadpole and the cult of the Absolute.

“Later, please.” I beg them, “We need to check on the others first.”

They both nod sheepishly in agreement, and we jog back up the path towards our embattled companions. We check the tracks on the game trail, and find that there are no prints leading away from the stone door just yet. ‘The rest of our party must still be inside,’ Karlach states confidently.

With a rising panic, I lead the way through the stone door and into the downward sloping cave. Sunlight filters in through other openings in the ceiling and over faraway water entrances, lighting our way without the need of magic or torches.

There is an unnerving silence hanging in the air.

Anxiously, I jog forward, trying to catch sight of a long black braid or the glint of shining silver armor. I slip and fall in the mud and off of a ledge almost immediately.

It is not a small slip either and, unfortunately, rainwater and clay have accumulated in the center of the cave pathway, creating an utterly perfect water slide.

The momentum from my fall carries me comically to the bottom of the cave with frighteningly increasing speed.

“AHHHHHHH!” I scream the entire way down.

Clawing and kicking at the frictionless mud, I am unable to stop myself from slipping past disarmed druidic traps, multiple dead goblin bodies, my surprised looting party of companions, and finally over the edge of a high cliff bank and into the cave’s slow moving creek below.

The only blessing of this entire experience is that I don’t die from falling into the water at the end. I’m a proficient enough swimmer, and my armor and pack don’t weigh me down in the nearly stagnant water. As I breach the surface and start treading water, I find that the cave is no longer silent. Laughter reverberates off of every wall as multiple companions sound like they’re breathless with delight.

I swim over to an easily climbable outcrop, slipping multiple times until I find a grip that allows me to painfully crawl up the high cliff bank, and throw myself onto the solid cave floor. Panting, I yell out to the others, “Are y’all okay!?” This increases the laughter, exponentially.

Having a half drowned, muddy little creature such as myself fly by and then have the gall to be concerned over my victorious companions must have been a hilarious sight indeed.

I get to my feet soggily and, with great care, skirt the worst of the mud until I reach a wall of ledges. With a bright flush that stretches from my back to the tips of my pointed ears, I climb the remaining distance between myself and my companions. Wyll is the only person willing to reach down and grab my muddy hand and help me up onto the dry upper cave, but he is chuckling the entire time.

Karlach is doubled over at the edge of our circle, still laughing her heart out. Between breaths, she is retelling her point of view of seeing me slip, slide, and go airborne over the edge of the cave cliff. Astarion and Shadowheart are cackling as they point at my wet and muddy appearance and at the smoothed clay trail I had left in the center of the cave path.

I take off my pack and sit down heavily, trying my best to shrug off all of their jokes. It’s hard to feel dignified when there's mud in your mouth, so I rifle through my soaked belongings, looking for some water to rinse my mouth out. Unfortunately, my entire glass bottle is smashed to pieces. Probably from the initial fall.

“Aw.” I say, dejected, delicately removing the shards from the lining of my pack.

Glass isn’t tempered the same way in this world as it is in my world and I cut through my fingers and knuckles a few times as I fish through my few supplies. When the pack is nearly clean, I see a truly horrifying sight at the bottom of my bag. There, amidst a questionable color of goo, is a squished and impaled mind flayer tadpole.

The silence from the Emperor in my mind is almost deafening.

I pinch at the creature’s slimy tail and pull it from the recesses of my pack to lay it gently on top of my pyramid of broken glass. Trash.

Shadowheart lays a healing hand on my shoulder and, through a pitying smile, offers me a drink from her waterskin. I wiggle my uncut fingers and drink slowly, contemplating the possible ramifications of the lost mind flayer tadpole. In the background, I hear Gale and Karlach explaining what had happened with the True Souls on the trail, while Wyll recounts the easy battle with the goblins.

“Tov? You okay?” Someone asks. I drag my eyes away from my glass trash pile and nod distractedly.

I take stock of where everyone’s at, and find that those not taking a short rest with me are packing away the supplies that had been looted from the cave. I nod more confidently at the group and stand.

“Let’s keep going, shall we?” I ask.

The group stretches languidly and shoulders their now heavier packs. With smiles abound, we form a single file line as we carefully stagger up and out of the cave.

I am placed strategically in the middle of the group, for safety purposes.

When sunlight finally hits our faces once more, Astarion and I groan with pleasure.

We press on, taking a left at the fork in the road instead of the right, where the body of the dead True Soul lies.

Soon enough, we cross a bridge littered with broken wagons, smashed crates, and more than one decomposing body. Astarion and Karlach are happy to loot what they find on the bridge as the rest of us continue forward.

At the open stone gate, Lae’zel holds her arm out to stop us from entering the Blighted Village.

“I sense a trap.” She says warily.

I think for a moment, then nod, and try to step in front of her to take the lead. She glances crossly at me, and keeps her arm raised to my chest a moment longer, her eyes searching my face for god knows what. Only half convinced by what she finds, she raises her arm above her head to pull out her sword from her back. I shrug at her action.

Hopefully if this next part works, she won’t need to use any weapons at all.

I enter the village leerily, my hands white knuckling the straps of my backpack as I wait for the hidden goblins to reveal themselves.

Right on cue, a female archer yells at me from on top of the old blacksmith’s house. She threatens to fill my body with arrows unless I tell her what my business is. My mind is unconsciously flooded by my companion’s retaliatory thoughts and intimidations.

I shake my head of their minds, and try to force my parasite to reach out to the goblin’s brand from the Absolute. The goblin feels my parasite’s psionic force and immediately lowers her head and averts her eyes. She apologizes profusely and encourages us to do as we please without her clan’s interference. From the corner of my eye, I see more goblins crawl out from their respective hiding spots and return to their regular goblin business. One decides to take piss on a nearby wagon, and my insides drop as the memory of the goblin that had sliced through me flashes in my mind's eye.

Arguments from my companions bring me back to myself as they discuss the newfound power of the tadpoles and what should be done about them. The greatest supporter of using the power is Astarion, and at the opposite end of the spectrum, lies Lae’zel.

The group looks to me for my thoughts, but my mind is elsewhere. In the distance, I see a windmill turning, and from it, I hear screaming.

I take a hesitant step forward then start running towards the cries, passing by the old black smith’s house and a helpful ancient sigil. I scramble up moss covered stairs and stop breathlessly outside of earshot of the group of goblins surrounding the old windmill. My group comes to stand beside me, curiosity written on their faces.

“You want to use the powers of the tadpole, Astarion?” I ask of the parasite’s greatest supporter. The companions, especially Lae’zel, turn to scrutinize our vampire and he stammers out a vaguely affirmative response.

“Go over there,” I say curtly, “and convince those goblins to release that deep gnome.” The screams and jeers from the scene before us unsettles me to my core. I want to swoop in and save the gnome myself, but in the game I could only use the power of the tadpole once per day. If it’s the same here as in the game, then stepping into the middle of this goblin ‘fun’ could result in a large fight between our groups. It’s safer, ironically, to use the parasite.

I shift uncomfortably from side to side as Astarion approaches and then speaks to the leader of the goblin entertainment. Midway through their conversation, I can see the symbol of the Absolute light up on the goblin’s face. It’s unclear from here if Astarion uses the power of the tadpole to convince the goblins to leave, or not, but either way he is successful in his demands.

When the group of goblins have cleared away from the windmill, I rush forward with a relieved smile on my face.

“Strong work, Astarion! I’m so proud of you!” I say excitedly, patting him quickly on the arm before running around to the entrance of the windmill. Astarion preens, and brags that it had been effortless for him since the goblins had been partially drunk already.

I’m only half listening as I enter the crumbling structure. It’s a surprise that the mill works at all given how weathered it is. As I walk forward to the dusty controls, I have to remember to be careful to pull the correct lever to stop the mill’s great sails. The first time I had played the game, I had accidentally launched the poor gnome to his death. Funny theoretically, but not in my reality.

I pull down the left lever and the windmill’s gears grind to a halt. I exit the building with a smile, but to my great dismay, the gnome is not on the sail that is closest to the ground. I’m going to have to release the brake once more to bring him around.

With a worried frown, I walk slowly back into the building and face the old levers once more. I release the brake and through the hole in the walls, I see the sails start to turn once more. I engage the brake lever once more, but it’s too soon, the gnome is still too high up to be rescued.

We play this game for a while; the sails of the windmill starting and stopping with a jerk as I engage and disengage the brake over and over again. At one point, the gnome cries out that I should just kill him now and get it over with.

Finally, finally, the gnome is at the perfect height for someone to cut him down. He is dizzy and sarcastic, but cordially introduces himself and offers us his pack as payment for ‘saving’ him. He actually uses his fingers to put the word into quotation marks and I bury my face in my hand with a groan.

Some of the group breaks away to recover their reward, but I stay and stare after the gnome, Barcus Wroot, as he makes his way to the Risen Road. His silhouette against the malignant decorations of the goblins tickles a memory in my brain.

I’m forgetting something. Something important, but I can’t think of what it is.

I slowly circle the windmill, trying to jog my memory. Lae’zel is butchering a freshly killed sheep, while Astarion and Gale have disappeared through the mill’s cellar doors, looking for Barcus’ backpack. I come to stand before a broken Selune statue at the rear of the building. It doesn’t spark any memories for me, so I turn and nearly knock over an equally lost in thought Shadowheart.

Her eyes are transfixed on the broken head of the statue, but before she can explore the unknown pull that she feels, her hand lights up with pain. Her contorted face worries me every time and I touch her forearm in concern. She meets my fretting gaze with anger and tells me ‘it’s nothing’. I want to hug or soothe her in some way, but she steps away to brood in relative isolation.

This is an amnesiatic moment, yes, but it is not the moment that I had been forgetting. The blank in my memory continues to itch.

I walk towards a collapsed section of the village’s border wall and look out at a dilapidated gate and the large ‘lover’s barn’. There are goblins milling about, actively avoiding us, and there’s a lone bugbear snoozing beside an impressive number of empty bottles. The doors to the barn are closed, a Schrodinger's cat situation of a bugbear and an ogre having an intimate moment.

Smoke from a small campfire drifts up from next to the barn, likely lit by the ogre, the drunk bugbear, or the goblins. Something about the smoke, and goblins, and the drinking begins to tickle at my mind even more.

I look at the road leading away from the Blighted Village to the Risen Road and notice that there are goblin tracks leading to and from the village gate. To AND from.

The tracks light up my mind like a flash of lightning. The drunk goblins had gotten their booze from Waukeen’s rest, from their raid on Waukeen’s rest.

f*ck.

I stumble dumbly away from the windmill and then start to run. Karlach notices me, and catches up and matches my pace easily.

“Soldier?” She asks suspiciously, her breathing even and unhurried.

“Do-” I pant, “Do you smell smoke? From over there?” I say pointing towards the general direction of the Inn, still running. My pack and weapons bounce with an unbearably heavy weight on my shoulders.

Karlach holds up her hand for us to stop and she inhales deeply, taking her time to pick through the different scents of the road and the smokes that are already burning more closely to us.

Then her orange eyes snap open and flash, a confirmation of my fears.

“Wyll!” I call out. “WYLL!”

I see him poke his head up from behind the village wall, a small frown on his face. I wave aggressively for him to join Karlach and I. He turns and shouts to the rest of our scattered companions before jumping down and sprinting towards us.

I look up at Karlach and point wildly towards the unseen Risen Road. “Take Wyll and cross the bridge. Turn left and do NOT stop until you get to an Inn called Waukeen’s Rest. It’s been raided and is on fire. Help whoever’s inside, please!” I beg her. “I’ll be right behind you!”

I’m already jogging as fast as I can when Wyll reaches us. Karlach fills him in on my plan and they both take off at a greater speed than I could ever manage. The other’s soon catch up to me, and I retell them the plan through my gasps for breath.

We reach the broken bridge, and each companion vaults across the halves with ease. I take a moment to double back before taking a running leap over the ravine. My foot scrapes and slips from the other half of the bridge and I slam heavily into the cemented river stones. I slide slowly down the stones and struggle to keep from crying out in frustration. Lae’zel is on me in an instant, gripping my wrist and pulling me up with embarrassing deftness.

When I am settled back onto my feet, I shout my thanks to her and then I’m off again. Lae’zel passes by me like a gust of wind, and I’m left trailing behind after her and the others. I’ve barely stepped foot onto the Risen Road when maniacal laughter reaches my ears from the opposite direction of the Inn.

The call is too close for me to pretend that I hadn’t heard it, and my heart thunders in my ears as I slowly turn to see a single spotted hyena staring curiously at me from down the road.

The Sentry.

Chapter 21: Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Text

If the sentry were to call for help, a pack of gnolls would descend upon us in an instant. My party is too far away and scattered to effectively fight the ravenous beasts, and I have no way to magically speak to the hyena or beg for its silence. The only option I have available to protect my companions is to put this lone sentry down myself. We can always fight the different packs of gnolls on another day.

I reach slowly for my crossbow.

‘Walk, don’t run.’

I carefully co*ck, load, aim, and fire at the beast. The sound of the releasing bolt spooks the hyena and my arrow buries uselessly in its shoulder. With a yelp, it scrabbles and runs frantically away. I pursue it, equally frantic. I have to hurry! I have to keep the pack from finding us!

I stop to co*ck and load my crossbow again at the base of a steep incline, surrounded by a bloodbath of dead hyenas and dead travelers. I make a loud kissing noise at the fleeing hyena, trying to get its attention, or at least slow it down.

I must have landed a critical success on this roll, because the dumb thing stops and turns to stare at me expectantly. I fire once more, aiming for its heart. I miss, but my arrow accidentally skewers the hyena’s thick throat instead. A haunting gurgling sound emits from its mouth as it claws at the arrow, tearing open its own neck in the process. Staggering and bleeding, the hyena falls to the ground, twitching in agony.

It would be cruel to leave the poor thing as it is, and I did not come to this universe to be cruel. I need to finish the job.

I switch out my crossbow for my new hammer and trudge up the incline. I approach the dying creature with solemn determination, and with a deep, steadying breath I ready my weapon and bring it down on the hyena’s head. There is a sickening crunch and then the beast’s body goes still. I smash its head a few more times as an extra precaution. A classic double tap.

As my blood begins to cool, I wearily stow my bloodied weapon on my back and turn to continue running towards the Inn.

When I reach the base of the incline, the faraway voice of Shadowheart reaches my ears. She and Gale are calling for me, searching for me.

“I’m here!” I call out, waving my arm up for them to see. They must have gotten pretty far away before they had noticed I was gone because I can’t even see them around the bend in the road.

A sickening crack of bone and sinew fills the air and my cooled blood runs cold. The sound of flesh tearing through flesh and howls of laughter surround me as the bodies of the seemingly dead hyenas burst open in a horrendous spray of blood and gore.

I’d forgotten about this part.

Three newborn gnolls snarl and claw blindly at the air, free at last from their previous flesh prisons. Two of them block the path to my companions and the third is still kicking its feet free from the shell of its hyena host behind me. They are all ravenous.

Terror overtakes my body as I start to shake from head to toe. Gnolls, with any weapon, are horrifying enough for me, but these unarmed, desperate pups would rip me apart and devour me alive if they get a hold of me. I need to try to sneak past them.

‘Walk, don’t run.’

With slow and stealthy steps, I hug the edge of the road, camouflaged by my mud and clay stained clothes. I am almost out of reach of the disoriented beasts, when Shadowheart calls for me again, closer this time.

All three gnolls turn towards her voice, teeth bared and eyes full of hunger. They are going to try and ambush my unsuspecting companions.

f*ck. I can’t let that happen!

“GNOLLS!” I shout at the top of my lungs, revealing my presence amidst the dirt on the road. “Gnolls! Three gnolls!!”

The newborns whip their heads around and snarl at me. They crouch low, digging their claws into the earth and spring into a clumsy charge. I turn and sprint down the only gnoll-less path available to me. Roars and yips follow closely behind.

I am knocked to the ground in less than a minute and a set of powerful jaws bites at my back. The attacking gnoll gets a mouthful of my pack, and I frantically slip from the pack’s straps while it is distracted.

The three pups stop and co*ck their heads in query as my backpack produces neither blood nor sustenance. I shrink away from the trio and pull my dagger out from my belt, my last line of defense. I hold it shakily between myself and them as I take slow and quiet steps up the road.

The gnoll that had eaten my pack angrily spits out bits of cloth and metal, and glares up at me with a burning hatred. The other two gnolls reach down curiously for two of my dropped items: my crossbow and my hammer.

My stomach lurches as their hands easily slide into place around each weapon, as if they’d been born to hunt. And in reality, I suppose they had been.

A golden burst of light burns into the back of one of the gnolls and it howls with a pathetic cry of indignation. More long-range attacks follow and knock into the small pack of snarling beasts. The two now-armed gnolls whirl around and charge at my unseen companions, their new weapons raised. The remaining beast surges towards me, its claws swiping at the air, trying to ensnare me in its bloody grip.

I dodge and retreat again and again, keeping my dagger raised between us. My best defense is not offense, but never stepping forward to try and attack. Drool starts to pool and drip from the gnoll’s jowls as it claws at me, its insatiable hunger quickly driving it into a rage. It cannot wait any longer. Its innate sense of self preservation is overwhelmed with the desire for MEAT and it charges at me, grabbing at the blade of my dagger with its gigantic hand. The metal slices through its muscle and tendons, but in exchange, the gnoll gets a single unguarded moment with my body.

With a desperate, triumphant howl, it shoves my entire shoulder into its mouth and bites down with a sickening crunch. Blood fills its mouth and it grinds its teeth into my meat and suckles against my armor like a true pup. My mouth opens in a breathless scream as the pain crushes my sanity. I can’t breathe against the pressure and my vision blurs. It feels as if my lungs were being stabbed not by gnoll teeth, but by my own bones. In those few excruciating seconds, the gnoll indulges in a blissful, unattainable sense of satiation.

From behind me, an unknown arrow flies through the air and lodges into the gnoll’s thick shoulders. My dagger finally slides slickly from the beast’s meaty claws and I stab up, up, up, up, over and over again.

The pitiful creature whines in… happiness? For the first, and last, time in its short life, the gnoll pup experiences the overwhelming satisfaction and relief of having food flood the entirety of its senses.

With one last stab up to its exposed jaw with my dagger, the newborn falls forward to the ground -dead- my shoulder still in its mouth.

I struggle to move, to breathe against the bloody, smothering body. My left arm is completely useless, and I can barely register the sounds of shouting that seems to be coming from both ends of the road.

The head of a red haired, unknown woman fills my vision. She is talking to me, but I can’t understand her over the ringing in my ears. She puts a potion bottle to my mouth and I sputter as I try to drink it. My open wounds seal slightly against the gnoll’s embedded teeth, and my bones try to rearrange themselves within my chest. It hurts so f*cking much.

Tears run down my face as a halfling appears from out of nowhere and pries the dead gnoll’s jaw open. A vaguely familiar man in vaguely familiar shining armor pulls me out from under the body of the gnoll with ease. I grit my teeth, kicking and coughing up blood as I struggle to breathe, my dagger still clutched in my hand. The man calms and reassures me in the most superficial of ways before gathering me into his arms and standing up as if I weigh nothing at all.

“We have a shelter up the road!” He shouts over my head. I glance wildly at the direction he is facing. My companions, save for Karlach and Wyll, are nearly finished with dispatching the other two gnolls. They are bloody and heaving, and there is an angry look in their eyes, but otherwise, they look unharmed.

Thank f*cking god. If they are this disheveled from taking on just three newborn gnolls, then there’s no way we could have gotten away unscathed from a whole pack. I had made the right decision! I'd feel more elated if I could breathe.

“Come quickly!” The man yells, pivoting away from my party. “There are other monsters on this road than just these!”

More blood bubbles up from my lungs and it feels like I’m about to choke or drown. I cough and sputter as I am carried away. The man glances down indignantly at my struggle. There is a coldness in his eyes that betrays his words of welcome and camaraderie, but I am too far gone to protest, or escape.

The man and his party hurry up a hill and soon we cross a bridge littered with piles of viscera, bones, and dead gnolls. We reach an old, but well fortified building that stinks of road kill and rotten eggs. The Tollhouse. The unknown woman unlocks and opens the heavy wooden door, and then she guides the man to a screened off sleeping area on the main floor where I am placed gently on the dusty bottom bunk. He carefully extracts my dagger from my death grip and places it on the floorboards.

Before he leaves me, the man fixes my chin in his hand and for one, self indulgent moment, he swipes his thumb across the blood running down from my nose and mouth. He seems to revel at the sight.

Then he’s gone and Shadowheart is next to me, chanting and touching me. At the sound of my wet and foaming cough, she quickly attacks the laces of my vest and peels away my leather armor. With an expedient assessment, she expertly places her hands over my shoulder and chest, and continues her prayers with increased fervor.

The blood that chokes me gradually decreases and my insides settle into a familiar, specific structure and order at last. For a time, all I can hear is Shadowheart’s calming voice and my own desperate gasps for air. Despite all of her healing, my left shoulder still hurts too much to move properly.

Eventually, more voices reach my ears. Gale is thanking our unknown allies for their timely assistance, Astarion is complaining about the gnolls in some displeased way, and Lae’zel is arguing that we should not delay here, that we should regroup with our other party members, and that she would carry me all the way to the inn if necessary.

The unknown woman comes to stand beside my bed with a bowl of water and a stack of rags. She grunts at Shadowheart, telling her to go get a drink, jerking her head towards the ornate desk in the center of the room. Before my cleric can protest, the woman pushes past her and sits on the bed, jostling me and my sore body. She wets one of the rags and begins to wipe roughly at my face. With another glare at Shadowheart, the woman repeats herself ‘drink, now.’ Shadowheart slowly moves to comply, her tired eyes regarding us with suspicion.

The vaguely familiar man seems to be the representative of our unknown allies, and with a hand over his heart, he introduces himself piously. His name is Anders.

“We are humble paladins of Tyr.” He says, placing his hands onto the edges of a map on his desk. “We were hunting a devil when we were ambushed by these packs of gnolls.”

Silence descends on our group as the paladin continues to speak. Genially, he offers up food and drink to our party, projecting himself as a hospitable host. He glances over at the halfling who, with a roll of her eyes, walks away grumpily to gather some supplies from another room.

Gale has the good sense to step forward and engage with Anders, asking open ended questions and giving long winded and indeterminate answers when prompted.

With an uncomfortable wiggle of the worm in my brain, I can feel the group’s shared tadpole connection open up. My companions have put together that these are the phony paladins that had been sent after Karlach by the archdevil, Zariel. The group’s level of aggression seems to steadily increase as Gale continues his meandering conversation with Anders. There are hot, angry emotions simmering at the very thought of these paladins even touching our barbarian. But then an icy image cuts through their heated imaginings. Someone has caught sight of the glint of metal under the bowl that the unknown woman has brought to my bed.

I glance down as the grouchy woman begins to wipe at my throat, her callused open hand lingering over my exposed windpipe. The barest hint of a dagger peeks out from under the bowl, and I snap my eyes up to the top of the bunk.

The ‘paladins of Tyr’ have covertly taken me hostage.

“So,” Anders says, addressing the group as a whole. “Have any of you seen a red devil with a single curled horn in your travels?”

My mind is flooded with the thoughts and concerns of the situation from my entire party. The consensus is that they want to lie outright to Zariel’s forces, but then there is a divergence on how to properly deceive the phony paladins. Someone thinks that we should say we’ve never met a devil before in our lives. Another thinks we should send them out on a false trail, that we could slip away before they even notice that they’ve been tricked. While another person wants nothing more than to cut these fakes down where they stand.

“Hmm.” Gale says performatively, keeping Anders focus.

I try to distance myself from my companion’s minds and withdraw into myself, replaying what I could remember from this quest and this area in the game. I screw my eyes shut and try to block out the fear and pain coursing through my body. The woman starts cleaning the blood from the bite on my shoulder, pressing into each thinly scarred-over dent with stone faced delight.

Hopefully, Karlach and Wyll have made it to Waukeen’s Rest already, safe from Zariel’s forces and from the gnolls. Any lying that we do from here on out will be easier without our one horned, tiefling barbarian around. All we have to deal with now are the three paladins in front of us, with their only advantage being that they have me as an ‘unsuspecting’ hostage. This intimidation tactic means that they are either impatient, or desperate. The silver lining here being that impatient and desperate people tend to make more mistakes.

My mind flicks over the map from the game, trying to enhance the blurred images of trails that I had once known.

After the attack near the broken bridge, there should only be two packs of gnolls left. Each at different areas on the map, depending on if they were attacking that cave with those black market traders yet. What’s the name of those traders again? Not important right now, focus. So that means that there’s a total of three separate forces that we’d need to avoid or fight off to be able to rejoin the rest of our party at the Inn. Three. That’s too many f*cking enemies. Even if our group could take out the two packs of gnolls on our own, I know for a FACT that these paladins are tough. Too tough to walk away from unscathed, that’s for sure. The fact that they look so fresh, even after hunting Karlach for so long and after killing all of those gnolls on the bridge, is a feat in and of itself. Enemies on top of enemies.

An old proverb flickers in my mind.

Astarion! I call out through the tadpole connection. The vampire flicks his eyes to my prone position on the bed.

‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’. I quote. Convince them to hunt the gnolls in the caves west of here! We’ll kill them after they help clear the road.

Without so much as a hint as to whether he has registered or understood my request, Astarion turns and shoves Shadowheart off balance.

“You always go too easy on the new ones!” He spits acidically. “Now how much magic do you have left for the rest of the mission?!”

Gale falls into Astarion’s rhythm immediately and steps between our rogue and cleric. “Calm yourselves, friends! We’re still alive, aren’t we? Terribly sorry about them.” He says apologetically to Anders.

“Alive doesn’t mean a godsdamn thing if we don’t get paid.” Astarion continues with a malicious sneer.

“Please, Paladin Anders,” Gales begs, holding his hand up to Astarion’s faux venom. “Do continue; tell us where you last saw this ‘devil with a single horn’. Maybe we can help each other. We’re fairly adept at fighting. And we’re always keen to take up rewarding requests.”

“As long as we don’t have to split the coin.” Astarion hisses at our wizard, and then with a derisive glance at me, he adds, “And the new blood uses their own cut to pay for the cost of healing.”

Their acting makes me want to laugh.

I cover up the surprising mirth in my chest with a cough and a groan. The unknown woman hesitates at continuing to wash me as my importance to my party begins to deteriorate in the paladin’s eyes.

“Last we saw,” Anders says, his eyes flicking between my companions, trying to fill in the gaps of our story with our appearances. “She was being pursued by our archers to the river at the bottom of this hill. We haven’t seen head nor tail of her, or our archers, for days now. I can only assume the worst.” He closes his eyes in mock mourning. The halfling returns with a carafe of water and a sack full of rations. Astarion turns his nose up at the selection with disdain. Unfazed, the halfing takes up position by the entrance door, not-so-subtly blocking us in.

Gale puts his hand to his chin and thinks on this information, letting out the appropriate number of ‘hmm’s and ‘haa’s as he considers his next move.

“If she’s not at the river then she’s obviously somewhere past the gnolls on the road.” Astarion says condescendingly. “Stupid bloody beasts. If they’re ears weren’t worth a fortune, I wouldn’t have even bothered coming.”

The best lies are always laced with traces of the truth.

“How about this!” Gale says encouragingly, snapping his fingers at his ‘new’ idea. “We can help you with your problem, Anders, if you help us in return.”

The wizard politely leans over the map on the desk and points to the roads and paths that lead from our location to the caves I had described to the west of us.

“We need to kill as many gnolls as possible to get our reward at Waukeen’s Rest.” He says, leaning into Astarion’s lie, “And if your devil isn’t at the river anymore, I’d bet my best enchanted lance board set that she’d make for these caves. Excellent hiding spot, these caves, if I do say so myself. You help us take out all of the gnolls and we’ll be free to help you look for your hiding devil.”

Astarion takes a step forward to continue arguing with Gale, pointedly ignoring the paladins. Their pretend banter gives Anders a chance to decide whether to believe us or not.

With the slightest flick of his head, Anders summons the halfling and the sad*stic woman to his side.

“Gnolls are an affront to our Lord Tyr.” He says, still sticking to his disguise. “We’d happily lend you aid in clearing the roads of this blight. And if our devil is indeed hidden within the caves, we’d be grateful for your help in return.”

Gale claps his hand in pretend delight and says ‘splendid!’, before politely selecting a snack from the rations on the table. Lae’zel, bless her, has no interest in this charade, and leaves the building to cut ears from the dead gnolls surrounding the building.

Shadowheart pours herself two goblets of water at the desk and walks over to protectively hand me one, a barrier between me and the paladins.

The sad*stic woman comes to us to retrieve her rags, bowl, and hidden dagger. “Got a greater healing potion in the back, for that shoulder.” she says with a steely glint in her eye.

Remembering what Astarion had said, I ask her how much it would cost me.

“100 gold.” she says, stone faced.

“Cyrel! These are our new allies,” Anders admonishes half heartedly. “halve the price for them.”

I hear one last thought before the tadpole connection of our group is severed; Greater healing potions only cost 16 gold...

I have no choice but to pay the overinflated price. Shadowheart acts as the middle man for me, pulling out my coin and subtly checking the potion for any poisons as she uncorks the bottle and holds it to my mouth. With an affirmative nod, I gulp down the greater healing potion. There’s a boney click as my shoulder resets and my muscles regenerate. Magic and potions in this world are f*cking wild.

I sit up gingerly, and every part of me pops and crinkles. The feeling of blood crusting on my clothes is becoming too sickeningly familiar. Shadowheart takes a moment to hand me my dagger and help me back into my equally dirtied armor, tugging on the laces in a more aggressive manner than is necessary.

Anders has moved on to discussing the plan of our upcoming fight to the caves with Gale. The redheaded woman, Cyrel, has taken up a not-so-subtle position behind our wizard. They must have shifted their manipulative focus from me to Gale. Which is a relief honestly.

Astarion, bless him, has blended into the background to take up a potentially lethal position behind Cyrel. A knife held to the knife that is held to our throat. Looks like all of our bases are covered.

We're ready to go.

The leaders of our respective groups exit the Tollhouse first, followed by their respective secret guards. I hold the door open for Shadowheart, but she stays firmly planted behind me, herding me forward as if I were a lost lamb.

Lae’zel is waiting for us by the bridge, wiping her dagger and hands free of gnoll blood. She keeps shrewdly silent as Gale retells her what our plan of attack is. Without glancing at the fake paladins, she jerks her head towards the west and waits stoically for the larger group to proceed ahead. When I reach her, she holds out her arm for me to stop.

From her back, she pulls out a looted backpack and my dropped weapons, colored red with blood and muddied by the dust of the Risen Road. I gasp in delight.

That she could find them at all was a feat in and of itself, but to think that I was worthy enough to return them to me fills my heart with joy. With her gith hands full, I reach in and quickly hug her around the waist in gratitude.

She sneers and admonishes me at length as I stow my weapons in their proper positions, complaining about my carelessness and about the importance of always having a weapon on hand. She turns to follow the group, continuing with her prickly sermon; that I should always be on guard, that I should never leave on my own, and that I was too weak to fight even a newborn gnoll by myself. I listen and nod. Her advice on how to be better in the future is a lesson I should learn if I want to survive, not that I would have changed my actions if given the chance to redo them, of course.

Lae’zel hikes ahead of me as she lectures, and Shadowheart walks behind me, adding her practical Faerunian knowledge here and there. As slow as I am on the ascent up the trails, they never stray far.

We climb carefully through smaller, twisted paths up the mountains. Anders and Gale consult the map frequently and faux amiably.

As tired as I am, a particularly familiar bend in the path catches my eye and makes me stop. We were getting close to the first pack of gnolls.

I move to rush forward, to warn Gale of the potential danger, but Shadowheart grabs my shoulder lightly.

Use the parasite, she orders in my mind, holding a finger to her temple. The squirming of our tadpoles makes me uncomfortable, but it’s clever advice.

I do as she says. Opening my mind up, I feel around for the soft, velvety static of Gale’s magical presence.

Gale! There might be a pack of gnolls up ahead. I think worriedly. Let Anders take the lead.

Our wizard says nothing, out loud or through the parasite, but he does turn his head and wave Astarion forward to ‘remind him about the details of last time they had adventured inside of a cave’. Slowing down to converse jovially with our pale elf, Gale puts Anders and Cyrel at the head of our combined parties.

A howl and a chorus of cackles fill the air a moment later.

The paladins reach for their weapons and square off with an unseen number of gnolls up ahead. I’m too far away to gauge if the pack is comprised of the totality of gnolls in the area, or if it’s a split offshoot of scouts, but I ready my crossbow for an attack.

Lae’zel moves up to support the paladins while Gale takes a flank to effectively cast his offensive spells. Astarion takes the middle, using the paladins as a shield as he pulls out his own crossbow and begins taking aim and firing at will.

I still can’t see the gnolls, just the arrows that are fired and deflected by our party. I move to edge forward, my hands trembling as I try to steady my weapon, but a familiar hand squeezes my shoulder. With a glance back, I see Shadowheart shake her head slightly, her face hardened at the unseen battle.

With a glare, I try to pull out of her grasp, but she meets my eyes and jerks her head up at a cliff to our right.

A climbable cliff.

I nod, emboldened, and we start to stealthily climb up the cliff face. Dignity means nothing in the rush of battle, so I scale the least shrubbed path on all four limbs, racing to the top to get to a better vantage point.

At the zenith of the ridge, I press my belly to the ground and inch forward to see the fight below.

It’s just a splinter group of gnolls! We outnumbered them two-to-one, and a couple of the pack’s fighters have already fallen to spells, arrows, and blades. The gnoll archers are holding out, unwilling to retreat from the fight to regroup or call for help.

Two of the remaining gnolls are stubbornly shooting from the center of the trail and pressing forward to break our group’s formation, but there is also a third archer, hidden behind some rocks and bushes that is firing at the blindside of our group.

I try to take aim at it with my crossbow, but it is hiding at too awkward of an angle. I grit my teeth and growl in frustration. If only someone from below could see it! They could pick it off so easily!

I think of the game and where the bloody thing is hiding on the map. Maybe if the other’s could see it, then they could hunt it before it can do any damage. I open my mind up to my companions to highlight where it’s position is on the map, but I feel no connection, no movement from my tadpole, not even the feeling of their presences. I blink and the vision in my mind vanishes, and I’m left looking at the stupid hiding gnoll once more.

The spotted beast takes aim and fires at Gale. The arrow, thankfully, bounces uselessly off of his magical shield, but I can tell from the turning of his head that our wizard doesn’t know where it has been fired from. I groan, eyes locked with the outline of the gnoll by myself.

I open my mind up once more and project the image of what I see out to anyone and everyone in the area, stealth or focus be damned.

I can see and feel all of my companions in the battle blink. Lae’zel tries to press forward with the paladin’s at her side, but they only succeed in engaging with the two visible gnolls in hand-to-hand combat. It is Astarion who stealthily maneuvers through the throng to back Gale, taking up position in the shade of a boulder to fire at the hidden archer. Two shots to the gnoll, and it reveals itself in a fit of rage. Shadowheart lands a few guiding bolts from above me that help distract and burn the three gnolls, before the lower party’s blades slit and silence their throats.

I sigh as the battle is concluded, adrenaline draining from my body and leaving me weak. No one is injured, but we are much more worn down by the fight that I had hoped we’d be. I wonder how much magic we have left, how much energy there is for another gnoll encounter. I wish we didn’t have to continue, I wish we could rest!

Chapter 22: Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Text

Gale is speaking with the paladins up ahead on the trail, his place as our leader an undeniable fact in their eyes at this point. Astarion continues to guard him from a nonchalant distance, while Lae’zel wipes her blade of blood and gore before breaking from the group to collect more hyena ears. I wonder if she’s playing a part at this point, or if she knows that the ears are actually very valuable?

Shadowheart and I carefully descend from the cliff. I slide down the gravel-y face more than climb, but I don’t fall at least. When we reach the main trail, Gale checks in with us, graciously celebrating our victory and thanking us for our hard work. His kind eyes linger on me, and with an appreciative smile he pats my shoulder.