Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hesam Dawnguard was worried.

No, worried was too weak of a word to describe how he felt. He was terrified. Horrendously so, even! For he was doing something he never imagined he'd go through with. That he'd commit to.

The noble sat in his jostling carriage, doing his best to destress with a flask of spiked cider. A shallow breath left him, as his eyes drifted to the carriage's window. Rewarding him with the eerie sight of where they were. Where he and his caravan spent the last week heading to. Beyond the carriage was nothing but an endless snowfield. One that stretched on for miles. The road was thankfully a mix of ice and dirt, but beyond it? Nothing. He doubted any carriage could survive in ice that thick. Not to mention, from what he read about, there were all sorts of arctic predators to watch for.

"You're worried, milord?" Hesam looked over to his bodyguard, seated across from him. A burly, bulky man bedecked in rugged scalemail. A coif helmet obscured his face, as the man carefully sharpened his shortsword, unbothered and unfazed by the rickety roads. As he performed the dexterous task with morbid ease.

"I-I am, Samuel," he took another sip from his flask. Letting the warm, strong taste of the cider dance across his tongue. "just…a tad worried about what're to find. They're expecting us, yes, but…well what we're doing violates several rules, and if word were to somehow reach Neverwinter or, Gods forbid, father…?"

"It won't." Samuel shook his head. With a flourishing twirl, the shortsword was tucked back into its scabbard and set aside. "We're close to the Dale at this point. Damn near in the middle of nowhere, milord. And we've taken careful precautions to cover our trail. As far as your father's staff, and benefactors, know, we're just out to meet with a business client. Which we're already to be doing on the return trip. So, all loose ends are tied with a strong knot." Hesam couldn't help but to chuckle at that. Samuel was always prepared. Another reason he was delighted to have the former bounty hunter as a bodyguard. Surprising how they made the best company.

The carriage stopped. Samuel slowly nodded.

"We're here. I'll go out and do a once over. Once it's secure, I'll call for you." He stood as best he could in the carriage and made for the door. He threw it open, and a wave of frigid air washed over the carriage interior, causing Hesam to shiver from the unwelcome sensation. His bodyguard dropped from the carriage and closed the door behind him, and through the thick wood of the carriage, Hesam could faintly hear shouting. As he directed the men they brought on what they were to do. Hesam took another calming breath and fished for something in the compartment next to him. Rummaging about the stacks of folded paper before he withdrew one he unfurled and unfolded. A letter, one that prompted the entire perilous expedition to the Dale to begin with.

Mister Hesam Daunguard,

I've taken the liberty in ensuring everything's ready. I found five of these things that are worth your attention, cherry picked to grab the best we have here at the Maw. As soon as you're ready, you can come on down and collect them for whatever sick thing you got going on. But mark my words, I EXPECT my payment. I've kept my end of the bargain, and I put my ass on the line for this. If that fucking lich were to learn about this, it'd be more than my ass on the line, but my very SOUL. So, suffice to say, I've raised the price a bit more. I know you'll understand.

Once you arrive, assemble to the ground floor. One of the men will fetch me, and I'll get you where you need to be as fast as possible. Before that lich realizes something's amiss.

-Warden Dunwald

The carriage door opened again, and Samuel poked his coif-clad head inside.

"It's clear, milord," he said. "I've told the guardsmen to keep a close watch on the area."

"Good. If someone we don't know approaches the caravan, don't bother with a warning shot." He told his bodyguard before beginning to crawl free of the carriage as well. The moment he was outside, the cold air hit like a wave, chilling him to the bone even through his winter clothes. The same snowfield surrounded them on all sides, truly reminding him of how truly isolated they were. How far they were from all manners and stretches of civilization. Even the Dale was closer, and Hesam barely considered that place civilization. A glorified throp was a better description.

The noble turned his head and finally laid eyes upon their destination. The Maw. A massive, onyx spire that stretched taller than any tower back home. A menacing obelisk of dread and ill-omen, not just because of its appearance, but because of what was inside of the Maw. Hesam found his father's notes over the place, and at first he didn't believe them. But after being in constant communication with the current head warden of the Maw, he came to confirm the rumors about the Maw were, morbidly, true.

That it was a prison for monsters. From fiendish devils to abhorrent aberrations, they were contained inside of the Maw for a myriad of reasons. To study the behavioral patterns of certain creatures, to catalogue how they behaved to better arm adventurer's guilds with, to even gathering resources from several. The Maw contained an assortment of things inside…and he was about to head inside of it, to fulfill a bargain made.

"I've got the coin." Hesam looked over to Samuel, just as four men set down a hefty trunk, jingling with coin and gems. Taken from father's treasury. Hopefully, he wouldn't notice. "But still, last chance to back out, milord. Once we head into that place, either we're leaving with what you came for…or perhaps not at all."

"Augh…I'm certain." Hesam nodded. "We've already made the trip out here. It would be foolish to back off now. Besides, I'm doing what I can to stay optimistic about this. Father always told me optimism is the greatest weapon one can carry against uncertainty."

"Aye. Your father's a wise man…so let's get moving." Hesam nodded. Samuel beckoned the four guardsmen to grab the trunk by its handles again, and the group began the march towards the Maw. With every step taken towards the dangerous place, Hesam did his best to steel his resolve and his nerves. He was just going in to retrieve who he requested, then leave. As for the treasury…he made a note to come up with a decent lie for that. Maybe blame his younger brother. Bastard liked to lose a lot of coin gambling in the city, after all. Perhaps it could be the motivator for father to finally disown the spoiled brat.

It took mere moments to reach the front doors to the tower. Reinforced doors made from wood, stone, and even metal. He raised his hand to knock and they creaked open on their own. Pulled by unseen hands as a wave of warmth swept past him. It wasn't enough to combat the frigid chill of the outside, but it was certainly better at the very least. A nod was given to Samuel, and his bodyguard stepped inside first. Hesam moved to follow, as the two stood inside a spacious common room of sorts. One with torches lining the walls, each no doubt lit via Continuous Flame, given how they waved and flickered. The room had a few amenities about, such as a wooden front desk and some chairs, as several guardsmen stood watch. Ones bedecked in onyx scalemail, bearing a crest upon their shoulders Hesam didn't recognize.

"Ah, and here he is…Lord Dawnguard to be…and a day ahead of schedule, no less…" A gravelly, low voice drew his attention. He looked over as an elevator came to a stop. Like the ones used in mines. Another guard stepped out of it. One bedecked in the same armor, though far more ornate and almost decorated. His head was bald, and he had a full, red beard framing his chin. "and with the coin you promised to…how unexpected."

"I keep my promises," Hesam affirmed. "you must be the warden, then?"

"Mhm. Head Warden Dunwald, at your service," he introduced himself. "and I meant no offense with the inquiry…just didn't expect you to actually follow through. After all, it's not everyday we get someone actively requesting some of the Maw's prisoners for…what did you call it…a job?" The warden asked.

"One I can't entrust to adventurers. I need confidentiality and expendability for this, so here I am."

"Indeed…set the trunk down. My men will take it from here." The warden instructed. Hesam nodded to his own guards and they dropped the trunk of coin. "Now, let's make this quick. Sooner we do, sooner we get these bastards out of here before the lich running the place finds out." The warden began to walk, heading for another doorway. Hesam nodded to Samuel and his bodyguard moved to follow, same for his guards. As the group marched down a spacious hallway, lit by the torches of Continual Flame.

"So," Hesam began. "everything's set?"

"Mhm," the warden nodded. "the five of them have already been moved to the proving grounds. Where you can get a good look at the ones chosen."

"You kept them there this entire time?" Samuel asked. The warden scoffed.

"Of course not. One of the sentries working with me saw your caravan and notified me an hour ago. We just finished getting the last of them in there without incident." The warden explained, as they continued down the hall. "Still, if they're what you want, we'll need to load them quickly. Our window isn't very large."

"So, you're also breaking several rules with this?" Hesam questioned.

"Of course," the warden scoffed. "I'm basically selling off dangerous prisoners to a nobleman. However, I've already covered my bases. The five have doctored papers claiming they're being marked for transport to different places. As far as I know, the lich in charge of the Maw won't actually check on those unless issues emerge."

"Yeah I got a question about that," Samuel cut in. "a lich runs the Maw? As in that's your boss?"

"Unfortunately, and he isn't just the boss of the Maw. He built it. Put together the idea for a massive prison containing Faerun's deadliest to study and document them to help the rest of the Sword's Coast. And thankfully, he's paid in coin and human prisoners sent from the Dale. Why do you think prisoners are so scared of being sent to the Dale? The cold?" The warden huffed. Hesam cringed at that. Cities were sending their prisoners to be fed to a lich in exchange for research material. He wanted to judge, but here he was, essentially buying the loyalty of five of the Maw's prisoners. In a sense, he was no better.

The group moved until they reached an atrium of sorts. A small, stone arena with an iron dome atop it, one where they could look down into it, as several guards were posted along the walkway, armed with muskets and crossbows they kept at the ready. Beyond the iron bars, as the letter foretold, he found the five monsters he sought. All settled in the arena, they split off from one another. Assessing the situation they were in or just accepting it and remaining where they were. He figured that was because of the weapons trained on them.

"So, these are the ones?" Hesam asked the warden.

"That they are. We spent the last week testing and assessing each of them out here. Ensuring we picked to your…demanding specifications. The perfect team to handle whatever twisted task you detailed. A task I don't know, and frankly, I don't want to. I'd rather not know what sort of thing requires creatures like these." He offered Hesam a leatherbound book, one the noble accepted and thumbed through. He quickly realized it was a logbook of sorts, with dossiers on each of them. No doubt painstakingly drafted before his arrival. The noble thumbed through the first few pages to reach the first entry. For a…

"Auric Dalakos…?" He asked before the warden pointed. Seated on a crate, eyeing the others, was an honest to Gods skeleton. One with translucent, teal mist enveloping the bones, almost like a parody of a humanoid body. Small purple flames rested in its eyeholes, no doubt to serve as eyes, as the demented skeleton glanced about the arena. He was dressed in typical prison clothing, such as a set of rugged, brown trousers and a burlap shirt, with a set of footwraps around his spectral feet. "What in the Gods name is that?"

"That's a Reborn," the warden explained. "the result of what happens when someone cocks up necromancy. These things are rare, purely because most are killed on sight on account of being thinking, feeling undead. The ones that don't end up returned to the ground get smart with hiding. Dalakos is no different. He engineered his gear to make it impossible to tell he's a Reborn unless he loses the helmet."

"And what makes this one so special?" Hesam asked. "Him simply being undead?"

"Two reasons. One, he's a highly skilled sharpshooter who rarely misses his mark. And two, he's a damned artificer. That bag of bones rose from the grave with a skill many would kill to learn from those reclusive gnomes. So, suffice to say, that should clarify why he was transferred here after his capture. And not simply doused in holy water until there was nothing left but sanctified bones." Hesam furrowed his brow at that.

"An undead artificer?" Samuel scoffed. "Reads like a bad Neverwinter play, doesn't it?"

"True," Hesam shook his head. "but if he can artifice, it'd be foolish not to utilize that. He's in." He told the warden, as he flipped through the pages until he reached the next entry. "Now, which one's Xyris?"

"Right over there." The warden pointed. The noble looked up and visibly recoiled at the creature pointed at. At first glance, he thought he was looking at a lizardfolk, judging by the scale-covered body, winding tail, and digitigrade legs. As the creature looked about, he realized the wasn't the case as he found himself staring at the head of a colubrid. An elongated viper's head positioned on a long neck. Which could only mean it was a yuan-ti. Its scales were a light brown color, with diamond-like formations running down its back. It had a burly, broad-shouldered build, one rippling with inhuman muscle. Its serpentine eyes were a sharp gold color, ones that studied the room with cold-blooded calculation. Its long, winding tail was tipped with a serpent's rattle, one that twitched and shook amid its silent assessment of the others. It wore burlap trousers as well, but its shirt was absent, most likely because it couldn't fit.

"…that's the most fucked up looking yuan-ti I've ever seen." Samuel said. Hesam couldn't help but to agree.

"Mhm. Meet Xyris, allegedly the greatest huntsman in all of Faerun." The warden introduced. "A masterful tracker, he's hunted many of Faerun's most dangerous sport, from vicious owlbears to vile ankhegs. Bastard's seen it all and probably killed it." Hesam flipped through the yellowed pages of the logbook, silently confirming the warden's words. Xyris was indeed a prolific hunter, one who made sport out of hunting the strongest prey he could find along the Sword's Coast.

Hesam winced as his eyes drifted over a passage. One that made him glance to the warden.

"He's taken human lives as well?" He asked the older man.

"Mhm. When Xyris' lair was ransacked by an adventuring party, they found an assortment of humanoid skulls in his lair, same as beast and monstrosity skulls. So, suffice to say, we're prey to him as well in the grand scheme of things." That didn't sit right with Hesam.

"What makes him useful to us, then?" His bodyguard asked. "Other than the fact he's the most jacked yuan-ti I've seen."

"His own kit, his training, and most importantly, his pet. An abnormally large velociraptor, it was detained with a strange collar that, according to the dossier there, allowed it to transform into beasts." Hesam's eyes widened and he scanned the page again. Indeed, he found the passage detailing his pet, a rather large velociraptor armed with something called the Collar of Beasts. As said, it allowed the critter to turn into beasts not unlike a Wild Shape, though the page firmly warned that the collar couldn't be worn by a humanoid, lest it decimate their mind.

"And…where's his pet?" Hesam asked. "And the collar?"

"Both detained further up. We didn't want to bring the snakeman's pet into the testing grounds, just in case he decided to sick it on someone. As for the collar, the wizards wanted to study it more. Understand why would someone create a collar that turns one beast into others." A fair bit of logic. Still, with the tracking ability and the fact he had a pet that could transform, Xyris was a good fit as well.

"We'll take him. Who's next?" Hesam asked as he flopped through the logbook again.

"Eloria Summercrest. Her." The warden pointed to a girl practicing on a training dummy. Raining down blow after blow against it with all the zeal of a Waterdhavian martial artist. She was deathly pale, with her skin practically gray in color. Her white hair was short and unkempt, with streaks of red adorning it, like she attempted to dye it. Her eyes were disturbingly pale, with white pupils and eerie pink sclera. Her ears were pointed a tad, telling Hesam she was a half-elf of some sort, but he couldn't tell the ancestry. Drow, perhaps? She had an athletic physique, one that made it clear that she was fit for combat, and like the others she was dressed in the same prison garb, with the difference being she wore a set of wraps over her knuckles as well. Knuckles she smashed into the training dummy over and over.

"She's a new one. What's wrong with her?" Hesam asked.

"Heh, what's right with her should be the better question." The warden huffed as he watched her continue to beat up the dummy. "From what we've been able to gather, she's a former adventurer and former martial artist from the Rising Sun monastery in Waterdeep. She ended up like this after a bad run in with a vampire. One that left her forever changed."

"So…she's a vampire?" Hesam asked.

"Dhampir. Basically, a watered-down vampire with none of the powers but few of the weaknesses. Almost like a tradeoff. For one, she can survive in the sun and doesn't need permission to enter a home. We're meaning to test if she can cross running water, but all we've managed to learn is that she can't swim. So…devil in the details."

"And she's still a capable martial artist?" Hesam asked.

"One of the best in the Maw…aside from the bloodlust. If she doesn't feed every day, she starts unraveling and growing more unhinged. The current record is five days before she can't even string together two words without screaming and trying to attack someone. And it's not a pretty attack either. One of the guards tried taunting her when she was in that famished state. She ripped off his arm and slurped out all the blood, then sat in the fetal position on the ground, sobbing over what she did until she was detained and restrained properly." Hesam winced at that. While that didn't make her a liability entirely, it was something to fret about nonetheless. Still, there were others to keep her reigned in if she didn't ingest blood. She could work.

"She'll do. Who's ne…xt…?" Hesam trailed off as he saw something seemingly meditating against the wall of the arena. Something he recognized swiftly. A goddamned illithid. It looked as disgusting as the books claimed, with noxious violet skin and piercing yellow eyes. Where the books said they were sinuous and emancipated looking, this one looked a degree tougher, with a build closer to athletic, but not there yet. It even looked a tad shorter than the ones he read about as well, as even from a seated posture, Hesam could tell it was shorter than the yuan-ti. And, like the others, it wore the same prisoner garb. Unlike the others, though, a pair of runic shackles bound its forearms, and also a weird circlet encircled its bulbous head.

"Ah, I see you found Zraull," the warden said. "yeah that's…a weird one."

"Weird?" Samuel huffed. "You have a damned mind flayer in here?"

"Illithid," the warden corrected. "and yes. Zraull is an…interesting case. Where most illithids wouldn't even think of leaving the Underdark themselves, he was found in a town further West, aboveground as well. Working as a, get this, 'traveling doctor'." The warden chortled. Hesam could barely believe that himself.

"And it worked?" Hesam asked.

"Mhm. He wore a doctor's mask and an overcoat. Unless you got real close for too long, you couldn't actually tell he was a damn brain muncher! Hells, he even learned how to speak Common and learned sign language!" The warden chortled. "Either way, the wizards were curious about him, given he doesn't seem to be under the enthrall of an Elder Brain. He's just…himself." Hesam thumbed through the dossier as the warden explained. Curiously, he exhibited extremely clever planning, as the wizards were able to learn that, while working as a doctor, Zraull often participated in funeral rites for people in town. Doing so allowed him easy access to deceased brains which were, apparently, still edible for a mind flayer. The more he read, the more he understood how shrewd Zraull was.

"Any differences between him and normal mind flayers?" Hesam asked, as he flipped through the logbook. "I understand they have an assortment of psionic abilities, but I also know they tend to leave the fighting to their…thralls, if that's the right word."

"From what we've documented, he's got considerably more psionic abilities than the normal illithids, possible due to him being severed from a hivemind. One of them includes causing a poor sod to go mad and attack everyone around them. That was a fun containment. It's why he's got that crown on. Suppresses his psionics considerably, and the shackles prevent him from plane shifting." Hesam raised a brow and consulted the dossier. The warden was right, Zraull possessed considerably more psionic ability than documented illithids before. Not world-shatteringly powerful abilities, but he did have the means to manipulate minds, phase into stone, and even rend someone's mind and turn them into a thrall. Not to mention, he seemed to possess acute medical knowledge, telling Hesam the whole 'doctor' thing wasn't for show. Then again, people would remember a bad doctor more than a good one, all things considered.

"He's in, then." Hesam nodded. "If he's on his own, there's a reason for that. Maybe we can use that to our advantage. And lastly, there's…Sir…Goolahad…?" Very slowly, Hesam panned his gaze up to the final one in the arena. One who also practiced on a dummy with a provided wooden sword.

A slime. Amorphous and convulsing, it had a humanoid visage to it, one that swished and rippled from the force of its own strikes. Orche colored, it had a set of beady blue eyes embedded in its "head", denoting where it was looking. Eerily, and almost comically, the ooze swung the sword with surprising tenacity. Almost like it knew how to wield a blade, as impossible as that was.

"…Sir…Goolahad…?" Hesam repeated.

"…yeah…he was…the last on the list. Don't let the whole…slime thing fool you. That one's a rather skilled swordsman."

"…how?" Samuel asked. "Is this a damn joke? How the hells is that slime even…doing any of that?"

"Right. Sir Goolahad is a weird case. A sentient orche jelly that, as far as the wizards here are aware, was given sentience through means they can't understand. Given they found some sort of gem-like core inside of the slime's form, they're assuming he's the result of a wizard's cruel joke. But for reasons beyond them, he thinks he's a questing knight. Meant to save damsels, slay foes, and protect the innocent. And…despite his appearance, he was allegedly affective at that before being detained by an adventuring party. The armor he was brought in with has been moved to holding, though the wizards assure me there's nothing magic about it. Same for the longsword he wielded to, 'protect the weak and foolhardy'." Hesam did his best to process that as he thumbed through Goolahand's notes. Surprisingly, the warden wasn't wrong. He was an effective fighter, having defeated an orc and his warband nearly on his own. According to witness reports, he stabbed and slapped at them via his pseudopods through various chinks and cricks in the armor, essentially turning it into a living weapon to fight with. However, the notes made it clear the core inside the slime, a gem-like node about the size of a human head, was the source of his life. So, Hesam figured if that was destroyed, so to was Goolahad, hence why he wore the armor for protection.

"He'll work. All five are what I'm after, then." Hesam took a breath. "Warden, can you retrieve their equipment? I'm going to brief them and make sure they're all on the same page." The warden nodded and walked off with his men. That left Hesam with the five monsters. The ones he paid an exorbitant amount of coin to essentially buy their services. But if all went according to plan, it would all be worth it in the end.

"Everyone! May I have your attention?!" He called. All five of them looked his way. He flinched slightly, from the myriad of stares that suddenly jumped to him, but Hesam did his best to stay calm. He needed to address them properly. "Now, I suspect you're all wondering why you've been gathered down here—"

"I dunno, rich boy," Dalakos croaked. The skeleton's voice was slightly distorted and eerie, no doubt due to his undead nature. "considerin' I ain't armed yet, an' there's guards everywhere, this is either an elaborate fuckin' execution or some different shite, no?" He carried a distinct accent to his voice. One that sounded sort of Dwarven in origin. Perhaps a quirk from when he was still alive.

"We may be tasked with slaying one another," Xyris hissed. "to see who is the apex within this arena. It would not be the first time."

"I-I don't think so," Eloria stammered, hesitantly raising her hands up. "I-I'd rather not fight any of you. It won't end well for any of us." As she spoke, Hesam noticed all of her teeth were elongated fangs. A byproduct of her dhampir nature.

"Oh? Is that a challenge, dead-spawn?" The yuan-ti hissed. The rattle began to shake, as the scaled monster stood, causing Eloria to visibly recoil as he approached her. Lumbering towards her. "You speak as if you are worthy prey, yet you cower like a whelp. Disappointing."

"That's no way to speak to a maiden," came a warbled, almost undulating voice. From Goolahad. The sentient slime stared down the yuan-ti with those pinprick eyes, clutching the wooden sword in his slimy hand. It caused the snakeman to chuckle.

"You seek to defend a dead-spawn?" Xyris asked.

"I intend to defend a defenseless maiden's honor, yes," the slime affirmed. "besides, if you hadn't realized it, yuan-ti, we were all brought here for something we don't know. Would it not be wise to hear out the nobleman up there? Learn what is expected of us?" The yuan-ti stared him down. Hesam figured he was sizing him up. Assessing if he was worth the effort.

"…fine. Human, speak. Why have you brought us here?"

"…r-right," the noble took a breath. "the five of you were sought due to your skillsets for a very particular task. One I cannot entrust into the hands of adventurers or normal mercenaries—"

"Awh shite…here we go," Dalakos groaned. "if I had a coin for every time I heard that...what's this job, then? 'Cause already, it sounds like it's either illegal, immoral, or impossible. Or all of the above—had a job like that once back in the day. Was fun 'til the wyvern showed up…"

Hesam took a composing breath. Moment of truth.

"The job is a treacherous one. I need the five of you to locate and recover the Soul Savior. A rare and powerful artifact that wizards and scholars, to this very day, debate on its existence or not. However, through the research conducted by some scholars personally hired, we've confirmed it is real…and it's in a precarious spot."

"The Soul Savior, hmm?" Goolahad gurgled. "Sounds nefarious. Where is it located, pray tell?"

"In a demiplane," Hesam said. "one that can only be reached by gathering several relics around Faerun. From what my scribes have gathered, those who created the demiplane did so to seal the Soul Savior away, so they took extra steps to ensure it'd be very difficult to open the way to retrieve it."

"Um…if I may," Eloria piped up. "if someone went that far to hide it, doesn't that mean it shouldn't be messed with?"

"Maybe," Dalakos shrugged. "but when's that ever stopped fancy nobles from doing shite they shouldn't…no offense. Sort of." He quickly stated. "Speakin' of, what's our pay gonna be lookin' like? 'Cause this sounds like some shite even adventurers would turn tail an' run from. So…I expect my usual asking price to be doubled, then doubled again." Hesam narrowed his eyes a bit.

"For one, you'll all be paid your weight in gold," he said. Samuel glanced his way for a moment, and the noble nodded. He had it all figured out. "and more importantly, each of you will be given a full pardon from the Maw. I'll pull some strings to get all of you freed from this place. Permanently." An extremely bold order. One he wasn't even sure he could pull off. Worst case, he could figure something out.

"Hmm…that ain't enough." Dalakos shook his ghostly head. "Believe me, that's mighty temptin', but we are riskin' our lives on this. Or, in my case, unlife." He chuckled. "I feel as those we're entitled to a little more…compensation, no? Besides, given how squeamish you look, you ain't even supposed to be here. This is an under the table sorta gig, ain't it? So…you ain't really in a position to deny us extra, are ya, rich boy?" Hesam squinted. He was seriously trying to haggle? Hesam was tempted to lambast him for that but…Gods…he needed the damned Soul Savior found.

"…fine. What do you want?" He spoke between gritted teeth.

"There we go. Now you're speakin' my language. Anywho…y'got access to the best wizards and clerics 'cross Faerun, no? The sorta fellas who could fix any kinda blight with a snap of their wrinkly fingers? I want this," he gestured to himself. "fixed. I wanna be alive again. I miss bein' able to taste ale, eat good food, smell the Waterdeep bay, an' indulge in…special acts. That one does after dark." He chuckled as he cleared his throat. "…like smokin' some halfling tobacco. I miss that shite."

"…I believe I can manage that—"

"Oh, an' fu—"

"Okay! Message gotten!" Hesam interjected. Dalakos cackled and waved his hand.

"Ahhh…alright, I got what I wanted. What 'bout you, bloodsucker?" he asked Eloria, causing her to recoil.

"D-Don't call me that! I hate being like this!" She shouted at him before those demented eyes of hers drifted to Hesam as she deflated slightly. "But…if we're making demands. Could you find a cure for this?"

"I…don't think that'd be too hard." Hesam said. Truth be told, if she suffered from a weaker strain of vampirism, a well-trained cleric could perhaps cure her. Or at the very least, point her to someone who could.

She sighed in relief none the less, like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

"See? We're negotiatin'. Everyone should get their just rewards, no? Especially if we're gonna be riskin' our arses out here." The ghostly skeleton looked over to the yuan-ti next. "What about you, scales? You think what rich boy up there offered is enough, or do ya wanna negotiate too?"

"Hmm…quite the question, isn't it?" He drummed his fingers on his chin, as his rattle began to slowly shake and swish. "What could I want when I already have what I need…? Hmm…" those violet eyes shot to Hesam, sending a chill down his spine. "I want to hunt the adventurers who brought me and Scytheclaw down. Allow me to hunt them, without interference, and I shall hunt for this…Soul Savior." Hesam hesitantly nodded. He didn't know who he was after, and it probably didn't matter too much. It almost felt like he wasn't asking for permission to hunt them. Just telling Hesam that it was going to happen. He was just given the luxury of knowing it was going to happen at some point.

"…granted." Hesam nodded. "…anyone else…?" The mind flayer's tentacles moved, causing Goolahad to perk up.

"Oh? I see…" a gooey pseudopod emerged from the slime's back to point at the mind flayer. "he's requesting a…lab, right?" The tentacles fluttered again. "Right, yes! He's requesting a fully stocked laboratory somewhere in the countryside for Baldur's Gate. And…" more tentacle fluttering. "he's also asking for complete seclusion. Which makes sense; you know illithids and their privacy."

"…he…talked?" Eloria asked. "I didn't hear a thing."

"Of course! Our psionic companion just doesn't talk very loud," the slime earnestly explained. "not nearly loud enough for our benefactor to hear him, at least. And, I don't quite know about you all, but I'd rather him not lose the restraints until we're certain that he's willing to parlay…no offense, Sir Zraull. I understand illithid like to talk right into someone's mind." The slime said before those pinprick eyes settled on Hesam. "As for me, milord…well, I'm not quite sure as to what I'd want. I've never had to ask myself what could I want if I was offered endless boons, so…let's circle back to that topic. After we finish this perilous quest."

"I see. Then with all five of you onboard, we can move forward. The warden should be bringing all of your gear and equipment here. Once you are all ready, there's a wagon awaiting out front to ferry you five to Neverwinter. So I can get you properly up to speed about step one." With that, Hesam turned and walked away with Samuel in tow. Halfway down the torch-lit hall, Hesam let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. A sigh of utter fucking relief.

"That went well." Samuel grunted. "I hope you aren't planning on fulfilling those requests, milord."

"We'll need to, Samuel. Despite the circumstances, I'm still a Dawnguard, and our word is ironclad." Hesam firmly said. Samuel shook his head.

"Look, the dhampir and Reborn's goals are feasible, but that yuan-ti wants to hunt down adventurers, and that mind flayer wants to set up shop near Baldur's Gate. Where it'll have a supply of brains." Samuel hissed. "Milord, we need to think of the ramifications. Especially if this comes back to bite us. People may start asking questions. Questions that'll be traced back to us."

"I know…just…" Hesam sighed. "It'll be fine. We've covered every base after all. And as said, I'm a Dawnguard. Our word is as important as our mead and trade industry." Despite that, he did share Samuel's concerns, but what could be done? The Soul Savior was the key to saving not only his own life, but the life of his father and maybe the family name. He needed to risk everything to preserve it. And that meant taking deals many would frown on.

In this case, that meant allying, and weaponizing, a party of monsters.

"Fuckin' hells…these bastards have no idea how to keep armor safe…" Dalakos brushed dust and cobwebs off his vambrace, examining it careful as he worked on donning his equipment. The gunslinger forgot how long it'd been taken from him. How long those bastards kept his shite in lockup. But it didn't matter anymore. All his gear was back in his hand, from his arcane vambraces to his personally crafted helmet, fashioned with the same glyphs he engraved into all his armor. Instilling into them the mote of magic. Such was the way of artificing.

The gunslinger snapped the vambrace in place. The ring triggers were tugged over his now-gloved fingers, and he firmly pulled the safety lever on the side of each vambrace. The last thing he wanted to do was accidentally trigger one of the Cantrips. Now, fully dressed, Dalakos took a moment to assess his gear. His engraved, onyx colored, iron breastplate was matched by a set of faded, gold-colored pauldrons. Beneath it, he wore a leather shirt for extra padding, as well as a set of thick hide breeches of a light tan coloration. Black, iron greaves framed his legs, as a set of stitched leather gloves framed his spectral hands. A gold colored scarf hung from his shoulders, as an assortment of curious dangled from his belt, such as his tinker's kit and his Bag of Holding. Lastly, Dalakos reached for his helmet, resting on an open crate. A full, dark helmet, with a stitched mask resting over the front. Glass lenses rested in the eyeholes, and as Dalakos slid it on, he reached to the tiny dial on the side of said helmet. He gently turned it, and the tiny gears in the mask hummed and moved, focusing and unfocusing his mask's vision until it was just right.

"Gods, I've missed how this felt. It's like meetin' an old friend I hadn't seen in years." He huffed. "Hells, me gloves still feel as snug as the day I stitched 'em together. A Gods damned miracle in itself!"

"What…kind of armor even is that?" The bloodsucker, Eloria, said nearby. Dalakos turned his head just as she finished tightening her armwraps. The dhampir wore a strange outfit, consisting of a padded cloth, blue coat and trousers with the coat's hood tugged up and over her head. Cloth wraps enveloped her hands as she wore a set of thick, fur boots. A cloth bandana rested over her mouth, hiding her gaping maw, no doubt hiding her looks from any wayward eyes.

"This, me friend, is Arcane Armor," he tapped his breastplate twice. "built it meself after a lot of trial and error over the years. One pro to being undead is ya get nothin' but time to stress-test shite. This was the result."

"What's so arcane about it, then?" Eloria asked. Dalakos pointed his arm upwards. The dial on the side was turned, aligning the glyphs inside of it, and when he clenched his hand, flames erupted from a nozzle at the vambrace's tip. Not unlike a wizard's Burning Hands. "Gods! What the hells?!" She exclaimed as she stepped back.

"That." Dalakos said. "That's why. Believe me, that took the longest time to stress-test. Funny story, the glyphs for Burning Hands and Gods damned Fireball are damn near the same." There were many explosive incidents in the past.

"Those fools…how COULD they…?!" Scales' angry voice drew Dalakos' attention. The gunslinger leaned past Eloria to see the angry yuan-ti knelt next to a damn velociraptor. One about the size of a large mastiff instead of the size of a turkey. A leather harness rested around the critter's torso, with bits of bone armor covering its vital areas, even with a little helmet atop its head. The feathered reptile sported colorful, red plumage, as it wiggled in place with all the earnest of a dog seeing its master again. The damn thing's tail even wagged like a hound, all while the snakeman rapidly looked over the raptor. "They haven't been feeding you properly, Scytheclaw?! These damned munthreki and their moronic ways…!" He was passionate about his pet, it seemed. Dakalos didn't blame him.

The yuan-ti wore weird looking armor, consisting of a yellowed, bone breastplate with a set of jagged pauldrons. Wood and bone vambraces encased his forearms, and the snakeman wore a set of dark, hide breeches. Bone greaves hugged its shins, right below the joint, as bone plating lined the reptilian creature's tail, leaving the rattle free. Dark, gray fur lined the serpent's collar, like a fur mantle adorning his shoulders, not unlike the prized pelt of a huntsman. Lastly, he wore a helmet made from what Dakalos had to figure was a bull's skull, one with feathered plumage jutting from the back. Said helmet had a set of lenses embedded into the eyeholes, thankfully hiding the snakeman's eerie, piercing eyes. The armor seemed rather primitive looking, when compared to the sophisticated armor he normally saw yuan-ti wearing. So, he couldn't tell what made the snakeman opt for something different.

"Huh," Eloria raised a brow at the sight. "I…didn't know yuan-ti were so affectionate to their pets. Hells, I didn't even know they kept pets to begin with."

"Every cult's different," Dalakos shrugged. "Though I never heard of a yuan-ti cult that trains dinosaurs. Seems more of a lizardfolk thing, all things considered." The gunslinger noted, as he watched the yuan-ti affix a bone collar around the velociraptor's neck. Something that clearly seemed magic in nature, but he wasn't going to investigate yet. At least until he wasn't looking, just in case the snakeman decided to get snippy.

"So, bloodsucker," Dalakos began. "ya think we're gonna get this job done?"

"…Eloria." She narrowed those glowing eyes. "It's Eloria. Not bloodsucker. I don't like being reminded about…this." She gestured to herself.

"Why? Some of the guys I worked with would kill to be a vampire. Then again, given how their weird hierarchy works, ya only really have fun if ya manage to become a vampire lord. Not a simple spawn."

"…you seem to know a lot about vampires." She narrowed her eyes. Dalakos shrugged in response.

"Had to hunt one or three back in the day. Just spawns, though. Never got sent after a vampire lord, an' I dunno how that'd go, given I'm a walkin' skeleton at this point. On the upside, I've no blood for them to suck, so that's a fun time when one tried biting me." He gave a rasp chuckle as he glanced over to the illithid they were saddled with. One who, now, wore a black longcoat with a set of padded cloth trousers underneath. Faded, leather gloves adorned its hands, as it wore a leather shirt underneath the coat for added protection. A beaked, wooden doctor's mask rested over its face, along with a shawl and wide-brimmed hat atop its head. Were it not for the fact that he knew he was a mind flayer, Dalakos may've been fooled himself. A simple, yet efficient disguise. One completed by the black, doctor's bag the illithid picked up.

"Now, ya gonna cooperate out there, squidman?" Dalakos asked. "We are all in this together, no? Don't wanna get outside an' find my mind popped."

"I know," it spoke with a warbled, eerie sounding voice. One that wasn't pleasant to listen to in the slightest. And, as the slime mentioned earlier, he wasn't very loud either. "I'm aware of what's at stake. Rest assured, Dalakos, you have nothing to fear. I have too much to gain from this arrangement. And I refuse to forsake it."

"Good. Glad we got that sorted out."

"So…he doesn't use telepathy?" Eloria asked. "I expected to hear him in my head or something. A…friend used to tell me that's only how illithids communicate. By telepathy. Not assuming you're the same, Zraull. Just…g-going with what I know."

"Seems that way. Then again, considerin' he runs around, posin' as a doctor, it'd make sense. Ain't too many telepathic doctors in Faerun. I think." Lastly, he glanced over to the ooze man and…watched as he finished laying out a set of armor. Old and faded, it consisted of a chainmail shirt with interwoven metal plates, along with durable looking trousers. A set of rusting, iron greaves were complimented by a set of faded iron gauntlets, as the pauldrons were riddled with dents and nicks. The full-helm lay slumped on the ground, with the visor pulled up to reveal its empty interior. "…is it…supposed to look like that, slimy?"

"Of course!" He eagerly called. "It looks just like it did when I found it! Though that scratch on the helmet's new…I'll need to get that looked at. Until then…" the slime knelt and tugged up the chainmail shirt. He flowed right into it; sloshing into it like ale into a tankard, as he watched the armor's iron fingers clench as the slime took root in it. Flowing into and filling the armor until the slime filled every nock and cranny of it. "Ah…perfect! It still fits like a glove!" Now encased in the rusting armor, the slime sat up and brushed the dust off. It was still so…weird to look at. But then again, he couldn't judge.

"…I…don't know what to feel about that." Eloria grimaced at the sight. "But…at least he wears it well?"

"I…guess, lass. Boyo doesn't have to worry 'bout outgrowin' it, at the very least." Dalakos didn't really have words as he looked back to his crate. The gunslinger reached into it to withdraw his final bit of equipment: his pepperbox pistol and curved shortsword. The glyphs were still etched along the firearm's barrel, telling him the Infusion still held. After all, he saved a lot on costs by imbuing the weapon with Repeating Shot. And it made it loads easier to get away with a killing when the bullet vanished after doing its job. So, win-win.

A sharp whistle filled the air. Dalakos looked up to the rim of the arena to see rich boy's bodyguard standing there. The one with the coif helmet on.

"Wagon's ready," he called. "get up here and get moving. We leave in two minutes."

"That's our cue." Dalakos nodded, as the shortsword was sheathed and his pepperbox dropped into his Bag of Holding. "Ya folks ready for this? It's gonna be quite dangerous. And I'm not quite sure how many of ya can take a beatin' like yours truly."

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be." Eloria took a deep breath. "Besides, a chance to get cured is too important for me to pass up."

"Feh. Let the danger come." The snakeman said. He raised his arm and a set of blades jutted free from his vambrace. Jagged, metal ones that ran parallel to one another, like a set of scimitars affixed to the snake's arm. "It means I shall have my ibahaliitik maulk. My glorious hunt."

"I am prepared for the danger. It will not imperil my research, nor my work." Zraull's said, as the illithid prepared a menacing looking shortsword. One that seemed to resonate with magic he didn't quite understand.

"Let us be off, then!" Goolahad called, as the slime raised a longsword in dire need of a whetstone. "Onward! To ADVENTURE!"

"Aye, that's the spirit! Let's go get paid!" Dalakos moved for the ladder to leave the arena first, ready to begin what could hopefully be his greatest adventure yet. Or at the very least, his most interesting tale to tell once he got back to Baldur's Gate.

Then he could collect on some bets. Like that moron who bet him that he couldn't escape from any prison in Faerun.

(So, giving another D project a go. This one based off a premise for a campaign I wanted to DM for my friends, but we never got around to it. Of a party of monstrous creatures being sent on a job, having to survive both Faerun's woes and also society's rancor. Because of that, the protagonists presented here are either characters I wanted to use in campaigns, either as PCs, NPCs, or even bosses. This one's a bit of a passion project, so I want to see how far I can go with it. And how well it does overall.

Thanks for reading, and stay tuned to see where this one leads!)

Chapter Text

Eloria genuinely forgot how cold it was outside the Maw.

The brawler shuddered and shivered as she stood in the knee-deep snow, watching as their benefactor talked to his bodyguard outside his carriage. Thanks to the whipping winds and the cold snatching her attention, she only caught bits and pieces of their conversation. But for the most part, she understood that they were discussing the expedition back to Neverwinter. How they'd go about it and whatnot.

Amid her shivering, she turned her attention to the others. The rest of the party she had been tasked with working alongside in order to find this "Soul Savior", a relic she never heard of. Dalakos stood over a makeshift bonfire, one made using his strange armor. Xyris sat next to it, huddled close to his feathered raptor, and Sir Goolahad knelt next to it, extending several of his tendril-like pseudopods to loom near the flames. Zraull stood close to the stone wall of the Maw, just next to the doorway they all came through, rifling through his doctor's pack to ensure that nothing was missing.

"If ya fellas need a lil' more heat, don't hesitate to say so," Dalakos lowered his arm and glanced to the others. Namely, at Sir Goolahad. "…I'll be honest, slime man, didn't even know ya could get cold."

"Well, technically, I can't. Slime and all," he rolled his wrist. "however, my slime can potentially freeze if left in frigid temperatures too long. Which does leave me rather exposed until I thaw. If I ever thaw, that is, given we're in the Dale."

"This is the daytime cold," Xyris hissed. "the nighttime cold will be much worse. Much more lethal. We are losing daylight."

"Our generous benefactor insisted on havin' a word with his mate, scales," Dalakos noted. "best not to disturb 'em, unless ya want the bastard cancelin' our meal ticket."

"Feh…he best hurry, then." He kept himself close to the flames. Eloria didn't blame him, given he was cold-blooded. One wrong move and he'd be doomed.

Eloria paid attention to their benefactor again, right as he shook hands with his bodyguard and climbed into his wagon. The door was sealed, and the guardsman driver tugged the reins, directing the horses to get moving, leaving the bodyguard behind. As he produced a shrill whistle and pointed towards the emptier wagon nearby.

"Inside, all of you," he called. "it's going to take us eight days to get back to Neverwinter and about three to get out of the Dale properly, so we'll be using inns and taverns along the way for safety from the cold."

"Oh, wonderful. Maybe while we're there, ya can tell 'em the thrillin' tale on why ya brought a gaggle of monsters into said tavern," Dalakos snarked. "cause I'll save ya some time on the endin'. Someone gets shot."

"Lord Dawnguard left me a sizable amount of coin to bribe and pay off any innkeepers out here, and they're too far from civilization to really be a bother. If coin doesn't speak, cold iron to the neck will. Now move." He said before circling the wagon and planting himself in the driver's seat.

"…I have some…reservations to potentially threatening unarmed innkeepers into allowing us shelter," Sir Goolahad said, as his tendrils sank back into his armor and the slime knight stood. "I'm sworn to protect the innocent and weak. It would go against my Code to threaten them into allowing us to stay for the night."

"Well, simple solution then, slime man. They don't make trouble." Dalakos said as he moved for the wagon. "Cause I don't like their chances of successfully scarin' off someone with a firearm. So…" he hopped into the wagon, planting himself on one of the wooden benches inside. Xyris rose and moved for it next along with his pet, same for Zraull. Eloria looked over at the slime knight, his expression masked by his helmet. Still, she knew he was bothered by what the undead bastard said.

"I-It'll be okay, Goolahad," she offered. "I've been to the Dale before back when I was normal. People tend to look the other way out here if you provide enough coin. Especially for throps this far out. Hells, they'd probably like us." She wasn't sure if the last bit was true, but…it seemed right to assure him at least.

"I should hope so. But that rapscallion Dalakos rubs me the wrong way. His flippancy gives me the impression he could be a risk, should the circumstances prove dire." He noted as he began to walk towards the wagon.

"He…seems a bit off, but I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt. We all need one another, after all." Eloria was the last one in the wagon, shutting the doors behind her. The interior was lit with a few lanterns affixed to the wooden walls, trapping some of the ambient heat in with them, though not nearly enough to keep them comfortably warm. The brawler took a seat on a bench as she heard the wagon lurch. As the bodyguard got them moving away from the Maw and towards an uncertain quest.

As the wagon creaked through the snow and ice, Eloria afforded herself a moment of…elation. Happiness, even. She'd been trapped in the Maw for…what? Two years? Three? She lost count. Hells, she hadn't even seen the sun since she first got captured and buried into the Maw. But now…well sure it was for a job, but she was free. It was hard not to bask in that revelation. That comfort she yearned for, deep down. The comfort of freedom. Even if it came at a cost.

Silence filled the wagon, aside from the creaks as it drifted across the snowy path. Eloria took a calming breath as she leaned against the wooden wall, her eyes drifting to the others once more. Dalakos worked on tinkering with his strange firearm with the tinkerer's kit in his lap. Xyris sharpened a menacing, curved dagger while his raptor napped at his feet. Zraull sat slumped against the wall, seemingly inert, as Sir Goolahad next to her idly sloshed and moved in response to the wagon's creaks. She guessed they were all taking a moment like she was. Basking in the fact that they were free, even if it was just to fulfill a mysterious task.

The brawler sighed. Beggers couldn't be choosers.

If only there was time to collect some research information about the Dale. Snow depth, the wind speed, or even the age of the bones buried under the snow. All had useful information to gather and collect. Though within the covered, wooden wagon, he couldn't see the snowscape pass by as the wagon shot across the path. The human, Samuel, urged the horses to move faster. Above their usual speed. They would doubtlessly tire faster, but they would reach shelter before the night fell. Despite his illithid biology, he could perish from extreme temperatures. Another reason his enthralled kind never left the safety of the Underdark.

Zraull jotted things down in his journal, using his charcoal pencil to jot down notes. Questions for later, hypotheses to draft, and general thoughts on things. Like the Reborn's pepperbox. One he flippantly twirled around as he reclined on the wooden bench across from him. He'd seen firearms before, and even kept one himself, but he had only seen simple flintlock weapons. Not something so sophisticated. And yet it was in the hands of someone who both viewed it as a toy, yet was fully aware of how dangerous it could be. A human trait.

"Y'know, while we got time, got a question for you, squidface," Zraull's eyes shifted underneath his mask. The doctor looked away from his journal and to Dalakos, as the undead man tapped the front of his stitched helmet. "what's with the mask? I know it's for ya weird disguise, but…that all it does? Just askin' outta curiosity."

"…the lenses are darkened," he began to answer. "designed using the resources in my old lab. The light beyond the Underdark burns my eyes. This ensures that I can still see perfectly and perform my medical tasks."

"So, you're actually a doctor? Not a pretend one just to eat people?" Dalakos asked. Zraull nodded. "Like…what kinda doctorin' do ya get into, then? Settin' bones in place or shite?"

"I've handled a myriad of tasks, from administering anesthesia to performing surgery on people when a healer couldn't be reached. Or when an affliction is beyond their reach."

"Mhm…I'd hate to see some shite a cleric can't fix, then." Dalakos nodded. The wagon suddenly lurched, and his journal flew from his hand. The others shifted around sharply, voicing mixed complaints and gripes to suddenly being thrown forward. "Ach! What the hells?! Ya okay out there, Sammy?!" The Reborn called as he got to his feet. "Did we hit someone? If so, leave some coin an' hope no one saw! It's what I used to do!" Sir Goolahad glanced his way after that comment. Not even Zraull was sure why he admitted tha—

He glanced up. He heard them in his head. Whispers. Hurried, eager ones, in Common. He couldn't discern what they were whispering, but the fact that he heard them meant someone was near the wagon. And fast approaching.

Zraull slowly pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his bag. The doctor stepped over Xyris' fallen pet, still confused over the sudden lurch, as he planted himself before the wagon's rear doors. With a clench of the hand, he telekinetically opened it, sending a wave of frigid air into the wagon, much to the complaint of the others.

"My word, what are you doing, Zraull?" Sir Goolahad asked, as the armored knight sloshed to his feet. "You intend to see what's stopped us?" He nodded and stepped out of the wagon. Landing in the thick snow coating the road. The landscape had changed only slightly. Instead of the near endless snowfields surrounding the onyx obelisk of the Maw, they neared a set of small, icy cliffs. They weren't too high up, but as Zraull studied them, squinting at them from behind his mask, he deduced that some of the whispers came from them. With two more further ahead.

He heard a second thump and watched as Sir Goolahad righted himself in the snow, brushing some of it off his armor. "If there's something out there, it'd be rather foolish not to embark with you." The doctor nodded and slowly circled the wagon. Moving to the front to find Samuel staring down at a rock in the road. A heavy boulder blocked the way forward.

"What happened here, Samuel?" Sir Goolahad addressed the bodyguard. "Why's there a rock in the way?"

"Something knocked it down," he said. His head was turned towards the cliffsides. Searching for something. "might be an ambush."

"It is." Zraull said. The whispers drew closer. "And the culprits are about to emerge any moment now." On cue, he watched several men emerge from around the boulder. Six in total, with two aiming crossbows their way, two more armed with shortswords, and one even armed with a greatclub, as one of them led the pack, armed with a set of scimitars. All of them wore rugged, run-down fur armor.

"Bandits…" Samuel grumbled. "I should've known."

"Ah, so you've dealt with this before?" The one leading the pack chortled. No doubt he was their leader. Their captain. "Great, so you know the routine. No sudden moves, else the boys here'll loose some arrows. Same for the ones up there with muskets." He pointed towards the small cliffsides. "We're gonna search the wagon, take all you got, and if we're feeling nice, we may let you go—"

"You'll do no such thing, bandits," Sir Goolahad interjected. The armored slime trudged through the snow, towards the bandits. Zraull could practically hear the building ire to his undulating voice, as his gloved hand clenched around his longsword he carried with him. "of all the rapscallions I've encountered, I've come to loathe bandits more than anything else. Those who prey on the weak, the sick, and the helpless, are—" an arrow sank into his helmet, causing him to stop walking. The bandit who let loose the bolt lowered his crossbow and moved to load another, as the arrow popped right out of his helmet, causing the bandits to jerk back in shock.

"What the hells?! That was right in your gods damned head! How are you not dead?!"

"For a wealth of reasons, my foolish foe. None you should concern yourself with, in my humble opinion." He resumed his approach. "Unless you allow us passage, you're about to have bigger problems. Understand?" They were terrified of him, though not for the reason he figured. Two more arrows jammed into his armor, courtesy of the cliffside bandits, and like before, the arrows popped out and fell to the snow. The other bandits shirked back, while the bandit captain looked rooted in place from confused fear.

"Now," Sir Goolahad stopped mere feet from him. "are we to have a quarrel, sir?"

"W-What?"

"I said," several pseudopods emerged from his armor. The gooey tentacles oozed and loomed around the bandit, each vibrating before a maw formed upon each. "do we have a quarrel, sir?" The extra mouths all asked in unison. The captain dropped his scimitars and fled around the boulder. The whispers grew distant on all sides, as the bandits retreated and fled. Scared off by Sir Goolahad's display.

"…that was disgusting." Samuel said.

"No, that was decisive," the armored ooze corrected, as his many pseudopods seeped back into his armor. "no one needed to die on either side, and all it took was giving them a little scare. As my Code dictates, I don't try to kill unless I've exhausted every choice for my foes. After all, even lowly bandits can find redemption somewhere. Now," his posture visibly slackened as he looked towards the boulder. "any ideas as to how to remove this from our path? I doubt a simple push will be enough." Zraull approached the boulder, running his gloved hand along the frigid stone's surface. Judging its weight. Assessing how treacherous it would be to move.

"Please move, Sir Goolahad." He instructed him. The armored ooze eased back, as Zraull concentrated. Focusing his mind and letting psionic energy build in his hand. Gloved fingers flicked upwards, and the boulder slowly lifted from the path; lifting higher into the air until, with a flick of the wrist, he launched it far off into the distance. Far from the road.

"My word! You can move things with your mind?" Sir Goolahad exclaimed. "I knew illithids possessed impressive psionic gifts, but never have I clashed with one that could move such things with their mind alone!"

"My circumstances are different." Zraull began moving back for the wagon, telekinetically locking his doctor's bag. Thankfully, it wasn't needed. Samuel retook the reins, and the two of them circled the wagon. The doors were opened once more by the same telekinetic means, and the doctor climbed back in.

"Well, what kept y'all?" Dalakos asked. "Heard a ruckus outside, but figured ya two had it handled."

"That we did," the ooze retook his seat on the bench. Zraull did the same. The doors were closed and the wagon lurched again, their path resumed. "a couple of rapscallions tried to ambush the wagon. But with some quick wits and a little fright, we sent those foolhardy buffoons packing without so much as a scratch!"

"…rap…what?"

"Bandits," Zraull answered. "bandits tried to ambush. Sir Goolahad frightened them away using his abilities."

"Frightened 'em? Eh…what a waste?" Dalakos shook his head and leaned back.

"Excuse me?" The ooze asked.

"Yeah, a waste. Why didn't ya just kill 'em?" Dalakos asked. "Why bother even entertainin' their mess? They're just bandits."

"Because I do not kill unless I'm met without a choice, sir." Sir Goolahad said. "Unless I am met with a truly irredeemable foe, beyond salvation or redemption, I do not take the lives of those I clash. They have a chance to turn their lives around."

"…y'know, weird way of lookin' at it. But, as a mate used to say, not my circus, not my monkeys. Just seems like a feckin' waste of time in my opinion." He leaned back against the wagon wall as it creaked and groaned from the trip. Sir Goolahad stared at the man for a moment more before he settled back as well. Silence hung in the air again, as they hurdled towards their next destination, now with a bit of tension in the air.

As long as it didn't imperil his research, Zraull didn't quite care. And as he settled again, the doctor picked his journal back up and went back to taking notes.

The cold was both frustrating yet exhausting. In all his hunts, he rarely stalked in a climate as frigid as the Dale, for wealth of reasons. Firstly was the cold, and his lack of a way around it, and second was the fact the ideal prey out there did well never to be found. Maybe that would change in the future, but for the time…that wasn't the case.

Xyris gave a silent groan as the wagon hurtled on. While the inside was warmer than it was outside, it was only warmer just slightly. Just enough to keep him from nodding off and being at risk. Scytheclaw rested in his lap, his faithful pet sharing his warmth to keep the huntsman safe. A boon that velociraptors, while not warm-blooded, retained considerable warmth in their feathers.

"Y-You okay, Xyris?" The dead-spawn, Eloria, asked. The huntsman glanced her way, as she looked at him with her brows knit in concern. "I know cold isn't…good for you. Just…making sure you're gonna last until we reach a tavern or pitch camp." He narrowed his eyes slightly, then gave a silent exhale.

"I'm…managing. The biting cold is getting to me, but Scytheclaw's warmth staves it off. I just want this damned human to hurry."

"Wagon's goin' as fast as it can, scales," the other dead-spawn, Dalakos, chimed in. "any faster an' those horses might give out. Then we'd really be in trouble." He grumbled at that. "Nah, but don't fret, scales, I used the time we had to fix your lil' problem." The undead gunslinger rummaged about in his belt-mounted pouch for a moment before withdrawing his hand and producing something. A ring, one that he offered to Xyris. "Here ya are! One Ring of Warmth!" Xyris stared at it for a moment…then narrowed his eyes.

"…no boon comes without a price," he hissed. "what do you covet? What do you hope to gain by assisting me?"

"Nothin'. We're to be workin' together on this, no? It'd be a piss poor idea to leave one of ya unable to survive in the damn cold. So, fixes that! Though ya may have to attune to it an' all that shite. So…not outta the cold yet." Xyris stared at the ring for a moment more before finally accepting it from the undead man's gloved hand. Pinching it between his talons to examine it.

"…thank you, then." The words felt strange to say. Stranger still to mean them as well. Many urges in his mind still assumed it was a trick. A ruse. But he pushed them aside. The huntsman raised his arm and flipped open the protective, wooden case there. Where his main ring rested, his Flawed Ring of Invisibility, affixed to his vambrace's interior directly. A loophole his friends helped him come up with to circumvent the ring's flawed state. One that left it unable to magically resize to fit him, like a proper magic item would.

None the less, he carefully pushed the Ring of Warmth into place next to the flawed magic ring and closed the vambrace case. He'd attuned before; it would just take an hour of contact and meditation—

The wagon lurched again. Xyris hissed and reached down to prevent Scytheclaw from tumbling off his lap. The others rattled and shook about as well, finding their own footing as the doors creaked open, and the bodyguard stood there, out in the snow.

"Good news," he announced. "found us a tavern. Bad news, it's fairly isolated. So, best behavior. All of you. We can't afford to resume the rest of this trek until the horses rest and we restock on stuff." One by one, they filed out of the wagon, with Xyris being the last one to drop down into the frigid snow.

Before them rested a tavern made from sturdy wood and stone, but the surrounding area was what perplexed Xyris. It looked destitute. Only a handful of wooden homes and buildings surrounded it, as if the tavern were the lifeblood for the place. It wasn't even a village; it was a damned throp. A mere collection of homes and workplaces with the tavern serving as the heart of it all. He had nothing against throps, but he understood they were usually…wayward. Wayward and secluded.

"Follow my lead. Do not do anything out of the ordinary," the bodyguard said. "we're already unsure if they'll even allow us for the night, but we can't survive a night in the wilds. Not with the supplies we have." The human parted the wooden door first and sauntered inside, with the others gradually following suit. He was the last one inside, along with Scytheclaw, as the huntsman stepped into the tavern properly.

A wave of much-needed warmth hit him the moment he stepped inside of the tavern. A spacious, wide tavern, with a long hearth running through the center. Tables were strewn about, where various tavern-goers sat about, drinking from tankards and having idle conversations. A wrinkled, old man tended the bar, seemingly ignorant of their arrival. At least until one of the men pointed them out. And then a collection of eyes fell to him. And then grimaces. Xyris suppressed a hiss in response. What the hells were they plotting? What were they planning—

He shook his head. No. It's fine. Not everyone was plotting on him. And if they were, there wouldn't be much aside from maybe a harsh comment or two. Humans were prone to boasting and threatening over actually swinging immediately.

"Find somewhere to settle. I'll talk to the bartender, get things situated." The bodyguard informed. He moved for the bar, and Dalakos followed suit. Xyris slowly settled down at a wayward table, with Scytheclaw curling up by his legs the moment he sat down. The huntsman kept his eyes on the other tavern-goers, studying their judging stares and glowers as he worked on upkeep. Maybe they had never seen one of his kind before. Scalykind never ventured to the Dale, after all.

Xyris looked over to the bar, as the bodyguard earnestly spoke to the bartender. Even pointing at him accusingly. Over the hustle and bustle of the tavern, the huntsman couldn't understand what they were discussing, but it sounded tense. As long as the fool didn't dare to throw them out, lest he'd be the first to "persuade" the human in allowing them to stay.

A quiet grunt left him. Slowly, his shoulders slouched, and he worked on general upkeep. The huntsman reached to his lower back to produce one of his prized tools of the hunt, a collapsable spear forged during his training. Forged by his faithful allies, whom he direly needed to see, now that he escaped captivity. With a dark wooden, collapsed haft, no longer than a telescope, the complex mechanisms within were primed and ready to go. The unique metal the dual-ended spear was forged from was a well-guarded secret, according to his allies. Only a handful of their forgemasters knew how to craft weapons of such impressive durability and lethality. Another reason he valued his training with them. His time with them.

The memory brought a smile to his maw, as his rattle quivered a bit.

"Everything okay, Xyris?" He was tugged from his reverie by Eloria's voice. Xyris looked away from his spear just as she sat with him at the table. She held a tankard of ale in hand, and while her hood was still up, her bandana was pulled down to reveal her fanged mouth. "Is it warm enough in here for you?"

"It's better than the damned wagon," he began, as the collapsed spear was returned to its spot upon his lower back. "why do you ask?" He tried his best to shroud the caution to his voice. She had to have a reason for her insistent prying.

"Just…making sure you're okay?" She asked. The tankard was set down, and Xyris noticed it was filled with water. Not ale. "Look, I'm just…thinking we got off on the wrong foot, back in the arena. With you calling me a 'dead-spawn' and all that. So, can we start over? For example," she offered her hand for him to take. "Eloria Summercrest of Waterdeep." Xyris stared at her hand for a moment, studying it and her shrouded face for several moments before, finally, he reached a hand down to enclose it upon her pale hand. Shaking it slowly.

"…well met, Eloria." He recalled what his allies taught him about proper greetings. "Xyris of the Skullsworn, soon to be greatest huntsman in all of Faerun."

"…huh." The dhampir said, as he released her hand. "That's…unexpected."

"Unexpected how? What is unexpected about my name?" He questioned, his rattle twitching slightly.

"N-Nothing, just…I met a yuan-ti merchant down in Waterdeep. She introduced herself differently. Like…she said something like…Isa of House…I forget the house. But I think it was her last name."

"It wasn't." Xyris corrected. His talons drummed upon the table. "Yuan-ti normally introduce themselves by their given name and their House. Such as House Eselemas or House Hss'tafi. Traditionally, and for example, I would greet you as Xyris of House Sauringar. Though that is not my House, I use them as an example."

"No, that makes sense," she nodded. "…but…why did you introduce yourself differently?"

"I lived elsewhere, so I introduce myself as my allies do. Out of respect for them." Respect and devotion, rather. After all, he owed them everything…including his life.

"Hhhhey, pretty lady," a slurred voice drew his focus. As one of the tavern goers clumsily plopped himself down in the seat closest to Eloria. A clearly drunken man, with a half-empty tankard of strong, foul-smelling ale. "yhhou new in town? Chhhause I've never seen a lhhhady like you around before…" He hiccupped slightly. Eloria grimaced and eased away.

"I-I'm good. Just here talking with my friend—"

"Fhhhhriend?! You friends with a damn snakeman?!" He laughed. "C'mon, girl! Ghhhhet real! Spend some time with a rrreeal man, not a shhhhhnakeman!" Xyris let the man ramble, judging his every move with a mixture of mounting ire and morbid curiosity. Purely because he had a hunch the fool was about to cross the point of no return. From there, whatever came next, it wouldn't be the huntsman's fault.

"Are you finished yet?" Xyris asked. "Because she seems to be recoiling from you, human." The man's face twisted into a furious grimace. He pushed himself to his feet haphazardly, struggling to stay standing as he glowered up at Xyris.

"Oh yeah? Well whhhhy don't ya get the FUCK out, snake? 'Fore I MAKE ya!" He slurred.

"Oh?" Xyris stood. The man's furious glower slowly softened to a frightful one as he was firmly reminded of the height disparity between the two. As the huntsman looked down at him. His hand clenched and his blades jutted free. Causing the drunken man's already malding confidence to further wain and erode until he stumbled away. Him standing caused Scytheclaw to rise as well, and his faithful pet glared at the man; hissing at him as he dragged his sickle talons along the wooden floor. Ready to pounce on the huntsman's command. "And how will you be doing that, hmm?" The man slowly eased back. Further and further. Seemed he was just sober enough to recognize a firm threat and, rationally, back down. "A pity. Run along now. I'm talking with my friend and I don't need the stench of your cowardice to spoil the mood." The drunken man eased away, maintaining a frightful, yet baleful glower the entire time. Xyris hoped, for his sake, that would be the end of that.

"Thank you," Eloria sighed. Xyris retook his seat and retracted his blades, just as Scytheclaw plopped down next to his chair once more. "I-I've dealt with my fair share of drunkards back in Waterdeep, but usually I had friends to chase them off. I never know the right thing to say to defuse the situation peacefully."

"Sometimes, the peaceful solution cannot be reached." Xyris offered. A bit more receptive to talking, now that the dhampir proved she was okay to trust. "Sometimes, the right course of action is to threaten them away. Give them a firm reason to move along."

"But…never been good at that either. I can never tell where to reign it back with the threatening before it becomes…well either it works, or it makes things worse." Eloria grimaced. Xyris nodded. Some humans, and humanoids, were…a tad strange. Like they sought an excuse to crash out and fight. "Besides, back at the monastery, I was never really taught to threaten, if that makes sense. My master used to tell me, and I quote, 'let your enemy posture enough and he'll gladly expose his neck for you to strike.'" Xyris slowly nodded. Her master sounded a lot like his.

"Have you ever seen a poison dart frog?" He asked.

"In a shop once, yeah. Back in Waterdeep" She nodded.

"Mhm. They dwell where I trained as well. And they make no effort to hide themselves in the jungle, are visible as clear as day to any and all threats…and yet nothing dares to prey upon them. You understand why, yes?"

"They're highly poisonous," she answered. "just touching their skin's enough to be at risk, and most of their toxins can be fatal."

"Indeed. Those frogs are rarely preyed upon because, without so much as a bark or a growl, they communicate colorfully that they will spell a predator's doom. Try something like that. Without a word, look threatening enough to make it abundantly clear that you are not to be trifled with. Does that make sense?"

"I…think, but I'll give it a shot next time a drunkard tries something. Thanks, Xyris." Her fanged maw curled into a grin. The huntsman nodded in response. She was an odder one. But at the very least, she expressed concern for his and Scytheclaw's safety. She could be trusted.

And despite every nerve in his mind refusing to believe it, he did mean his words. In calling her a friend.

The tavern was silent. A calming sort of quiet, much more different than the container he was confined to within the Maw.

Goolahad sat at the now empty bar, drumming his ironclad fingers against the wood. A pseudopod was extended from a chink in his armor, plunged into a tankard, as the ooze quietly "drank" the ale. His sense of taste was…strange; he could perceive the strong, sharp flavor of the cheap liquor, but it wasn't like it needed to be. He just knew something was…off with it. Amiss. He couldn't put his finger on it, no matter how many he made.

He swiveled his head around, his eyes gazing upon the rest of the tavern. It was entirely empty, with the patrons either up in their own rooms for the night, or off in their homes for the night. While the bartender said people could idle in the main area of the tavern, he did lock up all of the ale kegs. The ooze was just smart enough to grab his at last call.

He continued to silently sip from the tankard, taking a moment to just…bask in his freedom. In his first night free of the Maw. Hopefully, the freedom would stick, and he wouldn't find himself sent back to the Maw. Where those dastardly scientists ran all manners of tests on him. Questioning how an ooze could, allegedly, develop sentience and believe itself to be a questing knight.

They were misguided. Of course he was a knight! He used to be a man, after all! Sure, he wasn't handsome, but he was still a man! A human man! Alas, that dastardly hag and her curse turned him into an ooze for breaking her deal! At the very least, he learned to make the most from a bad situation. At the very least, as an ooze, he didn't need to fret about his looks anymore.

Movement caught his attention. Goolahad turned to watch as Dalakos sauntered down the creaky wooden steps. His helmet was tucked under his arm, his spectral face on display as he held a tankard in hand. One he brought to his ghostly maw so he could down the contents of the drink. If Goolahad had a brow, he'd raise it at that.

"Forgive me, Dalakos, but I was led to believe Reborn could consume alcohol, given your…condition." The ooze said.

"Nyeh, I can't, but I like the sensation of it. Like a reflex. Sure, I can't taste the shite, but I can imagine it tastes either terrible or subpar."

"Hmph. I can assure you, it's between those," Goolahad chuckled a bit, causing his armor to click a bit. "…Dalakos, a moment, if you will."

"Eh? Got somethin' to say?" He asked as he stopped walking.

"Something to discuss, yes. You have no reservations to killing, whereas I do. I…hope this won't be an issue for our quest. My viewpoints colliding with your own."

"I…see." The skeletal man said. "Ya're worried 'bout that?"

"Rather, I'm worried our viewpoints may collide at the worst times. With me seeking to spare a foe you and the others have marked for death."

"Well, don't fret 'bout that. But ya may need to get open about killin', in my opinion." Dalakos downed more of the ale. The ooze couldn't tell where it was even going in his undead form. A mystery in itself. "Augh…'cause look, we are gonna be lookin' for some extremely rare relic. Shite no one's ever seen before. Understandably, we're gonna have folks tryin' to kill us instead. So, it's KILL or BE KILLED, in a sense."

"I…see." Goolahad shook his helmeted head. "Forgive me, but that doesn't sit well with me. My Code forbids killing unless there's no other way."

"Well, there ain't. Ya let someone go, they're just gonna come back later, now with a way to actually put ya down for good. Ya avoid that by takin' them out. I know it's gonna rub ya the wrong way, given ya seem to carry some kinda Code, but hear me out. Would ya rather take out one bastard, or let 'em take us all out? Ya party?"

"…" Goolahad folded his hands together on the table. Drumming ironclad fingers together. "…it would be dishonorable to allow harm to come to my party. No good knight allows harm to come to his chapter. Still, Dalakos, it doesn't sit right to willingly take lives if there's an alternative."

"There might be. For what it's worth, I'll help ya figure somethin' out. And if ya gotta kill 'em, ain't gotta make it messy. That help?"

"I…suppose." Goolahad nodded. "Thank you for this discussion, Dalakos. It helps."

"No problem. We're a party, as ya said. And a party looks out for one another." He couldn't tell if the skeletal figure was smiling at him. The ooze liked to guess he was.

"Mhm. For now, did you come down here for another drink?" Goolahad questioned. "If so, the kegs are unfortunately sealed."

"Oh nah. I'm go test some of the glyphs out. Make sure it's all workin' right so I don't learn the hard way they ain't all up to par. So…if ya hear a loud boom, I'm probably fine." With that, he set the tankard down and threw open the door before sauntering out. Goolahad watched the door close, his mind a bit at ease now. Dalakos was a…strange person, but they were on the same page, at least. And he didn't try to sugarcoat his words either. So, he could appreciate that—

BOOM!

"Ah for FECK's SAKE! I said FIREBOLT! Not FIREBALL! WHY!? WHY THE FECK ARE THEY SO DAMNED ALIKE!?" Dalakos screamed outside.

"…at least he warned me first…" Goolahad noted, as he finished off his ale. Dalakos was right. It really did taste terrible…