Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Your heartbeat is slow, drowsy, steady. 

Your mind is dark, black tar seeping across your senses, almost like in a stasis – 

Badump . One heartbeat. Badump. Two. 

Three. Four. Five. The pace quickens, your pulse a heavy drum in your ears – Danger. 

You awaken to your nerves alight, the molecular engine of your body igniting with each beat of your heart that is filled with panic, screaming in your thoughts; danger, danger, danger. 

There is nothing familiar to you, no sign of civilization, nothing that you can recognize and tell that this is still your home, this is still your usual surroundings, normal life, normal world . 

Instead you find dulled half-toned glass encasing you, something unnervingly warm and humid pressing against your back, and where your hands are practically locked to your sides due to being crammed in the small space you feel something shudder at your touch. 

You have no idea what is even happening . 

And then the pod opens – just the top, and you find yourself face-to-face with a monster beyond your worst nightmares. The creature stands (floats) on two legs, sporting an elongated fleshy head, mouth turning into tentacles, and you watch as its brain is half protruding from the sides of its temples, throbbing slowly as it scrutinizes you with small, pitch-black eyes. 

You feel like throwing up. 

But your whole body is unresponsive, frozen, as if something is pressing you down by the throat and barely allowing you to breathe. 

The creature tilts its head, inspecting you for a long moment before it turns around, fishing for something with a three-fingered hand. Its large cowl and ornate robes obscure whatever it might be doing, and you gasp as you see countless pods similar to yours line the walls, all seemingly hosting humanoid shapes of various sizes. 

How did you get here? 

How did you get here? 

You would scream if you could, you would beg and demand answers and curse and bargain for whatever it is that is happening to make more sense and for you to get out of the tight confines of your pod. But you can do nothing, not even let out the slightest sound as your eyes dart around. 

The creature turns back around, holding up something that wriggles in its grasp, it looks like a fish, or maybe a worm? 

It’s like a leech, you finally decide on describing it as – or something that looks like if someone took the concept of a leech and made it so, so much worse. The thing in its hand squirms, and in a macabre display of teeth accompanied by an unnatural screech it inverts itself, showing countless rows of mouths, all overlapping one another. 

Your captor inspects the leech, and then, as if everything couldn’t get worse, holds it out towards you. 

It comes nearer and nearer and nearer and you try futilely to shift away, turn your head, do anything . 

But you can’t, and your eye is forced open as the leech attaches small tentacles at the top and bottom lids, keeping you staring ahead as it horribly opens its mouth. It lets out another small screech before it dives , and you are ready to feel it chewing through your eyeball and killing you. 

Instead, it forces itself up and above your line of sight, the pressure of it sending off waves of discomfort, a discomfort so harsh that it borders onto pain. But it slides past, and further, and the feeling of something squirming and settling in the back of your skull – almost purring . 

You wish you were dead. 

You wish you were dead rather than feel this, feel something chirp quietly without sound as it presses itself to the back of your cerebrum.  

The monster still standing before you stares for another long, quiet moment, and then, without committing further horrors than the one snuggling inside your head, it turns and leaves, waving a hand as the pod closes itself back up. 

You pass out the moment it does so, something filling the chamber that sedates and knocks you out. 

You later startle awake to a crash and boom as part of the ceiling smashes through the top of your pod, and your eyes open just as the room lurches violently sideways in a motion that saves you from being impaled on the sharp shards of glass breaking from the cover of your pod. 

Gravity decides to juggle itself for a few heart-stopping moments as your body shudders with nausea after getting tossed around like a ragdoll.  

The leech in your head wriggles in a way that has bile rise in your throat, but you know that whatever is happening is likely going to be your only chance at getting out – something deep in you knows this and bids you to act. 

It’s with strength that you’ve never imagined yourself to have you fold your legs in under the still attached glass, pushing with all your will until it gives – shattering onto the amalgamation of intermingled metal and flesh that makes up the floor. 

“Great,” you whisper hoarsely to yourself, hands shaking, head pounding as you heave yourself out of the pod. “Great, now what?” 

There’s fire burning along one wall in an almost lazy way – not likely to explode, you think as everything that could have exploded seemingly has . The thing in the middle of the room where the leech came from is half tilted over, the bowl containing the things cracked and leaking. 

You stare at the dead leeches still remaining in there for a long, long moment, and then turn away. 

Unless you suddenly gain the ability to very dexterously wield a needle and somehow not kill yourself, you doubt the unbidden passenger in your head will leave anytime soon. 

Fantastic. Now, where the fuck even is this place? 

Your clothes are torn, practically rags just like how the rest of your body feels. Thankfully you still manage to limp your way over to where several other pods have broken open or tilted over. There’s corpses inside the few ones you manage to get close enough to look at, but the rest are either too high or too close to the fire for you to look for other survivors – anybody that might clue you in on anything at all. 

As you make your way around the circuit of the room, the leech suddenly screeches, the pitch so high it makes your teeth ache and you clutch at your head as you are bombarded with impressions, thoughts, feelings, memories. 

It’s fear, it’s anger, it’s despair – hundreds of voices all calling out and demanding response. 

You teeter on the edge of consciousness, your strength leaving you as your leech connects you to something that feels like a web of minds; your own sense of self breaking apart into pieces as you groan, slumping against a console. 

There is no fighting it, it simply is , so you try your best to ride it out without losing your last vestiges of sanity. 

And then, something slight thrills at the edge of your hearing beyond the cacophony of voices and the shrill screeching of the leech. 

Help us . 

You anchor your mind on the whispery voice, finding that you can then concentrate better on separating yourself from the ocean of impressions. Eyes burning with tears, the world is blurry as you stagger back up from where you practically collapsed against one of the walls. 

Your surroundings straightens itself up as you blink harshly, the headache you had started out with has now become a full-blown migraine. But at the very least the cacophony of voices has quieted down to a low murmur in the back of your head. 

There is still fire, still metal that feels somewhat soft beneath your feet as you continue through the room and to what seems to be a flesh-built doorway that likely leads further in. For a long moment you stare at the door, wondering what to do, before you shake your head – better to just try anything rather than nothing. 

Reaching out your hand, you feel the soft flesh shudder at your touch and the sphincter expands, allowing you into the next room.

In here there are no pods. Instead you warily eye several jars of what you think might be inner organs, scattered about on tables alongside what seems to be desecrated corpses. 

You have no desire to get close to any of that , so you instead trace the soft voice at the back of your head. 

Free us . It whispers. Help us . 

An oddly shaped staircase leads up to the second floor of this room, and there you halt in your tracks. A man sits in a chair, long alien pointed ears decorating the sides of his head. Though it is not what holds your attention, what holds it is the way his scalp is missing, exposing his brain in a manner that displays surgical precision alongside brutality – 

Alright, that’s – that’s too much for your mind to handle. You lean on over the side of the staircase, heaving as what little you have in your stomach rebels and spills past your lips. The burn of bile is strong in your mouth and nose, and you heave again as the smell of blood that has been surrounding you like sick perfume is intermingled with the rancid stench of puke. 

“This is a nightmare,” you croak as you swipe your sleeve over your mouth, feeling the knots in your stomach worsen at the rebellion it had just displayed. Even the leech in your skull seems to voice its distaste, wriggling unpleasantly as you scrape together your last pathetic bits of courage to approach the man. 

If nothing else, you might be able to offer a quicker death than this – this show he has been set up to be. 

And then the soft voice speaks. 

Please, don’t be scared. 

The man does not speak, his jaw ajar and seemingly broken. And yet the whisper comes from him. 

“What are you?” The world tilts slightly at an axis as you stand, again feeling woozy and head pounding as you hear the voice both coming from the man and not. It is like there’s an overlap, but one that your brain won’t admit to willingly. 

A newborn. Born from this husk!  

And the head twitches, the neck wrenching at an unnatural angle as the man still shows little to no response to anything. 

The brain pulses, and you think you notice it wriggling in place, stuck against the edges of the skull. It looks swollen, expanded beyond what it should be as the macabre display enacts another shudder. 

“Are you stuck?” you ask without thinking, not getting closer as you fold your arms. You would rather not risk touching it – whatever the newborn is. 

Free us from this body! Free us from our womb. 

“How?” 

Your leech presses against some part of your brain you never expected to be able to feel physical touch and suddenly you know . Your fingers are agile enough to slide in on each side of the brain, the swollen matter giving slightly as you do so, it’s half the leech and half your own bidding that has you actually do it smoothly. 

You grimace, already regretting what you are doing. 

Yes, yes, yes – 

And then the brain releases from the cavity, sliding out to rest in your palms. 

It squirms. 

This is so beyond anything you could ever dream of, the nightmare that never ends. You stare mutely at the brain in your hands, trying to comprehend properly your circumstances at hand; the horrible room you’re in, the creature that infected you with the leech that is resting behind your eyes, the brain that slowly sprouts tentacles as you keep looking, legs folding out and settling on your palms as if you are holding a kitten or other small creature. 

Bile rises in your throat, but you swallow it back as the creature shifts and settles, seemingly content in staying in your arms for the moment. 

We must go to the helm. To the helm we must go.

“Why?” you feel askew, disassociated and distant as the creature’s claws flex against the sleeve of your shirt as it shifts, half standing up. 

It’s dangerous. There’s danger! There we will be safe. 

“I –” and you bite down on another question. The thing might be sentient, but you get the hunch that it is only just a bit more knowledgeable than yourself about the situation right now. “Okay. Where do we go?” 

We go. 

The creature doesn’t elaborate. Instead it shuffles in your hold, jumping down. It turns in place a couple of times, its small tentacles whipping through the air like a snake's tongue before it places a paw-like appendage on your shin, standing up as it stares at you without eyes. 

We will keep you safe. To the helm we will bring you!  

And then it starts scampering along the uneven floor, stiff for a moment before it figures out its limbs and sets off at a fast pace. 

“Wait,” you call, rushing after with your whole body aching. “What even are you?” 

It pauses, letting you catch up and shifting from paw to paw. 

Us. It tells you. We are Us.

Chapter Text

The creature – Us, as it calls itself, skitters across the floor without trouble, even when there is debris or corpses in the way its gangly limbs carry it across without trouble. At some point, it finds a broken wall, one that leads out onto an outer walkway, leading you out there without hesitating. 

You stare wide-eyed at the sight that greets you. 

The landscape is scorched and barren, ignited in places by lava and brimstone. Countless bodies move across it, colliding in what seems to be a huge battlefield, spanning across the horizon. The sun is harsh and bright to a point of pain, and you raise a hand to shield your eyes as something enormous flies by barely an arms length away from you. 

A wind beats down on you and Us with such force that it forces you to your knees, and you brace yourself against the outer wall of the ship (is it a ship? is it a plane? You can’t tell from the bits and pieces you have seen), Us coming over to press itself against your leg, either finding or lending support as you wait out the harsh pressure from beating wings. 

The creature flies by so fast that you can barely get a look at it, but you recognize scales and wings, curled horns and giant limbs. Was… Was that a dragon? 

“What was that?” you ask no one in particular as you stand back up. The dragon has left, but you can feel the vibrations of carnage as it lands somewhere else on the ship. 

Danger! Is all Us can tell you. 

Well, it’s not wrong. 

You push off of the wall, finding your bearings. But the moment you are about to move into the next chamber, a shadow flips off of one of the beams high above you, and what you assume is another sentient creature lands before you, blade held up to your throat. 

Their appearance is similar yet different, their ears are pointed and saw-toothed like a knife, their nose small and high on their face. 

Eyes like a reptilian glare at you as they snarl, “Abomination. this is your end!” 

And then your leech twists and writhes in your skull – making you clutch your head as you are assaulted by images, feelings, thoughts of the woman in front of you. You see dragons, starry nights and the feeling of confusion as the connection slips. 

Your head throbs, following each uneven heartbeat a stab of pain digs through your skull, the leech squirming. Pressing a hand to your temple does nothing to ease the pain as you stagger in place, head swimming with images from the woman’s mind. 

The woman in question merely shakes off the discomfort (or maybe it is not as bad for her?), scrutinizing you for a moment before lowering the sword. She then smiles, displaying a row of sharp teeth that has you thinking predator . 

She looks you up and down, “You… are no thrall,” she says, “Vlaakith blesses me this day, together, we may escape.” 

“I – who are you?” Your voice is worn and tired, barely able to force the words past your throat as Us lingers by your feet like a cat begging for attention. 

“Lae’zel,” she hisses, reaching out to grab your chin as she rests the greatsword on her armored shoulder. Her eyes narrow. “You are not from here, I see. Peculiar, I wonder what plane your world resides on. Now tell me your name and we will waste no more time here.” 

“Wait, wait,” you interrupt, too scared of her using that large sword of hers to hurt you to break her hold on you. But you do raise your hands in a placating gesture. “What did you mean by thrall? Do you know where we are?” 

“Thralls are what we should have become the moment the parasite entered our heads,” Lae’zel hisses, letting go of your chin to curl her fingers beside her temple, as if carving out the leech. “We carry the incubating methods of ghaik , mind flayers. In days our bodies will be reformed to their kind and our selves forgotten to become a part of their singular mind!” 

You recall the thing that held out the parasite to you – you could become that? Is that – no wait you are on a ship made of flesh hauling through hell while there’s a dragon attacking it and a walking brain next to you. She’s not lying, you know it. Which means what she described is likely to become reality. 

That’s… That’s horrible. 

“Can we remove them?” 

“If we find a creché –” Lae’zel begins, but is cut off by cries of some sort, short and wailing. Her brow pinches and her lips lift in a snarl. 

Fast and furious, she spins, taking one step forward to brace herself, she swings her greatsword in a sharp arc that cleaves whatever had leapt at her, bisecting its body into two smooth pieces. 

“Imps!” Lae’zel shouts, bracing herself as several others come flying. The creatures look like the iconography you know from tales and myths, only gnarlier and bloodied, their teeth and mouths stained red. 

We protect! Us tells you as you shy away from the approaching adversaries. 

You have no weapon or any skills to help participate in the fighting, thankfully your part is not necessary – Us and Lae’zel quickly dispatches the imps without further trouble. Their corpses are spread out across the walkway, and you swallow down nausea yet again at the display of viscera. 

 “Now,” Lae’zel says, wiping down her sword. “Your name.” You give it to her, watching as she mouths it, tasting it on her tongue.  She then juts out her chin in the direction of Us. “I see you control the intellect devourer. It will be of assistance in the fights to come, but I will not have you cower in the back like prey.” 

She reaches behind her, fishing out a medium-sized crossbow. 

“I’ve never used any kind of weapon,” you confess as she hands you it. It’s heavy, but not terribly so that you drop it onto the floor, and the notch is at least easy to figure out, just pull it back until it clicks in place and place the bolt in the groove. It feels awkward, one part of the grip too wide and you can already feel your arms protest the weight. “I don’t think I’ll –” 

“If you shoot one or a thousand I do not care,” Lae’zel turns and stalks off in the direction the imps came from. “But you will kill to not be killed yourself.” 

Eyeing the crossbow, you point it down at the ground as you walk off after her. 

You’re not so sure yourself. 

-

It definitely seems like the dragons are the enemies of the mind flayers – simply looking at the state of the ship reveals as such. Why? You can barely piece together something resembling a history of slavery and mind control from the small snippets of conversation you manage to snatch from Lae’zel. 

The fighting does get worse, with every room and corridor you head through you find more and more imps and corpses, countless pods lining the walls, even with some of them having been knocked down or broken, leading to the hell-residents to feast on the unexpecting souls within. 

“Lae’zel?” you ask, having squeezed into one of the corridors that were being blocked off by several knocked over pods. 

Lae’zel’s only response is a slight tilt of her head and a flat look over her shoulder. So far she hasn’t run you through with the occasional question you’ve found the courage to ask, so you hope she is at least inclined to give you information perpetrating your situation at large. 

“How did you get here, do you know?” 

Lae’zel turns, her eyes sharp. “I was taken, the ghaik do not care where they gain their spawn from. As long as they can steal bodies to use they will travel through all planes, all worlds they can reach.” 

“But I don’t remember being taken,” you admit to her, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. You have gone a long way, and your body is starting to lag behind, your feet and back hurting and your arms complaining from hoisting the crossbow. “Do you?” 

“Yes,” Lae’zel. “I do.” 

Oh. Alright then. 

-

You finally find the path that leads to the helm, but first you run into someone else still alive and trying to escape. 

“Let me out!” The woman shouts from within the pod. She is likewise armored, her kicks having bruised but not cracked the glass that encases her. 

“We have no time for stragglers,” Lae’zel tells you plainly when you look over at her. “We are almost at the helm. We must steer this ship away from the hells and escape.” 

“But –” 

“We cannot afford hindrances,” Lae’zel hisses, fingers flexing on the grip of her greatsword. 

“She could be a help,” you counter. You feel fear prick at the back of your neck as Lae’zel’s eyes narrow, her already thin patience wearing thinner. “I just – what if there are mind flayers at the helm? What if there’s something worse than the imps? We’re already tired, worn, and we might as well try our best to even the odds.” 

Lae’zel glares at you for a moment, before making the same tsk sound she has made every time you’ve asked a question that she deemed irrelevant or stupid, or whenever you lagged behind, costing time. “Be quick.” 

You’ll take it. 

A quick inspection of the room at large shows the console connected to the pod, but no way of navigating it. You stick your nose here and there, finding a brain in a jar, several linked-up individuals in chairs that seem to have unfortunately already passed. 

There’s another room linked to the one with your new companions pod, there you are immediately greeted with the sight of another woman in a pod. Lae’zel stays in the doorway, keeping watch and eyeing the intellect devourers that skitter around the rooms without acknowledging either of your existences. Us is dogging your heels, ever present. 

You try and call out, banging on the glass to see if she is still alive. Us presses up against your shin as if in comfort as she remains unresponsive, the intellect devourer encouraging you to keep investigating. 

“Well, better take a look around,” you say to yourself as you circuit around the pod, finding no console immediately connected. 

There are also corpses in here, the bodies in disarray and often unrecognizable with the way their skulls have caved in. You wonder if you will ever shed the constant sense of dread that is hanging over you, as you carefully step around the gore to inspect a desk. 

On it, a small slate lies, and when you look at it you are hit with a – language, voice, screaming, communication through the mind that demands no need for the written word. It forces itself into your mind through your parasite, forcing you to understand, to comprehend. 

You snap back to reality, the leech wriggling in your skull as you stagger back. 

“What happened?” Lae’zel asks from across the room. You can hear the clank and heft of her armor as she walks further in, cautiously approaching you as you regain your balance. 

“Nothing! Nothing, I’m fine,” you yell back at her, clutching your head with your hands. “Just the parasite doing things.” 

“I would not call that ‘fine’,” Lae’zel says dryly as she reaches you. She grabs your chin, once again tilting your head up to meet her eyes. She seems to prefer man-handling you rather than just asking questions like a normal person. “No sweating, no fever. The ceremorphosis has not commenced. What did you do that caused you pain?” 

“I looked at the slate,” there is no point beating around the bush, not with Lae’zel. You’ve found out in the short time hours you’ve known her that dodging the question is useless if she wants answers. “My parasite likes to move around whenever it communicates with something. I almost passed out when I escaped my pod.” 

“The cause?” 

“I think it tried to reach out to everyone on the ship?” you offer. It’s a hypothesis at best, but going by how your leech connected to Lae’zel’s earlier to show you her memories and hear her voice, you can’t help but wonder if the initial cry of help from numerous souls was from everyone caught in the ship, infected with leeches. 

“Hm,” Lae’zel inspects you for another beat before releasing you. “Do not attempt to do so in battle, it will become your undoing.” 

“I’ll try,” you promise. 

-

You feel like your skull is splitting when you place your hand on the console, something gnawing at the back of your mind, different from the pain. It aches deeply, through bone and marrow. It demands your absolute attention.

Authority. 

It is both similar and different to what happened with Us. It feels as though something is imposing its expectations, its wants. It applies pressure to the back of your head, beseeching obedience. 

You push past it, the pure well of information you had acquired from the slate overlapping with the impression of power and your hand flexes against the soft flesh of the console, light flashing across it like neurons connecting, communicating. 

The slates over the console suddenly make complete sense, as if you had read and understood this language your entire life. The parasite thrills happily in your mind as you manage to eject a mental order; open . 

The feeling spills over, something alien shuddering through your spine as the console responds and the pod beside you opens with a hiss. 

“Thank Sharr,” the woman in the pod croaks, tilting out of the pod ungracefully, barely able to brace herself with shaking hands as she delves into a series of coughs. “At last, I thought I was done for.” 

You kneel down beside her, worried as she struggles, hand at her throat. After a moment, she seems to gather herself and you hold out a hand for her to take as she regains her breath. 

But a sword places itself between you and her, Lae’zel leveling the woman with a venomous look. 

“If she cannot stand by herself,” Lae’zel hisses, pupils narrowing sharply as she glares at the woman. “She will be left behind.” 

“Lae –” 

“No,” Lae’zel tells you, eyes still on the woman as she gets to her feet. 

“Interesting company you keep,” The woman says as she leans against the pod, her black hair tied up in a long and thick braid, dressed in equipment that, like Lae’zel, signals someone knowledgeable with fighting. 

“Uhm,” You hesitate. You have no idea what she means, honestly, it could mean Us at your heels, Lae’zel with how hostile she is, or just any combination of the two. 

“I’m honestly surprised your gith let you help me,” the woman says, eyes narrowing at Lae’zel. “She seemed more inclined to leave me for dead.” 

“Such promises can still be upheld,” Lae’zel hisses, her sword still a barrier between you, her and the woman. 

You open your mouth to say something, to mitigate whatever hostilities are brewing between them, but then the parasite in the back of your skull lurches, connecting to one residing in the woman’s. Your head throbs, hands coming up to press against your eyes as if urged to dig in and extract the unwanted resident, eyes in the way be damned. 

Your minds mingle, the tone different yet similar to the one Lae’zel had. You see mirrors, black and polished perfectly clear, reflecting again and again and again. It’s shadow, all perfect unbroken darkness and silence as her hesitation of your help rises to the forefront of her mind – Lae’zel is a githyanki, a race Shadowheart distrusts on principle. While she is grateful for the help, she does not care for the company you keep. 

“Snap out of it,” Lae’zel orders, hand on your shoulder as she keeps herself between you and Shadowheart. “What did you see?” 

Her touch is like a remedy, something that settles and soothes the angry thrashing of the parasite. You raise your head from your hands  to look at her, seeing her scrutinizing you. 

“What –” Shadowheart shakes her head, not seeming as harmed by the interaction as you are. “Where was that? You –” 

“It’s fine, Lae’zel,” you quickly reassure your companion, even if you feel like your skull is going to split as you turn to look at her. Thankfully the pain recedes much faster than before, small mercies.  “She didn’t do it. It’s the parasite.” 

Lae’zel stares at you for another long moment, brow furrowed, but relents and releases you.  

Us skitters around you in small worried circles, eventually standing on its hind paws to gently scratch against your leg. You kneel down to give Us a slight pat. 

Shadowheart regains her bearings as you do so, straightening and eyeing you warily. “You keep dangerous company,” she says, hands raising up to straighten up the elaborate metallic workings that weave through her braid. 

“These are dangerous times,” you tell her, picking up Us into your arms. “We need all the help we can get to survive this.” Lae’zel is practically emitting tangible hostility at this point, and the way Shadowheart keeps ignoring her in favor of you isn’t helping matters.

“A sound reason, I suppose,” Shadowheart acknowledges. “And if we are to have a chance to escape from here, doing so together raises our odds.” 

What commences is probably the most awkward round of introductions you've had to navigate in recent memory. Lae'zel stands stiffly, and Shadowheart continues her passive aggressive way of talking around the other woman. 

Us shifts in your arms as you do so, and once everyone's names have been exchanged, it speaks up. 

This is why we are here. It says plainly. Here you are, with us. 

“What –” You say, looking down at it. “What do you mean?” 

Why you were taken, brought, saved. Your eyes widen. The room is falls silent. Your pulse quickens at the words. 

The world narrows to the small creature in your arms speaking, even muting  the noises of the never ending throb of veins and flesh in the architecture, as well as the ongoing fighting off in the distance that still echoes down the corridors. We wanted to know you, to love you, to give you our gift. 

“That’s unnerving,” Shadowheart comments dryly a moment after, breaking the heavy tension. You place down Us onto the floor again after that uncanny delivery, unsure what to think of any of this. 

“Ignore it,” Lae’zel snaps. “We will continue as before, and you will lead us.” 

Wait. “Me?” you ask her, pointing at yourself. Lae’zel’s lip lifts in one of her dismissive snarls. “You do realize how lacking I am in comparison to you?” 

“I am aware,” Lae’zel lifts her chin towards Shadowheart. “However, the only reason why I will stand the company of this kainyank is due to the fact I acknowledge you will not betray me until we are free of this place. I cannot say the same of her.” 

“Charming,” Shadowheart retorts dryly. She does not seem to particularly care about the disapproval oozing from Lae’zel, and she turns to fish out a mace, a shield and a small cubic item out of her pod. She tucks the item into her pouch and hefts her weapons. “But I will agree with her, I don’t trust her at my back, so I’d much rather prefer to simply have you take the lead.” 

Oh great. You have two very competent fighters at your back, leaving it to you to push further in – the weakest link and with little to no battle awareness. Fantastic. 

A touch of a migraine lurking at the back of your head as the soft floor gives under your shoes as you continue walking. 

Chapter Text

The ship lurches, sending you careening and almost toppling over. Your crossbow stays in your hands no matter how tired you are – you will not lose your one way of protecting yourself. But your body tilts and you feel like throwing up.  

“Are you alright?” Shadowheart asks, helping you regain your balance with a grip on your arm. Her eyes search you and you swallow back a complaint. 

“I’m fine,” you reassure her, not sure whether it’s a lie or not at this point. Honestly you’re teetering from cautiously optimistic into rapid descending despair at your situation after the couple hours you’ve spent traversing the ship. The ache in the back of your head whenever the parasite shifts or moves is an ever-constant companion to the messy fighting and harsh heat of your surroundings, it’s as if you are standing in a molten oven. “I – just where are we? I’m guessing none of you come from here?” 

In a realm , Us tells you, having climbed slightly ahead to scout. It turns in place, looking at you without eyes. We have fled. We have fled to a realm named Avernus. First of the nine hells. 

“Ignoring how that knows that – yes, I doubt even our githyanki companion belongs here, none of us do,” Shadowheart tells you with a small strained smile. 

Lae’zel, rather than acknowledging Shadowheart, pushes past her to crouch and peek past the space that Us is sitting by, a broken doorway (the weird sphincter) cut into at the sides. Shadowheart glares, but doesn’t comment further and you feel as though the tension between the two is practically 

As she does, she freezes. You’ve gathered just enough of her to understand something is amiss, and you keep still as she very slowly crawls back towards you and Shadowheart. 

“What’s wrong?” you whisper. 

“We are just before the helm,” Lae’zel replies, her eyes flickering from you and to the opening where Us is still sitting. “There is still fighting, and I smell the telltale signs of brimstone. Dragons will not discriminate, if we are to change the course of the nautiloid we will need to reach whatever means the ghaik use to control our course. And fast. ” 

“So –” 

“Quiet,” Lae’zel presses a very insistent finger to your lips, keeping your question behind them as she looks between you and Shadowheart. “We will have no time for communicating once we reach it. You –” And she lifts her finger, eyes still set on you. “Will be responsible for reaching the console. There must be fighting, we will mitigate and you will rush forward without hesitating.” 

“Who made you leader?” Shadowheart retorts, though she doesn’t rebuke the plan, not directly. Lae’zel hisses back something that you think might be a slur back at her, though Shadowheart only shrugs. “Not that I can argue against it. We will have one shot at this, might as well give it our best.” 

“Right,” you nod, though hesitation wars in the back of your mind alongside the leech. “Best shot, sure.” 

There is fighting on the bridge, even with numerous bodies lining the walls, having been shoved aside as more and more fell, leaving behind trails of blood and gore across the floor. You notice it all alongside the two remaining mind flayers combating a collection of imps, what seems to be hell-charged boars, and creatures that look like bona-fide story-fitting devils. 

In the moment, you can’t help but notice that they are even wearing leather harnesses, and you half-hysterically mentally add that it likely doesn’t provide any protection at all. 

Unfortunately your amusement is shortly cut off, as your group arriving on the bridge draws attention from mind flayers and demons both. 

Thralls , a voice commands through your parasite, sending you to your knees with a chocked scream. Connect the nerves of the transponder. We must escape. Now. 

The last word is punctuated with force – a demand for obedience that sends shudders through your spine, all the way out to the tips of your fingers as you grasp for your sense of self. The order had shredded through you, feeling as if you had been placed inside a humongous bell – the ensuing strike ringing through you with force and noise. 

“There is no time, do it!” Lae’zel shouts to you, her hand on your shoulder hauling you up and then shoving you forward and out of the line of an imp's arrow. “Run!” 

You stagger, blinking, your breathing quick and harsh in your lungs. Your parasite protests the disobedience, burrowing down, but you manage to get your feet under you and start running. The fighting reaches a boiling point around you as you rush in – the imps turn aggressively towards you and your companions, and the small skirmishes already occurring in the room increase in intensity. 

One of the mind flayers strike down a devil as you dash past, and you realize why they hold no weapons – seeing the way the elongated tentacles grasp the head of the devil, numerous jagged teeth carving into the back to access the brain has bile rise in your throat. 

But you have no time – barely able to properly register the strike of an axe that lands inches from your leg. The strike from what seems to be the commander of the devils; a man whose horns curl up above his crown of hair and whose teeth are sharp and pointed as he snarls at you in a language you don’t understand. 

“Please –” you are about to beg of him to leave you be, your body and mind screaming. Fortunately (or unfortunately) he is knocked to the side by a blast of some sort from the nearest mind flayer, whose order rings through the parasite for you to continue to the console. 

It gives you the chance to dart past, but you find yourself faced with one of the boar-like creatures, snarling and readying itself to charge at you. Your crossbow had been half-forgotten in your arms until now, and it snarls your arms swing up, bolt whizzing through the air to strike it in the skull – 

Unfortunately for you, it does not quite manage to strike true, with a thwang it lodges itself in the beast’s eye, though not killing it outright. Fuck. 

Fortunately you are not alone, and with Shadowheart taking out the imps tailing you with both mace and what seems to be spells of some sort, Lae’zel charges ahead of you to physically collide with the beast bearing down on you. It spits hellfire on her armor as she digs her greatsword deep into its ribcage, locking them in a stalemate. 

You don’t need another reminder of what your goal is – you hoist your crossbow under one arm as you duck past them.  

A dragon roars outside, adding to the chaos, and you can feel your breath rasp in your lungs as you sprint, pushing past your exhaustion to force a bit more out of your already lagging body. 

The transponder is as alien as anything else on this ship, and as you reach it you stare at it, mind numb for a good long second before Us catches up to you. 

Connect the nerves. We must connect them. It tells you, and with your parasite wriggling displeased in the back of your head, you reach out to grab a set from each the bottom and top row. There are no slates or markers for which pairings must connect, so you just hope this leads you out of this place.

Small nerve endings slither across your hands as you stretch the connectors, raising goosebumps across your skin. 

Then they grasp onto one another, and you breathe a sigh of relief as the air around you shifts. 

A moment of calm.

And then a dragon sticks its head in through a broken window high above you. 

You look up to the majestic visage of a real fucking dragon . And terror roots you in place as its head turns towards you. 

Its orange eyes set on you, and a beat later its maw opens to show a display of fire and brimstone dancing between its fangs as it considers you for a moment. Then a command is hissed out from its back and it rears back, legs bracing against the paneling with enough force to make it bend inward – 

It ignites your surroundings in a wave of flames. 

You think you hear Lae’zel and Shadowheart shout your name, but it is drowned out in the sensation of your flesh scorching, turning red and angry whereever the onslaught touches you. 

You scream in agony as your left arm and side is rendered nothing but pure, unfiltered pain . 

And then the nautiloid lurches. Gravity reconsidering its priorities as a boom rattles through the helm, the never-ending orange outside shifting to purple, then black and then a rainbow of alien colors all intermingling with the cosmos outside as you hang on to both the console and your consciousness with what little strength you’ve got left. The connecting nerves jolt with electricity, switching colors like the sky outside as if considering where to go – before it finally lands on something, staying that color. 

Then the outside flashes again, the sky turning blue, clouds breaking apart. 

Unfortunately gravity then shifts harshly yet again, and your grip slips. 

You fall. 

Your back collides hard with the wall or floor – and due to your already rotten luck, of course your still cooking skin is pinned against the metal. The impact striking your breath from your lungs, lending you no air to scream at the wave of pain that racks across your side. 

Friend! Us somehow manages to stay stuck to the walls as gravity is flipping from one right to another wrong. It skitters across the surface, reaching you just as the wall caves in beside you, making you turn your head. 

Your eyes meet with those of a mind flayer, the creature looking at you without minding the vacuum right next to it – the chasm between you and it. Us presses in under your good arm, clawed paws hooking into your shirt. 

And you realize the next moment that you have no way of saving yourself – the nautiloid is falling apart around you, and the ground is far, far beneath it. 

And then – 

Darkness. 

Consciousness crawls back slowly, leaving your mind sluggish and nonsensical as you awaken. 

Where are you? 

Why is there the sound of waves? 

Your skin is clammy and uncomfortable, aching and you feel as though there are thousands of ants crawling beneath it. 

For a long, long moment, you lie there, eyes closed, whole body one big ache. There are no immediate memories that spring to mind why you feel as though you have gone through a meat grinder; no explanation why you have sand between your teeth or there’s a distant smell of smoke. 

Your parasite is quiet. 

Wait – parasite? 

And then it all rushes back; waking up in the pod, the insertion of the leech, Us, Lae’zel, Shadowheart – your mind staggers in the onslaught of memories, finally arriving at one, simple question; How did you survive?

Very, very carefully you push yourself off of the ground you are laying on. Sand gives in, and your left arm complains loudly as you cautiously sit up and look around. 

The sun is high in the sky, and behind you there’s the enormous wreckage of the nautiloid, leaving you on a small patch of beach embraced by what seems to be a huge tentacle. The water around you is quiet, waves lapping against the shore accompanied by the sound of gulls somewhere in the distance. 

You look down at yourself, seeing your clothes burned and torn, stained with blood or other gore from the fighting. You try not to pay too much attention to the way the sand has stuck itself into the burns on your arm and side. A short distance away your crossbow is half-buried in the sand. 

There is the sound of reeds moving, something approaching, and you startle as Us crashes through the brush. 

“Us?” you croak, grimacing as your throat complains. How long were you out for? Hours? Days? 

Friend! Us calls, holding something in its tentacles high above its head (brain?) as it rushes over towards you. We are happy. Happy we are. You are awake. Moving. 

It hands you what seems to be a small bag, but as you take it, something sloshes around inside it. 

Oh – is this a waterskin? 

“Hi Us,” you say, putting the waterskin next to you. Us takes the offer even before you make it, coming over to curl up against your thigh where you are sitting, one of its probes wrapping around your middle, squeezing as if afraid to let you go. “Where did you get this?” 

From the bodies. They don’t need them anymore. We find. Us tells you. You look back at the waterskin, but you are in dire need of some water, so you uncap it carefully with your good hand and take small sips to help your sore throat. 

It helps, and your head feels clearer once you drink about half of it. You take the time to also take stock of yourself; your whole body is complaining which isn’t surprising, but it worries you that the arm and side that got burned aren’t screaming at you as much as it is. You can move your fingers, cautiously, but you wonder if the nerves in your skin also got fried alongside the skin. 

Then, very carefully, you use the second half of the waterskin on your burnt side, washing the sand from your skin. 

Ah yes, there it is. 

The skin is basically half a scab at this point, the rest still raised and angry. You’re not looking forward to walking, but moving about you must; to be able take proper stock of your situation and find shelter if nothing else. 

As you push your arms under you to brace against the sand, you wonder idly if Lae’zel and Shadowheart also made it – it kind of got hazy at the end, where you mostly remember the show of colors outside the ship and the way that the fire had licked across your skin. 

Carefully, and with Us worrying around your feet, you slowly stand up. 

“Well,” you hold a hand to shade your eyes against the glare of the sun, sighing. The small hidden cove you’re in only has one exit. “Better look around nearby.” 

Your crossbow feels much heavier on your back as you stagger past the colossal mechanical tentacle that had hidden you. It’s not surprising your body feels as weak as a kitten, considering what it has been through. 

Taking a moment to lean against a piece of broken wall as you take a stock of your surroundings, you spot a familiar body on the ground a short distance away from you; Shadowheart!

Eyes wide and hopeful, you rush over as much as you are able. Falling to your knees in the sand to look her over; she seems to be in much better shape than you, though there are bruises peeking out from beneath her collar and up one side of the face.

You can’t even imagine how she got out of the ship in one piece as it was falling. 

“Hey,” you say as you gently tap her cheek, receiving no response. 

Alright, you can feel her breathing by placing your hand first beneath her nose and then in front of her mouth. She’s alive, which is great. She’s not bleeding anywhere you can see, though her weapons are nowhere to be seen right now. Her hand is clasped around the weird metal sphere you had seen her tuck into her pouch on the ship, knuckles white with how harshly she is holding onto it.

Now to wake her up – your arm might complain, but you need her here and conscious. You grasp her shoulders, hissing when a stab of pain lashes through your side. But you give her a couple rough shakes, and it has the intended effect: a second later Shadowheart sucks in a much heavier breath as her eyes snap open. 

Shadowheart almost collides her head with yours, sitting up as fast as she does. Though she manages to catch your shoulder, fingers curling into the shredded fabric as her attention darts around; first to you, then the small beach you are stuck on, registering where she is and who else might be here. The grip loosens and instead her hand slides up to cup your burnt cheek. 

“You’re here – you’re alive ?” Shadowheart blinks, thumb lightly running across your skin. “I’m –” she seems to struggle, mouth opening and closing. “I’m alive?” 

“We’re alive, Shadowheart” you tell her, giving her a slight smile, covering her hand with yours. 

Shadowheart exhales roughly, her hand twitching beneath your touch, almost as if she didn’t realize she had touched you until you returned the gesture. “How is this possible?” 

“I have no idea,” you admit. As you let your hand drop, so does hers and she rubs at the bridge of her nose. “I woke up just over there.” 

In the direction you flap your hand in, you now notice that the little nook you were hidden in is almost completely invisible from this side. The motion is also accompanied with a loud complaint from your burnt side, making you hiss. 

“Oh, you’re –” Shadowheart says, her words cutting off as her attention focuses on your wounds. She tucks a stray hair behind your ear where the burn is still marking your skin. “Hold still.” 

Her hands start to emit a slow blue-ish silver glow the next moment as her hands pass over the burns carefully. It feels foreign, like the sensation of being close to ice, yet not touching. It’s soft, yet firm. It’s the way moonlight still touches your skin yet it doesn’t burn with the intensity of the sun. 

You hadn’t realized that you had been breathing shallowly and carefully until now, but as her hand moves down your marred side you find you can breathe easier. Move without your body screaming at you. 

After a while, the light on Shadowheart’s hands shudders slightly before fading, and she sighs. “I’m all out for now. It’ll have to do until we can find somewhere to camp.” 

You cautiously raise your arm to inspect it alongside your frayed side – as far as you can tell, it looks as if she had just made time pass in a way that boggles you. The skin is still sensitive, but the small spots that were still weeping liquid have closed and you’re not feeling like your skin is screaming at you whenever you move your arm around. It is still sore, but you can live with it. 

“Do you know anything about where we are?” Shadowheart asks as you get back to your feet. As she does the same, her attention flickers over to Us for a second, her lip curling in disgust.

 Her voice is flat when she next speaks, tucking the metal container in her hand back into her satchel. “I see you’ve still got your little friend there.” 

You raise your hand, holding up a finger tiredly. “I have no idea where we are specifically, but I think it’s safe to say we’re not in –” you search your memory. “Avernus? Wherever it was we were before we changed the course of the ship.” 

“You mean, you changed the course,” Shadowheart points out. “This isn’t your home, I am guessing then?” 

“Here?” You look out the horizon, seeing nothing helpful. “I doubt it.” 

“What makes you say that?” 

“There’s no magic where I’m from – not that I know of, at least.” you tell her with a shrug, gesturing at her vaguely. “And you just – did whatever it was when you fixed me up.” 

“How odd,” Shadowheart says, eyeing you. “Well, I do hope that this isn’t another unwanted plane.” 

This is right. We are in the material plane. Faerún. The most common denominator. Us says, making both of you look down at it. We are safe here.  

You share a look with Shadowheart, but neither of you address the way that Us seems to know where you are without trouble. Not knowing what the material plane even is is fine, but something seems to calm down Shadowheart so you’d wager a guess that this is where she is from. 

Well, better figure out where you are . You hoist the crossbow into your arms as Shadowheart digs out her mace and shield from the sand around you. 

You had ignored the bodies until now, but when Shadowheart points out that they might be holding onto useful items you get a crash course on how to loot. It’s nauseating and you don’t really want to understand why Shadowheart can do it without a second thought. 

“I suppose they will be left to rot,” Shadowheart idly comments as you make your way over to where a string of bodies have been strewn about in the shadow of the colossus that is the nautiloid. The sun is reflected sharply against the sand, making you grimace as she kneels down beside one of the corpses in question. There is no stench of rot yet, which you are grateful for. 

Something strikes you as Shadowheart shifts the body onto its side, looking for pouches. “Did you see Lae’zel?” 

A snort comes from Shadowheart, “Your gith? I imagine she left the moment she saw the chance.” 

“I – she’s not mine,” you start, giving her an odd look. “And, I didn’t really want to bring it up on the ship but what is it you have against Lae’zel?” 

“You mean aside from her trying to convince you to leave me behind to die?” Shadowheart says shortly, her spine straightening. She crosses her arms, her body language closed as she stares at you. “Githyanki aren’t likely to care about others aside from their own kin. And I’ve heard of their brutality. I was surprised she listened to you as much as she did.”

You feel a bit like there’s something that niggles at the back of your mind – you cannot put your finger on. Well aside from the clear bias Shadowheart has. 

“But if we run into her again and she’s willing to help?” you prod lightly. 

“If so…” Shadowheart looks to the side for a long moment as she seriously considers your words. Her profile is drawn sharply by the slowly setting sun, the lap of waves almost drowning out her voice as she speaks again. “I will tolerate her.” 

You’ll take it. 

Chapter Text

Of course, if people survived the wreckage, some of the less friendly creatures did as well. 

One moment you are turning the corner of the burning wreckage of the nautiloid, tired legs lagging as you step over some of the metallic scrap of what you assume is a wall. And the next you are on the ground with an intellect devourer clawing at your chest and face. 

“Shit!” You manage to raise an arm to catch the strike towards your throat, the pointed claws of the creature digging instead into the flesh past your already shredded sleeve. Your breath catches at the pain, but you at least still can breathe. 

 Thankfully it doesn’t cut too deeply before Us charges into its kin, knocking it off of you. 

“More are coming!” Shadowheart calls out, and as you push to your feet you feel exhaustion dragging at your limbs. The crossbow is much too heavy in your arms, and the intellect devourers are closing in fast, so rather than risk missing or shooting one of your comrades you stomp down on the devourer with your blood on its claws as Us tears into another one. 

The last two burst into flame, Shadowheart breathing heavily as she comes over to help support you as you wobble in place. The ache of the cuts on your arm is still drowned out by the burns on your side that got jostled when you fell, but that’s not a good thing. The sad remains of your sleeve is soaked through and you stare deadeyed at the weeping wounds. 

“Here, drink this,” Shadowheart holds one of the bottles she picked off of one of the corpses under your nose. The liquid inside is a murky reddish and you eye it warily for a moment, not taking the bottle from her and her voice turns incredulous. “I – do they not have healing potions where you are from?” 

“Healing potions?” you say. Shadowheart uncorks if for you and holds it to your lips – you feel a touch hesitant, just drinking whatever, but you are losing blood slowly and steadily. You do trust Shadowheart enough to know she’s not about to poison you so you open your mouth and let it trickle past your lips.

The liquid is lukewarm, and tastes like something bitter and garish when you swallow, coughing when your tongue and stomach complains. “Eurgh.” 

“There you go,” Shadowheart tells you, hoisting you up a bit more comfortably against her side. “Look.” she gestures at the cuts on your chest, and you look down to see them slowly stitch themselves together as if days have passed, blood coagulating and leaving the wounds still sore, but no longer bleeding. “Not a perfect fix, but it should help until we can find somewhere safe to rest.” 

Friend fixed? Us chitters by your feet. It reaches up with a tendril to catch your hand, applying just enough pressure to give you a squeeze. Friend feeling better? Is our love safe?  

“I’m alright Us,” you say, giving it a slight squeeze back. The intellect devourers around you are all dead, and you even see the corpses of mind flayers alongside those of people. There must have been a lot more than you ran into on the ship. 

Once you feel well enough to let go of Shadowheart, you and her poke around the different bodies, finding various bits and bobs. You thankfully find a pouch that isn’t too worn and soaked with blood, putting it on, Us makes little chittering noises as it prods at the body of a mind flayer. 

“Say, Us?” you say. Us turns towards you, giving you its rapt attention. “Doesn’t it bother you, killing other intellect devourers?” 

Others. They sing a different song. Us conveys, it folds its legs beneath it, and you get the distinct feeling it might be trying to convey the way Shadowheart crossed her arms earlier. Not same. Not safe. We would rather love you. 

“Oh,” you breathe. “Well thank you. I like you too.” despite the viscera and the way that you are literally talking to a brain with legs and tentacles, you find yourself meaning it; Us is loyal, like a dog or other animal, if just quite a bit more intelligent. 

Us makes a high-pitched noise in the back of your head and you feel as though it had just made the equivalent of a happy bark. It’s still a little off-putting to use the parasite in the back of your head to communicate with Us, but it at least doesn’t hurt you to do so. 

You look about a bit more, finding a couple of healing potions and bits and bobs on the bodies and in some of the storage containers nearby. 

“Here,” Shadowheart says from behind you, making you look. You were sitting up on a ledge, a second story of the nautiloid that still remained stable, having been looking through a chest. She’s holding up what seems to be a bundle of cloth. “I got you some new clothes.” 

There’s a sense of relief that washes over you. Your usual clothes were shredded, stained in blood and other viscera and you can practically feel things cake on your skin, shedding off whenever you moved. Your hair was another matter entirely you were not going to think too hard about. 

But, “Is there anywhere with a bit of privacy, you think?” you ask, carefully jumping down from your little ledge. You do a broad gesture to your surroundings, where there are several entry points for others to approach or attack. The very short time you have been here, you’ve at least picked up that much – you’d rather not risk being naked when somebody charges at you with a sword. 

“The small cove you woke up in?” Shadowheart suggests. “It’s a bit of a walk to backtrack, but I think we can also refill our waterskins in a stream I saw on the way here.” 

“Sounds good.” 

The walk back is thankfully without incident, and you each take turns keeping watch as the other bathes off in the sea. The water is cold, making you shiver, but you are just thankful that you are able to get clean. Somehow Shadowheart had managed to procure several rags for drying alongside your new clothes, citing that she’d found a crate with it in a cart, likely having been abandoned the moment the nautiloid went down. 

Your scratches sting, making you hiss as you carefully scrub at your body. The salt bites into every small scrape and bruise, and your body aches with the chill of the water. 

But you’re clean, and you’re able to put on clothes that are slightly too loose but dry when you’re done. And then it’s your turn to sit at the opening to the cove as shadowheart bathes. Your crossbow is resting across your legs as you stare ahead, idly keeping watch. 

“Say, Shadowheart?” you ask, still looking ahead as she bathes. 

“Yes?” 

“Thanks for the clothes.” 

“You’re very welcome.” 

“I also have, uhm, a question.” you feel anxiety rise in your chest, your fingers flexing where they are gripping your crossbow. “How am I holding up?” 

“What do you mean?” A rustle, and Shadowheart reappears, her hair is still set in its braid. Though she is only wearing her under-armor right as she sinks down to sit in the sand next to you.

“I have never wielded a weapon before,” you admit, lifting the crossbow slightly. She raises a brow and tilts her head as if asking ‘so?’. “I just, I don’t want to be a risk.” 

“You handle yourself well enough,” Shadowheart says lightly. You barely notice her moving closer until she leans over to place a hand on your shoulder. It has you startle, looking back at her. “Strength is more than weapons and spells, you know.” 

“Is it?” 

“Quite a lot, honestly.” Her smile is slight and tired in the low light of the sunset. “And I admit, you surprised me, you could have walked past my pod. Your gith companion certainly wanted to and yet you saved me, a total stranger.” 

“I just –” you begin, but Shadowheart shakes her head. 

“We still have these tadpoles in our heads, so our days are precarious and wrought with the risk of turning illithid, but finding someone willing to risk themselves for me is new.” She lifts her hand, huffing a light laugh. “Kindred spirits are few and far between for me, so I don’t mind doing most of the fighting as long as I am not facing all of this alone.” 

She moves to stand, turning back to where she had left the rest of her gear. 

“Shadowheart,” you say, making her look at you over her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

“Likewise,” Shadowheart tells you, ducking back in to gear up for the rest. “If we get through all of this in one piece, we can figure out what else you can do to fight so you won’t be feeling like you’re a liability.” She leaves you with that, and you head out soon after to find somewhere else to settle before the sun dips beneath the horizon.  

Shadowheart was right about the stream too – you get a chance to both drink and refill your waterskins. Unfortunately you’ve found little in the way of edible food so far (Shadowheart had some very basic rations, but they are meant as an emergency solution, when you are completely out of options), so you’ll have to tough it out until you settle. 

Shadowheart seems more quiet as time passes, and the shadowed carcass of the nautiloid does nothing to help the feeling of unease as you explore further through it. 

And then just past a turn in the carcass of the nautiloid, a mind flayer lies on the ground before you.

Vulnerable and weak in its moment of complete and utter defeat, its vessel broken, its arms can barely prop it up as it glares up at you and Shadowheart. Hostility emits from every inch of it as you cautiously move closer. 

“What are you doing?” Shadowheart hisses. 

“I thought we could learn what their plan is from it,” you tell her. Though the moment your attention lapses, something connects with the leech in your skull – it clicks like a switch being flicked in the back of your head. 

The parasite screeches in the cavity of your head as you snap your attention back to the mind flayer, and your whole body freezes, every nerve overloaded with emotion, as if charged and about to erupt. The emotion injected forcibly into your veins is an amalgamation of utter and pure fury, and compassion . 

At the edge of your consciousness you think you hear Shadowheart say your name. 

Compassion ? Really ? 

Even the fury feels artificial and alien – the by-product either of your parasite or someone else nearby, but you can’t wrest your eyes off of the mind flayer before you. 

There is an aching that slowly starts to build in the back of your skull, as if the leech is busying itself by trying to gnaw its way through your cerebrum. You can’t even cry out or move to try and soothe the pain, your body in a painful limbo for some reason – as if there is a tug-of-war going on inside of your flesh. 

But from one moment to the next, the mind flayer seems distracted, the overwhelming feelings fade, and you don’t hesitate to snap up your crossbow, the trigger quick and giving under your finger as you bury a crossbow bolt deep into the soft meat of its skull. 

Your breath explodes from your lungs, the limbo finally teetering towards the fury, and the ache in the back of your head rises, a shrill tone whistling in your skull as you groan and crouch down so you don’t topple over. 

The pain reaches a high, pressure building behind the eye where the leech first entered, making you press a hand to it to futilely try and negate it (or maybe you want to be sure that the eyeball isn’t about to pop out from the pressure). 

“Hey,” Shadowheart’s voice finally manages to break through the high-pitched whining filling your head like fog. “What happened?” 

“I – it,” you shake your head, hand dropping from your eye. “It tried to make me feel pity for it – care for it. It didn’t quite work, I think it doesn’t really understand how it actually works.” 

“Sure,” Shadowheart says, sounding dubious. “And you broke free?”

“I’m not actually sure what happened. It seemed distracted, or tired, and when it lost its concentration I knew I needed to kill it before it tried again,” you admit. You’re still tired, but you push back onto your feet from your kneeling position. The tangy stench of the mind flayers blood is harsh in the air, its body alien in yet another aspect as the blue almost silvery liquid seeps into the ground. “Sorry, I should have listened to you.” 

“Yes, well,” Shadowheart looks past you at the corpse, expression hard to read as she stares at where your crossbow bolt has pierced through its skull. “Consider this a lesson learned, yes?” 

You give her a tired smile, “Sure.” 

Just as you and Shadowheart manage to breach outside the nautiloid proper, you find yourselves face-to-face with something rather peculiar. 

On the rockface there is some sort of circle inscribed – and you had seen something similar earlier hadn’t you? Scratched into the stone just below where the nautiloid had crashed. 

But in comparison to the earlier sigil, this one has an angry maelstrom of purple energy that swirls outside of it, the suction on it actually physically present in how your hair is lightly getting tugged towards it. 

You look over at Shadowheart, but she seems just as bewildered as you are. 

And then a hand juts out of the hole, like an imp springing from its wound-up box. It waves a couple of times, gesticulating first at whatever is in front of it, and then waves back towards it, beckoning. “A hand, anyone?” 

You share a panicked look with Shadowheart. 

“I’m on a bit of a tight schedule here, if you would be a dear,” whoever is on the other side of the vortex calls out, the hand stretching just a tad further. “Any moment now.” 

Cautiously, you tuck the crossbow back behind you, reaching out to take the hand. The moment your hand touches its palm, the fingers close, their grip tightening, holding onto you with a vice-like strength. A jolt of pain shoots through your arm as your bones are practically ground together with the pressure. 

And then the force of the vacuum increases tenfold. 

“Shadowheart!” you hiss, grimacing as you clasp your other hand over the other side of the one holding onto you with desperation. She is quick to step up beside you, grabbing ahold of the arm around the wrist, her knees bending as she braces herself to pull. “On three –” 

Us also wraps a tentacle around your middle, offering what little help it can. 

“One.” 

The person on the other side must be able to hear you, because the grip shifts, readying itself. 

“Two –” 

Your joints lock, your muscles protesting as you try and summon what little energy still remains in your body. The hand in yours twitches as you tighten your own hold. 

“Three!” 

You all pull – and as you do so, the draw of the vacuum fights back with a high-pitched whine for a long moment before something releases, and the force of your gathered efforts sends you careening backwards onto the ground, the back of your head kissing the gravel and making it ring as you are suddenly saddled with an armful of fully grown man. 

The vacuum must have spat him out right on top of you, and with how weak you were you had no way of bracing against the weight of another person colliding into you. 

As you lie there, staring up at the darkening skies with blurry eyes, you simply focus on breathing. The sun has all but disappeared down past the cusp of the horizon, and you can see stars start to flicker in and out of sight. In this alien place, at least there is one thing that stays the same. 

The man on top of you seems to be needing a moment to recover, and so you give it to him. He is pressing an elbow a bit uncomfortably into your still semi-burnt side which you are willing to forgive considering you had just pulled him out of what seemed to be the equivalent of being stuck in a magical tube. 

However, as you find your ears working past the ringing, you can hear him breathing too fast and quick for it to be healthy. 

“Hey, hey,” you say slowly. Bracing an arm against the ground, you slowly push yourself up to a sitting position. Your sore arm curls cautiously around his shoulders, and his hands come up to hold onto your shirt. “You’re out. You’re out. It’s okay.” 

He covers his mouth with his hand, a  glow of magic fizzling between his fingers and you get a sniff of what smells like lavender and – somehow – the scent of old books. It apparently helps him, because a moment later his breathing slows and he sucks in one last breath, holding it in and then exhaling in a heavy sigh. 

Shadowheart has been a quiet shadow sitting beside you throughout this, her own reserves likely drained from the ordeal, as she simply keeps a silent eye on the interaction. She hasn’t moved to do anything quite yet. Though her glare is palpable.  

The man finally looks up at you, squinting for a moment before a whisper of something passes his lips and the path you all are on is lit up with a low glow, small fireflies of light twirling around you. 

“Pardon me,” the man says, shifting back. He grimaces as he does, a shudder wracking through his body. “Oof, that was dire.” 

He then lifts his hand in a small wave, a smile playing across his lips in the low light of his spell. “I’m Gale of Waterdeep. Apologies, I’m usually better at this.” 

“No need to apologize,” you tell him – Gale. You feel a hand come under your arm, Shadowheart helping you back onto your feet. The same courtesy is not offered to Gale, who stands on his own. “Are you all right?” 

Gale folds his hands behind his back, ease settling in the tight draw of his shoulders. A front, likely, there is no doubt in your mind that he is still feeling whatever pain his body informed him off moments before. “A bit shocked, but friend, it’s a relief and a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” And you are about to do a small round of introductions of your little group, but Gale continues before you can manage it. “But say, I know you, don’t I? You were on the nautiloid. Still got that little creature following you around as well.” 

Oh. 

The reaction to his comment is immediate; Us darts in front of you, hissing without sound, bracing itself to attack. Shadowheart likewise steps forward, her shield and mace suddenly in her hands as she glares at the man. 

“No need for hostilities, merely stating a fact,” Gale says, raising his hands and taking half a step back. His attention is still on you, which is odd given there’s a brain on legs and a very hostile woman threatening him. 

“Yes, yes I was,” you say. You aren’t sure what kind of skills Gale can wield, and risking your life to test it isn’t really in your cards at the moment. 

“Then I can only assume you too were on the receiving end of a rather unwelcome insertion in the ocular region?” Gale prods lightly. 

You nod. 

“The insertee we speak of, this parasite – are you aware that after a period of excruciating gestation it will turn us into mind flayers?” 

You share a look with Shadowheart, who narrows her eyes. You do give Gale another nod. 

“Fantastic. Good. Saves us time.” Gale claps his hands together, which startles Us into whipping a tentacle close to his calves. He amends it with a low chuckle. “You wouldn’t happen to be a cleric? A doctor? Surgeon? Uncannily adroit with a knitting needle?” The last bit is accompanied by a movement that drives in both the honesty of the suggestion, though it does seem comical – to solve something so dire with something so simple. 

“You seem to know enough about our condition to realize it is beyond most cleric’s skills,” Shadowheart says dryly. 

“Worth a try to hope to be in the presence of someone with the skills necessary,” Gale responds, still cheerful despite the hostility. “But no matter. There is still time. Though I suppose you three seem as though you need a night’s rest before we try and delve into our various venues.” 

You look between all of you, seeing the bruises on Shadowheart’s skin that are visible and wondering if she has more hiding beneath her armor. The burns on your arm and side are still aching and sore, despite the light healing Shadowheart did and the potion. 

So far, you have been running on steam and even that is getting critically low. 

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” you say. 

“Excellent – then we can find somewhere to rest for the night and I can attempt to endear myself to you through my cooking. Tensions always ease with a full stomach.” 

Chapter Text

As it turns out, Gale can actually whip out something filling and tasty despite how few resources you have. Both him and Shadowheart have some basic trail rations, but with bits and pieces scavenged from nearby and some magically-caught fish it becomes a rather nice meal. Apparently wrapping pieces of dried meat in some of the leaves of the nearby trees alongside some herbs that is apparently just found roadside elevates the taste by a lot. 

Honestly, it could have tasted like dirt and you would have still chomped it down like there is no tomorrow.  

Apparently, daily-use magic is something that exists here. It caught you unawares when Gale murmured a couple of words and there was a small gathering of sticks already on fire in the middle of the nook you had hidden out in. 

As you feel full from the meal, accompanied by the fire before you lazily crackling, exhaustion begins weighing down on you like lead. The ache of everything that had happened since you woke up in that cursed pod is setting so deeply in your bones you can feel yourself drift off. 

“You sleep for now,” Shadowheart’s voice comes out of nowhere, making you startle as you realize you were already half asleep, leaning against a tree in the small nook of the cliff face you had settled in. It was somewhat hidden and so there should be little to no chance of somebody ambushing you (according to Gale and Shadowheart, you haven’t a clue). 

Shadowheart pats your shoulder, sitting down next to you. 

“But –” You attempt to protest, but you feel sluggish and are nursing a migraine that had never really let go after the meeting with the mind flayer. Instead, you sink back down, leaning your head back towards the bark. Sleeping sitting will probably suck, but you are not sure you can handle sleeping on the chilled ground. 

“You can use this, if you’d like,” Gale offers, and you find yourself with an armful of what seems to be a sleeping bag. At your confused glance – he hadn’t been carrying that around a few seconds ago, he gives you a shrug. “Wizard. I thankfully still have my bag of holding.” 

“Practical,” Shadowheart says, her attitude still varies from cautious to hostile with Gale. Yet she relents and gives him a small nod. “Thank you. They’ll need the rest to recover.” 

“From the nautiloid?” Gale throws a small stick onto the fire, eyes reflecting the light of the flames as they crackle and shudder, new sparks dancing through the night air. 

“No,” Shadowheart shakes her head. Her hand moves, gently brushing through your hair. “And actually, I do need to look at your wounds. Perhaps we should use another potion on you now to help it heal.” 

“I – sure,” you agree, voice barely scraping through your throat. You are worn to the bone when you lift up the hem of your shirt. Shadowheart focuses her attention on what she can see in the limited light. 

Across the fire, Gale sucks in a harsh breath as your burns come to light. “Let me guess.” 

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Shadowheart says. Your attention slips from their small chatter back and forth, as Shadowheart eventually decides to have you drink another potion, just to be sure. The taste is still rancid, but you swallow it down. 

The night becomes darker after that, your lagging awareness shutting down as you lean against Shadowheart. 

You wake to the heat of the sun against your skin, your mind slowly waking amidst a fog of confusion. 

Then you remember; the nautiloid, Shadowheart, Us, Gale . A new addition to your little ragtag group, if he doesn’t up and leave like Lae’zel did. Sigh. 

You sit up, your whole body still aching with the healing process. Fortunately the parasite is quiet in the back of your head, the migraine having dissipated overnight. Honestly, you kind of surprise yourself by not immediately being startled at still being in – wherever this world is. 

“Go to hell…” Gale’s voice mutters from across the fire. The morning has barely greeted past the horizon and his head is turned, watching the sun slowly crawl up past the waves of the sea far far away. His eyes land on you, watching you as you blink the sleep from your eyes. 

“Good morning?” you offer. You’re rather confused at the phrase. You shift where you are lying, feeling Us press against your back – the creature seemingly having slept beside you. 

“Hah. You’re a good sport,” Gale chuckles, turning towards you. He looks like he hasn’t slept a wink. “‘Go to hell’, an everyday expression. So trivial it’s almost meaningless.” 

Oh, so that’s a saying here as well. Duly noted. 

Gale doesn’t pay attention to your lack of response, continuing his musings, “But we’ve seen Hell. It’s real. And it isn’t trivial.” 

You yawn, “What’s on your mind, Gale?” 

“Devils, dragons, mind flayers – they used to be abstracts,” He shrugs, his expression still bemused. “Pictures on a piece of paper. And what a difference one day in between thousands of others makes. Now we have tadpoles slithering through our heads like carnivorous foeti.” Gale pauses. “That’s not abstract.” 

“Hey –” you wriggle out of the cocoon you had made with the sleeping bag, your body complaining. Yet you find it necessary to reach over to place a hand carefully on his shoulder. There’s an incremental startle that you can feel under your fingertips. “I’m not saying it isn’t a problem we’re struggling with, and we are deep in you-know-what. But –” and you lift your hand. Gale’s eyes are dark, and you think you see a smidge of what lies past his light-hearted attempt at a facade. “At least we aren’t dealing with it alone, you know? I don’t think I could have come this far on my own.” 

You’re honestly certain that your grave would have been on the nautiloid if not for the fact you ran into Lae’zel. Defenseless and unable to make sense of even the reality of your situation, she had been a grounding force for your mind and sanity.

You do not want to think too hard on the fact that you have taken lives – beings willing and wanting to kill you that were necessary for your survival, but killings nonetheless. 

You don’t think about it – and surely if you don’t think about it, the implications can’t catch up to you. 

“Hah,” Gale exhales, pushing to his feet. “A point well made. Good thing then, we should get going – we’ll need to find a healer before the wee one gets hungry.” he underlines his last comment by tapping a finger against his temple. 

You roll up the bedding, handing it over to Gale, “Do you have any ideas as to what we can do?” you ask as he stores the large bundle of fabric and fur in a bag that should be much too small to hold something its size. It disappears into what seems to be a void. Huh. 

“Well your friend is right, for one we need someone who can help our situation without taking out an eyeball in a most grotesque manner to dig in after the tadpole,” Gale says. 

A thud comes from the side, and Shadowheart appears. Her weapons are hoisted on her back and she looks just as tired as Gale. Did they not sleep at all? Were they too wary of one another? You feel a bit sheepish as you wriggle yourself the last bit out of the sleeping bag, having been the only person to get a proper night’s sleep. 

You pick up Us into your arms, giving it a once-over as she catches her breath. The creature preens at your attention, and it folds its legs under itself, getting cozy. 

“I scouted ahead,” Shadowheart finally says, taking a drink of her waterskin. The rising sun haloes her from behind as she shakes her head, expression grim. “There are traps, both on the ground and in the air. I suspect we are near a goblin camp. I saw two or three potential paths around it, but I wouldn’t count on it being that easy.” 

She then looks at you, as if expecting a response. You blink, “We don’t have any other options than testing those paths, do we?” 

“I doubt it,” Shadowheart says. 

You look down at Us, then back up at your companions, “Then let’s go.” 

On the road back to where you had left off last night, you feel Gale tapping your arm. 

“I realize, it would be remiss not to properly thank you –” Gale says as you turn with a raised brow. “For yesterday. I do appreciate your kindness, and before you are about to embark on a journey with a most ill-mannered man: thank you, for pulling me out of that stone.” 

“I –” you feel a bit stumped. “You’re welcome?” 

“Hah! Bad at accepting thanks I see,” Gale laughs, and his voice changes incrementally; from what you think is polite cheeriness, to honest delight. “I hope ample opportunities will present themselves for me to return the favor.”

Gale finishes the conversation with that, gesturing for you to take the lead yet again (why do these people expect you to know where you might have been already and where to go? Honestly.) The path continues what you think might be south of where you had started? Or maybe west? 

Actually, does this world have the same words for the cardinal directions? Something else to figure out later, you suppose. 

“I sometimes hear people mention getting blood from a stone – but I never imagined getting a wizard,” Shadowheart says. You look over your shoulder at her, currently walking down an incline. “Just thought it amusing, that’s all.” 

“I suppose that’s one way of seeing it,” Gale muses, his staff – one that he had pulled out of that bag of his, clanks against the gravel now and again, the butt of it looking as if it has been reinforced with metal. He then says your name and you look from Shadowheart to him. At this rate you might as well walk between them, this is giving you a sore neck looking back up at them. “Say, you wouldn’t be able to use magic, would you?” 

“Uhm” you share a glance with Shadowheart. She gives you an incremental shake of her head. “No, I’ve never tried it before.” 

“No matter,” Gale says with a wave of his hand, still sounding cheerful. “Just, if you run into any elder wizards, tell me please? I hope someone with enough power could free us of our troubles.” 

“If I see one, sure,” you tell him. Not sure how to confess you wouldn’t be able to tell if you ever ran into one. 

“You know, Shadowheart,” you say, waiting as Gale had personal business to do in the bushes nearby (nature calls). “I’d hope to get to know you a little better, since we are traveling together for the foreseeable future.” 

Shadowheart shoots you a bemused look, “Must we? No harm in a little mystery.” she shifts her weight, mace in hand even as her shield is still at rest at her back. Her posture is alert and aware, despite the lack of sleep. “Conversation shouldn’t be made – it should be grown. Let the seeds sprout in their own time.” 

An apt metaphor, you suppose. You kneel down to let Us wrap your hand and arm in one of its tendrils, and it jumps up to hang onto it eagerly. The weight of it is surprisingly light, now that you think about it – but then again, how much is a brain supposed to weigh in the first place? 

“If you’re uncomfortable, I’ll stop,” You tell her. 

“Thank you, we have been getting along perfectly well this far, let's just give it time.” Shadowheart says just as Gale hops out of the bushes, finished with his business. 

You continue on, following where Shadowheart had roughly managed to navigate past the traps; a couple of nets are on the ground, shredded as if someone had cut their way through. 

Further up along the trail Shadowheart had found, you suddenly hear voices; “Zorru was right. Yellow as a toad, and twice as ugly.” 

You share a look with your companions, the description is familiar, though rude. You push past the last bit of brush to see two individuals standing beneath a raised cage – the two have crimson skin and horns that curl from their foreheads; almost as alien to you as Lae’zel, who is glaring from the cage. 

The moment your eyes meet hers, the parasite in the back of your skull throws itself around the cavity – bringing immediate and excruciating pain. You cry out, air wheezing from your lungs as you clutch at your head, your whole body ringing with knifesharp words that Lae’zel is trying to communicate through the leech. 

“Stop it!” Shadowheart calls to the clearing at large, drawing the attention of the other people there. 

They turn, startled, but you can barely pay attention to it, with how your body shudders in the aftermath, the parasite a most unwelcome burden as it feels as though it is trying to burrow its way in between both halves of your brain and wreak havoc. 

“What’s wrong?” Gale’s hands catch you as you wobble. His touch brings immediate relief, as if there is a transference of silence where his arm carefully wraps around your shoulders, a hand coming up to grasp your wrist, skin touching skin. “What’s hurting you?” 

You realize the scream that had been rattling in your throat had not emerged, as your jaw had clamped itself so harshly shut it takes a moment to relax it enough to say, “It’s the parasite.” 

“The ceremorphosis?” 

You shake your head, hand coming up to rub at your temple. “No, it’s whenever it connects to someone. It feels –” you shudder again, Gale’s hand tightening on your wrist as you feel nausea rise in your throat. And just when you had gotten used to the lack of pain from your little passenger. “It hurts.” 

“With how you suddenly lost all color, I believe that might be an understatement,” Gale says. He shifts you closer to his side, tucking you under his arm. 

You can also feel Us chitter around your feet, though for some reason, rather than show aggression towards the people who have started talking sternly to Shadowheart, it stays hidden behind you. It presses up against the back of your shin, intelligibly speaking to you in hushed tones. 

“Looks like Shadowheart is managing quite well,” Gale murmurs to you, his voice close to your ear. You close your eyes as the pain fades, your body feeling as if you had just been strung up and hung from two hooks, stretched to a point and then suddenly released. It’s disorienting.

You look up at where Shadowheart is speaking with the two, her own hand pressed to the side of her head. The agitation has settled, and she simply looks steadfast as she convinces the strangers of – something. You can’t hear very much from here, but they haven’t pointed their bows at Shadowheart, so you hope the situation has been de-escalated during your little fit. As it turns out, the two horned individuals leave without trouble. 

Gale hefts you a bit more steadily onto your feet, helping you approach the small nook where the cage is hanging. 

“You could have just said something out loud, you know,” Shadowheart hisses. 

“You told them that I was your prey,” Lae’zel says, her voice clicking. “I would tear your head from your body before you could even utter a prayer, cleric .” 

“And you just harmed the person who is responsible for getting you down from there,” Shadowheart points out sharply. Her mace is in hand, eyes on Lae’zel and you think you aren’t imagining the sparks fizzling in and out of existence between them as they glare at one another. 

Shadowheart’s eyes soften as you approach, turning her attention to you. “How are you feeling?” 

“Better,” you tell her. And it’s true. The ache of the tantrum still sits in your skull, bruises where they shouldn’t be. But you will live, and you lean away from Gale who lets go of you as you do, letting you stand on your own. “It stopped, at least.” 

“That’s good,” Shadowheart says. 

“If you are done, get me down ,” Lae’zel snaps from her cage. 

You tilt your head back, looking up at where her cage is hanging quite a distance above ground. Had she been stuck there all night? “I’ll get you down Lae’zel, but I want to hear why you went off on your own after the crash.” there isn’t really a sense of betrayal or hurt as you say it – just a touch of curiosity and exhaustion. 

“ Ch’k ,” Lae’zel clicks deep in her throat, audible even at this distance. “I believed you dead, by dragon breath or the fall. It was nothing more than that.” 

Given where you had landed, in a cove hidden by itself without easy access, you can see why she had reached that conclusion. You hoist the crossbow, the burn of the weight of it still discernible as you take careful aim; there is a rope above, but the target is small. Instead you notice the lacking craftsmanship in the bottom of the cage and, taking careful aim, you manage to loosen the planks enough that they give, letting Lae’zel drop gracefully to the ground. 

“I see the tadpole has yet to scrambled all your senses,” Lae’zel says as she straightens. Her skin is marked by what seems like scrapes and bruises. Otherwise she seems to be in good shape for someone who apparently spent the night in a cage. “Auspicious.” 

“Good to see you again, too,” you say dryly, tucking your crossbow back behind you as you lightly sway on your feet. Lae’zel gives you a long stare, gauging something before she makes that semi-familiar click in the back of her throat. 

“The longer we wait, the more our parasites consume,” She says. You tilt your head in question. “My people possess the cure for this infection. I must find a créche; you will join me.” 

“Careful –” Shadowheart intervenes, stepping in between Lae’zel and yourself. Her shield is braced for a strike between them. “She obviously sees your kindness as weakness. Don’t let her take advantage.” 

“Shadowheart,” you say, placing a hand on her arm. She glances back at you, though her attention is still on Lae’zel – completely unwilling to lower her barricade. “Listen. We need to explore all options we have – she’s right that we’re running on limited time before –” and you cut yourself off, unable to utter the words confirming the reality of the transformation; the mind flayer that you will become in the end.  

“I second the notion of exploring various venues,” Gale adds, voice light as he stands off to the side, hands folded behind his back as he watches the drama. “If you need the opinion of someone neutral, that is.” 

You gesture at Gale, and Shadowheart glares at the wizard before she finally lowers the shield, though she doesn’t quite let you step in front of her to keep the conversation going with Lae’zel. 

“Lae’zel,” you say, and the githyanki gives you a flat look. “What exactly is a cr –” you fumble the word. “ Créche ?” 

Lae’zel considers your question; “It is many things. A hatchery, a training grounds, a shelter.” She gestures at her head. “Githyanki protocol is clear: when infected with a ghaik tadpole, we must report to a ghustil for purification.” Her eyes narrow, and she licks her lips. “The horned ones mentioned a camp, one there – this Zorru , has seen githyanki. A créche must be near, we will ask him where.” 

You think over her demands – alongside with her willingness to travel together yet again. You wouldn’t have been surprised if Lae’zel had told you to get lost and leave her to travel on her own; she is a force of nature on her own. But having that force of nature with you should help your odds against… well whatever this world seems to have in store for you. “Alright, let’s journey together.” 

Lae’zel considers you for a moment, “You have made an ally from créche K’liir – few know such fortune.” 

To the others, she barely acknowledges Shadowheart and glares at Gale, “Call me Lae’zel.” 

“Pleasure meeting you, Lae’zel,” Gale says with a small theatrical bow. He seems just as good-willed as with any of your companions – so perhaps Shadowheart’s hostility was more personal. “A githyanki joining our company. Not a collaboration I’d have anticipated, but a welcome one nonetheless.”

You look between the two women, unsure, “Is this going to be fine?” 

Lae’zel is still leveling Shadowheart with a glare, her arms crossed. “I will tolerate her presence.” 

Shadowheart pulls on one shoulder, her posture still stiff, “Likewise.”

Chapter Text

Turns out the path you all had found Lae’zel on was a dead end – it led to a mess of more traps, one of which Gale almost set off as he hadn’t seen the tripwire in the grass. In all honesty, none of you are willing to risk your necks when there are still other options to explore, so off you are in another direction. 

According to what Shadowheart had seen, this one leads just along the outside of the wreckage of the nautiloid. You feel nausea rise in your throat at the possibility of running into more mind flayers. 

Us, to your surprise, seems to have decided to stick as physically close as possible to you, almost making you trip over it. Yesterday it had skittered around, scouting and keeping watch. Maybe the increase in people made it uncomfortable? 

You run into corpses; not the same humanoids as before – even the ones with long ears or horns seemed more familiar than the small bodies on the path, their skin greenish, mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth and dressed in what seemed like barbaric outfits of mixed leathers and furs, enhanced with what seemed like war-paint made of blood (it could also be clay, but you wouldn’t be surprised if it was blood). 

Someone or something had killed them, leaving them on the path without an afterthought. Out in the open like this –

“A warning,” Lae’zel hisses. But she doesn’t bother investigating further, instead her attention directing itself to your surroundings. 

You all push past it, silence descending on the group. Oddly, you find yourself at the head of all of them yet again – why does this keep happening? Hasn’t it become obviously clear that you are the least experienced fighter of all of them? 

You ponder on it as you walk, the path snaking past the crash site and over to the other side, showing the open coast. Midday is slowly creeping past the apex of the skies above, and you wonder if this place has clocks, a similar sense of time.  

There is what seems to be a path that climbs up a small hill – you suspect the coast on this side is less of a beach and more of a cliff drop. You should keep an eye out – 

And then you top the crest of the hill, seeing waves crash against the shore. And you suddenly hear somebody call; “Hurry!”

“What?” you spot a figure crouching behind a boulder. You move a bit closer, leaving a few steps between the person and yourself. 

“I have one of those brain things cornered,” the person says, pointing to the brush. Their skin is pale and bright in the sunlight, silver hair brushed back. You see no weapons on their person as you approach. You are flashed a smile as you get closer, “You can kill it, can’t you? Like you killed the others. Well, aside from your own, I suppose –” 

Us cocks its brain to the side, No song. Song not here. 

Wait. 

And then there is a dagger at your throat – the assailant having thrown themself against you and sending you tumbling across the dusty path. Your burnt side aches with the impact and you gasp despite yourself as you are grappled. 

Shadowheart and Gale both call your name, and there is a rush of feet approaching. 

“Shh, not a sound, not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours,” Your assailant whispers in your ear, knife turning to rest against the side of your jaw, below your ear. It is a wicked blade – the sharpness ghosts across your skin and promises a quick and non-preventable death at its touch. The person then addresses your companions, “And you – keep your distance. No need for this to get messy.” 

“ Tsk’va ,” Lae’zel hisses somewhere off to the side. You can’t look to see. 

“I need them alive – stow that blade or I’ll show you just how messy things can get,” Shadowheart promises darkly, the tell-tale sound of her unsheathing her mace and your attacker shifts the blade just enough to draw blood. The warm trickle is eerie with how still you are keeping yourself in their grasp, how little power you have in this situation. 

“Promises, promises –” they say. 

“Release them, or I will incinerate you,” Gale snaps. You think you can hear his staff striking the ground. 

“Oh, and hit them as well? Now just be dears and keep quiet for a moment,” the person says and then leans in close. Their lips graze your ear as they whisper, “I saw you on the ship, didn’t I? Nod.” 

The blade shifts, allowing you just enough room to do so – you oblige, gritting your teeth when their grasp on you tightens. 

“Splendid – and now you are going to tell me exactly what you and those tentacled freaks did to me.” 

What? “What -” you gasp, the knife nicking your skin on your chin as you startle. And then your leech screeches in offense, connecting to; oh, of course, another victim. A pressure begins to steadily build in your skull, trying to not let your parasite communicate just yet with this person’s. “I also got taken, just like you.”

“Don’t lie to me –” and then your meek attempt at holding back the assault of the parasite fails, and the person – he groans as a mental tether forms between you. You blink and your eyes no longer see the bright sunlight of day, nor do you hear the crashing of waves against the surf. 

Instead there is darkness, prowling down busy and crowded streets, the vision shifts as something rancid touches your tongue that makes you want to vomit. You cough, your lungs heaving as the reality the parasite is injecting into you collides with the actual. 

The memory slips like sand between your fingers as it fades to the worm settling, only white-hot bursts of fear dig into your nerves as it fades, the sun hot on your skin. 

You wrest yourself from the vision as Astarion gasps, “What was that, what’s going on?” 

“It’s –” you fear the way his grip shifts on the blade, as if considering offing you right here and now. Quickly, you continue, “It’s the mind flayer’s parasite. It connected us.” You decide not to mention the raging headache ringing in your skull, practically drowning out your own voice. 

But then Astarion’s grip loosens, and you find several hands and a pair of tentacles dragging you away from him and onto your side where you first notice the quick heaving breaths entering your lungs. 

Ah. You’re hyperventilating. 

A hand gingerly brushes back your hair, grounding you in the moment as you curl in on yourself. The cut along your jaw and the nick on your chin stings, dust clinging to the skin where the blood has seeped down your neck.

You hate this place so much – it’s a deep visceral feeling that even catches yourself off guard – this feeling of jadedness isn’t quite yours, yet isn’t completely foreign. 

“Easy, easy,” Gale’s deep voice resounds and the hand who had brushed back your hair trails down to cup your cheek, healing magic flowing through you with the familiar coolness of Shadowheart’s powers. The sting eases and your lungs ceases their spasmic attempts. 

“None of you are cohorts – you were taken, just as I was,” Astarion says as you suck in one last unsteady breath, bracing yourself against the ground to sit up. You look over to see him standing casually at bladepoint, Lae’zel keeping him company as the others help you recover. “And to think I suspected you were with them – about to ready myself to decorate the ground with your innards. Apologies.” 

“If you had, you would have found yourself accompanying them in short order, kaniyak ,” Lae’zel hisses. 

“... Just a joke,” Astarion says, a touch less humorous now. 

“Lae’zel,” you say, meeting her gaze when it snaps to you. “I need to talk to him.” 

“You owe him no mercy,” Lae’zel hisses. 

“No, but –” 

“If you are about to say that you’re recruiting him to our merry little band –” Shadowheart begins, though she stops when you place a hand on her arm. She then says your name very slowly, sighing as she does so. 

“Isn’t it good that I’m predictable?” you say with a small smile. Shadowheart simply shakes her head, but still helps you back to your feet without further complaint other than a tired look. 

Astarion is standing, hand on his hip as he watches you approach. The man has a small smirk on his lip, seeming comfortable even with the gore on his clothes and the dirt from the road you had just tumbled on on his skin. “Glad to see we are all caught up – now, did you actually learn anything about these worms while wandering the ship?” 

“Yes, unfortunately,” you say with a small pause. Astarion tenses. “They’ll turn us into mind flayers.” 

“Turn us into –” Astarion sounds like he can’t believe his ears, eyes widening for a moment as the information sinks in before he launches into a series of hysterical laughs. “Of course it will turn me into a monster! What else did I expect?” The last of his words trails off with a snarl. 

He then steps forward towards you and your companions, which earns him a hiss from Lae’zel. He ignores her threat, gesturing at his head with a hand, “Although it hasn’t happened yet. If we can find an expert, someone who can control these things – there might still be time.” 

“That’s what we’re hoping to accomplish,” Gale interjects. His hand comes up to gingerly press against your back and you realize as he does that you have been swaying on your feet. 

“So what is your plan?” Astarion asks the group at large. 

“For now? Get away from the crash site,” you tell him. “We’re still trying to figure out how to get around the traps.”

“Hm, sound enough,” Astarion taps his chin with a finger. “I was ready to do this alone, but maybe sticking with the herd isn’t a bad idea. Safety in numbers, after all.” 

He slots in at the tail end of your little convoy, beside Lae’zel. Counting five bodies, you are practically collecting a group of oddities – not to mention the varied appearances between them. 

You feel something niggling at the back of your head, something familiar, and yet when your mind chases it you doubt yourself and let the thought go. 

“Astarion is an interesting find,” Shadowheart comments beside you. The path you are pursuing is yet another one of her scouted alternatives, the one leading to Astarion had turned out to turn into a very steep drop off of a cliff. 

Some of the others could potentially have scaled it down and continued on the path that curled along it. You couldn’t, no way, with your still bruised and burnt body and the way your strength is already starting to lag even though it is barely past midday. 

“Is he?” you say, half distracted by Us. The creature had found that it liked to use its tentacles to try and intermingle with your fingers, half hanging off of your arm. 

“Interesting like a snake is interesting, best to keep a distance” Shadowheart says dryly. “Let’s hope any future acquaintances don’t hold a blade to your throat by way of introduction.” 

“It’s only happened twice so far, so I’d say our chances are decent,” you hoist up Us, the creature emitting a small sound of delight. You look up to see Gale giving you a concerned look. “What?” 

“Twice now?” 

“I suppose I can see who else in our illustrious company might be so inclined,” Astarion says. 

Lae’zel only tsk’s. 

The path curves back past where you had freed Lae’zel earlier. There is no sign of the horned individuals that you had run into. You honestly think you might have scoured the entirety of this side of the cove – when you suddenly spot pillars of stone appearing between the trees, and the gravel beneath your feet is replaced with stone tiles. 

“Are – is this just left empty out here?” you say as you squint, having noticed the surprisingly whole structure finally appearing from the brush; it looks like a crypt or a temple of some sort. It has fallen into some disrepair, the stones cracked and you imagine there might have been a grand roof of some sort – or maybe the pillars have just been there for decoration. Either way it seems empty now, nature creeping up and taking over. 

“I believe we actually landed close to here,” Shadowheart says, making you turn to give her a look. “I found a door that was locked, or barricaded. I didn’t linger – we had more important things to consider at the time.” 

“It seems like a tomb of some sort,” Gale adds thoughtfully. He is at the tail of your little group alongside Lae’zel, the githyanki keeping quiet as her eyes keep watch on your surroundings. “Not that I’m an expert, mind you. But the architecture is unfamiliar.” 

“And do you think it could lead around the crash site?” You ask. Shadowheart draws on her shoulders in a shrug, her chainmail making a slight noise as she does so. Gale’s fingers drum out a short rhythm on his staff, seemingly thinking it over. 

“Worth a try,” Shadowheart finally says without further comment. 

Fair enough. 

There is barely a moment before you turn back to the path, intent on continuing onward, before Astarion reaches out and catches your arm, holding you back. You are practically mid-step so you have a short moment of losing your balance before you manage to right yourself up, looking back over your shoulder at him. His red eyes look sharply at you. 

Astarion shows off his teeth in a small grin as he murmurs, “Careful, sweetheart – there’s a lookout.” 

And just as he says that, a man appears from behind a pillar, points at your group and shouts. In short order a group of six or so individuals appear from around the ruin, all wielding weapons. 

“Well, well, well,” A small and lithe man walks up to your little entourage. “Looters and thieves, the lot of you. Why don’t you fuck off and leave, eh? This is our treasure.” 

The next second, he almost loses the tip of his nose with how quickly Lae’zel cuts through the air where he stands, fully intent on ending the discussion without needing to say a single thing. 

“Oy!” The small man shouts, his compatriots readying their weapons. 

“What she meant to say –” Astarion cuts in, stepping in front of you and heading the conversation. “Is that if you don’t want to lose any limbs needlessly, you should consider leaving.” 

“But –” 

“ Now ,” Astarion’s voice is still pleasant, but his knives are in hand, one blade held behind his back in forgotten promise and the other pointed forward at the man. “Hurry now.” 

The small man grumbles for a second, but seems to favor keeping himself and his group in one piece. Maybe the pissed-off woman with a greatsword did a lot of the convincing for him. In short order they vacate the premises, leaving behind what seems like a make-shift campsite and a lot of random bits and bobs. 

“Seems like they have been here a while,” Shadowheart says, picking through the leavings. She truly is capable of finding useful things in the most unexpected places, because she manages to dig into  a crate on one of the upper rafters of the building and reappears with a round of potatoes, apples and carrots. “Set up for a long stay.” 

“I wonder what they’re looking for,” you say to no one in particular, rubbing a hand against your temple as the parasite warbles in the back of your head. The amount of people likewise infected seem to keep it in an active state of some sort, making it lively. You hope it isn’t a sign of the ceremorphosis. 

As you wander off to one side of the construct, you see it has a terrace. 

The space before you opens up to the sight of the coast – accompanied by the gigantuan shape of the nautiloid breaking the calm waters and simple nature. From here, you can also spy that there’s some sort of giant tree in the distance – the rock formations of the coast breaking apart here and there to allow larger stretches of forest to grow along it. 

You stand and stare for a long moment, letting it sink in; this really is not your home. Not your world. The people are different, and the way the world works extinguishes lives much more directly than you have ever seen. 

It crosses your mind that you might consider crying, mourning the loss of normalcy you have known all your life. Instead something dulls the thought – the ever-dogging exhaustion nipping at your heels accompanied by the way you have been dissociating your way through the motions. Not addressing your first killing, your first fights, how you have been learning how to pick loot from corpses. 

Maybe one of these days you will feel settled enough to really feel the loss, but right now all you can think of is to survive until then. 

You suck in a heavy breath, hearing somebody approach from behind. Turning, you see Shadowheart there – the others taking a short rest within the ruins. There’s the tell-tale figure of Lae’zel up somewhere in the higher levels of the structure and Gale and Astarion are seemingly conversing off to the side. 

“Shadowheart?” you say as she stops beside you, likewise leaning against the railing and looking out towards the horizon. 

Shadowheart turns her attention to you,  “Yes?” 

“I think I need to ask you about the different kinds of people here,” you admit. There is an undertone of desperation to your voice; maybe knowing more, experiencing more, will help you feel anchored in the now-and-here and not feel as if you could lose contact with reality as you stare out at the reflected sunlight across the waves. 

“What?” 

“I –” you reach up to rub at the bridge of your nose. “I don’t have the words. I see people, all with different features and I lack the words to describe where they are different or similar. Lae’zel is a githyanki, I am human. But everything else?” you shrug. 

“Ah, I see,” Shadowheart hums. “Well, for one, I suppose you have been showing an openness that makes up for your lack of understanding. I guess then from what I saw that there are only humans in your world?” 

You nod. “Basically.” 

“You will need to talk to Lae’zel about gith but I don’t mind helping you get filled in on most of the others.” Shadowheart says thoughtfully. Then she reaches up, brushing back loose hairs, displaying short pointed ears. “Also I am an half-elf, just so you’re aware.” 

“Ah.” 

Chapter Text

Shadowheart gives you a very quick run-down of the races of Faerún (the land itself took you a moment to learn how to pronounce), and your head feels full and fit to burst with the names and descriptions; Tieflings, Elves, Orcs, Gnomes, Dwarves, Dragons (or was it dragonborn?), Drow – were there more? You feel like there were more. They can be intermingled with one another or humans to create various iterations off of each other. 

It is at least a solid way of distracting you from your rather depressive line of thoughts – to try and remember whether a small and skinny man will be a gnome, but if he’s a bit on the heavier side you shouldn’t assume he’s a dwarf and vice versa. It’s honestly a bit of a difficult thing to get straight away, but then again Shadowheart had told you that she didn’t mind revisiting the topic whenever you got confused. 

You reconvene with the others, where Astarion has been waiting by a door in the back of the structure. 

“There you are,” Astarion says, pushing off of the wall he had been leaning against. “I think I’ve found something interesting.” he then proceeds to do a small circular gesture, twirling his hand, and a tiny metal stick appears in between his fingers. 

“What did you find?” You ask, following curiously over to the door where Astarion kneels down to be on eye-level with the lock. He then proceeds to stick the tool into it, and with one, two, three small twists, the lock clicks. 

“The man talked about treasure,” Astarion says as he stands back up, tucking the small tool back where it came from. “I figured if nothing else it could be hiding enough gold to buy our way to a solution.” 

“I believe you are underestimating the scope of our problem,” Gale comments dryly. 

“Perhaps,” Astarion gives a light shrug. “But we will need resources to survive the road to it –” 

As the two bicker, you reach out to try the handle. The iron of the grip is worn and rusted over, small flakes of it sticking to your palm as you press down. 

The door gives with a slow and complaining whine, though to your surprise, it isn’t a hard-fought battle to get it to open all the way – 

And then there is a sword swinging at your neck. 

The gasp in your throat is cut off as someone from behind you reacts faster than the blade can arc through the air, pulling you back with a harsh tug the same moment Astarion ducks beneath the attack and buries his two wicked daggers in the guts of the assailant. 

As you lose your balance, your back collides with Lae’zel’s chestplate, knocking the air out of you as it proves to be her lightning-fast reflexes that kept your neck attached to your body. 

Shadowheart barges in through the doorway past Astarion, shield raised and bashing into the man’s body, knocking it aside as he gurgles on his last breath. She lets out a cry of anger, and you see the semi-familiar flash of her spells fly in alongside her as a fight breaks out within. Hot on her heels is Astarion and Gale, with you and Lae’zel taking up the last position. 

Turns out, there were more of the treasure-hunters within the rooms. As you shake off the initial burst of fear and panic at the close near-death, you dart in with the others, crossbow in hand. 

Once Lae’zel is inside, you see her body flash with some sort of magic, and she leaps over crates and debris as if weightless, bearing down on the group inside with a snarl. 

Honestly, it’s chaos. The attackers had been ready, likely having heard you talking outside. It left your group a scattered mess, and almost none of them have any idea how each other fights. 

One minute Shadowheart is bearing down on a man that is frothing at the mouth, and the next she has to leap out of the way of what seems to be a ball of fire meant for her opponent, but in the mess it almost singes her as well. 

You try to provide cover, seeing that most of the others prefer close combat to ranged. Your crossbow bolts are running unnervingly low – only having had so many from the get go. You feel sweat bead on your forehead, the room is unnaturally warm and – 

Wait, is that the smell of oil? 

As Lae’zel and Shadowheart push past the first round of fighters, you duck in alongside them, seeing a woman with her hand alight with fire. The scent of tar is heavy and you realize in that second what is about to happen.

“Gale!” You shout, needing to draw back your crossbow and fit another bolt, leaving you no time to deal with the threat yourself before she lowers her hand, aiming on igniting the room in a burst of fire, taking all of you out since her companions were already falling one by one. A final explosive act of defiance. 

Gale spins – he had been busily raining down small bolts of lightning that seemingly tracked down whoever was engaged with your companions, having switched tactics a moment after his misplaced fire spell. 

His eyes flicker to where you point and before you can even try to explain he presses his palms against one another, geometric patterns bursting forth, and for a second the room rings . Something high-pitched and reedy bounces between the walls before Gale releases his spell, a wave of energy emitting from him – it forces back some of the others in his rush, but strikes the woman true before her hand drops entirely. 

It collides with her chest, sending her flying across the room and into the wall. She slides down, groaning, and you haul yourself over a couple of crates, crossbow bolt set in the nook of your weapon. 

Your breath leaves your lungs heavily as your eyes glaze over, realizing what you are about to do. 

Finger tightening on the trigger, you let the bolt fly true, and watch almost passively, distantly, as it strikes the woman in the skull, killing her. 

You just killed a person for the first time. Not a monster, not a demon, not an illithid – a person . 

Your breath rushes from your lungs as nausea rises in your throat, almost going down the wrong pipe when you heave in air. Hysteria flirts at the edge of your consciousness. 

Thankfully the fighting is winding down. As stuck as you are, you barely notice when Shadowheart comes over to place a hand on your shoulder, her voice distant. You think she might be asking about how you are doing, but it’s difficult to parse past the ringing in your ears. 

You obey the light tug of a hand on your elbow, and you are sat down in a small room further into the crypt, away from the bloodshed. It smells like mildew, like ancient parchment – and you honestly surprise yourself with being able to identify it, attention finally coalescing back into your surroundings and away from the screaming in your head. 

“You return,” Lae’zel says next to you, and you turn to see her stand at a guard’s rest next to you, her eyes set on the doorway. From somewhere else in the room, you hear shuffling and turn to see Gale and Shadowheart rummaging around, Gale diving into the books on the shelves and Shadowheart digging through whatever storage there is otherwise. 

“The others?” you ask, disgruntled when your voice is barely a croak. 

“Making sure our opponents would not rise to return the favor,” Lae’zel tells you. 

Ah. Us and Astarion must be out killing off the treasure hunters that hadn’t succumbed to their wounds. You don’t let your mind flirt with the mental image of how that must look – you only hope you don’t have to go past them again. 

You clear your throat, rubbing at your eyes. “Was there even anything in here?” 

“Aside from ancient dusty tomes?” Shadowheart replies wryly from where she is kneeling in the back of the room, her arm disappearing into some kind of nook, and there’s a click followed by a low groaning creaking somewhere outside of the room. “Possibly a hidden path.” 

“ Useful ancient dusty tomes, I’ll let you know,” Gale says, poking around some of the bookshelves. He holds up one of them. “This one’s about the gods – and I found another about vampires.” 

He gives you a very pointed look at that last one. You’re not sure why. 

“Cryptic ancient dusty tomes, got it,” Shadowheart shrugs, heading over to give you a hand up. You do feel better, or at least well enough that you are not about to have your legs give in from the stress, so you take the offer.

Getting back up has you squint through the limited light of the room, some ancient candles having been lit here and there alongside a stained window in the back that lets in a small beam of sunlight, one that breaks apart and illuminates the centuries worth of dust down here that is drowsily drifting through the air. 

You stare at it for a long moment, willing yourself to mentally prod at the memory of killing the woman, finding not as much horror as you had expected just moments before. Instead you find a numbness, the experience overlapping with killing imps and shooting the mind flayer in much the same way. 

You feel as though it should be more than that, but the thought flits and disappears before you dig into it, leaving you blinking as the silhouette of a spider suddenly cuts across the line of sunlight, a small thing, whose shadow makes it seem enormous even as it daintily spins down and down. 

A bit of time later Astarion and Us rejoin the rest of the group. He and Shadowheart share what they have found while Gale has his nose buried in a book. You stay beside Lae’zel, still a touch woozy as you listen in as they discuss what they’ve found. 

“Oh darling, you were the one who opened that door – great find,” Astarion all but purrs to Shadowheart when she mentions the hidden switch she had found. “I think our little treasure hunters were onto something, but thankfully we will get to reap the rewards.” 

He then proceeds to lead the lot of you out into the other room. Here the tiles are only stained with red, revealing little about the fight just an hour ago, the corpses having been moved.

Astarion points to the side to where a small cupboard-like space had opened up, revealing a hidden hallway. 

You have to admit, it intrigues you – the concept of small hidden rooms and nooks used to just be things people did for fun. 

Here, the narrow corridor is overgrown, lichen trailing down the walls from where nature had managed to work its small roots and small piles of dirt had gathered in small piles where the ceiling had given in. Oddly enough, the moment Shadowheart steps inside, torches along the walls spark to life.  

“Well, seems welcoming enough,” Gale mutters next to you, sticking to the back of the group. He has managed to tuck away about a dozen or so books from the library into his bag, each of them disappearing into the depths. 

Us chirps up, Life is old here. There is little to love . 

Gale looks down at the little critter, “Little doesn’t mean nothing.” 

No , Us agrees, shifting from paw to paw, tentacles slowly whipping the air as if tasting it. 

“Does it always make ominous half-promises?” Astarion throws over his shoulder, having followed Shadowheart inside. 

“Sometimes,” You reply, ducking in after him. Lae’zel takes up the tail end of your little troupe, as she has the entire day. 

Inside the air is stale, dust rising with every step. 

Astarion takes it as a good omen, citing that it’d be easy to spot any other footprints that may have been left before your little group. 

The small corridor ends with a large elaborate door, one that gives when Shadowheart shoves at it, opening up. Further in it stays much the same – there’s larger roots in this chamber and you notice that a whole wall has fallen, leading into a set of caves where stalactites drip lazily into pools of water. You look away the moment you notice the shriveled up corpses that lie in the opening. Alright, maybe it wasn’t time that eroded the wall, but some sort of spell, having killed the people left there. 

You swallow, coughing slightly when you inhale a cloud of dust that rises when Us skitters across the railing of the small raised part of the room you are in. The lower part had almost been entirely taken over by nature, part of the ceiling having fallen in ages ago and letting plants take hold of the ground and tiles around an ancient statue. 

“Not any god that I can tell the name of,” Gale says as he leans on the railing next to you, gazing up at the statue. “A forgotten one, perhaps?”

“Maybe,” you say noncommittally. You push off of the dusty stone, slowly making your way past a couple other shrunken-in corpses where the exposure to the elements has left them nothing but very very little skin on bone. 

It’s almost eerie, how still the air is despite the vent just above you. You squint upwards as you see that the sun has started to set, the golden hue having shifted to a sepia and slowly started to creep towards a deep burning orange. 

Night won’t be long now. 

“Is it just me –” you begin, hand reaching out to run along the wall of the nook you were in, finding intricately carved grooves in the stone. You go along a bit further, fingers catching on something. 

The ground groans and creaks, and you leap back as a hidden door reveals itself slowly – the wall shifts as ancient mechanisms respond to the light touch, as if it had expected you forever. 

“Huh,” you say, about to take a step closer before you hear sourceless whispers from behind you.  

Spinning, you turn to see the corpses from before push themselves off of the ground, small lights flickering in their empty eye sockets. 

Shit. 

You pull out your crossbow, cursing under your breath as one picks up a sword. “Got company!” you shout, not seeing any of the others from your little nook. Us screeches, leaping forward to claw at the first skeleton that rose. 

“Oh we noticed!” Shadowheart shouts from somewhere off to the side, and you blink just in time to see her and Astarion duck around the corner, a beam of ice shooting just over their heads as they dive over the railing, both landing practically on top of your adversaries. 

You can distantly hear Lae’zel’s battle shout alongside several loud curses as she and Gale likely were beset by other undead. You recall the good handful or so corpses that had laid by the cracked wall and wince, tucking a bolt into place on your crossbow as Astarion beheads one corpse – only for it to continue to reach up a hand to grasp his arm, making him jump. 

Shadowheart bashes it away with her shield, grimacing as the bones finally give and break apart. 

Then a feeling akin to a bubble of quiet descends upon you and the others, your limbs turning to molasses as you raise your crossbow, striking the other skeleton in the temple and pinning it into the ledge next to it.

You think you spot sweat on Shadowheart’s forehead in the dim lighting, her brow furrowed and her breathing heavy as she uses her mace to bash in the head of the skeleton. 

Gale’s cursing increases. “Silencing spells! Fantastic!” And then the hollow sound of something or someone bashing wood against bone. 

“Gale!” you shout, about to dart outside your nook. Unfortunately, something catches your arm – something leathery and strong and you turn to see another corpse (this one decorated in golden framing, its flesh still intact even if cartilage has worn away and left just the texture of dried jerky). 

“Cease this foolery,” The corpse next to you murmurs, its voice deep and gravely as it inspects you, fully ignoring the way your finger twitches on the trigger of your crossbow, ready to bury a bolt in its dried-up guts. “Stay your weapons.” 

It’s then you realize that the silencing spell has dissipated, and the room as a whole descends into a tense actual silence following. 

Shadowheart says your name slowly, eyes flickering between you and your sudden companion when you turn to look at her. “That one is different.” 

“So I am, and so he has spoken,” the thing next to you says, and it pulls on your arm, making you turn to face it. You wrinkle your nose, expecting the stench of rot. And yet, you can only smell herbs and spices, whatever had preserved it lingering in the air. It stares at you for a long moment. “What is the worth of a single mortal’s life?” 

“What?” you say, confused. 

“The question is simple.” 

What is the worth of a single mortal’s life? You blink, unsure. If it had been a couple days ago, a week or so, you’d likely say something smart like; every life has worth, good or bad. Something poetic or intelligent, something about lives all deserving equally, no matter the type. 

And yet. 

You remember countless corpses on the ship, the lives forcibly mangled and torn apart by something that did not deem their lives worth anything. You remember the imps, the demons and the way you’d felt satisfied, the twang of the crossbow bolt embedding itself in the illithid’s skull. 

You swallow, “I cannot tell you.”

“Can’t, or won’t?” the skeleton releases your arm, instead folding its arms behind its back, its spine cracking as it straightens. 

“Can’t.” you say with a shake of your head. “I don’t know how to, not right now.” 

The corpse nods. “Very well. Honesty, even uncertainty, carries more value than deceit.” it then turns its head to eye your companions. 

You see that the others have joined, all staring confusedly at the non-hostile skeleton. 

It then turns back to you, “I will see you at your camp.” and then shuffles off, disappearing into a different room. 

Scratching at the bridge of your nose, you speak what’s likely on everyone’s mind; “That was odd.” 

Chapter Text

“Darling, do you think you carry a cursed item of some sort, a bad-luck charm perhaps?” Astarion chirps, coming over to poke his head inside the chamber the corpse had ambled out of. “Nothing that comes to mind?” 

“Just the tadpole,” you murmur, resheathing your crossbow and joining him. Inside the hidden room is a large sarcophagus alongside various ancient-looking chests and jars, all in pristine condition. Astarion quickly ducks his head inside the coffin itself to inspect it as you are distracted by the murals. “That one is bad enough luck in and of itself.”

Above the sarcophagus a large intricate illustration crawls up the walls, depicting three figures, each one looking as if it had tried to out-compete the other in looking macabre and disfigured. 

You leave the room after a long moment of staring at it, feeling uncomfortable and uneasy. You didn’t care for the way the mural had glaring down at you – it felt too alive. 

Sinking down on one of the steps, you are joined by Gale. He’s got a new book in his arms, a large clasp decorating the front where it is buckled shut. 

“Did you somehow manage to find another book while you were fighting reanimated skeletons?” you ask him, amused and slightly incredulous. 

“No, I found it just moments before it came to that,” Gale counters, lightly knocking your shoulders together, smiling. “I’d hoped to investigate it, but the sudden appearance of our adversaries had me put it on the backburner. But I hoped to pop it open and have a gander now that we are done being distracted.” 

He proceeds to turn the book over a couple of times, lavender-purple bursts of light escaping from his hands and his eyes as he investigates it. His brow furrows for a moment, his lips moving and you think you hear him speak in a different language for a short moment before there’s a small snap and the buckle lets go, its cover flinging itself open and pages rustling as an invisible hand flicks through them in quick succession. 

Gale’s eyes flicker across the pages, his fingers catching the wayward pages and keeping them still as he reads. You lean in close, half-resting your chin on his shoulder as you read along with him. 

Ah, you can’t read this writing at all. Nevermind. 

“What does it say?” you mumble close to his ear as you squint at the squiggles. 

Gale gives you an amused glance, “It speaks of other gods. It seems as though it is a record – keeping a track of every god since creation. Impressive, and unexpected to find it within an ancient tomb and placed in plain sight.” he pokes at a line on the last page, the text going from illegible to impossible, as though somebody had long ago taken a pen and aggressively crossed out. “But I suppose these three have been censored. Peculiar, given that they seem to be some of the most recent.” 

“Odd” you agree. You lean away from him, reaching up to rub at the bridge of your nose. You feel tired. The day has been wrecked with continuous surprises, one after another like waves upon the shore, eroding your sense of normalcy. A yawn makes its way up your spine, and you shudder, suddenly feeling chilled. 

“You alright?” Gale asks you, his hand is heavy and warm on your shoulder where he steadies you. 

“Been a long day,” you murmur, rubbing at your eyes. 

“Fair enough,” he says, “It has been quite a hectic few days, hasn’t it?” 

“As they needed be,” Lae’zel adds dryly. You look over to see her leaning against a pillar next to where you and Gale are sitting, her attention on the open entrances behind you. “We are running out of time. A monster forms inside us, and you think to be idle?”

“We all need to rest, Lae’zel,” Gale objects, closing the book. All he earns is a click of her tongue. “I can’t imagine how frustrating it would be to perish during a fight long before the ceremorphosis kills us because we went forward with haste.” 

She sniffs, “I knew your kind to be fragile. But I didn’t foresee the severity. Be quick about your rest, we must locate a crèche. Even as we speak, the parasites defile our brains and wrap our bones,” pushing off of the pillar, she stalks off towards the broken-down wall. “Should a single tentacle split your skull, I will not hesitate to end you.” 

“I can scarcely imagine what kind of life she must have gone through to believe that two back-to-back skirmishes doesn’t demand a moment's respite,” Gale wonders out loud as she disappears from sight. 

“I don’t find it all that difficult,” Astarion’s says dryly, sinking down on the step just behind you, Us somehow having attached itself to his arm with a tentacle. He lifts the arm, Us bracing itself against the pull like a dog with a rope. 

He gives you an exasperated look. “Could you detach your intellect devourer from me, darling? I don’t care to get extra viscera on my clothes.” 

“Us,” you call gently, the critter letting go as you do so and scuttling over to crawl into your lap, tentacles grabbing ahold of your hand instead. It does have some blood on it, which leaves small red trails across your skin. 

You idly note that Us doesn’t really have any means of cleaning itself, having no mouth to speak of to wash or otherwise go through the process other animals do. You should probably see if you can convince it to take a dip in a river or something, maybe you can wet a rag and wipe it down a bit? 

“Did you find anything useful in the crypt?” Gale asks Astarion, who holds up a pendant of some sort and a small pouch. 

“A bit of gold, and some sort of enchanted amulet,” Astarion says, tucking the pouch back in his pockets as he hands Gale the pendant. “I believe this may be your field of expertise, Gale.” 

Another arm reaches over Gale’s shoulder to lightly pluck the item from his fingers, Shadowheart picking it up and inspecting it. “If I’m not mistaken, this is an amulet made to speak to the dead.” 

“Oh?” you tilt your head up, seeing her turn it this way and that. 

Then, while keeping a hold of the amulet, she whispers two words, intelligible and garbled as her eyes ignite with a sickly blue-ish green. It startles you, as one of the abandoned skeletons suddenly starts to float. It is surrounded with flames similar to the ones burning in her eyes. 

A second later, the flames fade. Shadowheart sighs as she lets go of the magic. “They have nothing to say.” 

You blink. That’s just a thing you can do? Ask the dead?  

“Useful,” Gale murmurs. “I can’t say I’ve seen many artifacts wielding the power. They are usually few and far in between, the original enchanters never cared to make too many.” 

He and Shadowheart delve into a longer conversation regarding the amulet, and you lean back without thinking, startling yourself when you accidentally press against Astarion’s shin – forgetting he was sitting just behind you a couple steps up. You immediately straighten up, feeling awkward. 

Us unravels itself from your arm, having been jostled, and instead hops down to lie by your feet. 

“You can lean, sweetheart, I won’t bite,” Astarion says, amusement practically dripping from his words. His hand comes down to pat your shoulder lightly, tugging you back so you can rest against his legs for the moment. 

You don’t know what else to do other than take him up on his offer. You sigh, closing your eyes as the ache behind them becomes palpable in the aftermath of yet another fight. You half-listen for a moment to the sound of Gale and Shadowheart’s talk, but it doesn’t take long before your attention slips and you simply sit there with your eyes closed. 

You’re roused from your short nap by Astarion shifting and giving your shoulder a light shake. Your neck is slightly sore with the weird tilt you had been sleeping with it at, and you grimace as you rub at the muscle.

“What’s going on?” you ask nobody in particular as you stand up. Us comes over from somewhere, skittering around your feet and lightly wrapping a tentacle around your arm. 

Astarion and Lae’zel disappear out the door you had come from, and Gale is absorbed in the book he had found earlier. 

Shadowheart comes up beside you, her expression worn. “We were planning on setting up a camp for the night soon. We will need daylight to navigate the traps without risking our necks.” She has a blood staining her cheek, a small cut from something having broken the skin and then coagulated. 

“Oh,” you sigh. You’d appreciate a proper rest. With the fighting and talking and planning you feel worn to the bone, the events even reaching the marrow and aching in a way that emanates pain. 

“You alright?” Shadowheart says. She takes a step closer, hand coming up to cup your cheek. “Do the burns still hurt?” 

Oh right, those. “No, it’s not that.” you say with a small shrug. Shadowheart’s thumb carefully brushes over the marbled skin – it will take ages before it completely disappears, you think. You can vaguely remember hearing of serious burns lasting years or even never quite fade. “I just – it’s been a long couple of days.” 

“That’s fair, I suppose.” 

You stretch your arms, “So, where are we camping?” 

Shadowheart watches you quietly for a moment before, “There is a room the treasure hunters stayed in, we were thinking of using that for now,” Shadowheart says as she watches you. 

You give her a nod and she takes the lead back through the hidden corridor. You scoop up Us, who curls up comfortably in your arms, having been quiet for a while. It’s still stained with blood and you are reminded of your earlier thought of washing it down. 

The room turns out to be rather small and packed, toppled ancient and dusty furniture has been shoved to the walls and what seems like a natural hole in the ceiling makes it possible to start a campfire for the night. 

You sink down against what you think was once a wardrobe. Your crossbow is placed next to you as you tuck your legs close, wrapping your arms around them. It’s not really comfortable, but you find yourself tired enough not to care as you rest your forehead against your knees. 

The ache behind your eyes is not solely the fault of the parasite this time – it’s a more deep-seated one, likely stress or lack of rest. 

“Do not sleep yet,” Lae’zel’s voice breaks through your fog. Her hand grasps around your shoulder, giving you a shake. You sigh, though she isn’t impatient as you gather yourself – unfurling from your folded up pose. “If you must, wait until we have secured the room. Take this.” 

And she hands you what seems to be a handful of sticks. 

You give her an odd look. 

“For kindling, whittle them down,” Lae’zel instructs you, handing you a small knife, likely for just this purpose. You give her a look, remembering Gale’s magical fire the night before. 

Oh, maybe he’s burnt out. There has been a lot of fighting today, and you have no idea how much it wears on him to keep up a fire. 

You sit down with some sticks that were scavenged from hereabout, having likely been gathered by the treasure hunters ahead of time before your group’s intervention. The work is easy, at least, the knife is sharp and thankfully the sticks are dry so it's easy for you to whittle off small bits of it for the kindling. 

“So, Lae’zel,” you begin, the githyanki’s ears slightly shifting with the sound. “Do you mind if I ask you something?” 

“Chatter already? Tas’ki. ” but despite the sharpness, she doesn’t tell you to shut up or not to ask, so you continue. 

“What are githyanki?” 

She gives you a flat look, “I suppose it is unsurprising that I am your first. Be glad – if it were any other, they would have you cut from navel to neck for the disrespect you exude.” 

“How come?” 

“It is how we survive, strength is everything. Weakness will not be tolerated, for to be weak is to be killed. We Githyanki live our lives infinitely among the stars – the astral plane.” Lae’zel responds. “Our young must be born strong, raised strong and continue to exercise that strength throughout their lives, otherwise we will be erased by our enemies.”  

You can’t help but raise your brows – it sounds like brutality is more common than not in her life. Going by how well Lae’zel wields her sword, it doesn’t come as a surprise to you, not entirely. 

“You are as alien to me as I am to you,” she gestures at you with a hand, attention flickering across your face. “I know of your kind, human, but I do not often encounter them.” she then sniffs. “That large fleshy nose of yours looks like a mistake, they all do. And despite being aware your kindness is what had you help me earlier, I find it disturbing for you to trust in others without them performing feats to confirm their abilities or strengths. Words hold little weight – only Vlaakith’s word holds pure, unfiltered truth.” 

You put down your current whittling work to raise a hand to cover your offended nose without thinking about it. As you do, Lae’zel scoffs and you shrug. You don’t think trying to explain your desperation to survive is linked to trusting these people you’ve known less than a day will make sense to her, who believes in her own abilities. “Well, what is a creché then? You mentioned they served multiple functions; is it like a small town?” 

“Not, hm,” Lae’zel pauses, her brows narrowing as she thinks. “It is – difficult to translate. A creché is a place for our eggs to hatch. It is a base of operations on the material plane, and it is the way that we can seek the cure for our condition.” She pauses again, expression troubled. “We must seek out a creché as soon as we are able. It is imperative to have the parasite removed before it sets root in our minds. And yet –” she pauses.

“We haven’t turned yet,” you finish. 

“We have shown no signs of the ceremorphosis, no fever, no hair loss, no blood seeping from our orifices. I have kept an eye on our fellow infected, and yet none walk with unnatural stiffness as bones recalcify and elongate to transform. None of the signs have yet to appear despite it being days since the infection,” Lae’zel looks down at her hands. “The first symptom should have long since started, though. That is what puzzles me.” 

“You’re worried that we haven’t changed?” you ask. She sounds as if it is a bad thing. “Isn’t it a good thing?” 

“Yes. If you give it no further thought,” Lae’zel hisses, eyes sharp when she looks back up at you. “But abnormalities lead to surprises. Bad ones, ones that tell no end of possible unknowns. If we continue as we are, yet suddenly our transformation takes us in the worst possible situation – imagine turning a monster in seconds rather than days, slaughtering those you care for without hesitation because what is left behind from the ceremorphosis is not you, nor a fragment, or even a feeling. What you are will cease to exist once a mind flayer is born; that is the promise we still carry despite these abnormalities.” 

You stare at her mutely. Having been hauled from your home, you imagine finding some impossible way to return – and then the moment you let your guard down, you will disappear, and a creature that consumes others’ brains for meals is left alive in a world of billions, with nobody knowing anything. 

“Yes,” Lae’zel says as she watches your dawning horror. “This is why we must find my kind and be rid of the parasite. It is as simple as that.” 

She then rises, taking her sword with her and citing the need to gather more firewood to the rest of the group.

You go back to whittling. 

After creating a sizable pile of it (about a couple handfuls) you put down your current stick beside you, having been so absorbed into monotone motions of it you now realize that the others have also settled down and Lae’zel has set a fire, the kindling catching the sparks and letting the rest of the wood burn. 

The others are doing each their own thing; with Gale peeling some potatoes with a pocket-knife, and Shadowheart having gone somewhere. 

Astarion is standing off to the corner, where the broken ceiling lets in the last vestiges of reddish sunlight, squinting at what seems to be an ancient bottle of wine. Lae’zel is still working on the fire, sitting closer to you than any of the others as she uses another stick to prod at the pile – likely trying to make sure the flames don’t go out of control. 

You fold your legs, leaning back and watching the flames dance as the small licks of it bite into the wood, turning it first black, then red and finally ashen. 

Eventually, you realize you can’t in good conscience just let Gale work on dinner by himself. You push off of your knee, a twinge of pain traveling down your spine as you get to your feet. 

You go over to Gale, “Need a hand?” you say, Lae’zel’s little knife still in hand. She hadn’t taken it back once you were finished making kindling, so you imagine she won’t mind you using it for some potatoes as well. 

Gale smiles, “All the better to get this work done with,” he nods towards the little bundle of un-peeled potatoes, alongside the pot where he has already dumped in the peeled and chopped carrots. “Do you cook much?” 

“Enough to keep myself fed,” you say with a small shrug, sinking down beside him with a potato in hand. A knife is a bit more unfamiliar in comparison to a peeler, but after a couple of close scares where you almost whittle off part of one or more of your fingers, you figure it out somewhat. 

Time passes, the pot is placed over the fireplace, soon enough starting to boil. Most of the others are quiet throughout dinner, and you feel likewise mute with exhaustion.

You doze off without meaning to a second time. 

Chapter Text

This time you wake up to the low embers of the fire, the night having crawled into the cavern like a dark tide, washing out everything into a muted grayscale. Only a hint of moonlight leaks through the hole in the ceiling. 

As you shift, you notice an arm around your middle keeping you close to – Shadowheart as it turns out. You recognize the pucked mark that marr through her palm, and a glint of silver in the darkness from her hairbands. 

A glance around the fire revels Lae’zel sitting up off to the side of you, keeping watch alongside Astarion who is, as far as you can tell, drinking whatever wine he had gotten ahold of earlier. They both look almost none the worse for wear, as Astarion’s charisma has seemingly wrangled some quiet conversation out of the githyanki.

He even spots you looking, giving you a wink before he turns back to the conversation. 

Gale is also tucked into a bedroll, passed out on the opposite side of the fire from you and Shadowheart. His bulk is nothing more than a vague shape against the flames, seemingly deep asleep. 

Us sits beside the fire, legs folded beneath it and you think it might also be asleep, since it doesn’t move beyond the occasional twitch of its tentacles. 

With that, you feel sleep nipping at your mind yet again, and you turn around to face Shadowheart. Tucking yourself comfortably against her again, and a moment later your eyes close and you fall back asleep. 

Morning greets you with chatter and the scent of cheese. Cracking open an eye crusted with sleep, you see the morning light seeping into the dark chamber and a couple of your companions sitting by the fire. 

The moment you sit up without fanfare, you are handed what seems to be a piece of bread with melted cheese on it. 

Honestly, you feel no shame devouring the piece in three hungry mouthfuls. Even with the heady stew from yesterday, you feel like a bottomless hole, eating two more pieces as you wake up. Shadowheart has already gone somewhere as you wriggle properly out of the bedroll, and the others have apparently been up for a bit, going by how awake they all seem. Did they really not wake you?

“Did you let me sleep in?” you ask nobody in particular as you begin to pack your things and straighten yourself up. You grimace slightly, as you are reminded of the fact that there is dried blood on your clothes, and that there are still corpses in the rooms nearby. 

“You looked like you needed it,” Gale tells you as you all finish packing up. The fire is doused with some sand and the room is left almost as you found it (in complete disarray and a mess, but no traces of you or your companions). “We haven’t been up all that long – mostly been talking about our options, and scouted out the last bits of the building. We’ve found one more heavily-trapped room that might be that treasure that the other good folk were talking about yesterday, but nothing seems to be leading away from the beach.” 

Hm. 

“So,” you begin, but quickly trail off as you think. If the building had no exit that led elsewhere, then this way was also a bust. “Does that mean we’ll need to make our way through the goblin’s traps regardless?” 

“Unfortunately, yes,” Gale tells you. “But Astarion confessed that he has some decent experience spotting and disarming such traps, so our odds should be better than yesterday.” 

“Great,” you say, brushing a hand through your hair.

 Things are still a bit jumbled in your head, as if someone or something had stuck a hand in there and churned things around without permission. You know what’s going on, but you feel as if you’re forgetting something – something important. 

It’s impossible to know without remembering, unfortunately, so you just pick up Us and head outside with the others. 

As it turns out, the heavily trapped room was indeed, very heavily trapped.  

Astarion spends a good thirty minutes or more fiddling with loose tiles, breaking mechanisms or otherwise using his toolset to disarm whatever traps he finds. It’s a long and complicated process, and Astarion has requested nobody interrupt his concentration as he works. 

You stay just outside with Us in your arms, having taken up the task of cleaning it with a wetted rag. The intellect devourer wriggles happily under the attention, its tentacles tugging lightly on whatever it can get ahold of; hair, clothes, fingers, or whatever else. 

At one point it stands up on its front paws to let you wash it off on its – is it a belly? It’s still just a brain on legs so it doesn’t have other organs or even skin. 

Thinking about how Us works is such a peculiar line of thought you think you almost don’t want the answers to your questions, out of fear of them being even more grotesque than your ponderings. 

Eventually, Us is clean, and Astarion is finished with securing the room. 

“What would have happened if we just went in there?” Shadowheart asks curiously, eyeing the cracked tiles and the statues that Astarion had fiddled with for a while. “Darts? Poison?” 

“Oh darling, nothing quite that sophisticated,” Astarion responds, shaking his head. “As far as I could figure, the vents below the tiles would release a liquid that could easily ignite, and the gargoyles would shoot small fireballs into the midst of it.” 

You give him a wide-eyed stare that he notices, shooting you a smart grin. “An explosion, sweetheart. Followed by a fire that could not be put out. I think we did our treasure-hunting friends a service by barring them from coming in here.” 

“A rather extreme security measure for a tomb,” Gale remarks. His staff in hand, he enters the room now that it has been deemed safe. Despite Astarion’s assurances, you notice that he still steps carefully around the broken tiles and keeps a healthy distance from the actual sarcophagus in the middle.

“You can say that again,” Shadowheart agrees. 

You and Lae’zel stay outside the room. Us is in your arms yet again, and you idly watch the others poke around. 

The room, besides being trapped, seemingly contained a lot of goods, going by the noises from the three searching. 

“What was the person’s name that you were looking for Lae’zel?” you ask her. 

“Zorru, I believe,” she responds. 

She looks… tired. Stressed, maybe. It is a bit difficult to parse due to the grime and the back streaks she decorates her face with. Did she even sleep? You remember waking up and seeing her keep watch, and you can’t imagine she slept in the cage.

“We’ll find him,” you promise her. Lae’zel stares at you, her eyes searching. For a short moment, her ears droop slightly, and her fingers tighten on the grip of  her greatsword that is at rest at her feet enough that her knuckles are turning white.

“For all our sakes, let it be true he saw a creché,” Lae’zel finally says as she straightens back up. 

There was apparently a decent amount of gold and various knick-knacks to be found in the tomb. Which is good, considering your party at large had little to nothing on their persons. Gale has some funds stored in that bag of his, but that was meant for short stays for one person, not unknown lengths of time for five people. 

(You’re not going to think too hard about the graverobbing.) 

So off you are again, backtracking up past the path that Lae’zel had been captured on. Interestingly enough, you come across several triggered or ripped-up traps. A path of carnage leads the way and you honestly don’t know what to think about it. 

So you decide to ask the ones who actually are from around here. 

“So,” you say, having crouched down to inspect what seemed like a very menacing sheet of spikes (they would’ve probably been hidden beneath the ground, only to spring up and maim whatever poor sod triggered it). “What or who do you think could manage this?” 

The trap in question had been hauled out of its hidden place and part of it was bent. 

“I’ll be honest darling, I haven’t a clue,” Astarion tells you from your side. Shadowheart and Gale had scouted ahead, sticking to the main path where all the triggered traps were – Gale had a spell of some sort to help detect untoward machinations and so you and Lae’zel were grouped up with Astarion who knew how to spot them on sight. The man in question huffs, looking annoyed, “If anything, I dislike the fact that this happened while we were in that little tomb. It means something capable of this was likely lurking in the shadows.” 

You look at Lae’zel for confirmation, only receiving a shrug from the githyanki, “There were a number of creatures trapped by the ghaik . One may have woken while we were absent.” 

That’s more ominous than reassuring, but there’s that whole thing about gift horses and whatnot. Better to not complain that whatever charged through here cleaned up the majority of the traps. 

You settle your crossbow more comfortably in your grip and Us is still sticking close by, having been close all morning. 

“I just hope it doesn’t turn back,” you say to no one in particular. 

“Let’s not borrow trouble,” Astarion chides, leading the way up the path. 

Gale and Shadowheart rejoin the group after a little while, citing that the path ahead was free of traps as far as they could tell. The small snaking trail is barely more than a couple feet wide, going through the brush for a while as trees start to fill in more of the landscape. 

No monsters, no creatures, and no people appear until you all reach the end of the slope, the path evening out to the sight of a group of people rushing down the road from the other direction until they reach a crossroads, sharply turning towards the right and disappearing behind some rocks. 

Shouting ensues.

And the next second you notice there are others just on their tail. The same sort of short creatures dead on the path, but now with weapons in hand and riding hounds. 

You halt, frozen as the scene before you and your group plays out, hidden behind a small rise of the landscape from the carnage. 

Oh. 

You share a look with the others, all keeping their silence and their expressions a range that varies from grim to indifferent. It isn’t a fight you have any stake in, but the desperate shouts emerging has your hair rise on the back of your neck. 

With Us at your heels, you ignore Shadowheart’s hissed ‘ don’t ’ as you slide back the notch of your crossbow slotting in the bolt with a barely audible click. 

Ducking down out of sight as you cautiously make your way to the top of the hill between you and them. 

“Open the bloody gate!” a human shouts from beneath. Him and his companions are desperately trying to fend off an onslaught of the small green-skinned people hounding them. One is knocked down with what seems like a large dog snapping after his throat, and the man shouting grows even louder, even more desperate. 

“What’s going on?” A horned red-skinned man appears at a run atop the gate blocking the others’ way into what you can only figure is a settlement. He startles. “You led goblins here ? Where is the druid?” 

“Please! There’s no time!” 

Truly, you note with a dark feeling settling down your spine. The attackers were many and more prepared – they had the momentum, pushing the small group of humans into an enclosed space. Herding panicked prey together without a way out. 

You turn where you are lying, having been peeking down without drawing attention, seeing Lae’zel almost immediately to your right and the rest likewise staying down. 

“If I were to suggest we help them?” you ask the group at large quietly.

Shadowheart looks exasperated, but doesn’t object as she flexes her fingers on the grip of her mace.  

Astarion rolls his eyes, but unsheathes his blades as he murmurs something under his breath about bleeding-hearts with a smirk. 

“I have no objections,” Gale says with a small smile. “It seems to be a settlement and we are in dire need of supplies. Endearing us to them may work in our favor.” 

“This seems to be the place where this Zorru is,” Lae’zel comments as she eyes the people along the wall. 

Her ears perk as a scream rings out alongside the shouting, and jeers emerge from the green-skinned creatures as someone was likely killed. A new voice rings out over the noise, and the jeers are cut off, instead, the battle takes a turn, the creatures becoming agitated and, from what you can guess, more aggressive. 

Shit. 

“Great, I’ll take that as no objections,” you say, immediately aiming down the hill at the large dog-like creature. Your bolt flies, and with it, all hell breaks loose. 

The next few minutes are a blur – you can’t remember what you did aside from your shaking hands reloading your crossbow again and again, missing just as many times as you hit. 

The instant you had struck the beast below the hill, attention was split between the herded people, the ones on the wall and the new addition of your little chaotic group ramming in like a sledgehammer from an unexpected side. 

Lae’zel is as ever, brutality and efficiency, she drives her greatsword into the flank of the beast you had hit with your initial shot, killing it and kicking it off of the human beneath it. 

On her heels is Astarion, who almost clashes with a human who you hadn’t seen join the fight (but was likely the voice you had heard), the two almost going at one another before the unknown man’s startles, his sword lowering – and something must have been exchanged, because his head turns up towards where you, Gale and Shadowheart stand atop the hill. Us has hidden at your request in the grass behind you, out of sight.

The next moment he hauls Astarion down by his collar – an arrow from the attackers whizzing past where they had been standing a second ago. 

The man laughs as Astarion likely snips something at him, but you have no idea what, just that the next bolt you send flying is to try and help the two when a new dog-like beast leaps at them and they both turn to attack it together. 

At least differentiating between your targets comes easy; small, green-skinned and generally aggressive. 

You watch from down the sights of your crossbow, breath a bit too shallow. 

Suddenly a big resounding noise carries through the air, a horn atop the gates being blown by someone there. 

The next moment, something drops onto your shoulders like an invisible film, sticking to your skin for a moment before the feeling disappears.

“An enchanted protection,” Gale tells you as you shudder. He has been holding back on using his heavier spells, mostly watching and sending small arrow-like bolts of his magic down wherever he found the small individual skirmishes to be turning badly for the people below, attempting to turn the tide. 

Otherwise he has stayed quiet, brow knitted as he stands beside you. Now, he lightly shrugs when you shoot him a confused look. “It should differentiate between allies and enemies, granting a shield to those the caster considers –” 

“Keep the lecture short!” Shadowheart practically barrels into you and Gale, her shield raised as a resounding thunk rams into it. 

Ah. Someone must have finally noticed where the small sting of crossbow bolts and magic spells came from. 

You dart back as Shadowheart shoves you away, just in time before the spot you were standing bursts into flame. Gale and Shadowheart dodged the other way just as well. Unfortunately you are precariously close to the edge of the hill where the incline turns into a drop. 

Fuck. The ground is seared in front of you, the view making your old burns sting with the memory of getting scorched. 

That was too close. 

You get back to your feet, feeling your shaking intensifying. 

I hate this . You think viscerally as you pull back the notch in your crossbow and set another bolt in. You feel the nauseating rise of anger all the way up your throat, itching like bile – oh wait that is actually bile on the back of your tongue. 

Thankfully, it seems as though someone below got to whoever was attacking you, because the fight is simmering down when you straighten up and aim. The last few green-skinned creatures are either being cut down or captured by the fighters below. 

You lower your crossbow at the sight, spitting into the grass and wiping at your mouth as you breathe heavily. Your body aches in a way you think might be more due to anxiety and stress rather than the parasite or the strain of fighting. 

“Are you alright?” Shadowheart asks, her hand already aglow with her healing as if expecting you to be. 

“Yeah –” you swallow, finding your throat barren. You wrestle a shaky smile onto your face to try and reassure her. 

No , says your internal voice. It sounds waspy between the headache you have and the keeing of the parasite. I haven’t been since I woke up here . 

Somewhere below the hill, the noise of fighting dies down as the last of the enemies are taken out. The clang and shouts halt, dying down to quiet conversation.

A couple of voices resound in the following silence, mourning and reedy, someone’s name being called out as they had likely been a casualty in the skirmish. 

You take in a deep breath, holding it for a moment as the noise grates on your ears. 

You get your sense of vertigo back as you stare off to the side, needing a moment of simply taking in the blue sky before you manage to shove down the anger and the disgust at the scene before you – dead bodies lie strewn about, a couple of the humans having been lost in the fight alongside a dozen or so of the small green creatures. 

You finally remember your waterskin at your hip, taking a swig to get rid of the taste of your nausea and let you swallow down some of your nerves. Us chitters in the grass, and you remember that you should probably keep it out of sight for some time still – you’re not sure how open these people will react to it. 

With you flapping your hand in its direction, Us catches onto your intent, scuttling into the underbrush and disappearing from view. You’ll have to get them later, but you think they’ll be able to stay safe until then – it wasn’t you who killed all the creatures alongside Lae’zel on the nautiloid.  

“We should probably head down there,” you suggest mildly as you wipe your mouth with your sleeve. 

Not that you particularly feel like doing so. 

There were a couple of the creatures that tried to get at the three of you on the hill. They had been killed by someone down below, leaving the bodies on the path you’ll need to take. 

You sigh. 

“We should,” Shadowheart agrees. Her steady presence already slotted in at your left side. 

The small trek down the hill proves to be a touch more difficult – the corpses are in the way and you can feel your nausea rise again at the stench of their released bowels. The ground is slippery with blood and you think that various tools or spells left puddles of what seems like grime or mud here and there. 

You force yourself to focus on just putting one foot in front of the other, eventually standing below the gate where the other humans have gathered, waiting to be let in. Lae’zel slots in at your right side, glaring at Shadowheart who levels the githyanki a flat look in return. 

Gale and Astarion both fit in behind the two women without comment. 

Again, why do these people like having you lead? Where do they see competency in your flailing attempts at fighting and lacking knowledge of the world? Honestly. 

Chapter Text

You  mentally shake your head at the meekest person somehow being assigned talksperson, just as a deep booming voice starts to echo through the messy battlefield.  

“Inside, all of you,” A man calls from above, and you tilt your head back to vaguely catch red skin and horns atop the gate. “More may follow.” 

The humans who were cornered at the gate shove in first, earning a snarl from Lae’zel. You don’t think you imagine one of them spitting on the ground next to her. 

Hm. Not a great first impression. 

Inside, you tiredly make a note of crates and wagons placed along the sides of a path leading further into the settlement. There’s a distinct smell of what you can only describe like the sting of sap and the sweetness of pollen, both deafening but not strong enough to completely hide the smell of something being off.. The sweetness honestly enhances it, like rot. 

People are strewn around here and there in small groups, some eyeing your oddball group and others ignoring you in favor of glaring at the group of humans that pushed in ahead of you. 

Shadowheart and Gale head off to try and talk to some of the people here, leaving you with Lae’zel and Astarion tailing you as you go further in. 

Thankfully, you don’t think there is any apparent hostility aimed at you or your companions right now – the attention is on the humans. You’re currently just an afterthought. 

Which is something you’re thankful for. You really don’t want to deal with more death or fighting right no – 

“There are children here, you fool!” 

Ah, so much for that. 

“We was running for our lives,” The human who had spat in Lae’zel’s direction is sneering at one of the – (tieflings, they’re called tieflings, you recall from Shadowhearts lecture) tieflings that you think might have stood atop the gate. 

He’s dressed in mail and leather, carrying a greatsword on his back. He’s tall and imposing, his horns curling high above his crown. 

The human, in comparison, is not quite tall enough to face the tiefling right on, tilting his head back and curling his lip, puffing himself up. 

The tiefling’s posture tenses further, “You led them straight to us. And you let them take the druid too.” his hackles raise, as if his last statement just sank in, even to himself. “Unbelievable!” 

You think this might be a moment before things come to blows, which you don’t really need right now, you really don’t. 

If one more person dies or is wounded you think you might lose it. 

“Excuse me,” you try, stepping closer as to interject in the argument. 

“Piss off, outsider,” the human spits at you, shoving you back with a hand on your shoulder. It staggers you, with how tired you are, and the volume of his snarl startles you.  

You swallow back something acrid and harsh before it slips out. Absolutely sure the human is the problem here. 

Your group saved his ass from the goblins and he acts like this?

Unexpectedly, the tiefling steps in front of you, arm held out to shield you from abuse, verbal or otherwise. “Show some respect! If not for them your pathetic life would be over.” 

“Well, I didn’t ask for any goddamn help,” the human counters. 

“ Please ,” the tiefling scoffs, and gestures at the entrance to the settlement. “You were begging for me to open the gate. Anything to save yourself, you coward .” 

The human looks about to blow, shoulders tensing, hands in fists. 

And then, a blur out of the corner of your eye; Lae’zel deftly and fluidly leaps in from the side and decks the guy in the face.

It’s a perfect strike, knocking him out cold onto the path. 

Wow. 

“A coward indeed,” Lae’zel says under her breath, not even having bothered to use her sword. She flexes her hand, the knuckles cracking and hesitantly pats your shoulder (the one that was shoved) before she returns her attention back to your surroundings and settles back at your side. 

“Well, that’s that, I suppose,” the tiefling sighs, his shoulders dropping and his pointed ears drooping for a moment as he massages at his neck. “But the goblins have found us. No doubt, the beasts will be back.”

He then turns to some of the other tieflings nearby, increasing his volume. “We’re at risk here. We need to pack up and get ready to set out whenever the chance arises.” 

It kickstarts the people around you into action; whoever simply stood around and watched the drama unfold scatters, heading off in various directions. It leaves you, Astarion and Lae’zel standing on the path leading into the settlement with the tiefling leader. 

“You know darling,” Astarion murmurs close to your ear, keeping his voice low. “This might be a good chance to endear us to these people. Up our chances and all that.” 

You look back over your shoulder, eyes widening with how close Astarion is – you almost knocked your heads together (likely something he sidestepped without issue). “And?” 

“And,” Astarion says, expression knowing, as if he’s privy to something you’re not. “this is where your innate charm comes into play.” 

Your what ? “My what?” 

Astarion doesn’t deign to reply, just giving you a knowing look as he tilts his head towards the tiefling’s leader. 

You want to shake him. Not that he’d let you, the new acquaintanceship making any kind of skinship awkward, and with his dexterity and quick reflexes he would easily dodge it regardless. But you want to. 

Unfortunately your attempt to get Astarion to explain further is stalled as the leader sighs again, his attention returning to you, and then to Lae’zel at your side. “You both acted quickly. I’m just sorry I didn’t get there first.” 

Lae’zel doesn’t say anything in response, not deigning it worth her time. She is a quiet presence by your side as you shake your head, “I’m not sure my sticking my nose into your argument helped any.” 

“It would have come to blows regardless. Aradin made a severe mistake.” the tiefling tells you, holding out a hand for you to shake. You grasp it, startling slightly at the temperature of his skin. 

He’s warm – no, he’s burning . Feeling like embers are smoldering under his skin, transferring warmth where you are touching. It feels almost unnatural.  

You look up at him, really meeting his eyes for the first time and finding molten flames in his pupils, with a slight glow and everything. 

(This was not covered in Shadowheart’s quick explanation of the races!) 

You stare, you can’t help it. It’s unnatural and beautiful and you only realize you’re doing it once the man gives your hand one last squeeze, letting go, and you blink. Shit. 

You let your hand fall, fingers curling on on themself as if to keep the warmth for a moment longer. You know you’ve turned red – but you ignore the burning of your cheeks in favor of introducing yourself and your companions. Astarion greets the tiefling as well, but Lae’zel keeps her silence. 

“Gale and Shadowheart went to look around,” you add with a small shrug. “I hope that isn’t an issue.” 

“No, no,” the leader reassures you with a shake of his head. “I’d like to welcome you to the Emerald Grove – but I am not the person who should be in charge of it.” 

He gestures towards the path leading further in, “We ourselves are outsiders, only permitted safehaven due to the generosity of the First Druid. Who is now missing.” he pauses. “But regardless, thank you for your and your companions' assistance. I’m Zevlor.” 

“It is nice to meet you, Zevlor.” You say. “I don’t think we are planning to stay, since we are just looking for a…” 

You look towards Astarion for help, and he thankfully catches on quickly. He joins the conversation smoothly, “A healer. We have an ailment we need someone well-versed in the arts to solve.” 

“I take it it's nothing as simple as a goblin’s arrow that got you, if you are searching for a healer all the way out here,” Zevlor says and sighs tiredly. “The First Druid Halsin is – was a renowned healer, but he didn’t make it back from Aradin’s expedition .”

“It did sound like something had gone wrong,” you prod. If this Halsin was so impressive, maybe finding him would up your chances. 

He’d been lost , not killed . As far as you could gander. 

Zevlor’s ears droop, looking toward the closed gate for a moment before he answers. “They had some artifact they were searching for, far into the goblin camp. And they have now managed to abandon Halsin – which will become a dire problem due to the fact that all the power in the grove now falls to his second-in-command; the druid Kagha.” 

“I take it she’s not fond of outsiders?” Astarion says with a roll of his eyes, crossing his blood-covered arms. 

Not having had the chance to wash off the grime yet, you first now really notice that he and Lae’zel are quite the pair, both having been at the forefront of the fighting. You think from the fighting yesterday that you’re likely also still dirty and bloody. What a front you all are making. 

Zelvor snorts, “Hardly. The moment Halsin left the grove, she started to throw her weight around, ordering for resources and texts on a ritual to seal off the groove.” He then raises a hand, pointing up at the treetops above. “She has already begun preparations for it, and means to cut the grove off from the world outside, letting none leave or enter after it has been cast.” 

That’s rather dramatic. 

“So you’re being forced out?” you ask. 

“Essentially,” A sigh. “But we are no fighters. We will be slaughtered if we leave – the goblins and gnolls has already taken several of our people from us. We’re refugees from Elturel, having sought a place to settle after the fall.” 

They’re essentially being corralled out of their only safe space (you don’t know what or where Elturel is, but you make a note to ask the others later), sticking them between a rock; the druids, and a hard place; the goblins and gnolls. 

That’s horrible. 

“But, this is not your responsibility,” Zelvor says, interrupting your line of thought just as the horror settled on you regarding it all. “If you are looking for a healer that might have the skills to help your issue, I suggest talking to Nellie. She is Halsin’s apprentice.”

“And where might she be?” 

“Ah. In the heart of the grove.” 

“With the other druids?” 

“Yes.” 

“Where I can guess they aren’t fond of outsiders approaching?” 

“... Yes.” 

You rub the base of your palm against your forehead, feeling the ache building from the stress. Your parasite wriggles around as it almost always does these past couple of days, but doesn’t agitate your headache further. “I will try and see if they will let me in.” 

“I tried to convince Kagha to stall or stop the ritual – but she won’t even see me.” Zevlor tells you. “You, though… You have gained credence by saving this place from the goblin attack, they will likely grant you entry.”

Oh. Hm. 

Zevlor is – kind? You think he is fair and just from what you can see, prioritizing the children and protecting the weak rather than his pride just moments before. He exudes the kind of aura that makes you think that he has seen battles and fought for what he believes is right. 

But you can also sense how there is a strange sort of expectation that emerges in his expression; a kind of hope, you suppose. 

You can feel Lae’zel and Astarion’s attention on you. You’re where they have thrown their lot in – it feels uncomfortable, to be aware that the two (alongside Gale and Shadowheart) are willing to let you make the decision here. 

Again. You? Leader? What a mess. 

But neither of them are stepping forward so you will have to try to figure this out yourself. 

“I can’t promise anything, Zevlor,” you admit sheepishly. “I don’t know or understand the situation much, and me and my companions do have our own goal.” a sigh wracks through your spine and you rub a hand over your face, letting it linger by your chin. “But I’ll see if she won’t see me and at least ask if she is not willing to wait with the ritual until the roads are safe.”

“That is more than I could hope for,” Zevlor tells you with a small smile. “Thank you.” 

“Yeah, sure,” you murmur. It feels wrong to make any sort of promise; you’re barely surviving with the help of your companions. Who are you to try and help others? “I guess heading there straight away would be best, I suppose.” 

“I wish you luck,” Zevlor tells you with a small tired smile. “If you are looking to travel further after, we are heading for Baldur’s Gate once the opportunity arrives. We are hoping that the city will be more welcoming to us.” 

Safety in numbers is something that’s true, but you’re also infested with illithid parasites, still brooding in your head as you speak. Remembering Lae’zel’s words from last night, you don’t think joining others is a good idea, not with the risk. 

But neither can you get yourself to outright refuse Zevlor right this moment; not when it feels as if he is trying to make up for the weight he just placed on your shoulders. 

“Maybe,” you say noncommittally, redirecting the conversation over to what might be prudent to know ahead of time. 

Chapter Text

The tieflings had carved out a decent settlement in the rocks and stone surrounding the groove, creating temporary shelter on the rocky shelves, with rope and wood creating small walk-bridges and nooks for sleeping or storage. You see dozens of tieflings and a few other humanoids here and there intermingled – they keep their distance from you, Astarion and Lae’zel, but not with fear or anger; just caution. 

There is a whole section disappearing further in behind a large outcropping of rock, but you think you won’t have time right away to go and peek in – you’re headed for the heart of the grove, where this Kagha is. 

Walking down some rocky steps that lead down to where Zevlor had directed you towards where the entrance to the center is, you tilt your head back at the two tailing you, “What do you think our odds are of being able to convince them to delay the spell?” 

“With how there were no druids on the walls during the fighting and their little usurper immediately began her plan the moment their leader left?” Astarion hums. “Almost nothing, I’m afraid.” 

Lae’zel looks indifferent, her discomfort only visible because you had broken past her barrier that short moment down in the catacomb – her posture seems more tense than usual and her attention is on everyone around you, rather than looking straight at you as she speaks, “We should make the request quick and then find this Zorru , before heading to the creché.” 

You sigh, she’s right, but something tells you it won’t be that simple. 

As the path branches, you see a halfling (maybe? He could also be a gnome or a dwarf for all you can tell) standing with a small stall of various items laid out on some tarp. 

“Refugees, adventurers and now you, no one in years and suddenly we’re overwhelmed,” he says as you approach, raising a hand. “Well met, and thank you for beating back those goblins. Most brave of you.” 

You side eye both Astarion and Lae’zel, the former who just smirks and the latter whose attention is wholly on your surroundings. It’s on you to chat, then. 

“W-well met,” the old-style greeting awkward for a moment as you give him a nod. “I heard the grove is being locked down, is it really possible?” 

The halfling shakes his head, “I know it’s drastic, but more monsters seem to terrorize this region every day. It’s necessary to ensure our safety.”

“What about the people here?” you ask. 

“We druids will be safe. as for those that took refuge here… well, may Silvanus guard them as they continue their travels.” He says with a tired look towards where you can only guess the ritual is being held. 

“But –” you’re about to object, but Astarion’s catches your arm. When you look over at him, he gives you a miniscule shake of the head. Speaking up here is probably useless – this man isn’t even the person you are looking for, nor are you close to the heart of the grove. 

You bite the objection back, instead engaging in a bit of conversation with him. You find out his name is Arron and that he is trading items that both you or the refugees might need for a cheap price (perhaps to help ease his guilt of supporting the ritual). 

“Oh, also I would not recommend approaching the heart of the grove right now,” Arron tells you as you browse through his items. When you look up at him, he points towards the path you would be heading down. “It is on high alert; An item was taken from the ritual and Kagha is on the hunt for it.”

Fuck. “What was taken?” 

“I can’t disclose it to outsiders, my apologies,” Arron says tiredly. “But when she returns and you may be permitted into the heart of the grove, I pray Silvanus guide your path, wherever it may lead.” 

“Thank you,” you say, feeling anxious. 

Kagha being out is not great. It’s honestly a bit shit. 

But you suppose it lends you some time to talk to the refugees and stock up on things – in case diplomacy fails and Kagha forces you out of the grove since you’re trying to talk her into letting the refugees stay. 

You wave a goodbye to Arron as you head down the other path than what Zevlor pointed you towards. 

“ Chk ,” Lae’zel clicks, drawing your attention to her as you make your way further into the refugee camp. “I will warn you – be wary of false promises. The missing druid – Halsin, was it? He may be talented, but only a githyanki zaith’isk can cleanse an embedded tadpole. 

You hesitate, remembering Zevlor’s recommendation. “Are you sure it’s the only path to a cure? What if Halsin’s apprentice Nettie could help us?” 

“Sure? I am entirely certain that no common magic could possibly cure us.” Lae’zel seems frustrated, her greatsword resting across her shoulders now that you were no longer talking with the trader. 

For some reason the further you got into the grove, she stopped carrying it across her back and instead in hand and she stares down at you with a slight snarl to her lip, moreso than the natural way the scar she has makes it. “I was as devoted to my studies as I was to my training. We githyanki are the ones who suffered most at the hands of the illithid, and we know intimately the tools they use. I learned from the writings in the K’liir library. The library was a gift from Vlaakith herself, that we gain total understanding of our foes.” 

Your brow furrows, “That kind of knowledge is very valuable.” 

She scoffs, “We have countless scholars roaming the Astral Sea and the worlds beyond – observing the ways of our lessers, exploring planes so distant, order turns to chaos and cold fires rage. The planes are ever quaking, and their peoples ever shifting. The githyanki possess an eternity of knowledge – yet still collect more. Infinites upon infinites.” 

“But you couldn’t care to share that information with your ‘lessers’, as you call them?” Astarion prods. 

Lae’zel’s venomous glare leveled at him is answer enough in and of itself. 

You sigh, keeping her words in mind as you lightly douse the hopes you hadn’t even noticed kindling in your heart regarding getting cured from the parasite. 

Said parasite thrills in the back of your head, making you wince as you head further down the path.

Veering away from the path that led directly towards the grove (suddenly you have time to kill, according to Aaron), you find yourself wandering between the worn stones. Here, it becomes even more apparent that the tiefling refugees have amazingly managed to carve out a settlement with what they had; outcroppings of stone has become platforms to navigate, and rope bridges and ladders lead up to them in various places, turning the ceiling of the cavern into a woven pattern of wood and rope. A lot of the tieflings seem to be resting or idling on those top-platforms, staying out of sight from below. 

You see many more than you thought of when Zevlor mentioned their group; if you care to take a guess, you would estimate there to be fifty to eighty individuals around – and that’s not counting the people who are guarding the walls outside or likely scouting for dangers. 

This is a lot of people. A lot of lives that this Kagha is forcing onto dangerous roads. 

The presence of Zevlor’s request weighs just a bit heavier on you as you realize also just how many children are here. 

You stand off to the side with the quiet company of Lae’zel and Astarion, staring off into the middle distance as you try to sort through your thoughts. The grove with the refugees. The supposed threat of the goblins and – gnolls?

Covering your face with your hands you mentally cuss out whatever fate has conspired to throw you into another world without as much as a hint of help. But wait, it wasn’t any fate, it was mindflayers, who just, just took you and threw you on their ship and peaced out and left and you have no idea why it’s you or if there is someone else from earth who is here or – 

You exhale deeply, removing your hands. The worries buzz in the back of your mind like a hive of wasps, but you feel the sick hum of it fade as your senses return to the present. 

“Done with your little breakdown?” Astarion asks from where he had sat down on a barrel close by. 

No comfort to be found there, that’s for sure. You forcibly swallow down the frustrations and despair, you miss Shadowheart and Gale, because they would at least try to help, but they’re busy and you’re needing to finish this side of things before anything can change for the better. 

They won’t always be around, either, if you are forced to stay in this world and they go their separate ways once you find a cure for the parasite. 

You swallow down the humming in your vocal chord that might have been the mental wasps or the edge of a scream, “For now.”

“Great,” Astarion swings himself off of his seat. “Now come along, I’ll do some of the talking so we can figure out the situation here.” he smiles, attention drifting off to the side and you notice the sharp cut of his canines peeking out beneath his lip as the smile turns a touch sardonic. “I smell more to this whole ordeal than it seems.” 

True to his word, he sticks to the front of your little group, making attempts to try and endear (?) himself to the people living here. It goes well, for a while. You walk beside Lae’zel, who still has her greatsword across her shoulder and whole posture tense and ready for any kind of attack. 

Unfortunately, Astarion manages to somehow put his foot in his mouth and offend one of the mercenaries he had approached. The result being that most of the nearby lingering people quickly scatter, leaving your little trio a wide berth. 

“Well that is just rude, isn’t it?” Astarion huffs as he turns to you and Lae’zel. Even the nearby tieflings had left, and Astarion’s voice echoes solely between the rock faces around you with no additional chatter drowning it out. 

“You did just shove your way into their conversation,” you point out dryly, having watched the whole debacle of Astarion trying to get information from the remaining mercenaries. They had been talking in hushed voices and didn’t take kindly to Astarion butting in. 

“I usually am quite good at sneaking a bit or two of information of someone who is pissed off,” Astarion heckles back at you. 

“I wouldn’t know –” 

“This was a waste of time,” Lae’zel interjects curtly. “We are to find this Zorru , not waste time with weaklings. Even children of our creches would prove more fealty than these pathetic teeflings .”

With that, she draws herself to her full height, glaring down at you and Astarion with ice in her eyes. 

And then she leaves. 

Oh. 

You stare distressedly as she stalks back the way you came, her greatsword still in her hand across her shoulders and now clearly on the hunt. Whoever she must have kept in mind to interrogate, you hope they are not there anymore. 

“Well if she can just fuck off like that,” Astarion says, rubbing his chin with a thoughtful look. He then looks over at you, when your eyes meet, he smirks. “I think I will go and find something to drink – better way to spend my time than mingle without any results.” 

And with that he also just up and leaves, sauntering probably back to the trader-like area of the refugee camp. You stare at his retreating back and feel a sense of dread settle in your stomach. 

Covering your face with your hands (again, for the second time in like thirty minutes), you want to scream – or cry, you’re not choosy. 

But nothing comes out except for weak a choked gasp as you reign in the emotional turmoil. 

You should be safe here, your group did kill the goblins and maybe you can find Gale or Shadowheart later. It just… feels about as shitty as it could be, with Lae’zel and Astarion abandoning you to fulfill their own whims (in your opinion). 

Fuck. 

You rub your hands over your face once, straighten, and hope you do not look too much like on the verge of a breakdown as you hope you can try again with talking to people. 

And then you see an elderly tiefling woman standing a bit away from where you are, worry furrowing her features as she gestures for you to come closer. 

You do so, still feeling like your emotions are boiling over and choking you, though you do manage to croak out past it, “Can I help you?” 

“Help me? Oh, no.” The woman clasps her hands together. “We saw you fight off those nasty goblins earlier and I just spotted you all by your lonesome, pup.” she says with a small tired smile and she lightly pats your arm. “Fancy joining us for a bowl of stew? It ain’t much, but it might make all the difference after such a hard fight.” 

You blink. Oh. “I’d love that,” you say creakily, a different sort of tears welling in your eyes as the woman – Okta as she introduces herself, hooks her arm with yours and lightly drags you along further down the path you had not gone yet. 

You end up at what you think might be the communal dining spot. A couple of long cobbled-together tables stand along the sides of the cliffs, a dozen or so tieflings sitting with their own bowls of soup and chatting. From old to children, you spot others standing off to the sides, some also with bits of food in hand, or otherwise keeping company. 

Okta unceremoniously sits you down in one spot before she walks over to a couple of large pots where she ladles up a bowl for you. 

“I’ve got to keep my eye on the pots, pup,” she tells you, but she pats your arm again reassuringly. “Take a spot of rest here.” 

“Thank you,” you say to Okta, the scent of the stew hearty and the warmth of the bowl between your palms a reassurance you did not know you had been craving. 

Okta just smiles and gives you a small wave before she heads over to, as she said, keep an eye on the pots. A couple of tieflings actually go over to get their own portions ladered, and she gives them all the same reassuring smile she had given you. 

You turn your attention back to the stew, lightly spooning some of it up and blowing on it to cool it down. 

The first bite lets you realize how hungry you were, and the rest of the stew disappears post-haste. 

As your attention returns from zoning on on the food, you notice a couple has sat down across from you. 

“And we’ll have a dog, right?” a cute freckled tiefling woman says, crimson eyes sparkling with a sort of glee you wish you could feel. 

You rest your head on your hand, listening idly to the chatter as you stare at nothing in particular, feeling warm and emotionally less about to feel like crying as the food settles comfortably in your stomach. 

The man next to her furrows his brows, “They don’t allow them in Baldur’s Gate. Cats, though…”

Somehow the woman turns even more giddy at that suggestion, “A little orange cat! And we could have a house with a little door so it can come and go as it pleases.” 

The man’s brow ticks up as he then looks over at you, “And a tall fence, to keep eavesdroppers out.” 

You blink, realizing the general direction you have been staring in was sort of straight at the woman, enjoying her lighthearted attitude. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt or eavesdrop. It just sounded… really nice.” you add, your voice growing smaller as your embarrassment rises. 

“Right?” the woman says, leaning over towards you. “Me and Danis have plans . It’s going to be so lovely to finally be able to get a proper roof over our heads and not worry about, well,” and she gestures at you, where you likely have dirt from the road and blood staining your clothes. “all of that . They have a proper guard in Baldur’s Gate.” 

The conversation continues from there, and once Bex, as she introduces herself, manages to corral you out of your awkward embarrassed state, she and her husband Danis turns out to be quite nice to talk to. You learn a bit of what they had gone through with their old home having literally fallen into hell (what the fuck?) and their desperate escape from there, only to be attacked by gnolls that killed most of the warriors they still had left. 

Honestly? Quite a bit of it went over your head, but you tried to piece the situation together well enough to have a rough outline fit together. It matches up with the snippets you got from Zevlor – desperate people in need of help to continue on the road. 

“And what’s your plan?” Bex asks you as the conversation mellows out, some of the nearby tieflings having closed some of the gap between you and them and joining in now and again (you did not catch any names but the ease of hostility is a huge help for your stress) and the attention goes to you as she asks it. 

“Uhm,” you say eloquently as ever. “I don’t know, maybe a nice room and some good food. Safety.” 

To get to go home before you lose more bits and pieces of yourself . You do not say, instead choosing something safer, and it is not a lie in the least. 

“Oh isn’t that the truth,” Bex says, leaning back with a winsome smile. 

“It is, isn’t it,” Danis agrees readily and you can’t help the small snort of laughter at how easily he follows his wife’s mood. It’s nice to see something soft and fond after all the horrible shit you have been witness to the past couple of days. 

Chapter Text

The tieflings at your table start to scatter after a while, needing to do work to prepare them for the road.

You ask if there is somewhere they think some of your comrades might be at, one points you in the direction of the forge, upkept by another tiefling named Dammon. Just a bit further down the path, as it needed to be on ground level. 

Of course, better weapons or maybe just needing repairs. You cannot imagine Shadowhearts breastplate and small metallic bits are all un-dented and in one piece after the past couple of days of excitement. 

So, with no other current ideas about where to go, you seek out the forge. 

The gravel crunches beneath your loaned (stolen) boots as you follow the way the man had pointed and the sun is starting to burn down in between the rocky walls surrounding you straight from above – the lone eye staring down at you as you glance up. 

And then, the strike of a hammer on metal has you look back straight ahead of you. Seeing a small tucked-away corner between the rocks, where a column of smoke rises and lazily drifts above where a tiefling with a deep-orange skintone stands. His horns are relatively short in comparison to some of the others, with his hair pulled back between them to end in a small ponytail. 

This must be Dammon. 

You take care to not interrupt him, as he seems busy hammering away at something that glows a harsh red, shaping it methodologically for a minute before he then re-injects it into the burning coals. 

You instead linger on the periphery of his workshop, glancing over the tools he has finished already. Some spears, rapiers and various swords and daggers are lined up. 

“Hey, you were at the fight,” A mellow and inquisitive voice says, making you startle so badly you jump straight up onto your feet from where you were looking at some smaller knives for traveling. 

As you turn, you see a handsome man with his hair in tight sturdy braids. His wear is a rather subdued red gambeson and has a rapier at his hip. 

And the moment your eyes meet, you see something else entirely – the hot acrid fires of hell that are soon drowned out by the clanking of cups and laughter. Colorful outfits swim across your vision like a fast-paced dance is spinning you around and a feeling of respect swells in your chest. 

Then you blink, and the leech screeches dismayingly in the back of your head from the connection, like an unhappy cat it then feels as though it decides to nestle in somewhere it doesn’t belong, still grumpily wriggling in between your brain matter as if making a point of prolonging your headache. 

“Woah!” Wyll exhales heavily, his own hand mirroring yours where it is pressed against his temple. He meets your eyes again and blinks – well he meets your eyes with just one of his own. The other is a gray stone that simply rests in his socket. “That was something else.” 

Oh shit, right. 

You very quickly reach over towards him to get him closer so anyone nearby cannot hear you hurriedly whisper to him: “I don’t want people to know.” 

“Say no more,” Wyll says quietly, hooking your hand through his arm and he tugs you off from where you are standing. You can see a small smile at the corner of his lip as you are led into what seems to be an almost-empty warehouse. Nothing more than a cavenous hole in the wall with doors set in front, but it does lend more privacy than before. 

Letting go of you, Wyll bows theatrically. “The Blade of Frontiers, at your service.” 

You can’t help the small laugh escaping, your tension easing as he does not show any signs of attacking you like Lae’zel or Astarion did. “It’s nice to meet you, Wyll.” 

Wyll looks up from his bow, looking slightly confused. “How did you – ah,” his one good eye looking amused as he straightens. “The parasite.” 

“You were on the ship?” you ask. 

“Yes, I had been caught when on the hunt for one of my quarries, a demon named Karlach,” Wyll says nonchalantly. “But even with you knowing my name due to our unbidden passenger, I do believe we need a proper introduction.” 

He gives you a second short theatrical bow at the same time as he takes your hand, “The blade of frontiers, Wyll Ravenguard, at your service. But you can call me Wyll since you have already had a gander around my memories.” 

You don’t really know what to do with your hand, or yourself, so you just introduce yourself (not with nearly as much grace as Wyll did), ending it with; “I do wish the tadpoles would stop doing that.” 

“What, the whole memory share thing?” Wyll looks more bemused than anything as you give him a flat look. “I would agree, but it did help me identify your comrade in the crowd earlier – and you, I suppose.” 

“As fellow infected?” 

“As someone I can immediately tell is not on the side of the illithids, at least,” Wyll reassures you, “You at least don’t seem inclined to want to turn into a mindflayer anytime soon, that I can tell.” 

Nodding, you cannot help but agree – an undercurrent of emotion spills over alongside the memories whenever you connect with the others through the parasites. With a budding feeling of surprise, you realize those feelings likely were the reason why you so immediately trusted people like Lae’zel and Astarion despite their rocky introductions. 

Huh. 

That is perhaps a thought to ponder on, when you have the time. 

“That’s fair,” you say to Wyll. 

You trade a few bits and pieces back and forth as you sit on a box in the corner. Turns out the devil that Wyll is pursuing was the reason why he ended up on the nautiloid, he chased after her onto it and it seems they both got caught. With the crash, he is not sure what exactly happened to her, aside from the fact she escaped towards the north. Wyll then encountered some of the scouts who recognized him by his title and asked if he would be willing to stay for a while since they had lost most of their protectors. 

“Doesn’t that mean,” you start, thinking for a second on the situation. “that you are stuck here for the foreseeable future?” 

“Somewhat,” Wyll says. “I am aiming to lend these poor souls some skills to protect themselves well enough to survive escaping from the kobolds and goblins. It is unfortunate that I cannot do more, but I am just one man and I have a devil to hunt.” His fingers reach up to brush against the stone eye resting in his socket. “I will stay here for a few more days, but whether I leave or not I believe these people will need the skills to defend themselves sooner rather than later –” 

As he speaks, there is a roar of a crowd passing by outside of the storage room. You both exchange glances, and without further ado Wyll pushes open the door and you follow just half a step behind him. 

The rumbling of shouts becomes a boom once you step outside. Groups of people in heated discussion, at the periphery of the main path, and you catch the tail end of a medium-sized mob disappearing down a path you had not gone down yet. 

“What’s happened?” you ask Wyll. His expression is pinched and his hand is resting on the hilt of his rapier as you quickly try to keep pace with his hurried strides. 

“I believe Kagha found what she was looking for,” he says slowly. 

What she was looking for – oh, the thing for the ritual. 

Wait but that means. 

“And I believe,” Wyll continues, finally reaching the screaming crowd. You can barely hear him over the noise. “That whoever took it, has been taken in return.”

The crowd is heavy, and getting through is solely due to the fact that the tieflings recognize Wyll and his reputation. They part just enough for him to squeeze through, and you as well once he takes your hand and pulls you in alongside him. 

The path is crooked, and it feels as though the ground beneath your feet rumbles with both the noise level, but also as if something living is writhing beneath it. 

Finally, the stairs start to even out, and you spot an archway of twisted vines and wood that curls in and around the stone. In the opening a small crowd of people stand, blocking your way in. 

Some children stand with the adults or on the sidelines, all tieflings and all looking scared as the adults press in closer to the opening between the stones.

“Give her back!” 

A young tiefling woman shouts at the very front where you and Wyll emerge from the crowd. 

“Let my daughter go – right now!” she demands from the druids (if you had to take a guess) standing and blocking the mob from entering the heart of the grove. 

“She’s a thief, hellspawn,” oh wow. The man before her sneers. “And you will wait for Kagha’s judgment. Now get back .” 

The druid shoves her, and she stumbles back a few steps, getting caught by the nearest people for a moment before she regains her balance and lurches forward. “Let me through,” and the work she hisses at the druid you guess to be a swear of some sort but it sounds so alien you can’t even imagine how she made those noises in her throat. “or I’ll rip your throat out!” 

Next, before you know what is going on, one of the druids turns into a bear. Intimidating the crowd backwards. 

You even feel yourself take half a step back, but with your hand in Wyll’s, you do not go far. 

Furthermore, a familiar hand lands on your shoulder.

“This sure looks like a mess,” Shadowheart whispers in your ear. The bear roars in front and the shouts from behind making it hard to tell what she is saying. The parasite feels as though it presses itself against the side of your skull closest to Shadowheart – trying to reach hers. “What’s going on?” 

“I think a kid was taken,” you whisper back as she leans closer. Giving Wyll’s hand a squeeze to reassure him you are fine, you let go and instead pull Shadowheart a bit closer so you can tell her the long and short of it. “There was an idol of some sort that was stolen, and the pseudo leader of the druids took the child because of it.” 

You are close enough to notice the narrowing of her brow as you tell her. Furthermore the crowd is now hurling threats and insults at the druids at the opening into the grove, the bear not enough to scare them far away. 

However, before the confrontation comes to a boiling point, the druids turn to you and your companions and gesture for you to approach. 

You do so, and the man who had called the woman hellspawn scrutinizes you for a moment before he nods, “You – Kagha wants to see you. Go ahead.” his eyes narrow and you are pretty sure he is leveling you with the same look he might level at a piece of shit stuck under his shoe. “But a word of warning. One wrong move and every single animal here will tear you apart.” 

“Wait what?!” Someone in the crowd shouts, but the next push is forced back as two other druids turn into beasts and you, alongside Wyll and Shadowheart, are hauled through. 

Lots and lots of grass and plants – that is your first impression of the grove as you are led inside. The buzz of the crowd is barely audible in here, and confusedly you stare back at where you came, just to see vines close in, effectively preventing you from leaving for now. 

Great. 

You turn your attention back ahead, and the druid that had waved you though points over across the path that curls around the midst of this sanctuary. Within, there are more druids, more animals (that may or may not also be druids) as well as a few people that look oddly out of place. 

As you step further in to follow the directions given, you wrinkle your nose as that same nauseous sweetness curls around in the air alongside a sickly green haze that rises from a bonfire in the middle of the grove; surrounded by several druids, you would wager a guess that the core of the green fog is the ritual that you were told about. 

Wyll and Shadowheart exchange short greetings behind you as you sneeze a couple of times due to the smell. 

“Here,” Wyll hands over a handkerchief he had pulled out from somewhere (you have no idea where), that you accept with a small smile. The smell that permeates the air is acrid, nipping at all of your senses like you are personally being cooked in a sauna that decided to put mint essence into the water thrown onto the rocks. 

You’re tempted to just keep the handkerchief over your nose, but you looking like an idiot would probably not endear you to Kagha – beyond whatever she wants from you and your companions. 

There are also animals all around the grove, none of them hostile but rather either seemingly talking with the idling druids not feeding sick green tendrils into the fog of the ritual. Them, alongside said druids all seem closed-off and… not hostile, but not friendly either. 

As your small party of three proceeds along the path lining the curve of the grove, none of them approaches. With how Arron greeted you pleasantly and with kindness, you don’t think the tension is necessarily your fault – Kagha is probably the root cause of it. 

And as such, you stick to the perimeter, the smell making you have a small sneeze fit just before you reach the door. Shadowheart shielding you from the gaze of onlookers as you grossly blow your nose into the handkerchief. 

In the end, without speaking further, you all enter the looming doors you were pointed towards. They open without you needing to ask or even touch them (eerie), and lets you pass without further trouble. 

Inside, the stench of the ritual is less. You tuck the handkerchief into your sleeve for a lack of better place, hoping it doesn’t spill out during your talk with Kagha –

And then you hear a child sobbing. 

“Please, I’m sorry!” echoes off of the rocky walls as you, Wyll and Shadowheart are suddenly booking it down the stairs towards the noise. A short scream is cut off with a sob as the steps turn just enough for you to see what is going on. 

In the middle of the room is a large table, and in front, a woman with fiery red hair is looming over a child that is cowering, pressed up against the cold stone. 

You think you spot movement on the table, but your attention snaps to the man next to it all as he speaks. 

“This is madness, Kagha, she’s just a…”

The woman spins, and you can then see her expression just as you land on the last step, the others just a breath behind you. “A what , Rath? A thief? A poison? A threat? ”

Her eyes are like steel as she breathes in deeply, the child behind her not moving a muscle as your eyes meet. 

Though the kid cowers behind her arms as the woman snaps, “I will imprison the devil, and I will cast out every stranger! ”

That’s just – that’s. 

“She’s just a kid,” you say without thinking. Bringing all three people's attention to you and your little group. The woman’s eyes are like steel as you swallow down the nauseating taste of the ritual that had been left on your tongue. “A poison? A threat? She’s barely half your height!” 

“Child? You mean parasite! ” Kagha hisses at you, stepping closer. As she does, you notice what was moving on the table; a large snake is lazily gliding across the surface, hovering above where the child is cowering. Shit. 

“She eats our food, drinks our water –” Kagha’s voice then descends, her words hissing and the snake rises up as if to strike in response. “And she steals our most holy idol in thanks!” 

 “She made a mistake,” Wyll interjects, taking over as your own tongue ties itself into knots as your anxiety has your heartbeat quicken and your hands shake. The snake within the equation is making all your stress spike. 

Thankfully, Kagha seems to simmer down as he enters the conversation, recognition in her expression as Wyll continues speaking. “You found the idol and there is no way it could happen again. Let her go.” 

“She should stay locked up until the ritual is finished,” Kagha says as she straightens up, eyeing each of you in turn. “And while I requested your presence due to your assistance with defending the grove, I did not permit you to meddle in our affairs.” 

She turns to the man, Rath, and is likely about to order him to do just that, but Wyll is faster. 

“I will see that she doesn’t cause further trouble,” he says smoothly, “As the Blade of Frontiers, you have my word.” 

Kagha pauses. The name seems to strike a chord with her. “The Blade of Frontiers?” 

“Yes.” 

She purses her lips, considering for a long, tense, moment before she makes another hissing-like noise that has the snake perk up. A beat later, it lowers itself back down from its striking position and slides down from the table – right in front of the girl who lets out a small scream before slapping her hands over her mouth. 

Intentional, most likely. Making the point that the snake could still bite her. 

Thankfully, rather than giving the girl any more attention, it slithers over to Kagha, where it climbs up to and disappears under her leaf-themed armor.

“You will leave with her immediately, Blade of Frontiers,” Kagha says, her expression turning less fuming and more contemplating. “If I see her again, Teela will have a new toy to play with.” 

“Understood,” Wyll says, stepping forward and picking up the girl like she weighs nothing, letting her bury her face in his shoulder as she wraps her arms around his neck. The quiet room makes it so every harsh breathed sob is echoing off of the walls. 

Wyll gives you and Shadowheart a small nod before he leaves with the kid in his arms, calmly walking back up the stairs and out of sight. 

Which leaves you and Shadowheart with the very intimidating lady that apparently has an extremely venomous snake hidden under her clothes and already carries a grudge against you for speaking up. 

Just. Fantastic.