Trigger Warning: Graphic depictions of violence, graphic description of corpses, necromancy and corpse manipulation, death and mourning, animal death (referenced), trauma and PTSD themes.
Hans Christian Anderson Themed Bedtime Stories. (Probably Wholesome.) Heavy use of ellipses.

Bex and Danis arrived at camp with what few things they had. Fewer than I expected. They don't even have a tent. I had them load everything into the ox cart as we travel toward the Risen Road.

Shadowheart pet's the ox's nose as she leads him down the trail, following the outer wall of the blighted village. We make it to a bend in the river, and Lae'zel stands next to me, map in hand.

"This is the crossing. It seems promising." She tracks the riverbed and points. "There. We should be able to cross that bank. Stony and shallow enough for the ox."

"Well spotted." I turn back to everyone. "Why don't we take a moment. It's been a long day."

Astarion sighs rolling his eyes with relief. "Thank the gods. It was hard enough to find food, and by the time I got back, you were practically leaving without me. I didn't get a moment to rest."

"Darling." I grin. "You know I would never leave you behind."

He gives me a coy smile. "I know very well."

Gale scoffs and wanders off. Lae'zel tucks the map in her satchel and jogs after him.

I hear Bex addressing Danis. "I'm going to wade in the water. Join me?"

He chuckles lightly. "No darling, that water looks a bit chilly. Go ahead without me. Be careful."

She kisses him on the cheek and jogs over to the riverbank. She quickly summons Tanzy as she kicks off her boots. She touches her toe to the water and flinches but gives a charming laugh.

Shadowheart walks over to Bex, "I'll join!" She strips down to her skivvies like the voyeur she is. "It doesn't look too deep. What's your summon's name?"

Bex smiles broad and I leave them to it, approaching the ox who is grazing in the shrubs. I run my hand up his nose and give him a pat between the ears. "What are you?"

His head bucks, chewing a mouth full of leaves before responding. "Moo."

My lips straighten as I reach out with the Weave, brushing across his form, trying to probe for answers. Is he Fey? I'd like to know sooner rather than later. "You just spoke the word Moo to me. You can't hide behind onomatopoeia just because you don't want to reveal yourself."

The ox snorts. "Incapable."

I throw a hand in the air before my attention is drawn away by a rustling down the trail. I give the ox's nose a last gentle pat before following the sound. Each step I take seems to cause a new shifting of leaves before I finally get close enough to hear a very distinct growl. It's not the guttural timbre of a wolf. It's a higher tone, and less certain.

I call forward, gently. "It's okay. I'm not here to hurt you."

As I pull back the leaves the heavy scent of aged corpse hits me and my mouth begins to water. My eyes land on the gawking body of a courier. His belly torn open, skin green and marbled. He's likely been dead for three or four days.

A white dog stands over him, tail swinging low, eyes locked onto me. "Leave, stranger!" His voice is sharp, though exhausted.

"You look hungry."

He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. I need to protect him while he sleeps! Now go!" Another growl registers in his throat, his hackles tufted and warry.

I get down on my knees next to the body before speaking gently. "Friend… he's not asleep."

His stance remains, though he stops growling and he closes his lips. He chuffs through his nose. "I-I know." After a moment I hear a soft whine. He looks into the man's face. "I'm not ready."

I look at the man once more. Something tore him apart. "May I speak to him?"

The dog whines. "Speak to him?"

"Step back."

The dog obeys, his hackles lowered.

I stretch out my hand, my acrid magic pulls the memories forth from the man's mind, reanimating him enough to speak. With a jerking motion, he sits up, eyes spilling tears of rot, mouth hanging loose. In motion, but lifelessly so. His flesh is my puppet.

The dog sits, lowering his head. He knows whatever this is, it is not his master.

"Who killed you?"

A rasping voice is brought forth. My weave pushes the voice through his rotted windpipe. "Gnolllsss."

Gnolls. Not ideal. I wonder if it's the pack that attacked the caravan.

"Which way did they run, as you were dying?"

A slow and laborious inhale strains his body as I force air into his lungs to speak once again. "East. Toward… the Risen… Roooaaad."

Of course. Exactly where we are headed. Timora really has favored me, for having stumbled across this useful husk.

I look at the dog sitting next to the man. He whimpers once more, a soft mournful whistle crying forth from his broken heart. He slowly lays next to the body, resting his head on the man's leg.

I should put him to rest before I leave.

"What was your name?"

Another rasp. "Gomwiiick."

"Where did you come from?"

"Baaal-duuur's Gaaate."

Baldur's Gate. The center of the universe. My last question, what else needs to be known from this body? What would Gomwick want his dying words to be? The dog's ear flicks as he closes his eyes. I soften my voice.

"...Did you love your dog?"

"Scraaatch... my booyyy... yeeesss."

The threads of our connection fade.

The dog releases a long and warbling whimper as he rocks his head on Gomwick's leg, nestling it lovingly.

I hold out my hand. "Scratch. Is that your name?"

The dog opens his eye, his nose twitching. "Yes. That's what he called me."

"Well, we'll be setting up camp here. You're welcome to join us when you're ready. We have food and shelter."

He cranes his neck, ear flicks, as I pat him on his head. He presses his head back down on the corpses leg. "Thank you, stranger."

The night is crisp and clear. The Tears of Selune shine bright overhead. The campfire is strong, flickering and tugging at the air. A lively little inferno.

Scratch is sitting next to me, quietly watching the fire, shoulder leaning against my leg. I'm breaking away pieces of sausage; a late snack for myself, and for him. I offer him a morsel.

"Hm? Oh no, thank you, I'm stuffed. I couldn't possibly—" He gently pulls the piece from my fingers and eats it with a thumping of his tail on the ground.

I scratch him behind the ear, and he lets out a deep sigh. He seems better, having taken himself out of the fog of grief he had been wallowing in. It's not healthy. He won't be better right away, but the best I can offer him is normalcy while he works through it.

Danis sits quietly on the other side of the fire, attention firmly on the book in front of him. He has settled in well, but hasn't spoken much.

Shadowheart sits across from me, messing with the prism. She presses at the sides and tries to twist it, but the thing doesn't budge. She finally grunts and looks at me, waving it in the air. "This damned thing has to open."

"I don't understand what you expect will be inside." I hand Scratch another bite.

"I can't even venture a guess, but the lack of knowing makes me want to know so much more." She shakes it in the air and sighs.

The fissures between the githyanki steel pulse with the orange infernal glow. Almost like it's taunting her.

I pick at the last piece of sausage. "I would like to know how to get in contact with out Dream Visitor again. I have questions for them, but they seem to be eluding us on purpose. That's what frustrates me."

"Agreed. They offered me precious little when it came to information on my tadpole. Only that I should give it MORE attention, when I'd rather give it less." The corners of her mouth pull back with disgust as she expends tendrils of her awareness thinking about the damned thing.

I hand the sausage to Scratch who happily takes it. I laugh softly. "Scratch, do you think if I left out sausage they might come and visit again?"

Scratch looks up at me, panting from the heat of the campfire. "Of course! Who doesn't love sausage?"

Shadowheart smiles eagerly at him. "What did he say?"

"He thinks it's a right proper idea."

She chuckles softly. "Come here, boy!"

He eagerly pads over to her and sits as she scratches his neck.

I sense movement in the dark and look up. Bex's blue flame hovers like a will-o-the-wisp in the shadows as she jogs toward camp.

Danis huffs. "I don't know why you let her run off into the night alone like that."

I glance at him, irritated. Let her.

The moment she gets close enough she calls out, her voice urgent. "Vash! You need to see this. There—" She gasps sharply. "No!" Her pace quickens as she runs into camp, slowing and carefully approaching Scratch. He wags his tail at the sight of her, and she kneels next to him, pressing her fingers into his thick white fur. "We have a puppy!?" She rubs gently behind his ears as he leans into her affection.

He's in pure bliss.

Danis closes his book and watches her with a small smile.

She looks back at me with wide eyes. "Is he our dog?! Are we keeping him?"

"Of course. His name is Scratch."

"Scratch!" She repeats it excitedly. "Good boy, Scratch. Have you been fed?"

Scratch gives a few gentle whines, then offers up a single bark. "I couldn't possibly. I'm so full."

She pulls out a biscuit from her pocket and hands it to him. He takes it serenely, tail thumping once again.

Her face suddenly falls. "But... what's going to happen when we get to Baldur's Gate? Dogs aren't allowed in the city."

"Scratch will be the exception, I'll make sure of it."

Bex glances at me from the side of her eye, with a nervous chuckle. "I feel like that was supposed to be a joke, but I pity whoever might try to stop you."

Her charm warms my heart. "What was this thing you needed me to see?"

"Oh! I'm sorry, I got distracted. Follow the trail to the south. There is a deep pulsing red light floating across the trail. I was worried it was fey, so I didn't linger. I wanted to get your opinion before approaching. Whatever it is, it doesn't look good. I'll be along shortly." She turns back to Scratch and begins cooing words of affection to him.

"This is the best," he murmurs as she ruffles his face.

The night is heavy and stifling. The Tears of Selûne feel blinding overhead. My engine is running high, churning, and tugging at my chest. A dangerously raging inferno.

I refuse to let the heat overwhelm me. Something isn't right. It's never struggled like this before.

Gods damn it all. I just need to breathe, but why the hells wouldn't he listen?

Why Wyll? Why. Why...

I hate the feeling of his blood on my hands, my heat has already dried it on me. It's caked... it—

...

I told him this would happen, but he came at me anyway. Who the hells sent this poor boy on me? They forced us to fight. Just a couple of cockerels under Zariel's thumb. We escaped the hells and she still found a way to make our lives fucking miserable.

The weight of my axe is unbearable right now; I'm dropping the damned thing.

I don't want to see him crumpled on the ground like this. Let me just roll him onto his back, make him look dignified at least. Oh gods, the tears are coming. My tail is kicking up the dust; it's going to get us all filmy and gritty. Nothing like being both dusty and sad.

Let me put his arms on his chest, maybe? Where's his rapier? There. He looks a lot better, gripping his hilt like a proper warrior.

...

Now what? Do I just leave him here? Should I bury him? Where? What could I possibly do to make it up to him?

"I didn't want to kill you, Wyll. It's important to me that you know that." I can't stop my voice from shaking and there is a soft sizzling sound as each tear that tries to fall from my eyes boils and evaporates against my cheeks.

I gasp and look up sharply. My senses heightened from the skirmish and I can tell something is coming.

I see a small yellow light floating around in the dark. I think it's coming toward me? Is it... a person?

I think I can see a shape shifting through the shadows. They're dressed all in black. Seems like it's one of those loom over you and menace murder hobo types.

The little yellow light. I think it's their eye.

These one-eye pricks need to stop coming for me.

Probably another warlock, too. Hells, I can see it in the way light bends around them. They've made some big promises to some powerful beings. Poor bastard. Where did I set my axe? This is gunna be another fight.

"Who the fuck sent you? Tell Zariel I'm not going back. I'm never going back!"

Wait, it's a man with horns? Is he a tiefling? ...A devil?

"Oi! Are you from Elturel?" I don't like this one bit. "Look, whatever your bounty is, it isn't worth it. Trust me. "

He're not talking. Why is he not talking? Rude.

Let me make sure I have a good grip on my axe. He's got a greatsword strapped to his back but he's so... composed. Oh shit, that's not warlock energy. That's paladin energy. I don't know which is worse.

I'm going to give him one last warning and then it's on. I don't feel like getting Smitten? Ew no. Smitted? Eh.

"If you're one of those Tyr fuckers, back off! I just want to live my life. I don't want to hurt anyone! I don't want to hurt you! I swear!"

He's finally stopped and he's staring right at me. Gods it's making my skin crawl.

Why does he look so damned sad?

I hear a clear sigh from him and then... "I believe you."

...

This man's voice is smooth as butter. I need spooky man to tell me a bedtime story. It would be the best sleep I've gotten in years.

Spooks and I turn toward the sound of a quiet snap as someone else comes jogging down the trail.

Another tiefling, but she looks super concerned. Her kind face and pretty blonde curls are endearing. Even when she's concerned she seems cheery, like a meadowlark. She jogs right up to Spooks and puts her hand on him. Aww, it's your classic murder hobo and way-out-of-his-league couple. "Who are you?"

He's looking at Wyll's body. "Vash Neel, and this is Bex. And you? It seems you've been caught in a tough situation. Are you alright?" He gestures toward my engine, as it whirrs and glows behind my ribs.

I'm gone for ten years, and get back to find Faerûn nice and chaotic, just as I left it. Paladins of Tyr trying to take my head. The Blade of Frontiers hunting me like I'm some criminal. Now this guy who reeks of death asking if everything's alright.

"Oh that? She's burning a little hot, but nothing I can't handle. I'm Karlach. I've just been through a lot, but it's a long story—ACH!"

Shit! I almost forgot about the tadpole behind my eye! I feel my knees hit the dirt.

Spooks' eyes are closed. Are we linking minds? I can't tell. I'm only getting fleeting snippets of red and faint screaming.

Ugh! I don't want to be in here!

It feels like something is trying to keep my mind out, thank the gods. He's quiet and finally opens his eyes, watching me as I try to regain my composure.

I hated that. "What in the hells just happened!?"

He's staring at me. Suspicious of me. He's one to judge. Suspicious fucker. I hear that creamy voice again.

"Do you serve the Absolute?"

I have no fucking idea what he's talking about.

"I have no fucking idea what you're talking about."

He seems to believe me and steps closer to give me a hand up.

"No! Don't come any closer! I'm too hot!"

He's grinning at me. "Quite the ego on you."

What? Oh, for fuck's sake. "No. Like, actually. I'm burning up. I don't want to scorch your skin off."

"How hot are you? You know our kind aren't as susceptible to the heat as the other races."

Heh. Bastard. Why does he think I'm in this situation? "I don't want to take any chances."

He retracts his hand. "Fair." He's watching me as I get up. "It seems you are infected with an illithid tadpole, same as me. You must have been on the nautiloid when it crashed."

"I was but-" The squirming sensation returns with a fury. "Gah!"

Lark runs up and catches my arm but burns her palms. She jerks back and breathes in sharply through her teeth.

"Damn! You weren't kidding! How the hells can you stand it?" She clasps her hands together and casts one of those magic healing spells on herself.

I laugh wearily. "High pain tolerance, and the pleasure of not having any choice in the matter."

The look of sympathy on her face is so utterly adorable, I just want to pinch her cheeks.

I look between the two as they watch me silently. I'm going to put down the axe. "I know we just met but…" I glance down at Wyll's body. "Can you two help me out?"

Lark nods vigorously. "Of course! Just tell us what you need."

Thank the gods. "Can you help me bury him?"

Spooks begins scanning the ground before quickly finding a spot back from the riverbank. Lark hands him a shovel and he begins to dig. The hole he makes is done quickly and surprisingly clean. High quality grave hole. It’s what Wyll deserves.

This is it. I think I'll be able to sleep better knowing I did him right—even after I did him wrong. Best not to dwell. I pick him up and place him in his perfect little hole. I should say a few words.

"To the realms he was The Blade of Frontiers. But I saw him. Wyll. A good kid who was led astray."

Lark places two coins over his eyes. "May Kelemvor judge him fairly."

She clasps her hands in front of her as she bows her head.

"Nice touch." I mutter to her. Respectfully.

I stare at Wyll for a bit longer before feeling the back of my throat growing tight again. I can't look at him anymore. I turn away and hear a faint squealing coming from his body. I turn back and Spooks has a shovel full of dirt, but he swiftly sets it down.

He glances at Lark and me. "You may want to turn away."

Lark becomes alarmed. "What are you going to do?"

He looks at her and speaks so softly. "He has a tadpole. I need to retrieve it."

Maybe that's how Wyll found himself on that damned ship with me. "A tadpole? Like the one we have?"

He nods and watches us, waiting for us to turn. Lark has a grim look on her face, but she stands next to me and turns her back.

If Lark is going along with it, I guess... this is less weird? I turn as well. I hear a soft popping and a lot of wet noises. Then that squealing sound again, which quickly gets muffled. Finally the scraping sound of a shovel against dirt as Spooks quickly covers Wyll up.

I turn back to see him half covered already. I feel... better. I gather my courage and glance at Lark. "You've done a lot for me already; I hate to ask for more."

She nods reassuringly. "Go ahead, asking won't hurt anything."

"I need help killing some evil bastards. They already tried to whoop me once, but I ran them off. They're hiding in that tollhouse, there." I point at it and they both turn to look. "They're some of Zariel's minions masquerading as Paladins of Tyr."

"Zariel." Lark whispers.

"I don't think they're going to let up until one of us is dead. I need your help sending them back to the Hells."

Spooks is eyeing the tollhouse before looking up at the moons in the sky. "It shouldn't take too long." He begins to walk. "Bex, come.”

She doesn't budge.

He slows to a stop and is looking back at her.

"Vash." She looks pretty upset. "These paladins. How is it such an easy choice for you to just agree to kill these people for a woman you just met? Help me understand. She could be lying, or worse, this could be a trap."

I'd be offended but I can't argue with being cautious. Good wits.

She's glancing at me. "No offence, Karlach, I just don't know you well enough to trust you like that."

"No, I get it I—"

Spooks is holding up his hand, and it stops me midsentence. He's giving her his full attention. "Bex."

She's watching him, she looks hopeful.

He glances at me with his one weird eye. "Karlach, this is important for you to know as well, so listen."

All I can do is nod.

"There is a new goddess that is trying to control people through the power of the tadpoles. She is called The Absolute."

"Ew. I don't like that."

"My company and I are in possession of a prism that protects us from her influence. Though we are not protected by proximity to the prism, rather, it's chosen to protect us."

He's speaking directly to Bex now. "This is why I am not really a True Soul, even though I'm tadpoled. The True Souls that lead the goblin camp are thralls of the Absolute. They do not have free will."

Lark folds her arms, lifting her shoulders as if the night air were too cold for her. "So, what does this have to do with her?"

"Yeah, what does that have to do with me?"

Spooks looks at us for a good long moment, for dramatic effect. "You were chosen."

I place my hands on my chest, feeling flattered. "Why?"

"We all have one thing in common. We are all weapons."

Ugh... I'm not flattered anymore. Sounds dodgy. "So, you believe me because the prism chose me?"

"No, I don't need to believe you. Whatever makes you worthy to be chosen makes you far more valuable than the lives of whoever sits in that tollhouse right now."

Lark walks up to him and places a hand on his elbow. He looks like he's about to faint. "If it's alright with you, I'd rather not go with you this time."

I've never seen a paladin melt before; this man is melting. It's adorable. "You two are a cute couple."

I feel the sound get sucked out of the conversation. Whoops. Lark quickly interjects. "Thank you, but we're not a couple. I'm married."

Aww, poor spooky man. Ah-well, we can't have it all.

He clears his throat. "Wait here, both of you. I'll be back shortly."

"Wait, I'll come with! I've got one more fight in me—"

"No. Stay here. You're too loud."

Rude. Lark steps closer to me and watches him as he walks toward the tollhouse. He makes his way inside and she covers her ears.

I hear a quiet thud and low moan. Then I'm startled by a cold, shrill scream which is quickly smothered. A beat of silence before I hear a man's curdled shouting. It sounds like a bad scuffle.

A blast shatters the windows out of the front room in a flash of red light. No more shouting.

Several minutes pass and Spooks finally comes out, covered in blood and limping. He's dragging one of the paladin's shiny golden greatsword behind him.

He winces as he speaks. “Now that that's taken care of... let's head back to camp."

"What? Just like that?"

He stands straight, wiping the blood from his eyes. I see a large gash in his forehead. "Ostensibly, yes."

I guess... I'm traveling with spooky man now.

She settles in well, staking out her tent further back from the fire pit.

She's a barbarian, and one of the more exceptional assets to Zariel in the Blood Wars. The chaotic fervor of a ruthless warrior, pressing deeply into a tender heart that was ripped out in all the wrong ways.

Scratch sensed it right away, but when he ran up to greet her, she had to back away, so she didn't singe him.

"Doesn't she love me?" Scratch is looking at me, like he did something wrong.

I scratch him behind his ears and reassure him. "She's too hot to touch, Scratch, but she still loves you."

I hear a high whine escape him as he pads back over to her. Laying down at the edge of her tent.

Karlach looks down at him and lowers herself. "Tell him I think he's a very handsome boy."

Scratch's tail sweeps the ground merrily as he rests his chin on his paws.

I look at her as she rolls out her bedroll, and I join Scratch, sitting cross-legged at the edge of her tent. "How long did you serve Zariel?"

"Ten years. I never wanted to. My old boss sold me to her." She fluffs her pillow before sitting down. "A man named Gortash."

My chest lurches. Why in the hells does that name sound so damned familiar? Feels like he could have been family, another Bhaalspawn. Who knows how many of these notions mean anything at all. Maybe Gale tried to poison my food. I wouldn't blame him, but he'd have a bitch of a time getting his cache at that point.

"There's not a day that goes by that I don't curse that man's name. Still, there's nothing to be done about it now. He got what he wanted, and I got an engine for a heart. I haven't had a hug in 10 years." She flops over, burying her face in her pillow. She says it so flippantly, but I can't imagine what kind of fresh hells she must be in.

"Is there nothing we can do? There's got to be a way to cool you down." The wheels in my mind begin to turn.

I hear a muffled voice pressed into the pillow. "If you can think of something let me know. I left my mechanic back in Avernus." She turns back to me. "Without someone who can tune me up who knows how long I'll last. But one thing's for certain. I am never going back to the hells."

My lips straighten. Ao's benevolent 'balance' of all things.

We're quiet for a moment as I look down at Scratch, rubbing along the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed tightly.

Then she finally speaks again, haltingly. "Hey, Spooks?"

I glance back at her. "Spooks?"

"Yeah, it's your new nick name!"

"Why Spooks?"

"...because you're spooky." She says it almost like it's a question.

"Am I?"

She's gawking at me, like I should have known. "Of course! It's your whole thing. Dark cloak. Eerie, looming presence. Face scar. Didn't you… didn't you know that was the kind of impression you give?"

I begin to smile and feel a laugh rise up. The absurdity of her finally catching up to me.

She's smiling, though uneasy. Not sure what to make of my reaction.

"A far superior name." I say, pulling myself together.

Her shoulders fall, relieved. "I... uh..." She rolls her eyes, suddenly becoming bashful. She's lying in her bedroll hugging a teddy bear while Scratch snores, no doubt warmed by her radiant heat. "This is going to sound strange but..." She shifts and grips her bear under her arm. "Could you tell me a bedtime story?"

I'm caught off guard, still tickled by my new nick name. "A... bedtime story?"

"Only if you know any! You don't have to."

Do I know any?

I look up at the Tears of Selûne and listen to the quiet of the night. Tail curled behind me, feeling the warmth of her soak into me. Tranquil.

"That sounds lovely..." Karlach interjects wistfully.

Karlach's face scrunches and she clings tighter to her teddy.

I look at Karlach and she is fast asleep, a gentle snore escaping her nose.