My mind shifts between visions.

Cambions. Mind Flayers. The overwhelming stench of an illithid colony.

The sound of laughter; shrill, mad, victorious.

A scalpel. My innards in a pile on my stomach.

...the gentle feeling of cool ash landing on my face.

I open my eyes. The fine dust of burning chitin drifts through the air. I take a breath, but the dust chokes me and I'm gripped with a fit of coughing. I roll over onto my stomach. The cold sand saturates me, taming the heat of the morning sun.

I don't remember blacking out, but here I am, alive.

I can't believe it. My body refuses to believe it.

I lie still for uncounted moments before pushing myself up. Fingers dig into the ground beneath me, elbows shaking.

I brush away the sand that clings to me. Blood. It was a disorienting night. Blood. I'm still better off than I was. Blood. The word thrums in a familiar way. Blood. I suddenly remember the tadpole behind my eye. Blood.

My skin is crawling.

I glance around. Something about the beach feels familiar.

Corpses.

Corpses everywhere.

The silence of the dead is the first solace I've felt since my awakening. I approach a body and kneel. I thumb through the pockets but get pulled in by the sight of him. I brush my fingers through his cold hair, drag my hand across his waxy skin. I rub my fingers together feeling the slick corpse grease. The strange familiarity allows me to breathe again.

Something glints in the distance. I raise my hand to block it out, but notice shining mail.
Another body.
Shadowheart.
My legs are stiff, but I'm able to make my way through the wreckage.
I crouch and check her pulse. She's survived.

My fingers go numb and rest at her throat, giving it a thoughtful squeeze.
Imagine... surviving impossible odds, only to be strangled by the man who saved you.
Bards would sing such tragedies to children.

I snatch my arm back and close my eyes. My hand twitches rebelliously, as if disagreeing with my restraint.

Insolent cunt.

"Shadowheart" I murmur, gripping her shoulders and giving her a gentle shake.

She stirs with a grunt, bringing her hand to her head, seeing me hovering over her. "It's you! How?" She pauses and rises to her elbows. I stand, offering my hand. She waves me off, hoists herself up and dusts off her backside. "Where are we? How in the Hells did we survive?"

"A mystery to the both of us. Are you alright?"

She clutches her satchel, concern fading into relief. "Yes. I'm alright."

She takes a moment to study me. "I want to thank you for what you did for me on the Nautiloid. You could have left me behind, and for a moment I thought you had, but you came back for me." She gives me a wry grin. "Foolish on your part. You could have died wasting precious time, but you helped me all the same. That sacrifice is not lost on me."

"The bounty on your life is a humble one." I gesture to my right eye. "Removal of this damned tadpole."

"They are a problem, aren't they? As much as I would like to claim such lofty talents, tadpole extraction is not a skill I possess. I'll have to repay the debt another way."

My lips straighten. "Problem is an understatement."

"What," She says with a short laugh, "do you want me to crumble to the ground in despair?"

She's managed to coax a smile from me. "We should get out of this wreckage. The smell is intolerable. Let's focus on figuring out where we are."

"Agreed."

We wade through bodies and shallow waters tainted by myriad detritus. Intellect Devourers hide in the shadows of the broken hull. I try to feel for Us, but each brain we find is a stranger to me.

Shadowheart grabs my arm and points to a piece of broken hull. "I'm going to position myself on the high ground, while you move in."

"Ah. I see. Throwing me in headfirst."

She folds her arms with a smirk. "Do you have a better idea?"

"Of course not. Let's get this over with."

Fighting through a battery of brains was not a personal desire of mine. But the feeling of my blade cleaving through them makes up for the inconvenience. I take note of the pleasure it brings me, collecting notions so that I may know myself once again.

We see a clearing in the wreckage leading toward a calmer stretch of the trail. Shadowheart and I make our way.

"We make a good team," she says, "where did you train?"

Do I even remember? No. "To be honest, a lot of my memories are lost to me. The only thing I remember is waking up on the Nautiloid. Have you experienced the same? Is it the tadpole?"

She looks stunned. "Bizarre irony. If it is the tadpole, I wouldn't know. I'm also missing a lot of my memories, but it happened before the Nautiloid."

A curious answer. "How so? Was it some sort of accident?"

She speaks slowly. "No. It wasn't an accident, it's... complicated." She trails off, looking straight ahead.

She doesn't elaborate and I choose not to press.

The trail weaves in and out of the wreckage before Shadowheart becomes alert. "Do you hear that?"

I listen, and through the shuffling sound of our footprints I hear a mewling cry for help. It sounds apathetic at best. The least distressed distress call.

"Hello! Please help me!" A man waves at us from up the trail.

Shadowheart and I share a glance. "We could turn back." I murmur.

"And go where? Better to deal with whatever this is."

The stranger on the trail is a slight man with perfectly coiffed white curls and pale skin. He's dressed in fine clothes decorated with royal purples with gold filigree. A high elf. The moment we get close enough, he begins talking. "No need to hurry, I'll just tell the brain to hold off on attacking until you get here."

"Brain?" I say, glancing around.

"It's cornered, just here!"

I square my shoulders. "You don't seem too concerned. How long have you been standing here with a cornered brain?"

He waves his hands in a very wristy manner. "Details details, help me get rid of this thing before it escapes!"

I turn my attention to the reeds and see something moving. My eyes narrow and I step closer.

Shadowheart breathes in sharply through her teeth. "Vash!"

The weight of a whole entire twink pulls me to the ground. The cold blade of a dagger presses on my throat. He is wrapped around me, unyielding.

I land hard on top of him. He loses a breath but pushes out the word through gritted teeth. "I saw you on the ship. You're one of those illithid thralls, aren't you?"

I snatch his hand and pry it from my neck. He nicks my throat. As warm blood trickles down my skin, his grip loosens.

My tadpole wriggles, and we both lurch.

The elf screams and presses his palms to his eyes.

I roll off him, flooded with a lot of thoughts all at once. Endless nights spent in the taverns of Baldur's Gate. Stomach churning, face smiling despite the pain. Endless conquests, couched in a burning fear ripping through me.

Shoulders tense. Someone's always watching.

Hungry... hungry.

I wrench myself from his carnival of suffering.

We lie next to each other, breath heavy, silent. Our eyes meet. His forehead is tight as he stares at me with wide red eyes.

"What in the Hells...?" He mutters.

We climb to our feet, and he straightens his posture, clearing his throat. "Well." He drags a finger over a few short locks that have gone out of place. "This was clearly a misunderstanding." He dusts off his sleeves before offering a dainty hand. "My name is Astarion."

"Astarion, a pleasure. I'm Vash Neel." I take his hand and headbutt him right in the fucking forehead.

He staggers back, nearly falling over. "NNGGHHHH!!" He presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "I suppose I deserved that..." He says through gritted teeth. "Are we even?"

I nod. "If you can agree to it, then yes."

"Yes. Of course." His voice is weary as fingers drag across the lump beginning to form. "So..." he says, choosing to move past it, "if you would be so kind, oh beneficent one, to tell me what in the hells just happened?"

"You're infected with an illithid tadpole. A condition we share, unfortunately." I gesture toward Shadowheart. "We're currently trying to find our way to civilization, and more importantly, a cure. Now, if you'll excuse us..."

"You're excused." He says following me. "Why the hurry?"

"These worms are a ticking timebomb. We need to get them out before we turn into illithids."

He stops, mouth agape. I pause and glance back at him. Nervous laughter rattles his words. "Of course! Of course. That's exactly what they do, isn't it? I would have thought nothing less!"

I stare at him, this broken man. Alone. Nothing to lose. Great at ambushes. Has knives. "You can travel with us if you promise to behave."

"Prudent." He rubs his forehead once again, resigning himself to the idea. "I'd be a fool to turn you down."

I measure him quietly, flooded with images of his rotting body.

• Day 1 : The skin goes pale. His body begins to cool, Livor Mortis and Rigor Mortis set in.
• Days 2-6 : The skin turns green, then marbles and blisters. Gut bacteria begins to break down the body cavity. It produces methane and hydrogen sulfide. The body swells. Fluids begin to leak from the corpse.
• Days 5-11 : The skin turns black. Liquidation continues as cells erode due to lack of oxygen. Maggots are typically present at this stage.
• Days 10-20 : The bones shine ivory as they poke through. What remains of the soft tissue sloughs away and is consumed by time.

The man looks half dead as it is. Genuinely.

We continue down the shady trail.

"...It's been a tenday since I've had a moment's peace."

Astarion hasn't stopped talking since we found him. So much for the blessed silence I had been trying to enjoy.

"Neither have I." I say, pointedly.

"I work as a magistrate, and things have been so chaotic in Baldur's Gate lately. Now this! Kidnapped and infected.

It's as if Tymora looked at me and said, 'I'm sick of helping this bastard out.'

The nerve of her, I swear."

My interest is piqued. "You're a magistrate?"

"Hm? Oh, yes. It's quite boring. Hardly worth mentioning." He waves me off.

We pass through the shadow of the ship's bridge. The hull looms over us, catching clouds of drifting ash. The broken helm sits half buried on its side, tentacles laying limp.

I see a silver body, trapped beneath a section of hull. It shifts subtly and something hums behind my eyes. My vision narrows. Everything goes black.

I'm clad in shining armor, seated on horseback, tracking a battle line. My stead shifts and whinnies, hooves pressing into thick mud. Bodies move. Metal clashes and rings through the air. The Weave crackles. The cries of war sends a chill through me.

A woman screams. I find her pinned beneath a dying horse. She is reaching for me. Terror paints her face with wild desperation. I swiftly dismount and kneel beside her.

"Please, General. I'm not ready..." Her voice is shaken, and she tries to lift herself, but she's stuck fast.

I reach for my greatsword. The moment my hand lands on its hilt, I am tackled to the ground. Two of my soldiers are holding me back. They grapple my sword from me and begin to drag me back. I grit my teeth and pull myself forward, just enough to catch her fingers. I draw my dagger and bring it down on her head.

Silver blood coats me. Shadowheart and Astarion release me and fall backwards.

Astarion lands dramatically on his side. "The Hells! What just happened?"

"Gods. That illithid." Shadowheart lifts herself to her elbows. "It must have got to our heads." She places her palm to her cheek. "I saw myself as a holy knight. A dream come true..." her voice trails off.

I sit up, gripping my knees. Fixated on the illithid with my dagger in its head.

Astarion rolls his eyes. "A holy knight. Odd fantasy for a cleric to have."

She becomes guarded and casts her gaze down.

"I saw myself as a magistrate again. The banality is infuriating." His tone is disdainful, but his face goes still as he thumbs something in his pocket. He blinks and turns to me. "Please tell me you saw something interesting at least."

"Nothing more than busy work." I pull my dagger, wiping it on my pants before tucking it away.

"Busy work." He looks down at the dead illithid with pursed lips. "Hmm. What kind of paladin are you supposed to be, again?"

"I didn't say. I don't actually know."

"You don't know?"

"Yes. You're very good at repeating me. Lest I forget my own words."

He scowls. "How is it you don't know what kind of paladin you are? That's absolutely absurd."

"I... I don't have any memories of my life before waking up on the nautiloid."

"A blank slate." He murmurs, then grins and leans into me. "I'd rather have a wild card on my hands than an Oath of the Ancients or," he gags lightly, "an Oath of Devotion paladin."

"I suppose that is a bright side." I climb to my feet. "I have an opportunity to rededicate myself." I walk over to him and gently tap a healing light onto the welt on his forehead. "I promise not to be a stick in the mud, if that's your concern."

He tries not to flinch, but I feel it. He lightly touches the healed bruise, and for a moment something flickers across his face. Wariness, perhaps.

Then he falls back into snark. "There's nothing more insufferable than a self-righteous paladin."

"Come on," Shadowheart says, studying the illithids corpse, "let's keep moving before we lose the light."

We finally clear the wreckage, and we are granted a breath of clean, cold air. We're following a dusty trail that looks heavily travel-worn. People have come this way recently. Good news.

Astarion stops, focused on something up trail. Slow to a halt next to him, trying to gauge what he sees. After a moment I hear it. A low grinding, almost like a millstone turning.

Astarion grabs my arm and points to the left of the path. "There."

A shifting darkness whirls against a cliff face lining the trail. I grip his shoulder and brush past him, making my way toward the anomaly.

"Darling, I was pointing at it so we could avoid it. What in the hells are you going to do? Fix it?"

"I just want to understand what's going on." I'm transfixed.

He throws his hands in the air. "Well, I'll go fetch the tea and biscuits while you find out what its name is."

Shadowheart follows at a distance, Astarion slinks behind her. She eyes the void. "I think we've seen enough. Best not to meddle. It's nothing to do with us."

I feel Astarion grab my arm. "When it comes to danger, you're like a moth to a flame, aren't you? You can't be this dense."

A broad smile crosses my face, and I place my hand over his. "If I get killed, there will be one less jackass in Faerûn."

He scoffs. "If you get killed, I lose my meat shield."

I grip his fingers and detach him from my arm. "Stand back, if it'll make you feel better."

He rolls his eyes. "You didn't need to give me permission. I'm not getting anywhere near that thing."

A voice echoes from the hole. "It's safe, I promise!" A hand pops out and begins waving politely. "However, I could use some assistance!"

We both stare at the waving hand before he recoils. "Well. That's unnerving."

The moment the hand appears I feel something shift within me. I track the waving hand like a cat fixed on its prey.

The voice rises with frightening specificity. Rip. Tear. Cut. Take... hand. Bring it.

Bring it. Bring it where?

The crackling divinity surges up my back, taking root in my mind. I shudder and blink, shaking my head. The more I try to free myself from the thoughts, the louder the voices grow. My eyes pinch shut and I try to focus.

A hand settles on my back and I open my eyes, vision blurred.

"Vash, are you alright?" Shadowheart hovers over me. I'm hunched forward, shoulders tight, hand twitching.

"Yes. I'm... fine."

She steps back, "Okay. If you insist."

I give her an exhausted smile before leaning forward with a crouch, bracing my hands on my knees. "Quite the pickle you've gotten yourself in. A shame."

The hand falls limp and his voice echoes with nervous laughter. "Indeed, and the sooner I'm out, the more grateful I shall be."

"Hold tight." My fingers twitch, but I grab his hand before another thought can fill my mind. I brace my footing, then pull. His palm grows sweaty and slips from my grasp. I'm thrown to the ground with a heavy thud. Trail dust plumes around me.

Thin fingers tightly grip my shoulders excitedly, and I hear Astarion in my ear. "You're not going to let the howling death hole win, are you? Get up and try it again!"

I snort and push him over. He lands on his ass, laughing. I stand over him, holding out my hand. "Give me your kerchief."

He clicks his tongue. "And here I thought you were going to offer me a hand up."

"You'll earn it eventually. Kerchief."

His jaw drops with playful indignation and hands it to me.

Even something as basic as his kerchief is lacy and decadent.

This time I genuinely offer my hand and help him up. "Tie our hands together."

"No thank you, darling, I've never been into bondage."

"Astarion." I gesture toward the man in the hole.

"OH! You meant that hand. Right." He snatches the kerchief back from me. "It'll be my pleasure."

I grip the wrist once more as Astarion secures us. He then retreats to a very safe distance.

With a yank, the man shifts and slips out, landing on top of me.

He's a slight man, dressed in weathered robes, like he hasn't left his house in an age.

I take my dagger and cut us free from the kerchief. "Friend, I cannot express how grateful I am." He rubs his wrist and grunts as he lifts himself up with aching knees. "My name is Gale of Waterdeep."

Astarion whimpers. "My kerchief..."

"Vash Neel, a pleasure." My eyes track Gale's hand. "How did you get stuck in that portal?" The question comes out absentmindedly.

"Believe it or not, it was an act of self-preservation." His brow furrows. "Are you okay?"

I blink and answer a bit too quickly. "Yes. Of course." I feel my hand twitching and tuck it into my cloak.

Shadowheart approaches and looks him over. "So, you're a... sorcerer? A wizard?"

"Wizard renown! I think... maybe not so much anymore." He looks at her bashfully. "You were on the Nautiloid as well, correct? I had just woken up in one of the illithid pods when I saw you two running past."

"We were. Unfortunate that we missed you."

He waves his hand dismissively. "Unfortunate timing, it can't be helped."

I've regained my focus. "Does a Wizard renown know how to extract these tadpoles?"

He breathes in sharply through his teeth. "No... unfortunately."

Of course he doesn't. It can never be that easy, can it? "You're welcome to join us. We're looking for a healer. It's our priority given the imminence of our condition."

"You have my gratitude twice over. From what I recall of illithid gestation, we have seven days to get these hungry little fellows out of our heads."

"Delightful." I mutter.

I spot a clearing along the riverbank that would make for a good camp spot. If I can get my head cleared today, then I'll rest there for the night and work on trying to figure out who I am and where I need to go from here. The idea of being aimless and purposeless fills me with more dread than the prospect of oblivion at the hands of the damned tadpole.

We hear a frantic conversation between two tiefling scouts. They have something trapped in a crude cage dangling from a rocky outcropping.

"What is she, Damays? Some sort of hobgoblin?"

"I think it's another one of those Githyanki raiders. The ones Zorru mentioned after he came back from his scouting trip."

"The ones who killed Yul?"

"Keep your distance, and be on your guard, Nymessa."

As we approach, Damays is the first to spot us. "Nymessa, look! Another refugee!" He lowers his guard.

Nymessa spots me and approaches, looking me over. "Gods, you're a mess. Your travels from Elturel do not look like they've been merciful."

I have a vague recollection of stories about a holy city pulled into Avernus, but nothing more than that. "No, it certainly hasn't been. I'm a little travel weary so forgive me if I lack courtesy. Do you know what river this is? We're trying to get our bearings."

She smiles graciously. "You're in luck! That's the Chionthar, so you should be able to find your way to wherever you need to be. You must be quite lost if you didn't know that."

I nod solemnly. "Quite. I'm also looking for a healer. Do you know if there is a village nearby that might be able to aid me?" I glance up at their captive and realize it's Lae'zel. My eyes are flat as I turn back to the tieflings.

Damays hesitates. "Yes. Just around the bend is a druid's grove. The entrance is covered in ivy, inside you will be able to find Nettie. She should be able to help."

"Wonderful." I glance back at Lae'zel. "I'll be taking your prisoner as well."

"What? No! We can't just give her to you." He becomes uneasy, glancing at Nymessa briefly. "The Githyanki have been causing too much trouble lately. We've lost a couple of scouts to them already. We can't risk her escaping. She'll only bring more."

"T'chk!" Lae'zel holds the bars of the cage as it sways from her shifting weight. "Of course they fell to the might of our silver swords! I'd expect nothing less."

Damays walks up to the hanging cage. "Quiet! I'll not have you disrespect those we've lost!"

"They'd have my respect if they were still alive!" She growls.

"Enough!"

My hand lands on Damays' shoulder. I wait for him to meet my eye.

"Brother... Go."

His shoulder tightens. The silence stretches as he measures me. He finally shoots a glance at Nymessa. "Better in a paladin's hands than a ranger's. I'm sure he can handle it."

She slides her bow across her chest, lips tight.

Damays doesn't move until my hand drops from his shoulder. He stumbles down the path and Nymessa follows.

Lae'zel's impatient tone splits the peace of the morning. "Get me down!"

"Where are your manners?" I step onto the path, studying the wooden cage that holds her. "I just saved your life. Again."

Her nostrils flare and she lifts her chin with pride. "What do you mean by again?"

I pull my greatsword. "You would have never survived the Nautiloid without me. I deserve a little gratitude."

She shifts her feet, eyes tracking my blade. "Your subordination was admirable, but you have not yet earned a pat on the head for doing your duty."

"Watch your feet." I cut the rope that's thatched the base of her cage. It breaks apart and she spills onto the ground in a clatter of silver armor.

She rolls to her feet with a grimace. "...finally." She sputters, clutching whatever dignity she has left. "It seems you are more useful than I assumed."

"Am I? And what about you? Trapped in a cage by a couple of scouts. Where's your sword?"

"You were not there!" She spits. "It was an ambush. I did not assume your people had the wits for such contraptions." She looks at the broken hanging cage with contempt.

"Of course. Your pride got in the way of your wits, and it nearly got you killed."

She scowls, pushing her way past the others. She stoops by some shrubs, retrieving the Hells-sword from under several thick, gnarled branches.

The companions are watching her quietly and I gesture. "This is Lae'zel, she helped Shadowheart and me escape the Nautiloid. Lae'zel, this is Astarion and Gale."

"We don't have time for this. We must find a cure for these parasites. We must find a creche!"

I sheath my greatsword. "And a creche is...?"

Gale interjects. "It is a training facility, if I'm not mistaken." He glances at her.

"Yes, and much more. Most importantly, it is where we will find a zaith'isk."

Gale shakes his head. "Zaith'isk?"

"It is a machine that was made to extract illithid tadpoles. We must find one at once."

He presses his lips together. "Do you think a creche would care to help us? If I recall correctly, your people aren't exactly welcoming to outsiders."

"You are with me. If you assist me in finding a creche, I will ensure that you will be cured. You have my word."

Gale nods quietly. Satisfied.

I look down the path, the dust from Damays and Nymessa hasn't settled yet. "The refugees mentioned Zorru. We can speak to him and Nettie while we're in the Grove. Promising leads."

Lae'zel snorts, indignant. "The only way we can be purified is with a zaith'isk, any other venture will be a waste of time."

"We will not leave any stone unturned." My voice bites at her. "If you think you can go it alone, then be my guest."

She stares me down, before storming past us, headed down the trail.

We follow.

By Tymora's grace we'll be done with this quickly.