I idly thumb through Kagha’s curled notes scattered around the stone table. The thick fragrance of blood saturates the druid's chamber. Rath is seated across from me and Astarion is lounging next to me, probably checking his nails. I glance up and see Bex fixated on the murals and fine stonework. Her hands are tightly clasped behind her back as she studies the art. I can't help but subtly smile at her charming curiosity.
"First Druid." My voice breaks the ambience through the echoes of dripping water. Rath doesn't look at me, and I lean in. "First Druid."
He finally blinks, face flat like he can't choose an expression to make. "Apologies. I'm still processing everything."
"Most men would recoil at the thought of being wrong." I watch him. He seems to be doing everything but look at me. "It takes strength to do what you did. Admirable. It's why I need you as my liaison."
At that he finally glances at me. "Liaison?"
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a large grey wolf rounding the table and sitting next to Rath. He scratches the wolf lovingly on the side of the neck, while the thing stares at me unblinking.
I stare back but continue. "I cannot stay in the grove indefinitely; there are other things that I need to attend to." I shift back to Rath. "But as I promised, I will not abandon the people here. That is why I need you as acting First Druid. You’re the only man I would trust with the job."
I didn’t know gratitude and terror could mingle in a single expression, but Rath embodies them perfectly. "Of course. Just tell me what you need."
I sit back, relaxing my shoulders. This was frighteningly easy. I thank the man I was for honing such innate abilities.
My voice carries the authority I’ve earned. "My party will be needing provisions, and I will be expecting a quarter of your earnings. You'll send regular deliveries every third day. This should keep the parcels small and easily managed."
"Every third day?" He repeats it back at me as if I didn't understand my own words.
"Is there a problem?"
"N-no. Of course not. I'll organize the deliveries."
"Good. I'll expect a report every morning on the affairs of the grove. Money earned. Crop yields. Dissent. I won't have my circle falling into madness again. The grove needs structure."
"Your circle." He mutters under his breath.
I sigh and glance back at the wolf. "Are you going to introduce me?"
Rath looks stunned and rests his hand on the wolf’s back, slowly grounding himself. "This is Silver. I raised him from a pup."
I offer a soft smile. "Nice to meet you, Silver."
The wolf does not react to my words, remaining locked onto me.
I sigh and glance around. "Do you have stores?"
"Yes, they’re actually just through Nettie’s chamber." He leads us to a wolf statue, placing a stone placard on a pedestal, triggering it to reveal a hidden staircase in the most dramatic fashion. Druids. The statue slowly spirals into the ground, producing a new step as its head lowers past each. We make our way into a room lined with crates. Provisions, Potions… Paraphernalia. I see a glaive lying across a table in the back.
Rath sees me eyeing it. "Ah yes. Sorrow. Not one we recommend touching—"
I pick it up and measure the weight in my hands. A decent enough glaive. "What does it do?"
Rath looks at me bewildered, horrified. "Do you not feel it?"
He seems to be expecting something from me. "What should I be feeling?"
"The pain of a haunted past. That glaive belonged to one of our former arch druids, and before him a man named Ketherik Thorm."
My eyes become sharp. "Thorm."
He shakes his head, "You must truly be divine. I have seen many men collapse under the weight of their heavy hearts when trying to wield the glaive."
Astarion glances at it. "Seems a bit clumsy to have a glaive hold a curse of sadness. I’d imagine something more discrete would be preferable." His fingertips aimlessly brush against it and he stops.
I wait for a reaction. Wailing, clawing, gnashing of teeth. "Astarion?"
He says nothing and abruptly leaves. He doesn't run, merely makes his exist with certainty.
"Mm." I strap it to my back but notice Bex staring at it with uncertainty. No. She's staring at me, her tail flicking.
I turn to the table once more and pick up a robe folded neatly at the center of the table. It is unusually warm and feels comforting to the touch. Gale. He could use some clean robes. As I pick it up I see two small stones beneath it. "Rath, are these sending stones?"
He nods. "Oh yes, we’ve been holding onto them for the occasions they are needed. We’re lucky to have them."
"Indeed." I place them in my pocket and Rath tenses. I can smell his discomfort, but he’ll manage. He’s an adaptable man.
I feel a gentle hand climbing up my shoulder and turn to see Bex looking at Rath. "You’ll need to secure a new healer. Start reaching out to circles you’re allied with and see if you can bring one in."
My mind starts whirling. I had no idea she would have the capacity to step into a role of authority so seamlessly. I can’t tell if I like it or not.
Rath takes in what she said but glances at me. I give him a subtle nod and he bows his head. "I’ll begin sending notes right away."
In a rabbit's breath, the grove is now my asset.
I'm kneeling at the camp chest as Lae'zel and Gale, spar with rapiers.
Lae'zel's voice is authoritative, but patient. "You must dance with your feet, not just your words, Istik."
Gale focuses, taking in her instruction. "Show me one more time. I think I have it."
She pivots around his blade, swinging toward his neck, gingerly placing blade against skin. "The elves of this realm learned blade singing from my people many generations ago. Teaching you in my way will be the purest form of blade singing you could know."
Gale looks overjoyed and puts a little more effort into his pivots. He practices the move repeatedly with her as she corrects him. She's being oddly tender with him, as if she's learned to speak his language.
I dig through the chest and gingerly pull Alfira's tent out, preserved under a sacred cocoon of battle gear. I need somewhere private in camp where I can think.
It's a large tent, made for entertaining, typical bard's fair. Lehala and Alfira must have shared it. It's easy enough to set up on the outskirts of camp. I found a flat, dry pad of dirt and staked it down, before propping up the tarp with sturdy poles.
With money procured from the grove, I purchased a cart and an Ox from a tiefling farmer from the caravan. The Ox he sold me looks feeble and has a strange aura about it. I can't quite put my finger on what's off about him though. Still, he helped me procure a table from the blighted village that I set up in the tent.
Taking down the colorful banners and decorative bard's fair, the tent is a plain white canvas. It's perfect.
Alone at last, I snap my fingers and Shovel materializes with a puff of sulfuric air. She lands on her feet, back to me. She does a quick glance around, searching for me. I clear my throat, and she turns. With a gasp and a gleeful snarl, she reaches out with her little claws. "MASTER NEELY!"
"Good evening, Shovel. Any luck on finding it?" I kneel and she dashes over to me, climbing up my arm and hugging my head.
"Yes yes. It was awful! They came at me with many angry fangs. The sounds. The smells! The bodies." She growls. "Who knew they could jump so far!" She launches herself off my shoulder as if to demonstrate what jumping is. "Before I knew it, I was swarmed! Six baby spiders! Biting. Clawing. Venom in my blood! I didn't stand a chance!" She laughs, reenacting her demise.
"I can only imagine. Thank you for sparing me the honor of witnessing it firsthand. I've been seasoning some fish for you. My thanks to you."
The stench of it is unmistakable as I hold up the fetid bucket.
Shovel grabs at it, but I pull it away. "First, the stone." I hold out my hand, patiently.
She huffs and finally produces a large round amethyst. I have her place it in my hand before tossing her the bucket. I turn it in my hand as she tears into the rotten fish. It's a smooth, violet jewel, with profane tendrils of Weave trapped within. I leave the tent and walk over to Astarion's camp. I look around his collection of gaudy objects and notice the Necromancy of Thay is noticeably missing. I climb into his tent and see him lying in his bedroll, not moving, barely acknowledging my presence. I toss a few pillows to the side and find nothing.
I smirk, digging my hands under him, as if looking for the book beneath his body. I expect him to roll his eyes and swat me away, but I get no such reaction.
I finally stop pestering him and sit back. "Astarion?"
Nothing. I place a gentle hand on his hip and he finally swats it away. "A-ha. You are in there. Somewhere."
With a collapsed voice, he groans. "Unfortunately." He doesn't look at me. "Was there something you needed?"
"I'm here for the book. Where is it?"
He swiftly digs his hand under his pillow and tosses it back at me, not breaking from his wallowing session. It hits me in the chest and I grunt. I stare at him before examining the book, turning it over in my hands. He didn't damage it. There is a pause before I ask gently. "Are you alright?"
"Please, just leave me alone." He snaps, annoyed at my probing.
I tuck the book into my lap and sit with him for a moment. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
He doesn't respond for a long time, before finally turning toward me. His face is haunted, as if his body has been trying to cry, but can't.
"Was it the glaive?"
He scoffs. "That wretched thing. Who would keep such a useless fucking thing, anyway? Sorrow... really. A low blow." He promptly grabs one of his pillows and buries his face in it.
I take his hand and give it a tender squeeze. My voice is gentle, in its way. "Would opening up a cursed book make you feel better?"
He peeks out from behind the pillow, nose still pressed into the silky fabric. He finally nods quietly and I tug at his arm. "Come on. Let's go."
He slowly gets up, and I walk with him at his pace. He shuffles along but then finally sees the tent. His smarmy voice peeking through the lingering sadness. "Alfira's tent?"
"Yes. I'm going to use it for now. I'll be more than happy to return it to her when she finally comes back for it."
"I'm sure she'll be happy someone's putting it to use." There is an exasperation behind the way he says it.
"I need privacy, Astarion." I duck into the tent and Shovel sees the book.
She hops around breathing in sharply with excited soundless laughter. "Yaaaaaay! Master Neely still has the book! Oh! Oh! Oh! Open it! Open it!" She goads me, though she doesn't have to. I'm already slipping the amethyst into its hollow maw. The amethyst is pulled into its mouth with a ravenous sentience.
Astarion is watching this unfold and looks enticed, but tired. I pull out a chair for him, and he sits. He watches me, like the clown that I am, performing my necromantic party tricks for my...
...my...
I glance at him. I must look confused because he shifts in his seat, folding his arms, trying to read my face.
I refocus, tipping the book in my hand. The amethyst is in place, that roiling power tucked between the pages. The latches on the side come loose and the moment I crack the pages I am flooded with howling voices. Angry, hungry, tempting, mournful, lonely, powerful. I try to connect, but every voice rushes past me, as if I were nothing.
Astarion leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, quiet.
Shovel gasps. "Master Neely needs to use his magics! Tell them to speak or you throw the book in a holy fire!" She flinches and her tail coils tightly at the thought of it. She swiftly tries to climb into Astarion's lap.
He lifts his arms and recoils at the stinky demon now perched on his legs. "Uch... couldn't you just summon a cat like a normal person?" He pauses. "No. No, you couldn't. The festering demon baby was inevitable, wasn't it?" He sighs and tentatively places two fingers on Shovel's head, rubbing her skin with an attempt at affection. She leans into it, closing her eyes.
I follow Shovel's instructions and hover my hand over the pages of the tome. My magic immediately works as a conduit, and the voices begin to split and calm themselves. Words finally come forth.
"You are known..."
Sigils rise from the page, and a cold breathless chill runs through me. My vision goes dark. I am pulled into another realm, and as the sigils sear themselves into my mind, my vision splits, like I were two people sharing one mind, seeing the same thing from different places. Two different hearts. Though one is larger and louder than the other. It feels like they're both fighting to breathe, and no one is winning. A faint panic grows within me as I begin to choke.
I am surrounded by screams.
The damned rise before me.
I know how to call them.
And they will come eagerly.
Through the howling madness, I finally hear a disharmony of cobbled thoughts, "You are known... Child of Murder."
"Who are you?" I do not speak with my voice, but with the wavering tenor of my shattered soul.
"We are those who were taken to harbor the library of undying truths. Sacrifices of the Lich, Szass Tam."
"Sacrifices? You are sealed to curate Thayan knowledge?"
The spirits begin to roil and the howling rattles my core. I become choked once again as my vision of overlapping angles disorients me.
"Use the book—read the book—free us—Bhaalspawn—use the power—we give you power—finish the book—call upon us—use us—free us."
The shades begin to overpower the whispers of Bhaal and the warring voices turn shrill and angry. The words overlap, folding into my consciousness as if to fold a piece of paper the eighth time. Suddenly there are a hundred shouting souls tearing my mind apart and I feel my body falling to its knees. Fists gripping my head. My jaw clenches but the madness surges in a way I've never experienced and I hear myself screaming.
I pull my strength into one of my two halves and try to conjure the Weave to protect against the blades of anguish. The power surges and I scream until there is nothing left. The double vision becomes one and I am lying in the dirt in my tent. I feel a hand clasping my arm and rolling me over.
"Gods!" His voice is panicked, as if he's trying to find the right thing to say—the right thing to do. He almost sounds genuinely concerned for me. "Are you alright?"
I'm barely coherent. My mind is filled with clashing voices. Three reeling forces surging and churning like the tide against a rocky shore. The Shades, Bhaal, and somewhere—myself.
This may have been a bad idea.
Without a word we embrace. It's sudden but welcomed. He's grounding me. I feel myself slowly falling back into place. I don't want to let him go. He stays with me, resting his hip on the ground, draped over my body, arms cradling my head.
I mutter into his ear. "I was supposed to be the one comforting you."
I feel him grip me a little tighter. "You are."
Shovel walks up; I can tell she's near. I can smell her. She speaks with a voice of wonder. "Master Neely?" She taps her claws on my horn. "Are you in there?"
I take a deep breath. "Yes, Shovel." my voice is muffled against Astarion's shirt. I finally let him go and as he sits up. I feel cold.
I hear shuffling outside and tentative faces peeking into my tent before hearing Shadowheart's voice. "Vash. Are you... okay?"
I slowly sit up, pulling my hair back between my horns. Astarion remains planted next to me. "Yes. I'm fine now. Apologies if I disturbed you all."
Shadowheart and Gale share a look.
Lae'zel sees the Necromancy of Thay on the ground. "That thing. Is that what you were up to?"
I look down at it and before my mind can think, my hand snatches it. "Yes."
Her shoulders tense. "You cannot be so foolish as to think that book would offer you anything but madness."
She's chastising me as if I were a hatchling. I see something shift within her as she rolls her shoulders back. "You are reckless as always." She hesitates, trying to decide if she wants to finish the thought. She does. "When did we decide you would lead this company?"
The moment the words leave her mouth the air shifts around us. "Lae'zel." My voice is low as I stand looking down at her. "There was no decision to be made."
Astarion clears his throat and swiftly makes his way out of the tent, followed by Shadowheart, straight lipped and disengaged. Gale reaches out to Lae'zel, but before he can touch her, she gives him a sharp look. He recoils and decides to retreat with the others.
She steps into the tent, not backing down from her challenge. "I'm honestly surprised you hadn't tried this sooner. Still, after everything I've done for you, you're choosing to challenge me now."
Her grimace deepens. "And what have you done for me? You've overstepped at every turn. I had to beg to speak with Zorru. You insulted my Queen! And we still haven't set a plan to find a creche!" Her voice grows louder as she punctuates each moment that she feels I've disrespected her.
"And you think you're entitled to be prioritized, when other leads are far more promising?"
"What leads!? All I see is a man playing with druids and tieflings! This does not cure us of our problem. It only serves to stroke your precious ego!"
"My ego!? Because of my ego we now have guaranteed provisions, an income, and a small army who will fight if the need arises."
"T'chk! A pitiful army of farmers and outcasts. You are callous and impulsive. Undisciplined. Sloppy. Like a Night Scavver calling itself king among rats in the wilds of Toril! This little game of yours exposes the truth, Istik.
You are not fit to lead us."
I snap Shovel back into her planar realm. The voices still reverberate inside my skull, ebbing and flowing chaotically. The echo of the word bite tries to push itself to the surface, but it's getting overwhelmed by the clinging shades.
In one fluid motion, I snatch her waist and drop into a chair, dragging her over my knee.
She attempts to grapple free; her feet slide against the ground. She tries to gain purchase but can't. "Istik! ... Vash! What are you doing?!"
"Punishing you for your insubordination."
"How is this punishment? What are you going to do?" Her squirming continues as I pull her breeches down. She growls with indignation. "Vash!!!"
She focuses as she takes the spanking I give her, no longer struggling, gripping my pant legs tightly.
This is her discipline.
I release her and she staggers back, fumbling with the waistband of her breeches. Her flushing is bright. She stares at me in disbelief. With a snort, she jumps into my lap, straddling me and kisses me with a violent starvation.
I take in the taste of her. The blood and salt of a warrior who knows nothing else but devotion in combat. I can feel the texture of countless battles carved across her back. New scars puckering, old scars sunken, each one a mark of pride.
She scans my body, pulling off my tunic and mapping my own scars across my chest, lingering on the arrow wound in my shoulder. She seems softer—curious. I never expected this from her.
"Flex." The word is a command, but her eyes plead.
I do so, and she begins with my shoulder, feeling the cut of my muscles. Tracing her fingers over my biceps and finally dragging her fingertips over the edge of my forearm. She tries to wrap her hand around it and can't. Her eyes are dilated, and her breath is uncharacteristically shallow. She finally pulls her fingers across my stomach, quivering with anticipation.
She climbs out of my lap, removing her clothes.
I follow, removing my boots and trousers.
She spreads my knees apart, but to my surprise she climbs back into my lap and does a handstand, placing her head between my thighs and resting her knees on my shoulders. "Stand."
I grip her waist and stand. She begins to play with me. Exploring, touching, tasting.
Despite her green complexion, she's pink and slight, shining with slick desire before I even touch her. I take in her sensual aroma with a nuzzle before exploring her with my mouth. I wrap my arm around her waist tightly, freeing my other hand to begin teasing her with my fingers. Pressing against her, lingering, rolling with her moans.
Her tongue is dripping and skilled. Stroking my base, she takes me in with precision, but not fully.
I place my hand on the back of her head and murmur. "Relax your throat." I pause to give her a moment. When I feel she's ready I press the back of her head onto me, fully. She pauses, gripping my thighs tightly, digging her nails in.
Dig deeper—make me bleed. Pleasure surges as I feel her holding her breath. Suffocate-
I finally release her, and she abruptly gags and coughs, taking a deep breath.
"Good girl." I comfort her, stroking her hair.
She stammers, "No... talking!"
She's frustrated, but takes me in hand and tries once again. She genuinely wants to find a way to cope with my anatomy.
She takes a deep breath, and I hear her command. "Again."
This time I feel myself hit the back of her throat.
Her chest heaves as she tries to relax.
The pleasure builds within me and I shudder. The notion of choking her with my cock is unbearably erotic.
A sudden cough causes her to release me. To my disappointment her knees lift from my shoulders, and she tumbles to her feet in front of me. She finally rests herself on the edge of the table, watching me. I lean forward, the table creaking as I rest my hands on either side of her waist. She wraps her legs around me and I kiss her.
She grips one of my horns, and guides me in. I elicit a quiet moan from her, head leaning back as she breathes.
Her breasts are slight, but they have an alluring bounce to them. I want to play with them, but my hands are occupied stabilizing the table beneath my weight. I swiftly pick her up and lie back onto my cot, placing her on top of me.
The rippling muscles beneath her lean aged-corpse-hued skin shift over her ribs with every drop.
I gently caress her breasts, running my thumbs over her nipples. Lae'zel closes her eyes as my hands drift idly down to her floating ribs near her diaphragm. I squeeze gently, feeling the cartilage flex beneath my hands, fueling my excitement. I don't notice Lae'zel losing breath as I play with her body.
When it overwhelms her, she punches me in the chest and I quickly let go.
The strike almost sends me over the edge. "Gods-" I whimper.
Her thighs grip me with surprising strength, and the squeezing sensation inspires the power behind my body. Her back arches, as she becomes breathless and flooded with pleasure.
"Vash." Her voice is steady, but she is in the throes of euphoria, her body pulsing above me.
"Punch me again." My chest aches, but it doesn't ache enough.
She leans forward, sweating and shaking. With wild excitement she hammers her fist into my chest, dead center.
My heart stops. My breath is lost. My body seizes, and I flood her with my desire, unapologetic and torrential.
As we come down, she rolls off me and lays her head on my chest. I wrap my arm around her as we breathe in unison. The world dims around us as night sets in.
I hold her quietly before a calamity of clarity comes crashing down on me.
Gale.
Shit.