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."
"Nice to meet you, Silver." Ingratiating myself to the local animal population isn't a bad idea.
The wolf does not react to my words, remaining locked onto me.
I tap my finger on the table before moving on. "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, wary, staring at it. 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. "What are these?"
He nods. "Sending stones, 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.
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 and a few chairs from the blighted village. They fit neatly inside 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. 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.
"You are reckless, as always." She steps into the tent, staring down at me, poised and defiant. "...When did we decide you would lead this company?"
The moment the words leave her mouth, the air shifts around us.
My head is swimming, but my senses sharpen in an instant. I stumble but manage to climb to my feet. My eyes meet hers; my voice grows still. "There was no decision to be made."
Astarion gets to his feet and touches my wrist briefly, giving me a glance before swiftly making his way out of the tent.
Shadowheart watches him leave before turning back to the two of us. She lingers for a moment before turning, braid whipping with her prompt exit.
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.
Once they've left, my attention turns back to the seething Gith in front of me. "I'm surprised you hadn't tried this sooner. Still, after everything I've done for you, you're choosing to challenge me."
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've insulted my Queen! And we still haven't set a plan to find a creche." Her tone rises as she punctuates each moment I've disrespected her.
"You think you're entitled to be prioritized, when other leads have been far more promising?"
"What leads? All I see is a fool playing games with the locals. Grove politics will not cure us of our problem. It only serves to stroke your precious ego!"
"My ego?!"
She stares, lips tense, defiant.
I lean in close. "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! This little game of yours exposes the truth, Istik."
Her nose curls and her next words drip with resentment.
"...You are not fit to lead us."
I snap Shovel back to the abyss.
The voices ebb and flow through my mind, chaotic. The word bite tries to surface, but it's drowned by the clinging shades.
I blink, and close my eyes tight, shaking my head. Trying to settle the roiling madness.
My eyes drift back down to her and her certainty wanes for a moment, taking a subtle step back.
In one fluid motion, I snatch her and drop into a chair, dragging her over my knee.
"Istik! ...Vash!" She tries to grapple free. Her feet slide against the ground, failing to gain purchase. "What are you doing?!" A vague panic edges her voice.
I pull her breeches down and she growls, jaw tight with frustration. "Vash!"
My hand cracks down on her backside, and she falls still, focused, and gripping my pant legs tightly.
After a few strikes, I let her go. She staggers back, fumbling with the waistband.
She's flushed and staring at me in disbelief. "You dare—" she stammers.
Her indignation is palpable. After a moment she approaches me, leaning in. She studies my face, and I feel her heavy breath against my chest. With a grunt she grips my wrists, pulling them around her waist. Then she perches herself in my lap, her lips clinging to mine.
She tastes like the blood and salt of a warrior. I feel the texture of countless battles, carved across her back. New scars puckering, old scars sunken, each one a mark of pride.
She finally pulls back, catching her breath. She removes my tunic and scans my body. Her fingers idly map the scars across my chest, lingering on the fresh arrow wound in my shoulder.
"Flex." She orders, transfixed.
With a vague smile I hold up my arm, fist tight. She starts at my shoulder, tracing the edges of my arm. Her eyes dilate and she pulls her fingers across my stomach, firm and certain.
Following her lead we stand and remove our clothes. She guides me to my cot, pressing me down by my shoulders. She climbs on top and leans into another kiss.
As she connects with my body, a soft moan registers in her throat. She firmly grips my shoulders and I can't help but admire her body. I caress her and grip around her midsection. I squeeze and her breath grows shallow. She punches me in the chest and I quickly let go, whimpering. "Gods-" The strike rouses me immensely, and I clasp her thighs.
She exhales with a rattled breath. Flooded with pleasure.
I drag my hand down the front of her body once more. Fingers chased by beads of sweat. "Punch me again." I murmur.
She leans forward, trembling and elated. With a wild frenzy she hammers me in my chest.
My heart stops. My breath is lost. My body seizes, and I flood her. Unapologetic and torrential.
As we come down, she rolls off me and lies her head on my chest. I wrap my arm around her and the world dims around us as night sets in.
Calamity comes crashing down with crucial clarity.
Fuck.
Gale...