Sazza is sitting on the edge of the broken stone floor, overlooking the spider pit. A few other goblins surround her, chattering loudly. She sees me and jumps to her feet, running over to me. "A squid! Boss, did you really kill a squid?" The other goblins watch from afar.
Astarion gives me a mocking grin, but I ignore him. "Yes. They are tenacious."
She snaps her fingers. "Hells' teeth! That must have been some fight! Maybe when you're done, you can share it?"
I glance at the goblins gathered and turn my attention back to her. "Minthara. I'm ready now."
"Oh! That's right. This way." She toddles towards the door, opening it for me.
We enter a crumbling chamber, thick with candle smoke and the faint stench of mildew. Broken bookshelves line the walls, and a purple orb hovers ominously with a faint, unsettling hum.
A scrying eye. The word comes easily, but the reason does not.
I throw my hood over my head, avoiding its gaze.
A slender drow is leaning over a large wooden table, berating a subordinate. Battle-hardened and donning webbed armor, her voice is commanding and dulcet.
Sharp thoughts run like blades down my back.
Scream at me. Step on me. Call me a wretch.
These thoughts feel... uncalibrated, and it unsettles me.
I see frazzled red hair, and realize the subordinate is Brynna. My fingers twitch.
Minthara's voice rises with frustration. "I don't care if he was a True Soul, he doesn't outrank me! If Andrick was careless enough to get killed by this imbecile, then maybe he deserved it. I need you out there searching for that weapon!" Her voice fills the room with unchallenged authority.
Brynna is sunken, her eyes measuring the width of her feet.
Minthara sees us enter and shifts her focus to me. The moment our eyes meet, she surges into my thoughts and is instantly assaulted by the ever-lingering images of death.
From her mind, I am fed images of Crab Bitch. A woman with pale shifting skin and even paler eyes. A long, annoying braid swings heavy down her back. My mind twists with a sense of resentment, pity, and reluctant obligation. As if she were a child I once tended to.
The connection fades and Minthara is quiet for a moment before addressing me. "You must be the True Soul who's been undermining my authority?"
Her cold voice laps at my ears as I approach. Brynna turns slowly, seeing me come up from behind. Her eyes go wide, shuffling aside. She never allows less than a few meters between us, and she never takes her eyes off me.
"I've come from Moonrise. I was selected to assist in the search for the weapon."
She shifts with wary skepticism. "Selected? You are a weapon. Nothing more. Your role will be to help me mount an attack on those creatures in the grove."
"No, I will not. I have infiltrated the grove. Such operations require a scalpel." My nose curls in disdain. "Not a hammer."
She goes quiet, and the hate in her crimson eyes could easily kill me if she wasn't so deeply entrenched in this Absolute bullshit. "You... infiltrated the grove?"
"I am the savior that protected them from a reckless goblin attack. Who organized that skirmish?"
She slowly lifts herself from the table, eyes narrowed. "It was a militant response to the adventurers that slipped past our defenses." Her voice grows sharp. "None of that is your concern! A hammer cracks a nut far faster than a scalpel, and I have run out of patience! The Absolute demands satisfaction!"
"Then why did they send me, Nightwarden?" My tail lashes. "If I had known you were going to be this belligerent, I would have rejected the mission."
She carefully steps around the table and aims a single word at me. "Grovel."
I feel the spell rush through me, my shoulders tense, and my knees buckle before trying to bend. With effort, I am able to stave off the effects, but only just. I watch her carefully, with a vague, mocking amusement. I get to my knees and grovel at her feet.
"Chastise me, Nightwarden."
She snatches my collar, gripping my face with clawed fingers, digging her nails into my cheeks.
The decadent pain. My tail shifts again, dragging against the stone floor.
"If you've infiltrated the grove, that means they trust you. Tomorrow morning, we will mount an attack. You will open the gate, and we can finally burn that wretches place to the ground. I don't care if we have to sift the weapon from the ashes, we will find it."
She shoves my face as she releases me.
The image of a smoldering grove flashes behind my eyes.
I could invite the slaughter.
The vague bittersweet smell of burning bodies clings to my nose.
The final cries of the last to die.
The silence.
A shudder runs down my back.
I murmur a silent prayer. "They would die thinking I'm their hero."
Minthara finally gives me the faintest smile. "You're beginning to see it now. This is why you were sent to me. I saw into your mind. Your thoughts linger on only one thing, and you are here to fulfill that purpose. To conquer. To kill."
The words snap at my mind in a way that feels truer than she intended.
Regardless of her assumptions, I will not lose a resource like the grove to a zealot with a crazed obsession over some unknown variable.
I sit back, rubbing my face. "My orders come from Her, not from you. The grove remains untouched until my mission is complete. I will return to give the word, and only then do we march."
She looks down at me, incredulously. "I will not delay my plans simply because some man wants to play village king to a pack of cretins."
I finally climb to my feet. "And I will carry out my objective in Her Name, despite your tantrum. You will not stand in my way, Minthara. Even if I have to go through you." My voice hisses as I lean into her.
Our eyes lock as her ire creates a pocket of silence that settles in the dank air of the chamber. "You invoke her name against me? I will not be spoken down to, iblith."
She carefully tracks my face. "Why did you come here?"
"I'm looking for the druid, Halsin. He was party to the adventurers that slipped into the camp." My voice is low and mocking. "...under your nose."
"There was no druid-" Her eyes go wide and she sharply turns to a goblin subordinate. "When were you going to tell me the bear was a druid?!" Her words are a river of steel, cutting straight into the goblin's final heartbeats. "Throw him in the spider pits. Now!"
The guards jump, closing in on the condemned subordinate, pulling him away kicking and screaming. "No mistress! Please! I-I thought he was just a bear!!!"
Sazza watches, elbows tucked into her palms, jaw clenched.
"A bear? How can you be sure it's him?"
She grunts, barely looking at me. "Despite the fact the party was made up of clowns, they were no circus act. Of course the bear is the druid. Hiding in plain sight. Shrewd." She waves her hand dismissively. "If I'm wrong I've lost nothing in making the assumption."
"Nothing but a loyal subordinate." I glance at Sazza. She's stepped back, but remains, murmuring to another goblin.
Minthara's eyes are sharp. "Loyalty means nothing if they are a detriment to the mission. Surely that's something a half-wit foulblood can understand."
I firmly snatch her arm, pulling her into me. "Foulblood?"
She strikes me across the face. "Keep your filthy hands to yourself!"
A maddening grin cuts into my expression, sharp teeth gleaming in the candlelight.
I reach for her throat but feel the hum of the scrying eye behind me. My fingers twitch, and with great effort I stay my hand, though I'm not sure how.
She tracks my motion and hisses, "do it, coward."
My mind begins to wane, replaced by a surging pressure.
Batter. Beat. Break.
The words thrum like a heartbeat.
I slowly release her, though my hand trembles in anguish at the restraint.
Her jaw is clenched. A fresh, contemptuous fire ignites. The moment she feels her arm freed, her fist slams into my face. Sharp pain shoots from my nose down my neck.
Shadowheart breathe in sharply. "Gods." She murmurs.
I stand, holding my hand near my face, taking my time to recover. Blood trickles down my lip, the taste of warm iron spreads across my tongue.
I sniff and glance at Minthara. "The broken soldiers of a cruel commander will never have the strength to carry her to glory."
She swiftly holds her dagger to my throat. "Shut up!" Her voice echoes once again. "I should rip your cock off for treating me with such disrespect! Only by Her grace will you be spared my wrath. Do not cross me again, or not even She can protect you from my vengeance."
Her nostrils flare, but something happens behind her eyes. The recognition of someone long forgotten. Then it slips away, and her composure returns.
She snarls, pressing the blade further against my skin. "Go to the worg pens! The druid is there. Question the ingrate! Complete your 'mission', and return to me when you're finally ready to march! Do you understand me?!"
The hostility lingers, but we settle into a quiet finality.
She holsters her dagger. Then returns to the other side of the table, looming over her many maps. She waves me off, as if sickened by my presence. "If you recovered the damned weapon, bring it directly to me and we can return to General Thorm for fresh orders."
Thorm. The name stirs something in my mind. It's like the sound of a war drum, and I get the phantom scent of dust and rot.
"I do not want to see your face again until then!"
My mind is still reeling from having denied myself an easy kill. My skin crawls with sacrilege, as if having defied a holy mandate. I glance at my company, gawking at me, which only makes me feel worse. I brush past them and make my way out, navigating the halls to the gods-forsaken worg pen so I can speak to some incompetent druid bastard.
As I walk, I try to quieten my thoughts, something that's quickly becoming habit.
Always overwhelmed.
Always too many voices.
Always seething.
It doesn't matter how hard I try, they never go away. I can only dampen them enough for my sanity to rise to the surface and breathe before being pushed under once more.
I am drowning.
How long can I keep this up?
The pattering of feet comes up behind me, and I feel a gentle tug on my cloak. I stop abruptly; my focus snaps to the intrusion. Sazza. "Is there anything else you needed from me, Boss?"
I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head, mustering enough strength to address her calmly. "N-No. You did very well in bringing me here." Goblins. Goblins... The data from the tablet on the Nautiloid bleeds through. Treasure for services rendered. Of course. I drop to one knee and pull a dagger from my cloak. "Take this, for your troubles."
Her eyes go wide and she grabs at it eagerly. It's nothing more than a standard iron dagger, but it's well maintained and a good size for her. It still smells of linseed oil from its recent polish.
"Hells' teeth, I've never seen anything shine like this! I can see my own face in it!" She swings it a few times, the blade whistling through the air. "Praise the Absolute! Thanks, Boss!"
She scurries away, shouting toward her gawking clan. "The spider pits ain't nothing against this beauty!"
My face falls back into a more comfortable emptiness.
I stand, straightening my cloak.
She most certainly won't do anything constructive with that weapon.
Shadowheart is hovering close to me. "Awfully kind of you. Do you think that was a good idea? You're down a dagger."
A discontented grunt escapes me. "I have plenty."
"T'chk. You value your weaponry so little? Each blade is sacred, and you'd toss one aside just to placate a servant."
I snap, my voice raised and pained. "I'm not in the mood, Lae'zel!"
She stops and tightens her lips.
"Where the hells are these damned worg pens!?"
"Vash..." Shadowheart gently runs her hand under my arm and begins to walk with me. "Let's find a place to sit for a moment."
I step reluctantly but soon accept her guidance. She opens the door to an empty room. It looks like it used to be a chapel. Pews line the room on both sides, and a crumbling altar of Selûne sitting forgotten in the very back.
Shadowheart glances around. "Eh. Maybe this isn't the best spot."
The room is dark, quiet, and more importantly, private. I place a hand on her shoulder. "Please... it's only for a moment." I light a few candles and lay my bones across the bench, placing my arm over my eyes. "It's a chapel with no purpose, dedicated to a goddess who hasn't heard a word of worship here in a hundred years. If Selûna lingers, it is a pathetic presence." My voice is only a murmur.
She closes the door behind us. Astarion and Lae'zel position themselves outside. Keeping watch.
There is a beat of silence before I hear the sound of mail armor shifting softly with a stilted ringing sound. I feel her sit next to me and place my head into her lap. The mail is cold at first but quickly warms beneath my infernal skin.
Her voice is tender. "What's going on, Vash?"
I smirk, seen despite my resting arm. "I don't know what you mean."
"Please, spare me this back and forth and just tell me."
I peek up at her. "What do you want me to say? That I almost lost control?" Then tuck my eyes away once more. "It was inexplicable. That word... that word gets to me. But it controls me far deeper than I'm comfortable with. I cannot behave like a petulant child over something so minute. It's unconscionable."
She begins brushing her fingers over my hair and I take a heavy breath through my nose. We're quiet for a moment before I hear her voice once more. Soft but direct. "You aren't really going to tell the goblins to march on the grove, are you?"
I finally press my fingers over my eyes, reclaiming some of my sense. "I think you can agree that our number one priority is survival. Now that I have command over the march, we can take our time with Halsin. Gods know how useful he'll be if his precious grove is nothing but bodies and ash." Pleasure rips through me at the thought, once again, but I manage to remain focused. "If Minthara leads us to Moonrise, to a cure, then we shouldn't dismiss her as a viable option."
Shadowheart hears my words but hesitates. I see her face tighten, her fingers resting on the side of my face.
My voice softens, and I lean into her touch. "Shadowheart. These people should have died a long time ago. It's a cruel fate they survive Avernus only to die in the wilds with hope in their hearts. They will all be claimed. It's arbitrary to consider who draws the blade."
She looks at me, stunned. "How can you say that about your own kin? I'm not saying I disagree with your pragmatism, but it's not something I would have expected from you. Regardless of your oath, wouldn't you feel a duty to protect them?"
"...Do you want me to prioritize my duty to them over my duty to you?"
She's quiet for a moment, her eyes tracking my face as she untangles the idea in her mind. "No... of course not. I'm grateful to have you by my side in this."
"I promise, our survival will always come first. Your wisdom keeps me grounded, Shadowheart. The more we work together, the more I believe we'll make it through this."
Her smile is healing in its own right, and I close my eyes once more, settled in her lap. Feeling her soft warmth.
I feel the warmth of her lips press to mine. My vision cracks, seeing her hovering over me.
I cup the back of her head, consumed by the kiss, but the voices have only just quietened. I only indulge for a fleeting moment before pulling back.
"What's wrong?" The concern edges her serenity.
I sit up, taking her hand in mine. "I'm grateful you have faith in me, Shadowheart. It's something I've tried to foster between us." I lean in, dipping my head. "I want to have faith in you, too."
Her eyes go wide and her tone turns defensive. "Have I not been competent and reliable by your side?"
I nod slowly. "Competent, reliable, yes. But not honest."
She becomes leery and speaks quickly. "You know I don't remember much of my past. I'm not trying to be dishonest, but Shar's secrets must be protected."
My eyebrows lift, and the dawning of her mistake steeps her in dread. "No. No, that's not-"
She stops herself, seeing the smile grow on my face.
I rise and offer my hand. "Let me worship with you."
"Vash-" She hesitates, then takes my hand.
The curve of my finger tips her chin up, and I kiss her once again.
She runs her hands over my shoulders, leaning into me.
My hand drags under the tassets of her armor, and I lift her into my arms. I carry her over to the altar of Selûne, her ankles locked behind my waist.
She clings to my shoulders as we profane the altar. Soft whimpers sing from her lips before she takes a sharp breath and murmurs, "Gods..."
She quickly places her hand on my chest. I stop and she breathes. She pushes me back and slides from the altar, turning to bend forward, repositioning herself. I give her an inquisitive glance and she responds with a coquettish smile.
I drag my hand over her backside and can't help but bend down and nibble her bottom cheek.
She jumps and laughs lightly. "Careful!"
Grinning, I begin again.
A cold, silken presence settles over us and Shadowheart's breath becomes unsteady.
I gently wrap her ponytail around my hand and pull her upright, wrapping my arm around her waist, kissing the curve of her neck.
My hand gently curls around her neck.
Images begin to flash in my mind.
Intrusive.
Unrelenting.
Shadowheart's pleas for rescue from her pod. Shrill and frightened.
Her body lying on the beach, my fingers dragging across her neck.
Squeezing. Lightly.
The hope draining from Nettie's face.
The sensation of strangling her.
Gripping. Tightly.
"Shadowheart." Her name drips from my mouth with reverence.
She takes a deep inhale, reaching behind and gripping me tightly, pulling me into her. Her body flexes, her back arches. She lets out a silent cry. I feel her pulse race.
A torrent of pleasure engulfs me. Salvation from my smoldering mania.
I rest my forehead on her shoulder, and after a moment's breath, I release her. She falls forward, catching her breath. It's only then I realize how tightly I had been gripping her neck.
She didn't protest, and I didn't feel myself doing it.
A lapse.
She briskly slaps me across the face.
The strike rattles me. I brush my hand across my cheek. "It seems my face has a target on it today." I twist my face into a half smile.
"You didn't even ask." she says firmly.
A chill rushes through me. "Apologies. There is something happening with my mind. I-"
She moves past me to dress before planting herself on a pew to calm herself.
I study her face before hanging my head, the thought of Shadowheart losing trust in me leaves me unmoored. "May I sit next to you?"
She pauses, then a slight smile peeks through her frustration. "Yes, that's fine."
I dress and sit. After a moment she curls her fingers into mine, more to steady herself than me.
Her thin scarred fingers clutch mine and I give them a gentle squeeze. "How long have you worshipped Shar?"
She sighs and leans her head against my shoulder. "30 years. I was brought into a cloister when I was very young. I was an orphan, and they saved my life. In more ways than one. I am proud to serve her."
I lay my head on hers and speak gently. "I can imagine the Lady of Loss offers great comfort to you."
"Yes. Comfort. Purpose. Punishment when it's needed. Salvation when it's earned." A pause, settling her weight into me. "I love her dearly."
"I envy your bond with her."
"And you. Do you remember whom you serve?"
"No."
"Hmmm." She falls still, measuring me. "The dark magic imbued by your God feels acrid and violent to me. I honestly don't know what to make of it. Shar's power is a cold and silken void that embraces everything it touches." Her tone is wistful as she speaks of her goddess.
"It was comforting, despite it feeling out of resonance with myself. I'm glad to have experienced it." A moment of calm passes between us. "Were you really concerned about the grove? It seems trivial given Shar's tenets."
She considers my question, answering with noticeable restraint. "Of course not. It's refreshing to know such things won't stand in the way of our survival. I commend you for that."
Good to know I'm commendable despite my violent nature. That, I can work with.