Rath sits at the stone table in the Druid's Chamber. His shoulders drawn up as I hover over him.

Astarion elegantly places a slip of paper in front of him, handing him a quill and a well of ink. "Sign here, darling. That's all we need from you."

Emila has perched herself across the table and is smoking a long pipe. The fragrance of pipeleaf mingles with the scent of blood.

"I-I don't understand. What is this about?"

Emila pulls the pipe from her lips. "This is your new role, Rath. As Acting First Druid, you will be giving Vash temporary Stewardship over the Emerald Grove."

He stares at her and says nothing.

I lean down. "Until Halsin returns, of course. This is necessary if you wish to remain stable in light of the dangers pressing in on the grove."

He picks up the slip of paper and reads it carefully. "That is... reasonable. I suppose." He says, slowly. "You've already shown what you're willing to do to keep us protected, and I can't thank you enough for it."

He sets the paper down flat and signs, though hesitantly.

Ordinance of the Emerald Grove.

By the authority vested in the Druidic Circle of the Emerald Grove, the undersigned do hereby grant Temporary Stewardship of the Emerald Grove to Vash Neel.

The authority of this station shall encompass the Emerald Grove, its associated lands, and all druidic circles occupied therein.

The duties of the Steward shall include but not be limited to: asset management, resource delegation, civil coordination, and command authority over any organized or voluntary militia operating within said jurisdiction.

This decree shall remain in effect until the return of First Druid Halsin, at which time the Stewardship shall be subject to review.

Signed,

Rath M. Coria - Acting First Druid of the Emerald Grove

Witnessed,

Emila R. Szaide

Prepared and Presented by,

Astarion Ancunín - Magistrate of Baldur's Gate

Astarion pulls a ring on a chain from his pocket. He looks at the signate embossed into it and goes quiet for a moment.

"I can't believe after all this time, I finally get to use it again."

His mouth hangs open slightly, holding back words too painful to say. He finally lights a candle, dripping the wax onto the corner of the paper and pressing his signate into it.

"There." He says with a satisfied breath. "Simple."

The light from the inner sanctum cracks through the door as Bex enters the Druid's Chamber.

I step around the chamber and meet her by the stairs. "Are you alright?" I whisper.

"Yes." She says wearily. "Let's just finish up here."

"Of course." I hesitate, but return with her to the table.

A large grey wolf has taken a seat next to Rath. He scratches it lovingly on the side of the neck. The wolf stares at me, unblinking as I sit between Rath and Emila. Bex leans on the table next to me, arms folded tight against her chest.

"Let's begin by coordinating regular provisions for my party." I defer to Emila. "I'll be expecting a delivery every third day. Along with a quarter of the grove's earnings as an allowance for my services."

"A tenth of the grove's earnings." She says, slowly tucking her hand across her body. "It should be simple to coordinate a regular supply run. How many are in your party?"

"Five."

"Seven." Bex corrects.

I glance at her.

"We have plenty to speak about later."

Emila shifts her gaze from Bex to me, then glances at Astarion who is oblivious and bored at the far end of the table.

"Seven." I say.

"Deliveries? Earnings?" Rath presses his hand into the wolf's fur, looking to Emila.

I speak flatly. "Is there a problem?"

"...Of course not. I'll organize the deliveries."

"Don't bother." Emila says. "It will be better if that's something I manage."

Rath motions to speak but I interject. "I expect a report every morning on the affairs of the grove. Crop yields, fishing hauls, daily earnings, any hint of dissent. I won't have the circle falling into madness again. These people need structure. Do you think you can handle that?"

"Yes." He mutters. "I'll reach out to Aron and Derrok."

"Speak to Apikusis and Aelar about holding order." I sigh and glance at the wolf. "Are you going to introduce me?"

Rath blinks. "Oh. Oh yes! This is Silver."

"Nice to meet you, Silver."

The wolf doesn't respond, remaining locked onto me.

I tap my claw on the table before moving on. "Do you have stores?"

Rath opens his mouth, but Emila slides around the table. "Yes, they’re just through Nettie’s chamber." She leads us through, taking a stone placard from Nettie's things and sliding over to a wolf statue.

Rath shuffles behind us, arms loose at his sides. Quiet.

She places the stone placard in a recess on a pedestal. A blue light begins to fill the cracks in the stone, illuminating the carvings on the statue. It turns and begins sinking into the ground, revealing a hidden staircase in the most dramatic fashion.

Druids.

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. Decent enough. Balanced. "What does it do?"

Rath looks at me bewildered, horrified. "Do you not feel it?"

"What, exactly, 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."

"Thorm." I repeat with a sharp tone.

Emila drifts next to me. "A man who used to have dominion over the border lands of the grove. I remember the days when he followed the light of Selûne. He, ironically, turned to Shar. Or rather, predictably. Selûne and Shar are two sides of the same coin."

She mouths the tip of her pipe. "Grief can be a potent narcotic, though I've seen men lose their mind over less." Her eyes settle on the glaive in my hands.

Rath shakes his head. "I have seen many men collapse under the weight of their heavy hearts when trying to wield that 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 exit with a firm certainty.

"Mm." I strap the glaive to my back but notice Bex, wary, staring at it. No. She's staring at me.

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. Two small stones tumble out beneath it. "What are these?"

Rath nods. "Sending stones, we’ve been holding onto them for the occasions they are needed. We’re lucky to have them."

I tuck them into my pocket.

Bex huddles next to Emila. "Have you heard anything regarding Nettie's whereabouts?"

Emila sighs. "Gods... Nettie. No, there's been no trace of her."

"It's been enough time. Start reaching out to circles you’re allied with and see if you can bring in a new Healer. That should be your top priority."

"Prudent. I’ll begin sending notes right away."

Rath stammers. "As First Druid, I should have a say on how we proceed."

We each look at him and his posture shifts as he slowly sinks into himself.

He says nothing further.

I make it back to camp with my entitlements. Bex remained behind in the hollow.

I kneel at the camp chest as Lae'zel and Gale spar with rapiers.

Lae'zel's voice is firm but patient. "You must be swift with your feet, Istik, not just your words."

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 Bladesinging from my people many generations ago. Teaching you in my way will be the purest form of Bladesinging you could know."

Gale looks encouraged and puts a little more gusto into his pivots.

I dig through the chest and gingerly pull Alfira's tent out, preserved under a sacred cocoon of battle gear.

I find a flat, dry pad of dirt on the outskirts of camp. I stake the tent down, before propping up the tarp with sturdy poles. I pull down the colorful banners, leaving only a plain canvas structure that was made for private gatherings.

I purchased a cart and an Ox from a tiefling farmer in the hollow. The Ox looks feeble, but there is a strange rippling of Weave around him. Fae, perhaps. Still, the ox was useful in procuring a table and a few chairs left abandoned in the blighted village. They fit neatly inside, next to a cot and a modest chest for my personal affects.

Alone at last, I snap and Shovel materializes with a puff of sulfuric air. She lands on her feet, back to me. She does a quick glance around, and I clear my throat. She turns and gasps with a gleeful snarl. "MASTER NEELY!"

Always screaming... "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. Who knew they could jump so far!" She launches herself off my shoulder. "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. As we agreed."

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 can't drop the stone fast enough. It's a large, round amethyst. "Shovel. My hand." I say, gesturing insistently with my open palm."

"Uuuugghhh!!!" She stoops down and picks it up, slapping it into my palm.

I toss her the bucket. She tears into the rotten fish. I run my thumb over the smooth, cold surface of the violet jewel. Profane tendrils of Weave are trapped within.

I make my way to Astarion's camp. I search his collection of gaudy objects. I stop and stare at a mirror perched on a small table just outside his tent wall. In case he forgets he can't see himself, I suppose. What a strange sentiment, but he is a very strange man.

The Necromancy of Thay is conspicuously missing. I climb into his tent and see him lying in his bedroll. Motionless. He barely acknowledges my presence. I toss a few pillows to the side and find nothing.

With a mischievous grin, I dig my hands under him, searching his bedroll. 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."

With a collapsed voice, he groans. "Unfortunately. Why are you bothering me?"

"I'm here for the book. Where is it?"

He sighs and pulls it from under his pillow, tossing it back at me. It hits me in the chest and I grunt. He then returns to the important task of wallowing in self pity.

I stare at him before examining the book. He didn't damage it. There is a pause before I ask gently. "Are you alright?"

"Please, just leave me alone." He snaps.

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 at first but finally turns toward me. His face is haunted, as if his body has been trying to cry, but can't.

"Was it the glaive?" I say softly.

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, running my arm through his. 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.

"Naturally." I open the flap for him and he ducks inside.

Shovel sees the book and instantly begins hopping around, breathing in sharply with excited soundless laughter. "Master Neely still has the book! Oh! Oh! Oh! Open it! Open it!"

I pull out a chair for Astarion and he sits.

He's focused on me, the jester 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.

With out further hesitation, I slip the amethyst into its hollow maw. The stone is pulled into its mouth by a ravenous sentience.

The latches on the side come loose. I thumb open the book and am flooded with howling voices. Angry, hungry, tempting, mournful, lonely, powerful. I try to connect, but every voice rushes past me.

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. "Don't answer that. 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. 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."

He grips me a little tighter. "You are."

"Master Neely?" Shovel taps her claws on my horn. "Are you in there?"

"Yes, Shovel." My voice is muffled against Astarion's shirt. I finally let him go. He sits up, the distance between us makes me 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. Apologies if I disturbed you."

Shadowheart and Gale share a look.

Lae'zel pushes through. "What reason do you have to wail so?"

Her voice is sharp and cuts at my nerves. "Not now, Lae'zel." I say firmly, still trying to collect my senses.

She enters my tent with impatience. "You are dabbling in whims beyond our needs, as always."

"Am I not allowed a moment of respite?" I say bitterly, pressing my hand against my face.

She's staring down at me, her face pinched with disgust. "You call this respite?"

I glance up at her.

The air grows quiet.

Something in her expression falters. Her voice grows steady. "When did we decide you would lead this company?"

Astarion takes a breath in. "Nnnope!" He rises, giving me a glance before swiftly making his way out.

Shadowheart glances at him as he leaves before turning back to us. She lingers, pressing her lips together before turning, braid whipping with her prompt exit.

Gale reaches out to Lae'zel, but she gives him a sharp look. He recoils and decides to retreat with the others.

I stumble to my feet. My eyes meet hers. "There was no decision to be made."

"You've been demanding our subordination since the beginning! Entitled wretch."

"Yes." I straighten. "Honestly, Lae'zel, despite everything I've done for you, I'm surprised it took you this long 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."

"And you think you should be prioritized, when other leads have been far more promising?"

"What leads? You're a fool if you think dawdling in the grove will cure us of our problem. It serves only to stroke your ego!"

"My ego?!"

She stares, lips tense.

I lean down. "Because of my ego we 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. "You are not fit to lead."

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 firmly, shaking my head. My eyes drift back down to her.

Her steadfast resolve cracks slightly, taking a small step back, though the air between us remains charged.

"How do you want to settle this?" I murmur.

Her fingers flex, and the subtlest grin flickers on her lips. "With a proper challenge."

I sway lightly, but then make my way to my greatsword, arming myself dutifully. "Lead the way."

We meet at a clearing along the trail.

Our swords held firmly, we stand opposite each other.

Her lips tighten and her muscles tense, but her eyes do not burn with rage. I see a glimmer of excitement. She holds herself with the poise of the warrior she is.

My knees bend, my greatsword being the only barrier between me and the fury of a zealous soldier.

There is a serenity between us. An anticipation.

The Chionthar creates a hush in the air.

She tightens her footing before kicking off.

She strikes first. Blades ring as I meet her blow with the hilt of my sword. Chilled metal drives against the hell flames of Avernus. The blades of the swords land with a kindred weight. Infernal.

She maneuvers around me with a dance that counters my defense with ease.

The pace she keeps is swift and nimble. It's beyond what I can maintain. I shift tactics and look for an opening.

Her spins and pivots, though agile, leave her open for the briefest moment.

The tip of the hellsword batters the edge of my blade and slides with a shriek of steel. It slips over my arm, cutting and burning in tandem. An unfortunate combination.

She uses this moment to press, and I plant my foot against her, knocking her to the ground.

I swing down, but she rolls and leaps to her feet. A cyclone of fury, she strikes again in a blink, but when she pivots I seize the moment and batter her in the back with the butt of my sword.

It cracks against her, and she topples forward, the wind knocked out of her.

She is barely down for a breath before she charges me once again. I brace myself against her relentless attacks. She shifts her aim and strikes low, cutting into my calf.

Another slice, another burn.

Sweat beads on my brow, and my arms begin to ache. The nausea from the shades begins to flood me unbidden, and my focus begins to narrow.

With ruthless precision, she brings her blade up, cutting into my ribs.

I bend and flinch with the laceration. Without room for thought, I batter her in the chest with my fist.

She flies back and hits the dirt, sword clatters loose from her grip and slides across the path.

I stagger forward, dropping my greatsword and pinning her to the ground. I pull a dagger from my boot and press it to her throat.

"Do you yield?" I say in a pinched voice.

She catches her breath, mouth dry. "Your strike is dishonorable! This duel was blade for blade!"

"I don't recall establishing those rules beforehand."

She glances around, searching for her sword, arms dragging across the path as if she could catch it in her palm.

Her focus returns to me, and she scowls. "Kainyank. You fight like a coward."

"I accept your surrender."

She grips the dirt behind her as I lift myself from her. She stands and dusts the dirt from her as best she can.

I grip my ribs and cough lightly, staggering back to camp.

I think that went well.

I gingerly lay my carcass on my cot. Bleeding and exhausted. My arm drapes over my eyes.

The sun has fallen beyond the horizon.

There is a shifting at the door of my tent.

I peek from behind my arm. Lae'zel stands at the door, gripping the tent flap lightly, looking far better off than me.

"Istik."

"Yes, Lae'zel." I murmur.

She approaches me and kneels next to my cot, holding herself with a soldier's repose.

"Vash. I wish to tell you something."

I lift my arm and give her what attention I can.

She doesn't wear the bitter scowl I've grown accustomed to. She looks at me with something that seems closer to respect. She doesn't speak but reaches up and places a hand on the back of my head.

She lifts herself to me with a gentle confidence.

The moment my hand moves to reach for her, she clings to my lips.

She doesn't let go.

The evening passes into night. She lies with her head on my chest. The most peaceful I've ever seen her. My arm rests around her shoulders as my mind begins to drift.

A moment of clarity settles into a bitter truth.

Gale...