Rath sits at the stone table in the druids 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." 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 quickly signs.

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, as if holding back words that feel too painful to say. He presses his lips together and 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.

"You made it." I smile warmly, approaching slowly. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." She says wearily. "Be we need to speak later. For now, let's just finish up here."

"Of course." I say softly.

A large grey wolf rounds the table, sitting next to Rath. He scratches it lovingly on the side of the neck.

I take a seat between Rath and Emila. Bex sits leaning against the table next to me, arms folded.

The wolf stares at me, unblinking.

"I cannot stay in the grove indefinitely. There are other things that I need to attend to. But as I promised, I will not abandon the people here." I sit back, relaxing my shoulders.

This was frighteningly easy.

I turn to Emila. "Let's begin by coordinating provisions deliveries for my party, I'll be expecting a parcel every third day. I think that's reasonable. I will be expecting a quarter of your earnings as an allowance for my services."

"Of course. With the rhetoric that Hembry has been spreading, it will be painfully easy to coordinate."

"Every third day?" Rath repeats, he presses his hand into the wolf's fur, looking to Emila.

I speak flatly. "Is there a problem?"

"N-no. 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 interject. "Rath, you can manage the paperwork. I 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 murmurs under his breath.

I sigh and glance at the wolf. "Are you going to introduce me?"

Rath looks stunned. "Oh. Oh yes, this is Silver. I raised him from a pup."

"Nice to meet you, Silver."

The wolf doesn't, remaining locked onto me.

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

Rath opens his mouth, but Emila lifts herself. "Yes, they’re just through Nettie’s chamber." She leads us to the chamber, 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?"

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."

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, turning to Shar. Or rather, predictably. Selûne and Shar are two sides of the same coin."

She mouths the tip of her pipe, folding her arms. "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 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 exit with certainty.

"Mm." I strap it 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'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.

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 looks enticed, but tired. I pull out a chair for him, and he sits. He watches me, like 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.

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. "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."

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?"

"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. Apologies if I disturbed you all."

Shadowheart and Gale share a look.

Lae'zel pushes through. "For what reason do you need to wail in such a way?" She enters my tent with impatience. "You are dabbling in whims beyond our need, as always." She's 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, Lae'zel."

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.

We're alone, the seething Gith planted firmly 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 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 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 my eyes tightly, shaking my head. Trying to settle the roiling madness.

My eyes drift back down to her.

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

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

Her fingers flex, and her jaw grinds subtly, but the subtlest grin flickers on her lips.

"With a proper challenge."

My footing wavers as I make my way to my greatsword, arming myself dutifully.

"Lead the way."

She retrieves her hellsword and leads me to a clearing along the trail.

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 gag lightly, staggering back to camp.

I think that went well.

I've assembled a low cot, and lay bleeding and exhausted. My arm covers my eyes to block out the waning light. The sun has all but fallen beyond the horizon when I hear a shifting at the door of my tent.

I peek from behind my arm to see Lae'zel standing far better off than me.

"Istik."

"Yes, Lae'zel." I murmur. "How can I help you?"

She approaches me and kneels down next to my cot. She holds 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 more closely resembles respect. She doesn't speak but reaches up and places a hand on the back of my head, pulling herself forward.

She lifts herself to me with a gentle confidence.

The moment my hands move to reach for her, she clings to my lips and doesn't let me go.

The evening passes into night. She lies next to me, 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...