An ox cart rumbles toward camp, two eager druids leading the way. A man waves gently toward me.

Gale steps up beside me to greet them, looking a little pale.

"Are you okay?" I murmur.

"I'm fine." He snaps, before composing himself for our guests. "A pleasure to see you! You have our thanks for-"

"Peace Bringer!" A woman staggers forward, stumbling to her knees in front of me. She grips my hand, placing it firmly on her forehead. "Silvanus bless you. It's an honor to see you again."

Gods. I know this woman. What was her name? "Gretta, glad to see you well."

She looks up at me with shock. "Y-Yes."

"To have faced death and seen the truth. Not many have that kind of strength."

"Death?" Gale says sharply.

I glance at him briefly. "Don't cause a fuss, Gale."

Her eyes soften and she presses her forehead to my hand again. "I still mourn the dead, but I understand why it needed to-" She stops and the druid man places a hand on her back.

"You don't need to speak on it, Gretta. What's done is done."

She glances at him and nods softly. "I know." She looks at my hand. "I know Silvanus guided you. I felt his influence then and I feel it now. A static that snaps with divine retribution."

A small smile tugs at my lip.

She finally stands, her eyes low. "Please." She walks me over to their Ox cart.

Gale is silent, and trails behind us.

There is an armory crate that includes a restock of arrows and daggers from Dammon. Coin from the grove's earnings. Another box of cigars. Several bottles of wine and mead. A note is tied to the neck of a wine bottle.

For Peace Bringer of The Emerald Grove,

The mead is from Hembry, so you know it's strong.

The wine is from me, so you know it's good.

-Emila

A dear.

I grab the bottles of wine and hold them up. "Shadowheart! Good news!"

She gives me a fleeting glance, still looking fairly sullen. When she sees the bottles she saunters over. "Good news indeed."

She reaches for a bottle, but I pull it back. "Can I speak to you?"

She sighs and rolls her eyes. "Yes, Vash..."

I lead her to my tent and set the bottles on the table.

She sits across from me, largely disengaged.

"I should have spoken to you about the prism."

She's still for a moment, then shrugs lightly, hands crossed in her lap. "I know as well as you that the prism has a mind of its own."

"And yet." I lean back in my chair.

She watches me and her shoulders grow tense. "And yet... I can't help but feel betrayed. By you. By it. I mean, it hardly needs to be said. I was sent on this mission by the Mother Superior. It was ordained by Shar herself."

I listen patiently.

"There were six of us. People I had known my entire life." Her eyes are transfixed on the bottles. "I was the only one who survived. Such things are to be expected. It's what we had been trained for."

I slowly stand and pull a few glasses from my chest, placing them on the table. I pop the cork on one of the bottles and hand Shadowheart a glass. "And yet."

She takes the glass and looks into the dark wine. She swirls it gently before sniffing it. She sits back and looks up at me. "And yet."

We drink quietly.

She rests the glass in her lap. "What more is there to say?"

"Will this become an issue between us?"

"No. I'm not a child. I'll manage on my own. Honestly, the less I think about it, the better."

"I understand. If there is anything I can do, let me know."

She takes another sip. "I'll hold you to it. You owe me. I will be cashing in a favor. But only when it's the least convenient."

A small smile tugs at my lip. "I wouldn't expect any less."

The supplies are unloaded and the druids stay to help us break down camp.

Gretta pulls a rope taut and walks over to our ox. She gently pats his nose and looks him over. "I'm surprised you opted to buy such a weakly ox. If you would like, you can take ours. Luthar is very reliable."

I glance over at the ox. His ear flips and he turns his head, chewing a bit of grass. He's stout and looks very well mannered. "No, thank you. I'd rather you keep him. I'm sure your needs are far greater than my own. My ox has served me well. He may seem feeble, but he is fierce."

Gretta smiles and gives him another gentle pat on the nose. "He's very lucky to have you."

My ox shakes his head as if to flip a fly off his ear.

There is no fly.

The druids hop into their cart and we send them off with a gracious wave.

The ox champs and snorts impatiently. "Let us get on with it."

"Ah, so you do say more than two words!"

He snorts and pretends to get distracted by something on the road.

The path down the mountain pass is smooth, though it often dips, causing the cart to press into the ox's back. He remains steadfast, no complaints. Stubborn. Prideful.

I find Gale, his hand gripped tightly to the edge of the cart as we walk. "Here."

"Huh?" He looks at me sluggishly, then tips his head to see a jewel from his cache in my palm. "Oh. Yeah." He says in a clipped tone. He takes it from me and looks around. "I... I'll save it for tomorrow."

"You can use my tent if you'd like some privacy."

He considers my offer and tucks the necklace into his satchel. "I'll think about it." He says flatly before muttering. "Thank you."

I give him a gentle pat on the back and we carry on.

It takes two days to reach the road that leads to the white stone temple.

Gale had taken me up on my offer for privacy, and I seem to have earned the right to be handed my food directly once again. Progress.

It is decided that Astarion, Lae'zel, and Gale will scout the temple before the others join.

Shovel trails behind me, head hung low, tail dragging on the ground.

I slow until she catches up with me. "Shovel. I've never seen you so..." I search myself for the right word. "Despondent."

Shovel kicks a rock, and it tumbles into the grass. "Master Neely is going to snap Shovel back into the Abyss today." Her little belly distends as she takes a heavy sigh. "She no want to go back... snacks are shite in the Abyss."

I purse my lips. I'm starting to pick up Astarion's mannerisms. "It won't be forever, Shovel. Enjoy your day, you'll be back soon enough."

"UUGGHH!!!" She darts off into the bushes and birds take flight as the screeches of a petulant quasit tantrum echoes across the valley.

As we draw near, the road becomes a cobblestone path. If the iconography is any indication of deity, it seems to be a Temple of Lathander. The Morninglord.

We've seen no monks yet, and the statues lining the path seem overgrown.

The bell of the temple still rings like the ghost of a village crier.

Lae'zel approaches something covered in moss and dry ivy. She grips the hilt of a sword. The brittle ivy snaps and rustles as she pulls it free. The bones of a man lay ancient and clean.

"Tsk'va." She turns back to us. "This one is gith."

Gale stands behind her. "What could have possibly brought them here?" He turns back to me. "Perhaps that explains why things have been so quiet. This could have been a raid."

"If they raided, then they surely seized the temple." Lae'zel breathes. "A creche. The map was right."

Lae'zel strides ahead at an eager pace. We cross the face of the temple toward what seems to be a recessed garden leading to the doors of the temple. She quietly stops and ducks behind a wall.

We hear struggling and shouting ahead.

"Get your weird fingers off of me, Mragreshem!"

Peeking around the corner, I see the tiefling ranger that Gale had been speaking to.

Gale stammers. "Ellyka."

She's being pulled into the temple by a young githyanki soldier. The gith looks rather unremarkable. Pallid complexion, short brown hair.

He grunts, nearly losing his grip on her. "Stop struggling!"

"No!" She slaps him with her tail and kicks him in the center of his chest. He loses his breath and his hands slip, but he quickly latches onto her sleeve.

His patience snaps in that moment and he pulls his sword. "I said stop!" He begins striking her in a rage, each blow cutting deeper than the last.

She is snuffed out violently, but quickly.

The young warrior drops his sword, staring down at her.

"Ellyka!" Gale dashes out.

The soldier is caught off guard and quickly dashes inside, leaving his sword behind.

Gale stops as the door slams behind the man. "Damn it!"

"Such vulgar language." I remark, standing next to Ellyka's body.

He ignores me and turns back to her, kneeling beside her.

"Mystra's mercy." He mutters, gently closing her eyes. "She was just trying to start a new life after being exiled from Elturel."

"I wonder what he wanted with her."

He glances at me from over his shoulder.

"Step back, Gale."

"Vash…" He says, drained.

I wait patiently.

"You're right... I don't want to know." He gets up and walks over to a collection of crates and sits.

Lae'zel sits next to him. "The novice was undisciplined. It is a shame he slipped past you."

My hand reaches into the Weave as I beckon Ellyka to rise.

Astarion steps up next to me.

"What did the gith want with you?"

She wheezes as I pull air into her lungs. "Weapon… Blood… of Lathander."

Astarion snorts. "Blood of what? Lathander?"

"What is the Blood of Lathander?"

She groans. "Powerful… relic. Hidden… Came to…. Retrieve. Valuable."

"Do you know where it is?"

"No."

I shake my head. "What do you know?"

Another wheeze. "Only... a rhyme."

"What is the rhyme?"

"East... west... blood is blessed... Beneath... sun... it finds... rest." Elyka falls, at rest once again.

Astarion and I glance at each other. He puts a hand on my arm. "Well now. What was the rhyme again? East West?"

"Blood is blessed. Beneath the sun, it finds rest."

Astarion smiles and boops my nose. "Mind like an iron trap."

Gods he's annoying.

A humming and muttering comes from up the trail.

Astarion's focus shifts and he sniffs the air.

"What is it?"

His eyes go wide.

A kobold with an armful of wine bottles rounds the corner, jolly and blissfully unaware of our presence. He seems to be mildly drunk.

Astarion gasps in a very Astarion way and suddenly charges the poor man.

The kobold notices the barreling twink and drops a wine bottle. "What's this?! Attack! No no. Bandy doesn't wants to fight!" He drops another wine bottle which shatters, staining the path and filling the air with fragrant spirits. He runs as fast as his little legs can carry him, but Astarion overtakes him, tackling him to the ground.

"No!!! Bandy is too drunks for this!" His tail lashes as he struggles against Astarion's weight. Astarion may not seem it, but he is deceptively strong. I know the kobold is lost. The remaining two bottles of wine roll out of his arms and across the stone path.

Astarion digs his fangs deep into his neck and begins to drink voraciously.

Shovel hobbles down the path toward us. Bird corpse in one hand, an egg in the other. She stops mid-stride, seeing Astarion exsanguinating the Kobold. The egg drops from her claws, and she darts over to me, gripping my leg while gawking, speechless for once.

I fold my arms, letting Astarion have his fun.

Bandy screams uselessly but he quickly fades away.

Gale and Lae'zel flank me as we witness the little show.

"Ush... I never thought I'd get the opportunity to watch a vampire feed, but... I guess there's something to be learned from it." One of the rolling bottles of wine taps Gale's foot. He picks it up and looks to Lae'zel. She gives a vague smile and nods. He tucks it away.

Astarion finally breaks and leans back with a deep, euphoric sigh. He stands, wiping his mouth, sticking the remaining wine bottle in his satchel.

He slinks back to me, looking full and elated. "Finally. I've always wanted to try Kobold. They've always smelled so sweet. So succulent."

"And? Did it live up to your wildest dreams?" I'm grinning.

He purses his lips and reflects for a moment. "It's sweet, yes, but not as sweet as a certain Tiefling's blood." He drags his fingers up my arm.

"Sweet? I'm surprised you put up with the taste of sulfur."

"Maybe not sweet. You're more like a brazed steak. I think..." He sighs dramatically. "I don't know, just take the compliment."

I shake my head with an amused snort. I turn my focus to Shovel. She's still clutching my trousers. "Shovel. I want to make a bargain with you."

She gasps sharply. "YEAHHH! What does Master Neely need? What's the bargain? WHAT'S THE BARGAIN!?"

"There is a weapon lost in the temple. I need you to find it for us." I shift into a mocking mutter. "Burn down the grove. Find the weapon."

"No need to reflect on your own self-awareness." Astarion grips my arm. "Tell the demon baby what you need."

"Right. It's a holy relic called The Blood of Lathander."

"Blood! Easy. Shovel can sniff it out!"

"The blood may only be in name, so don't rely solely on that. There is a poem that should help give you a clue as to its whereabouts."

"What's the poem! Hurry! Shovel's feet itch!"

"East, West, blood is blessed. Beneath the sun it finds rest."

She mutters the words back to herself several times in quick succession. Amazingly articulate. "Okay. Now. The bargain. What does Shovel get when she finds it?"

"Three more days, of course."

"YEEEAAAAAHHHH!!!!!!!" Shovel darts forward toward the temple before stopping at the foot of the doors. She slowly turns back to us. "Shovel can't open the doors."

I walk over and push one of them open. As soon as it's cracked wide enough for her, she scurries through and it gone once more.

The fluttering of bird's wings and the hollow whistle of wind through empty halls welcomes us. The temple is built with stacked white stone columns, and stained-glass windows. All depicting religious iconography.

This place has been abandoned for some time. Evident from the thick vines creeping over every wall and draping placidly from various ledges.

Passing through the open corridors we see several walls are crumbling and fallen. I approach one. The patina is the same from crack-to-surface. They didn't crumble from time; this was likely an attack.

The halls are littered with the bodies of skeletal monks, and Githyanki soldiers. Lae'zel eyes the soldiers with a measured intensity.

"This battle was far bloodier than what I would expect from the monks from your world. I assumed them a more peaceful people."

Gale nods. "You're not entirely wrong, it depends on which god they serve. This is a temple of Lathander, the Morninglord. If memory serves, these monks wouldn't necessarily have been warriors, but they wouldn't have pacifists, either. In all honesty, I always found Lathander's doctrine to be a bit... annoyingly optimistic. Even for me. Still, I don't doubt they had the means to put up a fight against Githyanki invaders. I'm also not surprised that they lost."

Lae'zel scoffs. "T'chk. Of course they lost. Optimism could never hold up to the might Githyanki steel. It's almost embarrassing so many gith fell in the battle."

I don't hold back my chuckle.

Silt covers the ground, but I clearly see the fresh footprints of the gith that ran. They lead down some broken marble stairs.

Astarion is meandering, looking for any clues that might fit the corpse's rhyme.

I glance at him. "Find anything?"

"No." He snaps. "You know, you could be helping me."

I merely grin at him. "I don't like getting my nails dirty. That's why I have you and Shovel."

He rolls his eyes and follows us down the stairs. We come to two heavy double doors. Behind it we hear the hum of voices. Staunch and stilted. Unmistakably Gith.

We all look at Lae'zel, slaves once again. She lifts her chin and pushes the doors open.

A small gathering of gith soldiers guard the entrance. Lae'zel is prepared, as we follow dutifully behind her.

"Hold! You are not from Creche Y'llek. What is your business here?" She glances back at us passively. Taking inventory of Lae'zel's assets.

I track the prints of the boy. They pass the guards and veer right before disappearing for lack of dust.

Lae'zel rolls her shoulders back. "I am Lae'zel of Creche K'liir. I demand an audience with your Ghustil."

"You seek aid?" She pauses, appraising Lae'zel. "What is your need?"

Lae'zel snaps. "My need is great. Your Ghustil." She holds the woman's stare.

After a static moment, the guard nods her head down the corridor. "To your left, then take another left. She may be distracted, so do not expect a warm reception." She gives Lae'zel a smug grin as we trudge past.

The remnants of this temple seems a poor host for a creche, but the Githyanki made do. As we enter the central chamber, we see a tall and imposing portrait of a Gith Queen. Undoubtedly Vlaakith.

Lae'zel approaches it and bends the knee in reverence.

My mind begins to drift, and I decide to explore the chamber.

A training room catches my eye, and I hear the voice of the young warrior.

The training room has several gith novices rigorously training. Their form is remarkable, though some are notably more controlled than others.

The young warrior is speaking with the instructor.

I close my eyes and bow my head, allowing my mind to become as still as possible.

"I know she had information on the prism, but she was being difficult."

"Difficult? Explain to me why you couldn't subdue a single tiefling ranger?"

"She was thrashing, I barely kept my grip. In the end I struck her down. If we get her body we can..."

"You were so incapable of bringing me a single prisoner, that you answer was to kill her and rob us of a proper interrogation?"

"What all could she have to say that she can give in five questions?"

I hear the strike of a hand against a cheek. "Insolent! Foolish! Weak!" A strike follows each word.

There is a titter of mocking laughter.

"Well, where is her body?"

"Not here, I left it in the courtyard. I was charged by a man who seemed to know her, so I had no time."

"So, you ran." The instructor's voice cuts with indignity. "I am through trying to correct you, boy. First you strike down a prisoner without proper combat, and when combat comes to balance the scales, you run. Tsk'va. Nothing but a coward!"

"I would have easily killed the man, but he came with others. I was outnumbered."

"If you'd been paying attention to my lessons you could have dispatched them all without a second breath."

I open my eyes and enter the training room. A few of the trainees stop and gawk at the strange, loose slave.

When the young man finally spots me he scowls. "Him! He's one of them!"

"Is he?" The instructor approaches me. He slowly walks around me. He pulls back my cloak before tossing it back in place. With a quick glance he measures my height. He kicks my boot with a few firm taps. He finally gives a mild grunt.

"Combat. It's more than you deserve. Daggers only."

I pull a blade and step forward.

"Hold!" The instructor holds up his hand, giving me a subtle smirk. "Blood thirsty slave."

A few of the novices laugh lightly and the instructor turns to the young warrior. "Dagger."

The warrior hesitates; eyes fixed on me. He retreats to the Quarter Master who hands him a modest blade. He's undercut him.

I take off my cloak, draping it over a banister. I brace my footing, one in front of the other, my knees bent slightly. My body is pivoted, right shoulder forward. I hold my dagger, wrist loose, fingers firm.

He approaches, holding the blade laterally, defensive.

I wait.

He lunges, and I shift, avoiding the clumsy strike. My lips straighten as I brace myself once again.

He staggers from the momentum but regains his balance. He pivots, and holds the blade high, tip angled down. He lurches forward and swings.

I side-step once again, feeling pity.

It only takes a blink. Neck open. Body battering the ground. Sliding from his own momentum before coming to a halt.

I kneel down, placing my fingers in his pooling blood, closing my eyes once again.

"Excellent!" The instructor turns to the students. "Simple and efficient. Remember this..."

He continues to lecture as I make my way out.

The unmistakable vice that had been clenching my will has loosened. The crawling madness has subsided. A most unceremonious dispatching for such profound relief.

I feel his blood between my fingers.

A solution for every problem.