Hestia strolls behind Gale as she takes in the entire refugee camp: Kids, the elderly, young adults who couldn't be older than eighteen. They are all huddled in a druid's grove under makeshift tarps held by bare threads as some sort of stew is being slow cooked over a campfire.

Meekah points aimlessly around her, "This is where all the important people hang out."

Hestia nods thoughtlessly as she stares at a young tiefling boy stumble around with carrying a crate of torches.

Her elven ears prick up at the sound of swords scraping at each other.

At a wooden platform in the grotto is the roguish dark-skinned man from the battle of the goblins. He seems to have recovered rather quickly and is currently teaching a young tiefling boy how to not cry when holding a sword.

"You seem awfully quiet when our friend isn't awake compared to earlier", Shadowheart peers next to Hestia as they approach the dark-skinned man from earlier.

"I have a lot on my mind right now!" Hestia eyes widen exasperatedly, "And, well, in it."

Shadowheart shoots her a look.

"Hey, Wyll!" Meekah waves at the dark-skinned man, "We got more people."

Wyll turns to the entourage of scrawny saviours of the grove.

"Well met", he bows his head chivalrously, "The name is the Blade of Frontiers, but friends call me Wyll."

Now that they meet face to face, Hestia could see that the Blade of Frontiers, which she thinks is a brilliant name by the way, only has one brown eye. The other one replaced with a sphere of rigid stone. Hestia would swoon at the Prince Charming incarnate if not for company.

"Hi, Wyll! I'm Hestia Balfour, darling", she grins, her toes tipped up as she sways.

Gale looks at her. From Hestia's standpoint, he almost looked jealous, though she couldn't figure out why.

"Gale, Wizard of Waterdeep!" the usually verbose wizard nods, "Archmage, in fact! Former archmage, but historically archmage regardless!"

"Oh," Shadowheart smirks, "Are we friends then, Wyll the Blade of Frontiers? Quite a hero act you've got going."

What in the hells was her problem? Hestia thinks to herself.

Meekah shrugs briskly, "We have one more over there by the hay."

"Ah, the barbarian woman!" Wyll turns his head to where Mina is resting. His eye widens. "...a Minos?"

He walks briskly towards the hay pile where Mina's head rests upon.

"You know her?" Shadowheart scrunches her eyebrows, readying herself for the gossip.

"Not her specifically, but that face tattoo", Wyll gestures to Mina's ornate white face tattoo painted over her forehead, cheeks, and neck, "That's the tattoo of Yggdrasil, adorned only by the scions of the house Minos in Baldur's Gate."

Hestia thinks back to when Mina had once mentioned her family multiple times. She just thought it was a different Minos family. Meenoos probably.

"Wait, HOUSE Minos?" Gale leans forward at Mina's unconsious body as if the revelation was physically heavy for him, "You're telling me this woman, who bit a bugbear's face off, is nobility?"

"She did say that the pale elf doesn't seem like a noble", Shadowheart confirms.

"HEY-" Hestia starts.

"Not you, there's another one back at camp."

"And she did tell me how much she misses home in Baldur's Gate a few years ago. I was so surprised she had a home that I didn't ask more", Meekah taps her chin with the stem of her pipe.

"House Minos is known through the Sword Coast only by those in the Upper City, or those who have lived to tell the tale", Wyll narrates dramatically, "I've met a couple during my adventures. They are nomads by tradition. A great foe to fight against. A great friend to drink with. Ferocious in battle, yet graceful in person."

The group watches as a stream of drool trickles down from Mina's mouth.

"...At least in legend", Wyll blinks.

"I'm thinking I'll have some stern words with Astarion later", Shadowheart kicks the dirt.

Hestia coughs from the dust.

"You guys hungry?" Meekah interrupts, "I'm hungry. Let's go check the stew."

The cauldron boiled a gumbo of something gray, gray, and with a touch of gray. The old tiefling lady stirs the concoction of her skin color with a wooden spoon like the grayness didn't mix properly yet.

Hestia stares at the cauldron, then at the old tiefling, then back at the cauldron.

"Fancy a bowl?" The old lady smiles as she offers a bowl of gray goop.

Meekah's drow face scrunches at the bowl as her hands rest on her hips.

"...yeah alright, gimme some."

Meekah snatches the bowl from the lady's hands and walks off.

The tiefling lady blinks, then turns her head to Hestia.

"Well, she's enthusiastic", the old lady shrugs, "What, say you, love? Look, it ain't much, but I heard about the fighting out there. Some energy is better than no energy."

"Oh no no! I didn't think anything about the gruel", Hestia waves her hands, "I grew up eating gruel! That's right, I grew up eating gruel. I ate so much I worked to eat something other than gruel. Yeah."

She huffs as if out of breath.

"Anyway, I'll take it. Thank you!"

Hestia awkwardly shuffles away, careful not to spill the gruel on her filthy bard clothes. She finds Meekah sitting near the corner on a small rock surrounded by multicolored tiefling children. Her bowl of gruel sitting beside her, half-eaten and forgotten.

"It's like when you do a sleight", Meekah holds her hands up in front of a tiefling boy with curly brown hair and purple skin, "And stand back a little so I can show you. Right here."

Meekah moves the tiefling boy back with her hands slightly forcefully, then pulling her hand back and putting it into her satchel.

"See? I pretend to pick something out from the bag when in actually..." She brings her hand back out and flips out a steel lockpick between her fingers, "I reveal the lockpick you tried to nick from me."

The boy's eyes widen. He backs away, face full of fear as he scrambles away.

Meekah smiles at Hestia, though her eyes shift to the corner, "They always do that. Anyway, there's a kid behind you."

Hestia screams as she turns around and looks down. She comes face-to-face with a small tiefling girl with tiny little horns sticking up in front of her headband.

The little girl looks more confused than frightened even though her entire body is shaking.

"H-hi", the girl stutters as she scrunches herself into a ball at the sight of a frazzled high elf with searing, unblinking gray eyes, "I like your satchel."

The two girls stare at each other, unmoving, while Shadowheart and Gale walk past them, staring silently as they carry their bowls of gruel.

"Thanks?" Hestia squeaks.

"Um... uh," the girl scratches her temple, "C-can I have it, please?"

"NO?"

"Oh, okay", the girl whispers, "Bye."

The tiefling girl turns around and trots up the hill with her tail tucked between her legs.

Meekah nods, "That kid was going for your satchel while you weren't looking. Nice thinking."

Hestia decides that her scream was intentional.

"You lost your stuff?" Meekah leans in as she wipes the last remaining gruel off her lips.

"I was backstage for a show at the Sandstone", Hestia gestures while lying on her back, her head resting on a rock.

"Oh, the Sandstone!" Gale exclaims, leaning in, "Where the poet Bluefist started out!"

"Yeah, exactly!" Hestia nods enthusiastically, "If I'd known there would be a SPACE TENTACLE grabbing me I would have carried my shortswords and crossbows out here in... where are we exactly?"

"Mina said we were somewhere along the Chionthar", Shadowheart asks, sitting on a crate as her legs swing crossed together, "but, you fight?"

"I was trained as a blade at school. I perform sword tricks", Hestia corrects her, "You know, in between songs when there's an interlude I like to talk about my adventures."

"She does it while shooting five targets and upside down", Meekah adds.

"Well, I mean," Hestia sputters, "I didn't want to brag! Plus, it's the songs that are the main show. Right?"

"Sure," Meekah silently shakes her head at Shadowheart.

Shadowheart tilts her head, puzzled by the duo's existence, "A drow and an elf. How do you two know each other?"

The duo turn their heads to Mina in sync.

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

Shadowheart thins her lips, "Well, Hestia Balfour. You've got quite a human name for an elf."

"Lots of people have human names", Hestia stares at her.

"Obviously it's a stage name!" Gale snaps his fingers as everyone turns to him, "A down-to-earth name for a performer specializing in folk music!"

The look Hestia gives him could wilt him a flower, and it does.

"Folk music?" Wyll tilts his head, "I would certainly be intrigued by that genre!"

"Yes, play a song of yours", Shadowheart smirks.

"Right now?" Hestia asks as she unbuckles her lute reluctantly.

"Sure."

"Like, right now, right now?"

"Just play'em a damn song!" Meekah looks away as she puts her pipe in her mouth.

"Uh, okay", Hestia plucks a few strings on her lute, "This is Arv, everyone say 'hi Arv'!"

"Hello, Arv!" Gale grins.

"This is a song called Funtimes in Elturel... and it goes something a little like this-"

"Did somebody say Elturel?" Comes a voice from above Hestia. A handsome orange tiefling man descends into her view staring down at her with sky blue eyes.

Hestia sits up. Today has broken her record for most photogenic collection of strangers met in a single day.

"I'm from Elturel. Well, all of us are", the tiefling man gestures to the refugees surrounding the camp, "We had to move after the Descent."

"No shit", Meekah raises her eyebrows as smoke comes out her nose, "Where are you planning to go?"

"Anywhere that could take our kind, at least. Zevlor thought Baldur's Gate would be the only place left that might take tieflings after Elturel came back. I'm Dammon, by the way. I'm the blacksmith. Or, at least, used to be."

"Sorry, are we sitting in your space?" Hestia stands up.

"No! Well, yes, but it doesn't matter," Dammon shakes his head, "My client base is very limited as of now."

"Hestia lost her stuff. Two shortswords and two crossbows", Meekah interjects.

"Well I DID. But I don't have any money with me, so-"

"Hey, I've got something, actually", Dammon rummages through his inventory chest in the back, tossing out blunt clubs, dirty ill-fitting armor, and leather working tools.

"How's this?" The tiefling man produces a simple shortsword and a cheap crossbow, compact enough to fit in one hand.

"Uh-ugh-eh-" Hestia stutters, "For me?"

"Wait", Shadowheart scoots closer from her crate, "What do you want in return? Besides goodwill, of course."

Dammon places the weapons into Hestia's lap, "We're starting to lose the welcome of the druids here. After the leader Halsin left, they've been trying to perform some sort of ritual, some ritual that requires all of us to leave."

Hestia points down to the heart of the grove, "So you want us to-"

"Just help us check on them. See maybe you could talk some sense into them, being non-tieflings, after all."

"Alright. Deal!" Hestia grins.

"Aye", Meekah nods, "Couldn't hurt to ask."

Shadowheart snorts, "We should recuperate at camp first. Might be better if we had more... muscle in our group."

She tilts her head at the snoring lady in the hay.

"Right", Hestia's shoulders drop.

"Y'alright", Meekah empties out her pipe.

Hey, mummy?

But I want to be ready. I want to be ready now, mummy! Watch me, mummy! Watch me! Look mummy! I'm flying! I'm flying-

Mina gasps as her eyes jolt open to the silhouette of dark trees and the grey sparkles of stars.

She's lying on her back. As she wipes the tears out of her eyes, Mina feels the blanket covering her chest and legs. The remnants of a campfire crackle quietly beside her, the warmth simmering on her skin. She's in some kind of camp. Her camp.

She sits up, eyes squinting in the darkness to see who else is around her. About twenty footsteps away from her she could barely make out the shape of a ginger elf lying on a bedroll clutching her lute, a purple tent with the entranced closed, and an ashtray left out in the open air.

They must have carried her back to camp. Mina rubs her eyes as she hears the rustling of leaves beside her, along with the cocky cadence of footsteps.

"Oh, you're awake, finally", a pale elf emerges from the brush, casually brushing a crisp leaf off his shoulder as he saunters into camp, "I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to stop snoring."

"Oh, yeah", Mina smiles bashfully, "I tend to faint if I charge without having eaten. Why are you up?"

"I like to stroll at night. Less chance to meet unsavoury *people*. Makes no difference in nature nor city, really. Speaking of city, I heard that somebody is a rich little noble and never told anyone."

"Oh, who?"

"You, dear."

"Oh, right", Mina rubs the back of her head, "I guess it never came up. How did you know?"

"We have a new member to our delightful party. Wyll, Mr. Blade of Frontiers. Quite the prince charming type. You two should get to know each other. Maybe try to see if he's truly more blade than dagger", he smiles slyly.

Mina blinks, "Okay."

Astarion sighs, clearly Mina didn't understand something he said, "Goodnight, princess."

Mina watches as he strolls off into his tent. Mina wonders what Astarion meant by dagger. Obviously, he would have been called the Dagger of Frontiers, right?

As she stews silently in the dark, Mina suddenly feels a presence watching her. She jerks her head into the woods and finds herself eye to eye with a pair of glowing red eyes, unblinking and unmoving, between the shadows of trees casting rays of moonlight.

The red eyes stay wide open as Mina stares back at them.

"Helloo!" Mina decides to say, waving her hands at it.

The eyes don't respond. It's a wolf, Mina assumes. She looks around to see if there are any more eyes that she isn't aware of staring at her. Suddenly, a chill goes down her spine: Betty Girl is nowhere to be found. Did her friends bring her to camp? Where is she? She'll have to get another maul if they abandoned her.

"Helloo", a raspy, whispery voice echoes back at Mina from the woods. Mina stares back at the red eyes that now blink slowly at her.

"Wh- hey!" Mina breaks into laughter, "Hello!"

Mina scoots over from her bedroll, tapping the ground next to her.

"You friendly?"

The red eyes blink slowly, tilting as it seems to parse Mina's question. Then, the red eyes turn, gently fading as it disappears gradually into the woods.