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Chapter Text

Yesterday the view from this spot was magnificent. The way the light had danced across the odd cliffs and deep valleys of the land cast the former Rosymorn Monastery in a brilliant light. The still standing great statue of Lathander shone with his light despite long having been taken over by the Githyanki. Even Zilver’s ever-present violent urges had calmed at the sight as if in awe.

This evening, however, the view was far less pleasant. Smoke and soot obscure most of the sky while dust and rubble still occasionally tumble down into the depths below. Now, as the setting sun still casts its final wane rays over the shattered monastery it lights on nothing but ruins. The sight still quells his urges but with a sick sense of satisfaction at its own handiwork.

Worse still, yesterday Zilver had stood at this spot with his friends at his back. Today he is alone, left to look at his mistake while those same friends debate whether or not to abandon him, his chaotic magic, and ruinous urges.

The tall drow growls to himself before dropping to his knees. What had he done in his past life to be so plagued by these endless uncontrollable desires? Zilver had not needed the holy Morningstar nor was his addled mind unable to recognize the obvious security in place. But that sweet holy blood at its core sung so sweetly to his urges that his hands had closed around the weapon’s handle without his input. When he wrenched it from its cradle, triggering the destruction of the entire monastery, the Githyanki crèche nestled within, and any other poor creatures left in its wake.
 
He sighs and flops back, careful not to let his horn tips dig into the dirt into the ground. Overhead, dusk fades to twilight and the familiar stars of Faerûn creep into view once again. Zilver can just see the beginnings of smoke rising on the edge of his vision towards where he knows camp to be. As grateful as he is not to have hear Lae’zel fervently argue for his death or to hear Astarion’s true opinions of him - especially after briefly getting him killed in the blast - he wants just wants to be back at camp.
  
While the whole group - Lae’zel, Karlach, Astarion, Shadowheart, Gale and Wyll - had been traveling together for a few weeks now, their camp had quickly become home for Zilver. With nothing left of his past, the easy comforts of Gale’s cooking and Wyll’s melodic voice enchanted him, as did Karlach’s fiery glow. The eclectic group had grown oddly close, likely in part due to their shared affliction. Battling goblins, cultists, and gnolls probably also had something do with it. Since Lae’zel and Shadowheart had finally reached a truce over their differences things in camp had been nearly familial.

Excluding all of the times Zilver had indulged his urges, or his magic had flared up, that is. Zilver had spent every moment after the death of Alfira trying to redeem himself in the eyes of his companions but despite his efforts, today’s tremendous fuck-up only one in a line of mistakes littered with dead bodies and mutilated squirrels. Why the party hadn’t cut him loose yet was a mystery. Especially after he turned them all into cats and dogs while fighting. On multiple occasions. He can still hear Gale yelling at him about it.

What was the point of resisting when the urges seemed able to control his body? Perhaps it also was the real cause of his chaotic magic instead of whatever head trauma he had. Maybe he’d be better going over the cliff than returning to camp.

A strange CRACK from overhead has Zilver on his feet and battle ready in an instant., morose thoughts cast aside. A sizzling green magic erupts from the sky as a small portal opens up, just above the small overlook. There’s a pause, as if the whole plane briefly held its breath, before a black and white blur tumbles out of the portal with a shriek.

From beyond the portal, a deep, smokey voice calls out, “Play nice, baby~” before whatever magic held it open ends. The only sign it had ever been there was the woman left lying on the rocks. “Ow, fuck,” she groans, before slowly sitting up.

Long twin black braids running down her back, liberally decorated with gold. Even odder is the clothing she’s wearing, although it barely qualifies as such. Low cut and extremely short, the flimsy pieces of fabric, just covering her most intimate parts were held together with little more than delicate gold chains.

“Uh, hello?” Zilver says, trying to catch the woman’s attention without startling her too much. The scantily clad woman springs to her feet with a gasp, shooting Zilver a wicked glare while she brushed dirt from her palms. She’s small, though he finds most folks are small compared to him.

“Fuck! Where the hells did you come from?” the woman cries, staring intently at Zilver.

Zilver stares back. Her eyes are glowing, a piercing bright green with no pupils, shining like the emerging stars above. Intense golden and shimmery makeup traces their shape. Her gaze, despite the abruptness of her arrival, remains alert with the steady focus of a practiced survivor. Something Zilver’s urges seemed to respect, especially as she was able to look him in the eyes, which so few managed to do. 

As such, the urge only grumbles as he looks the black-haired human – sending vague visions of her blood through his mind – but with little bloodlust. Perhaps the urge was finally satisfied for the first time since he crashed on the beach. While it was nice to know it could be settled, knowing that it took the destruction of an entire creche full of people was stomach churning. And so many children.

It may also be contented just looking at the bruises and scars already marring portions of her exposed skin, which he assumes a polite person wouldn’t question. At least Gale and Wyll wouldn’t. The one on her neck is definitely a relatively fresh bite wound.

“Uh, I was kind of here first?” he replies, perplexed, when he finds his tongue again.

“Oh.” She casts her eyes around the clearing, careful to keep him in her line of sight. “And uh, where exactly is, here?” the woman asks, uncertainty heavy in her voice.

“We’re somewhere between Baldur’s Gate and Elturel, along the Sword Coast,” he answers. Confusion rather than familiarity flicks across her face as he speaks.

“And those are…?” She replies, quizzically.

“Where did you say you fell from again?” Zilver asks surprised. Even with his destroyed memories, he had retained some recollections of the world around him. That the names of two of the large cities on the Sword Coast did not ring any bells with this woman was alarming.

“I didn’t,” she says, “Sorry, I’ve just been – elsewhere, for a while, nothing feels, right…”  The woman shuffles her feet awkwardly, the motion instinctively tracked by his predator’s instinct. Defensiveness twists itself through the way her toes – bare – dig into the rocky terrain. Strange heavy scars wrapping around her ankle, as aged as the one across her cheek but surely still won’t feel great walking along the rocky ground.

For everyone’s sake, he really should let the underdressed woman walk far, far away from him. It would only be a matter of time before the urges returned, exposing everyone around him to violence. The same gristly fate could befall anyone he brought to camp. That so far, his companions had only been incidentally harmed by his urges was only chance – though Astarion would surely dispute his most recent death was far from ‘incidental.’ He was straining their goodwill already.

“I just need a moment,” she says firmly, as if to reassure herself as much as Zilver. But there’s no confidence in her posture.

“Are you sure?” The others are not going to like this, he thinks as he continues, “I’m Zilver. I have a camp not too far from here, with some others. We have food and something you can change in to and probably shoes.” He says, gesturing uncomfortably at her clothing without pointing at any specific part of her.

“Thanks, but-,” she says after a moment clearly about to decline. The image of Ellyka - the tiefling who had laughed in his face when he suggested she join them on the Risen Road - lying dead in the Githyanki prison flashes through his mind. Going on alone had not saved her. It would surely kill this woman who seemed even more than dazed himself. With all the cultists crawling around too, there was little chance she would survive on her own. The party could at least part with some supplies, maybe bring her back part of the way to the Emerald Grove…surely it was safe while his urges were contented. At least for one night.

One night should be safe, especially if the others keep an eye on him this time. He’s just got to get her back to camp.

The woman continues, oblivious to his inner debate. “I’m sure this-“ she nods to her overall appearance “-looks bad, but I really don’t need any help, I’ll figure it out. Now, I really have to be goin– Hey! What the fuck do you think you’re doing,” The woman exclaims with outrage as Zilver grabs her. The human lashes out as he moves forward, managing a few surprisingly strong hits against him as she does. But she’s still little match for the drow’s own strength, and Zilver manages to swing the woman over his shoulder, pinning her legs with his forearm.

“Hey, you have no godsdamn right to do this to me, asshole! Put me down!”

“Look, you’re clearly not ready to be out here and these days its way to too dangerous to be underprepared,” Zilver says trying to channel Halsin’s calm energy that he envied so greatly. While also not looking at the rather, exposed ass draped over his shoulder. “We’ll give you some gear and directions, but I swear no one will make you stay after that.”

He feels the woman slump against his back, “If I agree will you put me down?”

He glances down at her bare feet, kicking below his elbow, “Sorry, but it’s either I carry you or you shred your feet crossing over the rocks. But I can carry you another way if you’d like?

The woman gives a disgruntled sigh, before she says – more to the open air than to Zilver - “Oh for fucks sake, fine.” Zilver maneuvers her back over his shoulder and into his arms in a simple carry. She slumps into his arms with a huff. He elects to stride on in silence for a little while, letting the woman calm down.

When things seem more reasonable, he asks, “So uh, what’s your name?”

He walks in silence for long enough that Zilver assumes she was ignoring him, when the woman finally says,

“Selska”
 

The dirt and grass of the clearing gives way to mossy stones as Selska watches the ground pass by under the odd elf - Zilver’s - feet. As uncomfortable as she was being carried again, given the onslaught of unfamiliar sensations, she was not having to navigate the ground barefoot may have been a blessing. Since suddenly entering the Material Plane after at least a year spent in the Abyss under her demonic keeper’s ‘loving’ eye, the heavy weight of true reality was overwhelming.

The weight of gravity itself is much heavier, and it presses against her like so many stones. Distant sounds of forest life echo through the odd and beautiful canyons that surround them. Fresh warm air wafts across her skin, drawing goosebumps to her skin and bringing the smell of sweet grass and summer flowers into her gasping lungs.

While in hindsight, Selska should have expected that that bastard Graz’zt would not give her warning when he finally decided to send her after the Crown and start their bet, but she had naively expected some sort of heads up when the terms of their deal went into effect. Selska especially had not expected Graz’zt to simply stride into his bathroom that evening where she was lounging after a bath with the lamiae, pick her up, and with quick a kiss, thrown her backwards into one of the pools. She had just caught the Demon Lord flashing her a smile as he called out, “Showtime, baby,” before the Argent Place faded from view.

She had no time at all to orient herself before being confronted with the first mortal being she had seen in centuries. Zilver - the elf who had proceeded to literally sweep her off her feet. Although he might not really be an elf, as even Selska’s addled memories could recall male drow tended to be slender and humanoid, whereas Zilver was a hulking man in mass and height. Drow also did not have horns or patches of silver scales across their face and bodies from what she can recall, and yet Zilver has both.

The shining silver scales across his face are attractive, contrasting nicely with his gray-purple skin. Red tattoos trace the scale’s undersides and outline Zilver’s eyes with swirling designs. From her perspective, Selska can see curious runic scars spilling over his chin and wrapping down to his collarbones. They look painfully acquired even if a deliberate choice. But not quite as much as whatever must have happened to his right eye – a fresh bloody thing all but leaking blood from its reddened sclera. An alien aura lingers around him, as does the metallic scent of blood, too engrained to just be from his damaged eye.

Briefly, his lone silver eye – alert and predatory - meets hers and Selska quickly directs her eyes away, cheeks flushing. One thing she had not considered when making her bet with Graz’zt would be having to encounter other living beings again. She found herself uncomfortable and unsure of how to handle the first non-demons she’d met in a literal age, especially unarmed and practically naked. Wearing this outfit had been embarrassing enough around demons but around other humans it was mortifying. Even more so when being carried around.

Aw, shy baby? Don’t worry, you look adorable in his arms like that~

Graz’zt’s voice rings through her head like a gong, sending a shock through her system. She figured he would have had some way to keep an eye on her but somehow it had never crossed her mind it would be so direct. The shattered remnants of her oath stir, flooding her veins with hatred. 

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” she replies aloud.

I’m just keeping an eye on you, baby. And make sure you get along with your new friends~

“Sorry, I’ll put you down as soon as we get to camp,” Zilver says apologetically without breaking his stride.

“No, I didn’t mean- I mean, I wasn’t talking to you…” she trails off lamely. The demon in her head chuckles.

Trying to recover, Selska tries to keep talking to Zilver, by blurting out the first thing she can think of. “What’s wrong with your eye?”

That’s polite Selska~

If Zilver agrees, he does not show it, as he answers, “I’m not entirely sure. I can’t quite remember anything from before the last tenday, but we think someone must have stabbed me.” He pauses for a moment then continues, “I don’t think letting Volo and that hag poke into my brain really helped it either, but the good news is I can’t feel the thing anymore.”

The contrast of his words with his actions leaves Selska at a loss for words, unsure of how to reply. Some of it sounds like nonsense.

Zilver nimbly moves them down a slope and into small copse of trees. Signs of living beings now pockmarked the landscape – largely reduced to crumbling walls. Noise and smoke from what must be his camp starts to rise in the distance.

Apprehension builds in her chest as they draw nearer to even more people. Selska had no idea how she was going to explain what was going either. Graz’zt had not bound her tongue in any way, but she was hardly willing to tell anyone she’d been one of the demon’s whores for the last year. Or the wager they made.

They break through the tree line into a torch lit ruin set against the cliff side. Even in the twilight the view of the canyons and mountains around them is expansive, showing a bit more of the still burning wreck of another ruin across the way.

A cooking fire burns in the middle of a circle of brightly colored tents. A small crowd of folks from all races sit around it, all turning to face them as Zilver carries her into camp. A few – a green skinned woman, and a man with horns like Zilver’s – rise to greet them. The man with a friendly smile but the woman with uneasy tension as she locks on to Zilver.

“Tsk’va – see? Again, his unhinged impulses bring more chaos to our lives,” The woman exclaims, turning to face the others around the fire. Behind her is a handsome human also with horns – clearly Zilver wasn’t as abnormal as she’d first thought –and a hulking tiefling woman with flames licking over her skin. Also around the fire is a chubby human man with strange purple facial marking and an even stranger aura; a glowering half-elf with dark hair and oddly familiar looking armor; and a pale elf, with sharp red eyes and a hunter’s stance.

The man says, “Lae’zel, easy. I’m sure Zilver has a good explanation for uh – this,” he finishes lamely as he finally seems to register exactly what Selska was wearing. He averts his eyes politely, a little flushed.

“I for one can’t wait to hear an explanation for how he managed to find a concubine way out here in the middle of nowhere~” drawls an erudite voice from the pale elf, casually strolling over.

“Hey!” Selska cries in protest, while in her head Graz’zt cackles. The remnant of her forgotten paladin’s oath rouses, anger stirring through her veins. Annoyingly, she knew the elf was right but hearing it so bluntly still stung.

“Well if the clothes fit…” the elf drawls.

“Astarion, please – you are not helping,” Zilver complains, though his voice slightly fond.

As a slight breeze stirs, the fiery woman sniffs the air and looks at Selska suspiciously. She, carefully sidestepping her companions wrapped in their argument. She pulls out an intimidating looking hammer and steps forward to stand defensively before the others. The others react quickly, drawing weapons or calling magic to their hands.

Well, now~ Graz’zt purrs, if it isn’t Zariel’s little guard dog, Karlach, all alone and off her leash. That boy smells just like her too. And I know I recognize that little wizard…Interesting~

“Solider, you might want to back away,” Karlach growls, flames on her body burning higher.

He steps between Selska and the others, cautiously with his arms outstretched, “Karlach? What’s wrong?”

“She reeks like a fucking tanar'ri that just came out of the Abyss, that’s what’s wrong~” Karlach  

Lae’zel leaps forward, large sword outstretched. The others remain tense, all of them fixated on Selska who swallows uncomfortably.

“Karlach, hang on. She’s not as monster! I was over there in the woods, and uh – Selska – here just fell out of the sky.” Zilver says, leaping to the defensive, though he keeps his weapons sheathed.

“So, you just picked her up and brought her back to camp?” Astarion and the tiefling exclaim in unison.

“Well, I mean, I couldn’t just leave her out here, could I? Look at her. She’s walking cult-bait like this.” Zilver says, gesturing towards Selska, aghast.

“Hang on! Walking what?” She cries. Her outburst goes ignored as the others continue.

In her head, Graz’zt starts to laugh loudly, making her flinch involuntarily. Zilver gently grabs her shoulder as if to catch her. She tries to shrug it off, but something in her face must betray her as the demon’s laughter echoes through her skull. Selska stammers, “I’m fine, really I just can’t – will you just shut up?” she finally hisses to Graz’zt, ignoring the looks it earns her.  

Come on baby, you’ve barely taken a step on your own yet and they already have you pegged. I can’t think of a better sign that you should just come back home.

“Look will you just put me the fuck down?” she demands, trying not to be distracted by the mocking laughter in her head. She tries not to let the doubt it sows appear on her face as she glances at Zilver. To her surprise, the drow nods, gently setting her to her feet but staying right behind her. The others shift slightly.

“Alright, alright look…I did come from the Abyss, but I am human. I’ve been trapped there by a demon for over a year, but I just got away. I mean, do you really think I’d be running around like this-” Selska gestures to her body “-if I had a choice?”

A few folks chuckle, including Zilver. The human mage and swordsman visibly relax. “And the demon just let you go huh? Or what? You managed to escape somehow?” Astarion scoffs, disbelief heavy in his voice.

Selska can’t stop from shooting him a glare before she tries to respond, “No. We, uh, well they and I-”

“Made a deal,” sigh Wyll and Karlach, both exchanging a look. Karlach drops her arm, hooking her hammer at her side. There’s a heavy look of sympathy mixed with pity in her eyes as she does. The others, besides Lae’zel and Astarion, follow suit and relax.

“Here, sit down,” Zilver says guiding her over to the logs in front to the fire.

“Take this,” says the human with horns, holding out a blue and purple cloak, “So you can, er. Cover yourself if you’d like.” The man coughs, “I’m Gale, by the way.”

By this point, even Lae’zel has put down her sword, though seeps a sharp eye locked on Selska’s every movement.

“Thank you, Gale” she says reaching out to take the cloak, drawing it backwards up to her shoulders to hide her lack of clothing. Something about the cloak reeks – a sharp and bitterly metallic scent tinged with necrosis and death. Yet somehow strangely familiar. She surely makes a face, and the man sheepishly mutters something about having been on the road before drawing back to join the others clustered nearby.

They seem to be arguing quietly.

“Hey Shadowheart, can you take a look at her?” Zilver asks the half-elf as he moves to join the group. The cleric – Shadowheart – steps over and presses a slender hand against her exposed hand followed by a soft whisper of a spell. Although she’s unharmed the magic still feels nice - soothing and cool like a shadow on a hot day. Ancient yet somehow more familiar than most things she had encountered so far. Odd.

“Any better?” she asks in a soft voice. Selska nods but the cleric’s response is short when voices rise from the small group by the fire.

“It’s hardly safer for her here with you barely able to restrain your urges, is it?” Lae’zel shouts, “All I see is you bringing home another victim for us to clean up.”

“Now, Lae’zel. That’s not wholly fair, I thought we all agreed that-” interjects Gale before he’s overwhelmed by the outcries of his compatriots. Shadowheart gives her an unreadable look before sliding over to the group. As she does, Zilver’s voice rises over the clamor once more.

“Look, at the very least she can stay the night – I’ll even stay up all night if I have too – and then we take her back to the Grove.” This triggers another round of outburst that drowns out the thread of conversation.

Selska catches a few more concerning words – ‘murder,’ ‘bloodlust,’ ‘angry lich queen,’ – before she decides getting away from this group of weirdos had to be her first priority. She could not let them try to dump her somewhere away from the crown’s trail either.

Rising slowly, one hand clutching the borrowed cloak to her chest. Gaze locked on the argument by the fire; she slowly starts to slip her way back towards the woods.

Aw baby~ Graz’zt croons Don’t sneak away. I promised to put you on the right path right? Trust me, dear cousin Raphy has been sniffing around this group for days now. Not to mention that the whole coast is in chaos. If the crown is anywhere in Toril, these folks will lead you to it. Though I doubt they’ll just let you take it when they do~ 

“I’ll figure that out, but I do not need to stay this close to keep an eye on this group,” Selska whispers back, keeping an eye on the others as she does. “They won’t be hard to track.”

Before she can take another step, a skeletal hand lands on her shoulder, drawing a loud, startled yelp out of Selska. The group by the fire turns towards them abruptly a moment before Selska whirls around. She is met with a strangely fleshy skeleton, wrapped in golden headgear. Their eyes are bright and alive in a way that their body is not.

“Ah, it seems fate has seen it fit to return a prodigal daughter to the fold” says the skeleton, voice as dry as sand dunes and just as scratchy.

“A prodigal what?” she asks, trying to drown out Graz’zt’s own curious response to the skeleton.

“Withers?” Zilver asks, the entire group now looking at the pair, “What is it?”

“The warrior shalt stay,” The skeleton intones, blatantly ignoring them.

Astarion’s jaws drop, “What!”

“The forces aligned against thou cannot be defeated alone,” Withers says, addressing the group but gaze focused on Selska, “Thou dost needs allies.”

To her annoyance the skeleton’s words do start to make some sense. Though this group hardly seems like a safe bet, especially if Graz’zt was enthusiastic about her sticking around. But if they could lead her to the crown, some of their oddities could be overlooked. Getting sent away would probably end her mission before she even started.

“But uh, Withers,” Zilver says, tense, “What about my uh, issues?”

Withers replies calmly, “Be at ease. This one’s death is not yours to deliver.”

“She stays,” Withers’ dry voice states with finality.

Or maybe she could try to slip away again when they got closer to the crown. As there had been far too many references to murder and death for her comfort.

That’s it, new condition, you have to stay with your new friends’ baby, Graz’zt says, voice brimming with intrigue. This old bag of bones is fascinating~

“So, you would have us take some demon’s concubine into the Underdark? T’chk, we don’t have the supplies for another mouth, let alone one that can’t fight” Lae’zel adds with distaste.

The comment stings in its echo of Graz’zt’s sentiments. Instinctively, Selska retorts, “What, hey! Who said I can’t fight? I can keep up.”

“Aye,” Withers intones, “And so thou shalt stay.” The skeleton’s final words laying heavily over the group as the spooky figure retreats back towards a grouping of trees at the edge of camp.

“Oh yay, this is going to be fun!” Exclaims Karlach with unexpected enthusiasm, delightedly sitting on the other end of the log from Selska. “So just to get the monster out of the bag – what do you know about illithid tadpoles?”

“What?”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Everything alright?” Zilver calls to Selska from the other side of the tent, with concern.

Looking down at herself with dismay, Selska curses Graz’zt again before replying, “Yeah, just a moment”

To her horror, the hefty bundled set of chain armor, cloak, boots, and gauntlets Zilver brought her this morning had moments ago abruptly transformed with a flash of sickly green light. Graz’zt cackling all the while.

Now the ‘armor’ barely reaches past the tops of her thighs in the middle, the gentle fabric flouncing out in gauzy shades of deep purple around her thighs. While high necked, the way the gold trimmed corset and hefty gold shoulder piece pin the cloth tight across her torso leaves little to the imagination. The once reasonable boots now stretched over her knees, glimmering gold and elaborately tied up the sides.

Fuck knows what he’d done to the underwear that had been discreetly tucked inside the bundle, and she was not going to look.

“Graz’zt!” she whisper-yells as loud as she dares with Zilver standing outside, stopping the laughter. From the sounds of it the rest of camp was up as well, busily getting to work while the others started disassembling their camp and she hardly wanted to attract the whole group like this. At least the drow had been kind enough to let her use his tent last night, even if she hadn’t slept. The time difference between the Material and Abyssal planes mixed with adrenaline leaving her alert all night.

“Change it back, now!”

Hmm, no hums Graz’zt in her head.

“Fuck you,” Selska hisses.

Aww, that’s not nice, sweetheart. After I went out of my way to make you look so pretty~

“Selska? I’ve got to start taking my tent down now.” Prods Zilver, concerned.

“Alright! One moment,” Selska calls to Zilver, then sharply whispers to Graz’zt, “This wasn’t in the deal. And you said I’d get a fair shot. I’ll get killed running around like this!”

Her voice may have been a little too loud on the last note.

Oh, don’t worry baby, it’ll work just like you’re wearing armor but much prettier, that’s all. But watching you run around all covered up would have been so boring. This way we all get a nice show, purrs the demon in her skull.

True to the demon’s word it does still feels like she is wearing chain armor, a heavy weight pressing on her body even where her illusory clothes touch. Out of options, Selska sighs. Though after what she had learned about her companion’s current predicament her situation may not seem too wild. The entire group– excluding Withers, Scratch the dog, and a druid named Halsin who had wandered back camp late last night – was infected with some sort of tadpole that would horrifically transform all of them into mindflayers unless they found a cure.

Not only was the others’ only source of protection pursued by more Githyanki, the cultists of an unknown new god, and gods knew what else; but it was possessed by a mysterious entity that claimed to be their best protection. In addition, they had rather casually mentioned that Astarion was a vampire; Lae’zel was a newly minted betrayer; Wyll was a Warlock; Zilver’s tadpole was causing some ‘questionable’ desires; and that both Gale and Karlach were liable to explode at any minute. None of them knew what was going on with Withers, as they called the weird skeleton. He just came and went as he wanted.

Taken together the oddities of these folks more than overshadowed her problem with Graz’zt. At least so far the demon wanted to keep her alive, albeit in a manner she hated. While that might change in the prince’s long-term goals, Selska hopes she can get away well before that.

But first she needs to leave the tent.

Determined she gathers together her discarded ‘robes’ with a sigh, balling them up under her arm and emerging from the tent into the bright light of day.

Zilver’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head when she steps out, a purple flush rising on his grey cheeks. There are definitely some snickers from the others who mostly finished taking down the camp. With the tents gone, the clearing looks desolate,

“Oh, uh, was there something wrong with what I gave you?” the drow stammers, looking awkwardly at her hairline.

“Not exactly,” she replies, “My uh, demon decided what you gave me wasn’t ‘pretty’ enough and did this.” She punctuates her words by gesturing lamely to her outfit. More giggles erupt, echoing around the canyon, only to be loudly and unsuccessfully shushed by Wyll who looks apologetically towards her.

Zilver clears his throat, “Well that’s...something…” he says, uncomfortably trailing off.

“I for one, am thrilled to have someone around with a sense of style,” Astarion drawls, wandering over, “If your demonic patron feels like being generous, I for one would be glad to enjoy such generosity.”

I like this one. Maybe I’ll share later if you make it long enough huh? ~

Selska just stares blankly at the vampire in disbelief anyone would want anything from Graz’zt. Zilver sighs, shifting to start taking down his sparse tent. Offhandedly, he says, “Gale manages the supplies, he might have a backpack for you with a few things for you to carry.” Then louder, “Hey Gale, do we have any spare weapons in the chest?”

A moment later the wizard calls back, “Karlach’s spare hammer, a broken quarterstaff, and some tiny daggers. Don’t you have something?”

“Oh, right,” the drow says. He pulls a blanket covered bundle from his bag and unwraps a glowing, golden Morningstar with an amber core set where the head meets the handle. It radiates with warm holy light, like a miniature version of the sun just rising over the eastern hills.

“How about this?” the drow asks.

Well, that’s gorgeous. But there’s no way you can use that sweetheart. Hums the demonic asshole in her head.

“Shut it,” she whispers as quietly as she can, herself a little awed by the weapon. Thankfully she seems to go unnoticed.

“You want to give her the thing you got me KILLED for?? Without even offering it to me first?’ Astarion cries, in a dramatic affectation.

“Astarion can you even use a morningstar?” Zilver asks far more patiently than the vampire’s tone deserves.

Astarion scoffs indignantly, “I don’t need to use it to hang on to it.”

“Astarion, be reasonable. That’s just a waste of resources,” Wyll chides.

“And? So is feeding Gale.” the pale haired elf retorts.

“If I may interject,” Gale adds with exasperation just wandering into earshot, “Dispersions aside, may I also point out that the mace glows with the power of Lathander – also known as the god of the sun. And ‘He Who Smites the Undead’ as well. As humorous as the juxtaposition is, it may not be the wisest choice for a vampire to carry.”

Something in the wizard’s words rings oddly false to her, somehow. Another wrong note in her perception of the world.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Zilver declares, a sudden tone of decisiveness and leadership in his tone, so far absent from him. Holding the weapon out to her, he says, “It’s yours, Selska.” 

A wave of cleansing, brilliant warmth sweeps over her as she takes the weapon, briefly wiping away her confusion over Gale’s words. The metal fits comfortably in her hand, warm and familiar like holding a loved one’s hand. It even soothes the oath wrapped chokingly around her heart, a temporary reprieve of sunlight in the dark. For a moment she even feels untethered from Graz’zt, until the feeling fades.

“Thank you,” Selska says, sincerely. Astarion grumbles but lets the matter drop, stalking away. Zilver also hands her a belt that Graz’zt mercifully leaves unchanged as she clips it around her waist. A strange leather and bone charm hangs from the belt.

After that the party packs up quickly. Gale gives her a shield – far heavier than the practice one Graz’zt had her use, and a pack to carry some water. For some reason she stows the robes at the bottom of the pack rather than toss them in the still smoldering fire. The wizard then shrinks the larger trunk and slips it into his pocket, leading the way back to the entrance Zilver came through last night. 

“Let us know if it all gets too heavy okay?” Karlach says, checking in for moment with Selska as the group sets out for some abandoned temple somewhere to the south. “And stay close, yeah?”

Selska nods, shrugging the pack on her back which earns her a warm smile from the tiefling woman. Not that she seemed capable of doing anything cooly.

“I can always provide a ride if required,” adds Halsin cheerfully before the large elf transforms into an even larger bear. Taking that a cue, Zilver starts to move out, flanked by Astarion, Lae’zel, and the dog Scratch.

“Hey Z!” calls Karlach, jogging up past the others to the drow at the head of the group. “Do you think we could check out that old forge one last time? Maybe we missed some infernal iron or something Dammon could use!”

“Sure, if we’re quick,” replies Zilver, pivoting course towards a set of stairs in the road ahead.

Selska falls into step with Gale near the back of the group, followed by Halsin. The wizard smiles at her. Overhead the early summer sun beats down on the group, abruptly reminding Selska of what was bothering her about the man’s earlier words.

“Gale?” Selska asks, “Isn’t the God of the Sun, Amaunator?”

The wizard’s eyes sparkle and just ahead of them Shadowheart groans. “Ah, a fascinating topic. The Risen Sun heresy has been quite the debate amongst theologians since the Second Sundering. Did you know –“ The wizard talking faster and more technical as he gathers steam, clearly versed in the topic.

Ugh wizards, Graz’zt groans over his words.

Gale talks until they reach their destination – apparently a desolate blighted village reeking of blood and decay and littered with goblin corpses. Selska doesn’t quiet grasp all of it – there’s too much history behind his words for her to catch up on. But she gathers that the god she recalled had died for a while, possibly been replaced, and then resurrected later. A fate that sounded partially familiar, oddly enough. The weapon she had contained a drop of blood from that replacement god, Lathander.

As dense as the conversation was, Selska appreciated it for the distraction it was as the group had trekked on. They must have walked for hours over rocky hills and once over a broken bridge she had needed help crossing. The weight of backpack, weapon and shield combined pushes at her limits; a fact her aching feet gladly remind her of as Zilver leads them into the basement of one building.

Well, this is dingy  

He’s right, the forge is as destroyed as the village around it. Yet oddly, Selska feels far more comfortable here even dressed as she was, than she ever had in the Abyss. The dank earthy smell is even welcome after so long in Graz’zt’s perfumed world. The bastard would never have let any unpleasant scent enter his Palace, let alone any of the grime that coats this place.

While the others peer into crates and barrels – even Halsin nudging open some boxes with his snout – Selska comes to lean against a cracked wall, unceremoniously dropping her pack and shield in a pile. She slumps along the rough cobblestones, tipping back on her heels so she can stretch her tender toes.

Not sleeping the night before was definitely catching up to her, her eyelids drooping heavily. Her muscles already ache from walking this far. With no way of knowing how long the others planned to walk today, she may have to take Halsin’s offer after all. 

Uh oh Getting tired already, sweetheart? Graz’zt asks.

Or maybe not with the demon watching. Glancing around to ensure the others were far enough away before responding, Selska retorts, “You wish, I’m doing fine.”

To prove it, she straightens back up, only for something to catch on the skirt of her enchanted armor. Turning, Selska runs her hands along the wall, finding a crack that grows wider as it reaches the ground. Carefully lowering herself to her hands and knees as Graz’zt whistles sharply in appreciation.

“Knock it off,” she whispers. Peering through the largest gap a cool breeze blows across her face, bringing more damp earth smell with it. It’s too dark for her to see on her own, but by unhooking her glowing weapon and bringing it to the edge of the crack, she can just see what looks like a larger cavern. Distantly she hears what sounds like water further in.

“Hey, there’s something back here!” she calls to the others, pulling herself back up. Karlach eagerly runs over. The tiefling needs Selska’s help to find the crack, but she quickly works out the best place to strike with her large hammer. By the time the others drifted over, the wall lies in pieces from one easy swing from the woman. Beyond lies a passageway further underground.

“Good work, solider,” Karlach says with another smile, that makes Selska’s stomach flutter. “What do you think, Zil, want to go look around? That metal had to come from somewhere right?”

Zilver steps carefully over the rubble and pauses, listening carefully. Halsin follows suit, much less gracefully on all fours, sniffing the air with gusto. After a moment the pair nods, “Yeah, who knows, it could lead to that fortress we’re supposed to look out for or something.”

“With our luck?” Shadowheart and Astarion scoff in near unison.

Chapter Text

Wow, they were not kidding, their luck really does suck~

It sure did, Selska reflects while looking at the sizzling corpse of a gigantic teleporting spider. Even after reading all the strange diagrams and journals the group found in some long-forgotten chamber, the continued presence of the twisted Lolth-born spider in the caverns was almost unbelievable.

The tunnel behind the forge wall led directly into a larger cave system, dripping with moisture and coated with spider webs. After a misstep into some nearby webbing, they were set upon by spiders and some gross bug infested creatures which had chased them into the home of a massive blue spider and its many many children in the midst of preparing a young animal cub for consumption.

Apparently her compatriots were familiar with the creature – an owlbear, Wyll had called it – and immediately launched themselves at the strange poison spitting teleporting spiders. All seven fight furiously, even the alleged cleric, and their weird tadpoles seem to enable a terrifying level of coordination to their actions. Lae’zel and Karlach moved nearly as one, easily carving a path to the mother spider while Wyll, Zilver, and Astarion ran interference. She swore at one point she saw Astarion shoot an arrow at Zilver, only for the drow to reroute it with an impeccably timed flick of his twin short swords into one of the spider younglings.

Coupled with the range of the spellcasters, by the time Selska had caught up to the group, only the mother spider and a few babies remained. While the others lay into the matriarch as a frenzy of blades and spells, Selska confronts the smaller spiders. The motion of the morningstar coupled with the weight of the shield on her left arm finally feels right, an electric surge running along her spine that makes the action feel effortless.

The first impact with a spider sends the same searing fury through her body and out of her weapon, shriveling the spider in an instant. The next was a little tougher, but it crumpled just the same.

Winded but uninjured, Selska collapses against a stone close to the edge of the cliff taking a moment to peer into the deep abyss. Gale follows suit, soon joined by the others dumping their packs nearby to stretch and recover after the fight. Halsin sits with the rescued owlbear cub in his lap, quietly murmuring healing magics. As Selska watches Astarion and Zilver inspect the body, something shiny falls from its mouth onto the stone floor with a clatter.

“Hey, what’s that?” Zilver cries. He lifts up a large purple gemstone carefully shaking it to clear any remaining blood. Now the corpse lay discarded, poisonous blood oozing from its many wounds. Selska manages to slay the last two babies with relative ease.

“I know that shape,” Zilver says mostly to himself, shoving one hand into his pack. Rifling for a few moments, he pulls a weather leather book free, letting Selska see the grotesque twisted face on the cover. The whole thing stank of decay and rot, a scent she recognizes as necromantic.

“Zilver,” Gale says with caution as the group catches  up, “Again, I’d strongly recommend against engaging with that book, it’s radiating necrotic magic.”

“It’s a necromancy tome, Gale, that’s what it does,” Shadowheart says drolly, “I didn’t expect you to be so afraid of a magical book.”

Gale sputters, “I’m not afraid, merely cautious of the outcomes given-“

“Oh, Zilver, just open the damn thing,” Astarion interjects, “No necromancy can be as bad as this anticipation.”

“I was always going to,” Zilver says, a note of amusement in his voice. He slots the large gem into the book which flares before the cover springs open. Zilver’s face is awash in sickly green light, which reflects off his scales.  A strange crackling magic rushes across Zilver’s body, deep purple and twisted. There’s a moment where time seems to still, as he communes with the book, as if fate itself was undecided on the outcome.

The moment is shattered as thunderous magic erupts from Zilver. The force of it bounces through the cavern before it slams into the group, pushing everyone - including Halsin and the rescued cub - over the edge and into the howling abyss below.

Wow, their luck really fucking sucks~ Graz’zt says, bursting into deep laughter that drowns out most of the spell Gale casts from somewhere above Selska. A wave of pale blue magic brushes against Selska’s skin like a gentle breeze. Whatever spell he cast, slows the party’s fall dramatically just as the narrow tunnel opens to a massive cavern full of strange mushrooms, mysterious pockets of light, and spore clouds. It’s impossible to see how far it stretches even from their elevated vantage point.

“Sorry everyone,” Zilver says sheepishly. He’s met with a chorus of aggravated grumbles.

“In Zilver’s defense, we were planning to come down here anyway,” Selska hears Gale say, overhead, “At least now we don’t have to waste any time chasing after rumors.” His words seem to spark another argument once more – most of which Selska blessedly can’t hear. For a group that fought and moved so well together, they certainly disagreed a lot.

After falling for a few more moments, the group lands in a field of glowing mushrooms, followed by their packs. Landing gracefully in the stupid shoes Graz’zt has her wearing proves difficult and she almost topples over before Wyll catches her – after landing gracefully himself.

“Halsin? How’s the cub?” Zilver asks, loudly to drown out the bickering of Lae’zel and Shadowheart – now less focused on the drow’s shortcomings and much more personal.

“Uninjured from the fall but that spider’s venom left him in quite a state. It is good we arrived when we did. Death may always be part of nature, but that foul spider was far from natural.” The druid says, cradling the sleeping cub in his arms, “It would be wise to seek shelter soon.”

A distant grumble of some strange creature punctuates his words, loud enough to silence even Shadowheart and Lae’zel.

“I think I saw some sort of structure over this way,” Wyll adds quietly, gesturing down the hill the party stands on, “Unless anyone has any better ideas?”

When no objections sound, the group sets off down the hill and carefully picks their way to what looks like a Selûnite fortress, still heavily gated. And with fully functional defenses, as evidenced by the minotaur the party watches get roasted by the Selûne guardian statues flanking the stairs.

After that, no one was keen to try to use the main gate. The others start to argue about what to do – but only Shadowheart was in favor of just smashing through the gates. Everyone else seemed to hold some reservations of destroying something potentially holy.

Curious about the nature of the defenses, Selska carefully skirts around the stairs littered with bones of less aware creatures. Just beyond the gate, she sees a larger statue, with a large white gem in the center of its scepter. Beyond the right of the stairs Selska spies a small ledge wrapping around the fortress, separated by a small chasm.

Glancing back to the others, who are still engrossed in their argument, Selska figures they won’t miss her for a moment. After backing up slightly for a running start, she jumps carefully across the gap. The impact jars her aching feet and shoulders, but she manages to land stably. Shuffling along the ledge and around the corner, the paladin follows the rocky outcropping along the outer fortress wall to a series of barred windows. Either by time or force the bars of the last window have toppled over, leaving a hole in the fortress’s defenses.

Slipping inside, it is immediately clear that no one had stepped foot inside for decades. Even in the dim light of the Underdark –the cobwebs, rubble, and dust make that clear enough. Two brilliant streams of white light emanate from the central statue of Selûne, connecting to the statues beyond the gate. There’s no obvious mechanism to disable the gem – short of shattering it that is. The idea sits uncomfortably in her stomach. She may not know much about the gods anymore, but destroying a holy object still felt wrong. A small Schamber lit by a purple sigil on the wall lies just beyond the statue.

Selska picks her way over the rubble to the ramparts, crossing over the fortress’ gate to peer down at the rest of her party. The party is still arguing about what to do, while Halsin sits nearby tending to the cub. Only the Githyanki notices her immediately, her strange golden eyes with slit pupils meeting Selska’s own.

“Pa'vrylk, up there,” Lae’zel shouts, pointing upwards to where Selska stands. The others look up as well with various surprised expressions.

“Selska? How did you get up there?” Zilver shouts from below with confusion. It brings a small smile to her lips, a trill of amusement at the disbelief on their faces.

Stifling it down, she calls back, “There’s a broken window on the side – step carefully past the stairs and jump over to the ledge

By time she gets back down to the window, Zilver and Wyll are just cresting the cliff face, surveying the landscape.

“This must be the fortress that Aradin and his lot were after,” Zilver says glancing around, “Seems like a safe place to set up for the night – if we stay on the right side of those Selûne statues.” He declares as the others catch up. Halsin and the cub duck inside followed by Shadowheart, Lae’zel, and Gale.

“Nice one Selska,” Karlach says coming up last. The view from the cliffs is pleasant, lit by the soft mushrooms glow

“Does anyone else see the creepy statues down those cliffs?” Wyll asks. “Maybe we should check it out before we rest?”

“Sure,” Karlach cries, charging ahead. “Last one there is a rotten basilisk’s egg.”

Selska’s feet start moving before she fully processes the tieflings challenge, rushing past the others with surprising speed. She catches up to Karlach just as the barbarian reaches the cluster of statues. Rendered in extreme detail, the six drow figures are frozen in expressions of shock and horror.

“This is freaky,” Karlach says, coming to stop. Wyll, Astarion, and Zilver catching up.

As they do, a monstrous one-eyed creature, with rows of sharp dripping teeth rises from its concealment behind the stone figures. Time seems to freeze temporarily as creature surveys the group before it roars revealing rows of glistening sharp teeth. Magic shoots from its eyestalks, three beams colliding with the frozen drow warriors who spring back to life, eyes dazed.

The fourth beam flies right at Selska, impacting with a burst of sickly green. The stinging necrotic magic leeching the life from her veins in a sudden shock, leaving her winded and panting in the dirt. Graz’zt makes a faux hiss of sympathy at the impact.

Don’t forget to use your shield baby he adds mockingly. Chaos erupts around her as the sides clash, blades and spells flying. She just stumbles to her feet as the spectator soars overhead, landing on a crest looking over the battlefield.

“Everyone duck!” Karlach shouts, throwing a shining metal ball at the spectator. The moment it impacts, the field explodes into smoke. A second many-eyed spectator roars into existence as the smoke clears, far more frenzied than the first. It charges the first creature with its mouth agape, a feral growl coming from its vocal cords. A stray blast of paralyzing magic nearly grazes the group, all watching slack-jawed, and they all jerk back to life.

“Karlach, what the hells!” Zilver cries. Stray bolts of magic fly around the cavern, striking the unfortunate revived drow, once again paralyzed in the fray.

“So, I grabbed the wrong thing, but hey looks like it worked, right?” Karlach bellows, still raging in her giant form. Zilver, gestures to them all to fall back towards the fortress. Carefully the six sneak back up the cliffs, one eye on the increasingly feral clash behind them. Wyll gentlemanly lets Selska lean on him as they go, her body still aching from the spectator’s beam.

“Why in the hells was there a bloody spectator in there anyway?” Astarion whisper-yells in a slight panic.

“You didn’t know it was in there?” Selska whispers back in disbelief, watching as the two monsters battle before their eyes, now safely back on the cliffs. Below both spectators seem to be on their last legs, alternatively biting at each other from the ground.

“To be fair neither did the traders we stole it from,” Zilver replies, “This kind of explains why it was locked up though.”

Selska can only stare at the group. They slip inside the fort, Karlach using the last of her raging strength to pull up the fallen iron grating roughly back into place.

“We’ll need to keep a watch tonight,” she adds, shrinking back to her normal, but still towering height. The others murmur in agreement, before heading deeper into the fort. Selska follows suit, only to stop in her tracks.

Huh~

Torchlight floods the fortress, while large fires burn in all the fireplaces and braziers, chasing some of the chill from the stones. Most of the rubble has been swept to the side, cleaned of dust and cobwebs along with the fort itself. The same brightly colored tents from the last campsite have returned, arranged throughout the several rooms of the fort. Lae’zel already stands at hers – closest to the broken window – sharpening her sword. A tantalizing smell comes from the room opposite the windows. Next to entrance, a few screens block off the corner, and Wyll runs slightly ahead to duck behind them first.

“What happened?” Selska asks the group, following them with Wyll’s help to the fort. In little room Gale is stirring something in a pot, boiling over a high fire. Halsin and Shadowheart sit at the table with full bowls and glasses of wine, both changed into far more comfortable clothes. On fresh hay opposite the fire, the injured owlbear lies asleep with Scratch keeping guard. The strange skeleton stands in the corner near a large yellow chest, focused on writing in book.

“What do you mean?” Zilver replies, flopping heavily onto a bench. He starts unbuckling some of his armor, careful to keep the road dirt off the table. Wyll leads her to the bench next to Shadowheart, he hands her a health potion and walks out of the room.

“This place was mess when I was in here a moment ago, now it’s a basically a perfect camp. How did that happen?” Selska says. She drinks the health potion, an earthy but refreshing taste filling her mouth as her aches ease.

“Oh, Withers does that,” Karlach replies, dismissively, washing her hands with water from a bottle. The water hisses and steams where it hits her skin.

“Why?” the paladin asks, incredulously. Surely this wasn’t as normal as the party seemed to be treating it.

“No idea. But once we bought the tents, Withers sets camp up every night as soon as we call it a day and brings all this stuff. As so long as we clean up in the morning,” Zilver adds, then raising his voice calls, “And you won’t explain either, will you Withers?”

The skeletal figure glances up from the book, only to gravely utter a single word.

“No.”

Fascinating, Graz’zt hums, intently. Though Selska finds it and her companion’s dismissiveness of the odd figure disquieting. Zilver turns back to Selska and shrugs as if to say ‘what did I say’ before returning to his buckles. Wyll enters, changed into a somewhat worn tank top and pants.

“You can wash up and change if you want, Selska,” the warlock says. “There’s even some spare clothes, if you can, uh, wear them,” he adds awkwardly.

Behind the screen there is a small basin with magically steaming water, a chamber pot, and a strange mirror. Encased in gold, its surface seems to be nearly liquid, rippling and shimmering like a night’s sky. It settles when she fully steps in front of it becoming a true mirror.

Selska just catches a glimpse of her green eyes before ducking her head, turning to wash her hands and consider changing clothes. Wyll laid out a decently clean cotton shirt and leggings, along with some simple slippers.

“Are you going to change these into something awful the moment I put them on?” Selska asks the air with a sigh.

I’ve never put you in anything awful, baby Graz’zt replies in her thoughts, nearly sounding offended. You’ll like what I picked out, I cross my heart. But if you really don’t like my clothes, I can send you out there naked~

Selska has no doubts that the demon prince would do so in a heartbeat. She sighs, “Alright, I’ll change.”

Thought so, now let’s skip the illusions this time huh?

A snap echoes through the air and the simple clothes in her hands morph into a pile of soft dark silks, lined with gold. Begrudgingly Selska changes, glamoured armor reverting to its true form the moment it was removed from her body. The new camp clothes turn out to be a short nightgown, with a plunging lacy top, cap sleeves, and a flouncy nearly sheer skirt. The sides are cut high to show her hips, where there are a few lingering bruises from Graz’zt.

There now, a little touch of home. Graz’zt says, teasingly, Now go back to your little friends~

Selska tries to slip back into the room unnoticed, while Halsin, Karlach, Wyll, and Zilver have dinner. Gale stands nearby stirring the last of their meal over the fire. But to little avail as when she’s noticed, Wyll spits wine across the table and Gale drops his wooden spoon into the fireplace.

Selska crosses her arms across her chest, ducking to sit at the end of the table, “Look, I don’t get a fucking choice in my clothing right now and this is going to keep happening. So, we’re all going to have to get fucking used to it,” she declares, trying to convince herself as much as the others.

Oof, harsh baby Graz’zt says.

Gale fishes the spoon out of the fire with a mage hand and dunks it in the water basin. Wyll awkwardly helps wipe wine from the table, while Zilver tries to wipe the drops that cover his face.

“It’s alright, Selska,” Zilver says after a moment, “We all have our shit. Yours is just – surprising – is all.” The others mumble in agreement.

After a hearty – albeit quiet – meal of stew and unremarkable wine, Karlach rises from the table followed by Wyll. The warlock takes their dishes to Gale, and the pair magically clean and stack them neatly near the fire. most of the others leave for their own beds. Halsin shifts back to his bear form, curling up around the owlbear protectively.

“You’re welcome to use my tent if you want, I almost never do,” Zilver says to Selska. “It’s up the stairs over there. Or you can sleep on a bedroll down here like me.”

After a long day of walking, falling, fighting, and more walking exhaustion weighs heavily through her body. The bedroll and blanket splayed out before the fire near Halsin, the injured cub, and Scratch looks more enticing than anything Graz’zt had ever offered.

The ground, Selska? Really?

Selska collapses onto the bed roll, ignoring the demon, placing her pack nearby. In the Abyss, sleep did not come naturally to her, and she expects much the same as she pulls a rough blanket over her revealing night clothes. Lying down at least is nice, the bedroll far more comfortable than expected. Every part of her aches, a satisfying burn of hard work that even settles her furious oath. Odd circumstances, clothing and companions aside, Selska feels whole in a way she hasn’t since landing in the Abyss.

Falling asleep comes as natural as breathing.

Blurred fragments of half recalled memories flicker by, a warm comforting fireplace; a gentle glow emanating from two clasped hands; a sweet vision of a woman and her gleaming smile.  

The woman’s voice calls, soothing and as sweet as honey, “Zjita ban ali eipa, dur. Eip nad yia. Eipal nad yia ozje mire[1]” the gentle tones familiar where the words were not. She reaches out a dark brown hand laced with glowing golden marking, deep blue eyes full of mirth. Adoration surges as Selska instinctively reaches for the woman’s hand – want throbbing in her heart.

Abruptly the golden lines shimmering across the woman’s skin turn black and a dark all-consuming darkness rushes out of the cracks in her face. The tendrils seize Selska’s outstretched hand, diving down into a sucking dark storm, while everything around her screams.

Her world goes dark.

.

.

The body has no memories, no brain, no recollection beyond the sensation of falling to explain how it came to the dark endless void it hangs it. 

All around ceaseless eyes and cackling mouths flash in the darkness, always hungry. Always watching and waiting; always laughing – nearly screaming - in discordant harmony.  Substance does not exist here; weight and form have no meaning but still the body feels the whipping winds and crackling lighting lash at it. It doesn’t fit, doesn’t belong but yet it hangs in agony. It hungers and can do nothing. It screams but those too are lost in the screeching void.

Brilliant blinding relief comes as a cool white light, arriving perhaps moments or eons after the body. In its brightness the body ceases entirely – as does all sense – fading into the seams of the void leaving just light behind. Freed, the light burns past bright eyes and cackling mouths that now flee from it in fear. Nothing can hurt the light as the light feels nothing. The light just exists.

It is free.

It is nothing.

.

.

.

Cruel sensation returns with whiplash speed. A sudden red storm snuffing out the light and forcing the body’s return. The storm rages, crackling with sick energy that lashes out with dizzying swirls of half-formed memories - a sweet vision of a woman’s gleaming smile; the sharp shink of sword against sword in battle; the weight of armor against skin; a blood-soaked battle; the lurching sensation of falling; more screaming. Searing agony returns as the light condenses down to form once more. Claws and twisted mouths reach and bite for it as the body falls in reverse. It hurtles towards an even brighter light, that blinds the body despite having no eyes.

The void around it screams.

It screams.

The light consumes everything.

Everything falls.

.

.

Selska wakes up screaming.

Her heart pounds thrumming though every inch of her body as if the organ was too large for her chest. Her vision lingers in her mind, as real as vivid as a memory but far too strange to be anything but a nightmare. At least she hopes so. The scream still echoes through her head as she sits bolt upright on her bedroll, chest heaving.

Her breathlessness is made worse she nearly screams again when something cold and wet nudges her hand. Glancing down, she sees Scratch, hovering worriedly to her side. When he notices Selska’s eyes on him, the dog barks, nuzzling his snout against her hands resting in her lap. He only stops when Selska starts petting his head, flopping down into a contented pile partially in Selska’s lap.

“Try counting as you pet him,” Zilver says, crouching next to her, already dressed for the day. She follows his advice, reaching fifteen before her breathing evens out. Scratch’s soft fur and steady breathing is grounding, a reminder that she was real and back in the Material Plane. It helps her not jolt when Graz’zt’s voice returns to her mind bleary as if just woken up himself.

Uh oh, bad dreams sweetheart? Sleeping in the dirt will do that to you~

But she must have some sort of physical reaction if Zilver’s sympathetic face is anything to go by. Before he can comment Selska cuts him off.

“That did help,” she says, meeting Zilver’s eyes, trying to look unshaken, “Thank you Zilver, and thank you Scratch.” The paladin gives the dog a good town handed pet before he rises, letting Selska rise to her feet. Despite Graz’zt’s words, she feels oddly rested. Far more than she ever did in the Abyss.

“If you’re sure,” Zilver says, also rising. Scratch licks her hand. “Gale made breakfast,” the drow adds.

After breaking camp and gearing up – in her transformed armor - once again, the group sets out. Karlach lowers the grate from the broken window again and follows Lae’zel out with her weapon drawn. When nothing attacks, they gesture for the rest of the group to follow.

Selska leaves last, watching the fort carefully for signs of Withers’s magical influence. Nothing happens until the moment she has to look away to climb out the window. When she looks behind her again, the fortress is once again a dust and rubble filled ruin lit only by the moonstone, left unshattered for the next adventurers seeking shelter. Withers, Scratch, and the owlbear – who Karlach affectionally named Snack – nowhere to be seen.

Zilver and the others ignore it. The drow at the front points out into the darkness, “Let’s follow the cliffs down, it looks there’s some other structure down that way.”

As the group passes by the corpses of the spectator, surrounded by crumbled rocks and half-petrified drow bodies, something shimmering amongst the rubble catches her eye. She picks up the now empty iron flask. It is beautifully engraved with swirling filigrees and a twisted smiling face in the middle, no longer glowing. For a hollow vessel, it is surprisingly heavy and warm, like holding a stone warmed by the sun.

Pretty~

“Shame we lost the stopper,” Gale says. “Something this powerful might have been reusable.”

As the group moves on, Selska stows it in her pack with her camp clothes. Even though it was useless, it might have some worth in a settlement. The bottle settles against her lower back, the gentle warmth pleasant in the cool underground air.

The party climbs down the cliff face beyond the charred spectator corpses. They descend into a cavern lit by bright orange mushrooms, each bulb like a little flame. Several waterfalls spring from the walls, falling down to caverns far below.

“Watch out,” Zilver says, “Those are torchstalks, they explode on proximity.”

The group moves carefully through the cave, a warning sizzle letting them know when they get too close. They cross a stone entryway into a partially walled courtyard. On the ground deep blacked grooves line the ground just beyond the entrance, that the leader of the party – Zilver – doesn’t seem to notice.

“Hey, watch out!” Selska cries, “There are scorch marks on the ground,” just as Gale and Zilver cross beyond the shielding side wall. A burst of blue magic flares from the tower courtyard, just missing Zilver’s feet as the drow lithely pulls Gale back against the wall.

“If I am not mistaken, those are arcane turrets. How curious to find them here,” Gale says, shrugging his way out of Zilver’s grasp.

“Gale! Gale, get back here,” Zilver hisses, trying to grab the edge of the wizard’s robe. When he misses, the drow runs after the wizard directly into the line of fire. The source of the magic energy whirrs, gearing up to fire once again.

“Don’t be stupid darling, stay here,” Astarion tries to command, only for Zilver to run. The vampire sighs dramatically before chasing after the drow. They just get to cover behind a large rock as another surge of magical energy slams into the stone.

“Wait, there’s a second one!” Wyll cries, as another cannon further up the stairs starts to lock on to Gale. Zilver grabs his wrist and pulls the wizard behind the larger rocky outcropping. The cannon fires just as they round the corner.

“You three all alright?” Karlach calls out with some concern, while Lae’zel swears under her breathe. There’s no audible response, but the others around her have that vague expression Selska suspects means they are communicating with their tadpoles again. “Yeah, they’re alright,” the tiefling confirms, “but I don’t think we should follow the morons, just yet.”

“I’ll make sure they don’t all die,” Wyll says, “Gods only know what they’ll get up to alone.”

The warlock utters “et alibi” and vanishes in flash of devilish magic, the slight scent of sulfur left in the air. He reappears just at the edge of Zilver, Gale, and Astarion’s hiding place. He gets to cover as another burst of arcane energy flares from the cannon. When the dust clears, none of the four are visible. Selska glances to Karlach and Lae’zel, who both looked irritated with the scene before them.

“We should leave them to their idiocy,” Shadowheart says, “No point in all of us risking our necks.”

“In that case, I saw some interesting fungal patterns in the outer cavern I would like to inspect” Halsin says, turning to leave the walled in courtyard. Another explosion sounds closer to the distant tower, followed by a very human yelp. Shadowheart, Karlach, and Lae’zel exchange a look, then with a shrug turn and follow the druid.

Selska glances back for a moment, before deciding to catch up with the others, back in the larger cavern. Halsin giving a lecture about mushrooms to Lae’zel and Shadowheart – who seem to be locked in a silent contest to be the first to admit boredom – but Karlach is nowhere to be seen.

“Oi Selska!” calls Karlach. The tiefling stands on one of the many large mushrooms that grow along the cliff face, several feet above the rest of the party. “Check this out!”

The tiefling takes a mighty leap to the right, muscular legs propelling her to the next mushroom along the cliff.  The mushroom ripples for a moment before it vanishes completely. Karlach falls to the ground in an instant with a yelp before landing in a heap.

Selska runs over, reaching out to touch her arm, only to withdraw with a hiss when the heat of her skin sizzles her hands.

“Shit, sorry solider,” the tiefling cries, flinching away quickly. “I’m just burning a bit too hot at the moment.”

She gets to her feet quickly, drawing far back regret in her eyes. “Are your hands okay?” Karlach asks.

Glancing down at her hands, there’s only a little redness to her palms. Selska replies, “They’ll be fine. You’re the one who fell, are you okay?”

“Of course, solider. Takes more than that to hurt old Karlach,” the tiefling boasts with a cocky smile, “How about you try?”

With the barbarian’s guidance, Selska jumps across a few mushrooms along the bottom of the cliff, spotting a few more illusory mushrooms. Karlach stops for a moment, head tilting to the side. “Hey, Shadowheart wants me to check something out over there,” she says, pointing to the other side of the cavern.

“I’ll be at the top when you get back, you’ll see” Selska says, already tracing the best path now that most of the fake mushrooms were gone.

Karlach laughs, “Deal solider. Scream if you need anything.”

The climb isn’t easy, and she nearly slips a few times on the way to the crest. When she finally hauls herself over the edge however, the only reward is a plain clifftop abutting part of the cavern wall. Mushrooms and crystals creep along the edges but otherwise, there’s nothing exciting at the top.

Annoyed, Selska paces around the clifftop. Something about the way that the mushrooms curve around part of the wall seems strange and when Selska reaches out to touch the stone, it wavers allowing her fingers to pass through. Morningstar in hand, she passes through the illusion into a concealed cavern. Grass covers the ground, much livelier than it should be this far underground. In the middle is a large circle of mushrooms, the center whirling with blue spiral of magic.

Curiosity piqued, Selska steps closer until the magic of the whirlpool pulls at her skirt and braids. It brushes featherlight across her thighs, like gentle fingers.

Watch it baby, stay away from that. Graz’zt commands, voice heavy with authority.

The demon’s tone grates. And there’s something compelling about the strange blue magic that has her drawing closer despite the command – or in spite of. She takes another step, crossing into the circle.

Selska, get bac–

His voice gets washed away by the rush of transportation magic that surrounds the paladin as her foot crosses the mushroom circle. A flare of brilliant golden light and the sucking sensation in her stomach herald her departure from Underdark.

When the feeling subsides, Selska finds herself standing in a stone cavern that reeks of rot and blood. It’s entirely too full of plant life – even if slightly desiccated – to be anywhere in the Underdark. Strange blue moss covers the ground, slightly worn in places like a path leading further in while the walls drip with green slime. Several small, twisted trees with purple bark trees form a screen blocking off the rest of the cave. Bits of bone and fresh gore hang from the trees, some by spiderwebs, others by what could be intestines.

Inside of her head is eerily silent.

“Graz’zt?” she asks tentatively. Nothing.

For a moment.

“Ethel?” calls a shrill woman’s voice from further into the cavern, “You’re late. I hardly have time for these meetings as it is, now stop lurking,” the voice demands with a familiar note of arrogance.

Cautiously but curiously, Selska steps out of the now defunct mushroom circle with her weapon raised. There are no signs of life in the cavern as she moves. The distant sounds of birds’ echo from the opposite side of the cavern, where a pale blue light streams from some opening overhead.

“You’re not Ethel,” the voice says again, closer now.

Along the opposite wall something glints in the light, embedded in strange, gnarled patch of bark covering that side of the cavern. Drawing closer, it seems to be an ornate mirror framed with dark iridescent metal that twists and climbs across wall, anchoring the mirror in place.

When she steps fully in front of the mirror, she is not met with her own face or a reflection of the cavern behind her. Though the figure bares a more than passing resemblance to Selska. A tall woman with long black hair and dark eyes heavy with interest stares back at the paladin. She wears a tight lowcut bodysuit that leaves little of her body to the imagination in deep green, various parts stitched together with thick black string. Emblazoned across her cheek is a three forked runic symbol.

She takes an equally appraising look at Selska, pursing her purple stained lips, only to let out a little laugh of amusement, “Well now look at you,. What’s such a pretty little toy doing here, hmm?”

“I am not a toy!” Selska rebukes, only to receive a withering look from the other woman.

“You might not think so, but someone surely does, dear,” she teases, moving closer to the glass between them. Selska draws back with her weapon on instinct.

“Now, now, why don’t you put that silly thing down,” she says, gesturing to Selska’s arm. The appendage lowers unbidden and mechanically reattaches the morningstar to her belt. “And come let Tasha have a look at you~”

There’s a hypnotic pull to her voice so entrancing that it is not until Selska only realizes she’s moved toward the mirror when the witch’s cold hand catches her throat. The curvaceous witch is half leaning out the now glassless mirror, supporting herself with her free hand. Her long nails filed to a vicious point and painted black that dig into Selska’s skin. Tasha’s eyes are cold, analytical as she sends a pulse of magic through Selska’s body that tingles down to her toes like a numb limb reawakening.

“Tch. Graz’zt would do something like this wouldn’t he?” she sighs, “Looks like he really likes you too hmm? You are absolutely covered in his magic.”

Selska wrinkles her nose at that revelation before asking, “You know Graz’zt?”

Tasha leans back, letting go of Selska’s chin. “Of course, dear. I’m Tasha.” She declares as if Selska should know what that means. At her blank look Tasha continues, looking irritated. “The Witch Queen? Don’t tell me that Graz’zt never mentioned me? After we’ve known and hated each other for centuries.”

There’s a slight jealous derangement in the witchy woman’s eyes that sets Selska on edge. “We didn’t really talk much.” She says, hoping to sound a little lighthearted to offset the mood.

Tasha chuckles, demeanor relaxing.  “I suspect not. But then why are you here instead of back home with your daddy, my dear?”

“I’m just trying to get away from him. We have a deal,” Selska says.

“Something impossible in exchange for your freedom, yes?” Tasha interrupts sounding bored, “Well played getting yourself to the Material plane but you can’t honestly believe if you fulfill this deal, he’ll let you go?”

“It might not be impossible,” she replies, partially for her own resolve. “But doesn’t he have too? We signed a contract.” Selska asks, thinking back to the document Graz’zt had had her sign.

Tasha lets out a peal of shrill laughter, nearly bring a tear to her eye before replying, “Sweetheart, while the confidence is cute, you’re a mortal in a deal with a demon, the contract only binds you to him. He can change that deal you made whenever he wants. The bastard doesn’t have to follow any rules but his own now that he’s no longer a devil.”

Her words resonate with a similar yet so far unacknowledged worry in the back of her head. “Well then what else can I do to get away from him?”

“If it were me? I’d either find a way to kill him or trap him with a magical feat seldom matched in this world,” she says, holding up one hand that glows with sickening green magic, expression darkening. “But you? I’d just try savor this little bit of freedom while you have it.”

The woman’s tone is reminiscent of Graz’zt and his consorts whenever they discussed Selska’s desire for freedom. A grating patronizing tone that implies that Selska is nothing but a silly mortal in over her head. More frustratingly, Selska’s more than aware that she truly is in trouble, especially if Tasha really speaks true. But if the woman knew and hated Graz’zt maybe she would be willing to help, “Then how can I do it like you would?”

The tall witch smiles deviously, eyes sparkling, “You need power dear, and you need it fast. Your only chance of doing that is taking someone else’s by force or seduction. And if you can’t take it from them, then you must make them want to work for you, by any means necessary. I have just the thing that could help you, if you’re willing to give me something in return.”

Selska nearly rolls her eyes. Of course she wants something out of this. Although what other options does she have.

“What is it?” Selska asks with caution.

“Only a lock of hair, dear, sealed with a kiss of course,” the woman purrs.

Graz’zt adored Selska’s hair, which nearly reached her ankles when unbraided. The lamiae rarely let that happen though, delighting in braiding and twisting her hair into strange and unique styles. Before she’d left the Abyss, the serpentine creatures had spent nearly two hours on Selska’s hair, creating a complex arrangement of buns, and two thick strands of multiple braids interlaced into one, trailing down to her knees. He’ll be furious with her if anything happens to it.

“It is only a token really. You certainly have more than enough to spare.” Tasha adds, noting her hesitation. The witch reaches beyond the mirrors’ frame again, catching the tail of one of Selska’s braids and running her nails through the loose ends.

She does have a point, and while Graz’zt would be angry it was hopefully going to be worth it. “Alright fine,” Selska says to the witch’s obvious delight.

Using her long nails, Tasha snips a length about as long as Selska’s index finger, which vanishes into the other strands. Smiling, the woman drops the braid letting it swing heavily back into place.

Tasha again grabs Selska’s jaw and crushes their lips together holding the lock of hair between them. She tastes of iron and cinnamon, and the press of her lips stings the same way her magic did. Only the small strip of her lip blocked by the hair stays unaffected. As Tasha pulls back, the witch slips a small scroll into Selska’s cleavage with a smirk.

“Some of my notes on Graz’zt’s summoning sigil – don’t let him see that – but it’s up to you to figure out how to use them. Though do give mommy a call if you do manage to get away from him, hmm?” Tasha purrs, drawing back with a smirk. Her lips are now stained pale pink. “And say hello for me~”

A pulse of magic pulls her back through the cavern and to the mushroom circle; another wave of teleportation magic washing over her. This time when it clears, instead of seeing the concealed cavern on the cliff, she finds herself standing back at the bottom in another circle of mushrooms.  

There’s no sign of her companions, but the view from this small alcove is somewhat obscured. Before she can take a step, Graz’zt’s voice returns, as cold as ice.

Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t pull you back right now for that little stunt, Selska

The words should scare her more but instead Selska cannot stop herself from blurting out, “Tasha says hello?” instead of a more rational explanation.

It proves to be the right effect as the demon chuckles deeply, Oh really? Well, that would explain why your lips are her favorite shade of purple. You two got really close huh?

“What?” Selska cries, trying to wipe her lips with the back of her hand. Nothing comes off, even when she tries to use some saliva. All of this is observed by a laughing demonic bastard until she comes to a stop.

See and this is why we listen and don’t wander off, Graz’zt scolds, his icy tone returning. Which means, here’s a new rule for this little deal of ours. You do not go to other planes without my direct approval. Got it?

“Got it.” She replies, not entirely following the demon. What other plane was he talking about? The action also approves Tasha right. Still her response satisfies Graz’zt, and he quiets down. After following the path down from the cliffs for a few moments, Selska again spots the archway leading towards the wizard’s tower.

“Oh, there you are Selska,” Karlach cries, running up the paladin from where she waits near the arch. “You’ve been gone for over two hours what happened? Where have you been?”

“I was right up on the cliffs, what do you mean two hours?” Selska asks, shocked. Surely her conversation with Tasha had only been a few minutes at most. How could two hours have passed?

“I couldn’t get up there to find you; didn’t you hear me calling?” Selska shakes her head, trying to mask that she is skirting around the truth. “At least you’re alright. C’mon, the guys got the tower defenses down, they’re waiting for us.”

Glancing back at the now dormant mushroom circle, Selska follows the barbarian into the abandoned tower.

Then, echoing heavily in her head, Graz’zt asks with dismay; What happened to your hair?

Chapter Text

Memories are not something Zilver has in abundance. Especially those of the non-violent and bloody variety. And given the state of his mind, he’s not really sure the memories he can recall are real or figments of his imagination. The few he does have are just sparse flashes – dark stone buildings nestled in a skyless cavern; the twisted face of his strange butler; a comfortable bed with black sheets. Nothing that resembles the Underdark despite his being some sort of half-drow. But since coming to the Underdark, fungi of all kinds fill his mind.

Flashes of small ones with red caps; green creeping puffballs; beautiful and almost floral puffs of blue gills. All shown to him by a gentle drow woman - who nearly looks like his dream guardian except for her kind silver eyes, soft and welcoming while her strong hands guiding his as they grind the mushrooms into powders, mix them with alcohol, and bottle the mixtures to cure on shelves out of his reach. Even just recalling the motions soothes the ever-present violent urges in Zilver’s head to a gentle whisper.

It all comes rushing back to him as he chases after Gale with Wyll and Astarion to the abandoned arcane tower. It looms imposingly overhead as they cross the staircase leading to the large front doors – ducking stray shots of pure magic as they do. The group ends up making it to the first floor through an open window, only to find more turrets inside and have to dive from a balcony. Only Gale’s quick spell casting and an incredible array of giant mushrooms save them from certain death. From there the four slip inside and deactivate the tower’s defenses by restarting the basement generator.

Walking into the wizard’s laboratory from the elevator feels like coming home, a sensation Zilver thought was out of reach for something as wretched as him. He fills his pack with distilling equipment and mushroom cuttings, before finding a detailed journal and losing himself in its’ pages – sitting right on the floor by the tower’s central platform and brushing off his companions’ entreaties to venture further into the tower. He devours the careful notes, rejoicing when the information matches what he remembers. Zilver loses track of everything after that until Astarion abruptly pulls the book from his hands.

His urges scream for the vampires’ head for the offence, surging hot and violent in his throat. It takes more energy than it should have to shove them back down before Zilver can speak. All the while Astarion watches him with a raised eyebrow. Even before they’d slept together after the tiefling party, Astarion had been unerringly good at catching when Zilver disappears and the urges takeover. After the party, it’s as if the vampire is inside of his own head all the time – without the damn tadpole so he has no doubts Astarion caught this spike as well.

“This can’t be that good of a book?” the vampire drawls, skeptically reviewing the pages, “You’ve honestly just been sat down here looking at mushrooms this entire time?”

Zilver rises to his feet, body aching in a way that reminds him of how long he’s been sat still. Stretching, he replies, slightly defensive, “It is engrossing is all, very informative.”

Astarion smirks glancing up from the book and flirtatiously teases, “Oh engrossing is it? I hadn’t realized this is what does it for you.” Then he holds the book out pinched between his fingers, open to a page of very, very suggestively shaped mushroom illustrations – long, thick, and obscenely phallic.

Zilver feels his face heat a little as he snatches it back, barking “That’s taken out of context.”

Astarion laughs lightly. Zilver smiles at the sound. He has his doubts about sleeping with Astarion – his own motives had mostly been to shut his urges up after all, and Astarion has been distant, almost vacant at times in worrying ways – but when he laughs like that he knows being near him is right.

“Did you just come down here to tease me?” Zilver asks, tucking the book into his bag and moving towards the elevator.

Astarion sighs, “Oh right. While you were busy, we went up two more levels. Nothing valuable, unfortunately, but there’s something big clanking around on the last level. Shadowheart, Halsin, Karlach and Lae’zel fought some fish things before they came back and one of them bit Lae’zel. Halsin patched it up though,” He trails off.

“Okay, and?” Zilver asks. None of that sounded all that urgent.

 Then as if he just remembered, Astarion rather flippantly adds, “Oh yeah, and Karlach lost Selska.”

“What?” Zilver asks with disbelief, whirling to face the vampire as they step onto the platform.

“Don’t look at me like that, I don’t know what happened. Karlach thinks she might have fallen from some cliffs or something, but I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if she just ran off.” Astarion activates the central lift, and they instantly arrive on the next floor.

Zilver’s not so sure. On the one hand, it was obvious even after Withers’ intervention that Selska did not want to travel with them. But on the other, she seemed practical enough to recognize the dangers of wandering off in the Underdark. Especially with whatever her demonic patron had done to her armor. 

Selfishly, he also hopes she’s stuck around. He’s been on edge since Alfira, worried at every moment he could snap and kill someone he cared for again. That night she’d arrived, when Withers had said, “This one’s death is not yours to deliver,” Zilver had let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. For whatever reason, somehow Selska was the only person in the party safe from his urges and the amount of relief that knowledge brings surprises him.

He’d tried the following night to ask Withers about the others, if they were also “not his deaths to deal,” but the skeleton remained characteristically obtuse. The best he got from Withers a very ominous “that will depend on you”  which did little for his nerves. Having one person he doesn’t have to worry about has been a relief.

Though now he realizes that Withers’ claim only meant he wouldn’t kill Selska. She could definitely have been killed by something down here in the Underdark. Which is again still his fault as the one who brought her and everyone down here.

Zilver’s anxiety spikes as he and Astarion leave the enclosed lift, moving into the tower’s main entry level – a cobwebbed and rubble filled husk. Lae’zel and Wyll wait for them by the entrance. Lae’zel stands a little distant, glaring at a shiny Githyanki slate in her hands. They all turn to look at them when he and Astarion come into view.

“Where did Karlach go?” Zilver asks.

“Down to the courtyard again,” Wyll says, “We were just waiting for you before we went too.”

With a flourish the warlock taps the lever to open the main door with his sword. They swing open to reveal Karlach and Selska are walking up the stairs.

“Hey guys,” Karlach shouts, excitedly gesturing to Selska, “I found her!”

Selska looks no worse for wear, no apparent injuries and just a little dust from traveling. Though even in the gloom of the Underdark the gold accents of her demonically altered revealing armor still seems to shimmer. Selska notices him staring and she crosses her arms across her body defensively. As his eyes dart up to catch her eyes, Zilver notes that her lips have somehow turned purple.

“What happened?” Zilver questions when the pair of women reaches the tower’s threshold.

Selska glances away furtively, before fairly obviously lying, “I just wandered off a little and didn’t hear Karlach calling.”

Zilver and Astarion exchange a skeptical glance, though Wyll, Lae’zel, and Karlach don’t seem to catch the lie.

“And why are your lips purple?” Astarion asks.

“Oh uh, nothing. Just more uh, deal stuff.” She stammers, face a little red. She finally catches Zilver’s eye for a moment. In her strange pupilless flaming green eyes, he recognizes a similar discomfort to Wyll’s when Mizora comes up, and he opts to drop the issue.

“Well, I’m glad you’re alright,” Zilver says, “Since you are, we can go check out that clanking upstairs.”

They go upstairs and gather up the others in the tower’s living quarters then venture up to the last level standing. Although ‘still standing’ was a bit of an exaggeration. The entire roof and back wall are completely collapsed, bringing portions of the floor with it. Five automatons stand around the room, the largest a clockwork marvel with a golden shell.

It turns and addresses the group, eyes sparkling with magic; “New sounds through damp and dark oppression break / Is it the foe, that foul contemptuous heel?”

“Uh, anyone?” Zilver asks the others arrayed behind him on the platform.

“Is that – poetry?” Gale asks. Then he scoffs, “I’d heard of bizarre eccentricities, but that is perhaps a step too far.”

Wyll chimes in over Zilver’s shoulder, “It’s not poetry, it’s a play. The Roads to Darkness I think. Next line should be ‘Or art thou friend, a rescue from my lonely wake?’”

“Come out of love for me, not for blood and steel…” Bernard – Zilver is now close enough to read the name etched in the chest plate  – continues, “Command me as you see fit my lord, my liege,” and it bows low.

“Got any more Wyll?” Zilver asks. Briefly he wonders what it’s like to have a mind that remembers beautiful things like poetry instead of the faint flashes of gore he has for memories.

Wyll replies, “Not from that play, but I could try a few limericks?”

“I found this downstairs,” Shadowheart says, holding up a piece of paper before reading aloud, “ ‘There is a light in every living thing / It's crawling t'wards the surface to survive’ ”

Bernard whirrs at the words, drawing their attention again, then he recites back, “And in its wake, it tramples everything / We'll kill the rest, so that the one can thrive,” and the automatons draw their weapons to attack.

“Shit,” Zilver cries as the party readies to attack. Kalach rages swelling in size as the energy takes over. Bernard nearly mirrors her, only when it stomps its foot and emits a tinny screech instead of growing in size, a shield of lightning spreads across its surface. Its wicked looking glaive sparks blue when it clashes with Karlach’s flaming axe.

The other four automatons descend, and the typical chaos of battle takes over Zilver’s senses. Without the scent of blood, a portion of his hunter’s instincts stays dormant, but he manages well all the same. He falls into step with Lae’zel, using his short swords to slice low while she takes her greatsword to the automaton’s neck. When it falls, she races off to help Wyll and Zilver turns to stalk Bernard – still locked in battle with Karlach.

He can’t get close with the electric field surrounding them, Zilver’s old instincts take over. He casts without thinking –  a ball of energy crackling from his fingers. It solidified as a beam of pure lightning moments before it slams into the lead automaton in a burst of sparks. The secondary flare of magic that pulses from Zilver also manifests as lightning magic, hitting his teammates and the constructs alike. The construct crumples for a moment, then to his surprise, rises again with its dark interior lit up blue, pure electricity sparking out of the cracks in the armor.

Bernard stamps its foot again and the battlefield erupts into a cloud of lightning, crackling bolts pulsing between the remaining three automatons. From the ground it’s like being trapped in massive electrical storm. Every hair on Zilver’s body stands on edge, prickling uncomfortably.

A stray bolt flies over his head, narrowly missing him before it slams in Shadowheart on the other side of the storm, bringing the cleric to the ground with a cry. An automaton almost immediately falls upon her. Zilver dashes across the field but he’s blocked by Selska is there before Zilver, slamming the construct’s arm with her shield. Astarion slips behind it with daggers ready, and it falls to the side. Zilver turns on Bernard, joining Karlach and Lae’zel in slowly chipping away at its strength. Wyll falls in step behind him after killing the last construct.

With Zilver, Karlach, Lae’zel, and Wyll focused on it, Bernard falls with one final pulse of electricity, enough to push everyone back a few feet before finally falling still.

Halsin and Selska help Shadowheart to their feet, the cleric still a bit stunned. Everyone – except for Gale who lands gracefully near a fallen construct - looks a little singed and their weapons are still sparking. More than one person is glaring at him.

 “Let’s take a rest yeah?” Zilver asks, trying to avoid looking at anyone.

“This place is creepy,” Karlach says, flanking Zilver on the left as they cross over the rickety wooden platforms ringing an abandoned village. Below the platforms, the beach is littered with the evidence of a recent battle – small humanoid corpses, viscera, and weaponry lying on the ground. Zilver’s killer instincts make out deep gnomes and duergar blood in the air. A boat is docked nearby, rocking on the waves of a black lake.

Even after taking an extra-long rest, Shadowheart needed to ride on Halsin’s bear form when they left the tower, having taken a lot of damage from the lightning bolt. They travel near the back of the party, followed closely Selska and Wyll. Guilt gnaws at Zilver again when he looks at her. Once again he swears to himself that he will never cast a spell again, although he’s broken the same vow a dozen times since the Nautiloid.

“A battle was fought here recently,” Lae’zel says gravely. Zilver hums in agreement, trying to stay focused on watching for threats and not the way his urges were champing at the bit from sight and scent of blood.

“We should check for supplies,” Shadowheart calls. “I’m nearly out of potions.”

Nodding in agreement, Zilver leads the group down a rope ladder and closer to the battle scene. The iron tang of blood is thicker down here, as heady as mulled wine to Zilver’s twisted senses. Red starts to fog his senses. He catches Astarion looking at him worriedly and Zilver tries to push through the haze. Catching Gale making a disgusted face at the scene before focusing on an arcane sigil emblazoned on a rock, oddly helps, injecting a little normalcy into the situation. Zilver carefully tries to limit his breathing as he and Lae’zel start to look through the bodies.

“Careful,” Astarion barks, when Karlach throws a log onto a dying fire, bringing more light to the scene. “Whatever did might still lurking around,”

“This was another humanoid, not some beast,” Zilver says, looking at the stab wounds on deep gnome corpse. “They are probably long gone.”

Which is of course when a scratchy voice calls out from one of the platforms now trapping the party down on the beach. An obvious ambush spot in hindsight.

“Wasn’t expecting another one of you drow out here, or a group this large,” the voice spits. On one of the platforms ringing the beach, a duergar with a side parted white hair and a beard materializes from the darkness. Shimmering faintly over his eye Zilver spots the familiar marking of the Absolute. More movement along the platforms reveals three other duergar, all heavily armed. Out of his periphery he spies another by the dock.

“What? Did you piss off Disciple Z’rell?” teases the leader. There’s something strange about the duergar, like a faint echo of the connection Zilver feels around other infected.

“I am a True Soul, and you will behave as such” Zilver tries to command, putting his energy into appearing intimidating to the duergar, holding up his branded hand. The flaming symbol of the Absolute flares for a moment.

Zilver’s bluff works and the duergar holds up a hand in gesture to his team, “A True Soul? Should have known.” He grumbles, gesturing to his men to put their arms down. “Gekh Coal, sire. Are you here to help with the hunt?

“What hunt?” Zilver asks curiously. Like a dog, his urges surge at the word ‘hunt’ practically champing at the bit inside his mind.

“We’re chasing a gnome slave that stole a pair of boots from our sergeant. The bitch is holed up in a colony of fucking mushrooms, and we can’t get near them,” Coal says.

“Mushrooms?” Zilver prods.

“Myconids,” Coal growls, spitting to the side in distaste, “They mess with your mind with those spores  - made some of my men jump off a cliff, while laughing.”

“But if you and your fighters went after them? I bet you could take out that whole wretched circle and that damn gnomish bitch. We’ll even keep an eye on your slaves while you do,” he adds, glancing towards Shadowheart, Selska, and Halsin. The duergar palms himself through his trousers as he speaks. Zilver blanches when he tracks the slavers’ meaning. From the sounds the small cries of protest or disgust behind him, it is clear he is not the only one who caught it. Karlach and Astarion tense in his periphery.

There may be a more diplomatic solution but with his urges already on edge, this last transgression tips Zilver directly into that uncomfortably familiar red tinged haze. The duergar just sealed his own death sentence.

Across the connection, he messages the group: Stick close to Shadowheart, I’ve got this one.

“Or we could just kill you lot instead,” Zilver says, voice a near growl. Taking advantage of Coal’s men surprise, Zilver dashes up the nearby ladder to stand right next to the leader, just getting his axe in his hands. Zilver sinks a short sword into his stomach, relishing the warmth of the blood on his hand. Zilver twists the sword up then pulls back out, lifting the duergar off the ground a little. He coughs, blood coming from his mouth before vanishing completely.

Growling, Zilver turns and hones in on one of his lackeys on the platform, while the others clash with the remaining forces on the beach. Zilver simply flings the dwarf over the edge when Coal reappears further down the walkway, turning several of the corpses on the beach into shambling undead.  Zilver just manages to restrain himself from casting another spell and instead charges towards Coal in a blur of speed. A stray arrow reaches the duergar first, piercing his arm and causing enough of a distraction that Coal fails to turn invisible again before Zilver slams into him. The force sends them rolling backward.

As they flip, Zilver catches a glimpse of Gale flying by, raining scorching rays onto the zombies, before he slams back down on top of the duergar. Axe knocked from his grasp; Coal can only try to punch and kick beneath him as Zilver pulls back his swords. One more slice across Coal’s neck stills his body, the heavy iron scent of deep red blood washes over Zilver heady and all too pleasurable. Even the guilt he feels for enjoying it can’t ruin the high of a good kill. The red fades from his vision as he licks the blood from his blade, before diving back into the fray.

Once Coal goes down, the others follow easily. The sound of battle winds down as the party regroups and takes a rest. Thankfully uninjured herself, Shadowheart carefully doles out potions and healing magic while Gale finishes attuning with the Arcane Sigil. They should be able to come back to the beach now when they need to, if the wizard had enough magic.

Less restless now that the urge had been sated, Zilver starts poking through bodies again in search of anything useful.

“So even duergar serve the Absolute now?” Wyll questions, cleaning his rapier.

“Looks like it,” Zilver says, pulling another Absolutist amulet from a corpse. He also gets a few health potions and a bottle of thick, viscous liquid.  

“What name did he say…‘Disciple Z’rell’?” Astarion adds, “They sound important.”

“Definitely worth noting,” Zilver replies, though he’s cut off by a strangle musical trill sounding from the upper portion of the village. 

Overhead stands three strange creatures. Two are almost humanoid in shape although they are made entirely of fungi of different colors and types instead of flesh. Bioluminescence flickers around their edges. The other is a terrifying monster with hooked arms, but covered in mushrooms, a hazy film even covering over its eyes. He thinks it’s a hook horror.

Zilver desperately wants a closer look at them. Telepathically the creatures connect with the party. An echoing deep voice, each syllable a note in the same song, enters his mind.

Flesh-talker, It intones through the connection, You have slain the duergar? It asks, the end of the question underpinned by a gentle note of hope in the song.  

It takes more effort than he’s used to message back through the myconid connection. Without a conduit in his mind like the tadpole to funnel it through, the raw psychic energy is nearly overwhelming but after a moment Zilver manages to mentally project a flickering view of his part of the battle to the creature. The wild tempest that is his magic remains calm.

The music swells into a light and pleased tune. Then be a friend to this circle. A vision – strong and clear – flares before his eyes, showing the duergar slavers brutally killing gnomes and myconids alike. The duergar sought a gnome. They killed our young. But you have nourished the ground with their blood. Come to the circle. Be welcome but bring only peace.

Zilver is given a vision of his corpse wrapped in thick fungal roots – a threat if he’s interpreting it right. The vision also gives the urge a sick thrill, a shiver of delight running up his spine as it fades. The creatures in front of them gesture to the group, starting to return to wherever they came from. Glancing back at the others with a shrug, Zilver follows suit.

If the laboratory in the wizard’s tower felt like coming home, crossing in the myconid grotto was like a wonderland. The scenery itself could have come from the feywild; there are massive mushrooms everywhere, serving as platforms, walls, lights, and climbing high up into the dark overhead. Strange undead spore creatures shamble about doing repetitive tasks mixed with other smaller myconids.

Zilver was captivated the moment they arrived, even more so after watching Spaw, the myconid sovereign, use spore magic to raise another undead servant. The urge even trills, enticed by the scent of old blood in the body and rising from the fungi feeding from the corpse. It gets even louder when Spaw demands the head of the absolutist drow that sent the duergar. Visions of a dripping bloody neck make his mouth water before he manages to agree.

After their audience with the sovereign, the party had been given free reign of the grotto, and even a hefty reward for killing the duergar. The very grateful Myconids let them sleep in their grotto that night and Withers wasted no time setting up camp for them in a quiet part of the grotto near a small waterfall.

It wasn’t only Myconids sheltering in the Grotto. They’d found the gnome, a woman named Thulla and managed to cure her from the strange liquid he’d found and met a dwarven trader looking for her husband. Begrudgingly anyway.

They’d even learned a few more things about their tadpoles from a pair of scholars – a bugbear named Blurg and a strange illithid named Omeluum –  but nothing they could use for a cure. He tried to feel a little encouraged that even an illithid could have some free will, based on the behavior of Omeluum but they still had no actual cure.

Everyone else had gone to bed a while ago, even Astarion, who couldn’t hunt in the Underdark. Zilver should be too. But he keeps hearing Omeluum’s voice in his head, clinically describing how someone tunneled into his skull and brain to insert the tadpole. The mere thought has a little bile rising in this throat though whether out of anger or of disgust, it is hard to tell. He can almost feel it happening to him again – a sharp sudden, agonizing pain of blinding brilliance behind his right eye so painful it erases him.

After failing to shake it off, Zilver rises and slinks out one side of the grotto, coming to rest on a staircase made of large mushrooms, overlooking a field of torchstalks and timmasks – respectively explosive and hallucinogenic fungi. With this wicked protection, there are no spore servants or myconids on this entrance, leaving him alone with the throbbing in his head.

Who could have done this to him? He muses. His former self probably made some enemies, especially if he had leaned into the killing urges the way Sceleritas likes to imply. But then why not just kill him outright? Unless, whoever it was still has plans for him.

“Nightmares get you too?” Zilver jolts as Selska appears besides him, coming up on his bad eyes’ side. His hands flick down to his weapons, or where they would be if it wasn’t so late.

When he recovers a little, he tries to lighten the mood by jokingly says, “Nah, mine usually come on a bit later than this.”

Selska snorts a little, “Lucky you.” She sits on the edge next to him, looking over the fungal field. They sit in silence for a few minutes. She’s been good company so far, if a little bristly at times. But as the same could be said of any of Zilver’s erstwhile companions.

“Can I ask you something?” Selska asks tentatively, briefly catching his eye. He nods and she continues, “What exactly are your uh, ‘urges’ I heard you all talking about?”

It’s a good question, but not one he has a good answer for. When he’d tried describing them to the others – before Alfira’s death – when he thought the tadpole might have been responsible, no one had really taken his words all that seriously. Except for Astarion. And after Alfira, everyone was so distant he had not had a chance to discuss what was going on. But he also doesn’t want to scare off Selska.

“I don’t know what causing them, these urges,” Zilver begins, “But I seem to have some sort of affliction that makes me crave blood, gore, and violence, so much so that I have the overwhelming urge to cause it practically all the time. A few times now it’s completely overtaken me, and the results have been grotesque to say the least.”

But even as he speaks, the visions that flash before his eyes do not trigger the revulsion they should. The urges hum with delight as Zilver is subjected to flashes of the managed copse of the squirrel he kicked back in the grove; the slaughter at the goblin temple, and Alfira’s butchered body. After a moment, Zilver snaps back to reality.

“But –” Zilver says defensively when he notices Selska staring at him with concern, “I haven’t hurt anyone in the party since that one time, and Withers said you should be safe so I really wouldn’t–”

Selska cuts him off, “It’s alright Zilver, I don’t think you’d hurt me.”

The small statement is enough to leave him dumbfounded, staring at her as she continues, “And besides I get it, at least a little. What’s left of my paladin oath is a like that,” she says staring ahead stoically, “It broke, when I arrived in the Abyss. I don’t even remember what it was for doesn’t control me, like yours does – at least not yet – but it’s always there and it’s so angry. Getting to fight lately has helped a bit, but it still just trapped under my skin.”

“That sounds familiar,” Zilver says when he gets his composure back. He did not know a thing about paladin oaths least of all what happens to oathbreakers like Selska, but he can definitely relate to having things trapped under his skin.  

They lapse back into silence, letting the strange sounds of the Underdark wash over them.

In the horizon beyond the mushroom field, a bald dwarven man appears, running frantically and glancing over his shoulder. He’s clutching a backpack to his chest tightly. Chasing behind the man are two hook horrors, chittering and screaming as they do. Selska stands quickly, weapon at the ready.

“No stop-“ Zilver says, rising and grabbing Selska’s shoulder before she steps off the fungal platform. “That whole field is a trap – we can’t step into it or we’ll both die.”

Neither he nor Selska have any ranged weapons and unless Selska can secretly cast Misty Step, the only option is for Zilver to cast. And he freezes. 

Up until now, Zilver had been blaming the wild magic flares on the tadpole or his own inexperience. Something surmountable or trainable. But today’s revelation confirmed the worry he’s only occasionally given voice to – that his magic is yet another thing in his life that he can’t control. Another thing lost to him, another thing taken from him by whoever destroyed his mind in the first place. And just like his violent bloody urges, every time he uses his damned magic it harms someone else he cares for. The wrong type of surge right now could set off the entire field of mushrooms, or push Selska and himself into it, or worse.

“Shit, he’s heading right for the field,” Selska spits, jolting Zilver from his inner turmoil. She slips from his distracted grip and moves further along the ledge. She starts waving and shouting trying to warn the man away from the field but, Zilver knows from experience as a predator that the man is now far he’s too panicked to pay attention.

He misses his next step and goes flying forward in an awkward roll. The backpack slides across the ground, narrowly missing being trampled by rampaging hook horrors. The dwarf manages to get his feet under him again but proceeds to charge directly into the field of torchstalks, closely pursued by the gnarled creatures.

The resulting explosion knocks him back a little with its raw searing heat. It really satisfies his urges especially when he briefly catches the tantalizing aroma of roasted dwarf mixed with the scent of burning timmask as the smoke clears. The ground itself is still on fire in places, slowly smoldering to ash along with the bodies of the dwarf and the hook horrors.

“Fuck,” Zilver says looking at the scene following Selska who had raced down to check on the fallen man.

“Wasn’t that trader looking for her husband?” Selska asks with dismay, holding up an ash covered wedding ring.

Zilver eyes it guiltily, “Ah fuck.”

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe this is what makes you sick,” Astarion scoffs from his perch near Zilver at the helm. “I watched you fly yesterday, surely that is more sickening than a little bit of wavy water?”

A groan sounds before the seasick Gale manages to reply, “Please, don’t say ‘fly’ – or ‘wavy’,” before moaning in agony again.

“Seconded,” Selska manages to reply with her eyes screwed shut. She’d really rather be walking right now, and her feet are aching. They’d set out almost immediately when Gale declared it was morning – he has some wizard trick to always know what time it is apparently – and started the trekked back to use the duergar’s ship in the abandoned village. Though they stopped briefly so that she and Zilver could explain what happened to Baelen Bonecloak to his widow, Derryth. Thankfully it turned out not to be the tragedy Selska had feared, as the man seemed to have been a bit of an asshole and his wife was notably relieved by the news.

Zilver’s own relief beamed from him the rest of the way back to the duergar ship. Not that she could blame him, the man seemed to carry a lot of guilt along with his murderous urges. It stands in stark contrast to Graz’zt and his entourage, who gave into every desire with abandon. She oddly finds it trustworthy, even if by Zilver’s own admission he has slipped before. The others in the party seemed to feel the same. So long as everyone ignores the dark things he unknowingly whispers under his breath.

The promise of some sort of ancient forge also across the lake from some strange book they’d found in the Myconid colony had further buoyed everyone’s moods and the party had set sail in fairly high spirits.

At first sailing had just been a little dizzying but by the time the shore was out of sight, Selska was decidedly seasick. Every time the shitty raft rocked in the waves of the underground lake Selska’s stomach flipped, and she had long lost her breakfast into the lake – much to Graz’zt’s amusement. She’d long abandoned her pack and weapons with Karlach rather than risk dropping anything choosing to lean on Halsin’s solid and stable bear form. Curled into an equally miserable ball next to her was Gale, clinging for dear life to Halsin’s fur, and groaning. To the wizard’s credit he had not vomited yet, but he was more than a little green at the edges and had been groaning constantly for the last ten minutes.

You’re looking pretty green again baby~ Graz’zt says.

“Oi Zilver, we’ve got company,” Karlach shouts, from where she watches over the ship’s port side. Selska opens her eyes to see another raft pulls up alongside, the tattooed duergar captain gesturing for Zilver to stop the boat. Reluctantly the drow weighs anchor with a glance to the others. The lurch of the boat coming to a stop has bile surging at the back of her throat. Gale groans again.

Jumping on board their raft, the captain looks at Zilver with suspicion, “Awful lot of you on one raft – surprised you’re able to float,” says the duergar captain, looking over the group. His eyes met Selska’s briefly before tracing appraisingly over her body before moving to Halsin and Gale. “Where the fuck is Gekh? And who the hells are all of you?”

Selska doesn’t hear what Zilver says, if he says anything at all when the drow ominously raises his right hand, showing the duergar something glowing in his palm. Apparently Zilver had let himself be branded at one point and combined with the illithid tadpoles it let him outright control people. Up until meeting Omeluum in the myconid colony, she had had no real idea of what the others had meant when they explained their tadpole situation. But now having seen a mindflayer and hearing the horrific descriptions of the transformation process, Selska shares in their horror. Even though the strange powers and telepathy they provided seemed to be the edge Zilver and the party needed to overcome Absolute’s expanding forces. Case in point, it instantly changes the attitude of the duergar, going from territorial and aggressive to somewhat put upon.

“Another shitting True Soul?” He growls. With a sigh, he adds, “Better take you to the sergeant – seems like Gekh screwed up again. You lot keep patrolling,”

Greymon gestures to his ship which begins to move again, before making a similar one at Zilver. “Well? Get on with it, lad.”

The duergar misses the flash of violence in the drow’s eyes, but Selska doesn’t. As Zilver comes back to the helm, Selska discreetly tries to catch his eye. When she does, she makes a quick gagging motion at the corsair’s back. The drow gives her a sly smile in return before restarting the boat.

“Transporting some ‘exotic cargo’ too eh,” Greymon says with a leer towards the trio. Selska glares back as hard as she can despite her queasiness, but the man just chuckles before turning back to Zilver. “Why aren’t they chained?”

“We didn’t want them to drown if they went over – worth too much to lose them to their own stupidity” Zilver lies, quickly.

“Ah, clever that. We’ll chain ‘em back up at base,” he says gruffly without waiting for a reply.

The ship picks up speed again, Selska has to bury her face back into Halsin’s fur to fight the nausea. The rest of the ride proceeds in  silence – excluding the occasional sounds of discomfort from her and Gale – until Grymforge rises from the dark caverns abruptly. Selska hears Shadowheart gasp, voice lost on the wind as they sail through the gate. It’s enough to prompt Selska to lift her head again. She manages to get a glimpse of massive gate of deep black stone flanked by two statues of a beautiful woman, eyes obscured by a heavy helmet also of dark stone before having to snap her eyes closed again to keep it all from spinning.

As they draw closer, Corsair Greymon exclaims, “Well I’ll be ploughed sideways, we got a welcoming party.”

A small dock waits for them, with three ships already there. Thankfully the waves get calmer in the small port, taking the worst of her seasickness with it. It still takes her a moment to feel confident enough to try to stand, still a bit nauseous. It surges again for a moment, the acid burning her throat, as the ship docks, the boat lurching once more as they finally dock. Zilver and Greymon hop off the boat, discussing something with the two dwarves waiting for them.  

Behind her, Gale is not so lucky, barely rising to one knee before having to vomit again. She ends up trying to get Gale on Halsin’s back with Wyll, nearly oblivious to the discussion behind them. They end up being the last ones of the boat, just in time for a bald duergar woman to arrive with an arm load of heavy looking metal chains.

Greymon growls to Zilver, “Chain ’em back up. Morghal will bring the slaves and beast down to the herdmaster unless you want to put them to work digging out Nere.”

The corsair turns and storms off, with the expectant air of someone used to being obeyed. Morghal also watches Zilver expectantly, chains in hand. Glancing at the Zilver, she sees a look in their eyes that Selska thinks means he and the rest of the group are speaking though their illithid tadpoles.

“You heard them, chain them back up,” Zilver says, firmly returning from their mental conversation.

“Dunno,” Morghal drawls, “Using our chains might cost you a round with that pretty one back there~” She gestures towards Selska with a lecherous grin.

Oh, that could be fun~, Graz’zt adds. She can practically hear the smirk on his face. Selska just manages to stop herself from retorting, not wanting to give away their cover so soon. She still glares as a deep, animalistic noise growls out of Zilver’s throat. He seems to swell in size as he casts an absolutely withering look at Morghal, enough to make the woman shrink back out of fear.

“Try it, I dare you.” He states, glowering menacingly.

“Unclog your hole, just shitting around” Morghal says, trying and failing to sound as jovial as she had moments ago. She hands the chains to Zilver and steps back respectfully.

A guilty faced Zilver clamps the chains around her wrists, and whispers quietly, “Sorry about this.”

Frustratingly, going along with the duergar’s assumptions does make the most sense. Besides it’s not anyone in the party’s fault either. Graz’zt is the one who dressed her like this and the duergar assumed from there. The fury around her heart pulses as she yet again silently Selska curses Graz’zt out. Anything is worth it to get away from him. “I get it. What’s the plan?” she whispers back.

Zilver nods a little wicked smile on his face, and replies, “Gale will have the real key. Try to slip away as fast as you can.” before going to chain Gale’s hands as well, guiding the still dizzy wizard to sit upright on Halsin’s bear back. Selska follows so she can stick close to the pair as they move on. The weight under her wrists is uncomfortable, even though Zilver kept them fairly loose.

You know these chains give me a good idea, Graz’zt says with no small amount of delight. You’d look so pretty in a collar~

Selska grimaces at his words.

“Karlach, go with them, make sure no one lays a hand on our cargo.” Zilver spits with uncharacteristic vehemence. Morghal flinches again. Zilver slips a to Karlach – who also has Selska and Gale’s packs – and the whole group proceeds from the docks and up several flights of stairs where they part.

Morghal leads Selska, Gale, Halsin, and Karlach down a long debris filled corridor while Zilver and the others go further into the fortress. The whole structure is in various states of decay although it still manages to have a certain awe about it despite its condition. More than just time and neglect have taken its toll too as parts of the crumbled walls seem to have been forced over. The whole hall reeks of rotten eggs and centuries of soot. Despite being underground, it’s surprisingly hot likely from the flows of magma pouring from cracks in the cavern walls.

Skeletons in dark armor litter the ground.

They round the corner to find three duergar and a small herd of rothé standing near a sheer cliff. A large pile of rubble blocks a doorway in on the only standing walls. A furious looking man stands with a wicked looking cane aggressively whipping the poor animals and cursing.

“Skarjall,” Morghal calls much more confident again out of Zilver’s earshot, “Got some more slaves and another beastie for you~”

“Good,” he says, lowering the cane and turning to look the group over with the eye of a livestock appraiser, Halsin growling deeply. Then addressing Karlach, he demands, “That bear any good at digging? Or can it scare these useless godsdamn rothé back to work?”

The animals all cower at his words, and Selska catches the eye of one of the females. Her thoughts jump into her mind.

“Not a bear, please no. It’s too much, too much pain!” she cries, frantic and scared.

“He won’t hurt you; he’s not even a real bear,” Selska tries to reply. It’s odd, speaking in a language that isn’t really a language but the rothé seems to understand. “Try to breathe, tell me what’s wrong.”  

“It’s too much. Too much old flame and fury…so much anger.” The rothé replies slower but still panicked.

Now anger Selska can understand. The oath that swirls furiously around her heart even surges with agreement at the animal’s words. And these duergar are pretty awful. Channeling on  “Give in to your rage and avenge your pain. Use it to strike your master’s down and free us all.”

Selska shakes her chained wrists in emphasis. The rothé growls deep and feral before lunging towards the herdmaster. She charges with a bellow and headbutts Skarjall over the cliff edge. He screams as he falls, his cane clattering to the stone.

“Hells the rothé have gone mad,” The other two guards and Morghal shout in shock. Just behind her, Selska hears Karlach bellows as she launches into her rage. One of the guards is just too slow and Karlach’s giant boot sends them over the edge after Skarjall. With her hands chained there isn’t much Selska can do to help with the other two but Karlach, Halsin, and the rothé handle it quite easily.

A tap on her shoulder makes her jump and pulls her attention away from watching the final blows. Thankfully it’s only Gale, standing and unchained. A key in his hand.

“Here allow me,” he says gesturing to Selska’s chained wrists.

“Feeling better then?” She asks, as the sounds of battle die down. The chains tumble from her wrists to the stone floor.

“Substantially! Nothing like a surge of adrenaline to clear the nausea from ones’ stomach,” Gale replies, as they both watch a still enraged Karlach gleefully pull a large hammer from her bag to the rockfall.

The female rothé breathing hard, comes up to Selska, though she skittishly skirts around Halsin’s bear form. The perceptive druid immediately shifts back to his elven form which puts the rothé more at ease as she starts to speak again. He starts helping Karlach shift the larger stones.

“Duergar can’t hurt anymore. We’ll wait until it’s safe to leave.” She let’s Selska pet the top of head before going back to join the other rothé. Selska and Gale hurriedly reequip their bags and weapons while Karlach and Halsin finish clearing a path through the rubble. Quickly, Selska reaches into her pack, pressing on the rolled-up camp clothes inside. The concealed notes from Tasha inside crinkle quietly. It had been a bitch to get them there – trying to slip them out of her cleavage while changing under Graz’zt’s ever present eye. She thinks she did it without Graz’zt catching on, but it was impossible to be completely sure with the bastard.

Gale stops a moment, bringing two fingers to his temple, “Just let me message Zilver, though I suppose we should continue this way rather than traverse the camp?”

Selska doesn’t hear what Karlach or Halsin says, as she steps into through the new opening leading to a large stairwell. The air is stale and musty. A pile of skeletons lies in a crumpled pile at the base. In the flickering torchlight now streaming through the doorway something golden shimmers underneath them. Selska kneels and pulls out a strange golden mask. Carved into the front is a very rough and somewhat unsettling approximation of a human face with rough features. It’s surprisingly heavy and the metal holds the heat of Grymforge tightly.

“That’s a merregon mask,” Karlach declares coming up behind her. Then in response to Selska’s confused look adds, “Foot soldiers of the hells. Strange to find one here of all places.” 

That is odd, Graz’zt hums. It’s pretty, and not that heavy, so Selska tucks the mask inside her still mostly empty pack. If nothing else it could be worth something.

“Halsin? Is it possible that this is fortress that Ketheric Thorm’s army came from?” She hears Gale ask Halsin as the pair enters the stairwell.

“I believe so, my friend,” Halsin says. “This place reeks of Shar.”

The name feels familiar and brings to mind dark shadows and shaded moons. But nothing more concrete than impressions. She could ask Gale or Halsin who they’re talking about, but she isn’t entirely keen on a lecture right now, so she resolves to ask later.

The group creeps along the newly uncovered stairs quietly. The path twists and turns several times before they reach the top of the fort’s battlements.  A large metal walkway hangs over the center, leading deeper into the fort where Zilver went with his part of the group. Another hall across from the walkway looks dusty and untouched, so they decide to move along the metal path, towards the others. With the rubble and rusted pieces of metal, moving quietly is no easy feat, so it’s somewhat slow going. Except for Halsin, who shifts into the form of a cat that moves with silent ease.

The walkway ends abruptly, shattered, over a large room full of duergar and gnomes. More statues line the walls, and circular carvings adorn even the tallest portions of the walls. The center is largely intact but whole portions of the floor have crumbled into a massive magma flow and the whole room was extremely hot. No one seems to notice the four figures on the upper platform.

Four enslaved gnomes futilely hammer away at a large rock fall, overseen by a bellowing man with another cane. The sight stirs her shattered oath once more, eager for retribution in the face of such inequities. Speaking with a barefoot duergar in front of this display is Zilver, flanked by Shadowheart, Wyll, Astarion, and Lae’zel. Crouching down low, the four of them on the walkway watch quietly as Zilver finishes his conversation and moves to the rockfall. He places two pouches by the stone and then softly speaks to the gnomes, who run back from the rocks.

Astarion nocks a flaming arrow and the pouches explode, clearing the rockfall. They nearly blow their cover when Nere – a slender, snooty faced drow - emerges from the smoke and shoves a gnome woman into the magma but her own screams drown out Selska and Karlach’s outraged cries. Zilver of course calls it out, almost immediately getting into a fight with the other drow and the entire duergar clan. The others springing into action behind him.

Gale casts Featherfall on them all a moment after Karlach leaps down in the fray, already mid-rage. Halsin follows suit morphing back to his intimidating bear form as he falls. They both land heavily in the fray near Lae’zel and Wyll.

From her vantage point Selska can see the whole battlefield and locks in on the spot where Zilver confronts the newly freed drow, still in the rubble blocking the doorway. Zilver runs up to him, only for Nere to Zilver look at with a gaze that brings him to a full stop. For a moment every muscle in his body freezes while Nere raises his blade with vicious intent. Her oath fumes at the sight.

Selska’s in mid fall before she can think, landing right between Nere and Zilver. The brilliant light from the Blood of Lathander blinding Nere and forcing him to stagger back, attack against Zilver forgotten. She tries to take the moment to orient herself only for Zilver to tackle her from behind, pushing them both to the ground. His swords clatter to the ground close by as they land, Zilver pressing against her back keeping Selska face down.

“Fuck” she gasps, surprised by the sudden fall but brushing it off as the drow trying to protect her from a stray projectile. But when he doesn’t let her back up, instead adjusting his weight to free one hand and goes to reach for his weapons, she starts to worry. “Zilver?” she asks, only to be met with silence – besides the sounds of the battle around them.

Worried, Selska truly starts struggling against him then, using his overstretched weight against him to pivot herself around. In the process, she catches a glimpse of his face, she spots a strange purple haze hovering in front of his eyes. A magical haze.

Selska manages to get her weapon arm free and swings the butt of it towards Zilver’s head. “Snap out of it,” Selska says, when she makes contact. The purple cloud over his eyes vanishes and he reels back. His eyes go wide in concern at the sight of her on the floor beneath him.

“Shit, Selska I didn’t mea-“ he stammers panicked.

“Later,” she barks, pointing to Nere, recovered from his blindness and glaring at them with fury.

Nere scowls and drawls, “How annoying.”

“Not as annoying as your fucking face,” Zilver retorts, a flash of purple magic in his eyes. He gestures and snaps in Nere’s direction, spectral laughter ringing in the air. Panic only covers his face for a moment before the spell twists backwards and engulfs Zilver in a thick cloud of purple smoke.

When it clears instead of Zilver’s draconic drow form there stands a small lamb with little horns, bleating in confusion. Nere laughs while Graz’zt hums Aww, cute~ in her head. Selska looks down at the lamb and sighs, tucking him under her arm holding her shield. She can’t move the arm well in the position but at least Zilver should stay out of harms way. A stray arrow strikes the ground as if to prove her point.

Zilver bleats again, the sound incongruous with the harsh sounds of battle around them. Selska squares off with Nere, who still looks amused though his gaze focuses intently on her.

Her morningstar slams into a faint purple barrier surrounding Nere. It rumbles like a storm at the impact and emits a magical shockwave that launches Selska and Zilver through the newly cleared rubble and nearly into the clouds of poison in the room beyond. They land ungracefully in a pile, Selska just managing to cushion Zilver against her body to keep him from harm. He gets trapped between her and her shield.

Zilver bleats, nudging her shield with his head with urgency until she moves and he scrambles free. The animal climbs over the rubble nimbly, poising high over the cleared portion. Nere strides in confidently a moment later, both swords drawn and the purple barrier gone.

“Now then, shall we finish this?” Nere asks snidely, taking one more step forward.

With a loud, un-sheep like bellow, Zilver leaps from the rubble, shifting back to himself in mid-air before landing directly on to Nere. He slides one shortsword, then the other into Nere’s stomach and whatever the drow intends to say dies on his lips. He only groans before falling lifelessly to the side when Zilver withdraws his blades. The sounds of battle die down outside the poison filled room, as the pair takes a moment to breathe.  

Selska leaves Zilver alone to cut Nere’s head off with a disquieting expression of glee. A golden glint across the room catches her eye across the cavernous room. She passes Astarion heading into the room with Zilver as she crosses the floor, carefully side-stepping the blood and corpses. Wyll speaks in low tones to the deep gnome leader while the rescued gnomes huddle together nearby.

“Where did you all come from?” she hears Shadowheart ask Karlach with surprise. The pair stand at the front of the clan’s main tent, watching Gale and Lae’zel ransack the clan’s provisions. Halsin happily gnaws on the leg of some butchered animal by the entrance to the room.

Another merregon mask sits on a table across from them, reflecting the glow of the magma around the room. She tucks it into her bag with the other and flops into one of the uncomfortable stone chairs nearby.

“Up there” Karlach says, pointing to the raised walkway. It looks so much higher from down here.

“I think that may lead to this fabled forge we’re after,” Gale interjects, “It seems to continue further behind this room.” He points to the end of the room mostly fractured by magma streams to where the metal walkway continues beyond the walls that Selska had not noticed before.

“We don’t have time to go chasing every legend that we hear about,” Lae’zel retorts, “We’ve got push on to Moonrise.”

Selska listens to the pair argue until Zilver returns, clutching Nere’s head by the hair as blood drips from his neck. The sight of his face frozen in agony brings a smug satisfaction to her oath, almost like its purring. Zilver looks similarly at peace, blood still smeared on his hands and on his face. Behind him, Astarion looks a little pinched, almost as if he was worried, though he’d never let Selska say as much.

“What are we arguing about now?” Zilver asks, mostly amused. They explain, mostly by talking over one another until Zilver holds up his hand, silencing Gale and earning him one strong glare from Lae’zel. Zilver looks thoughtfully between the two and the pathway along the ceiling.

“Well, the gnomes do need to recover a little before we go back across the lake…” Zilver says. Though the survivors milling about look ready to go to Selska. “How about we just go poke around a little bit more, until they’re ready?”

Lae’zel groans.

In the end they did find the forge. Along with its hulking protector, a massive iron golem that had nearly turned the Wyll into paste and was sure to do so to the rest. Only a lucky hit with the forge hammer at the last moment was all that stood between them and certain destruction. They get two nice sets of pure adamantine armor out of the adventure too. Zilver gives one to Lae’zel and she even declared it an acceptable replacement to Githyanki steel.

When they returned to the rest of the fortress, Zilver, Halsin, Lae’zel, and Astarion left to go back to the Myconid colony with most of the gnomes, leaving Selska with Karlach, Gale, Wyll, and Shadowheart. And Barcus, one of the deep gnomes they rescued, who Zilver and the others seemed to have known already.

The remaining five of them ended up exploring a bit more, finding a stray merregon trapped in a small room on an upper level. The strange devil creatures wore the golden masks she kept finding. She and Karlach had also found a note about a secret Harper stash somewhere in the fortress.

Karlach had only looked a little bit shocked when Selska asked who the Harpers were and she’d talked about the secret organization while they finished searching through the fortress before setting up camp in the main chamber of Grymforge. The night passed uneventfully, if nightmare filled.

A small spike of jealousy stirs when Selska sees Shadowheart in her new armor that morning. Unlike her own, the armor remains unchanged, keeping the strange blue sheen of the adamantine and the protective aura of real armor. Even the new boots Zilver had given her from the poisoned gnome at the Myconid colony had changed into golden boots with sharp heels, thanks to Graz’zt. Though true to Graz’zt’s word, Selska’s own changed armor still functions as armor, but she can’t help but wish she wasn’t so exposed in the short skirt and tight corset.

They all meet back up by the docks in Grymforge, Zilver practically vibrating with a strange innocent delight. “Look what I can do,” he exclaims, proudly running up to the group waiting on the docks.

Proudly he holds out his hand and in a flicker of golden magic, a small white capped mushroom appears. Selska still flinches, as do the others, anticipating another burst of wild magic to erupt for Zilver. When nothing happens, she looks at him with curiosity.

“It’s a Goodberry spell,” he explains, “The sovereign taught me and when I cast it, nothing happens! The sovereign even gave me Neres’ ear – see?” He asks, holding out a greying ear on a string now tied around his neck. Small mushrooms seem to be growing in the crevices and out of the congealed blood from where the ear was removed.

“Er, well yes, that is lovely?” Wyll says awkwardly, trying to make up for the silence from everyone else. “A bit ear-y, maybe?” He adds with a deliberate emphasis on his shitty pun. Selska laughs a little; Graz’zt groans.

“I think it’s wonderful that you’ve found a branch of magic that agrees with you,” Gale says, trying to smooth over the moans of most of the party. Lae’zel just scowls. “But we should get going yes?”

“Right, of course. Everybody ready?” Zilver asks, heading to the stairs leading to the gated elevator leading to the surface. He’s met with a chorus of semi-serious agreements. “Let’s go then.”

The elevator rattles and whirls to life before Zilver’s hand can move the lever. Surprised, the party leaps into defensive poses. Selska stands towards the back with Karlach and can’t see very much. An old man in a red robe and pointy hat wanders out of the elevator.

He calmly takes in the array of drawn weapons and tense figures and then with distaste, loudly announces, “Now that’s a fine way to greet an old friend.”

“Elminster!” Gale calls, swiftly shifting from defensive to welcoming. The others follow suit after a minute, as does Selska.

Well fuck me, the old mage himself. I’m surprised that fossil can even walk, Graz’zt says, although his words have no meaning to Selska. Gale and Zilver speak quietly with the newcomer for a few moments before leading him back down the steps.

“We’re going to talk to Elminster for a minute,” Zilver says. Lae’zel and Shadowheart sigh in unison, look at each other with equal expressions of disgust, and stomp off in different directions.

“Hey Selska,” Karlach whispers, “I wasn’t going to say anything because I thought we were in a rush. But I think I found that Harper stash in that note we found. Since this turning into a whole second breakfast, wanna go check it out?”

Glancing back over to where Zilver and Gale are quickly pulling out some food for the old man, who is still talking so circuitously it makes her head spin. The prospect of listening to him and Gale talk mixed with Graz’zt’s commentary sounds like a headache. Selska nods, “Yeah okay.”

They sneak off quickly, back up the stairs and part way down the hallway overlooking the docks. But instead of going back down towards the rothé, Karlach leads them just to the right and up another staircase. They climb down a small cliff to a small flat rocky outcropping. It’s actually a little cooler than the rest of the fort down here as there are no magma flows nearby. Strangely, three wooden chests with heavy locks sit in an almost circle around a sigil of a crescent moon and a harp painted on the ground.

“See?” Karlach says with pride, “Must be the stash – that’s their mark on the ground there.”

“But out in plain sight? I thought you said those Harpers were supposed to be secretive?” Selska asks with suspicion, looking over the chests. Besides their placement, nothing seems out of the ordinary about them.

Karlach shrugs, “I bet it’s some sort of trick; you remember that watchword right?”

Selska nods. “So, let’s try it with one of the chests,” Karlach says, moving towards one of them, Selska follows and when Karlach looks at her expectantly, lays her hand on the chest and whispers, “Lux splenda.”

A little whirl of magic rushes from her hands and the chest starts to glow with a cool light. But before Selska can try to move the lid, the entire chest starts to move on its own. Its wooden slats start to warp and twist as over a dozen eyes pop across their surface. The lid rattling and shaking all the while until the lock finally bursts open revealing rows and rows of dripping vicious teeth and a long-ridged tongue.

The slimy monster uses her surprise to grasp the Blood of Lathander with its tongue and pull it from her hands. It’s holy light and warmth vanishes into creature’s maw. It roars, a deep and monstrous sound.

To horrified to turn, Selska can only assume the other two chests morph as well when two more roars tear through the air behind her.

“Ah hells,” Karlach shouts, “They’re all fucking mimics!” before she goes into her rage, swelling up with fiery anger.

The mimic in front of Selska roars again, biting at her again, though she manages to dodge the attack. Weaponless and unprepared, Selska does the only thing she can think of, which is to shove it as hard as she can away from her.

Her relief is short lived when the mimic launches it surpringly lengthy tongue at her from across the battlefield, wrapping around her legs. It pulls hard and yanks Selska’s feet from under her, dragging her across the dirt.Thanks to short skirt of her ‘armor’ Selska can feel the slimy tendril as it slithers higher up her legs.

You know baby, I had my doubts about this but so far it’s been inspiring~ Graz’zt says as the tongue dips under her skirt, I have some friends with tentacles we can play with.

“Shit, Selska here!” Karlach cries from where she wrestles with the other two. A moment later one of the two mimics goes flying over her head and into the depths. Followed by a small hammer that hits the ground next to her with a loud clatter. Selska grabs it and lashes out towards the mimic - now with her feet practically in its mouth. The wild swing catches one of the mimics’ eyes, puncturing through the wet tissue with a sick pop. The mimic reels back screaming, its slick tongue unraveling from her body.

It’s enough for her to move her legs again and she kicks out against the mimic’s body. Her heel hits the fake lock on the front of the chest and to her surprise, the mimic starts to gag. Scrambling back, now fully free, she watches as the mimic shakes and convulse before vomiting up a pile of gold, a wooden block, and the Blood of Lathander.

It looks as confused as Selska feels, looking down at the pile before them, until Karlach’s hammer caves in its top. It falls dead with a whimper.

“You alright, solider?” Karlach asks, picking up the saliva covered morningstar and wiping it clean on her pants. She twirls it around to offer Selska the handle, pulling the paladin up when she grabs hold. Something about the gesture makes Selska’s heart race and her cheeks flush a little, and after the tiefling withdraws her weapon, Selska finds herself trying to look anywhere but at Karlach. Even at the vomit exuded by the now dead mimic. A small wooden block, somewhat intricately carved lies in one such puddle at their feet.

“Guess there’s no treasure after all,” Karlach says with a sigh.

“Hang on look,” Selska says, picking up the block from the mimic’s…fluids. It’s a miniature chest, far more detailed than a children’s toy would be. It’s not locked and opens smoothly when Selska tries the lid. The inside is empty but a light flares for a moment on the inside before it goes dark

“Now that’s some Harper shit,” Karlach says with a big grin, “Look another chest appeared!”

She still approaches it carefully, weapon drawn, forcing Selska to stay behind her, as this time the tiefling says the watchword. The normal chest erupts with light, the click of the latch audible. Inside the chest are a nicely maintained pair of boots that Karlach grabs.

“Sweet, great find! Let’s get back, yeah? Surely they are done with tea by now?”

They walk back to the group by the docks. Gale and Zilver stand with the older man by the elevator again, in the midst of deep conversation. The elder wizard nods to Gale and vanishes just as Karlach and Selska reach the bottom of the staircase. Everyone is gravely serious – Gale actually looks seasick again – tension heavy in the air.

“Who died?” Karlach says bluntly, almost jokingly. Everyone else – even Astarion and Lae’zel – turn to look at her with looks of distaste. Karlach asks, “What?”

Chapter Text

Last Light is oddly beautiful, despite its horrendous surroundings. Lit from a dome of protective light, the large, dilapidated inn seems almost like an apparition rising from the dark on its isolated island. One hundred years of neglect has left the wall crumbling, the roof caving in. Yet the flickering firelight streaming through the remaining doors and windows is extremely welcoming after the endless day they had just spent in the shadow cursed lands. 

With Zilver in the lead, they’d wandered through the strangeness of the Shadowlands for hours, protected only by the light of Gale’s torch, Selska’s glowing morningstar, and light spell on Karlach’s ax. It’s even more disquieting than the Abyss and the Underdark. What little light that penetrates through the thick shadow barrier carries none of the sun’s warmth and does little to fight all the surrounding gloom. Even in the Underdark what little light that did break through the gloom from above at least felt like sunlight. Here it was just depressing.

It didn’t help that everyone was still reeling from the directive from the goddess Mystra – who was also apparently Gale’s former lover. Ordering him to blow himself up in order to stop this Absolute feels more than excessive. Especially as they still have no idea what the Absolute is exactly. Though Gale seems fairly resolved at this moment. 

At some point in the life she can’t remember Selska must have had a similar sense of devotion to Gale to swear a paladin’s oath. Though given the aching remnants of that oath burn inside her, she must not have been very good at it. Maybe the god she’d sworn it to had asked something similar of her a long time ago and she had refused? 

Nothing stirs in her memories. She certainly wouldn’t consider blowing herself up for a god…unless it took Graz’zt with her. 

They’d found other living folks while stumbling in the dark: a strange elf, that Gale called a “shadar-kai,”and another party of travelers under attack by the shadows. They turned out to be a group of Harpers – the same group Karlach had mentioned in the Underdark - and after the shadows were dealt with, the grateful leader brought the entire party back to sanctuary that is the Last Light Inn. 

Though the woman in charge – Jaheira, a firm faced older half-elf – nearly squeezes Zilver to death with vines while they had watch helpless under the weapons of the many guards. Even when he’d revealed the strange, many-sided artifact that protects the tadpoled party members from the Absolute, the stone-faced druid had been unmoved. If Halsin and the tiefling child hadn’t intervened, the High Harper very likely would have killed or imprisoned them all.

Temporarily satisfied, Jaheira released them and stalked back to the inn with the other Harpers, Zilver, and Halsin leaving the rest party to settle in further. Most of the party makes a beeline for the traders, while the rest of the refuge falls back to work. 

She opted to follow Lae’zel on a sweep of the inn’s perimeter – the ever-vigilant Githyanki refusing to trust the word of strangers about security. Selska did not share the same concern, but being around this many people - especially dressed the way she is – sets her teeth on edge. She’d felt eyes on her from the moment they were cleared by the High Harper. The long walk around the inn reveals a funeral for the Harper killed during their fight against the shadows; a woman crying under a bridge; workers securing handmade defense; and guards everywhere. There's no relief from the staring.

At least one person whistles when they pass on their patrol. 

When they approach the main courtyard again, Selska and Lae’zel come out by the side of the inn, facing the bridge to the island. The others are heading toward them with Zilver, all chattering and grinning excitedly. Though none quite as broadly as Karlach, who beams like a miniature sun.  Karlach cheers when she sees the pair and runs over. Before Selska knows entirely what’s happening, Karlach joyfully pulls Selska into a hug, lifting her off her feet in the process. The lift puts them eye to eye for the first time, flaming orange to burning green. There’s a deep and intense joy in Karlach’s gaze, familiar and welcome. It’s almost easy to get lost in. So much so that it takes a moment for Selska to realize the touch isn’t burning her. 

“You’re cooler! How?” Selska exclaims, trying not to stammer as her thoughts shift away from Karlach’s eyes to the miracle in front of her. 

“Dammon fixed me up with the metal we found and now I can finally touch!” Karlach says as she puts her down. If she notices anything odd in Selska’s behavior, she doesn’t say anything. 

“Who?” Selska asks.

“Oh right, you haven’t met yet. Dammon’s great, a proper infernal mechanic from Elturel. He fixed my old engine up right with that infernal metal we found and even some armor. You should show him those masks we found!” She reaches for Lae’zel next, who takes to the treatment like a cat getting a bath – all raised hackles and hissing teeth. She doesn’t scratch Karlach though, but it’s a near thing.

“We’re going into to talk with Jahiera,” Zilver adds.

“You go ahead; I have a quick question.” Selska says gesturing towards the forge. The others continue inside, while she backtracks to the barn across the small square. It’s been transformed into a smithy on the lower level where a tiefling hammers away at something in a fairly well-maintained forge. The smith – Dammon – kneels by the forge to stoke the fires. When the tiefling looks up at Selska’s question, he ends up with his face practically in her chest. 

“Breast?” He says a little dumbly, then seems to track what he said and pulls back.“Oh! Uh I meant yes, not…well, I uh didn’t mean, uh…” Dammon keeps stammering, although most of it drowned out by Graz’zt’s delighted laughter at the slip up. His face starts to flush. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Selska says, drawing back with her cheeks hot. Dammon straightens and seems to recover a bit, though a bit of deep orange blush still covers his cheeks. 

“I should be more on guard, given the circumstances,” he says with a hint of humor. It seems to rally him and he shifts back  “So what can I do for you?”

“Karlach said you might want to look at these,” Selska says, pulling the devil foil masks and after a moment’s thought, the Iron Flask from her bag. She lays them on top of the forge’s bellows and steps back a little. Dammon hums, looking the items over with keen interest. 

He picks up the flask curiously, “A containment flask? That’s a rare find. But it’s useless without the stopper.” He lifts to the light for a moment, and adds, “With a bit of luck and the right metal a skilled artificer could make a new one.” 

“An artificer?” Selska asks. The word isn’t familiar. 

“Someone who works magic and machinery,” Dammon explains, “I’m good with the tools but magic is beyond me. There’s a deep gnome inside who’s close, but I don’t think this sort of work is his specialty. Maybe in Baldur’s Gate?” he muses. 

“But these?” Dammon says turning to the masks, lifting them up to check their weight, looking closely at the structure. “I could do something with – may I?” He asks, watching for Selska’s nod.

“Hmm, well it won’t last very long, and it could be a bit unstable but…” The smith turns away muttering to himself with tools in hand. Watching with rapt attention, Selska tracks the smooth motions of his hands and tools with silent awe. The flames soon lick too high and hot for her to stare at anymore, and she has to wrench her gaze away. 

She lands on the animals at the back of the barn turned forge. Two of the oxen munch contentedly on some dry hay in one stall, seemingly oblivious to her and Dammon. The third ox, standing by itself in a separate stall in every other way seems to be a normal animal, except for the way it is staring at the flames. It nearly has the same expression as Zilver before a kill, Astarion before a bite, Lae’zel before a fight – pure bloodlust.  

Intrigued, Selska goes to take a step forward, the motion drawing the animal’s attention before she can finish the step. They lock eyes, the ox’s looks at her intently, “Incapable” it murmurs dismissively. 

“What?” she asks it, in the same strange not-quite-language she’d used to talk with the rothé. 

“You heard me, adventurer.” It snorts, decidedly un-animal like. There’s a strange anger in its eyes as it stares Selska down.

Dammon turns back before she can reply and the strange animal averts its gaze, twisting to look at the back wall of the stable. Selska shakes it off and returns her attention to Dammon, who is holding out the newly transformed merregon mask. The golden covering is now folded to a slim metal casing, with an oblong fuse jutting from the top. The heat of the forge has melted some of the finer gold details leaving a much more skeletal face behind but still recognizable. The casing is still fairly lightweight too. 

Oh, he is good~ Graz’zt adds. 

It really is incredible work and Selska says as much enthusiastically to Dammon, who converts the other three she found. If there was just some way she could talk to him without Graz’zt butting in, Selska thinks as she leaves the forge to catch up with the others. Having the demon in her head all the time was worse than as bad as living with him. At least then she got breaks from him. 

So far it seems like the only time Graz’zt isn’t watching her is when she’s sleeping, and even that’s hard to actually prove. Given how pissed he was when she’d gone to see Tasha – which after talking to Halsin Selska realizes meant she’d slipped into the Fae Realm – getting away from him for even a moment was going to be nearly impossible. 

Inside the inn is crowded, a large command center covers one side, presided over by the intimidating elven woman who had stopped them at the gate. Men and women in various uniforms rush in and out of the various side rooms while several children run underfoot. Even the deep gnome Barcus seems to have found his way here after sneaking out of their camp, tucked into a back corner with some alchemical equipment. He must be who Dammon was referring to. In one of the side rooms, she sees Halsin and Wyll with Lae’zel standing guard. 

Zilver, Karlach, Gale, Shadowheart, and Astarion stand in the alcove across the way, near an extravagantly dressed man sat at a chessboard. He’s obviously not a refugee, his deep red robes and wavy brown hair entirely too clean, too elegant for the place around them. All of them are glaring at the man, who just looks smug. As Selska draws closer, the man spares one piercing glance at her, a familiar looking hot fury rising in his eyes before he vanishes in a shower of sparks and smoke. She reaches the group just as they turn to face her.  

                                          
“If he makes another joke about ‘plucking’ that little girl’s ‘apple’ again, I am going to gut him,” Zilver hisses, an edge of raw violence to his voice. Karlach growls in agreement.

“Who was that?” Selska asks. Graz’zt snorts in her head for some reason. 

“A devil, one I really don’t think we should be involving here,” Zilver says pointedly looking at Astarion. The vampire rolls his eyes. 

“Well, I don’t have a better idea do you?” Astarion retorts. “I have to know what Cazador did to me.”

The pair shifts into a silent conversation for a moment while the rest of them stand around awkwardly. Selska, with her own deal with Graz’zt, can’t really judge Astarion or anyone else who makes a deal, but she agrees with Zilver. Better to keep the Infernal and Abyssal out of things entirely. Maybe anything with too much power, she adds, thinking about Tasha.

“Whatever,” Zilver says, pulling away from Astarion with irritation. “The cleric Isobel can only bless four people at a time so why don’t you wait out here?” he growls, stalking up the stairs. 

Astarion groans and stalks off towards the bar in the back of the room. The others run after Zilver, though Gale casts a worried look in Astarion’s direction. Selska follows suit but stops when she realizes there are already four heading to see the cleric. 

The second level is open to the lower but is blessedly quiet and besides two patrolling guards and her companions, completely empty. Light pours in through the holes in the ceiling and the large back door facing the river. The sound of the flowing water is oddly compelling, drawing Selska through the doorway and out on to the balcony. 

The large space spans the back of the inn, overlooking the river. Most of it’s obscured by the dome of moonlight, but there’s still a refreshing breeze. Another guard stands watch, leaning against the railing and smoking something. They don’t notice Selska slipping to the side and under a small, covered part of the balcony. A small door lies at the end, leading back into the inn. 

It's by far the most private space she’s likely to get in this shelter. Selska drops her heavy pack and slumps against the wall with a sigh. A moment alone is more than welcome. Though the peace is extremely short-lived. 

“Tell me, little star, does your daddy know where you are?” asks the richly dressed man from before, manifesting on the balcony next to her. The air suddenly smells of cherries and sulfur. Graz’zt’s nickname falling from his lips sucks the air from her lungs. She hadn’t mentioned it to anyone since she had arrived. Selska stares at him with disbelief, uttering a shocked, “Excuse me?” in reply.

He tuts, “My, my do you not recognize me? Surely my arrival was the most memorable part of Graz’zt’s wretched party, no?” 

He wishes, Graz’zt growls. It’s not your fault you don’t recognize him, baby. My cousin was a lot more emotional, the last time you saw him. 

Selska’s eyes widen. If this is Graz’zt’s cousin – Raphael – then he is also her competition for finding the Crown of Karsus. While Zilver had called the man a devil downstairs, the human form in front of her bears little resemblance to the flaming hellsbeast from that night. 

“Ah recognition at last,” Raphael purrs. “I must say I liked your last outfit more, this one bares too much of that control freak’s terrible taste.” 
Graz’zt snorts, Takes one to know one~

“I really do not care.” Selska says, cutting off the devil’s fashion advice. He breathes out a disdainful sigh.

“I merely wanted to make sure my cousin’s property is where it’s supposed to be. I’ve never known him to let his favorites wander this far from home.” Raphael says with manufactured concern.

Remember, not a word about our deal, Selska. She can feel the binding magic on her tongue as he speaks, waiting for her to slip up.
“I’m no one’s property.” Selska retorts with distaste, even though it feels like a lie. 

Raphael laughs, the tone rich, smooth, and haughty. It contrasts with his actions as he reaches out and grabs Selska tightly by the arm, “Of course you are, and if you’re fool enough to believe otherwise than you’re truly lost. The evidence of your possession is all around you.”

“And that seems like something the mischief of little mice you’ve been traveling with really ought to know, doesn’t it?” Raphael asks, trailing off meaningfully at the last word. 

Selska feels herself pale. If Raphael told the party about Selska’s connection to Graz’zt would they trust her again? They wouldn’t want a demon as powerful as Graz’zt lurking around if they had a choice. She sure didn’t. And with Graz’zt’s restrictions she wouldn’t even be able to explain herself. 

“Is that a threat?” Selska asks, trying to mask her concerns.

“Only if you think they’ll reject you,” Raphael says with a note of faux pity, “If you continue to interfere with my little mice, perhaps we’ll find out.”
Her reply is cut off as a winged undead creature flies past the the two, screaming in Selska’s face as it passes. It lashes out at the pair with wicked looking claws dripping a clear fluid. Reeling back to get her shield, she just catches a glimpse of smoke as Raphael also vanishes. She just manages to get the shield between them before the horror’s claws come crashing down again. 

It reels back again and Selska lunges with her morningstar, cracking it across the ribs. With a screech the undead pulls away, charging for the door back into the inn. Selska goes to chase after it only to freeze and watch in horror as another undead creature flies overhead clutching a screaming tiefling child in its claws. 
There’s nothing nearby to throw so she has to watch helplessly as the creature vanishes into the darkness. Screams from back inside draw Selska back to the inn, charging in with her weapon drawn. Zilver stands locked in combat with a winged man in a Flaming Fist uniform while Gale and Karlach surround a woman with white hair and emanating a holy light from her hands. From the screaming below, there were more undead on the first floor. 

But between their party, the Harpers, and Flaming Fists, the attackers fall fairly easily. Zilver slashes the winged man’s throat with a twisted smile while Selska joins the others in fighting the winged horrors. A few of the defenders fall and many more are injured but the fracas ends successfully. She’s still not entirely sure what the whole thing was about and in the chaos of picking up after the battle, healing the wounded, and getting into camp she hadn’t bothered to ask anyone. 

Jaheira lets them camp on an empty stretch of beach on the side of the inn and by the time they got down there, Withers’ magic had already transformed the area into another well appointed camp. The beach is jagged, raised in portions leaving the tents end up at odd heights despite being part of the same circle around a roaring fire. A pot bubbles on the roaring fire.

They barely get a few steps into the newly carved refuge when a dark portal tears open reality in front of them. Releasing a projected form of an oddly familiar woman - a pale blue cambion with fiery red hair. Selska’s almost certain she was also at her party in the Abyss. Much to her surprise, it seems like her companions also already know the devil.

Ah, I should have guessed the warlock was part of Mizora’s little menagerie. Raphy really  captured Zariel’s attention. Graz’zt says.

Selska watches in awe as Zilver negotiates on Wyll’s behalf, smoothly opening a path to freedom for the younger man in exchange for one final act - free an agent of Zariel from Moonrise Towers. 

Would they do the same for her? She wonders as she watches the others congratulate Wyll, thinking back to Raphael’s threat. Would they take the devil at his word? 
Dinner is a pretty pleasant affair, everyone’s mood lifted with Wyll’s good news. They go through the last of their fresh provisions and all the wine Astarion claims is ‘passable’ before heading for a well deserved long rest. 

Halsin’s already in bear form, flopped on his side, paws sprawled out in front of the fire. Curled in between his limbs and against his exposed stomach are Scratch and Snack both still awake but nearly dozing in the warm fire. It looks a lot warmer than the empty bedroll laid out for her nearby.

Zilver’s sleeping in Astarion’s tent tonight - the pair having made up at some point - so she’d be the only one by the fire. Looking at he warm pile of animals again - well animals and Halsin - she makes a decision, snatching the bedroll and blankets from where they lay and heading over to them. Who knows, maybe some company will fend off the nightmares.

“Mind if I sleep here?” She asks Scratch and Snack, who respond with enthusiastic nods, shifting over. Halsin turns to face her and gives a huff of agreement.

Really baby? Sleeping with the animals? Graz'zt groans.

“Better than sleeping with you,” she hisses back, tossing her furled bed roll and blankets down. She spreads them out so she can lay against Halsin’s side while sitting on the bedroll. She sits on the roll and pulls the blankets over her lap, leaning back against Halsin’s form. 

His fur is surprisingly soft and clean, maybe because he isn’t a real bear subject to he dirt of the forest. As expected it’s much warmer here and as she pulls the blankets up around her shoulders, sleep seems to be creeping up quickly. Scratch curls up on her side, followed by Snack placing his head on her lap. It’s warmer than it has any right to be in the middle of the Shadowlands and a far cry from the luxury of Graz’zt’s palace, but it’s more than enough to lull her to sleep. 

Fuck the Shadowlands. 

It’s like Zilver’s urges turned into reality – dark, oppressive, and all-consuming. The urges themselves haven’t stopped either. It’d taken all his willpower not to gut Isobel when they’d meet, every part of him wanting to drink the cleric’s blood. There’s been no relief in fighting the shadow creatures either, which are either undead and bloodless or made of pure shadow. 

The crutch of sanctioned bloody murder while the group traveled had been helping far more than Zilver realized and now without it his urges are growing rabid. Even the success of his mad scheme to free Wyll hadn’t been enough to buoy his spirits. As a result, he’s been tense, sharp, and short with everyone as they push deeper into the Shadowlands; his inner turmoiled coiled just between his shoulder blades.

The protective covering of Isobel’s Selûnite magic feels alien against his skin, itself cleansing power nearly burning his skin. It does mean that the party – minus Halsin who was tending to a long-lost Flaming Fist – can sneak up on an Absolutist convoy without giving away their position. Flanked with a few Harpers they take down the fucking drider of all creatures, half-orcs, and goblins with ease.

 
Somehow the Absolutists were harnessing the power of pixies to cross the deepest shadows, through methods none of them could discern. The grateful pixie he releases from the drider’s lantern grants them a bit of this power so they could set out to traverse the deeper shadows. 

It doesn’t make actually moving through the destroyed landscape any easier though and their progress is significantly slow. Once reasonable paths had been torn to pieces by the erupting earth, creating a mess of dead ends and shattered cliffs perfect for ambushes. They definitely end up going in circles a few times too, running into more grotesque shadows each time. A very large shadow mound even spews digestive juices on the entire party that eats holes in fabric and metal alike. 

Seriously fuck this place.

Shortly after, they stumbled across a lone rotten cottage, a warbly and creepy as all hell child’s voice wafting from the windows. It sounds almost like it’s singing a lullaby. Without even exchanging a word, the entire party turned and sprinted back down the pathway. Every hurried step reminds him just how tired he is; how much this place seems to suck from him.  

Their direction-less sprint leads them through a new area – an abandoned pottery workshop with its floor covered in shattered ceramic, bones, and dried blood. As they slow down, he and Lae’zel spot  a mix of old and new odd three-toed footprints in the mud.  

“These tracks are layered,” Lae’zel whispers, “There’s a humanoid set underneath them.”

The humanoid prints lead from the building and continue down the path pursued by the three toed creatures. Following them through the mud Zilver can just make out some thing bright gleaming at the distance.

“Slow, slow,” Zilver whispers, gesturing with two fingers to the others. “There’s light up ahead.” 

Everyone draws their weapons and creeps carefully towards the light. As they draw closer, a new sound joins the hellish noises of the Shadowlands - the ear-piecing shrill screech of a dozen creatures hungry for blood. It reaches a fever pitch as they crest over a small ridge overlooking the remnants of an old farm.
Five torches, burning with an arcane glow ring a small fenced grassy patch, full of shattered chicken coops and other detritus. A cluster of sick, twisted, shadow creatures covered in thick fur holding thick ropes in their large claws pace the perimeter, howling for blood. Five other shadowy shapes — the size and shape of large dogs — weave between them, adding their own piercing howls to the cacophony. Fresh burn marks scar the ground.

“Shit is that Rolan?” Karlach half-whispers in the quietest tone she can muster. Of course it is, Zilver groans internally, catching sight of the tiefling wizard standing in the bright light. He’s breathing heavily and holding his side in a concerning manner. 

Zilver scents fresh blood and magic in the air moments before one of the clawed creatures knocks out one of the torches. The shadows surge forward as the light dies, screeching all the while. Rolan hurls a ball of fire at them, but to little effect. 

“Come on, we have to help him,” Karlach cries before leaping from the ridge with a bellow, followed by Lae’zel and Wyll. Zilver and the rest follow after. 

They’ve really fallen into sync as a combat unit over their travels. Lae’zel and Karlach as the two heaviest hitters can knock a dent in any battle line, which lets Zilver, Astarion and Wyll slip in to pick off the dazed attackers. Shadowheart and Gale generally hang back until someone needs healing or Gale spots a safe opening for a larger spell.  

It doesn’t seem to just be a side effect of the tadpoles either if the way that Selska and Halsin fit into their dynamic - the paladin providing much needed protections for the casters and the druid able to shift between extra muscle and extra magic as needed - was any indication. They even worked well together in small groups each person rising to fill roles as needed. 

Down just one member, the party still makes pretty easy work of some of the furred creatures in the initial confusion. The shadow dogs prove a little trickier, especially once they regroup and display their own skills at pack tactics. 

The other creatures don’t hit very hard but can evidently teleport which makes them hard to hit. Then one of the creatures slips its garrote around Wyll’s neck and they both vanish in a swirl of deep shadows. 

“Shit!” Karlach screams, rage spiking so high she’s practically wreathed in flames. No one can run after him either as another torch falls to the creatures and the dogs start trying to corner the rest of the party. 

Instinctively Zilver moves to the front of the group, twin shortswords at the ready. Karlach draws up on his left, Lae’zel on his right as they push through the animals’ defenses. A flurry of magic and arrows flies from behind them, destroying the remaining furry monsters, one of which screams as it burns. 

The alpha dog lunges for Zilver but is quickly intercepted by Karlach, who delivers the final solid blow with her hammer. The field falls silent. Wyll comes running back with a cheeky grin a moment later, a bit of blood on the tip of his rapier. Karlach runs over with Shadowheart to check on him. 

“Gods damn it all. I can do nothing right - not a damn thing.” Rolan says, drawing Zilver’s attention. The wizard stands in the remaining torchlights winded and with blood on his robes. He also looks completely emotionally distraught.

“Please don’t tell me you were trying to reach Moonrise?” Zilver asks with a sigh, already anticipating the sullen wizard’s response. 

“So what if I was? Cal and Lia could be there. Instead, I found myself cornered by shadow-fiends as and in need of rescue. From you, of all bloody people.”

“So we were just supposed to let you die of your own idiocy?” Zilver retorts adrenaline and temper still raised, “How in the hells would that be of any help to Cal and Lia?”

Rolan snarls and backs away, stalking - well limping -  towards the trail towards Last Light. The tears in the corners of his eyes reflect the remaining torchlight as he moves. Zilver sighs, trying to release the tension in his shoulders.

“No, no, wait,” Zilver says, “You’re exhausted, We’re exhausted. Why don’t you stay with us? We’ll set up camp here and you can head to Last Light in the morning?”
“Awesome plan!” Karlach exclaims cheerfully, slinging an arm around Rolan’s shoulder, “Don’t worry Rols’ we don’t bite. Well asides from Astarion.”

Rolan looks like he sucked on a particularly sour lemon but his protest dies when Withers appears from the darkness as the word camp passes Zilver’s lips. When he next blinks and the ruined battlefield - corpses, blood, burns, and all — is clear, replaced with the usual tents, campfires, and other items that Withers provides. As well as Scratch and Snack, who eagerly run over to the group. 

Rolan stands there with his mouth agape, looking after Withers with awe. 

“Fucking weird right?” Selska says as she walks by him. Everyone disperses, heading for their tents or the cooking fire with marked fatigue, all oblivious to Rolan’s bafflement. The wizard grumpily settles into camp, eating dinner and getting healed while keeping one eye on Withers until he retreated to Zilver’s neglected tent. 
The mystery that is Withers somehow stopped bothering Zilver ages ago, now seeming like a completely normal part of their adventure He’d only realized something was odd about after Selska joined and even then the thought never seemed to stick for long. 

Given what he knows of his past life, maybe it’s a remnant of having the foul butler, Sceleritas wait on him. That version of him seemed much more likely to have expected others to serve him than Zilver is now. 

“You called for me, Milord?” asks the hideous and familiar goblin-esque that appears directly overhead. 

The sound Zilver makes is for more akin to a shriek then he would ever willingly admit to and it echoes through the air around them. Zilver sits bolt upright with start. The twisted butler leaps back quickly. He’s alone by the fire tonight, giving Astarion a night to himself. Selska had curled up with Scratch and Snack by the banked cooking fire near Karlach. 

Thankfully it seems like no one heard Zilver’s cry, probably dismissing it as another strange sound coming from the darkness.

“Shhh dear depraved one, we wouldn't want to wake the others, would we?” Sceleritas chides. 

“What are you doing here?” Zilver hisses.

“I come here because I wish to grant you another tithe. But I cannot grant you this prize quite yet. You must do something divinely unspeakable first. 
“I don’t want any damn prizes from you,” Zilver growls. It would almost be true if the dark depths of his mind weren’t salivating at the prospect like a well trained dog. It makes him sick. 

“Of course you do, master. Especially this one. And all you have to do is kill this pretty girl,” Sceleritas says with sick glee. With a gesture, he summons the illusory form of Isobel next to him. He sighs disgustingly fondly as he continues, “Isobel the cleric with the face of the moon. She is too precious to live.” 

Blood pours out of the illusory form of Isobel’s eyes and mouth before it vanishes. The urges in his chest hum with delight, contrasting sharply with the horror Zilver feels rising in his throat. “I’m not going to kill Isobel! Last Light is doomed if she dies”

“Perhaps you have failed to consider the piles of bodies that will the village,” Sceleritas says with disconcerting teasing lilt. Like he was trying to convince a small child to eat a vegetable, “You adore piles of bodies, master. They have always been your favorite.”

“You’re insufferable, you wretch,” Zilver growls, red fog rising behind his eyes. “That is not who I am anymore. I won’t let myself touch another innocent.”

Red, thick and viscous like blood washes over his senses, leaving the last note of his declaration ringing through his ears. When Zilver is again in charge of his senses, he has Sceleritas gripped tight in his hands. The tips of his claw like nails draws blood, the familiar scent of which nearly makes Zilver lose control all over again. 

“Who knows who you might harm next if you do not give into your urge,” Sceleritas laughs, squirming in Zilver’s crushing grip. “I know you want to.”

The twisted butler vanishes in a puff of red smoke right out of his hands. They flex unbidden as if still digging into flesh. A slight motion by the cooking fire catches his attention. His silver eyes lock with Selska’s blazing green peering at him from where she’s sprawled with Scratch and Snack.

Her pupils vanish a moment later, her eyelids snapping closed much too quickly to be natural. He wonders how much she heard. 

That thought and a thousand other worries keeps Zilver from sleeping, which may have a been a blessing with his nightmares. He just barely manages to trance enough to feel somewhat recovered before the others wake up. Though with all the yawns around the breakfast fire, it seems no one slept well. 

After seeing Rolan off - without so much as a word - and packing up camp, the party is ready to set off for another day. Albeit more than a little exhausted. 

Back into the fucking Shadowlands. 

Great.