Fandom down, down by the river ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ [Nana & Lucy]

[Nana-k-ew]

There were many things ThaiMol grew to love about traveling through land instead of the sea but sore feet certainly were not included in that list.

The journey to Baldur's Gate had not been an easy one but, thankfully, it hadn't been lonely either. All her life, ThaiMol had known the same handful of people, all gathered inside a ship. Whoever else she had encountered before remained in passing, fleeting faces that she knew couldn't care less about her own. Now? ThaiMol was considered a hero to a handful of tiefling refugees, a friend in battle to some harpers, so on and so forth. 'Hero' still felt foreign to the green tiefling, it wasn't a very popular term in the world of piracy and something Captain Krankaz would scoff at if any dared to address his crew in such a manner. Karlach and Wyll held all the credit for it, even if they denied it.

An unlikely friendship between a sea thief, a former soldier of Zariel and the Blade of Frontiers - even more odd that it was mindflayers tadpoles that brought them together. Who knew the fear of ceremorphosis could make friendships blossom?

Around the campfire, the three of them had shared tales of their lives without shame or fear. Drank cheap wine and rum scavenged from discarded crates until none could stand straight nor could ThaiMol pluck a coherent shanty from her beaten up lute- only to regret it come morning, as their feet dragged through the dirt and heads pounded harshly. They gathered infernal iron so Karlach may hug them for the first time, sworn to help Wyll find his father and free himself from Mizora's grasp and both even managed to convince ThaiMol to allow them to help search for her crewmates, as much as she claimed with certainty that Krankaz was long gone from Baldur's Gate, believing her to be a deserter.

Currently, they strolled through Wyrm's Crossing in hopes of finding both supplies and a place to rest, having used ThaiMol's last spell on invisibility to pass through the Steel Watch and Flaming Fists. All guarding the city's entrances due to the growing number of refugees fleeing to Baldur's Gate. Whispers of the Absolute and its army spread like wildfire everywhere they walked through.

Straying a bit behind both of her companions, as they spoke of where to go and what to buy with the little gold they had left, ThaiMol groaned and stopped to lean against one of the buildings. Her eyes lazily jumped from person to person, letting the murmur of citizens fill her ears. Her back slowly slid down until the tiefling sat on the floor, uncaring for its filthiness, she'd seen and lived in worse. ThaiMol would rather bit a goblin's toe off than admit it, but the anxiety of getting closer and closer to the lower city was getting to her- the reality of being left behind by all that she'd known and what it would imply once the tadpoles and the cult were dealt with. Krankaz wasn't the merciful nor the patient type, less so for deserters- captain's usually killed those. In some ways he had a soft spot for her, as soft as someone like him could be, so murdering her was off the table- leaving her behind wasn't.

Tugging at her armor, eager to be rid of it and have an actual bath for once, ThaiMol turned to Karlach and Wyll. "If the FlopHouse tavern is too expensive we can try the whorehouse. It's got food and rest and I bet we can get a three for one deal- a discount even if we pick an ugly fellow."



Enver Gortash prided himself in being prepared, formulating and executing his plans no matter the many curves and bumps that may be found along the way. Patience and perseverance were essential, he had not spent years in the wings waiting for eagerness to ruin him- be it his own or of his partners. Well, as of now, just one partner - Ketheric's immortality proved itself to be useless in the face of some simpleton adventurers. By the recount of the few surviving cultists, the faces of the heroes that kept interfering with the 'Absolute' changed, meaning at least three groups acted against his interests -and two familiar people kept poking his interest.

Karlach, his former body guard who should've been chained to the hell's under Zariel's command. That he could deal with perfectly fine, what somewhat concerned him was the sightings of a human rogue with a set of freckles and red hair he had once seen on a daily basis. It was quite a common description, part of him could hardly believe that Orin would let her personal troubles go unfinished, but there was still a small spark of anticipation in him. Neria wasn't an easy thing to kill, amongst a sea of bhaalspawn she held more control over her urges than others- hells, Gortash still mourned the idea of how easy it all would've been had Orin not stepped in. The changeling couldn't hold a candle to the restraint and precise eye of his favorite assassin, working with a loose cannon and a past grieving fool proved to be quite the headache at times.

He should focus, put aside the 'what if's' and center his mind around his coronation. The audience hall was filled with upper class nobles, awaiting his arrival with bated breaths. Duke Ravengard stood pretty, mind sedated and controlled by the tadpole, prepared to announce the first ever Archduke of Baldur's Gate - once a child sold off, now Bane's chosen and soon to be ruler of all of the Sword Coast. The thought itself brought a smile to his face. Still it was, in all honesty, bittersweet to not have Neria witness his rise to the power after she had carved and bloodied the path so neatly for him, to not have her next to Ravengard, ready to slit the man's throat the second he concluded the coronation. What he had in instead was Orin, hidden amongst the crowd surely- when was the changeling not around? Preparing to stab him in the back all in the name of chaos and murder, she had no true taste for genuine power and subjugation.

"It is wonderful to have you all here to witness the future of Baldur's Gate." His voice echoed through the room, two Steel Watch guards opening the tall wooden doors for him. The heads of many snapped in his direction, painting a sea of stuck up smiles and opportunistic smirks. A collection of greetings and congratulations followed Gortash as he lazily strolled towards the duke, waving towards some and ignoring others. In that moment, Gortahs wished he had the ability to read Ravengard's true thoughts, to witness the duke's true reaction to being bested by the one he once called ' a worthless advisor'.

The stage was set, all he had to do was await for the simpleton heroes to storm their way towards the audience hall. "You all may linger and enjoy the feast I have prepared. Sate your hunger before the coronation truly begins, my friends. It will be a sight to behold." Pompous laughter and cheering followed suit, as expected. A growing murmur of conversation filled the room, some sneaking to his side, wasting no time in attempting to leech off of him and his future standing in the city.

 

[Lucyfer]

Baldur’s Gate.

It was the city that Astarion longed to return to, and feared returning to. Raphael’s parting words at their last meeting indicated that his siblings were…preparing for his return, in some way. Some ritual. He hadn’t said much more, but hinted that if Astarion joined him at Sharess Caress, he would indeed learn more.

They had to go that way anyways. One of Lae’zel’s fellows was also going that way, and had more to say about Vlaakith, and his plans. Astarion was all on board with Lae’zel throwing off the yoke of Vlaakith, after they met oh so briefly in that ruined temple of Lathander and threatened their lives if they didn’t retrieve some mysterious artifact that neither he nor Lae’zel had ever seen hide nor hair of.

Everyone seemed to be looking for it, though.

The Absolute, the Githyanki – it had to be quite powerful.

Astarion was starting to think he wanted it for himself.

Lae’zel’s nose was wrinkled in perpetual disgust as they entered the city, and Astarion couldn’t help but notice, “Oh don’t worry,” he grinned, “the smell only gets worse, darling.”

“Tsk’va,” he knew that to be something of a complaint by now. Usually. He didn’t know what it meant, but he didn’t really need to, “you istik really do enjoy your material goods,” her eyes moved around all the structures, with all their useless, pretty, decorations. “Less of it, and this town would reek less.”

He couldn’t help but grin at it, “Oh, I don’t know, the flowers do help to cover some of it,” he led them into Sharess Caress, a place that reeked instead of alcohol, sweat, and desperation. All scents he quite liked, and he felt that familiar hunger pang well up within him. He was still reduced to drinking mostly of animals. Halsin and Lae’zel weren’t exactly forthcoming with blood, though they didn’t seem to mind if he took hold of someone they were in combat with to drink from.

Still, that didn’t happen often enough.

“Oh my, is that you, Astarion?” Mamzell Amira purred, and he turned his head towards the blonde woman with her hair piled upon her head, a lovely little circlet resting upon it. Of course, he put on a charming smile and approached the counter. “It’s been so long.”

“And yet you look just as ravishing as the last time, my dear Mamzell,” he returned, feeling Lae’zel’s eye roll without looking back, “My companions and I are looking for another, well, like her,” he gestured back at Lae’zel, “have you seen such a man come through?”

“Yes,” she said, brows knitting together a moment, “he went to see a handsome devil. I’m not sure you’d want to be disturbing that,” she winked, “or maybe you do.”

Astarion chuckled, “Oh, I assure you, that is exactly my sort of party,” he cut a wicked grin across his lips, “why don’t you join us, love? I promise, you’ll find the sin to be…delectable.” He knew she wouldn’t. Not because she didn’t want to, but simply because she had to watch the place.

So her denial was expected.

But he knew she still enjoyed the invitation as she shook her head. “Go on up,” she said, “top floor, last door – the one that used to be Lilin’s room, you know?”

He knew. He’d led Lilin to Cazador. That didn’t matter. “Thank you, my dear,” he said, “is there a cost?”

“Oh no, no – he’s said that any who ask for him are to be sent that way, and this seems close enough to asking.”

Astarion kept the smile on his face, and silently agreed as he looked back to the others, before again taking the lead.

“You’re familiar with this place?” Lae’zel asked. Judgment? Judgment.

“But of course,” he said, “what better hunting grounds?” the edge of bitterness and anger was obvious. He couldn’t hide it, as they reached the staircase, and continued up. Thankfully, Lae’zel pressed no further, and they found the door easily.

Astarion might have knocked – but Lae’zel simply grasped the handle and pushed. It opened, unlocked, but Raphael was not there.

Kith’rak Voss was.

“What are you doing here?” Lae’zel asked, “dealing with devils now?” she seemed irate, and was no doubt reconsidering the honesty of Voss.

Astarion noted, “No devil here. At least, not yet.” Curious.

~***~

The Devil that was lost to his room was not lost at all.

All the players in his game had arrived, and he’d be remiss if he didn’t greet them all – although the Bhaalspawn could wait. That was a mess best left alone, for the moment. Enver Gortash and that Bhaalspawn had been a thorn in his side for only too long – stealing the Crown of Karsus just the icing on the cake – but he’d remedy that.

Soon.

First, he had to bring together the hunters of the Githyanki prison for Orpheus, together with a desperate bunch who might help handily remove Gortash from the equation, and they were so very near his meeting grounds, that he simply had to step out.

Thanks to Korilla’s report.

Of course, he didn’t step onto the streets as the devil he truly was, but in that human guise, dark hair, and red noble attire. He saw the pirate tiefling ThaiMol down in the dirt. “Come now, you three don't need to cut such base deals as that, when I can offer a much better one, without all the ugliness," Raphael interjected as he approached the three of them.

Wyll bristled at the arrival, at the voice. “Hells. You're enough ugliness on your own." Rude. "What do you want?” Exasperation, anger, frustration. All of it so very expected from Mizora’s pup.

Karlach glared.

Raphael smiled at the three of them anyways, “To help, as always,” he said, and with a snap of his fingers – he’d bring silence to all their minds. He knew that they weren’t being watched by the Emperor, but the Elder Brain was likely still taking notice, given they had defeated Ketheric.

Wyll seemed to notice quickly, his hostility diminishing into confusion, “But, let’s take this to a better setting, shall we? I have a room just in here,” he gestured to the building of Sharess Caress, “You can eat, rest, and hear what I have to say, before you turn me away. I have found information on a cure to your tadpole situation, after all."

The silence in their head ought to be fairly convincing, but he had other ways of persuading if not. Other ways to fix Karlach’s machine, information on Wyll’s father, and oh – the most delicious – information on ThaiMol’s dearly lost brother.

If only he’d stay lost, it would save them all such heartache.

But of course, he wouldn’t.

“Whatever you have to say, we don’t want any part of it!” Karlach raged.

But Wyll was thoughtful, “Karlach…listen,” he said, and she frowned, fists clenched at her side. When Wyll tapped his head, she fell silent. She focused.

Raphael imagined she was hearing that strange lack.

~***~

Neria – only ever Neria, as Shadowheart was only ever Shadowheart – stormed through the sea of refugees with such fury, it was likely somewhat hard for the poor cleric to keep up, although Neria didn’t move to a sprint. Neria knew this city, like the back of her hand. Little else could be said for things she knew, but as soon as she set foot, it was like a flood.

She knew every alley.

Every crypt, every cave – oh, she knew that well, where it was so easy to dump bodies, she – ‘Focus.’

Her inhale was shaky as she avoided thoughts of murder.

Every memory Withers had returned to her, only showed her how horrible she had been. She had killed her sibling. She had killed her parents. She had been…more than a little macabre with her art. She had some knowledge of Ketheric Thorm, and Enver Gortash. All of these things, she had allowed the Cleric of Selune to see in her head, the way the cleric had once shown her a memory of a wolf.

A wolf that was her father.

A wolf they had to save. ‘The Sharrans must have seen her by now. Seen you. You cannot forget your promise to her.’ Of course, she hadn’t – Dame Aylin and Isobel sought out the Sharrans, and Neria would cut a bloody path through them, but first….

Well, first was the magnificent hall where Gortash was going to be coronated Archduke, the reason for all her haste. She was about to miss it, and how could she ever do such a thing as that. Only then, at the doors, did she pause to look back for Shadowheart, and make sure she hadn’t actually lost her in the crowd.

She…needed Shadowheart.

Somehow, even as a follower of Shar, Shadowheart had evened her out. Kept her focused. Present. It was familiar in a way; there must have been someone she was accustomed to focusing on, to protecting, that it made the role easier to fall into. Even though she was quite willing to lead, she needed someone at her back.

She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that need, either.

Fel thought it a weakness she ought to purge.

She wondered, occasionally, if he was right.

Nonetheless, she hadn’t lost Shadowheart, so she turned back to the building. “Here,” she hardly needed to point it out, with two of those Steelguard monstrosities flanking it. One tried to arrest her at the gate! She would have slaughtered it if it hadn’t malfunctioned thanks to some kid.

These…might not be so easy to get around. The ceremonial hall was obviously closed now, though the crowd still milled close, and some people did go forward. “Hold on,” she murmured a spell under her breath, and touched Shadowheart’s shoulder, to cloak them both in invisibility, so they could follow into the hall when the doors swung open – which was easy enough.

Not that the spell would last long enough – but it got them in, to a perfumed gallery of wine-drinking nobles.

‘And you.’ The dark-haired man was there, enjoying the people fawning over themselves as they spoke to him.

Neria’s hand wrapped around a scarlet rapier, and she stepped out onto the red carpet.

The invisibility spell made that the perfect time to fall.

Sometimes, she was fairly sure, Withers knew how to ruin all her best laid plans. The Steelwatch within the building noticed the woman not in a gown, but leather armor – elegant though the armor was, and of a black wash – along with a cloak that would be only too familiar to Lord Enver Gortash – as bloody red as the woman’s hands often were.

“Stand down, villain,” the Steelwatch commanded as she straightened up, moving the rapier in front of herself, stepping back into a defensive position, “In the name of the Steelwatch, aggressive action will not be tolerated in the presence of the patriars of this proud city.”

“Oh, so I assume it’s all right in the presence of the rabble outside then, no?” Neria couldn’t help but snap at the steel contraption – yet the blade lowered. She was seen, and she didn’t yet know how to destroy one of these steel things. Oh, but she would. She would carve into it and ruin it, one day, but not with Shadowheart on the line.

And not when it could mean missing Enver’s heart with the blade instead.

All eyes were on her now – certainly, he wasn’t about to stand for that, was he?

 

[Nana-k-ew]

"Oh for the love of the Gods, I am not in the mood for mind games." ThaiMol groaned the second she heard a frustrating familiar voice.

It seems that the devil had also taken the journey back to Baldur's Gate- Raphael, an annoying man with a silver tongue and a taste for riddles. The very same one that had tried to persuade them into a deal of sorts at the very start of their journey to getting rid of the tadpoles.

ThaiMol herself had no real resentment or experience with devils but it was not surprising at all to see Karlach and Wyll be hostile- after all, both had fallen for and into the hands of hells creations before.

The tiefling scoffed, rising up to approach both the devil as well as her companions. "I'm just gonna take a wild guess and assume this won't be out of the goodness of your charming heart-"

All it took to shut her up was a simple snap of fingers- followed by an overwhelming silence. It was odd to be alone in your own mind after you've grown so used to a squirming tadpole, used to easily invading minds and yours being invaded alike. It was a bit disturbing to have her head be her own once more.

Temptation was an awful thing, especially when you lacked choice. "I'm not saying we should agree to any of his deals but...hearing him out won't hurt." ThaiMol eyed Karlach gently. "He's just as desperate as us if he keeps knocking at our door." The bard smirked, pointing towards Raphael. "If it's a shit proposition, we can just ignore him like we did before."

What the three needed, beyond beds and food, was clues and directions. Trusting the mind flayer in their heads didn't sit right with her, facing an Elder Brain was suicide- so, what else did they have after killing the other two master minds of the cult?

With luck, and some gift of the gab, ThaiMol was certain she could weasel some information out of Raphael that could ease their plight.

It could be a strategic choice but the fact Raphael wanted to make this 'deal' in their own realm, in a house filled with people, could mean he wanted them to be as comfortable and confident as possible - trick them into saying yes faster which meant he was desperate for whatever it was he needed. Desperation was a great card to have in deals- and if they kept stalling and refusing Raphael, there was no denying he'd search for what theirs was.

Those were the few times she wished the tadpole was active, to have them all on the same page without having the devil hear them- guess he had that covered too.

"Let's get this over with. Make it short and sweet. Have all options on the table-" Her hand gently patted Karlach's arm. Turning to Wyll as well, in hopes he understood her. "-even the ones we won't sell our asses for."

Sharess Caress was bustling with business, drunk patrons falling out the door whilst others loitered around the entrance, hesitant or maybe shameful to be seen walking in. Doing a quick overlook around the balcony, hoping to spot any unwanted company Raphael might've brought, ThaiMol's gaze briefly met the one of a druid - if the leaves were anything to go by.



Halsin had lived for well over 300 something years, had many adventures and fought many battles but this journey and its companions had been the oddest one by far.

Had someone told him he would be traveling to the city with a vampire and a Githyanki, both infected with mind flayer tadpoles, he would've laughed. Nevetheless, they were the ones who assisted him in lifting the shadow curse, in meeting Thaniel once more and righting the wrongs of the past - he owned them this much, not to mention it would help ease his mind that both of them were being guided.

Silvanus only knows the kind of havoc both Astarion and Lae'zel could cause if left to their own devices.

"I believe the devil we seek is outside." The druid leaned forward, remaining outside the room still, facing the balcony.

Since they entered Sharess Caress, his attention kept finding itself more focused on its patrons, the wonders of the flesh and its unison rather than the objective, or the depressing sight of the city life. At least it made it easier to spot the creature his companions seeked.

"Raphael's schedule seems to be filled, do you know the people he's speaking to Astarion?" Out of the three of them, only the vampire knew and lived in the city. "Are you two quite sure this is the best option?"

"That devil possess the key to the liberation of our people, mind your tongue Lae'zel." Voss' words cut harshly through Halsin's concerns. "I'd skin him alive for disapearing like that were I not desperate."



Forming bonds, depending on people, was something Shadowheart was not quite used to yet.

If asked about it, there was no doubt she trusted Neria to fight to death for her but she also knew Neria could be capable of bringing that death to her herself. Not out of her own conscience, but due to her birth, her father- it had happened before, in the myriad of memories they had shared before.

Still, after everything they've been through, all that they've learned and relearned about each other- Shadowheart knew she wouldn't regret chasing after Neria straight into the lion's den- said lion being Lord Enver Gortash himself. The source and cause of Neria's shattered mind.

As the invisibility spell ceased to be, as if muscle memory, the cleric positioned herself right behind Neria. It would be outright suicidal to try and face those hunks of metal by themselves, still, she anticipated spells and her own weapon - just as Neria had stood by her when confronting the Nightsong, she would do the same in the face of the future archduke. Whatever the warlock chose, Shadowheart would honor.

Her eyes remained locked on said man's face, only to be shocked at the expression it morphed into.

Gortash was a lucky man- in all senses of the world. It was somewhat shocking, the surprise and relief that entered him the second that harsh melodic voice of the past filled the hall. It cut through the metallic clunk of the Steelwatch as sharp as her knives once did.

Peaking between the stands of coppery red, a gnarly scar painted the pale face of his most treasured bhaalspawn. Dark, violent blue eyes held a boiling rage Gortash had not witnessed in Neria before- so that's what Orin had meant when she said she made her bloodkin a fool. So it meant not dead, but instead broken. It's the exact type of malice Orin fancied.

But that was not a concern- despite it all Neria had returned. She had seeked him again. Gortash's smile grew genuine with excitement, as fond as someone like him could express. His mind ran with the millions of possibilities this reunion could hold, the return to his- no their original plans.

"Excuse me, my good people. I must interrupt this celebration to greet my nearest and dearest guest of honor." The confusion and buzz of the people only grew louder, unsure if they should stop inching away from the two intruders and properly greet them or continue to hold their guard up. "Pay the Steelwatch no mind my friend, they're not used to your...ways, yet."

Shadowheart rolled her eyes, mouth ready to insult the cocky bastard but Gortash beat her to it- entirely ignoring the woman's presence.

His pace towards them held much more hurry and vigor than his previous entrance to the hall- one wave of his hand sending the Steelwatch away- but not too far, he was no fool.

"I should've known you'd be no easy kill." He chuckled, taking a breath to take in Neria's sight, draped in bloody reds and leather. Bhaal's favorite child, hands always dirty- just as it had remained in his memories. The woman herself was doused in tones of red, it adorned her in ways he hadn't known to be possible - for a person to compliment a colors instead of the other way around.

"Although, it did concern me how long it has taken you to return to me- I've been dying to see you." Dying to be rid of the weights that dragged him down, to be rid of Orin- to return to the fruitful bond him and Neria held. A slight chill ran his spine, confirming his previous suspicion that Orin stood near, amongst the crowd.

"Enough with the flattery." Shadowheart demanded, brows furrowed and anger clearly visible. "Do you take us for idiots?"

"Ah, you always did enjoy keeping...feisty company around. How ...cute." Gortash wall but spared the black haired one one quick glance, unbothered and uninterested and whatever she had to say.

 

[Lucyfer]

Raphael could not help the smug sense of amusement he felt as the three tiefling heroes (Wyll counted, in a way, having saved tiefling and become a hero to them, he supposed) recognized what he had done with a mere snap of his fingers. The concentration took a lot more than just that, but none of them needed to know that as he led the way to his place, seeing the familiar druid out on the balcony, “Ah! Halsin,” he greeted as the vampire poked his head out to see who Halsin had asked about, “And Astarion, a delight. I trust Lae'zel is here as well?”

The answer was obvious as he stepped in.

As Astarion answered Halsin, “No, I'm afraid I…well now hold on,” a crooked grin crossed his pale features, “is that you, Wyll? The prodigal son returned and with…horns? Ugh now if that's the cost of making a deal with Raphael, I may have to reconsider. Not that they look bad on you, darling, but my features are sharp enough.”

Wyll was not impressed with this stranger. “I made no deal with Raphael,” he stated bluntly. “Who are you?”

“Oh, of course. The name is Astarion,” he introduced, “I'd ask what lovely company you keep," and he did allow his gaze to stroke over both tieflings as if he intended to devour them in such delicious ways, "but I suspect Raphael would be loathed to have introductions stolen from him, so I'll demand the information instead.”

That wicked grin with the comment of removing joy from Raphael was almost enough to make Karlach laugh. She did snort and tried to cover it for Wyll’s sake. “Name’s Karlach, rogue,” she introduced, sizing him up at a glance, which did raise those eyebrows. “Always happy to help piss off a devil.”

A long suffering sigh came from within. Raphael, of course, “Whenever you're all quite ready to learn more about those tadpoles….”

Astarion shot a look back, and then realized…his tadpole hadn't connected with these people, if they suffered the same. In fact, he didn't notice it at all since Raphael came into the area.

Lae'zel remained silent though her glare could be felt upon all. She wanted to understand Voss’s comment, and was terribly impatient.

~***~

Neria did not expect Gortash to look…happy. Fear or anger were the more appropriate greetings. Did he take her for a fool? Did he think she was indeed oblivious? She had been, at one point, but not now.

She didn't put the blade away, nor did she raise it again, as her brows furrowed, quite unable to mask her confusion at this friendly greeting. Guest of honor? Friend?

‘At one point….’ she assumed as much. The memory showed her how easily her guard had dropped before his betrayal.

Shadowheart snapped at him, and helped snap her from that confusion. She disregarded the audience they had. Ignored the looks of familiarity – some who knew her as assassin, some as a mortuary worker, and others…well, others who knew how the roles came together.

“Her name is Shadowheart,” Neria said lowly, so he might get the hint not to see her as merely some cute companion. “And her question demands an answer. Do you take me for an idiot? I have recalled what you did to me, the way you took me for a fool,” the Steelwatch was there, but behind him.

It'd take nothing to run him through before they could help him.

She stepped closer to make that threat apparent. “So tell me, my nearest and dearest friend,” she let those words slide off like poison on a knife. And just like a drop, she kept her voice a low whisper, so few further than Enver would hear, “why did you choose to betray me? What reason do you have for me not to show your crowd of adoring friends how very mortal you are?”

 

[Nana-k-ew]

Raphael had some strange connections, two elfs and two githyanki were somehow also involved in this deal the devil wanted to offer them. Certainly most, if not all of them, were also victims to the tadpoles. Why else would the man bother to gather them all together?

"ThaiMol Piyas- seafaring bard." The tiefling mocked a bow as a greeting to the new set of faces inside the room, a playful smile at her lips. A stark contrast to the woman that sat on the floor moments before. "It's a pleasure, my fellow greenkin and others." Voss looked anything but amused about the empty introductions, even less about the tiefling's joke towards the similar hues of their skin.

The pale elf's gaze didn't go unnoticed by ThaiMol but it wasn't much of a bother, they were in a house of pleasure afterall- after years upon years of crewmates spending the little time they had in land in such houses, one got used to looks and charm attempts. Although she would admit he was quite the pretty fellow, complete contrast to the type of men she grew up about. Pale, white hair, piercing red eyes and he appeared to have all his teeth still.

Raphael's brassy voice commanded the attention to him once more- the large and lavish room now filled with 7 others besides him.

"Let a person introduce themselves before you convince them to sell their souls." ThaiMol jested. "I thought even Avernus had common courtesy."

Stepping forward,Voss exclaimed, "The weapon is more urgent, devil!" His patient had begun to run thin. "My people do not have time for your senseless riddlers, they must be liberated! - I will do whatever it takes, give you anything you ask, in return for the hammer!"

ThaiMol's eyebrows shot up, surprise and confusion writyen on her face. What did they and the tadpoles have to do with a githyanki revolt? Out of the many species and races she had met through the years, githyanki steered clear off that list- she had never met one before, let alone encountered two in the same room.

"Now I'm honestly curious how you're going to spin this in our favor." She murmured, arms crossed and leaning into Karlach.



"Recalled what I did..." Maybe Gortash spoke and thought of luck far too soon. His smile vanished as quickly as it appeared, that prickle in his nape tingling once more.

Confusion racked his mind but it didn't take much to see the obvious cause, the trigger to it all and the folly to the beloved planning him and Neria spent ages formulating and killing for.

Orin- Bhaal's new favorite child, having only gained that title by having made the original one a shattered version of the beauty she used to be. Neria, the one that on several occasions held a knife at his throat, to which he offered a smirk and a playful comment in return- Gortash had never been afraid of her, he had simply gone from curious to utterly amazed.

Orin the red, always made a mess of things and Gortash, the planner, should've seen it coming. How could the changeling be content with simply infecting her bloodkin? She'd take much greater pleasure in ruining Neria well and truly.

"Yes, you have been fooled, but not by me." Gortash stepped forward, shortening the distance between them further - her poison, her blade never struck fear into him. The old her was still there, he would just have to pluck her out and make her see reason. "What kind of pleasure would it bring me to have my favorite assassin gone? Left for dead? We forged this devious plan as one, without the other it would all be for not."

Shadowheart couldn't help but roll her eyes and wonder how Neria ever put up with this man for that long and not have stabbed him sooner. Her glare pierced straight through Gortash, taking a step forward herself. "Don't get any funny ideas archduke- If I were you, I would remain exactly where I stand."

Tall tales this man spun, why would Withers show Neria forged and faked memories? The skeleton would gain nothing for it - but Gortash? He'd gain everything by trying to trick and strike the bhaalspawn once more.

"Orin is the one who made a mess of things- she can change form as you and I change clothing. She has tried to trick me once but you? Oh she despised you, envied you. You were everything she could only dream to be-" Gortash's eyes browsed the crowd for a split second, hoping to zero in on the cause of this headache - Orin's nasty grin greeted him, twisted and perverse- bearing the face of a common noble.

 

[Lucyfer]

Lae’zel was also less than impressed with the mention of her skin-tone, but she held her tongue behind her tightly pressed lips, seething outwardly as much as inwardly.

Raphael gave a light smile at ThaiMol’s comment, only for it to fade to mild irritation at Voss’s demands. He dropped his gaze to Voss as the Githyanki spoke, “There is only one thing in the world that I desire, and you do not have it, nor will you ever. That I have allowed you here is a mere courtesy,” he said, before lifting his gaze, “and these guests may not know it yet, but they want the same as you.”

Well, perhaps Lae’zel knew it, in a way. The door shut behind them all as the last actually entered the room.

“Speak, devil,” Lae’zel demanded, “no more riddles, no more teases. What do you have that can help our people?”

“In due time, Lae’zel. First, let me extend my gratitude to you all for coming,” he gave his own mock bow to them, “It is an honor to at last be setting the stage, for some of the greatest events in the history of oh, so many planes of existence,” he straightened up, “the astral plane, the hells, and your own Faerun all tremble in anticipation at the decision you are all to make within this room, and I shall ask for so little.”

“Yes, so little indeed,” Astarion clearly doubted this.

Raphael disregarded his snide comment, “The answer to your tentacle problem has revealed itself to me, and is also the key to the githyanki’s crisis,” he smiled, “I believe, Lae’zel, Astarion, Halsin – if I may be so bold to introduce you all properly?” Of course, he didn’t care, “You have been seeking the Astral Prism, first for Vlaakith, now for Voss, and you have been on the right track. That little Prism is here in Baldur’s Gate. I even know the ones who hold it.”

“Tas’ki,” Lae’zel spat, “and you have known this how long and kept it from us?”

“That is my business,” he said, “they have been rather useful to my plans, but I cannot be certain how much longer that use will last,” no, now that the bhaalspawn was in her home, she may remember and return to her ways.

She’d never help him obtain the Crown of Karsus if that were to occur.

“I am willing to help you encounter them, but you know none of this comes freely,” he said, “and I have hardly finished explaining why this is necessary. The Astral Prism holds within it to figures – an illithid, and Orpheus. However, it is rather unwilling to part from its current possessors. Trust me, I’ve seen attempts.”

“I daresay you’ve seen any good attempts,” the rogue stated.

“Perhaps not,” Raphael agreed, “nonetheless, Orpheus is trapped within, chained, drained. No simple weapon will free him, but I have one that will. The Orphic Hammer.”

“How convenient,” Wyll frowned, “and what do you want for it?”

“You have seen the Elder Brain and the crown it wears, haven’t you? Simply put, I want that crown. You have to admit, it’s quite the bargain,” Raphael was counting on none of them knowing what the crown was. “A Crown for a Hammer. The Forgotten Prince, restored – and your tadpole problem resolved, once Orpheus lends his aid to destroying the Elder Brain. All those tadpoles will simply wrinkle up and die.”

Wyll’s expression said it all, even as his mind was working through the details: the deal was too good. Karlach’s frown imitated it, as she tried to see where the catch was.

~***~

The would-be Archduke did not seem surprised to be caught out. Rather, he seemed…confused? Neria considered reaching for his mind, but she held that thought off for a moment, as Lord Gortash stepped forward, making it all the easier for her to run him through. Shadowheart advised him against it – which, Neria had to wonder how much was for the sake of Neria’s deal with Withers, and how much was due to her own changes.

Learning what Shar had done to her…Neria did wonder if she was now also more inclined to question everything. The revelation had been so recent, even Neria hardly had time to register it on top of everything else.

Neither of them were given a moment’s rest to digest what was going on.

And Gortash said some…interesting things. Forged the plan as one? Well, she certainly knew by now she had a hand in things, though she didn’t know how large a hand. Certainly, she hadn’t intended to get infected by a tadpole herself. It was rather strange he felt so confident speaking freely, but then, what were the odds the entire room was infected? ‘Good.’

And if not good, the patriars were likely easy to buy.

Or destroy.

He mentioned an Orin.

The name Orin, frustratingly, stirred nothing more than a flash of red in her mind’s eye. Gortash looked up, and the temptation to do the same was there, but she was far more well trained than to fall for a trick. He said it could be anyone, and she didn’t know Orin from Zevlor. She wouldn’t know Orin in the crowd, especially if she wore a guise.

If Gortash was telling the truth.

“Prove it,” Neria said, straightening her posture, and letting her arm hold the blade slack. “Allow me into your thoughts, Lord Gortash,” she held up her empty hand, prepared to cast the spell, but indeed, waiting permission. She’d cut through his memories the way Withers taught her, and seek the truth of his words about this Orin there.

Enver wasn’t allowed his secrets as Shadowheart had been allowed. Not when the few scraps of memories told her that he was behind her amnesia. If he was going to blame a shapeshifter, he had better have something in his mind to prove it.

It was a trick she certainly hadn’t known, in the life that knew Enver.

 

[Nana-k-ew]

The further Raphael explained the deal, the more it grew suspicious to ThaiMol. It felt too good to be true, to simply have all their problems solved by obtaining a crown and giving it to the man - an easy solution rarely stayed easy in the long run.

"And what will you do with the crown? I don't strike you as the type to play princess." The bard's grin grew mischievous, curious as to what powers the crown might hold- and what it might worth. "These good folk might benefit from releasing a githyanki prince but I don't. We'd still have to fight the brain, those that control it and then get you a pretty crown? Sounds unfair to me."

Said 'good folk' might be a good lead once this whole talk with Raphael was over, they clearly suffered the same fate as her, Karlach and Wyll. They knew another side to the coin they had been dealt, like this 'Astral Prism'- it could mean more options than shaking hands with devils and signing fiery deals. Besides, why should they jump from one prison to another? It sounded counterproductive to go hand their leash from a mindflayer to a devil.

Kith'rak Voss clearly didn't see the green teifling's train of thought, his head harshly snapping in her direction. His already hardened features grew even sharper, glare heavy. "You do not know what you speak of, Istik. Hold your tongue if you do not wish for me to slice it clean off."

"Hey, I'm all for freedom and liberation but how long will that freedom last if you settle for the first bargain that comes your way?" ThaiMol raised her hands, offering the man as harmless of a smile as she could. She was in no shape to start an actual fight, nor did she have the energy to play hero for desperate people. "I won't stop you or anyone here - just saying, I wouldn't go for it."

"I believe it's best if we all calm ourselves. We hardly know this new group and they hardly know of us. I do not blame them for being cautious." Halsin's deep voice spoke up, an awkward smile on his lips as he attempted to diffuse the tension in the room. As always, the druid took upon the role of the wise and calm one, as he had so many times during his journey with Astarion and Lae'zel.

"By the Bitch Queen's tits, you're even bigger up close- what are they feeding druids nowadays-" ThaiMol murmured to herself, eyeing Halsin up and down. Most elves she had met had been skinny and pompous things- like the other one in the room.



It was crystal clear that Orin was enjoying the little show she scripted, watching the lordling flail and be caught off guard for once. To have him witness the way she broke and reshaped his favourite toy - it took almost every inch of power within her body to remain still and content herself with watching instead of skewering the two past lovers between the ribs. To have them both unite in death, to never be separated as the lordling had wished.

Instead, all Orin did was send Gortash a wave of her fingers- concealing the grin of delight with a hand fan. Enver Gortash's face of anger was priceless.

Neria's voice made Gortash's face snap back to her- it was odd how easily he had forgotten the way the woman had spoken to him in the first moments they met and began to plan. It felt like ages away- back in those days he had been fond of her blankness and anger, found it thrilling and amusing to break it and poke it.

They had always been a complicated duo, as Ketheric had so often pointed out. Neria had been the closest thing to a friend, an actual lover, as Gortash was going to get - everyone else was disposable, annoying, a means to an end. He had thought, back then, that she saw him the same way. They never spoke it, they simply lived it as they knew how. They protected each other, killed for each other - it was bliss and Enver was sure that, with patience, he could convince the bhaalspawn to rule alongside him.

But how would she see it all? The Neria of the past had never been one inclined for magic or spells- she made art with her blades and not with the weave. Just how deep would she search and how much control would he have?

He hesitated. Trust was not an easy feat, not when the world had proved itself time and time again to punish trusting fools. Then again, Gortash had never doubted the bhaalspawn, had trusted her with his life even when she held a knife to his throat.

"If it means we can rekindle our old partnership-" His smile returned, confident as always. His Steelwatch stood by, they'd sense if she harmed him in any way, and in turn he'd make sure they wouldn't harm her, simply restrain her. "- by all means, my mind is yours. I'd say 'be gentle' but that was never your style."

"Are you seriously thinking of giving him a chance?" Shadowheart spoke, face turning to Neria, eyebrows pinched together. "What if he and this convenient shapeshifter are in it together? He might just be throwing another partner out to the wolves now that he's cornered."

The black haired cleric was proving herself to be quite the stone in Gortash's shoe- her shrill voice kept piercing his ears and infecting Neria's mind. "I am nothing but truthful to my partnerships, unlike Orin and Ketheric. Had Neria not disappeared, everything would be going smoothly for the both of us. After all, she was the one that came to me with the plan."

"It wasn't her, not her true self. You certainly fed those urges and took use of them." Just as Shar had done to her, to so many.

Gortash couldn't help but laugh in Shadowheart's face. She clearly knew nothing of the true Neria. How adorable was it to see the cleric's fondness for this idea she held of the red haired woman. "One's true nature always rises to the top. Be a dear and stop interrupting us, you know nothing of Neria-"

Gortash leaned forward, allowing Neria to do what she needed- those flickers of hesitation and doubt well hidden amidst the trust of the past. "-but I do. Just as I will show you."

 

[Lucyfer]

Raphael was not amused with the ‘princess’ comment, but he didn’t let his expression crease too much. He couldn’t give it all away, after all. “What I do with the crown is my concern,” Raphael said coolly, though wondered if anyone in there would truly understand what the Crown of Karsus would mean if he named it.

There was a possibility with Wyll, and ThaiMol. One never knew what history bards dredged up as they learned songs, after all. Wyll, well, he learned more and more every day, it was hard to ascertain what Mizora’s pup learned.

And Mizora might intervene if she learned of this. He didn’t need to deal with another irksome cambion, and certainly not one of Zariel’s favorites. “But oh, I assure you, that you would benefit from Orpheus’s release. His power would be a necessary asset against the Elder Brain you aim to confront, for he is the one who inherited the powers of Gith. But, ah, perhaps that is better explained by one of her own?”

He gestured to Lae’zel and Voss.

Lae’zel offered, “As the true son of Gith and heir, Orpheus inherited the ability to disrupt the mind flayer’s hive mind. He can prevent the elder brain from controlling us when we confront it, and prevent it from transforming us.”

“Which, it could do at the drop of a hat, darling,” Astarion opted to note, “so our time is very short to finding this Astral—whatever, and releasing this prince, so he can protect all of us in that upcoming fight.”

It certainly would, if they chose to confront the brain. Right now, they flew under the radar.

Something Wyll and Karlach considered a miracle given what they’d done to Ketheric Thorm. Then again, it was likely putting up one hell of a fight for freedom right then, with one netherstone out of the bargain, and couldn’t focus its energy on transforming others.

“I understand that we are on borrowed time,” Wyll chose to speak up, as calm as Halsin, “but that doesn’t mean we need to take the first deal presented to us from devils,” he gave Raphael a sidelong look.

“Nor should we dismiss it out of hand. You’re the Blade of the Frontiers, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you be all for liberating a prince, aiding an entire civilization – you know, heroics?”

Wyll frowned at the attempt, “I am,” he consented, “but devils always gain more than they give. This crown gives something to Raphael that we don’t understand, and we should before we agree to anything.”

Who knew better than him?

“So, what’s it do?” Karlach pressed, “c’mon. You’re not getting anything till you tell us.” And even then – well, probably still not.

Raphael rolled his eyes, huffed, as he folded his arms over his chest, “If you must know, the crown happens to be the Crown of Karsus. I have craved it ever since it was created, when it brough the doom of Netheril,” he had to give, enough, but not all, “it is a thing of ancient power, and it could turn the tides of so many exhausting battles in the hells my way.”

Nothing to concern themselves with. Just all in the hells. Nothing they needed to worry about, that way.

But of course, one had to prod, “Oh my – you’ve waited all this time to take it? Wherever was it before that an elder brain seems the place to steal it from?” Astarion asked.

Raphael’s nose wrinkled in utter disgust at the questioning, and it’s implications that he could have more easily had it before, “Mephistopheles laid claim to it before, and the frigid archivist stored it away as if it were some mere trinket goblet,” sire or not, he had no love of Mephistopheles.

“It made it from Mephistopheles to here?” now Karlach sounded confused. And, well, a touch amused, because this line of questioning was obviously upsetting Raphael.

And Raphael’s agitation grew. “Yes. Those Chosen of the Dead Three did me a favor when they stole it from his vaults.”

Karlach couldn’t contain a laugh. “Ha! Outplayed by mortals, eh?” her grin was contagious enough to pass not only to Astarion, but Wyll, though Wyll tried to fight it. “It’s always got to be we mortals who do anything around here.”

~***~

Hesitation, and then, a smile. The Lord relented to the demand, and Shadowheart interjected. The pair argued over who she was, and Neria wondered – when she pieced it all together, would she be the Neria that Enver knew, or would she be the Neria that Shadowheart knew? How would this strange present blend with the past – and what mind would rule?

As Shadowheart fell silent, Neria did look to her. Patient, but understanding, “I have to, Shadowheart. Lord Gortash may be The Wolf,” she reminded Shadowheart. Not for Withers, not for memories or her deal. By mentioning throwing to the wolves, she couldn’t help but use it to make her own point.

That, and the words would mean nothing to Gortash, and a part of Neria wanted to prove to him that Shadowheart did know her…as she had gotten to know Shadowheart. To make her seem less trivial to the Lord. “You know as well as I what it is to act without the full story,” the wolf in Shadowheart’s memory was proof enough of that, something she had assumed was evil, turned instead to something too precious.

Her memory didn’t have a full picture.

Enver was a wolf – but was he a striking wolf, or a protecting wolf? That, Neria couldn’t say for certain, given the story he chose to weave of a doppelganger. His memory, his thoughts, would give him away, “If he’s merely one of a pair who meant me harm, that will reveal itself,” and she turned her gaze back to Enver, and with a trick, flick of her wrist, unlocked the spell.

Unlocked his mind.

The surface thoughts had to be peeled through – the scene, the people, the emotions. Orin The Red. Her name may as well have been in big, bright, illuminated letters. Her face flickered, lifeless eyes, long hair, and red, red, red – before shifting to the noble who bore her face.

Neria pushed by it, accepting Orin as real as she followed that trail.

Words of making a bloodkin a fool.

Bloodkin?

Her.

Neria of no name, like Orin of no name.

Neria struggled with the connection as her own emotions threatened to rise and break it. Orin was a relative? A Changeling? Enver’s thoughts of her were painted in admirative strokes, frustration with Orin painted in loathing. Toleration. For what reason was she tolerated?

It came with a name that broke the connection: Bhaal. The Dead Three. Kethric of Myrkul, Enver of Bane—

‘—the Banite in that letter, written in your hand.’

—and Neria of Bhaal.

Orin of Bhaal.

The snapping of the connection was not gentle, sudden, like a bowstring slapping an arm when improperly held and released.

“Bhaalspawn?” She breathed the word in disbelief. That explained the father she sought forgiveness from. That explained…well, why she didn’t get to be a damned aasimar if she was of godly blood.

The word didn’t answer if Enver Gortash could be trusted, which…well, she wasn’t sure of, right then. He didn’t wield the blade. Orin spoke in his memory, and claimed it – but neither did he seek revenge. Seek her. He aligned with Orin instead. Necessity, perhaps – but Neria didn’t have a clear mind right then to find it in herself to credit that pragmatism.

Besides, he was quite willing to betray Orin; his partnerships didn’t seem all that trustworthy. Who was to say he wouldn’t have eventually turned on her, too?

But she put her blade away. An act, more than words, that would tell Shadowheart the time for violence had passed.

 

[Nana-k-ew]

ThaiMol couldn't contain her own laughter, trying to muffle it behind the back of her hand. Pride was a thing not even devil's could escape, all it took was a bit of pushing to have Raphael spill, in a roundabout way, details and reason as to why he wanted and didn't yet have the crown.

He wanted it to rule the hells. An artifact so powerful it could turn the tides of Avernus' wars in Raphael's favor. Who knows what other planes of existence the devil could wish to acquire next? That was why the deal seemed perfect, it offered the chance the live in exchange for something that, at first glance, held no weight over them- if only for the time being.

"Let's not be too harsh here-" ThaiMol chuckled, patting her fiery friend's arm and turning to Raphael. "Excuse us, we mortals tend to grow a bit playful when tired." Her words became flowery, a plan already fussing about in her mind. Finally, a thread to follow that might lead to their saving. Now would not be the best time to anger Raphael, if they wanted to work around the deal, they'd have to be cautious to not have him on high alert.

"Give us time to think about it." That playfulness was quick to dissipate, replaced with an open and trusting disposition. Forged in years of appearing nice and helpful as to keep every option open. "Like the big man said- Halsin, was it?- we barely know each other. What do you all think about a chat over a nice drink?"

"I think it is a fine idea." Halsin spoke, offering the shorter tiefling a kind smile, hands resting on his waist. It was obvious Lae'zel and Voss were certain of where they stood on the deal but neither of them had a cool enough head to truly look at the deal and what it might imply- they were impulsive. Did they really want to offer Raphael something powerful enough to win him, and allow him to rage more, wars? It could mean the end of so many realms to the Hell's.

Kith'rak Voss looked torn, fighting back the urge to argue for the deal once more- that their time was being wasted. Still, a sigh escaped the man and his shoulders sagged. His expression remained as harsh as always but less inclined to slice all of their heads for hesitating on freeing his people's prince. "I have no option but to trust you all. Time is of essence, do not forget it." The last part was spoken directly to Lae'zel, the only one who fully understood the weight it held for them. "Find me in the sewers once you've spoken and acquired the Hammer." He spoke without leaving any other option but to complete this task.

"What a charming fellow..." ThaiMol murmured to herself. Gods she really needed a drink and a chair, they hadn't truly even entered the city yet and major life decisions were already happening.



The words had left Shadowheart without her truly having registered that she had mentioned 'wolves'- like many times before, her greatest threat, her greatest fear that in reality had attempted to be her savior, her father. That fear still remained, it persisted and refused to leave even if her brain knew the truth. Neria knew exactly which words to pick to have her lower her weapon, lower her suspicions for a moment.

"Fine...I trust your judgment." She didn't trust Gortash but she did trust Neria to make the right choice.

It was an odd thing to witness for Gortash, who had once been the only one who had known, truly known, Neria. Once, ages ago, it had been him that Neria turned to and spoke in ways no one else could fully understand. It irked him but he contained that annoyance, after all, once those urged and the truth came about, this Shadowheart was sure to run away as all others have- out of fear, out of disgust. Him? He had seen every aspect of Bhaal's chosen, he knew her like he knew his own hand.

That's why he allowed his mind to lay bare to her. It was an intrusive feeling, he could only guess it was as close as he was getting to feeling what the tadpole could do to people's minds. The lord held on to his composure, too prideful to allow anyone to witness him squirm or grunt.

His mind followed wherever Neria searched through, feeling the emotions jump from one to another. The admiration, the confusion, the loathing- everything flashed through him as if a life was spent in a second.

The connection broke harshly the moment it touched upon their Gods, who they sworn themselves to and vouched to see conquer worlds. He stumbled backwards, hands clutching to his head with dizziness. Gortash's eyes stung and his stomach almost lurched with nausea, lungs in turn fighting to catch their breath.

"What do you mean bha-" Shadowheart's question was interrupted as quickly as it was voiced.

"Neria of Bhaal." The man breathed out, slowly but surely straightening himself out, gaining back his composure. "Bhaal's favorite daughter, his most loyal...until Orin sought to take your place and ruin your hard work."

Sensing that the urge for violence and revenge had dissipated with the revelation, Gortash tentatively stepped forward, his hands out in front of him to show he held no real threat. "If only you pushed your new found gift further, you'd have seen I never meant you harm- I honored our partnership above almost all else. It pained me to work with Orin but you...I liked you."

How to put the things they have left unsaid and simply knew into words now? Back then things had been quite simple between Gortash and Neria, well as simple as they could be given their surroundings and plans. Rarely had they felt the need to right misunderstandings, and now he was left and the only one who remembered the kind of dance they performed in unison.

 

[Lucyfer]

There was truth to Karlach’s comment, but that did not mean Raphael wanted to hear it. He didn’t suffer mockery. ThaiMol interjected before it could get worse, offering flighty words about mortal’s tendencies, which he well knew. Yes, mortals did get a bit reckless when tired, inebriated, or otherwise not in their right state of mind.

Which was, sadly, often.

ThaiMol wanted to think about it. So did Halsin.

Wyll hummed agreement, “We at least need to know a bit more about each other, before we all start working together for a devil’s deal. We’ll all be signing, we need to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

Astarion scoffed, “I don’t see why, anyone not on the same page can be dealt with,” but he knew there was no arguing it, even with Voss and Lae’zel prepared to spill blood and likely take the deal on their own. “But, very well, let’s parley below then, hm?”

“As you wish,” Raphael wouldn’t hold them up, “I’ll be here,” he waved his hand over the room, fire and smoke trailing the wave, “before all hope runs dry for Baldur’s Gate. I’m sure you’ll make the right decision,” his eyes gleamed, and he wouldn’t stop them from heading out, led by Lae’zel, who looked fit to throw an ox in her rage.

They only went down to the taproom on the second floor, as there Lae’zel paused and turned to all of them, “Are you all fools? We are not soon to get a better deal than this! The devil does not even want our souls.”

“Which you’d give him, I’m sure,” Astarion pointed out, “My dear bloodthirsty friend, you are too hotheaded to make a good decision right now. I must concur with your greenkin,” he grinned impishly, which did nothing to improve the bloodlust of Lae’zel, “we have much to consider here.”

“What is the alternative?”

“I don’t know,” Wyll said, earning a sharp look from Lae’zel from interrupting her conversation that she didn’t mean to include anyone else in. He held up his hands, “Wyll, Blade of the Frontiers – look. Raphael’s desperate. Take it from someone who knows devils – that means there are alternatives. Usually.”

Karlach nodded. “Like stealing it.”

Eyes went to her, more for the gall of saying it aloud. Astarion laughed.

“Oh, I like you,” he said, encouraged. “Now, how, praytell, do you expect to get to the hells?”

“I, uh, know of a way, actually,” she shifted uncomfortably, “Gortash, my old…employer…told me about a place called the Devil’s Fee. Given he’s behind all this, and someone stole the Crown of Karsus from the hells…I’d reckon that’s our best way in.”

Astarion blinked, surprised. “And you know where this is? Or anything about it?”

“I don’t,” she shook her head. “Only that it’s here in Baldur’s Gate.”

“It sounds like we have a lot of things to look into,” Wyll said, “The Astral Prism, the Orphic Hammer, and the Crown of Karsus. Well, possibly, more about how to get the Orphic Hammer, and find the people with the Astral Prism. They could be allies.”

“Ugh, why do you have to be so…nice?” Astarion sighed, “They could be our enemies.”

“They stole it from the githyanki,” Lae’zel stated. “They are enemies.”

Wyll frowned. “I think I’ll look for them without you two….”

“Oh, so we’re splitting up, just like that? An end to our lovely little party and alliance against the elder brain so soon?”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Wyll said, and held up a finger, “divide, and conquer.” He didn’t know if the other party would be interested in that, but he gave a look to the large druid, hopeful he understood and was willing to help navigate this.

~***~

Neria expected Shadowheart’s weapon to turn on her as Enver gave voice to a truth she couldn’t deny now that it was laid bare. Funny, how she had not expected it, when it seemed all the evidence was there. She had an urge for murder that wasn’t easily dismissed. It made sense of Wither’s command – no murder.

‘I was favorite of Bhaal.’

Bhaalspawn.

Accursed.

What hope did she have, then, to be anything else? It would take her in the end, like it did every other bhaalspawn. Defeat weighed on her shoulders.

Except – Shadowheart did not plunge a weapon into her back. She did not speak up – but she did not act to purge the world of one more unfortunate bhaalspawn, either. ‘Withers knew. Withers knew the entire time.’ And thought she could fight it. Could she?

Did she want to?

Her eyes were on his hands as his words settled. There was no duplicity. She didn’t need to pry again to be certain of that. That did not make his alliance with Orin feel any better. It did not make the fact he’d likely encouraged her actions better, when she was not so sure it was something she wished to return to.

She flicked her gaze back up to his face.

She had more questions than she had answers by coming here, and it pushed at that nagging urge. Kill him. Kill everyone in the room who saw her in this state, befuddled, and somehow made a worse fool of for it. Somewhere in this room was Orin – kill her. Kill her most of all, for taking all that could have, should have, would be hers.

“I would ask more of what you knew of me, Lord Gortash, but what you have given me has…given me much to think over.” And it was given. Not stolen. He offered it far more willingly than anticipated. “Another time.” She stepped back, a hand reached out for Shadowheart’s arm.

To make sure she was still there.

To steady herself amidst the chaos in her mind.

“I have other matters in the city to tend to while I consider all of…this.” Helping Shadowheart with her parents, before she lost herself to Bhaal. Perhaps it would be the last thing she could do before she lost herself.

Or ask Shadowheart to just put her out of her damn misery.

“Thank you for an enlightening evening, Banite.”

No one in the room was going to react. No one was reacting to her being bhaalspawn. They were all hopelessly lost. The black fist of Bane’s chosen had securely wrapped around the throat of Baldur’s Gate, that was apparent.

And yet he still worked with Orin. He still compromised, to keep the Dead Three united.

She was going to kick Withers the next time she saw him. Or maybe put a dagger through him. He was undead, murdering him didn’t count, according to his own damnable rules.

 

[Nana-k-ew]

As their, now expanded, group left for the taproom, ThaiMol managed to sneakily snatch someone's drink and meal- although it did help that the man's whole face was occupied slobbering all over another person's face. Pulling out a chair with her foot, hands too occupied carrying the plate and mug, ThaiMol practically threw herself down onto the chair and let out a sigh of relief.

As the group argued amongst each other, the green tiefling ate and drank her stolen meal, only pausing to raise the mug towards the pale elf's 'greenkin' comment. By the way Voss looked ready to flail her alive, the bard opted to let her two companions do the talking and convincing with the new group, grinning broadly once Karlach mentioned stealing the hammer instead of signing any deals. Great, they were on the same wavelength.

"What I believe Wyll is trying to say-" Halsin began, offering the man a comforting smile, having dealt with both Astarion and Lae'zel for quite a while now. He could understand the frustration. "- is that if we separate into groups we shall cover more ground quicker than moving all together. Then, once we return to rest, we may all share what we've found and take action."

Now the question was, who would go with who? That would be a crucial choice to guarantee actual results. Meaning, pairing Lae'zel and Astarion together was out of the question.

"We should go with someone from a group other than our own. if the Blade of Frontiers will have me, I'd be honored to join you Wyll, to try and find those that hold the Prism, convince them to assist us. Who knows, they might be inflected like yourselves. The more allies the better." The druid spoke, patting Wyll's back.

"I'll go investigate more about the crown." ThaiMol finally spoke up, hand raised and plate now empty. "We gotta figure out how to deal with it once we get our hands on the crown. Can't just leave a powerful tiara unattended after we kill the brain- last thing we want is the thing falling into the sea and having fish people ruling the city." It could be worth some good coin if sold to the right historical, wizardry nerds. Sell it to someone that could guarantee that something like what they're going through won't happen again.

"Lae'zel" Voss' deep voice turned to address only his kin, ignoring the rest of the group. "Once you have retrieved the Hammer, find me in the city's sewers so we may venture forth and liberate the Prince of the Comet. Even as I ache to join you, I must stay hidden from Vlakkith's wrath. I shall wait for you."

The dragon rider gave the younger woman a firm nod before rushing out the establishment and into the shadows once more. ThaiMol watching him, sipping the rest of her drink, it intrigued her a bit how this whole liberation story came along since she in fact had no idea about githyanki history beyond the basics. "Your prince rides a comet ? That's a saying right? I know githyanki mingle in the astral plane and stars but a comet is wild." The shanties she could play about it.

"Astarion? Lae'zel?" Halsin quickly stepped in, not wishing to anger the woman who's temper was already constantly boiling with anger. "Any preference on where or you who with?"



With each passing day, Shadowheart grew to learn that being forced to process world shaking information never grew easier- no matter how many times it happened in quick succession.

Bhaalspawns- children born from the seed of the god of murder. Beings created and breed to paint the world in shades of red and chaos. They felt nothing until their blades began to slice, and even then it was only wicked delight. Beings born addicted to violence and murder, very few resisted it and most that attempted went mad.

Yet here stood Neria, holding her arm for dear life. Everyday fighting urges that were born, sewn into her flesh and blood. She never had a choice.

The old Shadowheart, the one before the crash, wouldn't have hesitated to skewer the woman with her blade but, the Shadowheart of now, could feel nothing but deep empathy and sorrow for the red haired woman in front of her. After all they've been through, this meant nothing to Shadowheart, only that now they had a name to Neria's condition. So, the cleric simply held her companion tightly.

And that clearly shocked Gortash, if you viewed the man with the keen eye of a previous Shar follower.

The last he had seen Neria before this meeting, Gortash had not been aware it would be the last one for a good while - but now, to know she'd be gone once more with nothing to guarantee her return, the future Archduke found himself reaching out and stepping forward without realizing it.

"Ah...you may find me in my office, if need be. Rest assured that my Steel watch welcomes you, and may guide if you're in need...do try not to hit them. They're sensitive things, might break you." His voice lacked a certain tone of sureness and playfulness it always held.

To have everything you want and coud have in front of you, only to have it snatched away like dust in the air, was a feeling Enver Gortash had long forgotten. When he was nothing but dirt beneath his parent's foot, sold off for pennies, crawling to reach the top. A feeling Lord Enver Gortash should have never known.

Neria had once known of it all. She had once seen the man he was and the one he grew into, she carved him a bloody throne only to leave it, and him, behind.

Orin would pay for her interference. For her betrayal and compulsiveness, she'd have a taste of her own loved death and blood- after all, there were other fools roaming the city that he could convince to hold the stones with him. Dumb enough to coerce and perform as he wished - Neria needed time and he was anything if not patient.

"For you, my dear friend, it's Gortash." Plastering that same smile he had carried at the start of the coronation, he spoke.

'Banite' had been behind them so long ago. It felt foreign to hear her call him that in a serious tone. "I was hoping you'd at least stay to watch me become the first Archduke of this good city." His body turned to the audience after a moment. Duke Ravengard remained expressionless and still, Orin had long slithered away from her little play and the crowd of nobles anticipated his next words so they may measure their own reactions.

"Pardon me good folks, this was such a long due reunion that I lost track of time. I hope I haven't bored you." Forced laughter echoed through the hall.

With a hastened step, Gortash was quick to begin and proceed with the coronation. His mind was elsewhere as Duke Ravengard spoke, an anger festering inside of him. Orin had stripped him of any joy for the moment that was supposde to be the highest one of his life. She had done as she had promised, the changeling ruined him and Neria both, but he wouldn't stand still. When had Enver Gortash ever taken it while laying down?

Gortsh kneeled, and swore to the city and it's people. Swore to right the wrongs.

 

[Lucyfer]

Wyll was more than a little relieved that Halsin opted to go with him. Sure, a part of him wondered whether it was the best choice. They were clearly the level-headed ones, but who would he take otherwise to find the Prism? Perhaps Karlach or ThaiMol would be fine, but Halsin thought they ought to split the groups.

Sound. Pragmatic.

They’d all have the same information to share with their respective groups in case anyone thought of keeping secrets. “You would be a welcome addition, Halsin,” he was probably the best choice to approach people with, anyways. The others might not do as much…direct approaching.

Hopefully.

“I will,” Lae’zel promised Voss, certain of her decision no matter what. She gave the tiefling a sidelong look at the comment about a comet, before rolling her eyes, apparently deigning her fellow greenkin beneath an answer right then, “I shall look into the hammer,” that kept her away from the annoying tiefling.

“Oh, and here I thought the greenkin would go together. Pity that,” Astarion chuckled, “I suppose a redkin is just as good. You might even be able to ride her like a dragon, if you’re lucky.”

“Hay oh!” Karlach laughed, “I’m not sure I really want to know.”

“Oh, Lae’zel has always dreamed of being a dragon rider, and taming a red beast. This may be perfect.”

Lae’zel was burning. It showed too easily on her burning face, and tempted as Astarion was to press, he said, “But I suppose that leaves me with ThaiMol here and the Crown, then. I suppose we ought to find some boring old library for magic,” and he knew just the place. Sadly. Terribly boring, and he wasn’t inclined to spend his days doing research, so he’d have to hope one of the librarians just knew enough to summarize.

He doubted he was that lucky.

Karlach chuckled to herself, “Well, I promise I can at least carry you if you fall, Lae’zel, but let’s save any riding for further conversation, eh?”

Lae’zel scoffed, “We will see if you would even be worthy, istik.”

“Let’s just…plan to meet back here this evening, all right?” it was a place they were all familiar with, they could leave from here, Wyll decided.

~***~

Enver Gortash’s ache didn’t need detect thoughts to recognize. No Sharran, his step forward, his reach, was enough for Neria to understand this did not go how he hoped. Even so, she did not approach him, and only nodded as he gave her an idea of where to find him. As if she knew where his office was. Well, Baldur’s Gate would know – the people knew how to find an Archduke, certainly.

His machines would do her no harm.

And he wanted her to watch. She had no reason to. She didn’t care if he was Archduke, but perhaps, there was a ‘her’ that would have cared. A her that might surface and wish to have been there. It was strange, reconciling a past with a future, trying to decide what was best. Lord Gortash – or merely Gortash?

Was it never Enver?

Her grip relaxed on Shadowheart, and though she didn’t speak, she swallowed the words. She stayed to watch the spectacle, and somewhere, understood the admiration in her letter to Bhaal. The Tyrant’s Chosen had everything in hand, didn’t he? It was a control she didn’t have. A control she likely never had.

A control she desperately wished for, a certainty, a steadiness, a confidence, impossible for a bhaalspawn like her. ‘Now that I know what it is, will it be easier? Harder?’

The answer was not in the coronation room, and as the crowd forgot about her to pay their homage to Enver, she let go of Shadowheart to slip out, not inclined to say more to Gortash that day.

Of course, she was never given peace. Crossing the threshold of the Archduke’s building and letting him live seemed to be all it took for Withers to be satisfied with Enver’s life, and Neria stumbled on the cobblestone as a memory struck, a gift that was perhaps as kind as she had been in detaching from Gortash’s mind.

A monstrous, scaled, quilled, and taloned foot fell upon a pale woman with paler eyes – a woman she now knew to be Orin. Red poured from wounds the changeling bore, but if there was fright it didn’t show.

Only anger, before that foot changed, bloodied itself in an explosion of rending flesh.

Neria’s boot was on Orin’s neck, “Little sister,” exasperation, “I have told you time and time again. A thousand cuts will only kill if you have time to make them.” Her foot lifted, and she walked around Orin within the Temple of Bhaal, “Bhaal does not care how you kill, only that you kill. There’s no need to waste time making it pretty.”

Blood dripped from Neria, the excess of the Slayer’s form still coating her.

She offered no hand to Orin.

No help, other than the chastisement, meant to teach her.

“One day, you will be caught at your art and brought low for it. You are needed, so try to learn efficiency over aesthetic.”

Lecture over, Neria walked off – only a few moments later to turn right back around and catch Orin’s blade on her own.
​

“Gods,” Neria cursed the very word, the very concept, with a hand on her knee and another pressed against her forehead so she wouldn’t just buckle to the ground, “I truly was a monster.” Literally, it seemed, as well as the more figurative meaning of being horrible.

Her mind would not be closed if Shadowheart chose to pry with the tadpole into the new memory.

 

[Nana-k-ew]

ThaiMol’s laughter flowed freely, amused by Astarion’s comment and Lae’zel’s flustered reaction. To think someone as deadly as her could blush- now that would be a fun thing to poke Karlach about once the two groups got back together. The red tiefling was hot in both senses of the word, so ThaiMol couldn’t fault Lae’zel’s taste,

“I’m no red dragon but you don’t need to make me sound so boring.” The green tiefling faked a pout, hand in her chest in mock offense. “Wizards are a pain to deal with but, thankfully, I know just the guy and he owes me a big favor.” Rolan, the one whose siblings she had saved twice, also the one she had almost choked on several other occasions due to his smartass mouth. “If he can’t get inside, we’ll just break in and steal the most wizardry looking books.”

After the shadowlands, he had finally gotten his own head out of his ass- he was a nice man with a promising future. A promising future that came in handy right about now. She liked to think they stood on actual friendly terms, his siblings liked her at least.

“Sadly, I don’t offer rides or carry people like Karlach. You’ll have to walk there.” ThaiMol gave the pale elf a playful smile, patting his back with her tail before rising up from her seat. “A drink, though? Maybe, if I'm in the right mood.”

Halsin released a small sigh, pleased to see his two companions getting along with Wyll’s own group. Usually, if their journey was anything to go by, both Astarion and Lae’zel would've already either insulted all of them or pulled a dagger to someone's throat. He felt a tad remorseful to be relieved that he’d get a quieter quest this time around, deep down he did care deeply for them, going as far as considering them friends. Lae’zel and Astarion would scrunch and turn their noses at the thoughts of the druid, he was sure.

“Let’s all hope these tasks do not consume too much of our time, and that they yield fruitful results.” Offering them all a reassuring smile, the elf moved to stand next to Wyll, ready to depart and began their search. “After we all gather here, I think it would be best to search for somewhere we may all stay and sleep.”

With haste, the new smaller groups began each of their tasks, eager to gain information and resolve their incoming doom. Deals with devils, mind flayers inside prisms and Githyanki princes- the Gods must find them all to be very to keep throwing their way every possible hurdle.

ThaiMol’s infernal eyes turned to Astarion’s own red ones. “Off we go then? It’s been ages since I’ve set foot in the city but the tower must stick out like an ugly gnome.”



Their eyes met one final time for that day, and for whoever long Neria would deem necessary after the revelation and all that would follow it.

It was of some comfort to Gortash to see the bhaalspawn had stayed against her better judgment or wishes. Neria had stayed to watch what she, even without her full knowledge of it at the moment, had created for him. For that brief moment, the now Archduke saw a glimpse of the way the woman had looked at him the first times they had truly met. That small glimmer of admiration, baffled at the control and temper he held such control over.

The crowd moved and with them the image of Neria and her companion was swallowed by empty praises and attempts at deals, no time to be wasted with the new owner of the city of Baldur’s Gate. His expression held a deadliness and silence the nobles had never seen before- Gortash’s mind rushed with planning and revenge, that familiar rage consuming his soul just as it had in his youth.

The Tyrant’s chosen would never allow anyone to meddle with what he held his hand over.

He was unable to spot Orin anywhere but it would be no wild assumption to think the woman was making her own moves and plans. This was the peak of her beautiful masterpiece of revenge and pain.

The lack of warmth on her arm was the only sign Shadowheart needed to know she had to turn around and follow Neria. If her own mind and heart were torn and confused about this whole ordeal, the cleric could only wonder what her friend was going through. To find out you were born out of cursed blood, that it was you who planned the world's ruin only to be tricked by your own plans.

And of course, Withers the skeletal bastard, couldn’t have picked a better time to spread salt in the wound- by the way Neria stumbled into the floor, face twisted and far away, Shadowheart was more than sure that her patron was delivering a new memory.

Her own tadpole wasted no time striking and clinging to the visions of the past as well, that was simply how strong Whiters’ powers or maybe Neria’s own past were.

It was hard to watch, to see the woman she had grown to care for and seen fight painfully against every urge, give in to it all in the past. How different one Neria was from the other, the lack of emotions and ruthlessness - her beast like figure and the grotesque way she transformed and used it. The pale woman must have been this Orin the Red- the one who sought to ruin her ‘bloodkin’. The memory filled in the ‘why’ better than every explanation Gortash had offered.

Shadowheart’s hands rested against the red haired woman’s back, offering support after such a tasking memory, as well as emotional comfort. “ ‘Was’-” Her voice stated clearly, “You no longer are that woman. The things you did, the things I have done, are faults of the past of the ways we were raised.”

Shadowheart had done so many things, awful things, in the name of the Lady of Sorrows. Hells, she had tortured her own parents whilst they remembered her and she, in turn, saw them as nothing more than a bug in her shoe. “What matters is what we do now to mend those wrongs. Let’s rest and take a moment to think about this. Give our heads a moment of reprieve.”

 

[Lucyfer]

“What a pity, those horns make you look like such a good ride,” Astarion commented on the lack of rides, carefully quiet on anything about drinks. Halsin and Lae'zel knew his secret. He'd rather keep it under wraps otherwise. These people had no need to know, for now. So long as they avoided his siblings, that would continue.

“I think I know what tower you mean,” Astarion said as they began to walk out, turning his eyes up. It was still a wonder to walk in the sun, underneath a pale blue sky. Especially after that stint in the Shadowlands. He didn't really wish to return to that life anytime soon. “Sorcerous Sundries, yes?” Where else would a wizard go? Dreadfully boring people, consumed utterly by magic. He didn't hunt there, of course.

Cazador didn't want people of talent.

Nor did he need his spawn unveiled by one of them.

“We'll need to go to the Lower City for that,” Astarion offered. “A bit of walk, but we certainly have some catching up to do, don't we?” His smile was charming, of course. He couldn't ever really seem to turn that off, “We barely know anything about each other, after all. Other than your gorgeous name, of course. I'm quite curious how you ended up with those two, and got all the way here. It must be quite the story. Lae'zel, Halsin, and I always seemed one step behind – were you the ones to kill Ketheric?”

His curiosity would appear to get away with him, and in a way it was true.

It was also a cover for his nerves, as they were drawing ever closer to where Cazador lingered. The sun may be out…but Astarion worried.

~***~

Neria had done nothing in her life to deserve Shadowheart.

Perhaps the same could be argued for Shadowheart deserving her.

A strange fate brought two terrible people together, with sense enough to try to be good in desperate situations, and then to continue it. The touch was grounding. The reiteration of ‘was’, as well, a word she barely released could mean so much in a moment. Neria could force that spectre of horror to stay in the past, if she wanted to. If she could ignore the question of what she was losing by doing so.

She likely could not.

She was no Sharran. She desperately needed to understand it all, herself most of all. If she could fight the urge now, why not back then? What was worth all that damage?

“Agreed,” Neria accepted, trying to regroup. “I wish this wasn't our new normal, though,” a slight attempt at humor, “but at least we should have funds enough to not sleep on the ground tonight.” Dame Aylin and Isobel already hinted at getting rooms; the pairs desperation to be with each other was obvious.

Neria was glad to have spared them both.

Though, they ought to find which inn, see if they had any additional information on the Sharrans.

“Let's at least find some good wine before we figure out where we're staying. I think I need to remuddle my head a bit. Not enough to go walking back here in the wee hours, but,” a chuckle, as if she'd be so drunk and foolish to turn up at these doors, “enough to sleep.”

She wouldn't sleep.

She changed the topic. “Didn't we also talk about getting you new clothes befitting your heresy?” Now that she was going back to her roots, she'd talked of going…brighter.

Maybe Neria would need to adjust for heresy one day, too.