Chapter 1: Chapter 1. Charmed To Make Your Acquaintance.
Notes:
Big thanks to my great and all powerful beta - Scifee, who helped me to make this to look and sound SO much better.
'Curious' - thoughts
"Curious" - talking
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Corlis felt sick. He never knew motion sickness was a problem for him and, to be frank, he didn’t expect to find out about this quirk of his on board a FUCKING nautiloid ship. Not only is he stuck in a gross, alien, slimy, AND fleshy contraption, but he's also in the damn Hells. Sure, he had seen all kinds of kinks in his time, but he needed a safeword before being thrown into the deep end like this.
The half-elf felt his panic suddenly rise and he whined in distress, banging on the lid of the pod, trying to force it open from the inside. With another frustrated hit, he yelped when his wrist twisted. Cursing, Corlis wished he had, for once, listened to his friend, who many times told him he needed to learn how to throw a punch. He luckily managed to avoid any real damage to his hand, but it still hurt like a bitch. Another terrified whine left him as he shook.
‘Surely, this isn't how he'll die? No, he CAN'T die like this. Yes, he just had to breathe... In and out... In…and out.’ Corlis ran his fingers through his hair, stopping at the base of his skull. Dark long strands catching on a delicate band of silver that clung to his skin, a necklace. He rubbed his neck in a soothing motion, tracing the ornate, bright pink designs decorating his throat, all connecting in a circular pattern at its center. His eyes shot open as an idea came to him. He steeled himself, concentrated and looked up.
‘Dallen, you there?’ his mind swirled as the thought shot out through whatever connection he had with his 'patron'. He held his breath, but unfortunately only silence greeted him. The ship jostled slightly and Corlis had to fight to not get sick, the pit in his stomach growing as the ship stabilized. He felt a cold, piercing fear that he immediately shoved down as soon as it struck him. Corlis cleared his throat and strained his vocal cords to speak.
"Come on, you never ignore me...Dal?" Shutting his eyes he listened, trying to concentrate on the image of the smug archfey, yet, the silence reverberated in his mind once again. He grit his teeth.
"This isn't the time for pranks," his breathing quickened. "Please!" he begged, voice cracking slightly. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, he was left without even a hint of recognition. For the first time, Corlis wished for that obnoxious aura the fey carried to swirl around him. And still nothing changed. And the silence was the only thing he got in response.
Suddenly, a brush of warmth touched his neck. He jerked away, but the phantom touch grew only more insistent as it clasped around his throat in a forceful grip. Corlis tried to grasp the invisible force, but it was ultimately futile. His breathing hitched as the lines on Corlis' neck expanded with a violent surge of magical energy flowing through his blood. His mind grew hazy, the static replacing any semblance of thought. The pressure boiled, soon turning into pain, and then agony. He clenched his teeth in an attempt to resist the flow, in an attempt to do anything, to fight this apparition. His mind barely registered the pink glow growing brighter from his chest and neck. No, it wasn't just coming from them. It shone through, from under the very skin, lighting up his throat and rib cage from the inside. A flash of a memory came to him, a simple phrase, words said in a distant voice, "When the pressure gets too much, just let it go. Let them hear it."
A flash rendered his mind empty of thought as his vision went blinding white. For a moment the pain in his chest was too much and Corlis' jaw fell open under the strain. As soon as it did, the lid of the pod buckled and flew off with a wave of uncontrolled magic. A loud melodic ripple of sound tinted in purples and pink erupted from him, the pain fueling the desperate scream. The ebb and flow of the sound made the pod and the walls around him vibrate and shake. It kept going until there was no oxygen in his lungs, until his ears bled, until his mind shut its walls down so violently that it jerked him forward, his body going limp and falling to the ground, finally free of the alien contraption.
His vision swirled and tilted as the high pitched sound slowly left his mind. The jostle of the ship made him remember where he was. There wasn't much time to dwell on whatever just happened, so he got up on his knees, his hands shaking as he pushed himself up onto unsteady legs.
He was free of the pod, but still trapped on the ship, so that needed to change. Without his patron in his mind, the man feared the worst, but when he summoned his eldritch power and it answered. He sighed in relief, knowing that, despite Dal not answering him, the 'little boon' his patron had gifted was still present, though it felt quite weaker than he remembered. He felt the blood still trickling from his ears. Wiping it away, he looked at its color, pink mixed with red greeted him. Not a good sign. He wasn't doing too well, but that was easily remedied. Corlis reached back, but stopped short. His violin was nowhere to be found. He cursed, it was an expensive investment that he didn’t expect to lose like this. Thankfully it wasn’t his only instrument, he couldn’t help but bless the day his brother got him that resonating necklace. A unique enchantment, suited personally to his voice and power. Clicking the gem on it, he sang and the Weave answered, his wounds stitching closed, the ache in his chest dissipating.
Okay, all in working order, more or less. He swore when something squirmed in his head. He shivered, almost stumbling from the disgusting feeling. The parasite. The realization made the dread settle in his stomach, but despite that, he had to move.
Corlis urgently went through the ship, mindful of the danger that probably lurked around every corner. Or maybe that was just paranoia setting in. He proceeded forth, collecting a few things from the fallen bodies along the way as he needed to be fast and resourceful. Yet, his skin crawled every time he had to touch a corpse. No. He had to push through it. Sure, Corlis had seen a few things in his life, he was an adventurer after all, he's seen death before, had even killed in self-defense a few times, but still, he usually played it safe. He went for the jobs where he could talk, negotiate, or charm his way through, in big cities or nice towns, full of conflicts and misunderstandings, not... whatever the Hells this was. He didn't loot bodies of the fallen. He didn't have to worry about that in the past.
Corlis was drawn from his thoughts when a banging nearby drew his attention. He just entered a new chamber, where rows upon rows of pods lined the walls. In one of them, a human man in purple robes seemed to be conscious and understandably distressed. As soon as he noticed him a hint of recognition hit him and, for a moment, he saw himself in that forsaken pod. The man was actively trying to keep himself from spiraling just like him.
The stranger’s face brightened as Corlis slowed and looked his way.
"Hey, over here! Yes! A look of recognition! You’re no thrall are you?!" He spoke quickly and before Corlis managed to answer he pushed on. "Can you, perchance, help me open this thing?! Please, it's quite unpleasant!" His voice had a panicked edge to it, hands pressed against the glass like membrane of the pod.
"Yes. Let me see what I can do," Corlis felt a bit clammy. He was inside a pod just a few moments ago and he couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped from his mind. There was no way he would just leave this guy trapped.
"Quickly!" The man urged, trying to find any hold for his fingers inside the pod. Though somewhat frantic, there was a fast precision to him, looking for an opportunity, an inconsistency or a gap, anything.
Corlis nodded, he felt slight relief when he noticed no visible change in the man's behavior as he spoke up.
‘Must be the pod. Still, need to be careful when he's out,’ he thought and tore his eyes from the man, hastily looking around and soon spying a strange contraption. A strange device, a control panel of sorts. He shifted his gaze back to the pod, ‘Now, there's obviously some kind of magic at work ’. Blinking, for a moment his pale blue eyes danced with a reflective sheen of pink as he noticed them:
"Warding runes," he whispered and shifted his attention back to the controls. He extended his hand and a soft pink glow engulfed the room. The man in the pod stilled in caution, watching him with trepidation. Corlis felt his mind latch onto the device and suddenly there it was, the power at his disposal. The device was ready to comply, malleable. A shiver ran down his spine and he almost could say he knew this feeling, it's different yet so similar to a human mind. He shudders as the familiar sense of grief hit him, but he still willed the pod open. As the console came to life. The parasite squirmed and there's a feeling of being in total control. Again. A feeling of being finally sated. A high he forcefully reeled back from, yanking his hand to his side, refusing to look at the gross console again. His fist clenched tight.
The human man sighed with relief, stumbling out of the pod.
"Heavens, you, my friend, have an amazing sense of timing. Here I was, about to start punching my way through like a wild animal and here you came rushing in to preserve my dignity! Your-" he wasn't able to finish the thought as the parasite squirmed once more and, this time, the world twisted around him and Corlis, for a moment, saw the world from the stranger's eyes.
Flashes of dusty shelves filled with books. A search that must be fruitful, or the consequences will reach you once more. Maps with locations marked, next to them words scribbled in hasty handwriting. Then, the unfamiliar streets of a city. Running from a collapsing clock tower. The shadows on the ground. A panicked look to the sky. A few rapid gestures to cast a spell only for it to be cut short.
As it all subsided, Corlis staggered to the side, his eyes wide. "What..." he whispered, trying to get his bearings.
"You... you were the one who screamed? You... that's..." The man didn't get to finish as Corlis raised his hand to stop him. The man straightened his back and stiffly bowed his head, clearing his throat.
"You’re right, I apologize, we have neither time nor the closeness to unpack that. But…we are of the same mind that it was the parasite's doing?" he gestured to his head with one finger and then looked up expectantly and Corlis only nodded his head, the wizard cleared his throat again and smiled, "Glad we agree. Where was I, before we got so rudely interrupted...Oh! Your assistance was most welcome, that is to say I extend to you my deepest gratitude."
The man now stood before him, and now that Corlis' mind was clear, he finally took the man in. Brown hair of medium length, not reaching his shoulders, a wizard's robe, a single earring on his left, faint lines that run from his eye, down his neck, and to his chest, like a tattoo of sorts. Corlis smiled in response and nodded. He himself was hesitant to talk, now that the man could hear him clearly. He didn't want to deal with the consequences in a place like this. He usually wouldn't make much of a fuss, but this was a bit different.
"I feel like introductions are in order, I'm Gale of Waterdeep." Gale smiled proudly. Corlis only nodded once more and bowed in response.
"Not much of a talker are you?" When he lifted his eyes, he saw Gale looking at him quizzically.
Corlis straightened himself, paused in thought and made a so-so gesture with his hand, looking the wizard straight in the eye and slightly smirking at him. Corlis turned and waved for the man to follow and, as he looked over the shoulder, he still saw that look of confusion on human’s face
"...Alright," Gale said with a slight drawl to it, a hint of uncertainty mixed with it, "Lead the way."
They traversed the ship with haste. The winding, fleshy corridors disturbed and confused them both. And, well, Corlis was a bit on edge. He didn't know what to do. Didn't know where to go. He couldn't really talk to Gale right now to ask if he knew anything either. If his guess was right, the man was a wizard. Those types, usually smart, well-read, and knew their way around spells. Overall, he was a good asset. Corlis couldn't afford to lose that. The last thing he needed in a crisis was to deal with a love-struck man he barely knew. Especially a wizard, as they could be quite inventive and persistent. So his mouth will stay shut.
Well, that was the plan at least.
When the two men reached a half-collapsed hallway, things went sideways fast. A massive hole in the wall exposed them to the elements. The gust of scorching air made them shield their eyes. For the first time since being on this ship, they were able to properly see the twisted land, fractured and jagged. The Hells sprawled beneath them in all its violent glory. Rivers of lava and billows of black smoke evoked the feeling of dread, as they looked at the suffering of the damned. They were so high up, it made Corlis’ stomach churn at the thought of falling from this height. They made sure to keep close to the opposite wall and hurried to the other side of the hall to reach the fleshy sphincter door. The ship dangerously careened to the right.
Gale stumbled and lost his footing, tumbling to the side with a slight yelp as he tried to find his balance. He fell towards the gash in the ship, stopping a few feet before the drop. It made Corlis wince, and reach out to help the man up. Or he would’ve done so, if he hadn’t had to kneel to the ground to keep himself from having the same fate. A shadow of a red dragon flew past, fire scorching the ceiling. Both men got lower to the ground, fear fueling their actions. A loud, deep roar shook the ship around them and Corlis felt his heart pounding in his chest. 'Of course there is a dragon here! This day just keeps getting better and better!' He grit his teeth trying to catch sight of the creature. This was only the beginning of their troubles.
A group of imps glided in for the kill. Gale just managed to get back on his feet when he found himself face to face with two fiends, faces full of crooked, bloody yellow teeth, their sharp axes arching through the air and ready to hit their mark. He stumbled out of the way just in time and, slamming his hands with a shout of a familiar spell, summoned a wave of thunder that pushed them back. And still more were incoming.
Corlis knew he was screwed. Despite being in the Hells, his blood froze. This was it. He knew he had to fight, and that meant...he had to sing. But, there was no time for hesitation. Charmed was better than dead. He rushed forward as his silver necklace pressed into his skin, a wave of vibrating sound raising from his throat. Melodious words of incantation reverberated through the air, clinging to the imps. Pink energy coalesced and lit them up in foggy molasses. Corlis bent the sound around them and threw it towards Gale with a soft purr in his voice:
"Ice em, oh Gale of Waterdeep," his words woven with magic, ready to bolster anything Gale did.
The wizard in question shuddered as a sheen of pink danced across his eyes. Gale's face stretched in surprise, but then a look of understanding flickered through his confusion. Eyes darting to the fog that clung to the imps, his arms moved as if by instinct alone, flinging the spell forth just as one of the imp’s attacks flew past the wizard.
The ray of frost struck true as if drawn to the target, freezing the fiend solid, as the man backed up.
Corlis took a step forward instead, drawing the attention of two imps who slashed at him with manic eagerness. One hit landed true, leaving a shallow gash in his right shoulder, making the man flinch, while the other missed. The bard's eyes flared a bright pink as he screamed when the burst of pain entered his system. A rush of controlled sound, as loud as Gale's thunder, threw the little pests back, destroying and twisting their little ugly bodies. The wizard followed up Corlis’ attack with another ray striking true against the last imp. Unfortunately it didn’t stop the creature from immediately shooting his crossbow back at him. The arrow hit Gale in the side, making the man cry out in pain.
Corlis snapped towards that last imp with controlled fury.
"Are you quite done embarrassing yourself? Now listen and drop dead, you ugly mutt!" His voice flew and struck into the very core of the fiend's mind. It reeled with a screech, plopping on the ground and looking up at Corlis as it gurgled, blood bursting from its nose and then finally falling to the ground motionless.
"Good boy..." The half-elf felt a condescending smirk tug at his lips as he cooed, his gaze lingering on its corpse.
As the adrenaline slowly subsided, he closed his eyes for a second, taking a breath. He half-turned to look at Gale, who sat on the ground clutching at the arrow in his stomach. The man stared back at him with wide eyes.
"Well, color me impressed," he chuckled, his voice laced with slight uncertainty. The laughing was a mistake on his part as the man immediately winced from agitating the arrow.
Corlis shook his head as if to get his thoughts straight. Approaching the man on the ground he said, "Let me look at you. Don't move much, kay?" His request was a bit late as the man tried to move away slightly, which made the half-elf pause mid-squat. He tilted his head and looked the man in the eyes. Gale watched him back, brows furrowing slightly. His eyes were full of shock, confusion and forced concentration. It made Corlis' heart stutter for a second. 'He isn't love struck!' Though for most people it was a given, for Corlis it was an unusual situation. A sliver of curiosity and excitement danced in his mind.
"You’re alright, I'm not going to hurt you," He smiled gently, keeping that slight tilt to his head, forcing his voice to sound soft, non-threatening.
Gale's cheeks grew red, the confusion growing in his gaze as he shook his head.
"What in Mystra's name..." he shut his eyes, taking a deep breath and seemingly regretting it immediately.
'He's not unaffected…’ a flicker of disappointment ‘ But… He's…Resisting? Huh...' The bard narrowed his eyes for a second then forced his face to relax with warmness and openness, a complex facade strengthened only by his genuine concern.
"Shhh, okay just..." They didn't have much time, so he had to make sure the man wasn't hindered by his injuries. "I need to take care of this arrow. There's no need to squirm, I'll pull it out and you'll feel better, I promise."
As the words left him he scrunched his face, slightly disappointed in himself for a moment 'Really? this isn't the time, Corlis!' But, truth be told, he simply couldn't help it. Innuendos were his bread and butter after all.
Gale's face grew as red as a tomato and he turned his away to clear his throat, "This is a most perplexing situation, I- I assure you, I don't-" A loud yelp escaped him, face twisting in pain as Corlis yanked the arrow out without warning. The bard immediately pulled out a healing potion he found a few rooms ago and shoved it into Gale's mouth without a second thought.
‘Ah, screw it.’
With a soft, playful shake of his head, Corlis spoke up again:
"Don't worry it's not you. I have that effect on people. Just make sure to swallow it all, and try not to choke, dear. That would be a terrible way to go after getting impaled by an imp's massive arrow," he smirked at the wizard’s wide-eyed look. The mage immediately started choking on the potion as his wounds stitched by magic. Sure, he may have wanted to avoid influencing his new acquaintance, but that ship had sailed the moment he had to fight. At least now he didn't have to restrain his excellent sense of humor.
The man hastily wiped his mouth, a scandalized wheeze leaving him before he was able to even say a word.
“I- This-” His eyes snapped to Corlis, face flushing bright red and still fighting the coughing. “Now's hardly the time!” Gale’s voice cracked as he stumbled to his feet.
"Sorry, I can't help it." Corlis' smile grew as he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear with a coy look. "Shall we?" He motioned his head towards the fleshy door.
"Certainly," the man replied, taking a deep breath and dusting off his clothes, his face slowly returning to the normal shade.
As they moved forward, finally stepping through the door, Corlis hummed in thought.
"You know anything about ships like this?"
"Nothing too useful for our current predicament, I'm afraid. Though there must be a control room of sorts? I read that nautiloids are controlled from something called the helm. We should try to seek it out." Gale concluded in a slightly hushed tone. The mage was smart to use some discretion in the enemy territory.
"That sounds pretty useful to me." The half-elf chuckled as he picked up his pace slightly. "Well, no time like the present."
They carried on, thankfully avoiding most trouble and soon reached a middle deck. It had a massive overhang that shielded them from view. Corlis put his fingers to his lips, looking at Gale who nodded with a somewhat schooled expression. The bard got lower to the ground as he noticed a few more imps wreaking havoc further out on the deck. He was about to emerge from the overhang when a roar, a sound loud enough to shake their bones, pierced the sky once more.
This time the dragon clung to the side of the nautiloid, its impact making the whole ship shake. Corlis stumbled back, his eyes locked onto the beast. It was massive, the size difference made the half-elf shudder. The dragon's fiery breath scorched the ship. This time round there was a glimpse of intent, some sort of target. But he didn’t get to think about the implications of this behavior as the ship jumped.
The deck rose, the front of the ship rushing towards the sky. The sky around them shifted from a hellscape to a mix of stars. Cosmos rushed past as both of them were flung backwards. Gale was the first to smack against the wall. With a startled yelp, the wizard shut his eyes in pain, breath knocked out of him.
Corlis tried to slow his fall by grasping at the wall, but it was futile. The half-elf crashed stomach first into the heavy cubic crates held in place by the flesh of the ship. He felt the pain bloom with a dull ache, gravity putting pressure onto his bruised body. His heart dropped a second time when the ship careened forward. It threw him back towards the overhang and the endless expanse of the now familiar night sky. Corlis slammed against a pillar and started to slide off when he caught himself, hands gripping the edge. He looked up just in time to see Gale falling towards him, straight towards the open air.
The bard acted without thinking and grasped at the man with his left hand, managing to just catch the wizard’s hand. His right hand exploded in pain as the gash left by the imps tore further, his hand slipping.
Both of them tumbled through the air, free falling.
Corlis saw stars as the pain spread through his nervous system. He felt his consciousness spin with him and quickly fade, the hand holding onto the wizard slipping. A firm grasp clasped around his wrist and the last thing he saw before his vision went black was Gale reaching out and pulling on some kind of shimmering thread, whilst tightly holding onto Corlis.
Notes:
Chapter 1 is here! It's been a while since I attempted to write anything on this scale, so bare with me.
Welcome, my dear Tav - Corlis, a Bard and a Warlock. FYI he is lv 2 from the beginning, as I needed him to have a multiclass. Fair warning, Corlis has quite a few things that are Homebrew. He has a magical item, the silver band neckless, he can use as his instrument to empower his voice. So he technically doesn't need a normal instrument. He also has a unique ability, that you'll find out more about as the story goes on, but you have seen some effects of it on Gale in this chapter.
P.S. I am not the best when it comes to posting regularly, but maybe having a beta will help to keep me on track. I'll try to post every other week at least, unless I have more time and energy.
Next episode, let's see how much I can push Durge before he breaks.
I hope you enjoyed the chapter and till next time.
Chapter 2: Chapter 2. The Thrum Of The Blood.
Summary:
My all-powerful Beta strikes again, give it up for Scifee! This wouldn't look half as good without her!
'Curious' - thoughts
"Curious" - talking
We are getting into Durge content, so TW for:
- violence
- close up description of a corpse
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The funny thing about memory is that most people think it’s foolproof.
The truth is, no matter how much you hope and pray and carve it all into your mind, it will always stay unreliable.
Sometimes when a person wakes up before going back to sleep, the memory gets spotty. Especially, when a mind is already wounded in more ways than one.
Ortis felt the world spin. Blotches of color and sound, disjointed feelings and thoughts, swirled in his head.
For him, recalling past events was a complicated process.
His first clear memory was of the parasite.
Trapped, body restricted and injured, thrumming with pain and lost in profound confusion. A twinge of panic made Ortis want to scream. He didn't. It wasn't his place to scream. It felt wrong to do so, as if he didn't have that right. The elf blinked, trying to escape the pounding headache that clung to his mind, eliminating any semblance of thought. It was hard to make out much when his vision pulsed and stabbing pain struck his eyes, making everything blur. No longer able to fight it, he groaned and shut his eyes.
It took him a moment to force his eyes open. By that time,
A stifled scream nearby made Ortis jolt slightly in his pod. The sound echoed through his very nervous system, resonating in dull pain, making him wince. It took him a moment to force his eyes open, and by that time, the room had grown quiet once again. Ortis dragged his eyes up, only to see that he was face to face with a mindflayer. It glided forward, something like a worm in its hand. Ortis tried to jerk away, but his body was quickly locked in place. Blood roared in his ears as he gritted his teeth, a low growl escaping him. The last thing he remembered was the tadpole squirming his way in, and then the pain consumed his mind.
Then he woke up again.
The thrumming of blood filled his head once more, clouding and haunting his thoughts. Pain bloomed behind his eyelids, threatening to pop his eyes right out of his skull.
The hiss of the pod opening brought him from whatever darkness suffocated his mind. He stumbled out of the pod, catching himself before it was too late. This was the first time he truly felt how profound the emptiness inside his mind was. No. It didn’t feel like emptiness, more like an obstruction. A loss of memory. He had nothing aside from the name - ‘Ortis’.
He knew that was his name, but beyond that the only thing that greeted him was the hungry, pulsing abyss. His eyes darted around the room, as he tried to grasp at threads of anything that might be familiar. No, this wasn’t a place to do that…everything here was wrong, alien .
He took a deep breath. This time, when the elf opened his eyes, his gaze was sharp and analytical. The man had no time to ponder. He had to get out of here.
His hand twitched, and Ortis let it take charge. A calculated movement, rehearsed to perfection. The moment he finished the gesture, the shimmering of the Weave coated him in a protective sheen. Ortis let out a surprised sound as the warmth settled around him.
Magic… Yes , he knew magic. That felt right.
The events on the nautiloid felt like a fever dream. Now that he thought about it, they all smeared together in a grotesque spectacle.
What was it again?
Right, first there was a githyanki accusing him of being a thrall.
The woman jumped him when Ortis was passing through an area of the ship, broken open by dragon’s claws.
Silver armour. Yellowish-green skin. Black markings spread around her piercing eyes, peppering her cheeks and forehead.
The woman raised her sword, and, for some reason, it made a shiver of indignation run down his spine. She was so quick to take charge, so quick to disregard, quick to assume, to judge. If not for the squirming in their heads, she would have not hesitated to pierce him where he stood.
A part of him wanted to see her try, to feel that burning pain, to reciprocate violence with violence. And yet another part of him was relieved to find someone in the same predicament, grateful to have someone else take charge and direct him towards a goal.
They had to go through the imps…That, to be frank, the man didn’t recall very well. Not in a cohesive manner, anyway.
He remembered throwing himself forward before he had time to think or strategize. His body moved as if by invisible threads, muscle memory. His body remembered, despite his mind being left damaged and blank.
He recalled that he and the warrior woman made for a deadly combination.
He knew they emerged unscathed.
The imps, on the other hand, were turned into bloody pulp.
He can still smell the scent of decay as his magic festered in their bodies. He can still feel the tingling at his fingertips as they were mercilessly fried by violent surges of electricity. That was one thing he remembered clearly. A moment in time, where his hand clasped around the imp's tiny throat as green and purple lightning surged out of his hand. The hot air around him tight with static, making the hair on his body stand-up, sending goosebumps down his spine in anticipation. His hand tightened, fingers sinking into the now rigid skin that pulled tight under the high voltage. Ortis held it there for a few moments after it expired, the magic still rippling through him. A cold, sinking feeling shook him out of his revelry when he finally dropped the mangled, scorched body. He doesn’t remember a good chunk after the fight, his mind turning foggy once more.
As he tried to grasp at events to arrange them, another one surfaced.
A woman. Coal-black hair. A silver circlet on her head. Trapped in a pod.
His vision blurred every time she pounded on the clear membrane of the pod. A picture of her distress was lodged in his mind. She looked desperate. Helpless.
He remembered the bubbling smile prying at his lips that disturbed him when he noticed it. And still, despite that, Ortis remembered a feeling of sympathy. Then another feeling surfaced. A feeling of anger, violently bubbling up when the warrior woman chastised him. He just grit his teeth and looked at the console, trying to shove down the frustration he suddenly felt toward her.
He eventually managed to open the pod, though the details escaped him.
Fragments of conversation filled his disjointed memory.
“You keep dangerous company” the dark-haired woman said, after their minds mingled. Her voice echoed through his memory. It was distorted, mangled, but conveyed her distaste for the warrior that was with him well.
Ortis felt dread. He couldn’t explain it. Before his mind caught up, he realized he was speaking. "You don't know me, don't assume I'm not.” His words sounded a bit hollow. There was no intensity to them, but his shoulders were locked, his back growing rigid.
His voice, too, was warped. For a moment, it only added to his confusion.
He shook his head as if to get back on track, while the green eyes watched him with a hint of curiosity. Ortis forced his voice to comply, “Let's just get out of here.”
The woman’s brow furrowed for a second, but she soon relaxed and shrugged, “Fair enough, I’ll go with you. Dangerous or not, we both want out.”
“Agreed.” Ortis nodded, “We should get moving.” He turned to walk as the woman reached back into the pod to retrieve something.
The elven man’s eyes caught on the small, many-sided box of metal. For a moment he stared. Curiosity coursed through his body. He had to tear his eyes away to focus on what was at hand. The rest of the memory fizzled out, gradually drowned out with distant noises of the complaining githyanki.
He was thrown into the next and last memory. The sound of wind filled his ears.
It felt like all of his senses were thrashed into the cold water.
The feeling of vertigo took him when the ship’s nose rose up after he connected the transponder. Then, Ortis was flung back, tumbling through the air. The change in direction made him dizzy as he grabbed onto the controls, catching himself from being thrown off. His stomach sank as if filled by sharp rocks.
The purple 4-pointed shapes that covered his forearms burned. His skin crawled, and he had the urge to scream. He didn’t. His hands were shaking as he tried to hold on.
He didn’t last for too long.
He remembered his body being pressed to the wall by the force of their descent.
The eyes of a mindflayer looking at him. Unreadable.
A piece of debris.
A blooming pain in his temple.
His fingers digging into the flesh of the ship as he was thrown overboard.
His vision went black.
Memory is a funny thing...
When someone drowns in darkness and red fills their mind, when they stumble forward trying to find an anchor, they can get stranded in their own spiralling mind. When they know that it longs to recover what is lost, but can do nothing but scramble for slipping details: disjointed pictures, disconnected emotions, fragments of thought and conversation. Warped. Stuck. Running the same scenario over and over in their head until they puke, until their nose bleeds, until the rushing blood in their head drowns out the sound of the world and leaves nothing in return. They can only hope to escape the cycle.
Ortis too was stuck.
And then someone pulled him out.
A hand shook his shoulder, startling his senses into motion. Information flooded his brain, light burned his eyes, aching pain spread through the sore body, and his heart hammered in his chest so fast he felt like he was dying.
Ortis felt the Weave tug at his skin as he jolted awake. His hand sparked with purple lightning as his eyes snapped wide only to see the woman from the pod take a fast step back, holding out her hands in a startled motion.
“Easy there! No need to fling spells!” Her eyebrows rose, eyes widening in surprise as she watched him. She was now standing a few feet away, alert, but not threatening.
Ortis snuffed out the lightning, raising one of his hands to shield his face, squinting from the sun. He was now sitting on the beach, surrounded by the rubble of the nautiloid ship. His shoulders slowly dropped, and his fingers absentmindedly buried themselves into the warm sand as he took a deep breath, glancing around.
“S-sorry” his voice cracked from disuse, as the elf returned his attention to the woman. “You startled me. Are you alright?”
Her posture loosened slightly, “That's the last time I try to wake you. But, I’m fine, all things considered.” She shrugged, trying to make her voice sound nonchalant.
“Uh… that’s good.” Ortis nodded to himself, dusting off his green robe. An awkward pause hung in the air for a moment as he scrambled for a topic of conversation, soon realizing he never introduced himself. “We didn’t have much time for introductions on the ship. I’m Ortis...I think,” he added quietly at the end, uncertainty lacing his words for a moment.
“Shadowheart.” she nodded. Concise and to the point. Not too bad. “I take it, you have no idea how we survived?”
He hummed and shook his head, “No. I don’t remember much of the ship, nor of the fall. Must have hit my head pretty hard.” Ortis’ lips twisted in a slight grimace as he wasn’t too sure of how to explain this, so he changed the subject, “Do you recall anything yourself?”
“I don’t remember anything after the fall. When I woke up, I found you lying here, and well, you know the rest.” She gestured towards him and the man nodded.
“Any idea where we are?” The elf stepped forward, scanning the horizon for anything recognizable, when Shadowheart answered him.
“No, but regardless we need supplies, shelter, and most of all a healer.” When he looked at her again, he saw determination. “We still have those little monsters in our heads.”
“Don’t remind me.” He raised his hand as if to push the thought away. The idea of those worms still being in their heads brought him closer to losing what’s left of his composure, the longer he thought about it. “But I agree, we should look for any signs of life, a settlement or a village perhaps…” Then he remembered, “That said, the warrior we met on the ship. The githyanki. Have you seen her?”
“No, seems she ran off without us” she said as if stating a fact.
That was troublesome. It wasn’t as if he particularly liked the woman. From what he could recall, she pushed his buttons quite a bit, but Ortis wasn’t dumb enough to deny that she was skilled with a sword. Githyanki also, as far as he knew, were infamous for their lifelong fight against illithids. It wasn’t far-fetched that that woman may have had at least a faint idea of a plan. But, that being said, gith are also known for not being the most forthcoming people, so it was hard to judge what her absence meant in the grand scheme of things.
“Let us go then.” Ortis nodded and turned to walk. He’ll keep an eye out for the warrior.
“One more thing,” Shadowheart raised her hand to intercept him, without actually making any physical contact. She lowered it when he stopped to look at her. “I wanted to thank you again, for freeing me. It would’ve been all too easy for you to leave me there. But you didn’t. I’ll remember that.”
“It wasn’t much of a choice really. I just did what felt right at the moment.” Ortis closed his eyes for a second, trying to recall any semblance of reason as to why he helped the woman, but his memory fell short once more. “Anyway, let’s make use of the daylight while we have it.” He walked past her. He could feel Shadowheart’s eyes on his back. She followed suit, her movement signalled only by the faint sound of her boots on the sand after a moment of silence.
They moved on.
The beach was littered with bodies and rubble left by the crash of the alien ship. The sun was high in the sky, and the waves were steadily crashing against the rocky shore. The smell of ash and blood mixed with the sea air made Ortis feel a bit distracted. It didn’t help that he felt unstable walking across the sand. Thankfully, they kept a relatively slow pace. His head, still a bit empty, caused a sliver of pain to pulse through with every step the man took. But thankfully, it was steadily subsiding.
They took a bit of time to rummage through stranded crates and corpses of common folk lying around for anything useful. As Shadowhart said, they needed supplies, so they couldn’t be picky.
When Ortis knelt near one of the bodies and started to check its pockets, his hands moved without a hint of hesitation. He initially intentionally held his eyes away from the face, in a gesture of respect, but one careless glance made him pause. The corpse’s face was blank, free of any intent or emotions. The half-opened eyes were foggy, devoid of the burden of life. The mouth was hanging slightly open, jaw slack, the lips colored by a smear of blood. On its own, his hand inched up to the face, tracing his fingers up to the cheek, the pale skin pleasantly cold to the touch.
He felt a half-smile rest on his lips. Ortis rapidly blinked his eyes, and hastily forced his hand away. ‘What in the Hells is wrong with me?!’ His hand turned to a fist, knuckles turning white. ‘Repulsion. That’s what I feel. That’s what I should feel!’ He relaxed his hand and closed the dead man’s eyes. Ortis pulled back and got up onto his feet, forcing his eyes away. A single disturbing question rang in his mind now:
‘Have I seen the dead this close before?”
The elf forced his mind to comply and remember... And remember it did. But it was not something he wanted to see.
A scent of blood was overwhelming. Rivers of red, piles of mangled corpses. Faces twisted and scared. Empty. He made a point to look them in the eyes as they slipped away. The burden of life finally lifted from their shoulders. They were seen. Always.
Ortis blinked, back from the memory. He clenched his teeth and forced his body not to shudder. He stayed firm on his legs as he walked away from the corpse towards the crates in the distance. He felt cold. His skin felt clammy. He won’t show it. Whatever this was…He won’t let that happen again.
It disgusted him. But he knew a part of him wanted to spill his own blood for thinking, even if for a moment, that this wasn’t beautiful.
Now standing near the broken-down pier, Ortis finished rummaging through the abandoned backpack. This was the first proper sign of life. He made his way closer to the water, rolling his sleeves to wash his face and hands of dried blood. There was a lot. Now, he wasn’t entirely sure if it was his own. In the periphery, he could see Shadowheart continuing forward towards some kind of entrance. A door, if he wasn’t mistaken. His attention, however, was on his own hands now.
As he washed the blood off, he could see a few thin shapes running along his forearms. Three on each hand, they were almost mirrored. 4-sided rhombus-like, purple shapes with sharp edges. He traced his fingers along one of them. It was smooth, smoother than his skin, and evenly warm to the touch, even after being submerged under the cold water.
Ortis peered into the water to see his face looking back. Similar shapes ran around his confused, still slightly disturbed, eyes, that looked to be green if the water translated the colours accurately enough. He absentmindedly traced their placement with his fingertips. His slightly wavy dark hair wasn’t too short, but he couldn't really call it long, either. It had faint purple highlights running through. He twisted a stray lock with his hand. He had long elven pointed ears, his left had a gash in it. It healed a long time ago. The rough scar the injury had left made his hand shake ever so slightly. It wasn’t serious, but he still didn’t expect to see it there.
“You didn’t strike me as vain enough to check yourself out in the water.” Ortis whipped his head around just to be faced with Shadowhart standing a few feet from the pier, hands folded on her chest, clearly unamused. “If you're done admiring yourself, I found something.”
“I wasn’t-” he stopped and signed, getting up to his feet “Sorry, won’t happen again, what did you find?” he made his way towards the woman.
“A sigil of some kind. And a locked door, so if you're skilled with lock picks…” She inclined her head towards him, inviting him to talk.
“I’m not. The sigil, though, that might be useful. I’ll commit it to memory so we can use it later if the need arises,” Ortis said while keeping up with the cleric, finally reaching the magical symbol etched on a rock and taking it in.
“A shame.” She shrugged, as a pause audibly hung in the air. Then the woman turned to walk away, only to stop and add, “And a word of advice, don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Shadowheart didn’t even spare him a glance and moved forward, leaving him with the sigil.
This separation didn’t last too long. When Ortis finished with his work, he saw her standing a ways away, near a big rock, attention turned to something up ahead. As he approached, she regarded him with a glance and held a finger to her lips, then pointed toward the opening.
“More of those brain things up ahead,” She whispered when he got close enough to hear her hushed tone. “We need a plan. It’s two on two, but my guess is that those claws can do a lot of damage.” He nodded without missing a bit and lowered his own voice.
“I have an idea, follow me” Ortis waited for her to acknowledge him with a short nod.
They looped around the rock that separated them from the creatures, coming closer, from the side where they traversed before, and slowing down.
“Can you back me up? I can get both of them, but only up close.” he spared her a glance in time to see a silent nod.
The man took a breath and his eyes locked onto his targets as he rushed forward.
He felt the cold magic coil around the warmth of his mage armour, strengthening it just as Shadowheart’s voice reached his ears, bringing her will to life. Ortis stopped five feet away from the monsters and clapped his hands, as purple energy ignited between his fingers, he pulled and finished the movement with a pushing motion as a wave of sound ripped through the intellect devourers. They screeched, both being thrown away, with one falling to the ground dead, no longer moving.
Ortis’ eyes snapped up taking note of another brain creature rushing in their direction, just as the monster closest to him jumped back slashing at his chest only to be deflected by the chilling shield his companion created. ‘Good’
Shadowheart rose her hand as a flame was pulled to life, for it to harmlessly dissipate around the creature. Ortis then followed with electricity coursing through his fingers as he grasped the creature before him, shocking it to death.
When the last devourer reached the elf, he wasn't able to penetrate its defences and after a few attacks from the two fell, defeated.
“That was well fought. Perhaps our survival isn’t such a distant prospect.” Hummed Shadowheart, coming up behind him while putting her mace back on her belt.
“You have nice spell work, held up well, saved me some organs.” Joked Ortis as they kept moving through the wreck.
A whirring sound pulled Ortis’ attention when they reached a crossroads of sorts. The wreck of the ship broke in two, stretching onward, but having a break in the walls on each side. He looked at Shadowheart to signal his interest and moved to the right, leaving the wreck, beelining it towards what looked to be an unstable sigil.
It was flickering with energy, a vortex forming at its centre.
‘Fascinating’ was the only thought on Ortis’ mind as he reached out towards the unusual phenomena. His hand was zapped by one of the whips of magic, the area flashed with light for a moment. Then a hand emerged from the darkness, a male voice exclaiming in relief, a twinge of desperation mixed into his words:
“Yes, finally! A hand? Anyone?”
“What…” Ortis took a step back, “How did you do this?” He asked before thinking better of it. He mentally slapped himself, ‘This is no time for this, genius.’
As if the man heard his thoughts, he called out again, “There’s no time! Please, I can’t hold on for too much longer! My hand is slipping!” The hand from the portal tried to grasp at the air more desperately than before, as it was being sucked right back in.
“Shadowheart! Pull him! I’ll calm down the magic!” Ortis moved to the side, closer to the edge of the sigil, as the woman rushed up and grabbed the stranger’s hand, feet securely planted onto the ground. Her body tensed as she pulled against the portal.
While the elf planted his palms at the edges of the rift, energy burned his fingers as the Weave lashed out at him. He gritted his teeth as the markings on his hands pulsed, grew and expanded. He pushed against the vortex, a wave of energy flowing through his hands, forcing the rift to comply and quell its tantrum. “Now!”
Shadowheart pulled with all her might and pulled the stranger through. A wave of energy pushed Ortis away as the instability snapped out of existence.
As the stranger emerged, he tumbled to the ground, followed by another body after him. His hand was firmly clasped around the limp wrist of an unconscious half-elf with a wound around his shoulder.
“Thank you!” The man in purple robes exclaimed and quickly got to his feet looking at both him and Shadowheart. “I know we’ve only just met, and you’ve already helped us out once, but I fear I must ask for your help once more. Are any of you skilled with healing by any chance? My friend over here is in dire need of medical attention.” He kneeled back to the half-elf’s side and rolled him onto his back, putting two fingers to his neck, “Quickly, his heart is still beating, so I’d rather it remain that way.”
“What a day, first the tentacle freaks, now this,” Shadowhart remarked and knelt closer to the unconscious man, extending her hand towards his chest. Her magic lit up and seeped into his skin as the stranger took in a deeper breath, his pale blue eyes snapping open. He blinked a few times, looking at the man first and then turning his gaze to the healer with a smile spreading through his features.
“Is… is this the afterlife? Because I did not expect to wake up in the arms of an angel.” The man said, immediately earning an eye roll from the cleric, who got to her feet. However, her frustration was soon replaced with concealed confusion.
Ortis would have wondered what caused it if not for the same feeling washing over him. As the previously injured man finally stood up with a slight smirk. There was a subtle gravity, of sorts, that pulled him towards the half-elf. An attraction. His voice felt captivating, as if he had to hang onto every word the man said. He was pulled out of this thrall when the robed man next to him spoke.
“And here I was worried. Don’t mind him, from what I can tell he always acts like this.” The man said with a slight wince, a barely noticeable blush tinting his cheeks. He got up and turned towards Ortis as his companion protested with a pout, which he promptly ignored. “Thank you, both of you, truly.” He looked towards the cleric, his lips upturned in a smile, his eyes bright with excitement and gratitude. “Only gods know what would have happened if you didn’t reach us in time. Hello! I’m Gale of Waterdeep, and this is Corlis, apologies, I’m usually better at this.”
“At introductions?” Ortis asked with a raised brow. He couldn’t help but ask, this was the first time in his memory he had this kind of greeting. Which, to be honest, doesn’t say a lot.
“At magic.” Gale shook his head and gestured around them. His tone was light despite the slight jab the wizard had thrown at him.
“So how did you even end up in this predicament? It’s not a pastime of mine to pull people out of teleportation runes,” the elf shared and tilted his head, studying the human in front of him. Something about him piqued his curiosity. Perhaps it was the unusual situation that caused this feeling.
“Well, you see, we were trapped on a nautiloid, as well. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think I caught a glimpse of you and your companion passing through when we were up and about, were you aboard as well?” Ortis just nodded, as the man continued, satisfied with the short response. “As I was saying, we ended up falling towards our certain death, when the ship came crashing down, despite Corlis’ attempts to keep us on board. It was then, in the middle of our free-fall, that I spied a glimmer near where our bodies would have impacted with less-than-savoury propulsion. Realizing it was magical in nature, I grabbed onto my companion who was swiftly losing consciousness, and reached out towards it with a Weaving of words, and so we found our way to the other side, as it were.” The man gestured around as he told his quite impressive story. “What about you two? How did you survive the fall?”
Ortis stilled, the man watching him expectantly.
“I’m…not sure.” The elf took a deep breath and furrowed his brow in concentration, “We… We met on the ship… We reached the helm, a control room of sorts… And I think I connected the transponder, if memory serves me right.” He couldn’t help but add, noticing that Shadowheart was watching him as well. “Then ah…I fell. I didn’t see Shadowheart or the Githyanki woman that was with us on the ship falling. We were already on the ground when I came to.” Ortis finished with a nod to himself. It sounded right.
“So it was you who threw us off? In essence?” Corlis chimed in, hands folded on his chest, making the elf turn his attention towards him and be faced with piercing eyes that watched him.
“I.. uhhh…” Ortis winced and looked at the man. He couldn’t find the words. He felt his heart hammer in his ears.
“If anything, he’s the one who got the ship to the material plane.” Shadowheart chimed in, stepping up to his side and putting a hand on his shoulder, but keeping her voice mostly indifferent. The hand immediately brought him down, as he focused on the feeling of contact.
“Hey, relax! Relax! I was joking, truly! No hard feelings there.” The man laughed, raising his arms up in defence. His face was no longer serious. Now that Ortis could force his brain to function, he finally looked at the half-elf. He once again fought the urge to smile, but for a different, strange reason. His mind immediately supplied that the man in front of him was gorgeous. It made him confused. His thoughts felt like honey for a moment, slow and stretchy. It all felt like an intrusion, so he shoved it out as soon as it arrived. Clawing to keep his clarity. The anchor that Shadowheart provided was helping quite a bit.
Corlis had long, slightly past his shoulders dark, slightly blueish in tint hair. A pointy nose with a hump near the bridge. Across it ran a thin, long, delicate scar, and a smaller one above it on his cheek, both of them were slightly pink instead of red in coloration. Light freckles peppered his cheeks and ears. His eyes were pale, delicate blue in color. Then, there was his neck. It was covered in ornate pink tattoos. A circular shape in the centre with ornate lines reaching towards it. A slight hint of metal peaked from under his hair, hugging the base of his skull, but Ortis wasn’t too sure what it was. The man wore a light leather armour set, that was customized to have a deeper cleavage and was blue and pink in color with a high snatched waist.
“Regardless,” Gale intervened and, at his words, Shadowheart finally stepped aside, letting go of his shoulder. “We won’t solve the matter at hand if we keep looking for a scapegoat! And, back to the matter at hand, I’m talking about the tadpole” The wizard raised his finger up drawing all attention towards him. “Am I right to assume that back on the ship you two were also at the end of a rather unwelcome intrusion in the ocular region?”
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” both Ortis and Corlis groaned at the same time. Corlis’ was a lot more whiny about the matter, but it still made both of them pause and look at each other. ‘Huh’
“Tough crowd, eh? Well, are you aware that after excruciating…” he didn’t finish as Ortis shook his head and rose his hand to interject
“Yes, we’ll turn into mindflayers if we don’t remove it. Ceremorphosis. Please, let's leave it at that. I do not wish to let my imagination run rampant.” His eyes closed for a moment, and he can swear that he heard Corlis whisper “Thank the gods” in similar discomfort.
Gale nodded brow slightly furrowed and continued, “Apologies. Point taken. What I meant to say is that we need a healer. And though you, young lady, helped my companion, I don’t suppose you know of a way to rid us of the p…” he stopped himself and cleared his throat “of this peculiar issue?”
“You must know it is beyond most cleric’s skills” Shadowheart responded flatly.
“Most, no doubt, but find myself hoping to be in the presence of the few.” Before he could carry on, Ortis hummed.
“Unfortunately, I don’t think either of us would qualify. We were trying to orient ourselves after the crash, looking for signs of civilization” The elf looked the human in the eyes as he spoke once more.
“Well then, how about the four of us join forces, lend each other a helping hand once more so to speak, and look for a healer together?” The man gestured towards himself and Corlis, a smile bright and broad on his lips.
“Sounds like a plan,” Ortis nodded with a hint of satisfaction, “Since there’s more of us now, I suggest we split and cover more ground.”
“Most excellent, what do you have in mind?” Gale nodded full of energy. While the half-elf and the cleric shrugged, not minding the arrangement either.
“Shadowheart, you have a good eye for things, so you should helm the resource gathering. We haven’t looked thoroughly through the wreck, it would be a good idea to give it a once over for any resources we must have missed.” She nodded, “You,” Ortis pointed towards Corlis “should accompany her, your wounds aren’t fully closed and if you’ll need medical assistance I wouldn’t be able to do much.”
“Awww, You don’t need to worry about me.” The man teased, teeth showing through his smile, “But no objections here, now that I’m awake I have a sort of ‘pep in my step’ as they say, and I’m ready to wow the masses!” He put a hand on his heart and flicked his hair back, taking Shadowheart’s side, who heavily sighed as he approached.
“That’ll leave you and me to look for a place to camp.” Ortis pointed towards Gale “I also want to keep an eye out for any other potential survivors , though not a priority the more skilled people are on our side the better.” He said, careful not to mention the gith. From what little time on the ship he could remember, Shadowheart wasn’t the biggest fan of the warrior. Still, they needed allies. And a githyanki is as much of an asset as it can get.
When no objections were heard, the group split in two, ready to fulfill their respective tasks.
Notes:
Heya! Chapter 2 is here and look only half a week late!
I do want to apologize for the delay.
I am a student, so depending on the work load, I am at the whims of my uni schedule.
I started writing chapter 1 when I was sick, so when I got back to class, I had a lot of work to catch up to.Either way, thank you for reading! And I hope you enjoyed my silly little Wizard with Sorcerer vibes.
Welcome my dear Durge - Ortis.
Chapter 3: Chaprer 3. Bard's Guide To Failing at Frendship.
Notes:
Thanks again to Scifee for her very helpful insights as my Beta.
'Curious' - thoughts
"Curious" - talking
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Waking up after that fall was… a surreal experience. It truly felt like a bizarre fever dream borne of purely wishful thinking. And, for a moment, Corlis truly thought it was all just a figment of his lively imagination. That soon enough everything will fall apart, and he’ll be left in the emptiness of whatever afterlife he deserved. But that never came, and the consistent, uncomfortable ache in his limbs felt like sobering proof of this unlikely outcome being a reality. Damn, he was about to imagine a pretty angelic lad or lady to sob into. How he would cry into their soft embrace about his unfair demise, and they would stroke his hair before his trip to the other side. But, alas, his plans were thwarted and he was still breathing.
It was for the better, his pretty face was not born to cry. At least now he was safe and back on solid ground. Well, the safe part may be slightly exaggerated. Now, unfortunately, he had a lot more on his mind, and in it. Yuck.
Corlis would usually try to suppress his troubling thoughts for as long as humanly possible by the method of ‘constant talking’. Thankfully, he wasn’t alone. Unfortunately, he was left with Shadowheart, who didn’t seem to share his love for conversations. As the wizard duo set out to look for camp, the two were left behind next to the teleportation rune. If he was honest, Corlis was still surprised that both he and Gale survived this. Sure, the human did his best to explain the logistics behind their descent, but it all sounded like magical mumbo-jumbo to the bard.
“Shadowheart, was it?” Corlis pushed himself off the rock he was leaning on when the woman was about to walk away. Despite being healed, his shoulder still ached unpleasantly, and his legs felt a bit shaky. The bard also felt quite gross, unable to shake the whole ‘fleshy hellhole’ thing, so he desperately needed something else to focus on. The woman half-turned to face him when he called, her brow slightly furrowing. She nodded in conformation after what felt like too long of a pause. The bard then continued, “Well, I wanted to thank you again. For the whole healing thing. And pulling our sorry asses out of the stone.” He gestured around with a slight smirk, hoping to lighten the mood a bit. It was the least he could do after the cleric was put on babysitting duty because of his somewhat injured state.
What surprised him is that the woman’s brow stayed furrowed as the corner of her lips twitched downwards. She stared at his face, eyes probing, as she nodded in acknowledgement before uttering a curt, “No need.” The woman then abruptly turned away, before Corlis had a chance to continue, heading back towards the wreck, “Let’s get going”.
The conversation died as soon as it started, and the bard was left with an aching in his bones that felt even more present than before. This wasn’t his best performance, if Corlis was being honest. Was he getting rusty?
Searching the bodies of the goblins filled the bard with disgust. His skill felt tingly and the silence that lasted only around ten minutes felt noticeable once again. Being one-on-one with the woman filled him with dread, as he preferred big groups. It often allowed for more fluidity, an easy out, a redirection, not to mention that it made the silence less straining. It really didn’t help that Shadowheart had seemingly intentionally avoided looking at him since their last little conversation.
But, well, he was nothing if not persistent. As he found a healing potion on one of the goblins, he moved up closer and extended the vial towards the cleric as a sort of olive branch. “So, you are a healer, hmm?”
The woman stilled her hands for a second before choosing to ignore the extended potion and continuing to check the pockets of the corpses in front of her. She let the silence hang for a moment, and Corlis almost thought that Shadoheart wouldn’t answer when she spoke up with a short, “Suppose so.”
“Must be pretty handy,” he hummed with a thoughtful expression as the woman looked up at him with just her piercing eyes, “But now that you mentioned it, your magic feels a bit funny, quite cold if I’m honest. I don’t get healed by others often, but it usually feels quite warm. It’s divine in nature, right? Who do-” He didn’t get to finish as the woman pocketed a makeshift weapon from the goblin and somewhat abruptly stood up.
She closed her eyes with a slight wince as she glanced at the bard with a deepening frown, “Save your curiosity, there is work to do.” The bard could only stare in confusion and before he could respond, Shadowheart moved away, keeping to her search. Corlis could only slightly frown to himself, eyes drifting down to his hand, still holding the potion. ‘Did I say something wrong?’
This, of course, wasn’t the end of his attempts. Corlis was nothing if not stubborn. He still tried his best to strike up a conversation. Again and again, but she only shut him down. To be fair, he was genuinely curious about the woman. In return, every time he tried, her eyes grew darker, the look of calculation slowly turning into a glare. Finally, she made an abrupt request for him to keep quiet. So, as he followed the cleric, the silence weighed heavy on his shoulders, choking him. It was a matter of time until his mind started whirling and thinking. Thus, he unintentionally conjured up his list of worries.
- To the surprise of absolutely nobody, Item Number One was the whole parasite situation. He shivered at the thought, as he watched the woman in front of him search the bodies of the dead.
Not wishing to watch Miss Shadow do her gruesome work, his eyes wandered to the horizon in search of a distraction. Unfortunately, his disgust did little to change the fact that it had happened. He was infected. Really, one thing he never expected is to get a cosmic STD without even partaking in the ‘fun part’ beforehand. If you don’t count the insertion of the ‘thing’ as such. And he refuses to do so, regardless of how easily the joke wrote itself.
Corlis was usually happy to slack off, but as he shook his head once more to fight against the invasive pun, he felt nausea bubble up in his throat. ‘No more worm thoughts.’ He quickly drifted to one of the alien chests, rummaging through its contents for anything useful.
‘Just… Keep busy.’ He told himself as he shoved his findings in a medium size backpack in hopes of finding his distraction in monotony. Unfortunately, it was boring and did fuck all to help long term.
- Number Two, he couldn’t reach his ‘patron’. This would be a normal occurrence for most mortals who found a higher being to invest in their existence. Not for Corlis. Dallen wasn’t like the other fey, who find amusement in toying with mortals. Well, fine, he kind of was, but that was beside the point. They were kin. Ever since his half-brother found him, the fey enlisted himself to help Corlis out. And for the last few years he stuck to that promise. Now though…
The bard was alone.
Again.
‘Nope! I’m not thinking about that!’ He closed the purple chest with a slam, making Shadowheart throw a look his way, one she immediately dropped when Corlis looked back with a sheepish wave. ‘ Gods, is everything out to get me today?’ he exhaled, his shoulders dropping. He really tried to return to his work, but it wasn’t in the cards. Despite his efforts, the half-elf couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling. Something had to be stopping Dallen from reaching out. Right? He wouldn’t just leave him like this. He wouldn't.
The bard stared into the ground, as he lost his battle against his thoughts.
- Finally, there was Point Number Three. The alarming incident that happened on the ship. That scream… That never happened before. At least not that he could remember. Honestly, it frightened him. Sure, it had good timing, but ultimately he didn’t intend for it to happen in the first place. It just exploded out of him. Fuck, Corlis really didn’t need another ‘ticking bomb’ in his throat beyond his control.
Speaking of control, on the brighter side, the few people he met so far were a pleasant surprise. His eyes absentmindedly drifted to the cleric, who moved out of the wreck towards a small patch of the beach. They all were somewhat resistant to his voice. He couldn’t be more happy with that development. It made him curious. He probably shouldn’t be testing his luck, though... But then again...
This silence was killing him.
“So-” Corlis started with a drawl, as he approached the woman, who was inspecting one of the crates next to a destroyed cart, “I couldn’t help but notice, Shadowheart is a pretty peculiar name, what’s up with that, hm?” She took in a deep breath, paused, and closed the lid with a bit more force than necessary without turning to face him.
“What part of ‘it’s not a good time to talk’ did you not understand?” She said calmly, but a bit of frustration laced her words.
“Well, I mean, it’s been quite a bit since then. Time passes swiftly and things tend to change,” He smirked, and moved to face the cleric whose shoulders tensed, her eyes locked onto him with a vice invisible grip which the man swiftly ignored “So about my question earlier, your-”
He didn’t get to finish as the woman pursed her lips in a wince and hastily interrupted, “Are you normally this tactless, or should I blame it on the concussion from the fall?” Shadowheart abruptly stood up and moved to the next crate, her face twitched with some kind of hidden emotion that Corlis was simply unable to pinpoint. She closed her eyes for a second and shook her head to then stubbornly stare forward, taking her time while inspecting the cargo, trying to project a sense of disinterest.
“Alright! Touchy subject, got it, babe! But if you are indeed concerned about my concussion, I-” he didn’t get to finish the sentence, as she interrupted.
“I’m truly not.” She said, with another sigh, poorly concealed frustration laced her every word. She stopped her movements, forcefully blinked a few times and after a moment spoke, up again with newfound determination, “Now be so kind and keep quiet. This one-’ She pointed to the crate in front of her with a jab, “is locked and considering we’ve only found one set of lockpicks, I’d rather not break them.” She rummaged in her bag to fish out the tools, refusing to even acknowledge him with a glance once again.
“Well alright, princess of gloom and doom, I’ll scout ahead then. If you hear me screaming, you’ll know I fucked up.” He raised his head and moved past Shadowheart with a huff as she muttered a disgruntled “Suit yourself” at him.
This really wasn’t going well, huh. The woman hated his guts. Every time he tried to speak with her, she shut the conversation down as quickly as she could, and it confused him to no end. Was he doing it wrong? Wasn’t banter the best way to build up connections? Still, it was both frustrating and exhilarating. Direct rejection was a very new feeling for him. Thankfully, he didn’t get to dwell on it for two long, as he saw a man standing up ahead. He had fancy looking clothes on, pale skin and white hair. And he looked terribly out of place.
For just a second, Corlis halted, considering going back to Shadowheart and handling this together, stranger danger and all that. This, obviously, didn’t last long, as he almost immediately waved that thought goodbye when his eyes locked in with the strangers’ red ones.
The bard wasn’t always good at reading people, but at that moment, he saw the man’s face tightening, eyebrows rising up in distress that appeared out of nowhere. It was like seeing an actor in the wings, moments before he starts his performance. The pale man’s eyes flicked back towards the bushes as if he tried to catch sight of something in there, body tense, but Corlis’ eyes stayed locked on to the stranger’s form. This was it. His curiosity was piqued. And when he was curious, no logic could get through to him.
Corlis approached in a rush, and before he was able to say a word the man glanced at him and urged, “Hurry, I’ve got one of those brain things cornered, there in the grass. You can kill it, can't you?” he returned his attention to the bushes. His expressions were on point, and his body language seemed natural, but the closer the bard looked, the more he was sure he was watching a well-crafted piece. It was riveting. What would he possibly want? Corlis felt a smile pry at his lips, the knife on the elf’s hip implied that he wasn’t as defenseless, and yet he was playing a damsel in distress… It was a simple ploy, but what was its purpose?
‘Well, only one way to find out’ he thought with a shrug. In hindsight, there were other ways, but none of them crossed his mind at that moment. A feeling of exhilaration coursed through him as he decided to play along. ‘Besides, he won’t be able to harm me.’ The stray thought soothed him. After all, it was one thing that stayed true for the majority of his life. Despite the misery his charm brought him, it ensured his safety. For better or worse.
“Luckily for you, I’m feeling generous.” Corlis hummed in reply, letting his voice do its thing, and moved where the man clearly wanted him, directing his eyes towards the bush. Again, it wasn’t like he was risking much.
A boar rushed out of the grass as he approached, slightly startling the bard, and yet his focus was still on the strange man. A quick flash of a dagger was somewhat predictable, and still Corlis was slightly caught off guard as the cold length of the blade pressed against his neck. The stranger pulled him back, but before he could tackle the bard the ground, Corlis caught him by the elbow holding his hand in place. The sharp edge of the metal implement glanced against his skin, as he took a step back to compensate for the movement, one of his legs hooking around the assailant's legs, locking him in this standing embrace. It didn’t do much to remove the dagger from the bard’s throat, but it gave him more control. Not to mention, he managed to keep both of them upright.
“Was this your plan? Dull. You were quite convincing, but it’s hard to outplay someone as practiced as me.” Maybe poking the bear when his claws are inches away from ending your life was stupid, but Corlis never claimed to be smart. The stranger pulled against his grasp, a slight noise of surprise escaping him, but it was soon replaced by a semi-growl as the man doubled down and pressed the dagger flush against his skin. Despite the bard’s initial maneuver, the stranger had enough agility and strength to outmatch him in that instance.
“Shush it, I still have my not-so-dull blade at your throat. Now don’t I?” Corlis saw him relax his face out of the corner of his vision, another mask slipping into place. A strained semi-smile on his face, “Let’s keep this quiet and simple, shall we?” The man’s voice was a bit smoother this time around, sweeter. Kinder even. ‘Push and Pull, huh?’ Corlis could match that.
“Oh, I do love a power trip, sure,” Corlis purred and smiled. He made sure to put intent behind his words, urging the magic to be more persistent. The bard stole a glance towards the man, but immediately faltered when there was no visible change in his demeanour. What’s even worse, the elf even scoffed at his advance. ’What?.. Nothing at all…?’
“Shush. Now, I saw you on the ship, didn’t I?” The knife then sharply pressed into the skin of his neck when the bard tried to speak, but his captor tsked and quickly remarked with a purr of his own, “No need to use those darling vocal cords of yours, just nod.”
Corlis felt a bit dizzy as his mind was running another marathon, and he hastily nodded. It all suddenly made his blood run cold, because for the first time the half-elf wasn’t sure he had it under control. The stranger didn’t need to know this, so Corlis forced the feeling down. He was an actor in his own right, after all.
“I do like you quiet, good,” The pale elf smiled, but then his demeanour shifted again as the hatred flooded into his voice with new intensity. “Now, You are going to tell me what you and those tentacle freaks did to me.”
‘What is he talking about?!’ Corlis almost turned his head to look at the man in confusion as the elf pulled him back. The bard gripped at his elbow, stopping the man from making a small cut on his throat. He tried to move away further and use his leg hook to get the stranger off, but he was quickly overpowered and held in place with a much harsher grip.
“Ah-ah-ah! Speak or I’ll spill your blood next time you move.” It was hard to doubt his words, and with each second Corlis felt the nerves climb higher and higher.
“Alright, alright, but I wasn’t the one who hurt you! I was just as stuck there!” He pleaded, while resisting the urge to point out that the man asked him to keep quiet just a moment ago. It was a good call as he felt the hand of the stranger tense in his grasp. The nerves reached and settled in bard’s throat.
“Don’t you lie to me! You-” He didn’t get to finish the sentence as both men suddenly released an abrupt yelp. The squirming rose in Corlis’ head, and his point of view twisted, folding on itself. Memories that didn’t belong to him flooding his brain
Moving through the dark, busy streets. Looking at people. Sizing them up. Searching for…
The memory suddenly skids to a halt, fading to the frantic squirming of the parasite. There was something else there, a flash that was too fast to comprehend consciously, but it mage Corlis’ breath hitch. He felt his own panic meld with the one of the assailants, shifting to the next flash.
Then it all skipped forward. The only thing that remained was the light and the deep, almost animalistic fear that followed it.
It was brief, but it made Corlis lose his sense of time, disorienting him. It felt as if he got caught in a tsunami that swallowed him whole. His own memories were just as disjointed as the strangers. He felt his mind recalling and forgetting. For some reason, it felt much worse than when his mind merged with Gale. Last time it felt distinct. This time it was…
“What was that? What’s going on?” the panicked voice of the stranger pulled him from his thoughts as his body was violently jostled back. He made a slight noise when the dagger left a shallow cut on his skin.
“I…Please put the knife away. I don’t know much, but I’m willing to talk. I want to talk. I’m sure we can figure this out. It’s a misunderstanding, truly!” Corlis let his mouth run, the pressure in his chest halted his breath. The thin trickle of blood sliding down his neck sent a shiver through his body as he tried to ground himself, his heart was beating so fast it made him nauseous. He shut his eyes. This had to work. If it didn’t…He wasn’t sure how this would go.
There was a pause.
Corlis collected whatever bravery he had left to look back at the stranger, whose face was twisted in thought. The corner of his mouth slightly twitched into something reminiscent of a scowl as the bard fought his nerves to stand his ground, while holding the elf’s gaze. The stranger’s arm carefully loosened, and he stepped away in a quick motion. Still on guard, dagger clutched in hand.
The bard stepped back, hand reaching for his own throat, fingers red with blood when he looked down. ‘Normal. It's normal. Good’. Relief hit him as a wave of exhaustion made him stumble.
The strange man’s face was wide, eyes unfocused as he tried to regain his apparently also frayed composure, “You really aren’t one of them…” he sounded hollow for a moment, but it all was gone as soon as Corlis looked back. “They took you too. But you got out…” He tilted his head and looked into the bards’ eyes.
Shit. He knew that look. Guarded curiosity. Well, he was never known for keeping a low profile. He braced, but…surprisingly, the onslaught of questions never came, as all the stranger did was relax his shoulders. His dagger was now held limply in his hand as he spoke, gesturing towards the half-elf.
“And to think I was about to decorate the place with your lovely innards. Apologies for the…” the tip of his blade pointed in the direction of the bard’s throat. He paused and then continued with a half-smile, “You made it quite hard to get a hold of you”
“Eh, it’s just a scratch, and yet you managed to put my flexibility to the test.” Corlis cleared his throat, “But I suppose I’ll forgive you for now. Considering the situation, I will put aside my belief in earning one’s forgiveness.” The half-elf shrugged with a theatrical sigh, his voice mostly even and without any real intent behind it.
“For now it is,” The pale elf laughed and slid his knife back onto his belt. “Though, I do think an introduction might be a first step to remedy this situation. My name’s Astarion, I was in Baldur’s Gate when those beasts snatched me.”
“I’m Corlis, a bard, a singer, an enigma.” He bowed and smirked at the man. Gods, he missed banter. The only person who could talk with him normally was his brother, and that felt deeply depressing. This though… He liked this.
“Ha, a musician , well I certainly never heard of you, so maybe you aren’t that big of an enigma” The man retorted.
“Well… the less you know… the more questions you have.” Corlis spoke slowly, dragging out the pauses in between his words. He raised one of his eyebrows with a mischievous smirk.
Astarion barked out a short laugh and stared back, “Well, as fulfilling as this conversation is, do you know anything about these worms we have in our heads?”
Corlis wrinkled his nose, his mood immediately turning sour. “Not much myself, though the people I’m with might know the details a bit better. Bookish types.” He waved his hand to the side a bit dismissively, “But from what I understand they will kill us, turning us into the tentacle freaks if we don’t get rid of them. So you know, try not to think about it too hard”
“Turn us into… Ha…” The man’s face flashed through many concealed emotions, gone was the lighter mood they managed to fall into, as he laughed, strained and bitter. His teeth clenched hard as his brows furrowed, a pained expression overwhelming his face, “Of course, it will turn me into a monster! What else did I expect?”
Silence hung heavy in the air. And the more Corlis looked, the more he saw that the elf looked tired. To be honest, Corlis felt tired too. Of course, his mess of a life would get more and more complicated. Just another thing he just had to try and not to think about.
“A cherry on top, yes,” The bard hummed, feeling a bit hollow.
Astarion’s attention was back on him. Corlis saw the man think, some kind of realization clicking into place. “Although, it hasn’t happened yet…if we can find an expert - someone who can control these things. There might still be time.“
“Hmm… Control…” Corlis echoed, a pit slowly forming in his stomach. Despite this persistent feeling, he nodded. “I… I think you're right. But control has its own drawbacks. Ideally we get rid of them, but either way we can’t do much out here in the middle of nowhere.”
“You mentioned earlier you aren’t alone?” Astarion probed cautiously.
“Yes, there are three more survivors. We all share this predicament. And I was thinking…’ Corlis shifted his weight from one leg to another, “as long as you don’t make it a habit to put sharp objects near my neck without my consent, I’m sure I can withhold the circumstances of our meeting, and you can join our merry band. Besides, the green wizard said something about looking for other survivors, so I’m sure he’ll be amenable to your stay…”
“Oh? Isn’t this wonderful! I was about to go and suffer through hardships of travel alone, and here you are. Such a useful person to know.” The elf smirked, and nodded with a slight bow, “The terms are quite agreeable”
“You flatter me,” Corlis teased, looking the man in the eyes.
“Do I, now?” Astarion shot back, holding his stare.
Corlis finally felt present. He felt a genuine smile creep in and he let it. This was great. Astarion was a curious character. Maybe not entirely trustworthy, but curious nonetheless. He didn’t seem at all affected by Corlis’ voice, and yet the man enjoyed theatrics and teasing as much as the bard did. It felt strange. The half-elf still wasn’t entirely sure if the man was matching the back and forth of his own volition. It felt too clear, too natural to be caused by something else. But it also did fit into potential behaviours of how affected people act. But then again, he didn’t listen to Corlis during the confrontation. He wasn’t dazed like others usually are.
It was then that Corlis realized he was staring at the man, who now was staring back with a tilt to his head.
The bard cleared his throat, “So, do you want to meet the grumpiest cleric in all of Faerûn?”
“Sounds dreadful,” Astarion shook his head and continued with an exaggerated sigh, “but I’m afraid I don’t have a choice if I am to travel with your troop. Lead on.” He waved his hand in an arc-like motion, showing his palm to Corlis before his long fingers closed back and his hand smoothly came to rest on the hilt of his dagger. The man wasn't grasping the handle but using it as an improvised perch.
They made their way back down to the patch of beach, where Shadowheart was now looking through the things she had acquired. It seemed she managed to unlock the crate after all.
“Finally back, I thought you drowned in a puddle to spite-” she turned with a furrowed brow, cutting off her comment, immediately tensing in the shoulders “Who is this?” Before Corlis had a chance to answer, she shook her head and put up her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Actually, don't answer that.” Out of the corner of his eye, Corlis saw Astarion’s head slightly twitch, whatever emotion danced across his face the bard didn’t pay close enough attention to decipher. The cleric, on the other hand, turned towards the pale man and now asked him directly, “Who are you exactly?”
“Oh, you weren’t kidding.” The elf leaned towards Corlis for a second, his voice slightly hushed as he threw him a quick glance before looking back at the woman and speaking at full volume. “Well, my name’s Astarion, a fellow survivor. And you are?” he gestured for her to continue.
She paused, letting the silence hang in the air, her eyes flicking to Corlis for a moment, scanning, before raising her head slightly she carefully spoke “Shadowheart. Were you the one who injured him?” She nodded towards the bard and pointed at her own neck.
Corlis wiped away at his neck. It wasn’t that bad, was it? “Actually-” The half-elf tried to but-in but was silenced by the cleric’s raised voice.
“No. Not right now.” She shut him down with a shake of her head, eye sharp as she glared at the bard.
Astarion brow creased for a second in brief confusion before his posture relaxed once more. “Me? Injured him? Ha!” His voice was thick with amusement as he laughed, “No, darling, if I wanted to hurt this dashing man, he would be bleeding out back on the hill where I had a pleasure to meet him.”
Corlis slowly turned to the elf. ‘Excuse me? What’s that supposed to mean?’ he definitely got his attention as Astarion did a slight double take towards him, ‘This man dares to insinuate his superiority right in front of me? The audacity.’
His face gave away his astonishment, it seems, as the man hastily spoke up, “Not to say you wouldn’t pose a challenge, of course!” His voice raised an octave as he smiled wide, his pointed canines on full display, a slight laugh to his words. “I’m simply good at avoiding attention when I don’t want it! ”
“Fine.” Corlis said curtly. Which earned him another look from the woman. ‘At the very least, he complimented me’
“That is to say, your wonderful companion simply found me, but there was a trap, and he got nicked by it.” Asterion recites and halfway through the sentence, his words take on a bit of a dry delivery, as if the whole thing was a boring occurrence not even worth fawning over. He clicks his tongue and gives a quick smile to the woman, “That about sums it up.”
Shadowheart stares. It takes her a moment before she concedes that piece of conversation “Never mind,” She shook her head and turned her attention back to the elf again, “Are you also infected?”
Astarion bristled slightly, and his tone gave away his annoyance at the onslaught of questions. He raised his head high as he spoke up, “I’m afraid so. But as you can probably guess, I would love to see our little situation improve. And, well, better to stick with the herd, I suppose,” the man hummed and didn’t even try to hide how bored he was by the whole conversation.
“Alright, are you done with this little interrogation? He’s fiiiiine!” Corlis but-in with a slight annoyance. Regardless of if the man's words were from time-to-time filled with blasphemy, at least there was an entertaining back and forth. If he’ll lose this, he’ll certainly go mad.
“What can you do?” she continued her questioning, pointedly ignoring the bard, who huffed in exasperation.
“Oh, a few things there, a few things here.” Astarion waved off the question and continued with an unimpressed scoff, “Do you always interrogate people like this? It's a terrible way to make a first impression.”
‘You're the one to talk’ Corlis snorted at his words, unable to fight his amusement, his famous smirk finally returning. “You tell her that, apparently she does not appreciate the art of subtlety or a clever placed joke.”
“That sounds dreadful, darling.” The elf gasped dramatically, his attention now back at Corlis.
“Flattery will absolutely work with me, you're doing great.” The last part was added in a hushed stage whisper kind of tone. Corlis widely smiled at Astarion, who was ever so slightly taken aback by the comment. The bard, however, didn’t dwell on his reaction as the man’s attention turned to Shadowheart, who paused, blinking. She looked at the two with a squint of her eyes.
“Great, now there’s two of them…” She dragged her hand across her face.
Astarion only huffed in mock offence, “I don’t know what you are implying, I am one of a kind, thank you very much.”
“Just…” Shadowheart took another deep breath, and just turned around with a dismissive shrug,“Fine, you can come along”
She grabbed her backpack and threw it over her shoulder as the silence settled between them. This time though it felt a bit different, lighter. To be fair, the tension between him and the cleric was still so thick you could cut it with a knife, but at least now he wasn’t one-on-one with a person who hated his guts.
Notes:
Thank you for the read!
Whoops, look at the time, It's been more than a month since last update! I need to get my clocks checked.
But in all seriousness, College is hitting hard with finals and I got really busy with assignments. Technically it's all still ongoing, so expect chapters to be a bit irregular. Here's to hoping I'll get another out during winter break and that I won't get cursed with writer's block.
Thank you for your time, guys, and hopefully you like my silly Bard with avoidance tendencies and poor impulse control.
Chapter 4: Chapter 4. Little Distractions That Frustrate The Mind.
Notes:
Another Ortis chapter! And I'm back from the grave.
'Curious' - thoughts
"Curious" - talking
"Curious" - talking through the tadpole connectionThis is a Dark Urge chapter, so TW are as follows:
- Intrusive thoughts
- Panic attack (or very close to one, cause my boi definitely spiralled this chapter)
- Self-deprecating behaviour
- Violent thoughts
- Elements of dissociation
None of them are IMHO too vivid this chapter, so the TW are Light-ish , but I'd rather warn you needlessly, than not warn you enough. And in general, most chapters from Ortis' POV will have this kind of salad of tags and TW.
---IMPORTANT---
I want to preface this chapter by saying that I made some changes to the map of Act1. I did so to add a physical location for the camp and add a bit more travel time. So I added a bit more neutral space between the beach and the grove, but most of the layout is quite similar.
There's also more land to the right from the ruins where you find Withers, and I took some creative liberties in describing and explaining the camp. This is the chapter where I start slowly combining D&D logic + real life logic + BG3 logic together.Hope you'll enjoy this chapter! Chim2er out!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The sun was slowly descending as the two men continued their search for a suitable campsite. Thankfully, the weather was holding up and, though they had only a few hours left before the sunset, they finally made some good progress.
Gale noticed a river, and both agreed it was best that they follow it. They had to divert from the paths to do so, going through forest. After all, it was a promising discovery, considering it would provide a source of fresh water. In a survival circumstance, water was an invaluable asset. It also can be quite a strategic advantage, as having the campsite next to a river would cut off danger from at least one side, providing a natural defence.
If only they could find a clearing somewhere close by, it would be a perfect spot to set up camp. Remote, off the roads, where no one would bother them, unless they go out of their way to do so. Where no one would intervene or hear them if anything were to transpire.
Ortis shook his head. He felt quite a bit better than back at the beach, and yet he was still feeling lost. Not physically, mind you. He remembered their path from the crash site clearly. Things just felt… ever so slightly out of focus. As if his mind was fringing at the corners.
No, that wasn't entirely right either. It was more like his mind picked up the wrong details. Almost like it was searching for familiar things. But it all felt…off, even though he couldn't place what made him feel so wrong. Those things he noticed felt normal, but in his head they were tinted by echoes that scared and exited(?) him. There were many along the way.
He noticed, how the twigs crunched under his feet. Fragile, thin, exposed. The crunch felt almost methodical, each snap brought a feeling of satisfaction, as his boot made them snap in two. He heard similar sounds before.
He noticed, how the trees stretcher tall, strong branches, strong enough to withstand weight of a body. He knew if someone were to hang off of them, they would hold. However, not all branches would be sufficient. He couldn't help, but scan the trees and pick out the stronger, sturdier ones with his eyes as they walked.
He noticed, how the water created a rushing sound, flowing freely. He liked the sound of running liquid, it seemed to calm him down. The sound of it splashing on the stones, or dripping to the ground made him feel at ease, in control, it grounded him, keeping him on the task.
The more they walked, the more he noticed. He felt dizzy. Why did he always feel dizzy?
"Lost in thought?" Ortis was caught off guard, but he didn’t show it, it was unbecoming of him to be startled by something like this. He froze for a moment and could only blink in silence as the voice of the human reached him. Gale stood a few feet away, looking at him with a hint of pity something soft in his gaze. Perhaps it was concern? As the silence hung heavy the man in front of him shifted and continued "If I'm to be entirely honest, I did not expect to end up in such a precarious position myself. There's a lot to ponder, don't you agree?"
Ortis forced his eyes to refocus. "Ah... Apologies. I think the stress is getting the best of me." He blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes, shifting his gaze forward, "You are right that there is a lot to consider. I just hope we will have enough time to do so. Things have been terribly hectic ever since I woke up."
Gale hummed in recognition, "Well, hopefully we can put our heads together and produce a solution to this whole ordeal," He said with a bright smile. Ortis couldn’t help but mirror it, even if his was only a fraction as bright. It was a small, hesitant smile. As they spoke, the two continued on. And though a part of him was enjoying this conversation, he felt the need to pull back.
"Agreed, but for now, let's focus on something we can control: finding us a good place to set up camp," Ortis deflected and narrowed his eyes back to the river ahead, tracking their path up and noticing a change in foliage. He took this as an opportunity to focus on something other than that brief conversation he had with the wizard.
He quickened his pace, going slightly ahead. As the two made it out into the open, they saw a ruined structure. They did make it past a bigger structure a while back, but it was up a cliff. This find could imply that that structure was actually a part of a larger network of ruins all around this little area. Fascinating.
Ortis made his way over and looked out across the river, “Follow me, I have a good feeling about this”
He glanced back towards Gale, who nodded in response, “Right behind you”
Ortis moved around the structure: the ruin was just a one-story building. Though the roof didn’t survive the flow of time, as only the walls were left standing. The elf found a big enough gap in the wall to climb through it with ease. The old mossy stone was weathered by the elements, rough to the touch as Ortis skated his hand across the cold wall.
Looking around, he was slightly disappointed that there were no remains scattered about. The man pulled his hand away from the stone, clenching his hand into a fist at his side as he moved along with a shake of his head in attempts to dislodge the thought.
There was a big log thrown over the river. From the looks of it, it’s been here for quite a while. Ortis carefully crossed the river with this makeshift bridge and saw a clearing surrounded by rock and vegetation. From what he could see, the outcropping led directly to a lake, the river flowing out into it.
For a moment he felt at ease standing there. The world around him subtly echoed with soft sounds. The chirping of birds in the distance, the rushing of water, the gentle breeze. For just a second, the man felt the tension fade. Alone, where he can’t hurt any-
The tension in his shoulders returned tenfold as he heard a soft whistle next to him, followed by a familiar voice, “Talk about finding a good spot!” Ortis stiffly turned his head to the source of the praised. Gale stood beside him. Relaxed posture, a gentle, satisfied smile resting on his lips as the man admired the view in front of them. Ortis felt his hand twitch as he tightened it into a fist, blinking a few times before stumbling for a response.
“To… to be fair, it was you who found the river in the first place and suggested we follow it,” there was a slight shake to his voice and he prayed to whatever gods were listening that it wasn’t noticed by his companion. Ortis felt unsteady, suddenly the idea of being one on one with someone felt terrifying to him, and the last thing he needed was for the man in front of him to see his weakness in full display. He needed to end this conversation, least he falls to pieces in front of his new acquaintance. Ortis cleared his throat, his gaze searching for purchase in their surroundings, “Let’s look around.”
As Ortis turned away, he could feel the wizard’s eyes on his back. The feeling made him shudder inside. An itch ran across his back, for a moment he imagined how it would feel if Gale cra cked his skull open with his staff. The pain that would bloom hot and bright, the way he would have to retaliate, the warm blood that would coat his hands when the wizard would stop shaking in his grasp as he tears his limb-
He shut his eyes tightly, as he stumbled into an area that was separated from the rest of the clearing by a large boulder. No longer in the view of the other man, Ortis grabbed at his own hair, pulling it tight, but not enough to cause damage. A shuddering breath escaped him, as he blinked, frantically looking around. Nothing, there was nothing here. No one was here, Gale was not watching him. He wasn’t. He was alone. His shaking hand landed on the cold bolder next to him, running his fingertips against the rough surface, picking at moss.
His breathing evened out ever so slightly, but the frustration only grew. His composure was ripping at the seams. There was a stinging at the corner of his eyes as he quickly shut them close, roughly pressing his back to the cold surface of the bolder. He felt a noise in his throat, but he forced it down and scowled at himself, ‘Calm it. Shut it. We don’t have time for this. I don't have time for this! We… We need to find a cure. We... I…’ He violently shook his head, forcing his breathing to even out.
‘Calm down. I need a campsite, allies, food, connections, not whatever nightmares that plague my every waking moment. I need to keep it together. Yes. None of the ‘nightmares’ are real. It’s not real. Not real . It’s not going to happen. He’s not going to hurt me. And I am NOT going to hurt him’ he felt himself instinctively recoil, but he ignored it locking his shoulders tight, hissing out a low growl, “Keep it together.” His hands shook, but he steadied them and repeated, his voice dropping even lower, “Keep. It. Together.” He blinked and forced his lungs to work, straightening his posture. Ortis swallowed hard. He’ll be fine. He’s fine. He should get back to work. They had a campsite to set up.
The outcropping was indeed a perfect spot for camp. It was also obvious they were not the first ones to think that. Throughout the place there were signs of previous encampments. A few old weathered chests, empty barrels, a fire pit, even an old grindstone, though Ortis was unsure if the thing was usable or not. Honestly, it wasn’t important, what was important was to investigate the place thoroughly. Thankfully there were no fresh tracks, so whoever stayed here before, was long gone. It was safe here.
The two spent about an hour or so setting up the area. And, if Ortis was being honest, it felt nice to have this moment of distraction. This time his mind fell into a surprising quiet. Manual labour felt good on his hands, it was different, unfamiliar and pleasantly dull. For the first time since the Nautiloid, he finally felt like himself, sharp, tuned, in control, but also a bit awkward, out of place in a way that felt right. Good. He could finally hear his thoughts.
It was clear to him, they needed to find that Gith woman. Letting her run around, pointing her sword at any unsuspecting passersby was an inconvenience in the long run, not to mention, she was the only solid lead he currently had. Though, that didn’t mean he wasn’t cautious of her, or blindly trusted her judgment. He barely remembers their conversations from the Nautiloid, so it was hard to judge her character. Then there’s also a chance that the rest might not even agree to align with the woman, and since he was no longer alone, he couldn’t just disregard their opinion. Damn it, he shouldn’t get his hopes up, she might not even have much of a solution.
At least there were also signs of a settlement, so they needed to keep their eyes peeled for that. If the Gith turns out to be a dead end, it’s another path to take. People meant there were resources, information, assistance. Of course, it also meant conflicts and potential threats. They needed to approach this carefully. He really should be talking to Gale about this. The man was a wizard, that likely meant he was well studied. At least in some capacity. Not to mention, Ortis needed to gauge how trustworthy Gale was in the first place. What a better way to do so than to suggest seeking a highly risky alliance, and do so not but six hours after they met. Ortis was surely setting some records in the department of rushing through the first stages of friendship. Still, they worked fine so far, so he could be a good asset ally in the long run, but that assumption was made with very limited data.
Looking up, he could see towards the clearing, where Gale was elbow deep into a bag searching for something. His face was a bit tight in concentration, when he suddenly smiles and with a bit of effort pulls out a collapsed device. It took him a moment to recognize it as an ornate telescope, Ortis couldn’t help but tilt his head at the sight. That was not something he expected to see any time soon. The bag wasn’t that big, and looking around at the amount of things Gale seemed to travel with, he couldn’t help but stare as a quiet humm of amusement left him.
This made the man in front of him lift his head slightly startled. Gale threw a glance over his shoulder as his wide eyes focused on the elf, “Oh! Apologies, it seems I lost track of time. Is there anything you require of me?” He hastily put the telescope down, dusting his hands and finally giving the man his full attention with a slight smile.
“You don’t travel light, do you?” Ortis said before thinking, his voice slightly teasing, seeping with the earlier amusement he felt. It was as if he forgot about his initial plan to have a cordial conversation with the man. But immediately as the words left his mouth, he realized his oversight and had the urge to cringe, his smile faltering by a fraction.
Gale bristled ever so slightly, but then a smile quickly found its way onto his face. “Well, It’s important to travel with comfort. And besides, it is quite convenient to have a corner of familiarity on the road, is it not?”
Ortis couldn’t help but glance back at the singular sleeping bag he placed next to the fire pit. It’s not that he didn't agree, he just didn’t have much on him. He almost slid back into his head as he forced himself to keep talking, “Uh… Yea. I guess… Was… Was that a Bag of Holding ?” he tried to shift the conversation slightly.
“As a matter of fact, it is! I must say, you have quite a keen eye. Though Bags Of Holding can be pricey depending on the strength of the enchantments, they are an irreplaceable tool for travelling long distances. No respectful wizard travels without an item such as this” Gale smiled proudly, but then blinked as if something hit him, “I mean-” He stumbled over his words slightly, speaking faster than before, “If one has time to prepare it’s an obvious choice to make. A simple enough enchantment, and not to mention its versatility.”
Ortis just nodded “True enough, I wonder…” he looked to the side trying to remember if he ever had a Bag of Holding of his own, but shook his head “but eh- never mind that, I actually wanted to talk about our predicament.”
The man nodded, face going serious.“Of Course, what do you have in mind?”
Ortis couldn’t help but snort at the phrasing, “Really? In mind?” he shook his head as Gale had a similar reaction with a short smile at the unintentional irony, “When we were on board of the Nautiloid, we met a Githyanki woman, she also was infected. She was the one who helped us to the helm. Point is, I don’t remember what happened to her during the crash, but there is a good chance she’s still alive.”
“It’s not entirely unsurprising for Githyanki to be involved,” Gale nodded, looking somewhere to the side in thought before continuing as his face morphed into a careful realization, “That said… Am I right to assume that your suggestion to look for survivors earlier was a bit more specific than you have initially led on? If so, I couldn’t help to notice that you were intentionally vague with your phrasing, why?”
Ortis couldn’t help but stare with a slight surprise, his eyes squinting at the mage in front of him, ‘Oh, this IS a smart man…’
“Yes, and as to why I chose to not say much directly... If my memory serves me right, and if I read things correctly, Shadowheart wasn’t too happy around the warrior. She’s cautious. It’s good. Still, I didn’t want to have an argument at the time. We have limited time, and if the Gith is our best lead, we should use that to our advantage, no?” throughout his explanation Gale just looked at him with an unreadable and thoughtful expression, he didn’t acknowledge the pause, waiting for the elf to continue. Ortis couldn’t help but release a shaky breath before speaking up again, “I want you to help me look for her before we return to meet up with the others.”
“Ah, I see. I was wondering if that was the idea.” he looked out towards the camp for a moment, “Hmm, it’s quite a delicate situation… You think it’s a good plan?” He asked, face careful neutral, but not dismissive.
Ortis nodded, “I think so. She’s a Gith warrior, they fight Mindflayers, and though most of the time they are not inclined to share information, it’s stupid to deny that they don’t have it”
“A fair observation, however, that’s not the part that worries me. We should exercise caution, the last thing we need is to cause infighting. If Shadowheart is against the idea, I feel it might be counterproductive to seek out someone who she doesn’t favour.” Gale said carefully, his brow furrowing in thought.
“Oh, Yea… I thought about that part too. Shadowheart… she’s not going to oppose it, I don’t think. She wouldn’t want to put effort into looking for the warrior, but… she’s not- I don’t think it will be a problem. Though they were at odds back on the ship, they still worked together to ensure our survival. We all share that priority, after all.” Ortis looked the mage in the eyes, meeting his gaze.
The man in front of him relaxed slightly and gave a curt nod. “We do. And though I agree with your assessment, I must ask: who’s to say the githyanki will be willing to assist us at all?”
“Some questions don’t have a definitive answer. She might, or she might not, either way, I think we should look around on our way back. Indulge me, won’t you?” Ortis was hopeful. Right now, he just wanted to have a lead and a person who would listen to his idea. He wanted to have this man on his side. He is a fellow student of the Weave, someone who can maybe meet him half way. If they can see eye to eye, that is…
“I can see that your mind is set. If so, then I shall follow your lead!” Gale straitened out his posture with a smile. “I simply wanted to see where you stand in this matter. We shouldn’t waste much time then! If you wish to find this warrior, we should commence our journey back at earliest opportunity!” He swiftly turned around, grabbing the bag to attach it securely at his hip.
Ortis couldn’t help but smile, “Thank you. Then I’m glad we are on the same page.”
The man turned back to him, grabbing the staff that was leaning on his tent. “Oh! Before we go! I was meaning to show you something! I took another look at the ruins we came through, I can’t believe we missed it the first time around!” He quickened his pace and made his way towards the small ruins, ushering the confused elf to follow.
As they approached and stepped inside, Gale beelined it towards an overgrown wall and waved his hands moved through the air with precision and even before the verbal component was spoken aloud, Ortis recognized the cantrip at play. And as Prestidigitation did it’s work, the man spoke once more.
“It was a pleasant surprise! I never thought we would be lucky enough to find a teleportation sigil so close by when we found this place.” As he cast the rudimentary spell over and over again, the overgrown wall was cleaned from vegetation and grime, reviling a purple cluster of sigils. A faint glow of the Weave was now unobstructed, Ortis could not contain a content hum, as he reached out his hand and a small smile tugging at his lips.
His fingers brushed against the rough surface of the stone, gliding against the symbols as the runes glowed brighter as if in response to his touch. He felt a pulse of warmth rolling along his forearms, but he paid it no mind, too absorbed in the patterns of the circle. The sigil was old, even the runes used in its composition felt ancient, carved with precision, but more angular, different from what modern teleportation runes look like. But as the magic fluxed through, it was clear that it was still usable, as long as they committed it to memory they would be able to call on it through the other points of contact or a well-placed incantation.
“How did you do that?” Gale’s voice pulled Ortis from his trance. The wizard was staring at him with surprise, his head slightly tilted to the side.
This made the elf pull his hand back from the wall, he could see out of the corner of his eye as the runes dimmed, but still kept their steady glow. He couldn’t help but frown at the question, “Do what?”
“The runes, Ortis! They were almost inactive when I found them, only a slight whisper of the Weave lingered around the framework of the runes.” He looked back with urgency, quickly taking a step closer to the sigil, tracing the lines, the glow was the same as it was with every other circle Ortis seen. But as he watched the man inspect the wall, he felt his hands grow uncomfortably clod. It wasn’t an even feeling, but under his bracers he felt a chill settle.
He finally found his voice, only to say a quiet “I’m not sure…”
Gale looked at him with curiosity. The slight squint in his eyes made Ortis feel almost exposed. But then, the man’s face suddenly beamed with excitement as he smiled, looking back at the sigil.
“My, my what kind of wonders those hands of yours are capable of? It’s not been a day since I met you, and there’s already a mystery at our hands! But let me assure you, in the time of my quite extensive study, I’ve never seen runes produce such a response at a simple touch of a mortal. Though perhaps if one has a strong enough flow of-” He cut himself off with a shake of his head, “But I digress, what matters is with the way the Weave flows now, it should be fully operational. Might take a moment to get to inscribe it, but that shouldn’t be too much of an issue.”
Ortis simply blinked, attempting to quell his raging thoughts. He looked at his hand, flexing his fingers, a bitterness settling in his throat. “I guess, I’m full of surprises, aren’t I?” He wondered out loud. His own voice felt so distant, hollow, but he continued on nonetheless, “Let’s note it down and move. We can bring everyone here after we reconvene with the others.”
As both of the men set out of their newfound camp, they made sure to take a different path back to the others. Ultimately, it was so they could cover more ground in search of ‘survivors’. There wasn’t much to the plan other than to search for obvious markers that would draw the attention of anyone who was new to the area.
It wasn’t hard to find that kind of ‘marker’ of interest, as they were able to confirm that the little ruin at the edge of their camp was not the only ruin close by. They came across more building, with a similar stone work and architecture. But what was important, that in the distance they could see something bigger. They saw it before from a different angle, but now that their search had a different purpose, it became their destination. Whatever that structure was, finding their way towards it was something the two agreed on quite quickly.
Since it was easy to see from afar, perhaps the warrior stumbled towards it in hopes of clues or temporary shelter. Unfortunately, from where they stood, there wasn’t a direct path towards it. The terrain of cliffs and mountains blocked their path, so they had to take a bit of a roundabout rout to their destination. Thankfully, it wasn’t much of a setback as it allowed them to cover a bit more of the surrounding grounds.
The journey itself felt pleasantly uneventful. There was only one thing that bothered Ortis as they continued on. He couldn’t shake that lingering coldness out of his fingertips. His irritation was slowly building too, but it was manageable. Why was he so on edge all of a sudden. He was fine. Was it exhaustion? It’s possible. He did note that ‘tired’ was somewhat of a constant since he woke up. His mind never really was at rest, was it? Does that mean it finally started to wear him down? No, that’s absurd, it’s been less than a day. Still, it was hard to gage if this was a new development or not, considering how little he remembered of his habits and limits. It didn’t matter anyway. In the end, there wasn’t much of a choice, but to keep his head in the game.
‘Keep it together’ he repeated to himself, tightening his fists around nothing but air. He couldn’t shake the unusually uncomfortable feeling of emptiness in his grasp. When he woke up on the ship, he didn’t have much on him. No weapon, no coin, not much in terms of armour either, just a green robe with a purple sash, that is still somewhat coated with blood. He didn’t even have a filled out spell book. Well, not really. There was a spell book, but it was ruined. Most of the pages were violently ripped out, the spine of it now somewhat crooked. Whatever pages remained had holes in them; the leather of the book was severely damaged too, as if someone stabbed and slashed the book repeatedly. Not to mention that the tome was heavily stained with blood. So much knowledge ruined and lost, only a few rudimentary spells remained readable.
When he found time to look it over when they had a bit of a breather in the camp, a disgusting filling of loss filled his lungs, so he avoided looking at the thing for longer than was strictly necessary to refresh the spells in his mind.
The only other thing he had on his person back then was a silver pendant. It was slightly smaller than his palm, circular with a purple gem in the middle, it was a bloodied and damaged arcane focus. When he woke, he found the thing in his robes. The chain attached to it was broken, ripped. Since the moment he found it, it was his saving grace, as without it, he wouldn’t have been able to cast half of the spells he remembered.
But now, as he walked in silence, he couldn’t help but steal a glance or two at Gale’s staff. Ortis’ right hand tightened again, as he felt nails painfully dig into his palm. He was used to having something to hold. Yes, that was it. Wherever that arcane focus came from, it wasn’t his, was it? Or at least he never relied on it. It was nothing short of a miracle he had it, but… It felt…Gods, he was being ridiculous, their lives were on the line, and he missed having a staff in his hands. ‘Truly a creature of habit.’ for some reason, he shivered at the thought, but stifled the unwanted reaction before it became obvious to anyone looking. Regardless, he couldn’t do much about it now. Gale needs his own staff. Of course, he wouldn’t need one were he to lose an arm or two...
Thankfully, before his train of thought could continue, he was brought back to reality when a sound of bickering reached his ears. It was coming from somewhere up ahead. Ortis halted carefully and looked at Gale, who came up on his left and nodded.
The elf took a deep breath and moved forward. As they bent around the mountain, Ortis could see a small rocky clearing surrounded by stone from either side. In the middle of it, suspended up in the air, was a wooden cage. It was too far to discern much, so they walked forward as the voices became clearer.
“Zorru was right. Yellow as a toad, and twice as ugly.” A male voice carried from the right. Ortis’ eyes darted to its source. There were two figures, red skin, black hair and horns, dressed in leather armour, too far to see any weaponry, but he would be an idiot not to assumed they had it.
“The thing’s dangerous. Leave it for the goblins to kill.” pleaded a female voice. The man bristled and turned to her in exasperation.
“And if it escapes? How will you-” He raised his voice but as he looked on his eyes met Ortis’ and he immediately straightened clearing his throat “Oh! A guest.” The woman next to him turned her attention to them as well.
They were discovered now, so Ortis continued on, moving closer with a neutral smile, “Apologies for the intrusion…” he didn’t really finish as his eyes flicked to the cage, immediately recognizing the woman inside.
A wave of hideous squirming filled his head as he averted his gaze from the fierce look in the githyanki’s eyes. She didn’t speak, yet her voice struck directly into his skull.
“Get rid of them.” her voice was stern and commanding.
Ortis couldn’t help but snarl inwardly, how dare she command him. Instead, he thought “I will” and as it reached the prisoner, it probably wasn’t as convincing.
She may have felt his apprehension as she continued with urgency, “I know what grows inside you. And I know of a cure.”
Well, that confirmed it, but at this point his attention was turned back to the two teiflings, speaking over the information the woman forced into his head. “Huh. A githyanki in these parts is an unusual sight. Quite a dangerous one as well. I’ve dealt with thing like this before…” his eyes flickered to the cage once more, he let his true irritation show on his face. He didn’t appreciate the wordless conversation, especially when his skull already felt at the verge of splitting open. It gave him a building headache, but it was a convenient feeling at the moment, as it helped him to play the part. “You should go. We would be able to handle it from here.” He gestured between himself and Gale as his cold gaze returned to the teiflings.
The man looked at him, and Oris held his breath. It wasn’t warranted as the man seem to relax his face and then confidently spoke. “He’s right.” he turned to the woman. “We shouldn’t linger. We still need to check out that blast.”
“A blast? Would you be willing to be more specific?” Gale spoke up from his side, after glancing at Ortis with an unreadable look. Right, they would benefit from more information. The man’s quick on his feet.
“You didn’t hear it?” The teifling raised his brow, looking slightly surprised, “Shook our camp good, so we came for a look.”
“A camp? We are in need of healing, can you point us in the right direction?” Ortis spoke once more, taking a page from Gale’s book. It was smart to poke a bit, especially since the two in front of them seemed to be a trusting bunch. This time he also let some of his exhaustion show. Perhaps being covered in blood also helped to convey the message. But he wouldn’t know for sure what did it in the end. Not that it mattered.
The man in front of them nodded, “North-west. Look for Nettie. Wherever your wound, she can mend it”
The woman next to him spoke up again, “And be careful, there are goblin traps everywhere”
“Thank you for the warning, we’ll exercise extra caution” Ortis bowed with his head slightly in gratitude. ‘Finally, we have more information.’
“Your welcome.” The man responded then turned and started walking “Nymessa, come, we should get moving” the other nodded and hurried over, as the two left their field of vision.
Gale exhaled a breath. “Most eloquently done.”
Ortis nodded hesitantly, but didn’t answer and looked up at the cage. The woman was about to speak, as the elf quickly raised his hand interrupting her with a harsh whisper “Wait! Or do you want for them to return?” His eyes flicked to the side. It was loud enough for her to hear, but not enough to alert anyone else. Unfortunately, he couldn’t help the venom that dripped into his voice. His patience was wearing thin.
The woman made a strange noise that Ortis was pretty sure consisted out of pure constants, her brow furrowed in frustration, yet surprisingly she complied and didn’t speak, looking out towards where the two teiflings disappeared with a deep glare, her face schooled into a resting scowl.
After a bit of waiting in silence, she spoke up, “That’s enough. You are wasting precious time. Get me down. Now.” Her tone left not room for argument as she stared daggers at the green mage. Ortis clenched his teeth, he really wasn’t a fan of the attitude, but she was right, at this point it was blatant stalling. He found a mechanism that held the trap suspended in the air and dismantled it, making the trap fall with a loud crash.
The woman braced and landed on her feet, quickly finding her balance. “Finally. The tadpole hasn’t yet scrambled all of your senses. Auspicious. But the longer we wait-” She gestured around as if to prove a point, “The more it consumes.” She leaned in closer, face serious and intense. “My people possess the cure for this infection. I must find a creche ; You will join me.” She spoke sternly, almost as if giving an order.
Ortis narrowed his eyes, his hand curling into a fist once more as he held himself at the seams, “I’m not alone. There’s four of us in total. You know the most of our affliction. I’m willing to accompany you if you are willing to cooperate, and let us recuperate before we do so.”
“Do you not understand that we are running against a tickling clock?” She snarled, thought her anger was well controlled, as she pulled back her posture broad and tight “I was hoping you would have more sense to-”
But Ortis didn’t let her finish, his own anger bubbling up more than he expected. His hands felt icy, the discomfort spreading throughout his body. He matched her with a snarl of his own, though it was much less controlled as his head got low, looking at her through his brow. “Do YOU not understand that if we fall before we reach that creche of yours, there won’t be anything to save?” Blood pumped through his ears, but then he suddenly felt a presence near him.
“Excuse my ignorance, but what is a creche exactly?” he heard Gale pry his way into the conversation, a bit of tension palatable in his voice, though he masked it well with his curiosity. Suddenly, Ortis’ anger wavered. What was he doing? HE wanted to find her, and now he is the one who riles her up against them. At least the mage of Waterdeep, who now stood by his side, was a sane man and actually thought to ask the right questions.
He let his breathing time to even out, while the woman spared him a strange look and spoke towards the other wizard, “It is many things. A hatchery, a training grounds, a shelter” her voice slowly evened out as she explained “Githyanki protocol is clear: when infected with a ghaik tadpole, we must report to a ghustil for purification.” She finished.
He felt his hands again as he caught enough of her explanation, ‘So there is a cure. That is fortunate’ Ortis nodded to himself, catching a careful look from Gale which he returned with a slow blink, before clearing his throat to speak focusing back on the woman, “Right, then we shall help you find it. But before we do, we need to meet up with the others at the very least.” He was calmer now. This is their best shot. Though there is also a healer the teiflings mentioned. What was the name? Nettie.
“Fine.” Was her voice in general this intense, or…? She continued, not missing a beat, “Since you found it in you to agree with reason, then, you have made an ally from creche K’liir - few know such fortune. Call me Lae’zel.” She proclaimed shoulders wide, head high and confident. “After you are done, we shall go to the camp, the horned ones mentioned. One there, this Zorru, has seen githyanki. A creche must be near. We will ask this Zorru, where he has seen my kin.” She once again did not leave much room for argument. He might as well go with the flow.
“Very well then.” Ortis nodded. “We would benefit from finding this camp regardless. We’ll talk about the exact details after we meet up with the rest.” he looked towards Gale, who silently agreed. This time, the man’s face was more relaxed, as he looked forward from the clearing they were at. His eyes swam with thought, as he hummed and spoke up.
“The ruins over here, do you think we have the time to look it over? We still need to find our way to the others. The ruins looked quite elevated from where we saw them, perhaps it can give us a good vantage point?” As he talked, he held his hand up to his chin, fingers carefully curled in a relaxed fist, before he turned to them, posture becoming slightly more rigid.
“The sooner you are done looking for your companions, the better. I see no use in questioning one’s plan, when you know it is sound.” Lae’zel spoke first, “We shall move forward.”
“She’s right.”Ortis couldn’t help but agree, and a part of him died with that admission, “It’s a good plan. Let’s see where it leads us.” He looked at Gale, who for a moment was stunned into silence.
The wizard quickly shook his head and unfroze, a smile finding its way onto his face, “Right. Lead the way then.”
Notes:
Alright! Sorry for the long wait on the chapter.
Just got hit with depression a bit. It was a bit hard to write much, but I'm somewhat back.
Slow uploads are unfortunately a bane of my existence, so bare with me, please.Thanks to Scifee for beta-reading the first half of the chapter; unfortunately for the time being, I'll have to post without a beta, because life is hitting everyone with a disintegration beam. So I apologize in advance if things are not as polished this time around.
Thank you so much for reading the chapter, and I hope you enjoyed seeing more into the thought process of Ortis! I'm trying to ease up on him slightly, but like, we're not letting him be. The man is a Durge and I will write him like one.
And of course since we are sparing Gale his arm, we are going to make the Durge hyper focus on ripping them of in other ways. Hopefully, without actually doing it... but we'll see...Oh, also! As I said before, I'm planing to play by D&D rules from time to time with homebrew and rules of cool, so we are getting more spells and cantrips.
I also decided Gale is one of the few characters who can actually have a bag of holding, and kill me if you want, but I'm adding it as an actual item into the game because it's such a staple in D&D. But not all will have it, that's for sure.
Also, Ortis will have some homebrew elements to him, as you can probably guess. Just, there's a bit of deviation from how normal bhaalspawns are. In my head at least it makes sense without ruining the lore, it just adds a little bit of spice.We are slowly but surely getting the party together! But there are a few things before we get to go to the grove. Lae'zel, I'm sorry. But finding the creche will have to wait.
Chapter 5: Chapter 5. Dusty Findings - Shiny Coins.
Notes:
I swear I'm still alive!
As usual:'Curious' - thoughts
"Curious" - talking
There are a few more formatting choices made in this chapter, but I'm sure you guys figure it out!
Now I bring you-!!! 7.6 k words for this chapter.
It's a long one, so buckle up!
Join Corlis, Astarion and Shadowheart on their trip down a certain crypt!Big thank you to my beta reader - astuaryberry; Thank you for keeping me in the right tense throughout the chapter, would have been lost without ya!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Aa-and… There!” a smooth voice exclaimed proudly, as an audible click echoed through the air. Astarion twirled his lock picking tools, neatly slotting them back into the kit with practiced ease. “I told you, I’m quite skilled with my hands. It was hardly a challenge, really.” A wide smirk stretched on the pale elf’s face as the man stood up from a crouch. He didn’t waste a second before throwing a smug look over his shoulder towards the dark haired cleric, who was leaning against the rocks, watching him closely.
The woman sighed and pushed herself up with a slight shrug. “I guess you can be useful after all.” As she shifted her attention to the horizon, Astarion pocketed the tools that Shadowheart provided him. It was low-key impressive. With just a quick flick of his wrist, they were simply gone. Even watching the man do it made it near impossible to see where the tools disappeared to.
Though people watching was somewhat fun, Corlis was getting a bit restless. And besides, being an observer was more his brother’s thing. He, on the other hand, was always the one to bask in the light of the centre stage.
So, without a second thought, he loudly clapped his hands and struck an exaggerated pose, pointing his index finger towards Shadowheart with a wink. “Good eye, Shadow!” The woman in question sharply turned towards him. Her brows immediately scrunched together, her shoulders becoming rigid.
“Not my name,” she said stiffly, raising her chin slightly.
Welp, at least he got her attention now.
“Oh, come on, your name is a mouthful. Surely you have a nickname? Or maybe a code name? Something your friends call you?” Corlis' smile was a bit uneven as he made his body loose and shook his head. “Liiiike, I don’t know… Something shorter than two words smushed together?” With a shrug, he mimed showing two things together. He kept his tone light, hoping his overdramatic nature would help clear the tension in her face. Sure, the cleric was uptight, but he refused to believe there was no hope for her. He just had to keep pushing.
“You can refer to me as Shadowheart, end of conversation.” The woman glared at him, her face schooled into a tight, forced neutrality.
Huh, maybe Corlis was a fool for trying after all. He could feel something falter in his performance.
“Ah, I’m sure you’ll change your mind eventually!” He desperately needed to shift the conversation, or else she’ll eat him alive. Then he remembered about his saving grace— he was no longer one on one with miss ‘don’t talk to me’.
Corlis didn’t waste much time. He cocked his head to the side, looking back at the elf, who stood in front of a big, sturdy wooden door that was now unlocked. The man looked bored, but a slight tilt to his head showed he was paying attention at least partially. With a wide smile and a sing-song tone to his words Corlis redirected, dragging the elf into the currently failing conversation. “By the way, deft fingers you have there, babe. Color me impressed!”
“Oh?” A slight sound of surprise escaped the white haired man, but it was quickly replaced with a stretched, somewhat sharp smile. “Ha! About time, I got some true recognition!” The man preened under his gaze, but something about the gesture felt strange. Corlis pushed the thought aside and didn’t dwell on it, as his mind was gleefully focused on finding a perfect response.
“Well, I hope there’s more where that came from,” the bard supplied without much delay. He slowly turned to Shadowheart, his eyes lingering on the elf, who only proudly smirked as if silently challenging him.
When he finally looked at her, Corlis expected to see her huff in frustration, glare at him with ire, or roll her eyes. What he didn’t expect was a focused, silent, long stare. Her eyes were piercing, slightly squinted as if she was trying to read someone’s messy handwriting. Though there was tension in her eyebrows, they were more at ease than before. She stared at him for another moment, eyes darting with quick micro movements as if she was trying to pry him to pieces.
Corlis couldn’t help but shift under it, his smile going somewhat flat and strained. His eyes slightly widened as he realized it was another falter in his performance. He didn’t waste a second dragging the smile back up, forcing his face to comply and emote once more. ‘Damn it, she definitely saw that one. What is wrong with me today?!’
“A-as I was saying!” he recovered from the sudden pause. “We probably have enough time to look around in there before our dear camping party returns.” He motioned to the door. “I mean, we might as well—”
“No one said we wouldn’t. We are on resource gathering duty, after all.” She shrugged, moving past him towards the door.
“Oh! Well, in that case! I shall—” Corlis took a confident stride, following the cleric with the intent to get ahead of her. But she raised her hand to signal for him to stop, almost hitting him in the face by accident.
“I will take it from here. Just stay out of the way…” She took a moment as if to compose whatever she was about to say.
Sensing an opportunity, Corlis tried to speak up. But as soon as he took a breath, her eye twitched slightly and she quickly continued, not letting him utter another word.
“We don’t know what’s in there.” Another short pause, “Judging by the stonework, this ruin is ancient. It’s not a place for your lack of attention.” Shadowheart spoke firmly, measured. She kept her voice devoid of much, but there was a bit of urgency in how she started. The woman didn’t even look at him as she proceeded towards the door.
“Ugh, finally! I didn’t open this door to just stare at it, thank you very much.” Astarion rolled his eyes and huffed. He turned, following the woman who carefully inspected the entrance before pushing the door open.
Maybe…
To some extent…
If you squint really hard, Shadowheart was right. ‘ I mean, can you imagine ’
And maybe…
There was a chance, a small one really, that if he hadn't listened to her, they would all be a bunch of burned to a crisp corpses. ‘ I mean there’s still a chance they wouldn’t be buuut… ’
‘ I mean… ’
Who knew the place was stuffed with traps!
This is absurd! Who, in their right mind, would put so many traps in one room with a bunch of dead people! What kind of lunatic would trap a place like this, in the middle of nowhere?!
But come on now! How was he supposed to know? What, are you supposed to assume everything you touch is trapped? Absurdity knows no limits!
It turned out to be a crypt that was trapped so thoroughly, Corlis couldn’t help but wonder what was further in there to warrant such excessive measures. Especially if the first room they entered was set up like this . Thankfully (and most annoyingly) almost as soon as they stepped inside, Shadowheart forbade him from touching things. And she did so just in time. His hand was inches away from the sarcophagus in the centre, about to trace the carvings along the borders.
What? They were pretty.
After glaring at the pouting bard, she and Astarion got to work figuring out the traps that littered the surrounding space. They both sure took their sweet time, while Corlis was left to wander the outskirts of the room. At least he had time to take the place in.
Crumbled stonework surrounded them, and yet Corlis couldn’t help but look out in wonder at the grandeur of the room. He always thought that ruins possessed a special, haunted kind of beauty. The tall ceiling rose and sheltered anyone who stepped into these halls. And though the darkness clung to the damaged walls of this abandoned sanctuary, a few stray beams of golden light descended through the collapsed openings in the structure.
The light was warm on his skin when he stepped into one of the beams, looking up. Pity… He would miss out on the golden hour this fine evening, wouldn’t he? The thought made him feel slightly claustrophobic, despite the size of the room. Funny how easily he fell to the mercy of his own mind sometimes. It was just a single stray thought, but now a feeling of nostalgia sat in his chest like a piece of lead
Corlis loved sitting out in the golden light before the sun would finally head to rest. He always had the most productive creative spikes during that time. It was something about the way that sunset led to the twilight, and then to the endless starry sky, that made it all wash away. He always felt better during those evenings. Dallen also sometimes came to visit in person on those nights. He has never done so during the day. The man had a reason for that. That reason was a common topic for the young archfey to whine about — how mortals were always too busy to give him attention during the day, so there was no reason to grace them with his presence.
Now standing here, eyes closed, Corlis could almost hear his brother’s exasperated voice in his ears.
“They tell ME they have to work! Can you imagine! To choose work over hanging out with someone as amazing as ME! I can’t believe it!” He would dismissively wave his hand and dramatically drape himself over whatever furniture he decides to summon for their little get-togethers that time, “I tell you, these mortals wouldn’t know fun if it hit them in the face”
Corlis never had a reason to reminisce about those moments. After all, the fey never left him alone for long. The man was always babbling on and on about something. It was annoying to never be able to shove a word in, and yet…
‘Dallen?’ he hesitantly called out in his head, shutting his eyes tighter for a moment. He could imagine an obnoxious laugh reverberating through his head, maybe a witty remark in response. But as he waited, there was nothing. Nothing but the sounds of quiet footsteps echoing throughout the chamber. The voices of his companions sometimes called out, interrupting the eerie quiet, to alert each other of the traps.
Corlis opened his eyes slowly and after a moment stepped out of the light. He felt a bit heavy, almost like his body didn’t want to move. Nothing new really. The half-elf blinked and searched for something a bit more tangible than his thoughts.
At the head of the sarcophagus there was a plaque. Old withered writing was inscribed upon it, with letters he couldn’t comprehend. He looked closer. How old were these ruins?
Corlis resisted the urge to dust off the plaque and pushed himself to keep moving through the room as a slight glint caught his eye. As soon as he turned towards it, however, there was nothing. Just one of the smaller sarcophagi to his right had its lid pushed to the side, broken into two pieces. But he could have sworn…
The bard quickly looked out into the room, where Shadowheart and Astarion seemed to be still preoccupied. It wouldn’t hurt to check if he was quick and careful, right? The man took a few careful steps towards the sarcophagus and looked into it. It was too dark to see, but as he shifted off to the side, he saw the same faint glimmer of something. He took a breath and carefully reached into the opening. His hand brushed over something smooth and dusty. It made his skin crawl. He was about to withdraw, but then his finger grazed something else — small and cold. Corlis almost shivered from the sensation as he reached out again and his fingers closed around a small coin. As he pulled it out of the coffin, he felt the cold metal almost pull at his skin.
The coin was bigger than most he’d seen, a bit smaller than his palm. It had a slight shine to it, despite its dark coloration. It was made of something similar to iron, but both sides of it were covered in unfamiliar writing. The engravings were detailed, and the bard couldn’t help but trace them with his thumb.
As he held it there in his hand, a profound sense of despair washed over him. He felt it lodge in his throat as he clenched his fingers around the coin in a deathly grip. He knew magic when he saw it, but this was off putting and unfamiliar. Corlis swallowed hard, a rising tension gnawing at his vocal cords.
Magic always felt different, depending on the caster and the source. Divine magic for example usually felt a bit like a gentle buzzing, cold or warm depending on a God's vibes. Innate magic felt heavier and a bit more solid. Wizards probably had the most variations because it often depended on their quirks and eccentricities, but it was often clean and sharp. There’s a sort of definition to those kinds of spells that others did not get. It wasn’t exact science; there were a lot of other factors. Not to mention that Corlis had no proper way of actually sensing or seeing magic, beyond those residual heebeegeebees he could sometimes pick up on.
This coin’s magic was hard to pinpoint. It was cold, yes, but it almost burned his skin as he held it. It didn’t physically vibrate, but it might as well have done so with how it sent shivers down the Corlis’ spine. It had a presence to it. The energy was organised but also frantic. Then all the bard could think of was how his body felt so much heavier than before he picked it up.
The confusion was overwhelming, so he couldn’t help but wonder out loud, “What even is this thing?” His voice wavered, quiet, as the question left him.
What he didn’t expect is a whisper of a voice to prod at his mind in response.
‘ A soul coin, a cage, a currency,’ the answer echoed in his mind. He felt his hand shake slightly from the unexpected intrusion, head whipping to the side, trying to see the source of the voice. He almost dropped the coin back into the coffin, but instead he hastily put it down on the edge of it, taking a step back.
‘What in the Hells was that?’ He shook his hands, looking over his shoulder to find Shadowheart staring at him from afar. Corlis waved at her with his trademark smile and quickly looked away, too preoccupied with the sudden mess in his head to deal with the cleric. ‘Alright, calm down, this definitely wasn’t Dallen, I definitely didn’t imagine this, and it definitely never happened to me before… It has to be the coin, right? A soul coin?’
As he glanced back, Corlis saw her get up from a crouch next to one of the traps, before nodding to Astarion and heading over in the bard’s direction. ‘Shit… I’ll figure it out later’
The bard quickly pocketed the coin before Shadowheart made it. “Astarion is almost done. Most of the sarcophagi aren’t trapped. We think all the traps lead to the one in the middle.”
“Is that so? Should we take a look then?” Corlis jumped onto the topic, if a bit eagerly. “I mean, if it’s protected, there must be a reason.”
The cleric immediately frowned. She was quiet for a moment looking at the bard. Shadowheart opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it with a quick shake of her head, body growing suddenly tense. “Yes. I think we should.” She kept her eyes on him and then… she was off. Maybe she was uncomfortable with opening someone’s grave?
Corlis blinked, watching the cleric go towards the middle, where she was met by Astarion. ‘That was weird…’ She never initiated the conversation before. She also was clearly displeased. Did he do something wrong again?
They managed to disarm the traps. So now that the sarcophagus was safe to open, they finally took inventory. They found an enchanted spear, a few other weapons in alright condition, and a key. But besides that weird coin Corlis found, there was nothing out of the ordinary or that intriguing.
The group made it through the big doors opposite from where they entered. A few ornate chests later, they came face to face with another massive locked door. The key they found in that sarcophagus conveniently opened it. There was another smaller door to the side, but the group unanimously agreed to carry on forward. After all, they could always backtrack later.
As they stepped into the larger chamber, Corlis couldn’t help but whistle. He thought the previous rooms were big! This was… this was massive. The stonework was beautiful — the roof, the pillars. He couldn’t tear his eyes away as he spun around to take in the details of the ceiling. As he took a few more steps, he felt his foot land on something hard. He stopped and looked down.
An involuntary shriek left his lungs as he jumped away from the pile of bones on the floor. Before Corlis even had the opportunity to gather himself, he heard a snickering laughter. He turned to see Astarion with his head thrown slightly back, his mouth opened in a laugh, perfect white teeth on full display. Shadowheart stood a few feet to the side, looking at him disapprovingly, her hand tight around the handle of her mace.
“Ah-ah… ha, that was so shrill it could wake the dead!” His lips pressed into a satisfied smirk as he mimed wiping his tears away.
Corlis felt his face heat up suddenly as he looked away. But the pale man decided to torment him further, mercilessly mocking the bard. “What are you, a part-time banshee now?”
“H-hey!” He couldn’t help but rise to the bait. “My voice is way prettier than a banshee’s! It took a lot of work to sing as well as I do!” Corlis huffed, but his face still felt like it was on fire.
“Oh yes, you did such a great job training those vocal cords of yours!” Astarion said, voice dripping in sarcasm. “Though come to think of it, I haven’t heard you sing once yet.”
Corlis couldn’t help but gasp, “How! DARE! You! Insinuating I sound anything but angelic?!” Before the smug elf could grace him with another snarky response, Shadowheart’s stern voice interrupted their bickering.
“Would you two shut up already? Do you want to get us in trouble? We have no idea if there’s anything alive in here!” she whisper-shouted at the two.
“Oh, please, the bard already announced our presence loud and clear! If anything in this dusty shithole is alive, it would have made itself known long ago,” Astarion sneered, clearly displeased at the lecturing.
“A shithole? The architecture here is stunning,” Corlis disagreed, drawing the man’s attention once more. ‘Good’
“Stunning? It’s old and covered in mold and dust! I thought you had at least some taste, darling.” The elf smirked, closing his eyes and shrugging, voice deceptively innocent, “Guess I was wrong.” He looked down at the bard, despite Corlis being obviously taller than the white-haired man.
What an annoying bastard.
“Oh you—alright, fine! Be like that!” The bard scrunched up his nose and with a huff turned away. “Let’s just split up and search this shitty room,” he mocked and moved down the stairs into the little courtyard-like space, this time avoiding any skeletons.
The other two, thankfully, seemed to go along with his suggestion. But if he’s honest, Corlis couldn’t pay attention to them even if he wanted to, over how loudly his heart was beating. It was exhilarating to talk to someone like this and not to see a single sign. Astarion’s gaze was clear. He was just snarky, confident, and a bit of an asshole. He was the one to push the bard’s buttons. The one to laugh at him without a second thought. Not a lovesick fool. Not a jealous passerby. He was just Astarion. Alive and breathing and real, but, most importantly, himself.
Corlis couldn’t calm the fluttering in his chest at the sheer excitement. Whatever let this man withstand the bard’s charms, Corlis was eternally grateful for it. Because for the first time in his life, he was treated like a normal person. Sure, it was frustrating. He genuinely felt offended by some of the remarks, but that little ugly feeling didn’t stand anywhere near his elation.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He needed to stop smiling like a fool lest the elf see it. If he does, Astarion will not leave him in peace for sure. ‘But wouldn’t that be a good thing? Okay… nope. Calm it. What did Dallen say about provoking people again? Right: “It needs moderation.” Yes. Sprinkle it in, but don’t overdo it. Since he’s not charmed, he very much can just leave.’
Corlis finally felt his face cool down. He looked up, shoving his hands into his pockets and finally taking in a tall stone statue in the middle of the courtyard.
It was a man, no, a skeleton that was dressed in fine robes. Standing tall, head held high — not in a show of arrogance, but more of importance. A long feather was clutched in one of his skeletal hands and a scroll that was unrolled down to the very floor was draped over the other. Vines grew along the stony parchment and, despite the disarray surrounding the chamber, the statue remained mostly untouched, with a beam of light falling down onto its fine stonework — a natural spotlight.
Corlis stared at the statue for a bit, but it remained just that — a statue. He had no idea who it depicted. He wasn’t the best with history and stuff like that. Come to think of it, he usually would just ask Dallen. The fey would just info dump him for a few minutes if he knew anything, and if not, would complain about how it was probably just another boring mortal thing. Like a shitty pocket tour guide that was horribly biased. Unfortunately, there were no tour guides and no Dallens here. He was just Corlis. By himself.
He clenched his hand into a fist, feeling it wrap around the little cold coin in his pocket. His throat felt tight all of the sudden. He rubbed the coin between his fingers, frowning at the sensation.
‘What is that coin? It said it was a soul coin, right? I’ve never heard of such a thing, though. Ugh, what else… “A cage”, right… So is there like… a soul in there? It answered my question too. Can I ask it again? Would it answer this time?’ the man pondered, fishing the piece of metal out and looking at it with intensity. ‘But what do I ask it?’
Corlis looked up again, his eyes landing on the mysterious statue. He hesitantly twirls the coin in his fingers before taking a deep breath. “Alright, fuck it,” he whispers quietly. “Whose statue is this?” Like before, he felt the coldness spread and then a hoarse voice filled his ears and whispers filled his head, making him shiver.
‘Death. The Final Scribe. Jergal’ The voice was slow, and, to be honest, kind of fucking creepy. Still, it answered his question. Corlis felt his fingers going numb as he hid the coin away once more.
‘Jergal, huh?’ The bard heard a few tales about the ex-god of death, but such gloomy subjects were never really his sort of vibe. So, as much as he appreciated the craftsmanship, he never delved deeper into it. This must be a holy place dedicated to Him then? It seemed to be in quite a state of disrepair. Well, not much of a surprise for a God who basically retired. Or did He die -die? Corlis wasn’t too clear on the exact details. Can a god of death even die?
Corlis turned, looking over his shoulder. Astarion was somewhere to his left, his attention occupied by a chest, while Shadowheart was looking over the collapsed wall leading into a cave to the right of the chamber. Mysterious statues of forgotten gods aside, he should probably search around too.
A set of stairs led to what seemed to be a dead end. Corlis couldn’t help but wonder the purpose of such a layout. Was it meant simply for aesthetics? The bard carefully made his way up the stairs, inspecting various vases placed along the wall. All were unsurprisingly empty, if you don’t count a sleeping spider inside one of them. Ugh, he never liked those creepy crawlies, but since it didn’t touch him, the bard decided to show it mercy... for now.
Turning around, his eyes caught on something standing out ever so slightly against the stonework. He moved closer, dusting away the dirt and grime to reveal a hidden button. Now that it was clean, it was quite easy to notice. However, no matter how hard Corlis looked, he couldn’t figure out what the blasted thing was connected to.
There was one sure way to remedy this issue… Sure, there’s a slight chance it was some sort of trap, but worst-case scenario, it would blast him in the face and Shadowheart would have to heal him again. He could take it—and the emotional torment that was asking the cleric for help—no biggie. The bard shook his wrist and pushed the button, bracing for impact just in case.
The mechanical click of the button echoed throughout the chamber. Corlis opened his eyes just in time to see a ripple of magic pulse across the walls, followed by the sound of rumbling as the wall in front of him stirred. It slid to the side, revealing a secret passage.
Corlis excitedly turned to announce his finding, only to see Shadowheart take a step back, readying her mace and shield. She stood all the way across the courtyard, on the opposite set of stairs. Her wide eyes looked out at something in front of her, before harshly darting towards the bard. Before he could say anything, a loud clicking sound drew his attention. Confused, he peeked from behind the corner, finally looking out into the rest of the chamber. Corlis’ breath hitched when the bard finally saw the source of the woman’s distress.
The remains that littered the ground were starting to move. A sickly green glow filled in the gaps, as if binding the disconnected bones, making them move once more. This strange magic served as their new muscle and tissue. And as it fluxed, the undead creatures rose from their slumber. Corlis’ skin felt clammy all of the sudden and his hands were painfully empty. He didn’t even have a weapon! Sure, he had magic, but at that moment his brain was freaking the fuck out.
“Focus, everyone! We have a fight on our hands!” Shadow’s loud voice echoed throughout the chamber, as if reading his mind. It snapped him out of the stupor. Right. He wasn’t alone. Together, they’d surely be fine. Corlis looked to where he saw Astarion earlier, but the elf was nowhere to be seen. ‘Surely not..?’ He moved forward to hopefully get a better vantage point, only to notice a very well armored skeleton turn towards him. He stopped dead in his tracks.
‘Shit.’
Corlis swiped his fingers across the necklace that sat neatly at the base of his skull, clicking the gemstone in the center. He felt the metal tighten against his skin. He hummed just like Dallen taught him - replacing standard incantations that he found so distasteful with the power in his voice - and the magic gathered in his palm. It swirled as he chucked it into the armored undead. The blast did not connect. Looking down, the bard saw his arms shaking. ‘Why do we have to fight gross things again?! I just got over the whole cosmic squid and ugly bloody imps thing!!! Why do I have to fight corpses!?’ He whimpered when the creature's empty eye sockets stared into him as it dashed in his direction.
Shadowheart’s magic blared in the distance. The arrow whizzed through the air somewhere to the side. But all he could focus on was the hulking mass of bones and metal beelining it towards him. That is, until the ground beneath Corlis’ feet was swallowed by the thick fog that swirled around him, making it hard to orient himself. It came out of nowhere and now he was blind as a bat.
He could hear spells going off, the rattling of bones, the hefty hit of the cleric’s mace. Corlis could only imagine the armored one getting closer and closer, ready to strike him at any moment. He couldn’t see, damn it! He was going to get slaughtered. The bard was ready to blindly fire spells through the fog when it suddenly dissipated. His eyes met with the red ones up on the ledge to his right.
Astarion was standing behind a skeletal mage, his dagger plunged deep into its left eye. The bones dropped to the ground in a heap. He stood there like a knight in shining armor as he spun the blade in his grasp. Corlis felt incredibly glad to see the man. He half assumed the sneaky elf fled. He didn’t get to dwell on the man's timely appearance, as his sense of relief was shattered by the hulking form of the armored undead going in for a deadly swing. Corlis felt his throat close as he screamed. He felt the necklace resonate against his skin, a sound of fear turning into a clean, melodic note. The wave of pink, almost thunderous energy threw the creature back, forcing it to stumble down the stairs.
Corlis breathed. His smile was probably a bit shaky, but the bard beamed towards his saviour. Astarion looked back with a bit of a surprised face. ‘Was it the first time he saw me cast? Is- Not the time, Corlis!’
With a confident facade and a cheeky wink, the bard snapped his fingers towards the elf. “Astarion! Great timing! Let’s make it count, babe!” The pink spark glimmered in the man’s eyes as the bard’s words lingered in the air. Meanwhile, Corlis backed further into the corner, hoping to put a bit more distance between himself and the threat to his existence. He could see Astarion clearly from his position, as the elf quickly switched over to his bow, now willing to get up close and personal with a visibly stronger foe.
Corlis watched with bated breath as the glimmer of his magic sparked across Astarion’s fingers as the man aimed his shot. The elf smirked. “Oh, this feels good.” His eyes sharpened as he let the arrow fly, hitting the skeleton in the skull. The arrow lodged itself into the bone, making the undead warrior stumble as it was getting up. Despite this, it continued its approach towards the bard, only slightly affected by the blow.
Corlis pressed into the wall behind him, returning his focus back to the immediate threat before him. His vocal cords stung slightly. He wouldn’t be able to throw the thing off if it approached him again. The man couldn't resonate with the weave properly, with his throat feeling this scratchy. He hummed quietly, but felt the sound hitch, confirming his assessment. Fine, plan B it was then. The bard focused again and spoke the incantation properly.
“Dolor!” he shouted, shooting the blast of energy at the approaching creature. His voice sounded a bit off, but that didn’t matter at the moment. It hit the undead in the shoulder. The armour was singed, but it wasn’t enough to stop or intimidate the thing.
Another arrow hit it in the neck, now stuck in its spine. The undead hissed low, green filling its sockets, jaw menacingly opened in a hollow, hoarse, and echoey howl. It rushed forward, swinging at the bard with its longsword. Corlis sidestepped, missing the blow by a hair's breadth. The sword shattered the vase behind him, lodging into the stone. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. The undead forced him into the corner. Corlis could feel its eerie, artificial breath hitting his face, could see the magic flow into its chest, forcing it to dance like a puppet on the strings.
The skeletal warrior started to raise its sword again in an attempt to pull it free, but the bard sprung into action, grabbing its wrist to hold it in place. He needed it to stop. He needed to buy more time. Make it do as he pleases. If it freed the sword, Corlis was as good as dead. ‘Can I make it obey?’ The desperate thought clashed against him.
“Reconsider,” Corlis said in a shaky voice, as the creature swung with its free hand to strike. He felt his voice echo. The bard focused on making his presence known—his fake fey ‘authority’. He could not see it, but he knew his eyes were glowing pink. He saw his tattoos light up across his chest. The bard just tilted his head and pleaded softly with a fake smile. “Please reconsider for me?”
The pink mist drew into the creature’s form. The green and pink flickered inside as the undead’s head jerked violently, fighting against the charm. Its hand dropped. For a second it was working, but then the skeletal warrior grasped its hand around the bard’s throat. Intent stuck between harm and resignation. ‘It’s fighting back. How is it fighting back?’ Corlis’ eyes were wide with fear. It was working, but not the way it should. Was this the end? Fuck, he was not ready to die to some dead thing!
A sharp arrow hit the undead, piercing its chest cleanly, sticking out on the other side. A piece of bone fell to the ground as the arrow broke off one of its ribs. The skeleton staggered back, ripping the sword out, as green energy overpowered the pink.
Looking up, Corlis saw Astarion, who seemed to be quite exasperated. And then he called out to him, loud and somewhat demanding, “Finish it already! I swear, if you just die..”
It confused the bard for a moment. The only spell he could cast did jack shit last time, but looking back at the undead, he suddenly realised that the thing was barely standing. It might be just enough. There were cracks forming where the arrows had struck. The magic that just overpowered his charm was barely there, flickering. Corlis had to finish this now. The bard felt determination boil inside of him. He called the incantation, energy swirling, and hit the creature dead in the chest, never giving it enough time to ready another strike.
It roared, falling back and going limp, unmoving. The bard stared, wide eyed, somewhat surprised that it worked. He looked back up to meet the red eyes once more. Corlis smiled, showing the man a thumbs up. “‘Well, this went well!”
Astarion just huffed slightly and rolled his eyes before giving the room a once over and jumping down from his elevated position. The sight was a welcomed one. ‘He’s not affected, right? Still good, then?’ Using his magic directly on Astarion was risky, but inspiring others was how he was still breathing. It was almost second nature by now.
Corlis didn’t get to start a conversation to check for sure, as he saw battered and bruised — and most likely very displeased — Shadowheart walking in his direction. She was out of breath. Her armour had a thin sheet of frost clinging to the surface and a few new scratches. How many of these things did she fight off while he and Astarion battled this one?
“Damn, you look like shit,” he said before he thought better of it. It was a mistake.
“And whose fault is this?” Shadowheart glared furiously. Definitely displeased. “What did you do?”
“Why do you assume it’s my fault?!”
“Well, is it?” she raised an eyebrow, hands folded onto her chest.
“Eh… It…” Corlis sighed, defeated. “Fine. I’m sorry. BUT! I found a secret entrance!” He gestured widely to the new opening. “It might lead somewhere super cool, I’m sure it will be worth our while!” he turned to inspect it, only then realising it wasn’t a path but a simple small room. ‘Shit’
“Darkness, give me strength…” the woman muttered under her breath, shaking her head, pinching the bridge of her nose as if he was giving her a headache.
“As much as I regret agreeing with the cleric, darling, do keep your hands to yourself next time. I do not enjoy being the target of an ambush,” Astarion added, but otherwise the man seemed to be doing just fine. Perhaps it was silly to worry. The elf, meanwhile, peered past him into the opened room. “Another coffin. Ugh, this is starting to get old...” he said with disgust.
“Alright! Alright! I get it. I just didn’t think it would be that bad. I’ll warn you next time I decide to press an unlabeled button.” The bard walked into the newly opened room, looking around.
Shadowheart sighed. “Let's just wrap this up. Gale and Ortis might be already looking for us. We shouldn’t linger longer than necessary.”
The room was small, nothing much of note besides a bunch of vases, a singular chest, and a very fancy coffin. Checking the room for additional traps didn’t produce much of a result, so it was hopefully safe. They found a bit of gold, a vial of acid, and a strange amulet. The amulet looked like a skull with a half unfurled scroll in its mouth. Perhaps a holy symbol of that Jergal God?
Looking around, Corlis couldn’t help but look at the sarcophagus. It was even nicer than the one they found before. A plaque sat neatly before the pedestal on which it stood.
It read:
“Here lies the Guardian of Tombs. Through knowledge lies atonement.”
The bard thought over the words, slightly tilting his head to the side. ‘Cryptic. Huh, maybe it was a priest? Why would they hide this thing behind so many closed doors, though? Ha, get it? “Doors” and it’s behind a wall—Nevermind…’ The point was, it looked suspicious, so Corlis wanted to look inside. But well… he learned his lesson for the day. He looked at his companions. Shadowheart silently packed the things they found into her bag, not wishing to engage in conversation, while Astarion counted the gold in the pouch.
“Hey, so…” Corlis turned to the elf without hesitation. He noticed Shadowheart stiffen at the sound of his voice, but continued her work, re-organising the bag. “I want to check the sarcophagus. Can you help me? I don’t think I can open it by myself.” He probably could, but it did look quite heavy, so it wasn’t a lie, per se.
Astarion sighed with a shake of his head, “What would you do without me? Fine, I’ll help. But for the record, grave robbing isn’t exactly my style. So consider it an exception. Aren’t I so nice?” He grinned proudly. ‘Fishing for compliments, huh?’ Fine. Corlis would play along.
“You sure are…” Corlis rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, before adding a small, “Thank you.”
He turned away to face the lid. He half expected Shadowheart to protest, but she simply stood back and watched them from a distance.
As the two pushed the lid, the candles surrounding the pedestal came to life burning bright green, just like the magic that coalesced around those skeletons. Astarion swore under his breath, quickly stepping back, reaching for his dagger. He heard Shadowheat’s armour clanking as she presumably pulled her shield up. Corlis simply took a step back, staring as the heavy lid of the sarcophagus moved on its own with a heavy sound of grinding stone. A pulse of energy rippled through the air and the bard could only look on in horror and fascination as a mummified hand grasped at the edge of the slab and pushed it off with a loud thud that made the room shake.
A body rose into the air, as if possessed by an unknown force. Its head limply followed as it was suspended high into the air right above the coffin. A gross sound of withered skin being pulled and moved after being stiff for long filled Corlis’ ears, making his lips tremble. He felt glad the other two stood behind him and couldn’t see his mask cracking in every possible way. It was honestly embarrassing.
The corpse in front of them was dressed in tattered blue and white robes, its body loosely bandaged up in a few places. But the most distinct thing about this withered body was the golden headpiece that wrapped around its head. Thin bands formed a complicated pattern, mirroring a similar piece sitting around its neck and chest.
Suddenly, the creature opened its eyes, looking directly at the bard, who took a sharp breath and backed away as the undead descended. Its feet touched the cold stone floor as he stepped towards the terrified half-elf.
“So he has spoken,” it, or, well, he spoke, “and so thou standest before me. Right as always.” The undead’s voice was low and gravely as it spoke evenly, coming closer with measured steps. Calm. Collected.
Corlis felt frozen in place, doomed to stare up into its sunken black eyes. He felt his jaw tighten as he swallowed his nerves.
The undead continued, “What a curious way to awaken.” It tilted its head, eyes looking behind Corlis before returning to him. “Now I have a question for thee: what is the worth of a single mortal’s life?” he said, clearly enunciating every word.
But the half-elf felt his voice stick in his throat. He opened his mouth to speak, but it felt like he simply couldn't.
The undead frowned with a low hum. “Do not fret, for I have no intentions of bringing harm onto thou. Speak.”
The command—or was it meant as a request? An invitation?—snapped Corlis out of his daze. As the bard scrambled to push a smile onto his face, a rush of words escaped him, “Ah! That was awfully rude of me! I was just a tiny bit surprised by the whole crawling out of the tomb bit! Really cool, but like… What… What are you? If you don’t mind me asking, of course!”
The entity regarded him for a moment, letting the silence hang. Perhaps it was stupid to ask such a question. Should Corlis start preparing his own grave? But the undead didn’t let it linger for too long, thank the gods, saving the bard from his train of thought. “Thou speakest in a tone not suited for most, but I’ll regard thy question nonetheless. I am not the same as thou hast slain, if that is what thou askest.”
“Ah.. c-cool?” Corlis couldn’t help but question, confused by the remark.
“Now, wilt thou answer my question?” The undead continued, ignoring the bard's awkward response.
‘Okay, Corlis, get your shit together! Stop making a fool of yourself. Dallen would’ve laughed his ass off if he was here.’ The bard took a shallow breath, reassembling what was left of his mask.
“Sorry, it’s been a long day! But sure, I don’t see why not.” He shrugged, finally responding to the strange man before him. “Would you remind me of the question again?” Corlis forced his shoulders to relax. ‘Cool. Just be chill… Casual’
“I shall do just so.” It He nodded slowly, “What is the worth of a single mortal’s life?”
The question was a strange one indeed. Did his opinion even matter? To him, it often bleeds together. Can you even determine someone’s worth like this? Corlis usually preferred not to ponder, but he was asked a question.
“If I had to answer… I guess it depends?” He hummed, shifting his weight uncomfortably, “There’s value in life for sure. Still, I think one's actions can tip the scales, or something to that effect?”
“Thou sure thinkst as such, bur does tough believest thy own words is a question only thou can answer.” The way the undead spoke was entirely too confusing, but he continues, “Very well. I am satisfied. We have met and I know thy face. We will see each other again at the proper time and place...”
And though the withered man—what a mouthful—was obviously planning to say something else, Corlis couldn’t help but interrupt. “Wait, what do you mean by that?”
“We will meet again soon. Though now, we have nothing more to discuss, continue on thy way as if I were not here,” he said, moving towards the exit. “Farewell.” The peaceful undead lingered his gaze on the bard and his companions before leaving them in silence.
“That’s one cryptic undead…” Corlis turned to Astarion and Shadowheart, who wore similar confusion on their faces.
“Understatement of the century, darling,” the elf scoffed. “So, are we done here? I’m so tired of this day,” the man complained, crossing his hands.
“I think so too. It's been a long day. We should look for the others and settle down for the night.” Shadowheart nodded, decidedly ignoring the whole undead situation. I guess it’s one way to keep your sanity.
With this, the trio collected their loot and headed back the way they came.
Notes:
Whooosh... I'm ALIVE! Ha-ha.... yay?
Sorry for disappearing, can't promise it won't happen again, but I'm working on it, I swear I do.Hope you enjoyed the chapter! As you can see, I'm adding some D&D rules here and there. The Soul coin mechanics in BG3 are a lot more limited. It's understandable for what reason, but I thought the fanfic doesn't have to follow that restriction!
For those who are wondering, here are some excerpts from Baldur's Gate - Descent into Avernus; I'm using D&D wikidot as my source:Carrying Soul Coins.
To hold a soul coin is to feel the soul bound within it — overcome with rage or fraught with despair.
A nonevil creature can carry a number of soul coins equal to or less than its Constitution modifier without penalty.Using a Soul Coin.
A soul coin has 3 charges. A creature carrying the coin can use its action to expend 1 charge from a soul coin and use it to do one of the following:
- Drain Life.
- Query.The Query allows you to telepathically ask the soul a question and receive a brief telepathic response. Which you can understand. The soul knows only what it knew in life, but it must answer you truthfully and to the best of its ability. The answer is no more than a sentence or two and might be cryptic.
Now! A bit more from me: this still isn't a full explanation of the coin, as the rest isn't too relevant at the moment.
A small note: You probably have noticed that Corlis asked the coin the questions verbal, I thought it could be a cool deviation from the rules, so it is a homebrew change; the coin still responds telepathically though!Similar to the coins, there are Items in the game that I felt were not given their just attentions, so I hope to add a bit of flare to some. Some things may be adjusted for better narrative experience though!
Also, a few small, fun facts:
- I am using BG3 fights as close reference. I may describe things a bit differently for better flow, but I have played the crypt with the same party set up, to get a reference. So Shadowheart did handle all the other undead while the boys were struggling.
- Astarion did most of the damage to the armoured undead, while the placeholder character for Corlis tried to survive by cowering in the corner, stalling to the best of his abilities. Astarion hid away in the beginning of the fight so Corlis couldn't spot him.
- Corlis has 1 spell slot at the start of the fight. He used it to cast Thunderwave which is just flavor-texted as him screaming his lungs out. Which is also why he couldn't do much aside from eldritch blasts, that kept missing.
- I'm using BG3 Character Planner, to track accessible spells and abilities for my OC's.
- Corlis has 1lv in Bard and 1lv in Warlock (fey patron). He has an ability called Fey Presence which allows you to Charm or Frighten a creature within 3m, which is what you can see happening in the fic. BUT it's all flavour texted as a natural ability Corlis has!Again, big thanks to my new Beta - astuaryberry for proofreading the chapter and giving me feedback!
Syphonosaur on Chapter 3 Sun 12 Jan 2025 03:27PM UTC
Last Edited Sun 12 Jan 2025 03:30PM UTC
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Chim2er on Chapter 3 Mon 13 Jan 2025 05:07PM UTC
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